Interesting{?} little clip I ran into – no, not on the BBC Web site but at, believe it or not, Going Postal. Funny old world is it not?
Yup, it’s one of they Twatter thingies again so it’s a clicky jobbie. Go on, you’ll be so surprised... Not. Okay, here he be.
The answers to his question are, like, so, like, unexpected. Seems nobody’s got no room but, but, but never mind, just look at me, me, me...
Quote; Charles MacKay.
Is that American loving father, keen sportsman and predominantly peaceful thug in the ground yet? Man, that has got to be the longest funeral in history. And wot of the world now? We seem to be leaving clown-world and rapidly heading for heavens knows wot but I bet it ain’t going to be pretty.
Anyhoo, these - predominantly peaceful – demonstrations of late reminded me of an old post a bit of wot’s below. Back in the day I’ve worked or visited via mans boat, a goodly percentage of this planets countries; happily, in none politically correct days, and trust me, regarding race, it was predominantly two way good natured micky taking. Mostly. Yes, there were iffy exceptions where ol’ whity had to watch his back but on the whole, just two way badinage. And therein lays the rub. This race thingy is NOT one way traffic from ol’ whitey thus I lead into the bit below. Trust me, I’ve tried it – even in supposedly friendly countries...
May I humbly suggest to those young folk and various members of our wonderous MSM, presently screeching about racism, that they take a holiday anywhere well south, or southeast of Dover, befriend a local to clue them in to some of the local expressions used jokingly and/or derogatorily when they see ol’ whitey, then sit at a street-side café for an afternoon and check out how often they pick up on those expressions as the locals pass by as opposed to the number of times they hear, “Oh, look, a nice white couple; we should invite them round ours for tofu tonight.”
What the hay; get off your damn knees, it’s just an ordinary day...
Quote; Vann Chow.
“The face of self-pity was universally understood.”
As our boys and girls are having a great big grownup talking party today with regards yes or no to bombing some rubble in the sand, I thought I'd bring this out of the left side. Who knows? One of 'em may run into it on their iPad and start a sing-a-song-along.
Quote; George C. Wallace.
"Why does the Air Force need expensive new bombers? Have the people we've been bombing over the years been complaining?"
Ferdinand Foch.
"It take 15,000 casualties to train a major general."
A quick one tonight regarding the first refugee charter flight, yup a charter flight, arriving in Glasgow today. All I'm enquiring about is who will be there to greet them? Okay, a mob of happy-clappy greeters will be on duty, smiling and waving dementedly for they know not what but that's a given. I'm also assuming the usual suspects will be there competing to be at the front and in front of the news cameras, holding up their #where'smyrefugeefamily boards to collect the family or two they'll be giving full board and lodgings to; I expect this to include, but not be limited to; Dave Cummerbund? Jerry Carbine? Kite Vaz? Yvette Pooper-scooper? Taser May? Mutti the Mekon? Jean-Claude Drunker? Benedict Cabbagepatch? Nick Griffin? Oh, wait a minute…
So Dave, as has been mentioned here before, it seems your cunning plan is to let them come here then step up the bombing of their homeland wherein, most likely, still abide friends and relatives they left behind some time ago. Dave, you think that'll help towards them doing that all important integrating with the indigenous population thingy or make them a tad cross once they're settled in here? You thought this one all the way through ol' buddy? Didn't think so. You starting to feel you're a tad out of your depth? Didn't think so.
Quote; Oliver North.
“Be polite, be professional, but have a plan to kill everyone you meet.”
So a bunch of Bishops have contacted Mr Cummerbund to say they're very cross with him for not taking a whole hell of a lot more of these 'refugees' into our isles.
I'm guessing these Bishops don't get out much and are probably cloistered in ancient buildings concentrating on prayer and wondering where that damn draught's coming from rather than on Wi-Fi and bandwidth, or lack thereof, so are possibly unaware of the problems Angela the Mekon has unleashed on the good folk of Germany. If they only rely on our MSM they could be excused for believing it's just young mums with crying kids tramping round Europe.
Just a thunk, but doesn't this, and Calais, and Greece, present the perfect chance for all these Bishops and those below and above that rank, to stop insisting others do stuff, get out of their empty churches and go over there, as in days of yore, do some missionary type stuff and start converting all those fellows? Go on boys, give it a go and let us know how it works out for y'all.
