Brecon

Solo, I take the kids to thee Brecon Beacons (Welsh: Bannau Brycheiniog) as Sonnet is saving her holidays for summer plus preparing for a Sunday half-marathon. The Beacons, I learn, are a mountain range in south-east Wales belonging to that country's largest national park. We stay at the Nant Ddu Lodge and Spa which is tucked away in the hills next to a mountain stream and open fields stuffed with sheep. The Brecon Beacons range, properly speaking, consists of the mountains to the south of Brecon, a mid-evil trading village. The highest of these is Pen y Fan (886-meters and pictured through the fog- barely) then Corn Du (873-meters), Cribyn (795) and Fan y Big (719). It is popular hiking no doubt but rest assured, Dear Reader, that the cold, misty clime and lack of proper gear, ie, non-trainers, keep us in the car. The mere suggestion of a stroll - let alone a hike - nets a tremendous push-back from the little ramblers. So I take some snaps, kids in car, and a local caf tells me the Beacons are named after the ancient practice of lighting signal fires (beacons) on the mountains to warn of attacks by the English. Now it is done to commemorate public and national events such as coronations or the millennium.

Wales has castles aplenty and we find a lovely not far from the main road. Further angry protest from the back-seat results in a forced march but we are eventually rewarded with splendid views of the Tretower castle, which was built in the 12th century. Way cool.

Rock Don Ron Is A Non-Dom

Northern Rock chief Ron Sandler enjoys privileged non-domicile tax status, it emerged last night (The Sun provides my title). For those not following the melt-down that is British Chancellor Alistair Darling, Northern Rock was nationalised Monday following a bona fide run on the bank last year. We tax payers find ourselves on the hook for £100 billion after the government failed to sell the mortgage lender despite several offers including Richard Branson. Furthering Alistair's misery today, he blatantly stole an ill-conceived Tory suggestion to levy a £30,000 annual charge for UK residents who don't declare foreign income (so-called "non-doms"). This is us and about every other American in London. The intention is to penalize the Russians and the other in-your-face rich but instead may net an exodus of talent from London's financial centre, perhaps the sole world class asset this country enjoys and a driver of the UK economy. Us ex-pats pay in over £2 billion per year in taxes, excluding what we spend on the high street or invest from abroad. While Darling rescinded several of his more onerous positions including tax on foreign trust and asset registration, the nut remains in place and we shall see the outcome.

Photo of Sonnet from 1975, I would guess. Perhaps Stan can give me the year? Tonight Halley joins us for the night and we are having drinks with her and other non-dom friends at The Lanesborough.

This Chick Can Fly

Another world Record falls in Missouri, this time by Cal alum Natalie Coughlin who clocks a 59.21 in the 100-meter backstroke yesterday (photo of Coughlin from mariasphoto.com). She breaks her prior time by .23 seconds and remarkably is .4 seconds off-pace at the 50-meter mark in the race (this is about a half-body length). In 2007 she became the first woman under one minute in the event. Natalie is from Concord, California, which is not too far from Berkeley beyond Oakland's Caldecott Tunnel and next door to Walnut Creek where I trained with the weirdly named Aqua Bears. She's 15 years younger so I've not seen her swim but I do keep track of her progress - several years ago she was profiled in the New Yorker magazine, for instance. Also on Sunday, Katie Hoff set her second American record in as many days as she took the women's 200 meters freestyle in one minute 56.08 seconds to defeat Coughlin for the second time in two days. The women's team appears ready for Beijing

England has focused its attention on the wild cat - apparently the creature's population dwindles and is seldom seen these days. In response and with earnest concern, an all-hands request has gone across Britain to report wild cat sightings. The wild cat was once prevalent in Britain - as ubiquitous as the red fox or wily stout - but today its populations is estimated to be 16,000. What is unusual about the wild cat is that, unusually, it looks just like a house cat. Same size. Same coloring. No wild temper nor sharp fangs like a U.S. bob-cat. So I must wonder: does this really merit a slot on the BBC's prime-time news or front page of many Fleet Street newspapers? To a countryside rambler, it is a cause célèbre and a contrast to the US's Paris Hilton or Britney Spears.

World Pace

19-year old Katie Hoff breaks the U.S. 400-meter freestyle record in Columbia, Missouri, finishing in 4:03.20 (picture from U.S. Swimming). The record, until yesterday, was held by Janet Evans and the oldest on the American record books dating to the '88 Seoul Olympics. In the next lane, Kirsty Coventry topped the 17-year world record in the 200-meter backstroke, finishing in 2:06.39 nearly three-tenths of a second faster than the record. In Sydney, 22 year-old Eamon Sullivan set the world mark in the 50-meter freestyle with his time of 21.56, eclipsing the great Russian Alexander Popov's 2000 time of 21.64. I recall Dano Halsall, who I trained with in '84 and Geneve Natation, during my high school junior year, setting the record of 22.52 in 1985 (four months later it was surpassed by American Tom Jager). In 23 years, the race has improved 4.3%. Dano lives in Switzerland and owns a small sports chain.

Madeleine, unable to sleep last night, draws a mural on her bedroom wall. Boy, we've been here before but not for several years. Yes, she is testing our boundaries and Sonnet and I put on a stern face while chuckling behind her back. For the record: the drawings are actually pretty good and her threatened punishment, should she not clean things up, is no holiday this week (we will go to the Brecon Beacon in Wales). This gets her attention.

