*Well, I hope Dear Reader takes a look and a loiter, Clicky… It’s a bit like being handed somebody’s holiday snaps, though – it’s hard to enthuse unless you’re really interested or were actually there*
But yesterday evening, Red Frank posted ‘Love Hurts‘ at MEROVEE and included the Pink Pan-ther…
I was formulating a post in my head, when the Okie Texas Devil, Cade, stopped by the Library…
*Funny thing happened when I was searching for the clip, Clicky… I was reminded that Doctor Whowas in ‘Carry On Screaming’…*
*Legs calls him a popinjay, Click, but then Leggy is either No.1 or 13… *
*An Oscar for grouchiness, right… so I think I’ve worked out who are 4, 9, 10, 11, 12 and 13… or one… ish… it’s not easy, you know, Clicky…*
*Tell me about it… / sigh*
Anyhoo… Dear Reader, the rest of the post I was working on was left in reply to Cade’s comment, sew… if your interested, go take a look.
It has been a mystery ever since it was discovered more than fifty years ago, and all good theoretical physicists put this number up on their wall and worry about it.) Immediately you would like to know where this number for a coupling comes from: is it related to pi or perhaps to the base of natural logarithms? Nobody knows. It’s one of the greatest damn mysteries of physics: a magic number that comes to us with no understanding by man. You might say the “hand of God” wrote that number, and “we don’t know how He pushed his pencil.” We know what kind of a dance to do experimentally to measure this number very accurately, but we don’t know what kind of dance to do on the computer to make this number come out, without putting it in secretly!
Written in the sands of time… in which case perhaps god just used a finger?
In July last year, I saw a Shiny Tinman floating by the Bankside…
*Clicky, I walked past him twice; I couldn’t see how he did it… he’s on a hidden seat, supported by the pole and anchored by the base… Leggy explained exactly how it was done on DM but I’m buggered if I can find…
*No, Clicky, DM… Direct Message on Twitter… Although my boss at the time did call me Penfold… I think it was my glasses…*
*Crikey! No, Commish called me Pepper…*
*Yeah, I miss my chats with Commish… Nevermind, what’s done is done…*
*******
The other day Thoughtful Man brought to my attention a post on his FaceArseBook feed: ‘10 Terrifying Toys From the Past‘. Now, if you’re of a nervous disposition, or require a designated ‘safe space’, can I suggest that you refrain from employing Clicky to explore the link, and go find a quiet corner in which to curl up and cry…
So then, creepy and dangerous toys that were given to children by adults. A couple caught my eye, although all of them sync…
*A shambles… /waits… Clicky, I said shambles… Oh for god’s sake! Get over here and dry your eyes…*
*Hmm, I wonder if Mike Myers once got a Hugo for Christmas…*
A live bird automata…
*No, Clicky, that’s a man in a bird suit…*
And, syncing with Red Frank’s latest post on MEROVEE…
*Actually, Clicky, No.10 the guillotine toy is sort of Frankish what with it being inspired by the French Revolution… And it was named after a doctor… /grins… Ha! Did you see the the fall…*
Last night I read a post of Cade’s at Sync Miss For Him. One in which he used his formula, and it got me thinking of Helen Keller and how she was taught to write…
In 1886, Keller’s mother, inspired by an account in Charles Dickens’ American Notes of the successful education of another deaf and blind woman, Laura Bridgman, dispatched young Helen, accompanied by her father, to seek out physician J. Julian Chisolm, an eye, ear, nose, and throat specialist in Baltimore, for advice. Chisholm referred the Kellers to Alexander Graham Bell, who was working with deaf children at the time. Bell advised them to contact the Perkins Institute for the Blind, the school where Bridgman had been educated, which was then located in South Boston. Michael Anagnos, the school’s director, asked 20-year-old former student Anne Sullivan, herself visually impaired, to become Keller’s instructor. It was the beginning of a 49-year-long relationship during which Sullivan evolved into Keller’s governess and eventually her companion.
