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
Thursday, 8 April 2010
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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