Jump on the bandwagon? No thanks, I’d rather walk

One of the best things about our modern, online, 24/7 world is the speed with which it allows word-of-mouth to spread, and for people to voice their opinions.

It’s a double-edged sword, though.

One of the worst things about our modern, online, 24/7 world is the speed with which it allows word-of-mouth to spread, and for people to voice their opinions.

From those idiots who seem to do nothing but snipe and post spiteful vitriol on message boards – “Who does Rebecca Adlington think she is?”, “Russell T Davies has killed Doctor Who”, “X is an ugly cow” - to the Spanish website currently spouting all kinds of racist and homophobic drivel against Lewis Hamilton in advance of Sunday’s Formula 1 title showdown in Brazil, modern communications has become a breeding ground for bandwagons for the moaners to jump on to with unseemly haste.

If you’re a UK resident who hasn’t been hiding under a rock for the past week, you may possibly be aware of an incident which has rippled the normally calm waters of the BBC.

In summary; Russell Brand, aided and abetted by Jonathan Ross, left a series of prank calls on the answerphone of Andrew Sachs (best known as Manuel on Fawlty Towers) insinuating, among other things, that Brand had slept with Sachs’ granddaughter, Georgina Baillie. These were broadcast on Brand’s post-watershed radio show on Saturday 18th October. Two complaints were received by the BBC, both relating to Ross’s swearing rather than the content of Brand’s humour.

Several days later, Sachs’ agent wrote to the BBC, demanding a full public apology. Last Sunday, a full eight days after the event, the Mail on Sunday ran an article condemning Brand, Ross, the BBC, global warming and fox-hunters (or something like that).

And so the media circus exploded. By the following day (Monday), the BBC had over 1,000 complaints on its hands and, as every UK news outlet further fanned the flames, that number swelled to 27,000 by Wednesday, at which point the BBC suspended both stars, and Brand announced he would resign from his radio show. And by the time Radio 2 controller Lesley Douglas tendered her resignation yesterday (Thursday), the count had passed 30,000.

Now, call me an old cynic, but I’m willing to bet that most of those 30,000-odd people who complained have neither listened to the show (either live or on YouTube) nor read the transcripts (which can be easily found online). I’m also willing to bet that a sizeable proportion have never actually seen or heard Brand in action, and have chosen to register complaints simply because they don’t like him or Ross (and particularly the latter’s estimated £6m pa earnings).

So why complain? Because the Mail on Sunday – which likes to consider itself the arbiter of what is right and wrong in modern society - is outraged? Because you heard second-hand from family, friends or colleagues about Brand and Ross making ‘obscene’ phone calls? Or because some people recognise a good bandwagon when they see one and scapegoatng some overpaid, over-hyped celebs to take them down a peg or two makes you feel good?

(By the way, I have seen the word ’obscene’ bandied around way too freely with regards to this incident. It was certainly misjudged, lewd and inappropriate, but it was no more obscene than the Sun’s Page 3 girls. Child pornography: now that’s obscene.)

Don’t get me wrong, there has been a multitude of mistakes here. Brand and Ross certainly overstepped the mark, for which they have apologised. Production oversight was virtually non-existent, not helped by the fact that Brand owns the production company which runs his radio show. And the BBC was slow to react: an immediate apology and a prompt response (as opposed to calling an ‘emergency’ meeting the following week) could well have nipped the whole affair in the bud. (It’s clear the BBC did not learn from Channel 4’s equally ponderous handling of the Jade Goody/Shilpa Shetty Celebrity Big Brother racism row.)

However, what’s done is done. Brand and Douglas are gone, and Ross has been hit heavily in the pocket. The BBC will introduce tighter production controls, and will no doubt err on the side of conservatism in its humour, just as its investigative news reporting lost some of its teeth in the wake of the Hutton inquiry.

30,000 people - and let’s remember that only two complained initially – almost all of whose quality of life would have remained blissfully unaffected had the media not raised public awareness of the affair, have brought about a significant change in the UK radio landscape. I guess that’s democracy for you.

