I knew it was too good to last

"Waterloo. Couldn't escape if I wanted to."- Confucius

Hubris, it would seem, is the downfall of us all. Whether it is a slow and steady walk up to the top of Mount Giantegohead, or a quick trip on the ski lift, sooner or later we will all come crashing down.

It can happen in small ways. The other day, I got the hiccoughs. Not too unusual. I tried to cure them with my own patented method, and it seemed to work. Remarking "See, hiccoughs are really very easy to cure", I was later cursèd with another two bouts of funny squeaky noises.

That was manageable. This plight, however, is not.

Latvians, wherefore have thou forsaken me?

Was my humble Google Translate offering not enough? Did it even turn you against me?

Whatever it was, I am truly sorry.

For those of you who can't read my stats page (and that should, theoretically, be everyone but me. If you can read it, aren't there more important things to hack? Presumably someone is constantly hacking the Daily Mail website, or else there wouldn't be the continuous stream of semi-digested bile and half truths that passes for journalism there), Having gone from a peak of 45 Latvians visiting this esteemed website, a large number of them in one week, I have somehow managed to fall to 44 Latvians having visited it. Someone hated it so much, they travelled back in time to prevent themselves ever reading it in the first place. But, hey. I got arrogant. Almost 50 people from one country read my stuff, so I naturally assumed I was now some kind of celebrity god figure. It seemed like a logical conclusion. And then they abandoned me...

Touché, Latvia.

Attempt at Economics

I will just clarify now. I am not, have never been, and probably will never be, an economics person. A lot of the complicated stuff goes right over my head. However, below are just a couple of musings of mine which I'm fairly sure make at least some sense. If they're completely off the mark, then oh well. On with the show.

The Paradox of the Free Market
It's something beloved by Americans, Thatcherites (irrelevant, but Google Chrome's spell checker suggests 'Thatcherites' should be 'hesitater'. Biting satire there from Google Chrome) and Pinochetians (which, as far as Google Chrome is concerned, just shouldn't exist). But is this fabled 'Free Marker' actually possible? Can it exist? (There's the crux; 'can', not 'should'. I've nothing against the market, per se; not without its flaws, of course, but anywhoo. That's another debate for another day.)

The problem is, as far as I can tell, that there seem to be two different definitions as too what constitutes a free market:
1) A market free from government regulation and influence, where pure capitalism takes centre-stage
2) An economic environment wherein one is free to compete and potentially prosper.
And the way I see it, these two are mutually exclusive ideas. Only something that combined the two would truly be a 'free market', in my opinion, yet such a scenario is impossible.

Allow me to demonstrate with the aid of soup. In this free market, government would take a back seat and everyone who wanted to make soup would have a fair chance at doing that and making a living out of it.

However, without the government, a few soup empires will rise to the top and crush all opposition. No room for the small soup merchant here; oh no. Huge business has a stranglehold on the market; ergo, it is not truly 'free'. Free suggests the freedom to compete, and this clearly isn't here.

On the reverse side, though, if there is to be competition, then businesses have to be kept artificially small, or at least restricted on where and to what extent they can pop up. This calls for Big Daddy State to step into the ring and make sure everyone is playing nicely. Hello government; goodbye free market.

Why Raising Tax Makes More Sense
Obviously, in an ideal world, we'd pay no tax. All the many services that people want and require would mystically find some sort of  easy, everlasting funding; the nuclear fusion of the public sector. As it is, if people want to live, they have to cough up a bit of money to the government. We can agree, hopefully, that this is basically acceptable, unless you're the cold hearted person who doesn't mind the old dear across the road croaking because you wanted a new box-set of Friends.

As it is, about 29 million in the UK pay income tax, which is the broad supply of funding for government spending. Raising or lowering this amount is a contentious issue. Using the complex science of 'Big Numbers', I will try to argue why raising tax makes far more sense than cutting it.

Basically, the science of 'Big Numbers' suggests that 29 million is quite a big number; in terms of pound sterling, at any rate. Conversely, 1 is quite a little number. Following? I should hope so. Anyway, 29 million people across the country are unlikely to notice, or be hugely affected either way, by a change of £1 (approximately 5 Freddo Bars, or a teeny-weeny-eeny chunk of the Swedish Forests). Raising tax by £1 per person, or even a little bit more, is unlikely to cripple households. They may have to go a week with a slightly less posh bag of crisps. But to the state, £29,000,000 is really quite useful, and can be spent on whatever needs £29,000,000, or even double that, should people be forced to fork out an extra £2 rather than 1.

