New Muse. New music. Wonder what the dinosaurs think of it?
Lost a fiver today.
It’s alright, don’t feel sorry for me. It was my own fault. Fell out my pocket. Not got a Clouseau where it went. Like Cato the Younger I took this hit with a resigned Hardy look at the fourth wall and remembered the famous Roman quote by Marcus Porcius Cato Uticensis “What’s for you will never go by you.” Though I’m sure it was originally in Latin,
Quid Leatherus testamus numquam Cheerioyou.
I read Sheona’s comment about grammatical errors and opened the linked page. I scanned it once, twice, a third time – but nowhere could I find a grammatically distorted cupboard. Then I stopped and turned my thinking brain on. Oh dear, silly me.
Because the subject was French, my past-its-use-by-date subconscious had translated placard to cupboard rather than retaining it in English. Totally illogical. There was the placard right in front of me in the photo with a glaring grammatical error, as bad as or even worse than a misplaced apostrophe in English. I felt suitably stupid, although relieved that clarity had eventually been restored.
Recounting this gives me the opportunity to tell you all about an article I read yesterday in an Australian newspaper, which was on the subject of the Catholic Church’s response to a long list of recommendations on changes to make to deal with the large number of cases of child abuse which have been uncovered in Australia, as they have in several other Western countries. The article suggested that changes would be needed to cannon law.
The subeditor definitely needs shooting for that one! 😎
What we need to know is whether you’re going to meet our African correspondent in the flesh. And if you do, will you reveal anything to help us guess how real his Chariot persona really is? Intriguing stuff, eh?
. . . sworn in and raring to go.
Over the last decade, we’ve had more Prime Ministers than clean knickers. Kevin Rudd, Julia Gillard, Kevin again, Tony Abbott, Malcolm Turnbull, and now Scott Morrison.
On Monday, Malcolm himself called for a spill in an attempt to defeat an imminent challenge from Peter Dutton. He won, but only by a small margin, so a demand for a second spill was anticipated. Our doughty Malcolm was not going to give in gracefully, so he set a couple of difficult conditions on Peter D, for a meeting to be held today (the last day such a meeting could be called for a couple of weeks – don’t worry about why).
To his surprise, and chagrin, the conditions were met, and the meeting held. A second spill was approved by vote, but only just, 44 to 40 I think, and lo and behold there were three candidates on the ticket. They were Peter D (pushy, right wing, youngish ex policeman), Scott Morrison (“ScoMo”, middle-of-the-road, 50 years young) and Julie Bishop (62, vastly experienced Foreign Minister, known and respected by many colleagues around the world, Deputy Party Leader and in both positions for many years, middle-of-the road, described by some as “Turnbull in a skirt”). The pundits mostly said JB should win, but that PD probably would, because she was another pesky woman.
So whaddyaknow? ScoMo walked it, and another lad won the deputy leader job (JB didn’t stand for that, this time).
So Malcolm has resigned his commission to the G-G, and as soon as ScoMo gets sworn in (by the G-G), he’ll be head honcho. Talk about revolving doors. 😎
The Viking arrived safely in Wessex. Continue reading “Wessex Prevails”
Most years my tomatoes are a flop. Each April I buy nice heathy looking plants from our local garden centre, a mixture of cherry and larger varieties. Each year I spend money on plants, fertilizer, canes, soil (in Spain it is like gold) and water. Every year I moan that the return on investment is simply pathetic. We harvest our few measly tomatoes at the time when we can get them from the market at about 50c per kilo.
It’s a joke.
But I can’t stop trying.
Continue reading “Keeping going”
I happened upon the trailer to ‘Christopher Robin’ the other day; a film (as my reader knows) about the denizens of Ashdown Forest, just down the road from here – which I can see as I write.
So just imagine my mystification when I heard my little ursine friend speak! Wasn’t that a Transatlantic accent? Yes, of course, he is ‘spoken’ by Jim Cummings, who is Disney’s go-to voice for their animal animations.
But then, said I to m’self, said I: the Bear of Very Little Brain (and his friends) are well-known polyglots, talking to their readers all over the world. Even to Romans, in the 1960 best-seller. Salve, Pooh!