Top news from The Times, Daily Telegraph, The Indepedent and The Guardian newspapers
‘AS we at Anorak Towers cough and splutter our way to an early grave, we do so in the knowledge that at least old Mr Anorak himself will live on after us.
|‘He shall not grow old as we that have not won as Oscar grow old…’|
And it is not just because he does not have to work in this airless dungeon for 12 hours a day, only ever seeing natural light once a year during the company trip to Margate.
According to the Times, it is because having more money than those around you and the social kudos of outperforming your peers can improve your chances of a long and happy life.
Research over three decades by one of Britain’s leading medical scientists has discovered that even small moves up the hierarchy, such as a promotion at work or moving into a bigger house, can lead to improvements in health.
‘How much money you have is not as important as how much you have relative to others in society,’ concludes Sir Michael Marmot.
It is the burden of feeling inferior that makes people ill rather than material conditions such as poverty and malnutrition per se.
‘Envy of those who earn more and climb higher up the social ladder,’ says the Times, ‘can be a factor in conditions as diverse as diabetes, cancer, heart disease and mental illness.’
By way of example, the paper says that Oscar-winning actors and actresses live on average four years longer than equally famous and wealthy performers who haven’t been recognised by the Academy.
Which happily means that the world at large can continue to enjoy yet more stellar performances from Ben Affleck – even if we in Anorak Towers have long since shuffled off this mortal coil.’
‘RONALD Reagan never won as Oscar, despite his unforgettable performances in such classics as Hellcats Of The Navy, Bedtime For Bonzo and Hell’s Kitchen.
|‘What does it mean when both hands are pointing to the 12?’|
But he still lived to the grand old age of 93 before the curtain was brought down once and for all on his career at the weekend.
Of course, this may have had something to do with the fact that for eight years of his life he played so convincingly the role of President of the United States.
(Many people still insist that Reagan’s masterful performance in pretending he knew nothing about the Iran Contra affair should have received proper recognition.)
The papers all pay tribute to man who for the past decade has suffered from Alzheimer’s and in recent years has not even known his wife Nancy.
And the Telegraph even suggests that the man it thinks the greatest post-war American president ‘deserves a stone-carved niche in that Olympus of commanders-in-chief atop Mount Rushmore’.
It is, after all, no mean feat for one man to see the national debt triple during his presidency.
However, if Reagan is to secure a place on the side of the fabled mountain, then stone masons should get cracking.
Otherwise, it is surely only a matter of time before the final place is taken up by another great post-war president, commander-in-chief, voodoo economist and pretzel swallower, George Dubya Bush himself.’
”HELLO,’ says the familiar voice on the end of the phone. ‘It’s me.’
|Six years later, Tony got to the front of the queue|
‘Oh, how wonderful! Hello, dear. Well, isn’t that amazing! You only left home this morning and you’re there already.’
‘I only had to take a train and…’
‘A train! Well, I never! Who’d have thought it, a train to Zambia? It’s amazing what they can do these days. And you sound so clear, like you’re only up the road.’
‘That’s because I am; I’m still at Heathrow!’
And so it was and, most likely, still it is for thousands of passengers, as the Times reports on the ‘travel chaos’ that has engulfed British airports.
Gap year students, like our friend on the phone to his mum, found that they needn’t travel all that far to experience destitution, inhumane living conditions and hopelessness as the National Air Traffic Service went off-line.
And travellers stuck at the country’s airports may be there for a while longer yet, as the paper says that the technical glitches that snarled up the flow of planes to and from Blighty yesterday will not be properly fixed until 2011.
After seven years away from home, our adventurous friend would have expected to have seen a lot more of the world than the inside of Terminal 4.
But at least he can busy himself talking to the Telegraph, which can’t have had too much trouble in finding people ready to say how ‘cheesed off’ they are – although one Russian, perhaps more used to queues than is decent, thought it was no big deal.
Our traveller might also like to flick through one of the myriad copies of the Times strewn over sleeping bodies and therein learn that the makeshift camp for migrants he now calls home is due for expansion later this month.
The paper says that baggage handlers and check-in staff are threatening to strike over something called ‘air-traffic issues’.
And Philip Butterworth-Hayes, an expert is such matters for the Jane’s Information Group, says he’s not surprised.
‘A lot of the causes for delays in Europe has to do with the way the British air traffic control is planned,’ says he.
So here’s your chance to get involved and not waste your time in transit. Grab a piece of paper and write down ways in which you think travel could be improved upon.
And to get things off to a flying start, we’ll open up with our suggestions: more palms trees, a swimming pool and a hotel nowhere near a flight path – somewhere close to Gatwick should do it.’
‘THANKS to the World Health Organisation (WHO), we know one vital fact about Malta.
The Guardian reports that a WHO study of 11 to 15-years-olds in 35 countries has found that just 12% of boys in Malta clean their teeth every day.
Clearly this is less than a perfect number, but it’s hard to gauge how terrible it really is because the paper forgets to tell us the state of dental play in the mouths of British youth.
