Tuesday, 18 July 2017

CRY, BABY, CRY.





Hard to know how Roger Rolex 


would have fared against a fit Rafa Nadal, Andy Mutant or Novak Jabberwock, 
they might have given him a game, a bit of a contest, one to justify the ultimately rather shame-faced euphoria surrounding his eighth Wimbledon victory.  

This really was a poor game, one which made Federer look considerably more formidable than he is.  There is no question about Federer's abilities or his ancien regime sportsmanship; his talent, his application and his grace are  now legendary and I wish more were like him.  
If, as is said, he is worth a billion dollars - one hundred millions in prize money and ten times that in sponsorship, well, better him than the repulsive  John McSneer


the oldest baby in the world
 or the cock-waving Boris Becker; 

if there is anyone in modern sport who deserves these astronomical rewards it is Roger Federer,  

an athlete and an entertainer without equal; 
even so, Sunday's was a fucking awful Wimbledon final.

I don't think I had noticed Cilic before but then I watch very little tennis these days, especially since the rise of Andy Mutant, his creepy MummyDarling  and his ugly, neanderthal petulance but it should be safe to assume that anyone, familiar or not,  who reaches the Wimbledon Men's Singles Final is a player of some capability, not just in serve-and-volleying but in self-control;
 Cilic, though,  was a tosser who should have been weeded-out by the tournament itself. 
 Outplayed  by Federer in almost every game the Croatian, instead of counting his blessings at being in the Final, being beaten by the greatest player ever and being about to receive a cheque for over a million pounds cried like a baby,

 

 he cried for his inadequacy,

 

 he cried for his doctor, 

 

 for his sore foot;  



he strung-out two injury breaks quite shamelessly and even after all that hysterical hustling lacked the grace to congratulate the victor, it was  a regrettably familiar display of  inept, fuckwit, self-obsessed  celebrity bitching about its own thwarted ambition; 
 he should've been booed-off but instead we sat - well, I didn't - sat enthralled by his repulsive, whining  self-pity, with the permanent adolescent, Bozo Becker, wittering-on like an Agony Aunt about Centre Court being the loneliest place in the world,  

Look, it's like I alvays say,
 zis iss real life und death stuff at Cenner Cawt,
 ve are all true gladiators out zare,
 fighting for our life.

as though even Wimbledon, like everything else, had encamped itself in the Big Brother House.

It seemed that between every point the PBC's Wimbledon director distractingly chose to show us some grimy, oiled-up nobody - Oh, fuck me, look viewers, isn't this wonderful, so-and-so's come here to be seen at Wimbledon. What? Tennis? No, I shouldn't think he understands it at all, but being seen, that's what it's all about, there is no business like showbusiness, and it's what we're bringing you,  the tennis simply isn't enough, so we're bringing you pictures of absolutely everybody who's nobody.
 Look! Look!   
Here's Ruritanian Prince Gormless and his doxy 

Yah, free seats, Yah, 
free everything.
OK, Yah, but  y'know, I dowannit;
it's more about duty,
like my bro' says, 
all about duty,
having all this free stuff.


And here we can spot ghastly, overdressed  imbecile wannabe, 
Dave Simpers, a man who gas done so very, very much for himself, I mean, you only have to think of all hist tattooss, the stuipid inky cunt, and his beards and hairstyles, this is the stuff of sporting greatness
 
'Ey, Willie, Ya gorra Knighthood for me yet?
Only I do deserve one, 
fer all the fings worravdone,
the cloves, an' the cosmetics an' everyfing.
 
 Patient and punctilious in his seemingly endless round of post-match celebrity greeting 
it was telling that Roger Federer spent the absolute minimum amount of time with the Ruritanian parasites, hugging Princess Coke briefly and swiftly shaking hands with the grinning Prince Gormless, 
the oaf who would be king. 

 Even in snubbing the worthless,
 Federer was a lesson in grace and style.

A ruined final, a worthless opponent, a cliche-drenched commentariat, a gang of slimeballs basking in his moment  and yet,  by his presence, redeeming the whole grisly crew, he carries it all off like a Saint walking among sinners.
Worth every penny, Roger Federer.





