Friday, April 28, 2006
I bought this week's issue of Kerrang magazine because the headline caught my eye.
Punk Rock Takes Over The Planet.
Oh good thought I, some updates on The Distillers perhaps ? Album news for Rancid maybe ?
A career retrospective of The Dead Kennedys or GBH ?
I opened the pages, skimmed through and was vastly dissapointed. Kerrang, who have gradually become the establishment they once railed against, now reckon that this bunch of posuers and eye-liner addicts are actually punk........
Atreyu , mostly talentless.
Panic! At The Disco , bloody emo shite.
Taking Back Sunday, as above, but even more shite.
Thrice, oh come on now, this is taking the piss.
Lostprophets, should I laugh or cry when K calls these boys punks ?
Angels And Airwaves, oh dear, if you thought that Blink 182 were punk the AvA might just be the same, if on the other hand you thought that Blink 182 should be dropped from a great height into a set of revolving blades........
My Chemical Romance , coporate whores.
I've been ripped off, there's not a punk band in sight, just a load of wannabe stadium rockers with all the punk credentials of Tony Blair, give me my money back!
The sequel to Clarke's first comedy of errors, A Year In The Merde, sees Paul West still stumbling through France, doing his bit for Anglo-French relations (with pretty young ladies at least) and striving to get his English tea room in Paris off the ground.
Whilst the first of Clarke's book dwelt more on the differences between the French and the British, their language, politics and work patterns, Merde Actually is more plot driven. It's a lightweight plot, but quite enjoyable.
Paul, called Pol (much to his annoyance) by most of the locals, starts off in fine style, crashing the car they have borrowed from his girlfriend's father, then accidently poisoning his future mother in law and spending half his holidays digging a hole for a septic tank.
Things don't get much better when he returns to Paris either. The architect, and ex boyfriend of his current girlfriend, doesn't seem to have done any work, the Polish builders are nowhere to be seen and an annoying little man from the Ministry of Red Tape keeps telling Pol he has to translate all his menus into French so the locals will understand what a cup of Darjeeling is.
Clarke writes nicely, sitting somewhere in the vicinity of Tom Sharpe and Bill Bryson, and at the end of the book he has left the way open for a trilogy. This wasn't quite as hilarious as the first book though, and although I did enjoy it, I might be wary of buying a third, similar, novel.
Thursday, April 27, 2006
Ah, we awaited the traditional end to Sunday lunch with some aniticipation in our house. In the days when pubs just opened 12-2pm on a Sunday it meant that Mum would cook a proper Sunday lunch, and all four uf us could eat together when Dad had locked up.
We polished off our roast dinner, the table was cleared, a jug of cream was placed in the centre, and the dish of goosegogs crumble was brought from the oven. Then the arguments would start.
Mum would dish up, Liz was given a large portion of crumble with no goosegogs, me and Dad would start our traditional Sunday grumbles when our bowls arrived with plenty of green fruit but a rather reduced amount of topping. I mean, we liked the gooseberries, which Liz didn't, but we felt it unfair that she should get half of our topping as well.
There was no real spite or malice in the arguing, it was as much a part of our Sunday lunch as the food was. It became a little family tradition, still referred to now if we serve a crumble or spy one on a restaurant menu. If we were having a proper posh lunch, with mints wrapped in foil at the end, it was also traditional to flick the balled up foil wrappers at each other, and mostly at Mum, until we all had fits of laughter and she scooped them up in mock annoyance.
It's now nearly a year since Mum died, and although recounting these little episodes have brought tears to my eyes, I only seem to have happy memories of my Mother. There were a lot of happy times in our house.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
I gather that some regulars cannot see the blog properly, there may be a number of reasons for this.
A) You are too drunk. Get a good night's kip, have a large coffee, see if there is any improvement.
B) Your browser is crappy, there's bugger all I can do about this.
OK, it's a browser display problem, I obviously set the blog up so it displays alright to me on my own PC at home, I've tried to rectify the problem for others by resizing the pictures again. Is the Cow and Calf picture below this post ? Or is it still pushed down below the side bars ?
