29 April 2009
Saw the link to her Sex Guide - and now must have it ASAP from weak-£'ed Amazon UK.
That's Dottore Judson across there. Not just a pretty face.
I seem to be coming across hot academics these days.
No bad thing.
28 April 2009
And no - not just because she is attractive.
"Tara C. Smith is an Assistant Professor of Epidemiology. Her research involves a number of pathogens at the animal-human nexus. Additionally, she is the founder of Iowa Citizens for Science and also writes for The Panda's Thumb and WIRED SCIENCE's Correlations.
... In summary, this is a fast-developing story, and it will take much more investigation and field work to determine the true extent of the virus's spread in the population; to figure out where it originated (one blog suggests a Mexican hog confinement according to some local Mexican papers, but that is conjecture at this point); how it jumped to humans; and how efficiently it's transmitted.
Whether this burns out or spreads worldwide, it certainly shows once again the importance of surveillance and monitoring of influenza strains, and demonstrates that improving our infrastructure due to concerns about H5N1 will benefit us whether that serotype, or another emergent strain, ends up being the next global influenza threat."
27 April 2009
Comment to follow.
Let me have my late supper first and ponder on this one. She clearly went to 11.
All I can think of in this case is how hubbie Steve must be affecting embarrassment, all the while basking in the joshing of the lads about how he can get his missus up to 11.
Meanwhile, as I googled for Screamie Maggie, I came across this - who does it who doesn't it.
Don't say I don't share my research.
No comments, please.
Elysée Chainsaw Mascara
I can't be bothered to actually read about Ms Bruni engineering La Rachida's exit.
I just saw the Bruni nomen and thought, Cool, another chance to shove another pic up of that hottie.
Also, the silliness of comparing her to Princess Letizia.
25 April 2009
I try not to be a Looksist but it's hard in Greece where both sexes are outright beautiful.
Even the in-right beautiful walk with proud carriage, exuding self-esteem.
She had better have something going for her because it sure as hell ain't her mug ... and nor her dugs which look like the last things to write home about, let alone on FB.
To restore equilibrium, I include gems from my personal album whose 'balconies' are flawless.
William Strunk Jr. and E.B. White
~ Chronia Polla ~
Happy Birthday, indeed, Willie boy and EB: has it really been 50 years?
If ever this article had a readership, it's right here with the Corfucian Irregulars .
I love language and I know I've aged towards a certain maturity because I no longer rise to the challenge like some twitchy Horst Buchholz-type gunfighter literatus, desperate to know he owns 'language'.
In fact, my greatest pleasure lies in subtle abuse, preferably to an audience who will correct or smirk among themselves.
I remember loving Mountain Man's memory of teaching English as She is Spoke to Koreans and at the end of the day collapsing into the teacher's Common Room and, with a colleague, treating themselves to the most hideously broken anglais they could come up, breaking every rule and massacring the rest (and doesn't that look like a mis-spelling? You try writing it 'massacring' and I defy you not to hesitate for a teensy nano-second over an added 'e'). Heh heh: he said 'teensy'and 'nano'.
I think there was the added joy of the head beak coming in and beaming with paternal pride as he cocked an ear to his profs' exquisite English of Shakespeare and Milton, before reeling back in horror as it dawned on him what sort of mangled illiteracy his pupils' were being fed.
My tongue itches to have been there and I'm envisaging a parlour game charade: You have been hired at great expense to teach English to foreigners. The headmaster was also educated abroad and knows the language. You and a colleague want to give him a shock. You have 1 minute to deliver a convincing but fractured soliloquy.
Here in Greece - once the tan sets in - I am often corrected over grammar or accent by know-all foreigners who take me for an upstart waiter. I don't help matters by misbehaving such as last year when some Lord and Lady Muck came in and were muttering about whether they could trust the bar staff to mix and decent G&T.
"Na so po .. I am helpless from eavesdropping your interrogative of the beverage attendant's skill for potency gin and the juice of tonics. Please be avowed that I have personally of my self sampled the concoction of his hand and its acceptance is promised."
