First Look

Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold,
And many goodly states and kingdoms seen;
Round many western islands have I been
Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.
Oft of one wide expanse had I been told
That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne;
Yet did I never breathe its pure serene

Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold:
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
When a new planet swims into his ken;
Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes
He star'd at the Pacific — and all his men
Look'd at each other with a wild surmise —
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.

Badass Ley will be stunned to see this but I'm not just out to impress him. I have a tale.

German girl and I had been to an arty 'do' where some foulard-enfolded type had declaimed Donne not very well and she hissed at me, "Why you don't read poetry any more?"

My dear, could have knocked me down with a feather. How on earth did she know of my secret vice?

Anyway, to cut to the quatrain, I agreed to revive some of my greatest hits including the Keats with which I took the laurel at a school recitation by taking it slow and calm and savouring each syllable.

I remember the adjudicator drawing a laff with his comment that,

"If I may make one observation, I somehow doubt that RCA records will release a record of 'The King' reciting Keats but if they do, he will certainly deliver the final line in exactly that husky basso profundo fashion:

Silen'. Uponna a peak. In Derrnnn."

But this isn't why I'm posting.

I was camping it up for the Germaniki when maman walked in and burst out laughing, "Oh I got in such trouble with your father over that. We might never have got married."

Ooh Mum, do tell!

So like my dad was a secretive type with the British Army Aid Group (BAAG) en Chine during his war, sneaking into Hong Kong under Ianni Nippon's flat nostrils to do mischief and then hightail it back again via Lion Rock and comparative safety. Brave stuff considering that he didn't exactly look like a casting director's immediate choice for the chorus line of the Mikado.

He and my mother had just met, she down in Oz to where he was apparently able to send mail.

I've never understood how that worked, them being all cloak and tanto, like.

"Psst, evening, all. Rickshaw Express. Any mail to go? Right, here's one for you, Major, usual tax demand. General Cho, one for you, flyer from Lane, Crawford, their summer sale. Special on the anti-macassars"

So dad had sent his sweetie a trés daring coded messagio saying he felt "like stout Cortez".

Mum had only a vague idea where he was, so she wrote back to the effect, "But I thought you were somewhere in the Pacific?"

You didn't know my dad: ultra stickler for the rules, trained to take a man out with just one punch; I don't like to talk about him all that much. He must have died to read his subtle literary allusion blasted to the universe.

"Calling all units, the accursèd gaijin are in Honkers after all."

Back to Keats, it feels good to be learning verse again; good for the old memory, too.

Dear Santa ...

Serious Adrenaline Junkies

One of my nightmares is to be munched by a croc.

The idea of looking one of these creatures actually in their - whatever you call it - face is ... shudder.

Banksy's Bizarre Petshop

Oh boy oh boy ...

And sexy reporter ...

As any sonic foulard kno

By the necktie of Agios Nektarios, I haven't chuckled for so long.

Check out this Antoine Dufour cove. Talented enough plunker, nothing special. But what about that daft scarf dangling there? Naff colour, drab design, and badly tied, to boot. But still, no law against that.

But scroll down to where someone has actually singled the scarf nonsense out for mockery, and then read the RevNasty's glorious rib tickling rationale response.

Quoth the Rev,

"The bandana/scarf isn't a stage prop. It serves a sonic function for Antoine by preventing sustain of the strings beyond the nut.

Its a shame your attention is so easily swayed from a talented musician. Give it another go and ignore the bandana for your own sake. He's brilliant!"

And the reply:

"I *love* the 'sonic function/sustain beyond the nut' rationale and will raid my lady's boudoir for some floaty thing to attach and be *very* grumpy if no-one falls into the trap of mocking me and allowing me to flatten them with your explanation."

Know what this reminds me of? Remember the brilliant Dick Emery? Didn't he play some limp-wristed chappie good with colours? And didn't a chiffon something bubble from his neck? Of course what i remember best is the scrumpy "girl". She'd be flouncing down the street and the interviewer would say "Excuse me miss" and she'd correct him quick as a flash "Miss".

Good times. Where are they now (well, i know very well where they are): Frankie Howerd, Tommy Cooper, Arthur Askey, Jimmy Edwards, Sellers and Secombe of course; my belovèacuted Spike whose 'Where Have all the Bullets Gone?' he made such fun and hell to promote ... Terry Thomas, Ken Dodd (still going strong; actually I can't stand Ken), Norman Wisdom did I like? Not sure I did; Max Bygraves I got to know so I suppose I *have* to let him tell me a story; Larry Grayson - yes!!

The gay ones - what they got away with in those days. Nowadays, from what i see, they just shove it in yer face and totally unfunny they are, too.

Anyway, check out this buffoon with the idiot scarf.

Hephaestus

We have been acquired by a crippled kitten that Fonda says must have been hit by a car. Whatever, he's a feisty chappie and Sam treats him respect so he stays. Doesn't come in the house and when he places a paw on the lintel I point at the good leg and enquire politely, "Want the other one seen to, mush?" which mother for some reason thinks is a little 'sick'. Whatever.

Louka is gone but Someone up there is determined we're landed with another 4-legged so here is ... whatever we name him.

I looked up game-legged Greek gods and they gave me Hephaestus which is a lousy name for a feline so it's back to the drawing board. I'm just terrified that BadAss Ley will come up with summat brilliant which will mean I have to kow-tow and comment back "Brilliant! You da man!" or some such rubbish to set him preening.

I saw him first. I was lugging pots out of the greenhouse and there was this movement and i thought shit that is a sizeable rat but it turned out to be Heph with his sideways gait.