Picture size down to 600, can you see it yet ? Or still MIA ?
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Girl has first drink at 14, likes it, likes it a lot, starts drinking quite regularly, when she goes to college/university she drinks even more, she does some daft things when drunk, some she would rather not remember.
Well, that sounds like most of the people I grew up. We all tried, and mostly succeeded, in buying booze underage, we all got drunk, threw up, blacked out once or twice, woke up in a strange bedroom with someone we didn't remember getting into bed with, stumbled, fell over, broke things, had raging drunken arguments and beer tear filled make-ups.
What seems to make Zailckas different from most of us in the first heady rush of alcohol consumption though is the effect she seems to be striving for. Whilst most folk are content to get plastered, even to the point of illness, here and there, Zailckas recounts that her early drinking experiences are nearly always to the point of blackout inducing levels.
Her rapid descent into a form of alcoholism (although she is always at some pains to point out that she doesn't believe herself to be an alcoholic) seems more or less like the simultaenous growing up / regression that all teenagers go through when they become old enough to have cares and responsibilities but are unwilling to accept them. She hasn't been abused or ignored as a child, her parents have not split up, she appears well loved and looked after, but, she finds, or creates through 'teenage angst' a hole within psyche that she seems only to be able to fill with drink.
Many teenagers go through this, physically they have become adults, and they are exposed to the adult delights of drink, sex and probably drugs as well, but they have yet to find their own place in the world. I have always thought that university does very little towards helping thses older children into the real world, they are coddled to a large degree, surrounded almost entirely by others of their own age and maturity, without jobs, mortgages, taxes or children to worry about their lives can be largely carefree and booze filled.
Universities in the UK now run TV and cinema adverts where there is no importance whatsoever placed on learning but massive importance placed on the universties location for drinking and partying, with the sound turned down you could be easily forgiven for thinking these vidoes of writing, strobe lit bodies were advertising nightclubs or music cd's.
The Greek Houses of American Colleges, as described by Zailckas, go even further in their mollycoddling of their youth with each house having it's own Housemother (cleaner of vomit and wreckage) and even their own chef. With almost zero responsibilities after their lectures, the students are free to engage in a social whirlwind of undarage drinking.
Zailckas obviously suffers from low personal esteem, she finds it difficult, almost impossible, to start and hold conversations when sober, but thinks herself charming and erudite when inebriated. Similarly, she cannot communicate with boys unless drunk, and her on off relationships occur only when she is drinking. She also loses her virginity whilst blind drunk, or at least she thinks she does, she has blacked out during the evening and has no memory at all of the latter parts of the night.
She stumbles through college, her social circle diminished to only those girls who regularly drink as much as she does, then she lands a media job in New York, and her drinking continues apace.
I found Zailckas' writing style to be nicely poetic, although she is a little too self righteous at times, and very easy to read. I would think that a lot of people reading reading this will find distinct similarities with their own teenage years, a lot of young people will experience the same things as this girl, a lot of young folk will probably step over the line and find it much harder to pull back than Zailckas did. She is though hugely self-centred, the feelings of her parents, friends and boyfriends are mostly ignored as she chronicles her years of drinking
It's a spending list that must send warm little thrills through the hearts of ex dockers and miners all over the country. Thousands of nurses about to be chucked onto the dole must be saying...."Well at least Mrs Blair got a nice haircut."
A nice haircut, £250 a day of donated money spent on dolling up the Prime Minister's wife. An expense totalling £7,700 during the last election campaign. At least this isn't tax payer's money, for now at least. With all the political parties edging towards an agreement on public funding, by the time of the next election the PM's wife may be wasting thousands of pounds of your hard earned dosh on her crappy haircuts.
And it doesn't stop there, Michael Howard managed to fritter away a massive £3,600 on make-up during the election. There are transvestite pole dancers who don't use as much make-up as that. Charles Kennedy racked up £4,800 pounds on 6 new suits, hasn't he heard of M&S ?
