Spinnaker Tower

Here is the Spinnaker Tower, which is 170 meters and located in Portsmouth. The tower's design was chosen by local residents and is meant to reflect Portsmouth's maritime history - modeled after a sail, of course. It is possible to go to the top of for a spectacular view of the coast+the glass floor puts one's gonads into one's stomach (from personal experience) though we don't go to the top this time. The thing was completed in 2005 at the centre of the waterfront's re-development and funded by the National Lottery (planning began in '95 and there were fits and starts around money- construction went over-budget and tax-payers had to foot the balance so that it did not stand half-mast; good thing the cost to stop work greater then its completion, oh boy). It seems to have worked as a stim-u-lator too as there are post-holiday shoppers and a bustle - not surprising as Portsmouth has the highest population density of any UK city including London. Go figure. Retail is mostly middle-brow: Gap, Cliftons, Marks & Spencer, Waterfords, Top Shop. . . and themed-restaurants galore. We settle for a faux Mexican surrounded by chili, mustachioed cowboys and cacti decorations. Madeleine orders a cheeseburger and Sonnet some kind of wrap while my burrito interpretation would offend anybody South of the Border- I bemoan the lack of Mexican food here. Concluding, we stroll to the great docks and HMS Victory as well as a number of Britain's war ships including an Aircraft Carrier which is a monster. This is the world's largest dry-dock and so at the center of British history and former empire.

I make the kids jam-butter-banana sandwiches on wheat bread; I overhear them discuss how awful my creation; so bad, in fact, Eitan reportedly cries (Eitan "did not Madeleine. You wouldn't even know!")

Madeleine, out of the blue: "Have you ever been sacked Dad?"

Eitan: "I wish I could be on (Chelsea's Frank) Lampard's training team so I could ask him if could swap to Man United."
Sonnet: "I wish I could be inside Eitan's head so I could say: Eitan, when are you going to pick up your room?"

Back To The Future

The Brits go mad over Darwin - or at least on the wireless - as we celebrate the 150th anniversary of perhaps the most profound gift to modern science: On The Origins of Species. Alongside the many, many volumes of new non-fiction dedicated to The Genius, the BBC presents 45 minutes of 9AM prime-time each day this week to Darwin's life legacy. I catch some of it driving to wherever - usually yoga or Waitrose - and it is a blessing of understanding into the man and his hardship. Consider that Darwin organised his work, post Beagle, in Cambridge which was then the centre of the Catholic aristocracy. Can you imagine those dinner parties? In a uniquely British way, that is a mixture of genius, snottiness and bull-dog tenacity (think Gibbons perhaps with his "Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire"), Darwin accomplished his task barely nipping Wallace to the finish. Oddly, Darwin's theory delayed so he could complete proof via a comprehensive field test of a barnacle - in his day, any sea-faring fellow would know the barnacle and have some opinion on where it came from (usually not a pleasant place). By presenting something simple and knowable with a short-life span easily adapting to its own element, Darwin showed conclusively that he was onto something big. Finally, note Darwin's title which easily could have been "The Origins of Man" or homo sapien or even: God Is Dead. Darwin knew his work dangerous to many and like any good scientist he wanted his work to be accepted and debated - not rejected as heresay or perhaps worse. And so it has been.

Here is a quote by Darwin which sums up the Bush years; it is actually the reason why I have written this otherwise admittedly shallow blog of an otherwise great man:

“Ignorance more frequently begets confidence than does knowledge: it is those who know little, and not those who know much, who so positively assert that this or that problem will never be solved by science.”

Portsmouth Go!

After visiting the stadium how can we not see a game? The next fixture is v. Bristol City in the first-round qualifier of the FA Cup, which Portsmouth won last year. Here Eitan draws a cheering-flag which he holds up whenever necessary - in this game, which ends nil-nil, flag stays mostly in lap. As we know (?!), Portsmouth is the UK's only island-city, located on the Portsea Island; they are commonly nicknamed Pompey (pronounced Pom-pee) which, not surprisingly then, is the name of their FC. The team is also known as 'the Blues' (a tad more macho), with their fans being 'The Blue Army'. The FC was founded 1898 by John Brickwood, owner of the local brewery and presumably keen on his distribution. More recently, Pompey moved into the Premier League four years ago posting 13th, 16th, and 17th positions, respectively, before being bought by Russian Tycoon Alexandre Gaydamak (grounds keeper Frank tells me he is never at the games). With large amounts of free cash-flow, the manager made record signings and the club finished 2006-2007 in the Premier League's top-half, only one point short of European qualification. In 2008, Portsmouth reached the FA Cup final for the first time since 1939. Tragically for the Orenstein household, The Blues beat Manchester United at Old Trafford and the following day became the only Premier League team left in the cup, following Cardiff's win over Middlesbrough. They held on to beat Cardiff City, earning them a place in the 2008-09 UEFA Cup, the club's first-time playing European football. Phew! Their first UEFA cup match resulted in an historic 2-0 victory over Vitoria SC and Pompey went on to win the aggregate (4-2). This put Portsmouth in the group stages for the first time in their history. Not a bad way for the club to celebrate its 110th year.

Eitan at Portsmouth Stadium watching Portsmouth play Bristol City: "I would rather be at Old Trafford."

