Was in SF last week and my colleague P forgot his suitcase, including a brand new iPad, passport and wallet in a taxi. In short everything but the suit he was wearing. Now SF is nowhere as big as London but, nonetheless, slightly bigger than Cobham. Some would say even slightly more . . . urban, with the respective crime rate and economic disparity. All P could remember was that the cab was yellow. As you will know, not the most unlikely colour for an American taxi. And still, 4 hours later, P had the suitcase and all delivered to his hotel room by the driver.
Now, you could say it was sheer luck. Most people did. I considered it an affirmation of my belief that, in essence, people are good.
The problem is that, whilst I firmly believe in the goodness of man, it is difficult to establish a balance between giving people the benefit of the doubt and doubting them enough to avoid falling prey to those who do not live up to these standards. It is even more difficult as a father, trying to give his kids the confidence to face the world whilst protecting them from its evils. Unfortunately, I cannot say I am getting it right. A real worry.
PS 795km down. 205km to go.
Monday 27 September 2010
Saturday 25 September 2010
Making a living
Bought a book recently called: "Jilted generation: how Britain bankrupted its youth". The main argument the book is making is that the Baby Boomers road a wave of credit-fuelled economic growth which future generations will be paying for throughout their lifetime. Not a new argument but well argued nonetheless.
A variant of this argument that has surfaced with the recession says that the current generation of 25-45 year olds (my generation) is the first in modern history to expect a lower standard of living than the previous one. The most important word for me in the previous sentence is "expect". Without expectation there can be no disappointment. The reason that my generation is disappointed is that we expected better. The point that struck me a while back is that previous generations did not experience the same disappointed not only because they were enjoying years of economic growth but also because they didn't expect it. To a large degree it took them by surprise.
Nothing demonstrates this better to me than the difference between the questions my dad and grand-dad asked about my work. My dad would ask me about career prospects and even if I was enjoying my job. My grand-dad would ask: "are you making a living"? You see, my grand-dad never expected prosperity. Never expected to enjoy his job or reach some form of professional fulfilment. Putting bread on the table was work's reward. In my grand-dad's time, as was true for when my parents grew up, having bread on the table was not to be taken for granted. The thing is, for most people, throughout human history, having bread on the table was an achievement in its own right.
Until the 1850s virtually no one was guaranteed even basic food. Between the 1850s and 1918 it was expected by ~10% of humanity. Between 1929-1936, with 25% unemployment in the US, even many Americans did not know where their next meal would come from. And even today, in 2010, as Paul Collier shows in his book The Bottom Billion, about 1/6 of humanity do not have continuous access to fresh water and basic food.
So yes, 25 year olds in Britain today may well feel jilted. And yes, there is an enormous risk that with unemployment of 18-25 year olds at almost 20%, an entire generation may find itself outside the workforce for many years to come. At the same time, those of us, like me, who are fortunate enough to make a living, should consider ourselves fortunate (at least 3 or 4 days of every week).
PS 785km down. 215km to go.
A variant of this argument that has surfaced with the recession says that the current generation of 25-45 year olds (my generation) is the first in modern history to expect a lower standard of living than the previous one. The most important word for me in the previous sentence is "expect". Without expectation there can be no disappointment. The reason that my generation is disappointed is that we expected better. The point that struck me a while back is that previous generations did not experience the same disappointed not only because they were enjoying years of economic growth but also because they didn't expect it. To a large degree it took them by surprise.
Nothing demonstrates this better to me than the difference between the questions my dad and grand-dad asked about my work. My dad would ask me about career prospects and even if I was enjoying my job. My grand-dad would ask: "are you making a living"? You see, my grand-dad never expected prosperity. Never expected to enjoy his job or reach some form of professional fulfilment. Putting bread on the table was work's reward. In my grand-dad's time, as was true for when my parents grew up, having bread on the table was not to be taken for granted. The thing is, for most people, throughout human history, having bread on the table was an achievement in its own right.
