Tempus transgenderus. No way would the healthy safety spectres let a TV presenter do this stunt today. John Noakes, we salute you.
Never been a fan but I used to be able to take or leave chooks.
Even quite enjoyed watching my Great Aunt Aggie’s bantams scratching around the farmyard and always appreciated the eggs. But, for some reason, chicken meat and I did not interact too often in my formative years. I remember grey mince and tough slices of beef and/or pork but I really don’t recall chicken impinging too often in my youth and childhood.
Anyhow, it came to be 1963 and I was 14 years old. Able to work and earn money in the school holidays. One of the major employers in the Perth area was Marshalls (the Chunky Chicken Champions). Continue reading “Gallus Gallus Domesticus”
Oxbridge (wherever that may be) is accused of many sins: elitism, positive discrimination and prejudice of every shade to name but a few. And now a distinguished alumnus has voiced his view that Oxford is still getting it all wrong, admissionswise, ‘staggeringly’.
This is a non-controversial blog about cricket. As Pete Such It won’t appeal (not out) to female readers. Take a tea break ladies, Gareth battily, we do it all the time.
I’m Alan Knott trying to get rid of you. I love women. In all shape, form, substance, architecture, model, embodiment, chassis or any other taughtalotgicals. I’m not a misogynist ( big word for me and I know what it means). I respect women’s professional tennis and strong female singers like Cristina Scabbia and Floor Jansen. This is about dull old cricket and won’t interest you. Continue reading “As the saying goes, it’s not cricket”
I really can’t moan about life in Dorset. People are nice to me and I’ve been accepted into the community. The locals find me to be endearing, a bit like one of those dogs that’s so ugly that it’s almost cute and madder than a box of frogs as an added bonus. Or, at worst, I’ve been accepted like a bad harvest or a squall the night before the biggest night of fishing. In relatively short order I was given a part-time position with enough hours to pay for my daily expenses — including my Waitrose and hand roasted coffee/hand blended tea tendencies. The landlady has made me her substitute innkeeper. She lets out rooms. In her absence, I will manage the house and sort out the housekeeping.
The only thing that sometimes gets to me is the same thing that gets to many people here. It’s bloody boring. Not to worry. I will go to Japan in October with Viking-type chum. That will be interesting. In a country where everything is said in allusion and euphemism, I will have to mind someone from a country where anything short of the most brutal honesty is considered a major character flaw. Before then, I will fly to Liverpool for a long weekend. Having taken our OZ’s recommendations into serious consideration, I’ve booked a room in L4 within minutes of the Sanctum Sanctorum.
From the reviews.
“This is like an immortal dog. It is unputdownable.” (London Review of Books)
“You’ll See Us outjoyces Joyce, checkmates Chekov, Guy Fawkesy du Maupassant and shakes the Speare.” (Times Literary supplement)
“To read this you can’t be in your right mind. For wrong-minded readers only.” (Glaswegian Gallus Gazette)
Occasionally, they let me out. Having been a good boy and jested less than usual the asylum gave me a free day pass, yet told me I could only stay out for one. Doesn’t add up. Continue reading “You’ll See Us”
I’ve long been fascinated by gradual decline and decay. Being in possession of a melancholic temperament myself, it’s had its distinct appeal. It’s why I like ghost towns, and places that, while not quite there, are shadows of their former selves. The USA has a number of places like that. Continue reading “Decay”
May 2018 has been a squalid month in statecraft. No, not because Trump tweeted something even more asinine than usual. In fact, this has nothing to do with Trump, North Korea, Malcolm Turnbull (At least directly) or even Alex Salmond. Continue reading “A Squalid Month in Statecraft”