Monday 31 January 2011

HANDBALL

Handball is big in Denmark. Since Scandinavians haven't yet realised that football is a winter game (they stop playing it between October and March), handball is the sport of choice during the dark months here. Every small town has its own sports hall, where they play handball and badminton.

It helps if your national team is good at it. The Danish women won the Olympic title three times in a row from 1996 to 2004, and the European championships, widely held to be the most difficult of all, in 1994, 1996 and 2002 (Norway has since won the latter four times in a row). While the men won the 2008 European championships, and have won minor medals at various world championships during the past decade. Yesterday the men's team were in their first world final since 1967, just across the Øresund in the Swedish town of Malmö. Unfortunately, they were up against the reigning world, Olympic and European champions France. After a pulsating final in which Denmark equalised in the last second to make it 31-31, France pulled away in extra time to win 37-35.

However, if handball is big in Denmark and other continental countries, it is decidedly "unbig" in Britain. I can vaguely remember seeing it at the Olympics on television as a boy; but the first time I saw it live was when I went on an exchange to Germany as a 14-year old, and my exchange partner played it. A cross between basketball and five-a-side football, it seemed a bit odd to me. But then cricket probably does to a German.

Since the 2012 Olympics will be held in London, Great Britain has the right to show up with a team in every team sport. Which includes handball. The authorities could have decided that since handball is not really played in Britain, they wouldn't bother. But they took the opposite view, and have since been scouring Europe for dual nationality players, who can play the game. At which point, I have to admit to more than a passing interest. Because my younger son, aged 19, is one of those players. A goalkeeper who grew up playing handball in Denmark, he is now part of both the GB senior and under-21 squads. They tend to get thrashed by more established countries; but under the watchful eye of their Serbian trainer, they have from a standing start made quite a lot of progress. My son is not yet certain of playing in the Olympics, but he has got a good chance. Which would be terrific, if he made it.

Walter Blotscher

Sunday 30 January 2011

ANDY MURRAY

No British male tennis player has won one of the four major championships since Fred Perry took the U.S. Open in 1936. So excitement was high amongst British tennis fans, when Scotsman Andy Murray early this morning played against Serbian Novak Djokovic in the final of the Australian Open. Why then, as a British tennis fan, was I rooting for Djokovic, particularly since he had knocked out my perennial favourite Roger Federer in the semi-finals?

It's not as if Murray is no good. He is consistently ranked fourth in the world, behind Rafael Nadal, Federer and Djokovic, and has won a string of tournaments and even more money. Yet his on-court demeanour is, to me at least, intensely irritating. It is not because he gets pumped up; virtually all tennis players except the exceptionally elegant Federer do that these days. But he looks grumpy all the time, surly even, and some of his braying facial expressions seem more to resemble a gnu in the mating season. Moreover, his "support team", led by his mother, is way over the top. Passion for sport is one thing; but passion expressed in that way is another.

A year ago, in my first ever blog, I predicted that Murray would never win a Grand Slam tournament. Today's performance, in which he was roundly beaten by Djokovic in straight sets, confirmed me in that view. Outgunned physically in the first set, he should have changed tactics, using his volley (where is better than his opponent) to shorten the rallies and save energy. But he continued in the same way, choosing to challenge Djokovic on his terms, namely his fitness, and running into a brick wall. It was never going to work.

Murray has now appeared in three Grand Slam finals and lost all three. Worse, he has lost all three in straight sets. As the time since the last British major winner gets longer and longer, the pressure will mount, just as it did with Tim Henman, the last British tennis hero. Henman never won a Grand Slam; I still think Murray won't either.

Walter Blotscher

Saturday 29 January 2011

DANISH CUISINE

Last year the award for the world's best restaurant went to Noma, in Copenhagen. Earlier this week, the World Cuisine Championship, named the Bocuse d'Or after the famous chef who started it in 1987, was won by the Danish chef Rasmus Kofoed, who had been second and third in earlier years. This time his menu of baby lobsters, followed by lamb with tongue, was sufficient to land him the top prize in Lyon.