Nice tribute to Sir William Robert Patrick "Robin" Knox-Johnston, CBE, RD.
And moi, I had the honour as publicity honcho for Cassell & Co Ltd ("Good books to the gentry") of promoting A World of My Own to an enthusiastic book trade, hungry media, and awed public.
Robin was - how to put it - a 'rewarding and challenging' author to promote. He knew his mind and did not suffer foolish PR hacks gladly.
22 April 2009
Driving in English
I turn with relish each week to the excellent Athens News' letters for the all-too common endearing/soppy/loony or just plain unmistakeably British submissions.
Here's a good one:
"I write to ask if it is possible to obtain the Greek Highway Code for motorists in English.
My enquiries at various bookshops have proved negative.
GS Monk, Messinia"
"Transport ministry officials tell us that the Highway Code is available only in Greek.
The Athens News has written about the code when it was passed into law two years ago.
Here is the link."
21 April 2009
Earth's Third Biggest Biggest
BBC World News compère to colleague for stocks update: "So, Tesco - earth's biggest retail store"
But still threatening to upsize.
20 April 2009
I can't think of a crueller juxtaposition than a photo of the late and versatile Clement Freud with the jacket of The Pencourt File.
I was the publicist for this tale of dark deeds, dead dogs and bunnies toing and froing (not to mention poovery in high places).
I used an ex-army type to help on the freelance press relations, holing up in a house in Primrose Hill as I negotiated interviews and extracts. Not that anything came of it but the army chap got wonderfully excited and kept calling his pals on shortwave and using military lingo.
Odd book - mostly about Harold Wilson's fears that MI5 was bugging everyone and him in particular.
"Mr. Tebbit asked the Prime Minister if he has in the library at No. 10 Downing Street a copy of the book "The Pencourt File" purchased from public funds.
The Prime Minister No."
In chapter 23 of The Pencourt File they virtually got it all: Walter Walker, the US smears, David Stirling."
So my job was to get news of and interest in this book plastered all over England. Freud was a friend of the embattled Thorpe and defending him against the reptiles of the press who were uncovering more and more about his homosexual tendencies and, in particular, a forlorn character called Norman Scott.
I had review copies to pass round and wanted to make sure Freud received one so that he could comment authoritatively if and when tackled on the topic, which I intended to make inevitable with my storm of sordid publicity.
I phoned his office and was of course misunderstood, no one realising I was trying to *give* a copy, not elicit a quote or mock anyone for what Pencourt had uncovered.
Finally, Freud himself got on the phone and told me straight that he wasn't interested in the mendacious filth we were peddling and to "fuck off". Coming from that sonorous voice, those words were a pleasure to hear, but it still didn't solve the problem of getting him a copy so that he stood the best chance of speaking knowledgeably and putting in a better-informed boot than if I made him wait until he'd bought one from the shops.
By great good chance, I had a beautiful cousine who was on the fringe of Freud's society, having caught his eye at a party and later been invited along to Playboy-style parties full of bedrooms and romps. Laura might have looked like an adventurous Eurasian temptress but she was sweet innocence and, as she told me, after opening a boudoir door to reveal a mattress mélée, and seeing Laura's face, Freud had said gravely, "Not really your scene, is it?"
But he didn't drop her from his party list and I persuaded her to sneak a wrapped and clearly addressed copy of The Pencourt File into a dinner CF was attending and placing it discreetly but in full view of where it would catch a flunkey's eye and be hand-delivered to Freudo.
I never heard more, but Laurie said she saw him unwrapping it au table and then looking around with some urgency for the culprit, leter asking questions.
The book didn't sell wildly well but, for what it's worth, that's my Pencourt/Freud story.
19 April 2009
"The point I had [to make] was about today's obsession with political correctness and I think that still remains a topic that has to be really addressed and some common sense injected into it."
Department of Gratuitous Skirt: That bad-tempered Naomi What's-'er-Face got it into her woolly noggin that she'd been mistaken for a cuddly 'wog.
The leggy shrew flatters herself: there's no way that loud-mouth canterer of the catwalk could ever be associated with those adorèd darkie dolls of yore.
