BLUE DANUBE

"...This used to be the bridge. You rode out here at full moon.
Halfway across the hansom cab put on the brakes.
It was built by Adam Clark in the Age of Reform
Above the arches seagulls used to oscillate.
Then so many suicidal leant against the railings
Now the suicidal lie below water with the balustrade.
A cold wind cuts through the tunnel
And its fingers stroke the hair of the dead..."

The ballad of Mel and Colin? Maybe. Just that I can never cross the river without these lines springing to mind and feeling the tug of the dangerous attraction that is the undertow. Every river crossed, an affirmation.

Oh well. Back on Saturday. Cheerio.

I AM NOT A NUMBER

Should anybody be desirous of boosting my already over inflated ego on Wednesday or Thursday of this week, you are cordially invited to phone the Novotel Congress Budapest and have me paged.


 

Please do not be offended if I do not immediately rush to your summons. This will be for one of three reasons.

1. The hotel has three bars. I could be leaning in what I fervently hope to be a cool and nonchalant fashion against any one of them.

2. The sheer, trouser squirming joy of having one's name broadcast above the hubbub of film stars, politicians, high class call-girls and sundry liggers, even if they do mistake me for that Arthur Dent guy, would be of such a magnitude that it would be a shame to bring it to a premature conclusion.

3. I am stuck in a one-way system somewhere and have, quite utterly, failed to arrive at all.

The smart money is on 3.

SOMEWHERE, A TREE FELL

Oooh, I love quiet nights.
Off season blues eh?
Quit flashing at me, Lamps...I know the rules by now.
Ok then, I'll click on it.
Family channel, eh?
Big daddy warnock.
Have to beware of acting as a malignant influence on li'l Dan.
Guess this should get me into the talking to yourself stats.
Get a life, man.
Go out.
Get drunk.
Meet people. Where's Jess?
I'm beginning to get worried.
Worried is not a state I feel comfortable with.
I shall bill you for the therapy.
Not that I really need it, mind.
Just that where else can you talk about your favourite subject (yourself) for a whole hour?
I shall return.
I am off on an expedition to the furthest fridge.
Need beer.
Is this a record yet?
I repeat, get a life, you wastrel.
Stanley Unwin.
He was good at monologues...
...as was Frankie Howerd...
...if you liked that sort of thing...
which I didn't,
but that's by the by.
I would like to thank you
for providing me with this opportunity of communing with myself.
I feel much better now.
I was entering into a sorry for oneself zone,
but this has cheered me up no end.
Wanna beer?
Help yourself
There's plenty...
...or was plenty.
Stocks are dwindling in deirect proportion to the time I spend on here.
Oops, first typo.
Shame on me.
42 lines...
...must be a record now, eh?
Saddo.
Oh well.
Oh me.
Oh my.
How time flies.
Ziiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip!
What was that?
That was your life, mate.
Oh, can I have another one?
Sorry.
Ah, I had such good times.
Old times?
Nothing like the old times.
Wannan old time?
Which one?
Any, i don't care. 1992?
Sorry, fresh out. Gottan old 1986 I could let you have.
Naah.
Hardly used...Thatcher years dontcha know?
Good god, man. Have you no shame?
Naah, sold the last ounce three hours ago. Nice Jewish chap.
Got any guilt?
Sorry guy. Catholics have cleared me out.
Embarrassment?
Some C of E bint was in here an hour ago wearing the wrong hat. She took the lot.
Porn?
Now yer talking. Brown bag stuff, eh?
If I'd wanted the Woodford, I would have asked for it, you pretzel.
Warnockers?
Phwoaaar! I'll say.
Bazookas, eh?
Well...known to mis-fire but strike a few they have accidentally been known to.
Yoda?
No, just simple meditation.
Aha, you're a thinker, eh?
Gerrartnit. Wazzock.
I'm terribly sorry, sir.
Quite alright, my man. Tickle my scrotum and I will forgive you all.
Scrotum, the old wrinkled retainer.
Ah, you're a Sir Henry fan, then.
I have been known to be. You're not from the revenue, are you?
Good heavens, no. I'm from the good chat room guide actually. But don't tell anybody, they'll all want a write up.
You look excited.
I am, dear heart but only because my bladder has reached gigantuan proportions and should I not empty it soon, the experience of Noah will seem as but a brief shower.
Golden?
Don't push it.
Ifill has signed, from Miwwaww.
Blimey.
For real money.
No Balti pies involved, then?
My source did not say.
My sauce speaks through my bottom usually.
That is too much information
I apologise
That's okay.
Sycophant.
Is that like an elephant?
Hardly.
Nalis?
Who?
Hairy midfielder. Said to be experienced.
Like Jimi Hendrix?
Who?
Don't get smart with me guy.
Oooh! Get her.
Anybody wanna beer? Off to the fridge again...no? Part-timers.
Who you callin' a part timer? I'm a bigger Blade than you.
I don't doubt it, mon petit monstrosité, but don't tell me you still think size matters.
Wasn't there a bridge of that name?
Bridge of matters?
Oh, dearie me.
Don't get all superior with me, flower. I'll have you know I dated the Dog of Venice.
Did more than that from what I heard.
Carefull, sweetie...libel laws have teeth.
And she didn't?
Well, if at first you don't succeed...
...perhaps you need a liitle more suction, eh?
Knuckle close to you are sweetie.
Taking refuge in the force you are I see.
I think you are in need of medication.
Should I assume the position?
It's just a little prick.
Oh dear. That you should stoop so low.
You aint seen nothing yet.
Oh God. Bachmann Turner Overdrive.
Maybe. My memory is not infallible.
So, what you say may not, in fact, be what you mean?
Spot on, Chris. Like my theory about the brontosaurus.
That it was put here to test our faith?
Got it in one, mon ami. In one it you have got.
And has your faith been tested?
Sorely, my dear. Sorely.
Howsomever?
Well, the local weather indicator for one's toolbar offer for instance. And the chimney watch at the Vatican did stretch belief somewhat.
Truly?
Probably not but who's testing, eh?
You appear to have a problem with belief systems.
You appear to have a brass neck. Where do you get off calling into question my beliefs?
Purely an observation, my dear. You seem to have a credulity quotient approaching zero.
And so I should, dear heart. The last thing I was asked to allow to approach zero was delta x and the inability of my maths teacher to answer the question 'why?' sure messed up my understanding of calculus for the next few years.
You can't differentiate, then?
Sure I can. Dean Windass was no Steve Kabba, that much I do know. Although the difference between Blair and Major it is becoming increasingly more difficult to tell.
Lay off the Star Wars videos will you?
Why? My syntax bothering you is it?
Not necessarily but has it occurred to you that your bottle is empty?
Good grief. Du hast recht. Igazad van. Testicular globules. I shall be right back.
No, Kozluk is right back.
You tryin'a develop this into an Abbott and Costello routine?
Whaddaya mean?
A who's on first kinda thing?
Who's on first?
Getartahere.
Forthwith and anon. And may flights of angels...etc...etc.
Good night...bu bum tish.
Sleep tight, sweet fossils. And should Jess perchance heave into your purview, tell her to get in touch forthwith. Please.

