Longrider

Although it looks as if this situation probably wasn’t handled very well, I can’t say that I have much sympathy for the passenger in this quarrel.

A Cheshire music student was ordered to buy an extra seat for her violin after an airline refused to let her take the instrument as hand luggage.

My first reaction was why wasn’t it booked in with hold luggage? Apparently, according to the girl’s father:

He said the air pressure and low temperature in the hold would have ruined the instrument, which belongs to the Manchester music school Chetham’s, where Francesca is a pupil.

Okay, fair enough. I don’t know any different, so will have to take his word for that. Assuming that is the case, though, Francesca was allowed though check-in without any quibble. The problem with this story seems to have been that Ryanair didn’t make it clear when the tickets were purchased that the violin would incur an extra charge – and that being so, there is a reasonable complaint. It looks to me as if whoever took the booking (or their mediocre website) didn’t pick up that it was a violin and that it would be bigger than normal hand luggage.

When we checked in, Francesca was carrying the violin on her back so they must have noticed it but they let us through.

But when we got to the gates they refused to let us go.

They said we could pay extra to put the violin in the hold, but because of the temperature and air pressure difference, the wood can crack and completely ruin a violin. The insurance also becomes void.

This was an absolute disgrace. Their policy appears to discriminate against violinists, the vast majority of whom simply can’t afford to purchase an additional seat.

Well, I would hardly say that they were discriminating. Incompetent, maybe. Ryanair are pretty clear about hand luggage requirements. They tell you how big it can be and how much it may weigh. If you have a musical instrument that just cannot go in the hold, you have to think again, but consider this; other people will also have hand luggage that does comply. They will want to be able to take their seats and put their bags in the overhead lockers. If you have an item that takes up extra room, why shouldn’t you pay extra?

The Ryanair website says small musical instruments can be taken on board their flights but customers have to purchase an extra seat if they are larger than standard baggage.

Given the amount of extra room that may be needed, this seems perfectly reasonable. A violin may not be very big, but in a case, it is bulky in the confines of an aircraft cabin, will take up significant space in an overhead locker, won’t fit under a seat, so may need to be placed on a seat instead.

David Abrahams, head of legal services at the ISM, said: “The idea that musicians should be forced to purchase an additional seat on board an aircraft because they are carrying an instrument that can be stored safely in the overhead lockers is unfair, discriminatory and irrational.”

“These airlines are punishing musicians for being musicians.”

Don’t be silly, of course they aren’t. If it goes in the overhead locker, other luggage can’t and has to go somewhere. If the instrument doesn’t go in the overhead locker, it has to go somewhere. If it goes on a seat, then the airline cannot sell that seat to a passenger.

I’ve mentioned it before, but it’s something that people just don’t seem to get. Ryanair is a cheap airline. You get a seat at a low price. That’s it. Anything else comes at a premium. Caveat emptor and all that.

As it turned out EasyJet were happy to take it as hand luggage, so it worked out okay. But, then, in my experience EasyJet are generally more expensive than Ryanair. You get what you pay for in this world.

Apparently the M6 toll road has been deemed a failure.

Traffic jams around Birmingham are at least as bad as they were before the road was opened as motorists refuse to pay to use the 27-mile stretch which was intended to end gridlock on the M6.

Well, yes, if you take the M6 down to the M5 junction, it’s pretty atrocious, especially during the rush hours. What this doesn’t mention is the roadworks that are currently exacerbating the situation.

The price of the toll road has risen from £2 originally to £5 now. If I have to go south around Birmingham, I will always pay the fiver and enjoy the easy drive. It’s when I’m heading south west that I have to put up with the misery of the M6 as the toll road takes me away from the M5 unless I take the M42 and I gain nothing from doing that.

If there is any failure for me, it is that I know the relief from the congestion is temporary as once the two motorways rejoin, you are again caught up with the general clog getting to the M1.

What strikes me as odd about this report is the assertion that people aren’t willing to pay so therefore it is a failure. Surely, the whole idea is that the payment will deter many, making the drive clearer for those who value the time more than the money. In which case, it’s working precisely as planned. Or am I missing something?

I’m staying with my sister at the moment.  Early morning across the Somerset levels is beautiful at this time of the year. Taken from above Axbridge, somewhere in the misty distance is Glastonbury.

The Englishman draws my attention to some pure comedy gold over at CiF. Okay, Theo Hobson is a believer and I guess we are not supposed to mock the afflicted, not least when they inadvertently produce a self-parody so rich as this, but it’s just too delicious to abstain. Pompous, self-indulgent gems such as this one:

To “suffer” from liberal guilt means that you are somewhat uneasy about all sorts of awkward things that it is tempting to harden your heart against, like global injustice, global warming, racism. It means that you are troubled by the stubborn persistence of our class system, though you personally have done fine by it. It means you sometimes worry that you might be prejudiced against all sorts of people. It means that your vague patriotism is laced with uncertainty about whether our ancient constitution is able to be truly inclusive. It means, for goodness sake, that you fail to be completely fatly smugly relaxed about this problematic world we inhabit. Is that really so shameful and wet, so laughably mentally effeminate?

