We just popped out

 Haven't really had a break from idleness this year so we just popped out. See Holiday Snaps below.

Somewhere warm and peaceful, we thought.

Gaia, Gaia, planet's on fire!

A merry little tune which I have linked before still there after 2 years and still gets the old wooden leg moving.  

Nice one Olie Julian

Lines from an Old Man's Forehead

Yesterday we heard from Boris the Bungler. Be alert he said. We said your country needs Lerts, but maybe not in Scotland.
On a much lighter and brighter note, we celebrated the first birthdays of twins in the family. It was a lovely occasion. Babies were dandled, cakes with one candle on were produced and a good time was had by all over the interweb with some technomagic called Zoom. (...Other interwebs and technomagicals are available ... Ed)

I guess we are all becoming Baby Zoomers (...Boom, Boom.)

Strange appearance on a walk.

A person lying lengthways on a log! Discreetly positioned but noticeable nonetheless.
Do I cough? In this age of corona virus probably not.
Should I offer assistance - is it needed, would it be wanted? The person is swaddled against the cold and not in distress unless they have popped their clogs but considering their position they would have to have been frozen on the log. I turn my back and consider the field before me, some birds and a general feeling of a cold grey end to winter.

The trees have suffered greatly over the last month; flooding and windfall damage. I have an itchy feeling. I could have turned my back on a mass murderer or no good boyo, or whoever? Too much Nordic Noir? In fact as I finally put my bins away and turned to the path again I was able to see that the 'cadaver' was a woman and I offered a wave with, Hi! She explained that she was waiting for the red kite that has been sighted around the village to fly over so that she could video it. No luck so far. We established we were both from the village and that I was familiar with red kites. I wished her well and apologised for disturbing her meditation and bird watching!
Our very own Log Lady.

Lying on Duty

Mother of God!
As the Grauniad so clearly has it today...
Quote of the week

“No one wants to lie, but part of our duty is to uphold public trust and sometimes that means having a non-exclusive relationship with the truth.”

Gill Bigelow (she of the razor sharp stiletto heels and rather vague moral compass) demonstrates a duplicity that could put even current politicians to shame.
Line of Duty 28/4/19

Stones

'Everybody got to get stoned'

Sam Bennett makes beautiful sculptures on beaches. Lots of cool pics of stones!
Little vid on the shore  or on Instagram if that's your thing.

(Grateful for small murphies...Ed)
Small Potatoes?

An Aye for the Ladies

One of my favourite post cards over the years is a photo of members of the Women's Forestry Corps in Heathfield, Sussex. It is dated June 1918 and was taken by Horace Nicholls. Sadly it does not seem to be in the Imperial War Museum online collection or on interwebDuckDuckGo.
It shows two women at a grindstone sharpening an axe!

As this blog has testified I am little better than a point and shoot photo bandit.
Nicholls was the real Godfather in this ting of ours!
If you don't believe me have a look at the Horace Nicholls website and see the Slide Show.
I particularly like:-
12 - A group of female brewery workers, London.
21 - An English farm girl with her horse.
22 - An Inspector and a Sergeant in the Women's Police Service.
Those looking for cheap thrills and pornography can look elsewhere after boiling their heads, of course.
(Glad to see you back and in reasonable shape, any chance of a sub? ...Ed)

Anyone for Cake?

I can't believe we have been at this for a dozen years.
BP 12 today!

(God almighty, teenagers...Ed!)

A Stickler

 It has been brought to my notice that certain, so called, bloggers, twitters, commentators and  no good scallywags have introduced a word of the day, week, month, year, Preston Guild in their somewhat lacklustre offerings.
However, I give you an illustrated and erudite alternative commencing with:-

A Stickler

It came up at dinner last night (unfortunate phrase there...Ed)
We deferred to Mr Chambers and his excellent book of words some of which you may care to use. The essence of the debate was -is there such a noun? If so is there a verb to stickle and, as a follow on, is it possible to unstickle?
I'm glad to report that there is a noun and it is possible to stickle but the jury is out on whether in this day and permissive age you are able to unstickle though if you indulge with a consenting adult in the privacy and comfort of your own home I am sure you can!
What does it mean I hear you ask well for god's sake if you can't be bothered to turn a few pages of Mr Chambers or Mrs Collins lexicons you have no business nosing about in these columns.
I will say though I was mightyly impressed by the definition - one who is a punctilious and pertinacious insister.
I can see it all now
- Which sibling is it that is both punctilious and pertinacious?
- My insister. (but I thought you were an only child...Ed?)
You have traduced the sacred commandment of this column not to reveal personal information which may be of use to the Tax or Prosecuting Authorities, consider your wages docked for the week. Lets say a round tenner!
(What is £ 0- £10...Ed?)
Minus £10.  You owe me a tenner and not one of those bitcoiny things you are always going on about!

