The Great Steve Jobs

Now that Steve Jobs has passed away, he had left a void that is unlikely to be filled by anyone in the foreseeable future. He was one of the last greats of a decaying society, cowed in by the politically correct bigots, run by the greedy corporate execs, and managed by our own pettiness towards change. We are down a slippery slope, age of masters is already past. We have not seen great composers for two odd generations, Elgar (Edward) may have been the last and we are now satisfied with Barenboim and Robert Miles. As for science, the situation is pitiful – Feynman must have been the last we will ever see. Sure there is Kary Mulis, and Stephen Hawkins. But they are not in the same league as Fermi, Feynman, or surely Oppenheimer.

In the dark night skies where all the stars have burnt out, we see a few specks of light, and Steve was one of them. I know he did not invent a thing, yet he paved the way to our modern computer (with apologies to Alan Turin), he was a pirate, who stole the ideas from others, but he made it all out there. Had Mr Jobs not intervened, we’d be stuck with that Gates fellow, and I would rather go back to the stylus and slate. If you want to get a better understanding of these guys, why not watch Pirates of Silicon Valley – best description of the bunch by far, and you don’t even have to be a movie buff to watch it.

Many people have put their condolence messages on the Yahoo message board, and of the lot I chose the one that says “there are three apples that changed the world. The first was Eve’s apple that gave way to us all, then it was Newton’s apple which brought out modern science, and then its Steve Job’s Apple..” I find it hard to disagree.

And there is another point that binds them together – a bit far removed from the Apple thingy. Adam was a bastards who slept with his own daughters and fornicated against the will of the God (never mind how stupid god was to place the accursed tree out there in the open – what the f was the purpose of that? Then again he had the good sense to make the pot plant too and place in the Garden of Eden..), and Sir Isaac Newton was a bastard who committed arson by setting fire to his own parental house to roast the parents, and Steve jobs was an equal to his Apple-sakes by being a despotic leader and denying fatherhood of his own daughter – he went as far as claiming he was sterile!!! Oddly enough, when Steve returned to Apple, employees dreaded of bumping into him in the building. The story was “if you met Steve in the elevator, you would not have the job when the doors opened”! just think of it.

But then again he was not all that bad. He did have many, very many in fact, things going positive for him. He did everything right, made good machines, changed the world, reconciled with his estranged daughter and wife, brought in the iPhone, brought the mouse (computer) in to everyday use, lived an average life, and most of all – he gave strength and courage to all up coming young talent. He was the role model for many, showing them how to turn misfortunes into great success stories, how to rise from the ashes, and, ah, why college dropouts do better than book worms!

So where do we stand here? Sure he was a genius, sure he made an indelible mark on our day to day lives, and was the role model for many. But his private life was something of a mess, with authoritarian approach, selfishness and reluctance to appreciate how others feel. Strange that the best human-computer interface came from a man who did not sometimes recognise the humanity in people around him (from that sterile claim incident to pulling down a historic edifice just before his death).

I tell you where we stand – we stand where we accept Steve Jobs’ humanity. Sure he was all that. But his personal weaknesses only point to the fact that he himself was only human. Man. Was man not the God’s supreme creation? Steve was a man, and his life proves it.

Disheartened?

Consider Mr Gates then. He never tried LSD, or went to an Ashram, or tried to deny fatherhood. Exemplary man isn’t he. Now take one effing look at his creation – the Windows Operating System….

Jobs in Canada (with a romantic twist)

How do I go to Canada – well there are lots of ways, but “Live-in-Caregiver” may not be one of them. There are two reasons why you won't qualify:

you need recognised work history or 6 months training

you need good English

Remember kids, this particular job is a bit tightly regulated in Canada, specially as some so called care givers end up in an other type of care giving. Namely at bars, as bar girls. My friend Kathy, who is in the task force had told me some horrid stories of this. So if you are serious of going there, make sure you qualify, and it really is a care-giver job. Unless you have some other plans of course....