Dizzee Rascal

Paul, Erik and I join an all-white audience to see Dizzie Rascal at the Shepard's Bush Empire last night. It's an intense show that gets people moving and pointing in unison to the beats - Dizzie raps and high-fives the adoring front row. His pants are baggy and crotch at the knees; his kicks are new and his confidence huge. I first became aware of him several years ago while driving HW 101 in California when he was profiled on the BBC World Radio. As for the musician, Dylan Mills was born in 1985 and grew up in London's East End in the South Bow council estate. As a teenager, he was detained for stealing cars and robbing a pizza deliveryman, and expelled from four secondary schools. A sympathetic music teacher introduced him to music production on a school computer. And the rest, as they say, is history. Dizzie Rascal began MCing on pirate radio and at raves at fifteen, but since his mainstream success he has distanced himself from the fledgling scene. He used to be a member of the Roll Deep crew, until a conflict with former friend Wiley, another rapper.

His music is an eclectic mixture of garage and hip-hop beats with broad influences, ranging from metal guitars to found sounds, drill and bass synth lines, eclectic samples and even Japanese court music. His vocal performance is also distinctive, he uses a fast style of rapping which blends elements from garage MCing, conventional rap, grime and ragga. It is fresh. Photo from Matador Records.

"You could be a dappa you could be a don but i dont watch your face i dont care where your from"
Dizzee Rascal

Taco Salad

Madeleine at morning swim practice, which would be Saturday 8AM. Sharp. Otherwise yesterday is filled with usual family stuff and not much to write home about (or put into this blog). Moving to the mundane and with regrets, Dear Reader, I take Eitan for a haircut at the Turks then make taco salad for dinner - a recipe from Houston, Texas, via Roger whose mother Genie passed along this classic. Back in the day, Roger and I would go running or whatever in San Francisco then flop down for an afternoon of eating and dozing in front of the T.V. - this before business school and around the time I met Sonnet so circa 1993. Russian dressing is involved and since the Brits don't know such a thing, Sonnet creates the it from her Better Homes and Gardens cookbook ("America's favorite cookbook" since 1958) - who would have guessed the key ingredient is ketchup? With the Russian, multiple prepared ingredients are chucked into a garbage bag with tortilla crisps then crushed about and served. The kids watch bug eyed as I do this then get into the spirit squealng delight. Madeleine crushing away: "This is the best dinner ever!"

Howard

Steve Gerber died today at age 60. He's famous for many things but for comic fans it was Howard the Duck in the mid-1970s that caught our attention. Howard was a bit too weird for my tastes as I liked my super heroes manly: Spider Man and the Hulk remain, air sealed, in my parents basement neatly stacked and presumably appreciating in value every day. Can you feel the wealth?

As for Howard, over 27 issues he's firstly abducted from his native world and dropped into the Florida Everglades by the demonic Thog of Overmaster of the dread realm Sominus. Eventually he ends up in Cleveland, Ohio, battling various super villians along the way including Garko the Man-Frog and vampire cow, Bessie the Hellcow. In his journey, Howard meets the sexy Beverly Switzer and a bizarre series of encounters followed. He battles Pro-Rata, and then Spider Man. He also fights Turnip-Man and the Kidney Lady. He then learns Quak Fu, encounters the Winky Man, becomes a wrestler, and fights an animated Gingerbread Man. After a short time in Cleveland, Howard and Beverly take to the road for New York City, where Howard is nominated for U.S. president by the All-Night Party (pictured) but a doctored-photo scandal leads him to Canada, and the defeat of a supervillain, Le Beaver, who falls to his death. Howard then suffers a nervous breakdown. And so it goes.

"trapped in a world he never made!"
Signature for Howard The Duck comic

Loot

I take Madeleine to swimming and we goof around before the pool doors open - pictured. Meanwhile, Eitan on being famous: "It is when you have done something that is really good like painting a picture or writing music." Eitan lost a tooth this week and is now loaded with Tooth Ferry cash - to be spent on football cards for sure. He rubs his hands together anticipating a Joe Cole or Peter Crouch "Man Of The Match." I roll my eyes as this is all he talks about - comparing card values, players and teams. He knows every guy on England and awaits next month's friendly with France: "how many days until the game?" he begs. Our nanny Natasha, not a football fan, will see Chelsea today and I tell Eitan: "she has just gotten a lot more interesting to you." He shrugs in reply "Well besides they're behind Manchester United" which, of course Dear Reader, is his club. And there you have it.

Update: Eitan's savings of £11.52, carried in a sock, are dumped on the counter of the local news agent and 32 packs of trading cards are purchased. He's giddy and actually skips down the block. We bump into a bunch of his school chums on the high street and he shows off his loot to "ooos" and "ahhhhs." At six cards per pack, this should keep him busy for a day or so.

Cross The Line

Here we are around the corner on the school run. Eitan is grumpy because his football trading cards are left home - after he cannot get his s*** together to leave the house on-time. Madeleine hates to see her brother cry so she tries to relieve the tension: "Will you take away the T.V. dad? Will you?" His bad vibe continues until I threaten him with no school. He smells a bluff and turns homeward - "fine!" Momentarily flustered, I up the anti handing him the house keys and bidding him good-morning: "keep the place clean for Natasha" I say. This works and Fear Returns. Katie yesterday mentions that she thought I would be a more severe father (assumption: I'm not). The proof positive will be the 'morrow and whether the ship leaves the dock on time. Then we shall see if the battle has been won or temporarily delayed.

D.C.

Dan, pictured front, is a Columbia Business School pal who retired last year from a $5B hedge fund that he helped build in Minneapolis St-Paul. Now, as far as I can tell from his blog, all he does is bicycle. Er - bike, I mean to say. Dan has always been an intense fellow and now his secret athlete is unleashed. From what I can tell, he has a number of wheelers equipped for each season including today when the temps fall below -20 and the roads icy or closed. He's now working a MN CX 2008, even in February, and chides: "anybody who hates the CX does so because they are slow." Or a loser. Or fat. What would he say about my old Cannondale? I shudder. Dan races all year, sun or snow or worse and I spot a number of trophies and medals across his weblog. Happily he has created a community of wackos who share his passion, compare bike parts and tour the country or Europe. Oh boy, It is a good thing that his wife is interesting. Photo from Dan's blog.

