If yesterday’s LoL post story came courtesy of the Evening Standard, today’s LoL post is about the Evening Standard, Dear Reader, and the surprising announcement of it’s new Editor…
Not ‘fake news’, apparently – the former Chancer of the Exchequer, George Osborne, is going to edit the London rag…
Cade recently wrote the phrase ‘turd in the punch bowl‘ to me in a discussion we were having about bubbles…
Well, to be fair, he did most of the discussing…
And it got me thinking as to whether election of Prez Trump in the US and the vote to leave the EU in the UK last year, weren’t the general public, in both countries, taking the opportunity to ‘throw a turd’ into the punch bowls of the political/governing elite: We’re sick of your parties.
Perhaps those that voted for the status quo (‘Clinton’ in the US and ‘Remain’ in the UK) consider the other side to be ‘party poopers‘?
*Not sure that scene works as well these days, Clicky… For one thing the host is smoking; smokers aren’t invited inside these days…/taps teeth… what about the other scene with that Song… ‘Shat!’*
*Hmm, more fun but no one smoking in that either…/sigh… Perhaps because animals don’t smoke? …aside from your good self, Clicky…*
*… and the odd member of the Corvus family… Also considered to be intelligent…*
Frank Davis today, in the Blue Universe, has a post that includes an image the new Vice Prez Pence, who, like Nigel Farage…
*Oh nice syncing, Clicky…/pats snout…*
…in the UK, is more supportive of smokers…
idiot (n.)early 14c., “person so mentally deficient as to be incapable of ordinary reasoning;” also in Middle English “simple man, uneducated person, layman” (late 14c.), from Old French idiote“uneducated or ignorant person” (12c.), from Latin idiota“ordinary person, layman; outsider,” in Late Latin “uneducated or ignorant person,” from Greek idiotes“layman, person lacking professional skill” (opposed to writer, soldier, skilled workman), literally “private person” (as opposed to one taking part in public affairs), used patronizingly for “ignorant person,” from idios“one’s own” (see idiom).
In plural, the Greek word could mean “one’s own countrymen.” In old English law, one who has been without reasoning or understanding from birth, as distinguished from a lunatic, who became that way. Idiot box“television set” is from 1959; idiot light“dashboard warning signal” is attested from 1961. Idiot savant attested by 1870.
If we go with the literal meaning, anyone who votes somebody to represent them in public affairs is, literally, an ‘idiot’ 😉
meeting (n.) “action of coming together,” Old English gemeting, verbal noun from meet (v.). Meaning “gathering of people for discussion, etc.” is from 1510s. In 17c., it was applied generally to worship assemblies of nonconformists, but this now is retained mostly by Quakers
As it happened, Dear Reader, I spent quite a bit of time this afternoon pondering a devastatingly good blog post by Anna Raccoon…
With first Brexit, and now Trump, I have the sense that a spirit of revolt is spreading across the West. I’m looking forward to seeing a bushfire of similar revolts spreading across Europe. Revolts against authority, revolts against top-down control, revolts against social engineering, revolts against the entrenched political elites. These things are catching: when people see other people doing something, they’re inclined to think that they could do it too. It gives them ideas.
Well, we are at Le Crunch point in regards to the ‘Crisis’ Winter season, the Fourth Turning…
*Excellent timing, Clicky! New in from The Rev?… Sparkling stuff! …/thinks… Why don’t you give Dear Reader a Song, whilst I go an indulge myself. There’s a good Clicky… /pats snout…*
Just a month to go and Project Fear’s UK tour is in full flow. So far, we’ve been assured, a vote to leave the EU (pronounced ‘ew’) would result in war, famine, pestilence and the other one…
CLICKY: Have you seen this?
*/rolls eyes… well, 23rd June does fall within the star sign of ‘cancer’, Clicky.* 😉
So wrapped up in making us fear for the future, our esteemed Chancer of the Checkered Past seems to have missed a trick in the here and now…
CLICKY: Bloody moron!
‘But in March the EU regulations were relaxed, allowing countries to extend the number of zero rates for VAT and therefore making it possible for the UK Government to scrap the tax.’
*Clicky, I know. The idea of actually demonstrating recent flexibility within the EU, to roughly half of the voting population, hasn’t occurred to those that wish us to remain…*
*Ha! And that’s the only ‘follow through’ the Project Fear Mongers appear to be interested in*
*******
Extract from ‘A Family History for Ruth and Julia (Gawd ‘Elp Us!)’, a.k.a. ‘The Ma Papers’ by Judith Eileen Newton (formerly Shewan, née Packer)
Ann and Eileen shared everything including boyfriends. Because Ann was flighty, it was not unusual for her to have more than one boyfriend at a time, so confrontations were not rare.
