12 Wednesday Jul 2017
Posted in Bloggy basics, humour
Aaaaggh! My sink is blocked. How can I blog when my sink is blocked?
It drains but only into the washing machine, which I can then pump out … back into the sink.
I’m typing this with rubber gloves on, goddamit. And I have to get ready to fly to a wonderful, wonderful, salty old maid of the sea early on Friday …
Life does keep getting in the way, doesn’t it?
Laters, dudes
28 Wednesday Jun 2017
Posted in humour, Loosely literary
I’m waitin’ for my rug
Is someone takin’ me for a mug?
Bought it on ebay, four days ago
Startin’ to wonder if it’s ever gonna show
I’m waitin’ for my rug
Hey, white van, what you doin’ up West?
Hey, white van, you got my rug in that chest?
“No, pardon me sir, I ain’t got no rugs
I’m only down this way to buy me some drugs”
I’m still waiting for my rug
Got me a desk, got me an office chair
Put in my bedroom, so I can write in there
Those wheels are hard, those wheels are crude
I need a runner so the floorboards don’t get screwed
I’m waitin’ for my rug
Went on the web page, looked up carpets and stuff
Cheap and cheerful, hard-wearin’ and tough
Check the expected delivery date
But the thing with online shoppin’ is you always gotta wait
I’m waitin’ for my rug
Went on the web, looked on the trackin’ site
Said it’s dispatched, said it’s been out all night
It’s on its way, it’ll be fine
Comin’ tomorrow but that’s just another time
I’m waitin for my rug, my feet are cold
10 Wednesday May 2017
Tags
I wanna be green
(after Ian Dury, I Wanna be Straight)
I wanna be green, I wanna be green,
I wanna hug trees and save all the bees,
If you know what I mean
I wanna protect, I wanna protest
Eat organic Quorn on an organic lawn
in an organic vest
I wanna be green, I wanna be green,
I want the sky and the water supply
to be lovely and clean
Yeah, gonna be hip, yeah gonna be true
While I’m saving the whale and saving the Earth
from the twats who vote blue
I wanna be green, I wanna be green,
Give drivers hard looks and read Monbiot’s books
on my Kindle screen
Don’t tell me I’m soft, don’t tell me I’m cracked
You won’t be so cool if we use all the fuel
and we’re totally fracked!
Does meditation
Aid conservation?
Is your elevation
The only chance that we’ll survive — eh?
Yeah! Green, green, green, green
Green, green, green, green
Green, green, green, green, green!
I wanna be green, I wanna be green,
I know that I’m right and I know that you’re wrong
and there’s nowt inbetween
But it isn’t for me, with a capital G
Perhaps I’m an arse, but I’m not middle clarse
so I’ll vote SNP
I wanna be green
I wanna be green etc
4/5/17
03 Wednesday May 2017
Posted in Bloggy basics, humour
Tags
Some pearls of wisdom
Stop saying, ‘life’s to short’ to do annoying or boring stuff.
Life’s not too short, it’s too long. If it was short, it wouldn’t really matter if the odd bit was dull or annoying, cos it’ll all be over either way before you know it. But if it’s long, then it’s worth trying to minimise the proportion spent doing tedious stuff like reading this blog.
As Clement Freud said, if you give up smoking, drinking and sex, you don’t live any longer: it just seems longer.
So stop using that annoying cliché, because the next person I hear say it will suddenly find out just how short life can be, capiche?
and…
There’s no such thing as ‘too much information’. Just too much sensitivity.
OK, maybe the finer details of my bowel movements are not something you want to hear at the dinner table, but apart from that, I can simply ignore you if you choose to tell me about your sexual activities, abd who knows how interesting somone might find it.
If that someone happens to be a journalist or a blackmailer, storing up info for a future date, that’s your problem, not mine.
Until then, tell me everything you know and I promise to at least pretend to be fascinated.
