Look Up. Pt.4

I suppose this should really be Part 4a as Rich has already done Part 4.
But I'll press on with it anyway.
This time I'm in The City. No lovely lakes and rolling parkland here, like in my beloved Westminster; just nasty hard surfaces everywhere.
Yet quaintness and oddity can still be found.

Witness this strange little round room on the roof of the Bank of England. It's right round the back, where you would not normally look for strange little round rooms on the roof; especially not a strange little round room with an extravgantly tacky gold crown and corinthian capital stuck on top of it. Why is it there? What is it for? Is it where the Queen goes to sit and count her money? Buggered if I know …

Down at the other end of Threadneedle Street (originally named "Gropecunte Lane" - true) sits the Gibson Hall, festooned with a cornucopia of odd statuary; including these two gentlemen, sitting on either side of an unfeasibly large egg and apparently symbolically masturbating onto the crowds below.

The right hand gentleman seems inordinately pleased with himself. That has to be one of the silliest grins I have seen on a statue.

And speaking of silly; just across the road from our onanistic duo, you can look up and see Richard Rogers' splendidly silly Lloyds' Insurance Building, paid for by the small print on your insurance form.

Apologies for the fact that I took these on Monday evening and am not in London at all but working from home today. So it's another crappy filler post.
Some days I just can't be arsed to think of anything to say.
Hey ho.

Groover's Meme Redux (The Director's Cut)

Fucking Hell, Groover!
Take the original "One Word Only" meme.
Using the same answers you gave, expand each one to five sentences.

Groover actually has a life, so she only filled in a random seven of the buggers.
But I am a sad bastard, so I will do the whole damned lot.
Brace yourselves.
And no carping that some of these are not true sentences.
This is my blog; if I say it's a sentence, it's a sentence.

Right.
Strap in. Here goes:

1. Yourself: Dorky
Well this one doesn't really need five sentences to explain it.
What can I say?
I'm forty-eight years old, fat, ugly, balding and single.
I am crap at life.
Ergo: I am a dork.

2. Your boyfriend/girlfriend: Cute
Insufferably cute.
Her smile is cute.
Her laugh is cute.
Her butt is cute.
Hell, every damned thing about her is cute.

3. Your hair: Escaping
Yeah, it's been sneaking away for years.
It started by creeping further and further up my forehead.
Then, one awful day in a bank in London, I saw myself from behind on the cctv monitors and realised a whole bunch of my hair had leapt off the back of my head when I wasn't looking.
So I'm mister bald patch now.
Arse!

4. Your mother/stepmother: Cakey
Some of you know my Mum.
She's retired now, but bakes and decorates cakes.
She's extremely good at it.
Have a look for yourself.
I get to eat a lot of cake.

5. Your dog: Dead
Yup.
Long dead.
Bruno.
He was great.
But he's not any more.

6. Your favorite item: Guitars
Or more specifically, my old Gibson Les Paul.
We've been together now since 1969.
We've played countless gigs and sessions together and – much as I love all my other guitars - that old Les is my lifelong friend and confidante.
I like to sit at the foot of the stairs and play it unplugged; or more accurately, to simply relax and see what happens; more of an improvised conversation with an old companion than actually playing anything specific.
Sometimes, feelings come out in the music that I could never say in words; in our musical conversations I've told that guitar things I could never reveal to another person … even to myself.

7. Your dream last night: Her
Kind of a drippy dream, I'm afraid.
Lots of holding hands.
Gazing into one another's eyes.
Kissing (a lot).
Lost in love.

8. Your favorite drink: Water
Actually I love scotch.
I love wine
I love beer
I love green tea
I love coffee … but mostly I drink water.

9. Your dream car: Spyder
The old Porsche Spyder.
You know, the type James Dean died in.
There's a company not far from here that makes beautiful replicas.
I almost bought one after the Goodwood Revival vintage racing car meet last year.
I'm going again this year …

10. The room you are in: Office
Actually, my home office today.
You've all seen it on my posts.
Having said that, when I filled in the original meme I was in my London office.
You've seen that one as well.
Hell, it's hard enough to find ONE thing to say about my office; let alone five whole sentences.

