Time flies when you're having fun.
2016 has to be the year where I get my arse in gear and start getting things written down. The four novels are mapped out in my head, together with a ton of dialogue; I've drawn the map of the locations and I've even got bits of stuff scribbled down in notebooks but none of that counts for anything if I don't get down to the grindstone.
Best wishes to all from me, the Small Object Of Desire and the Cat I Do Not Have.
Stung by reading yet another bit of thin blather, I turned to The Small Object of Desire and said: "I should become a library consultant. I can write a pile of weak bollocks like this."
"No you can't," she said. "Besides, you're not capable of kissing enough arses to get the work in the first place."
This is easily the sweetest thing she's ever said to me.
I can only marvel at the skill of people who can do stuff like this:
Still having problems with this sodding network.
Here's a picture of a sausage to be getting on with...
Following on from yesterday's ramblings...
(Moschops is a Therapsid from the Permian. Therapsids are one of the more primitive groups of Synapsid ("mammal-like") reptiles.)
And a last burst for this weekend...
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |  |
 |
|
 |
 |
 |
 |
For neither rhyme nor reason, here's a bunch o'books
 |
 |  |
 | ||
 |
 |
 |
 |
R.I.P. Eddie Braben
The passing of one of my heroes. An utter genius of a writer, a great artist and craftsman. We're the better for having had him round.
How could you improve Morecambe and Wise? Well, you could get them to drop the Abbott and Costello personae they often adopted in the fifties and sixties. Then you could write for deep-seated warmth of their friendship. And then you could add the daftnesses of childhood. And you get this:
Here he is talking to Miranda Hart about the experience:
(It wasn't until I read his obituary in "The Independent" that I knew about his head-butting Billy Cotton for not letting him follow Morecambe & Wise over to Thames when they left the BBC.)
It's a shame I don't have any links to clips of any of his radio shows. Mad compendia of music hall malarkey, gorms and grotesques, with Alison Steadman as Miss Tasker ("Shy of men. Always have been...") driven wild by men's thighs and the odd lurch into Comic Cuts surrealism that would lead Eli Woods to cry: "I've done some rubbish in my time, but..." And we'd laugh. Because it was warm and daft and funny.
Thank you sir.
The weather's warmed up a bit so I decided to have a nosy in the compost bin which has been keeping cats' bottoms warm all winter. It's pretty much nicely-rotted now so I chucked a load over the bare bed by the hazel bush in the corner. I also decide to put a spare big plastic box to use. It was originally given to us by the council to hold old newspapers for collection (only old newspapers, mark you) and has been redundant this past few years since we started having four humongous wheelie bins to manage on their behalf. So I half-filled it with compost from the bin, added a layer of coir compost and then topped it over with a few inches of multi-purpose compost from a bag.
I havered a bit about what to put in there: I've some tomato plants that are still a bit on the small side and not really suited for being by the side of the house; I'll stick with Plan A and get a couple of growbags for the back garden. I sowed a couple of rows of Swiss chard and a row of dwarf broad beans (I like them, The Small Object of desire thinks that beans are Things Of The Devil) and planted in a few scented-leaved pelargoniums at the front to soften the edges a bit and confuse any pests that depend on their sense of smell to find the plants they're going to ravage.
That nice Wendy, blaming Scarlet, has awarded me another copy of the award I got the other day off Savannah. Which mean that I have a Reality Award and bar, which is dead good and demonstrates once and for all that I'm not away with the fairies. Thank you.
And now for the four questions. The good thing is that I'm now at an age where an already-tenuous grasp of reality combined with a failing memory will probably come up with entirely different answers...
1. If you could change one thing in your life, what would it be?
I'd like the people I care about not to have to worry about health or money or anything.
2. If you could repeat any age which would it be?
I'd be tempted to go back to my early twenties and give myself a massive kick up the arse. Having said that, I suspect I'm a better person now for having been such a prat then.
3. What really scares you?
Life.
4. If you could be someone else for a day, who would you be?
A man in a shed on a warm summer's evening painting a rocking chair for the woman who's just given him a cup of tea.
I am now moved to pass the meme on to somebody who's blog has touched me lately. If you're reading this you're eligible.