It being Sunday an' all, click, enjoy and relax a while.
Here's one of they addendum do-dads from Old Righty. Enjoy.
Quote; Fred Allen.
"The first time I sang in the church choir; two hundred people changed their religion."
I see Dave caved in right quick relating to the intake of 'refugees' {Refugees? They're kidding, right?} after a little heart tugging media opportunistic photo 'journalism' and the expected outpourings from the usual suspects; the handwringers, the bedwetters and the BBC. Tough call eh buddy? Good cave Dave.
As sad as it all is, what's the betting that if the father of this unfortunate family had been ol' whitey, moving his family from a place of safety to a place of safety via a hazardous rout, he'd have been banged up right quick on charges of reckless, culpable homicide?
Moving on, and with thanks, again, to Rickey for reminding me of this ever-green story. At the risk of being repetitive, it works on so many levels.
Once upon a time there was a king who wanted to go fishing so he called the royal weather forecaster and enquired as to the weather forecast for the next few hours.
The weatherman assured him that there was no chance of rain in the coming days so the king went fishing with his wife, the Queen. On the way he met a farmer on his donkey.
Upon seeing the king the farmer said, "Your Majesty, you should return to the palace at once because in just a short time I expect a huge amount of rain to fall in this area." The king was polite and considerate and replied: "I hold the palace meteorologist in high regard. He is an extensively educated and experienced professional. And besides, I pay him very high wages. He gave me a very different forecast. I trust him and I will continue on my way." So he continued on his way.
However, a short time later a torrential rain fell from the sky. The King and Queen were totally soaked and their entourage chuckled upon seeing them in such a shameful condition.
Furious, the king returned to the palace and gave the order to fire the weatherman at once!
Then he summoned the farmer and offered him the prestigious and high paying role of royal forecaster. The farmer said, "Your Majesty, I do not know anything about forecasting. I obtain my information from my donkey. If I see my donkey's ears start drooping, it means with certainty that it will rain."
So the king hired the donkey.
Thus began the practice of hiring asses to work in the government and occupy its highest and most influential positions.
I'll leave you with an old advert and in view of continually unfolding stories of sadness, Timidadians, if you're still here, look away now:
Man with leaky rowboat wishes to meet lady with two kilos of calking compound. Objective; a hunky dory.
Quote; Thanhha Lai.
“How can we scramble away like rats, without honour, without dignity, when everyone must help rebuild the country?”
I came down this morning, proceeded to the kitchen and hit the 'on' button for the transfusion machine, otherwise known as a coffee maker, and while waiting for the first cup, the first of many, I popped through and started the desktop computer.
Coffee to hand I sat at the computer and marvelled, again, at the wonder that's Windows 10 and the fact that I can click on a little picture and fire-up a word processor. Pretty much the same as I could in Windows 1; or even MS-DOS. Remember typing instructions at the command prompt in MS-DOS? How irritatingly time consuming was that then? It did work all the same. And, as long as the word processor or spread sheet opened, nobody gave a damn what was under the hood did they?
Now, one click and you have the worlds news right on your monitor. But, one must always be thinking, is this the true news or is it just someone's version of the news? A little like looking at the world through a condensation saturated stained-glass window.
Anyhoo, while sitting drinking coffee and drinking in the news, my head kicked in and I remembered something of great import that I had to do in the kitchen. Not wanting to forget I leaped to my feet and, the kitchen being only three good strides away as the crow trots, rushed into the kitchen.
The good news is I made it to the kitchen safely and in one piece. The sad news is I stood there with absolutely no idea what I had rushed there for. Not a clue. Well, I'm here so I may as well grab another coffee. That was seven this AM. It's now six of a PM and I still have no idea what was so important and urgent at seven AM. Happily, it obviously didn't have anything to do with preventing the house burning down. Unhappily, I'm sure my memory isn't going to get any better.
I see George, 'Nothing Up My Sleeves' Osborn has promised lots of magical money for the Trident base. This, he states, is to keep us 'free and secure'. My question to George, and others of that ilk, would be to ask what earthly good will nuclear submarines be in fighting those invaders who are, seemingly with the governments blessing, already here, with vast numbers of reinforcements rolling up yearly, who're quite possibly just biding their time before they kick-off. Where will your atomic subs be then George? Out there below the worlds oceans keeping us free and secure?
