Have at it!
ND
Some things that come your way are so engaging, they are automatically memorable, no effort required. As with most memory-related issues, this is probably a stronger phenomenon with those of, errr, fewer years on the clock: at a time where nobody could readily muster a tape recorder (and long before video), we'd all turn up at school reciting, word-perfect[1], the best lines of complete dialogue from the previous day's Round the Horn, Monty Python and Sorry I'll Read That Again. And I can still give The Glidd of Glood (albeit that masterpiece is now available online now - but I've always been able to since first broadcast, long before ... etc etc).
Topping the charts, so far as I am concerned, is Father Ted. So many extraordinary set-piece gags, many of them just a couple of seconds long [You let Dougal do a funeral?!], strung together in perfect half-hours strings of pure pearls. And now it's been 30 years ... scarcely seems possible. Three short series, one superb Xmas Special; just 25 episodes. And then Dermot Morgan dropped dead, 24 hours after filming the last one. That's heavy stuff, as comedy goes.
A decade or so ago, business took me for a sustained period to Dublin. To my delight, in the office where I was consulting, of a quiet moment[2] or in the staff canteen during lengthy ad hoc mid-morning breaks[3], someone would launch an apposite Father Ted line, and everyone would gleefully chorus the script that followed. Happily, I was able to join in. Taking care not to regale them with my attempt at an Oirish accent ... [4]
Your nominations, please, for best Father Ted one-liner or five-second clip. Here's a good one for starters.
ND
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[1] At least that's how I, *ahem*, remember it ...
[2] There were, just occasionally, quiet moments. Mostly, it was uproarious. A remarkable "working" environment - highly enjoyable & something of a career highlight in its unique way.
[3] Over the massive rock cakes they would all eat. "Mid-morning" pretty much started at 10:00.
[4] Unless the occasion called for the Cork accent, as some sketches do. Dubliners (including Ted himself: A Song for Europe) affect not to be able to understand it, and they don't mind a bit of mockery in that direction.
PS: I can't resist one more story. The department held a quiz night in a big upstairs room in one of those rickety pubs you get, even in the smarter reaches of Dublin. Beer flowed, the craic was amazing. Spot prizes were given throughout the proceedings, and one of these saw a likely lad summoned to the front to receive a smart little box. This he ceremonially opened before the assembled host (senior management present), and exclaimed in disgust: Aaah, shoite! Feckin' commmpany cofflinks! As they say in those parts, you Brits think Father Ted is comedy, but actually it's a documentary.
I met Desmond via my in-laws, who lived in a classic and very respectable English market town. A tubby, bustling, jovial fellow, Desmond was well known to all in the Rotary / Conservatives / Probus circles (Freemasons too, I'm guessing). He had been brewery manager at a well-known county firm, and was now comfortably retired with his wife in a smart bungalow, very much playing the latter-day country squire. When he wasn't out shooting, he attended every good lunch and dinner going - and that's quite a lot in a town of that sort. He was easy to like, but behind his back there was a lot of cheery laughter at his expense, because at every meal, his roving eyes were on the lookout for extra helpings: "... If you're not going to eat those parsnips ...", and he would brazenly help himself to his neighbours' (plural) unwanted scoff. This is not at all the done thing in these circles, but Desmond was shameless. And tubby.
The other aspect of note was that Desmond plus Mrs were always off shopping in the smart stores in the bigger county towns, and would invariably lunch there too. This small-scale but relentless extravagance was also widely commented upon - even well-off county folk tend to abstain from conspicuous over-consumption - and one day it came to a juddering halt. The consumerist couple had, it transpired, taken out all the equity from the bungalow, spent themselves into the ground, handed the keys back to the bank and, accurately presenting as homeless and penniless, threw themselves on the mercy of the local authority.
