Careless talk costs lives

A lesson that was rammed home during the Second World War, but sadly forgotten by some in later years.

In the early 1960s, our Government wisely wanted to make provisions to ensure the safe functioning of official communication in the event of the nuclear war that was then very much feared. Line of sight microwave transmission was the technology of choice, and an Officially Secret project was launched to secure links between London and the rest of the country.

Despite information about the project being so carefully guarded, some loose-lipped and arguably treasonous malcontents started to whisper the news to fellow-travellers and anyone else who would listen. Before long, despite the project's location never appearing on official maps, and despite it being an offence under the Official Secrets Act to photograph the site, it's thought that possibly as many as several dozen people in London (and conceivably beyond) had some idea of the project's existence.

It was not until 1993 that the project's existence was finally acknowledged in Parliament. The motives of the MP concerned must remain a matter between her conscience and the ballot box.

But how did such a closely guarded secret first get out?


















We may never know. All we can do is be ever-vigilant against the forces of anarchy and chaos.

I've got a good idea

In fact I have several good ideas, honed and refined in Professor QO's laboratory and workshop over many years. By 'honed and refined' I may just mean 'stolen from someone with more insight' but you'll just have to decide that for yourself on a case-by-case basis.

OK? Right, let's begin.

• Let's abolish marriage. No, let me be more precise. Let's abolish legal marriage. If two people with common beliefs wish to share a standard form of ceremony, approved by a church or other belief-based organisation, that's entirely up to them. But why should the State have any say in marriage? We can all see what a pig's breakfast the State makes of law-making; what competence has it in matters of love?

• How about, just as an experiment, we forbid men from having any position in local or national politics? We'll let women have a proper go, with no interruptions. Let's say the experiment will last 100 years, then we'll assess the results. Mind you, that's a bit interventionist, isn't it? OK, how about we'll say that no male may have a penny from the taxpayer if he wishes to practise politics (the filthy swine), nor may he occupy any of the senior positions in local or national government.

• While women are running the country, let's insist that all men take some part in responsibility for defending it. Unless he is so handicapped that 24-hour care is necessary, every adult male will serve at least two years in one or other of the military services. And I mean at the sharp and sweaty end, where bullets and bombs may be involved, for at least part of that time.

• What a silly system our current democracy is. One person, one vote - as if everyone's vote was of equal worth. Why should the feckless, ignorant wifebeater, whose drink and drugs habits mean he can't string three words together, enjoy the same mandate as a doctor who owns property, has children, has paid lots of tax and has very much more to lose if the country is poorly run? No. Here are two much better alternatives, and I will acknowledge Nevil Shute for the first (though I've buggered about with updated his notion somewhat).

• If you insist on having an electoral system, let's make it reflect people's commitment and worth to the community. You get your first vote for either gaining a degree or vocational equivalent, or paying tax from employment for three years. (The latter will also apply to immigrants; there will be no other requirement for their first vote.) Another vote for being a parent who's contributing to the child's upkeep. Another for having a certain value of cash and/or assets - say, £100,000. No problem if you inherit, you still have a stake. Pension funds will do nicely, sir. Various other votes for services to the country. Convicted criminals who manage to go five years with no further convictions will be awarded an extra vote. Anyone who appears on The X Factor or Big Brother will be docked a vote. Anyone who fails without good reason to vote in two elections (local or national) will lose all their votes, but may earn them back by achieving the above targets afresh or carrying out unpaid community work to a value of £10,000.

• If you can accept leaving this notion of democracy behind, instead of electing our leaders, we'll appoint them - and strictly on merit. Imagine the application form! 'Evidence your experience in running a large economy... give an example of an occasion on which you averted a major land war in the Middle East'. The dozen or so Cabinet members appointed will get a good salary, but final income will to a large extent reflect national wealth. They will agree to serve a term of five years with a possible extension of a further five. If their performance fails to meet agreed targets, they will be removed from office, and the members of the appointment committee will become personally liable for repayment of salary to that point. Should encumbents be impeached for any reason, all monies paid over to them will be recoverable.

• Providing homeopathic treatments to others for reward will be perfectly legal and will not require any form of licence. However, those who do provide such treatments will not be entitled to free care under the National Health Service.

