Red Light - Neighbors - More Yard Work And The World Cup

Sonnet last night at the bowling lanes.

Today England marks the 70th anniversary of the Battle of Britain, which went from July to October in 1940 and likely saved the Free World from the Nazis. Churchill thought so. During that time, RAF made continuous daily sorties to fight off the Luftwaffe, losing over 3,000 planes and 500 pilots. To mark the anniversary, celebrations take place in Kent where the last flying Spitfire makes fly-bys over the chalky coastline - the Spitfire a beautiful plane whose unique sound recognisable to most British but especially those older than a certain age.

We have our neighbors Lev and Ali to brunch and learn that their Grandfather brought the family from Cyprus to London while establishing a substantial community around him in the 1950s. His business food and, at one point by the 1970s, he owned the largest fast-food franchise in Britain: Wimpy's, which was also the UK's first fast food restaurant. Sonnet remembers them in Sheffield when she was there in '81 with Silver, who was on a Fulbright Scholarship. McDonald's arrived in '73, which was the beginning of the end for Wimpy's (Lev's grandfather noted, with horror, "no silverware !"). Today Lev owns four upscale London restaurants and employs 120 people serving "Ottoman" cuisine. I have not been but will certainly go next.

I enlist the Shakespeares and together we complete the yard work which nets six green bags to the dump. I attack a pine tree in front of the house which takes care of my yesterday. My reward: blisters and a sore back. But it does feel nice to complete a project. Eitan at a World Cup Party with Joe and Cyrus; Madeleine a Sunday over-night with Jackson. Can it really be this quiet?

Spain v. Holland in the WC Final - kick-off in 20.

Summer In The City

I catch this dude watching the street as a train passes by. It is about 8:30PM, hot, and noisy. I am reminded of my first apartment in New York on 6th Avenue and Waverly Street. A fire escape allowed us to sit above the pedestrians and watch the scene; in one direction we had a clear view of the World Trade Towers and the other, nondescript sky-scrapers. This was Greenwich Village and there were always hordes of people going .. somewhere. In July and August, the fire escape our only relief. We would sit out there on the summer nights and drink beer talking about ourselves or careers or relationships. The transition from college not easy and that first year seemed like a lot of make-believe. Or maybe it was practice for our so-called "adult life." I wish I could say that period was more fun but First Boston was more than I was prepared for.

We are on are way to All Star Lanes, a bowling center where Justin celebrates his 4oth with friends and family. We have a private room with three lanes and a cocktail bar - important, dear reader, for improving one's performance. After four mojitos I am bowling like a pro. Natalie organises seven teams and we compete - luckily for me, I am with JP, an old college friend now living in St John's Wood, and a ringer. JP actually knows the bowling rules - not that this is like Cricket or anything - there are things one can know and understand: like a strike or spare on the last pins allows the bowler another go.. up to three times if she hits strikes each time. We hit our stride in this fashion and .. win .. which probably means my team the most lubed up. Or at least, well paced. Who says drinking an unproductive sport?

Sonnet: "We are looking into an au pair for fall."

Eitan: "Nooo. I don't want somebody living in our house."

Sonnet: "Well, we will just try it out and see."

Madeleine: "If we get an au pair does that mean we can get a dog?"

Banglatown

We are on Brick Lane last night and wow, what a scene. Recall this in the London borough of Tower Hamlets and is the heart of the city's Bangladeshi-Sylheti community; it also known as Banglatown - there is a super-market with this name. The street is narrow and populated with curry shops whose proprietors streetside, cajoling: "please come in. Best in London." We stroll by the Great Mosque, once known as the London Jamme Masjid, which serves the largest concentration of Bangladeshi Muslims in the country. The mosque was under investigation some years ago for radicalising young men who, this evening, in shawar kamise, watch the bustle with half interest. Brick Lane once an oddity where one might go for a late dinner or the 24 hour Beigal Bakery whose salt beef sandwiches perfect for post-clubbing -- so good, in fact, the Sunday morning queues begin from 4AM. Today Brick Lane remarkably shifts into an uber cool ghetto as young gay couples and artists colonised this part of London from the late '90s. The vibe amazing - young people search for restaurants and clubs and bars, which spill into the street. Cars stall and honk away to no effect. The brick a Victorian turd brown which further defines the scene somehow. An enormous smokestack points into the sky. It is dense, man. Many of the inhabitants pierced with dyed hair and sometimes tattoos. The boys clean wearing skinny jeans+tees+brown topsiders. Tres vogue. Girls show too much t & a for their age (I will fight that battle with Madeleine when the time comes). We park on a side road in midst of council housing - concrete - massive - gruesome. But then it is relative - compared to Dhaka this might be heaven. We hide anything that might tempt fate. What a scene.

