I blame the scapegoats (5 page)

It was previously believed that the moon was
created by a white-haired man called God on a Tuesday, but as cosmology has
become more advanced, this theory has failed to withstand rigorous scientific
scrutiny. The collision theory is not an entirely new one, but now there are
detailed computations which have apparently proved it. On page 709 of this
week's
Nature,
the
scientists explain how they made their calculations: 'We use a beta spine
kernel,' they say. Oh yeah, right, a beta spine kernel. Pull the other one.
There are then two full pages of mathematical calculations and equations
involving lots of Greek letters and squiggly symbols which they knew the sub-editor
would take one look at and say, 'Er, yup, that all looks fine!'

Clearly what has happened is that the
scientists are making this all up. They have spent the last two years sending
each other silly e-mails and playing Minesweeper, and when their deadline
suddenly came along they were forced to throw together a scientific theory and
some calculations so they didn't get into trouble.

'Okay, quick, quick; when shall we say this
happened?'

'I dunno - five hundred million years ago?'

'No, no - bigger numbers are more impressive.
Say four and a half billion.'

'Okay,
and say it was really, really hot - that always sounds good.' 'Yeah, and make
sure we use the words "atoms", "gravity",
"unstable" and, er, "beta spine kernel".' 'What's beta
spine kernel?'

'Three random words from the dictionary.
Don't worry - no one will question it.'

Making things up about space has been a huge
industry ever since Richard Nixon decided that the moon landings were a
complete waste of money and that the same images could be produced far more
cheaply in a Hollywood back lot. The account of what really happened back in
1969 is only just coming out, but it was not much different to any other film
set.

'Okay, Neil darling, you step off your ladder
and you say your line about the giant leap for mankind . . . and action!'

'But what's my motivation for going down the
ladder? What's the back-story here?'

'Cut! Oh no, not this again. Neil, love,
you're playing an astronaut. You're landing on the moon. It's a big day for
your character.'

'Maybe I should drive around the moon in a
big car?'

'No, darling - that's in the sequel,
Apollo
12:

'Or lose radio contact and nearly die.'

'Apollo
13’

And the guys from NASA were sulking in the
wings saying, 'It can't be that difficult to do this for real. After all, we've
put a man on the moon.'

'No we haven't.'

'Well, no, but it's not rocket science.' 'Yes
it is.'

Before
science accounted for the creation of the Earth and the moon, it was explained
in the first chapter of the Bible. It didn't sound very believable but their
get-out clause was that you had to have faith. Now religion has been replaced
with science and we just have to take someone else's word for it instead. The
comforting thing is that at least we no longer live in fear of flaming thunderbolts
coming out of the sky if we question the word of the Almighty. Well, not until
they've got the Star Wars project up and running anyway.

31
August 2001

In
twenty-first-century Britain there is a new super-hero that will apparently
come dashing to the rescue in any crisis. 'Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No,
it's private sector finance! Hurrah, we're all saved!' 'Look over there, a
hospital is collapsing; send for private sector finance man! And a tube train
is hurtling off the rails; only he can bring it under control. Thank you,
private sector finance man! And the best thing is that all you want in return
is to know that people are safe and well.' Apart from a generous dividend on
your investment, obviously, and a cut-price stake in a new market, and a
guarantee to be bailed out by the Treasury should profits dip slightly . . .
but apart from that you only think of serving others.

Since the dark days when British Leyland gave
nationalized industries a bad name by losing money, having strikes and
producing the Austin Allegro, it has been the generally shared presumption that
the private sector does most things better than the public. But this is a
simplistic fallacy that has no right to be accepted as fact. Do we blame the
entire concept of private enterprise when the garage mechanic shakes his head
and says it's hardly worth his while? Imagine if the banks were a nationalized
industry; we'd blame state ownership every time we were overcharged, patronized
by our manager or made to wait on the phone listening to a tinny version of the
Four Seasons.
When the holiday
company dumps families at Majorca airport knowing their flights are delayed for
fourteen hours, are there calls for this private company to be taken into the
public sector? When privatized water companies pump raw sewage into the sea, do
we hear news reports of the unacceptable faeces of capitalism?

And
yet despite all our experience, we are blithely assuming that the private
sector will definitely improve the delivery of our public services. How will
this work in the Health Service, for example? To start with you'd find that Al
mini-cabs were now handling the ambulance calls.

'Hello - I've think I've had a heart attack!!
I've called three times in twenty minutes and they just keep saying the
ambulance is on its way'

'Oh yeah - well he pulled up outside and
tooted his horn but you never came out.'

'But please, I'm
desperate - get me to St Thomas's Hospital.'

'Nah - we're not
going south of the river this time of night. . .'

If
this patient survives and gets a heart transplant, his problems don't end
there. Because the job of delivering organs for transplant has been contracted
out to the pizza delivery drivers. 'If we don't deliver your new body part in
thirty minutes, you get a free bottle of Coca-Cola.' The trouble is that the
little organ delivery moped spends two hours buzzing up and down the road
trying to find the hospital and when it finally does arrive the surgeon
discovers they've brought the wrong order by mistake.

'Urn . . . Mr Jenkins, I know you wanted a
heart transplant and everything, but they've brought us a pancreas - would you
mind having a pancreas in there instead?'

'Yes I would!'

'Okay, what about a
bit of garlic bread?'

