Marmite

Having nothing better to do on a Wednesday evening, I drove 90 minutes for a talk (and a free dinner) and 90 minutes back again the same evening, late at that. The talk was about the future development of ‘Greater Cambridge’ presented by the Chairman of the Cambridge Development Corporation.

Last week, I was up and down to London more times than a pogo-stick warrior on a sugar high. I went from a debate about should we abolish our monarchy (‘Mexit’), to whether we should back or bin net zero (‘Nexit’), and a reassessment of all things Brexit (‘Brexit’) almost ten years after the Glorious Revolution ... I mean 'Referendum'. (Or do I?) The following highlights aren’t what I’d anticipated I’d blog about. Just goes to show that a week of politics makes strange unintended consequences (I cannot so much mix as mash my clichés).

I’m taking a break from blogging about Plato – yes, that Plato – to rise to a challenge set by a blog fan. Responding to ‘ 2026 and all that ’, he remarked: “You almost had me feeling sorry for Hinton [CEO, South East Water]. Given what’s happened since, I bet you can’t carry on being nice to him.” A bet? How much? Game on!

This blog title sounds like the opening salvo of a Boxing Day football score, something like: ‘Forest City 1 –  Meadow Town 0’. Except it’s not. Forest City 1 (FC1) is actually the uninspiring moniker of a mega-development concept spearheaded by a former Guardian journalist in partnership with a 28-year-old something-or-other and backed by a one-time Labour Secretary of State. I’m tempted to stop now but, in the seasonal spirit of following a star in the hope it’ll lead me to the promised land, I’ll persevere. For now. 

Britain is blessed with a lorra lorra very clever people, don’t ya think? They have the answer – one answer – to all our nation’s problems; it’s not ‘42’ but it’s equally as daft. If the problem is how to save the NHS, then tax the rich. Build more affordable homes? Tax the rich. Achieve net-zero? Tax the rich. Stop all sewage pollution? Tax the rich. Improve educational standards? Tax the rich. You get the picture.

To all the Trump-toasting tariff-trashers out there, like Stewart and Campbell (sounds like a re-run of the battle of Culloden) and their dumbbell devotees, here’s a simple home truth. No one knows what’s going to happen as a result of Trump’s Tariffs (TTs), because it all depends on how other nations respond. Retaliatory tariffs will have a very different outcome from a plethora of trade agreements, both including and excluding the USA. Nations also have the option of playing around with their exchange rates, interest rates and taxes. Or nuking New Jersey.

But the problem is not Teesside Mayor, Lord (Ben) Houchen of High Leven; au contraire, he’s part of the solution. The problem is that it’s impossible to effectively deliver on a demonically complicated, conflicted, conflated, mega-sized mega-faceted project by tenaciously following the rule book and ticking all the boxes. A compromise has to be made between outcomes and process – if you want more favourable outcomes then you have to cut corners on process.

No prizes for guessing what this refers to. No, not the BBC; that’s just a cow. I’m talking about the NHS. If it’s not the elderly being discharged prematurely from hospital, it’s bereaved parents being lied to, sepsis sufferers being told to take paracetamol, paperwork filed incorrectly leading to precipitous prognoses, or the vulnerable being butchered on the perverted altar of transgenderism. Whatever happened to First, Do No Harm? The NHS mantra is now: First, Cover Our Arse; or even First, Woke Our Outcomes.

One year ago, her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II died. One day ago, my friend H asked me to write a blog about Britain’s disappearing, or disappeared, work ethic. The late Queen’s work ethic was unparalleled. She never retired. She studied her briefs. She was an example to everyone. The Daily Mail marked the anniversary of her death with accounts of the day, as told by senior guardsmen at the heart of the preparations for her funeral.

I've blown the dust off this October-2022 blog and reposted it in the light of today's Daily Telegraph article here  and excellent commentary here exonerating Truss and Kwarteng. As I said at the time, the Blob was / is to blame for the extent of our economic ills, not Batman and Robin.

This blog title sounds incongruous, but we’re used to the mantra ‘death is part of life’; ‘change is part of stability’ is simply a non-morbid variation. John Lewis losses One thing that got me thinking about this was the current predicament of John Lewis and the possibility, floated by Chairman Dame Sharon White, that a necessary cash injection might be needed from outside investors, which is at odds with the long-standing model of employee-only ownership. The company lost £234m last year and has to do something, but those who ought to know better don’t even want to consider Dame Sharon's obvious and sensible idea.

I mentioned in my previous blog (here) that top industry bosses, especially water, are lambasted for their huge salaries, whereas footballers, actors and so-called singers aren’t. I called it “inconsistent moral grandstanding”.  Coincidentally, the CEO of Thames Water, Sarah Bentley, was interviewed on the Today programme earlier this week, and whichever left-leaning, doesn’t-understand-the-meaning-of-the-word-impartial presenter it was gave her a hard time about her £2m p.a. remuneration package. To be honest, it was a fair line of questioning. However, later in the programme he interviewed a 'mermaid', which I assume is the latest twist in this gender-ID nonsense. The two of them bitched about the CEO’s salary like two prepubescent schoolkids complaining about a prefect behind her back. A good professional journalist / radio presenter would have remained neutral or, preferably, got her to divulge what she thought the CEO should be paid and whether she believed that anyone wo...

Who knew that socks were a muse? It got so late this morning that Hubby decided to risk life and limb by suggesting I swap my PJs for actual clothes, and maybe comb my hair and find some earrings. That didn’t go down well because: a) I was warm and cosy, b) I wasn’t going out so why bother, c) I was busy writing a blog and d) he’s not the boss o’ me.  Having obviously got out of bed the wrong side himself, he persisted with, “Another bloody blog?”  Donations in lieu of flowers, please.