It’s an odd sort of a ceremony, the inauguration. Singing, poetry, praying and swearing-in. Grandiose, but without the hideous pomp and tradition of European equivalents, yet at the same time a bit thin and awkward. The word God gets used so often you’d think it was church rather than government. Obama himself, though, at least mentioned that there were faith’s present other than Christians, and, indeed, Atheists. Good man. But it’s all just background hiss really. It’s the speech we all wanted, and it was a goody. It’s tough time to become president. I’m glad he didn’t foolishly evangelise about hope for the future. Obama’s speech talked of crises caused by greed and irresponsibility, and many other problems caused or encouraged by his cretinous warmongering predecessor.

And so he talked about starting again. Not a call to arms. A call to work. He’s bracing the US, in my opinion, for lean times where their interests might have to be globalised. It he really does want to help other countries (as he said), he’s going to have to weather criticism at home, especially during economic difficulties. His obvious intension to scale down America’s military aggression will be a help, I’m sure. War’s expensive in both lives and money. But the only way he’s actually going to achieve the things he wants (especially regarding his health and energy policies) is to hugely increase tax on rich people and business – a very difficult thing to do in the US – in order to distribute capital. Of course, he won’t actually be saying that yet, because it sounds sort of socialist… but it’s the only thing that he can do, really. He has to undo decades of reinforcement of that most appalling American export – the idea that selfishness is good.

On the other hand, the US is probably the only country in the developed west where leadership and salesmanship can achieve almost anything, even when there isn’t so much money as there used to be. The citizens of the US are an odd bunch when considered as a people. They are often mocked by the rest of us for being somewhat devoid of the hard cynicism we’re used to over the pond. When enthusiasm is the result, however, we should all be jealous. If the American people are prepared to work towards a common goal – and that goal is humanitarian – the entire world may follow. We cynical Europeans often forget that America has always been about hope. Obama is just the latest symbol of this. American society often stumbles and fails, it can be brutal and awful, but there is huge optimism there to, an ambition, and an energy and hope that I have never encountered in gloomy old England.

But if this grand change never occurs, we are still bound to enter a better era, if only in small ways. Obama supports science. He opposes torture. It might seem obvious that he should, but Bush’s administration didn’t. Unless he suddenly decides to nuke Moscow, his foreign policy cannot help but be more responsible. Even if these are the only things he manages to put right, the whole world will still be a better place.

He stood there on steps of a building built by slaves. He stood there, a black president seen in the lifetime of people who lived in segregated communities in the US, who were still prevented from voting by hook and crook within my lifetime, come to that. A mighty achievement in itself. More than two million people heard that speech live in the mall. There must be billions of us watching it worldwide. I wonder if it’s some sort of a record. It feels odd to be at this moment, one that so many of us have wanted for so long. Obama’s in. Bush is out. The best bit, after Obama’s speech, was watching that idiotic germ of a man get into a helicopter and head back to Texas. The air tastes better somehow.

I can only hope that the energy Obama generates, and he, survives the months ahead. I feel a tiny taste of optimism upon my tongue. It’s odd, a flavour I’ve grown unused to in the past decade. I shall savour it for as long as I can.

I’ve been away, (hence the lack of posts), but, as usual, the world has wobbled, in slack and appalling chaos beneath me. I’d thought that, initially, I’d have blogged today about awful and inappropriate Christmas mutterings of the pope. It seemed then that calling for a return to the pointless and poorly-reasoned castigation of homosexuality by the world’s most influential religious leader would be the most awful thing that happened over the period of my holiday (so, lets have ago at people who don’t do the supposedly ‘natural’ thing and breed, then, shall we? Let’s start with Catholic priests, then). Little did I imagine that the tinderbox in the Holy Land would be sparked once more on the tail fires of a rocket. 

I am like anyone on the outside of it, unable to fully appreciate the motivations behind either side. It’s easy to criticise. The open contempt written upon the faces of European leaders as Tzipi Livni spoke yesterday summed up most of our feelings, I fear. We should be disappointed in all concerned.

