STORE BEDEDAG
Today is Store Bededag in Denmark, "Big Prayer Day". It is a public holiday, always held on the fourth Friday after Easter.
Store Bededag was introduced in order to replace a number of other prayer and fast days (eg every Wednesday). Many Danes believe that it was part of the 1770 reform that halved the then number of public holidays from 22, by removing the likes of Epiphany, the day after Boxing Day, and Michaelmas. But its origins are in fact much older, dating from a reform in his diocese by the then Bishop of Roskilde, Hans Bagger, in 1686. The idea was taken up and given royal approval by the then king Christian V, who apparently liked the fact that he could get his praying out of the way before the start of the annual summer tour of his lands and dominions, a tradition that continues to this day.
Store Bededag is one of the most popular days for holding confirmations. Confirmation usually takes place towards the end of seventh grade, when children are 14. It is a combination of the religious and the secular, with a big party (Danes don't really celebrate 18th or 21st birthdays in the same way as other countries do). However, because virtually all one's friends are having confirmations at the same time, the party is mainly for extended family and relations. The child being confirmed gets lots of money and presents; in return, they have to give a speech, often their first ever. So too does their father, reviewing their life and extolling their virtues, something I have now done three times. Plus paying three large bills, of course ....
I spent the day neither praying nor partying, but helping my sister-in-law in Aarhus. For Christmas presents this year we offered each other a day's free labour. I won my elder son, who was quickly put to use in helping to demolish the woodshed, part of the Smug Builder project. For my sister-in-law, I had to stand in the rain and scrub the algae off her wooden garden furniture and flower pots while she tidied up in her small urban garden. Then we went off to the garden centre, and bought large bags of soil and associated flowers to put in it. Manual labour can be very satisfying, and it is remarkable how much can be achieved if you are focussed. But it is also knackering. After washing all that work down with "eggcake" and beer, it was time for a two-hour afternoon nap. It's possible I did some praying during that time, but unlikely.
Arriving back home in the evening, I then watched the film Julie and Julia, about the blogger (Julie Phillips) who worked her way through Julia Child's famous cookbook in the course of a year. For a fellow blogger, it was rather inspiring, even if I can't bone a duck. Yet.
Walter Blotscher
Friday 30 April 2010
Thursday 29 April 2010
NOMA
Let's hear it for Danish cuisine. The Copenhagen restaurant Noma has just been crowned the world's best, beating the winner for the past 4 years, Spain's El Bulli, into second place.
Noma's rise has been nothing short of phenomenal. Opened as recently as 2003, it got its first Michelin star in 2005 and a second (making it the only restaurant in Denmark to have two) in 2007. It was rated the third best restaurant in the world in 2009, and has now taken over the top spot.
Sadly, that will probably make it even less likely that I will ever be able to eat there. I like Danish food, but Danish restaurants are, by international standards, both scarce and expensive. Wages and staff benefits are very high, regulations are tight, and there is VAT (at 25%) on everything. The sort of family-owned trattoria that makes Southern Europe so delightful - simple food washed down with a carafe of the house wine - just doesn't exist here. There is no way it could make money.
Still, credit where credit is due. Tillykke med prisen, Noma!
Walter Blotscher
Let's hear it for Danish cuisine. The Copenhagen restaurant Noma has just been crowned the world's best, beating the winner for the past 4 years, Spain's El Bulli, into second place.
Noma's rise has been nothing short of phenomenal. Opened as recently as 2003, it got its first Michelin star in 2005 and a second (making it the only restaurant in Denmark to have two) in 2007. It was rated the third best restaurant in the world in 2009, and has now taken over the top spot.
Sadly, that will probably make it even less likely that I will ever be able to eat there. I like Danish food, but Danish restaurants are, by international standards, both scarce and expensive. Wages and staff benefits are very high, regulations are tight, and there is VAT (at 25%) on everything. The sort of family-owned trattoria that makes Southern Europe so delightful - simple food washed down with a carafe of the house wine - just doesn't exist here. There is no way it could make money.
Still, credit where credit is due. Tillykke med prisen, Noma!
Walter Blotscher
Wednesday 28 April 2010
A.P.McCOY
Who is the greatest sportsman or -woman in the world at the moment? Mm, that's a tough one, and the source of many a heated discussion over a pint of beer. How do you compare sports? And even within one sport, how do you compare different people, particularly if they don't compete head to head? Rooney or Messi? Cancellara or Contador? Federer or Nadal?
But if you could sort out those statistical and measuring problems, who would you pick? Valentino Rossi from motorcycling? Tiger Woods from golf? Michael Phelps from swimming? One of the people who without doubt ought to be on the final shortlist is Northern Irishman A.P. (Tony) McCoy. McCoy has just won the National Hunt jockeys' championship for the fifteenth time in a row. Given that he is still only 35, that basically means that he has always won it. Indeed, he is the odds-on favourite to win it this year as well.
National Hunt racing, in which horses jump over hurdles or fences, is big in the U.K. In order to win the jockeys' championship, you don't have to win ONE race, you have to win lots of races. Around 200 a year, in fact. During his career, McCoy has won more than 3,000 horse races. In the 2001/2 season, he broke the record for the most winners in a year, either National Hunt or flat, with 289. The previous record of 269 had been set by the great flat race jockey Sir Gordon Richards (24 times a champion), and had stood for 55 years.
It is true that the good jockeys tend to get the pick of the best horses, which in turn makes it more likely that they win. But as any punter will know, that doesn't always hold true. Besides, unlike in flat racing, where accidents are rare, the chances of a National Hunt jockey at some point falling off a horse going full gallop are pretty much 100%. During his career, McCoy has broken his ankle, arm, wrist, leg and back, pretty much everything really. You have to wonder why he still does it.
One question mark on his career had been the fact that he had never won the Grand National, the race with the biggest fences and so the one which is most a lottery. Great jump jockeys such as Jonjo O'Neill, John Francome and Peter Scudamore never won it during their careers. However, that blot on an otherwise unblemished CV was remedied this year, when McCoy won the National at the 15th attempt on Don't Push It.
What a record!
Walter Blotscher
Who is the greatest sportsman or -woman in the world at the moment? Mm, that's a tough one, and the source of many a heated discussion over a pint of beer. How do you compare sports? And even within one sport, how do you compare different people, particularly if they don't compete head to head? Rooney or Messi? Cancellara or Contador? Federer or Nadal?
But if you could sort out those statistical and measuring problems, who would you pick? Valentino Rossi from motorcycling? Tiger Woods from golf? Michael Phelps from swimming? One of the people who without doubt ought to be on the final shortlist is Northern Irishman A.P. (Tony) McCoy. McCoy has just won the National Hunt jockeys' championship for the fifteenth time in a row. Given that he is still only 35, that basically means that he has always won it. Indeed, he is the odds-on favourite to win it this year as well.
National Hunt racing, in which horses jump over hurdles or fences, is big in the U.K. In order to win the jockeys' championship, you don't have to win ONE race, you have to win lots of races. Around 200 a year, in fact. During his career, McCoy has won more than 3,000 horse races. In the 2001/2 season, he broke the record for the most winners in a year, either National Hunt or flat, with 289. The previous record of 269 had been set by the great flat race jockey Sir Gordon Richards (24 times a champion), and had stood for 55 years.
It is true that the good jockeys tend to get the pick of the best horses, which in turn makes it more likely that they win. But as any punter will know, that doesn't always hold true. Besides, unlike in flat racing, where accidents are rare, the chances of a National Hunt jockey at some point falling off a horse going full gallop are pretty much 100%. During his career, McCoy has broken his ankle, arm, wrist, leg and back, pretty much everything really. You have to wonder why he still does it.
One question mark on his career had been the fact that he had never won the Grand National, the race with the biggest fences and so the one which is most a lottery. Great jump jockeys such as Jonjo O'Neill, John Francome and Peter Scudamore never won it during their careers. However, that blot on an otherwise unblemished CV was remedied this year, when McCoy won the National at the 15th attempt on Don't Push It.
What a record!
Walter Blotscher
Tuesday 27 April 2010
BASES
The base 10 number system makes calculations straightforward, whether adding, subtracting, multiplying or dividing. Young people won't remember the days before calculators. But when I was at school we used a curious contraption called a "slide rule". In my mother's day, it was pencil and paper.
Yet it is easy to forget that metric measurements are in fact a relatively new phenomenon. A decimalised measurement system was first adopted by revolutionary France in 1791, replacing the previous different systems. Over time, it spread to more and more countries, so that today, it is only really the United States that does not use the SI ("système international") units of kilogram, metre and litre.
Before that time, there were all sorts of different bases. The Babylonians used base 60, which is why we still have 60 seconds in a minute and 60 minutes in an hour. The Roman numeral system, beloved of films, television programmes and the Super Bowl, was a complicated mixture of base 5 and 10. A number of currencies (the pound, the franc, the rupee) subdivided into 20. Many countries had a unit called a mile, but they were all different.
Pockets of resistance to the power of 10 still exist. Although decimalisation of the pound took place in 1971, the U.K. still has traffic signs in miles, and pubs serve beer in pints. Danish farmers still talk of land areas called "toender", even though they were officially abolished in 1907. They are roughly half a hectare (5,000 sqm), but in fact a bit bigger (5,516.2 sqm). There are similar anomalies in most countries. And industries dominated by the U.S. still use old measurements such as a barrel of oil and a bushel of corn.
However, although base 10 appears to have swept everything else inexorably away, it is not in fact the most common base system. That accolade belongs to the humble base 2. Computer chips are a mass of small circuits and switches, in which 1 represents a switch allowing current to pass, and 0 represents the closed position. With zillions of chips in the world, base 2 wins. A good job that it is computers that have to calculate in it, not humans.
Walter Blotscher
The base 10 number system makes calculations straightforward, whether adding, subtracting, multiplying or dividing. Young people won't remember the days before calculators. But when I was at school we used a curious contraption called a "slide rule". In my mother's day, it was pencil and paper.
Yet it is easy to forget that metric measurements are in fact a relatively new phenomenon. A decimalised measurement system was first adopted by revolutionary France in 1791, replacing the previous different systems. Over time, it spread to more and more countries, so that today, it is only really the United States that does not use the SI ("système international") units of kilogram, metre and litre.
Before that time, there were all sorts of different bases. The Babylonians used base 60, which is why we still have 60 seconds in a minute and 60 minutes in an hour. The Roman numeral system, beloved of films, television programmes and the Super Bowl, was a complicated mixture of base 5 and 10. A number of currencies (the pound, the franc, the rupee) subdivided into 20. Many countries had a unit called a mile, but they were all different.
Pockets of resistance to the power of 10 still exist. Although decimalisation of the pound took place in 1971, the U.K. still has traffic signs in miles, and pubs serve beer in pints. Danish farmers still talk of land areas called "toender", even though they were officially abolished in 1907. They are roughly half a hectare (5,000 sqm), but in fact a bit bigger (5,516.2 sqm). There are similar anomalies in most countries. And industries dominated by the U.S. still use old measurements such as a barrel of oil and a bushel of corn.
