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.

PC ON THE PC FOR 4C

Right then, you miserable lot...and yes, János, that does include you...pay attention. I warned you against blog-dropping and yet you wouldn't let it lie, would you? You just had to ask me why I was so adamant in my opposition to 'political correctness' and express a degree of wonderment as to why one so apparently socialist as myself could pitch my philosophical tent in a camp long occupied and annexed by the rabid right.

Well, dear hearts. The problem is exactly that which PC was originally intended to solve. A purely linguistic one. A question of definition. An altogether admirable attempt to deconnotate language, it was...I'm sorry? Ah, I see. Okay then, listen up.

What are words but linguistic currency? In the same way that my use of a banknote relieves me of the burden of having to carry around equivalent quantities of gold upon my person, so does my use of the word, say...potato, remove the necessity for me to actually dig one out of the ground whenever I wish to refer to one.

Just as banknotes require a common understanding between the parties involved in any exchange thereof as to their actual worth, so it is with words.

It is our good fortune that in the case of a large number of words, usually those referring to physical objects, there is limited scope for misunderstanding. But even if I referred to a table for example, whether I were talking about a figure in a book or an item of furniture would only be determinable from the context and not solely from my use of the word itself. But at least the word 'table' would not usually have any connotations. In other words, the thing to which it refers is not an abstraction and mutual understanding of the word is, to a large extent, independent of individual interpretation.

But, to take an example which, given that it is election time in the UK, must be on every politician's lips right now...let's look at a particular favourite of mine, family values.

The phrase itself is meaningless. Its use relies solely upon connotation. I assume the candidate would quite like me to understand it to refer to the qualities inherent in family life. Incest? Fratricide? Spite? Jealousy? Spousal abuse? You begin to see the problem?

Now, where a certain exactitude of language is required, in law for example or say, local government regulations, the less connotational language, the fewer the opportunities for misinterpretation. And it was at local government level that the use of non-connotational language was originally promoted and became known as politically correct. Okay, it may have produced such monstrosities as, "co-habitating in an ongoing familial situation", but it was, at least, an honest attempt to honestly label something and I was, and am I suppose, all for it.

Now, words also have power. "In the beginning was the word..." At about the same time as the above deconnotation was taking place, it was realised that the very words we use to describe something could affect our perception of the things described. If it was desirable to somehow change attitudes towards a thing, then a good place to start to raise awareness was with the words used to refer to it. Thuswise the phrases 'visually challenged' and 'hearing impaired' impinged upon the national consciousness. A problem? Not at all. Would today's (albeit inadequate) improvements with regard to wheelchair access have come about without the raised awareness brought about by the debate over the terminology? Maybe, but I'm not convinced.

So, you say, what's the problem? So far you appear to be standing four square behind the PC brigade. What gives?

Well, the fact that the deconnotated language lent itself rather well to parody and ridicule and that the neutral labels provided a wonderful opportunity for the politically amoral to appeal to the base sensibilities of those who had trouble referring to a spade as an earth moving implement is what. The Tories siezed the moment and rather cleverly succeeded in associating PC language with the, shall we say, radical fringes of the Labour Party of the time. To approve of PC was seen as allying oneself to a political viewpoint. The fact that this interpretation was also accepted by socialists led to the term 'politically correct' becoming a synonym for 'acceptable to the loony socialist fringe'. Opposition to it was presented as an appeal to common sense and this allowed, and still allows, bears of little brain to justify their prejudices behind a cover of non-PCism. It allows people to prefix racist invective with the phrase, "I know it's terribly non-PC to say so but..." which somehow makes that which follows acceptable to those bears of little brain as it implies that the speaker is using his good old British common sense and not giving in to the PC/Socialist Worker/All Men Are Rapists/Newt Fanciers brigade.

Racism is racism. Prejudices are exactly that. Uninformed through ignorance and, therefore, fear. The perception of these should not be distorted by the opportunity to describe them as non-PC. On balance, I would rather sacrifice this new revised definition of PC than accept racism and prejudice as common sense.

This however, is only one reason for my current stance against PC. A reaction against the politically right of centre. My other objection provides a rather nice balance in that it is against those left of wing. All the above can be viewed as being PC according to the current definition. What follows cannot and it is this simple fact that informs my second objection.

