Sloshed Fuzz Twice Over Drink/Drive Limit

"Drive hammered, get nailed", as the saying goes.

The blighters *I* feel sorry for are those who knock it back to their usual excess, zoom off in a merry haze, and end up slaughtering their own family and friends.

And live.

I mean, no matter *how* resolutely one vows to quit the culprit grog, there's got to come a time when the Inner Alcoholic finally crawls out and suggests just the teensiest easing up on the breast beating. Oh, and while one's about it - might not a small dry sherry before luncheon be in order?

I'm reminded of this dilemma by retired British fuzz Keith Bridges who on June 9 last managed to rack up an impressive head-count a mere 50 yards from his maison de famille  in the Dordogne.

According to tests, KB's alcohol/blood level was 1.01g/litre, just over double the French limit of 50mg. The boozy old Brits peg theirs at a generous 80mg.

Washington State: As of January 1, 1999, Washington State has run one of the strictest DUI laws in the country: legal blood alcohol limit lowered from .10 to a mere .08. But I digress.

For those who note these things, Bridges was driving one of those accursèd breeds of 4x4s, a Cherokee. Probably felt Roi de la Route  as he careered along, and I trust he got *some* macho satisfaction for his money from the damage wreaked on the two trees he hit.

He certainly can't complain about the body-count on the other side of the windscreen:

DEAD

Wife Julie-Anne, 43

Julie's 10-yr-old daughter, Bethany

Close friend, Andrew Dyer, 41

Andrew's daughter Gabriella, 10

CRITICALLY INJURED

Dyer's wife Tracy, 38

SERIOUSLY HURT

Andy and Tracy's childen Charlotte, 7, and Kieron, 4.

Bridges himself, poor bugger, "escaped with minor injuries", if you can call that any sort of escape.

As I say, at what point does this boozy rascal descend to the cellar (to which he's forever banished the demon hooch, never again to sully his lips, et tout ça ) and, intending no more than a chiding finger wag, find himself pouring just a smidgeon for the road?

Does he choose a different brand from the mix he tanked up on that fateful night? Has he allocated individual drinks from the night's binge to each of this victims:

The second Pernod digestif - Julie

The second bottle of red - Bethany and Gabriella

The cognacs with the coffee - Charlotte and Kieron

The third cognac at the bar as they went out with that way-laying rogue Jean-Luc - Andy

And so forth

And how face the Criticals and Serious when - God willing - they pull through? Not too easy to stand quaffing a foaming tankard around the local barbie when you've got a scarred Tracy hobbling by. Do you offer to help her out to the customized van with the kids' wheelchairs?

Naturally, muck-raking rags like the Mirror and News of the Screws will even now be ploughing thru police records for every DUI our Keithy prosecuted to the full limit of the law.

Torygraph 'Blognoscenti'

The Brits still haven't quite  got what this Blog stuff is about, but it's not for want of trying.

FILL 'ER UP

New filter installed

Pump jazzed up

Pool bed cleaned

Mum's murals touched up.

Now for the 4 days it takes to fill.

The fun comes as it rises and we use it as a paddle pool.

Weather: While on the subject of pools, cool dips and curtseying daughters with trays of drinks and sweetmeats from Araby, note the blazing sunshine in the photos. Zounds, I hope the tourists are applying sunblock galore

Londoners especially: I hear it's 31º back in The Big Smoke.

Εhευ! Long live Corfiot weather!

As you see, someone forgot to arrange the stones tastefully around the pot on the crate, so - when the sun's abated and it's cool enough to enter - I shall be wading in and doing my Martha Stewart bit with the rockery.

Comic stuff

From My Lord Wan of Mossy Banks:

Commenting on a complaint from a Mr Arthur Purdey about a large gas bill, a spokesman for North West Gas said, "We agree it was rather high for the time of year. It's possible Mr Purdey has been charged for the gas used up during the explosion that destroyed his house."(The Daily Telegraph)

Police reveal that a woman arrested for shoplifting had a whole salami in her underwear. When asked why, she said it was because she was missing her Italian boyfriend. (The Manchester Evening News)

Irish police are being handicapped in a search for a stolen van, because they cannot issue a description. It's a Special Branch vehicle and they don't want the public to know what it looks like. (The Guardian)

A young girl who was blown out to sea on a set of inflatable teeth was rescued by a man on an inflatable lobster. A coast guard spokesman commented, "This sort of thing is all too common". (The Times)

At the height of the gale, the harbourmaster radioed a coastguard and asked him to estimate the wind speed. He replied he was sorry, but he didn't have a gauge. However, if it was any help, the wind had just blown his Land Rover off the cliff. (Aberdeen Evening Express)

Mrs Irene Graham of Thorpe Avenue, Boscombe, delighted the audience with her reminiscence of the German prisoner of war who was sent each week to do her garden. He was repatriated at the end of 1945, she recalled. "He'd always seemed a nice friendly chap, but when the crocuses came up in the middle of our lawn in February 1946, they spelt out 'Heil Hitler.'" (Bournemouth Evening Echo)

A list of actual announcements that London Tube train drivers have made to their passengers:

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I do apologize for the delay to your service. I know you're all dying to get home, unless, of course, you happen to be married to my ex-wife, in which case you'll want to cross over to the Westbound and go in the opposite direction."