Quote; Noël Coward
"I have a memory like an elephant. In fact, elephants often consult me."
Dave Cummerbund's back home after a spell in Vietnam trying to persuade a bunch of Vietnamese business folk to flock to our Northern powerhouse{?} and wave their dongs** about and has walked right into the Calais crises. A crises that's been known about by us out here for a very long time but seems to have either caught Dave by surprise or he knew all about it all along and chose to ignore it in the hope it would all go away but has now had his bluff called.
He's chaired another one of those emergency Cobra, or as us folk out here now call them, Slow Worm meetings. He came out of the meeting and sternly announced to the cameraman that the situation will most likely last all summer. Dave, it's sad I should need to point this out but, if you do nothing, it's going to last a lot longer than that young lad and I'm not really convinced sending over some larch-lap fencing and a spaniel is going to make a whole hell of a lot of difference. On the up side, the army is being asked to step in – to designate some of their playgrounds in Kent as truck stops. You out there; you shaking your heads as well?
It's so reassuring, is it not, to know that the security of our country is being taken care of by such tough, determined and resolute leadership.
You hear laughing? Very loud laughing? I'm betting it's Vlad the lad who's cast his mind back to the ruffy-tuffy, shouty, blustery thumb-pointy 'Dave-at-the-back' during that Ukraine thingy and is now thinking, "Oh boy, is this guy for real? Now he's at the front he really doesn't look anything like a power player on the world stage. Or any stage. That boy needs to read 'A Novices Guide To Dealing Decisively With A Crisis' and he needs to pay special attention to chapter four, 'Invasion'. No ifs no buts."
**I'll post a nice Vietnamese dong story tomorrow after checking back that I haven't already 'been there'.
Quote; Rick Yancey.
“In the 4th Wave, you can't trust that people are still people. But you can trust that your gun is still your gun.”
Jodi Rell.
"At the end of the day, the goals are simple: safety and security."
Mr David Cummerbund, the man who is becoming more like the boy who could start an argument in an empty car-park with every passing utterance, has stated that those of the persuasion of the perpetually offended must do more to prevent some other members of said persuasion of the perpetually offended from becoming radicalized, whatever that means, and running off to Syria. So far so pointless.
But wait!! It gets ever more pointless! What does the cheeky little rascal say next? We, and by that I'm guessing he really means us of the persuasion of the never asked, are going to allow more 'refugees' to come here from Syria.
Dave, I'm guessing you didn't spend a whole hell of a lot of time thinking that one through. If you had lad, you may have realised that your message to us is that you want to stop some folk here from getting radicalised and exporting themselves over there but at the same time you want to import other fellows from over there to here, some of whom will, no doubt, be full of tales of daring-do adventures of war and guns and fighting. Is that the 'plan' young lad? If so, I'm truly lost. Any chance you could get on TV sometime soon and explain your long game to us Dave?
Quote; J. Richard Singleton.
“Los Angeles is a city made up of refugees from better cities.”
A nice comment over at that BBC lookin’ place relating to wot a couple of people pretending to be politicians had to say on the ever popular subject of immigration;
“I want to vote for the party that will stop this immigration ruining our country because it's job enough getting a job as it is and with more people it will be even more harder…….”
Very perceptive of you good job hunting person. However, if you are indeed seeking gainful employment at this time, may I suggest you give your CV another couple of slow, reading out-loud, proof reads? Or, to be on the safe side, just nip down to the local Polska shop and I’m sure they’ll be happy to correct it for you, as required. A poorly written CV could make it even so very much more harderer of a job to get a job don’t ya know.
And here, again, with nary a hint of that sorry for repeating for the third{?} time apologising stuff, is my very favourite CV, or sort of CV, ever;
Q: – Are there any significant experiences you have had, or accomplishments you have realized, that have helped to define you as a person?
I am a dynamic figure, often seen scaling walls and crushing ice. I have been known to remodel train stations on my lunch breaks, making them more efficient in the area of heat retention. I translate ethnic slurs for Kenyan refugees. I write award-winning operas. I manage time efficiently. Occasionally I tread water for three days in a row.
I woo women with my sensuous and godlike trombone playing. I can pilot bicycles up severe inclines with unflagging speed, and I cook Thirty-Minute Brownies in twenty minutes.