The front door at 4 Wilson Grove was never locked; the family was so large that if you were to open the door to every member of the family, with all the comings and goings, you would never get any rest. The key was on a piece of string, hanging behind the letter box and you simply pulled it through to open the door.
Of course this meant that it was quite easy to do a bunk, so to speak, and the sheer number of inhabitants made it virtually impossible for Grandad Alger to keep tabs on everybody. A great deal of shenanigans went on over the years, but everybody banded together and covered for each other.
The girls were quite strictly brought up with regards to virginity and wholesomeness. But, as we know, that really doesn’t make much difference – if the urge is there, we will find the opportunity.
I will add a note on growing up in those days. Although Nanny Alger was always pregnant Nanny P said that she and Ann knew nothing about sex. She said that nobody at school talked about it and certainly their Mother didn’t.
When she was in her early teens, Eileen didn’t even know about periods. One day she woke up and started to scream because she thought she was bleeding to death. Nanny Alger came up and said ‘hang on I will get you a sixpence’.
Intrigued? You will be.
‘Take this sixpence down the road to Mrs Johnson and she will tell you all about it and fix you up’. Nanny P duly went down to Mrs Johnson, who told her about the facts of life and gave her a bundle of rags with a length of bandage. The rags were wadded up and strung on the bandage, and the bandage was tied round the waist. There, you have a sanitary towel circa 1922.
What happened when you were heavy? Well, you had to wash them and hang them on the line. I know that on more than one occasion, when Nanny Packer was strapped for cash, I too had to use this method. But was never reduced to washing them – Dickie had no idea where his old clothes when to. Nanny P never did come to terms with a tampon.
On a political note, girls, do you realise that you have to pay VAT on sanitary wear? I have always believed that it was disgraceful. They should be free on the NHS or make them zero rated for VAT purposes; after all it is not our fault that we suffer this medical condition on a monthly basis. If one bled in an emergency room, one would get plastered for free after all. I once wrote to our MP to complain but got nowhere. Mind you I waited until the wrong MP was voted in. He wrote back saying, ‘I know, dear, I have the same problem.’
*******
*Oh, I’m voting ‘out’ – I think we’ve been tucked up enough already, Clicky. Now, why don’t give Dear Reader a Song?*
It’s Friday and on Friday mornings I receive digital copies of ‘Building‘ and ‘Estates Gazette‘ magazines. I usually post the issue covers onMEROVEE because they sync so much, but with the overflowing comments, the latest page has become difficult to load…
So for the Meroveeps, or Mirror VIPs, here’s what’s…
Ding Dong, Clicky! What does the little Gazette (‘e states *rolls eyes*) have to say?
Kinda black and white, Clicky. I wonder what it means…
Etymologyonlineis a fantastic resource if words grab your inner rest…
property (n.) c. 1300, properte, “nature, quality,” later“possession, thing owned” (early 14c., a sense rare before 17c.), from an Anglo-French modification of Old French propriete“individuality, peculiarity; property” (12c., Modern French propreté; see propriety), from Latin proprietatem (nominative proprietas) “ownership, a property, propriety, quality,”literally “special character” (a loan-translation of Greek idioma), noun of quality from proprius“one’s own, special” (seeproper). For “possessions, private property”Middle English sometimes used proper goods. Hot property“sensation, a success”is from 1947 in “Billboard” stories.
If you clicked on ‘property’ EOL you’ll see four pages of listings where the word is used. These can be fascinating – both ‘black’ and ‘white’ via ‘bleach’ are Shining words, revealed to me whilst looking for hidden things in‘The Shining’
Look down the first page for ‘Property’ and you’ll find ‘waif’…
waif (n.) late 14c., “unclaimed property, flotsam, stray animal,”from Anglo-French waif (13c., Old French guaif) “ownerless property, something lost;”as an adjective,“not claimed, outcast, abandoned,” probably from a Scandinavian source akin to Old Norse veif“waving thing, flag,” from Proto-Germanic *waif-, from PIE *weip-“to turn, vacillate, tremble ecstatically” (see vibrate). Compare Medieval Latin waivium“thing thrown away by a thief in flight.” A Scottish/northern English parallel form was wavenger (late 15c.).
Meaning “person (especially a child) without home or friends” first attested 1784, from legal phrase waif and stray (1620s), from the adjective in the sense “lost, strayed, homeless.” Neglected children being uncommonly thin, the word tended toward this sense. Connotations of “fashionable, small, slender woman”began 1991 with application to childishly slim supermodels such as Kate Moss.
Look again at the ‘Building’ cover *scrolls up* and find the waving flag…
Wow, Clicky… Big Ben, flag and Kate Moss…
Anyway, it was whilst I was taking digital snapshots of the magazine covers, when the fire alarm suddenly screamed into life. A drill – just enough time to grab cigs, phone, hat and coat before being ushered down the spiraling fire escape by orangefluorescent wardens.
