Post 262: A Productive Christmas
Post 261: Winter Wonderland
Great Britain has been caught-out by unexpected Winter snow and according to the BBC, the nation has ground to an embarrassing halt. The usual crowd of high-volume idiots are already calling it a ’ National Disgrace’, but the majority of us pragmatists are just enjoying the slightly slower pace of life that snow inevitably brings with it. On the BBC News, they interviewed a young lad as he played with his mates in the snow. “I went to school this morning and there was a sign outside saying - ‘SORRY SCHOOL CLOSED‘ - but we‘re not SORRY“. Maybe they should make that young lad Director General of the BBC before society has a chance to beat the fun out of him.
I then got an unexpected call from a distant colleague who was trying to write a short piece for one of the slightly less independent bike magazines. After a few minutes of conversation, I gathered that he wasn’t really writing an article, but rather that he wanted me to write it while he went outside to put the finishing touches to the Office Snowman. I can’t blame him for trying, but as he was getting paid and I wasn’t, I decided to be as honest as possible.
He was trying to put together a short page filler about riding in the snow but was struggling to find any riders who were able or willing to contribute. The piece was to be directed as novice riders and should give them practical advice about coping with the dangers of riding road bikes in the snow. No doubt keen to join his snowman building colleagues outside in the office car park, he asked me to email my thoughts and then he was gone. Fair enough.
“When attempting to ride a road bike in the snow, there is only one important rule to remember. That rule is the rule of Give and Take. Give the bike a rest, Take the bus“. It’s not exactly what he wanted, but if he didn’t want my advice then he shouldn’t have bloody well asked for it. He’d struggled to find any experienced road riders who could advise him on the best techniques for riding in snow, and that wasn’t really surprising. Experienced riders adopt the rule of Give and Take, because when riding in snow there is only one certainty. You will inevitably fall off and no matter how experienced a rider you are, the density of the objects that you hit will simply depend on your luck.
www.justgiving.com/geoffgthomas
Post 260: Christmas is coming .....
Talking of perception - sort of - I recently changed my Facebook picture for Children in Need. I normally use a photograph of my face in my normal crash helmet, but I changed the helmet to yellow and had a spotted bandana running diagonally across it. An email asked me if I’d used special paint that wouldn’t affect the integrity of the helmet and if I’d used special one-way coloured film for the bandana? The answer is almost ’Yes’. The special paint that I used was eco-friendly MS Paintbrush and no helmets were harmed in the making of that photograph.
Anyway, I’ve done all of my Christmas shopping, one present for Hannah and a donation to charity that’s equal to all of the other crappy presents that I would probably have bought for everybody else if I‘d had the time. It’s an easy solution, nobody ever asks for a receipt and hopefully everybody feels a little bit better because of it.
Happy Christmas
www.justgiving.com/geoffgthomas
Post 259: It's a mad world .. so buy your new bike now
In a plan to make us Brit’s feel a little better about our own fiscal furrow, Dubai World this week announced that is was delaying repayments on £36 billion of debt for a period of six months. On the face of it, a seemingly oil-rich Emirate suffering along with the rest of us shouldn’t really be any great cause for concern, but it is. Dubai is not oil-rich and the debt of Government owned Dubai World is really Sovereign Debt and not Corporate Debt. International money markets instantly lost confidence in Dubai’s ability to service it’s debts on a long term basis and a vast quantity of manure hit the Emirates air conditioning unit. Thankfully, it seems that it’s oil-rich neighbour Abu Dhabi has stepped up to the plate and quite possibly saved Dubai’s artificial bacon. The measure of Dubai’s fiscal fall from grace is quite staggering and it’s credit worthiness has dropped to below that of Iceland when it teetered on the brink of bankruptcy. You’re probably still not shedding any tears, but if you consider that Dubai’s debt is a mere innocent kiss in comparison to the full blown orgy of Britain’s Sovereign debt, then there may indeed be trouble ahead for Blighty. By the time of the general election in 2010, Britain’s ‘official debt’ will exceed one trillion pounds, that’s one thousand thousand million pounds - £1,000,000,000,000.00. If the Government were honest with us and added in the hidden liabilities, then that figure can easily be doubled and I have no idea if that includes the billions of pounds that were printed during the process of quantitative easing. Assuming that as a Nation we don’t borrow any more money, and it’s unlikely that anybody has any left to lend us, then for every individual UK tax payer, the Government will be carrying approximately £35,000.00 of debt. If as in the case of Iceland and Dubai, the international money markets lose confidence in Britain’s willingness to reduce this unsustainable level of debt, then the interest that we pay will dramatically increase and the value of Stirling will crash like the proverbial lead balloon. Despite what our smiley politicians might tell us today, come June of 2010, they’ll look more closely at the books, blame somebody else for the fiscal failure and kick each and every one of us sharply in the nuts. It’s going to hurt and nobody will be immune from the fallout.