Odd, isn’t it? I’m not a fan of Russell Brand, so I choose not to listen to his radio show. For me, an apology, a slap on the wrist and better judgment in the future would have been enough. Bloodshed was unnecessary. (In the same way, I’m not a fan of Chelsea, but every time they do something that displeases me I don’t feel the need to complain to the Premier League asking for them to be fined or deducted points. What’s the difference?)

Brand isn’t the victim here: he will quickly return with his edgy, bad boy image enhanced. Neither is Ross: yes, he has forfeited an estimated £1.4m in earnings as a result of his suspension, but the BBC can ill-afford to jettison the man who is arguably its biggest TV and radio audience draw. Baillie has sold her side of the story to the Sun, and will no doubt extract the maximum from her 15 minutes of fame. And Sachs, thanks to his agent, is back in the public consciousness from which he has been absent since Fawlty Towers.

No, the victim here is Lesley Douglas, the controller of Radio 2, who resigned yesterday because (in her own words) “the events of the last two weeks happened on my watch”.

The BBC has lost a talented controller, one who over the past four years has transformed Radio 2 into the UK’s most popular radio station – with 13 million listeners – and assembled a diverse and enviable roster of talent, including Ross, Brand, Terry Wogan and Chris Evans.

More than that, the corporation has lost an honourable servant, one who has accepted responsibility for errors made, not by herself, but by her people.

If only politicians were as honourable in accepting responsibility for their actions (let alone those of their people) – but then I suppose the House of Commons would be a very empty place if that were the case!

So, to the 30,000-odd people who took the opportunity to have a pop at Brand and/or Ross: I hope you’re happy now. Radio has lost an unsung champion in Lesley Douglas, a casualty of war.

Sadly, I doubt too many of those 30,000 will even care. The baying crowd has tasted blood, and that’s all that really matters to them. You’ll forgive me if I want no part of that: I’m quite happy to let the bandwagon roll on without me. I need the exercise anyway.

A different type of holiday

As the old saying goes: times change, and we change with the times.

Before Isaac came along, our idea of a holiday was something like this: wake up at some ungodly hour; catch a flight across several time zones, leaving us unsure as to whether it is day or night when we land; eat copious amounts for breakfast; skip lunch; cover several miles a day on foot seeing as many things as possible; find a restaurant for dinner; collapse into bed, exhausted; repeat until departure; start planning the next holiday. Washington, New York, Prague, Sydney, New Zealand, California, Canada, Thailand, Rome, Milan, Paris, Barcelona, Madrid, to name but a few - we’ve been very fortunate to have travelled all over the world in recent years.

So the idea of a holiday at Center Parcs - from where we have just returned - was a bit alien to us. Stay in one place; do the odd activity here and there but basically chill a lot; gentle strolls through the woodland; sit around reading or playing Scrabble in the evening: the concept was about as far removed from our typical holiday as you could possibly get.

Loved it, though.

I guess that underlines just how much having a baby changes your life.

Whether it was learning basic archery, or playing table tennis with R (R and A and the kids were also there for the week), or taking Zac for a long morning stroll to get him to sleep, or just generally unwinding in the evening with Heather, it was all good. And the soothing benefit of being in a self-contained community, effectively isolated from the outside world (except for the occasional RAF fighter jet thundering overhead), should not be underestimated.

As a new parent, the fact that Center Parcs is so child-friendly was a real weight off our minds. For Zac to be able to zip freely around our villa without there being lots of corners to bump into, wires to pull and general havoc to be wreaked was brilliant for us, and he clearly loved having the run of the place without constantly being dragged away from the TV or being told not to tug at a power lead. Pretty much all the restaurants have big children’s play areas which mean you can actually sit down and enjoy a meal. And then there’s all the organised activities, the big pool, the on-site babysitting service …

To be fair, we only really scratched the surface of what Center Parcs has to offer. Heather had a morning in the spa and did some fencing; I tried my hand at archery (Robin Hood has nothing to worry about), and Zac’s still a bit young to really make the most of all the kids’ facilities and activities (whose number is legion), but he did seem to enjoy swimming (in his usual, stoic, “I’m in public so I’m not going to give anything away” sort of way). And I got to spend an entire morning with him while Heather was at the spa, just walking and playing and doing the whole father/son bonding thing in a way we never have the time to do at home, at least not over such an extended period.

