The algorithm must have been hallucinating if it thought I was a likely purchaser of a £400-£600 handbag. But, there you go, everywhere I went on Youtube I was stalked by this advert for the Coach Tabby bag. Have you seen it? The story goes: skinny white woman, looking miserable, stares at her phone, when a nasty little girl bounds in, steals her handbag and runs away. Hotly pursued by Elle Fanning, playing skinny white woman, the feral child climbs up a big tree and chucks the bag into the air.
I got so fed up by this relentless pursuit by a handbag advert that I looked it up to discover what the hell it was attempting to say. Was it extolling the merits of theft as a career choice? Or the benefits of climbing trees as outdoor exercise? Or extolling the rejection of consumerisme totalitairienne by chucking away overpriced bits of tat now that the world is going to hell in a handcart?
But, no. The Coach campaign release explained itself thusly: the whole campaign is about: Authenticity. Fearlessness. Rediscovering childhood courage. Letting go of self‑doubt.
Really? Really.
Coach describes it as tapping into “the courage we all once had, before the world told us to play small”.
For fuck's sake: this advert wants me to believe that a handbag is a spiritual awakening. As Lady Bracknell would respond, in tones of frosty hauteur, “To lose one handbag, Miss Fanning, may be regarded as a misfortune; to throw it into a tree looks like carelessness.”
It has been tough, here, in the far north. Oh yes, we've had the seasonal delights of the Christmas and New Year's Day Ba' games
(the Uppies won this year), the Stromness Log Pull, when the men of the town form themselves into two teams, attach ropes to what looks like a felled telegraph pole, and pull, the Log swinging perilously between them to the imminent danger of the cheering crowd,
(The Northenders won), and, of course, the Illuminated Tractor Run
But all that joyful hedonism was followed by a cold snap, with snow, ice and high seas. The ferries were cancelled. Tesco ran out of bananas. I discovered that my beautiful, luxurious beast of a Mercedes-Benz is absolutely crap in the snow. It has an annoying trick of announcing an error message and shutting off power to the
wheels. "Skidding," it says. "Skidding. That's it. I'm not going any further. I shall stay just where I am." The first time it did it I was rescued by two women, who ran back and forth to a nearby Grit bin with handfuls of grit to scatter under the Beast's wheels. The second time it graciously accepted the libation of 1.5 kg of cooking salt and consented to move out of the middle of the road, where it had come to a sulky stop, blocking the carriage way. Good thing there weren't any ICE agents around. I've not been out since.
Here's a money-saving tip for glossy monthly-magazine lovers. You know the sort of thing: Period Living, Homes and Gardens, Yorkshire Life. At a fiver a copy, that's 60 quid a year. Don't throw them away. Place them in a pile upside down in a corner of your ensuite. On January 1st, turn the pile over and start again. You'll have forgotten the content, and can be delighted by the seasonally-appropriate photographs, carefully curated and exquisite home decor from Reader's Lives and astonishingly-wonderful recipes. I brined the turkey this Christmas, guided by Country Living. Brining has been a thing this year.
The January editions, which are usually written in August, hit the retailers around early December and have little homilies about This Time of Year - reflecting on the year past, valuing friends and family, catching up on old colleagues and acquaintances. So it was when I met a former colleague, now retired, up the town. We leant on the Ba' board designed to protect the premises behind us from Christmas jollity.
He started. "You remember old Thorfinn?"
Me: Oh yes. Thorf. Such a sweet chap. What's he doing these days?
He: Dead. Very sudden.
My turn: Do you know what happened to Lilli Whyt-Arse?
He: Of the extensive and influential Whyt-Arse family. Most women wouldn't have survived that mooning scandal, and granted, she had to leave Orkney, but she did very well south. Why?
Me: Sacked.
He: Really?
Me: Well, the press release said that she had ceded her contract after mutual agreement, but we know what that means.
He: Young Erlend, now, he's retired.
Me: Ill health?
He: Bad Back, Bad shoulders, Heart, Hips.
Me: Always was a hypochondriac.
He: I saw someone in the supermarket who knew me.
Me: Who?
He: I've forgotten his name. But he knew me. We chatted about 20 minutes.
Me: Where did you know him from?
He: I dinna ken. But he knew me alright.
Me: Whatever happened to Wee Fat Alistair?
He: It was said he had retired voluntarily because he didn't care for the rarefied air.
Me: But?
He: Well, I met his wife at a do, the noo, and she said that after a lifetime struggling up the greasy pole, he'd been pushed aff it.
Me: That sounds a bit incriminating. And unwifely.
Together: Sacked.
He: Then there's Ross Islander. Was my boss at one time. You remember him? Always interfering.
Me: Go on.
He: Dead.
Dead, Sacked, Retired, Forgotten, Sacked, Died
Me: Look, if anyone asks you whatever happened to mrs ishmael, just tell them I'm fine. Just fine.
The Grey War.
That's what they are calling it now. Not War War. Not Cold War. I've been banging on about this since you've known me - the High North - that's where the frightening action is. It's all a question of perspective. For those accustomed to the Mercator projection, especially maps centred on Britain,
Look at it this way -
The U.K. or Little Satan, as the Iranian theocracy dubbed us, has strategic importance. It seems we helped with the seizure of the Venezuelan-linked oil tanker, the Marinera, on Wednesday, as it travelled northwards through waters between Iceland and Scotland, following a chase by the US Coast Guard. RAF surveillance aircraft and a Royal Navy Support ship, the RFA Tideforce, took part in the operation. US aircraft used Wick John O'Groats Airport during the apprehension of the Marinera. At least three US Air Force planes took off from RAF Mildenhall and landed at Wick John O'Groats Airport, which is owned by the Scottish Government. Wick airport, by the way, is a tiny little place, with one runway.
