Portholes

 Last week, while in Brixham, we visited a cafe with a maritime theme. Good marketing - sell food and drink, but have a sideline in maritime memorabilia that can be bought. It's called The Chart Room.

If you look closely, you can see graffiti on the walls, which comprises seafarers and their ships. The owner kindly allowed me to add my moniker.

While there I spotted a couple of brass portholes, probably from a canal boat, but eminently suitable for my purposes. I paid over the odds, but finding two identical ones was perfect. They were for my new garage doors.

They're not as nice as the aluminium ones I have in the house, which are far more chunky and have hinges and screw-downs, but adequate.

The brass ones are currently held on by some silicone sealant and a few screws, but the intention is to get some domed brass nuts of a suitable size - and not too expensive.

Syria

Assad has fled to Russia, the Syrian government has crumbled, and history tells us that Syria’s political landscape will resemble a bizarre cross between a Monty Python sketch and the infamous scene in Lawrence of Arabia, where the tribes argue in Damascus after capturing the city. You know the one - chaotic shouting, lofty rhetoric, and absolutely no idea how to run a power plant.

In the vacuum left by Assad’s departure, factions of all shapes and sizes will emerge, each claiming they are the group destined to lead Syria into a bright new future. “We’re the legitimate government!” proclaims one coalition. “No, we’re the United Democratic Front for the New Syrian Renaissance!” counters another. The Damascus Conference Room, once a place of hushed bureaucracy, is now a cacophony of tribal leaders, exiled intellectuals, and ambitious newcomers, all demanding their piece of the pie.

This scene could not be more reminiscent of that chaotic meeting in Lawrence of Arabia. Like the Bedouin tribes arguing over who gets to control the telegraph office, post-Assad Syria’s factions are will be locked in a debate about critical infrastructure. One group demands control of the national grid but admits they don’t know how to run it. Another insists on taking over hospitals but points out they’ve never actually seen an X-ray machine. The one voice of reason, a dishevelled engineer pleading for cooperation, is promptly ignored as everyone yells, “We captured Damascus—we deserve it!”

Meanwhile, Assad, safe in a Russian dacha, watches the news with a smug grin, sipping tea and muttering, “Told you so,” as if the chaos vindicates his years of autocratic rule. He may even consider brushing up his eye surgery skills. Putin, ever the opportunist, sits nearby, chuckling at the absurdity of it all and wondering how he can turn it to his advantage.

Back in Syria, the international community plays its usual roles. Western powers applaud the “spirit of democracy” while failing to understand that democracy doesn’t exactly thrive on shouting matches and petty squabbles. Turkey seizes the opportunity to extend its influence under the guise of peacekeeping, and the U.N. dispatches a weary representative who tries in vain to broker agreements that last longer than the time it takes for a round of tea.

Meanwhile, the Syrian people stand on the sidelines, much like the citizens of Damascus in Lawrence of Arabia, watching their supposed liberators argue themselves into irrelevance. “Are they going to fix the roads?” one man asks. “What about the water supply?” another adds. But instead of answers, they get yet another declaration: “We are the Supreme Revolutionary Committee for the People’s Liberation and National Unity!” followed by a chorus of “Splitters!”

The tragedy, of course, is that while the factions bicker, the country continues to suffer. The Monty Python absurdity and Lawrence of Arabia melodrama highlight the same timeless folly: it’s easy to take power, but governing requires more than speeches and banners. Syria’s post-Assad leaders might want to take a lesson from history - or at least agree on who gets to run the metaphorical telegraph office before the whole endeavour collapses under the weight of its own absurdity.

One hopes it doesn't happen, but let's wait and see.

The Bitcoin Conundrum

Bitcoin had been in the news recently, having breached the £100k mark. This got me thinking on perceived value and human behaviour, so I did a little research.

The intersection of human behaviour, economics, and emerging financial tools like Bitcoin offers fascinating insights into how perceptions of value and potential gain shape decisions. Bitcoin, often referred to as "digital gold," highlights this dynamic vividly. Its rising value creates a paradox: as its price increases, people are less inclined to spend it. This reluctance stems from the belief that Bitcoin’s future value will surpass its current worth. 

