Ikea part 2

Sofa arrived and Alan assembled it remarkably quickly and easily. It looks even better than it did at the store. I really like it now! OK, so I was wrong grumbling about it. However, that only makes it worse because as I predicted it sticks out like a horrible sore thumb.

The contrast between the beauty of the sofa and the ridiculous awkwardness of it sticking out into the room and partially blocking my desk and the general idiocy of having a big bookcase behind it quickly seeped into Alan's conciousness and after a couple of measurements he admitted that he could move the bookcase into a  corner of the bedroom so the sofa can sit directly against the wall. Problem solved. (What a surprise ;)

Alan and I are both amazed at how nice the sofa is. I never expected this from just looking at it at Ikea and sitting on it at the store. It really looks so different, so much better. Yay!

FWIW, we bought the Ektorp 2-seater sofa in white. The living room walls are painted a soft dove gray and the woodwork and shelving is white.

Ikea

We went to Ikea last night after Alan got home from work. Turns out it was the opening day of Ikea's big summer sale. You can just imagine.

So after weeks of talking about what sofa -I- wanted for the living room and how it was my choice, we agree on a specific model and color Ikea sofa from the online catalogue. We get to Ikea and trek our way to the sofa section and yes! They have my choice sofa in stock, in the colour I wanted, and on sale....and then.....Alan makes unhappy noises and says I'm not so keen on it and takes me to look at a different sofa that he now claims he prefers. It's quite different and one fast glance at it would tell anyone who knows me that Barb did NOT make that choice. But, hey, that's what being married means - compromise. Phooey!

Anyway we agreed to get the sofa Alan liked so I didn't have to spend the rest of my life with him being a thundercloud every time he looked at it. Please don't think I am a pushover about this issue because I'm not, I'm a quiet, devious passive aggressive on this. The trick here is that the sofa Alan chose is deeper than the one I picked. So when it is delivered today he will discover that in order to get it to fit in the Living Room in the only available space - he will have to remove the bookcase he snuck in there (it was part of my allocated wall space) to hold his CD collection. Ka-ching!

Anyway, we also bought 2 new dining chairs for the kitchen and a new lamp for me. They were all on sale 50% off which was delightful since I had planned on buying them anyway but the sale was an unexpected extra.

Just waiting for the sofa delivery today.

Stuffed Dormouse

While looking through my Recipe folder for a cheesy potato and bacon recipe, I just noticed I had one for "Stuffed Dormouse".

Facepalm moment! Why? Why? Perhaps in my Culture/History folder but in my active Recipe folder?

Sexual harassment in the world of video gaming

News article from the BBC website:
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-18280000

I have mixed feelings about this. Partly it's the free choice of someone to walk into a game - and if it's a violent aggressive game, what did you really expect? The Politeness Pirates? If on the other hand, it's a (for example) role playing game of a non-violent sort, I totally object to sexual harassment or any sort of abusive behaviour - different deal there.

Some of the examples given are in line with my feelings ie you walk into a strip joint or a rough guys bar, it was your choice so if you don't like it, walk away.

I think the real problem is the shield of anonymity - people act amazingly better when their identity is known and they may have to face the consequences of their behaviour. No need to have IDs hanging on people's necks but verified IDs with a working good email address should be held by the company running the games. If you then choose to go into grey market non-ID games, again, you get what it says on the label.

What's with all the monkeys?

Recently my ex Tom posted (without my permission) a set of misc. old family photos including some from before we'd met. Among those were several of a squirrel monkey. One of the responses to that posting was a query from Tavie asking what's with the monkeys.

It's a long story. Ask me about it next time I am in NYC and I'll tell you the whole story, Tavie.

In the meantime, here's the quick answer - as a teen I did volunteer work for the ASPCA's Education Dept.  They sent me to professional animal care and management classes and sponsored my certification as a Lab Animal Technician. During those years I was often asked to care for/rehabilitate monkeys and other small exotic animals they'd rescued until a suitable placement was made. The monkey in the photos Tom posted was named Peter; he was very well socialised (as much as any wild animal can be.) Originally there were a lot of photos of all the various monkeys and apes I took care of over the years including squirrels, spiders, capuchins, woolly, macaques, orangutans, etc. I also cared for ferrets, kinkajoos, otters, and infant tigers. I guess only the photos of Peter survived.

How sad, how depressing, facing Easter and not a peep to be had.
How can a nation survive without peeps?
Especially stale peeps, just turning slightly crisp and crunchy.
That's what's wrong with the UK, no peeps.

Alan's accepted a job offer today and starts at the new company on Monday. Yay! Looks to be much more interesting, and even exciting, work. The daily commute will be a bit of a change, he'll be driving out of London into the suburbs rather than fighting the mobs on to Tube into Central London.

On the home front, we've finished all the unpacking and life is starting to take on a comfortable, pleasant rhythm at the new flat. We still need to buy kitchen chairs, 1 more bookcase at Ikea, and a sofa for the living room but those are all icing and just make life a bit nicer, not critical to everyday.

I really love the neighborhood - the restaurants, the little shops, the green fields our living room and bedroom overlook - and the relaxed cafe culture of the high street.

Life in Chiswick

The move is actually just about complete. Tomorrow Alan returns to the old flat to read the water meter and to pass on our old bookcases to a neighbour. Meanwhile, at the new flat in Chiswick W4, I continue to unpack boxes and attempt to  bring order out of chaos.

We bought new bookcases from Ikea; enough to fill an entire long wall in the living room and they're all assembled now, ready for us to unpack all the books tomorrow. We also bought a modular wardrobe system and its managed to swallow most of our clothes in neat and organised manner. Amazing!

