Today is an historic day for all Brits. Today is the anniversary of our naval victory at the battle of Trafalgar 200 years ago. Well actually it was October 21st, but we’re celebrating today. Or rather we’re not. Apparently it is not politically correct to ‘celebrate’ walloping the combined fleets of the French and Spanish off the coat of Spain, so there will be an event in Portsmouth which has been dubbed a ‘festival’. Pah! I love the english language for its nuances and subtleties, but not when it is used by agents of Nanny to dumb down our most famous victory of all. Ridiculous.

At least such an occasion is bound to warrant extensive TV coverage so I will be able to watch the proceedings. I even stumped up and purchased my TV licence for such a special event- that is another story – but would you believe it: it’s not on telly. There may be a short summary on the news later, but no live coverage. None. A tribute to the most famous naval battle in the world doesn’t even warrant live coverage on the nations flagship broadcaster for which we are compelled to buy a licence!

At the time, the gloss of the victory was taken off for the British ships with the news of Nelsons death. It is hard now to appreciate the effect of this news on the ships crews and on the nation as a whole, although Nelson is still regarded as a national hero in Britain, in 1805 he was THE national hero, and to lose him at the moment of his greatest victory was a bitter blow.

Nelson himself would have been bitter had he known the treatment his beloved Lady Hamilton and his daughter would get from a grateful nation. They were almost completely ignored. Instead the country decided to make Nelson’s brother, William, an earl, and voted him £99,000 with an annual pension of £5,000 a year. Frances, still formally Nelson’s wife, was granted £2,000 a year. Emma and Horatia got nothing. Without the pension from a grateful nation that Nelson had foreseen for her, and always famous for her extravagance, Emma eventually sank into poverty, even spending some time in prison for debt. After her release she went to live with Horatia in Calais and died there in January 1815.

Unbelievable. We still treat our heroes appallingly, even in celebration.

There is an excellent website with full details of the battle at: http://www.trafalgar200.com/

The Nanny State in the UK has been the subject of a rant or two of mine before. On current form looks as if there are many more to come as the raw material is voluminous.

The latest from Mr. Blah’s Nanny Farm is a plan to introduce a law – and I quote – “effectively criminalising smoking in public”. This was announced by the Government yesterday, with the minister in charge promising an “intelligence-led approach to enforcing the law”.

Apparently informers will be encouraged to report breaches of sweeping bans on the habit, in which company smoking rooms will be outlawed and places such as bus shelters and the outsides of office blocks made no-smoking areas. The ban may also cover sports stadiums that are not fully enclosed.

There will be £200 fines for breaches and penalties for companies that fail to display “No Smoking” signs in areas newly outlawed. Individuals who offend face fines of £50. It is thought that establishments which attract repeated complaints could be subject to “sting” operations by council enforcers.

Caroline Flint, the public health minister, confirmed that the policy would be vigorously enforced with the assistance of informers from the public.

“I don’t think we are talking about brigades of people out on the streets,” she said. “What we are talking about is an intelligence-led approach to enforcing the law.” Ah, grasses. Hah! Sorry, couldn’t resist the pun.

We’re back to 1984 again aren’t we? Now I’m fairly anti-smoking in so much as I don’t want to breathe in that sh#t and I am also seriously intolerant and wish my friends did not smoke. But. And this is a pretty big one. Freedom of choice is more important. If folks want to stick burning leaves in their mouths, a practice that if followed for long enough will likely contribute to their early demise, then it is their choice. Not Nanny’s.

Nanny intends that places where people reside, including care homes, adult hospices, psychiatric units and prisons may also choose to be exempt. Really, now let me get this straight. If you are caught smoking a cigarette, legally purchased from a shop with money you earned – and paid tax on – with excise duty having been paid on said cancer sticks, you can be fined. If we take this one step further and assume you don’t pay up you could be sent to prison. Where you are allowed to smoke.

