The enemy of my enemy is my enemy

Back in the 1980's I was such a zealous advocate of free market economics, even Adam Smith would have run for cover. Just as my socialist friends were convinced of an infinite number of rich people to tax, I was certain that an unencumbered market would lead us all to greater prosperity. I suppose to some extent we were both wrong. Even the Labour party no longer believes in the "infinite number of rich people" and the turmoil in the financial markets means I'd be brave, or perhaps off my head, to suggest that deregulation has been a total success.

Despite this I'm still a capitalist at heart though it's not always a particularly edifying sight. Greed is one of those unpleasant by-products that we all have to live with. I never particularly cared about fat cats on obscene salaries so long as the overall wealth of the country increased. Ultimately, I reasoned, if the fat cats got too greedy their business would fail and be replaced by something leaner and more able to contribute to the economy.

However in a bizarre twist, rather than letting the crap financial institutions go to the wall the U.S. government is preparing a rescue to the tune of $700 billion. This appears almost, dare I say it, socialist. True, there's no nationalisation of the industry but bailing out useless businesses use to be the preserve of British governments of the 60's and 70's. Has the world gone mad?

Actually, no; it's not madness… it's desperation. No matter how bad the business, how revolting the excesses (the head of the troubled Lehmann Brothers had a $10-$20 million bonus last year depending on which paper you read), to let a bank fail has the potential to collapse the financial markets. This isn't a case of the rich protecting the rich; if the financial market collapses then we're all screwed – businesses everywhere will fail, unemployment will be rampant.

Distasteful though it might seem; we can't afford to do nothing. But at a cost exceeding $2000 dollars per man, woman and child in the United States, it's one hell of a price to pay.

Shepherd's f**king pie

I hate Shepherd's pie. I have mentioned this on numerous occasions, though I try to be more tactful. Usually I've said something along the lines of "I don't particularly care for it", or "it's not my favourite dish", but it turns out I've been wasting my time. I was asked to pick up some potatoes on the way home yesterday - never suspecting they'd be used as weapons against me.

Whilst sitting at the table, wondering what I'd done wrong, I was reminded of a similar incident I'd experienced as a child. I was once invited to dinner at the house of my best friend and was rewarded with a lime green mousse for dessert. It was possibly the worst thing I'd ever tasted and took me an age to force down.

"Did you like that?" asked his mother when I'd finished.

"Lovely, thank you", I replied - for I had excellent manners.

"Well you'd better finish it off", she said as she emptied the contents of her bowl into mine.

Let the wookie win

I'm going to say something terrible… Winning isn't that important. Shocking isn't it? Come London 2012 and you'll probably get arrested for saying things like that. It's not that I'm going to stop trying; it's just that I can't seem to summon the interest. Hmmm, maybe that DOES mean I'm going to stop trying? I'm not going to survive with that kind of attitude.

I'm being a little disingenuous here. A month or so ago my brother won a badminton game against me for the first time. I was shocked to discover how much that hurt but resolved to be the gracious loser I'd always supposed myself to be; and since he's won several games since then that's probably just as well.

Nevertheless I stand by my original statement. I'm beginning to think we should all become a bit more… well… British – wherever you happen to live in the world.

However, though this may be my belief on how things should be I still have to recognise how things are. So I attempt to balance my daughter's competitive behaviour with that more humane (and I use to think more British) belief that it's not the winning but the taking part that counts. 'Loser' talk as my brother would put it.

But it's not easy. If you're playing a game with your children you let them win, don't you? It's not only because you want to see them happy - it's also to do with self preservation. It's O.K. to win against your wife because she won't try to pull your arms out of their sockets if she loses, seven year old children have been known to do that.

My name isn't Michael Caine

It's not easy is it? I have a vague recollection of choosing to adopt the Michael Caine approach; write often enough and every once in a while something good will happen. The trouble is you need to have focus and sustain it beyond a few paragraphs. Speaking (writing?) of which, did anyone see 'The Quiet American' on BBC 1 last week? What a cracking film; and perhaps proof that the 'Caine' approach is superior to the 'Brando' method.