Veggie Valentine

You may not "carrot" all for me the way I care for you.
You may "turnip" your nose
When I plead with you
But if your "heart" should "beet" with mine
Forever "lettuce" hope
There is no reason in the world
Why we two "Cantaloupe."

Sent to me by Katie (photo from the WWW)

My Valentine

Well, after the school drop I go to The Victoria for a dry cappuccino and to read my book. Sonnet joins me on her way home from an appointment - pictured - and we sit around talking kids and &c. We used to make a frequent breakfast at Mayfair favorite The Wolsely but these days I try not to go into town unless necessary. We now miss our fun dates which allowed us to talk outside of the daily routine (has anyone seen Bill Murray's "Groundhog Day"?). Yes, it's an effort to have adult reunions and this morning is a nice way to greet Valentines.

Madeleine has a nightmare and Sonnet lets her sleep on my side of the bed, forcing me eventually to the couch. When I ask her to describe the dream, she breathlessly tells me: "Shark, dad. With a red eye. Coming out of the Thames to grab me. And I couldn't run!" So last night I break the rules and allow Eitan to sleep in her room, which makes both happy (These camp-outs are limited to the week-end). Sonnet disapproves - another sign I've been rolled.

This morning Madeleine lies on the floor reading. I ask if she looks forward to being a teen-ager and she replies positive: "then I can have a pet" she says matter of factly. "But not a goldfish." She is no doubt counting her days and wishes for a pup or a cat.

Christmas Past

Here I am with Katie on her Upper West Side some time who-knows-when. This time of year I keep my eyes open for discarded Christmas trees - the thought of some poor bugger holding on to the holiday spirit months past the sell-by date is morbidly fascinating. I spotted a brown, dried-out fir in Notting Hill yesterday resting curbside (I sms'd Sonent). The record is late March. It is the same in New York BTW. Perhaps this is a Big City thing: people hiding away not wishing to face the New Year and its stress. Who knows? but it makes me anxious.

The kids have yoga this morning and I enjoy sitting through their class before the morning school bell. I use the time to read and am half way through Lord Jim ("You shall judge of a man by his foes as well as by his friends . . . "). Sonnet has her Fashion Week and complains when she cannot get a seat at the popular shows. I mean, really. She's home late paying witness to the Next Big Thing and I plan to watch "The Haunting" and not the silly remake with Nicole Kidman, mind you (Sonnet refuses to watch anything with even the most mild tension). The '63 film from Shirley Jackson's book remains a horror classic and has scared the bee-Jesus out of a generation of movie fans. It is a rough life indeed.

Good Bye, Roy

Roy Schieder, who died yesterday of a rare blood cancer, became famous thanks to the shark - a movie BTW I was not allowed to see in '75 though it was rated "PG" (in 1976 I was allowed to see "Orca," a killer-whale rip-off of Jaws. We were on summer holiday in Ohio). Schieder was a short tough-guy who always seemed genuine. He starred in several favorite films including Klute, The French Connection (which I watched last month) and The Marathon Man.

Appropriate to this photo, Madeleine had a "pool party" Saturday celebrating birthday number six. In attendance are 20 screaming kids who strip into their swim suits and kick and scratch (me) for an hour. And this before the drug surge from chocolate cake laced with bon bon decorations. We survive and Madeleine has a lovely afternoon. Eitan feels dejected but he works it out with hugs from me and mum.

I listen on the radio that we Brits will be charged for our water usage. Is nothing left sacred?

Madeleine happily exclaims: "Fan-tabby-tosa!"

"You're gonna need a bigger boat."
Roy Schieder in Jaws

Richmond

After morning swimming, we meet Paul and Camilla and Lars and the twins for a walk in Richmond Park than lunch riverside in Richmond. It is a beautiful, spring-like day in London and the masses fill our borough with their cars - the good with the bad. Lars retired last month at the ripe old age of 37 having founded a hedge fund Holte Capital four years ago. He and his family will spend several months "in the largest RV I can get my hands on" touring the United States beginning in the Deep South - a trip I have yet to do - lucky bastard. Lars's wife Puk is in Copenhagen for Fashion Week so he is solo with Anna and Sophia - both mischievous and two steps ahead of us adults, who are usually pre-occupied with whatever until some near catastrophe ("Eitan! Get down from that roof!"). After lunch we take in the sun on Richmond Common while the kids eat gelato and Paul, Lars and I exchange real estate pornography. Just your typical lazy Sunday, Oh, God bless England.

This old photo of the Kingston Bridge not far from us today. There is evidence that a wooden bridge has existed at Kingston since the 13th century. Until a wooden bridge was built at Putney in 1729, Kingston Bridge was the only bridge on the Thames between London Bridge and Staines Bridge. This contributed greatly to Kingston's success as a medieval market town (today I shop Gap, John Lewis and &c.)

The first masonry bridge was built in 1828 of Portland stone at a charge of £26,800 - the first stone was laid in 1825 and opened for tranport ion 1828. It became free from tolls in 1870 ending 650 years of charges (!) Celebrations including a fireworks show were followed a few days later with the burning of the toll-gates on Hampton Green, as one does. The most recent work was finished in 2000 to allow bicycle lanes, larger pavements and a bus lane. Photo from the National Archive and shows the first tram crossing.

