die doofe bahn

jetzt hab ich mir die katastrophenmeldungen lange genug angesehen und -gehoert. die welt dreht sich noch, und zwar nicht nur um banken und wall street, und sie wird sich noch ne weile weiterdrehen. und manche lernen auch nicht aus fehlern, denn die interessen am eigenen gewinn sind ja noch immer die gleichen. nach dem motto *heute ist ein guter tag, um schlechte nachrichten zu vergraben*, wurde letzte woche heimlich still und leise der termin zur bahnprivatisierung bekanntgegeben. im oktober isses soweit.

nun frage ich mich, wie passt das zusammen mit dem getoene der letzten wochen, der angelsaechsisch gepraegte kapitalismus sei am ende? ueberall kehrt der starke staat zurueck oder erstmals ein, banken werden verstaatlicht, dass wilhelm pieck seine freude dran haette, nur in berlin weht noch der wind of free market. da muss der gleiche fehler, den england in den 80ern beging, wiederholt werden. bei dieser marktsituation soll ein profitables staatsunternehmen an die boerse gebracht werden? oder vielmehr - zur schlachtbank gefuehrt werden? na dann gute nacht. hauptsache, tiefensee et al haben ihre aufsichtsratspoestchen bei bahn ag ins trockene gebracht.

und wieso schreibt die knallharte investigative deutsche presse keine zeile drueber? alle mit apokalypse dow beschaeftigt?

halbzeit

vor 18 jahren verschwand mein land, die ddr. vor 18 jahren war ich 18. ich hab also mittlerweile genauso lange im westen gelebt wie im osten. jugenderfahrungen sollen aber praegender sein als die aus erwachsenem alter. und ich bin wohl, meine zeit in dublin, muenchen, london... hin oder her, immer noch als ossi erkennbar.

na und?

schoen war's in meiner kindheit (mit ausnahmen), und ich wuenschte, alle menschen koennten das von ihrer kindheit sagen. was natuerlich stark bezweifelt werden muss. es sind diese kindheitserinnerungen, die ostalgiker verklaeren, nicht die ddr. auf gute kindheitserinnerungen kommt es an im leben, egal ob ost oder west oder nord oder sued. und nicht auf das *system*. das kann man spaeter immer noch analysieren, stuetzen oder stuerzen.

the future is bright

as an enthusiastic follower of events at the royal society of arts, i attended the lecture by richard watson, a futurist. that what he calls himself, as opposed to futurologist (that's the guys who see aliens walking the earth etc. ). watson promoted his book *future files - a history of the next 50 years*.
what struck me first at the lecture was an astonishment at what bollocks people can make a living with. i understand that watson consults companies and anyone who pays him on projected trends and developments in the next 5 to 10 years. he rarely goes beyond 20 he says. well, for the sake of his book and this lecture, he did.
watson's future predictions range from the end of newspapers (no surprise) to robots working in care homes (already happening in japan) to one global currency (but will i get credit?) and amusingly to the end of belgium (he admitted to adding that one just to annoy a friend). in the meantime, and on a much smaller scale, i can give to the world my prediction of the near end of sachsen-anhalt, germany's most pointless federal state. the audience members looked for the most part too old to care what the world looked like in 50 years because they will be dead then.
the futurist raised one interesting question: in light of the massive rescue actions in the banking world, will corporations, and people, not be allowed to fail anymore? but this has little to do with the future in 50 years. even though predictions say more about the present than the future.

maybe my future is in futurism?

