This site is now officially mothballed. But never fear! Change your links to the new digs. If you've come here from a list or a ring, apologies, but I will get round to notifying them of address changes. When I manage to export my archives into my new site I will insert an automatic redirect.
Preview for those who collected the special vouchers on this site. The new blog, in a state of construction, can be found at mad musings of me. I'm in a transitional period, where I don't expect to post much of note on either Blog. The new one is in Beta stage. When I feel it is set for release I will post a redirect here, and I will notify the regular commenters by email. I now need to get to bed!
There is a dearth of blogging going on round these parts. But don't fear, it's because I'm slowly installing MT. I say slowly, because over the weekend I spent six hours, of which about five and a half was "learning" (by my mistakes...!), and I have spent about four and a half hours this evening. I have now got to the point of typing in user name and password, and getting a 404 error. What joy!
Why do I say bloody bitch twice? In my view, ruining somebody's good name in order to sell a story to a newspaper is morally well below prostitution. Secondly, many women are victims of sexual assualt/harassment, and this little cow has ensured it will be that little bit more difficult for genuine victims to be believed.
Fans ask Tony Blair for National Gareth Day. When I was their age, I wouldn't have dreamt of lobbying Maggie Thatcher for a National Adam Ant day. I was so busy studying, knowing that she had so ravaged the British economy that I had to get good grades in my O-Levels (as GCSEs were called then), to consider having a day off school.
Thanks to Max, who unearths some real gems, even though half the time I don't understand a word of his pop-culture narrative - Conservative Pop Music
The Byrds, ?Turn! Turn! Turn!?
This is an odd conservative classic, having been written by old time lefty Pete Seeger and performed by a group that later glorified drugs in ?Eight Miles High.? Nevertheless, it makes my list because the lyrics are drawn straight from the Book of Ecclesiastes. I figure that any song based on the Bible deserved inclusion.
I find out from Ain't Too Proud To Blog that Alabama has released a coin ( a quarter) with Braille on it. I have to think that that's pretty cool. I went to the Royal Mint website to do a search on "Braille", and found it to be so crap a site it lacked a search function. I then had the brilliant idea of rooting through my purse and concluded (although I am without a £2 coin) that British coinage lacks Braille. Does the fact that each coin is pretty distinguishable by size and shape make it a non-issue? I would be surprised. I then rooted through my collection of foreign coinage, and found none with Braille. I also found no State-specific US coinage, so I concluded it must be a commemorative item. Can one of my US readers enlighten me?
Then I do the sensible thing, and reading the comments, I click through to US Mint, which explains the "50 State Quarters® Program".
When it come to small decisions, I usually make cool rational decisions. When it comes to big ones, I am a bit flaky. I chose my University because the campus looked nice covered in snow. I chose my first proper job because it was based in an attractive Art Deco building. I stayed there three years too long because it had an excellent staff restaurant.
This morning was my first day at work for nearly two weeks (Monday and Tuesday I was on a Control/Risk Self Assessment Facilitation Course). By midday I was completely fed up. I had forgotten my password and rang up for a password reset. They kept the phone line open to make sure that the process had worked. They commented that my login was taking a long time, and they would refresh my profile. I was told to turn off without logging out. I spent the next quarter of an hour almost twiddling my thumbs, until I was allowed to log on again. Throughout the remainder of the day I found lots of things had gone wrong: I couldn't find the link to my archived emails, which was becoming problematic, because every fifteen minutes I was getting a message saying my mailbox was over its size limit. Then my office toolbar was talking nonsense. When I opened the intranet IE tried unsuccessfully to direct me to the number of the site rather than the address. The way we're configured means that you can't change the Home Page: it has to be the Intranet home page, and it has to be IT Support that does it. Then I couldn't connect to the World Wibe Wed. How many phone calls did I make to the helpline?
The air conditioning is wrong and was set far too high. Within twenty minutes I was sweating. I turned down the temperature (a colleague is made ill by the cold wind that extracts the air, so he turns the temperature up. A proper fix will require £600k). My manager, in his irritatingly inarticulate manner, spent about five minutes telling me that we needed to get together to discuss what work I'm doing in the next few weeks. I was so irritated that I 'replied all' rather than forwarding to one colleague a mail-shot email from an external organisation to various people in different public and private sector organisations.
