Sunday 24 July 2011
Thursday 21 July 2011
Why Phone Hacking Could Save Britain From Going Bust
Back in 2007 all was good in the world, or so we thought. But from what I can understand: some American banks had been lending money to some Mexicans to buy houses, and the sub-prime mortgage market was born. Keen not to miss out on this stupidity, British banks then bought those bad debts from the Americans and sold them to each other. Then when the Mexican who was earning about $5 an hour couldn't pay his $500,000 mortgage, the worlds banking system collapsed. Then the prime minister of Britain at the time, Gordon Brown, decided he would make sure all his friends in the City would still get their pensions, and borrowed about £800 million from the Chinese and bailed the banks out. The result was a big fat recession.
Or was it? If you read the papers in 2008 around the time of the Lehman's collapse, they'd have you believing things were going to be about thirty times worse than the great depression of the thirties. Every so called expert in the financial world of London was predicting Armageddon. But it just didn't arrive. Certainly not to anywhere near the extent of what the papers were saying it would.
Before the financial downturn many people in the UK were paying mortgages of between 6-8% on massively overpriced properties. I myself couldn't afford to move to a bigger house. But then the crash that was supposed to end the world came, and the Bank of England slashed it's interest rates. Suddenly homeowners were paying almost half the amount for their mortgage. House prices dropped, which allowed thousands to move home. People were working less hours so they had more time to spend with their families and enjoy some leisure time with the extra money they had in their pockets. Many of the people made redundant that were unhappy in their jobs for years, started their own business. But did the papers report it like this? Of course not. They wrote headlines about national debt and how our grandchildren's grandchildren would still be paying it off.
The media use headlines to scare people all the time. When bird flu was being spread the media reported it in such an extreme way the financial institutes of London had emergency headquarters arranged in the English countyside. Swine flu was the same. That was a classic. Blanket coverage on every 24 hour news channel had the N.H.S set up a help line that people phoned and said they had a headache and felt a bit hot, and the call centre worker on the other end of the phone gave them a week off work! It was amazing how many people got swine flu on a monday morning.
My point is, newspapers and the media in general only get excited over bad news. If B.M.W creates a thousand jobs it'll receive about four lines on page 17 of a paper and be announced just before the weather on the six o'clock news. If Jaguar layoff 200 workers it's front page material and the leading story at 6pm. Which is why the phone hacking story is a god send that may save us from a recession.
Phone hacking, for me, is just not important enough to dominate the news channels for three weeks. It obviously has it's sad and dark elements. Listening to a missing girls voicemails and giving her family false hope that she's alive is beyond contempt. But other than that, I don't care whether Hugh Grant or Gordon Brown had their phones hacked. But because these so called celebrities and politicians are so obsessed with themselves, that's all we've read and heard about. The left wing Labour party have become fixated on destroying Rupert Murdoch, a man who employs over 50,000 people worldwide. Ed Milliband, the leader of the opposition, is determined to make the Prime Minister apologise for remaining loyal to his friend, Andy Coulson, a man who hasn't even been charged with a crime yet, let alone found guilty. And while they concentrate on these important issues, the small matter of Europe ceasing to trade is passing them by.
The Euro as a currency could cease to exist within days. America could miss a debt payment for the first time and go into meltdown. Millions of people in Africa could die of starvation. But what do a 127 MPs want to ask the prime minister about in an emergency session of the House of Commons? Phone hacking of course. That's right. Never in the long history of parliament have so many MP's had a chance to ask a PM a question, and all they talk about is that.
But you see, that's good, because most people in Britain will be walking around blissfully unaware that the western world could be about to go into financial meltdown. Because all they've heard about for three weeks is Rupert Murdoch and his evil empire, and how the nasty man wants to rule the world, and how he personally knew people were hacking into the voicemails of crap actors, singers and politicians. Which is, of course, complete and utter non-sense.
So where usually in this sort financial climate the media would be whipping people into a blind panic that things are going to get so bad and we're all going to be so poor that we'll have to eat our own parents just so we don't starve to death, they are of course concentrating on the breaking news that: The police are corrupt; journalists sometimes tell lies; and politicians sometimes make the wrong decisions. Old news that may just keep us out of a nasty old mess.
Or was it? If you read the papers in 2008 around the time of the Lehman's collapse, they'd have you believing things were going to be about thirty times worse than the great depression of the thirties. Every so called expert in the financial world of London was predicting Armageddon. But it just didn't arrive. Certainly not to anywhere near the extent of what the papers were saying it would.
