Un mauvais quart d'heure

This has not been a fun week.

It seems I have spent six whole days chasing other people's tails and being treated like an unpaid flunky. I am not a happy man. I am unhappy with BA for losing my kids luggage. I am unhappy with BAA for not being able to operate an airport effectively in conditions most other countries don't even blink at. I am unhappy at being on the receiving end of an overload of emotional backlash simply because others can't bloody cope without lashing out.

There is nothing I can physically do, yet I'm expected to. Then be at everyone else's back and call.

On top of that, I have people telling me what I should and should not want. Well I bloody well don't! I need salt to balance my electrolytes, sugar for energy, exercise in the open air and proper rest to enable my body to wind down.

Now I want to say this; I am not yours to command. You have no right. Your problems are not my problems. Fix them yourselves. Grow a pair and grow up!

Now sod off and let me curl into a ball in some dark and neglected corner. Alone. I want the rest of the festering season off. The TV is going off and earplugs are going in.

Human Achievement Hour

As opposed to those sad, ignorant, metaphorically hair shirt wearing people who want to drag humankind back to the bad old days, I shall have all the lights and appliances on this evening. However, I hold no animosity towards those who want us all to switch off, and will invite any of the aforementioned visitors in, while I enthuse about living in a golden age where, oo, lets see;

Few people in our society are starving.
No one (Extreme Naturists aside) goes without clothes on their back, or shoes on their feet.
Travel is relatively safe and easy.
There is clean air where once it was hard to breathe.
The lame are no longer bedridden for life.
There is plenty where once starvation reigned. Sadly not true everywhere, but nobody's perfect.
Humankind can keep the worst of the elements at bay through advanced construction.
We send craft out to explore the local cosmos.
We have machines to delve into the secrets of time and space itself.
We can light and heat entire cities at the mere turning of switches.
When disaster strikes we can quickly come to the aid of those less fortunate.
We can span the mightiest rivers, tunnel under the sea and sculpt mountains.
We can explore those mountains and rivers in relative safety with modern equipment; Kayaking down those mighty rivers, travelling those trackless forests, and going where no man has ever gone before.
All made possible by human enterprise and effort. All life choices are ours.
This should be celebrated.

This is what the whining, credulous, guilt ridden fools want us to give up on the back of their dodgy belief system? I don't think so.

Ross McKitrick co-demolisher of Manns 'Hockey stick' has this to say on the subject of 'Earth Hour'

H/T to Dick Puddlecote for the human achievement hour graphic and Small Dead Animals for the Ross McKittrick article.

Oh, and just for comparison;

Housing poverty; a modest proposal

Every so often, usually around election time or some festival, we have noisy bands of protesters out on the streets demanding that someone 'does something' about an issue. At the moment there's the Olympics, so we have bands of shouting people getting under everyone else's feet with their incessant demands.

One of which is 'end poverty now'. This begs two interesting linked questions; what constitutes 'poverty' and who gets to do the ending? To enlarge; I do volunteer work for various charities and know first hand what the Canadian version of poverty looks like. Homeless people, those with poor housing with hardly any insulation, from the young unemployed to the genteel version of poverty that many 'seniors' are reduced to. It ain't pretty.

While the Olympic celebrations are on downtown I have a question I will be directing at anyone brandishing such a placard about housing and poverty in my face;

"Okay, but what are you personally doing about it? I mean Really. Apart from demanding that 'the government' gives out freebies to all and sundry?"

You see, I see the poor housing but nowhere do I see these shouting mobs actually banding together to put in some extra insulation or lay some new flooring, maybe help clear living space by taking a couple of roomfuls of stuff to the recycle place to help improve the lot of those genuinely in need. Maybe a little help in tidying the front yard occasionally. In my book, ten cents of fixed guttering is worth twenty thousand bucks of replacing a wall.

I see government freebies handed out and going on massive plasma screen TV's and laptop computers while the whole house is falling apart. I see support money going on luxury items like the lottery and alcohol while the rug is soaking in grandma's urine because no one can be bothered to help clean up when she has an 'accident'. Dingy, dusty furnishings garnished with stale spilt food that could be fixed with half an hours work with some furniture cleaner. Curtains that need a run through the washing machine to make them look half way decent and lighten the house and perhaps someone's life. The proverbial lick of paint here and there. Places where an hours dusting and cobweb patrol would bring a little brightness and hope where before was only dinginess and depression. How much effort would that take?