I love our new kitchen; large enough for a proper table. As soon as we pick up a sofabed, there will be crash space for visitors.

Anyway, we finally have achieved Internet! I feel like we've rejoined the living. I'll take some photos and post them here tomorrow. And yes, we did manage to survive the move with both of us alive and still married to each other.

After a week of packing boxes and making phone calls to trace missing deliveries and organize utility transfers - we're back to packing boxes again today. Tomorrow (Sunday) we plan to make 2 trips to the new apartment with glassware and boxes of other small or delicate objects. We'll also start painting - the bedroom first in a duck egg blue. In the next few days we'll go over to Ikea for new bookcases.

I'm hoping to move the furniture and boxes over early this week and be able to hand over the old apt's keys before the end of the week.

Moving house

Moving house makes Death & Taxes look pleasant by comparison. Soul destroying and hideously expensive.

Merry Christmas to all!

The Gift Of The Magi
by O Henry

One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty- seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas.

There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.

While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad.

In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name "Mr. James Dillingham Young."

The "Dillingham" had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, though, they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called "Jim" and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good.

Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling--something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim.

There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pierglass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art.

Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length.

Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair. Had the queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty's jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.

So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet.

On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street.

Where she stopped the sign read: "Mne. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds." One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the "Sofronie."

"Will you buy my hair?" asked Della.

"I buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it."

Down rippled the brown cascade.

"Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand.

"Give it to me quick," said Della.

Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present.

She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation--as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim's. It was like him. Quietness and value--the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.

When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends--a mammoth task.

Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically.

"If Jim doesn't kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second look at me, he'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do--oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty- seven cents?"

At 7 o'clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops.

Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit for saying little silent prayer about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: "Please God, make him think I am still pretty."

The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two--and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves.

Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face.

Della wriggled off the table and went for him.

"Jim, darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It'll grow out again--you won't mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say `Merry Christmas!' Jim, and let's be happy. You don't know what a nice-- what a beautiful, nice gift I've got for you."

"You've cut off your hair?" asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor.

"Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Don't you like me just as well, anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?"

Jim looked about the room curiously.

"You say your hair is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy.

"You needn't look for it," said Della. "It's sold, I tell you--sold and gone, too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered," she went on with sudden serious sweetness, "but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?"

Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year--what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on.

Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table.

"Don't make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about me. I don't think there's anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you'll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going a while at first."

White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat.

For there lay The Combs--the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jewelled rims--just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone.

But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!"

And them Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh, oh!"

Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit.

"Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it."

Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled.

"Dell," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on."

The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. O all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.

Going to a Catholic Mass

One day a Jewish couple decided to see what
a Catholic Mass was like.

Toward the middle of the service, the priest said,
"At this point of the service, if you are not a
Catholic, you will need to leave at this time."

No one left.

So, for clarity of his request, the priest continued,
"If you are a Protestant or a Jew, we would kindly
ask you to leave the sanctuary at this time."

All of a sudden the statues of Joseph,  and Mary with
Jesus in her arms came alive, and Mary said,

"Come on, Joseph, let's take the kid and go
home."

One of the loveliest people I've ever known and had the honour of calling my friend died yesterday. Her name was Dorothea Nissen Phillips; Dea to most of us who loved her. It happened while she was away on a cruise holiday to South America with her husband Fred; travel was one of her great passions.

Typical of the Internet age, I found out this morning when I woke up and saw a text message from my daughter on my iPhone: Aunt Dea died. I've heard people use the word shattered to describe how they felt and always thought it was an overly dramatic claim but the moment I looked at that short message, something inside me shattered.

I'd known Dea for over 40 years; since we were 19 years old. Our lives intertwined in myriad ways over those years. She loved and cared for my children as if they were her own and I in turn loved and cared for hers. We had an endless series of madcap adventures, shared secrets, and shared interests.

I've spent today remembering her, thinking about her daughters Tavie and Kirsten, thinking about Fred, and talking with my own children who are in shock at the loss, reminiscing about the good times we had.

Dea, I miss you so much already.

WTC

2000 -  viewed from Staten Island ferry

 2001 - 9/11  viewed from office

Asti at Everest Base Camp

Asti celebrates with Sword & Martini at Everest Base Camp

And so farewell Toshiba laptop. The migration to the new HP computer is complete. Nothing lost, everything moved over reasonably successfully and basically with little to no hassle. Even managed to remove most of the Bloatware/Crap HP insists on pre-loading computers with though I'm still working out how to uninstall a particularly unpleasant bit of crap called WizLink. But by and large the new computer is sheer delight.

The Toshiba laptop was gone from my desk when I woke up this morning. Alan took it to work with him having offered it to his company sys admin in a deal. The sys admin will take the laptop apart and retrieve the data stick stuck in it and then the laptop is his. I can then return the data stick to its owner and he can then reformat the laptop with Linux. He doesn't care about its laundry list of problems so it works out for us both.

Alan bought me a new computer this weekend. It took me most of Saturday & Sunday to move my files from the old laptop onto a usb drive. Tonight we finally set up the new computer, an HP desktop, and I'm now finishing up moving files. There's still a few hours work installing and migrating data, sorting out mail and passwords, etc but essentially I'm up and running on the new machine.

What a delight it is, my first brand new computer in over 6 years. It's been a nightmare reusing machines from Alan or work, etc and always having to deal with a myriad of things that just don't work right because someone set them up wrong and I inherited the problem.

