|
|||||
|
|||||
|
Thursday, January 26 The one that got away SWITCHED on the radio mid-afternoon, and happened upon the Roy Noble show on BBC Radio Wales. His guest in the studio was Goff Morgan, a man of literary talents and light-hearted poetry, indeed he is known as the Newport Town Poet: “Oyez, Oyez, Oyez! You have the time, I have the rhyme. Oyez, Oyez, Oyez!” - sort of thing. As I came up to speed, the two were having a conversation about fishing and the fisherman’s propensity to exaggerate the size of his catch (do fisherwomen share this tendency towards exaggeration, I wonder?). Anyway, Goff had penned a poem about the catching of a fish, and with a nod and a wink towards the fisherman as his hands grow ever wider apart, the poetic tale grew within the telling. A Fish tale It took one of us to haul it in, though it was soaking wet, Two of us to grab it and to put it in the net; Three of us to wrestle it and get it round the neck, Four of us to sit on it and hold it on the deck; Five of us to drag it off and put it on the scale, Six of us to prop it up again upon the rail; Seven were in the photograph, all holding it, and then --- Eight of us to chuck it back into the sea again. Now please don’t think this sort of thing just happens every day --- But Dear God – you should have seen the one that got away. Great stuff, Goff. Rather clever and very smiley. Speaking personally, and as someone who always carries a camera about his person, don’t let me start about that glorious photograph that got away. Strolling along I happen to spy with my little eye ... a truly magic moment – I freeze – but in the seven seconds or so it takes to slip the camera off my shoulder, remove the lens cap, switch on, bring it up to eye level, point, zoom and focus – bugger – the moment has escaped. Honestly, you really should have seen the one that got away... And the birds of the air didn’t fall a-sighing and a-sobbing MENTION of the one that got away, this evening I sat down to watch Earthflight, the BBC’s latest natural history series, a five-part voyage of discovery, narrated by actor David Tennant, that captures some of the world’s most extraordinary natural wonders through the eyes of birds. A wildlife series about the birds of the air as they go about their day-to-day business. It is simply breathtaking, indeed I rate it ahead of David Attenborough’s ultimately controversial Frozen Planet. This is what The Sunday Times TV guide said about tonight’s Earthflight episode... Watch the budgie Anybody whose grandmother owned a budgerigar should tune in for tonight’s episode of this stunning wildlife series to see |
|||||
|
|||||
|
But the little budgies had one brilliant party trick. Once a bird of
prey had managed to isolate one from the flock, just as the falcon goes
to grab it – the budgie would suddenly drop like a stone, and of course
the big nasty bird couldn’t compensate to follow. |
|||||
|
Wednesday, January 25 Poop scoop HARRY REDKNAPP, 64, is the current manager of Tottenham Hotspur [Spurs] Football Club – or Totting-Ham Football Club, as Ossie Ardiles, the magical little Argentinean footballer insisted on calling it when he played with distinction for the club (1978-1988). Anyway, Totting-Ham’s characterful and charismatic manager is currently on trial accused of taking tax-free offshore bungs (Brit slang meaning to pass a tip, bonus or bribe, usually in cash to avoid tax) totalling £189,000, and all deposited in a Monaco bank account named Rosie 47 after one of his pet dogs. Incidentally, I don’t believe the Monaco bank involved has 46 other Rosies on its books - but I do note that Harry Redknapp’s year of birth is 1947. Honestly, we can read you like a birth certificate, Harry. |
|||||
|
|||||
|
It’s at moments like this I wish human evolution had not only given women the ability to purr (they already have the claws), but us men a tail with which to express our emotions in full without having to do the usual panting, slobbering, drooling and growling. I mean, in the wake of MATT's cartoon, I would now be – well, you get the picture...  www.brianhayes.com |
|||||
|