The next email was a vacancy notice. I spotted a job in another Government Department which is basically the same level as the job I'm doing now, on the same pay, and based just the other side of Victoria Station. I thought I would apply for it. "Get me out of here", I thought. I began to rationalise that I have an in principle opposition to some of the more high profile policies of my Department (which doesn't affect my work, but makes conversation awkward at parties). Any opposition to the OGD is in matters of tiny details. And it's sophisticated enough to email the application form which is designed to be filled in electronically.
Later in the day, I accidentally sent some printing to the wrong printer - the next one along. I strolled along to get it, and glanced at Jim B (aka the man I don't fancy). He was on the phone, but he was looking at me walking along. Our eyes met, and I felt this delicious frisson. He grinned at me. I felt enormously self-conscious. I think I blushed. I then realised that I would not apply for this other job. What is the point of a sideways move for no more money to a less prestigious department, even one with a swanky name?
I could not bear the thought of not working with JB. I haven't seen much of him for a month. He was on leave for three weeks and returned on my last day before leave. I managed to have a couple of fleeting conversations with him that day, and we exchanged pleasantries on Monday as we passed in the corridor. Other than that, we haven't had a chance really to talk since August when we stood together in the pub. I spent the time alternatively flirting and ogling him. He didn't seem to mind. I assume that he knows that I have a crush on him. I don't think that he's troubled by that: I don't do daft things like drape myself over him, or send him cheesy emails, or flatter him. Ten years ago, I would have, but I'm really mature now. It's fun to have someone to exchange frisson with in the office.
United getting their act together?Manchester United beat Everton 3-0 last night, with two from Paul Scholes and one from Ruud van Nistelrooy. They left it late, but it means three points in the bag. We're now up to 4th place, six points behind Arsenal, whose bubble is just about to burst. Looking at the table, no-one has yet emerged as the team most likely to be relegated, but I would say three from the bottom four.
is happening now. The repulsiveness of it, and their representatives, will draw me to News broadcasts. Theresa May says that the party needs to change its "nasty" image - or face "slaughter" at the next election. There is something quite unspeakable about the average Tory activist. Almost exclusively white, intolerant, narrow-minded and bigoted. Splits are predicted over Section 28. Meanwhile, the party is attempting to portray itself as the champion of publicservices. They will find it very difficult to get that message across. The electorate is not daft: the electorate thinks that five years is a short time in politics, and finds Tories lamenting the state of schools, hospitals and transport to be hypocritical. As time progresses, there will be an increasing justification for the Tories to say "Wasn't me". But when their moderately competent Education spokes talks about the need to increase parental choice, it rings hollow.
In principle, the notion of shutting failing schools is sensible, but I remain to be convinced that parents are necessarily the key to doing so. My very real experience of being a Chair of Governors of a school that was closed (due to surplus places rather than academic reasons) and also as a councillor in an authority where there were surplus Primary places in one geographical area and shortages in others, indicates that there is a role for Local Authorities in taking those decisions. Many parents vote with their feet and remove their children from failing schools: not only the articulate middle-classes, but plenty of working class people as well. What is left is often a disproportionate number of children whose parents, for whatever reason, may not be able to organise a take-over of the school. Many parents will, of course, oppose the closure of their child's school (and as a non-parent Governor I opposed the closure). I don't believe that the Tories are in a position to convince sufficient of the electorate that they are a credible party of Government. They will do well in Local Elections and will gain votes and seats at the next General Election, but mainly due to cyclical swings against the party in Government.
The more perceptive amongst you may have noticed that the last five posts, although dated today, were actually posted *last night* after my bedtime midnight. I then proceeded to have a dream that I was at an informal Blogmeet. I was very good at identifying people. Admittedly she and she have photoes on their sites, but he and he only carry photos designed not to reveal their true identity, and I have never seen a picture of him or him. And who was the tall-ish man who insisted on wearing a black cloak and a Darth Vader helmet, and arrived driving a maroon Big Bus backwards?
Nah, not me. Just listening to Eighties Compilation CDs.
Yellow Pearl by Phil Lynott. I would imagine that when Phil wrote this with the god-like Midge Ure back in 1980, they intended it to be a serious comment on the world situation. But for me it immediately makes me think that Top of the Pops is beginning.
This was in the charts when I was living in a Northern town, aged 17, hating the rules of my parents, hating the pettiness at school, wanting to escape (thankfully I had the maturity and patience to realise that the best escape route was to get my A-levels). It seemed that the recurrent theme of Eighties Pop Music was an angst-ridden desire to get out of Dullsville, Northern Town. It is, I think, no coincidence that Andy Rourke of The Smiths is from Sale, and Morrissey himself is from the neighbouring town of Stretford! Of course, I realise that these days, Sale is a sought-after location - North Cheshire but affordable! Such a smug town and so homogeneous. You know, in all the time I lived there, and considering the enormous number of people I knew, directly or indirectly, I cannot think of one lesbian or gay man. I dare say that a fair few of my contemporaries are gay but I imagine that they will have moved away and omitted to come out on "Friends Reunited".
