The attack on the Togolese national team bus in Cabinda, Angola which has triggered their government’s decision to order them home is, of course, shocking. My sympathies go to those who have lost their lives or been injured, and to their families.

The shootings do, though, raise a question about why Angola was chosen as the host nation but moreover why, when that country was given the nod, Cabinda was allocated as a venue for some of the games.

It seems that, while elsewhere in Angola is more or less trouble free, Cabinda was well known as a dangerous area. Would it not have been wiser to avoid it?

Still, the milk, not to mention the blood, has been spilt now.

What I will say is this. The absolute necessity after any such event, whether it be terrorist attack, a criminal endeavour or even an act of foreign enemy is to carry on regardless. This is what Londoners did during the Blitz, what Birmingham, Manchester, Warrington and London did after IRA bombings.

Despite the fact that they would not perhaps have been in the correct frame of mind to take part in football matches the Togolese players may have wished to do this. Their government, as is its right, has taken the view that they should not place themselves in more danger.

(Aside:- where does this rate on FIFA’s dictum that governments should not interfere with the affairs of their footballing authorities?)

Togo’s government’s position should not be that of the tournament organisers, however. If the tournament had not gone ahead it would have sent a signal to any group of nutters that they could prevent international sporting events from occurring – or even being scheduled. That is surely not an outcome to be preferred.

The suitability of South Africa to host this summer’s World Cup ought not to be affected by any of this. Yes, Angola borders South Africa but I believe that border is hundreds of miles from where the matches are to take place and security ought not to be unduly affected on that score.

PS. Unlike the past few occasions the African Cup Of Nations does not seem to be available on any of the BBC channels.

Pity. I had been looking forward to it.

Later edited to add:- Angola does not have a border with South Africa. (I was confusing it with Namibia, which does. They’re both up the left side a bit.)

Well, a snow that lies more than a day or so is a rarity in these parts. It’s getting on for three weeks now and a further covering arrived this morning.

I finally got to the park today, to see the goings on.

A nice tribute to the human spirit that so much activity was taking place and fun being had in the face of what others were moaning about.

It wasn’t worth the council’s time erecting this sign.

Not quite a bonspiel but the local curlers were enjoying themselves.

An ice hockey game with a goal cobbled together from bits of wood.

The last saloon in town. The inlet to the pond has kept enough water moving to stop it freezing here. The gulls were making a nuisance of themselves.

There were lots of skaters about too. All the revellers had had to brush the snow off the ice to get started.

This is the fountain further into the park. There was still water flowing from it despite the cold.

It seems Bolton Wanderers fans by and large want their new manager, Owen Coyle – a Sons legend, well, a fond memory – to usher in a new era of bright, expansive football to expunge memories of Gary Megson’s grafting and Sam Allardyce’s pragmatism. (We draw a veil over Sammy Lee’s tenure.)

While I’m all for bright, expansive, expressive football – Dumbarton have a tradition of being a passing side, not just lump it and run merchants – I don’t want it to be at the expense of our divisional status.

Allardyce managed to establish Bolton firmly in the Premier League and even qualified for Europe. Surely that, and the odd cup run, is the most a club of Bolton’s size and history can aspire to? It is arguably, overachieving (Nat Lofthouse and the 1950s FA Cup win notwithstanding.)

The style Coyle promoted at Burnley is by no means guaranteed to ensure their survival and might, indeed, still entail relegation.

Be careful what you wish for, my friends.

Both clubs may well be in the same division next year.

But which one?

Tor, 2009, 407p.

The usual caveat applies to this review.

This is the second adventure featuring Dakota Merrick; first introduced to us in Stealing Light (see link above.) We also meet our old friend – foe, really – Trader in Faecal Matter of Animals, one of the Shoal, a civilisation of water breathing creatures who dominate most of the human area of space and restrict access to it. (Another Shoal has the slightly more agreeable name Swimmer in Turbulent Currents.)

The title Nova War is a bit of a misnomer as the greater part of the book concerns Dakota’s travails in escaping (or not) from the clutches of various Hives of Bandati – winged, social-insect type creatures by whom she is imprisoned when the book starts. It is not till later (and mostly off-stage) that any interplanetary conflict occurs.

The earlier sections at first seemed to be symptomatic of middle-part-of-trilogy malaise but once Dakota is free of the Hives the action picks up. Dakota also comes into conflict with the Shoal’s main adversaries the Emissaries, an elephantine race with a peculiar religious obsession and extremely loud voices, who were only given brief mentions in the previous book.

While Gibson mostly avoids the troubles inherent in a sequel of telling us once more of prior events – more or less by the commendable expedient of ignoring any need to do so – there is a deal of info dumping and some episodes tend to be related rather than revealed. Also, the relaying of simultaneous events occurring to different characters is sometimes out of kilter.

Nova War, while depicting less overt violence than the previous volume in the sequence, keeps the pot set up in Stealing Light boiling nicely.

The third book of the Shoal sequence, Empire Of Light, comes out later this year.

A film by Ken Burns. 1989 (remastered 2002.)

