David Cameron has rejected the call for a Royal Commission on the UK's drugs laws. This request did not come from a bleary-eyed, teen stoner sporting a T-shirt that with an alien head and the logo 'Take Me to Your Dealer', which might explain his refusal. No, this proposal came from a House of Commons select committee on home affairs, none of whose members wore T-shirts saying 'Adihash', 'Coke Is It' or 'Marijuana - Millions stoned' in the style of the McDonald's logo. One MP was wearing a T-shirt under his business shirt with a picture of a small fat-faced dog with a diagonal red line through it, strapline 'Say No Pugs'. What that proves is anyone's guess, perhaps that this MP genuinely thinks comedy tees are funny or that he failed to do the washing and had to substitute this weak dog joke top for a vest.
Whatever the select committee may or may not have been wearing, under or over their business dress, did not apparently influence Dave's decision to dismiss this plea out of hand. He gave three reasons in a short interview. As he was pressed for time, I have helpfully filled in what he was trying to express.
1. 'We have a policy and it's working, drug use is coming down'
What I meant to say was the government has a policy of ignoring its own scientific advice and that of senior police officers. We prefer instead to stick with prohibition because we are terrified of hostile articles by the likes of Melanie Philips or Richard Littlejohn in the tabloids. Strangely despite my obsession with opinion polls, in the case of drugs' laws, I prefer to ignore the views of over 70% of the population.
Drug usage has come down a little bit, so I will pretend that there's some connection between our policy and the outcome. Quite why it's taken 30 years for the identical policies to have effect I won't bother to explain and if drug use were to go up again, I will be very quick to deny any link between consumption and policy. As I have conveniently avoided discussing the counterfactual, you don't have a chance to compare what might have happened in the UK with different policies. I won't do this, because the example of Portugal in recent years disproves my original point.
2. 'We need to do more to keep drugs out of our prisons'
Rather than answer your question about the need for a Royal Commission, I have instead mentioned an different issue which is the systemic smuggling perpetrated by our prison officers. This relates to drugs prohibition in exactly the opposite way I'm suggesting, as were drugs decriminalised, no prison warder need smuggle the substances inside nor would there be any inflated profits by virtue of their illegality.
Not letting facts or logic upset my polemic, I have instead used the simple, yet effective, trick of saying certain words close to each other. This creates an entirely artificial and fallacious choice in your mind thanks to verbal proximity: support for a Royal Commission equates with supporting more drugs in prisons. This is absolute nonsense, but as I've said it with the sort of serious face usually reserved for the death of an elderly family pet you might just buy it. To be honest, the only kind of person who would actually support the crazy idea of more drugs in prisons would be a prison officer. He's hoping to save enough to buy that static caravan he's always dreamed of the Pembrokeshire coast.
3. 'We need to focus on [the above] than a very long term Royal Commission'.
I'm going to stick with the same basic formula for point 1 and 2, which is to say things one after another which have no connection in the belief that most people are too stupid to spot logical flaws. This is pretty much what passes for serious debate in this country about drug policy.
You might have thought that as a rightwing free-market advocate running a Coalition that desperately needs to raise runds the pure economics of legalisation might appeal to me. Nope. I would much rather be consistently and hopelessly wrong that embrace any hint of the complexity such issues present in the real world.
And I won't trouble myself with the inconvenient fact that if the UK drug laws were as rigorously enforced on rich white males as they are on poor black males, yours truly along with many of his cabinet colleagues and associates would have a criminal record.
Now if you'll excuse me George Osborne and I are rather busy at the moment trying to do more damage to the UK economy than any other individual in the last 100 years. We are currently joint 3rd with Goering.
Tuesday, 11 December 2012
Friday, 16 November 2012
BBC Bashing
BBC bashing is a favoured activity by certain sectors of the media in recent days: the Murdoch press enjoying a chance to switch the focus away from the criminal phone-hacking to a cover-up. The Daily Mail, of course, never loses an opportunity to work itself into a frothy, semi-rabid rage about the moral decline of Britain caused by the metrosexual liberals at the Beeb, whilst constantly refreshing the sideboard of their website with pictures of scantily clad women or girls who have only just passed the age of consent. It all started with the ITV Saville documentary, or did it start with Andrew Gilligan accusing Tony Blair of lying to the House of Commons on live radio or should we go back in time to the first BBC executive who gave Jimmy Saville a job?
Now I should express a vested interest here, I'm not an impartial when it comes to the BBC: they hired me as a junior producer, they did not fire me as a junior producer when I was said lots of things I shouldn't an internet message board. It all happened one Friday afternoon and I remain very sorry, not necessarily as sorry as George Monbiot, Sally Bercow and the former editor of Newsnight are at the moment, but still very sorry. My gratitude to the organisation goes further than simply not sacking me; from that initial trainee producer job I went onto to produce many radio comedy shows, children's TV comedy and when they weren't supervising me too closely I even got to produce a little of bit of proper telly (a BBC 3 sitcom pilot - so sort of proper). So my experience of my nine years there was generally very positive, it offered me unique opportunities that no other broadcasting organisation or company could have done. Outside the BBC, it remains fiendishly difficult to gain experience in TV or radio as you stay trapped in the permanent Catch 22 loop that you can't produce or direct a show until you have the experience of producing or directing shows.