Well, those should provide some food for thought. Wouldn't it be interesting to see how things worked out under those systems?

Some work to do

I've got a guitar made by Steve Hicks, the guy playing in this video. It looks very similar to the one he's using here, and I'm deeply in love with it.

I have to admit that I'm not quite up to his standard, though. And I'd never have thought of moving from Led Zeppelin to Mozart, but then perhaps that's why people pay to listen to him. Anyway, enjoy.

Human knowledge: its scope and limits

The title of this post is the title of an important book by Bertrand Russell. I wonder what he would have made of my ISP's front page and the list of the most searched items on their site at the moment.

I bet he'd have had to revise a few chapters.

But I'm quite chuffed with myself. Generally I have to research half the entries, but tonight it's only one. Kanye West: apparently he's a rapper. Not, for my English folkie readers, the kind that dances with bendy swords in Northern pubs, but the kind that makes lots of money and gets onto MTV.

A Kanye West quote for y'all: “I don't know what's better, gettin laid or gettin paid.”

Well, quite.

Time for some quiet contemplation

This painting, The Execution of Lady Jane Grey, by Paul Delaroche, hangs in the National Gallery in London. I was, I think, 14 when I first went there and saw this, and will never forget the impression it made on me.

Lady Jane Grey was Queen of England for less than a fortnight in 1553. The precise length of her reign depends on your interpretation of when she became Queen - on the day of her proclamation or on the day that her predecessor, Edward VI, died. Either way, it was only days later that Mary Tudor took her place on the throne and had Lady Jane imprisoned. She was executed the following year, having been found guilty of high treason.

The stars in their courses

I was leafing through the prospectus of a local college of further education this evening when I noticed a course offered on Astrology. "Tell me this is a misprint," I thought. No, it's Astrology. Stars, celestial houses, and all that.


Actually, there are two courses: 'beginners' and 'improvers', for which read 'feeble-minded' and 'braindead'. At eighty quid a pop. Oy.

I suppose it's no worse a fraud than many. Fortunately the prospectus noted that these courses were not eligible for reduced fees for the unwaged, the unfortunate and so on, otherwise I might have had to firebomb the place for wasting taxpayers' money.

It always amazes me that people believe in this garbage. Even my dear Mrs QO, whose Mensa-administered IQ test placed her in the top one percent of the UK population, has a tendency to claim that her favourite people share the same birthsign. A moment's reflection shows that it plain ain't so. Some of her favourite people do, but not all. The theory therefore falls, according to any rational thinking. But not to hers.

Mind you, Pisceans will believe any old nonsense.

It all makes work for the working man to do

Once again a nice man from the gas company comes to check all the appliances. This happens every year. I pay them a fixed amount each month, and in return I get this annual check and they will also come out and fix stuff if it doesn't work. They also cover the plumbing. There's a fixed ritual; it's a little like the changing of the seasons. I heard chaffinches singing for the first time this year at the weekend, and sure enough, that heralds the arrival of Mr Gas Man and the Newly Changed Rules. That's nice. It'll soon be summer and we can turn the boiler off. No, don't ask me why they always come this time of year.

In fact, it was a very young Mr Gas Man. I doubted at first whether he was sufficiently mature to play the game with a properly straight face, but he did remarkably well, in fact. I commend his training. He was polite, put his empty tea mug carefully into the sink, cleared up after himself, all that kind of thing. And he delivered his lines with great credibility.

"Blimey, this boiler's quite old, isn't it? Had any trouble with it?"
"None whatsoever, which is why I've kept it."
"You know you could save quite a bit of money with a new condensing boiler?"

I smiled. The 'new boiler' gambit already.

"Oh, yes, I believe so. In fact, nearly everyone I know who's had a condensing boiler has saved a great deal of money. They certainly haven't burned any gas, though I think you do have to set against that the loss of earnings as you spend another day in waiting for the engineers to come and replace it again."

The young man blushed slightly. Ah, bless...

"Well, I just have to let you know... they are more efficient. Up to 60% more efficient."
"Compared with? A dead beaver? A pot of bouillabaise? Several species of wildflower?"

He blinked.