For example, buying a car with Bitcoin valued at £100k might seem sensible at the time, but if Bitcoin’s value doubles soon after, the buyer may regret their decision, feeling they effectively paid £200k in fiat terms. Sellers, too, face volatility risks, as the value of the Bitcoin they receive could plummet before they convert it to fiat. This dynamic, coupled with Bitcoin's deflationary nature due to its finite supply, incentivises hoarding over spending, limiting its practicality as a currency.

 

This reluctance to spend during periods of rising value mirrors broader human behaviours, particularly in tax policy. Many people, even those who are not wealthy, support policies that favour the wealthy due to aspirational thinking. This mindset, often called the "lottery mentality," reflects the belief that they might one day become wealthy themselves. As a result, they perceive policies protecting wealth as safeguarding their potential future fortunes. Identification with success also plays a role, as wealth is often equated with hard work and achievement. Supporting lower taxes for the wealthy aligns individuals with values like ambition and merit, even if they do not directly benefit from these policies.

Another contributing factor is the fear that taxing the wealthy could harm economic growth. This belief, rooted in the theory of trickle-down economics, suggests that lower taxes on the wealthy encourage investment, job creation, and innovation. While there is some truth to this argument - wealthy individuals do have significant investment potential - real-world evidence often contradicts the idea that such policies benefit the broader economy. In practice, much of the wealth saved through tax cuts is not reinvested in ways that stimulate growth. Instead, it is often directed into offshore accounts, stock buybacks, or luxury goods. Furthermore, concentrating wealth among the rich reduces overall consumer spending, weakening demand and slowing economic growth.

Empirical evidence from various tax regimes underscores these points. Tax cuts for the wealthy during the Reagan and Bush administrations in the United States, for example, led to increased deficits and modest economic growth, falling short of the promised economic booms. The "Kansas Experiment" in 2012, where the state implemented dramatic tax cuts for high-income earners, resulted in budget crises and stagnant growth, forcing a reversal of the policy. In contrast, countries like Sweden and Denmark, with high taxes on the wealthy, enjoy strong economies and high standards of living. These nations demonstrate that progressive taxation, when paired with reinvestment in public goods like education and infrastructure, fosters both equality and growth.

The parallels between Bitcoin usage and tax policy extend to a shared human tendency to prioritise future gains over immediate utility. Bitcoin holders often refrain from spending during price surges, much as aspirational voters support policies favouring the wealthy in the hope of future personal benefit. Both behaviours are driven by the desire to avoid perceived losses, whether financial or aspirational. Addressing these issues requires systemic solutions. For Bitcoin, enhancing its transactional utility through tools like the Lightning Network and promoting the use of stablecoins for everyday purchases could mitigate its volatility. For tax policy, emphasising evidence that progressive taxation supports economic growth and ensuring transparent reinvestment of tax revenues in public goods can help counter the belief that taxing the wealthy is harmful.

These interconnected issues highlight the complex relationship between individual aspirations and collective well-being. While the pursuit of personal gain drives innovation and ambition, it can also perpetuate inequality and hinder economic stability. Understanding these dynamics is essential for building systems - both digital and economic - that balance individual interests with the needs of society as a whole.

The Hate-Monger

The term "Hate-Monger," while used colloquially to describe divisive public figures, originates from the world of Marvel Comics as a supervillain embodying hatred and prejudice. 

First appearing in Fantastic Four #21 in 1963, the Hate-Monger is revealed to be a clone of Adolf Hitler, his identity steeped in bigotry and the manipulation of others through fear. 

He wields a "Hate-Ray," a device that amplifies anger and discord, weaponising human vulnerabilities to incite chaos and control. This fictional narrative offers a striking parallel to real-world figures accused of stoking division for power.

