Porsche

Had to go to the Porsche dealership in Newport to collect a Porsche Macan 5 earlier in the week. It's called a Porsche, but it's a diesel MPV, so not really a Porsche, unlike these I videoed.

The thing about expensive car dealerships is you can go in looking like a tramp and you don't feel out of place - Porsche buyers themselves dress like an armpit. Time was when you'd have to wear a suit or very expensive smart casual in order to be taken for a customer, but not anymore.

The staff are made to wear trendy, skinny trousers - even if their bodies aren't designed for skinny trousers.

I don't know why, but I'm always very self-conscious when snaffling biscuits or a coffee from the coffee station in these places. It's probably because I'm trade and picking up a 2nd hand car and not a real customer spending £100k or more. I personally would never buy a car from somewhere as plush as this place I visited, as the cost of all the fluff goes on the price of the cars.

One thing I noticed about the Macan I picked up was the speedometer.

The numbers read 25, 50, 75, 100, etc. Most speedos go up in 10s, but this one goes up in 25s - could that be why Porsche drivers tend to get done for speeding? 30, 40, 50, 60 and 70 are the numbers most are interested in, but only one of them appears on the Macan speedo, so they choose the next highest.

It's not just the Macan 5. This is the speedo of a Panamera Turbo S we have at work.

Spoon Design

After going out for a meal last Sunday, while eating a sticky toffee pudding and trying to scrape the sticky toffee off the plate, it struck me that our traditional spoons are not optimally designed for plate scraping.

Having a curved edge on both sides makes plate scraping impossible, so why on earth don't we have spoons with one side being flat?

The above design makes so much more sense. Time to flash up my grinder.....

Christmas Tree Problem Solved

Each Christmas we swear we'll never have another indoor Christmas tree, primarily because of the environmental impact, but the prices have gone ridiculous too. I usually leave it to around the 20th to buy one, by which time the sellers are desperate to get rid of them and you can just make a silly offer. £20 will get you one that did cost £80.

This year we solved it by decorating the Stone Pine growing in the garden, which is now of a suitable size for decorating, as well as being in full view of our living room.

Hay might tuttle it up with another string of lights before Christmas. Understated, yet refined.

Pressure Washer Hoses

Pressure washer hoses are a mystery to me. They kink as you move around cleaning a car, but frequently you find two kinks in opposing directions - a left-hand one followed by a right-hand one - and they seem incapable of cancelling each other out when you pull on the hose.

The photo above is two left-land kinks in succession, which can't be cancelled out anyway, but you know what I mean.

Apparently it's possible to buy anti-kink hoses, but then you face the challenge of every manufacturer having a different standard for connection to the lance. Yes, there are adaptors on the market, but they're a nightmare to navigate, as they have technical designations for the connections, rather than saying which manufacturer's jet spray they work on. Even then, some manufacturers change their standard with the introduction of a new model, just to ensure you buy a lot more kit from them.

Car SOS

We watch a lot of TV programmes like Car SOS, where someone who has a rusting classic car, but can't do any work on it due to a stroke or other debilitating condition, has their object of joy restored in secret by a team of professionals.

I keep waiting to see a surprised owner say; "I'm not at all pleased - I wanted to do it myself," or; "I'll have to take it apart again and do it properly."

 

£20bn Black Hole

Brexit’s impact on the UK’s economy is no longer speculative - it’s tangible, measurable, and increasingly impossible to ignore. Goods exports to the EU have plummeted, services have struggled against rising barriers, and the government’s fiscal position has taken a battering. This has left Labour, now in government, grappling with a fiscal black hole that necessitates hard decisions about public spending and taxation.

 

Goods exports to the EU, historically the UK’s largest trading partner, have faced severe disruptions since Brexit. Customs checks, tariffs, and regulatory barriers have turned what was once a seamless trading relationship into an obstacle course. Many businesses have reduced their exports or even relocated operations to avoid the headaches. While there was hope that new trade deals would open up fresh opportunities, these have so far been modest in scope and unable to offset the losses from the EU market. That's not opinion - it's counting.

Services, traditionally a UK strength, have shown resilience but not immunity. They are less affected by Brexit tariffs but have faced new regulatory hurdles, particularly in financial services. The loss of “passporting” rights for UK financial firms has been a significant blow, with some business shifting to European financial hubs like Paris and Frankfurt. Other professional services, from law to architecture, have also faced increased barriers, limiting their ability to work seamlessly across borders.