I am an expert in stucco, a veteran in love, and an outlaw in Peru.
Using only a hoe and a large glass of water, I once, single-handed, defended a small village in the Amazon Basin from a horde of ferocious army ants. I play bluegrass cello, I have had trials for Manchester United, I am the subject of numerous documentaries.
When I'm bored, I build large suspension bridges in my garden. I enjoy urban hang gliding. On Wednesdays, after school, I repair electrical appliances free of charge.
I am an abstract artist, a concrete analyst, and a ruthless bookie.
Critics worldwide swoon over my original line of corduroy evening-wear. I don't perspire. I am a private person, yet I receive fan mail. I have appeared on Through the Keyhole and won the gold plaque. Last summer I toured Eastern Europe with a travelling centrifugal-force demonstration. My deft floral arrangements have earned me fame in international botany circles.
Children trust me.
I can hurl tennis rackets at small moving objects with deadly accuracy. I once read Paradise Lost, Moby Dick, and David Copperfield in one day and still had time to refurbish an entire dining room that evening. I know the exact location of every food item in the supermarket.
I have performed several covert operations for MI5. I sleep once a week; and when I do sleep, I sleep in a chair. While on vacation in Canada, I successfully negotiated with a group of terrorists who had seized a small bakery.
The laws of physics do not apply to me. I balance, I weave, I dodge, I frolic, and my bills are all paid.
On weekends, to let off steam, I participate in full-contact origami. Years ago I discovered the meaning of life but forgot to write it down.
I have made extraordinary four course meals using only some vegetables and a Breville toaster. I breed prize-winning clams.
I have won bullfights in Madrid, cliff-diving competitions in Sri Lanka, and chess competitions at the Kremlin. I have played Hamlet, I have performed open-heart surgery and I have spoken with Elvis.
Quote; Baltasar Gracián.
“A synonym is a word you use when you can't spell the other one.”
I woke up yesterday morning, as, indeed, I did today, which, in itself at my age, is cause for some small measure of celebration, completed my morning ablutions, partook of my daily cholesterol booster, commonly referred to as a full English breakfast for a family of four, then put the TV on. It didn’t fit any better than it did yesterday so I removed it, dressed in something more appropriate and turned on the TV to see if they had any different news to that of the radio which was all about some dead guy.
Sadly they didn’t. It was just the same, with pictures, a wall-to-wall Mandelaramafest. They think they can beat me? Really? Not a chance. A click of the remote and away we go. Sponge Bob was being broadcast as normal.
Back briefly to the dead guys party to ask what’s with this deal of taking photographs of yourself then? I’m sorry, I just can’t bring myself to use that ghastly word ‘selfie’. Damn!! Did I just type ‘selfie’? Let me check. Damn, I did, in fact right after I said I couldn’t use the ghastly ‘selfie’ word I done did and done did type it twice! Wot? Three times now? Damn!!
Anyhoo, don’t our leaders just, like, sooo look the part? I mean, how totally awesome must it have been sitting there with all those, like, celebs an’ such? I gather everyone who has ever had, presently has or really wants power was in that song singing throng. And who did the BBC find to talk to amongst that host o’ folk? The bloody Blair Witch.
Do you think this photo pretty well sums up what a desperately sad state of affairs the whole place is in? {Check the Comments below the photo.} It don’t look like Backfoot O’barmy’s old lady’s overly thrilled with the concept of the selfie all the same, do it? {Damn!! There’s ‘selfie’ again. Oh, man! Again!!}
Could it get any worse or cringe-worthy? Sure could. How about some selfies of ‘em tucked up in their onesies? I feel ill now.
Quote; Jarod Kintz.
“I remember I laughed so hard I cried. But my response was half appropriate, because I was at a funeral. ”
It’s well worth your time popping over to The Slog and take in this possible tipping point.
Also over there, earlier in the week – or was it last week – there were a couple or three posts relating to the struggles involved in learn the language and problems communicating with the natives.
This reminded me of my times struggling to communicate.
Many, many years a long time before now, I rolled up to a rig in Singapore one time which was in the process of preparing to go digging. There was a huge amount of stuff to do prior to towing out to location and at the time the rig had no crew, just shipyard riggers. It came to pass that a Chinaman, walking towards me, politely, in perfect English greeted me with, “Good morning, how are you today?” I excitedly told him I was fine and at that precise moment even finer than fine!