story of a london flat - part 2

i had never been to a property auction, so in the name of research and curiosity, i went to the new connaught rooms in covent garden on the 9th of september to follow "my flat" every step of the way. the grand hall auction room was packed. i studied the audience but could not make out a particular "auction demographic". bidders comprised all ages, ethnic backgrounds, religion, gender and technology. some were bidding with a rolled-up newspaper, some holding up their registration number, some bid over the phone. the media were also present, in the shape of 3 tv cameras that were filming for a "new BBC1 daytime show". will it be called "how cheap is my house"? the lady next to me in the final row of chairs whispered that she was here for a house in gillinghan(?), dorset. the screen behind the auctioneer showed an ugly end of terrace house "with potential" in "interesting" 1970s design. the lady raised her arm with a newspaper extension a few times, acquired the house for 120,000 pounds and left. congratulations.
no. 46 came up as lot no. 23. at the start, the auctioneer felt obliged to make an announcement as to the many conditions for the flat. "the current owner has served a section 42 notice and has agreed a new lease on the 21st may 2008 at a premium of 610,852 pounds okys all related landlords legal and surveyors costs for a lease to expire on 28th september 2150 at a peppercorn ground rent." (catalogue quote). in short, this was a very expensive little maisonette, with a very short lease, plenty of extra costs, and for quick decisionmakers only.
the auctioneer looked like an accountant. slightly aloof and bored behind his podium. all his power was concentrated in the hammer (gavel is the technical term) he grabbed with his right hand, which every now and then came down with a bang to signal that a lot had found the highest bidder, auction closed. i was familiar with that procedure from tv. the auction master was, however, very reluctant to use the power of the gavel. in his fast, monotonous monologue he rattled down the offers, starting in steps of 2,000, then 1,000 pounds, then, to squeeze very possible pound from the bidders, in steps of 500. once there were no more handsigns from the audience, he waited... and waited... and finally banged down the hammer.
after the initial explanation around no. 46, the starting price for "my flat" was 250,000 pounds. silence. no offers? thought not. 240,000 pounds? one bidder. 241? another bid. so the bidding "war" continued all the way to 260,000 pounds. final offer? final. bang! my flat was sold for 260,000 pounds. or was it? "sorry, i cannot sell it to you at that price", was the surprise announcement by the auctioneer. apparently, so it was explained to me by my other neighbour, the reserve price of the seller was not met. so he put it up for auction, but would only sell it to a minimum price that remained a secret. odd! the auctioneer would say sorry quite a few more times on this day. clearly, even the auction world shows signs of the crunch. unrealistic expectations are exist on both sides of the hammer, though probably more so on the sellers' side.
i went home in the knowledge that the story of my flat was to continue.

no. 46 hamilton terrace is currently up for sale for 269,995 pounds. the agreement for a lease extension by the freeholder expired on 19th september.

story of a london flat - part 1

no. 46 hamilton terrace is a "charming split level maisonette on one of st. john's wood's finest tree lined roads, requiring modernisation" the ad reads on the property website. the house is in our neighbourhood, and i found it searching the web for 2-bedroom flats in the summer. the london housing market has taken a downturn since about january, but this flat, sorry, this maisonette would still be considered a "desres", a desirable piece of property, especially as it was on the market for 375,000 pounds. bargain! there was only one catch: the flat came with a 7-year lease.
if you, like me, are illiterate in english property-speak, a 7-year lease means that the leaseholder would "buy" (lease, really) the flat for 7 years. after that time the freeholder (who owns the ground the property stands on or the building it is contained in) would take it back and draw up a new lease contract. with no compensation to the leaseholder. most english flats are sold with a lease for 99 years, some even have 999 years, and i've heard of 25-year leases considered short. imagine 7! no wonder, therefore, that the flat had not sold since february. a bit of research on my part uncovered that the current owner had bought the place only last summer, for 300,000 pounds and with an 8-year lease. what were they thinking?! speculating on rising prices? bad luck. and why put it on the market now? was it panic? had greed turned into need?
who knows. fact is, 2 agents were offering the flat, probably even more, without much success. by august, the asking price had dropped to 335,000 pounds. the next attempt to get rid of the doomed flat was initiated. the owner put it up for auction.

word of the day

dead cat bounce

dass ich das noch erleben durfte!