Or should it be Billa'blog?
No matter: excellent new 'blog to follow that my fave former Amazon.com crush sent me - almost as abrasive and un-suffering of fools as Mountain Man of the NiteKrüe.
My kind of pedant:
"By the way, if anyone is wondering, since it’s an abbreviation of web-log, ’blog should be spelt with an apostrophe, like ’phone."Moi, I'm going to take Billa' even more seriously and write it henceforth 'b-log and totally piss everyone orf.
Bags of fun ahead as I watch which way M'sieur 'Blog takes me.
18 April 2009
17 April 2009
16 April 2009
I love these round-ups:
International Day for Monuments and Sites
18 April 2009
We are approaching April 18th, the day that was endorsed by UNESCO as International Day for Monuments and Sites.
One cannot fail to notice that issues of protection are still plenty and awaiting action ... and when nature is not to blame (as in the recent case of the earthquake in the italian town of L'Aquila), man continues to ..."
Kai tou alla, yaka dak dak ~ read the link for yourselves and be good Greenies.
14 April 2009
Loss of Farce
Interesting recycling of a trick I played on our all-powerful Chinese landlord in Hong Kong when they were offering our three floors of tenants a pittance to move out so that they could leave the building standing for years under the guise of being in imminent demolition.
Our fellow tenants - Aussie, Kraut - were all for taking the money and run but I knew they had more to offer.
But the Oz woman bullied me into a meeting with the relevant director so down we went and were left sitting in reception for a suitably humiliating time and then beckoned into what was clearly some sort of store room.
No sooner had the manager come in and spread his papers out with the cheque already signed than I said to my antipodean companion that I couldn't stand the humiliation and shame and we needed to leave at once.
Raised eyebrows all round.
I brandished the letter from the property company, its representative's name sporting some title that was clearly a mere sop to his pride:
"Come," I bade my companion, "every minute we stay, the dishonour thickens. Each new entrant to this store-room sees the lowly status assigned to Mr Leung and has to in turn hide their shame for the company.
We must leave and return at a more respectful time when Mr Leung can transact this important business as an equal."
My dears - his face. Their faces at my loud stumbling stilted Cantonese embarrassment at two lowly 'ghost people' being witness to Mr Leung's humiliation.
"It is some internal office chastisement," I explained to the Australienne, "nothing to do with us. We just happened to be his first meeting of the morning. This is his workplace for the day until the directors judge him sufficiently re-educated."
All spliced with heroic phrases straight from the Chairman's diminutive maroon livraki.
And so it came to pass this afternoon that I agreed to accompany a friend to argue her case with her vile landlord, a Frenchie who spoke Grik and Anglais as well as his native tongue, but would when cornered retreat into Frog.
We all spoke English until M'sieur played le con and start gargling his vowels and that's when I noticed he was directing his girls to place documents in a finer room than where we were sitting - like in reception, yeh? All the typists looking on.
Alors - being the gent I am, I explained that I couldn't just sit there and watch the man perd toute face - in front of his efficient staff, to boot. No other recourse but to end his misery, I gathered us up and backed bowing out of the office, assuring le patron of our full attention once he had been granted more business-like premises in which to conduct vital business.
Oh poh poh - the tittering from the ranks and the jubbling of proud cleavages as they bent to hide their mirth over their keyboards.
When she asked me how I'd thought that up on such a spur of the moment, I confessed that I had seen such things back East as would defy belief.
Boycott the 'Zon?
What's all this? Boycott my old stamping ground?
And who is this wimpled champ anyway when he's at home?
Delisting "adult" books doesn't sound like my alma mater , the Good Ship Bezosia bound for glory and galactic domination.
Is Jeffrey Preston losing his nerve?
Anyway, hilarious rant by the Champ and equally earnest and endearing follow-up comments by the faithful.
The dogs bark but the caravan moves on.
I've been thinking about those SEAL marksmen ever since I read that all three pirates were taken out.
