Edwin

Edwin, pictured, and I rendez-vous at Richmond to drive to the Wycombe Half Marathon and my first race since the London Marathon. The sky overcast and drizzly but the mood positive, if not festive - the men shout cheerfully awaiting the crapper which I avoid like the plague. Runners are a weird lot. None particularly attractive despite the billions of calories they burn for the sport. For some reason they come across as a bit dowdy. Or nerdy, like the engineers I remember from Brown. I suppose spending one's morning suffering through 13.2 miles eccentric and so attracts a certain type of dedicated heroism. Take Edwin. We met ten years ago and within days pounding away at each other at the Watson International Half Marathon. Of course we pumped each other up by down-playing our readiness and training which, we said, was woefully inadequate. I do recall we finished the course in 1:24 and neck-and-neck the whole way. I thought I was going to die the last several miles and sweet Jesus what a relief when it was over. So this is how great friendships are born and Edwin has been just that - from training runs to today, he has generally kept me on my toes and well informed about the latest best gear or running "niggles" which torment us both. He is also pretty God damn smart. Once, several years ago, we spent five-miles discussing Joseph Heller and "Catch-22" and I was tartly offended by his affrontal towards my views and suggested so. Well, it turns out that Heller was Edwin's tutor at Oxford. Doh! So today I run 1:35 without really pushing myself yet disappointed in the pace. Breaking three-hours in Berlin is going to be tough. Edwin knocks out a 1:24, no problemo.

"In a country where only men are encouraged, one must be one's own inspiration."
-- Tegla Loroupe, Kenya, 1994 New York City Marathon champion

Squash

I have several older friends who swear by squash. I can appreciate their enthusiasm given the mental stimulation behind the game's physical requirements. A smaller court and slower moving, less elastic ball mean positioning and shot-taking held to a premium. This compares to racket ball, which I once loved and played with Moe at the Bay Club or with friends at Harmon Gym, where one's ability to wack the shit outta the rubber decisive. I think about this as I need a sport for my middle age. While I love running, the injuries and frustration ad up and the training required to remain fit prohibitive. So I will do the Berlin Marathon in September, enshallah, and then - what? I am investigating masters swimming and unlike twenty years ago there a plenty of options but I am also open to racket sports. They being more enjoyable then staring down at the lane-line. Been there, oh boy. The main object of any sport post 40 I might suggest is health and grace. Having a goal of some sort increases life's enjoyment - such an obvious statement that I think twice about putting it here. Yet most of our friends in London fail take up even the most basic form of exercise and looked shocked, shocked! when I describe my preparation for Berlin. This may be an extreme but there has to be a middle ground other than the couch and TV. My shot from one of the many courts at St Pauls.

Eitan: "spell I-CUP"
Me: "I, C, U, P"
Eitan: "Ha ha - you see me peeing!"

Eitan to Aggie: "what is that willifor on your head?
Aggie: "What is a williefor?"
Eitan: "Ha ha - you don't know what a willie is for?"

Sonnet: "Eitan. You. Stop. It. Right. Now."

Currency

It's hard to decide where the dollar will be relative to the pound. This meaningful to me as I hold Euros, Stirling and bucks, which I convert from time to time here. My thinking has been something like this: the US government has borrowed its way to 13-14% of GDP, which is as high as it has ever been since the last World War. There is a lot of money that has been, and to be created by the Fed to honor its obligations - surely government's target is inflation, which takes care of a few problems like house prices and foreign debt. The Europeans watch aghast, by the way, having seen inflation's destruction. The increased money supply will weaken the green-back against foreign currencies but it is all relative, as Einstein notes, and some countries create more money then others. Britain, for instance. My Oxford genius friend Edwin points out that Britain has done a fabulous job creating jobs where none needed - establishing a rather inefficient workforce dependent on the public sector (Sonnet's V&A most assuredly a well run entity, dear reader). Britain's main economic drivers - North Sea oil and the City - have dried up. Our unfunded pensions massive against this size of the economy, which is about £2.1 trillion yet contracting 4.5% this year, according to PWC. According to Edwin, we simply don't have the industrial scale or diversification to claw our way out of Super Gee's deficit spending and so .. Stirling will take it on the chin. Property values are also questionable - I think they will continue to decline here for another three or four years after the economy recovers. The delay due to Britain's 2.4 million unemployed (and rising) who must be redeployed and accrue savings before they can buy .. this what happened in the last real recession of 1989-92: US and British housing prices reached their nadir in 1995 while Los Angeles in 1996. Still, real estate a scarce commodity and London ever popular. Edwin notes that a lot of money made in bad places ends up here legally or otherwise: "it is always London" he says. Long term this is good for us Londoners, ROW be damned.