By some miracle, they were immediately found a small but comfortable flat at minimal rent in a sheltered housing complex based around a smart 18th century town house in pleasant grounds, not two miles from where they lived before. Doubtless, several other welfare benefits flowed: if means-testing was involved, they qualified! After the immediate disbelief had worn off, the reactions of their many acquaintances were critical, but by no means terminally outraged: nor were Desmond & Mrs shunned from polite society. Somehow in all this they had managed to keep the shotguns & car - and proceeded to continue with life much as before, less the shopping and lunching expeditions. Well, there was nowhere to put new purchases any longer. Amazing stuff. Over time, the commentary perceptibly shifted from "feckless bugger" to "not sure why we don't do that, too!" As periodic visitors to this saga of everyday county life, Mrs Drew and I were possibly even more surprised by the widespread eventual acceptance of Desmond's dissolute doings than we were by the deed itself. We even half-wondered if we were detecting a faint new hint of "oh well, eat, drink and be merry, eh?" in the general attitude of Desmond's circles.
Anyhow, notwithstanding his shameless insouciance there was probably some stress involved in all this for the portly Desmond, and some months later he suffered a heart attack. He lasted but a few days in hospital and suffered a fatal relapse after lunch one day. Fittingly, his last words were reliably said to have been: "I never did get my pudding..." Middle-class entitlement, eh?
He would have wanted to go that way, everyone agreed.
ND
An important C@W morality tale
If you haven't caught it amongst all the holiday excitement, there's a remarkable story afoot of how Alastair Campbell's son Rory allegedly took a load of high-rolling mug punters for several million quid, and has now disappeared - along with the money, naturally. It's said he's suffering from the mental stress of it all, naturally, and must be left alone.
If these allegations are true, this is really, really funny. It merits coverage on C@W because (as well as being hilarious) truth be told, mug-punter "investments" are a perennial source of finance for capitalist ventures the world over. This is an important morality tale. It is every adult's job to ensure that they don't themselves join this gravy train, and that they do raise their children to recognize the danger signals.
And the biggest danger signal of all, flashing away in lurid neon lights, is - "I've got this infallible system ..."! For Pity's sake, a betting syndicate!! Or, as we should correctly term it, just another Ponzi scheme. With the outside chance that things work out in the short term, but are guaranteed to crater when, as always, betting against the house doesn't work out in the long run.
Making things more delicious than usual, the endlessly entertaining, worldly-wise Campbell senior (+ Mrs C) seem to have sunk quite a bit of dosh into it[1] themselves. We all hope they got out in time ... *Ahem*.
Was Campbell Jnr betting against the house? Well, details are scant, but I think that's what we must infer: he and his oh-so-mathematical "system" [2] thought they knew better than the big Asian bookies, where liquidity is such you can go large without moving the market. Well, it is indeed sometimes realistically possible to know better than the odds on offer in a big market[3]. But if you're so damn' smart, the risk-free approach is to arbitrage, not simply to indulge in naked speculation[4]. And then ... there's credit risk on top! Not only might you not know better than the market - when you do come out ahead, the bastards might not pay! Which is what, we are told, happened here. I mean, an online bookmaker in the sub-continent? Well well well.
Just to round off, read the last couple of paras in that story - the pugnacious press release. This story, we are angrily told, is one of outrageous breaches of confidence by Master Campbell's investors, which naturally causes the former to withdraw his offer to compensate the latter. It's all their fault, as anyone can plainly see.
I wonder who on earth drafted that? The old master is losing his touch, methinks.
We'll have our own fabulous C@W speculative venture here in a day or so ... the 2025 New Year's Predictions Compo! Watch this space.
ND
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[1] It's not wrong - indeed, it can be truly honourable - for friends and relatives to back their nearest and dearest, of course: I've done it myself several times. But only on businesslike terms that delude nobody, and satisfy everyone before, during and after.
[2] 'Mathematical' systems are the worst. Very few people really understand probability.
[3] I have a friend who genuinely makes serious money on the horses - or did, until he was no longer physically mobile enough to work his energetic system, which is as follows:
Scene: a breakout room in a Whitehall conference centre. Sparquin the Junior Spad is sitting alone, idly thumbing his 'phone. Enter Ru-Ru, a Superspad, looking bronzed but distracted.
