Posted by Lyle (who can’t edit the keffing table below, so I’ll suggest to qB what she can do with it – in a clean sense, of course *Grin*)

OK, I admit, while being a techie to some degree, I’m obviously not a blog-geek (is that a word we can add to the dictionary?) because I’ve lost the plot of where I’m supposed to Ping. When I update, I use blogrolling’s Ping form – fine, that boings up on all the blogrolls I look at. I’ve registered d4d™ on Updated UK Weblogs three times now, and had assumed it was working, as Mike hadn’t nagged me to do it again. I guess he just gave up in despair, or wanted to avoid a sweary-fit email. *Grin* Can’t blame him for that one. Also I’ve got Blogger set to ping somewhere or other when a new entry goes up. Yet still I get nagged. So where am I going wrong?

I’ve just tried it again. Keff knows if it’s worked or not, because all it says is “you’ve been added”, then nothing. I can’t be faffed with gubbins like RSS – I’ve enough problems with incipient RSI and CTS, without another flippin’ TLA to PMO.

Anyway, isn’t it all just more of this “instant gratification” farce that we know and love? “I can’t be faffed to actually click on the site to see if there’s anything new, I want it to show up only when there’s new things to read”. Surely that’s antithetical to the entire ethos of “surfing” the web, of finding stuff on almost a random whim and click of the mouse?

Oh, and congratulations to us guest-bloggers who’ve lowered the tone completely – what with the book reviews I linked to, and qB erecting what I can only describe as a golden phallus. (I could describe it as other things, but the naughty word filters would probably throw a hissy fit. On which tangent – wouldn’t it be more fun if the filters didn’t just block the offending sites, but instead did a 1940’s “naffing great black felt-tip” over the words?)

Why I’m here

(posted by qB – who‘s broken broke the template with her table and doesn’t know what to do… Lyle… I need help! botched a bad solution) found a solution courtesy of Lyle’s advice – thanks!)

brancliciousI said I’d do this gig on two conditions.

The first was that Mike has to go to the Atelier Brancusi while he’s in Paris. No ifs, no buts.

The second was that Lyle gets D4D onto Updated UK Weblogs. But I’ve since noticed that condition could be extended to all three co-bloggers this week. It’s quite simple, and Mike provides a handy link, over there on the right.

I’m not going to threaten to withhold posts until this condition is fulfilled because that would be inviting the kind of feedback I’m not interested in hearing.

In an effort to galvanise Mike further to make the effort to see the exhibition, I’ve included to the left the delightful Princess X by my all time far-and-away top favourite sculptor of all time, Constantin Brancusi.

What do you mean, it doesn’t look like a princess? I have no idea what you’re talking about.

G.O.D. (II)

Posted by Mr.D.

Picking up on the redoubtable Lyle’s superb earlier post about ageism, I confess that I am Growing Old Disgracefully.

At the recent barbecue for my 50th, I had to be prematurely put to bed while the party raged on outside.

I blamed it on the stress of worrying about whether the weather would hold (it did, of course) as I might have to cook in the garage (only joking, firefighter people!).
I also fell on the excuse of having had to cater single-handedly (well, Mrs.D. did help a bit) for 20 people, ensuring that the burgers were leathered at exactly the same time as the sausages were reaching cremation-stage.
I claimed I was emotionally over-charged by having all of my closest friends around me.

Mrs.D. blamed it on the vodka shots I was doing with my son and his mates, who’d come round for the free booze.

Shaded shrivelling

(oops, forgot to say this was posted by qB)

“Light and shade” is what he said he wanted. “He” being the host-with-the-most guest-bloggers. Which means that I’m the shade. I know quite a bit about shade. Useful in the summer when bright light and heat demand momentary relief, but the prelude to exposure in the autumn months. In the winter in southern Africa people die in the shade who would have lived had they been lying in the sunshine. So I’m good on shade. In fact I’m good on Stygian darkness too. I’m recovering from a bout of disaster-induced darkness which not even happy-pills to the max could dispel. Which is why I’m a bit of a late starter on this guest-blogging trip. I’ve been in bed for a few days.

I’m sure you’ve been treated to lots of light – Lyle I reckon is like those mega-rockets which go “screeeeeeeech….. BANG” (he has no children to get scared); Mr D is one of those mortar-shaped ones which hiss and sparkle a rainbow fountain of different shades whilst occasionally shooting up fireballs which go “bang”; while Mr SAAP is likely a mixed box with a lot of sparklers for waving round, drawing pictures and words in the air, and sniffing (why do they smell so good? or is it just me?) So obviously they need a bit of shade to show them up to best advantage. No good having fireworks on midsummer’s day. Together we shall look like this, as long as you click manically to the max.

He also (the h-w-t-m guest-bloggers) used the word “erudite” in his introduction. I looked it up. It means, apparently, “well-educated or well-read, learned”. So I’m little miss smarty pants, am I? I just wish to state that I am far from little, I am not a young woman or girl and my pants are antique over-washed-baggy M&S. I notice in my dictionary the words preceding “erudite” are “ersatz”, “error”, “erroneous”, “erratum”, “erratic” and “errant”. Maybe he just got the wrong one by mistake. (I am umbilically attached to my dictionary because my spelling is so bad.)

