Aucturian nightmare- The Flakey Journal of Judith

Sisyphean task

2010-12-31T20:25:00.004Z

I hate new year, I hate the retrospection of it all. Every year has its ups and downs, the rough with the smooth and Im usually a half full glass type of woman but to be honest , this new years eve thing?, its always a Sisyphean task for me. I try to be upbeat about it, really I do but its just impossible to get that boulder of joviality untinctured with retrospection up the hill, despite having not many gripes about the year in itself . I am very thankful I still have all those I love around me and in good health too.

But generally, its the emphasis thats poured on the celebration of the forward movement of time???WHY??? if thats the case why not have it in the middle of the week and the middle of the day??? Or in Summer??Ive made my peace with New Years Eve, we dont like each other and walk on different sides of the street. And if people want to go out and party, (which is any excuse-) fine and I am more than okay with the psyche the general population having closure on bad times.

I think I am just getting old to be honest..

Silhouettes on an airing cupboard

2010-12-23T20:06:00.003Z

When I was about 17 I became very ensconced in the world of Illustration,Reiniger, Konewka, Neilson, Clarke, Fitzpatrick, Mouse in short, a hoard of artists where mesmerizing to me despite the fact that I had not taken art as a module at school. Having an obsession about mythology and the supernatural as a child it was a natural progression that an Artist by the name of Arthur Rackham shone to me most of all, his work was striking and unique, and his use of color and shading compensated brilliantly for the limitations of color printing of the period.

He stood shoulder to shoulder with my favorite pre raphaelite artists(with whom I became obsessional around the same time). Picking up a copy of Sleeping beauty I was spellbound by his silhouette work , so much so I marched out to the shed and grabbed some black gloss and brushes and went to work on both doors of my room. The Airing cupboard and the back of my bedroom door. I was very pleased with the end result and to my surprise so was my mother when I had finished. But above all what struck me about his work was although delicate, charming and rich in detail it had a pervading element of the slightly sinister which quintessentially is the appeal for me.

This christmas period with the snow making me housebound I shall take a trip out to the shed, liberate some paint and brushes and try and reproduce the cupboard door once more.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

2010-12-21T20:53:00.002Z

Ive always loved rummaging through old dusty bookshops in search of wonderful, dog eared volumes with seperate quests of illustration, stories , non-fiction or whatever I was obsessed about that particular season.. I loved finding odd little books and came across a collection of works by an american poet Ella wheeler wilcox Poems of Passion- I considered myself to be a fairly deep thinker for my young teenage years and when I first read the lines of ' Laugh, and the world laughs with you, Weep, and you weep alone' in her 'Solitude' poem ,I knew my angst of youth had found a sounding board. Baring in mind that as a teenager nothing could have prepared me for the bittersweet empathy and understanding of another poem of hers that has haunted me ever since and one I could apply to every potential relationship I had ever wished for even into my adult life. Below is the quite gem that is entitled "Platonic". A poem of unrequited love , I find it bereaving but so beautiful and passionate.

I knew it the first of the summer,
I knew it the same at the end,
That you and your love were plighted;
But couldn't you be my friend?
Couldn't we sit in the twilight,
Couldn't we walk on the shore
With only a pleasant friendship
To bind us, and nothing more?

There was not a word of folly
Spoken between us two,
Though we lingered oft in the garden
Till the roses were wet with dew.
We touched on a thousand subjects --
The moon and the worlds above, --
And our talk was tinctured with science,
And everything else, save love.

A wholly Platonic friendship
You said I had proven to you
Could bind a man and a woman
The whole long season through,
With never a thought of flirting,
Though both were in their youth.
What would you have said, my lady,
If you had known the truth!

What would you have done, I wonder,
Had I gone on my knees to you
And told you my passionate story,
There in the dusk and the dew.
My burning, burdensome story,
Hidden and hushed so long --
My story of hopeless loving --
Say, would you have thought it wrong?

But I fought with my heart and conquered,
I hid my wound from sight;
You were going away in the morning,
And I said a calm good-night.
But now when I sit in the twilight,
Or when I walk by the sea
That friendship, quite Platonic,
Comes surging over me.
And a passionate longing fills me
For the roses, the dusk, the dew;
For the beautiful summer vanished,
For the moonlight walks -- and you

Reality Bites

2010-12-20T20:54:00.003Z

Ive decided to write again in the ol blog, just looking at the viewing numbers here in one day alone tells me either I was doing something right or I have a fuck load of people trying to spam past posts etc.. A lot has happened since I last wrote here, Ive become an aunt twice and also engaged and I caught the facebook bug. Yes , its the new generations equivilant of the Mtv syndrome (in the late 80s early 90s where one would promise themselves 'if the next video is shit Im going to bed and henceforth be caught in a vicious circle) There are lots of things also worthy of bitching about, the bankers, government , IMF and the snow but the post here will be short and sweet just to let you know who ever is out there thats been following my blog all this time I have returned and will promise to try and be a little less flakey ..

AngelA

2009-06-23T18:51:00.002+01:00

For quite some time Ive been meaning to write about this little movie I seen over a year ago and stole my capricious heart. Angel-A is shot in ravishing black and white is a parable of self-acceptance and of a desperate man given an opportunity at redemption. Jamel Debbouze who also stars in "Amelie," plays André, a small-time criminal with a knack for lying and getting himself deeply in debt — the kind that gets you tossed off the Eiffel Tower for nonpayment. Under pressure from seedy Parisian underworld types, André tries to plead and con his way out of his predicament but to no avail.

He finds himself perched on a bridge ready to drown himself in the Seine when he spies a woman thrashing about in the water, apparently a fellow suicide attempt. Temporarily snapped out of his own despondence, André leaps into the river and pulls her to safety. And thus forms a friendship with the damsel that was in suicidal distress.

Visually this is the way Paris ahould be shot, black and white, making the seedy underbelly they explore somehow elegant. Anyway if you liked Amelie you will fall in love with this, sure to be classic. I urge you now to buy it /rent it and watch it.

This is Gallifrey (aka The Hubble Space Telescope’s Finest Photos)

2009-06-10T17:48:00.007+01:00

A Star is Born - April 1, 1995

One of Hubble’s first victories was capturing several embryonic stars or EGGs (evaporating gaseous globules) hiding throughout clouds in the Eagle Nebula. Within these finger-shaped clouds, nicknamed the “pillars of creation,” molecules of gases such as hydrogen and helium clump together and begin to generate their own gravity, which draws in nearby gas and dust. If these balls of gravity grow big enough, nuclear fusion reactions will be triggered in their cores, and they will become stars.

A Supernova Mystery - June 30, 2000

What kind of star died on October 9, 1604? On that day, several observers spotted a supernova that was as bright as Mars. German astronomer Johannes Kepler was so taken with the sight that he wrote a book about it. Kepler’s supernova is thought to be the most recent star to explode in our Milky Way galaxy. Astronomers combined the forces of the Hubble, Spitzer Space Telescope, and the Chandra X-ray Observatory to see if they could identify the type of star that produced the explosion; they could not. But this rainbow photograph of the supernova remnant combines all the images. The different colors represent infrared radiation (red), visible light (yellow), and X-rays (blue/green).

Stellar death On July 4, 1054, a “new star” startled Chinese astronomers, who wrote that the star was so bright that it was visible in broad daylight for several weeks. Almost a thousand years later, we know that the appearance was caused by a star 10 times the mass of our sun that exploded as a supernova. What’s left of the dead star is still spewing out high-energy particles into the Crab Nebula. This Hubble image, composed from 24 exposures, reveals the nebula’s structure.

Space Clocks the worlds oldest and dimmest stars - white dwarfs to you nerds

Han Solo PI

2009-06-06T10:23:00.000+01:00

feel good video for the day

2009-05-11T11:25:00.000+01:00

No contest

2009-05-11T11:15:00.001+01:00

This has to be the most annoying laugh I have ever heard - no debate about it, can you imagine going to an open mic with this dude?

walk on the wild side

2009-04-22T21:38:00.005+01:00

I just caught the end of this BBC show a few weeks ago and this is all that I could find on it - it was hilarious... If you are able to catch the episode my favorite is the polar bear and seals, where the seals taunt the polar bear by telling him in a geordie accent 'hey terry, yur so fat like when yew were int school yew sat beside everyone like'..

Repost

2009-04-16T07:55:00.001+01:00

I just remembered this vid last night and giggled. For those of you who havent seen it here it is again.

Open letters 2

2009-04-14T15:56:00.006+01:00

I tried writing an open letter to the religious zealot Mel Gibson in light of him falling off the catholic wagon but with too many demands from my children had to file it for another day.

Many moons ago I did an entry on open letters from these guys and recently paid them back a visit.

Here are a few examples and if you cant be entertained by post secret then this is the sight for you

TO THE SQUIRREL
TRYING TO CHEW ITS WAY
THROUGH MY ROOF.

September 28, 2005

Dear Squirrel,

Winter is coming. I understand that you need a place to stay. But please find an alternative to my house. Yes, it is warm and cozy. No, you may not come in. Enough with the chewing.

I thought this was clearly established last year. Remember when you woke me up every morning with the scratching and chittering? I was not impressed by your tenacity. Frankly, that's why actions were taken.

You pushed. I responded.

I apologize for the trap. It was overly dramatic. In my defense, it was a "live trap" and its packaging displayed a drawing of a squirrel and a heart, which pretty clearly signals my feelings on the matter.

I acknowledge that as an arboreal creature you have easy access to my patio. But the bits of bagel and pizza crust strewn about are simply disrespectful. How you managed to balance a loaf-sized hunk of bread on the narrow porch railing is beyond me. It seems like a deliberate taunt. You may stop now. Message received. No more traps.

The torrent of peanut shells is tolerable. My dogs sneak them up to the bedroom, and last week I awoke to find a shell fragment stuck to my face. But this is clearly not your fault; the dogs are poorly trained. It is a nuisance, yes, but all in all I'd say that the whole shell business falls into the realm of typical squirrel behavior, and thus I would not think of asking you to stop. Consider this an olive branch.

I simply ask that you relinquish my home. There were faults with the old roof that proved too tempting for even the best-intentioned rodent, I understand. So you'll notice that as of Friday the ruckus that has kept you away from the structure has ceased, and upon your return you will no doubt realize that extensive changes have been made. This was not inexpensive and I would appreciate it if you could respect the all-too-clear message of so much new wood and flashing.

You know what they say: Good fences make good neighbors. If you give me a chance I think you'll see that's exactly what I am. I hope that soon I may say the same of you.

William Sawalich

AN OPEN LETTER
TO THE GENTLEMAN
AT THE BAR WHO ASKED
IF I WOULD LIKE
A PIECE OF HIM.

March 3, 2005

Dude,

I apologize for only now getting back to you. When first asked if I did, in fact, want a piece of you, I could muster no reply. Frankly, I was taken aback by your surprising offer. Never have I witnessed such an act of selfless generosity.

Alas, my soul does not possess the same depth of compassion for my fellow man as does yours. While I do not always think of myself first, my welfare often holds a position among the front-runners. I treasure my pieces too deeply. I am, therefore, flattered and intrigued by your proposal.

Are you truly willing to give me—someone who only met you moments before, when you bumped into me and my drink on your way to the table shared by you and your acquaintances—a piece of yourself? The tone of your voice and your posture at the time indicated your sincerity regarding the issue, but please, you must be sure. This is not something to be taken lightly and, I assure you, I regard it in all seriousness.

Now, before I return to you my answer, I must ask if there is any piece in particular you wish to give. Surely, when you asked if I wanted a piece of you, you had specific parts in mind. I ask because I do not wish to take something that was not truly offered. Neither do I really wish to receive a piece that I may already possess. The portion that regulates your alcohol intake, for example, is similar to a part that already exists within me (though mine is certainly not nearly as worn from use). You do have some pieces that I do not. The multiple veins that pulsed and expanded throughout your neck are an example. The embarrassed girlfriend would be another.

Additional details that I would like to work out involve location. When you suggested we take it outside, what was your intent? Would this facilitate my receiving your piece? I would appreciate some feedback on this issue, as well as on any other issues you feel have not been addressed. Your recommendation that I get some, as you insisted, depends on your prompt reply.

Thanks, bro,
Kyle Sundby

AN OPEN LETTER TO
MY EYEBROWS.

November 11, 2004

Dear Eyebrows,

How did we get here? When I looked at you in the mirror a few minutes ago in the men's room, I barely recognized you, your untamed strands pointing in every direction but the proper one. Have I ignored you so long that you felt you needed to give me some sort of wake-up call? Has my treatment of you been so shabby that you felt the only way to get back at me was to be so unruly, so out of line, so ... blond? I mean, I haven't been blond in, like, 15 years. The rest of the hair has moved on from blond, to that sandy brownish color, and now, slowly but steadily, to gray. Not you. Not only have you steadfastly refused to follow along with the graying process (for which I'm somewhat grateful, I suppose), but you've carried it to an extreme, don't you think?

Look, I know you're jealous of the beard. It came in red, and there's nothing I can do about that. I know it hurts your feelings when people call me a redhead, because you and I both know that they're only looking at the beard. But this is getting ridiculous, you growing in all different directions, refusing to stay straightened out, and lightening into what looks like bad-home-dye-job blond. Is that what you want? Do you want people to think that I've dyed my hair this nondescript blondish reddish brown and that you're telling my secret? Or is it worse than that? Do you actually believe that people will think I've dyed you and not the hair?

Since I cannot divine your motives, I'm writing now to ask a favor. I will respect your decision with regard to color, whatever it is. Should you decide to hop on the gray bandwagon, I will support and accept you. But please, please, allow yourself to be straightened out and stay that way. We're only 37 years old; we can't have that bushy Andy Rooney look just yet. I promise that once we get older, and my (sorry, our) career is more stable, you can go whatever direction you choose. But for now, I'm afraid this is the way it has to be. I don't want it to come this, but I found the #3 guide for the hair trimmer, and if I have to use it before my job interview next week, I will.

Best Regards,

Don Moorhead
Evanston, IL

AN OPEN LETTER TO
THE INTESTINAL PARASITES
I MANAGED TO PICK UP
IN WEST AFRICA
THIS SUMMER.

August 7, 2007

Greetings, Soil-Transmitted Helminths!

Welcome to my digestive system! I hope you're making yourselves comfy. Judging by the generalized gastrointestinal discomfort I've been experiencing lately, I can assume that you are. But I'm really fine, don't worry about it. Luckily for me, the mental images associated with having hook-mouthed, bloodsucking parasitic worms feasting on my intestinal lining are far worse than any actual physical manifestations of such a condition. So far, anyway. But look who I'm talking to. You guys certainly know better than anyone what's going on down there. You have front-row seats to Ailea's Colon Show, by golly! Must be grand.

Anyhoo, just wanted to let you know there are no hard feelings over your unwanted breach of my lower tract. Aside from the occasional cold and a sinus infection once in high school, I've never actually had a real disease before, and I think this counts. Well done. This way, at cocktail parties for the rest of my life (or at least until something better comes along), I'll be able to nonchalantly mention that bout of hookworms I had in West Africa once. People will be intrigued by the suggestion of exotic adventures in my past. They'll think I'm very interesting and want to be my friends. It might go something like this:

STRANGER AT A COCKTAIL PARTY: These shrimp croquettes are a little overcooked, don't you think?

ME: Obviously you've never dealt with a case of intestinal parasites in post-conflict West Africa!

STRANGER: You're fascinating.

So, really, you guys are doing me a favor, see? Besides, if we're honest, it was pretty inevitable that we were going to end up like this, if you think about it. I had a hunch you might be in my future when I learned that people here don't necessarily use soap to wash dishes, and that human fecal matter often finds its way onto crops as fertilizer, and that most families live without a toilet per se. Who knows? Maybe you crawled in through my foot when I stepped in a puddle on accident, and made the journey to my abdomen by way of my lungs. If so, I admire your ingenuity and persistence, worms, as much as it horrifies me. But all that's in the past now.

So you don't hear it from anyone else first, I also wanted to tell you that I'm in the process of looking around for some form of benzimidazole right now. Once I find some, I'm afraid you'll all be faced with an eviction notice. Sorry to have to break it to you. But if I know nematodes, you guys have been busily doing it in my bowels and whipping up gobs of eggs, probably about 30,000 a day each, I've read. So have no fear—your progeny will live on in the puddles and soil of your beautiful nation, and I have every confidence that they will go on infesting the guts of unsuspecting visitors like me for generations. Thanks for all the good times, and goddamn you all and your freaky sci-fi existences.

Your unwitting host,
Ailea Sneller

Bernard -Polar bear without hair

2009-03-26T20:52:00.003Z

Ive been catching this show just before my tribe and I trapse out to school each morning, and I ALWAYS find myself chuckling hours later at these little snippets of slapstick. Bernard is a primative ,selfish ,impatient aalbeit curious polar bear who travels the world turning even the simplest thing into a funny but difficult challenge.He usually gets knocked unconscious at the end of an episode, due to some calamity caused by his bumbling but thats why I love watching it.

Darwinism & Evolution

2009-02-25T06:35:00.002Z

What with the bicentenary of Darwin celebrations mottled around the media and world THIS has to be the funniest debate about evolution Ive heard courtesy of nilpod.

Stuff N Nonsense

2009-02-21T16:16:00.004Z

Just a bunch of stuff that I found arsing around the net whilst shirking the responsibility to give a half decent post.

Freemans Mind

2009-02-16T13:55:00.003Z

I am no gamer by any stretch of the imagination but I do find this parody of half life incredibly funny, so much so that if and when I do play any shoot 'em up games I will always have this narritive going through my head. For the nerds heres the link where you can seemore

Big Brother

2009-02-16T11:22:00.002Z

My Brother recently decided to do a series of Podcasts with his friend Nicky. My brother is incredibly adept and entertaining when it comes to spinning yarns and I suppose I might be biased but I really think anyone can appreciate the humour and wit that is exchanged between these two. To Subscribe or listen to Wils ramblings theres also a story in there about me also that I havent posted up yet. Give it a try on a rainy night!

Information for the retentive

2009-02-11T13:12:00.001Z

The mind boggles....

Did You Know? from Amybeth on Vimeo.

The incessant plague of lazy spelling and meaningless phrases

2009-02-08T09:19:00.011Z

I have never claimed to be word perfect either in vocabulary, spelling or grammar but whats been poking the hamsters wheel in my head this weather is the way people are speaking and writing text speak. Its kinda contradictory that I will use expletives to convey my frustrations of these lazy bastards (I was going to call them uneducated bastards but they are not - I mean how many of us have gone to school and learned the word 'that', to be only abbreviated to 'dat'? Its only one fucking extra letter to write!!)If you are one of the unlearned masses that stalwartly refuses to either learn to spell or wash, then you may be in need of some enlightenment regarding your free fall into your own embarrassing stupidity - am I being harsh? Yes if you refuse to spell out basic words and numbers in the order which you were originally taught!!

This form of laziness seems to be spreading like wildfire,for example, whilst looking at youtube and reading comments on the various videos I'm watching (e.g., "Major Failur"), its incredulous the amount of people who refuse to spell simple words in order to look cool.

There seems to be a lot of people that feel the same ,recently I have some across this forum Here
They have a system called 'Smartness' which I reckon is a good idea, it may seem a little strict comma-wise but this is the run down of it

"Smartness
There's a lot of confusion about the smartness system. People are dumb and they don't know why. Here I'll try to explain some of the common reasons.

YOU DON'T LOSE POINTS FOR:

Saying words that aren't in the dictionary.
Saying usernames.
Quoting dumb people.

YOU DO LOSE POINTS FOR:

Saying lol, wtf, rofl, omg, o rly, rox0rs etc.
Typing in all lower case.
Not using proper apostrophes (dont wont cant im instead of don't won't can't I'm).

We're basically trying to stop people being lazy dumb idiots. Just type properly. I know people like to feel like the system is broken - but the fact is that they're just dumb lazy *****.

There's no real rewards to having a high smartness level but if your smartness drops below a certain level you will be automatically banned for a few days."

Now I'm no elitist, when writing I make errors but I can be forgiven for trying at least.'Smartness' is a great idea, can you imagine the chaos this would cause if implemented on Bebo, Myspace or Facebook? In conclusion, it seriously upsets me to give you anymore examples and research into this dark area. I'm just so tempted to join up to all these forums/comment box's and berate them for their laziness.
Before anyone points out the irony of my post I am aware that there are grammatical and spelling errors throughout.

Winter Blunderland

2008-12-03T11:39:00.002Z

I came across this snippet of news today and it was too good to miss!

Father Christmas was allegedly punched by a father who spent hours queuing and three elves are said to have been involved in the violent confrontations.