”Oh boy, am I glad to meet you my friend! Okay, here’s what we need to do. Grab the guy who’s driving the crane and….” and continued to motor mouth for a jolly long time excitedly explaining what needed to be done.
At the end of my rabid rabbiting he looked me in the eye and said, politely, in perfect English, “Good morning, how are you today?”
That, in turn, back then, reminded me of a very important lesson taught when I was but a pup, at nautical school, by a retired Royal Navy Signals Officer who was attempting to teach us the finer points of the use of an Aldis Lamp. An Aldis Lamp, simply put, is just a spot light with an on/off trigger used to signal using Morse Code.
This is an Aldis Lamp; And this is Morse Code;
Sending a message is dead easy once you know Morse. You already know what you want to ‘say’, the words are in you head so converting each word to the relevant dots and dashes is straight-forward and you can hammer out your message like firing a machine gun! “Whoa! Check out how fast I can transmit then.”
However, the guy at the other end needs to watch, figure out where the breaks are amongst all the short, a dot and long, a dash, flashes are, what that letter is, get the letters to make words and continue doing that ‘till he has something resembling a message.
That’s the preamble over so what was the lesson? The instructors advice? Never transmit faster than you can receive.
After my brief Singapore encounter it became obvious to me that it’s exactly the same with language. My guy already knew what he was going to say to me, had converted it, moved it from his language to the English ‘OUT’ tray and just said it. This gives the receiver the impression the sender has a good commend of English ‘till you fire off a bit so fast the recipient doesn’t have the time to take it in, store it, translate it word by word to his language and move from the ‘FORIGN IN’ tray to his language. My Singapore fellow probably picked up, ”OboyamIgldtmetyomefried!…” switched off and thought, “Nope. Don’t know that word.”
Never transmit faster than you can receive.
On a final note, the Brit method of shouting at non-English speaking foreigners, in English, is NOT classed as using a foreign language, okay?
A little language fun can be found here…..
Quote; David Sedaris.
“On my fifth trip to France I limited myself to the words and phrases that people actually use. From the dog owners I learned "Lie down," "Shut up," and "Who shit on this carpet?" The couple across the road taught me to ask questions correctly, and the grocer taught me to count. Things began to come together, and I went from speaking like an evil baby to speaking like a hillbilly. "Is thems the thoughts of cows?" I'd ask the butcher, pointing to the calves' brains displayed in the front window. "I want me some lamb chop with handles on 'em.”
Matt Groening.
“I know all those words, but that sentence makes no sense to me.”
As I'm sure is true for most of us, instruction books, be it for new shiny stuff or just the mundane, are rarely consulted. Having said that, I got a new angle grinder a while back and did indeed give the book a look. Ninety percent Health and Safety so carefully filed it in the trash.
As you know I'm starting, slowly, to re-fit the bathroom. What? You didn't know? Come on! Please try and keep up! Anyhoo, upon opening the fittings for the toilet pan a small piece of paper fluttered to the ground. I retrieved said small piece of paper, with difficulty as it was on the ground and I was standing up, and discovered it was the 'instruction manual'.
Having spent many years as an international jet-setting roughneck, verbally communicating in shouted pidgin isn't a problem. Reading pidgin, however, always gives me pause for a smile and it was thus reading the 'manual' for using screws.
Clicking seems to biggerate it.
By the way, they did it better than I could do it taking it their way.
I could be jumping to conclusions of course. It's more than likely been put together by a recent product of our own education system, with a sack full of assorted GCSE 'A' grades, who got the job as Technical Author by dint of being the only applicant with no ear, eye, nose or lip piercings, no facial tattoos and wore a tie for the interview.
Regardless, this gave me pause for thought…. stop sniggering at the back!! Thoughts along these lines.
As we all know, except those in charge of stuff, we'll shortly be in need of some new nuclear power plants so we can see things in the dark that don't naturally glow. According to wot we read, we no longer have the required expertise in the UK to build them ourselves so will have to buy they nuclear plants from somewhere over there.
Does this mean that the plants will arrive here in kit form and the best and brightest of Britain's young bucks will be charged with the task of gluing them together? If this is going to be the case, we need to be finding someone with a top degree, a first with honours, in pidgin translation, to check out the instruction book that'll come with the kit. (It'll be at the bottom of the box in a plastic bag along with all the nuts, bolts and washers. Note; don't waste time looking; you will be short one nut.)