Next month we'll add a 2nd hard drive as this machine has a spare slot ready for it. I'm hoping to get a 2T drive. I'll also get some more memory as that's deeply discounted at the moment. A new printer is probably going to be a must as HP seems to not be supporting 64bit drivers for the one we have.

West Middlesex University Hospital

I had surgery today at West Middlesex University Hospital in Isleworth, London, UK. This is an NHS hospital and for American readers, let me disclose that it is not a "University Hospital" in any sense we know of in the USA.
The hospital has fairly murky Victorian roots; it was opened in 1894 as the Brentford Workhouse Infirmary (shades of Charles Dickens!), but was partly refurbished/partly new rebuild about 10 years ago. While the current hospital now looks reasonably modern if hideously ugly at a glance, many departments and facilities remain shambolicly designed and run with a laundry list of serious issues. I remain convinced that the entire facility was designed by an airport architect specializing in making access between any 2 locations as distant and difficult to transit as possible; even the disabled parking was placed at a significant distance from the main entrance and at the bottom of a steep incline. Paid parking, of course.

Many of the "Consultants", "Registrars", and registered nurses are excellent, caring, dedicated physicians, surgeons, and speciality nurses. But they are a small drop in a large bucket. The Admin staff is almost unfailingly Kafkaesque in their arrogant, condescending, mean-spirited work practices, often startlingly ignorant and contemptuous of the professional staff, dismissive of patients.

I'll shortly add a post mortem review of serious issues observed at WMUH and a Lessons Learned guide which is probably applicable to any contact with a NHS hospital.

Harry Potter And The Deathly Hallows: Part 2

Just watched the final Harry Potter film tonight. Wow! A worthy end to the tale.
Very satisfying, very engrossing.
A good way to end.

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.

I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.

I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other peoples' gardens
And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickles for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

by Jenny Joseph

Mothers Day - US style

Astrid and I went out for Mothers Day brunch last Sunday - observing the real ie US Mothers Day. Asti picked a real winner, the Village East on Bermondsey Street. Lovely Eggs Benedict, lovely pancakes with real maple syrup and gorgeous bacon...and the best Bloody Marys I've had in recent memory or possibly ever. 

If restaurants in London still allowed smoking, I could see that place becoming a family favourite/regular hangout and whiling away lazy Sundays there with newspapers and good conversation to round out the great food.

But, having to walk outside and smoke in the street is a real bummer. So my regular Sunday brunch venue will remain at home - especially if we get approved for the flat in Chiswick we're hoping for. The flat has a back garden as well as sufficient space indoors for genuine entertaining and civilized dining so with a bit of luck, BBQs and dinner parties will be in my future once again.

Osama Bin Laden is dead. Good riddance!

It's almost 10 years since the terrorist attack on the US that was ordered by Bin Laden.
I stood at my office windows and watched that day as the WTC towers burned, saw the 2nd plane crash into them, watched the fiery holocaust consume the towers and, finally and in a state of shock and disbelief watched their collapse.
It's been almost 10 years that I've lived with those images in my mind. Still fresh, and clear, and shocking.
I remember it all. All the details of desperately trying to reach my son Andrew on his cell phone. Getting calls and emails from colleagues all over the globe asking me to try to get through to their family and friends to confirm they were safely out of the towers.
I remember scavenging my office for face masks and de-con suits and gloves and flashlights to send down to Ground Zero with the emergency engineer team AboveNet sent.

We had colleagues there, knew network engineers working in the towers' data rooms and PA project managers.

I remember calling Alan and telling him a plane crashed into the WTC just as I arrived at work. And him checking CNN on his computer because at that point there was nothing on the BBC news yet.

I remember standing at our huge office window wall with Allen our Security Director and staring at the flames and boiling black clouds of smoke.
And time - minutes and hours - passing but feeling like it was standing still, frozen.

And I remember the incredible feeling of relief, and release, when I answered my cell phone and heard my son Andrew say "Mom, I'm ok, I'm safe."
But it's been almost 10 years remembering those who never got to make their "Mom, I'm ok, I'm safe" phone call. Remembering that ordinary, decent, innocent people were slaughtered in cold blood by merciless terrorists on orders from Osama Bin Laden.

So now finally Osama Bin Laden is dead. A small measure of Justice for us all.

Next Friday we'll be joining with our neighbours and holding an all day street party to celebrate the Royal Wedding. Doing a BBQ and everyone will bring food. Should be interesting as we are a very mixed ethnic/national group. I'll take photos for our housing association newsletter.

After reading an interesting article in the NY Times about sugar research and a bit of digging about in the associated studies, I decided to give up sugar. Not entirely, that would be too tiresome and fanatic. But in line with what I understood from those studies, to simply stop adding sugar to my coffee which I calculate is the major source of sugar for me. Thank goodness Asti secured a supply of Zucrinet for me. With enough of that my morning coffee is still quite acceptably sweet and tasty.
Since we don't eat much processed or packaged food I think we have very little hidden sugar in our diet. The shift away from processed food was a response to my dislike of the UK formulations - everything was too sweet or too vinegary or had a weird texture.

Coincidently, last week I had some extensive blood tests done so in a month I shall ask my doctor to repeat them and we'll see if there's any change. Again, according to the studies, the response to removing fructose from the diet is surprisingly rapid.

A harmless experiment and an interesting one.

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/17/magazine/mag-17Sugar-t.html?_r=1&pagewanted=all

A good day at Oxford ACCU AGM.  Lovely drive there and back; sunshine and light traffic felt as if we were in some other country. ;)

The meeting was classic. Just goes to show what happens when you piss off old politicians. I, of course, always enjoy theatre and this was a very worthy production, long in the making. Among other excitement, Alan was elected secretary, taking the position over from a retiring colleague who had taken over from Alan over 10 years ago.

