31 January 2011

Dullness Gag

  • Well-known bore wins appeal to prevent crashing tedium being revealed

  • League of Tedium
  • Blog bore wins new gagging order over alleged non affair because he had already been outed as sending everyone asleep over a previous posting outside his on-going boring blog.

    The 'personality', who is a complete nonentity and has-been of yesteryear, applied for a publicity booster after learning that no-one gave a fuck about him and there wasnt a hope in hell of him being given ink for being excruciatingly dull on a first, second or third occasion.

    The injunction was overturned but the Bore, demanding to be known by his real name, appealed and the Court of Appeal today ruled that he was too much of a nonentity to be identified.

    In his judgement, Lord Neuberger, the Master of the Rolls, said that the "crucial factor" was that stories involving similarly irreloevant allegations by equally simpering nobodies had been published ad previous nauseam.

    "If we permitted this pathetic creature's identity to be revealed without instructing editors to wait for a very very dull news day, then it would be all too easy for the media and members of the public to deduce the jaw-dropping dullness of the personality and simply turn the page, switch off the tele, or boot out."

    30 January 2011


    Breath-taking Arrogance

    ENFIN! ~ Keys quits

    Whadya call two outed asininnies? A promising start.

    "Women don’t know the offside rule"

    Hah fuckin' hah!

    Nappy-headed SkyLouts Andy Gray and Richard Keys should have thought first about Don Imus' tumble from grace with his throwaway remark about nappy-headed hoes

    I'm delighted - thrillèd, even - each time one of these dinosaur oafs crashes to the ground.

    Too cowardly (or inadequate) to face women on a level playing field, they take cover in their male cochon bastions and grunt their prejudices to the choir.

    I mean, look left at that sleek creature ~ clearly, a graceful dictionary of every rule in the book.

    It's Andy and Dick who are the dick-heads here for verily they know not ~

    charlotte jacksonCommandment 1: Yea, thou shalt not mock a babe lest the fans and Pharisees rise up and with one accord smite you in the goolies and great will be your pain and rubbished your name in the tabloids and Tabernacles.

    Rueful - There's a shot in this link showing this oily muggins looking, dare I say? - ever-so slightly aware that his potty mouth might have let him down.

    Ho effing ho - and just stay out of the grown-up world until you're ready to join it at some adult level.

    Tucking it in

    Feel our love, wanqueur.

    Stitched up: Andy Gray blames 'dark forces'. Do me a favour, love

    I mean, what stoopid assholes - they're actual broadcasters; they should know that, somewhere, a mic is always on.

  • I was told by a journo sportif that in today's world of Youtube no one ever stops recording in case they can snare just such a gaffe as the Keys/Gray duo have delievered.

  • Karren Brady: 'Blood boil'

    The cool thing about this brouhaha is that it's giving the meedja its perfect opportunity and excuse to run pics of all the sensationally hot women in the biz.

  • Graham Poll: Sexist

  • Listen for yourselves

  • Sports Minister: Disappointed. Uh ohh, disappoint a Swinging Dick Minister and you're in for an early bath.

  • 'Lumpen'

    Opah! Like la dolce Sian, this one has good legs

  • See how thick these two are? Didn't even listen to the Bobster?

    "How many times must a man shoot his mouth
    Before he learns a mic's on?

    Look at those sebaceous self-satisfied yobs!

    Serves 'em right (which it won't ~ token rap on hairy knuckles and they'll be back in harness.)

    Do you know the orf-side rule?

    I don't and I spent my school days volunteering to be ref just to save myself from being thumped on t'field.


    Here is the rule, according to my pal Zack Lewis.

    Zack has a Certificate from Washington Youth Soccer, signed by Technical Director Gary White and attesting to Zack's completing their CATEGORY E CERTIFICATE COURSE FOR SOCCER COACHING .

    "Offside is when there are at less than two defenders -- including the goalie --level or in front of the player who is receiving the ball at the time when the ball is played through.

    If you ARE offside but not receiving the ball, it is at the ref's ... discretion as to whether you are affecting the play or defender's position.

  • You can't be offside on a throw in.

  • You can't be offside on your half of the pitch."
  • So there.

    And lets have another pic of the nation's favourite gazelle lines-babe Sian Massey.

  • My kind of chick ~ slightly receding chin, sexy conk, lithe bod. Yum

    She can get both on and off my side any time she fancies: half time, injury, final whistle - phwoar!

    No red card from my end, lady.