Now I need to say a word or two about the two qualifications here. An NVQ or a HND can come handy, but if your other bits are good, a locally obtained diploma will do just fine. But do make sure its genuine, so we (and the potential employer) can fight it out if the band of twats here refuse it. Besides there is a personal reason for me to request a genuine qualification, you are dealing with someone's life here, all unsupervised sometimes. I wouldn't want to see you coming in to my room at wee hours of the morning with the rat poison bottle in hand when what I really need is the cough medicine. So please, Canadian dream can be fun, but not at the price of my head. Funerals are expensive affairs in Canada, you know.

As for the English bit, now that is something the dorks here have taken by the tail. Whatever it is, a decent level is sufficient – do all those East Euro girls have perfect English? Its not a tenured position at the local university language department, but then again whom are you going to complain? Canada High Commission in Sri Lanka is a fortified edifice like the Guantanamo detention centre for Al-Qa'ida suspects. Any form of discussion is out of question – a diplomatic mission is there to deal with the locals, and this bunch seems to be thinking they are sent here for some other matter, like manning a castle in a hostile territory.

All in all, in countries like Sri Lanka, with a few honourable exceptions, getting a faire hearing from a visa officer is a bit of a lottery. And the Canadians rank high in the dork scale against pretty tough competition.

So why are we crying wolf of care giver programme? Cause someone wanted a visa for that, except her real purpose was of course, well you guessed. Not that I disagree, a karaoke girl is also doing a pretty good care-giver job, albeit of a different kind. But who am I to disagree.

Its a tough situation and the thing to work out for me was if she'd ever get to a position dealing with some poor old feller's medicine cabinet, and when that is out of the window, rest is a matter of professional judgement – which is help her. I mean look at Hotel Chelsea NY. Its all a matter of working things out. You could write a book, just be the silly tourist, or be part of the Chelsea whatever. Don't get it? Lets see, 2001 was written there, more or less, and you could be a nice fine paying guest like me, or be one of those people bent in the other way – it was a popular destination for that too, you know. Specially before the times of current social acceptance of some diversity out there in the nether regions. John Jr., nevermind who, was once served a flyer for a club in a foyer, and this John feller, being a strong opponent of gentlemen of the diversified nature, immediately responded: Do I look like an arse banger to you?

So when you are coming here for visa advice with a care-giver pretence – I may have a similar question to ask. Please don't be offended. Its just me.

A Brief History of Getting US Visa

K, I have been late on this, very late in fact. But then again I promised to write on US Visa process, so I waited till some good news comes. There were other things to write, but a word is a word. That could be an advantage when one is a nice Jewish boy like myself….

If you are planning to apply for US visa, here is the breakdown:

Decide before you apply! That is decide if you are going for studies, holiday, business, or some other affaire – such as getting married, applying for residence, etc.

Get yourself a piece of paper and write down the reason you are going there, and then check out the type of visa you need through http://travel.state.gov/visa/temp/types/types_1286.html

So you won’t get cross-eyed while filling the visa application.

Now decide how long you intend to stay over there. Kindly be realistic on this. About a month is more or less a max for a tourist visa, less than 3 weeks for a family visit + some event, about two weeks for paying a bedside visit to a dead (!) relation, a week is enough for a short interview or ilk. Ah, and a business trip is less than a month, ideally 3 weeks. Simply, just don’t write 3 months anywhere.  

Having decided why and for how long, now you need to get your finance in order. Remember you need to show sufficient funds for the journey – so a cool 300,000 for a week would certainly help you get the visa. Going there for over 3 weeks? Have about one million in the bank.

If you don’t have good finance or pre arranged accommodation, you need a letter from the sponsor. This should have sponsor’s daytime telephone number on it, as well as the current address. Ideally, mention your relationship with sponsor on the letter: Relation, business partner, student (by college), etc.

If you are not visiting anyone who is hosting you, then you ought to have some pre arranged accommodation in place and the money I mentioned above, roughly.

How much do you actually have to spend week in USA? It depends, about $600 p/w will do unless you want to max it out. The money I mentioned above is just for show, so US Embassy knows you can afford the trip…..