Yet what are the 'anti poverty' protesters doing? Getting under people's feet at what should be a time of celebration, demanding that other people deal with their problems like a bunch of mardy teenagers instead of growing a pair and getting their hands dirty doing some real good. They want 'Government' to do something? I got news for you; 'Government' is a heavy handed and highly inefficient way of 'fixing' poverty. You can throw as much money at 'poverty' as you like, but all you'll get is more poor people with more pointless luxury items.

So here's my challenge to you protesting boys and girls. Treat a homeless person to a wash and brush up and some warm, clean clothing. Go help fix some faulty insulation in a poor persons house. Clear the garbage from their yard. Shine some light into their lives. Go on. Try it as an alternative to simply shouting the odds. I double dare you.

Me? What do I do? Lemme see now. Around ten to twelve volunteer hours a week. Building, fixing, helping with deliveries. I practise what I preach. Hows about you protesters doing that for a change?

A little note on Archery equipment

Comment from the Sea Shepherd forum.

"More likely the arrows were to ber (sic) used to take dna skin samples from whales to do real research. The arrows are fitted with small cookie cutters to take a miniscule wad of whale skin and blubber, real research, the sort of non lethal research the whalers try to bullshit the world that they are doing."

Pure fantasy. That comment is so completely ignorant that it begs for response. Whoever wrote that knows bugger all about arrows or archery. The arrows (or Bolts or Quarrels if you like) displayed are standard shafts fitted with standard target points. 'Cookie cutter' samplers would look quite different, rather like the business end of an endoscope. Furthermore, there are no fixing points on the shafts for retrieval line, essential if using them for mythical Cetacean 'DNA sampling'.

See the video below for how arrows behave in flight. Google Archers Paradox if you don't believe me. As additional proof, here's a slow motion video of an arrow in flight.
Crossbow bolts do not flex so much as they tend to be stiffer, but they do flex in flight, demonstrating a slight up and down flight pattern like the shaft in the video.

Update: Have been looking more closely at the tips of those arrows. They appear in that low resolution shot to have hardened chisel edged points. Not a high res enough shot to definitively identify the make though.

Update on the update: I'm looking at those arrows again. Again, too low res to be sure, but those look like arrow nocks on the back of the shafts. Crossbow bolts tend to have a half moon or blunt nock. Something doesn't quite gel here.

Climategate's HARRY_READ_ME.txt file

For those programmers and analysts currently with time on their hands, click on the title bar for the link to the CRU sourced file 'HARRY_READ_ME.txt'. Even a relatively cursory reading of the documented code is damning. For a less polite analysis, trot over to the Devils Kitchen for a more pejorative view. For those who like a more studied approach, got to this post at Wattsupwithat. I think that nasty smell from Hadley CRU is that of books being cooked.

Oh, and the UK's Daily Telegraph finally makes comment of the released e-mails. I suppose they had to wait for the heads up from their lawyers.

Is all this genuine? Well, no real denials from CRU to date. They'd get verbally ripped to shreds in public. I'm off to Victoria today and simply don't have the time or inclination to comment further. All that hacks me off that the journey will cost more because of pointless carbon taxation, for which I hold the 'Hockey Team' at least partially responsible.

H/T An Englishman's Castle.

Bugger

Was visiting one of the local sports outfitters after work to cast a critical eye over their archery stuff. Came out of the store and a Floatplane came buzzing overhead at less than a hundred feet in a tight port turn over the car park. It disappeared over the other side of the highway, I presume to make a landing at Long Lake in the middle of town.

Wouldn't you just know it! I'd left my camera in the car and missed an absolutely superb opportunity. The third law of Sod paid me a brief but unwelcome visit. However, I console myself thus; If I'd spent any more time in the store I'd have missed the spectacle altogether.

There's something about floatplanes that really floats my boat. I'm readily amused by the thought of taking a trip in one and every time I hear the familiar burring of a piston engine, be it radial or otherwise, I just have to stop what I'm doing and look up. Flying generally is something I look forward to, but for some strange reason I like float planes most of all.

So I was really ticked off at missing such a gift of a photo opportunity. Bugger.

Cat people

In the small little enclave where Mrs S and I have set up home there is little to complain about, yet there are always those who will find something to stir up unrest. Two nights ago I was checking our mailbox to find a plastic encapsulated printed missive regarding 'dog problems' in the area which made certain vague and unspecified, yet sweeping allegations. It signed off as 'concerned citizens'. A term which always raises my hackles as it often contains a sub set of humanity who will not actually make specific complaints or address a problem directly. They're the curtain twitching cowards who can't deal with stuff because no matter the source of complaint, it's always someone else's problem to fix.