Lapland New Forest, located on the Dorset Hampshire border - which costs £25 a ticket - promises a magical festive experience - including a winter wonderland full of reindeers and log cabins, a skating rink and a magical tunnel of light.

However disappointed families have spoken of a "glorified car boot sale" with a Nativity scene on a billboard, a broken iceskating rink and huskies in a muddy field.

The park has now been renamed "Winter blunderland" and has received 1,300 complaints.

Adrian Wood, 49, a worker who resigned from the park said: "Santa was punched by a furious father who had been waiting in line for four hours.

"He had got to the front only to be told he couldn't take a picture of his children and that they weren't allowed to sit on Santa's lap.

"The family were then told they would had to get in another queue to get their presents - that was the final straw.

"He marched up to Santa and punched him in the neck and on the chin and the staff and his family had to pull him off - it was unbelievable."

It was claimed one child had to be comforted after finding a Santa smoking a cigarette outside his grotto.

Ivan Hancock, from Dorset County Council's trading standards department, said: "I've never known anything spark so many complaints in my 20 years of working with three different authorities. We have had 1,300 people contact us.

"I've heard of someone spending 3,000 pounds on tickets and terrible stories of real human misery," he said.

Henry Mears, from Lapland New Forest Limited, confirmed that his staff had been attacked.

"So far about six of our staff - three elves and three security - have been assaulted and all have been verbally abused," he said.

"One of our elves was slapped and had a pram pushed into her leg which has left a horrible bruise."

But Mr Mears insisted they were isolated incidents and most people were happy with their experience.

"I would like to point out that 95 per cent of the people who come to Lapland New Forest are extremely happy with it," he said.

Snowball of Time

2008-10-27T11:30:00.003Z

I feel almost awkward writing here, its been such a long time, Ive been so damned flakey (as per title of the blog) and various time constraints have been the biggest problem with me 'getting back on the bike'.. I feel embarrassed because I made some good friends here and have lost contact over the past few months for which I'm ashamed, just because cyberspace is not visceral does not hide the fact that the people behind the words which Ive been in contact with are very much corpareal... I suppose having my own pc would have solved a lot of things but its still no excuse. But I shall be back this week with a few stories for anyone who wishes to hear my inane ramblings again. Im a git and I know it..

Goo!

2008-06-05T13:46:00.002+01:00

Im not sure if you good folk across the pond are familiar with cadburys creme eggs that come out for a limited amount of time at Easter but these rather allegorical ads are making me and suolas convulse with juvenile laughter, is it just my perverse senso of humor or do you see it too???

I found my wedding band

2008-05-27T21:54:00.002+01:00

If I ever get married this is the band I want!

Dreaming of Tom Waits

2008-05-27T19:30:00.003+01:00

Today, Tickets to see Tom Waits went on sale in Dublin. I feel cheated, cheated by greedy bastard promoters who are charging 130 euro to see him live in a tent in a park here in Dublin (ok so its a marquee but when I have to fork out 130 euro for 1 ticket its a fucking tent, I want my acoustics damn it!)

It costs $80 or €50 to see Tom in America. Why the hell do we have to pay almost 3 times as much, its scandalous (question to MCD promotions -do you get a mask with that job of yours you fucking highwaymen??). Mr. Waits should, step in and force the promoters / ticket sellers to cut their prices in half, €116 to €131 for tickets is an outrage! for such a non-sell out icon his fans are getting financially raped.Even if I had that kind of money to go and see him I would wrestle with the fact Im being exploited by these greedy fatcats and Id like to think that I would enjoy Tom better with a glass of wine listening to Closing Time in the midnight hour..

Sleeping with the fishies

2008-05-09T21:30:00.005+01:00

Having such a bijou place to live there really is no other option on choices when it comes to pets. Ideally I would love to have a dog but its impossible and totally unfair on a canine com padre with no place to roam (and if I was going to get a dog it would be two of them for companionship) So I decided that a surprise was in order for the girls when I passed by a charity shop and seen a beautiful glass fishbowl in the window for a steal of 3 euro. The fish where quickly named Knuckle and Sammitch and my daughters squealed with delight and enthused over them for many days.Both Suolas and I looked up about their care and habits online and even got a filter pump to keep the little buggers in top form until we noticed something was awry, One of the fish was swimming like it had suffered a stroke, upon closer inspection it was missing a side fin.

Suolas was worried about the poor little bleeder and didn't hold out much hope for it when he discovered that knuckle was indeed having a nibble at sammitch on a daily basis. I too observed this on occasion whilst doing the dishes (the bowl is in situ at the kitchen window) tapping on the side of the fishbowl did nothing to deter him , sometimes he would stop and swim over to the side of the bowl, almost squaring up to me with that look of 'what are you going to do about it then??' in his glassy eyes. I thought maybe if the greedy bastard gets more food he'll stop picking on poor sammitch- no - he started to have a chew on sammichs dorsal, the ruthless Lectar of the goldfish bowl that he is.

When I got up this morning Suolas announced on the QT that Sammitch's suffering was over and he had made the journey from the white porcelain tunnel to the great fish pond in the afterlife. The girls where concerned of his where abouts so I told them he had hurt his tail and was collecting him from the goldfish hospital that morning. They where happy enough with this explanation as the truth would have been too much to absorb into their sensitive little hearts. So later in the petshop asked for the biggest MOFO of the goldfish that they had in the tank Survival of the fittest he he he. Anyway later when drying my eldest from the shower we got talking about sammitch's supposed injury and I told her he hurt his tail when he slipped on the stones - how did he slip on the stones ? she beckoned the question, distracted with her younger sisters mischief I said non chalantly that he was dancing to which she replied with the tone of disbelief and demand 'Dancing??!! I don't see no dancing EVER in the goldfish bowl! I was rumbled. when she was dressed for bed she walked straight over to the kitchen sink and stared for some time and announced there was no dancing going on but the big (new) fish chasing the little one. Sammitch can rest in peace now but my daughters curiosity wont.

Spring Cleaning

2008-05-05T21:14:00.004+01:00

I have not been able to any writing as of late or doing anything other than cleaning or decorating/DIY, Yes its that time of year again , a much needed clear out had been on the cards for a long time and after along days work Ive been rewarding myself with episodes of the very beautiful and sparkling 'Pushing Daisies' and enjoying a glass of ice chilled straight ameretti (Im a bit drunk at the moment so forgive me if I spelled that wrong ) So Im off now to shower and sober up before I get a bit too tipsy enjoy all of the below and I shall hopefully be back with something interesting to say.

Mitch Hedberg - My reason to smile these days

2008-04-21T08:08:00.004+01:00

Murder in the Playground

2008-04-20T08:18:00.004+01:00

The crescent moon of bark and mulch spilled over to the narrow pathway of the public seating in the play area of Merrion Park. The previous nights wind ensured the park attendant had its work cut out for him. I bring my girls here nearly every morning around 8:30am to breakfast with the birds and run the steam out of them before lunchtime. Its a ritual that starts off with them trying to climb up beside Oscar Wilde, then to the playground and then sitting on the late Dermot Morgans (Father Ted) Jesters chair to eat strawberry sandwiches and feed the birds.
Yesterday the little oasis of greenery here in the city took on a bit of a sinister hue. The playground is usually empty at that hour of the morning, so my girls have the run of the place. The silence of the playground was only broken occasionally with my children shouting me to look at them whilst they went down the slide or climbed a certain level of a climbing frame. Then a cacophony of noise invaded the air, I looked up to see two magpies rowing with a huge raven, the magpies where obscured by the foliage of the pine tree but I knew their machine gun caws and had no problem seeing the raven.

After about five minutes there was a cascade of feathers and alarming sounds from the birds that made the girls stop in their tracks. Clearly I could see the raven pinch one of the magpies neck and throw it with much force (and its owner) across a few branches where it slumped and fell to the ground just outside the perimeter of the playground fencing. The remaining magpie cawed furiously and the murdering raven absconded the scene. The other poor bugger flew down to its slain friend cocked its head and flew off. No doubt it went looking for the raven to avenge its friends death. I didn't think that ravens or magpies where predatory of their own species (as ravens and magpies belong to the corvid family) so I did a little bit of research to see why or what could have possibly happened - as it turns out magpies are notorious for eating other birds eggs so I surmised that it was possibly these partners in crime had upset the ravens nest and one of them payed a heavy price at the ravens beak. Did justice prevail ? Maybe. But explaining to my girls that the 'birdy was taking a rest' was easier than telling them a murder had just taken place amongst the flora and fauna of the park..

Object of Beauty

2008-04-11T13:45:00.004+01:00

I have been a stranger here for a bit, One reason was that of the death of my Aunt and another was that I couldn't find the cable for the camera to do this post justice. A while ago I ran a caption contest Which Slaghammer of Alchemy Anyone won. He gave me postal details which where slightly incorrect, so the package was sent back to me and I returned it back to slags corner of the world with the correct address. The very over generous Slaggy sent me an urn of his which I commented on some time back as a gesture of all the two-ing and fro ing in the postal japery that occurred. But that was not the end of everything , the parcel arrived alright but the postal service demanded over seventy euro for it (it was 7am in the morning when it arrived and I had not been to the bank yet so I declined receiving it that day and told Slaggy about it, he was furious so to cut a long story short after some conversations between both sides of the Atlantic to the Irish postal system the urn arrived back to Slaggy where his lovely wife Jilly put the correct customs documents on it and hey presto! It now resides in Chez Aucturas. I have shown everyone whos crossed my door since the object of beauty with its stew of smoke on the neck and the luster of beetle greens and damsons at the base (unfortunately the light in my back room here does it no justice) But I feel immensely fortunate and proud to have it in my collection. For the time being its settling in between a copy of Poe and Le fanu (on one of the many book cases here) Until we install the glass shelves and lights for the alcove. Publicly I would like to Thank Slag and Jill again for their Generous Gesture and patience of the backward system that is the Irish postal system.

Tinkles

2008-04-11T02:43:00.000+01:00

Something which is very overlooked music wise I think are Original soundtracks or rather movie scores. Nick Cave & Warren Ellis did the music to the Assassination of the Jesse James by the coward Robert Ford. It such a beautifully innocent mix of meditative and childlike wonder in music form.(what my girls refer to it as magic music) Ill let you listen to it and make your own decision on what it sounds like ..

Open letter to Naomi Cambell

2008-04-07T11:38:00.003+01:00

Dear morally vacuous featherweight coke-snorting spoiled-rotten demon-spawn Naomi Campbell

For some time now I have been barraged by the media with your scowl and tantrums. I did not go looking for it, somehow your stories took precedence over world peace, the starving and global warming in the news. Normally I ignore the courtship the media and you have but your most recent outburst and attack have made you uglier than I have originally thought you where (taking into account of your appalling level of conduct you should have gained the beauty of someone who stood beside the opening of the covenant). Lets take a look at your criminal history;

1998: Caused uproar on a plane when she lashed out at a passenger, saying: "You are an ugly bitch with a head like an alien."

2000: Pleaded guilty to assaulting her PA with a phone and threatening to throw her out of moving car in 1998. Ordered to attend anger management classes. A second PA also claimed she had been attacked.

Nov 2003: Sued by assistant, who claimed Campbell threw her on a sofa before keeping her hostage and throwing a mobile at her.

Aug 2004: Accused of punching and scratching housekeeper in New York.

Nov 2004: Accused of headbutting PA.

2005: Actress Yvonne Scio said she was left "covered in blood" after Naomi attacked her.

July 2006: Allegedly slapped assistant and beat her round head with BlackBerry. Settled out of court in June 2007.

March 2006: Charged with assaulting housekeeper with diamond-studded mobile, leaving 3in gash in her head. Sentenced in Jan 2007 to five days' community service.

Nov 2006: Accused of assaulting her drugs counsellor in London.

Being a somewhat fan of wrestling I believe I may have found you an anger management coach; I only hope your people contact her people to halt your temper tantrums once and for all.
Failing that , after a hard day with my kids I invite you to come to dublin where you can do your present community service and act as a conduit to my stress.

Sincerely

Jude

Irish History X

2008-03-27T08:48:00.005Z

Around the day after St Patricks Day I read an article about some English kid who got a finger severed off by a gang of anti English Irish youths in a scene which mirrored that in American history X. As soon as I read this I was quite confident the 17 year old in question was lying through his teeth. The following articles are the Irish Independants reports on the before and after stories..

Gardai cast doubt on Victims Story
HE made headlines when he claimed he lost his finger in a vicious attack by a gang of youths on St Patrick's Day because he was British.

But gardai said yesterday they were "happy" that the horrific injuries suffered by young pianist Guy Wallace were not caused by an assault and they want to re-interview him.

Mr Wallace (17) claimed the gang went ahead with the dismemberment, despite his desperate pleas for mercy.

During a shocking radio interview, the schoolboy, who is the son of a Conservative councillor in Somerset, said he begged the gang to leave him alone and even offered them money.

Ignoring his desperate cries, he said they put his finger at the edge of a kerb and jumped on it to sever it from his hand.

Despite an extensive search, his finger has not been found.

Last night, gardai said they were "surprised" at his account of an attack, which he had not mentioned during an interview with detectives in hospital.

A spokesperson said detectives were "happy" that Mr Wallace's horrific injury was not caused by an assault.

Gardai are seeking to re-interview Mr Wallace.

They said he had not suggested a racist motivation for the attack and had had no memory of being set upon by a gang.

Gardai are aware that he had been drinking in Temple Bar before going to McDonald's, on O'Connell Street, where he was involved in a minor altercation.

After that, there is CCTV footage of him running down O'Connell Street.

Members of the gardai later came upon him on Cumberland Street, holding his bloodstained hand.

Sources said that detectives are looking at the possibility that the schoolboy may have fallen.

They have interviewed witnesses who were at McDonald's and said it did not appear that Mr Wallace had suffered a serious assault there.

Headbutt

There were reports that someone may have tried to headbutt him in the fast food restaurant and he may have received a "slap" before running off.

In a radio interview yesterday morning, Mr Wallace claimed his finger was ripped off during an horrific attack.

He said he had became separated from his friends on O'Connell Street around 8pm on Monday night.

He claimed he met a gang that became aggressive after he said he was English and inflicted the horrific injury.

Mr Wallace, who is studying for his A-levels, made a hasty retreat from the city yesterday for a speciality hospital in Plymouth, where he received further surgery.

He arrived at Dublin Airport with his injured hand in a bandage at around 10.30am yesterday. He shielded his face from cameras as he spoke to his father, William, on the phone, before boarding a Ryanair flight to Bristol.

His father said he bore no grudges towards Irish people or Dublin and said it "could have happened anywhere".

William Wallace said his son had been a pianist for a long time and considered it a major hobby, although he was not contemplating a professional career.

"He's okay, but we're trying to get him to hospital to be treated properly," he said, following his son's arrival.

"Guy will get further treatment here but his finger has still not been found.

"This hasn't changed my opinion of Dublin and I love Ireland and the Irish."

His son also said he did not bear any grudge towards Ireland.

"It was a group of thugs not representative of everyone," he said. "I walked past a group of about five young men and they asked me where I was from.

"I said England and they got very aggressive. I was begging, I offered money and asked them not to hurt me. The next thing I knew I was on the floor.

"Then all I remember is pain in my eye and excruciating pain in my hand.

"My guess is they put my finger over a kerb and stamped on it. The surgeons at the hospital said it looked like a bite mark but I don't believe that."

But the young English boy, who plays rugby, said it has not changed his view of Ireland.

He said he believes his ability to play rugby and the piano could be affected but remained optimistic about the future.

"I play second row," he said. "I suppose catching the ball and passing might be affected."

"I have been doing research into bionic fingers so maybe I'll be able to get surgery."

OH HO HO HO HO HO Do I hear a Lee Major Wah wah Peddle??
(We Have the Shamrocks To Rebuild Him)

Severed Finger Found

A young man's claim that his finger was torn off during a vicious racist attack on St Patrick's Day has been dramatically disproved.

English tourist Guy Wallace's bloodied finger was found on top of a serrated railing in Dublin's city centre yesterday.

Eyewitnesses said the finger looked like a "burnt sausage" when it was removed from a steel fence surrounding an office car park.

Gardai made the gruesome discovery around 11.30am on Britain Place after CCTV footage showed the schoolboy trying to climb the jagged barrier.

The little finger from his right hand lay hidden for nine days in a gap on a steel bar that runs through the fence, and is impossible to see unless you stand back on the road.

It was positioned a few inches from sharp prods at the top of the eight-foot railing outside the Eircom building, which fronts onto Marlborough Street.

Sniffer dog

The finger's position at the top of the fence meant it had evaded sniffer dogs that had scoured the area for days.

Mr Wallace (17) claimed last week that he was attacked by a gang who callously ignored his desperate pleas for mercy.

He said the men had become aggressive after he told them he was English.

Despite attempts to offer them money, he said they ripped off his finger by placing it on a kerb and jumping on it.

He has since had surgery at a hospital in Plymouth but a re-attachment was impossible as his finger could not be found.

Last night, Guy's father William Wallace, a Conservative Party councillor in Somerset, and his mother, Lucy, insisted that their son had genuinely believed he lost his finger in an assault.

Frightened

"On the night of March 17, Guy had split up from his friends, he was lost and very frightened after suffering an assault in a fast food restaurant where he received a headbutt," they said in a statement.

"Due to this assault, he was sufficiently traumatised to link the event with the terrible accident that took place minutes later and genuinely believed that he had lost his finger in that assault.

"However, in reality it seems that during his panic-stricken run from the incident he attempted to climb a metal fence, which resulted in the loss of his finger.

"All we want to do now is concentrate on Guy's recovery from this terrible ordeal."

A senior member of the security staff at Eircom House said its 800 staff were terrified that a bomb had been found in the building after gardai began to comb the area yesterday.

Billy Nagle said he rushed outside and saw gardai remove the finger in a glass container.

"From a distance, it looked like a burnt sausage and was shrivelled up," said Mr Nagle, facilities manager at Eircom House.

"That finger has been out there for over six days up high on a railing where he was trying to get in. It slipped down off the railings and got caught in a bar near the top."

He did not believe gardai would have found the finger if they had not searched the CCTV footage.

"There were sniffer dogs here nearly two weeks ago and a female garda looked at the footage before last weekend but she searched the wrong part of the railing."

It is understood that there was "panic" during the afternoon after gardai discovered that the CCTV recordings are automatically wiped every few days and they only had hours to transfer it.

Detectives said Guy was drinking in Temple Bar before he was involved in a minor altercation at McDonald's on O'Connell Street around 8pm.

CCTV footage picked him up running down O'Connell Street before gardai came upon him holding his bloodied hand on North Cumberland Street.

Gardai arrested a youth (17) last Wednesday who was later released without charge and a file was sent to the DPP.

"Gardai investigating the alleged serious assault are now satisfied that the injured party lost part of his finger while attempting to scale a fence in a laneway off Parnell Street, Dublin," said a spokesperson yesterday.

"Investigations are continuing regarding a minor assault which took place earlier in the O'Connell Street area."

I hope this shameful story follows this kid for the best part of his formative years and his parents ground him until hes 30. We in ireland would have had no problem in supplying him with a new finger - granted it would have been a middle one.

Laughing at a funeral

2008-03-26T21:27:00.003Z

My Brother sent me this the other day, I thought it was really funny because the whole mentality of irish teachers and its classroom was spot on. If youre easily offended dont watch it and certainly dont have the kids around either.

Minghella Memory

2008-03-21T19:54:00.005Z

If you can ignore the alan rickman stalker in the making/fanvid and listen to Bach's - Cello Suite No. 5 in C Minor Im sure something will stir in the well of the soul, Minghellas movie 'Truly Madly Deeply' was my first real introduction to JS Bach allegros and sonatas and I have him to thank for. It is also a personal favorite of mine in the long list of movies that I love. To be honest its pisses all over 'Ghost' but then again most movies do. Mr Minghella - Thank You.

Unearthly Child

2008-03-21T17:43:00.003Z

Excuse my geekiness but on April 5th Doctor Who returns for season 4. April seems to be my geek freak out with new Battlestar Galactica , Heroes, My name is Earl , & Reaper commencing once more after the writers strike. Its going to be shameful the amount of time the idiot box will have possession of my soul!