But the survey does suggest that you’d be every bit as likely to find decay in the mouth of a young Brit as you would in his Maltese equivalent.
The Times shows, by means of a graph, that between a third and a half of all British teens down at least one can of fizzy drink a day.
What’s more, Scottish 11-year-olds are behind only the Netherlands and those foul-mouthed Maltese in terms of daily sweet consumption.
Not that sweets are all Britain’s future leaders and baggage handlers enjoy putting in their mouths.
We are No.1 when it comes to teenage alcohol drinking, with a third of English 13-year-olds drinking alcohol once a week, narrowly pipping the Welsh to the top spot.
And we are only Greenland’s No.2 when it comes to teenage sex.
The Guardian shows that while 79% of all 15-year-old girls in Greenland have had sex, the figure for both England and Wales is 40%, dropping to 35% in a relatively chaste Scotland.
The WHO’s report, entitled Young People’s Health In Context, also shows that while 67% of all 15-year-old girls living in Greenland are regular smokers, only 16% of their British peers share the habit.
This last statistic may have something to do with the purge on smoking, and the associated decline in the popularity of the post-coital fag.
But it may just mean that the British teens responding to the survey misinterpreted the questions.
After all, how do you get a sensible answer from a pissed teenager with a mouth full of rotten teeth and piercings?’
‘IT’S pretty clear that not all researchers are on an equal footing.
|‘Hadaway and shite, mon’|
While some seek to unlock the secrets of the human psyche, other researchers busy themselves in less lofty pursuits.
And so it is with researchers at Middlesex University who have been investigating the different sounds made by ducks.
Thanks to Dr Victoria de Rijke, a lecturer in English, we now know that cockney ducks make a rough ‘shouting’ quack at their mates, what we at Anorak might term a ‘Cor, luvva duck’.
‘The cockney ducks at the city farm were much louder…than the ducks on Trerieve Farm, in Downderry, Cornwall,’ Dr De Rijke tells the Guardian.
This is no less than fascinating stuff, worthy of the paper’s attention. And it’s stuff we might have missed had the good doctor not used her ears so effectively.
‘The cockney quack’, continues Dr Rijke,’ is like a shout and a laugh, whereas the Cornish ducks sound more like they are giggling.’
Laughing, giggling ducks! Wonder what they find so amusing? That’s something Dr Rijke and her team might like to investigate next.
But now to the researcher’s point, namely that ducks are like humans. No, really they are.
‘So it is like humans,’ says De Rijke, ‘cockneys have short and open vowels, whereas the Cornish have longer vowels and speak fairly slowly.’
Dr Rijke now hopes to study the quacking sounds of other ducks from the regions and will be interviewing geordie, scouse and Irish ducks.
She may even take her study overseas. There she’ll learn that Peking ducks are a brittle bunch who sound best when they are being ripped apart by two forks in a Soho restaurant.
And Bombay ducks sound like fish…’
‘IT looks like the Government has hit upon a cunning plan to halt the meteoric rise of house prices, control pollution and fully integrate transport policy in a masterstroke of joined-up politicking.
|‘Now push, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight…and work it…’|
If the Telegraph is correct and Britain does have the most expensive petrol in the world (84p a litre), our cars will soon be more expensive to run than our homes.
So expensive will fuel be if the Chancellor is as good as his word and sticks a 1.9p-a-litre duty increase on petrol and diesel in September that no-one will be able to afford to drive.
We will all begin to live in our cars, which we will push from one destination to another (thereby checking obesity) in keeping with the speed of our trains.
But not everyone sees the light, and the Telegraph hears from Tory leader Michael Howard, who asks Gordon Brown to reconsider his policy.
Indeed, the Independent hears Howard say that he thinks that, if others want to voice their anger and engage in protest in a peaceful way, they should do so.
Howard says that the rise in fuel duty (which already provides £23bn to the Treasury each year) would cause great hardship to many people and I would entirely understand should they wish to protest.
And that sends the Guardian out to locate David Handley, leader of the Farmers Action Group (FAG), which brought Britain to a virtual standstill four years ago with its campaign against rising fuel prices.
Handley and his group may like to direct their ire towards Beirut, where the oil ministers from the countries that make up the Opec cartel are meeting to decide what do to next.
And its their fault we are paying more at the pumps, according to the Government.
In the Telegraph, Alistair Darling, the Transport Secretary, accuses Howard of complete opportunism and says prices at the pumps are being driven up by the high international oil price.
But since motoring to Beirut to voice dissatisfaction would cost as much as a moderately sized mansion in Surrey, the protestors are staying at home.
And the Guardian reports that the little-known Peoples Fuel Lobby, a composite bland of hauliers and farmers, plans to blockade Newcastle upon Tyne city centre next Wednesday with trucks and lorries or detached houses and mobile gyms, as they will soon be known…’
‘SUCH is the cost of petrol that like William Shakespeares king we are now looking for a horse.
|Willie Carson was later banned for use of the whip|
And the signs are encouraging that we will soon find one, since weve just spotted a huge, festering Richard The Third sat in the middle of the Kempton Park racetrack.