Coach's Box

Visiting Portsmouth Eitan spies a sign for the FC and begs a visit to the stadium even though mid-week and most certainly deserted. An easy decision nonetheless. We park in an empty lot and investigate how to see (sneak onto?) the pitch and happily, I ask a ground's keeper - Frank- who sees the boy's excited face and cannot resist us. Frank, who must be in his late 60s, gives us a full-tour from personal experience: "I was com'n here when I was a laddy with my dad. We would be standing, usually, but now they've replaced our gally with seats." The stadium is one of England's oldest: >100 years. Unlike the chic, new and very modern Emirates stadium where Arsenal plays or the largest club stadium Old Trafford (Manchester United), Portsmouth compares well to those old grainy black-and-whites where the fans huddled closely together wearing wool ivy caps - their frozen breath somehow visible. The stadium holds less than 20,000 and until recently half that before modernising for the Premier League, where the squad is a sound middle-player. Frank shows Eitan the coaches box - pictured - and indicates where the players sit when out of action. Eitan gushes as he considers Sol Cambell (Portsmouth captain and England player), Peter Crouch and David James (Portsmouth and England goalie). I did not have to ask twice for this photo.

Sonnet and I to visit Bath last night for Dave and Tabitha's Twelth Night party, which we have attend nine years in a row. Unfortunately we cannot quite make the logistics work as our nanny remains in Italy for the holidays so Sonnet must go by herself- boo hoo for me missing both the party and a 5-star nearby hotel. Still, I love having the Shakespeares to myself and yesterday I pick them up from school with their pal Jackson and we head to the common for football despite the sub-freezing weather. Eitan, as usual, insists on shorts and light fair while Madeleine wises up and puts on tights. Jackson no dummy and bundles himself with a very large winter-parka. Everybody tired in the end and we hit the hay at 7PM, including dad.

Eitan, enthusiastically, this morning 5:45Am: "Dad! You have to wake up at 7AM!"

Madeleine spells 'cross': "C.. R.. O.. S.. . . . .K?"

Madeleine does her homework: "Math, math, math! That is all I ever do around here!"

On Water

The tide is out and we explore a bog, which is remarkably clean. I think about the Thames which was so foul that by 1858 sittings at the House of Commons, next to the river, had to be abandoned. Covering the windows with carpet, which was a defense, could not stop le stink. By the middle of 19th Century, the rise in sewage carried into the Thames via the Fleet river killed every single fish, and consequently all the birds that lived off them. London had 70,000 houses of which only 17,000 had their own wells; the rest relied on standpipes- one for every 20 to 30 houses- which supplied water for one hour only, three days a week. Few houses had bathrooms and even when Queen Victoria moved into Buckingham Palace, she found no bathrooms. (as late as 1908, Downing Street had no bathrooms BTW). All of Victorian London's waste and toxic water passed into the river, you see. Public bathhouses were popular which is an unimaginable horror - I am made squeemish by the old, over-chlorinated swimming pools. A series of cholera outbreaks in the 1840s and 1850s paved the way for a system of sewers built with the main outfall at Becton and Crossness, away from the central areas and leading to a dramatic drop in death rates (from 130 down to 37 per 1000). The first filtration plant for the Thames was built in 1869. As a further precaution, the Victoria, Albert and Chelsea embankments were built to speed the river and get rid of the putrid mud. The Victorians used the momentum to build further under London with the Underground railway and more sewers.

And here we are today using practically the same system. Improvements do happen though. Take our area Richmond: Thames Water is redoing all the clay-pipes at once, modernising with plastic and bendy fixtures attaching each and everyone's house. God only knows the cost but I am fascinated by the workmanship, which marches block-by-block through the neighborhood tearing up concrete roads and sidewalks, digging ever-deeper ditches and snaking tubes. For a while the kids and I would try to understand the process but soon its commonplace grew boring. This work happening everywhere in London BTW and long-overdue: Thames Water loses >2 billion gallons a day.

Sunset In Bosham

Last week I capture the sunset while we otherwise goof around in the small charming village of Bosham (pop. 2847) which was founded by the Romans who built a Mill Stream as there was no fresh water otherwise. The Mill Stream still exists and runs by the parish, which is mentioned by name in the Bayeux Tapestry, referring to the 1064 meeting of Harold and Edward the Confessor on the way to meet William of Normandy to discuss who would succeed Edward to the throne. I repeat the words below as I know they are of interest to Silver:

    "Ubi Harold Dux Anglorum et sui milites equitant ad Bosham"
    (Where Harold, Earl of the English, and his army ride to Bosham)

Eitan finds a group of kids playing football and shyly watches the action. I prompt him to join and he does, reluctantly, and then fully embraced by the kids and their dads who are working off some holiday glut (this Dad chooses to watch). Madeleine is more interested in the swans, ducks and sea gulls which I learn are becoming a menace in the UK since they are A) aggressive and B) well-fed thanks to the refuse. But why be a spoiler? Madeleine's loaf of stale bread goes a long way towards her popularity while Sonnet resists every instinct to bark: "Not so close to the edge!"
Speaking of the edge, the solar system is orbiting the centre of the Milky Way at a giddy 600,000 MPH or 100,000 MPH faster than the experts thought (reported in today's Popular Science). Astronomers have discovered that the Milky Way's mass is 50% greater, equal to the neighbouring Andromeda galaxy, which means there is an even liklier chance of our Milky Way colliding with other galaxies. As though we don't have enough to worry about.
What is equally interesting (to me, anyway) is how they measure such things: the American Astronomical Society in California first directed the Very Long Baseline Array radio telescope at some of the most prolific star-forming regions.
Because these areas have enhanced levels of radio emission, they act as "bright landmarks." Next they observe them when the Earth is at opposite sides of its sun-orbit, allowing astronomers to measure the slight shift in position between the star-forming regions and other distant objects. From there, measurements use the traditional surveyor's triangulation method, which I recall from Mr Griffon's tenth grade geometry.