Anne Sullivan arrived at Keller’s house in March 1887, and immediately began to teach Helen to communicate by spelling words into her hand, beginning with “d-o-l-l” for the doll that she had brought Keller as a present. Keller was frustrated, at first, because she did not understand that every object had a word uniquely identifying it. In fact, when Sullivan was trying to teach Keller the word for “mug”, Keller became so frustrated she broke the mug.Keller’s big breakthrough in communication came the next month, when she realized that the motions her teacher was making on the palm of her hand, while running cool water over her other hand, symbolized the idea of “water”; she then nearly exhausted Sullivan demanding the names of all the other familiar objects in her world.
And speak…
To communicate. I have no idea if that was Cade’s intention but that’s what it did for…
I didn’t turn round to answer Thoughtful Man as I was trying not to lose focus. “Taking photos.”
“No, I can see that,” he said with his usual air of exasperation. “What are you photographing and why?”
“Oh, it’s a sweetie present Poppy sent me,” I said. “It’s for a LoL post.”
“What?” he asked with his usual air of confusion. “Da baby leaves us presents but they ain’t so sweet,” he continued in a baby sing-song voice.
Now I was confused so turned round to see him holding our darling dooshund, Poppy. He was obviously addressing her with the cutesy tone. She could obviously smell something tasty, as she was attempting to dig her way out from under his arm to get to me.
“Ah, not Popstar here, Leggy’s girlfriend Poppy from Denmark… she’s sent me some Spunk. Would you like to try some?” I asked innocently.
“No thanks,” he said wrinkling his nose. “Spunk? Have you tried them yet?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
I adopted a serious expression. “Well, they’re hard jellies. The fruity flavoured ones are nice but got stuck in my throat. I’m afraid I spat the salty liquorice one out,” I reported.
Thoughtful Man looked at me intently. “So you both spit and swallow Spunk,” he said slowly, “and you’re going to tell everyone this in a post?”
“Yes,” I said with a vigorous nod. “She also sent me some pipes in a handy travel pack.”
“Oh for god’s sake,” he sighed with his usual air of weariness, turning to leave with the pooch. “Ploppy and I are off the bed. Have fun with your sex and smoking whatever…”
*******
I also received an image of a book this morning, from MEROVEEFrank…
*I saw that, Clicky… the Librarianhas an understanding of the power of L-Space…*
‘prestigious (adj.)1540s, “practicing illusion or magic, deceptive,” from Latin praestigious “full of tricks,” from praestigiae “juggler’s tricks,” probably altered by dissimilation from praestrigiae, from praestringere “to blind, blindfold, dazzle,” from prae “before” (see pre-) + stringere “to tie or bind” (see strain (v.)). Derogatory until 19c.; meaning “having dazzling influence” is attested from 1913 (see prestige). Related: Prestigiously; prestigiousness.’
‘How much is a ‘fuckton’? In measurement; I’m not trying to procure one. Is it on the same scale as a ‘shitload’?’
This is the question I asked my Sync Miss For Him chum Cade | Fon | Apollyon at the weekend…
*Hmm, knot quite like that, Clicky… *
*Clicky, that’s Legs knot Cade… but, yeah, I mentioned it to him this evening…*
*Yikes! Knot something you’d serve your maiden aunt for Sunday tea, Clicky*
Lucky for me Cade also replied…
‘Would you prefer “a metric fuckton” or “a standard metric fuckton” or “a shitload of fucktons” or “a shitton” or a fucking shitload of fucktons”?
‘Come on now…ya gotta be specific when dealing with the “non-quantifiable.”
‘Lemme do this… Texas Slang: Shitload, or, A Shitload = way too fucking much. Usually, “an unexpected amount of a known quantity.”
‘Kinda like God “pouring out his blessings on you” and you are like….”MOTHERFUCKER!!! What in the FUCK do you expect me to do with all this shit?!?!?”
‘Fuckton = incomprehensible only in the fact that it is basically a shitload of shitloads, but it is such a large amount, that it is really irrelevant as it is too much data to process. So much so, that it is easily quantifiable by “taking only what you need, and leaving the rest.”
‘That’s just my opinion tho.’