But we wont bother picking it up to spread on our rose bush because it was laid not by a horse but by a dog, and not just any dog, either, but Simply Fabulous, a pedigree greyhound.
To find out why a racing dog came to be on horseracing track we turn to the Guardian and read news of yesterdays race between the aforementioned pooch and a racehorse called Tiny Tim.
In a bid to find out which is the faster greyhound or horse William Hill bookmakers staged an event.
At the off, Simply Fabulous (not raced competitively since November 2002) was at 6-5, while Tiny Tim (six-year-old bay gelding and runner-up in its last two starts) was the punters favourite at 8-13.
But which would win the contest, held over two furlongs on good to firm ground, with a prevailing wind from the east and not a stuffed hare in sight?
It was the big question – and it has now been answered.
Simply Fabulous lived up its name, upset the odds and romped past the winning post in 22.39 seconds, a full seven lengths (horse or dog unspecified) ahead of Tiny Tim.
Fergus Sweeney, Tiny Tims jockey, says he was a little disappointed to have lost.
It was a good race and I think I would probably have caught the dog if there had been another furlong, he opined.
Pah! Not in a million years, said Simply Fabulous jockey…’
‘AN update from the esoteric world of art now, as we turn to the Times and its story of how Young British Artists are striving to plug the gap caused by the recent fire.
|‘Quick! Get the sock!’|
However good it is (and it is very good), our own Vomit In Sock would never be enough on its own, not even if we used a pair of socks.
More is needed, and the Times says that the old livestock-pickler Damien Hirst has heard our rallying cry and is busy at work on a new creation.
But, as usual, not everyone is happy. Ingrates are among us and neighbours living close to Hirsts studio in the Cotswolds have been complaining.
Clive Eagles, his wife Tracy and their four children claim to have spent last weekend with their windows shut because of the stink caused by Hirsts work.
On Sunday the stench was so bad, says Mr Eagles, we couldnt open any of the windows.
So he decided to do something about it. Leaving his home, Mr Eagles walked up to Hirsts place and noticed a box lying outside the artists front door.
As I walked towards the box the smell got stronger and there were loads of flies. When I opened up the lid it was revolting, says he, adopting the role of art critic.
There was a big lump of something that looked like a cow. It was vile.
Vile? Surely he means to say, challenging.
But whatever was meant, Hirsts neighbours are now demanding an apology from the creator.
However, what with their knowledge of art, we say that its them that should be doing the apologising…’
‘THE confused state of popular opinion on Iraq means that the Guardian can even allow George Galloway a column to put forward his views.
|‘I come here to praise Saddam not to bury him’|
Many of you will remember Galloway as the crawling cove standing before a tyrannical Saddam Hussein and telling him how great he was.
The then Labour MP (hes now Respect MP for Glasgow Kelvin) even sported a moustache for the occasion, albeit a weasely one.
Now Galloway tells Guardian readers that he wants to hear mea cupla from politicians. He wants heads to roll. He says that Blairs defenestration would surely be the last straw for Bushs fading election hopes.
Having already called upon Arabs to rise up and fight British troops, we should not be too shocked if Galloway now wants us to shove our elected leader from a window.
Nor should we be surprised (and this comes in the same week as the 60th anniversary of D Day, a truly momentous assault on a terrible regime) that Galloway can say with no hint of embarrassment that the Greens have a better war record than the Liberal Democrats and, one supposes, the Government but not him.
For Galloway, its not a question of what you did in the war, but what you did to stop it, and so keep the despotic Hussein in power.
Although what most of us have done is just to watch the war on TV.
And yesterday, as the Times reports, Galloway and the rest of us got to know via our TVs which man replaces Saddam as the first Iraqi President since his ousting.
His names Sheikh Ghazi al-Yawer. And the first thing to note about him is that hes not Adnan Pachachi, the man the Americans favoured for the job.
Having already turned down the offer to lead his country, the Guardian says that the Americans still had to formerly offer Pachachi – a man the Telegraph says is steadfastly loyal to the Bush administration – the job in order to save face.
So the Americans offered. Pachachi duly declined. And this allowed the sheikh a clear run at the top job, even if it is largely a ceremonial one.
But whatever his role, the Iraqi people at least have a face at the top table they can recognise and call their own.
And Tony Bair tells the Telegraph how that marks a truly historic day for Iraq.
And Bush says how the appointment has bought things one step closer to realising the dream of millions of Iraqis, a fully sovereign state with a representative government that protects their rights and serves their needs.
And if it doesnt, then Bush will get them another one that does. And who knows, there might even be a job for George Galloway…’
‘ANOTHER day and another triumph for the postal service, as we hear from Tony Blair that he wants us to have a great Christmas and a happy New Year. And to think, its only June!
|‘It’s another vote for that nice Mr Churchill’|
Thats how good the post is it can actually make things arrive six months early. Hats off to the Royal Mail.