But... and there's always a but, in my narrow window into this vast organisation , the dysfunctional management that we have witnessed in recent days seems fairly typical. George Orwell described the BBC as a cross between a lunatic asylum and a girls's boarding school, oddly enough that sixty year old metaphor holds true today. The strangest thing is that you could take an excellent producer, promote them to head of department and they would then spend most of them time dealing with mind-numbing bureaucracy that had nothing to do with the making of programmes. In hindsight, the best boss I worked for was one who came from the independent sector, took one look at the list of silly meetings he was expected to attend and never bothered. Under his regime of benign neglect, the department had a golden era of award winning shows and fantastic creativity, none of this seemed to matter to the more senior managers who made sure that his successor did attend these meetings and do the paperwork. I watched this other boss slowly lose the will to live until he escaped the role at the earliest opportunity.
Great shows are made by the BBC and there are many talented people working there; too often that excellent programme making occurs in spite of the system rather than because of itt. In my area of expertise such as comedy, it's fascinating to see how many commissioners and channel controllers claim credit for hit shows they either rejected first time or said during their run that the programmes were not working. A couple of personal highlights of Beeb management are being told we had to make radio more accessible for the deaf or attending a seminar on the future of broadcasting where some consultant put a slide on the wall that was one of the most complex things I have ever seen, including an article on particle physics in The New Scientist. To this day, I have no idea what that consultant was taking about, I remember there being mentions of gatekeepers and platforms and wondering if we were taking about role playing games. My guess is she had no idea what she was taking about either. Let's keep it those two examples, suitably vague and distant, as I may still want to produce a show, if the chance comes my way.
As someone who greatly values the BBC not as institution but as a source of creative output, here's three simple suggestions to get out of their current funk that do not involve endless navel gazing and self-criticism:
1. Sack 25% of the staff using a simple test.
Go round every BBC building, grab each employee in turn, put them in headlock (whilst observing correct health and safety protocols). Ask them what their job is. Anyone who cannot give you a simple answer e.g. producer, engineer, researcher, head of department etc. is fired on the spot. At stroke you remove about 1 in 4 non-jobs that add no value. So goodbye to Client Solutions Executive, Head of Audiences and Change Management Lead. Spend every £1 saved on new programmes immediately.
(the above suggestion is thanks to Jeff Randall).
2. Adopt William Goldman's quotation as the sole BBC value.
'Nobody knows anything' said the brilliant Goldman of the film business. The same holds true for broadcasting. In the past decade hits have come the most unexpected of places, whether its Strictly Come Dancing, Miranda, The Thick of It and Springwatch. The glorious wonder of the creative industry is that is the precise opposite of normal business, you really cannot predict where the next genius show will come from. All you can do as an organisation is stay open to ideas, remain ready to go against the flow and remind yourself that nobody knows anything. A bit like the slave whispering in the Roman general's ear as he parades through Rome, reminding him that all this world is ashes and dust, keep that motto in mind and you maximise your chances of success. (Okay maybe not the ashes and dust bit).
3. Copy HBO
They make some of the finest television ever seen, copy their approach. Empower your creative heads and let them take risks. The Americans do it better, do what they do. Simples.
It would be a terrible tragedy if the vile sociopath Saville managed to cause mayhem beyond the grave. Whatever mistakes were made in the 70s or were made in recent months, don't let the bastard screw it up for everyone else. No matter how bad the BBC faults might be, the alternatives are worse, just watch Italian TV if you don't believe me.
Oh and one final thought... if you find that your selection of senior managers means that Tim Davie, a Pepsi marketing executive who has never made a programme, ends up temporary Director-General then maybe, just maybe, you're promoting the wrong people.
Now I should express a vested interest here, I'm not an impartial when it comes to the BBC: they hired me as a junior producer, they did not fire me as a junior producer when I was said lots of things I shouldn't an internet message board. It all happened one Friday afternoon and I remain very sorry, not necessarily as sorry as George Monbiot, Sally Bercow and the former editor of Newsnight are at the moment, but still very sorry. My gratitude to the organisation goes further than simply not sacking me; from that initial trainee producer job I went onto to produce many radio comedy shows, children's TV comedy and when they weren't supervising me too closely I even got to produce a little of bit of proper telly (a BBC 3 sitcom pilot - so sort of proper). So my experience of my nine years there was generally very positive, it offered me unique opportunities that no other broadcasting organisation or company could have done. Outside the BBC, it remains fiendishly difficult to gain experience in TV or radio as you stay trapped in the permanent Catch 22 loop that you can't produce or direct a show until you have the experience of producing or directing shows.
But... and there's always a but, in my narrow window into this vast organisation , the dysfunctional management that we have witnessed in recent days seems fairly typical. George Orwell described the BBC as a cross between a lunatic asylum and a girls's boarding school, oddly enough that sixty year old metaphor holds true today. The strangest thing is that you could take an excellent producer, promote them to head of department and they would then spend most of them time dealing with mind-numbing bureaucracy that had nothing to do with the making of programmes. In hindsight, the best boss I worked for was one who came from the independent sector, took one look at the list of silly meetings he was expected to attend and never bothered. Under his regime of benign neglect, the department had a golden era of award winning shows and fantastic creativity, none of this seemed to matter to the more senior managers who made sure that his successor did attend these meetings and do the paperwork. I watched this other boss slowly lose the will to live until he escaped the role at the earliest opportunity.
