e-bay constitution

I was watching a documentary on TV about Veit Harlan, the favourite film-maker of the Third Reich. This got me thinking about the way these empires and republics have been listed chronologically in the nations that have done away with their kings and queens. France is now in its "fifth republic", for instance. What is it with the British monarchy? Why does it almost seem to inspire longing (one might even go so far as to say envy), in the denizens of even stauchly republican nations when big royal events come along? For me, it's a bit like the e-bay phenomenon. In the past you threw stuff out, considering it worthless and surplus to requirements. Now you find that stuff you hung on to has a value, invariably deriving from its nostalgia value to others. You feel gratified about not binning it, and bask instead in what its fundamentally worthless essence has accumulated in perceived worth. So it is with the constitional monarchy. Long live the e-bay constitution!

Half-man Half-biscuit

Possibly the greatest band name ever.
Here's another name to call a band, a marker of the times, I invite any budding musos out there to feel free to use it on a first come first served basis (I assert no copyright claim).
And the band name is: "Great kid stupid name".

Well, well...

In this godless age, when so many are keen to embrace atheism, eschewing the healthy doubtfulness of the agnostic, and no moral compass is to be had in such an eschatological vacuum, how ironic that in response to the question "How are you?", people no longer tend to say "I'm well", but "I'm good". How can they know?

I'm not Jesus, but...

I'm not Jesus, but as I stood outside on the garden terrace, in the pitch dark, naked after a hot bath, trying to cool down, I was aware that, with my arms spread out at my side, any aliens peering down at the benighted countryside below with an infrared viewer would have seen a humanoid figure, alone, beaming brightly with arms spread wide, and would have considered the humanoid legend of Christianity, and would have thought, well, that's around two thousand Earth years later, and there is talk in their book of a second coming...

Vegan BBQs

I wonder how vegetarians and vegans get on at barbecues? Not in terms of what they eat, but in terms of how they cope with marauding insects. In other words, is it okay to swat a wasp? Just what level of beastly sentience counts for them? Taken to the extreme this would put them in the same (holiday) camp as the Buddhists, who literally watch their step for fear of treading on an insect, which may, according to their system of beliefs, be the reincarnation of a dear departed relative or ancestor. This no doubt explains the obesity and sedentarism of the Buddha himself, who singularly lacks the svelte silhouette of a roaming, insect-indifferent Jesus or Mohammed. You would think, after all, that one would be all the more inclined to put the creature out of its misery, if you believed in that kind of thing, in order to hasten its passage in the reincarnation hierarchy to a higher life-form. Being cut off in your prime as an insect might even, who knows?, offer the fast track to the next life as a human being, just one step on the ladder below the Glenn Hoddle or the Tom Cruise.

Dream conundrum

I woke from a dream and found myself still amused by its contents, which is rare since a funny dream rarely seems amusing in the cold light of day. It consisted of a scene from the Eurovision song contest, with a dead ringer for Yozzer Hughes from Boys from the Blackstuff, but with a dark complexion, black hair and a big black tash singing the Turkish entry. Like most Eurovision contestants these days he sang in English, and the lyric went "Oh, I have got a big tash, I've got a big moustache", before switching (Eurovision style) into German: "Ich habe einen Schnurrbart, der niemandem gefällt". What was really funny was the dum-de-dum melody, which then segued from the German with a brief "Allerdings" back into English. My waking impression was that this would make a good Mitchell & Webb sketch; I could imagine David Mitchell doing the Yozzer act with a really outrageous Turkish moustache. But I knew if I got out of bed to note it down, I'd not get back to sleep again. What to do? I decided, since I was still awake, to get out of bed and make a brief note of the lyrics, such as they were. Yet the damage was done. No way could I get back to sleep, the tune kept buzzing around in my head. Thus it was that at 4.30 am I was up and hammering away on my computer. Half an hour later, I started to feel drowsy. So I head back to bed, only to realize that the melody was lost to waking oblivion. Rats! Zéro points, Royaume-Uni.

Nicknames

Funny things, nicknames. I was the one who came up with "Fatty Arbuckle" for a solidly-built friend of mine when we were just first-years, and by the time we reached fifth-form it had been abbreviated to "Arby", and my explanation of this laconic version of the original nickname and who came up with it and why would fall on deaf ears.
I had curly hair at a time when perms had just come in, so the effect was somewhat unfortunate. Someone tried to impose the nickname "Bogbrush" on me for that reason, but it didn't catch on as I coined the counter-nickname for them of: "Fuck off".