From Russia

Here is the author whistl'n dixie at the end of a week. I meet new friend Brad from North Carolina this morning at the Royal Academy to see the Russians - a wonderful collection of paintings from the late 19th century to the mid 20th. The exhibit explores the interaction between Russian and French art during a period of profound social upheaval and political revolution, the program tells us. Works include many of the great pioneers of modern art from Realism and Impressionism to the abstract movements of Suprematism and Constructivism: Renoir, Cézanne, Van Gogh, Gauguin and Matisse together with Kandinsky, Tatlin and Malevich. The paintings are from four Russian Museums and opens with "Tolstoy In Bare Feet." Fantastic. The show almost did not arrive thanks to tense Russia-UK relations - Moscow demanded protection from descendants of former owners who have attempted to have the works impounded in recent past. In the end, the Ruskies are satisfied somehow and below is Matisse's The Dance, a centre piece of the show (image from the Matisse Archives):

Football UK

I and the kids watch England versus Switzerland last night in a "friendly", which we win 2-1. Joe Cole, pictured, sets up Jermaine Jenas for the first strike: Cole's footwork was masterful. When not with England, he plays with Chelsea - Eitan has his football card which notes: "Joe started his career playing for West Ham from an early age. He now plays fpr Chelsea as a high class midfielder. He made his debut for England in May 2001 playing against Mexico. Joe looks to be set to play for England for many years to come." The card trades pretty well at the schoolyard cards market (Eitan tells me).

The kids eventually go to sleep around 10PM and this morning is a drag getting them out of bed. Sonnet does the school run and runs ten minutes late (Eitan threatens not to go until I drop The Fury Of God on him).

Pre Fab Comes To London

While visiting the Tate Modern Sunday, I note a strange thing going up on the concourse. I now know it is the Maison Tropicale, designed by French architect Jean Prouvee (d. 1984) and purchased by hotelier Andre Balasz - it now stands proud on the Thames's south side, pictured. Maison is one of three designed by Prouve in pursuit of a demountable and remountable house. Ours was made in France and shipped by air to the Congo in 1951. If only houses could be made in factories like cars, Prouvee thought, then assembled in days, sitting lightly on the ground until moved elsewhere. How perfect for our mobile and unencumbered youthful world. His vision influenced Norman Foster and Richard Rogers and while Prouvee's dream remains unfulfilled, it has been revived in recent times by IKEA. In this line,Sonnet and I visited Le Corbusier's Villa Savoye at Poissy-sur-Seine in France pre-kids. It was equally groovy.

6 !

Madeleine turns a year and receives morning presents: "this is the best birthday ever!" she exclaims with her new watch, stuffed toys (thank you, Stan and Silver, for the cat) and pop up and other books and toys (this before the sun cracks the horizon). She marches out the door with two sacks full of Kit Kats for her class room and Sonnet observes the loving attention she gets from Mrs Reynolds who is no doubt equally excited by 25 kids on chocolate.

The Democratic primary has reached London and last night celebrates at the Porchester Hall with flags &c. for those who participated with a view. I can only image the coverage in the US but here the Obama-Clinton battle has received some considerable attention - a friend asks me why I would ever want a British passport given the sheer entertainment of the American presidency.

The older the fiddler, the sweeter the tune.
English Proverb

Ballach

Here is Adam in Southern California where he moved recently and bought a surf board. Adam and I have a lot of history going back to the seventh grade at King Junior High School. He introduced me to the cool crowd, then dubbed "the Benchies" and we have remained friends ever since. In 1995 when I returned to New York for business school, Adam crimped a room before Sonnet joined me with her cat. With Christian, Blake (at Columbia Law) and down-town artist Sarah all transplaced from the Bay Area, drinking martinis or having dinner parties was never more stylish. Even better was Katie nearby becoming a writer.

Cleavage

Here's another one from the Tate Sunday - The Kids Investigate. I'm excited by Super Duper Tuesday, which is getting its fair share of press in the UK. The British are entranced by the Democratic front-runners: a black man or a woman. Anyone in doubt of the the Great American Experiment have only to tune in today and November. The thing that irritates me though are the silly interviews with voters - I mean, do I really need to know what Sally, 32 and working at TJ's, really thinks? Or Fred, a paralegal in Memphis, who offers this: "after six years (!) of Bush, we want a motherly figure to lead us." Now there is some insight shared across Britain. Of better interest, the Demo party has united in London and there is a Obama celebration this evening in Notting Hill, U.S. passport required. Our friend Eric, who we saw for dinner Saturday, is advising Barack regarding the economy - Eric is a partner at McKinsey. He is also involved with the Obama campaign here in London and he has invited me to meet Michelle Obama during her fund raising visits.

"You know, my faith is one that admits some doubt. "
Barack Obama

Doris Salced

A giant crack spreads across the turbine hall - the work of Doris Salcedo who is the eighth artist commissioned to produce work for the museum . Her piece, Shibboleth, is a 167-metre-long cleavage in the hall's floor that Salcedo says "represents borders, the experience of immigrants, the experience of segregation, the experience of racial hatred. It is the experience of a Third World person coming into the heart of Europe". More generally, the artist was born in 1958 and is a sculpture from Colombia. She lives in Bogotá and teaches at the Universidad Nacional de Colombia. Pretty damn cool and we and everybody are transfixed.

Tate Modern

We arrive on the river's south side and have pizza overlooking the Thames and Shakepeare's Globe theatre. From there, we make the short walk to the Tate Modern where Eitan and Madeleine run about with glee in the turbine chamber. I chase them between "homey" and we are all perspired following several hours of this. As we leave, Eitan disappears to our great distress - happily, a family takes him to the information counter where I find him following a frantic ten minutes. Everybody, including the the helpful guards, is tearful at the re-union and we recover over gellato on the way home. I'm happy to report that Eitan remembered to seek adult help and call home, so he was never completely out of touch- but what a stress for sure.