But even a perfect system is only as good as the people that work in it, and we learn in the Independent that the Governments postal voting experiment for the upcoming local and European elections has hit a glitch.
Lord Falconer of Thornton, the Lord Chancellor, is heard by the paper insisting that the vast, vast, vast bulk of ballot papers would be in the postal system by midnight tonight, the deadline.
And dont doubt that what the paper estimates to be 430,000 voting papers that may yet miss this deadline is anything but something of a success.
Lord Falconer says it is a triumph, so it must be.
So the postal voting pilot scheme, covering 14.2 million voters in the North-east, the Midlands, Humberside and Yorkshire, is a logistical winner, and the Opposition should not carp on the edges.
Worry not that Charles Kennedy, leader of the Lib Dems, calls the trial a democratic disgrace in the Guardian or that the Election Commission tells the same paper that 300,000 ballot papers may miss their targets completely.
Indeed, the Guardian reports on how such is the level of confidence in the scheme and the Royal Mail that Gateshead council is using 18 libraries as collection points, so bypassing the postie.
And in Oldham, the Indy says that 120 council staff have been delivering papers to local homes after it took charge of distribution.
But the councils should not worry, not with the Royal Mail on the case.
Happy voting, as they say in Newcastle. Oh, and happy Christmas one and all…’
‘LET us pray. Only, what shall we pray for?
|A spare pair of praying hands for the best prayer sent to Anorak|
Pastor Zephania Kameeta, a former vice president of Namibias Evangelical Lutheran Church, thinks he knows. And his prayers for our time have been included in a book called Pocket Prayers for Justice and Peace.
The tome, compiled by the charity Christian Aid and published by Church House Publishing, the Church of Englands publishing arm, and seen by the Telegraph, has Kameeta in Westlife mode, covering traditional prayers in his own style.
A spokesman for the publishing group tells the paper that its a book of prayers we hope will help people think afresh about some of the issues surrounding debt in the developing world and the issues of fair trade.
So instead of Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, the 23rd Psalm now reads: Even if a full-scale violent confrontation breaks out I will not be afraid, Lord.
And so it goes for the Lords Prayer, which now begins: Our father who is in us here on earth, holy is your name in the hungry who share their bread and their song.
The Independent tells us that it also includes the line that God is giving us our daily bread when we manage to get back our lands or to get a fairer wage.
Although, since bread is not everyones cup of tea, as it were, we argue that it can be substituted by the more modern breadsticks,
wafers or, at a push, Slim Fast shakes.
‘SOME may argue that culling the poor and anti-social is just a part of the evolutionary process.
|Page refused to jump through hoops – or do a forward role|
Were Charles Darwin alive today, he might approve, perhaps even push the plunger on a sink housing estate and watch the zeta-males and females leave the circle of life in so much ash.
Others will argue that all life is precious, even it does smoke 60-a-day, drink cans of extra strong larger and defecate though your letterbox.
Its what members of Petra would call Creation versus Evolution, which is what the group wrote on a banner at the Brimscombe jamboree, Gloucestershire.
By way of background, the Telegraph tells its readers that Petra believes all human life can be traced back to Adam and Eve and that dinosaurs roamed the earth alongside men about 6,000 years ago.
Valid ideas to discuss with Estelle Morris at the Hay Festival, perhaps, but as far as Nick Page, host of BBC2s Escape to the Country programme, is concerned, far from suited to a village do.
So, though due to appear as the guest speaker, Page, having seen the Petra banner, made his excuses to the events organiser, Liz Peters, and left.
Pages note read: Liz, apologies, but due to the religious propagandist overtones of the fete I will be unable to assist.
And this mystified Ms Peters, who wracked her brains to think of what Page saw wrong in the show.
The only thing any of us could think of was a puppet show in the arena called Hand Stands for Jesus, says she.
While many, including us, would pay good money to see such a show, Page was not buying into it.
But weve got a Christian fundamentalist prime minister, says he, sending hundreds of people to their death every week and I couldnt believe people were promoting these sorts of ideas at a village fete of all places.
Although to us it sounds like the perfect place to engage in such a dialogue.
First Brimscombe, then Basra, as they say in the evolving environs of Gloucestershire…’
‘I WAS in a pub and I was looking up at their bookshelf, which had the Good Food Guide, the Good Hotel Guide and the Good Pub Guide on it, and suddenly I had a flash, so I got cracking on it.
|And after that, there’s the chimney to sweep|
The words of Derek Humphrey, as revealed by the Guardian, who on a visit to Britain from his home in Eugene, Oregon, saw the future through the bottom of a glass while reviewing a bookshelf.
And the product of his cathartic moment is The Good Euthanasia Guide 2004, or the good dying guide, as the paper has it.
And since it pays to be ready for the Grim Reapers scythe, the Guardian has had peek at the books forward.
Dont bother to acquire this book if you are a person who believes that a religious deity is in sole charge of your life and dying, he writes, so deterring all new Labour voters and George Bush supporters from purchasing his worthy tome.
