Friday, 28 August 2015



Lord Sebastian Coe, former sweat-buddy

Aye, there's nowt I like better after sixteen pints than a good sweaty work-out in t'gym, like, wi' a fine 'andsome man or ten,
(sings)  there ain't nothing like ay gangbang,
there ain't nothing like ay gangbang,
there ain't nothing like ay gangbang,
to blow awa-ay the blue-ues.

and marital confidante  of Lord William Miscarriages,

Ah.....well.... I simply say to you .....ah..... lay-deez-an-gentulmen of the ah, that my esteemed colleague, Lord Coe, has...ah... seen the photographs of my wife, wotsername's ......ah....uterus... and he can con-furm, from those images,  that I yam ay definitely heterosexual husband, definitely. 
And now that my good friend, the prime minister, 

HamFace and Fffffffion Uterus.

has graciously given me ay meal ticket for life - and I must say the food really is rather good and the per diem rate is not half-bad, although I expect to be given ay proper, well paid  job, as befits my status as ay boy-lover and friend of Madam Jolie and between us but mainly myself, we have managed to stamp-out rape or landmines or whatever it is - now that I am properly honoured for my selfless public service, perhaps these unfounded rumours about me will at last subside.  I only ever  shared  ay bed, mr tiny speaker,  with young Chris in order to save money. 

And because he is rather pretty. 
Or was. 
A bit old, now, to be frank.  
But we must not forget, as scholars and statesmen, 
that the Greeks to who we owe so much, well, not just now, they owe us so much, as ay matter of fact, 
but historically, the Greeks, who, let's face it, invented Conservatism,
 believed that significant gentlemen, such as myself,
 had a public duty to bugger the prettiest young men of the day, 
in order to initiate them into proper citizenship. 
Oh, they had wives, too, so the boy thing wasn't really a pleasure, just a duty. As it was with me. Even though I never did it.
But if I had have done it I would only have been being true to the British Parliament's Greek roots.
 And let's face it, mr tiny speaker, which of us would argue with  Mrs Thatcher, 
I mean Mr Aristotle?
As for the ...ah....non-scandal of my covering-up the Welsh Tory non-child abuse scandal,

well, if I had done something like that I certainly would not be in the House of Lords, would I?  
So fuck off, you can't touch me. 

Or, indeed, any of the noble, learned and degenerate colleagues, of which I yam now one. 
And one of whom would most certainly have been our late colleague in public service, Sir James,
had not a vicious campaign been mounted against him by poor people whom he had kindly groped, fingered and raped.

 today announced that doping would no longer be tolerated.

MPs and peers are there to do a job of work, he said,
 and too many of them are off their faces;  

drink, crack, whores, money, spanking, beasting, the place really has gone to fuck

 and after having won dozens of gold medals,
 brought the Olympics to London 

and helped get GayWilly elected prime minister
  I see it as my mission to clean the place up.
Sorry?  Wossat? 
Athletics? Not Westminster? 

But surely, if the lawmakers're breaking all the laws we need to start there, not with some Russian ladyman running around a track over and over again, up to his tits in amphetamine; I mean, come on, how much harm can that do, compared to the former foreign seckatry flogging-off his address book, 

or the Chancellor doing tax deals 
favouring his old school chums 

Yes, it is a great British product,
 flying the flag for Britain,
 creating jobs for British workers in Chinese sweat shops, 
a true  British success story.   
Tax?   What, on its earnings?
No, it doesn't pay any tax, why should it? 
 If you'll forgive me, that's what's wrong with this country.  
People who went to decent schools already do this country a great favour, simply by staying here,  the idea that they should pay taxes is frankly something from the Middle Ages. Or the nineteen sixties, anway.
Phew, anybody gotta line or two, for the next prime minister?

or the chairman of a select committe covering-up for a disgusting old pervert?  

Vaz:  I am probably the most important Asian in the country. 
And that's why you should believe me about the noble and learned Lord Janner. I'll be buggered if he was ever a beast.
My sister is very pretty, you know.
No, she's not for sale.
Not exactly.


