Chernobyl at 40 years

On and after the 26th April 1986 the nuclear monitoring equipment in Sweden began to show a spike in radiation levels.

It was of enough concern to the Swedish authorities to order the shutting down of one of their own power plants for an investigation. This proved not to be the source.

It was three days later that the State Controlled Media in the Soviet Union gave brief mention of a fire at the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Complex ,Reactor number 4.

This was followed by other small announcements in print, on radio and television in a matter of fact way alluding to an accident.

The Soviet propaganda machine was in full swing defending the exceptional safety record of the home grown Nuclear Industry compared with "many accidents abroad".

Nuclear Power was regarded as being clean and low risk. No one seemed alarmed or perturbed even though the incident had been violent and had resulted in 31 deaths in the immediate aftermath.

The residents of that part of Ukraine were given no cause for any concern to their everyday activities and certainly not to their health or futures.

Gradually a realisation dawned amongst the authorities that the fire and explosion at Reactor 4 was a major threat to life. The emissions released to the soil and into the atmosphere were many hundreds of times greater than the fallout from the Hiroshima and Nagasaki atomic bombs. The compounds of Cesium 137, Plutonium, Iodine 131 and Strontium 90 were a potent cocktail which analysts now believe has contributed to up to 1 million related deaths from cancer on a global scale, and counting.

There were, from the initial radiation cloud as it passed over neighbouring Belarus, a cluster of child deaths from thyroid cancer.

The fire at the reactor continued to rage well into May.

Upon imposing a 10km critical zone the Soviet military began a ruthless programme of evacuations. Over a 36 hour period 40,000 residents of the nearest town, Pripyat were told to leave without pets and non-essential belongings. By the end of that week a further 30,000 were forced to abandon their homes.

To encourage co-operation and avert panic or unrest there were promises made of a return within 3 days. Most of the population never saw their homes again.

President Gorbachev felt compelled to address the nation and by way of reassuring neighbouring countries all through northern and western Europe that effective measures had been implemented although a clean up operation to mitigate the damage was still under way in the July.

Thousands of military personnel and civilian volunteers embarked on a huge operation. Contaminated soil was dug up and dumped under concrete. Helicopters sprayed water to suppress airborne dust. Soldiers washed down dust covered pavements , roads and buildings. Dogs and cats were shot on sight.

In the 30km zone more forcible evacuations were made and evacuees saw their homes demolished and the rubble buried. Many peasant farmers had to abandon livestock and crops and were then housed in the austere apartment blocks which typified many Soviet settlements of the era. Former residents were often caught in the exclusion zone in subversive actions to tend to what remained standing of their vegetable plots or to fish as they had always been used to.

The radioactive cloud spread with the wind during 1986 with contamination as far apart as the United States and India recorded.

The 30km zone remains in place to this day although the radioactive elements will take up to 200,000 years to decay to safe levels.

Abandoned cities, towns and villages have become overgrown and there has been a long running discussion about designating the area as a National Park. Some concessions have been made for tourists to visit the zone even though there is ongoing scientific monitoring of the environment. This is ironic as many animals and plants have suffered from the radiation with low life expectancy and mutations as side effects.

Reactor 4 was encased in a concrete sarcophagus in the years following the accident but even this is now in need of replacement and the world's largest moveable structure, a huge dome is being constructed to be put in position to give up to a century of protection from the all pervading radiation.

The lobbyists for nuclear power still find it difficult to secure support for this form of energy generation because of the Chernobyl disaster.

The implications for ongoing generations may not yet be fully appreciated.

Queen Victoria on the toilet

On a weekend shopping trip I have sat and eaten sausage and chips in its shadow. 

It has been the hub for many a political and environmental demonstration and a focal point for civic and other celebrations including the triumphal reception for Hull City AFC upon their ascension to the Premier League in 2008 and in the Year of UK City of Culture.  