*I know, I saw that at MEROVEEFrank’s… Knot sure where a ‘shithead’ comes on the scale but it’s gotta be more than a ‘wank’… That’s something, Clicky*
Of course I replied to Cade…
‘No, brilliant, thanksI wasn’t sure and I appreciate the clarification…
‘Which is different to abuffet, that being similar to ashamble…
‘Would some sort of shitload/fuckton conversion table help, I wonder
‘Cade, would you mind if I used your last reply in a shamble at the LoL?’
*No it’s definitely tapas, Clicky… think dancing, knot the Strictly Come kind… /thinks… hear*
*Got it?*
‘Um…not sure I follow the meaning exactly…but as far as using my response in whatever wherever whenever…knock yerself out. It’s yours. I wrote it for you/to you, with no strings attached…save for it’s yours to do with as you please (not like I really need to tell you this…but…yeah…or something.)‘
*That was very nice of Cade. I can’t help feeling his ‘∞ = -1 + 0 + 1 = ∞’ formula has something to do with Room 101… He did turn up at the LoL about that time, Clicky…*
Meanwhile Hugo gave my story submission for the Christmas edition of the Underdog Anthology a spit and polish…
*And some twist suggestions, Clicky, which are private… /glowers… Do that again, shithead, and you’ll be in so much trouble…*
*Damn straight, I’m your boss. Do it again and you’ll be in fuckton of trouble… or a lesser amount yet to be determined… /thinks… More than a shitload… Consider this a ‘bollocking’, Clicky…*
‘I like to ask beforehand – I’ve included ‘private’ messages from Hugo and Legs in my shambles before. Shambles are… magical lenses…L-sense. An idea, not a belief, springing from the pages of a book. I’m withRufus
‘Fortunately nobody has said no, and I didn’t think you would… I’m happy to receive an advantage, not comfortable at all with just taking it
*Yeah… changed the title a bit and, yes, I realise it’s s a day late… Thought what with Jeff Buckley being pulled under and of course couldn’t overlook that Shiny is back… /clocks time… Shit! Getting late… Song time, Clicky?*
“Wake up!” said voice and hand in perfect synchronicity. The former, gruffly, and the latter shakily.
“Wha…I’m not sleeping,” I stated, less than convincingly. “I’m listening with my eyes shut.”
Thoughtful Man and I were watching ‘X Men Apocalypse‘. Well, he was, I’d fallen asleep.
“You were bloody snoring.” He turned round to look at me. “You and the pup in harmony. It was more entertaining than that pile of crap.”
I shift up into a sitting position, careful not to disturb the snoozing dachshund by my side She looked so peaceful lying under the quilt, with just her head poking out, resting on my pillow. Like a human.
“No good?” I yawned.
Thoughtful Man looked at me. “You’re the one that fell asleep, you tell me,” he drawled.
I lent over and plucked a rollie from the box of home-mades on the bed. “At least you managed to stay awake,” I said lighting it.
“My eyelids did flutter for a bit,” he said turning his attention back to the tv. “But you and Poppy kept me awake. The boys are bathed and in bed, by the way.”
I kissed the top of his head, picked up my iPad and clocked the time. Still earlyish; I started idling through my emails.
“Ooh, ‘Young Ones’!” Thoughtful Man cried out and stopped clicking the remote. He faced me again, this time with screwed up his eyes, “I know this one… first season, last episode. ‘Flood’.”
Even though we’d caught the programme near the end, he still got it. And so we watched the seminal comedy of our youth, and oh how I LOLled…
*Enjoy that did you, Clicky? That Foamy, what a wheeze… do you want to carry on with what you were doing now? You’re doing a bang up job… /raises thumbs…*
*******
*… /waits… Is that it? Anymore? …/squints… *
Many apols, Dear Reader. On behalf of Clicky and I, please accept a Song…
From the Old Lady of Threadneedle street – the UK has a brand new fiver. It’s still blue 😉 Thoughtful Man got one last night whilst out working, and showed it to me this morning. It’s shiny and can survive a battering…
*What? …/innocent face*
Mrs Reign one side, smoker Winnie on t’other… see-through window…
*Saturn 5… I guess Big Ben does look a bit like a rocket, Clicky…*
Yes, I know today’s Friday, but I was kinda busy yesterday, Dear Reader. And this post is about yesterday, so if this presents a problem, you know what to Doo…
Thoughtful Man grunted and sat down on his chair. He looked decidedly hot and bothered. It could have just been the heat but I didn’t want to take the chance, so sent Clicky off for a nap.