Lambeth Bridge

Pictured, the (relatively) new steel-arch bridge linking Lambeth Palace to Millbank and Westminster. Built to replace an earlier design by P W Barlow (which suffered from severe corrosion and considered unsafe) Lambeth Bridge features five spans, some pleasing decorative iron-work and obelisks at either end topped by pine cones known to be a symbol of hospitality from at least Roman times (note to the wise: these pine cones have often been mistaken for pineapples part of the from the fact that pinecones were once called "pine apples"). The bridge is repainted every several years and the most conspicuous colour in the bridge's current paint scheme is red, the same colour as the leather benches in the House of Lords. This is in contrast to Westminster Bridge which is predominantly green, the same colour as the benches in the House of Commons at the northern end of the Houses of Parliament. The current bridge opened as a four laner in 1932, shaved now to three including a buses-only. The London Eye is in the middle of my shot.

Tate To Tate

Yesterday, after a considerable amount of whinging and whining, I take the kids to the Britain to catch the Tate-To-Tate boat to the Modern. Missing our connection by an instant, we explore the Tate Britain and the kids see some modern art - their first exposure BTW. 

We study Francis Bacon and Madeleine notes that the painter "must be a very sad man, dad" (a series of his paintings portray Bacon's lover, who committed suicide). 

They otherwise have little time for the galleries and it is futile for me to read the captions for myself or them - they race around earning the Evil Eye from the elderly security guard. Francis Bacon I learn was an Irish figurative painter who died in 1992 - his effeminate nature enraged his father who may have horse whipped Francis from an early age, resulting in the often nightmarish or grotesque imagery in the painter's work. 

Bacon is most famous, perhaps, for his Wound for a Crucifix which was blasphemous in the 1930s. Other shocking works include warped figures with small mouthlike openings and sharp teeth which reminds me of leeches somehow.

"You see, painting has now become, or all art has now become completely a game, by which man distracts himself. What is fascinating actually is, that it's going to become much more difficult for the artist, because he must really deepen the game to become any good at all."
Francis Bacon

Salty Old Dog

On Moe's recommendation and at age 25, I read Churchill's six-volume history of WWII (Moe finished the tomb in a high school month, while it took me a year). It is remarkable both for its sweep and for its sense of personal involvement - it ultimately earned Churchill the Nobel Prize in 1953 and secured his legacy for the ages. Before jumping into Churchill whole-hog, I read William Manchester's classic The Last Lion trilogy: Visions of Glory, 1874-1932 and Alone, 1932-1940. Sadly, Manchester was unable to finish the final volume - when Churchill reclaimed his poll position and guided Britain and the Free World to its finest hour. Manchester died in 2004 with about 200 pages, too sick to write following a series of strokes and bereft from the loss of his wife in 1998. Sonnet and I have visited Churchill's war bunkers next to St James's Park and nearby Downing Street; we have also made the pilgrimage to Blenheim Palace where Churchill was born and Hitler wished to live should he have succeeded. In a recent poll by the BBC, Churchill was voted the most important Britain of all time beating out... yes, you know it.... Diana. Gag me with a spoon. Photo from the Churchill archives.

Lady Astor: "If you were my husband, I'd give you poison."
Churchill: "If you were my wife, I'd take it."

Ray In The NYT

Here is our very own hero Ray Horton pictured in today's New York Times - he is at the back left in the red scarf. The re-union brings 10 curators from New York and around the US plus one from London though not Sonnet - at least not yet. Written in the NYT, the group is the inaugural class of the Center for Curatorial Leadership, a fellowship program founded last year to address what many in the museum world see as a need for curators to become better business people. In part, the goal is that business people — or at least those with far more financial acumen than art training — do not end up running museums. And it is also to help the next generation of museum directors cope with the growing financial pressures on art institutions as they compete for visitors with one another and with the pop-culture industry. The announcement is well timed given the problems facing Los Angeles museum community regarding ethical lapses regarding their collection sourcing. Ray is professor at Columbia Business School with whom Sonnet, Katie and I travelled Pakistan and Western China. I took his Modern Political Economy course, which was a favorite with me and many of my MBA classmates.

Guitar

Madeleine this morning at the school-drop. She's loaded down with bags and things, and the guitar has begun in earnest with evening practice (I goad them to play "Stairway To Heaven." Note to Moe: this is a famous rock and roll song by Led Zeppelin). It is a good morning and I help Mrs Reynolds in the classroom with administrative work - you know, cutting and pasting plus a little filing. Fun stuff, which allows me to participate in the classroom antics from the sideline. I remember visiting Grace's Montessori school in the '70s and how much fun it was to run around with the squeakers (me being the Big Kid, age 11+). The Montessori was in an Oakland Church and Grace converted the teaching area into a thing of wonder including a outdoor recreational with constructions using old navy piers and other timbers. The vision was hers alone and the kids were loved and worked out.

Otherwise afoot at the school, Music Week begins February 4th including a Jazz Concert, a Baroque to Rock presentation and numerous singing events - all open for the parents on different days. Stay tuned.

When the music changes, so does the dance.
African proverb

Yaqub

Yaqub Shaw

A Pakistani driver brings me home from the airport and we get to talking. He has four children from teen to six months and has lived in Sussex since age five with the exclusion of several years when he returned to Pakistan to study religion and engineering. He's otherwise 42 or 43 I would guess. We discuss being Muslim in the UK, and he says he is British first - "we all are." He says without question England is the most accepting place in Europe and the least concerned about his religious beliefs: "It is the best place by far." On radicalism and young people, he says the young are easily brain-washed and have nothing else but anger, which they do not understand. "I just want to live my life. I am too old to be angry." 

