Happy New Year

High swing!, originally uploaded by Rougefern.

Happy New Year everyone! May your 2009 be this fabulous.

Roasted

Well look, I mean I can't help it if I'm not one of the beautiful people. I know I'm not much of a looker but really, Roast waiters, do you have to ignore me?

Aside from the service Roast is pretty fine. Locally sourced ingredients, and if you like meat by jingo you are in for fun. My steak was seared to perfection, and apple crumble blew my post Christmas no carb rule out of the water.

Best about Roast is the setting. Borough Market, up aloft, between two railway lines barreling out of London Bridge station, all glass and airey and St Paul's hazing into the distance.

-- Post From My iPhone

Woolworths 2.0

I know it's not going under, but more and more Facebook reminds me of Woolies. It's packed with people, it's really plastic, and it's always pushing stuff on you that you don't want or need.

Twilight Zone

Here we are then. Mid way between introvert Christmas Day when the western world retires inward to hearth and family and New Year's Eve which explodes us extrovert into the next chapter.

Lots of people say that New Year's Eve is Christmas but with people you actually want to be with. I'm not sure that's right - I've spent way too many NYEs crushed, parched, cold, wet and desperate for the pretend coals of of my lovely pretend fire.

But this bit here. Right now. This bit is nice. People look a bit dazed I think. London is a delight, half empty, but everything still tentatively open. You can go skating and have enough room to attempt that pirhouette. I had no problem getting a reservation at a very nice restaurant for lunch today. I like it.

This time also opens up a bit of space for thinking. I'm ploughing through my work, but also redesigning my to-do lists. Things like this little delight will help. Also reading Stephen Fry's blog and tweets (he's an avid tweeter) which is really inspirational. I love his passion for technology and his forensic knowledge. It's surprising and rather wonderful - I completely agree with his wishlist for the iphone. His posts are fabulously huge - not everyone can pull that off I think, but of course he can.

Feels like there are lots of opportunities at this time. But they need netting, like rare butterflies, catching and pinning down. All very well to feel it, but we also need to act on it too.

End of the year...

I like this time. I'm anticipating those few days between Christmas and New Year when thoughts and plans start to emerge. Makes me contemplative which is a rare and good thing.

I've been thinking about my favourite poems. This one here is Sea Fever by John Masefield. Everyone knows it. Spike Milligan wrote a great pastiche of it. But I love it. When I read it to the kids I can barely finish without a tear in the eye. It's the rhythm, the alliteration, the fact that its technically spot on. And the long trick's almost over for the year too...

Sea Fever, John Masefield

I must go down to the seas again to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sails shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face and a grey dawn breaking

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume and the seagull crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife:
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow rover,
And a quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

Christmas

Whatever happens, I am always excited about Christmas.

The fact that Ma Outlaw is in town.

The fact that I have the interactive DVD version of Goldenballs in my bag.

The fact that we have already eaten an entire tin of Roses.

Nothing can diminish the sense of expectation I have coursing through me. It is hardwired into me to be in a state of feverish expectation only topped by my children, who are, it has to be said getting a couple of genius presents this year. I drew the line at the ukeleles though. Maybe next year.

Have a great holiday.

Christmas tree tragedy

Hmmm. Well. It's certainly festive.

-- Post From My iPhone

Christmas Camerons

Oh bum. They've made quite a nice Christmas card I think. I'm not a big fan of using the family, but it's quite interesting to see what they've done here. Clearly some bloody good photographer's been whirring away with the DSLR, making them laugh, relaxing them all.

And then in the cuts it just didn't look right. Too staged, too stilted. But aha, what about that one - kids yelling and David distracted, mind on something more important than just a photo, Sam holding the fort with the other two children. That's the one. It has something, it says more about the family than a straight portrait.

Very good. Especially when you compare it to Gordon's. Oh dear.

Wired

Finally got hold of the first series of The Wire. I am now devouring it like Galactus and the universe. Oh it's good. It is so good.


