Here's another 'look what I found today' offering. I still have the album Fotheringay on vinyl. This particularly haunting track is scratched beyond the scope of digital remastering.
"Cursed be those cruel wars ... !"
Thursday, 30 October 2008
Friday, 24 October 2008
How to manage a husband.
I received this message from a female friend. She's lovely, but I'm glad I'm not married to her!
A couple was celebrating their golden wedding anniversary on the beach. Their domestic tranquillity had long been the talk of the town.
"What a peaceful & loving couple." The local newspaper reporter was inquiring as to the secret of their long and happy marriage.
"Well, it dates back to our honeymoon," explained the man.
"We visited the Grand Canyon in Arizona and took a trip down to the bottom of the canyon by horse. We hadn't gone too far when my wife's horse stumbled and she almost fell off. My wife looked down at the horse and quietly said, "That's once." We proceeded a little further and the horse stumbled again, this time causing her to drop her water. Once more my wife quietly said, "That's twice." We hadn't gone a half-mile when the horse stumbled for a third time. My wife quietly removed a revolver from her purse and shot the horse dead.
I shouted at her, "What's wrong with you, Woman! Why did you shoot the poor animal like that? Are you crazy??"
She looked at me, and quietly said, "That's once."
"And from that moment... we have lived happily ever after."
A couple was celebrating their golden wedding anniversary on the beach. Their domestic tranquillity had long been the talk of the town.
"What a peaceful & loving couple." The local newspaper reporter was inquiring as to the secret of their long and happy marriage.
"Well, it dates back to our honeymoon," explained the man.
"We visited the Grand Canyon in Arizona and took a trip down to the bottom of the canyon by horse. We hadn't gone too far when my wife's horse stumbled and she almost fell off. My wife looked down at the horse and quietly said, "That's once." We proceeded a little further and the horse stumbled again, this time causing her to drop her water. Once more my wife quietly said, "That's twice." We hadn't gone a half-mile when the horse stumbled for a third time. My wife quietly removed a revolver from her purse and shot the horse dead.
I shouted at her, "What's wrong with you, Woman! Why did you shoot the poor animal like that? Are you crazy??"
She looked at me, and quietly said, "That's once."
"And from that moment... we have lived happily ever after."
The Anthem of St. Anley
Now, why should St. Anley like the Electric Light Orchestra?
The answer is: because he's incandescent and utterly confused, of course.
St. Anley is one of those sad people who engage so-called popular music two or three decades after everyone else. I remember liking this band and recently sent my ancient audio-tape of the album Discovery to a charity shop. Let's face it, who uses magnetic tape these days?
This post is of the 'look-what-I-found-today' variety. Don't you just have to admire the guy who can play an electronic keyboard and a grand piano simultaneously?
The answer is: because he's incandescent and utterly confused, of course.
St. Anley is one of those sad people who engage so-called popular music two or three decades after everyone else. I remember liking this band and recently sent my ancient audio-tape of the album Discovery to a charity shop. Let's face it, who uses magnetic tape these days?
This post is of the 'look-what-I-found-today' variety. Don't you just have to admire the guy who can play an electronic keyboard and a grand piano simultaneously?
Thursday, 23 October 2008
I wonder why ...
Why do people write blogs?
This one started as an experiment. Everyone else seemed to be doing it. Would my own technological apparatus prove adequate for the task? There was an interruption for about a fortnight after I posted an image of underwear; I can't imagine why.
Then I found youtube.com. Although initially I could upload my own videos to the site, I was repeatedly advised that I lacked the appropriate software to view them. The only way I could view them was to 'embed' them into a blog. This explains some of the early rubbish I posted. More recently I have resolved that difficulty and I found that I can download and embed other people’s far superior material. Increasingly, these inclusions in the blog have become a 'look-what-I-found-today' exercise. Is this legal? I ask.
There is the notion of a diary, I suppose. No, I don’t mean the ‘I woke up this morning, passed water, made tea, washed and shaved …’ sort of chronicle that most children have abandoned by 7th January every year. It is the documentation of transient thoughts and passing fancies that would otherwise be lost in the tedious routine of everyday life. Frequently such thoughts seem to mutate into something that might form the foundation of a letter to someone important. On the other hand, maybe it’s the other way around, whereby blog posts are a proxy for more meaningful correspondence. “Why should I write to someone important?” I ask. After all, my blog is in the public domain; it is available for all people of great importance to comment. Interestingly, no one does, not even creatures of no importance whatsoever!
Importantly, there is creativity, like that stream of consciousness that might be described as ‘poetry’. This is an evolutionary process that involves continual re-visiting and editing.
Finally, I have to conclude that the above is complete self-justifying BOLLOCKS. Blogging is nothing more than a gratuitous, self-indulgent, self-glorifying and self-celebratory activity that occupies the spare moments of sad people who can't sell such spare moments on Ebay, and have nothing better to do with them than to demonstrate their familiarity with the semi-colon!