80 comments:

Doug Shoulders said...

Used to watch it Mr Ishmael. The tennis. It got boring with it after Mcsneer quit and there was only room in the game for the big servers that trailed Navratilova.
Federer is interesting in as much as his conduct on and off court does not betoken the supreme champion that he is.
My own experience and later observation of sporting greats has led me to posit that you can only become a champion at your sport with programming (Plus food and shelter). Some exceptions such as Federer exist but they are few. Not for him will be the train wreck that follows when the programming malfunctions.
Mrs Murray and her son might not be to everyone’s favourite, but she knew what needed to be done to make a champion and applied herself and her son to the task.

Alphons said...

Tennis.......What is tennis?????

inmate said...

The last gentleman tennis chap, before Roger Rolex, is sat behind Prince and Princess Parasite. Rod Laver received a £10 token for winning Wimbledon; redeemed it for a nice shirt, couldn't cash it or the taxman would've wanted his share.

Mike said...

Lost interest in tennis (and in so much else) at the beginning of the William sisters era.

I may be repeating myself, but several years ago on Channel 7 here, they showed a closeup of Serena as they changed ends, and she bent over to pick up a towel; half an acre of white knicker. At that moment a caption travelled across the bottom of the picture: 'now available in wide-screen'.

Our 'Aussie' representatives (actually plastic Aussies) have hardly endeared themselves either.

Tennis is just another mirror on the age we live in, sadly. The era of Laver, and even Borg, has long passed.

call me ishmael said...

Looks like he's still wearing the nice shirt but sad, in a way, mr inmate, to see him encased in his long-agos. I hope that the PBC and Wimbledon pay for his fares and exes and a drink or two.

Marty Navratilova still haunts the world's TeeVee studios, mr doug, telling people that she's gay, as though that's the important thing, well, not "as though," it obviously is, to her, the most important thing, just not to me.

The Murray mutation is surely proof that the programming - which undeniably exists - only produces champions, creatures attractive only to other mutations, and not great, entertaining players. I looked at Cilic's gang of mates and motivators and they looked as though they belonged in G-Wing of Winson Green Prison; old Mother Murray gives me the heebie-jeebies and Ivan Lendl looks like he's fresh from train-unloading duty at Auschwitz; Roger Federer and his family, on the other hand, look like normal rich people.

You know how, m, alphons, at the modern auction, when a masterpiece sells for millions, the people in the sale room go nuts, applauding not the masterpiece but the money, well, tennis is like that, people don't care how well or entertainingly someone plays, all they care about is his focus, his determination, his programming; it is fucking awful and that's why Roger Federer is a treasure, in and outside of the game he plays.

Alphons said...

It is at times like these that we should just start thinking and ask ourselves why do we put so much importance on who has won what, and why we should want to see them do it.
They (whoever they are) try and partially succeed in brain washing the country's idiots into thinking that the world will end if they do not turn out and pay out thousands of pounds to see "sportsmen" of all persuasions make fools of themselves just to make money for the sponsers and their ilk.
The Cycle Tour of Yorkshire is a prime example of the organisers/sponsers being the beneficiariesy. The various councils could not get enough. The county is now overwhelmed with idiots out on expensive cycles making fools of themselves and presenting everpresent opportunities for serious road accidents as they try to imitate the proffessional clowns.

mongoose said...

Compare and contrast, as Mr Fewtrell used to require of us, the above and the tears after today's Womens World Cup Semi-Final. 22 women playing a game that I recognise. I can still bowl at 71mph, just about, and with a tail wind. They were happy and sad at the end of a damn tight game that could have gone either way but for many but-fors. And yet they all behaved impeccably. The Tommies managed to squeak a win, despite Brexit, and now go on to Sunday's Final at lords, for which the lad and I have tickets btw. Hurrah.

I think it is that some games are one-v-one beastly selfish adventures and only the beastly and the selfish can be good enough to the degree required to prevail. I have only closely known cricketers, and swimmers and a few rowers way back when, and almost to a man - and woman - these sports are populated by decent and decently behaved people. The really, really good swimmers, it is true, are odd but they are so focused on fractions of a second that they are a little bonkers but it is a kindly, technical almost introspection that drives it all.

