A bureaucrat wanders on...

So, we're now twenty-one days in to this walking thing and, so far, so good. I've managed my 10,000 steps every day, and am averaging over 11,000 (just in case, you understand).

Today, I walked to our nearest supermarket which, given that we are in the countryside, is a gentle half-hour stroll across the fields, along Mill Lane, over the A1120 into Creeting Road East, before cutting through part of the Cedars Park estate to arrive at our local branch of Tesco. In the sunshine, and with some villanelle to listen to on the headphones, it was reassuringly pleasant.

I didn't need much, the Sunday newspaper, a loaf of bread, some ham and some cheese for the week, and it wasn't long before I was heading back.

The funny thing is, this is becoming vaguely habit-forming. I've taken to arriving a little earlier for my train in the morning and using the time to walk up and down the platform. I perambulate around my village in the evening after work if I'm a little short on my steps (it's about 2,000 steps if you walk in a T-shape to each of the three edges of the village). And, of course, Ros is being very supportive.

So, the bureaucrat wanders on. I'll be tidying my wardrobes next...

Are we replacing management of people (which is difficult) by management of production units (which is easier)?

I was talking to someone I know (who will remain nameless) about the increasing bureaucratization of their job (which I won't specify) and it began to dawn on me that they experience similar problems to those that I have in my corner of the world, and it got me thinking - are we dumbing down the management of public services in particular to a point where we have lost control of the impact of the delivery of those services on those most affected by them?

When I started my career, at a point when the computerization of services was still a radical prospect, I was trained in the key aspects of my job in a classroom environment, alongside similar people, and was then encouraged to deliver those services, using my discretion to judge how best they could be delivered, with an element of sampling to check that the outcomes I was delivering were in accordance with a) the law (and we were pretty hot on that) and b) the quantity and timeliness of the delivery.

Yes, the quality of the management data wasn't very high, but what that meant was that, if you were a manager, you really needed to work closely with your staff to get the best out of them, passing on your experience, supporting them when you needed to, training them when new situations arose.

The main concern of central management was to make sure that you answered the post within a reasonable time and that all the required jobs got done. How that was managed was not so important, in that the outcome was what mattered.

Over time, that has changed, to the point where how things are done is more important than the outcome, and the importance of measurable results has become heightened. In short, a 'tick box' culture has taken over, with process mapping and standardized instructions replacing discretion and personalized risk assessing. As long as you have carried out the specified actions in the specified order at the appropriate time, the failure to achieve an outcome which might be defined as desirable is entirely excusable. The fact that, in doing so, you might have missed something otherwise obvious, or delivered a sub-optimal result, is therefore less of a personal problem than it should be - "I've done everything that I was supposed to do, so how can this be my fault?"

Individual contributors (and there's a depersonalized piece of management jargon that deserves putting down) quickly learn that a key part of their job is to document that they have carried out the specified actions in the specified manner and their process becomes almost mechanized. Fine when you're manufacturing widgets, perhaps not so good when you're a social worker, or any number of professional roles in the public sector dealing with vulnerable people.

So, why do this? Well, if you assume that the best of any cohort have highly developed informal systems to ensure that tasks get done, based on the experience gleaned over time, informal risk assessment and innate ability, you still have to deal with the rest. And the catch is that individualized management of people is difficult. They're all different, for one thing, with a spectrum of personalities, motivations, intellect and circumstances. So, it might be easier to design a process and make everyone do it the same. That way, you ensure that everyone should reach the same basic level of capability, thus protecting you from risk in the event that something goes wrong.

And, if you have a group of people who just aren't much good, this is easier than training them one on one, or disciplining them if they are genuinely irredeemable (and some people just aren't equipped to do the job they currently have). The problem is, the organisational scaffolding that supports your weakest links serves to constrain your high-flyers - they have to fill in the same forms, record the same activities, even if they do nothing to improve performance or enable greater output.

Worse still, by imposing such a straitjacket on your brightest and best, you tell them that, despite their apparent ability, you don't really trust them. You also deprofessionalize your people, because if all they're doing is following a process, they will know that virtually anyone can do that with enough practice.

The outcome? A public sector which loses the ability to apply discretion when it would achieve better outcomes than those resulting from a slavish adherence to process, a deskilling of those who deliver the services that grease the wheels of society and a steady deterioration of the human link between government and those it is supposed to serve.

You'll pardon me for saying this, but I can't help but feel that none of those outcomes are intended for delivery. But then again, I am a rather liberal bureaucrat... 

ALDE Party delegation - squeezing fifteen into six is just as difficult as it looks...

Following our not so glorious General Election result (think Charge of the Light Brigade but without the same level of survivors...), the Party has had to do a lot of thinking about what next and how. This, naturally, is way above my pay grade as a Local Party Treasurer. However, it has had effects that most members wouldn't see, and just as many probably won't care much about. As a member of the International Relations Committee though, I am suddenly confronted with one of them.

You see, our right to delegates on the ALDE Party Council and to its Congress are linked to the number of votes obtained at the most recent General Election, and the loss of votes has had a deleterious effect on our numbers, down from fifteen to six on Council, and from sixty-two to thirty-two at Congress. Luckily, we don't elect our Congress delegation. Unfortunately, we do directly elect our Council delegation, or at least, eight members of it. Our dilemma might be beginning to dawn on some readers...