11. There is no number eleven. Check your calculator; it doesn't exist.

12. Your fear: Decaff
Ew … Brrrrr … Decaff.
Pure evil in a mug.
Coffee with all the joy taken out of it.
Don't EVER offer me decaff … you wouldn't like me on decaff.
I NEED MY CAFFEINE!

13. What you want to be in 10 years: Sated
Yup. I'll probably be dropping dead sometime around then.
So I want to go out totally satisfied and having had as much enjoyment as I can possibly take.
Which is going to make the next ten years kind of fun, as at the moment I am pretty much unsatisfied with everything in my life.
So bring it on!
Satisfy me!

14. Who you hung out with last night: Her
Mmmmmmmmmmmm.
Last night, too; as well as the night before the original meme.
We talked a lot.
We cooked.
Some rudery inevitably crept in.

15. What you're not: Dead
So far.
Though I've lived most of my life, so it's coming.
I don't mind at all; I'm not religious; I know there's no afterlife.
When you're dead, you're dead; like roadkill, only bigger.
I can't see why people have a problem with it.

16. Muffin: Mule
Hell, that ages me!
I never ate a muffin until two Saturdays ago.
They seem to have insinuated their way across from America over the past decade or so.
We never saw then before that.
I was most disappointed to find that it was just a bun.

17: One of your wish list items: Superpowers.
Yaaaay … anyone who could be arsed to click on the link will know what my superpower is.
Though you have to scroll down the old post past a lot of crap about the Game of Scunthorpe to find out.
If anybody is in need of my superpower, just let me know.
I'll come running (or more probably I'll use public transport) to your aid.
Any excuse to wear tights and a cape.

18: Time: Bed
Actually, it's 11:32AM when I'm writing this.
It wasn't bedtime when I wrote the answer to the original meme either.
I just like bedtime.
"Time for bed" said Zebedee.
Boing! (That'll confuse the Americans) …

19. The last thing you did: Type
Yup.
It's what I'm doing now, too.
Kind of a stupid question for a meme where you have to type to fill it in.
The last thing I did before I typed was eat a croissant.
I am a croissant pig.

20. What you are wearing: Cashmere
Actually, right this minute I am stark bollock naked.
I love working from home.
When I wrote the original answer, I was in my office in Westminster.
We don't have a dress code as such, but they do like you to be dressed.
So I had a cashmere sweater on (amongst other things) as I like cashmere; it doesn't itch.

21. Your favorite weather: Spring
Spring weather is lovely.
Warm, but not too warm
Sunny, but with those little fluffy clouds you get at the start of The Simpsons.
Rainy, but nice little showers.
Autumn's nice, too, but Summer and Winter suck ass.

22. Your favorite book: All
You know me and books.
My house is sinking under the weight of many thousands of 'em.
My name is Dive and I am a biblioholic.
My Mum used to say (before she knew better), "Just how many books do you need?"
To which I would answer, "All of them."

23. The last thing you ate: Croissant
That's true of today, as well as the original meme.
I like croissants.
They are perfect with a latte in the morning.
Nothing on them; just a plain croissant.
I love tearing them up and stuffing them into my mouth.

24. Your life: Groovy
Intercoursingly groovy!
I live in a beautiful village on the Norfolk Broads.
I have a dream job in Westminster that I love, and which also lets me work from home.
I love my family and friends.
Somebody very special loves me.

25. Your mood: Perky
Yup, still perky today.
I suppose the answers to the previous questions should give you a hint as to why.
But especially the last sentence of the five.
The Lovely Betty posted about Pinky and Perky the other day, which brought horrific memories flooding back.
My brother had the very same wallpaper she describes, which explains a lot.

26. Your best friend/s: Musicians
Well, musicians and artists actually, though mostly musicians.
Oddly enough, the one exception is a librarian, which kind of ties in with my bibliomania.
Musicians make great friends.
They also drink a lot.
Which can be fun.

27. What are you thinking about right now? Her
Inevitably, I still am.
And now.
And now.
And now.
And I have no intention of stopping.