JS: Rupes! You're back! God, we've needed you. What was it like over there, working for the Dems?
S-S: A total shitshow. Started in DC, hot as hell, but then they shipped most of us to Penn. Fucking incredible, all they cared about was their sodding celebrity endorsements. Turns out, Swifties aren't old enough to vote - who knew? Everybody, that's who.
JS: But you're looking fit, man - where've you been?
S-S: Chap I was at school with owns a small island off Trinny. All beach cricket and surfing. I needed some R&R, I can tell you.
JS: Maybe, but mate, we needed you here these last few weeks. Total comms fuckup on all fronts. First, PM goes to the Commonwealth thing at Samoa, gets ambushed on reparations! Never saw that coming, totally unprepared, had to busk it: only headlines were bad ones. Disaster. 24-hour flight each way, comes back knackered and furious. All the hacks at the back of the plane - they used to keep a straight face & simper for the group photo, but now they snigger!
Then. THEN there's COP. Off to Baku, absolute hell-hole, nobody else there that the PM knows but with big shiny Lines-To-Take for him & Mili on new UK emissions commitment bollocks. Plus a new line on being Leader of the World - I thought of that one, seeing that no other first-tier c**t bothered to show up - which cheers him up a bit. Mili of course is completely in his element & off with the fairies - far as I know, he's still out there arguing the toss with the petro-states, well he's on his own with that one.
ANYHOW. Then fucking Welby explodes! Catastrophe - can't buy a headline anywhere for love nor money. Does any man, woman or child in the entire country know we increased our bloody emissions offer last week? They do not.
S-S: Tough gig: I was better off on that beach than I realised. Can't have helped, either, that the Gray woman finally sloped off, briefings from all directions - much juicier story than CO2. Someone put shit on her shoes on the way to the door alright - was that you?
JS: Ah, now you're talking! Yes, I got to do that one, and very satisfying it was, too. We targeted end-November, didn't we? Spot on the money! Fucking excellent.
S-S: I'll give you that one. Sounds like you're just the man to spin the economy for Reeves - you'll enjoy that. Now: diaries out: when's that Xmas Party ..?
As overheard by ND
To round off our erudite session on flywheels: BTL on the previous post, one of our anons offered us this little Irish video for our edification.
It contains that oft-heard and seductive phrase "basically free energy", upon which we are told Ireland will build Europe's biggest hydrogen economy. (Hang on a minute, hasn't German already discovered basically free energy?)
Well, the voice-over has a pleasant manner. And we do get to learn about a grid-scale flywheel in action, if nothing else. A moderately entertaining quarter-hour of your time.
ND
So this weekend the wife has booked us in to a 'boutique hotel', and I'm sure we'll have a wonderful time. The establishment offers a range of different rooms, of which this is one.
Wonder what attracted Mrs D's attention to this place ?
ND
I have genuinely never before met hyperbole in this league: someone is really pushing the boundaries here. My attention was drawn to it when encountering somebody laughing out loud in a bookshop - at the back cover of a document entitled Everyday Hero. Deep breath, clear the coffee cups ...
He'd already given us the "takes out onion" routine in the Senned. Then this gem ... (lowers voice, moves into Disappointed Headmaster mode): you've let me down, you've the school down, but most importantly you've let yourselves down.
"I had hoped ... period of reflection ... I now hope ... I know our country can be better ...
Oh yes, and
"... people who look like me ... feel personally bruised and worried by this moment ..."
What, you mean that a blatant grifter who took £200k for his own personal ends from a highly dubious source, who was caught red-handed organising the deletion of messages specifically for the reason of dodging FOI requests, and then lashed out at someone he wrongly suspected of grassing him up - such a person should somehow be entitled to get away with it because of his colour?
As political contributions go, £200k in Wales is an astronomical sum. For pity's sake, £50k gets you a peerage in Westminster! And this is Wales - famous butt of Robert Bolt's excellent joke.
