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The chronicles of Ruin, continued. Call me Ishmael said....intelligence is knowing what to do when you don't know what to do. Anonymous said... When I don't know what to do,I come here. 10 September 2009 22:59
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- A GENTLEMAN IN RETIREMENT.
- HEROES FOR FUCK ALL.
- S&M BRITAIN. PAIN, PUNISHMENT AND HUMILIATION.
- ARMED FORCES DAY.
- MORE GRANNYKNOBBINGGATE, SWISH FAMILY ROBINSON DOW...
- TALKING OF BLACK RADICALS. EVENSONG:THE ROLLING ST...
- BLOOD ON THE HACKS
- WHITHER HIS FEVERED BOMBAST, NOW?
- DON'T MOTHERFUCKER ME, MOTHERFUCKER.
- MATINS Giovanni Palestrina - Missa Papae Marcelli ...
- IN THE WEE SMALL HOURS, MOONLIGHT MILE, TURIN BRAKES
- WINSTON CAMERON ON WORLD WAR TWO
- THIS WEEK'S THIS WEEK.
- WHAT THE PAPERS SAY. THE GUARDIAN. IN THE MIDNIGHT...
- EVENSONG: THE WHITE MAN'S BURDEN.
- NASTY WOMEN IN GREY JACKETS: ABDUCTION COULD NOT H...
- THE WHITE MAN'S BURDEN.
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- AIRVICEMARSHAL SIR RUPERT GOLIGHTLY-JOCKSTRAP, (RETD)
- FOR A FEW DOLLARS MORE.
- POETRY CORNER
- SOUTH AFRICA, PREVIOUS FIXTURES.
- WOTSONTELLY. TOILETS MAGUIRE, GRAVEROBBER ROBINSON...
- WOTSONTELLY. BOHEMIAN CRAPSODY?
- CARING FOR THE OLD.
- ELBY'S EVENSONG, R-O-O-O-O-O-LL ANOTHER ONE, JUST ...
- THEY CAME FROM OUTER SPACE.
- THE LONG, SLOW DEATH OF THE LABOUR PARTY.
- WOTSONTELLY. NUTTER NIXON, THE PARANOID PRESIDENT.
- THAT CANADIAN SHIT.
- THE UNHAPPY AMERICAN. .
- THE PRIME OF MISS FRANK FIELD.
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- WHAT THE PAPERS SAY. THE EVENING STANDARD MAGAZIN...
- MORE ON SHOOTER HEFFER.
- US DYKE OFFENDS BRENDA.
- WHAT THE PAPERS SAY, THE PRESS ASSOCIATION, UNLAWF...
- THE HEFFERSPHERE. WHAT'S WRONG WITH TAXI DRIVERS?
- EVENSONG; The Copper Family - Adieu, Sweet Lovely ...
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- WHAT TURNS A MAN INTO A CRAZED CLICHE?
- BUT FOR THE GRACE OF GOD
- WHAT THE PAPERS SAY. HUMAN METRONOME STRIKES AGAIN.
- EVENSONG: Georges Bizet: L'Arlésienne-Suite - Fara...
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7 comments:
Brodyr pob cerddorion, mr ishmael, all musicians are brothers. Lovely harmonies.
Again - splendid, thanks Mr. Smith.
When we were but little, my parents used to take us to North Cornwall each year. As did my mother's family her - my grandmother had pictures of them setting off from Cheshire, open cars, ladies with veils to wars off the dust, for the two day journey.
The would stay in a little fishing village called Newquay.
My parents, find of the drink as they were, used to find the best locals in any area. In Padstow, then long pre-Stein, the pubs were rough, and full of fishermen.
The Golden Lion, round the back from the harbour, and from where the annual Mayday Hobby Hoss ('Oss, Oss, wee 'oss) festival starts (deeply pagan and very wonderful, but sadly crowded out by hoorays from London now, as is the whole of the Padstow/Rock rich peoples' playground complex.
Yes, the Golden Lion had the best singing, and we would go there in the evenings as well - kids tolerated there, even in the 50s, and the singing was utterly glorious. I wish I could recall all of
"The larks they sing melodious,
At the dawning of day"
You probably need a license now, obtained a month in advance. Outbreaks of spontaneous communal singing being, of course, prejudicial to community cohesion.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C2YjwCIcVuM
Better, of course, sung by 20 hearty Cornish fisherman.
The Mayday Song
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oqYPWpjqrvU
My middle child has gone this week away with the choir to the Peak District. They are staying away three nights. One of the nights, they are staying a stone's throw from friends of ours who moved away a couple of years ago. We tried to arrange that she have a sleepover with them when she was close. Not a chance of it. Couldn't possibly risk it. Jessica having been in the same bloody choir not three years since, her mum might still have turned into a murderous psycho since we last saw her. It's all just mad.
Lovely tunes, gentlemen.
Mr. M. Quite so. I was discussing with a long England domiciled Anglo-Dutch-American friend this morning, whilst walking the dogs in our glorious shady woods, just how UTTLERLY inimical to the English (can't speak for the Welsh, or indeed, the Scottish) the whole New Labour farrago was.
Forwards with the Great Repeal Act!
If they do just that and no more, Mr Elby, I will be happy enough.
Aye, that and the paraphernalia of the surveillance state. Given the deep loathing of the body politic after the past years, it's hard to conjure up any sense of good wishes to a new government.
Yet I do greatly for this coalition; here in the South West, of course, it mirrors how we vote - Tory or LibDem with I think 6 isolated pockets of stupidity left, three in Bristol.
It is essential for the well-being of the country that they do succeed; we cannot afford to have the government come down in flames in a year or so, as it will take - to my mind, and this factors in the corruption and destruction of the education system - a generation to see any true turnaround. The fact is that these cretins (to be nice to them) have so comprehensively deskilled the workforce that the concept of economic recovery is fragile at best.
As a memento the the fuckwit Brown, my pension pot, had he not nicked large globs of itand then crashed the economy, would be worth some 80% more than it is now. I hope the twunt fries in hell, having first been marinaded in his own excrement.
There I go, being nice to the bastard again.
Mr. Smith noted in an earlier post that it was New Labour that turned him into a top level frothing at the mouth ranter. Well, I think the same has happened to many of our generation.
New Labour came as a wolf in sheeps' cloting, disguising their dangerous intent. I do so want to see some of them banged up, for treason, but don't expect it to happen.
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