I would outlaw cold calling

How do I get my own back on Everest Windows? The bastards called me on the dot of 9.00 this morning -- on my own very personal mobile phone. This is because I had a quote from Everest Windows in the summer. I told them that I would never buy their windows if they ever spammed or junk mailed me. They started to do that at once, so I chose a local firm who did it for half the price.
For weeks now they have been cold-calling me. I have threatened to go and blow up their toilets. It makes not the slightest difference. And apparently I am unable to vent my anger on the sulky girl who does the cold calling for them. It's called harrassment.

. . . I would think again about cultural relativism

Look at this from Der Spiegel on line, and read the excellent article by Leon de Winter which I have reproduced below, hoping that Der Spiegel won't mind (my old dad subscribed to it for over quarter of a century):

http://www.spiegel.de/international/world/0,1518,524630,00.html

How a UNICEF Photo Makes the West's Heart Ache

We are beholding the fiercest barbarism imaginable. But a carefree cultural relativism -- which this age has donned as its outward manifestation of decadent indifference -- allows many to simply look away. They turn away from the sight of an 11-year-old girl, who is about to be raped by the man sitting next to her.

The girl was sold by her parents, even if they probably wouldn't use that word. The caption that came with the photo quoted the parents as saying that they "needed the money."
The girl's soon-to-be husband promised to send his 11-year-old bride to school, but the women living there in the village of Damarda in Afghanistan's Ghor province don't believe this fairytale. They predict that the girl will bear children soon. "Our men don't need educated women," they point out.

A dowry was paid for the girl. The dowry is part of the cultural fabric of the clan-based society. As producers of newborns, women are valuable possessions. A woman can bear sons and fighters, who will defend the family and its honor. Men are only charged with protecting them against kidnappers and thieves, and women need only accept the power of the male members of the family -- "for their own benefit."

Love Is a Word from the Decadent West
It is likely that all of the female forebears of the girl in the photograph were likewise sold -- and the girl, no doubt, saw it as her fate. At the same time, she realizes that what is happening to her is not right. She might think it is "natural" for a young girl to be sold, but she also knows that it's neither good nor legitimate for her to spend the rest of her life as this man's slave. It is a type of knowledge that has little to do with experience. Rather, it is knowledge that is rooted in humanity, and in the hopes and dreams of a little girl.

The man in the image is oblivious of his wrongdoing. He's only doing what his forefathers did. Sticking to traditions increases the chances of survival. His seed will create a new person and strengthen the clan. He will impregnate this girl without love and without regret, since love is a word from far-off stories and songs, a word from the decadent West, where people have no comprehension of the harshness of life in the desert and of war without end, which is the essence of life in this part of the world.

What we witness in this photograph is an unadorned view of humanity's collective past, of the horror of our brutal nature. Love, tenderness, beauty, individuality and respect are all phenomena that we have imposed upon our nature. Since time immemorial, this nature has allowed only the strongest to survive. In our Western consciousness, we have suppressed this nature with conviction and success. This image shows a small, everyday moment that wouldn't surprise anyone in the Taliban -- but looks quite different to our eyes.

A Bold Statement in the Era of Political Correctness
Our eyes behold an abomination. Our eyes have learned to see the world from the perspective of a slowly acquired sense for humanity. And although more and more voices tell us that we -- the former colonialists and imperialists -- have lost the right to judge other cultures, we know just as well as this girl that this marriage is wrong.

I believe that there are regressive cultures. In an era of political correctness, this is a tricky statement. But there is no other statement that can be made about this image. We behold a regressive man, who is taking what he has purchased.

Many of us in the West are convinced that our presence in Afghanistan cannot be justified, that our troops should withdraw and that Afghanistan should be left to the Afghans. They ask themselves: Who are we to believe that it is inhumane to sell an 11-year-old girl? Who are we to impose our values so vehemently on the Afghans, on this man and on this girl?