These devolved political leaders, eh? Phff - Toytown stuff.
ND
When my kids were growing up I suggested to them that sometimes, when something quite surprising is asserted, it's a good idea to pause & say ... do we believe this?
I know it's awfully unfestive to be so skeptical: but when I see multi-media coverage of Rhiannon Adam's story that she's going to the moon next year, courtesy of Elon Musk and, errr, Japanese billionaire Yusaku Maezawa who'd like her to have a ticket ... well, I feel we may be deep into do-we-believe-this? territory.
Mission chiefs said Ms Adam, from Ireland, will be the first openly queer woman to go to space ... She added: “I spend a lot of my life working with a lot of remote communities and it felt like a natural thing to do, to apply to go to space and explore the most remote community ever, which would be us in space.”
I'd so like to be proven wrong on this. Call me a cynic, but I can't help feeling the lady will get another call in a few months. Hi Rhiannon? It's Yusaka! No no, it's not about your space-flight training, that'll be a bit nearer the day. No, not the medical check-up either - you don't need one! No, what I wanted to do was help you get started on your crowdfunding. What's that? Yes, you know, crowdfunding! It's easy! Listen, you're bound to know any number of suckers. Well, I mean, surely you have a lot of, errr, like-minded friends ..?
Perhaps in our 2023 Predictions compo we should include a binary yes/no item on this one.
ND
Last year I had cause, for the first time ever, to rent a small lockup in a large, purpose built storage emporium, one of a well-known chain. It's very slick, they really do have it down to a fine art (as behoves the providers of any commoditised service like that). I was moderately interested in the list of prohibited items - seemed reasonable enough to debar explosives etc - and I did notice the sign that said the Police and HMRC have the right to force entry ...
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| That ain't just spare garden furniture going up ... (story below) |
Another thing that became obvious was that some folks used their units for the most bizarre things. (Although the place is mostly deserted, you do catch the odd glimpse.) E.g. a significant hoard of one-armed bandits, wrapped up in that clingfilm that people wrap their suitcases in at airports. Also that on a Monday morning, a truly enormous lockup is prone to dispense vast quantities of palletised cans of soft drinks onto a juggernaut using a fork-lift. Clearly, I'd not realised the industrial aspect of these places. Oh, and on Saturdays some lockups attract whole families, coming to poke around (and block up the lifts with trolleys - what sport).
Next thing I noticed was that, of a week day, there were two quite large lockups, either side of a corridor, double-doors wide open, music playing, in which two ladies were - or rather, are - running an interesting and rather fragant business, packing up all manner of brightly coloured little stuff (trinkets, food parcels) into very neat little containers. There's a lot of sumptuous Asian fabric involved, and the smells (which hang permanently in the corridors) are very pleasant. This operation requires workbenches, a lot of orderly rackspace, big inventories, and not a little electricity for the lighting and various other pieces of equipment they have. An Alladin's cave of goodies! Making up gifts for guests at Asian weddings, maybe? It isn't the done thing to poke into other people's business(es) in these places ...
Anyhow, this week the storage firm issued updated T's & C's in order to prohibit, inter alia, the following newly banned items and activities:
I did then recall an incident a few years ago at another such storage place nearby, which burned to the ground in a fire so fierce, the whole rather basic steel-and-concrete-cube edifice essentially melted - 120 firefighters involved, the whole works (photo above). Now hang on: what on earth is being stored that causes a blaze like that, where steel-and-concrete doesn't survive?
Wow again. You may be sure I've acquainted myself carefully with the fire exits (which do indeed seem pretty good, with vast ports for pumping in foam). No wonder they worry about some of the items on their list. (Cremation ashes!) The world of anonymous, frequently deserted** places is indeed a very strange place. Anybody got any entertaining stories from this whacky realm?
