Arsenal v Liverpool

Arsenal ties Liverpool 1-1 in the all English Champions League quarter-final last night (Roy and I catch the Big Show). The Gunners go up 1-nil in the first half but conceded the tie two minutes later. Worse, Dutch referee Pieter Vink failed to award Arsenal a second-half penalty against Liverpool's Dutch striker Dirk Kuyt - Vink, whose home town is 5 kilmotres from Kuyt, failed to spot a blatent foul five-yards from his nose. Don't think for a moment the fans let it go and, Dear Brother, I cannot recall hearing mostly respectable men shouting C--- at the top of their lungs. Of course we already know the English take their national past-time seriously from start to fisticuffs. In fact, the world's first professional soccer league was formed here in 1888 which now includes 72 clubs evenly divided among three divisions but the Championship is the one that counts: this is where the Big Boys play. Manchester United, Chelsea, Arsenal and Liverpool duke it out for glory while the bottom fear relegation to a lower division. The top teams are over-capitalised and house the world's best talent (shame our stars cannot win the World or European Cups when forced to play together). Football rakes billions of pounds while unifying a nation behind key internationals and providing identity otherwise lost from different class and cultures.

Madeleine pulls a sick-day, the fist spring of the season, so her timing good. We sit around for Natasha and she fills in her picture book. Mostly Madeleine wants some extra attention - no problemo from us missing a day of school for that.

ManU

Eitan watches Manchester United v. Roma in last night's Champions League action and is thrilled by the result: 2-0 (guess who won). His biggest hero and most valuable trading card, Christiano Ronaldo, strikes first with a powerful header while Wayne Rooney provides the security during the second half. The boy plays inside footie as he watches and exults when ManU scores; Madeleine is bored but refuses to go to bed despite the hour: "that's unfair, dad." Consequently, everybody drags this morning and I push the kids to yoga. Unbeknownst to me, there is Spring Assembly and Madeleine forgets her lines. Panic. I race home, returning in time for a front-row seat and a gaggle of well sung cheer (Eitan gives me the blank stair while Madeleine happy to bat eyes). Tonight I will go to Arsenal v. Liverpool at Emirates.

"They breathe through gills which look a bit like feathers. The gills are on the sides of their heads."
Madeleine at this morning's assembly. She describes a tad-pole

Verdict

Back in London and feeling loved: "Dad!" the little Shakespeares scream as I walk through the door. Then: "What did you bring us!" There is no disappointment as I unload new clothes and presents straight from Targé. Things are otherwise back to normal that is to say, Diana is Top Of The News. Lord Justice Scott Baker, the poor sod forced to render a final obvious decision on Paris, reports that Al-Fayed's claim that the Duke of Edinburgh somehow murdered the Princess and his son holds no merit. This after ten years, investigations by the Paris and London Police, Scotland Yard and the media. Plus £6 million of tax-payers money to field a defense (though it may have been worth it if Fayed's legal team had been successful putting the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh on the stand. Their effort failed). Adding further humor to the tragedy is Paul Burrell, Diana's faithful, ass kissing butler and blowhard, who the judge accused of being "pretty shabby" and lying to the jury, possibly because: "Whatever he said might have an impact on his future enterprises." (Mr Burrell now resides in Florida - won't return to England any time soon). The real loser, Dear Reader, is us - the aggrieved Diana fan who cannot get enough of the beloved People's Princess. We buy the crapolo every day keeping the story alive and alive and alive and .. .. .

Los Angeles

My last week ends on a good note as Astorg closes on the €800MM hard-cap and with a new relationship from Finland that I introduced to the partnership. It sets up a weekend of goofing and Adam and I take full advantage. Steve lends us his long-board and we head to Malibu and several classic breaks. While the waves are not what they could be - who cares? I'm on the Pacific and everything sparkles. It is no dreamland, California - people do live here. Adam makes films and this is the mecca. Unlike most parts of the world where cinema screens are in decline, L.A.'s movie theatres are part of the landscape. Also part of the urbananity: highways. Big ones which Joan Didion wrote about. The Santa Monica 405 is ten lanes and still doesn't break traffic's grip: Saturday and Sunday see stop-and-go - I can only imagine rush-hour. This place needs London's congestion charging or toll-roads and a gas tax would not be bad either. Unlikely, of course, given carbon's importance in, well, everything here. The fantasy would not exist without cheap energy. Easy to forget when surrounded by ocean and mountains on a sunny day. NYC, Dear Brother, is not the only self-absorbed city in America - and for good reason.