 

As with the Hate-Monger, Trump’s rise to prominence relied heavily on exploiting societal fractures. The Hate-Monger used his ray to sow distrust and hatred; Trump, critics argue, achieved similar effects through his rhetoric. By labelling Mexican immigrants as "rapists," promoting a Muslim travel ban, and dismissing protesters as "thugs," Trump amplified latent fears and prejudices, drawing people to his side by painting others as threats. His ability to frame himself as the protector of "forgotten Americans" mirrors the supervillain’s skill in presenting himself as the solution to the chaos he incites.

Like the Hate-Monger, whose power relied on dividing people, Trump’s strategy often involved pitting groups against one another: rural versus urban, white versus minority communities, conservatives versus liberals. This tactic not only consolidated his base but also destabilised the broader political landscape, echoing the fictional villain's quest to spread discord as a means of control. Social media became Trump’s analogue to the Hate-Ray, a tool used to amplify his voice and provoke reactions on a massive scale.

Yet, as with the Hate-Monger’s eventual defeat in Marvel Comics, Trump’s legacy is not without opposition. His critics liken him to the comic book villain, not just because of his divisive rhetoric, but also due to the enduring societal damage left in his wake. However, supporters see him not as a hate-inciting force, but as a disruptor battling an unjust status quo, a far cry from the caricature of a comic book villain.

The parallels between Trump and the fictional Hate-Monger serve as a lens through which his presidency and influence can be critiqued. Both figures reveal the dangerous allure of leadership rooted in fear and division, as well as the societal vulnerabilities that enable such figures to thrive. Ultimately, they remind us of the critical importance of vigilance and unity in resisting forces that seek to exploit hatred for their own gain.

There's also "The Puppet Master", who has an equivalent in Musk.

We have our own Hate Monger in the UK, who also sows dissent by exploiting, and even manufacturing grievances.

Age Related Sentencing

When we’re young, summers feel endless, and a year seems like a lifetime. As we age, time seems to slip through our fingers, with weeks and months passing in a blur. This subjective perception of time raises an intriguing question: should prison sentences reflect the relative experience of time based on age? Could a one-size-fits-all approach to sentencing overlook this psychological reality?

 
This idea challenges the principles of equality and proportionality in justice systems worldwide, sparking a fascinating ethical debate.

Perhaps punishment should reflect the subjective experience of time. A one-year sentence for a 20-year-old might feel like a significantly longer period than the same sentence for someone who is 70, given the way time is perceived at different stages of life.

Justice systems aim to ensure that punishments fit the crime, but the impact of a sentence varies depending on the prisoner’s age. A more equitable approach might involve tailoring the length of incarceration to the individual’s perception of time. This could result in shorter sentences for younger offenders and longer ones for older offenders to balance the perceived burden.

Younger prisoners often have more of their lives ahead of them and may benefit from interventions designed to reform behaviour quickly. A shorter, impactful sentence might deliver the same rehabilitative outcomes as a longer sentence for an older person.

Older prisoners face unique challenges, including declining health and limited time to reintegrate into society post-incarceration. Longer sentences could disproportionately limit their ability to live a meaningful life after release.

However, despite its merits, this idea faces significant practical and ethical obstacles.

A cornerstone of most justice systems is the principle of equality: the same crime should carry the same punishment. Tailoring sentences to age or subjective experience risks undermining this fairness. Critics argue it introduces a slippery slope where other subjective factors, such as personality or mental resilience, might also demand consideration.

How do we quantify the perception of time? Would a 30-year-old’s experience of time differ from that of a 40-year-old enough to warrant adjustment? The subjectivity of time perception makes standardisation nearly impossible, and without a robust system, age-based sentencing could appear arbitrary.

Adjusting sentences based on age could lead to unintended biases. For instance, younger offenders might be seen as "getting off lightly," while older offenders could be perceived as unfairly targeted. This could undermine public confidence in the justice system.

Rather than adjusting the length of sentences, the justice system could focus on tailoring rehabilitation and support programs based on the age and life stage of the offender.

