The hard drive on my laptop has gone to the big silicon chip in the sky, and with it the ability to change that other site until I get the new hard drive and re-load the back up.

Fortunately, now I can alter this site again.

So we're back, updating again. I know you missed me.

Give yourself something to do. Check this out.

And, ahhh, this arrives in my driveway on Wednesday:



Awesummmm!!!!

More pics, here.

Here is what a map for the world would look like, based on where Walmart gets the products it sells: Benjamin Edwards: Works, Projects, Archive

The Warehouse map would look pretty much the same, no?

Is this important? No, I don't think it is.

[Via Marginal Revolution, where I also found Predictions of the Year 2000 from The Ladies Home Journal  of December 1900].

You Are 50% Normal

While some of your behavior is quite normal... Other things you do are downright strange You've got a little of your freak going on But you mostly keep your weirdness to yourself

...that I'll be there.

Unless they read my blog. But I'm pretty sure there are not too many Belgians who read the blog.

So when I get to Bruxelles I think I'll order sprouts.

Anyway, while I'm away the blog will be updated here.

It's also clickable in the sidebar: Not at home

*Max Headroom, wasn't it? "That's the trouble with the Belgians. They have no way of knowing."

Tooling about on a work project I came across some research showing more than half the New Zealand population moves in any five year period.

So I tried to remember the last time I stayed in the same house for five years. It was...1978-83.

I should be careful how far I research stuff though. I went so far into that topic, I ended up here.

Would you pull the rope if you were this guy here?

(That last one is a movie file. You probably need broadband to see it. But it's worth it).

(Via B3ta).

Your results:
You are Spider-Man

Spider-Man 65% The Flash 60% Superman 60% Green Lantern 55% Iron Man 50% Hulk 50% Supergirl 40% Batman 35% Catwoman 35% Wonder Woman 30% Robin 17%

You are intelligent, witty, a bit geeky and have great power and responsibility.

Click here to take the "Which Superhero are you?" quiz...

While reading through the Motion Picture Production Code of 1930 I couldn't help wondering if this is still the Code of Practice observed at the BBC and National Radio.

Good thing too. Who, after all, could demur from this clause:

2. Scenes of Passion
  a. They should not be introduced when not essential to the plot.
  b. Excessive and lustful kissing, lustful embraces, suggestive postures and gestures, are not to be shown.

Or:

Dancing in general is recognized as an art and as a beautiful form of expressing human emotions. But dances which suggest or represent sexual actions, whether performed solo or with two or more; dances intended to excite the emotional reaction of an audience; dances with movement of the breasts, excessive body movements while the feet are stationary, violate decency and are wrong.

In fact, looking down that list, it's hard to think of a prime time show that wouldn't violate every clause.

On reflection, how would life not be improved by violating every clause from No. 2 on down?

This is nonsense. I'm definitely more right-brained.

C'mon...

You Are 55% Left Brained, 45% Right Brained

The left side of your brain controls verbal ability, attention to detail, and reasoning. Left brained people are good at communication and persuading others. If you're left brained, you are likely good at math and logic. Your left brain prefers dogs, reading, and quiet. The right side of your brain is all about creativity and flexibility. Daring and intuitive, right brained people see the world in their unique way. If you're right brained, you likely have a talent for creative writing and art. Your right brain prefers day dreaming, philosophy, and sports.

Funny. Clever.

When I try imagine the world my kids will grow up in, it's tempting to think it will be exactly like the world we know, only a bit more of good things.

But why would it be like that?

Compare 1906. Imagine the global outlook then. Not a single country in the world had experienced a communist government, yet it would be the dominant ideology of the twentieth century. Not a single Labour Party had been formed in the fashion that would see them elected to government in all but one of the world's democracies, and arguably introduce the most important humane reforms of the century. If kids like mine lived in Europe then, in 1906, not a single person they met would have heard of fascism, yet before they were middle aged it would have murderously swept all of Europe, dragging away its opponents and victims to ovens and firing squads. Two world wars would cause unimaginable destruction and reshape their continent impossibly. The monarchies of Europe could not have believed the disasters waiting at their door.

