Well watered

I've been told that my grandparents' house was one of the first to built with air conditioning. I don't remember exactly when it was completed, but some time in the early to mid fifties. The air conditioner was water cooled which meant all the heat of the Tennessee summers were carried away in a hose pipe.

The same machine was in use all through my childhood. So I remember the constant run of the hose pipe and my grandfather moving the hose throughout the day to water the shrubs out the front, the tomato plants, the watermelon patch and the drifts of cannas. But best of all, we grandkids could play with the hosepipe as much as we wanted - and the water was warm. Not the best for drinking, but great for splashing around in and filling paddling pools (except on the very hottest of days).

It was so warm, in fact, my grandfather rigged up a little shower system on the back porch, and screened from the traffic of Springer Road by overgrown hedges, we could bathe outside at night.

There must have been other such systems in existence, but I don't remember hearing about them and I certainly haven't heard of any others like that now. When the unit had to be replaced in the mid 80s - a normal air conditioner was installed. No more warm water eternally on tap.

Kids like hosepipes though, no matter what the temperature. We stripped Buddy down in the garden yesterday (yes, a little of the edge of the sub-arctic chill of British summer has finally melted off) and let him play with the hose.



It's not that hot though, and the water from the hose is cold. We saw him sucking in his tummy from the freezing water and his flesh was cool to the touch. Still, he kept playing. But I wished he could have experienced that warm water hosepipe.

You had twenty years, and this is what you come up with

I sort of fancied the idea of being a class officer when I was in high school. Until we got to Senior year, that is. Because I could see how the future would unfold. You get elected, there's no power, no pay, not much privilege but no real responsibility - for now. But as a Senior class officer you are forever and ever responsible for organising class reunions. It's a millstone that hangs round your neck for the rest of your life.

I didn't want that.

And I understand burden weighed especially heavy this year, apparently. It was difficult to find the time to organise and the committee only met in early July to agree a date. Which to me would have necessitated a date somewhat far into the future, like December. You know, so people could plan and stuff and maybe make travel arrangements and so forth.

But the date they agreed is in early September. This year.

I'm pissed.

I didn't go to my tenth reunion, but for over a year I've actually been looking forward to going to my 20th high school reunion.

And now there's no way I can go, I only found out the date this week. Yesterday, in fact.

Had I known - say in early May, I almost certainly could have arranged my work schedule to go. I probably could have arranged airline tickets at a reasonable price. And so on... but I've got project deadlines and speaking engagements all around this time. Work people asked me to go events ages before I got the invite (actually I haven't had one officially) for my 20th high school reunion.

And I hate traveling too much to go just for a weekend (especially with a one year old baby).

I'm really pissed off.

On the bright side, I have an extra ten years to lose weight and make my life a success.

Martyrs of Memphis

Martyrs of Memphis icon, originally uploaded by St. Mary's Episcopal Cathedral - Memphis.

I found this when I was looking for something else in Flickr today. Apparently, they were martyred by yellow fever. Is that possible?

Just thought it was interesting, click through on the picture for the full story.

pink flower

pink flower, originally uploaded by London looks.

I don't know what this one is called. But it has furry, silvery foliage.

Update: Thanks to a tip off from an anonymous commenter - it's Lychnis coronaria or Rose campion.

Obamania in Germany

The Germans love, love, love Obama. Seventy-five percent of them want him to be the next president of the United States. See this BBC film on Obamania in Germany, which includes footage from Deustchland's finest country and western fans enthusing wildly.

Even the BBC (generally in the tank for Barack) point out that a love this great could lead to disappointment later on.

I'd also point out that Germans don't, in fact, have a vote, which is just as well given their historical record on choosing charismatic leaders who know how to whip up a crowd.

Jesus loves you

Walking down the street today and a man passed me in a rush and then told the man behind me, loudly, that Jesus loved him.

I could hear the guy, perhaps a little bit in shock, chuckling to himself over the unexpected encounter.

I turned to him and said, jokingly "But not me, apparently."

He smiled and said "Jesus loves you, too. You don't need to be told that."

Reverse augmentation

I had a breast cyst. Apparently they're not uncommon for women. It developed ages ago and it got a bit bigger. I didn't know it was a breast cyst, I just thought it was a lump. I knew it had formed during a fairly classic case of blocked duct, so I was pretty sure it was benign. But it just wouldn't go away. And you know what with all that breast cancer publicity, it does sort of cross your mind.

Here's a clinical description:

Cysts are fluid filled sacs within the breast. These sacs form when normal milk producing glands enlarge. The cause of this enlargement is not definitely known but is very likely related to an imbalance between the normal production and absorption of fluid. Breast cysts may be solitary but are most commonly multiple and can vary in size from microscopic to larger than a ping pong ball.

And let's just say, I was hitting the ping pong edge of the scale.

Today I went to the specialist breast clinic at my local hospital. (Yes, they call it a breast clinic, which I think is kinda funny). I was seen by a male nurse practitioner. Pretty much not all the kind of person I wanted to see. I would have preferred a female doctor, but there you are. The guy had a nice manner about him though and he seemed kinda gay. Don't know if he actually was gay or just affected the slightly gay thing, regardless it was somewhat reassuring.

There's the usual waiting and undressing and breast touching and so forth and then he told me he was going to stick a needle in my breast. I think I made a bit of a face, because he went all touchy-feely and stuff and asked me if it was a problem and did I need the other nurse to hold my hand? I assured him that I wasn't needle-phobic (I'm not) and that I'd be ok. I think they expected me to flip and the other nurse did hold my hand. I'm not the kind of person who finds that sort of thing comforting, but I was too worried about offending her and maybe it's part of their tactic to get in there and hold down a flailing arm if they need to.

Sticking a needle in the old breast tissue doesn't sound good, but it didn't actually hurt. In fact, it was far less painful than a blood draw, way less painful than getting your ears pierced or getting a tattoo. I'd wholeheartedly recommend it to even the most pain sensitive. They didn't even administer any pain relief - and a lydocaine shot almost certainly would have been more painful than the actual procedure.

The aspiration took a while because he pulled out five syringes (58ml) worth of instant-ice tea colored fluid from the cyst. Nasty. But when I saw them all lined up on the little stainless steel hospital trolley I said "I wish I'd brought my camera."

Because I was thinking of you, dear reader.

I'd been led to believe that the needle thing was to be diagnostic, but it turned out to be curative (hopefully). But the best part about the whole episode was that their "calming technique" was basically asking me questions about me. I was happy to comply.

A real live cow

When I was a sophomore at the University of Tennessee, I took a friend of mine up to Cades Cove. She was beginning her third year, but had never been. It was early Autumn, and though the color wasn't high, I expected we'd see lots of deer. And we did. She'd never seen white tail deer before and she was amazed when I predicted that they'd flash their white tails when I startled them.

But I was even more amazed to find that she was less interested in the deer than in the cattle. There was still at least one working farm in the Cove then and she'd never seen cows before. Not up close like that. See, she was from Philly. A City Girl.

Now, I wasn't raised on a farm or anything like that. But I guess I had a basic working knowledge of cows and certainly I'd been on other people's farms and my granddad sold supplies to farmers. And from a young age I'd been to my cousins' other grandparents and my uncle had let me bottle feed calves as a special treat. You have to make your own fun in small town Tennessee.

I understood that not everyone had experiences like that, but I thought everyone had seen a cow. But I took real joy in her fascination. I did have to explain to her that it wasn't such a good idea to hop the fence and get in with the bullocks trying to pet them.

I don't know what they have in Philly, but around the UK there are City Farms. Back when the Vol-in-Law and I were first married in Sheffield and had no money we used to regularly visit Graves Park and city farm. That was a great city farm. There was a petting area and they had acres of pens stocked with rare breeds - heritage pigs and the woolly mammoth looking highland cattle.





When we lived in Coventry, we took one sad, sorry visit to a city farm in what's described in policy circles here as a "deprived area". Apparently, they'd had some unfortunate incidents in the past and so visits to the animals had to be supervised. We were escorted around the livestock by a sickly looking ten year old who kept a close and suspicious eye on how we petted the pony.