Just to get back to Mrs. Blair though, here is a person who is not actually running for election, a person who is very wealthy indeed in her own right, sponging shamelessly off the Labour party in order to make herself look good. Be honest though, has anyone ever looked at Cherie and thought..."Now that's a really good haircut." No, never, not anyone excepting perhaps her hairdresser.
To put these amounts further into perspective, one day of Cherie Blair's hair trimming is the amount a pensioner in this country receives in three weeks. The total amount wasted on Blair's hair would have paid for 453 cataract operations to restore sight to the blind in third world countries (according to figures at Sightsavers International ).
The amount of money lavished on Michael Howards slap would have bought 360 starter chicken farms for African families (figures can be found at Farm Africa) .
Charles Kennedy's tailoring bill would have bought 177 bottles of Glenfiddich Special Reserve (according to The Global Whisky Shop ). I know that was a cheap shot, but what the hell.
Michael Howard yesterday.
Sunday, April 23, 2006
Oztralian all-rounder and temporary Tyke Jason Gillespie has apparently made a bet that he will do a naked circuit of the Adelaide cricket ground if he ever made a double century, accompanied by Matthew Hayden.
The highly improbable has come to pass and so we can expect some extra entertainment at the Ashes this winter, who carries the biggest bat then ?
Gillespie, who was frankly, well, shite during the last Ashes series has signed on with Yorkshire to replace that South African bloke who nobody had ever heard of but who did rather well in our promotion season last year and has therefore crocked himself just in time for the new season.
Gillespie should enjoy his season here, there's plenty of teams as piss poor as Bangladesh in the 1st Division, Lancashire, Hampshire, hopefully a couple of others to give us a safe mid-table finish.
Today's English menu.....
(Buffet starter selection)
LEEK & SALMON TART
BACON & STILTON POTATO CAKES
OMELETTE ARNOLD BENNET
TOMATO & CUCUMBER SALAD
BOILED YORKSHIRE HAM
MINTED PEA & BROAD BEAN SALAD
PRAWN COCKTAIL SALAD
CARROT, DILL & HORSERADISH SALAD
SELECTION OF ENGLISH PICKLES
(From the carvery)
ROAST RIB OF ENGLISH BEEF
ROAST LOIN OF ENGLISH PORK
FRESH VEGETABLES, POTATOES, YORKSHIRE PUDDINGS, ROAST GRAVY
STICKY TOFFEE PUDDING
BREAD AND BUTTER PUDDING
RICE PUDDING WITH JAM
STILTON AND BISCUITS
Saturday, April 22, 2006
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Saturday, April 15, 2006
I've decided not to work this Easter, for the first time in 20 odd years, so I could spend some time with my family, so today we went to the Leeds City Art Gallery to look at the pictures and sculptures (it's free, ought to appeal to any good Tyke), then on to Brio for lunch, free as well, thanks Morag it was lovely.
Little sister Liz at Brio.
Jo and Ellie messing around in The Light.
Joseph hiding and seeking.
This just makes me laugh, she's so funny.
Joseph, Dad, Morag, a dolly, Ellie, Liz being daft, and a good day was had by all.
Friday, April 14, 2006
I read a lot, but I'm aware that I havn't read many of what people would call classic or important works of literature, I'm a sci-fi and fantasy fan, I like good thrillers, graphic novels, a smattering of biographies and autobiographies, but I'd like to continue to expand my horizons so on my last trip to the bookshop I came back with Kerouac and Capote.
'The book that changed my life' people say, the most important novel of the Beat generation, 'A paean to the ragged and ecstatic joy of pure being'.
It's rubbish, and I'm going to tell you right away what happens at the end, nothing, sod all, nowt, zilch. If you're looking for new horizons, answers to the meaning of life, or just a pleasurable and interesting read, it's not to be found within these covers.
Protagonist Sal Paradise and his group of orbiting wasters, would be hoboes and smackheads potter aimlessly from town to town across America, drinking, stealing, working a day or a week, sleeping with girls, driving cars. Kerouac describes things exactly and as banally as they happen and the whole book contains no discernable plot or coherent narrative.
