Twisting your melon, man?

I know, I know - I hardly ever post anything and even when I do, it tends to be an embedded Youtube video that I saw via another blog.

However, if you find yourself leaning towards the conclusion that I'm a dullard with nothing of interest to contribute,...well, that's your prerogative - Thatcher's pestilent spawn may be back in power but not all your human rights have been eroded yet. Right on, kids.



(thanks to Boing Boing for the heads up on the video)

We'll all be humming it by Easter

(thanks to Anton Vowl at http://enemiesofreason.co.uk/ for pointing it out to me and, of course, Dan & Dan at http://www.dananddan.com/)

We have travelled this way before. And there is much to be learned.

This is lovely.



And so is Rum and coke.

Get down, Shep

Clarke, you drip - I could get better drift whilst hopping.

My earliest memories of cricket umpiring relates not to Dickie Bird or to Shakoor Rana, but to David Shepherd.

With full acknowledgement of how subjective this claim is, I reckon Shep had as much of a hand in my enduring pleasure of cricket as Beefy or Richie.

For a glorious obituary, read David Foot's eulogy.

Anyway, rest in peace David. You were proper.

Sit down, shut the fuck up and listen.

It's good, isn't it?

(thanks to www.b3ta.com)

Paradigm Shift.

Tax deductible, innit - it's a creative aid, man.

Snoop has jumped the shark.

Wax on, wax off.

My name is legion for we are many.

I urge you to go to http://download.waste.uk.com/Store/did.html and give £1 in exchange for Radiohead's "Harry Patch (in memory of)".

It's a memorable piece of music. And it's a good cause.

To infinity and beyond.

Just watch it, eh?

And like a flash, he was gone.

"The intrinsic truth of evolution is demonstrated, infallibly, by harmony"

Band: The Low Anthem

Album: "Oh My God, Charles Darwin"

That is all.

Geek meets chic

Go here and check out great photographs from Nasa.  What are you still doing here, I said go.

Link to pretty pictures

Waiting for golf.

(thanks to the Guardian - http://bit.ly/CX2tQ)

Spear and magic helmet!

No particular reason for this - I just like it immensely and want to have it on my blog.

Enjoy.

Where the hell have YOU been?!

Smell the Glove?  It's sexy, not sexist.

Short answer is "None of your business".

Slightly longer answer for those of you that like details is, "Do I know you?  None of your fucking business, you prying fucknut".

So, that' the 2 month sabbatical from blogging cleared up neatly, I feel.

I'm not a qualified teacher, as one might might've expected by this stage in 2009.  In fact, on the contrary, I've dropped out of the course. There is the opportunity to finish matters next Spring but that is a decision for the future.  Currently, I am not employed (and not particularly employable either, I fear).  Fortunately, Cumbria is blessed with a variety of conurbations so someone is bound to come knocking any day soon.

In other news, my ipod is dead.

Oh, and I'm on Twitter quite a lot.  If you haven't already, come join the party - I am Pettsvaldo there.

Body-poppin'

Been so busy and so miserable - hormones, weather, stress, gene-pool, whatever - I am a maudlin muddy funkster

And these represent two of the many reasons I've not posted for a while.

However, earlier on this make me moderately less miserable for about 3 minutes and 22 seconds...

Who hell you?

Can't believe it's been over 2 months since I put anything in here.  Ho hum.

Anyway, I've been under the cosh, PGCE-wise - hence silence.

Was on a placement 2 days a week in Autumn term, as well as having a couple of essays to write.

Then, Xmas came along to turn my head.  Kids had a whale of a time (though fortunately, not actually a whale itself - then again, if I could swap what they did get for a single, small whale I suspect it'd take up less room in the bombsite where my house used to reside).

And now I've got a couple more essays to write before next week.

Oh, and my fulltime placement starts on 19th January (that's eight weeks) - should really have some planning done for that.  However, I have not, as yet.  Not entirely my fault but I am, I admit, complicit to a certain degree.

So, excuses made, brief catch up on my life dispatched.  Back to your business now, nothing to see here.

Close your eyes, America - go back to sleep

"Fuck you! Death to your dreams and hopes!"

As the USA election sharabang finally pulls over to the side of the redundancy turnpike, I am reminded of Bill Hicks and his colourful rendition of the British general election of April 1992.