Cool! (Mr Griffon was a terrific crotchety old man and a fabulous teacher. I needed an "A" on the final-exam to pull an "A" in the class. He handed me my result and winked: "You did it, kid. Nice job." Sadly, he died the year I left for college).

Belloc

NB I will post family pics tomorrow.

Eitan forgets his holiday homework, which includes (amongst other things) memorising Hilaire Belloc. Sonnet talks to a mum to get the assignment and Eitan pulls himself away from Manchester United vs. Southampton in a FA Cup qualifier to do his work. Remarkably, he knows the poem almost entirely from several readings - Madeleine and I watch his recital at the dining-room table, me with my mouth open:

"There was a Boy whose name was Jim;
His Friends were very good to him.
They gave him Tea, and Cakes, and Jam,
And slices of delicious Ham,
And Chocolate with pink insideAnd little Tricycles to ride,
And read him Stories through and through,
And even took him to the Zoo-
But there it was the dreadful Fate
Befell him, which I now relate.

"You know--or at least you ought to know
For I have often told you so--
That Children never are allowed
To leave their Nurses in a Crowd;
Now this was Jim's especial Foible,
He ran away when he was able,
And on this inauspicious day
He slipped his hand and ran away!

"He hadn't gone a yard when--Bang!
With open Jaws, a lion sprang,
And hungrily began to eat
The Boy: beginning at his feet.
Now, just imagine how it feels
When first your toes and then your heels,
And then by gradual degrees,
Your shins and ankles, calves and knees,
Are slowly eaten, bit by bit.
No wonder Jim detested it!
No wonder that he shouted "Hi!"

"The Honest Keeper heard his cry,
Though very fat he almost ran
To help the little gentleman.
"Ponto!" he ordered as he came
(For Ponto was the Lion's name),
"Ponto!" he cried, with angry Frown,
"Let go, Sir! Down, Sir! Put it down!"
The Lion made a sudden stop,
He let the Dainty Morsel drop,
And slunk reluctant to his Cage,
Snarling with Disappointed Rage.
But when he bent him over Jim,
The Honest Keeper's Eyes were dim.
The Lion having reached his Head,
The Miserable Boy was dead!

"When Nurse informed his Parents, they
Were more Concerned than I can say:--
His Mother, as She dried her eyes,
Said, "Well--it gives me no surprise,
He would not do as he was told!"
His Father, who was self-controlled,
Bade all the children round attend
To James's miserable end,
And always keep a-hold of Nurse
For fear of finding something worse."

Belloc (b. 1870- 1953) BTW was a French-born writer and historian who became a naturalised British subject in 1902. He was one of the most prolific writers in England during the early twentieth century. He is most notable for his Roman Catholic faith, which impacted most of his writing.

On Pizza

And here we are in 2009.

Any thought that the British recession might somehow lead to a healthier lifestyle gets an early knock: Domino's takeaway pizza is on the expansion as consumers down-grade from fancier restaurants or, more likely, stay at home watching T.V. The company's Q4, which will be announced this week, is expected to be strong following a 10.5% sales-increase for the first nine months of '08. Go England. Domino's, as all fast-food here, comes from America where it originated in 1960. For Britain, the joy commenced trading in '85 with the first store in Luton (a ghastly spot BTW offering a no-frills airport for the worst low-fare holiday-makers). By 2002 there were >200 Domino's in the UK and now there are >500. It astounds me that these Brits choose fast-food when there are better and more enjoyable alternatives - in our neighborhood, Basilico's delivers some of the best pizza I have eaten, excluding Naples Italy (Katie and I confirmed that firstly in '92). My uncle Larry (HBS '73) has a business school friend Dave D. who attended Harvard with one ambition: bring England pizza. And he did - by the time Dave sold his franchise to The Daily Mail & Trust, who was pursuing a diversified corporate portfolio strategy stupidly popular in the 1980s, he owned >100 restaurants. I met Dave several years ago in London where he retains a strategic role with DM&T and otherwise retired. I recall his retelling of his life's work and though he made his fortune in the '80s, which doesn't seem to far ago to me, he described it from another lifetime. I guess that is what happens. Well, in any case: there is no slowing Dominoes - the UK master franchise owns the right to sell signature pies like "Mighty Meaty" and "Texas BBQ" as well as the "cheesy double-stuffed crust." Could you ever bet against it?

Madeleine's all-time favorite food: pepperoni pizza.

Eitan's favorite pizza: La Reine at chain Pizza Express (Prosciutto ham, olives and mushrooms).

Dad's favorite: Salami at Pierro's Pizza on Shattuck Avenue in Berkeley across from the UA Theatre (about ten-minutes from Chez Panisse). Pizza served in dark room on red checkered tables with ancient droopy candles+blue cheese salad having more dressing than lettuce. Sadly Pierro's closed maybe eight-years ago having opened in '73. For me, an irreplaceable Berkeley institution.

Meat pizza uncredited from the www.

Until '09

Sonnet and I take down the Christmas tree which goes to recycling this morning. Officially we are the second BTW. We shortly head for Sussex nearby the Goodwood estate where we will bottle up for a week+the New Year. We will stay at a country house (think green, rolling hills, sheep) and not too far from the sea. As we are without wireless I will not be taking my notebook. Hooray. So an old-school break - hmmm, wonder how we will fair? Sonnet has packed food as though for survival while we have our hiking gear and other exercise kit to boot - I understand there is a swimming pool in nearby quaint town Chichester and I plan to work out the Shakespeares. Madeleine meanwhile has her Kumon and is something like two weeks behind, poor her. To family and friends and anybody reading: Happy New Year and see you for 2009, when I will start blogging again, or before. Photo by Chris Hammerton.