Common Rain

Yes, rain on the common. I suppose we need the water as things parched BUT recalling the last two Augusts we don't need too much water, Dear God. With climate change, the top of the summer has also become the wettest though fortunately for us, we are usually out of the country for most of July and August. Not this year, so fingers crossed. But the Brits love their weather, don't they, and what's a little rain among friends? As I always say with a knowing wink: "we chose to live here."

Meanwhile Sonnet gives Oriel a hand at today's Fashion In Motion, which show-cases Giles Deacon. Deacon a British fashion designer from Cumbria who studied at the prestigious Central St Martins College of Art with designers Alexander McQueen (Givenchy) and Luella Barley (Luella) and his girlfriend Katie Grand, an influential stylist. After uni, Deacon worked for Jean-Charles de Castelbajac, Bottega Veneta, Gucci and Louis Vuitton before starting his own label, Giles, in 2003. He was named British Fashion Designer of the year in '06 at the British Fashion Awards (former recipients are John Galliano and Vivienne Westwood). Deacon has made some serious money working for high street store New Look with model-of-the-moment Agyness Deyn and Drew Barrymore advertising his trendy girls range. In '08, he did menswear, but I find it a bit too gay even for my tastes, a self-proclaimed metro-sexual. Sonnet says the four shows packed and while these things always an ordeal to arrange, they net great publicity for her fashion department and the museum. Nice to recall that Fashion In Motion began some six years ago as a simple stroll through the statue gallery by well oiled girls showing off Stella.

Eitan on the summer holiday: "Oh, God, it is going to be so boring."

Bugs And Teens

Here we are at school. Yesterday Madeleine and Billy join up post Kumon at Palewell Park to hunt bugs. Sonnet brings a picnic blanket and food for a lazy afternoon. I use some time to run laps around the common at a hard clip; a gaggle of teen-agers loaf while listening to Michael Jackson; they watch me suspiciously. On my last loop, one has the temerity to remark: "you go, dad." What's more interesting to me is the body language of the group - girls under dressed despite school clothes; boys dorky and awkward. Lots of posturing. I can see this a mile away. Kids same everywhere. Meanwhile, back on the picnic blanket, the insect enthusiasts make a little bug home inside a match box complete with leaves and grass for their captured lady birds. They cup inside their bowled hands creepy crawlers that make Sonnet a tad uncomfortable ("put those down now!"); Madeleine concentrates on an ant: "Don't crush it, Dad! He's a living thing too!"

Eitan: "what other choices did you have for my name when you named me?"
Me: "Oscar, Jake, Michael, Pickles, Potato head."
Eitan: "I do not believe the last one!"
Madeleine: "How about me?"
Me: "Gooseberry"
Madeleine: "Dad! That is not funny! Just be serious!"
Me: "Gooseberry Orenstein - it really has a ring to it, don't you think?"
Madeleine: "I am most definitely never talking to you again."

Madeleine: "Can we go to France, please please please?"
Me: "Let me think about it."
Madeleine: "Pleeaaaase"
Me: "You can let me think about it or the answer is no."
Madeleine: "Ok (pause) but if we do go when would it be?"