The titles on the actual films of course say just The Civil War. Still if they’ll forgive us our parochialism we’ll forgive them theirs.

In any case, the series is nothing short of exemplary. It is a magnificent blend of eye witness account, anecdote, written and printed sources, photographs, paintings, panoramas and music; all of which complement each other and add up to more than their sum. The haunting theme tune, Ashokan Farewell, – a relatively recent composition, though resolutely in keeping with the subject nevertheless, and which resounds throughout the series – is an inspired choice.

While not neglecting the battles – how could it? – it does not dissect them with a military historian’s scalpel. Its preferred use is of individual testaments from soldiers and civilians on both sides – including that of slaves – which grounds it superbly. It never loses sight of the human cost of the USA’s national tragedy, an understanding of which is probably essential to any understanding of that country. One of its consultants, Barbara Fields, makes the point in the last episode that the Civil War is still ongoing, not just in the US but anywhere where injustice and lack of freedom persist.

While watching it I was trying to think if anything in our national narrative approaches this conflict. In social effects, along with its attendant trail of corpses, graves and memorials, the grinding sense of endlessness, the hope for a higher purpose, the nearest would be World War 1. But even that, in its worst battles, did not achieve the casualty rates of the war between the States, which were horrendous and way, way beyond what any western army or its public at home could tolerate now.

The star of the films is undoubtedly Shelby Foote whose knowledge of the Civil War seems to be close to encyclopædic. In the eleven or so total hours he appears most frequently; always with telling anecdotes. In one, he describes waving Nathan Bedford Forrest’s sword above his head; about which his delight was obvious. He then relates giving that general’s granddaughter his opinion that Forrest had, along with Lincoln, been one of the two genuine geniuses of the war. There was a long pause before she replied to him, “We didn’t think much of Mr Lincoln in our family.”

His ability to inhabit the mindset of both sides is superb as are his analytical skills. Towards the end he says of Americans as a whole (I paraphrase a bit but this is the gist,) “We like to think of ourselves as a superior people. If we were a superior people we wouldn’t have fought that war. But since we did then it has to be the greatest war and our generals the greatest generals. It’s very American to think like that.”

Speaking strictly as a non-American I still say The American Civil War is probably the greatest war documentary you’ll ever see.

I’ve just had a horrible thought.

England have qualified for the World Cup. (That’s not the horrible thought even though I know I shouldn’t even whisper it. Anyway, this is not about them.)

The thing is, as a result we are no doubt due for actor Keith Allen’s usual attempt at a tie-in song. Remember World In Motion, Vindaloo and Jerusalem?

Since Allen’s daughter is now a pop star she could no doubt point him in a new direction he could rip off parody. (I gather she has a track record in what we can charitably call homage. Several records in fact.)

They might put out the thing as a double act.

I’ve even thought of an appropriate name for the pair – apart from Tossers, obviously.

Not Leith Allen – that might be a bit too Scottish sounding.

So what about Keily Allen?

Those of you who know me know my birthday lies about as close to Christmas as you can get.

This means I get presents two days in a row. A downside is that I then have to wait a whole year before getting any more.

It also makes things difficult for my family in getting me cards and such for my birthday. In particular, the shops seem not to stock birthday cards in December.

I mentioned last year I have a collection of tins. I got two new ones this year; both nice examples – with biscuits in them!

My eldest son was stuck for a birthday present. The good lady suggested The American Civil War documentary series from a few years back on DVD. He thought it wouldn’t be very festive but the good lady assured him I’d be delighted. I was. (I did videotape it when it was first on; but the DVD is more durable.)

Since it hasn’t been the weather for gallivanting – unusually heavy snowfall and unusually persistent frost and ice for Kirkcaldy – a lot of my holiday has been spent (re)watching the series. Review will follow.

Back to work tomorrow. Ridiculously early in the year. I’ve never before been back on a January banks’ holiday.

I’ve just watched the second of the Doctor Who specials which were on over the holiday season.

The story was pretty much awful. (Thank you, Onebrow, for this pithy summing up.)

The coda epitomised everything that was wrong with Russell T Davies’s oversight of the series. It was so far up itself it was excruciating. All of the Doctor’s companions since the programme’s resurrection (and their families!) made an appearance merely in order that Tennant’s Doctor could say farewell. Ladle on the treacle why don’t you?

And the new Doctor didn’t get himself off on the right foot, either. Examining himself for changes in appearance he dragged a lock of hair down past his eyes and said in a pleased tone, “And still not ginger.”

And still not ginger? And still not ginger?

Would you think it acceptable, Russell, if your character had said, “And still not black?” or “And still not gay?”

To pose this question is to underline the gratuitousness – not to mention offensiveness – of the comment.

The Doctor surely ought to be above such things, Russell, even if you’re not.

Well, we won’t make it to Jupiter this year. We haven’t even made it to Mars.

Just one more example of how the future wasn’t.

Happy New Year anyway; to one and all.

*Btw; I hope we’re all pronouncing this year as “twenty-ten.”