However, although base 10 appears to have swept everything else inexorably away, it is not in fact the most common base system. That accolade belongs to the humble base 2. Computer chips are a mass of small circuits and switches, in which 1 represents a switch allowing current to pass, and 0 represents the closed position. With zillions of chips in the world, base 2 wins. A good job that it is computers that have to calculate in it, not humans.
Walter Blotscher
Monday 26 April 2010
RURAL NAMES
People out here in the sticks sometimes have odd names. The man who has the farm in the middle of the village is called by everyone Joergen Cat. He doesn't in fact own a cat, but simply feeds all of the strays who hang around. My wife has a cousin, an electrician who grows potatoes on the side; he is known as Potato Lars. He sells a proportion of his crop at a stall on the edge of town at his friend Aage's house. Because Aage also sells B.P. propane gas canisters, he is called Gas Aage. Perhaps the oddest name is Ole Milkman. Ole is not a milkman, but his family used to have a farm shop selling dairy products. But that was in Ole's father's time, and Ole has simply inherited the nametag from his dad.
This bizarre nomenclature is an echo of a bygone era. In the Middle Ages, most people only had one name, the Christian name given to them when they were baptized. As horizons widened and the population grew, surnames began to appear, either "son of" formulations (Williamson, Wilkinson etc) or job descriptions. Many common surnames today - Smith, Shepherd, Taylor, Mercer, Thatcher, Miller, Knight - reflect important mediaeval activities.
Perhaps it is only me, a foreigner, who thinks the local system is slightly weird. But I know I will have been accepted when they start calling me Walter Blogger.
Walter Blotscher
People out here in the sticks sometimes have odd names. The man who has the farm in the middle of the village is called by everyone Joergen Cat. He doesn't in fact own a cat, but simply feeds all of the strays who hang around. My wife has a cousin, an electrician who grows potatoes on the side; he is known as Potato Lars. He sells a proportion of his crop at a stall on the edge of town at his friend Aage's house. Because Aage also sells B.P. propane gas canisters, he is called Gas Aage. Perhaps the oddest name is Ole Milkman. Ole is not a milkman, but his family used to have a farm shop selling dairy products. But that was in Ole's father's time, and Ole has simply inherited the nametag from his dad.
This bizarre nomenclature is an echo of a bygone era. In the Middle Ages, most people only had one name, the Christian name given to them when they were baptized. As horizons widened and the population grew, surnames began to appear, either "son of" formulations (Williamson, Wilkinson etc) or job descriptions. Many common surnames today - Smith, Shepherd, Taylor, Mercer, Thatcher, Miller, Knight - reflect important mediaeval activities.
Perhaps it is only me, a foreigner, who thinks the local system is slightly weird. But I know I will have been accepted when they start calling me Walter Blogger.
Walter Blotscher
Sunday 25 April 2010
CULTURE IN COPENHAGEN
This weekend my wife and I went up from the country to the big city. The reason was a beginner's course in tango dancing with Linus, two hours on Saturday and two hours on Sunday. When we lived in Tanzania, we learned how to do salsa, and this would be similar. Not the European tango, one of the five "standard" dances in ballroom dancing, all stiff arms and jerky movements (think Arnold Schwarzenegger and Tia Carrere in True Lies); but the Argentinian variety, slower and more relaxed, with somewhat dreamy violin music. The best word to describe it is languid. Though it still requires hard work; I fell asleep in the car as soon as we had finished.
We stayed in the city with friends, who also go to tango; apparently it is all the rage in Copenhagen at the moment. He is a conductor; and by chance, Saturday night was the 20th anniversary concert of one of the choirs that he conducts, an all-women choir that only sings Bulgarian music. Now, if you think that Danish women singing a capella Bulgarian songs in Bulgarian sounds a bit, well, weird, then you are right. They were very, very good, and the performance was at times spectacular; but I have to admit that the music was not my cup of tea. Talking with him afterwards, I found out why. He said that a lot of balkan music is written in complicated tempi such as 7/8, 11/8 and 13/8; for an unreconstructed 3/4 or 4/4 man like me, the beat just doesn't sound quite right. I am reminded of the gala performance for Margrethe II's birthday (see blog of 16 April), which the television commentator said would give the Theatre Royal the opportunity to enlighten the general public about the joys of opera. However, by choosing excerpts from Wagner, Richard Strauss and a modern composer I had never heard of, they probably put Mr and Mrs Denmark off completely. What about easing them in with a bit of Mozart or Verdi?
So, you won't find me rushing off to join a Russian all-male choir any time soon. Argentinian tango, on the other hand, is a distinct possibility. I'll get back to you.
Walter Blotscher
This weekend my wife and I went up from the country to the big city. The reason was a beginner's course in tango dancing with Linus, two hours on Saturday and two hours on Sunday. When we lived in Tanzania, we learned how to do salsa, and this would be similar. Not the European tango, one of the five "standard" dances in ballroom dancing, all stiff arms and jerky movements (think Arnold Schwarzenegger and Tia Carrere in True Lies); but the Argentinian variety, slower and more relaxed, with somewhat dreamy violin music. The best word to describe it is languid. Though it still requires hard work; I fell asleep in the car as soon as we had finished.
We stayed in the city with friends, who also go to tango; apparently it is all the rage in Copenhagen at the moment. He is a conductor; and by chance, Saturday night was the 20th anniversary concert of one of the choirs that he conducts, an all-women choir that only sings Bulgarian music. Now, if you think that Danish women singing a capella Bulgarian songs in Bulgarian sounds a bit, well, weird, then you are right. They were very, very good, and the performance was at times spectacular; but I have to admit that the music was not my cup of tea. Talking with him afterwards, I found out why. He said that a lot of balkan music is written in complicated tempi such as 7/8, 11/8 and 13/8; for an unreconstructed 3/4 or 4/4 man like me, the beat just doesn't sound quite right. I am reminded of the gala performance for Margrethe II's birthday (see blog of 16 April), which the television commentator said would give the Theatre Royal the opportunity to enlighten the general public about the joys of opera. However, by choosing excerpts from Wagner, Richard Strauss and a modern composer I had never heard of, they probably put Mr and Mrs Denmark off completely. What about easing them in with a bit of Mozart or Verdi?
So, you won't find me rushing off to join a Russian all-male choir any time soon. Argentinian tango, on the other hand, is a distinct possibility. I'll get back to you.
Walter Blotscher
Saturday 24 April 2010
CLIMATE CHANGE (2)
For the rest of this month the temperature here in Denmark is predicted to be 15 degrees (around 60F) or more. Nice spring weather.
Yet this week it snowed twice and hailed once. True, the stuff eventually melted the same day. But it nevertheless snowed continuously for 3-4 hours on Tuesday. And it was freezing; I went cycling last night in a cycling shirt, two jumpers and a rain jacket, and I was still cold.
We are continually being told that the world is warming up, but snow in late April seems to point the other way. I find it all very confusing.
Walter Blotscher
For the rest of this month the temperature here in Denmark is predicted to be 15 degrees (around 60F) or more. Nice spring weather.
Yet this week it snowed twice and hailed once. True, the stuff eventually melted the same day. But it nevertheless snowed continuously for 3-4 hours on Tuesday. And it was freezing; I went cycling last night in a cycling shirt, two jumpers and a rain jacket, and I was still cold.
We are continually being told that the world is warming up, but snow in late April seems to point the other way. I find it all very confusing.
Walter Blotscher
Friday 23 April 2010
PINK
This is probably going to generate some serious toe-curling embarassment in my 16-year old daughter, but I have to admit that I really like Pink. Not pink, as in the colour. But Pink, usually written P!nk, the singer, otherwise known as Alecia Beth Moore.
I think the toe-curling comes from the idea of a middle-aged man ogling after an attractive 30-year old popstar. But until I went into her website this afternoon, I had never really seen what she looks like. I have heard her on the radio a lot, of course. But since I don't watch Boogie or MTV, I have only had fleeting glimpses of her. Despite the fact that she has apparently sold close to 100 million records, and was the number one Popsong Artist of the "noughties", according to Billboard.
What do I like about her music? Well, she has got a strong, raunchy voice, and she sings good songs like "I don't believe you" and "Please, please don't leave me". The most recent ones, notably "Sober", have also been characterised by some rather nifty guitar work (I was in a band in my youth, so I appreciate that sort of thing). She is a sort of modern-day Ellen Foley, if you can remember her. The next time I am browsing in an airport duty-free, I just might buy one of her CD's.
As it happens, I also like pink the colour. Apparently, it suits me. So I have a number of pink shirts and ties, that I wear with a plain, grey suit. Just the sort of clothes you would wear to a P!nk concert, in fact .....
Walter Blotscher
This is probably going to generate some serious toe-curling embarassment in my 16-year old daughter, but I have to admit that I really like Pink. Not pink, as in the colour. But Pink, usually written P!nk, the singer, otherwise known as Alecia Beth Moore.
I think the toe-curling comes from the idea of a middle-aged man ogling after an attractive 30-year old popstar. But until I went into her website this afternoon, I had never really seen what she looks like. I have heard her on the radio a lot, of course. But since I don't watch Boogie or MTV, I have only had fleeting glimpses of her. Despite the fact that she has apparently sold close to 100 million records, and was the number one Popsong Artist of the "noughties", according to Billboard.
What do I like about her music? Well, she has got a strong, raunchy voice, and she sings good songs like "I don't believe you" and "Please, please don't leave me". The most recent ones, notably "Sober", have also been characterised by some rather nifty guitar work (I was in a band in my youth, so I appreciate that sort of thing). She is a sort of modern-day Ellen Foley, if you can remember her. The next time I am browsing in an airport duty-free, I just might buy one of her CD's.
As it happens, I also like pink the colour. Apparently, it suits me. So I have a number of pink shirts and ties, that I wear with a plain, grey suit. Just the sort of clothes you would wear to a P!nk concert, in fact .....
Walter Blotscher
Thursday 22 April 2010
THE IRAQ WAR (AGAIN ......)
There was a very good documentary on DR1 (the Danish BBC) last night about the Iraqi engineer, who provided the West with the details of Saddam Hussein's mobile chemical and biological weapons programmes. These revelations made their way into various CIA and other U.S. threat assessments, and were extensively quoted in then Secretary of State Colin Powell's famous speech to the U.N., when he made the case for war to the watching world.
There was only one problem with the revelations; they appear to have been completely made up. The engineer, known by his codename "Curveball", had sought asylum in Germany after fleeing Iraq for various misdemeanours. Judging by Danish experience, people can stay in asylum processing centres for a long time, years even. But this guy passed through in weeks, after telling his German handlers what he "knew". Over the course of the next eighteen months, he provided German intelligence with vast quantities of detail about the programmes; places, layouts, procedures, equipment design, scale models of the processing plant. Etc etc etc. While all of this was going on, he was given an apartment and money to live on, courtesy of the German state.