Has Brando actually been in that many good films? Anyone mentioning 'Last Tango in Paris' will be asked to leave the room… I've never really appreciated 'Apocalypse Now 'and 'On The Waterfront' suffered from a hazy observation that Brando appeared to be wearing too much make-up. God only knows what I was drinking that night.

So you have to think of a topic to write about; for example, film actors. Then develop what might at first appear a controversial thesis; why Caine is "better" than Brando. But even as you write this your mind begins to wander. It's not as if it matters - you'd rather have both than just the one and what does "better" mean anyway? Then you remember (how could you forget) that Brando was in The Godfather, start to think about the cheesecake you have waiting in the fridge and how you'd quite like to watch "The Caine Mutiny" again…

And still I wait

I waited long for my true love
In hope that she would come
But time's tattered transport travels on
To fears I am alone

I waited, cried in desperation
I've frittered years in troubled thought
To contemplate a soul's starvation
Imagine life with passion wrought

I wait, I move, I step away
Avert my gaze as you pass by
Postpone my life another day
And when you're gone I wonder why

So now I wait upon tomorrow
Another chance to face you missed
Tonight again from dreams I'll borrow
A warm embrace, a softer kiss

And hope to die

I remember a new boy in a small town trying to make friends. There was a bag of marbles at the beginning, the contents of which roll down some cobbled streets at the end. In between there was a fantastical tale of gangs, robbery and the use of a fire engine ladder to crawl from one high rise building to the next. I have a vague recollection of an American actor in this French film, a love triangle and, like so many good stories, a little sadness at its end.

However I couldn't remember what it was called. I was only around ten years old at the time but for some reason those images have stayed with me for the last 30 years. A few months ago, after having previously searched for the title several times, I found the answer by accident.

La Course du lièvre à travers les champs or, to give it it's English title, And Hope To Die, was made in 1972 and features a screenplay written by Sébastien Japrisot. I note this as he later wrote the novel A Very Long Engagement, subsequently made into a French film that also happened to cameo a well known American actress, Jodie Foster. Two films made 30 years apart, with the same writer (albeit in a different role), each featuring a well known American actor... and I like them both.

At least I think I do. For whilst I saw A Very Long Engagement only a year ago, the memories I have of it's counterpart are fragmented, perhaps even warped over the course of time. And Hope To Die is available on DVD but not, it would appear, with English subtitles. Perhaps this is just as well, though it does sound like the kind of movie I would love to see. I know in my heart if this film was more generally available I would snap it up. Revisiting the past is always a risky venture, and often ends in disappointment, but even a remote chance of re-capturing that childhood magic, if only for a short time, has got to be worth it.

Tom is hot

Breaking news... Tom is hot. I indirectly gleaned this valuable information from the daughter of my next door neighbour who, in the absence of her Mother, had invited a gaggle of her female friends around for the night. I don't think teenagers have the greatest sense of time and I imagine this is the reason they decided to have a chat in the back garden at gone midnight... for an hour or so... there was even a sing-a-long too. Just after being woken up one of the guests asked "What about your neighbours?" which I thought considerate, until my teenage neighbour replied "Oh no, they're O.K." which was more like it.

I'm knackered, but at least I learnt something positive about Tom.

Tom, it turns out, is to be much admired due to something about his arms, though I didn't catch what it was that made them so special. Perhaps they're unfeasibly large? Perhaps he can tie his shoelaces without bending down? Perhaps one is longer than the other? Perhaps I should ask? I'd really like to know!

Also in the conversation that I wasn't listening to:

• Somebody's favourite film is City of Angels.

• Somebody's favourite song is something that goes along the lines of "dumph... dumph...". You know the one.

• Everyone agreed that Mark was "sweet". I'm guessing that Mark's arms are perfectly normal.