Buddy likes animals and I certainly wouldn't want him growing up to be a young adult who's never seen a cow up close and personal.


Early agricultural training



Where we live now, there's a city farm within walking distance of our house. It's a long walk, but it's doable. On Sunday, we went there, breaking our trip with a stop at an Italian restaurant and a glass of wine overlooking the River Wandle. (Sounds swish, but the Wandle is little better than a drainage ditch in some places).

Deen City Farm isn't exactly a petting zoo, but if you go at a certain time (2 to 3 and some other window in the morning hours) you can buy a plastic cup full of feed pellets to coax the goats and sheep and alpacas close enough to the bars of their pens. to stick your hand in and stroke their woolly coats.

We didn't spend much time on the cows this last visit, as they're not really on eye level with the baby.

Buddy's happy to see the animals, but he's not amazed and he's not cowed. He kicked a greedy goat in the head.




And stuck his finger in the aviary, much to the delight of some hungry, curious parakeety type things. The bird bit him on the finger, which freaked me out a little (I have a slight avian phobia) but phased him not at all. He withdrew his finger, considered his position and then poked the bird again.

Pay to pray

It costs dearly to go to a church in this country. Not just any old church, but one of the big famous ones. Like St Paul's or Canterbury Cathedral. Like the kind of money you pay and expect to get rides.

But here's a little tip. If you actually go into church at the right time and sit there for a service you can pray for free. Oh sure, they pass the basket around, but believe you me you can respectably drop in a pound coin or two and that'll save you at least a fiver off admission. But once you're in, sneaking off to look at the statuary is considered uncouth.

I happened to going past Westminster Abbey today, which is filthy with tourists right now. I overheard an American couple asking about the free admissions (I guess for evensong) and the tabard wearing attendant said "Yes, you can come in for free for the service if you plan to stay the whole hour."


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At Canterbury you pay a lot, but the ticket is good for a year - so not so bad on the locals.

Battersea zoo

Otters playing with a hose
Originally uploaded by London looks

Having a kid means being able to, at last, unashamedly go to places like Battersea Children's Zoo.

Worth the price of admission just for the otters

Come up and see my etchings

At last. A free day. My normal work schedule got flipped around, so I had a day off when Buddy was in daycare.

I could have lounged around the house and played video games, but we decided to make the most of the day and planned a museum visit, dim sum in China Town and a swimming/sauna/spa trip to a swanky gym in the center of town.

Although we've been to the British Museum many times, we decided to go there because there were a couple of special exhibits on. A Chinese Garden in the forecourt (lame), flowers and insects in Chinese art (lame) and The American Scene: Prints from Hopper to Pollock. Brilliant.

Prints and etchings from the first half of the 20th Century, including works from Hopper (always great) and Pollock (yeah, whatever) and some iconic works like George Bellow's A Stag at Sharkey's. They were all stark and dark and social-commenty and stuff, the Vol-in-Law declared they were not quite Hogarthian, but he could see where they were going. But mostly they were just really powerful images playing with light and shadow in a really striking way.

I sort of forget that British Museum has stuff like this. Although I've been many times, I'm usually going with a visitor and it's a quick look at the big Assyrian thingies, a gander at the Rosetta Stone (if you can press through the throng) and maybe check out the Elgin marbles or the big hall of Egyptian mummies. If that's all you have time for, that's probably a good way to go.

But checking out the special exhibit meant we headed off the north side, where apparently we've never been - because very little of it looked familiar. We'll have to go back again, because after a tour around the Korean room and quick jaunt through a great hall of Asian treasures, it was time for our lunch. Besides, too much museum in one day gives you artifact daze.

Besides the special exhibit, I think the Korean room was a favorite. There's a definitely a cool style vibe going for the Koreans - simple and pragmatically beautiful everyday objects. In some way it reminded me of Finnish design sensibility (though not the same look at all). My favorite was a simple green ewer with a leaf pattern (though I didn't think to take a picture).



Korean fans


In the great big Asian hall that I can't believe we've never been to

A boy and his doll

watchful, originally uploaded by London looks.

At Buddy's weekly playgroup, I've seen that he has an interest in the baby dolls. I was keen to encourage this because he's never shown the slightest attachment to any kind of cuddle or cumfy, despite having been given an impressive collection of cute stuffed animals from pigs to cats to polar bears. He's always preferred hard edged plastic toys.

I guess the baby dolls have enough hardness about them and he loves to finger their eyes and ears and toes.

So, I went on the hunt for a doll that he could call his own.

It's very hard to find an appropriate doll for a very little boy, I've discovered. I didn't want one that weed or cried or shed "real" tears. And not just because they cost a lot more. I already have a baby that wees and cries and sheds real tears. And I have a rather painful early childhood memory of a doll whose mechanical cries scared the wits out of me. It was relegated to a drawer and even seeing it in my late childhood elicited a little frisson of fear. I'm uncomfortable even remembering that thing with her non-removable pink polka dot outfit and the drawstring wail of death.

I finally found one that didn't cost too much and doesn't do too much (apparently this one will say Papa and Mamma if you insert some batteries into its chest cavity which we will not be doing.)

That was Baby Hannah.

I'm trying not to play too much into gender stereotypes, but Baby Hannah came in a sickeningly sweet, cotton candy pink sleeper outfit. It was just a little bit too girly for my boy.

Baby Hannah was stripped down and changed into one of Buddy's old outfits and became Petey. Petey isn't anatomically correct, so no one need know about his gender dysmorphic past.

Sadly, and very much unlike us, we were quite organised about putting away Buddy's earliest outfits. So although Petey should be wearing newborn sizes, he tends to wear a few outsized 0 to 3 month garments that were hidden in the dark recesses of our dirty clothes basket. We just roll up the legs and pull the waistband high. And Petey can't go naked because he has a non-washable cloth body and Buddy sometimes likes Petey to join him at meal times.

Running on empty

We have an old car. It a good runner, but it's old. There are some thing wrong with it. Chief amongst them, perhaps, is that the gas gauge doesn't work. We had a spell of humid weather and it sort of stuck in the half-tank position.

We discovered this when we were trying to make a ferry to Germany (and didn't have much time) and the gas light came on. It's fair to say that I'm a nervous traveler. I was freaking - I could just see us (me, my husband and VolBro) stuck on the side of the motorway somewhere in Norfolk as our ship sailed.

There are often many, many miles between motorway stops and rest stations in the UK.

The Vol-in-Law, optimist that he is, figured that we not only had enough gas to get to the next refueling point, but also enough to get us to the ferry port.

I did not agree.

Fortunately, we found a petrol station before the car went pfft, pftt, pluuutttt.

All throughout our road trip through Germany, Denmark, Sweden and Norway I topped up the car whenever I could. I knew it was a little more than necessary, but I didn't fancy coming to a dead stop on one of those high mountain roads with the mountains on the left and a plummet to the sea on the right. The Vol-in-Law kept insisting that the light came on when the fuel level reached a quarter of a tank. Meaning miles and miles and miles of driving ahead.

He told me that his father had told him this.

That's the same man who ran out of gas on the Forth Road Bridge. The same guy who has apparently a relatively long and sorry history of running out of gas.


You don't want to be stuck here.



So anyway, our argument has lasted many years now. With me immediately wanting to fill up after I see the gas light and him saying there's no need to worry, that we could run our errands, go to the park, have a little tootle round London and still have no worries about running out of gas.

So who knows who's right? (Me obviously, but let's stick with the question for a rhetorical point.)

Now perhaps there's a website that could help answer that question. Tank on Empty. The idea is that you self-report how long it took you to completely run out of gas after the warning light came on. Problem is, many of the self reporters are liars, with a disturbing number of 99 miles votes for a disturbing (statistically disturbing) number of cars.

Here's a hint. When you see the light - just fill up the tank.