It’s certainly not cheap, once you’ve factored in the cost of activities, eating out and general supplies (the captive audience pricing principle very much applies here), but as a getaway that allows the entire family to enjoy themselves it was well worth it. However, there aren’t lots of staff in red coats running around trying to coax you into playing bingo or some such thing, which was the (admittedly somewhat outdated) mental picture I previously had of ‘holiday villages’.

So, the official Tim rating - only marginally less prestigious than the AA or Michelin - is four stars out of five. (I just wish everything was just a fraction less expensive, and that it wasn’t such a long walk from the car park to our villa, which was practically in the next county.)

Do I miss our globetrotting holidays? Of course I do. But did I enjoy spending an entire week with just the three of us, unencumbered by work deadlines, household chores and the million and one other day-to-day concerns which routinely drag us down? (Just being a family, in other words.)

You betcha. And I'd do it again in the blink of an eye.

Six degrees of separation

You’ve probably heard of this theory before: the premise that anyone can be connected to any other person in the world via a chain of no more than six acquaintances. It’s also the basis of a play and subsequent film of the same name. (The latter starred Stockard Channing, who more recently played the First Lady, Dr Abigail Bartlet, in The West Wing. Sorry, I just couldn’t resist making what is becoming a customary TWW reference.)

The maths is pretty straightforward. If we conservatively say the average person knows 100 people – and I’m willing to bet the contents of your mobile and email address books easily exceeds that – and each of those 100 people knows another 100 people, then by the time you’ve reached the acquaintances of the acquaintances of the acquaintances of the acquaintances of your acquaintances (that’s five degrees of separation, if you’re counting), then you have access to potentially ten billion people; according to US Census Bureau estimates, that’s equivalent to 1.5 times the total global population. Okay, it wouldn’t actually be ten billion because there would be lots of duplication between people, but the calculation is good enough to demonstrate that the premise isn’t at all far-fetched.

And in our modern world of social networking – email, Facebook, MySpace, message boards, chat rooms, even actually meeting people – the boundaries are collapsing ever faster, to the point where I’m willing to bet there is no one in the UK who I can’t reach within four steps. I’ve just tried to estimate the number of people I know – friends, current and former work colleagues, people I knew at school or university, friends of friends I have been introduced to, and so on – and come up with a number in excess of 1,000, of which I have had some sort of contact (face-to-face, a phone call, an email or other online message) with at least 400 in the past twelve months.

To put it another way: it’s a small world. And it’s getting smaller all the time.

Some examples. At work, there are around 60 people in my immediate department. I’ve only worked here for 3 years, and I live at least 20 miles away from the vast majority of my colleagues; most frequent Reading or London, I go to Oxford. Within this small group alone, here are some of my non work-related connections which require only one degree of separation:

A did the same MBA course as me, albeit several years apart. Naturally, we share many acquaintances through the faculty at the business school.

K was one year above me at university, at a different college but studying the same subject. Though our paths never crossed at the time, through a (very) minority sport we both played (start from football, straight on past hockey, keep going past dwarf tossing, and you’re still not there yet), we have at least a dozen common friends and acquaintances.

A (a different A) has acted in amateur productions opposite the husband of a friend of mine from my MBA.

C is the account manager for a major customer who I worked for several years ago. She deals with a number of people there who I worked with or for back then, and several others have moved to other businesses in the same industry, and consequently deal with other account managers within in my department.

And no doubt there are many other connections I’m unaware of which require one or at most two degrees of separation.

Scary, huh?

I guess all this is an inevitable consequence not just of technology and the connectivity with other people this gives us, but also of an increasingly mobile population, both in terms of where we live and where we work. Gone are the days when you were born in a town, grew up, went to school and worked in that same town, married a local boy/girl, rarely ventured beyond the town borders (except maybe occasional trips to the nearest city), and eventually were buried in the town cemetery. Anyone who has traced their genealogy back more than a hundred years or so will probably recognise this pattern.

Nowadays it’s not uncommon to go to university hundreds of miles away from home, to work for several different companies in several different places (I’m currently on my fifth company in my fifth town), have friends and family all over the world, and even have good friends you have never actually met. (If you think that last one is odd, it’s really not so different from the old concept of pen friends.)