Until the 1850s virtually no one was guaranteed even basic food. Between the 1850s and 1918 it was expected by ~10% of humanity. Between 1929-1936, with 25% unemployment in the US, even many Americans did not know where their next meal would come from. And even today, in 2010, as Paul Collier shows in his book The Bottom Billion, about 1/6 of humanity do not have continuous access to fresh water and basic food.
So yes, 25 year olds in Britain today may well feel jilted. And yes, there is an enormous risk that with unemployment of 18-25 year olds at almost 20%, an entire generation may find itself outside the workforce for many years to come. At the same time, those of us, like me, who are fortunate enough to make a living, should consider ourselves fortunate (at least 3 or 4 days of every week).
PS 785km down. 215km to go.
Friday 24 September 2010
The upgrade
I have never, ever, been upgraded. Never went to check in in an airport and heard the words we are all longing for: "Great news Sir, you've been upgraded". On the contrary. More than once (actually once, but 'more than once' sounds better) I went to the check-in and asked for an upgrade only to be turned down whilst the person behind me in the queue was offered one. Not sure how you'd take it. I took it personally. Very personally. I must smell. Badly.
As you'd expect, I wasn't really looking forward to 11.5 hours on the way to SF and 11 hours on the way back, in coach. It wouldn't matter if the plane was half empty, I knew I would not get an upgrade. Not to mention that I was going, with another 50,000 people to Oracle's annual conference. All seats, on all flights, on all airlines have been booked for months.
So, imagine my surprise when I got an upgrade. Both ways. To Upper Class. Sorry, but this genuinely deserves exclamation marks!!!!! Thank you Mr Branson and many many thanks MGF D for the air-miles. Genuinely. Could be worse.
PS 775km down. 225km to go.
Wednesday 22 September 2010
The nob on the hill
Sitting on a bean bag under ground, flooded by neon lights. My back to the wall of a very wide corridor. A very low ceiling. Loud music is playing in the background. Big, American, block-buster music. The kind which pumps the rhythm into big alien-robot Hollywood battle-scenes. More specifically it is the sound track of Iron-Man 2.
Outside, the sun is shining. The air is fresh and clear. And quiet. At least as quiet as it gets in a major American city. San Francisco, in all its glory is out there, and I am deep in the bowels of non-descript conference centre. Only a couple of meetings to go before I can get out and enjoy myself a bit.
Ran along the Embracadero this morning. Planned my route on Google maps to make sure I don't short change you all by running less than 10km. Google maps, however, is flat. Did not notice the way back takes me up Nob Hill. Funny name for a hill, until you have to run it. Did not find it amusing at all. A rather accurate description I thought. It is fine when you are Steve McQueen in a Mustang. Less so when you are a middle-aged runner with bad knees. Still, for all of you thinking to ask for your donations back, I did not fail you.
PS 770km down. 230km to go.
Outside, the sun is shining. The air is fresh and clear. And quiet. At least as quiet as it gets in a major American city. San Francisco, in all its glory is out there, and I am deep in the bowels of non-descript conference centre. Only a couple of meetings to go before I can get out and enjoy myself a bit.
Ran along the Embracadero this morning. Planned my route on Google maps to make sure I don't short change you all by running less than 10km. Google maps, however, is flat. Did not notice the way back takes me up Nob Hill. Funny name for a hill, until you have to run it. Did not find it amusing at all. A rather accurate description I thought. It is fine when you are Steve McQueen in a Mustang. Less so when you are a middle-aged runner with bad knees. Still, for all of you thinking to ask for your donations back, I did not fail you.
PS 770km down. 230km to go.
Sunday 12 September 2010
What a ride
I am too old for this. But it's fun. Giving it my all. Going absolutely as fast as I possibly can. Only two wheels under me. Wind flowing through my hair. No helmet. Every slight change of balance, every shift, can result in a swivel. Going at this speed a swivel is not as benign as it sounds. Glad the road is clear. No cars or pedestrians. Still, going this fast in a residential area is a bit of a risk.