The competition was in fact a complete Nordic triumph, as second place went to Sweden and third to Norway. What's happening in all these northern kitchens? And where are the French?

Walter Blotscher

Friday 28 January 2011

FLOOD REPORTING

There have been floods over much of the southern hemisphere during the past month. In Brazil more than 800 people are known to have died in the region around Rio de Janeiro, after torrential rain caused floods and mudslides in the hilly area. At least 70 people have died in South Africa after weeks of heavy rains. Eight of the country's nine provinces have been declared disaster areas, and big rivers such as the Zambezi are at twice their normal levels. In Sri Lanka four weeks of heavy rain have destroyed crops and forced hundreds of thousands of people into makeshift camps. At least 40 people have died. While in Australia, torrential rains have created rivers in Queensland where none existed before, and swamped the country's third biggest city, Brisbane. More than 30 people have died.

The adverse weather conditions are due to what is known as the La Nina effect. Cold water rises to the surface of the eastern Pacific Ocean, off the coast of South America. Buffetted by strong easterly winds, this cold water surges westward, pushing the warm water in front of it. This gets trapped by the land masses of Australia and South East Asia, causing high pressure to build up, and resulting in unusually high rainfall. The phenomenon then continues westward, reaching southern and southeastern Africa and eventually the east coast of South America.

One interesting aspect of these events is the inverse relationship between the amount of media reporting of them and the number of deaths involved. Most of the focus - in Europe, at any rate - has been on Australia. There were a few items on the news about Brazil, but hardly anything about Sri Lanka. And until I starting clicking on links in order to write this post, I knew absolutely nothing about what had happened in South Africa.

Is it because we intuitively identify more with fellow rich, mainly Caucasian, societies? Or is it because we are more inured to the loss of life and property in poor countries; losing a two-story brick house with manicured lawn is somehow worse than losing a mud hut and two cows, even if the first is protected by flood insurance and the second is not? Sadly, I think it is the latter.

Walter Blotscher

Thursday 27 January 2011

JUSTINE HENIN

On the day when defending champion Roger Federer, elegant as ever in white shirt and yellow sweatband, was beaten in the semi-final of the Australian Open tennis tournament, spare a thought for Justine Henin. The diminutive Belgian, a winner of 7 Grand Slam titles and an Olympic gold medal, has been forced to retire from the game at the age of 28 owing to a persistent elbow injury.

This is Henin's second retirement, after she left the game in May 2008 while ranked number one in the world. She came back at the beginning of 2010, not least in order to win Wimbledon, the one major title she had never won. However, during a fourth round loss at the tournament last summer to her great Belgian rival Kim Clijsters, she slipped on the grass, and tore a ligament in her elbow. It is that injury which has now caused her to quit for good.

In the field of female tennis players, 99% of whom play with two-handed backhands, her one-handed backhand stood out for both its effectiveness and beauty. John McEnroe once described it as the best backhand in either the women's or the men's game. Will we ever see its like again?

Walter Blotscher

Wednesday 26 January 2011

BRIDGE (2)

Playing in a tournament obviously brings benefits. Last night was the first round of the club championship, where I play regularly on a Tuesday. Still feeling the adrenalin rush of the grand slam bid under tournament conditions, my partner and I finished top with 744 points. To put that in context, only one other pair reached 700 and fourth place was a lowly 619. It's looking good so far ...

I knew we were going to do well, when we were the only pair at the 20 tables to bid and make 6 spades on the first hand of the evening, everyone else making the standard 4 spades + 2. That got my partner going, and he kept it up for the whole evening.

I fully expect hubris to kick in next Tuesday in round 2. But I can enjoy how things stand for one week, can't I?