He who controls the minutes, controls the world.
This will be an interesting year.

My only regret was that we decided to go directly home to avoid what looked like horrendous traffic heading farther into Oxford. I'd originally wanted to detour through Oxford centre to stop in at the ONLY decent noodle house in the UK and buy some chow fun - several orders of it in fact - to put in the freezer. This is soul food for NY Jews.

Up at Oxford today for the ACCU 2011 conference - specifically for the annual meeting/bloodbath where presumably they will be choosing a new Conference chair and committee members. This should prove interesting as the old boys are finally putting their collective foot down with the conference committee and imposing some sorely needed democracy and transparency as well as fiscal responsibility into the process.
We shall see. One lives in hope.

Three curses of increasing severity

May you live in interesting times
May you come to the attention of those in authority (May the government be aware of you).
May you find what you are looking for. (May your wishes be granted).

Have you seen Sfogliatelle in London??

For reasons unknown it is impossible to find this Italian pastry, called Sfogliatelle, in London.


WHY?????


I've searched all over Greater London, talked with shop-owners, people I meet, restaurants, farmers markets. searched the web, everything. Nada.
How can London not have these sublime pastries?


I've seen some vaguely similar pastries here but they are filled with greasy sugar "creme". The real pastries are baked with a ricotta cheese and candied citron filling.
The photo above is of a classic sfogliatelle served at Ferrara's in New York City. A San Francisco restaurant owner was recently quoted as saying...
"The sfogliatelle from Ferrara's in New York City. They are a textural party in my mouth. Crispy, creamy, moist, powdery joy and not too sweet. All I need is one of them and a double espresso."

Loved the teacher's comments on this.

Sadly the site I found this on now seems to be dead or down.

A Jew was studying Hebrew in Old Soviet Union
and a guard came to him and said: 'Stop wasting
your time. We're not allowing you to go to Israel.
Why would you study Hebrew?'

The Jew answered: 'If I go to Heaven, I'd like to
speak G~d's language and be understood.'

The guard replied: 'Well, what if you go to Hell?'

The Jew finally said: 'Don't worry, I know Russian
rather well.'

Happy New Year 2011

It was a pretty decent Christmas and New Years Eve. We even managed to fit in a visit to Asti over on the other side of London. We had dinner at Ron & Hillary's along with Pete & Laurie on New Years Eve and all watched the midnight fireworks. Amazingly, TPTB in London finally got the fireworks right; this year's display was fabulous, impressive, and beautiful. I made profiteroles for our dessert - the recipe is on my recipe blog Tales from the Kitchen Table.
It was actually a well needed rest for Alan and me.

If it's not one thing, it's another

I ventured out of the house on Monday in sub-zero temps to clear the snow off the car and drive to the local Tesco for milk and bread. The car was covered in 4 inches of snow and a layer of ice beneath that. But I did manage to get the door open and the engine started right up - what a relief. But after I'd carefully and thoroughly cleaned all the snow and ice off the car and was ready to leave for the store, I decided to just give my wipers a little flick to check that the washer fluid was working ok. I worried that it might have frozen, even though I filled it with winter -20 C type washer fluid. So I turned on the switch and - nada. No washer fluid, no wiper movement,  and no wiper motor sound; just silence. Checked that the bit where the wiper arm mechanism attaches was ice free - but still no joy. Thought I was give it a chance to warm up from the fierce car heater blowing air onto the windshield.  Nada. No front wipers, no rear wiper.

The car just passed its MOT perfectly last week. This is out of the blue and frustrating. Because of the chaos from snow and freezing temps and Christmas holidays almost on top of us, all the local Honda dealers are over-booked for repairs. Same for the couple of local garages I trust. My neighbour who usually does my car repairs can't really work outside in sub-zero temps. And electrical repairs are expensive. So this will all have to wait until next week or just after New Years. It's just not safe to drive without windshield wipers. Even if it's not raining or snowing, a car or truck could splash filth or water onto my car when I'm driving and I would be blinded without wipers. Arrgh! Frustrating.

When Wedding Photographers Get Photoshop Insanity

Can you spot the insanity in this photo?

After Death Wishes

A Catholic priest, a Protestant minister, and a Rabbi
are discussing what they would like people to say
after they die and their bodies are on display in
open caskets.

Priest: I would like someone to say "He was a righteous
man, an honest man, and very generous."

Minister: I would like someone to say "He was very kind
and fair, and he was very good to his parishioners."

Rabbi: I would want someone to say, "Oh look! He's
moving!"

Someday your prince charming will come; unless he took a wrong turn, got lost, and is too stubborn to ask for directions.

Early Birthday Surprise

Tonight, when Alan arrived home from work, he handed me a very prettily wrapped box with a card wishing me a Happy Birthday. Ten days early but I couldn't resist opening it immediately. Yes! It was the 1TB Samsung portable usb hard drive I've been drooling over and wishing for. The perfect birthday present. I'm so pleased he got exactly what I wanted rather than taking me out to dinner or buying me some jewellery. I have piles of jewellery already and going out to dinner at a restaurant is nice but nothing extraordinary. But a 1TB portable HD? Ooooooooh, drool!

I know, I know, but I'm so pleased, so happy.