In the summer of '97 Sonnet, Katie and some friends with Columbia Professor Ray Horten traveled the 1500 kilometer Karakorum Highway connecting Pakistan and China a the Khunjerab pass or 17,500 feet. The road descends into the Taklamaken desert at the base of the T'ien Shan mountains. It was hard to do this trip then, and probably impossible now. My photo of Yaqub Shaw, who provided our security - Yaqub is a retired Lt Colonel in the Army and otherwise presents a menacing, emotionless presence which was used on several occasions beyond Rawalpandi where not a Westerner can be seen. Yaqub owns the Sky Bridge Inn in Sust, the last small village on the KKH before China. It is surrounded by sky touching and jagged mountains. He is proud of his property no doubt, and on this evening we light a bonfire on the roof and a friend plays the flute and chants long ago tribal songs which bounce off mountain walls and back to us.

Transpo

Here's another one from this weekend at the Transportation Museum. The lighting represents the London Underground's famous tube map. Very clever. The kids love the up-ramp, where they dash and slide until I holler: "Enough!"

A survey by the Office for National Statistics gives us this data on Britain's consumption, as percentage of weekly expenditure after mortgage or rent:

Fags: 5.6%
Fruit and Veg: 4.5%
Meals out: 3.1%
Alcohol: 2.9%
Bus fares: 2.2%
Biscuits and cakes, 2.0%

That was 1957. And in 2006?

Petrol: 4.0%
Council tax: 3.8%
Meals out: 2.8%
Alcohol: 2.5%
Fruit and Veg: 1.4%
Cigs: 0.9%

Of course, today the British make considerably more money so the significance of petrol, cigarettes and alcohol is understated in the recent data.

'90

Here is Katie with her fabulous crew from Harvard. The East Coast re-union includes almost all her freshmen year roommates or suite mates: Sharon, Steph, Joanna, Rachel, Laura, Gif, Kristin, Mary and me. Plus some random kids thrown into the mix. How interesting to think that I first met this crowd in the fall of 1986 on a college Road Trip with Steve Tapper and Roger Murff. If I dare recall, there was a lot of drinking and cavorting which remains lodged in my memory bank (for the record: we maintained our purity much to my present regret. I mean - why not?). In 1997, Katie, Joanna, Sharon and I travelled the Karakorum Highway connecting Pakistan and China.

Madeleine is doing a good job with Kuman, her maths program that she follows outside the classroom. The daily assignments build confidence and progress at her pace - Madeleine does her homework without cajoling and enjoys it. Today, she traces numbers from top-to-bottom and counts their corresponding objects.

Quattro Torri

Driving home this evening I pull off the A4 in Chelsea to take this photograph of the Battersea Power Station. Planes buzz across the sky to Heathrow leaving their jet tail. The kids remain in the car sleeping; afterwards we return home listening to The Kooks. Sonnet and Rana greet us at arrival - Rana is on her way home from Davos where she has been covering events as Economics Editor for Newsweek. Rana is a dear London friend who moved to Brooklyn's Park Slope last year, so Sonnet is thrilled to see her. On Davos and given the equities melt-down last week, the reunion of the world's economist, politicians and bankers is significant. Rana hangs out with the Good and the Great and is full of interesting stories to pass along to us plebians. The kids weasel some more T.V. and now sit transfixed in front of "Ben 10".

Covent Garden

Here we are looking serious at the Transport Museum in Covent Garden. I learn interesting factoids like the Underground has 276 stations and runs over 243 miles (408 km) of line, making it the longest underground railway in the world, and one of the most served in terms of stations. There are also numerous closed stations. In 2005 971 million passengers used the Underground and for the first time ever in 2007, over one billion passengers were recorded. Today, just over 3 million passengers use the Underground each day, with an average of 3.4 million passengers on weekdays. Swedes Håkan Wolgé and Lars Andersson set the Guinness Book of World Records for visiting each node in 18 hours, 25 minutes and 3 seconds in 2005. It is also a well known fact that the rate of train stoppage is directly correlated to the urgency of your trip.

Eitan enthusiastically relays that in 1890 horses dropped 1,000 tons of poo onto the city streets each day.

Madeleine to Sonnet: "You know, Eitan wants a pet more than he wants you."

Madeleine on growing up: "I want to be a swim-racer. I want to be a book writer. I want to a deep sea diver. I want to be a taxi driver." (she breaks into song)

Ketchup

I take the kids to Covent Garden so Sonnet can have the afternoon to herself. We park off The Strand and walk to Burger Heaven for - yes - burgers. And chips. Eitan follows his strategy of eating his least favorite first than the main event: in this case, the french fries before the hamburger. We discuss transportation as we are heading for the Transport Museum, which opened last year following a two year upgrade. On transportation, the kids belt out: "Subway! Plane! Car. Boat. A horse (Eitan) A snail! (Madeleine). We also discuss what goes on a hamburger and Eitan confides that he hates mayonnaise but loves ketchup, which he spreads everywhere until I stop him. If its green, Madeleine won't touch it.

Madeleine sees two boys on a doorstep: "Look Eitan - orphans!"