And, continued an exasperated Lord Coe, the whole fucking shower of them have been fiddling their exes for decades and nobody ever does fuck all about it;  they just call it something else. 
I mean, all this bollocks about athletes cheating, of course they fucking cheat, that's how the entertainment world is. And nobody, Huw, gives a fuck if some cycling headbanger or some mad  greedybint sprinter is wired out of their gourd. 

 It's parliamen needs detoxing - drunks, druggies, extortionists, blackmailers, slags, pimps, ponces and child molesters -
not the sweaty end of showbusiness.

Welcome back to the Six O Clock News from the PBC, with me, Huw Welshman.
That was Lord Seb Coe there for us. 
And we wish him luck with that, cleaning-up MediaMinster, bless.
Need his running shoes with that, I shouldn't wonder, look you, 
isn't it?  And a bucketful of speed

And next up is the elevation to the Great Latrine of State of veteran Aparetheid Campaigner, Lord Peter Orange. 

 Lord Orange......

Well, Huw, jest a minute, you should, if I may say so, get yer bleddy facts straight. It was myself end my parents who ectually ended apartheid in South Efrica, thet was before I came to England, to become a Welsh Tory MP working for thet great kaffir-basher, Tony Blair.  Christ, he knew how to hendle them niggers. Napalm, thet's the ticket, end Cruise missiles.

Et wes all finished with et thet point, et the time I left South Efrica. Oh, I know thet misguided commentators say thet et wes de Clerk end Mendela who sorted et all out, bet et wes me.

OK Lord Orange, we'll leave that there. But you have always said that you were dead against the House of Lords......

Well, again, Huw, you should get your bleddy fects right, I never said enything ev the fecking sort.
I have always admired the sterling work done by peers end I am heppy to join them in their selfless public servicer.  Got that?
I mean, come on, man, pull yourself together, we're both Welshmen, right?

 Some say, your Grace, that you are doing this for the money, that you can run a business, for instance, as do many peers, using the House of Lords as your business address and write you begging letters on official stationery  and have the postage paid-for by us and that you can entertain clients to slap-up lunches, largely paid for by us........

Ebsolute nonsense, Huw,
Ebsolute nonsense, I hev always lived modestly, exactly as do those great Welsh souls who regularly voted a careerist South Efrican ponce, like me,  into the greatest legislature in the world. Mind you, they've voted for two generations of Kinnocks, now, so thet proves something.

But no, I hev never claimed for enything to which I was not entitled. I em one hundred per cent in my determinsation to stop the Lords gravy train, jump on it, and order the driver to go Full Speed Ahead.

Northern Ireland? The Comfort Letters?
  Letting all those murderers off?
Well, Huw, I'm afraid that you demonstrate a failing common in ordinary people, who don't understend things properly.  When I made deals with serial murderers and torturers, I was acting in the very best interests of my own career, as anyone would.
Jeremy Corbyn?  Not to be trusted.  Did you know he ectually spoke to those murderous scum, my good friends, Gerry Nonce and Marty Kneecaps.  
No, vote for Yvette Cooper.  A prime minister, who looks like a boy in a miniskirt.  Jest the fecking ticket. Go down a fecking storm she would, with us old boys in the Lords.

Feck off back to South Efrica?  Why the feck would I do thet?
Made a fecking fortune here, I hev, eff you lot. 


Well, thanks for your time, Excellency,

That's OK Huw, my seckatry'll send you my bill.
And, don't be so formal, jest address me in future as My Lord.


Mike said...

I'm laughing, but I should really be crying. This latest bunch of great-n-good truly takes the piss.

call me ishmael said...

It is an endless refrain, here, mr mike, that we laugh to keep from crying, sometimes. Hague's gilded, blame-free progress to nobility shows our complete contempt for vulnerable children; he must be considered beyond investigation and sanction for this to have happened. Maybe Corbyn Thwarted and the Ukippers ShortChanged will see the ballistic properties of our laving slabs and housebricks thoroughly displayed

You home, yet, down there, where the wild dingoes call?

call me ishmael said...

paving slabs

mongoose said...

I do not criticize, Mr I, but it is beyond parody. Thieves. Jowell, the Pride of Neath, the Moat man - Oh any of them. They all need hanging instead of some shabby ennoblement. Do they not know? Do they take us for fools? Do not answer that.