The good news is that if structured in our favour, a fall in the value of Stirling could effectively decrease the level of our debts, but the bad news is that this will lead to stagflation. A stagnant economy with hyper-inflation along a very long tunnel with precious little light at the end of it. So, if you’re going to buy a new bike, then I’d advise that you do it now. If Stirling crashes and the real price of imported goods rockets, then next year you won’t be able to afford it and your existing bike might not be exciting enough to take your mind away from the economic doom and gloom. While you’re buying your new bike, I’d also think about hanging onto your existing one. The dealer will probably only offer you a token of what it’s worth, but if the economy does take a further tumble in 2010, then the value of clean and desirable previously enjoyed models should be an awful lot stronger than they are now. I might be wrong, and I hope that I am, but if anybody needs an extra excuse to buy a new bike, then I'm happy to help.
www.justgiving.com/geoffgthomas
Post 258: KTM Adventure 990
Post 257: Romania? ... Thank you very much
Post 256: Welcome to my World
Irkutsk .......... 1820
Chita ............ 2933
www.justigiving.com/geoffgthomas
Post 255: The Strangest Things
Post 254: Testing Times
The court of popular opinion has spoken and the motorcycle media has condemned the new Driving Standards Agency Bike Test. It’s dangerous, it’s unrealistic and candidates are putting their lives at great risk when attempting to pass. Novice riders are being asked to perform a fast swerving manoeuvre before bringing their motorcycle to a controlled stop. Students are being asked to carry out this manoeuvre, and an emergency stop, even in damp and wet conditions. These elements of the new Module 1 Bike Test have already resulted in serious injury to several unfortunate candidates. Wow, the DSA are needlessly murdering innocent novice bikers?
I’m lucky, I’m old and I took my Bike Test back in 1979 when it was easy. Twice around the block without falling off, four correct answers to five simple questions and in recognition of this amazing personal achievement, I received a certificate that would allow me to legally ride any bike that I could buy, steal or borrow. That intensive five minutes spent in the company of a driving examiner and his clipboard was not a ‘Test’ of my competency on two-wheels but merely an ‘Administrative Inconvenience’. If my wallet had been as thick as my truancy report, then I’d probably have bought myself a Kawasaki Z1000 and more than likely killed myself within weeks. Thankfully I was skint, I bought a clapped-out Jawa 350 Twin and lived to tell the tale.
The Driving Standards Agency (DSA) invited me to Wolverhampton for the opening of their latest Multi Purpose Test Centre (MPTC). It’s really little more than a single storey office building with a large enclosed car park that’s been liberally dotted with coloured traffic cones. Not a lot to see or photograph, but after convincing them that I wouldn’t sue them if I crashed, I was allowed out to complete Module 1 of the new Bike Test with my Hi-Viz examiner, Dave Sims.
