Postcards from Purdah 4

I thought I would share two lovely thoughts brought on by reading Helena Attlee's the Land Where Lemons Grow. On p83 she states that mandarins are "easy peelers" no suggestion, of course that the phrase could be used to describe a corrupt policeman! Also an event she claims  reported by Salvatino Bonacorso when Leonardo Sciascia is alleged to have walked out of a city council  meeting in  Palermo announcing that the city was irredeemable.

A fascinating book, hugely enjoyable (All I can say is it doesn't take much...Ed)
Do I detect a hint of bitter lemons or is that chinotto I see you are drinking?

Postcards from Purdah 3

Lynton Crosby, smoked.
Lynton Crispy?

Just a thought!

Postcards from Purdah 2 Holiday Reading

A few books for my shelves for a few weeks. They will have to be returned, of course.

Should keep me out of trouble.

Postcards from Purdah 1

As we sit here not quite in the garden of England, enjoying the late sun of an Indian Summer, reading about the Land  Where the Lemons Grow our thoughts turn Citrically to Nato and what would happen if our friends in the north were refused membership of the same on declaring independence. We have heard many views and seen much analysis including the suggestion that Norway and Iceland are unlikely to invade! However, I would be less sanguine about the Jaffas! Blood oranges I suppose.
(I thought you were in Purdah...Ed!)
Greetings from Purdah!

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!)

A Bawheidet Woman

I was listening to woman's hour the other day... (Phwat in god's holy name is this blog coming to. Supporting gay footballers and flying the, so called, Palestinian Flag next. Ed!)
I thought we might be hearing from you and if you are awake you might like to take a look at the last blog.
To continue... WH, I think it was the 28 July, was having a wee discussion about the independence of our friends in the north.
Nicola Sturgeon was having a heid to heid rammy with some numpty from the NO! I AM NOT SHOUTING campaign ... ( are you sure it is possible to describe a woman as a numpty?  Is it not demeaning, sexist and more importantly likely to get us in the sort of trouble which would seriously effect our cash flow ? Ed)
What cash flow?
To continue.. said numpty challenged Nicola with the obviously well rehearsed interjection...

But Nicola, you are trying to have your shortbread and eat it!

You can supply your own nasal whiny, faux indignant, numpty, Scots accent if you wish.
I had the thought.

That is it, in a tartan tin.

It is their shortbread and they are going to eat it!

A Bawheidet Man Looks at Scotland

A visit to Edinburgh and evidence of a previous claim made on this Blog. Evidence a friend suggested of a second Scottish Enlightenment. Well the words have been there for over 40 years to my knowledge!

And of course, ye ken

Yes up to a point Lord Cameron

Stereotypically naff.

And yes they are what you think they are and that is a hearse being pulled by horses in the background.
Not prophetic in any way I hope.

Vivian Maier, Found!

To the local filum theatre to see Finding Vivian Maier.
Boy that girl could take snaps and if you don't believe me take a look at her official website.
An intriguing story about a woman who combined being a nanny with being a street photographer. Most if not all of her work was unpublished in her lifetime.
The co-director of the film, John Maloof, comes across a cache of her photos and determines to find the person. The truth as we all know is seldom pure and never simple. The film left me with a feeling that Vivian was possibly a flawed, certainly complex but very, very talented individual!

Bee off with you

Another couple of books to tide us over a pretty wet bit (careful...Ed!)
First The Bees by Laline Paul.The Grauniad link gives a good flavour and don't be put off by the SciFi/Fantasy categorisation.
Second a more factual consideration of bees, bumble bees this time, A Sting in the Tale by Dave Goulson. Again I am indebted to the Grauniad for providing finger easing reference material, more time for reading and taking pictures of wee bees!

(I am concerned about the over use of a certain left leaning, organs of news and liberal propaganda. I am also concerned about the over specialisation on the minutiae of whatever takes your lepidopteran fancy. This blog stands four square as a mirror to society leaning neither to the left nor the right, offering opinion only on the basis of the tested evidence, sound judgement and a broad view of the world. Furthermore...Ed)

Buzz off!

Readers Lives

Sunk into two books recently, with considerable enjoyment, if that is the right word.  Elizabeth is Missing by Emma Healey
Very painful but very much worth the effort. As I may have mentioned before, the changing room at the pool where I swim has a polite little notice by the door, asking

- Have you forgotten anything?

I always feel an urge, so far resisted, to add - Yes, what's my name?
I have mentioned it before haven't I.

All the Birds, Singing. by Evie Wyld

We read this as part of the summer reads project.    We also had the real pleasure of hearing the author speak about her book at a very low key meeting in Bury Library. It was an enjoyable insight into her thinking and other readers' ideas. I regarded the book as a very good read before the meeting but the expansion and discussion gave me access to ideas and aspects that I hadn't even considered. Herself was intrigued to see the person behind the novel. Evie is  a very talented writer in addition she appears to be modest, thoughtful and quite open about the sometimes painful process of producing a text.
I would strongly recommend it and if you don't believe me then have a look!

More books - about Bees - to come! Now that will be interesting. (God Almighty! You just can't resist it can you. Here I was thinking that we had gone for a whole blog without one of those... dreadful... dreadful...Ed!)

Summer Fruits

What a pleasant summer this is turning out to be. We attended a convivial gathering in Norfolk of Oliver Bernard's family and friends. I'm sure he would have wished to be there had he not died just over a year ago. His son Joe told a lovely story delivering the punch line in a pitch perfect imitation of Oliver's lugubrious voice.
Oliver owed the doctor some money, £200, whatever, and old sawbones was most insistent on payment. He pressed Oliver increasingly for this despite the poor poet's protestations of payment in the future.  Eventually he pitched up on the doorstep with his demand and was greeted as Oliver opened the door with
    - I really must start eating an apple a day!

