[blogfocus saturday] shy, sensitive young men

This evening we Focus on those shy, often misunderstood denizens of the blogosphere, the self-effacing young straplings of sensitivity whose gossamer light prose splashes, as spitting rain, on the highways and byways of cyberspace.

Dedicated to the example set by Saint DK, author of "Communicating with your fists", here then are eight items of elegance:

1 The verbose Theo Spark refers the ephemeral leader-in-waiting to the wisdom of ages:

Dear Gordo...

...this is a paddle. You are going to need it.

2 On the other side of the pond, the Limbaugh influenced Jon Swift touches on the difficult topic of young ladies of the night:

Franke-Ruta's efforts to throw more pornographers and consumers of pornography in jail and make our young women less wild has been criticized by a few libertines like Ezra Klein, but I don't think she goes far enough. Can a girl of 21 really know what she is consenting to when she signs a release form for a pornographer? Does she really understand what the ramifications might be later in life? That is why I propose that we raise the minimum age of consent to participate in pornography to 65.

3 Drivers of Triumph Toledos are not to be gaffawed at. They are to be humoured. Mutley, please:

On the way home from work my car ( A Triumph Toledo) suddenly stopped moving as the engine ceased to work. I managed to get over to the side of the road into a field and put on my hazard lights, then I called the AA. I hoped for some minor pleasure in meeting a uniformed and manly car mechanic – but it was not be . The AA man was not twinkly, slim, fit and virile as it claimed in the adverts - he looked like Supermario and smelled of onions.

He fiddled round the car for a while as people drove past pointing and laughing and then said “When did you last petrol in this heap of junk?” (!!!) “I always re-fill my tank when I reach the red line !” I said stiffly, I did not like his attitude.

4 The Flying Rodent takes his first small steps in live-election-casting:

Like many others, I thought I'd try my hand at my first ever "Live-blogging" post.

Hopefully I can shed some light on a confusing situation, I'll post updates as the night goes on.

10:00 pm: Okay, a good solid start to the coverage. The country music theme is a bit odd, but I gather retro is all the rage at the moment.

Ooops, the presenter is on. Back in a minute.

10:05 pm: Okay, I'm not that politically aware, but I think I've sussed out that the First Minister is the tall, craggy guy. I'm assuming that the goofy looking guy in the cap must be some kind of party functionary.

10:09 pm: I know it's presumptuous, but I reckon that the Scottish people wouldn't mind if our elected leader shelled out for an official car or something. It's undignified for the FM to be bumming around in a flatbed truck.

5 Soft and adorable, a cute, cuddly kitten, Newmania finds thoughts flitting across his mind which surely all of us have experienced at some time or other:

Something I have sometimes wondered is what I would have done if I was in Germany when Hitler was coming to power. Would I have resisted , would I have been an enthusiastic Party member? Of course you can be too literal about it and start talking about how you have been a different sort of person but the sort of questions I am thinking are these.

1 I hate socialism and would I have hated them so much as to have been prepared to ally with anyone?

2 Would my inability to agree with anyone have triumphed over my fond regard for uniforms and sneaky admiration for the human spirit in action, at war.

3 Would the patriotism I possess have been able to define itself away from the vision of the country that was prevalent.

4 Would the dangerous romantic appeal of fascism have infected me?

5 What about the legendary magnetism of the man himself.

6 From Mr. Eugenides' pre-live-election-casting phase, this moment for quiet reflection on the Blair years, if you please:

Exam pass rates continue their giddy rise year on year, and there may for the first time be an all-English Champions League final this year. (Thank Labour supporter Sir Alex Ferguson for that: him, and the EU: for without free movement of people, how else could Argentina's Gabriel Heinze and the Ivory Coast's Didier Drogba ply their trade in our leagues?) Your whites wash whiter, your beer is foamier, and I can't be the only one, surely, who's noticed that the quality and duration of our orgasms is at an all-time high. [Though in my case, still self-administered: some things haven't changed.]

7 If one more blogger blogs about the British local elections, I'm going to strangle him at birth, Hopefully, Reactionary Snob's piece here is the last we'll see of this election excrescence for at least two more Nu-Labour filled years:

Well, it looks as if the bastards are out and have been replaced by another shower of bastards. One upside to all this, I suppose, is whatever you say about Salmond (and I've said rather a lot) is that he is, in just about every way, leagues and leagues ahead of McConnell.

It is a historic result. For almost my entire life, this small land heady with the reek of socialism has been dominated by Labour. An elite has formed - largely Glasgow University educated, largely from North Lanarkshire (or failing that Paisley). This elite forms a substantial chunk of the political wing of the 'Scottish Raj' in London.

8 The Abluted One has returned yet again to inflict an entirely uncalled for account of his life of luxury on the high seas on the unsuspecting paupers of the blogosphere, namely me:

Mrs. Ablution and I, having committed the heinous sin of air travel to New York, felt that to return via ocean liner might to some extent compensate for our injudicious carbon expenditure, and were willing to make the sacrifice - at whatever the cost.

The ship was both comfortable and impressive, the food and drink (usually) excellent, the sleeping like that in the womb, and the service (in most cases) pleasantly and professionally rendered. The only real disappointment lay with our fellow passengers, who seemed not to take the Cunard tradition of elegance of manner and attire entirely to heart. Friends speculate that the era of refinement on the seas is well and truly dead.

Don't despair - I'm sure I'll overcome my lethargy over the course of this week.

So, they return to their cocoons and I hope to see you all again on Tuesday evening. Bye for now.