Finding the right boy for this task will be money well spent and could possibly prevent, the day before the ribbon cutting, back slapping stuff, one of those moments when the boss of the best and brightest of Britain's young bucks surveys the results of their handy work, pauses for thought, then says,
"Hang on a minute. See that big bit over there?"
"That bit there?"
"No, the really big bit behind that bit. The main bit. The bit where we figured they'll put those long rods that're lying in the canteen."
"Ah, that bit. Yea, the rods. Remember when we finished and thought we had some bits left over?"
"Sure do. Stupid rods. Anyway, take a look at the instruction book again. Now look at the really big bit again. I think we've got it, like, upside-down."
Quote; Dan Castellaneta.
“Well you know boys, a nuclear reactor is a lot like a women. You just have to read the manual and press the right button.”
On the downside, I see S & P are possibly going to downgrade France from their triple A rating. Apparently, this is not good. I really do hope it has nothing to do with the Concord joke the other day.
Just to be on the safe side, after posting this, I'll be formatting and scrubbing all my hard drives, shredding all the paper in the house, double locking all doors and windows and putting 'her indoors' on the roof to keep a lookout for black helicopters. Put her on the roof? No problem. She like it up there. Her an' the crows get on great, just great.
In the mid-side, you'll be delighted to learn the dropped kerb drive-way was completed without any cats, dogs or small children getting glued to the tarmac. It just needs a while now for the tarmac to cure before driving over him. You're not that delighted? I'm delighted.
On the upside, here's a track with a bit of French in it to make up for the bad Concord joke and possibly save Franc's triple A thingy. It's from – oh dear, here we go again - it's from the Stranglers…. Nice track it be too.
On the bottom side, a study has shown that a large percentage of road traffic accidents can be directly linked to the consumption of bacon and/or sausages. Dr Gizza-Bigga-Grant stated that 75% of casualties of road traffic accidents had eaten either bacon and/or sausages on at least two occasions in the week prior to the accident. What more proof do ya'll need?
If you have a smoke after a sausage, well, we're probably not here but rather talking on the 'other side' as we grope our greasy fingered way towards the light. Let's face it – they're never going to leave us alone.
Quote; Elayne Boosler.
"I have six locks on my door all in a row. When I go out, I lock every other one. I figure no matter how long somebody stands there picking the locks, they're always locking three."
Okay, the cold, flue or whatever, is just about gone now. Probably sweated out with the stress of possible laptop melt down.
Not surprisingly, ‘my little nest of vipers’ has been completely untouched by this malady as germs and such seem unable to penetrate her granite like, with stainless steel accoutrements, exterior. It also seems sympathy has a problem getting out.
Could the resistance to germs be down to her Southeast Asian diet? I’m not talking about the food you see presented in restaurants, here or over there. I mean come on, really, a visitor to these shores, who chanced to dine in a restaurant, isn’t going to go home and tell all their friends how damn well those Brits eat, right? So, same same.
What these folk eat at home was best summed up by a friend as being akin to road kill and rice. This was not meant in a derogatory way at all, as a lot of their food is very nice, hot, but nice. On the other hand, a lot of it is very hot and very scary looking. What he was basically saying is how fussy us is regarding what we eat and how un-fussy others, other than us, is.
Whereas we would carefully select nice pieces of white chicken to add to our curry, or carefully cut a chicken up, avoiding the gristly and bony bitts, the black bits and the skin bits, over there they will carefully prepare the chicken with a seven pound lump hammer ‘till they have beaten it into roughly mouth size chunks.
Partaking in a ‘home grown’ curry over there, and finding something unpalatable in the meal is not occasion for one of those, “Aghhh, there’s a feather in my curry!!” moments. Even if it’s a beef curry.....
The etiquette for dealing with unpalatable thingies will depend on the country you’re in down there and range from discreetly removing the item from your mouth and placing it on the side of your plate, all the time maintaining your happy face, through to spitting it out onto the floor.
The secret here is to completely ignore the offending item once discarded. You must NEVER be tempted to inspect said item too closely. This is a recipe for disaster. Be that a pun?
Despite all the above, it sure seems to serve them well. Oh, and gallons and gallons and gallons of water of course. I believe this is the real secret.