The transcripts of these interviews were sent on to Germany's allies, including the United States, and became part of the intelligence dossiers distributed to politicians and military planners. However, as time went on, the Germans began to distrust what they were hearing. Curveball was becoming more and more erratic, and the information stopped being internally consistent. In December 2002, a couple of months before the Iraq war started, the Germans formally warned the Americans, in the form of a letter to the head of the CIA, not to rely on any of Curveball's information. By then, however, it was too late. The U.S. establishment was already gearing up for war, and parts of Curveball's material were included in Powell's (and others') speeches.
The documentary included three very credible witnesses. The first was the Iraqi owner, also now in exile, of the Iraqi factory, which Curveball had said was the main site for the biological weapons programme. He had employed Curveball as an engineer, and said that he was "charming, but a pathological liar". Not surprisingly, when the weapons inspectors turned up post-invasion at the factory, they found an ordinary building and absolutely no evidence of anything untoward. The second was the German Ambassador to the U.N. in the lead-up to the war, who confirmed that the U.S. had been told to disregard the Curveball dossiers. The third was Powell's long-time chief of staff, who said that his boss consistently asked the head of the CIA whether he could rely 100% on the information he was getting about the weapons programmes, notably after they had had the final run-through together of the U.N. speech. Knowing what he knew today about Curveball, the chief of staff said that he thought that the head of the CIA had lied to Powell.
The German ambassador was asked why, following Powell's speech, the Germans did not make public their earlier warning to the Americans. The ambassador said that that was not how diplomacy works. Certainly it would have completely cut the rug from under Powell, leading to a huge loss of credibility and perhaps his resignation. Yet wouldn't that have been preferable to what actually happened, a war in which at least 1 million Iraqi civilians died, and which was fought in order to stop the production of weapons of mass destruction that we now know did not exist?
It is becoming clearer as time goes on that the Bush regime was set on war with Iraq, no matter what. It was unfinished business from his father's time. I suspect that history's judgement of George W. Bush as President will be extremely harsh.
There is also a troubling coda to this story. Despite being unmasked as a fraud, Curveball is still protected by the German state, as shown by the police harassment of the Danish documentary team when they finally tracked Curveball down outside his apartment. He rang to the police and they were there in minutes. As his former employer in Iraq pertinently asked, why is this man being protected?
Walter Blotscher
There was a very good documentary on DR1 (the Danish BBC) last night about the Iraqi engineer, who provided the West with the details of Saddam Hussein's mobile chemical and biological weapons programmes. These revelations made their way into various CIA and other U.S. threat assessments, and were extensively quoted in then Secretary of State Colin Powell's famous speech to the U.N., when he made the case for war to the watching world.
There was only one problem with the revelations; they appear to have been completely made up. The engineer, known by his codename "Curveball", had sought asylum in Germany after fleeing Iraq for various misdemeanours. Judging by Danish experience, people can stay in asylum processing centres for a long time, years even. But this guy passed through in weeks, after telling his German handlers what he "knew". Over the course of the next eighteen months, he provided German intelligence with vast quantities of detail about the programmes; places, layouts, procedures, equipment design, scale models of the processing plant. Etc etc etc. While all of this was going on, he was given an apartment and money to live on, courtesy of the German state.
The transcripts of these interviews were sent on to Germany's allies, including the United States, and became part of the intelligence dossiers distributed to politicians and military planners. However, as time went on, the Germans began to distrust what they were hearing. Curveball was becoming more and more erratic, and the information stopped being internally consistent. In December 2002, a couple of months before the Iraq war started, the Germans formally warned the Americans, in the form of a letter to the head of the CIA, not to rely on any of Curveball's information. By then, however, it was too late. The U.S. establishment was already gearing up for war, and parts of Curveball's material were included in Powell's (and others') speeches.
The documentary included three very credible witnesses. The first was the Iraqi owner, also now in exile, of the Iraqi factory, which Curveball had said was the main site for the biological weapons programme. He had employed Curveball as an engineer, and said that he was "charming, but a pathological liar". Not surprisingly, when the weapons inspectors turned up post-invasion at the factory, they found an ordinary building and absolutely no evidence of anything untoward. The second was the German Ambassador to the U.N. in the lead-up to the war, who confirmed that the U.S. had been told to disregard the Curveball dossiers. The third was Powell's long-time chief of staff, who said that his boss consistently asked the head of the CIA whether he could rely 100% on the information he was getting about the weapons programmes, notably after they had had the final run-through together of the U.N. speech. Knowing what he knew today about Curveball, the chief of staff said that he thought that the head of the CIA had lied to Powell.
The German ambassador was asked why, following Powell's speech, the Germans did not make public their earlier warning to the Americans. The ambassador said that that was not how diplomacy works. Certainly it would have completely cut the rug from under Powell, leading to a huge loss of credibility and perhaps his resignation. Yet wouldn't that have been preferable to what actually happened, a war in which at least 1 million Iraqi civilians died, and which was fought in order to stop the production of weapons of mass destruction that we now know did not exist?
It is becoming clearer as time goes on that the Bush regime was set on war with Iraq, no matter what. It was unfinished business from his father's time. I suspect that history's judgement of George W. Bush as President will be extremely harsh.
There is also a troubling coda to this story. Despite being unmasked as a fraud, Curveball is still protected by the German state, as shown by the police harassment of the Danish documentary team when they finally tracked Curveball down outside his apartment. He rang to the police and they were there in minutes. As his former employer in Iraq pertinently asked, why is this man being protected?
Walter Blotscher
Wednesday 21 April 2010
WOMEN AND EARTHQUAKES
Tehran's acting Friday prayer leader, Hojatoleslam Kazem Sedighi, has said that earthquakes are caused by women who wear revealing clothing and behave promiscuously.
This would be funny, if it were not serious. First, Iran sits on a number of earthquake faultlines. A 2003 earthquake devastated the mud city of Bam, and many believe that Tehran, a city of 12 million people, will inevitably be hit at some point. Secondly, Mr Sedighi is a senior cleric in the Iranian theocratic regime. And thirdly, Iran is viewed with distrust by many other countries, not least because of its efforts to become a nuclear power. All in all, it is rather alarming.
However, at least I now know the origin of the age-old question "did the earth move for you too, dear?".
Walter Blotscher
Tehran's acting Friday prayer leader, Hojatoleslam Kazem Sedighi, has said that earthquakes are caused by women who wear revealing clothing and behave promiscuously.
This would be funny, if it were not serious. First, Iran sits on a number of earthquake faultlines. A 2003 earthquake devastated the mud city of Bam, and many believe that Tehran, a city of 12 million people, will inevitably be hit at some point. Secondly, Mr Sedighi is a senior cleric in the Iranian theocratic regime. And thirdly, Iran is viewed with distrust by many other countries, not least because of its efforts to become a nuclear power. All in all, it is rather alarming.
However, at least I now know the origin of the age-old question "did the earth move for you too, dear?".
Walter Blotscher
Tuesday 20 April 2010
VOLCANOES AND ECONOMICS
I am not a vulcanologist, but I suspect that the Icelandic volcano with the unpronounceable name has already put a spanner in the world's post-financial crisis economic recovery.
By that, I don't just mean the immediate economic cost, which has been severe. To give but one example, my son was in the U.K. last week, due to fly home to Denmark on Sunday on a 90-minute, £50 Ryanair flight. Starting at 6am, he and a couple of others took a bus to Brussels, a train to Cologne, and then a train to Hannover, arriving in the evening. There they were picked up by car, and driven up to Jutland. He then took a train to Odense, where I fetched him at 6.30am. Magnify the extra costs of that trip by thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands, of people in a similar situation, and you get a big number. The Danish airlines SAS and Cimber, financially weak to start with, have already asked for Government help. Tour operators, or their insurers, are also suffering. The only people with smiles on their faces seem to be taxi drivers, willing to drive from Denmark to Paris, or Brussels to Moscow.
Everybody is of course hoping that the volcano will eventually settle down, and life can go back to normal. However, I don't believe that it will or can. The whole underlying theme of globalisation is that goods are produced where it is cheapest to do so and consumed where they are most wanted. That idea, ratcheted upwards by just-in-time inventory management, puts a huge premium on efficient logistics. Most of those goods travel by sea; but a surprising proportion goes by air. The whole development model for East Africa, for instance, depends on air freight. Natural energy, cheap labour and (ironically) good-quality volcanic soil give the region a comparative advantage in growing flowers, beans and other high-value horticulture, that rich Europeans are willing to eat/look at, but poor Africans cannot - yet - afford. Horticulture already represents 20% of Kenya's economy; without air links out of Nairobi, the value of that produce is virtually nil. It is possible, of course, that the volcano in question will never erupt again and that air travel will continue its hitherto relentless upward rise. But even if that prognosis is correct, what entrepreneur would want to bet on it?
On a more philosophical note, the events of the past week have brought home once again the fragility of our existence on this planet. Whether it be tsunamis in South East Asia, earthquakes in Haiti and China, volcanoes in Iceland or even flooding in Western France, mankind seems to be just as helpless in the face of natural forces as it was in the time of Noah.
Walter Blotscher
I am not a vulcanologist, but I suspect that the Icelandic volcano with the unpronounceable name has already put a spanner in the world's post-financial crisis economic recovery.
By that, I don't just mean the immediate economic cost, which has been severe. To give but one example, my son was in the U.K. last week, due to fly home to Denmark on Sunday on a 90-minute, £50 Ryanair flight. Starting at 6am, he and a couple of others took a bus to Brussels, a train to Cologne, and then a train to Hannover, arriving in the evening. There they were picked up by car, and driven up to Jutland. He then took a train to Odense, where I fetched him at 6.30am. Magnify the extra costs of that trip by thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands, of people in a similar situation, and you get a big number. The Danish airlines SAS and Cimber, financially weak to start with, have already asked for Government help. Tour operators, or their insurers, are also suffering. The only people with smiles on their faces seem to be taxi drivers, willing to drive from Denmark to Paris, or Brussels to Moscow.
Everybody is of course hoping that the volcano will eventually settle down, and life can go back to normal. However, I don't believe that it will or can. The whole underlying theme of globalisation is that goods are produced where it is cheapest to do so and consumed where they are most wanted. That idea, ratcheted upwards by just-in-time inventory management, puts a huge premium on efficient logistics. Most of those goods travel by sea; but a surprising proportion goes by air. The whole development model for East Africa, for instance, depends on air freight. Natural energy, cheap labour and (ironically) good-quality volcanic soil give the region a comparative advantage in growing flowers, beans and other high-value horticulture, that rich Europeans are willing to eat/look at, but poor Africans cannot - yet - afford. Horticulture already represents 20% of Kenya's economy; without air links out of Nairobi, the value of that produce is virtually nil. It is possible, of course, that the volcano in question will never erupt again and that air travel will continue its hitherto relentless upward rise. But even if that prognosis is correct, what entrepreneur would want to bet on it?
