Arse from Elbow

I nearly blogged yesterday, but all I had to say was that it rained for about a quarter of an hour in the evening - although that was big news.

I'm a constant gardener - I keep moving plants around, my plants could never be bored, but on the other hand they never get to just relax into where they are either.

The Iranian election is interesting - mostly in that they have such things and that the female people are allowed to vote. None of the candidates are women of course, but in any case, as we saw in Israel, even when a woman actually wins, she often doesn't get to form a government.
So, there appears to be a reformist candidate, but oddly, he looks like a cleric, and in fact, IS a cleric. He's unlikely to win.
There's a moderate, who could possibly win, unless the ballots are rigged. Of course, that would be very unlikely to happen, wouldn't it?
There's another candidate who isn't in the running it seems, and then there's our old friend A Mad, Bad, Jihad, who keeps threatening Israel, enriching uranium and just generally being a twat.
We should know tomorrow.

Apparently, many British people don't know where their vital organs are - not because they've mysteriously misplaced them, but because they couldn't place them on a diagram of the body. I find this quite astonishing, since it seemed a bit of a no-brainer, if you'll pardon the pun, hopefully they'd all know where that is, but really, unless these Britons happen to be doctors, and even then, probably only if they happen to be surgeons, I'm not sure it's too much of a problem. So long as you know where your mouth and arse are, you shouldn't get into too much trouble most days.

Envy and Embarrassment

Last night's writers' group was at Bozo5's place. Now I am a big, BIG fan of the balconies around my own house, if they weren't around my house, I'd be dead jealous of them, especially now that we have our Ikea over-the-balcony-rail drop-down table.
But Bozo's balcony is something to be envied too. The view is heart stopping - as you can see - and he has totally wicked neighbours.
WHAT? I deliberately didn't use out-of-date word 'awesome' so that I could use out-of-date word 'wicked'.
His neighbours apparently sit out on their balcony and harass passers-by with poochies who look as though they aren't picking up after them. He mentioned this since that was what I was doing at the time. Not pooping, you understand, but harassing a passer-by with a pooch who had assumed the position.
Bozo also lent me a book, retrieved from his lock-up that he'd been back to England and cleared out, thus a one that couldn't be sent to recycling. (Been there, done that, it's harsh).
One of those books that I'd always been meaning to read and yet somehow never had. And instantly addictive it is, just from the style of writing and the quirky lower middle-class life it depicts.
Jeanette Winterson's 'Oranges are not the Only Fruit'. So far, so bloody brilliant.

How embarrassing is this?
Whichever one of us at work who does the meet, greet and seat for the programme, looks at the book on her way out, finds out the teacher's name and then tells the other who's already over there.
'Teacher's called Mrs. Simpleton,' hisses assistant J.
'No way,' say I, or something similar (and out-of-date).
'I know, but that IS what she's called, no doubt about it,' then there follows a short, whispered convo about embarrassing names, J knew someone from school with such a name, but couldn't remember what the name was.
Then the teacher came with my group and I couldn't bring myself to call her Mrs. Simpleton, although at one point I had to say her name, but managed to avoid it thereafter.

When I got back to the office, I looked at the book. Mrs. Singleton was her name. It turned out that J had forgotten to look, asked the teacher, and misheard.
I was so embarrassed, I rang the school and asked to speak to her. The secretary couldn't find her but asked if she could take a message.
'Well here's my dilemma,' I said, 'see if you can make it into a message.' I swear she was pissing herself at the end of the 'phone.

Eventually the teacher herself rang back, said she hadn't even noticed and that it has happened to her before. She enjoyed the programme very much. She was also pissing herself.
Just as well really.

Obambi Steps

We went, we saw, we didn't conquer.
I think I was expecting Obambi's New America to have totally changed since our last visit. Maybe there were some changes. It was certainly a good time to cross the border. Canadians now have to have passports to cross, although I thought that had happened last year.
We were behind two people trying to get in on an expired Korean passport. They were sent back. The office I have to go into to get my visa waiver form had a new fingerprinting machine.
'Forefinger,' said the man, I placed my forefinger on the machine.
'No, four fingers,' said Kevin, who had been listening more carefully, and not simply hearing what has always been said in the past.
We had to go to the end of the room to pay our six dollars. The two men sitting there just ignored us. I thrust six bucks at them, plus my form, and they managed to complete the transaction whilst still totally ignoring us.

The weather was hot, sunny, hot again, but I managed to swim twice so life was sweet.

I bought some yoghurt that had a space on the pot for you to write how you were going to re-use and re-use and re-use it, before recycling.

Obambi steps to a brave, cleaner, new America.

Weekend Update

Weekend Update without the SNL humour, sadly.

First trip across the border of the year. The weather is a bit more bearable at the moment, probably hovering around 20°, a great improvement over the 30+ of the past week.

Yes, I know, the US/Canadian border crossing looks nothing like Hadrian's Wall, but ... you know what I mean.

High Dudgeon

One of the consolations of having been treated shittily, is the right to be in High Dudgeon. I am honing it, perfecting it, and getting the most possible mileage from it, because it's time-limited. High Dudgeon can only last so long before it becomes counter-productive.

The heat now is suffocating. Even the slight breeze is only shifting warm air around. The afternoon programme children wilt.

I have been to a meeting to discuss same-sex blessings. It seems that two people will leave the church if we continue to discuss it. So, put another way, censor yourselves or we walk. Oh, shucks, close the door behind you please.
I seriously can't believe that people are even allowed to spew this bigotry, oh yes, make no mistake, I want to censor bigotry.
But then I was criticised for referring to bigots as bigots. A bit harsh apparently. I consider it a human rights issue, so, like I said, close the door on your way out.

Afterwards, I had to go to a meeting with the folks who prematurely terminated my contract. Back home, if someone stabs you in the back, they at least have the decency to be unable to look you in the eye. These folks were all puppy dog eyes and 'take care,' type remarks, except the one person who didn't know, and his jaw dropped open and stayed there.

Bizarrely, sitting on my desk, is the latest programme evaluation, 'the children loved the performance,' it said, 'the actors were excellent.'
Partly, I wanted to feel the swell of praise, and partly I wondered whether they thought we really did engage actors, and that when we changed out of our costumes and then came back in as ourselves, pretending to be late because of the bus, they believed us.
Cynic that I am.

I think High Dudgeon may last a while longer, then I'll start my sulk, it's bad for my blood pressure, but rather good for my writing, and let's face it, I'm going to have to write a damn fine CV soon.

Flaming June

The heatwave continues.
Today two classes came in from Maple Ridge, about an hour and a half drive each way and I imagine those kiddies will sleep well tonight.

The whole sorry mess of MPs resigning over expenses is so very British. We are a great nation for falling on our swords. On the one hand, I do agree with Stephen Fry's comments that MPs fiddling their expenses doesn't really say anything about their ability to do their jobs. And then, there has been a growing culture of thinking that expenses are a perk of the job, and pressure to 'expense' things.
When my sister worked for a large London company, quite a few years back now, she was made to feel that she was letting the side down because she submitted too little in expenses.
Compare that with the post-war Labour leader and Prime Minister, Clement Attlee, who had to take a cab home from a late sitting of parliament one night, after public transport had stopped running, and paid for it himself, being unwilling to expect the British taxpayer to pay for a taxi.

