Talking at Gigs

Talking during gigs is an absolute no-no. There was a fair bit of ill-mannered chit-chat during the Bonnie 'Prince' Billy gig last night. Such was the absolute splendour of the man's spellbinding performance, I abandoned my golden AVOID CONFRONTATION AT ALL COSTS rule and told the guy filibustering next to me to SHUT UP. He looked over at me angrily. I looked back. Then we both looked down at the guy in the wheelchair he'd been talking to. Quite possibly he'd been describing what was happening up on the stage. The bald, wild-eyed Tennessean poet holding the audience in the palm of his hand (not literally, he's not a giant and the audience weren't microscopic). His too short checked shirt, beer belly and horse-shoe moustache more suggestive of an Appalachian cotton field than the Galway races. I admit I felt a bit guilty. Chatty-boy clearly felt he was in the right. So, is it ok to talk to people in wheelchairs at gigs?

Eh, NOPE.

Click-Click

I meant to click up to 2/6 but instead I clicked down the way to 2/4. That left me 2 gears away from where I wanted to be.

So I clicked up twice making a surprisingly audible CLICK-CLICK. Predictably just as I passed a young lady. She looked round and smiled. I realised that she thought I'd made one of these patronising audible kissing noises. Or (less likely) the noise one might make if calling on or urging horses or other animals. Anyway, she smiled and her smile was strangely crooked and seemed to be painted on. She was also wearing an eye-patch and possibly a wig.

This entire incident, largely due to the nature of cycling, was over in a couple of seconds but, honestly, it felt like a bleak farce of interminable length.

Spacial Advantage

Back to St Neots museum and the display celebrating the town's sporting achievements through the ages. Slim pickings here although amongst pictures of local kids almost made good ("Geoff was once described as the best under-23 right back, outside the senior leagues, in the whole of East Anglia") we find this half-baked biography of "current Aston Villa manager" John Gregory who was, at least, a bit successful. For a while.

Let's ignore the claim that John was born in 1941 (he was born in 1954), the bit that made us laugh is in the second last paragraph.

"He was always aware of the pattern of the game and by cleverly distributing the ball created spatial advantage".

Spacial advantage! Yes we used to say precisely that about Paul Mcstay in the Jungle back in the old says. This was obviously written, in the absence of anyone who knew anything whatsoever about football, by an academic curator type. Almost certainly a woman to boot. No offence.

Mr. KarWash

That's with a kicking kay. Like in daft kunts.

Irish Peat Turf Fire

Sadly, here we have an Oirish Peat Turf Fire (with Peat Incense) for only twenty-six of your Tourist Euro. It comes with one full fire and two ambient ones. All fires will provide an "ancient presence" (carrying the memory of trees and fields and long-gone times) and are looped for continuous viewing up to and beyond actual death. This DVD will fit inside any New World telly.

The Dealer

On our estate, it's very easy to find the dealer. A child could do it.

Buy 2 Pay More

Buy one get one half price. Was there ever a bigger scam that we, poor saps that we are, unblinkingly, gratefully even buy into.

But I only want one book.
Fine then, that'll be eleven fifty.
But look, the RRP is seven ninety-nine.
Fuck off then - this is how we do things now.

So you walk around WH Smiths with the rest of the flobbing morons carrying one book you want to buy in search of another book you might at a push take as per the new book buying directive that is now written into LAW.

Perhaps the only reasonable way to make any profit from this is to simply buy two copies of the new Ben Elton and give them to people you really, really hate.

Parker Close

With no thanks whatsoever to Tommy TomTom our hapless Sat Nav who shat out directions randomly, zig-zagging us hither and thither o'er Merrie Olde England, we finally reach our destination.

"At last", said my wife. "Parker Close"
"I'll do my best", I replied.

Ah, we get through a few scrapes.

€1904.60

Let your dog run loose on the beach messing up the sand or getting the sea all hairy?
That'll be one thousand, nine hundred and four euro and sixty cent please you heartless scoundrel.

Prison Love

This being a reconstruction of a late eighteenth century prison cell at St Neots, Cambridgeshire. The intention, I'm sure, is to portray the cramped and meagre conditions under which prisoners subsisted back in them times.

What it achieves is something altogether more, well, is homo-erotic the right term? I'm a mere childe in these matters.

Shoe Time

Shoes, from the olden times, on display in a museum, about the olden times, in Manchester, England.