Barack Obama, who will soon be representing the biggest supporter of Israel, the US, has remained cautiously quiet. I can’t say as I blame him – he has to deal with this when he’s in power, and defining his policies and opinions in advance of his influence will bring with it impossible expectations and a lack of flexibility. One thing that he has said in the past may well sum up a large proportion of pro-Israeli thinking, however -Visiting the Israeli town of Sderot in July, he suggested that he too would respond if rockets were being fired at his house. I heard this opinion echoed several times yesterday by various US spokespersons, one even going so far as to comment on what America’s response might be if the rockets were being shot from Canada. Ye gods. His name escapes me. That’s probably for the best.

All situations like this are unique, and ceasefires must be negotiated, but I assume that Tony Blair has been given the job, despite the obvious disadvantages he has, due to his supposed successes in Ireland and his clout with the US. Successful resolution of the conflict in Ireland (and, despite some of the remaining problems, let me simply state right now that anyone who tells you that it is not a success should think about the state Belfast was in during the eighties), however, was largely based upon an unwillingness in British Governments to escalate the conflict. I am not claiming here that the two situations are utterly alike. That would be idiotic, but I feel it might illustrate a point. The point is about dehumanisation and the identification of ‘the other’.    

It is, of course, entirely possible – if highly unlikely – that the UK could have bombed Eire into the stone age in response to bombings on the mainland. Thankfully, it didn’t (although ten quid says that Dennis Thatcher suggested it – he was well known as being one of the few people capable of occupying the slim sliver of space to the right of Margaret). The situation in Northern Ireland was probably too integrated, and international condemnation would have been too serious, it would have ruined ties with America, the British population would have hated it (sadly, of course, probably not as much as you might imagine – we could rename the bulk of the UK’s population as “string ‘em up Britain” with fair accuracy), finding targets would have been difficult… there are countless pragmatic reasons why it would not have been a good policy, but I like to think that the main reason it wasn’t done was because it was just obviously the wrong thing to do. It felt wrong because Irish people cannot be dehumanised in the eyes of most Brits (despite our rather chequered past) – they are not ‘the others’, they are not ‘the enemy’ – they are of ‘us’.

Eire just isn’t seen as a valid target for military action any more. Few people living in the 20^th century would ever have considered it so. Bombing Dublin or Limerick would feel like bombing Leeds or Bradford just because the ‘7/7’ terrorists were supposedly from there.  The situation with Hamas makes this politically very different, but the reasons why Israel shouldn’t respond in the way it does are essentially the same. Bombing the Palestinians – bombing anyone for that matter – should feel like what it is. It should feel like killing people, no matter how mad you are at them. And it should feel like that to us, too. What is happening in Gaza right now is a terrible amount of suffering is being inflicted on one group of people by another. You might argue that Hamas should consider the same thing, and you’d be right. But at some point one side or the other has to be the bigger party. If Israel wants to assert its moral superiority here, then let it do so. For sure it has the right to do something about the rocket attacks, but it must always consider exactly what that thing to do must be. Everyone has to live with the consequences of their actions. And at the moment, the action is the killing of many, many people, most of whom are in no position to defend themselves.

As for Obama suggesting that he too would ‘respond’ to rockets fired at his house, I hope that this means that he feels personal sympathy with the victims of rocket attacks in Israel, and not that this means he supports heavy military responses to terrorist strikes. Recognising the humanity of your opponents, and refusing to set them up as a dehumanised, enemy ‘other’, would, in my opinion, lead to treating terrorism as a criminal act rather than an act of war. ‘Wars on terror’ are a sick joke at best and an ill-told lie in the case of Iraq. And they have killed too many people already.

Whilst I’ve been writing this, the Israeli’s have, apparently, destroyed a UN-run school in Gaza, where civilians were sheltering. The moral high ground must look very distant from where they are now.

Just a quicky today – just enough to make you paranoid.

The police officer leans in through the window. You are not even sure why you’ve been stopped. ‘Scuse me citizen – may I have your hidentity card please?’

‘No. I am not required to carry it, so I don’t’.

‘Well sir, that’s a little suspicious if you hasks me. Looks to me like you ave somefink to ide. I is placin you hunder harrest hunder the hanti-terrorism laws of two-fowsund-hand…’

‘What?’

‘you is not required to say henifink, but if yer doesn’t, den everyone will fink you is a villain hanyway. Give me your ‘and, citizen.’