By contrast, it's generally expected over here that if you see someone doing something anti-social, you confront and get the offender to fix the problem there and then; For example "Hey! Get your damn mutt outta my yard buddy!" or more often a polite "Would you mind?" with a head tilt to the offending odoriferous pile. It's not a federal matter.

This area, and perhaps the majority of Canada, is amazing. Last year I saw a junkie who had just shot up being given a right royal tongue lashing for dropping his used needle in a bush by a female student. The guy just muttered an apology, picked up the used hypodermic, and then slouched off to the nearest safe disposal point. I couldn't help smiling and thinking; "At last! I've found civilisation."

Meanwhile, back on the subject. To précis, the allegations were as follows; Someone, allegedly had been 'seriously' bitten by a dog.

Okay, this is a problem, so call the wildlife officer and make a specific complaint against the dog in question. Deal with it.

It made unspecified allegations about people being 'frightened' by 'large' dogs on the loose and the beach.

This is news to me, as I walk my dog around this area quite a lot, and the only 'nasty' dogs are three little Bichons that yap aggressively at people as they pass a specific house.

The typewritten note made further allegations about 'aggressive' dogs left to defecate all about and, horror of horrors, not being on the leash at all times.

Okay, I'll partially put my hands up on this one; my dog doesn't like being on the leash at all times but he is obedient and stays close, even if the sneaky little so and so sometimes takes a dump while I'm not looking. Yet there's not an aggressive bone in his body. A sweeter natured animal I've never known.

My strong suspicion is those who dub themselves 'concerned citizens' are Cat people. You know, the owners of small but efficient domestic predators that indiscriminately dig holes in your flower beds and poison the plants with their droppings, kill small birds and other animals up to the size of Jackrabbits, occasionally leaving half eaten carcases on the doormat for an unsuspecting householder to tread on first thing in the morning. And they have the chutzpah to complain about dogs? Sheesh. This sort of stuff is so anal.

Now I grew up with both dogs and cats in the household, and think that a house is not a home without one, the other, or better still, both. Yet I must posit the following; do you see dog owners leaving anonymous messages up by the mailboxes? No? Do most Dog owners deliberately let their pets roam at will? No, definitely not round here, I'm too concerned my precious mutt would get run over by some kid in a Pickup. My dog is immunised, legal, clean, and well cared for, as are (in my observation at least) all the other dogs around here, so what is that litany of complaints about? If anyone has a problem with my dogs behaviour they should come and see me directly, and as a responsible person I'll take reasonable remedial action if my dog is at fault, but I'm buggered if anonymous postings by the mailbox will cause me to change the way I treat my dog.

Update: Driving past said posting by the mailbox this morning I saw that some person, no doubt equally offended as myself at the 'concerned citizens' signature, had used a black permanent marker to scrawl 'Also cats' in large unfriendly script upon the offending notice. Arf.

Include me out

I know there is the odd deluded fool out there who reads the rabid drivel I post on this blog, however this is said blogs purpose. It is not to inform, edify or amuse; it is here to let me vent my spleen in a reasonably polite and diffident way. It is here for me to get things off my chest. To complain, bitch and otherwise publish opinions that my often too reticent true self rarely vouchsafes in public.

My vent today is about social networking sites; Facebook, MySpace et al.

Let me put this gently; I have this blog, I also have Facebook and MySpace accounts, both of which I was persuaded to open against my better judgment. I haven't time to keep updating either and frankly only visit the bloody things infrequently. After several annoying spamlike messages I actually logged into my MySpace account this evening and removed the two 'Friends' on it and published my feelings on several matters, including a statement to the effect that I am emphatically not the kind of person I would like to be a friend of as I don't suffer fools gladly. At some time in the near future it is my intention to visit the same treatment on my Facebook account.

Hopefully this way my e-mail inbox will be a little clearer. I mean, get real guys, there are all these really brilliant offers of fake Rolexes and cheap Viagra I want to spend time applying for; not to mention several very kind people from Nigeria who need my bank details to make me very rich indeed. What do I want with facile social networking sites? I have a perfectly functional e-mail address.

Update: Myspace and Facebook accounts have been deleted. I have better things to do with my time and prefer dealing with real living breathing people, not their fantasy simulacra. You can stuff 'Second Life' as well.

But.....

This is a post I wrote a few weeks ago about some of the stresses we’ve been going through. Specifically Mrs S’s reactions to immigration setbacks. Fortunately she’s past the negative stuff now, but at the time I was completely backed into a corner and contemplating all sorts of dire scenarios.