Is this a good thing or a bad thing? A bit of both, I suppose. A lot of people feel disconnected – when many of your friends are no longer just round the corner, it’s inevitable you don’t see them as often as you’d like – which is why sites like Friends Reunited and Facebook have flourished, and it’s probably why so many of us reach out via the online universe, seeking other people with common interests.

I guess ultimately that’s what it’s all about. We all want to belong, and to know that we are not alone in this small and yet ever-so-big world.

Naming ceremony

So, that’s the naming ceremony done and dusted, then.

I’m really glad we did it too, despite the expense. On the one hand, it’s effectively a token ceremony which has no legal standing. And yet it allowed us to include the godparents we wanted, beyond the restrictions imposed on us by the Catholic church (maximum of two godparents, at least one of whom must be a confirmed and practising Catholic). Plus we could be very specific about personalising the readings and promises so they meant that much more to us.

Overall, I thought the whole afternoon went really well. Yesterday was a surprisingly lovely October day, and Heather had done a great job picking out a venue with plenty of space for our friends’ various kids to run around. People mingled well, and genuinely seemed to enjoy proceedings.

I thought the readings we picked out – one for us (‘A poem for parents’), one for Zac (Bob Dylan’s ‘Forever Young’) – worked nicely, and thanks are due to T and R for agreeing to read them.

Admittedly, it would have been nice if Zac had been a bit sunnier and up for bonding with his godparents, but it was very hot and he does have yet another cold bunging him up. On the bright side, at least he didn’t howl through the entire thing like he did during his baptism two weeks ago. And he did provide a couple of great comedy moments; firstly sprinting away on all fours at high speed just as the registrar was explaining about his Chinese names meaning ‘mighty, strong and energetic’, and then getting clonked over the head with a toy car by A (the future wife), which I think every person in the hotel - never mind the room - heard. Still, good practice for married life, I suppose!

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Promises, promises

I guess it’s worth recording for posterity the promises Heather and I made:
- To love Isaac always and cherish each day with him
- To nurture Isaac’s growth and development, from infant to boy, and from boy to man
- To fuel Isaac’s curiosity and teach him to appreciate the world in all its diversity
- To encourage Isaac to become a caring and valued member of society
- To support Isaac in pursuing his dreams and fulfilling his potential
- To guide Isaac in choosing his path in life, and to be proud of the man he becomes

And here are the promises Zac’s godparents signed up to:
- To help and support Tim and Heather in their role as Isaac’s parents
- To promise to be there for Isaac, as an advisor and a friend
- To promise to encourage Isaac in his hopes and aspirations
- To promise to share in Isaac’s successes and help him deal with life’s challenges
- To assist Isaac in living a happy and fulfilled life

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What’s in a name?

One of the things we agonised over before Zac was born was whether the names we gave him would fit him as a person.

As already mentioned, his Chinese name, Wai Kin, means 'mighty, strong and energetic', which could not have been more appropriate (although we do occasionally wish we had given him a name which means 'quiet and sleeps a lot'). And Isaac comes from the Hebrew word for 'laughter'; if there is one thing which characterises him more than anything else, it is his loud, infectious (and downright dirty) laugh.

I guess the names fit just fine, then.

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Godparents = supporting adults

Thinking about what our expectations of Zac’s godparents – or ‘supporting adults’, to use the appropriate non-denominational term - are has made me reflect that I need to be more actively involved with my godchildren than I have been previously, but that’s a whole different story.

In truth, I’ve never really got my head around the whole godparent thing. In a modern society where the church plays a lesser role in people’s lives than it once did, the concept has become increasingly nebulous. What exactly is the ‘supporting’ role? Clearly it goes beyond birthdays, Christmases and Sunday school, but how far? Being there to support the parents in times of need, sure. (As long as all appointments are booked at least a month in advance, you know how it is with our busy modern lifestyles.) Providing advice and encouragement, no problem. (Although most kids will already get plenty of that from a combination of parents, grandparents, teachers etc.)

Do you see what I mean? The role of a godparent lacks a clear job description, and in many ways you are providing little more than a safety net to the support network which naturally develops around a child anyway. But that in itself is no bad thing, I suppose. Just agreeing to help wherever and however you can is no insignificant commitment.