(Hat Tip Sharon Cobb)

Photo credit: Forth Bridge from Patrick Down shown here under a Creative Commons license.

Fete

The school where I do some volunteering had its annual summer fayre or fete or fair or whatever it's called. So, of course, we went down to have a look. Without Buddy, I think our visit might have lasted fifteen minutes. But Buddy loves to see other children and so he had a grand old time.

There was a big BBQ, with women in hijab serving lamb kebabs with spicy Indian sauces. There was a bouncy castle (Buddy's too little for that), and cotton candy (candy floss in Brit-speak) and a baked good stall and bric-a-brac and books for sale and various other ways to fleece money out of fayre-goers.

And there was the money-making scheme that I remember so well from my school-going, church youth-group attending days.



Krispy Kreme donuts.

And they tasted better than I remember. (I've been sort of down on Krispy Kreme since I got thrown out of the one in Knoxville - for singing. As I recall, the other patrons loved it.)

The man at the donut stall (a parent)had gotten a very good deal on the donuts (I wasn't clear if he got them free or not). And he got a lot of balloons, too. One of them he gave to Buddy, who was thrilled!

Happy Independence Day

Being an American in Britain on the 4th of July is a very strange thing. Celebrating Independence Day in the land of our former colonial masters is a little like celebrating the anniversary of a divorce in your ex-in-laws' beach house. You can still have a good time, but you're always aware.

What can Brits do to ease the awkwardness and ensure a Happy Fourth?

• no snarky comments about impertinent colonists
• no jibes about how we've made a mess of our independence - especially over the last eight years or so
• no general anti-Americanism (yes, I know it's hard)
• sparklers should be on sale at every corner store
• bring us a brownie
• a paid day off work would be nice

and last but not least....

• tax free tea all day
  

Nary a crow to be seen

We saw an amazing display of scarecrows at the RHS Wisley today. They seem to have all been put together by various Women's Institutes around the South East of England. Many of the figures were women and a number celebrated women's suffrage. And one was of the cat in the hat.

terra cotta day lily

P1030183-1, originally uploaded by London looks.

in my garden

Our brilliant and brief career as pageant parents

The local Catholic church* had its summer fayre yesterday. Among the fundraising activities, was a Bonny Baby competition (entry fee £2). When I saw the flyer, I thought:

"Heck yeah, that cash prize/blue ribbon/certificate/goldfish in a bag is as good as mine. Surely, we have the bonniest baby this side of SW19."

I mentioned it to the Vol-in-Law who I thought would surely dismiss the idea out of hand, but he was keen. Eager, even. "I know we have the best looking baby, but it would be nice to have some official recognition."

We even discussed outfits and bemoaned the fact that it was unlikely that we could get him to wear a hat for the period of the judging for maximum cuteness and to cover his still somewhat lumpy head - a potential point loser. Even so, we figured as long as he was in a reasonable mood and we dressed him in bright colors we'd walk the contest.

But then he had the "accident".

Oh, it wasn't much at first. I noticed a scratch on his nose when I picked him up from daycare. But overnight the scratch inflamed a little and scabbed over in a most unsightly way. And in Bonny Baby competitions, I reckon they generally look for a child without blemish.

The Vol-in-Law immediately suspected sabotage. Some other parent, with some less attractive, but still quite cute baby got their child to scratch Buddy's nose in some Tonya Harding -esque bid to knock out the stiffest competition.

Quite clearly he wasn't competition ready - and though I briefly considered smearing a little concealer over the scratch - I couldn't quite bring myself to do that. I didn't want to be that kind of parent.

But I needn't have worried about becoming one of those obsessive pageant parents. The scab fell off and there was but the merest hint of a scratch, but I just couldn't be bothered find a clean, cute outfit and struggle with him over the hat. So we went to the playground instead.

photoshopping away the imperfections

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*I'm not sure it's technically our local. We probably fall outside the boundaries of the dioceses or parish or whatever it is even though it's definitely the closest Catholic church to our house.

Happy (late) (British) Veteran's Day

Happy Veteran's Day.

In Britain.

Yesterday.

Yes, I let it pass unremarked, but so too did the rest of the country. Apparently. My British colleagues had no idea.

It's a new thing here. And I have to say it's much needed. Remembrance Sunday is a big thing here, but technically you have to be dead to be honoured - which takes a little bit of the fun out of it. Veterans - until a couple of years ago - had no official celebration.

I'm not a big fan of Gordon Brown, but good for him for bringing this in.

So, let me say - thanks to all the British Veterans.

-0-

Technically the Vol-in-Law qualifies as a British veteran, given his 14 months or so in the British Territorial Army (reserves). I think he was mostly in it for the subsidised beer, though.

Get to work

Get to work, originally uploaded by London looks.

Buddy is obsessed by brushes. Hairbrushes, nail brushes, brooms and scrub brushes.

The Vol-in-Law has fantasy in which he's going to train Buddy to clean up after us. I think he's nuts, but it looks like we're off to a good start.

The Widow Radomski's bouquet

This morning I took Buddy out for a stroll in the nearby cemetery. The grass was so high the tombstones were barely visible in some places. There were yellow meadow flowers in bloom (I'll go back with a camera later if I get a chance UPDATED - I did!)) and it was lovely in a sad kind of way. I started to sing "Where have all the graveyards gone? Gone to flowers every one. When will they ever learn (to mow)."



We ran into a woman who was there to tend the grave and she said, quite unprompted, "It's disgraceful, isn't it?"

Now, I'm not much one for chit chat in the cemetery, because those conversations never end on a particularly joyous note. But I agreed and asked which plot was hers. She pointed out what I presume must have been her husband's grave. It was a bit overgrown, but not as bad as some of the other graves. She told me that she'd brought flowers to put on his grave and I asked her if they were from her garden and told her how lovely the bouquet was (see I was trying to bring it back to a happy note).

She then gave the bouquet to me. I refused, of course. But she said the grave was in such bad shape that she'd rather I enjoyed them at my house than leave them amidst the untidiness. And she misted up, visibly upset, and on her way to complain to the cemetery office and Lambeth council.

I left the cemetery, clutching the flowers and trying not to look like a grave robber. (But really there's no other way to look when you leave a graveyard with a bouquet in hand).

Buddy met a little lamb

Buddy met a little lamb, originally uploaded by London looks.

We walked a very long way today to the Deen City Farm, which turns out is quite a long way away. I don't know why I didn't drive. I guess I just fancied a long stroll.

We'd been once before and Buddy could only summon up a bit of interest in some chicks. This time he loved everything. The sheep, the goats, the ducks, the geese, the chickens, the guinea pigs, the rabbits and the ferret. Especially the ferret.

He screamed so for the ferret that the sullen looking teenager who was messing with it (and who was probably there by some community service order) let him pet it.

In retrospect, slinky, bitey rodenty things are probably not best put into the paws of an exuberant one year old. But he loved it.

I would have taken a picture, but I didn't want to be that parent. You know the parent that takes the picture instead of staunching the flow of blood from the gushing ferret bite wound.

(There were no bites. Baby and ferret parted unharmed)

Love those rental rates

Hey kids it's Wimbledon - and this is the first year that we have full service on a bus that runs from spitting distance from my front door (but not right on my street) straight to the Wimbledon tennis grounds. Seriously, it's less than 20 minutes* and practically zero walking.

And do you know what that means? That means if I could get my act together we could rent out our house or do a house swap during Wimbledon for some seriously fab locale. I hear rich people with nice houses like Wimbledon.

But, I don't get my act together. Our house is a tip. A tip filled with baby and baby accessories. Maybe next year.

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For you folks with cars with America, maybe 20 minutes doesn't sound that close. In London it is.

Choosing from the dregs?

I do love the European Football Championship, but without England, it's just joyless. Yes, I know I've said this before. But for months after England failed to qualify, every time I thought about it I wanted to throw up a little.

As the first of the knock out games began, I started to watch a little more. But now all the teams I might have liked are gone.

