Chateau de la Venom; bottled circa 30 Aug 2011

Sweethearts, I am at a junction here.

Which way to go?

Am sorely tempted to throw a stinker of a bomb amongst my loyal readership, the august nesting in the LBC’s and hangers-on  elevated circus (in dire need of a little bit of fresh air).

Having overdosed on the frankly sickening amongst your last few days’ blogs and usual back slapping sticky goo of how wonderful you are (with the honourable exception) I can barely contain myself. This excludes Con who I can’t currently access since he is shielded by hackers and malware both of which I have been warned off sternly when trying to get some leverage. I rarely heed advice but will make an exception in this case.

So, sweetie pies, let me know: Do you want me to let rip and tell each one of you how I see you or would you rather keep your heads and self examination wrapped in cotton wool? Let me know. I will take a democratic vote. Naturally, Grannymar, who has just asserted, over at Nick’s blog, that “maturity is only for cheese and wine” will be game. Won’t you, GM? Oh so refined. If you were a bottle you should do well at auction. Unless someone drops you first, by accident.

Yes, so let me know. See who could do with a little ripening, who is chicken, who is still able to lick their wounds despite various hip replacements, who can take a compliment when it bites him/her on the heel, and who is still up for “it”. Whatever “it” is. Please do hurry since, to prove Ramana’s law of sync right, my laptop folded at roughly the time all Con’s troubles started. So am currently very restricted as to access on other people’s comp time.

Don’t be shy. Don’t be English about it. If you want me to go to hell please do say so instead of nurturing the snake of silent  disdain and misguided “dignity” at your heaving bosoms.

Hugs and kisses,

U

PS Do spread the word amongst all your regular commentators – poor sods: I have done so well to hide my blog few know of my existence. One of my few proud achievements.

La Catastrophe (French, noun, female: disaster)

Grannymar has made a fine point in a comment over at Ramana’s blog.

What she says is, in my book, INVERTED snobbery. She prides herself on NOT giving a fig about the finer details of language and, as she so wittily puts it, “punctification”. She just gets by – as she says. Makes herself understood. Good, GM. Who wants to be MISunderstood? No need though (see ‘inverted snobbery’) to point a finger at those who actually do give a hoot, a La Truss (mentioned by Ramana), whether we shoot, eat peas or just find the nearest tree to pee. Those who care and lug around the odd apostrophe. You, GM, and Keith Waterhouse would have made the match from hell. (For those not in the know: Keith Waterhouse is Lynn Truss’s love child and co-founder of the Apostrophe society – which FOS, father of son, also belongs to). I myself call it “The Catastrophe Society”.

Don’t say a word.

I bet GM, you are one of those people, who couldn’t give a toss over the difference between “fewer” and “less”. Welcome to your nearest supermarket. How happy you will be. As long as you find the checkout with ten items or fewer in your basket. So, please, do not complain in a post or comment that children, these days, are not taught the skills that equip them to get through the average day without making idiots of themselves.

If everyone were in your league you’d find comfort in numbers.

What’s my point (sic)? My point is that there will always be the GMs who have other things on their minds than the finer detail. That’s ok. I’d never ever look down upon someone who doesn’t know where to put a dot even if it might help “under”standing. A good person is a good person. But don’t turn it round, GM. Just because there are people who DO care about the intricacies of a language doesn’t make THEM someone to be derided – by YOU.

Hot tip of the day, GM, and why don’t you try it some day: Learn another language. For comfort, and to reaffirm what you say: Go to Italy. Sign language will suffice. I am sure you will make yourself very well understood indeed.

U

Eights and sixes

This minute – as one is – I am glad not be be an octopus, not to be a spider.

Think of the potential: Breaking arms and legs. Most of them. At the same time.

U

Re-grouping

The shit has hit the fan. Admittedly only a little shit. But still. Even mice droppings will eventually amount to something.

This applies mainly to WordPress which may like to give me a presence. On my blog. Not least in reply to Conrad. Four attempts – in my comment box. I give up, Conrad:  Every time I was trying to remember what I’d said before wordpress deleted me AGAIN I was beginning to bore myself, ever so slightly. Not really. But in theory. Little loss. Will try again. In the meantime thanks for your comment. Simply black on white does me fine too.

Anyway, having severed ties with the overblown Barath and, in a moment of my usual overheating going the whole hog, with Ramana too, I am now at a loss. More of which later. Yes, Ramana, this is a fine lesson in how one suffers for the sins of siblings you never wanted. Discuss this amongst yourselves (that’s the Consortium): Naturally you all will turn out to love each other and will have never had so much as one cross word. Or a pillow fight.  No Able and Kain found in your midst. No. That’s totally unfair. Ashok and gaelikaa will admit to that which hits the cow between the ears. As does Magpie.

I myself amstunned. Val Erde has done me the good fortune to declare me the Consortium’s groupie. Whilst I am sure that you could do with a Mascot I think being your groupie is stretching MY favours and YOUR imagination a little. As indeed the latter is mine. You should be so lucky. Yes, sigh, groupie: Not for the first time in my life. Maybe I should start sucking for my living.