Jesus Charlie and Motherland

I was scanning through a Grauniad article about architecture when I saw a banner with the lettering, Jesus Charlie. Trying to work out the missing punctuation (it was a fluttering banner...) I spotted the fold which had partially obscured the I in je suis.
Still that could be a powerful campaign slogan - Jesus Charlie - punctuation not supplied and bring your own Charlie.
And now for something completely different:-
Motherland! No, not in praise of and apple pie, an earworm which even now can have me jigging round the kitchen leading the mass bands of  "WORLD PEACE & JUSTICE"  It took me some time after the Beeb series of the same name had finished to find this on soundcloud. May it infect your brain, pleasantly, for some time to come.  Nice one Olie Julian One of the comments on the track left me a little perplexed "Reminds me so much of the Hackney Colliery Band." 
Could be open to many interpretations.  

Candlelit

A StormyNight, an Early Start, Breakfast by Candlelight.
Not that exotic really but a nice effect from the secondary glazing.

Alas, not at Tiffanies and without the benefit of central heating. Brrr!

The Third Programme

As was, is 70 years old, aint we all (nearly) dearie!
Charlotte Higgins in the Grauniad  makes a plea

"Furthermore, if the bulldozers came for Radio 3, I would be lying in front of them. To my dying breath I would assert its fundamental importance to Britain and its profound contribution to the country – not just by way of the musical life it has supported and grown, especially through its commissioning of composers, but also through a significant relationship with drama and documentary."

Move over Charlotte! Is there room in front of that bulldozer for someone who has delighted in the sound of the Shagbut, Minikin and Flemish Clacket ever since he first heard them  see R3.


At 23.45

SCHOLA POLYPHONICA NEASDENIENSIS Peter Weevil and John Throgmorton (shagbut) Tatiana Splod (minikin) René Carter-Thomson and H. B. Hogg (Flemish clacket) Introduced by HUGO TURVEY
Hucbald the Onelegged (of Grobhausen: fl ?1452) Instrumental Rondo: Haro! Poppzgeyen ist das Wieselungenslied

Take heed "Mother Theresa" where you wield that bulldozer.  I saw a Prime Minister who had an unfortunate accident with a Shagbut and fell into a Flemish Clacket. It was not at all nice, but very interesting!

 (Did old JSB not write a few pieces for the minikin there...Ed?)

Border Crossings

An Item on the LRB Blog about the famous Seamus, his finely honed sense of mischief and barriers to humanity. 
As we know he has not passed on but lives quietly, a suitable presence in the fens, a miasmic curate in some forgotten pub!

"To educate the English" Now there's a thought.
(Do you think they might build a wall? I know a few fellas who could do with a bit of work. The construction business has been on the down for a while now and the family connection would ensure it was done to spec and on time...Ed)
by their walls ye shall know them!

Helen of the D'Amberponts

Disclaimer.
The proposal for a romance/radio cereal/graphic novel is attached.
Any similarity with an everyday story of countryfolk or indeed Mr Hardy's underwhelming and somewhat febrile novel is purely coincidental. To be continued... (see omnibus edition No. 92)

Top Shelf Stuff

Seen in local supermarket, exhibit 1 a photograph ( attached).

Thank god the owners are keeping this out of the reach of the children!
I know that some of you meterosexuals think that this kind of thing is passe. It is a short step from soft core fruit muesli to CRUNCHY GRANOLA. Hard core or what?

(My Da  (god rest his immortal soul) - said that it could only lead to one thing - mastication... Ed)

Does that parenthetical interjection not constitute illegal nesting by your Da in my blog?

An Awfully Big Theory of Everything

Just booked to see the Imitation Game. Top film about a top secret, even the write ups are hush, hush on the QT!

In answer to an advertisement  Smart Boy Wanted,  placed in Secret Agents Classified, Steven Turing applies for the job. Turing, a wizard, mathematical genius and inventor of the Bombe Surprise shortens the Second World War by an average of ten years. He is played by Alan Fry and his faithful butler Higgs to Wodehousean perfection. The film deals sensitively with Turing's Motor Home Disease, a dreadful affliction which leaves him permanently incarcerated in a purpose built cottage with wheels on the outskirts of Cambridge. The crux of the film comes when Turing and Higgs are summoned to the mansion of the Dowager Hawkwind to discuss Life, the Universe, String Theory and how to get the Dreadfulhun off her lawn at Belchly Abbey... (continued, see Blog 94...)

The McTavish Letter

Any resemblance to persons(real or corporate), places or things is entirely,fictitious, fortuitous and as such, is  a failure of the author's poor befuddled brain.
(As a husband, father and deeply religious person I am glad you covered our arses with that one...Ed.)

Dateline London 12 September 2014 15:30 BST
Deep in the bowels of Whitehall a lowly civil servant is scouting for a place for nefary. In a dusty corner of an unused office in a redundant building an envelope sits on an otherwise empty desk. It displays itself, coyly, provocatively, promising distraction to an aching heart and ungirded loins. It is addressed to a certain McTavish in some god forsaken part of the realm, probably as remote and dreek as it is unpronounceable.  The envelope, open and unsealed provides access to the letter within. To the practiced bureaucratic eye it quickly yields its burden. The letter is cover for the return of material strangely not enclosed but which is clearly detailed  and purports  to incriminate certain politicians north of the border in heinous crimes and misdemeanors; treason, spousal abuse, theft, animal husbandry, incest and Scottish Country Dancing are but a few of these horrors. The missive thanks the addressee for provision of this material but states that it would not be, in the national interest for the government to have said material in its possession at this time.

