Sri Lanka

One elderly British gentleman was walking around in a state of shock. His wife had been swimming when the waves struck.
And a family has just walked past carrying a very small bundle with pale white feet poking out the bottom of it.
As they walked past, the teenage son, wearing an England football shirt said in a very matter of fact way "My brother is dead".
BBC News. Click here for full story.

The following is taken from The Fountains of Paradise by Arthur C Clarke. It is a story set on the fictitious Island of Sri Kanda, which was based in a place that (at the time of writing) was known as Ceylon.

For days, elephants and slaves had toiled in the cruel sun, hauling the endless chains of buckets up the face of the cliff. “Is it ready?” the King had asked, time and again. “No, Majesty,” the master craftsman had answered, “the tank is not yet full. But tomorrow, perhaps…”
Tomorrow had come at last, and now the whole court was gathered in the Pleasure Gardens, beneath awnings of brightly coloured cloth. The King himself was cooled by large fans, waved by supplicants who had bribed the chamberlain for this risky privilege. It was an honour which might lead to riches, or to death.
All eyes were on the face of the Rock, and the tiny figures moving upon its summit. A flag fluttered; far below, a horn sounded briefly. At the base of the cliff workmen frantically manipulated levers, hauled on ropes. Yet for a long time nothing happened.
A frown began to spread across the face of the King, and the whole court trembled. Even the waving fans lost momentum for a few seconds, only to speed up again as the wielders recalled the hazards of their task. Then a great shout came from the workers at the foot of Yakkagala-a cry of joy and triumph that swept steadily closer as it was taken up along the flower-lined paths. And with it came another sound, one not so loud, yet giving the impression of irresistible, pent-up forces, rushing towards their goal.
One after the other, springing from the earth as if by magic, the slim columns of water leaped towards the cloudless sky. At four times the height of a man, they burst into flowers of spray. The sunlight, breaking through them, created a rainbow-hued mist that added to the strangeness and beauty of the scene. Never, in the whole history of Taprobane, had the eyes of men witnessed such a wonder.
The King smiled, and the courtiers dared to breathe again. This time the buried pipes had not burst beneath the weight of water; unlike their luckless predecessors, the masons who had laid them had as good a chance of reaching old age as anyone who laboured for Kalidasa.
Almost as imperceptibly as the westering sun, the jets were losing altitude. Presently they were no taller than a man; the painfully filled reservoirs were nearly drained. But the King was well satisfied; he lifted his hand, and the fountains dipped and rose again as if in one last curtsey before the throne, then silently collapsed. For a little while ripples raced back and forth across the surface of the reflecting pools; then they once again became still mirrors, framing the image of the eternal Rock.
“The workmen have done well,” said Kalidasa. “Give them their freedom.”
How well, of course, they would never understand, for none could share the lonely visions of an artist-king. As Kalidasa surveyed the exquisitely tended gardens that surrounded Yakkagala, he felt as much contentment as he would ever know.
Here, at the foot of the Rock, he had conceived and created Paradise. It only remained, upon its summit, to build Heaven.

Fans of Arthur C Clarke (Just me, then?) Will be pleased to know he's alive and well, as this message from his home in Sri Lanka conveys.

For those of us lucky enough not to live in paradise, we can all count our blessings. We are now free to either spend our money in the Post-Christmas sales on bargains we can live without, or choose to help people when they need it most.

Good people in Britain can donate to Oxfam by clicking here

Good people in the rest of the world can donate to The American Red Cross via Amazon by clicking here.

People like me who have had to return their credit cards can walk to town and pay money over the counter!

In light of what's going on in the world tonight I'm taking a bit of a break. I don't feel much like being flippant and funny. I want to reflect and count my blessings for a little while. I'm not trying to pay lip service to sentimentality, but taking the piss just doesn't seem appropriate this week.

Now then will return in just a few days. In the meantime, please enjoy a prosperous and safe New Year.

With love

David

It's Official - A New Year!

After almost twelve months of unquestioned power and authority, 2004 finally admitted defeat. “There’s just no arguing with the figures.” An observer told our reporter. “The overwhelming majority of the public are ready for a change and they are happy to embrace the concept of a totally different year.”

Supporters of 2005 celebrated as news trickled through that 2004 had telephoned earlier to concede defeat. Making a brief appearance to thank hard working and faithful supporters, 2004 stressed the need for healing old wounds and working with the pro-2005 camp in a spirit of cooperation.

“This has been a hard fought campaign, and at times it has been very personal and confrontational.” 2004 told the disappointed faithful. “But now the time for division is over. I think we should concentrate on what unites us rather than the slight differences between us.”

