15 Sep 2014

And Then Another Day Away….

I very nice day out to Whitby today.

We sedately meandered through the old town and later wandered across the harbour bridge, past the Polish accordion band, to amble through the new part of town which isn’t much newer than the old bit really.

Every time we visit Whitby I’m always struck by the number of fifty plus year olds there are who, it would appear, are still living the hippy ‘dream’. What is it about Whitby that attracts these fine old people? There does seem to be a plethora of organic food shops and new age stores but which came first?

It’s also good to know, upon browsing these shops, to see that there’s still a huge back catalogue of Andean pan pipe music, Indian chanting and plaintive whale and dolphin calling tracks still available. I spotted a CD I hadn’t seen before which stated on the lid it was an hours worth of the sounds of the forest during a rain storm. There’s GOT to be more to it than that, right?

Hay, they old hippies appear happy; we’re happy so what the hay?

The day was  made doubly nice with a lovely lunch of fresh crab salad. Fresh? You know instinctively when salad isn’t fresh don’t you? I’ll know better about the crab come tomorrow.

Much to the embarrassment of my little nest of vipers, I had chips with my fresh crab salad. Sadly, an otherwise excellent meal was somewhat marred by the fact I was forbidden from asking for a portion of deep fried onion rings on the side.

Below is a nice picture of Whitby;


What? You thought I meant an actual picture of the town? Got ya. Try these then. 

Quote;  Abe Lemons.

“The trouble with retirement is that you never get a day off.”

14 Sep 2014

And Then A Till Tale….

Yesterday I had occasion to make a small purchase from a supermarket. As a by-the-by, what’s the ‘super’ part of supermarket all about? I’m guessing it relates to the size of the places as I’ve never encountered anyone leaving one of those places smiling broadly to one an’ all while loudly and joyously exclaiming what a super shopping experience it’d been.

Anyhoo, talking of size, and after the usual debate relating to basket or trolley for the expedition, searching through the bewildering amount of stuff on the shelves, including the twenty plus available choices of tinned pineapple chunks, I found what I was looking for and proceeded to the checkout.

I had one item valued at two pounds ninety-nine pence so should really use the do it yourself tills, right? However, these always seem to be backed-up with shoppers who can’t figure them out, have hit a wrong button, can’t work out how to get a non barcoded stick of celery to register, all waiting for the one poor store sod who’s been tasked with ‘taking care.’ So I queue at a manned till.

I shuffled along until I could place my item on the conveyor belt, ensured the ‘Next Customer’ boards were in the correct place and waited.

It’s my turn. It took a nano-second to scan and I proffered a twenty to cover payment.

The young till operative took the twenty, opened his till and gazed down in dismay. He looked up at me, looked down, which, for all the world looked to others like he was looking into his lap, looked up and with a pleading tone, asked, “You got something smaller?”
I leaned over to look into his till which, for all the world looked to others like I was looking into his lap, and said, in a conspiratorial whisper soft enough to be heard out to about twenty meters in all directions, “I’m happy to say I haven’t.  But feel obliged to add that I really believe three in the afternoon at a supermarket checkout  is  neither the  time nor the  place to be discussing
matters of such a personal and intimate nature.”

His rejoinder of, “Whu….” and a totally lost puppy look indicated that my attempt at a little light relief had just passed thirty thousand feet over his head at close to the speed of light. However, the plethora of barely muffled mirth emanating from my fellow queuers {queuees?}  indicated I had, at least momentarily, lightened up their super shopping queuing experience.

In other news today I do believe Dave needs yet another new speech writer after this that can be found here;
Mr Cameron said. “There is no question of keeping our heads down that would make us safe.”
It’s that ol’ reading and thinking thingy again innit Dave?

Quote;  Joseph Gordon-Levitt.

“Supermarket tabloids and celebrity gossip shows are not just innocently shallow entertainment, but a fundamental part of a much larger movement that involves apathy, greed and hierarchy.”

12 Sep 2014

And Then A Naughty Word….

Okay, that’s the outside bit of where I live snuffed up and squared away for the inclement weather season so I’m sat sitting here with the ol’ laptop on my, yup, you guessed it, lap.

I noted the other day that young Dave Cummerbund took a trip to Scotland and it was widely reported that, to sound like he’s one of the boys, used the ‘ef’ word. This, as reported by the Daily Mash, confused the locals no end.

Dave, don’t be shy; it’s just a few perfectly normal letters arranged to be what’s been decreed to be a naughty word. A word that seems to be getting less naughty and more widely used with every passing day.

Anyhoo, with Dave being all risqué an’ all, my brain took one of those time travel thingies it does from time to time and I remembered what was quite possibly the first attachment I received via e-mail.