School's Out

Today, Friday, is the last day of the school year and just like that I own a fourth and a third grader. More shockingly, Eitan and Madeleine are half way done with primary school - how did that happen? The last few nights there have been drinks parties for the classes and a going away drinks for head-teacher Ms. England, who leaves us for a year to pursue an administrative role higher up the educational food-chain. She is good, and I do hope we have her back. The kids know their fall-term teachers, who seem good though Madeleine's all of 22. This does not make me too happy since Madeleine has had three teachers this year following Ms X's maternity-leave from December. But all that is for later and today the campus buzzy as the kids stream out from their class rooms hooting and hollering at their good luck: vacation! Some go to Ireland, others Moldavia or Australia; France and Portugal also popular and of course the US. We will sit tight this summer conserving pennies and, we hope, moving into a new house. Plus we saw family for Diane's wedding. From the pick-up we head to the Sheen Common for the traditional last-day picnic and once the lawns filled with mums and blankets, food and wine it .. rains. Been here before, oh boy, and the kids don't mind - I have to grab the rats by the ear to drag them from their friends. Now they sit in front of the boob-tube watching Harry P before swim practice in a couple hours. Ah, Friday.

European Parliament

In Brussels I have a free moment so I visit the European Union - my picture of the Espace Leopold complex which is one of two EU meeting places (the other in Strasbourg, France which owns twelve-four day plenary sessions a year). Leopold serves for committee meetings, political groups and complementary plenary sessions. Having two spots seems silly when one considers A) the cost of relocating staff offices for each session; and B) I pay for it. But this a small grumble against the grand representation of our European ideals, which are founded on four treaties of necessity and brotherhood: European Coal and Steel (1952); European Economic Community (1957); European Atomic Energy; and the European Union (1992 and ongoing). The EU's success owes a lot to the unusual way it works - unusual because the countries that make up the EU ('member states') remain independent sovereign nations but pool their sovereignty in order to gain a strength and world influence none of them could have on their own. This stops short of being a federation, like the US, but is much more than an organisation for cooperation between governments, like the United Nations. This means, in practice, that the member states delegate some of their decision0making powers to shared institutions they have created, so that decisions on specific matters of joint interest can be made democratically at European level. I won't go into the requirements of being in the club, but generally members must adhere to strict economic ratios which allow the common currency and subscribe to a set of values, watered down so everybody can participate excluding Turkey. Who, coincidentally, is Muslim. On the building, I admit to finding it sterile, overbearing and even mean-spirited; efficient comes to mind and London's Broadgate or NY's Midtown have similar glass-steel structures that scream "power" and its little brother "arrogance." But again, the EU is one of the world's great institutions and on a nice day I reflect on its importance rather than the architecture.

“They [black children] might think they’ve got a pretty jump shot or a pretty good flow, but our kids can’t all aspire to be LeBron or Lil Wayne. I want them aspiring to be scientists and engineers, doctors and teachers, not just ballers and rappers. I want them aspiring to be a Supreme Court justice. I want them aspiring to be president of the United States of America.”
-- Barack Obama, 16/7/2009

Older fellow watches Madeleine jump from a seven foot fence into some mud: "That is not very lady-like."
Madeleine: "I am not a lady."

Goldman's Bonus

This object from the Whitechapel gallery before a security guard told me to put a cap on my camera. I cannot say the artist, which is a shame since I like the design.