After a brief briefing, I was ready to go. The first task is to manoeuvre the bike around an imaginary parking space without dropping it or hitting any of the cones. The Tiger’s a little taller and heavier than your average scooter, but so far so good. Then, it’s a slow slalom between evenly spaced cones before completing two full ‘figure-of-eights’ without dabbing your feet. A tad more difficult than pushing your bike between imaginary parked cars, but I never once felt in any great peril. Next is a swifter ride around a sweeping bend before passing through a timing-gate at 50 kph (32 mph). After the timing-gate, you then flick right and left before bringing the bike to a controlled halt between a set of four cones. Oh, the infamous ‘Swerve Manoeuvre’! To this point, I’d only been nervous at the thought of failing the test and looking like a total dick but at this point, a new set of nerves kicked in. Because of the tales that I’d read in Motor Cycle News (MCN), I was looking for dangers that simply didn’t exist, worrying for absolutely no reason at all. Ride around the bend accelerating to 32 mph, a gentle flick right, a gentle flick left, roll off the throttle and gently bring the bike to rest in the appropriate place. Faster than the ‘Slalom’ and ‘Figure-of-Eight’, but really no great shakes. Wet or dry, this manoeuvre registers a big fat ‘Zero’ on the danger scale. Having survived the 'Swerve Test', you then execture a 'U-Turn' between two painted lines. The distance between the 'Lines' represents the width of a Street, not the widest Street, but on anything shorter than a Pro-Fuel Drag-Bike, you should get around without dabbing. Then, follow the clipboard at walking pace for a few metres. Dave Sims isn’t the fastest walker in the world, but it’s still faster than a lot of the filtering that you’ll do in London. Finally, it’s the emergency stop. It’s hardly an ‘Emergency', your examiner has just told you that it’s going to happen. Again, accelerate and pass through the timing-gate at 32mph and as the Examiner raises his arm, stop in a controlled manner before hitting him, which I assume would be a ‘Fail’. The Examiner wont raise his arm until your bike is straight and upright. Use the front and back brakes, don't worry about locking the rear or not stopping in time, because you will. It's not difficult, so don't worry about it.
That’s it, the Module 1 Bike Test in a nutshell. Candidates will probably be nervous and I can imagine that a couple of riders from the thousands of candidates might drop their bikes while performing an Emergency Stop. But, if you don’t know how to stop a bike properly, in the wet or the dry, then it’s far better to identify this fact in the comparative safety of a closed car park. The open road is far less forgiving. The roll-out and implementation of the Module 1 Bike Test leaves an awful lot to be desired, but the test itself is fine. Anything ‘Less’, simply wouldn’t be a ‘Test’, and surely that’s the point. So, when MCN declare that the end of the world is near, then ask for a second opinon, because it seldom is.
www.justgiving.com/geoffgthomas
Post 253: Slight Change of Plan
Sadly, or fortunately depending on how you look at it, things have gotten a little bit hectic and so no 'Blog Post' this week. Next week, there'll be much more to report. In the meantime, I've uploaded another abridged chapter to the Book Blog. Entering Europe now and things are becoming weirdly foreign. That's not a criticism, just a statement of fact ... you'll see.
Got to dash .... see you next week.
Post 252: Shiverless
Post 251: The Next Chapters
Resting Actors and Movie Stars make it look so bloody difficult. Maybe that's just a "Hollywood" thing. Raising kids, paying a mortgage and working a job that you don't particularly enjoy, that's the really difficult stuff. By comparison, buggering-off on a motorbike is really quite easy. Pack your tent, kiss your loved ones, grab your passport, twist the throttle and go. It's simple, so lets not pretend that it's any more complicated than it really is. You probably don't need a specialist security instructor or SAS survival training before you depart. But, if it's a condition of your multi-million pound life insurance policy and somebody else is paying for it, then why not? It looks like a real giggle, so go for it. If you're very unlucky and somebody does point a gun at you, then I seriously doubt that a couple of hours spent with a pixel-faced man is going to be of any real help to you. When you're travelling, the guns only come out after dark, and after dark you're generally quite pissed. You probably wont remember what you've been advised to do. Besides, just how much training do you need to run away quickly, with or without overflowing underpants?
Riding around the world was a blast and writing the book was fun, but finding a publisher willing to take a risk with the book has been neither. I'd swear that the many rejection letters were all written by the same person. He "enjoyed" the words but had "no love for the subject", it wasn't "a work of commercial significance". Sure, we're in the middle of a deep recession, but I can't help thinking that perhaps he was just being polite. He suggested that I "develop the dangers", "raise the tension" and expand the "conflicts". All sound commercial advice I'm sure, but what happened happened, and what didn't didn't. "Chapter 29 .... the bloody Tiger refuses to start. That's not good, but the other news is even less agreeable. I've just been eaten by a gang of giant sea monkey's". No, it doesn't really work does it? The truth is, we didn't get shot or catch any wonderful tropical diseases. To the best of my knowledge, we weren't eaten or attacked by any wild animals and ignoring the possibility solo performances, there was certainly no sex. We left London in reasonable health and returned a few months later weighing slightly less, but in roughly the same condition. There was no serious crashing, the rivers that we forded were never raging and the Triumph Tigers were boringly reliable. Despite our best efforts, the bikes simply refused to break. No drama. "Plane lands safely at Heathrow".