Boxing Day

Boxing Day dates back centuries when it was the custom for the Commonwealth's richest to give gifts to their employees or people in a lower class, most especially to household servants and other service personnel. Here in ye Olde England, a more recent tradition is the Premiership which plays a full programme of matches - sorta like Detroit on Thanksgiving only our teams better to watch. This year's Bank Holiday is closely observed as the High Street is feared to go into the toilet thanks to the recession. All stores are discounting and attract they do: Oxford Street expects footfall at >half a million. Eitan and I brave the zoo (Madeleine recovers from last night) and we park the car at Hammersmith then wisely tube to Piccadilly Circus. In two words: mad house. Eitan is hell-bent on an official Premier League football at Lillywhites, the largest sport's store in London and blessed by HRH. We claw our way to the second level then push through Russians loading up on branded gear (it is always the Russians). We score and head for China Town and dim sum then more stores and more crowds.

I admit to struggling a bit with Eitan around a conversation - it is tough to get inside an eight year old who is otherwise inclined to keep things private or assumes I know already or finds it too much work to share. Our discussions, which I try not to force, concentrate on school pals, teachers, sports and football (of course) which gets his fullest reaction. I tell him anecdotes some hit and others don't. I am dead proud to take this handsome little kid around Mayfair but for him it is mostly work (I remember this age for sure) - he would rather practice his football and in fact cries hard tears realising the early sunset will keep us from the common. I feel bad and allow him to buy a DVD ("Kung Fu Panda - "an easy choice" he says - "It is my favorite") and we head home in better sorts.

I just do not get the (credit-card) spending and buzziness I see today. In one of the gloomiest reports yet for the UK’s finances, the Centre for Economics and Business Research (CEBR) predicts that the British economy could shrink >2.5% in 2009 as bank lending continues to stagnate and business investment slashed. That would be the biggest slump since '46 when the UK was wrestling with both a freezing winter and the effects of mass demobilisation after the Second World War.

Gordon MacRae And A Correction

"Oklahoma," which remains on my mind, gave us many great songs and Gordon MacRae - the fabulous singer and gayest cowboy on film. Ever. Period. The movie starts with MacRae's character clopping on his white horse singing "Oh What A Beautiful Mornin" in a bright tangerine red shirt and silk neck handkerchief. His gun holster hangs suggestively and his pants packed. Tight. Sonnet and I love it. Anyway, I am prompted to re-visit the opening song because Moe corrects me that "When I awakened you and Katie early in the morning for swimming I always said 'It's Uppy, Uppy Time' and "It was only when we shortly thereafter arrived at the King Pool (early, of course,) that I broke out in the refrain, 'Oh what a beautiful morning, oh what a beautiful day, I got etc.' To be fair, I only imposed this on the two of you on the bleakest, darkest, rainy, windy and miserable days, as we collectively waited for the pool to open. This effort at pleasantry on my part was also, I am afraid, not fully appreciated by you or Katie." Ah yes - it somehow feels like yesterday.

Eitan indignantly to me: "You always get to do what you want to do. Watch TV. Go into town. Eat a taco."
Me: "Eat a taco?"
Eitan: "Yeah, or whatever."

Ze Rat

Eitan and I go for a walk and, given that we are up all night with Madeleine's stomach bug, I ask him: "do you know the difference between a bacteria and virus?" He looks at me quizzically so I try to explain but stumble. Here is the answer: "The differences between viruses and bacteria are numerous. "Viruses are the smallest and simplest life form known. They are 10 to 100 times smaller than bacteria. The biggest difference between viruses and bacteria is that viruses must have a living host - like a plant or animal - to multiply, while most bacteria can grow on non-living surfaces.

"Also, unlike bacteria, which attack the body like soldiers mounting a pitched battle, viruses are guerrilla fighters. They don't attack so much as infiltrate. They literally invade human cells and turn the cell's genetic material from its normal function to producing the virus itself.

In addition, bacteria carry all the machinery needed for their growth and multiplication, while viruses carry mainly information - for example, DNA or RNA, packaged in a protein and/or membranous coat. Viruses harness the host cell's machinery to reproduce. In a sense, viruses are not truly "living," but are essentially information (DNA or RNA) that float around until they encounter a suitable living host." Well, this is more information than any of us need so suffice it to say Sonnet and I comfort Madeleine and make sure she feels loved and looked after- it is traumatising for the poor child, no doubt. No they watch "Ratatouille" a movie about a rat who becomes a chef, allow me to say en francais, "ze raht is in ze kitchen." Try it- guaranteed addictive. Photo from Disney.

Buddy 93 Scores!

We walk in the Isabella Plantation after "My Fair Lady" and "Oklahoma" where I am surprised to know every single song despite having never seen the Rogers and Hammerstein before. The song I know best is the opening ballad "Oh What A Beautiful Morning" which Moe sang every morning at 5:30AM waking me and Katie for swim-practice. Thank you Moe. Richmond Park is otherwise shut-down for the winter and the gardens mostly out of bloom excluding a small number of winter flowers and shrubs. Madeleine brings along yet-to-be-named Buddy number 93 who we can see here going for a strike on goal. From Richmond Eitan begs me for more football so we conclude at Sheen Common for pick-up. Madeleine earns 15 quid BTW catching me or doing various exercises - the money makes it exciting for both of us and probably not a good plan but hey, whatever motivates. Meanwhile Karen and Andrew arrive with two of their three goosing Christmas gifts like an electric scooter (Jackson) and new bike (Lauren). Jackson is a fleet foot and we play sides until the sun is well-set, though Eitan enters a huff about leaving. The kid would play 24/7 if he could.

