…An advert comes on. And after a few listens, because I’m staring at the model and as models go She’s a Rainbow and a half, I recognise the voice in the background. Get Back! It’s the Rolling Stones, and a song I’ve never heard before. How can this be? I’m the resident rock/music expert around here.
The advert in question is promoting Joy the perfume and the song accompanying it, I later discover, is She’s a Rainbow by the Roling Stones. Geoffrey, Bungle, George and Zippy! How has this delightful tune passed me by?
Then it dawns on me. That’s not my generation. I’m not from those hippy times; I know the hip bands of the present, for what its worth. Sorry for all the hip references for all the Charioteer hip replacement platoon out there (hippy hippy shake smiley thingy)
Here’s the song. For those Honky Tonkers out there, turn those hearing aids up to 11. Play it Loud.
Spectacular is the adjective commonly used for pyrotechnic displays. Bugbear number 3 for me. Fawkes sake, one light show is the same as the other.
Happy New Year. Let there be light.
Yesterday I passed on to my reader Backside’s aversion to anthropological fantasies purveyed by the meeja; from Twilight to Harry Potter to Game of Thrones to Watership Down, all celebrating the supernatural or the improbable ad nauseam.
Today his other pet hate was exhibited: the propensity of celebrities to parade their emotions before the cyberpublic, presumably seeking sympathy and even greater celebrity = money. This time a fine tennis professional who regrettably lacks the dignity and self-respect to avoid the camera when he is overcome by sadness at his own fate (or rather the impending end of his playing career). Yes, I know it’s the fashion but p-lease!
Once again my apologies for the blatant cut and paste in the original version of this post. I should have known better and I trust that this version falls within the rules.
All I wanted to say was that there is an article in the Spectator magazine that struck a cord with me. Rod Liddle presents a rather jaded view of the BBC’s fetish for Political Correctness. He takes particular aim at the Beeb’s recent production of Watership Down which he describes as being “woke”. (“The ABC Murders” also warrants a barb .)
He talks of of Bigwig being a “bruv from the ’hood” and alerts us to the fact that one of the warren is a campaigner for social justice while another is a transgendering rabbit called Strawberry. Not having seen the program, I cannot say whether this is an accurate representation or rather a bit of mischief by Mr Liddle, but I think I get the gist. It rather surprises me that Richard Adams’s estate allowed such nonsense.
Anyway, Mr Liddle concludes that his New Year resolution may be to join Charles Moore in refusing to pay the BBC licence fee. I almost wish I was living in the UK so that I could join the boycott.
The link to the article is here https://www.spectator.co.uk/2019/01/the-bbcs-quest-to-make-watership-down-woke/. There is a pay wall, but generally infrequent visitors are allowed a 3 free articles a month.
It’s a magnus vicus where I live, not an urbs. (Come back, Latin haters, this is not periculosum.) But there seems to be a blossoming of interest in learning and studying Latin; perhaps even a resurrectio! I offered to teach a few discipuli and now there are multi waiting patienter to join us. But no, I must keep the pax Romana with a cohors minima amicorum. The mensae at the Waitrose taberna are non satis magnae for a multitudo!
O Aurigae, opto sitis felicissimi et felicissimae anno MMXIX
(‘O charioteers, I wish you guys and gals great happiness in 2019’)
Soon yet another year will come to its end. It was a remarkably transformational year. After several years of wandering, I’ve well and truly settled down in Dorset. My schedule is as full as it can possibly be and there is an overwhelming sense of stability and predictability. It has been many years since I could say that!
This year, I will have another very English Christmas. I won’t have a lot of time to relax. I’m scheduled to work Christmas Eve and Boxing Day. On Christmas Day, well, that will be busy, too. I will help cook, serve and prepare a Christmas dinner at one of the Anglican churches in Dorchester. It is a very pleasant, civilised affair. For those of us who are alone, there are many in a town where the average age is one foot in the grave, it’s a chance to do more than watch the walls close in on us.
Sorry to talk about this but in two days’ time Drunker will tell us the EU’s rules on ‘no deal’. Ain’t that just typical? They’ve got rules about everything, even when we’re not negotiating! But the important thing is: no deal means we’re are out, Brexit is done and dusted, the political playground is finally closed and commercial reality in the shape of the WTO takes over. What’s more, Britannia and her acolytes will have the whip-hand again. She will choose where to go for trade – and sucks to Brussels. Next please.
Was on a bus the other day (oh, the shame). The driver jumped out to buy a paper leaving the engine running and I thought to myself, what would Lemmy do in a situation like this?
Suppression Order to protect the Guilty Party
On Tuesday, a jury in the State of Victoria (in Australia) unanimously found the accused guilty of the crimes alleged by the prosecution. The presiding Judge immediately issued a gag order covering the accused, the crimes, the verdict and probably the great-grandmother’s knitting patterns, applicable to everyone and everything Australian, on pain of indefinite imprisonment for Contempt of Court.
To quote a well-known American tennis player, “You have to be joking”. Who does the Judge think he is and what century is he living in? The world knows all the facts (and the Judge’s name, which will rapidly become the butt of all current affair jokes, I predict). Cnut (Canute) had more chance of succeeding.
In other news, the Pope yesterday removed his only Australian Cardinal from the nine-member Committee of the inner circle of Catholic Enforcers.