In 2014, we elected eight members of the Council delegation through a vote of Federal Conference delegates and, most generously, enough of you voted for me to enable me to serve a third term. To complicate matters, none of them was the Chair of the International Relations Committee, who represents the Federal Executive on our delegation, and who really ought to be there.

The other seven places are nominated by the three State Parties, Federal Policy Committee and the Liberal Democrat European Group (LDEG) - somewhat helpfully, the State Parties all failed to nominate anyone.

And so, a resolution of this problem is required and, in a fit of enthusiasm, I volunteered to draw up a paper for International Relations Committee to discuss and, hopefully, adopt.

This is proving somewhat harder than I expected. Balancing gender, ethnicity (and yes, I fully intend to do that) and the State Parties is a challenge, but how do you address the historic role of Federal Policy Committee, or include the Party President, or ensure that the delegations aren't London-centric?

So, with the next meeting of the International Relations Committee approaching fast, I can see how my afternoon is going to look... 

And I would walk ten thousand steps, and I would walk ten thousand more...

Alright, so I've taken to the 'walking around with vague purpose' thing, courtesy of my Fitbit app, and yesterday encountered my first obstacle. The lifts in my office building failed on Thursday afternoon, and whilst walking downstairs is alright, if surprisingly hard on the knees, walking up to the ninth floor is a mite tough for those of us of a more walrusish figure.

I made it up there to start work, but with the lifts still out of order at lunchtime, the prospect of my regular early afternoon stroll was, how might I put it, uninviting. But needs must, and one shouldn't balk at the first fence, so I bravely plodded downstairs and walked around Ipswich at a modestly brisk pace.

Returning to the office, the lifts still weren't working, so I dragged my weary body back up nine flights of stairs, without stopping for breath and emerged triumphantly, if in need of oxygen, at the ninth floor landing, slightly pleased with myself.

But, another 'ten thousand step' day had been safely completed, and all was well...

Today offered a slightly different challenge, however, in that Ros had agreed to go to Bottisham, in East Cambridgeshire, to support our team there in their by-election campaign. As I am not allowed to actively campaign, I left Ros to do some canvassing and instead went for a nice stroll around the village. It's quite a large one, and so I was able to cover quite some distance, stopping occasionally to admire the architecture.

And so, a thirteenth consecutive day with ten thousand steps in has been negotiated. Apparently, I have now walked as far as emperor penguins do when heading for their breeding grounds...

A gentle stroll in a soggy countryside...

Not even my best friends would suggest that exercise and I have an ongoing relationship. I am mostly deskbound in the workplace, and whilst I have occasionally taken to gyms at moments of wild enthusiasm, such activity is usually short-lived, sporadic or both.

However, needs must, and as I aspire to travelling the world in my eighties, drinking the occasional gin and tonic in exotic, faraway places, it has gradually dawned on me that, in my early-fifties, it might be wise to improve the odds that I will make it that far in a state that allows me to get on the aeroplane.

The catch? I still hate gyms, filled as they mostly are by people who are younger, fitter and have a taste in music that bemuses me at best, irritates at worst. Is it really necessary to play endless club/dance music by artists that I've never heard of? Apparently, in Ipswich at least, it is.

Fortunately, I live in the countryside, surrounded by gently rolling landscape, with nothing more threatening than the odd low-flying pheasant. And, on a sunny day, there is little finer than the walk north out of the village along Creeting Lane towards Stowupland. And so, I've taken to going for walks, with the intention to accumulate at least ten thousand steps a day. During the week, I walk around the centre of Ipswich, carrying out routine tasks like banking, buying groceries or making small, but necessary, purchases.

When it's dry, this is fine. But on a day like today, with driving, cold rain, and a log fire to sit in front of, it is very tempting to put the steps off to another day. And, knowing my levels of willpower and focus, once I get into the habit of deferring the walk, it probably won't happen and bang goes another good intention.

And so, with Ros off on a family errand, I steeled myself to go out into the rain and wind. The wind was a southerly, which at least meant that the rain was at my back as I headed towards Hammond's Corner (no, I have no idea why it's called Hammond's Corner, I just know that it is...). It wasn't too bad... really. Turning for home was another matter, however. But in my sensible jacket and cloth cap, I was sufficiently protected from the elements and beat my way back to the village.

Strangely enough, it is quite satisfying to have overcome my natural inertia and achieved the day's goal (11,829 steps as I type this), and perhaps I might stick to this long enough for it to become habit forming...

Yemen: a chance for us to do some good in the world?

Whilst the West is obsessed with the 'Syria problem' and the rise of Islamic State (or whatever we're calling it this week), elsewhere an equally appalling slaughter of innocents is taking place.

Yemen has been a cauldron for decades, sometimes simmering relatively gently, then bubbling fiercely, but mostly beyond the gaze of outsiders unless its a slow news day, or a particularly noticeable atrocity is carried out. Marxists versus the rest when it was North and South Yemen, tribe against tribe, Yemen offers a kaleidoscope of opportunities for those seeking to forment uprisings against the administration of the day. As Captain Carrot said of Klatch, in Terry Pratchett's 'Jingo', Yemen isn't so much a country as an argument.