-- Post From My iPhone

Reflections & inversions

Just like the cloud splashing shot I like this one. Left the shutter open and this is what I got.

Reflections suggest the existence of parallel universes.
Sometimes a comforting thought, alive with possibilities.
These dark reversions show a dead land, empty
Quiet and pulling light from this place.


-- Post From My iPhone

Doppelgangers

Now, you'll know that I was blessed from a very early age with absolutely zero head hair. Yes yes I know. A real blessing. An inbuilt rain hat etc. Oi Kojak. Yup. Loving it. As George Costanza once said to a date of Elaine's who thought he might be losing his thatch: "LIVE damn you. Live as you have never lived before"

Anyhow. I've come to terms with it now and no longer sit at home in a wig drinking cheap gin.

The other day I happened to cross the path of David Yelland, former Sun editor, committed baldy and glasses wearer. We both paused. There was a beat. I swear to god we both thought: shit, that's me! Wait!

It was a weird moment.

-- Post From My iPhone

Still centre in the middle of whirling chaos

Still centre in the middle of whirling chaos, originally uploaded by Rougefern.

We were frozen out there in the middle of Syon Park, nearing the end of the Enchanted Woodland walk. Loads of trees and plants, beautifully and spookily lit up, dry ice floating around the place and a bit of the old Edward Scissorhands music coming up at us from out of the flowerbeds.

The children adore being out at night. The dark is a really novel experience for them, and they are now at the ages where magic, fairies, pixies and gnomes have a real impact on their lives. This walk is a great warm up act to the first window of the advent calendar, and early thoughts about letters to Father Christmas.

This pic I like because it shows the Nip calm in the midst of whirling energy. And that's how I see her.

Cove at Borth y Gest

Quick bit of poetry from the summer that wasn't right and wasn't right, and then improved when I let go of it a bit. Sitting in this lovely, tiny cove in Wales in August when it should have been sweltering, but was actually simultaneously hot, cold and windy.


Hot winds jut against slant slate crops,
Against the sea's surge inward, into the cove,
A swarm of sand scours people from the beach,
And sun umbrellas tumble cowering to hide.

Kites shred into the sky against ragged clouds,
As the sun beats an early rhythm out against sea and slate.

Stained glass for the laser age

Lumina Domestica exhibition, originally uploaded by Rougefern.

Loving this exhibition, Lumia Domestica, in All Hallow's church on London Wall. It's a collection of magical light and laser pieces by Willie Williams. The church is darkened and has a real spooky feel and the light show, a clever projection of coloured washes and laser light through glass objects, creates an amazing effect in such a beautiful building.

Cloud splashing

Cloud splashing, originally uploaded by Rougefern.

It's time to come back then. The problem is working out what it's all about, and then realising that you can't, and then realising that it really doesn't matter.

So here they are, these two, flying dark between the sky and sea
Crashing into clouds, swooping over sand
One, the five year old, the pilot, the other staring out, aged three
Breathing in the clouds; the shining immensity.

Metroland

Metroland

John Betjeman always makes me think hard, poetry and architecture, planning and the occasional eccentric piece to camera. I so admire his ease and ability to marry his twin loves in a way that is so entertaining. He loves England so much, died 24 years ago.

Would you go in?

Would you go in?, originally uploaded by Simon Redfern.

What the hell could be lurking in this cave. Very likely it's the Nip's mother, gnawing on the bones of scroungers and litterers.

Bedford Road car crash spectacular

Bedford Road car crash spectacular, originally uploaded by Simon Redfern.

There are some days when you can be glad that your car's having its MOT and not parked in its usual spot...

(no one was hurt by the way... the driver was just a bit surprised to suddenly be hooning off a speed bump and gliding along on her side.)

Giles Coren... oh dear, oh bloody dear.

I don't really have to say much here.

Just point you to this link. To be honest I'm only posting this so I can occasionally come back here and remind myself what an absolute almighty appalling tosser sounds like. Just in case I ever forget.

Number 10 website

This is an interesting piece put together by Simon Dickson on his Puffbox site, which I picked up from Simon Collister's brilliant weblog. All the Simons eh. You can't knock em.