"Your delay this evening is caused by the line controller suffering from E & B syndrome: not knowing his elbow from his backside. I'll let you know any further information as soon as I'm given any."

"Do you want the good news first or the bad news? The good news is that last Friday was my birthday and I hit the town and had a greattime. The bad news is that there is a points failure somewhere between Stratford and East Ham, which means we probably won't reach our destination."

"Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize for the delay, but there is a security alert at Victoria Station and we are therefore stuck here for the foreseeable future, so let's take our minds off it and pass some time together. All together now.... 'Ten green bottles, hanging on a wall.....'."

"We are now travelling through Baker Street... As you can see, Baker Street is closed. It would have been nice if they had actually told me, so I could tell you earlier, but no, they don't think about things like that".

"Beggars are operating on this train. Please do NOT encourage these professional beggars. If you have any spare change, please give it to a registered charity. Failing that, give it to me."

During an extremely hot rush hour on the Central Line, the driver announced in a West Indian drawl: "Step right this way for the sauna, ladies and gentleman... unfortunately, towels are not provided."

"Let the passengers off the train FIRST!" (Pause) "Oh go on then, stuff yourselves in like sardines, see if I care - I'm going home...."

"Please allow the doors to close. Try not to confuse this with 'Please hold the doors open.' The two are distinct and separate instructions."

"Please note that the beeping noise coming from the doors means that the doors are about to close. It does not mean throw yourself or your bags into the doors."

"We can't move off because some idiot has their hand stuck in the door."

"To the gentleman wearing the long grey coat trying to get on the second carriage - what part of 'stand clear of the doors' don't you understand?"

"Please move all baggage away from the doors."(Pause) "Please move ALL belongings away from the doors." (Pause) "This is a personal message to the man in the brown suit wearing glasses at the rear of the train: Put the pie down, Four-eyes, and move your bl**dy golf clubs away from the door before I come down there and shove them up your a**e sideways!"

"May I remind all passengers that there is strictly no smoking allowed on any part of the Underground. However, if you are smoking a joint, it's only fair that you pass it round the rest of the carriage."

Temp nix on pub parking ploy

I'm more and more liking Rachel Pritchett's delicate Islander Conversations: nice breezy style for tidbits of news that keep me abreast of my old Island home.

Out with Inn's sprawl spree: I wondered how easy a passage the Harbour Pub would wangle for its inevitable carpark tentacle spread, and am pleased to see a tiny hiccup in its plans.

It'll get its way, of course. Foregone conclusion.

Fact of Island life: Money and influence triumph. Money, influence and booze  positively pulverise the competition.

But good for Judge Haberly shoving an oral spoke in the wheel.

Alas, the certainty of the boozer's success can be gauged by the owners' oafish behaviour and how little they feel the need to disguise what total pricks they are.

Judge H spotted it: Of course agreements between the pub's original owners and the condo' must stand. To hell with this grasping new bunch.

Truth be told, I can't see how all this sliming thru the small print will inspire confidence in any future gullibati lured into doing business with this shower.

Wonderful oily doublespeak from mealy-mouthed Jeff Waite:

"The pub owners do not fully understand the rationale underlying Judge Haberly’s oral ruling but predictably disagree strongly with its effect."

The rationale underlying Judge Haberly's ruling

- That we play fair and by the law.

IncompreHENsible that we be lumped with the Little People and expected to abide by some out-dated piddling agreement.

Predictably disagree strongly with its effect

We're bully-boy businessmen.

We've been f***ed with.

We've been thwarted.

Wadja expect, duhh? Of course we're pissed off.

But we'll be back.

Hannibal at Cannae: glassy eyes in Starbucks

Dissent in paradise!

Conquering hero returns from 10 years in the land of Microsoft and teenage Mall Rat daughters, relieved at no longer having to dumb down the chatter or prove a 'good fit' with mid-20s team mates.

So there I was on another rich folk's floating ouzo palace, amid fellow curmudgeons and like-minded unreconstructed fogeys, passing round the Saturday Torygraph *and* saintèd Spectator, and someone says, "The one section I never read is that - you know, that silly political spoof by that, whatever's her name ..."

"What?," I chirp with toothy American smile, "that wonderful Tamzin Lightwater? C'mahn - she's hot ."

The great fun of coming from the States is that I can go from Balliol to Bainbridge and they can't quite hammer me on it.

"Oh come on now," growls Rich Retired Rachmann, "You're not going to tell me you think she's *funny*?"

"Funny and witty," I chirrup, ignoring maternal glower and semaphored eyebrow instructions not to - literally - rock the boat.

"I find her 'Diary of a Notting Hill Nobody' one of the cleverest, jargon-whupping spoof around. " Shakes of heads. I go on and Mater grabs the chance to engage Lady R in deep discussion of the soil needed for her sorbus aria .

"OK, I it helps to have toiled in the vineyards of PR hackery and abased both self and vocabulary in The Cause, but La L really is very clever and I reckon she has a firm following. Albeit not here, clearly."

