The land in which perverts and monsters rejoice.

Quarsan posted this story over on facebook, and all praise should go to him for spotting it, but I need to share it with y'all.
Just too good.

The Mississippi is quite a big river.

The Fry experience that I said I would follow for you has not improved. He goes from place to place, makes banal and trite observations on subjects that he has done in-depth investigations of (some of them take as much as five minutes), and then draws some even banal and trite conclusion about the nature of American life.

Arse.

I expect so much more of him. Not that I think that everything that he says will be a gem of outstanding and original wit that will leave all who hear it wetting themselves with mirth, but is there any value in watching him squirm, trying to find some appropriate response to the utterances of people with whom he has little in common and few shared values? The queen gets it right by commenting “that is very interesting” to everything that is told to her. She is taking the piss, of course, and can get away with it because no-one expects her to be doing that. Fry, instead, makes some glib response in exactly the same way that I do when someone says something that makes me want to say “you are talking total wank, you dickwit”, but don’t have the courage to do it. The difference is that I would not want to have these encounters to be recorded and broadcast.

Apparently, in Wisconsin they make cheese.

Can we burn this bastard on the 5th November?

In the spirit of Diwali, the celebration of love and light, can I ask you just to dash over to Boris and call him a cunt for me? Please. Do it with love. I hope his fucking house falls down. Note that abusive posts get deleted over there. I was abusive, but I think I got away with it.

Moist

The demise of rural traditions.

Astute readers (shurely shome mishtake) will have noted the demise of the Kingsley Web Log. For some weeks now, it contains only a brief notice saying that it has been closed due to lack of interest. Thank heavens none of the rest of you adopt that criterion for maintaining your little web sites.

In some ways this is sad – The King’s Blog was one of the best, possible the very best, village web sites around. It was independent of any local body (no, you silly sod, it was not constructed by ghosts) and combined local information with a refreshingly high proportion of complete nonsense. Since it closed, I have had no idea what has been going on in the village, and if it does not return may have to go out into the street to find out.

The blog was set up by a neighbour of mine who lives about 7 houses away. I have emailed him and exchanged posts on blogs far more often than I have spoken to him, and suspect that, on the odd occasion that I leave my property, he makes sure that he is not out and about. This is as things should be. Intimacy has no part to play in the daily life of rural North East Hampshire.

The blog was technically of a very high standard, and very easy to navigate. Over the last couple of years a few people have abused the openness of the blog to launch vindictive, illiterate and silly personal attacks on this neighbour. I am sure that this was a factor in his deciding to discontinue it.

The Kingsley blog was where I first adopted my fine sobriquet, and was an inspiration for me to start churning out crap of my own. It was also where I discovered a link to dear Zoe, the Barmy Benelux Bimbo. So I guess that it has a lot to answer for.

Maybe it will come back some day. It seems a shame that future generations will be forced to rely on second hand information about Kingsley when researching for their doctorates.

Before I started all of this nonsense, I added some of my parochial postings to my website. Read the nonsense there, and shed a tear or two at the loss of this valuable sociological resource.

Our friend Mike has a jolly nice village web log, but it is much too serious. Tom’s blog is also, by default, a village web log, as no other human being will live within 4 miles of him.

A further treatise on the nature of human existence.

There is a programme currently on the BBC called “Guitar Heroes”. Call me picky, (guitar pun there), but heroism is not an attribute that I would normally associate with the playing of any musical instrument, let alone the guitar. Heroes are those people who encounter danger in order to achieve something, usually on behalf of others, such as those who fight against the odds in just causes, or wander naked into Ann Widdecombe’s bedroom. The only guitar player I can think of who encountered danger in the course of earning his living was Hendrix, who appeared on stage with a burning guitar, and as he was the one who set fire to the fucker in the first place, then the poor drug addled bastard was not so much a hero as a loony.

So join me, fellow iconoclasts, in sticking a very sharp dagger in the side of this cult of celebrity and all of the hyperbole that goes with it. Rise up and shout at the wireless the next time you hear of someone who played 4 games at right midfield for Grimsby Town in 1973 being described as a “legend”. When I was at school the word “legend” had some connotations of being mythological. You might say, not very kindly, that I am so old that I was on first name terms with most mythological characters, but then I would have to counter that with some dialectical invective, such as “your momma”.

On the other hand, and taking the entirely opposite point of view, I experienced a smidgen of sadness this evening when some of the panellists on the News Quiz professed no knowledge of Danny Blanchflower. Even Jeremy Hardy was offended at this and challenged Sandi Toksvig and Sue Perkins with the accusation “You are supposed to be lesbians”. Yes, even Danny Blanchflower will be forgotten, not to mention his brother Jackie. How many of you can name the Spurs double winning team of 1961? (I confess I had to think hard about it). (And lose ten points anyone who said “Jimmy Greaves”.) What was remarkable about Danny was that he was intelligent (it is late at night, so I am not going to verify any of the following statements by checking them), a quality as common in the majority of footballers as it is in Republican vice presidential candidates. Surprisingly, he failed completely as a coach and manager after his playing career ended, but I think that he was the one who talked about equalising before the other team scored and maybe even of getting retaliation in first. So spare a thought for these people whose 15 minutes of fame lasted for several years, but are now remembered only by a few. Have compassion on them. Unlike me, whose works are timeless and will be read by every future generation, and will probably be treated as scriptures by some advanced civilisations, these “celebrities” kept the noiseless tenor of their way.