And it is a worthwhile read, do not doubt that. You see, all books are valid things, even Yes, Please, Thanks, the latest work from the pen of Penny Palmano, now profiled in the Times.
That the book was first entitled How To Behave In Public will give many of you a clue that Ms Palmanos work is about raising your kiddies the right way. Making them grateful.
I am not a family therapist, child psychologist, nursery schoolteacher or qualified child anything, says she. But Penny is a mother of three, which is qualification enough, as far as she and her publisher are concerned.
And make that a mother who wants to be proud of her polite children. Giving up your seat on the bus, helping a mother with a pushchair are small acts of kindness, says Penny both gestures that might make her life easier.
We daresay that other small acts of kindness involve Jake and Chloe cooking the dinner, tidying the lounge and servicing mummys 4×4 until it runs like baby Armanis nose.
But even if such books are not for you, Estelle Morris, the Culture Minister, has been spotted by the Independent at the Hay Festival of books looking at some other volumes.
Sorry, make those ideas, because reading is no longer about taking time to immerse yourself into anothers world. No, its a way of creating incredibly useful festivals – because we all need a place to think and exchange ideas and ideals, says Morris.
Politicians in the media can talk to millions, says Morris in the Indy (a paper read by many less than millions), but they dont generally get people talking back at them. Theyre not used to listening.
In other words, politicians are not a bit unlike like Penny Palmanos children, and should be seen and not heard…’
‘THE drive to make good Britons of us all does not begin and end with the likes of Penny Palmanos guide to childrearing and citizenship ceremonies.
|‘On the count of three, press the button…’|
The programme stretches far further than that, and now, as the Guardian reports, it includes the bad being retrained in the ways of the good.
What Barbara Woodhouse once did for dogs, David Blunkett wants to do for people, as he tells the paper how he plans to deal with neighbours from hell.
As it stands, the only way to deal with somebody up for eviction for anti-social behaviour is to rehouse them so someone else gets a neighbour from hell.
But his plan is to make social lepers earn the right to be rehoused and be put back in the community.
And hell do this by way of a compulsory rehabilitation programme, in which the unwanted will have to prove they are worthy of living among the decent.
The programme will include modules in parenting skills, financial management and anger management.
And those earmarked for the course (which is sure to end in a GCSE in Neighbourly Studies) will be housed in a secure council block with others like them.
Social workers will be on tap to provide family support, round-the-clock counselling and any assistance the prisoners, sorry, lucky few need to become better people.
Should they fail, then the entire block will be locked up and detonated by a team of explosive experts.
It might be harsh, but its the only language some people understand…’
‘JUST how do you become a freelance consultant to terrorism groups worldwide?
|‘If you’re name’s not down, you’re not coming in’|
Thats what the United States claims Abu Hamza, the hook-handed, one-eyed, purple people eater is.
As such, the Times reports that yesterday the 47-year-old Egyptian-born militant was arrested at his London home after Americans formerly sought his extradition on 11 terrorism charges.
Well, it appears that to become an alleged freelancer specialising in matters of terror, you need to have a list of aliases.
So, as well as seeking the removal of Abu Hamza, aka Dr Hook, aka The Hook, the US, as the Times reports, also brought charges against, Mustafa Kamel Mustafa, aka Abu Hamza, aka Abu Hamza al-Masri, aka Mustafa Kamel, aka Mostafa Kamel, aka Kamel Mostafa.
Chances remain high that US Assistant Attorney General, Christopher A Wray is still reading out the list of names Hamza also goes under.
Indeed, the latest report suggests Wray has just reached aka Leslie Grantham, that other infamous aka Captain Hook.
Secondly, in order to move in the shadowy world of terrorism, allegedly, you need a pair of dark glasses or you Mustafa pair, as is the fashion. And Hamza can be seen sporting some suitably moody shades on the cover of the Guardian.
Its a strong look, and one that enables him to change from being the suspected brains behind such terrorists activities as hostage taking and conspiring to provide goods and services to the dreaded Taliban into the guise of a rebel cleric.
And lets face it, its far easier to fear and despise an extremist with a hook in place of a hand, one eye and a neat line in fire and brimstone than it is to dislike a rebel.
At least it is until you learn, as the Telegraph does, that the third element in being an alleged freelance terror fixer is to have a tendency towards arrogance, smugness and, perhaps even violence.
We read that when Hamza first came to Britain he worked in a Soho nightclub on the door.
This puts something of the tin lid on the entire deal.
We now realise that if martyrs are going to get into paradise, theyll have to pass though the hallowed gates in groups of no more than five at a time and not dressed in trainers.
Proven virgins, however, are free before 10pm.’
‘WITH Posh gone, Hamza on the point of going and our joint campaign with the UK Independence Party to get Kilroy-Silk to Brussels progressing nicely, Britain may yet be yanked from the yolk of terror.
|‘The plot’s got more twists and turns than a Paris tunnel’ – Anorak|
But news of Paul Burrells imminent departure to pastures new has been widely exaggerated, and the Telegraph learns that the rock-like former butler is still among us.