On a more philosophical note, the events of the past week have brought home once again the fragility of our existence on this planet. Whether it be tsunamis in South East Asia, earthquakes in Haiti and China, volcanoes in Iceland or even flooding in Western France, mankind seems to be just as helpless in the face of natural forces as it was in the time of Noah.
Walter Blotscher
Monday 19 April 2010
NICK CLEGG
Nick Clegg is fast emerging as the key person in the British general election to be held on 6 May. Mr. Clegg is the leader of the Liberal Democrats, the perennial third party in the U.K.'s two-party system. In the nineteenth century, it was the Liberals who traded blows with the Conservatives. But with the rise of organised labour and the gradual extension of the vote to all adults, the Liberals were eclipsed by the Labour Party early in the last century. And there they have remained, despite merging with the Social Democrats, who dropped off the right-wing of the Labour Party following its disastrous 1979 defeat by Mrs Thatcher and subsequent lurch to the left. Since the Second World War, the third party has managed to influence Government only once, following the 1974 election, which gave neither major party a majority.
Under Britain's "first-past-the-post" system, in which the candidate polling the most votes in the constituency wins that constituency, it is fiendishly difficult for third parties to make a breakthrough. This year, however, it does genuinely seem as if it could be possible, for two reasons. The first is that the economic - and particularly fiscal - problems that will be faced by the incoming Government are so large that British voters appear willing to ditch their usual desire for a strong mandate in favour of the sort of broad, cross-party consensus that a hung Parliament would bring. After all, there is no point in giving one party a strong mandate, if they simply proceed dogmatically to make things worse. And during the financial crisis, the politician consistently making the most sensible noises on economic matters has been the Liberal Democrats' Vince Cable. Voters appear to have noticed.
The second is Mr. Clegg himself. Squeezed by the two-party system into scrabbling for media attention (unlike the Conservatives' David Cameron, he doesn't sit directly opposite the Government benches in the House of Commons, but halfway down the aisle), he was given the opportunity to shine by the first ever Prime Ministerial debate on television last Friday. And boy, did he take it. Exit polls showed that he was by some way the most impressive of the three candidates. Young and personable, he made a sharp contrast to Gordon Brown's rumpled world-weariness. Yes, David Cameron is also young and personable. Yet he also represents a party that is far from young, and which includes key figures that are a long way from personable. It is also much more difficult for him to say with conviction that his party represents "change" if that party has been in Government more times than any other political party in the world, ever.
The best evidence that the Liberal Democrats are having an effect is that the two major parties are already saying that a vote for Clegg is a vote for the other lot. Nick Clegg still has to steer through the dangerous shoals of the two remaining T.V. debates. But if he holds his nerve, then he might just end up as the kingmaker on 6 May.
Walter Blotscher
Nick Clegg is fast emerging as the key person in the British general election to be held on 6 May. Mr. Clegg is the leader of the Liberal Democrats, the perennial third party in the U.K.'s two-party system. In the nineteenth century, it was the Liberals who traded blows with the Conservatives. But with the rise of organised labour and the gradual extension of the vote to all adults, the Liberals were eclipsed by the Labour Party early in the last century. And there they have remained, despite merging with the Social Democrats, who dropped off the right-wing of the Labour Party following its disastrous 1979 defeat by Mrs Thatcher and subsequent lurch to the left. Since the Second World War, the third party has managed to influence Government only once, following the 1974 election, which gave neither major party a majority.
Under Britain's "first-past-the-post" system, in which the candidate polling the most votes in the constituency wins that constituency, it is fiendishly difficult for third parties to make a breakthrough. This year, however, it does genuinely seem as if it could be possible, for two reasons. The first is that the economic - and particularly fiscal - problems that will be faced by the incoming Government are so large that British voters appear willing to ditch their usual desire for a strong mandate in favour of the sort of broad, cross-party consensus that a hung Parliament would bring. After all, there is no point in giving one party a strong mandate, if they simply proceed dogmatically to make things worse. And during the financial crisis, the politician consistently making the most sensible noises on economic matters has been the Liberal Democrats' Vince Cable. Voters appear to have noticed.
The second is Mr. Clegg himself. Squeezed by the two-party system into scrabbling for media attention (unlike the Conservatives' David Cameron, he doesn't sit directly opposite the Government benches in the House of Commons, but halfway down the aisle), he was given the opportunity to shine by the first ever Prime Ministerial debate on television last Friday. And boy, did he take it. Exit polls showed that he was by some way the most impressive of the three candidates. Young and personable, he made a sharp contrast to Gordon Brown's rumpled world-weariness. Yes, David Cameron is also young and personable. Yet he also represents a party that is far from young, and which includes key figures that are a long way from personable. It is also much more difficult for him to say with conviction that his party represents "change" if that party has been in Government more times than any other political party in the world, ever.
The best evidence that the Liberal Democrats are having an effect is that the two major parties are already saying that a vote for Clegg is a vote for the other lot. Nick Clegg still has to steer through the dangerous shoals of the two remaining T.V. debates. But if he holds his nerve, then he might just end up as the kingmaker on 6 May.
Walter Blotscher
Sunday 18 April 2010
Saturday 17 April 2010
GRANDMOTHERS' COOKING
I spent all day today in the garden. Not my own, but my mother-in-law's, who lives nearby. The family's collective Christmas present to her was a day's free work. So at 9am up popped her five daughters, two of her sons-in-law, a few of the elder grandchildren, and a tractor and trailer loaned from a local farmer. We cleaned the gutters, dusted off cobwebs, loosened the moss on the lawn using a machine, raked it all up (which filled the trailer), trimmed the borders, weeded under the hedges, swept the yard, relaid the paving stones around the flower beds, washed the windows, and cleaned all of the doors and cupboards inside. She was very pleased.
Her job was to keep us fed during the day, which she did, admirably as usual. Which led me to think about cooking. Both my mother and my mother-in-law have had tough lives, which have affected their attitude to food. My mother experienced the Coventry Blitz as a teenage girl, plus post-war rationing. When my father suddenly died young at the age of 36, she was forced to feed, clothe and look after three children under 5, plus her 80-year old father, who lived with us. My mother-in-law was the second oldest of nine siblings on a poor farm in rural West Jutland. And when she later married a farmer, she had to feed a succession of hungry farmhands, who lived in, plus a husband and five children of her own.
As a result, both of them look upon preparing food as a functional process rather than a gastronomic delight. Portions are large; although my sons now tower above them, both grannies still think they need "fattening up". Recipes are old-fashioned and decidedly national. Garlic is rarely, if ever, used, exotic spices never. Meat should be well done, not namby pamby pink. Fancy metropolitan novelties such as fennel, rocket, and veal, and most things having a French description, draw blank stares.
Yet what they do, they still do very well, even though one is in her mid-70's and one her mid-80's. In some cases, not only better than any other person I know, but better than any restaurant I know. So, in a tribute to grandmothers' cooking, here are some of the things they do best. In the case of my mother, Yorkshire pudding, home-made mint sauce, brisket, mince pies, fried bread and custard. And in the case of my mother-in-law, meat balls, venison, apple cake, and - what we had this evening - beef stew with mashed potatoes, and strawberry "porridge" with cream. Yummy.
Walter Blotscher
I spent all day today in the garden. Not my own, but my mother-in-law's, who lives nearby. The family's collective Christmas present to her was a day's free work. So at 9am up popped her five daughters, two of her sons-in-law, a few of the elder grandchildren, and a tractor and trailer loaned from a local farmer. We cleaned the gutters, dusted off cobwebs, loosened the moss on the lawn using a machine, raked it all up (which filled the trailer), trimmed the borders, weeded under the hedges, swept the yard, relaid the paving stones around the flower beds, washed the windows, and cleaned all of the doors and cupboards inside. She was very pleased.
Her job was to keep us fed during the day, which she did, admirably as usual. Which led me to think about cooking. Both my mother and my mother-in-law have had tough lives, which have affected their attitude to food. My mother experienced the Coventry Blitz as a teenage girl, plus post-war rationing. When my father suddenly died young at the age of 36, she was forced to feed, clothe and look after three children under 5, plus her 80-year old father, who lived with us. My mother-in-law was the second oldest of nine siblings on a poor farm in rural West Jutland. And when she later married a farmer, she had to feed a succession of hungry farmhands, who lived in, plus a husband and five children of her own.
As a result, both of them look upon preparing food as a functional process rather than a gastronomic delight. Portions are large; although my sons now tower above them, both grannies still think they need "fattening up". Recipes are old-fashioned and decidedly national. Garlic is rarely, if ever, used, exotic spices never. Meat should be well done, not namby pamby pink. Fancy metropolitan novelties such as fennel, rocket, and veal, and most things having a French description, draw blank stares.
Yet what they do, they still do very well, even though one is in her mid-70's and one her mid-80's. In some cases, not only better than any other person I know, but better than any restaurant I know. So, in a tribute to grandmothers' cooking, here are some of the things they do best. In the case of my mother, Yorkshire pudding, home-made mint sauce, brisket, mince pies, fried bread and custard. And in the case of my mother-in-law, meat balls, venison, apple cake, and - what we had this evening - beef stew with mashed potatoes, and strawberry "porridge" with cream. Yummy.
Walter Blotscher
Friday 16 April 2010
MARGRETHE II
Margrethe Alexandrine Thorhildur Ingrid, otherwise known to the outside world as Queen Margrethe II of Denmark, turns 70 today. Congratulations!
Born exactly a week after the Germans invaded and occupied Denmark in the Second World War, she is the oldest of King Frederik IX's three daughters. Having no sons, the constitution had to be changed in 1953 in order to allow a woman to succeed (it has recently been changed again, so that the eldest child, male or female, succeeds, as in Sweden; but since her eldest child, and his own eldest child, are both boys, this won't have any practical effect for many years). Queen Margrethe has been on the throne since January 1972, just over 38 years.
In the anachronistic institution of monarchy, longevity undoubtedly helps (witness Thailand or the U.K.). Just by sticking around gives people the feelings of security and continuity. It also helps in her case, in meritocratic Denmark, that she is talented. Married to a French prince, she speaks fluent French and English, and good German. She is also a gifted artist, having had public exhibitions of her paintings and having designed stage sets for the Theatre Royal. She recently made the collage backgrounds for the Hans Christian Andersen film The Wild Swans, which were deemed a great success.
At a gala performance in her honour last night, she was rightly called a world citizen in Denmark. She is an excellent ambassador for the country, as her hosting on the fringes of international summits such as the EU expansion into Eastern Europe and the Copenhagen meeting on climate change demonstrate. Despite calls in some quarters for her to step down in favour of her son, now in his early 40's, I see her carrying on for some while yet.
