Tangential Ramblings

Many will be aware of my fastidious nature when it comes to phone numbers, but I've never shared with a wider audience. Maybe this doesn't provide a forum for a wider audience: be that as it may.

The 020 London prefix is now six years old, having been introduced on 22 April 2000. It superseded the 0171 and 0181 introduced in 1995, which in turn replaced 071 and 081 (1990), before which, it was simply 01. (I'll always remember Going Live being 01 811 8055.) BT's extensive publicity surrounding the 2000 change concentrated heavily on the 7 (inner London) and 8 (outer London) that succeeded the 020 prefix, which means that to this day, the vast majority of people believe there to be two London prefixes: 0207 and 0208. (My brother has recently been given a three, instead of the usual 7 and 8, but that's another aside.)

As you can imagine, this frustrates the hell out of me. People quote their number as 0207 XXX YYYY. The correct grouping is 020 7XXX YYYY. When I used to contact our local curry house in Clapham, I used to have to give my phone number. Here's the associated conversation (always with the same chap) that happened for every single order, verbatim:

Order taker: your phone number?
Me: 020
Order taker: 0207
Me: 7XXX
Order taker: XXX
Me: YYYY
Order taker: YYYY
Order taker: Your order please?

The behaviour has more recently sprung up in mobile phone numbers. It seems that the first five digits are too long to string together (even though they always start with 07), so people split it after three, or sometimes four. It seems somewhat random, more guided by the presence of double-digits as opposed to following a pre-defined breakdown.

So, please from now on could you quote your London numbers as 020, XXXX, YYYY. And your mobiles should be as follows: 07XXX, YYYYYY.

Many thanks.

I often have difficulty finding things, even when they may be right in front of me. Here's my analysis of the situation.

If I have to look for something, I first picture the item I'm looking for in my mind, and then go hunting for that vision of the object. If the reality of the object differs from my picture of it, then I can struggle.

For example, if I look for the butter (vegetable spread) in the fridge, I'll picture the tub with the branding that I think we have at the time. (I'm not a loyal butter buyer.) If we have, say, Flora instead of the Bertolli that I envisaged, then I can be looking for five, ten minutes before I find it.

Tonight, I was looking for the lid of the pan I'd just taken out. I was envisioning a green Le Creuset pan lid, with a black circular handle in the centre. The lid was turned upside down, so was cream with no such handle showing. It took the best part of five minutes to find, despite being right in front of me.

It's very frustrating, but I struggle through.

I've already written a couple of posts making observations on the differences between the UK and the US. Here are a few more.

In Sainsbury's, bakery items are left on the side, open to the air to make them hard, and people's breath and fingers to make them unwanted. Tongues are there to select what you want, but it certainly makes the produce less than appetising.

The bakery redeems itself somewhat by being way cheaper than its US equivalent. It's difficult to find a loaf for under $2.99 in the US, whereas you can get a freshly baked loaf for under half that in the UK: £0.70 for an unsliced loaf.

From baked goods to, er, baked goods. One of the worst aspects of London street life is the prevalence of dog shit. Although it must be slightly nauseating at first, New York dog owners pick up after their animals, turning tiny plastic bags inside out to save any touchage. While there may be some nominal fines for not doing so in the UK, people can rarely be seen picking up after their mutts, which makes for more hazardous walking conditions and a less appealing pavement.

From plastic bags to plastic wrap. UK cling film doesn't cling too well. Glad Wrap, its US counterpart, while no doubt pumped full of environmentally-unfriendly chemicals, clings like there's no tomorrow.

And finally, bearing right/left. UK traffic lights are frustrating me as a pedestrian. At a regular crossing, the lights generally have three settings in the sequence: traffic on road 1; traffic on road 2; pedestrians. In New York, you only get two: traffic on road 1; traffic on road 2. The pedestrians walk parallel to the traffic, with the traffic yielding as it turns. It makes for a much more intuitive pedestrian experience.