Walter Blotscher

Tuesday 25 January 2011

MOLE WARFARE (5)

It has been all quiet on the western front this winter; I haven't caught a mole since 28 November. Which has irritated me somewhat, since there has been a pesky critter - pesky being exactly the right word to describe him - holed up under the compost heap since the day after. Because of the frozen ground, he has had difficulty doing anything more than sitting there. But he has more than made up for that during the occasional thaws by creating the biggest molehills I have ever seen.

My patience was beginning to wear thin. Until this afternoon, when I finally got him. Bingo. Now all I have to do is demolish his molehills, and wait for the spring offensive. We all know that there will be one, the question is where exactly they will launch an assault.

Walter Blotscher

Monday 24 January 2011

THE CHIMNEY SWEEP

The chimney sweep came this morning on his annual round. He checked the two chimneys, one connected to the oil-fired boiler and one to the wood-burning stove in the living room, and cleaned the stove itself. It all took about 15 minutes.

And it was free; or, at least, he didn't give me a bill. The service is provided by the kommune (local council), and is paid for through our local taxes. Since untended chimneys are a fire risk, I suppose the kommune has an interest in making sure that they are all checked once a year. It is part of the extra services you get in return for the Danish state's taking such a large chunk of your money. As I said earlier this month, you get quite a lot of value for your taxes. The chimney sweep is a good example.

Walter Blotscher

Sunday 23 January 2011

BRIDGE

I played in a bridge tournament today. 96 pairs were arbitrarily divided into eight groups of twelve. We then played twenty two hands in the morning, two against each of the other eleven pairs in the group. Based on the results of that exercise, the groups were rejigged over lunch, so that players were matched with those of the same ability. The winners of each group plus the four best seconds became the top group, the other seconds plus the eight thirds became the second group, and so on down. We then played a further thirty three hands in the afternoon, three against each other pair in the (new) group.

Although you would think that people always strive to do their best, tactics can in fact arise. Play too well in the morning, and you run the risk of ending up with the big boys, and being humiliated in the afternoon. Better perhaps to lie low in the morning, before storming through in the afternoon in a lowly group, and winning one of the handsome prizes, generously sponsored by the local brewery.

In our case, there was no opportunity to be tactical, since we came fifth in our group in the morning and ended up in the fourth best division, where we later finished fourth. That was enough to get a prize of six premium beers, which I will drink at my leisure during the course of the next few weeks. Together with a delicious lunch and an afternoon break for coffee and cake, I probably covered my entrance fee.

The highlight of the day was when I bid a grand slam in hearts, which my partner duly made. The bidding was quite complicated, and I had to think long and hard before I bid the final contract. Piqued by being slam dunked, our opponents reported me to the tournament leader for taking too much time, which I thought was a bit unfair. He thought so too, which was good.

Walter Blotscher

Saturday 22 January 2011

SCHENGEN (2)

Norway is not part of the E.U., but is a party to the series of Schengen Agreements that allow passport-free travel between the participating countries, which include Denmark and Sweden. The U.K. is one of the five (out of 27) E.U. Member States, that has not signed up to Schengen.

I have just been on holiday in Norway with a busload of Danes, travelling via Sweden. As a Brit, not covered by Schengen, I should not have travelled without my passport, and could in theory have been checked (and potentially expelled) from either Sweden or Norway, if this terrible fact had been discovered. In practice, of course, nobody checked whether I had it with me or not; and if they had, I suspect that a simple conversation and explanation that I was a permanent resident in Denmark would have sufficed.

The main justification for the U.K.'s not signing up to Schengen is - like with many other things - that weasel-like catch-all "security". My little trip shows how ridiculous the justification is. You don't catch potential terrorists by checking the passports of tourists in buses, it requires intelligence, patience, surveillance and (not least) a lot of luck. The U.K. will get there in the end of course; but like much of its attitude to the E.U., it will be grudging and very, very late.

