I wasn't Alfredo Stroessner's love child

This week saw the passing of General Alfredo Stroessner, former Paraguayan President and hard man, in a Brasilia hospital, aged 93. He is one of history's rare cases of a dictator who actually appeared to like the idea of being re-elected, although it would be fair to say that he was far from being a democrat, ensuring that there was no chance of his actually being defeated. It is perhaps an indictment of his regime that he was finally removed from power at gunpoint by his own son-in-law!

Paraguay is one of South America's more tragic countries, with a history of insane, corrupt and/or psychopathic leaders interspersed with the occasional brutal and pointless war. However, things have improved and the country has stabilised, with elections that aren't completely corrupt and a democratic opposition that is allowed to function. The Authentic Radical Liberal Party has a noble tradition of opposition to the former regime and was well respected on the international Liberal circuit. I hope that they have been rewarded for their persistence.

There really isn't any escape, you know...

A conscience is a terrible thing. It makes you want to sit by a swimming pool on a sunny day and read the Selection Rules for Parliamentary candidate selections so that you understand them. It makes you spend time thinking about internal communications strategies instead of focussing on your evening card school.

On the other hand, it prevents you from feeling guilty about not doing these things when you promised that you would. Besides, lying in the sun all day can get terribly wearing... although it is raining as I 'write'. Invitations to meetings, details about Annual General Meetings, plotting, scheming, arranging the assassination of political enemies, all the usual day to day stuff, doesn't stop just because you do. Besides, it's easier to do it properly than try to catch up on your return.

And it is nice to have time to stop and think. There are so many other things going on in my life, and I'm so bad at saying, "You know, I really don't have time to do that, perhaps you ought to find someone else?", that the absence of telephone calls and work really helps me to put things into proper context. Also, given my family's comparative lack of interest in politics, they have an alarming tendancy to ask questions like, "Why is that important?", or, "Why can't someone else do that?". My response? "Good question, don't know, perhaps I ought to find out..."

Ah well, back out into the unreal world for a few more hours...

En vacances avec la famille Valladares

Curiously, although perhaps unsurprisingly, I'm away again, this time deep in the Indian Ocean on the island of Mauritius. It's a long story, so I won't bore you with the details, although fortunately, our flight left before London's latest terrorist scare (but only just, it would seem).

This time, I'm with my family, mother, father, kid brother, his wife, their three lovely children and my cousin, Kim. Apparently, this is something that they've been doing for years and now that I'm single again, I can come too (I'm assuming that Rachelle and I were too busy before - and in fairness, that was a pretty safe assumption).

Kim and I have been doing some comparisons and we reckon that Mauritius is a lot like Goa, and Fiji is also similar in many ways (large Indian population, sugar cane, island in the Southern Hemisphere...). The resort that we're staying in is very nice, and because we were there last year, the staff recognise us - a nice touch, I think.

Far from the beaten track though we are, Mauritius is very connected to the outside world. Tonight, there is an anti-war demonstration in Port Louis, the capital, although I won't be doing any reportage on the event, and the African Athletic Championships are taking place between our resort at Flic en Flac on the west coast and Port Louis. It's the last day of competition tomorrow so I may yet drop in.

Otherwise, this is an idyllic spot to spend some time. The pace of life is fairly gentle, the island is big enough to have variety but small enough to allow exploration of its furthest corners, and the climate at this time of year is well nigh perfect (highs in the low eighties, occasional showers to freshen the air, and gentle breezes, especially here in the central plateau (this message comes to you from Curepipe, the country's second city).

But enough blogging for the time being, I'm off in search of a haircut (it hasn't been done since Fiji and I'm looking a little ragged). There might even be a cold beer involved...

Second thoughts, or a change of heart?

Two weeks ago, I found myself entangled in a debate about how we should select our candidates for the London Assembly. I had taken the viewpoint that we should seek to engage our list candidates more effectively, not, on the face of it, a terribly unreasonable concept.

The proposal has been somewhat controversial, as I indicated a fortnight ago. There has been some enthusiastic lobbying from certain parties (and not only the ones you might expect, either), and I must admit that I have been swayed. Ironically, it isn't particularly due to the lobbying, more the simple fact that the initial proposal doesn't actually achieve what I want.

So I have a dilemma. If you are campaigning in a list system, how do you encourage those candidates high up the list, and thus almost certain to get elected regardless, to campaign actively across the Region? Can you, or should you, use the selection system for punitive purposes? Alternatively, should you, or can you, create a structure to monitor the performance of your elected representatives, so that you can measure their success against quantifiable targets? If the latter, who should do this, and what authority should they have?

Taking the question of manipulation of the selection system first, I had initially thought that you could use it as a tool to encourage those likely to be elected from the list to campaign in somewhere other than the heartlands, at least for some of the time. However, there are two obvious arguments to the contrary. First, if candidates high up on the list have no incentive to campaign actively across the city, on what basis might you assume that they would have an incentive to campaign in their constituency? Secondly, and this is quite important, Liberal Democrats are philosophically opposed to manipulating the electoral system to get something socially beneficial. We prefer to address the underlying causes of underachievement to lift overall standards. So I am now minded to avoid manipulation of the list places.

As for performance monitoring, there is an argument that this is the role of the electorate at large, and I agree to some extent. However, it is possible for someone to be a very good elected representative and yet, from the perspective of the Party, be a disaster. In order to benefit from the support, reputation and activity of the wider organisation, a candidate should accept a degree of supervision (and I use that in its widest sense) by senior members of the Party. Most local councillors have to go through a process of reapproval before being allowed to stand, and in such instances, they are weighed against a set of agreed, preferably quantifiable, criteria. Any who fail don't get to run again, at least, not as a Liberal Democrat. All political parties have to answer the same difficult puzzle, but for Liberal Democrats, opposed as we are to coercion, it is particularly tricky.

I'm guessing that this question will exercise a number of people in coming weeks, if only because I'm intending to put it on the table. Fortunately, I'm catching a flight this evening to somewhere far away, so if there is a desire to put a horse's head on my pillow, someone will have a long way to come to do so!

The last of the well-intentioned amateurs

Taxi for Mr Valladares! Taxi for Mr Valladares!