I recently tried to go through the British Gas enrolment process online. It bombed out when I tried to give it a US zip code for my previous address, as opposed to the expected UK postcode. However, there was a handy 'call me' button that I could press to work through the problem. On pressing the button, I was asked for two pieces of information

• What's your phone number?
• When should we call you?

I responded 'Now' to the latter question, and was impressed that the call came through within five seconds. However, here's a transcript of the call:

• This is an internet callback. Please hold while we connect your call
• Thank you for using British Gas
• Goodbye and thanks for using our free callback service

Not particularly useful.

As an aside, it seems that Geordie is the dialect of choice right now. One of the above messages was north-eastern. Meanwhile, Big Brother is back, with its resident Geordie commentator. And NTL's dreadful customer service is introduced by a Geordie.

Before this post took effect (at the time of writing it is a future activity), my blog had a total of 500 posts and 500 non-spam comments. Quite neat. I was hoping to reach 512 posts before leaving America (I have less influence over the number of comments than the number of posts), but didn't force the issue, despite the plethora of posts of late.

Started a new contract (work) today, which was very enjoyable. Still trying to figure out the idiosyncrasies of the London Underground's Oyster card (it was introduced just before I left the UK, but the pre-pay thing isn't at all obvious), and I'm baffled by the acceptance of smoking in pubs, but all in all I'm getting used to the British way of life again. The fact that the toilets smell of piss (more so than is necessary) aggravates the shit, or at least the piss, out of me.

A hectic four-day weekend planned before starting work in earnest on Tuesday.

There is a splodge of concrete on the pavement on the north-east junction of Hannington Road and The Chase in Clapham. It bears a remarkable resemblance to the leaping Michael Jordan in the Air Jordan logo.

I'm proposing excavating the area and selling the splodge on eBay for a ridiculous sum of money. Anyone interested in offering a Buy It Now bid?

I've been in the UK for about a week now, and have seen little but rain. Despite this, there is constant talk of an impending hosepipe ban. This while water streams from a hole in the ground across the pavement of The Pavement.

We pay for our water here, yet I'm sure our beloved water company won't shell out for a new lawn when I have to refrain from watering it this summer!

Free disk space required to install Windows Vista: 15Gb. FFS!

As Elise rightly pointed out to me, you only get to understand the people and ways of your own country if you've been away for a while. Below are some examples that I've come across in my first three days back.

I took some stuff to the dry cleaners on Wednesday. The guy asked when I wanted it back. I suggested Saturday, and, looking agitated, he said he'd do his best. Three working days and no guarantee: that would be unheard of in the States. I later went to pick up my shoes from the cobblers, handing over my bank card for the £35 transaction. "Sorry, we don't take cards. Cash only." I was dumbfounded.

I've just finished sorting out the kitchen, washing up everything that came out of storage and getting things ship-shape. In doing so, I was surprised at how small our microwave and fridge are. They were a fine size before we went to the US, and they're the same appliances, but now that our expectations have been adjusted, they're surpisingly small.

I have one very notable exception on the UK customer service front: New Heights. Their customer service has been superlative.

I've been back for 36 hours now and a few things have struck me that I thought worth sharing.

Firstly, it rains a lot in the UK. I knew that before, but I think you only truly understand th extent of this after a long stint away. It's the drawn-out drizzly type, as opposed to the shorter, more powerful bursts that drench you on the way to the office (remember, Lorian?), but it's truly depressing stuff.

Also, food prices are more expensive here in the UK, with two noticeable exceptions: lamb and olive oil. I picked up 500ml of olive oil in my evening run around the local Sainsbury's for £1.49. It wasn't the stuff of extra virgins, but it'll do me fine, especially as it was to be used to re-seal the marble top in the bathroom.

Which leads me to my next point: olive oil seems to work wonders on damaged marble. I was horrified with how the tenants had left the surface, but olive oil seems to have done the trick.

Next: rice takes around half the time to cook in the UK than it does in the US. Ten minues here; 20 minutes State-side. Not sure why, but it does.