Public Image (Limited) I'm not overly concerned with my image. I have a relatively expensive haircut and colour every 6-8 weeks. I like to wear clothes that fit, and are clean. I generally don't wear make-up, although I often do on Saturday nights. I rarely wear more jewellery than an expensive watch and a pair of cheap earrings, and my great-grandmother's pendant on special occasions (especially ones not attended by her other great/great/granddaughters!) I'm not one of those women who think that clothes, hairdos and make-up are subjects for conversation.
Right now as I write I'm blogging on the train and wondering what people think of me. I mean I'm sitting knocking back large strong coffees, writing in my palm, whilst being plugged into my Walkperson. On the table in front of me is my mobile (it's a Nokia 3210, nearly 2 years old and urgently needs replacing by a small object of desire), the case (and spare disc) of my Alternative Eighties Double CD and a book on how to learn HTML in 10 minutes. I bet they think I'm a geek. Do I care?
God help me I'm dancing in my seat to Spear of Destiny's Liberator. Not exactly the most memorable song from the Eighties, even the Alternative Eighties. Still better than most of the crap around these days.
Now I have the dilemma. I am not wearing black yet I am listening to "She Sells Sanctuary" by The Cult. I was never really a Goth, but this song so reminds me of sitting in student bedrooms drinking endless cups of cheap black coffee and chain-smoking roll-ups. Okay, then, I was a bit of a Goth, but perhaps the only Goth who wore pink, yellow etc.
I know it's not good form to write about dreams too often in blogs but I had such a strange sequence of dreams last night that I really can't resist them.
I went to my local hospital, Kings College, for some treatment. They told me that they could not do it there but they were "in partnership" with another hospital, who could. Great I thought, presuming that they meant St Thomas's, Guys or St George's, all of which are just a bus ride from where I live. Instead, it was a hospital in Birmingham, which is about two and a half hours away from my house. I found out that I would have to go every Thursday for three hours treatment. I was worried because it would play havoc with my flexitime.
Meanwhile I was also being treated by Kings for something else - gastric, I think - and I realised I had been given an appointment for a Thursday. So I walked the dim and gloomy corridors, trying to find someone who could change my appointment. I found an office marked "Finance". In there was my old head of Politics from University, way back when. At that instant I knew that I was in my second term of second year, and Prof. K. told me that there was no way I was going to pass my degree, so I shrugged.
The scene changed, and I was a group of colleagues, and strangers, who claimed to be colleagues, and Ben Elton. We were standing on a prom overlooking a cliff, but instead of the sea, all we could see was a giant screen showing a film. As one of my *colleagues* remarked, the film was so dire even the seagulls were throwing themselves off the cliff. The screen rolled back to reveal a beach of golden sands. We all went down to the beach and a fight began, but was broken up by Steve "Interesting" Davis, who had bleached his hair blond.
Note to self: Don't have three Irish coffees in restaurant late at night.
On Friday Jimmy and I went shopping. Would you believe that he has lived in London for 54 years and has never been shopping on Oxford Street? I bought loads of clothes - underwear, tops, a jumper, a cardigan, a suit, and shock - a skirt. Gert in a skirt. Can't be right! I also bought a new duvet and bedding. The duvet is duckdown and is so gorgeous compared to my old one which is polyester. A stylish new Italian kettle. On Saturday, I bought a Dyson. I have used it to vac the stairs and was horrified at the amount of dirt it kicked up. I suppose I shall have to use it in the rest of the house.
My personal opinion is that the attitude of most organised religions to sexual matters is such an obsession with them, and in such a unreasonable way, that it provides an insurmountable obstacle for many people to approach the theology, spirituality and morality.
If, like me, you see sex as only slightly higher up the hierarchy of needs as breathing or eating, the general religious teachings on sex makes no sense. Many of the churches regret their falling attendances, yet do not realise that for the vast majority of people their sexual positions are plain wrong.
Ironically, in Britain at least, the fastest growing churches are the evangelical Christian and fundamentalist Moslems, which suggests to me that amongst a sizeable minority there is a taste for absolute certainties which, in all senses, has never been dished up by the traditional churches. So perhaps there is a need for schism, so that absolute certainty types can go one way, and those that wish to reflect and ponder life's mysteries can go a different way.
