January | 2008 | The Obscurer

Thursday 31st January 2008

Same Difference

It is tempting to say that the two main political parties are almost identical to each other these days. Tempting, but wrong. There are still some significant differences; for example, I would rather set myself on fire than vote Conservative, whereas I think a mere scalding from a just-boiled kettle would be preferable to voting Labour, though only just. That’s quite a gulf.

But this squabbling between the Tories and Labour over who first thought of reviewing the police stop and search laws seems a sign of the times. It is not as if this is the first occasion that something like this has happened; there were similar complaints last year over the parties’ inheritance tax plans, and the accusations that one party is stealing the other’s clothes go round and round. There needn’t even be any policy in the first place for the parties to mirror each other; re-defining the term “brassneck”, the Tories have been accusing the government of dithering over Northern Rock since September, all the while shuffling around without a coherent thought to call their own on the subject. Well, that is until recently, since the odd shadow junior minister has now been allowed to appear in the media and, when pressed and pressed on the matter, eventually been permitted to mumble “administration”, sotto voce, in the hope that no one hears.

What a change around. Perhaps it is because my political consciousness was forged and battle-hardened during the Thatcher years, but I still find this all quite peculiar. During the ‘eighties it was all but unheard of for Labour and the Conservatives to agree on anything, and often their disagreements were quite vicious. At that time any bad economic news was greeted with fury on the Labour benches – quite unlike the smug and gleeful hand-rubbing you currently sense from the Tories – and if a single proposal from either party had appeared to mimic a policy of the other you can only imagine it would have caused revulsion, soul-searching and self-flagellation on the part of the policy makers.

It is undoubtedly a good thing if political parties don’t reject a policy out of hand and out of dogma simply because it is part of the opposition’s manifesto, but I’m not sure we are any better off nowadays. Rather than seek to present their own firmly held beliefs in order to win the hearts and minds of the electorate all that seems to matter now is winning a handful of votes in a handful of swing seats; and yet all the while each party still instinctively opposes whatever the other party says, only on ever more spurious grounds. How can the government prevent people from being daft enough to leave a laptop in a car? How can the opposition prevent it in the future? The parties fight it out in wheezes and japes, through proposing unsolicited terror legislation in order to characterise the opposition as being weak on security when they’re not, or by asking a question at PMQs just a few days before a report is to be published on the very same subject – knowing full well that the prime minister can’t pre-empt the report – purely to portray him as someone who can’t answer a straight question.

All this rather than doing the job they are paid for doing; to introduce only the laws that are necessary, or to effectively hold the executive to account. It seems to me that Derek Conway’s sons aren’t the only ones to have received public money while failing to do the parliamentary work we should expect of them.

Thursday 24th January 2008

Think For A Minute

Peter Hain has resigned from the cabinet, following the news that the Electoral Commission, which had been investigating the late declaration of £103,000 in donations to his Labour deputy leadership campaign, has referred the matter to the police. I bet the cops can’t wait to get cracking, but in their haste I do hope they don’t get sidetracked by the whole case of the Progressive Policies Forum, where many of the donations are alleged to have originated, or “the think tank that hasn’t done any thinking”, as it is probably better known.

So? Can anyone tell me what’s suspicious about that? Isn’t that usually the score? I’m struggling to see the problem here. Since when has a think tank, any think tank, ever thunk? A misnomer if ever there was one, I’ve always thought their purpose is to commission reports that will bolster and support their pre-existing policies; that rather than actually think, their job is to start from a conclusion that concurs with their political philosophy and then work backwards to decide what questions should be being posed, like some sort of ideological Jeopardy. I’m not saying it’s an easy thing to do, joining the dots like that, that it isn’t hard work, and time consuming; but can it really classify as thinking?

Well? Am I really so very, very wrong?

Monday 21st January 2008

Give My Love To Kevin

There is much to agree with in this post from More Than Mind Games, much that I could have said myself in fact; except for the main point, which is that Newcastle United’s decision to (re)appoint Kevin Keegan as manager is “an astonishingly stupid idea”. Sure, Sam Allardyce’s sacking was bizarre, if quite amusing; you don’t need to have a high opinion of Sam to realise that he should have been given more time at St James’ Park (and in the interests of disclosure, I must admit that I don’t have a high opinion of Sam; the best thing he ever did for me was have a strop with the BBC, so refusing to appear on Match Of The Day, and sparing me from having to listen to his whining yap each week.) But with that done and dusted, Keegan’s return is the surely the stuff of dreams; and dreams are the stuff of sport.

