A Paean to Thistle and Haggis

The Hong Kong Jockey Club may have seen fit to bump the Scotch off their traditional race day at Happy Valley, having jumped into bed with their new, richer paramours, the European Golf Tour, who sponsor one of tonight's feature races on St Andrew's Day, but that shouldn’t stop the rest of us paying tribute to the Jocks.

As tributes go, I don’t think a finer one can be paid than this from the pen of a young CS Lewis writing to his brother:

"The Scotch have a curious way of rendering wearisome to the outside world whatever they admire. I dare say Burns is quite a good poet - really: if only he could escape from the stench of that unmerciful haggis and the lugubrious jollities of Auld Lang Syne ... When you want to be typically English you pretend to be very hospitable and honest and hearty. When you want to be typically Irish you try to be very witty and dashing and fanciful. That is to say, the typically English or Irish mode consists in the assumption of certain qualities which are in themselves quite pleasant. But the typically Scotch consists not in any recognisable quality, but just in being Scotch. You make roast beef the English dish because it is nice (or fairly nice), and the rose is a pleasant flower. But the haggis and the thistle never could have any merit beyond their sheer, unredeemed, monumental Scotchness."

Lewis can count himself lucky that he died before that dreadful dirge "Flower of Scotland" (more thistles…) displaced the stirring "Scotland the Brave" as the de facto national anthem for professional Scotsmen the world over, who love nothing better than to dress up in kilts, waistcoats and those socks with the gay tassels and regale you with execrable stories in their plummy English accents.

Inquest into Gary Speed’s "Suicide" Set to Make Leveson Enquiry Pale into Insignificance

Even as Anne Diamond, herself a journalist, expressed the sad but axiomatic fact that all a celebrity is to a newspaper is "fodder to sell newspapers", the inquest into the death of former Wales footballer and manager Gary Speed opens today, as rumours continue to circulate that a newspaper approached him after the match between Manchester United and Newcastle United on Saturday and informed him that they would be publishing a story about his personal life.

Writing about the practical impossibility of changing a sporting culture where men's private sorrows and battles cannot be shared and burdens relieved in a mature and sympathetic environment, Alan Hansen understands that there is something wrong with the way of the world.

While it is much to be hoped that the unveiling of the truth of the circumstances leading to Speed's death leads to reflection among the general population and the journalistic industry, I'm not sanguine about the chances of any real change. The poison seems to have seeped too deeply into our lifeblood.

Cecilian Singers Concert on Wednesday 7 December

If you're at a loose end next Wednesday, or in the mood to hear some (fingers-crossed) tuneful singing by a bunch of enthusiastic and reasonably accomplished amateurs, then why not head down to St John's Cathedral in Central?

The concert, a mix of congregational carols and choral anthems with a nativity theme, starts at 7.30pm and will conclude at around 9pm with those aliments without which no British Christmas would be complete, mulled wine and mince pies.

The musical menu includes Morten Lauridsen's 'O Magnum Mysterium', Gustav Holst's 'Christmas Day' and John Rutter's 'Candlelight Carol'. Tickets (HK$180; HK$100 concessions) are available from the Cathedral Bookstore or may be bought on the door. All proceeds will go to the Resonance Project and the Home of Loving Faithfulness.

Those who miss the show will be able to watch it in Christmas week, when it will be broadcast on TVB Pearl and Jade on the 20th and the 25th respectively.

To get you in the mood, here are the Cambridge Singers with the Rutter:

JK Rowling Acknowledges Debt to Beckham at Anti-Hack Enquiry

The anti-hacking, anti-hack Leveson enquiry continues to shock us with details of what members of the journalistic industry get up to in order to sell advertising space in their organs.

Yesterday was the turn of authoress JK Rowling, who catalogued the various punishments that have been inflicted on her in return for saddling us with quidditch and the sight of decent British character actors – plus John Cleese – hamming it up in heavy make-up, capes and pointy hats.

Horrified that members of the fourth estate would set up camp outside her various estates to take photographs of her and her family, Rowling compared the experience with typical understatement to "being a hostage", which "had a massive effect on the children". (Hers, I believe - she remained silent about the effect of reading her books on other children.)

Good to know that one of Britain's premier authoresses is building a lexicon based on the wit and wisdom of one of Britain’s premier show-ponies, David Beckham.