I mention to Eitan that using my blackberry costs money, which receives a curious look.

Me: "How do you think blackberry make money?"

Eitan: "Cheating?"

Me: "Think about it."

Eitan: "Bargains?"

Me: "You can do better."

Eitan: "How should I know?"

Me: "Well, if you want a blackberry, do they just give it to you?"

Eitan: "No."

Me: "You have to pay money for it. Do you think it costs blackberry more or less to make a blackberry then to sell it?"

Eitan: "Less?"

Me: "Good. If you pay blackberry £100 and it costs them £90 to make, they have made a profit. Now what happens if blackberry makes a lot of units -- does each unit cost the same?"

Eitan:

Me: "Let us assume that to make one blackberry, it costs £100; two blackberries, £190 and three blackberries £270. This is because some costs, like the factory, don't change or are 'fixed.' If we sell at £100, are we better off making and selling one or three blackberries?

Eitan:

Me: "If we sell a lot of blackberries, can blackberry charge you less yet still make a per unit profit?"

Eitan:

Me: "What happens if somebody tries to do the same thing? Can they compete on cost at first?"

Eitan:

Me: "That, my friend, is what business school calls 'economies of scale.'"

Eitan: "Can I just watch the World Cup highlights dad?"

Hot

London weather reaches for 90 and it feels hotter. While uncomfortable, New York was the worst by late July or August - the humidity and heat unbearable and, back in the day, no air conditioning. Pity my first flat on 6th Avenue shared with three college friends.. my room in the middle with a window looking into a dark air shaft which offered no relief. When Sonnet and I on Riverside Drive, her poor cat would stretch out like a sausage with legs extended as wide as possible to maximise surface area and the chance of a breeze. Dominique slept a lot in the summer. While the cat napped, I commuted on NYC's subways and while the trains cool we were all jammed up on each other forced to read the depressing advertisements for hemorrhoid removal or adult education or other things relevant to us working class schleps. Then there was the walk to the sky scraper- does Midtown have one tree? I cannot recall it. Yes, these were trying times enough to make anyone crazy but then there were awesome moments, too, like Sheep's Meadow or being on the street at 3AM wearing jeans and a tee shirt. Maybe drinking coffee and planning Sunday.

Sat Morning

The house falls asleep late given the July heat. This does not stop Sonnet from up-early to run a loop of Richmond Park with Stephanie. She laments afterwards: too hot. I sleep until 9AM which gets a couple of curious looks from the kids who poke their head in to see the lazy lunker that I am. Sometimes it must be done. This otherwise is a quiet week end - no football for Eitan and Madeleine leaves her swim suit at school. Smart kid.

Me: "Madeleine do you have something to say?"

Madeleine: "About what?"

Me: "I don't know. For my blog."

Madeleine: "No."

Me: "What are you reading?"

Madeleine: "The 'Toilet of Doom.'"

Me: "Is that a book?

Sonnet: "Yes."

Me: "Does your teacher know about it?"

Sonnet: "No."

Me: "Well, I guess you're reading."

Sonnet: "Yep."

Madeleine: "Leave me alone, Ok?"

