Author: O Zangado

Just loping around. Extremely fond of roast boar in particular, meat in general and cooking on the barbie. Fish is good too.

Contemporary rhymes for Janus

You there, taxpayer! Have you any dosh?
No sir, no sir, not got lots!
But some for the warmists, most for the State,
the rest for the Jihadist who loves to hate.

—–

Armageddon’s coming and the debts are getting fat
Please put a penny in the politician’s hat
If you haven’t got a penny, a hundred quid will do
If you haven’t got a hundred quid, God help you.

—-

The old MP was a merry old soul, and a merry old soul was he;
He called for his house to be cleaned in the night
And he called for his mukkers three.
Every mukker had a fine fiddle, and a very fine fiddle had they;
Oh there’s none so rare as can compare
With an MP and his fiddlers three.

OZ

Second Photo Competition

Oh gosh! Groom, lick, scratch, lick, lick, groom!  What can I say as first choice of the first photo competition, after spending half the night getting instructions from Bearsy and Boa on how to size an image?  Thank you too, Pseu and Val. After all my abortive efforts at Creative Writing it seems all I had to do was to aim my 130 Euro point-and-press thingey at an Alentejan sunset one night and Bingo, the Wolf’s avatar appears in all its glory!

OK.  Being lupine, I have a longing for things natural.  Give me a shot of forest, landscape or horizon that might interest a wolf.  Closing date two weeks hence, 12.00 hrs, GMT, Monday, 24th January, unless anyone has any objections.

To avoid any possible misunderstanding, 12.00 hrs is MIDDAY.

I’ll do my very best to give you the results on Monday evening.

OZ

Yartz

It appears that the winner of this year’s Turner Prize is a female Jockanese ginger, one soi-disant Susan ‘Philipsz’.

The general theme of the ‘intros’ by the establishment luvvies was that “art matters”, whatever its apparent merit. Does it really? Why does ‘yartz’ not face the same rigours of the commercial market like everything else, apart from public services and anything else arranged by The State. If it’s cr*p, then nobody will pay to see/listen to/’experience’ it and the corpse will die a well-deserved, quiet death rather than be kept alive by taxpayers’ money.

OZ

New Year

Right, all youse out there.  I can’t access the homepage since Boadicea changed the banner, but I need help anyway.

I have been enticed into providing a late and sumptuous lunch on New Year’s Eve.  This is not a problem.  The problem is that the NSW, having  four straight days of leave, has indicated her desire to spend the following day in bed with a box of Belgian chocolates and a litre of my favourite Campo da Gruta white wine, the name of which translates wonderfully as ‘Cave Country’ and is therefore as dear to my heart as Mr. Mackie’s ‘Embra’ ale is to him.   Whether or not my own active participation in this venture is required has yet to be ascertained.

But I digress.  Not only is chocolate and wine involved, but she wants to watch movies too, starting with “Avatar” and I’m supposed to come up with a playlist.  My initial suggestions of 633 Squadron, The Good The Bad and The Ugly, a recorded National Geographic documentary about wolves (Wot!!  Doesn’t everyone??) and the definitive version of the 1966 World Cup campaign was met with that particular look I know does not bode well.

Help!!  Any suggestions from The Third Man or Brief Encounter to whatever is in the cinemas this year would be gratefully received.

OZ

Hero Teachers

As another Remebrance Day fades into memory elsewhere on t’internet there is a thread about hero teachers. I had two – a housemaster who was previously a Pathfinder Wing Commander, DFC and bar and a French master who was awarded a MC for having both arms blown off saving his platoon from a badly thrown grenade. Others served without recognition or reward as officers and NCOs in regiments long since forgotten and amalgamated.

And you???

OZ

Wolf flu

Evenin’ all. I know I haven’t been around for a while, but before anyone thinks I’ve ‘done a Toc’ I just want to ‘splain myself.

The first thing that happened is that I came down with wolf flu. Now, imagine parvo virus crossed with the most virulent man-flu squared and you’ll have some idea of how I felt. All I wanted, as I lay whimpering helplessly in the back of The Cave was for somebody – anybody – to come round with a flask of hot, home made chicken soup and stroke my ears with lots of soothing ‘there, there’ sounds.

Nobody came. Sob!

Continue reading “Wolf flu”