Gary Pucknell, a 28 year-old London black cab driver, killed himself the other day when he tied a rope around his neck and the other end to a lamp post and drove off. His body found in his cab at a petrol station in Southwark. Maybe he suffered the injustice of Goldman Sachs, who is set to bonus themselves the most ever in their 140 year history; this after getting bailed out twelve months ago. Don't get me wrong - I am totally impressed by Goldman's numbers (Q2 profits of $3.44 billion) and all for pay-for-performance. Others could have taken taken similar risks and reaped similar rewards presumably. But they lacked the nerve, capital or brains. Others could have played the US government the way Goldman has, pressing for bailout money and cheap credit (ex-Goldman Chief Exec and Bush's Secretary of the Treasury Hank Paulson - insider? Nah.) But nobody did nor with such verve and panache. Goldman did this while reducing their leverage by half, borrowing $14 for every $1 invested, down from $28 a year ago. No wonder they are kicking the sand on the beach and picking up the pretty girls. The problem, though, is this: Goldman is in business thanks to the Treasury who served as a multi-billion dollar back-stop to their risk taking. They went out on the plank knowing Uncle Sam would bail their ass should things go wrong (thank you, Hank). Then, once successful, they repaid the TARP as quickly as can be to bonus their people who otherwise can't take rewards while owing the government. There is a reason your bank doesn't want you to pre-pay the mortgage (or charges a penalty if you do). Government supports Goldman while ordinary Joes like Gary must wait years for help. This does not make Goldman popular but, hey, I couldn't get a job there after college and business school so these may just be sour grapes. Bastards. But clever bastards they are.

Eitan to me this morning: "You have very hairy under-arms, my friend."

Bentford

Eitan's Kew Park Rangers in action Saturday, and Eitan (No. 7) selected team captain by his coach and team mates (you can see the band on his upper left arm). Coach tells me that Eitan shares the ball and always trying to set up the strike instead of taking it for himself. I note that while all the boys goofing or distracted, Eitan is steely eyed and quiet. I think they respect his seriousness. Most likely he will remain captain for the season which begins in the fall. Note, dear reader, his yellow boots. The morning off with a blast as KPR defeat their first opponents 6-nil; they then lose to Fulham 1-0, but encouraging since this the best team on the pitch. We then lose concentration and flub the last match 5-2. The boys have come along since their early days together and now look like, well, a team. They know their spots, pass the ball and share any glory. Coach gets them ice cream and I have to pry the Boy away for home.

Italy Vs. England

I have hundreds of photos of Eitan and Madeleine stuffing their little faces at McDonald's. Who can deny them?

You know it is getting dire when the Italians compare themselves favourably to us, as national paper Il Giornale did yesterday (Giornale owned by Silvio Berlusconi, so this his view to, presumably). The sad thing is, on many comparables the basket-case Italians fair well: in politics, Gordon Brown collapsed and the labour model in crisis while Italy has upheld the G8 and Silvio polls well; the British economy dire and the the City/ housing market gone bust while the Italian state has not had to bail out one single bank (hard to believe, really); Britain’s Savile Row a memory of its former self while “Made in Italy” the world’s leading brand in fashion; Industry – Britain has lost many of its world leading companies while Italy punches with Fiat; Crime - Britain the most drunk, yobbish and violent people in Europe while Italy nary a fuss if we exclude the mafia who at least seem polite. And where it hurts most: Football. Yes, as inventors of the beautiful game we must pin our hopes on .. Fabio Capello, an Italian, who was recruited to head the English team despite barely speaking English. Of course what Il Giornale fails to suggest is that the British economy, fuelled by London’s southeast and low taxes has been a miracle since Thatcher pulling the country from third-world status (1978 IMF loans) to today, the fourth wealthiest in the world. And while our politics messy and scandal prone, at least our PM not sticking his grubby fingers down some young lady's panties. Plus we have Wills. It’s hard not to be upset about the football though – we have the best league in the world with most of the world’s global stars yet our boys can’t bring us a cup. Shameful, really.