28. Your car: Black
Yup, black.
And tiny.
And nippy.
And cute.
None more black.

29. What are you doing at the moment?: Skiving.
When I answered the original meme I was in the office, doing it in office time.
Now I am filling in this much longer version in my home office.
Time here is much more flexible, as I have an extra seven-and-a-half hours every day when I'm not commuting.
So I can apportion my time how I want, as long as I get a full day's work done.
I have decided that this is an extended coffee break, so this time I am not skiving.

30. Your summer: Sultry
I hate Summer.
Sultry is too damned uncomfortably hot and sticky.
And I get hay fever too, which stinks.
And the fucking lawnmowers never stop.
Roll on Autumn.

31. Your relationship status: Complicated
I think that's probably the best word to describe it.
Which is why you won't find out much more about it.
Until, that is, things become less complicated.
Then I/we can tell you everything.
Except the rude bits, which you can fill in for yourselves.

32. What is on your TV?: Nothing
Nothing on top of it; nothing on the screen.
I didn't have a telly for fifteen years; I had a life instead.
Now I've just got one to watch the news at five in the morning and to watch DVDs of old movies.
When the stupid government switch off the analogue signal in a year or so, I will bin the stupid thing.
I much prefer radio, and I can watch DVDs on my Mac, so bollocks to telly.

33. What is the weather like?: Sunny
It was indeed sunny when I answered the original meme.
Now it's that typically British Tupperware sky.
Just a dull, uniform off-white blah.
I prefer sunny.
But I live in England, so sunny is a nice occasional bonus, like finding a bar of chocolate you didn't know you had.

34. When is the last time you laughed?: 1974
Actually I kind of exaggerated the answer to this one.
The last time I laughed out loud with any sense of genuine hilarity was when I read Lynn's comment on yesterday's "vibie" post.
I laughed until the tears rolled down my aching cheeks.
Thank you, Lynn.
Laughing like that is good for the soul.

Vibies Are A Girl's Best Friend

Okay, so we got a little off-message toward the end of yesterday's comments and we wound up discussing vibies.

Guys: vibies are vibrators.
And if you're so sad and self-deluded that you think your wife or girlfriend "doesn't need one 'cos she has ME", then I - along with all the girls - point and laugh at you. She just keeps it hid because she knows you are so inadequate it would hurt your feelings.
My last girlfriend kept hers on the corner of the bath for the world to see, and I never had a problem with that. Indeed it came in really handy when I got a trapped nerve in my shoulder.

Girls need fun too. Don't get hung up about it.

So anyway; getting back to yesterday's comments:
Time for Dive to set a little meme-ette.
A quiz for the girls:

- What's the best sort?

- What colour is yours (and why)?

- Does hubby/boyfriend/girlfriend (Hi, Vic) know?

- Does hubby/boyfriend/girlfriend care?

- Does yours have a pet name (be honest), or is it just "the vibie"?

- At least one humorous (and true) tale involving your (or a friend's) vibie.

Go to it girls.
And remember: hubby/boyfriend/girlfriend doesn't read this blog so you can be honest … and, as you well know, I am not in the least bit prurient.
Enjoy.

Groover's Meme

Hey, I just nicked this off Groover's blog while she slept (I'm that kinda guy).

You.
Can.
Only.
Type.
One.
Word.

No.
Explanations.

Here we go then:

1. Yourself: Dorky

2. Your boyfriend/girlfriend: Cute

3. Your hair: Escaping

4. Your mother/stepmother: Cakey

5. Your dog: Dead

6. Your favorite item: Guitars

7. Your dream last night: Her

8. Your favorite drink: Water

9. Your dream car: Spyder

10. The room you are in: Office

12. Your fear: Decaff

13. What you want to be in 10 years: Sated

14. Who you hung out with last night: Her

15. What you're not: Dead

16. Muffin: Mule

17: One of your wish list items: Superpowers.

