As we all know, GMS thrust his right hand into the fire to get right up Lars Porsena’s (of Clusium) nostrils. His claim, apparently, was that it was a significant sacrifice.
Rightist Bastard. Some of us would have been more distressed, had we had to present our sinister phalanges to the flame.
Anyhoo, and this is important to me. Today is, apparently, International Left Handers Day.
Whoopee! Not sure that there are any other Southpaws out there who are still posting to the Chariot.
Whatever! I am left-handed, right-brained and proud.
Forza la sinistra, non-politically.
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”
It will probably end in tears.
As a nation, we Jocks are terribly good at being plucky/gallant/unlucky losers. We also get robbed far too often. In my opinion. Continue reading “Hubris”
Obviously. HS2 is either a very good idea, or a very bad idea, depending on your opinion thereon. I am sure that we can, at least. all agree on that.
For those of you furth of the United Kingdom of Great Britain & Northern Ireland who may not be totally up to date with said HS2, it’s a proposed high speed link between the Great Wen and parts midlandish and northwards thereof. One day, it might even make it as far as Caledonia (stern and wild). Provided, of course, that you are still talking to us by then. Continue reading “HS2”
Late to New Year greetings, as usual. It comes with being Jockish and with the time we need to take to sober up after we have spent the odd moment getting seriously unsober.
Anyhow, 2018 seems to have managed to get here. As, in due course, have I.
So, a Good New Year to all Charioteers, past or present.
Happy memories and lang may all your lums reek!
It would be fair to say that I have not been totally enjoying the Ashes Series to date. The odd moment of wild over-optimism; interspersed, far too often, with long hours of realistic contemplation of ‘our’ impending doom.
Whatever! I owe it to the shades of Jonners, CMJ, The Boyle, Fiery Fred, John ‘No nickname that I can remember’ Arlott and, above all, my Dad to glue my ear to Test Match Special throughout the long watches of the night whenever the contest for the urn goes Down Under. Continue reading “Thanks to MyT and The Chariot”
I thought that I had lost this superb piece of writing by Nokamis when the good ship MyT sank. I’m relieved that I was able to find it again. It still says it all for me at this time of year.
‘It’s cold here, colder than on the tube coming up, colder than the short walk from the station. At least, it seems so. A capricious wind is whipping the downed leaves in golden whirlwinds round my feet. I’m feeling the cold particularly badly because I’m not wearing a coat. My funereal black mohair overcoat is gracing a hook in Florida, and I’m not sporting my natty bright red goose-down lined parka, just didn’t seem right. Continue reading “‘One of our Memories is Missing’ – Nokamis”
So, we flew back from St Petersburg last Sunday, via Amsterdam (always a mistake), at the end of an utterly memorable visit to the Russian Federation. Still not convinced that Putin is, on the whole, a good idea but a wee bit less anti than I was before I went. People wonderful, language interesting, sites and sights epic. We will go back. Continue reading “Still Standing”
I am almost sure that I posted on this before. I also think. however, that said post shuffled off the Internet coil when MyT (may the Barclay Brothers rot in Hell and/or Sark) pulled the plug.
My Dad was British to both the depths of his soul and to the sole of his Army boots. Never altered the fact that he was ecstatic if a Scot or Scots team shoved it right up the fundament of the relevant Southron opponent. Continue reading “Get Intae Them!”
I can only claim to be a Mackie because of my mother. Her surname is one of my middle names, in traditional Scots style. It’s what we do, nomenclature-wise.
In case you have forgotten it. that is why Bob Wilson, stalwart keeper of the Arsenal goal, and one of the better Jock custodians. in my opinion. rejoices in the middle name of ‘Primrose’. Continue reading “Clarification”