…Just made a nice supper this evening. A nice slab of Sockeye that I’d barbecued. Three of my delicious nine minute boiled eggs, toast, lettuce and a smattering of seafood fried in olive oil and butter before being chilled.

Mrs S turns up from work in a foul mood and promptly stains the whole evening because of a damned half-assed e-mail from our Immigration Lawyers saying the bank statement we’ve provided them with isn’t current. Immigration Lawyer is an idiot. Bank statement is dated June 2009 in top right hand corner, three weeks before we collated our package of documentation and sent it to her in July. Last transaction date on savings account when the interest had its yearly calculation in January 2009. I try to phone. Immigration Lawyers offices in Quebec are shut at this time of day. Mrs S gets all tearful and there’s not a thing I can say or do to ease her mind. She’s made her mind up it’s a bloody disaster, and nothing I can say or do will make a sodding difference.

To try and ease her pain a little so we could talk I got her a drink. Made her a cup of tea to help her wind down. Tried to talk. What happens? I got the figurative door in my face. This was driving me crazy. I put the supper on the table after she had the drinks, sit down to eat and what happens? She goes to the kitchen to get something, scuffs her foot and promptly collapses in floods. That was it. I had to take the dog for a walk. She ate alone. My appetite deserted me. I just felt sick and supper went to waste.

Yet again I’m at my bloody wits end and don’t know what to do. It’s like the woman I married has read all the books on how not to be unhappy and is doing the exact opposite of what they recommend. The least little thing gets her tearful and I’m buggered if I can understand why. We can’t move forward like this if she’s going to behave like the annoying archetypal girl in the slasher B-movie who falls over, twists her heel, screams and slows everyone down just as the hero is leading everyone else to safety. I’m supposed to be strong for both of us, but even the strongest have to ask for quarter sometime.

I hate it when she’s like this; it turns everything sour and no one can enjoy anything. The best food and wine are ashes in my mouth, I can’t think logically and fix whatever is going awry because if I even try I’m yapping at empty branches and the monkeys are throwing rocks from other trees. I can’t touch her or offer comfort because everything I do will be wrong. My normally eloquent tongue is nailed firmly down in my mouth for fear I will make things worse. I feel so bloody useless. “This is going to give me a bloody heart attack.” I said at one point, the words pushed out of my lips by the sheer frustration of it all. My appetite disappeared and I’m still desperately trying to leave the whiskey bottle alone. I feel I’m backed into a corner with no way out. I feel depressed by any measure of the word.

I want to throw something big and heavy and watch it smash, cut my stupid traitorous heart out with a kitchen knife, drive the bloody car off a cliff. Anything but just sit here and take it all the bloody time. Christ knows I do my best, but I'm constrained by work permits, circumstance and finance and having to tough it out because there’s no current alternative is no bloody fun what-so-fucking ever.

This isn’t right. Here we are, living in one of the most beautiful parts of the world, superb vistas, impossibly blue skies, lovely weather, nice neighbours and she’s miserable at the drop of a hat. All the resilience that should be there isn’t, and guess who’s in the firing line when her frustrations boil over. The emotional shrapnel wounds bloody hurt, and I’ve no-one to talk to but a computer screen.

I can feel a tightening in my chest every time this happens and I’m sure at some stage the stress and frustration will kill me in the not too distant future. The constant overstimulation of my parasympathetic nervous reaction may cause a rapid build up of atheroma in my coronary arteries until one gets blocked and there is a massive, terminal, cardiac infarction. The affected triangle shaped section of heart muscle will die and rupture causing a massive bleed into my pericardium. My heart will literally break. I will be at an end, and to be brutal I’m not so sure this will be a bad thing. It is at this point the darkness within me speaks up to say sneeringly; “When it’s all over and the endless night reclaims your petty consciousness; won’t that be a relief, eh, Mister ever so clever Bill Sticker?” I don’t want to agree, but the logic appears flawless from where I’m sitting. The way I feel right now, a bullet in the head would be the ideal personification of God’s infinite mercy.

Yet to let that happen would be the ultimate cop out, the easy way. There are people depending upon me to do my job. There are talks to be given, projects to be completed. People in genuine need.

The irony is that the following day I called the immigration Lawyers and pointed out their error re information on Bank statement. Immediate apology and retraction of half-assed e-mail. Yes, everything fine. No problem, everything looking great. Well thank the Lord for that.

Blood and sand.

Utter cobblers

Saw this 'news' story and had to stifle a 'what a bunch of pathetic idiots' that rose unbidden to my lips.