One of the papers this weekend ran yet another "Is Jessica Rabbit the sexiest cartoon character…" article, which is becoming almost a greater cliché than the Flintstones MILF debate. Wilma vs. Betty has become a tad tired but still goes a-rumbling on (if you need to know: Wilma, because I've got a thing about redheads). Even some twenty-somethings at work have this argument (outside Game of Thrones seasons). It's odd that we have these reactions to what are, after all, just drawings. One of my friends at school fell in love with the black lady in the Tom and Jerry cartoons because he reckoned she had a lovely singing voice and thick ankles.
I'm above this sort of nonsense, of course.
That nice Savannah has given me a nice award:
There is a catch: "the award comes with a small request and that is to answer the four questions listed and then to pass the award along to those bloggers who recently touched/moved/inspired YOU!"
1. If you could change one thing in your life, what would it be?
I'd live near the sea with a decent cliff top walk nearby that allowed for a bit of decent seawatching.
2. If you could repeat any age which would it be?
I'd like the energy I had when I was about seven. And the world-weary cynicism that went with it.
3. What really scares you?
People. Seriously. En masse they terrify me. And when I think about the things they'll do "for the right thing" I get the screaming ad-dabs.
4. If you could be someone else for a day, who would you be?
If I were to tell you I would be in breach of the terms of my being bound over to keep the peace.
"so there it is. grab the pic and the questions and then nominate another blogger or bloggers who've recently touched you! i nominate the following and really do hope they'll particpate!"Well now... not including Savannah's splendid selection (which you'll have to go and see for yourself), I'll nominate
I noticed that there's a new barber's next door to Uncle Fester's Diner. I have to point out here that Uncle Fester's Diner does exist and it's just down the road from Railway Cuttings. I was taken by an exchange between the owner and one of his schoolboy customers:
Child: "Are you really Uncle Fester?"
Uncle Fester lookalike: "Fuck off."I noticed that the new place was advertising "Turkish shaves." Turkish shaves? I asked The Small Object of Desire who told me that it's the proper stuff with hot towels and that. The sort of thing you see in the fillums. I have always hankered after one of those but convinced myself that they don't exist in real life. And they're doing them down the road.
By the merest chance I heard the very last edition of "ITMA" being played on Radio 4 Extra the other day (Radio 4 Extra is what we have to call Radio 7 these days now we have to pretend that the BBC doesn't have more than 6 radio stations so as not to upset the Daily Mail). I was surprised by how much I enjoyed it; ITMA generally being something I admire for its craft and delivery but don't much laugh at. I'll have to hunt down some more of the later editions.
Bill Oddie was acting as Comedy Controller for a couple of hours and was working to a thesis that though he loved radio programmes like this at the time they've not aged all that well because a lot of the material would have worked better as television programmes because the performers were, essentially, variety artistes and actors doing variety acts. There's a lot to be said for this argument, particularly as his next exhibit was "Archie's the Lad!" with ventriloquist Peter Brough and his dummy Archie Andrews.
But there's also a lot to be said for the counter-argument that there's a lot of television that should have stayed on the radio. And not just because Peter Brough's lips moved. The Telly Goons are a prized part of my childhood memory but they were only ever a nineteenth-rate version of the colour and invention of the real thing on the radio. Similarly: Jimmy Clitheroe's knees. How scary were they at Saturday tea time?
And there's no way, shape or form that Round the Horne could ever have been on the television and kept much of its magic.
I'll be coming back to that...
Prudence, Caution, Deliberation.
The Hermit points to all things hidden, such as knowledge and inspiration,hidden enemies. The illumination is from within, and retirement from participation in current events.
The Hermit is a card of introspection, analysis and, well, virginity. You do not desire to socialize; the card indicates, instead, a desire for peace and solitude. You prefer to take the time to think, organize, ruminate, take stock. There may be feelings of frustration and discontent but these feelings eventually lead to enlightenment, illumination, clarity.
The Hermit represents a wise, inspirational person, friend, teacher, therapist. This a person who can shine a light on things that were previously mysterious and confusing.
I must have been doing the cat's shoelaces
when this lot came a-calling.
What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.
Posts
All Comments