Pick Up

Here we are the other day at the school pick-up. Sonnet and Ms. L may be talking about Madeleine's maths, which has improved considerably this year, or her reading - top marks. It could also be a discussion about Madeleine's friends -- all boys -- who want to play with .. other boys. Eitan went through this stage last year when girls were the enemy, so I can understand how this effects our dear, committed Tom Boy. Not easy. We keep a watchful eye including Eitan, who looks out for his sister on the playground.

Today is a scorcher for London - 30-degrees Celsius (86F) and instantly the city transformed. I have a few morning meetings then make calls and lounge in Green Park. The grass is dry while the trees remain in full-green and the lunch crowd arrives with women in their cute summer dresses and the lads with jacket off and sleeves rolled high. Everybody in a good mood and why not? It is Friday; the August hols around the corner and this is a young crowd. Tonight most will be full of life and completely wasted, which is the thing to do here especially when the weather nice. Hooking up is in the air. As Eric says to me today: "Everything is good when you are 21." Me, I look forward to taking the boy to swimming practice, going for a run along the Thames, then having a dry martini and late supper with Sonnet. Were every day so good.

Fee Charging Gambling Den

We have dinner with Puk and Lars, whose book - "Money Mavericks - Confessions of a Hedge Fund Manager" - will be available from 21 July. The story describes the inner workings of .. a hedge fund which, until his retirement from the industry several years ago, was Lars' career. I recall we discussed his strategy and money-raising in '02 at the trendy private members club "Home House" which, now, somehow seems appropriate. It takes a special person to write about his experience before 40 and Lars is, indeed, that special dude: before founding hedge-fund Holte Capital, he worked for HBK (>$5 billion under management) and HBS and Harvard undergrad. He is a natural cynic who refuses to overpay for anything - good qualities for somebody managing your money. I recall him being impressed when, at a party at his place in Notting Hill and as a joke, I brought a £2 bottle of wine; he immediately took a glass for me and himself, heartily enjoyed. In all these things, talent and vision matter while having the nuts to go for it is often under-rated (or forgotten in success or failure). Lars followed his dream when the timing good and so, as they say, the rest is history.

Lars' book described thus:

"Money Mavericks: Confessions of a Hedge Fund Manager charts the founding, seemingly interminable rise and eventual closure of a fund which operated in London during the febrile years of 2002 to 2008. Shedding light on the incredible inside workings of hedge funds, it's a tale of a bubble industry in a bubble town during the bubble years. It tells the story of some very smart people who were trying to do something that was incredibly hard: beat the market. If they failed, the repercussions would be swift and severe. If they succeeded, the rewards would be massive. Having grown from a small and mainly US investment activity to become a global trillion-dollar circus, the hedge fund industry is often unfairly portrayed as a fee-charging gambling den.

"I was immersed in the hedge fund industry for years and now I want to address the myths and misperceptions that surround the hedge funds. I often feel that my six years of running HolteCapital was one long blur of human drama with triumph and failure following each other in quick and merciless succession. If you have ever been given the impression that the world of hedge funds is driven by meticulously-planned and well-coordinated dark forces, I hope my story will enlighten you."

--Lars Kroijer - Money Mavericks

Rich Man

Madeleine and I before our classroom story; she says: "I have snakes in my tummy". I am dressed as an accountant (an interpretation, any way). The kids seem to enjoy themselves -- especially as I do my shuffle dance to "If I Were A Rich Man." Nothing else I do today will be better, though Sonnet comes pretty close by bringing a picnic lunch which we share in a park nearby my office.

Fiddler

Madeleine reads "The King of Capri," which I will use in tomorrow's class to describe .. money. The story about a gluttonous king whose worldly possessions swept away by a storm, landing in a poor laundry lady's backyard. The poor king and she eventually meet, fall in love, and everybody learns a lesson. Madeleine and I decide to leave the love part out of the story since the class "might not be ready for it" she says. I have to draw this out for 40 minutes, mind you, in front of 25 children. I plan to dress as an accountant with a bow tie and Madeleine has her costume laid out next to the bed. Fiddler On The Roof seems about the right music to settle the children down beforehand.Wish me luck.