Programs could focus on education, vocational training, and mental health support to maximise their potential for reform. Specialised support might address age-related challenges such as health care, preparation for reintegration, and access to family and community networks.

Kayak Carrier

I've had to remove the kayak carriers from the Galaxy as they were rattling rather a lot and showing signs of possibly coming off. I only use them for carrying the kayaks once or twice a year for short journeys, as we stuff them inside the motorhome if away a while.

The nuts that hold them together refused to tighten, so I've soaked them in WD40 in the hope they'll move; however, in the meantime I'll lose my car in Tesco car park, as they were brilliant identifiers from afar as to where my car was parked.

On the plus side, I've achieved about 3 or 4 more miles per gallon in the car.....

Cancel Culture

I was listening to William Hague talking about tackling Cancel Culture on being appointed Chancellor of Oxford University. It got me thinking.

In recent years, the term cancel culture has become a lightning rod in cultural and political debates. It’s often portrayed as a mob-like phenomenon where individuals or organisations are "called out" and face consequences—whether professional, social, or economic—for their actions or views. However, the opposition to cancel culture, particularly from right-wing commentators, has become just as prominent. While framed as a principled defence of free speech, this opposition often reveals significant contradictions, raising the question: is it truly about free speech, or is it selective outrage?

Cancel culture is, at its core, a form of social accountability. It occurs when people, collectively or individually, reject certain actions, behaviours, or views deemed harmful, offensive, or unethical. Its proponents argue it is a necessary tool to challenge harmful rhetoric and systemic oppression. Critics, especially on the right, see it as overreach—a form of censorship that stifles free expression and diversity of thought.

Yet, cancel culture is not a new phenomenon. Societies have always "cancelled" individuals or ideas they found unacceptable, whether by ostracism, boycotts, or other means. What’s different today is the scale and speed enabled by social media and the heightened scrutiny of public figures and corporations.

Opposition to cancel culture is particularly strong among right-wing commentators and politicians, who often position themselves as champions of free speech. Their rhetoric centres on the idea that cancel culture:

• Censors dissenting voices, especially those expressing conservative or traditional views. 
• Promotes a culture of fear, where people are afraid to speak openly. 
• Embodies "wokeness" run amok, stifling anything that challenges progressive orthodoxy. 

This framing resonates with those who feel alienated or frustrated by rapid cultural shifts and the rise of progressive activism. But the opposition to cancel culture is not just about protecting free speech—it’s also a political and ideological weapon.

One irony of anti-cancel culture rhetoric is that it often amplifies the very speech it claims to defend. Public figures who are "cancelled" frequently receive even greater platforms after the backlash. For instance:

• Individuals criticised for offensive statements are rebranded as martyrs for free expression. 
• Controversial ideas are thrust into the spotlight, gaining traction in the name of resisting "censorship." 
• Fringe views are normalised as part of mainstream discourse under the guise of defending open dialogue. 

By opposing cancel culture, right-wing voices often succeed in shifting the Overton Window—the range of ideas deemed acceptable for public discussion. This can make previously taboo or marginalised views seem more mainstream, even if they remain harmful or discriminatory.

The anti-cancel culture position has also become a symbolic battleground for broader ideological conflicts. At its heart, it aligns with key right-wing themes:

• Individualism over collectivism: The right often portrays cancel culture as an infringement on personal freedoms by a collectivist mob. 
• Opposition to progressive norms: Cancel culture is framed as part of a broader "woke agenda," making it a convenient foil for right-wing critiques of feminism, anti-racism, and LGBTQ+ activism. 
• Traditionalism vs. modernity: Anti-cancel rhetoric frequently appeals to those who feel nostalgic for a time when certain views were less scrutinised. 

Rather than engaging with the nuances of accountability, the right often uses cancel culture as shorthand for opposing progressive values wholesale.