    Hot damn that girl looks good: alert, focused, look at that racing stance ... if ever a sloppy aspersion was rashly cast, the whistle blast of SianGate slam bam defines it.

    (I wonder if all the marriage proposals - not to mention the other kind - are fitting thru her letterbox?)

  • Phoned apology

  • Top cock-ups

  • Sky sexism: no surprise: Anna Kessel in the Guardian skewering the creeps and bringing us that much closer to the glorious tipping point past which they are toast.

    "The attitude of Richard Keys and Andy Gray ... shows how deeply entrenched – and how casual – sexism is in football.

    Prejudice needs punishment.

    How could anyone in this day and age honestly believe that a woman who is FA qualified to officiate a game might be unable to understand the offside law?

    ... the conversation wasn't just banter, because if it was just a bit of a laugh, then where was the laughter?

    ... if we take the Ron Atkinson incident as a precedent and apply the same principles to what Keys and Gray said about Massey's ability to run the line, it is quite clear that Sky's premier football figures should lose their jobs.

    Don't agree? Then try explaining the difference between an expletive filled rant concerning the colour of a player's skin affecting his ability to do a job, and an expletive filled rant about a person's gender affecting her ability to do a job? Both situations are about prejudice – not facts – informing a judgment.

    Indeed both Keys and Gray admitted they had never heard of Massey before the match, despite it being her second Premier League game on the line, and embarrassingly for them – and brilliantly for Massey – the 25-year-old went on to give a superb performance, nailing a difficult decision which most of us watching in our sitting rooms needed TV replays to be sure of."

    More famous than the game
    : of course, the unfortunate fall-out - and Sian must be dreading this - is that for her next few games, Ms Massey will have more cameras and attention on her than the match she is actually lines-babe sitting.


  • Football Sexism - that self-satisfied hypocrite John Gaunt given air-time to hang himself by his own porcine scrotum.

  • WIKICLOGS ~ 'Sexist content may offend': Offend? Bring it on, lads. The more the merrier.

    The roach-infested stone has been lifted and the vermin are scuttling from the light. Can you imagine the panic over some sleuthing archivist rolling back the years and outing others who've mouthed off?

    Stanley Matthews? Stan, how could you have?

    Now all I need is Lord Taylor blurting 'off mic' about some underage lines babe for which he's falsely claimed parlour maid expenses and my cup willeth've runnereth o'er.

    Just GO! - is it just me or are these goons taking longer to shed croc tears than it took for them to befoul the airwaves with their original spoutings?

    How did Ollie Crommers have it?

    "You have sat too long for any good you have been doing lately ... Depart, I say; and let us have done with you.

    In the name of God, go!"

    ... and then a little bit about, "You are no Sportscasters", which was pretty prescient for vocab of the time.

  • Pre-historic bully boy - doncha love it? The story goes on. It's as if every foul-mouthed sexist bully reporter is frantically covering his tracks by sticking it to the very bar-room buddies with whom he once shared a nudge and a wink.

    'Who me? How could I? I was the one ran that piece that really put the boot in - pictures 'n' all ... got the wrong pig, mate ... heresy of thought 'n' all that.'

    (Also look for mention of that bovine Jeremy Clarkson person burbling in classic fashion)

    Lads Mag Banter - Karren cuts up rough, and I don't blame her. With all the focus on their cochons-conneries views, the two reporters still insist on lashing out with the same old unreconstructed cretinous mouthings.

    But ooh, all these excuses to post these pics of pulchritude ... good old footie!

  • Mewling and spewling ~ determined to snatch humiliation from the jaws of dignity, Keys keeps chucking the toys from his pram right to the end.

    Scandal-gift: I love it. Luuve it. You don't because you're salt-of-the-earth real stuff gritty footie supporters who spotted us from the off - conspiring to bring the SkyScum down.

    Anything but their fault, and how they're scampering around grabbing excuses here, justifications there, conspiracy theories hither, GirlieManliness thither.

    Have you noticed how not one speck of humility or self-knowledge has landed on their lickspittle lapels? It is beyond their ability to let it sink in that they've been trounced bang to rights. I love it.

    This will run and run and fellow cockroaches will scuttle from under the floorboards, chests thumping jowels hrrumphing, hustling their diminished balls as they cry foul and wonder why and how they're the only ones on-side.

    Oh boy oh boy, SianGate will go down as an essential text in any study sporting journalism.

  • Keys' wife ~ and a most attractive creature she looks, too.

    There's something about a sweet-faced blonde carrying a tea tray ... I bet not one of those reporters out there will write an unkind word about her.