The more one thinks about it, the more one hopes that a mad spell of youth and novelty-driven silliness will propel the Comrade to No10. Then we'd see some rattling of cages. The despair I can manage. It's the hope that does me in.

Mike said...

Still on the road Mr I; left Venice for Split - which has turned out to be a revelation with its rich Roman history, the old town itself being Emperor Diocletian's retirement palace. Was chatting with a local yesterday and she was bemoaning the fact that Croatia recently faught and won a war for their freedom only to apply to join the EU. Bonkers in her view. 90% catholic about to be enriched.

BTW the croats look quite fearsome many over 7 feet tall, lean and muscular, nationalistic and they don't look like they take prisoners. And the men as well.

call me ishmael said...

Them's bitter jokes, mr mongoose, which made me lol out loud.

Before the LazyButtons worked, last night, I watched, horrified for all of three or four seconds, in which a raging cancer tore at my reality, a Newsnight hand-picked bunch of morons, vox-popped their allegiance to Blair-Thatcherism, and I fell down to my bended knees, beseeching God to send Hurricane Aspiration shrieking and howling amongs them, smashing them into a pulp of fertiliser, but not before they realised, too late, how precious is life, how puny and futile their junky consumer Ambition.

Happy as pigs in shit to be on the telly, they won't vote for Citizen Corbyn, they will make informed choices, on behalf of their precious grandchildren, luvem2bits, they do, and vote for Satan.

But that was just Newsnight, a used sheet of MediaMinster's toilet tissue, pretending, for once, to be the Daily Mirror, rather than the Guardian. On the other hand, the word on the street, as it were, I am up and down to Aberdeen, presently, and I find that taxi drivers and hotelkeepers and health professionals are very receptive to a gentle verbal blogging. There is much disquiet, unease and frustration. The public mood is there, for Corbyn to capture.

Keep the faith, brother mongoose. And a stock of sharpened sticks.

( I believe comrade Damien McBride has been reading the Saga of Gordon the Ruiner and bruiting-about the Final End)

Alphons said...

I have just realised why the country (and world for that matter) is in the mess we are in.
The con artists in charge continue to con because it is not until we are old enough and experienced enough to see just what they are, and what they are doing. By that time we are to old and knackered to do anything, and those who can do something are still hypnotised by the propaganda and phony handouts.

call me ishmael said...

Sounds like the holiday of a lifetime, for most, mr mike, thank you. I was away for four days, last week, and Harris was most disdainful towards me on my return. Goodness knows what mr pug will have to say to you.

There seems to be a flood of documentaries, currently, about Byzantium and Ancient Greece, and even that insufferable Rick Stein, the Lily Savage of tellycooks - he has, I noticed, absolutely no knife skills, Fanny Craddock, with her crimson talons was ten times the larder chef of Ricky, no wonder he just loves to fling fish and crustacea into sandpits and roast them whole, a Liberace of the underground barbecue, he cleary doesn't know one end if a fish from the other - even Ricky is treating us to HIS Greece, the REAL Greece,where smiling peasants flag him down to beg him to eat their octopus recipe and vouchsafe to him an eternal seat at their rustic kitchen table, anytime he's passing with a camera crew and a producer, doling-out free Euros. And do you know what, viewers, that is the best octopus I have ever eaten, must be those sweet Greek lemons, or maybe it's his buxom wife, leering at me, not that I'm interested in that sort of thing, but I'm gonna ask my dear old friend, Stavros Octopusopolos, whom I have known since we started filming, fifteen minutes ago, if he minds me introducing his dish to my chain of overpriced fish'n'chip restaurants, my website and my cookbooks. And, do you know what, viewers, he said he'd be honoured and I tell you, to a celebrity fishcook, like myself, that's the best thing people can do for me, except give me their money. But no, the Greek people, for me, that's what these shows're all about.

But there have been some shows of the kind where you wanna take notes, but where, mainly, you just regret not going to Eton and Oxford, to read, as they call it, Classics.

I envy your Progress, mr mike, through Western Antiquity, and I am pleased that in the face of such mesmerising diversion, you still check-in, here.

Bon voyage et bon aventure.

call me ishmael said...