The British are way worse at punctuation than our friends over in the US. I've already seen a missing apostrophe (can you see a missing apostrophe?) and I saw the word collectables today, which apparently is a variant of collectibles, but I would have thought that the latter would win for a marketing campaign; it seems not.

Nothing's really changed that much in our absence. Sainsbury's Clapham has had a make-over, including the building of a two-storey car-park. As I say, nothing much has changed.

The journey back to the UK was largely non-eventful. Virgin Atlantic both impressed and annoyed, and helped me get back into the UK swing of things.

First of all the annoyance. There was a steward and a stewardess with whom I had to deal, sat as I was in a cattle-class aisle seat (58G). Both seemed to be doing their best to annoy the shit out of me, and doing a fine job to boot. The guy was an overly camped-up stereotype, who I can only liken to the over-protective, gay father in the Les Dennis episode of Extras.

The girl was similarly stereotypical: young, blonde, made up to the nines (not in a good way) and with an Essex accent that stalled on the last syllable of each question asked. "Is there anything I can get youuuuuu?" "Do you want to give me a smack in the mouuuuuuth?" You get the idea.

During the breakfast hand-outs (feeding time at the zoo), she dropped a pre-packed muffin from one of the trays on to the floor. I had neither the will nor the inclination to tell her about it at the time, such was my deep level of frustration towards her. She later noticed the muffin next to my chair, and indicated that I had dropped my muffin, handing it to me. "No I haven't", I replied, pointing at my own muffin's empty carcass, to which she said that I could have it anyway. My indication that I had no interest in the aforementioned muffin fell on deaf (and stupid) ears, as she made her way even further back than my lowly seat. (My note to self to post about this experience comprised three words: Virgin muffin bitch.)

I think stewards, male and female, are trained to be stupidly nice at all times, irrespective of the mood of the passenger. Way more empathy needs to be included in the training: it's not always (ever?) appropriate to reply to an angry, frustrated passenger with a nauseating faux-caring whine.

On to the good stuff: on-demand entertainment. Choose what you want to watch, when you want to watch it, and pause when you want to go to the bathroom. My hand-set had a few technical issues but all in all, it was a huge step forward. Although I tried to get as much sleep as possible, I did cram in a previously unseen (by me) episode of Little Britain, and the first two episodes of The Green Wing, which brought me sailing back into the wonderful realms of British comedy.

I'm not sure how big The Green Wing is in the UK (it's not made it to the US), but it makes for fantastic viewing. It was also joyous to see the unabated use of questionable language to aid comedy: the F-word was common-place, and the C-word even got a mention. This contrasts starkly against the purity of most American comedies, but it helped bring The Green Wing to life, just as it did with the UK version of Teachers before it. (The American version of Teachers is geared for the "8/7 Central" audience and is thus lacking in innuendo and filth.)

My favourite line of the two episodes involved one of the doctors shouting to a corridor full of people: "Martin's having a wank in the cupboard". Martin was not having a wank in the cupboard, and instead tried to profess his innocence to the audience. Childish? Undoubtedly. Funny? Ditto.

I've been talking to some cable providers in the UK recently to sort out a decent connection for when we get back. I've been told that a 2 Meg connection should be enough for our needs, but I'm confused by seemingly conflicting data.

Apparently, 2 Meg means 2 megabits per second. Doing online speed tests on my current connection shows anywhere between 750kbps and 5,500kbps.

Meanwhile, hovering over my wireless icon in the little tray down below tells me I have an "excellent" connection, with a speed of 108Mbps. And if that wasn't enough, there's the whole upload vs. download speed. It's a confusing world out there in broadband-land. Can anyone give me a simple overview, and tell me whether I'll be rocking with my 2 Meg NTL connection?

One of my favourite techie facts is that four bits make a nibble; two nibbles make a byte.

On occasions, the Staten Island Ferry goes off course, venturing up the Hudson instead of its well-oiled route from lower Manhattan to Staten Island. I assume it's just a test-run. Anyway, here's a picture of one such run from our window.

