On the occasion of the launch of Google Maps Street View, the latest step in that firm's endeavours to pixallate the known world, this blog offers a one-paragraph story by Jorge Luis Borges (with Adolfo Bioy Casares), "Of Exactitude in Science." In a feint characteristic of Borges, this jewel of an idea is smuggled into the reader's consciousness disguised as a fragment from a fictional chronicle:

In a recent piece about the experience of tagging after the British prime minister as he makes valedictory pit-stops at evocative locales (Belfast, Washington, and, alas, Basra), Martin Amis takes a pop at blogosphere critics of Tony Blair. In a tone redolent of a colonial police report on the pidgin rhetoric of native insurgents, Amis offers a sampling to demonstrate how little cognizance should be taken of uppity bloggers:

...from the semi-literate windbags of the blogosphere ("So! The poddle of Downing Street once again hear's his masters whissel")

It's unclear whether the featured quote was actually discovered by Amis or fabricated by him. Given the dismissive attitude of the "old media" towards "media amateurs," the latter decision can be easily believed.

(For example, last night's Newsnight had a feature on the fallibility of Web 2.0's open collaboration model. The thesis was backed up by showing Wikipedia pages on British politicians that, hilariously, featured pictures of badgers and bears rather than photos of the gurning pols themselves. A guest on the subsequent discussion, Charles Leadbeater, inconveniently pointed out that the incorrect photos were actually posted by Newsnight researchers, who had been banned from further interaction with the Wikipedia site. This seems, on the surface, like an extraordinary piece of sharp--and partisan--journalistic practice by the Newsnight team.)

Yet despite Amis's withering scorn for the spare-room commentariat, he might have more in common with bloggers than he cares to admit. First, while bloggers operate, notoriously, without editorial guidance, famous writers such as Amis are given plenty of leeway by subs to indulge themselves. Indeed, the phrase "enough rope to hang himself" comes to mind after reading a passage such as this:

"Sit Room" is not an American contraction along the lines of fry pan, sleep pill or shave cream. Far from being the sitting room, the Sit Room is the Situation Room where, this morning, Bush and Blair and Condi and Cheney are having a video teleconference with their commanders and ambassadors in Iraq."

Well, thanks for clearing that up, Mart.

And whereas bloggers in the Amis Weltanschauung are usually jabbering conduits for the most simplistic critiques--textual equivalents of a Steve Bell cartoon --it might also be countered that the novelist's ventures into non-fiction and current affairs have not exactly been characterized by original thinking either.

Whether "tackling" nuclear weapons, Stalinism, or "the age of horrorism" sparked by religious terrorism, Amis's emotional pitch often seems remarkably solipsistic, as if he were the only one really engaged with nuclear weapons, Stalinism (a bit late for outrage on this matter perhaps), and Islamic terrorism.

In contrast to novelists given prime real estate in national papers, posters in the blogosphere--with its numberless voices, rapid turnaround, and flickering limelight--are almost obliged to recognize the relative insignificance of their insights. And that's no bad thing...

The Dublin Writers Festival 2007 kicks off tomorrow with a stronger-than-usual lineup. However, it's unfortunate that Adrienne Rich, by far the most significant participant, had to pull out of her event due to ill health. Still, there's enough to pique the interest, with Lionel Shriver, Alistair MacLeod, Tim Robinson, and Iain Sinclair involved. There's also a debate about God, with the omnipresent Christopher Hitchens in the atheists' corner and John Waters, columnist and song writer manqué, presumably primed to ramble on about why he re-embraced his long-lost faith. Given Hitchens's rep as a seasoned controversialist and Waters's taste for völkisch prattling, Legion of Mary members might emerge from the clash ready to donate to the Richard Dawkins Foundation.

So, all good clean fun in the next week. But I have to ask: what the hell is Paul Howard (AKA Ross O‘Carroll-Kelly) doing on the slate?

It's usually a sign that a subject has reached its sell-by-date when RTE's current affairs department, as agile as a supertanker executing a U-turn, manages to consider it. In this case, it's "peak oil" that is the subject of "Future Shock: End of the Oil Age," presented by the station's resident scold-in-chief, George Lee. As with the previous Future Shock programme on the prospects of a property crash, it seems that the aim of this speculative piece is to scare the bejesus out of the cobblelock classes. From the show's web page:

George Lee examines how close we are to the end of the oil age and how dramatically life may change in Ireland as the wells begin, finally, to dry up.

The Celtic Tiger thrived on a diet of cheap fuel. Indeed, the whole of Ireland's trading economy, from our labour supply to our civic structures, from our ever-expanding suburbs to our lifestyle and leisure patterns, are all based on cheap fuel and maximum mobility. Without this steady supply of cheap oil, many of the presumptions behind our very standard of living itself may require rapid re-evaluation.

After the oil crash, even Ireland's geographical position as an Atlantic island could become a defining, and isolating, factor in Ireland's future.

It will interesting to see the room given to those who question the "peak" theory. As someone who's spent (too much) time wondering about the potentially disastrous effects of M. King Hubbert's predication coming to pass (I've even read James Howard Kunstler's hysterical The Long Emergency, alas), I'm increasingly dubious about the prospects of an imminent peaking--and all the upheaval associated with such an event. For example, one of the more articulate skeptics of the peak oil bandwagon, Michael Lynch, inconviently points out:

"Consider that over the past 100 years the U.S. has drilled 3.5 million wells into most of its oil basins yet still produces 5 million barrels a day. In the Middle East only 50,000 wells have been drilled into far more prolific basins..."