In fact, anyone who wants to can go and see and hear the man himself in the flesh making his claims about Diana, Princess of Wales, on the West End stage.
For one night only, The Rock will appear at the 2,100-seat Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, to tell all…again.
The show, entitled Paul Burrell: In His Own Words, will see the discreet and caring former butler tell anyone with the readies about what it was like working for Saint Diana of Nichols.
During the chat, hell talk about the good times (his book) the bad times (his book), and how it was that he came to be so very close to his employer, or so he claims.
And, whats more, for an encore he will reveal a few minor revelations about life among the blue bloods.
Thats a thrill, but placed in the shade by the other news that after the 45-minute chat he will take questions from the public for an hour.
In preparation for his, please submit your questions to the usual address. But to get the ball rolling, heres ours: Mr Burrell, Rock, if we lend you our battered, white Fiat Uno will you drive off into the distance for good?’
‘HIYA! ‘Oh, er, yes, hello.’
|‘Spare some change for a cup of tea for a tribe in the Amazon, guv?’|
Got a moment to save a child from certain death?
‘Er, well I was just going to get a sandwich, and…’
Its now too late. You have answered her, and now you are hers. The smiley, happy, chirpy do-gooder (albeit one paid for the job) has snared another victim.
And there is no use running, because shes not alone. Shes part of a pack of like-minded coves stationed in a street near you, determined to making you hand over some cash to farmers in Peru.
But no more. The Times says that these chuggers (charity muggers) are facing legislation that will put the brakes on their blocking tactics.
As part of a drive to reform charity rules, fundraisers will be required to hold a licence to beg and be subject to a two-stage test.
Firstly, they will have to prove their collectors are fit and proper persons. Secondly, they will need to pass a capacity test to endure that no other similar collections are taking place at the same time in the same place.
This will stop the assault courses approach to charity work that forces workers and shoppers to dodge the human bollards in those coloured bibs that step into the path.
Although, for many in this obese land, this is the only exercise we get…’
‘IF Johnny has five lard bars, two family sized packets of lard flavoured crisps and seven cans of carbonated lard with the tangy zest of guava, how many years does he have to live?
|‘What pies, miss?’|
Thats a sample question taken from next years GCSE in fat sciences. And the answer from a multiple-choice list of alternatives is c – depressingly few. Whats more, little Johnny will die before his parents.
A report into the obesity epidemic by the Commons Health Select Committee, and seen by the Guardian, says that should current trends in weight gain continue, fat will soon kill more of us than tobacco.
Should the gloomier scenarios relating to obesity turn out to be true, the sight of amputees will become more familiar in the streets of Britain, warns the report.
It goes onto say that there will also be more blind people and a huge demand for kidney dialysis.
Indeed, this will be the first generation where children die before their parents as a consequence of obesity.
The Times has some more HEAVY FACTS, chiefly that 20% of adults are obese; 92% of young people eat too much fat; 25% of children in England and Wales are overweight; and only 32% of people get enough exercise, the figure falling to 28% in the North-East.
One way the report says we can combat this fattening up is, as the Times says, with the introduction of an annual fat test.
All schoolchildren will have their body mass index (BMI) calculated and the ratings sent to their parents.
A handy grid, in which height is plotted against weight, enables each reader to see what their BMI is.
But however valid, surely the last thing children need is yet another new exam, especially since the old ones are so tried and tested.
If the little loves can slide up and down the chimney with ease, then they are thin enough – and if they cant, after a few weeks wedged up the flume, they soon will be…’
‘FIRST up, a big hearty thanks to all of you who sent in vomit and socks.
|Saved for the nation|
Our installation is progressing nicely, and well be exhibiting our collective work Vomit In Sock all over the steps of the Saatchi Gallery later today.
Its a shoo-in for the Turner Prize, and will ably fill the void left by the destruction of so many fine modern works of art yesterday.
But the Telegraph says that a far worse disaster was narrowly averted. It was luck, fate, call it what you will that caused works by Tracy Emin to be removed from the now decimated Momart warehouse shortly before the fire.
A spokesman for Emin says that the artist with the gift for turning ordinary objects into ordinary dirty objects removed her stuff from the warehouse recently, thinking the items would be safer in her London studio.
Its not for us to cast aspersions, but with so much of the competition now out of the way, Emins portfolio could be very much in demand, and worth a lot more than it was pre-fire.
So while the cops look for suspects, the Independent hears from the great women herself. And shes philosophical about things.
Im upset, says Tray, Im also upset about those people whose wedding got bombed last week [in Iraq], and people being dug out from under 400ft of mud in the Dominican Republic…the news is bad at the moment.
Its good to see that Emin is maintaining a sense of perspective, bracketing her loss of tent and hut with those other man-made and natural disasters.
Other artists also tell the Indy what they think. Jake Chapman holds God responsible for the act of destruction (everyones a critic), and Dexter Dalwood clasps his hands and says: It is a tragedy but we cant bring the works back, and it would have been far worse if a child had died.
