A tax on stupidity

How much would you spend if your 'chances of winning were 2,600-to-1'? Turns out, according to the Mail, that those were the odds of winning a prize at a Blackpool hoopla stall, as calculated by a maths expert at Lancaster University.

Trading Standards stepped in after secretly filming two girls aged 14 and 15 spending £70 without winning a single prize. The stall's equipment was sent to Lancaster for analysis and the operators successfully prosecuted by the council for breaching gambling laws.

'Council public protection officer Shaun McKinney said: "One individual who had come to Blackpool had spent £1,200 to £1,500 playing the hoopla game.

"Obviously a lot of it was to try and win their money back from the initial losses, and it's a case of keep playing until they think they can win it back." '

Here's an idea for Michael Gove & Co.; if you want lessons in school to be relevant and useful in later life, you could forget about Citizenship GCSE's and teach some basic probability and a realistic calculation of the chances of winning.

Of course, the National Lottery would take a nosedive...

Update: From the Telegraph,

'Staff at the stall would bully "vulnerable" tourists to keep playing to win back their lost holiday money, Blackpool magistrates’ court was told. Prosecutors said some were even led to cash machines after falsely being told they would eventually win prizes.'

@andromache - beware of Greeks

Following the news that Derek Simpson twittered his way through the BA negotiations on Saturday there's been much speculation about when and where not to twitter.

Opinion is divided about the stream-of-consciousness trend - it is all too easy to make oneself ridiculous. This quote from Dizzy Thinks admirably highlights the potential of the medium:
'Frankly, even a very shiny arse with neon lights on it saying "I'm a shiny arse" would find it hard to make more of an arse of itself on Twitter than Sally Bercow has in recent months.'

Remember Stuart MacLennan and his political career, or rather lack of it? And what about the jogger who ran into a tree while sharing with an agog audience the fact that he was running in a park? Both are strong arguments for a sort of Green Cross Code; Stop. Think. Tweet.

And for recognizing that there are times when twitter is simply not appropriate. Business meetings are, by and large, out, as are church services of any kind*, romantic dinners for two and anything involving alcohol, but my favourite to date is a sight I observed last week.

Troy has fallen to the Greek army. On stage before a rapt audience, Hecuba the queen laments the loss of her city, her husband and her sons and bewails the fate awaiting the Trojan women. And in the wings, waiting for her cue, stands her daughter-in-law Andromache, baby cradled in one arm, busily twittering on her Blackberry.


*Update: and royal ceremonies - Dizzy Thinks has just posted on a new Labour MP's reaction to the State Opening of Parliament.

Flying the flag - World Cup musings 1

Good news for the baboons of Knowsley Safari Park - it's nearly World Cup time again!

These simple primates delight in displaying their red and white car flags to their fellows or using them to adorn their sleeping sites. Groups of young males congregate at the drinking hole draped in the national team's insignia and vocalise raucously for hours.

Fortunate for them, then, that England's retail industry is gearing up to meet the demand. Following a trip to the supermarket (Buy it now! World Cup themed coke, crisps, biscuits [are we getting a pattern here?], breakfast cereal and, for all I know, toilet paper lining the aisles), I return to find an e-mail from Amazon offering me a cornucopia of football-related purchasing opportunities.

The merchandise ranges from the obvious (televisions and dvd recorders) through the predictable (England shirts, beer fridges) via the tacky (England cufflinks, a CD of 'Classic Football Songs) to 'they saw you coming' (car flags, beach ponchos and inflatable PVC armchairs - yours for only £15).

As austerity bites, a fortune will be spent on ephemeral tat made for multinational corporations by third world sweatshops, all in the name of supporting 'England' - now that's what I call 21st century patriotism!



Update: it seems the Merseyside baboons have learnt a thing or two since their first brush with fame in 2006 - some of them now have ASBO's (Antisocial Baboon Orders). We look forward with interest to their exploits during the next few months.

Knock-on effect?

'300,000 jobs in public sector face the axe

Detailed research by The Sunday Times shows that at least 300,000 workers, including civil servants and frontline staff, will lose their jobs over the next few years.

