Langjökull

Dropped by the Icelandic Met Office site and noted the illustrated strong Earthquake swarm about thirty kilometres northeast of the Langjökull glacier. As usual, without other data there are no conclusions as to what, if anything, this portends. Still, four tremors of 3.0 and above plus supporting cast in a very small geographic area indicate either there's something bubbling under, or there's a small highly localised war going on.

Update: A level 4 shock has occurred in the past twelve hours within the critical 10km depth range. Something's having an active Halloween. Maintaining a watching brief.

Update: While the Eyjafjallajokull volcanic eruption in Iceland is declared over, news is breaking of a suspected sub glacial eruption at the Grímsvötn volcano. The much vaunted Katla remains quiescent.

Anonymity in BC

If one misguided person gets their way, it looks like the last sperm donors in Canada will lose their right of anonymity.

For what appears no better reason than the rather selfish "But I want to know!" One lawsuit threatens to screw a lot of good people who desperately want to be parents and haven't the biological wherewithal to produce children the old fashioned way. Cui bono? To whose benefit? It's a big lose-lose all round.

This is wrong on so many levels that it makes my eyeballs spin. Stripping people of their anonymity where no wrong is either intended or done is counter productive, and will ultimately force childless couples south of the border in search of genetic material to father a child they cannot produce themselves.

This is not to say that there should not be some form of regulation regarding donors. Whilst there is no issue with donors needing proper testing to eliminate genetic diseases and potentially harmful recessives, what does bother me is the trivial nature of the lawsuit, and the law of unintended consequences lurking just around the corner.

The UK has made this mistake, with the effect that sperm donation has dropped off the face of a cliff, thus reducing the gene pool available to potential parents. Said potential parents are now reduced to going to less well regulated clinics outside of Britain. No-one wants to give, free of charge, their own bodily secretions to have the result turn up on their doorstep demanding recognition some twenty or so years later. I mean think of the awkwardness factor alone. How would they introduce themselves? "Hi there. I'm your ejaculation." springs to mind. No doubt once the door of donor anonymity is prised open, another lawyer will be after financial support from sperm or egg donors.

One more good reason for the judge to dismiss the plaintiff's case; families are complex and fragile things. Who can tell how one's spouse of the moment would react if, in your forties, a young man or woman turned up on your doorstep, barging their way into your family life and demanding recognition? I've seen what my wife's ex did to his daughters with the revelation of a new half sister. Speaking as an interested bystander, I was not impressed. Neither were my stepdaughters.

There is so much more to being a parent than mere biology, as I've found out for myself. A simple biological contribution isn't enough to qualify. Being a parent is about mutual learning, shared affection, commitment, and a whole Himalayan sized spoil heap of heartbreak, joy, and sheer hard bloody work. It's not just an issue of gametes. Only a complete Sociopath looks at it that way.

As for the facile "If you don’t want to be identified, don’t be a donor." statement on the part of the plaintiff. That demonstrates outright contempt for the rights of others. People have the right to a past, they have a right to family life, they also have a right to privacy providing they have committed no crimes, and to steamroller over those rights just because one person has to know is just plain wrong and ultimately to the detriment of many others, past and future.

I'm sorely tempted to call the plaintiff in this case a silly selfish entitlement-seeking bitch, but I'm far too polite for that.

Ready...

Only three arrows? Well, you only shoot three per flight anyway, and the rest of my shafts are in transit.

Bow is set up to grab and go. Rather like my fishing rod outside the back door.

Simply can't be arsed to comment on the final days of the Warmists, the self destructive industrial strife back in the old country, or the necessary cuts to ensure there will is enough money in the kitty to meet next weeks public payroll. Just one thought; has it occurred to anyone else out there that striking to prevent job losses is on a par with fucking to preserve virginity?

TTFN.

Shooting practice

Last night I realised how very out of kilter my shooting muscles were, although towards the end the arrows were grouping nicely as releases stopped being snatched and long disused muscle regained its memory. Would have improved still more, but decades old plastic had become friable, and a minor component on my bow broke, cutting short practice by an hour.