Californication

I fly to LAX Friday where Adam picks me up and straight to Century City, West LA, and a warehouse party. It is a pretty crowd and the creatures pictured are blown-up on a wall in various sexual situations, mostly in nature. Party goers mingle and dance. Adam's friend is a photographer and shoots photos - pictured. We then head to Canter's, a 24-hour stop for dinner and the late-night scene which is on. A mixture of locals, quasi-celebs, Hispanics, blacks, families and us finish beer, omelletes and toast - by the time we are home it is 3AM allowing us two episodes of "Californication" - a new favorite on Showtime about a degenerate living in Venice and desperate for his X and their daughter. There is a lot of drinking and meaningless sex and a fascinating new character explores hell-on-earth. A fabulous start to the weekend.

"I love women. I have all their albums."
Hank, Californication

Guy

Guy and I spend yesterday afternoon hiking a redwood grove seven minutes from his house. During our five mile effort, we see maybe five people and Guy kindly asks if they have their $5 day-pass which, of course, we are happy to issue on the spot. We receive confused or worried looks before the prey is let off their hook. Guy is abuzz with the Democratic nominee and has been an early supporter of Barack Obama, who he has met one-one-one during several sessions (amongst many things, Guy has formed a national security think-tank). Afterwards and at home, Moe prepares a wonderful chicken soup with garbanzo beans and vegetables plus loaded with spices: turmeric, ginger, paprika and hot pepper. This morning we are up for the gym and his pals give me grief about whatever (this would be called "giving the micky" or "taking the piss" in good old England). Just another happy day in Northern California.

The Berkeley Gang

In Berkeley I catch up with friends I have known over 30 years - pictured. They all do interesting and different things. Otherwise my day is spent running between the East Bay and San Francisco with the afternoon anchored by BlueRun Ventures's AGM which reports good news. BRV invests in start-up companies and several present including a 24-year old fellow who has solved the Internet's high definition video compression problem (too much data for the pipes). He yawns while giving a demo which is convincing. Also on hand is a founder of slide, which BlueRun backed two years ago and is now the 9th most popular property on the Internet thanks to their "widgets" and partnerships with social networking sights like MySpace and Bebo. They did an "up round" last month with a pre-money valuation of $500 million thanks to Fidelty and T.R. Price and despite no revenues. While the mark-up is nice, we await cash. I stay at the Ritz Carlton, which does not compare with the Mandarin Oriental's views nor service, thank you very much.

Cal Rec

Moe pumps it up this morning at the Cal Rec Center, where he meets his crew who also work iron. The routine is to the minute: 5:25AM wake-up, 5:45AM out-the-door, 5:55AM arrival for a 6AM opening. I'm on GMT following yesterday's flight where I got bounced to a center seat for a family-with-child. The Bay Area smells of spring and the weather accommodates. Driving across the Bay Bridge the fog settles in pockets over San Francisco while otherwise it is blue skies and a brilliant sunset. There is a lot of construction work I notice, not least the bridge, which undergoes structural works following 50 years of neglect. Plus the sky-way going up parallel to Oakland-Treasure Island which has been under construction like, forever. Costs went over budget and the Gubernator put the stops on any new funding (Arnie, it is widely agreed, hates Northern California and especially the East Bay where the bridge connects).

Arizona

The women-Wildcats win the NCAA Division I Swimming Championships outscoring Texas in the final day (they were runner-ups to TX last year). Way Back When, our family rose at 5:45AM for swim practice. Dazed and miserable, Katie and I ate breakfast and piled into the Volvo for two hours of further misery (Dear Reader, we anticipated every red light en route with joy). The worst days were early in the week (so many to go before a day off!) and when it rained. Moe would do some laps then head off to San Francisco and work - lucky him, I always thought. We covered 7,000-yards or about 5 miles per session - in a 25 yard pool, that's 560 laps. We did this twice a day. Plus weights or bands and stretching. Some times stair-running at Memorial. I am not sure I would wish this on anyone - accepting my own kids (great photo from Pat's blog re-montage).

Easter Sunday

The kids eat chocolate and go bezerk (Eitan now runs around the house acting drunk). Both kids gnaw various parts of the choco rabbit and show me the effects: No ears! No eyes! His bum! (Eitan now on the table and I shout at him). Madeleine breaks her remainder into tiny bits and suckles each ("Eitan! Get off that chair!"). It is snowing which adds the morning excitement. Sonnet and I have been watch Le Carre's "Tinker Taylor Soldier Spy" which aired on BBC in 1979 and Sonnet tells me is a favorite of her parents. Alec Guinness is George Smiley, brought in from the cold to entrap a mole inside The Circus. ("Eitan- back in the house!") Of equal interest is London from the 70s - it all looks so damp, claustrophobic and, well, a bit shoddy- the hallways crooked, elevators ancient and everything post-WWII grey. And the smoking - fags, pipes, roll-your-owns - it doesn't matter, they inhale (the Tube allowed smoking until 1984 - can you imagine rush-hour?). The background is, of course, the Soviet Uninion which is really the main character of the series. Gripping stuff. (Sonnet takes Eitan and Madeleine for a walk)

Fort

Saturday - Morning - Wet - Cold - Typical - Easter. The kids suffer cabin fever but neither Sonnet nor I budge for a walk. Fortunately Aggie is stopping by shortly for a surprise afternoon allowing us a few free hours of bliss - without doubt we shall be napping.