Too wet and windy to smoke during roll call, so I waited until everyone else sprinted for the lifts and settled my back into a covered corner to smoke and read. “Yippee!” there was a new post from The Slogto think about…
Now if you add all this mayhem up, you could be forgiven for concluding that the two government institutions Britain should steer completely clear of are The United States of America, and the European Union. And if you then look at their disgraceful citizen rights record and parlous econo-fiscal positions, you’d probably add Saudi Arabia, Turkey and China to that list. So it does say quite a lot about the judgement of the so-called British élite that they continue to laud the Special Relationship with the US, are desperate to stay in the rapidly collapsing EU bed, like nothing better than selling arms to the Saudis, have hired Beijing to oversee our nuclear power development, and toddle off to Ankara at regular intervals in order to praise Recep Erdogan to the Heavens.
*Oh Clicky-Doo that’s wonderful … photography is not my forte …*
*******
“I suppose you can always jazz it up.” Thoughtful Man handed the camera back to me, perfectly timed to his zooming squint. “What’s the connection between the two?”
“Whitehouse…” My eyes signaled which way I would turn my head before I did. Left in this instance.
“That’s extremely tenuous and nobody will understand the connection, except me”. Laser squint dissolved into rapid blinking. “One. Newman and Baddiel were only half of the ‘Mary Whitehouse Experience‘.” He shook his head. “And number two. We only met Paul Whitehouse at Roy’s play.”
It’s true. At half time in the bar Roy, Thoughtful Man’s best friend from school, and basis of one of the play’s two main characters, introduced us to the great man. We said “Hi”.
“You were too shy to even talk to him, for goodness sake!”
*Marc Warren, Clicky? Oh he was very shy when I told how brilliant he was at playing Thoughtful Man …*
“Hello. Seriously, are you not listening to me?” He was wearing his ‘You’re not listening to me’ expression.
“Of course I was listening.” I thought fast. “You said, ‘You can connect anything to anything else if you look hard enough. It’s just coincidence. Everybody has them’.” I turned the camera back and took his photo *Click*.
The squint was back. “Lucky guess”.
“Of course. I’m the luckiest woman in the world. I married you.” Unfortunately the deadpan delivery only served intensified the squint.
“True.” He rubbed his chin. “But you do spend far too much time on the internet.” Again true …
“I’ll be as flexible as I can with your synchronicity malarky but I’ll be glad when your holiday is over and you get back to real work.” His face was set …
*I said ‘set’, Clicky.*
Gently, he took the camera back, laid it on the table and took my hand. “Why are you spending all day chatting to great unwashed, listening to rubbish and chasing old laughs?” He looked at me thoughtfully. “I’m on holiday, too. We could connect”.
*Not fair and not true, Clicky… /rolls eyes… So jealous…*
Earlier this week, coinciding neatly with a just-in-time delivery of memories into the LoL – a faux-leather case, bulging at the seams with promising content, Mrs Reign opened Parliament and recited the new government’s proposed legislative programme for the coming year.
“Have you seen this?” Thoughtful Man said, passing the case over for inspection. It was surprisingly heavy, requiring both hands to guide it to the floor and prevent flattened toes. “That should keep you occupied for a bit”. He was right. A glance at the protruding spines produced a squeal …
*squint*
… and the urge to break out plastic opera glasses. “Programmes! These are all our programmes”. I grabbed a handful and got comfortable …
“Shows, concerts, places of interest.” I looked up beaming, “All the places we went together. I’d forgotten all about these”.
“Of course.” Thoughtful Man managed to keep the ‘harumph’ out of his voice but not off his face. “I keep everything.” He’s not called ‘Thoughtful Man’ for nothing. “I don’t think that’s all of them, but it’s enough to get you started. Why don’t you take some photos and then pick one to focus on.” He handed me a camera and retired to a safe distance.
I’d bought the concert tickets for Thoughtful Man, as his gift the first Christmas after we were married. But as luck would have it, he was travelling that night so I ended up taking Sister Juju. Afterward, as we left the theatre, the sweat rapidly cooling on our hot and tired bodies, we hoarsely agreed “OMG! He has to see it!”
The next day I set about trying to find more tickets, no mean feat considering this was pre-internet days …
Not quite that desolate, Clicky, but I can see why you might think that.
It was the giant, Pip, from work at Big Shop, who unexpectedly came to my rescue …
These tickets were even better than the first, right at the front, but even better than that, we got to have the phantasmagorical experience together …
Jealous much, Clicky?
“Have you finished that yet?” Thoughtful Man reappeared, looking anxious; he knows what a terrible shot I am. He spotted the shiny programme. “Erasure! Bloody brilliant!.” He turned away, leafing through the pages. “I’ll tell you what, have a song.”
Library of Libraries 