Federer, of course, is Swiss and cannot behave like a bastard because it has been bred out of them.

tdg said...

I suppose it is one of very few games where you can win almost twice as many individual points as your opponent and still lose. This must amplify the psychological element, though it does not explain why players deal with it so egocentrically. I would not be thinking about my mind but about fucking up my opponent's.

call me ishmael said...

It was always the sheer, urgent balleticism coupled with a geometrist's eye which delighted me about tennis and I think that the irony of mr tdg's observaion was well. understood and appreciated - the winner needs the loser as the writer needs the reader; as a spectacle it is the closely-run rally which delights, not the light-speed serve; it is a co-operative competititon which produces the memorable game.

It is a long time since McSneer and the Williamses degraded professional tennis with grunts and tantrums and now when I watch it at all it is from a cynical distance, expecting the worst from players and commentariat alike; it is a dreadful, travelling circus of nightmare, in which Federer's playing and conduct are actually a freakish anachronism.

Mike said...

When I did my Grand Tour of Europe a couple of years ago, the one country that impressed me was Croatia. The people are all 7ft tall, even the women, and look fit and fierce. And I had the best seafood risotto in Split I've ever had.

They are very patriotic: a driver in Dubrovnik on the way to Montenegro told me about the battle of Dubrovnik in the war against the Serbs. The town is commanded from the Napoleon era fort on the heights overlooking the town. He was in the fort about to be overrun by the Serbs when they called down mortar fire on their position. Almost certain death, but it saved the town. You can see the bast marks and shell marks on the hill top, and the museum in the fort is well worth a visit.

In tennis, the Croats have performed well, so its a shock to read (I didn't see it) that Cilic was crying. Can't be blisters as I expect this to be a given at that stage. Maybe he needs to take a ride with my driver?

call me ishmael said...

"It is at times like these that we should just start thinking and ask ourselves why do we put so much importance on who has won what, and why we should want to see them do it."

It is just Cruelty TeeVee, m alphons, the Big Brother House with Sweat and under its malign influence I wonder if children can ever again play a sports game for its own sake; you're fired, you are the weakest link, you are evicted; only two cooks can go forward so you will be going home, all is humiliation-as-entertainment, no reason for sport to be any different.

As you say, opportunities for advertising and the marketing of product are the reasons behind the cycling madness, although the people controlling it convince us that it is all about the nation's health, a charity in effect, an aspect of the big Society, Sky Cycling. They will be commodifying and monetising dog-walking if we are not careful.

call me ishmael said...

I never engage with cricket, mr mongoose, save the one time, when, stoned out of my mind, I listened to some old codgers on the BBC radio, filling-in time, talking about a particularly bumpy section of grass at Headingley - a coupla square metres - how it made the ball bounce erratically, qrong-footing the fielder, and how it was made better or worse by an overnight shower, how a whole game could turn on a team's understanding of lawn-mowing and in that affectionate, bumbling grasp of minutae I understood what cricket was all about, Enjoy the game.

call me ishmael said...

He was definitely sobbing, mr mike, blaming his foot. Now, I know that all injury is not visible but his foot looked fine epidermally and he could flex it easily and a minute or two later was running around the court on it. I do believe that it was merely a ruse, that he was trying to throw Federer off his stride, calling down on
his head the Mortars of Interruption, te Howitzers of Distraction. I think, in other words, that he's a cunt.

I owned a Yugo, once, but that's the extent of my involvement with that region; I liked it and unlike Cilic it didn't keep breaking-down.

Doug Shoulders said...

We’re in the era of the clenched fist snarl. It’s the caption for sporting heroes Kids are probably doing this in the school playground…if they have sports at school these days.
I often thought the reason Henman couldn’t win anything was because he didn’t celebrate a point by sneering over the net at his opponent.
Playing sport in a gentlemanly way won’t get one the silver.

mongoose said...

