Saturday, 7 January 2006
Relationships have always intrigued me. How did a good bloke like him end up with a dog like her? Why is that partner faithful whilst that partner runs around like a multi-dicked dog? Long while ago I knew someone who, at first sight, had nothing going for him where relationships with women were concerned. He paid little attention to his appearance; long lanky hair, generally a five o’clock shadow and a stranger to deodorant. His interest in daily life was reflected in his lack of serious conversation.
But, where Tom Jones has women throwing their under-garments at him, this guy had them folding them neatly and laying them at his feet. He was a walking babe-magnet. Ugly women with ‘personality’ were drawn in just as much as their sassy blond sisters. He himself did not know what it was that made him irresistible. Any rumour about his – er - erm physical qualities was just that – a rumour with no basis in fact. Once in the web, everything was sexual activity and attraction. Back then, this was extremely unusual to see acknowledged.
As a balance, I worked with someone who was really a Greek God stranded on earth. Just so very desirable as to make some men doubt or be scared for their heterosexuality. He attracted almost no women. They worked with and for him OK but there was never any sign that any of them ever wanted to pass beyond a working relationship. His wife – who, until seen, one would expect at least Ursula Andress, was a overweight woman with a slight moustache and irregular teeth. He seemed perfectly happy in his state and, whilst not avoiding female company, seemed almost genderless.
I started to wonder what made his marriage work. In just these two men we had a strange situation. One had great sex and a sad sort of life. The other appeared to have a great life balance but, to all intents and purposes, a bedroom life with few charms or attractions. Even the whole of the Anne Summers catalogue could not have changed that.
On the verge of this momentous scientific finding, I finally fell asleep.
Bored myself into it you might say.
Friday, 6 January 2006
For The Fallen
With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.
Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.
They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years contemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England's foam.
But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;
As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.
This is from WikiHow - an off-shoot to show how things can be done.
Someone has written how to tell if you want a German shorthaired pointer
Got to be something wrong here. The tests for humans should run into 22 volumes. God forbid we ever get a gsp that can write. No, correct that. No problem with the writing; we just need to be aware if a gsp cares to write.
I feel a article for WikiHow coming on.....
Phew - look at the length of that sentence. I'm spaced out!
After the Christmas rush, this week has been very quiet. Quiet, by the way, is a forbidden word in Nee Naw Control, because as soon as someone says it, something kicks off and all hell breaks loose. So there I was, feet on the desk, immersed in a leftover copy of Chat magazine (the no reading rule long forgotten), gently snoozing in my reclining chair, and someone must have said that word, because in an instant, the screen above our heads went from “10 call takers free; no calls waiting” to “No call takers free, 21 calls waiting”.
Uh oh. My first thought was: “BOMB!!” (even though on July 7th the increase in call rate wasn’t that sudden and I could count the number of calls about each bomb on my fingers). As the calls were answered, every single person had Angel Islington on their screens, and all the callers were reporting different aspects of the same incident:
“A man has been hit by a bus”
“The bus has hit Sainsbury’s!”
“There’s two taxis smashed up and pedestrians lying in the road everywhere”.
Piecing the bits together, we found what had happened was this — the bus had gone out of control ploughing into two taxis, two shops and umpteen pedestrians.
In the next two minutes, we received forty-three calls on the incident, which is the most I have ever seen. There must have been people standing next to each other with their mobile phones out ringing the ambulance.
Prior to this incident, the most calls I’ve ever noted about one thing was a horrible incident when an old lady was hit by a bus and dragged for a quarter of a mile under the wheels of a car — the car driver didn’t even notice because the lady was already on the ground when he hit her. Everyone down the route dialled 999, reporting the incident at its various stages. I got two calls out of the twenty; the first reported an elderly lady hit by a bus, the last a woman horribly injured under the wheels of a car. “I don’t know how old she is” said the caller “most of her face is missing”. Anyway…
Half the ambulance service was dispatched to Islington, so anyone who wanted an ambulance round those parts for the rest of the day had a bit of a wait, but fortunately no-one died in the incident. At least it woke us all up.
January 05, 2006
The Jerusalem Post reports:
As Islamic Jihad, the Popular Resistance Committees and Fatah's Al-Aksa Martyrs Brigades announced an end to their self-declared truce of January 2005, under which they pledged to refrain from attacking Israeli targets, an annual summary of terror activities for 2005 released by the Shin Bet (Israel Security Agency) on Sunday revealed that a total of 2,990 attacks were launched against Israeli targets. The attacks occurred after the truce was announced the report stated.