Eitan, from the back-seat, to Sonnet: "You need a sat nav to get out of the parking garage."

We learn over dinner that Eitan, Joe and Cyrus compare their lunch every day, arguing about who gets more of what. I can see this in 20 years.

"If I were a rich man,
Ya ha deedle deedle, bubba bubba deedle deedle dum.
All day long I'd biddy biddy bum.
If I were a wealthy man.
I wouldn't have to work hard.
Ya ha deedle deedle, bubba bubba deedle deedle dum.
If I were a biddy biddy rich,
Yidle-diddle-didle-didle man."

-- If I Were A Rich Man from Fiddler On The Roof

Dano

I swam with Dano Halsall, pictured here at the '92 Barcelona Olympics, during my year in Switzerland (photo from Facebook). Dano is arguably the best swimmer Switzerland has ever produced despite not winning an Olympic medal (that honour went to Etienne Dagon, another team-mate on Geneve Natation 1885, who took bronze in the 200 meter breast-stroke at the '84 Los Angeles games, becoming Switzerland's first medal earner in the sport). Dano was Swiss-Caribbean and his reflexes lightening; in truth, he may have been a better runner where his athletic expression less encumbered by technique. I recall like yesterday watching him set the 100 meter freestyle World Record in a short-course (25 meter) pool in 1984. His time of 48.91 was the first under 49 seconds and he had the small, crowded venue on its feet screaming. Wow. (Matt Biondi clocked a 48.95 for the 100 meter freestyle to become the first under 49 seconds in a long-course or 50 meter pool with two fewer flip-turns. He did this at the August 6, 1985, USA summer Nationals)(Unfortunately, short-course World Records maintained from 1993 so I do not have the progression of Dano's record.)

Dano rose to top of world swimming in its marquee event on July 21, 1985, at the Swiss Nationals in Bellinzona. On that day he swam 50 meters long-course in 22.52 breaking Robin Leamy's World Record which had stood nearly four years. He kept it until the great Tom Jager of the US went 22.40 later in the year. Dano remains the only Swiss swimmer to hold a World Record.

Dano was a cool cat when I knew him. He had a girlfriend and lots of flirtations on the side; he smoked a fag every now and again and enjoyed Geneva's night scene (such as it was). He was also a gorgeous dude - beautiful in and out of the pool. As a youngster it was hard not to be caught up in his aura but he was a full 4 years older than my 16 and had other fish to fry. Plus he was a sprinter and hardly seemed to work out - he was rarely at the morning practices and I think this caused some tension with the coach. In the end, though, so what? He accomplished his goals and took many of us with him for a great ride. The last time I saw Dano was at Senior Nationals in '84 when he and l'equippe Suisse in Los Angeles in preparation for the Olympic games.

God Bless America

American independence means something a little different for these Brits and, I assure you, ours the only house with the stars and stripes. I do miss the BBQ, corn and beer and softball+long week end, which is what we would be doing somewhere if in the United States, may God bless her. We might be in the Sierras, for instance, which is where my parents are now. Or New Yawk with Katie sitting on her roof deck or jogging around Central Park. Or maybe Bronxville with Aunt Marcia. All nice possibilities. Instead, Sonnet returns from a school camping over-night where Madeleine suffers hay-fever keeping her and Sonnet up all-night. They return exhausted and the poor dears sleep all afternoon despite the pristine weather. Otherwise I have had the boy to myself which means we sit around watching the World Cup and eating desert in the living which we otherwise are not allowed to do under punishment of death. Eitan up two or three hours past his bedtime and so what? It's summer. This morning we have chocolate cake for breakfast. In truth, we enjoy being mano-a-mano and the gals early return, well, an encroachment on our space.

My favorite amendment to the United States Constitution (also known, dear reader, as The Bill of Rights) is Amendment X: "The powers not delegated to the United States by the Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the states, are reserved to the states respectively, or to the people." This states that, unless prohibited elsewhere, you can do what ever the f--- you want. Amendment X, more than anything else, establishes the spirit of our nation.