Anyhow - click through and you get a sneak preview of the new Number 10 website, which their inspired digital team has been leaking via their Flickr feed.

Looks quite different and is clearly going to be much more content and design focused. The one thing going right at Number 10 at the moment is going on quietly, right under the radar, but is genuinely revolutionary, and will change the way the PM talks to the public forever.

Sometimes the world astounds

I love this. Quite an extraordinarily mesmerising sculpture from BMW. Beautiful.

What's left of the Bedford Road loo

What's left of the Bedford Road loo, originally uploaded by Simon Redfern.

Now this shows that stuff can be done. This was a really horrible public bog that sat, squat and unpleasant at the top of my road. There was always loads of druggie types hanging around there, and it obscured the car-park behind making it a great place for bad things to happen.

Hats off then to Cllrs Reardon and Gladstone, two Labour activists in the Borough who have done the near impossible and got the thing pulled down.

Not with a bang but a meeting

Last night, at a meeting of a certain polticial party of which I am much beloved, a man stood up to report on the year's activities. "Well" he said, "we have had nine main meetings, and we lost three byelections".

We then went on to endorse the same tired structural set up for another year. Well I didn't endorse it, but that's one of the irritating quirks of democracy.

So now we'll have meetings and pre-meetings before the meetings. Sometimes we will even have a meeting and then hold the same meeting again for a few additional members who aren't part of the executive. And my brain will implode with boredom, frustration and impotence.

This is the collective madness to which my party has come. Unshakeable adherence to a rule book that is becoming in parts utterly obsolete, a rule book which has all but removed radicalism, sponteneity and flexibility from our political lexicon.. And last night we were unable to prevent the forces of conservatism winning out again.

But there is hope...

An appalling act...

Another case of 'mad dad' syndrome is all over the papers today. It's hard to know the circumstances but it just leaves me with a sense of total horror and confusion. A bad divorce, losing your house, your life changing irrevocably. Of course there are strong emotions, but enough to over-ride the love you have for your own children, to the extent you would rather snuff out their lives than let them live? This needs more explanation.

Is it that such men feel homicidally disempowered by their lives? Or that they feel like perennial victims blaming everyone around them for their lot? Whatever the circumstance it seems to me to be the worst crime of all: to take the lives of children because you want to deprive your partner of them, claiming ultimate ownership of them and their existence just because you had a part in their creation.

These actions have to have their roots in some kind of infantilised rage which finds its escape in the most horrific and deadly way: the last lashing out by a totally damaged mind that refutes, in those final moments, every last claim on fatherhood.

Remembrance of things past

For anyone that ever sat in the balcony at Labour conference and tried hard not to be moved to tears by one of Tony Blair's early speeches: this is for you...

http://tonyblairoffice.org/2008/05/blair-delivers-yale-class-day.html

I think that's just you and me Steve... Ah well.

Change the Crewe?

Crewe and Nantwich. Difficult. We need to reflect. The campaign was poor - we knew that half way through, but didn't seem to change tack. I also have an issue with the campaign materials which insulted the intelligence of many voters. In this day and age we have to respect residents' knowledge about the world around them, not try to pull the wool.

One example was the inflated claim that Tamsin Dunwoody had helped convince the Chancellor to compensate losers in Crewe over the 10p tax band debacle. Everyone knows that is political bluster. Why not just calm down and focus on the facts? It frustrates me.

I don't want to carp and criticise. Gordon is a phenomenal politician who has slipped behind the zeitgeist, I hope temporarily. We need some of the new Labour organisational skills back, some of the dynamic narrative. I suspect that the quiet twosome, Milburn and Byers, may have something to add to this debate - they were campaiging hard in C&N I note.

A quick reality check

Put me in a room full of the party faithful and my political batteries re-charge. It's why I love party conference so much.

So tonight's Progress meeting, Can Labour Win in the South?, was just what I needed. I can already see the big beaming grin spreading across Lewis's face so let me elaborate. First off, the room was completely rammed. Packed. A good sign.