Eitan practices his farting noises. Madeleine does her Kumon. Eitan puts together his "perfect team" and arranges his trading cards accordingly.

Madeleine

Taking this photo, I tell Madeleine she is a little character. Says she: "but I'm not even on T.V."

Eitan on top of Madeleine who is on the floor under the couch pillow screaming. I holler "what is going on!"
Madeleine: "We're having some fun dad!"

Madeleine: "Eitan threw a grapefruit at me!
Me: "Eitan, put the grapefruit in the kitchen!"

In other breaking news, Eitan's front-lower incisor comes out following weeks of struggle, tears and some blood. The thing had become admittedly gross turning an easy right angle from the gum. The good news for him is two-pounds (I tell the boy I will "cross his palm with silver"). The good news for everybody is that the incoming tooth won't be impacted.

Madeleine and Eitan put all their "buddies" on Eitan's bedroom floor and the kids camp out with their stuffed animals. They are allowed this Friday and Saturday plus they listen to a story on the CD-player. I sneak upstairs to listen (ease-drop) which nets a comparison of pokamon cards, football players and Peter Rabit. Also: the best candy.

100 Freestyle World Record

Grand-Mère

Here is one of Sonnet and Marcus and their Grandmother Richards at Whispering Pines in the summer of '72. Some things are timeless. Eitan is jazzed this morning because Manchester United is three points clear in the Premiership following their victory over Bolton. Second placed is Arsenal followed by Chelsea. The boy races into our bedroom and spreads the news papers everywhere: "See dad! See! Manchester United is the greatest football team in the word." He describes the feats of his celebrated Rinaldo, who scored the first of two goals against the Wanderers (nobody uses a club's name). Otherwise it is a quiet beginning to the holiday weekend - freezing too, of course. There could be snow Saturday and Sunday which reminds me: every God damn Easter we have spent in the UK the weather has been miserable. To combat the elements we plan to go to a museum where the kids can burn off some energy and, just perhaps, learn a thing or two.

This morning from downstairs:
Eitan: Give me back my [Pokomon] card!
Madeleine: It's mine!
Eitan: Is not!
Madeleine: Is!
Eitan: Liar!
Madeleine: Well YOU are a Bigger Liar!
Eitan: Well YOU are a stinky pants!
Madeliene: Am not!
Eitan: Are!
Madeleine: Not!
Eitan: Are!
Madeleine: Moooommmmm! Eitan called me a Stinky Pants!

Tennis

The kids play tennis, their "third sport " after football and swimming. Today is otherwise the last school before Easter, a Big Time Holiday in this country and a long weekend (strangely, however, half-term break is not for two weeks . One would think them combined). I will be in the US from Monday to see parents and some work. Plus friends and shopping - the US currency has never been weaker and I vaguely recall the exchange rate to be 1.4 dollars to the pound in when we arrived in '97. Today it stands at over two bucks to the pound making London outrageously expensive for tourists and everybody but a purchasing power dream when off the island. Be assured that Sonnet has prepared a shopping list for the kids and I will stick to a few favorite shops like Banana Republic and Union Square.

I'm Nuts

Heather Mills, who won £24 million from her four-year divorce to Sir Paul but lost the subsequent gagging of the case, appears - ahem - most unsavory this week. The deciding judge accused Mills of being "her own worst enemy," saying her behaviour during the proceedings was "distasteful" and her evidence "not just inconsistent and inaccurate but less than candid." Oh dear. Of course we, the shocked public, lap up the circus and take our sides. Game on! Mills at one point was well-regarded for her lost-leg, pluck and charity work but this quickly eroded when her 1980s XXX was exposed (Heather first denied the photos then said it was a sex-help guide) followed by testy interviews and finally the BBC where she went bezerko - pictured. Yes, Heather has the crazy-gene and one must wonder why McCartney skipped the pre-nup - though those old photos may suggest a reason. In any case, it has been a nice diversion from the real news - Iraq - financial melt down - Tibet - who needs religion, really? Karl Marx we love you.

