Nothing really bad is happening in my life. Nothing really good, either. I'm just writing my PhD and that is the most important thing in the world, and it cannot be postponed any longer.
Do not leave satsumas where you can tread on them.
They don't complain like kittens do, but, as they die, their juices soak into your stocking, and you feel as though your foot needs its nappy changing.
So, anyways... I know I told you I was going to feel a lot freer to write and talk about a wide range of things once the court case was over, didn't I?
Well, I'm still borked.
If you need to know more, RTFM (Read The Friendly Manual.)
"People can also be prosecuted for having a dead badger. If you see a dead one, arrange for the local council to collect the carcass and dispose of it. Never try to dispose of a dead badger yourself."
A female porcupine is only sexually receptive 8-12 hours per year. The rest of the time, she will scream whenever a male approaches her.
Loudon Wainwright (he's Rufus and Martha's daddy) anticipated the trials of our modern day Prince Harry in a song he wrote way back in the Seventies. (Hence the quaint old fashioned language.) I like Loudon's music and I wish more of his old stuff was available.
Give me a capon, And some roguish companion, A wench, and a bottle of sack. Take me to the ale house, Take me to the whore house. If I vomit, keep me off of my back.
My father, he thinks, I am a good-for-nothing, And that I won't amount to much. But he is not aware of my secret weapon. I can count on my self in the clutch.
Show me a breach, I'll once more into it. I'll be ready for action any day. I'll straighten up, and I'll fly most righteous. In a fracas, I'll be right in the fray.
I can drink you under twenty five tables, Fight and be a ladies man. But all this will change, When I am good and ready, To become the king of this land.
Give me a capon, And some roguish companion, A wench, and a bottle of sack. Take me to the ale house, Take me to the whore house. If I vomit, keep me off of my back. written and performed by LOUDON WAINWRIGHT III
I finished a report that's taken me weeks to write. I feel euphoric, but am coughing violently. Not sure if this is psychological, or am allergic to something I ate for supper.
I think I should go to bed, before something interesting happens on Twitter.
Oh noes! Damn you, Darryl Collins!
Too late. It's already started...
The phrase 'Odd One Out'does not really apply here
For those who you who aren't interested in the Superbowl, National Geographic is showing a fascinating documentary about the seldom seen side of Mount Rushmore.
Back in the day, when I were a lad, girls were supposed to play with dolls, and boys were not. My dad once bought me an Action Man, but I didn't have much interest in soldiers. I liked Subbuteo.
The main game you got to play with Action Man was dressing him up in different clothes, which didn't strike me as an important part of war.
(Do you remember that scene in Kelly's Heroes where Clint Eastwood and Donald Sutherland argue about what shirts they should wear when they ambush the tank? No. Because it didn't fucking happen.)
Girls, of course, had Barbie, and Barbie had a boyfriend Ken.
Now, is it me, or does he look a bit... you know.. gay?
And then there was this fella. Who's he? Is he Barbie's new love interest? Is he there so girls can play "Barbie dumped Ken"?
This is Allen. If you look at the packaging, he's Ken's "buddy".
That's right, they even put it in inverted commas.
I don't have much to report this week, apart from the fact that I'm still coughing and making noises like a broken hairdryer, but I seem to be enjoying it more. Oh and I found some really nice coffee for a quid in my local Co-Op, thus proving that socialism isn't all bad.
I've been finishing off a project for a local firm and writing a report for a client up in the Midlands, and have been active on Twitter, trying to pimp my arse to Americans. So I watched the Obama inauguration on teh Interwebs and somebody said Obama was 'our first surfer president', which reminded me of an erudite remark Fathorse made a while back (that's erudite with a capital rude) about what a doss degree subject Surf Science at the University of Plymouth is.
Obama is the first Hawaiian president, and when he flashed a 'shaka' sign during the inauguration ceremony, according to the Honolulu Star Bulletin, " it caused chicken skin to ripple across Hawaii like a tidal wave of, well, rippling chicken skin." Phew, wow.
I have a neighbour who works at Plymouth Uni. He's a senior lecturer in Tourism Management and his specialist subject is social anthropology of surfing. Well, the dude's American, so he's probably an expert.
Except he's from Kansas.
Not noted for the quality of its beaches
Students who are not capable of the rigorous academic standards required of Surf Studies or Tourism Management can now go to Falmouth and do an honours degree in Performance Sportswear Design.
Hard-working students revitalising the SouthWest's economy
Verne Troyer. He makes Terry Christian look sophisticated.
"There is nothing worse for a girl than being with a boy who doesn't know what he is doing in the bedroom.