While decrying cancel culture, the same figures and groups often engage in their own forms of "cancellation." This hypocrisy is striking:

• Boycotts: Right-wing campaigns frequently call for boycotts of brands, companies, or media they perceive as "too woke" (e.g., Nike, Disney, Bud Light). 
• Book bans: Efforts to remove books discussing race, gender, or LGBTQ+ issues from schools are a form of cultural cancellation. 
• Silencing dissent: Conservative politicians and pundits have sought to restrict discussions on critical race theory, climate change, and other progressive topics. 

These actions mirror the very dynamics they critique in cancel culture, revealing that their opposition is often not about free speech but about controlling which ideas dominate public discourse.

The hypocrisy becomes clearer when examining whose speech is defended. When a right-wing figure faces consequences for harmful comments, anti-cancel culture warriors rally around them, claiming "free speech is under attack." But when progressive activists, educators, or organisations advocate for inclusivity, these same warriors are quick to call for bans, boycotts, or silencing. This selective outrage suggests that the opposition to cancel culture is less about protecting freedom of expression and more about maintaining ideological dominance.

By opposing cancel culture, right-wing commentators aim to protect their own speech while discrediting progressive movements. However, this strategy has its pitfalls:

• Legitimising harm: In defending controversial speech, they risk enabling genuinely harmful rhetoric or actions. 
• Polarising discourse: Their rhetoric often reduces complex issues to an "us vs. them" binary, making constructive dialogue difficult. 
• Revealing contradictions: Their own participation in cancel-like behaviour undermines their credibility and exposes their arguments as opportunistic.

To move beyond the polarisation of cancel culture debates, we need to:

• Focus on accountability, not punishment: 
• Encourage growth and redemption, rather than permanent ostracism. 
• Distinguish between harm and discomfort: Not all criticism is censorship, and not all speech deserves protection. 
• Acknowledge the universality of cancellation: Both the left and right engage in this behaviour; the debate should focus on consistency and fairness.

In conclusion, the right-wing opposition to cancel culture often reveals itself to be less about protecting free speech and more about ideological positioning. By amplifying controversial speech, creating cultural martyrs, and engaging in their own cancellations, anti-cancel culture warriors expose their selective outrage and contradictions. If we truly value accountability and dialogue, we must reject hypocrisy and focus on fostering a public sphere where ideas can be debated constructively without perpetuating harm.

One danger of cancel culture is moral certainty. Similarly, the danger of anti-cancel culture is moral certainty. I'm certain about that.... 

Hunter Biden's Pardon

Joe Biden’s decision to pardon his son, Hunter, has ignited a political firestorm in Washington. The move has drawn ire from many Democrats and handed Republicans an easy narrative: “Biden’s no better than Trump.” After all, Trump spent his presidency granting pardons to his allies with abandon. Now Biden has done something similar, leading some to question whether he has forfeited the moral high ground.

 

Critics on the right, particularly among the MAGA faithful, find themselves in a bind. They applauded Trump’s prolific use of pardons, so condemning Biden for doing the same risks exposing their double standards and cognitive dissonance.

Dig deeper, though, and Biden’s decision isn’t purely political - it’s personal. From a parent’s perspective, his choice becomes more relatable, even if it’s politically fraught. Biden’s reputation may be hanging by a thread, but his motivation is steeped in familial loyalty.

Biden, at 81, faced calls from within his party to step aside after one term. Many believed a younger Democrat would have a stronger chance of defeating Trump in 2024. Yet Biden chose to run again, perhaps fuelled by the belief that his experience made him uniquely suited to the role. This decision had its consequences: Biden’s re-election campaign inadvertently gave Trump a shot at a comeback - a prospect that carries personal stakes for Biden and his family.

Trump’s brand of politics is notoriously vindictive. Should he return to power, Hunter Biden would almost certainly be a prime target. Hunter has already endured public scrutiny over his business dealings and personal struggles, making him vulnerable. For Trump, going after Hunter wouldn’t just hurt the Biden family - it would also serve to discredit Joe Biden’s presidency. Biden, knowing his son’s fragility under pressure, took the drastic step of shielding him from Trump’s vengeance by issuing the pardon.