Great shows are made by the BBC and there are many talented people working there; too often that excellent programme making occurs in spite of the system rather than because of itt. In my area of expertise such as comedy, it's fascinating to see how many commissioners and channel controllers claim credit for hit shows they either rejected first time or said during their run that the programmes were not working. A couple of personal highlights of Beeb management are being told we had to make radio more accessible for the deaf or attending a seminar on the future of broadcasting where some consultant put a slide on the wall that was one of the most complex things I have ever seen, including an article on particle physics in The New Scientist. To this day, I have no idea what that consultant was taking about, I remember there being mentions of gatekeepers and platforms and wondering if we were taking about role playing games. My guess is she had no idea what she was taking about either. Let's keep it those two examples, suitably vague and distant, as I may still want to produce a show, if the chance comes my way.
As someone who greatly values the BBC not as institution but as a source of creative output, here's three simple suggestions to get out of their current funk that do not involve endless navel gazing and self-criticism:
1. Sack 25% of the staff using a simple test.
Go round every BBC building, grab each employee in turn, put them in headlock (whilst observing correct health and safety protocols). Ask them what their job is. Anyone who cannot give you a simple answer e.g. producer, engineer, researcher, head of department etc. is fired on the spot. At stroke you remove about 1 in 4 non-jobs that add no value. So goodbye to Client Solutions Executive, Head of Audiences and Change Management Lead. Spend every £1 saved on new programmes immediately.
(the above suggestion is thanks to Jeff Randall).
2. Adopt William Goldman's quotation as the sole BBC value.
'Nobody knows anything' said the brilliant Goldman of the film business. The same holds true for broadcasting. In the past decade hits have come the most unexpected of places, whether its Strictly Come Dancing, Miranda, The Thick of It and Springwatch. The glorious wonder of the creative industry is that is the precise opposite of normal business, you really cannot predict where the next genius show will come from. All you can do as an organisation is stay open to ideas, remain ready to go against the flow and remind yourself that nobody knows anything. A bit like the slave whispering in the Roman general's ear as he parades through Rome, reminding him that all this world is ashes and dust, keep that motto in mind and you maximise your chances of success. (Okay maybe not the ashes and dust bit).
3. Copy HBO
They make some of the finest television ever seen, copy their approach. Empower your creative heads and let them take risks. The Americans do it better, do what they do. Simples.
It would be a terrible tragedy if the vile sociopath Saville managed to cause mayhem beyond the grave. Whatever mistakes were made in the 70s or were made in recent months, don't let the bastard screw it up for everyone else. No matter how bad the BBC faults might be, the alternatives are worse, just watch Italian TV if you don't believe me.
Oh and one final thought... if you find that your selection of senior managers means that Tim Davie, a Pepsi marketing executive who has never made a programme, ends up temporary Director-General then maybe, just maybe, you're promoting the wrong people.
Thursday, 1 November 2012
Street Photography
Yesterday a friend of mine took a picture of a derelict house in Finsbury Square in the City, when a security guard tried to prevent him from doing so. This guard was employed by UBS, that Swiss bank fined $740 million for a tax fraud in the States. They are set to shed 10,000 jobs by 2015, as it turns out their ability to make real profits when not involved in a massive criminal conspiracy that would make Tony Soprano blush was illusory. Presumably the guard was trying to preserve his job by showing his zeal in stopping rogue photography. Unfortunately, he has committed the cardinal sin of being born not-white and not from public school so his efforts are mostly likely in vain.
The high-vis jobsworth's behaviour does highlight a worrying trend in modern Britain, where someone taking a picture in a public place which they have an absolute legal right to do may be prevented by any number of martinets in day-glo yellow ranging from security guards, community support officers (or plastic filth as da yoof round my way terms them) and genuine not plastic, bona fide police officers.
In any debate about civil liberties, the temptation is to refer to slippery slopes and Nazi Germany, conjuring up images of Gestapo officers whizzing down waterslides (at least that's what it does in my head). I've already given in you see, by referencing Nazis in the previous sentence; sadly I have all the self-control of a dog caught short on a bowling green so it was bound to happen.
Interfering with street photography is a rare occasion when the slippery slope cliche applies. We are all entitled to take photos in a public place and letting self-appointed control freaks who do not know the law intimidate us means we lose a small but important freedom. Blame the 'war on terror' or rather blame the mindset that comes with such a stupid and self-defeating concept. Before the Trade Centre attacks and the July bombings on the tube, no one bothered about who was taking a photo of what. Why? Because trying to prevent a terrorist attack by stopping people taking pictures of landmarks or buildings is about as sensible as building a dam made of Disprin.
One way of preventing terror attacks is specific intelligence of radical groups. Another way of preventing atrocities is this: when a man arrives at the UK borders with hooks for hands, who preaches the destruction of Western civilisation, do not let him in the country. Simple really. Sadly common sense and government were last seen together under a bridge, where government was witnessed brutally shoeing common sense in a sickening re-creation of the underpass scene in A Clockwork Orange.
We are not powerless though and the only cure for this attempt to remove of our freedom by stealth is to take as many photos as possible of everything. Don't take pictures of serving police officers because thanks to Section 76 of the Counter Terrorism Act, that actually is an offence and I suppose if I encourage you, I could be guilty of some kind of terrorist conspiracy. Everything else is fine, especially if it's got a security guard in the frame and even better if its a bank recently found guilty of criminal activities (which is all of them isn't it?).
