I read the news today, oh boy, 4000 holes in Blackburn Lancashire,
And though the holes were rather small, they had to count them all,
Now they know how many holes it takes to fill the Albert Hall
John Lennon
Of course, here, I purloin the lyrics of what is widely (though not universally) considered the finest song in The Beatles cannon. And almost never out of the Top 5.
With a couple of caveats, I do not share in this viewpoint: 1) such matters are entirely questions of individual taste; and 2) I do like the song, but would not, personally, place it in the Fab Top 20.
It is, however, classic Lennon, with majestic musical hook(s) (interspersed by an entirely forgettable Macca bridge), and elegant but glibly clever lyrics, designed, as Lennon’s often did, to pose more questions than they answer.
We still, for example, cannot confidently confirm the true identity of The Walrus.
Meantime, ADitL begins by describing the death of Tara Browne – key member of the Carnaby Street scene, heir, on his mother’s side to the Guiness beer empire, and, destined, on his father’s, to become the Fifth Baron Oranmore – as described in an iconic British tabloid known as The Daily Mail1.
He, who blew his mind out in a car, is also said to be the bloke that introduced The Lads – or at least the reluctant Paul, to LSD.
In the same January 19, 1967 edition of the above-mentioned newspaper, there was a brief article about the identification of 4,000 potholes in the (presumably otherwise) pleasant British township of Blackburn – located a short distance northeast of the port of Liverpool, in the County of Lancashire. Given its prevailing population of slightly more than 100,000, this implied, at the time, a pothole for every 26 denizens of the above-mentioned village.
However, with trademark verisimilitude, Lennon somehow conflates this with the revelation of the capacity of the Royal Albert Hall (known, even prior to this, to be just under 6,000):
Blackburn Clocktower (Left) and Royal Albert Hall (Right)
Full disclosure: I’ve never been to Blackburn, but did attend the Cream 2005 Cream reunion at Albert Hall. It was a helluva show.
That, however, is a different story.
I got to thinking about all this 00 in contemplation, not of the day, but rather of the week, that just passed, which began with the touching but in my judgment disproportionate reaction to the demise of Bob Weir. Even I was thrown for a loop, being compelled to execute a near-complete rewrite of last week’s note after I read the news (oh boy) late last weekend.
Monday came and went. But then, on Tuesday, an old friend of mine had his leg amputated. I awoke Wednesday morning to reports that our entire navy was streaming towards the Persian Gulf, with menacing intent to rid the world of the mullahs once and for all. The market didn’t like this, and my clients were losing money.
By that afternoon, of course, the entire nationwide Verizon network went down, causing untold aggravation, as well as some investment reversals due to the inability of selected market participants to execute trades. The Company, of course, is known by its ubiquitous slogan “can you hear me now?”.
Well, no, as it happens, we can’t.
Worse than that was the Company’s unfortunate decision to downplay the incident during those critical early hours. The network failed around 12:30 Eastern and it wasn’t until after 4 that their website acknowledged that “some users were having service problems”, which, if just by a titch, was an inadequate description of what went down.
At the point of this correspondence, no explanation for the extended outage has been forthcoming, and – not gonna lie – the response – tantamount to “networks go down; here’s $20” – left me and I suspect others – somewhat cold. Plus, as a grassy knoll kind of guy, I can’t help but wonder if the episode and the incrementally escalated tensions in the Middle East aren’t somehow, you know, connected.
Fortunately, the week improved after that. We backed off our aircraft carriers. The markets, if not recovering, at least held the lion’s share of their ground.
Thursday was particularly memorable. For one thing, it was the 97th anniversary of the birth of one of the greatest Americans/figures of the 20th Century – Dr. Martin Luther King Junior. It was also the 17th solar cycle since the heroic actions of Captain Sully, who, in 2009, managed to save everyone on board a commercial airplane, which, due to a bird strike, was forced to land in the Hudson River:
Captain Sully’s Plane (Flipped Upside Down for Dramatic Effect):
Furthermore, Thursday was the 25th anniversary of the launch of the much-maligned Wikipedia. Of which I am a big fan. Maybe their biggest. So much so that when I caved, as I do every year, and stroked them fifty bucks last month, they asked me to kick in another ten and I happily complied.
There was, in addition, a very special event/milestone which transpired for me on Thursday. It is sufficiently personal that I won’t share the specifics. But to those who know, I will state that it went well enough to have rescued my entire year, and, perhaps more importantly, my week.
By Friday, I was spent. And such, for better or worse, is a Week in the Life.
But here is the thing about weeks. When one ends another begins. So, I reckon we’ll have to do this all over again. It is unlikely to mimic the one just passed. Bobby isn’t likely to die again, and my buddy has only one more leg that can potentially be removed. My guess is that Verizon will be on its toes.
But Trump could literally decide to seek to take over any country in the world and obviously intends to begin with Greenland. As everyone knows, he has announced new tariffs on any country that dares to oppose this bloodless conquest, and it’s hard not to conjure up memories of the Anschluss or annexation of the Sudetenland. We need this for our security, of course, because without full control of Greenland, we may face the same terrors that the Germans confronted when their tanks were forced to contend with the menacing Polish Cavalry.
None of which, at this point, is helping the markets
More mundanely, today is a holiday, and the earnings season is still in its early innings, with not much on the calendar about which to wring one’s hands. We do get a first glimpse at Q4 GDP on Wednesday, and it looks like a banger.
So, it may very well be that we will be compelled to focus upon and endure yet another cycle of over-reporting out of Minneapolis: a city which, in a better world, rather than being THE lightening rod for insurrection, revolution and the misappropriation of taxpayer dollars, would be enjoying a well-earned hibernation.
And I have no idea where any of this leaves the markets. Lots of crosswinds at play, and, as I like to remind all you young bloods, each year tells a story of its own, and it’s unwise, in my judgment, to anticipate the narrative this early in its chronology. My best risk advice is thus to wait and see.
Read the news today, oh boy. And tomorrow. And the day after that. What you find may surprise you. The English Army may win the war. A friend may blow his mind out in a car. NATO could collapse.
But, come what may, then you must find your coat and grab your hat. Or else you might miss the bus – by seconds flat.
However, there’s one thing about which we can perhaps all agree. And that is this:
I’d love to turn. You. On.
Upon my honor I would.
TIMSHEL
1 The publication first found its way – as a direct reference — into Fab 4 lyrics within the 1966 single “Paperback Writer”.