Charles Clarke was pretty restrained and it would be difficult to build a critical story out of most of the comments he made - although he did set out a very Blairite routemap as a way through. I could see the political ghosts of Alan Milburn and Steve Byers standing behind him, a bit like Yoda and Obi Wan at the end of Return of the Jedi.

John Denham was passionate about Gordon's ability to get the party out of its current position. Everyone on the panel talked about a febrile media environment with "paraphrasing" misquotes rampant.

It was the call for authenticity that rang true for me - that's what appears to be lacking at the moment. Alan Johnson was authentic on Today this week - angry at the "True Confessions" mindset, irritated that policy is playing second fiddle to personality. But of course personality is the conduit for authenticity. Hmmm tricky that...

All in all it was a great analysis of the current situation from a politician's, rather than a commentator's, point of view.

Derek Draper was nice, Nicky Gavron took a shed-load of notes, as did Martha Kearney. Peter Hain listened, nodded, but cuts an odd figure these days without a Cabinet role.

Dawkins!

This morning Richard Dawkins did two impossible things before breakfast, on the Today programme. First he nobbled Cardinal Cormac Murphy O'Conor's argument that perhaps athiests should have a dialogue with the church. Second he actually put John Humphreys on the spot arguing that, given he's always so forensic in his interviews with politicians, he shouldn't let the good Cardinal off just because he purports to believe in a higher power.

Underground nonsense

Summer underground
And the tube is vacuum packed,
But the ipod opens spaces
When my eyes close like clams.
When I think about elections
I stop getting erections
But Tories do that to you, sometimes.

Summer underground
And such beauty reading novels,
But the skin opens spaces
As a breeze devours the train.
We all try not to make contact
When all we really want is contracts
The city makes us lonely, sometimes.

The Outer Limits

In the end Labour's vote didn't quite come out. Poor Ken. I listened to his concession speech with a few tears going on. To me its proof that to win an election today you need personality more than policy. Johnson's campaign had no substance at all - Lynton Crosby's strategy of taking one dog whistle issue and being relentless about it seems to have worked. But the "he's a right larf" factor did its work. And the four by four brigade in the bits of London that aren't really London did the rest.

Ken has personality and actually delivered a huge number of votes given the national picture, but he had also antagonised the outer boroughs, with the Tories succeeding in spreading scare stories about the level of the congestion charge. Sleaze allegations did not help. His last gift to London was to help Labour stabilise its position on the Assembly. We picked up Brent, which was a surprise, and we held onto Haringey. With 8 Labour members, 3 Lib Dems and 2 Greens, the 11 Tories will be unable to claim the whip hand, unless the Lib Dems do the dirty.

The Evening Standard's role in the campaign will be the subject of media studies dissertations for some time. I don't think I'll ever be buying it again. All in all a numbingly awful day for us. No excuses. The Party has to do better.

Mayor Mare

Blimey, I am getting very wobbly about tomorrow's Mayoral election. The result feels like a mystery, wrapped up in an enigma, locked in a riddle at the bottom of Rupert Lewis's wallet. Deep, dark and very, very hard to penetrate.

Ken's polling is OK given the drubbing the Labour Party has had over the last few months. Our poll of polls (conducted at work) put Boris on about 43% and Ken on 40%. With a margin of error of about 3% this would make the result anyone's. On the other hand Ken is notorious at polling under the pundits' predictions. Last time out he came in at about 36%, although the turnout there was a factor.

The whole thing will stand and fall on two things: the weather (which impacts the "can't be bothered" faction - more likely to be Labour than the crazy-eyed Tory zealots desperate to ruin the city, eh Rupes? EH?) and the second preferences. If enough Lib Dems and Greens pick Ken he could just make it back.

What's awful is the "Boris is a right larf" mentality knocking around town at the moment. Charlie Brooker gets it spot on. Anyone that watched Question Time last week and thought that Boris had a grip of the issues and didn't have Lynton Crosby's hand up his back, wants locking up (IMHO).

Come on now. Be sensible. Vote Ken!