So, my dreams of writing a best seller and buying the house next door to J. K. Rowling have been cruelly dashed. I didn't expect to make a fortune, large or small. I've seen the crowded shelves in Waterstones, the competition is fierce. Without exception, every book on every shelf seems to be written by a person who can actually spell, quite amazing. So, massive book sales aren't going to help me to make the money that I foolishly promised to raise for St Teresa's Hospice. I'll eventually reach the target, but I'll just have to do it slightly differently, or perhaps "By Any Means". Anyway, I've decided to publish and possibly be dammed, but unfortunately, the publisher will be me. Self-publishing, it's not the cheapest option. But, if I can sell one book a week, every week until my grandchildren have become grandparents, then I'll break into profit. Ha, that'll prove the doubting publishers wrong. Thankfully, just like the journey itself, I'm receiving an awful lot of help with the process - you know who you are, Thank You. It'll take a few weeks, which probably means a few months, but eventually there'll be a book, "Ashes to Boonville". It'll have words and pages and photographs and everything, just like a real book. In the meantime, I'm writing extracts from the various chapters onto my mirror Blog listed below. Maybe, just maybe, a few people might read it. Maybe, just maybe, they'll be inspired enough by the story to ignore the fun-sponges and set out on their own adventures. I hope so, because they wont regret it.
Anyway, I've got to go, I'm very busy. Busy in a relaxing sort of way. I've got a date with a couple of sexy Italian sisters, the "V" twins, they look quite hot. I'll be riding them for two weeks, but only one at a time, I'm not a gymnast. Also, I've bought a notebook in which to plan the next adventure. It's actually already planned, I just haven't written it down yet, but it shouldn't take me too long, it's a very small notebook.
Post 250: Dosvedanya Comrade Scorpion
Volgograd was a lifetime ago. A plea for help. A hastily scribbled note and a copy of The Rider’s Digest. Roman and Slava had raced to our rescue. Under their protective wings in an amazing city of plenty, we were wined, dined and lavishly entertained. With Roman’s help, we tracked down new tyres in Moscow. Metzler Tourance’s for the rear and Pirelli Scorpion’s for the front. Not ideal, but infinitely preferable to riding on canvas. Six days later, with tyres replaced and personal batteries recharged, we pulled out of the “BikeCity34” workshops and onto the wide and perfectly paved Strasse. The compass pointed East towards Saratov but the Tiger‘s were reluctant to follow. Around the first corner and safely out of sight, we pulled to the side of the road. Something was wrong. Tyre pressures too low? Steering bearings too tight? We checked and adjusted everything possible but both bikes had adopted new and dangerous personalities that we just couldn‘t seem to cure. The once reliable and precise steering of the Tiger was gone. The new tyres weren’t working as new tyres should. Individually they were probably fine tyres, but as a mismatched pair they were certainly an experience. At any speed below 40 mph, the handlebars oscillated violently and the bike gave a constant feeling of “falling over“. The front wheel just refused to steer. Where once a gentle nudge would tip the Tiger into any corner, every turn now required a threatening memo giving notice of your intention. It wasn’t a pleasant experience but I was confident that miles and wear would eventually solve the problem.
The mounting miles did little to improve the steering and the silky smooth roads of North America only highlighted the problems. In New York, 18,000 miles after the tyres had been fitted, I replaced the now threadbare Metzler Tourance. I couldn’t bring myself to replace the offending front tyre. In 18,000 miles the Scorpion had used less than half of it’s tread, the bloody thing just refused to die. Sadly, there was no improvement with the new rear. Granted, an undersized Pirelli Diablo Corsa wasn’t the ideal partner for the part worn Scorpion on the front, but it was all that I could find and came at an amazingly low price. Beggars don‘t make good choosers.
