Billy rapped all night

I'm afraid of Americans

2007-06-26T14:02:00.000Z

Having spent a long weekend in New York, the one thing that stands out for me was the overwhelming confidence that seeps out of every pore. America is confident about its position in the world- despite a debatable foreign policy and an economy that is on the brink of a major downturn.
The star-spangled banner is everywhere, far more than is possibly healthy- I cannot imagine Britain ever flying as many flags. I always thought of the US as a melting pot of nationalities with no real allegience a single flag- this is clearly not the case anymore. Perhaps 9/11 changed it all in the US, I don't know.
I also thought that New York was heavily influenced by the Irish and Italians. I have to say I found little of this. The overwhelming visible culture was one of black America. The music was dire hip-hop/rap/R&B, blaring from almost every bar, store or passing car. Since my last visit in 1994, I would say that there has been a huge influx of immigrants in New York.
Nevertheless, I enjoyed the sights of New York, notably the Empire State Building, The Music of Modern Art and Central Park. The city seems very safe and relatively clean- certainly cleaner than London, which is an obvious improvement since the 1970s and 1980s. It is not so much the city that never sleeps, because when we went shopping in SoHo, early on Saturday morning, it was closed. But it is the city that offers absolutely everything, at a good price at the moment for Brits.
The New Yorkers claim that the city is the greatest in the world. I'm not so sure. It is certainly the loudest and most brash I have come across. Give me Paris, Prague or Berlin...

Seven Stars is a five star pub

2007-06-18T16:31:00.001Z

The City of London and most parts of London are awash with branded bars such as “All Bar One”. These establishments have pushed the traditional pub to one side- in fact, in the City there are few pubs worthy of a mention. That’s why I invited to friends to enjoy an ale or two at The Seven Stars in Carey Street (behind the Law Courts). Now this pub is an old one but does not play the “Olde worlde” game played by some pubs that want to give off the air of an old-fashioned pub- the type that used to sit on every London street corner, according to folklaw.
One of my friends, a refugee from Canary Wharf, the town of glitzy chrome and glass, was none too impressed with The Seven Stars, claiming it was too old, falling apart and in need of some renovation work. But we are talking here about genuine shabby, genuine character and a rather unique atmosphere – although admittedly, we stood outside on a balmy evening. The landlady, one Roxie Beaujolais, was not in situ, so we were not treated to the flame red hair and the tap-room language for which she is so well known.
Yes, the toilets may be a little precarious, and should the cat really sit on the bar?, but the Seven Stars is the genuine article – and a big plus point given it sits outside the City boundary, there are no braying City-types acting the prize mellon.

Life on the hard shoulder

2007-06-15T15:17:00.000Z

I was passing through the Waltham Cross area recently and walking along the hard shoulder were three women clad in what can only be described as “romany-wear”. I asked my cab driver, who ironically had been complaining incessantly about the number of immigrants pouring into the North London area, who they were. “Romanians,”he said, grimacing. “They come here and take all our jobs.” My tax driver as a Cypriot and was horrified at the presence of Eastern Europeans. “They live over the hill, just over the hard shoulder,” he added, and lo and behold, they walked up the hard shoulder, up the grass bank and down the other side, which looked to be a well ploughed field.
Basically, they were living rough, which begs the question, indeed hundreds of questions. “Is life so bad where they come from that a life on the hard shoulder is an improvement?.”
Many people are worried about the shape of Britain and the dramatic influx of people from “the third world of Europe”. Is life so much better for them in Britain? Is it not a bit like the misfits who used to stream into London because they have heard the streets are paved with gold, only to end up lost, homeless and alone in the city?
Britain has always been a home for immigrants, dating back to Roman times. Indeed, London was full of different races for centuries. This latest influx is worrying, however. Not withstanding the lawless element that has left its mark- witness the stabbing of a policeman in Luton this week – Britain is in danger of becoming a dumping ground and I may be looking a little too deep, but could we see the sort of shanty town that is prevalent in Brazil. Tin shack villages full of peasants?