‘What on earth for?’

‘Genetic sample, citizen. Now that you is hunder harrest, failure to supply a hofficer with a genetic sample is a criminal hoffese with a mandatory sentence of…

‘Oh, very well. Here’s my hand.’

‘Fank you, sir. Just a little prick.’

The officer places the needle into a handheld computer. A moment passes as the sample is read.

‘Well now, citizen, I is hafraid that you his potentially a very naughty boy…’

The European court of human rights have ruled that holding the DNA of people who have not been convicted of any offence is inappropriate. Which might stave off gene plod for a moment or three. Nobody seems to be bothered about the rest, though. I am. The argument for holding genetic samples is fairly clear in the most serious offences. But how important can it be for fraudsters, burglars and the like? Or shoplifters? Drunk and disorderly? Jaywalking? I’d argue that only the most serious crimes warrant being placed onto the ‘so very criminal that they might very well have done anything, better check just in case’ list. Jacqui Smith has said today that it’s inappropriate to keep samples from people under ten. How very generous. Ten years old? My god! They’re keeping samples from scrumpers! Obviously destined for lives as criminal masterminds…

Civil liberties have been eroded in recent years with a speed and depth that quite frankly makes me want to laugh out loud at the sheer audacity of it. How on earth have they got away with all this? It seems like everyone I talk to knows that they have been brought in on feeble pretexts and are absolutely useless for solving the combating the ‘crimes’ and activities they are designed to cope with. We have more cameras per person than any country on earth. We are monitored for simply protesting. They want to track the movement s of our cars. We voluntary carry little devices that let them monitor our positions. Every electronic transaction we ever make is logged. Under RIPA powers, your council can place you under surveillance if someone complains that your music is too loud. It’s enough to make you paranoid.

Let’s assume, however, that the government we currently has just has our best interests at heart. Let’s give them the benefit of the doubt for a moment. Now that there are all these powers and rights and information databases, who’s to say what a subsequent government might do? Imagine what Stalin or Hilter might have done with such information. Imagine what the BNP might do.

I was reassured by one thing though, today. That ‘partner tracker’ thing on the television is a joke. For now.

‘Ah, I sees, Mr Burton, that your genetic profile hindicates a predisposition towards rebelliousness hand depression, and a hincreased tendency to become henraged. Well now, I’d be positively derelict in my duties if I didn’t take you to the station himidiately hand lock you hup for the protection hof heveryone. I’m sorry citizen, but hit looks like the labour camps for you.’

‘But… but I didn’t do anything!’

‘Not yet, citizen, not yet, but, statistically speaking, you will.’

It’s too late, he’s got his Tazer out, and his partner has opened the door and cuffed you.

‘Oh yes, sir, and for your hinformation, you have done somefink criminal.

‘One hof your tail lights his out.’   

Such hammers fall silently, and from a great height.

Originally posted Nov 5th 2008:

There’s only one thing worth talking about today. Well, that’s not quite true, as the world ticks on with all its horrors in tow – the Congo, Iraq (still), Russia deploying missiles near Poland, ever-increasing financial gloom – but all of it seems to be somehow diminished today. The reason is one man, Barack Obama, president elect, and the thing that is making me look at the rest of the world through the wrong end of a telescope is hope.  

Hope is s fickle thing, especially as it rarely fulfilled, and my inherent cynicism wants it gone. It is all the more potent, though, due to the hard contrast placed upon last night’s events by the last eight years under Bush. I’m uncomfortable with hope, it’s too pleasant to be true. It’s a little like being drunk – everything is very immediate, and you can’t see things how they really are. Things still fall apart around you but you’re too intoxicated to notice. So it’s time to sober-up.

Imagine a room, anywhere in the U.S., suspended polystyrene tile ceiling, one door, no windows, two chairs. The slender, immaculately suited president elect sits alone, happy to have won, sad for his grandmother, patiently waiting for something, unsure about what it is. Something’s gnawing away at his gut, just made tolerable by the numbing euphoria coursing through him.

Another man enters, conservative suit, strong physique, one of those things in his ears that seem to be monopolised by television presenters and the secret service. He sits in the chair opposite. ‘Mr President Elect. We need to have a few words.’

