Sunday, 21 February 2021

The Sunday Ishmael 21/02/2021

In the Duff Pudding Club 
Barefoot and Pregnant
That's the Harry and Meghan news. And they've been back-chatting the Queen. Which William thought was not on. 
This business of an heir and a spare usually doesn't end well. Interesting to note yet again that the hirsute ginger one has inherited the all-English look of Henry Tudor, whereas the tall bald one takes after the European side of the family. 
 Sibling rivalry - not new in the Firm.
At least it's tidier than it used to be. Henry II's five lads ganged up on him and set about each other. It is always so difficult for the one that doesn't get the top job. There's the possibility of an international role:
 or holidaying:
or a career in film and tv
But can anything compensate for the loss of a warm, loving family?
Well, I suppose money might help. And then there's love.
Looks like a Nation May Be Plunged Into Mourning soon. The Queen's Consort, whose 100th birthday is on June 10th (my word, we look after them well), is in hospital as a precautionary measure. We are told that he is tired. Hospital visiting is discouraged during Lockdown, other than for those approaching the end of their journey, as we now call it. His eldest son popped in to see him. 
 That's enough Royal nonsense. Let's have a bit of a travelogue. Here's some photos from Harris' morning walk:

Scapa Flow with useful ships on the horizon
The  stream that runs past Scapa Distillery and plunges down to the beach
Orkney's second distillery, standing high above Scapa beach.
Not much news this week - Just  Covid, really. Same old, same old. Andrew Marr tried baiting Matt Handcock this morning, doubtless hoping to see real tears, but Handcock just got irritated at being called a criminal. Acting outside the law, acting illegally - not the same thing as being a criminal at all, it seems. And he was busy getting on with counting all the PPE. As were all his staff. Put him back in his Broadcasting Toilet, though. 

Did you notice the Mars news this week? Seems the chances of anything coming from Mars remain at a million to one - but there's life there - although not as we know it - and where is Professor Cheekbones to interpret it all for us? Teaching locked-down reluctant schoolkids - or at least advertising the necessity of so doing. Here's mr ishmael on matters Cox and Cosmological.

There's been a rash of cosmological telly recurrences on BBC4, recently - JPL, NASA, Neil Armstrong's life, the Shuttle and the Voyager programmes;  it's all old stuff but these shows are condensations of massive scientific and engineering enterprise and there is currently no similar field of endeavour, not in the West, anyway. Oh, there's that prat, Branson, but he's been talking out of his arse about Virgin Space for decades, now;  the first flight, with himself aboard,  was supposed to have happened ten years ago and there's still no sign; probably all just a vanity project, a publicity stunt. It's a shame that despite stealing nearly everything in the world,  Uncle Sam is too strapped for cash to have continued a lunar project.  I mentioned, a few years back, that soon, none will live who walked the Moon.

Flight to Eternity
there's been  this lady, too, hissing. 

In sibilant triads. A bit whispery. 
About the Moon. And the stars.
 Things like that. All deeply informative. 
And clever, too.
And no doubt, somewhere, on some BBC4 portal, professor Brian Cox is forever silhouetted on the top of a mountain,

thinking  very profoundly about how, well, just how amazin' it all is.
Just think, 
it's only taken thirteen point eight billion years,
 give or take five minutes, 
and I've already been in a band 
and now I'm on the telly.  
All the time. 
 I think it's just, well,
And I have been given a medal.
It's all just
And here am I
in the middle of all this stuff
And so are you
just not as profoundly as I am
doing all this thinking.
And smiling.

Repeats are all very well, Midsomer Murders and Lewis, Michael Portillo's stuttering, cack-handed, amateur train journeys and Flog It! and there are channels  devoted to repeating every single episode of The Bill.  It's alright, the actors earn a few quid - although not those from The Likely Lads, repeats of which James Bolam has refused to sanction, him being a serious actor now, and not needing the readies as much as the others - and Fruitcakers get an opportunity to relive memories of the good old days, when there weren't so many foreigners about and a man could smoke himself to death if he wanted to, in public. And there were hangings. These space operas are not so much repeats. More Another Opportunity to See. And we can't have enough of the ubiquitous physicist. Him with the Black Hole in his Back Garden.

 Stanislav's lonely hearts - 8/4/10

Dear stanislav
I am a pretty, young lawyer, sexy and of independent means, having made a killing, so to speak, in the Iraq Oil Fields. I hate my husband and would love to have an affair with a person of like mind but everybody seems to hate me. 

Please help, 

p.s. I'll do anything they want, for money. 