But, it now offers another outlet in the struggle between Iran and Saudi Arabia for dominance in the region, resulting in a pretty one-sided war of annihilation between the rebel Houthis and the Saudis, whereby the Saudis bring death from the skies upon a population with no means of fighting back. And nobody appears to do anything to stop them...

So far, there hasn't been an outpouring of refugees similar to that from Syria, mostly because there aren't many options for escape. Crossing the seas off the southern coast means dodging Somali pirates who still operate in those waters, with the likelihood of landing somewhere not very stable even if you make it - Eritrea or Somalia, anyone?

As a result, there doesn't appear to much impetus to do anything. And yet, people are dying in droves. So, why doesn't the United Kingdom, or the European Union, do more to restrict the suffering of the Yemeni people? Sponsorship of a conference to bring together the different parties, calls for a cessation of aerial bombing, a United Nations resolution, something that might give the people some respite?

We're a Permanent Member of the United Nations Security Council, the European Union aspires to a role in world diplomacy. Yemen might be a good place to use that to some effect...

Thoughts from the Train - public versus private?

I spend quite a lot of time on trains, some of it entirely voluntarily. After all, I like trains. Berlin to Bratislava, Brussels to Copenhagen, Stuttgart to Zagreb are just three of the journeys I've made in recent years. And, when Ros was Party President, we spent a lot of time on trains. So, I do understand a bit about our railway system, and about how other ones work.

And, as my own local franchise is currently in the bidding phase, it is of keen interest to me how the system works.

So, as we're in that week, once a year, when fares go up and people grouse about it, the claim is that the best solution is to renationalise the whole system (as proposed by Jeremy Corbyn and the Labour Party), either piecemeal, by not renewing franchises when they expire, or as a 'big bang'. Frankly, the 'big bang' option is a financial absurdity, so it isn't worth serious consideration.

Curiously, I find myself in a position where I don't really care who runs the trains. What I care about is the level of service and affordability, not the label on the train. So, what are the pros and cons of the current system?

On the plus side, once a franchise is granted, government can't interfere too much. A contract to supply a certain level of services is agreed, and it is up to the train operating company to meet that requirement within the financial package offered at the time of the bid. If subsidy is needed and thought desirable, then the government provides it. If the service is expected to be profitable, then government receives a share of the expected profit. So far, so good. The operating company has an incentive to do better than that, either by attracting extra custom above and beyond that predicted in the initial tendering process, or by charging more.

The trick is getting the franchise agreement right, which tends to be where government falls down. When National Express walked away from the East Anglian franchise, having made a thoroughly awful job of it, they were able to do so on rather beneficial terms due to the weaknesses of the agreement. Frankly, I would have barred them from even bidding for a franchise for at least a decade, but then I haven't forgiven them for stealing my breakfast service...

On the down side, fares have gone up faster than inflation, primarily because government deliberately allowed them to, and capacity hasn't kept up with demand on a number of routes, partly because the train operating companies have to rent rolling stock, rather than own it themselves.

Railway historians will tell you that government ownership is not, in itself, a panacea. One of the things that caused British Rail to perform so badly was the fact that, in government hands, the temptation was to interfere, to cheesepare, to meddle in the proper running of a railway for reasons of politics rather than efficiency or demand. Throughout the fifties, sixties and seventies, our nationalised railway became something of a joke, one that was only really funny if you didn't have to use it. Politicians denied the railway the funds it needed to renew by restricting fare increases in the search for popularity whilst failing to provide alternative funds to allow investment in infrastructure, rolling stock and services.

It need not be so, and I'm sure that those who call for renationalisation have only the best of intentions. But government isn't generally very good at running things where the customer has a choice. We don't approve of paying the sort of salary to someone in the public sector that they could earn in the private one, thus we don't necessarily attract the best people. Innovation and responsiveness to customer demand tend to be sluggish as the various levels of decision-making have to be gone through. And, in truth, if you're going to cut budgets as this government is doing, the temptation to substitute public support with higher ticket prices is awfully tempting, especially if you've promised to ringfence other spending areas.

In my view, sensitive franchise agreements is the key. Incentivise the train operating companies to increase passenger numbers and split the resultant profits, link infrastructure investment to regional policy (assuming, of course, that you have one of those as opposed to a phrase to be repeated when you need to convince people that you care, even if you don't much). Next, allow local government or public bodies to bid for franchises too. If they can do it better, they should be allowed to. And, ultimately, Government shouldn't be afraid to run a franchise itself, if that is the best option.

And one other thing. The Government should be pushing for an opening up of the railway market across Europe. If State-run and controlled entities such as Nederlandse Spoorwagen (Abellio) or Deutsche Bahn (Arriva) can run trains here, we should be able to run services there on an equal basis. There should be a genuine market in providing passenger services, both national and international.

In the end though, sometimes, you just have to understand that running a service costs money, regardless of where that money comes from. In the case of the railways, it either comes from the State, or it comes from the customer. And, if it comes from the State, it comes from the taxpayer anyway, regardless of whether or not they use the service. The question is, how efficiently can you run it, and what are you willing to pay for?

"I am top of the league, yes, I am top of the league!"

It has never happened before, and it may never happen again, but, for a few days, I have been top of the Liberal Democrat Voice Fantasy Football League. And, so that the moment is preserved for posterity, here is the proof.

