Gruts

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Portent

Driving to work shortly before sunrise this morning, I saw the most spectacular shooting star I've ever seen.

If there is anything at all in astrology, then this must surely be a starry messenger. Something big was about to go down.

And then it did:

BBC: Cold weather cools Cadbury sales
A wet summer has put the dampers on drinks sales at the world's biggest confectionery group, Cadbury Schweppes. Its European drinks business was hit by the rain and cold, forcing the group to lower its expectations for profits this year. Cadbury, which sells 7UP, Dr Pepper and Orangina, was particularly hit by poor sales in France and Spain.

Who'd have thought it? The fortunes of the company whose great chocolate rival brought us Mars and Milky Way bars foretold by a shooting star. Who says God doesn't do irony? Mark my words, it's the dawn of a new era.

…But hang on a second. Perhaps I'm wrong. Perhaps the shooting star of doom was foretelling this:

BBC: Prince Harry set for army career
Prince Harry will join the Army in early 2005 after passing his Sandhurst entrance exams, Clarence House has said. Obstacle courses, medicals and planning exercise were included in the Regular Commissions Board four-day test. The 20-year-old, who is third in line to the throne, will begin training to be an officer after taking up his place.

…or this:

BBC: Thousands of creatures washed up
Thousands of jellyfish-like creatures have been washed ashore the south Wales coastline. The Velella velella, which is also known as the 'By-the-wind-sailor' looks similar to jellyfish but is actually a colonial hydroid. Strong winds and recent stormy weather has meant that thousands of the creatures have been washed onto beaches in south Wales.

…or this or this or this:

That's the problem with interpreting portents retrospectively (which is something all the best astrologers seem really good at): how does one decide which 'predicted' event to choose?

See also:

Sign of the times

Richard Madley on this evening's Richard & Judy:

Coming up after the break: everything you need to know about surviving a dirty bomb.

Easy Ryder

BBC: H O L Y B L O O D Y S H I T E ! ! !
Europe's golfers totally snotted the good ol' U.S. of A in the 35th Ryder Cup this evening. Final score (in case you missed it):

USA 9½–18½ Europe

George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, Bill Gates, John Wayne, Walt Disney, Richard Feynman, Britney Spears, Quentin Tarantino, Raquel Welch, Davy Crockett, Buzz Aldrin, Malcolm in the Middle, Joe DiMaggio, Arthur Miller, the Magnificent Seven, Bruce Springsteen, George Peppard, Burt Lancaster, Marilyn Monroe, Elvis Presley… CAN YOU HEAR US? Your boys took one hell of a beating!

Looooo-seeeeeers! Looooooooooo-seeeeeers!

(I paraphrase.)

Puppet President

Cards on the table time: I don't like President George W Bush. I don't like him at all. In fact, to be brutally honest, I think he's a dangerous, ill-intentioned buffoon, and any American considering voting for him later this year is an asshat.

But that's quite enough shrewd political commentary for the time being; what I want to talk about is President George W Bush's walk.

I have a very simple question:

Is it just my imagination, or has the most powerful man on the planet got a totally mincey walk?

Dictionary.com: mince
v. intr: To walk with very short steps or with exaggerated primness.

Just look at him the next time he's on telly: he moves like a bloody Thunderbirds puppet. He holds his arms slightly raised, and swings them totally out of synch with his legs—legs with which he takes ridiculously short (and, it has to be said, prim) steps. He looks completely stupid. It's embarrassing to watch.

In other words, not only can't George W talk the talk, he can't even walk the walk.

(I'm really not making this up, I promise. Just watch him.)

…Oh, yes, and while I'm at it, has anyone else noticed that the UK Chancellor of the Exchequer, Gordon Brown, always talks as if he's trying to prevent a Fox's Glacier Mint from popping out of his mouth?

Domesticated

Stense recently moved into the very first house of her own. Until then, she had lived in numerous rented accommodations. This evening, we had a big chin-wag on the phone about this and that, and I started telling her about Jen's and my plans for our own home:

Me: …And then we're going to knock through into the dining room and… Bloody hell, Stense, I can't believe I'm actually talking to you about home improvement!
Stense: And I can't believe I'm actually finding it interesting!

Ms Fitz

Fitz and Ms Fitz

My bald friend Fitz tied the knot yesterday. He married a lady known to me as Moley, although it turns out most other people call her Madeleine (which is a damn stupid nickname for someone named Moley, if you ask me).

My role was official photographer (weddings, bar mitzvahs, and chicks with spoons on their noses a speciality). Shown above is a snap I took on my digital camera towards the end of proceedings (you can tell, can't you?). The proper photos were captured on good, old-fashioned, reliable film—a bit Twentieth Century maybe, but still superior to digital for a couple of years yet, I reckon. Besides, I know what I'm doing with film (I hope!)

I suppose, now she's married to Fitz, Moley will have to be referred to as Ms Fitz, as in social Ms Fitz.

Conversation with Jen

J: What are you doing?
R: I'm writing an item about St Herman.
J: I could have been a long time trying to guess that one.

Patron Saints

As an unabashed atheist, I suppose I shouldn't have much time for so-called saints (many of whom were far from saintly), but I must admit that the devout sceptic in me always had something of a soft spot for St Thomas (of Doubting fame).

If ever we sceptics deserved a patron saint, then St Thomas would surely be our man: "You tell me Jesus has risen from the dead," said Thom to his colleagues. "Well I'm not buying it until I see some hard evidence." What a guy!

Anyhow, I only mention patron saints because yesterday I came across the following item on the BBC News website:

Religious legacy lives on in Alaska

The Russian Orthodox church in Alaska is claiming a resurgence in a faith that most people predicted would die out. When Russia sold Alaska to America for $7.2m in 1867 it left little trace on the state—except its religion.

Speeding across calm blue waters we head with pilgrims from around the world towards one of the Russian Orthodox Church's most holy places. But this is not Russia - it's Alaska.

Spruce Island, off Alaska's south coast, was made famous by St Herman, America's first Orthodox saint.

He and other monks brought orthodoxy to Alaska in 1794, several decades after the Russians conquered this land…

I must admit, I was fascinated to learn that there is a strong(ish) Russian Orthodox church presence in the northernmost of the United States—but not nearly as fascinated as I was to learn that there is actually a St Herman (actually, it turns out there are several). What a totally cool name! And a quick Google image search revealed that St Herman was a bit of a dapper dude.

Awesome beard, Herm! From now on, you're joining my (small) personal collection of patron saints.

Every atheist should have one.

Conversation with Jen

J: You're a really cheerful chappie, aren't you?
R: Yes, I suppose I am.
J: I could never live with a miserable bastard.
R: It isn't easy, believe me.

Better late than never

I was going through some old letters to Stense yesterday, when I came across the following, written on 1st August, 1996:

She is supposed to be taking me out for a Chinese meal next week, to make up for the birthday present she never bought me.

The she in question was Carolyn, and guess what? She never did take me out for that Chinese meal!

The way I look at, Carolyn still owes me a 31st-birthday slap-up meal. And what with the interest that will have accrued over the last eight years, I will feel totally justified in ordering crispy duck pancakes.