Floating away...

It comes to something when you think you're sitting across from the guy who plays Barry Shitpeas from Charlie Brooker's Screenwipe on the last train to Chingford.

Oh let there be a taxi at walthamstow. I plead with you my taxi god.

Last night I lay, almost submerged in a pool of salt water. In a floatation tank. I enjoyed it - hovering in the dark between asleep and awake, piling through the work stuff in my head to deeper and more profound notions.

I felt totally spaced at the other end of the hour, like blissed, like monged. But good. Would highly recommend it. Shitpeas is looking serious - reading a script. He needs to float.

We Think

I thought Clay Shirky was good. And he is.

But I love Charles Leadbetter's book and this nifty little summary of how and why things are going to change...

Conservatives and computers

Intriguing views from David Cameron have been spilling out of Central Office recently. He's been talking about scrapping the major IT infrastructure projects in the public sector, largely because they take too long, and are too expensive.

Instead he talks about opening up these projects using Linux, or other open source software, as a way to bring about "information liberation". He says that large centralised systems for the management of information don't work - closed IT systems lead to higher risks and costs - so he wants to follow private sector best practice and open up the source code to all.

This is, though it pains me to say it, innovative. What Cameron fails to explain is how this would work in a structure like the NHS where much of the programming activity would have to conform to rigorous standards around confidentiality. But it is bold, and it shows a grip on the different approaches to programming that are out there. As I've mentioned before Labour is making valiant efforts to catch up on this agenda, but Cameron has been fleet of foot and that is worrying.

OooEEEooooooo

Only a few people will know what I'm on about so that's fine.

And my answers are:

• Donna - oh dear not sure about CT yet...
• Rose - we all went completely nuts
• Line of the night "I can't believe I'm waving at fat"
• Fear factor - Kids liked the adipose babies and all the running about. William a particular fan of the sonic pen
• Overall - poor. I like them behind the sofa, if not round next door's where there is no telly.

Government 2.0?

Here's a thing. Tom Watson, Labour MP for West Bromwich East and first blogging Parliamentarian, has used his ministerial position at the Cabinet Office to try to bring Government departments and agencies to the internet in a meaningful and intelligent way. Add to that Downing Street's entree into the world of Twitter - which makes Gordon the first European head of state to be part of the twitterverse.

Is there something stirring in the woods, as my old Chairman would say...

Here's the latest Cabinet Office release. OK, when it talks about using 'mash up' data it sounds a bit like your grandad talking about the latest popular beat combo to enter the hit parade, but it is a step in the right direction. The key quote for me is this:

"I want to move quickly. With advice from the Task Force, we will get on with improving services for our citizens to match the pace of change.”

This is actually unambiguous ministerial speak - Tom is a man of his word, and has a genuine passion about the use of online tools.

But I do think this is also a tacit acknowledgement that HMG is out of the online game at the moment. The problem is they are playing catchup, which is a long way away from the innovation that they need to be showing. But it's all good - really good.

Snow melts

The hard frost lets the snow settle and we love the snow. But when the white stuff melts away the ground is hard and unforgiving.

One of the dogs that Ma Outlaw looks after whacked into poor old Snowy yesterday and sent him flying - he hit his head on the kitchen floor. That little spark that we'd been nurturing suddenly snuffed out quick as anything.

It is ludicrous to be sentimental over a lamb, but in that lonely house which has seen so much pain over the last year, with Mick's suicide, it seemed a green sprig of life in a pretty barren landscape.

Lambs die. We know that. But this one was something of a symbol, certainly for the Nip and probably for Ma Outlaw too. The pain of Mick's death still so raw, underneath it all. We need more Snowies...

Tilly cuddles Snowy

Tilly cuddles Snowy, originally uploaded by Simon Redfern.

This is a story. About a poor lamb called Snowy. Snowy was the runt of the litter and while his siblings were up on their feet, kicking up the snow and feeding in a frenzy off their brassed off looking mum, he lay limp, empty, barely alive.