Who's left to love? Russia, Turkey, Spain and Germany. The evil axis of footballing? Maybe Spain. I had a pretty good time there. Maybe Germany, I got a lot of free drinks there one time.

Smells like...

There's been some heavy advertising on tv lately for a new men's fragrance from Dunhill called London.

Now, I do love this city. But I don't know if you want to smell like diesel fumes and stale chips and the rush hour Underground on a wet day or maybe a little whiff of something icky coming off the Thames.

And Dunhill - don't they make cigarettes? I don't know if you want to smell like that either.

But hey, splash that cologne all over if you want to.

America's got Mongolian throat music

Because I was missing Britian's Got Talent so much, we watched a little bit of America's Got Talent - with British judges. It's not nearly as good - and I keep watching it trying to figure out why.

Partly, I think it's poor chairing. The Hoff is just a bit too chaotic, he votes before he's supposed to vote, he speaks out of turn. The panel is supposed to have a rotating chair, but Hoff seems to think he's always chairing. On Britain's Got Talent, it worked. When Piers was chairing, Piers chaired. When Amanda was chairing, the other two followed her lead. And when Simon Cowell chaired, of course, he was in control.

I haven't been to an American business meeting in many, many years. I do know they're different. I know they have a different rhythm. From what I hear, there's more "get down to business" and less of the introductory weather related chit-chat that occurs in almost every British business meeting. (It doesn't last long, don't worry.)

Some time ago my friend Vol-K was over on business, and she asked me and another ex-pat what she should expect for her very first business meeting. We told her about the chit-chat. Later she said she was grateful for the advice as she felt herself getting impatient during the blather phase.

But what about American chairing? Are Americans less likely to follow the lead of the chair? Or is it just a David Hasselhoff thing?

-0-

One of the acts last night on America's Got Talent was a guy who played the banjo and did the Mongolian throat singing thing. He didn't make it too far. He was amiable, but rubbish. It was really worse than it sounds. And banjo + throat singing doesn't seem like a good combo on paper. But I could sort of peer through this particular artist's crapness to see that maybe banjo and whistle-tube singing could work. Just not with that guy.

When I was Amsterdam a number of years ago, not touring the red light district and not smoking myself into a daze at the "coffee shops" but visiting museums and viewing Dutch masters I came across a troupe of Mongolian throat singers. They were busking underneath an archway that lead to the National Gallery of the Netherlands (or some similar type museum). It was pretty darn amazing. I was entranced.

I bought a CD with a fistful of Euros. Then I had a little buyer's remorse. What if it was crap? What if that archway provided them was some sort of amazing acoustics that didn't translate to CD?

Anyway, I listened to it at home. Let me say this - it doesn't exactly have a great beat and it isn't easy to dance to, but it's cool in a weird sort of way.

The throat singing guy last night made me want to see if I could dig out the CD and by the fates, it happened to be the second CD in the giant stack of un-put-away CDs just sitting by the stereo. So I played it again - yeah, it was pretty cool.

Buddy thought so, too. He was transfixed and stomped his feet and wanted to get closer to the speakers.

The band was Altai Hangai and here they are with Barrelhouse.

Why I haven't been blogging much of late

Why I haven't been blogging much of late

Dunno, really. I've been blogging more at work. Don't bother looking for it, it's not that interesting. Well, for one or two readers, it might be kind of interesting, but not really.

I've been doing lots of Web2.0 things at work and I guess one only has so much to give to social media.

Plus, I'm tired. Still very tired. Buddy still doesn't sleep through the night.

Islamism and fascism, happy bedfellows

Here's an interesting post from Harry's Place which captures some interesting conversions from the far right to extreme Islamism.

I reckon it's not that big a step - particularly if you're fueled by hatred of the joos.

Commenter Wardytron nails it:

Plus they’ve seen that you get far more indulgence and less outright hostility as an Islamist as opposed to a neo-Nazi, the ideological leap is tiny - you get to keep all your enemies - gays, Jews, liberals, women - and you’re joining a movement which, if not actually flourishing, isn’t down to nearly single figures. I’m surprised it doesn’t happen more often.

I guess one thing that makes it hard to make the transition to Islam - even the violent, nasty political hate-filled kind is having to give up beer.

Lacklustre Euro 2008 blogging

Now that the European football tournament has reached the knockout stages, I should be a little more interested - even though England didn't qualify which makes the whole thing a painful endeavour.

Portugal v Germany? Who do I hate more? Hmmm...Portugal. They lost. Croatia v Turkey? Hmmm....I guess I'd be marginally in favour of Croatia because of the cool red and white check thing they have going on, but there's something about their sporting gloaty-ness which bugs me. Anyway, Croatia lost last night in a penatly shoot-out, but even though I checked in on the game, I didn't stick with it. A bit of shame, because it sounds like it was quite exciting at the end.

One game I did watch a fair bit of was the final qualifying match between Italy and France. A little rematch of the World Cup finals - without the headbutting Zidane. France just fell apart at the end, even amiable Thierry Henry crumbled like a cookie. I supported Italy last time around and this time, too. France bombed out of the group stages. Ha ha.

Typical

Thousands upon thousands flocked to Stonehenge this morning to see the sun rise in mystical alignment on this the Summer Soltice.

It was raining and overcast.

Typical.

Slim chances

If elected, maybe she'll appoint me as Ambassador to the Court of St James. Sweet digs come with the gig.

Party animal

Buddy attended his first party today where he was the invitee. It was another one-year-old's birthday party and we were the mere chaperones.



He was raring to go and turned out to be a real party animal. After he spotted the beer, he cried until he got his hands on a bottle(empty), much to the amusement of your wicked, drunken sort.

We finally managed to get him off the beer with the promise of chocolate.

Births, deaths and Londoners

As we were walking down the street today, a quiet residential street near our home, we spied a television news crew. We walked on. It's London, after all - who knows what it could be about.

We saw a strip of three pregnancy ultrasound scan photos in the gutter maybe 20 yards further on in the gutter. All scan photos look alike, but clearly they're generally quite precious to the person to whom they belong. We knew they hadn't been there long because they were dry, but it had been raining earlier.

We walked back to the news crew - they were clearly staking out someone's home so I figured why not take advantage. We handed off the scan photos to the tv journalist in case someone came back looking for them.

"Do you live on this street?" she asked. No, we sort of pointed off in the general direction of our house.

"Did you know him?" she asked. And then I realised just who they were doorstepping. The widow of a murder victim. The partner of a man who yesterday was doing nothing more than standing at a customer service desk of a grocery store we've shopped at, too. He was hit in the face by another customer and now he's dead. Nice. I wonder what the news woman did with the scan photos.

-0-


As we left the news crew, an old man with an adorable dog started off the same way. I think he'd been talking with the reporter. Buddy was quite interested in the dog. He pointed at it and said "dab, blah, dab-blah-blah".

I said something about nice doggie and the old man informed us that she was indeed a very nice dog who loved both children and cats. In fact, she loved them and they loved her. All the cats in the road would approach Skip (the dog) and kiss her. Awwwww. Just awwwww.

But then he said "Yep, Skip's a lovely dog. Better than a wife."

The Vol-in-Law, to his credit, said "Well, a wife's pretty nice, too."

"Not my wife," said the old man. "I had one for 36 years. Glad to be rid of her. Better to have my dog. The wife's in an old person's home and you can have her. No, Skip's a great dog."

(I paraphrase - he went on like this for quite some time until our paths diverged.)

-0-

Only in London, said the Vol-in-Law, would a seemingly nice, baby-admiring old man with an adorable dog reveal his dark, wife-hating side to a strangers in the street. London old people often seem to have a special darkness in their soul.

-0-

The dog in the photo is probably not Skip, but looks a lot like Skip. Reproduced here under a creative commons license. Image by Chris Jones.

The non-toddling toddler

Buddy is one year, one week and one day old - and yet he does not walk. Only in the past few days has he done the finger grabbing, hand-holding frog march thing with any skill.