Melt Down

California is having a moment. Due to political extremes (Democrats refuse to budge on program cuts, Republicans taxes) the state has a budget deficit of $26.3 billion on revenues of $113 billion. Its total outstanding obligations: $59 billion in general debt, $8 billion in bonds linked to securitised revenues and $2 billion in commerical paper. While all this sounds like a heck uv a lot of money, Brownie, the deficit (the important figure since California, like most states, has a balanced budget rule) is 1.5% of state GDP. This compares to Federal Governments deficit of 14-15% to US GDP (for context, the federal deficit greater than the entire California economy which is the fifth largest in the world at over $1.8T). So, the budget must be balanced somehow. And worse for Californians, the state pain piled on top of its contribution to correcting the Federal public finances. It's kinda like going to the dentist for a cavity and getting a root canal. So we watch the train light in the black tunnel.. closer and closer it comes. Choo choo! As an interium measure, Sacramento has issued IOUs which, for now, accepted by banks but when this ends, and it will, everything will .. stop. Teachers will won't teach; cops will be off the beat; fire fighters won't fight fires; garbage collectors won't take the garbabe and so on and so forth.

So what will happen? It is my great hope that Washington D.C. preparing to take over the state. Seriously. In return for bailing out California, Californians will no longer have control over their destiny until they get their house in order. This is what we do to Third World countries who approach us or the UNDP with their bowl facing up. Why should the Golden State be different? A further condition is to remove the stupidity of "propositions" or single-issue referenda on anything including budgertary matters. This alone has made the state ungovernable even with a popular muscle man like Schwarzenegger. California, and our country too, has acted like a teen-ager with too many credit cards and no parental control. This will correct somehow, of this we can be sure, and so we must ask ourselves yet again: will it be a soft landing or something far worse?

Self Portrait X

My Senior Year - pictured - with flat-top anticipating the Northcoast Swimming Championships, where I placed 4th in the 500 yard freestyle and 6th in the 200. I should have won the 500 and so just one of those things I must look back on and .. what? If I had swum to my ability, I would have taken Todd Skow, who owns top honor.

I marvel at John McCain who defends Sarah Palin, the non-quitter quitter. When asked point-blank on Meet The Press re her failure as Governor, notes McCain: “I don’t think she quit. I don’t know if there was a quote promise [to the people of Alaska to continue serving as Governor]. But I do know that she will be an effective player on the national stage.” Oh brother - only if she takes some Tylenol for that time of the month. And further, McC says Palin’s resignation consistent with his qualities of leadership, because she made the decision that “she can be most effective by stepping down, and she did.” What horse shit. Clearly McCain is damned if he does and damned if he doesn't - stating the obvious (Palin quit! Not ready for the White House) - would reflect horribly on him and the five minutes he spent with Palin before selecting her for his VP. By not stating the obvious ... well, he looks like an idiot. The guy has earned his stripes and on the backside of his political career so why not be the fellow we all know is a hero and who we cheered for during much of his career. Bunk.

Lawyers overseeing the liquidation of Bernard Madoff's estate and former business have filed a preliminary request with the bankruptcy court for $14.7 million in fees and expenses for their work through the end of April. This reminds me of something a wise man once told me: "to make money, you must be near money."

Here's another one to ponder: Last year, UK consumers took home 9.9 billion plastic bags which each take 500 to 1000 years to degrade. Susan Kramer of Richmond Park and my MP asks me to cut back.

"Only dead fish go with the flow."
--Former Governor of Alaska, Sarah Palin

Ürümqi

'97 photo of a Wise Man taken in Kashgar, an oasis town on the silk road in Central Asia and sited west of the Taklamakan Desert. It is famous for being the world's oldest open market dating back hundreds of years. From Kashgar I went to Ürümqi.

Ürümqi, sadly, has been in the news this month for ethnic violence which began 5 July with riots including about 3,000 Uyghurs. The initial confrontations between police and protesters soon turned into attacks on Hans in ethnically-targeted violence; hundreds of Han people armed with makeshift weapons retaliated against police and Uyghurs. Chinese President Hu Jintao was forced to cut short his attendance of theG8 Summet and returned to China due to the situation in Xinjiang.