If you read the story, which is a prime example of lazy cut and paste journalism, you'd think this is a new phenomenon. Gasp! Bad people running amok with GUNS! Lawks! We're all gonna get our froats slit in our BEDS! Help, help! Call nine one one! Call out the militia, cos we're all a-gonna DIE! Well excuse me, but this is a complete load of utter bollocks.

I'm going to pour cold water on this one because there's nothing new about shotgun peppered roadsigns in the UK. People potting street furniture in rural areas has been going on ever since a drunken Farmer Brown first took exception to these manifestations of the Highway code late one night. It happens in rural Canada, the USA, probably in China, Russia, Australia, or wherever. I've passed shotgun peppered warning signs in France, Germany Italy, Switzerland and Spain. My first recollection of the practice came when my Dad drew my attention to one such example when I was a mere stripling of ten years. Less than a quarter mile from our doorstep. Was anyone shot to death? No.

The culprits are generally otherwise respectable folk who've been out 'lamping' for vermin in the dead of night, and have had a nip or two to keep the cold out of their bones. Mostly young guys, but I've heard of one incident where a very respectable pillar of the community took a dislike to a particular speed limit sign, and gave it both barrels of his Purdey in the early hours of one morning. As kids, specific unpopular road signs were often targets for catapults, rocks and airgun pellets when no one was looking. No-one ever got hurt. It was usually a protest at a specific unpopular council decision, so to draw attention to such practices as 'sniping', is hyperbole of the first order. One guy I recall was stupid enough to get caught shooting at road signs and lost his shotgun licence for a year, but that was the worst of it.

The RAC foundation spokesman in question is obviously wetter than a Halibuts breakfast and needs to grow a pair. Must be the silly season.

Resource

Took a drive on Sunday up to Sayward. Paused at the Ripple Rock viewpoint overlooking the scenic grandeur of the Seymour Narrows. Vouchsafed to an amused Mrs S; "This place is so beautiful it makes me feel quite giddy." Which was true, in amongst all the sun splashed Spruce, Pine, Black and Silver Birch the air was heady, and I had an uncharacteristically light headed moment, leaning heavily on our old grey battlebus for momentary support.

Got back home to enjoy a shared bottle of Pinot Noir after a very pleasant days travel to find a nasty bombshell lurking in Mrs S's inbox. A job which she had been promised, one which would have made us quite nicely off financially had been kicked into touch because the money for her project had been frittered away by her would-be employer. No budget left, no job (Even though the work my beloved was asked to do still has to be done). Fortunately we are still relatively secure, as we both have work and permits for the same, it was just that this little extra would have been some very pleasant icing on the cake. It's rather like being about to take a bite out of a Tim Hortons Blueberry Fritter (A personal favourite of mine), only to have the counter staff snatch it away from you, slap you in the face, and chuck it in the bin. The sensation of WTF?!? in our household has been palpable.

Well, we're upset of course, but taking a little solace from one of Robert Service's offerings;

If you're up against a bruiser and you're getting knocked about --

Grin.

If you're feeling pretty groggy, and you're licked beyond a doubt --

Grin.

Don't let him see you're funking, let him know with every clout,
Though your face is battered to a pulp, your blooming heart is stout;
Just stand upon your pins until the beggar knocks you out --

And grin.

This life's a bally battle, and the same advice holds true

Of grin.

If you're up against it badly, then it's only one on you,

So grin.

If the future's black as thunder, don't let people see you're blue;
Just cultivate a cast-iron smile of joy the whole day through;
If they call you "Little Sunshine", wish that THEY'D no troubles, too --

You may -- grin.

Rise up in the morning with the will that, smooth or rough,

You'll grin.

Sink to sleep at midnight, and although you're feeling tough,

Yet grin.

There's nothing gained by whining, and you're not that kind of stuff;
You're a fighter from away back, and you WON'T take a rebuff;
Your trouble is that you don't know when you have had enough --

Don't give in.

If Fate should down you, just get up and take another cuff;
You may bank on it that there is no philosophy like bluff,

And grin.

Stuff 'em. It's a gorgeous day. My dog is happily devouring beef ribs, and I'm back working hard on two Manuscripts (With one submitted). As far as the day job goes, this is slack season until September and maybe I should bunk off through the woods to my favourite fishing spot when the tide is right. Grinning.

Midsummer madness

Every year I see the various new age groups 'celebrating' solstice. In amongst them, there are a number of people calling themselves 'Druids'.