Let’s get it right; I am all for a bit of level-headedness, indeed cynicism, and I can understand the desire to take a contrary position to the sheep in the media who have uncritically applauded King Kev’s second coming as manager. The parallel elevation of Alan Shearer to the post of future-great-manager reminds me of the other times the press have made that same prediction, about the likes of Ray Wilkins and David Platt. But there must also be room in football for those dreams, for romance. If anything there is an abundance of level-headedness about these days, the sort of blunt-edged reality that batters the hope out of you, hence my abandoning my Man City season ticket a couple of years back, when I finally realised that the best we could aspire to was nothing to get excited about.

The main criticism of Kevin’s appointment has a familiar ring to it; that by his own admission he hasn’t watched any Premier League football for years, indeed since he last managed a club. But the same was true when he was first plucked from a Spanish golf course in the ‘Nineties to become Newcastle’s manager; astonishing success followed. When he became City’s manager he arrived with a reputation as a failure and a quitter while at England; he left us as our longest serving manager since the ‘Seventies, and with memories of the best football I have ever seen us play.

That doesn’t mean he will repeat the feat this time around, but we can dream can’t we? And without dreams where does it end? It’s a rhetorical question. It ends in football being just another job; it ends in a club like Reading, Reading, eschewing the romantic ideal of FA Cup success in favour of the bread and butter of the Premier League, preferring a clean-sheet away on a dreary Tuesday at Craven Cottage to the possibility of a sun-kissed match at Wembley. In this world the only dream is of some billionaire buying up your club.

But football is also about the memorable moment, which can be memorable for all sorts of reasons; Keegan understood this, which is why, following Newcastle’s famous 3-4 defeat at the hands of Liverpool in 1996, while regretful that neither side would win the league, he was appreciative of the game itself, a game neither set of fans will ever forget. Most of today’s managers react to even a 4-3 victory with apologies, despairing at those defensive frailties as if a goalless draw would be preferable, while grudgingly accepting that the fans will probably have enjoyed it.

But it is those moments that stay with us, long after the statistics have been consigned to some soon-to-be-dusty record book; it is the hope of more such moments that drags us back to watch our side “one last time”, against our better judgement. That is why an Everton fan told me that his favourite memory of following his team is not from one of those championship winning seasons they enjoyed under Howard Kendall, but is rather from the game against Wimbledon on the last day of the 1993-94 relegation-battling season when they scored to go 3-2 up, having been 2-0 down at one stage and tumbling out of the top flight. It is why I doubt I will ever again experience the high of Paul Dickov’s last-gasp equaliser against Gillingham in the 1999 play-off final, not because it provided us with silverware, but because it averted certain disaster. And whatever happens to Newcastle United from here on in, the Geordie fans will never forget the instant they learned that their hero had returned, along with their dreams.

If even for the briefest of moments. Perhaps, as More Than Mind Games asserts, Keegan’s return is built on fallacy, and no good will come of it in the long run. But we all know where we will be in the long run, and in the short run even he believes that “Newcastle fans will enjoy the rest of the season”; and isn’t that what it is all about? It may all end it tears, but like the man said; “Tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today.”

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Wednesday 16th January 2008

In My Time Of Dying

The argument over a proposed policy of “presumed consent” regarding organ donation rumbles on. Well I say that; it rumbles on in the blogosphere at any rate. In the wider world – where according to this report around 66% of people support a policy where you would have to specifically opt-out of donating your organs in the event of your death, as opposed to the current policy where you have to voluntarily opt-in – I’m not sure there is the same level of debate. Based on the figures for Wales that feature in this report, while only 22% of people are currently on the NHS Organ Donor Register, 90% are willing to sign up for it; which suggest that if you are the sort of person who goes around presuming consent on the matter, you would be right far more often than you’d be wrong.

I have written before about how most objectors to a policy of presumed consent seem to have been blinded by their ideological instinct on the issue, bemoaning the “state taking ownership of our bodies”, and from what I have read this week I think that still holds. The main arguments put forward seem to be that such a policy would fundamentally alter the relationship between the state and the individual, that the state would now assume a degree of control over us when we die, and that we alone should decide exactly what happens to us once we are dead. Well, maybe; but consider

