Patience, tolerance or even stoicism

It's been two whole months and I managed not to mention it. Not even once. Not that things have been going well, according to plan or even remotely within the agreed timelines. They weren't. Not that it merely impacts me. It impacts my entire family. In fact, it very much limits our ability to enjoy this glorious summer. And still, I have yet to mention it. Not even once. The refurbishment.

You see, two month ago works started on the house. New roof. New windows. Pointing. Bricks. The lot. The house is surrounded by scaffolds that are covered by a white net. People walking up and down peering through our windows at all hours of the day. Constant banging and inordinate amounts of dust and debris. Everywhere.

And still, I did not mention it. Not even once. Until today. No longer patient. All tolerance lost. Stoicism? No F***** Way.

PS 625km down. 375km to go.

Elementary my dear

I am a big fan of detective stories. Not stories really. More TV detectives. My favourite, naturally, is Morse. Like me, he's a grumpy old bugger. But also Jane Tennison, Fitz (Cracker), Adam Dalgliesh, Wallander, Philip Marlowe, Poirot, Colombo even Kojak. Yet, somehow, not Sherlock Holmes. All that deerstalker and pipe. The supposedly dark side implied by reference to cocaine. Works in the books but awfully outdated on TV. Until today that is.

Just saw the first instalment of 'Sherlock' on BBC1. As usual for the BBC it is a period piece. The only surprise is that the period is . . . . now. Mobile phones, CCTV, the lot. More Spooks than Conan Doyle. It runs at Bugatti Veyron pace and it is witty:

Someone: "You are a psychopath Holmes."
Holmes: "I am a highly-functional sociopath you idiot!"

Just hope it's gonna last. You see, it was the exposition, the unfolding of the context and introduction of the key characters that was the most exciting part of the episode. The actual mystery took not more than a third of the air-time. Now that we have the background, will the actual plot hold 90mins of TV? I do hope so.

BTW, no mention of the word "elementary".

PS 620km down. 380km to go.

Ban the ban

The French National Assembly's committee has recommended banning the wearing of the Niqab / Burqa / face-veil in public. The recommendation is likely to become law. Other European countries are also considering it. Europe is not alone. Syria banned it from schools and universities. It is banned in Turkey.

In Syria this is more an act of self-preservation by the ruling party. Allow the face-veil and you are down the slippery slope at the end of which the Muslim Brothers take over the country. The rationale in Turkey, as defined by the constitution, is that it is a secular country. The army is charged with making sure that stays that way. France is rather similar to Turkey in this sense. I believe religious symbols are banned in public buildings. Even crosses. Probably not in churches though. Anyway, that is the official reason.

And still, I don't buy it. There are 5 million Muslims in France. Not all of them as well integrated into the French fabric of society as Zinadine Zidane. Let's not forget that as recently as 2002 Jean-Marie Le Pen came second in the Presidential elections. I believe there is at least a smidgen of perceived self preservation in l'Assemblee nationale's move. As they would say: a democracy needs to have the means to defend itself.

So why not here in the UK? Simple. Wearing whatever one wants is a basic human right. Now I agree that there is likely to be a minority of Muslim women in Britain who are forced by their families to hide their face behind the veil. Banning the veil is likely to help them [although it may back-fire; they would likely be completely forbidden to leave the house, which may be worse for them]. Still, it's not worth it. You see, I am afraid of a different slippery slope; the one where the authorities ban more and more things, further and further limiting our human rights. So I say: "ban the ban".

PS 610km down. 390km to go.

Do nothing

Two and a half years ago I passed out. My wife called an ambulance which took me to the A&E. The physicians went through the usual battery of tests. Everything was fine, so I was sent back home. The following day I went to the GP. In my mind the right thing to do was to do many more tests until the cause was identified. I was taken aback by the GP's reaction:

GP: "More tests? I really don't think it's necessary."
Me: "But I passed out!"
GP: "How old are you?"
Me: "38"
GP: "Is this the first time you passed out?"
Me: "Yes?!"
GP: "Well, you should be grateful."

His point was: these things happen and we have very limited understanding why. Unless I passed out again, the best thing would be to do nothing.

I was reminded of the above reading the paper today. Nassim Taleb, identified as a philosopher, wrote about our tendency to act when in many cases the best thing to do would be . . . . you got it right, nothing.

I am more of the 'Let's sleep on it' school of thought. If I am about to react in anger, anguish or fury I always try to wait until the next day and reconsider the situation once the blood has redistributed itself from my hot head to the rest of the body. It is an off shoot from the 'Do nothing' school: do nothing for a while, then decide whether or not to do something.

Anyway, the reason I am telling you all this is that I have a major bone to pick with Mr Taleb. You see, he jumps seamlessly from talking about 'doing nothing' versus 'doing something' to the talking about 'omission' versus 'commission'. Now, I agree that 'commission' is very close to 'doing something'. I completely disagree with the second part. Omission is 'not doing something specific' or even stopping to do it, not 'doing nothing'. Not the same.