See you next Wednesday…
19 Wednesday Apr 2017
Posted in Bloggy basics, humour
It’s a busy and complex time right now, do I really want to spend time on a blog? No, I know, I shall distract any passing readers long enough to make my escape…
Look! Over there!
12 Wednesday Apr 2017
Posted in Arty stuff, Bloggy basics, humour, Loosely literary
Lots on the old plate this week, two paintings on the go, poems to write for a project I promised my little Chinese friend,
and a book to be getting back to getting on with.
So all you get is a pic of me as the Mad Hatter and a link to me performing, You Are Old Father Peter, from Parodies Lost (still available at £5) at the Scottish Arts Club’s tea party.
05 Wednesday Apr 2017
Posted in Bloggy basics, humour, Music
Tags
It’s been a busy week here at Grieve-not Lake, what with logging hundreds of last minute entries to a short story competiton what I administer. It was not helped by the payment site we use crashing over twelve of the final 24 hours, which led to an extended deadline and even more entries.
But I did find time Monday, while the dust was lingering just above ground, if not exactly clearing, to go the Edinburgh Harp Festival out at Colinton, at the Merchiston Castle School for the sons of rich bastards.
A visit to this gig once a year is an enjoyable experience, even though I don’t play. Harpists seem to be very nice folk. The lovely Bethan was inveigled into taking a picture of me pretending I do.
I remember my dear owd Mam often quoting (probably for allegorical purposes) the title of the Gracie Fields song, I Took My Harp to a Party, to which I have related maungily my whole life,
But I took me harp to a party, nobody asked me to play
The others were jolly and ‘earty but I wasn’t feelin’ so gay
I felt so ashamed at not strikin’ a note
That I tried to hide the thing under me coat
and which I have brought up to date for you here…
I took me ‘arp to a party but nobody asked me to play
I’ve always been quite arty-farty, so imagine my utter dismay
That the music were all One Direction and stuff
And they all played guitars and they played ’em reet rough;
I took my harp to a party but nobody asked me to play
So I took the damn thing away
They asked Morag from Stronsay to sing some Beyoncé
And somebody else sang Adele,
And the whole bloody crowd murdered poor Girls Aloud,
Until I was left feeling unwell.
At the end of the session, Bert’s Tom Jones impression
Collected a fair pile of knickers
Including the pants of me Sisters and Aunts
And more than one pair of the vicar’s
But I took me ‘arp to the party and nobody asked me to play
I’ve always been quite arty-farty, but I found to my utter dismay
That it wasn’t my scene, I were like a sore thumb,
So I sat like Jack Horner and feelin’ reet glum;
I took my harp to a party but nobody asked me to play
So I chucked the damn thing away
Toodlepip!
15 Wednesday Mar 2017
Posted in humour, Loosely literary
Tags
xxx
Welcome to the Peigne’s Arms Tavern and Coaching Inn.
A hostelry has stood on this site since Medieval times, taking its name and ‘weasels rampant’ shield from the local landowners, as mentioned in the Doomsday Book.
xxx
In the late 18th Century, a series of fires destroyed the original buildings and a few others nearby. This presented the owners with an opportunity to rebuild and extend the property as a ‘post house’, servicing the mail coaches from London. Not being on an actual route to anywhere else however, it went through a number of overoptimistic owners, before falling into a state of neglect in the early 20th Century, after which it struggled on as a ‘charming’ local watering hole, well-placed to slake the thirst of worshippers leaving the picturesque Norman church of St Rantipole.
The decline of religious worship in British life paralleled the decline of the ‘Arms’, until it was acquired by the Shreckley Blabe hotel and health spa chain, who embarked on a major restoration, with the aid of an EU grant, which many believed was meant for a country with a similar name. The duck pond was dredged and cleared of its rustic detritus of supermarket trolleys and white goods, making it once again an ideal spot for humans and waterfowl alike. Today the pond, village green and church present an idyllic prospect for diners drawn to the al fresco facilities on our forecourt.
The old coaching accommodation was extended and tastefully modernised in Sixties style. Three large rooms, the Alhambra Ballroom, Peigne’s Vault, and the Weasel Lounge, were adapted as ideal venues for conferences, receptions and entertainments. Today the Peigne’s Arms is the area’s premier venue for hens & stags, weddings, christenings and even divorce celebrations ☺.
Our 39 bedrooms, many with four-poster beds, all with en suite, tv, wi-fi, minibar and tea-making facilities, are ideal for your guests and relations, or for that intimate, relaxing weekend break. Whatever your desires (well, almost!), our fully equipped health spa, cordon bleu restaurant and well-stocked bars will make your stay at the Peigne’s an unforgettable experience!
(From Knights in the Gardens of Spayne, Part III
That thing I was scribbling last week will be concluded next week)
08 Wednesday Feb 2017
Posted in humour, Philosophy & Religion
Tags
My object, all sublime,
I shall achieve in time:
To make the punishment ludicrously disproportionate to the crime
xxxxLudicrously disproportionate to the crime …
xxI often think that spot executions would solve a lot of society’s ills.
A friend recently shared a meme asking if it was a good idea to have schoolkids put their smartphones in boxes at the front of class during lessons. So I said that they should learn to control their own use of them, encouraged by spot executions of anyone whose phone rings. I don’t think they took me seriously.
xxOne of the things societies do wrong, imao, is to grade punishments to fit crimes. But this has the constant effect of making it possible to weigh up committing the crime against the risk of being caught. A small fine might not be enough to deter littering, but any larger sanction may seem draconian, whereas a few years away might be worth risking when temptation to steal presents itself. I know many people have considered even a life sentence a small price to pay for bumping me off, though none has yet succeeded (obvs!).
xxNow, your correspondent being an anarchist, he of course is not keen on the idea of state-imposed punishments at all. As Godwin pointed out in Political Justice (BkVII Ch1), to punish cannot undo the crime, but to punish to put someone off doing it again or as a deterrent for the rest of society is to punish for something that hasn’t even been done.
The difficulty here arises only from the consideration of the general nature of punishment, which is abhorrent to the true principles of mind, and ought to be restrained within as narrow limits as possible, if not instantly abolished.
xxBut let’s accept the vengeful nature of society, that puts people into need and temptation and then likes to scourge them for giving in to such horrors.
xxThe idea proposed here is that we start with the draconian punishments for the minor offences. And it can be argued that the ‘nastier’ ones do not need their punishments ramping up, because no one undertakes such complex or harsh actions as burglary or murder lightly anyway. And those that might be tempted so to do will be victims of a well-established laxity of morals — a laxity that begins with a lackadaisical attitude to minor offences.
xxYour blogger recalls reading a story a minnellium ago (probably For All the Rude People by Jack Ritchie), in which a guy starts murdering people for being rude to their fellow folk. Quite soon, the whole community begins to be more polite, at first out of fear of this vigilante, but later because they actually find it more rewarding, and a general conviviality breaks out.
xxNow, it seems unlikely that anyone would drop litter if they knew that a licensed executioner could gun them down from an unseen sniper’s nest, nor would many folks text while driving if they thought a bazooka shell might suddenly wipe them and their car from the face of the earth. So, extreme though many might find the punishment, the number of people that would actually be shredded in a hail of bullets for spitting would probably be negligible.
xxThere is a sort of proviso here, in the effects of a prevailing culture. Apologists for the laws in Islamic theocracies argue that fear of being parted from their hands deters many a thief from using them inappropriately. But it must be considered that the vast majority in these societies also accept the fundamental moral teaching of their religion, that tells them the act is wrong and even puts them in danger of a far longer-lasting punishment to come. Perhaps sadly, some in less religious communities, which have not found a way to inculcate similar but humanistic values, do also have a stronger tendency to believe that, in the words of Yul Brynner, “Wrong is when you get caught.*”
xxAnd indeed, some would say that assigning a punishment to any act implies and therefore condones its desirability, if not its performance.