Drapers Gardens is down and out

2007-06-12T12:38:00.000Z

I noticed during a lunchtime stroll that the old Nat West building, Drapers Gardens, is no more. The building, which before the building of the famed NatWest Tower, was the bank’s flagship building, is the tallest building ever to be demolished in London. It is another sign that the old NatWest empire, which comprised the Threadneedle Street complex, Old Broad Street, the tower and Drapers, has all but gone. Drapers Gardens was one of the first high-rise buildings in the City of London, and when I worked for the then-prestigious National Westminster Bank, it was a terrific restaurant. You could look over the City and enjoy “pork chop, chips, beans, tomatoes and mushrooms” for around £ 1.00! For some reason I always knew that Richard Seifert designed it, as he did the tower, and I do believe I went to Drapers for my first interview with the bank in 1975! It’s a long time ago, and it did not take long to realise that Nat West was not the place for a long term career, although some former colleagues are still ploughing their way to retirement! A shame about Drapers, though.

The 1970s- marred by Andrew

2007-06-06T10:39:00.001Z

Andrew Marr’s TV series, a modern history of Britain has highlighted just what a grim decade the 1970s was. I remember it well- the early 1970s was my formative period, and while I recall the music, culture and football with relish, it is clear that Britain was a relatively backward nation that was trailing behind its European neighbours. When I went to Denmark in 1971, I could not believe just how different it was to Britain. It was modern, bright, cheerful and overwhelmingly hip. We seemed downtrodden and sour compared to the ultra-trendy Danes. And they were all playing with Ker-knockers long before they came to Britain.
I recall doing my GCE O Level revision by candelight, I remember the damp, cold and depressing period where afternoons seemed to get darker because of the power cuts. The three-day week, the IRA, the sugar and bread shortages. Can you believe it? This was country that was supposed to be leading the way in the modern technological world. It’s hard to imagine now. As a kid, we had ice on the inside of our bedroom windows – no such luxury as central heating for us!
When TV programmes hark back to the 1970s, they portray us all as bouncing around on space hoppers. Or walking around in billowing flared trousers. They largely ignore the economic mess, the ineptness of Edward Heath and the greyness. Little wonder that David Bowie and glam rock came long to brighten up our day.

Hungarian rhapsody

2007-06-03T18:38:00.000Z

I've always liked the sound of Budapest- the thought of getting on a train in the heart of Europe and ending up in say, Prague, Budapest or Vienna has always appealed to me. Ok, so it wasn't a train but Easyjet but Budapest did not disappoint me at all. I had been there, albeit very briefly, but I had not taken in the sights and sounds of what is a very atmospheric city.

On the way to our hotel, the Art'otel, we passed Ferencvaros' stadium. Hungarian football has long had its day, but Fradi, as they are known, were a big club in the 1960s and 1970s.

The Nep Stadium, scene of England's humbling in 1953, is now the Ferenc Puskas stadium.

Our first night was highlighted by a decent meal at the hotel but the next day we set in for some intensive sight-seeing. We ascended the hill to the Castle District by the funicular railway. This gave us a great view of the city, the classic River Danube and the Parliament building.

We sampled a Hungarian tradition, coffee and cake at the famous Ruszwurm cafe, a long-established coffee house. All a bit too sweet.

The castle labyrinth was spooky and very dark, but a natural crowd pleaser where kids are concerned.

Later, we walked - for miles it seemed - through the Jewish Quarter to find the Hungarian Museum of Electronic Technology which was basically a one-man show demonstrating static, amongst other things. The musuem was situated in a courtyard- there are many in Budapest - and the little man with the moustache and white coat stood there with instruments that mostly sparked- including a Van Der Graaf Generator.

The last day, we took a boat trip down the Danube and we were the first passengers ever for the tour company, earning ourselves a bottle of champagne and given there were no other passengers, a personal guide called Ferenc (as in Puskas).

Our last port of call was the House of Terror, which highlighted Hungary under the Nazis and then the communists. The reconstructed cells where political prisoners were tortured and executed was harrowing, and a reminder that Hungary has had a troubled past, like many European cities.

A good trip and Budapest is certainly somewhere I'd like to go back to.

Liverpool fans- here they go again

2007-05-24T20:41:00.000Z

I have always had a thing about scouse football fans- ever since I stood outside Fulham Broadway station after Chelsea had beaten Liverpool 4-2 in the FA Cup in January 1978. "No disrespect mate (imagine the accent), but to concede four goals to a team like Chelsea is a disaster." The arrogance, the cod-humour, the "great scouse character" and all the crap that goes with self-appointment I find unpalatable. They are not great football fans, but they are a noisy, partisan crowd- there's a difference.
We saw that in 1985, Liverpool fans contributed to the horror of Heysel, four years later the same fans rushed the gates at Hillsborough, prompting the worst football disaster we have seen in Britain. We have seen Liverpool fans as the great innovators- darts, bags of nails, car wrecking and smoke bombs. And now in Athens, we see the same fans- the greatest 'victims' of all - complaining of chaos. Well done UEFA- they have blamed the Liverpool fans and quite rightly so, too. It is time that everyone realised that this unruly mob, almost lawless like the city itself, are not great ambassadors for British football.
What is a great shame is that Liverpool's football team down the years does not require scrutiny- they have had some great teams and players. It's just their fans I can't stand. Forza Milan!