The July violence was part of an ongoing ethnic conflict between the Han, the largest ethnic group in China, and the Uyghurs, one of the minority groups who are Turic and mostly Muslim. These specific riots sparked by Uyghur dissatisfaction with the Chinese government's handling of the deaths of two Uygbyur workers, as part of an ethnic brawl ten days earlier in Guandong. In Ürümqi, officials report, as at today, 184 people dead with 1,680 others injured and motor vehicles and buildings destroyed. This in itself highly unusual - recall Tiananmen Square when there was a media black out. Police attempted to quell the rioters with tear gas, water hoses, armored vehicles, and roadblocks, while the government enforced a strict curfew in most urban areas. Authorities shut down Internet services and restricted cell phone services in Ürümqi.

When I visited Ürümqi, I was well aware of the tension owned by the Uyghurs towards the Hans. Uyghurs live mainly in the Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region, where they make up the largest ethnic group until a massive recent influx of Han Chinese, who now are 50% of the population, and the Uyghurs have become a minority in their homeland. Explosive. The city itself located at the base of the Tian Shan mountains and holds 2.3 million people; for this part of the world, it is fairly modernised with a heavenly 5-star Holiday Inn suggesting running water. It is the most remote city from any sea in the world or 1,400 miles from the nearest coastline ("Xianjiang" BTW means "New Frontier" and is the Chinese name of the Autonomous Region.) I recall a welcoming, curious people - I would not say "warm" or "inviting" - who were serious and striving to improve their lives. We spent five days touring factories, visiting markets and understanding this node on the Silk Road. The Chinese government has always viewed Xianjiang as a nuissance, or problem - but has never overstepped its position as in Tibet. Perhaps this why it so readily allowed foreign journalists into the area, which is against China's natural impulse to cloak its problems to the outside world. For many reasons China cannot allow this region to separate but the main one: naturals resources including minerals and gas make it one of the country's most valuable.

Coulson

We have another scandal, which I would rate about a B- or C+. This one involves ease-dropping and earlier this week, John Yates, Assistant Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, declined to investigate claims by The Guardian that "thousands" of public figures had been targeted, saying that no new information had come to light following the 2007 conviction of a reporter and private investigator working for the News of the World. Ho hum. The Met police believe that the figure is more like 75 celebrities, sportsmen and politicians who were victims of phone hacking, however questions remain as to how many more journalists at the paper were knowingly using secret information gained by illegal methods. Elle McPherson and Naomi Cambell are furious, of course, for not being included in the wire tapping. And who was the Chief Editor of the News Of The World, who was forced to resign January 26, 2007? Andy Coulson. And who, I wonder, did David Cameron select, and defend, as Director of Communications and Planning at the Conservative Party? Andy Coulson. I mean, this is the guy who made his career by asking Tony and Cheri Blair if they are members of the "mile high club" during the run up to the General Elections (I don't want anything to do with the answer). Coulson’s resignation prevented an investigation by the Press Complaints Commission, and ensured the paper's owner, Rupert Murdoch, would not have to answer difficult questions about the activities of his British newspapers at a time when he was under intense scrutiny in the US. And hence, his political entitlement. So, as far as these things go, B- or C+. Now if there was a lover in Latin America that would move it to B+ and if a gay lover, well that would be world-class work.

Photo from the Newstatesman website.

Self Portrait IX

I visit Madeleine's class room and dress up as Mr Electricty - black body, blue wig and multiple shades, though the white mask - pictured - not part of the costume. The kids are studying electricity so I review my knowledge using Wikipedia then build a story from charged atoms to Ben Franklin and the kite. I also talk about how we use energy in our every day lives and admonish the children to "never, ever take a radio, light or chord anywhere near a bath." No shit. The kids are on edge in a positive way and hands go up whenever I ask for quesetions (examples: will you disappear if hit by lightening? Does Mr Electricity take a bath? Won't he die? and so forth). Last time I was Frank Capatola, so am comfortable with the scene. I end by leading the class in some funky dancing to electro-pop beats from Zero-7. As usual, the teachers don't quite know what to make of me, but they and I enjoy ourselves and the kids.. well, they beg for my autograph (Mr Electricity, of course) and Madeleine gives me a double-thumbs up, which doesn't happen often. In fact, it never happens so I know I have scored some points.