And on a much grander scale, here's the Freedom of the Seas, the largest cruise ship in the world, which has been in town for the last few days nipping up and down the Hudson.

The earth spins on its axis once every day. I've just done a back-of-a-fag-packet calculation, and reckon that if you draw a line around the earth at 45° north (the approximate level of London and New York), it's around 17,500 miles long. So during the seven hours it takes a plane to travel from New York to London, the earth has rotated around 5,000 miles beneath it.

What I don't fully understand is why this doesn't make west-east travel impossible. At that latitude, the earth is rotating at around 700 miles per hour, with London getting further and further away. Given that the standard jet travels at around 550 miles per hour, first impressions suggest that on taking off, once it loses the momentum it had due to being in contact with the ground (as we all have), it should drift westwards (relatively, at least) at around 150 miles per hour.

I assume that the reason for this not happening is that the air surrounding the earth rotates with the earth, but it would be nice to get a more qualified answer to my conundrum. I'm sure it's the same rationale for a fly caught inside a car not smacking against the back window.

Customer service in the UK is supremely shit, and I am not looking forward to this side of life back on the east side of the Atlantic.

This morning, I popped into our Chambers Street branch of HSBC to arrange our change of address back to the UK. The young lady was very polite, proficient and wished me luck with our impending move. It wasn't a throw-away comment; she appeared to genuinely mean it. I left the bank with a spring in my step to tick off a few more errands.

A few days back, I called British Gas to inform them of our impending move into our UK property. The guy seemed to be half asleep. When I told him of our move date, he basically questioned why I was calling so early.

Today, I called Lambeth Council to arrange the suspension of a couple of parking bays for our furniture delivery next week, and was distinctly reminded of Little Britain's Computer Says No sketch.

There are exceptions to the rule: surprisingly, NTL was rather efficient with my requests yesterday, despite its being renowned for dreadful customer service.

With very few exceptions my experience with US providers has been a joy to behold. Homewares stores, medical insurance companies, cable and utility providers, they all seem happy to speak to me, and willing to deal with my requests or issues in the best way they know how.

There also seems to be less segregation, in that a single person can help you in many different ways. In the UK, you seem to spend half of your time being transferred from one department to another, while paying your phone service provider for the pleasure.

My prediction a little over a month ago that Paris Bennett would win this year's American Idol was proven wrong last week when she was voted off. I don't think anyone could argue with her talent. But when not singing, she became annoying, and while singing, she became arrogant.

Tonight saw a much greater shock: the demise of Chris Daughtry. As a result, the final three will be Taylor, Kat and Elliott. Elliott produced a sterling performance last night to earn his place in the last three, as did Taylor. Kat was dreadful, and I am astounded that she survived the vote. I have no doubt that Chris will become successful despite not making the top three, but this was a real shock.

"If we hadn't intervened, he would still be at the bottom of the sphere doing a breath-hold."

You live and learn; you live and learn.

The British reaction to David Blaine's shenanigans and that of the Americans are worlds apart. I noticed it last night, while watching ABC's two hour special, and my friend Robin highlighted it to me again today.

The Americans revel in the genius behind the man, share his pain, and will him on to accomplish his seemingly pointless tasks. The British, meanwhile, deride his work, ridiculing him to the best of their ability.

I remember an interview with his girlfriend and her being shocked at the British reaction to his being suspended for 45 days or so in a perspex box above the Thames.

During the 45 days, Blaine was pelted with countless foodstuffs (including eggs, lemons, sausages, bacon, water bottles, beer cans and paint-filled water balloons, according to Wikipedia), was the target of a makeshift cross-river golf driving range that a lone amateur had set up, and at the highlight in British humour, had a radio-controlled helicopter hover around the box, from which a beefburger was suspended.

Last night, during Blaine's failed attempt to hold his breath for nine minutes, the Lincoln Center was abuzz with joyous Americans, chanting his name and whooping as only Americans know how. This highlights one of the biggest contrasts between the two nations' people: while the Americans celebrate success, we Brits do our best to knock people off their perches, especially when their endeavours are so ridiculous.