Truth: mass murder
Thursday, 5 January 2006
Had I the money, I'd set up a team to follow this guy for every minute of every hour of every day. Anytime he so much as stubbed his toe, I ask him what sin of his was being punished in that way. Childish yes, but how the heck else are we to convince this one fifth of a human that he might just possibly, maybe, just once in a while plain be wrong.
Oh - and here is an edit to include some relevant comment from America where they maybe understand this guy better than I ever will.
This, from a policeman named Brian, wins my prize for the best summation of what civilians try to do to him and what he thinks about that.
I've shown it as small as the system allows.
The final 'funny' bit for me is they way that someone has pixillated her eyes as if on a mission to conceal her identity! Just how many face-stuffing cheesecake abusers like this can there be? The signature to this 'image' is 'I felt guilty once but she woke up'. My God!
DO NOT CLICK ON
Never let it be said that Amazon takes risks with consignments. We ordered the two small pots - about 6" diameter and 4" high. They came in a box that would have held a decent sized p.c. And not just the one box either. Le Creuset had packed them with air bags and shredded paper. Amazon put that in a cardboard box with further bags. The two boxes then went into the large delivery unit with - yes, that's right - air bags. We already have sufficient packing for next year's Christmas presents. And what is it they are shipping? Two sturdy little bowls. Sturdy because the Le Creuset stuff we have is mostly that given to us almost 50 years ago. That has been around the world wrapped in paper and does not have even a chip. Fragile? Handle with care? Bah - French humbug.
Wednesday, 4 January 2006
8am on Christmas Day:
“Nee Naw Control, what’s the problem?”
“I’ve just passed a man on the road. He appears to have fallen out of his wheelchair and he’s got blood all over his face.”
“Are you with the patient now?”
“No, I can’t stop — I’m on my way to church and it’d make me late…”
Man from Samaria maybe?
She is getting a beasting on another forum - I'll not give you a link but my choice of the way she is being treated is a clue.
She made up her mind what she wanted to do. She has stuck with it despite all the attacks. She has paid the price of fame many times over but just soaks it all up. Read some of her press and it is clear that she is not stupid and does not understand what her image is. I suspect that if she looked like, say, Mo Mowlem she would not attract the bitching she gets.
Oh - and I'm honest enough to say I find her very attractive - very
During the times we lived in the more remote areas of the world – well, remote in those days anyway – we used to get UK papers weekly. They looked something like the daily issues bound up together as a magazine. One could read them with a complete sense of security. Something like the Archers. Each daily issue would fulminate on how nigh was the end of the world or civilisation as we knew it. Drama. Discord. Deadly danger.
And yet. The very next day the same papers appeared. All was well. The end of the earth had passed us by. Very comforting.
Tuesday, 3 January 2006
Unfortunately, the style of non-Government we have where our elected representatives are routinely misinformed (I'm being nice here - I am very tempted to use the words lied to) leads to much injustice. We hear much of the cost of our defence resources but hardly ever get any reasons. Cost over-runs, changes, inefficiency and just plain stupid thinking get lost in ministerial paper mountains and smart-arsed Press conferences. We recently went into a situation where the politicians were talking tough about Weapons of Mass Destruction. It is now clear that the decision to use armed force was well in place long in advance of the sabre rattling. However, the Men at The Ministry and our self-serving politicos insisted that the Army should do nothing or buy nothing which suggested war was on the cards. Soldiers died purely because of this duplicity.
So. Go. Read. Contribute even - they may be rough speaking Tommy Atkins prototypes but they welcome all.
Just one thing though - ARRSE can be addictive. There is a lot there that is not for the faint-hearted who may never have heard or imagine just what does go on in the soldiers' mind and world.
Funny thing is that since then, I've felt better in mind than for yonks and yonks.
Least, I think it was that blog. Could be due to my new pet and companion though?
Monday, 2 January 2006
Seems that patients are to be given a choice of four hospitals for non-urgent surgical treatment. This is all part of some NuLabour touchy-feely initiative together with oh joy!, yet more chances to play about with things they are fascinated by but do not understand.
What are my objections? How will I focus on the hospital I want? What are my priorities - is it that I wish to avoid them killing me with MRSA? Where will I find statistics I can comprehend. Don't want somewhere where their wish is to seize upon my organs and display them in little bottles for the next 100 years? Will my relatives be able to get to see me (as if they dare!) without some horrific 7 hour journey on a train that goes via the Great Wall of China? Exactly what is it that a layman can establish that makes one place better than another - past history is of little value as excellence seems so transitionery. Where will we find the doctors we do not have for medical work to do the advice and counselling thing.
Of course, my real worry here is that my local hospital at Borders General which has served me well will be fully occupied by refugees from that charnel-house which is Medway Maritime. Someone will say, "Where do you wish to go?". I shall reply "BGH" What next do I hear? "Sorry. Computer says no. Would you like to go to Medway Maritime?"