Latichood (ii)

Greenpeace

The sign outside the Greenpeace tent proclaimed:
"Best Sandwiches in Suffolk - Jamie Oliver".
"Best in Suffolk, Darlin'", he undoubtedly said when asked about the sandwiches. They were bits of white bread with butter and either cheese or vegemite in the middle.
~~~
In the queue for two coffees and two hot chocolates. Ten servers asked me, in turn, if they could help. I explained to nine of them that I was already being served. Nice people. Roughly a hundred piercings between them. When I got to the front two coffees but no hot chocolate. Consternation all the way down the line.

"He said he was being served"
"I thought you were getting them"
"I gave them to that lady"

Nice people. You just wouldn't want them in any sort of ... well, anything really.

Oxfam

Thirteen hundred hours. Already eighty quid gone today. Somehow. Juice, crisps, ice lollies, ice cream, burgers, chips. God knows what else. As we passed the Oxfam tent I asked the lady if she'd be interested in borrowing my kids for studies into childhood hunger. She solemnly declined but asked if I'd mind filling in a form. Then she asked me for money. Ninety.

Trespass

Being a strange logo to put on a tent. Asking for trouble.

Paul Heaton

He passed out a bottle of Cognac which was to be passed back to him empty 'cos he's a sound bloke and likes to give away hard liquor. I found myself taking a glug in the afternoon sun which, truth be told, went down rather well with the pear cider I was already drinking.
~~~
The guy next to me asked me to hold his pint and then used both hands to pull up his fly. "Thanks" he said, taking back his pint. "Welcome", I replied, thinking 'couldn't he have managed that with one hand?'. I felt used and vaguely soiled but any number of things could have been responsible for that!

Mustering

Before Midlake. The best band at Latitude. Or anywhere.

Latichood (i)

James Joyce
Very early start for the ferry. Dublin to Holyhead. In the interminable queue a large advert for Stenna encourages us to use the ferry. (There's an idea). The sign says that James Joyce chose to take the boat when he left Ireland (forever) [1] in 1902 over, one can only assume, some pretty stiff competition from hot air balloon and sea horse.
[1] ignoring his four return visits

RTE 1
Driving off the ferry surprised to find RTE radio 1 still tuned in. The Angelus clear as a bell. A call to prayer. More echoes of Joyce. That's part why he left I'm given to believe.

Goats
Or sheep, if you insist, but certainly seen through drink.

Vimpto
Among the weird and wonderful rock formations at Brimham, formed during and (to a lesser extent) after the Devensian glaciation there was a lot of ill-mannered litter. None more so than this pathetic bottle of Vimpto which I can only assume was discarded back in the old days when kids used to drink the vile "fruit" concoction.


The Beatles
Driving back listening to Revolver. My ongoing tolerance from WORLD'S GREATEST BAND severely tested by "Here There And Everywhere" being immediately followed by "Yellow Submarine". From the sublime to the ridiculous.

Hair cut
The phrase "false economy" springs into mind.


In Lancashire
But straddling the Yorkshire border. Very sexy.

Music for the hard of thinking

Yes, back in the good old days before all the gays stole our pop stars and made them all gay. And with that the innocence of our childhood.

Is that what they're getting at here?

Celtic Polo Shirt

A major oversight on the new range of Celtic polo shirts. They appear to have omitted the (four-leafed) shamrock.
Oh hold on, sorry. There it is.

Kenneth Khoo

These emails I keep getting purportedly from the good people at Amazon.com are really starting to annoy me now.

I don't mind them referring to me by the unlikely name of Kenneth Khoo. I can also put up with the fact that they send me, Kenneth Khoo, on average twenty invoices a day for products I haven't purchased. What gets me is this. If they're really serious about trying to spam/scam me they might have the decency to at least make some rudimentary efforts with their numbers. Of course, my junk mail takes care of these or at least it would if I didn't keep checking my junk mail to gaze in wonder at the sheer arithmetical absurdity in play.

Order Grand Total : $33.99
Subtotal of Items : $11.99
Total Before Tax : $02.99
Sales Tax : $00.00
Total for this Order : $65.99
Price : $11.99

0/10 (PLEASE SHOW YOUR WORKINGS)

Speaking on behalf of Kenneth Khoo (as I feel I must) I would like to ask one question?
How much does it cost?

Turning Thirty

Inexplicably, the other week, I found myself in charge of the book stand at the school fair. There was a game coming on soon and I was keen to quit that place. The book stand just happened to be nearest the exit and that's why I was standing there.
"This any good", a man asked, holding this book.
It's called Turning Thirty and it's by Mike Gayle who is also, it would appear, the bestselling author of My Legendary Girlfriend and Mr Commitment.

"Let me see", I said, taking the book from him.
[Turning Thirty, Legendary Girlfriend, Mr Commitment, Fresh and Witty, CD in the toaster]
"Almost certainly not", I replied. "Looks like the biggest pile of self-indulgent, clichéd old vomit since the last what's his name's..."
"How much is it?" he said.
"Tony Parsons".
"How much is it?" he said.
"A euro?"
"I'll take it" he said.
Nobody can say I don't do my bit for the school.

NuYorican Fun

New York Fun used to be my very favourite kind of music. Then I discovered NuYorican Fun. Which is similar. But even funner.

Let It Rain

Let it rain. I suppose they mean after they've done your roof. Do your worst rain. All those losers who used a different roofing company or didn't bother with a roof at all are goosed but who cares? Not us. We're cosy.

At first I thought they meant Let it rain (then we can come fix your leaky roof). But that would be a bit like a cancer clinic using the strapline 'Let them Smoke'. Which would be stupid. And cruel.

Either way. Let it rain. Annoying.