Bill Hicks - 06 - Vote for Labour.mp3

Here's hoping, eh?!

Nothing but essays, baby

This is dull as you like.  And extremely self-indulgent into the bargain because none of you are going to want to read them.

However, I'm doing it anyway - here are links to PGCE Assignments I've written thusfar (and uploaded to Google Docs).

For some reason, some of the jpegs that were in the original Word Docs have not uploaded properly but since no-one is going to read them, I don't foresee that being too big a deal.  If, by some chance, you wish to see them unadulterated, just say so in the comments and I'll be more than happy to email you them, geek. 

Education Studies

Foundation Subjects (and RE)

Literacy

Numeracy

Science

Reflective Practitioner

Enabling E-Learning

Global Citizenship

I've got one more to write so, if you're all very good, I may treat you to additional output at a later date.  Do try to control your excitement - remember, stiff upper lip and all that.

In my mind, it's TC that's flying the chopper.

"I'm on the top of the world, looking down on creation..."

So you've all heard of Yann Arthus-Bertrand, right?  Of course.

Well, I've just been alerted to his website (link).  The photographs therein are truly magnificent so I urge you to close the door, ignore the phone and indulge yourself for a little while...

(thanks to kottke.org for the link)

This is vocal range, Mariah!

Maybe it's because I'm a little giddy from lack of sleep but this has had me laughing almost to the point of tears



(thanks to Geekologie for the link)

Third Degree Cern

I just want to make sure I've got this handy so that I can remind myself what the bejeesus is going on down at the LHC...

Long time listener, first time poster

Jon Stewart is, on the whole, a funny guy. Sarah Palin is, on the whole, not my choice for a new generation. That's all I've got to say about that.

To everybody out there trying to make a difference in your community, FUCK YOU!

MVP, My Lord, MVP

Thank you, Michael.

Nice 'n' Spicy Nik Naks, these ain't

I'm gonna git yo, sucka

I've tried out some of the products from The Chilli Pepper Company (based in Cark) and I can assure you they're perfectly capable of putting a rod right through you. They've got a special liking for the Bhut Jolokia pepper, which is a real rocket in your pocket.

And whilst I'm more of an enthusiastic amateur, rather than a committed professional, when it comes to Scoville related antics, I'm more than a little keen to take Satan's Ashes for a ride.

Then again, isn't all this (spicy) hot food business all just cock waggling of the most primeval sort; or am I'm wrong again - do women get competitive about phals?

Anyway, if you're planning on travelling up to Levens Hall for the inaugural English Chilli Festival, give me a shout - we'll go "down down down" (copyright Johnny Cash) together.

Harmony me up, Landlord

Nadal; capybara. Capybara; Nadal.

I'm not envious of his skill, his strength, his physique, his money, his success or his overwhelming appeal to the female demographic; I'm just envious of the fact that he's an example of the world's largest rodent.

The livin' truly is easy

There's something about gender politics within this picture; I'm not equipped to pursue it.

A quick snapshot of summertime in a small childs life - makes you wish you were 3 again, no?

Mess with the bull, you get the horns everytime

It's not a career, you see - it's a vocation

I think, if I continue to work at my reflective practices, then one day I can be this focused on the art of learning.

Absolute power corrupts absolutely

Smell the Glove

Quite amusing looking book, specifically for those of you struggling with young children and itchy to plot your revenge.


Thanks to Geekologie for the link

Migration is a two way street

Get the projector out - I've got some lovely slides of the holiday.

The Bassenthwaite Ospreys have returned

Excellent.

Make it so, my Cumbrian Lieutenants...

I really wish this would make even the slightest impact but it won't, as I only have six readers and not a single one of them actually lives in the South Lakes area. Ho hum!

Still, I like the technology of embedding these sorts of things. And I also like the premise of the eventful website so I guess that makes it relatively satisfying in its own right.

Anyway, regardless of where you're at - why not add your vote anyway; then come and see Mr Jonathan Coulton at the Brewery Arts Centre or some such.

Unless, of course, you're fiendishly intelligent and work out that you may be able to get him to play somewhere else (perhaps nearer to you) if you vote for a different location - I'll just have to trust you not to betray me in that manner.

Events by Eventful

Oh, and here's a link to him, playing "Still Alive" on BBC Scotland, introduced (spookily, given my recent post about the "Kendal Calling" festival) by the glorious Frank Sidebottom.