What, worse than losing a few of what Tracy Emin calls her friends? Surely not…’
‘WE are pleased to say that Robert Kilroy-Silks campaign to relocate to Brussels is gathering pace.
|Boat for Kilroy|
The Telegraph followed the perma-tanned champion of ordinary, decent people to Northampton yesterday, where he pressed flesh and even autographed the hand of one of his many young fans.
He also took time to speak to a frail, 85-year-old D-Day veteran. Kilroy asked him if he was going to the 60th anniversary celebrations.
No, said the old soldier, the memories were too awful. You should go, replied Kilroy, his finger on the pulse of popular opinion. It might be the last thing you do.
It might. Although the vet may like to hang around until June 10 and vote for Kilroy in the European elections before popping off.
And what hed be making his mark against is made clear earlier in the paper, where the Telegraph says how Ceredigion county council in Wales has adopted an EU ruling with gusto.
From now on, butchers in the locale are banned from giving bones to dog owners, and, most likely, owners of tigers, hyenas, children and all manner of family pets.
Under the EUs Animal By-products Regulations ruling, which came into force last year, the practice of supplying domestic animals with bones, meat trimmings etc, must be discontinued.
This is thin edge of a very obese wedge. Europe must be stopped.
But the UK Independence Party cannot succeed with just Kilroy, however energetic, surprisingly youthful and attractive he is for a man of his age.
The cause needs others. So come on Vanessa Feltz, Anthea Turner, Lawrence Llewelyn-Bowen, Victoria Beckham (if youre still here), Princess Michael of Kent, Neil and Christine Hamilton, Richard Madeley, Carol Smillie and Kerry McPadding, its time to get on the campaign trail.
Wed vote in our droves to send you lot to Brussels. Come on, your country needs you…’
‘DONT be too surprised if when the Iraqi people vote for their leader next January, George Bush wins by a landslide.
|Ayatollah Sistani prepares himself for defeat|
A glitch in the American-made voting machines will mean that Ayatollah Sistani, the Shia leader, a man the Independent calls the most powerful Iraqi politician, will appear as G. Bush on some voting slips.
But it might work out for the best – at least this way, Bush will be able to press ahead with his five-point plan for a newer and freer Iraq not from the position of an invading tyrant but as the countrys democratically elected leader.
And thats the bright and rosy future Bush put forward in a speech at the US Army War College.
I sent American troops to Iraq to defend our security, not to stay as an occupying power, says Bush, reinforcing the notion that the Iraq campaign is part of the universal war on terror.
I sent American troops to Iraq to make its people free, not to make them American. Iraqis will write their own history and find their own way.
As George also says: Iraqis are proud people who resent foreign control on their affairs, just as we would.
No arguing with that last point, even if the final part appears to be a little dig at our own beloved leader, the yapping Tony Blair.
The Telegraph says that having been accused by the Opposition and members so of his own party of blindly going along with whatever the Bush administration dictates, yesterday Tony tried to create some light between himself and the US President.
The paper hears Blair say that a new Iraqi government should be allowed to veto military action by the coalition forces. Any operations against insurgents should be carried out only with the Iraqi governments consent.
Only this way will there be a real and genuine transfer of sovereignty on the June 30 deadline, says Tony.
This sounds terribly fair, until you realise, as US Secretary of State Colin Powell does, that it would effectively mean Iraqis controlling the US-led forces.
And anyone who cant spot the flaw with that idea must be stupid. Or with stupid…’
‘BEFORE Iraq becomes the land of the free and the home of the brave in early 2005, just over one in five of us will embrace democracy and vote for our representatives in the European parliament on June 30.
|‘We’d never go to war over oil,’ say Kilroy-Silk and Collins|
Thats the percentage turnout the Guardian estimates will decide which politicos will go to Brussels and exercise the UKs veto on hedgehog flavoured crisps, bendy bananas and whatever else it is that MEPs do.
And if you need any further inducement to vote, the Independent says that while making your mark at your local village hall, you might bump into Joan Collins, the newest patron of the UK Independence Party.
Shell be voting in the European Elections for Britain to be out of Europe and withdraw from the European Union.
I do feel that my country I am English is losing a lot of what I grew up with, says Joan, who tells the Times that she has never actually voted before because shes never been in her beloved England at the right time.
I feel we are eroding ourselves to Brussels, she adds.
That does sound painful, and its a pain Joan and her fellow UKIP supporters want to stop.
So alongside a picture of Joan walking with UKIP candidate Robert Kilroy-Silk (vote for him and he goes to Brussels so vote!) is a list of some UKIP manifesto pledges.
And in among the partys promises to abolish VAT and council tax, to strengthen border controls and make sunbeds free at the point of entry is the vow to do whatever is necessary to reduce crime and criminality to the levels of the 1950s.
Which as many historians would note, was a period that came after a big pan-European war in the 1940s.