I am sure that I posted this pic earlier as an enticement towards the joys of Orkney Cricket Club but it seems to have not come through. Anyway, you know it makes sense:

Flannelled fools

call me ishmael said...

I did read of tears in the playground, mr doug, when the mangy Maxwell Tart, Robinson, was at the height of her You Are The Weakest Link, Goodbye infamy, the playground was always a Killing Ground, now it is victualled and munitioned by worthless Celebrity. Anne Robinson, for fuck's sake. I hope her arse falls out and she trips over her intestines.

call me ishmael said...

That won't load, mr mongoose but I remember, on arriving here, being weirdly delighted by people playing golf in a windy, Midsummer midnight.

I had a chill moment of embarrassment, last night, when I thought that you might've been referring to the ladies' football tournament, and then I thought, No, not mr mongoose, not football.

mongoose said...

Was nowt. just a pic of some poor lads playing cricket in what looked like midwinter but was Orkney Cricket Club.

Footie is just horrible. A tax on the daft. One had hoped that women - all 3 billion of them - were too wise to get involved. That you could doubt me - even for a second - is more wounding than I can bear to properly think about. Anyway. Lord's will be full on Sunday for the women's final. A frst, I reckon. Win the toss and bat is usually the maxim but with rain about it might become a bit of a lottery. The women not being strong enough to muscle a short rain-reduced chase, I would stick with batting first. You see? It is not all pigeons and double-decker buses going by.

mongoose said...

And it came to pass as above. Just enough runs for England and just not enough nous and mental muscle from the Indians. If you've played any sort of cricket, you understand what just happened. A fantastic match though.

Of course, I wasn't there - just watched the telly highlights - was fielding mongosling senior at an A&E in the West Country. All well but children can be mighty irritating and inconvenient sometimes.

i came, i saw, i say cool man...jus han mi da bumbaclart cash bwoy said...

big respect to the big man bolt

what a very great sportsman in defeat

in fact i now respect him even more for losing than i did before when he was winning

after it became apparent that the big bolt was not charging - but the pratload of bbc punditry were still blathering away about him going out victorious into retirement - i just said to my mum how i would laugh my fucking nuts off for a week if ban-boy bogeyman jus gatlin won the final...

and so on the night i was rooting for gatlin the gremlin all the way, because all the lousy latent race-haters were booing him like bastards...

oh dear, the script got completely ripped into rags when gats got gold, and now the arsehole bbc presenters look like the fucking stupid triumphalist bunch of complacent establishment-trumpeting cunts they really fucking are...

brilliant

bolt's hardly run this season and has not been anywhere near proper form...

so i reckon he had a million bucks laid on grifter gatlin to win - to sort a cash lump-sum for his pension...

either that, or before the race rattlin' gatlin necked a bucketful of performance-enhancing drugs in a bid to spoil the silly smug self-worshipping celebs' pathetic pre-scripted mass mutual masturbation party.

fucking a

i didn't really want bolt to lose, because he's a great chap, but suddenly somehow i really wanted battlin' gatlin to win

all looked fucking fixed to me

great result

fucking hilarious

and bolt didn't seem to give a blaadclaat fuck

he was only there to autograph the adoring amplified asses of his freaking female fan club

i came, i saw, i say cool man...jus han mi da bumbaclart cash bwoy said...

@i came, i saw, i say cool man...jus han mi da bumbaclart cash bwoy

may i make my most sincere apologies to english usage traditionalists and reverently ordained custodians of our great language for inadvertently employing the words "mass mutual masturbation party", when, as has since been duly pointed out to me, the more customary "mass mutual wank-fest" would have obviously been the appropriate phrase to have used in the circumstances...

but did you see michael "drug-cheats shall not prosper" johnson's face...?

fucking priceless

bolt wasn't bunged enough in my opinion

remember his commonwealth go slow?

Anonymous said...

He was defo sobbing Mr Mike - like a gimp. "Meh, the bigger boy's gonna beat me at this sport type thing". It was a bit upsetting for the crowd but there was media tittle tattle of extortionate ticket prices but even so, give the punters a match. He struggled through for the inevitable losers £1.25 million and fucked off to get a plaster.