It is of course the Landmark Statue of Queen Victoria in the centre of Kingston Upon Hull. 

Therein lies an interesting bit of history. 

If you study the old town maps for Hull in the latter years of the illustrious reign of Victoria that part of the City Centre was very different- in fact a bit of a slum. 

It was a maze of alleys of poor quality housing, dark and threatening alleys and passages, declining businesses, a haze of smoke and some interesting and unpleasant odours. 

The Dock Offices fronted Junction Street and the function of the locality was aptly explained in the road names of Waterworks and Engine Streets. The exact position of the monument was previously occupied by what appears to have been a Post Office and as part of a larger block including a public house. The only name recognisable to me on the old maps is New Cross Street, a short thoroughfare to what was Queens Dock. 

For a major Port and Regional Town this mish-mash of buildings and uses was a big embarrassment to the Councillors and people of Hull. A statement of Civic ambition and aspiration was needed and in 1900 the Junction Scheme was proposed. This was intended to create a Grand Square for the City and at its heart would be a memorial to the recently deceased Monarch. 

In a Public Appeal in 1901 some £15000 was raised for the erection of a monument. The Reckitt family contributed £5000, Joseph Rank £2000 and with several other wealthy folk each giving £1000. 

The commission for the statue went to Henry Charles Fehr who had already provided a similar statue in Liverpool and with the wider project to James Glen Sivewright Gibson, Architect. 

Fehr was a major appointment with his specialism being historical and civic figures and a number of notable War Memorials. J S Gibson was similarly accomplished in his work. 

The larger than life bronze figure of Victoria in bronze folded  imperial robes was mounted on a Portland Stone plinth giving a towering height of 35 feet. At her side sat smaller figures depicting the Mistress of Seas and Dominion of Land. 

It was unveiled by the Prince and Princess of Wales in 1903. Within 6 years the statue was joined by completion of Hull City Hall, an imposing and classically styled building which to this day retains it importance to the cultural life of its population. 

All seemed well and good for Hull with its status and due respect to the life of Victoria but in 1923 there arose much debate in the City Council Chamber over its relationship with further improvements in the Square. 

This was because of the design for a new Civic amenity, specifically subterranean public toilets 

A few Councillors of a sensitive nature questioned whether the proximity of the toilets to the Late Queen's statue was in the interests of the moral welfare of the City. One member of the opposition claimed to have sounded out the King's Secretary on the subject and although declined to offer up the correspondence as irrefutable proof he stated that the scheme would be regarded with Royal disfavour. 

Perhaps serious consideration should be given to moving Queen Victoria to another location

The City Architect, Mr Joseph Hirst, pointed out that the statue did long pre-date the proposals for the new amenities which would be of a commensurate high standard of design and materials to compliment the existing street scene. There would be no detraction from the aim of achieving Civic Grandeur.

In fact, and to act as a visual aid those debating the contentious issue, Hirst stated that the actual area of the underground chambers would be as big as the Council Chamber itself.

Misleading statements in the media had, it was argued, stirred up a lot of public fervour but in a Council Chamber Vote the motion to relocate Victoria was defeated. 

The scheme was completed with much approval in 1925 and to this day Queen Victoria remains on the toilet. 

Sticky Volkswagen

 

Sticky Volkswagen

According to official Government guidance there is a critical time in any car journey taken by parents and children when everything kicks off and what could be a nice day out deteriorates into a big rumpus. A Survey of motorists has suggested that at precisely two hours and thirty seven minutes any children become agitated and begin to ask that question that crosses successive generations "are we nearly there yet?".

Within fourteen minutes of this sign of boredom chances are that arguments start to break out.

I am disappointed and a little bit disillusioned when I see a car full of children but none of them are actually looking out to see or apparently show an interest in where they are on their journey.

It is a case of heads down with hand held video game or slightly raised up but only at the TV screen set in the rear of the front head restraints.

