Saturday, June 14, 2008

[tyke that] been shoovellin' mook agin, ha ye, lad?


Wheear 'ast ta bin sin' ah saw thee, ah saw thee?
On Ilkla Mooar baht 'at
Wheear 'ast ta bin sin' ah saw thee, ah saw thee?
Wheear 'ast ta bin sin' ah saw thee?

On Ilkla Mooar baht 'at
On Ilkla Mooar baht 'at
On Ilkla Mooar baht 'at

Tha's been a cooartin' Mary Jane
Tha's bahn' to catch thy deeath o` cowd
Then we shall ha' to bury thee
Then t'worms'll come an` eyt thee up
Then t'ducks'll come an` eyt up t'worms
Then we shall go an` eyt up t'ducks
Then we shall all ha' etten thee
That's wheear we get us ooan back
Ah ooan back lad, ah ooan back
An aw'll be at peace
I don't think.

:)

[at any time] fragility of life

At any time.

[home's your castle] have I got news for you


Chris Cocker, 36, from Blackburn, laughed so hard while watching BBC TV's Have I Got News For You that he fell off the sofa, the BBC reported. A neighbour in the flat below heard the thud and called police.

"I fell off the settee in hysterics and hit the floor and got myself up and started carrying on watching the telly and the next thing I know there was a knock on the door," Mr Cocker said.

The knock was from police officers, but Mr Cocker was not happy to see them and refused to co-operate. "The bit where I lost it the most was when I shut the door and the policeman had stuck his foot in the doorway and was refusing to let me shut my own front door," he said.

Police then pepper-sprayed Mr Cocker, bundled him into a police van and took him to a police station where he said he was stripped naked and made to spend a night in a jail cell, the BBC said.


The whole thing turns on three points:

1. Mr. Cocker got up all by himself and didn’t inconvenience anyone else in this difficult manouevre;

2. Mr. Cocker clearly had not installed the second security door for when troublesome visitors stick their feet through the outer door;

3. The necessity to be naked in jail.

I’d dearly love to hear a recording of the initial conversation between the boys in blue and Joe’s brother but there is one point left unresolved and uncommented on in this whole tawdry episode – the programme ‘Have I Got News For You.

I do feel there is a prima facie case for search and arrest of the main culprits on that particular show and quite substantial justification for 42 day detention and waterboarding, those subversives being prime candidates for insurgency status.

Would all this have happened under Angus Deyton?

Friday, June 13, 2008

[clubs] of tammany and tin gods



You know, I’ve really started wondering about the angst and the aggro surrounding clubs.

Before I go any further, time for the disclaimer – I shall studiously try to avoid references to any specific clubs and organizations bar one and yet there seems to be a common denominator, from football to online clubs.

One of the groups I think which needed to take a long hard look at itself in the past was the Scout Organization. They had a handbook called Policy, Organization & Rules, a bureaucratic tome if ever there was one, which in turn was referred to as ‘Press on Regardless’.

What was the point? It was supposed to be a friendly, voluntary, philanthropic organization, for goodness sake. Did the pedantic language ever stop one kiddie fiddler from slipping through the net? And yet the plethora of rules seemed to give a certain type of person a certain type of security, setting up a hierarchy in which the top positions were sought after.

Yacht clubs are notorious for both those who wish to avoid all responsibility, to escape being roped into working bees and the like and those who seek the top club positions, not above a little manouvering and elbowing to climb that greasy pole.

What’s the point? Is there some sort of pleasure to be derived from resolutions and minutes of meetings and from the seconding of motions through to imposing gruelling sets of restrictions on members? Why do clubs lumber themselves with these things?

With online groups, are those who rise to the top the best ones to run the show? Are there distinct starters and runners? What’s the point of an online group? What sort of person should be allowed in and what sort should be allowed to remain?

What’s the club actually for?

I confess I don’t know – it seems that there is a moment where it seems an eminently good thing to do and then there comes the time when the damned thing should be given away because it is just bringing everyone down.

The key question I’d like an answer to is how to have a club without people posting threats about others, getting all ‘ultimatum happy’ and generally causing misery for all around. Where’s the pleasure in that?

Why would anyone wish to be part of all that?

[interim report] light at the end


Envisage Wednesday we'll be freed up to blog. Just now there are my Russian visitors and the exam time plus Sunday's election [see Welshcakes' posts] but it eases up after Tuesday.

