A Stiff Upper Lip

There are some places, a bloke will not boldly go, in fact he won’t go there at all – and I can assure you, it requires a stiff upper lip for anyone to investigate these dark and noisome places.

And before any blokes spring to the defence, and proclaim how new age you all are, don’t bother – the caveman lives





There is a Land behind the Cooker, where festering substances have parties and celebrate their long life.
I do not exaggerate, I only observe.
Inside the cooker?

Forget it, blokes just burn stuff and wonder why the oven is sending out smoke signals.





What I like is the look of blank surprise (but very faint interest) on a bloke’s face, when you inform him that parts of his cave are supporting a whole new eco-system, most of them alien to human life



Beam me up, Scotty.
Yep.

'Winds, veering to moderate'

Sod the Foodies, we know what we likes.

Marmalade sarnis, along with our famous chip butties, are truly English, and Marmite may be good for you, but us Brits stand paw to paw, with our famous bear (see the previous blog for enlightenment on that one)

Some things always take us home, wherever we may be

Before the era of day-long television, we only had the radio, so I can understand why the exiles amongst us, still tune in for Classic FM or the BBC’s World Service.

Part of that life was the Shipping Forecast that was first broadcast on the British Home Service, now on Radio 4 (1967) As a child I used to listen to the modulated tones of the broadcaster, as he went through the areas around our coasts.

‘Dogger, Fisher….’ wondering if those sailors tossing around in the sea were all right, and would they get home?




‘Cromarty and Forth…Winds veering to moderate’
That was good, the winds would veer, and the rain would come along later.

The names have a poetry all their own ‘Viking’ ‘Rockall’ ‘Shannon’. We used to have ‘Finisterre’ but we lost that in 2002.

To the Spanish, would you believe?

‘A name known to millions of radio listeners after appearing in broadcasts every day for 53 years has passed into history. Finisterre ranks alongside Dogger, Fisher and German Bight as one of the most distinctive areas of sea included in the BBC's shipping forecast, but from Sunday at noon it will be heard no longer. Feb 2002’ (BBC News)





Just because of the bloody Spanish – they wanted the name, so now that area is named ‘FitzRoy’, and if you think I begrudge the Spanish their ‘Finnisterre’ damn right, I do.

Captain FitzRoy became a governor of New Zealand, so they should have named somewhere in New Zealand after him, if you think about it. Or maybe the whole country.

Only fair isn’t it?

And left ‘Finnisterre’ where it should be.





Yep

Notes and Bibliography

1) The first weather forecast broadcast on radio was a script prepared by the Met Office and read by an announcer on November 14, 1922, from Marconi House, London. From March 26, 1923, this became a daily service.

2) Captain Robert FitzRoy

Robert FitzRoy is best known as the captain of 'HMS Beagle' After a brief interlude as Governor of New Zealand, FitzRoy went on to develop an interest in meteorology becoming the founder of the UK Meteorological Office and inventor of the weather forecast.

He invented the earliest form of the Mercury Barometer. In parallel with the issuing of forecasts and the gathering of meteorological data, FitzRoy also distributed free barometers to poor fishing communities



I recommend this book by Charllie Connelly, available from Amazon

Attention All Shipping: A Journey Round the Shipping Forecast (Radio 4 Book of the Week) by Charlie Connelly. May 2005.

A List of Shipping Areas
Pub Quiz

Charts and Maps, very informative
Marine weather

Met Office

BBC Weather

The lowdown on just how the Shipping Forecast is produced
Media UK

The bear with the hard stare

It says something about the British, that when a bear called Paddington is seen munching Marmite sarnis, it gets a prime spot on the BBC news site, and several other places on the Net.

I don’t know what it says about the Brits, and really it’s best if we don’t.



For the rest of you, out there, 'Paddington' is the creation of writer, Michael Bond, and likes to eat Marmalade sandwiches.
(For you Yanks, that’s orange jam, got it?)

The Queen wears a crown and Paddington … well, he eats marmy sarnis.

So when an agency made commercials, promoting our Paddington as a muncher of Marmite, there was bear fur all over the place.