Granted, when I was a nipper the most sophisticated piece of in car entertainment was an I-Spy book, Travel Mastermind, suppressing being sick or squabbling with my brothers and sisters whilst we sat stuck to the black vinyl seats of the family VW by the back of our bare legs and becoming increasingly hot , frazzled and irritable.

Otherwise, to wile away the miles of a long trip such as to our annual summer holiday in Scotland, Northumberland or Norfolk it was a case of watching the world go by out of the window if you had baggsied a seat to take advantage of it.

In the days before compulsory seat belts for back seat passengers it was easier to stand up behind the driver or front passenger and view from there.

I developed a great interests in the sights on the open road and this persists even today.

There were the landmarks that signalled our imminent arrival at a regular holiday venue.

Crossing the iconic Tyne Bridge in Newcastle meant that in just over an hour the distant turrets and towers of Bamburgh Castle would be in view and in a few more minutes after that we would be running through the loose, hot sand of the dunes onto the vast, wave lapped beach that seemed to stretch to the very edge of the known world, at least that in the perception of a 10 year old.

We would collectively count down the miles to the border with Scotland, always greatly anticipated but never failing to disappoint being marked only by a large blue and white thistle sign rather than a crossing into a strange, mist swirling, mountainous wonderland of lochs, glens and warlike kilt clad pipers.

It appears that Scotland is more of a frame of mind to a 10 year old than a momentous and deeply felt experience, at least for us children of half Scottish origin. My Father, an authentic Scot but born in Croydon was always a bit dewey eyed and emotional when safely reunited with his Kinsfolk for those two weeks of the year, give or take long distance travelling time.

I could be a bit of a nuisance in that I would always announce the obvious landmark or feature even though evidently visible and appreciated by all the occupants of the family car. I recall getting a slap on the leg by my parents, deservedly so in hindsight for my persistent chanting of "it's a dam", "it's a dam", "it's a dam" after seeing a dam somewhere in the Scottish Highlands. It had been signposted for miles but I could not contain my excitement at the thought of seeing it. Not that I really knew what a dam was for. On my return some 30 or so years later I could just not see what all the fuss was about. My own children saw it as a grassy bank holding back an expanse of cold and faintly rusty coloured water. That was all.

I did become quite an expert on geographical phenomena and even more so after really taking to my senior school lessons in that subject. On the journeys to or through the more interesting parts of the British Isles I could easily identify a burial mound as opposed to just a grassy knoll, an ox bow lake rather than a pond, a scree slope from just a pile of loose rocks, granite precipices from chalky downs, a dry valley from a wet one and so on.

The majority of my fond memories have one thing in common. They were all part of the build up to a great family holiday. Conversely, when the fortnight was over and that was almost in the blink of an eye or so it seemed, there were those landmarks that signalled, as Mother always said, that we would soon be "back to normal", ie home life, school and all that went with those sorts of things.

These included flat, boring landscapes only broken by the looming presence of the power station cooling towers or the pit head winding gear near Doncaster. Then there was the reddening skyline above the huge British Steel Works at Scunthorpe as we came to within 10 miles of our home town and soon, on the farther horizon the white painted post windmill at Wrawby.

The drive up the slightly elevated and winding estate road to our house was depressing for those of us still awake even after melting into the plastic of the uncooled car interior.

We children then dopily went to check that our bedrooms had not been ransacked or pillaged by unknown imagined persons. We had no thoughts whatsoever to offer our exhausted parents any help in unloading the car of the detritus of two weeks under canvas or in a small caravan with five kids.

Now that I am a father myself I can appreciate that the anticipation and excitement of travel as felt by children is simply reversed in the grown ups.

Whilst the journey to and arrival at a holiday venue is undoubtedly exciting it does not mean a rest from the chores and responsibilities for adults.

Indeed it invariably means that it is the same work but made harder and more challenging in a different and unfamiliar environment.