TAKE A QUIZ...VIEW THE WORLD

You scored as Cultural Creative. Cultural Creatives are probably the newest group to enter this realm. You are a modern thinker who tends to shy away from organized religion but still feels as if there is something greater than ourselves. You are very spiritual, even if you are not religious. Life has a meaning outside of the rational. Cultural Creative 81% Postmodernist 75% Existentialist 63% Idealist 56% Modernist 44% Fundamentalist 38% Romanticist 38% Materialist 31% What is Your World View? (corrected...hopefully) created with QuizFarm.com

Thanks to the Presurfer.

FLASH FROG

Froggy's first attempt at digital photography.


 

Maybe I can get her to programme the video recorder.

"FLASH...WAKE UP, FLASH"

(Reference: 10 points)

Those of you whose computer room is designed upon standard casino lines where no natural light is allowed to dapple the green baize will probably be interested to know that the download manager FlashGet is presently carrying an offer of a free local weather indicator for your toolbar.

The rest of us? Well, we'll just make do with the fenestration technologies that have served us so well up to now in providing what CNN would undoubtedly call a window on the weather.

I despair sometimes. I really do.

MORE-ALITY PLAY

Admirable as the fact may be that some people boycott the products of multi-national behemoth corporations, I am unconvinced that my strategy is not more subtle and somewhat superior. I actually contract for the buggers. At the prices I charge, I reckon they should all be bankrupt within a couple of years.

I particularly enjoy it when, like today, none of the hamsters can tear themselves away from their executive cubicle wheels thus affording me the opportunity of (at a quite exhorbitant rate of sterling) whiling away the time by inventing some little brain teasers for your delectation and delight. To whit...

CRYPTICISMS

1. G. E. G. S. (9,4)

2. Pickle Michael Howard for all your winter plant needs. (12)

3. An empire building confection? (4,8)

4. Boiling bricks and mortar? (4,7)

5. Cut off commie boss. French revolutionary basket case? (7,4)

6. Drug sounded out by Irishman. (8)

7. Zoe's pets, tailless, go to work. Twunts. (3,7)

Further clues available for a nominal charge from the usual address.