He removes his earpiece, as Barack Obama leans back, feigning relaxation and gestures for him to continue with an open-handed gesture.

‘Firstly let me tell you that thee are no aliens on cold storage in Area 51. Roswell was just an experimental aircraft we didn’t want anyone to know about, and aliens do not visit hick towns in Alabama to stick probes into the backsides of American citizens.’

Obama smiles, ‘I didn’t think that…’

The other man is not smiling as he interrupts. ‘It is not my place to assume what you are thinking, Mr Obama, sir, but to simply tell you how things are.’

Obama’s face falls. He’s wondering if it was the first thing Bush wanted to know about. He snaps suddenly to his senses. ‘What exactly is this about, Mr…’

‘Wiseman, sir, Mr Wiseman.’ Obama’s eyebrows raise, showing doubt. Wiseman continues. ‘And I’m here to brief you on what is possible and what is not. Do not take this as a joke, sir’, he says, noting Obama’s building amusement. ‘You must listen.’

Obama nods. ‘Pray continue.’

For the next four hours, Wiseman explains to him how he can’t upset big business, nor raise taxes significantly, how he might have to take proposition 8 with good grace, how wars for resources must continue. He will explain that there simply isn’t the money to help poorer nations. He will explain the need for continued military development, of the difficulties, both financial and political, of switching to alternative energy. At some point he will mention assassination.  

‘Liberals rarely shoot anyone sir. Not true of cultural conservatives. Your ‘Guns and God’ comments won’t help here.’

‘Are you telling me that I am going to be shot because I’m black?’

The man shrugs. ‘Maybe – it is certainly a factor – but you don’t have to be black to be shot, sir. Kennedy couldn’t have been whiter if he’d been albino. The Muslim government of Iran are cultural conservatives, not just the farmers of Virginia. And not just you, sir.’

‘Seriously?’

Wiseman sighs. ‘I’m just saying, sir, that you might want to think a little about how much you want to push the abortion thing.’

He will explain the only way that he can effect change of any kind will be by tiny and seemingly insignificant degrees that might one day add up to something. Anything else will doubtless cause a massive increase in the economic downturn and a huge amount of resentment from the grass roots that need his help to the big businesses that really drive the country. Obama sighs. He can see his dreams dissolving before him, suddenly revealed for the ghostly chimeras they always were.

I don’t think that it actually happens like this. But he will have been told. Maybe months ago, maybe years, probably in hundreds of tiny little statements by hundreds of tiny men, rather than one big, imposing one.

If you want to hope, then, hope this. Hope that he means it. Hope that he has the courage and strength of character to risk quite literally everything for the principles he appears to have. Hope that the job itself doesn’t consume the man he appears to be. Hope that the American people can build up a head of steam and actually change their culture and society to make it less radically self-interested, less aggressive, more cooperative and more sympathetic on the world stage.

Hope, essentially, that we have judged him well. He is a charismatic man. It means he’s won, which is good. It also means he might have won had he not meant a single word of it. Last night, caught up in it all, I had a little weep. The last time that happened in a similar context, the Labour party had just smashed the Tories to smithereens at the polls, ending the rule of a right-wing government that had been in power for almost all of my life and had all but destroyed the less wealthy to feed ever more money to those who were already bloated beyond measure with cash, had fostered a selfish, money-grabbing culture, suffered urban decay and then decreased civil liberties, citing the very terrorism and antisocial behaviour that they had stirred-up as justification.

I had cried because I had hoped that this would change.   

Originally published October 24th 2008

I am not an expert on celebrities by any means, primarily because they’re dull. Why, then, you might wonder, have I picked ‘Kerry Katona On This Morning’ as the subject of my second post. Firstly, it’s in the news today, but more primarily, Kerry is symbolic of something that interests me a great deal – in as much as I find it appalling - and that is celebrity culture as a whole.

Just in case you don’t know (and why should you, really, you should have better things to do), Kerry appeared in ‘This Morning’ drunk as an nineteenth century lord on his way from whites to the Hellfire Club. The resulting interview is less exciting than you might expect. She’s certainly less entertaining than Oliver Reed was (I think, though, that Olly actually was a nineteenth century lord who got lost on his way from Whites to the Hellfire Club and ended up somehow on Parkinson). The point is not, however, that I want her to be more outrageous and entertaining, because I really couldn’t care. If I want to be entertained, I can watch a film or put on an album. They’re, like, you know, like, good, and stuff. What I’m more interested in is this – what is Kerry, and can that explain her?