The coming into view of the Doncaster wastelands and the intrusive industrial processes that made that part of the country the powerhouse that it was in the 1970's must have been a welcome sight and with it the promise of a slightly easier existence for our parents.

They hid their hopes of a brief respite and return to normality from us at the time and it is only really now that I am able to appreciate that particularly skilful trait of practical and effective parenting. Margaret and Donald, my heroes.

Industrial Action or One out, All out!!!!

 

One Out, All Out!

In the true spirit of fighting for workers rights I called a meeting.

For too long the basic and fundamental entitlements of the working class have been eroded in an insidious and downright sneaky way by the Government, Employers and pressure just to stay in employment and not rock the boat, This is more than accentuated in today's fast paced and ruthless business world where there is little sentiment for such things as loyalty, dedication or even a bit of flexibility when there are pressing family and personal issues that are seen as disruption and diversion to the Capitalist bosses and not the crises that they actually can be.

I was always promised a working life where I could retire in my 50's with a decent pension and in the preceding years enjoy many, many hours of leisure time what with the harnessing of computer power to work smarter and even the prospect of a job share with a robot or android.

In reality the working hours daily and cumulatively weekly and monthly have increased significantly. I knew from the start that my line of work, Surveying, would not be a strictly 9 to 5 job but that stands to reason in that the source of my work is property and that has to be visited rather than expecting it to come to me.

In the treadmill of my typical workload I am out and about all of the daylight hours apart from the brief calling in at my office to drop off completed paperwork and pick up the next assignments. In order to keep up to date with targets and client expectations I find myself squeezing in a couple of hours of preparation from 6am every day and often work late to clear my mind in readiness for another batch of Surveys.

Technology has helped a little and indeed if I did not have a digital dictation system, access to remote typing services and the internet with all of its practical functions I could see myself having to increase further my timesheet hours.

I am, in the context of a Professional. on a salaried basis. The recession from late 2008 imposed a pay reduction in order to help keep the company afloat. When the firms car came up for change I took on one of the existing pool cars which had been freed up when one of my surveying colleagues was made redundant. In real terms my income decreased by 30% and the little perks of seats at the football stadium, Health Club subscription, contribution towards incidental expenses and any prospect of a performance related bonus evaporated as I, as they say, "took one for the team".

Savings had to be made in my working day. McDonalds profits in their UK operation dipped. Starbucks opted not to pay any UK tax. Tesco meal deals just went mouldy on the shelf, Pork Pie manufacturers put staff on reduced hours and the General Stores in many a rural village reported hard times.

I am a bit scruffy in appearance because ascending into loft spaces or crawling into sub floor areas takes its toll on my business suit but unlike those sectors who can claim for a uniform or specialist attire I am on my own. A suit is my identity card and upholds the image of the profession for the public.

The above and many other issues contibuting to the catalogue of grievances, annoyances and petty mindedness culminated in my calling a meeting. There was a 100% turn out and words were said by way of a strategy to deal with the plight of the workforce. Policies were formulated and I was deemed to be the most appropriate person to act. There would definitely be changes or there would be trouble.

The downside is that I am self employed..................................

Small Change

 

Meltdown

I get very excited if I find bits of loose change.

I do not mean that I constantly walk in a head down or stooping stance hoping to find the odd piece of coinage in public areas. Those days ended abruptly when I was fooled into trying to pick up a 50p coin which had been super-glued to the pavement.My children found that very amusing and a bit pathetic.

What really excites me is the touchy-feely outline and density of a lone coin or better still a loose array of coins in the pocket of my trousers, my suit jacket or a coat. There is a certain thrill about guessing the accumulated total of more than a single coin as this can mean the difference between a lunch consisting of a chocolate bar or a full portion of chips midway through the working day.

The current sterling issue comprises small sized coins, mostly, so even initially suspected coppers pointing to a sparse chocolate luncheon could yield forth, actually, a good few pounds and, by definition a veritable feast.