In fact, it might not be too far fetched to say that the old sectarian divides between different Christian churches are less important now than fundamentalist/realist splits that cut across denominations.
Guess who got letter of the week! Edited, but never mind! The last time I had one published it was immediately above one from my MP, which caused some amusement amongst our mutual comrades. Although not apparent in the online version (who knows about the paper version: I should get it today, but knowing the state of our local post, I'm not expecting it until Monday tea-time), I made an offer to write a guide to blogging, especially for New Statesman readers.
Gert's Guide to Blogging
1 Blogging is very very simple. I set mine up in about five minutes, with no prior knowledge of HTML, or web design, or any such matter.
2 Before you do anything else, read! To the right, you will find a list of my favourite blogs aka my blogroll. Have a read of all of them. You won't agree with al of them (watch out for Group Captain Lionel Mandrake!). Most of them have blogrolls, or separate places for links. Read those, too. Don't be afraid to hunt round people's sites, which are often more than blogs. Some people carry some great photos. Also, to the right, you will find assorted lists and rings. Click on those, and you'll find even more.
3 As you read, notice a few things. Notice what you like (and what you don't like!). Notice the domain name: many are, like, mine, blog*spot hosted. Others are on Diaryland. Many more people have their own domain name, and are powered by Blogger, Greymatter or Moveable Type (MT).
4 Whilst you are reading, don't be afraid to leave comments. Don't forget that abusive comments are generally deleted; often the Internet Service Provider is banned. Bear in mind that many of the commenters are regulars to that blog, and know enough about the writer to say things that a stranger wouldn't. Once you have your site up, you can include your url. It won't get you a lot of hits, but I found some excellent sites via the comments left in other blogs.
5 Think about what you would like your blog to be called.
Before Sunday becomes Monday, I will provide a guide to starting your own blog.
If you know me, do leave a comment (with your name) to say hello.
As part of the great project "Gert sorts her finances out", I requested the bank to pay off my personal loan. And, yesterday, in my online banking, I found a debit for the required amount. Today I found a credit for the same amount! Oh, yesterday I phoned Abbey National. Apparently, the solicitors swear that they sent the money over; Abbey National swear not. No doubt, it was sent to the account of the non-existent Mr Blog. And neither had the courtesy to ring back today. Believe you me, there will be hell to pay.
Meg uses this to refer to Michael Palin. When I watched him on Parky last week (look, one does this kind of thing when visiting chez sister), I thought: he's the sort of person one shouldn't really fancy but just can't resist. Other ones that have crossed my radar recently are Paul Newman and Bill Clinton. Probably, I'll think of half a dozen more in the bath. (But I don't blog in the bath). Who fits into that criteria for you?
I was amused at the story of Bill Clinton, Kevin Spacey and Alastair Campbell popping to McDs in Blackpool on Tuesday night and chatting to the various *diners* there. There are quite a few otherwise respectable Labour women (and a fair few men) of my acquaintance who would be hard put knowing which way to turn. Yet, you'd never see them in McDonalds. (Well, I'd never see anyone in McDonald's...oh, you know what I mean).
That's how somebody googled to my site. Y'know, I wonder the same thing myself. indeed, the last time I went to the hairdressers, I was thinking about blogging it. I generally leave about £3 for the shampoo girl, but I have a feeling that that might be horrendously stingy. And does one tip beauticians?
And here's the actual text, but, as it says, check against delivery. It doesn't include the bit where he mentioned that when he and Kevin Spacey were leaving the hotel, Kevin's phone rang - it was a friend in Paris who was ringing to say he was watching them on TV leave the hotel. Scuse me a minute, but if you have friends that are really famous do you ring them to say that you're seeing them live on TV. Although I suppose it's relatively rare that you see someone live on TV at a time when it wouldn't be too inconvenient for them to answer the phone.
Janet at the solicitors, who insisted on calling me Mrs Blog, even though I answered the phone "Gert Blog" tells me that the spawn of Satan Abbey National say that they have received the money. So someone at spawn of Satan Abbey National lied to me.
Now I'm going to shut up. Bill Clinton's about to address Conference. Would you believe that I missed the Great Leader's speech yesterday? I've only been in the Labour Party for eighteen years. You'd have thought I would have known by now that the Leader gives his speech on Tuesday afternoon. Duh!