Let's hear those digital cameras make the simulated sound of a shutter releasing.
The high-vis jobsworth's behaviour does highlight a worrying trend in modern Britain, where someone taking a picture in a public place which they have an absolute legal right to do may be prevented by any number of martinets in day-glo yellow ranging from security guards, community support officers (or plastic filth as da yoof round my way terms them) and genuine not plastic, bona fide police officers.
In any debate about civil liberties, the temptation is to refer to slippery slopes and Nazi Germany, conjuring up images of Gestapo officers whizzing down waterslides (at least that's what it does in my head). I've already given in you see, by referencing Nazis in the previous sentence; sadly I have all the self-control of a dog caught short on a bowling green so it was bound to happen.
Interfering with street photography is a rare occasion when the slippery slope cliche applies. We are all entitled to take photos in a public place and letting self-appointed control freaks who do not know the law intimidate us means we lose a small but important freedom. Blame the 'war on terror' or rather blame the mindset that comes with such a stupid and self-defeating concept. Before the Trade Centre attacks and the July bombings on the tube, no one bothered about who was taking a photo of what. Why? Because trying to prevent a terrorist attack by stopping people taking pictures of landmarks or buildings is about as sensible as building a dam made of Disprin.
One way of preventing terror attacks is specific intelligence of radical groups. Another way of preventing atrocities is this: when a man arrives at the UK borders with hooks for hands, who preaches the destruction of Western civilisation, do not let him in the country. Simple really. Sadly common sense and government were last seen together under a bridge, where government was witnessed brutally shoeing common sense in a sickening re-creation of the underpass scene in A Clockwork Orange.
We are not powerless though and the only cure for this attempt to remove of our freedom by stealth is to take as many photos as possible of everything. Don't take pictures of serving police officers because thanks to Section 76 of the Counter Terrorism Act, that actually is an offence and I suppose if I encourage you, I could be guilty of some kind of terrorist conspiracy. Everything else is fine, especially if it's got a security guard in the frame and even better if its a bank recently found guilty of criminal activities (which is all of them isn't it?).
Let's hear those digital cameras make the simulated sound of a shutter releasing.
Thursday, 25 October 2012
European Separation
In the digital age, a Dear John letter is most likely an email or a text, ending a failing relationship. With Britain and Europe drifting apart economically and politically, we should do the decent thing and send that message. It might read as follows:
Dear Europe,
I think it's best you and go our separate ways, as this is just not working any more.
When we first got together in the 1970s, there was a real spark. You were sophisticated and exotic, you took naps in the afternoon, ate dinner late made from strange products like squid or sausages with actual meat in them. All I had was strikes, Heinz hoops and fried Spam served at 5 p.m. Without your influence, I would never have discovered the joys of sex with the lights on or driving cars that could make it out of the factory gate without breaking down.
In recent years, though, we have grown apart. You have become very controlling, trying to dictate whether I am allowed to deport terrorists for fear of breaching their human rights, banning the WI from selling home-made jam as a breach of health and safety laws or even mandating what tax rates my government may charge. I did not sign up to this Fifty Shades-inspired slave contract, to have every aspect of my national life be dictated by your mother-in-law, Germany.
All of this might not matter so much if I felt you respected or valued me. Every year 100,00s of your inhabitants head to my shores to seek opportunities they are unable to find at home, yet you treat me like some kind of pirate lurking on your coastline ready to undo your good works.
What a pity you do not want to learn from my political and cultural heritage. At the risk of picking at old wounds, the recent histories of your member states include (to name but a few) one genocidal dictatorship, five fascist states, two military juntas, three Nazi collaborators and two nations who stayed neutral in the greatest conflict in human history.
My background, in contrast, is a stable government under the rule of the law, where the rights of the individual were advanced and the role of free enterprise cherished. Of course we have made mistakes and are far from perfect. At least we take responsibility for our affairs rather than imagining an unelected bureaucracy might be the solution to our chronic corruption, cultural torpor and serial incompetence. You may learn a thing or two about civil society from me if you once listened.
I did warn you about the Euro and you branded me xenophobic. It is possible to value and respect European cultures and nation states without signing up to a masochistic, wealth-destroying currency union that benefits no one save the Bundesbank.
A divorce would be best for us both, custody of the children (Scotland and Wales) is perhaps best left to them to decide. Alex Salmond you are welcome to keep.
Love
Great Britain
Dear Europe,
I think it's best you and go our separate ways, as this is just not working any more.
When we first got together in the 1970s, there was a real spark. You were sophisticated and exotic, you took naps in the afternoon, ate dinner late made from strange products like squid or sausages with actual meat in them. All I had was strikes, Heinz hoops and fried Spam served at 5 p.m. Without your influence, I would never have discovered the joys of sex with the lights on or driving cars that could make it out of the factory gate without breaking down.
In recent years, though, we have grown apart. You have become very controlling, trying to dictate whether I am allowed to deport terrorists for fear of breaching their human rights, banning the WI from selling home-made jam as a breach of health and safety laws or even mandating what tax rates my government may charge. I did not sign up to this Fifty Shades-inspired slave contract, to have every aspect of my national life be dictated by your mother-in-law, Germany.