My only - mild - criticism of her was her decision to name the elder of her two sons Frederik. Danish kings have been alternately named Christian and Frederik since the single Hans died in 1513; and when he takes over, we will be up to the tenth of each. Although full of tradition, it makes it very difficult for outsiders to remember who was king when. Denmark has one of the oldest continuous monarchies, dating back at least to Gorm the Old, who died in 958. There are plenty of other royal names to choose from, including Svend, Erik, Valdemar, Knud and Christoffer. But this tradition seems likely to run and run; when Crown Prince Frederik had his first child, a boy, in 2005, he named him (yes, you guessed it) Christian.
Walter Blotscher
Margrethe Alexandrine Thorhildur Ingrid, otherwise known to the outside world as Queen Margrethe II of Denmark, turns 70 today. Congratulations!
Born exactly a week after the Germans invaded and occupied Denmark in the Second World War, she is the oldest of King Frederik IX's three daughters. Having no sons, the constitution had to be changed in 1953 in order to allow a woman to succeed (it has recently been changed again, so that the eldest child, male or female, succeeds, as in Sweden; but since her eldest child, and his own eldest child, are both boys, this won't have any practical effect for many years). Queen Margrethe has been on the throne since January 1972, just over 38 years.
In the anachronistic institution of monarchy, longevity undoubtedly helps (witness Thailand or the U.K.). Just by sticking around gives people the feelings of security and continuity. It also helps in her case, in meritocratic Denmark, that she is talented. Married to a French prince, she speaks fluent French and English, and good German. She is also a gifted artist, having had public exhibitions of her paintings and having designed stage sets for the Theatre Royal. She recently made the collage backgrounds for the Hans Christian Andersen film The Wild Swans, which were deemed a great success.
At a gala performance in her honour last night, she was rightly called a world citizen in Denmark. She is an excellent ambassador for the country, as her hosting on the fringes of international summits such as the EU expansion into Eastern Europe and the Copenhagen meeting on climate change demonstrate. Despite calls in some quarters for her to step down in favour of her son, now in his early 40's, I see her carrying on for some while yet.
My only - mild - criticism of her was her decision to name the elder of her two sons Frederik. Danish kings have been alternately named Christian and Frederik since the single Hans died in 1513; and when he takes over, we will be up to the tenth of each. Although full of tradition, it makes it very difficult for outsiders to remember who was king when. Denmark has one of the oldest continuous monarchies, dating back at least to Gorm the Old, who died in 958. There are plenty of other royal names to choose from, including Svend, Erik, Valdemar, Knud and Christoffer. But this tradition seems likely to run and run; when Crown Prince Frederik had his first child, a boy, in 2005, he named him (yes, you guessed it) Christian.
Walter Blotscher
Thursday 15 April 2010
TIGER WOODS, WINNER OR CHAMPION?
Tiger Woods is undoubtedly a brilliant golfer, perhaps the best of all time. Still only 34, he has already won 14 of the coveted "majors" (the Masters, U.S.Open, British Open and PGA Championship), and is the only player in the game with a remote chance of overhauling Jack Nicklaus' record of 18. Since Nicklaus won the last 4 of these after he turned 38, the odds on Woods' setting a new record must be quite good.
However, although a prolific winner, is he a great champion? I think that there is a difference in sport. I should say up-front that that difference has absolutely nothing to do with Woods' marital problems, about which - to use my son's favourite phrase - I do not give a rat's arse. It's more a way of going about things, relating to spectators, grace under pressure, modesty in achievement. Difficult to define, but every sports fan knows it when they see it. And when they don't.
That difference was on show in the last round of this year's Masters, which finished last Sunday. After 5 months away from the game to sort out his private life, Woods started the day in contention at 8 under par, three shots behind two-time previous winner Phil Mickelson and four shots behind Englishman Lee Westwood, the world's fourth-ranked player but one who has yet to win a major. A fair gap to make up, but not beyond Woods if on form.
But while the last pair made solid starts, Woods dropped three shots in the first five holes. Surely he was out of it? And then he hit his second shot at the par 4 seventh straight into the hole for an eagle. That's like hitting a hole in one on a par 3; and two players out of contention on Sunday did exactly that at the 16th. Both times there were whoops and high fives and "hell, that won't happen very often in my life" grins all round. Tiger also managed a smile; but it was a loooooong time coming.
With birdies at the following two holes, he was up to nine under, back in the tournament, and all set for a famous charge on the back nine. But there was a petulant three-put on one hole, and sour faces - and a lack of an apology - when a wayward drive hit a spectator on the 11th. He finally finished fourth, on 11 under. But instead of being relaxed in the post-round interview in a "well, considering I haven't played for five months, fourth is pretty good" sort of way, he came across as petulant and slightly bitter, like a schoolboy who didn't get the last sweet in the bag. His "I entered this event to win, and I didn't get that done" set absolutely the wrong tone.
The contrast with Mickelson, the eventual winner at 16 under, and now a four-time major title-holder, was huge. Mickelson's somewhat doughboy face oozes geniality. You can imagine that in a round with Mickelson, he would make light of his skill, give you a couple of simple tips that improved your game 100%, ask you about your family, and have a beer with you in the bar afterwards. In short, it would be fun. A round with Tiger, by contrast, would be many things; but fun would not be the best way of describing it.
Some, including Woods himself probably, would say that his intense monomania is the reason that he has 14 majors and Mickelson, the best of the rest, still only has 4. I disagree. You can be a nice guy, and still be a winner. Roger Federer is the shining example, in tennis, holding the all-time record for Grand Slams, twice as many as (say) long-time world number one, the moody and grumpy Ivan Lendl. Pele was a champion footballer, Maradona was not. Fabian Cancellara is a champion cyclist, Lance Armstrong is not. There are examples in every sport.
Worst for Woods, so too was Jack Nicklaus. As for Tiger, the jury is still out. But if he continues as he is, there is a danger that he will be remembered as a serial winner rather than as a true champion.
Walter Blotscher
Tiger Woods is undoubtedly a brilliant golfer, perhaps the best of all time. Still only 34, he has already won 14 of the coveted "majors" (the Masters, U.S.Open, British Open and PGA Championship), and is the only player in the game with a remote chance of overhauling Jack Nicklaus' record of 18. Since Nicklaus won the last 4 of these after he turned 38, the odds on Woods' setting a new record must be quite good.
However, although a prolific winner, is he a great champion? I think that there is a difference in sport. I should say up-front that that difference has absolutely nothing to do with Woods' marital problems, about which - to use my son's favourite phrase - I do not give a rat's arse. It's more a way of going about things, relating to spectators, grace under pressure, modesty in achievement. Difficult to define, but every sports fan knows it when they see it. And when they don't.
That difference was on show in the last round of this year's Masters, which finished last Sunday. After 5 months away from the game to sort out his private life, Woods started the day in contention at 8 under par, three shots behind two-time previous winner Phil Mickelson and four shots behind Englishman Lee Westwood, the world's fourth-ranked player but one who has yet to win a major. A fair gap to make up, but not beyond Woods if on form.
But while the last pair made solid starts, Woods dropped three shots in the first five holes. Surely he was out of it? And then he hit his second shot at the par 4 seventh straight into the hole for an eagle. That's like hitting a hole in one on a par 3; and two players out of contention on Sunday did exactly that at the 16th. Both times there were whoops and high fives and "hell, that won't happen very often in my life" grins all round. Tiger also managed a smile; but it was a loooooong time coming.
With birdies at the following two holes, he was up to nine under, back in the tournament, and all set for a famous charge on the back nine. But there was a petulant three-put on one hole, and sour faces - and a lack of an apology - when a wayward drive hit a spectator on the 11th. He finally finished fourth, on 11 under. But instead of being relaxed in the post-round interview in a "well, considering I haven't played for five months, fourth is pretty good" sort of way, he came across as petulant and slightly bitter, like a schoolboy who didn't get the last sweet in the bag. His "I entered this event to win, and I didn't get that done" set absolutely the wrong tone.
The contrast with Mickelson, the eventual winner at 16 under, and now a four-time major title-holder, was huge. Mickelson's somewhat doughboy face oozes geniality. You can imagine that in a round with Mickelson, he would make light of his skill, give you a couple of simple tips that improved your game 100%, ask you about your family, and have a beer with you in the bar afterwards. In short, it would be fun. A round with Tiger, by contrast, would be many things; but fun would not be the best way of describing it.
Some, including Woods himself probably, would say that his intense monomania is the reason that he has 14 majors and Mickelson, the best of the rest, still only has 4. I disagree. You can be a nice guy, and still be a winner. Roger Federer is the shining example, in tennis, holding the all-time record for Grand Slams, twice as many as (say) long-time world number one, the moody and grumpy Ivan Lendl. Pele was a champion footballer, Maradona was not. Fabian Cancellara is a champion cyclist, Lance Armstrong is not. There are examples in every sport.
Worst for Woods, so too was Jack Nicklaus. As for Tiger, the jury is still out. But if he continues as he is, there is a danger that he will be remembered as a serial winner rather than as a true champion.
Walter Blotscher
Wednesday 14 April 2010
THE POLISH AIR DISASTER
Last Saturday's plane crash in a Russian forest was a tragedy, both in human terms and for Poland as a country. A generation of political, military and civil service leaders were wiped out at a stroke.
Yet, as Poles begin to squabble about the proposal to bury ex-President Lech Kaczynski in Krakow's Wavel Cathedral, a place normally reserved for Poland's kings and national heroes, questions remain. Why, when there was such thick fog, did the pilot try again and again - the plane crashed on the fourth attempted landing - to land at Smolensk airbase instead of diverting to better airports at either Minsk or Moscow, as recommended by air traffic controllers? Why did Poland still use a 20-year old Soviet-era Tupolev-154 as its Presidential plane, when Russian aircraft technology has such a dodgy reputation and there are plenty of Boeing's or Airbus'es around? And why did the Government allow so many senior people to fly together on one plane, instead of splitting them up and thereby reducing the very risk which has now materialised?
The purpose of the flight was a visit to commemorate the 70th anniversary of the massacre in 1940 of 22,000 Polish officers by the Soviet secret police in the Katyn Forest, near Smolensk. These officers had been captured by the Red Army after it moved into Eastern Poland under the terms of its agreement with Nazi Germany, after the latter had invaded Poland in September 1939. When the Germans later invaded the Soviet Union, they found the mass graves and publicised the massacre. The Russians in turn blamed the Germans, got Polish medical experts to "confirm" that the Germans had done it when they passed back through Katyn on the way to Berlin, and even forced the post-war Polish Government to back the story. For 50 years they maintained this charade, until in 1990 Mikhail Gorbachev finally admitted responsibility.
Last week I watched Andrzej Wajda's film Katyn on television. It is clear from the film that the whole of Polish postwar society was polarised by the massacre, either accepting the official version of what had happened, or rebelling against it (as best they could). In many ways, it is still the defining issue in Poland today.
Which leads to the last question. The Polish Prime Minister, Donald Tusk, attended a joint commemoration with Russia's Vladimir Putin at the Katyn cemetery three days before the crash. Mr Putin's invitation was unprecedented, and had been widely seen as heralding a new era in relations between Poland and Russia. Why then did President Kaczynski wish to have a separate, Polish-only commemoration; and why did he see the need to drag so many high-ranking Poles along with him? Since there were no survivors of the crash, I suspect that we will never really know.