Now get your US related documents in order. These may be invitations, ticket bookings, accommodation letters & bookings, business contact details, a letter from college, etc. this list is very important as it is the first set of evidence to prove genuine-ness of your journey.   

Make sure these are legible, traceable, and recent (pertaining to time of application).

Next you need to have a set of documents indicating your present status in Sri Lanka, that is employment, salary, business income, properties, family etc. this is vitally important as this is the place where visa officer gets an idea if you’d ever come back here!

Remember: US visa officer considers EVERY applicant as a potential immigrant. Its up to you to prove its otherwise!!

Last but not the least, arrange flight booking letter, your plan in US (OK, visited the relation/business partner/college in US – then what?), what you going to do afterwards, what you do when you come back, etc. This will really improve your chances of getting a visa.

Now you go to TTS (in front of Liberty Plaza – not inside there, which hosts a house of ill fame if you climb up a bit….), fill in your application, fix a date for the interview and off you go. In simpler words, when you tie up your end, the TTS will fix the rest.

Do not go to TTS and ask for favours, they can’t influence the visa process. Please. This is a common matter people refer us to. No we can’t give you visa either. We can only advice, and TTS only submit documents on your behalf. OK.

Interview only lasts for few minutes. So do not expect to deliver a long treatise on History of Time or anything of that nature. Truthfulness is the policy that works, as is my experience. If you get it, they will tell you there. They are not in the habit of wasting your time (or their’s).

All in all, I must say US visa system is quite faire and its simple. Try not to deceive them, and they in turn will be honest with you.

Good luck

Never Mind the Bollocks, Here's the Sex Pistols

I came home from the Old Boy event to find out that Amy Winehouse died of – should I tell you after all that consumption of &quoth there? Later on some silly newspaper here had compared her to Kurt Cobain, cause they both died when 27. Sacrilege I say, she was not a patch on ol Kurt. Idiots. Major *beep*holes in the time-space continuum. People who write these have never listened to Nirvana, or Joy Division (Ian Curtis committed suicide too – Deb wrote Love will tear us apart on his headstone). Never mind the goolie-less, here's the Sex Pistols. No they haven't heard them either. And these idiots are the entertainment column writers here. You need a slem gun to blast them out of existence, or better still hand them over to Martians to carry out some bizarre experiments to figure out how life on Earth should not be.... Now that's what I call public service.

This is so trite, so I let Amy find her way in the other world and opened the email (it was 2.20 AM it was “Need to Do” basis). A good news. We are winning a case at UK Immigration & Asylum Tribunal. Perhaps its time to send a reminder to William of Twelve Pints a Day, about the complaint I lodged with him. This guy is nowhere compared to William of Orange (he was crowned), he is not even anything like William the Silent (who was not crowned – yet won the war), this one is William of York. York, of places for a William to come forth. School kids will rejoice, Robert (William if you rename a colour) of York gave battle in vain.... Yet I have a lot of respect for this guy and have huge faith in this guy, and if you asked me in person, I would forsake my namesake (OK, after some adjustments with spellings and meaning!) and name him The Best PM We Never Had. Except he still got some time to be otherwise if he plays his cards right.

Playing his cards like sending some Prozac to Deputy High Commission outfit in Chennai for an example. By the way the William who was crowned was William iii, I don't want you kids to get your history wrong. And I'd rather if we all could leave that twelve pint incident where it belongs. Behind that is. Watch out for Tony Blair with you that side kids, he is known to..... nevermind.

Its been a week since, and MTV has turned 30 today. A writer on Not the York William is from Daily News laments: MTV's record on women isn't much better. With the emergence of macho hair metal, videos routinely featured women who were portrayed as little more than strippers- what else are those utter talent vacuums except mere strippers I ask. They are only good for one thing, and we all know it. They know it too. Kudos to MTV for getting it right. If you want talent look at Pat Benatar or Chrissie Hynde. If you want more try Ella Fitzgerald, you'd find out what talent is. Not of the York.. writer goes on further to state Now, we're left with an MTV that no longer has "Music Television" as part of its logo, and for good reason - it hardly plays any music... and then go onto describe Snooki. Son, they don't play any music anymore cause there isn't any to play. They show Snooki because she is also a cheap stripper like the women singers of MTV. Fits the bill, and Birds of a feather flock together... like Amy Winehouse. Too much wine in da house can do you lot of harm kiddies, remember that.