I have to admit that my sense, after yesterday's briefing session for Returning Officers on the impact of the new Selection Rules, is that we're all going to have to become a lot more professional in order to function successfully in our somewhat expanded role.

Don't get me wrong, this is a thoroughly good thing. Unfortunately, as most of my best friends will admit (and a number of my enemies, for that matter), time management is not, and never has been, one of my great strengths. I'm easily distracted unless my heart is really into something, and in the past I've managed to get away with an element of disorganisation because democracy really matters to me.

So I have a choice, get with the programme (more structure, morning sessions with a punchbag and set of Selection Rules, duelling with live candidates, that sort of thing), or perhaps find some other way to contribute.

I've actually just been appointed to run a selection somewhere south of Watford and west of Slough, so I'll actually get a test run, so to speak. If it works out, and I enjoy it, I'll stay on. If not, I'll have to seriously think about taking a back seat for a while...

You know, we have rules for a reason!

I've noticed that it appears to be open season on the system by which the Party approves and selects Prospective Parliamentary Candidates. "Too complex, too bureaucratic, too time consuming, too expensive...", the arguments flow seamlessly. "We don't approve/select enough women/ethnic minorities/aliens," comes the cry from other quarters.

So let's remember how we got here from the 'good old days' when it was all so much simpler. Ah yes, the days of the 'interview in the pub', whereby the local 'good ol' boy' was invited to meet the local worthies over a pint or two and, as long as they didn't throw up over anyone, they were the candidate. There weren't many women, even less minorities, but it was easy, and cheap, and quick...

But we wanted better candidates, ones who could make a speech, who weren't an embarrassment on television, might actually resemble a credible government in waiting. So we needed to test them for the obvious skills, teamworking, media presence, campaigning, policy, public speaking. It was kind of like applying for a job, after all.

So we developed an assessment day to do that. A small number of experienced members were trained up to do the assessing, most of whom gave up what limited spare time wasn't already dedicated to the Party in order to do it. Gratitude? You have to be kidding, don't you? But it worked pretty well, and that was all that was important.

And with greater credibility, came greater competition for selection. You see, these people might actually get elected, and get a big salary, and power (after a fashion...). We had some pretty basic rules by which selections were run but ambition led a minority to do things that we hadn't really imagined they would try. "But we're very nice people, we wouldn't do that, would we?". You bet we would. The fat salary alone attracted some not quite so nice people, competitive types who would do whatever it took to win.

So we amended the rules. We were always one step behind because we were terribly reasonable people who thought in straight, curiously honourable, lines. We wanted everyone to have a chance, so we changed the rules a bit more. Best of all, we left the management of the process in the hands of the same sort of very busy people as the assessors were. Even better, none of them had the sort of cynicism required because, for the most part, they were doing it because they believed in the internal democracy of the party. So selfless, so naive!

The rulebook got bigger... and bigger, and more complex, as a minority of candidates grew more and more devious. We had to have an appeals procedure so that breaches could be prevented. Yet we couldn't rule out what many might have seen as frivolous appeals, because that wouldn't be very liberal, would it?

And then, the very groups who had never really liked the process, actively tried to undermine it because, after all, this democracy process is such a bore. It's such hard work so why not put the decision in the hands of a small group of local worthies? Abolish appeals and give Returning Officers dictatorial powers, that's the job. Quick, efficient and cheap. Liberal principles? You can check them at the door on your way out...

Frankly, when we strangle the last Federal Executive apparatchik with the small intestine of the last member of the Parliamentary Candidates Association, I for one will open a bottle of champagne and drink a toast to a healthier democracy...

How to guarantee you'll upset someone

As a member of the Regional Candidates Committee, I have a front row seat in the process of deciding how our candidates for the London Assembly will be chosen. Yes, I understand that there will be an election but, let's face it, the various political parties will effectively decide who sits in the Assembly as they choose the candidates, including the list ones, whose names never really reach the public consciousness, and the order in which they are placed.

As an aside, I'm a supporter of a list-based system whereby voters pick a party preference AND number the candidates on that list in order of preference, thus putting power back into the hands of voters and taking it away from parties. It would also give candidates further down the list greater motivation to campaign vigorously.

Back to the plot though... so I found myself in a rather warm Cowley Street with my fellow committee members, discussing various briefing papers from particular interest groups, plus a really good document from one of my fellow returning officers, Andy Harding, outlining the various possibilities and their pros and cons. Very astutely, he didn't actually come down in favour of a particular outcome...

For what it's worth, I tend towards a selection process which encourages the broadest spread of campaigning effort and might help to build up some of our weaker Local Parties. In 2000, Susan Kramer fought a Mayoral campaign which reached every high street in the city - literally - and was generally thought to have had a positive effect on the linked Assembly campaign. It also encouraged some of our weaker groups to believe that someone higher up the party 'food chain' actually cared about them and their patch.

At the end of a fascinating evening, we reached a broad consensus which will be passed on for consultation and further discussion before we submit a recommendation to the Regional Executive in mid-September. However, in the spirit of meaningful debate, I'll keep my lips sealed on our thoughts thus far, as any public comment might imply that it is a done deal and it is still far from that. Needless to say, given the various preferences espoused from different quarters, someone isn't going to like the outcome. But then, that's what a democracy is all about, isn't it?

The bride looked lovely, whilst the band played on...

To Westminster for the evening reception of Caroline and Paul following their afternoon wedding. As usual, I ran late, on an evening not really designed for dressing up - hot, humid but at least sunny.

The room was filled with the elite of Southwark Liberal Democrat circles which, given Caroline's position as Executive Member for Education, should have come as no surprise. I had never really realised just how many twenty and thirtysomethings there are amongst our ranks, whilst those who don't fall into that category seem determined to carry on as though they are anyway...

Caroline looked lovely in a sleeveless dress in a colour I would describe as midway between lavender and purple (alright, I'm not great at colours, I'm a bureaucrat not a fashion designer) and I couldn't help but smile to see her so 'unbuttoned'. The band were really very good indeed and, if you happen to need a band for an event, I'm sure that Caroline and Paul will be happy to pass on contact details, although you might want to wait until they get back from their honeymoon!