Tilly and William begged the farmer to let them take him home. He grumpily gave in and handed them a big bag of sheep milk, a teat and a stomach tube.

First Tils and the Boy Wonder put the lamb in the warm draw of the rayburn... then they installed him in a dog basket next to a radiator, covered in old woolly jumpers.

They fed him, and he responded. He woke everyone up in the night, bleating and crying for more milk.

The next day he was on his feet - wobbling and scampering - like his pins were going to give out... Tils and BW had saved him from certain death, and without realising it done just the thing to celebrate Easter and the onset of spring...

But actually nobody comes

As if to illustrate Clay Shirky's point I recently attended a couple of All Party Parliamentary Groups. APPGs have come in for a lot of stick over the last year or so, mired in funding allegations and all the rest. Ultimately they exist for MPs and Peers to receive briefings from external organisations on the issues that matter to them.

But what has happened in some cases is that the dynamic has been reversed. Organisations have suggested to Parliamentarians that forming a group makes sense, the MP has demurred, the requisite number of cross party members have been found and the group formed. The problem then is that these groups can rapidly become moribund, with one or two members turning up, almost because they have to. Just like the proliferation in the use of early day motions there is a sense of "we have to, because they have."

But of course this is a "gather then share" model in Shirky's terminology. The tools are old school. Get MPs interested by writing to them, keep them interested by reminding them, get other stakeholders interested too. It's cumbersome, it's labour intensive, and the results are sometimes painfully poor.

Turning the model on its head would be better. Share the need, offer the solution, then gather. Again the solutions aren't obvious - clearly the need to lobby remains, but a more active mechanism for MPs to put their needs and wants out there seems sensible, and deliverable given the social tools now on offer. Just a thought...

Here Comes Everybody

I'm skipping through Clay Shirky's new book Here Comes Everybody: The Power of Organizing Without Organizations. It's a truly incredible read and Shirky (whose lecture at the RSA yesterday I blinking missed) is really persuasive.

Essentially his point is we have tools now that mean we can organise ourselves in a totally different way than 10 years ago. We don't necessarily need traditional structures anymore.

He cites the spontaneous photojournalism that took place during the 7/7 bombings on the underground, which saw Flickr used as a tool to promote a news story that no newspaper could ever get images for. He talks about one New York blogger's quest to retrieve a stolen mobile phone, mobilising half the net to help him.

This is powerful stuff and makes my political antennae twitch. I'm only a little way in, but already his comment that "the basic capabilities of tools like Flickr reverse the old order of group activity, transforming "gather, then share" to "share, then gather". That speaks to something profound in me about the way political parties operate, and about the future... Think Simon. Think!

Skippy

, originally uploaded by villageidiot.

Ahh - here she is. Five and skipping. It doesn't get much better than that.

Tilly is five tomorrow

The little radiator hits the garden
Flapping in her cape as Supergirl,
Or booting the ball high and true
In the summer and laughing loud.

On this earth now five short years,
Roots so deep entwined inside us
That life before her crying coming
Sits in memory - a blank waiting room.

Now this quark, this zap-charged electron
Orbits us super fast, glue-ing and sticking,
Painting us and colouring this world;
This girl who is five and who is mighty.

Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No it's a sustainable Budget!

If I was Alistair Darling I would close all the shutters in the Treasury, lock the doors in my suite of offices, get some sound technicians to build a 70ft amp stack on the roof, and play the John Williams theme from Superman day and night for the next 48 hours.

Because this is my first Budget, Lois. And I am SUPERMAN.

Mountains at Spitzing, Bavaria

Mountains at Spitzing, Bavaria, originally uploaded by Simon Redfern.

Just love those mountains. Now back from holiday and easing back into work, but thought this pic was a good one and would cheer me up no end in those occasional gloomy moments.

Uh oh

Yesterday I experienced that peculiar feeling you get when something somewhere has gone terribly wrong. I was walking home having just bumped into the Party Chair. We had a nice chat about the doomed Leyton by-election as we hurried along a freezing late night Hoe Street. As we said our goodbyes and I turned into my street I felt an unmistakable absence. There was a massive car shaped hole when the trusted Ford Focus had been sitting the day before.