At least we were specific in how we are hoping Zac’s godparents will support him. T & C will provide spiritual guidance; A (that’s A’s mum) will offer both motherly and medical advice; Peter is responsible for educating Zac about music; K for football & films; finally, R will help him manage his currently meagre savings through the economic crisis.

I’m not sure how much that helps them. But it helps clear some of the fog for me, anyway.

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Not much else to say, really. At the risk of resorting to a hackneyed cliché (too late!), I guess you have to take things a day at a time. And now it’s time for me to go off and cherish today with my little boy.

Sympathy for the devil

Well, not the devil exactly. But Jade Goody has all too often been held up as reality TV’s most diabolical creation, a celebrity whose fame is built solely on the basis of having appeared on a TV show, Big Brother, whose sole premise is to entertain viewers with the laboratory rat antics of a bunch of wannabes desperate for their 15 minutes of fame, despite having no discernible talent other than searing ambition, and the ability to be simultaneously obnoxious and completely lacking in self-awareness.

Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not here to vilify Big Brother. As someone who has watched the programme since its beginning in 2000, I’m well aware I’m part of the machine which creates Z-list celebs like Goody. And I know it’s little more than glorified car-crash TV, but it’s still one of my guilty pleasures which fills a gap in a largely football-free summer, so I won’t apologise for that either. (“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been two months since I last watched Big Brother.”)

Equally, I come neither to praise Goody, nor to bury her. She has long been held up as Queen of the Chavs, the far-from-the-sharpest-tool who made a million off the back of not knowing where “East Angular” is. And that was before the events of ‘Shilpa-gate’ during Celebrity Big Brother in 2007, where she was ritually crucified on the altar of public opinion for her racist comments - “Shilpa Poppadum”, among others - towards Bollywood actress Shilpa Shetty.

While there is no place in society for the kind of abuse Goody dished out, it’s also worth putting into perspective. I’m from an ethnic minority myself, and while I found Goody’s insults offensive to say the least, I’ve been on the receiving end of worse abuse at football matches. And that pales into insignificance compared to the kind of vile homophobic abuse dished out by Tottenham fans to their former captain Sol Campbell two weeks ago. (Abuse which I am sure many Spurs fans themselves are disgusted by, but which equally has been publicly defended by some as “no more than he deserves” and “just part of footballing banter” on radio phone-ins. I'm not joking.)

My point is this: Jade Goody may be exceptionable, but she is certainly not exceptional. We like to think of our society as cosmopolitan and sophisticated - and that our mob reaction in scapegoating the likes of Goody is incontrovertible proof of that – but the fact is that Goody is neither unique nor the worst example of abusive, discriminating behaviour there is. Yes, we are a cosmopolitan society in the UK - something I take great pride in - but we’re by no means a perfect one.

Anyhow, I never thought I’d feel sympathy towards Jade Goody. While she has certainly made the most of her celebrity and limited talent – wouldn’t anyone in her position? – it’s not as if my quality of life has been eroded by her ubiquitous presence in the gossip mags. Earlier this year she went into the Indian Big Brother house – now there’s a show of PR chutzpah if ever there was one – only to leave within days after being told she had been diagnosed with cervical cancer.

And it was in this context that I was horrified to read Caitlin Moran’s weekly Celebrity Watch column in today’s Times. Here’s Moran commenting on OK! magazine’s interview with Goody this week:

With her on/off boyfriend, Jack Tweed, currently in jail, she has had to cope with her illness alone. OK! tackled this aspect of her life with the question: “How's [Jack] coping - has he been safe in the showers?” Because it's always nice when a national publication asks if your partner is being raped in prison. Follow-up questions/comments included: “What if one of the kids at school goes up to [your kids] and says 'Your mum is going to die'?”; “Would you come back as a ghost?”; and, fairly incredibly, “You'll be like a cockroach, who'll live for ever.”

Who comes up with this? Why do the bottom-feeders at OK! think there are people out there who want to read this kind of trailer-trash journalism? And, worst of all, why are they right in thinking exactly that?

As I said above, I never thought I’d feel sympathy towards Jade Goody. I do now.