The indoor range at the Fish and Game Protective Association clubhouse only has an eighty inch ceiling, which meant the upper limb of my bow kept catching as I shot, which didn't help. Ended up in a shooting posture slightly reminiscent of a half splitz to get enough headroom for my ageing 68" recurve. Most of the other guys were shooting compounds and short recurves, or weren't as tall, so didn't have the same issues. Nice to see fathers and sons (and daughters) learning the art together. Nothing formal or intense, just some general plinking and the pleasure of a shared past-time.

Over here the emphasis is on hunting rather than formal target shoots. The shots that tend to count are those that put meat in the freezer, rather than pin-hole golds, or repeating the same action perfectly a hundred times. Which rather reflects the driving source of the sport. Modern European archery derives from the practices necessary to support a skilled medieval army with its deadly ranks of longbowman capable of decimating massed cavalry charges. Canadian, and North American practice derives more from the need to fill the pot. It is the art derived from the solitary, the thoughtful and dedicated hunter, where the attitude and practice come more from fieldcraft rather than delivering volley after aimed volley.

Still, a nice bunch of people there, none of the preening gadget worship once regularly encountered in the British club scene. Also a refreshing lack of the sneering one upmanship that drove me away from the sport over a decade ago. Now you turn up to shoot, socialise, do a bit of instinct shooting, pass on what knowledge you have to newbies. No-one judging. No-one picking up on your every minor 'flaw' and making a big deal out of it to bolster their own flagging little ego. It's all far more relaxed. Rather like Canadians in general over here on the Island.

And by the same token, so am I.

Body is still three time zones out of kilter, but closing rapidly. Normal service will resume shortly. Until then, there will be a short interlude.

Wot I did on my 'olidays, by Bill Sticker

My body clock is still set to mid Atlantic time, and that's why I'm wide awake at four in the bloody morning, typing this post. No doubt it will catch up shortly.

It's good to be home. The dog is glad to see me at least, and I was treated to a thorough washing when we arrived around midnight on Friday / Saturday after thirty hours of travelling. Well, when I say travelling, I mean sitting around trying to read in uncomfortable seats lined with other people's elbows. At one point my shoulders were so compressed they almost got cramp. Didn't quite need painkillers, but it was a close run thing.

I am very glad to be out of England. Coming back to Vancouver was blessed relief to see clean streets and decent(ish) public transport. Although I'm not too happy with the antics of BC Ferries, whose decision to charge Taxi companies for the privilege of transporting customers to and from their Departure Bay terminal left me with no other option than to walk two miles in the rain at the end of a thirty hour trip. I was steaming. I mean what is the point of having a taxi rank on your premises if there are no bloody Taxis? Don't know what BC ferries are up to. It doesn't make sense. You don't shut the shop door when you need every punter you can get FFS!

Anyway, that's beside the point. Next time we fly in to Nanaimo Airport. At least you can get a cab home from there. Lesson learned young Bill. Don't do it again.

Right; Blighty. What can I say about it? What a Curate's Egg of a country. While there are some wonderfully scenic places and welcoming faces I'm afraid that these are overshadowed by the grubby damp officious greyness of the rest.

In some ways modern urban Britain reminds me of a suburban student party long since over. The furniture is covered in cigarette butt choked glasses, the bathroom and kitchen are trashed, the place reeks of stale booze, smoke, and bodily fluids, there are discarded undergarments in the toilet, the last of the drunks is scavenging the tables, and there are strange bodies in half the bedrooms.

The whole place needs a thorough clean out, fumigate and redecorate to be fit for decent human habitation. The damp course could probably use some work too, and then there's the neighbours, who are also having to face up to the long dark economic hangover of their collective souls, even though some are noisily protesting that the party isn't over until they say it is, despite the drinks cupboard and larder being empty. Oh, and no-one's got any more money to go down the shops for any more. Yes, and you've found out that the ravishing beauty / muscled hunk you shagged last night is just as big a saggy minger as the face currently greeting you in the mirror. At least economically speaking.

The party is most definitely over, and unless someone decides to clean up properly, the whole neighbourhood will go downhill faster than a Teflon coated pig on glass.