Creeting Gentry FC didn't get off to a fantastic start - I wasn't paying enough any real attention to it for the first few weeks. But, since I cleared out the passengers in week six, it's been pretty much non-stop improvement. Astute use of my bench bonus in week seventeen, brought me into the challenging pack, and a fortunate choice of captain in week nineteen was the final lift I needed to go top, by a single point.

As we all know though, it doesn't matter how big a margin there is, as long as you're on the right side of it...

All I have to do now is stay there. It isn't very likely...

Simon Danczuk: a knave, or just another victim of a capricious media?

In the forty-eight hours since I posted this piece, there has been a deluge of further revelations from Simon Danczuk himself, his two ex-wives, the recipient of the text messages and miscellaneous 'passers-by'. In light of these, it is hard to retain much, indeed, any sympathy for Mr Danczuk, who appears to be a pretty repellent individual. But the principle that everyone deserves a fair trial remains a valid one, and I still believe that people who suffer from mental health issues deserve the support of their employers as far as is possible - MJV, 3 January 2016

The front page news in the Sun that Simon Danczuk, the Labour MP for Rochdale, was caught sending text messages of an unwise nature to a seventeen-year-old who had applied for a job in his office is just the latest in a series of bewildering events in the life of a man easily described as controversial.

What seems so strange about the affair is that, given his clear passion for campaigning on behalf of those abused in childhood, he should not see the contradiction in behaving as he did towards a young woman.

The Labour Party has, in suspending his membership, done the only thing that it can do, given the way an unsympathetic media treat such matters. After all, to be seen to dither on what appears to be an open and shut case leads to day after day of hostile coverage, as Liberal Democrats have learned in recent times. It merely allows 'senior figures' to comment, often unhelpfully, for or against the accused and, given that most such people rarely know how their organisations' disciplinary processes work, they mostly act to make matters worse rather than better.

However, the formal suspension out of the way, what matters next is what the Party leadership do.

Mr Danczuk appears to have been in difficulty for some time. The failure of his marriage, reported through the particularly distorting prism of the tabloid media, has been a car crash, and as both sides seem to have thought that disclosing the minutiae of their personal lives is the best policy, it has merely snowballed into the sort of reality show that entertains a particular type of audience. Let's be honest, little has changed in that sense since the era of 'penny dreadfuls' and public hangings.

At some point, it might have been better had wiser advice been given and taken to deal with the matter behind closed doors, but many of us are wiser after the event, aren't we?

He has been very honest about the impact of events on his emotional health, and perhaps he feels that, by talking about it openly, he can better face things. I have to admit that I don't think that it's working for him. But he is clearly in a bad place, because either the most recent events are a reflection of his true self, in which case he isn't fit to hold public office or, hopefully more likely, they are a symptom of his problems.

I sense that he needs support, and that is where his Party should come in. MPs in neighbouring seats can chip in with his casework, the Constituency Party leadership can help with his local office, and he can be given the time and space to sort himself out. Meanwhile, the disciplinary hearing needs to be processed quickly, fairly and tactfully, protecting those involved and punishing appropriately if punishment is due.

We had a similar experience here in mid-Suffolk with David Ruffley and his well-documented mental breakdown in 2010, and the period he took to deal with his problems was dealt with quite smoothly, albeit that his story ended badly (and deservedly).

I fear that it won't end well for Mr Danczuk, regardless of the rights and wrongs of the matter. In a political environment where weakness is ruthlessly punished, even if he turns out to have been foolish rather than something more sinister, opponents both within his Party and beyond won't hesitate to use this as a stick to beat him with.

The lesson that some might usefully learn is that people are complex, and that sometimes they fail, or are flawed. And perhaps in understanding that, and dealing with politicians as the people they are rather than as your prejudices label them, we might get a better politics.

So, welcome to 2016...

As those you who know Ros and I on Facebook may have noticed, we saw in the New Year somewhat more dressed up than usual (certainly for me, at any rate...), at the Pier at Harwich. And yes, it was very nice, and I didn't drink too much champagne, and behaved like a moderately sensible person (but not too sensible, after all, there are standards to be maintained...).

It was nice to see that a lot of people seemed to be enjoying the New Year come in too, including my far-flung family, who cover twenty-one time zones. Indeed, I spent some time this morning online with my cousin Kim, in Auckland, catching up on family affairs, which was nice too.

Apparently, New Year's Day is a day for resolutions - I will do this, won't do that, you know the drill - but I don't have any in mind this time. Given my fairly catastrophic failure rate for resolutions in the past, that's probably a good thing.

But 2016 will be a busy year, with the wedding of my stepson Jamie to his partner Bethany scheduled for the autumn, and Ros off to who knows where in her capacity as an ALDE Vice-President (I may have to accompany her, you know, because...). Work will doubtless be busy, because it should be, and even though we don't have council elections here, planning for 2017 is already underway, so there'll be more liberal democracy to do.

The new country for the year will be Lithuania, as the Spring ALDE Council meeting will take place there. That will be country number sixty in my effort to visit more countries than I have had birthdays. Compared to the likes of Jonathan Fryer, however, I am a mere amateur...