Instead of pillorying Jade Goody and her ilk, maybe we would be better served by taking a long, hard look in the mirror ourselves. I’m not at all sure we would like what we see.

A list!

In the great tradition of great (and not-so-great) bloggers, it’s about time I compiled a list.

Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not one of these anally-retentive types who has to have lists for everything, like the Rob character in High Fidelity, who catalogues pretty much everything in his life – and reveals much about himself in the process - as a succession of ‘top 5’ lists. In fact, I have a long history of compiling lists which I subsequently fail to complete / lose / choose to ignore (delete as applicable).

Anyhow, as anyone who knows me will tell you, I do like my boys’ toys. So, for what it’s worth, here are my top 7 gadgets du jour, in no particular order. Feel free to read into the list what you will …

1. iPhone 3G: It’s an Apple product, so of course it’s gorgeous to look at. (I spent much of the first 24 hours after buying it stroking it lovingly as one might a favourite pet.) But it’s so much more, and it’s the 3G and wi-fi capability which are the iPhone’s real killer apps. Where else can you access the internet (well, most of it), get directions via GPS and Google Maps, download and read e-books, listen to music (and download more via iTunes), and - most importantly - turn your phone into a lightsaber or tricorder (complete with sound effects), all in one pocket-sized box? Oh, and you can make telephone calls on it too, if you want to get all 20th century on me. Sure, it’s not perfect: the battery life is poor and the camera is rubbish. Who cares? I spent last night out at dinner with some friends; S spent half the evening excitedly playing with my iPhone. Must. Have. Gadget.

2. HD camcorder: Full-HD capability. Ability to record 4 hours of HD content on a single 16 GB SD card which, at the time of writing, can be bought for as little as £25. (Or alternatively, there are models which record directly on to an internal hard drive with greater storage capacity than a Sky+ box.) Wrapped up in a package about two-thirds the size of a Coke can. All for less than £400, in the case of the camcorder I recently purchased (a Panasonic HDC-SD9, if you want to know). Anyone remember the old VHS over-the-shoulder jobs which were all you could get 15 years ago? They are about as comparable with the new generation of HD camcorders as the BBC Micro is with a MacBook Air.

3. Sky+ (or better still, Sky HD): Buying a HDD (hard disk drive) recorder nearly three years ago revolutionised my TV viewing. No more waiting for the video to finish recording. No more trying to work out which tape that episode of The West Wing I recorded two months ago is on. No more going on holiday and only being able to record 8 hours’ worth of stuff. On top of all that, having Sky+ doubles your money, with its ability to record two programmes simultaneously, obviating the need to scour the schedules for repeat showings of programmes whenever you have a clash. So now there is no excuse for missing re-runs of Deep Space Nine on Bravo. Result!

4. iPod: Yes, they’re pretty much ubiquitous these days. And yes, there are other cheaper and/or better MP3 players out there. But it doesn’t matter. The iPod is still the best-looking, and iTunes is still the best front-end application for those who, like me, just want something easy to use. It’s not exaggerating things to say my iPod has transformed the way I listen to music. The ability to access my entire collection no matter where I am without having to lug around 300 CDs: let’s just say I listen to a broader variety more often that I ever would have done. More than that, my 60GB video iPod is now nearly three years old, and I don’t feel a burning need to upgrade it for the latest model. For a gadget, that’s amazing.

5. Noise-cancelling headphones: The best combination of gadgets I own is the iPod coupled with a pair of Bose QuietComfort 3 headphones, which I bought in Canada a couple of years back. Yes, they’re incredibly expensive – around £270 in the UK – but, boy, do they make a difference. The benefit is most obvious on planes and trains (the first time you try it on a plane, the ensuing near-hush makes you think someone has switched off the engines), but even at my desk at work, it’s made me realise how much background noise there is, from the hum of air conditioning to the gentle buzz of fluorescent lighting. The sound quality is excellent too; I rarely use my standard iPod in-the-ear ‘phones any more.