On our twelve hundred mile road trip, we avoided London, stayed near Falmouth, whisked past Bristol, skirted Birmingham, stayed in Leeds and Manchester. Falmouth is very Olde England with it's tight windy streets and wind whistled granite. The centre of Leeds is quite pleasant with all it's late Victorian brick built grandeur. As for Manchester, ahem, well, how do I put this gently; I've seen cleaner portaloos on a building site. It's almost as bad as I remember Brum. And everywhere we went the walls were peppered with 'To Let' signs. In almost every town we went to, there were whole streets of boarded up premises in the more economically depressed areas.

Well, that's all I care to remember from the trip. I think I need a couple of weeks off to recuperate.

The greatest threat to the planet is....

Well, according to Will Franken (No relation to Al) it's 'Global Rounding'. OMG! WE'RE ALL DOOOOOMED!

H/T to those very clever chaps over at Wattsupwiththat.com

My arm is whole

Have just reassembled one of my two bows preparatory to tuning and begun the long slow process of restoring my shooting muscles to usable standard. There is a sensation, which must be not unlike regaining one's sight or sense of smell. The rediscovery of the joy in a long disused skill. There's something very pleasing about the dynamic heft and feel of a bow. The conversion from mute components into a living thing with a will that says "I live."

Now I know this is pretty subjective, but if you can't indulge your subjectivity once in a while, then self awareness becomes somewhat over-rated. I suppose it's one of the reasons I love shooting a bow rather than a gun. With a gun, all you get are the recoil and the smell, with a bow, you become the weapon. For me there's always been a large element of Zen in shooting.

Whole post over on 'Archery related stuff'

Leaving

Am freshly jetlagged and back home in wonderful British Columbia. Thankfully back in the bosom of friends and neighbours with much to celebrate. Although if it had been down to some half trained half wits we'd still be stuck in a certain UK airport. I recount the following hilarious episode for the edification and caution of my reader.

Passport check before check in;
Functionary. "Passports please." Slightly surprised at the challenge, we dutifully handed over our ID for scrutiny. There was a brief pause. "Can't let you board"
Me. "Pardon?" Who is this person? They work for the airline? WTF?
Functionary. "You haven't got the right visa for Canada." What?
Me. "Oh yes I have." Point out correct piece of paper in passport.
Functionary. "It should be there."
Me. "Excuse me, I've had to learn Canada's immigration rules from the inside out and there's no such ruling." Bill Sticker's patented steely gaze is brought out of cold storage and applied liberally at this point. The 'don't screw with me bozo' look fulfils it's function. My wife tells me my eyes express my inner anger quite adequately.
Functionary. "Oh." (Thoroughly browbeaten with brief look of confusion) Puts 'approved' sticker on passport.
Me. "Thank you." Delivered in very careful and formal tones to express that no thanks whatsoever are due to said Functionary. We move on without looking back.
Mrs S. "What was all that about?" Said my wife in a bewildered aside.
Me. "Come on Hon, let's go."

We move to the next episode at the Check in desk. People with slightly overweight bags are being humiliated into repacking their smalls in front of a long weary queue. I raise an eyebrow at this, but otherwise maintain silence.

Check in.
Hand luggage presented which came across with us from Canada. It is actually a specially designed piece of luggage manufactured to the airlines specifications. There was no problem with it when we left, and none was anticipated, but;
Check in person. "We can't take that as hand luggage."
Me. "Pardon?"
Check in person. "It's too big."
Me. "It was bought to your airlines specifications. Have the rules changed in the last three weeks?" Is someone deliberately trying to get us angry? If so, they've succeeded. Mrs S is flushed and visibly upset.
Check in person. "It has to be able to fit in that cage." Points out battered looking blue tube steel construction carrier. Baggage presented, fits. So where's the fucking problem bozo? By the way; why do so many male airline staff affect that stupid camp accent? It's very irritating. Bewildered look at Check in person.
Check in person. "It has to fit under the arrow." The baggage is the right size. We got told this both by the manufacturer and check in at Vancouver. It was bought for this specific purpose and has been used on several transatlantic flights since without comment.
Me. "Supervisor. Now." Mrs S is about to explode, and I'm not far behind her. We've been on the road for the past few days and we're visibly tired, and getting angrier by the nanosecond.
Check in person. "There's no-one available."
Me. "We'll wait." It is helpful at this point to imagine my words being delivered with the speed and spin of physical slaps. Apologetic remarks are exchanged with people behind us in the queue. These are of course delivered in a gentler, more placatory tone. Sympathetic gestures of mutual frustration exchanged. Check in person is blushing furiously and will not meet the Bill Sticker patented steely gaze. This impasse continues for almost ten minutes. Supervisor, a youthful bespectacled person; arrives, and with fingers ticking off points as though memorised, informs us that Check in person is "Just doing their job." We stand our ground. Bag is cleared because it is plain that Check in person has included the handle in overall dimension. The poor level of training is transparent, and the manically tick box driven delivery of service abrasive. After much unnecessary glaring and increased blood pressure, the matter is resolved to my grim satisfaction. Result; Airline Nil, Bill Sticker 2.