Viewed through this lens, Biden’s action appears less about political strategy and more about protecting his family from an unrelenting adversary. While it’s messy and controversial, the human side is hard to ignore: any parent with the power to protect their child might do the same.

Critics argue Biden should have adhered to a higher standard, but Trump’s precedent complicates the debate. During his presidency, Trump handed out pardons to loyalists and lawbreakers alike. Compared to that, Biden’s pardon of his son seems measured, albeit problematic. Yet the perception of impropriety persists, as Biden once pledged to uphold integrity and independence in the justice system.

Republicans will undoubtedly weaponise this decision, casting Biden as corrupt while glossing over their leader’s own pardon spree. Democrats, too, may struggle to reconcile this move with Biden’s promise to be “better than Trump.” But for Biden, this decision likely transcends politics. It’s about Hunter, and that’s a choice only a parent can fully grasp.

Interestingly, Biden’s move could serve as a tactical masterstroke. By using Trump’s own playbook, he has executed a kind of political jiu-jitsu, turning Trump’s tactics against him. Trump’s rage is predictable, but his ability to complain is limited - doing so risks exposing his own hypocrisy.

Nevertheless, the broader implications for democracy are troubling. If presidential pardons become tools for personal and political gain, it erodes public trust in the office. Biden’s pardon might even spark calls for reform, perhaps introducing judicial oversight of presidential clemency. Yet it’s unclear who would champion such changes, given how entrenched the power has become.

Ultimately, Biden’s decision is a gamble. It might tarnish his legacy and provide fodder for opponents, but it could also highlight his humanity. As he stares down the twilight of his life and presidency, Biden seems less concerned with reelection and more focused on what matters most to him: protecting his son. Whether history judges him harshly or sympathetically will depend on how the Trump phenomenon unfolds and how the public reckons with the limits of presidential power.

Blister Packs

Refilling my daily medication organiser, with its handy flip-lid compartments, has become second nature. But as I peel open blister pack after blister pack, I’m struck by the mountain of waste they leave behind. A mix of plastic and foil from every single pill piles up - straight into the recycling box provided by the council. Or so I hope.

 

Blister packs seem like an obvious candidate for recycling. After all, they’re made of plastic and aluminium, both commonly recyclable materials. Yet, as I’ve recently learned, the truth is more complex. Most blister packs are made from a combination of materials that are difficult to separate. Even though my council collects plastic and metal in the same box, it’s likely these mixed-material packs aren’t actually recycled. Without specialised facilities to separate the layers, they’re often destined for landfill or incineration.

The waste is staggering when you consider the millions of blister packs used every day across the UK - especially from pensioners with our multiple ailments and the NHS' attempts to keep us alive. While their purpose - to protect medications from moisture, contamination, and tamperings - is crucial, their environmental impact can no longer be ignored. For those of us committed to reducing single-use plastics, this feels like a glaring gap in progress.

Thankfully, there are alternatives. Across the UK and EU, initiatives are gaining momentum to tackle this issue. Programmes like the UK's Circularity in Primary Pharmaceutical Packaging Accelerator (CiPPPA) aim to develop sustainable solutions, including recyclable plastics, biodegradable materials, and refillable systems. Meanwhile, some pharmacy chains, such as Superdrug, now offer TerraCycle collection bins for used blister packs, ensuring they are processed correctly.

So what can we do right now?

• Check Your Recycling Options: Verify if your council can recycle blister packs or if they are better suited for programmes like TerraCycle. 
• Advocate for Change: Support campaigns encouraging pharmaceutical companies to adopt sustainable alternatives. 
• Opt for Refillable Systems: Ask your pharmacist if bulk packaging or refillable options are available for your medications. 

Until these alternatives become mainstream, blister packs remain a frustrating paradox: essential for safe medication but problematic for the planet. As I sort through the waste from refilling my flip-lid organiser, I’m left wondering: isn’t it time we demanded better from both our councils and the pharmaceutical industry?

2 Up!

 Saw this the other day when a passenger in a car:

I immediately thought; "2 Up!" Click to enlarge as see what I mean.