Summer Skin

For one month of the year Londoners, oddly, shed their inhibitions and strip to the bare minimum. Men show their man boobs and pale white skin; women hike their skirt and present their bra with the aim of bronzing themselves. All this in the smart part of town. During lunch hour. In the middle of the work week. 

Mind you, these same people spend the rest of year trying to conceal their wobbly bits and otherwise seem embarrassed by their bodies. Britain missed Jane Fonda and aerobics and all that and when I arrived in '97 gym memberships a rarity let alone bottled water (I reviewed a consumer water investment for Botts which I rejected; after my departure the firm waded into the industry and lost its shirt). 

In most European countries, Ireland excluded thank goodness, exposure taken for granted and, well, considered part of being European. Topless beaches the norm; women seem comfortable with themselves. So why different here? Well, firstly, the weather mostly pretty bad then the world's best by Wimbledon. 

The extremes stimulate a certain desire for display: no sun then sun burn. The media plays its role to, of course - programs like "How To Look Good Naked" teach us to loath what we have and then flaunt it when we can. Advertising. Madeleine announces the other week that she is fat.

London no different from any other Big City - I recall NY's 'Sheep's Meadow' which is café flesh by July or August. What makes London's summers unusual that the British are so not about display. Everything understated: slanders never obvious; privates should remain so. Public displays for the holidays abroad (Barcelona has introduced clothing guidelines for its tourists. Read: the English). And yet here we are, oggling each other in Regent's Park.

Young people, no doubt, changing the culture. By summer they arrive in hordes from Australia, Europe, everywhere with their back-backs and travel passes heading for Bayswater and Queensway where they congregate in Hyde Park then the pubs and disco's. They are out for fun and to see the world - London is a top destination because, well, it is London. They push the boundaries. Ultimately it is the yuf, more than anything else, that sets the pace for the rest of us. We should go with it.

Football Pencil

I teach Eitan a game I played in grade school - table football. The objective is to scoot the paper 'football' across the table getting a piece over the edge - seven points. If the 'ball' goes over the side, the opponent gets a crack at a field goal - 3 points. A field goal scored through the opponents upheld fingers (goal posts) while the 'kick' a flick of the middle finger. In fifth and sixth grade we spent hours doing this instead of .. school. Could this explain something? Another popular game was 'pencil' where the objective to break the other's instrument. This was done by 'cocking' the wood, held in one hand and pulled back the other, then bringing it down with a loud crack upon contact. Every pencil a different challenge: a No. 2 the bread-and-butter of the game but then there was "the chubby" (an over-sized wood surprisingly weak given its size) and the No. 2.5 (stronger lead and a bit firmer in the center). We broke hundreds of pencils on the bus ride to school or on the playground or back of the class. The teachers hated it of course - but what could they do? Destructive little dudes were we.

Sonnet takes Madeleine to a school camping trip while Eitan off to a go-cart party. I have the afternoon to myself, wow. I am watching Wimbledon and blogging; maybe I will do some watering and take a nap later this afternoon. Liking this.

Friday Peace

My favorite time of the week is Friday, 8:15PM to 9PM when Eitan finishes swim practice. I drop the boy off at the Putney pool then go for a run on the Thames towpath crossing the river at the Hammersmith Bridge then scooting along the north side including my favorite quarter-mile bend at Fulham where old maples provide cover over the embankment. I thread my way through several council estates and luxury condos, by pubs, a tennis grounds and grassy parks; I pass the River Cafe, one of London's finest restaurants, and the Fulham football stadium. Putney is home to several rowing clubs and a downward slope offers water access- this is where the Oxford-Cambridge race begins. While there are always people - joggers, cyclists, couples or gossiping teenagers smoking fags on a park bench - there are also long stretches of serenity. The late sunset allows me to finish well before dark and afterwards I watch Eitan lap away. I bring an extra Lacoste and towel+my blackberry so I can read the gossips or write emails. Then home, a drink, and late dinner with Sonnet.

