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Parking Problems in the Promised Land 
It has taken longer than anyone thought possible but
finally, the realities of the current government are starting to take shape.
Unemployment has gone up, nepotism has settled in, investment has moved
on, nobody’s being educated properly, and our major trading partner
is about to go to war with the wrong country.
As with all huge corporations, the government has become its own reason
for being - a self-defining, self-justifying, enclosed empire, with the
resources to keep reality at bay. Sign language doesn’t help, neither
does shouting in a voice that causes whales to get a headache, as any criticism
is simply repelled with weapons of mass hypocrisy, once referred to in Paris
as “Bony’s” greatest hits.
Worse than that, the government has lost its nerve, if it ever had it, about
attending to the one problem it needs to tackle in order to improve the
paucity of overseas investment - the tonnage of non-performing loans. Yet,
nobody will commit to any action being compromised by the knowledge of who
lent what to whom.
There’s a Spanish saying that if you want to steal successfully, steal
in the millions. The government can’t prosecute; it’s always
far too embarrassing. Steal a few thousand and your neighbour’s bike
and the judge will send you down for ten years, while shaking his head at
blatant flaws in your plan. This also explains why whenever a politician
insists he has done absolutely nothing wrong, it means he didn’t think
he’d get found out.
*Once the placated and the promoted had been neatly slotted, the shuffle
was announced and a phalanx of cabinet spin doctors rushed to justify the
wisdom of the choices, the talent of the ministers, and the benefits they
will bring to the people, while manhandling the Hubble space telescope into
such a position they could work out exactly much office space they will
need.
This is crucial. For any tensions created by amendments to the government
positions are nothing compared to the Carthaginian scrap for desk sizes,
soft furnishings, and a parking space. Its every new minister’s baptism
of fire; a defining moment where character will be tested, revealed, and
closely observed.
* It’s the peculiar genius of Thais to seem both familiar and incomprehensible,
at the same time. We tried calling the Education Department to ascertain
how those vital reforms were proceeding and the reaction was of a type now
classified as Gov Dept Typical: incredibly good-natured and friendly, but
essentially useless. As all our questions were forgotten, all the answers
were wrong, pure fiction, or simply orphaned.
An undersecretary, found wandering along endless corridors in a fruitless
search for the Education Minister, was summoned to the phone and said, “So
sorry,” but there are ‘no plans’ for reform ‘on
my desk’. This may well be true. They could be on the sideboard, or
in the filing cabinet, or stashed behind the coffee percolator. My own hunch
is that they’re rolled up in the umbrella-stand.
*A former driver at government house, now working in the archeological section
at The Nation has made the startling claim that the ruling party must be
direct descendents from the Promised Land, as they all showed remarkable
adeptness for making them rather than keeping them.
*The Democrats were indignant when the reform bill most of them hadn’t
even read was already halfway across town. They demanded an explanation,
instead of which they got a rude noise from the back of the class. But in
all likelihood, the Democrats would have emulated them had they been given
the chance. Their pique was at being pre-empted rather than being confounded.
The opposition’s only current hope is that the government will be
the authors of their own undoing by simply overdoing it.
*With the military reshuffle list now resembling a telephone directory written
by a drugged dyslexic, Napoleon Bonaparte’s words are as pertinent
to this day as there were to his time.
“ To do great things it is not enough to be a man of five feet ten
inches. If strength and bravery made the general every soldier might claim
the command. The general who does great things is he who also possesses
civil qualities. The soldier knows no law but force, sees nothing but, and
measures everything by it.. The civilian, meanwhile, only looks to the general
welfare. The characteristic of the soldier is to be despotic; that of the
civilian is to submit everything to discussion, truth, and reason. The superiority
unquestionably belongs to the civilian.”
*A colleague is taking bets on the following: within a year Saddam “Keano”
Hussein will be removed and Iraq will have a new government. Within two
years, Iran will. Within five years, so will Syria. Within 10 years, “Saudi”
Arabia will have ceased to exist in its present form. All this, he insists,
is “excellent news for Muslims” and at five to one not bad for
the punters either.
By Roger Beaumont
Available
at Bookazine
The Mysterious Madame
X
Who really was Celia Jackson, and why was she murdered?
By David Cocksedge
THIS STRANGE STORY has all the ingredients of a
fictional tale: a mysterious victim with a murky past; a night time attack
by an unknown assailant; anonymous death threats before the murder; suspicion
focussed on the wrong person, and the disappearance of the murder weapon.
Instead of a fictional murder mystery, however, this crime case is true.
On the night of 4 February 1929, a Mrs Celia Jackson was returning to
her bungalow in Limeslade Way, near Swansea in South Wales. She and a
friend, Mrs Dimick, had been to the cinema in Swansea and it was just
after ten o’clock when the next-door neighbours parted. Mrs Dimick
was just taking off her coat inside her house when she heard screams coming
from Mrs Jackson’s residence. She immediately ran to the back door
of the bungalow occupied by Mrs Jackson and her husband. There, about
eight feet outside the door was her friend, lying in a heap. Her husband
was bending over her. He said, “Help me to pick her up, Dimmy. I
don’t know what has happened.”
Between them they pulled Mrs Jackson into the scullery. Mrs Dimick attended
to her, and Mrs Jackson soon recovered enough to stand up and walk into
the sitting room. She seemed in a daze, saying nothing. At about midnight
Ray Jackson called in a doctor, who took his wife at once to hospital.
She lingered there for six days in a semi-conscious condition, then died.
Before her death, she was unable to tell the police or doctors who had
attacked her. It is probable that she did not know. A fortnight later
Mr Raymond Jackson was arrested and charged with the murder of his wife.
Jackson made an odd remark to the doctor on arriving with his wife at
the hospital. He had said, “I have been married to her for nearly
ten years, and I still don’t know who she really is.” Celia
was indeed a woman of mystery. Her neighbours considered her to be independently
wealthy. She always wore new and expensive clothes, took taxies everywhere,
tipped generously, and often bought herself jewelry. Two years before
her death, the Jacksons had moved to the bungalow after living in a large
house. Jackson himself was a fish hawker with a small business, but certainly
no fortune. The money for all Mrs Jackson’s extravagances came from
her own funds. Money arrived in cash by post every Wednesday morning –
sometimes a whole bundle of notes.
Mrs Jackson’s own explanation to her friends was that she was a
novelist and journalist, and earned a steady income from novels and articles
she wrote for London papers. Not even her husband suspected the truth.
For though Mrs Jackson conducted a large and lucrative correspondence,
she was in fact an unusually successful blackmailer. The bundles of cash
arriving by post so regularly every week came from her many “clients”.
In a case of misappropriation earlier, an accused man had parted with
a large sum of money to a woman referred to in court only as “Madame
X”. This mysterious woman was none other than Mrs Jackson. Even
her birth certificate was a work of fiction. She claimed to be a daughter
of the “Duke of Abercorn”, but police later established that
she had been born in 1895 into a working class family named Atkinson,
living near Burnley.
The Crown’s case was flimsy at best. From the position of bloodstains,
near the hem, it was concluded that Mrs Jackson’s coat had been
thrown over her head with the lining next to the hem. The inference drawn
was that after entering the house, she had been attacked by her husband,
who threw her coat over her head to smother her cries and shield himself
from becoming bloodstained. She then ran out, and fell down outside the
bungalow. It was also stated that Jackson had said on the way to the hospital
that he would inform the police of the attack, but did not do so. Also,
when two neighbours called on him the next day, Jackson strangely never
even mentioned the attack on his wife. Investigating police officers found
a tyre-lever under a cushion in the bungalow and this was presented in
court as the possible murder weapon. The prosecution also alleged that
several anonymous and threatening letters received by Mrs Jackson in the
weeks before the murder had been written by her husband to divert suspicion
away from himself.
It did not take a genius to establish that the tyre-lever was clearly
not the murder weapon. The latter inflicted wounds of a peculiar character;
two of them might have been made by a blunt instrument and seven were
cuts of a triangular nature in the coat and on the body. None of the cuts
and wounds on Mrs Jackson’s body matched in any way with the tyre-lever,
and eventually even the police had to admit this. Anyway, had Ray Jackson
committed the crime he would hardly have left the murder weapon lying
around his house so openly. Also, there was no time for Jackson and his
wife to have quarrelled when she returned from the cinema that evening,
for Mrs Dimick was there by her side in seconds. If Jackson had attacked
his wife, he had simply ambushed her.