While writing this I just caught, out the side of my ear, a bit of a news story wot sounded suspiciously like there's been a bit of bother with some bed linen? What’s that all about then? Hardly sounds like news making stuff to me. I can only guess there’s nothing else to report, wot with the wedding being over an’ all. I’ll have to catch the news at nine and get the full SP.
Quote; Rita Rudner.
“Most turkeys taste better the day after; my mother's tasted better the day before.”
I’m probably late, again, with this interesting, and worth a read post, over at EUReferendum.
After digesting that, it’s good to see the righteous have decided that the drink you have along with a ciggy is pretty well guaranteed to kill you. They just won’t leave us alone will they? And sadly, too many people just take it all in as fact, no question.
This historical clip is worth a resurrection as some sort of small fight back. All you righteous, hectoring, life hating herberts and herbetesses, get a bit of this;
Tex Ritter; Whoa, goes back a ways eh?
{Seem to remember my father going into hysterics every time he heard that.}
After that, as the sun be out, get down to that nice little old pub by the river, get your favourite drink and grab that table by the water, have a smoke, watch the trout rise and lift your glass in a toast to life. I mean a proper life, not life as ‘they’ would have us lead it. As someone once said, ‘You only get one shot at life. This isn’t a practice.’
Quote; George Gobel.
”I've never been drunk, but often I've been over served.”
Anonymous
On the chest of a barmaid in Sale
Where tattooed the prices of ale,
And on her behind,
For the sake of the blind,
Was the same information in braille.
So, ‘The Forehead of Doom’ has decided. Took him and them a whole bunch of time did it? Seems like a plan though; let your advesary re-group and win back ground before that 'make your mind up' moment.
Anyhoo, here we go again. One can only ask, where next?
Quote; ??
At a pre-war diplomatic conference, the Nazi Foreign Minister Ribbentrop "sniffed" to Eden and Churchill that if there was another war, the Italians would be on Germany's side!
To which Churchill supposedly replied, "That seems only fair, we had them last time."
Latin Quote.
”When catapults are outlawed, only outlaws will have catapults.”
And so it starts in Egypt. A couple of days ago, in fact. Glad I got out when I did, especially as, many years ago, I was trained by the Great Quy Chan in the ancient and gentle art of cowardice … I’m a yellow belt with buckle don’t ya know.
I remember my Father used to say, ‘If you can’t fight, wear a big hat.’ I also remember people laughing politely while having absolutely no idea what he was talking about. I believe the phrase is down to those Cockney folk.
We must also spare a thought for the good Captain. He’s presently working between a rock and a revolution. There are most definitely better places to be. Good luck Sir, keep your head down, or wear a big hat, and get out safe. Oh, and watch out for that Moscow diversion!!
Quote; Will Rogers.
“One revolution is like one cocktail, it just gets you ready for the next.”
Made it after a nice relaxing flight with a couple of three year old kids in close proximity who, apparently, hate flying, being up late, and their fellow man. Didn't seem to rate their mummy and daddy much either.
Slept good later though. Woke up, much later, feeling like I was half man, half mattress. It's also obvious the abysmal breakfast preparing person was also shipped in for my arrival.
This is the third time, in recent times, I've been over to here and I'm still not sure if it's one of the worlds biggest building sites or one of the worlds biggest demolition sites. Hard to tell what's going up and what's coming down. Either way, there seems to be a noticeable lack of 'hands-on' people involved in the upping or downing.
Which reminds me of the ex-pat at the bar one of the other times, who stated that if anyone needed one hundred percent proof aliens really did built the pyramids, they just needed to come over here and watch the locals 'working'. Never mind; nice people. The locals I mean. The ex-pat was just another ex-pat propping up another bar.
It's interesting to note, while driving around... Pardon? Oh, come on. Give you're head a shake. I'm just the passenger, okay? Where was I? ...while driving around, is that when on a three lane 'highway' they manage to use the white lines separating the three lanes - as lanes. Thus three lanes become five. Actually six or seven at times. The amazing thing is, it seems to work. Lot of horn work involved, but it seems to work.
Okay, stuff starts getting needing to be done tomorrow so, for now, little onion; that's shallot.
Quote; Henry Morgan.
"A careful driver is one who honks his horn when he goes through a red light."
