"Hail to thee blithe spirit
Bird thou never wert
That from heaven or near it
Pourest thy full heart
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art"
Blah blah blah whatever...
What Shelley forgot to say was that when a skylark's sat there in the sky singing its little heart out, it sounds uncannily similar to the sound of a fruit machine paying out.
Percy, pass the laudanum...
Bysshe, Basshe, Bosshe...
.
Wednesday, 7 April 2010
Tuesday, 6 April 2010
Being 48
Most people seem to hate getting older, but it's always struck me as something to celebrate, considering the alternative.
My Dad died at 48, so I guess this year will be equivalent to my 37th year - when I was young I was made aware that my lifeline pointed to me expiring at 36 - and I spent the whole year waiting for the inevitable. Of course, having cheated death once I shall spit in the eye of lucifer and I shall walk through the valley of the shadow of death (or as Woody said, "now I think about it, I shall run through the valley of the shadow of death").
In reality though, it's not the years, it's what you fill them with. My dad had three wives, and a million stories from living and working in Rio, Munich, Brussels, Stavanger, Los Angeles, Seattle, and of course Stillman Valley, Illinois.
I've worked in Stockport...
.
My Dad died at 48, so I guess this year will be equivalent to my 37th year - when I was young I was made aware that my lifeline pointed to me expiring at 36 - and I spent the whole year waiting for the inevitable. Of course, having cheated death once I shall spit in the eye of lucifer and I shall walk through the valley of the shadow of death (or as Woody said, "now I think about it, I shall run through the valley of the shadow of death").
In reality though, it's not the years, it's what you fill them with. My dad had three wives, and a million stories from living and working in Rio, Munich, Brussels, Stavanger, Los Angeles, Seattle, and of course Stillman Valley, Illinois.
I've worked in Stockport...
.
Monday, 5 April 2010
Laughing in the Face of Fear
At the start of the risible but very watchable Jonathan Creek last night a scantily clad '80s maiden is in a field when a hand snakes along the ground and grasps her ankle. So far, so ever so slightly scarifying.
Then, in the big money shot, we see the face of the man as he grimaces and slithers from the vegetation.
And it's Oz Clarke....
I'll be very surprised if this isn't first up on Harry Hill's TV Burp this week.
.
Then, in the big money shot, we see the face of the man as he grimaces and slithers from the vegetation.
And it's Oz Clarke....
I'll be very surprised if this isn't first up on Harry Hill's TV Burp this week.
.
Sunday, 4 April 2010
Growing things from seed
I'd hate for you to think we're johnny-come-latelys to this vegetable lark. We are, I'd just hate for you to think that. To be fair we have had three allotments over the years, but in all honesty we (by which of course I mean Anne) were never able to do it quite the way proper allotment owners do.
They:
Cost of allotment £16
Cost of half of allotment middle-class newbies can't manage £0
Cost of shed taken from next door's abandoned allotment £0
Cost of scaffolding planks for borders provided by dodgy white-van cousin £0
Cost of endless bits of plastic and wood pilfered from skips £0
Cost of incredibly useful cloches £1.99 in Aldi
Cost of seeds swapped, and kept back, and free in magazines and occasionally bought £1
Cost of manure that allotment has delivered in one free-for-all pile on April 2nd and which you have to camp out overnight to get dibbs on £0
Overall cost per vegetable 0.1pence
We:
Cost of 72 gardening books all telling you the same thing £990
Cost of two sheds to house shiny new tools and someone to build them £800
Cost of three raised beds using railway sleepers (creosoted to poison the veg) £280
Cost of greenhouse - to burn the cucumbers - £400
Cost of plug plants to replace all the tomatoes that were raised by seed but eaten by dog in copy-cat easter egg hunt incident £65
Cost of grow-feed, slug-pellets, vitamins, homeopathic remedies, acupuncture etc that all good middle class seedlings need to survive according to the Guardian weekend gardening page £125
Overall cost per vegetable £2.10
I'm not kidding. Next door have just built a raised-bed so deep it's got a diving-board at one end...
.