Pass the hot milk, please.

Tautology

I'll do this one, but am not going to make a habit of it.

After resisting many such attempts at ensnarement, I have been enticed to join in with one of these meme things. Blame Rol.

1. Put your music player on shuffle
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. You must put down the song name no matter what.

Rol and I both cheated on the "no matter what", and selected next until an answer came up that made some sort of sense. After all, there are not too many questions with the answer "Clarinet concert no 2 by Weber".

I won't do the normal thing and nominate people, but I had a little fun doing it.

What would best describe your personality?

Ain’t Misbehavin : Louis Armstrong
Excellent and accurate so far.

What do you like in a guy/girl?

Rondo : Karl Jenkins
Can’t make sense of that, so:

Metamorphosis : Ananda Shankar
Well, the oracle can’t be wrong.

How do you feel today?

The Old Castle : Mussorgsky
Do what? Try again.

Bad : Michael Jackson
Well, I am doing this bloody meme.

What is your life's purpose?

When you and I were young, Maggie : Sidney Bechet.
When you and I were young, Maggie, I should have sought you out and strangled you.

What is your motto?

Fifth Rendezvous part 1 : Jean Michel Jarre.
Try again:

Love the one you’re with : Crosby, Stills and Nash

What do your friends think of you?

Allegro from piano concerto #25 : Mozart
They are a weird lot, but let’s give them another chance:

Foxy Lady : Jim Hendrix
That’s more like it.

What do you think of your parents?

Benedictus from Paukenmesse : Haydn
Had to skip a few tracks that made no sense to get here.

What do you think about very often?

October Song : The Incredible String Band.
"I used to search for happiness,
And I used to follow pleasure,
But I found a door behind my mind,
And that's the greatest treasure."

What do you think of your best friend?

We Love You : Rolling Stones

What do you think of your crush?

Presto from Symphony No 9 : Beethoven.
Yes, Mrs S gets “Ode to Joy”. This is a nice game, isn’t it?

What is your life story?

Friend of the Devil: Grateful Dead

What do you want to be when you grow up?

The Way You Want Me To Be : Marianne Faithfull

What do you think when you see your crush?

See Emily Play : Pink Floyd
Well, she’d hardly be normal would she?

What do your parents think of you?

Do Wah Diddy Diddy : Manfred Mann
Or some other such noise of disapproval.

What do strangers think of you?

Ruby Tuesday : Melanie
I ain’t telling you where I came from, either.

How's your love life?

Respect : Aretha Franklin

What will they play at your funeral?

Miserere : Allegri
Yes, let the fuckers be reminded.

What will you dance to at your wedding?

Concerto for 2 trumpets in C : Vivaldi

What is your hobby/interest?

Bells : Jean Michel Jarre.

What's your biggest secret?

Nimrod from Enigma Variations : Elgar
Yes, I was the inspiration.

What do you think of your friends?

I Can See For Miles : The Who
Nosy bastards

What song do you listen to when you are sad?

Skating in Central Park : Modern Jazz Quartet.
Not listened to it in ages.

In love?

Symphony 8 (Unfinished) : Schubert

What song do you air guitar to?

The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book 1, BWV 846: Prelude And Fugue No.1 in C Major : Bach : Swingle Singers

What should be your signature karaoke song?

The One I Love : REM

What is your greatest desire?

American Dream : Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young

What does next year have in store for you?

Death and the Maiden : Schubert
Hope I get the maiden first.

What's your outlook on life?

Questa O Quella from Rigoletto : Verdi
Fucking superstud, me.

How will you die?

Softly, as in the Morning Sunrise : Modern Jazz Quartet

Do people secretly lust after you?

Blowing in the Wind : Joan Baez
They all want to blow me. I wish I had the stamina.

The best advice you will ever get?

Ducks on a Pond : Incredible String Band.
"Following my fortune now the Holy Grail is found
And the Holy Bread of Heaven it is given all around
Farewell sorrow, praise God the open door
I ain't got no home in this world any more

Poor as the birds but to give their song away
Gathering possessions round to make a bright array
Dark was the night, praise God the open door
I ain't got no home in this world anymore."

In which Scurra reverts to type

May I just make a brief answer to the person who came over here via the offices of Theodore and Evadne Google (they do work hard don’t they? It’s still just them and their young nephew, Colin, in the office you know) who enquired “What’s going to happen during Kali Yuga?”

Well, if you had been paying attention these last few years instead of playing with yourself, my carefully constructed essays would have given you a clue. Dumbwit.