So, 2016 beckons. With a likely European referendum in the autumn, it is unlikely to be dull politically, even if the tension caused by the closeness of the polls will be unsettling, both personally and for the British economy. As an investor, albeit on a small scale, I am risk-averse for the most part. The future status of the United Kingdom within the European Union wouldn't necessarily encourage me to invest. I can only hope that I am in a minority in that respect.

Time then, to buckle up for another rollercoaster of a year. Let's just hope that the result isn't as grim for my beliefs as 2015 was...

So, Venezuela. What's it all about?...

I came, I saw, I was a bit bemused. But what did I learn?

Firstly, it is remarkably easy to drive an economy off of a cliff, especially if you're socialist and a bit paranoid. There is no doubt that it takes some flair to create such an economic mess when you have the highest level of untapped oil reserves of any country on Earth. However, in fairness to Hugo Chavez and his followers, they meant well, and given the alternative when he came to power, a corrupt administration which failed to invest in its people and oversaw huge levels of wastage, you could see the attraction.

What they failed to do was make much provision for the future, in terms of diversifying the economy and creating alternative industries. They did improve the education and healthcare systems, which most people could approve of readily. However, their focus on what the United States was doing to undermine them led them to attempt an almost imperial overreach, using their oil wealth as diplomatic leverage to little advantage, and to assume that internal opposition was entirely inspired by American foreign policy.

Yes, one cannot doubt that U.S. foreign policy did not look favourably upon the notion of a serious hemispheric player carrying out socialist policies within and beyond its borders, but in declaring an effective state of siege, some very poor decisions were taken to attempt to engineer a false market economy.

The outcome, when combined with the loss of a vast amount of income when oil prices slumped, was never likely to be pretty. Take away the ability to make profit and you remove the incentive to trade, which creates shortages, thus inflation, tending towards hyperinflation unless stabilising action happens urgently. The bolivar is, effectively, almost worthless, and remedying that has to be a first order of business for President Maduro and the opposition-led National Assembly.

It is a pity, as there is definite evidence of a spirit of entrepreneurship in Venezuelan society. The streets are filled with individual traders, selling whatever they can get hold of, or make, or add value to, mototaxis have emerged, whereby motorcyclists carry a spare helmet and will take you where you want to go for a price (petrol is highly subsidised, making such a model entirely viable). The black market thrives.

And, surprisingly, despite the obstacles that the economic crisis has thrown up, Venezuelan society is still robust. If overseas media were to be believed, the electoral system was utterly rigged in favour of the ruling government. And yet, despite the allegations, the opposition won nearly two-thirds of the votes in a system which is rather more proportional than ours in some ways (Venezuela has a top-up list system which elects some Assembly Members using the D'Hondt system), which appeared broadly reflected by the number of seats won.

I do have some fears about the newly-elected MUD coalition. It isn't a particularly right-wing reactionary force, but a key part of its coherence is underpinned by it not being the Chavistas. What unites it may not be enough to allow the development of a credible alternative policy platform.

The economy is going to be very hard to turn around unless oil prices return to levels not currently foreseen, which means some painful decisions will need to be taken to balance the books. And time is short, gold reserves are being spent fast, and there is little in the way of funds left to meet debt repayments as they arise.

It will probably mean that the good things that Chavismo wrought will wither as desperate attempts are made to turn things around, something to be regretted. Alternatively, there will need to be a significant default on the country's debts, something that will deter the inward investment that Venezuela would benefit from, if the terms are right.

The best hope is that political opponents can come together in the interests of preserving what is best about a nation which, potentially, could yet be a economic powerhouse, driving growth and development in the area bounded by the Caribbean Sea. It will be a tough task though, and I only hope that the toxicity of domestic politics can somehow be neutralised.

Venezuela Day 7: up, up and away above the city...

I had grown vaguely fond of Caracas, developing a grudging admiration for the ability of people to carry on despite all of the obstacles put in their way. Because, in all fairness, Venezuela is quite a progressive place. For example, using cable cars as a means of public transport is an imaginative solution to the issue caused by housing developments on steeply-sloped hillsides.

And the grandfather of such infrastructure lies in the northern suburbs, the teleferico. Built as part of a gondola lift system designed to carry people from the coastal town of La Guiara into Caracas and vice versa and opened in 1952, it ran successfully enough until the early 1970's, when it was closed. Subsequently, the section from Caracas to the crest of the coastal range at Ávila, was rebuilt and reopened, and is a major tourist attraction for the city.

The base station is at about 1000 metres above sea level, but the Ávila station is another 1100 metres up, 3.5 kilometres away, and it is a spectacular fifteen minute ride over the cloud forest for an astonishingly reasonable 250 Bolivars (about £1.25 at the tourist exchange rate). Even on a midweek day, it attracts caraqueños to the park at the summit, with fast food, great views and stalls to buy souvenirs, and it was nice to wander around.

Interestingly, much of the original infrastructure for the northern end, which was never refurbished, is still there, poking out from amongst the undergrowth and one does wonder if, were the funds to be available, it might ever be reinstated.

Eventually, it was time to head back down the mountain, as I had to get back to the hotel and pack for an early morning departure the next day, so I caught a gondola back down, which I was fortunate enough to have to myself.