But these are the times we live in. It's like a purge and, whilst I don't really blame the MPs who have stepped down, it's quite wonderful to know that there are so many who have not played that game, and that those who have are honourable enough to do the right thing.

We live in interesting times.

Are Baboons Evil? : Part Deux

On the random occasions that I remember to look at my site stats, I find that there are still people being sent here because they have searched for an answer to the age-old question,
'Are baboons evil?'
OK, well, maybe not age-old, relatively recent in fact, but I thought I'd go for more of an answer than just,
'I saw this on Grahame Norton.'

Well, here's the thing, I wrote a philosophical argument, debating what the definition of 'evil' might be, then the definition of 'good', then discussing whether baboons had intention or not, greatly enjoying getting back to my philosophical roots.

But I had forgotten two things.

Firstly, that several people who are not me read this, although at least two of them might be grateful for something that would put them to sleep, and secondly, even if baboons were capable of being evil, and the concept of evil were definable, in order to definitively answer the question 'are baboons evil?' ALL baboons would have to be either evil or not.
Thus, 'are humans evil?' elicits the answer,
'Well, they bloody well can be, and most of us are evil in some small way at some time, but most of us, most of the time, are not really.'

SO that's my answer.

At Schloss Schneewittchen, changes are afoot. My contract will end on the 30th June, and then I will be unemployed for at least the summer. The organisation for whom I work has run out of money, and this in spite of our bookings having increased significantly since last year. But...they have been operating at a loss for some time now and they have to stop and take stock.

Discussions have been ongoing throughout May. I know several people who have been through similar experiences and they generally speak with empathy when addressing the situation.
Kevin, of course, has been amazingly, brilliantly supportive, but there's always, ALWAYS one cretin isn't there? One krazy person who doesn't get it, who just says the most inappropriate thing possible.

The to and fro was wrapped up on Friday evening, over 'appies' in White Spot. This isn't some kind of precursor to a wasting disease, but actually a rather nice restaurant chain.
My assistant Joanna and I had lunch at a White Spot restaurant quite recently, on our way to an afternoon meeting. As we paid our bills, I thanked the server for not calling us 'you guys' at all during the meal.
'Oh, it's part of our training,' she said, 'so many people complained about it,' which is wonderful, because several people I know make it seem like it's something I, personally have invented.
And we were appropriately addressed, as one might now expect, in the White Spot yesterday evening.

Kevin and I went to dinner at another restaurant, and at the end of the meal, I likewise, was able to thank our server for not addressing us as 'you guys.'
'Well,' he said, 'it's not appropriate to address people like that, and besides, we have had a lot of complaints about it,' which was a nice message.

Today, I have pottered with my pots and read Bill Bryson's 'Shakespeare', which is a mightily enjoyable read. I have learnt that the average consumption of beer in London during Wagger-Dagger's time was a gallon a day (a PROPER gallon, not a U.S. one!) except for the better off, who consumed wine instead.

I'm not a twitterer, in any sense of the word really, but my friend sent me an article on some activity they currently have in the community, to reduce a famous book to 140 characters or fewer,

"Samuel Beckett's Waiting For Godot is condensed to: "Vladimir and Estragon stand next to tree and wait for Godot. Their status is not updated." "

Love it.

4 : 1

We've fallen into lotus eating. After a long, cool spring, we're now in a phoney summer, a drôle d'été, long, hot days, seamlessly spilling over into the next.

Yesterday evening, I met a couple of quite fabulous women at my church. They were from Kansas City and had been staying in and visiting Seattle, and had come to visit our church because they had heard that it was very friendly. Five of us had a lovely, womanly evening.

From Seattle, down a bit to Oregon, I met a man and his daughter from that State. I had to show them one of the trails. The man thought that Obambi was breathing fresh air into the country, but he said his parents thought he was ruining the country. Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.

Carol Ann Duffy spoke at the Hay-on-Wye book festival today. In fact, she spoke to my other favourite poet, Gillian Clarke.

I started reading the Bill Bryson book about Shakespeare today, it has been in my 'to read' pile for over a year now, since Kevin finished it. Within two pages, food for thought. The picture of the Bard on which all other pictures are based, well...it seems no-one actually knows whether it is he or not. It's like a Will Shakespeare avatar.

I have just finished reading the third of Pat Barker's First World War books, 'The Ghost Road'. I enjoyed the first, Regeneration, the second, 'The Eye in the Door' was even better, and the final one was a masterpiece. I have been stunned at the facile review comments on the front of two of the books saying they are 'anti-war'.
In this final book of the trilogy, Barker weaves the memory of one of the main characters through his present day (ie First World War)experiences. He was studying a group of islanders who were formerly part of a headhunting society. White missionaries have put an end to the practice because the population was being wiped out by it. And yet, the people, now that they were no longer allowed to make war, seemed to be lacking in energy, in motivation, they were dying slowly and fertility was inexplicably compromised.

The other main character, who get sent back to France for the fourth time, is offered a job in England that would mean he didn't have to go. He turns it down, but says to his friend, that in a few weeks he would be sitting in a trench, regretting that decision. Yet when the time comes that he is sitting in that trench, he is keenly aware that he is glad he came back.
Fabulous books.

Odds and Sods

Alice Munroe, GREAT Canadian author, has been awarded the international Booker prize. She bloody well deserves it too, she's a fantastic writer.

I decided that 'phone etiquette had improved. When I first started at the Park, we used to have to ask people before every programme, to turn their 'phones to silent, and they still went off all the time.
Now, we no longer even mention them and they are rarely a problem.
But today, in the middle of the play, a 'phone went off, playing a loud bangra tune. We pretended to dance to it, but then the woman answered it, and had a conversation in some Asian language in a normal speaking voice, so we had to get louder and louder.
No bloody manners some people.

Bozo5 told me an anecdote yesterday that was really fairly simple, but the visual has made me chuckle several times today.
When he lived in London, he was on the tube in the rush hour. If you've never been on the London Underground in rush hour, it's quite interesting to see the British all squashed up against one another, but still keeping their own space. You try not to breathe, you make no eye contact, you hope that isn't someone who's pleased to see you, whilst also hoping it's not a gun in their pocket.
The train came to a grinding halt.
Standing near Bozo5 was a woman in full burqa. An announcement came over the PA to say that they would be delayed for a little longer, and a voice came from the burqa, in full-on East-end accent, 'Bloody Hell!'
Humorously dissonant.

So...California has upheld the ban on same-sex marriage. I don't even begin to see how that can be constitutionally lawful, since the US constitution, not to mention, according to the one dissenting Judge, Justice Carlos Moreno, the Californian one, claims to promise equality. How the hell does that work?