Here is everything I know about Kerry Katona. She used to be in some awful teeny girl band years and years ago that, as I was older than ten at the time, I considered so beneath my notice that I can’t remember the name. She then got married, I seem to recall, to some Irish boy-band clone made in an underground lab by that bloke from x-factor. This made her famous in the heat magazine sense – as in, she’s famous, but not for doing anything. This fame might have been a passing thing, but people got involved with her story. Her manager (who you should probably picture with horns) would have had her court the press a while to cash in. Then there ws some kind of breakup, maybe some children involved, I’m not sure. She became a drug user, I don’t know which, but I’d guess cocaine, and people followed that story too. She started doing Iceland adverts (at which point, it has to be said, I first found out who she was, I’ve picked up the rest of this by cultural osmosis after she started to try and flog me unidentifiable bits of pre-fried fatty meat in breadcrumbs) and is now doing some sort of reality television thing. Oh yeah, and she was in that rubbish jungle program when they make you eat maggots and kangaroo balls and stuff. I’d bet that she’s done some lad’s mag shoots too; it’s the way of things. I think there might be some sex tape thing too, but in order to find out if that’s real or not, I’d have to watch it, and the thought makes me feel a bit ill. I’ve still never recovered from seeing John Leslie’s willy, and when compared to Kerry, that rather plain and homely Abi Titmuss girl is Claudia Schiffer, Cindy Crawford, Cleopatra and all other beautiful women who’s names begin with ‘C’ all rolled into one on a bed of mixed leaves with a balsamic dressing. Oh, and she’s had loads of kids, (which, given the population of the world, makes me want to embark on a rant that will have to wait for a different time).

Kerry clearly can’t cope. People in the public eye tend to develop cocaine and alcohol habits for a reason. People in ‘real life’ often succumb to the same thing for the same reasons too. They feel like they can’t cope, and the pressures upon them to do this and that are too much for them to bear. The do not consider themselves equal to the task, and so will use anything that will make them feel equal to the task. Cocaine is the best example of this, as it simply makes you feel like you are great -equal to any task, in fact. Alcohol tends to be more conciliatory, a way to hide your psyche from the world, but this is an aside. In essence, Kerry’s drug addiction is a symptom of her inability to cope with the attention of the press. This is a problem, because essentially, that’s her job.

Kerry is just famous for being Kerry. Where Oliver Reed could have just, at least in theory, disappeared into his craft, or George Best could have concentrated on football and simply been so dull in their everyday lives that the lenses of the cameras sopped pointing their way. Of course they didn’t do that, but they could have done and still carried on their careers. But for Kerry, having the cameras pointing at her is what she does. It’s all she does. She appears in magazines, she appears in This Morning, she makes reality TV, and they (which is to say, ultimately, ‘we’) pay her for it – to live her life in the spotlight. So intense is his glare that she’s more famous than people we send to space.

The horribly sick thing about this situation is that the very reason she holds our attention is that she withers under it. Watching her constantly fail to keep it together is what keeps us watching. You might say that Kerry brings a lot of this upon herself, and you’d be right. George Best or Oliver Reed were famous after the event – they didn’t really bring it all upon themselves, at least at the start. Kerry has made a career out of flogging herself as a product and trying to draw as much attention as possible. Jordan is probably the best example of this – Kerry is a bit of an amateur at it compared to that girl, but still. It’s possibly the single most worthless way to make money that I can think of. Kerry, Jordan, Jade bloody Goodie, any of those idiots from ‘Big Brother’, in fact, that horrible mixture of pig intestines and plastic that is Tara-Palmer Thompkinson, they all do this. The miracle, for them, I suppose is that we let them. They are all unutterably worthless individuals who should be ignored. I’m sure that some of them perhaps have talents and skills that might be developed (even Jade, who has the intellect of a gerbil coupled to the craven viciousness of a dingo and the social grace of a squaddie on a tequila-bender, might make a good cleaner or checkout girl). Tara Twiddly-Tooposhtobereal can play the piano, my mum tells me. Good. Do that instead of doing nothing and expecting me to be interested. If you don’t want to do anything, that’s fine too, but at least have the good grace to do it in private. The thing is, though, they won’t, because we validate them all the time. Jade couldn’t even get out of the system by demonstrating that she is a horrible bully and a racist on national television. What do they have to do to make us dismiss them? Be dull for awhile, don’t do interviews, don’t get pissed and flash your genital s at a row of cameras or release a sex tape – that should do it. They won’t do that, though, whilst we keep throwing big chunks of cash at them for carrying on. Worse than this, though, they are our playthings, to be abused at our whim as a cat might toy with a mouse, or Kerry herself might taunt a fishfinger. 