Allegedly, you can't eat a Rowntrees Fruit Pastille without chewing. And I would argue that you can't hit the next button on your iPod while the Undertones' Teenage Kicks is playing.

As an aside, Rowntrees is currently running a Pastille Idol-type competition on its website, in which you can vote out either the Lemon or Pineapple flavour. It took quite some deliberation before I opted to boot out pineapple. Pineapple's nice and all, but it's more suited to the Pineapple Chunk than the Rowntrees Fruit Pastille. As for RFPs, I'll always be seen going for the citrus flavours rather than the berries.

There are eight escalators at the World Trade Center PATH station. This morning, only two were in operation, one going up, one down. And it's not as if they're old: given their circumstance, they have to be less than four years old.

If an IT system had eight servers and only two were operational at a given time, there would be all hell to pay.

The amusing part was the fact that the one up escalator had an enormous queue. I said "hello" to my friend (who happens to be pregnant), who I spotted walking up one of the troubled escalators, but this was deemed too much exercise for a whole bunch of lazy Jersey folk.

Hootie Johnson always scared the crap out of me when administering the proceedings involving the famous green jacket after the US Masters. He is one of the most backward people I've ever seen in such a seemingly important position; I suppose that's what generations of in-breeding does to a man.

It seems that his successor, Billy Payne, who takes over the role on 21 May, is a chip off Hootie's block. Today, he ruled out even talking about the possibility of women joining the Augusta National. He's a Georgia native, btw.

Here's the breakdown of the provisional England squad by club team.

• Chelsea, Spurs: four each
• Arsenal, Liverpool, Man. Utd.: three each
• Bayern Munich, Man. City, Middlesbrough, Newcastle, Norwich City, Real Madrid: one each

I wonder when Spurs last fielded four representatives.

Sven Goran Eriksson today named his provisional squad for the World Cup, which kicks off a month today:

Paul Robinson, David James, Robert Green, Gary Neville, Rio Ferdinand, John Terry, Ashley Cole, Sol Campbell, Jamie Carragher, Wayne Bridge, David Beckham, Steven Gerrard, Frank Lampard, Michael Carrick, Owen Hargreaves, Jermaine Jenas, Stewart Downing, Joe Cole, Aaron Lennon, Wayne Rooney, Michael Owen, Peter Crouch, Theo Walcott

Apparently there was some last-minute, schoolboy error-prone Excel sorting of the first name and last name columns of the name sheet, and the following people have actually been selected.

Aaron Neville, Paul Robinson (of Neighbours fame), Gary Owen (the loser to John Spencer in the 1969 World Snooker final), the late John Lennon, the late David Cole (of Clivillés and Cole, aka C&C Music Factory), David Sol (assumed to be a typo, he of Starsky and Hutch, and Little Britain fame), Frank Ferdinand (another typo - the entire band has been selected, a loophole meaning they only count as one player), the late Jimmy Stewart, Eastenders' Steve Owen (Martin Kemp will be required to be in-character for the entire month), Michael 'Mickey' Rooney and Robert Downing Junior.

We're a force not to be reckoned with.

An interesting, if slightly bitter, article in the Consulting Times about the consultant's role within the NHS. It's as interesting for its highlighting of erroneous statistics as for its point of view.

It's easy to take a swipe at consultants with sweeping statements, the one below from Dr. Paul Miller of the BMA:

I don't believe that the health service gets good value for money from these consultants, who have no background in health.

On this point, it has always struck me as odd that Ministers are appointed without the need for subject matter expertise in their department.

A quote that the government has spent "£52.5m in six years on management consultants for the health service" struck me as mightily low.

There will often be a role for consultants to play, no more so than in organisations as large and complex as the NHS. Only by embracing the change that they can bring will the NHS realise the value for money that they offer.

A9 is now powered by Microsoft's Windows Live, having previously been using Google.