(Thanks to outaspaceman for that wonderful line about 'stream of consciousness ...') ;;;
This one started as an experiment. Everyone else seemed to be doing it. Would my own technological apparatus prove adequate for the task? There was an interruption for about a fortnight after I posted an image of underwear; I can't imagine why.
Then I found youtube.com. Although initially I could upload my own videos to the site, I was repeatedly advised that I lacked the appropriate software to view them. The only way I could view them was to 'embed' them into a blog. This explains some of the early rubbish I posted. More recently I have resolved that difficulty and I found that I can download and embed other people’s far superior material. Increasingly, these inclusions in the blog have become a 'look-what-I-found-today' exercise. Is this legal? I ask.
There is the notion of a diary, I suppose. No, I don’t mean the ‘I woke up this morning, passed water, made tea, washed and shaved …’ sort of chronicle that most children have abandoned by 7th January every year. It is the documentation of transient thoughts and passing fancies that would otherwise be lost in the tedious routine of everyday life. Frequently such thoughts seem to mutate into something that might form the foundation of a letter to someone important. On the other hand, maybe it’s the other way around, whereby blog posts are a proxy for more meaningful correspondence. “Why should I write to someone important?” I ask. After all, my blog is in the public domain; it is available for all people of great importance to comment. Interestingly, no one does, not even creatures of no importance whatsoever!
Importantly, there is creativity, like that stream of consciousness that might be described as ‘poetry’. This is an evolutionary process that involves continual re-visiting and editing.
Finally, I have to conclude that the above is complete self-justifying BOLLOCKS. Blogging is nothing more than a gratuitous, self-indulgent, self-glorifying and self-celebratory activity that occupies the spare moments of sad people who can't sell such spare moments on Ebay, and have nothing better to do with them than to demonstrate their familiarity with the semi-colon!
(Thanks to outaspaceman for that wonderful line about 'stream of consciousness ...') ;;;
Don't believe in fairies?
I do now:
Clever, or what, eh?
Mairead Nesbitt, in diaphanous costume, live at Slane Castle. She was one of the fiddlers who featured in Mr. Flately's Lord of the Dance.
If she plays her cards right, she can come home with me!
Here she is again with Jay Ungar's Ashokan Farewell:
(My spelling of 'Ashokan' is correct.)
Clever, or what, eh?
Mairead Nesbitt, in diaphanous costume, live at Slane Castle. She was one of the fiddlers who featured in Mr. Flately's Lord of the Dance.
If she plays her cards right, she can come home with me!
Here she is again with Jay Ungar's Ashokan Farewell:
(My spelling of 'Ashokan' is correct.)
Sunday, 19 October 2008
Remembrance
I have always had some ambivalence about celebrations of 'the eleventh hour on the eleventh day ...'
I repent!
Listen, Watch ... and weep with me now:
Thanks to Coope, Boyes and Simpson, and someone called Ollie who put together the splendid montage.
I repent!
Listen, Watch ... and weep with me now:
Thanks to Coope, Boyes and Simpson, and someone called Ollie who put together the splendid montage.
Friday, 17 October 2008
St. Anley's fall from grace.
It is said that a good treatment for hypothermia is to share a sleeping bag with another person. Here I present a frightening tale of anthropomorphism that might make you question that received wisdom.
I will call it a 'Child (-ish) ballad', and give it a number. Thereby, people might be persuaded that it relates to some real event steeped in the history, folklore and legend of this celestial sphere. I wonder: one day, will someone collect this from a time-capsule and write learned footnotes about its origins? Will those alien intellects-to-come in their UFOs realise that it is simply the product of a teasing and disordered pseudo-brain occupying Earth-time's third millennium?
Here it is:
Saint Anley, the Maglite and the Spider.
(Child-ish # 7.259)
Saint Anley was a-walking all on a winter’s day.
With snow upon the usual paths, he quickly went astray.
He had no map or compass to show him his direction.
When darkness did around befall, he found he’d no protection.
He struggled ’gainst the icy blast over field and fell.
And then, perchance, he met a maid who said her name was Nell.
“How come you here this bitter night?” this maiden she did say.
“A walk for pleasure,” he replied, “and I fear I’ve lost my way.”
“Why, Sir, if pleasure you do seek, I’ll be of some assistance.”
She took him by his ice-numbed hand. He offered no resistance.
“You shall come home and share my cot and shelter from this storm,
And through the night we’ll sport and play and keep each other warm.”
Her offer was not idle, and he quickly followed after.
A stirring in his loins he felt and he thought, “This night I’ll have her.”
Her dwelling was a gloomy place, no light could Nell provide,
But quickly she climbed into bed and dragged him in beside.
