Well, when I say "Popular demand" I mean 2 people, Sarcastic Kitty (not the alter ego) and My Sister-in-law, Jen's Horde, who actually thought she needed to call the emergency services as to the whereabouts of her favourite Brother-in-law!
So where have I been?
This International Man of mystery has managed the impossible, he has not only single handedly taken a an unkept English country garden lawn and ensured it resembles a lush shag pile carpet, he has proven the old adage that "The grass is always greener on the other side", whilst also developing an amazing tan. He has taken a step in the right direction for the consumer against corporate monopolisation of SKY television, within the British Broadcasting industry, developed a safe, humanitarian mosquito repellent for my family, put an end to starvation, refused Live8 tickets in Edinburgh for the benefit of fellow man and made in roads into International relations and have aided the regions water shortage due to the drought!
Wow, that is impressive even for me!
In laymans terms..............................
this all means the following:
I cut the grass, indeed it is very short now, lowest setting a petrol driven hand pushed model can go. It was so hot that whilst cutting the grass there was no moisture around and immediately afterward the grass turned brown on the tennis court, whilst the lush green carpet of the front lawn, regained all it's splendour.
It was so hot that I managed to get a great tan and am fortunate enough not to have burnt!
We have had a few thunderstorms in this area lately and on Monday night/morning we lost only form of entertainment, our 600 channel satellite system. I called SKY the very next day after I found there was no way of avoiding talking to rest of the family and was told that we may be lucky and get an engineer around by Wednesday week, at this moment, my Wife, realising that I only have so much conversation capable to me, grabbed the phone and had a rather pleasant("£$%^&*) conversation with the supervisor. (I am surprised we still have a contract). By the end of last evening after having played the 3rd game of Monopoly in 2 days, I had to try.....I re-connected all the cables, plugs and switched the system on, to my joy and excitement, we had SKY! Not only did we have SKY downstairs, but the system which had beenobsoletee in our bedroom for 6 months worked too!!
My Family and I have discovered that if we venture into the Garden to enjoy the landscape during the evening, that we have in our midst, the perfect mosquitorepellentt.....IT'S ME! Whilst they were all playing, enjoying swinging and climbing the trees, doing a spot ofarchaeologyy not one mosquito took a nibble of them, me on the other hand, that's a different story, every mosquito in the Northern hemisphere made a bee line to me and I have the lumps to prove it!!!
I managed to fit a truly wonderful experience into the past week to, my weekly visit to the Commissary. Oh how I hate shopping for anything, especially food...."We don't like that, you bought too much of that, why didn't you but more and did you check the expiration dates on everything?"
I really did refuse tickets to Live8 in Edinburgh...Myy wife's work colleague had gotten hold 2 tickets and was unable to attend as she also had tickets to Hyde Park, so gave us 1st refusal, which we duly did! We couldn't get a baby sitter, my wife had no time off work and I have no friends!
On Monday morning and again on Thursday afternoon I made the return trip to Stanstead airport for a friend of ours, who happens to be a Yank and who was attending a conference in Germany, I should become a Diplomat
Water shortages, well let's just say that my idea of becoming the new Bob Geldof and finding a mosquitorepellentt at the same time for me, didn't work and a bath was had today, after which there was much rejoicing!!
We are due to fly to the States in July, so if George needs anything sorted, let him know I am coming!
Friday, July 01, 2005
Thursday, June 16, 2005
Just popped in to say Popups out
OK, I have finally discovered which links were generating pop ups and I have dealt them with accordingly, they are now deep in cyberspace along with all the news and artifacts from yesteryear!
Talking of yesteryear, well, I spelt it, so I am really, I want to start a campaign to get the Church of the Latter Day Saints
to increase their expenditure on the British genealogy side of things. In the States you can find everything documented from the first settlers to the Irish immigration and on. Well it was our ships and records initially, I suppose that's why.
Here we are lucky if we can go any further back that 1810.
Ok, we were bombed in the 2nd World war for near on 6 years, yes it actually lasted that long 1939 - 1945, so a lot of our records went up in the fires. There must be records somewhere else......I mean, if Malachi and Nostradamus could foresee the Popes and the coming of Hitler and that maybe just 1 of the 9 million persecuted witches, under tortured because they drank herbal tea could have foretold the records being lost, then the inquisition could have written it down!
Perhaps that is what happened, they did write these catastrophes down and the records were put in a safe place, you know, just like the car keys and passports...."But I left them on the table not 5 minutes ago"!
anyway, what was I saying, oh yes, More money to the English genealogy people!
A funny thing happened on the way to the ComMISERY, (my pronunciation) today, I don't know where, but somewhere I hope!
Schools out for Summer and I get to be recreations officer for 6 weeks. I also get and this is the most important thing about school out, I also get Lay -ins! I thought it was never coming, 6 am every Monday - Friday, 18 hours is a long day for any person, let alone a man! So now, whilst my DW is asleep, My daughter and I have hatched a plan, she gets up at silly o'clock every morning anyway, be it school or not, she will now take care of the Little un until Daddy wakes up.
As long as we plan it so that Mommy wakes up after, we are in the clear! Just hope my DW has gotten bored with the post way before this sentence.
Talking of yesteryear, well, I spelt it, so I am really, I want to start a campaign to get the Church of the Latter Day Saints
to increase their expenditure on the British genealogy side of things. In the States you can find everything documented from the first settlers to the Irish immigration and on. Well it was our ships and records initially, I suppose that's why.
Here we are lucky if we can go any further back that 1810.
Ok, we were bombed in the 2nd World war for near on 6 years, yes it actually lasted that long 1939 - 1945, so a lot of our records went up in the fires. There must be records somewhere else......I mean, if Malachi and Nostradamus could foresee the Popes and the coming of Hitler and that maybe just 1 of the 9 million persecuted witches, under tortured because they drank herbal tea could have foretold the records being lost, then the inquisition could have written it down!
Perhaps that is what happened, they did write these catastrophes down and the records were put in a safe place, you know, just like the car keys and passports...."But I left them on the table not 5 minutes ago"!
anyway, what was I saying, oh yes, More money to the English genealogy people!
A funny thing happened on the way to the ComMISERY, (my pronunciation) today, I don't know where, but somewhere I hope!
Schools out for Summer and I get to be recreations officer for 6 weeks. I also get and this is the most important thing about school out, I also get Lay -ins! I thought it was never coming, 6 am every Monday - Friday, 18 hours is a long day for any person, let alone a man! So now, whilst my DW is asleep, My daughter and I have hatched a plan, she gets up at silly o'clock every morning anyway, be it school or not, she will now take care of the Little un until Daddy wakes up.