Although what is encouraging, m alphons, is that a lot of Corbyn's support comes from that very same, weary and jaundiced demographic which you describe. Given that the Poundland readership also contains many active seniorfolk we might deduce that, with one thing and another, sixty is the new eighteen and seventy and eighty the new forty. Hope, even in the face of Ruin, springs eternal. Easy, Tiger.

Alphons said...

"all me ishmael said...
...... Hope, even in the face of Ruin, springs eternal."
Hope is absolutely no good on its own. I hoped I would inherit a fortune ...look what happened...sod all.

call me ishmael said...

I often think of shouting-out, m. alphons, especially when I hear the gender-malcontented, Help me, I am a rich man, trapped inside a poor man's life, give me lots of money, from the NHS; it will make me happy and healthy, and even if it doesn't it will permit me to buy things, far too many of which I cannot now afford. So I know what you mean, only worse.

But hope does spring eternal, that's why we come here.

Mike said...

Mr I: never a day passes when we don't talk about Mr Pug. As you know, you love them more than your kids. We have a couple (from Gibraltar, with family in Sydney) who house-sit when we are away - the lady is a retired vet nurse, and she dotes on the little fella. She's even managed to get a bit of weight off him - pugs are greedy little buggers. She says dogs have no concept of time; I'm not sure. But I know he will run around the house like a racehorse, peeing on every floor when we return. Bless him.

On the road, I try to keep up with stuff (however depressing) and you kindly provide the Eddison Lighthouse amidst the otherwise turbulent sea of shit, which is my first port of call each day, so to speak.

Caratacus said...

"luvem2bits, they do, and vote for Satan." - and there we have it, Mr.I; the paper-thin dichotomy between the awake and the slumbering. How any waking person can look upon the faces of the likes of Cameron, who-thefuckizzit-in-charge-of-Labour-these-days, Mrs. Osborne's little boy et al, and conclude that they have anyone's but their own at heart defeats me. I rather fear that this country is - to use a well-worn engineering adjective - fucked,and there is little that even the most heroic amongst us can do about it.

call me ishmael said...

Harris normally leaps like a salmon when we have both been away but this time it was just me, mr mike. and I returned as Interloper; we are back to normal, now, although I catch the first flight on Monday, returning Thursday midnight. I hope he settles to it. I hope I do. The tank is a bit like being in Das Boot, it is about those proportions, height and width wise, unforgivingly and drably metallic, constantly hissing and groaning; made me think of those poor bastards on the Kursk, and all the other ones; no place for claustrophobics. Compression and decompression tables are those of the Royal Navy, although those in charge, medics and technicians, are extremely relaxed. Reading is not straightforward due to the plastic helmet and changes to eye pressure, so it is a time for self-trance, at which I am adept.

You have yet to visit, where is it, what we used to call Indo-China.? Wouldn't mind hearing about that.
Odd, that however informative is Google, a real traveller's tale means so much more.

call me ishmael said...

It is, in truth, a miraculous sleight of hand which MediaMinster performs, king caratacus, that convoluted insistence by the likes of people such as Michael Gove that people be better educated, whilst Gove, himself, and his liege lords, are doing their very best to keep them stupid.

Alphons said...

call me ishmael said...

".. that convoluted insistence by the likes of people such as Michael Gove that people be better educated, whilst Gove, himself, and his liege lords, are doing their very best to keep them stupid."

To me they seem to be very successful.

Mike said...

Mr I: we depart for Down Under in 3 weeks; funny you should mention Indo-China; we have 3 days in Bangkok, but with recent events we are thinking of going to Siem Reap instead. My younger daughter has just returned from a month in Laos & Cambodia with good reports, although in our older years we tend to look for a little more comfort. 3 months on the road brings its own challenges.

yardarm said...

One thing that could propel Brother Corbyn to power is another Great Tits Up, like `08. Especially if the world finally realises the Chinese economy is founded on bullshit, much like ours. The shithouse banks have not been reformed, carrying on their larceny and the banksters and dosh jugglers are continuing in their financial terrorism. No doubt Pansy Face and the austerity monkeys will use a second Great Tits Up as a phoney pretext to indulge in more class war; the Bank of England will pump out more billions in Clerk Career Entitlement Allowance but maybe so many austerity monkeys will be licked by the flames of disaster they`ll realise hard times aren`t just for other people.