Michael Bond had to issue some strongly worded denials, that ‘the bear with the very hard stare’ had not forsaken his roots, I mean, his marmalade.



There was Mr Bond, on BBC’s Radio 4, being interviewed about a toy bear.
I quote:
‘Mr Bond told BBC Radio 4's Today programme that Paddington would not give up marmalade for good. ‘
So that’s all right then.

I was quite freaked out by the whole thing, in fact I nearly complained to the Authorities. How sad is that?
Before anyone replies, let me assure you that I am famous for the chilling quality of my ‘Paddington stare’.
Yep.

Links to Paddington Bear

Official Site of Paddington Bear

BBC News Online

'You have neared the moment of your departure'

There is a wonderful town in Siberia. They have a mayor who banned the phrase ‘I don’t know’
Can you believe this? From Yahoo

“MOSCOW - The mayor of a Siberian oil town has ordered his bureaucrats to stop using expressions such as "I don't know" and "I can't." Or look for another job.”
Alexander Kuzmin, the 33-year-old mayor of Megion

Think about it, what do we hear, whenever we ring any Council bods in this country. Exactly, it's “I don’t know.”




Just imagine a life, where these pillocks would lose their cruddy job, because they dared to say those words to us, in the tone of voice that suggests they don’t give a toss about the fact, that the rubbish hasn’t been collected, that the fire alarm keeps going off, and the manager will take an hour to come over with the bloody key?

(And it’s a good job, we didn’t worry about the Fire Brigade, as they took 18 minutes to arrive. They can’t turn the alarm off either )

Then we can all rub our hands and whisper, no, shout, down the phone, “Look for another job, Buster!”

After reading the rest of this illuminating article, I suggest our bureaucrats do a compulsory stint in Siberia, learning NOT to say

“What can we do?" "It's not my job," "It's impossible," "I'm having lunch," "There is no money," and "I was away/sick/on vacation."





Our bureaucrats would learn, deep breath here, that…

“Town authorities are there to make town residents' life comfortable and prosperous” That’s what the Mayor said, yes he did. I quote

“Town authorities are there to make town residents' life comfortable and prosperous. Officials who disobey the ban while in the mayor's office "will near the moment of their departure.”

Mind bending stuff – just what our Council admins need to know: they have these jobs in order to help us, it's that four-letter word ‘HELP’

Amazing, a whole new ball-park, wouldn’t you say? Imagine the power of being able to mutter
“You have neared the moment of your departure.”
In suitably blood-curdling tones of course

Practice, amigos, practice. Then pick up the phone.
Yep

Bugs and Other Creepy Things

'The best things in life are free'

I am against the use of clichés, it should be illegal. Wealthy idiots also annoy me and you don’t often find the intelligent use of wealth. But I think I've been proved wrong on both counts.

I’m talking about the Rothschild’s, the family of bankers and philanthropists who did good works in the best Victorian tradition.

One of the endearing things about this family, was their love of bugs and other creepy things.

I’m talking about the Natural History Museum at Tring, (UK) which was founded by Lionel Rothschild, who began collecting insects as a child of six.

It ‘s full of natural wonders, and it’s free. A great place for the kiddies.

The Museum

The Museum is very child friendly; they can run up and down and no one tells them off.
The children scream, and no one tells them off. Wonderful.
For some.

The children are just as entertaining as the animals. I enjoyed the way little kids threatened the stuffed bears and tigers - the less brave clutched Mummy’s knee, and sobbed.

Poor little mite was convinced that the snarling Tiger was going to leap out and eat her.
Very enjoyable.

I still think it’s amazing we have this collection, beautifully kept, displayed. And it’s free. They even let the kiddies open the 19C cabinets full of jewelled butterflies.

They let the kids bang ‘em shut as well.

Lionel Walter Rothschild

Very entertaining it was too. A wobbly child made several escape attempts, doing happy gurgling noises as he set off past the cabinets of possums and opossums.

Yes, I do know the difference, so there.
Possums.