-die zeit schreibt ueber entruestete eurokraten, die deutschland zu NIEDRIGE lohnkosten vorwerfen.
-banken und politiker lenken von ihrem versagen ab und beschuldigen short-sell trader, die finanzkrise ausgeloest zu haben.

aller anfang ist schwer

trotzdem: auf zu neuen ufern!

correction

the world is in a supermegahyper crisis, financially. and according to all, it's the end of capitalism as we know it, a sign that the free market has failed, greed has got us here, etc.

i disagree. my 1 year of economics classes at soas have taught me the basics of economic theory. and i have learnt that the free market is a very workable model for organising the economy of a country or the world. the only problem is that we never had a free market, an exchange of goods and services regulated by supply and demand. even in the us, and certainly not in the uk. what we have had was an economy riddled with political and other group interests. so the banks are to blame for giving loans to people unsuitable for them, who would never be able to pay them back at market rates? errr... wrong. the us president carter forced banks to give loans to poor people, lest they would be *discriminated against*. and under clinton the us revoked that old law introduced after the 1920s crash that kept retail and investment banking separate. they thought it would win them votes. now that several banks and insurers are folding, do we let the free market correct itself by allowing unprofitable enterprises to go down? no, once again, politics is meddling, and we say that obviously capitalism has failed.

pure capitalism never existed, as little as pure communism.

blast from the past

a text from a lover of my wild wilderness years
an email from an ex-colleague i had not thought about in years
an invitation to a class reunion
an outbreak of spots that makes me look like a teenager again

you cannot run from your past, however much you may try. people you used to know, skin conditions you thought you had finally beaten, they creep back into your life, and of course you are unprepared when they ambush.
in the case of avoiding former acquaintances the internet surely isn't helping. nor is a certain curiosity to find out how people fared. and then there is the need to compare, to keep a running total of who has been more successful, kept their figure or improved it, who is happier.

all in all, i think i have not been doing too badly.

word of the day

fiat currency

education for leisure by carol ann duffy

Today I am going to kill something. Anything.
I have had enough of being ignored and today
I am going to play God. It is an ordinary day,
a sort of grey with boredom stirring in the streets.

I squash a fly against the window with my thumb.
We did that at school. Shakespeare. It was in
another language and now the fly is in another language.
I breathe out talent on the glass to write my name.

I am a genius. I could be anything at all, with half
the chance. But today I am going to change the world.
Something’s world. The cat avoids me. The cat
knows I am a genius, and has hidden itself.

I pour the goldfish down the bog. I pull the chain.
I see that it is good. The budgie is panicking.
Once a fortnight, I walk the two miles into town
for signing on. They don’t appreciate my autograph.

There is nothing left to kill. I dial the radio
and tell the man he’s talking to a superstar.
He cuts me off. I get our bread-knife and go out.
The pavements glitter suddenly. I touch your arm.

vom jammern in london

liebe gruesse an die deutsche welt aus london, wo alle ueber
-fallende hauspreise
-unerschwingliche hypothekenraten
-hohe lebensmittel/benzin/heizkostenpreise
-daemliche regierung
-steigende steuern
-mehr arbeitslose
jammern.

dabei vergessen diese jammerlappen gern, dass
-hauspreise seit jahren in einer riesigen spekulationsblase stecken und voellig ueberhoeht sind
-sie ihre regierung selbst gewaehlt haben
-und in england eh keiner richtig arbeitet (sondern lieber private blogs schreibt)

sind die englaender am ende die neuen ossis? nur immer am jammern, und immer sind die anderen schuld? oder steckt team gb in einem kollektiver kater, weil die fetten jahre, in denen man sich kredittrunken einreden konnte, reich zu sein, erstmal vorbei sind?

und zu allem uebel sinkt das pfund auch noch stetig gegen den euro. ich kann's mir bald nicht mehr leisten, uebers wochenende nach deutschland zu fliegen.

jammer!