Top Places to Visit in Israel: Part II

Ein Kerem and Chagall Windows

An Arab village prior to the Six Day War of 1967, the hilltop village of Ein Kerem on the western outskirts of Jerusalem is home to a number of churches, including the Church of the Visitation. The visit in question is that of Mary to her cousin Elizabeth after Gabriel had told her she would give birth to "the Son of the Most High". The church has tablets with the words of Mary's song of praise ("Magnificat") in more than 40 languages, including Cantonese, and is mercifully short of tour groups.



Inaccessible to the public, the building with the onion domes is the Gorny Monastery, which comprises two Orthodox churches as well as a monastery.



French Jewish artist Marc Chagall created twelve windows for installation in the synagogue of Israel's largest hospital, the Hadassar Medical Centre, near Ein Kerem. Illuminated by natural light, each window represents one of the twelve tribes of Israel, named after the sons of Jacob. Very impressive stuff and well worth a visit if you are in the area. There's no need to book in advance, but it was quite chaotic when I got there, so, to be sure of getting an Englsih-speaking tour guide, its probably best to do so.



Church of St Peter in Gallicantu



St Peter in Gallicantu ("cock-crow"), in the Mount Zion area, just south of the Old City, is one of the more tranquil churches in Jerusalem, especially if you get there at 8.30am, which is when it opens. Rebuilt on the site of older churches in the 1920s, the building was damaged during the War of Independence in 1948, subsequently patched up and then extensively and tastefully renovated in the 1990s. It is administered by the French Augustinians of the Assumption.



A stone's throw from St Peter's is the grave of Oskar Schindler, the German businessman made famous first by Thomas Keneally's book Schindler's Ark and then by Stephen Spielberg's film of a similar name. The German on the stone reads "The unforgettable rescuer of 1,200 persecuted Jews", although my elementary German leads me to believe that lebenretter should read lebensretter.



Car park in Paul Emile Botha Street

Finally, no mention of Jerusalem is complete without a mention of a car park where you can park for free for as long as you like. It's on Paul Emile Botha Street, which is off King David Street near the King David Hotel. If you have a car in Jerusalem, as you might well do, especially if you intend to make only a short stay in the capital, get to this place after 7pm or before 6.30am, and you can park on what is essentially wasteland. It gets very busy and cars park close together, so it's worth going there when it's most empty and choosing a nice space at the rear of the area, where no one can park directly behind or in front of you.

It's de rigueur in Israel to have scratches and bumps on your motor, so I was very pleased to find my hire car had received no news ones, in addition to the many it had already sustained, while parked there for three nights. So surprised were the car hire people (Sixt-Shlomo) when I returned the car after a fortnight with a report of no scrapes that they spent a good seven or eight minutes inspecting it, the original inspector calling out to the prefab office for reinforcements, before declaring it undamaged.

Hyperinflation at South China Morning Post

When the SCMP Group recently raised the price of its titles, the South China Morning Post and the Sunday Post, by 14% and 25% respectively, you could be forgiven for thinking that they were attempting to ensure that their predictions about high inflation holding Hong Kong in its steely grip should not come to naught.

You wouldn't, though, expect that a respected Australian journalist (okay, okay, I know what you're saying) would jump on the inflationary bandwagon with the type of gusto shown by one Michael Cox.

Described by his employee on its website as a "news hound" who specialises in "thoroughbred gallop racing" (horse racing to you and me) as well as "harness racing" (I’m not quite sure why they see fit to discuss his extracurricular activities in a family paper), Coxie (if I may slip into the Antipodean vernacular) has been let off the leash in today's Racing Post to devastating effect.

In a short piece headed "Yeung offers better value" (I’m worried they may have been attempting a pun there), Coxie offers us the following:

"Four rides will be enough for Keith Yeung Ming-lun to snatch a wide-open Jockey Challenge at Happy Valley tonight … Yeung represents good value at $14 with a solid quintet of rides. Matthew Chadwick has even less rides (four), but two are strong chances …"

Coxie, Coxie, Coxie, a word in your shell-like. Never, ever attempt to use Latin again.

Try English, mate! Or, then again, just stick to whatever language that is you're using.