Tuesday, January 24 Zoological garden of celebrity “When I was younger, I had such awful, poisonous things written about me: male critics likening me to unattractive animals, and suggesting I should be in a zoo.” Caroline Quentin, 51, actress and comedienne, pictured, on the early days...  ...I found this passport-style photograph of Caroline, obviously from those “early days”. Perhaps it’s me, but I don’t see anything which makes me think “unattractive animal”. Critics are the unattractive creatures, I would have thought. Funnily enough I have previously likened the institution of celebrity to a zoo. We, the great unwashed, the common or garden, the herd, or whatever it is we should call ourselves, behave in a curious way when confronted by celebrities. Think rabbit caught in headlights. If you are recognised and acknowledged by someone you have no reason to know, then you are central to the celebrity culture. The pay-off is that we who worship stop, stand and stare, and then either cajole, holer, hoop, applaud, worship – or indeed condemn, boo, hiss, abuse, poke with a stick and throw loads of rotten food at. As happens in a real zoo, celebrities are driven doolally by this unrelenting attention, and, just like that dreadful film of a captive polar bear imprisoned in its enclosure, slebs start to traipse round and round inside their ‘cage’, swinging their heads from side to side as their life imprisonment slowly but surely drives them doolally. From where I stand, Jeremy Clarkson appears to be entering this phase in his zoological evolution. It is all rather worrying because the very first signs of him circling his cage and just beginning to shake his head from side to side are unmistakably there. I wouldn’t wish such a fate on anyone. Honestly. But I am still taken aback that celebrities can do what they do to each other – such as the quote above from Caroline Quentin. Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin |
|||||
|
|||||
|
Hm, and not a trace of a five o’clock shadow. |
|||||
|
Monday,
January 23 A bit of effin’ and blindin’ out on a wing and a prayer THE SCRUM in rugby union is now a source of much frustration and ridicule. For those not familiar with the dark arts of forward play, a scrum is a means of restarting play after a minor infringement. It involves up to eight players from each team, known as the pack or forward pack, binding together in three rows and interlocking with the opposing team’s forwards. At this point the ball is fed into the gap between the two forward packs and they both compete for the ball to win possession. In 2007 the scrum law was amended to the current four step “crouch ... touch ... pause ... engage!” routine. Prior to this there was no obligation for each prop to touch the opposing prop’s shoulder, indeed the distance between the two front rows was often larger. The new rule fixed the distance between the front rows and as a result cut the force of impact from the engagement. The reason for the rule change was to reduce the number of serious neck injuries to front rowers as they charged at each other like rutting stags...  ...but the new rule is a total farce - and there are endless jokes of a sexual nature surrounding this routine. Let’s face it, it is an open invitation. However, let’s keep the party clean. David Michael Smiedt, 43, is a South Africa-born, Sydney-based journalist, author and comedian. He recently announced his appreciation of the England rugby team’s newfound association with cult romance novels Mills & Boon – that really was hold-the-back-page news to me; no wonder then that the English lads have been coming up short of late. Anyway, Smiedt has proposed a number of suitable book titles for the England team. These include Crouch, Touch, Pause, Engage; Ruck Me Like You Mean It; The Hooker and the Eight Man; oh, and Pulled Off At Half Time. He’s yet to hear back from the publishers. This all set me thinking: There has to be a sequel: Crouch, Touch, Pause, Engage, Marry, Divorce – well, it is Mills & Boon. And of course the prequel: Loosehead Prop Pulled By Blindside Flanker (remember, women now play rugby as well, which keeps every option open; but I guess that final idea of mine does sound more like a tabloid headline that the title of a novel). Anyway, back with the Smiedt titles: should it not be The Hooker and the Eight Man Shove? And remembering what happened in New Zealand last autumn: The Hooker and the Seven Dwarves? Incidentally, someone has suggested that when the instruction was originally issued by the International Rugby Board back in 2007, it was written thus: Crouch ... Touch ... [Pause] ... Engage. In other words, the ‘Pause’ was an instruction to the referee, not the players – but the rest, as they say, is historic. Or perhaps histrionic. Use it or lose it THE above is also another curious rule of rugby. In broken play, when a group of forwards have been drawn together, with the ball hidden somewhere within that group, it is called a maul. Opposing forwards try their darndest to stop them. If the maul then stops moving forward, the referee will shout “Use it or lose it” to the team in possession of the ball. This means they must release and pass the ball within a five-second time period. If they do not, the referee will call a scrum and the team not in possession at the beginning of the maul will be given the ball and the feed into the scrum - and all that leads me directly to the quote of the day...
“Sex operates on a ‘use it or lose it’ basis.