Walter Blotscher
Last Saturday's plane crash in a Russian forest was a tragedy, both in human terms and for Poland as a country. A generation of political, military and civil service leaders were wiped out at a stroke.
Yet, as Poles begin to squabble about the proposal to bury ex-President Lech Kaczynski in Krakow's Wavel Cathedral, a place normally reserved for Poland's kings and national heroes, questions remain. Why, when there was such thick fog, did the pilot try again and again - the plane crashed on the fourth attempted landing - to land at Smolensk airbase instead of diverting to better airports at either Minsk or Moscow, as recommended by air traffic controllers? Why did Poland still use a 20-year old Soviet-era Tupolev-154 as its Presidential plane, when Russian aircraft technology has such a dodgy reputation and there are plenty of Boeing's or Airbus'es around? And why did the Government allow so many senior people to fly together on one plane, instead of splitting them up and thereby reducing the very risk which has now materialised?
The purpose of the flight was a visit to commemorate the 70th anniversary of the massacre in 1940 of 22,000 Polish officers by the Soviet secret police in the Katyn Forest, near Smolensk. These officers had been captured by the Red Army after it moved into Eastern Poland under the terms of its agreement with Nazi Germany, after the latter had invaded Poland in September 1939. When the Germans later invaded the Soviet Union, they found the mass graves and publicised the massacre. The Russians in turn blamed the Germans, got Polish medical experts to "confirm" that the Germans had done it when they passed back through Katyn on the way to Berlin, and even forced the post-war Polish Government to back the story. For 50 years they maintained this charade, until in 1990 Mikhail Gorbachev finally admitted responsibility.
Last week I watched Andrzej Wajda's film Katyn on television. It is clear from the film that the whole of Polish postwar society was polarised by the massacre, either accepting the official version of what had happened, or rebelling against it (as best they could). In many ways, it is still the defining issue in Poland today.
Which leads to the last question. The Polish Prime Minister, Donald Tusk, attended a joint commemoration with Russia's Vladimir Putin at the Katyn cemetery three days before the crash. Mr Putin's invitation was unprecedented, and had been widely seen as heralding a new era in relations between Poland and Russia. Why then did President Kaczynski wish to have a separate, Polish-only commemoration; and why did he see the need to drag so many high-ranking Poles along with him? Since there were no survivors of the crash, I suspect that we will never really know.
Walter Blotscher
Tuesday 13 April 2010
ONE MAN WENT TO MOW
There is something immensely satisfying about mowing a lawn with a hand-held motor mower. Since our house stands in roughly 2.5 acres of land and a large proportion of that is grass, my neighbours think I am mad. I should buy myself one of those little motorised buggy things that you sit on, they don't cost very much these days. My mother-in-law has one and I borrowed it once. But I broke one of the rotor blades on a tree root, and have not used it since I returned it to her (blade mended, of course).
However, that bad experience is not why I prefer pushing. The real reason is the combination of time to think while seeing those thin alternate strips of light and dark green grass appear in an orderly way before my eyes.
The English have a thing with lawns. Like changing the guard and underperforming at Wimbledon, it is one of the few activities where we are still genuinely world class. I get an aesthetic pleasure from watching a man dressed in impeccable white kit chase a bright red cricket ball across a billiard-table flat green outfield. And a corresponding slight depression whenever I see a French municipal park without grass, a sort of beefed-up petanque court.
So, here I was yesterday on my first mow of 2010. It was sunny and cool rather than hot, ideal weather. My trusty Klippo mower, which has stood in the barn all winter, started without problems, and off we went. Up and down, following the line of the terrace, the powerful blades clipping the tops off weeds and scrunching up small twigs that have fallen from the trees. Powering through old molehills (more on them another time), creating "allées" between the trees, accentuating the border between the lawn itself and the undergrowth in the borders or the wood. Slowly turning the winter rugby pitch into a summer cricket one. And all the while pondering and musing.
Capability Brown I am not. But hey, give me a chance, I have only lived here for 8 years. Even he needed time for his creations.
Walter Blotscher
There is something immensely satisfying about mowing a lawn with a hand-held motor mower. Since our house stands in roughly 2.5 acres of land and a large proportion of that is grass, my neighbours think I am mad. I should buy myself one of those little motorised buggy things that you sit on, they don't cost very much these days. My mother-in-law has one and I borrowed it once. But I broke one of the rotor blades on a tree root, and have not used it since I returned it to her (blade mended, of course).
However, that bad experience is not why I prefer pushing. The real reason is the combination of time to think while seeing those thin alternate strips of light and dark green grass appear in an orderly way before my eyes.
The English have a thing with lawns. Like changing the guard and underperforming at Wimbledon, it is one of the few activities where we are still genuinely world class. I get an aesthetic pleasure from watching a man dressed in impeccable white kit chase a bright red cricket ball across a billiard-table flat green outfield. And a corresponding slight depression whenever I see a French municipal park without grass, a sort of beefed-up petanque court.
So, here I was yesterday on my first mow of 2010. It was sunny and cool rather than hot, ideal weather. My trusty Klippo mower, which has stood in the barn all winter, started without problems, and off we went. Up and down, following the line of the terrace, the powerful blades clipping the tops off weeds and scrunching up small twigs that have fallen from the trees. Powering through old molehills (more on them another time), creating "allées" between the trees, accentuating the border between the lawn itself and the undergrowth in the borders or the wood. Slowly turning the winter rugby pitch into a summer cricket one. And all the while pondering and musing.
Capability Brown I am not. But hey, give me a chance, I have only lived here for 8 years. Even he needed time for his creations.
Walter Blotscher
Monday 12 April 2010
SNAKES AS PETS
I have never been able to understand why people would want to keep snakes as pets. Indeed, I would go further and say that every person I have ever met, who has kept a snake as a pet, has been slightly - well - creepy. After all, it is not as if you can do much with them. If they are venomous, then you can't really touch them at all; and if they are a constrictor, then they mix very long periods of docility with frenetic wriggling at feeding time. Every now and then, you read about some toddler being strangled by a boa that got overfriendly; but why would anybody want to put a boa, however friendly, anywhere near a toddler?
Humans have been having problems with serpents since Adam and Eve had a chat with one about a fruit tree, and I don't think matters have improved much since. When I lived in Tanzania, the owner of a popular restaurant kept a large python in a cage by the front gate. Being a python in a cage, it just sat there, until the owner gave it a live chicken to get to work on every once in a while. The python was supposed to be good for business. But it put me off going there (and I certainly never had the chicken on the menu!). In fact, Africans generally have the best answer to any snake that they see, they kill it dead with a stick as quickly as possible.
I am reminded of these unpleasant things by a story from Germany last week. On 18 March in the town of Mühlheim a 30cm long monacled cobra escaped from the terrarium in its 19-year old owner's flat. Because such a snake is venomous, and there were other residents in the building, they had to be evacuated while the authorities tried to find the wretched creature. The owner's flat was stripped, with walls being ripped down and floorboards pulled up. Still no snake. So the building was sealed, and a sticky-tape trap set. After three weeks of daily checks, the snake was eventually found stuck to the tape; it had apparently died from exhaustion.
Not the sort of guy you want to have as your neighbour, in my view. However, every cloud has a silver lining. Although the other residents can now move back into their apartments, the young herpetologist's flat is uninhabitable. He is also reported to be facing a bill from the authorities for Euros100.000 in costs.
Walter Blotscher
I have never been able to understand why people would want to keep snakes as pets. Indeed, I would go further and say that every person I have ever met, who has kept a snake as a pet, has been slightly - well - creepy. After all, it is not as if you can do much with them. If they are venomous, then you can't really touch them at all; and if they are a constrictor, then they mix very long periods of docility with frenetic wriggling at feeding time. Every now and then, you read about some toddler being strangled by a boa that got overfriendly; but why would anybody want to put a boa, however friendly, anywhere near a toddler?
Humans have been having problems with serpents since Adam and Eve had a chat with one about a fruit tree, and I don't think matters have improved much since. When I lived in Tanzania, the owner of a popular restaurant kept a large python in a cage by the front gate. Being a python in a cage, it just sat there, until the owner gave it a live chicken to get to work on every once in a while. The python was supposed to be good for business. But it put me off going there (and I certainly never had the chicken on the menu!). In fact, Africans generally have the best answer to any snake that they see, they kill it dead with a stick as quickly as possible.
I am reminded of these unpleasant things by a story from Germany last week. On 18 March in the town of Mühlheim a 30cm long monacled cobra escaped from the terrarium in its 19-year old owner's flat. Because such a snake is venomous, and there were other residents in the building, they had to be evacuated while the authorities tried to find the wretched creature. The owner's flat was stripped, with walls being ripped down and floorboards pulled up. Still no snake. So the building was sealed, and a sticky-tape trap set. After three weeks of daily checks, the snake was eventually found stuck to the tape; it had apparently died from exhaustion.
Not the sort of guy you want to have as your neighbour, in my view. However, every cloud has a silver lining. Although the other residents can now move back into their apartments, the young herpetologist's flat is uninhabitable. He is also reported to be facing a bill from the authorities for Euros100.000 in costs.
Walter Blotscher
Sunday 11 April 2010
PARIS-ROUBAIX
The cobblestone classic "Hell of the North" lived up to expectations this afternoon. The rivalry between Tom Boonen and Fabian Cancellara continued, but - as I predicted last Sunday after the Tour of Flanders - it was the Swiss who again came out on top. Boonen attacked the leading group several times without shaking off the favourites; and then, with 48km to go and while Boonen was taking a breather at the back of the bunch, Cancellara effortlessly accelerated away on an asphalt section and was gone. Despite being one man against eight, and riding most of the time into a fierce headwind, he simply time-trialled away from some of the best one-day riders in the world (Boonen, Hushovd, Flecha, Pozzato) to win by two minutes. A crushing victory, even better than his performance in the Ronde, and one which made Cancellara the first man to do the spring double since Boonen himself in 2005.
This year's Tour de France will include - for the first time in some while - seven of the "pavé" sections they went over today. The favourites for the three-week stage race, small men who mainly specialise in going uphill, won't know what's hit them. A rider won't win the Tour on the 6 July stage that finishes in Arenberg, but they could well lose it on that day.
Boonen and Cancellara will now take a well-earned breather while attention switches to the hillier Ardennes classics. This is already shaping up to be a great cycling season.
One last thought. Sometimes sport just doesn't seem fair. The winner of Paris-Roubaix gets Euros30,000 for cycling 260km over dreadful "roads" for six and a half hours, at an average speed of just under 40km an hour. When compared with the likes of tennis and golf, that is peanuts.