It's all kicking off in Kendal...

Hold the front page.

I don't really know what to say about this but I felt sure it needed to be posted herein.

Blu tack, Dreadlocks and blood on the track (just full of a good length)

If you've got five minutes to spare, you could do worse than watch this. If you find that you disagree midway through you can, of course, stop watching it and save yourself, oooh, about 2 to 3 minutes. But you could probably work all that out yourself. Anyway, give it a look - I laughed on at least four separate occasions (FACT).




Thanks to The Corridor for pointing it out.

Dizzee Rascal reminds me of Keyop from "Battle of the Planets"

This could, let's be honest, be a photo of anywhere, couldn't it?

As a resident in the South Lakes and a considered appreciator of popular culture, it would be remiss of me if I did not draw all your attentions to the biggest festival in the Cumbrian hinterlands - Kendal Calling.

Occurring at a place called Prizet (quality name), which is only 3 miles from Oxenholme Station (Gateway to the Lakes, TM) on 1-3 August 2008, it should be an excellent diversion to break up the monotony of the long summer vacation. Plus it's only 55 sheets for the whole weekend - cheap as ethnic potato wedges 'n' a salsa dip.

Chirp! Whirr! Chirp! Bug Off

Dizzee Rascal is confirmed, as are SFA (OK!). Also, local indie dreamboats, British Sea Power are going to pop their heads around the door, along with a bunch of people I've not heard of but will, I'm sure, know one end of a stringed instrument from the other.

More importantly, however, the legend that is Frank Sidebottom will be on hand to tickle ribs and split sides. The possibility of monging out to a soundtrack of the mirth-filled utterances of that particular balloon-headed, northern genius will be guaranteeing my attendance, I can assure you.

Fancy coming along?

Oh go on...

Cheers Banger

Fetch!

I know I'm late in responding to the news about Marcus Trescothick but I didn't want the moment to pass completely without making note of it.

I don't think there's a single batsman I've enjoyed watching as much as Banger over the last 20 years - his slog sweeps will remain a thing of eternal beauty in my memory, I hope.

If sport is a metaphor for life, then this is death. Metaphorically.

And that makes me appropriately sad.

Let the dog see the rabbit, Marlene

Humorous by-lines on a postcard to our usual address.

I've already mentioned Bon Iver in a previous post, I know, but I don't feel I gave due weight to the level of fucking excellence that I'm experiencing in his album.

It is, quite simply, making me ache. In a literal sense - I'm feeling those dreadful yet exquisite nausea/panic attacks that you get when you first fall in love with someone.

I shit you not. That is how beautiful it is.

Buy him, revel in him and, in due course, revere him.

Bon Iver - For Emily, Forever Ago

There is a light that never goes out

Darth Vader on bass; he wrote this.

What's just as comforting is the fact that at my advancing age, there still resides within me just enough of the little boy I once was to get titillated by this image.

I'm not dead yet, only dying.

Reasons and ephemera.

a mean, green, pustule-generating machine.

Not been here for a while - sorry.

Both kids had chicken pox, which came right on the back of a fairly continuous bout of cold-tennis between the two of them.

R.I.P.

Then, my wonderful Grandad passed away and I traveled down to Cornwall to attend the funeral.

So, for a few weeks there, it was little more than keeping going really. The only excuse I now have is inordinate amounts of work on my plate, mainly from the course (and, naturally, exacerbated by the few weeks I had out of the loop - schedule pile up; suffice to say that my diary/work planner is now a mess of rewritten plans).

Anyway, here's something new I learnt today...

Whenever I feel a sneeze urge, I try to look at a light source in order to set off the desired blow-out. I always assumed that this was a technique that anyone (and probably everyone) relied on but I was wrong in this assumption.

(God, when will I learn on that "assumption" thing? Never, I assume.)

Apparently, "sun sneezers" (who have genetically inherited the photic sneeze reflex) only account for between 17% and 35% of the population. This happens by virtue of the proximity of the nerve that controls sneezing (trigeminal nerve) to the optic nerve - in some people, overstimulation of the optic nerve "rubs off" on the trigeminal nerve (in the same way that data cables can "crosstalk") and the body mistakenly responds by sneezing.

So, the bottom line is that it's an error in my physiological make-up - but a fortuitous one.

I like all of this information.

