Upon Westminster, Budgie

This is Westminster in Glasgow in 1979. Westminster was a classic green budgie bred by Doctor Cant, biology teacher, badminton player and of course, budgie breeder. Doc was mildly scandalised by our choice of name. "He'll never learn to say it", she said, and was absolutely correct. West never showed the slightest interest in learning to speak. In some ways he was a failure as a budgie. Speaking doesn't matter, but he never really mastered flying either. He could circle for a bit but then would spiral down, apparently lacking the energy or technique to gain elevation. In spite of this weakness, he somehow managed to survive for about ten years in a house with cats, without ever being seriously eaten. Mrdina caught him once but was persuaded to let him go largely intact (but highly indignant). His speciality, apart from greenness, was copulating with any finger he was allowed to perch on for more than a minute. Budgies aren't meant to do that but it wasn't something we wanted to discuss with the good Doctor. It wasn't her fault that one of her birds developed deviant proclivities.

This was Musheireb

The last block is now demolished and the whole of Musheireb has gone. All the way from Boat Roundabout to Qtel Intersection runs a fence with nothing standing behind it. Nothing, that is, except the new construction work that will become Dohaland, in time. The video is taken from my usual vantage point, the roof of Sofitel Mercure.

The Robber Barons are Alive and Well

Last week I had occasion to transfer a sum of money to Malaysia from my bank in Dubai. Because of a small inaccuracy in the beneficiary's details, that transaction was cancelled and my account was re-credited, minus AED 1,500. That's more than 250 quid in real money! I've complained of course but so far had no response. I'd expect to be charged something for a failed transaction, maybe as much as 150 Dirhams, but 1,500? Surely that's taking the P by any standards? It's not as if an intrepid motorbike dispatch rider had carried my money all the way to Kuala Lumpur only to be foiled by a locked and bolted door with a painted sign- Gone Away. No, all that happened was a couple of numbers changed on a spreadsheet, an electronic handshake failed and the numbers were changed back. But not all the way back. I wish I could make money that easily.

Don't ask me where I am

I remember when people used to start a phone call with- hello, how are you? But that was in the days of static telephones. No-one ever thought of asking- where are you? They already knew; you were at home, answering the phone. And if you weren't, they just had to wait until you were. I liked that. I liked that when I was out, I was out of reach. To today's generation, this is incomprehensible. We are all expected to be instantly available. Of course I carry a mobile all the time and wouldn't want to turn the clock back. But I'd very much like to uninvent the question- where are you? It always sounds accusatory, as in- why aren't you somewhere else? But I think I've finally settled on the best response- I'm just by my phone. How about you?