Entitlementistas such as City clerks and inbreds, carried away by terror for their light tax regime will start plotting in earnest, already their Vicar on Earth Tony Warcriminal has been pleading on their behalf.

call me ishmael said...

Except, mr yardarm, that the house always wins, it will sell high and repurchase low and start pushing prices up again, then crash them again having sold them high again. It is the fact and not the direction of the movement on which they bet. They cannot lose and the bigger they are the more inconceivable it is that thay suffer any penalty for extraordinary malfeasance, QE, D, so to speak. Quad erat demonstrandum, thus it is demonstrated, organised crime so widespread and pervasive that we would orefer to see our very lives stolen from us, rather than devise and enforce a better way. The jailing of a handful of bankers, over sub-prime, would have had a hugely beneficial impact but the Mob rules and it only threw Bernie Madov - is it Madoff? - to the wolves because he let the Ponzi cat out of the bag.

Corbyn does, indeed, look like the best of a bad lot - however revolutionary hus crusade appears, he only ever rocks the boat one way, never questions the validity of career politics, why would he - but I expect he will be powerless in the face of the Rothschilds &Co, of Murdoch & Co, everyone else is.

I think you're right inasmuch as those who have warmed themselves at the bonfire of the wheelchairs and library books, our native rednecks, may find that they are not as clever as they thought they were, especially if Usury stops delivering their clever pensions, they will squal, then, like stuck pigs, for social security.

The biggest challenge I can see to the Kleptocracy is not Citizen Corbyn, it can neutralise him, even lionise him, if he behaves, no, it is the number of refugees, sorry, illegal migrant filth. This requires a major policy and attitudinal shift by ourselves, away from
Consumption and towards Compassion - or else we must demonise them further and nuke the black bastards, they simply do not fit into existing profit and loss accounts.

call me ishmael said...

A couple of days on the road is enough for me, mr mike - grimy inefficient hotels and psychobastard airport staff; roads crumbling into Dark Age bumpy tracks; too many cars, too many people, too many Europeans on the make. I do envy you but I love my quiet shore the more, every time I leave it. And it is so for you, a few dayd back in your own place with your own stuff and it'll seem like you've never been away. I remember driving down the Hagley Road and thinking Was it really only two days ago, that I was in Finisterre?

If this tank treatment works we will visit the World Overseas, and even if it doesn't Maybe, though, to colder, ancestral parts, Norway and Sweden, Iceland, perhaps. Although mrs ishmael hankers for mr tdg's Italian Lakes and for Rick Stein's sunny Greece. War looms afresh.

Mike said...

Mr I: I can strongly recommend Venice. Lots of tourists abound, but its possible (inevitable) to get lost in the backwaters and be away from the unwashed. We were there for 6 days and didn't see a car or bicycle - I think this was unique in my experience. Everything moves by water, (and by foot across little bridges) and remarkable efficiently. After a couple of days you get your sea-legs (so to speak) and begin to find your way around. If you avoid the tourist spots (where remarkably the tourists all congregate like pigeons) its possible to get reasonably priced meals and drinks in beautiful surroundings. Some sights quite literally take the breath away (the interior of St Marks basilica, for one). If you were to think of going, there are a few recommendations and tips I could pass on.

I know what you mean about the need for one's own place, and I'm looking forward to being back home. But its interesting to see new places and cultures, and there are always unexpected delights around the corner. Only this morning, I met my first gay Croatian, and have never laughed so much - what a sense of humour!

Down Under, it doesnt make sense to go away for only a few weeks as we are so far from everywhere, so a holiday becomes an exercise in research and planning over preceding months - this is an essential part of the process, or you can miss so much (we tend to be interested in history and different cultures). Even so, I've found it essential to use the services of local guides where possible. For example, yesterday in Split, a lady was showing us examples of how the Romans cut stone to achieve the greatest strength in their buildings - occaisionally a stone is cut with a notch into which adjacent stones lock. We would not have seen it otherwise.

As a craftsman yourself you would appreciate the skill of the Roman stonemasons. Great stones cut with such accuracy, and with only basic tools, that they fit together perfectly without the need for mortar - indeed, so close was the fit there would be no room for any mortar. By contrast, where walls were in places repaired with modern stone cut by machine the fit was less precise.