What is different now? In the developed world, everything. But why would analysis stop at the borders of rich countries? Those kids now will deal with a world dominated by the rising triple-spiked threat of Islamic fundamentalism, Islamic militarism and Islamic civil war. Their democracies might face disasters at our door: The world's democracies, with the exception only of India, are being outperformed economically by thugocracies. Economic might produces military might, and military might sooner or later produces military projection. In this century it will be armed with lunatic weapons.

And yet those kids will grow up with more choices, opportunity and wealth than their grandparents could have believed. A middle class person in middle age when Maria is middle aged will live as Kings did when her great grandfather was born. There is nothing like the spread of abundance to buy complicity in the status quo: In fact, that might be the greatest gift of twentieth century ideology. Rising affluence brings peace; hopelessness brings crisis. There is evidence in the past, but it is far from conclusive.

I can't find where, but I while back I remember writing about how every car these days seems to be grey or silver. (I can talk - my Jaguar is silver).

Anyway, marketing genius Seth Godin noticed the same things - and comes up with a brilliant insight about what this means for advertising stuff.

The hidden connections are how the world works.

How existential.

Some days i feel like a pinball.

I think we can all identify. The flipper gives you a kick up the jacksie, you get dinged backwards and forwards far too fast for the whole day until eventually you disappear down the plughole.

Anyway, someone has taken pictures of a pinball's point of view.

The Devil Wears Prada? It's crap. The novel is crap. The movie is crap.

The novel is leaden reading like grinding uphill on a three-speed bike. The movie just leaves you asking, 'why bother?' Meryl Streep is brilliant but they do nothing with her. The other one is a ditz.

It's all crap. Even if they do have Paris in it. Though fashion week is not the week before Christmas, which is when they shot it.

Google keeps doing amazing stuff. The latest is Google docs.

Check that out. Create documents online. Save and email them as Word docs. All for free. Why buy Microsoft Office ever again? I can collaborate on a document with several people in NZ - everyone writing and editing the same document, and it's as simple as working on a Word doc. A month or two ago I tried all sorts of spreadhseet options that would allow us to host a database on line and have access by up to four or five staff. They cost thousands and thousands of dollars and were extremely complicated to learn. Hosting was dodgy. This is free and I learned it in two minutes. Plus, I wrote a document and then saved it as a word document and it opened up in microsoft word right there on my hard drive. amazing. Did I mention it's free?

In the future most home computers might just be internet browsers and we'll do everything on line.

The only problem was it doesn't work with Safari. I use Camino to access it, which is a very cool browser.

I just worked out why I'm always wary of investment advice.

The way to make money is to invest in stuff that makes you money and doesn't cost you money. Invest for cash flow, not capital gain.

How true that is. How very true.

People make a bit of money from capital gains. A little bit. Sometimes we lose a bit too. But not real money. Cash baby. It's all about cash.

Global politics, celebrity news, family trivia and sound financial advice. Is there nothing, nothing, this blog won't bring you?

I remember being told somewhere in my youth that our body completely replenishes all its cells every seven years or so. I don't know about that. I'm pretty sure it's rubbish. But it is convenient, on this date, to divide life into seven-year cells.

1964. Upper Hutt. Hmmm.

1971. Northland. On the beach. Not much else to say.

1978. Auckland. Fourth form. A small dog called Pazzo. Moving a lot.

1985. The time since 1978 seemed like forever then. Doesn't seem so far now. 21st at my new girlfriend's house in Grey Lynn. Studying politics.

1992. Small flat in Herne Bay. Married. Working on radio. A cat called Ella.

1999. Wellington. Divorced. Hurtling towards government and a new family. Dog called Moe.

2006. Paris. Remarried, three kids.

What can I learn from this? Everything changes in seven years. Everything. Time is shorter in the rear view mirror than in the windscreen.

Entering Italy at Rimini. Where da family is from.

Yeah we're back from our five week holiday. Did you miss us?

Tons to say, meaning most of it won't be said or I'll never get round to writing it. I know you can't bear the silence.

Randomly...

Maria's name for the familiar symbol of Pisa: 'The Bendy Tower'.