And it's still snowing. Day 3 now. Everything covered with an increasing layer of white. The road are impossible a third world nightmare. I just hope the Tesco delivery truck is able to bring the grocery order tomorrow. The whole country is in a transportation crisis, near paralysed by the bad weather. We're only taking  few centimeters here, mind you, but it's panic time in Great Britain.

How Computers Can Suck the Joy Out of Life Sometimes

This has been a really bad 6 weeks for me in terms of computer hardware.

To start with, I was talked into exchanging computers with my husband. (Don't let this happen to you, girls and boys! Just say no!)

I won't go into what a nightmare and disaster the exchange was. Nor the massive loss of important files that it caused. 

Then my router died. But my ISP, of course, didn't believe me when I called it in and made me jump through hoops testing everything on their insane check-list for dummies before they finally conceded that I was correct,  she's dead Jim, send the lady a replacement router. OK, that's usually a next day delivery - especially as I had called my ISP before 8am. But no, they neglected to mention that they were out of routers - in the end it was 6 days before the replacement arrived because there was a weekend in the middle of it all. So the replacement arrives - after 6pm of course, meaning I sat home all day waiting for a DHL package that was placed on the local delivery van at 8am and trundled all around London before being dropped off. Mind you, the local DHL warehouse is about a 7 minute drive from my house so I did offer to pick it up but was refused. 

Anyway, it's night and I finally get the new router, connect all the cables and power it up. And....

The Internet light doesn't come on. All the other lights are merrily glowing bright green but the Internet light remains sullenly dark. Being an IT person, I start to methodically check everything it could possibly be. Turn router off and then back on, reset router, check that phone line is live, check router control panel in my browser, etc. Finally, I call my ISP. Explain all the troubleshooting I've done but as usual, they treat me as if I was lying, and demand I go through the same routine I've just done to eliminate the obvious possible problems. They finally concede that it MIGHT be something on their end but it would need a 2nd level support tech. I go through to 2nd level support and the idiot woman there who is NOT an engineer or any sort of real tech person by any definition is clueless and tries to get me to go thru the exact same testing routine. I tell her to read the ticket's notes. She demands I unscrew the central phone block and reconnect my router to the test block inside the wall. She refuses to check if the issues are on the ISP end, claims that isn't possible. (Chorus of, "Oh Yes It Is!"). I tell her I have to hang up to disconnect the phone block etc and get the case number. Then I get a drink, light a cigarette and curse incompetent tech support to the depths of hell. 

When I call back the ISP 10 min later, I tell them I have an open case, give them the ticket number, and ask them to pass me on to 3rd level support as the 2nd level tech said she couldn't figure out what was wrong with the router. Finally!! As soon as I spoke to the 3rd level tech support guy, I knew this was a professional at last. He asked to review the ticket first, then asked me a couple of sensible questions - and listened to my answer. He said he thought the problem was indeed on the ISP's side, hang on a moment - I heard him typing, and voila! I was connected to the Internet. And yes, the little green light was now glowing brightly. He said there was an ongoing issue with static IPs and account configurations not being saved properly.  So after only 3 hours of tech support hell, I was back online.

But there was more aggro to come. The new laptop started shutting down randomly. Alan said it was probably just overheating.  Erm, JUST overheating? You just took away my reliable if clunky old PC tower to give me your unreliable laptop? I was assured that if I raised the laptop by putting it on a wire rack, the improved air circulation would prevent it overheating. Ok, it's on the wire rack, it stopped overheating.

For almost a week. Till tonight. Just now. 

Hmmmm. I'm thinking about the agony I went through installing Win7 on this laptop. And installing all the apps, and transferring files. And the lost files. and on and on.

And now, I have no idea if the thing is going to up and die on me. If? More like when.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville - mighty Casey has struck out.

Finally Back Online Again!

Last Thursday at approximately 6am my router died and I lost internet access. Despite calling my ISP, O2 before 8am. it was only finally tonight at 6pm that the new router arrived. And of course when I plugged it in there was still no internet and I was required to call O2 tech support and argue with first line moro//tech support that the issue needed to be escalated to higher support, when I reached 2nd level support they were slightly better but still basically idiots. I finally ended up calling back again and this time I was passed on by sheer chance to 3rd level support who took a look at the files, chatted with me for a moment and then admitted that there might be a config problem on their end. Twenty seconds later I had internet access and the network engineer (yes, a real network engineer NOT a tech-support-droid) was apologising for the 5 day insanity, delat, and aggro.

Anyway, finally! back online. I'm putting off doing my email until tomorrow because I HAVE HAD IT for today. It's a cold glass of white wine and a smoke for me.

When men mess with their wife's computer or Where have all my movies gone?

So, my massive film archive is gone. Into the bit bucket, gone with the wind. A product of 6 years of careful and often difficult collecting, lovingly selected. Six years of films I will probably not be able to collect back in their entirety.

Bastard!

Basically several years ago Alan pressured, whinged, moaned, and talked me into getting a used but powerful development computer from the company he worked for before it went into Administration. Being basically a nice person I finally agreed and carefully transferred all my files to the new machine. My old laptop was then reconfigured for linux. All my films were neatly organised in a folder, cleanly named, and actually regularly watched. But then about 6 months ago Alan started hassling me that the big computer was using too much power and producing too much heat blah blah blah and I should trade it for his laptop that he wasn't using.

After dragging my feet for months he finally got so insistent and annoying that I stupidly gave in. It was one of those things were it was just not worth the cost to our relationship as he was making it into a cause celebre. Because the video files were so huge by this point, he brought home a portable drive for me to transfer my films onto. I copied all my video files onto the drive and then discovered that the laptop wasn't going to be able to hold them all. We agreed that I would get my own portable drive after I got back from NYC and the files could stay on the portable drive until then.Because it was really Alan's work portable drive, I did move 30 GB of files onto my laptop to free up some workspace for him. But my remaining stored files all had names like Barb's files to transfer - do not delete!