Zzz

This poor kid - happily a-snoozing - wakes to find me perched with my camera. Says she: "Go! Away! Dad!" Fair enough. Still, my heart aches to see this little girl in the early sun tucked away with Doggie, who has been with her five years. I am awake thanks to Sonnet who will run three hours. The London Marathon is less than a month away and I watch her put on her kit: high-tech trainers- check. Sweat-whisking black tights and top - check. Breathable, insulating, water retarding top - check. Sports shades - check check. Yes, looking like The Terminator, Sonnet bolts for Thames toe path and Richmond Park loop. Eitan, meanwhile, enters the bedroom dressed for school and two hours to spare. I read him a book on a dog and Alaska (thank you, Stan and Silver) followed by the usual morning routine - me yoga and stretching, Madeleine Kumon (maths) and Eitan reading (recall that he is working towards a subscription of his choice including daily coverage Manchester United). We get silly with some disco then head for school where I volunteer for an hour or so. A full and satisfying day and it is only 10AM.

The Fonz

Now I love France. I speak French. I have two Paris funds (Rothschild and Astorg) and visit maybe ten times a year. I, like many French, am impressed by the hard-driving, reform-pushing President Sarkozy not least because he's the son of a Hungarian immigrant father, was raised alone in France by his mother and is Jewish. Further, Sarkozy seems impatient and direct and above-boards - qualities that the pompous ass Jacques Chirac had and lost or never had.

So it is with regret that Sarkozy's popularity has plummeted and he is known in France as "President Bling-Bling."

And why the change, Dear Reader? It is one thing to divorce your wife for a younger model but entirely another to rub your neighbor's face in it - which is, of course, what he did marrying Carla Bruni. Sarkozy is often seen in flash clothes at the trendiest restaurants in the 8th arrondisement wearing an enormous Rolex and aviator Ray Bans. He grants interviews in his jogging shorts and sends text messages during top level meetings. Plus his famous temper - he has been known to storm out of a press conference.

The French, you see, are the most stylish and reserved people in the world when we exclude the Italians. Sarkozy's sartorial yoof is out-of-step with his country and the campaign image from only last year.

And how is he viewed across the channel? Well, the Queen - who Sarkozy and his slapper Bruni shall meet this month - is a tad, ahem, expectant. She presumes royalty and may get Steve McQueen. Fleet Street loves the match-up affair and for myself, I no-doubt await my subscription to Tattler and Hello. Viva la France !

Sonnet and I sneak out to lunch at the River Cafe to celebrate today, Tuesday.

Supremes & Love

Madeleine on her way to school. While on Pretty Guns - it is not lost on me that the Supremes will tomorrow decide whether Washington D.C. can restrain ownership. This the first time in 75 years the High Court has (had the balls to) review our most cherished and controversial Amendment II. On the BBC this morning I listen to a black woman from DC who lost her 14 and 19 year old children in a drive-by shooting twelve years ago (her children were bystanders). Her position: guns should not be in circulation. Period. The counter point from Suburban DC where the interviewed (white) woman must keep her bedroom rifle's safety trigger on at all times. She also wants a hand-gun for her family's security.

Flipping past MTV, I ask Eitan what songs are about. He ducks the question. I pursue a bit and he rolls his eyes when I suggest love. Then he becomes quite angry - girls, and God forbid kissing - is a no-go area. My suggestion that one day this is all that he is going to think about gets me a hard pinch.

The kids, Sonnet and I agree to present where we wish to be by age-14 (for me and Sonnet, in five years). Eitan belts out Manchester United! but I ask them to write it on a piece of paper by Easter when we will talk about how to get there.

A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.
The Bill Of Rights

.44

Sonnet and I watch Dirty Harry continuing my exploration of psychopaths. The beauty of Harry is that he is crazier than Scorpio, who terrorizes San Francisco with a long-shot rifle and machine gun (actor Andy Robinson was so effective as the crazy that he damaged his career - Dirty Harry was Robinson's second film and he never did much after). It is neat to see the sky-line without skyscrapers - 1971 was pre-Trans America Tower - and there is the old Kezar Stadium, former home to the Oakland Raiders and San Francisco 49ers. In the movie, Harry tortures Scorpio on the 40 yard-line as the camera fades back on a foggy night-lit aerial - the recess of a tormented mind, Dear Reader. The .44 magnum is the film's hero and her view is often upwards into the gun - pictured - allowing us to worship the metal, ohh oh ohhh. America and guns - the Brits have their problems but not gun violence. Plenty of studies may show that more guns reduce violence but I just don't buy it.

Madeleine is at a birthday party and since it is a blustery Sunday, Eitan and I watch Italian league football on the BBC - today's match between Polarmo and Inter, who lost to Liverpool Wednesday in a UEFA cup upset. Eitan can hardly sit still and practices his ball handling moves in the living room, in front of the T.V.

"I know what you're thinking. "Did he fire six shots or only five?" Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement I kind of lost track myself. But being as this is a .44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world, and would blow your head clean off, you've got to ask yourself a question: Do I feel lucky?....Well, do ya punk?"
Harry Callahan