It is interesting to observe that both Mrs S and I moved through security and passport control five minutes later almost without breaking step. The aforementioned frustrations were meted out purely at the hands of airline staff. Call this customer service? Because I bloody well don't.

Now while one appreciates that no-one wants to be saddled with the extra cost of having to transport deported passengers back to their point of origin, or have their aircraft too heavy to get off the ground, one would like to think that the people who make the day to day decisions should receive better training in the rules and their proper application, and their people skills. Needless to say, 'air cattle truck' will not receive our custom again. No matter how cheap they are.

More tales of discumbuggeration at the hands of UK officialdom to follow when I'm properly rested. What a country! I'm so glad I don't live there any more.

Counting down....

To leaving Englands dismal shores. Despite numerous minor glitches, everyone is well and we are shortly returning home to Vancouver Island. All our worldlies are ready to go, and to be honest, there was less than it of we thought. Mostly of sentimental value.

We're resting for a day or two up in't North and with one more stopover to go, Mrs S and I are looking forward to sleeping in our own bed under our own roof once more. The dog will be glad to see us I'm sure. The following week promises to be busy as we play catch up at work.

Had dinner with my folks last night and was awarded a rare accolade from elder sibling, who vouchsafed that Mrs S and I had done the right thing in jumping ship. "The country's fucked." Was his accurate but succinct assessment of the UK's current situation. Fucked royally by New Labour, and fucked for a generation at least. The symptoms are there for those that care to look. There is no need for me to reiterate them. Far greater minds than mine have enumerated the damage.

My Mother is well, and enjoying herself enormously with a discourteous neighbour who obviously thinks he can pull the wool over a little old ladies eyes. Mother has received discourteous communications demanding that she does what he says, or else. Said unreasonable inhabitant is about to get a masterclass drubbing from an expert for his trouble; and that's all I'm going to say on the matter. Apart from heh, heh, heh.

Most of the above is now academic for Mrs S and myself. We have moved into the next phase of our life in Canada. I'm looking forward to it.

Saturday drive

Am down at Mother in laws. Weather is fine, family party tonight which we're all looking forward to. Mrs S, the girls, sister in law and mother in law have all gone out on a preparatory shopping expedition.

This left me on my tod with the vague idea of going out for a drive, stopping near a deserted beach and taking a stroll along the sand for an hour or two.

Now this would have been a spiffing idea but for one thing; no parking. Well, no free parking at least. Even in the off season, local authorities and the National Trust charge for the privilege of turning off your engine and applying the handbrake within a mile of the coast. They charge like a Rhinoceros with a hangover and a Land Rover fixation. Most places I've been today charge in the region of four to five bucks simply to stop. No facilities. No managed paths, trails, whatever. Yours truly had made the cardinal error of forgetting to take any loose change with him, so, nowhere to stop. After three fruitless hours I went back to base camp.

With regard to parking; what do they need all this parking money for, these cash strapped local authorities? Can't be the roads, there seem to be more potholes and cracked surfaces than ever before. Lines worn out and only the newest speed limit signs looking anywhere near neat. Can't be facilities, there don't seem to be any more public services provided since I last passed this way four years ago. Well, nothing obvious or useful, at any rate. The car parks themselves seem in fairly poor repair, with rutted and cratered surfaces resembling a lunar landscape. Can't be street cleaning. I've not seen sidewalks this grubby since I worked in London and Birmingham several years ago. This in a tourist area? Impressed? Not in the slightest. Yet I'm told a South Western English council chief executive, who is troughing over a hundred grand a year, that's pounds, not dollars, has balked at calls for him to take a ten percent salary cut. Personally, having worked in the public sector, I've always thought Council Chief Execs aren't worth more than two thirds of the salaries they get paid. With things in the state they are, I'd say no-one in the local public sector is worth more than sixty five thousand a year.