Presumably, the pirates had to be hit simultaneously - or at least the one with the AK47 killed first before he could work out what had happened to his cronies and pull the trigger on Capt Phillips. Very cool - literally.
And the pirates bobbing up and down;no easy target.
Do you suppose the sharpshooters counted themselves down?
"OK, on three."
Wait - who's doing the one with the beard?
"They've all got fuckin' beards, fer chrissake, Chip."
So like, am I doing the one in the middle - hold on, they just moved ... OK, am I doing the one with the red cap?
"It's more a maroon, dude. I had a Pontiac once, painted it that exact same colour. The can said 'maroon' ..."
And the shame, the humiliation, the mockery awaiting the one who failed to drill his mark through the bonce.
12 April 2009
11 April 2009
Crucify to de-cancerfy
I always dread this annual nail-fest. Can never seem to look on the bright side of life of these extreme piercistas flailing 'n' nailing 'emselves up there.
My filipina sis-in-law is over there so i expect she'll bring back local press coverage for my delectation.
I always look for the odd whitey joining in the frolics and sure enough, there's that bloke hanging up to dry so's his mum can kick the Big C.
They're out there - I mean *up* there.
09 April 2009
To the Ionian Academy for an evening of poésie and songs by the students of the various French schools around the isle.
The French gouvernement no longer subsidises or supports schools abroad so the parents pay for these expert tuitions.
The standard of musicianship is stunning.
As far as I'm concerned, those TV talent shows come nowhere compared to the fun I had tonight.
08 April 2009
Why can't the English ... camouflage themselves?
This piece from the Teleg examines les anglais en France but it's the same here.
I walk down the street and I just *know* when I see a fellow countryman - doesnt matter the age or income, we just have a giveaway look.
(Actually, I'm told I do NOT but I'm ignoring that)
07 April 2009
Rattles and Waves
After I'd convinced myself it wasn't an April Fool spoof, my reaction was:
The letter that seemed to spark it all:
"SIR – A large British supermarket's representative has recently visited our meat-processing works in New Zealand and decreed that no dogs should be used to muster animals destined to slaughter.
People here are astounded. The relationship between a trained working dog and sheep is so customary and understood as to be almost symbiotic. For centuries dogs have been used to protect sheep, even in the absence of a shepherd. A sheep will happily graze next to a dog.Now the shepherds and their dogs have been dismissed and replaced by men with rattles, waving their arms. It is difficult to imagine a more demeaning occupation.
C. S. Waddington
Canterbury, New Zealand"
And can you imagine putting down good dogs like that?
I've had to take some faithful old boys to the needle in my time but they were old and arthritic and I should have done the merciful thing sooner - but I still couldn't see my right to play God and I blubbed and blubbed and blubbed.
Cool comment: Anon writes on behalf of the man from Harlech:
"But Welsh lamb is OK. The dogs and the sheep are seen to enjoy their interaction."
Editor's Note - Anon speaks true.
And after enjoying the clip I want you to go back and give the fotolibrary empire a gander. Those who don't yet know or use it, frigging get with it, slowcoaches ... or just go and be Tesco middle managers.
06 April 2009
Bumper Bonanza April Issue
A particularly good and hard-hitting issue this month of my favourite must-read.
Still only €2, the April number is a *gem*:
All in all, a splendid number so buy now while stocks last.
Look what you learn when you step out on the town with a Belgian babe.
"Belgians love waffles and french fries.
Contrary to their name, french fries also originated in Belgium.
The name "french fries" actually refers to the description of the manner in which the potato is cut.
To "french" means to cut into slivers."
05 April 2009
News that M'sieur le Président needed beefing up in the bedroom department sounds like an April 1st spoof.
"Surely", one asks oneself (or I do moi), "one verse in her husky timbre from the missus on the guitare would get all the timber needed?"
At this point, let me assure readers that this photo was chosen for its current affairs value alone.
The fact that the wife of Nicolas Paul Stéphane Sarközy de Nagy-Bocsa, 23rd President of the French Republic and ex officio Co-Prince of Andorra, leans towards the photogenic is entirely coincidental.