As long as we plan it so that Mommy wakes up after, we are in the clear! Just hope my DW has gotten bored with the post way before this sentence.
Stonehenge looks a no-go for us this year, personal reasons with which I agree fully and have no qualms about, there hasn't been a clear night for 5 years now, so I am sure there won't be one this Monday night/ Tuesday morning either as we are not that lucky in this country with the weather. Somebody mentions outdoor party or BBQ and that's that, the end of summer. We would have missed the Solar Eclipse in this country if it hadn't gone dark!
My DW has just posted about Google so I thought I would have a go to......
The paddock at the end of our garden has lots of different SEX animals, they have the COCK, pigs with sagging NIPPLES and hens who are LAYING all the time. There will be a SILENCE OF THE LAMBS soon as it's feasting time, so our PUSSY cats will no doubt be into VOYEURISM at that time as will I.
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
It's Official....I'm could be clinically MAD!?
Well what a fun packed week so far and it's only Wednesday!
After Sundays shenanigans, you know, 12 hours sleep the night before and allegedly a really nice guy, 3 posts, 3 meals prepared, kids bathed and smiling........Yes, it was supposedly me but I am still awaiting the photographic evidence.....Anyway, Monday........
Same old routine...No...Not today, drove our Daughter to school equipped with dirt pie and 2 litres of soda...Some school party.
Bored with this diary now......Need another quiz!
Oh yes, Doctors yesterday for some happy pills.....I never got them....I think he didn't realise I was joking, you know
Doc says: "How are you feeling?"
Me says: "Fffffffine" with my best impression of a facial tic and whole body movement, ala Monty Python scene in the jail for "Holy Grail"
and then when I said that I heard voices....Living in a 13th Century Farmhouse you are likely to hear voices, if not of the past residents, ie the people, cows, dogs, rats, pigs....And now, my family from every direction..."Dad", .....
anyhow, he's referred me to the nice man upstairs with the white coat....I am sure that when I tell him the only voices I hear are in my head and telling Me to kill the sarcasm, all will be fine!
I hope the shrink has a sense of humour or I am in trouble!!!
This morning I've already got the kids off to school, emptied the dishwasher and put all the contents away, washed and dried the laundry, fed the animals, hoovered everywhere but where the Lady of the house was fast asleep, watched the Lions win in New Zealand and the best one of all, I did some gardening, well........
As we have a large garden which is prone to weeds...This morning, with the sun shining and rain looking very unlikely...I thought oh well, weed killer.
Read the directions...40ml to 5 litres of water for 20m2....But ensure there is no possibility of rain for at least 12 hours, well.....I emptied 2 bottles of weed killer in my endeavours and covered every weed and root in the worse grown up areas.....Just as I was finished...IT RAINED and it hasn't bloody stopped....The neighbours must've thought I was mad....shit! Hope they don't have their say as I am incarcerated.
If you have read this far, I'm sorry, I am bored too!!!
quiz time!
After Sundays shenanigans, you know, 12 hours sleep the night before and allegedly a really nice guy, 3 posts, 3 meals prepared, kids bathed and smiling........Yes, it was supposedly me but I am still awaiting the photographic evidence.....Anyway, Monday........
Same old routine...No...Not today, drove our Daughter to school equipped with dirt pie and 2 litres of soda...Some school party.
Bored with this diary now......Need another quiz!
Oh yes, Doctors yesterday for some happy pills.....I never got them....I think he didn't realise I was joking, you know
Doc says: "How are you feeling?"
Me says: "Fffffffine" with my best impression of a facial tic and whole body movement, ala Monty Python scene in the jail for "Holy Grail"
and then when I said that I heard voices....Living in a 13th Century Farmhouse you are likely to hear voices, if not of the past residents, ie the people, cows, dogs, rats, pigs....And now, my family from every direction..."Dad", .....
anyhow, he's referred me to the nice man upstairs with the white coat....I am sure that when I tell him the only voices I hear are in my head and telling Me to kill the sarcasm, all will be fine!
I hope the shrink has a sense of humour or I am in trouble!!!
This morning I've already got the kids off to school, emptied the dishwasher and put all the contents away, washed and dried the laundry, fed the animals, hoovered everywhere but where the Lady of the house was fast asleep, watched the Lions win in New Zealand and the best one of all, I did some gardening, well........
As we have a large garden which is prone to weeds...This morning, with the sun shining and rain looking very unlikely...I thought oh well, weed killer.
Read the directions...40ml to 5 litres of water for 20m2....But ensure there is no possibility of rain for at least 12 hours, well.....I emptied 2 bottles of weed killer in my endeavours and covered every weed and root in the worse grown up areas.....Just as I was finished...IT RAINED and it hasn't bloody stopped....The neighbours must've thought I was mad....shit! Hope they don't have their say as I am incarcerated.
If you have read this far, I'm sorry, I am bored too!!!
quiz time!
Sunday, June 12, 2005
This one as it says
This one I can relate to and have no qualms about posting!
 | You scored as Paganism. Your beliefs are most closely aligned with those of paganism, Wicca, or a similar earth-based religion. You may also follow a Native American religion.
Which religion is the right one for you? (new version) created with QuizFarm.com |
It's Mythical, Honestly!
I if'd and am'd about this post for a long time, but the picture was really good!
In the UK this word has a few other meanings, similar to FAG in the USA, but my wife assures me that I am no Fairy, other than a Mythical Creature from a quiz!
In the UK this word has a few other meanings, similar to FAG in the USA, but my wife assures me that I am no Fairy, other than a Mythical Creature from a quiz!
 | You scored as Faerie. Faerie: Aren't you a cute little flying person? Faeries are earth spirits. They live among each element completely hidden. They have cousins called Pixies. Pixies however, are very mischevious. They enjoy tormenting other creatures for fun. Little pranksters.. I hope you never meet one. Pixies have a bad reputation for finding a creature and clinging to them until death. Faeries can be somewhat close to a Pixie, but mostly they are loving, playful, and carry with them a child-like enthusiasm for life. Hide among the pedals of a Daisy, you are a Faerie.
What Mythological Creature are you? (Cool Pics!) created with QuizFarm.com |
Give me back the bags under my eyes!
I knew I had been tired lately, you know the male version of PMT, making bitchy and sarcastic comments to all and sundry. What I didn't realise was just how tired.
After we had finished the fine Beef hot pot I had lovingly, ok, prepared, I sat down on the couch with my DW and kids, we were watching some crap or other on the TV and I kept getting these pokes in my side and my daughter laughing. Turns out that I kept falling asleep and my DW was kicking me.