All of this might not matter so much if I felt you respected or valued me. Every year 100,00s of your inhabitants head to my shores to seek opportunities they are unable to find at home, yet you treat me like some kind of pirate lurking on your coastline ready to undo your good works.
What a pity you do not want to learn from my political and cultural heritage. At the risk of picking at old wounds, the recent histories of your member states include (to name but a few) one genocidal dictatorship, five fascist states, two military juntas, three Nazi collaborators and two nations who stayed neutral in the greatest conflict in human history.
My background, in contrast, is a stable government under the rule of the law, where the rights of the individual were advanced and the role of free enterprise cherished. Of course we have made mistakes and are far from perfect. At least we take responsibility for our affairs rather than imagining an unelected bureaucracy might be the solution to our chronic corruption, cultural torpor and serial incompetence. You may learn a thing or two about civil society from me if you once listened.
I did warn you about the Euro and you branded me xenophobic. It is possible to value and respect European cultures and nation states without signing up to a masochistic, wealth-destroying currency union that benefits no one save the Bundesbank.
A divorce would be best for us both, custody of the children (Scotland and Wales) is perhaps best left to them to decide. Alex Salmond you are welcome to keep.
Love
Great Britain
Monday, 1 October 2012
Buying Newspapers
When was the last time you paid to read a newspaper? If you live in London, remember the Metro and The Evening Standard are both free and contain remarkably little that could be called journalism. What their readers are really doing is redistributing copies from stalls at tube stations to the interiors of bus and train carriages, where cleaners then put them into rubbish bins. These days I like to be efficient so I just put the newspaper straight into the bin, unread.
I've always had a love-hate relationship with The Evening Standard, with the balance being around ninety percent towards hate. When I used to work near Oxford Circus and took the tube home, from time to time I was foolish enough to buy a copy for 35 pence, thinking surely a newspaper that was as thick as a sandwich would last me journey home. Wrong. By about Paddington, I would be into the property section, where the Standard saw its role as cheerleader in chief for over-priced, nasty new build in areas devoid of transport links, character or even a recognised place name. Their other long-running campaign was a stream of misleading, mendacious articles about the congestion charge, driven solely by the fact that some senior journalists and the editor resented paying the toll on their way to work. These days, Alexander Lebedev has turned it into a free sheet and even then, it feels like a rip off.
By my reckoning, the last time I paid for newspaper content was nine months ago, when I bought a Sunday Times and almost immediately regretted the purchase. Like all Sunday papers, it has bloated to such a flabby, over-puffed size that the main challenge is to work out which bits to read and which bits to discard at once. Twenty frustrating minutes later, when I failed to commit to a viable reading strategy, my conscience came to rescue, reminding me that it was a Murdoch rag. The inky stains it leaves on your fingers, it leaves those on your immortal soul, the angel of my better nature whispered. Into the wheelie bin it went.
My wife had a subscription to Time Out and we both valued it as a comprehensive listings magazine, with excellent reviews of every conceivable cultural activity in the capital. It seemed cheap at the price as you could always find something interesting to do from its pages. But Time Out has mutated into a free sheet also and much like the Metro is worth as much as its cover price. I'm sure there was a powerful commercial logic to their decision, but I for one will not be reading it again. Not out of spite, but it's now just a collection of PR pieces and is woefully short on reviews and content, without proper listings. If I'm going to waste my life reading drivel, might as well do it on the Mail Online crack bar where the truth about Harry's night in Vegas is finally revealed.
Maybe the era of newsprint is dead. The Guardian loses money at a frightening rate, £40 million plus per annum, The Times bleeds cash as does The Telegraph. The problem with modern newspapers is that they have embraced opinion pieces and editorialised content with gusto, to distinguish themselves from generic news content online. Unfortunately this has the potential to antagonise as many readers as it endears. For example, I might be reading The Guardian, appreciating their varied news coverage and championing of the underdog, all is well. Then entirely by accident I read an article by Polly Toynbee of such breathtaking self-righteousness and pomposity (especially when you consider her left wing credentials did not extend to educating her children in a state school) that it makes me want to buy a rifle and spend the afternoon shooting defenceless animals whilst wearing one of those T-shirts you can buy in Camden that says 'Hitler: European Tour 1939 -45'.
On the other side of the spectrum, I could be reading The Telegraph, enjoying their parliamentary pieces or cricket journalism and a gust of wind blows the pages over and my eyes alight on article by Christopher Booker about climate change. This piece is so filled with lies, distortions and deliberate falsehoods that in any other walk of life, the perpetrator would face criminal charges. Booker is in fairness merely a paid lackey of the tax-dodging Barclay brothers, owners of The Telegraph, who lurk like anthrax on the island of Sark. So to right this shameless abuse of journalist principles, I have to row a boat all the way that Channel Island and set fire to their castle.
Newspapers have created a zero sum game with the prevalence of opinion pieces. For every reader that enjoys Jeremy Clarkson ranting about speed cameras, there's another who wants to see him run over by a Prius Camper Van, ideally driven by a black lesbian in a wheelchair. The above is written by a recovering news junkie by the way, who used to watch C4 news, the news at 10 and then Newsnight all in the same day, to see the subtle differences in reporting. And I still won't pay for newspapers. Yes, I know The Guardian broke the phone-hacking scandal and The Telegraph the MPs expenses one, but I didn't buy a copy of either paper. Sorry.