Madeleine and I leave the common, which is dark and rather spooky. Me to her: "If you don't hurry up - ghosts."
Madeleine: "No such thing as ghosts, Dad."
Me: "Of course there are."
Madeleine, matter of factly: "There aren't. I know."
Me: "Well, do you believe in Santa Claus?"
She: "Of course I do." Long pause. "And he is not a ghost."

Sweetie Pie

Sweetie Pie takes one for the team - here she is with mom. Katie, too, spends Christmas Eve and Day in Berkeley and sends me this and other cat photos.

Erik, who is from Michigan, and I have a lengthy discussion about the auto-bail-out and generally I have not been for it. After Erik, I feel somewhat differently - sure, Detroit has done some stupid things and not changed with the times. For instance, Ford, GM and Chrysler sued California and Arnold Schwarzenegger for raising minimum efficiency in California to 22 MPG by 2016. They won, instantly ceding the world's largest car market China which today requires >40 MPG. Further we know the UAW has been as difficult partner and unwilling (or able) to cede compensation to compete with the nips who are younger, better run and with less legacy. But then there is this: Wall Street gets >$700 billion for outright fraud while anybody paid excessive bonuses through 2006 while devising a house of destruction have ripped off the country. And worse- many of these bastards are getting bonused this year with our bail-out money. And most of the same bonusing institutions are paying dividends in '08 from our taxes (Lehman's Fuld over last five years: >$200 million, most cashed out). Get real. Detroit employs >1 million Americans, who work damn hard, and probably another two million indirectly. On average, their cost is $70 per hour (vs. $40 for the Japanese) and a yearly wage may be $60K. This is well over America's per capita income but certainly no lavish lifestyle. Worse, many foreign autos with plants in the United States have been subsidized to be in the US'A with tax breaks and other incentives. For Washington (and mostly the Republicans) to kiss off the country's most important manufacturing companies, nor provide support for auto-purchase financing via GMAC or others, while directly supporting foreigners and the Wall Street rip off is a fiasco. And should we be surprised with Paulson, the former CEO of Goldman Sachs humping the dog? He and Bush - heck of a job. Erik wonders why Michigan doesn't break away from the Union and join Canada. Preposterous but then... perhaps not so.

On December 21 interviews, Cheney notes that FDR and Lincoln did things far worse than he and the Bush Administration's over-reach regarding the U.S. Constitution and things like torture during a war-time. May I point out that FDR imprisoned Japanese Americans while Lincoln suspended habeous corpus when civilians demanded protection from arbitrary arrest and the right to protest the conduct of the Civil War? These are some of the darkest moments in American history so way to set the bar Dick. I congratulate you.

.

Sonnet ponders choosing a football team in the Premier League.
Sonnet: "Maybe it will be West Brom (worst in the league). They could use some support."
Eitan: "Are you crazy? It will take them ages. How about Liverpool? or Arsenal?" (interestingly not Man U which is maybe too personal somehow?)
Madeleine: "How about that team that has that guy?"
Eitan: "That's Manchester United. And you mean Cristiano Rinaldo."
Sonnet: "Well maybe I'll go with Arsenal - that's dad's team."
Eitan: "That is a strange way to choose a team."

Jolly Merry

Eitan and Madeleine arise at 6AM and race into our room - presents! I tell them to go downstairs and watch cartoons or whatever. We agree to join them in 45 minutes. Groan. Sonnet is up and and about and soon we are sitting before a fire and the kids squealing with delight: "A Manchester United calendar! Just what I always wanted - I can't wait for January!" and "A Manchester United travel kit! And a Cristiano Rinaldo comforter!" and Madeleine: "Another buddy - that makes 93!" and "Coloring books! and an artist kit!" (I get Sonnet a music player which I load with my favorite songs and some opera too). We listen to Diane's "A Merry Little Christmas" where she sings the classics like "Santa Baby," "I'll Be Home For Christmas," and "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus" (Diane, who has a wonderful, rich voice, made the CD with proceeds going to the Miracle Kids in Northeastern, PA). After breakfast Sonnet now reads the kids Harry P and we will soon go to the park for an afternoon stroll to burn off some energy and prepare indoor movies and such activities. London is appropriately grey and a cold-front moves in adding to the "festive season." I would venture the good majority of houses in our area have lights, trees and holiday wreaths on their door. Thank you to our family and worldly friends who have sent us and the kids presents, holiday cards and love and warm wishes. Thank you!

Painting of Chelsea and the Battersea Bridge by Doug Myers.

"Ho! Ho! Ho!"
Santa

Duck

Madeleine's no dummy and she ducks (ar ar) when I ask her if she wants to join me to pick up the Christmas bird. Like last year and the year before, the line stretches down the block and it takes >2 hours before we get into the butchers. We are rewarded happily with an 11 pounder (on reserve) plus all sorts of gore like bacon, sausage and mince meat. Eitan and I eye the saw and various knives assembled on the cutting board, which has soaked up blood. The British do know their meats. Standing in line I say hello to the neighborhood as we are all in the same place. Eitan amuses himself with some sprints then gets board then practices some maths then gets bored again then reads the sports pages and bored and so it goes. Now I blog when I should be exercising or something. Or focused on the kiddos so I will jump off. Merry Christmas!

Me to Madeleine: "Do you think Santa is fat?"
Madeleine: "Dad! Don't even say such a thing! Of course he's not!"
Me: "Ok but he is definitely chubby."
Madeleine: "Stop it! He'll hear you!"
Eitan: "Well, maybe not fat but jolly. He is definitely jolly."

Me: "And those elves are pretty skinny. Do you think they eat much?"
Madeleine gives me the evil eye.
Eitan: "They are not skinny. They are just small. They're just elves, Dad."
Madeleine: "Maybe we can leave them some food with Santa."