At the weekend, we went to the playground and twin girls who were about his size were taking stumbling steps. Before they arrived, he'd been crawling happily but after seeing them he pretended to walk by gamely holding onto the hand holds of the climbing frame/ slide thingy. What a poser. I guess peer pressure starts young.

I'm don't really worry about it, when he's ready, he's ready. But the Vol-in-Law wants him to walk. He calls him the non-toddling toddler. He sat up pretty early, creeped and crawled pretty early, too. The ViL says "I don't want to be parent who says 'Some babies don't walk until they're sixteen months old. ' I want to be the parent who says 'Yeah, he's walking.'"

Yeah, I'm bitter

Is it an even numbered year?

Check.

Is it June?

Check.

Yet, where is my preferred team? Where are my heart's sporting darlings?

They're at home, twiddling their thumbs.

That's right. England didn't qualify for Euro 2008 - the European tournament - the World Cup's little brother. It's going on right now and I can't bring myself to get excited about it - at least not in the group stages.

And although I know their absence from the tournament is probably saving me from the inevitable heartbreak of seeing them bomb out during the quarter finals, there's still an aching void in my early summer.

Yeah, I'm bitter

Hillary Clinton has conceded. She says she's supporting Barack Obama and that we should, too.

I knew she'd say that. I knew she'd do that. Because she is a party loyalist. She's a class act. I also knew she wouldn't back down while there was still a chance of victory. But the deck has been so thoroughly stacked against her from the beginning by both the media and the DNC that I can now see she didn't have a chance. Yet still she fought on - and still she won more support from a broader coalition of people than her detractors ever thought she could or indeed ever gave her credit for.

That isn't to say that she didn't make some mistakes along the way, some mistakes that cost her. Every candidate does.

I still believe that she's the better candidate. By far.

-0-

the invisible undercurrent to this entire primary season has been a sotto voce “bitch“ . i think our national reaction to her campaign says much more about us, than it does about Hillary Clinton as a person and a woman politician. and frankly, it’s really disgusted me. you don’t have to be a Hillary supporter to feel outraged at the treatment she’s received. you don’t have to be a woman to be outraged at the treatment she’s received.

So says an Obama supporter. (Of course, I don't think the "BITCH" has been quite so sotto voce). If the vocal majority of Obama supporters even hinted at something like this then I'd be more inclined to vote for the guy. But they aren't. Many are largely implying that my electoral hesitation is fueled by racism.

Not so. Not so for me anyway. (I'm not saying that race isn't a factor in some people's votes.)

I've voted for a black man over a white woman in a primary race* in Tennessee. I voted for him again in the general election. Locally, I've voted for a man of color over a white woman that I know personally and like because I thought he was the better choice. And I'll campaign for him. But I wouldn't have voted for either of them if they'd taken advantage of sexism to win in the primary race quite so egregiously as Barack Obama has.

And there are other reasons why I hesitate to vote for Obama. Reasons I won't go into because some part of me still wants to support the presumptive Democratic nominee.

My vote could still be won, but if Obama and his supporters take Hillary Clinton's extended hand of support and friendship and kick her in the teeth... Then no, hell no.

-0-

Maybe Obama's charm and charisma will carry him to victory in November. I hope so. I think he'd make a better president than John McCain.

I worry particularly about McCain's nation-building aspirations in the Middle East. In many ways the neo-conservative agenda is an agenda of hope and global prosperity, but it's a doomed vision. Not everyone cleaves to democracy and trying to impose it on them won't make them the good liberal democrats that we'd like them to be. (And by liberal democrat I mean that in the classical sense - the sort of liberalism which allows a plurality of viewpoints rather than a leftist agenda necessarily) And trying to impose it seems to be leading to a kind of least best outcome - a stronger Iran, an angry and punitive OPEC, an Iraq ruled at the neighbourhood level by religious militia.

I worry, too about furthering a socially conservative agenda which is more about foisting someone else's dubious morals on me rather than maintaining decency and family life for the majority.
_________
*Correction - I supported Ford in the primary race, but since I'm a little bit bad at voting in state level primaries from overseas and he was way ahead I may not have actually voted for him then. I definitely voted for him in the general.

Buddy and the big orange express

Buddy and the big orange express, originally uploaded by London looks.

Loading up with big orange fun. Keep on truckin', Buddy.

Buddy is one!

Buddy is one!, originally uploaded by London looks.

Wow, we managed to keep him breathing air for one whole year. Beats our record with some pets.

All reality all the time (for real)

Since introducing my mother to the delights of Eurovision, we spent 7 nights watching the utterly captivating Britain's Got Talent. That was one night of condensed auditions, 5 nights of gripping semi-finals and, of course, the finals.

Dana (a distant cousin - we've been at the same reunions, but never knowingly met) sums it up as Possibly the best British show Americans will never see. It could be.

My favourite acts were the forties singers from Newcastle, the hula hoop trio (go to Dana's site - she's dredged up the YouTube videos) and Kate and Gin - a dancing dog act. Only Kate and Gin made it to the finals, where I have to say I didn't especially want them to win - but I hope that it launches a long career for Kate in the dog dancing acts at Crufts.

Do Americans get televised coverage of Crufts? If not, I'd vote for that in the running of possibly the best British show Americans will never see.

The Vol Abroad has a brush with reality teevee

It's true that I have been watching a little more reality tv than I'd have cared to admit a year ago. But I'd never consider actually going on one of those shows.

Still I'm proud to admit that I had a brush with reality tv today - and the daddy of all the British reality tv shows to top it all.

This morning, the guys from Lazee Lawn came around to install my new faux turf. And as they were leaving, they said they were off to the Big Brother house to do some work on their lazee lawn.

The Vol Abroad hires only the gardeners to the stars.


Top cat checks out the new top grass


(See more photos of my new fake lawn going in).

World's biggest cocktail party on rails

Our new mayor, Boris Johnson, has banned alcoholic drinks on the Underground and the rest of the Transport for London network. Many American readers may be wondering why it was ever allowed in the first place, but drinking in public is a well established liberty in this country (unless prohibited by notice).

The ban comes into effect today, so like any good Londoner should, thousands went out last night to revel in the last moments of licentiousness. (Pictures from the BBC here).

Now, I've enjoyed a drink or two on the Underground in my day. I particularly remember one crowded journey when I took a delicious glass of fruity Pimms on the Victoria line much to the admiration and jealousy of the other commuters.

I have to admit popping a few tops on the train, too - making many a journey more endurable and my fellow passengers seem more genial.

But no more...

Now that my days of public drunkenness are largely to be set aside for the next two decades or so, I admit that I wholeheartedly support the ban. Young people these days just have no respect.

A rare moment of self-reflection

The media pauses for a moment and reflects on its own woman-hating self. There's whole panel of punditry reflecting on just a few incidents of the heavy misogyny we've all been treated to during this campaign. (Via TGW)

Probably too little, too late now.

I hope what comes out of all of this is an honest debate about how women, especially successful women, are treated - and that some progress is made. But I doubt that happens. I think this whole campaign season will demonstrate what happens to uppity women. Truly, bitch is the new black.

-0-

Since the Don Imus incident was mentioned (ever so briefly, since, strictly speaking it has nothing to do with this year's presidential politics), I'd like to add my two cents, too - since I didn't manage to do so at the time. I also believe that if Don Imus had just limited his comments to sexism he'd have probably gotten away with it. And I don't want to disrespect the Rutgers women's basketball team.

But I think we're forgetting who really got slighted in all that.

The Lady Vols.

Their great accomplishment got completely sidelined. They won, the National Championship, remember that? Rutgers came a mere (but respectable) second. But, of course, Pat Head Summitt has too much class to say that.

The real contest

Well tonight it's the Eurovision song contest - the finals - the moment you've all been waiting for. No need to highlight all the different acts, since I've done that and more in the semi-final coverage. (Here and here) So what follows is just a series of random thoughts,

I will say that the UK entry (which got an automatic pass being one of the big funders of the contest) was not completely embarassing as they have been in some years. And the German entry (another bye) was OK, some women in tight dresses singing in a mediocre fashion.