The wobbly child got corralled, but my guess is, it won’t be long before he makes the Great Escape.
However I do approve of making the little ones work hard, and enjoyed the way they ran round with clipboards and pencils, making notes. It was a bit difficult to move sometimes, when the eager note-takers flopped down on my feet.

The only thing I didn’t care for, was the skeleton of the Giant Sloth: actually, it was the remark “It reminds me of you.” that I didn’t care for.

I’m sure most of you will understand.

Put it this way, I suggest you do.
Yep.

Bibliography and Notes

The Walter Rothschild Building
Akeman Street
Tring
Hertfordshire
HP23 6AP
Tel.44(0) 20 7942 6171

Opening Times
Mon to Sat. 10 .00– 17.00pm
Sunday 14.00 – 17.00

Closed: 24-26 December.

Lionel Rothschild

In 1889, when Lionel Walter Rothschild came of age, his father, the first Baron Rothschild, gave him a piece of land in Tring Park on which he built two cottages, one to house his collection of insects and books and the other for a caretaker. A much larger building designed for the display of mounted specimens was also built and first opened to the public in 1892. As his collections grew, he continued to devote much thought and care to the arrangement of the galleries, selecting especially fine specimens for exhibition and sparing neither time nor expense over their preparation. Thus in addition to their scientific interest, the specimens displayed are outstanding examples of the taxidermist's art of the 19th century. The Museum continued to expand, and in 1910 and 1912 additional wings were added.

Taken from

Hertfordshire History

Other Useful Web Sites

Natural History Museum

Tring

Was that a Kracken?

It’s bad enough struggling with floods in this watery country, without having to contend with the Kraut as well
‘But’ I wailed ‘The Thames is going to burst it’s banks’
‘Got the wrong sort of banks’ (she has a point there)

She pours scorn on our most famous river, ‘It's not that long, is it?’
Goes on with many boastings about the superior River Elbe, which you know is much longer, and floods in a most superior manner.

That’s not all – apparently it flows through three kingdoms, three, mark you.
Can’t top that one, can we?

As for flood defences, forget it - we stick one sandbag in front of a door and think we are done there.
Didn’t mention that.

I can admit that I am hacked off with the television reporting
The tone is one of hysteria, and many, many, over-used adjectives such as 'tragic', ‘devastating’, 'traumatic'. Of course it’s bloody devastating and tragic.

Who the hell wants to see their home become a muddy hole?



Far too many reporters rushing round the country, thrusting mikes under these folk’s noses, asking friggin stupid questions, like "How do you feel Mrs X, Mr Y?"
How do you bloody think?
Gutted.

I would think better of these morons, if they put their mikes down and picked up a spade and helped out.

We now have a rash, or a plague of TV journalists in brand new wellies (that’s rubber boots, to you Yanks) standing in the middle of a gurgling stream, telling us very earnestly that 'There is an awful lot of water here.'
Floods are like that.




The clip I most enjoyed, was on our local TV station – there she was, earnest lady reporter, telling us how very deep all this water is and what happens?
Cheeky bloke walks up the towpath behind her…. and pinches her bum.
Bulls-eye.

Last word to the Kraut (who else?)

‘The Kracken….. would stay in deep water, but its got long, long arms, really long arms. Snaking underwater along the flooded streets.
Wiv big, big suckerplates...’

I think she was trying to frighten me.
Yep

Ring My Bell

It's not only females who read advice columns. Blokes do as well, but some of this stuff is rather suspect.

Sometimes it can get blokes into trouble – and a clip round the ear.

Or worse.

Take this advice for those of you who aspire to being good kissers.

He suggests that you ‘lean forward and gaze deeply into her eyes, you keep leaning forward, looking deeply…’

No, no, no, all a female will do, is worry about her make-up, worry lines, spots, and so on.

You get the picture. If any bloke started on me, like that – it’s time to go.

And then? You draw back, very slowly gazing all the time into her eyes: if she is still with you, and not running for the bus, of course.

By the time you are moving in on the final lunge, she’ll be doing ‘Phone a friend’

This week, it looked like a good subject. 10 compliments that wow a man. Have to say, I’m not sure about this one

‘Your arms are definitely looking bigger’

Really, I don’t think it would be his ARMS that would generate this particular compliment.