18: Time: Bed

19. The last thing you did: Type

20. What you are wearing: Cashmere

21. Your favorite weather: Spring

22. Your favorite book: All

23. The last thing you ate: Croissant

24. Your life: Groovy

25. Your mood: Perky

26. Your best friend/s: Musicians

27. What are you thinking about right now? Her

28. Your car: Black

29. What are you doing at the moment?: Skiving

30. Your summer: Sultry

31. Your relationship status: Complicated

32. What is on your TV?: Nothing

33. What is the weather like?: Sunny

34. When is the last time you laughed?: 1974

Your turn.

Monday Melee

Is it Monday again already?
Time for Fracas Monday Melee .

1: The Misanthropic.
(Name something - about humanity - you absolutely hate).
This week I have been mostly hating everything.

2: The Meretricious:
(Expose someone or something that's phony, fraudulent or bogus).
BT so-called broadband … HA!

3: The Malcontent:
(Name something you're unhappy with).
My crappy fucking internet (dis)service provider.

4: The Meritorious.
(Give someone credit for something and name it if you can).
My brother, Phil, for finally tracking down Belgium's Carrot Museum (he'll be posting on it sometime this week if you're curious - right now though, he seems to be attempting the risible task of making Belgium seem interesting).

5: The Mirror.
(See something good about yourself and name it).
I haven't (yet) killed anyone from BT.

6: The Make-Believe:
(Name something you wish for).
A broadband connection that actually works.

The more observant among you may have noticed something of a theme to this week's melee. My normally crappy British Telecom broadband disservice has been disconnecting me every twenty seconds all through the weekend (if anyone wondered why I haven't been posting).
By the way (for those of you who know I believe the truth about something can be discovered in its anagrams) an anagram of British Telecom is "Besmirch Toilet", which kind of sums up the service they give me.

Look Up. Pt.3

And what the hell is this?
I had walked past this thousands of times as I headed into the City from Liverpool Street Station, but only noticed it a few weeks ago.

Nestled somewhat inconguously in the back of the churchyard of what surely must be London's best-named church:
- Saint Botholph's Without, on Bishopsgate -
is what turns out to be a restaurant.
It has some lovely faience work up near the roof (that terracotta tiling you can see at the bottom) and a bizarre Turkish-themed glass confection topping it off.
Odd …

Look Up. Pt.2

This one's for Helen.
On the north side of Gracechurch Street, just up from Monument is this set of rather splendid modern heads. Not true gargoyles, as they do not spout water from the gutters, but somewhat incongruous on a seventies office block façade.

Look up. There they are, glaring down at you.

I particularly like this one. This is how I feel when the alarm goes off at 4:40 in the morning.

What's the story with these, I wonder? They seem based on real faces. Perhaps the Architect's enemies or the board of directors of the office building itself … Any ideas?

They certainly spooked me when I caught sight of them.


More odd things from above the heads of Londoners later. I'm back in Norfolk now, working from home for the rest of the week. Woohoo!

Look Up. Pt.1

Wandering around London, as is my wont, and being mostly empty of brain, I often find myself looking up and thinking "What the hell is that doing up there?" (remember the beaver weathervane)?

So anyhoo …
I walk past this place an awful lot (not that I spend too much time cruising for little boys in tutus), but until this morning I had never noticed the gold monopedal woman trying to jump off the top.

Consequently, this will be the first in an occasional series of photographs of some of the odder things stuck high up on London's buildings.
And believe me, there are some extremely odd things up there.

Fuck The NSA

Here's a bit of fun:
Some dumb fuck with a crew cut will be reading this up in Yorkshire today, thanks to the title of the post.
I just want to say "Fuck off. You are not welcome here."

Today's subject is the delightful Menwith Hill NSA listening station just outside Harrogate in Yorkshire.
This - if you can't be arsed to click the link - is the world's largest electronic monitoring station, run by the NSA and responsible for "the signals intelligence and communications security activities of the US government".

Ever wonder where your emails go?
Ever wonder what that faint click was on your phone?

In total violation of EU civil liberties legislation and basic common decency, the NSA use Menwith Hill to monitor private (yes, private) telephone conversations, mobile conversations, emails and faxes plus a whole lot more, listening out for key words such as "bomb" or "bush"
(in my more radical days I would often include the word "bomb" in email titles to make sure they read it, on the assumption that if enough people did that, the twats would eventually get bored and fuck off home to America).
We have demonstrated and lobbied against this outrageous violation of civil liberties (and EU law), but to no avail. Menwith Hill is unaccountable, unlawful and undemocratic and amazingly, very few people seem to be aware of its existence.