Little bit of Russo-Italian stick. The visiting ladies went to dine last evening in the lower town and I went with them for a while. When the waiter came over, I indicated, 'Belissimo, non?' nodding to the three and he said, 'Non.'

He clearly felt I should be confining my activities to a good Sicilian girl or maybe a Welsh girl in Sicily, had he known about the lovely lady up in the middle town, Sordo. Of course I can't invite you all to Welshcakes' place but there's a nice B&B down the road - actually ultra-nice:


Pinetta Monserrato
Tel/faz +39.0932.946.908

So if you fancy a spacious B&B on the hillside overlooking the old town, that's your spot. If you fancy some Italian lessons in a most civilized manner [thereby allowing this household of ours to survive the summer], the place is:

English International School

Welshcakes is too modest to say but she's a fully qualified teacher in Italian and Paula can also do this. She is today teaching one of the Russian girls.

In all seriousness though, it's a fabulous area with more than reasonable rates compared to the rest of Europe and last evening's cool 22 degrees walking through the old town was a delight, not to mention the cuisine and the sheer relaxation here.

And you'd get to meet Welshcakes.

Thursday, June 12, 2008

Field of Dreams


'Tis moonlight, summer moonlight
by Emily Jane Brontë

'Tis moonlight, summer moonlight,
All soft and still and fair;
The solemn hour of midnight
Breathes sweet thoughts everywhere,

But most where trees are sending
Their breezy boughs on high,
Or stooping low are lending
A shelter from the sky.

And there in those wild bowers
A lovely form is laid;
Green grass and dew-steeped flowers
Wave gently round her head.

Crossposted at Cherie's Place.

Thanks, Cherie from James.

[reasons for silence] tall tales and true

Watch that nose!

Have you ever noticed how things gang up on you and then your limp reasons for not blogging are 'blogging will be light' or 'RL intrudes'?

Bet my reasons sound a little far fetched.

For a start, Welshcakes was finally forced to take a day of recuperation yesterday [hence her prolific blogging but you'd never know that, the stoic] and was homebound on the recommendation of Dr. Higham.

Then I was called out by a certain bevy of unspecified gender to impart certain knowledge and a goodly part of the day was spent either doing that or checking in on home.

Then a certain Russian lady was arriving at 10 last evening with a ladyfriend and with the threat of another arriving today, I helped them into their digs but the prospect of a nightcap with a certain WCL had me scooting up the hill to find a quite chipper Welshcakes furiously pumping the keyboard.

We enjoyed the nightcap.

Then old Higham hit the day and didn't stir until now, one hour before being due down the hill once again.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it!

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

Pub quiz: McCanns and W.S. Churchill?

Pub quiz: McCanns and W.S. Churchill?

What is the connection between the McCann case and Sir Winston Churchill (1874 - 1965)?

Clue: Famous quotes.

[quickies] tuesday morning boys' talk

Nice little piece from Ordo - this on McCain, for example:

If it looks and smells like an intellectual pygmy, then it probably is an
intellectual pygmy...

Or from Sackerson:

I must start to read the big-words papers.
Or from Wolfie:

It doesn’t get much better than this. [Together with Wolfie's marriage guide]

Or from Rob at The Broadsheet Rag:

But bare with me.
Yes Rob - I'll give it a try. Wait for me. :)

Monday, June 09, 2008

[shepherd's pie] but not as we know it, jim


I’m reminded, ensconced at Welshcakes’ domicile, of Prince Philip who was quoted as saying:


I never see any home cooking. All I get is fancy stuff.

See what you think and before I begin, Welshcakes wishes to issue a warning that if the Jailhouse Lawyer makes any snide remarks about the fare above, he can go forth and multiply [but not in those words].

So here is the scene:

‘Would you like some Shepherd’s Pie,’ asked WCL, expecting the answer yes. So she began preparing one a la Madhur Jaffrey but I can tell you the light hand of Welshcakes was quite discernible throughout.

The aubergines were sliced and griddled first as their olive oil soaking propensities have been swell documented. These were then left to one side.

Next came the taties, boiled whole until only just soft and these also were put to one side, to be sunflower oiled later. Yours truly sliced the tomatoes and then the taties.