"Yeeerrrsss, well, I'll just get on with checking this one over."
"Excellent. Just give me a shout when you want to tell me it's insufficiently vented. On account of it having been installed in a cupboard."
"Ah, no, I have to clean it first, check the flue and all that. Then we'll do the insufficiently vented bit."
"As you please."

I returned to my study and became engrossed in Walter Bagehot's analysis of the English constitution. (Admirable in many ways, but he didn't fully grasp, I suggest, the essential distinction to be made between authority and power in the eyes of the English voter.)

"Errr... 'scuse me..."
"Yes, my young fellow."
"Have you got five minutes? I have to inform you that it's insufficiently vented. On account of how it's in a cupboard."
"I know. You chaps tell me that two years out of every three, and you're quite right, I am due to be told. Consider me fully apprised."

He nodded.

"Only it's what we call..."

I chorused with him.

"... Not Up To Current Standards".

I grinned.

"Never has been, the little tinker. But, and this is just a wild stab, of course, the appliance is actually safe and operating correctly?"
"Yes, it is."
"Flueing safe and satisfactory?"
"Ho yes."
"Emission/combustion test passed?"
"With flying colours, except a condenser..."
"...would be more efficient. So noted. Burner settings are..."
"...correct."
"System controls checked and working correctly?"
"Ah-yup."

I ran through my mental checklist.

"Don't you need to warn me about now that you can't get parts for it any more?"

He looked confused.

"But you can, I checked online. It's not that old."

I smiled inwardly. Now there was a mistake none of his more experienced predecessors would have made. He'd learn.

"Excellent, so now if you could just get the gas fire sorted for me. It won't stay lit properly. It's covered under the contract."

I must admit, he did this bit well for such a beardless youth.

"Ah, sorry, can't touch the fire. Unless you have an installer's manual which clearly shows the exact positioning of the fake coals."
"A manual? Er... no, it's years old."
"Well, unfortunately I can't work on it without that information. It wouldn't burn properly."
"But every year... for years and years... you guys have just come in, cleaned it down and plonked the fake coals back on."
"Sorry, no can do. If a supervisor happened to drop in to inspect..."

I pondered.

"Well, look. Let's not touch the coals. Let's assume they're OK from last year. Can't you just blow the pipes through and clean the jets? That's all it needs, it happens every year."

He shuffled uneasily.

"Erm... no... see, if the coals weren't right last time, it'd be left wrong, wouldn't it? Sorry."
"Well, why didn't Mr Gas Man last year say something?"
"Oh, well, I expect the rules have changed."

I sighed.

"So, I'm paying sixty-odd quid a year for maintenance of the fire, and from now on, it will be maintained on the strict basis that it will never be lit and you won't ever attempt to fix it."
"Pretty much, yes."
"Rather an expensive hole in the wall, then, wouldn't you say?"
"Nothing I can do, I'm 'fraid. Give the office a ring, see what they say."

I sighed again in anticipation of a tiresome discussion.

"OK, not your fault. So, that's it then, is it?"
"Not quite. I have to put this notice on the fire."

I looked at the bright yellow tag which read, more or less: Not Up To Current Standards Use At Your Own Peril Don't Blame Us Look Out The World's About To End.

"What's that for?"
"Insufficient air supply."
"What? It's got its own little air vent in the floor. You guys insisted on it some years ago. Gives us a bloody cold draught up from the cellar."
"Ah, yes, I've seen the vent. But that's the trouble. It's Not Up To Current Standards. Vent-slot-width wise."
"Ex-squeeze me?"
"The slots on the air vent... they're too close together."
"But we bought it from you. When you insisted on us having one."
"Sorry about that. But I have to inform you."
"And in any case, the fire's not working. And you won't fix it. So it's possibly the safest gas fire in the entire universe, regardless of its state of ventilation."

He looked a little troubled.

"Well, there it is, I'll just have to fill out the paperwork and leave you with this safety notice. Well, several of them. Due to the boiler being in the cupboard an' all."

Ah well, he played it well, and I certainly hadn't seen the vent width coming. Smooth. Wonder what it will be next year?

"Sorry sir, gas hob Not Up To Current Standards on account of it's not as flashy as Her Next Door with the six burners. Here's an Inadequacy Notice, sign here, thanks for the tea, have a nice day."