A great end to the week- Chelsea win the cup

2007-05-20T07:04:00.001Z

It’s been a good week for me- my new job was confirmed and I start on July 1. I can’t help feeling a little smug that I am sticking two fingers up to the potentially dictatorial regime. I look forward to the new role with keen anticipation.
The week ended with another trip to Wembley, this time to see Chelsea beat Manchester United 1-0 in the FA Cup final. I don’t get to see Chelsea often these days, but this was the third time I have seen the Blues win the cup (1997 and 2000 the others). The atmosphere was tremendous, far better than the old Wembley and the game, although hardly a classic, was a cagey affair.
The kick-off was preceded by a cavalcade of previous winners, trapeze artists and the red arrows (I didn’t know they were still flying).
Chances were few and far between, it was not until the second half that things livened up. I thought Chelsea were the better side in the second period, but you could not help feeling that United would steal it. A ball across the face of goal by Wayne Rooney was met by Ryan Giggs, but Peter Cech saved and appeared to carry the ball over the line. Didier Drogba later hit the outside of the post, but it was not until four minutes from the end of extra time that Drogba scored the winning goal. He exchanged passes with the largely anonymous Frank Lampard and then flicked the ball home just ahead of Edwin Van de Sar. Chelsea really wanted to beat United after the Premiership race went to Alex Ferguson’s men.
A great end to the week!!
Chelsea: Cech, Ferreira, Essien, Terry, Bridge, Mikel, Makelele, Lampard, Wright-Phillips (Kalou 93), Drogba, Joe Cole (Robben 46), Robben (Ashley Cole 108).Subs Not Used: Cudicini, Diarra.
Booked: Makelele, Ferreira, Ashley Cole, Kalou.
Goals: Drogba 116.
Man Utd: Van der Sar, Brown, Ferdinand, Vidic, Heinze, Fletcher (Smith 92), Scholes, Carrick (O'Shea 112), Ronaldo, Rooney, Giggs (Solskjaer 112).Subs Not Used: Kuszczak, Evra.
Booked: Scholes, Vidic, Smith.
Att: 89,826.
Ref: S Bennett (Kent).

A light at the end of the tunnel

2007-05-15T16:51:00.001Z

So, my job saga looks like it’s coming to a close. On Thursday last, I was told the deal is on and Human Resources (I hate that word) were being informed. The trouble with HR people is they are very bureaucratic and whatever they do takes time. My sponsor is keen for me to join her – “We have a need, you have a requirement” – and I am keen to move, if only to avoid what looks like a grim outlook in our department.
My dilemma is that the news has got out and rumours abound regarding my future plans. I am naturally nervous while I wait for the conclusion. As to my release from my current job, that may be a point of negotiation.

All hail the new national stadium

2007-05-13T08:28:00.000Z

I went to the new Wembley Stadium for the first cup final to be held there- the FA Trophy between Stevenage Borough and Kidderminster Harriers. Given that Stevenage were once the arch-rivals of Hitchin Town (my club), I had mixed feelings about who I wanted to win. The new stadium, despite all its hype, is spectacular- one of those rare moments when things actually lived up to their billing.
I recall the old stadium as a dump- an odour that was a heady mixture of urine, cigarettes, beer and boiled onions. The new stadium is certainly an improvement. Access to the stadium is better, far better in fact. There are dozens of toilets and clean ones at that. But the concessions are a rip-off- £7 for fish and chips and £ 3.50 for a beer. Fans are being asked to pay Michelin star prices!
The game itself was brilliant. Kidderminster went 2-0 up in the first half, Stevenage came back to eventually win 3-2. The new town will be celebrating this weekend.
This is my first trip- my second is the FA Cup final on May 19- Chelsea v Manchester United- now you’re talking!