Supporters of 2005 had indeed focused on the negative aspects of 2004, citing a wide range of natural disasters, broken treaties, natural disasters and warfare. “That’s just typical of the sort of underhanded whining we’ve come to expect.” 2004 responded. “The vast majority of these issues were inherited from 2003. I think if you look at our record in its full context and include such events as the Olympic Games in Athens and the new Band Aid single, you’ll see that the year has much to be proud of.”

Supporters of 2004 are said to be shocked and stunned by the sudden reversal of fortune. “We thought we were good for another dozen months at least.” One insider remarked earlier. “Perhaps we’d become a little out of touch, but we had no idea that there were so many people who were looking for a change. According to all the exit poles in the last six months we had good reason to believe that very few people had given the idea of a replacement year any serious thought.”

There will, of course, be certain areas that will refuse to accept the new year even after the official handover, which is scheduled for one second past midnight on January the first. Many areas of Germany are still very much rooted in 1989, while a significant number of the United States of America are refusing to acknowledge the validity of any year more recent than 1958.

More news as it breaks.

Christmas Eve Misery

Several households around Holmfirth have had their Christmas blighted by the thoughtless actions of a lawless minority. Reports of criminal activity poured into the police station at a steady rate throughout the night as offenders took advantage of the season of goodwill to cater for their own selfish ends.

Mr and Mrs Bear of Woodland Cottage were distraught when they returned to their home after a short walk in Digley Woods. Mr Bear told our reporter “We only went out for a few minutes. In that time a young girl had broken into the house, smashed some kitchen furniture, eaten half the porridge we had left out, and messed up the beds upstairs.”

The Bears family have been contacted by Victim Support after experiencing an ordeal which the police described as “particularly callous and traumatic.” They returned home with their baby son to find the perpetrator still asleep in Mrs Bear’s bed, but she fled by jumping out of a window before they could raise the alarm.

“I feel violated.” Mrs Bear told our reporter. “She’d been through all our things and showed no respect for our property. I dread to think what might have happened if Baby had been in when she called.”

Police have issued a patchy description of the girl, saying she wears a blue dress and has long, blonde hair.

* * *

Mr Giant of Cloud Mansion in Netherthong called the police soon after to report the loss of a considerable amount of gold, an antique harp, and a chicken.

“I didn’t get a good look at him.” Mr Giant said, “But he smelled like an Englishman.”

According to detectives at the scene, the thief or thieves grew a genetically modified plant of some kind to reach an upper window. “It is quite possible that this was a quick growing variety of bean stalk.” They announced earlier.

Mr Giant was said to be furious about his loss. In a statement issued through his solicitors, he was said to be angry enough to “grind the thief’s bones to make bread.”

* * *

But the news was not all bad. In Lower Mill, a housebreaker was caught in the act. Somewhere between midnight and two, Mr Albert Yewsnipple, a local hill farmer, disturbed an elderly trespasser who was trying to sneak into his house via the chimney. Acting within the legal limits defined by the Home Secretary, Mr Yewsnipple, 116, took his shotgun and “Let the bugger have it with both barrels.”

He told our reporter, “I’m fed up with these townies trying it on just because I live alone. I shot him before he even got his boots out of the fireplace, and it served him right.”

Police were impressed with the actions of Mr Yewsnipple, adding their support for his actions. “Judging by the amount of Christmas Presents in the man’s sack, I think it’s safe to say we’ve seen the end of a malicious serial offender.”

The robber was described as being around ninety years old, with a white beard and wearing a red hoodie.

More details as they happen.

Santastic

“Of course I’ll be Santa for you. As long as I don’t have a job by then.” Three months ago, the idea that I might not have a job by Christmas seemed pretty silly. So, naturally, I agreed to the idea.

But as I sat in the kitchen block of Spring Grove School, waiting to go into the nursery section, I was already sweating. And trying to breathe while not choking on the Nylon beard was harder work than I expected.

I was starting to get nervous, but I asked myself what could be so difficult about a room full of under-fives? They would love me and it would only last a few minutes. A few well placed ”Ho Ho Ho’s” and I would be out of there again.




A muslim teaching assistant entered the store cupboard where I was holed up. She was mostly hidden behind a scarf and veil, but I was even harder to recognise under my hood and fake white hair. “Are Santa?” she asked.

I really wanted to say something smart, but I still had a mouthful of beard.

“They’re ready for you. Grab your sack.”

And then we were walking into class.

