Some bloke just chose Robert FitzRoy as his specialist subject on Mastermind. I got ten answers right, which would have left me in joint-second place going into the general knowledge round. I’m kicking myself for not getting 12.
OK, OK, so I need to get out more!
I’m sorry, it’s only just occurred to me: have you ever seen Graham Norton and Jason Donovan in the same room?
We have a right to know.
Hey, has Clarkson been nicking my material?
Jen: Robbie Williams has done all right for himself, hasn’t he?
Me: Yes, he’s come a long way since Mork and Mindy.
Actually, Mork and Mindy was years ahead of its time: it is credited with making the first ever reference to nanu-technology.
I’ll get my coat.
I did my accounts the other day, but I couldn’t make them balance. I had £10.21 more than expected in the bank. It turned out I had received an unexpected electronic transfer credit from Amazon UK: my first referral payment for books and stuff I have mentioned on this website. Not bad, I suppose, considering I’m not exactly using hard-sell tactics. As promised, a cheque for £10.21 is now making its way to Amnesty International.
When I delved a bit deeper, I discovered that £9′s worth of the £10.21 was due to multiple sales of one book: Fossils, Finches and Fuegians by Richard Keynes. This was particularly pleasing because, not only is it an excellent book, but I received my copy free from the publishers. This website malarkey does occasionally have certain perks, you know.
But the really strange discovery, when I looked into my referrals history, was that I had earned a (very small) referral fee for a book I have never read nor mentioned on this site: Drums of Autumn by Diana Gabaldon, whose synopsis on Amazon goes as follows:
It began in Scotland, at an ancient stone circle. Claire Randall was swept through time into the arms of James Fraser whose love for her became legend—a tale of tragic passion that ended with her return to the present to bear his child. Two decades later, Claire travelled back again to reunite with Jamie, this time in frontier America. But Claire had left someone behind in her own time—their daughter Brianna. Now Brianna has made a disturbing discovery that sends her to the stone circle and a terrifying leap into the unknown. In search of her mother and the father she has never met, she risks her own future to try to change history—and to save their lives. But as Brianna plunges into an uncharted wilderness, a heartbreaking encounter may strand her forever in the past… or root her in the place she should be, where her heart and soul belong…
OK, you chaps, hands up who’s been reading historical romances.
See also: Fanny Cradock
Liverpool Echo: Gormley: I want statues to stay
Artist Antony Gormley has given the campaign to keep his iron men statues on Crosby beach a massive boost—by fully supporting the plans.
Mr Gormley told the Daily Post he thought making the beach the permanent home for the Another Place work was the “best future” for it.
It would be great if the statues could stay in Crosby: they have transformed an otherwise uninspiring beach into a truly wonderful experience (and a major tourist attraction).
See also: Slideshow of my photos of the statues
Postscript (09-Mar-2007): The statues are staying.
BBC: Mayor mulls bicycle number plates
Number plates for bicycles are being considered by the mayor [of London] in a bid to improve cycling standards. Ken Livingstone believes bicycles and their owners should be registered so that law-breakers can be caught…
Peter King, chief executive of British Cycling, said only a “tiny minority of cyclists” were at fault of flouting road regulations.
Yeah, right.
I can’t see how bike number plates could me made to work without compulsory insurance and licences for cyclists too, but that’s probably a damn good idea.
I dare say Irish Mick would disagree. Last week, I learnt that he is no longer Irish Mick, in that he is now living in Manchester. He’s got a new job with Sustrans, the sustainable transport (i.e. bike) charity as Co-ordinator of Rangers in the North of England—which is so Tolkienesque, I think I’m going to start calling him Strider.
Times: In the doghouse, the pensioner told to remove ‘offensive’ sign
For 32 years it prompted little more than a wry smile. But now a pensioner who has a sign on her garden gate warning Jehovah’s Witnesses that their presence could result in them being eaten by dogs has been ordered to take it down.
Hampshire police received a complaint that the notice outside Jean Grove’s cottage, which reads “Our dogs are fed on Jehovah’s Witnesses”, was “distressing, offensive and inappropriate”.
Apparently, it’s not seen as offensive and inappropriate to turn up uninvited at someone’s door and preach total bollocks at them. The last time it happened to us, Jen dealt with the Witnesses magnificently: she strung them along for several minutes, until they started talking about how lovely God had made the world, with all the animals and flowers and stuff:
“Why do you lot always go on about animals?” asked Jen. “What about all the people living in poverty in Africa? Why doesn’t God help them? Have they done something wrong?”
The Jehovah’s Witnesses said something along the lines of the Lord moves in mysterious ways, but added, yes, basically, the Africans must have done something wrong.
“The poor are always with us,” said Jen.
“Jesus said that!” chirped one of the Witnesses.
“I know he did, and he was bloody wrong!” said Jen, closing the door.
We never saw them again.
I walked past one of the cleaning ladies in the corridor at work today. “Good afternoon, John,” she said, cheerily.
“Good afternoon,” I replied, just as cheerily. I have long since given up trying to explain to her that my name is Richard.
“Hey, Mike, the cleaning lady just called me John again,” I said to a colleague, once the cleaning lady was out of earshot.
“She calls me Brian,” said Mike.
I know what’s been keeping you awake at night: did Stense try the chilli, crab and lemon spaghetti recipe I sent her last week, and what did she think of it? I know, I’ve been losing sleep over it too. This afternoon, I was relieved to receive the following endorsement via text message:
Did I tell you that the crab recipe was absolutely delicious? Thank you!
To which I replied:
No, you didn’t, but I already knew that, thanks!