The left view PC as an acceptable mode of language use but have also extended it to include modes of thought. Certain viewpoints are correct and PC and others are deemed not.

For example, ranting against and linguistically abusing Chavs would not be seen immediately as being non-PC. Were I to use the same language when referring to the black underclass however, I would be traduced as racist, probably fascist and definitely non-PC. I can, with relative impunity, refer to the Welsh, Lancastrians or Norvicensians (?) as sheep shaggers, to residents of the Southern States as 12 toed in-breds and to the English as being a race of sexually repressed, anally retentive imperialists and yet the merest suggestion that I viewed radical feminists as man-hating, rug-munching, bull dyke sociopaths would, no doubt, result in my being black-balled by all the clubs and associations which incorporate PC into their logo operandi.

Now, I am not suggesting that that all the above paragraph is true but PC would have it that I cannot speak as I find should what I find be non PC but the result is that truth is being filtered through a screen of PC. We may rant against the fascist nature of our so-called free press but would even the Daily Mail publish the fact that blacks consistently underperform at school or publish the prison population of the UK along racial lines and explain just how that relates to the racial distribution among the population as a whole?

Whoa! Hold your horses, you right thinking individuals. I know all the arguments. Institutional racism in the schools. The chances of a black being stopped and searched against those of a white. The odds of a custodial sentence being handed down by a white judge onto a black as opposed to a white for the identical crime. And yet there is a truth here that the PC would have us ignore. And it is this. That the races do not mix. Look around you at your social circle. Honestly. Impartially. Objectively. Tell me what you see. Black on black. White on white.

Blacks consistently underperform on the SAT tests. Why? Again, I know all the arguments. “Why should blacks be interested in the European history taught in our schools?” A good question but is not physics independent of race? Or mathematics? Biology? Why is it that almost everything in my home was invented by a white, mostly European male? And yet the PC would have us believe that a black can integrate into our white world if only we would be sufficiently understanding. Just how patronising is that?

And why is it, if the SAT tests are so racist, that whites are consistently outperformed by Asian students?

For me it’s a question of values. I am a white male. I value academic achievement. It is part of my culture. It was expected of me and I was capable of it. Black policemen continuously demonstrate that they are better at dealing with people than their white counterparts. Just how much jazz can you listen to on a consistent basis that is played by white musicians? How much of our modern music is based on our white culture and just how much of the technology that enables me to write this little bloglet is as a result of the work of Asian programmers?

I have no answers. I am bereft of a solution. One thing I am sure of is that PC will not provide it. Theories must match our experience. One can attempt to shoe-horn life into a PC world view just as one can attempt to prove the essential flatness of the world upon which we all live. Both are doomed to failure. The only other thing of which I am sure is that the green ink brigade is going to have a field day with this one.

I 'KIN 'ATE BILL GATES

Due to my puta getting its sorry ass wiped today, I have lost the entire contents of my address book. Should any of you be desirous of receiving electronic communications from my sorry self in the near or distant, you are advised to e-mail me at the earliest opportunity. This post will probably self destruct in three tenths of a second.

WOLF'S BANE

"...and we'll have reaction from around the world to this historic election." CNN 23:12 CET. Oh my belt and braces. Historic, already. Tit. And that hot on the heels of, "...and watching the chimney with us this afternoon is..."

Well, they can have my historic reaction from this historic part of the historic world. As far as I'm concerned, there's only one thing worse than a dead pope...oh my. More dots. I think I might make so bold as to trust anybody familiar with my historic prejudices or even those stumbling across this blog for the first historic time to fill in the historic gap for their no doubt historic selves but, should you need more thinking time, please avail yourselves of these dits -------.

Fully ditted out? Good. Then I'll proceed. It would seem that some goodly, if not godly, number of cardinals clad in several and numerous layers of what appears to be voluminous and not inexpensive cloth have chosen an even more expensively upholstered and bejewelled article to be the spiritual leader of the poor and downtrodden masses of the favellas. And the bugger's German. I can only hope his first trip abroad doesn't take in Belgium. Oooops. Do you think I got away with that? Genuflect...2...3...4, confess...2...3...4, breed...2...3...4. No chance of that one slipping through the net though, is there? Good. I can keep old JP II company on the spit. Benedict the how many? Should have called himself Innocent 10 to the power what have you and come clean. "Hey, guys. It's all been one big joke. We've been having you on for two and a bit millennia. April fool."