Expect prison overcrowding to increase as smokers feign insanity, rob banks, or simply flout the law and don’t pay the fines in order to be sent down and hence allowed a legitimate smoke.

Madness.

American readers (OK their grandparents) will remember prohibition and what a winner that turned out to be.

Have to admit I’ve long since stopped being an avid follower of the Eccles cake circus and many more will share my view following this weekends disaster at Indianapolis. F1 really did need to conquer America to be a truly global event (and of course to tap into all those sponsorship $) but that is now all but a pipedream.

What started as an embarrassing mistake by Michelin, turned into a stupid stalemate which resulted in only 6 cars running in the event. The problem? Due to the high speeds attainable at the circuit the cars needed to run with tyres rated to over 200 mph. Bridgestone had such tyres, Michelin did not. The simple solution was to put in a chicane to slow cars at the fastest part of the circuit, which would have made it safe for all. But, as is so typical in F1, no compromise could be reached and consequently only those cars with Bridgestone tyres were able to safely run, all others were withdrawn.

So, at the end of the parade lap, 14 cars returned to the pits and 3 teams ‘competed’: Ferrari, Jordan and Minardi.

So why was a sensible compromise not reached? We can only surmise and can lay blame where we like, but it seems that Ferrari and the FIA refused to agree to the chicane. Some have commented that they have an unhealthily close relationship, others that it gave Schumacher his only win of the season and the team some much needed points in the constructors championship.

I think the 120,000 fans at the track who paid good money to see a farce will have their own comments and they aren’t likely to be either complementary or include promises of coming back next year. I think the advertisers who stumped up the money for the commercials aren’t going to be fighting over the prime slots next year. I think the Cable companies who ran the event on their sports channels aren’t going to be bidding for the chance to show F1 next year either – unless they have space on the comedy channel.

In my view we needed no further proof that F1 is so far removed from real motor racing that it is now a waste of space. But no doubt Eccles Cake and Miserly will drop Indianapolis from the calendar and find another third world country still addicted to cigarettes who will willingly accommodate their greed. Shame on them all for not having the courage to put politics aside, compromise, agree and for once, go racing.

Today, as I write this post with a slightly fuzzy head, I realise how fortunate we were yesterday. It had been raining all day – and in fact all of last week too – and cleared late afernoon, holding off almost entirely until about 4.30 am.

We had a great party. It was wonderful to see so many of our friends, heartening to see none of them had lost their thirst and comforting to know many of you still like the same eclectic selection of music I do.

Collectively we got through at least 80 bottles of wine, 150 cans of beer, a bottle of Pimms and Gordon put most of a bottle of Johnnie Walker away. A fair effort for 80 people I’d say.

We broke about 6 glasses, two bottles, swam at midnight and then again at around 2 am. Jasapa’s did the food as usual and as usual it was fabulous. We cranked up the tunes from about 2.30 am and bopped like teenagers.

And, when everyone had gone and it was just Natty, Bennet and me clearing up, that’s when the heavens opened. So, we were fortunate that the rain held off and very fortunate to have such a great bunch of friends who love to party hard and who we will miss very much.

Cheers to you all.

What a journey. Chicago to Hong Kong via LA in just over 24 hours.

Now as most of you know I’m fairly immune to travelling and have taken more than the odd flight over the last few years – over a million miles on Cathay Pacfic, but that’s another story – but this trip was stressful. Mindful of the fact that my presence at our leaving do this weekend was certainly subject to a three line whip – which is what I would have got if I had not arrived – I ensured I left Chicago on time at 16.15 on Thursday afternoon. My flight to LA was at 19.15 , so I was assured of time for a slurp in the lounge first.

Well that was an experience. I’m clearly far too used to Asia travel as the American Airlines lounge – snappily, but not happily called the Admirals Club – provides you with one free drink only. The others have to be paid for. The food is woeful – and not free. So what’s the point, you might as well be in the bar downstairs? Which is where I went to sit by the monitor and check on my flight.