Still on matters Stateside, Obambi has appointed a woman to the position of Supreme court Judge. Well done Obambi, because yesterday on the radio, some black man was talking who had been elected mayor of some city in the States against, seemingly, all odds, and yet he still used horribly sexist language when speaking about it. Pillock.

On Reaper tonight, part of which was very obviously shot in Gastown, underneath the steam clock, Sam had to challenge the Devil to something he was good enough at to win.
'We all have something we're good at,' said Steve, former demon.
But think about it, have you got anything you're good enough at that you could beat the Devil at it?
Hmmm...food for thought.

Weight or Wait?

Damned fine weekend, much plant related activity, sunshine and margaritas on the balcony.

I've discovered from the BBC's website, that people who are overweight in their forties, are likely to be frail in their old age. That's right, people. The study, however, was conducted on 1,000 men. That's right, men. So, back to that whole guys things. Men, or guys = people. WRONG!!! Especially when it comes to weight, since it has LONG been established that weight patterns in women are different and have far different consequences.

On our TV, the conservative party - and bear in mind there is no election on the cards yet - are so worried about the possibility of Michael Ignatieff getting elected, that they are already running an advertising campaign that goes along the lines of, 'Ignatieff, is he just visiting?'
See, here's the thing, Michael Ignatieff, now leader of the liberal party (read not quite as far right as the Tories) has spent time in the UK and the States, writing, broadcasting, learning about politics and generally, how other people operate. So you might think he'd be a fine representative for the country in the international arena. Maybe even a Statesman.

So, just visiting or the second coming? He could be our saviour ;)

The BBC has an interesting article by Clive James. I don't really get the point he is making about the lack of western feminist commentary on some eastern issues. But he makes some other very valid points.
It IS a fantastic step forward that there are now four female MPs in Kuwait, that rape is no longer governmentally sanctioned in Iraq, and something that I was personally made aware of, that in Burma, the democratically elected woman, Aung San Suu Kyi has been imprisoned for years by the all-male military junta.

Consequences

It's like a game of consequences.

So, Obambi is having a bit of strife persuading the fellow Americans to bankroll his closing down of Guantanamo. Not too daft, since he doesn't appear to have a plan. On the CBC radio station they said,
'President Obama said nothing about the one Canadian being held there.'

Rrrright.

Seriously, why would he, whilst making his case to Congress about why G'tmo needs to be closed, stop and mention one Canadian?
PARTICULARLY...since that Canadian seems to have been fighting on the other side. Now, I may be mis-remembering here, and I sure as hell can't be arsed to go and look it up, but on my immigration application, somewhere in the same section where I had to assure them I hadn't committed genocide, I'm pretty sure I had to also declare that I hadn't been involved in any military action hostile to Canada.
So....does this guy, for guy it is, really even COUNT as Canadian any more?

Meanwhile, a local school has angered the Jewish community by using a handout which referred to Hamas as 'not a terrorist group as designated by the Canadian government...'

Rrrrright.....

Yeah, see, I think the continual bombings by Hamas since their inception in 1987 and their declared intention to destroy the State of Israel, pretty much defines them as a terrorist organisation.

I see that Jonathan Ross is in the shit again.
Stupid wanker.

And the Church of Scotland are having a paddy about a gay minister, whom THE MAJORITY OF THE CONGREGATION SUPPORT. But a handful of them didn't know he was gay.

Rrright.

Give it up, seriously, give it up. You have NO IDEA whatsoever how large a percentage of the clergy are gay. If we didn't have gay clergy, we wouldn't bloody well have any.

May, Schmay

The Lent Meditation group has continued since Easter, but circumstances have conspired to stop me from going, not to mention that the whole meetings schedule has been ferocious. But tonight, I made it there, and I came out feeling so calm and peaceful.

Unlike yesterday evening, when I had to raise my voice at people. I don't take kindly to being told at a meeting that I need to be sensitive to other people's bigotry - not in so many words you understand, but that was the meaning.

A new TV series starring Jane Lynch, 'Glee', the opening line, having watched some teenagers do an athletic and ultimately stupid gymnastic display, Lynch's character shouts at them,
'You think this is hard? Try being waterboarded, that's hard.' Eh - you had to be there....and see the expression on her face.
The programme seems like fun.
Still, insufficient Lynch.

What is it about May? We have had four birthdays at work and there are only six of us. Tomorrow would have been my mum's birthday and next week is my daughter's. Perhaps the question should be, what is it about August?

I can't believe the Eurovision Song Contest trundles on. But more than that, I can't believe the Norwegians. Blogger Heidi Stephens' writing on the ridiculous contest seem both clever and funny, but Norway was not amused. A cynic might say they've never met a Norwegian who was.
Not me though.

I love this quote from Maryanne Williamson,

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us most. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and famous?' Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that people won't feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in all of us. And when we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

Tequila

A tequila afternoon - Margaritas. It had to be done.

Kevin, aware that this type of afternoon would come, had purchased tequila two weeks ago. You'd be amazed at how much you can pay for a bottle of distilled cactus juice. I imagine if you've paid $80 for a bottle, you're not going to be making Margaritas from it.

Tomorrow we have a bank holiday for Queen Victoria's birthday, God bless you ma'am.

An extra day's lie-in. Lovely.

Rise of the Lycans

Just one question :-
Lycan or Vampire?

On the one hand you have the whole painful changing thing, on the other, the not being able to go out in the sun thing.

Vampires have goth music, Lycans have metal.

Vampires have the cool long, black coats, Lycans have a lot of leather, Vamps too sometimes.

Vamps get to drink blood, Lycans rip raw meat apart.

Tough choice huh?

Greenday seem to have a new album - sounds pretty good.
Glad we've got that settled.

Ant and Dec

There have been a couple of times recently when I have had occasion to watch acts from 'Britain's got Talent' on YouTube. There was the Scots woman with the eyebrows and the voice, and this week, a boy with a girl's voice, not a ladyboy exactly, but it shut that Simon Cowell up.
But here's the thing, both times, I've noticed Ant and Dec sculling around in the wings. Why? What's that about? Shouldn't Ant and Dec have been allowed to fade away? They were only ever perky lads with regional accents, their only talent. To be honest, they do seem like the kind of likely lads who would be found sculling somewhere improbable.
Great work if you can get it.

Great line from Kenneth on 30 Rock.
'Science was my most favouritest subject, especially the Old Testament.'

The South up North

Today we had Americans. We welcomed a group of disadvantaged teenagers from an island that is part of Alaska. They thought our different coloured notes of money were cool, they thought our trees were cool (they don't have trees on their island). When I told them the peat in the bog was about three metres in depth they asked how many feet that was. When it started to rain, the temperature only 10º and several had left their jumpers and coats on the bus, instead of fussing round them, their teachers just shrugged, and I thought, well, it's probably warm to them.
They are driving down to Seattle on Friday to get their flight back, and we advised to leave plenty of time for crossing the border. This will be the first long weekend that many people will be going south to shop, or open up their RVs for the summer, or whatever it is people in these parts go south for.

This week is 'Bike to Work Week', though I'm not sure where. Kevin, who always cycles to work, noticed yesterday, an increased level of hostility from motorists. Guilt, I suppose, makes people hostile to others.