I can understand why they needed the nearby Fylingdales early warning radar station during the cold war (though that is now being upgraded to become part of the farcical Star Wars defence shield), but Menwith Hill is illegal and immoral.

In case you think they're not listening to you, they constantly monitor all European post, telephone and telegraph signals, together with mobile communications and such corporations as ITT and RCA in the US.
Say "Hi" to them next time you call anyone.
Then tell them to fuck off.

Now you know.

Monday Melee

Woohoo! Monday again. I hate weekends.
Time once more for Fracas Monday Melee .

1: The Misanthropic.
(Name something - about humanity - you absolutely hate).
This week I have been mostly hating censorship by self-righteous fuckwits.

2: The Meretricious:
(Expose someone or something that's phony, fraudulent or bogus).
The government selling off the airspace used by analogue TV to the phone comapanies for obscene amounts of money and sticking us with inferior, limited bandwidth digital crap. When they switch off my signal I'm going back to not having a TV.

3: The Malcontent:
(Name something you're unhappy with).
Capitalism.

4: The Meritorious.
(Give someone credit for something and name it if you can).
The Groover, for having a cool haircut and a cherry red 335.

5: The Mirror.
(See something good about yourself and name it).
I currently smell of coffee. Sniff me … Yummy, eh?

6: The Make-Believe:
(Name something you wish for).
A horde of heavily armed, winged space monkeys at my beck and call.

Smothering Sunday

Oh, crap.
Another Hallmark Holiday.

Fuck Hallmark.
Every day is Mothers' Day.

Stop buying their crappy cards right now. It only encourages the bastards.

Actually, "Fuck Hallmark; Every Day Is Mothers' Day" would make a pretty good teeshirt. I think I'll make one for Mum …

Groover's Haircut Challenge

Okay, Groover.
One photo of a saggy old man and his rapidly balding pate, as requested.

I've shown you mine, now you show me yours.
I know you've posted a tiny bit of it as a taster, but that's not good enough.
It looks a bit like a really cool "Elvis in '56" cut, but you've cropped it so we can only see a tiny bit of it.
Come on, Groover. I wanna see the full, quifftastic monty!

As for mine; it's by Big Gay Alex of City Cuts in Westminster. The cut is called "I'll do my best with the few wispy strands you have left, sweetie."

Mugged By Global Warming

Bloody hell, it's hot!
I've been wandering around London in an open-necked, short-sleeved shirt and I'm still too damned hot.
I'm so hot I had to have a haircut to stop my head boiling.
Hey! It's only bloody March; it's supposed to be freezing.
Bollocks to global warming. It even brought out the wankers on their lawnmowers last weekend.

A magnolia in Wimbledon this morning.

I've got bugger all to post about as I'm really busy today, so I'll just link to a refreshingly honest American woman's article I found in The Guardian today. Sassy will like it, even if nobody else does.
Hopefully, the functioning brain I have ordered will arrive tomorrow. If not, you'll get more of this inane drivel.
Ho hum …

"As Armas e os Barões …"

First off, a big thank you to Prudence.
She's posted a lovely piece on reflections, and in doing so has highlighted just how weird our little gang is. Boy, do we have some freaks hiding in our closets!
Most of all I want to thank her for reminding me of Sassy's "Thanksgiving With The Dead (and a Chihuahua)" post. Everybody on the planet should read this post, so click on the link now and give yourself a good day.

Enjoy that? Thought you would …

I'm feeling a little freaky myself, this morning.
I've been moaning to the train gods for years about twats who keep digging their elbows into me and waking me up.
And this morning, there I am dozing happily on the train when this guy plonks himself down next to me and I just know he'll be elbowing me all the way in to London.
Through half-closed and annoyed eyes I can see him place a fucking Blackberry on the table in front of him.
Bastard!
Blackberry users just sit there going flicky, flicky, flicky with their thumbs and it's like having an onanist with a nervous twich digging their fucking elbow into my arm.
No sleep this morning, then …

After a couple of minutes I must admit to having my curiosity piqued by the fact that he's using the bloody thing one-handed. Why can't everybody be so considerate?
Then I get to thinking, somewhat blearily, "Where's his fucking arm?"