The economic consequences are clear. The Office for Budget Responsibility estimates that Brexit has permanently reduced the UK’s productivity by 4%. By 2023, this translated into a GDP shortfall of £140 billion compared to where we might have been within the EU. This contraction directly impacts government revenues, with an estimated £40 billion in annual tax revenue lost. For a country already grappling with rising demands on public services, that’s a devastating figure. It's also a figure that contributes to the £20 billion Black Hole they're trying to fill.

Labour has inherited a public purse in dire straits. Years of Brexit-induced economic strain, combined with external shocks like COVID-19 and the energy crisis, have left the government facing the Black Hole. The fallout from Brexit has compounded existing issues, forcing Labour into difficult decisions on spending cuts and tax rises to balance the books. While some of these pressures - such as global inflation or an ageing population - would exist regardless, Brexit has undeniably worsened the situation by shrinking the economy and cutting off a significant source of growth.

It’s important to remember that staying in the EU wouldn’t have eliminated all challenges. The UK would still be contending with the long-term effects of the pandemic, supply chain disruptions, and geopolitical turmoil. But a larger economy, higher tax revenues, and better trade conditions would have provided more breathing room for policymakers. Instead, we’re now dealing with the consequences of a self-imposed handicap.

The promise of Brexit was about taking back control, but the reality has been a significant loss of economic and fiscal flexibility. Businesses have spent years adapting to new rules instead of investing in growth. The political energy consumed by Brexit has delayed much-needed domestic reforms in productivity, infrastructure, and skills. And the cost is now being borne by ordinary citizens through tougher budgets, higher taxes, and constrained public services.

Labour faces an unenviable task. The Black Hole they’ve inherited is a direct result of Brexit’s economic impact, compounded by years of political and economic mismanagement. Their hard decisions aren’t just about navigating the global challenges that all countries face- they’re about trying to rebuild from a self-inflicted wound. The tragedy is that so much of this could have been avoided. Instead of leveraging our strengths as a leading trading nation within Europe, we’re left counting the cost of turning away from it. And the numbers, unfortunately, don’t lie.

Labour must tread carefully before opening discussions about rejoining the EU, no matter how compelling the economic arguments might be. The political landscape remains deeply polarised, with Brexit still a contentious issue for many voters. Any rush to reverse course risks alienating swathes of the electorate who view Brexit as a matter of sovereignty and identity, not just economics. 

Additionally, the EU itself is unlikely to welcome rejoining discussions while the UK’s political climate remains unstable or divisive. Rebuilding trust and credibility on the world stage is crucial, as is proving that the UK can manage its own affairs effectively before renegotiating its place in the European fold. 

Labour’s priority must be to stabilise the economy, repair relationships with the EU through closer trade ties, and rebuild domestic consensus. Only then could the conversation about rejoining be approached with the seriousness and unity it demands. 

Mink Oil

There I was, standing in the garage, admiring my boots like a proud parent at a school play. They'd seen better days - scuffed from adventures and dull from neglect - but I had a plan. Hay had picked up a tin of mink oil from somewhere, convinced by the promises of rejuvenated leather and a waterproof shine. Little did I know, this tin held more surprises than a Christmas cracker.

I unscrewed the lid, took in the vaguely animalistic scent, and slathered the stuff on my boots with the fervour of a Michelin-starred chef basting a roast. They gleamed beautifully, the leather soaking in the oil like it had been stranded in the Sahara. I was so pleased with myself.

Then came the idle thought. Why is it called mink oil? I assumed it was one of those charmingly archaic terms, like "goose grease," that had more to do with folklore than actual animal ingredients. After all, who in their right mind would take a mink - a small, slinky creature with the air of a fashion diva - and turn it into boot polish?

But curiosity got the better of me, so I reached for my phone and searched. It turns out that mink oil is exactly what it says on the tin: oil from minks. Specifically, their fat.

The realisation hit me like a misplaced hammer. My boots were practically wearing tiny mink jackets. The mental image was both ludicrous and horrifying: a mink in a leather apron, polishing boots in a Victorian cobbler’s shop. My ethical sensibilities began to twitch. Was this why the tin hadn't come with a "cruelty-free" badge?