This morning's Bee Programme highlighted that point that Sherryl Kleinman made about some sexism being about status.
Since I am on first, Joanna brings the class in and settles them. She asks the teacher to wear a tiara and play the part of the Queen Bee. But today's teacher was a man. I could hear her confusion, 'er, the queen, er, king I suppose...' she said. I was trying to send her telepathic messages along the lines of, 'it's called acting,' and 'almost all the bees in the hive bar a few are female...' The teacher was completely cool with being the Queen, but Joanna was worried about asking a man to play a female role, even though in the play, she herself plays a male role, Darwin the Drone.
And that's Kleinman's point. Female is seen as lower status than male, and we constantly reinforce that.

"In my heart, I think a woman has two choices: either she's a feminist or a masochist."
—Gloria Steinem

So right Gloria, so right.

Hugs

Ah, out of the mouths of bears....

Provincial Elections today. I don't get to vote. Early results seem to be tending towards the status quo.
An aptly named band.

I'm not saying I'm unduly influenced by auto suggestion, but I now have aubergines and something approaching lollo rosso in my balcony garden. Oh alright, I'm just a flagrant copycat.

The Canucks, Vancouver's hockey team, are now out of the Stanley Cup. I found it thus rather surprising that the flag thingies you put on your car, are still available in the shops, overly priced at $15. Bizarre.

On TV this week, series finale after finale. I was amused that a psychiatric hospital in House had the same name as Mayhem. Soon, we'll be able to catch up on films and suchlike.

Today, at the end of a programme, two kids just spontaneously hugged me. I had forgotten that kids do that. Mayhem was - and still is - a school where a lot of shit goes on, it's a hard environment for all concerned, but there were a lot of great kids too, and a lot of hugging.

A Mere Trifle

A mere trifle that Kevin constructed for Canadian Mother's Day for his ma.

It is still Sleepy's birthday in our corner of Canadia, so viel Glück zum Geburtstag friend!

On the radio, on the way home tonight, the bloke said, 'Get your friends who live in Toronto to rent out their houses for 10K during the Olympics, because there are thousands of people around the world who don't know how much distance there is between Toronto and Vancouver.'
Nice one.

Death and Taxes

"I can honestly say that I was never affected by the question of the success of an undertaking. If I felt it was the right thing to do, I was for it regardless of the possible outcome."
—Golda Meir

I'm with Ms. Meir on that.

I find the idea of an unclean animal quite komisch. I mean, when I consider the small number of animals I am prepared to actually eat set against the large number of species in the world, it is small, but I'm happy to have them co-exist nonetheless. I even get the whole Hindu sacred cow thing. Sacred animal, don't eat it, fair enough.
But the Muslim pre-occupation with pigs.....

In the whole of Afghanistan, apparently, they have just one pig, named 'Pig' in Pashto, and I'm sure we all remember from the Kite Runner, that Pashtos are looked down on anyway.

So Khanzir is in the zoo at Kabul, but now, he has to be hidden away from view, because such is the ignorance, probably owing to a dearth of pigs, that if viewed, people will fall ill and die of swine flu.
I'm not sure where the pig could have contracted the virus but then I bet we all know people who think like that. Say 'swine' and they will construct their own story, irrespective of whatever else you have said.
That must be one lonely pig.

In BC, a political candidate has gotten himself into a bit of strife over his campaign slogan, in which he claims, 'I pay taxes'. Well, good man, don't we all. Well don't we?
Ah, no, see his opponent is a First Nations man, and they...well don't pay taxes. Oops.

Meanwhile, that tax money is being put to fine use.
A medical expert in the Robert Dziekanski case - the man who was tasered to death by the police at YVR, has testified that if he hadn't been tasered, he wouldn't have died.
Golly. Glad there was an expert available to tell us that.

Sulk

Sulking, I feel, is rather underrated. It is demonised. 'Are you sulking?' we ask, trying to make the person feel or look silly.

Well, I need to sulk, I think I need to take about two weeks to have a massive sulk. I'm fed up with meetings, I'm even more fed up with meetings that are drawn out when they could be contracted, I'm fed up with having to challenge what is wrong and not being appreciated for it, I'm fed up with being undervalued at work when I have increased bookings, I'm fed up with not being listened to by people who should be intelligent enough to listen and I'm fed up with people on TV using sexist language and people thinking it's ok. I'm fed up with awful grammar. I'm fed up with twats who can't read signs, who think it's ok to talk on their stupid phone whilst they drive, who don't give a stuff about the environment and with people who drivel.
In short, I'm just, generally, fed up.

So my answer to this is to have a sulk. Like a holiday, only I won't go anywhere, I'll just inform people I'm having a sulk and I'm not coming out to play. I won't go to meetings, I won't be polite to people and I'll fecking bite their heads off when they don't use adverbs, or say things like 'less' when they mean 'fewer' and 'too much' when they mean 'too many' and if they call me a guy. Oh, I already bite their heads off for that one, but I'll actually shout at them.

And I won't pussy foot around people who are actually insane, but I don't want to push them over the edge, instead, I'll sing that Queens of the Stone Age track, 'Everybody knows that you're insane,'

That's my plan, a massive, self-indulgent, wallowing, sulk. I just haven't yet decided when.

RAFs

The perceived result of last week's Random Act of Feminism, turned out to be a co-incidence.

Today I received an e-mail from a lady called Colleen, saying that my observation was 'interesting' and inviting me to supply some womanly quotes. I googled and lo! Google came up with the goods instantly and I, in turn, supplied some of said goods to Colleen. But it did give me food for thought. There was some bloody good stuff out there, and I will be doing further research.

A really interesting one however, was by an American writer, Maryanne Williamson,
“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us most." Now this quotation was used by Nelson Mandela in his inaugural speech in 1994, but some people remember this as a quote from Mandela. I don't, on this occasion, believe that it is because he is a man, but because he is the more well-known person, but even so...

I have come to realise that I distrust people who don't drink wine at all. And after deep and reflective intellectualisation, I believe this to be as reasonable a criterion as any.

In place of writing anything else myself, I will give two more quotes, one a luminous poem by Poet Laureate (oh yes, I have ten years to not tire of that), Carol Ann Duffy,

“Warming Her Pearls”
for Judith Radstone
Next to my own skin, her pearls. My mistress
bids me wear them, warm them, until evening
when I’ll brush her hair. At six, I place them
round her cool, white throat. All day I think of her,

resting in the Yellow Room, contemplating silk
or taffeta, which gown tonight? She fans herself
whilst I work willingly, my slow heat entering
each pearl. Slack on my neck, her rope.

She´s beautiful. I dream about her
in my attic bed; picture her dancing
with tall men, puzzled by my faint, persistent scent
beneath her French perfume, her milky stones.

I dust her shoulders with a rabbit´s foot,
watch the soft blush seep through her skin
like an indolent sigh. In her looking-glass
my red lips part as though I want to speak.