I was watching a 1955 documentary on Le Mans last night where about 80 to 120 punters were killed - yep, they literally didn't do a head count - and the race continued for another 16 hours or something. The pretext being that they didn't want people clogging up the roads but Cilic's blister seems a bit tame.

DtP

Anonymous said...

I should like to know a bit more about who you are. Thank you.

Anonymous said...

I've been watching the PGA golf and Aliss mentioned that the golfers aren't shouting 'FOUR' anymore when they fuck up. Just seen a guy do it and genuinely heard 'get the kids Stephanie!' I think the golfers are trying to kill Americans - only possible explanation. They don't do drug tests in golf because the theory is - what could possibly help? It seems steroids are the drug of choice.

DtP

Woman on a Raft said...

Strange thing, golf, Mr DtP. I tried a few hours as a caddy to see what the devotion was about but I could barely stay awake. It's not like crazy golf which is on just as much a created landscape but goes the whole lunatic hog and has balls being put through lighthouses. Crazy golf does not have large swings but it has as much mucking about with putting as you could wish for, plus hilarity. It is even funnier if somebody gets very competitive and solemn about keeping score.

Dick the Prick said...

Strange thing, tennis, Mrs Woar. I played one set this year and enjoyed the nostalgia but, like cycling, not too sensible. Of the 4 Majors that make up the tennis grand slam, Federer's won 2 and Nadal the other 2 and they're both knackered, titanium based, drug addled Mengele experiments or Colin as we used to call him at school. Have you seen these Bogdanov Brother in France - Whitby would be proud!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QHqOp21jBpI

I hope all's well Mr Smith. Labour are right - this is a Brexit land grab - only gonna know about something if you're looking for it. Hmm...

Trust you're prevented from hurricanes and floods and stuff? I live on a potentially land slip hill in the Pennines and we've done flow calculations from the reservoir and reckon we're good. If the Ice Age has already come down to Malham then a bit of rain shouldn't be too unexpected. Why not warm the planet - it aids life, gives rise to verdance and feeds the few. In the mean time...let's just watch Buddhists kick off! Someone should do a Mancunian Glasshopper.

As always

DtP

"

Woman on a Raft said...

Oooh, cycling, tell me about it. The new Yorkshire religion. The lanes and the lower hills around the Vale of York have been thronged with pelotons. The convention of hanging yellow bicycles in the trees has at least marked out their routes. I thought the novelty would wear off, but it has not.

Bogdanov - God save us, what did I just watch?

mrs narcolept said...

That's Spain crossed off the list of possible places to live in our dotage.

mongoose said...

Spain, mrs n, is no more a country than Germany or Italy is, or no more than perhaps the disunited United Kingdom is. If geographical Spain was Spain, Portugal would be part of it. And Catalonia has more anti-authority souls than most. It was all but yesterday after all.

Where is our host?

Gary said...

Worrying.

Doug Shoulders said...

Ditto the above.

Woman on a Raft said...

+1

Anonymous said...

Are you dead? If so please advise.
-richard

Anonymous said...

I hope all is OK with you Mr Ishmael. Like others, I come here now and then in the hope of finding your thoughts.

Mr SG said...

Dang me! Your company is missed on the road Mr I.

Caratacus said...

One does worry, Mr. I ... not sure if you truly realise how valued you are, my dear old thing.

Dick the Prick said...

+2

inmate said...

Dear mr Ishmael
Trust you are well and not suffering under the DoctorBastards.
I have suffered withdrawal symptoms this past 5 months of not being able to read your insights on the continuing Ruin we are all subjected to, so I have taken on the pleasurable task of returning to the Chronicles of Ruin, from the beginning, April 2009, to relive the wisdom of yourself and fellow travellers.
I recommend these Chronicles to all friends and relatives as should all Ishmaelians.

By the way, Peaky Blinders makes a welcome return this week.

The NightJack said...

:(

Anonymous said...

Missing you very much, but hoping for the best.

Mike said...

Merry Christmas, Mr I.

Inmate said...