Well, now that we’ve got all that sorted out, I thought I’d turn to the issue of issue. Ankle-biters, rug-rats, demon spawn or however you care to refer to the juvenile of the species. Since it’s three to one of issued to issueless. I don’t mention my little bees very often over at my place because, well frankly, I find the subject of limited interest beyond close friends and family. And I’m generally totally uninterested in the spawn of others beyond that circle. And I’m only interested on the family spawn in the way that certain medical textbooks with lavish illustrations of disfiguring diseases are interesting. But there are aspects of the condition of having issue that bear discussion (geddit? this is a symptom of the condition too). If only to serve as a warning.

Take, for instance, this:


Here we have two bears. They are twins. Both aged three. Identical at birth. One has been in close contact with b2 (aged four). The other has led a child-free life based in the back of the wardrobe, waiting on the substitute’s bench in case of death, dissolution or disappearance of the main player. Can you tell which is which?

On the left we have a vibrant, fluffy, sleek-coated, devil-may-care, buoyant bear-about-town. On the right we have a shrivelled, shrunken, snot-n-food encrusted, staring-coated, slack-stuffinged, sack-stomached excuse for a bear.

Worked it out yet?

I’m not drawing any great conclusions here. I’m just, um, displaying the evidence. Nature versus nurture.

Dr. Who?

Posted by Robin.

I was excited about the idea of joint guest blogging from the start and I hoped that creatively speaking it would turn out to be as harmonious and memorable as the Six Wives of Henry VIII. Not the Rick Wakeman record, the poem:

Divorced Beheaded Died,
Divorced Beheaded Survived.

My son thought it referred to two queens, both cruelly treated but one luckier than the other. I suppose that is what got me thinking about the poem again and marvelling at its balance, brevity and utility. Six famous women who, albeit unconsciously, gave us a classic of school literature. Think about it. If just one of those six queens had failed to play her part we never would have had that poem. I take inspiration from that.

Which is why it pains me that I got off on the wrong foot yesterday. I have my excuses but in the end what counts is what is on the page. I was trying to find that balance of the personal and the general that Mike does so well but some of the reaction I have had leads me to think that I didn’t quite find the middle ground.

Which is my natural habitat.

I am not a partisan person. Without wishing to boast I have a reputation for integrity that has reached at least as far as Nigeria, so my emails tell me anyway.

For instance I’m neutral about who should be the new Dr Who. Just one thing. For heaven’s sake don’t let it be Nick Hornby. After his recent high-handed showing on Desert Island Discs he’ll be asking for 499 extra pretty girl assistants which, I’m sure you would agree, might be nice for him but would not be entirely within the spirit of the programme.

Feel free to nominate your choices below.


posted by Lyle

I know this is probably WAY below the humour of most TD readers, but what the hell. via Scaryduck, Amazon’s reviews of a book titled Sex, Freud and Folly: The Truth About Psychotherapy. The author’s name has caused untold hilarity among Britain’s schoolboy humour forum, and I’ve laughed myself silly.

Possibly not filter-friendly – I honestly don’t know, and you have been warned.


posted by Lyle.

While I was up in Scotland in February of this year, I stayed up near Schiehallion. One of the claims to fame for this mountain is that it’s where it was proved that gravity is affected by mass – i.e. larger objects exhibit more gravitational pull. Since then I’ve been working on some corollary theories for this.

First of all, it explains why people seem to need to walk directly at me whenever I’m in town and doing shopping or whatever. They look at me, make eye contact, and sometimes actually flippin’ change direction in order to try and collide with me. And of course if they do collide, it’s entirely my fault – there seems to be a theory that they can walk anywhere with alacrity, and even when they decide to walk into someone, it’s the collidee’s fault, not the collider. I’m not paranoid, they ARE out to get me. I’ll never be slim and sylphlike – but if there were a diet marketed that announced “lose weight and stop people walking into you” then I’d be first on the sign-up list.

The other corollaries work on a slightly different principle – I think that it’s part of this ruling that means that if you’re walking fast, or in a hurry, then you’re surrounded by every slow-moving grebo all trying to block your passage as much as possible. (Oooh errr, missus) Also, if you know what you want, and where to get it from, then the path to that particular destination will be blocked by every indecisive gawping brain-dead freewheeling sloven known to man.

Today, I’m disorganised. I forgot the sandwiches I normally do, forgot the card I needed in order to collect a mystery package from the Post Office, and there’s probably a load of other stuff I’ve forgotten today, except I now can’t remember what might be on that list. So a trip to buy a sandwich for lunch has turned into a mission that would’ve made even Oates go “keff that, I’m not going to be gone that long”. The sandwich counter was populated by retards trying to decide between chicken salad, and chicken with stuffing (or whatever – I didn’t pay that much attention) and despite the incredible amount of advertising around the area, they were also discussing just what they could get as part of a meal-deal. I’ve been in 30 seconds – it’s sandwich, drink, crisps. Simple. Rocket Science this ain’t.

So – that’s the theories. Gravity, Speed, and Idiocy. The three great rules of the modern world. I’m off to eat my hard-gained sandwich.