He's An Ogre!

Hello again. 'Tis I, the reluctant blogger, returning to regale you with tales of economic woe, domestic strangeness and a land where grown men dress up as giant mice.

So, the credit crunch has crunched; the downturn has turned (downward); the recession has proceeded. Something to do with those god-damned fools who took out 125% mortgages and a couple of unsecured loans before maxing-out their twelve credit cards on package holidays and personalised number plates, without ever realising they were spending considerably more than they earned. Then, of course, there's a second bunch of god-damned fools - the banks - who lent it all to them in the first place and who are now whingeing, cap-in-hand to the Government, because - rather unsurprisingly - the first set of fools can't afford to pay them back.

Apparently, it's left the nation's stout financial institutions a little strapped for cash, so to speak, and they're wondering - if it wouldn't be too much bother - whether the taxpayer would be so kind as to lend them a few billion quid to tide them over until - ooh, I don't know - about 2025? C'mon, you know they're good for it.

But what do I know, mere mortal that I am? The one thing that the Government is determined to drill into our tiny little brains is that this is a 'global problem' and in no way should we even think about blaming Brown, Darling or anyone else involved in the shower-of-shit that's been purporting to run this country for the last 11 years for what is, essentailly, a worldwide recession. They were just innocent bystanders, clueless and powerless to do anything about the gathering storm clouds heading our way from the West. Which is, of course, mostly bollocks.

Yes, a lot of this has been borne out of the States where - almost unbelievably - the banks seem to have been even more stupid and more greedy than those in the UK. But British banks and the UK Government hardly have the cleanest of hands in all of this. Just this week, one of the leading lights of soon-to-be-gobbled-up HBOS admitted that lending at the bank had been completely out of control for the past five years. And as for Brown and his 'No More Boom And Bust' crap, I can only assume he'll now be changing his mantra to a simpler and much more realistic 'No More Boom' instead.

Anyone with even half an eye on history knows that we're never far from the potential of a recession; it's the nature of beast that is free market economics and there's not a great deal you can do about it. One thing you can do, is to put a little dosh aside whilst the going is good. Save for a rainy day, so to speak. This, rather regrettably, seems to be a concept that Gordon Brown - in all his Old Labour Glory - was unable to get his head around. Like the dour socialist he undoubtebly is, he reaped the benefit of the good times, raised taxes left, right and centre and then went on a spending spree, chucking billions at the black hole of the nation's inefficient public services with n'er a thought for keeping something back for the kitty just in case the good times turned bad.

Now that the bad times are truly upon us, he's spending more than ever! And because of his rather ironic lack of prudence over the last decade, he's having to borrow even more to fund his latest spree! The world has, I believe, gone quite mad.

Plans for The Great Bank Bail-Out were first announced a couple of weeks ago. Tizer and I watched the press conference on 'BBC Breakfast News with Bill Turnbull' - surely one of our finest institutions (Turnbull, that is, not the BBC). Our Great Leader and Alistair Darling - the poor sap charged with clearing up his po-faced boss' mess - strode manfully to their respecitve lecterns to inform us that they were going to hurl countless billions of pounds of our money at banks which, through a mixture of greed and stupidity, had all but run their businesses into the ground. Bizarrely, Brown looked more relaxed than he had done in months; true to his political roots, he's rarely happier than when he's giving vast amounts of other peoples' money away.

As a mere three year old, Tizer isn't normally the biggest fan of 'BBC Breakfast News with Bill Turnbull' or, for that matter, press conferences in general but, for once, she seemed strangely transfixed by the events playing out on TV.

"Daddy", she said, eyeing the spectre of Brown on the screen before her.

"Yes darling?", replied I.

"That's Shrek", she said, pointing towards the grim visage of the PM. But she was still a little confused: "Where's Donkey?", she asked. At this moment the camera moved from Brown to dear Mr. Darling and a delighted smile spread across my daughter's face.

"There's Donkey", she said, satisfied that Shrek's sidekick was now present and correct. As the saying goes, 'out of the mouths of babes'...

Casting the doom and gloom of living in Brown's Britain aside, we're in the final throes of preparing for our jolly holiday to Florida. We're flying off to Miami next week for some much needed warmth and sunshine, and, perhaps, a little respite for the stresses and strains of global economic meltdown. Banks collapsing? Businesses going to wall? Unemployment on the rise? Screw that! We're going to Disney World!

Is Tizer delighted? Well, does a one-legged duck swim in cirlces? Do sharks shit in the sea? Do Brand and Ross wish they'd kept there big, over-paid gobs shut? Of course she's delighted - we're going to Disney, people! And she's all the more made up because my Mum and Dad - a.k.a. Grammy and Grandad - will be coming along for the ride.

We're flying to Miami rather than taking the more traditional route straight to Orlando because (a) I've always fancied visiting Miami and (b) the flights to Orlando - even in Business Class - can be a bit like boarding the Chav Express, or so I hear. So we'll be spending a couple of days in Miami Beach before grabbing ourselves a big ol' SUV and driving on up to the Land of the Mouse.

Against my better judgement, we're actually spending five nights in a Disney hotel, something I swore I'd never do, but which my Dad reckons could be a giggle, which is strange in itself, as Father isn't really prone to all that much giggling. Mind you, with a three year old in tow, it does make access to the parks - Magic Kingdom, Epcot and so on - much easier and means less time on the road, so there's a certain amount of method to the madness. The next five nights, rest assured dear reader, will be spent in the much more refined surroundings of the Ritz-Carlton Orlando, which will probably be a little more atuned to my tastes.

Mrs V already has the suitcases down from the loft and I give until Sunday before I'm restricted to threadbare underwear only - my less embarassing under garments having been consigned to the cases. Travelling long-haul as a family of three can be stressful enough, although with previous trips to the US, Hong Kong and Australia under our belts we're getting quite good at it now. Doing it with three generations of Family V, however, is going to be a different kettle of fish altogether (my father sees air travel - even in the pointy bit - as something to be bitterly endured rather than relished or enjoyed, and this can sometimes make him a slightly testy travelling companion).

Tizer: In training for Disney at our village fair

Still, we're all terribly excited - even the 'grown ups'. My trusty Mac will be coming along for the ride, and I'm going to make a most valiant effort to keep this 'ere blog updated with musings and photos as we go along. Assuming I have the energy. I mean, 10 days in Orlando? Here's hoping we all make it through unscathed.