xxSo if we are going to punish at all, let’s say to people that it is tempting of course to drop that sweet wrapper, to add a few quid to your insurance claim, or to put the green bottle in the white recycling bin, but let us also educate and explain patiently why it is wrong and deleterious to the whole of society, even the perpetrator, to do those things — and let’s shoot the tiresome bastards who still don’t get the fucking message.
xxAnd all this without wasting time and money on trials and so-called ‘due process’. Clean streets, polite and considerate citizens, dosh saved to spend on much-needed services and, in the longer run, far less crime of the more serious kinds.
And still the government shows no interest in hiring me as a special adviser!
xxxx
*Surprise Package (1960)
11 Wednesday Jan 2017
Posted in humour, Philosophy & Religion
Tags
The great experimental philosopher, Sally Brown, once said, Some philosophies take a thousand years. I think of them in two minutes.
Among the gems of wisdom she bequeathed us, we can count, Who cares? Where will it all end? What’s that supposed to mean? and Wolves are making a comeback. And who can forget her classic, all-purpose phrase for coping with life, Drop dead!?
But perhaps it is the wisdom of her ‘sweet babboo’, Linus van Pelt, which provides the best way for putting life’s little, and even huge, problems into perspective.
Five hundred years from now, who’ll know the difference?
*
Well, fundamentally opposed to oversimplifying as he may be, your humble correspondent has found himself adopting a handy phrase a lot of late, and if you’ve read the title, you’ll know what it is.
But it isn’t simply a dismissive, though, worryingly, some might see it as one. In a recent conversation with some chums, somewhat interested in new strides in neuroscience (as well as ‘mindfulness’), one of them made the statement that we now know there are neurones in the walls of the digestive system. And there is this fear that the response of So what? was taken to indicate a belief that it didn’t matter a jot. As the conversation veered off in other directions at that point, there was no real chance either for clarification of the intent behind the phrase or the actual question in hand, but the wrong impression (understandably) seems to have been left by that So what?
The motivation behind the query is a worry that, in many areas, people sometimes take what might be a simplistic view, based on pre-existing beliefs, attitudes or other baggage. Not that this did or didn’t apply in the example stated, but there are those who look for, say, a mystic, mind-body-spirit take on things or, equally, a decontextualised scientific scepticism (and your correspondent admits tending to the latter).
So the statement that there are brain-type cells in the gut could be taken to imply a number of things. It actually can lead to fascinating ideas and questions — from how can we now view ancient ‘scientific’ and artistic musings based on the guts/heart/liver/big toe as the ‘seat of the emotions’ to what this might tell us about the treatment of mental and physical conditions alike. But there is a tendency to make statements like this, in all fields (particularly, nowadays, political ones, and especially out here in webland) as portentous and sort of final.
The idea of the ‘mic drop’ has become an infectious one. Yrs Trly asked a question in a facebook discussion and was snappily accused of trying to shut down the conversation with it, as if it had been meant rhetorically. It may be getting tiresome, but the idea of trying to move to a more Socratic dialectic dialogue in arguments is one you have yet to hear a lot more round these parts (Nooooo! Come back!).
And the fascination remains, even though the other folks from that café chat probably forgot about it minutes later, that it would be very interesting to pursue the question of, So what does the presence of neurones in the gut imply or signify (vestigially or functionally), where else might they be found, and what is the interrelation, if any, between them and the brane itself? Is there a connection between this and the secondary brain of the dinosaurs?
And your bloggist will go on asking So what? in all sorts of circumstances, sometimes even using it in a way to match Ms Brown’s Who cares? or even Drop dead! But most often as a way of trying to take an idea deeper and hopefully find a common premise at the bottom of the pit, from which to climb back out to a fuller understanding of and perhaps even agreement on the question at hand.
To which, all one can say is, So what?