Then, suddenly, an elderly woman steps down from the pavement. Her Scottie dog on a leash. To my surprise, she let's go of the leash and the dog is there, right in front of me. If I carry on as I am, I'd be going straight at it. I reach for the brake. I miss it. My foot hits the road and I lose my balance. Up in the air and, not so elegantly, I hit the road. Hard. Hands first, shoulder and chin second. Good thing I wore my thickest pair of jeans. Knees are in one piece.
I get up. Soar. Pick my daughter's scooter and return, head down, embarrassed, to my kids who are waiting all but 20 meters up the road.
PS 760km down. 240km to go.
Then, suddenly, an elderly woman steps down from the pavement. Her Scottie dog on a leash. To my surprise, she let's go of the leash and the dog is there, right in front of me. If I carry on as I am, I'd be going straight at it. I reach for the brake. I miss it. My foot hits the road and I lose my balance. Up in the air and, not so elegantly, I hit the road. Hard. Hands first, shoulder and chin second. Good thing I wore my thickest pair of jeans. Knees are in one piece.
I get up. Soar. Pick my daughter's scooter and return, head down, embarrassed, to my kids who are waiting all but 20 meters up the road.
PS 760km down. 240km to go.
Saturday 11 September 2010
9 years on
It's the 11th of September, better known as 9/11. It is a normal day here in London. 9 years after the supposedly defining event of the 21st century, what lasting impact does it really have?
Thousands of lives have been lost. More than 3,000 on the day. Many thousands more since. Both coalition forces and Afghan and Iraqi lives. Relationships between Muslims and non-Muslims are damaged. Probably haven't been worse since the days of Salah-al-Din. The most notable reminder for all of us, however, is when we are asked to take our shoes off in airport security.
So what is the long-term, historical, impact of 9/11? The more I think about it the more I feel it would be very different than initially anticipated. The big fraction lines are economic rather than religious. Al Qaeda is still a concern but is not really an existential threat. Economic battles rather than military wars are likely to dominate the foreseeable future.
In that sense, the biggest impact of 9/11 has been in teaching us what we cannot do, rather than what we should be doing; with "the military mission in Iraq coming to an end", the West has realised it can no longer afford to invade and control a country of 25m people such as Iraq or Afghanistan.
It is not just the diminish force of the NeoCon ideology and with it the idea of regime change. 162 years after the revolutions of 1848, it looks like the world is falling back on Realpolitik, or let's call it Neo-RealPol. The US can no longer afford spending hundreds of billions on wars, regardless of their likely outcome. Moreover, no American President will now be able to convince the American people that a positive outcome to such a war is likely. No other nation can or will initiate such a move.
My fear is that the world has squandered its wealth and its peoples' resolve on the wrong targets. RealPolitik's ideological win, even if temporary, may come at a bad time.
Now, I am no NeoCon. I can't be - I am a moral relativist. I do not believe in absolute moral dicta. Therefore, I also believe in genuinely equal rights. If the US or Britain have the right to develop and deploy nuclear weapons, so does Iraq.
No, I am a big believer in Realpolitik in its interpretation as pragmatic policy making. The reasons not to invade Iraq were, and I did mention both in 2002, (1) Iraq was not likely to deploy WMDs against the West - if it would, it would have done against Israel in GWI, and (2) no one could anticipate what would happen after the planned toppling of Sadam. The invasion of Afghanistan was even more ill-conceived: (1) the Al-Qaeda presence was of minimal military impact beyond the boundaries of Afghanistan itself, and (2) Afghanistan has defeated two of the World's most powerful empires - the Soviet and the British - and no-one could explain why and how the US-led coalition would ensure a different end. Neither wars was the outcome of pragmatic cold geo-political analysis. They were driven by emotion and a sence of absolute morality.
The problem is that we are getting closer and closer to the point in which real existential threats are likely to arise. Ones that under normal circumstances require action based on cold, logical analysis of likely outcomes. The destabilisation of Pakistan following the Afghanistan war and the recent floods is more than likely. The countey's 170m people may desolve into factions. The Taliban is likely to take control of large parts of the country. Most worringly, no one knows in whose hands Pakistan's nuclear arsenal might fall. This represents a much greater danger to the West than either Iraq or Afghanistan ever did. And still, because of the NeoCons, no one is ever likely to do anything meaningful to address these threats.