My apologies to all those people who complained this has gotten to look like the alcoholics music entertainment bulletin. I know. My sincere apologies. A thousand apologies. As for those who say its trite, a thousand apologies, again.

Next time we will talk about going to USA and visa problems. And, again with apologies, I can't help it being stale. The blog is not supposed to be an intellectual gateway into anywhere. Average time span to write – 30 minutes flat. Average editing number – 01.

With figures like that, you can hardly expect elephants. But to spice it up I'd like to tell you more about the God of Arsenic Poisoning Counterculture here, but guess you are sick of reading about imbeciles by now. So its got to be US visa next time around. For a change. 

Amen 

The Old Boy(s)

Well I finally went to that Old Boy meeting – it’s a great English tradition after all, yet strange for a school which was singularly set up to take the very Englishness away from the masses. Its not Eaton or Marlborough you know. Its funny when you come to think of it. A schoolboy yesterday – sitting at a classroom taking in the lessons, and today you wake up to find yourself an Old Boy there nearing retirement age in the outside world. And it all never crossed my mind when I was sitting on that bench, one day I’d come here as a mature “nevermind who” with a glass in hand….. Life is a bitch.

So how did it go? Well, some fellers there I never met since I left the school confines. There was one who used to sit next to me and I did not even recognise him. Someone uttered his name and I was filled with a deep sense of shame, I mean we used to sit next to each other, share lunch, take the same bus – yet did not recognise him… I was never the one to remember faces. No kidding, if I were to take the time tunnel I’d not recognise myself 20 years ago. Who the f*** is this obnoxious bastard, I’d ask about myself. You need to go to Oedipus to see worse consequences of not recognising people…

Our boys seem to have done justice for themselves, wondering aimlessly among Lawyers, Medical Directors, Surgeons, Company Directors, Corporate Managers, and whatnot, exchanging greetings and groping desperately to name each face, there was another internal struggle within me. Not recognising them is one thing – there is always some means or an excuse. But introducing myself! What do I say I am now to the company director with a beautiful secretary draped around him? Life is indeed a Bitch.B capital.

Wondering in the wilderness of my blog, written in an informal free style, you’d surely say just tell them who you are, a visa consultant – what’s the complex you got. Another one of you might say Why, is being a visa consultant such a lowly menial job?, Would your girlfriend run off with a better if you said it? Well, its not that bad really, and I could hold my own in any crowd with it, spare the uber-academic. But there is another issue. I never felt comfortable with anything I did, and though I lion it out here on the blog, within such close quarters I’d rather have it they just took me for whoever they painted me out to be. Even a porcupine would do just fine, but what I really am, ah that is a no no. Why? Cause I belong to the Nevermind School, unless there is a professional reason to know otherwise, such as them having a gorgeous kid sister or a sister-in-law for an example…. And in that place, there was little reason to suspect anybody being in possession of either of above two important factors in the edible variety..

All in all, the event went just fine, we had a good time and, yes, I did meet Soosthiya, and a few others too. They have done themselves good, and I pretended to be an oil importer throughout. Relax kids, I know that trade, and I am a fast talker, quick on the draw, cross examining me on oil importing is a re-enactment of Gunfight at the O.K. Corral, with me played by Wyatt Earp.

As you know, I rarely go to these meetings, and I shun crowds. So it was something of a treat for me to be there. And it was of course good to meet so many of my colleagues after all these years, strange experience in the sense I have only seen them in school uniforms whole my life – that is before this day. It was no good talking old things, for I rarely wallow in nostalgia. Besides, there was the nectar of Eden in plenty, Girls? Who needs girls? asked Pinocchio after being treated for that splinter issue, and after a few fillings of l'eau des dieux, I was singing, nostalgia? who the – ok nevermind the other bit – wants it? Fill in the blanks according to your own taste; I am a libertarian, if you please.

