Banking Reform

I listen with amazement to Angela Knight and her explanations of bankers as a separate caste, why it was not the fault of the bankers they lost all that money, why PPI was not really a rip-off, and why above all they deserve to be paid vast salaries.

Over the last 40 years the banks have lost fortunes in a variety of creative ways: 1) lending to African and South American dictators in the 1970s, money immediately siphoned off to Swiss accounts; 2) becoming 'one-stop shops' for all things financial and property in the late 1980s, buying estate agents and insurance companies for inflated prices, selling them off shortly afterwards for a fraction of same; 3) during the dotcom boom lending to sure-fire winners like spendcashgobust.com, and uselesstossers.com; 4) finally finding a way to trade pigs-in-pokes by creating derivatives they were unable to value, some based on lending to Billy-Bob-Jim-Joe in Arkansas so he could buy a large house, though he never had any hope of paying for it.

The banking market has failed, not only because banks have enjoyed in effect state guarantees on their bets, but because most of those at the top will have been involved in at least two of those fiascos but kept their jobs.

I Don't Like (Bank Holiday) Mondays

Raspberries coming thick and fast now on the allotment, yesterday's picking with same weight of our own cooking apples now three jars of sharp jam. Breakfast in bed this morning consisted of proper coffee and a couple of slices of toast spread with the new preserve. Everyday luxury, especially given we had the time to relax and savour it.

Why did Sir John Lubbock go for Mondays rather than Fridays when he introduced Bank Holidays? Doubtless because offices and factories used to work on Saturdays, but why can't the whole lot now be changed to focus on Fridays instead? Monday even sounds dreary with its low 'uh' vowel sound compared to the jaunty 'i' at the end of the working week.

We hardly ever venture out on BHMs, knowing both traffic and rain are always around the corner. So we'll celebrate with a family feast of sorts tonight: the chicken liver pate is made and cooling. With the addition of some breadcrumbs, two of our eggs, an onion and three cloves of garlic we'll have about 1kg for £3, half for consumption this week the rest for the freezer. Eco in Northern Eco means economy as well as a certain respect for the environment. The chocolate cake (as the oven was already hot from making the pate) will be ready in 10 minutes, thank you the blessed Delia. And turkey fricassee - such a lovely word fricassee - will be quickly done tonight when needed.

Counting home-grown veg as free that makes three courses for about £6.50 Roughly the price of the bottle of wine from the ever excellent Artisan Wines that will accompany it. Opened a bottle of Gamay de Bouze from them yesterday and it was very good indeed as we have come to expect.

Pity the BHM weather is equally consistent, a few hours of sunshine would have given that extra lift to the proceedings. Bet Friday is a scorcher.

Best Days

The best days in the professional freelancer's life are 1) when you get paid; 2) when you get notice to invoice; 3) when you get more work. So the last couple of days have been pretty good. Notice received yesterday to invoice for a piece I wrote for Lake District Life about sailing on Ullswater (we recently bought a boat built in 1981 and sail it from Glenridding), same day as I had a new commission confirmed for Harpers Wine and Spirit. And today a further list of travel pieces agreed for Information Britain.

That is of course a bit too cynical and materialistic. There are other benefits: last week I had a little epiphany at a breakfast which included eggs from our own chickens, and home-made jam from blackcurrants grown on our allotment. It was sunny, and with no immediate deadline my son and I decided to go to the boat (how grand that sounds for a fibre-glass near antique) for the day. So count future memories for currently teenage son among the advantages of the freelance life.

It proved to be out best trip on Ullswater so far. As ever the wind was changeable and pretty light (there must be blowy days on the water there but so far we have missed them), we were lazy and only put up the mainsail, but still skimmed across the water happily free of gin-palaces. Add to my lengthy list of people who will face immediate execution when eventually I come to absolute power bell ends in £250k powerboats (jealous, me?) who break the water speed limit and create unpleasant wakes.

If anyone wants the full list for publication I can be at your service in moments. Same goes for my thoughtful book of political theory 'Things to Stuff up a Politician's Arse.' A follow-up volume exploring similar themes for celebrities is underway even now. Surely the Christmas hit for 2012. And curmudgeon that I am would suggest something for the Olympics along roughly the same lines. There are several very public figures whose rear ends I would love to fill with cash to the value of what we have spent on the world's biggest sports day. My Winston Smith Room 101 torture would have to be listening to Sebastian Coe's droning voice telling critics of The 2012 Games (never I fear heard on BBC other than by accident) how lucky we are to pay so many billions, about three times the original estimate too, for a few days of circus entertainment.

Back to Blogging

I was so impressed by the blog of one of my former classmates at UCLAN's Magazine Journalism MA, the brilliant Johanna Derry, that I felt inspired to begin blogging again. Too many of the other blogs I have read previously have been semi-literate, self-indulgent and less than informative. So fired with new enthusiasm for the medium I will give it another go.

As a freelance there have to be compensations for (relative) lack of money, and the foremost of them for me is variety. Recently I spent one day of a trip to East Anglia on research for three separate pieces: in the morning I went to Potter Heigham to take new pix of the Wherry Albion, and chat to a few of the members of the trust keeping her afloat. The early afternoon was spent on a tour of the Adnams Distillery in Southwold, which proved throughly enjoyable though driving kept me from any real tasting. Following that I met John Miller, a former Reuters correspondent in Moscow (whose book All Them Cornfields and Ballet in the Evening I can heartily recommend) regarding a gardening feature about George Orwell that I hope will appear in Grow Your Own (the curse of the unconnected and even after five years unknown writer is the "write it and we'll see" offer). That is variety.

The Adnams visit was in response to an offer, at the time feeling more like a threat, after I had given a poor review to their First Rate Gin, and has generated a commisison for Harpers Wine and Spirit, and in turn another for them, which says something for getting out of the office.