Christmas Cheek

The perfect bottom we all work so hard for. This one greets visitors (actually the more interesting side greets visitors). Today is Christmas Eve so not surprsingly the kids barge into our room at around 6AM, which is unfortunate because I "indulged" last night at Dukes. Tony had never been and the hotel in St James's offers the best martini in town. Of course the only one to order is vodka and we had several. Did I mention that Tony spent five years in the Navy before business school? Hmmm never wise to find this out at a cocktail lounge. Before, I spend the day with Arthur at the sciences museum- the perfect date place with him (Arthur is a Senior Engineer working on the Pentagon's missile defense shield). He's in town for some chores and his apartment, which otherwise he rents out as he lives in VA. Normally I tear through the exhibitions on my way to the planes or rocket displays but Arthur is fascinated by the early technology like lathes, steam pressures and telescopes. He ponders each joint wondering why it is useful? and this forces me along for the contemplation. I absorb (mostly) what he says, including an explanation of the first computer and a description of his fathers who had a "calculator press" before Sony took over the world. We also discuss other stuff including the necessity of a large military and techy weapons when the most threatful thing could be a van packed with fertiliser. He agrees, but also our government cannot find itself exposed to a strike without any sort of available defense. Hence Star Wars. Unfortunately for him, he finds himself retooling his program based on timing and budgets and sub-contractor budgets which change at the whim of Congress and especially this and next year. We're talking billions of dollars here. All Arthur wants to do is build or fix things, poor fellow.

From Arthur I join Erik at The Woolsley and we catch each other up before he flies to Southern California for the holidays. Unknown to me before recently, his family (Dad's side) bought up the orange groves in of Orange County starting around 1911 and today they have diversified into many areas and funded a university. From SoCal he will ride his motorcycle to Arizona which sounds pretty cool to me. And then Dukes, oh boy.

Oasis

Eitan is Liam Gallagher (ever heard of Oasis dad?). He refuses a hair-cut and I don't bother him about it nor combing his hair. It drives Sonnet nuts but a boy has to express himself somehow. Oasis BTW formed in Manchester in '91 originally by Liam and later joined by Noel. Together, they have sold >50 million records worldwide, have had eight UK number-one singles and have collected 15 NME Awards, five Brit Awards, nine Q awards and four MTV Europe awards. In February 2007, Oasis received the BRIT Award for outstanding contribution to music. Imagine being in a rock 'n roll band with your family- well, hard for the brothers and they almost broke up in 2000. While touring in Barcelona in 2000, Oasis were forced to cancel a gig when drummer Alan White's arm seized up, and the band spent the night drinking instead. Liam made a derogatory comment about Noel's then-wife Meg Mathews, and attempted to cast doubt over the legitimacy of Noel's daughter Anais, causing a scuffle. Following this, Noel declared he was quitting touring overseas altogether, and Oasis were supposed to finish the tour without him. Noel eventually returned for the Irish and British legs of the tour, which included two major shows in London. A live album of the first show, called "Familiar to Millions," was released in late 2000 to mixed reviews. I wonder if their cat fighting heard in the background? I otherwise I own all their albums.

Madeleine (sitting idly on the floor): "Would my muscles snap if I did the splits? Would my bones crack?"
Eitan ponders, then: "Would your legs break off if they are pushed down by a machine?"
Madeleine: "Oh, Eitan - I bet that would REALLY hurt."

Madeleine sees that Oliver Twist is on TV. She asks: "Is he the one who eats porridge?

Madeleine: "I have hiccups that taste like peanuts. It's disgusting."

Kids fighting in the back-seat. Eitan looks at me indignantly: "She started it. She kicked me in the head first!"

Sunday Afternoon

Here is Sonnet in front of her home away from home. My photograph taken on Exhibition Road or the Westside entrance of the V&A - note the chunks of portland stone missing. This area heavily bombed during WWII and the museum took some mighty hits. During repairments, the outside structural damage retained for us and other generations to see. Madeleine with a new "buddy."

We visit the V&A following lunch with Scott and Cindy and Tony and Suzanne, whose daughter has returned from her first semester at Penn, to great reviews (I ask Tony if he has read Tom Wolff's "I Am Charlotte Simmons" but he ducks). Scott and I met around 2000 at a Brown function, which makes sense since he is a member of the Trustees as well as being on the acquisition committee of the Rhode Island School of Design. He and I hit it off famously and Sonnet and I consider them an important friendship - last year, Scott turned 6-0 while I 40 so we celebrated our centurion with a magnum of champion. Yesterday was interesting as the kids joined the dinner-table and I am happy to report that they held it together admirably with only a few interruptions whilst trying vigilantly to use fork and knife on their meat (I wonder: are we such cannibals at home?). Scott feeds Eitan ginger cookies under the table while Madeleine searches their Chelsea house for buddies - she wants to take them. Arriving home around 5PM we are happily tired and sit around the Christmas tree searching for the Liverpool vs. Arsenal match until I remember that Eitan has been grounded from football for some reason. Oh well, almost perfect.

Obelisk

I find a strange black obelisk in the V&A courtyard at the center of the museum, which immediately brings Arthur C. Clarke to mind. In this instance, it shines various shapes, patterns and lines and draws a hypnotised audience who watch the colors dance off the wading pool. Cool. Eitan, meanwhile, could care less and in a flash has his shoes off and runs sprints on the lawn - he's been inside the museum for 20 minutes, you see. Any ways the sculpture presents no information on itself, nor am I able to find anything on the V&A's website- maybe Sonnet can help us?

