Shasha, on returning from her holidays, has brought back with her a fondness for the six-stringed swinging. She bought herself an acoustic guitar on Thursday (plus carrier bag, which I must say she holds quite professionally) and promptly tore her way through her first lesson book (Guitar for Absolute Beginners). She now borrowed two more from the library and intends to torture, er please me with even more scratchings vaguely in some Q-minor key. Oh how I long to hear more of Kostas’ renditions of that timeless classic, ‘The house of the rising sun’. (Atleast, that’s what I think the song was; I only heard it a couple thousand times).

United have been comprehensively beaten 3-0 by Chelsea, who secured their Premiership title for the second time. And deservedly so. But more worryingly Rooney seems to have picked up a telling injury which puts England’s chances at half of what they previously were. Which is less than zero.

And to round it all off, here’s a very insightful view into cartoon making from Autology.

I realise now that all the major companies that are waiting to recruit me must only be holding back because they assume that after the Herculean effort required to pass my Masters, I was in need of a well-deserved rest. Of course that is true, but I am now willing to take on a job that is not too demanding of me physically and mentally. A spacious corner office with a couple of secretaries and a large expense account should do me just fine, methinks. Not to mention the usual perks like a chaffeur, free stationery (to take home if I choose) and a whopping huge mother of a leather chair.
So step forward you multinational companies, you devourers of man and nature, don’t be intimidated, I am available.
Please?

Nuclear supporter: Lord Ingham. Anti-nuclear protester: Mr Ginham. Anagrams yet?

This is the modern day celebrity: “I’m not gonna confuse Harvey than what he already is”. Jordan, back to school for you.

“With enough people repeating the word ‘democracy’, democracy it must be”

I like watching Bremner, Bird and Fortune. But all I take on board is the factual content, because, like other journalists in these modern times, they do tend to over-exaggerate. Which reminds me of Taj, a friend in India who pretty much introduced me to the joys or motorcycling, but more importantly developed a whole tradition of telling tall tales of feats accomplished on motorbikes when there’s no-one around to collaborate them.

To paraphrase something I heard – “It’s possible the world was made round so that we don’t see too far down the road”

Watching the snooker on telly, you realise how much of human communication relies not just on content of speech, but body language too. I guess we all have been confronted by this problem while texting a message to someone we don’t know all that well; should we joke?, will they understand it?, etc. Hence the popularity of smileys to clarify the situation. The commentators on the television speak authoritatively about what options are left to a snooker player, and what balls it is wise to play because the white ball ends up in such-and-such a position, and a miss will still entail a difficult pot for the opponent. What I noticed is that a lot of their confident statements like “Yes, the pink will go on its spot, but the red next to it will still go in the middle pocket” are based not as much on their experience of positions and angles as ex-players, as on the fact that they are in the hall watching the players prepare to take the pot on. Which signals to them that, at the very least in the players’ eyes, the ball can be played.

Thinking upon it, I wonder whether the use of smileys in textual communication is indicative of the communicator’s inability to verbalise their message adequately. Is it possible that the more smileys and similar shortcuts one uses, the less capability they have to express themselves in plain words? Or is it that the communicator is actually a highly gregarious animal to whom the message is more than just words, and the presence of smileys is essential because the message is more personal?

Oh, and I think I might be the first to spot a mistake in an advertisement, thanks to the amount of time I spend in front of the telly combined with the intense scrutiny I put ads under. Some Oxy cleaning powder is advertised as being able to clean jam, ink and grass stains from white shirts, so you get crystal clear whites. I don’t have to clean these stains from my whites because I don’t eat grass and ink, and I put my jam on bread. Now I don’t know what the brand is because I am not susceptible to brand-recognition programming when it comes to household sanitation products; I’m not a woman. (I’m loving it! tm). But apparently a lot of housewives are walking around under the mis-impression (un-impression??) that their whites are white. But these whites are not crystal white. Which leaves their children permanently scarred and prone to deeds of misconduct like speaking in the classroom and thinking and suchlike. Alarums!! I’m aghast at the thought! Apart from beating them to correct this, (worked with me; I no longer think), the only solution is to make their whites crystal white. Anyhow, towards the end of this ad, the screen splits into four quarters showing four different white items of clothing. Only two of these are relevant to our discussion (my discourse, actually). While the seductive female voice (in truth an eighty year-old with a colostomy) says “white cuffs and white socks” in that order, the screen zooms in on socks first, and then the cuffs!! (both equally bog-standard, by the way). Lo and behold. The truth is thus revealed. Let it not be said that I keep my immense knowledge from the world.

