Monday 26 February 2007

Goodbye already

A nightmare this.

I have to say goodbye just as soon as I've got this blog going. You will see the reason if you scroll down the entries to Weekending.

All day and every day my mental energy is going into my blog. I didn't know it would be such heaven being a blogger. Better than writing a commonplace book (a thing I have been doing for decades and decades), but not that different.

However, I get paid to write academical books and articles, the damned stupid things. As if we haven't got enough books and articles. Can't we have a moratorium on new ones till we've read some of the old ones? The average academic article gets read by 5 people only.

Yet, our lumpen, ignorant government (yes, they govern us) awards university funding according to our "research output", and I can't let my colleagues in the department down in the ridiculous, asinine, excremental RAE (Research Assessment Exercise).

Goodbye, darling blog. I have to harden my heart to you until I have got that elusive "fourth item" in print for this moronic government. I have till the end of 2007.

Don't even ask what happens to the refusniks. They get flushed into the scummy sub-gutters of the university system. And even doing my lovely blogging wouldn't be fun from down there.

Next year in cyberspace. xxx

I don't get bullied. I am in a lovely department; but here is a link for those who don't know all this already:

http://bulliedacademics.blogspot.com/2007/01/high-stress-levels-in-colleges-and.html#links

Friday 23 February 2007

Papon Dead and Buried


To hell with the fact that he has his precious Legion d’Honneur medal down in the grave with him.

I hope it gives him lots of comfort down there. Perhaps he can take it with him along with his ba soul into the land of the dead and show it about. He could try to impress some of these lively little boys with it:
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They are waiting at Drancy, just north of Paris, to be deported to Auschwitz. I think perhaps I ought to visit Drancy next time I am in Paris. It's easy enough: on the RER B5. I have passed it enough times on my way to and from Charles de Gaulle Airport. There is a memorial there which incorporates a boxcar from the deportations. It says it is meant to carry 8 horses. But the French collaborationists put 100 people into it, though first stamping a Star of David on it.
I took the following from commentarymagazine.com, who I don't think will mind. Thank you David Pryce-Jones.
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Among the Collaborationists
David Pryce-Jones - 2.22.2007 - 9:50AM
Maurice Papon has just died at the age of ninety-six
, but his name will always stand for France’s moral collapse in 1940, and that country’s inability—or reluctance—to redress matters afterwards. In his capacity as a ranking Vichy official, the documentation proves, he signed the deportation orders to Auschwitz for 1,690 Jews, 223 of whom were children, organizing sixteen trains for them, the last in June 1944 when German defeat was certain. It was also his idea to send the bill for the expense of the requisite cattle-trucks to the Jewish representative council, thus obliging the victims to pay for their journey to be murdered. One of his German superiors described him as a sincere collaborator, “co-operating correctly with the Feldkommandatur.”
Collaboration with Nazism was the political choice taken by Marshal Pétain after the fall of France; it was pre-war appeasement in the new context of military defeat. Pétain and his Vichy regime imagined that they were sparing France the sort of horrors inflicted on Poland, but in reality they were facilitating them. In the absence of enough German personnel trained in mass murder, the Nazi authorities had to rely on the French to do their work. The turning point was the accord signed in May 1942 between General Karl Oberg of the SS, and René Bousquet, general secretary of the French police. That accord placed the French gendarmerie at the service of the Nazi machinery of murder. One among many who could now obey orders zealously was Papon, and another was Jean Leguay, Bousquet’s representative.
At the end of the war, Bousquet was condemned to five years of “national indignity,” a somewhat unspecific term, then immediately granted reprieve and decorated for “resistance,” in this case an even less specific term. Bousquet then enjoyed a spectacular career as an industrialist, protected by President Mitterand for no very evident reason except that he too had a compromising Vichy past. Leguay also had a successful business career. Papon fared best of all. General de Gaulle, no less, protected him, appointing him prefect of police in Paris. In that capacity, he supervised a crack-down on Algerians with thousands of arrests, and the massacre of perhaps a hundred of them, their corpses simply thrown into the Seine. Papon showed himself as adept at murdering Muslims as Jews. Under President Giscard d’Estaing, he entered the cabinet as budget minister.
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Researching in the archives, Michel Slitinsky came across his own death warrant with Papon’s signature on it. Slitinsky’s father had been killed in Auschwitz, while he himself only just managed to escape arrest. In 1986, more than twenty years after the event, he brought Papon to justice. At his trial, Papon denounced the proceedings as “fake,” claimed to have helped the resistance, and dismissed the evidence as lies, speaking of “plots,” the usual fascist code for supposed Jewish world domination. Sentenced to ten years in prison for crimes against humanity, he fled defiantly to Switzerland, but was sent back and imprisoned. After he had served three years, the Chirac government had him released. The protection of such people by so many French presidents speaks volumes.
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Like Papon, Leguay was indicted for crimes against humanity (though he died before going to prison). When I was writing my book Paris in the Third Reich, in which I describe his role in deporting Jews, he used to seek me out in order to plead that he had not really done anything wrong, and in any case had no choice, and would I please understand his predicament. Like Papon again, but in his more oily way, he showed no trace of remorse. Nor did Bousquet, who became more and more arrogant with the passing of time even though he too was facing a trial for crimes against humanity. One day, someone named Christian Didier—always labelled as “unbalanced”—turned up at his house and shot him dead.
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The wish to hide complicity in mass murder may be humanly understandable, but it has rotted France’s national conscience and self-respect. Unwillingness to acknowledge complicity in Nazi crime explains the lack of conscience—the sheer bad faith—of the French stance in so many post-war issues.
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As a postscript to Pryce-Jones I would just like to add this from trial records:
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and this expression of support for Maurice Papon from Jean-Marie Le Pen, leader of the extreme-right National Front party and presidential candidate:
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"It seems to me that decorations which one earned, that one deserved, I do not see what could prevent you, especially when one died... It would be a gesture really small, really low that -- to prevent the family of Maurice Papon from paying last tribute to him";
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and this from lexpress.mu in Mauritania:
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With the Papon trial, France rediscovered a dark side of its own state apparatus – but also found that three-quarters of its Jews had been able to escape deportation because they were helped by their fellow citizens. Since January 18, a number of these have been reburied in the Pantheon in Paris, where the nation’s most illustrious dead are honored. A memorial plaque there reads: “... despite the weight of hatred and darkness that fell on France during the years of occupation, thousands of lights refused to go out.”
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Thank Goodness for lexpress.mu, whoever Goodness is.
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And on it goes. .. this crazy world, full of good and bad.
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Thursday 22 February 2007

