Sunday, December 4

HABEMUS IMPERIUM !




Ring out the bells! Hats in the air! Let off firecrackers!

Belgium has a government.

After 18 months, the six remaining parties in the coalition (we started off with nine) have managed to put aside enough of their differences to conclude an agreement. They were arguing down to the fine detail of how much tax value to give a company supplied Audi A4, for example, as opposed to a company Fiat Panda.

Apparently there is a reason for this. It ensures that the government won't fall apart at the first minor disagreement. Belgian political parties like to slam doors for effect, but that would lead to the collapse of the coalition and we'd have to start all over again.

However, now they have decided everything down to the number of spots on new PM Elio di Rupo's bow tie, it begs the question, what will be left for the parliamentarians to decide?

Sunday, November 27

THE FINAL STRUGGLE

Where do old lefties go when they turn up their toes? No, not to the European Trade Union Confederation. I am referring to Highgate cemetery, which I visited on my last trip to London. My main purpose was to pay homage to Karl Marx, who is clearly the main attraction. But I was surprised by the number of luminaries, many of them with strong left-wing backgrounds, who share his last resting place.




Just across from the Father of Communism was Paul Foot, indefatigable investigative journalist for Private Eye. A plot facing Karl Marx must have involved either a large amount of money or some friends in high places. And when I say high ....





There were some exotic celebrities. Farzad Bazoft, the Observer journalist of Iranian origin who was executed by Saddam Hussein on trumped-up charges of spying, was commemorated with a headstone in black marble, although I'm not sure his remains actually lay underneath it. Another famous Iranian neighbour was Mansoor Hekmat, founder of both the Iranian and Iraqi Workers Communist parties, whose headstone below a bust of his handsome head bore a touching inscription from his widow: "To a great man, the essence of our lives, the polestar of my existence, the love of my life". Would that we all departed this world to such praise.







Redmond O'Neill sounded like a true Irish revolutionary, as hinted at by the quote from Che Guevara: "The true revolutionary is guided by great feelings of love". In reality his life was a little less exciting.


I couldn't find the graves of Malcolm McLaren, Beryl Bainbridge, Max Wall, Michael Faraday, or Alexander Litvinenko, some of which might have been in the West section, but did encounter the last resting place of Sir Ralph Richardson and - Lord preserve us - Jeremy Beadle, who is interred immediately adjacent to the esteemed literary agent Pat Kavanagh. In cemeteries, rather like on airplanes, you cannot always choose your neighbours.




I was touched by the small, plain, unassuming gravestone of Douglas Adams, author of my favourite book ever, "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy". All it said was "Douglas Adams, writer, 1952-2001". I said a silent, belated farewell: "So long and thanks for all the fish".



Highgate, which opened in 1839, is a beautiful cemetery and heavily wooded. It nearly fell into disrepair and was saved by donations from the Friends of Highgate Cemetery in 1975. There is a £3 charge to visit Highgate East, and £7 for Highgate West, which can only be visited with a guide. You might think this is a bit steep to visit a cemetery, but the people on the gate told me that Highgate receives no public funding apart from a small English Heritage grant. I was appalled to learn that not one of the three boroughs it straddles (Camden, Haringey & Islington) contributes a penny to its maintenance. I dare say it's not cheap to be buried there, but only 35 or so plots are purchased every year, and the areas off the "celebrity walk" are becoming quite overgrown. There is a chapel in the West part, but a generally secular tone to the burial ground, which explains the appeal to left-wingers and revolutionaries.



Sunday, November 13

THAR SHE BLOWS!


After much deliberating, pondering, mulling, throwing ideas up in the air and seeing if they fly, getting our ducks in a row, lining up our apples, and trying names on for size, the hitherto New Unnamed Brussels International Ladies Ensemble (NUBILE) have finally come up with a name.




It conveys our maturity, our femininity, our style of playing.





It is short, catchy, punchy, and provocative.





We play like a cross between the Hot Club de France and Jumping Jack Flash.


We are .....


HOT
FLASH
!!!

Ba-da-boom-TISH !

Ay thang yow.



Take it away, girls.


Sunday, November 6

BLOWING YOUR OWN TRUMPET





Since our new lady orchestra leader Waltraud "Wally" von Klampwangler was brought in to pull the KNOB* out of a hole, so to speak, after our humiliation at Euroompah! 2011 in Athens, the image of the band has changed quite radically. She has sacked all the men! Bert, Wolfgang, Manfred, Siegfried and the others were literally drummed out of town by a muscular fraulein, and departed muttering unfavourable comparisons with Angela Merkel. It was unseemly to continue under the name of the long-departed Kurt Nachtnebel, so we took a vote on a new, modern handle for our all-girl line up. Irmgard's suggestion "Deutschland's International Ladies Dance Oompah" was rejected as too long. Marlene's "Blow Job" was considered a little on the risqué side. Inge came up with "Heavy Metal" which accurately represented the statuesque proportions of our members, particularly the percussion section. I was a little worried we might be confused with the band from the Kit Kat Club in "Cabaret".



