Too Bloody Quiet

So Notwork Rail has finally realised it is totally incapable of providing anything resembling a basic transport infrastructure and has allowed things to screech to a shuddering halt yet again (third time in a week). As I write this, millions of pounds of taxpayers' money is being wasted in a futile attempt to master the patently bloody obvious (how to roll a train along a track).

As a consequence of which I am working from home for a couple of days.

It's very, very quiet here in Norfolk …

Listen …

Hear that?

A bit of birdsong. A slight breeze dicking about in the trees. Stuff growing … slowly.
Far over the fields I can see the church in the next village. It's not doing much. And neither am I …
Ooh look! There's a cloud! Whee …

Not being in London tends to give me Reuters' Block, so I'm relying on the press for this post.
Here goes:

Splendid news this week for fans of peurile innuendo and double-entendre:
Each year, that strange and unnatural institution known as Her Majesty's Government declassifies a load of stuff which has been deemed officially "TOP SECRET" since dinosaurs ruled the earth (and Raquel Welch ran around in that fur bikini).
In amongst this year's haul is the lovely story from WW2 of an aristocratic woman accused of spying. The spooks at MI5 suspected her of sleeping with as much of the military top brass as she could and passing secrets back to her German handler. She was imprisoned for a while, but nothing much came of it, other than the odd raised eyebrow and some guarded admiration of her spectacular promiscuity.
The thing which caught my jaded eye was her name: Lady Effingham. You couldn't make it up …

First Gentleman: I say, old chap; is that Lady Effingham?

Second Gentleman: All too enthusiastically, I'm afraid.

Oh, the joy of immature, smutty chortling.

So farewell then, Steve Irwin.
Australia suffers its 'Diana' moment as Mother Nature finally gets pissed off and hits back at the hyperactive conservationist.
Nice bit in the Guardian from Greatest Living Australian, Germaine Greer, but my own favourite Steve moment was watching him poke a cobra with a stick, over and over and over again …
"Crikey! Look how angry he's getting!"
Priceless.
Cool way to go, though; spiked through the heart by a stingray …

I'll finish with a lovely piece of street art from earlier this summer. Brighton High School for Girls had what was a plain cream stone pillar rather creatively modified over a weekend.
The girls loved it, but the headmistress failed to see the funny side. Shame on her …
Right. Wake up. It's homework time:

Today's phrase you must use in your next telephone conversation: "Perky little puppies" (let's keep the smutty tone going, shall we)?

Today's track to track down: Billericay Dickie by Ian Dury. As we're on a smutty one, a song with a first verse of breathtaking poetic imagery:
"Had a love affair with Nina,
In the back of my Cortina,
A seasoned-up hyena,
Could not have been more obscener …"
Oh, joy …

Today's reading assignment: Captain Pantoja And The Special Service by Mario Vargas Llosa, to show you just where the smutty stuff gets you.

Today's fact: Shredded Wheat is not made from wheat, but is actually the cocoon of a large, crunchy moth.