So I went away to NYC and when I got home, my computer had been wiped clean and re-installed/re-configured as a linux development machine. So ok, since then I have been sorting out and setting up my laptop and because WIN 7 is so very different than Win XP it wasn't until tonight that I reached almost the end of the alphabet - Videos - and discovered that about 80 GB of classic films, the most irreplaceable, rare, and cherished of my collection were MISSING ! So I went to the portable drive, figuring they were on that but no, nada, not there....

And yes, Alan had deleted them from the portable drive.

That's all I can say about this. I'm just stunned by it all.

To keep your marriage brimming,
With love in the loving cup,
Whenever you’re wrong admit it;
Whenever you’re right shut up.


- Ogden Nash

Lead up to a Wedding

A week from now Astrid & I will depart Heathrow airport for New York and my son Andrew's wedding. I'm pleased and excited for Andrew and Joanna and happy the long wait is almost over for them.

I've made lists of what I need to buy here in the UK to bring to the US for friends and family and another list of what I need to buy while in the US to bring home with me. There are surprisingly many items mutually unavailable in one or the other; usually simple common things we're so accustomed to having available that there's a real culture shock when we find ourselves up against a brick shopping wall.

In the US we're talking about simple things like:
Noxzema
Jiffy corn muffin mix
Jello pudding mix
Bisquick
Jalapeno peppers
Hellman's mayonnaise (The Hellman's mayo sold in the UK uses a different recipe and is revolting)
Neosporin cream

In the UK, there's a few things I'll be buying:
Airwaves gum (brilliant for instantly clearing stuffy sinuses)
Olbas oil
Ribena

This weekend I need to buy a dress for the wedding (which I will reuse for formal dinner nights when we sail home on the QM2). Probably buy other bits and pieces for the voyage home since Cunard makes it quite clear they don't favor jeans at any time on the QM2.

The Politics of Burning Sacred Books

All 1st amendment arguments aside, I find the recent ruckus and international outrage over some rabble-rousing Florida pastor's plan to burn Korans on 9/11 utterly hypocritical and revealing. That's because what's not being said about this situation is that he also plans to burn Talmuds. Why is no one denouncing the planned burning of the Talmud? Is it ok to burn Jewish sacred texts but not Islamic? Is it acceptable to insult Jews but not Muslims?


Why didn't Obama speak out and denounce the intention of burning Talmuds along with the Koran? What about the Pope? Why didn't he mention the Talmuds along with the Koran in his statement? The UN, the UK government, and on and on and on.


Why?
Well, I'm pretty sure I know why. I suspect you know why. I know no one is going to say it because, well it's not politically correct to say these things, is it?


Actually, Fidel Castro says it. Fidel has even spoken out and told Iran's leader Ahmadinejad, "Stop Slandering the Jews". No other world leader has even whispered it.


It is Rosh Hashanah today and although I am a secular Jew, I am in a reflective mood.

Nurse Jeffrey - The Bitch Tapes

I've just discovered this hilarious little digital spinoff of the excellent House MD TV series.
It's available on the Fox website for US based viewers I've been told. I found it on YouTube. A quick search will get you the whole 13 episode series.

Basically Nurse Jeffrey was a very minor bit character on a House episode where House fleetingly mocked him with the old canard about male nurses. The totally psycho but lame disproportional response by Nurse Jeffrey is the basic premise of the spinoff series.

Very clever, very amusing, very evil, and very politically incorrect. Dontcha just love that?

Children

 Children

And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, "Speak to us of
 Children."

 And he said:

 Your children are not your children.

 They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.

 They come through you but not from you,

 And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.

 You may give them your love but not your thoughts.

 For they have their own thoughts.

 You may house their bodies but not their souls,

 For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

 You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like 

you.

 For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

 You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are 

sent forth.

 The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He 

bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.

 Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;

 For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also 

the bow that is stable.

-- Kahlil Gibran

Inception

I've tried 3 times to watch this film and see why people keep raving about it. I'm sorry but I just can't see what they see in it. I think it's BORING crap. I guess I'm not all that impressed with CGI and I've read too much good literature and seen too many brilliant films to be fooled by the Emperor's New Clothes any more.


Don't get me wrong, I do have a taste for crumby movies sometimes - but the one thing I do demand of them is a coherent storyline. And Inception simply does not have that. Huge plot holes all over and not in any forgivable way. You think blurring the lines of real and not real in a film to deliberately confuse the viewer makes it deep and meaningful? Nah, in this case it's smoke and mirrors to cover bullshit and lousy values. And finally, you should never, never, never need Cliff Notes for a film.


My idea of a film which does a marvelous job of spinning a compelling story where you don't know what is real and what is not, in a dreamlike way, is "Picnic at Hanging Rock". Compelling is the appropriate word for the film, the story, and the experience.  Sci-fi, fantasy, mystery, aboriginal dream-time - beautiful film-making.


So, I'm sorry but I give up on Inception. It's terribly overrated. 

Wedding Invitation!!

Today the invitation to Joanna and Andrew's wedding finally arrived in the mail! It's been a long and fraught process getting them ordered, assembled, addressed, and sent out and I'm very relieved to to see that task completed.

That said, the invitations are beautiful and elegant.

(Of course the idiots at UK Customs/UK Mail felt required to open our invitation before delivering it, just to make sure there was no terrorist threat inside.)

