It‘a Crisis - but for how long?

I see that the Euro Crisis is still continuing. Steps are being taken to resolve this, as they have been for the past umpteen months.

How long can a crisis last? I always imagined (i.e. “in my day, a crisis……) that a crisis was a point in time; a point when a decision was made; a point in time, when history might go one way or might go another way.

The Free online dictionary tells me that a crisis is:

- A crucial or decisive point or situation; a turning point or.

- An unstable condition, as in political, social, or economic affairs, involving an impending abrupt or decisive change

Perhaps then, contrary to my initial prejudice, this really is a crisis. It is certainly unstable, although whether there is to be an abrupt or decisive change is another question. In this case, I guess that it is a crisis, because it is expected that there will be an abrupt or decisive change.

But what happens if “Euro Crisis” eventually ends, not abruptly or decisively, but slides steadily and gradually into chaos, bankruptcy of various countries, a gradual drift into recession, and / or the continuous drip feed of German (and French) money to pay for the running expenses of its neighbours (with something left over for me, I hope).  Does this mean that someone will admit that it was all a big mistake and that there wasn’t a crisis after all?

José Barroso might announce “Sorry folks – it wasn’t a crisis at all. It was just a continuous unsolvable problem. There was no abrupt or decisive ending. We have just slipped remorsely into bankruptcy / civil war / been taken over by Saudia Arabia /oblivion” (please delete as required), while trying to look statesmanlike and in control.

Another way of putting the question is how many summits does it take before a crisis becomes something…well …more boring and routine?  I mean to say, that apart from David Cameron’s recent appearance on the “Euro Crisis” platform, not a lot has changed in the headlines on “Euro Crisis”. Actually, I think that the newspapers are now just recycling old headlines.

I have decided to take different tacks on this question, by asking what it would take to end the crisis, whether it is necessary to end a crisis or whether a crisis can carry on indefinitely (Perhaps these two questions are actually the same).

After all, the modern meaning (as used by the newspapers and newscasts) of a “Crisis” is really just an unsatisfactory or undesired state of affairs. This is what most people refer to as a problem. “Greece is Bankrupt” / “The problems of the NHS in England are unsolvable / inflation is increasing / unemployment is rising / education system is failing”. These are actually just statements of fact. In themselves, they are not crises.

The consequences are unpleasant, and if one had previously believed something different, then the recognition of the truth is something of a jolt. In political terms, this leads to hyperactivity (e.g. summits), in an attempt to deny the inevitable.

For this sorry state of affairs, we (voters) only have ourselves to blame. After all, what politician was ever re-elected on the banner “It is hopeless. The best thing is to do nothing and see what happens”. Besides which it makes for pretty boring news, and the English don’t like their news to be boring, but stirring for the emotions.

What if they are not “Crises”? The moment of crisis was over, probably when no one was watching, when we were all tucked up in bed, fast asleep, believing that all was well with the world. At the point at which we recognise that there is a problem, the crisis is long past. The point for decision is miles behind us, and all political leaders can do is to thrash around, while looking statesmanlike, and spend billions of whatever currency we choose, of other people’s money, to help us look statesmanlike.

Therefore I propose a new category in the Guinness Book of Records. “The Record Length for an Unresolved Crisis”.

Why do Cows all Point the Same Way?

Those of you who have braved the Swiss hills and mountains cannot have failed to notice that there are hundreds, if not thousands, of cows in the meadows. You will also have noticed that they are there in the summer, but in the winter they disappear. Magic.

If you have been hiking and have not noticed the cows, or thought that they were pigs or big cats or hamsters, then get down to SpecSavers.

Those of you who are truly observant and do not need to get down to SpecSavers will have noticed that when they are grazing, they frequently all point in the same direction.

hen they lie down, the position is somewhat random, although they do tend to sit along the horizontal, rather than up or down the slope. This is so they can play rolly polly.

However, when they are standing up, there is definitely a pattern.