A Smidgen of Self Promotion

Not for myself, you see, I don't believe in that sort of thing. It's rather American, isn't it, blowing one's own trumpet, or, as they say across the pond, "tooting one’s own horn".

Quite a few chaps have been interviewing me recently and asking me about my blog.

"Goodness gracious!" I reply, genuinely surprised, "how do you know I have a blog?"

"Because you put it on every email you send out," they reply. "In bold green letters, right there at the bottom … And the top."

Isn't it extraordinary, I thought, how the internet is threatening to take over our lives? And, as I know only too well, having had what some people consider a reasonably successful career in the banking field, takeovers can be something of a curate's egg.

Sometimes, they can be jolly useful ways to get rid of any flabby bits that may have accrued around the waistline of someone else's company, but at other times they are, quite frankly, unnecessary attempts by consultants who know next to nothing about complex financial matters to marginalise decent folk who have got to the top of their chosen field by dint of sheer hard work.

Just the other day, when Steve Jobs finally succumbed after a wonderfully heroic battle against the disease that was wasting his body and causing his once shaggy mop of hair to recede even further, a fellow CEO whom I haven't kept in touch with since we scrummed down together in Tanganyika rang me up out of the blue and asked me what it all meant.

I thought for a moment before proffering what I knew to be frightfully inadequate for the occasion. But one does one's best, doesn't one, both through financial tsunamis and through periods of boom, or, as we bankers like to say, through the good times and through the good times.

"Tom," I replied, knowing him well enough to dispense with the formalities of "Sir Tom", "it's a crazy old world we live in, when a nice chap who's worked hard all his life and suffered some very unfair criticism along the way is taken away in his mid fifties when other chaps who snipe away from the sidelines like those two old duffers in the Muppets seem to go on and one for ever."

As it happened, what Tom wanted to know was whether Apple shares were going to take a hit and whether he ought to advise his lady friend in Shanghai to sell up and buy shares in one of those state-sponsored construction firms that are doing rather well.

Notwithstanding that little misunderstanding, reflecting on the ups and downs of life made me appreciate that occasionally you do need to blow your own trumpet. After all, if one were to join an orchestra and then keep one's instrument in one's case, what sort of a contribution would one be making?

So, if I may offer one piece of advice, it would be this. If you have a light, bring it out from under that bushel and give it the oxygen it needs to shine brightly. Not too much oxygen, not too big a bushel, but enough to make people sit up and notice, and say,

"Look at that chap. He worked hard. He deserves every bit of success that comes his way."

Diva Noddle (that's an anagram – try it work it out! Answer in the next post)

The Proofreading's in the Pudding

You can understand an engineer who struggles to express himself in the English language, but what about an institution that claims to be among the top 30 universities in the world. And I mean for its intellectual qualities, not its wealth?

Is it too much to expect that someone at Hong Kong University’s Institute of Transport Studies would be able to spot the problem with a sentence that reads: "Finally, I shall draw discuss what has not yet been achieved, and identify opportunities for future research and practice"?

I expect the real question that I should be asking is: "Is it too much to expect that someone at Hong Kong University would actually read something?"

Wind Turbines Totally Useless Says Duke

Old windbags - it takes one to know one, you see

Watching Wen Jiabao

Watching PRC Premier Wen Jiabao using his appearance at an ASEAN shindig yesterday to promote his country’s claims to pretty much the whole of the South China Sea, riding roughshod over the claims of five countries whose territory is closer to some of the parcels of land contained therein, I thought of George Orwell and others who have written about “patriotism”.

This morning, I came across these words of CS Lewis, which crystallised the gut reaction I felt and helped to generalise it:

"It is rulers, not nations, who behave internationally … When the rulers are wicked they may by propaganda encourage a demoniac condition of our sentiments in order to secure our acquiescence in their wickedness … That is one reason why we private persons should keep a wary eye on the health or disease of our own love for our country." (adapted from The Four Loves)

Football Chief Promotes His Solution to Racism

Sorry I called you that word earlier.

It's nothing to what the Saudis called me when they heard I'd bought the World Cup to Qatar.

You mean "brought"?

Mr. Blatter, are you calling me a liar as well as a towelhead?