I would like to draw my one readers attention to the following; they aren't real Druids. None of them. They're all fakes. Every last single one. Either unemployed, or frustrated Junior Accountants, or low level Council Workers to a man. Especially those under the age of twenty eight. There is no such thing, or ever was if you adhere to the strict letter of the Lore on these things, as a Druid under that age. Three simple reasons;

First: A would-be Druid must first be a Bard, an acknowledged singer of songs who must be able to rhyme and scan - no blank verse, that's cheating. No girls either. Which is bad news for the feminists because there are no recorded instances of genuine female Bards in Druidic culture. This training traditionally began with boys at the age of fourteen and took seven years entailing a number of sacred rituals like being left to survive the night lying in a swamp (Don't ask why - they just did). At the end of this seven years the would be Bard must prove their ability by singing in front of a council of his peers, all of whom must be either acclaimed Bards or proper Druids, and satisfy them of his ability and suitability for future training.

Secondly: The would-be Druid then has to undergo seven more years of training to learn the folk medicine and sacred rituals, some of which he must undergo himself as a kind of examination. Think of them as kind of high risk mid term exams. There was only one penalty for failure and that is death, usually during the ritual in question but sometimes after as a human sacrifice. Oh, and no sex, although I suspect quite a lot of that generally went on, humanity being what it is.

Soooo.... Fourteen plus seven plus seven equals...... twenty eight.

Ah, and there aren't any real Druids left because the Romans slaughtered them all back in the first and second centuries AD. Mainly because they were a pest and source of resistance against the Roman occupation of Britain. Romano British chronicles of the time tell us that a Roman army cornered and hacked a large contingent into dogmeat back in AD 60. See the contemporary writings of Tacitus, Pliny and Agricola amongst other sources. After that, the last of the Druids were hunted to extinction over the next two decades. Ergo, no more Druids, and no more documented or otherwise sources until a Victorian 'revival' when idle people with nothing better to do dressed up as Saxons, Danes or Celts and made up huge swaths of 'ceremonies' as 'historical recreations'.

Oh, and if these guys are real Druids, how come they get the date wrong; Solstice is the 22nd to 23rd of June, not the 21st or 22nd.

Why would you want to be an adherent to an extinct sect anyway? Is it something to do with exclusivity, like it's my sect and I'll sacrifice if I want to? Poor identification within your family and the search for identity within a peer group? Hated parents, and wants a peer group surrogate but isn't tough enough to join a gang? Maybe they just hate the tyranny of wearing trousers? There are clubs for people like that. Who knows, who cares. I just hate it when people get things wrong and make stuff up to fill in the cracks.

To Redact;

A Redact or Redactor (Noun) person who edits or revises for publication.
To redact (Verb) the act of editing or revision, or formulate in a particular style or language
Redaction (Adjective) the act of revising or editing for publication

To simply black pen out huge tranches of information regarding MP’s expenses is not redaction in the classical sense, as that implies a certain delicacy or care with the written word prior to publication. There is an uglier word to describe what has been done to the MP’s expense sheets, a much cruder description with definite pejorative overtones; censorship.

The spinmeisters need to go back to school to learn the proper use of English.

Update: Addition to the sidebar for best hyphenation of the week; Anna Raccoon. 'Profli-gate' (Description of UK MP's expenses scandal).

Mad, am I?

As one who is used to looking at the realities of life and making my own, fairly logical but often sarcastic judgments, I read these letters and articles in the UK Times and Telegraph and almost spilled my morning coffee. Essentially what these people are saying is that if you don't believe what they do you're a candidate for the booby hatch, you know, that cosy little room in the secure wing with your own stylishly tailored straitjacket. No doubt the accompanying electroshock 'therapy' to 'cure' one of any pesky 'denialist' tendencies would be merely a customer service add-on. Nothing to worry one's fussy little head over, eh? How stupid do they think people are?

For the final time, as I'm getting very bored with people saying 'it's all humanity's fault'; the climate changes, and the evidence so far suggests that we have very little real or long term effect on it. For proof, look at the historical records of climate since say the Roman period, or does that leave one open to accusations of 'Cherry-picking' data? Why not since the Holocene? Bugger, no SUV's. No real human activity either. Next!