Walter Blotscher

Friday 21 January 2011

HEMSEDAL

Hemsedal is a valley in the Norwegian mountains, roughly halfway between Oslo and Bergen, and where I have just spent a fantastic week's skiing holiday. Unlike the Alps, where the peaks rise up sharply, the mountains in Norway are rounder, more like the middle of a cottage loaf. That makes it much easier to have green (easy) runs at the top, something which is much appreciated by people like me, who are not very good. Other good things were the wide and well-maintained pistes, the putting of moguls and jumps in special areas (not frequented by me), and the almost complete absence of ice (there has been a lot of snow this winter). That all gave me the courage and confidence to concentrate on improving my technique, and I feel I made substantial progress. OK, it was only from very crap to crap; but I was definitely going downhill much faster than last time. And I didn't have any major crashes.

With temperatures around minus 3 to 5 degrees during the day, and sunshine for much of the time, it was perfect skiing weather. The compulsory wearing of helmets was something new, and not always comfortable, since mine made my hair itch. But I loved the night skiing under lights. Norwegian efficiency meant that the main pistes were re-prepared between 15.30 and 18.00. Hurtling down a newly prepared piste under lights after dinner was a great experience.

The whole family was there, though not all of us had to work. My elder son had been roped in as an ad hoc ski instructor for the school. Clad in what looked like white pyjamas, borrowed from his fashion-conscious cousin, he was soon licking 17-year olds into shape, and filming them on the jumps.

On the last day, I went cross-country skiing for the first time with my younger son, who had tried it once before. It was fun, though also one of the hardest things I have ever done in my life. Basically, if you don't work, you don't move; and "work" in this instance means the whole of your body. Although it was minus 10 degrees down in the valley, and I had removed my inner jumper before we started, I was still sweating heavily within ten minutes, and continued that way for the rest of the day. We did about 15km in the course of 4 hours, a distance which the professionals would cover in about 45 minutes. At the end, I was aching everywhere.

Still, that is what skiing holidays are for. Lots of exercise, lots of alcohol in the evenings in our super-efficient wooden hut, and the whole thing eased by good-looking Norwegians with their winning smiles. Hej du!

Walter Blotscher

Saturday 15 January 2011

SKIING IN NORWAY

My wife teaches at a school, which goes on an annual skiing holiday each year. One of the perks of her job (for me, that is) is that the teachers' families are allowed to go with them, if there is room. For various reasons, this year there is room for me, and our three children. So in about an hour, I am off to Norway, to live for a week in a Norwegian hut, and to ski down their mountains. I can't wait.

No internet connection in the wilds, I'm afraid. So you'll have to wait until Friday.

Walter Blotscher

Friday 14 January 2011

ARMADILLO

In my post in August on the futility of the war in Afghanistan, one of the commentators said "watch Armadillo, that says it all". Last week I did.

Armadillo is a documentary film about Danish soldiers stationed in forward base Camp Armadillo in the notoriously insecure Helmand province in Afghanistan, and follows a group of young soldiers, as they go through their 6-month tour of duty. There is incredulity and worry from their families, boredom in camp (often relieved by watching porn films on their computers), patrols, weapons cleaning, firefights and casualties. There is the tough professional NCO, and the new recruit looking for excitement. There is camaraderie and adrenalin. Plus incomprehension from the locals, who suffer most from the destruction of people and property.

All in all, it reminded me very much of similar films from Vietnam. Change the country from Vietnam to Afghanistan, the language of the "protecting" force from English to Danish, and the sophistication of the weapons from pretty sophisticated to high-tech wizardry, and we could have been back in the middle of the Tet Offensive. And in the same way that the Vietnam War ultimately ended in huge waste and ignominious withdrawal, so too - in my view - will Afghanistan. The most telling remark came from a local farmer, who was being encouraged by the Danish captain and his Afghan interpreter to give information about the Taliban's whereabouts. "Why would I do that?" he said. "If I tell you, then the Taliban will come and cut my throat". A fair point.

Western politicians are always telling us that they are making Afghanistan safer by the day. They are not; and they will not (if proof were needed, Camp Armadillo has now been disbanded). Who will be the first to break ranks and admit it?