It is said that most political negotiations take place at official weddings and funerals and I know understand why. After all, at official negotiations, everybody knows why you're there and operates accordingly. At weddings and funerals, the focus is on the betrothed (I like that word, it's comfortingly old-fashioned) or the deceased, so you can have a quiet chat with someone without drawing too much attention. And yes, I did take the opportunity to have a quiet chat with a few people on subjects of mutual interest...

Afterwards, back to the Marriott at County Hall for drinks, before I decided to escort a young lady home, as any gentleman should. Tea and an entertaining conversation followed (I like to see passion in my politicians) before I headed home for bed at 5 a.m.

All in all, a very pleasant evening indeed!

An opportunity to say thank you

In my experience, politicians aren't always very skilled at thanking others. It's a skill that is still greatly valued, and perhaps even more so given the rise of the professional political classes who tend to rise through political parties and into government without trace or interaction with the outside world these days.

As a faceless bureaucrat, I don't expect a great deal of gratitude, especially working for HM Revenue and Customs as I do by day, and as a political administrator by night. That should never become an excuse for becoming thoughtless or callous though.

So I thought I should take this opportunity to pay tribute to Sally Burnell, the Political Assistant to the Liberal Democrat group on Southwark Council, who announced her departure last week to go and work with a worthy and socially valued charity.

As a rookie member of the Council Group (Local Party Chairs are awarded that status in Southwark), and as someone who had never paid much attention to the inner workings of Southwark Council until that point, Sally was a welcome support, and made me feel that I wasn't entirely out of place. Her briefing documents have enabled me to contribute to debates in a meaningful and informed way, to the extent where the Group leadership occasionally seek my views on matters where I might have useful input (not what I would have predicted eighteen months ago).

There have been some less than enjoyable moments for her, the vitriolic and wildly inaccurate attacks from the Darbyshires, for example, and we aren't the easiest bunch of people to work with. But she has maintained a cheery visage throughout, and her talents will be missed. On the other hand, she'll still be about the place and I'm sure that her knowledge and expertise will be called upon from time to time.

So, thank you Sally, it's been a blast...

News just in: Conservatives admit mistake!

I am astonished by reports that the Conservatives have admitted that they made a bit of a cock-up of rail privatisation. They now realise that they should have gone for vertical integration of trains, track and other infrastructure, rather than breaking the system up into small pieces and making the legal profession even wealthier at my expense.

Is this the new Conservative strategy, intended to build upon the foundations of, "we're nice people, really we are, and when we've got some policies, we'll let you know."? If it is, here are some suggestions for the next phase...

1. "We're really sorry about creating such high levels of unemployment in the 1980's. We still believe that it was the right thing to do in terms of building a stronger economy, but we really didn't care about the individual lives that we destroyed. We're really sorry about that..."
2. "We're really sorry that we gave the Argentinians the impression that we didn't care about the Falklands. If we hadn't done that, we wouldn't have had to send other people's children to fight and die at Goose Green and elsewhere. Please accept our apologies...".
3. "We're sorry that we spent more than two decades undermining local government and local democracy. We only did it because we didn't want Labour councils to get in the way. But now that we run those councils and not the government, we realise the error of our ways. Please give us another chance..."
4. "We're really sorry that we spent so much time attempting to destroy both the morale and the capacity of the Civil Service. Admittedly, most of them didn't vote for us anyway, so we didn't see what we had to lose by upsetting them. Perhaps some of them might vote for us now..."

But turning back to the railways, who do I approach for a refund? The idiocy of rail privatisation (and remember, you were warned by virtually every expert in the field at the time) cost the British public an absolute fortune - just look, for example, at the profits made by the three companies who comprise the rolling stock leasing market. So, until Chris Grayling and his ever so caring sidekicks come up with a meaningful apology, they can rot in a siding for all I care (although they'll probably have to pay line rental charges on that siding so get your cheque book out, gentlemen!)...

Reflections on an outrage...

Mahim Junction is the nearest station to the Valladares manse in Mumbai, and I took this picture in early January when I was in town for a family wedding. It isn't the world's most evocative railway station, although it is an important one (you could call it Mumbai's equivalent to Clapham Junction - lots of people pass through it but most don't stop for long).

Last week, it was a scene of the latest horrific, large scale act of terrorism, as were the stations on either side at Bandra and Matunga Road, amongst others.

Ironically, Mahim itself is one of those multi-cultural parts of the city with a sizeable Catholic population (my grandmother is buried behind St Michael's Church there), plus a visible Muslim community. There has been tension in the past, especially when the city government was run by Shiv Sena, a rather ghastly Hindu nationalist, pro-Marathi party, whose greatest wish would be to make the city 'safe for Marathis'. Every incidence of terrorism, regardless of where it was, or who was to blame, was an excuse to ratchet up inter-communal tensions.

I fear that this outrage will lead to more incidents of violence, which is exactly what the terrorists on one side, and the extremists on the other, want. And, caught in the middle, will be the Catholic community.

The Western Railway is a part of my Mumbai, and I use it whenever I'm in the city, travelling to visit my family, or to go shopping in the Fort area. In fact, my Uncle Ritchie and Aunt Vanessa live in an apartment which overlooks the railway tracks. As a child, I used to look out of the window and watch the trains go past. So it's particularly horrible to think of the carnage that would have been caused on trains packed like sardines next to crowded platforms full of women, children and all of the other innocents who were simply trying to get home on a midweek evening.

There continue to be concerns about the response time of the emergency services here in London after last year's attacks. We have all of the modern equipment, trauma support, a free health care system and the means to get people to a place of safety quickly. Healthcare is less easily accessible in Mumbai, the roads are congested, support services limited. And yet Mumbaikars will somehow pick themselves up, dust themselves off, and carry on. Perhaps we should remember that the next time we complain about the supposed insufficiencies of our emergency services, and realise how lucky we are to have them at all...

Paper, paper everywhere and not a drop to drink...

It has been a week of meetings, meetings and more meetings. And with that comes paper, reports, accounts, briefing notes, minutes, all of which really ought to be read, digested and responded to. There are never enough minutes in the day to do so and you end up skimming through them in the naive hope that you've gleaned enough detail to be able to comment intelligently if called upon to do so.