ND
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** except Saturdays and Monday mornings, obviously
You have to suspect Tories will go for pensions if deficit is as bad as it could be. They are going to massively rise in coming decades anyway so might as well deploy some shock doctrine. I think they’ll plump for that, citing ‘generational justice’, and VAT/NI.Now let's immediately accept that one interpretation of this, is: Bastani is merely predicting what the Tories will do next, because he assumes that they (foolishly) think "it all needs to be paid back eventually". But that's not how I read it. It seems to me (and others in the thread following his tweet) that young Aaron himself thinks it all does indeed have to be "paid back" - 'cept he'd do it via a wealth tax etc etc. He's just mulling over the conventional options for doing so, and speculating on the politics around the choices available. (I have no intention of ringing him up and finding out which is correct.) In any event, he didn't rise to the chiding of one of his BTL commenters who retorted:
Love the comments on here from Corbynistas implying the Govt have spent too much! Pot/Kettle.So for now, I'm sticking with my interpretation. Deep in the public psyche, plain vanilla grocer's-daughter Thatcherism rules, OK!
... But guess what happened when, at the close, the scrupulously neutral moderator asked this group of past Labour voters who they would back on 12 December. All but one opted for Johnson. The same group that had declared him a liar nevertheless planned, quite cheerfully, to put him back into Downing Street. Why? ...
The group were asked about [Corbyn] too and, in addition to calling him “indecisive”, “arrogant” and “weak”, three people offered that he too was a “liar” and “untrustworthy”. And yet while they forgave the dishonesty of Johnson, they gave no such leeway to Labour. The offer of free broadband was mocked, along with several other Labour manifesto promises. Jamie, who owns a car repair business, reckoned Labour had sat around asking themselves, “‘Who haven’t we given something to yet? I know, let’s do free dental care’. It’ll be free Pot Noodles for migrants next.” That brought laughter – and agreement.
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| Politician Pumpkin |
In a reference to the sometimes gruff welcome offered to tourists, [foreign minister] Fabius said a humorous publicity campaign would be launched, encouraging the French to improve service levels and help tourists when they could. “To put it diplomatically, we have room for improvement here ..."I'm looking forward to that: they do a pretty good 'humorous publicity campaign' in France. The Metro is festooned with rather fine posters urging more considerate behaviour (see the animal-based offerings here).
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| source: Beeb |
OK folks, 9 May is shortly upon us so the chance to win a C@W special prize must be seized quickly!The leaders of China, India and Brazil are expected at the parade on 9 May, but there will be few western leaders, most of whom are boycotting the event. The German chancellor, Angela Merkel, will miss the parade but instead travel to Moscow a day later to lay a wreath at a war memorial. The UK Foreign Office says it is still deciding whether British officials or politicians will travel from London to attend the ceremony, which comes just two days after the general election.The thing that makes it really awkward is that the Russians have signalled they will be fêting their recent exploits in Crimea and eastern Ukraine. Who on earth can the UK send? C@W readers and writers have so far nominated:
HMQ (conditional); Prince Charles (conditional); Prince Philip; William Hague; Tony Blair; Gorgeous George; Ed Balls; Russell Brand; Camilla; Princess Anne; Ant & Dec; Farage; Mandelson; Hammond; Owen Jones; Polly Toynbee; Len McCluskey; Caroline Ashton; Peter Hain.The FO will have chosen by now and it more-or-less has to be either an aristo, and/or a minor politico whose status + availability won't be buggered by the election outcome. Keep voting, folks!
Update: Duke of Gloucester; Miliband E; Will + Kate + New Princess; Andrew; Princess Michael of Kent (nice one); the Chelsea Team (sic); KP(ieterson); KP(rice); Michael Foot (corpse of); Hon. David Henry Montgomery ... Fiona Bruce; Bob Crowe (ghost of) ...
New ruling on obesity will impact on Scottish businessYup, I think we can agree with that one. But business implications aside, who's this chubby chap in the asylum queue, urgently seeking sanctuary in our enlightened, fat-friendly continent ?
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| Milae confidently exploring unfamiliar territory |
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| Milae triangulating |
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| Robot arm extending |
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| Robot arm probing possible life-form on the surface |
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| Batteries almost exhausted |