Since I’m away on holiday for a week, I ordered my computer to think up stuff and keep my blog going. So here, I hand temporary charge over to my computer C3BO.

C3BO:
Well, hi there folks. I thought I’d never get a chance to display my talents with that inferior human being taking responsibilty for the perfect prose that appears on this blog. Do you think he knows how to spell ‘Mississippi’, or ‘queue’??

I’m on HOLIDAY

On Saturday we,we and we went to Alstonefield in the Peak district, Derbyshire, to take a long walk across some fields and dales to Hartington and back. The landscape was beautiful, the wind bracing and wholesome. The perfect antidote to Friday night’s debauchery thanks to Adam’s birthday celebrations. I had a good time with people very close to my heart.

The overriding emotion I feel at the moment of writing is one of sadness and pity. We saw a little white cat with black splotches on the road of a derelict farmhouse, barely more than a kitten. It had a tumour on its right eye the size of a large marble. All the while we were walking across those fields, we saw sheep quite accustomed to human presence standing up and trotting away from us, yet this little cat just sat there mewling in the middle of the disused road, asking for something. I think it wanted someone to put it out of its misery. I would’ve broken down right there except for the fact that grown men don’t cry; it took me a while to catch my breath. I didn’t even dare examine it, because I knew immediately that there was nothing I could do anyhow. My sister habitually brought stray cats and other animals home, and it was my part to play the callous, sensible person who had to play the card of reason. And some did die, causing grief all round. I will never know for certain what will happen to that poor, trusting sonofabitch that has dominated my thoughts. I hope it dies peacefully. But I’d like to think somebody with more balls than me picked it up and took care of it.

Sorry for such a downer.

Adam’s birthday, celebration at the fine Footage and Firkin and we can get a good show of United thrashing Sunderland as well. Sir Alex says he’s worried about the eight goal advantage that Chelsea have; I take it to mean he wants to score 8 against Sunderland. Yippee yay! Then I suppose we’re gonna meander along Oxford Road to all the pubs on the way. We got him a nice book as a present, and it’s got pictures and all so he won’t have to worry.
We took some photographs in town, the food market’s open in St Ann’s Square, and some people are singing in Albert Square. It’s the BBC Music Tour or summat, I dunno, I’m not the BBC.

Update: United couldn’t even score a goal. Shame!! The most boring 0-0 match ever. Thank God I was too bladdered to notice anyway.

If, like me, you were surprised a week ago by the strange but worryingly (to me) arousing sight of young nubile men walking down Wilmslow Road near Owens Park dressed in drag, then the secret of this mysterious phenomenon is now mine to share with y’all. It was 58 students attempting to set a new record in the name of charity. A record for the largest number of dancing drag queens. They cha-cha-chaed for six and a half minutes, you’ll be pleased to learn.

Found, Shared: The Magazine Photowork at The CUBE Gallery, Portland Street. This is supposed to be an exhibition of photos from the specialist magazine for photographers who complain that there’s nothing left to be photographed anymore, so you can expect a real weird bunch of snaps. Amongst them, a photograph of a number of cans containing foodstuffs from around the globe. Elk stew from the US, worms from Botswana, bee larvae from Japan. You get the picture?

My horoscope says: “You need fun, spontaneity and intellectual stimulation from your partner now and the best way to find it is either by taking a trip or planning one”. Then, of course not to let the loner singletons down, it goes on “If you are single, then expect someone surprising to enter your life when you least expect it”, thereby just shoring up their hopes that some stranger will waltz into their lives.

Oh, and crooks are using Bluetooth technology to detect laptops left hidden but switched on in cars. Of course, robbery follows this detection. And Ioannis, who recently had his sat-nav stolen, will be delighted to hear that according to Manchester Metro News, “police officers advise motorists to remove any sat-nav systems from cars, a popular new target for criminals, and to empty the glove box and leave it open”.

Finally going to see The Inside Man. Didn’t go to Adam’s dinner party at the Syrian restaurant. Was up until all kinds of hours last night because Sha had popped in The Thomas Crown Affair (Pierce Brosnan, and Rene “Androgynous Face” Russo, VHS) because she couldn’t sleep, and that woke me up. Following which she promptly passed out on the couch, leaving me wide awake watching the whole film (and managing to polish off a round of beef noodles at 4 of the a.m.). Cracking film though, eh? You don’t get films that really have that sophistication of plot nowadays, and it’ll be nice to compare The Inside Man to it having it fresh in my mind.
It’s been an otherwise dull couple of days, if you discount the visit of Ali and the usual imbibing of hallucinogenics it entails. Actually been a bit under the weather due to having visited “The Grand Central” two nights in a row.
I should get hold of some P.G.Wodehouse soon, and then I’ll obviously be practicing his style in some of my blogs!