The more I travel the more it becomes evident that the past can teach us so much. And, of couse, just how rapidly the Western world in particular is now declining.

Woman on a Raft said...

Internet connection restored here and email backed up, just clearing it before I make my first trip to Scotland next week. This time only as far as Dundee but I expect to be getting further over the next couple of years, who knows where the stream may take me.

It is the little things which tell you everything about Westmonster; my abiding fury was with Anne Widdecombe whinging about having nobody to mow her lawn, as if gardeners had not been invented. Anyone can have one for a very few pounds which helps keep our honest traders in beer money. It has to be out of post-tax income, though. Why she thought she was more special than any other single lady, I do not know.

The underlying culture of bribery was part of what made them keep each other's secrets. Being on a nice little earner made them unwilling to look at what else might be going on. Stonewall keeps kidding itself that it was dealing with consenting adults, never facing the fact that it was the sucker cover for outright criminals.

Anonymous said...

Mr Mike - on the off-chance you haven't seen these pictures before, check out the stonework in Cusco:

As you say, the old world knew a thing or two...



Mike said...

Thanks Mr Verge, very interesting, never seen those before. Although the Roman style is more orderly and linear, clearly the "notch" system was well established. The Incas must have been keen travellers as well, or the Roman empire stretched further than we thought?

Anonymous said...

It's a beguiling mystery, Mr Mike. If I understand it right the lack of mortar and irregularity of size and shape in the blocks help explain why the Cusco walls still stand despite their situation in Andean earthquake territory.


call me ishmael said...

I can speak of this, though not of Venice, mrs woar, but not without mentioning the need for your advice on the previous post.
The Silv'ry River Tay, in Dundee, is a wonderful sight, you can just pop over the road bridge and back, and the rail bridge, which replaces McGonigal's catastrophe, is, too, a sight for engineers' eyes, the River, and the West End are the nicest parts, the poverty of the town centre disappoints, angry poor people, beggars and pound shops, shouting drunks and dilapidated sidestreets, staunchly Tribesmen, Dundee, although you might smile at Desperate Dan. Ah hour northwards will take you to Heaven, Pitlochrie and especially Killicrankie and a few miles up,on the other side of the A9, are Tummel and Loch Rannock, which you have seen here, in the Tay Valley Forest, very best part of England,nicks few hours from your schedule and walk with Queen Victoria and Billy Connolly.

Widdy did worse than whine, she gave that geezer, wossisname.begins with a P, the one who burnt his house down with the kids inside, an opportunity, to burnish his celebrity credentials, she made a TeeVee show around him, emboldening him to viler subterfuge, rotten old bastard, she should be in jail, baking pizzas.

I always thought that Stonewall was just another form of Hainism, hijacking Queerdom, as he hijacked aparthed, a nice career and the opportunity to sail a bit close to the noxious wind.

Bon voyage et bonaventure to you, too.

Stay in touch and dinnae disappear, like you did in York, d'ye ken?

call me ishmael said...

I just talk about craft, mr mike, some days I can't drive a nail in straight. I can fix and polish furniture, but that's just practice and bloodymindedness, sometimes magical, in its way, but a long way from craft.
.I am always jawdropped by Birmingham's civic buildings, or Glasgow's or London's, never mind the Norman Cathedrals and am determined to visit Rome, at least, when circumstances permit.

A meeting with acgay Croation is acfascinating encounter. But keep the faith.

Woman on a Raft said...

Thanks for the suggestion. I only have to be in central Dundee for two days at most, then have several in which to wander at will. I can explore that range comfortably and then drift back down through the Borders to tie up in York for a spell. I always try to get away in these early September weeks when the last of the summer warmth makes the harvest beautiful but one can sniff the fresh air as the jet stream changes.

The 'sweaty end of showbiz' is exactly what sport has become, very well put. Not that I am an authority on sport as it has always bored me rigid except for a fascination with the prettier gymnastics like those with the ribbons and hoops. Alas, my own hula hooping is hopeless. My friend says I need a weighted ring as they are easier to keep up - which defies common sense.

I will attend to the previous post.

Alphons said...

Hula hooping can give you a cough.

call me ishmael said...

If you are not booked anywhere else, a fine dinner overlooking a lovely garden can be had at the Best Western Invercarse Hotel, just up from the embankment about a mile from centre ville, on the Perth Road.