If a pocket-patting process is not successful then I usually strip out the car in search of monies.

First, the ash-tray, followed by the central console, CD compartment and then the actual coin-tray. Default setting is that the drivers seat is slid back as far as it will go to allow the voids and crevasses to be checked. Under the foot mat can sometimes prove rewarding.

There always tends to be a small amount of currency wedged in between the seat tracking rail and the handbrake mounting but if firmly esconced then I will usually leave it for another day when a knitting needle or sharp stick are to hand. This coin search initiative (CSI) is repeated for the surrounds of the front and rear passenger seats in strict rotation.

A properly thorough search does involve taking up a large area with all car doors wide open so I can be found strip-searching the car in the far corner of many supermarket car parks, in deserted lay-bys or in field gateways. To a passing vehicle this must look very strange and I am sure that my registration and description will be on some Police watch-list.

This daily routine, if I have not pre-planned my working lunch, has led me to reconsider my attitude towards money. This was very aptly illustrated during the Christmas period with the confusing choice of buying and later receiving foil wrapped chocolate coins. The gold coins are very alluring in their appearance.

After a period of mass production in Euro mimic form these have now returned to the old fashioned neutral designs or to the Spanish Doubloon reminiscent of high seas naval battles, treasure trove and damsels in flouncy sleeved gowns being fought for or over by alternate brigands and swashbuckling heroes.

However, I find myself drawn more in favour and flavour to the silver foil covered coins now depicted as the infamous 'Pieces of Eight'. The invariably white milk chocolate is right up there in terms of a reason for my preference for silver coinage but I am also seduced by the legend behind the real 'peso de ocho reales'.

This was well explained to me through the BBC radio broadcasts of 'The History of the World in 100 objects' produced in conjunction with the archives of the British Museum.

Up until the discovery by the Spanish of vast reserves of silver during their conquering of Mexico and the native South American countries there was very little of that precious metal to use as a medium of trade and exchange. The production of the Pieces of Eight took place from the 1570's with the ore sourced from the Silver Mountain , or Potosi , formerly in Peru but now in Bolivia and minted there in such quantities to enable it to spread fully around the known world of the time to become a global currency.

By 1600 a single coin could command an equivalent of around fifty pounds of goods and services and, remarkably was accepted just about everywhere in the world.

The human cost of production was excessive so much so that with the depletion or working to death of the indigenous population a huge flow of replacement labour was sourced from the slave trade from Africa.

The output from Potosi provided obvious wealth to the Spanish monarchy for extravagance as an expression of power, expansionism through military strength and importantly a very good line of credit with the money men financiers. The Spanish Empire came thus into direct competition and conflict with the other main and ambitious European powers. Amazingly the Potosi mine remains operational today.

16th and 17th century Spanish influence spread into the Pacific region and Asia and eventually the coins found their way into China with a destabilising effect on the economics of the area. Pieces of Eight have been found over-stamped by nations as their own legal tender and as far apart as Tobermoray in Scotland from an Armada wreck to Australia and over a period of some 400 years.

The catalyst for the global acceptance was the volume of production, billions of coins in number, being likened to the modern day credibilty of Visa or American Express. The downside of abundant money was of course inflation and current day problems were more than evident at that time with great wealth but no goods to provide substance and sustenance when the cash coinage leaked out of the economy.

An empire based on contract deeds and bills of exchange was always destined to fail regardless of the perception of great wealth. The proliference of that chunky silver coin showed that a global economy was possible but would take many more centuries to develop to a level of maturity.

I hesitate, given the global financial turmoils of the last few years or more, to use the word security in any form linked to money. Not all lessons from the past have been taken to heart.

I do however remember not to leave silver foil wrapped chocolate coins in my pocket as that leads to a meltdown.

What the Dickens........