 It’s become a bit of a national sport to take the piss out of Kerry. Adverts on E4 ridicule her intellect, even her womb was the target of Frankie Boyle recently. It’s was pretty funny, actually, and I encourage Frankie Boyle and all other comedians to carry on. In fact. I don’t know why we don’t take the piss out of the Heat magazine set constantly, twenty-four hours a day. I am fairly confident that most of these people are as dumb as a bag of lobotomised spanners (has anybody heard peter Andre talk? Ye gods, nobody’s home, the lights aren’t on, and the mail’s been piling up for thirty years… ). In many ways, these people are famous because they’re stupid. Just look at the guy who won Big Brother the other year – Brian. Essentially he won because the British public found his stupidity entertaining. And people say the Romans were cruel. I have been told that he is ‘nice’ too, but in that tone that people use when describing the nature of their pets. In the face of this ludicrous situation, who can blame us for a little cruelty? So why do they put up with it? Why not just retreat from the world?

Fame is addictive, they tell me. I can appreciate this a little, but really all fame is lest we forget, is a situation where more people know you than you know. It has massively negative consequences. Your life is not your own, and you are a target, not just for contempt, jealousy and ridicule, but every obsessive fan and madman in the world. The adulation of your ‘fans’ is an empty reward, for they do not know you. In order to keep them onside you have to constantly lie about your life, manipulate your image and hide your real feelings and intentions behind a mask of PR spin. I’d imagine it’d be awful. Yet it is the only thing that our society seems to value. (Apart from money, that is, but in a way that’s just a way of measuring what we value, and the can of worms that continuing this discussion will present will have to be opened the another day). Being famous is the primary goal that children have. We are constantly in contact with the media nowadays. Media is a way of presenting the world to you, and the information it delivers is manipulated both consciously and unconsciously. It is informed by culture, and sympathetic to it, but also defines it. In a feedback loop – a circle that might at some times be virtuous or vicious – the media both responds to what we value and then comes to define it. Because of the way this system has operate in recent years, Kerry and the rest of her pathetic, greedy sorority are honestly led to believe that what they do is in some way important.

I am not saying that this circle should be broken (to be honest, I don’t think that it could be, in any but the most extreme circumstances), but I am saying that it is, in essence, to blame, and that some of this blame must fall to each of us. People are simple, really, in a much as their value judgements are based upon what they are told is valuable. Fortunately, we also do have a self-conscious faculty, too, though, a critical faculty. Only by means of this does culture make any advancements. We need to decide for ourselves if the circle we’ve created with regard to fame is vicious or virtuous. Kerry Katona, for all her inherent awfulness, is really just a silly girl caught in the middle of the circle. You might laugh, but I honestly think that this system might kill her. I’d say the circle was vicious, you’ll have to decide for yourself. I will say this, though. If you buy heat magazine, you should really rethink your life.     

I saw this on the times website today, and shall edit it with my own comments in blue. I thought my first attempt at a post should at least be entertaining.

Spy suspect Daniel James says he used voodoo to protect general

Giving evidence for the first time at his trial, Corporal Daniel James, who is charged under the 1911 Official Secrets Act, said he had been trained as a voodoo priest on one of his many trips to Cuba and told the jury: “Black magic is not bad.”Really? Then why is it called ‘black’ magic, then? Is this some form of racism that Daniel James is claiming? Further, it might very well be the case that there are some people who still practice voodoo in Cuba -some lost spot out in the wilds where the ignorant still dwell. On the other hand, there are people in Swindon who believe that crystals are sensitive to the sex of unborn children. I’ve been to Cuba, they have engineers too. “I’ve been to Cuba a lot” means nothing. He might has well have said ‘I was trained by my uncle Geoff, who’s seen a lot of movies, you know’. 

