So there I was. Left home at 10 past sparrowfart, caught the train at sp.41, even though the display at the local station said , and headed for the great Wen!.
I thought, coffee, sniffed my way to a dealer and nearly tripped over St Vincent de Cable. Having made the deal and slumped into a corner to savour my hit who should pass before my eyes but Ian Drunken Smith! He was attended to in much the same way as the owner of a small yappie dog by a civil servant. What did they put in that Americano?
They were going to have a Cabinet Meeting OOp North. Why? You are going to shaft the livelihoods and family fortunes of milliones de paisanos why should you give a f**k where you do it?
Interesting though.
You can organise, as a certain Mr J. Hill mentioned.
Just say;- take your nasty rapacious capitalist hands of ma assets.
Ma community owns them and you must not touch them!
http://www.newstartmag.co.uk/files/bid.pdf
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Probably what we need to know and why !
John Naughton is promising a new book about Tinternet!
Some stuff is here in Th'Observer.
You could read it to take your mind off upcoming events in the World Cup of Football.
Some stuff is here in Th'Observer.
You could read it to take your mind off upcoming events in the World Cup of Football.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
The End Times!
I've just finished reading Irrationality by Stuart Sutherland.
Counsels of perfection, of course, but we would all like to think there was room for improvement.
Then I saw this in Bong Bong.
Do these guys have the inside skinny on something?
I find myself glancing skyward more frequently now, nervously scanning for PCOs
(Porcine Flying Objects since you may not be a regular reader)
Counsels of perfection, of course, but we would all like to think there was room for improvement.
Then I saw this in Bong Bong.
Do these guys have the inside skinny on something?
I find myself glancing skyward more frequently now, nervously scanning for PCOs
(Porcine Flying Objects since you may not be a regular reader)
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Ties that bind us together!
Oh this did strike a chord, or cord.
Once upon a time, long, long ago my life used to depend on this.
How to tie a bowline!
The bunny goes out the hole and round the tree and down the hole again.
Finish with a half hitch. Jesus, to think we used to hang on these things.
A waistband of hemp and all the good things of life!
And now a big boy who did these things so much better.
Gaston!
Once upon a time, long, long ago my life used to depend on this.
How to tie a bowline!
The bunny goes out the hole and round the tree and down the hole again.
Finish with a half hitch. Jesus, to think we used to hang on these things.
A waistband of hemp and all the good things of life!
And now a big boy who did these things so much better.
Gaston!
Conspiracy! What Conspiracy?
At the back of the Baramara, a tacky club in Sitges, it is very dark, dingy and very, very quiet.
This may be due to the judicial police squad with enough firepower to blow away a small Mexican drug cartel. It could be the large men in undersized shirts and jackets with various bits of electronic equipment in their ears. It could be the bulges in their clothes in places which even the clientele of the Baramara would find strange. Or it could be that such watering holes are not what they used to be and have to tart themselves on the market for whatever they can get!
In the gloom, if you could be there, you would see the figure of
Kissinger, Henry A. - Chairman, Kissinger Associates, Inc.
radiating sufficient gravity to cause a perturbation in Einstein's calculations. He is muttering incoherently in a signature gravelly voice to his most attentive audience, himself.
A man approaches. Apart from the adjustment in the massed cohorts and weaponry all is well! He is in his fifties, but looks good, has grey and black hair swept back. He has a mischievous smile playing round the corners of his eyes and his mouth.
Henry descends into a monologue which is inaudible and unintelligible but sounds like a cement mixer with a bad dose of indigestion. The youngish guy says that he will take that as a yes then.
He reminds him he is off to the Hague and that it might be a bit premature to plan any Christmas shopping in Madrid or Paris!
The various forces pack up the sub-nuclear arsenal attendant on each and sweep up behind their charges. Some of them head for a better class of bar!
This may be due to the judicial police squad with enough firepower to blow away a small Mexican drug cartel. It could be the large men in undersized shirts and jackets with various bits of electronic equipment in their ears. It could be the bulges in their clothes in places which even the clientele of the Baramara would find strange. Or it could be that such watering holes are not what they used to be and have to tart themselves on the market for whatever they can get!
In the gloom, if you could be there, you would see the figure of
Kissinger, Henry A. - Chairman, Kissinger Associates, Inc.
radiating sufficient gravity to cause a perturbation in Einstein's calculations. He is muttering incoherently in a signature gravelly voice to his most attentive audience, himself.
A man approaches. Apart from the adjustment in the massed cohorts and weaponry all is well! He is in his fifties, but looks good, has grey and black hair swept back. He has a mischievous smile playing round the corners of his eyes and his mouth.
Enry, viejo perro, como se saja? Madre de puta, estas bien?
Speek en Englesh pleese, for the tape!
Ho K Enry, whatever you say, conejotito!
The reason I drag you out of the Bilderbergs is I want to ask you a question.
Dit you put the pressure on the Espanish Supremes to have me fired so you can come to Sitges? There, I seddit.
Henry descends into a monologue which is inaudible and unintelligible but sounds like a cement mixer with a bad dose of indigestion. The youngish guy says that he will take that as a yes then.
He reminds him he is off to the Hague and that it might be a bit premature to plan any Christmas shopping in Madrid or Paris!
The various forces pack up the sub-nuclear arsenal attendant on each and sweep up behind their charges. Some of them head for a better class of bar!
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Long time ago.
I'm not sure why I should remember this now but it is a clear recollection.
In the back entry's of the classic Salford slum I sat transfixed watching a mate's Dad line up match sticks in the dirt between the flags in their back yard.
He then took out his kukri applied a steel or stone to the edge and sliced through the matches.
They didn't collapse, or burn, or fall over. He didn't treat us like admiring idiots, although we were.
He parked his fag in the corner of his mouth and explained how it was his weapon in the last war and he had been shown how to use it by the Gurkhas. It kept him alive and that was important for him and his family!
We carried on with the daily round of football, cricket, school, rounders(included girls) and getting the ball back from the the backyard of Mrs Humphries the eyeball scratcher, shudder!
Life! Ojala!
In the back entry's of the classic Salford slum I sat transfixed watching a mate's Dad line up match sticks in the dirt between the flags in their back yard.
He then took out his kukri applied a steel or stone to the edge and sliced through the matches.
They didn't collapse, or burn, or fall over. He didn't treat us like admiring idiots, although we were.
He parked his fag in the corner of his mouth and explained how it was his weapon in the last war and he had been shown how to use it by the Gurkhas. It kept him alive and that was important for him and his family!
We carried on with the daily round of football, cricket, school, rounders(included girls) and getting the ball back from the the backyard of Mrs Humphries the eyeball scratcher, shudder!
Life! Ojala!
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