Bussels

Asti and I drove to Brussels early Tuesday morning to apartment hunt for her prior to her starting a new contract there on the following Monday. She was incredibly lucky to find a charming place in a stylish elevator building in the medieval part of the city. The area is filled with cafes offering inexpensive but good food and drinks daytime and music at night. Also a vast selection of excellent restaurants, artisanal shops, antiques, and museums. Streets are cobblestone and immaculate. You can smoke in bars and cafes and outdoor restaurants so it's all extremely civilized.

Photo of breakfast we had at local boulangere:

Frites stand along the boulevard:

You can see the rest of the photos I took in Brussels here

Blame Canada

June 23, 2010, 2:41 PM
Earthquake Shakes New York:

By THE NEW YORK TIMES

A 5.5-magnitude earthquake struck north of Ottawa on Wednesday afternoon, rattling buildings as far away as Vermont, Albany and even New York City.


CNN

5.5 magnitude quake strikes Canada; no major damage

[Updated at 2:55 p.m.] There has been no major damage reported so far from an earthquake that hit Canada today, the city of Toronto said in a press release.

"In our initial assessment, there has been no major damage to City infrastructure. Further investigations are taking place to confirm," the statement said. "The Toronto Transit Commission and Transportation Services have reported that there has been no damage to their infrastructure or interruptions to service.

"The City’s Emergency Operations Centre is up and running in preparation for the G20 so the City is uniquely prepared to respond to the event. We will continue to monitor the situation and will report as necessary."

Wales

Just returned from a holiday/shake-out trip to North Wales in the new car. The Honda handled it with grace and comfort and really good mileage. I think I want to replace the wiper blades but that's fussiness on my part.


The photos can be seen here:     http://www.flickr.com/photos/37159912@N00/sets/72157624253518622/

Shrek Forever After

I just saw Shrek Forever After and it was a happy ending to the series. They pulled the quality back up and regained the snappy humour of the original. Just a good, funny, clever film. Plus, as far as I'm concerned, the kitty still steals the show!

Advice

Hot Tub Time Machine

Since this film was released, I've thought, what a piece of rubbish that must be. But tonight I was bored, so bored that I started watching it. And it was amusing, and a funny ending that I enjoyed. 


::sigh::


Yeah, I'm easily amused. But this film turned out to be surprisingly good.

Holiday in Praia da Rocha, Portugal

Asti and I just returned from a few sunny days in Praia da Rocha, Portugal in the Algarve. Great vacation - great sun, great food, great wine. Beautiful place with lovely people.

Click on the photo to see the whole photo collection.

Flood of Spam Comments from China

I've resisted setting a word verification (captcha) on my blog for several years despite the increasing amount of spam posted as comments. In the beginning, the spam were comments with links to commercial sites ie porn, meds, get rich quick however, that's all changed now and for the past year or so the comments posted were solely Chinese ideogram spam. I'm tired of it and there's no other way to stop it than to require all comments be verified.

I hate spam and profoundly loathe its senders.

Speak Out for Freedom of Speech

Overheard in New York - on the subway

Angry commuter on cell phone ...

What the hell do you mean my flight has been cancelled?!?!
What kind of dog and pony show are you running with this airline?!?!
Give me one good reason…… did you just say a cloud of volcanic ash is spreading over Europe… seriously?
Okay, that’s good enough for me! Thanks for your time!

I thought Avatar was crap but this review details it so eloquently ;)

I hate Thunderbird

Curses upon Thunderbird and Mozilla! I hate them both. I wish them and all their minions 1000 years burning in hell. I trusted them when they told me I needed to update Thunderbird today, let Thunderbird update itself - and the bastards lost a mail folder's entire set of subfolders - which were where I stored ALL the emails from family and close friends. Arrrghhhhhh!!!!!They completely deleted them, they are gone, disappeared, not there - and yes, I checked in the application date area where Thunderbird stores mail.

Bastards. I hope they fry in hell.

Mothers Day in the UK

Astrid took me to Bath for a Mothers Day outing on Saturday. It's a 2.5 hour drive each way but we'd never been there before, always wanted to, and it combined 2 of my favorite things - an archeological site and a spa.
The archeological site is interesting - a surprising amount of the Roman baths remains including of course, the natural thermal springs. The modern spa built on part of the old site was an interesting experience but more suited to couples. The lavender steam room was really nice and their "lobster pot" style foot baths were amusing - Asti tried that but I don't know that it was a particular sensation. We didn't linger in any of their pools or whirlpools etc as there was too much couple action going on.

The Oscars

I was genuinely surprised and delighted with the Academy Awards this year. Of course, that's because I agreed with almost all their choices, the exceptions being mild and a "fair enough" imo.

I was hoping the Best Animated Film would go to The Secret of Kells - because I'm utterly smitten with this exquisite film. However, I liked Up and it was a charming film of the big-budget/major studio genre. It's just that The Secret of Kells is in the special and unique/haunts you forever genre.

I'm a fan of Sandra Bullock and consider her a class act all the way. So happy to see her get an Oscar.

And then we get to Best Film & Best Director and that was the big but delightful surprise. Hurt Locker is not and never will be "my sort of film" but it was a worthy film and an impressive and touching film. I watched it when it came out because my friend Bo said it was a must see. I trust his taste in films; he's had an almost 20 year successful run in good recommendations to me and hasn't steered me wrong yet. I agreed with his take on the film. I am just so pleased the film and moreso its director received the Best of award.

