The Daily Novel

………….does it take to change a light bulb?The answer is two if my experience yesterday afternoon is anything to go buy. And maybe it would have taken three journalists or four university teachers, because I had failed to do the job myself. Because changing light bulbs is no longer a simple matter of pushing and twisting. I had not even got to first base.

This particular light bulb is covered by a shallow bowl affixed to the ceiling, which I had been unable to get off. When architect number one came downstairs and found me struggling at the top of the ladder on the first floor landing he mastered stage one in an instant. He took out a coin and eased the globe off. Then he went off to see the Tour de France, which for some reason has decided to cross the channel this year and show us Brits how serious cycling is done.

I went down to the electrician in Camden High Street to get a replacement . This particular light bulb is actually a fluorescent tube wound round to make a continuous loop. I immediately spotted something similar on the shelf, but when I came to pay I was asked whether I wanted the two pin or the four pin version. I had no idea, but bought the two pin version when the shop assistant told me that it was the most common.

There were no instructions. But now we could see how the thing was made it was clear that to get it out you had to pull down vertically, which number one architect did, trying at the same time squeeze a little plastic tag, which looked as if it might be a release mechanism. Failure. So architect number two went up the ladder and had a go, testing whether the secret was to pull out the plastic tag. Failure. Meanwhile architect number one had been experimenting with the new product and had decided that the plastic tag did not do anything at all. What was needed, we thought, was brute force, but not so much brute force that would have pulled the light fitting out of the ceiling. So back up the ladder he went and gave a short sharp heave. Success at last. Pushing the new one in was a doddle, and the landing light went on again, and I began to think about whether this everyday incident was not a suitable matter for blogging.

How come we have created a society in which, if you want to change a light bulb quickly, you need to call in an electrician. In our kitchen, which we remodeled seven years ago, following the new fashion for ceiling lighting, where once there were two light bulbs with decorative lamp shades, we now have twelve halogen lamps. One of them failed three or four months ago. Despite my dislike of climbing ladders and fiddling around above my head, I managed to get out the supposedly dud one, and insert a new one. But it still did not light up. I decided we had enough light from the remaining eleven so we have lived with that. But in the last two or three weeks two more lamps have failed, so clearly some action is required soon, otherwise we shall have to bring out the candles.

At the electrical shop today the assistant told me that these halogen lamps often have individual transformers. The transformers should last longer than the lamps (they come with a two-year guarantee) but they don’t last forever. And when the light fails the only way of discovering whether it is the lamp, or the transformer, which needs changing, is trial and error. Changing the transformer necessitates turning off the electricity at the fuse box. Pulling on the cable until the transformer comes through the hole, then unscrewing the wires from the tiny plastic junction boxes at both ends. All of this has to be done standing on the top of a ladder.

This is clearly very good news for the electricians’ union, but I cannot see a clear political message. I don’t think Gordon Brown will do any better than David Cameron in making life better for the elderly, and anyone else, who finds climbing ladders a pain. But in writing this blog I have discovered something else which raises ethical and legal issues.

Since our house is full of relatives and friends this weekend I am writing this blog on my laptop in the new flat around the corner, where we have been spending the night. I am not paying for an internet connection in the new flat but I find that I can connect to an unsecured wireless network called linksys with moderate reception. That means I am freeloading on the back of one of my new neighbours. This probably is not against the law, although I have not checked. But is it unethical?

I don’t think my neighbour would mind, because my use of his service does not affect him in any way. But I am depriving Virgin Media of another customer. To decide whether or not that is ethical is more complicated than it seems at first thought.I pay Virgin Media for two distinct services which are part of a total package. I pay them for the use of their cable and the set box which physically connects me the internet. This also entitles me to use their domain name and their space to store my writing and photos on the internet. The latter service I don’t need because I pay another company for thedailynovel domain and also have space in the City University domain. So I don’t need the physical connection. Me, as well as thousands of university teachers and students and millions of people who have a work connection through their job.

So when we move out of our house and I cancel my Virgin contract I could probably get along without paying any company for broadband, either in Charmouth or in Gospel Oak. And I have managed to convince myself that it is ethically OK for me so to do. But there are practical and political aspects of this issue. My computer here shows that as well as linksys there is another wireless network where reception is excellent called birdcage. His network is secured but I think he might well be entirely happy to rent me his password for a very modest monthly sum. Most pubs make their wireless networks available for free. Some hotels charge ten pounds an hour.

But there is no easy way for me to discover where birdcage is. He might live in this house. But he could live in another second floor flat on the other side of the road or in one of several houses on this side.