Blair's caravan site

2007-05-13T08:09:00.000Z

Tony Blair announced his retirement as Prime Minister this week, a long-awaited and agonisingly drawn-out process that was first indicated a year ago. Blair is the master of spin and presentation- even his move away from the top job has been stage managed. I can’t help feeling that Blair’s 10 year have made the country a worse place to live. I don’t care how he cuts it, you can’t say that education in Britain has improved. It has been processed in such a way that performance is monitored, and performance may be better because the standards are that much lower - I know, I have single-handedly helped one son get through GCSE and I have to say, the pressure isn’t great. It has all been dumbed down. Hospitals are closing, transport systems are worse- the trains are now at third world country level, and the country continues to be a performing horse for the US. As for Blair, he has the posture and demenour of a marketing man trying to sell you an insurance policy. For 10 years, it is true, we have been on an economic upturn, but that’s because the country has been run like a balance sheet. It adds up, so it works!
The biggest complaint about Blair and his cronies has to be the way the country has become a huge caravan site with illiegal immigrants streaming into the Britain every week. You only have to go to some parts of London to see the lawless Somalians standing on street corners, and the rise of teenage gangs - I saw a 12-strong band of black hoodies only this week - is another symptom of the melting pot of racial tension that is gradually building up in Britain. I have voted Labour in most elections, but I won’t be going there again. Blair has played a part in that. Good riddance I say.

Jobs for the boy

2007-04-27T07:48:00.000Z

I met with the stand-in head of our division yesterday and although he was pleasant enough, his myopic approach to life means we will have a tough time. I am waiting to hear about a new job after some weeks of discussion with the head of a business unit. I need a fresh challenge and I need to get away from the politics of the division I work in. But she has kept me waiting, for one reason or another, and I am starting to get frustrated or even concerned that it is a no-deal situation. We have a agreed a job spec, she wants me to come to her area, she sees the value-added, and her people are keen to have me on board. But am I too senior? do I cost too much? - I don't know. I really wish she would come back to me soon- I think she's an impressive person, one who I feel I could work well with, and she's in charge of a potentially exicitng area. If anyone up there is listening, please make this work!!

Hatfield not hoodies

2007-04-26T12:12:00.000Z

One of the things I have noticed about getting a wee bit older is that you start to appreciate things you would have previously dismissed – things like a bit of peace and quiet, a strong cup of tea, a lay in bed and time to read the paper. For some time I have sought solace in the past, appreciating history and gaining reassurance that certain aspectsof lifewill remain intact after you’ve gone like they did before you came along. I’m feeling a litte sorry for myself given I have a head cold that is really getting me down. On Sunday, we went to Hatfield House for the first time since we moved to Hitchin in 1987. I had been there before, though, possibly in 1968 or 1969.
Historic landmarks are starting to please me and Hatfield House was no different. I enjoyed walking around the house,gaining confirmation that it was in fact a Jacobean house, despite protests from Olaf, my younger son and history don in the making, that it was Tudor.
Going to such landmarks – last year we had a splendid day at Belvoir Castle –makes me realise I want to be middle class again. As Stephen Fry said, talking about his new but disappointing drama, Kingdom, “we like these things because we want to remind ourselves that Britain is not just full of pikeys, chavs and hoodies”.
Fry, who I have always liked as a funny and eccentric man, has a point. We are immersed in a nation that is really trying its best to go the dogs, and I am not talking about a golden Labrador but a pit bull with a snarling attitude. A place like Hatfield House makes you realise that all is not lost with the world, even if quiet days at a stately home represent another blow to your youthfulness.

Why I need London

2007-04-15T18:30:00.000Z

Having spent the best part of a week in Hitchin and part of Sunday pottering around the garden, I am starting to change my view on retirement. On Friday, I spent no less than five hours wandering around my adopted home town of almost 20 years, I like very much. But it is small and I have to admit that by the time I had finished, I was getting a bit of island fever. Library, bank, dry-cleaners, haircut - a morning of errands. Is this what people who work and live locally do?
I even went for a cup of tea and a tea cake at the Triangle Café, which was, according to the menu, Hertfordshire’s Café of the Year. It was better than the commoditised approach of Starbucks and Café Nero, but the clientele said it all- blue rinses all round. There is a certain quaintness to all this, but it also made be wonder if Hitchin will be stimulating enough when I retire from full-time work?