Hacked Off

Lots of familiar ground is raked over in one of those journalistic specials, the piece that turns the searchlight full beam on alleged malpractice by journalists – other journalists, of course. It is, in its own way, the print equivalent of the 60 Minutes special in which journalists are wheeled in from all around the world to pay tribute to a journalist who has achieved the remarkable distinction of reaching the age of 80 without having been retired.

When I say searchlight, I mean, naturally enough, the sort of searchlight that has had the bulb taken out and the power supply cut off. It is, in principle, a very powerful tool for discovering the truth, but, sadly, owing to circumstances beyond the control of members of the journalism industry, it is a tool that is unable to fulfil its function.

This, of course, distresses journalists enormously, causing them sleepless nights and even occasionally to retire early from the licensed establishment where they have gathered to discuss journalistic ethics and ways in which they can get a bit more clued up about subjects they write about, so that, instead of including an average of eight factual inaccuracies in any given article they might be able to reduce that number to seven.

We learn from the Telegraph article that "raped" is the word du jour for describing how a member of the public feels when the dangerous game they have been playing of manipulating newspapers, magazines and television inevitably results in the media reciprocating, marshalling their full arsenal of unlimited expense accounts and a total inurement to factual inaccuracies.

In a scene worthy of Dante himself, we are introduced to the fourth circle of hell, where the froth spilling from the mouth of members of the fourth estate is indistinguishable from the froth spilling from beermugs that can never satisfy them however much they imbibe. Hell, they have discovered, is merely a continuation, in extremis, of the life they chose for themselves on earth.

As toothless in the afterlife as they have been in this one, they are represented by a personage called Michelle Stanisbrook, who has been condemned by the shades of those people her members misled on earth to stride about in perpetuity with a mirror held out before her unable to answer her mobile phone, ringing constantly with false tidbits from paid informers.

As blind in death as she has been in life, her punishment is to walk about with a self-important air accusing every gaggle of her co-industrialists she bumps into of being a "self-serving gentleman's club which has failed abysmally", and to be kept eternally from the realisation that the person she is actually addressing in the mirror is herself.

Bloody Views from Peace Vista

View over the Sea of Galilee

In that endless quest to come up with a heading that will attract readers, I've come up with this one, even if I could have gone the whole hog, as it were, with "Lingerie clad models in lesbo romp".

If "harmony" is a peculiarly Asian instance of doublethink and newspeak (who can forget former Malaysian PM Mohamad Madasahatir’s saying, "Harmony is the Malaysian way; it's as Malaysian as the Proton Saga?), then "peace" is its Israeli counterpart.

Thus, the action which effectively ended Menachem Begin’s career, known to the rest of the world as the "Invasion of Lebanon" goes by the quaintly bucolic title "Operation Peace for Galilee" among Israeli Jews. Indeed, throughout the length and breadth of the country, you find all sorts of places and products with "Shalom" in there somewhere.

One such place, to the east of the Sea of Galilee in the disputed Golan Heights, is the "Peace Vista" (Mitspe Ha Shalom) lookout point, perched around 300 metres above the lake. Not the worst place in the world to chill out with a camera as twilight gathers. And, unlike the beaches on the lake's east shore, which charge US$15 for the privilege of a visit, this is one of those rare tourist spots in Israel which is free.

View towards Tiberias

And here's the view one evening last week from my sitting room window in Korazim, on the north west shore:

Top Places to Visit in Israel: Part I

Well, I've been and done it and got my wife and daughter a T-shirt each. But I can hear the words on everyone's lips, "Give us the inside track, Ullie. Pull no punches. Where to go and what to avoid in the Holy Land?"

Being a positive bloke, I'll start with the recommendations and deal with the negative stuff later. So off we go, in geographical order from south to north.

Incidentally, I recommend doing Jerusalem first and then hiring a car so you can get away from the beaten track and all the annoying touts. Car hire via the internet is actually one of the least expensive items on what you must brace yourself to be a pricey vacation. The locals joke that water is more expensive than petrol, and with petrol running at around than US$2.25 a litre (8% more than Hong Kong), that's saying something. Sadly, what it's not saying is that it's much of an exaggeration, as bottled water comes in at US$2.15 for 1.5 litres. If you're smart, though, you'll drink the stuff from the tap, which comes from the Sea of Galilee and is pretty well filtered these days.