Dear Cherie,
Thing is, is fucking rubbish, innit, is old boot now and not no difference makes  to rub New Age healing crystals all over chops, slotgob just bigger and bigger gets and need to get gas-powered nailing gun
 and nail the bastard up before whole world gets swallow up and disappear forever is, like in black hole or destruction engine accelerator under Swiss Bob's house. Fuck me, is end of world coming for sure with that bastard. But if not then whole population of world will soon drawn in be to Black Hole of SlotGob and no fucking wonder is can't get loverboy, not  with gob like that. Is like Mersey fucking Tunnel

Even husband, Cardinal Blair, gets frightened at sight of yawning Chasm of Destruction and wants to get Pope Nazi to do exorcism if His HoliNonceness wasn't busy covering-up his past. Could normally suggest to poor, lonely old bag that maybe joining-up in  church is good idea as long as no children has of course for Vicar of Priest or Elder to lead unto Salvation of Cock-in-Christ and pass around among community of decent professional,  like  lawyerbastard and copbastard and teacherbastard  and maybe send a few undraped photos of around the world, in the name of God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Nonce, of course,  but in your case one step in church would make holy water go boiling and candle blow out and congregation run like fuck blessing itself  and shit everywhere in fear of End of fucking Days. Would be worse than fucking Omen movie.

Could maybe phone gingerbastard,  Dr Phil Hammond, off TV, is agonisingly clever bastard and could help, or maybe even give you one. Or at a push, two. Or Professor Doctor Raj Persaud off Richard and Judy's Shoplifting Tips Programmne, sadly now get axed for being rubbish that not even unemployed bastard can watch, slobbing on sofa with remote control and endless tube of Pringle, only moving to scratch arse. 
Love from stanislav.
mr ishmael and stanislav's essays today were:|

There's been a rash of cosmological telly recurrences         drafted 13/11/14
Stanislav's lonely hearts                                                       drafted     8/4/10
There's a whole lot more from stanislav, the young polish plumber,
in the eagerly-anticipated Vent Stack, which editor mr verge is polishing and perfecting. In the meantime, Honest Not Invent is available from Lulu, Amazon,
Blackwells and the Book Depository.
To buy a copy:
please register an account with Lulu first.  This will save you a couple of quid, as going straight into the links provided below seems to make paypal think it's ok to charge in dollars, and apply their own conversion rate, which will put the price up slightly for a UK buyer.  Once the new account is set up, follow one of the links (to either paperback or hardback) or type "Honest, Not Invent" into the Lulu Bookstore search box.  If you follow a link, a pop-up box asks for age confirmation - simply set the date to (say) 1 January 1960, and proceed.  If you type the title, the anthology will not appear as a search result until the "show explicit content" box (found at the bottom left by scrolling down) has been checked.  You may also see the age verification box, as above, at this point.
Honest, Not Invent is available in paperback or hardback.
Link for Hard Back : 
Link for Paper Back : 
There may be a 15% discount try the voucher code = TREAT15 in the coupon box, which takes 15% off the price before postage.  If this code has expired by the time you reach this point, try a google search for " voucher code" and see what comes up.     


Anonymous said...

Gotta love the semiotic jazz at play in that carefully curated baby-bump snap. He is putting his best foot forward (good luck with that, old son) and she is reminding us that in the royalty stakes (at least, those pertaining in the alternate reality about to dawn) she is Hollywood Posh, as shiny and top-of-the-bill as Julia Roberts. I suppose we're also being tempted to wonder if there's a Divine Brown moment in the offing, but maybe that can wait til the ratings need a boost.


mrs ishmael said...

But they didn't want to stretch credibility too far, mr verge, by incorporating a book in the photo-shoot. That would imply reading-skills.

Mike said...

Its all a bit complicated. The ginger one must have inner doubts about his paternity, and she's a mulatto and will never be accepted at high table. Look what happened to Dianna and her dusky boyfriend, and Dianna wasn't even in line. No wonder Phil the Greek is sick. It will all end in tears.

Anonymous said...

Harrys paternity Red hair is caused by the mc1r gene variant and i would imagine both Charles and Diana carried it the Queen Mother was Scottish and wasnt Dianas father a redhead
My grandaughters are redheads and their parents are not though they have Scottish and Irish genes If you look at the photo of Harry wearing a poppy you can see the likeness to Charles
Im not a Royalist i just like the truth

Anonymous said...

Fair enough, anonymous, but the ishmaelite credo gives greater weight to satirical truth when it comes to the likes of that shower. Every bucketload is richly deserved.



Bungalow Bill said...

Is there social distancing in space, up there in the international capsule and so on? Can't be too careful, Covid being what it is. Are the very atoms too close together? We really shouldn't be opening up hastily when you can't be sure where everything really is, if it's anywhere. The science, you know.

Soothing snaps, Mrs I.

mrs ishmael said...

I hasten to assure you, mr anonymous, that my intention in drawing attention to Harry's gingeriness was to demonstrate his similarity with his great namesake, Harry the Eighth, he of the many wives and brilliant gingeriness, which he bequeathed to his daughter, Lizzy Ist. Harry looks proper British, he does, and I daresay he inherited it from his mum, who was a descendant of an aristocratic English family of great wealth and privilege. Whereas his big brother looks German. Put a set of those Royal whiskers on him and you'd see what I mean. I wonder if Harry will follow in his much-married forebear and namesake's footsteps in any other ways?

mrs ishmael said...