UPDATE:- Inside Man is very aptly titled, as the man is inside. Great film, absolutely worth every penny. For once it was unassailable plot (even by my standards) so much so that I forgot to eat the popcorn. Clive Owen and Denzel Washington play off each other so well, and Christopher Plummer is so like a white Morgan Freeman.

I was browsing round the back of my blog, showing off to Sha how much more control I have over my blog because I pay exorbitant amounts to have it hosted (pennies, actually) and suddenly noticed, number of posts=249. Which means: This is my twohundredandfiftieth post. I can’t believe I’ve had so much to teach, and the world still hasn’t changed much!! Now I know what Jesus must’ve felt like, trying to discipline the Philistines. Ooops, I feel a parable coming on…
There once was a grasshopper, who ate all his food, yeah?

Had a good time yesterday, managed to finally go to Red Chilli, a restaurant I had heard a lot about, but never actually visited. (The last time I wanted dinner with Sha, I called them to book a table and they said they can’t book for less than 8 people. I, not knowing that many people, had to decline. I was assured, however, that seats would be available after a wait of no more than 15 mins. When we turned up it was obviously crammed to the rafters) The food was absolutely gorgeous. I was there with Gareth, after having watched and celebrated Man Utd dominate Arsenal and thrash them 2-0 in the Footage. (Here comes the inevitable revertion to monkey-state – “ROOOOOONEYYY”) We looked quite the dashing couple, with blue jeans and corduroy jackets apiece. I ordered something called Garlicked chicken, which was dry thin strips of crispy coated chicken, tasting very much like Chicken Kiev. But Gareth ordered some lamb in a dark sauce, which was incredibly soft and yummicious. And the egg-fried rice was something I’d happily pawn my grandmother for if she wasn’t already in hock for those marbles that, as a little kid, I just had to have. My joy was doubled by the fact that I ate my whole meal using chopsticks, an accomplishemnt which I attribute to the fact that the alcohol had so numbed me that I wasn’t feeling the pain of my cramped fingers at all!!

I have a lot of nice online friends who leave heart-warming comments like “This is very information site” and “This website is very wonderful and colorful, thanks”. All from the same teen-porn site URL. Ah well, at least the kind people who wanted to increase my, ahem, length and girth have stopped calling.

The Rolling Stones are planning to play in China. Apparently they had to remove 5 songs from their intended playlist to satisfy the “officials”. But for once the young rebels won’t mind, as their show is gonna be livecast around the country, thereby opening up a huge market of people who’ve never heard of them, and therefore might actually buy some records thinking it’s a slice of capitalist freedom they’re buying. What’s a little censure then, eh Mickey?

I watched ‘Ice Age 2′ with the lady yesterday, (I see Rachey’s done it too) it was a real hoot! I must admit I didn’t fancy the idea of sitting in a cinema packed with little monsters running around and eating popcorn and kicking the seats, but amazingly none of the brats were around! I remember when I was young, it was the X-rated ones I was trying to get into, not bloody U-certificate. But the movie was ab-fab! The studio guys realised we wanted more of the little mouse guy chasing the acorn, and they delivered!! The possums were funny, and sloth always is good for a few laughs.

Oh, and did you know there’s a licence plate up for sale on e-bay or summat. Nothing new, except the plate is H5N1. Yes, you can drive round being “Bird Flu Man” (not as catchy as some superheroes, but them bloody swans will sure give you a wide berth).
p.s. I couldn’t find it myself, being too poor to shop on the world’s biggest supermarket, but this fact was announced on BBC, so it must be true.

It’s a sunny day, I’ve been surfing t’net all morning at Sha’s place (free t’internet), and now we’ll go down the road to Fallowfield and find somewhere to lie down in the grass and have a bellyful of the finest of whatever British pub cuisine has to offer.
I’ve been having a listen to some old Hindi songs (circa 1956, when music was real and meaningful, and god did they sing!) and recalled some real happy choons about dying, and death, and misery, and sorrow, and death. Yes, a real swinging mood.

“Mohabbat ki jhooti kahani pe roye
badi chot khayi jawani pe roye”
:-
I cry for the false tale of love
I cry for the great wounds of youth