Full moon. Her carriage brings her home. I see
her every movement in my head ... Undressing,
taking off her jewels, her slim hand reaching
for the case, slipping naked into bed, the way

she always does ... And I lie here awake,
knowing the pearls are cooling even now
in the room where my mistress sleeps. All night
I feel their absence and I burn.


and the other, by Nancy Astor,
"In passing, also, I would like to say that the first time Adam had a chance he laid the blame on a woman."

I rest my case.

Singleness

This has been my one weekend in the year when I get to experience singleness, Kevin's frat camping weekend. The engineers all go into the wilderness with gallons of beer and bear scarers and ...well, drink and do engineery things like making a hot tub in a lake, or some such. Whatever.

So what do I do? A friend at work asked if I were going to have a girls' weekend, but no, I have cleaned and tidied. It beggars belief why I should enjoy this so much, I mean, it's not like Kevin doesn't do any cleaning, or tries to stop me, but I have cleaned where routine, weekly cleaning just doesn't go - like the plughole in the shower, which I have levered up and attacked.
And of course, I have been able to play my own music all weekend. Again, not that Kevin would stop me doing that, but even with him, I would be too embarrassed to do my excessive air-guitaring.

I have also slept in one of the spare beds. I wanted to do this to make sure that the bed is comfie, but also because I've had a jealous eye on both the spare room beds since we bought them. They are low to the ground, with the new generation of non-spring mattresses on them. And now I have slept in one, I know how divine they are.

Still, I am glad when he's back. It's nice to have some time alone, but really, only because I know there is a limit on that time.

I have received one book already from the Book Depository ('The Secret Scripture') - unbelievable that they seem to manage to get books here so quickly. Sadly, the other book I ordered , 'Old Filth' by Jane Gardam hasn't yet arrived, I started reading a friend's copy and it was one of those instant addiction books. I'd already promised to pass it on to another friend because mine is on its way, so I'm left hooked and and now hanging in mid-air, until it turns up.

At work, the City of Richmond intranet homepage has some little homily every day, but so far, always the words of a man. I e-mailed them about this, pointing out that sometime during the next three hundred years, women were expecting to be no longer treated as the second sex, and in anticipation of this wondrous event, could they possibly occasionally slip in something by a woman. I have no idea whether it was by accident or design, but by the next day, a woman's words appeared.

And this past week, Kevin's birthday I think, marked the 250th anniversary of the birth of one of the grandes dames of feminism, Mary Wollstonecraft. My god she must have been a brave and insightful woman to champion women's rights back then, when you think how we are treated today when mention the word feminism.

Carol Ann

I'm dead excited. I feel like the little boy who came to the Park yesterday and was shaking as he told me towards the end of the programme, 'I'm so excited about this Field Trip.'

Last June, I mentioned the possibility that Scots poet Carol Anne Duffy might become the next poet laureate, well, she has, and she has a ten-year stint, the first woman ever, and I mean EVER. At Christmas, I linked to a story poem she had written and that had been illustrated by Posy Simmonds.

I know that you don't all enjoy poetry, but I admire the good stuff, because I can't freaking do it. It's like making spells, magic with words, it can be like depth charges to the soul, or looking at a painting with infinite meaning.
Duffy's work is like that. She looks at things differently and paints it for us. I have her book, 'Feminine Gospels'.

I can't really find a poem that is short enough to type in its entirety, so maybe I'll just do a couple of first verses.



The Long Queen.
The Long Queen couldn't die.
Young when she bowed her head
for the cold weight of the crown, she'd looked
at the second son of the earl, the foreign prince,
the heir to the duke, the lord, the baronet, the count,
then taken Time for a husband. Long live the Queen.

What was she queen of? Women, girls,
spinsters and hags, matrons, wet nurses,
witches, widows, wives, mothers of all these.
Her word of law was in their bones, in the graft
of their hands, in the wild kicks of their dancing.
No girl born who wasn't the Long Queen's always child.

........

Beautiful
She was born from an egg,
a daughter of the gods,
divinely fair, a pearl, drop dead
gorgeous, beautiful, a peach,
a child of grace, a stunner, in her face
the starlike sorrows of immortal eyes.
Who looked there, loved.

...........

History
She woke up old at last, alone,
bones in a bed, not a tooth
in her head, half dead, shuffled
and limped downstairs
in the rag of her nightdress,
smelling of pee.

...............

Wish
But what if, in the clammy soil, her limbs
grew warmer, shifted, stirred, kicked off
the covering of earth, the drowsing corms,
the sly worms, what if her arms reached out
to grab the stone, the grooves of her dates
under her thumb, and pulled her up? I wish.

..............


She told the radio programme 'Woman's Hour' that she had thought long and hard about accepting. Well, I'm glad she did.
You did it for us hen, you did it for all of us.

Alberta

Displacement activity. I need to be getting on with writing something else, so here I am, blogging.

Alberta, next Province over from ours, has been getting up everyone's nose even more than usual. Primarily everyone else hates them because they are the Province where, if Dubya ever came to Canada, he'd live. Yep, then kinda attitudes. Then, the PM put our collective nose out of joint by referring to Canada as though it actually stopped at the border between Alberta and BC. Didn't go down well.

Last week, the Alberta Public Affairs Bureau managed to make an ad for the Province - a Province it must be pointed out, with absolutely no coastline - that featured children playing on a Northumberland beach.
Stars.

This week, they have introduced a Bill in their legislative assembly, yeppers, they are allowed to have one, that will allow parents in their Province to withdraw kiddies from lessons where science is discussed - evolution of course - or homosexuality. This just beggars belief to me and I don't know where to begin. The upside is that the comments from Albertans on the CBC website seem to all express the same disbelief as mine, and shame of their Province.

Of course, the actual reporting isn't that great, it states that the controversial Bill 'will enshrine in Law...' which it won't of course, only an Act can enshrine in Law, (first year secondary school history lessons) but no doubt they'll pass the Bill.

Meanwhile, in BC, we now have six cases of swine 'flu, and thus the threat has been elevated to level five. In Superstore yesterday, a Chinese woman was wearing a facemask to shop.
No, please don't say it.
Yet again, a Canadian travel advisory was warning people that they shouldn't travel to Mexico. Ever since I've been here there have been travel advisories warning Canadians not to go to Mexico because they keep getting killed there. Fat lot of notice people take of government advice.

The doc on morning TV has told us for two mornings running that the whole swine 'flu thing has caused a problem for vaccine producers. Should they carry on producing vaccine for next winter's 'flu? (Blindly, since no-one ever knows what strain it'll be), or try to get something out there to deal with swine 'flu? What a dilemma.
People are being told to stay home from work if they are sick, and to go to their doc. But when my colleague's niece, just returned from Mexico, had a sore throat, the doc wouldn't allow her into the surgery. She had to go to Accident and Emergency.

Personally, I'm upping the daily portions of fruit and veggies just in case.
But what do I care anyway? Tomorrow I reprise my role as Betty the Dominatrix Bee, and bees have so many more things to contend with than just swine fever.

Result!

