MrsDoyle
Go on go on go on go on go on
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I use FeedFlow for a local beekeeping guy’s blog - he posts by email, so having an RSS feed means I don’t have to go ratching through looking for a particular article, I can just scroll.
3·11 days agoComedian Volodymyr Zelenskyy vs the then president of Ukraine Petro Poroshenko.
From Wiki: “In place of traditional campaign rallies, [Zelenskyy] conducted stand-up comedy routines across Ukraine with his production company Kvartal 95.”
So I guess that counts…
2·12 days agoI’m 73 and have actually done some death planning! I’m donating my hideous corpse to the local medical school. I had to fill in a load of forms and persuade my best pal to be the contact. When I pop my clogs they’ll whisk me away - unless I’m too mangled or die of something contagious - and keep me for a few years of anatomy lessons. Once they’re done with me I’ll be cremated, and they’ll put a plaque with my name on in their garden of remembrance.
Mum died at 90, which suddenly seems close. My big brother has dementia, my little sister is speed-running cancer. It’s all focused my mind.
Edit to add I didn’t expect to make it past 40. Sex and drugs and rock and roll…
Cape Horn is the southern tip of South America. The southern tip of Africa is the Cape of Good Hope.
On one of my first days in Edinburgh, back in 1990, I came out of Waverley station to find myself facing a battle royal between Hibs casuals and mounted police. I’d never seen anything like it, I was too stunned to be scared. I was later educated by locals on the topic and realised I probably should have been a little bit scared.
https://www.thefreelibrary.com/CCS+Capital+City+Service%3B+FEARED+HIBS+CASUALS+WHO+MOVED+UP+TO+THE+BIG…-a0625220870
I was told our dog had gone to live on a farm. For a long time afterwards I pestered to be allowed to visit the dog on said farm, and was told it would be too upsetting for him. “He wouldn’t understand.”
Years later I found out the dog had run away, gotten into a field, and killed a sheep. He was identified by the farmer, and someone official came to our house and took him away to be shot.
I wish they had just told me he’d been run over.
4·28 days agoLebensraum.
I moved to a Kobo e-reader a while back as part of de-Amazoning my life, and while I’m annoyed that they’ve stopped supporting my 2011 Kindle Keyboard, it means I can finally close my account.
The Kindle is still perfectly usable after all these years. I jailbroke it not long after I bought it because I hated the wallpapers. I found a website where you could create your own, so I have a lovely array of images on it. One time I dropped it in the bath, and bought a new one. That turned out to be one of a run of KKs that developed a crack in the case, so I phoned customer service and sent it off for a replacement (I know, right?!?). While waiting for it to arrive, I dug out my old drowned reader and charged it up - and it was fine!! I sold the replacement when it arrived.
And now this: “To minimize any disruption, we’re offering a promotional code for 20% off select new Kindle devices as well as a £15 eBook credit that will be automatically added to your account after purchasing a new device”. As if. Fuck off.
I was in a fender bender a few years ago where the other party insisted on getting the police involved because of injury - the passenger slumped dramatically to the ground complaining of whiplash. The officer who attended said, “You don’t have whiplash.” And explained to her the concept of crumple zones in modern cars absorbing forces from impact. Then he declared it a no-fault accident (it was actually my fault).
VLC for me too. What a great program it is, never a single problem.
They must be competent story of the wedding capturers, many are not.
At a niece’s wedding the photographer had been asked to video the ceremony. The resulting film lingered on an especially pretty bridesmaid during the exchange of vows and rings.
Thanks, this is excellent pub quiz knowledge!
I’m currently in the midst of throwing money at a problem - car’s brakes corroded after I didn’t drive for three months due to Reasons. I’m desperate to get back behind the wheel - a backlog of car-centric jobs has piled up.
2·1 month agoI remember when he first threw his toys out of the pram over a wind farm visible from one of his Scottish golf courses. He’s lost all his battles here, hah!
Wind farms aren’t ideal given all the infrastructure needed, but they are certainly preferable to a war.
Couple of hours ago. A friend I haven’t seen for a few days phoned to see how I was and we talked for about 45mins. In person, on Sunday, two friends in separate visits.
Hallaig, by Sorley MacLean.Here translated by the poet from Scots Gaelic:
‘Time, the deer, is in the wood of Hallaig’
The window is nailed and boarded through which I saw the West and my love is at the Burn of Hallaig, a birch tree, and she has always been
between Inver and Milk Hollow, here and there about Baile-chuirn: she is a birch, a hazel, a straight, slender young rowan.
In Screapadal of my people where Norman and Big Hector were, their daughters and their sons are a wood going up beside the stream.
Proud tonight the pine cocks crowing on the top of Cnoc an Ra, straight their backs in the moonlight – they are not the wood I love.
I will wait for the birch wood until it comes up by the cairn, until the whole ridge from Beinn na Lice will be under its shade.
If it does not, I will go down to Hallaig, to the Sabbath of the dead, where the people are frequenting, every single generation gone.
They are still in Hallaig, MacLeans and MacLeods, all who were there in the time of Mac Gille Chaluim: the dead have been seen alive.
The men lying on the green at the end of every house that was, the girls a wood of birches, straight their backs, bent their heads.
Between the Leac and Fearns the road is under mild moss and the girls in silent bands go to Clachan as in the beginning,
and return from Clachan, from Suisnish and the land of the living; each one young and light-stepping, without the heartbreak of the tale.
From the Burn of Fearns to the raised beach that is clear in the mystery of the hills, there is only the congregation of the girls keeping up the endless walk,
coming back to Hallaig in the evening, in the dumb living twilight, filling the steep slopes, their laughter a mist in my ears,
and their beauty a film on my heart before the dimness comes on the kyles, and when the sun goes down behind Dun Cana a vehement bullet will come from the gun of Love;
and will strike the deer that goes dizzily, sniffing at the grass-grown ruined homes; his eye will freeze in the wood, his blood will not be traced while I live.
And here a reading by the poet set to music by the late great Martyn Bennett:
Some of us are quiet because we’re listening. I’ve made some very solid friendships that way.
I thought mine was Torchy the Battery Boy, but it turns out it was a puppet show. A very weird puppet show.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Torchy_the_Battery_Boy
So, I’d plump for Rupert the Bear. Our family didn’t have spare cash for frivolities like comics, but when we moved house one time the previous family had left behind a Rupert album. The covers had been torn off, but I loved that book.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rupert_Bear
It seems Rupert isn’t forgotten…
https://followersofrupertbear.co.uk/
Buried in that site: “In 1985 the first of what has become a series of facsimiles was introduced. For reasons of political correctness, there are several years for which no facsimile has been produced and the 1970 annual was the last one for which a facsimile was produced.”
Rupert the Racist Bear, I’m guessing… oh dear. Back to watching Bluey.