Tuesday, 18 September 2012
Charitable Status
This blog is about private schools in the UK, which confusingly are called public schools, when they are by definition the opposite of being available to the public. Regents Park, though a high class green space, does not require to you to remortgage your house to avail yourself of its amenities, unlike the fees charged at 'public schools'.
I must declare a vested interest in this matter, as your humble blog scribe is a product of such an education system, a well-known London private school whose old boys run all the bits of Britain the Etonians didn't want. In my defence, I would like to stress that I have never owned a polo pony, attended a school-chum's birthday where there were waiting staff in black tie or tried to snog the daughter of an Earl. For the prosecution, I did know someone at school who had an actual Picasso in their London home and another boy who had a lift inside his house. Yes, inside, it's that bit which elevates you (pun-intended) from council tower block to extreme privilege.
Okay, it was a posh school, but my parents were ridiculous lefties if that makes any difference. Our Nicaraguan coffee was served in Nelson Mandela mugs; the bookshelves were filled with worthy Fabian writings. Of course my paternal and maternal comrades were not such ideological zealots that they would inflict genuine public education on their children. We grew up in the People's Republic of Islington in the 1980s, where state schools blended Dave Spart with a dash of Assault on Precinct 13.
Between us my brother and I had seen all of Shakespeare's history plays before the age of thirteen (yes even Henry VI) and that doesn't earn you kudos in the playground. It's a season ticket on the Train of Pain all the way to Hurt Station. Anyway, stepping off the Digression Express at Get to the F**king Point Junction, I did not go to the comprehensive down the road.
Therefore I think it does give me a perspective on an important issue: do private schools deserve their current charitable status? And the answer these days is without a doubt...no. Perhaps when I was young, when you could still buy comics in the newsagent and the internet was just a glint in a spotty computer geek's palm, it was just about possible to claim they performed some kind of charitable function. There were assisted places, where those children unlucky enough to be born into poverty might fully understand the extent of their misfortune. At my more tolerant school, they were only made to sit at the poor table for lunch while the whole school chanted 'Eat povos eat'. In other more traditional institutions, they worked as domestic staff and catamites for the governors. But conservative or progressive, private school fees twenty years ago, though high, were in the realm of the plausible for those without Swiss bank accounts.
Whilst I can't plead true hardship, both my brother and I were scholarship boys and that made all the difference between being able to serve ciabatta as opposed Safeway's value loaf. Believe or not, for two years in a row, we took a summer holiday in Britain. This was well before the concept of staycation, so going on holiday in August in the UK was neither retro cool or environmentally aware, it was just cheap(er) and rubbish. People who watched ITV took holidays in Britain, there I said it.
But, class envy aside, there was a social mix of sorts in private schools back then. As a student, I gained an excellent education in the arts, let no one let you that a knowledge of the gerund is useless, that information having been drummed into my head, I have not forgot (present prefect). My love of drama was such that every year I volunteered for the school play. Strictly speaking this was only for the cast parties, which were heavy-petting orgies. One of my fondest memories is the tongue fest that was the cast bash after the performing The Caucasian Chalk Circle. One of my least favourite memories second only to a nasty motorbike crash, is the actual play The Caucasian Chalk Circle. Berlolt Brecht should haven been tried for crimes against theatre, The Resistable Rise of Artuo Ui doesn't negate the awfulness of the rest of his writing.
So I spent time learning about Suetonius, debating the meaning of Measure for Measure (it was just a bad play, even Shakespeare had his off days - discussion over), when all I really wanted to do was undress certain girls from a nearby school. Hardy on a par with Medicin Sans Frontiers, I admit even then. These days private school's status is indefensible and you don't have to take it from me, ask anyone who works in the sector what has happened in the last twenty years. Only financiers, the landed gentry and the children of foreign oligarchs or petro princes can now afford the fees; their doors are closed to all save the parasite elite. Gone is the mixture of arts and sciences, they focus primarily on science and maths, so that the likes of Abramovich's children can dream of even more elaborate ways not to pay tax in their chosen host nation. Here the word 'host' has nothing to do with concepts of hospitality or manners, it is the larger mass on which the parasite class attaches itself.
Like everything in Britain these days, everything is for sale and if all private schools really offer is forcing houses for the children of the vampire super-rich then let's not give them the cloak of respectability of charitable status. If you want to segregate your child with the super-rich, do so, but pay in full for the privilege.
It's not about the politics of envy, who would envy the international elite?They are the most miserable, petulant breed on the planet, forever in a huff that their heli-skiing holiday didn't give them the perfect powder snow, their third guest house bath fittings are not exactly as instructed or their yacht is slightly smaller than the Sultan of Brunei's. They belong in a secure, walled community like Monaco, where they they can mix exclusively with other toxic individuals, like a giant open prison or mental institution with decent food.
Charities are a force for good, if anyone working in private education now can explain their positive benefits today, fee free to leave a comment below. Sadly their primary contribution in recent years seems to be a flow of Osborne types, steeped in Hayek and Rand, who having floated up on a wave of money and privilege, then lecture the rest of us about 'merit', 'free enterprise' and 'welfare dependency'. In keeping with their own nihilist philosophy, private schools don't deserve a tax break from the state nor should they want one.