I well remember the excitement upon receiving my first attachment and the two weeks or so figuring out what to do with it to make it open. This was a long time ago.

Guess what? It’s still out there and so I thought I’d link to it to give Dave a little insight into the ‘ef’ word he’s now obviously been emboldened to bandy about.

This is a really big Foggy warning; are you a Timidadian? Click ye not; for verily ye will feel ill for a fortnight!!

Okay, it’s an old one but it still works.

Quote;  James Rozoff. 

“Vulgarity is like a fine wine: it should only be uncorked on a special occasion, and then only shared with the right group of people.”

7 Sep 2014

And Then We Have A Winner….

With the help of Anonymous I went on a voyage of adventure and discovery through the  InterWebs in search of the flower I featured yesterday and I’m delighted to announce we have a winner.

It’s a Polianthes Tuberosa which is exactly what I told her it was. Okay, okay; I made that last bit up.

I quote from this site;

Tuberoses will make you believe in magic! The nectar and scent are said to be magical to those who experience it. Put the bulbs along the edge of the garden, along the patio, or in containers where the late summer fragrance is sure to enchant. The foliage is sparse making them ideal for inter-planting among other perennials.

My little nest of vipers now wants a whole heck of a lot more of ‘em owing to the use of the word ‘magic’ in the above description. I, although a reluctant gardener, have to admit the scent this sucker gives off is jolly nice although I’m still waiting for the magic thingy to kick in.

Anonymous? We salute you - and the wonder of the Web. Now that’s close to magic to an old man.

Quote;  Winifred Watson.

“’Odd’, said Miss Pettigrew conversationally, 'the undermining effect of flowers on a woman's common sense’.”

6 Sep 2014

And Then A Plant….

No, not you this time Mr Cummerbund, a proper plant. A plant her indoors got, as a young tuber, {A little clarification: The plant was a young tuber, not her indoors.} from a pound shop last year and this year has gone done that growing thingy wot plants do and she’s most taken with it. As, indeed, am I – but to a far, far lesser degree. It’s just a plant, right?
”Let’s go get more of this.” She said, standing proudly by the plant soaking up it’s extremely nice scent.
”That we can. What’s it called?” I asked, having not a clue myself and suspecting she didn’t have a clue either.
”A flower.”
”Right. Up to a point that’s spot on but I’m suspecting the store staff will need a little more information to go on. I’m pretty sure, ‘I want a flower’ won’t hack it. Tell you what; I’ll take his picture and we can go to one of they big garden centres, you know, the ones that sell birthday cards, funny lookin’ bits of wrought iron, toys, furniture, tacky ornaments and have  big cafes serving traditional
British curries, and try, ‘I want a flower like this’. Depending on the Saturday Surliness quotient of the staff, we could throw in a few ‘pleases’ and thank-youses’ along the wayses.”

We went round three huge garden centres, all of which, yet again, gave me pause to reflect on the fact that there’s so much stuff I’d never realized I’ll never need, and no member of staff, old or young, had a clue what the flower may be.

This is the fellow if anyone has an idea wot it may be. The pink bit in the second picture is, I believe, a rose and it jumped into the frame just as I pressed the camera trigger.

                     IMG_20140906_100801        IMG_20140906_100751

Another point worthy of mention is that my photographic skills are on a par with my oil painting skills. Namely rubbish.  You may have come to that conclusion without my prompting.

Quote;  Robert A. Heinlein.

“Butterflies are not insects,' Captain John Sterling said soberly. 'They are self-propelled flowers.”

3 Sep 2014

And Then It Was Thus….

This afternoon, at 15:45, it became apparent that my post of yesterday, and the snippet of advice contained therein, has been totally ignored by those at the top.

There I was reading a bit of Telegraph, on the Web, when a big box flashed up full of words. I read the words, digested them, which wasn’t too hard as they seemed to be in quite good order, and then I gave up all hope. The Telegraph message? “SAS may attempt to rescue the British hostage says Philip Hammond”.

What Mr Hamfisted actually said was along the lines that he couldn’t discuss specifics, cool, but we probably will be having a go, un-cool. Not quite the same as the flashing Telegraph give-away box but close enough for jazz.

How much dumber can these people get? I’m guessing this hasn’t actually improved the chance of an SAS success. I also doubt it’s improved the hostages morale much either.

To end on a positive note, our politicians did an awful lot of talking today and agreed to go away, at close of play, and think about everything they’d talked about and will meet again, in a week, to talk about what they’d been thinking about regarding what they’d talked about  today. Some pretty impressive progress there then and I’m sure this’ll be giving the guys with the guns serious pause for thought, right?

Quote;  Alexander McCall Smith

“It is sometimes easier to be happy if you don't know everything.”