Hula-hooping, alas, is one of many closed books in my shuffle through Life's library, although I wish you well of it. I was once passing adept with the yo-yo, which has the same, Pacific-Asiatic sound to it. I am sure, however, that m alphons is prejudiced against what is a harmless and healthy activity which, I feel confident, must have inspired at least one popular chart-topping, swinging sound.

Doug Shoulders said...

We’ll all be moving up there soon Mr Ishmael. Is there any room left?
The emigration horror that is playing out on our screens is scaring us senseless. Soon the southern reaches of the best part of England will be like the southern reaches of Englandland itself. London is halfway to being wholly foreign anyway. If there is such a thing as being foreign anymore. (Are will still allowed to use the word foreign?)
I often, when the TV is on, partake of the Alba station. It’s quite relaxing. In my opinion that’s what teevee should be relaxing..I like to watch the stuff that they get up to up there…sheep tossing or whatever. I was in Skye recently, not quite as far up as I’d like to have gone…too busy and practically queueing to get onto the walks. Wanted to go over to Harris but ran out of time. Maybe next time Wick, Thurso or summat. or further. I often go up the A9. The west coast always gets the good reviews, but the east coast has as much to offer albeit in a less dramatic fashion but still very easy on the eye.

call me ishmael said...

I like the A9 from Inverness northwards, mr doug, challenging and dramatic, for me the best drive in the country, and on the right day even the badlands of Caithness shimmer and sparkle cheekily. A recent Black Country visitor said he dunno 'ow them people live there, there int nuthin there, fer 'em to do, no shops or nuthin', do me bleedin 'ead in it, it would/ Aye, right.

I disagree about JockTelly, around one per cent of people speak Gaelic and only two percent have expresed a mild interest in learning it. The same shows,some of them quite agreeable, would have a wider audience, delivered in English. I quite like the Gaelic psalmody, myself, that strange, half-sung, half-chanted choristry which sets the skin creeping but I don't see why the license payer should be deprived of EastEnders or Horizon merely for my esoteric taste to be served.

Scottish broadcastin is a clumsy and heavy handed way of doing what Cecil Sharpe did in England and Alan Lomax did in the States, noting and recording aspects of a culture without ramming it down people's throats, a la Gnasher et Salmond.

Doug Shoulders said...

I’d recommend Neil. M. Gunn for some nicely phrased historical novels set on the east coast…rise of the fishing industry and boatbuilding is covered in The Silver Darlings….from a small persons point of view.
I read some of his novels when I we’re a lad. (I was winching a librarian at the time…sat waiting for her to finish work near the classics section got me started on all that stuff)

felix said...

Anonymous said...

I'm ambivalent about the so-called migrant crisis.
On one hand I don't see any reason why anyone can't go where they want. As Flashman says, if people hadn't set forth then Ur of the Chaldees would be a damn crowded place by now. You went to Scctland, I went to Ireland; so what?
Thw "what" is this; I suspect that these migrants are being allowed into Europe by people who will depend on them for votes. There are several problems. The main one is that these people are not possessed of the European mindset, developed since the Enlightenment, which has resulted in - more or less - personal freedom, a fair trial, equal rights, freedom of expression, atheism, etc, which in fact make Europe the dream destination in the first place. Plus, as you say, they could well include embittered and vengeful soldiers of IS.
I think that this is a deliberate restocking of human resource due to falling birth rates, plus a future excuse for more state interference via a them-and-us tension.
Interestingly we have had a 180 degree shift from "England is full" to "come and live here", a propaganda coup of massive success.
As you say, the chap shouldn't have endangered his family and if you take an even more jaundiced view, people have been blinded to the fact that the circumstances of the deaths haven't been investigated. If I went boating and came back minus 3 family members an investigation would undoubtedly ensue in case I had chucked them overboard or been negligent. The word of the sole survivor shouldn't be good enough. And it isn't, despite any amount of sad pictures.
Human beings are programmable to believe any old shit against the most blaringly obvious evidence; it reminds me of the prisoner in "Life of Brian" who is shackled in a cell, saying "Marvellous race, the Romans."
What is happening is a Trojan Horse operation without the horse.