Before the financial downturn many people in the UK were paying mortgages of between 6-8% on massively overpriced properties. I myself couldn't afford to move to a bigger house. But then the crash that was supposed to end the world came, and the Bank of England slashed it's interest rates. Suddenly homeowners were paying almost half the amount for their mortgage. House prices dropped, which allowed thousands to move home. People were working less hours so they had more time to spend with their families and enjoy some leisure time with the extra money they had in their pockets. Many of the people made redundant that were unhappy in their jobs for years, started their own business. But did the papers report it like this? Of course not. They wrote headlines about national debt and how our grandchildren's grandchildren would still be paying it off.
The media use headlines to scare people all the time. When bird flu was being spread the media reported it in such an extreme way the financial institutes of London had emergency headquarters arranged in the English countyside. Swine flu was the same. That was a classic. Blanket coverage on every 24 hour news channel had the N.H.S set up a help line that people phoned and said they had a headache and felt a bit hot, and the call centre worker on the other end of the phone gave them a week off work! It was amazing how many people got swine flu on a monday morning.
My point is, newspapers and the media in general only get excited over bad news. If B.M.W creates a thousand jobs it'll receive about four lines on page 17 of a paper and be announced just before the weather on the six o'clock news. If Jaguar layoff 200 workers it's front page material and the leading story at 6pm. Which is why the phone hacking story is a god send that may save us from a recession.
Phone hacking, for me, is just not important enough to dominate the news channels for three weeks. It obviously has it's sad and dark elements. Listening to a missing girls voicemails and giving her family false hope that she's alive is beyond contempt. But other than that, I don't care whether Hugh Grant or Gordon Brown had their phones hacked. But because these so called celebrities and politicians are so obsessed with themselves, that's all we've read and heard about. The left wing Labour party have become fixated on destroying Rupert Murdoch, a man who employs over 50,000 people worldwide. Ed Milliband, the leader of the opposition, is determined to make the Prime Minister apologise for remaining loyal to his friend, Andy Coulson, a man who hasn't even been charged with a crime yet, let alone found guilty. And while they concentrate on these important issues, the small matter of Europe ceasing to trade is passing them by.
The Euro as a currency could cease to exist within days. America could miss a debt payment for the first time and go into meltdown. Millions of people in Africa could die of starvation. But what do a 127 MPs want to ask the prime minister about in an emergency session of the House of Commons? Phone hacking of course. That's right. Never in the long history of parliament have so many MP's had a chance to ask a PM a question, and all they talk about is that.
But you see, that's good, because most people in Britain will be walking around blissfully unaware that the western world could be about to go into financial meltdown. Because all they've heard about for three weeks is Rupert Murdoch and his evil empire, and how the nasty man wants to rule the world, and how he personally knew people were hacking into the voicemails of crap actors, singers and politicians. Which is, of course, complete and utter non-sense.
So where usually in this sort financial climate the media would be whipping people into a blind panic that things are going to get so bad and we're all going to be so poor that we'll have to eat our own parents just so we don't starve to death, they are of course concentrating on the breaking news that: The police are corrupt; journalists sometimes tell lies; and politicians sometimes make the wrong decisions. Old news that may just keep us out of a nasty old mess.
Wednesday 13 July 2011
Paradise Found Down Mexico Way
And paradise is exactly what was needed after a ten hour flight and the chaos of Cancun airport, where the organisation must have been a project set to the children of the local primary school. After a short taxi ride through the old town of Cancun and after passing through the three security check points, the luxurious 5 star, all inclusive, adults only, Excellence Playa Mujeres resort awaits.
Everything about the hotel screams luxury. You can even pay extra to belong to the Excellence Club, where you can sit in a bar that nobody else uses and get a different colour towel to use by your own pool. Shared by the other 200 people that join the club.
The resort has seven pools, five bars and seven restaurants - Mexican, French, Asian, Italian, Mediteranian, plus a specialist steak house and a place that only serves lobster. Breakfast and lunch are served in the steak house, which is situated near the main pool, but the buffet avaiable in the Italian restaurant is truly amazing. Eggs any way you like them are cooked at breakfast and a wide variety of fresh fish and meats, along with salad and fruit is what makes up lunch. With plenty of cakes and ice cream for those with a sweet tooth. There is a modest dress code for breakfast and lunch, you basically need to wear clothes, rather than swimming shorts or bikinis. In the evening the dress code is more formal. Long trousers need to be worn by men, woman are expected to wear more than a flannel. The Steak, lobster and Mexican restaurants allow tailored shorts as they are outside.
The four remaining restaurants are in the main building and wouldn't look out of place in London's West End. The food that's served in them is pretty much as good as I've had in London too. Then it all gets a bit confusing. There you are, all dressed up, in this fancy, bordering on posh, restaurant, when a smart looking waiter approaches you and serves you in the way someone at T.G.I Friday or Franky and Bennys would. Thankfully they stop short of saying "can I take your order guys" and then proceeding to call us both "guys" for the rest of the evening, even though my wife is quite obviously a woman.