There is no / will not be any / man made climate catastrophe. The correlation of CO2 emissions to the climate is an unproven, unprovable hypothesis, the erroneous portrayal of which has been definitively shot down in a British court of law. CO2 driven Anthropogenic Climate Change isn't even a theory, as theories demand proofs, and the only 'proofs' the alarmists have are woefully inadequate and incomplete data models and suspiciously fudged data. McKittrick and McIntyre proved that with their demolition of Mann's infamous 'Hockey stick' graph. Lord Monckton of Brenchley's erudite and even handed presentation 'Apocalypse No' shows quite clearly that the continually hyped 'effects' of global warming just aren't there. A regular visit to the pages of wattsupwithat will show the intellectual heavy hitters constantly demolishing each new 'proof' of CO2 driven climate change as it pops out of the woodwork. It's like watching a cerebral version of 'whack-a-mole'.

Real climate scientists who no longer have to worry about their political masters pulling their pensions / funding are saying AGW is all bunkum. In fact the only people really pushing said agenda are politically motivated. It is politics, not science that is pushing the Anthropogenic CO2 side of the argument. You only have to look at who is really advancing said agenda to understand that.

As for 'the debate is over'. Well, yes it is. The Alarmist case is not proven. We are more at risk from Near-Earth Asteroids.

As for the assertion that denial of their case is a mental illness, well I wouldn't say I'm mad, just continually mildly irritated by those who insist that we're all doomed unless we 'go green' and totally stop producing CO2. In my darker moments I have thought that I would like those who are pushing the anthropogenic argument to show me how it's done by way of a demonstration. They could stop exhaling CO2 for a start. Oh, and demonstrate how to stop 'outgassing' of CO2 from the oceans while you're at it. That would be a good trick.

I readily agree that we should be cutting air and water borne pollution and not overfishing the oceans. These are threats that we can and should be doing something about. CO2 is, within certain parameters, beneficial to plant growth. The rest we should have to get used to and adapt, which is what humans are really good at.

To conclude; the only people in 'denial' here are those who still 'believe' we are in for repeated climate catastrophe due to man made CO2 emissions. They have no proof.

Gentlemen, take away the fool(s).

Day off?

Having grafted like a good 'un all weekend and successfully delivered my project to customer I announced to Mrs S that I would be taking Monday off. Some day off it's been. Customer rings to say that their email has crashed and they need the file now (Why is your crashed email suddenly my problem?). However, being the obliging sort that I am, off I trot and deliver full package on a data key. This has taken half a dozen phone calls and emails and a shattered leisure schedule to arrange. Mrs S told me on the phone at lunchtime that we have to be in Vancouver on Saturday and that "The logistics will be down to you, Bill." I have booked the ferry, the dog sitting service, planned the directions and approaches to our destination.

Then I look at the tide tables to see if there is any point hiking up to a decent fishing spot for a little 'me' time with rod and line. Phone calls have been coming in left right and centre. No chance of that then.

"Bugger it." thought I. "I might as well clean the apartment while I'm at it." So I did. Now I'm signing off because I've got another appointment I didn't get told about, and I've missed yet another because of that. Some day off.

Rocks threatening my relationships

I am not a happy man. I am unhappy for a signal reason. Mrs S, to whom I am devoted besides all else has been in tears. The root cause has been my Mother in law. My infantile, manipulative, egocentric Mother in law. My words were chosen with great care and are an accurate description of the parent in question.

Today we have spent most of our time escorting her to do whatever she wanted, which isn't much. I personally went out of my way to get her what she needed only to have a tearful tantrum worthy of a two year old with ADHD thrown in my face. My reaction to such overt ungraciousness was instant and would have been applied even had she been my own Mother. "Don't throw a paddy at me!" I snapped. "Pull that one more time and I won't take you out again." I'd been trying to help her choose a new walking stick at the time (In the fifth store for that one specific purpose). Mrs S was not impressed I could tell.

We left Mother in law at Sister in laws apartment where she is staying as she requested. Sister in law is well off, and has a nice residence in the middle of town with sea views and all mod cons. We cannot make use of it because of my dog, but Mother in law is there because Sister in law wants it so. We are below the salt in her estimation because Sister in law has a high flying job in the USA which pays lots of dosh. I am merely a Technician, and Mrs S a Teacher. We get by, just.

This evening Sister in law calls via Skype just as I'm going out for a walk with the dog. I come back from walking dog to find Mrs S on the verge of tears. She's wandering about the house complaining about how untidy everything is and how there's no space for everything. I'm supposed to deliver a project on Monday, and I can't focus on my work while Mrs S is muttering and throwing things about. In the end she is having a full blown crying fit and I have to shout at her to get her attention.

Shouting at my beloved is not something that I do lightly. She is my raison d'etre, my core, my most precious jewel. In my eyes she always shines and I am truly proud as a man can be of her. Yet she is muttering about Sister in law making her feel inadequate.