Now Meg Ryan always keeps me awake, but not last night, in an effort to stop me dozing off, it was "City Of Angels". 5 mins into the movie and that kick was felt again, so I took the Little un upstairs, helped him brush his teeth, put him into bed, talked for a while and then went into our adjoining room and laid down......This was at 8pm......
Next thing I know my wife, who had missed kicking me, was putting me under the covers and telling me it was the middle of the night and to go back to sleep, which I promptly did. She never woke me to ask if I had brushed my teeth!
7am this morning I awoke, thinking it was still the evening before as we are in the midst of British Summer time and it stays light here until 10pm, only to find everyone downstairs, wife on the couch, comotoased and the children watching a movie. Seeing this scene, it could well have been the night before and I had the perfect opportunity to give my wife her come uppance......No I didn't, hence I am still here, alive and posting.
I made the kids some breakfast, cinnamon rolls and then played a few games, you know, the usual stuff, Power Rangers, beat the babies!!!
I then, after copious amounts of coffee, looked in the mirror.....To my shock, my bags under the old tired eyes had gone....Wow, there could be a career in the movies or the glamour industry for me afterall.....Or am I still sleeping!!!!
After we had finished the fine Beef hot pot I had lovingly, ok, prepared, I sat down on the couch with my DW and kids, we were watching some crap or other on the TV and I kept getting these pokes in my side and my daughter laughing. Turns out that I kept falling asleep and my DW was kicking me.
Now Meg Ryan always keeps me awake, but not last night, in an effort to stop me dozing off, it was "City Of Angels". 5 mins into the movie and that kick was felt again, so I took the Little un upstairs, helped him brush his teeth, put him into bed, talked for a while and then went into our adjoining room and laid down......This was at 8pm......
Next thing I know my wife, who had missed kicking me, was putting me under the covers and telling me it was the middle of the night and to go back to sleep, which I promptly did. She never woke me to ask if I had brushed my teeth!
7am this morning I awoke, thinking it was still the evening before as we are in the midst of British Summer time and it stays light here until 10pm, only to find everyone downstairs, wife on the couch, comotoased and the children watching a movie. Seeing this scene, it could well have been the night before and I had the perfect opportunity to give my wife her come uppance......No I didn't, hence I am still here, alive and posting.
I made the kids some breakfast, cinnamon rolls and then played a few games, you know, the usual stuff, Power Rangers, beat the babies!!!
I then, after copious amounts of coffee, looked in the mirror.....To my shock, my bags under the old tired eyes had gone....Wow, there could be a career in the movies or the glamour industry for me afterall.....Or am I still sleeping!!!!
Friday, June 10, 2005
The New Empire emerges
It's happened, the English are coming to gain our European supremacy again, hitting the rest of Europe on 7 fronts. Not only do we hold the Presidency of both the European Commission and the EU, we are boasting Liverpool as the proud Champions of Europe.
Now UEFA have unanimously agreed to allow them to enter nexts years campaign as well. This means that the rest of europe will see at 1st hand the superior footballing skills displayed by the English Premier League.
That's 5 (five, V) sets of English supporters holidaying all over resorts every couple of weeks......oh how I dream of the day I will be there with my green and white scarf, English Flag and the Green Army, chanting "One more for the Argyle".
Thursday, June 09, 2005
I'll be bloggered!!
I set a new personal record this morning for mowing the lawn.....because God has been pissing all over England lately, then just when you think there will be a break, he/she must shake! Now that doesn't make sense, do women shake? Anyway, I'm digressing, so we have had a lot of rain lately, in between the downfalls I have tried to mow our modest garden so the kids can see the dog shit before they stand in it. It has been taking me 4 hours just to mow one lawn, but TODAY, June 09, 2005, it took me, wait for it......3 hours to mow the whole bloody garden.......I don't know if I was more impressed with the time or the fact that I hadn't keeled over and had an heart attack!
Am I sore? You bet your pretty arse I am sore, My shoulders and arms are aching and my hands didn't stop vibrating for about 40 minutes afterwards. WHO cares? I hear you mutter, YOU may not, I may also have dug my own grave, done a bad thing, now my wife knows it can be done, but I care, perhaps I can take that garden break soon and enjoy the garden for what it is, our oasis, instead of looking out of the window and putting off the inevitable!
What else happened today? Well I managed to get out of bed before 0630hrs and take our daughter to the bus stop for her hour long journey to school. I came back and got the little un dressed and ready for the creche, well Mommy had to help and coax him as he told us that he had no shoes to wear, little bugger....When we got in the car we were having our little customary insulting match...He's 3 by the way, and then he was fine, ran into the "little school", put his backpack away and was a happy little soul until Daddy, in his infinite wisdom, yes I do have some, well sometimes, there was this one time.....I'm digressing again....knelt down to give him a hug and tell him that I loved him, at which point he started crying and wanted to come home. Thankfully the assistants there managed to crow bar him away from me and I made a tactical, hasty departure.
Home and the mowing record, before picking little un up again at noon and off for his staple diet of McDonalds, it's the toys he wants, honestly, he doesn't eat anything but healthy food usually, you know the sort of thing, corn dogs, chicken nuggets, sweets/candy and anything with chocolate!
We had a couple of hours of playing in the garden, no shit on the shoes :) and off to pick up big sister, she's 10. After big sis's obligatory 30mins gymnastics practice and display in the newly mown garden, it was for the family to have dinner, tuna pasta was on offer tonight, so little un had garlic bread, then the kids bathed, brushed their teeth and were both in bed asleep by 9pm....
It's now 2300hrs......it's what time, what have you been doing for the past 2 hours......umm.......Looking for something to post...Couldn't find anything so I won't bother tonight!
Am I sore? You bet your pretty arse I am sore, My shoulders and arms are aching and my hands didn't stop vibrating for about 40 minutes afterwards. WHO cares? I hear you mutter, YOU may not, I may also have dug my own grave, done a bad thing, now my wife knows it can be done, but I care, perhaps I can take that garden break soon and enjoy the garden for what it is, our oasis, instead of looking out of the window and putting off the inevitable!
What else happened today? Well I managed to get out of bed before 0630hrs and take our daughter to the bus stop for her hour long journey to school. I came back and got the little un dressed and ready for the creche, well Mommy had to help and coax him as he told us that he had no shoes to wear, little bugger....When we got in the car we were having our little customary insulting match...He's 3 by the way, and then he was fine, ran into the "little school", put his backpack away and was a happy little soul until Daddy, in his infinite wisdom, yes I do have some, well sometimes, there was this one time.....I'm digressing again....knelt down to give him a hug and tell him that I loved him, at which point he started crying and wanted to come home. Thankfully the assistants there managed to crow bar him away from me and I made a tactical, hasty departure.