Balls - it's been nicked. And even worse - given that I can't find the car key - I suspect it was pretty easy for the perpetrator to do it. Double balls! And that probably means the insurance won't pay out. Quadruple balls with an extra helping of balls!

Being a good Labour boy I am generally of a fairly liberal nature when it comes to crime and punishment. But when something happens to ME ME ME I suddenly turn into a raging Tory. It exposes a level of hypocrisy in me which lies dormant, hidden behind my Guardian lite views. But today I want the bastard flogged in the town square, and then dragged through Walthamstow village naked to be jeered at by the locals.

Up to snuff

To Cellar Door , a chic little former public convenience at the bottom of the Aldwych, last night for cocktails and chat with the Coal Man, the Hack and Tai Chi Boy.

We were having a fab old time. Then Tai Chi Boy left and I think this must have destabilised the flow of the collective (or something) because someone spotted that five kinds of snuff were available on the menu.

Snuff? Had we been flung back in time to 1890? No. Although that would have been quite cool.

It's just that with cigarettes a no-no people still need their vices, and snuff remains probably the only legal stimulant you can whack up your nozzer. I learnt all about 'nature's snuff box' from the Coal Man who is evidently a bit of a dab hand.

Anyway - I'm recommending the club blend. Very minty... Get in quick before it gets banned.

What is it about rhyme...

I love it. Rhyme and all the little semi rhymes and half rhymes in between. Getting it right is really hard work. But when you look at a real expert like John Hegley and great stuff like

I remember Luton
As I'm swallowing my crouton

you realise you are in the presence of a master. Yes yes, I am sure there are many better examples, but I like what works for me. It's that ability to connect words and then twist them, add to them which is marvellous and often beautiful.

My other rhyme hero is Martyn Jacques - lead singer of the Tiger Lillies - who, on my ipod on the way in to work this morning, rhymed "toys" with "equipoise" and made me burst out laughing on the Victoria Line.

Rebranded!

The company I work for, Fishburn Hedges, does 'surprise and delight' really well. Every so often, throughout the year, I'll arrive on a Monday morning to find something mysterious and interesting on my desk, which'll relate to an announcement that's going to happen later in the day.

Today we're undergoing a major rebrand, the first in about 13 years. Huge levels of work have been poured into it, from having the rows about the look and feel, to changing the website, to sorting the stationary, to setting up new document templates.

But even more gets poured into making it feel like an occasion. This morning we were seranaded by a saxophonist as we arrived, poured fruit cocktails in the new colour scheme, and rooted through our goodie bags filled with a stash of stuff. New sofas have appeared around the place, and our PCs are all set up with the new look.

See what you make of the new branding - the website's not switched over just yet but should be later today.

That election date

I am 100 per cent certain it's 2009. Obvious I know... but I'm smug because I've got it from, if not the horse's mouth, then definitely its feedbag...

Mind you - don't just take my word for it. Peter Riddell's piece today gives a good indication that we're on for May 09...

Snapshot

He's in love with her, so much, so very
And between Euston and the stop at Highbury
As his hand encompasses her knee and
Snakes on down to tweak her boot zip, she
Smiling snapshot bright light love
Decks him with a hearty shove

The psychology of the plan

All seeing Ian has a new job and is bringing his unique, assertive management style to some old school health charity. He is a master of tough love management, revels in the havoc it causes, loves the success it brings.

ASI's schtick is 'planning'. That is the key to it all. Planning, organisation, time for thinking. These are the things that bring you calm, clarity and success. Even the small things, tidy desk, organised files, to do list, can have a huge impact.

I love his revelling in his authority. He is a master of saying it how it is and dealing with the consequences like a grown up. A great role model is All Seeing Ian.

Hail to the geek

Stratford Town Hall. Now there's a grand Victorian building. I was there last night at a Labour fundraiser for Ken Livingstone's Mayoral campaign.