Back in Blighty and with only 3,000 miles under it’s belt, the new Diablo Corsa was already beginning to show-off it‘s canvas undergarments. The lovely people at Jack Lilley Triumph in Ashford Common replaced the rear tyre with a previously enjoyed, but free and lovely, Bridgestone Trail Wing. For another 3,000 miles through the summer, I wobbled on with the 24,000 mile Pirelli Scorpion before finally screaming “enough” . I now hated riding the bike, it was always awkward, like walking in flippers or dancing in clown shoes. Calling time on my frustration, this morning I headed down to Essential Rubber in London N1. The Pirelli Scorpion was removed and a new Michelin Anakee was fitted. For the very first time I‘d changed a tyre long before it was legally necessary. I rode out of Essential Rubber wearing a giant smile. The transformation was instant and amazing, riding the Tiger was once again an absolute pleasure. If only I hadn’t been such an arsehole, I could have changed the offending tyre in the Spring and enjoyed a Summer of motorcycling fun. 24,000 miles is a damn fine innings for a tyre, but I wasn’t sorry to see the back of it. Lesson learned.
www.justgiving.com/geoffgthomas
Post 249: Donald Masters RIP
Post 248: Essex Air Ambulance Motorcycle Run
Post 247: Financial Meltdown ... Happy Anniversary
For those uninterested or unaffected by the current economic conditions, then this is an ideal time to go browsing elsewhere. I’ll return to biking matters in the next post, but to celebrate the first anniversary of Financial Armageddon, the following is my layman’s take on the why’s and how’s of last years financial meltdown.
One year ago this week, I was riding happily across America with a fistful of dollars and not a care in the world. Tents and motorbikes are not the most media friendly environments, but despite being divorced from economic reality, it was impossible to overlook the simultaneous collapse of the world’s banking system. Gas stations were the ideal place to freely read the front pages of newspapers like ‘USA Today’ and the road was the ideal place from which to observe the economic effects on everyday people. Possessions in front yards were labelled with handwritten ’For Sale’ signs and ’U-Haul’ trailers were carrying the possessions of the displaced in every possible direction. The population of Middle-America was selling-up and moving-on. The world had changed overnight, Wall Street had collapsed and Main Street was ’For Sale’.
Collateralized Debt Obligations (CDO‘s), Credit Default Swaps (CDS’s), Asset Backed Securities (ABS’s), Contracts For Difference (CFD‘s). For most people, these terms might as well be from an alien based language and that’s exactly why the Banker’s developed them. Such terms are designed to impress us into a false sense of security and to prevent us from asking questions that we fear might leave us looking stupid. Complex financial instruments are not a new concept, they’ve been in use since the 11th century, so why did it all go so horribly pear-shaped in 2007? The answer is basically ‘Greed’ and below is my layman’s explanation of why things went so horribly wrong.
Building Societies were great institutions. If you had excess cash, you invested it into a savings account and the Building Society paid you a regular rate of interest. In order to afford the interest that they paid on the savings, the Building Society lent out those savings to people who wanted to buy, and more importantly could afford to buy, a home. The interest charged on the ’Mortgage’ was 8% and the interest paid on the ’Savings’ was 3%. The Building Society enjoyed a margin of perhaps 5% that would cover it's operating costs. If the new homeowner stopped making the monthly loan repayments, then the Building Society would recoup their losses by repossessing the house and selling it back into the market. Each Building Society shouldered the risk of every loan that it made. To reduce this risk to an absolute minimum, the Building Society vetted the mortgage applicants and only loaned money to those people that they deemed to be financially worthy and had a healthy initial deposit. The ’Mortgagee’s’ got their homes, the ‘Savers’ got their interest payments and the Building Society ’Members’ shared in the organisations success. It all worked remarkably well, but each Building Society was limited to lending out in mortgages no more than they received in savings. The management of Building Societies began to change and governments encouraged the development of home ownership, the Retail Banks became more aggressive in the residential mortgage markets and the Building Societies looked on in envy. A Building Society’s capital came from the savings deposited by it’s members, but a Retail Bank was owned by shareholders and could borrow additional capital on the open market. Retail Banks had a seemingly unfair advantage and the answer was quite simple ……. Building Societies would become Retail Banks.