Home and the mowing record, before picking little un up again at noon and off for his staple diet of McDonalds, it's the toys he wants, honestly, he doesn't eat anything but healthy food usually, you know the sort of thing, corn dogs, chicken nuggets, sweets/candy and anything with chocolate!
We had a couple of hours of playing in the garden, no shit on the shoes :) and off to pick up big sister, she's 10. After big sis's obligatory 30mins gymnastics practice and display in the newly mown garden, it was for the family to have dinner, tuna pasta was on offer tonight, so little un had garlic bread, then the kids bathed, brushed their teeth and were both in bed asleep by 9pm....
It's now 2300hrs......it's what time, what have you been doing for the past 2 hours......umm.......Looking for something to post...Couldn't find anything so I won't bother tonight!
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
Kindred Spirits & CARPE DIEM, TOMORROW!
What can I say?
I've been the topic of a post, what's more it's the first, family notwithstanding, from a fellow blogger whom I've only recently posted a comment on and vice-versa.
I'm really lost for words and judging by my blog power, that's not too hard , steady!
To see this post please go to "Take Another Piece of my Heart........ "
and look under "Kindred Spirits & CARPE DIEM, TOMORROW!"
and to you "Butchy", my most heartfelt thanks.
I've been the topic of a post, what's more it's the first, family notwithstanding, from a fellow blogger whom I've only recently posted a comment on and vice-versa.
I'm really lost for words and judging by my blog power, that's not too hard , steady!
To see this post please go to "Take Another Piece of my Heart........ "
and look under "Kindred Spirits & CARPE DIEM, TOMORROW!"
and to you "Butchy", my most heartfelt thanks.
Sunday, June 05, 2005
The Summer Solstice
As the sun spirals its longest dance,
Cleanse us
As nature shows bounty and fertility
Bless us
Let all things live with loving intent
And to fulfill their truest destiny
Taken from a Wiccan blessing for Summer
Solstice, Midsummer or Litha means a stopping or standing still of the sun. It is the longest day of the year and the time when the sun is at its maximum elevation.
This date has had spiritual significance for thousands of years as humans have been amazed by the great power of the sun. The Celts celebrated with bonfires that would add to the sun’s energy, Christians placed the feast of St John the Baptist towards the end of June and it is also the festival of Li, the Chinese Goddess of light.
Like other religious groups, Pagans are in awe of the incredible strength of the sun and the divine powers that create life. For Pagans this spoke in the Wheel of the Year is a significant point. The Goddess took over the earth from the horned God at the beginning of spring and she is now at the height of her power and fertility. For some Pagans the Summer Solstice marks the marriage of the God and Goddess and see their union as the force that creates the harvest’s fruits.
This is a time to celebrate growth and life but for Pagans, who see balance in the world and are deeply aware of the ongoing shifting of the seasons it is also time to acknowledge that the sun will now begin to decline once more towards winter.
When celebrating midsummer Pagans draw on diverse traditions. In England thousands of Pagans and non-Pagans go to places of ancient religious sites such as Stonehenge and Avebury to see the sun rising on the first morning of summer. Many more Pagans hold small ceremonies in open spaces, everywhere from gardens to woodlands.
Will you be there?
STOLEN from the BBC
Saturday, June 04, 2005
The Death Clock
I have just come across this interesting site whilst doing the obligatory surfing for a posting of some depth!!! (refer to earlier post)
I now know my Personal Day of Death is... Thursday, October 31, 2052
I find this a little to my relief as I am supposed to die at the age of 58 and from suicide (previous posts) but this one puts me at 84 years of age!!!
You can also find out the following:
Find out how famous people died including Jill dando, James Dean and Lady Di
Postpone your day of death
Counteract doomsday
Causes of death
I now know my Personal Day of Death is... Thursday, October 31, 2052
I find this a little to my relief as I am supposed to die at the age of 58 and from suicide (previous posts) but this one puts me at 84 years of age!!!
You can also find out the following:
Find out how famous people died including Jill dando, James Dean and Lady Di
Postpone your day of death
Counteract doomsday
Causes of death
England and The English
Oh how I would love to take the praise for this, but alas, I have to give credit elsewhere.....
England and the English
Beyond the Pillars of Hercules, they do things inversely and, perpetually appearing to dig their own graves, by some means erect world-beheld monuments—an example, however, not to be followed by less confident peoples.
Speech to the Royal Society of St. George given by Rudyard Kipling: April 1920
I THINK this is an occasion on which it behoves us all to walk rather circumspectly. If you will let me, I will try and tell you why. About sixteen hundred years ago, when Rome was mistress of the world and the Picts and the Scots lived on the other side of the Wall that ran from Newcastle to Carlisle, the story goes that Rome allowed all those peoples one night in the year in which they could say aloud exactly what they thought of Rome, without fear of the consequences. So then, on that one night of the year, they would creep out of the heather in droves and light their little wandering fires and criticise their Libyan Generals and their Roman Pontiffs and the Eastern camp followers, who looked down on them from the top of the great high unbreakable Roman Wall sixteen hundred years ago.
To-day, Imperial Rome is dead. The Wall is down and the Picts and the Scots are on this side of it, but thanks to our Royal Society of St. George, there still remains one night in the year when the English can creep out of their hiding-places and whisper to each other exactly what we think about ourselves. No, it is not quite safe to criticise our masters—our masters who tax us and educate us, and try us, and minister so abundantly to what they instruct us our wants ought to be. Since these masters of ours have not yet quite the old untroubled assurance of power and knowledge that made Rome so tolerant in the days when the Picts and the Scots lived on the other side of the Wall, we will confine ourselves to our own popular and widely recognised defects.
Some of our severest critics, who, of course, are of our own household, have said that there never was such a thing as the English Race—that it is at best the intolerably insolent outcome of ancient invasions and immigrations, freshened with more recent Continental gaol-deliveries. Far be it from me to traverse such statements. I give them on no less authority than that of the late Mr. Daniel Defoe, Liveryman of the City of London, author of Robinson Crusoe and of a pamphlet called The True-born Englishman. He deals very faithfully with the English. So faithfully that, in deference to the susceptibilities of some races, I will not give his version of the Englishman’s pedigree, but in his summing up of the true-born Englishman, Defoe says:
A true-born Englishman’s a contradiction,In speech an irony, in fact a fiction,A metaphor intended to expressA man akin to all the Universe.
In that last line it seems to me that Defoe slips into a blessing where he meant to curse, because a man “akin to all the Universe” cannot be wholly lost. He must have some points of contact with humanity. And the Englishman has had several.