When the emergency medical team came to look at Carlo's cold the night we spent back in Paris before going to Italy, news we had visited a Bankok bird flu market the day before helped convince them to take him to hospital. (He and Josie were home in an couple of hours).

The day after a global terror emergency is declared, how could our bag possibly be put on a plane to Rome instead of Paris? How could it possibly take three days to find it again? How could the semi-sentient baggage handling call centre tell us that the bag might not be released for five days because more lost bags than ever before were being processed?

If you only do 120 on the autostrada and refuse to pull over when they sit on your bumper honking, Italian drivers don't think it's funny.

Italian drivers think the rule about the side of the road you drive on is optional.

What is the point of a high speed autostrada if you have to queue for half an hour to pay the toll at the end?

Tourists with the most boorish behaviour coincidentally seem to have the widest bottoms.

We didn't find a Pagani in Rimini. We didn't really look.

If you sit at a cafe in the Rimini piazza saying 'Pagani' loudly, you still don;t find a Pagani, other than those who arrived with you. However it's possible your bottom widens a little.

When you're moved by art, you only notice afterwards - you notice because it lingers in the emotional side of your brain.

The Medici Venus lingered in the emotional side of my brain. She is elegant and poised and impossibly delicate for a piece of old rock. She looks like a muse. In fact, I know just the one.

We tried to get a Spaghetti Bolognese in Bologne. There was none on the menu.


Here is a picture of small sheds near the water's edge in Venice, at a beach described in the guides as 'one of the most fashionable in Europe.' The millpond water makes Cheltenham look like Raglan, and it takes an hour on the boat to get there from the city. One of these sheds costs €200 to rent for a day - 400 kiwi. The cheapest spot on the beach, five rows back from the sea behind the sheds with no hope of a view was €35. On the other hand - at least someone kindly rakes the sand each morning so it's not too rough and messy looking. Seats on the beat at Rimini are a snip at only €12.

More later. And I'll try to post some pix, in case anyone's interested.

Awesome haka. Tell me that didn't terrify the Aussies.


Maybe if France had one of these, they might have won.

This is ... why you shouldn't be using the Internet.

Meh. It's 30 degrees outside and nine o'clock at night. Too hot to do any work.

What's your excuse?

If a wisdom tooth is brutally wrenched from one's gum -- leaving a gaping wound requiring stitches, painkillers, anti-biotics and sympathy -- is one less wise?

There is a reason for asking.

Owwwww.

A terrifying message from Al Gore.

The summery buzz in the St Germain began to disappear into bars a little before 9 on Saturday night.

In the pale blue and white striped shirts of Argentina and green or red fan shirts of Mexico they stood around in front of the the widescreen tvs and the bar filled with half a dozen languages and many, many more accents.

From the first whistle Mexico charged, with speed and fury and in minutes they scored. The bar erupted, lights flashed on and off, happy, joyous fans erupted and the Argentina fans sat with their mouths open in shock. Then minutes later Argentina blazed back with a goal of their own and a new set of fans threatened to bring down the walls. The boys in green and red set up a 'Meh-hee-co, Meh-Hee-co' chant and were quickly contesting against 'Argentina! Argentina!'

In the European summer nights, the buzz is everywhere.

Argentina 2; Mexico 1 (extra time).

Just for the hell of it I thought I would go into Google Earth and take a random shot of the Tuscan country side. So I found a place a bit like we're headed to. Nice grounds, a pool, that sort of thing. Something like this:


By the way, how's the Wellington winter doing?

Hi Graeme.

Yeah so here's the Paris forecast this weekend.



And I see Wellington is pretty consistent and stable:



So you wouldn't be fiddling around with the controls on the heater. Turning it down or anything.

This might be an extremely esoteric post...

When I studied mass media, instead of doing something useful with my youth, there was an irritating academic rivalry between competing theories of news values.

On one hand, a market theory claimed the content of your newspaper is filled with exactly what the market wants, a theory that kinda drowned beneath all the sniggering at its obvious idiocy.

Then there was an even more vegetative Marxist school, promoted by lamentable red brick universities in the UK, that promoted variations on the theme that the newspapers are filled with the propaganda of the ruling classes. Or something.

