HSBC, 38 High Street, Exeter

This main branch of HSBC - its main bank for the city of Exeter - is awful. Dreadful. This is the 'capital city' of Devon and the south west, as the city council keep reminding us (particularly on their entry signs to Exeter), yet this bank's main branch is like a corner shop.

It is on the corner next to Saint Martins lane, with Tact (the employment agency) on the other side, in a post-war brick building with green marble along some of the walls. One cashpoint machine on the outside.

It has over-sized glazed doors, heavy, bulky metal frames painted white. Yet, the interior is tiny, the size of a corner shop. Then there are only three counters - plus a couple for the bureau de change - and little interview rooms/boothes on the opposite side. The floor is that type of 1970s 'hundreds and thousands' style of fake marble tiling.

Finally, the staff are fine, certainly polite and efficient enough, but there is the awful, overloud din of Jermini over the loudspeakers, that awful, incessant ranting of the presenter accompanied by the modern pop music.

Book Review: Saturday, Ian McEwen (2005)

This is a fascinating novel about one day in the life of Henry Perowne (Cornish name?), a wealthy brain surgeon and family man who lives in the heart of Fitzrovia, London W2, on the day of the mass anti-war march in February 2003.

He goes about a normal Saturday, except that he cannot sleep and witnesses what he thinks is a terrorist hijacking in the early hours. It may have been a genuine accident.

Basically, it all comes down to Perowne, with his ideal happy family, and a confrontation with a stranger, Baxter, who it turns out is suffering from a degenarative brain disease which will kill him rather quickly.

Baxter - a hideously evil yet pitiful creature - invades Perowne's family re-union at his luxury house. He threatens to stab various family members, assisted by his equally bad friend, Nigel. They use knives to intimidate everyone.

For me, the Baxter hijacking of the family re-union is very obviously a reference to the 9/11 hijackers, particularly the Flight 93 variety, who used 'boxcutters' to overpower and control the aeroplane.

An apparantly innocuous weapon is used very effectively against basically cowardly, western people, in this case of the affluent kind (just like the businessmen, etc., on Flight 93). It is up to the Perowne family to try and summon up some courage and deal with the 'hijackers' in their home.

Baxter is basically Mohammed Atta, or one of the others, and McEwan insists that Baxter's medical condition leaves him with no future. This is what, presumably, Atta and his lot would've thought - the West is in our lands and we'll never get rid of them. We cannot escape.

The Baxter attack is truly horrifying, one of the worst yet most un-putdownable pieces of fiction I have ever read.

As for the War on Terror, more generally:

For me, the so-called War on Terror is a total myth, a creation of hardline Americans intent on taking over Middle East oil. It's all about oil and ordnance, pure and simple - a bunch of neocons (aided by the poodle, Blair), war profiteers and corrupt politicians duping the public into believing there are masses of terrorists out there ready to strike.

As an example, John Major retires as Conservative Party leader, goes along to the Carlyle Group (purveyors of all sorts of military hardware - aka 'weapons of mass destruction') and then gets his old buddies/political contacts to make sure there's a war in which to create a market for arms.

How come we never invaded the Republic of Ireland when the IRA were active? Didn't hear much about a war on terror back then. It'll all lead to World War Three in due course, once the Russians put their foot down (and rightly - I hope they do).

Anyway

Gary Linekar

The Big Brother of celebrities/media darlings - the repulsive, big-eared and hypocritical Gary Linekar - has the nerve to ask us all to donate cash to the likes of charities for Leukaemia. Why?

Linekar does a nice line in promoting junk food amongst children with his inane, infantile drive of tv adverts, eating Walkers crisps all over the place. Been going on for about fifteen years now. Anyone ever tell him to get a life? Do we have to see his Walkers adverts ad infinitum?

How much does Linekar make from the Walkers adverts? 2 million a year? Aided by a conflict of interest in his work for the public service broadcaster, the BBC? Next time he has the nerve to make appeals for cancer or leukaemia charities, tell the seedy hypocrite to donate some of his Walkers money, instead. Anyway, such adverts for junk food may be banned soon.

McVicar, the Journalist

I've recently finished reading Dead on Time and if nothing else it demonstrates that John McVicar is a truly brilliant and skilled author. Finally, his (and Benjamin Pell's - alias Benjie the Binman) theory on how and why Barry George killed Jill Dando all makes sense.

Barry George's obsession with the awful 1970s/80s pop group Queen - a bunch of poncey students with poncey, pseudo-art songs like Bohemian Rhapsody - and the colour yellow show that he must have murdered Dando. How awful was that repetitive, dreary cacaphony which went on for bloody 10 minutes? They should've shot the repulsive Freddie Mercury before they became so popular.

Not to mention Barry George's string of phoney alibis, excellently described and explained by McVicar.

However, the thing which caught my attention while reading the book were the things that interest McVicar which also interest me. Basically:

• Exercise. McVicar says his only religion is that of exercise. I couldn't agree more. I always exercise (regular 5 mile walks, etc.)
• Cycling. McVicar expounds on his Klein road bike. Not a mountain bike, note, but a proper racing bike. He cycles everywhere, just like me. He even - get this! - does precisely the same as me in measuring his times on each journey, always working on a shorter route. Less time. However, he doesn't seem to have a cycle computer, which is a disappointment. He would love one.
• Shorthand. McVicar decided during the trial at the Old Bailey (to gain professional kudos as well as practicable reporting skills) to learn shorthand, something I've been meaning to do for years (and started about 9 years ago, for 1 month until I'd learnt about a third). He also prefers Pitman 2000, which is the champagne of shorthands, unlike mickey mouse, brown ale systems like Teeline, etc. He allocates two whole pages to shorthand.
• Touch-typing. As a serious journalist, McVicar learnt touch-typing, gaining high speeds. I did the same and have always recognised the usefulness of proper, high-speed touch-typing.
• Literature. McVicar has a great skill at proper, serious writing, peppering his work with excellent little Latin phraseologies, etc., such as sine qua non. He is adept at imagery, often using brilliant little pieces of metaphor like: "He was the Ninja Jerry who could tease Oxborough Tom with the truth and never get clawed by it." That is superb (Oxborough being the name of the Met police investigation). His writing is a delight to read.

His healthy cynicism is refreshing in today's image and politically obsessed world. For example, "most PhDs are a joke". He couldn't be more right. I long ago came to the conclusion that ALL degree courses - no matter at which institution, good or bad - are a total joke. Media Studies? Politics? English? All rubbish. ANYONE can get such a qualification, literally by just turning up (and handing in anything for coursework).

I like the way he hates the hysteria that surrounds other idiots like Princess Diana and Jill Dando. A few excellent, choice words on the revolting Mary Archer, too (the one who plays 'Miss Innocent' all the time).

Perhaps McVicar is the Roger Daltrey of journalists - a sort of The Who of journalists, from London (unlike those whingeing - "why don't we like success in England" - idiots, Michael Caine and Ray Winstone).

Anyway, that's enough of McVicar.