IT IS in the nature of the secret services that they are, well, secretive.
Even so, we wonder if the British ones don’t take themselves a little too
seriously.
A journalist we know was trying to find information about code-breaking
operations during the Second World War. She wanted to talk to someone in the
know at GCHQ, the security services’ hush-hush “listening post” in
Gloucestershire.
First she had to get hold of the GCHQ press office.
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“Who are you?” asked a jovial man at the Ministry of Defence when she called
to ask for the phone number. “You could be trying to steal vital secrets.”
Our friend was taken aback, but decided to join in the game.
“But you must know,” she said. “You must have my number and my name flashing
up on a screen, and you must have special software that does voice analysis and
figures out who I am in your secret control room where you are stroking a white
cat with a diamond collar.”
“You’ve been watching too much James Bond,” rejoined the MOD man. “Let me
look it up for you . . . Ah, here it is. GCHQ. Oh my God! The page is
.”
Eventually he did produce the number and our friend called GCHQ. A man in the
press office there did what he could to help but needed more information, so he
asked our friend to call back.
“Who shall I ask for?” she asked. “What’s your name?”
“I’m sorry,” he replied, “but we don’t give out our names. You will have to
ring and just ask for the press office.”
Our friend is now stumped. How will she get back in touch with this nameless
press officer, the only person in GCHQ who will know what she is talking
about?
Feedback has a solution. In order to ease communication, we propose that GCHQ
personnel adopt code names rather than remaining anonymous, and we hereby give
the man who took our friend’s call the code name of Daphne.
Are you reading this, Daphne? We hope you are, because when a journalist
rings and asks for Daphne, you will know the call is for you.
THE NEWS that a Californian organisation called The Second Coming Project was
hoping to clone Jesus caused a predictable stir. The idea was to take DNA
samples from relics such as the Turin shroud, insert them into unfertilised
human eggs and implant any resulting embryo into the womb of a willing
virgin.
Controversial stuff indeed—so much so that BBC’s Radio 4 announced that
the project would be discussed on one of its forthcoming religious programmes.
But it looks like the BBC was being had. A search by one of Feedback’s
colleagues reveals that the name behind the project’s website
(www.clonejesus.com) is none other than Feral House, a publisher of some rather
odd titles, including The X-Rated Bible, Apocalypse Culture II
and The Professional Paranoid. A directory lists the group’s e-mail
contact address as cult@feralhouse.com.
That doesn’t mean the project doesn’t exist, of course. But we have our
doubts.
PREGNANCY ADVICE can be obtained from unexpected quarters these days. The
condom dispensing machine in the men’s toilets in a Milton Keynes shopping mall
carries this placard: “In the event of failure, please contact a member of the
cleaning staff.”
WHAT a strange way to launch a company. A firm in an Austin, Texas, that
sells Web-based technology to other sites wishing to offer online education
courses decided to call itself NotHarvard.com—and immediately started a
lawsuit against Harvard University, seeking a judgment that its name was
“noninfringing and protectable” under trademark law.
“We believe it is prudent for us to assure that no trademark issues will
arise later, as our company and its brand becomes more established,” said Judith
Bitterli of NotHarvard.com.
According to the Wired online news service, Harvard University was
distinctly piqued. “They pick our name because it’s famous and then they turn
around and sue us. The logic’s not registering yet,” said Joe Wrinn on behalf of
the university.
He needn’t have worried. A few days later NotHarvard changed its mind. It
decided to call itself Powered.com instead. “The new name combines the words
`power’ and `education’, which is a better reflection of what the company
provides,” said the site’s co-founder Mark Gonzales, who must have recently
been on a creative writing course.
AND HERE is a product warning for the dimensionally challenged. Robin
Creffield recently bought a “protection cell”—a padded zip-up case for
protecting fragile items when camping—made by Outdoor Designs. It measures
approximately 15 by 15 by 10 centimetres.
The label inside says: “Important Safety Notice: Do not allow anybody to
climb inside this product and zip it up, as this will result in injury and
ٳ.”
FINALLY, Richard Greenwood writes to tell us that some years ago he bought a
full-size railway steam locomotive weighing 45 tonnes from the National Coal
Board. The invoice for it stated: “Approximate quantity 1”.