Merry Christmas mr and mrs Ishmael, pray you are in good health.

Woman on a Raft said...

With my very best wishes for you and your family and thankfulness for leaving words which repay careful re-reading.

Anonymous said...

Happy new year and hoping you are still alive.
-richard

Dr. Yllek said...

*sigh*

SG said...

At this rate we're gonna have to talk amongst ourselves Mr I. Maybe that's the idea?

Keep well if you are still on the mortal coil...

Anonymous said...

Hoping you are OK Mr Ishmael, and that you will be posting again soon.

Gary said...

C'mon pal.
Am anxious now. Corbyns gonna get the blame.....

mongoose said...

Mr Ishmael, I have great news.

The Dog-shooter misheard "Barnstaple" and initially went looking for his target in Dunstable. What a caper!

Woman on a Raft said...

And they are known as Dog-shooters to this day, so maybe something good came out of it.

gasky said...

We are running out of tea-lights, please return or we will have to deploy hashtags.

mrs narcolept said...

Birthday greetings and every good wish, mr ishmael, wherever you may be.

Mike said...

Mr I: Its been nearly a year since your last post. Your compatriot Andy Mutant has already retired from Wimbledon before the competition starts. Who are you putting your money on? Raffa or Roger? Or some Serb/Croat?

Tdg said...

I hope we mourn the blog, not the man.

Gary said...

Jaysus, my heart dropped when I saw the email.
Fearing the worst though...

Caratacus said...

My fond thought is that Mr. I is sitting in a chair, comfortably propped upon plumped cushions, a glass of the rarest malts to one hand and a bell to summon reserves as necessary in the other as he gazes about him with a paternalistic and benevolent air. I fully expect to see a fresh bag of ripe ordure poured about the heads of what passes for a gubmint in the very near future.

yardarm said...

With you there, Mr Caractacus.

Woman on a Raft said...

May his chimney ever draw and his hedge grow thick and slow.

Caratacus said...

Hear, hear Mrs WOAR. His voice is missed ...

Mike said...

Has Mr I adopted a new persona? (Juan, aka Auslander):

https://thesaker.is/what-bolton-needs-to-understand-about-russia-and-history/

BTW the books by Auslander are a good read. (don't be put off by Kindle format, it can be installed free on PCs Mac etc)

Doug Shoulders said...

I doubt if Mr Ishmael, would leave his mates here without a word unless something serious has happened.
I come here every day in the hope..and I’m afraid to voice the fears I’m sure everyone has.

Gary said...

Over a year now. I must be honest, I fear the worst.

Caratacus said...

You speak for many mr. d. shoulders ... I pray that the spinners at the foot of Yggdrasil have yet to sew in a familiar thread.

Anonymous said...

Likewise still hoping for news, Mr Ishmael, that you are on Orkney and not under it.
Best wishes,
-richard

inmate said...

Fellow Ishmaelites

What are we to do about the present treasonous Tories and their surrender to the Bureaucrats of Whitehall and Brussels. This overturning, ignoring of the largest vote in modern British history is... I don't know, a Fucking scandal.
I'm sure our host would be recommending tearing up paving, throwing slabs through the windows of parliament, stringing up the Marxists, the Dog shooters, the Tribesmen, Greenies and Top Hatters along the banks of the Thames, with piano wire, at the very least.
We are being led by a bunch of intellectual lightweights into slavery for God knows how long, at a cost of God knows how much, in money and sovereignty of the British people.
Everyone understands that there is no negotiating with the EU, the rules were written in stone with the Lisbon Treaty and the only way out of this promised purgatory is to make a clean break, walk away and work our way through being independent, no matter the perceived hardships.
Perhaps Corbyn and his crew would be a better alternative, I doubt it, but surely anything other than this hunchbacked old crone and her lickspittles, has got to be worth trying; at least we could vote them out for being shit, unlike the cunts in Brussels.

As our much missed host says: ...INTELLIGENCE IS KNOWING WHAT TO DO WHEN YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO. I don't know what to do, so I've come here

Mike said...

Mr Inmate:

(I check here every day and was excited to see a new post).