Madeleine: "Dad, why are you bringing those glasses to school? Is that your tie? Are you going to wear it in class? What is that wig? Oh, Dad, you aren't going to wear that blue wig are you? Are you? Does the teacher say it is OK? Why do you have a swimming cap? Are you going to tell a story? Is it about electricity? Will there be goodies and baddies? Will you name the baddy Dr. Do Bad? What are you doing with that torch? Why are you bringing that big sheet to school?"

Plunge And NHS

This rather unusual shot, reminding me of a meat grinder, the second of two taken by Sonnet.

Sonnet takes Madeleine to the doctors as she may have asthma - nothing to worry about. The gp also examines the ball bearing-sized lump on her neck which caused some real concern when I first discovered it four years ago. She has never had secondary symptoms implying cancer and a brief visit to the UK's foremost children's cancer specialist dismissed the possibility entirely. Still, it is there and so we will have a further screening to be on the safe side. Madeleine, meanwhile, enjoys the books and extra attention at the NHS. So.. everybody has a horror story about public medicine here - most recently I spoke to a soccer mom who's mum, after multiple consultations in Britain, was properly diagnosed with stomach ulcers while on vacation in Spain - we have been blessed with good treatment and I have confidence in our system. The NHS works best in A) big cities where doctors see everything; B) babies (in 2002/03 we spent £2655 on births vs. the second highest category, over-84s, where it was £2639); and C) urgency. We know that waiting lists the kiss of death (literally) yet Labour has reduced times substantially: 98% of "urgent referrals" for cancer, for instance, met inside twenty-four hours (the public statistics available remarkable). The cost to us is £98 billion (2008-09). Unlike the US, we buy into the scheme via our taxes, and the focus squarely on primary or preventative treatments which (in theory) reduces odds of later stage or tertiary requirements and their costs. About 15% of Britain has complementary health insurance, including us (family of four), at £83 per month. That's a no-brainer. Compared to the US, there has been less investment in new technology,new equipment, modernisation and IT (though IT woefully inadequate everywhere). No doubt I would be more comfortable in a US hospital but the price: 18% of the US economy simply not sustainable. For now, the NHS wins.

Waterhouse

I am in town yesterday for a breakfast meeting and visit the Royal Academy afterwards to see their newest exhibition: "J.W. Waterhouse: The Modern Pre-Raphaelite" (Waterhouse's "The Lady of Shalott," 1888, pictured).

Pre-Raphaelite is confusing because there were two different and almost opposed movements, the second of which grew out of the first. The term itself originated in relation to the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, an influential group of mid-nineteenth-century avante garde painters associated with Ruskin who had great effect upon British, American, and European art. Those poets who had some connection with these artists and whose work presumably shares the characteristics of their art include Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Christina Rossetti, George Meredith, William Moris and Algernon Charles Swinburne. Waterhouse himself was born in Rome to the painters William and Isabela, but when he was five the family moved to South Kensington near the newly founded Victoria and Albert Museum. He studied painting under his father before entering the Royal Academy schools in 1870. His early works were of classical themes and exhibited at the Royal Academy, the Society of British Artists and the Dudley Gallery while he is most famous for his mid- to later works often depicted women like "The Lady of Shalott," a study of Elaine of Astolat, who dies of grief when Lancelot will not love her. By the 1880s and with le D'Orsay on my mind, the influence of impressionism seen on the Pre-Raphaelite works with broader, less accurate strokes and beige or vibrant colour.

