BAN THE SCOTS Monday, Oct 29 2007 

houses-of-parliament.jpg Tory leader, David Cameron, is calling for Scottish MPs to lose their vote over English matters. Addressing a problem that has been around since Scotland got its own Parliament, why should Scottish MPs be able to vote on English affairs when English MPs cannot vote on Scottish?
It is a relevant problem that must be addressed at some stage, but we must ask why Cameron is so worried about this issue at this time?
As always in party politics, the issue is not as simple as it seems. Labour has a strong presence in Scotland, and much of their power lies in the Scottish vote. Hence, if this vote was stopped, Tory policies would stand a better chance of success.
As always, a proper issue is addressed by MPs for the wrong reasons.

© Anthony North, October 2007

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MOORE AND BLAIR Thursday, Oct 25 2007 

infantryman.jpg Michael Moore was interviewed on British TV on Wednesday night (ITN – 10.30pm), and advised that Tony Blair was more responsible for the Iraq War than Bush Jr – and I must admit, I tend to agree.
First off, we must remember that Bush is simply a dummy; albeit with very sinister hands stuck up his back. And second, he wouldn’t have dared go to war in complete isolation. Blair broke that isolation, thus allowing war to happen.
Moore went on to say slightly encouraging words about Gordon Brown, and it is here that he lost the plot. Brown was No 2 in Blair’s government from day one. Every decision made was agreed by Brown.
We tend to not realize this because Brown made an art form of the disappearing trick. Just like McCavity, when awkward questions were asked, he was never there. Brown has as much blood on his hands as Blair – and we must always remember that.

© Anthony North, October 2007

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www dot saucer Tuesday, Oct 23 2007 

beta-alien.jpgThere were many reasons why he was called Puck. The obvious reason was his small, thin stature, over-large eyes and strangely pointed ears. If anyone could be a descendant of fairies – perhaps even a changeling in modern clothes – then it was Puck. This, and the fact that at school he was always called ‘a little ****’ Well, we can work out for ourselves that it rhymes.
Puck had three loves in his life. One – arguably the lesser – was his girlfriend Cheri. Another was his love of computers. Indeed, Puck was a wizard of unusual ability. And the third, in keeping with his name, was his love of the woods which spread out, up country, from the bottom of his garden. And it was on the day of the story that he was wandering through the woods when a blinding light led to the appearance of what can only be described as a flying saucer, crashed and stuck in the ground.
Obviously being a genius in cyberspace, initiative rarely infiltrated into the real world. Hence, Puck looked at his new find with amazement, not really knowing what to do. Hence, he sat down, cross-legged, in front of his find and stared.

Cheri, on the other hand, was made of more sensible stuff.
She had just finished work for lunch. Walking down the street of the small town, she was feeling rather frustrated. As much as she loved Puck, she couldn’t get over the boredom of his constant hours on the computer. It wasn’t that he wasn’t kind. He was. It wasn’t that, when his attention was on her, he was not attentive. He was. But the relationship lacked that all important excitement a full blooded woman required. That, and the fact that when they made love, she had to reach down for his mouth so far that her neck ached.
Cheri was contemplating her future with Puck when she saw him excitedly running down the street.
‘Come on,’ he said, out of breath as he reached her. ‘I’ve got something to show you.’
This was different. He appeared animated. He appeared exciting. And a natural boost of adrenalin seemed to affect her, too.

‘So what do you think of it?’ asked Puck as they stood in front of the flying saucer.
Cheri had to admit it was interesting. ‘How did it get here?’ she asked.
‘There was a flash, then a bang, and here it was,’ replied Puck, before beginning a closer inspection of the shell of the saucer.
‘What are you trying to do?’ said Cheri, momentarily.
Puck’s face beamed. ‘Why, get in, of course.’
And so it was that, ten minutes later, Puck had found a door and he and Cheri sat in the tiny cockpit of the tiny flying saucer that was obviously made for a pilot even smaller than him.
Cheri’s neck did, of course, ache more than usual. ‘It’s so cramped,’ she said. To which Puck placed his arm around her neck and kissed her lovingly.
To Cheri, this was a whole new experience. The find had obviously excited him more than she could have dreamed. But her obvious hopes were shattered when Puck found, on the console, what could be nothing other than a computer. Puck’s fingers stiffened, his eyes gleamed, and within seconds he was tapping away.
Offering a sigh, Cheri looked around her – realised another door existed leading to another cabin. Looking once at Puck and then at the door, she sighed again and went to open it, offering a scream as a small blubbery, grey, bug-eyed alien fell through into the cabin, obviously bloodied and dead.
The scream terminated Puck’s interest in the terminal and he looked round. Seeing the dead alien beside him, he stared for many seconds. Then, suddenly, he burst into tears.