Pseuds corner here we come. I am able to manage my life without hand-wringing over any of these things. Not least, I can’t do anything about all that’s wrong with the world and I am not a believer in the great god of global warming. I am not in the least concerned that I may be prejudiced against people. I may be, I may not be, I try to treat them as I find them, I don’t waste time worrying about it. This, apparently, makes me smugly relaxed – as opposed, of course to having my life to deal with and that is taking all of my energies, so I have no time to indulge in “liberal guilt”. Just getting the next job in is as much as I can concentrate my energies on at the moment. I don’t have the luxury that Theo does to enjoy the vapours over global injustice. That will just have to wait. Still, all of this – working for a living and working at getting the next contract – that’s just being a smug Tory apparently.

If this little parade of privileged anxiety fills you with derision, then you are a Tory.

Like the smug, self-satisfied, preachy, sanctimonious, pompous, self-righteous Guardianista that he is, if you are not one of them, you are a Tory. Never mind that I have never joined the Conservative party and only ever once in my adult life put an X next to a Conservative candidate; I’m not one of them, so in Theo’s simplistic, two-dimensional world, I’m a Tory. Although, frankly, better a Tory than a Guardianista if I had to make the choice.

Rejection of liberal guilt is the very cornerstone of the Tory soul, the unofficial definition of Tory. “Look how relaxed I am about my place at the feast,” says the Tory. “Regard my sense of entitlement. Inequality and privilege are nothing to be ashamed of; they are part of life, and life is good, n’est-ce pas? So please: no more strident student-union hectoring stuff about how evil the ‘system’ is.” In other words, Toryism is a posture of world affirmation. It works by rubbishing reformist angst, painting it as neurotic hypocrisy. The phrase liberal guilt is obviously a Tory coinage. It ought to be called “the necessary self-accusing anxiety accompanying liberal idealism”. Or something.

Or something, indeed. There’s a word for this sanctimonious, idiotic cockwaffle and I think the title to this post says it all; risible. But then, I expect that from the saintly Guardianista.

Go and read it all if you have the stomach for it. Probably best to do it before breakfast rather than after. I expect the comments to be a hoot.

One of the concerns those of us championing civil liberties worry about is the matter of mission creep. This is something usually pooh-poohed by our opponents. The state is always benevolent, the state will never do us wrong and if you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear, right? Big Brother is your friend after all.

Well, via NO2ID, we get this little story.

TOWN hall snoops have been caught red-handed using the DVLA’s database to spy on people.

The Big Brother tactics emerged after councils were given the green light to use DVLA car registration records, strictly to track down owners of ­abandoned ­vehicles.

It all seems so reasonable. What could possibly go wrong?

Instead, and in breach of the rules, “inflated” bureaucrats have been checking up on residents suspected of offences that have nothing to do with motoring.

Well who would have thought it, eh? Town councils consist of people and people behave badly. Even those of us who are generally optimistic about the the altruism of mankind realise that there will always be some bad eggs and that there will always be a temptation to snoop and that there will always be someone, somewhere who will succumb. And sure as that bad egg is an egg, they do.

An audit of 155 of the 432 local authorities allowed to use the ­database showed that the DVLA’s ­system was accessed 750 times a day in the 2009/10 financial year.

However, it was discovered that ­councils were using the system to track down people for a variety of offences including horse fouling, littering and owning out-of-control dogs.

This was entirely predictable. Just as councils’ misuse of RIPA was entirely predictable. There is only one cure and it is a simple one. Don’t give them access. If they want information on a particular abandoned vehicle, they they can ask the DVLA about that vehicle and that vehicle only. It isn’t difficult and it keeps the nosey bastards out of the database.

At the risk of stirring up the wrath (again) of those who want presumed consent in the UK, this story in the Observer tries to make the case.

Laurence Isaacson fell ill and was diagnosed with acute renal failure. He spent some time seeking a live donor. It is difficult to read his story without feeling for him and those who went through the tests to see if they were a match. As he says, live donation leaves the donor able to carry on. We can manage with one kidney, providing there are no relevant health problems. During his search, potential donors were ruled out because of the potential risks to the donor – and that’s as it should be.

And, unlike cheap dental operations in eastern Europe or plastic surgery in Brazil, under the Human Tissues Act you can’t search for kidney donors abroad in exchange for financial inducement.

Perhaps that should be changed. Providing there is no coercion and provided the same health risks are analysed and the donor rejected accordingly, why shouldn’t the donor make a financial gain from the transaction?

Ultimately, though, despite giving us a harrowing story (that was eventually successful) about attempts to secure a live donor – who was able and willing to give consent – we come to the crux of the matter.

The current system is that you have to sign up to donate. In those other countries, hospitals can use organs from people who have died, presuming their consent. If we had presumed consent, there would be a significant increase in the number of organs available. I wouldn’t have had to put my friends in such a position. There are thousands of people on dialysis, many of whom will die before an organ becomes available.