Woohoo!
The train gods have answered my prayers and sent me a one-armed man!
This is bliss!
I celebrate by moving across to take the whole of the armrest.
Oh, happy day.
The train gods smile upon me (about fucking time).

Ten cultural nerd points to anyone who can tell me the significance of this post's title (and where the quote is from).

Monday Melee

Thank God for Fracas Monday Melee without which my concussed brain would be unable to concoct a post today.

1: The Misanthropic.
(Name something - about humanity - you absolutely hate).
This week I have been mostly hating religious intolerance and self-righteousness.

2: The Meretricious:
(Expose someone or something that's phony, fraudulent or bogus).
Amazon's insistence that they sent my last order on the third by first class post. Where the fuck is it?

3: The Malcontent:
(Name something you're unhappy with).
An otherwise spiffy, modern city like Norwich has just two overpriced Japanese restaurants and no (count 'em) sushi bars or noodle bars.

4: The Meritorious.
(Give someone credit for something and name it if you can).
Caffé Nero for putting an extra shot of espresso in my morning latte and not charging for it like all the other bastards do.

5: The Mirror.
(See something good about yourself and name it).
I managed my spring cleaning with only moderate blood loss and concussion.

6: The Make-Believe:
(Name something you wish for).
She knows who she is.

Crappy Filler Post

I've not really had the chance to post this weekend.
Spring is here and a young man's fancy turns to love.
An old git's fancy can't go there, so it turns to spring cleaning and furniture-wrestling.
So far this weekend I have dropped stuff on myself, slipped over and banged various bones, spurted blood and been swathed in bandages and fallen out of the attic onto my head.
It's been a bit if a bloodbath, but fairly normal for me and spring cleaning. And I think I came out on top in the end.
So I have nothing to post about and am cheating by putting in this crappy piece of filler.
Sorry, but my head hurts.

Origami Food

Fiendishly clever, these Orientals …
Toddle on over to the desk of my lovely and freshly coiffured "very personal assistant", 外人ガールさん, and you'll discover just how clever.

I had to take a late train home last night because we had a jumper. We usually get at least one jumper a week, which always pisses everybody off because the trains are stopped for a couple of hours while some poor sap has to pick up all the lumps of meat and hose the slippery bits into the verge.
So anyway … whenever we have jumpers I duck into わさび and pick up some sashimi and onigiri for the journey home.
Last night, this really pretty girl asked me "What are onigiri?" (not exactly the question I would have liked from her - which was "Tell me more about this Earth custom you call 'kissing'" - but it was better than nothing).
So for the rest of you … This is onigiri:

Yup. It's a triangular lump of pressed rice, usually with a stuffing such as pickled plum or tuna or - in this case - sesame and seaweed; my favourite.

When you open it, you find those fiendishly clever Orientals have kept the nori separate from the rice (to stop it going all soft).

And when you open the inner package, you find that they have helpfully pre-folded the nori so that it wraps itself automatically around your rice ball, origami style.

And there it is: All nice and wrapped up, ready to eat, with the lovely papery-crunchy nori keeping your hands from getting all messy. How considerate is that?

Yum …

This has been a somewhat boring but hopefully educational public information announcement.

What's On Your Desk?

Thanks to Prudence and her lovely cats and to Robyn and her slightly disturbing green rubber finger puppets for this one.
Post a photo of your desk so we can picture the mess you are sitting in when you blog.

This is my office mess …
Three Mac G5s, a Macbook Pro, some green tea bags, a Cuba Soldarity Campaign mug, my Japanese homework and some mess.


And this is my home mess …
A couple of iMacs, a Macbook Pro, a pink stress pig and a poster of Che.
Apologies in advance to GG, but I am your boss, so I can have more Macs than you. Hee hee …

Now let's see some pics from the rest of you reprobates.
And no whingeing "Mine's too messy."
No excuses.