You already know the answer. Keep practising.” Sex therapist Pamela
Stephenson, 62, wife of comedian Billy Connolly, 69. |
|||||
|
Sunday,
January 22 Whom the gods wish to make doolally they first make ‘em paint double yellow lines all over the shop TODAY I actually feature a story that appeared in TODAY’S Sunday Times. This must be some sort of record because more often than not such tales appear several days after publication, indeed occasionally a few weeks later. I always have a quick peruse of the paper when I return from my morning walk, but because there are so many sections to The Sunday Times, the whole lot gets put one side ... then I pick up a section as and when I have a few minutes. So, in today’s Weird but wonderful column, appeared this little gem: Crossed lines Patrick McCrystal was furious to find he’d been given a £70 parking ticket – after workers painted double yellows under his car while it was parked. “I couldn’t believe my eyes,” says McCrystal, 49. “They had extended the existing set of lines, then a warden had slapped a ticket on the car.” Derby city council has cancelled the ticket and apologised. To add insult to injury, flecks of yellow paint were even sprayed on the Ford Fiesta’s bumper. Double yellow “D’ohs!”. The story reminded me of one that appeared shortly before Christmas – so off I sped along the yellow-line-free internet superhighway in hot pursuit of said tale ... this snatch, compliments of a BBC web site... “World’s shortest” double yellow lines on Norwich street |
|||||
|
|||||
|
Doolallyness at its most majestic. I should make it clear that I am certainly not labelling the workers doolally. Workers are workers because they do what they are told. No, the fault for this nonsense lies somewhere up the greasy pole, for such decisions are made by those dreaded managers. People in suits. If I were Jeremy Clarkson - I’m surprised he hasn’t already given us his verdict on these wayward yellow lines - anyway, if I were Clarkson, I would demand that these idiot managers be taken outside and shot. But not in front of the children. Do you know, I will never run out of material to satisfy my daily smile regime. |
|||||
|
Saturday, January 21
Which led to this riposte...
|
|||||
|
Friday, January 20 Windmills of your mind ‘WHAT do you hang on the walls of your mind?” the American photographer Eve Arnold, who has just died aged 99, once memorably asked in a note to her grandson... It could well have been his grandmother’s eye-catching picture of Marilyn Monroe...  Diary of a Journeyman WHEN, all those moons ago, I began keeping a daily record of my movements, meetings and various magic moments experienced along the way, I would never have guessed that all these years later my diary would have evolved into an online scrapbook. Due to my inability to remember the mundane and the routine, it began as a straightforward diary of where I had been, who of note or interest I had met, along with a record of anything noteworthy that had happened along the journey. Somewhere along the way I also began recording the weather for the day – probably something to do with my gaining a private pilot’s licence, where weather was a hugely significant element. Next I started noting the time of sunrise and sunset – something born of my early morning walks through the Towy Valley. Perhaps the most significant step though was the decision to scribble down the one thing that had made me smile the most that day – something of an arbitrary choice I admit, for no other reason than so many different kinds of things make me smile, so it tends to come down to what remains freshest in the mind. When I began recording my daily smiles, it was pretty much exclusively in written form. Yes, I would occasionally cut out a picture from a newspaper or magazine, sometimes a complete article, and stick it in my diary – or rather my scrapbook, as it then became. However, these days photographs play as big a part in my scrapbook as the written/spoken word. This is probably down to the digital camera, which has made photography so accessible; and of course the internet, where we all can post the pictures we take, often to significant or amusing effect. I only have to think of the photographs I have taken and are littered all over this web site – and I am not even a photographer, merely someone who always carries a little camera to capture the passing parade. Today I came upon a couple of online photographs, both of which highlight perfectly the ability of the millions upon millions of cameras out there to capture everything that moves – or indeed doesn’t move. As with the written word, photographs can make me smile in all sorts of different ways, from the hearty “Ho, ho, ho!” which makes the body shake all over – to the wry, rather nervous smile where you worry about what happens next... Which is precisely what this astonishing picture, spotted in the Telegraph’s Online Gallery of Images of the Day, captures... This way to the Health & Safety Conference |
|||||
|
|
|||||
|
Picture: REUTERS/Beawiharta Children hold on to the side bars of a collapsed bridge as they cross a river to get to school at Sanghiang Tanjung village in Indonesia. The flooded Ciberang river broke a pillar supporting the suspension bridge, which was built in 2004. Sofiah, a student crossing the bridge, says she would need to walk for an extra 30 minutes if she were to take a detour via another bridge. There is now also a video of these children making the perilous crossing, which is a concerted effort to put pressure on the Indonesian authorities to repair the bridge. Looking at that amazing image, I think I’d prefer to get up 30 minutes earlier to do the detour. Yet ... yet, if I were a youngster confronted by the adventure of crossing the damaged bridge – I would probably spend 30 minutes extra in bed.