On arrival, I decided to walk back into town, given that it was downhill, and my route took me through some of the less touristed suburbs. It never ceases to impress me how so many people are willing to do what it takes to find a way of overcoming the obstacles that a failing economy places before them, with some creative entrepreneurship sprouting up everywhere. And, for all of the alarming reports in the media, Caracas appears to be no more dangerous than a number of places I have been, at least during the hours of daylight.

And so, my trip to the City of Eternal Spring was over. I was alive and in love (with Ros). What more could a man ask for?...

Venezuela Day 6: At least they haven't eaten the elephant...

The sun was shining (again) but my mind was set on some culture, so my first item of business was a trip to the Museum of Fine Arts, reported to have a pretty good collection of modern art from across Latin America. I have to admit that I have a rather uncultivated view of such things, in that I know what I like, without necessarily being able to explain why. At least, unlike modern dance, it doesn't put me to sleep...

The Museum itself is in a rather attractive building, and although it has seen better days, the curators have made an effort to keep it up. And the art is... interesting, if not of an order that demands your attention. But, again, it is free, something that implies that, whilst President Maduro and his colleagues shouldn't be allowed to control an economy, they aren't your classic authoritarian regime.

It made for a pleasant meander, nonetheless, but my plans for the afternoon were less high culture and more populist.

Caracas Zoo is in one of the more outlying suburbs at the end of Metro Linea 2, and whilst the reviews weren't altogether positive, I do enjoy seeing animals, having visited a great many zoos over the years. And, so, after another comfortable metro ride, I found myself in Caricuao, where, a short walk away, I found the zoo entrance. Admittedly, it was a bit quiet, but admission was again free, so I wandered in.

Parts of the zoo have been colonised by wild capuchin monkeys, who seem to go where they please, and whilst the animal collection is not extensive, the facility does seem to provide an opportunity for young Venezuelan couples to spend some relatively private time together. Facilities are a bit sparse too, with limited food and drink options, although the zoo itself, and the animals in it, do seem to be well cared for.

The elephant was a bit of a surprise, and whilst it was the wrong type of elephant (African, as opposed to Asian), it seemed healthy and contented enough, as did most of the rest of the animals, even if some of the enclosures were too small.

So, all in all, a nice day out, leaving me with just one more day to survive...

Venezuela Day 5: a bureaucrat goes shopping (unsuccessfully)

It was time to take a closer look at the impact of a currency that is worth something, or not much, or nothing, depending upon your view, and so I set off on the Metro to Chacao in search of the (allegedly) fourth biggest shopping mall in Latin America.

The Sambil Mall Caracas is one of a family of shopping malls in Venezuelan cities, with further malls in Santo Domingo, Curaçao and Madrid, and it is perfectly big enough for a non-shopper like me. Actually, that's not quite true. If I'm in the right mood, I can clothes shop with the best of them, often for things that I don't really need but like. It's not common though.

The mall was rather quiet though, and a look at the goods on offer, and the prices, somewhat explained why. You see, at the black market rate, somewhere between Bs.800-900 to the dollar, things were pretty reasonable. At the SIMADI rate, available to tourists Bs.200 to the dollar, things were very expensive. At the official rate, Bs.6.3 to the dollar, prices were eye-watering.

And, in order to import anything, you need to be able to pay for the goods in foreign currency, as nobody in their right mind would accept Bolivars outside Venezuela. Admittedly, most people in Venezuela would rather take dollars or another core currency. The Nautica outlet, for example, was reduced to a few items on one small table, with three staff trying to keep themselves occupied. It was quite dispiriting.

Another difficulty is getting hold of Bolivars. The maximum amount of Bolivars that can be withdrawn using an ATM is ridiculously small and, as a result, everywhere I went, there were long queues at cash machines.

The mall also contains the local branch of the Hard Rock Cafe chain. I passed it in time for an early lunch but would have been entirely alone, not a concept I found particularly inviting.

It was time for a walk so, escaping the air conditioned comfort of Sambil, I set forth across the city, heading back towards the Sabana Grande, where my hotel was. One of the good things about Caracas is that, whilst it is warm, humidity seems quite bearable, and with my Panama hat on, dressed down, I look a bit like a mestizo, so I go unnoticed.

On the way, I popped into a more local kind of store, to find that the shelves aren't bare, but stock unexpected things. For example, panettone seemed really easy to find, yet beer seemed rather more difficult. Some items, such as bottled mineral water, are heavily price-controlled, so a bottle of water costs Bs. 3. If you want it sparkling though, it costs more like Bs. 200. Toothpaste is heavily subsidised, which came as a bit of a surprise.

It was a pleasant walk back, on a day which seemed perfectly calm, even as the outcome of the election was beginning to become apparent. And, on such a day, you can easily forget that you're in a city with such incredibly high crime levels. Unless, of course, people are worrying about you...

Venezuela Day 4: And as the band played on, how did the Sharks do?

The Opposition having won decisively, and the Chavistas having accepted the result with rather more good grace than had been predicted, it was safe(ish) to walk the streets.

I spent the morning and early afternoon visiting what is, apparently, the fourth biggest shopping mall in South America. It was, compared to El Recreo, surprisingly quiet, with some of the American brand stores somewhat lacking in stock, before walking back in the bright sunshine.

But I had plans for the evening. The only catch was that it meant going out... after dark... on foot. For the Tiburones de La Guiara were playing the Aragua Tigres not too far away. In other words, Venezuelan Winter League baseball.