Those Pesky Books Again!

I suppose it is too damp to burn books in Florida.
Don't these bozos ever learn.
I like the response that Cory and his publishers are preparing.

Speaking of which our own dear Library, the sun in our hearts, our great book provider and beacon of mutuality has joined in the Summer Reads Project.  Lots of books, lots or reading, plenty to do to avoid any reference to the wORLD cUP of fOOTBALL, (You promised me you wouldn't mention it this year. What is wrong with a good game of shinty anyways...Ed?)

What a good idea!

The Grauniad economics blog comes up with a publication about Local Authority Pension Funds. Ok, no snoring at the back there. The Secret Wealth Garden is an argument about how to organise and deploy large amounts of moolah. I knew that would get your interest, especially when it could be your moolah! Now this is not an attempt on our part at BPinc moolah services to muscle in on the raft of ponzi schemes, hard luck stories by putative, wealthy Nigerians, activities of  the deregulated offshore tax dodging uber gougers, or other delights. Speaking of which the man on the Adam Smith Omnibus is pretty sniffy about it which is praise indeed and if I had not been around the block a few times might be sufficient recommendation. In any case here are a few wee flowers. Other gardens are available.

Books

I've been reading again. Not much else to do on a wet Bank Holiday. It's fun to have family and friends to visit and entertain  but you can't beat a good murder. The Murder of  Halland  by Pia Juul is a good read in its own right but as the linked reading guide indicates there is much more. I was struck by the grief. The book begins with a murder and How a Gunman Says Goodbye by Malcolm Mackay ends with a murder. Lots of terrible stuff in between. This last novel gives central Glasgow the feel of downtown Baltimore!

Treats

We have been traveling and socialising.

(No excuse for the absence of Blogging...Ed)

M'lud I offer evidence that the absence of Blogging is the Blogging of absence in the following...

(oh very good, very good, I see what you did there, point taken, carry on, my breath is baited... Ed) 

My god what with - English whisky. Is that not taking 'better together' too far.

A birthday treat. Angela Hewitt gave a lecture/recital at Cambridge where she is the Humanitas Visiting Professor of Music. I was entranced by the music, Bach, and her interpretations on the piano. Finished the evening with a meal at the Rice Boat. Well worth the trip!

More culture at the local flea pit which put on a digital broadcast from the British Museum around their exhibition of all things Viking.

To continue to Colchester for a book reading. A small bookseller, Red Lion Books.

Our friend Trish, of Patrician Press which we may have mentioned before, was reading with other authors. It was enjoyable and I'm only sorry I didn't get to buy a book but of course it is an excuse to go back. Over a convivial meal later Trish mentioned Food Fetish.    It had slipped my mind, and more importantly not found its way onto my book list. I downloaded it and so began a very enjoyable romp through food and drink.

I was, as a result, tempted/inspired to try to cook Yottams very simple dish/starter with filo pastry and asparagus. Baked with brushed egg and scattered with parmesan cheese and poppy seeds. As usual, we were short of an ingredient, poppy seeds so substituted nigella (seeds that is) and sesame mix. And as always with ingredients left over put mushrooms and parmesan in the filo parcels. Very enjoyable.

Horses and Sticks

Our beloved washing machine of many years service has been 'Pritted'
Phwatt, I hear you ask, is pritted when it is at home?
It has come to a sticky end. (Arrgh...Ed. Surely not original)
Are you jokin? Pelagerism is a dreadful cross I bear willingly!

In the meantime here is a nice snap of Jacob which we took on our  day out at the seaside!

A grand fellow, is he not?
could do with a few more like him, eh  Mr Ed...!

Gained in translation

Reading The Dark Valley by Valerio Varesi I came across a nice expression on p 118

They can't even find a wall to bang their heads against.

Clueless in Italian?

So  Maria Miller
Gee it's good to see yer
Doing the Vatican Rag.

That's another fine mess you got me in Posh Boy.
Anybody seen a wall?

Motor City

Why does anyone still live in Detroit?
An interesting question, thoughtfully explored in the Grauniad piece. (David Uberti extd.09:08 04/04/2014)  The pattern of development in the USA is much different, of course, and the underlying reality of class, race and economy so far from here. It couldn't happen here, right. Could it?

Subsidy Hoggs

A double whammy! Yes before I call down the wrath of Ed. for the cliche here is a conundrum for you to beat.
Not only do we not know the names,  faces,  inside leg measurements of the few, the happy few, the chosen few who got mates rates on the deal of the year - 'Brenda's Mail'  Delivering a Profit to One of 16 Investors Near You - but we do not know if these few, these favoured few...( all right we are well aware they could be Chums of Dave and Gideon. If this sentence goes on for much longer I want to argue for the return of capital punishment...Ed.) But we also  do not know if these investors avoided paying tax on the profit from disposal. I suspect it is possible. If you believe a certain, doughty, Ms Toynbee in  the Grauniad that sort of thing goes on and D and G do not appear to be doing much about it. 

As I have suggested before, why do we not have a cap on the total of tax allowances available to few, the chosen few, the douce wee hoggs that have their snouts in the trough! Far be it from me to suggest capping at the same level as the benefits cap but we are all in this together, are we not... Hello, anybody there?

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)