Of course, there are exceptions and my conclusions have not been subject to strict observational techniques, and are almost certainly the victim of selective memory, but this way makes for far a more interesting blog. “Cows Stand at Random” is not so catching.

What do you make of these cows all pointing in the same direction? Here is a nice picture that proves the point. I know that they are not exactly cows (and what they were doing in the mountain meadow, we are not quite sure. Perhaps the farmer needed to go to SpecSavers.)

The fact that they are being bribed by some tasty grass has nothing to do with their pointing in the same direction.


Here is a better picture. It has the advantage of having cows as the subject matter, and there is no obvious bribery or “Direction Fixing” (as in “Match Fixing).

The most obvious explanation, other than the whole thing being a lot of nonsense, is the direction of the wind. If this is the case, they must have sensitive wind detectors (perhaps that is what their ears do), as most times I cannot feel any wind, but I am not a cow, am I. (No comments please)

If this is the case, do cows face downwind or upwind or cross wind? More data needed here.

Alternatively, they might just be a lot of sheep and do the same as the cow in front, just to be the same, to be one of the crowd, one of the herd. No one wants to stand out, do they. “Look at her, all snooty, pointing at 54 degrees different from the rest of us”.

I wanted to include a picture of a lot of sheep here, just in case, you were getting confused as to which animal is which. Sheep get a bad press, being said to behave like a lot of sheep, when in fact they often behave like a lot of cows. Unfortunately and amazingly, my picture collection contains no such pictures. A clear case of cow prejudice.

Another theory is that they are guided by the position of the earth’s magnetic field. It could be something to do with the metal bells that the farmers put on them, to help them sense the movement in the core. They will warn us when the earth’s magnetic field is going to change, and we are about to be destroyed by cosmic rays. At this point, the cows become the masters of the planet and the sheep and the lamas will do the milking.

My theory is that they have a secret leader, to keep order and discipline. “Here are the Directions of the day. Pass it on”. Here is a picture showing the leader passing on the instruction.

Being Chased by an Advert.

I was sitting on my balcony in the mountains, generally minding my own business and reading a news article on the internet www.tagesanzeiger.ch. If you are interested, the article was about the German Government’s change of mind on a tax agreement with the Swiss, when suddenly, this advert started to move about. I was trying not to pay the advert any particular attention, but it kept catching the corner of my eye.

It’s distracting enough for me to have to translate a tricky German subjunctive, and trying to work out such basics as “Have they agreed it?” or “Haven’t they agreed it?”  This can be difficult in a foreign language, which only goes to show you (as my Ali said at the age of 5) that there should only be English.

Anyway, I digress as usual. I was trying to concentrate on the article. No worries, I was scrolling down the page, so was soon out of sight of the advert. No. Wrong. It came after me, sliding down the right hand side of the screen, like the honey oozing off a spoon, not too fast, but with an inevitability that was only too depressing.

The fight was on. It was an IKEA advert and was chasing me down the page. It started its sequence with the unveiling of a curtain. I tried to escape, going up and down with the scroll bar, only to see a bouncing ball announcing 20% off all Kommodes (chest of drawers; what did you think it meant?) up until 15 October (Can’t wait for the 15 October).

Is there no escape from the Advert? It was  no good. I had to abandon the quest for the truth about the German – Swiss Tax Agreement; Will they agree? Won’t they agree?

I feel oppressed, my civil liberties infringed, my personal movements being tracked, the secrets of my mind being extracted by unknown forces..

This is all too reminiscent of the sinister TV series, “The Prisoner”, where our hero was trapped by giant balloons. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Prisoner in case you are unfamiliar with this classic 1960’s cult sci fi TV series.

I’ll have to buy a newspaper tomorrow morning to “Read All About It”. Perhaps that is the strategy. Let’s make the online offering so irritating and unreadable that people will just have to buy the subscription.

Well, I am one step ahead of them here. I have just taken out an annual subscription, so that I can agonise over not knowing whether the Germans and Swiss did or did not reach a tax agreement, at 05.00 am in the morning, and without the distraction of a bouncing Kommode advert, and the sliding curtain.