I call him a surgeon; in fact, he was until
recently working in the private sector as well, in the building trade to be
precise - another famous bastion of excellent service and efficiency.

'Oooh, well, I can do you a new heart if
that's what you really want, but you see, for a job like that, well, oooh,
you'd need an anaesthetist an' all and my one's on another job this week . . .'

'But if you don't put
a heart in soon I'll die.'

'Tell you what, I can
tie up the ventricles in the short term, stick in a central heating pump I've
got in the van, that should keep you alive until October. It's just that I'm
going out to Spain tomorrow to do up my new villa and this afternoon I'm
finishing off a kidney transplant that I've been promising to stitch up since
Christmas . . .'

What you don't get in the private sector is
goodwill, but no one ever includes this in the equation when they're working
out how much money they think can be saved by bringing in British American
Tobacco to run the local infant school. In fact, the amount of cash being saved
is relatively tiny - and it's simply not worth the demoralization that it is
causing to workers in the public sector. There really ought to be a public
inquiry about the whole issue; the trouble is, you couldn't have a public
inquiry any more - it would have to be a public-private inquiry, and the first
two years would be spent finding a suitable sponsor from the business
community. Finally they would announce that, with private investment from
Foto-Kwik, 'the happy snaps people', the public-private inquiry has at last
been delivered.

'What does it say?
What does it say?'

'Oh no, this isn't our inquiry - they've sent
us someone else's by mistake.'

8
September 2001

Under
proposals unveiled this week, Scotland is set to make the smacking of young
children illegal for the first time in the UK. Dinner time in East Lothian will
never be the same.

'I'm not eating my
vegetables - they've got black bits on.'

'DO YOU WANT ME TO DRIVE YOU OVER THE BORDER
AND GIVE YOU A SMACK?'

They'll
have to build a special lay-by on the outskirts of Berwick-upon-Tweed with a
sign saying 'Welcome to England: smacking area - 200 yards'. Little stalls will
spring up selling Brussels sprouts and broccoli and stationery for writing
thank-you letters for Auntie's birthday present.

The plan is to ban the smacking of children
under three, so now instead of saying, 'Wait till your father gets home,'
toddlers will be told, 'Just you wait until your third birthday.' But the
proposals have received a surprisingly positive response in the tough estates
of Glasgow. In response to the question, 'Do you think parents should be
allowed to give their kids a little smack?' most people answered, 'No, maybe
just a bit of crack cocaine every now and then.'

Of
course smacking has only been the symptom of a historical problem - this ruling
will do nothing to prevent the recurrent breakdown of negotiations between
adults and their offspring. If the

Scottish
government is ruling out the use of force, then clearly more efforts will have
to be made on the diplomatic front. The first step should be sporting
sanctions. Parents will continue to play football with their children but they
will no longer be prepared to let their kids always win. 'And the final score
here from Jamie's back garden: Dad twenty-seven, little Jamie nil! And the
six-year-old must surely be wishing now that he hadn't been rude to grandma
back when he was four.' Games of hide and seek will be much quicker as parents
find their children in under three seconds. 'It's no good crying, Ellie; you've
hidden behind that curtain four times in a row - of course I was going to look
there first.' Because if punishment is not to be physical then it will have to
be psychological. 'Night night, Rosie. And darling, you know you were scared
that there was a great big bear that lived behind the cupboard on the landing?
Well, you're right, there is: a huge fierce one with big sharp teeth and long
claws! Anyway, sweet dreams, darling.' Other sanctions will include seizure of
all comfort blankets and being honest about how crap their drawings are.

Eventually the civilized example of Scotland will
spread to the rest of the country, if only because government ministers find it
impossible to negotiate with children's representatives. 'At Downing Street
today, talks have broken down between the pre-school children and the
government. A draft proposal was put before the toddlers, but they reacted by
scribbling on it and then putting it in and out of the water jug. When
ministers objected, the two-year-olds lay on the floor kicking and screaming
and then fell asleep on the rug.'

Before
Westminster is prepared to follow the Scottish example, more concessions must
be made by young children. If no violence is to be used against toddlers, then
they must undertake not to climb into bed at two in the morning and kick their
dads in the bollocks. And it is no good them merely promising not to strike
their little sisters with the plastic sword; their arms must be put permanently
beyond use. Super-soakers, spud guns, sharp bits of Lego left beside the bed -
all these weapons must be decommissioned before the peace process can really
proceed. But eventually it will be illegal to give a child a light slap on the
back of the hand (unless they are Iraqi kids of course; you'll still be allowed
to drop bombs on them).

In
the meantime, if you are tempted to strike a child in anger, they say you
should make yourself count to ten first. This either prevents you from using
violence or results in your child growing up into a neurotic adult with an
irrational fear of double figures. All parents will know that there are times
when it feels as if smacking your child is the only possible response - like
when your seven-year-old son announces that he supports Manchester United. But
even if a quick slap seems to work in the short term, there has to be a better
way of punishing them. Wait till they're teenagers and meet them at school in
purple checked golfing trousers. Visit them at university wearing a fur coat
and a tiara. Wait till they have kids of their own and give your grandchildren
a slush-puppy and a king-size Mars bar before they go on the big dipper. And
keep endlessly telling your kids, 'We never smacked you as a child, and that's
why you're not a violent person.' And then our grown-up children will say, 'I
know I shouldn't really hit my parents, but sometimes it's the only thing that
works.'