ゴジラ

Eitan announces to Sonnet that he wants to go to University so: "I can be a footballer. And a paleontologist." Yes, his class is discussing dinosaurs and the boy's imagination is captured. In fact, he wants to practice his new skill in our backyard digging fossils (I put the kabol on this idea). I think every kid imagines himself one day as Indiana Jones searching for some lost arc. I did, anyway, and this led to Godzilla by the first grade. We had a Japanese live-in nanny - Taka - who switched me on to the weirdness of the Japanese including monsters. I surveyed the Sunday TV listings for Friday night's Creature Feature preying Godzilla was on the midnight show. My fascination took us to San Francisco's Japan Town where I would save my coins to buy Japanese action figures and books, which Taka would loving translate (Katie was more interested in calligraphy and other practical matters). So who, or what, is Godzilla? Created in 1954, Godzilla is one of the most recognizable action/fictional symbols of Japanese pop culture. He has been considered a filmographic metaphor for the United States beloved by Brown's semiotics program and other less serious students (ok, an unnecessary jab I agree). The earlier Godzilla, especially the original, attempted to portray him as a frightening, nuclear monster. Godzilla was a representation of the fears that many Japanese held about the nuclear attacks on Hiorshima and Nagaski, as well as the fear of those types of attacks occurring again. As the series progressed, so did Godzilla, changing into a less destructive and more heroic character (who can forget Godzilla Vs. King Kong?) as the films became increasingly geared towards children. And so me. BTW it was Paul Tong who turned all of Washington primary on to our beloved creature.

The gas warning goes off while Sonnet on her way to pick up Madeleine.
Eitan, from the back: "what happens if we run out of gas?"
Sonnet: "We would stop in the middle of the road. But we don't want to be late for pick-up."
Eitan, after some consideration: "It would be sensible, if we do not want to be late, to get gas now."

Dipso, Fatso

Here's the boy at The Bank of England club. He has a goal scored on him during his morning match, and feels rotten only made worse by the sideline who cheers for the scoring kid. Eitan comes off the pitch dejected and tells me "I'm rubbish at goal." Poor guy. Madeleine begins her morning at swim team, then football and finally performance class. She's the energizer bunny and I have to tell the kids to keep their traps shut so Sonnet and I can have an afternoon nap. I'm recovering from my busy last week, which took me to Dublin, Munich, Zurich and Paris. I think it was productive but time will tell. Otherwise this weekend is pretty low-key and without social engagements and thank goodness.

Eitan writes a story, titled "The Dragon's Garden" about a statue that comes to life and befriends a little boy. We await the full action. When I ask Madeleine at dinner if she has a story too, she pauses and then: "well, it is in my head dad." Encouraged to disclose her secret, she describes a girl, who has a watch on her wrist and when twisted, she ends up in somebody else's bed. And she's a boy.... and has a willy. She (or he) longs to see her mother. Then her dead grandmother appears and tells her to take the watch off... but failing this they go to heaven together, where the little girl (or boy?) is given another chance so she goes to the doctor who cuts open her head and takes out her brains and replaces them with the brains of the girl (or boy) in her bed. "there's lots of blood" says Madeleine, matter-of-factly.

Apparently Britain, as a Britain-pride-boosting exercise, is debating a logo. You know, something like a "statement of values" defining what it means to be us - a Declaration of Independence of sorts. My favorite suggestion from the general public is: "Dipso, Fatso, Bingo, Asbo, Tesco" (Asbo stands for "anti-scoial behavior order while Tesco is the ubiquitous supermarket chain). Perfect.

Beer and . . .

I'm in Munich and this is a land of beer and football for sure. Of course it is also the Octoberfest which lasts sixteen days and draws many tens of thousands to Munich who drink many tens of millions of gallons of beer. The rest of the year these Germans are recovering. Or talking about it. As far as I can tell anyway. Before Munich I was in Dublin for the day which, being Dublin, was cold and grey and of course raining. Despite this, I managed to go jogging between meetings on Marrion Square and the smell of coal burning adds to the distinct cheer of the place. I'm with a number of private investors and pension funds who may be interested in buying Industry Ventures (I am a Venture Partner and helping them raise Fund V). It's a fickle business and today's stock market fall across Asia and Europe muscles its way to the top of any conversation - get out the popcorn, one Limited Partner tells me (we're relieved to see the US exchanges have only a minor declines when they open earlier today). Talking to the kids on the phone, Madeleine asks for a goldfish and Eitan a Nintendo DX. I tell them: no way.

Crawl

Eitan in motion. During swim practice, I run in Richmond Park with several other dads whose kids are doing the same (swimming, that is). Eitan's coach is pushing for a more advanced group which would require two work-outs a week. He's resisted so far while football remains his main sport (Bonus ! Manchester United won last night in Reading, putting them at the top of the Premiership - Eitan whoops with joy as his heroes Wayne Rooney and Christiano Rinaldo score the winners). We now sit at the breakfast table doing homework and me blogging. Sonnet is at yoga - Bikram BTW or the one where you sweat. This evening my friends from Industry Ventures arrive in London for the beginning of a mad cap across Europe visiting six cities in five days in a schedule which now rolls into the following week. I'm sure that Conde Naste would not approve.

Skate

Madeleine and I take a lap in an otherwise unseasonably warm winter - same as it ever was. Taxi drivers tell me 25 years ago London got several feet of snow which would stick. This year we haven't even a dusting - the first time in 11 - though it is only January. School yard Mums are talking early spring and daffodils are poking their heads three months early. This morning, Madeleine tries out for the local swim team and passes with flying colors. Her Saturdays will be loaded: swimming, football and performance class. Phew! We've also signed her up for Kumon, which is a Japanese approach to maths. It requires every-day homework which begins counting dots and continues to calculus building confidence along the way we hope. I've seen in the classroom those kids who are not going with the program - they become bored, distracted and behind. The teachers charge ahead and unless the parents are engaged it's over before it begins.