St. Anley, being an innocent, uttered no objection.
The sport and play lasted many an hour (and that, without protection!)
In ecstasy St. Anley cried, “I must behold your face!”
But not one candle could be found within that humble place.
St. Anley delved within his pack and said, “I have the answer!”
He found illumination, by which he meant to glance her.
“It operates from batteries; they create a potential difference,
And when I turn it on like this, we shall have incandescence.”
Electrons flowed from pole to pole as the Maglite came to life.
Whilst dazzled by the light, he said, “I want you for my wife!”
Then slowly, --- oh so slowly, --- his vision did adjust.
An ugly crone before him lay and he lost all his lust.
A wart-covered face did he behold, with bits migrating south.
The hair that should have crowned her head was all around her mouth.
Her teeth that should've been pearly white, they were just blackened pegs.
Imagine his sheer horror when he found she had eight legs!
Her crooked smile was soon transformed into an evil glare.
St. Anley stood, as if transfixed. He was trapped in a spider’s lair.
“I have you!” cackled the arachnoid beast, “I hold you to our tryst:
You’ve vowed to be my husband. On that I do insist.”
Is there a moral to this tale of bestial deception?
Some say the Saint could’ve done with a mite more preparation.
An OS map and compass would have set him right,
…And ne'er again in all his life will he turn on that Maglite!
Footnote:
If you visit this post regularly, you will notice that it continually changes. Please regard it as work in progress. I am trying to find a tune for it, but scansion is difficult with so many polysyllabic words. Most of the narrative fits into an 85 85 85 85 meter, in the fashion of The English Hymnal notation. I am not qualified to explain that, nor am I sure really understand it. All suggestions welcome.
I will call it a 'Child (-ish) ballad', and give it a number. Thereby, people might be persuaded that it relates to some real event steeped in the history, folklore and legend of this celestial sphere. I wonder: one day, will someone collect this from a time-capsule and write learned footnotes about its origins? Will those alien intellects-to-come in their UFOs realise that it is simply the product of a teasing and disordered pseudo-brain occupying Earth-time's third millennium?
Here it is:
Saint Anley, the Maglite and the Spider.
(Child-ish # 7.259)
Saint Anley was a-walking all on a winter’s day.
With snow upon the usual paths, he quickly went astray.
He had no map or compass to show him his direction.
When darkness did around befall, he found he’d no protection.
He struggled ’gainst the icy blast over field and fell.
And then, perchance, he met a maid who said her name was Nell.
“How come you here this bitter night?” this maiden she did say.
“A walk for pleasure,” he replied, “and I fear I’ve lost my way.”
“Why, Sir, if pleasure you do seek, I’ll be of some assistance.”
She took him by his ice-numbed hand. He offered no resistance.
“You shall come home and share my cot and shelter from this storm,
And through the night we’ll sport and play and keep each other warm.”
Her offer was not idle, and he quickly followed after.
A stirring in his loins he felt and he thought, “This night I’ll have her.”
Her dwelling was a gloomy place, no light could Nell provide,
But quickly she climbed into bed and dragged him in beside.
St. Anley, being an innocent, uttered no objection.
The sport and play lasted many an hour (and that, without protection!)
In ecstasy St. Anley cried, “I must behold your face!”
But not one candle could be found within that humble place.
St. Anley delved within his pack and said, “I have the answer!”
He found illumination, by which he meant to glance her.
“It operates from batteries; they create a potential difference,
And when I turn it on like this, we shall have incandescence.”
Electrons flowed from pole to pole as the Maglite came to life.
Whilst dazzled by the light, he said, “I want you for my wife!”
Then slowly, --- oh so slowly, --- his vision did adjust.
An ugly crone before him lay and he lost all his lust.
A wart-covered face did he behold, with bits migrating south.
The hair that should have crowned her head was all around her mouth.
Her teeth that should've been pearly white, they were just blackened pegs.
Imagine his sheer horror when he found she had eight legs!
Her crooked smile was soon transformed into an evil glare.
St. Anley stood, as if transfixed. He was trapped in a spider’s lair.
“I have you!” cackled the arachnoid beast, “I hold you to our tryst:
You’ve vowed to be my husband. On that I do insist.”
Is there a moral to this tale of bestial deception?
Some say the Saint could’ve done with a mite more preparation.
An OS map and compass would have set him right,
…And ne'er again in all his life will he turn on that Maglite!
Footnote:
If you visit this post regularly, you will notice that it continually changes. Please regard it as work in progress. I am trying to find a tune for it, but scansion is difficult with so many polysyllabic words. Most of the narrative fits into an 85 85 85 85 meter, in the fashion of The English Hymnal notation. I am not qualified to explain that, nor am I sure really understand it. All suggestions welcome.
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