An outrageous piece in the style of the great British Author Charles Dickens (1812-1870)

As another street urchin was trapped in the spokes of his hired Hansom Cab and thrown headlong into an adjacent town house basement well, Josiah Raskelf mused to himself on his good fortune in discovering a most interesting document which could be to his ultimate gain. 

The acquisition of the document had been undertaken with much stealth and guile from a second hand book seller in the less salubrious  part of Fish Town, the bit which moved around on the ebbing tide of the all dominating muddy estuary. 

The flickering coal gas mantles had made the scouring of the display shelves for any antique book treasures problematic but there was no mistaking the sound of good quality parchment slipping from the pages of a weighty tome entitled ' Marrying for Financial Advantage in Victorian Society". 

After some undignified scrabbling around amongst the flotsam and jetsam on the semi submerged and rotting timber floor of the shop, the intriguing paper was retrieved. In elaborate copper plate handwriting Josiah found to his interest a detailed schedule of the widows of the town and what appeared to be a figure of their net worth in cash and property assets. 

The proprietor of the shop had finished his victuals of a large mutton bone washed down with warm ale and could be heard preparing for a stock taking visit to the inner sanctum in which Raskelf was encamped. 

In a deft sleight of hand the moneyed list was eased into the pages of the book and in a flourish he offered the grubby and insanitary shop keeper a shilling in return for the said book. Immediately suspicious of the well dressed and evidently affluent visitor to his very humble premises the owner, one Herbert Sprakeworthy insisted that the retail price was in fact nine shillings and sixpence including bookbinder tax. 

Raskelf showed no emotion in forking out the vastly inflated price again arousing the suspicions of the seller who now regretted not coming in at a considerably higher figure. 

So in due course Raskelf and his exciting find were on their way across Fish Town . 

Being a man of means and leisure he would enjoy a very prolonged period in which to deliberate a strategy to attain maximum exploitation of the bereaved womenfolk for minimum effort and entanglement. Alighting at his own residence he was fussed over by a small retinue of domestic servants who between the cab and his front door managed to provide him with a complete change of clothes,  a very close wet shave and a manicure. 

He dined alone and the fifteen courses were relished with extreme delight in anticipation of his forthcoming course of action. He slept fitfully, however, as befits a person with no soul or conscience and on a very full and bloated belly from the excesses of his dining table notwithstanding a tangible volume of the very best Port wine.

 In the morning, sat at his study desk he considered whom he could recruit to undertake the shabby elements of his masterplan. 

Various brigands and thieves had served him well in the past but he doubted whether they had survived the onslaught of cholera, the attention of other competing villains and the complications of childhood ricketts. 

His Manservant, a threatening figure even in traditional attire, was a veritable human directory of the criminal fraternity and could provide contact details for any perpetrator for any requirement whatsoever. The task in hand, considered Raskelf, was rather specialised in that each of the potential victims would have to be wooed into relinquishing their fortunes rather than bludgeoned and beaten in the conventional manner of the time. 

It would be a long term project, there was no doubt about that. 

The targets, eligible widows,  would have to be carefully selected. It was entirely conceivable that the prettier ones would re-marry quickly being very sought after and particularly in the light of the guidance and instruction of chapter headings in the book in which he had first discovered the detailed list. 

He feared that he would be left with the dowdy matrons and righteous shockers and no amount of incentive or reward based proposals would entice an unscrupulous Player or Beau to partake in the scam. 

Perhaps, on reflection the project was destined to be just too arduous and fatiguing and not for him, whose aim in life was to enjoy the better things and reap the rewards from, as far as possible, the labours and tribulations of others. 

He felt there was little scope to pass on the information to another scallywag for a small consideration or even a profit share. 

Regrettably, but in his mind, entirely fittingly, he pushed the parchment document into the glowing embers of his fireplace and as it quickly scorched and curled into flame he ignited his most favourite brand of cigar and planned his next despicable endeavour.  The act was accompanied with a most unflattering grin and escape of gas from the excesses of the previous evening.