I ring up the old mortgagor to enquire why they have taken a direct debit out for this month; they inform me that they haven't received the payment from the solicitors to pay off the old mortgage. I get onto the mortgage brokers, whose telephone manner leaves a lot to be desired. They ring me back to say they have spoken to the solicitors. I was told that Janet was dealing with it. Two hours go by and I hear nothing so I call the solicitors direct. Janet says "Yes, the mortgage brokers have told me you phoned. I was going to look into it." I say "I hope that is going to be today, please. " "I'll just go and speak to the accountant," she says.
Meanwhile, £64k (approximately ?100k/$100k US) of my money is missing and I have two mortgages on my house. I suspect that the old mortgage company will charge something like another £50 interest for that. And I am being charged £599.62 inclusive of VAT and disbursements for that by the solicitors. Would it not have been easier for the new mortgage company to make a payment into my account and leave me to make the necessary transfers, especially considering that the new mortgage company had the moneys ready for release last Tuesday?
I have hated titles for a long time: I just don't see the point of them. By titles I don't even mean just Titles, like Lady this, or Sir that. I mean titles like Miss, Ms, Mrs. I ring up somewhere or other, introduce myself as "Gert Blog" and they address me as "Mrs Blog" I end up saying "No, it's Ms Blog". If I'm sending Christmas cards, for example, I tend to just put people's names on them: what's the point of addressing an envelope as "Ms R Kxxxxxxxxx, Mr J Cxxxxxxxxxx and the four Misses Kxxxxxxx" when you can just write "Reb, Jack and family"? I know other people don't take that attitude. At my sister's, I noticed an envelope from my mother, enclosing a newspaper cutting (my mother is not yet computerised...) The envelope was addressed to Mrs CA Gxxxxxx. My sister's name is Pauline; the CA comes from her husband Chris. I would have addressed the envelope Pauline Gxxxxxx.
None of that really matters. But sometimes it can be insulting. A few years ago I went on audit to an office in Carlisle. I had a meeting with one of the local senior management. I later sent him a letter covering the report on the audit visit. I signed it "Gert Blog". He wrote back "Dear Mr Blog". Even longer again, I had one of those maintenance insurance contracts for my stereo which meant that one paid for the man to come and fix it, then claimed it back on the insurance. I received a cheque made out to Mr Blog, when I had specified it be made out to GM Blog. The bank would not accept it, so I had to send it back. A few weeks I received a letter from a credit company addressed to Mr Blog saying that I owed rather a lot of money. I wrote to clarify whether I actually did owe this money - it came from out of the blue and I had rather lost track of all my debts (turned out I did owe it, bummer). In my letter I wrote that I had been tempted to ignore it or send it back saying that I do not know anyone called Mr Blog (true, as it happens, there is only one male per generation in the male line of the Blog family and my brother is Dr Blog).
Last Friday I was all excited because I was due to get my old mortgage paid off, and receive an additional sum of money into my bank account, equivalent to a year's net salary, to pay off other debts, and to use for capital improvements. I was assured that this sum would be paid into my account by CHAPS (instantaneous electronic transfer) on Friday. I checked my online balance on Saturday. It showed my salary as a morning entry: due to be paid on Monday, but it didn't show the CHAPS payment. I made various phone calls but nobody was around, or they couldn't do anything until Monday. I made more phone calls on Monday. Eventually it turned out that the solicitors acting for the Mortgage Brokers had made the CHAPS payment on Friday: they got my bank details correct, but arbitrarily decided to pay it Mr GM Blog. So NatWest rejected it and it sat in the Barclays ether for a weekend. What is wrong in making it out to GM Blog - which is the name my account is in? Deep down in the subconscious of the person who made that mistake is a belief that single women shouldn't have mortgages. I have had my fee of £25 for instantaneous transfer refunded. Too bloody right. I would like to pretend that I have lost a lot of money as a result eg in interest in foregone (and in interest to be paid for the small overdraft I was in over the weekend), but, to be honest, the amount of interest receivable on an "Advantage Gold Account" is negligible. Even the phone calls were made on the "free" minutes I get on my mobile which I never seen to use up now I'm not on the Council. Still, it was a hassle.
(or subordinates of). Seeing as though The Guardian ignored me, I've turned my attention to the Number One leftwing publication in Britain, the New Statesman (subscription required for full articles - I pay £100 pa for mine, damn good vfm) - you might be interested in The Lefty Directory
I have been reading Jeanne D'Arc for a while now. Her posts are always excellent. Sometimes she writes about issues and events that have little resonance for me living 6000 miles away. Mostly, she writes about universal matters. Her blog holds an interesting and eloquent discussion about the relative merits of scientists and humanities. There are some excellent contributions from her readers. Unfortunately, she does not have Comments, but she reproduced emails she received. I find a particular resonance with the concept of people with a science/business education often see things in black-and-white.
