It’s the pain, doctor.
Where exactly, Janus?
Just here (pointing to heart).
And when do you get it?
Whenever I watch English teams play.
So it’s home-sickness then, the call from home?
No. That’s a sweeter feeling, like hearing I’m to be a grandpa for the 10th time.
Congratulations then! But back to the pain?
Yes. What’s the cure?
Get rid of the sports channels. Watch Danish tv. You’ll feel no emotion whatever and sleep extremely well. That’s the true meaning of ‘hygge’ (pron. hew- ga)!
Almost everyone’s gone. Maybe not to the moon (but who knows?). And parting is such…er….sorrow. Especially when y’all left without so much as a flounce, a strop or a fond farewell. Was it something we said or failed to say? Was it fickle fate that tempted you to pastures new? Was it the Big House or twatter or facebonk?
No answers unless you’re planning to stick around. Excuses are so yesterday.
It’s true, doesn’t matter if it is lumbago, rheumatism, arthritis, sciatica or a bout of the gout this is guaranteed to cure the lot in two days.
Firewood, cut it, split it, stack it on the woodpile.
There are three trees worth here, a Hickory, an Oak and a Maple, all hardwoods, probably totaling about three cords when cut and stacked, seasoned it should weigh about six tons, wet as it is it probably weighs twice that. The big stuff with the dark heartwood is the hickory. Bitternut is the variety that grows around here and it is very heavy wood, and one of the best in terms of heat content for firewood.
I heard this story when I was a lad from my father and grandfather; no mention of it was ever made in school.
The geezer in the muddy boots is Dr. Orville Ward Owen a medical doctor from Detroit, the date is May 1911, the place is close to the low tide mark of the River Wye in the shadow of the walls of Chepstow Castle.
What led the man to this place was never explained to me back then, although what he sought was well known to my relatives, and their view was that he was wasting his time and money. He made several visits, one lasting longer than six months. In all twelve or fourteen shafts were driven into the river bottom, some deeper than twenty feet. All he found were some heavy timbers that were the remains of a Roman landing stage, these were not what he was looking for.
Prince’s 1999 song was rarely played on December 31st 1998 yet a year later was used extensively on various radio stations/disco 2000s to welcome in the millennium. We partied 364 days and whatever minute it was too late. One of these anomalies we have in life. I didn’t party. I was Doctor Whoming behind the sofa, with my whimpering K9, awaiting Armageddon. Something wicked this way comes.
The millennium bug was the end of days. Looking back now I don’t know why I was so worried. I did not possess a computer at the time (Y2K). The worst that could have happened to me would be that the toaster wouldn’t work. And this would have nothing to do with broadband issues or other related online jargon. The trouble would be dodgy wiring in the plug; when you’ve chubby fingers it’s hard to put that little wire in the right place; Major Tom to earth etc. Still, like the glorious Gaynor, I survived.
With their being no National Service anymore I have no experience of the military. While I could have enlisted voluntarily I preferred to be a civilian. This doesn’t mean I can’t daydream. And the best place to do this is in the dentist’s chair.
I haven’t been to the dentist for over a year, missing out on two regular six month check-ups. It’s not fear of Dr. Christian Szell that kept me away it was his frontline troops I couldn’t handle; the Checkpoint Charlie receptionists are a dour-faced lot. Read more…
You may have noticed that recent changes made by WordPress (they make changes pretty regularly) have resulted in the loss of the “Quote” facility and of the individual serial numbers for comments. Rather a shame, but I have checked everything that can be checked and there’s no way to bring them back, as far as I can see.
They’ve also mucked around with the comment box – it still works as it always did, but the text that used to remind you that you can’t comment unless you’re logged on is not there any more. You do still have to be logged in though. If you try to comment when you’re not logged in, nothing will happen when you click on the “Post” button. Nothing, nada, zilch. You’ll just be left hanging – not a friendly outcome, but there’s nowt I can do about it. :-(
Finally, for about the hundredth time, please can certain Charioteers remember that “it’s” (with an apostrophe) always means “it is” (or “it has”) and is never, ever the possessive (genitive, belonging) case. If you need the possessive, as in “the cat licked its paw”, leave the apostrophe out. Yes, it’s the opposite of what we do with all other words, but that’s English for you.
Lastly, totally off track, how about our young Canberran, Nick Kyrgios? What a guy! Pronounced “Kir-ee-os”, in case you were wondering; the “g” is silent.
Bypassing all its criticisms- invasion of privacy issues, cursor navigational problems, serial killings as they occur- Google street view is a fine application. The ability to teleport to anywhere in the world is Star Trek at your fingertips. Beam me up, I mean, beam me down to Barbados, Scotty.
Where Google comes down to earth is with its overhead view option. This satellite imagery, used often by television news stations, is boring. There’s nothing interesting about the top of something. You won’t hear an actress or a model say “ oh my best feature is the plan view of my head.” Read more…
The left footers really should know better. Don’t they read the good book? Graven images aren’t allowed. God is not happy. After trying to hold his temper and count to, I don’t know, a virgintillion and one his patience ran out and he rained down on the Rio statue of Christ the Redeemer some very, very frightening tautological thunderbolts and lightning.
Aiming this year to travel more, Brazil is one of the countries on my goto list. My goal is not to help fix the statue or swim in the Amazon river or look at the rock paintings in the Parque Nacional da Serra da Capivara. Would you believe I’m not even going there to watch the skimpily clad carnival girls rocococoing in the flesh. My mission is to make the natives better at football. Coming from where I come from I’m sure my ministry will be helpful in this godforsaken land of no-hopers. After all, my five-a-side team have won their last few matches.
Well this started out as a comment on Sipu’s recent post, then as usual it got so long and convoluted I decided it better belonged here.
A number of unforeseen consequences of Whitney’s cotton gin followed rapidly after its wider application. The rapid growth in cotton fibre production in the southern states was accompanied by a huge supply of cottonseed, for every bale of cotton (480 lbs) an astonishing 700 pounds of cottonseed were produced, most of it was dumped in the nearest river (gins were often water powered) or simply left on the ground to rot.