Parisian walkway

2007-04-13T20:08:00.000Z

So, our trip to Paris was a success, if a little exhausting. Every time we have been to Paris, it has been memorable for one reason or another: our first trip in 1998 was aborted after excessive rain; our second visit was in the heatwave of August 2003 where it hit 43 degrees; and now we seemed to be walking uphill - constantly. We managed to get to Montmatre and the Sacre Couer, walking all the way as the funicular railway was out of action. The cemetry was interesting and we found the grave of Nijinsky - ballet dancer, not racehorse - an experience as a cemetry is, well, a cemetry. We had a couple of good meals, then on the Wednesday night, we went to the Louvre to see the Mona Lisa. My eldest sone was distraught that the Da Vinci Code is a work of fiction! We ended the trip with a trip to the Pompidou Centre but we had to make do with a view of the exterior. Oh well, at least we went to Mariages Freres, the famous tea house. Although the Earl Grey was a success, the Shanghai Breakfast Tea is really not my cup of tea.

New job on the way?

2007-04-06T21:34:00.000Z

Positive things have been happening this week and my potential new job is shaping up as reality. I need a change, I have been doing the same thing for a few years and the prospect of working closer to the investment banking business appeals to me. I am waiting for the head of that division to firm up a job specification. She liked my attempt and I am hoping that it all becomes "done deal" in the next week or so. Our department has shrunk to the point there were only two of us in last week. Admittedly there were two on holiday. I am a little concerned that should I go, my two colleagues have an uncertain future, but this is business.
I am out for a week - Paris awaits on Tuesday - and we have the Easter long weekend which I really enjoy. Hot Cross Buns!

Phone boxes

2007-03-30T07:34:00.001Z

I’ve always been an advocate of old fashioned red cast iron telephone boxes, the 1930s ones that were “rescued” by conservation groups in the 1980s/1990s.
I hear now that the generation of boxes that followed Gilbert Scott’s K6 boxes, the K8, designed by Bruce Martin, are now under threat. In fact, there are currently only 12 in operation in Britain. Although not as iconic as the old K6 boxes, the K8 – introduced in 1968 – was certainly of its time. I spent many hours standing in one outside South Ockendon railway station talking to my girlfriend around the 1973-74 period. I remember balancing with one foot on the window with the phone curled round my ear with the feint odour of urine and the shredded phone books dangling from their holder.
The K8 boxes lacked the cosiness of the old fashioned boxes, but then they were not meant to be lived in, just used for brief phone calls. But they became seedy, bacteria dens that invariably acted as emergency toilets or rain shelters. With the arrival of mobile phones, who wants to use a public phone? Not me, that’s for sure.

New experience at half a pint a go

2007-03-26T15:58:00.001Z

I went to a beer festival for the first time this weekend- The Hitchin Beer Festival. My idea of a beer enthusiast of the CAMRA (Campaign for Real Ale) variety is someone with a beard, male (40-plus), possibly sandals, but definitely with a t-shirt or sweat shirt emblazoned with a pub, brewery or beer. That aside, if you want to try a wide range of beers – if you are sensible in a half pint glass – then a beer festival is for you. I tried a handful of interesting beers, ranging in colour and consistency, but mostly sub-4% proof. Not for me the 5% stuff. What was disturbing about this event was the supposed antics of the real ale anoraks who come equipped with test tubes to take the beer away and really analyse it in the comforts of their own (I would presume) grimy bedsit in North London or wherever. At this point, I started to feel less enthusiastic about my first beer festival, not wishing to be roped in with refugees from a 1970s school staff room. But then I consoled myself with the knowledge that like those I was with, we were not applying lab-technician terminology to each and every beer. It was either worth swilling down or not. I will be back next year, one year older, but I am determined that I will never have hair growing out of my ears like alfalfa and I will certainly never don a t-shirt with “The Carpenters Arms, Lower Finchampton” across my chest.

A grim future beckons- and by the way, it’s Frankfurt tomorrow

2007-03-19T16:56:00.000Z

So tomorrow it happens- we fly to Frankfurt to meet the new boss, albeit an interim boss with limited powers of execution. I am not too worried, mainly because if the rumours are correct, he won’t be there for long and secondly because professional behaviour should win over. My only crime is to be based in London and to be (loosely) associated with the outgoing regime. It will cost to get rid.
More worrying is the trend that has developed in the past few weeks of stabbings and shootings, mostly in South London. Admittedly, this area – the Brixton and Stockwell environs- has always been a little on the “no-go” side, but what is currently happening is frightening and a grim portent of things to come. Why are knives and guns so readily available these days, and why has black culture embraced them so. Why do people glorify violence so much. They say that rap music is partly to blame. If so, then ban it. Punish the brandishers of weapons. Clean up the ghettos. Lower of age of prosecution. If they are old enough to kill, they are old enough to be punished- appropriately. Hard line tactics are needed.
It makes you wonder what sort of country we are heading for in Britain. Ironically, I saw the film “Children of Men” this weekend in which Britain looked like a shanty town, brimming with illegal immigrants, tuk-tuk’s hurtling around everywhere and the police/army shooting everything in sight.
A grim future- is that what we are heading for after our trip to Frankfurt?