There is a sound akin to that of 3 and a half million flies unzipping. It is a tear in the space time continuum and we flash to sub-Saharan Africa where the Messiah, for it is he, is doing his loaves and fishes bit with five 3-packs of Durex extra strength and a small jar of spermicidal lube.

ZZIIIIIIIIPPPPPPP...and we're on the embankment where he's transforming the comestibles into something eminently more drinkable and collecting and rolling up unsold copies of the Big Issue, extending Blair's fundamental orifice for the use of. ZZIIIIIIIIPPPPPPP...and it's off to Rio where he's handing out the Kalashnikovs. Christ. Have things really come to such a pass that even he has given up on the 'Thou shalt not kill'? ZZIIIIIIIIPPPPPPP...into the papal apartments where he removes the business end of the papal staff from the bloody and by now distended papal anus crying, "That was not the point. This is the point." and reinserts it, sharp end first. ZZIIIIIIIIPPPPPPP...the White House, where he will be busy for quite some time.

I'm fucking fed up. I reckon there ain't no such thing as a bad religion, unless of course you count Zooastrianism and even that might possibly turn out to be okay should ever I be arsed actually to find out something about it, but there sure as hell ain't any good Churches. You will, it is my fervent hope, notice the use of the capital there. There's a church on the hill of West Keal that I find extremely edifying and the vicar thereof, a most personable gentleman. But that's just it, I guess. You can find individual members of any religious organisation to be spiritual and devoted, but the organisation itself exists solely to promote itself and to extend its power.

Maybe it's the repressed Anglican in me but for sheer cant and hypocrisy, the Catholic Church remains unequalled throughout historic history. How any organisation, historic or otherwise, supposedly concerned with the spiritual welfare of humanity can remain so aloof from and ignorant of the human condition is something I will forever fail to quite successfully grasp. Do you remember the furore engendered amongst all Christian Churches (one of the very few occasions when they have ever been able to present a united front to just about anything) by Martin Scorcese's 'Last Temptation of Christ'? As I understood it, the item under advisement and which caused theological eruptions in their undergarments was a scene in which Christ was depicted fantasising about just what it might be like to roger the bejazus out of Mary Magdalene. Phone lines were jammed all over talk show land apparently. Now, notwithstanding the fact that 99% of all callers to radio shows could automatically be committed under section whatever of the Mental Health Act (and face it, when did any of us, you know...US...the rational, right thinking, none-pence short of a shilling us ever call in to a radio programme to express our satisfaction at anything broadcast over the wireless telegraphy or portrayed by the wonders of cinematography?), their arguments, if such they can be termed, were bobbins of the highest order.

Now please correct me if I'm wrong but, as I understand it, Christians would have it that God sent his only begotten son down to Earth to fully experience the human condition. No longer could we rant and rail and bewail the fact that he, aloof and on high in his God-dom, just didn't understand quite what it was like to be human. Well, I reckon he must have failed in his remit if he neglected to investigate exactly what it was about the female genitalia that informed 95% of the waking hour thoughts and 99% of the motivation of any heterosexual adolescent or adult male. Bit of an oversight, wouldn't you say? That the other 5 and 1% respectively are taken up with thoughts of football, fast cars, motorcycles and devising new and improved ways of killing the fuck out of each other is a design feature that even the most radical church has yet to even partially explain. I think I should perhaps make it clear at this point that Roger B is a genetic aberration. A spot mutation. A quantum leap into homo (really, honest, quite the veritas) sapiens. Only with regard to the 5 and 1% though. The rest, I stick with, adhere to and even, stand by.

It is also part of the human condition, our hard wiring if you like, and as evinced by this rant, to hate what we do not understand. And quite how a celibate priesthood can ever hope to understand women is quite beyond the capacity of my thinking organ (not always my cock, dear hearts) to wrap itself around. Religion seeks to control and, as the male body is to them uncontrollable, it seeks to impose its will on that of the female. Their fertility is the will of god, their role to produce more souls to glorify His name. And all this bollocks about the rhythm method and withdrawal. Let me see if I've got this right...condoms are satanic and just another form of abortion...sex is for procreation purposes only, except for those days where there is no discernible rise in body temperature...spilling one's seed on the ground is a sin but using it to fill up one's partner's navel cavity is okay...fuck off.