We all got our Halifax and Abbey National Shares, the names on the High Street began to change, our regional Building Society became a Retail Bank, the Retail Bank was then swallowed up by an International Retail Bank and the International Retail Bank bought a sexy little Investment Bank with a nice address in London EC3. These new megalithic Financial Institutions had cheap money thrown at them from every direction, annual profits rose and the decimal points moved to the right on the rocket scientists bonus cheques. House prices were rising. Regan, Clinton, Bush, Thatcher and Blair all encouraged the concept and reality of home ownership. New money flooded into the housing market, mortgages once only available to Mr Prime were now being made available to his less reliable half-brother, Mr Sub-Prime. The profit margins were good, Mr Sub-Prime was less worthy than his half-brother and therefore paid a higher rate of interest. He kept up his repayments, why wouldn’t he? His house was rising in value every year. If financially things became a little difficult for him then it wasn‘t really a major drama because a no-questions asked re-mortgage was never more than a mouse-click away. Everything in the financial garden was flourishing and everybody was much more financially aware than the generation before, ’Risk’ was no longer an important factor.
The Rocket Scientists at Investment Banks such as Lehman Brothers, had rediscovered the CDO, the Consolidated Debt Obligation. For the Retail Bank this was a way of reducing the risk involved with homeowners defaulting on their mortgage repayments and for the Investment Bank, often part of the same institution, it was just an amazing way to sell the same profitable product several times over. A CDO is basically a box-file, a container for documents, in this case those documents are Mortgages. Into that container, a bank will put a selection of it’s own mortgages, otherwise known as ’Debt Obligations’, and attach a value to the box, a selling price. Human and corporate nature being what it is, the Retail Bank will hide a few of it’s Mr Sub-Prime Mortgages in with it’s gold-plated Mr Prime versions, thus off-loading some of it‘s more dangerous loans. The Investment Bank buy’s a van full of boxes from various Retail Banks, shuffles the documents into larger boxes, attaches a new selling price to each new box and finds a willing buyer. It works well, each sale generates a small profit and each container can be rearranged and sold again and again. Each subsequent box becomes so big and so diverse in quality, that it becomes impossible to assess the true value of it’s contents. These boxes are on a merry-go-round, Banks are re-purchasing bad mortgages that they’d off-loaded weeks earlier, but now at a slightly inflated price. Finally, somebody asks the sixty-four billion dollar question - ’’why is this box full of crap?’’
The answer to that sixty-four billion dollar question is CDS, the Credit Default Swap. It’s not really an answer to the sensible question, it’s more of an escape mechanism that deems a meaningful answer unnecessary. The fact is that the there is no real ‘answer’, nobody can really understand what the hell is in each box. The boxes of mortgages are now so far removed from the original lenders that even the Bank’s Rocket Scientists can‘t calculate an accurate value for it‘s contents. The reaction of the Bankers is to bury their heads in the communal caviar, continue turning the profits on the CDO’s and to introduce an additional means of making new profits; the CDS.
It’s almost perfect. When the Bank sells CDO, a box of assorted mortgages, it now sells an insurance policy that sits happily alongside it, a Credit Default Swap. The Bank charges an additional premium for the CDS, and if the underlying mortgage asset turns sour, then they compensate the buyer accordingly. At the same time, when the Bank buys a box of assorted mortgages, it buys a Credit Default Swap as part of the same deal. The risk is spread again, everyone is protected and more profits are being made. Suddenly, the world’s largest insurance group AIG, pricks up it’s ears and wonders why it’s missing out on what they deem to be ’Insurance’ business. The Investment Banks are more than happy to let AIG in on the action. I can just imagine an AIG underwriter looking into a billion dollar box of assorted mortgages that’s passed twenty times through various institutions and wondering 'WTF?' Long story short, AIG seem to accept the ’Retail Price’ stamped on each box, they collect the premium for providing the CDS and announce record annual profits on the back of this entirely new business. By the end of 2007, the global trade in CDS’s exceeded $60,000,000,000,000.00, that’s sixty trillion dollars.