I suppose I'm fairly strange (for Britain). In Britain it is - or certainly was, when I was a student - customary to study one, or two subjects at University. So, my degree is in Politics. In fact, we also did subsidiaries, which may be broadly equivalent to a minor at an American University. Most people in the Social Science Faculty studied other Social Sciences for their subsidiaries. In first year, we had to take three subjects for our Part Ones. I did Politics, Sociology and Maths. In each of our second and third years we had to take eight subjects, including one or two outside our department. I did six Politics, and Stats and Film Studies. I was extremely unusual for a (non-Economist/Psychologist) to study Maths and, I suspect, unique in doing subjects in three faculties: Social Science, Science and Arts. I am now a qualified accountant, working in audit, and Politics is my hobby. I realise, reading Jeanne's blog, that I have always been very frustrated by the assertion of certainties, be it in politics, or in accounting. Neither of them are about certainties.
However, I also acknowledge that I lack an attention to detail. At school we had mock exams twice a year (except when we had real ones). Only, they were taken as seriously as the real ones. I once got 94% for a Maths exam. I was given a stern talking to by father, a chartered engineer. He told me that if I was capable of getting 94%, I should have got 100%. At the time I thought him unreasonable. His point was that there is no room for imprecision in engineering. However, he was also scathing of younger colleagues of his who arrived with brilliant engineering degrees but could barely string a sentence together. They thought it didn't matter but when they were drawing up tenders that would be translated into German, or Korean, or some other language, it needed to be precisely worded in English, which many of them were not capable of.
To sum up, if you only adopt one new blog this month, adopt Jeanne.
Was excellent. I visited my sister and family near Bolton in Lancashire. Dogs Don't Purr asked for photos. The only photos I took were of my nephew (7 on Thursday) and niece (3 and a half). My sister would not be very happy if I posted pictures of her children on th einternet, so I won't. However, my brother-in-law is into genealogy and has been going to relatives and demanding photos. I thought you might like on eof my great-grandparents. Pay particular attention to the unknown woman on the edge.
Green fairy referred to a comment by Prince Charles that if fox hunting is banned, he'll leave the country. I thought for a while that it was just a case of a sad man without a role getting out of his pram while waiting for a job at an age when many people are contemplating retirement . I thought it no more significant than Paul Daniels saying that he'd leave the country if a Labour Government was elected. Then I thought about it a bit more and I concluded: the man has a bloody cheek. He's the person who aspires to be the next head of state. I would think it the least requirement that a head of state should live in that state. (And I know, the Queen is head of state in about sixteen countries, so, obviously she, or him, can't live in all of them). Why not just call the whole thing off?
Often when I mention that we ought to be a republic, I get one of the following reactions: "Ugh, we don't want to be like America" or "Ugh, that means we'd get Margaret Thatcher/Tony Blair as President". My answer to the second remark is: we'll get who we vote for, and even if that is Margaret Thatcher/Tony Blair, it doesn't mean they will be there for life, nor does it mean that Mark Thatcher or Euan Blair will take over. (As a side issue, we still have a stupid, archaic situation where the monarch must not be a Catholic, nor must the monarch be married to a Catholic - somebody tell me the point of that law. It is also not possible for the Lord Chancellor to be a Catholic. If, in some parallel universe, a similar law applied to the Prime Minister - as it was previously believed it did - none of the three main party leaders - Tony Blair, Iain Duncan-Smith or Charlie Kennedy - could be Prime Minister, or, one would deduce, Leader of the Opposition).
As to the objection that we would be like the USA, it is unlikely, and highly, preventable. The American system of Government is one of the oldest in the world, and was developed to combine the best of existing systems whilst rejecting what was broke. I don't know of any other Western Democracy where the Head of State and the Head of Government is one and the same. Perhaps we can learn a little from our neighbours. For example, the Republic of Ireland seems to have it fairly sorted when choosing Presidents - post De Valera, anyway - and my perception of the President of countries such as Italy and Germany is the President plays a quite separate role from that of the Prime Minister-equivalent. I suppose firstly we would have to decide what role we would want the President to play, but I'm sure it isn't beyond the collective brains of the nation to devise a system that works.
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