It got worse. As I dug deeper into the history of mink oil, I discovered it had been a staple of fur farming by-products for years. That lovely sheen on my boots? Courtesy of an animal that might have otherwise been starring in a 1920s coat catalogue. My boots were not just waterproof - they were complicit.

I found myself staring at my newly polished footwear with a mix of admiration and guilt. They looked magnificent, but at what cost? The boots, of course, were unmoved by the moral dilemma. They simply shone with smug satisfaction, oblivious to the existential crisis they had triggered.

The irony wasn’t lost on me. Here I was, a person who frets over whether bees are ethically treated in honey production, now walking around with minks on my feet. I felt like apologising to every passing squirrel.

So, what did I learn from this adventure? First, always read the label - and maybe do a quick Google search - before slathering something on your possessions. Second, if you're going to use mink oil, make peace with the fact that your boots might look amazing, but your conscience might not.

As for my boots, they're now the best-looking pair I own, but I can't help imagining the ghost of a disgruntled mink trailing me wherever I go. If I hear tiny squeaks in the dead of night, I’ll know why.

Recliner

We tend to watch TV channels that old people seem to favour - Quest, U & Yesterday, PBS America. The reason we know that old people favour them is that they're full of adverts for funeral plans, mobility scooter and recliners.

The recliner is a piece of furniture that promises comfort but looking like it was stolen from a retired uncle’s 1960s den or a closing-down pub. Recliners, it seems, are forever trapped in a peculiar design purgatory, somewhere between practical living room furniture and Father Jack chair. You know the look - overstuffed arms that bulge like they’re smuggling pillows and upholstery patterns reminiscent of a pint-sodden pub floor at last orders. It's less "luxury relaxation" and more "guess who’s banned from IKEA?"

Manufacturers will tell you these designs are timeless classics, which is furniture-speak for we’ve been flogging this same ugly chair since the Cold War. It’s as if they believe no one in the 21st century wants to recline unless surrounded by swirling paisley patterns that make you feel like you’ve had one too many lagers. Heaven forbid they make a chair that doesn’t look like it comes with its own wood-panelled backdrop and a faint whiff of stale crisps.

And the names! The Regal Recliner, The Prestige Lounger, or - most laughable of all - The Urban Chic. There is nothing urban, chic, or regal about a chair that looks like it moonlights as a prop from Rising Damp. Somewhere, there must be a secret meeting of recliner designers who are steadfastly committed to keeping modernity at bay. “Shall we try a minimalist design this year?” one might ask. “No,” another replies firmly, “add more buttons and tufting. People love tufting.”

The good news is that a few brave designers have finally started producing recliners that look as if they belong in a home and not a themed pub. But beware - those often cost as much as a small car. So for now, most of us are left to choose between comfort and dignity. Just remember: no one can judge your recliner’s upholstery if they’re too busy enjoying the perfect angle of your footrest.

The Ceiling Light Cable

It’s 2024 - we’ve got self-driving cars (well, sort of), chatbots that know your favourite type of toast (but still can’t quite answer a straightforward question), and virtual reality that can put you on the Moon without leaving your sofa. And yet, in the middle of all this technological triumph, a singular relic of human ineptitude dangles defiantly above our heads: the ceiling light cable.

We went away for a short midweek break in Brixham last week and, while staring at the ceiling in the rather plush hotel restaurant (Berry Head Hotel), I espied this.

 

That uninspired strand of wire that says, “I could be tucked neatly away, but I think I’ll just hang out here instead.” It mocks us every time we look up. How is it that we’ve sent probes to Mars but can’t figure out how to make ceiling lights look less like they’re cosplaying as bungee jumpers?

Back in the day, cables were considered revolutionary. People didn’t care if they hung out in plain view - electricity was the new magic, and you were lucky to have a bulb at all. But now? Now it’s like wearing a powdered wig to a job interview. Society has evolved; the ceiling cable has not. Sure, some genius decided to invent recessed lighting and modular tracks, but the rest of us? We’re stuck squinting at a plastic rose fitting that somehow makes the whole situation worse.

The real problem is that no one has made the ceiling cable trendy. We live in a world where avocado toast and ironic mullets get more attention than practical design solutions. If we renamed “wireless ceiling fixtures” to “aesthetic air energy conduits,” perhaps Instagram influencers would lead the charge. But alas, the humble ceiling cable is neither glamorous nor hashtag-worthy.