Walter Blotscher
The cobblestone classic "Hell of the North" lived up to expectations this afternoon. The rivalry between Tom Boonen and Fabian Cancellara continued, but - as I predicted last Sunday after the Tour of Flanders - it was the Swiss who again came out on top. Boonen attacked the leading group several times without shaking off the favourites; and then, with 48km to go and while Boonen was taking a breather at the back of the bunch, Cancellara effortlessly accelerated away on an asphalt section and was gone. Despite being one man against eight, and riding most of the time into a fierce headwind, he simply time-trialled away from some of the best one-day riders in the world (Boonen, Hushovd, Flecha, Pozzato) to win by two minutes. A crushing victory, even better than his performance in the Ronde, and one which made Cancellara the first man to do the spring double since Boonen himself in 2005.
This year's Tour de France will include - for the first time in some while - seven of the "pavé" sections they went over today. The favourites for the three-week stage race, small men who mainly specialise in going uphill, won't know what's hit them. A rider won't win the Tour on the 6 July stage that finishes in Arenberg, but they could well lose it on that day.
Boonen and Cancellara will now take a well-earned breather while attention switches to the hillier Ardennes classics. This is already shaping up to be a great cycling season.
One last thought. Sometimes sport just doesn't seem fair. The winner of Paris-Roubaix gets Euros30,000 for cycling 260km over dreadful "roads" for six and a half hours, at an average speed of just under 40km an hour. When compared with the likes of tennis and golf, that is peanuts.
Walter Blotscher
Friday 9 April 2010
DENMARK AND GERMANY (2)
On 9 April 1940, seventy years ago, the German army marched across the land border into Denmark. Strategically, they weren't that interested in the country, it was really just a stepping stone on the way to Norway and its access to the North Atlantic. Resistance was minimal, and after two hours, the Danish King capitulated. Only 16 Danish soldiers were killed.
As I explained in my blog on 28 March, the "occupation" had a profound effect on relations with Germany. Yet a poll taken recently showed that only about one in two of the Danish population had any idea of the significance of the day; even more worrying, the proportion between the ages of 18 and 25 was only 17%!
History shows that it is a bad idea to forget history. It is not a bad idea to move away from bad ideas; slavery, anti-semitism, religious intolerance. But you need to know what happened, and why it was necessary to change. Residual anti-German feeling, without knowledge of the underlying reasons, is not a good pointer for Denmark's future.
Walter Blotscher
On 9 April 1940, seventy years ago, the German army marched across the land border into Denmark. Strategically, they weren't that interested in the country, it was really just a stepping stone on the way to Norway and its access to the North Atlantic. Resistance was minimal, and after two hours, the Danish King capitulated. Only 16 Danish soldiers were killed.
As I explained in my blog on 28 March, the "occupation" had a profound effect on relations with Germany. Yet a poll taken recently showed that only about one in two of the Danish population had any idea of the significance of the day; even more worrying, the proportion between the ages of 18 and 25 was only 17%!
History shows that it is a bad idea to forget history. It is not a bad idea to move away from bad ideas; slavery, anti-semitism, religious intolerance. But you need to know what happened, and why it was necessary to change. Residual anti-German feeling, without knowledge of the underlying reasons, is not a good pointer for Denmark's future.
Walter Blotscher
Thursday 8 April 2010
CYCLING
This evening I went out for my first cycle ride of 2010. To be honest, the weather had not been particularly appealing during the first three months of the year. I also had to fix new brake pads first, after my son had worn them out flying down the mountains of Switzerland.
It was good to get out and moving again, and feel that wonderful combination of a well-oiled bicycle gliding over a well-tarmac'ed road. It was also good to stretch those muscles, which you don't ordinarily use so much in everyday life, the ankle ligaments, the bottom of the upper thigh, the small of the back.
I only did about 15 kms, but I was knackered. I am out of shape.
One thing I did notice was the huge number of potholes, the result of the hard winter's snow and ice. Local authorities' works departments will be busy this summer.
Walter Blotscher
This evening I went out for my first cycle ride of 2010. To be honest, the weather had not been particularly appealing during the first three months of the year. I also had to fix new brake pads first, after my son had worn them out flying down the mountains of Switzerland.
It was good to get out and moving again, and feel that wonderful combination of a well-oiled bicycle gliding over a well-tarmac'ed road. It was also good to stretch those muscles, which you don't ordinarily use so much in everyday life, the ankle ligaments, the bottom of the upper thigh, the small of the back.
I only did about 15 kms, but I was knackered. I am out of shape.
One thing I did notice was the huge number of potholes, the result of the hard winter's snow and ice. Local authorities' works departments will be busy this summer.
Walter Blotscher
Wednesday 7 April 2010
SCHENGEN
Schengen is a small village in the wine-growing part of Luxembourg close up to the French and German borders. It was there that one of the most radical agreements of modern times was signed in 1985. The series of Schengen Agreements have abolished the need for passports when travelling between the different European states that have signed up to them.
Passports are a relatively new phenomenon. In the Middle Ages travel was a hazardous business, and merchants took their chances. Local magnates tried to exact tolls and such like for using the roads, but there was no systematic control of documents. Officers of states at war were allowed to travel across enemy territory when the armies were not campaigning (the rank and file had to stay put), and bigwigs such as Kings and Emperors issued safe-conducts (which were not always respected). But the whole system relied mainly on chivalry's code of honour.
The First World War changed all of that. Nationalism had been whipped into a fury, and passports - and their associated controls - became an ordinary part of international travel. Yet no sooner had they become ubiquitous, than countries began to think of ways to try and dismantle them. The U.K. and the Republic of Ireland have always had relaxed border relations (except in Northern Ireland). And in 1952, the Nordic Passport Union allowed free travel between Norway, Denmark, Sweden, Finland and Iceland, even after three of them later joined the EU and two didn't.
The Schengen Agreements continue that trend. The original five signatories were (West) Germany, France and the Benelux countries, but they now include 22 of the 27 EU Member States, plus Iceland, Norway and Switzerland. The agreements were outside the EU framework, since there was no consensus for them at the time; but the Amsterdam Treaty of 1997 brought them within (though the U.K., Ireland, Romania, Bulgaria and Cyprus remain outside).
Schengen is thought-provoking, since it highlights one of the tensions of the modern world. On the one hand, terrorist actions have led to increased controls and security measures, notably at airports, and handed Governments powers - sometimes draconian - to curtail their citizens' freedoms. On the other hand, Schengen has shown that, at least in one forum, those controls are not needed; intelligence cooperation and surveillance technology are sufficient. Countries that are within the Schengen bloc do not appear to suffer more from terrorist activity than countries (notably the U.K.) that are outside it. In this area of life, perception appears to be all.
Walter Blotscher
Schengen is a small village in the wine-growing part of Luxembourg close up to the French and German borders. It was there that one of the most radical agreements of modern times was signed in 1985. The series of Schengen Agreements have abolished the need for passports when travelling between the different European states that have signed up to them.
Passports are a relatively new phenomenon. In the Middle Ages travel was a hazardous business, and merchants took their chances. Local magnates tried to exact tolls and such like for using the roads, but there was no systematic control of documents. Officers of states at war were allowed to travel across enemy territory when the armies were not campaigning (the rank and file had to stay put), and bigwigs such as Kings and Emperors issued safe-conducts (which were not always respected). But the whole system relied mainly on chivalry's code of honour.
The First World War changed all of that. Nationalism had been whipped into a fury, and passports - and their associated controls - became an ordinary part of international travel. Yet no sooner had they become ubiquitous, than countries began to think of ways to try and dismantle them. The U.K. and the Republic of Ireland have always had relaxed border relations (except in Northern Ireland). And in 1952, the Nordic Passport Union allowed free travel between Norway, Denmark, Sweden, Finland and Iceland, even after three of them later joined the EU and two didn't.
The Schengen Agreements continue that trend. The original five signatories were (West) Germany, France and the Benelux countries, but they now include 22 of the 27 EU Member States, plus Iceland, Norway and Switzerland. The agreements were outside the EU framework, since there was no consensus for them at the time; but the Amsterdam Treaty of 1997 brought them within (though the U.K., Ireland, Romania, Bulgaria and Cyprus remain outside).
Schengen is thought-provoking, since it highlights one of the tensions of the modern world. On the one hand, terrorist actions have led to increased controls and security measures, notably at airports, and handed Governments powers - sometimes draconian - to curtail their citizens' freedoms. On the other hand, Schengen has shown that, at least in one forum, those controls are not needed; intelligence cooperation and surveillance technology are sufficient. Countries that are within the Schengen bloc do not appear to suffer more from terrorist activity than countries (notably the U.K.) that are outside it. In this area of life, perception appears to be all.
Walter Blotscher
Tuesday 6 April 2010
THE TAX YEAR
As wealthy British taxpayers contemplate the new 50% income tax rate for those earning more than £150,000 a year, ordinary folk may wonder why the tax year in the U.K. starts today, 6 April. Having a tax year which is different from the calendar year is, in itself, not that unusual; most states in the U.S., for instance, have fiscal years which start on 1 July, and the Federal Government's begins on 1 October. However, picking a date in the middle of a spring month would strike many as being particularly odd.
The answer, as with many things in Britain, lies in history. Back in the days before income tax, which was introduced as a "temporary" measure to fund the Napoleonic Wars, the most important taxes were land and property taxes. These were usually paid by way of a downpayment on Lady Day (25 March), the start of the new year, followed by a reckoning of the account at Michaelmas (29 September), after the harvest was in. This system was in place for many centuries.
Things then got a bit complicated following the change from the Julian to the Gregorian calendar. This change, promulgated by Pope Gregory XIII in 1582 in order to align the date of Easter with what the Church thought had been agreed at the first Nicaean Council in 325, adjusted the calendar by making three out of every 4 centurial years common years instead of leap years (so 1600 and 2000 remained leap years, whereas 1700, 1800 and 1900 were no longer). In order to adjust for the misalignments of previous centuries, 10 days were simply dropped.
Most Catholic countries followed the Pope's instructions immediately; but Protestant countries such as Britain did not. Britain eventually altered its calendar in the mid-18th century, by which time the necessary adjustment had increased to 11 days; Wednesday 2 September 1752 was immediately followed by Thursday 14 September 1752. However, tax authorities being what they are (i.e. loth to lose anything), the start of the tax year was pushed forward 11 days, from 25 March to 5 April. In 1800, when the next Julian leap year had to be dropped, it was pushed forward one day more, to 6 April. There it has stayed ever since, despite there being a Julian leap year in 1900.
The rather odd date doesn't matter so much in practice, since income earned in (say) June is deemed to be earned in the month 6 June to 5 July; while companies pay VAT and corporation tax on a calendar month basis. In fact, the people who really have problems are historians, who have to grapple with different calendars in different countries over a period of centuries. In Europe, the last country to adopt the Gregorian calendar was Greece, and that was not until 1923!
Walter Blotscher
As wealthy British taxpayers contemplate the new 50% income tax rate for those earning more than £150,000 a year, ordinary folk may wonder why the tax year in the U.K. starts today, 6 April. Having a tax year which is different from the calendar year is, in itself, not that unusual; most states in the U.S., for instance, have fiscal years which start on 1 July, and the Federal Government's begins on 1 October. However, picking a date in the middle of a spring month would strike many as being particularly odd.
