Surf’s Up! Or Not, As The Case May Be.

The sun is shining, the shy is blue, it’s a gorgeous day for the beach. Pick up the kids and the towels, surf, sun, steak pasties for lunch and fresh cooked fish and chips on the way home. Brilliant.

But not for me, unfortunately. I’ve just had to cancel our week’s holiday in N. Cornwall because of the rapacity of the local dialysis clinic in Bodmin. It’s private, not NHS; so regardless of whether you have insurance to cover it they charge £225 per session, upfront, get it back from the insurance who knows when. Three sessions for the week = nearly a thousand euro = too damned much to pay out not knowing when you’ll get it back.

There are beaches here but they’re not the same – it’s not the Atlantic. There are no cliffs, just less endless muscle-sapping dunes and no surf to speak of despite the constant chilly wind. Ideal for windsurfing, but not much else. No, Dutch beaches just won’t do. It’s Summer and I yearn for Cornwall. Just the whiff of a pasty would do.

Oh well. Surf’s always up in Hawaii. It even comes out of the walls.

mana-nalu-mural

From The Telegraph’s picture gallery of trompe l’oeil murals by John Pugh:

His [John Pugh’s] immense mural in Honolulu features Queen Lili’uokalani, the last monarch of the Hawaiian Islands, with Duke Kahanamoku – the ultimate father of surfing. A colossal wave appears to crash right onto the pavement. It took two months of studio work to plan and a further six months to execute with the help of 11 other artists. The scene is so realistic that just as it was near completion, said John, it attracted the attention of the fire brigade which stopped its truck in the middle of traffic. “They jumped out to rescue the children in the mural,” he said

I thought they were real children looking at the painting too, until I saw the closeup:

mana-nalu-mural-de

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Incredible. But still not quite the same as being there.

Sounds Useful

Hugo Rifkind in the Times spots a handy new German word:

technishererfolgangabemangelsfrust. That is to say, “the frustration caused by having a sense of achievement for completing a technical task but being unable to boast about it because it is too boring”.

Fred The Shred Gets The Cut Direct

shunned

Wherever in the world has the former grammar school boy and banker, to whose lifestyle all MPs aspire, got to? Richard Ingrams reports that Sir Fred Goodwin‘s been sent to Coventry again:

The only confirmation of his existence came a few days ago when it was reported that his application to join Scotland’s famous Royal and Ancient Golf Club had been turned down on the grounds that in the eyes of the members he was “the wrong kind”. They didn’t like the cut of his jib in other words.

This is not the first time Goodwin has had trouble getting into a Scottish golf club. A year or two ago The Sunday Times reported that when he applied to join the posh Bruntisfield Golfing Links Society he was told that there was a 10-year waiting list and that he would have to wait his turn. The reply was the traditional, “Do you realise who I am?” The secretary said he did.

More…

What, Me Worried?

neumandollar

Pity the rich, tossing and turning on their Porthault sheets. How they suffer.

Forbes Magazine is so worried about a backlash that they’ve published an allegedly tongue in cheek guide on how to avoid the pitchforks and flaming torches by not flaunting, but hiding your wealth. While still keeping up your lifestyle, obviously.

It’s tough out there when everyone hates you–or at least suspects you had a hand in the collapse of the global financial system, the shredding of trillions of dollars of assets and the issuance of 5 million pink slips since January 2008. Have you hired a security firm yet? At least get a lawyer: The feds may be coming after you, combing through the wreckage of your business, looking for evidence to send you up the river. If Barack Obama doesn’t raise your taxes, your populist state legislators will.

What’s a strapped hectomillionaire (to say nothing of a billionaire) to do? First off, relax. Don’t do anything crazy, like build a bomb shelter or open a Channel Islands trust with a dummy trustee to hide from taxes (it’s illegal). Like the recession, the angry mob clamoring for your head will pass on. It’s still good to be rich.

Yes, I expect it is.How can the poor suffering oligarchs hide their money?

– “Trusts for children are nearly impossible to crack…”

So nice to see tradition still counts for something.

And how can one avoid taxes when the oiks in the revenue come knocking?

“Store all the diamonds or gold bullion (but not gold certificates) you want in a Swiss bank without reporting it to the irs, since the investments don’t pay interest. (Another option: raw land, which doesn’t require reporting until it generates income.)

Ahh, the old ways, always the best. The authors go on to advise their readers to keep their chins up, stay upbeat and think of uncertain times as an opportunity, not a threat:

….the recession provides a good smoke screen for disposing of a servant you don’t like anyway.

That’s what’s most telling about this cover piece; the tone. It tries hard for charming insouciance but the real worry still shows through, because it’s it’s studded with nuggets of thoroughly specific advice, like

If your worry is creditors, not tax collectors, buy a flat in London and go there if things get too hot. “As long as it’s not criminal, you won’t get extradited,”

Haha. So very droll. Though a commenter didn’t find it all amusing:

Forgive me for sounding like a member of the “POPULIST MOB,” but this article strikes me as being in profoundly bad taste. People are losing their homes and lining up at food banks, and you’re offering instructions on how to evade taxes?? And offering condolences to people whose yacht builders went out of business? Is it really okay to even joke about this?

Bad taste it may be but it’s not a joke, it’s whistling in the dark. The rich are worried and are right to be worried – the climate change exodus has begun already, food and water riots loom and because of an unprecedented access to information which has exposed their leaders’ corruption, electorates worldwide have lost faith in democracy. The world is in a dangerous place and it’s mostly the rich’s fault.

But hey, stay upbeat, oligarchs. Why not make hay while the sun shines? The authors forgot the best advice to the rich who want to keep activities quiet while still making shedloads of untaxed cash: put your money in pitchfork production.

Some Uses Of Bailout Cash

We may be tightening our belts and scared for the future but some still have a bob or two.

yacht-falcon

Maltese Falcon
Considered by many to be the finest sailing yacht ever built, a gargantuan 88 metres long, as tall as the tablet in the arm of the Statue of Liberty, and with revolutionary sails that “disappear” into self-standing carbon-fibre masts, which themselves rotate. Owned by Silicon Valley billionaire Tom Perkins, this 12-berth beauty is stocked with every luxury, gadget and sleek interior detail that $130 million can buy (including next year a submarine that looks like a shark). Booked for 2009; after that, about €350,000 for a week.

€350,000? For a week? A fortune to most but Pocket money to some.

It occurs to me that the ideal Prime Ministerial post-resignation break for the man who enabled that situation (should Gordo ever resign rather than have to be be forcibly dragged out of Downing St, gibbering like a baby) would be a week on this yacht.

Labour ministers always like indulging themselves like pampered billionaires and the price is all-in, so he could even take Mandelson along to talk over old times. Peter loves yachting.

They could cruise Indian Ocean. No need to submit a reciept for expenses either. We could call it a gift from a grateful nation.