La Naissance

I spend my day at the Musee D'Orsay on the left bank of the Seine. It used to be the railway station Gare d'Orsay which itself an impressive Beaux-Arts completed in 1900. The museum perhaps best known for its impressionisms and mon dieu it is an orgy. The fifth floor delivers the action covering Monet, Chegall, Renoir, Cezanne, Degas, Saurat, van Gogh and all the others. It is joyous. I happily recognise paintings from the National Gallery or the Courdault, which has an efficient little collection. I was particularly struck by Auguste Rodin who I know for statue most famously "the thinker." His detail like a photograph and colours masterful. A turnip in purple-grey-white with expressive green shoots; a windmail so fine I cannot for the life of me see brush-strokes. Unlike the other works, Rodin’s water colors kept behind glass and temperature cooled. I also absorb Max Ernst, whose exhibition cover various moods named to days of the week and extraordinary. They are violent, moody, mysogonistic.. they contain dandies with rooster heads spanking bare flesh or tying their muse to bloody wire. Another set repeats a sleeping women surrounded by lapping water while taylored men watch or fondle.. sometimes an oversized leech appears displaying its sucker-end. Disturbing comes to mind; nightmarish also. He was one mad fucker. Painting "La Naissance de Venus" by William Bouguereua (1825-1905)

One day I would like to plan five days to conquer the Louvre but this for the retirement era.

Meanwhile, getting to the D'Orsay I talk to my taxi driver who looks like Luc Besson: unshaven, greasy hair and soft, drooping eyes full of energy on this wonderful sunny morning. During our discussion about Paris this or that, he takes a call and his 18-year old boy has received his baccalaureate results. Evidently they are good and I wish him joy; we discuss our kids and football; life in France. It is all practice for me, and we shake hands at departure.

Notre Dame

Paris wakes up slowly, painfully, as the cigarettes light up and the street cleaners sweep the Champs Elysees where I jog towards les Jardin Tuileries (photo of ND from my mobile). 

Like any large city, Paris is a late start and the 8th arrt. recovers from July's night boulevards, which today stink of rubbish made sticky by summer heat. Much of the Champs gated for Le Tour de France which will be here inside two weeks while grandstands to welcome the heros. There are gendarmes everywhere and I nod at those in front of the US Embassy on the Place de la Concorde - somehow, they always know the tourists. Or is it too obvious? 

Yes, the ever visibile flics lend a sense of calm and orderliness as well as thuggish gestapo: always male and roughly late-20s or 30ish, I sense they would use their baton sans probleme to crack someone's head open. A "gendarme" BTW was a heavy cavalryman of noble birth, primarily serving the the French army from Europe's Late Medieval to the Early Modern periods. Their heyday was in the late fifteenth to mid sixteenth centuries, when they provided the Kings of France with a potent regular force of heavy-armoured, lance-armed cavalry which, when properly employed, dominated the battlefield. So these dudes know they are bad asses.

I am off to several museums then back to London.

On Bees And Health Care

Well, we know Madeleine not a morning person and her mood not really made better by me standing above her and taking pictures. I only snap this one, for the record.

Today I am on the Eurostar to Paris for meetings and to see friends. Same difference. I wonder why travellers talk on the phone when there is the privacy of email or SMS via smart-phone or Blackberry?Take the women in the row behind me who discusses her love affairs, which would otherwise be irritating accept that they are kind of "R" rated. Young people just don't seem to mind who's doing what and where and who knows about it. To distract myself, I read about Cyprian honeybees, who defend themselves from hornets with a mass defence that relies on heat and carbon dioxide. Seriously. When Oriental hornets (giant wasps with a powerful sting) attack, the Cyprians mob them in a huge ball that targets the breathing apparatus in the hornet's abdomen. The hornets cannot breathe without expanding their abdomens and with sheer numbers, the bees strangle the hornets to death. And check this out: Asian honeybees defend themslves against the local hornet, Vespav velutina, by 'heat balling' where a giant ball of bees piles on the hornet, weighting it down while vibrating their wing muscles furiously. The frenetic activity greatly increases the temperature inside the ball to about 46C - hot enough to cook the hornet alive. Anyway this about half as good as what I am hearing from behind me but I can't that here.

Here is something to ponder: one in every five dollars spent in America on health care. This while 50 million Americans do not have medical coverage. Tick... tick.. tick.. . .