And now the time has come for my little reservoir of venom. I loathed Avatar and I am immeasurably pleased that neither the film nor its director won the award. When I watched Avatar I had a niggling feeling that it was somehow familiar, a real deja vu feeling. And I was right, it's a tarted up 3D, high end CGI Ferngully - and I loathed Ferngully when that came out, too. I won't continue because I truly thought this film was a piece of crap and the revenue it earned was just one more proof of H.L. Menkin's immortal words, "No one ever went broke underestimating the intelligence of the American people." Except in this case I would modify it by removing "American" because it applies to all people, everywhere. It was The Emperor's New Clothes. Etc, etc, etc.

Thus ends the lesson.
You may all go.

In other news, my father-in-law is driving down to London at the end of May to spend a few days visiting. We plan to take in a West End musical and have a family dinner somewhere nice afterward. And when he returns home, he will take the coach because he is leaving me his car! Yay! The people rejoice! I will be retiring my little 2 seater Mazda MX5 and driving his Honda from now on. Yay! Comfortable driving. Yay! Easy to get in and out of the car. Yay! It seats 5 in spacious comfort. Yay! It has a truck (boot) that can take an entire major grocery shopping or the normal luggage for 2 people going on a trip (actually it can hold generous amounts of luggage for 4). Yay! It has automatic steering - I'm ok with manual but my daughter only drives auto so finally we can share the driving on our road trips.
Yay!!!!! We can go out and offer friends a lift, we can invite friends to go with us. We can be sociable again.

My little Mazda MX5 is a sweetie. Dependable, thrifty with fuel, pleasant to drive. But we're getting too creaky to climb in and out of its tiny frame. Frankly, it's designed for short people, if you have long legs you are in trouble. And it's a convertible so it leaks a bit in heavy rain and the plastic back window is sort of a dead loss most of the time. I will miss driving with the top down on those rare warm, sunny days but not much else.

Do you speak English?

Exquisite - watch this video immediately!

Words for Women to Live By

1. Aspire to be Barbie - the bitch has everything.

2. If the shoe fits - buy them in every color.

3. Take life with a pinch of salt... A wedge of lime, and a shot of tequila.

4. In need of a support group? - Cocktail hour with the girls!

5. Go on the 30 day diet. (I'm on it and so far I've lost 15 days).

6. When life gets you down - just put on your big girl panties and deal with it.

7. Let your greatest fear be that there is no PMS and this is just your personality.

8. I know I'm in my own little world, but it's ok. They know me here.

9. Lead me not into temptation, I can find it myself.

10. Don't get your knickers in a knot; it solves nothing and makes you walk funny.

11. When life gives you lemons in 2009 - turn it into lemonade then mix it with vodka.

12. Remember where ever there is a good looking; sweet, single or married man there is some woman tired of his bullshit!

13. Keep your chin up, only the first 40 years of parenthood are the hardest.

14. If it has Tires or Testicles it's gonna give you trouble.

15. By the time a women realizes her mother was right, she has a daughter who thinks she's wrong.

Australian Bush Poetry

Where the Dead Men Lie
Barcroft Henry Boake

Out on the wastes of the "Never Never,"
That's where the dead men lie,
There where the heat-waves dance forever,
That's where the dead men lie;
That's where the Earth's lov'd sons are keeping
endless tryst - not the west wind sweeping
feverish pinions, can wake their sleeping -
Out where the dead men lie!

Where brown Summer and Death have mated,
That's where the dead men lie,
Loving with fiery lust unsated,
That's where the dead men lie;
Out where the grinning skulls bleach whitely,
Under the saltbush sparkling brightly,
Out where the wild dogs chorus nightly,
That's where the dead men lie.

Deep in the yellow, flowing river,
That's where the dead men lie,
Under the banks where the shadows quiver,
That's where the dead men lie;
Where the platypus twists and doubles,
leaving a trail of tiny bubbles;
Rid at last of their earthly troubles,
That's where the dead men lie.

East and backward pale faces turning,
That's how the dead men lie;
Gaunt arms stretched with a voiceless yearning,
That's how the dead men lie;
Oft in the fragrant hush of nooning,
Hearing again their mother's crooning,
Wrapt for aye in a dreadful swooning,
That's how the dead men lie.

Nought but the hand of Night can free them;
That's when the dead men fly;
Only the frightened cattle see them -
See the dead men go by;
Cloven hoofs beating out one measure,
Bidding the stockman know no leisure,
That's when the dead men take their pleasure,
That's when the dead men fly.

Ask, too, the never-sleeping drover,
He sees the dead pass by,
Hearing them call to their friends - the plover,
Hearing the dead men cry.
Seeing their faces stealing, stealing,
Hearing their laughter pealing, pealing,
Watching their grey forms wheeling, wheeling
Round where the cattle lie.

Strangled by thirst and fierce privation -
That's how the dead men die
Out on "Moneygrub's" furthest station,
That's how the dead men die;
Hardfaced greybeards, youngsters callow,
Some mounds cared for, some left fallow,
Some deep down, yet others shallow,
Some having but the sky.

"Moneygrub" as he sips his claret
Looks with complacent eye
Down at his watch-chain, eighteen-carat,
There in his club hard by:
Recks not that every link is stamped with
Names of the men whose limbs are cramped with
Too long lying in grave-mould, camped with
Death where the dead men lie.

Crazy Cats

Charles Manson was 5'2"
That says so much, explains so much

SysAdmin appreciation day

Brilliant Ad Campaign by Frontier Airlines

Watch them all!!

W8ing4Godot

W8ing4Godot from 15 Second Film Festival on Vimeo.