NEW YEAR HONOURS 2011

~ the full monty ~

LEGENDARY BIRU

These must be such fun to make.

I love the biru bit.

Thanks for this - as for so many in the past - go to My Lord Moss of Ma Wan.

ANIMAL VOICE-OVERS

Rather good

World's tallest model: 6' 8"

The blog that brings you les plus belles.

Not sure if her parents actually christened her 'Amazon Eve' - how could they know, gazing down at the crib? - or if her manager decided that 'Amazon Eve' was an obvious nik, but she's hot.

"6 feet 8 inches in her bare feet ... completely dwarfs all other models."

What matters is that her bod and booty are in good proportion.

Phwoah!

Speaking of which, I once woke in my Seattle pad to hear NPR discussing the new entry in the OU Dictionary ~

Phwoah. Registering admiration of a lady's charms, or some such.

"Per Wo-ah?" puzzled the gormless announcer, "Per woah? How does that work? I see a hot chick and I go, like, 'p'woah'?"

I was so angry I got on the line and told the receptionist, "It's not 'per woah', you idiots!"

I heard her tell someone, 'I got someone with a fake English accent saying we got something wrong'

'OK, I'll take it, I'll spot if he's faking it. Hello, can I help you?'

It's not a fake English accent, you berk! It's the best my parents' money could buy ... and it's pronounced 'Phworr!' Bloody hell! You'd think NPR could get that right!'

Yeh, sorry about that. Could you say it again?'

PHWOARR! With bags of lust to it

'You're funny. OK, turn down your radio and listen to the show and we'll have you on to pronounce it right. Thanks'

Which I did, and my fan club quintupled.

[I have the feeling I've told you this before ... if so, sorry.]

I think the tallest I 'dated' was 6' 2". Marvelous statuesque creature, also perfectly proportioned and with the cutest button nose atop all her curvy charms.

Bars and restaurants would fall silent when she entered so I didnt have to do that nervous blokey thing of constantly watching the door.

It was more I'd be chatting to the barman and he'd suddenly look over my shoulder.

"Blimey!"

Cue my ego trip. I'd slowly fold my copy of the Evening Standard and turn ever so nonchalantly - 'Over here, sweetie'.

Never a problem acting the gent: I had to stand up to be tall enough to peck her hello.

When she tried to surprise me by sneaking up and putting her hands over my eyes, I'd go

"Miranda - darling! Lovely surprise!"

Pout.

'You always know it's me. No fun'

"Yes, well, you see, with 'normal' people, their hands are sort of 90 degrees to my face. Yours clamp round me at 45 degs as if from a great height, like I've been crept up on by Frankensteina."

'You're so rude to me. [Appealing to the rest of the room] He's so rude to me.'

Every red-blooded male in hearing distance [thinks, bubble bubble]

'Yeh, well, I could be 'rude' to you, darlin', half the chance.'

Lovely lovely lady. I didn't pay enough attention to her - career path, vaulting ambition - so we said tatty-bye and next time I saw her she'd been knocked up by some pipsqueak asshole, married the twit and disappeared. Pearl before swine.

Alors, just to show I'm not completely obsessed by beauty ~ and take a strong drink before clicking on this link - appalling almost obscene tale of anorexic model dead at 28.

On 2nd thoughts, click not.

Miranda: she'd never seen the innards of a true blue English public school so I hired Avis's hottest bird puller, or in this case 'transporter', and whizzed us down to the old Colditz alma mater.

Leggy babes have a way of exiting vehicles - I think they're hard wired from t'cradle - it's like legs at an angle and sloow glide out.

Everyone's watching for a glimpse of pantie or, better, flash of the old Sharon Stone.

Dead funny it was, all the pompous pricks suddenly sauntering over as if we were mates.

Same thing happened when American Alex and I went down with some simpering Playmate who had the hots for him.

I mean, good for Mother Nature getting the measurements right. You'd think that with all the slide-rule stuff on the height, the jutty bits would fall by the wayside - no boobs, is what I really mean, or the legs would be on the skinny side.(Not a bit.)