Walter Blotscher

Thursday 13 January 2011

LENE ESPERSEN (3)

Last summer, I said that Lene Espersen, Denmark's Foreign Minister and leader of the Conservative Party in the coalition government, was making a mess of things.

This evening, after an ever worsening string of opinion polls, she resigned as party leader. She intends to try to stay on as Foreign Minister; it will be interesting to see if she can.

I would like to be able to say that she resigned because of my blog. But that would not be true. The fact of the matter is that she messed up on her own, she didn't need any help from me.

Walter Blotscher

Wednesday 12 January 2011

THE TEMPEST

Last Saturday I went with my wife and daughter to see a production of the Tempest in English. Now, before you have visions of Shakespearean thespians touring from the U.K., I should say that the reason for the choice of language was that the piece was a collaboration between the theatre in Odense and a Chinese theatre company, which was originally performed at the Shanghai Expo. It was also only loosely based on the Tempest. True, there was an island, with Prospero (Danish) and Caliban (Chinese) and Ariel (Chinese); but soliloquys from other Shakespeare plays kept popping up, and the English was not particularly Elizabethan.

Being a Chinese troupe, there was some terrific acrobatics, as Prospero was cast as a sort of circus entertainer. All in all, it worked really well, even though it was completely different from what I was expecting.

Walter Blotscher

Tuesday 11 January 2011

DANISH TAXES

Other Governments are catching up fast, but Denmark still holds the record for the state that takes the most out of your wallet in taxes. According to the OECD, Danish taxes represented 48.2% of GDP in 2009, versus an average of 33.7% across the rich country group and a paltry 24% for the United States (no wonder it has a fiscal problem).

In general, Danish residents get fairly good value for (all that) money. Health and education are pretty much free, with the right to get an operation from the private sector after just one month on a waiting list, and no tuition fees at university. Roads are good, there are lots of green public spaces, child care is a right, and the proportion of women working is high. Basically, there are no poor people, and no slums (Danish politicians often talk about ghettos; but they don't know what a ghetto means). Taxes on income are too high, and a number of people want to get them reduced. However, many Danes say, and genuinely believe, I think, that in a choice between more taxes and reduced welfare, they would happily pay the extra taxes. After-tax income inequality is remarkably low, the concept of fælleskab ("community") remarkably strong.

There is, though, one area where all those high taxes are going to be a problem, and that is immigration. Everybody accepts that just like other ageing European societies, Danes will need to import labour in the future. But because of fears about being swamped by poor people, it has to be the right sort of labour; qualified labour, in the jargon. Unfortunately, all the debate is about devising rules to ensure that unqualified labour can't get in (i.e. demand management). My concern is that qualified labour won't want to come (i.e. there is a supply problem).

The example I often use is a hypothetical Egyptian doctor, about 50 years old, working at a major hospital in Cairo. His children have left home, and he would like to spend his last 15 years working abroad before retiring back to his home country to live in the house he has built from his foreign earnings. He is well-educated, a specialist in his field, and probably speaks Arabic, English and perhaps another language (French, say).

Why on earth would he want to come to Denmark? First, he would have to learn Danish, a minority language if ever there was one. Secondly, he is Muslim, which gives a lot of problems here. Thirdly, his medical qualifications might not be accepted as bona fide; there have been scare stories about Arabic doctors in the press recently. Fourthly, his wife may well not be educated to the same standard as him; even though they are married, that might cause problems, since she is not also "qualified labour". And even if he got through that whole minefield, taxes are so high here that he wouldn't be able to save any money in order to build that retirement house. Yes, he would have a very comfortable existence in Copenhagen or wherever for 15 years. But the Danish economy is structured around a 2-earner family core, which pays a lot and gets a lot. Since he would not get a lot (in terms of free health, education and other good things for children), he would simply end up paying a lot (in terms of taxes).