If what I've heard is halfway true, Council tax and Business rates are strangling the English private sector. There's an ever decreasing revenue stream as small businesses go under and aren't replaced. They're even spending taxpayer cash on pictures in disused shop fronts. It's supposed to 'stimulate' trade, but if the businesses can't afford to set up shop, what's the point?

How can local authorities justify these huge paypackets? No new services. Poorly maintained, overpriced infrastructure and excessive regulation. I've never seen so many signs saying "Don't". The only new local authority funded items I've seen are the extra signage, and the ever present plague of speed cameras and parking ticket machines. So where's all the money going / gone?

Maybe it's the windmills. Saw lots of them turning quite rapidly today. Stopped our hired car in a nearby layby, expecting to feel quite a stiff breeze when I got out. The air at ground level was quite still, with nary a leaf stirring on nearby trees. Yet here were these big three bladed wind turbines spinning away at what looked like a steady 50rpm. Almost as though they were being kept turning for show. Funny that. Or not, if you're one of the poor bastards stumping up for it all.

In Blog Memorium

Through many countries and over many seas
I have come, Sister, to these melancholy rites,
to show this final honour to the dead,
and speak (to what purpose?) to your silent blog,
since now fate takes you, even you, from us.
Oh, Sister, ripped away from us so cruelly,
now at least take these last offerings, blessed
by the tradition of our parents, gifts to the dead.
Accept, by custom, what a brother’s tears drown,
and, for eternity, Sister, ‘Hail and Farewell’.

With many apologies to the shade of Gaius Valerius Catallus

To her assassins;

Evil to you, evil Shades
of Orcus, destroyers of beauty.

In Blog Memorium Anna Racoon. A victim of lesser minds.

Coffee....... I need coffee.....

We're stuck at Mother in laws for the next few days and in spite of momentous news recently there is one issue I have with the UK. This obsession with the low-fat, low-this, low-that, low esteem and low everything. I mean, no wonder you're in such a mess. And you've still got an obesity 'epidemic'. From observation, one just as prevalent as in the USA or Canada.

For anyone interested, the true cause of the obesity 'crisis' is easy to see; Television. Too much time spent sitting on an ever expanding arse in front of vacuous shit like the X-Factor and Soap operas. Sit on bum watching TV, food input exceeds energy output; goes into the bodies natural storage system - excess fat. Simples.

Regardless of the above; my specific issue is this; there is no cream or sugar in the house, and my mother in laws 'sweeteners' taste like chemical waste. I brought my own coffee supply with me, but it's ruined by the lack of sugar and cream. I mean, what is wrong with people? They take all the good things out of life, which in moderation are actually good for you. What do they replace it with? Stuff that will probably kill you faster and tastes like toxic sludge. Don't even get me started on instant coffee. Serving that to guests is an insult and should be classed as a crime against humanity.

Apart from spending small fortunes in Costa and Starbucks I'm caught in a living hell. Take me home to Canada, I'm ready.

Update: Walked into four coffee shops this morning. "Large medium roast coffee with cream please." I said, taking a seat. The waiting staff in three of the four establishments looked at me as if I'd just arrived from another planet. Had to check the nearest mirror in case I'd suddenly grown horns and a tail. Maybe it was just my accent, which has taken on distinct transatlantic overtones. Distinctly unsettling.

Settlers effects

Have been busy listing and dumping stuff from storage with many a "Why did you want to keep that?" Between Mrs S and myself. Am over the jet lag, but now am suffering from list lag. We've pared everything down to under two cubic metres which will (should) arrive at our Canadian address just before Christmas. The thing is, everything must be listed and detailed for customs, which is proving a minor but time consuming chore.

The old country hasn't changed much since I was last here, although there seem to be even more signs saying "Don't" than ever. Well, you voted for the buggers and what did they do? The holier than thou finger waggers are still much in evidence (a.k.a.'the righteous'), although certain regulations have been observed being openly flouted. That's the problem with the 'ban everything' mindset. The more rules you have, the more they need to be enforced, and the more intrusion, the more the enforcement is resented.