I have a lot of pals with crocked limbs - bikes, cars, mountains, dojo, plain careless taking their eye off the ball - and they're mostly people I'd choose for my foxhole. The BS's been skimmed off them and they've mostly come back quiet and better than before.

Heph reminds me of them, the way he scoots around with that crooked gait but it doesnt slow him.

Rats have gone. He spurns mum's cushioned box for somewhere in the wood pile, exactly where the rats would come from and never seemed to die out not matter how many poisoned pellets I'd drop between the cracks. Apond talked of ammonia announcing a serious cat presence; now we have the real thing.

He yeowls at the door at brek lunch and dinner and then is gone for the day.

I've suggested to maman that no one picks him and fondles, that he stays unpampered.

Anyone with a good suggestion for a name, leave it at the door. Just in fun, I suggested to mater that Ashley might be a good 'un.

"But Ashley's a girl's name, we don't even know what sex it is."

The sun went behind a cloud and somewhere over Albania thunder rumbled.

"Careful, mother. There's a mountain man out there would dispute that."

By the Lake on Naboo

Worst Movie Dialogue

OK, I like (and spew) bad dialogue as energetically as anyone, so I have a few quibbles:

What's wrong with that wonderful line about Lurve meaning never having to say you're sorry? I've used it to enormous effect over the years.

Don't diss Rachel Leigh Cook. She can say anything and still sound like Donne.

Helen Hunt can chisel my wall any time

Meg Ryan? Wish *I* was made to fit together.

Fragrant Sound

Belovèd Hong Kong *and* that Love's Theme - what more could i ask?

When I returned to Hong Kong to work for the HKTA, this tune was the Cathay Pacific theme and played in all the adverts.

I found it delightful and assumed it had been written by some local composer for the local ad agency that handled the local advertising in which it played. I kept asking when and where I could meet the composer - some artistic looking Chinese, I assumed, who whipped up such jingles in a trice - and only got odd looks.

"Gimme the f***ing money"

Bang bang he's dead

Oh I do like this. Dirty Harry lives.

Punk points gun. Taken out by police sniper.

Accomplice picks up gun. Another shot drops him.

Third shot rings out. Clinches it.

Cluck cluck: In the late '70s I lived in Tours and spent vacations with a healthy country girl in her rural family home in Châteauroux.

The grandpa was famous for having been plagued by robberies by local youths, sat up one night with his crossbow and caused the death of the ringleader.

He missed the boy who bolted the bolt causing it to travel into the next property and into a neighbour's coop and the proud breast of a prize bantam cock. Muchas litigation.

The agile thief vaulted a hedge, impaling himself on the prongs of some heavy-duty thresher.

Edwige was not given to exaggeration which lent a certain dry drama to her account of how gramps and the cock's owner argued the toss in the moonlight as the thug choked loudly to death, two prongs piercing his lungs to protrude from his back.

I must have looked shocked because the old man interrupted her with a toothless chuckle to add that at one point he'd had to ask the chicken owner to speak up because he was a little deaf and couldn't hear over the mec's gurgling and kicking and general clamour.

MGMT: Time to Pretend

I love this sort of indie song and just wish the production values were higher so you could hear the drum rhythm.

Also these 'making of the video' clips.

Forever Young

This is the timbre of Dylan's voice I liked best. And he's wearing what I call his 'Hurricane' duds, which is also cool.

100 skills for everyman

don't even ask ...

Nucular

Say it isn't so.

Palin pernounces it that way, too ?

Aarrgghh!!

samurai sword attack

this story of shopstaff fighting off some booby wielding a 'samurai' sword reminds me of an odd incident in hong kong. nay, also an odd incident in seattle.

the hong kong one took place back in the early 1980s when i was in connaught building on the harbour front from where it was a mere 50 storeys down to the square to gawp at some unfortunate who'd been handing out $100 bills to passers-by and then whipped out this sword and started waving it around.

the police surrounded him and we had what's called an impasse with the fuzz not daring to get too near.

then - according to reports on the evening news - a young copper asked his superior for permission to disarm the man. permission given. the youngster then borrowed an umbrella off one of the crowd and advanced in what looked like classical mode and proceeded to send the sword spinning from the man's hands, much to his annoyance and complaint that the umbrella's tines had hurt his fingers thus causing him to drop the sword.

the policeman said something or other and must have offered the man a second chance because he picked the sword up and they tried it again and again the blade went whirling up into the air to clang harmlessly on the ground.

by now the swordsman was thoroughly pissed off and shouted at the policeman to the effect that how come/dare he knew moves like that? no one knows moves like that, ok maybe NAME or NAME or NAME.

One of them turned out to be the policeman's uncle or grandpa or whatever, anyway he'd learnt his skills from there.

the poor chap fell to his knees shouting what an honour it was to be out-fenced by such an opponent and why hadn't anyone lent him a fan to do the job, much more graceful moves involved.

it was on all the news channels and would have been a youtube hit no question.

the seattle one was less dramatic. it was around 1997, i guess, some black dude in central seattle, around the market i think, was waving a sword around and no one dared come near. they hosed him and pepper sprayed him and everything but the guy kept standing etc.

in the end they wore him down and marched him away but i remember thinking 'what stamina'.

Transgender Loos

I'm sure there's a wittier title out there.

Any road, I despair of blighted Blighty. Every day brings new evidence of my sceptred isle plunging straight down the latrine.

This time it literally *is* to do with toilets: The bogs in Man U's students' union are no longer distinguished by 'M'/'F' signage but renamed "toilets" and "toilets with urinals".

The idiot student union made the decision after complaints from ... wait fer it ... from transgender students.