And yet, this is better than the alternative, turning up at a meeting where you are inundated with verbal reports which, for the most part, tend towards a rambling discourse on whatever is on the mind of the speaker at the time, and not necessarily the things you need, or want, to hear about.

So I was quite pleased that, for the first time since I became Regional Secretary eighteen months ago, every Officer actually wrote, and circulated, a written report for the Executive to consider. It wasn't the easiest of meetings, as a number of fairly controversial issues had arisen, but I did feel that we were able to have a meaningful debate of the aspects of the problems and, compared to some of our past meetings, which have run much longer to far less effect, it was quite enjoyable.

So, I now have minutes to write, plus action points and a diary to update. Just another weekend in the life of a bureaucrat...

The dark romanticism of bureaucracy

It was always my ambition in life to be the dark, brooding romantic type and, although it often surprises people, I achieved it in a way that I might never have expected.

Romanticism and bureaucracy are not words that are immediately associated by many and yet, I have become a slightly unstable combination of the two. Tonight, I am crouched in front of the keyboard in a room lit only by the flickering light of a candle, catching up on my Regional paperwork to the strains of Johann Sebastian Bach's Fantasy and Fugue in G minor (BWV542 for the Bach scholars amongst you).

Bureaucracy has become my passion, and occasionally an all-encompassing one, which coupled with an old-fashioned sense of honour and a broad streak of Catholic guilt, occasionally leads me to do things that I might regret (last year's resignation drama was one of them...).

On the other hand, being a bureaucrat in politics give you a leeway that few others get. There is little competition for such roles and, as long as things get done, even the most eccentric are left alone to get on with things (heaven forbid that a campaigner should get involved with administrative stuff - doesn't win any votes, does it?).

So perhaps it is time to let loose the latin in me (where did you think the name came from?) and fight beneath the blood-soaked banners of good administration, old-fashioned courtesies and free trade liberalism. I always fancied the uniform of an early nineteenth-century Austrian cavalry officer (although the balls, music and diplomatic intrigue would probably have been even more fun) and, even if I can't have one, it might be fun to behave as though I was wearing one.

To sleep, perchance to dream, and tomorrow, let there be passion!

A night out in Crystal Palace

To Bromley Highlands, aka Crystal Palace, for a night celebrating the birthday of a friend.

Jo Christie-Smith is a comparatively new addition to my circle of friends, and I met her through politics (how else?) in my role as Returning Officer to Lewisham West Liberal Democrats. My first task was to tell her that she was ineligible to stand as she remained unapproved to take part at the close of nominations, not, perhaps, the best way to start a relationship.

I pointed her in the direction of my own seat of Dulwich and West Norwood and, whilst she was unsuccessful there, she was later selected to fight Mitcham and Morden, the less salubrious half of Merton, where she fought a spirited, if terminally under-resourced, campaign. I appeared on her horizon once again as the stand-in Returning Officer, and we've stayed in touch ever since.

Barbecues are often a gamble at this time of year but this one went off smoothly enough and the conversation flowed as freely as the alcohol, helped by a remarkably catholic range of guests. I was able to relax and gently lower myself into the current and had a really good time, debating a range of adult topics, i.e. mostly not politics (life is too short!).

So, many thanks to Jo, and I trust that you will get some pleasure out of my gift, perfect for those chilly evenings in front of a roaring fire...

Running around with a pair of scissors in my hand

One of the results of the work of the Boundary Commissioners is that the boundaries of the various Local Parties change. Normally, this isn't a particularly difficult task but I've been drawn into the debate on one of London's trickier changes, the creation of the new constituency of Lewisham West and Penge, a cross-borough seat straddling the boroughs of Bromley and Lewisham, and a potentially winnable one at that.

At the moment, we have a Lewisham Borough Party, and separate Local Parties for the three current Bromley seats (Beckenham, Bromley and Chislehurst and Orpington). Lewisham members want to remain a borough-wide group and as for Bromley, much discussion is taking place as to the best future configuration. It's quite a technical debate, but it has ramifications for the different tiers of campaigning (borough, GLA and Westminster) and, if the wrong result emerges, it will be a potential setback for our campaigns over the next five years.

I seem to be have been drawn into the discussion as a potential 'honest broker', a position which, whilst I think I can deliver it, is not the role I would obviously select for myself. At least I know most of the key players and that they're all pretty sensible people. I'm bound to upset someone though...

Deep in the heart of England

A day out of the big city for English Council in England's second city, Birmingham. Typically, Virgin had chosen the weekend for major track repair so, given the similarity in journey times from Euston and Marylebone, I picked the more scenic (and slightly cheaper) route via High Wycombe and Banbury. And with the pleasant company of our Regional Policy Chair, Havard Hughes, the journey sped by, even if the train itself didn't.

A brisk but quite impressive stroll through the shopping area brought us to Victoria Square, dominated as it is by the rather grand Civic Buildings, our venue for the day. In the sunshine and with the fountain with what my friend, Grant, described as the floozie in the jacuzzi outside (there's another one of those in Dublin, but that's another story), it was a lovely day to be in the fresh air. Unfortunately, English Council was inside...

Not the most thrilling English Council ever but then, it isn't really intended to be. What it does do is give you prior warning of things that are expected to happen and will impact on you, as a Regional Officer, or Local Party Chair, or whatever. It also gives you an opportunity to challenge the hierarchy, or perhaps influence them to head in a direction that you favour.

I had arranged to meet up with an old friend from my Young Liberal days afterwards, Grant Williams, from Walsall. Grant is currently studying for his LLB (law degree) and is very likely to get it with an impressive pass. Picking me up from the meeting, we walked back through the city centre before heading to Lichfield for a leisurely afternoon of alcohol, food and conversation in the scenic surrounds for a pub just outside the city (it isn't a town, it's got a cathedral...).

Then, back to Moor Street for a late train to Marylebone and on to bed... a good day out, all in all.

Time to go, Ms Graffy

You will remember the furore caused by comments from an American diplomat suggesting that three suicides at Guantanamo Bay were "a good PR move to attract attention".