“I can’t stand this weather. Look at me, I’m dripping,” he said wiping his brow.
“You do look sweaty,” I agreed whilst sitting in my own pool of salty water. “Well, what have we gotta do today?”
Thoughtful Man huffed and sighed. “It’s parents evening at the school tonight. Your sister will be here at five… we’ll need to tidy up, hoover.”
Juju had agreed to sit dog Princess Poppy for us whilst we traipsed up to the school to hear what Year 11 has in store for the boys.
“Fuck! That means I’ll have iron them a couple of extra shirts,” I said, slumping back into my huge, leather Library chair and instantly regretting it. “And the bedding upstairs also needs changing…”
A look of resignation and then something else crossed his face. Thoughtful Man stood up and, holding out his hand, said “We should just go upstairs and do it.”
Ah, so that’s what that other look was.
*Alright, Clicky. Calm down…*
“Juju, can I ask you to do me a favour?” I asked my sister later whilst wrangling with the ironing board. Everything pressed to perfection, all we had to do now was to get going.
She sat in the Library, playing with Clicky. Poppy stood in front of her, ball in mouth, wagging her tail expectantly. “What’s that, babycheeks,” Juju answered absentmindedly. I wasn’t sure if she was talking to me or the dog but carried on regardless.
“When we’re out tonight, could you read something for me? It’s a friend’s novel that I’ve been editing. It’s his first.”
“No, that’s Legs. This is Hugo Stone, I think he lives in Wolverhampton or around that area,” I said, squishing her along the seat so I could get to my keyboard. “It’s called ‘Cultish’ and it’s about ‘Satan, the apocalypse and lollipops’.”
Poppy dropped the sodden ball at her feet; Juju picked it up and threw it.”Sounds interesting. Okay,” she said over the sound of skittering nails.
“Be honest. Read as much as you want and then tell me what you think of it when we get back.”
Thoughtful Man appeared with two miserable but smartly dressed 15 year olds in tow. “Get off the fucking computer now. Come on, we’ll be late,” he barked.
Poppy didn’t know whether to follow the sea of retreating legs or get Juju to throw the ball again. The decision was out of her paws, however; we said our goodbyes and set off.
*I think I call you ‘a pain in the arse’, Clicky… No wonder Dumey doesn’t put up a fight over you… Can I get on with it now?*
Two hours later and we were nearly home. The auditorium had been packed, sweltering and noisy, the boys’ grades from the exams at the end of year 10, disappointing, and the only teacher available to meet with us was the ICT teacher, Mr Hall, and he’d only started there that week. He did have a certain glow but it was more likely due to the excessive heat than any honeymoon period. The only thing of interest was a poster I’d seen outside the school library.
“I told you it would be a waste of time,” Kit Kat informed us from the back of the taxi via the intercom.
“No. Now I know you need to pull your finger out,” Thoughtful Man replied. His eyes shifted in the rear view mirror, fixing on Loopy. “And you.”
“I explained about maths…” Loops started to explain again, before catching his father’s reflected squint and deciding to shut up.
I tried to change the subject. Sort of. “What was that teacher going on about with PPE?” I asked out loud. “The Polish one, Head of Maths, she kept saying it but I didn’t catch what it meant. It doesn’t involve hard hats, then?” I quipped, lightening the mood, I hoped.
“No,” Thoughtful Man said as he turned the Bonnermobile into our drive and pulled up. “Stands for Pre Public Examination, I think. It’s their Mocks.”
We unbuckled and got out of the van. Juju appeared on our doorstep, Poppy in arms.
“That book you asked me to read,” she said as Poppy strained to give us a welcome home lick. “Filth. Utter filth,” she said sternly.
Time stopped. All five of us stood motionless, the only things moving were my eyeballs and our demented dog’s struggles. When I spoke, my lips, cheeks and tongue felt like they were moving in slow motion.”Didn’t you like it?”
“I didn’t say that,” Juju replied, breaking into a smile. “It’s really good but it’s utter filth.”
