Wednesday, June 26, 2013

DSC_3890 [psp turq] - Snakes in LaddersFinally got round to installing one of them proximity app things. Flicking through. Dull, dull, ok, hmm, maybe, maybe not, cute, dull, dull, WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?

I know there's the quirk of art that meant men could be sculptured in loving, form-hugging detail if they're heroically vanquishing a monster, but we don't need to have that pretext to have rippling toplessness now, so why then would anyone think it would be a good thing to show, as their alluring profile picture, them cavorting with a python?

And while trying to find an image to illustrate this it turns out that, um, I really don't like snakes, hence don't have any pictures of anything vaguely related.

In other news someone in the next town over has my shirt.


PS. Oh, and why did I download that app? Just to check I'm not the only one in existence [round here]. If there's hope even here then I ought to be able to remember that there's hope elsewhere.

PPS. Are you sitting comfortably? Are you alone? Please record your reactions in the comments.

Sunday, June 16, 2013

DSC_2148 [ps] - Yearning for WarmthSo it turns out that heads of engagement aren't terribly good at engaging with this head about the previous engagement of a head. But he is head of engagement for the Conservatory Front, so, not only do I have to wash my mouth out with soap, but really I should have seen this coming (rather than... yet things were left unconcluded), except I didn't see any part of the situation coming and while the situation was developing there wasn't a great of forethought going on (I would make someone pun about whore-thought, but not even that was going on).

Weirdly not broken-hearted. Not devastated. Merely a little embarrassed, although I'm protected by plausible deniability [BTW this is ghost-written fiction] and waiting for he who is without sin to cast the first stone; as at this party some people outright refused to expose how they met the host there could be a wait (and what is this sin of which you speak?).

So there was a party I wasn't actually invited to and which I was dreading, where it wasn't that bad—excepting some of the karaoke—and where I found myself rather drunker than I'd expected, so dragged into backing up karaoke and thus holding myself upright, and then ended up kissing the guy in the stairwell, with things stirring well, where gin-boosted gravity started winning (and his hands were on the, er, coaxing, side, which had I been more sober I'd normally have rebelled against), and um.

Yes, that was about the noise.

We heard somebody come out of the door to the flat. He gallantly, to save us being caught together in-flagrante-de-licked-hole, ran away down the stairs. I opened the door surprising and surprised at the woman beyond.

Then I pounded my way back in (well, more thrummed, but have you tried knocking on a door beyond which there is karaoke?), grabbed my bag, farewelled the host, and fled, the fellatio and fondling having flooded over my pre-last-train buffer.

So I ran for the tube in the effortless way of the drunk, then from it and so onto the last train of the night, by a highly efficient margin, where I made it to at least Clackslam Junction before the combined Stilton burgers (who the hell mixes Stilton into mince to make burgers? Who the hell likes Stilton to start with?), birthday cake, awareness, assorted wines, and whatever one could find to dilute the gin by the end of the night made themselves known. Was it the alcohol, was it the kinship with the lactose-intolerant, was it the blithe bounding?

Whichever the raisin loaf bag came in very useful although most of the raisin loaf didn't get used.

So that was a day of firsts (which is more incredible?).

This doesn't sound much like me, does it? Well, except for the drinking to cover uncertainty and finding myself actually 'unused to wine', the act of chundering neatly, the general polite, biddable ineptitude.

Anyway, for calibration, and for testing.


Wednesday, June 12, 2013

These links are from a while ago, so mostly when I was in Australia.

I want to say how did I never notice that Carraway was that way, except it took me a while to figure that out as for someone about whom I've considered far more words.

I saved this to blog about, but I think you can probably guess my reactions.

Oh, and I've seen the below in situ now. Unfortunately there wasn't a live demonstration from Mr Brace-Yourself.

And this is, well, unrelated. Someone's a fan of Lynch.

Whereas this series, Hysterical Literature, are surprisingly sweet and oddly beguiling (and quite quick; are such things normally that quick?).

And now for some slightly less hysterical literature, with a fascinating (and long) look at banking. It's well worth reading. As is So That If I Died It Mattered.

While on next-to-maudlin some people really don't understand the power of images (and some do).

And now for something that amuses me.


Monday, January 14, 2013

DSC_1165 [ps] - Bearing DownFlown. Australia goes on for a very long time, though it was mostly haze, though you can see the prevailing wind direction in the land. Landed late on New Year's Eve (Abu Dhabi couldn't cope with the traffic, so the queue for security at one terminal started in a different one), collected from the airport, dumped luggage, driven out to quaff champagne and watch the fireworks on the city buildings glittering beautifully in what turned out to be the outflow from the power station.

The next day was a fair bit of sleeping (going to bed at 3.30 am is great for beating jetlag, because it means you can't tell) and being shown around the city, plus a bike ride round to a convent that was mostly shut (summer hols here).