    About her greasy husband, it's open season but for Julia ... amnesty.

    Anyway, Mrs Keys was persuaded to pen a few words for a tabloid and, of course, the whole thing came out disastrously wrong.

    But never mind, that sort of sacrifice for her smug muggins partner only makes us love her more and pity her further.

    The gist of JK's message was that,

    "The Wrong Men got the Red Card"

    Sorry, Julia, and this time let me do you and yours a favour:

    What you mean is that, of your husband's two, the wrong face reddened.

    Your lot prefer to pick and choose and this time they bit the dust.

    Laddish when it suits, hypocrite when it's more politic.

    That's it, isn't it? Ah, Julia mou, if only it worked that way.

    "Speaking outside the couple's mansion home in Chobham, Surrey, Julia Keys said:

    "It's really sad. They (Keys and Gray) contributed so much, putting Sky on the map.

    Whether you like them personally or not, professionally there's very few who would knock them."

    So that makes it all right, does it?

  • Be as foul-mouthed prejudiced as you like?

  • Set as puny petty an example as you can get away with and to hell with the impressionable generation who's growing up with your husband's craven image as one to which to aspire.

    I'm very very happy and amused that they ran slap bang wallop into this wall.

    He sees us as the 'little people' - we don't get it, do we? His banter, his 'shenanigans'. Everything but what it is ...

    Well, the Little People have spoken and fuck Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumberer's banter and fuck their self-referential in-crowd 'shenanigans'.

    It took a long time coming but the likes of your husband have been busted

    "It doesn't quite make sense in a way and it's questionable the way it has been handled."

    No it isn't - he questions it because he's been shown up for what he is and it's indefensible and it stinks.

    "It's very sad after the career Richard has had that it has come to this ..."

    And the rest of us say that it's glorious that such a two-faced sham has been exposed.

    No honourable 'career' should be built on such rotten values.

    The Tweedles are flailing around trying to blame this or that man-made institution for their humiliation.

    Do you know who's to blame? Guess.

    Decency. Fair-minded, open-hearted and truthful decency, and your husband lied to us.

    He took us for fools; he thought he could coat his core-rotten lack of values with a veneer of bluff hail-fellow-well-played, man-of-the-people bluster and we'd buy it.

    Well we did for a while because we trusted him. We don't any more and he has bought it and good riddance.

    "With men, there are little bits of you that never grow up."

    You're a wife and a mother so I know it's only the moolah speaking.

    Because of course they grow up, they have to and you need only look at your husband in the midst of this avenging brouhaha to see how quickly that 'growing up' can take place.

    Julia, dear, it's called maturity and those over-grown children incapable of achieving it get a very rude awakening.

  • "It's banter from the boys. What other people do not understand is the dynamics that go on in the studio."

    But what we do understand is the banter that goes on in decent values-conscious Life.

  • "He (Keys) is very aware of the tensions that there are and it not being as relaxed [sic] as it would be unless there were playful shenanigans."

    Now he's aware, and I hope it stings - and do lets drop this euphemism 'shenanigans' or at least edit it to He-nanigans - now he edges towards the standards by which the rest of us live and raise our children, despite the shallow examples set by the likes of the man you married.

  • Your husband is a child and he will do time in the 'naughty corner' and redeem himself when we judge fit.

  • "Did you smash it?" - even his grease is greasy.

  • EQUALITY? - we couldn't handle equality. Currie freaks.

    AL JA-LEERER - Arabia bound! Kalo Taxidi!! Didn't I say Good Riddance?

  • Charmless Pair -Booker winner Howard Jacobson puts the boot into the Skylouts. Bravo the Independent for even thinking of using HJ: I may have to try the Indie as my daily default rag for a while.

  • Tearful Louise Glass - disgusted after former Sky Sports anchor asks boyfriend whether the pair had had sex.

    Keys: 'If you were anywhere near it you’d definitely smash it ... ‘You’d have gone round there any night of the week and found Redknapp hanging out the back of it.’

  • The 'It' Girl ~ Look at the lovely Louise Glass, read her sad story - this is she of whom it was asked had the pundit punned it, aka 'smashed' it.

    Oh poh poh ... those boys deserve to be smashed 'emselves, no mistake.

    I said this one had legs but it also turns out to boast succulent lips and boobs.

  • Smashing Tits - excuse vulgar heading, meant to be pun on my new best phrase, 'smashed it'.

    Just another excuse to run another snap of a babe.