They:
Cost of allotment £16
Cost of half of allotment middle-class newbies can't manage £0
Cost of shed taken from next door's abandoned allotment £0
Cost of scaffolding planks for borders provided by dodgy white-van cousin £0
Cost of endless bits of plastic and wood pilfered from skips £0
Cost of incredibly useful cloches £1.99 in Aldi
Cost of seeds swapped, and kept back, and free in magazines and occasionally bought £1
Cost of manure that allotment has delivered in one free-for-all pile on April 2nd and which you have to camp out overnight to get dibbs on £0
Overall cost per vegetable 0.1pence
We:
Cost of 72 gardening books all telling you the same thing £990
Cost of two sheds to house shiny new tools and someone to build them £800
Cost of three raised beds using railway sleepers (creosoted to poison the veg) £280
Cost of greenhouse - to burn the cucumbers - £400
Cost of plug plants to replace all the tomatoes that were raised by seed but eaten by dog in copy-cat easter egg hunt incident £65
Cost of grow-feed, slug-pellets, vitamins, homeopathic remedies, acupuncture etc that all good middle class seedlings need to survive according to the Guardian weekend gardening page £125
Overall cost per vegetable £2.10
I'm not kidding. Next door have just built a raised-bed so deep it's got a diving-board at one end...
.
Saturday, 3 April 2010
Reading an unputdownable book
What better way to spend a sportless, dark and gloomy Good Friday than being rendered immobile by a damned good read?
I reckon it's only something like one in every ten books I read that grabs me by the throat and won't let me go until I finish. They may not always be the best literature in the world, and some of them I've forgotten almost as soon as I close the book, but the pleasure of the moment remains.
So, thanks Stieg Larsson for the second of his trilogy, which had a disappointing ending but kept me turning the pages all day until I got there!
.
I reckon it's only something like one in every ten books I read that grabs me by the throat and won't let me go until I finish. They may not always be the best literature in the world, and some of them I've forgotten almost as soon as I close the book, but the pleasure of the moment remains.
So, thanks Stieg Larsson for the second of his trilogy, which had a disappointing ending but kept me turning the pages all day until I got there!
.
Friday, 2 April 2010
Labour's new election strategy
I just can't see how this could fail...
http://www.guardian.co.uk/politics/2010/apr/01/labour-gordon-brown-hard-man
!
http://www.guardian.co.uk/politics/2010/apr/01/labour-gordon-brown-hard-man
!
Thursday, 1 April 2010
Irrationally Hating Certain Footballers
I was watching Ibrahimovic last night and compiling in my head a list of footballers who I've actively detested over the years, for no good reason whatsoever.
Charlie Cooke (there was a kid of similar name who used to hit me)
Stuart Pearson (smug goal celebration)
Zico (how I laughed when Gentile punched him)
Glen Hoddle (Glenda)
Liam Brady (no idea)
Mickey Thomas (curly-haired gobshite)
Germans (obviously)
Graeme Le Saux (gave Guardian readers a bad name)
and Peter Crouch (who was playing above his level with QPR, yet alone now).
These days my commentary on watching England goes something like:
"For fuck's sake you twatting dipstick head the fucking ball. Take this useless beanpole off, Mike Berry can trap the ball that far; what is the fucking point...GOAL!!!"
(Anne shouting from kitchen "Who scored?")
"Ummm......"
Much the same happened last night...
.
Charlie Cooke (there was a kid of similar name who used to hit me)
Stuart Pearson (smug goal celebration)
Zico (how I laughed when Gentile punched him)
Glen Hoddle (Glenda)
Liam Brady (no idea)
Mickey Thomas (curly-haired gobshite)
Germans (obviously)
Graeme Le Saux (gave Guardian readers a bad name)
and Peter Crouch (who was playing above his level with QPR, yet alone now).
These days my commentary on watching England goes something like:
"For fuck's sake you twatting dipstick head the fucking ball. Take this useless beanpole off, Mike Berry can trap the ball that far; what is the fucking point...GOAL!!!"
(Anne shouting from kitchen "Who scored?")
"Ummm......"
Much the same happened last night...
.
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