Psst! Nothing wrong with that, all you slender-limbed lassies out there.

Perwoah, what?

LEGIT

1. I arrived in Corfu 11th April 2006 with a Washington State driving licence valid until July 28 that year.

2. I tried to renew it online, my daughters and former landlord briefed to lie in case it depended on my still living in the US of A.
   

   No joy..

3. I asked our competent and distractingly beautiful lawyer what to do and she whisked my American licence away for translation. Probs and she returned it in case I was pulled over, which I never was.

4. 7/28 came and went, by which time I was too 'Greek' to worry.

5. Several pull-overs ~ nae prob.

6. Feb 2 2008 came and went and I failed to notice the car was no longer insured.

7. Aug 11 2008, my daughter + b/f came to stay and borrowed the car which, unbeknownst to her, was reported as having been in an 'accident' by an Italian who'd tried to woo her in a Pyrgi bar and been sent packing by her burly chap.

8. Jan 2009: fuzz arrive at the house requiring me to turn up at the police station.

   I took my lawyer who freaked out later when I discovered the insurance gaffe and owned up to still having no licence, neither of which the officer had checked, too busy checking out la belle

9. I get insurance pronto

10. Oct 7: pass test but have to wait a few weeks for licence.

11. October 14: pulled over on routine papers check. Told to always carry licence.

12. Licence arrives, pulled over for checking but the officer distracted by car whizzing by whose dusky driver had failed to obey colleague's signal to pull in. Much radioing and I'm told to piss off.

13. Dec 28 2010: all papers correct and labeled in transparent folder. I am pulled over for routine check.

    I cannot whip them out smugly soon enough.

    I am at last 'legal'.

CALLIRHOE

Goodness Myspace has cleaned up its act - literally - all the pages are fresh and bright.

And that means the beautiful voiced Kaliroe [I can never work out how she's meant to spell herself] now has a legible site rather than that dingy brown affair she was living with.

Hoorah. Now I can start plugging her for real.

I can also get down to refurbishing my own page.

Check out Louise du Toit while you're over there.

THE JOIE OF GROWING OLD

~ Why, beyond middle age, people get happier as they get older ~

"ASK people how they feel about getting older, and they will probably reply in the same vein as Maurice Chevalier:

“Old age isn’t so bad when you consider the alternative.”

Stiffening joints, weakening muscles, fading eyesight and the clouding of memory, coupled with the modern world’s careless contempt for the old, seem a fearful prospect—better than death, perhaps, but not much.

Yet mankind is wrong to dread ageing.

Life is not a long slow decline from sunlit uplands towards the valley of death. It is, rather, a U-bend.

"[Since then] interest in the U-bend has been growing. Its effect on happiness is significant—about half as much, from the nadir of middle age to the elderly peak, as that of unemployment.

It appears all over the world: David Blanchflower, professor of economics at Dartmouth College, and Mr Oswald looked at the figures for 72 countries. The nadir varies among countries—Ukrainians, at the top of the range, are at their most miserable at 62, and Swiss, at the bottom, at 35—but in the great majority of countries people are at their unhappiest in their 40s and early 50s.

The global average is 46".

Commentaria

I knew he'd insert his ever-youthful rudolphian proboscis somewhere.

Talkin' about My Generation ~ Dorian Badass ~ he who can't bear to see an article about the 'A' word.

Bosh and no man's a fool, you only have to vada his bogus Sledging in Handsworth Park effort to see the poor chap is desperate.

• Classic Cast List:
  • Annnonceur ~ Eager beaver commentator able to stre-e-tch the simple word 'Away' into 4 syllables

  • The Kid ~ Babyface Bieber lookalike, platypus tilt of nose, 'Jeep'-capped mouthy yoof avec façonnable accent [to feed the chick interest.]

    You just know he will zoom down with savoir slalomer aplomb.

  • Fall Guy [to ensure Baddeley looks good on his Luge]. Brilliant coup to get Berlusconi: well past scope-by date, happy to play slapstick buffoon.