Along came an Australian academic called Keith Windschuttle, who cut through the crap. Remember, this was the eighties and rubbishy faux-left academia was pretty much the dominant scene in the arts faculties of the Western world. His demolition of the Marxist line was particularly memorable (and to prove it I'll do it from memory) - he said the idea that Marxist academics could see through the propaganda of the news media while yer working classes needed to be enlightened amounted to saying

"the Marxist fingers go click and the working class dreamers will awake from their slumber."

His theory was that mass media is simply a reflection of pop culture, which in turn is a dynamic beast, a sea into which many tributaries flow.

Windschuttle became something of a hero, among our classmates at least and I think I could safely say there was a heavily liberal bias in our class. In fact they made up about half the membership - and the entire leadership - of the very lefty Labour Party on campus, of which I was the President at the time. (Yeah well, so you were perfect when you were twenty.)

Now, twenty years later, Keith Windschuttle has been stuck on the board of the ABC and the federal Opposition ALP is criticising his appointment because, they say, "he is widely regarded as extreme right wing."

I can't say I've followed KW's career at all, so I don't know what he's been up to in the intervening decades but actually his media views were not extreme right wing. They were just right. Having correct views about media news values might not be a qualification for a media board, but it's it's better than nutty views.

He wrote a seminal book about the way news media treated unemployment, and advocated what was called a 'socialist' solution. Consciously or (media studies in-joke here) most likely unconsciously virtually every reporter who covers unemployment today is in some way influenced by that book. He also wrote a book more recently criticising leftish historians for exaggerating racism in Australia's past. Don't know much on that topic, but it's interesting that his critics take it as axiomatic this makes him a right-winger. But it doesn't.

I'm slightly disappointed to see his website doesn't carry his older books, the ones that made him one of our heroes. That may be because they're out of print, or it may be because he has repudiated his views. On the plus side, he has written a piece skewering Noam Chomsky for the latter's disgraceful, pro-fascist performance since September 2001.

It's interesting that the same classmates who admired Windschuttle in the 80s thought Kim Beazley was a buffoon. Kim Beazley is now the federal leader of the ALP, which is attacking Windschuttle's appointment.

Hmmm. Windschuttle good then, Beazley buffoon. Some things never change.

Yes. Yes! Yes! Yes!

There is not a word of this I disagree with, from the conversion to classical cotton boxers in the 90s to the discovery boxer briefs are just better. They have, ummm, hold. Like a hand is holding on to the wearer.

I'm sorry, men need to talk about this stuff. Don't be sexist and just dismiss our needs.

I usually despise flash animation on websites. It's slow to load, clumsy and done without the user in mind. I've had countless web designers come up with ideas for installing flash on various websites over the years and declined them all.

But that doesn't always have to be the case.

For example, this site is worth a visit. Just to see flash animation in action, of course.

(From this Wellington blog).

The excuse for absence is that we've been to Buckingham Palace, which is not - to tell you the truth - a sentence I have previously found it necessary to write.

Anyway the Queen was busy, apparently, so Charles handed the medal to Elspeth and we all agreed that was better since he will be the King one day.

Here is Elspeth's rather glamourous ONZM:



It was the only kiwi honour among a hundred or so handed out on the day (though we did see Len Cook, the former NZ statistics head, who was there to get a UK honour).

We took turns in the cab to say, 'ah, to the palace, thanks driver.'

The palace is less opulent than the French palaces. More tasteful. There is a lesson here: The French royals are currently separated at the neck; The English are still collecting. It pays not to go too far.

Whoever designed the guards' helmets had a sense of humour. Especially the pointy brass ones with pretty ribbons coming out the top.

The guards inside wear little brass breastplates, which clearly date from a time when guards were not so burly. They also wear thigh-high patent leather boots with super-hero flashes at the top. They would not be out of place at certain gay night clubs. They are...heroic.

The white gloves are something else.

The guards have a head-never-moves glare ready for those of us who can't help smirking. As I say, it pays not to go too far.

The chandeliers would send Linda Clark into seizures of ecstasy.

Someone shines all that brass. Someone polishes all that gold leaf. Someone dusts every inch, every vase, every painting.

No one shushed us for giggling.