There is one fundamental reason why Ken should win this election. He loves the job. He's a total nerd about London and he revels in the minutiae of City Hall politics. There's no way Boris would sit through the interminable meetings that Ken does. Or make politically unpopular decisions that ultimately change the way this city works for the better.

We need Ken, the thick-skinned policy geek. The man that takes on the Evening Standard. The radical. The lover of London.

Project Pancake KPIs met

I love a pancake. Especially because I am very good at making them. If I were in Heroes my special ability would be to toss hot batter [this joke is dedicated to Hightower]. I just have a knack of marrying wholesome goop with spectacularly hot kitchen surfaces to produce perfect lovely flat slivers of joy.


So this is me going for the flip (credit to four year old Tilster for the pic):

And these are the litlins with the end result. A particular hit with the boy wonder there...

Great Aunt Ethel el morte

Today I drove to Birmingham for GAE's funeral. She was my Dad's aunt but we'd never met while she was alive. This I think is a sad thing.

I was glad I went today. Ethel was our last link to the Hudsons, and my Dad's real mum who died of an asthma attack, right in front of him, when he was four years old.

May: that was her name.

We've always had a rose-tinted view of her. As if she'd been around everything would have been a lot better for my dad, who had a pretty unpleasant childhood at the hands of the Dundee Stepmother who washed his hair in fairy liquid and treated him like a servant for a long long time.

I don't know what May was like - but she was Ethel's sister and so it seemed important to mark today, if only for my Dad.

I like a good funeral though. I think it's the one thing the church does really well. Emotion wringing hymns like 'Abide with me' which allow the men to cry with dignity ... The vicar talking about Vera Duckworth in the address. Bizarre, but very British.

I get a real sense of closure from the ceremony as the final clumps of wet earth thud onto the coffin lid deeper down in the ground than you thought it would ever be. And then the other gravestones. Eileen Crump, William Bytheway. Names you couldn't make up or imagine, are there.

The French Lieutenant's Four Year Old

I am quite proud of this picture of a very cold looking Tilly, looking a lot older than 4. Hengistbury Head is a beautiful, rugged, windswept place near Bournemouth, with some of the most expensive beach huts in the world don't you know....

That beach knows me quite well. I've sat on rocks here as a teenager at night. Chucked flints at the ground and watched the sparks fly up. Brought girlfriends here. And now my children get to play with it too.

Sparking in the night
Chucking stones off rocks,
Flints on flints send shoals of sparks
Right into the sea

And in the darkness the warm wash
Of the weighty waves,
The vast sheer of the night sky
Buoy lights in the harbour.

Tube Love

There is this couple. I think he's called Rob, and I don't know what she's called. They get on my tube train almost every morning, same carriage, same seats. Creatures of habit, like me, until I remember I'm a creature of habit and shake things up.

Anyway Rob. 29. He is a big lad, proper Essex. Often in shell suit trousers, sometimes a suit, but rarely. Good hair, chunky build, drooping eyelids, fixed expression. He's not a smiler. Not in the mornings. Reads the Sun... doesn't opt for the Metro at all. Wears a massive gold ring. "RB" says the ring. You would be worried if you saw him with 10 pints down him.

She's a nightmare. 30sih too I'd say. Crazy greasy corkscrew hair, in some places smeared down, in others alive and bouncing around. Pan-face. Looks like the sort of girl you would not mess with under any circumstances.

When I first started getting the Victoria Line, about 6 years ago, they were so in love. Love was in their movements, their closeness, the goodbyes, the kiss. They shared the paper, sometimes the ipod headphones. They looked brighter, perkier.

But it struck me the other day. Getting off the train in front of me - barely a look, barely a word, and then him heading off at Finsbury Park, her heading through the tunnel to the Piccadilly Line and giving off this one long heavy sigh. I think it's coming to an end. Poor Rob and curly haired greasy girl. I hope they can make it through.

Absolutely

So that's a great call out,
And I absolutely recognise your approach.

Speaking to your point

I just wanted to reach out,
To really share my experience with you
And tell you why you are completely
And unutterably
Wrong