I must declare a vested interest in this matter, as your humble blog scribe is a product of such an education system, a well-known London private school whose old boys run all the bits of Britain the Etonians didn't want. In my defence, I would like to stress that I have never owned a polo pony, attended a school-chum's birthday where there were waiting staff in black tie or tried to snog the daughter of an Earl. For the prosecution, I did know someone at school who had an actual Picasso in their London home and another boy who had a lift inside his house. Yes, inside, it's that bit which elevates you (pun-intended) from council tower block to extreme privilege.
Okay, it was a posh school, but my parents were ridiculous lefties if that makes any difference. Our Nicaraguan coffee was served in Nelson Mandela mugs; the bookshelves were filled with worthy Fabian writings. Of course my paternal and maternal comrades were not such ideological zealots that they would inflict genuine public education on their children. We grew up in the People's Republic of Islington in the 1980s, where state schools blended Dave Spart with a dash of Assault on Precinct 13.
Between us my brother and I had seen all of Shakespeare's history plays before the age of thirteen (yes even Henry VI) and that doesn't earn you kudos in the playground. It's a season ticket on the Train of Pain all the way to Hurt Station. Anyway, stepping off the Digression Express at Get to the F**king Point Junction, I did not go to the comprehensive down the road.
Therefore I think it does give me a perspective on an important issue: do private schools deserve their current charitable status? And the answer these days is without a doubt...no. Perhaps when I was young, when you could still buy comics in the newsagent and the internet was just a glint in a spotty computer geek's palm, it was just about possible to claim they performed some kind of charitable function. There were assisted places, where those children unlucky enough to be born into poverty might fully understand the extent of their misfortune. At my more tolerant school, they were only made to sit at the poor table for lunch while the whole school chanted 'Eat povos eat'. In other more traditional institutions, they worked as domestic staff and catamites for the governors. But conservative or progressive, private school fees twenty years ago, though high, were in the realm of the plausible for those without Swiss bank accounts.
Whilst I can't plead true hardship, both my brother and I were scholarship boys and that made all the difference between being able to serve ciabatta as opposed Safeway's value loaf. Believe or not, for two years in a row, we took a summer holiday in Britain. This was well before the concept of staycation, so going on holiday in August in the UK was neither retro cool or environmentally aware, it was just cheap(er) and rubbish. People who watched ITV took holidays in Britain, there I said it.
But, class envy aside, there was a social mix of sorts in private schools back then. As a student, I gained an excellent education in the arts, let no one let you that a knowledge of the gerund is useless, that information having been drummed into my head, I have not forgot (present prefect). My love of drama was such that every year I volunteered for the school play. Strictly speaking this was only for the cast parties, which were heavy-petting orgies. One of my fondest memories is the tongue fest that was the cast bash after the performing The Caucasian Chalk Circle. One of my least favourite memories second only to a nasty motorbike crash, is the actual play The Caucasian Chalk Circle. Berlolt Brecht should haven been tried for crimes against theatre, The Resistable Rise of Artuo Ui doesn't negate the awfulness of the rest of his writing.
So I spent time learning about Suetonius, debating the meaning of Measure for Measure (it was just a bad play, even Shakespeare had his off days - discussion over), when all I really wanted to do was undress certain girls from a nearby school. Hardy on a par with Medicin Sans Frontiers, I admit even then. These days private school's status is indefensible and you don't have to take it from me, ask anyone who works in the sector what has happened in the last twenty years. Only financiers, the landed gentry and the children of foreign oligarchs or petro princes can now afford the fees; their doors are closed to all save the parasite elite. Gone is the mixture of arts and sciences, they focus primarily on science and maths, so that the likes of Abramovich's children can dream of even more elaborate ways not to pay tax in their chosen host nation. Here the word 'host' has nothing to do with concepts of hospitality or manners, it is the larger mass on which the parasite class attaches itself.
Like everything in Britain these days, everything is for sale and if all private schools really offer is forcing houses for the children of the vampire super-rich then let's not give them the cloak of respectability of charitable status. If you want to segregate your child with the super-rich, do so, but pay in full for the privilege.
It's not about the politics of envy, who would envy the international elite?They are the most miserable, petulant breed on the planet, forever in a huff that their heli-skiing holiday didn't give them the perfect powder snow, their third guest house bath fittings are not exactly as instructed or their yacht is slightly smaller than the Sultan of Brunei's. They belong in a secure, walled community like Monaco, where they they can mix exclusively with other toxic individuals, like a giant open prison or mental institution with decent food.
Charities are a force for good, if anyone working in private education now can explain their positive benefits today, fee free to leave a comment below. Sadly their primary contribution in recent years seems to be a flow of Osborne types, steeped in Hayek and Rand, who having floated up on a wave of money and privilege, then lecture the rest of us about 'merit', 'free enterprise' and 'welfare dependency'. In keeping with their own nihilist philosophy, private schools don't deserve a tax break from the state nor should they want one.
Friday, 24 August 2012
Business Rates
Time to blog once more, now the Olympic buzz has worn off. I don't know how long you managed to keep that warm, fuzzy glow of British brilliance. If you had the misfortune to watch Olympic's closing ceremony then my guess is the time it took for George Michael to sing his new track. It might have worked if he'd really stuck to his new direction and crashed a sparkly taxi into one of the Spice Girls whilst smoking a joint so powerful its smoke trail can stone people in different postcodes. Seeing the set list, I decided to preserve my happy memories of the Olympic opening ceremony, the bright smiling faces of those winning Olympians - in particular Jade Jones and Laura Trott. Since when did sportswomen get so foxy ?