The Prince talks to every recipient. Talks, not just a 'how do you do?'. An equerry gives him a brief prompt. Someone researches every recipient. The Prince has to swat.

They didn't serve tea. Or cucumber sandwiches.

Ladies don't have to wear hats, but it might be best to splash.

There is a temptation to linger on the way out to secure one's place in as many tourists' photo albums as possible.

When we left we went to Starbucks.

"Got everything?"

"Got the presentation, got the laptop, got the tickets, got the camera, got the iPod. Yep, got everything."

"Got your passport?"

"Oh. Shit!!!"

And so Josie left for ten days. Free at last.

We stood at the windows and waved goodbye as she passed on the street below. Then the kids ate dinner sweetly and bathed obediently and went off to bed like little lambs. If it stays like this I could get used to it."

So look for frequent blog updates. Because you know talking to the computer is almost like talking to real live grown ups.

On Wednesday night we went to La Java, to see Ardal O'Hanlon, who apparently starred in the sitcom Father Ted, not that I ever watched it.



The venue is a smokey, groovy little underground jazz bar where to get in we walked past old men sitting around smoking from big hukka pipes, those big bongs that emit clouds of steam and they take an individual hose from a large shared bowl. Ick.

Inside we sat at tables and sipped drinks beneath the low ceiling and the faded belle epoque décor

We sat and giggled for an hour or so. Not side-splitting. The act was too messy. It felt like he hadn't really written show, but just penned a series of gags. He began by asking a woman in the front row what she did in Paris and she told him she's an opera singer. "Go on then, give us a tune," and he handed her the mike. "I don't need a microphone," she declined sweetly. Strike one to the diva. Then she stood up, drew breath and emitted a strong, room-filling perfect note, completely upstaging the comic.

Ardal has fantastic timing and he is funny, though he takes no risks. There is no edge, he's not vulnerable, can't riff. As Josie said, laughing is such a basic human need and it's so rare to just go and laugh for a night.

His last joke of the night: "The hardest part of learning to roller blade is telling your parents you're gay."

We thought it would be nice to think about buying a flat here. We could rent it out when we went back and then in our dotage have a little place to come back to in retirement for a while, which we could then sell and have a little retirement pot. Seemed like a good idea.

Then we went out researched the market. Ouch.

Right off the bat the notary takes up to eight percent just for doing the title search and transfers. So that's NZ$80,000 on a €500,000 flat, and that's about the cost of a tiny two bedroom thing round here.

Mortgage repayments are roughly twice the current market rents. Once you have a tenant in, you more or less can't put up the rent until they leave, nor can you make them leave unless you sell.

So thinking about the economics of that. Hardly anyone moves, meaning the number of available apartments is minimal and that keeps sale prices high, so high they massively exceed the yield. If the financing cost of a property far exceeds its potential return, then prices must be due to fall. Only the distortion is keeping prices up. That and Americans who put their money in here as a hidey-hole against the falling greenback. It's still cheaper to buy a place if you are going to live in it over the full period of the mortgage. If you buy a place and then rent it out, rental income exceeds the interest over the life of the mortgage but we would have to foot most of the capital repayments. We would get the capital back when the place was re-sold in say 25 years, but that would be a lot of cash gone west in the meantime with a slim return for the use of money and the risk (the risk that prices might fall).

So there goes that dream.

Test match cricket!

Live.

!!!

I'm posting this at 1.02.03 on 4/5/06.

Slightly disappointed the counter doesn't quite display that way. And I'm glad I'm not American and I would have missed the date altogether because it would be in June.

Wonder if I'll be round to blog it again next time that this time and date come around - in one hundred years.

Meanwhile in June I promise to post at 06.06.06 on 6/6/06

Because I can...

Meh, this site is hard to find. The dot mac account is pretty groovy for publishing stuff to the web and other toys but it's useless for finding us. Who can remember that URL? Not me.

So I fixed it. Now you can just go to www.johnpagani.com

And you come here.

UPDATE: And now also www.josiepagani.com

Now who couldn't remember that?

To: The Editor, Private Eye magazine

Dear Sir

Could it be that Christopher Hitchens and Robert Palmer are both addicted to love?