6. PowerMonkey Explorer: I’ve just ordered one of these, because I’m fed up of always having to cart around a variety of chargers wherever we go, or getting caught short when my power-hungry iPhone runs out of juice and there isn’t a mains point or USB port in sight. One bit of kit with the various relevant connectors, which slips easily into a bag or pocket and acts as a backup charger for any of my gadgets which need a power top-up. Better still, it can be recharged via an attachable solar cell as well as at the mains. Portable power, it’s the way forward. I can’t believe I’ve waited this long to get one.

7. DAB digital radio: No more crackly sound, but more importantly access to the full array of BBC digital-only stations, which means no more cursing at the radio when they announce the football match I want to listen to can be followed “on our sister station, 5 Live Sports Extra”. We have one DAB radio in the house and another incorporated into the stereo in my car. It makes a small difference, but it’s a big difference, if you know what I mean.

Okay, I know seven is an odd number to stop at, but we are in an economic downturn, after all, so a top ten feels a bit decadent. It’s nothing to do with the fact I couldn’t think of anything else I own which fit the bill. Still, Christmas is just around the corner … plenty of time to aim for the full ten ...

Will Sarah Palin become the first "reality" VP?

I don’t normally take much of an interest in American politics – pretty much everything I know about the US electoral process I learned from watching The West Wing – but there has been something strangely compelling about this year’s presidential race.

Something more than a little terrifying too.

The acrimonious race for the Democrats’ nomination between Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama was never less than intriguing, with the candidates seeking to become, respectively, the first female and black president of the US.

And now we have Sarah Palin, who as John McCain’s running mate, is arguably the least qualified person ever to seek a role which requires her to be one heartbeat away from the most powerful office on Earth.

As I said, more than a little terrifying.

Now don’t get me wrong. Unlike the bipartisan American media, I do not pledge allegiance to either the Republican or Democrat camp. Nor do I discount Palin solely on the basis of her gender. (For what it’s worth, I think Hillary Clinton is thoroughly deserving of her status and reputation notwithstanding her gender or who her husband is.)

However, what are we supposed to make of a candidate who has:
- No foreign policy experience, to the extent that she didn’t even know what the Bush Doctrine is (for God’s sake, even I know what it is)
- Demonstrated on several occasions that her grasp of economic policy, past Supreme Court judgments and many of the other basic tools of the political trade verges on the non-existent
- Effectively positioned her candidacy on the basis of being a mom, a moose-hunter and a maverick

In a now notorious interview with CBS’s Katie Couric, this is what Palin had to say, having shot herself in the foot in an earlier interview with ABC in which she had cited Alaska's proximity to Russia as part of her foreign policy experience.

Palin: "Alaska has a very narrow maritime border between a foreign country, Russia, and on our other side, the land … boundary that we have with … Canada."

Couric: "Explain to me why that enhances your foreign policy credentials."

Palin: "Well, it certainly does because our … our next door neighbours are foreign countries. They're in the state that I am the executive of ... We have trade missions back and forth. We … we do … it's very important when you consider even national security issues with Russia as Putin rears his head and comes into the air space of the United States of America, where … where do they go? It's Alaska. It's just right over the border. It is … from Alaska that we send those out to make sure that an eye is being kept on this very powerful nation, Russia, because they are right there. They are right next to … to our state."

Now Palin’s ineptitude and all too obvious lack of knowledge have made her an easy target; a sizeable proportion of the world is literally laughing at her, as exemplified by a series of parodies by Tina Fey - who bears an uncanny resemblance to Palin - on Saturday Night Live. (Check out YouTube for more.)

And her performance in last Thursday’s sole televised vice-presidential debate – which was watched by more Americans than the first McCain/Obama presidential debate - was barely an improvement. The debate was leniently moderated and structured so as to provide both Palin and her opponent Joe Biden with minimal opportunities to insert feet in mouths. But for every solid point she delivered, there was another question which was answered in the vaguest terms, or neatly sidestepped - yes, I know that’s what politicians do, and Biden did plenty of the soft-shoe shuffle too - or simply countered with one of her folksy homespun catchphrases (“Say it ain’t so, Joe”, “Doggone it”) and a wink and a smile.

Many commentators suggested that, because Palin had not made any game-changing gaffes and exceeded very low expectations, that the debate could be viewed as a tie. Oh, puh-lease.