Bubbles, mr bungalow bill, I wouldn't worry about them if I were you.
Glad you liked the photos. I took some great ones of Kirkwall in the snow, but the moment has kind of passed, what with all the snow having turned to water, as the poet has it.

mongoose said...

A simple DNA test will establish the facts. I am sure that it has been done. Perhaps that was partly the cause of the motor vehicular unpleasantness.

The likes of Cox weigh on me, mrs i. It isn't really funny when the fuckers can destroy a country's economy in a year because of their stupidity. This afternoon's pronouncements have - for the first time in my life, I think - made me think myself really helpless in the teeth of it all. I will cheer up tomorrow, I know, but some won't.

Mike said...

Mrs I: there is not one molecule in the DNA of the House of Saxe Coberg that relates to Henry VII. OK maybe they share the ginger molecule?

mrs ishmael said...

Indeed, mr mike, which is why the great aristocratic houses of England despise the Windsor/Mountbatten/Saxe Coburg lot as upstart newbies. And foreign. Whereas Harry's mum, Diana, was born into the English nobility. She was the youngest daughter of John Spencer, 8th Earl Spencer. The Spencers claimed descent from a cadet branch of the powerful medieval Despenser family. Diana was descended from the House of Tudor through Henry VII of England, from the House of Stuart through Charles II of England by Charles Lennox, 1st Duke of Richmond, and Henry FitzRoy, 1st Duke of Grafton, and his brother James II of England by Henrietta FitzJames. Generational privilege, bastardy and gingeriness.
Personally, I hope to see the ending of the monarchy in my lifetime. Such an optimist. It is astonishing that in our age of mass communication they are still getting away with it. Shows that you can fool all of the people all of the time. Even those without a pot to piss in, as mr ishmael would say, still say god bless you marm, you work untiringly, unceasingly on our behalf. And they send them presents, for fuck's sake.

mrs ishmael said...

Do not despair, mongoose old friend, tomorrow is a splendid day! Tomorrow, Salmond gives his evidence. It promises to be dynamite. It will rip the SNP apart, with a bit of luck, expose the conspiracy against him and implicate senior members of the Party: Sturgeon, of course, her husband, and, delightfully, John Swinney, who otherwise would be the successor in the event of Sturgeon's resignation.
We must pin our hopes on Ruthboy Davidson: the Scottish Conservatives are the only possible party to defeat the SNP, since Scotland fell out of love with Labour back in 2015.

mongoose said...

A moment's anger caused by having my various kids each under house arrest in different corners of the land. Bloody nonsense.

But tomorrow at 9am there is a Test match to watch, mrs i. I'll want you up and sparky for the morning's session, please.

And spring is peeking its wee head out down here. When the waters go down a tad, we can have the bike out and be cruising the riverbank again.

Wee Eck has been redacted and has taken his bat home. Surely all of Edinburgh knows what it says.

mongoose said...

Indeed, I have just read the redacted bit in the blasted Daily mail.

mongoose said...

And this is the full document for those who care.

Mike said...

Mr Mongoose, the Spectator version misses some paragraphs. Here is the full version.

The truth will come out.

mongoose said...

Thank-you, mr mike. Gentle reading for the lunch interval.

arsier yanks said...

a 'divine brown moment', mr verge...?

so d'you reckon that old tart liz horley's gonna suck prinz hairy orff then?

still, given the darkly disturbing omen of perpetual plague, i certainly think it likely that prinz willy's had a 'rodney trotter moment' - and indeed it rather seems that prinz filly-spit's had one too, the poor hun.

mmm...that face-lift's sure done wonders for cherie, by-the-way...

and now that she's had a black upgrade for the lips, she might as well go the whole hog by getting fitted with a big fat black ass too - my god, tony "i-dun-deng" blair, the socialist strap-on of mass distraction, really won't know what's hit him.

of course, i could start delving into hairy and megreign's blood-mineral-portfolios, because those types of neo-imperialist snob have usually bought into a whole bunch of african genocide, just like their globalist guy-ropes the bidens, the bushes, the obamas, and the clintons - who've made a killing in congo, i hear.

oh yeah, to neo-colonial nobs like the sussexes, africa simply serves as a sun-soaked safari-park for blood-sports...

but anyway, never mind all that old crap...

because, guess what?

i'm white now, niggas

arsier yanks said...

@arsier yanks - 1 march 2021 at 03:42

insert "conscious" between "all that" and "old crap"...

then remove the "all" from "all that" and place it after "who've" in the phrase "who've made a killing in congo"...

and if you don't believe that the joke and dutchess of succubus have profited from the african genocide...

or that the other bling-bitches mentioned in that paragraph have congolese blood on their hands...

you can ram the whole fucking script up ya arse of darkness...

coz obama was just the white man's chile-soldier blastin' bling-bang on brown-brown.