Eroding democracy in the name of democracy

BBC: Blair plan for 'people's panels'

The prime minister has called for "people's panels" to help push through key public service reforms.

Tony Blair says the panels will be made up of members of the public who will be asked to advise ministers on the most difficult areas of policy.

This is so depressing.

The reason we appoint members of parliament is to give them our proxy votes when making exactly these sorts of decisions. At times, we naively hope that they might actually vote as intelligent, thoughtful individuals, rather than along party lines. If we don't like the way they vote, we reserve the right not to vote for them again. It's not a particularly good system for making decisions, but it sort of works.

Now Blair wants to corral 100 panel members to advise our elected representatives on how they should be using their proxy votes. Who will choose these 100 super-voters, do you reckon? Do you think they'll be chosen at random, or might the Prime Minister possibly have more than a little say in their selection?

I don't want people's panels advising my representative on my behalf, thank you very much. If I feel strongly enough about a particular issue, I'll contact my MP directly. That's how it's supposed to work. Your typical member of the British public (as represented on Blair's new panels—if they really are chosen at random) is a tabloid-reading, lager-drinking, europhobic reality TV-viewer, who thinks it's a disgrace they got rid of the death penalty, is paranoid about asylum-seekers getting into the water supply, thinks wind-powerstations are going to solve our energy needs, and cares more about the death of Pauline Fowler than what has been going on in Darfur.

If I wanted ill-informed, unelected buffoons making decisions on my behalf, I'd be a royalist.

Walkies in a Whimper Wonderland

Jen and I have a house-guest over Christmas: Jen's mum's old-but-spritely cocker spaniel, the seasonally named Holly.

Holly likes visiting our place: there are nice new walks to go on, there are cats to chase in the garden, there are interesting smells to explore (sorry about that, it must be all the apricot stuffing), there are turkey leftovers, and the fat bearded man's idea of what constitutes two handfuls of dog food supplement is considerably more generous than the usual waiter's.

Oh, yes, and if you whimper like a poor, lost puppy, the people here give you lots of attention.

The only thing Holly doesn't like about staying here is the plate glass patio door, which she sometimes thinks is open when it's shut, and tries to leap through to great comic effect.

It's good having a dog around the house, but, with the amount of time Jen and I are away from home, there is no prospect of our having a dog of our own until we win the Big One on the lottery.

In our house, a dog is just for Christmas.

19 not out

Me and Irish MickIt's that time of year again: Christmas Eve—time for my annual ascent of Moel Famau. That's 19 years out of 19.

Stense and Carolyn both stood me up this year, so I had to make do with Irish Mick.

The weather was absolutely amazing: bloody freezing down in the car park, but with incredible views over to Snowdonia, marred only by the obligatory wind powerstation (which, I couldn't help observing, was becalmed).

Irish Mick on top of Moel Famau

We passed through a layer of low mist and up into sunshine, giving me one of the best cloud sea views I've seen for many years. Then, after a cup of tea and a photo opportunity, we headed back down into the woods and mist.

Here's to number 20.

More photos »

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Ooh! There's a novelty!

On the reverse of a joke found in a cracker yesterday:

Safety Warning
These crackers are for adult use only and not suitable for children under 5 years of age as they may contain a functional sharp point of edge, or small parts, which may constitute a choking hazard.

It seems to me as if they haven't really thought this one through. The logic of placing the warning against using a cracker inside the actual cracker itself quite escapes me. Were a child of four, say, to use the cracker and injure themself on a functional sharp point of edge, or small parts, the cracker manufacturers have left themselves wide open to a major law suit.

But enough of this legal nonsense. The joke:

Q: What's a hedgehog's favourite food?
A: Prickled onions.

(Not bad for a cracker, actually.)

Blaming the victim

BBC: Target prostitute users - Harman

… [Minister for Constitutional Affairs and would-be Deputy Leader of the Labour Party,] Ms Harman said the murders of five prostitutes in Ipswich showed more should be done to end vice in the UK.

No, what it shows is that there is some nutter going around murdering prostitutes.

If he (for I assume the twisted fuckwit is a he) had been murdering vicars, would Ms Harman say that more should be done to prevent people from going to church? If he had been murdering librarians, would she want us to stamp out reading?

Whatever your views on prostitution, this is New Labour spin of the worst order: trying to use the murders of five women to further one's political agenda.

Ms Harman should resign immediately.

Half a lifetime away

My parents were having a bit of a clear-out last week, when they found this:

Me in 1985
Me in 1985.

I am now exactly twice the age of the innocent, barefaced boy in this photo. Where did it all go wrong? Mind you, the signature hasn't changed much, and I can still fit into that tweed jacket.

Before you ask, I haven't a clue what that thing on my head is. Some sort of hat, I reckon.

(OK, so I lied about the jacket.)

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Another grave error

The funnies page in New Scientist magazine has recently been recounting stories of readers' childhood religious misunderstandings. Plenty of people have sent in the hoary old chesnut, Gladly the Cross-Eyed Bear. Me? I could never understand why Jesus died to save arse-holes. But, the other week, one reader's recollection made stuff come out of my nose:

Luela Palmer thought the words she heard as a coffin was lowered into the ground were: 'Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, into the hole he goes'.

Genius.

Lateral thinking

You've got to hand it to those Chinese for their lateral thinking… It's your typical, everyday problem: a couple of dolphins have swallowed some plastic that is likely to kill them; you've tried removing it using medical equipment, to no avail; you can't operate; what do you do? Thinks…

I know! What if we found someone with really long arms…

Simple, yet brilliant!