Dear Hoodlums... Yes, you, over there, you know who you are. I owe you a large debt of gratitude for your efforts with my bike this morning. Obviously the thick black chained yale lock frustrated any serious attempt at grand theft cycle, and so, instead you turned your frustrations on what I can only assume was a vain attempt to damage it. Yes, it was slightly scratched, but as you may have observed, it's already very scratched, one more really makes not difference to me, in fact, if we're getting to the facts, I quite like having extra scratches, it gives it that weathered look, and is perfect for stories that start in "Back in 'nam, me and this cycle..." It's been through a lot in the eight or so years since I used to hurtle round my paper round, trying to be back infront of CNN world sports by 7:30, and it takes more than a scratch to break it's spirit, thats for sure. And really, twisting my reflectors? Well, that wasn't even worthy of vandalism. When I was a kid vandals had some self respect and wouldn't sink to such purposless lows of achievment, they'd nick the bike, or they'd slash the tires, but, I guess times are hard and there were no decent vandals left in the town. I'll also grant you that the handlebars were twisted to an angle completley different to that in which the wheels were pointing, but, lets face it, as you were probably a three foot high chav, bored with under achieving and impregnating school friends to get child support, its fairly obvious that a man with a bike that size would be able to force them back to point in the right direction. And this is where my thanks to you, my deep, heartfelt thanks, would come in, you see, before your wretched self touched it, my brakes were really rather slack. Braking went something like this. A) Spot Hazard B) Pull Brakes C) Check time D) Pull out iPod, browse music and change track. E) Veer past hazard, apologising profusely. F) Start to slow down. G) Phone the samaritans for a brief chat about impending doom. H) Do hair in reflection on passing cars windows I) Stop, luckily just avoiding oncoming traffic. However, since your twisting of my handlebars and general trying to vandalise the bike, this has been reduced to the much more simple technique, of pulling the breaks, and gently stopping. I can only assume that the cable has tightened up a bit, and I must thank you for this service. Yours, Pete

31.5.06 15:11 Permalink / 25 Comments / comment

Stimson's Gambit September 11th could have been a major turning point in the modern world, it was on that day in 1945 that US Secretary of War Stimson wrote a memo to President Truman. In this memo he recommended that instead of using the remaining secrets of the Atomic Bomb as leverage over the Russians during negotiations, the secrets should be shared with them, and entrusted to the UN Security Council. Stimson was of the belief that if mutual trust existed then it would be possible to prevent the bombs use in anger ever again, and instead concentrate on using Atomic Energy for the purposes of generating electrical power, as opposed to political clout. As the USSR were inevitably to develop their own weapons, this seemed a wise way of organising co-operation. Stimson had been a major player in advising both Roosevelt and Truman, and in the war was listened too, to the extent that he over-ruled the military and stopped the use of an Atomic weapon on Kyoto. Yet this time, Stimson was ignored. Truman wanted the bomb to be used as a tool, he felt that it insured the safety of America and could be used to threaten and harangue Stalinist Russia to keep them in check. In 1949, less than four years after Stimson's memo, the Soviet Union tested it's first Nuclear Weapon. The decision to use it to keep militarily ahead of the Soviet's had backfired and the Nuclear Arms race and Cold War steamed ahead. What could have been developed as a situation where the two world powers used diplomacy and an atmosphere of trust and mutual respect had grown into an atmosphere of mutually assured destruction. For forty years the pair engaged in these games, and in doing so gave weapons and support to nations not because they believed in what those nations were doing, but because they'd rather have them on their side than on the other side. The political landscape of the world today is one that is a direct result of that era. The problems we face now are often problems resulting from choices made during the cold war, such as the training of Mujahadein by our forces to fight the Russians in Afghanistan, or the weapons sold by both sides to states that now we wish weren't quite so powerful. Or the desire of more states to acquire the status of having Nuclear weapons so that they too can become all but immune from attack. Those years moulded in many ways the world we live in today, and I can't help but wonder how different things may have been if Stimson's advice had been taken. I only write about this because on several occasions this week I have read or heard things that I find very scary, thing's where instead of talking or debating people pour out hate, people denounce and despise others, based solely on difference of opinion. I read Jewish-American writers pour out bile at Europe because we have a less hard line stance on Iran, I don't read, but am aware that others justify Islamic Terrorism because it's their way of getting at the infidel for all of our apparent crimes. I read that Israel should and will be destroyed by Iran, and then read that the use of Nuclear weapons against Iran will not be ruled out. Ever decreasing cycles of hatred, where no one stops to look ahead and think what it could lead to, but instead just argue and threaten, and I wonder, how much better could the world be over coming years if we could just stop, take stock and talk, and debate, and admit that the only way to avoid all of the horrors that are going on, and that are being threatened is surely to sort things out by diplomatic means.