If all that is required of a vice-president is an ability to deliver a well-rehearsed script, then for sure Palin can do that. Call me a bluff old traditionalist, but I would hope that the vice-president of the most powerful nation on the planet was capable of a little more than that. Does that make me odd?

The scariest thing of all is that there is a sizeable proportion of the American population – paid-up members of the NRA, Creationists, rednecks, whatever - who see no problem having Palin as McCain’s designated backup. They are convinced by her attempts to spin her lack of Washington and foreign policy experience into a virtue: she’s an outsider, a maverick, as opposed to someone of utterly unproven ability and essentially zero experience. They are even happy to accept the factual errors, the gaping knowledge gaps, the half-truths and the bare-faced lies – if you don’t believe me, a simple Google search should rapidly convince you otherwise - as the words of a credible candidate.

What we have here is the political equivalent of a reality TV wannabe, a woman of great ambition who would have us believe that memorised scripts, cutesy soundbites and a telegenic array of smiles and winks is in some way a replacement for experience, talent and – heaven forfend - substance. And like your average Big Brother contestant, she has long since exceeded her allotted 15 minutes of fame. It’s time for Americans to, as the Republicans’ slogan so boldly proclaims, put their 'country first'. Which means choosing the option which has the greater credibility on both the domestic and world stage, in rescuing an ailing economy and in navigating tricky foreign policy waters. Which surely means the Democrats' ticket of Obama/Biden.

For sure, Sarah Palin looks good on TV: does anyone sane really believe this is enough?

One final thought. In the fictional world of The West Wing, the series ended with the Democrats' young buck, Matt Santos, defeating the Republicans' veteran politico, Arnie Vinick, aided in no small part by a game-changing external event (in this case, a near-nuclear disaster) which swung the pendulum decisively towards the Democrats, resulting in the election of the first American president from an ethnic minority.

No doubt you can see where I'm going with this: sometimes, as the saying goes, life imitates art. In this case, I certainly hope it does.

Welcome

So, who am I?

I’m Tim, I’m 38 (my God, already?!?), and I live in Thatcham near Newbury. Married to Heather for eleven years; one son, Isaac (Zac), aged ten months as of today.

There’s nothing particularly out of the ordinary about me, but if you wanted one word to sum me up it would probably have to be ‘diverse’.

Why?

Well, for starters, I like to think of myself as multi-cultural. I was born in London and consider myself unwaveringly British (hey, it’s what my passport says I am), but my parents are both Malaysian Chinese, so although I sound like your average middle-class Londoner - whatever that is these days – I don’t look it. Heather’s half-British (mum) and half-Australian (dad), and I think it’s fair to say we’re both keen that Zac grows up with a full appreciation of his diverse origins.

What else? Having (barely) completed a chemistry degree, I haven’t seen the inside of a laboratory since - no great loss on either my part or the scientific world’s - and have worked in marketing ever since. I’m currently employed by a large American multinational manufacturer, having previously worked for, among others, a large British media corporation, a very large retailer and the same public sector business as Postman Pat.

Let’s just say I’ve built a rich portfolio of experiences. It sounds better than “never really had a career plan”, doesn’t it?

The same goes for my interests: I like variety. I’ve been fortunate enough to travel to 20-something countries, and I love discovering different cultures. I follow many sports but football is my first passion (specifically Arsenal), and although I like rugby I much prefer American football and Aussie Rules. I like photography; I like to read; I like to write (hence this blog).

Anyway, that’s me in 300 or so words. And this is my blog.

Like me and my life, there’s no specific aim to this blog, other than a desire to capture and articulate my thoughts on life, the world, and anything else random which catches my interest. If you want to know my reflections on the sporting universe, you’ll find them in my other blog; if you want a window into the life of an ordinary but reasonably diverse chap, then stick around here. I don’t crave an audience for my soapbox rantings, but this ain’t no secret diary either; I may be many things, but I’m neither Perez Hilton nor Belle de Jour.

And that’s it, really. Welcome.

(Incidentally, if you’re wondering what the title of this blog is supposed to mean, it’s a reference to the book Slouching Towards Bethlehem by Joan Didion, which in turn is derived from a line in the poem The Second Coming by W B Yeats. There’s nothing deep and meaningful nor intentionally pretentious about my choice - I just liked the phrase.)