The other thing that I find not quite right is the over the top subservience the waiters are forced to show. I'm a working class bloke and have never had servants. So having someone chase me around a restaurant offering to carry my plate, makes me feel slightly uncomfortable. To say "it's my pleasure" 15000 times a day each time a guest says thank you, is just ridiculous. I really cant see how a ten minute walk in 90 degree heat, just to get me a cappuccino, can bring anyone pleasure. Although I must point out that the gratitude is genuine when a tip is left.
Some of the waiters also made the mistake of thinking I was a foreign language student, there only to learn Spanish. Some repeated the Spanish translation to me after everything I ordered, then stand there with a look on their face like they were Yoda teaching Luke Skywalker to make a woman take her clothes off, without saying a word. They eventually gave up on this game after about two days when it looked like I might slip into a coma through the boredom of it. There was one persistent bloke that cooked my lunch every day. Every day he would tell me the Spanish for fish, shrimp, onions and mushrooms, and each following day I would continue to order in English. I'm pleased to say my vocabulary of Spanish is the same as when I arrived: Hola, si, por favor, gracias and, probably the most important of all, cerveza.
It's not that I don't like other languages, it's just completely pointless me learning Spanish in two weeks. Firstly, all of the staff at the hotel spoke and understood English perfectly well. Secondly, the waiters will need to speak English long after I've departed Cancun, where as I won't speak a word of Spanish until I next return, possibly a year or two away. So it makes more sense for them to practice their English than me my Spanish. So in a way, I'm doing them a favour.
One thing I have learnt is that ninety percent of Americans don't hold a passport. And I would say out of the remaining ten percent that do, nine percent go to Mexico. The Americans are a strange bunch to work out. On one hand they are the most friendly, polite people you'll have the pleasure to meet, only ever addressing people as Sir or Mam. On the other hand, they can also be the most loud and irritating race on the planet. They also have some strange customs.
If two Arabs get into my taxi in London, they seem to shout at each other in an aggressive manor, even though they are only sitting about two feet apart. The Americans do it slightly differently. They sit as far away from each other as possible, sometimes to the point where binoculars are needed, then have a very loud conversation.
I've never been to the States, but unless they have followed the British Labour Governments lead of banning anything people enjoy doing, you can still get a drink anytime you want. Which is why it's baffling that Americans start drinking around 10am in the pool bar and finish around midnight looking like a zombie. Every night. Which leads to another of their customs - whooping. And they whoop at everything. It usually starts about 3pm in the pool bar after several hours drinking of cocktails. One day the whooping was so loud I started to wonder if Osama Bin Laden had been brought back to life, then killed again. All that really happened was a bloke asked the barman for a straw.
There is peace and quiet to be found on the beach, where the sand is white and the water is warm and clear. And thankfully they don't play music out of speakers that the Rolling Stones might use in a concert at Wembley Stadium. They do, however, have those speakers in the theatre.
The hotel next door boasts as being more exclusive, in reality it's just more expensive. They only have three restaurants and no night time entertainment. I can only imagine the entertainments manager plays the music at such a high volume to tease the other hotels guests when they are bored and bed is the only option at about 9pm. Either that or he's deaf. And after hearing some of the singers he's booked, it could be both.
There is a nice area to sit and have a drink after the main show is finished, where a three piece band plays in what resembles a town square rather than a hotel. There is a cigar shop on site, so if a Cuban short Churchill, Romeo and Juliet is as close to Shakespear as you wish to get, this is the place to be.
This is the fith time I've been to Mexico, and have stayed in four different hotels along the Riviera Maya area. I've never been disappointed. So if you're thinking of visiting the Caribbean and don't have the bank balance of Simon Cowell or Wayne Rooney, forget about Barbados, Antigua and St Lucia, say Adios to England (or wherever you call home) and say Hola! to Cancun, where paradise awaits.
Everything about the hotel screams luxury. You can even pay extra to belong to the Excellence Club, where you can sit in a bar that nobody else uses and get a different colour towel to use by your own pool. Shared by the other 200 people that join the club.
The resort has seven pools, five bars and seven restaurants - Mexican, French, Asian, Italian, Mediteranian, plus a specialist steak house and a place that only serves lobster. Breakfast and lunch are served in the steak house, which is situated near the main pool, but the buffet avaiable in the Italian restaurant is truly amazing. Eggs any way you like them are cooked at breakfast and a wide variety of fresh fish and meats, along with salad and fruit is what makes up lunch. With plenty of cakes and ice cream for those with a sweet tooth. There is a modest dress code for breakfast and lunch, you basically need to wear clothes, rather than swimming shorts or bikinis. In the evening the dress code is more formal. Long trousers need to be worn by men, woman are expected to wear more than a flannel. The Steak, lobster and Mexican restaurants allow tailored shorts as they are outside.