Now, flip this scenario (I mean reverse; not the very polite, middle-class curse. Oh, flip this flipping scenario!), and apply the same figures to lowering taxes. Families up and down the nation aren't going to jump up and down for joy because the Chancellor has made them £1 or £2 better off each year. And The £29 million or £58 million loss of revenue for the state is going to hurt. For tax lowering to actually be useful and worthwhile, they need to be really quite big. And this just puts a drain on the country as a whole's income.


There. I hope that wasn't to banal, inane, or wrong. If you would like to learn more about the science of 'Big Numbers', then pick up your nearest calculator and press 9 until your finger starts bleeding.

An Idea (gasp!)

This will be quite short, as it's only a little idea, and I'm writing it down in the twelve minutes before University Challenge (priorities, people). It is also unlikely to be taken seriously, as it concerns constitutional reform, a subject that the government can never find time for when there's any slight possibility that it will make the Lib Dems happy (for happy, read 'not soul crushingly miserable'), while suddenly becoming a top idea when it will conveniently happen to rig the next election for the Tories.

Anyway, that's two of my twelve minutes gone, so I'll be brief; though, I'm sure that you have all the time in the world for constitutional reform, it being such a thrilling subject ("All right, Li'l Eric, what story do you want to be read for bedtime?" "Oooh, ooh! Tell me the one about the 2011 AV campaigns, Daddy!")

My idea is a small, yet I think, important one. Secret ballot for MPs. It worked, in a way, for Thatcher (and I'll wait now for the red to dissipate from the left-wing's eyes) and the unions. MPs are, frankly, too easy to bully, bribe and cajole into voting a particular way, whether the bullying, bribing and cajoling is done by governmental whips or outside interests. As such, it is really very, very easy for the government to pass any legislation that they want by threatening or tantalising their cohorts. It's at this point that Li'l Eric should gasp, and shout "But Daddy! That's not very democratic! And it's a feeble way to hold the executive to account in an institution wherein Parliament should be sovereign."

Damn straight, Li'l Eric.

As I said, it may just be a small change. But I do feel it can do little harm, and possibly a lot of good, for our legislative process to be voted on without whips breathing down our MPs' backs. Give 'em a chance to decide by their own accord. Gone are the days when the electorate would stand in a huddle and raise their hands for Fusty Manythugs the Tory or Oilward Bribethelot the Whig under great duress. Perhaps Parliament should catch up with the times.

And all that, with two minutes to spare. Fantastic.

Sveiki Latvija!

Tātad, es tikko uzzināju, ka pagājušajā mēnesī, man bija četrdesmit trīs apmeklējumus no Latvijas šajā blogā. Es nezinu, vai tas ir tas pats cilvēks, vai es esmu tikai pēkšņi padarot to liels Austrumeiropā (panta jums ir jāsāk kaut, es domāju). Tātad, ja tu esi latviešu, un vēlos, lai mani karalis vai kaut ko, tad atstājiet man komentēt. Vai varbūt kādu naudu.
Ak, un žēl, ja tas ir šausmīgs latviešu gramatiku. Es zinu tikai tik daudz latviešu kā Google Translate.


So, I just found out that over the past month, I have had forty-three visits from Latvia on this blog. I don't know whether this is the same person, or whether I am just suddenly making it big in Eastern Europe (you have to start somewhere, I suppose). So, if you're Latvian, and want to make me King or something, then just leave me a comment. Or maybe some money.
Oh, and sorry if this is awful Latvian grammar. I only know as much Latvian as Google Translate.

As testament to Google Translate's poor... translating, here's the English version again after it was translated into Latvian (allegedly) and then back into English:

So, I just learned that last month, I was forty-three visits of Latvian in this blog. I do not know if it is the same man, or am I just suddenly making it big in Eastern Europe Article you have to start somewhere, I think). So if you're Latvian, and I want to make me king or something, then leave me a comment. Or maybe some cash.
Oh, and sorry if this is a terrible Latvian grammar. I only know so much Latvian as Google Translate.

Marvellous work, Google.

Defiance

It happened, as these things usually do, in the middle of the night. Perhaps it was for the fear factor, to strike a blow against thoughts of speaking out when people are at their most vulnerable. Perhaps it was to lend that air of sinister mystery. Perhaps it was because jackbooted goons burn easily in the day and sunscreen is too expensive to buy in bulk.