And before I sign off, you know I was very young when I was at school, and being in the company of all those school mates indeed did me some good. I felt 20 years young again, and my vision had improved so much, I started to see everything doubled till my next morning shower. The effect of course was very short lived, but it tells me I need to get on more often with these guys if I want my vision improved to that level. Only hindrance to the plan is the routine occurrence of pigs on unexpected points of public highways. I am no Dick Turpin you know, but with some more of that l'eau des dieux and some other stuff which was available, home run at the end of that fine evening had been a highway robbery alright. 

Did I tell you I am good at riding too? Well, make it a point, I just told you. But I rather if you don't try this at home kiddies. I am bit of a lucky devil, sometimes.

Sacred Plant Uncovered

It had been a long night and I slept like a log, dreaming profusely, until the phone rang. A wake up call from an Old Boy from college asking me to join a social event. And he mentioned “Soosthiya” (Pot-Smoker) in passing. So you wake up from a dream adventure into a world of drug induced reality. How is that for starters? Whether Soosthiya actually ever tried pot is a matter of debatable nature, he may have tried it (who hasn’t), but to justify that nickname? No, I guess not. Besides who cares, he is now a prominent doctor around here.

Get dressed, sort out perennial cat issues, come to office. Just a routine operation. But pot smoking is high on my mind. Came here and asked my beautiful secretary to type out something I had written. This is not Sinhalese, I cant read it, she complains. So what does it look like to you, Ethiopian? I retort, yet in my heart I knew she was right, right in the fact that I could never write legibly, not at school, not now, not ever.

And while all that going on I went through a Sinhala SMS, which was equally Amharic to me, despite of legibility of writing. Eureka, pot-smoking, illegible writing resembling Amharic, my dream adventure, and they all fit in! I did not know till I read the SMS. Just like in Philip K. Dick’s story The Builder, where a man builds a boat, at the cost of almost compromising his job, his family life, and his social relations. But he did not know WHY he is building it. He has no idea what it was for. And it rained, a few drops, and he knew. See, a Eureka moment.

Idiots in today’s Sri Lanka associate Bob Marley with ganja. They know jack about what Rastafarianism is all about. Well, if they put an iota of effort spent on looking for ganja at a local library… Bob Marley T-shirt idiots are more deluded unstoned than stoned out Bob Marley ever was.

Why Amharic & Ethiopia? Because my secretary thinks my script is like theirs, secondly because the pot-smoking Rastafarian movement started there. Ras Tafari (Duke Tafari) was the name of HRH Emperor Haile Selassie of Ethiopia. Except they were not the original owners of ganja (a word of Sanskrit origin), or smoking it (Sadhus of India and Sufi of Arab smoked it, in that order, before the Ethiopians found out this lovely experience).   

Lets make things more surreal by looking at how boyhood of Serveus Snape was described in the last Harry Potter book. After all, we are all in a drug induced reality world now, are we not? No, better still, lets transform it to a whole new scenario.

It was a lovely morning in the shire of Bosporus, crispy morning, and three men of different walks of life were gathered near a large playground next to a special seat of education. The Man who smoked pot with the famous & not so famous, wore a grim expression on his face, yet seemed to take things in his stride, and severe looks could not hide the jovial man underneath. The Stocky Man was keeping a close scrutiny over the The Man who smoked pot with the famous & not so famous. He did not seem to bear any ill will, just as well, for The Stocky Man was as strong as an ox. He would effortlessly take two grown sheep under his arms and carry them up the hill, singing to himself all the way. One had not seen him to break any sweat over the daily toil which was quite physically demanding. The Third Man, a man of considerable build, stroked his dark hair which was blowing in the crispy wind. Beautiful morning sun was illuminating the green fields above, beyond that the large park was coming to a new life with beautiful school girls in short(ish) skirts chattering away on their way to school. A blackbird was looking pensively at the gathering. The men looked serious, yet they were not worried. It seemed the matter in hand had some forbearing upon them, but their withers seem to be too high.

