Small earthquake in Chile – no Charioteers hurt

We were just about to sit down to lunch last Wednesday when the cutlery started jumping round the table. I stared at it while wondering whether to crawl under the table and then it suddenly went quiet. We asked the waiter whether that had been a “sismo” and he smiled cheerfully and said “Si”. We weren’t sure whether he had been having us on, but a report on the TV news that evening confirmed it. Then we found this article.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/world/the_americas/magnitude-52-earthquake-sways-buildings-in-chiles-capital/2018/12/05/d203f0a6-f8b4-11e8-8642-c9718a256cbd_story.html?utm_term=.ad41cd681e88

We had left Santiago about midday and had just arrived at our hotel in the Cajon de Maipo in the Andes where the earthquake had not been felt as much as in the capital.

Unfortunately my earlier earth-shaking encounter had not ended so well. Just a few days before I was attacked from behind by a scumbag who grabbed my necklaces and pulled, throttling me in the process and tearing my top. I started screaming like a demented banshee and managed to grab the pocket of his jacket. He raced off, pursued by an angry Scot, still screeching like something out of Tam O’Shanter. The jacket pocket was not equal to the strain of a thief trying to escape and a well-nourished victim trying to stop him. It tore and he got away. I was left surrounded by Chilean ladies murmuring “Pobrecita” and “Tranquilo”, learning the Spanish for necklace (la colleta if you want to know). And where were the carabineros?  Husband thought that any copper within a two mile radius should have been alerted by the volume of my screams. Now I just have the scar on my neck, not really an adequate replacement for a necklace.

$20 goes a long way

Now that’s what you call a granny!

Enjoying the first Aus v Ind test. Low scoring, 50/50 winner bet wise at the moment. A bit of rain (time out to read The Telegraph/Beano) and a multitude of Richie’s (Richies? You decide) grey hairing the Adelaide venue with mic accoutrement/s.

Cricket, we love it. Day 1, Marcus Harris’ parents crying in the stands. Only in cricket. For MCC read 10CC, we love it.

Underrated: Horoscopes

Nobody ever has a bad word to say about Nostradamus. Indeed, volumes and volumes of books have been written about this arch-predictor of future events. That should be enough for my argument that astrologers are relevant and prophets of the first division (now called The Premier League but old habits and that) but I will write further of their great service to humanity.

It is a fascinating science the study of astrology and in the morning I fervently read all the newspaper horoscopers that divine the day I am going to have. Using their foreknowledge I know whether to get up out of bed or not. Pre-warned means I can change the road of my life without any Frostian gambles and avoid the pitfalls, so you seer they do serve a purpose.

The celestial language employed by these mighty sages make you want to tail it like a comet to your nearest telescope and gaze at the stars. “The five moons of Pluto are converging , this means pentagonal good luck for you.” Thanks a bunch of fives, Mystic Meghan. Who knew the Kuiper-belted dwarf planet Pluto had five moons? And that their names have Underworld connotations. It’s just so interesting. Our big bad planet has only one moon and it’s boringly called- the moon.

There’s a thing called a cusp which gives you the characteristics of two signs of the Zodiac. Quasar! You can be a crabby twin or a lion and a virgin at the same time. The cusp word is one of my favourites as is the phrase “on the cusp”. Without any modesty I attest that “on the cusp of greatness” is applicable to me. Nearly there.

Horoscope is a fine word but I would prefer the more scarier Horrorscope to be used when there’s writing on the wall. Ominous words daily for all twelve signs would make the population take notice that this world is rough and we ain’t all called Sue. Continue reading “Underrated: Horoscopes”

Welcome back Tina

I have already sent an invitation to your new identity to become an author – it will have gone to the email address that you used when you re-registered with WordPress.   As soon as your acceptance reaches The Chariot, I will transfer ownership of all your old posts to your new persona.

Nice to see you back all in one piece! 😎

Clash Of The Titans

The following is based on a true story that happened on MyT

It was the irresistible force vs the immovable object. It was Ali/Frazier, Creed/Balboa and Butcher/Aggie all rolled into one. Both parties claimed a win the day they jousted on a blog. I’ll let the Charioteers decide whom was the real winner.

In the Red corner- Ana The Imp: erudite, sophisticated, a voracious reader, mixes at the top of society, well-travelled,  a supernatural dream weaver entity, she owns a horse! She enters the ring to the hair raising orchestral strains of Dance of the Knights.

In the Blue corner- JW: unlearned non-googler, luddite tendencies, tractor blogger, usually found in the pub, day dreams a lot, owns a piggy bank! He enters the ring to the sawdust floor foot stomping The Sideboard Song.

This mismatch went the distance. Continue reading “Clash Of The Titans”

Horrible Harare

We said our farewells at Brisbane airport and then it was a long flight back to the Dark Continent. One of the two good things that have emerged as a result of last year’s coup, is that customs and immigration officials are far friendlier than they were previously. The other, even greater benefit has been the removal of the ubiquitous highway bandits, purporting to be police officers who in the name of road safety made it their business to extract every cent they possibly could from the largely innocent driving public. The guilty ones got fleeced as well, but were allowed to continue their journeys in their totally un-roadworthy vehicles. Continue reading “Horrible Harare”

Departure

Elvis has left the building

It’s not my country, these are not my own political concerns, not my people, etc., etc., so please excuse my ignorance in not understanding why this “Brexit” business requires any sort of “deal” to be made. After all, what could be easier than leaving? In Paul Simon’s words:

“You just slip out the back, Jack.
Make a new plan, Stan.
You don’t need to be coy, Roy.
Just get yourself free.
Hop on the bus, Gus.
You don’t need to discuss much.
Just drop off the key, Lee
And get yourself free.”

Or, to recall Douglas Adams on the dolphins leaving Earth, just say: “So long and thanks for all the fish.”

Continue reading “Departure”