On the music-front, I'm completely swamped with fucking ace new tunes at the moment. Or, at least, I pretty sure it's ace - I'm so completely swamped with it that I've not really had enough time to listen to all of it more than once.

Anyway, Jonathan Coulton is very entertaining (thank you Mat) - wordy, arch lyricism. I'm also grateful to Alex for pointing out that Gary Louris has a new album out, Vagabonds (Gary Louris, for those of you not in the know was the lead singer with the Jayhawks - indeed he may well still be, when he's not putting out solo material) - it seems completely up to standard. I'm also blown away by Devon Sproule's most recent album, "Keep Your Silver Shined" (quirky voice, Jazz/Folk sort of thing) and by Bon Iver's album, "For Emily, Forever Ago" (Iron & Wine is a good reference point though not fair on either party).

And, lastly, here are some pictures of the young 'uns from last month...




They don't need bylines.

Who's that trip, trap, trotting over my bridge (or was it the middle eight)?

If only we could work out that the website's called Daytrotter, not Daytripper - fool.

So I've got a link for you; to a website about music...

It's a really interesting read, just for the prose within the articles. However, much more than that, there's access to live tracks from all sorts of artists (established, up-and-coming and, to my eyes, plain unknown).

My understanding of the premise is that all these bands have rolled up to this little studio, recorded a set of four tracks and then had a little chat. All cool, all quality entertainment and all free to download.

If you're at a bit of a dead-end music-wise, you can do worse than go there, trawl the archives and pick someone you've never heard of to give them a listen. Suddenly, your dead-end rematerialises as a glorious, sun-drenched thoroughfare, taking you, efficiently and in good spirits, to a land of new music (stay OFF the crack - Ed)

Oh, the name of this website - Daytrotter

(thank you to the Manchester Guardian for this vision)

Don't make me angry, you wouldn't like me when I'm angry.

There's no question in my mind - Germaine's still got it.

So it's been a while since I posted last - no doubt, you'll be expecting a real build up of pressure in the old "hilarious outpouring of bile" sac? Eh? Oh.

Just as well, as I'm all out of pressure, built-up or otherwise.

And to compensate for the commensurate lack of bile, I deferring today to Ms Greer, who has the capacity to generate heaps of bile at will. As I'm sure you're fully aware, she's a real go-to lady when it comes to editorials, commentaries, forthright sound-bites, etc - any situation that requires enflaming with a poorly conceived torrent of invective, designed solely to maximise the importance of gender issues therein, Ms Greer is poised to answer the call. And may Ganesh bless her for it - it's a thankless task and I'm just glad I'm not expected to step up to the plate with the regularity that she does.

Anyhoo, I'm not always a big fan of her diatribes. This time, however, I'm right with her on the protest march...

Mental health and it's manifold manifestations (hoo-hah!) is not a subject to be dismissed without due consideration but, in this instance, I feel Germaine has got a serious point - I mean, how the fuck did getting angry suddenly become a reasonable justification for filicide?

Get Carter

I got solutions to all your problems—I got 'em right here in my big, hairy ballsack

I love swearing, me. And I have a bit of a soft spot for liberalism too.

If you share those sensibilities, check out this Onion article.

If you don't, what the hell are you doing reading my blog you shitwipe? Hehehe.

Who will rid me of this turbulent year?

Form an orderly queue, I going to make you all look very silly.

The year is drawing to a close, as one would expect around December-time.

This is traditionally the time when opinion-makers and people with an inflated sense of their own worth cobble together a review of the preceding twelve months in a desperate attempt to mask their lack of creativity whilst they attend mirthless, tepid puddles of festive indulgence or, latterly, are focused on the dilemmas posed by purchasing the worthless for the ungrateful.

And since I have my own (albeit completely unread) blog to populate, I feel no compunction whatsoever in foisting a hastily put together resumé of some of the things that have briefly held my attention during 2007...

Album

I did enjoy the Super Furry Animals album, "Hey Venus", an inordinate amount earlier in the year.

I also arrived late of the scene with Midlake's album, "Trial of Van Occupanther", which I liked a lot.

And, coming up on the inside towards the end of the year was Tinariwen's "Aman Iman". Imagine a bunch of African nomadic musicians trying to reinvent R 'n' B, sub-Saharan style - Niger Delta Blues, perhaps. The quality belies the prosaic ineptitude of that description, honestly.