Quite a few links today - sorry but I wanted to give some support to my wild allegations.
Sunday, 1 January 2006
This is a photograph of the place where Marlborough Man used to sit for his advert shots.
The latter-day representation is quite a well managed event. Travel through the Valley can be led or freelance, in ones own or a vehicle owned by a guide. All controlled by the local American Indian tribe. If you are with a guide, you get to this place about 15 minutes into the circuit. The vehicle swings round in a circle and stops with the passenger side looking out towards arather nondescript view. Nondescript by the standards of the valley that is. What one does spot almost straight away is a small piece of cardboard just standing in the ruddy soil. On it "$1 for photos of the horse". What? Where? What damned horse? Then you will stand back and look behind you and this is what you will see. Rather, this is an idea of what you will see and no camera - digital, gilm, still or video will catch what this place is about. It is truly spiritual. Much of the valley remains off limits to the Navajo for religious reasons imposed by their own tribal leaders.
The idea of cowboys and Indians comes across strongly - I queued at my local cinema to see the films every Saturday morning. I did my usual poking in of the nose and the valley is also part of the injustice the Native Indians received.
We stayed at Kayenta just below the main park entrance as I wanted to experience that drive down the long desert road into the towers and walls of the valley. Thinking of a meal, we drove into the local shopping mall. This whole area is in fact part of the main reservation for Navajo indians. It is an incredibly sad place. The tribes claim to have chosen to run things their own way. They are concerned apparently at what they see as the wrong ways of everyday America. What they have are aimless 3rd world people. Drink seems to play some part as it was just about the only place in USA where I saw drunkenness in public to such a scale. I choose to run areas of my life in what I call reverse apartheid. I did this before getting to Kayenta. Here I saw it at the worst such a way of life could be.
Whilst there are shops and a ferry point together with a RIB ride that is very white-knuckle, it has always looked to me as if it were some cast-ashore Marie Celeste. Hussle and bussel is there none. What is there is a very fine oyster bar. Not just oysters as they do some very serious cooking of fish - including a free meal if you can eat all of the 1 metre-long fish that it consists of. Just measure that out on the desk now and imagine! It is wide in proportion; nothing like a metre long eel which would be a cheat.
Having mentioned the Seil oyster bar, I have to acknowledge that there is a (only slightly) better bar over on Loch Fyne.
This is the one that gets all the publicity. Prescott or some other politico stopped there and, if 'twere he, doubtless cleared the kitchen and stock room of food. That does not spoil it for us. Whilst menu and cooking are to die for, I go just for the service. Nearest thing I'll ever get to living like a King. I do not think we have ever been there and not ended up in conversation with other patients at tables nearby. I say patients as it is just that - a place for looking after people.
Enough - Tourist Board can do their own work. Just add - my idea of a Big Boys Birthday would be lunch at Seil and dinner at Loch Fyne with a very snorty Porsche so as to be able to get from one to the other with some detours. But then - that opens up the fish place in Oban and the steak place there and, and, and. Well, maybe two Big Boys Birthday days.
I found myself standing in a house, sometime in the small hours. In front of me was a women who was just starting to go into the early stages of labour. Also in the sparse sitting room were four small children, a husband and a grandmother.
"Do you mind if I have a fag?", the woman asked, peering over her baby carrying belly.
"Been smoking a lot?", I asked while eyeing an asthma inhaler.
"Yeah", she replied, "they won't let me smoke in the hospital, will they?"
"No, they tend to frown on people smoking around newborns - not good for their health you know".
I looked at the children again.
"Hi kids", I said, "who here has asthma?"
Two of the children put their hands up.
"You know of course", I said turning to the mother lighting up her cigarette, "that your smoking has probably given them asthma".
"Yeah", she replied, "Kids - go stand outside while your mum has her fag".
The two children, one four years old, one perhaps seven, both dressed in their night clothes went out through the front door into the freezing air of the night.
I don't think the mother quite understood what I was trying to tell her.
Luckily the ambulance crew turned up before I could tell her that the best thing she could do was die quickly of lung cancer so her kids might get adopted into a family that may have the slightest concern for their health.
Yes - I am an anti-smoking nazi, especially when you are fucking up the lives of children who have no say in the matter.
Well - not here. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. I live for the day. What is in the future is undefined and can stay that way until each tomorrow becomes today. If one has the resources - mental, physical and financial, there is nothing about tomorrow that is bad or scary. Yes - there might even be something pleasant in our stars but I'd rather that the good news fell out of the sky. That way, I'll not build anything up such that it fails to meet expectations.
I commend this attitude to you.