So, what had he done to receive a bomb in the first place? I mean we don’t get bombs in post like that, you know, asks The Third Man. Oh, animal testing and all that. I used to go to his lab to clean up the cages you know, says The Stocky Man. The Man who smoked pot with the famous & not so famous presented a tentative smile, it seemed he had a lot to say about these incidents. He looked a bit torn, a struggle within him trying to decide who is right. So, what happened? The Third Man asks. Well they came out and x-rayed it, and the feller said it looked like a tape recorder, not a bomb. What? Quips The Man who smoked pot with the famous & not so famous, this time not being able to hide his surprise and joy that things were back to normal. Yes, he sent it for repairs, and idiots posted it without much mention. We had a Class 01 alert for nothing, says The Stocky Man.  

The men seemed to be satisfied with the way things turned out, they were now more or less settling to do other things, The Man who smoked pot with the famous & not so famous lit a cigarette, he said his dues to his friends, and took a brisk walk up towards his station. And on the way, he paused near the old coiled electrical hulk laying next to a building. Laid to waste, its azure paintwork peeling, and rust has started to appear here and there. The Man who smoked pot with the famous & not so famous did not actually know what it was, but he just used to call it Magnetron – though he well knew it to be anything but. He looked up at the clear skies with birds flying merrily above, and turned towards the building where his work was due. Another day of toil which will go waste.

The skies were bright & clear, a crispy day, yet over the woods in the park, there was a sense of doom in the distant horizon. Dark clouds were forming briskly, and he knew, just like it was day, the dark night will follow. In times like those, when things call for deep contemplation and dissociation from impending peril, a bit of weed could certainly help.

I may not be able to write legibly, and my writing may look like beautiful script of Amharic, and I may or may not have tried the weed. Yet, looking from above the skies, I think I could empathise with The Man who smoked pot with the famous & not so famous.  

Undercover World - unclothed

There has not been much feedback on my last post, Sleeping With The Enemy. We live in a land where Drug Lords are parliamentarians, Prostitutes are popular actresses, Swindlers are TV anchors, and most damning of all, Economic Hitmen are rulers & policy advisers! Someone once said the major shortcoming of democracy is that “Ze rulerz reflect their constituents”. How true.

In the novel 1984, in the land of Oceania, Ministry of Truth is concerned with spreading lies and adjusted history, Ministry of Peace is conducting War, and so on. Pretty depressing if you read it. I was fortunate – only watched the film version and there was one fit bird in that too. Definitely worth it..

Does that mean that many people around us are of duplicitous nature? Surely if drug lords are policy makers who pass laws against drugs, and ministry of truth is really making lies, how about people we meet in everyday life? Could they be really some others, you know. Isaac Asimov wrote a compelling short story titled The Hostess covering a similar theme. They seem to be everywhere, so the situation looks grim form the very outset. Maybe things are better in UK, I am sure, since many people want to go there to claim asylum. Lets see.

In UK, you just can't leave out Mr. Kim and the Cambridge spy ring, can you. Since that happened when I was in senior college, things may have improved a bit by now. Alas, love's labour lost. Good old Blighty hasn't done much better if you believe the news print up there. Ex-wife of police spy tells how she fell in love and had children with him, cries out The Guardian. As we all know, this is taking things one step too far from simply hiding a homing device in your car. This time they have taken matters to WW2 SOE level by sending infiltrators into protest activist groups. Infiltrators themselves have later gone one step too far, like their superiors, and have had sexual relations with their “targets”, started to sympathise with the very cause they went to sabotage, gave evidence at courts to make previous activist convictions unsafe, and so on. Stockholm Syndrome, cries The Guardian. But I could hear Carlton Koon laughing in his grave. I am laughing too, not because Koon is laughing, but because the women involved have now resorted to playing the all too familiar victim card.