Aol Estates Management, 248 Uxbridge Road London, W12 7JA

These people are total bastards. Four months after I advertised and let my flat via Loot in London, they are cold calling me (three times so far) on the offchance that I might be wanting to let it again. The first time they did it I was on my way to a funeral. I might just go and blow up their toilet.

This is their damned number that keeps appearing on my mobile:
02087461110
Why do letting agencies always employ Ozzies?
And now can someone do anything clever to jam their phone lines?

Tuesday 20 February 2007

Weekending


I did it! I finally got away for a weekend. Perhaps it was to the coldest house in Britain, but beside the most beautiful seascape in Britain, with pale green sea, white waves breaking, black rocks, pink sand and great black-backed gulls. And, as I snuggled to sleep in my nest of duvets, it came to me that I would, I would, I would finish that damned academical book that has been on my conscience for six years. This is what getting away does for the sapphire-stockinged soul.

Thursday 15 February 2007

The Boy in the Newsagent's

Stupid, garrulous, fat, spotty arsehole that he is, holds up the queue all day long garrulating to every customer that comes in (except for me), and says loudly so that the whole shop can hear: "Bring back Maggie Thatcher -- that's what I say".
He is all of 17, perhaps.
Doesn't he know that horrible, dirty, tatty little businesses like the one he works in were closing down at the rate of hundreds a week under Thatcher's regime?
Them and all the filth on their top shelves, too.


On the other hand . . . I think I am turning into a Neo-Con. That is because I am in love with the writings and fine mind of Theodore Dalrymple, who writes in the New Criterion, e.g.:

http://www.newcriterion.com/archive/23/dec04/bentley.htm#



Sunday 11 February 2007

Book Margins

I am still wading through the list of things I said I'd blog about before I get to what I want to blog about today. So here goes on Cambridge paperbacks with their narrow inside margins:

You would think that the kind of people who produce books would also read them sometimes, or even apply some of their brain cells to their job.

Notice that Cambridge UP paperbacks have an inside margin that is so narrow that it's right into the spine.

How bloody stupid and pathetic is that? It's narrower than the outside margin, and that's not saying much. Do they want us to flatten out their books so that the spine cracks? I can't get into your bloody books to actually read them you stupid CUP. Think about it.

Right, I've said it. Very soon I can have a moan about the boy in my paper shop, and then I'm really going to let rip on my students.

Oh, and also this Guido Fawkes that they're going on about on the radio tonight. I looked at his blog. Stupid old womany gossip. But that insults old women (like me). But can anyone tell me why having raves and stopping people sleeping is "freedom"? I'll go and have a rave under his kid's bedroom window.