However, head and shoulders about all other contenders stands the sublime offerings of Robert Plant and Alison Krauss, "Raising Sand". It's just lovely - classic interpretations of simple songs, enlivened with stunning vocals and a light touch in the production suite providing precisely the right amount of depth, instrumentally. I ruddy loves it, I does.

Book

I enjoyed reading "Q" by Luther Blissett (although that wasn't a 2007 vintage) - Umberto Eco-lite; just clever enough to make you feel all proud of yourself for keeping up, but not so clever that you've no idea what just happened and have to keep an open dictionary next to the book whilst you're reading.

I also took a voyeuristic pleasure in watching Richard Dawkins opening up several cans on our religious brethrin, with "The God Delusion" (ditto, methinks).

On reflection, however, my favourite read of the year was Martin Amis', "House of Meetings". Back on stylistic form; back on a reinterpretation of his "end of the world" dialectic; back in my consciousness for the first time in a long time.

Sport

My favourite moment was Fernando Torres scoring his first goal for Liverpool - against Chelsea on 1 September 2007. It was a classy finish and suddenly opened my eyes to the (brief, but enchanting) vision of this elegant and deadly striker helping Liverpool to, finally, succeed in the Premier League.

Landscape

The drive from Ambleside to Keswick is pretty bloody impressive. In particular, the last mile or two when you have Helvellyn looming over you one minute, then Blencathra the next. Fair sent a shiver down my spine, it did.

Some people call it "Saddleback". They're wrong.

Film

"Sunshine" was visually impressive, if vacuous in terms of plot. "Walk the Line" was worthy and competently performed, but didn't grab my heart as I hoped it would. "History of Violence" was stomach-turning and actually made me feel a little scared (these being both good and bad characteristics at the same time). Favourite of the year, though is "Apocalypto". Simply, it was compulsive viewing and, despite being directed by that hateful twat, Mel Gibson, I couldn't tear my eyes from the screen from first second to last.

Television

Don't really catch a lot of TV but, naturally, I always make time to see the "Dawson's Creek" repeats on Five US.



If there are any other headings you want me to ramble on beneath, please put your request in the comments and I'll make up something for you...

Get up, stand up

Yes, I do love myself; but not as much as I love Planet Earth.

It's my considered opinion that most people don't really give a rat's ass about petitions; particularly not, say George Bush or Wen Jiabao. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that completing most petitions is no more and no less than a complete waste of time and, generally, represents an indulgent act of internal self-congratulation, rather than a conscious desire to effect change.

However, we may as well sign this one, I reckon - it is the planet we're talking about, after all (and with a ringing endorsement like that, I feel certain that the telephone call from Jonathan Porrit, offering me a job as his personal spokesman, is guaranteed, toot sweet)...

Click here to show you share Al Gore’s dedication to himself this wonderful world we’re despoiling

(Thanks to my good friend, Matt Hocking, at Leap Media, for highlighting this one).

Ain't no average groupie.

As those of you who know me will attest, not much cheers me up. However, this clip has succeeded where pictures of labradors, the love of a good woman and fortuitous twists of financial good fortune have failed...



(NB - the love of a good woman has, naturally, cheered me up repeatedly and the above comments were strictly for comic effect - sorry Nadira, x)

Unsubscribe

Check out this Amnesty video - it's tough.

Amnesty International - Unsubscribe
Uploaded by firat

And that's an order.

Domed, domed I tell ya

Laserdisc, you say? Format of the future, you say?

Once upon a time, a weak-willed boy called Kristian was press-ganged into doing some high-level geekiness for the 1986 reinterpretation of the Domesday project.

Following a breathtaking lack of interest (globally, nationally or. even more damning in a county of spectacularly unexceptional news, locally) and the almost immediate obsolescence of the technology involved in recording it, this plutonium-grade example of my total lack of cool as a teenager was buried, seemingly never to be rediscovered.

Unfortunately, this did not factor in two things: one, the persistence and diligence of the National Archive in pursuing the restoration of the data and two, the eye for detail, hitherto unrecognised in Mr Julian Cosson, for bringing my contribution (and the evidence thereof) back to my attention.

My reserved thanks are tossed idly in the general direction of both these parties.