You may even remember that the diplomat in question is the Deputy Assistant Secretary of State for Public Diplomacy (oops, no that doesn't mean making crass, insensitive or tasteless remarks, but perhaps it does in the Bush Administration...). Her name is Colleen Graffy and it might be interesting to ask her if she is now planning to offer her resignation, given today's decision by the US Supreme Court, condemning the basis on which detainees have been held.

Ms Graffy isn't a career diplomat, as her biography indicates. More interesting, however, is what her biography doesn't mention, i.e. her very recent past as a senior figure within the overseas wing of the Republican Party, Republicans Abroad. Yes, she's a political appointee!

Her record in that role included some of the most idiotic defences of Dubya's policies on virtually anything, acting as an apologist for the Florida recount scandal, and alleged attempts to flirt with a range of British television news presenters.

So it's time to go, Colleen. You clearly have no grasp of your brief (it's public diplomacy, duh...) and you have no comprehension of political neutrality in public service. On the other hand, you will have persuaded some neutrals that Americans are uniformly callous and vicious (it's not true but you are one of the public faces of US foreign policy, aren't you?).

The question is, do you have any fleeting familiarity with the concept of resigning as a matter of honour? Probably not, I admit, although you had lived in England for long enough to at least be aware of it. Ah well, if there's any consolation, it is that you'll be out on your ear as long as the Democrats find a candidate who a) knows who (s)he will be when they wake up in the morning - Al Gore comes to mind - and b) has any sort of progressive, positive message at all (and don't tell me that John Kerry had one - if he did, would someone care to tell me what it was?).

Thinking of thoughts of thinking - a long weekend of American liberalism

My apologies for the lengthy gap between posts but, ironically, the hardest place to find an internet cafe is the United States...

After Las Vegas, I headed to Washington for the 59th Annual Convention of Americans for Democratic Action (ADA), where I served as a member of their Foreign and Military Policy Commission (I'm foreign and like things that go bang...). Now, I'll be the first to admit that, in ADA terms, I'm a bit of a hawk, but I tend to gauge the likely stance of the commission as a whole, and stick to matters of fact and accuracy rather than opinion. It's only if I think that I can actually win an argument that I tend to debate.

Now, the thing to bear in mind is that ADA actually describe themselves as liberal, something pretty brave given the conservative triumph in besmirching the word over two decades of relentless assault. Admittedly, it isn't necessarily liberalism as we would recognise it - they're closely connected to the union movement, tend to focus on government solutions to social problems and don't like trade agreements much - but they would be recognised as social liberals by most.

My contributions? A new policy on appropriate criteria for US military intervention overseas (multinational, supported by the United Nations or the appropriate regional body, backed with prior congressional approval and with stated objectives), the tabling of their policy on Guatemala (outdated, I believe) and the removal of their policy against NATO expansion, all quite pleasing.

ADA is a very internationalist organisation, something that we don't tend to expect from Americans, yet their foreign and military policy activists are well-travelled, well-informed and able to convey a positive image for America's place in the world. If they ever got into a position of authority, America would be far better respected in the world (so there's clearly no chance of that happening!).

One quirky feature was the venue, Gallaudet University. Gallaudet is the premier university for the deaf, so the campus is filled with young people communicating in sign language. Having spent the last five weeks in plenty of places where I don't speak, or comprehend, the language, it was strangely comforting...

A question of self-image

I couldn't leave Las Vegas without addressing an issue that has always nagged away at me, i.e. the question of self-image. This is without doubt an astonishingly shallow place and there is no pretense that it might be any other way. So, in a world of glamour and excitement, how do I see myself?

I've never really had a terribly high sense of self-image, even when I was slim and had all of my hair (and yes, both of those things were once true...). And I admit that one side effect of this trip is that I really must do something about the former when I get home (the latter, alas, is beyond redemption). However, I generally have the decency not to flaunt my lack of conditioning. Yet I find myself surrounded by people who are grossly overweight, or amazingly inappropriately dressed or, in some particularly frightening cases, both.

On the other hand, the young lady wearing a bikini top, and a rather small one at that, whom I encountered whilst drinking coffee in Luxor (the casino) looked like something out of a Beach Boys video or Baywatch. People like that, whilst very attractive to look at, make me want to hide.

Unfortunately for Americans, the population is tending towards more of the former group rather than the latter. Lest the rest of the world mock though, don't forget that the British and, more surprisingly perhaps, Australians, are racing towards mass obesity as quickly, if not more so. At least Americans and Australians actively celebrate the cult of beauty, because we British don't. Perhaps it's the climate, perhaps the sense of suspicion amongst British men in particular of anything with connotations of 'making an effort'.

Well, I've decided that it's high time that I exited the fat race, so I'm going to try and make some changes to my lifestyle. Wish me well in the months to come, I'm going to need all of the help I can get...

Viva Las Vegas?

Indeed, welcome to quite possibly the most surreal place anywhere on Earth, where the temperature peaked today at 106 degrees fahrenheit (that's 41 degrees celsius for those of you that prefer it that way).

It has to be admitted that, after the comparatively gentle charms of Luxembourg, Mumbai, Ho Chi Minh City, Seoul, Kyoto, Rotorua, Auckland and Nadi, this has all come as something of a sensory overload, especially given that, thanks to the International Date Line, I got to experience Monday night in both Nadi and Las Vegas (don't try this at home, so to speak...).

However, inspired by the view from my 26th floor window overlooking the famous Strip, I did venture out into the stifling heat to see if Sin City is as described in the brochure. The good news is that it is just as excitingly weird as they say it is, with replicas of the Eiffel Tower and the Sphinx, an entire hotel and casino decorated in the style of a medieval English castle, or New York, or ancient Egypt, if that's what you fancy.

It's also astonishingly tacky, with people trying to thrust cards into your hand bearing pictures of scantily clad and pneumatically breasted young women who want to 'entertain' you for a price (prostitution is illegal here in Clark County, Nevada, yet there are 117 pages of 'entertainers' in the local Yellow Pages!).