I guess the NeoCons are having the last laugh in their ideological battle with Realpolitik. The same actions that discredited the NeoCon ideology have rendered Realpolitik impotent.
PS 750km down. 250km to go.
Thousands of lives have been lost. More than 3,000 on the day. Many thousands more since. Both coalition forces and Afghan and Iraqi lives. Relationships between Muslims and non-Muslims are damaged. Probably haven't been worse since the days of Salah-al-Din. The most notable reminder for all of us, however, is when we are asked to take our shoes off in airport security.
So what is the long-term, historical, impact of 9/11? The more I think about it the more I feel it would be very different than initially anticipated. The big fraction lines are economic rather than religious. Al Qaeda is still a concern but is not really an existential threat. Economic battles rather than military wars are likely to dominate the foreseeable future.
In that sense, the biggest impact of 9/11 has been in teaching us what we cannot do, rather than what we should be doing; with "the military mission in Iraq coming to an end", the West has realised it can no longer afford to invade and control a country of 25m people such as Iraq or Afghanistan.
It is not just the diminish force of the NeoCon ideology and with it the idea of regime change. 162 years after the revolutions of 1848, it looks like the world is falling back on Realpolitik, or let's call it Neo-RealPol. The US can no longer afford spending hundreds of billions on wars, regardless of their likely outcome. Moreover, no American President will now be able to convince the American people that a positive outcome to such a war is likely. No other nation can or will initiate such a move.
My fear is that the world has squandered its wealth and its peoples' resolve on the wrong targets. RealPolitik's ideological win, even if temporary, may come at a bad time.
Now, I am no NeoCon. I can't be - I am a moral relativist. I do not believe in absolute moral dicta. Therefore, I also believe in genuinely equal rights. If the US or Britain have the right to develop and deploy nuclear weapons, so does Iraq.
No, I am a big believer in Realpolitik in its interpretation as pragmatic policy making. The reasons not to invade Iraq were, and I did mention both in 2002, (1) Iraq was not likely to deploy WMDs against the West - if it would, it would have done against Israel in GWI, and (2) no one could anticipate what would happen after the planned toppling of Sadam. The invasion of Afghanistan was even more ill-conceived: (1) the Al-Qaeda presence was of minimal military impact beyond the boundaries of Afghanistan itself, and (2) Afghanistan has defeated two of the World's most powerful empires - the Soviet and the British - and no-one could explain why and how the US-led coalition would ensure a different end. Neither wars was the outcome of pragmatic cold geo-political analysis. They were driven by emotion and a sence of absolute morality.
The problem is that we are getting closer and closer to the point in which real existential threats are likely to arise. Ones that under normal circumstances require action based on cold, logical analysis of likely outcomes. The destabilisation of Pakistan following the Afghanistan war and the recent floods is more than likely. The countey's 170m people may desolve into factions. The Taliban is likely to take control of large parts of the country. Most worringly, no one knows in whose hands Pakistan's nuclear arsenal might fall. This represents a much greater danger to the West than either Iraq or Afghanistan ever did. And still, because of the NeoCons, no one is ever likely to do anything meaningful to address these threats.
I guess the NeoCons are having the last laugh in their ideological battle with Realpolitik. The same actions that discredited the NeoCon ideology have rendered Realpolitik impotent.
PS 750km down. 250km to go.
Sunday 5 September 2010
I am who I am
You may not know it by the look of me, but I am fat.
Now let's be realistic, no one would mistake me for a young Swedish boy, but 740km into my NSPCC challenge I've lost weight and am relatively fit. And still, I am . . . fat. Always was. It's not the famously heavy Tikochinsky bones - no Tikochinsky has ever broken a bone in their lives [my little niece Y did, but she has her mother's genes, so it doesn't count]. Not even my disproportionally large head - a physiotherapist once attributed my neck pain to me having a heavy skull [and yes, I was offended].