Whatever their motive, it was inevitable that they would come, eventually. Oh, you could hold out for a while, maybe to the point where you thought you had beaten they system. But that’s not how it works. Not now, not ever. It always starts the same way. A collection of small, seemingly trivial things build up. And then the anger grows, and it froths, and it boils, and it spills over, until, ultimately, you stand up to the regime and the regime pushes you backwards so you fall over another conveniently placed part of said regime that is crouching behind you.

So when they arrived, I wasn’t really surprised. From the moment I began, I suppose I was always resigned to my eventual failure. Still, a man can dream.

A man can dream.

***************

It began, as angst-filled flashbacks usually do, in the past. It was a hot day in The Glorious Summer, and I was walking through the packed streets of The Capital. My eyes had never really been opened to the atrocities of The Organisation before; I knew that they disliked free speech, but I had never presumed it was to the extent that it would appear they did. They were bizarre, in a way. The symbol on the side of a van, doors ready and open for the screaming man who was being led towards it, was apparently omnipresent. They said it was meant to be. But woe betide you if you didn’t get permission first. The Organisation was very... particular about that. Their reasoning was, as ever, vague and unenlightening. Some spiel about ‘proper interests’ and ‘economic implications’. It was the same with other symbols, as well as words and phrases. They were all in favour of their name being spread –how could the ignorant be ruled, after all?– but only by the right people, lest the ideas they coveted be slighted and smeared. This was apparently what the man, who had been running a market stall, had done. ‘Undue permission’ was what the uniformed men had said as they dragged the offender away. Some more smashed up the stall, and confiscated the wares. Soon, they were gone, leaving little trace behind. I sometimes wondered if these were faux raids, pre-planned to instil fear and obedience. The despairing face, streaked with tears, threw this into doubt.

Seemingly, not a day went by where there wasn’t another such event recorded. A deli here, a hair salon there. Some of the big companies, of course, laughed smugly at all this. Others gritted their teeth with resentment. But there was little they could do. The Organisation had government backing. At times, it seemed they were the government. Hell, there was little anyone could do. You could conform or confront. But only one of those options guaranteed safety.

I don’t fully know why I did it, in the end. I guess the endless reports wore down my indifference. The Glorious Summer had recently turned sour as the heavens opened. Anger seemed to grow, both for those in The Organisation and those against it. ‘Pre-emptive detentions’ suddenly rocketed in number; all those who may have caused trouble for the Event, which grew ever closer, were detained. Better safe than sorry, they said. I guess that was really the last straw.

One day, open rejection of The Organisation’s policy seemed the only option. I walked to work eating unofficial chips, drinking unofficial soft drinks. I marvelled at their speed; it was barely ten minutes before a black car seemed permanently within 100 metres. Well, I say permanently. I own a small café, with one of those blackboard menus outside. I dared, that morning, to write some of the forbidden words on that menu for all to see. For all to be inspired by. Shortly after, the black car sped away. And, for the time being, that was the end of it.

That night, I packed a small bag containing some essential belongings, some changes of clothes, all that jazz. I put some food in the fish bowl. Left a note for the milkman. It wouldn’t be long.

***************

“What makes you think you can flout the rules so publicly, Mr Foster? They’re there for a reason, you know.”

I raised a finger. “Uh! Can’t use my name without permission” I said, with what I thought was a wry smile. For some unknown reason, I thought a little (attempt at) humour wouldn’t go amiss. Now, I’m not great at reading emotions, but from what I could gather from the way they pummelled me, the goons thought otherwise.

The relentless beating must have worn me out, because I soon found myself asleep, and the next thing I knew I was tied to a chair in some dank and damp grey room. A couple of thugs –they may have been the same ones; they all seemed largely interchangeable– were in the room, as was a man in a suit. He wore a gold watch and an irritable expression.

“Mr Foster,” I thought about repeating the gag, but for some reason my swollen mouth couldn’t quite bring itself to utter the words. “Do you know exactly what you are trifling with?”

“If I did, would I be allowed to say so?” Mistake. Beatings were lashed out again.

“I suppose concessions can be made, occasionally. You seem so intent on treasuring this ‘free speech’ business. Quite why, I couldn’t begin to even hazard an answer.”

I shrugged. “Got to have something to do.” I swallowed, painfully. “I can name you now, if you like.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “And where exactly would that get you?” The goons cracked their knuckles.