Some estimates suggest that the number of job losses could reach 700,000. These will include tens of thousands of health service managers as well as many thousands of doctors and nurses, according to internal documents from the National Health Service.

A similar analysis of 75 local authorities suggests that at least 100,000 council workers across the country will lose their jobs.'

The Sunday Times, 23rd May 2010



'Toddlers’ bad behaviour is always mothers’ fault, says Oliver James

The psychologist and broadcaster Oliver James has stomped on to sensitive terrain with a book that suggests mothers of toddlers should avoid working outside the home. In a work that has already provoked howls of anger, he argues that children should not be left in the care of others for long periods.

The author claims that young children “need to be in the presence of a responsive, loving adult at all times”, warning mothers who go out to work that daycare is associated with more boastful, disobedient and aggressive children.'

The Times, 22nd May 2010

Queasy juxtaposition of the week

First this, in the Telegraph...

'Pizza in Naples 'cooked with wood from coffins'
Italian prosecutors believe pizza in the southern city of Naples may be baked in ovens lit with wood from coffins dug up in the local cemetery, according to Italian daily Il Giornale.'

...then this, in the Times:

'Pizza ovens: the perfect antidote to changeable British weather'

The Labour Leader Race - in song

With apologies to Val Doonican (I know, I know, but sometimes these things just happen, OK?).



Now New Labour had a leader who wasn’t much admired,
When they lost the election he had to be retired;
They obviously needed someone to take his place,
And so the curtain rises on the Labour leader race.
Shyly, slyly, first comes David Miliband,
“If no one else runs, I’ve got it in the bag”.
The forthright Blairite doesn’t have it all in hand,
His brother makes a challenge and the starter drops his flag.

So there’s Diane Abbott, Ed and David Miliband
Burnham, McDonnell and don’t forget Ed Balls
Lined up in the starting gate while all of us anticipate
The backbiting and bitching till the last one falls.
They’re in the public eye again, hoping we’re espying 'em
Winking, blinking and jostling for place,
No hope of dispersing ‘em though everybody’s cursing ‘em;
The runners in the forthcoming Labour leader Race.

Now Balls he is a tough guy, never known to flinch,
And neither of the Milibands is going to give an inch;
McDonnell, he’s the sort who would grab you round the throat
And shake you like he did the Mace to try and get your vote,
Andy Burnham’s lined up with the rest of 'em,
Please forget he left some papers on a train!
Meanwhile Diane thinks that she’s the best of 'em -
Surely no one wants a middle-aged white male again!

So there’s Diane Abbott, Ed and David Miliband
Burnham, McDonnell and don’t forget Ed Balls,
All ready to debate, to bluster and pontificate
In Parliament and studios and draughty halls;
It makes them all feel liverish to know they’ve lost their privilege
Liberals and Tories are sitting in their place;
European unity, care in the community,
All to be debated in the Labour leader race.


A party with no leader, a cabinet with a grudge,
When Gordon faced the cliff edge, who was it gave the nudge?
Gone is any semblance of Party unity;
Like ferrets in a sack all they can do is disagree.
Close advisors, spin and cod psychology,
Each one worked up, ready for the fight,
Fired up, wired up, and without apology
Constituents go hang while they're campaigning day and night.

So there’s Diane Abbott, Ed and David Miliband
Burnham, McDonnell and don’t forget Ed Balls,
There’s no use in complaining, they’re occupied campaigning;
All else falls by the wayside when ambition calls,
But look! Another rider, a total rank outsider,
Is scheming, dreaming of the winning place;
The bookmakers will rub their eyes at the Labour Party's suicide
The day that Glenys Kinnock wins the Labour leader race.

There's no getting off mascot-free.

You know the old adage that 'a horse designed by a comittee would be a camel'? Well, it turns out that if you want a figure to represent the London Olympics and have a vast budget and 40 focus groups, you get these;

described in a comment on the Times article as 'The result of a drunken one-night-stand between the Michelin man and a teletubby' , though I prefer Pavlov's Cat's version.