In case you missed it, it is happening. In the dark age, the world becomes consumed with violence, materialism and decadence, and humanity will entirely lose touch with the spark of divinity that is its real nature. Got it?
We have the spectacle of the world’s major super power being led by a psychopathic fuckwit, who may well be handing over to some even more stupid come November. And for all of those of you who had been hoping for the collapse of capitalism and the dawning of a golden age, then let me remind you that if the USA loses its grip on world power through incompetent government, bankruptcy and a shortage of essential supplies, then shall we join in applauding the new regime – either an assortment of oil-rich, intolerant, religious fundamentalist fuckwits, or an oppressive, intolerant, polluting conglomeration of cunts in China? Your children will, if they survive, be telling stories of the happy days of GW.

Still, mustn’t grumble.

*****

I have just watched the first instalment of Stephen Fry’s television series wherein he plans to visit the 50 United States. What a load of total arse. (I have a little tip for you – shouting at the television is unlikely to result in an improvement in the quality of product) It is no different from all of the other short-of-ideas ten-a-penny crap so called celebrity goes some place and reports tedium programmes that permeate the airwaves. I had hoped that Fry would avoid all of the standard glibness and sycophancy that characterise this drivel, but no, he jumped right in. “Oh crikey, a kitchen!” (not sure if the exclamation was crikey or gosh or fuckmesideways, and I ain’t gonna watch the crap again to check). Yes, Stephen, they do have kitchens on submarines. You arse. Yes, I know it is difficult to go to someone’s neighbourhood, intrude on their privacy with your film crew and then be rude about them, even if it is someone who habitually rubs deershit into his clothes, but the solution is quite simple. Don’t fucking do it. Someone with Stephen Fry’s ability should be able to produce something interesting, witty, original and worthwhile, in any combination. I shall watch the rest of the series and report back to you. If he continues to stick his tongue up the collective backside of America, at least someone there might have the decency to call him a fawning limey twat and punch him on the nose.

On the other hand someone on the staff had a sense of irony – playing “Volunteers” by Jefferson Airplane as the background music to a piece about volunteers on a military submarine. Or perhaps they were just as fucking stupid as the person who commissioned this pile of wank.

No idea about whom they are singing.

Thanks to Lin for sending this link to me.

Temporary aberration

Preamble

1) As I have mentioned briefly before I have a limited tolerance threshold for bloggers wittering about whether they should post, and introspective articles that question the inner nature of blogging.
2) I have little interest in the opinions of humanity - including my own, although they do tend to pre-occupy me. I read those of Michael Meacher for educational purposes, and those of some of my friends here (you know who you are) because they are amusing. I don’t think that anything written on blogs will have much effect on the world.
3) Except, perhaps, to spread a little laughter. Which was all I ever intended to do.
4) However, I am proposing to write something intentionally devoid of humorous content this time.
5) If you don’t like that, you can leave now, I am sure that the silliness will return next time. I will try to make each section brief.

John le Carre

I saw a really good interview with said gentleman on BBC4 this week. The longest interview with him I have ever seen. I have always liked his books, and can’t think of a modern writer whose work I look forward to quite so much. I was captivated by him. Intelligent, articulate and interesting. I have had my nephew staying these last few days, and he, having lived in America for a long time, finds everything “ossum”, which I think has something to do with bones, but I was in awe of Mr le Carre in a way which I seldom find myself, except when listening to someone who is super intelligent. If you haven’t read all of his books, I strongly advise it (you can give the first two a miss, although Smiley features in at least one of them). There were so many interesting things that he said, I could probably write a thesis, but I want to keep this short.

Evelyn Waugh

There was a three part documentary from some years back, also on BBC4, this week, about the lives and works of this gentleman. Before discussing old Evy, which won’t take long, I think that the style was more interesting than the substance in this programme. Most of his contemporaries and friends came from the upper and upper middle classes, society which he always pursued and tried to integrate into. Anachronistic specimens such as Diana Mosley, Michael Powell and Harold Acton talked at length. One hardly ever hears those accents any more (they’ve gawn). Really remarkable. Some of you were involved in our discussion about the works of Mr Waugh recently. I have to say that if he was the best novelist of his generation, as some of his pals seemed to think, then it was a fairly sparse time for literature. Such a silly old bugger. His friends seemed to think his acid wit was endearing.
I am not sure when these programs were made – I suspect around 1980. It seems impossible that these strange creatures were around so recently. A bit like find the dinosaurs only died out in 1832.

The Wire

Probably the best thing that has ever been on TV (apart from the documentary that Tom was in). Art of the highest calibre. If you haven’t seen it, buy the DVDs (if you are English you will probably need those with subtitles). I have never seen drama with so many striking characters, subtly portrayed, an amazing mixture of sensitivity, cynicism, humour and drama. One of those moments where an art form suddenly finds itself at a higher level than anything that had gone before. It is very seldom that I find myself drawn in to film or television to this extent. I know that there are some of you who care about Ken Barlow’s dripping tap, but these mothafuckas were good. I intend to watch it all again someday. Come and join me.


(that’s enough of the serious stuff. Ed.)

Never did me any harm

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