I suppose the major news of the last few days needs some form of comment from me, though for the life of me I can’t think of anything to say about it. All been said already, I suppose. The one thing that did surprise me was Tom Wolfe saying he was supporting Bush. I was about to read ‘Bonfire Of The Vanities’ but I think I’ll burn it instead or something.

Kerry should be glad he lost
ANATOLE KALETSKY

FOR THOSE of us who were disappointed, and even horrified, by George W. Bush’s return to power there was one consolation in yesterday’s result. On the contrary, the previously unmentionable hope for the supporters of liberal politics in America, is that Senator Kerry has done the Democratic Party a favour of immense, historic proportions by losing to Mr Bush. In military history, it is a commonplace that there are certain battles worth losing rather than winning — and if ever this were true in politics, then the 2004 US election would be a case in point.
To see what I mean, step away from America for a moment and consider the most successful left-of-centre party in the modern world: Britain’s “new” Labour Party. Now ask yourself what electoral event laid the foundation for Labour’s success. This would be the 1992 election, in which a manifestly incompetent Tory Government was unexpectedly and undeservedly returned to power.

If Neil Kinnock instead of John Major had won the 1992 election, the devaluation of Black Wednesday would have occurred even sooner. The monetary crisis which undermined the Tories’ long-established reputation for economic competence would have been blamed on Labour’s mismanagement. Black Wednesday (or Monday or Tuesday) would almost certainly have brought down the Kinnock Government and would unquestionably have ended Labour’s hopes of ever again becoming a serious party of government. Indeed, as a very minor contributor to the outcome of the 1992 election through my articles unravelling Labour’s absurd tax plans, I have often been thanked by friends in the party for inadvertently helping them to avoid the terrible fate awaiting them if they had gained power.

So was 2004 a good election to lose, just like 1992 in Britain? Will the Democrats one day thank John Kerry for losing, just as Labour is grateful to Mr Kinnock? This seems distinctly possible, given the challenges now facing America, especially in geopolitics and macroeconomics. Iraq is a mess which Mr Bush created and it is surely fitting that he should be the one forced to clean it up. The same is true of ballooning government deficits, escalating oil prices and the small but growing, threat of a crisis in the US balance of payments leading to an international run on the dollar.

Extricating American forces from Iraq will be extremely difficult for Mr Bush, especially if he tries to maintain significant control over its foreign policies and its energy resources. Restoring stability to Iraq, without handing the country over to an overtly anti-Western or theocratic regime will become even harder if Mr Bush decides to pick a fight with Iran over nuclear proliferation — or, even worse, if he backs Israel in a “pre-emptive” military attack. To control America’s public finances will be equally difficult, given that the President and his party are now totally committed to ever-lower taxes, ever-more aggressive military postures and ever-more generous corporate subsidies.

It is quite likely, therefore, that in the next year or two President Bush could face a military or economic crisis (or both) — and, crucially, that such a crisis would be analogous to Black Wednesday in its political effects. If Mr Bush suffered a serious military setback, either in Iraq or in a broader confrontation involving Iran, Israel and other Middle East countries (not to mention North Korea or Taiwan), the Republicans would lose their reputation as the “party of national security”, just as the British Tories lost their reputation as the party of economic competence in 1992. The damage to the Republicans’ national security reputation would be even greater if America were hit by a serious terrorist attack or if withdrawal from Iraq turned into a disorderly Vietnam- humiliation.

On the economic front, the Republicans risk disgrace if they raise taxes or if, as is much more likely in my view, America suffers a financial and inflationary crisis because of its failure to bring the federal budget back under control.

But even if the Bush Administration manages to avoid any such disasters, the analogy with Britain in the early 1990s suggests that the Democrats should be grateful to stay out of the White House for the next four years. The electorate’s decision to let Mr Bush clear up his own messes does not just threaten the incumbent with poetic justice; more importantly it offers a reprieve from a potential death sentence on the Democrats. If a newly-elected President Kerry were to suffer a terrorist attack or a humiliation in Iraq or some kind of fiscal crisis, the political backlash against the Democrats would be far worse than the damage faced in similar circumstances by Mr Bush.

For as hard as Mr Kerry would try to blame the Bush legacy for any such disasters, the public would see them as evidence that the Democrats as a party are weak on terrorism, prone to defeat in military confrontations and ideologically committed to higher tax. It is again worth imagining the public reaction in Britain if it had been the economic policies of Mr Kinnock, instead of Mr Major, that were blown away by the markets six months after the election of 1992.