Not good. Gate H12 was happily disgorging passengers from Phoenix while those eager to leave for Orange County queued for their 19.16 departure. What of the 19.15 to LA?? Ah, delayed to 20.15. Still, plenty of time to make the connection to HK at 23.45.

Then AA873 is pushed back to 20.25 – one hour and ten minutes late. To cut a long story short, by this time I have worked out that if we don’t leave by a quarter to I won’t make LAX in time to change terminals and catch the CX flight to HK. Order mild panic with a side of anger. Ten minutes later we board, chaos as despite the fact that the average american is substantially bigger than the average asian, the planes are the same size.

I, who am relegated to coach – a part of the plane I choose to visit very rarely – have my bulkhead seat snatched by a howling infant and am relegated to what really is the back of the bus. Boarding too many fat people with too much carry on baggage – myself included I will admit – takes too long…. taxiiing takes too long… take off, well you know where I’m going. Or not, that is.

So, we are airborne at 21.00. Too late. I won’t make the connectioin. Enquiries are made to a flight attendant who is really very polite and of absolutely no use at all. I am not the only one on the flight with an international connection and promises made that we will be allowed off first, so we have the best chance of catching a flight that may already have left, remain unfulfilled on landing. I leg it from Domestic to Tom Bradley International terminal in desperation.

Fortune smiles on the brave and those who don’t check in luggage and as I run down to gate 101 (irony anyone?) I realise the flight has not departed and I will make the party. Queue relief at lack of lashes which turns momentarily to panic and then relief as my boarding pass is rejected by the machine at the gate for the simple reason that I’ve been upgraded. Sheer unmitigated joy. First Class for 14+ hours on CX883 to Hong Kong.

I reflect on the stress of the journey so far as I quaff the first glass of Krug, with a little lobster hors d’heuvre and realise it is bloody good to be back in Asia, if only vicariously.

True to form I’ve begun to embrace English Country life apace. Not content with searching for a Land Rover I’ve taken a share in a shoot with old friend VJ, ex of HK. It’s a new shoot and we’ve begun building the pen with a perimeter fence enclosing shelters, feeders and water for the 200 odd poults (young pheasants) we will put in in early autumn. A steep learning curve for me, but one that has been very interesting.

Of course I also need to be able to shoot said pheasants come the season and as I’ve never held more than an air rifle decided that lessons were a good idea. A new clay shoot in the Vale of Pewsey has just opened and I was able to get a beginners lesson for 50 quid which was well worth it. Against all odds and much to my surprise I managed to hit a fair few clays too. Bl**dy sore shoulder the next day though!

Safety really is the only thing you need to learn at my level – which is a good thing – and there was much wise advice about safe guns always being welcome at a shoot, but good guns who are not safety conscious being unwelcome.

VJ sent the attached poem, which is sound counsel:

A Father’s Advice
By
Mark Beaufoy

If a sportsman true you’d be
Listen carefully to me…

Never, never let your gun
Pointed be at anyone.
That it may unloaded be
Matters not the least to me.

When a hedge or fence you cross
Though of time it cause a loss
From your gun the cartridge take
For the greater safety’s sake.

If twixt you and neighbouring gun
Bird shall fly or beast may run
Let this maxim ere be thine
“Follow not across the line.”

Stops and beaters oft unseen
Lurk behind some leafy screen.
Calm and steady always be
“Never shoot where you can’t see.”

You may kill or you may miss
But at all times think of this:
“All the pheasants ever bred
Won’t repay for one man dead.”

Written by Mark Beaufoy of Coombe House, Shaftsbury, Dorset, England, in 1902, on presenting his eldest son, Henry Mark, with his first gun.

Next of course I need a shotgun licence, gun cabinet and finally a gun. Will keep you posted!