I’ve never performed a parachute jump, but I imagine there’s a brief moment just before you jump out of the plane where you find a voice in your head that’s saying ‘Am I actually doing this?’ I rang my bell and bellowed out a festive laugh as thirty little faces turned in amazement.

It went well. I’ve spent long enough briefing senior Staff Officers in the army to learn how to cope with stupid questions. I had my lines. I played the game, and I had the voice. (I think I made a reasonable approximation of something in between Hagrid and Dumbledore.)

But the questions kept coming. “What’s your favourite colour?” (Red, of course.)

“You don’t have any children, do you?” (No, but you are all my children.)

“No, but you don’t have any real children, do you?” (I have elves, and they take so much looking after that I don’t have time for children.)

“So why do you have elves to make your toys when they are so small?” (I use small elves because they don’t need big wages.)

“Why are you out in the daytime?” (We’re practicing our landings for the big night.)

“Did You ever get stuck up a chimney?” (How come nobody ever lets me forget that? I make one little mistake and the whole world sings about it for ever.”

“You’re not the real father Christmas, are you?” (Do you know, children always ask me that. This year I’ve been asked that question six thousand and fifty four times.)

“I’m four.” (Congratulations. I’m four thousand, three hundred and twelve.)

“I tidied my room!” (I know. Well done!)

It took a long time to answer all the questions. It took a lot longer to hand out all the presents when each name tag had a mysterious Hindu or Muslim name I’d never seen before. I can't tell you how hot it was. under all that red clothing was a very red David. But to see the looks on the faces of Muminah, Sahid, Zain, Rahamahn, Ali, etc, it was worth the effort it needed.




So I had a great time. Somebody took the snap above and sent it to my phone. Not the most flattering Santa picture I’ve ever seen, but for me it's quite priceless.

I think when I start my job next year I’ll have it put into my contract that I get a day off at Christmas to do it all over again.

We can make it official, and call it the Santa Clause.

Just for Jacki

"I still think those folks at Holmfirth are a great bunch and very funny. This is a fictional town right?"

Holmfirth and Upperthong are very real and quite solid to the touch. I often think that Upperthong is a bit too real, on account of the fact that the hill up to it is far too steep and I usually end up walking up the thing once a day.

For those of you not living in the UK, Holmfirth has been made popular by a BBC comedy called "Last of the Summer Wine", which is about a lot of old men and women getting up to mischief. It's run since 1973, and it's occasionally funny.



Holmfirth itself is a rather pretty village set in a green valley which is surrounded by open moorland. It's a beautiful place to be, if a little quiet for those who prefer a more cosmopolitan lifestyle.

For more information, click here.

The Execution of Lady Jane Grey by Paul Delaroche

Lady Jane Grey was well and truly dumped on by those around her. I mean, we might not like the way we get treated at work, we might not like it when somebody stands us up at the cinema, but that’s just peanuts compared to what Jane had to put up with.

This is one of my favourite paintings. I know it’s a morbid offering. Not the sort of thing you’d give house room to, but I love it all the same. Look at the tenderness of Sir John Brydge’s hand as it guides her to the block. There is real emotion in this painting that (so far) I’ve not been able to touch with my writing.

Look at the figures to the left, unable to watch but unwilling to leave. Mistress Tilney dazed, looking out into space. The executioner in silly tights, keeping his mind only on the block for which he would be aiming.


Click to enlarge.

"Then the hangman kneeled down, and asked her forgiveness, whom she gave most willingly. Then he willed her to stand upon the straw: which doing, she saw the block. Then she said, 'I pray you dispatch me quickly.' Then she kneeled down, saying, 'Will you take it off before I lay me down?' and the hangman answered her, 'No, madame.' She tied the kercher about her eyes; then feeling for the block said, 'What shall I do? Where is it?' One of the standers-by guiding her thereto, she laid her head down upon the block, and stretched forth her body and said: 'Lord, into thy hands I commend my spirit!' And so she ended."

It was all about politics. Jane was the daughter of The Protestant Duke of Suffolk, and she was well known and popular in court. She was also the great grand-daughter of Henry VIII, which gave her royal blood.

She married the son of the Duke of Northumberland, who saw the wedding as a perfect chance to see his family line on the Throne. Northumberland had a lot of power and influence in the Royal Court, having acted as regent to the King for a number of years.

With the death of the Protestant Edward VI, Northumberland hatched a cunning plan. Using his power and influence, he gained support amongst the Protestant members of Court that Jane to be Queen. She was said to have fainted when told the news, and been reluctant to accept. But at sixteen years old, in Tudor times, I imagine you did as you were told.

She took the throne for a total of nine days. It didn’t take long before she and her husband, Lord Feckenham (I kid you not) were locked up in The Tower.