Just so we're clear, I didn't do any work on it. I would've been smoking fags and pulling chicks with the cool kids down at Kelly's Arcade (please note, may not actually have happened) - I probably got Paul Matta and Simon Twining to do my bits in exchange for one of my sandwiches.

And with that grubby example of revisionism in action, I shall leave you to ponder the nature of history and subjectivity, particularly with reference with the Domesday Books (of both the 11th and the 20th Centuries). Or not.

Hey there, Earthman - love your work

"Vegetable rights and peace, man"

Doing my bit for the planet and all that (my misanthropy seems to be clearing up - that cream really does work), I've got a couple of links to enhance your awareness of the challenges our beautiful species face (as if you, dear reader, needed such enlightenment).

Firstly, there's an article where the BBC puts the boot in on Climate Change deniers. (thanks to Boing Boing for the link.)

The most illuminating point I felt was raised in the comments section under the Boing Boing article...

"1.) Anthropogenic carbon dioxide production exists. We burn fossil fuels for energy, a lot.

2.) Carbon dioxide acts as an insulating filter for infrared radiation. This can be demonstrated literally with a fish tank, a lamp, and a thermometer...

3.) Therefore, we are significantly increasing the retention of solar energy due to human produced carbon dioxide emissions."

Quite simple, really - ignore the harvesting of the evidence to prove matters, look at the logical rationale. Oh, and whilst you're at it, read "The Party's Over" by Richard Heinberg, then go find a nice comfortable cave for your grandchildren to live in.

My second titbit of gloom is from last Sunday's Observer, where Juliette Jowitt puts the case for less procreation. Who'd have thought it, eh - Malthus had it right after all, just a few hundred years too early. Where's a plague when you need it - sorry, misanthropy is playing up again. Anyway, now you've all booked in for your family planning clinic appointment, come and join Drop the Pop (what do you mean you're not on Facebook?!) where you can think long and hard about how to get the rest of the world to stop rutting so much, without sounding like a patronising Western shytehawk...


On the plus side, Soy Bean Futures are up 1.21% to $1069 as at 05.12 this AM on the Dow.

The name's Michael, not Mickey.

That Dee Dee was a cock-tease. Simple as.

CAPTAIN CAAAAAAAAAAAAAVVVVVVEEEE MMMMMMMAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNN!!!

I like the look of this - as one of the Amazon reviews so enchantingly highlighted, this would make excellent resource to titillate whilst one is ensconced on the crapper.

His Kinkyship Sails At Dawn

A splash? A dash? Jiggered if I know.

A few years back, I had the good fortune to see Kinky Friedman live, reading from his books, telling protracted anecdotes with serpentine digressions (think Ronnie Corbett, only with more cigars and casual references to cocaine abuse) and interacting with his companions - Mike McGovern, Little Jewford and, naturally, the Watson to Kinky's Holmes, Ratso.

I can recall virtually nothing of the evening, due to heavy imbibation; but there's definitely a strong residual aura of pleasure regarding the whole experience - enough to suggest to me that everyone was on good form and that, although I descended into the usual verbose twattishness that is my forté once in my cups, no-one held it against me particularly vehemently.

Anyway, the point is that, all the players signed a book I had on me (The Kinky Friedman Crime Club, since you asked - excellent read, go get it post haste) and I've just happened upon said autographs. Mike McGovern was good enough therein to give me the recipe for Vodka McGovern, which I will be indulging in tonight as a form of remembrance for times past.

Of course, with so much room for discretion in the interpretation of measurements, I feel sure that what I'll be drinking will not be a Vodka McGovern per se but some derivative form. As Plato's Allegory of the Cave should show us, however, it is ever thus.

As an aside, go to the Kinkstah's website for copious information; mainly regarding, as I suppose you'd expect, the man itself.

Folk off

I'm a professional - I can play without looking at the guitar.

I've just becomes acquainted with a new musical artiste - Emmy the Great.

She appears, on initial perusal, to be producing some quite great songs. Go forth and make her a star, my little disciples...

Her website is here and her myspace page is here (where you can hear some music, natch).

Come on the Field!

Kendal Town - on the crest of a wave (b'dm t'sch.)

It seems that my arrival in the Lakes has coincided with an upturn in the fortunes of the local football teams.

Not only have Little Sammy McIlroy's Morecambe FC scaled the pyramid and entered the League but now plucky little Kendal Town FC are on the precipice of the FA Cup first round proper.