Now came the Great Mystery – the case of the disappearing nutmeg. We searched high and low, inside cupboards and outside but drew a blank and decided to go without it. Imagine Welshcakes’ amazement when some hours later there it was, the bottle, sitting right under our noses in one of the cupboards we’d checked.

She still insists it was one of my practical jokes but I swear it wasn’t. Instead I insist back that it is not unlike the case of the credit card in the car. No matter – back to the Shepherd’s Pie.

One large onion, seven cloves of garlic, parsley and a good sized piece of fresh ginger needed to be Moulinexed and then added to three tablespoons of sunflower oil in the large wok until the onion was transparent. The mince then went in with chopped green chilli [which we didn’t have so Welshcakes used her own special mix], turmeric powder, a little salt and gradually, four tablespoons of water judged by the meat.

The mix was stirred until the meat was browned, then covered and left simmering for 45 mins. Next came the all spice, thyme, nutmeg and a little black pepper.

Now a baking dish needed to be oiled and lined with the aubergine strips, followed by a layer of sliced tomatoes, seasoned with salt, black pepper and thyme, then the sliced, cooked potato, brushed with oil and seasoned one last time.

Welshcakes now added her own little touch with a pinch of oregano. Not to be outdone, I was all for adding some rosemary which we picked from the balcony and it added that special something.

The whole thing was then bunged in the oven for about 40 minutes and Roberto was then most certainly our uncle. Now that was what I called a Shepherd’s Pie and I have to nip off now to eat the second half this evening.

Of course, we haven't even mentioned the exquisite lemon ice-cream cake for afters, which melts in the mouth but that will have to wait for another post.

[liberty] invest in it before it's too late

Vietnam as it should have been.

With the anti-foreign push in most countries today, of which I became an unwitting victim, the desire to shut the shutters, shore up one’s personal resources and look after N1 is quite pressing on the psyche.

There is little doubt that people neither want to contemplate what’s coming, let alone read about it in blogs. Feel good stories are the ticket, or focussing on titillation or outrage at some new atrocity the media, esp. Sky News, keeps feeding us.

Then there is the macro-stage, the global stage:

The press coverage of the war in Iraq rarely exposes the twisted pathology of this war. We see [it] from the perspective of the troops or from the equally skewed perspective of the foreign reporters, holed up in hotels, hemmed in by drivers and translators and official security and military escorts.
Whatever your view on it, the Iraq War is a dirty war and America has fallen for it again twice in the space of one generation. It’s dirty because the public and power are not at one, because generals are coming out and speaking, because vets are not coming home to heroes’ welcomes, because the government’s provision of physical resources and services to the troops does not match its rhetoric.

In the World Wars, people were not exactly at one but at least they were looking in roughly the same direction against a tangible enemy. Not so in these two disasters. This is tough for me to say because I am ex-military and I feel onside far more with military mates than with "lefty moaners". Yet Vietnam still sears the brain and will not go away. No one in his right mind says that was anything to do with protecting democracy or preventing the domino effect.

And now we’re shaping up for a third round – Iran. There is, currently:

Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad's taunts that Israel "will soon disappear off the geographical scene", President George Bush's repeated lambasting of the Iranian Islamic regime as a great danger to world peace, Senator Hillary Clinton's vow to obliterate Iran if it attacked Israel, and Senator Barack Obama's pledge to "do everything in his power" to prevent Iran from obtaining nuclear power.

Having been in a position to discuss Iran at government level in the past couple of years, the message coming through is that Iran is a lot more than just a madman at the helm and could easily draw the U.S. and allies into an endless loop of debilitating tit-for-tat.

America must realize the story’s a lot more complex than Great Satan simply bombing the crap out of the place. Have they learned nothing from Vietnam? The Age article touches on this:

[Iran] can halt its supply of oil, which in the present world climate would cause a real energy crisis, with the price of oil going up beyond $200 a barrel, block the Strait of Hormuz, through which some 87% of the Gulf oil is exported, target oil platforms in the Gulf, and make life more miserable for the US in Iraq and Afghanistan than is the case at present by encouraging its Shiite allies and unleashing its own suicide bombers against the US forces there.

And then there is the scenario which any reader of the apocalyptic scriptures foretells – war between blocs, not nations, deception, Israel caught in the middle of it and the inevitable slide to the feudal bestialization of human beings to an extent not conceived of in the west for centuries.