So the most practical way of saving myself and others some money is via getting to know the neighbours. This applies to all sorts of issues as well as wireless networking. Gordon Brown has said he wants to hand power back to communities but this is easier said then done. Grass roots democracy has to be established bottom up not top down. The same applies to establishing the citizen’s journalism on web. Somehow or other bloggers have to get in touch with other bloggers who are interested in what they are doing.

But it is worth spending some time on. Once I have fixed those three dud lamps or transformers in the kitchen.

This afternoon I took a break from buying and selling houses and writing blogs and did what I like to do in sunny July, watch Wimbledon on the telly. When I switched on the television they were just taking the covers off after yet another heavy shower. Venus Williams, one of the two American power hitting sisters, who have delighted me for several years now with their skill and guts, was resuming her interrupted match against the Russian grunter, Maria Sharapova, currently the number two seed.

Venus had won the first set 6-1o;  it was one-all in the second set. Maria was serving and there followed a nail biting half hour, with the game stuck at deuce. First Maria took the first vantage point, then Venus fought back. She had about seventeen break serve options, before she ffinally muffed it and Maria won her serve. She finally broke Maria’s serve to take the lead at 4-3. From then on it was downhill the way. She went on to break the Russian’s serve again at the next opportunity and won the set, 6-3. And the match.

It was then ten minutes to five. I heard a noise in the front garden and when I went out I found a man affixing an estate agent’s sign to my front gate;  Sold by Winkworth and Co. I insisted that I had never dealt with Winkworth. He consulted his clipboard. And there was my address and the correct post code written on it. He rang the office. After some tooing and froing they came back and said it was Roderick Road NW11. I told him that did not exist, but that there was a Rotherwick Road in NW11, so he drove off north to try that.

By co-incidence I was selling my house today, or to be more precise, expecting to exchange contracts. But now the work day is nearly over and no-one has yet telephoned to tell me the deal has been done.

The episode in the front garden reminded me of the bumbledon theory of history, which asserts that our destinies are more often decided by human mistakes, than by evil conspirators or all-powerful Gods. So I thought I better get my lawyer to check out the latest state of play in the house stakes. Is it possible that the Bank of Scotland  dispatched the contracts at midday as promised but to the wrong address?

My lawyer was on the phone and still has not called me back.

So I don’t know what has happened. And readers of this blog will have to wait with baited breath. Because the Daily Novelist is knocking off for the day, taking a tea break and a stroll on the heath before the rains return.

The combination of today’s date, the sun shining in my kitchen in Roderick Road and yesterday’s events in Des Moines, Iowa has given me a severe attack of optimism. It is a disease I first caught when living in America. The bug got through my immune system of European pessimism when the young Jack Kennedy delivered his message of hope to young people in America and young people everywhere. Since then, the darker side of America, has been only too evident. The American cowboy gun culture wiped out Kennedy after only two years in office, and then killed his equally admirable brother. It brought down Martin Luther King while he was in the middle of making his dream a reality. Since then America and the world has had to deal with Richard Nixon who dishonoured the presidency by his lying. In my book he ranked as the worst American President in my life-time.

Until George W. Bush came along.

Yesterday the campaign by the candidates who want to succeed him really started in earnest and it will dominate American politics until election day in November. By tradition the first battlefield is the primaries in the state capital of Iowa, a conservative state in the heart of the mid-west, where farming is still the main source of wealth. And where most people worry more about whether the weather will be right for their crops and whether Washington will provide adequate subsidies so they can make a decent living. They don’t spend much time thinking about Middle East crises. They don’t lie awake at night in fear of Islamic car bombers. The airport is not big enough for transatlantic jets and to get to Iowa you to stop over in Chicago and take a small plane to Des Moines.

Both leading Democratic contenders are in Iowa this week. Barack Obama, who has a real chance of becoming the first black president and working to realise Luther King’s dream. Hillary Clinton has a real chance of becoming the first femail president and becoming a role model for would-be female leaders everywhere. Yesterday Clinton grabbed the headlines. But she had to share them with husband Bill, who was out there shaking hands, rather than staying at home cooking the dinner.

And there are few better politicians than Bill Clinton at working the crowds. He is even better at the feely touchy stuff than Tony Blair and when he speaks, he does so with the authority of his halfway decent record as President and his not insubstantial efforts since as an international statesman.

Both Clintons to me exemplify the spirit of the founding fathers, seeking to establish a state where individual citizens can live their own lives in harmony with their neighbours, rather than follow the orders of Kings and Popes. Prepared to fight for their own freedom. Prepared to help others whose freedoms are in danger. But not wanting to impose their way of life by force of arms on other countries.

