Gone orf

Disappearing to Deutschland.

John rang to say he’s in Hereford this weekend.

That’s gotta hurt

Alan mentioned the incident in our school photo so I’ve dug up the forensic evidence of this particular crime. I don’t know whether it was a case of exquisite timing or whether the perpetrator (who is directly behind the victim) had multiple attempts.

Alan himself is pictured immediately below the victim and looks blissfully unaware of proceedings.

And you’re quite right Al – this is the only photo I have of you.

Talking of bad tackles, did anyone see Eduardo’s leg break? Ow and double ow!

Word play

I was sat on the top desk of a bus with my thoughts meandering here and there when my eyes settled on a street name off Oxford High Street. Queens Lane. Then it occurred to me, Queens Lane pronounced backwards is ‘anal sneak’. Now there’s a thing.

Matt tells me he has a magnificent new boat so as soon as we have an exclusive unveiling I shall post a piccie. If I was a betting man I might have a few shillings on the boy to win a cup this year. Remember, you heard it here first.

Judging by the hits, you have really been enjoying the pictures from yesteryear – big time. But it has presented me with a moral dilemma. I don’t mind my mates having a good laugh at me, in fact I positively encourage it, but that may not extend to everyone. If I post up pictures exclusively of me it turns into ‘This is your life’ which is a crushing bore. And in any case I would prefer this to be a sharing experience. But if I spread it about a bit I run the risk of offending someone – and of course, I don’t want to do that either. So far, I haven’t put up anything I consider bad taste (and nor would I) but I’m not necessarily the best person to judge. While some coo with nostalgia or giggle at the way we looked, someone else is polishing the samurai sword ready for the big push. This is a closed community and I haven’t used anyone’s surname…but there is always the outside chance of an acquaintance blundering in.

So: Before I put up any fresh ones, let’s have some views of what’s there already and whether there’s an appetite for more. Plenty of comments please otherwise I can’t gauge the mood. And if any of them really are upsetting you, you’ve only got to say and I’ll whip them down (ooh er missus again).

I had hoped to generate some contemporary photography but despite the fine weather I’ve been knee-deep in paperwork applying for jobs which I suspect don’t really exist. My trip to the Shire has also been put back – now aiming for the first week in March. Let’s get out.

PS: Bit of in-house trivia here. This is the stats graph for two years of Bloggledebook…and all thanks to your interest which is appreciated.

Big city tips

OK here it is then:

My old colleague and pal Dan played jape of the century on me when I left the Telegraph by blagging his way past security and persuading Tiffany, the Live TV presenter, (with whom I was much enamoured) to come and say farewell. The snap of me looking like a chillied beetroot reminds me of the one Private Eye delight in showing of a ridiculous-looking Andrew Neil with a beautiful babe a fraction of his age.

There is another one of us kissing but it will cost you an awful lot of money to see it – mainly because I was so flustered I missed the photographer’s prompt and head-butted her ear.

And if you want further laughs at my expense, I have finally got round to showcasing some pictures form the archives.

You can see Crimes of the past here.

I will be updating the batch regularly with photographs that are nostalgic, squirmy, fun, happy accidents, experiments or pictures that I love simply because they remind me of certain eras. There’s nothing great about the quality – but that’s half their charm. You will be featuring too, but I promise nothing which would likely bring legal action… no ex-girlfriends, nudity etc etc.

I can’t find the classic which has become known as the frightened panda. I think Matt must own the rights to that one.

Have fun.

A question of taste

This week’s Private Eye is a work of genius. At the risk of falling foul of the copyright laws I invite you to a taster.

Radio Merseyside phone-in quiz:
Billy Butler: What was Hitler’s first name?
Contestant: Heil.

BBC’s Weakest Link:
Anne Robinson: Which William discovered that blood circulates around the body?
Contestant: Shatner.

Mike Barfield

Appleton

I’m going to have to sign up to Rowntree’s Anonymous as I have developed a fruit pastel habit. I’m on a pack a day and buying in bulk (they come loaded in five-tube magazines. Irresistible).

I was explaining this affliction to Roisin when she enlightened me in her wonderful Dublin brogue that they are in fact pronounced ‘pasteel’. She’s dead right you know. It does indeed say fruit pastille down the side. I’ve never heard it pronounced in that Fench fashion before. Is that just me, or our ignorant English prediliction for dumbing down foreign words, or is it an Oirish ting? I’d be interested in some feedback here.

Meanwhile, I need to buy another mag – just to double check the consistency of spelling across the batches you understand.

To clear up some confusion, over the months a couple of you have asked about the tenor banjo and how it’s different from the ones you see on the telly being played claw-hammer style by blue-grass geezers. Look, I don’t do the duelling banjo thing, OK. The tenor banjo has four strings, is utilised by traditional Irish musicians because it can be tuned GDAE like a fiddle, and plays melody (as a pose to chords like a rhythm guitar in a rock band). It’s rarely played on its own though (unlike the fiddle or the flute) possibly because it sounds a bit harsh.