The covering epistle  bears a single letter as a mark of signature. (I take it that is not an X...Ed?)
No we are not talking military intelligence! The address of the sender is a Post Office Box - Whitehall 1212 - not identified further.  

The dutiful civil servant swiftly brings the letter to the attention of the powers that be, thus  shifting the monkey in the box as quickly as possible( but not before making an untraceable copy.) The powers that be, as might be expected, consider that accusations of eating babies, deep fried in batter, require extensive consultation and evidence gathering  before a draft report with proposals for an interim memorandum to the Cabinet Office,  copy of course to the Treasury, could be circulated.

In the fullness of time the news desks of various publications received communications, again from 50 untraceable sources which contained 19 digit numbers of bank accounts which would be in existence in exotic locations for the next 24 minutes. These offices could be used to deposit large sums of boodle and in exchange the originators would provide incontrovertible evidence, evidence of such magnitude, evidence in such depth  that  it would sink any campaign battle bus in a sea of mixed metaphors.

The money goes out, the evidence comes in and 2 countries, like 2 mature adults, consider that for the sake of the children they would be better off together.

I noticed that when I drew the attention of herself to a story on the BBC about a certain Mr Murphy being pelted with eggs recently her only comment was that it's a terrible waste of eggs.  This seemed like a sensible approach or deeply ironic or both.
I believed this to be the case thinking she does not have a pig in the race. However, at a later date she demanded to know of me if she would be entitled to a Scottish passport in the event of a yes vote!

I smell bacon.

Anyways, it might not be a bad idea for this blog  to go into purdah until the 18th so as not to unduly influence our friends in the north. (PAH...Ed!)

Ho! Ho!

A Pinch and a Punch for the fist of the Month. I bring you tidings from the Grauniad.

Scotland to switch to driving on the right if independence given green light

And I have in ma hond a piece of paper  that details the plans of the perfidious Nats to invade San Serif in the event of a Yes vote. 

Nothing like trailing your coat around the school playground.

And while we are at it, I stayed up far too late  one night last week watching 13 Days.

So Shreck better get on the phone to Posh Boy and advise him of the intention of an Indie Scotlenad to 'Quarantine' Faslane.
I've gone all weak at the knees. It's the thought of Posh Boy pounding the lectern at the UN with one of his shoes, Gucci of course!
(That is blatant product placement! I edit an ethical blog and in the words of another great man of letters something up  with which I will not put...Ed)

In the Pink

(Hello. Is there anyone there...Ed?)

In case you are  interested I am well and enjoying the spring air. I have been following the tail wind of this extraordinary world of ours and have to confess to being buffeted by the Beauforts, metaphorically speaking.

(I see that absence does not make the art grow stronger, nor the quality of the text even...Ed.)

The lads and lassies at Newsnight have a new team or a new configuration, though even in this world turned upside down The Great Bandiness, his holiness Pope Paxoid is still there of course but shuffling and new blood are in evidence. I was adopting the Newsnight Slump (this may become an olympic sport soon) when I noticed the sharp and investigative features of Emily Witless (isn't that Maitlis...Ed.) She was well wrapped up, it being a bracing spring day, in a voluminus pink garment which did not appear to possess itself of a volume control mechanism. Underneath said reporter, editor, correspondent, whatever there appeared the helpfull caption 'Will Hutton'.

Begod! I know with the certainty granted only to the pontif and then only when his holy backside touches the Cathedra of Faith that was not Will Hutton.

Your man would never be seen dead in such a shade of pink!

Normal for Norfolk

You may have noticed headlines, strap lines and lines of waving locals with words similar to the following

...Norfolk, England Welcoming visitors since 1061

or similar date.

Extensive research by the Buddhist Pizza Reseach Institute (BPRI reg in Cayenne Islands, Charity  number 666) has unearthed a much earlier date for the County's first visitors. As a result and out of a deep respect for the denizens we offer the following as an amendation...

...Norfolk, England Welcoming visitors for over 900,000 years

 (Is it not usual at this point to pass some comment about the stasis in the gene pool or some such like...Ed)

Are you joking? I make occasional visits to the bloody place and have no intention of doing any such thing.

Snowdrops

We listened to Writing the Century, The Dock Nuremberg, a series of 5 dramas on BBC Radio 4 about the painting by Laura Knight which you can see here. Pretty strong stuff in its way. Apparently the US military police at the back of the dock who acted as guards in the trials were known universally as Snowdrops!

 An equally grey scene today when I took this snap of snowdrops at Anglesey Abbey. (The flowers that is, not MPs.

The National Trust has not been indicted for war crimes or crimes against humanity, yet!)