You arrive home one evening to a terrible scene; your house cordoned off, police conducting a fingertip search of your property, a loved one apparently murdered. As things currently stand there is nothing to prevent you from approaching the officer in charge and announcing “The deceased is…was…a lifelong Libertarian; so I thank you, agents of the state, for holding the fort, but if you could all just run along now I think I’ll take over from here. If you could just tidy up after yourselves when you leave; that powder’s getting everywhere”; but I’m just not sure how far it would get you. Similarly, there is nothing now to stop you from printing off your own cards bearing the message “In the event of my suspicious death I refuse permission for a post-mortem” and carrying one around with you wherever you go; but alas I fear that should you end up on the slab your card will interest the coroner for only as long as it takes him or her to locates the nearest bin.
If you die in testate, then as things stand it is for the courts to settle your estate. Unless you write a will, in effect opting out of this arrangement, then it is administrators appointed by the state who will divide up and apportion your property or debts, who will decide what goes to whom when you die. Either way, you end up paying inheritance tax. You may feel that it is wrong for the state to assume such powers, but it is still what happens under the current system. Now, you could of course argue with some conviction that there is a big difference between your property and your body parts, and you’d be right; in my case I can well imagine that my collection of Led Zeppelin vinyl LPs is far more valuable than any bit of me you could care to mention. I really don’t think you’d want my liver.
I can make whatever arrangements I like for my funeral, organise an impressive do involving white horses, a gilded carriage, paid mourners and a wake at the Midland Hotel; but it could all be in vain. If my family decide instead that they want to pocket the money and chuck my worthless corpse in next door’s skip in the dead of night, hidden beneath a defoliated Christmas tree and that old chipboard from the garage that won’t fit in the boot, then unfortunately that is exactly what will happen me, and there is nothing I can do about it.

None of which means that a system of presumed consent is necessarily the best way to alleviate the shortage of donated organs; perhaps we should instead make more of a proactive effort to try to increase the numbers on the voluntary register first (one Doctor working in Spain’s much praised system states in this article that in itself “a change to presumed consent doesn’t improve the donation rate”), while a controlled market for donated organs could be considered. However, the point I’m trying to make is that I don’t believe a policy of presumed consent would in fact be quite the fundamental shift that some people are claiming; because the real fundamental is that when you’re dead you’re dead, and there’s fuck all you can do about anything anymore. And no government bill is going to change that fact.

Monday 14th January 2008

The Obscurer Awards 2008

Firstly, my apologies if this site is intermittently running slow for you; I have looked into the problem and have narrowed it down to being something to do with computers. If you find it annoying then pity me, because all my WordPress admin stuff is running just as slowly. Hopefully it will resolve itself in time, but for now my only option seems to be to grin and bear it.

Secondly, welcome to the contractual obligation that is the Obscurer Awards. When I first did one of these, some three years ago, it seemed like a great idea. By last year is had become more like a chore, but something inside me still makes me want to write this rubbish, even if no-one wants to read it, so I will just try not to waffle on quite as much this time around, although I will probably fail in that endeavour. Any road up, here we go.