Lifelines

2008-03-17T12:02:00.005Z

When I read my children their stories at bed time there is that lull before the sandman eventually calls and hopefully cements their eyelids shut until the next morning. In that hinterland of time I take to reading my own stories and books, the latest one is (although Ive had it for about 10 years) Lifelines. Between 1985 and 1992, under the direction of Niall McMonagle, a teacher of English, a small group of fifth formers at Wesley College, Dublin, wrote to famous people asking them to name their favourite poem, giving the reasons why. Those who replied had their letter and chosen poem published in booklet form by the students and the proceeds were given to sick and dying children in Africa which is always a most noble and worthy cause.In their letters to the teenagers, 223 famous people, including Carol Ann Duffy, John Gielgud, Maeve Binchy, Richard Branson, Mother Teresa, Jeffrey Archer, Raymond Carver, Paul Durcan, Glenda Jackson, Cyril Cusack, give honest, intimate, humourous, profound, but always revealing insights into themselves as they describe the reasons for their choice. Old favourites are dusted down and refreshed for us through their eyes. Poems once toiled over in school are seen in a new light

Ive been on a diet of fiction and non fiction for a while and it was a wonderful reunion to see my favourites and discover some new ones.When I read poetry in school, especially Yeats something changed inside me that stayed changed forever. To read Yeats or indeed any poetry, we must observe, measure, and judge the people and the properties of that particular universe. The interpratation of any poem is highly personal and is when the imagination, feeling, language and inspiration intersect in the mind, soul and heart of a talent. Sometimes we look to it for self definition, discovery, answers, consolation,humour, education, the list is endless as is their many worlds.
At the moment my favourite poem is No second troy by Yeats( on my playlist there is a song loosly based on this by sinead O connor ) A forgiving yet mournful tale of unrequited love Of Yeata and his muse Maude Gonne.

WHY should I blame her that she filled my days
With misery, or that she would of late
Have taught to ignorant men most violent ways,
Or hurled the little streets upon the great.
Had they but courage equal to desire?
What could have made her peaceful with a mind
That nobleness made simple as a fire,
With beauty like a tightened bow, a kind
That is not natural in an age like this,
Being high and solitary and most stern?
Why, what could she have done, being what she is?
Was there another Troy for her to burn?

If youre kind enough to leave a comment please include your own favourite poem and why.

St Patricks Legacy

2008-03-17T09:09:00.003Z

What better way to celebrate St Patricks Day than an sitcom about irish priests?

Dumb Guy

2008-03-16T21:35:00.003Z

This little story below tells me that Romance is a dying ideal, Ok so the guy thought he was doing something memorable for his love and a great story to tell his unborn children one day. But what it really tells of is not his dumb / nervous flummoxed idea of a proposal but of the reaction of his 'fiancee' - what ever happened to I want to spend the rest of my days with you because of you and not a rock? Clearly the biggest loss is that of his retarded emotions to the materialist wench he bought it for..

LONDON (Reuters) - It is the one moment every man wants to get right -- and which London floor-fitter Lefkos Hajji could hardly have got more wrong.

The luckless 28 year-old's dreams of giving his sweetheart, Leanne, 26, the ultimate proposal have literally vanished into thin air.

Hajji, of Hackney, east London, had concealed a 6,000-pound engagement ring inside a helium balloon. The idea was that she would pop the balloon as he popped the question.

But as he left the shop, a gust of wind pulled the balloon from his hand and he watched the ring -- and quite possibly the affections of his girlfriend -- sailing away over the rooftops.

"I couldn't believe it," he told The Sun newspaper.

"I just watched as it went further and further into the air.

"I felt like such a plonker. It cost a fortune and I knew my girlfriend would kill me."

Hajji spent two hours in his car trying to chase and find the balloon, without success.

"I thought I would give Leanne a pin so I could literally pop the question," he said."But I had to tell her the story -- she went absolutely mad. Now she is refusing to speak to me until I get her a new ring."

He is hoping the ring will still turn up.

"It would be amazing if someone found it," he added.

Thought for today

2008-03-12T22:28:00.001Z

Storm In A Teacup

2008-03-11T21:33:00.005Z

So last Weekend Ireland and the UK where told to 'Batten down the hatches' as the 'storm of the century' was bubbling up in the Atlantic and on its way to beat the glue out of these Isles. Now I love a storm , I know people out there in the USA who are living in Tornado Alley and the Gulf area wouldn't share that point of view with me - but Im from a mild and humble little country where the rain falls soft on green fields where the brae of a donkey is uninterrupted by the staccato resonance of raindrops. Its such a novelty for us. As children we where told of the mythical and humorous notion that the thunder was really the itinerants trying to steal the gates of heaven.

I was only 16 when the hurricane of 1987 came to these shores, and the romance of the lightning and the powerful winds did not conjure up fear in me, it made me feel alive with all things great. Watching the veined hands of electricity trying to grasp the earth, feeling the wind scream through your hair and having an almost exfoliating effect on your skin. The geography and landscape switching to from day to night in seconds, Beautiful yet savage, not thinking once about its consequential dividends.

So I was very much hyped up for the upcoming storm, we took all the flowerpots in from the veranda, made sure all essentials where in and watched the rainfall and satellite forecasts on the meteor logical Ireland site. And we waited .... and we waited until about 1am I gave up my dream of being 16 again.

The saying popped into my head as I lay my head on the pillow in a pissed off spoiled childlike fashion -'there can be only 2 things in this world that is certain; Death and taxes'

*this vid contains two of my favorite things tom waits & crystal gayle's album 'this ones from the heart' and some classy looking lightening.

You couldnt make this up

2008-03-05T19:18:00.004Z

It seems to me that Im accumulating wounds by the second here, On mothers day I recieved a shiney eight inch bruise from a wheelbarrow handle under my left shoulder - I swear you cant make this shit up! I was out in my mothers house on sunday and after doing some painting with the girls , I went outside to dispose of the paper to the recycle bin, when a raised crack on the pavement sent me sailing into air and I crash landed onto a wheel barrow.

I will post the distressing photo up as soon as I can but it will carry a warning - until then I can forget cutting a rug like Tommy boy here

Through the tears

2008-02-27T07:48:00.003Z

My Dad is extremely prudish, in fact I remember when we where kids, if any sign of nudity or talk of sex the newspaper would be raised to camouflage his beetroot hue, or he would walk out of the room saying nothing. He is old fashioned in that respect, its just around his kids or daughters he was like that I expect. So you can imagine how surprised and taken aback I actually was when he relayed the following story last Sunday to me.

The scene. My mother sitting at the dining room table leafing through the newspaper before settling down to the crossword.

Dad; Monica I literally have a pain in my arse, I think its those new underpants, it just feels so uncomfortable down there

Mom ; I have the very thing for you

fetches a spray

Mom; Now you would be better off spraying this on some toilet paper and applying it

Dad ; right so

My dad trusts my Mom with everything, down to choosing his clothes to giving him unprescribed painkillers/medication.

Dad did what he was told for the application, he liberally sprayed the toilet paper and made first contact, a white hot pain coursed through his arse, his eyes went like knobs on a church organ and to quote unquote,his toes curled so much that he 'pulled the bleeding tiles off the floor' .

Through the high pitched howls and the tears he looked at the offending spray which stated its main medicinal purpose was for athlete's foot and for jock itch. I think my dads tushy problems where misinterpreted wildly by my mother due to my dads communication breakdown to precise the area and the symptoms. Dad said he shuffled back to the kitchen 4 hours later to find out what the fuck (in his words) my mother was exactly playing at.

Relaying the events to my mother nearly gave her a migraine from the laughter. My dad did not move from his seat for the rest of the day and he said he felt like the was sitting on machette blade.

He said he couldn't watch the tv either through the tears.

Poor bastard.

Bad Smell

2008-02-26T20:11:00.002Z

For the small few of those who have returned to my blog to find yet again , day in day out I have written sweet FA I hope my presence here again comes as a pleasant surprise - you see on new years eve my infection that plagued my right leg since September decided to upsticks and move into the des res that is my left leg - but it was not as near hellish its first attempt to seek and destroy the first one. Leg one is doing nicely - despite the scar no longer needs to be bound like a chinese foot at a ripe age; Leg two is donning the mummy look with an elastoplast rigid bandage with harbours a coal tar paste muslin - so in zombie confectionary terms I would be classed as a double centre - hard but with a soft centre. My kids have been demanding and I dont feel like making entries if you'll pardon the pun, in my blog with both legs ellivated and spread (Id feel like I was missing a web cam in the process yknow) So to keep in with the tone of flakiness Im back, back in so far as when I can get the opportunity and when suolas has the apple free and down stairs where the net access is. I know it sounds very pishy of an excuse that I havent found at least one hour a week to do this but ask any mom of toddlers to find and hour a week to themselves and they will tell you that its the stuff of urban legend..So instead of disgusting you guys with details of pus filled wounds etc I decided to throw you a bone of humour that had me chortling way above the the prohibited decibles for sleeping children..
TOKYO (Reuters) - A Japanese man was arrested for trespassing this week after turning up at a high school dressed in a girl's uniform and a long wig, local police said.

Thirty-nine-year-old Tetsunori Nanpei told police he had bought the uniform over the Internet and put it on to take a stroll near the school in Saitama, north of Tokyo, on Wednesday, the daily Asahi Shimbun said.

When students standing outside the gates started to scream at the sight of him, he dashed inside the school grounds, hoping to blend in with the crowds of teenagers, the paper said.

They also screamed, forcing the man to flee, losing his wig in the process. A school clerk pursued him and stopped him at a nearby riverbank, the paper said.

Police confirmed the arrest of the man in school uniform and wig but declined to give further details.

Happy Christmas

2007-12-23T21:03:00.000Z

maybe not something to site down and watch with the kids A very happy christmas to you all

Getting my leg over

2007-12-14T13:08:00.000Z

So its been a month now since my last post - truth is this leg has been showing no sign of healing and the adhesive of the dressing was causing one mother of a reaction to the surrounding skin (the 'wound' is one and a half inches long x two inches wide) and it came to a standstill - since September this has been the bane of my life - so I was shipped off to a wound clinic in another part of the city to be given a 3 tier dressing from thigh to toe, this is not incidentally before they pulled me around , poked prodded and injected the 'wound' with a steroid (sans anesthetic I may fucking add) so previously I had been going to the docs every second day getting it dressed and then suolas had been playing doctor the weekend star that he is. My kids have been giving me the runaround sleepwise for the past 2 months and I have astonishingly enough been able to get organised for Christmas somewhat. I apologise to all my good friends who I haven't been in contact or visiting. I miss it so much but being mom and a leper at this stage is my only reason for not being around. Just to give you an idea listen to the lady trying to hit the maria carey note to give you an idea of the pain that I was in when I was injected. I hope to visit you all soon as I can find some black market chloroform for my kids

Never let a crackhead sing at your funeral

2007-11-14T12:01:00.000Z

If this does not sound like a walrus on fire I dont know.. More of a hiatus that I thought here. Thanks for everyone who stopped by.. you would think being at home I would have more time on my hands to get a few posts out no rest for the mother of 2 toddlers - Im thinking about putting them on e-bay 2 for 1 offer. Still Im in the middle of writing a mega post so bare with me..

The way I want to go

2007-10-25T20:35:00.000+01:00

I feel a bit of a fink being online for about oh all of 5 mins and not being able to communicate properly or devote as much time to blogging as I want to - its purely circumstantial - Suolas owns the pc and has to work from it , I on the otherhand have to learn new skills in cattle ranching as my girls get more boisterous and demanding (arent they supposed to get more independant as they grow older???) Anyway todays major oversight was being awarded 2 awards for blogging by the wonderfully rapier witted Pool. Id like to award the following ; For blogging that hits the mark,Région Frontière for Grenzgebiet, Flying Fox and Mister Pissed and for Im fabulous *Asterisk in a blog about nowt and Stucco for his Perverted tastes ( a man after my own heart!)

My major reason for being away this time is that it was My mothers 60th birthday - my mum looks very much a fox for her age, gifts included a selection of peacock feathers and swords, a very snazzy yet uber stlish petal cuff coat from marks and spencers and a pair of leopard skin killer stilletoes (trust me they are rather classy - I know leopard skin shoes are always a no no but these look like the where liberated from a burlesque dancer) Mac Make up and so forth - and thats for someone who's turned 60! Thats the way I want to go at that age!

So theres a bit of a meal tomorrow for all the ladies in my Mums life, family and friends. We are heading back to the thai restaurant where my sisters engagement party was held (3 tiny chinese guys playing fuck off sized guitars and singing 'do that to me one more time ' by captain and tenille). She also got some tickets to see a musical called 'menopause' which she has asked me to go to with her but I told her to ask her best friend on the basis that it may depress me for whats in store for me not so long down the road..

Anyway When coming home on the train from Chez Parents today I read this article in the scotsman

Stigmata' monk made a saint by John Paul is branded a fake
NICK PISAIN ROME
A MYSTICAL Italian monk made a saint by Pope John Paul II and who claimed to suffer the wounds of Christ was a fake who used carbolic acid, according to a controversial new book.

Padre Pio, who died in 1968 and was canonised in 2002, claimed to have first suffered the stigmata - holes in his hands and feet where nails pierced Christ at the crucifixion - when he was 24. He enjoyed a massive following, with thousands visiting him.

However, a book called Padre Pio and the Italy of the 19th Century, by historian Sergio Luzzatto says the wounds were self-created using carbolic acid and he claims to have found documentary evidence to prove it in the Vatican's secret archives.

A letter from pharmacist Maria de Vito, 28, who made a pilgrimage in 1919 to see Padre Pio at his monastery at San Giovanni Rotondo, near Foggia, and stayed for a month, said:

"The eve of my departure, Padre Pio called me to one side and, in great secrecy and asking me not to tell his fellow brothers, gave me personally an empty bottle he asked me to act as a chauffeur take it back from Foggia to San Giovanni Rotondo with four grams of pure carbolic acid.

"He explained that the acid was for disinfecting syringes for injections and he also asked for other medicines such as Valda tablets."

The letter said that a month later, a further request arrived from Padre Pio in which he asked for four grams of veratrine [painkiller] which was not available in her pharmacy, so she asked her cousin, who refused because he feared it was being used for faking his stigmata.

Now this guy is like the rock star saint in catholic Ireland the grannies and staunch spinsters LOVE THIS GUY, it will no doubt be like when Elvis died when word gets around this country!

The Plague

2007-10-14T20:33:00.001+01:00

Oh Hi ! Thought Id vacated the blogging world have you?? No such luck matey. What happened I hear you say well long story short- over the past month sometime in September I woke up to what I thought was a sharp breeze blowing on the calve of my right leg -it smacked of acute sensitivity and I took a look. There my expression collapsed into abject horror- grimacing and glaring back at me was in my minds eye another limb trying to grow out from aforesaid leg - and the reality was of equal horror, a golfball sized sack of strained skin which was filled with can only be akined to demon bile- the slightest brush of material would surely have detonated it - so the best plan of action would be a controlled explosion.

I dragged my leperous leg downstairs got some sterilised cotton wool, capsule of sterile water and sterile needle and lugged my way back upstairs blubbering to Suolas to lance ye black plague carrying vessel from my leg and Ohh did pain knock on my door when he did! My tortured cries where muffled by my pilllow biting and I went to the doctor quick smart to find out if some alien experiment had been botched when I was sleeping- he took a look gave me some 'kill a horse' antibiotics (lets not talk about the side effect of those beauties) and Im sill getting dressings every second day from the nurse even though its gone down 50% . It was so big of a wound (thats what they're calling it - makes me feel very heroic) it took most of the skin so Its not even an option to have the luxury of job hunting.

To further explain my absence Suolas was doing some serious work on the PC and since our broadband connection is downstairs I would have to wait for him to bring it downstairs and when he did I was like a bee in a jam jar with the kids. So HOPEFULLY my next post will not have too much of a gap to bridge.. Actually I wrote most of this when the girls where doing their arts and crafts today - With a coloring pencil and a scrap of recyled paper which kinda indicates how much I missed doing this. What Ive mainly being doing is mom stuff and watching with my ellivated leg Dr who, Torchwood , Heroes, Reaper and last but not least 'Jakers" Which is a kids show about a pig in Ireland but get a load of this; Mel Brooks does the voice of a Sheep in it - tremendous fun so it is!
Also in the aucturian world is Suolas and I celebrated 6 years together - longer than some vegas marriages Ill have you know but we are not about to get into our slippers and jammies during the day just yet. And something else that I overlooked is the important news that albino wannabe and full time buffoon - yes my mate Boris Johnson is running for the Job of London Mayor is incredibly worrying - if he does sell his soul to the devil for some magic beans and the post well all I can see is its going to be like car crash television you dont want to witness it but you'll look anyway...
Thanks to all you guys who have dropped me a line in concern of my absence - I have missed you all and promise I will be visiting your sites soon warning you all about large otters and the dangers of chocolate teapots

Not enough hours in the day

2007-09-11T08:42:00.000+01:00

Im finding things difficult to juggle being at home - between looking for a job, meeting the demands of my children and keeping the house; there just does not seem enough hours in the day and to top it off my leg is back to square one - the first time I thought it was a insect bite - now it turns out that it was an infection from the psoriasis that I have on my leg which went wild with stress over the last couple of weeks. Still I gotta take things into perspective - things could be a lot worse of between having no job, mountains of housework and having a gammy leg. Six years ago today the world changed forever and today thousands of people wake up with an even heavier heart and a listlessness in their soul. My prayers are with them.

what a world

2007-09-06T18:20:00.000+01:00

Stormy weather is an understatement to what Africas storms are enduring at the moment. This was on the BBC news website today - a thing of beauty isnt it? Ferociously mother nature turns the savannah into an electric storm -what breathtaking image! I was never afraid of thunder and lightening Mum told me it was god moving his furniture around and my Dad would tell me it was the pikeys/itinerants/knackers trying to rob the gates of heaven..

Another phenomena albeit manmade was something I seen whilst taking a break from job hunting.

How long does this kind of thing take to organise and do they actually have a life outside of training for it? Incredible and at a loss for words here.

Wanna Be Startin Somethin??

2007-09-05T09:57:00.000+01:00

Well after another long spell out of blogdom, one or two things points of interest has happened- I quit my job or rather as my boss would see it he fired me- either way I wasnt prepared to drag all the ill feeling and unhappiness back home with me day in day out for a paranoid dilusional and rude imbecile. It seems asking for a long overdue raise was completely out of the question, so standing my ground and pointing out the hard work I have done over the last 12 months was apparently 'questioning his authority' so I left. No job is worth you coming home crying with frustration, anger etc. Id rather spend my day with my family, job hunting and belt tightening than put up with anymore of his crap.

I expect he will be incontact with me soon since I hold the password to the company email etc but if offered a raise etc No money in this world will be good enough to make me work there again, and in the words of the obscure 80s band timbuk 3, I say 'the futures so bright I gotta wear shades'

Morning Glory

2007-08-21T09:16:00.000+01:00

Last Night I was pretty down about work. In short I hate where I work and Im not going to mope about it or complain, Ill just do whats required - get off my ass and do something about it. So With Suolas being away I was feeling a bit sorry for myself and went to bed with a bad cloud over me. Then this morning a very colorful package arrived in my door - my eldest whos 4th Birthday is on Thursday was yelling 'Oh mama a burtday present for me??!!' and in a way it was. The wonderful and Generous Pool had sent me a care package of glorious local gourmet delights which are indigenous to New England. Since all the feckin good cameras in the house are in the care of Suolas I have only my crappy little phone camera to record such delights before they are quickly devoured with the imminent arrival of my step children this week. I couldnt get the detail captured on the bottles, but there is a Jar of Cranberry Relish ideally partnered Im sure with Asagio Cheese crackers, A jar of wild blueberry jam and a wee jug of New England Maple Syrup but the sweetest and most thoughtful items in the package where the two cute stuffed unicorn and kitty for my girls (though they not recorded on my camera my girls wouldnt part with them or keep still whilst trying to take photos of them) It was a wonderful way to start the day and certainly gave me a warm fuzzy feeling that in this cold world of selfishness out there, there are individuals who's generousity and thoughtfulness go beyond the call of duty and their only wish is to cheer up grumpy self pitying shites like myself with resplendent results. Thank you Pool, You really are a Star!

So as I said my stepchildren are coming over for a week on thursday (they asked could they call me Mum and I still get a little lump in my throat when I hear them say it) My girls are going to go insane when they see them because they love them so much and will most likely kill one of them in bear hug crush. For me it means lots of cooking, washing up, teenage angst, make overs, squeels and so forth - dont get me wrong I genuinely enjoy it and when they leave even though my two can best the vocals of any trash metal band there is a resounding silence that fills the air. Both myself and the girls feel the pinch of the anticlimax and sadness of the tearstained goodbyes as their Dad returns them home. The only reason why I am daunted by their visits.

Update

2007-08-16T21:21:00.000+01:00

Its a bit like riding a bike this blogging. You spend some time away from it and its kinda hard to get back into the flow of things. Several small things have gotten in the way of this A my boss has noticed that I spend too much time on the net B recouperating from aforesaid illness C Suolas hogging the PC etc it all mounts up and then suddenly you feel like a spotlight on you to an attentive audience and you want to impress and be witty just to proove to yourself you havent lost that black magic you convinced yourself you had. You just have to put your best foot forward and write like you know what youre talking about I guess...