In 1967, Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass toured New Zealand:

In the band's line up, there was a 'Lou' Pagani.

Snigger.

Why is it called the Super 12?

Speaking of 1968, what an amazing month April was.

In rough chronological order...

The Australian Prime Minister Harold Holt had just disappeared while swimming.

The Tet offensive had just begun in Vietnam and General Westmoreland was asking for another 200,000 troops.

Then in April, Martin Luther King was assassinated.

Prague Spring began in Czechoslovakia.

Trudeau was elected PM of Canada.

The Wahine sank.

Britain introduced the race relations laws that led to Enoch Powell's infamous 'rivers of blood' speech.

LBJ announced he wouldn't contest the US Presidency, while Chicago mayor Daley announced a shoot-to-kill policy against demonstrators and Bobby Kennedy stepped into the presidential race.

French university students began the sit-ins and protests that led to the fall of the French presidency.

Crikey. I don't remember any of it. I do remember 1968 a little though: We lived in Northland and every Friday we would drive into Kaitaia to see my Mum in hospital.

One of the girls in this picture got in touch through Old Friends and sent this pic from my 1972 primary school class.



I look exactly like Carlo. Even the haircut is the same.

Yow the teachers were hot in those days, no?

My wife gave me this beautiful bunch of flowers.

I have no idea how to photograph it.

Amazing what you find when you Google your own name.

This Pagani is no relation, but there is some fantastic photography on his site.


The Pagani Zonda is no relation either. But it is the fastest production car in the world. To be honest with you? I've always thought it's not the coolest looking car I've ever seen. But look at the new model.



This is not a car, it's a Batmobile.



There is more Pagani car porn over here.

The world's most Muslim countries.

Just in case you're maybe a cartoonist thinking of taking a trip somewhere.

Advertising executives are getting old.

Students at Oxford have voted

"overwhelmingly in favour of retaining the tradition of wearing full academic dress for examinations."

Well there were a few things I wrote before Xmas, but then I forgot to post them, then we got in a big Chrissy rush and whaddaya know a month has gone by.

So, you know, sorry.

But...we're baaaaack.

Josie can't stand Barbara Kendall, but check out this quote:

"Just because you are 40, I'll be 41 at the next Olympics, doesn't mean you are down and out."

Yeah. Go the golden girl.

When I saw the headline, I was convinced this was going to be another Aussie kiwi-bashing story:

Australian workers really hate suckophants

Freaky:

The two women, both named April and with the middle name Dawn, lived in different parts of Fairfax County and dated 22-year-old men. Now, both women have been charged in separate murder-for-hire plots with trying to have those boyfriends killed, police said yesterday.

(Washington Post). Tell me there isn't a novel in this? A dark, vaguely comedic indie film?

My new car reviewed.

Italians have unleashed their most powerful weapon: pure sex appeal. How gorgeous is this car? Imagine the languid flanks and silky thighs of an Italian starlet — say, Monica Bellucci — minus the flimsy sundress.

Awesome review. Very awesome car.

Scalpers outside Twicks were asking three hundred quid for a single ticket. Almost resolved to watching the game in a pub and trying the scalpers at half time I was lucky to find a group from a club where someone hadn't turned up. My cash went into club funds and the beer I bought them in gratitude went into club members, immediately.

They insisted I stayed with them - insurance I wouldn't re-sell the ticket to a tout, and the delay in the pub nearly meant we missed the start. On the way in a drunk shoved past me, and a cop on horseback called out 'stop'. She reached down to grab his collar and knocked him over. Three other cops appeared from nowhere, leapt on him, twisted his arms and cuffed him. Don't mess with me, sucker.

We couldn't get inside the stand in time for the anthems, so I was stuck with a couple of hundred poms hollering 'God Save the Queen' in my ear. They can keep her, thanks. Then we charged to see the haka. I saw someone report the haka was booed - not where I was. It's a part of the game everyone wants to see. Everyone was anxious to get in and watch it.