We love them- Yeah, yeah, yeah

2007-03-16T16:54:00.000Z

For the second time in three months, we went to see the Bootleg Beatles, the world’s first ever tribute band. They’ve been going since 1980, far longer than the Beatles were together. Almost everyone likes the Beatles, or at least one of the various phases of the band. The Bootlegs cover all phases, starting off with the mop-top “She Loves You” era and ending up as hairy, denim-clad post-hippies. They are remarkably authentic, from the sound, the look, the wisecracks and even the way they move around the stage- they have obviously researched their art well. The Beatles split up in 1970, so we are talking almost 40 years- few if any of the audience at the Alban Arena, St.Albans, would have seen the Beatles in action, but the Bootlegs really take you back to that era. The Beatles were a one-off, they were the forerunners – of virtually everything. They “pushed the envelope”!
My sons both love the Beatles, even my 12 year-old academic who claims they are his second favourite band after Bon Jovi. He even resembles a Yoko Ono-era Lennon with his long hair and specs. “It’s good to see so many youngsters here,” cracked Bootleg John. “Our music could live on for another 100 years.” How right he is..

Torquay too late?

2007-03-12T15:16:00.000Z

On Saturday I went to Torquay for the first time to watch the local football team, Torquay United, take on Wycombe Wanderers. Torquay are almost certainly going to be relegated out of the Football League after some years of struggle. There seems to be an air of resignation about Torquay’s demise – they are already announcing the Conference results and talking of “next season” almost in the same breath. The town itself doesn’t seem too bothered. I guess the local population is very transient and those that are not are either retired, foreign or just plain disinterested. For me, Torquay is the home of Fawlty Towers and Torquay United used to be my second favourite football team in the late 1960s, so it was nice to finally see what the English Riviera does look like.
Torquay were nine points from safety before the game, they are now six after winning 3-0 against play-off chasing Wycombe. The visitors started briskly and should have been ahead before Torquay got a grip on the game. Indeed, when they scored after 20 minutes, through one of their five on-loan players, Lloyd Kerry, it was against trhe run of play. The second goal also came from a temporary employee, Marvin Williams, who headed home after 39 minutes. Wycombe’s threat, mostly from the head of Tommy Mooney and the foraging of Scott McGleish, started to fade from thereon and the final goal, by Chris Robertson after 76 minutes, finished them off.
At the end, results from elsewhere were treated with groans or cheers, as befits a team – and crowd- in trouble. The playing of the clichéd and gallows-esque “The Great Escape” was an ironic finale as the 3,000-plus people filed out, buoyed by a 3-0 win but still aware that there is much work to be done.
I will watch their results with interest…

A private view of Hogarth

2007-03-12T14:59:00.001Z

One of the advantages of having easy access to things like art exhibitions is that I can occasionally enjoy the privilege of a private viewing. One such event was the Hogarth exhibition at Tate Britain which I attended with my son. I had studied some of Hogarth’s work in my London history courses over the past couple of years. I wasn’t over familiar with his work, but his engravings of “Gin Lane” and “Beer Street” interested me. The attendees of the exhibition – corporate sponsors – were the usual mix of art gallery disciples, but with this private viewing, there was the added bonus of some musicians entertaining the audience and there was a bar selling over-priced wine. As we reached the two engravings in question I attempted to explain there meaning to my son. I rambled on but didn’t realise there were people behind me. “You better be right about what you are saying, Dad, because people are listening to you,” said my son. I wasn’t wrong, but I am not sure I was 100% right.
I like Tate Britain, though, and had not been there since pre-Tate Modern days when the Tate (Gallery as it was then known) had a mix of modern and ancient.
My son also enjoyed the pub nearby, where he continued to expand his education of real ale- this time with a pint of Bombardier. “Beer Street” for him, I think.