There is a madness abroad just now and on the homefront – the economic jitters. Personally, I see the last time we really saw hope of escape, at least in part from this constant cycle of being squeezed from above was in Andrew Jackson’s time.

People are forever looking for a political saviour and I suspect one is just round the corner now but it would be as well to check the colour of his coat before extolling his virtues and placing faith in him. He might be working for the other side.

The cynical, serpentine manouevering to get people to relinquish freedoms and the right to elect representatives has to be vigorously opposed. The right to trade and to move about the world is also under threat of sovereign monopolization. The equally cynical invocation of terrorism,illegal immigration and global warming as a tool rather than as a legitimate issue must be seen for what it is and also opposed, at the same time as we oppose that very terrorism, illegal immigration and global warming itself.

The debate has to become less puerile and black and white. Because you oppose something does not make you a traitor - it could equally be making you a patriot.

Sunday, June 08, 2008

[glass ceiling] not for women there isn't


Glass ceiling for women? Utter bollocks. Just a question of time till the Feministi journos tried this one.

It was Clinton who not enough wanted plus the spectre of her husband. Fair's fair though - it was a gracious concession speech.

[misteri d'italia] learning slowly


In the early stages of coming to terms with this place called Italy, helping me greatly is the book by Tobias Jones who moved to Parma in 1999.

Named the Dark Heart of Italy, I couldn’t possibly comment on that at this early stage but already some things have become apparent to a man whose eyes have never been turned this way but rather to colder climes. No doubt most readers would have more knowledge of the two Sicilies than I.

Yet bear with me as I make my discoveries and kindly add things you yourself picked up in your travels, to round out the picture.

Stato

Firstly, there is no state called Italy, except in politicians’ minds. It has gone through so many hands, been somebody’s baby, from the Borgias to Berlusconi and the city state is still so deeply entrenched in most places that it explains why Modicans refer to themselves as either that or Sicilian, the south, part of ‘Africa’, as they apply their northern neighbours’ epithet for them.

‘Provincialism combined with urbane cosmopolitanism’ is the way to go.

Catholicism

The religion is clerical, people’s attendance largely social and yet fervent for all that. As the bells chime just now, it is a contrast to where I was two weeks ago with the Muslim prayer call from the minarets.

One place this comes through is if you are convicted of wrong doing in the law court in Primo Grado. No one thinks that is the end of the matter – you’ll be absolved in Secondo Grado later. Sin on Saturday, absolution on Sunday.

Furbo

Some time back I ran an article on this – the admiration for someone who can con his way round the system and make something for himself. Much better, as Jones says, to be furbo [mildly dodgy] than ingenuo [naïve]. To pay an unnecessary fee, to do things by the book, to declare campaign contributions and resign for irregularities, so beloved by the British – that raises eyebrows here.

Ethics

There is bel and brutto. That’s all. Not right and wrong. One dresses to shop, one’s ailments and poverty is not spoken of and is disguised as far as possible.

Laissez faire and bureaucracy

Anything official involves largesse, obsequiousness, long queues, crawling on the belly and begging, in flowery language, to be allowed to pay your outrageous tax and get that little stamp on the document which goes with the other stamped documents which go with the other red tape to pay your fee on this or that. Legitimacy is everything, even to proving you’re a citizen.

On the other hand, the average life has no end goal, no explanation, no rules – it just is. To feel is more important than to think. The summum bonum is figura – the thing you have achieved, which you have made yourself into.

Fantasy and reality

Somewhere in here is the merging of fantasy and reality. Reality is euphemized or ignored, hidden away beneath a layer of words, which are fantasy, which is the real reality, sometimes in blood through history. History and story are the same word in Italian – storia.

Passing someone on the path

An ASBO was coming the other way in south London once and wanted me to step aside. When I didn’t, I got ‘Oh, for f--- sake,’ and other gems but I dug in and refused to move, even pulling a sandwich out of a bag to eat to while away the hours. Twenty minutes later he gave it away.

In Russia, he saw me coming, I saw him coming, we ignored the other and at the crossing point it was two walruses clashing, followed by his denunciations, ‘But it was my path.’

In Modica, he saw me coming, we both stepped aside, he said grazie and buona sera, I responded in kind.

That’s about as far as I’ve got so far on this place here where a gale is currently blowing through the shutter slats and the tiled floor feels cool beneath the feet as I write this.