Counsel for the defence had little trouble demolishing this empty case,
but Mr Justice Wright, the presiding judge, oddly summed up against the
defendant. He pronounced that it was “impossible to conceive that
the attack could have been made in any other way that that suggested by
the police”, and made light of the threatening letters. He also
said, “I have heard no evidence at all to indicate that Mrs Jackson
had any enemies likely to do her harm. There is no evidence of a secret
enemy here.” The jury did not agree with him, for in spite of this
direct lead, every one of them voted to acquit Ray Jackson.
Though it is not difficult to reconstruct the crime, the killer left no
clues as to his or her own identity. The assailant must have been waiting
for Mrs Jackson in the shadow of the house, and attacked her as soon as
she was about to reach the back door. The attacker may have grasped her
by the coat collar; the coat came off in the struggle, and the murderer
then flung it over her head exactly as the police suggested. The killer
then delivered nine frenzied blows to Mrs Jackson’s head with some
heavy device. By the time that first Ray Jackson and then Mrs Dimick arrived
on the scene, the assailant had made off into the surrounding darkness,
taking the murder weapon and perhaps disposing of it later. Her attacker
could have covered the first mile or so on foot, and then driven away
in a car, motorcycle or perhaps silently on a bicycle. The whole deadly
deed had been well planned, and then flawlessly executed.
As the police clearly believed the murderer had been Raymond Jackson,
they did not investigate the obvious possibility that his wife may have
been killed by one of the people she was blackmailing, or by an assassin
hired by them. Celia Jackson had been a high-class hooker during the ‘flapper’
era, and thus in a perfect position to blackmail many of her wealthy customers.
Her notebook listing her clients was encrypted. Only she knew the code,
and thus the information revealing their identities died with her.
Whoever murdered the mysterious “Madame X” seventy-three years
ago in South Wales succeeded in committing the perfect crime.
(Research: ‘Who killed Madame X?’ by Anthony Berkeley, Xanadu
Publications Ltd)
Science Shorts
Beer and fag-smelling perfume launched
A new perfume has been created in Germany which smells of rancid beer
and cigarette butts.
The scent is intended to evoke memories of the famous Oktoberfest, Munich's
annual homage to beer.
Inventor and pub landlord Peter Inselkammer presented the scent during
the 169th festival. He said he has called the new perfume 'Armbrustschuetzenzelt'
Crossbow Tent - after the various drinking tents.
Inselkammer said the scent, which costs around 5,700B a bottle, comes
in the shape of a pen that can be easily carried around the fields of
the Oktoberfest.
Over a million people stormed the tents of the beer festival in its first
week and organisers expect at least 6 million visitors to have come and
gone by Sunday 6 October.
Researchers train bacteria to build circuits
Scientists in Japan are training bugs to make electrical circuits.
The experiments have been carried out at the Forestry and Forest Products
Research Institute, in Ibaraki.
The team are using Acetobacter xylinum bugs to lay down cellulose fibres
onto grooved films.
Researcher Tetsuo Kondo says the technique could point the way to tiny
machines that can build microscopic circuits. He told Nature there could
be other applications, including using bugs as the basis for nano-machines
that regenerate skin.
Scientists use genes to make hair glow
Scientists in the US have discovered a way to make hair glow green, yellow,
blue or red by using genes from tropical fish. Researchers at a laboratory
in Maine have discovered a way to genetically engineer hair so it will
glow under a florescent blue light but look normal in the day. It came
about as part of a project to try to find ways to stop hair falling out
during chemotherapy treatment but scientists are not ruling out a cosmetic
use of their work. Doctor Robert Hoffman, president of the company behind
the project, told the LA Times: "What the heck, I'd rather see people
use a safe gene than toxic hair dyes."
And he is not ruling out the possibility it could also be used one day
to cure male baldness.
The process has already been tried on mice injected with a gene which
made their hair follicles and skin glow green. Scientists are now modifying
jellyfish protein to glow yellow or blue and protein from coral which
glows red. And they're searching for even more colours among fish, polyps
and other creatures living in the world's tropical reefs.
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