05 May 2006

Devil's in the Alley

All this bucolic scene lacks is a .wav file of Roberto pumping Mississippi from the car stereo.

Mule is *not* in his stall because I saw him trog by not a half hour back, black-clad hag on his back. Gave me suspicious look and I waved and tugged forelock and addressed in suitably respectful tones, "Good day, grandma. Have you eaten yet?"

Probably the depth of rude nosiness to inquire after her tiffin but one greets people like that in Cantonese so I thought I'd try it.

Lucky she didn't come back with a gummy,

"Funny you mention that, because no, and I see you have there a goodly loaf and tin of sardines and - goodness - is that a flagon of ruby red wine there? Don't mind if I do.

Not to mention a cackled,

"And that wouldn't be the latest gossip on those young royals? Oh, do let's see .... "

Is it just me, but are we getting just a tad tired of miss Keira Knightley, bless her pouting beauté and cut-glass accent? There were these mags in the glove compartment so I got them out for luncheon reading.

I gather she's terribly nice and Johnny (Depp to you) speaks well of her but ....

I'm probably just jealous that I've not been signed up for the John Prescott course of how to get over an excess of KK.

"Been in Keira Knightley a da-a-y too long". Has a certain ring to it.

Has earth anything to show more fair than a sunny day, glistening sea, sun burning down, and Mr Dylan growling in the background?

God his voice is cool these days. Can one have an op to get that growl? Or do I just keep taking the Karelia til I get to croon thru a hole in my neck?

Sparrow Hawk - don't you hate it when you read something that really *does* interest you and then you need to retrieve it in conversation and it's gone?

In the past 2 days I read something about sparrow hawks, along the lines of:

  • Our earth-bound types can take in 80 "events" or sights per second while sparrow hawks take in 200, whatever that means.

    What it *does* mean is that what seems to us as miraculous speed and snatching of their prey is to them like a slow-mo plucking from the air of a hapless meal in leisurely flight. Well, not leisurely: the bird must be beating its wings like mad, but the hawk strikes in its good time. Apond would know *all* about it and probably has shots of the moment of striking.

  • Their bones are hollow, enabling their amazing manuevers.
  • They can spot a 2mm creature on the ground from some ridiculous height.

    I mention this because I fell into conversation with a passing hawker and his bird (on the wing) and lure and all those jessops and bells they bling up with.

    Damn'd good english, presumably from his time teaching some sultan how to do his desert thing.

    So there I was making informed conversation and I couldnt remember a damn'd thing I'd read.

    My father could read en passant an article in a magazine and recall it days later. I once brought out some book trade mags and he'd picked one up and then a few nights later a topic came up on which I spouted with my usual flimsy grasp of the fact, to which dad said "but surely, etc etc", quoting numbers. Amazed, I asked how on earth he knew that, to which he replied that, "well, it was in one of the The Booksellers you brought out. Don't you read these things?" Red face.

    I knew that his reports and memos were held up as models of conciseness but his old secretary told me once that his dictation technique was astonishing. He'd glance over a document, make one or two notes in the margin and then dictate - sans retraction - his measured message. No uming or ahhing, no going back - and these documents stood the scrutiny of time, including every single necessary fact and not one superfluity.

    biere n bookJOB - Dept of How Sad Is That? I brought out a notebook to doddle in and record my thoughts and just noticed it is my "Job" hunting notebook from when I was groveling for work back in Seattle. Every name and contact number and employment-clinching detail ... all to naught.

    But as I read some of the entries I live again that hope that springs as you write it down:

    "Right. See you Wednesday at 9. Yes, I'll email you my resumé and bring examples. Looking forward to that. Yes, it does sound hopeful, I'm so glad we had this chat. See you then."

    All duds and disappointments, enshrined there.

    Even more poignant, the personal stuff, such as one of the girls calling to fix a date and I've jotted down, "G - 10:30 ferry. Book Madoka. Get Craig book to surprise her?" or "A - sleepover with R but will see me pm. Check movies/DVDs. Clean apartment, hide cigs/hypodermics/French maid costume, etc".

    "Bank: ask about debt re-arrangement. Talk to Citibank ref cc payment.

    Rent: try for end of the week."

    All terribly sad in their utter banality.

    And now, cruising the countryside, good music, sun and sea, food, no rent.

    Oy, Alfie! What's it all abaht, then?