The Phoenicians taught him the rudiments of shopkeeping; the Romans taught him love of sport by hiring him to fight wild beasts in their arenas. Under the Heptarchy he studied Social Reform, which in those unenlightened days consisted of raising levies on capital in order to buy off the Heathen of the North from taking direct action against English industries. He next took a three-hundred-years’ course of colloquial and Law French under eminent Norman teachers. He did not learn that language then or since, but it left him with a profound respect, based on experience, for his neighbours across the Channel, and a conviction, which time has deepened, that they were the only other people in the world who mattered.
For five hundred years his affairs, domestic and foreign, were controlled by French, Italian, Spanish, with occasional Austrian, politico-ecclesiastical authorities, who tried to teach him that “this realm of England” was but part of a vast international organisation destined to embrace, protect, and instruct all mankind. He escaped from those embraces only to find himself subjected to the full rigours of the Puritan Conscience, which at that time was largely directed by gentle men from Geneva, Leyden, Amsterdam, and the Low Countries. While thus engaged he was, under pretext of union, finally and fatally subjugated by the Scot. A few years later he embarked on the swelling tide of party politics in all their attendant purity; since which he has seldom been allowed to look back, and never forward.
I submit that such a nightmare of national experiences would have driven an unmixed race to the edge of lunacy. But the Englishman is like a built-up gun barrel, all one temper though welded of many different materials, and he has strong powers of resistance. Roman, Dane, Norman, Papist, Cromwellian, Stuart, Hollander, Hanoverian, Upper Class, Middle Class, Democracy, each in turn through a thousand years experimented on him and tried to make him to their own liking. He met them each in turn with a large silent toleration, which each in turn mistook for native stupidity. He gave them each in turn a fair trial and, when he had finished with them, an equally fair dismissal. As an additional safeguard he devised for himself a social system in watertight compartments, so arranged that neither the waters of popular emotion nor the fires of private revenge could sweep his ship of State from end to end. If, in spite of this, the domestic situation became too much for him he could always take a ship and go to sea, and there seek or impose the peace which the Papal Legate, or the Mediaeval Trade Union, or a profligate Chancellor of the Exchequer denied to him at home. And thus, gentlemen—not in a fit of absence of mind—was the Empire born. It was the outcome of the relaxations of persecuted specialists—men who for one cause or another were unfit for the rough and tumble of life at home. They did it for change and rest, exactly as we used to take our summer holidays, and, like ourselves, they took their national habits with them. For example, they did not often gather together with harps and rebecks to celebrate their national glories, or to hymn their national heroes. When they did not take them both for granted, they, like ourselves, generally denied the one and did their best to impeach the other. But, by some mysterious rule-of-thumb magic, they did establish and maintain reasonable security and peace among simple folk in very many parts of the world, and that, too, without overmuch murder, robbery, oppression, or torture.
One secret of the success of the English was, perhaps, their imperturbable tolerance. A race that has been persecuted, or—what comes to the same thing—bored, by every persecuted refugee to whom they have ever given an asylum, naturally learns to tolerate anything. Their immensely mixed origin, too, made the English in a very real sense “akin to all the universe”, and sympathetic in their dumb way with remote Gods and strange people. Above all, their long insular experience of imported brain-storms had taught them that men should not try to do better than good for fear lest worse than bad might follow. And there has been enough of worse than bad in the world for the last few years. Our national weakness for keeping to the easiest road to the latest possible minute sooner than inconvenience ourselves or our neighbours has been visited upon us full tale. After ninety-nine years of peace the English were given ninety-six hours in which to choose whether they would buy a little longer peace from the Heathen of the North, as some of their ancestors had done, or whether they would make peace with them as our King Alfred made it with the Danes. It was a race that had almost forgotten how to say “No” to anybody who said “Yes” in a sufficiently loud voice. It seemed as if it had quite forgotten that it had broken a Church, killed a King, closed a Protectorate and exiled another King, sooner than be driven where it did not want to go. But when its hour came, once again it decided to go its own way, and once again by instinct. For it had prepared nothing—it had foreseen nothing. It had been assured that not only was there no need for preparation against war, but that the mere thought of preparation against war was absurd where it was not criminal. Therefore, through the first two years of the war, it was necessary to throw up a barricade of the dead bodies of the nation’s youth behind which the most elementary preparations could be begun.
There has been no such slaughter of the English in English history, but the actual war was no more than a large-scale repetition of previous national experiences. If an Elizabethan Statesman (or adventurer) could have returned to England during the war he would, I think, in a very short time have been able to pick up his office work almost where he dropped it. His reports and his maps would have been a little more detailed, but he would have been surprisingly abreast of the whole situation.
Where the old English influence had struck deep all the world over, he would have seen help and comfort hurried up to all the fronts from all the world over without count or tale, without word or bond to limit or confirm it. Where the old alien influences that he knew so well had persisted, or where the new influences directed by the old were at work, he would have seen, as he would have expected, all help for the war denied, withheld, or doled out grudgingly, piecemeal at a high price. He would have recognised that what held firm in the days of the Armada held firm at Armageddon: that what had broken beneath his hand then was rotten in our hand now. Bar a few minor differences of equipment, he would have felt just like any sailor or soldier returning to some bitterly familiar job of sea-patrol or trench life between ’14 and ’18. Like those men he would have taken for granted a great deal upon which other nations might have wasted valuable thought and attention. Our stories of Coronel and Zeebrugge, of the English county battalions not one year old that died to the last man as a matter of routine on the fronts that they were ordered to hold, would have moved him no more and no less than the little affair of Sir Richard Grenville off Flores, in the Revenge. That troopers of County Yeomanry in Mesopotamia, picked almost at random, could, single-handed and by sheer force of character, control and conciliate in a few days a turbulent Arab village, would have amazed him no more and no less than any tale of Panama, or of our first venture across the world, told him by Sir Francis Drake or any forgotten captain of the same age. Being of the breed he would have known the breed and would have taken the work of the breed for granted.
And herein, as I see it, lies the strength of the English—that they have behind them this continuity of immensely varied race-experience and race-memory, running equally through all classes back to the very dawn of our dawn. This imposes on them unconsciously, even while they deny or deride it, standards of achievement and comparison, hard perhaps, and perhaps a little unsympathetic, but not low—not low—and, as all earth is witness, not easily to be lowered. And that is the reason why in the things nearest our hearts we praise so little and criticise so lavishly. It is the only compliment which an Englishman dare pay to his country.
As you know, our standards of achievement and comparison do not appear on the surface; nor are they much in men’s mouths. When they are, they are mostly translated into terms of sport or the slang of our various games. But whenever the English deal in earnest with each other, or with the outside world, those standards are taken for granted. And it is by the things that we take for granted without word that we live. It was taken for granted during the war that every day was St. George’s Day, on one or other of our seven fronts.