Have been visiting old friends and catching up on gossip and had cause to chortle at the justice life inflicts upon the unjust. Still visiting family etc. The news is very good, and means I need to take time out to think through future plans long held in abeyance. There's a lot of pent up emotional and mental energy being released right now. Rather like the biggest sigh of relief in the whole wide world. Yet there's too much to do to start celebrating right now. Appointments to be completed, last ticks in boxes made, and one final session of nail biting to go through. Although if I reach my elbows I'll not be best pleased. My manicurist will also be livid, dahlings.

Some 'holiday'. When we get back to Canada I'm going to need a rest.

Mood set to..............

Currently in receipt of what could be very good news for Mrs S and myself.

Happy for the rescued Chilean miners, and anyone else out there with even the slightest motivation to keep breathing. I know some miserable bugger will try to put a crimp in our day because they can't stomach the happiness of others, but for the moment we're good. Very good indeed. Despite my Mothers ill tempered moggy and being the wrong side of the Atlantic.

Jet lag

Just got a mobile internet thing sorted out and am ensconced in the UK. First thoughts; how do people live in anything this small? Cars, houses, roads, minds. Second thoughts; who are these people wearing black tents? Third thoughts; my body clock stopped ticking for a while there, and instead started going ping-chok-bok-whing-cuckoo! At intervals of it`s own choosing.

We flew over first via Floatplane, which was fun, and thence on what we've taken to calling 'Air Cattle Truck', on a charter flight. The Floatplane I'd gladly do again, the charter flight no. I've had a bellyful of cramped seats with no legroom, and being woken up by a massive crackling, rustling, sussuration as a tin cylinders worth on humanity latches on to the paper and cellophane packed content of the 'complementary meal'. Meal yes, complimentary no. There were calories in it I'm sure, and it's amazing what you'll eat and drink when you're hungry. I even tolerated instant tea performing it's Torquemada like ministrations on my tastebuds. It goes without saying that sleep was at a premium.

Well, Mrs S and I are in the UK currently visiting friends and family, being interrogated by mine in a "What were you doing? When? Ve-are-asking-ze-qvestions-pigdog!" Fashion, and getting the big huggy tearful stuff from hers. I don't know which style feels worse. Fortunately we have now have a little USB mobile internet thingy, which puts us back in touch with the online world. Thank goodness also for old friends who bring a drop of sanity and laughter to our mission here.

Said mission is the arrangement and despatch of the last of our worldly settlement effects to home in Canada. There looks to be less of it than I remember. Which should reduce the bill somewhat. Mainly books and photographs. We won't be taking DVD's and electronics. All our old stuff is way out of date now. The recycle store looms for much of it.

As an aside. Re; British TV. I don't know how anyone watches that without a total suspension of disbelief, or disconnect of their critical thinking facility. Was briefly treated to the pseudo-emotive claptrap of 'Strictly come dancing' and like all unpleasant experiences, was deeply grateful when it was all over. Whiskey was required.

On that subject I have to watch the alcohol consumption as I'm driving. We hired something from the local rent-a-wreck equivalent. What the hell, it was cheap. But the engine sounds rough, and the passenger side door has a large quadruple ding in it like it's been sideswiped by a bicycle. It was like this when we picked it up, and the fault was registered, so no penalty payments on our credit card. No cyclists were harmed. Allegedly.

Driving in the UK again takes some getting used to. Still not fully up to speed, and steering to the windy side of the law. Don't you guys use your horns a lot? The almost sedate point and shoot (By comparison) Canadian style driving is much less stressful. Even the road works are different. In BC you don't see so much highway coned off and unattended. The construction crews come in, fix the problem and disappear. They have a bunch of guys with walkie-talkies and some 'stop' signs organising the flow of traffic in a folksy kind of fashion. You even get almost balletic performances and cheerful waves from them.

The recession over here has meant oddly enough, that customer service in some stores has improved. The surliness quotient of the average UK desk clerk has reduced to almost pleasant, but the remainder seem to be puzzled by this as if it isn't natural, in a way simply not British.