What Is All This Crap?

I did that stupid "Visual DNA" quiz thing that Sassy and Robyn have done.
Only Blogger told me there was an error in the html so I can't post it.
Well bugger Blogger, bugger "Visual DNA" and bugger html with a splintered gatepost.

If anybody is remotely interested in what the quiz results said about me, I'll paraphrase them for you:
I am a fat, ugly, balding, extremely overtired and irritable forty-eight year old loser who hasn't had sex since the Boer War and isn't ever likely to again. And I hate quizzes.

Nothing we didn't already know.

Stupid fucking quiz.

Z Street Blues

Effusive thanks are winging their way to Malta, to find Dina at Malta Daily Photo.
She has been so good as to travel across the island to Marsa and find Zerafa Street.
I apologise, Dina, for "borrowing" these two photographs, but they are the only pictures I have seen of the street where I started my life.

Actually, I popped out into the world at the David Bruce Military Hospital in Imtarfa, but that doesn't exist any more.
This is where we lived when I was a baby; 121 Zerafa Street, Marsa.
I'll have to ask Mum where the building is/was, but it's kind of spooky seeing the street after all these decades.
This was me at the time, laying on Dad in my big pants. I don't remember any of this but apparently I was there in lovely sunny Malta.
I get kinda blue thinking that I've never been back and that even if I do go, there's nothing left that was there forty-eight years ago. I only know one word of the language, which makes me feel guilty as well as blue.
Oh, well …
At least I have the photos now. Thank you again, Dina.
…

Addendum:
Dina must have got Mum in a nostalgic mood, too as she has just posted this photo (which I have nicked … sorry Mum):

This is cute little me with Mum and my Godfather, Pete (Hi, Pete!), who we still see a lot of. He's great. He was in the Merchant Navy back then and this is taken on board his ship in Sliema Harbour. I'll bet it looks different now; probably all hotels and tourist stuff.
Thanks once again to Dina for setting all this off.

Childhood Trauma And The Lemur

Old Knudsen's War on Lemur Terror seems likely to last as long as Dubya's War on Sanity. He's at it again this morning. I would seriously advise you not to click on the smiley face in his top picture though (except for Ame and Lynn, who may well enjoy it).

So I got to thinking what has caused the poor old bugger such lemur-related trauma.
A quick visit to my shrink and some regression therapy revealed the true cause; something so horrific that I had suppressed it for the past forty years.

Ladies and gentlemen; meet Johnny Morris (of TV's Animal Magic) and one of his pointy-toothed flying legions of attack lemurs.
Don't be fooled by the fact that he's currently laying dormant in an English cemetery; he only waits for the next passing of Halley's Comet, when he will rise up and his hordes of lemurs will cover the earth, slaughtering man, woman and child in a kind of cute and fluffy armageddon.

A couple of other slimy, lurking things were hidden in my subconscious and surfaced at the same regression session. They made me realise just why our generation of Brits has grown up in quite the peculiar way that we have.

The first is Crackerjack (CRACKERJACK!!) …
For those untutored in such horror, every time the dumpy black-and-white man uttered the dread word, every schoolchild in the country had to shout it out, otherwise he would come round at night and interfere with us.

"It's only this big, and if you're a good girl, I'll give you pencil afterwards."

This is the scary and exceedingly creepy face of childrens' presenter Peter Glaze, übermeister of Crackerjack (CRACKERJACK!!). The whole programme revolved around this dodgy-uncle type man and his sidekick forcing frightened children in school uniforms to carry out pointless and embarrassing tasks for his pleasure.
If a child was successful, they would be rewarded with a pencil (yes, a pencil); and if they failed, he would give them a cabbage (yes, a cabbage).
Why am I the way I am today? Because of this man and his ilk.

And then there was Jimmy Edwards …

What can one say about this man? Just look at those magnificent whiskers! Would you leave your small boy alone with him?
Thought not.
Somehow, the BBC was seduced into approving a TV series (a long-running and hugely successful TV series) about a dodgy old man caning young boys in school uniforms on the bottom.