I breathed a sigh of relief and took Poppy from her. “Oh good. So you liked it?”
Juju waited for Thoughtful Man and boys to move out of earshot. “Yeah,” she confided sotto voce. “And I was wondering if I could, er, take it home with me so I can, you know, finish it?”
*******
*What? …/cocks head… Oh… /furrows brow… My Merovee comment in moderation? I’d forgotten about that, Clicky… 137 ART…*
“Here,” Thoughtful Man called, “Big Chief Double Chopper has had a makeover. Take a look.”
I peered at his computer screen. Big Chief Double Chopper had been mum’s garden Indian that lived in her front room. After she died, her husband Stan took the opportunity to have him re-homed. I don’t blame him; what man wants to face a double chopper on the way to the kitchen first thing in the morning.
“Aw, it’s nice that they’ve sent an update,” I said.
“A bit garish,” Thoughtful Man opined. “Stan’s got a point, though, are red Indians supposed to be black?”
I smiled, recalling a couple of commentsRedFrank has posted for me on ‘Scatty Sunday’. “Fuck knows,” I replied, giving him my considered opinion.
*Clicky, random…/sigh*
“Hmm,” I said to myself, sitting down and lighting a rollie.
Thoughtful Man swiveled round in his chair. “What?” he said launching a squint in my direction. We’re far too close, I couldn’t dodge it.
“No, it’s just I was reading about the Lost River yesterday. It was weird how I got there. Actually, I was thinking of writing a post about it…” I trailed off.
“Lost River? What do you mean how you got there?” he probed gently. That was unexpected, he normally doesn’t like to talk to me about my posts but then again he’s a bit of an American history buff – he’d probably heard of it on one of his TV programmes.
*Is that Chief or Chef’s office..? /shakes head… Nevermind…*
“Okay then,” I hesitated and marshaled my thoughts. “The journey begins in a pub.”
Thoughtful Man continued looking at me without speaking, so I showed him the tweet that had started it. The source. “Lions and tigers and beers…” I trailed off again. I do a lot of that.
“It was the description of the smoking area,” I continued. Clicky escorted him to the page.
Cleckheaton doesn’t have an Ossett pub, but the Rose & Crown is a newbie with a similar atmosphere. It was more boisterous than my photos imply; lots of £2.60 pints were being carried out to a characterful smoking area. Worryingly the £2.60 pint of choice seemed to be Ellands 6.5% Porter. Their homebrew pale was enough for me (NBSS 3.5).
*Yes, Clicky, any mentions of Roobee and his attention does start to wane… and he’s not a beer drinker, though he is fond of a Lion bar… Anyway, I told him the last line of the article and said to remember it…*
‘Plenty of Bass livery, very little Bass.’
“Is there any chance you might skip to the end?” Thoughtful Man asked politely.
“No. So I looked up the year 1872, of Deep Ruby, and there was this Indian battle of Lost River in the November,” I replied.
‘The Battle of Lost River in November 1872 was the first battle in the Mo Doc War in the northwestern United States. The skirmish, which was fought near the Lost River along the California-Oregon border, was the result of an attempt by the U.S. 1st Cavalry Regiment of the United States Army to force a band of the Modoctribe to relocate back to the Klamath Reservation, which they had left in objection of its conditions.
In the subsequent war, Captain Jack of the Modoc and 53 warriors held off more than 1000 U.S. soldiers for 7 months in the area of the present-day Lava Beds National Monument. Part of this was named Captain Jack’s Stronghold in his honor.’
Thoughtful Man sighed heavily and started to swivel round. “Is that it?”
*A little bit, Clicky… /holds out thumb and index finger…*
“Not quite,” I answered. “You forgot the last line.”
Thoughtful Man wrinkled his brow. “Plenty of bass livery, very little bass?”
“Yes,” I smiled. “They’re all in Lost River.”
A sluggish stream, Lost River offers fishing opportunities for bass, up to 7 lb (3.2 kg), brown bullhead, crappie, yellow perch, and Sacramento perch. Trout are uncommon in this river.