The Iraq war was much more to do with making the world safe for American consumer capitalism than it was about fighting for democracy. The left wing opponents of the war said it was really about America protecting its oil interests. But the threat to capitalism is much wider and deeper than that. Just think about how many industries would have their profits decimated if more countries established Islamic fundamentalist regimes. Mass entertainment, clothing, booze and cosmetics are just the first few that come to mind.

And remember that the next American president will also have to have a policy on global warming, which will mean imposing restraints on consumer capitalism. And the kind of Christian fundamentalism, espoused by George W. Bush, is a much greater threat to the planet than Islamic fundamentalism. The essential message is that if only you have faith riches will come to you. Instead of throwing the money lenders out of the temple it invites them in. The selling point is not eternal bliss in the next world it is a Cadillac in the garage, two houses and regular holidays in the Caribbean in this one.

So roll on next November. And let us all pray that Congress will be strong enough to stop Bush embarking on any more military adventures in the remaining months of his rule. (Which reminds me. Praise for Gordon Brown whose plan for constitutional reform announced yesterday includes vesting in parliament the decision to take the country into a war.

William and Harry, thanks to their Dad, egged on by his Dad and Mum, have got a thorough indoctrination into the stuffed shirt and military traditions of the Windsors. They have been prepared to lead the troops on the battlefield as did Henry V on the fields of Agincourt. Harry by his own admission were even eager to go to Iraq. But last night they showed that, like their mother, they can play a crowd of 63,000 mostly young people at the nation’s premier football stadium. More like Laurence Olivier than Richard II.

 The musical menu was mostly a mixture of rock n roll and modern day equivalents of the crooner of my youth. But it was the solitary classical item that brought a tear to Harry’s eye. When the football pitch was occupied by the entire cast of the English National Ballet, performing Swan Lake, which was apparently one of Diana’s favourites. Both of the Princes swayed and waved their arms along with the crowd, from their vantage point in the Royal Box and at one point William could be seen dancing with the lead singer of Take That, Lily Allen.

 It could have been mawkish. But, in my eyes, it was not. And for the new Prime Minister, it was a reminder that though Britain has long ago been knocked out the premier league in electronics and the heavy industries, it is still a world leader in entertainment and the media. Although Take That does not yet have the international pull of the Beatles, which helped the economy and boosted national morale in Harold Wilson’s premiership, it is playing in the Premier League. And the televised version proved once again that the BBC can still grab the mass market. One enthusiastic commentator last night said the television audience was one billion. The delayed 10 o-clock news half an hour later put the audience at 500 million. Whatever it was very big.

 The event has been planned over months by the Princes, their advisers and the BBC, and no-one could have predicted that it would actually happen in the first few days of Brown’s premiership. Nor that it would happen when the country was in the grip of a security threat at the highest critical letter. The audience gathered some of the would be bombers were still free and while the newsreels were showing the footage of the blazing car at Glasgow Airport.

 The last act of the entertainment at Wembley was Elton John, who came on twenty minutes late, but brought the house down with two manic rousing numbers and one of his slow sentimental tear-jerkers. But the finale was a video tribute to Diana, recorded some time ago, by Nelson Mandela.

 I hope Gordon Brown was watching. Because it was a timely reminder that locking up the terrorists, as South Africa locked up Mandela, is not enough to defeat terrorism. Mandela made his transition from terrorist or freedom fighter, to national leader and then to international statesman, with some help from the British. Particularly from Harold Macmillan, who in his winds of change speech, made it clear to the world that Britain that the days of Empire were over and that South Africa could no longer rely on Britain’s support for denying the majority in that country their claim to political power.

 The make-up of Gordon Brown’s cabinet makes it clear that he hopes to follow a more independent line from George Bush’s America than Tony Blair. Let’s hope that he is not deflected by the renewed terrorist threat to be pushed off that course. Tough on terrorism, yes. But, just as important, addressing the causes of terrorism.

George Orwell’s 1984 has arrived - for smokers. Today an army of thought police will be out on the streets, into our parks and into our pubs to tell smokers how to live their lives. They will fine them if they dare to break the new national law against smoking in any public place. They will fine them if they break the new laws many Councils are introducing to fine smokers as much as a hungry pounds if they dare to litter the streets by crushing a cigarette but under their boot. But they will also accost them if they are smoking in parks, still totally legal and ask them to stop. Not even the most zealous of those scientists who are pushing some very dubious statistics about passive smoking have argued that smoking in the open air harms anyone other than the smoker.