This at a time when Google is angry with Microsoft for using the newly introduced embedded search module to point to MSN as default, and arguing that changing this default is cumbersome. I may be wrong, but I thought that Google has the same luxury with the similar module in Firefox, and I have no idea how to change the default.

Many stones will be thrown at Google in the near future, and Google will be returning many of these with equal force. It will be an interesting time in the search market, as Yahoo!, Google and Microsoft go head-to-head, with other players like Amazon putting in their two cents for good measure.

America has a different rule for punctuation at the end of a sentence in which quotes have been used. Below are what I believe to be the British rules:

If a sentence ends with a section encompassed by quotation marks, the full stop (period) falls "after the closing quotation mark".

"If an entire sentence falls within quotes, then the period is included within the quotation."

As far as I can tell, in American English (oxymoron?), the first rule is reversed, while the second rule remains the same. So sentences ending in quotations "end like this."

Similarly, quotations in American English that need to be followed by a comma have the comma included in the quotation; "whereas in British English", the comma comes after the quotation mark.

While I'm biased, I believe the British rules are more intuitive. For sentences ending in a quoted section, the full stop is ending the sentence, which happens to contain a quotation. Including the full stop within the quotation suggests that the sentence itself hasn't been closed.

In the comma scenario, the comma is not something that was inferred as part of the quotation; it is intended to make the sentence within which the quotation sits read properly. As such, it belongs well and truly outside the quotation.

It's minor, but something that I've always noticed since arriving on these here shores.

As I've mentioned before, the BBC often shortens an article's title when surfacing so that it fits neatly into its allotted space on the section homepage. In this example however, the surfaced title and the actual title are the same:

US denies terror suspect torture

Was he asking to be tortured, with the US withholding this right?

The layout over content argument isn't the reason here; it's merely a case of shoddy journalism.

I hate the phrase Web 2.0, but it seems to be taking off. The concept, however, is very real. It's all about taking web applications to the next level.

riya is one such example. I've seen someone in the office demo its work, and it really is stupendous.

Basically, it's a place to store your photos. But when you upload them, you train the system to recognise faces. With very little training, it recognises people's faces on new batches of photos that you upload, and you only need to tag the faces that you haven't yet added.

My friend from work even questioned why it had tagged a photo as containing his sister-in-law, until he spotted her in the distance.

The potential implications of the system are profound. If you make your tagged photos publicly available, then people in those photos are identifiable by the general public; and if you're photographed somewhere you shouldn't be, then the world can easily find out. Alternatively, if there's someone you want to know the name of, take a picture of him/her and see whether their faces can be recognised.

Not only is the software itself very impressive, quite a lot of effort has gone into making a seemless and intuitive user experience, something that is conspicuous by its absence in flickr.

All in all, a beautiful, useful and powerful piece of kit.

As Francis and the BBC rightly pointed out, tonight marks a special occasion from a time perspective.

At a little after two minutes past one tomorrow morning, it will be 01:02:03 04/05/06. I will be waking up to mark the occasion, although its significance is questionable.

Let's work from back to front. The year (AD 2006) is calculated from the birthday of Jesus of Nazareth. However, more recent estimates suggest that he/He was born between 8 BC and 4 BC, as his birth is known to have preceded Herod's death in 4 BC. So, we should have been celebrating the Millennium somewhere between 1992 and 1996, and the momentous second on which this post was founded actually took place between four and eight years ago. So this puts a big question mark over the '06'.

The Gregorian calendar was introduced on 24 February, 1582, making it 424 years, two months and nine days old today. It succeeded the ten month Julian calendar which was slightly inaccurate in its year length. There doesn't seem to be any logic for there being twelve months (although it's nice that they divide into quarters, thirds and halves), nor is there any real logic for the first day of the year falling on 1 January. It's always struck me as odd that it didn't fall on one of the equinoxes, or else a solstice, given that these dates have a natural beauty. This puts pay to the '04' and the '05'.