One month and counting. I can hardly believe it. Had to fill in my US Visa waiver form on the plane and declare where I live. Had to say Hong Kong. Probably for the last time. Had to. Heavy sigh.

Worked from home this morning, as I’m off to Chicago for 3 days this week, so was able to get up at the crack of sparrows and go for a bit of an explore. I walked up to the Ridgeway from the Farmhouse and onto the Lambourne Downs. What beautiful scenery, clean air, abundance of wildlife (rabbit, partridge, hare etc.) nice trails and in nearly 2 hours I didn’t see a soul. Satisfied sigh and slightly smug grin.

So there you have it. Mixed emotions. Sad to leave a place I’ve been proud to call home for nearly 20 years and yet exhilarated with the prospect of new opportunities in England.

The farewell party is this weekend – true to form I’m flying from Chicago to HK arriving at 5.30 am. I’m taking next week off to help Shivs with the mountain of things that still have to be done. I am promising myself I’ll swim with the girls every day and enjoy our wonderful garden a bit more before we go.

True to form I’ve begun to embrace English Country life apace. Not content with searching for a Land Rover I’ve taken a share in a shoot with old friend VJ, ex of HK. It’s a new shoot and we’ve begun building the pen with a perimeter fence enclosing shelters, feeders and water for the 200 odd poults (young pheasants) we will put in in early autumn. A steep learning curve for me, but one that has been very interesting.

Of course I also need to be able to shoot said pheasants come the season and as I’ve never held more than an air rifle decided that lessons were a good idea. A new clay shoot in the Vale of Pewsey has just opened and I was able to get a beginners lesson for 50 quid which was well worth it. Against all odds and much to my surprise I managed to hit a fair few clays too. Bl**dy sore shoulder the next day though!

Safety really is the only thing you need to learn at my level – which is a good thing – and there was much wise advice about safe guns always being welcome at a shoot, but good guns who are not safety conscious being unwelcome.

VJ sent the attached poem, which is sound counsel:

A Father’s Advice
By
Mark Beaufoy

If a sportsman true you’d be
Listen carefully to me…

Never, never let your gun
Pointed be at anyone.
That it may unloaded be
Matters not the least to me.

When a hedge or fence you cross
Though of time it cause a loss
From your gun the cartridge take
For the greater safety’s sake.

If twixt you and neighbouring gun
Bird shall fly or beast may run
Let this maxim ere be thine
“Follow not across the line.”

Stops and beaters oft unseen
Lurk behind some leafy screen.
Calm and steady always be
“Never shoot where you can’t see.”

You may kill or you may miss
But at all times think of this:
“All the pheasants ever bred
Won’t repay for one man dead.”

Written by Mark Beaufoy of Coombe House, Shaftsbury, Dorset, England, in 1902, on presenting his eldest son, Henry Mark, with his first gun.

Next of course I need a shotgun licence, gun cabinet and finally a gun. Will keep you posted!

I do need to get this off my chest and have a bit of a rant.

Now I’m becoming more familiar with the nanny state the UK has become in the years I’ve been away, but the letter I recieved from the TV Licensing people takes this to another and frankly Orwellian level.

The letter, from Miles Caines, Regional Manager, London East Enforcement Division is written in such a threatening tone that I am bound to reply. Probably best that I calm down first though.

What I recieved is an OFFICIAL WARNING as the occupier of my flat that as there is no record of my having a TV licence that I MAY be watching or recording television programmes without a valid licence. This is apparently against the law here and enforcement officers have been authorised to visit and interview me UNDER CAUTION in compliance with the Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984. The irony of this date may be lost on Mr. Caines. It isn’t on me.

Now if I don’t stump up the money and buy a licence I could be prosecuted, convicted and fined $1,900.

Frankly I’m looking forward to the officers visit so I can show them my telly and dvd player. They can then help me find the TV arial – because I don’t have one and without it I can’t get anything but snow on the little moving picture box. Then they can take the letter from Mr. Caines and stick it up their bottoms.