So I think that is clearly settled then, wine DOES count towards your daily five portions. The Tame Pharmacist makes it a slam dunk, or whatever the equivalent is in a Sleepy Mansions acceptable sport. Maybe whatever the sport that has the slam dunk is acceptable, my supreme sports filter has me bamboozling myself now. I know it's not cricket and cricket doesn't count at chez Sleepy anyway. Help me Sleepy-wan Kenobi, what the hell do I mean?

Anyhoo, crikey, that was like trying to get yer jammie trousers on whilst drunk. Yesterday was Kevin's birthday and we sank a few portions of wine. Actually, I think we sank nine bottles between nine of us, including what was in the cooking, and bearing in mind that a couple of people were drinking beer, so we're all good. Didn't sleep too well, but worth it to make sure we get enough fruit and veggies.

Oh and there were two dogs. Real, woofing ones. Dogs sometimes put their moist noses in intimate places while you're eating, so in so many ways it really helps to have imbibed somewhat. The surreal aspect of the whole thing becomes totally comprehensible.

My task was the pudding, which I slaved over. Or, at least, I lined up in Dairy Queen, spelt the name 'Kevin' for someone whose first language wasn't necessarily English or any version thereof, and paid for the ice-cream cake. It was tough, but saved the guests from having to eat anything I'd cooked, although I can manage a good fruit salad, but with all the wine drinking, I feared people might overdose on fruit and veg.

So, Happy Birthday for yesterday m'dear!
Now we have the aftermath.

Question

...just one tiny one. Wine...does it count towards your five portions a day? I mean, it's just grapes isn't it? And if so, then could you just drink five glasses a day? Hmmm...I think we should be told.

Friday Night, Ikea Morning

Best line on 30 Rock this week, Tracy Jordan - 'I'm a high-functioning alcoholic,' superb. It must be said, Tina Fey's writing rocks.

Yesterday evening, Gail and I walked the labyrinth at St. Paul's church in downtown Vancouver. I found it a wonderful thing to do on a Friday evening, I got to see Gail's new house and neighbourhood and we had a glass of wine when we got back. Most convivial.
Unlike the one at our church, St. Paul's labyrinth is inside, and is on a wooden floor, so you are asked to take your shoes off. The ambience was perfect for meditation - candles and gentle, evocative music. It was incredibly relaxing for me.

Coming back from Gail's, I followed an SUV, convinced the driver was completely drunk as he rolled from one lane to another, and drove down the middle at some point. The red lights at one of the intersections meant I had to draw up beside him and lo! Yes, you guessed correctly, on his phone. Twat.

This morning I had to go into town, and made a detour via Old Navy. I was taken by surprise by the entire Obama family standing just inside the doorway. Turned out they were only mannequins, but I assume the resemblance was deliberate.

Afterwards, we went to Dykea, we even had a legit reason for doing so, we needed a couple more dining room chairs. The Dykea dykes however, were not playing nicely. Kevin and I waited patiently for them to finish testing out all the ones we wanted to test, then just as we thought we were cleared for landing, they whisked away the ones we wanted to sit upon, so that they could try them out at a table.
Hmmmm.

St. George and the Heron

St. George's day and St. George's College arrived at the Park twice today for programmes. They were a delight, and they arrive in a bus with a Knight's head on it. Class.

As I finished clearing up afterwards, I saw the heron, huge, with flapping pterodactyl flight, coming in low over the pond.

The photographers seem to have changed guard. Now the Japanese have arrived. They appear to have more respect for personal space than the previous crew, they don't stand outside our office windows like Paparazzi. But....but....you remember those Second World War films with Japanese officers cracking the whip, where the soldier has trousers like jodhpurs and a peaked cap with a tea towel trailing down the back of the neck? Well they're back and frankly, when I catch sight of them standing there, it gives me a shiver.

Somewhere, in a boardroom in Switzerland, marketing people sit around wondering how to amuse our bouches with new and exotic chocolate flavours. Not so long ago we had Lindt Excellence with chilli. And it was good. Yesterday I found Lindt Excellence with Fleurs de sel and I thought, surely, they're having a laugh, they're messing with me, they're taking the piss they're...and then it was in my shopping trolley. And it was REALLY good.

Closed Minds and Hearts

On Friday, someone abandoned a dog at the Park. Tied him or her up to the railing and left. It wasn't obvious at first, because there are numerous signs saying that dogs are not allowed in the Park because it is environmentally sensitive, so quite possible a person could have tied up their dog and gone for a walk, odd, but possible.
By the time anyone realised what was going on, the dog had chewed through the lead it was tied with, and run off. I thought it was unbelievable enough when I found the abandoned guinea pig, but a dog....

Our church has been used as a homeless shelter during the extreme weather we have had this year. It is now the only designated homeless shelter in the city, the Sally-Anne, which was used only for men, is now to be just for transients. But the City refuses to build a shelter, because......the city councillors refuse to believe there is a problem. When invited to the church to see the homeless sleeping there during the snow, they wouldn't come. There are none so blind as those who will not see. Now we have to think onwards towards next winter.

My friend Margaret had a white chocolate 'Last Supper' that she'd been given. Somehow none of us wanted to eat one of the Apostles.

I received an e-mail from Ikea who are just increasing in awesomeness. They are now no longer even going to sell plastic bags, starting tomorrow, Earth Day. They rock so hard. More stores should follow suit.

Bee

I know it's the same bloody tree, but there's a bumble bee in it for heaven's sake!
And this afternoon has been full of heavenliness and nature. The sun is shining, the blossom is falling like snow and I watched a hummingbird collecting cattail fluff from the pond to line its nest. I've never seen that actually happening before.

'Low Sunday' yesterday - the Sunday after Easter, only the grey army turn out for church. Oh, and me of course.

We have been greatly enjoying the new TV series based on the books - which I've always meant to read and never gotten around to - 'The Number 1 Ladies' Detective Agency'. Loving it!

Labyrinth and Regeneration

Labyrinth and Regeneration.

Yesterday evening was book group, and we had read a book called 'Regeneration', by Pat Barker. It was a fascinating book for several reasons. Firstly, it was one of those books that was based on a true story. A psychiatrist, in the early days of the science - during the First World War in fact, was treating some of the poets that you do at school when you do - yes, First World War poets. The patients were Siegfried Sassoon, Wilfred Owen and Robert Graves.
The writing itself was interesting, because there was a slightly clipped tone to it, a succinctness, and yet not that impoverished style of some authors.
Something that was thought-provoking to me however, was the assertion on the front cover of the book, a quote from the Boston Globe, that it was a powerful piece of anti-war writing. No it wasn't. It gave us an account of just a few of the absolute horrors of that particular war, and one of the characters is against that particular war, but the author herself gives us no judgement, and the man who thinks the war is poorly managed, is nonetheless, determined to go back.
What was most compelling about the book, in my opinion, was the history of psychiatric treatment. It was also an easy, smooth read, lovely writing and an account of men's minds through the eyes of a woman.