    Of course, we know why Silvio joined the fun: to make a play for:

  • Essex Babe ~ Even as we watch in horror/glee as Il Brilliantino heads for the prang, La Dumberene calls the shots.

    "Fence, fe-e-nce ... the fence will stop him"

    Watch closely, it's as if she's on some profanity button time delay, predicting fence and crash a half second after they actually happen. Right up Berli's street.

• Alarums off: enter Lord Badass wearing a bear-skin (for it is He).

  "Everyone ready? Sled-rail hidden so it looks as if c'est moi steering?

  Are you sure Guy's going to look enough of a twit? Bona idea, have Amy-Liz burble something idiotic about the fence. De-synch her for good measure so it looks like I'm hemmed in by imbeciles"

• Stand by, Houston - Sledging & Handjobs, take 1

• Director:

  "Just so I know, is this the stuntman on the blocks or the grey-haired geezer himself?"

  'It's the Old Grey Whistler, chief. The stuntman came a cropper on the first practice run'

  "Oh that's great, that is. Very well - cue 'Ace'.

  And action!

  Here we go ... I knew it, straight into the ... good lord, he actually missed it. Bravo Snow Fogey!

  I say, look at the blighter go. And he's done it!"

• "Lucinda, quick, darling, before Simon comes sniffing ...

  'Savvy sleddin': Sexagenarian Silver Fox slides sleek; susses snowy slope'

  .That sort of thing, have the creative boys run this up for the evening edition.

  Dead cert viral for Youtube.

  They adoore this sort of thing.

  Makes like they've still got one slipper off the zimmer."

DOUBLE RAINBOW

1447hrs Monday December 27 2010

HAPPY DAY

Happiest day of my life.

That's how I spot and process happiness: en effet, they're all -iest days.

I'm a whiney grizzler of a misery guts so if I can actually say at the time that j'suis content ~ by the viagra of Vergilia! I have to check my pulse in case I've at long last made it to the promised land.

I had a pal who'd close his eyes and take 'mental photographs' of the moment. He was embarrassing to stand next to.

I once asked a girlfriend of his who seemed to be lasting,

"You know when he closes his eyes and is taking a mental snap of the blissful occasion? Does he do that before, during, after sex?"

She wasn't the right kind to ask and seemed not to understand; then she did seem to understand and when Rob came back with the drinks, shifted ever so slightly away from him and eyed him with suspicion.

So whither this happiness, eh?

How dare anyone be happy when the rest of you are tearing yer hair out over bills, Himself in growly bear grouch - and #1 daughter announcing she's renouncing Oxford and will be joining rugged Tomas in upcountry Alvania-more-far where he's a landowner and his mother and 5 sisters will adore her ... jury's still out on dad.

Don't put your daughter in a Balkan's bed, Mrs Worthington. Ach! Too late.

I'm a man of simple tastes where contentment's concerned. Wasn't always this way but I've come to accept my limitations.

Bed early and sober last night ~ huge head-start, that is.

Rose when I woke - no need check the alarm clock to get bearings on the hangover. In fact, deliberately did not look at the clock but fed animaux and took a brisk walk round the property with Sam trotting beside me, his tail wagging the screws off with this unfamiliar treat.

Sarcastic bugger: once upon a time he'd sprint ahead, confident of a decent stroll. Now he trots a few feet, looks back that I'm still there, a few more feet, you still there? A few more, look back, blimey guv' this is a gruelling trek.

We reach the end of the hall and I open the door - whoa, steady on there, chief. Out the door is ... like, outside. Best rest awhile and get our bearings. No, please, after you.

There's a woman who walks her skittish dog and once complained to Kosta that our dog was a 'nuisance' and 'attacked' her Cruft-crafted pedigree hound.

One day I was cutting some bamboo, hidden from the road, and I could hear madame yelling at her pooch to behave. When she came level with the gates, in it dashed and bolted up the drive. Sam, sitting beside me, continued to sit.

So much for territorial.

She stood there shouting at it so I emerged and said she was welcome to go up and leash the creature. She looked at Sam - what about him? Yes, pathetic innit? He should be up there tearing the trespasser's throat out.

Up she went, yelling fruitlessly, down came the dog via the yucca and raced around Sam who looked bored.

Down she came, what about your dog? Sam sat there, looked up at me,

"Am I missing something here?"

This morning madame jerked past, tugged this way and that. Sam barked and I told him to sit which he did.

Extra biccies when we got back.

Brek was divine - 0805 per the cuisine cloche - two expertly scrambleds, sausages, tomatoes, lashings of Diellas bacon, radio on Beeb3, jug of my fave real coffee that I never feel like making with mater making her own yoghurt mix and shattering the hopes of the day with mumbles about the garden.

"Not while I'm eating, mum!"

First hurdle of the day: skirt the computer sans succumbing. Nae prob, I just strode past and took up the Ovation and played a manly C.

"New song! Verse 1, steady beat."

I could feel the instrument shudder - wazzup? A major chord? Jes' like that? Where's the wimpo weeping minor? The sighs as tremulous right hand pluck, 'no use, not in the mood.' What is going on? The laptop coughs discreetly - ahem, are we forgetting someone? Alt-shift-cold turkey?

My dear departed friend Elleston Trevor, aka Adam Hall of the Quiller canon, had a marvelous phrase: whenever his hero was faced with some physical difficulty - clinging to the underside of a car going thru a checkpoint, his grip loosening, he'd refer contemptuously to the 'sniveling organism' waah, can't hang on, I'm going to let go, too hard, this'll ruin my nail polish.

'My hand is a steel claw' Q tells himself, 'it is fixed forever to this axle bar'.

Mewl mewl from the 'puter, 'you know u want me.'

My fretboard fumblings are going nowhere. The strings are whining 'not getting anything, no inspiration, too early, wot u going to sing about anyway?'

I fix the capo on the 5th - ooh! - and drum a crisp rasgueado across the sound-hole.

Too early, no inspiration, not usual time to strum, Muse still abed in the 7 sleapers ... any more excuses?

Good! Now we begin. 0900 minus 5. Gives us 30 minutes good composing time.

Dead silence from the moaning minnies. Yes, massa.

0945: 45 minute workout, punish the calves - skinny wretches - the dark grey Pilates laggie band for shoulders and biceps, back to calves. Sloow stretching - keep me balanced! You 'orrible muscles, pathetic, you are. One more time ... not so fast ... work it, hurt it.

Shower, fresh clothes and pack for the drive - a stack of CDs that I never reach for because KYMA is so good this morning I never want to change the channel.

To town, first stop post office to claim that copy of Begat I ordered. Up to counter, wrong ticket, I must get one for a letter. I tell her it is not a letter.

'Please take ticket'.

I take. Numero #684 and theyre calling 320.

I sit and read my paper.

Finally! She gets the package, a jiffy bag from mum's pal in London. 'But this is not a letter - I have received many themata of this kind.' Next!

I was told there was a general strike but the town buzzes. I return to car and KYMA is still good. I open the package - a silk scarf of no value.

"Marjorie, I didnt want you to be without this over the holidays"

There must be a dedicated mezzanine in Chateau Dante for those who mail useless stuff that makes one wait for nowt.

But I am ahead of the day and my stomach muscles are taut. I drive off to buy a teflon-free pan, of which there are none in any emporium, but i get to chat up my favorite serveuses.

An advert comes on the radio of a rich Santa Clausy 'ho ho ho ... chronia pollAAHH!

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!!

I am doing a decent speed down Solari and it sounds as if the knocking is on the car roof. By the pubes of Perianda! For a nano-second I think it is a biker cop hammering on me to pull over. Or some joker clinging to the car - honestly, they should test these sounds before they launch them.

Almost home, I decide to check the DVD store for anything new. On my left is someone who is driving aggressively close as if I have made some driving faux pas. Very close and if we weren't both in control of our vehicles it would be inviting an accident.

They are young and aggressive and the passenger is glaring and gesticulating. We stop at the lights opposite Spiti Prifti and chummy is revving. I rev back and ignore them.

We take off and the other car is very close, as if trying to push me to the far side of the road.