Eitan purposely scares the bejesus out of Sonnet this morning. Afterwards, he: "Mom, don't think that this is the last time I will be doing that."

Madeleine: "Dad, can I buy some squiggly string at Pandomium?"
Madeleine: "Dad, can I buy some squiggly string at Pandomium?"
Madeleine: "Dad, can I buy some squiggly string at Pandomium?"
Madeleine: "Dad, can I buy some squiggly string at Pandomium?"

Madeleine: "Dad, can I buy some squiggly string at Pandomium?"
Madeleine: "Dad, can I buy some squiggly string at Pandomium?"

Madeleine: "Dad, can I buy some squiggly string at Pandomium?"



Madeleine: "Dad, can I buy some squiggly string at Pandomium?"

Kiddo

Lest we forget the cute little sprogue that was Madeleine, here is a shot from early 2002. Many of Madeleine's best qualities were evident early: fearless, demanding, forceful. Of course, at the time these traits were not necessarily viewed with, ahem, our full appreciation. Now they are applied in the classroom where she often has her hand up with the right or wrong, greeting new people sometimes in Spanish, and on the football pitch - when she wants a goal, she brushes the boys back. Without doubt she feels the ever present thumb-on -forehead which is Eitan, but she is also figuring our her interests and this is half the fun (as long as she stays clear of the drums or electric guitar).

Pommes Frites

France attracted a record number of tourists in 2007, with no signs that the euro's strength has deterred outsiders to the euro zone, the Minister for Consumer Affairs and Tourism said yesterday and reported in the IHT. "France is going to set a record in 2007," the minister, Luc Chatel, said on LCI television. "It will pass the 80 million mark for visitors in 2007." France is the world's top travel destination with tourism accounting for about 6.3% of gross domestic product according to data from the Finance Ministry. Not surprisingly, Paris is the most popular city in the world welcoming 30 million foreigners in 2004 (the Big Apple sees 44 million, but this includes foreign and American, according to NYC & Co.). And what is the greatest draw, you may ask? Why Euro-Disney, of course, which receives 12.4 million guests per year, followed by Notre Dame and the Sacre-Coeur basiica with 12 and 8 million respectively. The busiest museum is the Louvre with 8 million culturistas and the beloved Eiffel Tower at 6 million per year (and 200 million since its birth in 1889). Photo from DK Images.

Yesterday evening heading into Mayfair on bus, I find Eitan's teacher Ms Swain on her way to see Kafka at the Lyric Theatre. This gives us a chance to talk outside the schoolyard. This is Ms Swain's first full classroom following several training years and accreditation and her enthusiasm is front and centre. She gushes about her kids and Eitan, who she describes as "a star". We trade a few notes on bands like Wilco and she is impressed that Sonnet and I saw the Chemical Brothers last month. And then it hits me: I am probably 15 years her senior. Woa. I could almost be her dad. And why is this somehow disturbing? Well, teachers and professors have always been statemanly like figures, mature, you know .... older. And here Ms Swain and I trade a generation and I'm on the downhill side.

Northern Lights

This image of the Northern Lights over Yellowknive, Canada, sent to me by Stan who of course spent many years admiring the phenomenon from Alaska. A sad truth is that during my early courtship of Stan's daughter, Sonnet and I failed to visit her home-state when it would have been convenient, ie, from San Francisco (London it's a 20+ hour indirect voyage + Stan and Silver now live on the Western Slope). As for the mechanism: Auroras are produced by the collision of charged particles, mostly electrons but also protons and heavier particles, from the magnetosphere, with atoms and molecules of the Earth's upper atmosphere (at altitudes above 80 km). Most originate from the sun and arrive at the vicinity of earth in the relatively low-energy solar wind. When the trapped magnetic field of the solar wind is favourably oriented (principally southwards) it reconnects with that of the earth and solar particles then enter the magnetosphere and are swept to the magnetotail. Further magnetic reconnection accelerates the particles towards earth.

The collisions in the atmosphere electronically excite atoms and molecules in the upper atmosphere. The excitation energy can be lost by light emission or collisions. Most aurorae are green and red emission from atomic oxygen. Molecular nitrogen and nitrogen ions produce some low level red and very high blue/violet aurorae. Unfortunately, I'm not able to credit the image which is part of an unmarked series.

Mice

Madeleine, over breakfast, casually announces that she has mice in her bedroom eliciting an immediate (and gratifying) response from her mother. I decide to probe a little deeper, and learn that the mice have names: Molly, Polly and Jack. They are friendly mice and like to take tea by Madeleine's bed, just before bed-time. Sometimes they sit on her shoulder and talk about "important things." Eitan, of course, is indignant: "You DO NOT have mice!" he says. When I turn to Eitan and ask how he knows if anything is real, let alone mice - he bangs his head against the table and says: "See! It hurts!" And existentialism takes the back seat to the pragmatic. Photo at school this morning before pre-class yoga.

That Camera

Here is one scanned from Spain several years ago. I'm doing most of my shooting these days with a Canon 400 which I picked up in Montrose over the summer while taking a break from my beloved Pentax SuperMe and Yashica Mat. The sad truth is that digital photography is instantly rewarding compared to the interminable delay of a clumsy SLR. Today, my black and whites are filed away safely and recall the kid's early years (thank goodness I might add). My last lab development was probably a year ago and the time required is prohibitive - minimum four hours (usually twice this) for maybe ten workable prints. But ah the cheer of seeing the end result from snap-shot to shiny glossy. And also while digital cameras are convenient they are not fashionable - as an accoutrement, an old snapper can't be beat. Especially for a Dad with a Fedora and a pipe. And while I have neither, I like to consider the idea of it.