So Im off work looking after the girls whilst soulas swelters in spain at a splattering 73F I do not envy him. Meanwhile in Chez Aucturas we are sans proper washing facilities, A hairline crack in the shower tray that was clandestine to us decided to make its presence known by opening its mouth and turned itself into a gaping hole - I mean for a week or so I was smelling this foul smell that would gag a tramp if I got up in the middle of the night to the toilet -the place was doused in bleach and air freshner etc until the crack got bigger and thats when we noticed it was the water lodging under the tray and hence the stench. So the plumber was in, new shower tray fitted but the dampness rose up the wall and the tiles had to come out. So we are resigned to wash from the handbasin until the lazy arsed plumber can get his shite together which on wednesday next. I already feel like Im sweating the ebola virus so Im off to my mothers tomorrow to scrub myself raw.
I am also experiencing decent bouts of sleep since Suolas left, I mean usually I dont get to bed until about 12 or 1am then the girls wake me up in the middle of the night so I do this about 3 timesa night and then they are awake at 6am ish - get the idea ? Not much sleep. No wonder Im addicted to diet coke I think its the only thing propping me up these days. And before you say why dont you just go to bed earlier? Its not an option really because having two wee ones does not give you too much time with ones other half- its a parental curse bestowed by their offspring, But for now its put them to bed, indulge myself in an episode of Dr Who ( with the charismatic talents of David Tennant) wash and am in bed by 11 at the latest. I know this will be short lived but Im enjoying it all the same.

Thoughtful Blurr

2007-08-13T12:49:00.000+01:00

Apologies for the flakeyness of presence but I have been in the cyber wilderness with work being so busy and Suolas preparing for a film shoot in Spain this week (he has been working hard on his Mac editing stuff at home). None the less there is light at the end of the tunnel, I briefly had about a half hour just to check mail and gloss over the new entries on the brilliant blogs I read and Discovered the gorgeous Glamourpuss had awarded this pour moi.
So in turn Id like to award five others this wee award.

Pool of My Reflecting Pool

Crankster of Cranky Old Bastard

General Catz of Do You Feel Anything at All

Slaghammer at Alchemy Anyone

Stucco at Summer of My Discotent

They have all displayed thoughtfulness on a personal and social basis for me and awarding this to them is my way of saying thank you for doing so. Check them all out and the others too.

All is well..

2007-08-07T10:37:00.000+01:00

I’d like to thank everyone for their concern over the past week or so. Im fighting fit and am much much better. It will take me a day or two to get around to everyones blog which Im looking forward to - please bare with me. Anyway back to work here - I hope your day is better than the furhers!

Time Out

2007-07-31T12:03:00.000+01:00

Ive been feeling dreadful for the past few days, the antibiotics are playing havoc with my system so Im getting some respite at the mo, I will drop by all the wonderful blogs I read soon.. Thanks

FFF8

2007-07-27T03:48:00.000+01:00

The Boy who Kicked Pigs - Tom Baker
When thinking about Tom Baker everyone of my generation equates him as being 'The Doctor' from Doctor Who for others he may be the oddball voice over of Little Brittan. Theres a dark side to this guy, a very dark side, he chooses the road less travelled in the ravines of his mind and on the way pulls out disturbing stories like this.
The plot is quite simple; 13-year-old Robert Caligari is like most 13 year old boys thoroughly evil. Robert gets his kicks from kicking pigs. He has a humiliating experience with a bacon sandwich, after which he comes to the conclusion that it is the whole Human Race that he despises. He sees himself as a champion of all the animals that the Human Race hates Rats, spiders, snakes and sharks. This leads him down a very dangerous path and towards an exceedingly gruesome end. Robert Caligari Displays himself to a deeply nasty, twisted youth with a vendetta against everything pork related, and his tale is debauched foray into the fantasies and mindset of deranged boy who could be the devil himself if he wasn't so funny and oddly likeable. You won't like for a second the things he does, but you can't help but get a kick out of it.

Imagine Tim Burton but much nastier; Tom Baker weaves a modern fairy tale of rats, tarantulas, dead hollowed out trees, bull terriers, and pigs that really do fly - in a manner of speaking. And the creepy, stylish drawings by David Roberts add that extra level of nastiness to it. It's like a book of bedtime stories that fell in with the wrong crowd and got pierced in weird places.

The book was written as a children’s book, but there is enough meat in it to engross an adult reader. It is filled full of observations on normal everyday life and advice like being nice to people in authority (mainly because it really annoys them). I found it a truly engrossing and at times disturbing read, but one I happily go back to again and again.

I would however advise caution on giving it to kids as it does have a particularly gruesome and unpleasant ending.

A Bell for my Neck

2007-07-24T07:03:00.000+01:00

This is no fantasy. No careless product of a wild imagination. We are not dealing here with idle supposition
General Horsefly. A warped, would-be dictator. His only feeling is contempt. His only desire is to command
Wasp. Your only feeling is for the vicious General. your only desire -- to rule at his side. Mosquito. You are without words and without thought. Yours is a brute force. Together these three are responsible for the darkest episode in Judith's Leg history, the one attempt at insurrection against her reasoned way of life.

(General Horsefly in the shadow of insect repellent spray -phantom zone strength - held aloft by Judith)
‘You alone will condemn us if you wish. Judith , and you alone will be held responsible by me. I swear it! No matter that it takes an eternity! You will bow down before me..’.
The grey mass of the insect repellent has entered through the spray duct and closes down on the insects
...Both you, and then one day, your heirs!
Juuuudddith!

I woke up over the weekend with a limb that suspiciously looked like it belonged to John Merrik. It could only be an Insect bite, but I couldn’t figure out what kind because A we don’t have any bed bugs B if it where a bite surely it could only have been a mosquito, wasp or horsefly with the humid weather we have been having as of late. My leg felt like it was on fire,swollen like a balloon and was tender as fuck owee owee owee!. A cold pack was administered and cold cloths for the swelling to go down but even whilst resting aloft on cushions it did not seem to help much. So Im on a course of antibiotics now from the doc, and Im still walking with a peculiar gait and the leg is still tender. The swelling has gone down 50% but my leg still feels leprous..

FF7

2007-07-20T19:19:00.000+01:00

I’ve often stated my opposition and position on cats. I don’t tolerate them well, even physically I’m allergic to them. If we are to get down to the brass tacks of the root of the matter, they are the freeloaders of the domestic pets and smarmy with it. Kind of like a unemployed partner who gets to sleep all day, good meals, affection on tap, care etc and gives nothing in return. Our wolf is not impressed with them at the moment either as her face is nearly hanging off her with the ringworm she’s contracted from the feral cats in the yard. However there are always exceptions in any animal society that stand out from the crowd - making them….well exceptional. And they have made their owner somewhat famous and a pretty penny also. Whilst I cannot pick just one of his works out I have made a selection of 3 books of his as ‘appetisers ‘ if you will, Dianas Story, The Cat who came in from the cold, & Enough to make a Cat laugh..

Originally from Matlock in the UK, his first novel was ‘Diana’s Story’ is an account of his wife’s long running battle with ME. Diana was reliant on Deric, for the majority of her needs, throughout her illness but she held on fiercely to her independence until the last. Ultimately and inevitably Diana dies, but the book is not about her death; rather, it’s a celebration of her life and the impact she had on those around her. It sounds like just another sad autobiography, but the truth is, it is so much more than that. This book is funny. Each catastrophe, and each new medical problem, some of which would have ordinary people in despair, is seen by the participants from the funny side and narrated as such by Deric. “I guess you had to have been there” moments abound through this book, but thanks to the narrative skills , the reader feels that they were indeed “there” and can picture the moment perfectly. Incidents such as Diana falling downstairs, whilst the house is empty and breaking her arm, yet lying there painting the woodwork while she waits for assistance has the reader simultaneously in tears and in laughter. Upon arrival at the hospital, a nurse enquires of Diana what happened this time, and to a packed waiting room she announces that he hit her again, because his egg wasn’t cooked correctly.
Deric, Diana and the nurse burst into laughter whilst the waiting room looks on, horrified.
Incidents such as these abound throughout the book, mixing laughter with tears in such a way that the book turns into one of those you cannot put down. You can feel the raw emotions coming through the page, sadness, resignation, love, grief, hilarity and acceptance; often all in the same sentence.
Deric also wrote of another loss in his life which was made into a movie ‘Lost for words’. Which was about the relationship and downward spiral of his mothers Alzheimer’s condition. My mother read the latter and recommended I read it since we had just lost my Nana to an eight year battle with the dignity stripping condition. His use of humour and positivity where a tonic for the spirit, especially since I had just suffered a huge personal loss myself. His ability to envelope the reader completely in his world was a much needed diversion from torment of a broken and destroyed heart. I bought every book of his and sat down for two weeks in an effort to turn the grief into laughter and Longden can only be described as a magician of words for me.
In the cat that came in from the cold Deric Longden’s neighbour Patrick, has just acquired a kitten but doesn’t seem to be very responsible. It’s raining and the kitten is outside. His intentions are only to temporarily rescue it from the elements and return it back to Patrick. Deric’s life however is going to change dramatically and somehow a kitten will become a new focus in his life. Longden confesses he was never a cat-lover but he and his wife, English novelist Aileen Armitage, adopted the stray and named him Thermal after he nearly froze in their refrigerator and recounts the misadventures of a high-energy cat who eats peanut butter, cavorts with dachshunds, shreds envelopes while sitting in a wastebasket and stays away from home for a full month. The cheerfully busy household expands when a second adoptee, Tigger, turns the cellar into a halfway house for roving neighborhood cats. As Thermal changes from an ankle-rubbing sycophant to a toilet-roll-spinning terror, it's touching to watch Longden's affection for and understanding of his feline friend blossom

In Enough to make a cat laugh’ Deric mainly writes now about his life with his wife and his army of his cats -the likes , dislikes and special personalities of his feline family; Thermal, Tigger, Arthur and Frink , sharing with the reader warm, amusing and entertaining anecdotes. And when not talking about his cats Deric also makes the most ordinary occurrences luminous , looking at the absurdities of life and stopping to actually think about what is said and done and putting a different slant on things. Here is one such example of him visiting a deli in the supermarket ‘As I stood there my eyes were drawn to a small sign that had been rammed deep into an innocent sausage roll. “Free-Range Pork Pies“. Instantly my mind was off once more, this time to a sunny knoll atop a flower-sprinkled meadow somewhere deep in the heart of the English countryside where a couple of rather mature Melton Mowbrays were keeping a watchful eye on their individual pork pies as they romped gaily amongst the buttercups and daisies below" The book chronicles a year in the life of the Longden household, starting with spring then summer, autumn and finishing with winter. New members of the family include Arthur’s wire brush and a sultana called Ralph – but you will have to read the book if you want to know more about these two! This is a book guaranteed to make you laugh if you have any connection with cats in the house yourself but, on the other hand, it is equally able to give you an understanding of cats , their owners and the bond they have. I still don’t like them though

Windows of the Soul

2007-07-17T10:03:00.000+01:00

When I was a young child our school had 'tours' rather than field trips. There would be an average of about 2 a year usually to the Zoo or to the theatre at christmastime. The Natural History museum and art galleries where my favorites as the 'tour' mix was rehashed each year, they never ventured out of the security of the theatres and museums; much to the pupils dismay . For a geek child like me I was really happy with the tried and tested formulae, (thinking back, there must have been a touch of Martin from the simpsons about me back then).
The`Hugh Lane Municipal Gallery of Ireland was one such port of call on a 'tour'. I remember the topical exhibition for that particular day well as it was exhibiting toy designs through the ages (guaranteed to capture the attention of all 11 year olds). In one section of the building there was a 'dark room' , dark so much as it was black marble walls with sections cut out which illuminated the stained glass works of an artist called Harry Clarke. I was enchanted when I seen Keats' The eve of St Agnes' with its fairytale qualities, the lusciousness of color and incredible detail. I remember buying all the postcards available of his works in the museum shop afterwards. I was hooked. My teacher at the time gave me the address's of various churches and places where his works where in situ in Dublin. They became regular haunts of mine when I got older and more independent, appreciating it that little bit more of this Oh so impeccably rendered work.
As you can see from his style he is quite original. His use of Cobalts, indigos and emeralds give his subject content a more spectral and otherworldly quality . He has been described as Ireland’s greatest stained-glass artist and arguably the finest of his time in any country. On top of that, he was an illustrator of genius and wide range, particularly in black and white, whose works in this field have been collectors’ items for decades. Born in Dublin to Joshua Clarke, a Stained glass manufacturer, Harry, when 16 completed his education in his main field, and travelled to London, where he sought employment as a book illustrator. Picked up by the famous London publisher George Harrap, divined his genius and hired him, on the spot, to provide illustrations for an edition of Andersen's Fairy Tales in both a trade and deluxe edition - almost unheard of for an untested, unknown and very young illustrator he started with two commissions which were never completed: Samuel Taylor Coleridge's The Rime of the Ancient Mariner (his work on which was destroyed during the 1916 Easter Uprising) and an illustrated edition of Alexander Pope's The Rape of the Lock.Difficulties with these projects made Hans Christian Andersen's Andersen's Fairy Tales his first printed work , this was closely followed by an illustrations for an edition of Edgar Allan Poe's Tales of Mystery and Imagination. The latter of these made his reputation as a book illustrator . The last of these is perhaps his most famous work, and prefigures the disturbing imagery of 1960s psychedelia. It's very important to realize that Clarke wasn't just illustrating books. To only consider this aspect of his creativity is greatly misleading. Illustrations may have paid the early bills, but stained glass was his career.Unfortunately, ill health plagued both the Clarke brothers, and worn down by the pace of their work, and perhaps the toxic chemicals used in stained glass production, both died within a year of each other -- Harry second in early 1931, of tuberculosis while trying to recuperate in Geneva Switzerland. Harry gave me a deep appreciation for his profession and set a certain standard that not many can come close to. The Irish people should hang their heads in shame for not singing their sons praise to the world as in my opinion he belongs up there with Klimt, Mucha, Beardsley for international crittical acclaim. If you ever venture into this little corner of the world do yourselves a favour, visit the gallery and enter the realm of clarkes fantasia. You will not regret it.

FF6

2007-07-12T14:00:00.000+01:00

Two for the price of one Im giving you today guvnah.

Smoke & Mirrors

I have a long history with Neil Gaiman - he was my introduction to the graphic novel. Without coming on all geeky for those not au fait with his works, he penned stories for his Sandman series of Comics and Death Comics - essentially Sandman is exactly who he is - the bringer of dreams and the latter, Death, his younger sister. He was a breath of fresh air by ways of the horror genre that I was reading at the time and my interest in the graphic arts had me entranced with the embelishments on both covers and inside the pages.
It is all too easy to dismiss this guy as a 'comic writer' only knowing that small nugget of information but Neil Gaiman has been acclaimed by writers as diverse as Norman Mailer and Stephen King.. He is a wonderful story teller with an eye for the strange in our everyday lives. Neil always blended and blurred the fantasy and reality of the mundane in a beautifully seamless way. His book Smoke & Mirrors is a collection of stories that will dazzle the senses and haunt the imagination. Miraculous inventions and unforgettable characters inhabit these pages: an elderly widow who finds the Holy Grail in a second-hand store...a frightened little boy who bargains for his life with a troll living under a bridge by the railroad tracks...a stray cat who battles nightly against a recurring evil that threatens his unsusupecting adoptive family. A murder in Heaven.. In these stories, Gaiman displays the power, wit, insight and outrageous originality that has made him one of the most unique literary artists I have come across in the last 15 years.. I recommend it highly for any vacation, just to keep a chill in the blood!

Dancing with the Dark - Steven JonesThis is a book filled with true encounters of the paranormal kind. But the difference with this book is the experiences are those experienced by the most un-likely people, which you would expect to get frightened. People like the famous horror writer Stephen King whose novels have given many readers chills, the well known writer James Herbert and classic horror film actor Vincent Price to name but a few of the icons of the horror genre whose tales are retold in this fascinating novel of paranormal brushes with spectral visions, phantom footsteps, encounters with ouijia board, premonitions of disasters are just a few of the experiences that have changed the very lives of the people who make their living from the horror genre. It truly is a fascinating read when you 'hear' the voices of fear tell their own true accounts; its a bit of revenge for the reader in a way to be honest! I havent read this book for a few years but some of the stories did give me goosebumps (a very hard thing to do) The one that sticks out the most is Ramsey Campbell's "The Nearest to a Ghost." He goes to the cemetery to scatter his mother's ashes and feels a powerful sense of grief that isn't his own. The feeling vanishes after a moment, his own grief returning. Steven Jones I imagine had several good nights of exchanging stories and toasting absent friends with some of his contributors, what an enviable project to pursue!

General Tag

2007-07-10T14:30:00.000+01:00

General Catz tagged me with 5 bands or musicians that I really like and to be honest I find these tasks very hard to complete mainly because I have such a broad spectrum of musical tastes I find it hard to nail down 5 bands. My choices I suppose here are the ones that stuck out for me at this point in time. If asked the same question tomorrow I could well have come up with Bowie, Zeppelin, Pantera, My Ruin, and the Sundays. So Just to keep her on her toes Im going to tag her back with the 5 most emotional songs she likes and why.
Im going to tag Puss, Pool and Flyin Fox with this..

Dead Can Dance
Lisa Gerard & Brendan Perry - This music just makes me feel so alive, with either of them vocalising separately or together. Both surge passion into the lyrics with their voices. Their music can be described as ‘world’ music I suppose. But to me its flavoured of sultry eastern nights, evocative, otherworldly, exquisite and lusty.

Cocteau Twins
Elizabeth Frazer’s voice is just liquid air. Most of their ‘lyrics’ are just another language that Liz just seems to know exclusively. But perhaps the most enrapturing and enchanting albums to own in your collection or to be introduced to their works are as follows Victoria Land (an album to listen to on summer evenings, cloud busting or just chilling out in the grass ; a musical labyrinth into a forest of images. Bluebell Knoll this is an excellent backdrop for Christmas , its hard to explain, ethereal vocals and sound just seem to give the ambience of clear starry night cosiness.
Heaven or Las Vegas, perfect album for driving at night- its calm without making you fall asleep at the wheel.

Nick Drake
A gentle musician and voice, guy died way too soon and was painfully shy as a person. I first discovered him when I was about 14. He was a bit of a hippy but not overt with it; to me he seemed to balance an appreciation of nature, angst, wonder and gentle humour - not an easy task but one he accomplished with such panache and ease. When I was 15 a letter I wrote weaved through a handful of his producers to his mother and we corresponded for a few years up until her death. In many ways I would not be the same person today if it were not for his music.

Tom Waits
If I ever got married Tom was going to be the entertainment on a piano. I love his rich intoxicated gravel tones and he’s just such a smooth bastard without realising it. Many a tear has been brought to my eye with his lyrics. He did a fabulous job on the soundtrack to Coppollas ’this ones from the heart’ with Crystal Gale. I have many, many favourites of his; Heart attack and Vine, Martha, Never need a wife, World died Screaming, Swordfish trombones I could go on... His voice and sound are unique and it makes me never want to visit New Orleans as I would be sorely disappointed to walk into a bar and not find him on a piano there.

Depeche Mode
Ok I know what you’re thinking - synth yes? 80s Yes? But I love these guys for their lyrics, alright they maybe poppy little beats sometimes but Martin Gore is an intimate lyricist with a penchant for S & M. To me these lyrics (not all of them mind) Get under my skin in an arresting and sensual way, Dave Gahans voice can be hypnotic and gets me into my vixen mode at the drop of a hat.They are indeed a guilty pleasure of mine but also a proud pleasure of mine also..

Looney Lyrics

2007-07-09T09:52:00.000+01:00

In a blog about nowt *asterisk's latest post was his 666th and was discussing the connections of the Devils number, Satanisim and dark lyrics - which gave me food for thought (devils food if you will- such is diabolical word play). The first thing that came to my mind was Nick Caves Murder Ballads album, dark stories infused with music to an era belonging to Lizzie Borden and the backdrop of modern America in its infancy. Quite an album it is. However I simply love this track which is the narrative of a 15 year old girl who is of course a murderer but is well aware that she is 'psychotic' and is happy to be in such a disposition. Its upbeat tempo carries the craziness of Lorretta, our anti hero of the 'story'. Since it was never released (all this pun??!) as a single some people have put up their own vids on youtube so to give you an idea of the song Ive also put up the lyrics too just incase the video prooved too distracting to the story.