*Oh Clicky, get off! …/splutter… Really!*
*******
*What? Erm… /wipes lips and frowns… Dunno, Clicky, possibly this guy..? Shall we have a Song?*
“What are you laughing at?” Thoughtful Man asked rather grouchily. He was getting dressed for work and I was sat at my computer. He tends to be grouchy when he’s getting ready for work. Or if I’m at the computer.
“Oh, it’s the positioning of these two tweets…” I started to answer but caught his Why-are-you-having-fun-when-I-have-to-work-on-Sunday?-look and stopped. “Nothing.”
*/squint… Clicky, please… /hold finger to lips… I’m talking…*
“I won’t just be sitting here whilst you’re out,” I said, continuing to scroll down my twitter feed. “I have tidying and washing up to do, and the boys’ uniforms to iron.”
“PE tomorrow,” he reminded me, buckling his belt.
“And it’s PE tomorrow, so there’s more of it.”
Thoughtful Man harumphed and went to look for his shoes. Another tweet caught my eye.
For my money, the best story in the press today: Alan Johnson on how Tony Blair almost set up a Ministry of Penis. pic.twitter.com/82H9Mb674c
“What’ll you feed them tonight?” Thoughtful Man had returned, fully dressed and shod, wearing his stop-laughing-when-I-have-to-work-on-Sunday-look.
I composed myself and addressed him seriously. “Whatever’s out there. We’ve got plenty of food in the fridge. What about you?”
I caught it, the fleeting guilty look. “Where will you be eating tonight?”
“Chinese,” Thoughtful Man replied without meeting my eyes. “It’s Al’s last night tonight and we thought we take him for a Chinese.”
“Aw, that’s nice,” I said wearing my why-are-you-moaning-about-going-to-work-when-you’re-having-Chinese?-look. I scooped up Poppy, who was sniffing round our feet. “This is in addition to his leaving drinks you went to on Thursday?”
Thoughtful Man started toward the front door and we followed, me rubbing and patting his shoulders, whilst our demented dachshund wriggled and writhed under my arm.
“Yeah, well Tony couldn’t make it on Thursday so they’re going to dinner tonight,” he explained, opening the door.
“And you’re going along to say goodbye again. You’re a good friend,” I assured him and pecked him on the cheek. Poppy gave him a perfunctory lick. She too could be grouchy when Thoughtful Man was off to work. “Okay then, I see you later. Have fun.”
I closed the door after him, set the dog down and made for the kitchen – washing up first; I had an idea for a post and wanted to get all my chores over with first. I heard the key turn in the lock behind me.
“Here’s twenty quid,” Thoughtful Man said, poking his head round the door and pulling a note from his workbag. “Get something for you and boys from Hong Kong Kitchen later. Better go now. Bye.”
I waved him off. Such a Thoughtful Man!
*******
*Okay Clicky, what? What’s with The Shining interruptions?*
*But they’re all over the place, they’re not making sense… /works out order…*
The universe began13.7 billion years ago, and the CMB dates back to about 400,000 years after the Big Bang. That’s because in the early stages of the universe, when it was just one-hundred-millionth the size it is today, its temperature was extreme: 273 million degrees above absolute zero, according to NASA.
Any atoms present at that time were quickly broken apart into small particles (protons and electrons). The radiation from the CMB in photons (particles representing quantums of light, or other radiation) was scattered off the electrons. “Thus, photons wandered through the early universe, just as optical light wanders through a dense fog,” NASA wrote.
About 380,000 years after the Big Bang, the universe was cool enough that hydrogen could form. Because the CMB photons are barely affected by hitting hydrogen, the photons travel in straight lines. Cosmologists refer to a “surface of last scattering” when the CMB photons last hit matter; after that, the universe was too big. So when we map the CMB, we are looking back in time to 380,000 years after the Big Bang, just after the universe was opaque to radiation.
*You know, Scatman Crothers also voiced ‘Hong Kong Phooey’, Clicky and starred in Scooby Doo. You could have mentioned that*
*Too late, Clicky, I beat you too it. So, come on… Song and Scat?*
Yes, I know today’s Friday, but I was kinda busy yesterday, Dear Reader. And this post is about yesterday, so if this presents a problem, you know what to 
Library of Libraries 