My post Games high lasted almost until the end of the week until I read an article which quoted leaked excerpts from a new book from the political right. Called 'Britain Unchained', it's the work of five young Tory MPs who have apparently concluded that the recession was caused by Britons's laziness and lack of productivity. The irony of being lectured on productivity by a quintet of politicians none of whom have ever worked in business, but instead come from those models of value-added industry like the law, academia and financial analysis is no doubt lost on them. I should add that the subtitle is 'Global Lessons for Growth and Prosperity',' which I'm assuming will focus on how we need to scrap those pesky health and safety laws that hold back British business from achieving its potential, like BP did in the Gulf of Mexico. Or something.
There's me thinking the recession might possibly have had something to do with financial deregulation and a dysfunctional banking system. But they're probably right, the recession was almost certainly caused by too many people looking at Facebook during work time. (On that note, what happens if you work for Facebook and during your working day you spend hours on your own personal Facebook page. Would you get a formal warning? No, it would probably be an Unlike).
You'll notice that we are more than halfway through the blog and I still haven't mentioned business rates. That's the problem with any form of taxation, as soon as you mention it, people's eyes glaze over or if you're Jimmy Carr, you make a hurried public apology. Start a conversation about local tax rates and you will be most likely be greeted by a pained expression, much like my wife assumes when I try to explain to her strictly speaking the human and cylons' battles should be silent as sound cannot travel in the vacuum of deep space. Yet those cluster of Tory tosspots writing about a subject of which they have no direct experience, business, were trying at least to ask a useful question, how do we get the economy growing again?
Perhaps the first thing we could do is create a tax system that doesn't actively penalise small businesses. I'm fortunate enough to be running a growing enterprise that has now reached the point where we need proper commercial premises. So there's a risk involved with taking on lease, staff and our reward for this is that we get to pay Islington council about £10k. For which, in return we get absolutely nothing, seriously, you have to pay extra to get your bins taken away. Unlike Jimmy Carr, I believe it's a moral obligation to pay tax so it's the not principle of paying tax I mind, this is just the way it works. This is not a tax on profits or turnover, it's a tax on taking on the liability of a lease. If you wanted to create a process that actively discourages people from growing their business, then short of dumping a container load of dead dogs in their office every Monday, I can't think of a better way of killing off entrepreneurial drive. (Expect of course if you ran a niche business reselling dog carcasses).
This is not a sob story, incidentally, we're doing fine. I am simply gobsmacked at how self-defeating and idiotic business rates are in practise. There that's my Olympic Games happiness sorted out once and for all. Back to being a whinging Pom.
And if anyone from Islington council does read this, what exactly do we get for our 10K?
My post Games high lasted almost until the end of the week until I read an article which quoted leaked excerpts from a new book from the political right. Called 'Britain Unchained', it's the work of five young Tory MPs who have apparently concluded that the recession was caused by Britons's laziness and lack of productivity. The irony of being lectured on productivity by a quintet of politicians none of whom have ever worked in business, but instead come from those models of value-added industry like the law, academia and financial analysis is no doubt lost on them. I should add that the subtitle is 'Global Lessons for Growth and Prosperity',' which I'm assuming will focus on how we need to scrap those pesky health and safety laws that hold back British business from achieving its potential, like BP did in the Gulf of Mexico. Or something.
There's me thinking the recession might possibly have had something to do with financial deregulation and a dysfunctional banking system. But they're probably right, the recession was almost certainly caused by too many people looking at Facebook during work time. (On that note, what happens if you work for Facebook and during your working day you spend hours on your own personal Facebook page. Would you get a formal warning? No, it would probably be an Unlike).
You'll notice that we are more than halfway through the blog and I still haven't mentioned business rates. That's the problem with any form of taxation, as soon as you mention it, people's eyes glaze over or if you're Jimmy Carr, you make a hurried public apology. Start a conversation about local tax rates and you will be most likely be greeted by a pained expression, much like my wife assumes when I try to explain to her strictly speaking the human and cylons' battles should be silent as sound cannot travel in the vacuum of deep space. Yet those cluster of Tory tosspots writing about a subject of which they have no direct experience, business, were trying at least to ask a useful question, how do we get the economy growing again?
Perhaps the first thing we could do is create a tax system that doesn't actively penalise small businesses. I'm fortunate enough to be running a growing enterprise that has now reached the point where we need proper commercial premises. So there's a risk involved with taking on lease, staff and our reward for this is that we get to pay Islington council about £10k. For which, in return we get absolutely nothing, seriously, you have to pay extra to get your bins taken away. Unlike Jimmy Carr, I believe it's a moral obligation to pay tax so it's the not principle of paying tax I mind, this is just the way it works. This is not a tax on profits or turnover, it's a tax on taking on the liability of a lease. If you wanted to create a process that actively discourages people from growing their business, then short of dumping a container load of dead dogs in their office every Monday, I can't think of a better way of killing off entrepreneurial drive. (Expect of course if you ran a niche business reselling dog carcasses).
This is not a sob story, incidentally, we're doing fine. I am simply gobsmacked at how self-defeating and idiotic business rates are in practise. There that's my Olympic Games happiness sorted out once and for all. Back to being a whinging Pom.
And if anyone from Islington council does read this, what exactly do we get for our 10K?
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