Day Jar View

I’m no political scholar, particularly on the US, but I met the news that President Obama had retaken the oath of office last night with a wry grin.

I say President Obama but, according to the reports, the White House Counsel team recommended that he retake the oath because both he and the Chief Justice said one word out of order when he took the oath for the first time on Tuesday, and that this might give conspiracy theorists and pundits an excuse to claim that he wasn’t ever officially President.

When I watched the swearing in, I had spotted that the word had been misplaced (and what a word to misplace), and had thought that someone or other might make a fuss, which they duly did.

Good on him though for putting it to bed straight away, rather than giving the fuel to the kind of ridiculous theories that have dogged previous events such as 9/11.

Congratulations Mr President. Again.

On hearing that Bush had left a note for Obama in the desk of the oval office, I couldn’t help wondering what it might say.

It could be something as innocuous as “Good luck – you’ll need it!”, or perhaps, “The red button is under the desk”; but I’d like to think it contains something similar to that note which passed between Nikita Khrushchev and Leonid Brezhnev in the sixties.

The story goes that after Khruschev was deposed, he left a note to his successor:

“To my successor: When you find yourself in a hopeless situation which you cannot escape, open the first letter, and it will save you. Later, when you again find yourself in a hopeless situation from which you cannot escape, open the second letter.”

And sure enough, it wasn’t long before Brezhnev found himself in a tight spot, so he opened the first letter, and it simply said:

“Blame it all on me.”

So he duly did, and it saved him,  prolonging his time in office significantly. 

Soon, he found himself in other difficult situation, but instead of panicking he dug out the 2nd letter. This one said:

“Sit down, and write two letters.”

The ridiculous EU has decided, in all their ill-conceived wisdom, that tungsten filament bulbs are to be phased out. The 100W one was killed off last week, and by 2012 even the lowly 40W will be consigned to the dustbin.

Their replacements are those ghastly, expensive, “eco” bulbs, which apparently last for years and use a quarter of the power of Edison’s equivalent. This is all very well and good, but what they don’t tell you on the box is that when you turn them on, you feel like you are in an operating theatre.

Gone will be the cosy nights by the fire, reading by the horrendously inefficient light of the bulb that has served us perfectly well for the past 100-odd years.

Ok, they may give off only 5% of the energy they use as light, and the rest as heat – but is that so bad? Surely that means you can turn the boiler down a bit.

Stockpiling has already started, apparently, and thinking about it I will probably be joining them as the date draws nearer; particularly as my missus has previously not allowed the eco bulbs in the house.

As Edison spins in his grave, start your hoarding now – and show the EU that when it comes to how we light our homes, they really should keep their well-fed snouts out.

I have to admit I’m a bit jealous of those who are spending the next few days in Washington. I’m not an American, but the sheer spectacle of it all will be something special I’m sure.

I will be glued to the BBC tomorrow, and will no doubt wish on a number of occasions that we could have Obama in number 10, instead of that Scot (can you say that these days?) Brown – if ever anyone needed a visit from Obama ASAP it’s him: maybe some of the personality will rub off.

Got a do in a few weeks’ time down in sunny Bournemouth, and the theme is 70s. Went to some fancy dress shop in Gorseinon the other day, and it was full of packs of nylon “clothing” at outrageous prices. If the credit crunch wasn’t the fault of the bankers and the housing speculators, it could quite easily have been the fault of the behemoth running this shop.

Anyone who can charge £45 for a nylon John Travolta disco “suit” and keep a straight face must surely be guilty of something, and if not: the law needs to be changed.

As it turns out, my brother had a pretty cool outfit a few years back for a do when we were at Uni together – mine has long since gone, and I wouldn’t be able to get the trousers above my knees these days anyway, but his is languishing in my other brother’s wardrobe apparently. Complete with afro!