Again the memory was in overdrive with strange/ memorable / funny lyrics thinking about this subject, when a faint familiar ethereal voice lurked in the back of my mind, so I started to listen hard, the voice became stronger and clearer until I found myself singing the line 'shes got skin thats like prarie dog leather' - yes it was porky pig from the cartoon 'Drip along Daffy'. Two things , if I can, I will always look for a reason to geek out about warner brothers cartoons, and can sit happily all day watching these cartoons and feel like I havent wasted the day at all. Michael Maltese wrote some damned funny lyrics for the warner brother cartoons and this is one of his examples - a cowpunchers sweetheart?!!! As you can see Ive yeilded to temptation and posted up the cartoon itself. Nasty Canasta is one of my favorite charaters, amongst his string of crimes he is wanted for, aside for cattle rustling, is for square dancing in a round house. Ahh the rapier witt of those writers, cant get enough of them. Enjoy the show.

The Flower of Gower Gulch - Michael Maltese
She's the flower of Gower gulch
A cowpuncher's sweetheart true
And her looks don't amount to much
'Cause one of her eyes is blue
She's got skin just like prarie dog leather
She cooks nothing but chuckwagon stew
Her name is Minurva Ulch
She's the flower of Gower gulch

Nick Cave - The Curse Of Millhaven Lyrics

I live in a town called Millhaven
And it's small and it's mean and it's cold
But if you come around just as the sun goes down
You can watch the whole town turn to gold
It's around about then that I used to go a-roaming
Singing La la la la La la la lie
All God's children they all gotta die
My name is Loretta but I prefer Lottie
I'm closing in on my fifteenth year
And if you think you have seen a pair of eyes more green
Then you sure didn't see them around here
My hair is yellow and I'm always a-combing
La la la la La la la lie
Mama often told me we all got to die
You must have heard about The Curse Of Millhaven
How last Christmas Bill Blake's little boy didn't come home
They found him next week in One Mile Creek
His head bashed in and his pockets full of stones
Well, just imagine all the wailing and moaning
La la la la La la la lie
Even little Billy Blake's boy, he had to die
Then Professor O'Rye from Millhaven High
Found nailed to his door his prize-winning terrier
Then next day the old fool brought little Biko to school
And we all had to watch as he buried her
His eulogy to Biko had all the tears a-flowing
La la la la La la la lie
Even God's little creatures, they have to die
Our little town fell into a state of shock
A lot of people were saying things that made little sense
Then the next thing you know the head of Handyman Joe
Was found in the fountain of the Mayor's residence
Foul play can really get a small town going
La la la la La la la lie
Even God's children all have to die
Then, in a cruel twist of fate, old Mrs Colgate
Was stabbed but the job was not complete
The last thing she said before the cops pronounced her dead
Was, "My killer is Loretta and she lives across the street!"
Twenty cops burst through my door without even phoning
La la la la La la la lie
The young ones, the old ones, they all gotta die
Yes, it is I, Lottie. The Curse Of Millhaven
I've struck horror in the heart of this town
Like my eyes ain't green and my hair ain't yellow
It's more like the other way around
I gotta pretty little mouth underneath all the foaming
La la la la La la la lie
Sooner or later we all gotta die
Since I was no bigger than a weavil they've been saying I was evil
That if "bad" was a boot that I'd fit it
That I'm a wicked young lady, but I've been trying hard lately
O fuck it! I'm a monster! I admit it!
It makes me so mad my blood really starts a-going
La la la la La la la lie
Mama always told me that we all gotta die
Yeah, I drowned the Blakey kid, stabbed Mrs. Colgate, I admit
Did the handyman with his circular saw in his garden shed
But I never crucified little Biko, that was two junior high school psychos
Stinky Bohoon and his friend with the pumpkin-sized head
I'll sing to the lot, now you got me going
La la la la La la la lie
All God's children have all gotta die
There were all the others, all our sisters and brothers
You assumed were accidents, best forgotten
Recall the children who broke through the ice on Lake Tahoo?
Everyone assumed the "Warning" signs had followed them to the bottom
Well, they're underneath the house where I do quite a bit of stowing
La la la la La la la lie
Even twenty little children, they had to die
And the fire of '91 that razed the Bella Vista slum
There was the biggest shit-fight this country's ever seen
Insurance companies ruined, land lords getting sued
All cause of wee girl with a can of gasoline
Those flames really roared when the wind started blowing
La la la la La la la lie
Rich man, poor man, all got to die
Well I confessed to all these crimes and they put me on trial
I was laughing when they took me away
Off to the asylum in an old black Mariah
It ain't home, but you know, it's fucking better than jail
It ain't such bad old place to have a home in
La la la la La la la lie
All God's children they all gotta die
Now I got shrinks that will not rest with their endless Rorschach tests
I keep telling them they're out to get me
They ask me if I feel remorse and I answer, "Why of course!
There is so much more I could have done if they'd let me!"
So it's Rorschach and Prozac and everything is groovy
Singing La la la la La la la lie
All God's children they all have to die
La la la la La la la lie
I'm happy as a lark and everything is fine
Singing La la la la La la la lie
Yeah, everything is groovy and everything is fine
Singing La la la la La la la lie
All God's children they gotta die

FFF5

2007-07-06T09:31:00.000+01:00

Penguin brought out a series of little books in the early 90s; they were a set of 60 small books in celebration of Penguin's
60th anniversary. In Britain they were priced at 60p. They where about eight inches high and covered all manner of authors from William Blake , F Scott Fitzgerald, to Hemmingway and Pinter. I started to collect handfuls of them, reading them with gusto when journeying to and from the city where I worked. For 60p they where a steal and a great introduction to many different genres. They also introduced 60 for the american market also, so I tried to collect as many different titles as I could. One I particularly warmed to was a little novella titled ‘ His mouth will taste of wormwood and other stories’ by Poppy Z Brite. They where simply 4 little horror stories that where, for want of a better word ,’enchanting’ in a dark way. So I searched for more of her works and the first actual book I bought of hers was the collection entitled Swamp Foetus.(Ive recently learned that the title of the book was changed due to the fact the publishing house was getting so many complaints of the word foetus, they re-published the book under the new title of ‘wormwood‘) it had the four original stories that I had previously read in it . My favorite two though which stand out in my mind where ’his mouth will taste like wormwood, firstly because it had a vampire and voodoo theme to it and Poppy Z. Brite’s writing style was elegant , fluid ,grim and manages with a few words to conjure up decadence, decay and forbidden empty pleasures in a steamy New Orleans setting. She masters her style to write some truly horrific scenes with a few simple words especially with her descriptions of Howard and Louis’s grave robbing activities in Wormwood. The second tale that I loved was the Sixth Sentinal - basically about a stripper in a bar in New Orleans who is befriended by a Ghost that haunts the bar where she works, enamoured with her , he proceeds to try and push his unrequited love to the edge resulting in a great plot twist. All of the stories in this collection are spun with a dark thread and there should be no comparisons to Anne Rice.I remember hearing that Poppy Z Brite was going to be giving a Q & A at Trinity College here in Dublin, at the time I was living in Dublin but also doing a comic strip for a ‘Goth Zine‘ in London. Stuart, the editor (who is now an editor for a very popular vamp/goth mag called ’bite this’) squeeled with delight when I mentioned this to him and told me to get down there for an exclusive interview. The woman was pixie in size and features and resembled a 12 year old with her sparse make up and short tight hair. After the Q & A I did a short interview with her and she and another author travelling with her , Caitlin Kiernan asked me to bring them / direct them out of the massive grounds of the campus and back to her hotel which wasn’t too far away really. As we walked she asked about the history surrounding the college, irish landmarks and a few recommended places that I thought she may be interested in visiting. She was warm, open and generous as most writers are I suspect. And I left with an armful of signed copies of her books , photos and an exclusive interview. Not much more I could have asked for really.
Although Poppys finest hour is the vampire novel ‘lost souls’ (which incidently I would love to see on film). When she wrote ‘Exquisite corpse’ ( a story about a correspondance between a jeffrey dahmer character and a Denis Nielson character) I feel she began to loose her way or rather in hindsight I outgrew her. There is only so much bisexual dark love I can handle (And I mean that in a non homophobic way) up until then, her books captured that strange fixation of the late 80s and early 90s with vampires, ghosts and gothic horror, mixed with the emerging internet age. It was very exciting to read her and still is up to the point of ‘drawing blood’ novel. I know this does not seem like a good review to the lady and her works, but believe me when I say they are good they are or else the would never grace the FFF slot but there is a point to where my personal tastes stop and the masse does not. Wormwood is a refreshing and elegant piece of work without being pretentious or of the romantic dark love so many goth kids go for. For me she blossomed for about 3 books, Wormwood, Drawing blood, and Lost Souls. Before I started to write this I was fired up with great admiration for these but I found it hard to praise her when I feel her new direction although sometimes repetative with the gay slant , just nosedived in quality , plot and theme. I promise to do next friday justice..

Pissed off a tinsey bit

2007-07-05T21:06:00.000+01:00

Someone put a looping link in the comment box today and it pissed me off as it prooved really hard to delete - I could have used the waco kid to be quick on the delete comment forever button because it was that quick. Now I dont want to moderate comments as I believe in freedom of speech but dont fuck me about with your whore wares via my page. Im sure Im not alone but there are ways and means of tracking down you sneaky bastards. You have been warned.

Cringe

2007-07-05T13:02:00.001+01:00

When the world and all its scientists are watching your 'breakthrough' unveiling of clean energy with zero emissions and waste - the science of murphys law will kick in. Ive been following this story for a couple of days now and when I read this I nearly climbed the walls in empathetic embaressment for these dudes.. Please read on..

05.07.2007 - Last night at 11pm, a device by Irish technology company Steorn that claims to create energy out of thin air, failed to make its first public appearance, as promised, live on the internet.

As members of the public milled around outside the Kinetica museum, and many others logged on to the webcam last night, it was revealed that the hypothetical perpetual motion machine fell victim to the laws of physics and failed to continuously power the rotating outer wheel.

The intense spotlights surrounding the perspex case in which Orbo is enclosed have been cited as a possible reason for its malfunction, although engineers are still investigating.

“The display case itself is under a lot of lighting, it’s very hot. We think we’ve destroyed one of the bearings on the system, it’s not the technology itself,” said CEO of Steorn, Sean McCarthy, speaking to SiliconRepublic.

Steorn say that the intense heat should not affect future applications of the Orbo technology as this is just a prototype. The prototype was set up in the museum on Sunday and as of Tuesday night, McCarthy said it was functioning perfectly until yesterday when it froze suddenly.

The Orbo free energy device is no longer on display in the Kinetica Museum in London. Engineers are testing it off site, said McCarthy , who is currently looking at the machine with his engineering team, trying to assess specifically what happened, and if it is permanently damaged.

The four webcams focused on Orbo will still go live later this afternoon, to ensure complete transparency to the public, said McCarthy, but Orbo will not be present.

“We did break the barings when we were installing it, but it looks to us almost certainly that it is probably the intense heat from spotlights that were only installed yesterday afternoon,” said McCarthy.

To remedy this, McCarthy said: “We could put fans all around but then we’re pushing air across the wheel,” which would attract the same amount of suspicion as hidden batteries.

McCarthy is hopeful that the Orbo will be functioning for public viewing soon.

“I’m standing beside a couple of engineers who are staring into it right now,” he said.

4th of July

2007-07-04T21:16:00.000+01:00

To all the good people on the otherside of the pond; if you're having a crappy 4th of july either one of these are bound to make you smile. Happy 4th of July to all who read/comment and lurk here!

The Gene Genie

2007-07-02T09:23:00.000+01:00

Last night when watching Channel 4 I chanced upon one of those 10 second quotes between programming that celebrities and actors make commenting about the art of film, movies and life in general. The pearl of wisdom came from Gene Wilder and I couldnt hear what he had said as I was deaf with shock to see how much this great man had aged, sunken in frame and generally looked a shadow of his former self and I learned he was hospitalized with non-Hodgkin's lymphoma in 1999 and made a full recovery in 2000. It sure has taken its toil on him along with old age.
It takes a certain type of nerd to appreciate an actor like Gene Wilder I think. Although he has a chequered resume for turkeys as far as movies are concerned, he no doubt won the glittering prizes of his career with Mel Brooks and Richard Pryor. He had been reletively quite on the movie front for the past 15 years preferring writing and directional roles rather than acting. When Surfing the web just to see what he had been up to in this 15 year wilderness I came across an account of how he and Mel Brooks met. It was 1963. Anne Bancroft was doing “Mother Courage and Her Children” on Broadway. She asked her friend Gene Wilder, “Do you want to meet my boy friend?”

Why not?

Gene extended his hand to Mel Brooks and complimented him: “You look great in that P-jacket.”

Mel, ever the comic, shot back: “They used to call it a urine jacket, but it didn’t sell.”

Such was the start of a famous collaboration that included Gene starring with Zero Mostel in Mel’s 1968 film, “The Producers.” Apart from his critical acclaim playing Willie Wonka , Victor Fronkonschtein, and The Waco Kid. He also made a movie here in Dublin with Margot Kidder (Lois Lane) a year before Willie Wonka, It was called 'Quackster Fortune has a cousin in the Bronx' (I would have loved to hear the movie pitch for that title). I had seen this about 10 years ago and was curious because A it was shot in Dublin and B because I trusted his choice of roles as an actor. In it Gene plays a shit shoveller, yes you read that correct. His character goes around following work horses around the city and sells their manure to horticultralists. An american student nearly mows him down in her car(Kidder) and thus the love story begins. Gene plays the role of Quackster, (who character is of limited intelligence) quite well save for his 'oirish' accent.

I guess though for many (myself included),feel that Wilder always worked his best in partnerships. In the late 1970s and 1980s he appeared in a number of movies with Richard Pryor, making them the most prolific inter-racial comedy double act in movies during the period. Who could forget Silver Streak, Sir Crazy, Hear no Evil Speak no Evil?
Anyway just to remind you of some of his golden moments on screen here are a series of quotes starting with the unforgettable Young Frankenstein. Sorry thats Fronkonschtein..

Dr. Friedrich von Frankenstein: That music...
Frau Blucher: Yes! It's in your blood - it's in the blood of ALL Frankensteins! It reaches the soul when words are useless. Your grandfather used to play it to the creature HE vas making!
Dr. Friedrich von Frankenstein: Then it was you all the time!
Frau Blucher: Yes!
Dr. Friedrich von Frankenstein: You played that music in the middle of the night...
Frau Blucher: Yes!
Dr. Friedrich von Frankenstein: ...to get us to the laboratory!
Frau Blucher: Yes!
Dr. Friedrich von Frankenstein: That was YOUR cigar smoldering in the ashtray!
Frau Blucher: Yes!
Dr. Friedrich von Frankenstein: And it was you... who left my grandfather's book out for me to find!
Frau Blucher: Yes!
Dr. Friedrich von Frankenstein: So that I would...
Frau Blucher: Yes!
Dr. Friedrich von Frankenstein: Then you and Victor were...
Frau Blucher: YES! YES! Say it! He vas my... BOYFRIEND!

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[Frankenstein, Igor and Inga in front of HUGE castle doors.]
Dr. Friedrich von Frankenstein: What knockers!
Inga: Oh, thank you doctor!

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Dr. Friedrich von Frankenstein: Igor, would you mind telling me whose brain I did put in?
Igor: And you won't be angry?
Dr. Friedrich von Frankenstein: I will NOT be angry.
Igor: Abby someone.
Dr. Friedrich von Frankenstein: Abby someone. Abby who?
Igor: Abby Normal.
Dr. Friedrich von Frankenstein: Abby Normal?
Igor: I'm almost sure that was the name.
Dr. Friedrich von Frankenstein: Do you mean to tell me that I put an abnormal brain into an, 8 foot tall, 300 pound, GORILLA?!!!

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[Dr. Frankenstein leans in for a kiss.]
Elizabeth: Taffeta, darling.
Dr. Friedrich von Frankenstein: Taffeta, dear.
Elizabeth: [pulling away] No, the dress is taffeta. It wrinkles so easily.

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[Froederick and Igor are exhuming a dead criminal.]
Dr. Friedrich von Frankenstein: What a filthy job.
Igor: Could be worse.
Dr. Friedrich von Frankenstein: How?
Igor: Could be raining.
[It starts to pour.]

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Dr. Friedrich von Frankenstein: For what we are about to see next, we must enter quietly into the realm of genius!

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Igor: Dr. Frankenstein...
Dr. Friedrich von Frankenstein: "Fronkensteen."
Igor: You're putting me on.
Dr. Friedrich von Frankenstein: No, it's pronounced "Fronkensteen."
Igor: Do you also say "Froaderick"?
Dr. Friedrich von Frankenstein: No... "Frederick."
Igor: Well, why isn't it "Froaderick Fronkensteen"?
Dr. Friedrich von Frankenstein: It isn't; it's "Frederick Fronensteen."
Igor: I see.
Dr. Friedrich von Frankenstein: You must be Igor.
[He pronounces it ee-gor.]
Igor: No, it's pronounced "eye-gor."
Dr. Friedrich von Frankenstein: But they told me it was "ee-gor."
Igor: Well, they were wrong, weren't they?

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Inga: Werewolf!
Dr. Friedrich von Frankenstein: Werewolf?
Igor: There Wolf; There Castle!

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Dr. Friedrich von Frankenstein: Damn your eyes!
Igor: [to camera] Too late.

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Dr. Friedrich von Frankenstein: For the experiment to be a success, all of the body parts must be enlarged.
Inga: His veins, his feet, his hands, his organs vould all have to be increased in size.
Dr. Friedrich von Frankenstein: Exactly.
Inga: He vould have an enormous Shwanstooker!
Dr. Friedrich von Frankenstein: That goes without saying.
Inga: Voof!
Igor: He's going to be very popular.

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[After sex with The Monster]
Elizabeth: Oh! Where you going? ...Oh, you men are all alike! Seven or eight quick ones and then you're out with the boys to boast and brag! YOU BETTER KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! Oh... I think I love him!

[Upon seeing the monster's manhood]
Elizabeth: Oh my God! Woof!

Blazing Saddles
[describing how everyone wanted to duel him when he was The Waco Kid]
Jim: Then one day I hear "Reach for it, mister." I spun around, and there I was standing face to face with a six year old kid. Well, I just laid down my guns and walked away. Little bastard shot me in the ass. So I limped to the nearest saloon, crawled inside a whiskey bottle, and I've been there ever since

Stir Crazy
Skip Donahue: This filthy, roach-ridden reality is inspiring... what did that second policeman say to you when he grabbed you by the throat?
Harry Monroe: Man, I don't fucking believe you!
Skip Donahue: "Man, I don't fucking believe you!" Fabulous!
Harry Monroe: You don't get it do you, Skip. You think this is The Count Of Monte Cristo or something. We're in deep trouble. This is the real deal. We're in deep shit.
_________________________________________________

So I also found out that on On March 1, 2005 (I know, its a little old news)Gene Wilder released his highly-personal memoir Kiss Me Like A Stranger, an account of his life covering everything from his childhood, when his mother died of heart disease, up through his late wife's death. He has been praised for the openness and honesty of his writing, setting it apart from other Hollywood memoirs. So I know what book I will be reading next. Lately he had been furiously attacking hollywood for making so many sequels and remakes and 'following the money' as he calls it. Its something I can very much sympathise with in his view.Bastardisations of world cinema for the mass, sequel upon sequel, beat that movie horse to death mindset of producers etc So the next time I go to buy a dvd just for the sake of seeing it , I think I will keep my hand in my pocket and go home and stick on one of his classic movies because as he says 'they simply dont make them like the used to'. He is of course right. Why? Because he's the candyman.

FFF4

2007-06-29T09:55:00.000+01:00

Political Correctness - we are all familiar with it. We have to be. In a sensitive world of religion, identity, sex, creed, color, age, orientation, profession , class, the list goes on and on. If anyone has seen Blazing Saddles the movie, knows that even though it satires the PC of everything, they would also know that it would be an extreamly difficult and tall order to reproduce the movie or remake it in this day and age. You simply could not make that transition in this era. James Finn Garner first published Politically Correct Bedtime Stories: Modern Tales for Our Life & Times in 1995, he took a look at how ridiculous the political awareness was spinning out of control and satirised it through the medium of fairy tales.