Cheri found the tears most disconcerting. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.
Through streaming tears, Puck said: ‘I’m not sure. I just feel … I just feel so in tune with it. It’s as if a part of me has died.’
Silence followed this declaration. Puck raced back to the computer and began tapping away again. Not wanting to be too close to the dead alien, Cheri moved round to the other side of the cabin and sat down as comfortably as she could.
Eventually, Puck stopped his tapping, sat back and said: ‘This is fantastic.’
‘What is?’ said Cheri.
‘It seems,’ said Puck, ‘that I’m the alien’s great, great, great, great, great, great grandfather.’
Half an hour later, thoughts whirred through Cheri’s head, unable to believe what she had just heard. ‘So let me get this right,’ she said, after Puck had offered a complete explanation. ‘The alien and the flying saucer are from the future.’
‘Yes. ‘
‘He is, infact, an archaeologist, come back in time, to trace the roots of his civilisation.’
‘Yes.’
‘He obviously lost control and crashed.’
‘Yes. ‘
‘But he is, essentially, human. And the evolution of man took a turn when you thrived better than the normal human being.’
A look of pride issued from Puck’s animated face. With a declaration of destiny, he announced: ‘I, it seems, am the future. ‘

The sun was setting as they exited the flying saucer and sat in the wood, close by. Cheri was happy to be out of the craft. Rubbing her neck, she said:’So what do we do now?’
Puck thought a moment and said: ‘I’m not sure. But one thing I do know is no one must find the saucer.’
‘Why’s that,’ said Cheri.
‘Because of the time-line.’
There he goes with his big concepts, thought Cheri. But she said: ‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s quite simple,’ said Puck. ‘The slightest change to what happens now could drastically affect the future and change it.’
‘So you mean, knowing that this is what we are to become could mean that we don’t?’
‘Exactly.’ Then another thought struck him. ‘Infact,’ he said, ‘it’s not inconceivable that it was the archaeologist coming back that began the change in the first place.’
‘Meaning what?’
‘Meaning that my finding of the flying saucer gave me the ideas and intelligence to create the evolutionary change in the first place.’
Cheri looked agog. ‘You mean you would be the actual father of the future?’
‘Yes,’ said Puck. ‘Which would obviously make you the mother. ‘
Cheri had often thought about children. What would they be like? Would they be tall and handsome? Would they be successful in life? But suddenly, she thought of a strange future for man, with mental ability rising above physical ability – as Puck put it – enlarging the brain and shrinking the body. And this was most definitely not the kind of children she had in mind.
Indeed, maybe it was for such selfish reasons that she picked up the branch and bludgeoned Puck to death. And as Puck breathed his last breath, a flying saucer disappeared in front of her eyes.

(c) Anthony North

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SATURATED OCEANS Monday, Oct 22 2007 

delta-sky.jpg Researchers at the University of East Anglia have advised that the oceans are soaking up less CO2. It is unknown whether this is due to global warming or a natural cycle, but it suggests the possibility of adding to climate change effects.
A great deal has been said in recent years that computer modeling as evidence for climate change is inefficient, in that it cannot correctly predict the effects. This is quite true. Science is never an exact thing.
But in the past, criticism has always been used to suggest there is an over-reaction to global warming. Perhaps this new evidence of oceanic effects – also not catered for in computer modeling – will show skeptics that the process can work the other way, too.
But I won’t hold my breath.

© Anthony North, October 2007

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MORALLY SUPERIOR AMIS Thursday, Oct 18 2007 

muslim.jpg The writer Martin Amis has advised that he feels ‘morally superior’ to Muslim states, which are not as ‘evolved’ as the west. The obvious accusations of racism have followed, but this does not help.
I happen to both agree and disagree with him, but the first point, here, is the right to free speech. This seems to be under threat from some Muslims AND modern western liberal ideals. Hhmm. More evolved, eh.

There are many problems with some Muslim states.

The first of these is the oneness between religion and politics. It can often be an explosive combination, and the road to totalitarianism. We, in the west, experienced it for a thousand years during Christendom.
It began to improve with the arrival of the Renaissance, fuelled, I might add, by reintroduction to Europe of Classical texts which had been in the safe keeping of Muslims. It was so kind of them.

Yet we expect of them, today, what took us over a millennium to achieve.

The second point is affluence. We, in the west, are under the delusion that we are affluent. This could change any time because it is all based on the ‘confidence’ of the market. Should that change, then our ‘evolved’ state would possibly go.
Life appears orderly in the west because we presently have the services and comfort to allow such order. If these things were suddenly taken away, we would then see just how ‘evolved’ western society really is.
To have what we want and not struggle is a totally different thing to being moral.