Think about it.

My excuse for this pic is

(1) He has got big arms

(2) The Kraut likes him

(3) I like him

Yep.

Happiness is Fun

Happiness may be described as a chimera by the cynical and disbelieving among us. If you believe that, then happiness is a fantasy, but according to Boris Johnson, not so.



For the benefit of you Yanks, I shall digress and explain Boris - briefly. Our Boris is famous for saying naughty things, which wouldn't matter except for the fact that he is also the Honourable Member of Parliament for Henley.

No, I'm not going to explain bloody Henley, it's full of rich tossers, and that's enough for anyone.

What naughty things you ask? He's usually slagging off some town or city and offending everyone who lives there. Portsmouth was the last one, and its ‘depressed’ citizens are feeling pretty sore about Boris.

If you want to read any more, go to
boriswatch

However, I think Boris has got it right this time. (That worries me, but we will move swiftly on) Yes I do.

Putting aside his remarks about our nearly-Prime Minister, dear Gordon – I try not to think about Gordon too much, he bores me to tears - our Boris points out that we don’t work our butts off for the sheer fun of it. The reason is
“We do what we do because we hope to achieve happiness.”

The mop-top is right: except for a few dick-heads, most of us know that there are a lot of fun, worthwhile things to do, instead of spending our precious lives adding to ‘the Gross Domestic Product of UK PLC.’

My only quibble with the thoughts of Boris on this subject is his contention that ‘getting to grips with the emergence of Athenian democracy or the transition of Rome from republic to empire’ is a prerequisite of happiness.

Some how that don’t crack it for me
He’s dead right about the joys of getting sozzled and sitting in the sun though.

Yep.

Notes

Etymology: Latin chimaera, from Greek chimaira she-goat, chimera; akin to Old Norse gymbr yearling ewe.
a capitalized : a fire-breathing she-monster in Greek mythology having a lion’s head, a goat’s body, and a serpent’s tail b : an imaginary monster compounded of incongruous parts
2 : an illusion or fabrication of the mind; especially : an unrealizable dream -a fancy, a chimera in my brain, troubles me in my prayer—John Donne

From Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary


Bibliography

‘The purpose of life is happiness: so fight the new enemies of fun.’
Johnson, Boris. The Spectator, May 26th 2007

http://www.boriswatch.com/

Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary at http://m-w.com/

Be a Corpse, Why Don't You?

It is a fact of life that Blokes don’t listen – unless they want to. I merely point this out in a fairly friendly way. (Anyone who ventures to disagree with me, can take themselves off. Pronto.)

Like I said, Blokes don’t listen, unless they want to. Generally when the wife / girlfriend/ significant other, etc ( take yer pick) is telling them something the Bloke doesn’t want to hear.

Of course, this isn’t undue harassment, it's something you need to know.

The amount of harassment Blokes deserve is another subject altogether, and I’m feeling merciful, well sort of.




Most men are quite skillful in appearing to listen, but not perfect and they do leave a few clues such as, well -spaced grunts of agreement, and far too many “Yes dear’s”.
Bloody obvious they ain’t taking in a cent of it.

The more practised NLB’s (non listening blokes) keep one ear open for the verbal minefields that women are very good at. Anything to do with, hair, weight, new dress, and what Mother said, gets flagged up.

Blokes with savvy, recognise the danger signals of the afore mentioned, especially ‘What Mother Said’

A practised NLB can decode those signals pretty well – and it reads so

"I expect you to notice that I’ve had my hair done, gone down a dress size/ wearing/bought a new dress.”

Well, you get the picture. If you haven’t, you are dead, be a corpse, why don’t you?



This is basic survival stuff for God’s sake, so be grateful I tell you this.

I’m not going into ‘What Mother Said’, enough to say it’s bloody dangerous, I suggest you button up here.

Have I got evidence, of the NLB?

Sure thing – like the bus driver I heard, telling his mate “The wife was going on, telling me about this and that. At the end she says to me “Were you listening to me?” I says ‘No’
That guy was a hardened NLB, I can tell you. Come to think of it, he was probably trying to watch CSI.