Of course, the main feature here is gambling. My first sight on getting off my flight at the airport was a gate lounge filled with slot machines - lots of them. I suspect that if you took them away, the terminal buildings could be two-thirds of their current size and still handle the passengers that flood into the city. Slot machines are everywhere and if, like me, you are staying in a casino hotel (Palms, and, if you have broadband, you must see their website www.palms.com, check out the fantasy suites!), you arrive at the front entrance to be confronted by a sea of slot machines and, hidden somewhere far away, reception.

My problem is this, I don't gamble. I was trained as a mathematician (not a very good one I admit, but...) and I understand the odds, which are against me. This tends to take the fun out of it, if truth be told. What makes it worse is that the people playing slot machines always seem so miserable. They tend to look poor (as though they really can't afford to do this) and you sense that they're waiting for the miracle that never comes. It depresses the hell out of me, let me tell you...

And yet, I'm not one of those who would ban gambling, or tighten restrictions on it. If people want to gamble, they should be willing to accept the consequences of their own actions.

I have been known, on very rare occasions, to play roulette. I am possibly the world's least adventurous player, I admit, as I tend towards low stakes, high percentage choices but what can I say, I have fairly conservative personal morals (and yet I'm very liberal in terms of the moral values I apply towards others, go figure...).

But for now, I must leave you in order to prowl the night and, more importantly, grab a bite to eat...

Another gorgeous day in the South Seas

Welcome to Nadi, where I'm taking time out from my busy schedule of sunbathing, reading, drinking the occasional dip in the pool and drinking the odd cold beer or two to do a little light shopping and reconnect with the outside world.

Of course, I've never been terribly good at doing absolutely nothing at all. However, I have another two weeks of this booked in August so it could be looked upon as orientation. So, you see, I'm actually working very hard. You're not convinced, I can tell...

I did do a little shopping in Lautoka, buying two shirts intended to frighten or blind my fellow colleagues at the office and elsewhere, but my biggest success was to get my hair and beard cut - very short. I look reasonably good, I think. The locals were a bit surprised to see me wander in, but I slotted straight into the vital conversation taking place (England or Argentina for the World Cup?) and, for F$5, I thought I got a good deal.

Next stop, Las Vegas, where it is 106 degrees. I'm not planning to go outside unless it's absolutely necessary...

Fiji 29 Italy 18, your reporter from Churchill Park, Lautoka...

In a fascinating contest, world ranked number 12 Fiji defeated number 11 Italy in a game of two halves at a hot and humid Lautoka Park.

Despite having an 8.5 kg per man advantage in the scrum, the Fijians were unable to make significant headway due to poor technique and some gallant Italian resistance. Unfortuntely for the Azzurri, that resistance didn't extend to the rest of their display, as the Fijians ran in four first half tries, predominantly from open play, although their powerful forwards were difficult to stop in open play. In fact, if it had not been for a number of sloppy handling errors, it would have been easily imaginable for the Fijians to have gone in at half time much further clear than the 29-8 score already indicated. However, a sign of things to come was the fairly straightforward pushover try scored by the Italians as the first half ended.

The second half saw an alleged Fijian lack of fitness tell and the Italians quickly scored a second pushover try, converted to bring the score to 29-15. Yet, confronted with a tiring pack and with superior fitness, the Italians then insisted on attempting to run the ball, despite an almost total lack of penetration. As a result, they only managed to add a penalty before rain started to fall with about ten minutes to go and the game ended 29-18 to the Fijians, their first victory of 2006.

At that point, the heavens opened and the cheerful crowd, including your reporter, fled for cover...

Help! Am trapped in paradise!

Welcome to Lautoka, here in north-western Fiji. Finally, relaxation has been forced upon me but I thought that I should take time out to report in.

Fiji is warm, friendly and, above all else, slow. Very slow. Slow enough to be vaguely irritating if you let it. On the other hand, if like me you are desperately in need of rest and relaxation, this is an excellent place to be.

This is my fourth day and I have finally ventured out of the resort and around the coast a bit. The reason? International sport, as the Fijians are taking on Italy at rugby union. I sense that the Italians have got their summer tour right. England went to Australia, where it's winter, and got slaughtered. Ireland came to New Zealand, where it's even colder, and got beaten. Scotland went to South Africa, and Wales to Argentina, and they both lost too. Lautoka is a much better option, especially as the Italians actually have a chance of winning.

Otherwise, I've spent time by the pool, drinking the occasional beer and writing my memoirs, as well as planning for the next six months. I've also been practicing for Mauritius in August. Trust me, lying on your back in a beach resort takes real preparation. There are so many things to think about, such as what footwear to bring, what books to read, what music to download into the MP3 player and what excursions to organise.

The next stop is Las Vegas, where I have thirty-nine hours to get over the jetlag, work out which way is up, and explore the bright lights of the big city. Could be fun! More news as we have it...

Blown away in the City of Sails

I woke up this morning and sleepily grabbed the television controls to catch the end of the Angola vs. Portugal game. Nothing happened. I pushed the button again. Still nothing. And then I noticed that the clock in my room was flashing 12:10. I can't have overslept that badly, can I? Look out of the window, rain is blowing sideways against the glass and the wind is gusting at speeds above 60 mph... and I'm on the 27th floor...

Ring reception. "Oh yes, Mr Valladares, there's just been a city wide power failure. We've turned the generators on but nothing else will work until the problem is fixed." Oh, that's alright then. And everyhting is still down, except, curiously, this computer.

Rotorua was as much fun as I suspected it would be. I had my day at the spa (twice), enjoying a mud wrap on Thursday and a pumice exfoliation/Aix massage on Friday, followed by a lazy soak in the thermal pools. Having discovered the joy of spa, I'm amazed that women got away with keeping this secret for so long. What could be better than being mindlessly pampered for a few hours (and no, that isn't intended to be a challenge!)?

Saturday saw me at the top of the zorb slope and I now have a DVD of my first two rolls (isn't technology wonderful?). I really have got a taste for zorbing and would recommend it to virtually anyone. Check out www.zorb.com for more information...

Yesterday was a travel day and I made it safely to Auckland, got to the hotel and snagged an upgrade to the Crowne Plaza Club floor (free continental breakfast, free computer access, free drinks and nibbles in the evening...). But, yet again, I find myself sharing the hotel with rugby players. Last year, the Wests Tigers rugby league team were staying here, led by their star player, Benji Marshall. He's not very big, but when you see him in lycra, you understand why he's so popular (if you know what I mean). What there is is all muscle and he's certainly powerful for his size.