And now, we and our kin, after these great years, are sick, dizzy, and shaken—like all convalescents, a little inclined to pity ourselves, a little inclined to stay as long as possible on a diet of invalid slops, and a little more than inclined to mistake the hysteria of convalescence for the symptoms of returning life and thought. Here also instinct tells us that the weight, the range, and the evenly spread richness of our national past should ballast us sufficiently to navigate through whatever storms—or brain-storms—there may be ahead. And we are threatened with several.
One school of thought, Muscovite in origin, holds, as the Danes held twelve hundred years ago, that rapine and scientific torture will elevate our ideals, which up to the present have merely taught us to try to do our duty to our God and our neighbour. Others are content to work for the organised bankruptcy of whatsoever is of good repute, including the systematic betrayal of our friends, very much on the same lines as some people used to panic after every Crusade and every visitation of the plague. We are further promised an unparalleled outbreak of education, guaranteed to produce a standardised State-aided mind. The Church evolved almost a parallel system in the Middle Ages, which, much to her surprise, produced the Reformation.
Lastly, lest we should ever again lapse into our “pathetic contentment”, the breed which organised at a week’s notice to achieve the impossible and achieved it—by earth, sea, and air achieved it—is now, as a reward, to be ruthlessly reorganised in every detail of its life, walk, and conduct. That great work was begun by William the Conquerer, Anno Domini 1066, and has been before Committee or Commission ever since.
Norman, Papist, Cromwellian, Stuart, Hollander, Hanoverian, Upper Class, Middle Class, Democracy, have each in turn tried their fleeting hand on the “man akin to all the Universe”. From each in turn he has taken what he wanted; to each in turn he has given a fair trial; and, when he has quite finished, an equally fair dismissal.
What will he do in the future?. We are too near to the dust of the main battle to see clearly. We know that England is crippled by the loss and wastage of a whole generation, and that her position, from the civil point of view to-day, is the position of our armies in the darkest days of the war. That is to say, all leave is stopped for any man who can manage to stand up to his job, no matter how sick or stale he may feel himself to be, and there is undreamed-of promotion for untried men who, simply because they are not dead, will now have to face heavier responsibility, longer hours, and criticism that certainly will not grow milder as the years pass. But no miracles have occurred.
This world of ours, which some of us in their zeal to do better than good have helped to create, but which we must all inherit, is not a new world, but the old world grown harder. The wheel has come full circle. The whole weight of the world at the present moment lies again, as it used to lie in the time of our fathers, on the necks of two nations, England and France. The sole force under God’s good Providence that can meet this turn of our fate, is not temperament, not opportunism, nor any effort to do better than good, but character and again character—such mere ingrained, common-sense, hand-hammered, loyal strength of character as one humbly dares to hope that fifteen hundred years of equality of experience have given us.
If this hope be true—and because we know the breed in our hearts we know that it is true—if this hope be justified, our children’s children, looking back through the luminous years to where we here stumble and falter, will say to themselves: “Was it possible—was it possible that the English of that age did not know, could not see, dared not even guess, to what height of strength, wisdom, and enduring honour they had lifted their land?”
But we will be circumspect! My lords, ladies and gentlemen—for what there is of it—for such as it is—and for what it may be worth—will you drink to England and the English?
Rudyard Kipling
XVIEngland and the English
England and the English
Beyond the Pillars of Hercules, they do things inversely and, perpetually appearing to dig their own graves, by some means erect world-beheld monuments—an example, however, not to be followed by less confident peoples.
Speech to the Royal Society of St. George given by Rudyard Kipling: April 1920
I THINK this is an occasion on which it behoves us all to walk rather circumspectly. If you will let me, I will try and tell you why. About sixteen hundred years ago, when Rome was mistress of the world and the Picts and the Scots lived on the other side of the Wall that ran from Newcastle to Carlisle, the story goes that Rome allowed all those peoples one night in the year in which they could say aloud exactly what they thought of Rome, without fear of the consequences. So then, on that one night of the year, they would creep out of the heather in droves and light their little wandering fires and criticise their Libyan Generals and their Roman Pontiffs and the Eastern camp followers, who looked down on them from the top of the great high unbreakable Roman Wall sixteen hundred years ago.
To-day, Imperial Rome is dead. The Wall is down and the Picts and the Scots are on this side of it, but thanks to our Royal Society of St. George, there still remains one night in the year when the English can creep out of their hiding-places and whisper to each other exactly what we think about ourselves. No, it is not quite safe to criticise our masters—our masters who tax us and educate us, and try us, and minister so abundantly to what they instruct us our wants ought to be. Since these masters of ours have not yet quite the old untroubled assurance of power and knowledge that made Rome so tolerant in the days when the Picts and the Scots lived on the other side of the Wall, we will confine ourselves to our own popular and widely recognised defects.
Some of our severest critics, who, of course, are of our own household, have said that there never was such a thing as the English Race—that it is at best the intolerably insolent outcome of ancient invasions and immigrations, freshened with more recent Continental gaol-deliveries. Far be it from me to traverse such statements. I give them on no less authority than that of the late Mr. Daniel Defoe, Liveryman of the City of London, author of Robinson Crusoe and of a pamphlet called The True-born Englishman. He deals very faithfully with the English. So faithfully that, in deference to the susceptibilities of some races, I will not give his version of the Englishman’s pedigree, but in his summing up of the true-born Englishman, Defoe says:
A true-born Englishman’s a contradiction,In speech an irony, in fact a fiction,A metaphor intended to expressA man akin to all the Universe.
In that last line it seems to me that Defoe slips into a blessing where he meant to curse, because a man “akin to all the Universe” cannot be wholly lost. He must have some points of contact with humanity. And the Englishman has had several.
The Phoenicians taught him the rudiments of shopkeeping; the Romans taught him love of sport by hiring him to fight wild beasts in their arenas. Under the Heptarchy he studied Social Reform, which in those unenlightened days consisted of raising levies on capital in order to buy off the Heathen of the North from taking direct action against English industries. He next took a three-hundred-years’ course of colloquial and Law French under eminent Norman teachers. He did not learn that language then or since, but it left him with a profound respect, based on experience, for his neighbours across the Channel, and a conviction, which time has deepened, that they were the only other people in the world who mattered.