I think that if you dipped into the book at random and read a page or a paragraph here or there, then skipped back or forth a few pages and read another paragraph, the book wouldn't make any less sense.
Kerouac's descriptive powers are so weak that every city, town, bar, house and gas station blur into the same sense of boredom, perhaps this is intentional, although the introduction claims that Karouac was attempting the 'Great Amercian Novel'. What he achieved was the 'Meandering Waste Of A Good Tree.'
So he wrote it all in a three week spree, so what ? So he was as high most of the time as his portrayed characters are, it shows, reading it is like listening to your drunken mate trying to explain in excruciating detail the best way to travel from Milton Keynes to Wolverhampton on a Bank Holiday.
I really can't for the life of me imagine why this is hailed as a great work, it's a poorly put together, aimless, directionless novel. When you've read the first the first ten pages, just imagine that the next 260 will be just as gripping and illuminating and then put the book down and never pick it up again. There are as many insights and revelations to be found here as there are in the hallowed pages of OK magazine. It's the sort of book that puts people right off reading, well, it will certainly deter me from trying ay more Kerouac.
The Night's Dawn Trilogy rumbles to a close after 3,700 or so pages with this concluding doorstop.
The human race has been forced to confront the fact that souls do actually exist as entities, and hat a number of these entities, in the millions, are trapped in the 'beyond', Hamilton's vision of Purgatory where the formless souls writhe in torment. An alien entity opened a rift to the Beyond, and the souls have come back to inhabit the bodies of the living.
After hearing rumours of an alien god, two ships, one Adamist, one Edenist, are sent to the far side of the universe to locate this power. On the way they discover signs that the Enigmatic alien Kiint are also searching for the Tyrathca Sleeping God. Hamilton seems to let this thread go though, as the humans encounter a previously undiscovered sentient alien species who hold the key to the Sleeping God's location, there is no further mention of the Kiint, odd.
On the planets that the Posessed have removed from the universe, the posessors are discovering that over time the personalities of their bodies are trying to revert to that of their original owners, but worse, the energistic power that the posessed use to make their new selves into prettier, younger versions of their old selves is loosing a host of tumours and cancers within them. All is not rosy in 'heaven'.
On the partially posessed planet of Ombey, the military liberation turns into the type of horrifyling close quarter ground war that the human race hasn't fought for five centuries. Al Capone continues to rule New Calfornia, but not without problems, and we get to find out just what ahppens to the habitat Rubra/Valisk when he passes into another dimension.
I did think that as the novel reaches it's conclusion Hamilton rather bluntly hammers home his point of 'the human race must grow up and sort itself out', but then in the end we all get saved (at least temporarily on the galactic scale) by a godlike entity with seemingly limitless powers.
The slightly dissapointing ending aside though, this is a tremendous work of sci-fi, a real page turner. Hamilton has a good way with characters and action and deftly handles the numerous plot lines running through this vast work. If you want space opera on a really big scale, this is a series of books you should pick up.
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
So, I'm on this 1st Aid course, and as part of the course we have to see photographs of some of the injuries we might be facing. I'm usually the type that cringes when they announce on CSI that there will be scenes of violence so piccies of brutal injuries are hardly my cup of tea.
I feel I have to mention one though, and don't panic, there will be no picture links, but imagine this........
It's a building site, and one young builder is using a nail gun to attach large bits of boards to a frame to create internal walls, TCHOOM! TCHOOM! TCHOOM! TCHOOM! click.
Humph, try again........click. Give it a shake and try again..........click.
It's obviously stopped working. Now, I don't know what you or I might do under these circumstances, but our builder reckoned that having a quick look down the business end might let him see the source of the problem.
Well done matey, you've just nail-gunned your eyeball to it's socket.
Tomorrow......places you wouldn't really expect to see 12' of scaffolding sticking out from.......
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
I'm doing my 1st Aid course at Hornbeam Park in otherwise lovely Harrogate, how the allowed this particular blot on the landscape I don't understand, it's like every building that got an 'E' in Pretty Building Design got built here, it's even worse than Croyden ! ;-)
I'm glad I don't work here, I think I've got an aesthetic allergy to it.
