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)

Shelfies

Yes you heard it write in your minds eye. Shelfies. You may find an explanation there, or #shelfie if you are twitterate, or remain a sad bemused old codger much like myself! All this technologistics, tweets of the day, facepaint.... (there, there its surely time you had a cup of hot strong tea...Ed!) And another thing don't call me Sh...

Still the idea had me chuckling into my Ceylon when I saw this #books for prisoners.
I think I understand. My own contribution would be a book by Roger Cooper - Death plus Ten Years. As the author of the book confirms, the sentence was proposed to be served in reverse order!

Now I leave it up to you to decide on the secret shelfies of Posh Boy, Gideon, and the Old Grey Grayling!

Snaps

Mr Getty, who has a lot of snaps (35 million at the last count), has organised his holiday photos so that it is possible for us folk to use some of them in a non commercial way. Check it out here.

Not everyone would be pleased though I guess. Those on the beach with the big cameras and the donkeys to support; well you can imagine. Still there is no standing in the way of progress as your man said to the head scribe at the monastery in Gutenberg. 

Thanks to the old British Broadcasting Corporation for the story. I know I put the reference to it in my pocket somewhere. If you don't want to wait while I find it you could always use the Hypi thingy at the  story.

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!

Flowers from an Island

A gift from an island, warm and pleasant. Very welcome at this time of storms and rain and confusion!

Common Currency

A letter from Dame Nichola Misfearsome, Comptroller General of BP Inc. to the Chair of BP Inc.

Dear Snooks,

I attach a spot of bedtime reading  by the bean counters and moolah wallahs about the attempt by our subsid. in the north, Salmo Enterprises, to up sticks, grab the boodle and go it alone!  You know how the M  Ws drone on if you let them so I suggest a stiff Glenbogle if you are not the least interested. In as much as I understand it (GCSE in woodwork 1959) I
passionately agree with its analysis and conclusions.

I know that our relations with the ungrateful bu**ers oop north have not always been of the best but a commercial relationship between different parts of a company is a bit like a marriage. We are the bread-winners, they do the cooking and the cleaning, and after a Friday night session at the club we come home a bit squiffy and... well. We've been screwing them for years and now they want out. They say they are happy to split liabilities as well as assets! I say go forth and multiply and empty your pockets before you do, thieving oiks!

Toodle pip.

Ever
Nickky xxx

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!)

Famous in the Fens

I strode up to the bar where the curate was polishing a pint glass as if it was a Tibetan prayer wheel. He looked a queer kind  of a fellow even for this part of the fens.

-A glass of your finest Vichy Water your grace and whatever takes your fancy.

He looked half in a trance. Big white mutton chops adorned a chin that underbit a not unfriendly mouth. The eyes were more modestly protected behind merest gaps than any regulation burka. They picked up whatever light had crawled into that gloomy sort of a place and a glass appeared in front of me. I was surprised to see it full, a fine effervesence adorning its surface. A second glass was leisurely placed on the bar and a bottle of the finest holy water came uncorked to the curates hands. He raised the glass, half full, to his slightly sensuous lips after breathing the usual order of service in the resonant tones that I had half expected. I supplied the responsary as required quaffing more substantially than the celebrant.

-A civilised language to greet in but not one heard much in this watery kingdom.
-I have done with greetin in this language, my own or any other.

In as much as the acoustics allowed this statement to the body of the kirk boomed. I leaned in to the bar and with a discretion which ignored the empty room and claimed that I believed he had done a bit of translation before now -Ovid and -Beowulf to name but a few! He was taken aback. In as much as I could see his peepers they took on a guarded shift behind the old eyeslits.