In its natural state, the Thames would have been very different - a shallow, meandering stream flowing through a wide bed of river gravels below Richmond Hill not far from us. Following summer storms and winter rains this area would easily flood. Torrents of water would fill the river, spilling across an extensive floodplain of marsh, reed bed and swamp extending inland for many miles. It is believed that a series of 'falls' or rapids were present at Teddington, Glover's Ait and Isleworth.

As human habitation spread, the Thames slowly changed. Wetlands were drained and the river corridor was 'canalised' or narrowed to allow navigation to take place. This caused the tide to extend much further upstream than was natural. Agriculture thrived on the rich soils and more recently large areas of the floodplain were built on. As the river changed wildlife slowly adapted to these artificial environments finding new niches to thrive in. Today, although almost entirely man-made, the river corridor provides some of the best environments in London for a wide diversity of wildlife to flourish.

Rich Man, Poor Man

I will lead a story in Madeleine's class about.. money, which the kids are studying. Madeleine has been full of ideas including a story about "a rich man and a poor man and being famous." I encourage her to write a script for our performance (she has agreed to be my under-study) and so she scribbles away. After school I to take her to costume shop "Party Palace" so she can be a 'wealthy man,' pictured, 100% her interpretation. She wears Eitan's jacket which gets a rise from the boy until I remind him that he hates it. He ponders the dilemma. Lest this seems like an inappropriate use of classroom time, I speak to Madeleine's teacher and we come up with a plan consistent with the children's lessons. No doubt I will improvise.

Me: "What lesson should our story tell?"

Madeleine: "Why you shouldn't have too much pocket money then you can be greedy. "

Me: "Great, what else?"

Madeleine: "We can pretend you are my dad, which you are, and you give me some money. I go to the candy store and spend it. Then I come back [to class] and you give me a lesson about not spending all my allowance. And then I am not spoiled. How about that?"

Madeleine, cheerfully: "Dad I've got the things I am going to pretend to buy."

Madeleine shows me a nutra-grain bar honey, a candy bar filled with tissue ("do you think there is chocolate inside?") and a box of sugar.

Me: "You go for it."

July Smile

And somehow we are into the second half of the year. An examination so far feeds back a rather dull time - there are some good highlights like California and the last two weeks with CW, Mike and Andrea or Eitan's football season and Madeleine's trumpet. Sonnet's work sabbatical of course. Our garden. On the flip side, there is not much business as private equity fund-raising down 70% in Europe and probably same or worse in the United States. I keep myself occupied with Industry Ventures and the occasional secondary transaction: when times are tough, investors want liquidity which is what a secondary firm provides. The secondary pricing volatility interesting though: last year, nobody wanted to own private equity because of the leverage. Now, the secondary buyers are back but, since so much money raised by secondary funds, they compete and drive prices to levels where it becomes difficult to make a decent return. Once a secondary a clever trade but now anybody selling a position over $15 or $20 million will use a broker who puts together a book. Not great for the buyer. Industry Ventures does well because they concentrate on venture and do smaller positions. Few have their expertise nor wish to spend time on deals less than $5, the firm's bread and butter transaction. Given the ten-year life (plus two-year extensions) there is still plenty to buy from '00, or the worst VC vintage on record.

Mike Andrea

The last time Mike and Andrea and our families together was in Provence. Only that was before we had a family - Eitan and Madeleine yet a blink in the mind's eye. Their oldest, Oscar, was two and I still recall what a cute kid he was - fascinated by a toy red double-decker bus which I brought him as a gift: it is forevermore is "the crazy bus." Now Oscar is 12 and would probably die to see his name in my blog. Mike and I went to Berkeley High together then college on the East Coast, where he met, and courted, Andrea - Sonnet and I at their wedding in '94, for sure dude. Today Mike practices law with Tyler. Despite our history, we got to know each other as adults on the Norcal trails - Mike completed the '93 San Francisco marathon with Adam, Christian and Chip, who is no longer with us. The race notable for many reasons but especially Bill Vaughan, the co-creator of PowerBar - Bill was founding his next product, the sports gel GU, in the basement of his house where it was mixed in the sink by the washing machine. Probably not approved by the FDA then. The day before the marathon Bill loaded up the guinea pigs with GU and sent them on their merry way or, in this case, to the Golden Gate Bridge for the start (GU is now a multi-million dollar operation and beloved by endurance athletes around the world). Of course nobody can out-clever 26-miles and our lads may have been a tad thrown off by a new supplement the day of the race. I recall Mike and Adam struggling on the back-half while Adam's berry flavor looked surprisingly like blood when splattered down his shirt and leg. As for the rest: results mixed though everybody finished one way or the other. The race's conclusion, a lap around the old Kaiser Stadium track, a nice touch.