As Wikipedia has kindly informed me, Kendal Town were originally known as Netherfield AFC (hence their nickname, the Field) and are currently in the Unibond Premier League.

Plenty of room at the back.

"In the beginning, the universe was created. This has made a lot of people very angry, and is generally considered to have been a bad move."

Right so I've got nothing new for you. I have, however, got something old for you.

Hubble Bubble

It's the Hubble Heritage site where, literally, shit-loads of images from that great telescope in the sky have been enhanced and stored for our perusal.

This is the kind of thing that Kant must've been thinking of when he defined the sublime as "a state of mind elicited by the representation of boundlessness or the infinite." Once we had a barometer for beauty such as this, we can focus our aesthetic judgement upon anything, eh?

Eh?!

Oh.

Well, if I'm a virgin, how come I know what a girl's bottom looks like?

That's Rick with a silent P

It's not often you get to feel good about being in your mid-thirties. In fact, I don't think it's possible at all.

However, here's something that may make you slightly less miserable about having grown up in the Eighties - the fact that you can quote, ad nauseum, from the Young Ones.

Naturally, therefore, you'll all be wanting to get your hands on the Young Ones Anniversary DVD - pre-order on Amazon now (link)

No need to get pissy

Kinky Afro

As I'm on a roll with the posts here, I thought I'd make brief mention on the classy performance that England put on to step on those troublesome colonial oiks.

You've heard it all before, you've read it everywhere and, indeed, you've probably be thinking it all yourselves so I won't belabour the points - Sheridan was imperious, Shaw managed to play at his most aggressively without getting sent off (how the f*ck did that happen?!), Gomarsall was all over Gregan like a crack-addled hooker and our backs managed to tackle proficiently (again, how the f*ck did that happen?! Matthew Tait, take a bow).

All we need now is to repeat all the quality aspects of the performance against those dastardly Frenchies, whilst also getting considerably better at passing and innovative running. So, no problems there then...

Oh, and we also need to avoid getting nicked for criminal damage, a la Doug Howlett (link) - now, now, ladies; it's only a game.

Thunderous apologies

Morale totally destroyed... by pooh-pooh!

Just realised that I lied like a cheap persian shagpile when I said earlier that I'd come across nothing of note to post in recent weeks.

In fact, there is one new addition to my RSS feed that, whilst being slightly verbose, is reprieved somewhat by being infrequently populated. And, of course, by being the output of one Stephen Fry...

Link to Stephen Fry blog.

So far, there've been two posts - one on smartphones (and gadgetry in general) and another on, well, celebrity culture. Both chocked full of words you need to look up in a dictionary so that's reason enough to sign up, I feel.

Got to get you into my life

I buried Pato

Link to Beatles on speed

Someone has compressed (in time) all the Beatles UK albums so you can listen to all their output in an hour.

Sounds disturbing, yet oddly alluring.

Perusing the comments therein, it also becomes clear that it's possible to then decompress them (using some high-falutin' technology that is beyond me) and, bingo bongo, you've got all the Beatles tracks, albeit in a slightly warped fashion. Sounds almost as intriguing as the rap-rap-rapido interpretation.

Unfortunately, despite what the image at the top may imply, the results do not sound like helium-intoxicated animation characters. Shame.

(thanks to Boing, Boing for link)

Flashman on tour

Sorry for paucity of output - course has really started to dig deep and I've had no time to find anything enjoyable to indulge in myself, let alone find anything to post her for other people's delectation.

Anyway, I did happen upon a little Frank Keating ramble that entertained me yesterday in the Guardian (Manchester, not Cornish, natch)...

If the world of sport - or our way of watching it - changed irrevocably at the very time of my birth, there happened, too, one glorious final fling for sport's old order. I was precisely one week old 70 October 11s ago (the very day, as it happens, that Mrs Cissie Charlton of Ashington gave birth to bonny babe, Robert) when an England cricket team, led by Hampshire's Lord Tennyson, embarked for India. They won the series but Fleet Street never so much as whispered that, during it, they enjoyed hunting panther, tiger and elephant, that at Patiala the Maharajah gave the team the run of his 300-strong harem, and that on the very eve of the state match against Madras (according to Arthur Wellard's memoir) "the local Maharajah challenged us to an all-night drinking contest - whisky, brandy, gin, the lot. George [Pope] and I dropped out after midnight, but Joe [Hardstaff] matched the Prince glass for glass, drink for drink, till past 5am when Joe collapsed and we had to carry him home as good as dead." Next day, Hardstaff scored 213 (c Gopalan b Parthasarathi) in five hours, 24 fours, and, says Wisden, "never appeared in any trouble".