I looked down, and blinked. Where would it get me? “Defiance starts with small steps,” I mumbled.

The man laughed. “Very well, then. Name us.” The thugs took a step towards me. “Name us! Sully the air with words that you are not fit to utter!”

I took a deep breath. I raised my head with an aching neck, looked out through puffy, swollen eyes, and spoke through a mouth filled with blood. “I name you,” I coughed.

“I name you... LOCOG.”

The Real Concern With Lords Reform

I'll put it out there. An unelected law making chamber is an undemocratic abomination that should be purged without remorse or concern with overly hyperbolic language (what do you mean it's not worse than Hitler's Germany? Hitler's Germany is a fail-safe comparison for ANY internet argument! Oh, all right. Stalin's Russia, then. Take that, Godwin's Law!)

So, the current government (I say government. I mean Lib Dem) plans for a 300 strong, 80% elected House of Lords should be welcomed with open arms, right? Well, not quite. This may seem contradictory to my reasonably and moderately phrased second line at first. But stop and think; how many laws could you name that actually stem from the House of Lords? It is a very small number each year. Therefore, the abhorrence of unelected people making laws is not mutually exclusive to the idea of having the Lords remain largely as they are. Why? Because our second chamber is primarily a revisionist, not a legislative, body.

Its main functions are deliberation and scrutiny, two features that are sorely missed in the House of Commons due to the Lower Chamber's whipped majority (painful). The House of Lords, which has neither a single party majority nor the presence of whips, is able to independently analyse and amend bills as necessary. To this end, they are aided also by their professional expertise. Election could threaten both of these; there is a danger that those elected would simply be party animals trained to win elections, who would then toe the line once they had their tenure secured. There is no guarantee that the ‘right’ people would get elected; this may sound patronising of the public, but this makes it no less of a concern.

Election would then throw up the question of power. Currently, as well as amendments, the Lords can delay a bill for up to a year, which seems an appropriate ability for an unelected body. A determined government could eventually pass any law, either by simply waiting it out or citing the Salisbury Doctrine (essentially a ‘thanks, but no thanks’ to the Lords); however, this delay can still provide valuable time and publicity to a controversial debate (think of the Welfare Reforms), as well as giving the executive food for thought. Throw in elected members, though, and the Lords will start to demand more teeth. The result, then, is a second chamber with a mandate that will probably have to be given more power; a direct challenge to the already present government and its efficiency.

Election is then, in my eyes at least, unnecessary and potentially dangerous to the effectiveness of our political system. That is not to say, however, that there is dearth of reform that needs to be made. An 800+ House is far too large and a drain of public funds; likewise, the ability for the PM to parachute in new peers (a lovely image of men in red robes and wigs bursting through the roof) to fulfil his want vests a worrying amount of power into the executive; early after the 2010 election, Cameron brought in 117 new peers, most of whom were Tory, to aid his new government. So, I would suggest a cap on the total number of peers, and a limit on how many party ones could be introduced at any one time. Maybe encourage more crossbenchers. But election? No thanks.

Perhaps the worst thing about the current proposals for House of Lords reform doesn’t reflect the ideas for change themselves. Rather, it concerns the timing. The obvious argument is ‘why waste time on constitutional matters when we should be fighting the recession’ (image of George Osborne dressed as a wrestler is less lovely). However, more worrying for me is the fact that if the Lib Dems get their Lords reform, then the Tories will get their Boundary Change reform. Aside from the obvious numerical issues (I can’t find exact figures at the moment, but the Conservatives certainly lose the fewest MPs, proportionally speaking), there is also the fact that this would hand more power from Parliament to PM. Removing 50 MPs makes the House of Commons easier to control by far, and this attack on democracy (it seems impossible at times to talk about democracy without getting too emotional) seems ill-justified by the quarter of a million or so pounds that would be saved annually. As top economists say, this amount is ‘small beans’ in the grander scheme of things. Cameron has been clever keeping this bill low on the boil; the economy, Olympics and Lords ensure that there is far more to get riled by. And if Lords reform is passed, there will be little stopping the Boundary Changes. I’d rather have neither than both.

So, House of Lords reform: the wrong terms at the wrong time. Other than that, top job, Nick.

Boris Johnson Planning His Tea

Because I could literally think of nothing better to do, I'm making a Boris Johnson Planning His Tea tubmlr account. There are photos of Boris. And caption of him planning tea.

After it, basically anything will be enjoyable in comparison.

Yeah.