"But I know exactly how to make a woman feel like a woman. I know the spot, and I've got plenty of inches where it matters. I know what women want and it's me."
I've been around the world Had my pick of any girl You'd think I'd be happy But I'm not Ev'rybody knows my name But it's just a crazy game Oh, it's lonely at the top
Listen to the band, they're playing Just for me Listen to the people paying Just for me All the applause-all the parades And all the money I have made Oh, it's lonely at the top
Listen all you fools out there Go on and love me I don't care Oh, it's lonely at the top Oh, it's lonely at the top Words and Music by RANDY NEWMAN
I picked this up from America's National Public Radio. It's a poet's response to the banking crisis.
$700 billion is more than enough money to buy every able-bodied American a chain saw, a solar-powered generator and a stake in a communal well and windmill. Also, red dirt and plum trees.
That would probably only cost about $100 billion, and you can use the other $600 billion to buy everybody their house outright.
Now everybody can own their house and be green and self-sufficient, and can go back to whatever they were doing before the world ended: watching TV.
Except for me. I was sharpening my chain saw.
It's an idyllic vision, worthy of Thoreau and Walt Whitman. There's only one thing I don't like about it: the assumption that Americans are all stupid sub-prime rednecks who contribute nothing to the world.
Doesn't that exclude most of the honest working class?
Or maybe the idea is that America should just give up on capitalism and allow the Asians to run the world from now on?
Okay, I get it now.
Meanwhile, back in jolly old Blighty...
Last week, on a day when the British government seized the assets of Icelandic banks, shares continued to fall, and inflation in Zimbabwe reached 231 million percent, the most frequently accessed article on The Guardian website was about local councils' attitudes to lap-dancing clubs.
Where are the ideas?
Where are the debates?
Where are the leaders?
“Every generation needs a new revolution.” Thomas Jefferson, author of the Declaration of Independence (picture posed by model)
I know I am depraved beyond redemption. It is not yet nine in the morning, and I am already sipping the rich, dark brew. And thanks to my habit, Thoufands of Buxome Good-Women, are Languifhing in Extremity of Want(sic).
Coffee was introduced into England in 1650, and clever people very quickly lost interest in the Civil War and became scientists and merchants and natural philosophers. The Queen's Lane Coffee House in Oxford was established in 1654, and I often go there when I'm in Oxford and feel like getting in touch with the spirit of the Enlightenment and dispelling a hangover.
But not everyone approved of the change. The Women's Petition Against Coffee is a satirical pamphlet about men who never fight with any weapon except the tongue, and are 'unfit to be the life-guard to a cherry-tree' (mmm, you bitch.)
The women's petition concludes with these stirring words:
Wherefore the Premises considered, and to the end that our just Rights may be restored, and all the Antient Priviledgesof our Sex preserved inviolable; That our Husbands may give us some other Testimoniesof their being Men, besides their Beards and wearing of empty Pantaloons: That they no more run the hazard of being Cuckol'd by Dildo's:
But returning to the good old strengthning Liquors of our Forefathers; that Natures Exchequer may once again be replenisht, and a Race of Lusty Hero's begot, able by their Achievments, to equal the Glories of our Ancesters.
We Humbly Pray, That you our Trusty Patrons would improve your Interest, that henceferth the Drinking COFFEE may on severe penalties be forbidden to all Persons under the Age of Threescore; and that instead thereof, Lusty nappy Beer, Cock-Ale, Cordial Canaries, Restoring Malago's, and Back-recruiting Chocholes be Recommended to General Use, throughout the Utopian Territories.
In hopes of which Glorious Reformation, your Petitioners shall readily Prostratethemselves, and ever Pray,&c. FINIS.
I like my coffee like my women. One or two, first thing in the morning, before I start work. Then another, a couple of hours later.
I am really not sure what a back-recruiting chochole is. It sounds a bit gay, if you ask me.
According to some people with far too much time on their hands and access to a well-stocked pharmacy cabinet, the Floyd wrote Dark Side of the Moon as a soundtrack to Wizard of Oz. To get the effect, you have to cue up the CD, load up the bong, and press [PLAY] when the MGM lion roars for the third time.
Here are Dorothy and the Tin Man singing "If I only had a brain", which synchronises with "Brain Damage".
Stuck inside these four walls, Sent inside forever, Never seeing no one nice again Like you, Mama, like you.
If I ever get out of here, Going to give it all away To a registered charity. All I need is a pint a day If I ever get out of here.
Well, the rain exploded with a mighty crash As we fell into the sun, And the first one said to the second one there I hope you're having fun. Band on the run, band on the run. And the jailer man and Sailor Sam Were searching every one For the band on the run Band on the run Band on the run Band on the run