There is a peculiar joylessness about English spectators. At the Wellington Stadium we roar support for our side. Abuse is mostly vented as wisecracks. The ref gets a bit of curry but it's not relentless and tone is unimpeachably good natured. The poms lose just as much as the Canes but for the nation that invented irony the crowd is witless. They booed the All Blacks and the ref like their team plays football: Vigorously and without creativity. Tana and the Canes backrow were special targets of some horrible abuse. Most of it was just boorish. 'Kiwis are wankers' the bloke next to me chanted throughout the game.

Earlier his buddy asked him, 'where is New Zealand. Is that down by South America somewhere?' Maps aren't his strong point, he explained to me. No, mate, never mind geography - I'm impressed a simian can function in society at all. These are people whose chants indicate some belief they are racially superior. On the basis of, uh, what?

There are no good All Blacks - just cheats, and English players who are rubbish for not being able to get past the cheating rubbish ABs who are nowhere near as great as they used to be. The English insisted during and after the game the ref was cheating throughout on the side of the ABs, even when he sent three of them off.

Why would you bother paying to see sport when there is so little pleasure in it for you?

The game was not the greatest spectacle, but it was tense and tough, a classic test match. The All Blacks were skittish and seemed over-awed at first, maybe by the venue or the nearness of a Grand Slam. The English forwards are useful, especially their locks. In the last twenty minutes, when the ABs were a player down, there was never concern they could lose the game as long as the poms kept giving the ball to their backs.

So I can say I was there at Twicks for the Grand Slam. It is a damp, dark stadium in a damp country, it was cold, the game spluttered along, the yobs were menacing.

And for all that, it was perfect.

Go them blacks.

Post-match happy. Scoreboard behind.

"Japanese Princess Sayako, the emperor's only daughter, quit the world's oldest monarchy and married a commoner, setting out for a new life at age 36 as a middle-class housewife. Sayako quit her job as a part-time bird researcher and, under a now controversial tradition, loses her imperial status by marrying a commoner."

What a beautiful love story. And a good reason to be a republican...

Just posted a quick flash-album movie of photos the kids' nanny, Nataliya, took at the square next door.

Click on 'kids at the park' from the menu on the right.

Comments are always good...

For a flash-based slideshow of some very cute Maria photos, click 'Maria's Moods' in the sidebar (might take a while to download on dial-up).

Took about a minute to create that. Did I say I love my iBook? I do love my iBook.

What did Joey say when he came across Henry VIII's armour?

(Quietly, reverently): "Dad, do you mind if we just stand here for a few minutes while I just stare at it for a bit?"

The pix are here.

Deborah, whom you will occasionally see in the comments, took some gorgeous photos of the kids.



I'll post a few more soon, but as a taster, there are some beautiful pictures of Carlo here.

(Or click the Carlo, October '05 link in the sidebar).

Tell me about that picture.

Well the big round circles, that's an 'escargot'.

That's a snail?

Yes, we had some at school. They were really big, and you know what Daddy?

What?

You're not allowed to eat them.

"Are you a big girl or a little girl?"

I'm a big girl.

"What about mummy? Is she a girl?"

Yeah, she's a girl.

"What do we call big girls?"

Ummmm. Humans?

You'll find this hard to believe, but occasionally, just every now and then, Carlo can misbehave the teensiest little bit. And when that happened on the weekend Daddy picked him up and put him, sobbing, in the cot for time out.

A couple of minutes later, when Josie went to retrieve him, he told her '*sob*Daddy *sob* naughty *sob*'.

And so the Terrible-Two defiance begins.

Now when he doesn't get what he wants, or he is asked to 'put that down' or his request is declined he spits out 'Daddy Naughty!'

He has added 'no' to his vocabulary.

Would you like some bread, Carlo? 'No bread.'

Want to go for a walk? 'No walk!'

Say goodnight to Daddy. 'No Daddy! Daddy Naughty.

I tried a line from Independence Day: Do you want world peace, Carlo? 'Peace! No peace.'

Yesterday while Josie and I had lunch I sent him away. 'No way!'

Josie spoke to him sweetly and explained he could have some time when we finished lunch. 'Go away,' I added. '[screeeeech] No Way.'

Soft talk repeated, and as he toddled off, 'and go away'. Spins around 'No Way! Daddy Naughty!'