A ticket cost 500 bolivars, which was good, and the stadium had beer - another plus.

After the national anthem (another of those examples where you think it's over, only for it to have another burst of life), the hosts got off to a flyer, taking a 3-0 lead in the first. The game then went scoreless until Los Angeles Angels pitching prospect, Tyler DeLoach lost his control in the fifth, hitting the first batter and walking the next two, conceding his first run of the night, compounded by an error by the second baseman which loaded the bases with just one out. A slightly fortunate dink over DeLoach's head, a firmly struck line drive to left field, and a three run lead was, almost before you knew it, a one run deficit. DeLoach was gone, and Los Tiburones had it all to do again. 

There was hope though, as the Tigers were more than just error-prone in the field. After all, their two mistakes in the first inning had been a major contribution to the Sharks three to nil lead. And so, it wasn't much of a surprise when dozy fielding allowed second base to be stolen, and an outfield error made it 5-4 Sharks. And with designated batter, Alex Cabrera, up next and with a tiring pitcher, you just knew what was going to happen next. Sure enough, a 3-2 pitch was muscled beyond the distant fence for the night's first home run. 7-4 Sharks and the band went berserk. Can we trade them for the band that follow England around?

A fifth inning that yielded eight runs split evenly, followed by an insurance run for the Sharks in the sixth, left the Tigers with it all to do.

In the seventh, a missed catch leading to a double, a wild pitch and more sloppy play by the Tigers made it 9-4, and it looked done and dusted.

That looked even more certain after three Tigers converged on a simple fly ball and in an exquisite 'after you, Juan, no, after you Cesar' moment, all failed to get a glove to it. The wild return to the catcher just put the tin lid on it - 10-4 Sharks.

And that was it. All I had to do now was walk the mean streets of Caracas to reach the safety of my hotel...

Venezuela: the Opposition wins. But by how much?

The fireworks that went off over parts of Caracas were a good sign, considering the alternative, indicating a victory for the Opposition. So, with many seats declared, where are we?

In the constituency contests, La Mesa de la Unidad Democrática (MUD) has won seventy-two seats out of ninety-six, the balance going to the ruling Partido Socialista Unido de Venezuela (PSUV). Pretty clear cut, I'd say.

In the list contest, the D'Hondt system used means that, with two seats to be won in each state, the Opposition have to get more than twice as many votes as PSUV in order to take both seats. Ironically, D'Hondt makes the result less proportionate, and MUD have won twenty-seven seats, as opposed to the PSUV's twenty-two.

There are seats for indigenous people, and whilst three have been decided, it isn't clear yet what impact they have.

So, with twenty-two results still to be declared, MUD lead by ninety-nine seats to forty-six, and a majority is theirs.

One notable outcome is the election of Venezuela's first transgender Parliamentarian, here in Caracas. Tamara Adrian was elected via the state list with 74% of the vote, as MUD swept the board, in both the list and constituency contests.

Venezuela Day 3: a nation votes, a bureaucrat takes a stroll (and a train ride)...

Polling day dawned mostly sunny and quiet which, in itself, was something given recent electoral history here. I don't have a role here - this is an entirely private trip - but thought that it might be nice to get a feel for the atmosphere.

Security was definitely heightened around the hotel, but there was a lengthy queue outside the polling station across the street from the El Recreo mall when I passed it at 11 a.m. Apparently, voters were keen to vote early in case of trouble later, but all seemed peaceful enough.

Voting started at 6 a.m. (so much for good morning leaflets then...) and ended at 6 p.m., which is sensible given the increased risk of crime during the hours of darkness. It is computerised, as is the count, so results should, theoretically, come quickly.

I was off to see the National Assembly building though, across town. After all, it did seem a pity not to take a look around. The hotel lobby appeared to have a pair of UNASUR observers in it, observing who knew what at 11 a.m. But I was on my way back to the Metro to catch Linea 1 to El Capitolio, only to find that rides were free (admittedly, the fares are so low that they might as well not charge). 

The National Assembly building is picturesque, if surprisingly unimposing, which came as a bit of a surprise. In a lot of places, Parliament is designed to impress, and given the oil wealth that Venezuela theoretically has, you might have expected a ghastly, concrete monstrosity to be built to replace the nineteenth century building. But no, the building sits nicely alongside Plaza Bolivar, with its statue of the Liberator on his horse.

It was all very calm, very tranquil, with people doing what people do on a warm Sunday morning, sitting on benches, playing with children, chatting away as if nothing particularly exciting was happening.

I walked through the quiet streets of downtown Caracas, and back to the Metro for a journey to La Rinconada, at the end of Linea 2 (still free). At La Rinconada, there is a connection to the railway line to Cúa and, as I like stations, it seemed like something to photograph.

As it turned out, the station wasn't that interesting, a new steel and glass job. However, the trains were free too, and so it was time to explore for real. The train heads southwards out of Caracas, through forests and hills, with some impressive tunnelling to enable the modern trains to make good speed up the Tuy valley. It was very pretty, green countryside.