This morning, for the first time, I walked the Labyrinth at our church. I was fascinated by this too, but hadn't known quite what to do, or to expect, so I was eager to attend the workshop.It was illuminating. And the experience of walking the Labyrinth, amazing. There were around twenty of us, and I would have expected that the more people walking at the same time, the less effective, but the opposite was true. It was like a metaphor for like, everyone lost in their own thoughts and looking down to follow the path, passing each other, aware of other people, in constant movement, at one moment on one side of the circle, then over the other side. You felt that you were part of a machine, and yet you felt you were entirely alone. I can't wait to do it again.

Birdlife

The return of the heron. What a bruiser. He/she was at the Park all day, picking off some poor creatures from the pond. Late in the afternoon I noticed that someone had thrown up royally over the handrail on the bridge, until I realised that it was actually projectile poo ejected from the arsehole of the mighty heron.

Meanwhile, the forest part of the bog-forest is positively heaving with sexual activity. To young children, we euphemistically refer to this as 'boys looking for girlfriends' - it being always the male who has to advertise. This afternoon, I pointed out a Cooper's Hawk sitting in a tree. The children were easily able to see her.
Then another swooped down, 'Oh look,' said I, 'another hawk is going to perch on....ah....right, moving on....' Hawk sex doesn't look like much fun, just swift and brutal, but no doubt it does the job.

Nicolas Sarkozy has been mouthing off about all the other prefects. But here's the thing - he's an equal opportunities slagger. You might have expected him to have dealt with Angela Merkel in the usual way that women are dealt with - diss her clothes and sex appeal, but no! Sarko treats her just the same as all the boys. Nicely played Gaulois!

Watching 'Bones', I always thought David Boreanaz was quite tall, and in fact he is at 6'1". But next to Stephen Fry, he looked weedy. I love this show, but Fry's too good for it.

My friend R e-mailed me that the hockey team from her city were playing the hockey team from ours. She thought this might not have got through my sports' filter, and true, the finer details hadn't.
This morning however, even my filter was breached, since in the less than half hour that we watch the TV news in the morning, we had two goal by goal accounts of the match.
The Canucks won. Got it.

Secret Garden Walls

A friend of mine, who has studied some form of Buddhism in Japan, has shown me that one should observe the movement of the mind, not judge it. I find this a fascinating activity, quite engaging in fact, as I watch my own mind drift from subject to subject, in and out like a fish darting through seaweed.

At work, a pair of hawks are building a nest in the pine trees at the front of the car park. Quite appropriate really, this is not far from the spot where cars park for their occupants to steam up the windows and do whatever it is they do in there until we call the RCMP.
The male hawk is in fact the one who builds the nest, the female watches haughtily from a leafless birch tree whilst he ferries twigs across to the nest. On the ground beneath them a backbone and tiny skeleton of a meal now consumed.

'Over the sooted, secret garden walls,
As in another Eden, cherry blossom falls...' I can't remember whose poem that is, but it's called 'London Spring' and we learnt it at school.
Here, the blossom on the flowering trees is just starting. Another of Vancouver's glorious moments is when the ornamental cherry trees flower, another Eden.

Half past eight, 20.30, only now am I closing the blinds, drawing the curtains, the last kiss of the sun on the mountains.

Easter Sunday

Easter Sunday began at 5.30 for me - there was a sunrise service for all the churches in the area at Gary Point. We had a seal join us. It was cold, windy and lashings of ..... rain. Afterwards we went back to our church, which was hosting this year, and had breakfast.

Yesterday evening, we had a service that started outside in the garden, where there was a sterling attempt to light the Paschal candle, but eventually it had to be relit inside the church, and we all held candles, which provided the only light for the first part of the service. There is something deeply spiritual about candles and chanting and bells and....stillness.

Kevin and I are not having our family Easter meal until tomorrow. Later today we will be visiting some friends and a couple of other friends will be there who are going back to England for keeps. I know they are happy about that decision, but Kevin and I will miss them.

One of our friends`wife died over this Eastertide. It was a short, sharp illness and really quite shocking in its suddenness. I keep thinking about that friend and wondering how such a loss can be endured.
There are times when prayer is all we have.
Hard times.

Good Friday

Maybe I did the same thing last Good Friday, but I'm not going to look, and that way, I'll know if my beliefs change and grow from year to year.

So here, if anyone's bothered, is my Credo. Yes, I know that's tautology, since credo means 'I believe'.

I believe in God who is neither male nor female, who embodies all perfections, but without an actual body and who may or may not be the Prime Mover, but if yes, then did no more than light the blue touchpaper and started evolution and such like.

I believe that Jesus of Nazareth was an extraordinary Jew who was born of two earthly parents, whose mother was not married when she got pregnant, and who must have had her own very supportive parents who helped her through, and whose intended, Joseph, stepped up and did the right thing, even though he may not have been the biological father.

I believe that those parents and grandparents, somewhere along the line, realised they had a very special lad on their hands and the Jewish community in Galilee must have thought so too, because somehow, he was educated in their ways.

I believe that the teachings of Jesus of Nazareth were both extraordinary and ordinary in that they took a direction in which the Pharisees of the time were already headed, erasing the difference between the sacred and the profane and allowing ordinary Jewish people to have far more responsibility for their own rituals and care of their faith, Jesus pushed this further, right out amongst the people. He took the community's pre-existing strengths, such as community itself, caring for others, feeding others, teaching and sharing, and he preached about the underlying essence of it, he made those qualities the most important part of the faith.

I believe that Jesus was the son of God in the way that all of us are sons and daughters of that God.

I believe that he was charismatic and assembled an entourage of ordinary men and women. Very ordinary.

I believe he included the one more educated member of his group, Judas Iscariot, in his own plans to fulfil the prophecies of the Jews because he believed in the future of Judaism.

I believe that Pontius Pilate did not want to execute him, but he also had a prefecture to run. He had to do the dirty work of the Sadducees so that Passover would go smoothly without the feared disruption. I also believe that in telling them that he had written what he had written and that he wouldn't change, 'King of the Jews', he was saying something about the impact Jesus had made, even on the Romans.

I believe that crucifixion is a horrifying death and that Jesus could have avoided it.
I believe that his mother suffered appallingly.
I believe that the world was changed by that death and by the testimony of his followers, but I don't believe that God needed the death of a human to propitiate the sins of humanity.
I believe that the crucifixion focuses us on the teachings of Jesus and it is from these that we learn right from wrong.

I believe that through Baptism and through the act of communion from the Last Supper, John the Baptist and Jesus, gave us all the opportunity to be part of the faith. Baptism replaced circumcision as the covenant of faith and the breaking of bread and the sharing of wine passes the responsibility for continuing the faith to us all.

I believe that Christian Faith is strengthened by acknowledging the ordinariness of Jesus rather than the supernatural and that we make ourselves ridiculous when we get too far away from that.

But hey, that's just me.

Maundy

Maundy Thursday - best Thursday of the year, it's like a Friday. Fab.
I must have missed the Queen distributing the Maundy Money, or maybe it's just not news anymore.

I'm looking forward to just not having to get up, and eating turkey and drinking wine. Oh, and going to my place(s) of womanly worship several times.

