Eric Pickles

Does anyone else find Eric Pickles profoundly uninspiring?

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... unlike Dill Pickles.

Is it just because I can't take my eyes off his voluminous throat? Or because he's a Tory minister of severely limited abilities?

I loved it when, a few years ago on Question Time, Pickles complained that the public doesn't understand how tough it is being an MP, explaining in a wholly unconvincing way how his parliamentary duties required him to be in a certain place at a certain time without fail ... and Dimbleby cruelly interjected "you mean it's like a job?"

You can find this excerpt on YouTube ... but don't scroll down to the foul-mouthed and moronic comments below.

MP's Wife Guilty of Kitten Theft

MP's wife guilty of kitten theft

The wife of Liberal Democrat MP John Hemming is found guilty of stealing a kitten from the home of her husband's lover.

You couldn't make it up ...

The Anguish of Evie (aged 5)

Evie: Life is so hard on me
Maman: Is it? Why?
Evie: Because I'm trying to work out its meaning, but I can't

The Orthography of Evie (aged 5)

Evie: Daddy, how do you spell "Thank you"?
Daddy: T-H-A-N-K-Y-O-U
Evie: Don't look! (She writes, then mouths F-O-R)
Evie: Daddy, how do you spell "taking us on holiday"?

 

Inner Temple Gardens

On a resplendent Autumn day in the Capital, I luncheoned al fresco in the salubrious environs of the Inner Temple gardens ... on a Tesco £2.50 Meal Deal. There I happened upon the Head Gardener, who turned out to be none other than my good chum, Andrea Brunsendorf, erstwhile fellow student of Nature Conservation at the University College of Olde London Town (UCOLT). We conversed a while and then she sent me on my way with a bag of newly-fallen Walnuts.

Life's but a walking shadow

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

Currently reading ...

Currently reading: Life Ascending by Nick Lane
I gave up on Thoreau's Walden. I'll try again later ... well, it took me three attempts to get to the end of Heart of Darkness and that's little more than a short story

The Art of Evie (aged 5)

Maman: Tell Daddy who you are learning about in Art at school
Evie: Wassily Kandinsky!

Is your frustration assuaged when a recorded voice "personally" apologises for the lateness of your train?

It makes me MAAAAD! 

What is - in your opinion - the best pair of tracks of the same name but different music and lyrics (i.e. not covers of the same song)? Of course, I'm asking only because I'm confident that I have the nonpareil, namely "Zombie", one by The Cranberries and the other by Fela Kuti. Can you beat that?

This is impressive:

How bottles bring light to world's poorest

Do you own stuff, or does it own you?

Of late this stage of the year has had a depressing effect: it's the anticipation of short days and grey skies. There is one consolation, namely the end of the season of car boot sales. Don't misunderstand me - I like them, both in concept and especially in their British execution (so much more pragmatic than the French 'vide grenier'). The problem is that my French wife is utterly - I mean utterly - addicted to them, with the result that our once spacious house is filling up with 'stuff'. 
I detest clutter - everything must be in its place and there should be plenty of empty space around it - and I can't keep up with her acquisitiveness. Now I have the dark half of the year to organise things, to arrange some in the garage, ideally to recycle them or even store them for sale at the first car boot next Spring. These days I want to own less and less (other than books) because I've realised that, in the end, you are owned by your belongings.

"Updating your computer is almost complete. You must restart your computer for the updates to take effect. Do you want to restart your computer now?"
Restart Now Restart Later
Why isn't there a "Leave me alone" or "STFU" button?

Thinking of Chris Rushlow, professor of fruit flies and native New Yorker, and her daughter Lee-Ann ... and my friends and ex-colleagues in New York, the second best city in the world ...

Listening to Amy ...
"I told you I was trouble, you know that I'm no good"
Did anyone ever write more honest and, well, painful lyrics?

The Competitiveness of Evie (aged 5):

Noah: Evie, it's just a game.
Evie (screaming): No! It's not a game! I wanna win!

They are playing 'Sonic and the Secret Rings' on the Wii.

As if you could kill time without injuring eternity ...

PM: Truants' parents' benefits cuts

What a CFT he is ...

(The 'C' stands for 'Complete')

9/11: Stories from the embers

This is moving stuff. I've managed to view only the fireman's story, the photographer's story and that of the two guys who escaped from above the 80th floor of the south tower. The last made me tearful. This was the most momentous day of my life ... and it's time to remember... 

I just made a wicked tomato pasta sauce using some of our tomato glut. The secret ingredient?  I was short of tomato paste, so I substituted harissa paste ... well, it was red. I'm going to freeze the sauce, but I'd better give it an 'X' 'rating ... not suitable for kids.

 

It's persisting down with rain here. Last night was stunningly calm, but I sensed the first autumnal nip in the air. To cheer us up, here's a picture of a bird on a wire. I took it on the West Wittering Estate.

 

The Discernment of Evie (aged 5):

"The Spotted Cow is my favourite pub"

The Kinks - Waterloo Sunset

Possibly the greatest pop song ever ...

... perhaps I am biased ... as a child, between 1964 and 1968, I lived in a pub called the Halfway House (now the Stage Door) in Webber Street SE1, within a stone's throw of Waterloo Station ...

The Stage Door, Webber Street SE1: In Samuel Pepys’ diary of 1665, he mentions drinking at a ‘Half-the-Way’ inn.  The tavern was probably the Halfway House, positioned exactly halfway between London Bridge and the Westminster crossing at Stangate.  The Halfway House lasted until 1985 when it was remodelled and renamed The Stage Door, presumably because of the neighbouring Old Vic theatre.

I found the above in a South Bank walking guide.  It's nice to think that I lived in one of Pepys's watering holes, but it definitely ain't halfway between London Bridge and Stangate.

NEVER imagine that your life is a film ... you are not an actor and no-one is filming you ...

‎... unless you're in a shopping centre

Today's semantical gripe: it's "working AT home", not "working FROM home", okay?