We Chose to Take a Selfie, Not Becuase We Are Sleazy, But Because We Have Style

To coin a phrase, that's the way to do it.

Mmmmm..that smell

How Times Change

It's 1961. You are part of an enormous government organisation. You (not that you know it) are about to be told, by executive order, to make it to the moon by the end of the decade.

Pressure on.

UNLEASH THE BLACKBOARD!!!! (heart melts a little.....:-)

And so it goes...

As Uncle Vonnegut might say. The rain continues to pound down on Blighty like a biblical disaster, or at least that's how some would see it. I would however like to point out it's February, we're in Britain, it rains. Get over it.

Look, gender seperate!

Luckily, we have heard no more nonsense from the UKIP twit who opined the weather could be blamed on God's judgement on those lucky few enjoying gay marriage for the first time, y' know, ever. Good job it's never rained before now eh? Hold on a moment...it has! Who gets the blame for that then ?

Behold, a list of possible suspects.

The Hittites - golden calf botherers
The Hugenots - Spinning Jenny botherers
The French - blighty coastline botherers
The Germans - overhead botherers
The Eastern Europeans - vegetable picking botherers

All of whom as an excuse for  bad weather are as nonsensical as saying the a heatwave is the responsibility of Martha Reeve and Vandellas getting too cosy with a salamader. Twaddle.

UKIP - Utterly Knackers Inspired by Panophobia (aka melacholia marked by groundless fears).

I thank you.

It's Alive, It's Alive!

Yawn.

I'm back baby, yeah! No real idea why I went into hiding for 6 months.  I can assure everyone that I was not in prison, on the run, in a coma, or in witness protection. I've just had a quick look back and all I can tell is I was very warm and crotchety. Now I'm just crotchety.

However, as Blightly malingers under water, water everywhere, and America freezes, it seems like an appropiate time to catch up with (all) my loyal reader.....wait, something will come to my mind  any...minute....now.

Damn. I think I worked out why I bowed out of mundi de blog, and opted for a life of sofa bound contemplation like a modern day stylite. I am just dull. Duller than dull. Duller than Allen Dulles. Duller than Duluth, the only city that proudly proclaims it has 4 seasons. Wow. Those crazy guys.

I am however overjoyed in my boringness, I revel in mediocrity, I cavort in the shallows of the tedious and kick sand in the face of excitement. I should live in Boring, Oregon (twinned with Dull, Scotland); which started out as a bit of a lark, but now I'm not so sure... LOOK WHAT THEIR FOOTBALL TEAM IS CALLED! IT WAS MEANT TO BE!...wait, now I need to sit down due to momentary interestingness.. deep breaths, calm blue ocean, pass the paper bag...

Aaah those were the days (Part 9,142)

In the series of observations on how the modern world blows and everything of yesteryore was glorious, witness the wonder of ECONOMY (!!!) class in 1960, and tell me in all seriousness that you would settle for Easyjet?

I rest my case

Things that make you go Bleargh

Dear old Mr Handy has started to produce a bucket list on his blog. I have decided to do the same thing, however this is a bucket list of things I will never do, as they would make me sick. In a bucket.

Saves the embaressment of other "accidents"

Eat brains. I'd rather starve, even if I were a zombie

Watch Coronation Street.

Watch Eastenders

Watch Simon Cowell

Watch ITV. 

Go wing-walking, for a variety of reasons, primarily because no-one wants to see a shaved bear in a cowgirl outift flying along withe greatest of ease while shitting her considerable pants. No-one ever.

Try a Thousand Year Old Egg - chinese delicacy my eye, it's a rotten, green egg, and that's that.

Skydive (see above for pant related reasons)

Abseil (ditto)

Bungee Jump (and again)

Hold a spider, of any size or description. Too many eyes by 6, too many legs by 4. Nuff said

I'm sure the list will continue to expand, but for now I leave it at that. I would rather like to leave the house occassionally and not be confronted with a crowd of unmentionables (wing-walking spiders showering me with rotten eggs maybe - could happen.....)

And Many Mooorrrre.....

Happy birthday to me. Well nearly, apparently I arrived on the scene at 7.00pm, so I am officially not yet an old bird, but instead still a spring chicken.

Mind you, today I feel like a oven cooked chicken. It is so hot in my office and the fan I have behind me (yay, you're the best, woo-hoo) is just stirring the soupy air around - charming. And I know we shouldn't complain, but, hell it's the British way.

We are just not designed to operate correctly and efficiently in heat. Other countries may laugh at the way we work through the hottest time of the day, but what they don't appreciate is that we never know when the next warm spell may come around - every second counts and we can't be wasting time on siestas.

Also, once I go to sleep it is impossible to a) wake me up or b) get any sense out of me. Pretty much a normal working day...

Suddenly - FOOD!

Proving that I have an audience (small it may be, but it is vocal), I present to you: pizza.

So, Mr Noodles, from now on I shall photograph all unusual or interesting grub for you to look at!

how about some lemon with your G&T?

I now know the reason why I didn't do this before - now I feel bloody hungry. Correction, hungry and hot. Damn.

Sub-Normal Pop

JEESUS!!!! I Nearly pooped.