You know that moment when, even as you speak, your audience is revealed in emperor finery?

In that instant, it dawned on me that all these captains of industry and political big beasts were the ones who *hire* folks like Ms Tamzin and me to dance attendance and talk the walk and burble accordingly.

"Look, here - she cites Hannibal; talks of the 'Ernie Effect', nails OE debauchery and gives the old ^5 to 'good, wholesome, low-grade British smut'." Wrinkled noses.

Ernie Effect? asks someone, and I pounce, almost laughing too much to do justice to that bit where he asks if she wants pasteurized and she says she'll be happy if it comes up to her chest.

Honestly, do check her out. She knows how to use that alphabet and is the sort to come out with an excellent novel that owes nothing to the camouflage she's currently running to make her Notting Hill Diary work so well.

Every time I give a link, I get plaints that they're dud, so go to The Spectator and type 'Tamzin' in the 'Search' and you ought to find stuff like this.

Better still, buy an actual sub: Barrie Humphries and Joan Collins do the occasional Diary; Taki is always disruptive; the reviews are good; Jaspistos rocks, as does Dear Mary.

Plus, as I say, anyone who's been in the business and yearned to see the boot go in on the ghastly lingo we churn out to keep our masters assured that they've hired PR lackeys with cutting edge cant - Ms Lightwater is our gal.

TREE SCULPTURE

I accidentally deleted the rat-shooting/tree sculpting post when I tried to update it with pics of new guns, forgetting that I didnt have the source html tucked away.

But it's a shame to lose the tree sculpture that I'm making my season's work so here are 2 pics in full size:

It's on the drive to the house, so will be a talking point once guests arrive.

Perceptions differ between the tree being a priest with upraised arm declaiming some holy message, to a Demis Roussos-type chanteur, hailing the faithful in the upper auditorium while cuddling the mic to his ample bosom.

I'm very tempted to go for the Corfucian chanteur priest.

I know the electricity wire seems to go thru his eyeball but that is an illusion; it is some distance behind.

On the other hand, I hate to lose the "finger", especially since this is the first view one sees as one rounds the corner.

The facial hair needs tidying up and his raiment needs updating with some bling, but the yeoman digit is right there.

Rooney or loony?

It's not a bad idea to ease WR back into the Cup in stages, but am I being cynical thinking that the opposition will simply pound on the vulnerable foot 'til it caves in again?

It doesn't have to be obvious, of course, and the refs will be watching, but there have been countless instances thru the years - not just soccer and boxing but cricket and tennis - where known injuries have been targeted and worked on.

My fear is that our dumbo-eared author will emerge a worse cropper than he was sent in.

But great TV: can you imagine the endless slo-mo playbacks of the culprit tackle that lays him low? The heart-felt protestations of innocence of those who efficiently despatch him to the bench?

One of the first World footie jousts I've actually paid attention to.

Croquet M'sieur

We are all croquet-clacking, two-Jags driving Deputy Premiers now.

John Prescott has lit the way.

All we need to complete our nap hands is one of those 'Diary' secretaries .... 

No-no ad words

Sunshine tan in the Sunflower

Where I *really* live, but pretend to be shacking up in some luxurious mansion.

Kyria Pantocratis is generous to a fault with the rigani in the salata and the laundrette is well worth the 3 euros.

Vaut le detour: the moussaka and chips is to die for. No. let me rephrase that.

Nosherie

Yes, indeed. Instead of dining off finest crockery and goblets of Boutari's best, flowing with the witty chat ... I munch my lonely burgers down on the south Gouvia strip, along with my pals Kevin, Bert, Sandra and *her* friend Doreen.

NO SMOKING!

I am determined to kick the fags. Honest.

I shop only where I'm reminded of the 'orrible death awaiting me.

The Greek isles Safeway

Keep yer Harrods and yer Bon. Keep Safeway, for that matter.

Our Bessie's got everything we need out here.

RSS - courtesy Superbyw@ys

If there's one area of Web 2.0 that I've remained unsure of - while dishing out confident advice and cool links to others - it's this drat RSS Really Simple Syndication/Rich Site Summary stuff.

Clever piece from Superbyw@ys in his June's Oldie piece.

He's set up a page at Netvibes that you can 'Sign in' to, using his address of webster@theoldie.co.uk and password (webster).

This opens 'Webster's example RSS page' whereon you can see the various boxes and sites that feed them and even a to-do list, which will be as meat and drink to my American brethren who don't even bestir of the morning if it ain't on The List. Brilliant idea.

If you want to set up your own page, sign out of Supie's and sign back in as yourself as per instructions for 'New User' with a convenient email address and password.

The rest will be self-explanatory and if it isn't, you're not a regular busker/corfucius reader.

Good tips from 'byw@ys for your own page:

Boot out tech stuff you don't want by hovering over the box for the X to appear and deleting.

Click on 'Add content' and 'Feed directory' and choose sites you like the look of.

Have some URLs ready of your own current faves that might not be in netvibe's store, and just add them. Most should have RSS ability.