    Seems Handy Andy toasted pal and wife Rachel at nuptials and then straight to 'ruptials' by 'smashing It'.

    She is a bit of corker.


  • 27 January 2011



    Clue: Lost Continent.

    25 January 2011


    news from publishers of semi-return, details to follow.

    24 January 2011


  • Prescriptive vs descriptive

  • Proofreader’s honour
  • Promethean Egotism
  • Utility-maximising Old Soak
  • Two interesting articles in the Financial Times that caught my eye, and not just for buttressing the paper's always spot-on profile of a Big Swinging Dick in the News.

    Sins of the Tiger Mothers

    Madame Chua sounds absolutely ghastly and the sort of pig-headed lunatic martinet I saw all around me in Hong Kong.

    Thank Gawd my own Mama wasn't/isn't like this or I'd be rich focused talented determined ... all that stuff that gets you to be Top Gun Right Stuff Top Honcho creep.

    "US pedagogues and parents certainly have a lot to learn from Ms Chua. Westerners underrate the effectiveness of rote learning, and underestimate the amount of material their children can absorb.
    “Nothing is fun until you’re good at it,” Ms Chua insists (wrongly), adding (rightly) that “to get good at anything you have to work, and children on their own never want to work, which is why it is crucial to override their preferences”.

    Her problem is rather that she confuses her own Promethean egotism with an ambition for her daughters.

    They – with good reason – have a hard time distinguishing it from rivalry, bullying or even enmity.

    They call Ms Chua “insane” and compare her to Voldemort. Her own mother tells her she is going too far. The problem is not Chinese and cultural, it is American and personal.

    Ms Chua is trying to protect her immoderate ambition from scrutiny and judgment by misrepresenting it as an ethnic peculiarity.

    Contempt for others is the foundation of the hyper-vigilant child-rearing that Ms Chua practises."

    Priced Out of Stupor

    ~ Negative own-price elasticity across time ~

    "I don’t want to romanticise life as a rough-sleeping bum. It gets cold and lonely. I’m not sure what is keeping my underpants together, though I’m sure they wouldn’t survive contact with suds and warm water.

    But my boozy existence has a cool, calculating logic.

    For sure, not everything is perfect. But I’m a rational addict; a utility-maximising old soak. I drink because it makes sense to do so – by following an ex-ante optimal inter-temporal consumption plan, as they say.

    Speaking of which, let me crack open a bottle of strong cider ... that’s better.

    Where was I? Oh yes: you see, every drink I have contributes to my stock of addictive capital. I feel bad if I drink, but I feel worse if I don’t.

    Alcohol thus acquires what another drinking buddy once told me was a negative own-price elasticity across time."


    ~ Unwanted container dumped in front of office ~

    One of those pranks so skilled and funny that one doesnt need to recommend it.

    In fact, move on - kill this screen - this is too funny for you. Perfectly good Punch cartoon just up the road.

  • Actually, this was submitted by Badass for further forwarding so's I could pretend it was my discovery and have Prankesta Groupies swarming all over me.

  • Loipon, you KNOW it's gotta be funny.

  • These jokesters are heros, as is Badass for submitting it for inter-galactic circulation

    Empire puffers I wish I'd come up with.

    [Courtesy of Lord Moss of Ma Wan.]

    23 January 2011


    ~ Call centre fail ~

    "Very sorry, sahib - perhaps is loosening in translation.

    Am I understanding that you are interrogational as to where is being your stuff?"


    Send for Wells.


    Luverly word, 'naff', and even lovelier the way Ronnie leavened 'Porridge' by turning it into a 'naffing' oath.

    Good piece by the Spectator's Wiki Man:

    "Americans get by without the word ‘naff’, and this may partly be because the concept is less useful to them. One of the gratifying things I noticed when I first visited the United States was that the middle-class English practice of demonstrating how posh or clever you are by affecting disdain for popular tastes doesn’t apply there in the same way. Visit the home of a Harvard professor and you’ll find cupboards full of Pop Tarts, a whirlpool bath and a massive fridge that makes ice.

    These differences are particularly pronounced in attitudes to technology or labour-saving devices, which the British affect to hate. It is a badge of honour among some of my London friends not to own a microwave. Likewise the gas barbecue, an utterly brilliant device, is for some reason considered dubious."

    22 January 2011


    Nah, mate, that wimpy shrimpy's not from anywhere near Down-Under.

    " ... a bit of teasing about his nationality has led to a race row ... suing bosses after accusing colleagues of racist comments – including constantly greeting him with ‘G’day, sport’.