Kevin investigated the French netbook mystery and discovered that in fact, the OS had been set as French. Future shop exchanged it and all is now well.

So, to counteract Sienna Miller undermining other women, here's Jo Brand being...well, Jo Brand.
Loving it.

Coolness and Hotheads

We're planning for the summer at Schloss Schneewittchen. Austen, Sue and the grandkids have now booked their tickets and will be arriving as soon as term finishes at the end of July.
This is cause for extreme levels of excitement.
And like I said, planning.

We have had sunshine and warm temperatures and it has been fine. The hummingbirds have been aggressively buzzing each other, the males are feisty little fellas who protect their territory like Napoleon defending Paris - only more successfully.
The photographers, they of the $10K cameras, have also almost come to blows today. It's weird and a little creepy. They all line up with their big old pointy lensed penis extensions trained on the bird-feeding area, those are the ones who came to blows (almost) today, but then there are others who look as though they are focussed on our office windows, due to the fact that the hummingbird feeders are outside our windows, as is a white currant bush in flower - much visited by said birds.
I feel paparazzi-ed.

One of my other lads, the one who lives here, has bought a new notebook. Very nice it is too, and a bloody good price. The particular one was in Future Shop for one price for the black or white version, but $30 more for the red.
'If you want the red,' said I to he, deliberately whilst the salesperson was still in earshot, 'we'll have to get it at Best Buy, it's the same price as the other colours there,'
Without missing a heartbeat, the salesperson was back at my side offering to sell it at the same price.
Cool.
Now however, my boy has pressed something on installation (Canada: French instead of Canada : English) and the OS is now showing up in French. Now I always felt I spoke French until I had to plough through Windows' French. Still, on the other hand, I've more or less had to learn Windows' English as a separate language. I've changed everything offered to me as a language change and yet it remains stubbornly French.
Ah well.
That'll learn him.

Iron in the Soul

Must have some iron in the soul.
Been listening to Metallica, and there is something very stirring about 'Unforgiven'. Oh well, just Metallica in general then.
I passed over Nirvana, just not in the mood for deep and meaningful.
Currently I have Pink playing, so there's a certain amount of difficulty typing.

Last Sunday, in church, we had the return of the 'The Bible never claimed to be a Science textbook' priest. Passion Sunday. He hit the Krazy Kristians - the ones who could just as easily be Muslim Fundamentalists. [Generally they don't listen to the teachings of Jesus, just use the 'Jesus-code'. The Jesus-code ignores all real meaning and uses catchphrases containing the word 'Jesus' to justify anything they do. They don't see that Jesus was a Jew and that Christianity is really Judaism-lite.] All in square brackets is my opinion, not his.

Anyhoo...the iron in the soul...he was setting up a visualisation of Palm Sunday (tomorrow) the Roman army approaching Jerusalem from the west, coming as a show of force to quell any Passover misbehaviour that might occur. And from the East, this raggle-taggle bunch of lowly-born (apart from Judas Iscariot) Jewish men and women, with one riding on an ass. At the end of the week, the ones from the west would have killed the leader of the ones from the east, and set in motion a world-changing set of events.
A potent visual.
But I keep thinking about that disciplined, uniformed Roman army, marching in formation. Must be from watching too many films.
In spite of what the Romans brought to their prefectures, crucifixion was an evil way of executing someone.
Evil.

Rammstein now, 'Eins, hier kommt die Sonne......' I love their ability to just sing the most mundane lyrics in German and it stirs....something.....

Flora, Madge, Chelle.

Crikey, is it Friday already? How'd that happen? It seemed as though it had been Wednesday all week, then suddenly, bingo, Friday.
Mustn't grumble.

The weather - constant preoccupation - is now brightening up and we're promised a warm and sunny weekend. Monday, the temperature is set to reach 18º.

I was very happy to hear that this season I will be fashionable, since the style will be 'crumpled chic'.
I must say, that reminded me a bit of Colin and Justin's 'Home Heist' in which the first thing they have to do before designing anything, is to give it a name. Once you have named your design, it just creates itself.
Clearly.

My storytelling must now be rather convincing. During the 'Signs of Spring' programme, I tell of Flora, the Explorer, who stops under a fictional 'Bunjeebap Tree' whose sap is green and sparkly. I produce a small bottle filled with water and....green sparkles. Three times this week I have been asked by adults on the trip if the sap is real. I'm sure there must be a more profitable outlet for my newly found lying skills.
Politics perhaps.

Presumably, Michelle Obama will now have to be executed for High Treason. I believe that Capital Punishment is still technically legal in the UK, but only for High Treason. I also believe that High Treason encompasses the wearing of the Union Flag as knickers, and interfering with the persons of the Royal Family. Hugging the Queen must be in there somewhere. Ah well, sayonara Mrs. O, you never did quite make it in the fashion stakes.
Apparently.

Couldn't Madonna just shell out for some head shrinkage instead of annoying the government of Malawi? I kind of do admire her for her bizarre adoption attempts, but I most certainly don't get her.
But then I'm sure that doesn't really bother her.

The Grocer

From blustery to Wellie weather. And everyone else around here got snow mixed in with their cold, pounding rain. I try to be even more hyper whilst trying to deliver a programme entitled 'Signs of Spring' because it's hard not to notice a lack of springfulness.

As I came back from the hairdresser's, through Zellers, my eye rested for a moment on a flimsy, black, buttonless jacket. It felt like voile. Then I noticed a label on it that said, 'This garment is not a swimsuit'. How useful, I thought, and how could anyone EVER think it was.
I felt it was in the same class of 'duh!' statements as the one they show as 'Bones' begins, 'May contain graphic, forensic content'. I should bloody well hope so.

My history reading has now gotten me to times I actually remember, and yet remember the surface of. The days of constant swapping back and forth between Labour and Tory parties in power, Wilson and Heath. And then there was the scandalous leader of the Liberal Party, Jeremy Thorpe, a 'notorious homosexual'. Well, clearly not that notorious, I seem to remember it coming as a bit of a shock. Then Jim Callaghan, ex-pupil of Mayhem, long before it was Mayhem of course, in those days it was Northern Grammar. Oh how the mighty have fallen.

My least favourite of all these was Ted Heath. A Tory, so he didn't score very highly with me politically, but that wasn't it. If he was a character in a play, he would be an unsympathetic character. And it seems it wasn't just me, Andrew Marr portrays him as exactly that. A Premier that no-one particularly liked. He describes him as friendless.
Yet he was friendless because he was the first to occupy such a position who wasn't part of the Old Boys' network. He wasn't from an upper middle class background, he broke through the barriers.
Hmmm....interesting, never thought of any of them in that way.

And then....I remember this happening, but in a million years wouldn't have seen how amazing it was. In a government driven by anti-immigration public feeling, with Enoch Powell constantly rotweilering him and with a recently introduced piece of immigration legislation that was basically colour-biased, against all criticism, when Idi Amin came to power in Uganda, Ted Heath had 28,000 Ugandan Asians airlifted out of Uganda and brought to Britain.
Hell I hate it when you find out the people you dislike are just human.