Didn’t say what the wife did to him afterwards, and I should think it was painful.

Yep.



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The Baked Bean Hero

I guess when it comes to being original but weird, the British must be near the top of the list.
Who else would think to use Baked Beans as a deadly weapon?
Quite so, no-one would – except Hugh Grant of course.



‘Actor Hugh Grant has been arrested over an allegation he attacked a photographer in London, before throwing a tub of food at him.’
BBC News Online, April 26th, 2007.

Of course, Hugh Grant is not the brightest bean in the can, and mistakenly thought of as the quintessential
Englishman: (feeble of chin and intellect)
But with that ‘boyish charm’ you know. Translation ‘Forgot to grow up’

So to anyone who has the hots for our Hugh… tough luck, and try cuddling a bag of frozen peas. It’ll give you the general effect.

Reading an interview our Baked Bean Hero gave to some newspaper, I was not surprised to find that Hugh finds women ‘Incomprehensible’



Yeah, that figures. Far too many blokes around like him, who won’t make the effort to work it out for themselves. So how do they impress?
Throw a can of beans.
Or ask their Mummy what to do.

Yep.

Don't Sit Next To Me

I think folks should learn the etiquette of how to sit down and not make pillocks of themselves – I am referring to the lack of manners I see every day on the bus.

Let me explain

I am a fairly small person (and anyone who wants to comment on that, can take a hike)

As I was saying, I am a fairly small person, and when some large lout takes the seat next to me, that doesn’t give them the right in invade my personal space, by sitting much too close, or make horrible noises in my ear.

And I don’t want their kids to kick my leg and leave baby sized imprints on my freshly clean black trousers. Go kick your own mother, I’m sure she deserves it.




I don’t want them to chew their breakfast in my face, nor they should gulp, belch, scratch, or do the rhythm thing, because they are listening to some crap on their IPod.

For Christ’s sake, why can’t the idiots just sit there, and stare blankly out of the window, like I do?


And as for the bimbo who sits next to me, and chatters non-stop on her mobile – baby, have I got plans for you.

I have to say, blokes are the worst; just hafta spread themselves about don’t they? Legs, arms….yeah, lets take up all the space we can….Now, where shall I put my size 12 feet?



I could tell you, but it wouldn’t be legal

And to the geek who thought he could flap his newspaper in my face…..think again you friggin’ moron.

So to all of you mentioned here, have a good day. And don’t sit next to me.
Yep.

Don't hold yer breath...

Vatican under pressure in John Paul push

The first stage in the beatification process that could eventually lead to sainthood, closes on Monday, the second anniversary of the pontiff's death.

At the centre of the case for beatification are claims by a French nun that she has been cured of Parkinson's disease by praying to the late pontiff.

BBC News Online


I do like the subtle note of doubt introduced by the BBC’s headline, and would suggest that the whole thing reeks of ‘fixing’. Ahh, you say, an unbeliever.

Damn right.




All very convenient, this sainthood stuff –Jean Paul, who was more or less chained to the Papal throne in his last few years, instead of being allowed some decent oblivion in a nursing home, was rather keen on blessing and holyfying

So now, it’s his turn.

And guess what, with perfect timing, a French nun, declares her self ‘cured.’ (Of Parkinson’s)

Why is it always a nun? Huh? What about the rest of us, don’t we deserve a slice of the cake, or does God just reward the chosen few, the ones who spend all their time paying their religious taxes?

Ok. It’s just the chosen few.




If it’s miracles the Vatican are looking for, I can suggest one – fine, turn me into a tall leggy blonde with legs up to ‘here’
Then I’m a believer

So let’s all pretend that neither politics or pushy Polish prelates have anything to do with this canonisation of a rather conservative and difficult man. Sorry, Pope.

The last word goes to Church historian Professor Michael Walsh
“Saints can be very difficult to live with - they don't go in for compromise."

How true

And I’ll wait for this miracle, legs up to here, blonde, ect – and don’t hold yer breath.
Yep.



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