In sum, the next four years could be a good time for the Democrats to let right-wing Republicans take their policies to their logical conclusion and beyond. Just as Mr Major took Thatcherism beyond its logical conclusions with policies such as rail privatisation and the bizarre moralising of “back to basics”, the Republicans could overreach themselves not only in economics and foreign policy but also in social and environmental matters and o n the membership of the Supreme Court.

Meanwhile, the Democrats must rebuild their party, unite around an impressive new leader and wait for Republican mythology to self-destruct in the face of events. All this will happen in time, very possibly in the next four years. If so, the Democrats may one day hail Mr Kerry as the man whose defeat paved the way for Hillary Clinton, just as Labour now reveres Mr Kinnock as the lucky loser who made possible the triumphs of Tony Blair.

In my own life I’ve finally settled into my new house with 2 Slovak chambermaids, a guy called Andy who’s working as a scaffolder and a spanish guy called Ramon who doesn’t seem to speak English. They’re all fine, though I’m not likely to have any interesting socio-political debates with any of them. Which isn’t a problem really, it’s just a house.
Apart from that I’ve spent a fair deal of time going to job agencies, which I’ll continue in a minute. I may have found another appalling job in another mortgage centre, though, mercy mercy me. The guy who found it was called ‘Leee’ with 3 ‘e’s. It was written on his nametag and his business card. And he looked like Elvis, with sideburns down to his neck.
So I’d better keep looking. I’m in a very reasonably priced internet cafe in the market, which smells of fish.

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A good weekend, then, though a hectic one. And I’m very tired indeed.
Most of the time was spent with Gwen, really, and with Ronni and Aine. Gwen’s leaving Southampton for good after 8 years there, a good portion of her life all in all. It was a good sending off. We went to Goblets 3 times, Nexus once and to brokenjoystick‘s Halloween party on Saturday. That was a lot of fun – Gwen came as a dead bride and I was some kind of badly injured soldier or something (not entirely sure myself). We were covered in so much fake blood that I’ve got several rashes down the side of my face. Saw loulana there too, and iloveyourmum and top_plant too. It was all good, though I did get told that I should ‘get that (my facial wounding) seen to’ about 50 times. There was a mass sparkler event in the garden at about 4am too, mustn’t forget that.
So, anyway, I’m way too tired to give a coherent account in any more detail than that, but to cut it short I’m back in Brighton now and moving into my new house in about, ooh, 65 minutes.

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A break from Brighton now – a few days over in Southampton, to visit a couple of parties, set off fireworks, dress up, al that kind of thing. Then on return I’ll be moving into my nice new house in Hanover.
It’ll make a change. I’ve been sitting around in Duncan & Amelia’s house since finding a place, downloading TV stuff with BitTorrent. Have barely left the house. The kind of laziness I have no space in my diary for from now on, at least until New Year.
So, better get that train.

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So I’ve got a house then. Official resident of Brighton.
Walked all the way up the hill to go to the landlady’s house. I impressed her by not realising I had to, in essence. Impressing old ladies is one of my skills. I’ll be moving in with a couple of South Africans, a couple of English types and a couple of Slovaks. All good. Then went for a beer in my new local, also Steve Coogan’s local according to the Cheeky Guide. Nice place, food a tad pricey. Think I’m going to like all this seaside stuff.
Still surprisingly gutted about JP. The future of UK music radio now equals…? Anyone tell me?

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Holy shit.
John Peel died.
Actually quite upset.

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Into the final furlong.
Today I had an interview, the sole purpose of which was to judge the compatibility of my character. Quite a stressful situation. I’ve been quite a nervous and shy person for a good deal of my life but these days I can handle myself pretty well. I may even say that to an extent I’m now a pretty confident person. But it was all too much. I got genuinely nervous, couldn’t look them in the eye, it was terrible.
Fortunately I got offered another place straight away, but I will find out tomorrow where I am living.

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Number 13 it may be then… I have an appointment to meet the other occupants tomorrow, lets hope I don’t mess it up.
It would be a lot easier to find a flat if I was a girl, or gay. Everyone wants a girl in their flat, boys to try to get in their pants and girls because they don’t want some strange guy they don’t know moving in. Unless he is gay and therefore not going to try it on with them.
Why was I cursed with this penis and attraction to women?