What the hell, I'm no longer a native here. I'm a tourist. In the very land I was born in. Weird sensation really

What I would say to David Cameron (If he could be bothered to ask - which he won't)

This video shows how the rot goes right to the top. Reduce 'carbon' emissions by ten percent says Cameron. He and Huhne thoroughly support the '10:10 initiative'. So does David Cameron want to see children killed over a difference of opinion as well? Well do you Mr Cameron? Personally, I don't think he gives a shit one way or the other. The whole 'Carbon reduction' thing is just a sop, a pseudo green 'vote spinner', a cheap soundbite to spoon feed the unreasoning and gullible.

The thing that truly bothers me is, how can people in responsible positions become so isolated from reality? I'm all for lessening pollution, which Carbon Dioxide is not; being an inert, colourless trace gas and product of combustion / breathing, but the other pollutions continue. The cyclic change in climate should be the least of our worries. Although we in the west now enjoy cleaner air and water, all we've done is export our industrial pollution to Indian and China, rather like all the 'anti-cruelty' movement achieved was to export meat production to countries with lower standards of animal husbandry than the UK.

To Pratchettise; the 'CO2 drives climate' meme is a 'lie to morons'. One of those untruths you tell people because you don't think they're capable of understanding the real subject matter. It's also easier than admitting that you don't really know.

I know I'm only one voice shouting in the wilderness, but if even I can see what's wrong, how come people who are supposed to be better informed not get it? Maybe they're so surrounded by their courtiers and sycophants that no-one close has the guts to tell them they're wrong. Oh well, it'll all end in tears, and they won't be mine. Well, not as many as there might be at any rate.

Well, I've said it before, and I'll keep on saying it; Cameron is the new Heath. I'm embarrassed to even share the same nationality.

H/T to James Delingpoles Telegraph blog for the nauseating 10:10 video above.

Packing

Passport, flights booked, ensuring dog looked after while we're gone tomorrow. Heading off to see what's happened to the old country since I've been gone, before coming home to BC. Will mostly be on the road visiting relatives and old friends to show off my tan. May post pictures, but won't have much time to write. Although I haven't even left and already I'm looking forward to the flight home.

On the plus side, I do get a ride in one of these. Now that I am looking forward to.

The inevitable Downfall parody of 10:10

Does this come under 'fair use'? No doubt the short sighted owners will think not and demand the video parodies withdrawal. Yet if I was the copyright owners of 'Downfall' I'd let them keep it posted, purely for the free marketing.

However, the main focus should be lobbying one's elected representatives demanding that public funding for all so-called 'Carbon' charities (Carbon Trust, ActionAid etc) be withdrawn pending a full public enquiry.

The 'Green' lobby want those who disagree with them dead? Well I don't want to see them dead. Destitute, impoverished, bankrupt yes, but most certainly not dead. In the words of Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz; "Death's too good for them."



The spoof Curtis interview is pretty good, too.

H/T Grumpy old twat, you faker. You're back on the sidebar.

Fallibility

Was commenting on this thread of James Delingpoles blog on the importance of lobbying one's elected representative. I made comment as follows;

Am awaiting reply from letters to MP and MEP's asking for a moratorium on public funding to ActionAid, Carbon Trust etcetera, who gave the majority of funding for the offending 10:10 video. Pending of course a full public enquiry. Failure of response will not be deemed acceptable.

It goes without saying that the more people that lobby their elected representatives the better. After all, they need communication from us, or how else are they to know the public mind?

To which I received this reply from a gentleman styling himself ScouseBilly

"how else are they to know the public mind? "

By controlling/managing it through compliant media.

"Of course the people don't want war. But after all, it's the leaders of the country who determine the policy, and it's always a simple matter to drag the people along whether it's a democracy, a fascist dictatorship, or a parliament, or a communist dictatorship.

Voice or no voice, the people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders. That is easy. All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked, and denounce the pacifists for lack of patriotism, and exposing the country to greater danger."

~Herman Göring at the Nuremberg trials

P.S. I still applaud you, Bill and gave a recommend.

I try normally not to get sucked into this sort of forum debate, but felt minded to reply as follows;

Thank you. However, if our 'leaders' are taking us down the road to perdition, we should be telling them to stop, now. As loudly as possible. If we do not, then we deserve the fallout.