Best part thing of the night so far is turning on the lyrics. Where they're in the native tongue of the entrant it's quite the revelation and often it's quite a revelation to discover that they are in fact singing in English (like the Georgian and Azerbaijani entries).

We liked the Finnish entry, but the Vol-in-Law loves it even more now that he know the lyrics translated mean something like "All the men must ride forth, sheep can not graze there." (See the video here).

Perhaps the most controvesial entry in English is the French one. I thought it was a law that they had to do everything in French and apparently this is le uproar over this across Le Channel. It's not a great entry anyway.

We've definitely decided that the Swedish entry Charlotte Pirelli is not a woman. Thank goodness for second looks.

The Spanish have done a joke entry - and it's a very bad joke indeed. They're being booed off the stage. They're still booing as last year's winner takes the stage. It makes Estonia's joke entry with dancing and singing washed up Estonian MPs look professional. That's how bad the Spanish entry was. Nil points.

The Serbian entry - the final bye of the evening - was OK. Lyrics like "wake me up on St Vitus day" - which is apt because apparently his saintly powers include protection against oversleeping.

******
Vol Mom - visiting from America actually voted (on our phone line) for Norway. It only cost 15 pence (about 30 cents), which isn't too bad.

*****

As the votes are counted, I'm guessing

Ukraine or Russia to take all

Serbia, Turkey and Georgia do well.

The more pop-star type entries Armenia and Greece do ok.

At the bottom of the heap, France and Spain. The UK won't suffer a nil-pointage, but it will languish in the bottom third.

This I predict.

***************

Now for the most exciting moment...the voting...all 43

The UK This is London calling...
Crap...someone in the UK voted for Spain. Top marks go to Greece.

FYR Macedonia....votes for its neighbours

Ukraine...votes for its neighbours....12 points to Russia, gotta keep those gas pipelines open.

Estonia votes mostly for its neighbours - 10 points to Finland (they're ethnically kin) and 12 points to Russia.

Bosnia & Herzegovnia voted for all their former Balkan foes. The Balkans tend to stick together despite not being able to do so politically. There are a lot of Balkan countries and a lot of Balkan votes.

Albania gave top points to Greece, somewhat surprisingly.

Belgium give top points to Armenia - one of my favorite entries - but what's the relationship between those two countries.

Latvia - douze points to Russia.

Bulgaria gives 12 points to Germany - who had zero before. Why?

Moldova give 12 points to Romania. Quelle surprise.

France are giving all their points in French - not like their song. No votes for the UK from across the channel.

Portugal gives the dreadful Spanish entry 10 points.

Norway doesn't appear to have given Sweden any/many points. That is a bit of a shocker.

Spain gives 12 points to Romania - purely on the strength of migrant workers, I reckon.

Malta gives 12 points to Sweden and nary a point to the UK - I thought surely there would be a vote or two there.

Ireland - woo hoooooo 8 points to the UK and 12 point to the Latvian entry (the Pirates).

At this point, it's looking like no one can beat Russia with 36 out of 43 countries already reported.

Sweden gives Norway 12 points - and the announcer looks drunk. Brilliant.

Will Denmark give the UK any points - the last country to vote? 8 to Sweden, 10 to Norway and 12 points to Iceland...well, that's it.

******************

Russia wins.

Maybe the UK should cut off some natural gas supplies to someone that might keep them off the bottom of the scorecard. The UK entry wasn't brilliant, but it sure beat a whole bunch of other dismal entries.

Rip it up and start again

I'm quite excited about the prospect of redoing my garden. Those shrubs and flowers that haven't pulled their weight blossoming weight in past years are facing extinction. The giant tree peony with the surprisingly small blossoms - it barely will be missed.

I want it all done and dusted by the end of Tuesday, but yet I still haven't completely decided what I'm going to do. But it will be heavy on texture and colored foliage.

The second heat

Tonight it's the second semi-final for the Eurovision Song Contest. Another night of great (a-hem) singing live from Belgrade. Tonight UK voters are eligible to phone in their ballot (please make sure you have permission from the bill payer).

As per usual, I will not be voting. I have never phoned in a vote in my life.

The night's proceedings are kicking off with some folk dancers and orchestral musicians in cloud outfits. They're not part of the contest though - just the entertainment laid on by the hosts and I have to say I actually quite like it.

I'll be back when the official acts hit the stage

1. Iceland's entry is by Euroband - described as a tribute band. Hmmm - a tribute to whom exactly. I'd say this tune is perfect for an aerobics class - which puts it above most entries.

2 Sweden - always a strong a contender (back in the day Abba was a Eurovision entry). The chanteuse (the Vol-in-Law asks is that really a woman? I don't think it is.) is dressed entirely in silver tinsel. The song's not bad, not great either.

3. Turkey has had some pretty rockin' entries in the past. They've got a typical guitar band on stage right now, all in black with the barest hint of glam (sequined lapels). They're singing in Turkish which can't be helping them, but I think they might go through to the finals.

4. Ukraine and another tinselly silver dress - her male backing dancers are in a plastic boxes. I like a man in a box. The song is called Shady Lady, the Vol-in-Law says "If I were Eastern European, I think I would steer clear of any references to prostitution." Now the backing dancers are doing backflips across the stage - ho hum.

5. Lithuania - the out-of-tune male singer's only recognisable attribute is his attribute. Let's just say you don't need to guess which side he dresses on thanks to those skin-tight black plastic trousers. This guy couldn't carry a tune in a bucket - and the Michael Bolton hair isn't going to win any fans. He wouldn't make it past the first auditions of American Idol (the final of which I'm missing tonight and wondering if I've made the right choice with the quality of this entry). A cat in heat could do better.

6. Albania's entry is a 16 year old wearing a double breasted jacket with a sewn in cape. She seems very earnest, but frankly it's all a bit dull. I can't even get up good snark on this one.

7. Paolo Menegezzi of Switzerland is singing a well put together pop ballad in Italian Era Stupendo - which think probably means "It was amazing" or something like that. He has the slightly geeky, sensitive look that I quite like in a man. I probably wouldn't kick him out of bed, but I would spend a pound voting for him either. The Vol-in-Law says he'll be hurt a bit by the fact that he can't actually sing, but he thought it would go through.

8. Czech Republic are all be-silvered, too but this time the silver dresses are much, much, much, much smaller. There are five women shaking their stuff and a silvery DJ in the background. The Vol-in-Law says he feels physically sickened. It is truly horrid.

9. Belarus are being booed before they even go on. Is there some kind of bad blood between Serbia and Belarus? The male singer reminds me of a cheesy magician - lyrics like "your laugh has stealed my love" and "don't ask me why I say goodbye, hasta la vista baby, I'm gonna miss you...maybe" The backing dancers are - once again - in tiny metallic dresses, but this time they're golden and splaying themselves across golden magic mushrooms. It's bad, but 10 times better than the Czech offering.



10. Latvia - Pirates of the Sea singing "Wolves of the Sea" - WOW oh WOW - they're all dressed as very glamorous pirates, but it's like a very poor Adam Ant in the Highwayman video. Lyrics like "It's no Peter Pan, so what can you do?" and "We will steal the show, Jolly Rogers go, we are wolves of the sea."

They'll probably go through just for the outfits, though they should be walking the plank.



11 You gotta give Croatia some guts from putting up a 75 year old rapper. I kinda like the song - it's heavy on the accordion (I'm a fool for folk - sue me). Oh my god, granddad is waving a cane. He looks like the old man I saw beat an Underground worker with his crutch one time. His "rapper name" is 75 cents.



12. Bulgaria brings us break dancing and swoosha swoosha record scratching. Let it never be said that Bulgaria is more than two decades behind the times. Oh wait, make that 12 decades - the gal singer is dressed as some kind of Western dance hall madame. They've got DJ decks that are actually ON FIRE. That can't be safe.