22.10.07 15:21 Permalink / 1 Comment / comment

The Actual Postal Service Time was when the postal service ran on an altogether better infrastructure, back in heady days of stagecoaches and Dick Turpin, the post was taken on horse back to the pub, where the post man would sit with the patrons and make merry, collecting any more letters, until the postal worker doing the next stretch would appear and take them off his hands, speeding to the next post as quick as possible, an ice cold glass of Rhinegold spurring him on like Harry Anson half way to Alexandria. Now, at some indeterminable point in the history of the revenue creation exercise that was the Royal Mail somebody thought, two seconds, perhaps we should develop our own infrastructure. Instead of pubs, we can have Post Offices, and instead of horses, Trains and perhaps, one day, God and some loopy French inventor called Peugeot willing, we could use our very own automobiles and vans. And so the modern Postal service was born, and, for a while blossomed with this new purpose built infrastructure. Mail was delivered promptly, twice a day, the first delivery always arriving before you were up in the morning, the second coming mid-morning for the more relaxed among us. You could post a letter first class and know that it would go off that night and by the time you woke up Aunt Mildred in Wick would be reading all about your new cardigan. But then, after this golden age of efficiency, things began to slip, some areas only got one delivery, some first class letters took two days instead of one, all areas stopped getting two deliveries, some deliveries came after breakfast, first class mail frequently took more than a day, post offices started to close down, letters got lost. And we're left with the system in melt down, as it is today. No longer can you trust first class post, no longer is my mail there when I wake up (actually, it is, but I'm a bad example, it isn't there when the folks get up!) in short it's a tragic, sorrowful mess that would make Charles II spin in his grave. And the problem? Clearly the workers no longer have the motivation of doing things quickly so that pint or seven is theirs. You take the motivation of ale from them and what do they have to work for? The satisfaction of a job well done? The grief they get from people who aren't happy with the service? Clearly the only answer is to ditch this new infrastructure and run all mail through the pub again.

22.10.07 15:21 Permalink / 1 Comment / comment

Welcome to Midsomer, population none. Residents of small village Midsomer were shocked today by the news that the population today officially dropped below zero. The village with a higher murder rate than New York City has been recieveing substantial media attention recently, with the murder investigations being constatly terrorised. The remaining residents gathered above their grave stones to discuss the problem, however, soon realised that as they were no longer with us, the solution to the population crisis could not be found through them. Thespian John Nettles, who had been masquerading as Chief Inspector Tom Barnaby was asked if he could understand why the village was now nothing but a ghost town, however he seemed instead to be sobbing over a torn up television contract. "How can I do a show when there's no one left to kill" he wailed. Critics of the village's policing policy had suggested for some time now that a population crisis was occuring as the powers that be at ITV seemed to have deemed it neccesary to kill at least one person an episode, yet intriguinly, none of the residents ever seemed to wonder why the death rate in midsomer was approaching that of the Somme. And even more bizzarely, none of them chose to leave for their own safety. Its a mystery why, but one thing is for certain, for Midsomer, this must surely be the end. This is Pete reporting for AMP, and I'm now gonna get the heck out of dodge before, arghhh.....

10.10.05 15:14 Permalink / comment

Shoes by Nasa, Coat by the Von Ribbentrop... Don't you just love how everything from a certain period that was vaguely technological was developed on the space program? Velcro, those pens that write upside down, the material for those tele-marketed matresses? You'd be forgiven for assuming that Nasa invented the modern world. Odd then that it never won me any cool points at school, see at junior school, I was that boy, you know the one, despite trying everything could not for the life or him tie his shoe laces. So, I had velcro, this stuff was developed by Nasa, my mum would tell me on the way out of the house, while I beamed at my white basketball style trainers, Nasa technology? How cool was I?!? And so I'd trek off to school, studiously avoiding puddles and mud, and walk into the room, in blisfull ignorance to my inherent lack of cool, although in fairness to me, while I honestly liked the budget velcro trainers, even my pre-adolescent self had figured that the grey duffel coat that the folks made me wear was a major fashion faux paux. Anyway, in delightfully fragile way that schoolyard misconceptions do, my ignorance was soon shattered, and I was well and truly bullied for them, lucky I had my trump card. 'Velcro is cool it was designed by NASA' oh, how they laughed. And so I passed my third year in primary school, shoes by nasa, coat by the wermacht and bruises by most every other child in the year. Nasa technology my arse.

6.2.06 18:07 Permalink / 2 Comments / comment

From the pen of Ned Ludd...

27.4.06 23:37 Permalink / 6 Comments / comment

My Individuality has been shot... ....Round up the usual suspects. He raised his head slowly, took another shot from his glass, and, noting the approaching figure uttered those imortal words "Of all the music and video retailers in all the world, you had to walk into mine" He knew from that very moment that something was not right. His black tee shirt tumbled back over his belly as he rose. He looked at the bottle and glass "You'll excuse me, gentlemen. Your business is getting me stotious, mine is selling dvds" and he greeted the customer with feigned cheeriness. The customer knew what he wanted and played it straight, "Might as well be frank, mister. It would take a miracle to get you a copy of that movie, and the Mall security have outlawed miracles." came the retort, but the customers resolve was unshaken. "You despise me, don't you?" he quipped, only to be met by the slightly drunken gaze of the store assistant and the words "If I gave you any thought I probably would." This was of course about the final straw. Immeadiatley he called for the store manager, who arrived quickly, taking stock of the drunken assistant and the calm, yet obviously angered customer. She fixed the assistant with an icy gaze "Bill, there are many DVD's and CD's sold in this cafe, but we know that you've never sold one. That is the reason we're letting you go." Bill suddenly looked aggrieved, and snarling at the manager said "I was willing to ignore this customer, and I'm willing to ignore you biatch" but she stood firm. Suddenly Bill had a plan. "Go to Amazon online" he shouted at the cutomer, who suddenly looked shaken in their resolve. "Please, think of all the poor devils who can't meet the in store price. Amazon get it for them for half. Is that so... parasitic?" The manager and customer frowned, almost simoultaneously. "I don't mind a parasite. I object to a cut-rate one." And with that the deal was cemented. Susan, store manager headed for the section, as the opening strains of "as time goes by" played over the in store radio. She was back within moments, and the item was rung through the till. The customer turned to leave, purchase in hand, and exiting the mall was enveloped in smoke from hoodlums torching cars in the carpark, he looked at his purchase and couldn't help but utter the immortal words "I think this may be the start of a beautiful relationship"

15.8.05 00:28 Permalink / comment

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