Scary news of the day; Sub Pop turned 25 years old yesterday. This news is disturbing the Force greatly.

I remember the halcyon days of Mudhoney, Nirvana, Afgham Whigs, Sleater Kinney and Codeine (who I saw once playing in Eliot College dining hall to an audience of 6).

Thing is, with the obvious exception of Kurt Cobain, they are probably all old and weird looking now. Mudhoney played at the top of the Seattle Space Needle at the birthday party, and sort of managed to look reasonable and not too much like the american equivalent of real ale drinkers (beardy weirdy wearing faded too-small t-shirts with obscure logos).

At least they haven't let themselves go as far as poor Jay Mascis (Dinosaur Sr - Hah, I crack me up) who looks like a shortsighted version of Gandalf the White. I'd be afraid of hip breakage occuring in the midst of an epic rendition of Little Fury Things (or maybe Little Things That Make Jay Furious...for instance toffees he can't chew, bus queues, people who don't remember rationing, the light channel and that bloody Hitler....)

1936 and all that...

By now the whole bally world knows about Andy Murray winning Wimbledon; strange thought that the last time a Britisher won the thing the world was a very different place;

• We hadn't landed on the moon, or even thought about it.
• World War 2 hadn't started (in fact there was a swastika flown at Wimbledon!)
• Computers hadn't been invented (but Alan Turing was publishing the basics)
• Superman was yet to make his debut in comic form, but the Green Hornet was on radio
• Every kid in America was obsessed by Joe DiMaggio
• Every criminal wanted to avoid the first Director of the FBI, J Edgar Hoover
• Hitler opened the Olympic Games in Berlin (but Jesse Owens taught him a lesson)
• The Hoover Dam came into operation (has the concrete cured yet?)
• Edward VIII abdicated, and the press just left him alone?!

As I say - a very different place indeed. Longer trousers for one thing.

Lawks - here come another one!

More wonderful things!

I have discovered a website which I should have started. But I didn't.

www.bookshelfporn.com

The Word on the Street

Forgive the pun, but I stumbled upon this on Stumble Upon, and now I want my house to be this colourful.

Watch and be inspired.

http://www.stumbleupon.com/su/324fat/:1ci6jP2SD:l0GHOL$5/www.streetartutopia.com/?p=10554/

Badda Bing

Being away on holiday when the news of James "Gandalf Flan Flinger" Gandolfini's death was made public was a surreal experience.

Hearing excitable italian radio presenters chuntering on in foreign, then hearing and understanding "The Sopranos" was strange to say the least; especially while being in what we were assured was a hotbed of Sicilian nationalism and mafia stronghold.

I fail to understand how anyone could gather the energy to commit any acts of organised crime when it is so hot. My theory falls down slightly when looking at the places where crime flourishes; they all tend to be a bit on the toasty side. Maybe the heat makes people so angry and sweaty and irritable that they just have no alternative but to organise hits, scoff cannoli and cheat on their wives. Very odd.

Well, we successfully avoided being made into fish food, or being forced to become models for very fashionable (but a bit pinchy) concrete footwear, and find ourselves back home, where all we need to worry about is the government spying on us, the NHS falling apart at the seams, and with the onset of Wimbledon, the forthcoming apocalyptic rainfall.

Oh to be a goodfella (or moll). In the immortal words of the man himself......

"You know my feelings: Every day is a gift. It's just, does it have to be a pair of socks?"

What I Want for BIrthday Part #2

Screw world peace and a cure for (I quote) "the cancer" (Mr Handy knows of what I speak), I would like this please to store my presumably space-age drinks in.




Alas, the only drinks seen in Star Wars are Aunt Beru's weird blue milk (not hers personally) and whatever low-alcohol pee Luke drinks at the cantina.

I bet Darth's a single malt man and Chewie loves a pint of the black stuff. Han would love lager, Leia strikes me as  Baileys girl.

And Luke loves a Shirley Temple. Obviously.

Close Encounter of the Nerd Kind

I have been too busy to conduct this inane conversation with an uncaring world, but Friday afternoon seems to be panning out to be quite quiet, so I seize the opportunity like a nettle!

Mr Handy has a yen for UFO's and I recently watched a documentary about a very peculiar incident that took place in Todmorden; about a dozen police-persons in various locations around the village saw strange lights in the sky - and all of them stuck to their story (even when faced with an "expert" who claims what they saw was a bus: see - the ding dings were needed).

Let's see if, as mere bottom feeders, we can tell the difference. Hmmmm (strokes chin)



Well, I expect that expert has a perfectly reasonable explanation for his frankly bizarre claim. Just like the second expert who stated that the lights PC Plod saw racing across the sky, and changing direction every half second, was a meteor.

Again, let's see. Hmmmmm (beats head against wall)



Well, I know that my taxes are being well spent by brainiacs, dweebs, wonks and eggheads. Bravo Science, Bravo!!

A Subject Steven Spielberg Chose to Ignore For Some Reason

Oh, so that's the solution....

Elvis has left the pupae

Check out the quiff, the sardonic smile, the awesome sunglasses. He never died en toilette, he just bugged out!