To give you an idea, here are a couple of guys having a stab at the reel I’m learning called Maid behind the bar. Proper musicians like Matt and Ian will tell you that neither of them are particularly good but…uh… they’re both substantially better than me. Notice how their expression varies with the right-hand technique (oooh er missus). Out of interest – which do you prefer? Fingers on buzzers.

Rickupinoft laying it down

Sawdocfan giving it one

(Matt, it’s the second part I’m struggling with – both the rhythm of it and that long reach to the top note on the 7th fret)

If you want to hear a contrast with a gentler, slower version played on the bouzouki, check this out (after all it is a lovely tune).

And please feel free to enlarge on the ESG debate – it all needs a good airing.

Spring is in the air

I know because I’ve been woken early on a Saturday morning by the first disc cutter of the season.

It’s obviously the beginning of nest building with summer migrants flooding in to drill, hammer and saw from first light. The males are all displaying – yelling at the top of their voices to let everyone know they are there and then banging their shovels on top of the cement mixer. If you’re really lucky you can hear a radio blaring over the top of the building noise as these industrious creatures go about their business.

I’ve had enough of cities, of Oxford…and…actually, the UK. And really, what’s to stop me flying off to better climes???

You gotta laugh

Since I stopped working as a journalist, I have found the inflated outpourings of my former colleagues even more irritating than the vaccuous antics of the celebs – anyone one would think it was some sort of revered art form. It isn’t.

Take Rod Liddle for instance, one time editor of the Today programme. He isn’t half as clever as his ego would have him believe, can’t write, isn’t funny, and I for one don’t give a flying toss about his crappy opinions. So why is he famous and writing extensive boreticles in one of the biggest selling newspapers in the land?

How refreshing then to find the occasional well-informed piece which has been beautifully crafted. Simon Jenkins, writing in the same paper, is one example.

And – controversially – I would like to add Clarkson to the list. Another egomentalist who makes sweeping generalisations, it’s true. But he is one of the very few writers who makes me laugh out loud, and, actually, I think he’s a canny, illuminating journalist. I don’t agree with his position on environmental politics (to name but one) but I share his hatred of the incompetent, posturing nerks who run the country at national and local level, and, like him, I resent being told how to think by a green movement which is often ill-advised or just plain wrong. People like Clarkson stop the bandwagons and that’s really healthy even if you don’t subscribe to his view of the world.

If you can’t stand him and hate his schoolboy, sometimes chauvenistic wit (which is wholly understandable), look away now for I have culled a few of my favourites from a variety of sources, including this week’s ST.

1) “Of course, I would rather pull my own ears off than own such a thing.”
2) He describes Shirley Bassey as a “shouty Welshter”.
3) He once reviewed a gaudy-coloured car aimed at the female market and described it as “the most fun you can have with something that’s yellow that isn’t a banana.”
4) “Gordon Brown’s jaw doesn’t work properly, he has no discernible sense of humour and the charisma of a boulder.”
5) “In two million years man managed to discover only three important things: fire, the fact that wood floats and the horse. Then within 100 years, starting in about 1820, he came up with everything else.”
6) On staying in Birmingham. “There were no restaurants. Not one. Well not if you’d had chicken madras for breakfast and an onion bhaji for lunch and you fancied something less ratty for supper.”
7) “When KFC starts advertising a bucket of supper with disposable plates and non-biodegradable plastic cutlery so you don’t have to get your fat arse out of your DFS sofa and wash up, do we hear a murmur? No.”
“All girls in city centre pubs have thighs like tug boats.”
9) “I would rather kiss Nicholas Witchell. With tongues.”
10) “It [the satellite navigation] has the intelligence of a chaffinch.”

And those reviews in full:

1) A big ‘sporty’ Bentley (can’t remember the model): “It’s like riding a brontosaurus – bare back.”
2) Perodua Kelisa 1.0 GXi. “Biblically bad.”
3) Hyundai Accent 1.5. “As useful as Prince Andrew.”
4) Fiat Multipla 1.9JTD. “The most boring machine in history.”
5) BMW 120d Sport. “In a word, crap.”
6) Audi S6 Avant. “Utterly, utterly useless.”
7) Cadillac SRX 4.6. “One star for the sunroof, none for anything else.”
Peugeot 1007 Sport 1.4 2-Tronic. “As much fun as a bus.”
9) Kia Rio LX. “Absolutley dire.”
10) Peugeot 407 2.7 HDi Coupe. “A losing hand all round.”

Feel free to wade in with your own acquired witicisms.