For five hundred years his affairs, domestic and foreign, were controlled by French, Italian, Spanish, with occasional Austrian, politico-ecclesiastical authorities, who tried to teach him that “this realm of England” was but part of a vast international organisation destined to embrace, protect, and instruct all mankind. He escaped from those embraces only to find himself subjected to the full rigours of the Puritan Conscience, which at that time was largely directed by gentle men from Geneva, Leyden, Amsterdam, and the Low Countries. While thus engaged he was, under pretext of union, finally and fatally subjugated by the Scot. A few years later he embarked on the swelling tide of party politics in all their attendant purity; since which he has seldom been allowed to look back, and never forward.
I submit that such a nightmare of national experiences would have driven an unmixed race to the edge of lunacy. But the Englishman is like a built-up gun barrel, all one temper though welded of many different materials, and he has strong powers of resistance. Roman, Dane, Norman, Papist, Cromwellian, Stuart, Hollander, Hanoverian, Upper Class, Middle Class, Democracy, each in turn through a thousand years experimented on him and tried to make him to their own liking. He met them each in turn with a large silent toleration, which each in turn mistook for native stupidity. He gave them each in turn a fair trial and, when he had finished with them, an equally fair dismissal. As an additional safeguard he devised for himself a social system in watertight compartments, so arranged that neither the waters of popular emotion nor the fires of private revenge could sweep his ship of State from end to end. If, in spite of this, the domestic situation became too much for him he could always take a ship and go to sea, and there seek or impose the peace which the Papal Legate, or the Mediaeval Trade Union, or a profligate Chancellor of the Exchequer denied to him at home. And thus, gentlemen—not in a fit of absence of mind—was the Empire born. It was the outcome of the relaxations of persecuted specialists—men who for one cause or another were unfit for the rough and tumble of life at home. They did it for change and rest, exactly as we used to take our summer holidays, and, like ourselves, they took their national habits with them. For example, they did not often gather together with harps and rebecks to celebrate their national glories, or to hymn their national heroes. When they did not take them both for granted, they, like ourselves, generally denied the one and did their best to impeach the other. But, by some mysterious rule-of-thumb magic, they did establish and maintain reasonable security and peace among simple folk in very many parts of the world, and that, too, without overmuch murder, robbery, oppression, or torture.
One secret of the success of the English was, perhaps, their imperturbable tolerance. A race that has been persecuted, or—what comes to the same thing—bored, by every persecuted refugee to whom they have ever given an asylum, naturally learns to tolerate anything. Their immensely mixed origin, too, made the English in a very real sense “akin to all the universe”, and sympathetic in their dumb way with remote Gods and strange people. Above all, their long insular experience of imported brain-storms had taught them that men should not try to do better than good for fear lest worse than bad might follow. And there has been enough of worse than bad in the world for the last few years. Our national weakness for keeping to the easiest road to the latest possible minute sooner than inconvenience ourselves or our neighbours has been visited upon us full tale. After ninety-nine years of peace the English were given ninety-six hours in which to choose whether they would buy a little longer peace from the Heathen of the North, as some of their ancestors had done, or whether they would make peace with them as our King Alfred made it with the Danes. It was a race that had almost forgotten how to say “No” to anybody who said “Yes” in a sufficiently loud voice. It seemed as if it had quite forgotten that it had broken a Church, killed a King, closed a Protectorate and exiled another King, sooner than be driven where it did not want to go. But when its hour came, once again it decided to go its own way, and once again by instinct. For it had prepared nothing—it had foreseen nothing. It had been assured that not only was there no need for preparation against war, but that the mere thought of preparation against war was absurd where it was not criminal. Therefore, through the first two years of the war, it was necessary to throw up a barricade of the dead bodies of the nation’s youth behind which the most elementary preparations could be begun.
There has been no such slaughter of the English in English history, but the actual war was no more than a large-scale repetition of previous national experiences. If an Elizabethan Statesman (or adventurer) could have returned to England during the war he would, I think, in a very short time have been able to pick up his office work almost where he dropped it. His reports and his maps would have been a little more detailed, but he would have been surprisingly abreast of the whole situation.
Where the old English influence had struck deep all the world over, he would have seen help and comfort hurried up to all the fronts from all the world over without count or tale, without word or bond to limit or confirm it. Where the old alien influences that he knew so well had persisted, or where the new influences directed by the old were at work, he would have seen, as he would have expected, all help for the war denied, withheld, or doled out grudgingly, piecemeal at a high price. He would have recognised that what held firm in the days of the Armada held firm at Armageddon: that what had broken beneath his hand then was rotten in our hand now. Bar a few minor differences of equipment, he would have felt just like any sailor or soldier returning to some bitterly familiar job of sea-patrol or trench life between ’14 and ’18. Like those men he would have taken for granted a great deal upon which other nations might have wasted valuable thought and attention. Our stories of Coronel and Zeebrugge, of the English county battalions not one year old that died to the last man as a matter of routine on the fronts that they were ordered to hold, would have moved him no more and no less than the little affair of Sir Richard Grenville off Flores, in the Revenge. That troopers of County Yeomanry in Mesopotamia, picked almost at random, could, single-handed and by sheer force of character, control and conciliate in a few days a turbulent Arab village, would have amazed him no more and no less than any tale of Panama, or of our first venture across the world, told him by Sir Francis Drake or any forgotten captain of the same age. Being of the breed he would have known the breed and would have taken the work of the breed for granted.
And herein, as I see it, lies the strength of the English—that they have behind them this continuity of immensely varied race-experience and race-memory, running equally through all classes back to the very dawn of our dawn. This imposes on them unconsciously, even while they deny or deride it, standards of achievement and comparison, hard perhaps, and perhaps a little unsympathetic, but not low—not low—and, as all earth is witness, not easily to be lowered. And that is the reason why in the things nearest our hearts we praise so little and criticise so lavishly. It is the only compliment which an Englishman dare pay to his country.
As you know, our standards of achievement and comparison do not appear on the surface; nor are they much in men’s mouths. When they are, they are mostly translated into terms of sport or the slang of our various games. But whenever the English deal in earnest with each other, or with the outside world, those standards are taken for granted. And it is by the things that we take for granted without word that we live. It was taken for granted during the war that every day was St. George’s Day, on one or other of our seven fronts.
And now, we and our kin, after these great years, are sick, dizzy, and shaken—like all convalescents, a little inclined to pity ourselves, a little inclined to stay as long as possible on a diet of invalid slops, and a little more than inclined to mistake the hysteria of convalescence for the symptoms of returning life and thought. Here also instinct tells us that the weight, the range, and the evenly spread richness of our national past should ballast us sufficiently to navigate through whatever storms—or brain-storms—there may be ahead. And we are threatened with several.