(link to full column)

If you're going to flash, flash hard.

I get the feeling that George MacDonald Fraser was probably ghost-writing Arthur Wellard's memoir but that's no bad thing. God bless the Empire.

Well, made me chuckle anyway.

For all your IT solutions...

God knows, I realise that there aren't many people who read this ('ve got Google Analytics and the reading ain't pretty). And, more to the point, I know that the people who do read this are unlikely to be interested in what I'm going to say next. However, I shall say it anyway - in case, someone stumbles upon it...

A friend of mine has recently started up his own IT solutions company, Fundament.

I won't dwell on the details, as there's more than enough information on the website - suffice to say, if you've got any IT issues and you want the considered expertise of someone who really does know what they're talking about, you could do much worse than giving him a call...

Down with that sort of thing; careful now.

Not rambled enough hereabouts so thought I'd rectify matters with some post-Viognier gibberish.

I've now been established in my Lakeland retreat for some three weeks so, clearly, I am now in a position to deal out wisdom regarding anything I see fit. To whit...

Coniston is a diverting lake and well worth driving around; it has striking hillocks overlooking it but the village is predictably dull - I'm not sure I'd go so far as to advocate walking as it's getting a bit parky around these parts and that's not really my bag. Still, if that's what tickles your boat or, indeed, floats your fancy then I'm sure the environs of Coniston will suffice. Just be sure to dress up warm.

In fairness, I've not had much time to embrace the Lakes as yet. Firstly, upon moving in, Casa Petterson demanded my interior decorating expertise. Things are now settling down and the homestead is replete with inspirational motifs.

However, just as my inner Llewellyn-Bowen was becalmed, then I felt the cold grip upon my shoulder of enforced study. Yes, my PGCE has commenced and, in a word, it's a strain.

Not the workload you understand, but the demanded reflection. I'm expected to look inward and critique appropriately (those of you who are aware of the term "reflective practitioner" can look away and shudder now). A worthy challenge to modify one's behaviour towards constancy when one is drawn towards the extremes of self-loathing and self-love with such frequency. I shall endeavour.

In the realm of music, there has been a bout of fecundity in my listening - current favourites are the CSNY glory of Midlake's "The Trial of Van Occupanther", the arch bleakness of The Editors "An End Has a Start", the acid samba of Os Mutantes' "Os Mutantes", the bitchy easy-listening electronica of The Bird and The Bee's "The Bird and The Bee" and the erudition and energetic instrumentalism of Augie March's "Strange Bird". Get 'em while they're hot - they're lovely.

(put a bit of each of these on the ol' Orb link)

Off to my pillow - drunk, don't you know.

The King is in his counting house

The idea of leaders generally being little more than titular, with all real work and policy being expedited by faceless, unelected apparatchiks is not a new one.

However, it does make me feel a little bit better about the fact that George W Bush is, on the face of it, the leader of the most powerful country in the world.

Idiot Son of an Asshole

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Oh, and on a completely different note. Portugal can score 13 points against New Zealand and we can't even manage a single point against South Africa - that's how the world functions now, is it?

Sweet Jesus of Nazareth.

I'm so relieved I went into this World Cup with a low expectation level. However, on reflection I wish I'd not been so optimistic.

Boy Wonder's first birthday

First, Astrid very kindly (and with a completely altruistic motive) showed Eskel how to open his presents...


Then Eskel was introduced to Champagne for the first time, with expected levels of appreciation...


Then, after a few more swigs on the good stuff, he started to loosen up; eventually culminating in a rather ugly fracas with Grannie...


Finally, in a desperate attempt to soak up the booze, he dosed up on chocolate cake...


We are currently dealing with the fallout from the subsequent sugar crash. It's messy. Say no more.

This one goes all the way up to eleven

Vade retro, Satanas

Here's some great recordings to listen to.

Amongst other titbits included therein are a castrato singing, the highest recorded sung note and a Russian exorcism.

I thought it was interesting, anyway.

(thanks to Fimoculous for making me aware)