300 metres after the lights, there is a side road to the DVD store and a butcher. The divide is marked by a metal post and raised island. The lorry ahead of me blocks my hassler's view and I make tentative moves as if being bullied to the side of the road. I leave it til the last second to veer right and to my disappointment see only confusion in the mirror instead of the bucking pile-up I'd been trying to lure him into.

There is nothing in the store and I am glad because the couch is not part of the day.

I get home and there is Sam wagging. I walk off to do another tour and am alone for a whole 40 seconds as he waits by the kitchen door and then realises I am not there but actually walking out n about. In fact, the cats are there scampering ahead.

I dive in via my bedroom door and leave the house sealed.

By the time I have reached the sitting room, Louki is there clawing to get in.

Also clawing is the Sniveler -

'Successful morning! God we feel like a drink'

(and we do).

I walk down to the bedroom and retrieve the Pilates band. My fave stretcher is to hold it out in front of me and very slowly do 3 circuits of 15 expansions. Then I hold it 45 degs up and do another 45, feeling the burn.

The Organism is not happy. I still want a drink and I know what I want.

The Devil has taken me up the mountain and showed me the vin blanc and cassis. Stretch burn pull.

The computer is still unopened.

Luverly drink, the sniveler whispers; all afternoon ahead, mum not here, who would know?

Face-off time. I pull up my T-shirt - see this? Not 6-pack yet but siga siga.

Dip down for 10 knee bends. See that? Pathetic, I used to tweak circuits of 30.

Think I'm going to spoil that now?

A Cee-lo moment: Forget you!

I see the cigs and toss them across the room,

"And forget you, too!"

Bastards.

Happy happy day.

HOME. ALONE

Very successful launch of mater to Athens.

["Huston, won't believe this, went sans problem"].

Avoided her usual late check-in thanks to her last-min arranging lunch with pal during her 6-hour stay in Athens.

She decided to take a framed print of one of her daubs as a gift and to carry it with her on the plane to avoid breakage.

Won't happen, I told her, they dont allow but one hand luggage, but I'll be there to bring it back.

Loipon, here's how it might come off - we get there early enough to 'negotiate' and allow them to say yes without a queue behind you.

She fell for it and we only left nerve-rackingly late as opposed to the usual chocks-away check in.

Mum at check-in: I'd to carry this with me on the flight.

Check-in girl: You want to take this and also that bag? [reaches for internal phone to get support that it is not allowed]

Me: Mum! How many times do I have to tell you? It's against regulations. Give it here - I'll take it back with me.

Regulations! Dread word that no daughter of Nausicaa will bend to. She replaces phone and withers me with a look.

"Is OK". Nuther mega ray blast in my direction. LOL.

Reminds me of when she left for Hungary, really really late, like literally chocks-away scenario.

I was in a furious state when we checked in, muttering about how my mother didn't deserve to catch the flight. Go on! Tell her she's late, boot her (which they were about to do.)

Rapid phone calls, up comes a handsome uniform who puts his arm round my mother's shoulder and escorts her away from my sulks.

"Madame, this way."

Backward scowl at me, 'Here in Greece we know how to treat our mothers.'

"This way, madame, siga siga, is not hurry. Your ticket? Give me, I will handle. Spiro - ella!"

Back to me, megalo dismisal:

By the pustules of Peribomius! So this is how you xenoi treat your sacred mothers? Pame, madame, we must make distance from your 'son'. Doxa to theo I was here to arrange.

Brrrng! Nai; But no you do not take off yet - nai! tell them to circle until Aegean is ready to leave.

OK, so they re-route to Bombay: Here in Greece we respect our mothers.

Mission accomplis.

NATIVITY

~ Digital ~

BOSKETTO GARDEN

17 October 2010

Photo update on an unfairly rainy day

I have more recent ones that I want my mother to comment on and describe how why and what has taken place since her hard work.

You can see it here.

I'd meant to keep it upper to date but the disappointment of the ... well, treachery is my naive strong word that comes to mind for the cynical use of mum's skill and love of gardening ... the disappointment killed my zeal to keep the post going.