Monday, April 10, 2006
Friday, April 07, 2006
Thursday, April 06, 2006
The call goes up from my dear wife, I am in my position of mid evening repose, sprawled full length on the smaller of our settees, feet hanging over the edge, well, feet bouncing and jiggling in Mrs YS' eyeline which is what is annoying her. I don't even realise I'm doing it, then Mrs YS calls my attention to said bouncing feet, now I have to concentrate on not doing it, that's even harder.
I just can't help fiddling, pen clicking, key jangling, finger and elbow joint popping (it's like erotic dancing for the blind), rustling bits of paper, sweet wrappers, I'm a right pain in the neck sometimes.
But sometimes, fiddling can endanger your health, read on, and take note.
I'm at the gym, having already done a couple of kilometres on the rowing machine and a few weights, I decide to have a go on the running machine. I clamber aboard, set the machine going and steadily move up to a sort of thundering, lumbering jog.
Now, the machine faces a blank wall, it's dull, and my mind has started to wander. There's a red button on the machine with a lanyard and bulldog clip attached to it. What can this be for ? Perhaps it's a nipple clamp for kinky runners ? Perhaps you can attach your exercise card to it ? Perhaps.....FUCK ME! BANG! OH MY GOOLIES, WHIMPER.
Perhaps if you pull the cord the machine stops moving, instantly. But if you're not expecting it then you'll still be running, like the unstoppable force. Fiddling whilst running, I have pulled the cord, the machine stops dead and I run myself strait into the console, of which the hand/pulse bar seems to be right at trossacks height, bloody hell that hurts, nearly as much as my injured pride.
I now have to hobble out of a crowded gym (and you know all the hot girls are laughing, hellfire, even the staff are laughing!) and there is just no way I can pretend I meant to do that.
A bus carrying a group of nuns crashed, killing all on board.
At the pearly gates St Peter asks"Before you are let through, have you evertouched a mans genitals?"
The first nun said "I once put my finger on some."
"Wash that finger in the bowl of holy water,and you can pass" said St Peter.
The second nun said "I once touched some genitals with my hand."
"Wash your hand in the holy water and you can pass."
Suddenly there is a pushing and shoving from the back of the queue, and Sister Marie barged to the front.
"Well", she explained to St Peter, "I want to wash my mouth out before Sister Bernadette washes her arse."
(old joke stolen from Popbitch)
There I was, semi-innocently playing Queensryche on my I-Pod, stood outside the gates of the American Embassy happily singing along......"We're gonna burn the Whitehouse down, REVOLUTION!", when the boys in blue came along and arrested me.
I'm slung in prison on 2386 counts of having seditious music on my pod and pc, a further search of my home has revealed vaious illegal political tracts by the dangerously free-thinking and openly subversive Alan Moore, further charges will follow.
This would ba vaguely amusing if only it wasn't happening in real lifem which it is. Yesterday a Mr. Winston Kodogo was arrested for enjoying the music of The Clash, specifically London Calling which contains the lines.....
The ice age is coming, the sun's zooming in
Engines stop running, the wheat is growing thin
A nuclear era, but I have no fear'
Cause London is drowning, and I live by the river.
Well, that's enough to constitute a terrorist threat to me, he's obviously planning to blow up the Houses Of Parliament with an atom bomb, obviously.
I gather that the arresting officer has been disciplined......
Commander: "Come in, shut the door."
Savage: "Yes, sir."
"Now then, Savage, I want to talk to you about some charges that you've been bringing lately. I think that perhaps you're being a little over-zealous."
"Which charges did you mean then, sir?"
"Well, for instance this one: 'Loitering with intent to use a pedestrian crossing.' Savage, maybe you're not aware of this, but it is not illegal to use a pedestrian crossing, neither is 'smelling of foreign food' an offence."
"Are you sure, sir?"
"Also, there's no law against 'Urinating in a public convenience or 'Coughing without due care and attention."