You see, I started life fat and grew up fat. When other kids would climb up trees I'd struggle sitting cross legged in their shadow. When we were playing It, I was homie. By the time I started shedding some weight, and let's be realistic, no one ever mistook me for Twiggy, my self-image has already fully formed. I am fat.
Nonetheless, in the last couple of years things were on the up. Yes, I am getting older, but so does everyone else. At my ripe old age any hint of youth is a gift. Hair - at best, it's turned grey, at worse, it's gone. Skin - at best it's wrinkled, at worse it's covered with liver spots. And, yes, the wretched abdomen - at best, its saggy, at worse it protrudes to the point when one struggles to tie their own shoe laces. So, as I still have most of my hair, merely wrinkled skin and a healthily saggy stomach, I was under the impression I was doing OK. In fact I my self-image was starting to change. I was started seeing myself slightly differently. No longer the fat kid.
Big mistake. If I were a proper blogger I'd go for capitals and exclamation marks at this point. OK, here you go: BIG mistake!!!!!!
Delusion. That's what it was. Verging-on-the-certified delusion. Hubris of Sophoclean scale.
Was running up Highgate Hill today feeling rather good about myself. Not too bad I thought. I was going at what I thought was a rather reasonable pace. More than reasonable, respectable.
And then, out of nowhere, he arrived. A short, stout, flabby man. More or less my age. No disrespect, but he looked like he just had a couple of pints and 3 packs of salt & vinegar crisps. I could vaguely see the crumbs on his shirt. I could definitely smell the beer. And still, he was moving at pace. Lightening pace! He didn't overtake me. He buzzed past me. I could literally feel it. With every step he was sapping a bit more of my self esteem. Within seconds he was gone. Not more than a spot disappearing on the horizon. And with him my newly formed self image.
So. I am who I am. The same fat kid.
PS 740km down. 260km to go.
Now let's be realistic, no one would mistake me for a young Swedish boy, but 740km into my NSPCC challenge I've lost weight and am relatively fit. And still, I am . . . fat. Always was. It's not the famously heavy Tikochinsky bones - no Tikochinsky has ever broken a bone in their lives [my little niece Y did, but she has her mother's genes, so it doesn't count]. Not even my disproportionally large head - a physiotherapist once attributed my neck pain to me having a heavy skull [and yes, I was offended].
You see, I started life fat and grew up fat. When other kids would climb up trees I'd struggle sitting cross legged in their shadow. When we were playing It, I was homie. By the time I started shedding some weight, and let's be realistic, no one ever mistook me for Twiggy, my self-image has already fully formed. I am fat.
Nonetheless, in the last couple of years things were on the up. Yes, I am getting older, but so does everyone else. At my ripe old age any hint of youth is a gift. Hair - at best, it's turned grey, at worse, it's gone. Skin - at best it's wrinkled, at worse it's covered with liver spots. And, yes, the wretched abdomen - at best, its saggy, at worse it protrudes to the point when one struggles to tie their own shoe laces. So, as I still have most of my hair, merely wrinkled skin and a healthily saggy stomach, I was under the impression I was doing OK. In fact I my self-image was starting to change. I was started seeing myself slightly differently. No longer the fat kid.
Big mistake. If I were a proper blogger I'd go for capitals and exclamation marks at this point. OK, here you go: BIG mistake!!!!!!
Delusion. That's what it was. Verging-on-the-certified delusion. Hubris of Sophoclean scale.
Was running up Highgate Hill today feeling rather good about myself. Not too bad I thought. I was going at what I thought was a rather reasonable pace. More than reasonable, respectable.
And then, out of nowhere, he arrived. A short, stout, flabby man. More or less my age. No disrespect, but he looked like he just had a couple of pints and 3 packs of salt & vinegar crisps. I could vaguely see the crumbs on his shirt. I could definitely smell the beer. And still, he was moving at pace. Lightening pace! He didn't overtake me. He buzzed past me. I could literally feel it. With every step he was sapping a bit more of my self esteem. Within seconds he was gone. Not more than a spot disappearing on the horizon. And with him my newly formed self image.