If you will use the link above you will see my mother's selfless work and, in a way, my own effort as botanophobe lensman not to let her work go unrecorded.

LOUISE du TOIT

Glorious glorious news: the wonderful Louise du Toit and the equally lovely Christos Koulouridis - plus what Louise describes as her Porto Reale Band - will be playing at:

Where ~ that jiveass crazy Poco Loco tex-mex eaterie whose Gouvia branch kept me so happy in the summer.

This gig is at their emporiko disco strip speakeasy on the Au Bar corner.

Quando; ~ this Sunday, Dec 19, as ever is.

Time - 10pm (Not sure what time that is in Greek hourage).

Don't all of you roll up, of course.

S'truth! I don't want to turn up all tuxedo'd and perfum'd and find a load of you scruffs hogging the best booze and benches.

Louise and Christo are a class act.

That snap over there was taken at my mother's 90th birthday bash and that sprightly young thing dancing with the host is maman herself.

Even I had to bribe the butler to let me in.

Loipon, me first and everyone else via the tradesmen's entrance.

The staff will find you some dark corner in which to crouch quietly and know your place.

See you there!

Meanwhile, I'm using this post as an excuse to listen again to Louise's Just Love.

#1 on Daily Beast

FUCK YOU

I'd never heard of the hugely talented and witty Mr CeeLo Green but he certainly puts out a sassy video.

The chicks are all hot hot hot, as only that ebony ass can be.

And I love the bit right at the start where the kid oaths and his mom whups him from behind.

And at 1' 42 secs, the 'Heartbreaker', I trust we all agree that the chick in the glasses is wayy breakier than the flirty thing they point to?

Someone used wit for this bijou boogaloo videophony, and even the naughty word isn't that clear.

Long time since I swayed along to such a mood-lifting professional job that made me want to hear more.

^5, CeeLo, suh

LOVE IT! ~ and look out for that Greek gesture at 2 mins 20 secs.

All the bit-part players are right there and CeeLo is my kinda bulky black singer with that cool Percy Sledge voice.

Further reading:

Doesn't really tell me much more about the making of the video but the pert pouting hostess is worth a gander, so the breasts stay in the post.

Blocked You - this spoof seems to start with a take-off of the lovely MzKaz's Keyboard Wawiors and then adheres superbly to the original, both in voices and backing. How do people do it?

As someone who's been blocked for my acid comments from countless youtube clips - I must find that asinine plunker who completely misunderstands Jeux Interdit by overloading it with tremolo.

To boot, he ignores the basic basic lesson about tremolo ~ it is not easy, so ffs don't take it on if you can't get it bang on right.

Jeezus, children, you shouldn't need me to ram home that geetar 101.

Vendetta Digression ~ This would be the song and singer I'd choose for my Villa Thefti Youtube clip

CL crooning and jabbing away on the piazza.

In the background, plants rot, clever selective wild boar trample prized gardenry

Somewhere we fit in retrieval of my girls' heirloom gew-gaws.

In the movie, you see the Thefti safe oozing ominous poisonous SickVilla fumes: the VT Chubb metallica begins to buckle ... WHOOM!

No more Villa Thefti:

shards and debris

smoke drifting

boar rooting among the wreckage

... somewhere a woman crying.

Guitar chord.

Out of the smoke tread four dainty ankles. They stop and four dainty hands reach down to the mud where the camera focuses on an untouched jewel box, not a spot.

They each remove a cufflink and hand it to the other. In unison:

"Yours, I believe."

"Ours."

Swirl of Morricone rip-off muzak as they walk off into the mist. Porcine rootings, in the distance a siren. Two cats pad l-r as sound-track changes to Iron Maiden.

I'm suddenly reminded of a very public put-down at a posh eaterie, pals either side and next to me a new date whom I've been boring and with whom I've been getting nowhere but I'm too proud to show or give in.

A pause in the scintillating convo, at which she places a hand on mine and says in stage murmur,

"Christopher. Rearrange the following for a well-known phrase or saying:

'Off. Fuck' "

I still feel the burning cheeks.