Nobody fails....

2007-03-05T16:26:00.000Z

“Pursuing other interests” is a catch-call statement used to announce the departure of someone from their job. The words “sacked”, “dismissed” or “released” are totally taboo these days, rather like “failure” in the academic world. I heard last year that children at my son’s school had achieved “deferred success”, which can be translated as “failed their examinations”. Nobody fails or at least nobody is told they have failed because of a fear of upsetting that person. In the case of today’s schools, it’s fine that children abuse teachers, parents and their class-mates, but try and discipline them and you are in trouble. Nanny state? No, it’s almost police state and the kids are the dictators!!
In the world of investment banking, the term “pursuing other interests” is another way of saying, “he’s been sacked”. It’s all designed to ensure that nobody gets a hint of bad feeling, trouble at mill or personality clashes. In a world where cliques rule and the boss surrounds himself with those that nod in agreement, very few people get fired for being ineffective- they get “released” for aligning themselves with the wrong people, being too tricky to handle when the sands shift and a new regime sweeps in, or being a threat to someone.
When, not if, I announce that I am going to “pursue other interests”, I will make damn sure that people know that I am going, but it won’t necessarily be my own choice.

Getting Frithty

2007-03-01T13:49:00.001Z

I had forgotten what it was like to actually do something at lunchtime, but when I took time out today to visit the William Powell Frith exhibition at the City Guildhall Art Gallery, I realised it’s quite therapeutic.
Considering that the Guildhall is supposed to be the centre of the Ciy of London, it’s such a calm place, far removed from the hustle and bustle of trading floors.
The exhibition, “Painting the Victorian Age” was mostly inhabited by elderly ladies with a lot of time on their hands and strays from the financial institutions of the City.
Frith painted some wonderfully detailed pictures, not least the Railway Station, which I have always believed to be a social document more than a painting. Two ladies stood in front of the painting, arguably Frith’s most famous, and found detail and explanation far in excess of anything I could have conjured up. Two others of a similar nature- Derby Day and Ramsgate Sands – also contained enough conversation material to last a fortnight. It makes you wonder, though, just how little time we spend on looking at what’s around us. Concentrate on one painting like the Railway Station and there is so much to enjoy. But like most things, they usually pass us by as we hurtle on into the distance.

Warming up for the Big Apple

2007-02-26T17:55:00.001Z

Given that I am going to New York this year, I have been trying to capture the flavour of “the big apple” by watching a couple of Woody Allen movies. I sat through Annie Hall and Manhattan, two of his best films, apparently. These films were made in the mid-to-late 1970s, and were of their time, but Manhattan has a great score, is in atmospheric black & white and overall looks and feels good, but what actually happens. You don’t need to watch a Woody Allen film, in my short and immediate experience. It’s all about dialogue. Allen plays himself and is always the New York anxious Jewish comedian/playwright etc. He always sleeps with glamorous women and he always lacks self esteem. Did I enjoy these films? Yes, I guess I did, although I can’t help feeling they are under-rated. Nevertheless, they did give me a flavour of Manhattan and built up a little anticipation. I will have to play that George Gershwin CD- I have always loved Rhapsody in Blue.

A problem is only a problem..

2007-02-22T14:37:00.000Z

While I have been worrying about what the future holds for our department at work, I only have to think about the current plight of my sister-in-law to realise that – to quote another friend of mine – “a problem’s only a problem if you let it be one”. She has terminal cancer and she’s in her early 40s. I may be concerned about a slightly difficult future and she has no future. So, should I worry about the work situation? I should naturally be concerned as there is a chance of (a) redundancy or (b) a change in role. As I am approaching the 50 mark, the EU legislation regarding ageism may give me some breathing space, particularly as it may take some time to restructure, regroup or even swing the axe. I am perhaps being melodramatic – I am after all something of a drama queen – and I may also be taking the worst-case scenario. But I have to put things into perspective and realise that there are many people worse off than myself and I have a certain degree of market value. I know someone who would swap places right away…

Every man for himself

2007-02-19T16:44:00.000Z

I should have known something was going on. Today my boss resigned, ahead of the announcement that her boss (see below) was set to leave. Last week, with bonus in the air, there was plenty of abuse of “the lunch hour” and certain people were conspicuous by their absence. Some people in our department- the acolytes or disciples as I call them – enjoyed the benefits of a five hour lunch.
Today it became clear- she’s leaving, he’s probably going and uncertainty is in the air.
For the first time in some years, I put some feelers out about a new job. The now ex-boss is going to put a word in for me elsewhere in the firm and I have been in touch with some agencies just in case. Should I be worried? Probably not, but there is a horrible feeling of rats deserting the sinking ship at the moment. It’s every man for himself at the moment and although our worst fears may not be realised, there is little doubt that change, however good or bad, is a coming…

A man of the world?