Cúa was a bit of a surprise. The main town of Urdeneta municipality, in Miranda state, you step out of the modern station and into something that resembled the Mumbai suburbs. Actually, the not so nice Mumbai suburbs. The municipal market had that familiar smell of raw meat that could probably have benefitted from refrigeration rather than six hours at 29 degrees Celsius. It was peaceful enough though, despite being a relative bastion of support for President Maduro and the PSUV.

Time to leave, I thought.

Back in the city, things were even quieter than they had been in the morning. It was 4p.m. and the crowd outside the polling station at El Recreo had shrunk, the queue gone. I took the gentle hint and headed back to the hotel to await the results...

Venezuela Day 2: So far, still alive

It seemed that my luggage had decided that, rather than take any chances with the baggage handlers at Simon Bolivar Airport, it would prefer going to Disneyland, and had redirected to Orange County, California. I'm guessing that it now has more frequent flyer miles than I do. Nonetheless, it arrived in sufficient time so that I could start exploring.

And so, what to do in a city with the second highest murder rate in the world (allegedly)?

In fairness, Caracas is never going to be in many people's top 100 destinations. Whilst its setting is quite dramatic - a range of green-clad mountains nearly seven thousand feet high separate it from the sea just fifteen miles away - there are no 'unmissable' attractions. Personal safety is, naturally, another concern - it might be hard to relax when the fear of crime is as high as is reported.

So, I decided to go for a ride. Caracas is located in a valley, and the city has developed as in a number of Latin American cities, with houses clinging to the surrounding hills. And so, to serve some of those communities, a cable car has been built, linking the Parque Grande metro station with San Agustin.

Thus, my first interaction with Bolivarian socialism. A ticket, good for ten journeys on the Metro, costs thirty-six bolivars. At the official exchange rate, that's not bad at 36p per ticket. At the SIMADI rate, available to tourists like me, that's a penny. The State wants the people to be able to get around, and hugely subsidises the system to enable that.

Into the Metro at Plaza Venezuela I went, bought my ticket (which had no print on it - ink appears to be in short supply) and entered the system. It is popular (unsurprising, I guess) and thus very crowded, even on a Saturday. Having found my platform, the train came soon enough, and off we went. At Parque Grande, I got off, exited the station and found the cable car. Inserting my ticket into the barrier, I was surprised to see it rejected, but this is clearly a common problem, as a man in the ticket office wrote upon it and then let me through the barrier.

The cable car is very efficient, with Austrian technology, and smoothly glides up the hillside, over houses with corrugated iron roofs, to a musical accompaniment from below. Halfway, you switch cable cars and are whisked back down the hillside to... well, hard to tell really.

Time to walk, I thought, with the aim of heading in a north-easterly direction. And, on a sunny afternoon, it was pleasant enough. Across the expressway, on to Belle Artes station on the Metro (closed, which does not augur well...) before entering Los Caobos Park. At the entrance are two museums, one dedicated to the fine arts, the other to science. I opted for the latter, and was surprised to discover that admission was free. And yes, it isn't much of a museum - the building itself is worth a look - but given the state of the Government's finances, it is impressive.

Then, through the park, past a gold elephant (and why not?), before cutting diagonally back to Plaza Venezuela, along Avenue Abraham Lincoln (a main shopping street) and back to the hotel.

All in all, a rather more reassuring experience than I might have expected. Given the reporting, one might imagine that this is a country living in fear and dread, yet the atmosphere was surprisingly relaxed, given that a critical election was taking place in less than twenty-four hours.

That may be about to change though...

Venezuela Day 1: Welcome aboard the SS Gran Meliã...

One of the things about staying in good hotels is that sense that you've shut the real world out, that you have a refuge from the craziness that lies beyond its confines. It's a place to draw breath, or rest between expeditions. Really good hotels do that whilst retaining a flavour of wherever it is you are.

This, however, is Venezuela. Things are not quite the same and the outside intrudes in strange and unexpected ways.

Outside, the nearby department store has lots of Christmas decorations and children's toys, but no underwear. Whole sections are empty due to the government's stance against excessive profit - in effect, making it financially catastrophic to sell at all given the rate of inflation (0.5% per day). Accordingly, things disappear from the market, or are priced in ways that seemingly price them beyond reach of most people. For example, a bottle of mineral water costs about seven bolivars. Add gas to it, and it becomes nearer three hundred.

This is where the multiple exchange rates kick in. The official rate of exchange is 6.3 bolivars to the dollar. As a tourist, I get about 200. If, on the other hand, I am willing to take my chances on the black market, I can get upwards of 800.

So, as I said, things disappear from the shops. They may be available on the black market but, hey, I don't speak Spanish and people have a habit of dying on the streets here. But, in a good hotel, part of an international chain, no problem, right? Wrong. For example, in a country where a lot of beer is drunk, there is no beer, not even here. It's enough to drive a man to drink... ah, yes, there isn't any.

The restaurant is, how best can I put it, a bit basic, as availability dries up. There is, intriguingly, a Japanese restaurant elsewhere in the building, which I might check out at some point. And yet, the hotel staff hold things together. The fabric of the hotel is maintained somehow, the lights and lifts work, as does the wi-fi (albeit a bit erratically). The outside world is definitely washing against the hotel walls.

On the other hand, security appears to be low-key but effective - possibly linked to the fact that the government-approved election observers are staying here - and people are friendly enough.

It is, however, probably time to take a look around...