The Victoria & Albert Museum really is fabulous - not your typical showing painting and antiquities, no sir. It is the world's largest museum of decorative arts and design, housing a permanent collection of over 4.5 million objects. Named after Prince Albert and Queen Victoria, it was founded in 1852, and has since grown to now cover some 12.5 acres and 145 galleries. Its collection spans 5000 years of art, from ancient times to the present day, in virtually every medium, from Europe, North America, Asia and North Africa. Sonnet has her place too and it gives me great pride to walk around the Fashion Gallery with the kids who ask questions about her displays: "Why did you pick that one, mom?" asks Madeleine looking at a pink track suit. Eitan runs past the fancy lingerie when I ask him his favorite pair of pants. Otherwise there is the "Magnificence of the Tsars" described as "the grandeur of Imperial Russia is captured in this display of the dress and uniforms of Emperors and officials of the Russian court. Starting in the 1720s with the lavishly embroidered coats and elaborately patterned silk banyans from the wardrobe of Tsar Peter II, the display spans a period of almost two centuries." I hear a lot of Russian spoken.

Scooting Along

Madeleine zips along on her wheels, a holiday gift to both kids from Natasha. I feel a tad better than the following photograph, thank goodness. Otherwise I straighten out my office for the conclusion of '08 - a good year all around. This the first time I can remember that I do not have a tail-end project or something Big to dig into for the New Year, which a reflection of the times really. Private equity, once thought to be sheltered from the financial mess due to the industry's long-term nature, is going to take it on the chin thanks the the abundence of leverage. The three components of making money from a buy-out (ie, buying out a portion of a company's shareholding; usually the majority or controlling portrion) are earnings growth, multiple expansion (for example, one buys this year for 6X cash-flow then sells next year for 7X), and debt. Well, earnings will be mired down in the recession and multiples have thanks to a direct correlation with the stock markets (private company valuations of course benchmarked to public markets and m&a). Leverage is also gone (credit crisis deary) and in fact now a considerable problem. Many deals have been done with four or five parts debt for each equity, meaning companies are under pressure to make their interest and principal payments in an economic slowdown. If they break their bank covenents, then the equity becomes nothing. Unfortunately the "perfect storm" may reach shore sometime next year and many privately owned, well known businesses will be forced to restructure in bankruptcy or disappear. In the UK, private equity is the largest employer, after government, accounting directly for >1.1 million jobs or 8% of the private sector, according to the British Venture Capital Assoc. Indirectly, these numbers are much bigger.

Self Portait I

Here is your blimied reporter getting over a cold and out with the kiddies on a cold-afternoon. It ain't pretty. I am reminded of those early parental years and occassional late nights out netting a hangover and push-stroller at some God awful hour of the morning. There was no way I was pulling a roll-over given my companion a working mother. Words unsaid: "you got yourself into this mess... " Ah, yes we have come a a long way (baby).

Reeds and Recession

Yesterday I take the Shakespeares to Richmond Park at Madeleine's request to pick reeds and grass for home-made Christmas wreaths - you know, a Martha Stewart projé and same as last year. Armed with bags and scooters, we head into the park's middle where it is agreed the best picking may be had. Sonnet uses her afternoon to attend last minute manicures and a shopping or two. The sun sets early giving us long-shadows and we reward our hard work with hot chocolate by the car-park.

The retailers are in for it this season and 375 high street brands are reported to be on the tip. This includes ten or so of the "iconic" shops which have been around forever and nobody would imagine life without. The sales, which usually begin Boxing Day have started early and many stores offer 75% mark-downs. Ouch. With the recession we will eventually lose many services held dear and shopping is only the beginning I fear. Invevitably there will be cut backs in recycling, schools maybe policing and other local council dependent activities. Britain's unemployment reached 1.87 million active-seekers last week it was announced, which excludes those who have given up looking. Radio 4 presents a spirited debate regarding students and drinking - apparently, on average, three study nights a week - given these times, Radio 4 asks, should our youngsters rather get a job or defer their studies given a family's financial duress? Yes, these are hard times with worse to come but much to be grateful for too - kids, art, and being alive. Praise Jesus, life is good.

School's Out!

The kids have their last day of school Friday leaving them with a three week break and us a lot of work to keep them entertained. But this is our pleasure. The last few days of school saw in-class movies, extra "golden-time" and parent-teacher gifts awknowledging the teacher's hard work. And they put their hearts and minds into our children - between teaching, correcting, planning and extra-curriculars like plays and football it is easily >60 hours per week. More importantly ours love their classroom and it shows both in them and Eitan and Madeleine, who feel safe, secure and challenged. This really all a parent can ask for. Eitan BTW has his mind set on St Paul's for secondary which is London's best private school for boys - it is also requires an interview and exams. The school is in our neighborhood just across the Hammersmith Bridge on the Barnes side. It is good to have goals, no doubt, and as always we encourage him to be his best. Can he perform a hat trick: St Paul's, Oxford or Ivy and Manchester United?