Being the rightful heir to the throne, Mary I’s power and influence was rather more substantial than Jane’s scheming father in law’s. (Mary was Edward VI’s sister, and the oldest of Henry VIII’s daughters.) Despite willingly relinquishing the Crown, Jane was tried for treason. During her arrest, she wrote a letter to Mary, explaining that she’d been well and truly shat on by the scheming courtiers and asking for clemency, and her execution was put on hold.

And that’s when her father stepped in to really mess things up. If you’ve ever been embarrassed by your parents dancing at the disco, you’re not even close to imagining how Jane must have felt when she found out that her father (the Duke of Suffolk, remember?) had led a rebellion against the Queen.

Mary had a wedding coming up. The Catholic Phillip II of Spain was ready to be her husband, but only on the condition that she deal with the matter of troublesome Protestant Dukes trying their best to knock down her castles.

On the morning of February 12th 1554, Jane saw her husband being dragged away, and his body being carted out soon later. By lunchtime, she too was executed. And that was that.

It’s not a remarkable story compared to half of what went on in those days. But for me, the immediacy of the painting keeps the story alive. Like many works of its time, this painting by Paul Delaroche isn’t exactly historically accurate. All the documents I’ve read say that the execution took place outdoors. And nobody who had their head chopped off would ever have had their hair down. (Or be wearing a white dress, I imagine!) But for me, the painting’s a lesson in morality rather than history. There’s something sinister and desperately tragic in the way the hands of the Sir John seem so compassionate. The gentle touch of authority that leads a young girl to her death.

To most of the people who see this at the National Gallery, It’s a painting of a tragic seventeen year old girl. But to me it’s a painting of a good man who did nothing.

KLOOOST Fury at Flying Dutchman

Today KLOOOST Campaigners rounded on the offices of Miss Cynthia Ramspart, 87, to vent their anger after last nights events.

Captain van der Decken, a KLM Airlines pilot, became confused and bewildered by the overpowering Christmas lights along Holmfirth highstreet, and landed the Boing 747 with its nose cone resting over the junction of Woodhead road.

Flight KL74. Now Boarding at Hollowgate.

“It’s all we bloody well needed.” Albert Yewsnipple, 96, told our reporter. “I said! Didn’t I say? They won’t bloody listen, tha’ knows.” Barely a week ago, Mr Yewsnipple spoke to us, predicting that this very incident would take place. “Well, we’ve got evidence now. As well as a town centre that’s full of bloomin’ Dutch tourists. As if we haven’t enough to worry about at this time of year.”

Mrs Ramspart addressed the new arrivals from the library steps, welcoming them all to Holmfirth and handing out the telephone numbers of the two local Bed and Breakfast facilities. “I’m sure you’ll all be able to find room. And I know Mrs Crowbagger has a couple of French exchange students staying, so you’re sure to feel right at home there.”

However, as morning arrived, there was still no word of a recovery plan from KLM.

“I’m sure they will be able to move on in time.” Mrs Rampart said. “We might need to lengthen the road by a few feet, to provide adequate take off space, but this is more of a matter for the planning committee.”

George Tuppwanger, the community police officer, was less optimistic about matters. “I’m just not sure we can allow this aeroplane to sit here indefinitely.” He said. “There are clearly three bald tyres, and he’s not displaying a valid road fund licence. I can give KLM until the end of the day but if a they don’t remove it quickly we’ll have to arrange for the vehicle to be towed away.”


Protestors mingle with Dutch tourists this morning

But it wasn’t all bad news. Despite the high street being effectively blocked to all traffic, the local bakery was doing an excellent trade. “We’ve not stopped all day.” Mrs Edith Molepunter, 84, told our reporter. “We’ve had a bit of a run on Danish pastries as you can imagine, but the most popular of all our products has been the Christmas parkin. I’ve been talking to Captain van der Decken and he says we might be able to arrange this every year.”

A spokesman from KLM would only talk Dutch. Which was no bloody use to anyone.

Caption Competition!

Here's a great opportunity for all you "lurkers" out there to have your say! I know you're out there! (Unless my site counter is having fun with me!) Come on - sign in and tell us what you think Uncle Tony is saying...

For those of you unfamiliar with David Blunkett, you might want to do a search using keywords such as "Erosion of civil liberties", "corrupt", "draconian", "abuse of power", "Rail Warrant", "Abuse of tax payer's money" or "I did nothing wrong".

Competition winners will receive a complementary bottle of Bovox™ mouthwash.