Wednesday was heading to the southern suburbs to explore a bit, discover that I wasn't very far from a friend who I hadn't quite contacted before leaving, who was a brilliantly muddled when he stopped trying to walk past me and eventually recognised me. I assumed it would be tea (well, water or juice) and a chat before leaving, instead it became heading out for gelato, wandering round St Kilter (I saw the penguin pier, except it was the wrong time of day) where the conversation ran between the two people who didn't know each other, then heading into town to the market with him, just before they shut, so half price fruit (Australians get gouged on everything, a bowl that costs £12 in John Lewis costs $60 here).

The next day was... oh, I'm not doing well on remembering. There was giant scrabble in the evening, so most of the day was just prepping for that.

Oh, I didn't get very far with this and it was actually an email to one half of the audience. It's now a while later.

Big Scrabble, a last minute Kubb (fun but, er, there are those who score and those who wave sticks about while waving Pimm's) and a barbecue in a taxi, plus assorted meetings of people.

Friday was more town wandering (in a hairdrier), then dinner at Stairs', featuring an ailing, um, quick blogname, Landing, and a scaredy cat and not so much one (and some annoyingly good food), with Ahab and Jezebel and Omega's other Alpha or Siemens or something to be decided upon. Then out to a pclub to be puzzled by drag acts and then watch burlesque performed by males with predictably punny name, which was not wholly bad, with a remarkably well recovered Landing. We waited until the outside temperature was below body temperature before leaving. We saw the second show.

Saturday was, well, planned and booked before we knew Friday was happening, so featured getting up a few hours later, driving out into the winelands (and burnt out lands), to be dumped at a winery to sample their range (good to unpleasant) while the driving couple go to be assessed for suitability to adopt a puppy, while I watched swifts picking off midges and an ibis picking through the bins. Lunch at a brewery with a beer sampling thrown in (good to unpalatable; the stout was like drinking a recently quenched fire, complete with grittiness), then a quick dog supplies buying expedition as the woman with the puppies had decided to drop the get-out clause inspection so Jezebab could take him that day. And so off to explore the tree ferns of a place that lies (there are no badgers) and to buy some wine from a weddinged out vineyard and so not.

Then came puppy. Which didn't seem to go anywhere near as badly as the passengers were expecting.

And already I've forgotten when things happened. Somewhere there came riding down the coast to a beach near the Queen's beach hut. I'd missed swimming in the sea. And the sea here makes you swim properly, because like Swannidge it has cooler lower layers, but it also has sandbars rising into the knee zone.

I think the next day I saw Ned Kelly's bucket and read his history wondering why exactly he is so celebrated (bushranger = outlaw) and discovered the turncoat who became Speaker and other fine characters, and that the town was once upon a time know as Batmania.

What else? I cycled past where I meant to go upriver off the edge of the map and then slowly round via a few detours (oh, hello Ikea, and oh, so those Gardens are actually a shopping centre), from where I got me to a nunnery too late for cake and so headed home in the rush hour over streets where either Apple Maps did the line painting or the tarmac forms bow waves on each tyre.

Oh yes, cycling here largely seems to work, though am in a fairly inner place (it's scarcely urban yet so much less suburban than further out) with very few hills of note. The trams a bit odd, as they're here's tube, but seem to stop if not every block then every other one, so cars overtake. But it is quite a nice place, if occasionally provincial and outright American in parts (and presumably British in the parts I don't notice as odd).

Yep, so big cars, big streets, power lines up poles, and charges of jaywalking (yes, I've seen the police do people for it, and yes, people ignore the rules but instead of checking for traffic check for policemen at intersections, you know, because that's safer).

Anyway, back to the narration. On Saturday One and Doppelganger (he's bizarrely like one of my brother's friends in look, sound and manner) drove us (so mein host Omega, Three Oil or whatever he is, and me) out of town about ninety degrees over from last time up to Mt DefinitelyGreekNotYugoslavianOrIndependent, which is something akin to a hill station, being a cool, leafy hill full of expensive houses, with occasional empty plots with rusting gates, where presumably the insurance didn't cover rebuilding (oh yeah, Alpha's earliest memory is leaving when the fires went through; their house survived but few others did and they decided that was bit too close).

So we went for a walk though the assorted aged woods at the top, with view back through the mostly smoke haze to the spiky yet tiny city, and had a not quite picnic sitting on overhanging rocks overlooking that fey film featured earlier in this sentence.

Oh and along with the skinks and forget-me-nots (um, garden escape much?) we also saw an echidna (or two; we came back the same way and saw another but it might have been the same one). Instead of doing what it traditional (and what the first one did) which is to stick its arse in the air and dig into the ground, this one looked up a bit then kept rummaging among the mint being pretty much unperturbed by us, which apparently is really bloody rare (perhaps the mint swamped its sense of smell [though we were upwind] or maybe it's like catnip for monotremes). Um yeah, so basically I had to be dragged away, although the act of dragging prompted the echidna to shuffle off down the hill. And so we walked somewhat more livelyly back to the car, cool nature stuff having trumped the flagging bit.