The Great Fairy Step Debate

 

Confucius he say.......

I have not, for many years, heard of any contemporary applications of what used to be the first perception of measuring for a child in the use of fairy steps.

I can remember many games and pastimes at home or in school, usually those played with real or imaginary friends, where the fairy step came in very useful to define space, allocate territory and segregate participants. The distinctive heel- to toe-to heel -to toe movement, often with an exaggerated throwing out of the leg or if done rapidly more like a penguin walk, was regularly used as an integral part in  pre-school or infants school play activities . Even in senior school it was adopted to set out the distance between coats and blazers for a goalmouth for a break-time soccer game. If the match deteriorated into a brawl or mass scrap close to the goal-line then the fairy step was used to mark out the position of the penalty spot. The end of year and spring terms were mostly football but with the final school term before the summer holidays it was cricket or rounders with the fairy step returning to prominence as an easy and widely accepted medium of measurement to set out the pitch.

I have started to tentatively explore the viability of the wider adoption and use of the fairy step in business and commerce. I am fortunate in that my adult size 10 feet, when shoe'd are exactly 1 imperial foot or 12". This of course is confined to sensible and stout work shoes of a Clarks, Hush Puppies or budget Brantano calibre and not winkle-pickers, brothel creepers or those flat ended fashion shoes of Italian style and panache. Experiments in the accuracy and reliability of a size 10 fairy step over relatively short distances have proven very successful against a Swiss precision made laser device, the stalwart of a reinforced vinyl tape and an antique wooden measuring stick. There are some inevitable disadvantages particularly in the implementation of fairy steps where items of furniture form an obstacle for a clear run across a room not otherwise a problem for a red-spot laser beam or a tensioned tape. There are severe limitations in outdoor areas where ditches, rivers, lakes, seas and oceans are encountered.

The general public may also express some distress at the sight of a practitioner in the process of fairy stepping as this involves a head down stance, mutterings of counting consecutively and of course the often comical body movement which is an inevitable feature of the process. Ideally, the presence of an assistant would be required to attend to the counting and also to offset any public animosity or aggression but that could have severe implications for the financial viability of the system. I can see that its application for long distance measurement is rather limited as it takes a lot of concentration to keep in a straight line particularly on a windy day and the actual physical requirements are quite exhausting. It is very possible to incur an injury through a clash of ankles, pull a muscle or even throw out a knee or hip joint from inattentive or careless actions.

Standardisation of the fairy step would also be difficult. I have a vested interest in advocating that only size 10 shoe wearers should be elegible but that would be open to criticism for elitism and also prejudice against those of other shoe sizes. Another field day for lawyers certainly.The whole thing may just decline into a free for all along the lines of Cinderella's beauty challenged step sisters with self mutilation and severance of toes or those of petite feet buying up stocks of clown shoes. Other aspects for consideration would be conversion rates into the metric equivalent and the Statutory Legislation required to enforce the system for acceptance into the UK economy.

On reflection and at this stage in my considerations the fairy step may actually have only limited practical application but would be great fun to implement anyway. The actual numbers involved are quite interesting along the lines of ;

The Great Wall of China- Twenty nine million, forty two thousand seven hundred and fifty five fairy steps

The Andes Range- Twenty three million, two hundred and thirty two thousand fairy steps

Route 66, USA- Twenty million, eight hundred and twenty nine thousand and six hundred fairy steps

Around the world- One hundred and thirty one million, four hundred and eighty two thousand, five hundred and sixty fairy steps ( This would involve continuous fairy steps on board any water crossing vessels)

John O'Groats to Lands End, a mere Three million, one hundred and eighty three thousand , eight hundred and forty fairy steps.

Hobbiton to Mount Doom- Five Million, eight hundred and eight thousand fairy/elvish steps

By way of encouragement just recall the wisdom of Confucius, slightly paraphrased ,that "every journey begins with a fairy step......"