One of the things that will remain with me when I leave Vikingland for pastures old and loved is the memory of compulsory outdoor lunches and preprandial drinks sessions dictated by the first marginally optimistic weather forecasts of Spring. ”16 grad. Dejligt. Det er så hyggeligt!”’ They’ll happen throughout the country next week – after I leave. Perhaps, in some cases, because I have left! The participants will be pale, cold and prevented by tradition from escaping inside to a warm fire.
Ever since the world’s media started to report hygge a few years ago, the natives here have allowed their inbred hygge to acquire disproportionate importance in their lives. And now they want UNESCO to recognise it as an ‘intangible’ treasure alongside the Mediterranean Diet and Turkish Coffee.
Back home I shall retaliate post haste with Afternoon Tea and the Village Cricket Match experience. Now that’s what I call hygge.
It must be the proliferation of wannabe journalists that’s responsible for the ridiculous attention given to the American festival of Halloween – in shops and in the meeja. Because if nobody wrote about such rubbish, nobody else would find it interesting to participate in such childish games.
Continue reading “Don’t be silly”
I noticed today that access to Oxford centre will be restricted to electric vehicles by 2020. Great idea, close to my heart. Continue reading “Nostalgia”
Like everything else, even the hot and sultry weeks old Srius used to offer us have changed – to cool and damp. And countless Charioteers (at least I have lost count) are taking their R and R away from the proferred joys of our W and W (er…. wit and wisdom?).
The remaining participants are ‘off’ politics, off royalty, off meteorological mysteries – so what’s left? The culinary arts, garden rescue, tales of times past….and of course, love – the passion that drives us.
Better to let sleeping dogs lie, eh?
Squeeze the facts to fit the goal – and yes, your bum does look big when you do!
There’s a self-styled voice of reason in the Olde Countrie called the committee for the protection of rural England or CPRE for short. Its latest protest concludes that the major road projects over the past few decades have failed to the extent that they have increased the traffic on the roads affected!
I’m tempted to write ‘d’oh!’ But Backside is otherwise imprisoned today so here’s a more reasonable response.
They cite the Newbury bypass as evidence. Now I remember it from before it was installed – a legendary bottle-neck in Newbury town which held up north/south traffic every day. Of course the CPRE is correct, the traffic was diverted and the town recovered. And the traffic entered rural Emgland’s holy portals. But more traffic? Unlikely. Why suddenly drive around remote villages? Maybe a few white vanmen enjoyed careering along ‘short cuts’ but they’ve always done that.
I must consign the CPRE to its fate as a special interest group we cannot rely on!
Let the wind blow high
Let the wind blow low
Through the streets
In my kilt, I’ll go
All the lassies say hello
Donald, where’s your troosers
At my local convenience store today.
The hitching post and buggy parking spots have been there for a while and are often used (sometimes just to leave a deposit as evidenced), the electric car charger is new and as far as I know, unused.
A few captions spring to my somewhat biased mind:
Sublime or ridiculous
Charging or discharging
Bullsh!t or horsesh!t
Nonsense or horsesense
Slayer is a way of life.
Of the big four, they play the purest form of Thrash Metal. Mozart was, allegedly, accused of making too many notes. I would Eden Hazard a guess that a four minute Slayer song will have more notes in it than any of Agadoos’ symphonies. The speed and intricacy of the guitar solos are mesmerising. Memorising them is a walk on part for these guitar geniuses.
Then there’s the drums. You don’t get many double bass drums in classical music. That would be a drum too far for those “virtuosos”. They couldn’t keep up to our beat.
The bassist/singer of Slayer, Tomas Enrique Araya Diaz, might look like a Billy Connolly lookalike but this Big Tam was born in Chile. There’s a lot of nice wines come from Chile. No really, there is. I don’t know if it’s Global Warming, Climate Change or Alec Salmond, there’s something in the chilled Chile that slays the opposition.
Parental guidance. The following video contains swearing.
Live Fast. On High. Repentless. Let it Ride.
Play it Loud.