No geek
is an island

Damian Hockney, elected as a UKIP London Assembly member, has defected to Veritas. Although the new party has yet to be officially launched, Kilroy has appointed him deputy leader.

As if the Right wasn’t already split enough between UKIP and the Tories, there is now another party in the ring. This will be seriously damaging to UKIP; its effect on the Tories probably won’t be seen until the General Election.

This defection demonstrates, once again, the problem of using “closed list” proportional representation. Hockney was elected based on UKIP’s votes across London. He was positioned on the UKIP party “top-up” list by UKIP itself. Although voters would have known the names on the list (and Hockney was top), the votes were cast for UKIP. The only votes cast directly for Hockney were in the West Central constituency seat - where he came fifth.

That’s not to say he should resign his seat. He’s not required to and he wouldn’t be able to fight a by-election as he would be automatically replaced by a new UKIP assembly member. But this shows why the single transferable vote, with a choice of individual candidates rather than just party names, is still the way to go.

Tim Collins thinks young people’s lack of knowledge about British history is an “outright scandal”. He may be right, but his prescrption - to make history compulsory up to 16 (it can currently be dropped at 14) is a nonsense.

I dropped history at 14 and don’t consider myself uninformed. Certainly I know less about twentieth century history than those who took the subject to GCSE level, but the time spent not learning history wasn’t wasted: much of it was spent on physical sciences, an area in desperate need of new graduates.

“When surveys show nearly a third of all 11 to 18-year-olds think that Oliver Cromwell fought at the Battle of Hastings and when fewer than half know that Nelson’s ship at Trafalgar was called HMS Victory we have to take action.”

Again, possibly true. But since all of that was covered by the history I studied between 11 and 14 (which I understand is still pretty much the case), extending history teaching won’t help. Perhaps better teaching is needed, or for the subject to be made more accessible, but if it’s failing for 11-14-year-olds, don’t force two more years of it on GCSE students.

Which subject should I not have studied in order to take history? (Well, I’d say design and technology, but the Tories made that compulsory, grumblegrumble, so presumably they thought it more important than history.) French? Chemistry? English Literature? Music (which was probably the most rewarding)? There are only so many hours in the school week.

If it is essential that every pupil knows about the Battle of Hastings, does the same apply to the Battle of St Albans, or of Falkirk? Arguably, more knowledge of how people lived in the past, rather than lists of famous dates (”Hitler and the Henrys” as Simon Schama says), would serve young people well, but that doesn’t seem to be what Tim Collins wants.

I’m a bit of a trivia buff so I like to know the facts of battles and monarchs, but - and I hate the say this - does it really matter if a 17-year-old thinks that Cromwell fought at Hastings? They’ll look silly at a pub quiz or on Weakest Link, but is it going to make them a worse doctor or plumber or police officer or maths teacher? Or less British?

On page 3 of today’s Guardian are five doodles by celebrities and analyses of their personalities by a graphologist unaware of their identities. The names of the artists are revealed upside down at the end of the article.

I took one look at the second sketch, without reading any of the article, and identified it correctly as drawn by Charles Kennedy.

My rather weak defence is that the picture includes a David Bowie LP and CK is a Bowie fan. But the fact that I know that is incriminating in itself.

It’s Robert Burns’s birthday today so we were discussing haggis at work (including the pros and cons of Marks & Spencers microwaveable haggis). I’d never had haggis and had every intention of postponing that experience for some time to come, particularly once we had discussed the basic recipe.

Off I trotted for lunch only to discover that the topical catering service had surved up “haggis, neeps and tatties” for lunch. I took up the offer of a taste and decided I would risk it.

To begin with the haggis was quite spicy, countered suitably by the mashed potato. But I soon found myself munching more slowly and taking smaller mouthfuls. My stomach churned at this unexpected and unfamiliar meal and I kept trying to put from my mind our earlier conversation about the ingredients. It wasn’t that the taste was unpleasant, but the consistency made it hard going.

Eventually I finished it off. I didn’t get where I am today, or indeed to the size I am today, by leaving food on my plate. There are different recipes for haggis and I’ll be more suited to some than others. I might try another next year, but don’t tell my stomach just yet.

A chap waiting with me for a rail replacement bus service (my third of the day) at Edinburgh Waverley this evening was wearing a long navy overcoat. Presumably because of the similarity between this and GNER uniform, he kept getting asked questions about the buses and seemed quite bemused.

Having failed in my CNPS during the previous two bus journeys today, I have positioned myself in the second best number plate viewing spot on the top deck.

Comments are down, so an email from Simon:

> 3. Except we’re still subjects rather than citizens.

Is untrue as we ceased to be subjects in 1983 under the British Nationality act of 1981.

Simon is right that we are legally citizens; serves me right for repeating a hackneyed old comment. But we are still subjects of HM too.

The British National Act 1981 does, though, serve to reinforce my reason #2 with its very first clauses:

(1) A person born in the United Kingdom after commencement, or in a qualifying territory on or after the appointed day, shall be a British citizen if at the time of the birth his father or mother is–

(a) a British citizen; or

(b) settled in the United Kingdom or that territory.

That said, these may be more like Australian style “affirmation” ceremonies. So you don’t actually get anything out of it except perhaps a “Well done, you got to 18″ certificate and some cheese and pineapple nibbles.