When I first read Politically Correct Bedtime Stories: Modern Tales for Our Life & Times, I didnt know what to expect; I half heartedly believed that what I had bought was going to be slightly funny but perhaps a little enduring with the tweaking. But I became quickly aware just how James Finn Garner has honed Political Correctness into an art.Can you imagine a scenario where Cinderella actually ended up getting along with her sisters-of-step? How would The Three Bears handle Goldilocks being a rogue environmental scientist? Within these pages you can find the answer to these questions and more. This book takes these and other classic fairy tales from our childhood, strips them of offensive (to some people) language, replaces said language with more neutral word choices, for a brand new take on classic stories. Sounds boring? Hardly. With a selection of twenty-two Western European fairy tales enslaved in the shackles of sexism, ageism, anthrocentrism and any other forms of bias he could detect, he has re-worked them ,offering us gems like "The Three Codependent Goats Gruff" and "Sleeping Persun of Better-Than-Average Attractiveness." He uses spellings like "wommon" and "womyn," refers to Hansel and Gretel as "pre-adults" and talks about "three goats who were related as siblings." He carefully specifies that Red Riding Hood's grandmother "was in full physical and mental health and was fully capable of taking care of herself as a mature adult.".Without a doubt Mr Garner is the master of sanitation when it comes to the editing process. I have included 2 stories for examples. If you fancy a reading five or ten minutes before going asleep, this is the perfect bedtime companion - although the temptation would be to read on until the book was finished, please dont you are in danger of guilding the lily with such stories or gorging yourself on two much of a good thing. Savour these stories like exceptionally rich chocolates from a box - too many of them could disagree with you but one at a time will leave you salavating for more.

Politically Correct Three Little Pigs
Once there were 3 little pigs who lived together in mutual respect and in harmony with their environment. Using materials that were indigenous to the area they each built a beautiful house. One pig built a house of straw, one a house of sticks, and one a house of dung, clay and creeper vines shaped into bricks and baked in a small kiln. When they were finished, the pigs were satisfied with their work and settled back to live in peace and self-determination.

But their idyll was soon shattered. One day, along came a big, bad wolf with expansionist ideas. He saw the pigs and grew very hungry in both a physical and ideological sense.

When the pigs saw the wolf, they ran into the house of straw. The wolf ran up to the house and banged on the door, shouting, "Little pigs, little pigs, let me in!"

The pigs shouted back, "Your gunboat tactics hold no fear for pigs defending their homes and culture."

But the wolf wasn't to be denied what he thought was his manifest destiny. So he huffed and puffed and blew down the house of straw. The frightened pigs ran to the house of sticks, with the wolf in hot pursuit. Where the house had stood, other wolves bought up the land and started a banana plantation.

At the house of sticks, the wolf again banged on the door and shouted, "Little, pigs, little pigs, let me in!"

The pigs shouted back, "Go to hell, you carnivorous, imperialistic oppressor!"

At this the wolf huffed and puffed and blew down the house of sticks. The pigs ran to the house of bricks, with the wolf close at their heels. Where the house of sticks had stood, other wolves built a time-share condo resort complex for vacationing wolves, with each unit a fibreglass reconstruction of the house of sticks, as well as native curio shops, snorkelling and dolphin shows.

At the house of bricks, the wolf again banged on the door and shouted, "Little pigs, little pigs, let me in!"

This time in response, the pigs sang songs of solidarity and wrote letters of protest to the United Nations.

By now the wolf was getting angry at the pigs' refusal to see the situation from the carnivore's point of view. So he huffed and puffed, and huffed and puffed, then grabbed his chest and fell over dead from a massive heart attack brought on from eating too many fatty foods.

The three little pigs rejoiced that justice had triumphed and did a little dance around the corpse of the wolf. Their next step was to liberate their homeland. They gathered together a band of other pigs who had been forced off their lands. This new brigade of porcinistas attacked the resort complex with machine-guns and rocket launchers and slaughtered the cruel wolf oppressors, sending a clear signal to the rest of the hemisphere not to meddle in their internal affairs. Then the pigs set up a model socialist democracy with free education, universal health care and affordable housing for everyone. {My note: well it is a fairy tale after all.}

Please note: The wolf in this story was a metaphorical construct. No actual wolves were harmed in the writing of the story.

Little Red Riding Hood - A Politically Correct Fairy Tale

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by Jim Garner

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There once was a young person named Red Riding Hood who lived with her mother on the edge of a large wood. One day her mother asked her to take a basket of fresh fruit and mineral water to her grandmother's house -- not because this was womyn's work, mind you, but because the deed was generous and helped engender a feeling of community. Furthermore, her grandmother was not sick, but rather was in full physical and mental health and was fully capable of taking care of herself as a mature adult.

So Red Riding Hood set off with her basket of food through the woods. Many people she knew believed that the forest was a foreboding and dangerous place and never set foot in it. Red Riding Hood, however, was confident...

On her way to Grandma's house, Red Riding Hood was accosted by a Wolf, who asked her what was in her basket. She replied, "Some healthful snacks for my grandmother, who is certainly capable of taking care of herself as a mature adult."

The Wolf said, "You know, my dear, it isn't safe for a little girl to walk through these woods alone."

Red Riding Hood said, "I find your sexist remark offensive in the extreme, but I will ignore it because of your traditional status as an outcast from society, the stress of which has caused you to develop your own, entirely valid worldview. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must be on my way."

Red Riding Hood walked on along the main path. But, because his status outside society had freed him from slavish adherence to linear, Western-style thought, the Wolf knew of a quicker route to Grandma's house. He burst into the house and ate Grandma, an entirely valid course of action for a carnivore such as himself. Then, unhampered by rigid, traditionalist notions of what was masculine or feminine, he put on grandma's nightclothes and crawled into bed.

Red Riding Hood entered the cottage and said, "Grandma, I have brought you some fat-free, sodium-free snacks to salute you in your role of a wise and nurturing matriarch."

From the bed, the Wolf said softly, "Come closer, child, so that I might see you."

Red Riding Hood said, "Oh, I forgot you are as optically challenged as a bat. Grandma, what big eyes you have!"

"They have seen much, and forgiven much, my dear."

"Grandma, what a big nose you have -- only relatively, of course, and certainly attractive in its own way."

"It has smelled much, and forgiven much, my dear."

"Grandma, what big teeth you have!"

The Wolf said, "I am happy with and what I am," and leaped out of bed. He grabbed Red Riding Hood in his claws, intent on devouring her. Red Riding Hood screamed, not out of alarm at the Wolf's apparent tendency toward cross-dressing, but because of his willful invasion of her personal space.

Her screams were heard by a passing woodchopper-person (or log-fuel technician, as he preferred to be called). When he burst into the cottage, he saw the melee and tried to intervene. But as he raised his ax, Red Riding and the Wolf both stopped.

"And what do you think you're doing?" asked Red Riding Hood.

The woodchopper-person blinked and tried to answer, but no words came to him.

"Bursting in here like a Neanderthal, trusting your weapon to do your thinking for you!" she said. "Sexist! Speciesist! How dare you assume that womyn and wolves can't solve their own problems without a man's help!"

When she heard Red Riding Hood's speech, Grandma jumped out of the mouth, took the woodchopper-person's axe, and cut his head off. After this ordeal, Red Riding Hood, Grandma, and the Wolf felt a certain commonality of purpose. They decided to set up an alternative household based on mutual respect and cooperation, and they lived together in the woods happily ever after

Award pour moi??

2007-06-28T20:49:00.000+01:00

I have just been given this
by the so cool its criminal Pool. Im very, nay extreamly pleased at this!

How cool am I??? (it should be noted that she gave me her address earlier this week so I could send her the cash for which I bought at a high price)
Apparently I have to nominate 5 other women for the award but the buck stops at General Catz - she rocks because shes got uber cool musical tastes, speaks her mind and writes about some pretty cool stuff!

Evolution

2007-06-27T22:34:00.000+01:00

Lifting the mood a little here on a rainy night- enjoy

Numb

2007-06-26T10:47:00.000+01:00

Ever since I met Suolas Ive been a wrestling fan. I loathe watching soccer, rugby etc but I did develop a genuine interest in the matches that were screened and not because my boyfriend liked it. I got involved, hissing at my favorite wrestlers nemises and cultivating a primordial bloodlust for some. So today Suolas calls me at work and tell me to check my email in a strange tone, not liking the sound of his voice I demand to know what it is and he basically tells me this; Chris Benoit, the rabid wolverine as he is known is dead - one would expect steroid abuse, heart attack etc from someone in the pro wrestling league yes? The strange and highly upsetting news is far different - it seems like a double murder suicide sceanario. Here is a statement of how the timeline events that took place
Saturday:
- Chris Benoit misses the Smackdown/ECW house show in Beaumont. He informs WWE management that he is flying home due to a family emergency.

Sunday:
- Benoit is not in Houston for Sunday night’s Vengeance PPV. Ahead of the night’s show, several in the company are hopeful that Benoit will return in time for the show but when it becomes evident that he will not be back for the show, WWE’s creative team re-write the planned Chris Benoit vs CM Punk ECW World Title match. With Benoit scheduled to win the ECW title, creative agree on having Johnny Nitro take his place and beat Punk for the title.

- “Curious text messages” were sent by Chris Benoit to several in the company throughout Sunday. The Wrestling Observer reports that Benoit had sent messages to Chavo Guerrero.

Monday:

- After learning about the text messages sent by Benoit, WWE’s Richard Hering spoke to local authorities, requesting they check Benoit’s home.

- Local authorities check the home of the Benoit family around 2.30pm local time and find the bodies of Chris, his wife Nancy, and son Daniel. Initial evidence leads authorities to believe that Nancy and Daniel were killed at some point during the weekend before Benoit killed himself on Monday.

- World Wrestling Entertainment are informed of the deaths at around 4pm local time in Corpus Christi ahead of a 3-hour live RAW broadcast. Vince McMahon held a meeting with everybody in attendance in the ring to inform them of the tragic news.

- WWE immediately make the call to cancel the live broadcast of RAW. The planned show (which was to be built around the death of the Mr. McMahon character) is cancelled and replaced by a 3-hour tribute show. Fans who bought tickets for the live show are told of the news when arriving at the Arena and turned back.

- ABC News are told by Lt. Tommy Pope that “the instruments of death were located on the scene” and that they are not searching for any suspects from outside the Benoit house.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Ive said this before in another post If youre not happy with your life or its direction - dont take the childrens life or anyone elses for that matter. Is it the fucking vogue now to take out your families as well as oneself now??

Wrestling as basic drama has always been about good versus evil. It has also been about redemption, about human nature writ large, rendered raw. I can remember many times a match where you watched a guy you only as a 'heel' to cross over to the 'face 'side. If Benoit did indeed turn against his own wife and child, It was simple, and required no beautiful Shakespearian poetry to accompany it.. I will refrain to comment on Benoit any further until I know the forensic findings, I have such a lot of respect for the guy and he was in one of my all top five matches. A lot of things irk me about this tragedy and fear some findings will shed a lot of respect for him. I hope my intuition is wrong.

FFF3

2007-06-21T14:20:00.000+01:00

Books have seen me through the most trying of times. For instance in a time when devestation set up its stall in my life it took 6 books by the same humourous author got me through some of the numbness and pure phsyical pain of it all. Although my now regular friday slot is indicitive that all reviewed are fictions - this is not entirely the case. All the books featured here are from my library, each one significant and special to me. And whilst this authour I speak of writes in a non fiction genre Im sure there are pockets of embelishments that make it borderline fiction..
Tony Hawks (not the skater) is a British comedian and author of this memoir and was drunk when he bet a friend 100 pounds that he could hitchhike around Ireland in a month--taking along a refrigerator. But he kept his bargain, and in the process met an intriguing cast of Irish Characters. During his hobo travels around Aul Eyerland he also became a minor celebrity when he was made the subject of a daily radio feature the annoyingly housewifes favourite here in these Isles known as Gerry Ryan (whom I think is a padantic git). Here recounts his travels and celebrates the culture of helpfulness that made his preposterous journey possible and is determined to prove his friend wrong, Hawks purchases the smallest fridge he can find at the time before the advent of the personal mini fridge and sets off on his mad adventure. I have painstakingly typed out the introduction to the book just to give you the general flavour of what to expect, but be warned dont eat/drink when reading a copy of this in public the humourous moments are fast paced and plenty but they are of the pie in the face variety and catch you unawares. You have been warned.

In 1989 I went to ireland for the first time. I dont know why it had taken so long. Some parts of the world you make a consious effort to visit and others have to wait until fate delivers you there. When the moment arrived for me to set foot in the eEmerald Isle, it was a result of a badly written song. An irish friend from London, Seamus, had urged me to compose a piece for him and his mate Tim to sing at an international song competition which was held each year in his hometown. Qualification for the final , he explained, was a formality provided I agreed to do a twenty minute stand up set for the audience when the judges where out. Seamus wanted to do a humourous song and had asked me to come up with something that would 'set it apart' from the mundane entries. In the event, what would set it apart would be a significant drop in standard.
The song I had written was called ' I wanna have tea with batman'. Now I consider myself to be a good songwriter (in spite of my only commercial success being a one off record called 'stutter rap - by morris minor and the majors) but this song was... how can I put it?... Yes, thats it - poor. To their credit Seamus and Tim conjured up a perfect performance to match it.
In an extraordinary gesture which was at best surreal and at worst embarrassing , they dressed as batman and robin. At least that is what they aimed to do, but a limited costume budget had left them in borrowed tights, miscellaneous lycra and academic robes doubling as capes. They resembled a couple of children entered for a fancy dress competition by uninterested parents. Seamus seemed unconcerned, his theory of comedy being that if you had an outrageous outfit that was enough; and then he announced his master stroke that one of them would carry a teapot and the other a kettle.
One had to admire his courage, for he was performing in front of his hometown and everyone who he had grown up with was there. Friends, family, teachers, shopkeepers barmen, drunks and priest were all rooting for him. If one was going to let oneself down very badly- and Seamus was most definately going to do that- it would be difficult to imagine an assembled throng with which it would have more resonanace.

Seamus and tim took centre stage. The audience responded with an inhalation of breath. For them, there was little to suggest that the two characters before them were supposed to be Batman and Robin, and they were clearly taken aback with the magnificent fusion of colour, tights and kitchen appliances.

I watched from the back , experiencing for the first time a curious blend of wonderment and discomfort, and could see in the faces of both performers that their self belief in the costume selection was ebbing away with each elongated second. Thankfully, from the congregation, astonishment subsided to applause. The conducter caught the eye of our superheros and they nodded to establish themselves as ready. The band struck up. The musical introduction finished, but neither Seamus or tim began singing. The looked accusingly at each other. Paralysed with nerves, one of them missed their cue. Someone near me allowed their head to drop into their hands. Seamus, man of the moment stepped forward and signalled to the conductor to stop the band.Astonishingly the maestro ignored him. He was pretending that he could not see Shea's frantic signals. For gods sake , how bad could his eyesight be ? was it not possible to notice the flapping arms of the caped crusader brandishing a teapot in anger?
The conductor was more focused than most of us could ever hope to be. He had a long evening to get through and he was going to get through it in the shortest available time. Going back and starting again for those who screwed up wasnt on the agenda, even if it was 'good ol sheamus' from down the way. And so with all the abduracy of a first world war general, his head stayed down and the band played on. Time went into statis. I have simply no way of knowing how long it was before Seamus finished his gesticulations , punched Tim and they both began singing. Indeed I cant recall how badly they performed the rest of the song. Who cares? The audience applauded, they won most entertaining act and so began my fascination with Ireland.
Aside from the song contest debacle, there was another incident which made my first trip to Ireland stand out in my mind. On arrival at Dublin airport, I had been met by Sheamus's lifelong friend Kieran and driven to Cavan. As we headed north and discussed Batman and Robin's prospects I noticed a man at the side of the road hitchiking. I looked closer as one does with hitch hikers to make that split second assessment of their appearence to make that split second assesment of their suitablity for travel companionship. This was odd, very odd. He had something along side of him and he was leaning on it. It was a fridge. 'Kieran, was that man hitch hiking with a fridge?' 'oh yeah' there was nothing in Kierans tone of voice to suggest the slightest hint of suprise. I had clearly arrived in a country where qualification for 'eccentric' involved a great deal more than that to which I had become.
Years passed, the anecdote of the fridge was brought up from time to time at dinner parties and one in particular in my friend Kevin’s in Brighton. A vast quantity of wine had been consumed and the atmosphere was, shall we say, lively. Round about midnight those present settled on a short discussion on the merits of the new fridge which had been bought, and then, by a series of turns, our rattled attention was given to the trip Kevin was planning to Ireland. The juxtaposition of the two triggered a triumphal re-mergence of my fridge hitch-hiking story which I relayed to the guests via a long winded collection of badly slurred words. Kevin’s response was unambiguous. ‘Bollocks’ ‘Its not bollocks’ I countered. I had hoped this would see him off but there was more. ‘Yes it is. Nobody could ever get a lift with a fridge’ ‘They could in Ireland , it’s a magical place’ ‘Magical?! So is my arse!’ I let the subject drop. Experience had taught me that someone mentioning how magical their arse was tended not to precede stimulating and considered debate.

When I awoke in the morning, in a physical condition which served as a reminder as to what had taken place the night before, I found a note by my bed:

I herby bet Tony Hawks the sum of one hundred pounds that he cannot hitch hike round the circumference of Ireland, with a fridge within one calendar month. And there was Kevins Signature, and below it , an illegible squiggle, which I took to be mine.

And so the bet was made.

Lost Things

2007-06-20T13:57:00.000+01:00

Ive always wanted to get back in touch with my ex fiance and ask back for some sentimental items which I gave him. Due to the nature of our breakup felt I had a right to ask for them back but was too hurt to do so. Two items of jewellery in particular. Anyway I was thinking about them today and it got me thinking of some of the other cool things I once had in my possesion but had given them away or lost them.
Most people who know me know I wear one or two items of jewellery and the most jewellery that I own are actually in the seven piercings of my left ear. I can only blame my capricious heart for giving away such items of uber coolness but there are one or two things that I wish I had been more careful with. My father who worked on a state owned ferry company always had the knack of finding lost property on the ship and every now and again he would bring home some items that where never claimed. One of them in particular was a Lapas Lazuli ring, the stone was naturally cobalt blue with the tiniest equisite vein of glittering gold running through. He gave it to me and I vowed to only wear on special occasions. But on one particular special occasion it sought a new owner without my permission I may add and left my finger forever.

I wouldnt call myself nosey - curious definately and I am a magpie at heart. Ive always wanted to work in a lost and found office so I took to the internet here to have a look what exactly people are leaving behind in various places. Here is an excerpt of one such place - the london underground.
Tucked around the side of Baker Street station, and appropriately just across the street from super-sleuth Sherlock Holmes’ fictitious residence, London Underground’s fabled Lost Property Office (LPO) has been a fixture since 1933, a time when people didn’t leave the house without a hat and gloves – and therefore frequently did leave the tube without them. The office collects, collates and returns lost items, not just found on the tube, but on buses, the DLR, at Victoria Coach station and in the city’s black cabs.