Hey ho.

I LOVE THIS COUNTRY

Relax guys, life's too short,


we go to the vineyard 


we fry pig 


and we fry more pig 


we survey the landscape 


we forget the frying and pose 


and we pose 


and we go home. 

FATHER TONGUE

I'm not quite sure where I'm going with this one. You'll have to bear with me. Well, when I say, "have to", I hope you don't think I'm implying any obligation on your part or parts, should I have readers in the plural, a decreasing likelihood I fear due to the rather sporadic nature of my posting recently but the Caol Ila is in me and I must follow whither it leads.

First stop, a linguistic analysis. Father...farther away than ever. Vater...an apt description, particularly first thing in the morning while I'm waiting for the kettle to boil. Pere...as in on a, no doubt. The feeling engendered by a golden duck and the prospect of another to follow. Rather aposite I fancy, seeing as the cricket season is almost upon us. Apa...nice and neutral that one and I'm starting to actually prefer it as an appellation, by Froggy for the use of. God, that was clumsy. Pray forgive me. Or anally implode. The choice is yours.

I have been a father now for nearly five years and I am still waiting for the feeling to kick in. For my self-image to distort through a paternal lens, for my brain to engage parent mode and force me to give up smoking and drinking to excess and to do something about the surfeit of adipose deposit I carry.

I love my daughter. She can touch me like no other and yet...I am STILL waiting. Maybe I'm holding back, not allowing myself to feel all that I should or perhaps I'm actually incapable of it and why should this be?

I am the minority parent and speaker of the minority language. I have always spoken to her in my mother tongue and yet she does not speak much English beyond the formulaic. She cannot manipulate the language. In the house, Hungarian...Idris does not speak English. Nursery school, the same. Everywhere, the identical situation holds. Nearly five years in and I'm just starting to realise that my daughter inhabits a different world from mine own. Not only generationally but culturally, too. She is Hungarian. I'm not.

She seems to understand almost everything I say to her but that is much more than can be said for my understanding of her. Okay, she will start to learn English at school someday but can I wait that long? Besides, I learnt French and German yet would probably be very hard pushed to carry out a conversation in either language that didn't involve either alcoholic comestibles or a bed for the night. Bottom line is, I cannot communicate 100% with my own daughter. Am I taking the easy option, then? Is it self preservation? Is it just this that's holding me back?

Or is it that I'm rootless? Adrift? Without known ancestry? An adoptee, still struggling to come to terms with his place, or lack of it, in the world? Maybe the fact that I didn't really fit either genetically or hereditarily (clumsy again but fuck it) into the family I was very nearly born into (five weeks) is preventing me from fitting into the family I have sired.

Oh, well. I shall take comfort from the fact that, at times like these, I take refuge in the well worn phrase of my own, adoptive, father, "Bugger, bugger, damn, shit, blast."

Hey ho.

YOU DECIDE

Is there such a thing as 'Call-Girl Barbie'?


 


 


 

I rest my case.

SPAWN AGAIN

I prepare milk and pretzels for breakfast while watching cartoon network.

I draw a princess dressed in pink with a carnation in her hair.

I land on square 7 and have to curtsey like a princess; square 13 and I must name 3 characters from Disney's Aladdin.

I break for cocoa and an apple.

I sew Call-Girl Barbie's dress back together and mend a twirly streamer on a stick.

I sit through a performance of rhythmic gymnastics and applaud heartily.

Pooh and Piglet go hunting and nearly catch a Woozle.

I submit to the doctor's wish to closely examine the contents of both my ears.

I spit on both my hands, rub them together and engage my opponent in a spot of wrestling. I lose on a technicality.

I venture into the great outdoors and pick dandelions.

I put some Monk on the stereo and accompany my partner in the Botty-Wobble Dance.

I scan the TV guide, thank the gods for Scooby-Doo and jack myself into the net.

I glance at the clock. 11:26.

I meditate upon post chicken-pox middle ear infections and wonder what the afternoon shift might have in store.

It's going to be a long day.

BOING

It's that time of year again...when one man goes to mow.

"I'm just going to cut the grass, sweetheart. I might be gone some time."

Froggy, for it is she, evil of smirk and twinkling of eye, "Shall I fetch you the scissors then, daddy?"

2000 square yards of weed filled meadow. At least it gives me time to think. Unfortunately, all I can think of is how much I hate mowing the grass.