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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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