Makhtesh Ramon

This erosion cirque masquerading as a crater is a 180km trip from Tel Aviv Airport but well worth it if you combine it with nearby Avdat (where you get two for the price of one - well one and a half, actually - a gorge and an ancient hilltop city where Jesus Christ Superstar was filmed) and/or David Ben Gurion's desert home at Sde Boker, whither the old man retired in 1963 so that he could snipe away at his successor, Levi Eshkol.

Eight kilometres across and around 300 metres deep, it's a bit like the Grand Canyon except it hasn't been carved out by a river running through it. The big hole was created as the ancient ocean retreated and then, if I may use a meringue analogy, water carved out the gooey bits in the middle, which then collapsed, leaving the outer crusty bits as you see them. Great to visit towards sunset (early in Isreal – around 4.45pm in November), when the natural colours of the various rocks and minerals are brought out by the setting sun.

Masada

Starting out as fort before turning into the the playground of the idle rich - Herod the Great's weekend place in the country - one hundred years later this rock rising 450 metres above the Dead Sea became famous for the last stand of the Jewish rebels in AD73. As the Romans finally breached the site's defences, by means of a Lord of the Rings style tower which they had wheeled up an enormous causeway, ten Jewish men were chosen by lot to kill all 900 of the defenders. Poignantly, although they destroyed their weapons and money, so they wouldn't fall into Imperial hands, they left their food intact, lest anyone would later say they killed themselves because they were starving.

You can either take the cable car or walk – the elevation is around 350 metres and it will take you between half an hour and an hour depending on the time of year and your fitness.

Dead Sea

Before

Forget the tourist traps at Kalia and En Gedi, save your shekels for better things like a nice bottle of Goldstar beer, and go to Ullie’s Cove. Located just 3 kilometres north of the northern entrance to En Gedi, you park on the right at the pull-in area and walk along an unmetalled road for 20 minutes. Look out for a well-trodden path on your right and you’ll find yourself at a gem of a place with heated hot pool (38 degrees Celsius), which comes equipped with soap (clayish stuff you just pluck from under the water), and of course the world’s largest, lowest and saltiest floating entertainment venue (27 degrees when I was there, according to the nice Russian immigrants who shared their lunch with me).

After (with rain on lens)

If you pick up a hitch-hiker, then, who knows, maybe you'll get to see rain at the Dead Sea too.

Awesome.

Death Can Be Fatal

Suicide's no laughing matter, but you really have to wonder at the standard of journalists when you read headlines like this one:

Peter Roebuck dies, aged 55, after committing suicide

Catch it before they change it. I'm assuming the Telegraph has some educated readers, even if it lacks that quality in its sub-editors.

Rain at the Dead Sea

So there I was last Saturday sharing a hot spring at the Dead Sea with three Russian emigres when it starts bucketing down. Now, this only happens once or twice a year I'm told so I'm putting the miracle down as my reward for giving a lift to an Israeli hitch-hiker. This fellow was indirectly responsible for the second and greater miracle of the day, which is that I managed to enjoy a recreational site in Israel without parting with any cash.

Full details of this lovely "private" beach just north of Ein Gedi - and maybe a picture of said rain - to follow.

When's a Crater not a Crater?

Maktesh Ramon, Negev, Israel

When it's an erosion cirque, I guess.

Not enough time to fully blog my trip to Israel on the hoof, as it were. Instead, I'll offer tantalising glimpes now and more in-depth reflections when I return to Hong Kong. Well, that's the plan.

Highlights of the journey so far: 1) being addressed in Hebrew at Hong International Airport by the check-in staff, the boarding gate staff and the welcome party of flight attendants at the end of the air-bridge. Must be those Woody Allen style glasses I got recently in addition to the aquiline nose. I shudder to think it could be anything to do with my other Jewish characteristic.

2) Hearing and then seeing a flock of Korean Christians, the women decked out in visors and long sleeves like a group of golfers about to spend five and a half hours negotiating Kau Sai Chau's South Course, parading down the Via Dolorosa carrying a replica cross. (Photo to follow.)

3) The afore-mentioned Israeli 'Grand Canyon' in the Negev.

Maktesh Ramon

Desert Oasis - Ein Avdat, Negev

By the way, never play Monopoly with an Israeli. I did once, but he grabbed all the land when I went to the loo.