Seriously, though, you should give some of the recipes a go some time. You’d be doing yourself a big favour. They have all been tried and tested by Yours Truly, they are all (therefore) pretty damn easy, and they are all extremely tasty. This evening, Jen and I had the spaghetti carbonara, and there were only two words to describe it: fan tastic!
Remember my London Irish rugby photos that, after an altercation with the Powers That Be, I encouraged all and sundry to make use of free of charge? Well, one of them has made it onto the Wikipedia Rugby Portal homepage.
That’ll do nicely.
Every so often, Carolyn sends me an incomprehensible text message. And she’s not even one of those tw@s who use stupid abbreviations; Carolyn spells and punctuates impeccably. Her latest effort went as follows (I have replaced certain numbers with x’s for privacy reasons):
None available round here. xxx/xxxx, xxx/xxxx, xxx/xxxx, xxx/xxxx, xxx/xxxx. Could you check in your area?
I phoned her back straight away. She burst out laughing when she heard who it was: “I take it you got my text message, then,” she said.
It turned out Carolyn wanted me to pick up some stuff for her at Argos. “It’s an absolute bargain,” she explained. “Don’t you think a combustion engine will make a great Christmas present for Aran? Well, for the Christmas after next, maybe?”
I suppose any kid who asked for a water butt for his birthday will be delighted with a combustion engine for Christmas. Even if he does have to wait for over a year.
Carolyn came second in her accidental trampolining competition. Apparently, during her second routine, she landed on one foot off her backdrop and they wouldn’t mark her after that, so she got a really bad score.
That’s ridiculous! Landing on one foot has got to be harder than landing on both. It stands to reason (no pun intended). I mean, if Tiger Woods had won the Open yesterday standing on one leg, we’d have said he was a genius. If Dago Maradona had hopped through the entire England defence beforehand, we might have stopped harping on about the Hand of God incident by now. If Jonny Wilkinson‘s last-second drop-goal to win the 2003 Rugby World Cup had been made without the use of his left leg, we’d have said it was the most amazing drop-kick ever.
It was a fix. Carolyn was robbed.
I had a good-old chin-wag on the phone with Stense on Friday. She told me she was going to a jazz concert being given by one of her friends.
So I took the opportunity to tell her about the Encore Game:
The Encore Game is a partial misnomer, because it can be played at any point during a music concert, not just during the encore. It is best played when the artist is between tracks, and is making polite banter with the audience. At such points, some pillock from the audience will usually call out the name of their favourite song by the artist, hoping that will in some way encourage them to play it. Other pillocks then usually join in. It’s all a bit embarrassing.
Anyway, as the calls begin to subside, you make your move, shouting out:
It always gets a laugh, and, on one of the occasions when I tried it, the Archdrude himself was good enough to admit that he didn’t know all of the words.
Important Note: Do not attempt to play the Encore Game at a Cliff Richard concert. People will just think you’re a pillock, rather than a postmodernist comic genius. Mind you, if they’re at a Cliff Richard concert, who are they to cast nasturtiums?
Hebden Bridge Times: Station Goes Off the Rails
Commuters at Mytholmroyd Rail Station watched in horror as a man injected himself with what appeared to be heroin in the middle of a busy platform.
Good job he didn’t light up a fag as well: he might have landed himself in real trouble.
A top photo is worth repeating…Flickr: Comments on Tiger Woods:
jonathonkirkham says:
The Police officer in the background is my dad. He’s acting as Tiger Woods’ Bodyguard, along with another officer, during the open at Hoylake.
New Scientist: This is no way to save the whales
For a graphic example of science being abused for political and sentimental ends look no further than the debate over whaling.
I’m not going to comment on the above article (the bulk of which is locked away behind a New Scientist, subscriber-only paywall), but cop a load of the author’s name: James (I kid you not) Hrynyshyn!
Do you see what he’s done? He’s taken his real surname (which is presumably some foreign equivalent of Harrison) and replaced all the vowels with the letter y. That is so totally cool.
Some time ago, I toyed with the idea of changing my name to Richaard Caarter in a sort of tribute to Søren Kierkegaard, but this idea with the ys is so much better:
Rychyrd Cyrtyr, just imagine that! Don’t you just love the (for want of a better word) Welshness of it?
Or is it just a tad too Lynyrd Skynyrd?
BBC: Hoylake ready for golfing glamour
…Hoylake, a former fishing village nestled on the Wirral peninsula, is playing host to the world’s best golfers and the 600 members of the media that follow them.
It is providing a profile boost that not even George Clooney can overshadow as Open play gets under way at the Royal Liverpool course for the first time since 1967.
There’s a perfectly simple explanation for ‘George Clooney’ having been spotted at the Open this week. You should be able to piece together the explanation yourselves after consulting the following stories from the Gruts archive:
I know it’s a hell of a claim, but I don’t think I’ve ever been quite so ashamed of a British government of any political persuasion:
BBC: Minister urged to condemn Israel
Margaret Beckett repeatedly rejected calls by MPs on all sides to condemn Israel’s actions in the Lebanon.
The foreign secretary said she had condemned Hezbollah but bowing to MPs’ demands on criticising Israel was not the most effective policy.
I’m sure Mrs Beckett would claim that condemning Israel for is blatant over-reaction in the Lebanon would make it harder for us to broker a peace deal in future. A peace deal is clearly of highest priority for Tony Blair and George W Bush: they have cleared their diaries for this time next week to have a chat about it. Anyone might think they were employing delaying tactics.
In the meantime, Israeli parents are getting their children to scrawl messages onto shells that will be fired into the Lebanon.
That should help a lot.
It must be great to have God on your side.
To what on earth is this once-great country coming?
Call me old-fashioned. Call me pedantic. I’m probably both. But this sort of thing goes some way to explaining how we managed to lose an entire sodding empire:
