What a bunch of bankers

It seems my wizard wheeze to get the bailed-out banks to pay back what they owe the taxpayer might not be as straightforward as I had hoped. I never thought it would be easy, but it was based on a logical premise, in my view, and although I haven’t yet heard back from the PM or the Chancellor, things have taken a dodgy turn.

It turns out that some banks have given bucket-loads of cash to the Conservatives. Who’d have thought it? Banks supporting the Tories, whatever next? If someone gives money to a political party the obvious question is why? Small amounts from individuals can, I suppose, be regarded as a tangible form of ideological support. But large sums of money are rarely handed over to political parties without an expectation of some form of payback.

Whether the banks consider the money they “spent” with Cameron and his crew to be offering good value remains to be seen. Earlier this week, the Government announced Project Merlin (where do they get these fuck-witted names from?) which attempts to encourage more lending by banks while at the same time curbing bankers’ bonuses. Not convinced? Neither am I. What is it the amorously inclined gent said to his girlfriend? Something along the lines of “Don’t worry, I’ll only put it in an inch.”

PS I’m thinking of adding pictures and all sorts to this blog. Oh God, it’ll be marvellous – or something.

Oi! David Cameron, why don’t you just…?

Actually nothing rude, just a good idea, I think. I’ve been dreadfully dilatory of late and to make amends I’m bouncing back with a great plan to save the economy, avert the need for most (but probably not all) cuts and generally put a smile back on all our faces.

This idea of staggering genius is to get those banks which were bailed out by the UK taxpayer to pay back the many millions of pounds that saved them from disaster. And because I’m not proud or remotely egotistical, I’ve shared this idea with our Prime Minister. As well as sending David Cameron a letter containing my suggestion, I have also written with the same idea to George Osborne. As the saying goes, success has many fathers and I really won’t mind if they both claim credit for this idea.

And, of course, it’s not really my idea, is it? Because to be honest, wouldn’t we all expect any organisation that was saved with public money and which then went on to reward some of its senior staff with bonuses of truly breathtaking size to feel more than slightly obligated to paying back the public money? This is not some radical “all property is theft” notion, it’s common decency. It’s what a friend you’ve helped out with a few quid does when they get back on their feet. They pay you back and say thank you and while you shouldn’t offer help in the expectation of reward, it’s nice when you are thanked and know that what you did was appreciated.

Which brings me back to the banks, who not only filled their boots big time with taxpayers’ money, they threatened to leave these shores when there was talk of legislation being introduced to control some of the banking industry’s wilder excesses. It was almost a words-fail-me moment when I heard that, I was almost reduced to frothing at the mouth and biting the carpet. Not like me at all.

Anyway, now I’ve calmed down and have come up with the “idea of staggering genius” so all will be right with the world. As soon as I hear back from the PM and the Chancellor I’ll let you know, but surely it can only be a matter of time before they get the banks to pay us back…can’t it?

An exceedingly good poem

You will all, no doubt, be familiar with Rudyard Kipling’s poem November. Except that you won’t, because Kipling didn’t write it. My fuddled and unfocused brain was convinced it was Kipling, but in-depth research (yes, Google) revealed in fact that the poem I was thinking of was written by Thomas Hood. No matter, the poem is the thing and it is a perfect evocation of November. All fog, dankness and an overwhelming sense of crapness. Truth be told, right now, this very second, as I write this, the weather is lovely. Even so, broadly speaking Thomas Hood had nailed it. Don’t wish your life away, but November in the northern hemisphere can be the sort of month best just dealt with and got through as we hurtle towards year end.

So maybe that explains my feelings of unrest. I am fidgety and fed-up, which has manifested itself in my feeling slightly more withdrawn from those around me than usual. As well as the time of year, I think there is also the time of my life, as it were. The ticking clock in my head reminds that we will not pass this way again so time to do what we want to do. And that is…?

Well, I don’t know, but as a former colleague of mine used to say “Nobody’s last words were ever ‘I wish I’d spent more time in the office’.”

I'm not angry any more

I've noticed lately that the red mist rarely descends. No rage on the road, at work, at home - anywhere, in fact. I find little things begin to vex me and then I think "Nah, why bother?" So, for instance, the other day I was seeking out a chunk of black pudding from the fridge to have for my breakfast - and a very fine breakfast black pudding is, too - and my tetchiness rating began to shoot up because I couldn't find the said delicacy. I became convinced that the black pudding had been discarded and was just on the point of effing and blinding when I looked in the salad drawer of the fridge. There, still in its bag from the butchers, was my decidedly non-salady breakfast. Yum yum.

Similarly, at the weekend I was on my bike going out for a leisurely Sunday morning ride when some lagered-up tosser and his mate emerged from a Bideford pub for a smoke. The lagered-up tosser then began shouting "Tally Ho" and other inanities at me (I was the only person around, aside from his smoking buddy). The LUT thought this was hilarious and I was on the point of flicking the Vs at him and scuttling off when good sense kicked in. It occurred to me he might genuinely have thought he was being encouraging and he was, after all, causing me no harm - people who offend your personal dignity really aren't causing you harm. So I just carried on, wind in my hair and a smile on my face. And come to think of it, it's an assumption on my part that he was lagered-up.