    ... on a ‘cocktail of anti-depressants’ ... asked fellow wardens to stop making Australian jokes, but they continued."

    [My emboldenment]

    Struth, wait til the Murdoch/Packer scribblers get hold of this ...

    And no sooner said than ... the hawk-eyed Sinbad is right there with a HeraldSun link plus some suitably robust comments.

    Blood oath! Talk about spineless of any breed or bracket - spazzetta Geoffreya Stephens would dishonour a sloth with his feebleness.

    21 January 2011


    Jefferies looks no weirder than I.

    I hope when all's said and thoroughly naffed over by the incompetent Filth that he sues the buggery out of them.

    As a devout moccasin toter, I thoroughly agree with the Speccie's Toby Young that 'moccasins dont make one a murderer.

    Saliva - am i being thick? Saliva was found on the hapless murderee. Would that not help save the Fuzz excess wankery such as holding Jefferies?

    PC Packing: Also, I see we're now to have armed Filth cruising the tube trains. There will be blood. Someone reaches for a iPhone or a packet of Polos and blam they're dead.

    20 January 2011


    I can't abide texter-walkers, loud cellers, cellers/motorists, celling and queuing ... all that stuff.

    Actually, I did wonder about the legality of the CCTV recording being shoved on Youtube. She sues.

    She's still a silly cow.

    19 January 2011

    Pig! Pig! Pig!

    I ran over the cutest little black dog on Sunday last, 0 mph just before Σαρόκο Square, en route with maman to church.

    I saw it, it was trotting one direction then turned back under my wheels. I stopped literally over it and got out - to much hooting from the Greeks behind whose way I was blocking for mere trivia. It was dying in my hand and then dead by the time I laid it on the side of the road right outside my driving school, messrs Ginis.

    I looked round for the distraught owner to blast them even as they blasted me. No one, but I reported it to the police who took details. If the tragic loss is reported, the shouting match will be scheduled.

    Terribly sad and affected me all day.

    After leaving maman at the church, I cruised on and collected the Jan 8 Spectator whose Charles Moore diary had the most wonderful entry:

    "Thanks to the recommendation of Humphry Wakefield, the father, among other distinctions, of the deputy editor, I have just finished the best book I have ever read about what it is like to be a dog. Called My Talks with Dean Spanley, and written by Lord Dunsany.

    The author suspects that a dry old clergyman called Dean Spanley has a secret. By means of getting him to drink plenty of Imperial Tokay, he discovers that the Dean was, in a former life, a dog called Wag.

    Under the influence, the Dean becomes, in reminiscence, a dog once more. Wag/Spanley reports so well what it is like to be ruled by smell, and how dogs, because they worship human beings — ‘the Wise Ones, the Great Ones’ — feel the need to protect them by barking fiercely at risks they don’t appreciate enough, such as traction engines.

    Here is how the Dean conveys the wonderful pointlessness of canine pleasure:

    "‘So we [he and another dog] came to the pig’s house and looked in through his door at him and shouted, “Pig!”.

    He didn’t like that. He looked just like a pig; he was a pig; and he knew it.

    He came towards his door saying silly surly things in a deep voice. You know the kind of talk.

    And we just shouted, “Pig. Pig. Pig.” Both of us, for nearly half an hour.

    It was perfectly splendid and we enjoyed it immensely.’"

    You know the kind of talk. Absolutely splendid, and I have ordered a brace forthwith to compensate for the inevitable theft from the parlour jakes.


    ~ consensual ~

    Silly moi, at first glance I thought she'd chomped a racist's tongue orf ... yahh - babe bites bonker.

    Still, livelier than baddelaisian Nun's bones in priest's satchel.

    I mean, phooey to dat bones dry bones relic number.

    Tongue-in-cheek stuff

    17 January 2011

    I would not have spotted this but for the wonderful WhatsUp-Corfu whose listings have transformed my days.


    One shouldn't mock but click on the AA headline and look at the upper left spelling of '-mous' as in Anonymous

    Alcoholics Anonymus

    ~ -mus, by God ~ MUS ~

    I mean that's the sort of thing *I** do, par exemple:

    "Must finish AA website for the morning - or is it Al-Anon? Can never remember which is which.

    Ah! That's where I left my cigs. Don't suppose I had a drink going - right, concentrate - touch of Campari and focus.

    Anonymous - or is it two Ns? OK, I know it's total three Ns, what I mean is, is it two Ns after the A?

    Nah, doesn't look right."