The four remaining restaurants are in the main building and wouldn't look out of place in London's West End. The food that's served in them is pretty much as good as I've had in London too. Then it all gets a bit confusing. There you are, all dressed up, in this fancy, bordering on posh, restaurant, when a smart looking waiter approaches you and serves you in the way someone at T.G.I Friday or Franky and Bennys would. Thankfully they stop short of saying "can I take your order guys" and then proceeding to call us both "guys" for the rest of the evening, even though my wife is quite obviously a woman.
The other thing that I find not quite right is the over the top subservience the waiters are forced to show. I'm a working class bloke and have never had servants. So having someone chase me around a restaurant offering to carry my plate, makes me feel slightly uncomfortable. To say "it's my pleasure" 15000 times a day each time a guest says thank you, is just ridiculous. I really cant see how a ten minute walk in 90 degree heat, just to get me a cappuccino, can bring anyone pleasure. Although I must point out that the gratitude is genuine when a tip is left.
Some of the waiters also made the mistake of thinking I was a foreign language student, there only to learn Spanish. Some repeated the Spanish translation to me after everything I ordered, then stand there with a look on their face like they were Yoda teaching Luke Skywalker to make a woman take her clothes off, without saying a word. They eventually gave up on this game after about two days when it looked like I might slip into a coma through the boredom of it. There was one persistent bloke that cooked my lunch every day. Every day he would tell me the Spanish for fish, shrimp, onions and mushrooms, and each following day I would continue to order in English. I'm pleased to say my vocabulary of Spanish is the same as when I arrived: Hola, si, por favor, gracias and, probably the most important of all, cerveza.
It's not that I don't like other languages, it's just completely pointless me learning Spanish in two weeks. Firstly, all of the staff at the hotel spoke and understood English perfectly well. Secondly, the waiters will need to speak English long after I've departed Cancun, where as I won't speak a word of Spanish until I next return, possibly a year or two away. So it makes more sense for them to practice their English than me my Spanish. So in a way, I'm doing them a favour.
One thing I have learnt is that ninety percent of Americans don't hold a passport. And I would say out of the remaining ten percent that do, nine percent go to Mexico. The Americans are a strange bunch to work out. On one hand they are the most friendly, polite people you'll have the pleasure to meet, only ever addressing people as Sir or Mam. On the other hand, they can also be the most loud and irritating race on the planet. They also have some strange customs.
If two Arabs get into my taxi in London, they seem to shout at each other in an aggressive manor, even though they are only sitting about two feet apart. The Americans do it slightly differently. They sit as far away from each other as possible, sometimes to the point where binoculars are needed, then have a very loud conversation.
I've never been to the States, but unless they have followed the British Labour Governments lead of banning anything people enjoy doing, you can still get a drink anytime you want. Which is why it's baffling that Americans start drinking around 10am in the pool bar and finish around midnight looking like a zombie. Every night. Which leads to another of their customs - whooping. And they whoop at everything. It usually starts about 3pm in the pool bar after several hours drinking of cocktails. One day the whooping was so loud I started to wonder if Osama Bin Laden had been brought back to life, then killed again. All that really happened was a bloke asked the barman for a straw.
There is peace and quiet to be found on the beach, where the sand is white and the water is warm and clear. And thankfully they don't play music out of speakers that the Rolling Stones might use in a concert at Wembley Stadium. They do, however, have those speakers in the theatre.
The hotel next door boasts as being more exclusive, in reality it's just more expensive. They only have three restaurants and no night time entertainment. I can only imagine the entertainments manager plays the music at such a high volume to tease the other hotels guests when they are bored and bed is the only option at about 9pm. Either that or he's deaf. And after hearing some of the singers he's booked, it could be both.
There is a nice area to sit and have a drink after the main show is finished, where a three piece band plays in what resembles a town square rather than a hotel. There is a cigar shop on site, so if a Cuban short Churchill, Romeo and Juliet is as close to Shakespear as you wish to get, this is the place to be.
This is the fith time I've been to Mexico, and have stayed in four different hotels along the Riviera Maya area. I've never been disappointed. So if you're thinking of visiting the Caribbean and don't have the bank balance of Simon Cowell or Wayne Rooney, forget about Barbados, Antigua and St Lucia, say Adios to England (or wherever you call home) and say Hola! to Cancun, where paradise awaits.
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