Historically, a Building Society could lend no more money than it held in savings. Their profit was limited by the amount of money that they had available to them. By the end of 2007, many Investment Banks were leveraged to a factor of forty. This means that they had borrowed amounts equal to around forty times their actual value, forty times more than they were worth. To put that into context, it’s equivalent to a person earning two thousand pounds a month taking on a mortgage of one million pounds, it’s financial suicide. Adding to this leverage problem, the loans taken on by these Banks were in nature, short-term, but these loans were used to purchase mortgages, which are long-term. The situation was beyond precarious, the entire worlds financial stability rested on the value of our houses.
Much of governmental economic thinking revolves around controlling the rate of inflation. The rate of inflation is determined indirectly by the supply of money, and the supply of money is determined in part by interest rates. As higher inflation became a possibility, Interest rates began to rise which meant that monthly loan and mortgage repayments increased. Added to this problem, many of the Mr Sub-Prime mortgages were falling from their ‘Introductory Discounted Rates’ and homeowners were confronted with a double whammy. The housing market slowed and homeowners began to default on their monthly repayments. Houses were repossessed, new buyers stopped entering the market and prices fell further. A vicious circle had begun. The Banks also had massively increased repayments on their own debts which added pressure to their already overstretched cash holdings. They were no longer able to loan money to other institutions, the financial squeeze was coming from all sides. Northern Rock were the first to break cover. The short-term loans that they’d used to provide long-term mortgages for their customers were not being renewed, they quickly ran out of money. Northern Rock approached the Bank of England and the first run on a British Bank in living memory began. To the public, the failure of Northern Rock was reported as a blip, the result of a flawed business model, an individual case of gross mismanagement. The rest is history; Fannie Mac & Freddie Mae, Bear Sterns, Bradford & Bingley. Lehman Brothers bankrupt, Lloyds saving HBoS and RBS falling into government hands.
The Banks got greedy and the greed was rewarded with the payment of stellar salaries and bonuses. Smoke and mirrors were used to disguise the true value of their business transactions. Profits and bonuses were annual calculations but the mortgages upon which those profits were based were not. Governments were happy with the application of soft-touch regulation for financial institutions while they spent the enormous tax income on popular vote winning projects. Nobody emerges from this global fiasco looking good, but some will emerge looking wealthy. Unfortunately, those are the same people who’s actions created this whole mess in the first place. Governments and Customers don’t design and sell complex financial instruments …. That’s all down to the Bankers.
www.justgiving.com/geoffgthomas
Post 246: Summer Holiday, Krabi Southern Thailand
Post 245: Summer Holiday, Back to Bangkok
After four days in Isaan, Bangkok slaps your face and steals any remnants of tranquility that you'd managed to find in the provinces. It's a different world, a different country, a different culture. We've fallen lucky. I've found a shiny new boutique hotel just off the Kao San Road that's batting well above it's introductory room rate. All the mod cons, three tourist stars and not one of them borrowed or faked. It's a short walk from the 'SleepWith Inn' to Wat Phra Kaeo (The Temple of the Emerald Buddha) and Phra Borom Maha Ratcha Wang (The Grand Palace), but as it's Hannah's first visit to Bangkok, that means taking a tuk-tuk. Tuk-tuks used to be the main means of transport for those who couldn't afford taxi's, but now they're strictly for the tourist and priced accordingly.
The roads are congested, busy even for Bangkok. Within minutes the reason becomes clear. We're surrounded by thousands of protesters. 'Red Shirts', supporters of ex-prime minister Thaksin Shinawatra. A man in exile, a man accused of massive corruption, of electoral fraud and of buying votes by giving away a million free cows to the farmers in the north. Tens of thousands of people form an ocean of red in Sanam Luang, a huge parade ground just to the north of the Grand Palace. Organisers use microphones to whip the crowds into a political frenzy. I have no idea what they're chanting but they seem more than enthusiastic about their cause. It's not intimidating, but it becomes quite claustrophobic as they spill out onto the streets. They stop the traffic and surround our tuk-tuk. It's good spirited, they pose for photographs and wave at Hannah who seems to take it all in her stride. There are no masks to cover their faces and the only visible weapons are banners and long strings of jasmine and orchids worn around their wrists and necks. Then without warning, everything stops, not a single person moves and a comfortable silence falls across the entire area. The sound of Thai music replaces the protesters chanting, the Thai national anthem begins to play. At 8am and 6pm every day, all outdoor spaces across the length and breadth of Thailand are filled with the sound of the national anthem. Everybody stops, everybody stands still and everybody listens. Thaksin Shinawatra might be popular here, but the King is in a whole different league.