    And so forth - but the idea of misspelling Anonymous just cracks me up.

    Someone like me, Exhibit A tippler in obvious dire need of AA's ministrations ... summons up couraqe to admit to his own soakiness ... comes across details in helpful blog

    ("Blimey, this is the last place I expected to find anything actually useful")

    Clicks on link - first thing he sees ~ they can't even spell fronking 'Anonymous' correctly.

    'Verrr' enc'rr'g'ing'
    [Really, this is how I slur after a fifth of Jim Beam]

    'Don't reckon I'd get to Level 3 wi' thish lot.'

    Contact details: AA (Alcoholics Anonymous)
    (English-speaking group meeting)
    Every Saturday at 18:30 in Corfu Town
    Contact 694-489-4484 for more information.

    15 January 2011

    Before he left for Corfu

    [he held a goodbye dinner]


    The moment I read that Tory MP Nadine Dorries (Mid-Bedford, Con) had issued a personal statement to "confirm that I am in the early stages of a romantic relationship with John Butler", I was struck by the phrase 'early stages'.

    What exactly are the early stages and how does one recognise them - and when do they end and become Full-Monty torrid?

    I know that yonder snap of La Dorries needn't be quite so large but there's something hot about her and, anyway, look at that upward come-hither glance ...

    Phwoar! She can three-line whip me any time.

    (Actually, I don't know why I said that because I'm not at all into all that - showing off, I guess, something with which to follow my third-favourite word, 'phwoar'.)

    But I digress.

    I was able to wonder all this 'early stages' mush thanks to reading John Donne's wonderful Lecture upon the Shadow and those glorious closing lines that I always quote to clinch any starry-eyed musings about 'lurve':

    "If our loves faint, and westwardly decline,
    To me thou, falsely, thine,
    And I to thee mine actions shall disguise.
    The morning shadows wear away,
    But these grow longer all the day;
    But oh, love's day is short, if love decay.
    Love is a growing, or full constant light,
    And his first minute, after noon, is night."

    13 January 2011

    Jordan Rice

    Remember that line in 'Saving Private Ryan' when Hanks's irregulars are going thru hell and peril to save pretty boy Matt 'Ryan' Damon because he's the last of several brothers and the president wants to save their mother the grief of losing all her babies.

    Some bright spark points out that Ryan had better go ahead and invent electricity or sump'n to justify all the effort and deaths gone into pulling him back home.

    Very good point, and I wouldn't be surprised if young Blake doesn't feel that way throughout his life ahead.

    That Jordan is a good looking lad and his photo will look tragically handsome on the mantel piece for years to come.

    Meanwhile, poor Blake need only slack from homework for one minute, or come home with bad grades, and nothing need be said, no shouts or gestures, just a slow burn mournful look over at the photo of the hero who gave his all that Blake might ... whatever he's going to do ...

    "Hey, aren't you the bloke whose brother ...?"

    "Died for me."

    "That's the one ... struth, mate, that's a bonzer of a line.

    How're you getting on with it?"

  • Funeral
  • 12 January 2011

    Greek Evangelical Community Centre

    ~ triumphant opening ~

    I had my skates on because I wanted to send these photos to our former vicar, the saintèd Revd Clifford Owen.

    This was the accompanying email text.

    "Wonderful impressive opening of the Community Centre in Kondokali, occupying the former Astoria bakery opposite the Mercedes shop - convenient for popping in for a prayer and online confession ['Fadda, I have 3 error messages'] ... and then over the road to upgrade to hotter wheels.

    It took place 1900hrs tonight and it is 2233hrs as I write because I want to speed these to Clifford who knew and was a good pal of Miltiades.

    I wished M the usual kalo riziko and said that I was taking fotos to send to the Owens and he beamed and sent all love.

    I am also bcc'ing others who were there who might be interested.

    Not technically good fotos but good example of my hawk eye for catching the spirit of an occasion.

    I usually go to these occasions to snap away and then append un-Christian mean-spirited captions of no truthfulness to the actual shot or action. Ce soir I could find nothing but joy and open-hearted friendship.

    Do note the heavy hitter corner of priests - wonderful faces beards gestures."



    (Which it won't be, so I will look it up using Google)


    Lot of hullabaloo over the movie.

    The ruh ruh ruh ... real thing.

    How His Majesty actually sounded.

    By the by, I haven't the foggiest how I hit on the Greek imdb - terribly clever and I'll never be able to do it again.

    More stammer stuff.


    ~ in sign lingo ~