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When I got to Brighton I’m sure I didn’t realize exactly what it would take to find a flat. A swathe of alternative candidates are whirring around, getting the paper at 8 and phoning every available property immediately. It’s a sellers’ market. And so I have now seen 14 flats, and am still seemingly not at the end of this ludicrous quest.
House no. 1 – Up on top of a hill a fair enough distance away, this place seemed fairly nice until the other occupier revealed himself to be crazed and furious.
House no. 2 – Quite nearby, this one. Scouse musician guy. Nice enough place, but he never called to offer me the room.
House no. 3 – A half hour walk into darkest Hove, this place was completely unfurnished apart from a temporary indoor football kit. I said no.
House no. 4 – Convenient location, this one, but, when all is said and done, the lack of furniture or residents put me off, and the part about having to get through a corner shop to get into it.
House no. 5 – A friend of a friend’s place, nice enough, but not available for a while, apparently.
House no. 6 – A desolate sixties skyscraper on crack-addict hill. The mustachioed old man who opened the door had a vague air of violence about him and gave me detailed instructions on what I could do in his elaborately decorated regency reproduction living room. No.
House no. 7 – In an old hotel on the seafront, a tiny little box room with a tiny toilet at the back. No cooker, no facilities, a tiny little window and the paint peeling off the walls due to dry rot. The estate agent tried to pretend she was making an effort to sell the place but it didn’t work.
House no. 8 – The best so far – a formidable mansion run by a middle age hippy woman and her children. Really very nice, but not available for another week and a half. I’ll find out tomorrow if I’ve got it, though I’m sure I’ve got a good deal of competition.
House no. 9 – A guy I’d spoken to the day before, reasonably alright, but not too great. He didn’t call back, but no big deal.
House no. 10 – Ludicrously camp guy, a bit too much. The house was pretty nice, but I wasn’t too bothered he didn’t call back.
House no. 11 – Nice house up on a hill. Cool Indian girl. Still waiting on that call.
House no. 12 – A little too businesslike this one, seven bedrooms all being competed over, instant deposit handover or nothing. When I turned up there was nobody there, so I waited by the door, ringing the bell. A car pulled up with a Turkish man and his son, who introduced themselves to me. He introduced himself to me and showed me around, or rather he insisted I show him around. I thought it must just be his way. It was only after five minutes that the real landlord arrived and we both realised that neither of us was the landlord.
The house wasn’t great.
House no. 13 – Luckily, number thirteen was better, and just around the corner too. I may well be calling back right now.
House no. 14 – But number 14 was a bit rubbish, and already taken.
I’ve had enough of all this. While writing, number 8 has fallen through. Damnit. Number 13?

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The flat-hunt has been looking a little less positive these last two days. Both the possibilities have turned out not to be. Ah well. I’ve found a few more leads now though, and in the meantime have resorted to making my own begging notes and putting them on notice boards.
Meanwhile though, more goings out. Last night accompanied Duncan & Amelia to go and see some bands playing with a projection behind them. I don’t think I was prepared for a cacophony of extreme noises and images but that’s what I was exposed to, and just about managed not to run out screaming though I felt like I was banging my head against a wall for twenty minutes. Next time sld friends Delays who are playing round here. On the sweet again, of course. Should be a laugh, eh?

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So.
Tuesday night I went out with Ted, Ken, Virginia, half of Delays and some other people. It was a good night. I’d been somehow worried about not getting on with anyone back here but I shouldn’t have been. Everything really was just great, good to see so many people again, after so long. When Goblets closed we moved on to a karaoke bar next door where we nearly got beaten up by twats who thought Aaron was gay because he was in his band costume. And the rest of us looked a little odd too, probably. I dunno.
On Wednesday I moved to Brighton. But first I visited Matt, as it was his birthday, and we went and got some bangers and mash.
It took nearly 3 hours to get from Southampton to Brighton because of some kid of railway conspiracy. Since then I’ve been staying with Duncan and Amelia in their very nice flat, spending the daytime house-hunting. Two places so far are possibilities, the others having something or other wrong with them. One place was fine until I realised the guy living there was absolutely insane. He gave me a speech about exactly what size of cat I could swing in my room, that tipped me off.
Otherwise, Brighton is pretty amazing. A&D cook some amazing Thai food, the sea is just at the end of the road, and every day I seem to end up going someplace really cool. Two days back I went to Electralaine with Charlie and some other people – they were pretty damn fantastic. Then today, with 20 mins warning, I saw Bill Bailey at the Dome. And he was (insert even better superlative)! Both of these on the sweet. What a city. Even the late night burger joints sell real chicken steaks.
On the downside, Duncan woke up a couple of days back with a swollen foot and, after forever at the hospital, was told it was gout. At the age of 25. Jesus. On the plus side he does get a week off work.
So, anyhow, I will be getting some sleep now. Cao all in Prague. And elsewhere.

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