Taking it to the topic Taleb is focusing on - the financial system - the 'omission' suggested by Taleb: deciding to avoid regulation altogether, is not the same as not changing the regulatory system. Indeed, one may not accept regulation as the 'natural' state of events, but it is the status quo. Changing the status quo is not 'do nothing'. So, my problem with Taleb's argument is in the realm of philosophy. In the realm of economics I just think he's plain wrong.

PS 600km down. 400km to go.

The dog and me

I was in the Heath with MGF S&A earlier today. An idyllic setting. The four adults having coffee on the bench, S&A's little one sleeping in the buggy and my three little angels running around with sandwiches in their hands.

Suddenly, I see a 2-feet tall grey, hairy dog running at full speed toward my kids. I was up on my feet, but was expecting him to run past them. To my surprise he jumped on my little one (who is 20 months old) and snatched the sandwich from her hand, which made her lose her balance and fall flat on her back side. Like a shot I ran to my kids shouting and waving the dog away. Once they were safe I looked for the dog's owner. He was walking nonchalantly up the path, not really noticing what just happened. As you would expect, I had a few kind words to say to the guy. To my surprise, rather than apologise he defended the dog: "he is a mere puppy" (did I say it was 2-feet tall?); "he'd never do anything aggressive" (apart from jump on my little one) and best of all "maybe he was hungry and wanted the food" (to which I replied: "you better well feed it then"). Anyway, as you'd imagine, I was less than pleased.

As the kind man made his way, I turned to MBH with a "did you see that?" expression. Naturally, I expected MBH to congratulate me for my swift and decisive action and share my fury with the dog-owner's reaction. As often happens with MBH, I was a bit surprised with her response (and after more than 15 years, the fact she often surprises me must be a good thing): "Are you crazy? Your reaction scared the kids. It was a lot worse than what the dog, or its owner, did."

Felt a bit alone in the world that moment. I gallantly stand up to save my kids from a rabid dog and MBH sides with the dog. The Mother F****** dog!

PS 595km down. 405km to go.

Sunday mornings

I love Sunday mornings. That's my quality time with the kids. Admittedly, I love Saturday mornings even more - it's my turn for a lie-in you see. Anyway, having had the lie-in on Saturday, I am all ready for a morning with the little ones come Sunday. We have breakfast together. Play. Do a bit of wrestling with MBS (MFBD and MLD join in of course). Quality time.

And still, sometimes, it just doesn't work out that way. For some reason I find that everything that's cute and qirky about my little ones irritates me. Every sound is too loud, every utterance too repetative. I become the grumpiest of grumpy old men and ruin the morning for all of us. Hate it when it happens. Hate myself above all.

PS 585km down. 415km to go.

Destined to disappoint!

Last week I wrote about the upcoming World Cup Final betwixt Spain and Holland (MBH insistsed on ye olde English). My point was that whilst the Final is often a major disappointment, this time it will be different. Total Football meeting Tiki-Taka - the Spanish one-touch football in which the ball is darted from one player to the next pinball-like - can only be spectacular. "It will be 2:2 by the end of normal time, then Spain will win it in Extra time. I foresee 5 goals" I told my brother. Shows you how much I know.

Total Football? Total disgrace! Now, to clarify I love the Oranje (not a spelling mistake btw). They would rather lose the 1974 & 1978 finals than sacrifice their beautiful game. No longer. They had what football strategists would call a "pragmatic game plan"; a football pundit's terminology for "they are much better than us in football so we'll kick them as hard as we possibly can hoping they will rather go home to their mums than keep playing". Luckily, for them and the rest of the football-loving world, "they" - the Spanish team - didn't.

PS 575km down. 425km to go.

The UMCance

As most of you may have noticed, for the first time in a very long time, we have a real summer on our hands. It's been dry and hot for almost a month. Temperatures have been hanging around the 28c mark and the sky is azul blue. I have not put on anything more than a T-shirt since May and the kids are running around half naked throwing water-bombs at each other. This is Mediterranean summer at its best. Better, actually. The days are longer and at the end of every day I am back at home, in my own bed. More importantly, the kids are in their.

And the best thing about it is that it makes no sense of "going away for the summer". You see, most of my good friends (MGFs for those of you who don't know) living in London treat the city as a place for the day-to-day; work, school runs, supermarket, laundry. In summer they live a parallel life, going away for 6 weeks either back home or to a Mediterranean outpost. It's the British upper-middle-class version of the vacance; let's call it the UMC-ance.

The French you know, go away as a family for the month of August. The British upper-class go away for July & August. Mostly to Balmoral. The upper-middle-class man can afford the holiday but cannot afford to be seen as someone who can bunk off work for 6 whole weeks.

So, they take a week off to fly the family over to where they summer, go back to the office, fly over with Ryanair for two long weekends in the middle, and join the family for the last week and fly back together. This way, you manage to be on holiday for 6 weeks but out of the office for 2. The net-net of it is that the husband is alone in London for 3 weeks [which is not as appealing as it sounds - met MGF M last summer to watch Avatar, he bought a 6-scoop Ben & Jerry's to make up for the fact he hadn't eaten the last 3 days], and the wife is constantly cross for having to take care of the kids all alone in a foreign land. [Unless, of course you are MGF G&V who go home to Scandinavia all together for the whole summer and have the time of their lives. They are, however, the exception that proves the rule.]