So, the whole thing was an appeal to emotion. This story would be useful to make potential donors think about their body after death and sign up. To seek to use it as an attempt to assume consent where consent has not been specifically given merely hardens my attitude.

Presumed consent is not consent and never will be. Fortunately, the Cleggerons have no plans to bring it about.

Anna Raccoon discusses blogrolls. That should keep Boaty & D amused. Meanwhile Mummy gets her knickers in a knot and comes over all contrite. Haven’t we all?

Dick Puddlecote finds a little Labour creep down in my old stamping ground of Medway and brings our attention to Corrugated Soundbite in the process. Leg Iron is having problems with an overactive brain and thinks too much – about drugs this time. Maybe it’s ADHD or something?

Bucko notes the imbecilic nature of the anti-smoker.

The informed and rationalised debate has left the building.

Did it ever come in?

On the matter of rational debate, Julia draws our attention to a prize bit of chutzpah from Mark Thompson.

He said Sky should be forced to pay ITV, Channel 4 and Channel 5 a fee for carrying their channels on its satellite platform through a “retransmission” charge.

I can almost admire it. Almost.

Total politics is in the process of announcing the latest results from their annual popularity fest with some regular faces coming out in the libertarian field and the occasional newcomer.

Meanwhile Mark Wadsworth gives us a snippet of entirely useless information. My eyes are blue, so I guess that makes me superior.

And to round off, Obnoxio reminds us that democracy is a pile of poo.

Via Nourishing Obscurity, this.

Check which famous writer you write like with this statistical analysis tool, which analyzes your word choice and writing style and compares them with those of the famous writers.

So I did…

I write like
Kurt Vonnegut

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 And,

I write like
William Gibson

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And,

I write like
Arthur Clarke

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And,

I write like
Mario Puzo

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Who knows, maybe it’s right?

Tom Cox muses on the nature of felines and our relationship with them.

Is there a more divisive animal on earth than the domestic cat? To those who dislike them, cats are aloof and self-obsessed: flighty animals, full of nonsense, who have never really done man much good, aside from the odd bit of low-level pest control.

I have to say that to me, that’s a reason to love them, not hate them. It’s that very aloofness, the indifference and the nonsense that appeals so much to me. A cat at play is full of such stuff and nonsense. Our Louis for example is a clown who will one day break my neck if I’m not careful. His favourite trick is to lie alongside a door and then wrap himself around my legs as I try to walk through. As my foot touches the floor he will deftly wind his body around it, shifting from one tottering appendage to the next. One day his dastardly scheme will succeed. But, one asks, who will then open the fridge?

As for the low level pest control, when we moved into this house, we encountered a veritable infestation of mice. Now, anyone who complains about cat shit in the garden would have something to complain about seeing every work surface in the kitchen smothered in mouse droppings. The buggers were everywhere. The immigration of ten cats soon put a stop to that. Indeed, Ptolemy – sadly no longer with us – had the matter under control within a couple of hours. He was seen strutting about the house with a mouse tail dangling from his chops. That sight will be an enduring memory of a dear friend.

To those who love them, they’re the colourful, unpredictable alternative to staid old dogs: creatures overflowing with comedy and beauty who will prepare you for real life and make every purr feel like a hard-won victory.

Quite so. When they offer affection, it is to be valued. There is something soothing about a cat gently purring as it digs its claws rhythmically into your legs. And, when one is sitting at the computer, composing some thoughtful prose, the helpful additions caused by a cat walking across the keyboard tends to concentrate the mind. I think that’s supposed to be the effect, anyway.

A suspicion of cats as grand manipulators goes right back to the time when we believed they were witches’ familiars. Now, as then, much of this suspicion emanates from men. “Cats are like women – they’re only nice to you when they want something!” opined one particularly idiotic caller on a radio phone-in I was involved in.

I see that Tom has come across the cat-hating idiocy, too. Cats know how to look after number one and that’s good survival.

Cats carry the burden of being superior beings, who also happen to be incredibly vulnerable. Therefore, they represent an easy target for the rage of the inferior, the bitter and the evil.

Ah, yes, it has always been so. As they look disdainfully down at an inferior world populated by hairless apes and propitiative dogs, they have to cope with the evils of man, the inferior beings who complain about shit in the garden of all things. One such creature calling himself private_fraser whines in the comments to Tom’s piece:

Sh*t machines is all they are

So, too, is every living organism that metabolises – as is pretty much pointed out with a suitably curt response from benmaxius.

I suppose you have found some way to process sustenance without defecating then?

Well, quite. It’s no worse than the badger shit I frequently encountered – our house was on their regular run and they use their droppings as a marker. Wonderful.

My cats are a source of great joy. They are clowns and acrobats and they would also like me to believe that they are deep thinkers, but I suspect that most of the time they are just sitting half asleep – or half awake, planning world domination. Or, at least, just how do you get that fridge open?