I feel your pain, all the way from Australia. The people are simply being shown to their seats - at the very back. Its been so since Cromwell, only now more blatant.

Get used to Comrade Corbyn, for it will be a Labour gov for the rest of your natural. Or vote with your feet like I did.

PS still hoping for the best.

inmate said...

mr Mike
I also check in here most days, in vain hope.
I fear you are correct, we will be saddled with the socialists for the longest time. The Tories have well and truly capitulated.
Ha, the EU 27 have just this minute 'endorsed' the declaration, this is the blueprint for any future protestations within the Empire.
Sadly I think any future move for me will be to meet my maker, but do fear for my children's and Grandchild's futures with our present politcos, the slow creeping Islamisation of Britain and soon to be introduced Sharia.
Trust you and all fellow Ishmaelians are well.

Caratacus said...

mr. inmate & mr mr. mike - I fear your conclusions are largely correct. I dreamt the other night that there had been a military coup and that all MPs - bar an honourable few - had been locked in the Tower (and a bit of overspill in correctional military facilities in Colchester garrison) on charges of Treason for which the death penalty had been reintroduced. There they learnt that it was possible to 'double' even on the lavatory, especially when a venomous Staff Sergeant swished his pace-stick under the door. Various pieces of low-life (drug-dealers, bent coppers, bent politicos, etc.) were locked up pending brief interviews conducted by large and unsympathetic gentlemen drawn from the ranks of recently retired Royal Marines ... and then I woke up *sigh*.

Mr. Ishmael - your wise words were rarely more needed.

Mike said...

There are so many unanswered questions - apart from the obvious.

What happened to the cat? How is Harris? How were the daffodils this spring? Also, missing my update on chisels, drill bits, and other assorted power tools.

inmate said...

Ah yes your Majesty, if only.
I see you have often commented at the Slog Blog, another writer with his finger on the pulse, although slightly less colourful and to the point as our esteemed host.

mr Mike, yes and Japanese saws.
Who will call out Skymadeupnewsandfilth, the PBC, the McCanns, corrupt politicians and Clergy, the dearth of 'proply ritten n spowken english' mutant overpaid sportspersons and LGBT rugmunchers n shiteaters, SJW minority rights claimers and the disease of multi-culturalism.

Woman on a Raft said...

Checking in.
I live in hope because that is better for the soul.

Tdg said...

Now small fowls flew screaming over the yet yawning gulf; a sullen white surf beat against its steep sides; then all collapsed, and the great shroud of the sea rolled on as it rolled five thousand years ago.

Caratacus said...

mr. inmate - glad to see that you visit the Slog upon occasion; John Ward certainly is able to 'deconstruct bollocks' as he has it. Bit frustrating having to watch one's tongue on the lingo front, but I can live with that. By heaven, I do miss Mr. Ishmael ... even now.

Dick the Prick said...

The things he told me, he showed me, he was. I thank this place and shall visit often.

Bungalow Bill said...

Yes I still come here and in good, loyal, sorrowful company it seems. The mad, evil fuckers are closing in and this is a consoling place to seek shelter, even when it’s empty and dark.

Anonymous said...

I think there is a chance our host might yet return. I have heard nothing lately, which stays the hand of optimism somewhat, but my understanding is that major works were being undertaken at his Orkney fastness and so time and inclination, where blogging was concerned, were squeezed like a python's lunch. Apart from that - well, what everyone else said. Winter's greetings to all Ishmaelites here present...

verge./

the noblest prospect said...

Since we have all here gathered recently, permit me to propose an Evensong in Mr Smith's absence.

https://youtu.be/JhfF6Iik0vs

tnp

Caratacus said...

Thank you, mr. np. Drifting off here in E. Devon.

mongoose said...

Panto deluxe today, Mr I, if'n you don't know by now.

Mike said...

Greetings one and all. I'm salivating at what our absent host would be making of Mrs Askeys's latest travails. I think he had it nailed over a year ago when he commented that her medical condition make her unfit for duty. I would add that she is also showing the signs of autism. This could all end very ugly.