And so home to order take away Thai because the Moroccan was closed for four months because it's summer and to play a board game, called Flash Point, in which one has to save people from a burning building (I may have done a dramatic slump at one point during the explanation of the rules, which I suddenly realised I'd done in public). The easy version we managed fine. The intermediate one we made jokes about who would get to rescue the dog, and so who would end up being interviewed on the local news (guess what the penultimate news story on Sunday was?), and killed off too many people including getting blasted out of the house ourselves, so decided to keep going to see what would happen (we managed to kill off the false alarms and rescue the remaining people, though only by fluke and with one damage marker left unused, deployment of which would have also finished the game).

Sunday was lazier, with brunch with friends of Omega's skipped because they wanted to meet at some ungodly hour (don't they know brunch is basically lunch?), then out for it anyway at some hipster place in the 'Swick (I've no idea what they actually call it, but it won't be the actual full name. Bruinies maybe), with a waiter giving a private dance to one of his friends, the owner commenting on the grammar on my t-shirt, the amusement of some couple bringing a set of parents in, to sit waiting for a table looking and feeling out of place for so long the eventually only the mother was left, and our waiter being the youngest who seemingly had never heard of any of the things we ordered.

Later we went into town to buy fruit (dalla manga, dalla manga, many dalla manga, al dalla manga) and quibble over names (butternut squash/Japanese pumpkin, mange tout/snow peas, peppers/capsicum, aubergine/eggplant, but if we're doing quirks of food how about a croak mon-sure and eggs flow-rent-eyn?) then head over the carnival at the start of their summer queerfest, which turns out to be some cute guys, some really shouldn't be pulling that face guys and some tents in a dustbowl. We didn't stay long.

Anyway, better stop now as need to clean things before this evening, oh, and there's a wattlebird a few feet away watching me.


Sunday, December 23, 2012

Because what has a 12th century tune been missing all these years? A key change.

Ming the Messiah anyone?

Anyway, hello, sort of bye, Merry Christmas one and all. And you'd think packing for cold and packing for hot would be two discrete groups, wouldn't you? Turns out it's not quite so and I was meant to have left half-an-hour ago (hence procrastoblogging).

Love to both,


Monday, December 10, 2012


See also waiting for inspiration.

So snow then (snow then *cigar waggle*?).

It's not very interesting. It's mostly gone. The delivery they didn't make when I was in yesterday hasn't come today. I need to go into town to get a form to sort out something that the bureaucracy doesn't admit happens (and we're not even talking about the ones who lose things so don't pay anything, then only admit it's missing several months later. If they lose this copy I'll not be impressed), and which I really ought to have sorted out before Austria-et-al.

Oh, yes, that. A friend, who's so long standing he must have a blogname [Omega? I think], offered once more his farsided hospitality (because it's only been something like eight-years since he first offered), and the only thing better to do I have for Janfeb (those wonderful d months: dismal, damp, dreary, draining, despondent, demoralising, drudge) is it sit in Tweetonshire watching the sleet and regularly asking "am I nearly better yet?".

And I've recently discovered that Peach Beach (really it should be Peach Stream, except that should be Peach Stone Vessel Or Large Portable Hot Water Unit, except that has to bend the rules, and anyway alliteration) has penguins. How this is not the best known fact about Et-alia, I don't know.

So I sort of said yes. And then I got an email informing me of my baggage allowance. So that solves that then (the BroSIL said they'd help, because they didn't like the idea of accepting someone else's generosity, although they're mid-move and the SIL just wrote their car off by going round a corner at 20 [onto a large puddle, thence bank with big rocks, thus grating the bottom of the car, but the other side of the road is a bank with big rocks going down into the river, so lesser off two weevils (whose joke was that?)].

So now it's a lot of wondering what I'm going to do with my time there. And a lot of finding answers and wondering how I'll fit it all in. And a lot of wondering at which point I'll break. Though Tamsin Indiana looks cool (Google seems to show land that no one's ever bothered changing; no roads, no buildings, no clearing, just natural processes beautifully illustrated).

Oh yeah, helps if I post.


Tuesday, November 13, 2012

DSC_5353 - One Can But TryAnd the prize for backing into the sign at the station goes to...

I avoided the stone corner of the station building and the bin left in a parking space. And I can't have been the only one to do it because it is a bloody stupid place to stick a pole. Although it was still surprising enough that all the long row of taxi drivers looked about 15 feet above me at presumably the sight of the British Rail logo wobbling.

And I can't think why I'm not putting this on a real name site (yes, I know there are ways, but shush), although it didn't fall over when I drove away.


PS. Bonus pertinent picture.

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