Imagine a world where your ceiling lights are powered by invisible beams of energy. Cool, right? But instead of developing this, we’re still arguing over whether your smart speaker is spying on you. Concealed wiring sounds equally great - until you remember your house is 150 years old, and your DIY skills are limited to changing batteries in the remote. Why hide the cables when you can celebrate them? Paint them neon green, braid them into modern art, or string up fairy lights. It’s called “industrial chic,” and it costs three times as much as doing nothing.

The truth is, we as a civilisation are inherently lazy. Why solve a problem when you can ignore it? The ceiling cable issue isn’t life-threatening, and until it starts falling on people or leaking secrets to the government, it’s unlikely to get any real attention. So here we are, staring wistfully at our dangling cables while we order smart bulbs from an app. At least those bulbs change colour.

Until humanity collectively decides that hanging cables are a global crisis, we’re stuck with them. Maybe that’s okay. Maybe the ceiling cable is a metaphor for life - slightly annoying, definitely outdated, but still doing its job. So next time you’re lying on your sofa, staring at that sagging wire above your head, take a moment to appreciate it. It’s not perfect, but neither are we.

The Old Sodbury Kaaba

On the A46, leaving Old Sodbury on the way to J 18 of the M4, there's an old house which has been in a dilapidated state for many years and was surrounded by junk. It was a dwelling, but someone bought it - I suspect James Dyson, who has his estate on the other side of the A46 and has been doing a helluva lot of land work in the area, as well as buying up everything scrap of land that's for sale. Must be something to do with inheritance tax...

Work started to clear the site a number of years ago and fences were erected around it, but the house was left. I suspect it has some preservation order on it, despite being totally uninhabitable. However, in the last week there has been activity in the grounds of the house.

I think it's going to be draped in a black and gold cloth and turned into a facsimile of the Kaaba in Mecca.

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.

Fancy Dress

Spotted on Facebook Marketplace.

Traffic cone fancy dress - £20. Brilliant!

Gas Space Heater

I bought a 2nd hand gas space heater the other day for the garage. It's something I've been wanting for some time in order to continue working on the GT6 rebuild in comfort, but painting a cupboard in the garage has added some criticality to the need, just to assist the paint in drying.

Paid £40 for one on Farcebook Market. It's really powerful and heats the garage really fast, but it doesn't half rip through the gas. I thought I'd test it with the remains of some gas I had left in my SafeFill refillable gas bottle that I use for the motorhome, but it only lasted about an hour. It burns 2.46 litres of liquid gas (1.2kg - approx) per hour at full tilt while belting out 107,000 Btu (31.4kW), although you can turn the burn rate down. 31kW is more than enough - my 12.5kW wood burner in the house heats both upstairs and downstairs with no effort.

It wouldn't be so bad if the garage had insulation, but it doesn't. The workshop at the back does, but the walls of the garage are just ply and cladding, so the heat escapes rather fast.

The price of LPG at garage forecourts has gone through the roof. A year ago would could get it at around 59p - 89p per litre, depending on fuel station, but now it's around £1.09 per litre (although you can occasionally find it for less), but still a lot cheaper than propane bought in bottles. At £55 for a 19kg bottle of propane, that works out to £1.43 per litre (LPG at the pumps is purchased in litres, whereas propane in bottles is sold in kilograms and 1 litre of LPG or propane is 0.493kg). 

That said, the SafeFill bottles have become so popular that they've also shot through the roof in price.

I usually refill my SafeFill bottle at a Morrison's at Cribbs Causeway in Filton, which is my nearest LPG emporium, but it's a rather hit and miss affair. Sometimes I have no problem, but many times I can't get any gas into the bottle at all and have to give up. 

Looking up on the internet as to whether anyone else in the motorhome community was having similar problems highlighted that Morrison's gas connections are particularly renowned for not behaving as they should. It was recommended to replace the existing Safe-Fill gas connector with a modified one that facilitates a tighter connection with LPG dispensers - so I ordered one at £18.

Now, if I want to use the GT6 rotisserie as a rotisserie in the true sense, i.e. with a pig stuck on it, I can use the space heater as a BBQ underneath it ....

GT6 Rotisserie

The rotisserie for the GT6 was delivered yesterday. I was surprised at how heavy it is, but it's certainly robust. 

It will look something like the photo below when assembled and will enable me to rotate the tub to whatever angle I want in order to perform any welding that might be needed (and some is) on the underside. Trying to weld the underneath from below is a nightmare, as weld simply drops down under the force of gravity.