Anyhow, with London being dry, sunny and warm for the whole of June and, so far, the first half of July, UMC-ancing makes absolutely no sense. You see, there is more to do in London than in most places. By staying here and going away all together for a glorious 2 week holiday on the beach you end up enjoying the best of all worlds. Or, at least [as I cannot afford the UMC-ance and only barely managed to scrape a two-week break on the beach] it is what I managed to convince myself of.

PS 570km down. 430km to go.

Destined to disappoint?

It is set out to be a great a great day - July 11th 2010. The World Cup Finals Final. Two teams that have never won it before. Spain, the reigning European Champions, holders of the record for successive international without defeat, home to the two giants of the club game - Barca and Real [only one player in the starting 11 in the semis comes from a different club]. Holland, the inventors of Total Football. Twice finalists who lost to the hosts. Winners of all 14 matches leading to the Final - 8 in qualification and 6 in the Finals.

More importantly, these are two teams who play "real" football. On average they both have about 60% possession. I guess they'll need 120% possession for the final. Sneijder and Villa leading scorrers in the Finals with 5 goals each. The Dutch, experts at scoring a goal more than they concede (2:1 v Brazil, 3:2 v Uruguay). Spain, the 1:0 experts v Portugal, Paraguay and Germany.

So, as you would expect, expectations are high for Sunday night. Very high. It should be a classic. It genuinely can be. And yet, the Final rarely is. Are we all, and myself most importantly, destined for a disappointment? For some reason I just cannot see it happening. Different to many teams who depend on a single star player - France [Ribery], Argentina [Messi], England [Rooney], Uruguay [Forlan], Portugal [Ronaldo] - both Spain and Holland have a number of world class players. Iniesta, Xavi and Villa for Spain. Robben, Sneijder and Van Persie for Holland. All six can change the game with a single moment of briliance. Between them the two teams shot 89 times on target in the finals. It is destined to be great!

PS 565km down. 435km to go.

Not this time

It was the summer of 1986. In the desert. It was hot. Very hot. And I am running. Did I mention it was hot. The mountains were yellow. The sky was blue. The road is charcoal black and, towards the horizon, as the road curves past a hill I see water. Cool, flowing water. A fata morgana.

Running up the hill, 10km in, I start to feel my right knee. Something awkward. Not a pain. More discomfort. It is as if the joint has run dry. It takes just that little bit longer to straighten the right leg then the left one. To make up for it the strides must be longer. Every step is putting more pressure on the left knee. By the 15th km both the left knee hurts more than the right. I stop. Big mistake. As the body cools down the knees become stiffer. By the morning I can barely fold my right knee. It's like a car engine in winter, when the lubricant freezes up. It is 3 months before my conscription date. Not the best start. 5 months in my knee gave up.

Last Friday the discomfort in my right knee came back. Saturday was the first time I missed a run this year. Two runs in since and its not much better. Honestly, I am a bit worried. Only 560km down, still 440km to go. I cannot, I will not, let my knee to give up on me again.

It's the sofa, not me

The first thing I bought when we moved to our place almost 9 years ago was a sofa. You see, I never had a proper one. Not any old couch will do, you see. A proper sofa needs to do three things really well. First, it has to look good, that is, it has to have somewhat unusual proportions. Second, and most importantly, is must be the comfiest thing in the house. And, third, it has to do the first two without fuss. No white leather here.

The most surprising thing was, I found one. Admittedly, it is the most expensive thing in the house, but still it doesn't show it. Its secret is its depth. Anyone shorter than Karim Abdul-Jaabar simply cannot just sit on it. No way you can have your back to the back, your knees nicely folded in a right angle and your feet on the ground. For that you need thighs like a T-Rex's. So, any normal person just has to recline or even lay in it. And when you do, you simply sink in. Admittedly, it is difficult to get up. But who'd want to.

So, when you buy a sofa that acts like a Rafflesia (in case you didn't know, that's an insect eating flower), I wasn't surprised that a fair share of my friends fall asleep on it. We'd have a nice dinner, a couple of bottles of wine and after a long working week, who could blame them once they sunk in. In a way, I took it as a compliment. Let's admit it; there is no way I'd feel comfy enough to fall asleep in someone else's house. If they can, they must be feeling rather cosy, I thought. And by them, I mostly mean MGF S.

So, MGF A&S were over for footie & grub Friday. By the warm hug I got from A, I knew she read my post from a couple of weeks back. A bit over-compensating, but definitely no mention of the Titanic this time. As usual, we had dinner & a bit f wine and sat down to watch the Uruguay Ghana match and, guess what, MGF S was up and alert as one can be. True, there was a bit of drama, but not once did S nod off. Nothing!

So, there is no escaping the following conclusion: the reason MGFs fall asleep has more to do with the host than the sofa. How depressing.

PS 555km down. 445km to go.