His boss was General Sir David Richards, who in 2006 was commander of the Nato International Security Assistance Force (Isaf). Corporal James, who was in the Territorial Army, was the general’s principal interpreter and attended meetings with him with senior members of the Afghan Government. Which, for a madman, is quite a good job.

Under questioning by Colin Nicholls, QC, his defence counsel, Corporal James said he “quite liked” General Richards and used black magic on his behalf, although he emphasised that this was something he carried out without the general needing to be present. Presumably beacause, if he had been, he’d have laughed his ass off and ruined the mood. Plus, he performed black magic rituals for someone he ‘quite liked’. If he’d loved the general, he’d have probably had to dedicate the slaughter of a child. I think he’s probably flaying a goat right now for his lawyer. 

For his voodoo rituals he used a combination of seashells, dust, Tarot cards and candles, and had a picture of General Richards. So then, the traditional materials – any old rubbish he could lay his hands on that seemed vaguely mystical. Apart for the seashells, obviously.

Corporal James, 45, has pleaded not guilty to two charges of communicating information and collecting documents useful to an enemy, and one of wilful misconduct in public office. In all fairness, though, I don’t think we can really believe anything he says. I’m not saying he’s a liar, just that his opinion on anything is likely to be at odds with what actually occurred.

The jury was told that he had been a salsa dance instructor, bodybuilder, champion power-lifter, an expert in kickboxing, a nightclub doorman and a croupier. I have to admit that this sentence makes me regret my former comments a little. Salsa dancers are scary.

 He said that he had been talent-spotted by Jonathan Ross and appeared on television in the 1980s. He owned a club in Brighton and liked to be known as “Danny James, King of Salsa”. And now I feel better. This person does not exist. The salsa dancing kickboxing voodoo translator of Kabul? This man, if he exists, proves the theory of the multiverse. They are trying a phantom based on the musings of a ten-year-old novelist.

One of nine children of affluent parents, Corporal James was born in Tehran as Esmail Mohammed Beigi Gamasai and came to live in Britain when he was 15, attending boarding school in Rottingdean, East Sussex.

He told the court that his job with General Richards was only a “tiny part” of what he did in Kabul. His other activities included organising salsa lessons, Spanish classes, volleyball, football, cricket and women’s football. And other hobbies. Like casting spells on people and making zombies.

Before he began interpreting for the general, Corporal James worked for a British colonel at an American camp in Kabul, helping to train the Afghan military. He said he thought that Americans were “fantastic people”. “They are loud and funny, like me,” he said. Worry, America.

The prosecution has claimed that he sent e-mail messages and made telephone calls to a Colonel Mohammad Heydari, a military assistant at the Iranian Embassy in Kabul. The Old Bailey has also heard that when he was arrested at RAF Brize Norton in Oxfordshire in December 2006, on his way back to Afghanistan after a two-week break, police found in his bag a USB memory stick which, among other things, contained copies of two Nato-confidential military “situation reports”. In all fairness to the King of Salsa, finding secure information on a USB stick in this country can be as simple as buying one from E-Bay.

In written evidence, a British intelligence colonel, identified only as M, said that Corporal James had no right to possess such documents and that it was a “matter of serious concern”. He said that the e-mails that Corporal James sent to the Iranian military assistant, although not damaging in themselves, indicated a situation in which an espionage informant was communicating with a handler and that there was the potential for the interpreter to be “tasked” by the Iranian to obtain confidential material. That could have put British lives at risk and threatened national security, he said. Re-read that. A british intelligence colonel called ‘M’? Seriously? If the trial doesn’t go his way are you going to send Bond in? 

The trial continues. I will watch avidly. OJs got nothing on this.

Just a final word - is the voodoo stuff some sort of calim of loyalty? If I was accused of fraud, but then said that I couldn’t have done it because I was so devoted to my boss that I actually you know, wished him well, it would be laughed out of court. Hopefully.