So. I am who I am. The same fat kid.
PS 740km down. 260km to go.
Saturday 4 September 2010
He can do it!
Watched 'Up in the Air' tonight. The George Clooney film. You know. The one that was marketed with the one liner his female co-star says: "Think of me as you with a vagina". You could see Clooney move uneasily in his seat when she said it.
For those of you who haven't seen it, all you need to know is that it doesn't really end up as you'd expect a big studio film to end. That was, for me, the first surprise. The second was Clooney. As you will have noticed, he is a film star. Being a film star is very different from being a good actor. An actor is acting as if they were someone else. A film star, and it doesn't matter who they play, always play themselves. A great actor would want you to forget it is them behind the character. A film star would stop being one if they did.
Schwarzenegger is always Schwarzeneger whether he is Conan the Barbarian or Danny DeVito's twin. Robert De Niro used to be a great actor. Taxi Driver, Ranging Bull, Godfather II. In the last 20 years he is nothing more than a film star. Stopping by for a few days to pick up a pay check and lend his name to the marketing machine.
Now I know that Clooney has the pretentions of intellectual depth. He even takes sides in politics. And still, when it comes to movies he is as single dimensional as any big film star. Danny Ocean. Out of Sight. Intolerable Cruelty. All the same character - Clooney. And don't you mention Ulysses Everett McGill, his role in O Brother. Slapstick is the film star's cheapest trick. It is designed to get some respite from the critics, whilst all it asks of the film star is to goof around a bit. God forbid he'll have to act.
That's why Up in the Air took me by surprise. For 2/3 of the movie Clooney was doing a great impression of himself. So good I wasn't sure his mum could tell the two apart. And then, things started changing. Subtly. Suddenly the script started pulling the rug under Clooney's character's feet and, to my surprise, Clooney allowed himself to fall. Not extravagantly, heroically or even amusingly. Simply an awkward, uncomfortable and only slightly embarrassingly fall. And it is this subtlety that made it so depressing. Maybe even more so when it happens to the world's biggest movie star. Or should I just say, accomplished actor.
PS 730km down. 270km to go.
For those of you who haven't seen it, all you need to know is that it doesn't really end up as you'd expect a big studio film to end. That was, for me, the first surprise. The second was Clooney. As you will have noticed, he is a film star. Being a film star is very different from being a good actor. An actor is acting as if they were someone else. A film star, and it doesn't matter who they play, always play themselves. A great actor would want you to forget it is them behind the character. A film star would stop being one if they did.
Schwarzenegger is always Schwarzeneger whether he is Conan the Barbarian or Danny DeVito's twin. Robert De Niro used to be a great actor. Taxi Driver, Ranging Bull, Godfather II. In the last 20 years he is nothing more than a film star. Stopping by for a few days to pick up a pay check and lend his name to the marketing machine.
Now I know that Clooney has the pretentions of intellectual depth. He even takes sides in politics. And still, when it comes to movies he is as single dimensional as any big film star. Danny Ocean. Out of Sight. Intolerable Cruelty. All the same character - Clooney. And don't you mention Ulysses Everett McGill, his role in O Brother. Slapstick is the film star's cheapest trick. It is designed to get some respite from the critics, whilst all it asks of the film star is to goof around a bit. God forbid he'll have to act.
That's why Up in the Air took me by surprise. For 2/3 of the movie Clooney was doing a great impression of himself. So good I wasn't sure his mum could tell the two apart. And then, things started changing. Subtly. Suddenly the script started pulling the rug under Clooney's character's feet and, to my surprise, Clooney allowed himself to fall. Not extravagantly, heroically or even amusingly. Simply an awkward, uncomfortable and only slightly embarrassingly fall. And it is this subtlety that made it so depressing. Maybe even more so when it happens to the world's biggest movie star. Or should I just say, accomplished actor.
PS 730km down. 270km to go.
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