It is very difficult to save up out of income in Denmark (unless it is to buy a house). Top earners such as sportspeople know this, and tend to live abroad (the 20-year old tennis player Caroline Wozniacki decamped to Monaco long ago). If the Government wants to attract qualified labour to Denmark in the future, then it is going to have to make it more attractive to come here for less than a lifetime. And that means lower taxes.

Walter Blotscher

Monday 10 January 2011

SHUTTLECOCKS

I play badminton - doubles - on a Monday night during the winter, and we use proper shuttlecocks rather than the plastic ones. The advantage of the former is that they give a much better flight, the disadvantage is that they begin to disintegrate, feather by feather, when you hit them hard. We are not as bad as the professionals, who seem to change the shuttlecock almost after every point. But we do get through a fair number of them.

They cost about kr.100 for ten, or just over £1 each. We get through about four on average during an hour's play, so that means a cost of kr.10 per man per week. That's reasonable for us; but is it a good price for the poor people who have to make them?

I suspect not. Take off VAT at 25% and we are down to kr.8. There is transport from Indonesia or wherever they are made, plus profits for all the middlemen. That doesn't leave very much for making what is in reality a pretty fiddly item. Lots of feathers all have to be cut to the same length and then interwoven, before sticking them in a sort of cup with a rubber knob on it. If I made one, I doubt that it would fly true off the racket.

I guess that if they doubled the price to kr.20, that would make quite a bit of difference to the people who make them. Would it make me stop playing badminton? I don't think so. Is this sensible suggestion going to happen? No.

Walter Blotscher

Sunday 9 January 2011

AN IT UPGRADE

I promised to try and upgrade the bells and whistles on this blog, and am happy to say that I have managed to put on a picture function. I am particularly happy that I managed to do it without talking to my son. He would doubtless say that it was a piece of cake; to me, doing it felt more like a piece of stodgy pudding.

I have only added four pictures (now increased to six). One of the dining room of our lodge in Scotland, plus two of the surrounding area, and three of the house half covered in snow. Not a huge development, but a start. Hope you like it.

Walter Blotscher

Saturday 8 January 2011

SPORT IN 2011

The year has got off to a cracking start, what with England's emphatic victory in the fifth cricket test in Sydney, and Roger Federer's imperious form in winning in Qatar today (I am already looking forward to the Australian Open). Yet the highlight so far must be Russia's performance in winning the under-20 ice hockey world championships on Wednesday. In a stadium packed full of Canadians just over the U.S. border in Buffalo, the Russians staged one of the great comebacks to win 5-3 against their perennial rivals, and take their first junior world championship since 2003.

For most of the first week, the Russians looked like they were going to take an early plane home, losing to both Canada and Sweden in the round robin stage, and only avoiding going to the relegation play-offs by beating the Czechs in their last match. While in the sudden death stage, their poor form was only matched by a series of miraculous escapes. They won 4-3 in overtime to beat Finland in the quarter finals after being 3-1 down with four minutes to play in the third period; and in the semi-finals against Sweden it went to overtime and then penalties, after the Russians had equalised to 3-3 with only 87 seconds left of normal time.

The final was not much better. After six minutes of the second period, Canada were up 3-0 and coasting; and the score was the same at the beginning of the third period. Then suddenly, the Russians found something out of nowhere. Within seven minutes they were level, and two more goals towards the end secured a remarkable 5-3 victory. It was great to watch.

Two names to watch out for in the future. Canada's free-scoring forward Brayden Schenn, named the tournament's most valuable player; and the U.S.' goalkeeper Jack Campbell, voted onto the all-star team for the third year in a row.

Walter Blotscher

Friday 7 January 2011

NEW YEAR IN SCOTLAND

We had a great week in Scotland over New Year. As readers will know, I go on an annual walking holiday in the Lake District around 1 June. Two years ago, one of us turned 50; and his American wife thought it would be a good idea for a birthday present to assemble five of us walkers, plus our partners and children (who happen to be roughly the same age and sex) in a hunting lodge on an estate near Aviemore. This was a huge success, with fantastic weather (bitterly cold, but brilliant sunshine) and great walking; so we decided to do it again.