'"If you say so, sir..."
"Yes, I do say so, Savage! Didn't they teach you anything at police training school?"
"Erm, I'm sorry, sir..."
"Some of these cases are just plain stupid: 'Looking at me in a funny way' - Is this some kind of joke, Savage?"
"And we have some more here: 'Walking on the cracks in the pavement,' 'Walking in a loud shirt in a built-up area during the hours of darkness,' and 'Walking around with an offensive wife.' In short, Savage, in the space of one month you have brought one hundred and seventeen ridiculous, trumped-up and ludicrous charges."
"Against the same man, Savage."
"Yes, sir.""A Mr Winston Kodogo, of 55, Mercer Road."
"Sit down, Savage."
"Savage, why do you keep arresting this man?"
"He's a villain, sir."
"And a jail-bird, sir."
"I know he's a jail-bird, Savage, he's down in the cells now! We're holding him on a charge of 'Possession of curly black hair and thick lips."
'"Well - well, there you are, sir."
"You arrested him, Savage!"
"Thank you, sir."
"Savage, would I be correct in assuming that Mr Kodogo is a coloured gentleman?"
"Well, I can't say I've ever noticed, sir."
"Stand up, Savage! - Savage, you're a bigot. It's officers like you that give the police a bad name. The press love to jump on an instance like this, and the reputation of the force can be permanently tarnished. Your whole time on duty is dominated by racial hatred and petty personal vendettas. Do you get some kind of perverted gratification from going around stirring up trouble?"
"There's no room for men like you in my force, Savage. I'm transferring you to the Special Patrol Group."
"Thank you very much, sir."
Man "Of Indian origin" arrested for enjoying punk music
I go to the gym regularly, but I eat to compensate so I don't seem to lose any weight. I did a personal best of 21 kilometers on the rowing machine yesterday, thus the title, I now have callouses on my blisters (hands! calm down), and don't know whether I'll be able to sit down for a day or so.
Current gym challenge - Can You Row 30k In 2 Months
Yorkshireoul's Total - 216k in week 5, wahey! I'm ripping this one.
There was this bloke in the gym a couple of weeks ago, Italian looking, tight, scultured physique, black hair falling to his houlders, wearing stubble that looked tres sexy rather than dirty/scruffy, he was handsome verging on beautiful, defined muscles, 6 pack, bronze all over tan. There's just one thing that will make me happy, I thought as he prepared to take off his pants in the changing room, but no, he was also hung like a brahma bull, there is no justice.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Oh dear folks, was it too hard this time around, there were more questions and complaints landed in my inbox than there were sets of answers. I realise I added up the points incorretly, scores are from 64.
1) Can you link a 90's British rock band with dope, a god and an organ ? (2)
Skunk Anansie the band, Skin their singer.
2) Climb a church tower on a Sunday and link an electrical current, a torture device and a name that might epitomise heavy music ? (link - bands - songs 7 points)
Bells toll in a church tower on a Sunday, these three tracks all start with a tolling bell.....
Hell's Bells - AC/DC
Hallowed Be Thy Name - Iron Maiden
For Whom The Bell Tolls - Metallica
3) Dress rather differently and link an American air base and hospital in Germany, a series of bends, twists or curls and a number of Coleopteras ? (link - bands - songs 7 points)
I thought this was improbably difficult after writing it, dress rather differently, well you sort of had to guess one of the songs at the same time and search the lyrics, the link is tranvestites / crossdressing.
Zwitter - Rammstein
Lola - The Kinks
Obla Di, Obla Da - The Beatles
4) Yorkshire Soul's favourite tipple with going on the dole, a man who drowned in the home of the blues, and the top of the milk ? (link - bands - songs 7 points)
Wine, and the songs are.....
Red, Red Wine - UB40
Lilac Wine - (the late) Jeff Buckley
Sweet Wine - Cream
5) The sudden arrival of the law with polar dwelling apes, the deceased members of an American political dynasty and the Eastenders who were not good enough ? (link - bands - songs 7 points)
Riot Van - The Arctic Monkeys
Police Truck - The Dead Kennedys
Police Car - Cockney Rejects
6) Which young lady links Bob Geldof on the silver screen, somebody eating, and a group with a missing bassist ? (link - bands 4 points)
All these bands did a song called Emily....