It has a self-levelling tool which allows the rotisserie to operate around the exact centre of gravity of the tub and is made-to-measure for the GT6.

Putting it together will be fun, once I've managed to get rid of the cupboard I'm scheduled to paint in the garage....

Once I've finished using it I can sell it on for at least 2/3rds of the purchase price, providing I keep it in good condition. However, having said that, I could use it for hog roasts over a bonfire.....

Assisted Dying

The question of assisted dying is one of the most ethically complex and emotionally charged issues facing the UK today. Parliament is poised to vote on the matter, but it raises an important question: who should ultimately decide on this sensitive topic? Is it right for MPs - who are not elected specifically on their stance on assisted dying - to cast the deciding vote? Or should the matter be put to a public referendum?

 

One argument in favour of a referendum is that assisted dying touches on deeply personal beliefs, spanning morality, ethics, and religion. Since MPs are not elected based on their views on such niche issues, some argue it is inappropriate for them to make a decision of this magnitude. A referendum would allow the people to directly voice their opinion on a matter that could affect anyone in a profoundly personal way.

If a referendum were called, MPs could instead vote on whether such a referendum should take place. This would maintain their role as decision-makers while recognising the limits of their mandate on specialised moral issues.

However, the case against a referendum is equally compelling. Matters like assisted dying require careful, nuanced consideration of legal, ethical, and medical implications. Public opinion, while valuable, can be shaped by emotion and media narratives, which might lead to oversimplification of the issue - as we have seen from the Brexit referendum.

For instance, a referendum on capital punishment - a similarly emotive issue - would likely result in its reinstatement, despite strong arguments against it. Such a decision might be driven more by visceral reaction than by a thorough examination of the evidence or consideration of human rights implications. Could a referendum on assisted dying suffer a similar fate, with the public swayed by personal fears or high-profile cases, rather than the complex realities of end-of-life care?

There is no easy answer to how the UK should decide on assisted dying. One potential compromise could involve a citizens’ assembly - a representative group of people tasked with studying the issue in depth, hearing from experts, and then making recommendations. This model combines the breadth of public opinion with the depth of informed deliberation.

Alternatively, MPs could be tasked with facilitating more robust public consultations and debates before casting their votes. While not as direct as a referendum, this approach would ensure that public sentiment informs parliamentary decisions without risking the oversimplification of the issue.

Whether the decision is made by MPs or the public, it must be approached with humility, compassion, and respect for differing views. Assisted dying is a matter of life and death - literally - and deserves a process that honours its gravity. A referendum may offer direct democracy, but it also risks reducing a profound ethical debate to a simple yes or no. Conversely, a parliamentary vote maintains the tradition of representative democracy but raises questions about MPs’ mandates on such deeply personal matters.

How we decide to decide may be as important as the decision itself.

Double Standards

Every year, governments quietly enact bans on harmful substances. From asbestos to toxic pesticides, these decisions are made to protect public health, and they rarely provoke cries of "nanny state" interference. Most people understand the necessity of removing carcinogens from our environment to save lives and reduce healthcare burdens.

 

But when the UK government recently proposed a generational ban on cigarette sales - a measured approach to balance decades of harm, health costs, and scientific evidence - the backlash from FOREST (the smokers' advocacy group) was swift and predictable. Out came the tired accusations of infringing on personal choice and overreaching government control.

This reaction exposes a glaring double standard. If asbestos is deadly, we accept its ban as a public health necessity. If cigarettes kill - and they do, on an enormous scale - it’s suddenly about liberty and choice. Yet smoking remains the leading cause of preventable death in the UK, burdening the NHS with billions in avoidable costs and wreaking havoc on families. The government isn’t instituting a generational ban for kicks; it’s a pragmatic solution to a long-term public health crisis.

An outright ban on cigarettes would indeed create significant issues, not least the immediate loss of tax revenue that tobacco sales generate - a necessary consideration in the short term. A phased, generational ban ensures the harms of smoking are tackled over time without destabilising public finances. It’s a compromise that prioritises future generations while recognising the complexity of the current landscape.

As for FOREST, their arguments seem to miss the mark. Addicts are not free agents; they are trapped by a substance designed to hook them for life. When most smokers start as teenagers, often unaware of the true difficulty of quitting, where is the personal choice in that? And when the healthcare system and taxpayers shoulder the immense cost of tobacco-related illnesses, whose "freedom" are we really protecting?