One school of thought, Muscovite in origin, holds, as the Danes held twelve hundred years ago, that rapine and scientific torture will elevate our ideals, which up to the present have merely taught us to try to do our duty to our God and our neighbour. Others are content to work for the organised bankruptcy of whatsoever is of good repute, including the systematic betrayal of our friends, very much on the same lines as some people used to panic after every Crusade and every visitation of the plague. We are further promised an unparalleled outbreak of education, guaranteed to produce a standardised State-aided mind. The Church evolved almost a parallel system in the Middle Ages, which, much to her surprise, produced the Reformation.
Lastly, lest we should ever again lapse into our “pathetic contentment”, the breed which organised at a week’s notice to achieve the impossible and achieved it—by earth, sea, and air achieved it—is now, as a reward, to be ruthlessly reorganised in every detail of its life, walk, and conduct. That great work was begun by William the Conquerer, Anno Domini 1066, and has been before Committee or Commission ever since.
Norman, Papist, Cromwellian, Stuart, Hollander, Hanoverian, Upper Class, Middle Class, Democracy, have each in turn tried their fleeting hand on the “man akin to all the Universe”. From each in turn he has taken what he wanted; to each in turn he has given a fair trial; and, when he has quite finished, an equally fair dismissal.
What will he do in the future?. We are too near to the dust of the main battle to see clearly. We know that England is crippled by the loss and wastage of a whole generation, and that her position, from the civil point of view to-day, is the position of our armies in the darkest days of the war. That is to say, all leave is stopped for any man who can manage to stand up to his job, no matter how sick or stale he may feel himself to be, and there is undreamed-of promotion for untried men who, simply because they are not dead, will now have to face heavier responsibility, longer hours, and criticism that certainly will not grow milder as the years pass. But no miracles have occurred.
This world of ours, which some of us in their zeal to do better than good have helped to create, but which we must all inherit, is not a new world, but the old world grown harder. The wheel has come full circle. The whole weight of the world at the present moment lies again, as it used to lie in the time of our fathers, on the necks of two nations, England and France. The sole force under God’s good Providence that can meet this turn of our fate, is not temperament, not opportunism, nor any effort to do better than good, but character and again character—such mere ingrained, common-sense, hand-hammered, loyal strength of character as one humbly dares to hope that fifteen hundred years of equality of experience have given us.
If this hope be true—and because we know the breed in our hearts we know that it is true—if this hope be justified, our children’s children, looking back through the luminous years to where we here stumble and falter, will say to themselves: “Was it possible—was it possible that the English of that age did not know, could not see, dared not even guess, to what height of strength, wisdom, and enduring honour they had lifted their land?”
But we will be circumspect! My lords, ladies and gentlemen—for what there is of it—for such as it is—and for what it may be worth—will you drink to England and the English?
Rudyard Kipling
XVIEngland and the English
I need to stop this
Star Wars Horoscope for Sagittarius |
 You are superbly wise and have been known to spread your wisdom widely. You are impatient and pushy when people take your teachings too lightly. And your philosophical side always peeks through. Star wars character you are most like: Yoda |
Blogging in the real world
Ok, all this time blogging, I have managed to lose sight of that, which I set out to do.
I wanted to keep a running journal of things which make me laugh and really piss me off. All I seem to manage to do, is find that quirky quiz or fun website and post that.
Lack of time, this I put down to the speed my grass grows and the ease at which I can be side tracked have really been a major contributor to this.
Now is the time to write something informative, bitchy, news related, etc:
The problem is, looking for a post of relevance, will sidetrack me again and before I know it, I will be called upon to carry out another task, so what can I do.......I could stay up all night when it's really quiet and look for that fantastic story, but I would be too tired to post.
I could wake up really early and still be too tired.
Ah ha, why don't I just lock the office door and pretend I am not here.....NO! I don't want to feel the Wrath of my DW!
Hire a professional blogger or journalist..........You twit, it's my blog!
Get a dictaphone, upgrade the software and voila.....Yes, I can really see that happening, I have just enough computer savvy to find my web page!
Look at the time, well, I nearly made a post of some sense, maybe later when the time doesn't run away from me.
I wanted to keep a running journal of things which make me laugh and really piss me off. All I seem to manage to do, is find that quirky quiz or fun website and post that.
Lack of time, this I put down to the speed my grass grows and the ease at which I can be side tracked have really been a major contributor to this.
Now is the time to write something informative, bitchy, news related, etc:
The problem is, looking for a post of relevance, will sidetrack me again and before I know it, I will be called upon to carry out another task, so what can I do.......I could stay up all night when it's really quiet and look for that fantastic story, but I would be too tired to post.
I could wake up really early and still be too tired.
Ah ha, why don't I just lock the office door and pretend I am not here.....NO! I don't want to feel the Wrath of my DW!
Hire a professional blogger or journalist..........You twit, it's my blog!
Get a dictaphone, upgrade the software and voila.....Yes, I can really see that happening, I have just enough computer savvy to find my web page!
Look at the time, well, I nearly made a post of some sense, maybe later when the time doesn't run away from me.
I am Arthur!
Oh, c'mon, was there any real doubt in anybody's mind?!
Take the quiz: "Which Holy Grail Character Are You?"
Arthur, King of the Britons
Arthur, son of Uther Pendragon, from the castle of Camelot. King of the Britons, defeater of the Saxons, Sovereign of all England!
Take the quiz: "Which Holy Grail Character Are You?"
Arthur, King of the Britons
Arthur, son of Uther Pendragon, from the castle of Camelot. King of the Britons, defeater of the Saxons, Sovereign of all England!
Friday, June 03, 2005
The one to save us all
It's a fact......Nothing can stop the Green Army from going all the way into Europe for 2007.
Thursday, June 02, 2005
20 years to go!
My "Wild Lifestyle!?"
Well, for anyone who knows me at all, they will find that comment very amusing indeed.
Well, for anyone who knows me at all, they will find that comment very amusing indeed.
| You Will Die at Age 58 |
Back to the good ole days
My inner child is ten years old!
The adult world is pretty irrelevant to me. Whether
I'm off on my bicycle (or pony) exploring, lost
in a good book, or giggling with my best
friend, I live in a world apart, one full of
adventure and wonder and other stuff adults
don't understand.
How Old is Your Inner Child?
brought to you by Quizilla
Monday, May 30, 2005
Sunday, May 29, 2005
Our House
My darling wife has taken a few photos of our house and gardens in all their splendor.
If you are interested then please visit her blog and be sure to mention all the hard work her husband must have put in, to make the garden look so nice!!
If you are interested then please visit her blog and be sure to mention all the hard work her husband must have put in, to make the garden look so nice!!
Amkeli's World
My Wife takes full credit for the interior and she'll probably tell you that her nagging takes the credit for the exterior to........She could be Right!
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