Wiser heads than mine have been mining the rich vein of comic potential in this story, so I shall merely invite you to consider a couple of minor issues - firstly that, inside those presumably hot and stuffy suits are two actors who must be profoundly grateful that their faces are obscured, and secondly that these repulsive creatures will be with us for two years.

You'd think they'd have learned from the migraine-inducing 2012 logo - memorably compared to alcopop-induced vomit - but no, the creators of these two 'futuristic magical beings' are confident their offspring will generate £15million in merchandising profits, possibly with a nice sideline in compensation payouts under the Disability Discrimination Act every time one of us laughs at their monocular state.

In fact the organisers hope that the initial story-book and animated film will eventually spawn a cartoon series (I wish I could doubt that, but have you seen the rubbish on children's TV recently?) as well as a mountain of plastic tat. Schools can even request a visit from the characters on their national tour in 2012 - that should ensure a few nightmares!

Does anyone else remember Ronald Searle's Molesworth cartoon depicting the educational trust Gabbitas and Thring as a pair of sinister top-hatted Victorians? I wonder what he would have done with Wenlock and Mandeville - however worthy the names, I can't help feeling they should resemble the hand-holding perfumed villains in 'Diamonds are Forever'.

Power to the People!

We're not exactly manning the barricades - not yet, at any rate - but a trawl through the local news stories of the Home Counties reveals an interesting trend.

From the villagers of Meriden and their Home Guard-style operation to prevent an illegal traveller camp to the doughty Dorset pensioner marching backwards and forwards across a pedestrian crossing to protest about traffic volume in his village, the people are on the move.

The latest addition has appeared on an Oxfordshire road where someone, fed up with speeding vehicles, has put up this sign.

Look at the quality and finish - this has taken time and money to produce. Someone wants to make a clear statement. And so far, it appears, the official jobsworths have not arrived to take it down (although this may simply be because they need forms signed in triplicate by the Archbishop of Canterbury before they can do so).

I suspect we will see increasing amounts of direct action as the departure of Gordon Brown has helped to shake the country out of its defeatist inertia - there's a hope that, under a new administration, the institutional bureaucracy and interference of the last decade can be cast aside.

Whether Cameron & co. actually deliver may be less important than the people believing at last that they can make a difference and actually getting out there to prove it.

Well, that narrows it down....

YONA*-spotting is usually the preserve of the indefatigable social commentator Ambush Predator, but this example, so far from the expected urban habitat, struck me as being worth commenting on.

‘A teenage girl suffered a fractured jaw and cheekbone after being kicked in the head and body by four men.'

The 17-year-old girl was walking along a footpath on the outskirts of a rural town at 4.30 on a weekday when,

‘In what is understood to be an unprovoked attack, four men aged about 19 pushed her to the floor before starting to kick her.’

As a parent, I find this chilling - a serious unprovoked assault in broad daylight on a lone teenager not far from where we live. Like many others, I imagine, I want to know what’s being done to trace the attackers. The police have appealed for information and issued a detailed description...

‘One was wearing navy tracksuit bottoms with a white stripe and another was wearing black tracksuit bottoms. All four wore hooded tops with the hoods up and white trainers.’

So as long as they don't change their clothes, they'll be picked up in no time!


*That’s ‘Youth Of No Appearance’, courtesy of JuliaM

'N glws gweithia os gallwch chi ei gael*

Conversation in the Tavern recently turned to Muffled Vociferation's post on translation services in the UK - costing an estimated £120million - and an interesting allegation came to light.

It may simply be Tavern gossip, but a visitor from out of town tells us that, should an English speaker wish to transact business in that language in certain Welsh government offices, the staff will, without cracking a smile, call for an interpreter, at the taxpayers' expense, who will solemnly translate the words of the anglophone visitor for the staff and relay the Welsh reply in perfect English.

This despite the fact that the staff almost certainly speak fluent English - even pro-Welsh agencies admit there are now no adult monoglot Welsh speakers - and, in any case, for anything invented after the industrial revolution, the pronunciation is virtually the same, even if the spelling is rather more creative.