Critics of the so-called nanny state should examine their principles more closely. If government intervention to ban harmful chemicals is acceptable, why not the most lethal consumer product in history? This isn’t a debate about freedom - it’s about health, fairness, and ensuring a healthier future for generations to come.

Simon - yes! (That's a message to a mate of mine).

A Taxing Business

Rachel Reeves is being criticised, predictably, by businesses for increasing employer NI; however, a key question is whether taxing consumers or businesses is the better approach for raising revenue without triggering a recession. Let’s explore the dynamics.

 

Taxing consumers reduces their disposable income, leading to an immediate drop in spending. Since consumer demand drives a significant portion of the economy, this reduction can ripple through businesses, resulting in lower revenues, job cuts, and investment slowdowns. This cycle risks pushing the economy into recession. Low-income earners, who spend most of their income on necessities that keep the economy going, are particularly affected. Taxing them not only increases inequality but also reduces the money circulating in the economy, as they typically spend a larger proportion of their earnings than wealthier groups.

Taxing businesses can reduce profits, potentially affecting investments and hiring. However, if consumer demand remains stable, businesses are less likely to make drastic cuts. They might absorb some of the tax through lower profits or pass costs onto consumers, depending on market conditions. High-margin sectors, such as technology or pharmaceuticals, can better withstand higher taxes, whereas low-margin industries like retail or hospitality might struggle. Nonetheless, taxing businesses is less likely to cause an immediate drop in economic activity compared to taxing consumers.

High-margin sectors, such as technology, pharmaceuticals, and luxury goods, operate with significant pricing power and lower sensitivity to increased taxes. Conversely, low-margin industries, like retail, hospitality, and agriculture, are vulnerable to cost pressures and intense competition, leaving little room to absorb additional taxes. 

On balance, taxing businesses is less likely to harm economic growth, as long as consumer demand remains intact. Businesses have more flexibility to adjust to higher taxes without cutting jobs or investment. Taxing consumers, particularly low-income earners, can be counterproductive, reducing demand and triggering a downward spiral of economic contraction. 

However, governments can balance the burden by targeting high-margin sectors, offering incentives for business reinvestment, and protecting lower-income groups from excessive taxation.

Effective taxation requires a nuanced approach. While taxing businesses tends to have a less immediate impact on the economy, sector-specific considerations are crucial to avoid unintended consequences. By prioritising policies that protect consumer demand and target those most capable of bearing the tax burden, governments can raise revenue without undermining economic stability.

Reeves is taking a calculated gamble with logic on her side, but it's still a gamble.

A Van of Lights

This came and parked at work the other day.

I would love to see it driving round the streets lit up at night, but I'm sure it's illegal if being driven while lit up.

GT6 Modified Chasis

Picked up the Mk VI Spitfire / GT6 Mk3 chassis with the Mazda MX5 rear axle yesterday from a place just outside Oxford. I borrowed the works recovery truck, which has a few quirks, not least of which is a knackered turbo that blows out an impenetrable smokescreen for about 10 minutes when started from cold.

The diff was in the cab. I'll be leaving it on our top car park for now, covered with a tarp until it's time to use it.

I won't be using the wheels - my Minilites are much better and, if I can afford it, I'd like to switch to chromed wires.

The new rotisserie is scheduled to arrive on Tuesday, but I won't be able to put it together for a month or two as, while we had the recovery truck, we also collected a large pine cupboard from a friend in Minety who is moving to Brixham and gave it away. We had to put it in the garage where it will be stripped and painted to match our other living room furniture. It will be a facsimile of "Mouse Back" or "Elephant's Breath".......

No.1 Son suggested "Jumbsy Tail" as a colour name. Jumbsy - known as Jimmy to his actual owners - has a bit of a habit of sneaking into our house, usually accompanied by two other neighbourhood feline freeloaders. For reasons best known to them, our home seems to be the local cat magnet. Jumbsy, bless him, is a senior citizen in cat years, with a heart as big as his... well, let’s just say "botty issues." Unfortunately, his fluffy tail gets caught up in the emissions from his botty and it often doubles as an unwelcome paintbrush, leaving unique streaks of "art" on our furniture. And thus, the hue of "Jumbsy Tail" was born—a colour that’s as unforgettable and smelly as it is undesirable!