© Anthony North, October 2007

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CLIMATE CHANGE MEDIA Monday, Oct 15 2007 

alpha-first-prize.jpg The decision to award the Nobel Peace Prize to Al Gore is worrying. Awarded jointly to him and the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC), it places global warming at the forefront of global security.
This may indeed be the case in the near future, but not yet. And my worry is that, the science of the problem is getting lost in the hype. This is clearly seen in Gore’s film, An Inconvenient Truth. With an accurate message, it did, however, contain errors.
The science of man-made involvement in climate change is not proved, but highly likely. This is always the case with science. But if we begin nudging towards hype and milking the consensus, those who disagree with man-made climate change will be handed an invaluable weapon.
I think it is time to return to commonsense in this issue, and forget the hype.

© Anthony North, October 2007

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THE WARRIOR ON THE HILL Saturday, Oct 13 2007 

wood.jpgIt was Hyram Zimmerman, pseudo scholar and psychical researcher extraordinaire, who tipped me off. ‘Dirk, boy, I’ve got a great tale for you. Just up your street.’ And when he told me, I had to admit I was intrigued.
I’d always had an interest in local folklore. Although the archaeological establishment hated them, I knew only too well that they were often remembrances of ancient events. And one thing you could guarantee about an ancient event is that it would leave archaeological remains.
The folk tale of the warrior on the hill was well known to the local population, Hyram told me. And I’d heard mention of the myth myself -of a great last stand of the Celt tribe before the Saxon onslaught. The warrior in question fought hard, taking over twenty souls with him on his journey to the afterlife. But down the years tales of his appearances continued to be told. Yet although the tradition was strong, no archaeologist had ever tried to find the remains.
After Hyram’s phone call I rang Jane Meadows. ‘But it’s ridiculous, Dirk,’ she said. ‘We don’t chase folk tales, you know that.’ She paused. Continued: ‘And apart from that, it’s such a massive area. There’s no way we could afford to survey the whole area.’
So Jane was out of it. And that was without telling her of the latest twist in the tale.
How did Hyram put it?
‘You must see this Brian Dean; a local amateur, admitted, but he’s got quite a tale to tell.’
‘Meaning what?’
‘Meaning, he’s seen the warrior recently.’
No, I didn’t tell Jane that. She’d never have stopped laughing for weeks. But me? I was made of different stuff and immediately packed a bag.
When I arrived at the site Brian Dean was waiting for me. He was an eccentric looking type of about forty. Living in the area all his life, it soon became clear he had an obsession with the hill. ‘I know the warrior’s grave is here,’ he said. ‘I just know.’
‘And how can you be so certain?’ I asked.
‘Because I’ve seen him.’
Hyram had told me this, but I still found it fantastic.
Brian continued: ‘His grave is in that small copse,’ he said, pointing about fifty yards up the hill. ‘He’s always there when I see him, as if he’s telling me.’
Later that day I looked around the site. Found evidence of disturbed earth. But there was something about the place that pulled me. I suppose it was more than just the geography of the place. It was the marriage between landscape and folklore. To me the two were as one, the land telling its story through the people.
I slept there that night, letting the environment soak into me. However, in the middle of the night I was awoken by a noise. Rubbing my eyes, I looked into the gloom, and within the trees I saw movement. Sitting up I strained my eyes to see, and there, ethereal but just visible, I saw him, the great old warrior, hacking away as he fought before seeming to disappear into the trees.
I’d seen ghosts before, so maybe I was hardened to them by now. But there was something different about this one, and I wasn’t frightened in the least. But the sighting convinced me to dig around. See what I could find.
It was three days later that I came upon the first signs of an old Iron Age fort. As I saw the tell-tale indications my heart fluttered. I only expected to find artefacts. Bones would have been a bonus. But a fort?
I immediately contacted Professor Marcus Coleman, professor of archaeology at Oxbridge.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Anderson,’ he said. ‘I know you and your mania for folk tales. Well I’m not buying it.’
I tried again several times over the next week, but no one in the archaeological fraternity would touch the site. So eventually I had to give up. Hence, you can imagine my shock when, a month later, Professor Coleman himself turned up at the site and ‘discovered’ an Iron Age fort.
‘I just thought I’d check out this old site,’ he told the media. ‘You know, sometimes these obscure places can provide the greatest dividends. ‘
I protested, of course. But as Jane Meadows told me after my seventh time of badgering Coleman. ‘He hates your ways,’ she said, ‘and he’ll never, ever, admit your methods can work.’
‘It’s just intellectual snobbery,’ I said.
‘I agree.’
So that’s it – the story of how I was robbed of my greatest find. Well, not quite the whole story. For I saw my ghostly Celtic warrior one more time on the hill. But this time I was ready for him. Indeed, the ghost made a most un-ghostly noise as he fell over the trip wire.
Running up, I said: ‘Okay Brian, I believe you. Now can you please stop the theatricals.’