This year we rented a lodge on the former estate of the Duke of Atholl. The Duke is the only person in Britain with the right to raise a private army, the Atholl Highlanders, a right granted by Queen Victoria in 1844. The soldiers are mainly recruited from the estate workers and parade every year at Blair Castle, the ancestral house since 1269. This is pretty much the only time the current Duke, the 11th, appears in Scotland. A South African, he inherited the title from his second cousin, once removed, who had never married. Worried about what might happen to the house and land if owned by a foreigner, the 10th Duke placed the 120 room castle and most of the surrounding 140,000 acres of land into a charitable trust, shortly before he died in 1996. There they remain, for the benefit of the people.

"Lodge" isn't quite accurate, since the 21 of us were easily able to fit into its 11 bedrooms, 4 bathrooms, living rooms, dining room (pictured left), gun room, drying room, kitchen and much else. Situated on a private track, 8 miles up the River Tilt from Blair Atholl, and surrounded by hills, the lodge was completely isolated except for the adjoining cottage/farmhouse, where the housekeeper lived. Despite that, it was superbly furnished, with log fires and - most important of all - almost unlimited quantities of hot water for its radiators and massive, old-fashioned baths. Danes very rarely have bathtubs, sticking almost exclusively to showers. But there is nothing like a big hot bath to relax in after a day-long walk over the fells. I didn't have time to examine the plumbing system, but it must have been enormous.

As in Denmark, winter came early to Scotland this year. There were huge chunks of ice in the river (see below), and the track was pretty treacherous in an ordinary car. In the river valley, it gradually thawed during the week, but there was still plenty of snow up on the peaks. On the last day, we "bagged a munro", the term used to describe climbing one of the 284 peaks in Scotland that are more than 3,000 feet (almost 1,000 metres), which was first coined by Sir Hugh Munro in 1891. In summer, this would have required no more than a breezy stroll; but not in winter. Fortunately, our team leader had crampons and an ice axe, which he used to cut steps for the rest of us in some of the ice sheets on the steeper bits. Looking back on it, it was quite exciting, but also decidedly hairy at times.

We spent the week going for long walks, followed by tea, a hot bath, and then a big evening meal washed down with copious amounts of alcohol. Each family took it in turns to make all the food for one day, which made the burden fairly easy. On New Year's Eve itself, we had haggis, which was terrific. I put on more than 4 kg during the week, which is not surprising. I have already lost two of those just by not continuing with such a heavy regime.

It was a great way to spend a holiday, particularly one represented by different generations. I suspect we will be doing something similar in two years' time.

Walter Blotscher

Thursday 6 January 2011

SOCIAL NETWORKS

If anybody doubts the power of modern social networks, then two stories this week ought to have changed that.

The first is the US$500 million investment in Facebook by Goldman Sachs and a Russian investor. Facebook is a private company, so details are scarce; but sources close to the deal have let it be known that it gives a valuation to the company of around US$50 billion. That's a serious value for a company that started as recently as 2004, and whose revenues are still only around US$2 billion (though that is still a lot in 7 years). However, what it does have is an awful lot of information about you, me and lots and lots of other people. And that does have value.

The other concerns Ashley Kerekes, a slightly goofy 22-year old babysitter from Massachusetts. Fondly called Ashes by her boyfriend, she has a Twitter address @theashes. Unfortunately, as sports afficionados know, the Ashes are a hugely important cricket contest between England and Australia. When the latest series opened in Brisbane on Thanksgiving Day, Ms. Kerekes started getting Twitter messages from cricket fans on her mobile phone, usually during the middle of the night. Bolstered by her now famous return tweets "I am not a freaking cricket match" and "what the heck is a wicket?", her fan base rapidly rose to 13,500 followers. One of those followers then had the idea of bringing a person who knew nothing about cricket out to Australia in order to watch the last test. An airline chipped in with some free tickets, and lo and behold, Ms. Kirekes and her boyfriend were soon having lunch with former Aussie captain Steve Waugh, meeting the Australian Prime Minister, and giving interviews with Aggers on Test Match Special.