See Emily Play - Pink Floyd
Emily - Feeder / Manic Street Preachers
7) Big Game with the chief wailer, not the old getting ready to pray, and the man who persuaded the best known band of their genre that The Strand was not to be their monicker ? ( link - bands - songs 7 points)
Buffalo Soldier - Bob Marley
Buffalo Springfield - Neal Young
Buffalo Girls - Malcolm McLaren
8) Man's best friend with an unflyable airship, a monarch, and a room full of latin speaking women saying 'beyond these things' ? ( link - bands - songs 7 points)
Black Dog - Led Zeppelin
Everyone answered 'Dog With A Bone - Queen', I was thinking around corners and had 'Hound Dog - Elvis' as the answer, but you get points for either
A Salty Dog - Procul Harem
9) A farmer's enemy with a presidents flying machine, a super powered African, and my Aunt's husband ? (link - bands - songs 7 points)
A farmer's enemy would be rabbits....
White Rabbit - Jefferson Airplane
Black Rabbit - Turbonegro
Rabbit In The Headlights - Unkle
10) The pattern of the year with a man whose music caused a riot, damp weather and fake drugs, a third quarter tome of tabular information by folk with peculiar sexual tastes, and Art and Paul finding it hard to see ? (link - bands - songs 9 points)
The pattern of the year are the seasons.....
The Rites Of Spring - Igor Stravinksy
English Summer Rain - Placebo
Autumn Almanac - The Kinks
Hazy Shade Of Winter - Simon and Garfunkel
Series 4 Scores and Final League Table
Eleanor 60 (you should be worried that your mind functions just like mine!)
Mr Moosehead 41
Dan Munchie 30
No MR ! No Dr. P ! No Rachel O !
1) Eleanor 195
2) Chez 152
3) MR 130
4) Dr. P 107
5) Mr Moosehead 88
6) Dan Munchie 61
7) Rachel 'O' 55
8) Saeri 40
9) Halucinagenia 33
10) Dirk Thruster 22
11) Lyle DFD 18
12) Mandy 17
13) = EvilBarSteward 15
13) = Penny Farthing 15
15) Miss Fitty 13
16) Andrew M 10
17) Mark R 8
18) Squirt 3
19) Ms B Haven 1
Series 1) Dr. P (The Old Enemy)
Series 2) MR (God's Own County)
Series 3) MR (God's Own County)
Series 4) Eleanor (Oh Canada)
So the title leaves the GOC for the second time, this time winging it's way across the Atlantic, award yourself a pat on the back Eleanor, have a cup of tea and a sit down, the quiz returns for series 5, sometime..........
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
It's a bright and sunny day, better pack my raincoat then, yesterday the typically Yorkshire weather put on a '4 seasons in one hour' show so I'm taking no chances today. A quick trip up the road to Bolton Abbey (car parking now £5 per car, crikey!), onn with my gear and over the river.
This is going to be a carpet of white flowers in a few weeks time, the ground is covered with Lily Of The Valley.
Fir trees just begining to sprout new growth, I like filling the picture with natural repeating patterns or textures.
Up in the woods at the top of the Valley of Desolation, it is very quiet and damp, moss is the king here.
Truckle Crags on the way over the moor to Simon's Seat.
The rock formations at Simon's Seat.
Odd shapes on the granite.
Looking through the rocks back to Bolton Abbey.
Looking across the valley (Bland's Beck) to Skyreholme.
The viaduct in the woods above How Beck, if you want to see it from this angle you have to climb over a gate with a large sign that clearly says 'No Public Access.'
The Strid, it's dangerous, sometimes foolish people swim in here, sometimes the bodies don't come out for days.
In Strid Woods again, the sun through the trees, thirty seconds later later it was hailstoning, I'm glad I brought my coat.