-I wouldn't know too much about that.
-Ah man you're Famous after all, unmistakeably so. Well we all thought you dead. What is the problem, is it still the Jaffas, Al Caida, the Roosian Mafia trying to muscle in on the old poetry business?
-No. There was some trouble round about the time of the Nobel gong with the Sufis. Idris makes them out to be fun loving, easy come easy go guys, whirling away like dervishes but I know different. I know they are hard men, strictly dancing to a different tune and bearing a grudge tighter than a Jaffa holds on to his Billie Pot. No it was the wife and kids; a man can only take so much. Then there was the prospect of grandchildren and even great grandchildren. I just wanted a bit of peace and quiet after all these years.
-I know exactly what you mean. Haven't I said the same on occasions. A man like yourself though; a curate's work is not going to keep you, intellectually speaking.
- I have a few ideas and one or two projects on the go if you understand. Looking out on the water in the direction of  Scandinavia I see the big money is to be made in crime. Don't get me wrong, I'm not about to join the ranks of those chased thither and yon by the DMP. No I was thinking of a verse thriller, taking as inspiration the human traffiking of women from Ireland in the 9th century. Those poor country coleens were famed for their storytelling abilities and brutally ripped from their communities to pour out sagas for the likes of Snorri the priest to scribble down in some traduction or other! Perhaps I've said too much.

  I realised that the moment had passed and that I had best be on my way. I patted myself down and gathered my accoutrements, such as they were. I was about to head for the door when that noble head leaned towards me and the chin made the universal gesture requiring the subject to draw near and offer a conspiratorial ear to the speaker.

-I trust I can rely on your discression and good judgement, pilgrim, as a matter of compassion if not professional courtesy.
-As I am an honest man, you have my word!

It was only when I was half way to the car that I realised I had left without making a contribution to the poor box! Ah well the secrets of the confessional come at a price, and Vichy is an expensive way to give yourself bother with the bag!

(Have you been at the Dalkey Archive again...Ed)

Books and Pictures

A few days ago I finished Nature's Engraver by Jenny Uglow.
It took some time, which might be me, however, I enjoyed it greatly. Of the many images 'The Corn-Crake' remains a favourite.
The bird is caught in the split second before launching itself into a dash for cover, a spearlike configuration of beak and bum! It is interesting to think that Bewick would have been driven half mad in early summer with the 'kreck, kreck'. Now we have to travel to the Inner Hebrides for our dose of May madness.

A visit to the Cotes museum in Bournemouth provides lots of visual stimulation

(Lots of Victorian paintings of young ladies with little else but a few whispy things attached. All in the interest of studying your Ancient Greeks no doubt...Ed)
Yes a picture did catch my eye and it was a representation of women -

Spanish Market Women at Bilbao by Eusebio Perez de Valleurca

Of course we do not know what they are saying but we do know what they are saying. The two figures we see to our left are
deep in sotto voce

I really, really love him!

Pobrecita! He's just like all the rest!

(Glad to see you back. Are you looking a bit peaky...Ed?)
Just a cold since you ask. Nothing a hot drink, warmth and an editor who is given to litotes won't cure!

Pandrops

In a school playground in Stockbridge two kids stand square to each other. There is tension. It is not the usual flare of cruelty, anger or a desperate reaction to casual violence. The smaller child, a rotund cherub who looks like he has just finished a long and pleasurable sook on a pan drop, is planted with growing confidence in front of a much bigger boy with greasy hair and florid, rubbery complexion, Macaroon.

Listen Salmo you do what I say or it'll be the worse for you.

Worst!

Worst what do you mean worst.

It's worst not worse!

Whatevs you fat little git.
I am head of school and you've got to do what I say. Don't think the teachers give a monkey's cos they don't. Except Gideon, he really enjoys seeing me kick the crap out of the smallest snot gobblers.

Holding on to his bag, his bladder, the level of his voice and his big idea the smaller boy, Salmo, looked Macaroon straight in the eye.

We don't have to do what youse say if we don't want to. Stockbridge School does not have a head boy. If we had anything we should have a head student and I would vote for Nicola.

Vote, what do you mean vote, we should fight for it. I'd like to see Nicola take me on, in fact I'd like to see Nicola take Rebekah on. Macaroon fell silent at this and a strange look came in his eyes.

Salmo maundered on, sure now he was digging his own grave or worse!

The students should decide, it should be fair, no bullying or bribing people even with pan drops.