Val Erde. I like the woman. She is straight forward as am I. Erde meaning ‘earth’ ; so she is grounded. Val, and this is  not mean, Val – just a linguistic observation: Presumably you are a Valery and then, according to your ‘about me’ you hit Valium – for 19 years. Before you came off it. I have to hand it to you, Val, you have the patience of a saint. You also trust too much, say, in doctors. In that we differ: Give me a sleeping pill and let’s assume, for sake of argument, that I’d actually take it: What do you think would happen? Got it in one: I will most definitely walk the ceiling all night long. I believe it’s called ‘averse reaction”. Didn’t we recently discuss, somewhere, the exception to the rule?

Val: I have added your blog to my FAVOURITES in folder named “Interesting People”. Few make it into there. Even fewer stay there. Ashok did. Early on. And he has shown staying power.

If everything I say sounds as if I am taking the piss: I don’t. I am probably one of the most sincere people you never wish to meet.

So, Barath, where were we?

U

TGIF

Sweethearts, I know it’s Friday and you are beavering away at putting the finishing touches to today’s special.

(If anyone can explain to me why everything I say within the CONsortium’s vicinity often sounds slightly off, not as intended, I’d be grateful).

Yes, finishing touches. Let’s hope Magpie will put up a morsel of sparkle. Wonder what today’s subject will be. Maybe “Change”. No, not the one they give you in the shop. ‘Change’ as in colour. Am besides myself. Which is probably better than being within. What on earth has happened to Con’s blog? One moment it was stylish to the hilt. Now its (visual) layout as bland as porridge. I know we live in minimalistic times but I liked Conrad’s how it was. What’s happened at LeVinTel is just so not HIM. Never mind. We all go through a blank phase. No more so than beloved GG (gay guy). He too has caught that “let’s shrink into the background” mode. Guys, let me tell you: In the animal world you are peacocks, not violets. Think feathers. Think fan. Even a lizzard on a white washed wall somewhere in the South of Spain will make more impact than some of you currently do.

On the plus side, I wouldn’t put it past Magpie to pull off that trick: Invisible ink. To irk us. It’s what the best teachers do. Irk. Go up in a puff of smoke. Want jaw lock (euphemism for ‘boredom’) ? Go top floor: Physics on the left, Chemistry on the right. You will be bored. Then woken with a Bunsen Burner bang. Or – if in chemistry – a smell so bad you wish you were in eggland – use by date ca 2007.

It’s terrible when all hope rests on one pair of shoulders, Magpie. Think global. Atlas. The Schwarzenegger of olden times. Still, as all of you, like a  newspaper (not least that ghastly shortly defunct publication), need to remember: You are nothing without those forking out for the print, ie the reade; nothing without your commentators. So: Give it some colour. Think summer. Think passion. Think sunshine. Think life. Don’t think too hard, though. It tends to come over as contrived.

Hugs, kisses, and it’s only 0800 GMT. Good luck.

U

Snakes and ladders

Ramana asked me to join the queue. I don’t queue. It’s not in my genetic make up. I will wait my turn. Sure. In the meantime I mill (around). Every Englishman is the beginning of a queue so the saying goes. And, as most sayings, it’s so true you feel like hopping around on one foot with the sheer pain of it. “Milling” makes English people nervous. Twitchy. There is a peculiar “I was here first” mentality. Indeed you were. No one is going to dispute it. I poke my nose in between the “orderly queue” to see what’s available on the fresh fish counter. It never occurs to me that my action might be misinterpreted as a feeble attempt “to jump the queue”. I am not jumping anything. I am just surveying the fish on display to make a decision (whilst waiting) whether to go for line caught Mackerel or sardines. For a nation so relaxed as to virtually horizontal I have yet to understand what it is with the English and their queuing. Fair play. Sure. Just don’t make such a big deal out of it.

Which reminds me, Magpie: According to the Angel who returned yesterday (is there a woman in the world happier than I am?) little has changed in zee Anglo Francais relations not so cordiale. Whilst the Angel had many more happy experiences with the French than even he expected he has conceded that my warning before he set off was right: The French are nationalistic. No two ways about it. Before they break into English (which the English, so arrogantly on their part, assume is the lingua franca) they will force you through the hoops of their own language. Well, good for them. I shall spare my American readership what the Angel had to say on the way Americans he met travel. The dollar clearly speaks louder than a burger laden body can move. If that’s cryptic it’s because it’d better be. Forgive me Con. I know you are the male Jane Fonda of San Fran. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? I’ve always hated that expression “The exception to the rule”. In order to find the exception you have to define “the rule”. In my world there are few rules. Only the odd principle.

Hugs and kisses

U

Dead as a Dodo

Dearest sweetest Pies, there are times my heart goes out to the Consortium; not least today, the subject being: ANCHESTORY. Great. Yes, we all have one. THE END.

Since so far none of you have admitted to descending straight from the Borgias, direct line Lucrezia herself, may I congratulate all of you. May you yourself – one day – perch proudly and eminently on one of the branches of your family tree.

In the meantime – do feather your nests with sweet down.

Hugs and kisses,

U