As for 'controlling the public mind'? Really. Some of these people need reminding which side of bed to get out of in the morning. They are just as capable as the rest of us of wandering around with their flies undone or skirt tucked into their knickers.

Lets face it; we're all still little more than hyper-evolved monkeys who can remember which end of a stick to grab. Our leaders are drawn from the same stock, and should therefore not be considered superior beings. They want power and prestige, but need reminding every so often that they have their metaphorical arses out of their trousers about this 'CO2=Climate Change' thing. Even in these economically straitened time, with the public purse in such deep debt that the figurative Bailiffs aren't always at the door, they've moved in; money is still being pissed up the wall at a waste of public time and energy. It is high time the public purse strings on the political vanity item of man made climate change were severed.

The Harper Administration of Canada appears to understand this, and is wisely sitting on the bleachers on this issue until better proofs are available (or not). I wish I could say the same about our Provinces Premier and his team.

On the whole, it's down to John Q Public to read the media, dismiss the greater part as nonsense, and properly research an issue for themselves. Then to hassle their duly appointeds to get on with the job the taxpayer pays them to. Representing them, not merely special interest groups, 'activists', and big business. My point is; if people don't speak up, no bugger is going to do it for them.

What the Green lobby really, really wants

Is this......



Didn't I say it wouldn't be long before the parodies hit Youtube?

Huge H/T to James Delingpole at the Tellytubbygraph.

Now that's satircal. Oh, and so is this:


Big thumbs up to microDave. Oh, and from that cute grey foamy little pet from New York (I think).



I'm with the Squirrel on this one. "You can't go green if you're breathing."

Clothes that fit

On the way back from Victoria, Mrs S and I took a couple of detours to look at properties and land parcels we liked the look of. Just south of Mill Bay off the Island highway I saw an Equestrian supplier and pulled over.

Now the thought of going line dancing is as repulsive to me as any other reasonably sophisticated male over forty, yet I do like the clothing. Not the fancy, covered in so many rhinestones no self respecting male prostitute would be seen wearing, but the plain, sturdy, workaday horse riding gear. Australian Dusters. Oilcloth Drovers hats with a broad brim. Working Jeans that fit like a second skin without having them grab your ass, bind your crotch or fit too baggily or tightly in your important little places. Boots that don't chafe and will last longer than twelve weeks of sustained use. So yes, I like Western style riding kit.

Every time I go shopping for jeans in a regular store I can never get quite get the cut of cloth I need. Yet the stuff this particular Equestrian store stocked found me something in my size first time that fitted like a glove. I was impressed.

Stepping away from the keyboard

Having written to my UK representatives about the incredibly unfunny 10:10 video and requested they investigate, I feel it's time I took a day off, which I intend to spend in Victoria. Mrs S has a meeting there and we are taking time to dispose of two avians with one sedimentary projectile.

There may be beer. There may be steaks. The weather may be sunny. That will do nicely.

Taking the fight to the enemy part 3

Sometimes, as with the current furore over the 10:10 'homicide bomb' video you have to take the opportunity of striking at the very vitals of the enemy. To this end, I spent a couple of hours writing sober, polite and carefully structured letters to my UK MP, MEP, and as many County and district Councillors as I could find e-mail addresses for. Here is a very good starting point for ex-pats like me.

The gist of my letters content was very simple; That I personally was concerned that such content was being shown to children's science classes, where it obviously had no business. Furthermore, I remarked, perhaps it was time for the various 'climate' bodies who gave money for this kind of unchallenged propaganda to have their public funding suspended until various enquiries had been held and properly concluded. Knowing Government enquiries, that could take a long, long time. (Evil snigger)

Am also writing similar gentle letters of complaint to the various commercial sponsors of 10:10 asking them politely to rethink their funding of such bodies. The letters are being written in a very matter of fact manner, indicating that unless the sponsor in question cuts the eco-graft off at source, they will lose customers.

Golden opportunity. Watching the evil sods squirm has been absolutely precious. You'd need a heart of stone not to laugh. At least that is funny. Unlike the video. These are 'Green jobs' we can do without.

Perhaps my other reader would care to follow my example.