A Final Word on the Subject...

We know no spectacle so ridiculous as the British public in one of its periodical fits of morality.

-Thomas B. Macaulay

A Final Word on the Subject...

We know no spectacle so ridiculous as the British public in one of its periodical fits of morality.

-Thomas B. Macaulay

Fall out from Thursday quizzing

This morning is passing so far in soft focus. Even wearing my glasses I can only just focus on the computer. I’m pretty sure that we overindulged at the pub last night, but as hangovers go, this is all rather warm and fluffy. I just wish it was warm and fluffy with me still in bed, getting a couple more hours of the old dreamless.

Unexpectedly I received a text from colonel_maxim, who is back in the country (I thought it was last week he was back, but I’ve been doing that a lot recently) and he turned up to the weekly quiz with motorpickle and Chris sans LJ in tow. We had a grand time involving rather too much alcohol and won handsomely, with 28 points from a possible 30. Nobody in the pub knew the name of the first pop star to sing for the Pope¹ and not one of us on the team can recall ever watching the movie Jerry Maguire so knowing the name of a character in it was not going to happen. Still, we won! Sadly the old 20% curse hit and once again I picked the wrong envelope, so the jackpot, now at a cool £1,000 rolls over to next week. Again. The pub manager has decided to peg the jackpot at £1,000 and all further monies coming into the quiz are being held to build up a second prize fund so that when the current one is finally won, it will not re-set to about £50 as it has done in the past.

Not a complete bust, however as we still have a £25 bar tab for next week and it looks as though Furtle and I will have the pleasure of motorpickle and Chris’ company for a second week in succession.

The past two mornings a new and strange entity has been haunting my Tube journey. I do not yet have a name for him, but yesterday he was listening to a portable CD player and alternately singing tunelessly to it and tapping his feet loudly in the sort of rhythm more suited to avoiding the attentions of Giant Sandworms on Dune rather than providing a beat to any sort of earthly music. Today he was muttering to himself and indulging in periodic exclamations of surprise or delight. Something is clearly poorly wired in the melon, but he seems harmless enough. I have been very English about the whole thing on each occasion and pretended to be asleep. Let other people deal with the nutter, I say.

¹Gloria Estefan, apparently.

Fall out from Thursday quizzing

This morning is passing so far in soft focus. Even wearing my glasses I can only just focus on the computer. I’m pretty sure that we overindulged at the pub last night, but as hangovers go, this is all rather warm and fluffy. I just wish it was warm and fluffy with me still in bed, getting a couple more hours of the old dreamless.

Unexpectedly I received a text from colonel_maxim, who is back in the country (I thought it was last week he was back, but I’ve been doing that a lot recently) and he turned up to the weekly quiz with motorpickle and Chris sans LJ in tow. We had a grand time involving rather too much alcohol and won handsomely, with 28 points from a possible 30. Nobody in the pub knew the name of the first pop star to sing for the Pope¹ and not one of us on the team can recall ever watching the movie Jerry Maguire so knowing the name of a character in it was not going to happen. Still, we won! Sadly the old 20% curse hit and once again I picked the wrong envelope, so the jackpot, now at a cool £1,000 rolls over to next week. Again. The pub manager has decided to peg the jackpot at £1,000 and all further monies coming into the quiz are being held to build up a second prize fund so that when the current one is finally won, it will not re-set to about £50 as it has done in the past.

Not a complete bust, however as we still have a £25 bar tab for next week and it looks as though Furtle and I will have the pleasure of motorpickle and Chris’ company for a second week in succession.

The past two mornings a new and strange entity has been haunting my Tube journey. I do not yet have a name for him, but yesterday he was listening to a portable CD player and alternately singing tunelessly to it and tapping his feet loudly in the sort of rhythm more suited to avoiding the attentions of Giant Sandworms on Dune rather than providing a beat to any sort of earthly music. Today he was muttering to himself and indulging in periodic exclamations of surprise or delight. Something is clearly poorly wired in the melon, but he seems harmless enough. I have been very English about the whole thing on each occasion and pretended to be asleep. Let other people deal with the nutter, I say.

¹Gloria Estefan, apparently.

Fud

Mungry.

I wasn’t a few minutes ago, but now I am. I just wandered over to the tea point to recharge my coffee mug for the next half hour or so before lunch and I was confronted by the sight of a bloke carefully – nay, painstakingly building a baguette. This looked to be a work of art in the making and he was layering on Parma Ham. I couldn’t see past him to see what other goodies there were to be applied to this morsel. Perhaps they were still in the fridge. I hope there’s cheese, and not cheddar (worthy though it is); something hard and fruity – a berkswell, perhaps, with a little cress or rocket to finish it off.

Me stomick’s rumbling…

Fud

Mungry.

I wasn’t a few minutes ago, but now I am. I just wandered over to the tea point to recharge my coffee mug for the next half hour or so before lunch and I was confronted by the sight of a bloke carefully – nay, painstakingly building a baguette. This looked to be a work of art in the making and he was layering on Parma Ham. I couldn’t see past him to see what other goodies there were to be applied to this morsel. Perhaps they were still in the fridge. I hope there’s cheese, and not cheddar (worthy though it is); something hard and fruity – a berkswell, perhaps, with a little cress or rocket to finish it off.

Me stomick’s rumbling…

E-mail error ends up on road sign

The BBC website brings us this marvellous cockup from Swansea.

All road signs in Wales are bilingual. Can you guess what's wrong with this residential road sign? Have a guess before you read the article!


"It's good to see people trying to translate but they should really ask for expert help" - Dylan Iorwerth, Golwg magazine

E-mail error ends up on road sign

The BBC website brings us this marvellous cockup from Swansea.

All road signs in Wales are bilingual. Can you guess what's wrong with this residential road sign? Have a guess before you read the article!


"It's good to see people trying to translate but they should really ask for expert help" - Dylan Iorwerth, Golwg magazine