Mark you, if the Harry Potter films are any predictor of the future (and you never know), we could have moving adverts and pictures on our newspapers. Now that would be something to drive us all completely mad.

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With apologies to REM’s, “Bad Day”, with the opening line “A public service announcement followed me home the other day” and who have just announced their break up after 31 years.

No Contact At All to be Made

Have you ever thought how much energy we use in having useless conversations with people we don’t know? Bus conductors, library assistants, the postman or the post office staff, waiters or waitresses, the paper boy. The list is endless*. Saying “Hello”, “Goodbye”, “How are you?”, “Nice weather we’re having”, “Have a nice day” are all so pointless.

All this tittle tattle is so inefficient and energy wasting. Let’s just get on with it (whatever it is we are doing) and save our energy for something more useful. Better still, let’s have not contact at all and be able to carry on some other task at the same time.

But it is so difficult. How many of us say to ourselves “I really am going to say nothing to this person, but use my energy to write my next blog / compose a symphony / try to remember the teams in the Premier League / prepare my next Powerpoint presentation”. And what happens?  Every time we fail. We say something. Up until now, to the best of my knowledge, no one has succeeded. The Guinness Book of Records includes no such event.

I have been on the look-out for this event for some time and until now the “Real Thing” has evaded me. But now, at last, I have seen it.

A mid 20s lady (we shall call her “Our Lady in Red”) has become living proof that it is possible to check-out one’s shopping, while avoiding all eye contact and verbal communication of any kind.

The place, as you may have already guessed, is a local Thalwil supermarket. I will now set out the commentary, as recorded live, by Grumpy, your daring blogger.

“So, we are here. The tension is mounting. Will she manage it?

The omens are good. She is already deeply engaged in an absorbing telephone conversation. There are no clues as to the nature of the phone call or the other participant, as Our Lady in Red is now “Going round the first bend”. She has managed to unload her shopping on to the conveyor belt, and has not looked up. Well done. This is a promising start.

The shopping is now moving down and is being scanned in. The check-out assistant is trying to spoil everything by saying “Gruezi” (Hi, or hello, in the local lingo), but our magnificent Lady in Red is cruising down the Back Straight, on the way to her target. She looks in the other direction and continues remorselessly with her telephone conversation.

The Shopping is nearly through. The tension is rising. Packing is tricky, with the phone tucked underneath her right ear and with her head down. Careful with the eggs.

And now she is on the home straight. Will she do it? Out with the wallet. Yes – it’s a bank debit card. How is she going to put in her PIN code, without looking up at the assistant? Will she do it?

YES – she has done it. Mobile phone conversation is going strong. Whatever you do, don’t say “Goodbye” or “Thank you” or “Have a nice day”, as you walk away. Debit card away. Shopping bag picked up and YES, she has done it. She is this Year’s winner of Grumpy’s “Let’s not have any Contact with strange people” award.”

Do readers know of any other competitions going on in the “Rude” category?

* “The List is Endless” - Actually the list is not endless. It is definitely finite. The literary device of saying “The List is Endless” is a method that writers use to brush away the fact that they cannot think of any more, but there must be some, and you, the reader, must fill in the gaps.

These footnotes are a further device used by Grumpy to get to his target number of words, while appearing to have something useful to say.

The Spiders are Taking us over

How many spiders, do you suppose, does it take to make a colony? I don’t know either, but I am guessing that the Hawkers are getting very close.

I am slowly but surely becoming obsessive about spiders. I am not afraid of them. Rather the opposite, as I study them remorselessly, every evening on our balcony, talk about them, and sometimes even talk to them.

It is important to realise that our balcony is nearly a complete eco-system. Mosquitoes come up from Zurich Lake, are eaten by the spiders and the spiders, if they are unlucky are eaten by the sparrow or sparrows. I assume that there must be more than one sparrow, but they all look the same to me.

The discovery of the importance of the Balcony Spiders was made by chance. We moved in here in November 2006 and allowed them to live as they pleased. After 18 months, we decided to have a clean-up. The whole mess of old webs, half eaten flies, and general debris caused by our multi-legged friends was too great for a tidy Thalwil apartment.

So out came the broom and swept way the spiders. And, guess what. Within two days, we were bitten to pieces by the mosquitoes, the first species in this now spiderless Ecosystem. We were distraught. How could we have done this to the spiders? What sort of mistake have we made? Was it the end of Balcony life as we knew it?

But it does not take long for these hardy arachnids to make a comeback. They are feted, welcomed and talked to. However, they are not yet named. Ali (my oldest daughter) asked if they had names. We have not yet got round to that.

Matters have moved on. Two nights ago, we found seven spiders, complete with webs, in the corner of the lounge. The balmy and warm August nights have allowed us to eat on the balcony, with a light shining by the door. The rest you might be able to work out. Mosquitos come into the lounge; spiders follow, take up residence and have a feast.

Some humane cleaning in the lounge was required yesterday morning. Those of you who are squeamish about such things will be pleased to know that the offending spiders were evicted with the use of a small glass and a “Happy Birthday” card, sent to me, some time ago, by Ed (my youngest). (“Help, Help, there is a spider in the bath. Get it out. BUT DON’T KILL IT” – Heard that one before?)

This morning, two more spiders were located, as having breached the border into the lounge, and were likewise humanely ejected, using aforesaid Happy Birthday card.

Here is a picture of the “Humane Spider Catcher”. 

The Sparrow has not been back, which proves either that they are getting too much food elsewhere or they are pretty stupid. At the last count, there were 59 spiders on our balcony. Talk about Fast Food.

Weather Forecasters Strike Again

Weather forecasters really have gone too far this time. I think that they do it deliberately. They wait until Ali (our oldest daughter) comes over to see us, fresh from her triumphant ten month tour of Nepal and India and then, unleash a torrent of meteorological nonsense.

I know – it’s my own fault. I have done this before, but the forecast was so consistently clear and we really wanted to do it.  “Let’s do that two day hike over the Glaspass and the Tomülpass, especially now that Ali’s here.”  

“30% chance of light rain” from the various weather forecasts was all the excuse that we needed to book the hotel at Safien Platz, and book the bus, train and another bus to our starting point on day 1.  Booking buses and trains online in Switzerland, means non-refundable – yes – you don’t get your money back, even if there is an earthquake.

Saturday morning started its “30% chance of light rain” at 7 o’clock with a 100% thunderstorm, directly overhead and 7 degrees on the balcony. This state of affairs continued for 5 hours and when our apartment eventually emerged from the clouds, the mountains revealed snow down to 1,400 metres. For those of you that don’t do metres and snowlines, take it from me, this is pretty low.

Needless to say, the non-refundable tickets were not used.

We are not easily disheartened. New plans were forged. A long awaited blog was written and published, in between claps of thunder. Learned articles from some of my friends from New College were read and various other overdue and useful tasks performed, as the August Mountains received the snow. (Where was the fresh snow in February and March, when we needed it?)

At 3.00 pm, we set out (now in the sunshine) to Safien Platz (our intended overnight stop) via two buses (what else).

Now Grumpy’s blogs are not famous for their happy endings. Actually, they are not famous at all. So I am sorry to disappoint you, when I say that our evening in Safien Platz and next day’s hike over the Tömül Pass had an ending that Danielle Steel would be proud of.

You too can enjoy some of the sights on this web link to a show of some of the photographs, as our intrepid explorer boldly went where tens of thousands have been before.

https://picasaweb.google.com/103404285149801869665/TomulPass28August2011

When you get to the site, click on the top left hand corner for a slide show – where it says “Slide Show” in fact.

There was some internal discussion on the favourite photograph. Most votes go to the two mad cyclists at the top, and the cow coming out of the bushes.

Of course, some statistics are necessary.

Height of the Tömül Pass – 2,400 metres

Vertical Climb to the Tömül Pass from our Starting Points – 750 metres
Time taken – 6 hours
Time predicted by yours truly – 6 hours

Time predicted per the signs – 5 hours

Number of coffee pauses – None (can you believe it!!)

Number of cyclists met on the way – 4

Number of stiff legs the next day - 6

Educate the Rest of the World

Nigel Rogers, my friend from Edinburgh, and I have spent many happy hours discussing the state of the world, the meaning of life, and whether Battersea Power Station should be a listed building or the first officially designated and preserved eyesore. But our favourite topic is of course, what it means to be English. He is therefore partially responsible for this week’s piece of nonsense.

However, he is not solely responsible. The second villain in this week’s ridiculous episode is Andreas Hejj, a colleague of mine from Credit Suisse, who took us on a 12 hour tour of Budapest on foot.

As we walked around Budapest with Andreas for 12 hours, there was plenty of time to ponder various subjects, although I don’t think that Battersea Power station came up. It is never possible to reconstruct the route by which the subject arose, or who initiated it. However, at some point, the conversation moved to the old and ancient forms of English measurement. It might have arisen as a result of a question, such as “How many miles do you think we have walked?” Miles? Kilometres?

From here, it was only a short step in the attempt to educate Andreas in the superior methods of Imperial Measurement. The general thesis is that metric is too banal, and that constant ratios of 10:1 make us intellectually sloppy (similar to using a calculator, instead of knowing your “Times Table”).

It is clear that the lack of intellectual challenge in the use of metric system is partly, if not completely, responsible for the recent financial crisis. I recognise that I may not have many supporters for this statement.

It is at this point that Nigel Rogers, with whom I have spent many a happy hour discussing the question of national identity and “It wasn’t like that in my day”, springs to mind. I am not sure whether the question of the importance the old English Imperial measurement system ever came up, but if it didn’t, it certainly should have done.

Let us return to the theme of the further education of Andreas Hejj. Andreas failed to appreciate the superiority of pounds, shillings and pence. It is perfectly logical to the English mind that 12 pence make one shilling and 20 shillings make one pound? (Question for those of you falling asleep: How many pennies in a pound?). A Mars bar (in my day) cost 6d, “d” being the way you denoted pence. Hence £sd. Gottit?

Coming back to how far we had walked in Budapest, there are 1,760 yards in a mile, each yard being made up of three feet, and each foot having twelve inches. This has a certain elegance to it (although I am not sure what sort of elegance). This is one measurement (the only one, I think) that is still used. However, I suppose that it is only a question of time before the English motorways show kilometres and all cars will need to have their speedometer calibrated in Kph. (It does make you think that you are driving faster).

How many Kilometres from London to Ipswich, you will soon be asking.

As to temperature, I tried to explain to Andreas, that it is obvious that freezing point should be 32 degrees (2⁵, some of you will say). Zero degrees? What a thought. As for 100 degrees being the boiling point, this is clearly inferior to 212 degrees (which as far as I know has no particular mathematical significance). The most important centigrade temperatures that you need to know are those of the water of Lake Zurich. When it is 18 degrees, it is cold to swim, and at 22 degrees, it is pleasant. So there you are.

I was surprised to remember that even the weather forecast in England (or weather lottery, as it will soon be named) shows temperature in Centigrade. Such treachery and betrayal.

Then there are weights. How many times have you been accosted in a supermarket by a helpless man, who has been sent out by his wife with a shopping list, which includes ½ pound of tomatoes and has to ask “How many grams is that?  They’ve only got grams on the label”. Shocking.

(For my non-English Blog fans, I should explain that there are 16 ounces in a pound; 14 pounds in a stone, and quite a lot of stone in a hundredweight. I weigh eleven and half stone, in case you are interested, although I have to tell my doctor that I am 75 kg)

At least you can still buy a pint of milk and a pint of beer (but only just), although usually not at the same time. However petrol is sold by the litre, so some confusion here.

So Good Blog Readers, who have reached this point. Congratulations and please remember all this, as I will test you on it, when I see you.