13 Denmark - Simon Matthew with "All night long." Cheesy suspenders (braces if you're British) and flat cap. It sounds like one of those songs that's written to be a bar sing-a-long, but fails miserably.

14 You know how Stevie Wonder and Ray Charles despite being blind are musical genii (that's plural for genius, ya know). Yeah, well - being blind is not a gurantee of singing talent. Georgia should remember that the next time they enter a blind singer. Extra points for the albino contortionist backing dancers. Oh - AND the quick change from black outfits to white outfits on stage underneath a gauzey parchute silk covering.

15 Hungary - a bad lounge act. This is reminding me that I could be watching the finals of American Idol.

We're nearly at the end of the 19 entries, but unless the next four are amazing, I don't know how they're going to find ten to go to the finals.

16. Malta - I have soft spot for Malta because they always vote for the British entry no matter how bad or how unpopular British foreign adventures are at the time. The singer is wearing a tight black outfit and boots that were made out of a disco mirror ball. I'm having serious shoe envy. Lyrics like "Vodka and I want it so bad." the tune is genuinely catchy and well performed. I not only want this act to go through, it makes me want to visit the little island. My favorite act of the night.

17. Cyprus - back to the silver dresses a real femme fatale number this time. But unfortunately, she's stripped down to a red and black fringey number. She's singing in Greek and I can hear plinkety accompanient of some kind of stringed greek type instrument. Now she's dancing on a table in the middle of fabric rose - which I guess is suggestive of, well - you know.

18. F.Y.R Macedonia - the femal singer looks like a real woman and I was starting to like it until the nasty FYR Macedonian rappers started doing their FYR crapper. The guy is wearing bermuda shorts and white tights and golf shoes (I swear).

19. It's not over til the fat lady sings and tonight she's singing for Portugal. A lacklustre entry to cap off a lacklustre set of contestants. Still, she can actually sing, which puts her miles ahead of most of tonight's acts.

*******************
Meanwhile during the live voting our predictions are...
:

Portugal, FYR Macedonia, Iceland, Turkey, Bulgaria, Albania, Malta

The Vol-in-Law says he thinks the Ukraine, Latvia and Switzerland, Denmark and Sweden might also go through but that if there's any justice in the world, the Czech Republic will not only be sent home but be beaten with sticks.

*************************

And the results:

Ukraine, Croatia, Albania, Iceland, Georgia, Denmark, Sweden, Latvia, Turkey and Portugal.

Best television in the world

Now normally I don't buy in to the idea that Britain has the "best television in the world" - no matter how many times the BBC spreads that lie.

But tonight, I've gotta admit it must be close.

The awards from the Chelsea Flower Show (live on the main channel) and the live Eurovision song-contest semi-finals which is being broadcast on cable.

So what's a girl (who doesn't understand her live record tv settings) to do?

I do love gardening, but I love to laugh at cheesy Eastern Europeans more. So Eurovision song-contest it is - and I'll be trying to live blog the event. Yikes.

1. Philip Flip-off-ovitch or something like that from Montenegro.

The Vol-in-Law says he's going to lose points for singing in - well, whatever it is they sing in Montenegro. The floppy haired singer is getting slapped in the face by girls wearing 80s mini-skits and red gloves. Buddy seems to like it, but he is only 11 months old.

2. The Israeli Pop Idol (American Idol) winner - something Boaz or other.

Only 20, I think he just got his head shave as a new recruit to the IDF. Dude has some nice arms (must be all those push ups). The song sounds like a call to prayer - and that's not a good thing. I like the Hebrew folk dancing back up guys in the dance. Nothing like a chain step, I always say.

3. Estonia has a joke entry
To me, I think you need to be a serious country before you're eligible to do a joke entry. Still, Estonia has won in recent memory and maybe they didn't want to take the chance of winning again. Several burly guys are singing not very well and girls in sparkly hot pants are dancing around with flags and signs with giant pictures of onions on them. (I know you think I'm making this up - I'm not). The baby doesn't care for accordion break in the middle of the song. It's making Buddy cry.

4. Moldova are doing some kind of jazz fusion-y thing. It's not bad, if you like that kind of thing. And by that I mean over-the-top female vocalists accompanied by a barefoot trumpeter on a sofa. Still they're wearing orange, and you know that's gotta be a good thing.

5. San Marino
Is that a country? I thought it was a village in Italy. Well, I don't know much about it, but apparently they have bad hair there. And the like to do interprative dance in flowy white georgette. Sounds like my kinda town, I mean country. I sorta like the pop rock ballad singing in whatever it is they sing in in San Marino. (Update: San Marino really is a village in Italy according to CIA World Factbook)

6. Belgium is singing in a made up language. Really, I swear. You'd have thought that singing in Belgique or Walloon or whatever they normally sing in would have been close enough to a made up language. The girl singer is wearing a dress that looks like a red and white golf umbrella. There's a floutist on stage. Unless you're Jethro Tull floutists and pop should steer well clear of each other. Buddy doesn't seem to be noticing this one, but he has managed to get into the Vol-in-Law's chocolate biscuits while I've been blithely live blogging. Bad Mommy.

7. Azerbaijan features a high pitched young feller dressed as a bad angel with fluffy wings doing a kind of operatic hollering and another devilish looking chap doing a pop-metal fusion. The Vol-in-Law screams from the other room that Azerbaijan isn't even in Europe, but that they probably will go through. Oh, hell yeah they're going through.



8. Slovenia's entry was also their Miss World entry. Well, there probably are only three presentable people there. It's a pop song whose refrain is apparently "to hell with it" or something like that in Slovenian. It's catchy, I like it. The baby crawled over to the satellite box and changed the channel.

9. Maria from Norway is telling us to hold on and be strong - she should learn to phrase better in her singing. But she looks nice in her slinky blue dress. The baby is crying

i'm live blogging one handed as i'm trying to blog and breastfeed at the same time.

10. Poland is doing a dreary pop ballad - a blonde woman in a turquoise dress and amazingly white teeth.

11. Ireland's entry is a turkey puppet - singing about how it's lost Eurovision for too long. There are vegas style dancers and mexican ballet folklorico looking dancers in the Irish colors. Irelande douze points is the chorus. Eurovision fans will know what that means. Utter rubbish. Nil points from me and apparently there were too many people on stage which may mean it's disqualified, anyway.

12. Gisela from Andorra is wearing a metallic breast plate and some coppery tailfeathers. and something that looks like a bookend on her head. Thoroughly pop and in English "Oh Casanova" I suspect it will do well.

13 Bosnia and Herzogovenia (is that spelled right) have a brother and a sister and a clothes line and four brides on stage (which is one fewer person than the Irish had and all that the rules allow) The gal singer is wearing bloomers, tee-hee!


knitting brides in the backgroud

14 Armenia - now this is more like it. I'm partial to a pop song that seems to incorporate some element of the native folk beats. This does it for me. It's the usual cheesy pop lyrics in English and the costume is just a modern version of the fringey flapper dress, but I like it.

15. The Netherlands - Hind - "Your heart belongs to me" I usually like the Dutch entry, but they usually don't do well. Wow, the rather statuesque gal singer is wearing a full length formal dress AND thigh high boots. The song itself has a kinda belly dancing vibe to it, it's upbeat and easy to dance to. I like it.


Dutch fashion courage

16. Hurray the Finns!! Another metal entry from my cousins to the North. They could put shit on a cracker and I'd vote for it. The Vol-in-Law says "I love Finnish metal." The baby is screaming along "da da da da da" and actually dancing. This probably doesn't bode well for his future development.


Screaming along to Finland's entry


17. Nico and Vlad (yes really) from Romania are singing a nice romantic ballad. Snooze. They're nice looking enough chaps, though. Oh wait, there's a gal singer... I guess Nico's female and she's wearing a long black dress with luminous green plastic waste products attached to the skirt.

18. Russia and Dima Bilan is singing "Believe!" a barefoot pop-boy dressed in white (what is it with all the barefoot performing these days) His eyes are blood shot in a worrying way, drugs no doubt. Oh my god, they have an actual ice skater on the stage - spinning around right next to the barefoot guy - that's a brave performance decision. No wonder he needs the drugs.