Eitan gives me an early Christmas card with a poem by him. They have been studying iambics and such in class and he has been interested lately in his word use+his vocabulary is really taking off. Here is what he wrote me in his card:

"Snow causing a halo over houses,
Mornings chilled and bitter cold.
Pink noses, trembling hands,
Warmth scarce because summer is band (sic),
People hastily lumbering to home,
Specles (sic) of rain scattering glasses,
Kids seeing warmth passes"

Ben Nevis

Pity the Brits, who don't have a really good mountain to fortify their self-image. This morning I listen to a BBC reporter at 300 feet altitude (it was reported) interviewing a mountain "expert" about the perils of climbing this time of year. On queue, he presents a pick-ax for "those tricky situations" noting slyly that "one must know how to use one [a pick axe] properly in an adverse situation." From there, we are told, how to use a pick axe. And crampons. The only trouble being: Ben Nevis (here, pictured with the local bus heading for the top) is our highest mountain at 1,344 meters. No doubt it is a handsome pile and lovely to walk especially in the summer-time when one can have a cup of tea at the summit (OK, this a bit rich- the summit was manned all year 'round from 1883 to 1904 while today the station remains presenting an opportunity for Starbucks. No kidding- 100,000 ascents per year- ka ching). The mountain is located at the western end of the Grampian Mountains in the Lochaber area of Scottland near Fort Williams, which Sonnet and I know all too well. We went their for Eitan's first birthday assuming the overnight Caladonian Sleeper departing London's Euston station would somehow be romantic. It wasn't. Back to Ben Nevis: I intended to hike to the top with Eitan in a toddler backpack - this despite the pouring September rain. Fortunately I somehow came to my senses (Sonnet) and we did local walks and there are some marvelous photographs of me and Sonnet in ponchos pushing about a rather confused Eitan in a water cloaked buggy. Our broadaster winds up by telling us: "be prepared for some blustery weather and whatever you do, make sure to take care if you are out in the wilderness." (Photo uncredited from the www)

Christ Church Tower

It is the holiday season and there is Jesus on the mind. Last night, Eitan and his school chums belt out holiday cheer to the pride of the parish, school and community. Sonnet, Madeleine and I arrive early to secure a front seat but the church is packed on arrival - I spot all the mums, dads, teachers and importants milling about us (something reminds me of "Dubliners") and it is indeed a lovely show: candles light the hall and the children's voices mostly in key fill the space+we are treated with descriptions of the Three Wise Men and other things I tune out. We are also entertained by a flute, recorder and trumpet recitals, which are so bad that I try hard not to laugh - not easy either during the trumpets. Sonnet and I take Eitan, flushed with his triumph, home and we watch the tail-end of a EUFA Cup qualifier while Sonnet makes a late dinner.

The tower, pictured, is located across the street from the primary and was built in 1860 in ragstone, with Ashlar dressings and plain tiled roof. It consists of chancel, nave, aisles, with an attached tower to the south-east, vestries and a new extension to the north-east. Picture by Jim Linwood.

Madeleine: "Dad, if I have to make my bed I won't be giving you a kiss."

"I know what I believe. I will continue to articulate what I believe and what I believe - I believe what I believe is right."
W., Rome, July 22, 2001

Funny Cat

I change the image of a cat's head in green fruit to this one - which is funnier I think. I was trying to find something like "chuck the cat from a window" on Google but nothing useful came up.

It turns out that laughter can ease pain and help fight disease by increasing natural killer cell activity in blood and free radical-scavenging capacity in saliva, as well as lowering levels of the stess hormone cortisole, the NHS reports. It is also thought that laughter causes the release of special neurotransmitter substances in the brain, endorphins, that help control pain. And there are more direct physical effects of laughter, including increased breathing, more oxygen us and higher heart-rate. It does make me wonder when laughing became an unusual activity - watching the playground it is clear that children laugh all the time but adults- rarely. The change, I think, between 6th and 7th grades or pre-school and Jr High - of course by the teen years nothing is funny, oh boy. Most of the time I find most things funny but it does depend on my mood. Chicken and egg perhaps?

My Top-Ten Funny Movies:
10. Play It Again Sam
9. Fast Times At Ridgmont High
8. Stripes
7. Animal House
6. Groundhog Day
5. Raising Arizona
4. There's Something About Mary
3. Clerks
2. Kingpen
1. Annie Hall

Eitan and Madeleine's Top Cartoons That I Can Remember:
Ratatouille
Over The Hedge
Madagascar I and II
Kung Fu Panda
Ice Age I and II
101 Dalmations
Lady & The Tramp
Cinderella
Monster's Inc.
Golden Compass
Magic Round About (awful)
Shrek I, II and III
Space Chimps (ghastly)
Harry Potter
Harry Potter
Harry Potter
Harry Poter

White Cap - The Pill

Here's your faithful author in his white cap. It is cold though the world continues to hot up: the BBC reports that for the first-time anyone can remember there is no snow in Moscow. The bears aren't hibernating and the Russians, who pride their sub-freezing climate, are worried - even Leader-For-Life Putin addresses the temperatures during yesterday's press conference: "only God can bring the cold" winks Putie, implying that even he cannot change the climate. More worrying, The Independent tells us the "Arctic melt passes the point of no return" faster than predicted and warming the world's seas. Really, with Iraq, suicide bombings, financial melt-downs, Bernard Medoff, Mombai... it does feel like things are, er, out of hand. No wonder an Iraqi journo threw a shoe at Bush calling him a dog- a very grave insult coming from an Arab. Frankly the fellow has the right idea: we all await the boot in el President's backside on his way out the door. Me, I go about my routine: wife, kids, exercise, work.

I am reminded that five years ago I met Dr Gregory Pincus at a party in Bayswater. We were invited by Sonnet's friend Vicortia who was visiting London to research the use of furniture and the use of interiors by the Bloomsbury Group which was the artistic and litterary circle of the day including Virgina Wolf and many others. Victoria was way cool and sadly we have lost touch with her. Any case, Pincus we all know is famous for his 1954 invention Enovid, which would eventually pass FDA approval to be sold as the world's first contraceptive pill. What was unusual about Pincus was that he exists at all - I mean, one does not expect to meet somebody who helped engineer the sexual revolution and all that (+ a product you know your sister, mom and friends all have used at some point egad). Pincus then was very matter of fact and up front about it all: when asked what he does, he replies "Nothing, really, but I did once invent the pill." Salut!