Ultimate Battle Ends in Shock

The battle between Good and Evil ended unexpectedly today, when David Hasselhoff admitted defeat on behalf of Good.

“We tried to tie this up back in the seventies.” David said, “But the results were too close to call. It’s taken us twenty years for a re-count, and now that all the souls have been tallied and independently verified, we have no choice but to admit defeat.”



“A lot of us are pretty surprised.” David continued. “We kinda figured it would go our way in the end. I know a lot of guys put their faith in the Revelation of Saint John, and I just want to thank them for all their help and hard work.”

David Hasselhoff, who stunned onlookers this morning by identifying himself as God’s representative on earth, was in reconciliatory mood. “Now that the final result is in, I’d just like to congratulate Emma and all those folks who campaigned on behalf of Evil, but this has been a partisan campaign, and I think now we need to work together to heal old wounds and move forward with unity.”

Emma Bunton announced to waiting press that David Hasselhoff had telephoned her that morning to concede defeat. “We’re very happy to have taken over the world and the heavens with such an overwhelming mandate.” She told our reporter this lunchtime. “With the contest out of the way, I think we will be free to introduce a wide range of changes across the board. I think the Champaign corks will be flying in Hades tonight.”

When asked about her true identity as the Antichrist, Emma said, “I realise it must come as a shock to most people, but the clues were there if you cared to look.”



Earlier today, a large percentage of the population disappeared in what many critics are already dismissing as the Rapture Lottery. “We just didn’t know who to take.” David Hasselhoff told the world’s media. “Standards have changed a lot since the days in which the criteria for acceptance into heaven were first established. People today just don’t have the same sort of faith as they did two thousand years ago. In the end we just had to take a cross section in the fairest way we could think of.”

As most readers will know, that method involved a rapture which took everyone in the world whose surname began with the letter “H”. Today has marked a series of disappearances, notably Australian singer and comedian Rolf Harris, Former leader of the Conservative Party William Hague, and Hollywood star Tom Hanks.

“We tried to pick a letter that nobody would really miss.” David Hasselhoff told frantic interviewers. “We really couldn’t think of many other letters that would have such little impact.”

Already though, there have been calls for an investigation into the procedure. Numerous sources have accused David Hasselhoff of nepotism, and rigging the result to make sure his family were selected. These were claims which he denied, adding, “This is absolutely ridiculous. I’m the right hand man of God, not George Bush.”

The effects of Evil triumphing over Good have already had far reaching consequences. In Holmfirth, West Yorkshire, a group of farmers complained that they were being ordered to hammer out their plough shares into swords. “We’re just not trained for this sort of work.” Albert Bullspittle told our Agricultural Correspondent. “It’ll be the ruin of us.”

But the news wasn’t all bad. Mr Bullspittle did concede one positive point. “At least now we don’t have to worry about lions lying down with our lambs. If you’ve ever had to queue up for fifteen pounds of fresh gazelle meat down at Hinchcliffe’s butchers shop, you’ll know what I mean.”

But not everyone seemed too distressed by events. In a press conference earlier today, George W Bush said, “We’ve met with Ms Bunton who has formerly informed us that Satan is now in charge of heaven and earth. Although this is a shock to most of us, I have been notified that The Lord of The Flies is pretty happy with the way we’re doing things right now, so there should be no significant change of policy.”

More news as it breaks.

David Beggs for a Job

Well, as I said, today was my big interview with Wates. I met David Beggs, the head TLO (That's Tenant Liaison Officer to you!) and he seems really switched on. As an ex submariner he's used to military types so maybe it will count in my favour; we'll have to see.

I was in his office for a full hour, and the last thing he said was that he was "impressed" with me, and that he could tell I had lots of enthusiasm. I told him not to worry, adding that "A few weeks in the job will knock that out of me."

Now I've got to wait... He has "A couple of other people to see."

Christmas approaches. (sigh)

Wish Me Luck!

I have an interview for a job at 3pm today! Did you know I've only had four interviews since I became unemployed in July? That's an awful lot of application forms and letters for very little reward!

Anyway, this one's with Wates Construction and the job on offer is a Tennant's Liaison Officer, which is a fancy way of saying I will be acting as a go-between for the construction company and the people living in social housing that they will be fixing.

From what I can gather, the job will involve working with some of the most difficult communities in Yorkshire, in some of the roughest estates. It should be good for me if only to broaden my experiences.

I've planned my bus journey (Can't afford to run a car just yet!) and since the interview's in Bradford, it's a 3 hour epic involving four changes just to get there!

I am SO nervous. I'm making butterflies to order! Red Admiral, anybody?


(Here's one I made earler)