2007-02-14T16:12:00.000Z

In an age when City of London firms increasingly beat on about the need to be global, it is interesting that the heir apparent for the top man’s job in the world of communications is the least global of all possible candidates. He’s actually half-German, half-Spanish but he doesn’t seem to have the worldliness that is needed to mesh together Europe, America and Asia. It’s a shame, really, because he’s a very capable man and respected for his ability. Not so his inter-personal skills, which leave a lot to be desired. And he, allegedly, hates Brits. Good job I am not 100% Brit- I may have to play on my 1% German heritage. It may soon become 30 or 40%.
For the past few years, we’ve all worked on this “one-firm” philosophy and extolled the virtues of teamwork, collaboration and the multi-cultural nature of the firm. This could all be blown out of the window if the wrong person gets in the hot seat. Will he – we’ll call him Mr Bloom – get the job? Given that our company makes more of its money from outside its own backyard than inside, and the key elements of the firm are based in London, it seems unlikely that a person lacking in internationalness will get the job. But he may get it in the short term. At the moment, there’s an air of apprehension- after all, we still don’t know for sure that our existing leader is on his way, although the latest estimates are that it is 99% certain. My money’s on an outsider coming in- or is that wishful thinking?

The irony of promotion

2007-02-10T09:39:00.000Z

After many years of banging my head against the corporate wall, I was promoted to director at a well-known European investment bank. This was more a relief than anything else, but I was naturally delighted at "making the grade". I thought back to my days at Nat West where a spotty teenager first made his entrance into the City of London. I was more or less written off by my betters in those days - I was common, after all, and from the eastern counties. "Essex cheap labour" was one description to sum up all the people who came from Havering, Thurrock and the Southend region. The old school tie still reigned in the City and most people's view of me was down their rather nasal noses. So, not bad for a kid from Ockendon with little education and an outside toilet.
However, there is a shadow looming. Restructuring is in the air and the word on the strasse is that HQ will move in. One or two of the leading players in the world in which I operate are rather anti-"Englander". The irony of all ironies would be to lose one's job in the year in which I finally get my promotion.
We'll have to sit tight and wait...

Carry the news...

2007-02-09T11:46:00.000Z

Some people may ask what the title of my blog is all about. We all have a favourite song, one that comes back to us time and time again. Invariably it will be one that we recall as a child or more probably, a teenager. The teens are, after all, our formative years. We all remember the sports stars, film stars and pop stars of our youth, no matter now many more replace them in our consciousness.
“Billy rapped all night” is the opening line of a song that remains my all-time favourite, some 34 years after it was a top 10 hit for Mott the Hoople. Need any more clues? Well, it’s written by my all-time music hero, David Bowie. No, it’s not The Laughing Gnome, but All the Young Dudes.
I have given instructions to my wife to have this ready at my funeral, along with the Beatles classic Hey Jude and Forbidden Colours by David Sylvian.
The inspiration behind compiling a set-list for my final bow – a long way off, I hope – was the recent funeral of my friend and colleague Gerald Lincoln. Gerald was a sobre man, in many ways, and 64 years old, but he used his last days to arrange his funeral. He chose the music, excerpts from a prog-rock band, the Enid, and bizarrely in the final seconds of the humanist service, Hamburger Concerto by another favourite of mine, Focus.
So “Billy rapped all night” has special significance and captures the essence of the 1971-73 period when we all had long hair, wore platform shoes and stood open-mouthed watching the likes of Bowie, Bolan and Roxy Music in complete awe.

Billy rapped all night about his suicide
How he'd kick it in the head when he was twenty-five
Don't wanna stay alive when you're twenty-five
Wendy's stealing clothes from unlocked cars
And Freddy's got spots from ripping off the stars from his face
A funky little boat race
The television man is crazy
Saying we're juvenile delinquent wrecks
Man, I need a T.V. when I've got T-Rex
Hey, brother, you guessed
I'm a dude

All the young dudes
Carry the news
Booga-loo, dudes
Carry the news