Poor girl, a member of Reclaim the Streets (a bunch of idiots who block traffic including ambulances and nice guys like me on the way to meeting television actresses) sat next to someone she thought was nice Mr Jim Sutton at Cock Tavern pub in Euston during an activist meeting. That is, they were preparing the blue print of stopping me from getting to see the actress girl. In short, they met, had a chat, dated, loved, and then got married and had kids too. Both parents being bastards, wonder what the kids will turn out to be when they grow up. Scares the hell out of me. What she did not know was that Jim Sutton was really officer Jim Boyling, a policeman living undercover among eco-activists.

They had some fine times it seems. Yet she now repents, saying things like she felt like a prostitute; just an unknowing and unpaid one. What's there to complain? You should feel bad if you ever felt like a television actress in Sri Lanka, a known & paid prostitute, yet purporting to be a dignified person. This is what Mrs Sutton (sorry, Mrs Boyling) has to say about the fallout: These surveillance operations wreck lives; I was reading stories that this was happening to so many other women who were at risk of falling for their lies; I'd been suffering post traumatic stress for a long time; I wasn't even able to recognise my face in the mirror.

Having read her story, even I am getting to feel sorry for her. No, I have not forgiven you for that traffic incident. How much do you think I suffered not being able to meet the television actress? Things really took a vicious turn when Mr "Sutton" suddenly declared he is going to Turkey, hoping to hitchhike from there to South Africa.

Hitchhike to South Africa? Madam, you wouldn't be in this mire if you simply had the sense to ask the bastard to buy an air ticket. Well, it was not as she was entirely in the dark throughout. She did notice some little things that struck her as a bit odd. Specially for an environmental campaigner. But who would suspect her husband to be an undercover special operations officer! Specially since she admits that for the most part while he was undercover we had a blissfully in-love relationship, poor thing.

Again, in short, after his so called visit to Turkey, the guy simply vanished. She then spent over a year trying to track him down. She tried to locate his family members – people who, it transpired, did not exist – and then travelled to South Africa. He no longer existed in physical presence or on paper, she says. I didn't know what to think or what to do. Just imagine the horror of finding your husband had vanished without a trace from the face of Earth, and worse still, he never existed. Looks exactly like the plot of Asimov's The Hostess. If you are rather into dumb scare genre, you can watch Flightplan (2005, with Jodie Foster).

Well she eventually met him again, purely by chance just like in their very first meeting. Odd for good Mr Sutton, I am not sure if that was really a chance meeting. But we are not into technicalities here you know. Well, they reconciled, he told her the truth, eventually went as far as pointing out other police infiltrators in the activist group, which turned out to be almost everyone in it, and then after a few years they separated, leaving her with two kids who will grow upto be undercover inter-galactic traffic stoppers, purporting to be pilots. Now this is turning to be like the Star Wars' Anakin Skywalkers boyhood plot.

Another undercover police informer, officer Mark Kennedy had taken a similar path and screwd up his superiors big time. He went as far as taking activists in another such group to a power station to shut it down, and promptly got arrested by his fellow officers who were unaware of his true identity! What juice bits are there in his memoirs (with actress kind), I do not yet know. But he too gave away a female undercover officer, Lynn Watson posing as an environmental activist for five years, claiming to be a care worker living in Bournemouth. Was there anyone in these groups who were really environmentalists? I am beginning to think that “the others” are working for some other operational entity, faking it to look like duped innocents, entirely under the nose of Met super brains. Serves them right.

Talking about being served, it has come to my attention that His Holiness The Dalai Lama refused to judge the food on MasterChef, a TV programme in Australia. That was because As a Buddhist monk it is not right to prefer this food or that food, according to His Holiness. This was after him accepting to partake as a judge in the first place. What on earth is going on here? Is everyone around us not really what they say they are? Since the Dalai Lama does not recommend any food, we will have to wait till that Mark Kennedy feller publishes his book for the tasty juicy bits.

A comment on The Guardian runs: Mr Llama was asked to appear on the UK version, but declined on the grounds that "that mr wallace fellow is a right twat"

Mr Llama should have reserved his adjective for describing the Met superiors. And, ah, do mind the spellings, no disrespect intended, by me or the OP.