Update: ice skating guy was apparently the world champion ice skater.


Russian health and safety violations

While I've been watching, baby has crawled from sofa to chair/ chair to sofa, and is now dumping Daddy's magazine's on the floor. Yes, I know it's after 9 pm.

19 Kalomira from Greece is singing "Secret Combination". Like Armenia it's chessy pop with a little greco beat. Also like Albania the chanteuse is wearing some kind of fringey dress. I'm now realising that "secret combination" is some kind of sub-text for sexual access. Ok, not so much sub-text - it's a bit like Britney Spears when she finally left innuendo behind.



Dang, I turned my head and missed the on-stage costume stage. I guess one of those backing dancers figured out her secret combination.

OK, that's it. I hope to be back with the results shortly.

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While waiting for the votes to tally, they explained how the voting works this year. Unlike last year, there are TWO semi-finals and no major Western European countries (you know the ones you've heard of) actually made it through. So they've split the voting groups in two, breaking up the traditional geographic loyalties (e.g. the Nordic countries always vote for each other) resulting in very predictable results.

And I'm not clear on this, but at least one country may or may not be selected by jury to ensure there are enough countries from Western Europe.

But this year there are 43 countries participating (many of them not technically in Europe). Thirty-eight have to be winnowed down to 20 through semi-finals - and big countries, with big tv revenue streams (the UK, Germany, France, and Spain) have automatic entries as well as last year's winner - Serbia.

Does that make as much sense a the single transferable vote?

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The ten finalists from the first heat of the semi-finals. (In one big envelope you will find ten smaller envelopes - says the hostess - apparently the song contest in Serbia is sponsored by a stationery company).

In no particular order:

1. Greece
2. Romania
3. Bosnia and Herzegovnia (this result is absolutely inexplicable)
4. Finland (hurray the Finns - the Vol-in-Law says that the streets are going wild in Helsinki tonight many people will be having an extra puula)
5 Russia
6 Israel
7 Azerbaijan
8 Armenia - I really liked this one
9 Poland
10 Norway

No wonder we hate you

Did you know that the Transportation Security Administration has a blog. Well, they do.

It's called Evolution of Security: Terrorists evolve. Threats evolve. Security must stay ahead. You play a part.

And that sounds all very serious and worthy, but hardly what exercises and excites most of the blog's readers.

Like myself, most people are het up about the long lines and the confiscated Swiss Army knives. Our little family alone has lost at least three knives - though in the win column we've managed to get a knife onto one domestic (UK) flight and one international flight (London to Amsterdam). And I have also lost several lighters, including a lovely orange one in Nashville to a snickering TSO who was probably a Vandy fan (and that was following the season of shame).

Yes, the lighters are what really got me mad. For years I carried lighters on planes and through checkpoints without concern. I needed my little incendiary device at the ready so I could smoke again at the very.first.available.opportunity. It was really was vital to public order and security that I be allowed to do so. But suddenly - halfway through my last trip to the US, the lighters started getting taken up. It was a-OK to have the lighter coming in to Vegas - but suddenly they were Al Qaeda's weapon of choice as I was leaving. Trying to hold on to my lighter (I would let them find one and try to stash another - usually a pretty successful strategy) just meant I was clearly in league with the devil.

So, when I discovered the TSA blog - I clicked immediately on the HOT TOPIC nail clippers, lighters and lithium battteries. (What's the deal with lithium batteries??)

Lighters were allowed starting in July 2007, (not including torch lighters) and nail clippers, as well as smaller scissors and tools, have been allowed through the checkpoint since December 2005. Unlike improvised explosives devices (IEDs), these items do not present a significant threat to an airplane.

Yes, that's right. Lighters - AS I HAVE SAID ALL ALONG - "do not present a significant threat to an airplane".

And the comments section on this post is full of people (160 comments and counting) who point out the inconsistencies of the TSA rules. Including this one, which cracked me up:

You still haven't explained why a sharp scissor with 4" long blades is allowed but a 1.5" tiny Swiss Army knife isn't. All I have to do is pop apart the 2 scissor blades and I now have TWO very sharp 6 inch or longer knives with convenient handles. Usually these blades are stronger and sharper than that found on the small S/A knife.

ALL blades of ANY size should be prohibited, including those found on scissors. If the TSA isn't worried about terrorists taking over planes with blades, why aren't Swiss Army knives allowed?

Why are baseball bats or other bludgeons not allowed? Gonna take over a plane by swinging a bat? Not likely (especially since I'll have scissors). Yet, I can bring my heavy camera tripod, pop off the 3 legs and have 3 nice sized bats for me and 2 other friends!

I'm a TSO by the way and even we are sick of all the inconsistencies and looking like fools when we try to explain them to the passengers. No wonder they hate us!

I swore I wouldn't

IMG_2227, originally uploaded by London looks.

One of my biggest pet peeves was seeing children run amok in public gardens. I never minded a bit of youthful exuberance, but I couldn't stand to see kids plucking blossoms or foliage while their parents looked on mutely.

Buddy grabbed these azalea blossoms at the Royal Horticultural Society gardens at Wisley before I could move him out of reach.

Azalea plantation

Regular readers will know that we can often be found in Richmond Park (aka the Deer Park), and as the sun was glimmering weakly through the haze instead of being drowned by a deluge we jumped at the chance to visit Isabella Plantation. Isabella is a walled in area of the park planted with rare trees and ericaceous (acid loving) plants like rhododendron, camellias, magnolias and azaleas.

I really fancied taking Buddy to the grassy area with a picnic and let him crawl around on the grass and play with his little toy football (soccer). Oh, the photos I would take of him against the great, bright blaze of an azalea in full bloom.

But, alas, it was not to be...as Buddy looked like this the entire time we were in the park - all through our picnic even when a full bus load of horticultural tourists surrounded our little picnic to hear about the history of the garden and to glimpse rare rhodies. He slept when the Italian laughed at him when his hat had completely fallen over his face and said "He must be overwhelmed by the beauty all around him."

He snoozed all during our walk to the lake and back up over the hill. And he slept all during the time I was taking floral photos - so I guess I should be grateful for that.

One good thing about a McCain presidency

There would be one good thing about a McCain presidency. It would, once and for all, establish the right of my son to seek and hold the highest office in the land (the American land, that is). From an article in Washington Post:

The Senate has unanimously declared John McCain a natural-born citizen, eligible to be president of the United States.

That is the good news for the presumptive Republican nominee, who was born nearly 72 years ago in a military hospital in the Panama Canal Zone, then under U.S. jurisdiction. The bad news is that the nonbinding Senate resolution passed Wednesday night is simply an opinion that has little bearing on an arcane constitutional debate that has preoccupied legal scholars for many weeks.

Article II of the Constitution states that "no person except a natural born citizen . . . shall be eligible to the office of president."

Of course, Buddy didn't need a Congressional order to be declared a natural born citizen. We've got a piece of paper from the US Embassy to prove that he's an American boy. But the founders never specified what a natural born citizen really is and it's never come up, so it's never been tested by the courts.

But it will be soon, apparently there are three pending law suits disputing McCain's eligibility.

But Sarah H. Duggin, an associate law professor at Catholic University who has studied the "natural born" issue in detail, said the question is "not so simple." While she said McCain would probably prevail in a determined legal challenge to his eligibility to be president, she added that the matter can be fully resolved only by a constitutional amendment or a Supreme Court decision.

"The Constitution is ambiguous," Duggin said. "The McCain side has some really good arguments, but ultimately there has never been any real resolution of this issue. Congress cannot legislatively change the meaning of the Constitution.

And apparently, McCain's situation is further complicated because his birth isn't recorded in the consular records (as it should have been).

As I've stated before, I'd rather eat a razor blade than vote for McCain, but I really hope he's eligible to run.




As American as apple pie or baseball

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Hat tip: Kleinheider from Post Politics