We avoid the smiling touts who surround the main entrance from dawn till dusk. They inform unsuspecting tourists that the complex will be closed for two hours, two hours in which they'll escort them to various tourist shops, fashion boutiques and gem stores. In exchange for escorting tourists to these establishments, the tout will receive a healthy introducers fee before returning them to the always open Grand Palace. Nobody seems to stop it, many seem to fall for it and it's the one thing in Thailand that is guaranteed to test my saint-like patience. Thankfully today the touts didn't ask, probably because Tassaneeya was with us, but many other tourists seemed to be falling for their no doubt convincing charms.
Once inside the grounds of the Grand Palace, tranquility is restored. A hundred well armed Thai soldiers march past us at the double and block the entrance against the protesters. Good timing, one minute later and we too would have been denied access. Hannah and Tassaneeya are shocked, not by the demonstration or by the appearance of our well armed guards, but by the fact that they have to rent sarongs in order to cover their lower legs. As we'd left the hotel an hour earlier, the girls had laughed at me for wearing jeans on such a hot and humid day. But I'd known the 'Rules' and no matter what they're called here in Bangkok, I really don't do skirts of any description. Appropriately attired, we reach the turnstile and Hannah is shocked again, ''Foreigners 400 Baht, Thai's Free''. Discrimination she cries.
Dating back to the late eighteenth century, The Grand Palace complex with it's tall golden tower is probably Bangkok's most famous landmark. A complex of richly decorated palaces, rooms and temples that has developed and grown over the centuries. It's a rappers utopia, blingtastic in every sense. Everywhere that you look there is gold, gold and more gold. In the centre of the main temple stands the Emerald Buddha, a statue made entirely from Jade, hence the name, 'Emerald'. The Siamese once covered entirely in gold in order to make it appear worthless to invading forces. I've no idea if the Khmer or Burmese invaders ever reached this far south, but if they did, then the gold diversion had clearly worked because the Emerald Buddha is still here. Of all of the temples that I've visited here in SE Asia, this is my least favourite. It's undoubtedly beautiful but with each additional visit, I get an increasing sense of 'Disney Land'. I prefer the ancient ruins of Ayutthaya or the faded magnificence of Wat Po. But this is for Hannah and no visit to Bangkok is complete without a tour of Wat Pra Kaew and The Grand Palace.
After several hours of wandering, the girls return their temporary sarongs and we escape the tourists and pack sardine-like onto a water taxi along the Chao Phraya River. From the river, you see a side of Bangkok that's invisible from the street. The only open spaces are the perfectly manicured lawns of the luxurious hotels bordering the river; the Mandarin Oriental, the Shangri La. Between them and hidden behind high white walls, are shanty homes that cling to the banks supported by wooden stilts that sink down into the depths of the river. Rows and rows of clothes hang drying on makeshift washing lines and every ramshackle home represents a platform upon which another can be built. No planning permission, no permits, illegal living awaiting the inevitable fall of the developers axe.
We leave the still overcrowded commuter boat at Thaksin Bridge and take the BTS (Sky Train) to Nana Station. I love Thai food and will happily sit all day long at a street stall and eat until way beyond capacity. But this is a holiday and Hannah needs a reintroduction to menus and crockery. It's not the cheappest, but I take the girls to my favourite restaurant. It's unusual and the name sounds strange, but the food is quite possibly the best that I have ever tasted. 'Cabbages & Condoms' is located a few hundred metres along Sukhumvit Soi 12, but it's well worth the walk. The restaurant supports Thailand's Population and Community Development Association, a non-profit organisation founded by a former Thai Health Minister. It promotes safe and responsible sex in a fun, and I guess, practical way. All around the beautiful outdoor dining area, light shades, art work and statues are made from condoms and as the delicious meal comes to an end, instead of the usual after dinner mint, each diner receives a condom. It's difficult to explain this unusual place, you really have to go there, but for the food alone, it's well worth the journey. Hannah and Tassaneeya loved it. After the meal, production of a receipt at the adjoining clinic entitles the presenter to a free vasectomy .... an offer that I politely declined.
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