What is it with me? The older I get, the more liberal I become. In the sense of individual freedom and responsibility that is. Quite how I can hope to balance that against the following soi-disant reactionary viewpoints and possible subjects of future drunken blogs, I have nary a clue. But for your perusal, I present, quite unlike a Scary Thursday vote-O for I promise wholeheartedly to ignore any individual requests, especially from those of my students who hope to gain special favour by dropping the content of my blogs into English conversation classes and excepting those from Jess of course but she will always be a special case and someone for whom it will always be my especial pleasure to bend over backwards (and forwards and sideways come to that), these randomly selected opinions.

Gays and females in the military. No.

Gay marriage. No.

Feminism. No.

Parent teacher associations. No.

Political correctness. It depends, but on the whole, no.

Identity cards. Fuck the fuckity fuck right off.

Goodnight, sweet readers, and may flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.

THEY MUST THINK I'M STUPID Part 2

Now, I'm not an ethical shopper. Far from it. Some of my best friends are E numbers but this, on a bottle of ASDA baby bath, caught my eye.

ASDA is against testing on animals and funds research into alternatives.

And in the meantime, the rabbits get it, okay?

WHAT DO YOU THINK?


 

I would refer the honourable member to the question in the previous post.

THEY MUST THINK I'M STUPID Part 1

Oral examination excerpts.

Candidate 1.

Part 1.

"Can you recommend an English text book?"

"Yes. I bought one yesterday from the local book store. It has a CD ROM and..."

Part 2.

"And where can tourists go in the evening in your area?"

"Well, they can go to the cinema. It has Dolby Surround..."

Part 3.

"And what about the physical environment of your workplace?"

"Well, it should have air conditioning..."

Candidates 2 - 21.

"...bought...yesterday...local book store...CD ROM...Dolby Surround...air conditioning..."

Candidate 18.

"And what about the physical environment of your workplace?"

"Well, it should have effective heating."

"And what about the hot summer days?"

Bloody air conditioning, maybe? Sheesh!

With reference to the previous post. I've just walked past Idris who is in supine position on the sofa watching a video. I was carrying a bottle of Stella.

"Are you going to get pissed?"

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrggh!

Apologies to Zed for the exclamation marks but, 'kinell!

LANGUAGE MATTERS

The role of questions in relationships. Discuss.

It's a culture thing. Don't believe me? Two scenarios might suffice.

One. I drove Idris to t'dentist's t'other day. Drove past. No parking space anywhere. Continued on about 50 yards, turned right into a side street, swiftly turned it round and pulled in to the side of the road. Idris turns to me and asks, "Do you want me to get out here?"

Two. Idris heads off with Froggy for nursery school in the morning, leaving me with a shopping list just in case I have time to make it to the cash and carry inbetween marking scripts and work in the late afternoon. I finished marking about an hour before work so I grabbed the list, pell melled it out of the house, zoomed round Interfruct in record speed, loaded everything into the car and just made work on time. I was home before the girls as they were at a concert. Idris walks in, glances into the conversatory and observes, "You didn't take the empties back then?"

Now, I would not wish to prejudice your reactions in any way whatsoever by immediately limning my own in too impatient a manner, so I would ask you just to take a short moment of your no doubt valuable time and consider how you might have interpreted these two interrogatory utterances; let's call them, for the sake of simplicity, one and two.

Was it...

A.

1. A simple request for information as to my preference for her next course of action.
2. A simple comment on an observed situation?

Or was it...

B.

1. A thinly veiled criticism of my inability to find anywhere nearer.
2. Accentuating the negative aspects of my overall shopping performance?

If you answered A, then you are no doubt female and/or Hungarian. B and you are male and/or English.

I don't know. Cross-cultural co-habitation, eh? Two trains on two divergent tracks heading for a collision.

Another question for you. Do you think that Michael Howard's attempt to focus on immigration is the first sign of electile dysfunction in an aging leader of the opposition?

HŐSÖK TÉRE

Well, I did promise you photos.


 

Heroes' Square from the end of Andrássy Avenue.

 

Apparently, the guy in pole position was the head honcho.