The answer, as with many things in Britain, lies in history. Back in the days before income tax, which was introduced as a "temporary" measure to fund the Napoleonic Wars, the most important taxes were land and property taxes. These were usually paid by way of a downpayment on Lady Day (25 March), the start of the new year, followed by a reckoning of the account at Michaelmas (29 September), after the harvest was in. This system was in place for many centuries.
Things then got a bit complicated following the change from the Julian to the Gregorian calendar. This change, promulgated by Pope Gregory XIII in 1582 in order to align the date of Easter with what the Church thought had been agreed at the first Nicaean Council in 325, adjusted the calendar by making three out of every 4 centurial years common years instead of leap years (so 1600 and 2000 remained leap years, whereas 1700, 1800 and 1900 were no longer). In order to adjust for the misalignments of previous centuries, 10 days were simply dropped.
Most Catholic countries followed the Pope's instructions immediately; but Protestant countries such as Britain did not. Britain eventually altered its calendar in the mid-18th century, by which time the necessary adjustment had increased to 11 days; Wednesday 2 September 1752 was immediately followed by Thursday 14 September 1752. However, tax authorities being what they are (i.e. loth to lose anything), the start of the tax year was pushed forward 11 days, from 25 March to 5 April. In 1800, when the next Julian leap year had to be dropped, it was pushed forward one day more, to 6 April. There it has stayed ever since, despite there being a Julian leap year in 1900.
The rather odd date doesn't matter so much in practice, since income earned in (say) June is deemed to be earned in the month 6 June to 5 July; while companies pay VAT and corporation tax on a calendar month basis. In fact, the people who really have problems are historians, who have to grapple with different calendars in different countries over a period of centuries. In Europe, the last country to adopt the Gregorian calendar was Greece, and that was not until 1923!
Walter Blotscher
Sunday 4 April 2010
TOUR OF FLANDERS
The Tour of Flanders ("Ronde van Vlaanderen") is one of the five Monuments, the most prestigious one-day cycling races. At around 260km, it is one of the most gruelling races in the professional calendar, as the sharp "hills" in the final stages sap the legs and thin out the field. The roads on the hills are usually cobbled, with gradients of up to 20%; if you lose momentum, then there is often no choice but to get off your bike and walk.
The favourites this year were Belgian hero and twice previous winner Tom Boonen, and the Swiss time-trialling powerhouse Fabian Cancellara. Boonen had the advantage of local knowledge, plus a Quickstep team that included the winner for the past two years, Stijn Devolder. Cancellera had the advantage of beating Boonen in a three-man finish in another Belgian race a week ago.
True to form, the duo broke clear on the fiendishly steep Molenberg with 40km to go. They then worked together and gradually carved out a minute's lead before the showdown on the famous Muur in Gerardsbergen, with under 20km to go. Without seeming to accelerate or even standing up in the saddle, Cancellera simply dropped his rival on the steepest section and had a 10-second lead by the chapel at the top. That was a big enough gap for the time-trial expert, who cruised home with a tail-wind to win by just over a minute. A truly great victory.
The two will line up next weekend for Paris-Roubaix, another Monument, and another cobblestone monster. Boonen has won it three times, Cancellara once. With a much flatter profile, it ought to suit Cancellara better than the Ronde. And after today's performance, the odds must be slightly on the Swiss to do the double.
Walter Blotscher
The Tour of Flanders ("Ronde van Vlaanderen") is one of the five Monuments, the most prestigious one-day cycling races. At around 260km, it is one of the most gruelling races in the professional calendar, as the sharp "hills" in the final stages sap the legs and thin out the field. The roads on the hills are usually cobbled, with gradients of up to 20%; if you lose momentum, then there is often no choice but to get off your bike and walk.
The favourites this year were Belgian hero and twice previous winner Tom Boonen, and the Swiss time-trialling powerhouse Fabian Cancellara. Boonen had the advantage of local knowledge, plus a Quickstep team that included the winner for the past two years, Stijn Devolder. Cancellera had the advantage of beating Boonen in a three-man finish in another Belgian race a week ago.
True to form, the duo broke clear on the fiendishly steep Molenberg with 40km to go. They then worked together and gradually carved out a minute's lead before the showdown on the famous Muur in Gerardsbergen, with under 20km to go. Without seeming to accelerate or even standing up in the saddle, Cancellera simply dropped his rival on the steepest section and had a 10-second lead by the chapel at the top. That was a big enough gap for the time-trial expert, who cruised home with a tail-wind to win by just over a minute. A truly great victory.
The two will line up next weekend for Paris-Roubaix, another Monument, and another cobblestone monster. Boonen has won it three times, Cancellara once. With a much flatter profile, it ought to suit Cancellara better than the Ronde. And after today's performance, the odds must be slightly on the Swiss to do the double.
Walter Blotscher
Saturday 3 April 2010
BRIEF LIVES
John Aubrey was a slightly disreputable member of the gentry. Born in 1626, he inherited his father's heavily indebted estate, and eventually went bankrupt in the 1670's. From then until his death in 1697 he lived by cadging hospitality from friends and acquaintances, and hiding from his creditors.
But he was also - along with his contemporary Samuel Pepys - the forerunner of the modern gossip columnist. Brief Lives is the collection of notes and manuscripts, which formed part of his estate. They are miniature portraits, some factual, some racy, of the great men and women of the late sixteenth and seventeenth century in England, a period which saw huge religious conflicts, two Civil Wars, the execution of King Charles I, a Commonwealth under Oliver Cromwell, and the restoration of the monarchy in 1660.
Riveting stuff.
Walter Blotscher
John Aubrey was a slightly disreputable member of the gentry. Born in 1626, he inherited his father's heavily indebted estate, and eventually went bankrupt in the 1670's. From then until his death in 1697 he lived by cadging hospitality from friends and acquaintances, and hiding from his creditors.
But he was also - along with his contemporary Samuel Pepys - the forerunner of the modern gossip columnist. Brief Lives is the collection of notes and manuscripts, which formed part of his estate. They are miniature portraits, some factual, some racy, of the great men and women of the late sixteenth and seventeenth century in England, a period which saw huge religious conflicts, two Civil Wars, the execution of King Charles I, a Commonwealth under Oliver Cromwell, and the restoration of the monarchy in 1660.
Riveting stuff.
Walter Blotscher
Friday 2 April 2010
LONGER DAYS
Dusk in Denmark varies between about 3.30pm in the dog days of December and as late as 11.00pm on long summer evenings. Because of this year's unusually cold winter, the lengthening days have snuck up on me. We are already more than halfway between the shortest and longest day; and after the time change of last weekend, it doesn't get dark until 8.15pm.
Mentally, I still think the day is over by 6.00pm. I need to adjust and get cycling.
Walter Blotscher
Dusk in Denmark varies between about 3.30pm in the dog days of December and as late as 11.00pm on long summer evenings. Because of this year's unusually cold winter, the lengthening days have snuck up on me. We are already more than halfway between the shortest and longest day; and after the time change of last weekend, it doesn't get dark until 8.15pm.
Mentally, I still think the day is over by 6.00pm. I need to adjust and get cycling.
Walter Blotscher
Thursday 1 April 2010
MAUNDY THURSDAY
Today, the Thursday before Easter, is called Maundy Thursday. In England, the Queen distributes "maundy money" to deserving pensioners, one man and one woman for each year of the sovereign's age (84 this year). The practice is said to have started with St. Augustine when he came to Britain at the end of the sixth century, and has been performed by kings since about 1300. This year the Queen will be carrying out the ceremony in my home town of Derby, which will be nice for my mum.
But what does "maundy", a word not used in any other context, actually mean? Here there are differing views. The traditional one is that it is a bastardisation of the latin word "mandatum", meaning command. The Thursday before Easter is the day of the Last Supper, at which Jesus said to his disciples "a new commandment I give unto you, that ye love one another as I have loved you" as he washed their feet. However, that seems inherently implausible, partly because of the insertion of that extra letter "u" (wouldn't it be "mandy" or "mandate", which already exists in English?), and partly because the name for the day is not similar in other languages, which also have Christian traditions. In German, for example, it is Gründonnerstag (green Thursday), so too in Czech and Slovak; in Scandinavia it is skaertorsdag (clean or pure Thursday). Nor is the name used in Scotland or Ireland, which call it Holy Thursday, the same name as that set out in the liturgical calendar of the Catholic Church.
A more likely explanation is that it comes from another latin word "mendicare", which means to beg, via the French mendier. The nasal "en" could well become "au". It would also would explain "maundsor" baskets, which were held out by beggars, while they "maunded". English royalty often showed their piety in the Middle Ages by distributing alms and food to the poor, and this would in turn explain the continuance to this day of the maundy money ceremony.
However, although the British queen is a great upholder of tradition, I am sure she will be grateful that not everything remains the same. Up until the reign of King James II (1685-88) the monarch on Maundy Thursday also washed the feet of 12 selected poor people, in imitation of Christ's act. Thankfully, that is no longer part of her duties.
Walter Blotscher
Today, the Thursday before Easter, is called Maundy Thursday. In England, the Queen distributes "maundy money" to deserving pensioners, one man and one woman for each year of the sovereign's age (84 this year). The practice is said to have started with St. Augustine when he came to Britain at the end of the sixth century, and has been performed by kings since about 1300. This year the Queen will be carrying out the ceremony in my home town of Derby, which will be nice for my mum.
But what does "maundy", a word not used in any other context, actually mean? Here there are differing views. The traditional one is that it is a bastardisation of the latin word "mandatum", meaning command. The Thursday before Easter is the day of the Last Supper, at which Jesus said to his disciples "a new commandment I give unto you, that ye love one another as I have loved you" as he washed their feet. However, that seems inherently implausible, partly because of the insertion of that extra letter "u" (wouldn't it be "mandy" or "mandate", which already exists in English?), and partly because the name for the day is not similar in other languages, which also have Christian traditions. In German, for example, it is Gründonnerstag (green Thursday), so too in Czech and Slovak; in Scandinavia it is skaertorsdag (clean or pure Thursday). Nor is the name used in Scotland or Ireland, which call it Holy Thursday, the same name as that set out in the liturgical calendar of the Catholic Church.
A more likely explanation is that it comes from another latin word "mendicare", which means to beg, via the French mendier. The nasal "en" could well become "au". It would also would explain "maundsor" baskets, which were held out by beggars, while they "maunded". English royalty often showed their piety in the Middle Ages by distributing alms and food to the poor, and this would in turn explain the continuance to this day of the maundy money ceremony.
However, although the British queen is a great upholder of tradition, I am sure she will be grateful that not everything remains the same. Up until the reign of King James II (1685-88) the monarch on Maundy Thursday also washed the feet of 12 selected poor people, in imitation of Christ's act. Thankfully, that is no longer part of her duties.
Walter Blotscher
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