Now to the time. It's claimed that the Egyptians were responsible for dividing the day into two twelve-hour chunks, while the Babylonians claim the 60s used for seconds and minutes. Both are thought to be arbitrary units, chosen more for their mathematical beauty than their worldly significance. So, the '01', '02' and '03' are pretty arbitrary too.

The UK celebrated this momentous secound a little over an hour ago. I'll be celebrating the event in four hours' time using Eastern Daylight Time. That's a concept that was conceived by Benjamin Franklin in 1784 and first seriously advocated by William Willett in 1907.

Despite these countless flaws, it's certainly worth waking up for!

As an aside, the magazine 4-4-2 wasted an opportunity four years ago to sponsor 4 April, 2002 as a national day of football.

We took a cab up the FDR on the east side very early this morning, and happened upon some impressive views of a fire that engulfed eight warehouse buildings over in Brooklyn. Flames were leaping out of the buildings, while fire boats on the East River attempted to curb its progress.

As an aside, there's an amusing sentence in the Reuters coverage of the fire, aimed at people who aren't aware what miles are:

Smoke could be seen for miles (kilometers).

In tonight's TV news coverage, the fire is being compared to 9/11, it being the biggest fire since that day five years ago. I believe I am being accurate when I say that not a day has gone by since our arrival in New York without hearing some mention of 9/11 - arguments over memorials, re-construction issues, complaints over compensation, terrorism threats, health issues, you name it. Even when stories are seemingly unrelated to the event, as in today's example, some tenuous link is crow-barred into the story.

I've continued to read the CSS book, having extended its loan from NYPL over the internet - very nice feature! Yesterday saw a reading stint on the lawn outside our building, while basking in the glorious sunshine.

I've been thinking of a few ways in which I can enhance the style sheet for this site, but started off by cleaning it up, making the code more efficient and getting rid of redundancy. This reduced it in size by over 25% (down from 6,4XX to 4,784 bytes), which is great, but there's doubtless room for reducing this yet further.

Copy in the BBC's live coverage of sporting events probably doesn't undergo the same level of internal scrutiny as does the site's less dynamic content. I'm not sure whether there is a simple two-step create/approve workflow, or whether it's simply a one-step creation.

Anyway, judging by the pace at which the 2006 World Snooker Championship final is being contested, it could probably go through a far more rigorous workflow and still be up to date.

Last week, a squirrel's arrival on the pitch during the north London derby resulted in some amusing comments about the referee looking to show it the red card. Unfortunately, I think the BBC regards these pages as throw-away, to be replaced by a more comprehensive article once the event is over; they certainly don't appear in search results. Often, the live updates make for comedic reading.

Today, there is the gem below taken from coverage of the Dott/Ebdon final:

Like a couple of chimps in London Zoo, Ebdon and Dott continue to scratch about as the match approaches the mid-session interval.

It reminded me of the worst metaphors found in High School papers, which makes for great reading. I expect that Karl Pilkington has interpreted this simile literally, and that it will be gracing Monkey News before too long.

It seems that Blair's cabinet is crumbling around him, with Charles Clarke's failure to deport freed, foreign, former prisoners, and John Prescott's new label of "two shags" to go alongside his "two jags" and "two jabs".

With regard to the Charles Clarke issue, I'm not sure I fully understand. Among other things, imprisonment is meant to ensure the safety of the general public, and therefore release from prison should only be done at a time when there is minimal risk to the general public.

The fact that the former prisoners were not deported merely means that the victims of any future crimes they commit are likely to be British as opposed to foreign; if the former prisoners were deported, it wouldn't affect their likelihood of re-offending.

While deportation may have been a pre-condition of their release (which would be a separate matter), it seems that people are focusing on the wrong issue. The argument for deportation is somewhat similar to Bush's argument for fighting terrorism before it reaches US soil. It's almost making a case for British people being better than foreigners.

I understand the home secretary's remit to ensure the safety of the British public, but this should not be done at the expense of other countries' people. If the criminals were a significant risk to the public, British or otherwise, then they should not have been released from prison.