After half an hour of holding my tearful other self in my arms and talking softly to her, I found out that Mother in law phoned Sister in law and has been telling lies about Mrs S. Sister in law has been taking Mrs S to task about it. Hence the tears.

Well, Mother in law goes back to England in just over three weeks and as far as I'm concerned she can stay there. All previous promises regarding bringing her over once our Permanent Residency is approved are hereby revoked. All bets are off. I will not have my dearest one reduced to tears by some manipulative old crone every second day of every week for no better reason than the old woman isn't getting precisely what she wants at the very instant she wants it, and I'm damned sure I won't tolerate having tantrums thrown at me for no good reason. I've successfully helped steer two adolescent girls through to womanhood and I've had quite enough of that kind of behaviour thank you very much.

A promise may be a promise, but there are limits.

Cap and trade, a modest proposal

I have an idea about all these carbon taxes and cap and trade bills. When a politician says that the rest of us need to cut back on our energy usage, they only mean us plebs. The high and mighty will go on paying lip service to the concept and be as profligate as before. Energy and water rationing will be the lot of the common herd; us everyday folk may have no option but to freeze / bake / starve in the midst of potential plenty.

All the proposals for energy reduction are based on the so-called 'science' behind anthropogenic theories of climate change which is, as regularly demonstrated here, deeply flawed. The catastrophe's constantly prognosticated by politicians and certain parts of the media have consistently failed to appear. The climate shifts and changes all the time and with our current level of understanding we're still not sure why. To blame all the climate shifts / changes on a gas that comprises 0.385% of Earth's atmosphere which only absorbs energy in two narrow bands of the electromagnetic spectrum is quite frankly technically illiterate. What about the latent heat of the oceans, solar radiative forcings, the water cycle, volcanism and the weakening magneto and solar photosphere effect on cloud formation? Not to mention that the Earth radiates heat off into space quite rapidly. If the Sun suddenly went out we'd all be human popsicles in very short order. Even if the CO2 levels were ten times their current levels. Thus spake the laws of thermodynamics.

I only did physics to what might be called post secondary level (3 years UK Technical college), but it's blindingly obvious to me at least that CO2 is not a significant climate driver. To tax it's production and / or limit economic / industrial activity on this premise alone is therefore ludicrous. I understand and agree that we have to reduce pollution, and reducing airborne particulate matter and noxious chemicals in the environment should be a priority. However, this maniacal focus on a trace atmospheric gas is quite frankly barking. Sorry, but I go by the physics, not the rhetoric.

Some explanation of my personal background is in order here; I grew up in houses without regular hot water / heating. I remember the rolling power cuts and three day week of the UK in the 1970's. It's not very pleasant learning to shave with cold water, using recycled candles and hurricane lamps for light and heat. Wearing five layers of clothing and still having water vapour freezing on the walls inside your room. I've been there involuntarily, and it isn't funny. To even suggest we should go back to this standard of living voluntarily on the back of misleading computer models and fudged data is ludicrous, hence this proposal.

The core of my suggestion is very simple; all the people (Politicians, activists, media) who espouse the view that climate change is all man made should have happen to them what will happen to the rest of us when their ill founded legislation really bites; energy and water rationing. Every political conference hotel; cut off their hot water so they have to take cold showers to 'save energy'. Shut off the water to their houses at the mains. No fuel for presidential style motorcades or private jets, let them use the train, ride bicycles or walk. Off with their heating and air conditioning. Let the freeloaders see what it's like to go without. Them and the mainstream media. Cut all heat to the media channels which promote the catastrophic climate change agenda. Let Ehrlich and all the other doom mongering Malthusians fall on their own swords to help cut the world population (Can I watch? Please, please - I'll bring my own popcorn). Let the Gore's, Hansens and Suzuki's and all their disciples cycle to work and do without hot water like they appear to want the rest of us to do. Let those who call the sceptical side of the argument 'deniers' spend some time living with the consequences of their espoused policies (And no cheating - you'll be watched closely). Ration the heating in the Economics and Social science departments of all Universities (Engineers generate their own heat). Yea and verily, get thee to a wind powered commune (Somewhere in the Northern Territories would be my suggestion). Let them eat Carbon credits (And no ketchup or take-outs.) Send them to hug real live Polar Bears and see what happens.

You can call me a dreamer, but I'm not the only one......

Comment maderation

After a minor attack of spam comments, have elected to enable comment moderation and delete the offending entries. The rule is; if you ain't got anything interesting to say, well spare us the commercial stuff.

Now what part of "grouchy old cuss" didn't anyone understand?