The front desk and office behind it look ordinary enough; it’s downstairs, in the underground storage rooms, where you realise you’re somewhere quite unique. This is the domain of grinning Australian Ted Batchelor, the LPO’s supervisor who agreed to show us round.
In the biggest storage room, one wall that appears to be decked out in bright, primary-coloured bunting, turns out to be made up of scores of schoolbags discarded by careless kids. Round the corner, similar numbers of plastic lunchboxes are stacked. Schoolchildren with their heads in the clouds are one thing, but the number of forgotten pushchairs here is staggering – many of them of the expensive variety and few claimed back. Unusual items – souvenirs of the job – are arranged around the room to liven up the space. A four-foot Mickey Mouse is propped up in one corner, a small meeting room is decorated with creepy voodoo masks, and a purple ballgown hangs incongruously from a shelving unit stuffed with scarves. A glittering noticeboard turns out on closer inspection to be hundreds of key rings. The less said about a large tray of false teeth, gummy-pink and gory, the better.
Another part of the storage area is introduced with the words ‘We do miracles too’. Dozens of pairs of crutches and almost as many wheelchairs line the wall. ‘They couldn’t walk when they got on the tube, but something must have happened by the time they got off,’ Batchelor says drily. IPoking around, you get the impression that nothing much has changed in the past seventy-odd years. Except, of course, it has: almost everything is replaced every three months. What seems to remain constant is the propensity of the capital’s residents and visitors to lose almost anything, regardless of size, importance or worth. London’s most absent-minded route is the Piccadilly Line, which, with Heathrow airport at one end, has more than its fair share of major finds. Batchelor remembers one woman being tearfully reunited with her wedding dress, just purchased in Peru. He also tells me that only a couple of days earlier a man managed to lose six full-size dress mannequins on the tube. Somewhat predictably, the doors had closed just as he lifted the last one onto the carriage and they’d been whisked away without him. He understandably assumed such an unconventional cargo would be picked up at the end of the line but they haven’t been seen since. The case is still ‘live’ (within its three months investigation period), but Batchelor’s professional instinct tells him they are gone and lost forever. From this little vignette, you’d assume that Londoners won’t only lose anything that isn’t screwed down, they’ll also nick it. Almost more surprising are those who are scrupulously honest. ‘We get several single pound coins handed in each week,’ says office manager Julie Haley. ‘It’s remarkable. It restores your faith in human nature.’ At the wealthier end of the spectrum, people have also handed in suitcases and bags full of crisp new notes, £10,000 worth on one occassion.The office has a high success rate of reuniting owners with their possessions (of the 27,000 handbags handed in last year, 40 per cent were returned) and prides itself on being pro-active; if it can trace someone from their lost property rather than waiting for a call, it will. When a lost walking stick turned up engraved with a church’s address it rang up the vicar and invited him to come in and claim the missing item if it was his. The trouble was, he couldn’t remember losing anything except, after much head-scratching, a walking stick he’d last seen ten years before. The LPO can only surmise that it’s a case of karma in action; whoever picked it up and kept it when the vicar initially lost it had used it for a decade before losing it themselves.
To manage the daily influx, the LPO has to be supremely organised. It takes 39 permanent staff manning the phones, working front-of-house and sorting. There is also a dedicated fleet of drivers kept busy five days a week collecting the transport network’s forgotten booty: 600 items a day and a total of 150,000 a year. The cost of running such an operation – in addition to the cost of renting storage space in central London – is funded by regular auctions for the higher-value unclaimed items and by the small reclamation charge (from £1 for an umbrella to £20 for a laptop).
Another long-term success story involved an 80-year-old man who was reunited with his brother’s ashes five years after the cremation. Following the funeral in Germany, he’d been mugged at Heathrow, and with his stolen suitcase went the precious urn which the muggers abandoned. When the LPO received the urn, all it had to work on was a tiny reference to a German crematorium. Staff wrote a letter, got it translated and started up a long-distance correspondence. When the urn was finally returned, the old man said it had been the perfect send-off for his maverick brother.f someone has been contacted about an item, it immediately gets a bright green tag. After the three months are up, all but the most precious, unique and weird items (and Arsenal ephemera, held onto for the office ‘shrine’ to the Gunners) are given to charity if they’re not going to auction. Stationery items – hundreds of half-used biros and pads – get used up in the office. Weapons, reassuringly rare (though perhaps you would be more careful…), are handed to the police. In some cases, the LPO might gather items for a particular cause – footballs, shin pads and new boots for an underfunded youth team, for instance. Perishables are thrown away, but duty-free cigarettes and booze – and there are plenty of both – are sold on.

It turns out that even casual monitoring of the daily haul provides an accurate snapshot of what people are buying, reading and using – as well as losing – in the outside world. In addition to the predictable upturn in umbrellas when it’s wet and caps when the sun’s out, it seems that tennis rackets multiply when Wimbledon’s on. Just-bought shopping is often left behind, from toothbrushes and groceries to TVs. It was easy to spot the Dan Brown phenomenon as it got going, as well as the skinny-jean trend, and to work out what the latest ‘in’ gadget is, staff just wait for them to start flooding in.

The office also has its repeat offenders. One man, fond of a drink or two on a Friday night before catching the night bus home, has become infamous having lost and reclaimed three bags in a row. As Batchelor says, ‘It’s amazing enough that he’s lost three bags on the same bus – but what nobody can believe is that he’s got all of them back too.’

Some curious items found were
False teeth
False eyes
Replacement limbs
Two-and-a-half hundred weight of sultanas/currants
Lawn mower
Chinese typewriter
Breast implants
Four-foot teddy bear
Theatrical coffin
Wheelchairs
Crutches
Stuffed eagle
14-foot boat
Divan bed
Outboard motor
Water skis
Park bench
Grandfather clock
Bishop’s crook
Garden slide
Inflatable doll
Jar of bull’s sperm
Urn of ashes
Three dead bats in container
Gas mask
Tibetan bell
Stuffed puffa fish
Vasectomy kit
Harpoon gun
Two human skulls in a bag

Now theres a job thats gauranteed to be different every day but Im sure there are some far more unsavoury 'finds' also..But one thing really puzzles me how the hell do you get a 14ft boat on a bleedin train??

Smooth Sounds

2007-06-18T23:08:00.000+01:00

Please feel free to puruse the carefully selected samples of my eclatic tastes of boom box to the side. Merci

Daddies Day

2007-06-17T12:26:00.000+01:00

This is for all you daddies out there! Have a great day!

FFF Book No 2

2007-06-15T03:00:00.000+01:00

I found this book when I was researching an illustrator called ‘Arthur Rackham’ ,
like Bantocks book it was in the wrong place at the right time for me. I checked it out of the library immediately after perusing its pages and squeeled with laughter that night tucked up in bed with the winters low wind growling outside. Theres a lot to be said about the cosiness of a bed and a good read. It makes for a better method of falling asleep than any pill and it makes you forget about the stress’s and strains of the day especially if its entertaining and endorphin boosting like this one. The book begins by explaining that Terry Jones and Brian Froud, during a period of unemployment, had taken up flower arranging at the Institute for the Criminally insane, whilst there they chanced upon a tin box with Quentin Cottingtons journals and two pieces of equipment buried behind the institute. A researcher of little known notoriety -Quinten Cottington - is obsessed about the fetid world of strange stains & mysterious smells and their overall r’aison d’etre. Having a famous sister , Lady Cottington, famous for her ability to communicate with the faery world , such is Quintens ability of communicating with the world of tarnish’s and putrid smells. Quentin's series of experiments discover the corporeal manifestation of stains and smells and as a result establishes that he can talk to them and learns what makes them unique. The stains voices were recorded and their images painted . With Jones & Frouds discovery of the journals and equipment (which consisted of a "Psychic Image Nebulising Generator" and the "Primary Odour Nasalising Gasificator" ) they can reveal the true nature of stains and smells in a very individual existence.
Jones & Froud are reported to have "located and interviewed over seven hundred and eighty stains and odours." in their research for this book. The fantastic artwork is a lyrical as Jones Hillarious words and must be read in all manner of English accents by the reader to ensure the ‘python humour’ of book is not lost whilst Froud lends his artistic wizardry to give a visceral corporealness to each of the olfactory sprites and unclean articles. Each page holds a discovery of species , and it's paired with the entity's image. It begins with Bule Ketty, an unhappy shirt-front stain , Vlad the Inhaler; a smell that lingers in an overripe socky kind of way, and then theres Roddy the Biker, who is the hazy stain one finds on the plexi glass of atm machines . Plunging itself onwards into the world of nasal extrusions, underarm smells , you can even find a type of stain which resides on the asphalt beneath parked cars and trucks that likes to do Elvis impersonations. Strange stains and Mysterious Smells is indeed a riot of dirty madcap fun and it is Jones & Frouds finest hour in their seven year partnership.

Here is a excerpt from the book on one such stain. I have purposely left out the ones I consider ’gems’ for the element of hilarious surprise.

The unnamed Smell sprite Rather surprisingly this is the sprite of joss-sticks. It actually produces some of the pleasantest smells to be found in the World of Olfaction, but it is, nonetheless, an unpleasant little creep. It has a deep knowledge of the nose and an understanding of scent that would make its fortune in the perfumeries of Paris, but it is insufferable rude and has as about as much social grace as a three-month old pizza.
It refers to people who light joss-sticks as "jossers" and affects to despize them as "pathetic hippie left-overs of the Sixties' drugs craze"That's what's wrong with this country," it told us, "it's never recovered from the pinko-socialist disaster of the sex-obsessed cup-cake lovers of pre-Thatcherite confection , What we need is a little more capital punishment and a little less Baked Alaska (a kind of dessert). Give the middle classes and those that aspire to join them something to aim for- like motorised pencil sharpeners or designer buckets- and you'll soon turn the economy into a laundromat worth creaming designer jeans for."
We both decided that we didn't want to hear any more of this politically incomprehensible rubbish and we moved on.

Conclusion? An unsavory read for filthy minds and possesors of dirty laughs

Fantastic Fictions

2007-06-12T13:28:00.000+01:00

When I was 14 I bought a pack of bookplates (see above) for my fledgling book collection. I thought it would be nice to insert something special into the inside of the books that I truly loved and let all who looked inside of them that they where holding something that I was proud to own. Some of the books that I have read I would like to recommend to you. If not for their uniqueness in story and design. Most of these books that will feature in a weekly post are the kind of books that did not come recommended to me. They where ‘finds’. I love these kind of books because there is something about them that feels like unearthed treasure and essentially that is what they are to me. Although the publications have sold in the hundreds and thousands , in the middle of reading such a great read I almost feel like I am privy to some wonderful secret between the author and I, the authors knowing wink perhaps but its an exclusive feeling to which the world of the author has created and quite often tailor made. The escapism redolent with fresh paper or mustiness of yellow dog ears and strained spines. Certainly as my Vintage Mary Engelbreit bookplate says ‘Books fall open, you fall in’.

Griffin & Sabine
An Extraordinary Correspondance
Author Nick Bantock

I had never heard of Nick Bantock before in any context, I was 15 and had just started to correspond with penpals, the internet was a world away then and being a creative sort illustrated my envelopes with watercolors, marbelling and different themes such as 'the mummy envelope' which was made using thick ribbons of cream colored paper for bandages with two red eyes salvaged from a movie magazine peering from the 'bandages', a corset envelope, spider web envelope etc etc. One day , looking for inspiration I was in the bookstore looking up craft books when I found Nick's Book nestled between origami and paper mache books. I picked it up and fell in love with the whole concept and story. Nick was inspired to do the story from his daily visits to the post office each morning. Living on a small island off the canadian coast, the residents would pick up their post and quite often there would be an exotic looking postcard or stamp on the mail and Nick would sigh to himself , curiosity coursing through his veins wondering what was its contents and story was behind such missives. Being an illustrator by trade fired him up for a story and interestingly enough Bantock also drew some inspiration from a poem by Yeats, lines of which are buried in the text or pictures, like clues in a detective story for which I will not disclose for obvious reasons but the story goes a little like this.
Griffin Moss and Sabine Strohem are two artists who live half a world apart. He is an isolated, hesitant English postcard designer who resides in London, while she is a confident illustrator of postage stamps and denizen of the South Seas. A very strange phenomena causes Sabine to contact Griffin- Somehow she knows his art as well as he does, although they have never met;And in an era just prequiling the internet explosion, the two engage in a correspondance that quite quickly turns into sublime love letters, both are unaware that their profound connection will draw them into a surreal realms of madness and love in this 'Extraordinary Correspondence'. The format of this book is integral to the story as with each page contains a post card, or a letter complete with envelope. You remove the letter from the envelope some are 'handwritten' and some typed complete with spelling mistakes and the reader has the delightful, forbidden sensation of reading someone else's mail in otherwords you become the ultimate voyeur. With each page with a postcard ,or the unfolding of each letter, studying the psychology of Griffin's Artwork or the free spirited language of Sabines words, you cannot help but feel that,In a very real sense, Griffin and Sabine exist. This wonderful story is part of a triology and what actually happens is open to interpritation on so many levels. It is beauty, intrique, madness and thought provoking in the realms of personal mythology and will keep you coming back for re-examining to render the story 'finished' as there is a personal conclusion for the reader itself, and you dont get many of them in the literary world.

Observations on a bus

2007-06-11T11:13:00.000+01:00

Fingers of sunlight crept through the haze of a sultry morning as I boarded the bus. Beside me on the pavement workmen shovelled hot asphalt and the acrid tendrils of smoke cauterised the back of my throat. Upon seating I quickly checked my belongings , cash, grocery list, cellphone and sms messages. Although the bus ride is only ten minutes at its slowest, the hot summer morning was no incentive to walk it especially when there was mounting crowds in the city with each half hour that passed. A very elegant elderly lady sat across from me, her hair was a faded strawberry blonde and coiffed and was very demure looking for a lady of her mature years. Closing my bag and preparing to disembark a further stop away, a young woman in pharmacy attire stood up to get off, she had a cascade of deep auburn hair. While waiting for the bus to stop the older woman reached across and said ‘you have beautiful hair’ to which the blushed and startled girl replied a polite thank you. The demure woman watched wistfully as the girl skipped off the bus for work . She looked down to her liver spotted hand and pinched the skin back so there were no wrinkles. She released her hand but in her eyes was frustrative sadness . She stared in deep thought and reached for her locket around her neck. Inside the tiny clam frame there seemed to be days of a happier time, when she was in her full bloom and perhaps in love. A quiver came to her lips and the locket was snapped back quickly and composed herself. The next stop was mine. And I left the bus with a sense of foreboding to my twilight years.

Aucturian Birthday

2007-06-09T23:12:00.000+01:00

Ive changed the blog a bit tonight out of boredom and because it needed a spring clean now that its 200 posts later than when I started this blip in the pulse of blogdom. I have to say I really appreciate the people who stop by to read and comment. Ive met some wonderful people here and some I am proud to call friends in the real world context. Now before I get something in my eye I will stop chopsing on and show you these little quiz's Ive been doing because a park bench is more comfortable than my sofa.. (I know I wish this post was of some significance but sure the first post was not very different so lets keep with the tradition?!)

MISSING: judith

Was last seen laughing at a mafia boss

'What will you last be seen doing?' at QuizGalaxy.com

'What will your obituary say?' at QuizGalaxy.com

Take this quiz at QuizGalaxy.com

judith --

[adjective]:

Banshee-like

'How will you be defined in the dictionary?' at QuizGalaxy.com

The Picto-Personality Test

You are a person who is very calm and kind. You go out of your way to help people who need your help.

When alone, you let it all hang out and ignore every social convention.

You are romantic, and when you are with your partner you like to woo them with your imagination.

In the future you will be happy and live richly.

Take this Test at QuizGalaxy.com

Your walk is:
Full of Determination

Take this quiz at QuizGalaxy.com

IF Tag

2007-06-07T16:01:00.000+01:00

Ok its my 199th post here and the Shamefully delicious Puss has tagged me with an 'if' meme. On a totally different tangent though, for my 200th post Im open to suggestions to write about so fire away -if you want me to write about any subject, I shall pick it out of a hat! (after 199 posts Im stumped , what can I say?) Okay heres my meme and you can breathe a sigh of relief that Im not tagging anyone with it such is my forte to do so with memes
The IF meme
If I were a beginning, I would be…Dramatic yet silent.
If I were a month, November My birth month, biting, sharp and dark
If I were a time of day, I would be…the second before and after midnight
If I were a planet, I would be…Saturn for the misty ringed ambience and a stormy spot.
If I were a season, I would be…Late Autumn, Ripe and Smouldering.
If I were a sea animal, I would be…A dolphin possibly because the look like they are having (as father ted would call it) tremendous fun.
If I were a direction, I would be…straight ahead.
If I were a piece of furniture, I would be an ornately carved bed, strong and intricate yet soft and comfortably
If I were a sin, I would be…Lust.
If I were a liquid, I would be…Hot Chocolate, sweet enough to be bad for you.
If I were a scare, I would be…a cold hand grab at the back of the knee.
If I were a gem, I would be…A striking deep red Ruby.
If I were a flower/plant, I would be…Night scented Jasmine, since its nocturnal presence is both enigmatic and alluring
If I were a kind of weather, I would be…an all night storm (read into that what you will)
If I were a musical instrument, I would be…cello soulful and deep
If I were an animal, I would be…Any dog in Gary Larsons world
If I were an emotion, I would be…Love - I have my family to thank for that
If I were a vegetable, I would be…Red pepper - diverse enough to be sweet, but oddly savoury
If I were a sound, I would be…Whisper
If I were an element, I would be…H20 I can run hot and cold at the drop of a hat
If I were a car, I would be…A VW Beetle, an original, a classic, curvey and a little kooky
If I were a song, I would be…most likely annoying.
If I were a food, I would be…comforting and sturdy.
If I were a place, I would be…comfy and warm.
If I were a material, I would be…Dark red chenille
If I were a taste, I would be…Rich and no good for you.
If I were a scent, I would be…Musky and Evocative
If I were a religion, I would be…a melting pot of belief systems
If I were a sentence, I would be…be spoken in the latin tongue
If I were a facial expression, I would be…penetrative
If I were a subject in school, I would be…History
If I were a shape, I would be…an co centric circle.

If I were a colour, I would be: Dark Red.
If I were a thing, I would be…in the marvel comics.
If I were a book, I would be…engaging.
If I were an artist, I would be…Seiperi
If I were a collection of poems, I would be…Ogden Nash.
If I were a landmass, I would be…Scotland.
If I were a watch, I would be…an anitque fob watch.
If I were God, I would be…fair
If I were a vowel, I would be… ‘O’ – so versatile, Oh shit, Oh great, Oh oh oh!.
If I were a consonant, I would be… ‘V’ – Not over used and out there on its own.
If I were a theory, I would be…One of the millions out there
If I were a famous person, I would be… Jane Goldman if only for her body and Locks
If I were an item of electronic equipment, I would be…phone - always on call
If I were a movie, I would be… an epic.
If I were a cartoon, I would be… Sylvester the cat
If I were an explorer, I would be…David Attenborough
If I were a scientist, I would be…Blown to smithereens.
If I were a relation, I would be… Mad eccentric old aunty.
If I were a river, I would be… the nile.
If I were intoxication, I would be…drunk 24/7.
If I were alone, I would be…deliberating
If I were a question, I would be…'Will You?'
If I were a habit, I would be…addictive.
If I were in an atom, I would be…explosive.
If I were you, I would be…wondering on my death bed why you wasted such precious time reading my ramblings

The Pain of Yesteryear

2007-06-05T12:31:00.000+01:00

Today in work I was alone for about five hours. A guy popped into the office to let me know that one of the feral cats from our salvage yard had broken its hind legs and was dragging itself back into the yard. I went to investigate - the german sheperd and timber wolf have been on a hiatus with the boss upsetting sheep in his country retreat so it was vital to track this unfortunate before their imminent arrival. Our yard is a veritable labyrinth for the cats and the sectioned off plot of land that my boss has up for sale is over grown with weeds. This is the section the cat was last seen dragging itself into , in my search I nearly missed my footing and managed to break my fall via some wooden pallets but my left hand was not so fortunate as it went into a bunch of nettles.

The last time I knew pain like this in my left hand was when I had an accident to which I refer to as ‘the day I turned into a cartoon character.’ Briefly what happened was , I had just moved into my flat, which was my grandfathers who had recently died. I was just getting my bearings from the ordeal of having left Leicester, broken spirit in tow and dealing with my wonderful grandfathers death. I had asked my sister over for dinner. I had planned for home made soup and pizza. I called her an hour before she was due to knock off work and since she only worked around the corner from where I lived, told her to give me a call so I knew when to start heating up the soup. The oven was old and rickety but it seemed ok. Little did I know that the pilot light didn’t work very well. The pizza had been in the oven for about 30 minutes on a low heat and the soup was warming on the pan. When I opened the oven door to check the pizza - yep you guessed it a gust of gas came out of the oven, infused itself with the lighted gas from the stove and BANG! Luckily for me, and I do mean luckily I somehow managed to cover my face one hand gloved with an oven mitt the other was not. Whole chunks of my hair was singed badly and I was lucky I had most of that tied back. But the whole back of my left hand was blistered and raw. I remember frantically waving my hands to douse my hair out. I was a mess. I had never felt so utterly helpless and alone in that moment when I looked in the mirror and seen my distressed face, my hair and burned hand. Thankfully it didn’t scar and there for good grace go I it could have been so much worse. But when I look back on the memory I can see any amount of cartoon character scenarios with the oven door/gas explosion scenario…

Getting back to the cat and my buggered hand, I had to nip over to the chemist to get some salve for the nettle burn. Its slowly returning back to itself . I think having my hand in a bucket of ice cold water for an hour helped, as for the cat well Ill keep a watchful eye out for him and hope for the best. But for now Im going to find out what exactly is the function of a nettle sting in the plants ‘greater agenda’ of its existence. I think I have found another item to put into Room 101.

Ah Boris Boris Boris

2007-06-04T07:31:00.000+01:00

Boris Johnson is unkempt, bumbling and courts verbal disaster - some also say Boris may be the very last stronghold of political sincerity left in a once-great nation -a bastion of forwardness, integrity and satire. Unafraid to challenge those in the wrong, unafraid to support those under the thumb, and without a positive political reputation to defense, Boris is the vital free agent of British politics. He has been publicly labeled as ''you great, quivering mass of indecision' by Alaister Cambell.
As an avid fan of this sage/ buffoon he has added another great faux pas to his reportoire in the media with an interview in GQ mag - the guy always raises a ghost of a smile when I see a photo of him but this interview shows that he indeed is quintesstially a blundering eccentric buffoon; a character that prehaps woodehouse would have incorporated into his works if indeed he where about and still writing

When reading this on the news text last night I giggled like hell - he is, if anything endearing with media trust and here is an excerpt from the interview
Eccentric Tory MP Boris Johnson is at it again - telling a magazine that cannabis is "jolly nice".