Macaroon grabbed him by the ear and twisted, hard. Salmo felt hot tears in his eyes. He looked to see if Nicola was watching. She was. He lashed out with his foot. Macaroon dropped to the ground and moaned. He clutched the part of his short trousers where, it was thought, the largest one in the playground was to be found. He turned white, then green then gave a dry boke. Salmo turned. While the going was good the good got going. He thought what a heap of shite these these big kids were. He knew he would get thumped, Gideon might even use the tawse on him but it would all be worth it. He knew he would get to share those pan drops with Nicola, eventually!

Concert

A concert in Liverpool at the Nordic Church.
In the first part Bridget Marsden & Elin Nilsson played Early Music and Swedish Folk Music on Baroque Violins. I thought it a well constructed session and the music, old and new, sat easy on the mind and in the ear.
After coffee and cakes Bridget Marsden & Leif Ottosson (accordion) gave interpretations of Nordic folk music in new compositions and traditional tunes. The combination of instruments, violin and accordion, might appear to be imbalanced but the finesse of both players delivered a beautiful sound. The music cheered and enlivened but did not shy away from the inevitability of separation and mortality. One piece, describing friends leaving, was dedicated to someone who will leave us soon.

A good day out including, for some, Scouse and a pint in the Baltic Fleet.
(Not for yourself, surely... Ed? )
Indeed not. And another thing, don't call me Shirley!

Amazing Grace

Caught in ma goonie wi haf a grapefruit and boily egg, toast too!
Listened to Grayson Perry delivering himself of the latest in his Reith Lectures.
Enjoyed it greatly. I'm not sure if he was wearing his best frock for Stroke City. They lapped it up as did I.
Link here to the Beeb site.

(Isn't it at this point that you usually say something bad about that well known  'Radio Personality' Sue Crawley... Ed!)

Out of the mouths

Herself recently gave rise to a cracker. We were discussing the Nobel Prize for Physics over breakfast the other day (time for a full body cringe or phwatt...Ed) and she suggested that in the house style we should refer to that particle as

THAT GODDAM DOG PARTICLE...

I thought that was rather good.
Anyway, nice one Peter! I'm sure you deserved the gong.

Grangemouth Smokies

Article by Martin Kettle in the Grauniad linking the proposed closure of the Grangemouth plant to the debate about Scottish Independence. A thoughtful piece and while I don't always agree with the Kettle it is clear sighted and I'm afraid paints a rather dark picture for the rest of us (a rare case of the pot being called black by the Kettle ...Ed)

Moves are, undoubtedly, afoot. The Common Weal  has more than the whiff of an Arbroath Smokie.

A linked article by Adam Price contains the suggestion that:-

 One thing we can comfortably predict is that the future will be another country. 

Amen to that, and while the psephologists are having a few days in the country on the back of all the predicting the urns, I'm not sure their field days provide us with any indication of what like those countries will be no matter what we end up calling them.

Dutch people are tall and wear bicycles.

In the interests of science, with a view to winning a Nobel Bicycle, and not having two scalar bosons to rub together, I offer 
the following thought experiment. (Phwhat in god's name is a thought experiment...Ed?)
If you want Buddhist Pizza Research Institute (BPRI) to shell out a few billion spondulics for a Large Head on Collider
be my guest and make the suggestion to the research committee. We meet once a year in Monte Carlo!

Ladies and gentlemen of science the contention of my thesis is that the Dutch are tall and wear bicycles.
I will offer photographic evidence and densely argued text to support this and I hope you will find it irrefutable.

Obviously as you can see from 1. shoes are now offered on the streets of the Netherlands in 3s!

1.

This leads the observer to the inevitable conclusion that the bu**ers have grown another foot while we were not looking.
Some futher support for this theory is available at 2. below where we see the addition of a further foot, though the evidence leads us to suppose it is for a younger person.

2.

Obviously your Dutchman or woman takes little heed for the welfare of its young. You can see below in 3. children are forced to cling to the back of bicycles, which the Dutch wear as a matter of course. The evidence shows the bicycle/persons approaching the quantum tunnel in a popular Museum in Amsterdam. So many people have dissappeared into this it is inconceiveable that anyone would drag a child into such danger!

 3.

(Tut, tut! I thought that science progressed by the presntation of evidence that enabled us to reject a hypothesis...Ed)

Tell me have you been reading that book again:- the Open Society by One of its Enemies!