By the time the Ashes are next played, in England in the summer of 2013, Twitter should be an even bigger phenomenon than it is now. It will be interesting to see how many followers Ms. Kerekes has notched up by then. And if she has worked out the rules of the game.

Walter Blotscher

Wednesday 5 January 2011

AN EXPENSIVE FISH

I wouldn't pay 32.49 million yen (almost US$400,000) for a fish, even if I had the money (which I don't). But that is what a couple of restaurant owners in Japan and Hong Kong have just done.

The fish was admittedly rather large, some 342kg in weight. It was also a rare blue fin tuna, which is like the Rolls Royce of sushi. Even so. After allowing for head and bones, we are probably talking about an input price of at least US$1,500 per kg of flesh, and a restaurant sales price of a multiple of that. That makes for some very expensive nibblies.

I know that the Japanese love their sushi. Prices at the first auction of the year at the Tokyo fish market also tend to break records. But if consumers are prepared to pay so much for so little, is it so surprising that the Japanese economy has problems?

Walter Blotscher

Tuesday 4 January 2011

THE 2011 PROJECT

For the past couple of years I have had a major new project each year. In 2009, it was learning to build; and last year it was this blog. Both of those will be continuing this year, but what will be new?

The answer is making a kitchen garden. I have felled a fair number of sycamore trees behind the house, where the wood was encroaching, and have cleared the ground between the stumps. Once the temperature gets above zero - which, apparently, it may not do for the rest of this month - I will get hold of Ole Milkman. He has, or - more correctly - has access to, some big machines for pulling up tree roots and churning up earth, which can be hired for the standard rural price of a couple of bottles of red wine. Once churned, I will sow grass and plant a couple of fruit trees; cherry probably, since we already have so many apple and pear trees.

While he is there, I will also ask him to plough up 50 sqm or so of the paddock for a kitchen garden. That is where the former owners of the house, who were farmers, used to have a kitchen garden, so I will in effect be going back to the original. My mother-in-law says that potatoes are a good thing to start with. So, armed with that advice and the gardening book that my wife gave me for Christmas, potatoes it shall be.

I thought about having a second new project, namely learning to play the drums. However, projects by definition have to have a fair probability of occurring, or they are silly. So I have dropped that one. After all, I doubt that Ole Milkman is also in a band.

Walter Blotscher

Monday 3 January 2011

COMING HOME

I have just come back to Denmark from a week's holiday in the wilds of Scotland. Copenhagen Airport is a much nicer, friendlier, and more efficient place than (say) Stansted; but on this trip, it fell a couple of notches in my estimation. On the way out, it took three attempts to buy a bottle of Christmas schnaps, owing to the complex, and not particularly well signposted, duty rules for flying within and outside the E.U. Tempers were then frayed even more, when I dropped the bottle and smashed it, just before going through passport control. On the way back, the baggage handlers went on strike, which led to long delays in the reclaim area and a fair amount of jostling with the Turkish Airlines passengers from Istanbul, who ended up on the same carousel. As you may well have gathered, I don't like flying very much.

It was cold in Scotland, but has been even colder in Denmark, with a number of nights at minus 15 degrees or more (well, less, really). Our car was like a fridge when we found it in its street parking place, with the windows frozen on both the outside and the inside (thankfully it started first time). The snow that had been on the ground at home when we left was still there when we got back, albeit rather dirtier and harder. When combined with a light drizzle of new snow this evening, our yard was turned into an ice rink. It's a fair bet that I will be snow clearing again tomorrow.

After an 18-hour journey that started in the dark at 2.30 am, I am pretty knackered. So it's going to be a quick game of badminton, one of the last Christmas beers, and then an early night.

Walter Blotscher