I don't have a clue who we are. But I know that this universe is not only a universe of iPods, Disneylands, CO2 penalties, tax write-offs, and New Year's sales in our department stores. No, I know that this is also a universe of human rights. I know that this universe is deeply shaken -- right down to its core -- by the suffering of this lonely, lonely little girl.

Leon de Winter, 53, is a Dutch writer and best- selling author.

He lives in Amsterdam and Los Angeles.

I would, if it wasn't such a plug-ugly name . . .

. . . encourage everyone in the world who isn't a nutter Muslim fundamentalist/extremist to call their teddy bears Muhammad.

Here's a nice insight into the fucking prophet's (syntax as in the singing detective's or the naked chef's) private life :

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Muhammad

See also Daniel Finkelstein in the Times today on that outrageous word "disproportionate" that that hairy archbishop of Canterbury used:
http://timesonline.typepad.com/comment/2007/11/the-teddy-bear.html?cid=91841100#commentscid=91841100#comments

This is Jesus the Bear:

I would be recommending beheading.

This is what 50 lashes looks like after 20 days, so you can see that 40 lashes is just nothing at all.

I mean blasphemy!! Surely nothing less than beheading is called for?

It is very easy for us, in the Western world, to forget that a massive part of the world has totally primitive mindsets. What really bugs me is that the Sudanese Embassy in London put out a statement that this is a storm in a teacup.

If I had spend 4 days and nights in jail facing the notion of lashes or imprisonment I would never, for the rest of my life, think of this as a storm in a teacup.

This lets you see that the Embassy in London is as bad as the goon mullahs for all their veneers of diplomacy.

I once flew Sudan airlines. Thank Allah I didn't know till afterwards that its nickname is "Sudden Death Airlines".

As I type this, I hear on the news that Gillian Gibbons has been found guilty. Well, fifteen days in jail and deportation might make her think again about her life choices.

Sara Khawad, the school office worker who denounced her, is the one who needs the lashes. Wish I could get my hands on her. Nasty, nasty fundamentalist cow. But she must be feeling so great tonight with this "guilty" verdict.

Just in case you wanted to email the SUDANESE EMBASSY IN LONDON:

http://sudan-embassy.co.uk/en/component/option,com_contact/Itemid,3/

Oldest hatred, new mutation: Britain’s Anti-Semitic Turn

Melanie Phillips in the City Journal:

http://www.city-journal.org/html/17_4_anti-semitism.html

and also in her own blogspot:

http://www.melaniephillips.com/articles-new/?p=548

I Would Recall The Call Centres in India

I'm just calming down from having bought a ticket. It took me half an hour. Twice I gave up in disgust and said I'd drive; the third time I just bought it, at just about double the price advertised on the internet.

I don't mind these call centres in principle but in practice the Indian ones transform me in seconds into a ranting racist git.

I want to speak in my usual cynical drawl to someone who knows the branch line from my place to Reading, who knows the cheaper, other line up to London; who knows what time before the rush hour I have to hot foot it out of London before I get done for a massive hike in fare; or who knows the first train I can get onto after the bloody rush hour; who knows where the cheapest parking is when the station carpark is full (which it always is after 9.30 am anyway -- and, besides, I need to remortgage every time I park there).

In short, I want to talk to someone at MY station about MY journey, preferably someone like the station master in The Railway Children. When these little old ladies in India start bleeping away like Peter Sellers I just want to scream.

I'd give a right head-kicking to . . .

. . . National Savings for not telling us loud and clear on their damned website that signing on to Premium Bonds on line and paying that minute by Switch card actually slows things down so utterly stupidly.

Why?

Because you then have to wait for them, the boring arseholes, to send you a form to sign and then you have to send it back to them, and only then do your bonds get into the running.

So I might as well have gone to the Post Office, signed and posted all on that first day when I cashed in my Northern Rock account and decided to invest it in our stupid government.

The outcome of all this is that I lost more or less a week while all this post went backwards and forewards. It takes a month for Premium Bonds to get into the action in the first place.

BorING. Typical government ineptitude.

And now how do I know that someone in the Post Office isn't just going to dump the mail bag with that signature in it, like everything else that goes missing?