Tow Yard Complaint

This is old, but pure pleasure.

Have a good weekend.

Guilty Secrets

The Fink has a piece today about a New York journalist who has shat on Billy Joel from a great height. The Fink, who does not strike me as being avant garde about anything in life, is a BJ fan, and feels compelled to defend the short fat Long Island songster. The NY journo is a certain Ron Rosenbaum, so this could be a sort of Jewish professional writers' spat. Oy vey!

The bit where Rosenbaum tries to cover his guilt in buying BJ's greatest hits (for professional reasons, to help him write his piece) by adding a street-cred Gram Parsons covers disc he already owned is great stuff. The Fink reckons Ron is being too precious, snobbish and sensitive about being seen (by the till-girl!) buying Billy Joel.

But I think there is something in this. When I browse a big record store (only during sales), I also have brief moments of embarrassment when caught looking at the playlist on the back of a disc by a long-remembered 70s band. This sort of thing happens with Bob Seger, perhaps, or the Allman Brothers - to take two names from the top of my iTunes listing. (But obviously NOT with Aretha, The Band, or the great Barry White, to take three others).

Another angle: bands that go bad (or, as someone once memorably said about post-Gabriel Genesis 'started sucking commercial dick'). I want everyone to know that I own Tres Hombres by ZZ Top (1973), but none of the later 70s and 80s stuff. Where does one draw the line on Elton? (post-Captain Fantastic, I suggest).

Those who don't take music seriously - Abba fans seems an accurate collective description - couldn't give a stuff about any of this and haven't read this far. But the rest of you will have guilty secrets, and here is your chance to come clean and seek absolution.

Billy Joel? Yes, I listen to it when Mrs Idle plays it, and I enjoy the mid-70s stuff. Neil Diamond too.

My own guilty secret: Talk Talk. What's yours?

"BBC Impartial" - Shock

Minister presses BBC on Gaza appeal
Last Updated: Saturday, 24 January 2009, 04:28 GMT- Search: Gaza appeal DEC

A Government minister has urged the BBC to "stand up" to the Israeli authorities and broadcast an appeal to raise emergency funds for Gaza.
Ben Bradshaw, himself a former BBC journalist, said that broadcasters' decision not to screen the appeal by the Disasters Emergency Committee (DEC) was "inexplicable" and dismissed the Corporation's explanation for its position as "completely feeble".
BBC director general Mark Thompson on Friday turned down a request from International Development Secretary Douglas Alexander to reconsider his decision.
Mr Thompson said that he was concerned that broadcasting the appeal might compromise the BBC's impartiality. The BBC and other broadcasters have also expressed anxiety about whether any aid raised could be delivered effectively on the ground in Gaza, where thousands of people are in need of food, shelter and medicine following a three-week Israeli military offensive.

This is strange.

Anyone who has watched Al-beeb's coverage of Gaza this past month might consider that Thompson's defence: "might compromise the BBC's impartiality" is pretty risible. Jeremy Bowen could not have been more obvious in his partiality had he presented his reports in Arab headgear and followed every mention of the word 'Israel' by spitting on the ground.

The Government, meanwhile, has been tolerant of Israel's action, and has taken a lot of flak from the Left as a result. Perhaps this is a disciplined approach. Perhaps Miliband has said little because he is on the naughty step after his childishness, arrogance and stupidity in India. Perhaps they were waiting to take their lead from the Great One, Obama (who kept his head down over the whole thing, quite correctly). Anyway, they have pissed off their own people.

So this Disasters Emergency Committee appeal tiff provides the fig-leaf for the Government (it's humanitarian, innit?). But the BBC is suddenly sensitive of being seen as the Hamas Supporters' Club, so has turned down the disaster appeal, in a thoroughly illogical attempt to achieve balance. The Government, unable to criticise Israel in the way its instincts tell it to, have unleashed that deadly attack dog, Ben Dover-Bradshaw, to try to gain some credibility with the Left. He is trying to lead us to believe that the Beeb won't broadcast because of pressure from 'the Israeli authorities'. Is this likely? Wedgie Benn will be marching on Broadcasting House later today, with a full tobacco pouch and a large thermos.