However, I still think urban SUV drivers should be served ASBOs...

The Irish Film Censor's Office has gone beyond its traditional remit (placing largely ignored classification labels on movies) by "banning" the video game, Manhunt 2, released by Rockstar Games. I've used inverted commas around the censor's move because, if you're so inclined, you can buy the offending game off the web in about 15 seconds.

But isn't "gross, unrelenting, and gratuitous violence" a description that could be applied to the gameplay offered by any number of shoot-'em-ups? It is certainly my (brief) experience of the acclaimed Gears of War, in which my hapless proxy was repeatedly and bloodily slaughtered.

The second point: was the Irish censor's decision to single out Manhunt 2 perhaps influenced by the earlier prohibition of the same game by his counterpart in Britain, the British Board of Film Classification (note the slightly less draconian "Classification" in the British outfit's title)?

Certainly, it would go against the grain of Irish censor's modus operandi to be less strict than Britain's scissor-wielder. Anyone who visits a video store in Ireland will be familiar with the twin colour-coded classification badges that adorn DVDs. Typically, a film's British 15 cert is trumped by an Irish 18 cert. The only exception to this rule that I can recall is the Mel Gibson gore-fest, Apocalypto , which was given an 18 cert by the BBFC but given a teen-friendly 15 stamp in Ireland. (Perhaps Mr Kelleher thought Gibson's history lesson made up for all the onscreen evisceration.)

Of course, such punctiliousness is slightly lacking when it comes down to applying the classifications. It seems at my local vid vendor the rule for allowing people to rent movies is closer to that used in a fun-fair: if you're able to put the cash on the counter-top, you're old enough to watch the film.

Monocle magazine, the latest publication from beyond-parody Tyler Brûlé*, has compiled its list of the world's "10 most liveable cities." For those who couldn't be bother shelling out £75 for a year's subscription (10 issues), the International Herald Tribune has usefully provided a run-down of the anointed cities. Coming in at the top spot is Munich, which earned its laurels with its "winning combination of investment in infrastructure, high-quality housing, low crime, liberal politics, strong media and general feeling of Gemütlichkeit."

Surprisingly, given the criteria mentioned, Dublin didn't make the list...

*In a recent article on discovering cities by foot, Brûlé--who makes Patrick Bateman seem indifferent to brand labels--informed us that "I don't think I fully connected with Tokyo until I woke up one morning, canceled a flight and gave myself an extra day in the city. It was an unseasonably warm day in December, and starting in Meguro I armed myself with good shoes (Ludwig Reiter desert boots), tote bag (Porter) and the essentials for urban navigation (camera for interesting finds, notebooks, writing instruments, phrasebook) and just went walking."

Yes, I've also found that Ludwig Reiter desert boots really are essential when wandering around any Asian megalopolis.

On the heels of TD Beverly Flynn reminding the nation of what a "class act" she really is, yesterday's shenanigans during the first day of resumed Dail sittings provided yet more evidence of the calibre of Ireland's political class.

Newly elected Ceann Comhairle John O'Donoghue cuts a fine figure for a man in his late sixties.

He is actually 51. It's difficult to guess whether his florid phiz is due to fine living or a choleric temperament. Yesterday, unquestionably the latter aspect was on display as he attempted to rise above his former identity as a just another scrummaging TD in attemnpt to fulfill his august role as chairman of the house.

Watch the RTE Nine O'Clock News clip here (it's currently the third item on the page) to see how successful O'Donoghue was. That is if you can bear to watch...

I'm feeling slightly lightheaded. This week I read a column by Kevin "Colonel" Myers that I largely agree with (although his use of the compound noun "Flynn-woman" threatens to undermine his argument with its whiff of blustering misogyny).

From the Indo:

"For law is not unconditionally binding to the Fianna Fail mind; it is accepted, but reluctantly, and even then, only provisionally. The vast majority of the gallimaufry of fraudsters, crooks, spivs, corner-boys, liars and pickpockets who have slunk through our many tribunals over the past decade have been identifiably Fianna Fail. This is so obvious that it is not even commented on - but it should be.

The tribunals are a devastating insight into a society without morals, whose political culture was created by Fianna Fail.

Words don't define that culture, so much as nods and winks, and the wad of fivers in the back pocket at Galway Races.

And the extreme, female embodiment of that culture is the unspeakable Flynn-woman, a proven liar, a fraudster, a creature of no integrity, and a traitor who, in any state with a clearly defined public morality, would be in jail.

But she has that quintessential Fianna Fail quality of supreme arrogance. She clearly feels that she is above the law. And by God, she's right. She bloody well is.

THIS much I understand. But what I do not understand is why RTE, at this precise juncture, would agree to clear the way for her return to public life by waiving half her legal debts for costs, thereby rescuing her from the bankruptcy which she so richly deserves."

But didn't we go through a similar cycle of outrage and disillusionment immediately after the last election? Sometimes it feels as though the Irish electorate's relationship with FF is akin to that which exists between a battered wife and her spouse. Yet again she returns to the family home, telling her sceptical friends that this time he's really changed...