© Anthony North, June 2007

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GO CAMERON, GO Thursday, Oct 11 2007 

houses-of-parliament.jpg In the first Prime Minister’s Questions since the election that never was, David Cameron finally did what a Leader of the Opposition should do, and verbally mauled our ‘esteemed leader’.
It is often said that the theatre of PMQs is pointless, but this is not the case, for it shows the personality of a politician when under pressure – a thing that is normally only seen in private, where the public are none the wiser.

But now we can see Brownski for what he is.

Showing expressions ranging from arrogance to self-pity, it was not a pretty sight. Yes, many people react so under pressure, but we’re talking about the man who is Prime Minister.
In him, a man who’s real feelings are so close to the surface suggest a man who cannot be relied upon to make the right decisions when it counts. He has only been successful because the economy allowed him to be.
This is no longer the case. A man who is indecisive, arrogant, and just learning to walk straight after ten years with a massive chip on his shoulder, we should be hounding this unelected ‘dictator’ out of office – while we still can.

© Anthony North, October 2007

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A WAY TO DIE Wednesday, Oct 10 2007 

alpha-man-at-desk.jpg He sat in the chair, fuming. Tobias Alousius Bertram, Lord Lloyd – known as TAB to his friends – wanted answers. And he wanted them quick. ‘The readers smell a rat. So what are we going to do?’
Ed puffed away on his 5th of the meeting. ‘No bother, boss,’ he replied. ‘Brad has it all in order.’ He turned to Brad, a stormy look on his face, returning to tranquility as he turned back to TAB.
Brad Wycliffe beamed his usual smile. ‘No problem, boss, I’ve got it sorted.’ And as he had no minion to pass the buck to, the smile remained. Brad, you see, was a survivor. Which is more than could be said for Wayne Giles.
‘Celebrities, eh?’ said Ed. ‘You can’t live with em, you can’t live without em.’
It began when Ed called Brad into the editor’s office. ‘Brad,’ he said, ‘this Wayne Giles. We don’t have any shit on him.’
Brad immediately realized he had not been doing his job. Wayne had been a celebrity singer for a year now, and not a hint of scandal. ‘Sorry boss. I’ll see what I can do,’ said Brad, and off he went.
But could it be there was a celebrity who was clean? ‘No such thing,’ Brad would often say on a night in the bars. ‘Celebrities are of a certain mind-set which means they can’t help but be scandalous. All I have to do is find it out.’
But with Wayne Giles, Brad was hitting a brick wall. Until, that is, a call girl appeared out of the blue. To which the Paparazzi had a field day – after Brad’s own photographer, of course.
‘I like it. I like it,’ said Ed, holding the front page. ‘Where the hell did you find her?’
‘Yellow Pages,’ replied Brad, before exiting for the next stage of the news …
‘It is not my stuff; I’ve never done the stuff,’ said Wayne Giles, looking drawn, as he left the police station two days later. But the evidence accrued by Brad Wycliffe was damning indeed.
‘We’re on a roll,’ said Ed, the following day. ‘This one will go and go.’
‘Until Wayne Giles’ demise,’ said TAB, bringing the editor and reporter back to reality.
‘Yea,’ said Ed sadly. ‘But we can still keep the story going, boss.’
‘Except that people think he was driven to suicide by the press.’
‘Oh, I’ve sorted that one,’ said Brad. ‘We’re definitely running the story as murder.’
‘I suppose that could just wash,’ said TAB. ‘Good job there was no suicide note.’
‘Absolutely,’ said Ed, holding up a note. ‘What do I do with this?’

© Anthony North, October 2007

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POSTAL STRIKES Monday, Oct 8 2007 

alpha-do-not-enter.jpg As I write, UK postal workers have carried on their strike into a second phase. For several days now, mail has not been collected or delivered. Whether they have a case for more money and job security, I don’t know.
But this is hardly the point. The world has moved on, and I find it interesting that there is virtually no public support for the action. The days of worker solidarity have gone. Society, in general, is too selfish today for such a cause.
And, indeed, I can see a certain element of selfishness in the strike itself. The Post Office no longer holds a monopoly like it used to. Whether it should or not is irrelevant. The world is, I’m afraid, what it is.
Hence, to further damage the Post Office by such action can have only one outcome – the further take-over of their services by private enterprise. And this being the case, it seems to me that they are destroying their jobs themselves.

© Anthony North, October 2007

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