Socialist fur flying. Love it.

The Desperation of the Man Made Global Warming Moonies

As the great Ronnie used to say: there they go again. Inexplicably, the messiah Obama didn't come on strong enough for the new religionists in his inaugural address, so Susan Watts of Newsnight got her scissors and paste out, and put things right. What a dishonest and arrogant woman. Plus, she manages to patronise her pin-up Barrack.

I have no prejudicial reason to deny man-made climate change; I have as much interest in a healthy planet for my great-grandchildren as anyone else. But I can spot cant, hypocrisy and humbug when I see it, and the Al Gore lobby has a big red warning light flashing on it. It couldn't be more obvious if it was standing on a stepladder in no-man's land at night, wearing a luminous balaclava and chainsmoking.

H/T The excellent Englishman's Castle

So, Farewell Then

I had an account opened for me at the Royal Bank of Scotland in Union Street, Aberdeen when I left prep school for my public school. No longer would I clutch the few ten bob notes collected from relatives and godparents in my grubby hand and take them to the housemaster on day one of a new term; I had a chequebook (no need for a bank card) and by golly I was pleased with myself.

My bank manager was the same man who had looked after both parents for many years. He was a gentleman Aberdonian of the old school called Bill Munnoch and he wore a kilt every working day, I understood. He looked upon me and my brother with an avuncular kindliness that owed everything to his relationship with my parents, which was one of mutual respect and trust. Whether he articulated it, or whether it simply went without saying, there was no chance of him bouncing a cheque of mine, just as the idea that I would (deliberately) write cheques beyond my limit was unthinkable.

Bill Munnoch retired, known and respected by all Aberdeen, it seemed, and doubtless spent his retirement shooting wildfowl and playing golf at Banchory. My father muttered that things would never be the same again, which, given his mortage, crumbling house, unproductive farm, school fees and limited naval income, meant that he had not yet achieved the same level of support from Munnoch's replacement, who was a trousered chap without his predecessor's charm.

The Royal Bank, it seemed to me, was as solid as Grampian rock, and about as flashy. For the next twenty years, I took it for granted that its success was the result of centuries of caledonian sagacity. Only about ten years ago did it occur to me that a new breed of pushy Edinburgh professionals had usurped the auld grey men and had bet the farm, ten times over.

Well, we know the rest. Today's news and the disemboweling of the share price leaves one very short step to complete nationalisation, and the total loss of a reputation for financial acumen and conservative stewardship that had been built since 1727.

The misery will be felt by millions - many times more outside Scotland than within. And the blame can be fairly pinned to the board in general and Fred 'the shred' Goodwin in particular. He and they have been guilty of a degree of gross negligence and malpractice for which retrospective confiscation of assets seems to be the only adequate punishment. A greed for personal enrichment drove these bastards to do what they did and its loss is what they will most keenly regret.

Surcharge them.

It Always Pays to Travel First Class

We don't want those expensive loafers getting wet.

Different Strokes for Different Folks

The Tuscan has a story that I suppose most of you have seen. In short, pleasuring onesself on a long straight road, whilst filming it, is deemed dangerous driving, even by Australian standards.

I thought the judge was unnecessarily harsh on the poor, bored bastard. Given that she was going to bang him up for his drugs offences anyway, it was bad form to introduce the onanism angle.

The French, of course, take a different view of this, as this tale confirms:

A gendarme was strolling down the Champs-Élysées one balmy summer evening when he saw a man, partially obscured by a tree, apparently having a pee.

"Monsieur!" shouted the Frog plod, "défense de pisser ici. C'est interdit!"

"Je pisse pas" said the man over his shoulder, "je m'abuse"

"Pardon Monsieur!" said the gendarme hurriedly, "vive le sport!"