Sunday, August 28

who's willy?

Some time ago, a bloggy chum was wondering who on earth William Robertson was.

Well, I happened to find myself reading Bothwell's Life Of Johnson, as one does. And I read a reference to the very same William Robertson. (Incidentally, Robertson also featured in the novel Alma Natter).

For your edification, I reproduce the passage here, double entendres and all.

- iPhone post

Saturday, August 27

hot stuff

One of the nice things about winter is that you really enjoy your food, especially warming breakfasts, and desserts in the evening.

There's been a tapioca shortage in the shops recently, but then I tracked down a couple of bags.

What bliss! Hot tapioca pudding, with vanilla and nutmeg. Oh the joy! Better than sex. The only thing better would be eating tapioca during sex. I've used custard in bed before now, but just imagine eating tapioca off your partner! All those little bubbly bits would give it the edge over custard. Too bad I'm too old to try it.

- iPhone post

Thursday, August 18

oh happy day

Pretty good day yesterday. Sauntered in to work after lunch, only to show my face and then go out shopping. Bought some really wonderful Wakame seaweed (Korean so presumably plutonium free) and some coarse miso.

Back at work again, I succeeded (after a couple of years' of occasional attempts, all unsuccessful) in connecting the iphone to the wifi at work. So from now on I can blog and play scrabble during work time.

After a superb fish and tofu stir fry in the Chinese place where I've been eating for decades, I worked for the evening but was still able to finish up and go home early. Got a lift home from the cellmate. Today, my day off, I've done various bits of useful pottering. What a wonderful world it is sometimes.

Haven't had a beer for a week, not even a freedom ale. I thought about opening a weissbier tonight but I can't be bothered.

Wednesday, August 17

rioter's prayer

I saw this alternative prayer posted by a shameless lass on facebook.

Our father, who art in prison,
my mum knows not his name,
thy riots come, read it in the sun, in birmingham, as it is in london,
give us this day our welfare bread and forgive us our looting, as we're happy to loot those who defend against us,
lead us not into employment but deliver us free housing, for thine is the telly, the burberry and the barcardi, forever and ever...... innit..?


Sunday, August 14


It's nearly spring again here. To mark the end of the cellmate's return from exile in NZ we took a long walk today, to try and get reacquainted.

Because this place used to be a penal colony, they still believe in fencing everything in. Just in case.

- iPhone post

Thursday, August 11

bavarian thinking reaches NZ

The outlaws in NZ are squabbling about whether their old dear is dying or actually getting better.

I hope the poor old thing gets another of her cheery days today. But if she doesn't, and gets the awful pain and vomiting, well there's usually a better day around the corner.

Important for the family to remember though, the overall trajectory is downwards. We're all dying but some of us are closer to the head of the queue.

Tonight's the night I get my belly laughs from the new series of The Thick Of It. The Peter Capaldi character's fantastic. Oh to be him for a day!

Thursday, August 4

seaside violence through the years

In Piddledorf, I found these old photos.

The old dear (on the left) in the 1920s, with her chums at the beach:

Here, her pals seem to have turned on her:

Her sons at the same beach in the 60s:

After that photo, one of them took a shovel to the forehead of the other, severing a nerve in the process.

Tuesday, August 2


Spoke to Dances again last night via Skelp.

All systems are go at his end.

Monday, August 1

workplace formality

Since my old office-mate moved out in a huff and a hurry, I'm still getting to know the new office-mate.

I really shouldn't have bought that bag of chestnuts, they give me gas as if a dog's done its business in my pants.

Yesterday I left the office for a couple of minutes, and on returning I found the office-mate standing with his head out the open window.

I could have apologized but I just brassed it out. With a bit of luck he would think I assumed the smell was him.