Single – Arctic Monkeys/Brianstorm. For me the year’s best single should be more than just a good song, but something you hear all over the place and that is not simply the latest track released from an already familiar album. This makes picking my favourite single tricky as I hardly ever listen to chart music. My largest dose of the stuff comes around May when I tend to go on holiday someplace that has a pitiful medium-wave reception and I end up listening to more Radio 1 than I would choose. Fortunately last year my holiday in Cornwall more-or-less coincided with the release of the Arctic Monkey single that preceded their 2nd album Favourite Worst Nightmare, so there was much singing along in the car to Brianstorm as we pootled to Praa Sands and Mousehole. And a very fine thing it is too; not as good, perhaps, as their more recent single Teddy Picker, but a muscular number all the same that dispelled any understandable fears that the Monkeys would be a flash in the pan. Meanwhile, Brianstorm’s evil twin was Jamie T’s Sheila, which I heard far too many times on my holiday; a painful number sung in the sort of mockney drone you associate with an alumnus of Reed’s School. But hopefully I won’t have to endure that crap ever again.
Album – Radiohead/In Rainbows. This is a far easier category to award, as there were a number of good albums out last year. The aforementioned Arctic Monkeys LP showed a nice developing sound, while Arcade Fire’s Neon Bible, if lacking the other worldly brilliance of their debut Funeral, was still an excellent collection of songs; but I think Radiohead’s album pips them all. I have already covered In Rainbows in some depth here, so suffice it to say that a few months on I can now put names to all the tracks and I am still listening to it regularly. Christmas also brought the £40 discbox featuring a second CD with six further tracks, all of which could easily have made it onto the album proper. They really have spoiled us this time.
Book – Magnus Mills/Explorers Of The New Century. When I finally, finally finished the Mao biography, I began a new regime of trying to read at least a chapter of a book a day in order to make inroads into my reading backlog, and it has been a great success. Of everything I have read Magnus Mills’ latest novel stands out. Written in his usual spare style, and in a tone reminiscent of his novel Three To See The King, it was great to be back in Mills’ strange and unsettling world as we discover the story of two groups of adventurers setting off with their packs and mules to see who can first reach the Agreed Furthest Point. Wonderfully bizarre as usual, it comes as a shock around three-quarters of the way in as the truth about the mules hits you like a thunderbolt, and the whole piece becomes that bit darker. Stiff competition, but I think this slim tome is Mills’ best novel yet.
Film – Pan’s Labyrinth. Every year I apologise for not having seen any of the previous year’s films, and this year is no exception. So I’m going to cheat by picking a film that was actually released right at the end of December 2006, which is as near as dammit last year, give or take, so I’m having it. Anyway. The story of a young girl who escapes into a fantasy land to get away from the cruel reality of her life with her stepfather, an army captain whose job it is to crush the resistance in the early years of Franco’s Spain, Pan’s Labyrinth manages to be both magical and brutal, a stunning tale that is visually magnificent, and which stays in the memory for days after you have seen it.
Sport – Manchester United vs Chelsea: FA Cup Final. Commonly regarded as the worst FA Cup Final for some years, the reason I have picked it as my sporting highlight is because of what it represents. In the lead up to the match all the talk in the media was about how epic the match would be, with the nation’s two top sides battling it out at the new Wembley. I personally wasn’t that bothered; what with United and Chelsea having so dominated the league all season I had no enthusiasm for the game. Little did I realise I was not alone. I was in Sennen on the day, and decided to pop to catch the last 10 minutes of the game at the Old Success pub; coincidently, I had watched some of the previous year’s final at the same pub. On that occasion the place was choc-a-bloc with people watching Liverpool defeat West Ham; this time the place was deserted, apart from a couple of blokes and the barman. Not exactly scientific I know, but for me it seems a striking example of how football’s trend towards monopoly means that the sport seems to be losing its way and its grip on the imagination, even while the media, clubs and FA continually talk it up.
TV – Frontline: Afghanistan. Much as I may moan that the telly is shit, I still end up with loads of stuff on my PVR that I have to wade through, and at this time of year as I try to pick a favourite I realise just how much good stuff there is amongst the dross. I should say a special thank you to In The Night Garden and Pokoyo, the Calpol and Calprofen of children’s television, for their hypnotic effect on my daughter, who can go from screaming teether to compliant angel in a blink of an eye the moment they come on. Elsewhere I enjoyed Channel 4’s anniversary, re-showing A Very British Coup and Dennis Potter’s interview with Melvyn Bragg; Flight Of the Conchords deserves praise for being the best new comedy show in ages; Screenwipe and TV Burp still beautifully mock the medium that feeds them; and Doctor Who continued its erratic but generally fine form – I thought the Christmas special was crap, but one episode in particular, Blink, was the best bit of drama all year (and which, if you read this in time, you can watch tonight at 7pm on BBC3; failing that, you can borrow my son’s DVD.) But for me the stand out piece of work was Vaughan Smith’s film for Newsnight as he was embedded with 12 Brigade of the Grenadier Guards in Afghanistan as they went on an operation with the new Afghan army in Helmand province. Newsnight’s films can be quite hit and miss, coming as they do from a variety of sources, and I had no expectations when I started watching the film, but I was soon gripped as I witnessed what the troops out there have to deal with. It was humbling stuff; and you can watch the whole 16-minute film here.
Radio – Radcliffe And Maconie. Mark Kermode’s demolition of Pirates Of The Carribean 3 on Simon Mayo’s show is one highlight of last year, but the combination of Mark Radcliffe and Stuart Maconie on Radio 2 has given me a great listening alternative between 8 and 10 of a weeknight. I don’t know how they came together, and in fact they often aren’t together as one of them may be on holiday or covering another show, but either way they are always good value. A highlight for me would have to be the serendipitous moment when I turned on the radio just as they started playing Madder Rose’s Beautiful John, a song I hadn’t heard for years but still love, made all the more special for Mark’s admission that he only played it because he stumbled upon the LP while clearing out his records. It jogged his memory, and in turn mine, as it took me back to when I first heard the song, at a time when I would alternate between Craig Cash on KFM and Mark Radcliffe’s old evening show on Radio 1. So that’s rather neat, isn’t it?
Blog – Chase Me, Ladies, I’m In The Cavalry. Late to the party as ever, Chase Me Ladies was just one of the many blogs that I had heard about but never read, until I came across it one day and realised what I had been missing. Harry Hutton has a wonderfully wry sense of humour and each brief and pithy post is a joy; what’s bloody typical is that since I have become a reader he posts less and less frequently, but when he does it is well worth the wait.

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Month: January, 2008

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