Heidi, who is quite a young thing and influenced by hippity hop and all that, wanted us to cover some rap music: all very well, but a bunch of mostly middle-aged, German and rather buxom matrons are not going to be able to convey the oeuvre of Snoop Diddly Dogg very effectively, even if I did, as suggested by Heidi, change my name to "Mos Daph". Our following is not so much from Compton as Old Compton Street.
We racked our Alzheimer-raddled brains. It has to convey our female nature, our international line-up (11 Germans and me) the metallic shininess of our instruments, our contemporary non-bierkeller dynamic and our sturdy corsetry. I'll leave it with you.

Hypnotic Brass Ensemble - nice boys but not a lot like us


The downsizing is opportune in view of the economic climate, and means I have been promoted to First (and only) Triangle. It's an ill wind, and all that. Bert has bequeathed me his instrument, and every time I do a little 'ting' I think of him. Wally has revamped our repertoire - no more Oktoberfest drinking songs, she wants to turn us into a sort of brass section of the Ivy Benson orchestra. Wally is determined that we can successfully combine traditional instruments and modern music within a gender perspective.

Who would have thought the trailblazers in all-women brass ensembles would hail from the land of the geisha? Tokyo Brass Style give coloured tights a whole new lease of life. Hit it, girls.





*Kurt Nachtnebel Oompah Band

Saturday, October 8

KEEP IT IN THE FAMILY

Mr and Mrs Helle Thorning-Schmidt


The newly-elected Danish PM is married to the son of Neil and Glenys Kinnock, heralding a new age of political interbreeding not seen since Princess Maud of Wales married her first cousin Prince Carl of Denmark, later to become King Harald of Norway and echoing the tactical alliances of the descendants of Queen Victoria of the United Kingdom (including Wales) and King Christian IX of Denmark into virtually every royal house in Europe. It makes one wonder about the political possibilities of betrothing (for example) 11-year-old Leo Blair and 10-year-old Sasha Obama.

This also puts young Kinnock into a position of "First Husband". He could do worse than to consult the Duke of Edinburgh on the duties of a male consort (since Denis Thatcher is no longer with us). Philip, of course, knows all about this as well as the dangers of inbreeding. He is a cousin of his wife thanks to the generations of strategic coupling that went on between descendants of Queen Victoria and King Christian IX of Denmark.

In recent years some younger royals have avoided the temptation to inbreed by choosing muscular sportsmen or women as spouses - Princess Cristina of Spain courted controversy by marrying a Basque handball champion, Princess Anne's daughter Zara Phillips tied the knot with rugby captain Mike Tindall, and Prince Albert of Monaco has recently married South African swimmer Charlene Wittstock following in the Grimaldi tradition of marrying for looks rather than breeding. This of course can backfire - as seen with Albert's youngest sister, Her Serene Chavness Princess Stephanie,

Which of Albert's two escorts do you think was born into a royal household?


Political dynasties are crumbling in the Middle East, where the last of the Assad crime syndicate is clinging on by his privates, and it looks like the Gaddafi boys are not now going to inherit the earth. In the moderate Arab monarchies such as Jordan and Morocco, the smart young kings know it's a case of modernize or die, and are keeping their turbans down.


But elsewhere dynasties are back in fashion. In France, Marine Le Pen, daughter of the odious Jean-Marie, is now at the head of the National Front and looking like a serious threat -- to France as a whole, not just to Sarkozy. She may find herself up against Socialist Martine Aubry, herself the daughter of Jacques "Up Yours" Delors.


The Americas favour a Mr & Mrs alternation -- particularly in Argentina where President Cristina Fernandez de Kirchner, the wife of previous President, has followed in the teetering stilettoes of Eva Peron, as well she might; and north of the border we all know about Billary Clinton. The Far East likes a bit of sibling rivalry - 44-year old Yingluck Shinawatra, sister of the disgraced and exiled former PM Thaksin, has just won the Thai elections. Some cynics have inferred it's a way for politicos to remain in power past their mandate. I couldn't possibly comment.


Thaksin's little sister


Everyone loves a grieving widow - Sonia Gandhi is the President of the Indian National Congress Party and de facto Mother of All India, Corazon Aquino surfed into power in the Philippines on the waves of grief following her husband's assassination, as did the disgraced husband of the late Benazir Bhutto. India is into its fourth generation of nepotism, Nehru-Indira Gandhi-Rajiv/Sonia - Rahul, whereas in Pakistan there seems to be a power-sharing agreement between the Bhuttos and the Zias.


All this is quite unBritish - we haven't gone in for political dynasties in this country since the William Pitts Elder and Younger.


Milibands minor and major


Benns senior and junior



Sir Herbert Morrison - former Home Secretary, Foreign Secretary and Deputy
Prime Minister (1940-51) -- remind you of anyone?


Grandson Mandy - a chip off the old block (except grandpa was a Socialist)