So if the UKIP get in, watch out…’
‘WHEN we read in the Telegraph that a fire has destroyed millions of pounds worth of art, we are dismayed.
|Don’t be afraid to use a one-man tent – anything will be of help|
But our pain is only short-lived because the fire has not consumed the National Gallery. Turner’s Ulysses deriding Polyphemus – Homers Odyssey and Titians Bacchus and Ariadne are as evocative of the human spirit today as they were yesterday.
Art restorers will not be required to grind powders and mix inks to produce palettes from the time of Leonardo da Vinci, piecing together his Virgin on The Rocks millimetre by millimetre.
No, the works lost to the nation when a fire gutted the Momart warehouse were mainly those by those Young British Artists.
The paper is right when it says that a great chunk of British art history is turned to ashes, but it need not be the end.
And you can help make things as they were.
Dig out your old tent and daub on it the name of Everyone I Ever Slept With, then sign the door flaps Tracy Emin, attach a £40,000 price tag and send it to Maurice Saatchi.
Then pop along to your local toy store, buy loads of Subbuteo referee figures, paint SS armbands on them and tell Jake and Dinos Chapman that their vision of Hell is resorted.
Also feared lost is Anoraks entry into last years Turner Prize, the sensational and challenging Vomit In Sock.
We fear that this too has now been lost to the nation, but if anyone out there has a sock and is feeling a bit bilious in the face of so much devastation, they can send their clothing and the contents of their stomach to the usual address.
And if you can toss in a dead fish, so much the better…’
‘THE world is a very complicated place for men who can’t watch TV and chew pretzels at the same time – at least not without losing consciousness at the sheer complexity of the task.
|‘Now, polar bears come from which part of Poland?’|
Iran, Iraq…neighbours separated by a single consonant. North Korea, South Korea…neighbours separated by three consonants (D, M and Z). Ireland and Iceland, Zambia and Gambia, Holland and The Netherlands…
And don’t even get us started on all the ‘stans’.
How’s a little Texan boy with only the most tenuous of grasps on his own language to work out which one he’s supposed to be bombing today?
So let’s not be too surprised by reports in this morning’s Guardian that Iran duped the CIA and White House into invading Iraq.
The paper says an urgent investigation has been launched in Washington into claims that Tehran used the hawks in the Pentagon and White House to topple a hostile neighbour and pave the way for a Shia-ruled Iraq.
Apparently, the CIA has hard evidence that Ahmad Chalabi, leader of the Iraqi National Congress and a former Pentagon favourite, and his intelligence chief Karim Habib passed US secrets to Iran.
Iran also used Chalabi and the INC to pass bogus intelligence back to the US to encourage the administration to invade.
‘It’s pretty clear,’ said one intelligence source, ‘that Iranians had us for breakfast, lunch and dinner.’ And without choking once.
And Larry Johnson, a former senior counter-terrorist official at the US State Department, said Iran had run one of the most masterful intelligence operations in history.
‘It persuaded the US and Britain to dispose of its greatest enemy,’ he said.
If the US people want to dispose of their greatest enemy, the solution is somewhat simpler – they need only punch a hole through the correct piece of paper in November.
Such is the staggering incompetence of this US administration that even a conservative paper like the Telegraph is counting the days until Bush retires to his ranch permanently.
Writing in the paper, historian Niall Ferguson puts forward a persuasive argument that America is suffering from Asperger’s syndrome.
Asperger’s sufferers, we are told, ‘cannot deal effectively with the social world in which we are all, perforce, obliged to live…
‘They do not understand how or why people tick, and invariably offend or alienate friends or acquaintances with their uninhibited and direct ways of interacting.
‘In other words, they do not understand the subtleties of normal social interaction – that intuitive appreciation we have of knowing just how far to push things.
‘People with Asperger’s trample unwittingly on others’ social sensibilities without embarrassment.’
And nor can they watch TV and chew pretzels at the same time…’
‘AT the age of 21, most British women will have been pregnant at least three times, while most British men will be on the run from the Child Support Agency.
Male or female, they will be taking a degree in media studies at the University Of North East Cleveland, hoping for a job presenting T4 on Channel 4 but with only the realistic prospect of a job at the checkout of the local Asda.
And they will have already appeared on at least two reality shows and still be nursing a grudge against that nasty Simon Cowell.
What they’re not doing – unless they’re a High Court judge or live in the Forest Of Dean – is wearing nappies and suckling on their mother’s breast.
This morning’s Guardian reports on the case of the baby boy who was born two years ago from 21-year-old sperm, frozen as the father was facing treatment for testicular cancer.
The paper says the case, reported in the Human Reproduction journal, offers hope to thousands of young people who may lose their fertility through chemotherapy.
‘We believe this is the longest period of sperm cryo-preservation resulting in a live birth so far reported in the scientific literature,’ said fertility consultant Elizabeth Pease.
Despite his advanced age, the baby boy, whose identity has not been revealed, is much like his peers.
The only difference is said to be a worrying tendency to wear make-up, his hair in a quiff and his jacket collar up.’