*'Nice work if you can get it' (or possibly 'illiterate English prepared to believe sh*t internet translation')

A mass cultural imperative? Pass the popcorn

A Facebook group has been set up (don’t you hate that phrase?) in a midlands town; so far, 150 people have signed up. The founder justifies her campaign thus:

“The Council advertises that one of its priorities is to be cleaner and greener; how can that be true when we have to travel so far by car, adding to the carbon footprint?”

So what is it that forces residents to drive unreasonable distances? Medical care? Education? Grocery shopping? No, all of these are in plentiful supply locally and well served by public transport.

What this town lacks is a multiplex cinema. The unfortunate inhabitants only have access to a two-screen town centre Odeon – 385 and 190 seats respectively – which is, apparently, not enough for some people; the campaign’s founder is ‘fed up having to travel to Northampton or Milton Keynes to view films in a modern big cinema’.

Now I’m not averse to the occasional night out at the pictures, but I’m intrigued by this wish for a multi-screen venue, since the main screen may be large but the other eight or so range in size down to something smaller than some of the televisions on sale in Curry’s. In any case, since you can only watch one film at a time, I’d have thought the number of screens is largely irrelevant.

But more interesting than that is the phrasing – that imperative ‘have to’. A cinema already exists, centrally located and near several car parks, big enough to hold 1% of the town’s entire population. It shows the same films as the big venues, it even sells the same over-priced sweets and buckets of popcorn.

And yet, when the 150 Facebook petitioners pass it by on their 40 mile drive to a multiplex, their increased carbon footprint is someone else’s fault.

Live long and prosper - at a price

The future is here - at least if the Sunday Times is to be believed. Fans of quality science fiction came in for a treat today with reports that we are on the way to not one but three scenarios we have previously seen played out only on our bookshelves.

First we have an anti-aging treatment - John Wyndham: Trouble With Lichen - estimated to appear in the next decade following genetic research. Then there are the six intrepid cosmonauts spending 18 months on a simulated trip to Mars - Kim Stanley Robinson, Ben Bova and a dozen others - and, as if that were not enough, the Brave New World of IVF for all - perhaps the first step towards babies in bottles.

Of the three, it is the first that, despite the advantages it purports to hold out, would have the most devastating effect on society - after all, it's a fair bet humans will continue to conceive in the traditional way for the foreseeable future. In Wyndham's novel - a trenchant social satire - a scientist describes his growing sense of alarm when he realises that he has discovered an antidote to aging:

'But just imagine the result of a public announcement....simply the superficial result of knowing that the means to extend one's term of life exists. The thing would be off like a prairie fire. Think of the newspapers fawning on it.[...] The contriving, the intriguing, the bribery - perhaps fighting, even - that would come of people trying to get in first to grab even a few extra years,[...] The whole prospect was - and is - quite appalling.'

And now, according to Eleanor Mills, a team led by Nir Barzilai, director of the Institute for Aging Research at the Albert Einstein College of Medicine in New York, is already developing drugs to mimic the effect of centenarians’ super genes; testing on humans could begin in 2012. He reckons that within five or 10 years people will take these pills at around 40 “and their lives will be longer”.'

So what will be the effect on the day he announces a drug that will prolong life? Well, if past experience is anything to go by, whichever pharmaceutical company is backing his research will immediately slap a price-tag on the product that will rule it our for all but the super-rich. After all, the situation already exists.

For many people with terminal cancer, there are drugs out there which can change life expectancy from weeks to years - at a price. If you - or occasionally the NHS - can fork out £50,000 pa, life goes on; if not, it doesn't. The drugs companies aren't in the business of charity; the bottom line is always profit.

After decades of research, they're going to want some return on their investment in the ultimate in marketable commodities. The Times thinks millions of people will take the drug, leading to the social upheaval foreseen by Wyndham's scientist - think about the effect on annuity values or insurance premiums - but we're far more likely to see a ruling elite firmly ensconced for decades while the workforce live and die as they always have done.