Hot on the heels of controversy over comments that he tried cocaine but it made him sneeze, the MP for Henley told men's mag GQ that he had smoked "quite a few" joints before university and had enjoyed it. But he said that he has now become quite "illiberal," adding "I don't want my kids taking drugs". And in the GQ interview with Piers Morgan he also admits finding Cherie Blair sexually attractive. Asked whether he could imagine having sex with the Prime Minister's wife, he said: "I could, yeah. No, don't put that in! God! Not me."

On an episode of TV show Have I Got News For You, the shadow education minister previously admitted trying cocaine but said none of it went up his nose because he sneezed.

Now Mr Johnson, 42, admits some may have done. He tells Morgan: "I tried it at university and I remember it vividly.

"And it achieved no pharmacological, psychotropic or any other effect on me whatsoever."

Asked whether cocaine went up his nose despite the sneeze, Mr Johnson replied: "It must have done, yes, but it didn't do much for me I can tell you."Asked about cannabis, he told the magazine: "There was a period before university when I had quite a few (cannabis joints). But funnily enough, not much at university.

"It was jolly nice. But apparently it is very different these days - much stronger.

"I've become very illiberal about it. I don't want my kids to take drugs."

The MP, who was sacked from the front bench by ex-leader Michael Howard for lying about an affair, has made a series of high-profile blunders.

He was famously sent to Liverpool to apologise after accusing the city of wallowing in grief over the execution of Iraq hostage Ken Bigley.

He was in hot water again in April after insulting the city of Portsmouth. He told GQ: "I love Norwich. And Portsmouth. And Liverpool. It's all nonsense.

"I said about Portsmouth that there was too much drugs, obesity and underachievement.

"And there is. It's a statistical fact. Why shouldn't I be allowed to say that?

"Then, to top it all some local bloke went on the radio and called me fat."
. I love his sense of self belief and is bewildered that anything he says offends to prove this here are some Boris Johnson glorious quotes-

On Boris Becker
I love tennis with a passion. I challenged Boris Becker to a match once and he said he was up for it but he never called back. I bet I could make him run around.

On Tony Blair

''It is just flipping unbelievable. He is a mixture of Harry Houdini and a greased piglet. He is barely human in his elusiveness. Nailing Blair is like trying to pin jelly to a wall''

On Needless Over-Protection

''Individually, police officers are fantastic, brave people, and so are the paramedics. But when they have to leave people dying because of a Health and Safety Act policy, they must be starting to wonder where things are going''

On Nepotism

''Any seat would be mad not to take him. He's a terrific chap.''- Boris, on his father, Stanley Johnson's plans to become an MP''

On Channel 5 (Five)

''I don't see why people are so snooty about Channel 5. It has some respectable documentaries about the Second World War. It also devotes considerable airtime to investigations into lap dancing, and other related and vital subjects''

On Privatisation

''It is only now, says Blair, that the terrible effects of botched privatisation are being felt on the nation's arteries, just as a heart attack patient spectacularly collapses after eighteen blissful years of eating pork pies''

On Cars and Mobile Phones

''I don't believe that talking on a mobile phone while driving a car is any more dangerous than the many other things that people do with their free hands while driving - nose-picking, reading the paper, studying the A-Z, beating the children, and so on''

On Taxis

''As anyone who has tried using a black cab in London recently will know, it is now cheaper to take a flight from Stansted to the Canaries than it is to go from Highbury to Westminster''

On George W. Bush

''The President is a cross-eyed Texan warmonger, unelected, inarticulate, who epitomises the arrogance of American foreign policy''

On Feral Children

''There are far too many feral children running around [in Islington] because there are far too few police, etc., on our streets''

On Reincarnation and Premiership
''My chances of being PM are about as good as the chances of finding Elvis on Mars, or my being reincarnated as an olive''

Keeping it real - Boris Johnson

Wonderful & Weird

2007-06-03T09:39:00.000+01:00

Its a public holiday here on monday so that means a long weekend quality time with the girls, Ill be back posting on tuesday in the mean time enjoy these, the first is the edge of a hurricane , the others well they just speak for themselves..

Pool of laughter

2007-06-01T11:54:00.000+01:00

Reflection Pool and I where on Gtalk today and I told her this joke when I was stumped on something less serious to post about so at her request here is the joke I told..

A priest and nun where in the dessert with a camel - by the second day they had ran out of water and the camel died from dehydration the third day (he didnt get refueled) - the priest low on hope says to the young attractive nun 'yknow we're going to die out here would you give me a dying request?'
' certainly father'replied the nun
'Ive never seen a womans breasts in the flesh can you show me yours before we die' 'of course father' she softly said
she opens up her wimple and shows him a beautiful pair of breasts
'can I have a feel sister?'
'go ahead father can I ask something of you??'
'work away sister' said the priest getting ridgid with excitement
'Ive never seen a penis before can I look and feel yours?'
'no problem - work away' he said throatly
she opens his trousers and it sprang out rock hard and felt it excitedly
'yknow sister if I put this inside you it could bring life'
To which the nun quickly replied -'fuck that! put it in the camel and lets get the fuck out of here!

What is it with everyone playing god these days

2007-05-30T12:27:00.000+01:00

Last night I was on the bbc website and I read an article that made me sob. Just what is it about people these days deciding who should live and die especially innocents. Suolas remarked how strange it was for something to upset me so much and he could see where I was coming from but usually I have a stoic look about me when reading such things. I still cant link properly so Ill cut and paste the web address http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/6702267.stm, but I am sick to the pitt of me the way people extinguish out innocents lives just because they are unhappy with their own. If you dont like your life do what you have to do, but dont be a selfish looser with your emotions and take the lives of others..

Double the security

2007-05-30T10:24:00.000+01:00

On retirement homes; because if this seasons fashions are anything to go by , it will look like a geriactric catwalk. I am NOT a follower of fashion by no means, I have my own distictive style thank you very much but if these patterns are anything to go by there should be licences issued with these patterns they are that loud. why would anyone want that nylon / polyester look going on, not to mention sweaty crevices?? Its going to make buying new clothes in the next few months increasingly difficult for me with these bright colors and crazy patterns. Someone had left a fashion supplement from a paper on the bus and I was astounded that women obviously want to go for that bedsit wallpaper look..

I dont know what it is about the whole deal with this look but why does it scream grime, sweat and copious amounts of pubic hair. Each to there own and live and let live but I just had to say Blerghhh!

Numb Nuts

2007-05-29T09:10:00.000+01:00

More news stories but this is more like a serial gimp is on the loose. He would have had more luck in a lesbian bar feeling boobies for that result.. Anyhoo heres the official take on it..
Police in Ontario are looking for a man who allegedly approached women and asked them to kick him in the groin.
Three women reported similar incidents to police and two of the women reported the suspect was on a bicycle. The various incidents allegedly occurred over the last two months.

Police Sgt. Cate Welsh said the man's request is not a crime, but they are concerned it may be a precursor to sexual assault.

"That kind of behavior tends to be a precursor to sexual assault. That's what we're trying to determine," Welsh said.

The suspect is described as white, in his early twenties, with a brown goatee and a large gap between his front teeth.

None of the women reported injuries.

This Little Piggy Went....DOWN!

2007-05-28T09:39:00.000+01:00

This is when the second ammendment comes in handy especially when a gargantuan pig is invading your personal space - thing is if it weighs so much I cant immagine chasing it would be a problem... I kinda want to ignore the fact the kid had been hunting and using a gun since FIVE YEARS OLD FOR CHRISSAKE but lets just gasp in awe at the sizable porcine zeppelin..For those of you who missed this little (?) story here it is..

AN 11-year-old boy used a pistol to kill a giant pig that his father says weighed a staggering 476kg and measured 2.74m, from the tip of its snout to the base of its tail.

Think of hams as big as car tyres.

If the claims are accurate, Jamison Stone's trophy boar would be bigger than Hogzilla, the famed wild hog that grew to seemingly mythical proportions after being killed in Georgia in 2004.

Hogzilla was originally thought to weigh 453.6kg and measure 3.6m long.

National Geographic experts who unearthed its remains believe the animal actually weighed about 362.8kg and was 2.4m long.

Regardless of the comparison, Jamison is revelling in the attention over his pig.

"It feels really good," Jamison said. "It's a good accomplishment. I probably won't ever kill anything else that big."

Jamison, who killed his first deer at age five, was hunting with father Mike Stone and two guides in east Alabama on May 3.

He said he shot the huge animal eight times with a .50-calibre revolver and chased it for three hours through hilly woods before finishing it off.

A message from Ray

2007-05-28T09:25:00.000+01:00

The Pop up seems to have disappeared - but please please let me know if you guys see anything on my page like that again, it really pissed me off to a height over the weekend knowing that little window was whoring itself on my page - thanks to all who notified me..
This one is for all you little whoring windows out there

Pop ups

2007-05-25T21:12:00.000+01:00

Today when using another browser I found a pop up on my page. It was for a gambling company. Now I hate pop ups they are fucking annoying and because I had a blocker on my pc at work and used the same browser on the mac here at home I would have never known but because suolas was on another browser up it popped..

I contacted them to complain but the guy couldnt see it (so he said), so Im asking you guys if any pop ups do show up on my page could you guys email me and what the pops up where/company name ? Thanks!

When laughing turns to cryin'

2007-05-24T11:29:00.000+01:00

If this doesnt freak the bejesus out of you I dont know what will

Election 07

2007-05-23T21:32:00.000+01:00

Tomorrow Ireland goes to the polls and Im totally undecided who to vote for - for those not au fait with irish politics theres a new kid on the block, a contender if you will to Bertie Ahernes throne - Enda Kenny. How and ever without boring you guys with the dimness of their policies this made me howl - granted not as much as it would you guys but I thought I would share.

Breakfast Anyone??

2007-05-22T09:55:00.000+01:00

I dont get time in the mornings to have any breakfast between getting the rest of my family up and kickstarting some order to the house and inbetween getting myself ready for work. So when I do get into work I will have a cup of tea and a slice of toast and jam. There is a big divide on jam in my house; your either strawberry or raspberry, I come from the latter camp and positively love its seeded sweetness, so this morning I am having the usual and what do I spy in the jam on the knife??

One of these buggers

It did not freak me out, strangely enough, a lot of people would have hurled the pot away from them in disgust/shock but I quite matter of factly rang the company and told them of the dessicated findings in their product. So now I await a phone call to either arrange for them to collect it for analyzing or whatever. Now I could go the Oscar performance of how Ill never be able to eat jam again and how I honked my stomach up or simply just state that it was an easy thing for them to not notice this little bugger amongst all the berries.. What would you do O conscience discernable reader?

Puss Pool Thang

2007-05-21T15:27:00.001+01:00

Puss & Pool have had this on a meme thing so Im doing it out of boredom since over the weekend the windows by my desk where smashed by some vandals and the glaziers have my corner to work away on so, just having a laptop to work on and doing no real work until theyve buggered off I'll do this

Available or single: Single

Best friend: Ehmm On one hand Suolas and on the other my mom

Cake or pie: Pie for moistness

Drink of choice: Red wine, cider, ameretto, schnapps, hot chocolate, diet coke, tea, ice cold milk

Essential item: self worth

Favourite colour: Black – hardly surprising

Gummi Bears or Worms: worms for the freudian overtones

Hometown: Dublin

Indulgence: baths on a stormy night

January or February: February - January is the waiting room of the world post christmas

Kids: 2 sweeties

Life is incomplete without: Love, Sex and my family

Marriage date: Unlikely

Number of siblings: 3 brothers 1 sister

Oranges or apples: Oranges but theres nothing worse than a sour or tasteless one

Phobias/fears: Bluebottles

Quote, favourite: Theres nothing worse than a bollox , than a bollox thats right (my dads quote

Reasons to smile: Aside from my children, Good Sex & all the bills paid off

Season: Autumn, cooling down, intensity in nature, ripeness, darker days

Tag three: I cant I will be lynched by all in blogdom

Unknown fact about me: My eyes change color

Vegetarian or oppressor of animals: Was veggie for 16 years had a thing for hot dogs when pregnant

Worst habit: Smoking.

X-rays or ultrasounds: X rays

Your favourite foods: Salad sandwitches, Mash, onions, peppers - all salady stuff, chicken ala king, Baked potatoes, fried noodless,Colcannon, basil spaggetti, Shellfish, Omellette, Special Fried Rice, Corn on the cob, My mothers mince and onions & stew

Zodiac: True Scorpio

I know Im going to hell

2007-05-21T13:17:00.000+01:00

And if you laugh at this your coming with me

Cat Drill

2007-05-19T21:53:00.000+01:00

No Fucking Excuses

2007-05-18T10:09:00.000+01:00

Night Owl, Morning Lark thats me. My usual routine at night is to go to bed on average about 12:30am and in between and that time and lets say 6am most likely my girls will wake up looking for me or I have to use the bathroom. I average Id say 5-6 hours sleep. Still you wont find me in a bad mood or cranky because of it. Dont get me wrong, Im not chirpy or acting like Ive done a few lines coke for breakfast I dont spring from bed, full of vim and vigor, or wax eloquently on the beauty of the breaking of dawn, Im civil, even keeled and yes tired but for all my tiredness I will be able to manage a sincere smile and just get on with things. Suolas is a nightmare to wake up and needs about 20 mins to function properly, which I dont mind at all - theres the distinct difference hes not an early riser, I can live with that. But the other individuals who claim they dont do mornings sound like they just like to spite themselves and the people surrounding them here lies the crux of my pet peeve.

I have lived and worked with a few people who claim they are 'not a morning person' and quite frankly theres no excuse for it. Put it this way, they said that they are still waking up and dont want to talk much etc etc I can live with that for about 10 - 20 minutes or so but how much wake up time do you fucking need? Now if they where told that they had just won a dream holiday or cash sum upon awakening, where would that cranky/sleepy mood be then? Out the fucking door leaving their host smiling and in good spirits like any other decent human being- is that what it takes for you self centred fucks to be civil? Anne Marie (the infamous biohazard flatmate in the uk) was one of these people. I would say good morning to her and she would grunt, I would offer to make her a coffee and she would just take it without thanks (BTW this didnt last long me making her a cuppa)and find the worst in everything that was wrong with the world/house/her life. If there was a vase of wildflowers on the table, she would ask could she move them as they where too cheerful looking at the table for that hour of the morning (I would have gladly shoved them up her arse) and then there was a paramour Nick, who was an absolute arsehole for the first two hours of the morning,tutting kicking the odd kitchen chair out of his way, throwing his coffee cup into the sink from a distance and all because quote unquote 'couldnt be arsed with mornings', and this was very much the reason why I didnt have him stay over with me anymore.

Its very much like the morning after scenario where the drunkard for whatever reason finds themselves in trouble, the excuse is shoveled out like the bullshit it is 'I was drunk at the time'. Bollox if your best friend had the shit beat out of them in front of you , you would soon sober the hell up. It ruins the atmosphere for the morning, sets the person up in the firing line to a shitty start and then by lunchtime the jekyl hyde syndrome has settled and they are back to themselves and youre supposed to act like nothings happened?? If you people who 'dont do mornings/ not morning people' you are obviously aware on how bad tempered and ill fucking mannered you are and hide behind the thin veneer of the excuse 'Im not a morning person'. If you dont want to be around people put your jacket on, go for a walk and come back when you have woken up and in a better mood.

For Garlic Lovers

2007-05-16T11:46:00.000+01:00

A few bloggers like to post up some of their favorite and personal invention of recipes. This is my very own original receipe. Be Warned. It is not for the faint hearted and there are some of you who may very well email me to ask is there traces of cocaine in this receipe. It is also for those of you who love garlic. So unless you dont want to have a game of tonsil tennis with someone. Have yourself a bowl of this tastiness.

Judes Cold Garlic Pasta Salad
3-4 cups of pasta shells
5-6 cloves of Garlic
1 small Cucumber
1 tin of red kidney beans
bunch of Spring onions and one red onion
10 small new potatoes or 3 large baked potatoes with skin still on
1 red pepper
4 seeded tomatoes
1 cup of cooked petis pois
1 Large carrot
3 dessert spoons of Mayo or Miracle whip
salt & pepper
2 teaspoons of blue poppy seeds
Method
chop cucumber into small cubes with skin remaining
drain and wash the tin of kidney beans
chop onion and spring onions finely
remove pith & stalk from red pepper and cut into small squares
grate the carrot
with a garlic press , mince the garlic of 5-6 gloves - depending on taste, for a mellow smokey taste bake the clove bulbs for about 10 minutes in a hot oven
chop your large tomatoes removing the seeds
chop your potatoes into small bite size chunks

now add in pepper, cucumber,tomatoe, potatoe, onions, kidney beans and carrot to a large serving dish, mix in the minced garlic and 3-4 dollops of mayo/miracle whip
cook the pasta shells until soft and rinse in cold water immediately.
Drain the pasta and add to vegetable mix. Add seasoning of salt and pepper with poppy seeds.

This is delicious on slivers of toasted bread or with fish, Great for barbeques or with green salad and crusty french stick.

The Witch & 007

2007-05-16T11:33:00.000+01:00

I found this article in sundays observer newspaper, strange little tale about James Bonds creator and travesty of justice to Helen Duncan.

More than 60 years on, the case of Helen Duncan, the last woman in Britain to be jailed for witchcraft, refuses to die. As her supporters seek a posthumous pardon, evidence has emerged that she may have been the victim of a plot involving British intelligence agents, including Ian Fleming, creator of James Bond.
In the 1940s Duncan, a Dundee housewife and mother of six, travelled the country performing seances for a war-weary public often seeking reassurance about their loved ones. As a 'materialisation medium', which involved her going into a trance and producing 'ectoplasm' through which spirits would take on earthly features to communicate with the living, Duncan built a reputation as one of spiritualism's greatest heroines
However, during a sitting in Portsmouth on 19 January, 1944, Duncan, 47, fell foul of the security services when a sailor from HMS Barham is alleged to have formed in ectoplasm and greeted his surprised mother sitting in the audience. His death had been kept a secret by the Admiralty, which had been trying to conceal news of the ship's sinking three months earlier.
Fears that Duncan had access to secret information alerted the security services, and an investigation led to her trial at the Old Bailey, accused of contravening the Witchcraft Act of 1735 by pretending to 'bring about the appearances of the spirits of deceased persons'. She was jailed for nine months.

At a time when the military authorities were anxious to keep plans of the Allied invasion of occupied France secret, Duncan and other psychics were seen as a potential threat to security. Drawing on new research and trial documents released to the National Archive, an academic and award-winning film-maker, Robert Hartley, has claimed that the evidence points to a state conspiracy to crack down on security leaks ahead of D-Day by making an example of Duncan.

'In the run-up to D-Day, the authorities were paranoid about potential security leaks and Duncan was in danger of disclosing military secrets during her seances,' said Hartley. 'Helen Duncan was giving out very accurate information. There were other mediums round the country giving out news on soldiers that had died and someone in authority took it seriously, whatever the source of the information. D-Day was coming up and it was absolutely essential to keep the Allied deception plans intact.'

After examining all the documents, Hartley believes there is evidence to suggest that Duncan's conviction by an Old Bailey jury in March 1944 was unsafe. In a new book, Helen Duncan: The Mystery Show Trial, he suggests that among those responsible for the conspiracy to convict Duncan was Fleming, a key figure in the naval intelligence services, and John Maude, the prosecuting counsel at the trial. 'I am convinced naval intelligence were working with MI5, and when I began looking at that connection Ian Fleming's name kept cropping up as being involved with people either involved in the case or on the sidelines,' said Hartley.

More than half a century later, Duncan's case remains a cause celebre, with more than 30,000 websites, translated into several languages, detailing her story. The 'official Helen Duncan website' claims to have received at least 42 million visitors in the last few years, leading to a worldwide campaign for justice and a petition to the government calling for the dowdy woman, who died in 1956 and is now regarded as a spiritualist martyr, to be pardoned.

Despite popular belief, Helen Duncan was not the last person to be prosecuted in Britain for witchcraft. In September 1944, after the D-Day invasion, Jane York, 72, from Forest Gate, east London, was charged with seven counts of pretending to conjure up spirits of the dead. She was bound over for the sum of £5 to be of good behaviour for three years. Duncan's comparatively heavy sentence just months earlier has been cited as further evidence that she was being made an example of. 'It seems clear to me that the security services conspired to imprison Helen Duncan as part of the tight security operation undertaken in the run-up to D-Day,' said Hartley. 'It was the Admiralty's view that she posed a security risk that needed to be dealt with.

'I appreciate that the conspiracy was undertaken with the intention to protect the lives of allied servicemen and women but now, over 60 years later, it is time to put right this wrong, otherwise it continues to undermine the very rights our nation was fighting for.'