Would someone tell our Prime Minister that he really must stop pissing about like this -
And as for saying he is going to send troops into Greenland to thwart Trump - can someone section the man?
.............................
There are four splendid anthologies of the writings of stanislav and mr ishmael, compiled by his friend, mr verge, the house filthster. You can buy them from Amazon or Lulu. Here's how:
Honest Not Invent, Vent Stack, Ishmael’s Blues, and the latest, Flush Test (with a nice picture of the late, much lamented, Mr Harris of Lanarkshire taking a piss on a totem pole) are available from Lulu and Amazon. If you buy from Amazon, it would be nice if you could give a review on their website.IIshmaelites wishing to buy a copy from lulu should follow these steps
please register an account first, at lulu.com. This is advisable because otherwise paypal seems to think it's ok to charge in dollars, and they then apply their own conversion rate, which might put the price up slightly for a UK buyer. Once the new account is set up, follow one of the links below (to either paperback or hardback) or type "Ishmael’s Blues" into the Lulu Bookstore search box. Click on the “show explicit content” tab, give the age verification box a date of birth such as 1 January 1960, and proceed.
Link for Hardcover : https://tinyurl.com/je7nddfr
Link for Paperback : https://tinyurl.com/3jurrzux
https://www.lulu.com/shop/ishmael-smith/flush-test/paperback/product-9yjvn7.html?q=Flush+Test&page=1&pageSize=4
At checkout, try WELCOME15 in the coupon box, which (for the moment) takes 15% off the price before postage. If this code has expired by the time you reach this point, try a google search for "Lulu.com voucher code" and see what comes up.
With the 15% voucher, PB (including delivery to a UK address) should be £16.84; HB £27.04.
 |
| Oh yes, Jury Trials. I remember them. |
6 comments:
What is it with handbags? Why do people - I was about to say "women" but that's probably a hate crime - spend such vast amounts n handbags? And watches. Why do people - mostly bolkes - waste oodles on watches? Very odd behaviour, so it is.
I thought that you had no trees, mr i, up there in the sky. Do you get a log shipped in for the log-dragging game? Seems like a dubious tradition to me. Or did Johnny Viking out pillaging and plundering lug logs about for his festivities?
Conspicuous display of wealth, mr mongoose. Old brain behaviour to attract a mate - if you are a bloke, as you'd obviously make a great provider for offspring, what with your Rolex. The handbag, when given to a woman by a bloke, serves the same function of showing off your wealth, in addition to marking her as your property. When bought by the woman herself, it displays how wealthy her bloke has made her. A woman paying £600 out of her own money? Vanishingly improbable.
Trees, mr mongoose, vanished because of the Stromness Log Pull, amongst other factors. The activity was banned in 1937. Here's an extract from Bryce Wilson's book, Stromness: "The procedure was that on Christmas Eve a tree was obtained from a local garden, invariably without the owner’s consent – this being considered part of the fun – and then usually between eight and nine the prize was carried in triumph by a motley crowd of boys and young men to Jessie Leask’s corner in Graham Place. There chains, wire ropes, or ordinary stout ropes were fastened to the ends, and the trial of strength or tug of war began – the Southenders endeavouring to force the unwieldy prize to Ma Mumph’s Pier, while the Northenders strove to drag it to the New Pier. Once at the goal, with a great cheer, the tree was jettisoned in the water. Sometimes the tree was hauled down on the foreshore and burned. All shop windows and doors were stoutly barricaded, and lit only by flickering street lamps a riot of bodies, broken branches and ropes erupted up and down the main street to strident shouts of ‘North she goes’ and ‘South wae her’..”
The Log Pull was reintroduced in 2017, but the log – weighing almost half a tonne, is sourced from a Scottish sawmill.
I suspect your correct, Mrs I. Handbags are a fertility symbol. There is a good clip on Utube I came across by chance. The Chinese manufacturer of top luxury bags that sell for 2000 euros in the west, says it cost him 90 euros to make, and will sell direct. BTW he mentioned that it costs him as much as 90 to make because he uses premium leather and fastening.
2026 is shaping up to be epic: not just the wars and the Orange Narcissus. Its basic economics, and the chickens will come home to roost in the West.
Crikey, mrs i, if I tried to mark out mrs m as my property by affixing a handbag to her, she'd mark me out as an eejit by affixing a rolling-pin to me heid.
The game is up for 2TK, mr mike. He is swirling and rocking with every breeze that blows. The loals in May will destroy him. If he gets that far. If I was Mad Bad Farage, I'd issue a statement saying "By the way, all this bollocks from this day forward will be repealed the first day of a Reform government, and anyone setting foot n UK soil illegally from this moment forward will be instantly rounded up and deposited on HM Prison Territory West Falkland to await further processing. Likewise any UK citizen abetting any illegal entrant will be subject to incarceration at the same location for a period not less than ten years. That is all. Make Britain Great Again! Up the Arsenal!" What larks we'd have.
This is because both you and mrs mongoose are possessed of a functioning neo-cortex, rather than the mindlessandwealthy class driven by old brain desires to accumulate resources, territory, mate(s) and rub the noses of the less successful chimps in their failure in the gene game.
I don't know about these Western chickens, mr mike. Coming home to roost is generally a good idea, isn't it? Keeps them safe from the foxes roaming in the outer darkness.
Post a Comment