I was inspired by San Francisco and so began my love affair with the marathon. It remains a physical test I have yet to surmount - my eye has been on sub-three for fifteen years. Shortly after SF, I ran Sacramento in '94 (bonk at mile-23; time of 3 hours and 41 minutes); New York in '96 (bonk at 24; 3:24); and London in '98 (bonk at 25; 3:11). Last year I did London again (DNC) and Berlin in October (bonk at .. 13; who knows the time?). I might finally be at the point of of saying: "never again."

Me: "Eitan why don't you stop sitting there and make yourself useful."

Eitan: "I am being useful. I'm singing. I'm breathing. I'm living."

Me:

Eitan: "I'm multi-tasking."

Wimbledon

Here's a quick shot from Center Court featuring Maria Sharapova and Serena Williams, who wins in straight sets; I also watch Roger Federer and Andy Murray take out Jurger Melzer and Sam Querrey, respectively, in straight sets. Federer does not break a sweat. In short, this a great day with lovely breezes keeping us cool despite the cloudless sky and summer temperatures. I am the guest of Barry, who I have invested with in several funds.

Mike and Andrea hit London's Big Spots including the Trafalgar Square, National Portrait Gallery, St Martin's on the Field and St James's Park and the Churchill Bunker followed by Big Ben then the London Eye. This is the best way to see the capital - on foot, with an agenda. Mike is good at this. They get home around 10PM to find us sound asleep.

On Wireless Charging

PowerKiss, a Finnish company, recently launched a line of products with small receivers that plug into handheld devices (the Ring) and an electrical transmitter built into a piece of furniture (the Heart), pictured. When a device is placed on the table it charges wirelessly by using a resonating field induction that creates an electromagnetic field around the Heart transmitter. The Ring receiver adapts the current produced by the field to the requirements of the mobile device. Induction of this kind has a short range so the transmitter and receiver must be close together.

Arthur and I, on a long London walk, once discussed whether a wireless charge would one day be possible. He noted this impossible since a charge must be transferred via a conducting path of some sort. Here is what he says about PowerKiss:

"This is a clever idea and I wonder if it will really take off. You have to convince people to buy the receiver thingie. And you have to convince furniture manufacturers to build the wires into the furniture! I think when we talked about this previously, the idea was whether you could "beam" energy around across distances and that turns out to be very difficult. Radar dishes and lasers do indeed beam energy from one place to another, but it's hard to recover the energy and use it at the other end. And a person who gets in the way suffers bad side effects like cancer or just getting burned.

What they're doing here is putting you and your electronics inside a big electric field. Maybe a little bit analogous with those wires they bury in the asphalt at intersections to detect when cars are stopped at the lights, or your electric toothbrush which charges when you put it in the stand. I'm surprised they can get enough energy into the little receiver to charge a phone. Maybe over a long period of time you can charge it.

We're not talking about a lot of energy to run a phone (as evidenced by the tiny battery).

"

Kidz

Madeleine: "You're going to court? What did you do wrong?"

Me: "I am going to a tennis court. For Wimbledon."

Madeleine: "Why are you wearing long pants?"

Me:

Madeleine: "Aren't you playing?"

Me:

Madeleine: "Once, on television, I saw two football players in a match. And they kissed afterwards."

Me:

Madeleine: "Don't do anything silly, dad."

Sonnet: "Yes, don't do anything that might embarrass the family."