This time, the hotel is inhabited by the Irish rugby union squad, fresh from their 34-23 defeat by the All Blacks in Hamilton. Their scrum was pushed all over the park by the men in black in that game, but they pluckily fought for the full eighty minutes. I don't hold out a lot of hope for them in the second game though.

Finally, I got to meet the newest member of the Valladares family, Georgia, who is just 37 days old. She's kind of cute in a "small baby, can't tell who she takes after yet" sort of way. I'll add some pictures at some point...

Sometimes, a layover is a good thing...

I have to admit that I wasn't looking forward to the latest leg of my journey, Osaka to Rotorua via Tokyo and Auckland. With a 4.30 a.m. start, a nine hour layover in Tokyo and a four hour layover in Auckland, it didn't seem very promising...

But what of Kyoto? Well, I'm not a great temple person, it seems. They're all very pretty but I get greater pleasure out of feeding the koi (carp, and big ones too...) than out of the temples themselves. In the end, I took a day trip to Nara to visit the world's biggest wooden structure - coincidentally, a temple, I admit - with the most enormous statue of Buddha. I also took the opportunity to feed some of the national treasures wandering around the grounds.

Yes, the big thing to do is to feed the deer. Special biscuits are baked and sold to visitors, who then feed the deer. Watching Japanese schoolgirls squeal as they are assailed by hungry deer is quite amusing but these creatures mean business and will take a bite at your trousers if you aren't being sufficiently attentive. They are cute though...

I also got some shopping done. Two of my favourite stores are Muji and Uniqlo, both of which are ludicrously expensive at home. Not in Kyoto, they aren't. So I have some useful things to bring home with me.

Anyway, back to the journey. I got to Tokyo easily enough but what to do? I decided to go to Chiba by train and arrived to find quite a decent sized city. Best of all, it has a monorail, and not just a silly little thing to serve the central city area but a real commuter line. Well, I had to go for a ride, didn't I? I managed to fill about six hours, what with getting there and back by train, lunch and some browsing in local shops.

And now, here I am in Auckland, awaiting my connecting flight. I've grabbed a shower, some decent snack food and a very decent glass of sauvignon blanc (Koru Club lounges are wonderful) and feel like a human being - again.

The next stage is a relaxing one, with my annual day at the spa and another chance to go zorbing. Should be fun...

Once is unfortunate, but three times?

The recent accusations that an American unit massacred a group of twenty-four innocent civilians in the Iraqi town of Haditha have come to the forefront due to the actions of US Congressman Jon Murtha from Pennsylvania. Murtha is a Democrat but, more importantly, he is a distinguished veteran and something of a hawk.

Normally, you would expect the Bush Administration to repeat its standard tactic of playing the man not the ball but in this instance, the evidence now appears overwhelming. A Pentagon official, commenting anonymously, confirmed that an initial investigation found evidence that Marines had killed the civilians and that forensic reports of bullet wounds contradict the troops' statement that fifteen of the dead were killed by an insurgent bomb.

Parallels with the infamous 1968 My Lai massacre in Vietnam are unavoidable and if there are any neutrals in America on the subject of the Iraq war, I imagine that many of them will be making their minds up now. Of course, I had a close up look at that a few days ago in Ho Chi Minh City and now I find that there is a third incident, one that took place in a small Korean town called No Gun Ri in 1951, which is still being denied by the United States despite growing evidence.

It is not denied that a number of Korean civilians were shot dead as they approached a part of the frontline defended by the 7th US Cavalry Division. The official explanation was that panicked soldiers opened fire for fear that the approaching civilians could conceal enemy troops. And yet, veterans of the 7th US Cavalry Division claim that they were simply following orders to fire on refugees.

The issue has rumbled on and in 2001, the Pentagon issued a report which concluded that the shooting of Korean refugees was "not a deliberate killing". Unfortunately, amongst the microfilms reviewed as part of the process of producing that report, there now emerges a copy of a letter from the then US Ambassador to South Korea, John J Murcio, to Assistant Secretary of State Dean Rusk, stating that "refugees will be shot" if they advance towards American soldiers. Murcio said that he was informing Rusk "in view of the possibility of repercussions in the United States" from the implementation of the policy. Clearly, he thought that the policy was wrong, even if others didn't.

So, a coverup? Shoddy research? A combination of the two? Maybe, but it doesn't show up the US military in a good light and this in a country which is one of the most loyal allies the United States has...

Me, my friends and I on happiness

One of the problems with travelling alone is that it can be a bit isolating. I have to admit that the ability to turn to someone you care about and say, "isn't that X?", is an important one. And so, gentle reader, you'll have to stand in today.

Today, I thought that I would go to the zoo, here in Seoul. I'm rather fond of zoos, as I'm rather fond of animals. And whilst it was warm (about 29 degrees), it seemed like a good idea (for reference, I visited the zoo in Louisville, Kentucky on a day when it was minus 18 degrees celsius so my dedication is unquestionable).

What I didn't expect was that the zoo at Seoul Grand Park is rather "audience participation" in nature. The first picture is of my new friend, whose name I can't pronounce (it's Korean). He appeared unexpectedly with his keeper and, given that I'd gone all the way to malayan Borneo to see his relatives in the wild, how could I resist? As a cat owner, I know that the best way to make friends with an animal is to offer a hand very slowly so that the animal can respond. My new friend reached out, and held my hand, and then stroked my fur. So I stroked his and we spent a few moments bonding. Orangutans are such gentle creatures and it saddens me that their prospects in the wild are, frankly, rather grim. They have fingernails and long, delicate fingers and it was one of the most fun things I have done in many years.

I then went on to do something that I might never have done in the past. My next friend is an albino Burmese python, and I'd like to thank the keeper who kindly asked me if I had a camera so that he could take this shot. Isn't he cute?