Sometimes I fear I may just be apathetic. Obviously getting agitated about mislaid black pudding is a ridiculous state of affairs, but my encounter with the man from the pub might be considered to be an example of bad manners from him. Perhaps a friendly talking-to explaining how he should show consideration for other people would effect a change in his behaviour making him a delight to have around. But then, as I said earlier, I think "Nah, why bother."

In my defence, I would observe that if more people were apathetic there probably would be less trouble in the world. People get het up about something and then they won't rest until they've done something about it. That leads to all sorts of agitation and bonkers behaviour like the excitable pastor from America who decided he was going to burn the Koran. Understandably this got people all riled up on all sides of the argument and the next thing the world is looking a lot less peaceful. A bit more apathy all round and none of it would have happened. Apathetes of the world unite, you have nothing to lose but your...well, I'm not sure really...your something or others. Incidentally, I am aware that if everyone was apathetic then we wouldn't have light bulbs, sticking plasters, black pudding and other useful things. So maybe I'm calling for a form of rational apathy which stops people from getting too angry.

Anyway, unsurprisingly perhaps, I am going off to sit and think about these things for a while. Do you think there is such a word as apathete? Perhaps best not to worry about it too much.

Sexing the cyclist

A colleague of mine recently had a baby which she and her husband had been assured was going to be a girl. So I'd like everyone to give a worldwide welcome to Ewan. Yep, the she was a he and much-loved he is too, I'm sure. The thing is, if only his mum and dad could have waited a few years there would have been a surefire way of determining sex. It's what I call the folded arms test.

Have you ever walked down the road with your arms folded in front of you much as you might do if you were sitting in a chair waiting for something to happen. If you have, then almost certainly you're a woman. I have seen countless women walk down the road like that, but no men. Ever. Well, possibly one or two gay men. This is not some sort of battle of the sexes thing or a little dig at gay men, it's just an observation. You do not see (straight) men walking around with their arms folded in front of them. Or if you do, they look a bit odd.

So that is how I knew from quite some distance the sex of the cyclist who was approaching me along the Tarka Trail the other day. Arms folded across chest, yep, that's a woman. I have to say I was slightly in awe of her being able to cycle like that. The minute I lift my hands from the handlebars I wobble alarmingly, so doing what she was doing is something I will never do for safety reasons, let alone gender. Truth be told, she looked a bit fierce, but she was definitely a woman.

Anyway, that's my contribution to medical science. I know there are other, more scientific approaches, and my way often tells you something that's glaringly obvious on account of the womanly shape etc, but I offer it up for what it's worth. (Bugger all).

Anyway, I now have bigger fish to fry. The thought has entered my head - and won't go away - that I need a better bike. A lighter bike. One that will not be so hard to get moving. I think I'm entering an obsessive phase. The trouble is I know so little about bikes and cycling that I'm venturing in to a whole new world about which I know nothing. I think some research is in order. But where to begin?

We're gonna need a bigger boat

I think the captain in Jaws (played by Robert Shaw?) expressed the need for a bigger boat on realising the size of the shark he was after. For my part I decided I needed a bigger bell for my bike owing to the seemingly infinite number of people using the Tarka Trail who are hard of hearing.

The original bell was one of those lightweight devices where you flick one bit against the other producing a rather tinny "Ting, ting" sound. This seemed either not to register with anyone or annoy them in some way. The new bell, all shiny chrome and the size of . . .I dunno, an ice hockey puck? . . .makes a reassuring clanging noise similar to a cow bell. I'm still weighing up the correct way to use this in alerting people to my presence. Too far away and they get fed up waiting for you to pass; too close to them and they dive in to the hedgerow, obviously fearful of being mown down.

At least I use my bell, which is more than some cyclists - mainly the ones in the stretchy lycra with lots of writing on it, although that's not meant to be too critical of them. Cycling has been something of a salvation for me this year and although I only commute, and only when it's dry, it has given me something in my life I can focus on which is, largely speaking, mine and mine alone.

Ha! I told you so

Lengthy and largely inexplicable absence, due in the main to going on holiday and then not really getting my shit together on my return to these pallid shores. Anyway, back now and raring to go (on holiday again). However, what has prompted this posting is something I read in a paper/on a website/scrawled on the wall of a toilet cubicle...whatever, I'm sure it's true. What I read was that there has been an increase in accidents involving pedestrians which is being attributed to the growing number of them who wear earphones as they walk. In other words they are making themselves deaf and do not realise they are about to be run down by a juggernaut, incontinent granny on an invalid scooter,cyclist or whatever.

The regular reader of this blog (me, me, me) will know that I've sounded off before about the risks pedestrians subject themselves to by wearing MP3 iPod type things. Well here is incontrovertible proof. I've had personal experience of the way these twats cut themselves off from the rest of the world. As I cycle along the Tarka Trail I ding my bike bell to warn other trail users of my approach. Most step in to the side and smile politely as I pass, and I ALWAYS say thank you. But some carry on as if they are the only people on the planet and it is an odds-on bet that these are the people who will have their ears filled up with earphones and cannot hear a dicky bird. What is worse is the glare they often give me as I pass, presumably because they are surprised at finding me on their shoulder. Ah well, you can't legislate for idiocy.