I give you "Whacko!"
This was the programme that influenced the sexual development of the whole post-war "baby boomer" generation of Britain.
Please take this into account before judging anything that Old Knudsen or myself may write …
Talking lemurs, cabbages and caning …
Have mercy on us for we know not what we do.

Monday Melee

Another sign I'm getting old: it's Monday already and I'm sure we've already had a Monday this week … The older I get, the faster time flies out the window and the less I can remember of it.
So; let's have another grapple with Fracas Monday Melee.

1: The Misanthropic.
(Name something - about humanity - you absolutely hate).
This week I have been mostly hating humanity's inexplicable inability to find me sexually attractive.

2: The Meretricious:
(Expose someone or something that's phony, fraudulent or bogus).
The lovely letter I received from my rail franchise operator informing me that they were ceasing the practice of paying us compensation for delays and at the same time raising prices by eleven percent "to provide a better service for commuters."
er …

3: The Malcontent:
(Name something you're unhappy with).
The fact that Guinness Marmite is only to be available for a limited period.

4: The Meritorious.
(Give someone credit for something and name it if you can).
Scarily enough, I'm going to give credit to my IT department. Just lately, they've been throwing new Macs at me as fast as I can catch them. My current tally is four G5 desktop monsters and a new, top end Macbook Pro. Hoorah for IT (something I never thought I'd hear myself saying).

5: The Mirror.
(See something good about yourself and name it).
I look pretty good from four thousand miles away.

6: The Make-Believe:
(Name something you wish for).
The dead to rise up and party (sorry; that's twice in my life I've used that as a verb).

Up Yours, Winter

I wake this morning to the sounds of desperate arborial grunting and squelching and giggling.
The plum trees outside my bedroom window are at it like rabbits.
Stamens and anthers all over the place. I quickly close the window to avoid being hit by flying pollen.
I do believe spring is in the air.


Bugger!
Another year of watching everything else in the world have sex but getting none myself …

Roll on next winter …

Not Pregnant

Scary news for womenkind:
Old Dive has decided to get back into shape.

The first part of my new gym arrived last night; a spiffy excercise bike, with lots of heart-monitory stuff and a computer I will never bother to programme. The rest is on its way. I foresee aching muscles, back pain, heart attacks and severe chafing up ahead.

What has brought on this madness?
A couple of weeks back I catch sight of my flabby, middle-aged body in the mirror and reel back in horror!
All of my once fit muscles appear to have sneaked out while I wasn't looking.
My six pack has melted into a bowl of wobbly goo.
I can sense the onset of man-boobs … Man-Boobs! Yikes!
And what's that? … That "thing" sticking out in front?
It can't be! No!
Am I pregnant?
There's a definite bump developing.
Holy crap (as Robyn would say)!
I panic …
No! NOOOO! I can't be pregnant! Not at my age!

And then it all comes flooding back …

That drunken night with Knudsen … The infamous "cock ring" episode …
Oh, fuck!
That awful moment; standing naked in front of the bathroom mirror, holding my 'bump' as the realisation hit me …
Had we taken precautions?
Shit, we'd been sniffing petrol and amyl nitrate all night and watching the Krankies' Honeymoon Video. Anything could have happened!

A quick visit to the lovely Doctor Amanda lays my fears to rest.
It's okay, Knudsen. The Child Support Agency isn't about to come a-knockin'.
Apparently I am suffering from a medical condition known as "fat bastard".
Doctor Amanda advises me that it was indeed me who ate all the pies.
She also says to whip my fat ass back into shape.
Actually, my ass is pretty cute; it's the rest of me that has … er … "relaxed".

So, look out, weemenkind.
Dive is getting back into shape, ready to hunt down the girl of my - admittedly disturbing - dreams.

Tune in again in six weeks, when I sell all my gym equipment and buy a pie shop.

One For The Groover

Yaaay! Hey, Vic! I found some! They actually sell 'em up here in Blighty! And no, I'm not going to spread Vegemite on them; I'm going to eat them all up like the chocolate-hog that I am.


Yes, I know my mixing desk needs dusting. I am a complete pig