Next, I found myself in a queue, being passed a plastic glove and, eventually, a whole fish (quite an attractive one, as a matter of fact), which I was encouraged to toss to a waiting sealion. Now, of course, I'm an expert in this particular art, knowing that you must toss the fish head first, as it is easier to swallow that way. Naturally, I spotted my sealion and tossed the fish straight down her throat. Gooooaaaaallll, Valladares!

Finally, I found myself at the elk enclosure, and encountered a friendly creature. It would seem that, having passed the giraffe taste test, elks find me quite palatable too, as my hand was thoroughly tasted by my elk friend, much to the amusement of the watching Koreans.

Being a foreigner in Korea is a bit like being a zoo exhibit. Small children wave and smile at you (and of course, I smile and wave back), and school children try to test their English out on you. Years of experience in India make it rather easier for me but I could imagine it being a bit daunting for a first time visitor.

And so, back to my hotel room, which has a computer in it, thus allowing me to post these pictures.

A report from the deep end

Gosh, when it rains here, it really means it.

For the second successive day, my sightseeing has been ended by the onset of a violent electrical storm and an attempt by the Mekong to reclaim these parts from the air. So I've retreated to the hotel for a workout followed by massage (no sniggering at the back, a real spa massage...).

Unfortunately, the Reunification Palace was closed today, due to the APEC (Asia Pacific

Economic Co-operation) meeting taking place here, with the Americans in attendance. I did get to the War Remnants Museum, which is quite dramatic.

Ho Chi Minh City also has an excellent post office (very French influenced) and quite a nice cathedral.

Must dash now though, next report will be from Seoul (probably)!

Who wants to be a millionaire? Looks like I have no choice...

Much to my own personal surprise, I find myself a millionaire today.

There are more than 30,000 Vietnamese Dong to the Pound so, on arrival, I hit the first ATM I found (for those of you planning on visiting Ho Chi Minh City, there are two at the airport and both accept Abbey-issued VISA ATM cards) and withdrew 2,000,000 Dong, in crisp 50,000 Dong notes.

So, what do I think of Vietnam so far? Travelling in the city is like being surrounded by a swarm of bees, with the buzzing of mopeds and 125cc motorcycles everywhere you go. Crossing the street is like crossing the start of a race, with ranks of riders waiting to surge away as soon as the light changes in their favour.

It's very humid here, with humidity at about 80% and when it rains, it takes it very seriously, with torrential downpours and fabulously explosive electrical storms. I sat one out drinking draught stout in the ubiquitous Irish bar, Sheridan's.

One of the quirky features of the city are xe om, which are motorcycle taxis. You don't need to flag them down, as there seem to be thousands across the city, eager to take you wherever you want to go (for a price, naturally!). Having spent four days in Mumbai riding around on the back of my uncle's bike, I wasn't terribly tempted but if the price of a taxi is anything to go by (13,000 Dong pick-up and 7-8,000 Dong per km thereafter), they're probably very cheap. Don't worry, they'll find you long before you start looking for them.

Ho Chi Minh City is a mix of free market vibrance and old-fashioned control economy. I found myself in a coffee bar which would look entirely at home in New York or London, with baristas, iced coffee and wifi access. Young people with laptops and western clothes wandered in and out, presumably discussing the sorts of things that young people discuss everywhere (unfortunately, I don't speak Vietnamese).

There is a stock exchange and you can read the overseas press, watch foreign television and unless you checked your passport for the visa which is headed 'Socialist Republic of Vietnam', you wouldn't really guess that you were in a notionally communist country.

I am certainly intrigued enough to want to come back for a real explore and, if you want to find out what a modern communist state looks like, this would be an excellent place to start. But don't delay too much, I can't imagine that it will stay like this for long...

Good afternoon, Vietnam

So, here I am and boy, is it sticky? Walking out of the airport terminal was like walking into an outdoor sauna but, thanks to my prescience in arranging for a car to deliver me safely to the hotel, I was able to get to a place of sanctuary quite quickly.

My first impression is that Ho Chi Minh City is quite a lot like Mumbai, lots of people, lots of mopeds and small engined motorcycles. I'm looking forward to an explore this afternoon so, rather than rattle on any further, I'm off for a closer look at the Socialist Republic of Vietnam...

Taking protest to a different level

Curiously, given my thoughts on quotas in the past, the big issue in India in recent days has been the decision of the Government to guarantee 27% of university places to OBC (Other Backward Castes) students.

This attempt at blatant positive discrimination is entirely consistent with existing policy but the fear now is that, once the various quotas are accounted for, there are insufficient places left for children from India's increasingly large, urban middle class.

So the protests have begun and, for any student union politicians who might be reading this, you ought to realise that you are so far behind in terms of commitment that it might make you wonder why you bother.

To start with, protesting students have produced banners written in their own blood (yes, I did say blood, and I've seen the photographs) and then progressed to hunger strikes. One group have even approached the President to seek permission to be allowed to die! Given that I am opposed to quotas, you might not be surprised to hear that I am broadly supportive of their stance, if not their methods.

If a government is truly committed to improving take up rates for currently disadvantaged groups, they have to give them the means to compete. It must be accepted that for a nation like India, this is more than normally difficult, and it does clash with the country's bascially socialist ethos. But I can't help feeling that the knowledge that my doctor had earned his place because of who his parents were rather than because of his scholastic merit might lead me to seek a second opinion...

Oh yes, and for the benefit of one of my readers, Harley Davidson are looking to start sales of their estimable products in India. Should be interesting...

It ain't 'arf hot, Mum!

It's 93 degrees, humidity is at about 70%, and I'm sheltering in an internet cafe near Eagle's Nest, the family manse here in Mahim, one of Mumbai's now inner suburbs - it's entirely relative, I know.

Having conquered my jetlag, I ventured into the city by bus to do a little shopping and to reacquaint myself with the sort of conditions that will be commonplace on this part of my journey (Vietnam will be very similar). The traffic was surprisingly free-flowing (if England's midfield is equally uncongested, we've got a chance) and I made very good time.

Mumbai is still one of the most vibrant cities I've ever visited, full of life, cattle, noise and street drama, and it is good to be 'home'. The next few days will be a whirl of family, and it's nice to be surrounded by familiar faces for part of this trip.

Tomorrow, I'll be hoping to rediscover the days of the colonial Raj, so more news then...