From
the sublime to the ridiculous... |
|||||
|
|
|||||
|
The
second coming as seen at New Mexico, spotted by Ron Simpson |
|||||
|
Thursday, January 19 Lost and found |
|||||
|
|||||
|
swagger and identifiability of him with the public.”
Englishman and Labour Party politician Alan Johnson, 61, former Home Secretary, on his party leader. “In politics, division carries the death penalty.” Welshman and former Labour leader Lord Kinnock, 69, denouncing critics of Ed Miliband, the aforementioned Labour party leader, as “cowards”. Right, where do I start? First, I am much taken with the expression “vagabonds and rogues”. Vs & Rs sound just like the sort of rascals I mix with down at the Crazy Horsepower Saloon; indeed the one and only character from the world of fiction that I would love to have been in real life is Prefect of Police, Captain Louis Renault of Casablanca, a vagabond and a rascal if ever there was one (see January 3 to peruse all the small print). Anyway, I enjoyed the honesty of the two quotes from the acting profession – Jim Broadbent sounds the kind of fellow I would be quite happy to share a pint or six with down at the Crazy Horsepower. Yes, but what of the politicians? Well, it’s the usual bullshit. Come to think of it: Texas, hats, cattle, bullshit – they all go together like a horse and carriage, Labour and Tories... Apropos the Neil Kinnock quote: I remember when I first read that he had been made a life peer, and introduced to the House of Lords on the 31st of January 2005 as Baron Kinnock of Bedwellty in the County of Gwent. I always thought he should have been Baron Kinnock of Bed-wettie – well, he had been made a life peer. Kinnock uses the word “cowards” – which is a terrible misuse of the word. The word has also cropped up in the wake of the sad and curious business of the Italian cruise ship disaster, where the captain has been accused of cowardice. Some of the headlines today... Costa Concordia: Flee? I just tripped into a lifeboat Captain Francesco Schettino claims he left ship only because he fell into lifeboat while helping with evacuation Should a captain go down with his ship? Captain Schettino abandoned ship, but who’s to say how we would behave in a similar situation? An online contribution in the Telegraph’s Comments section caught my eye, from the appropriately named The Jolly Roger: My unpublished letter (My Captain, My Captain) on the Costa Concordia incident... SIR - May I propose Costa Concordia Captain Francesco Schettino to take over from Herman van Rompuy as EU President? He seems even more eminently qualified for the task of guiding the EU onto the rocks. Yours sincerely, As it happens, my unpublished letter went something like this... What’s in a name? SIR – First there was Concordski crashing at the Paris Air Show in 1973. Then there was Concorde crashing after leaving Charles de Gaulle Airport in 2000. And now we have Concordia. Give a dog a bad name and he’ll strangle himself. HB, Llandampness PS: Matt makes a welcome return, specially in view of the growing row over the massive bonuses being paid to bankers as the world struggles to survive the financial crisis. Jeremy Paxman (or similar) is interviewing one such greedy banker, under a banner Responsible Capitalism (David Cameron’s latest wheeze to make insatiable corporate chiefs feel guilty, ho, ho, ho!)... Banker: “I didn’t intend to accept a bonus, but I tripped and fell into it.” |
|||||
|
Wednesday, January 18 Models built from forensic reconstruction of fossil skulls when humans and chimps shared common ancestry ... ancestors from when ‘hominids’ first emerged in Africa. An exhibition in Dresden, Germany has used forensic technology to recreate distant members of the human ‘family’ - including faces from when human beings and chimps had one ancestor.And here’s a roundup of the usual suspects... |
|||||
|
|
|||||
|
They include (top row, left to right):
Sahelanthropus tchadensis, lived
seven million years ago;
Plesianthropus transvaalensis, two million
years ago;
Homo rudolfensis, two million years ago (would he have had a
red nose?);
Paranthropus boisei, two million years ago, also known as
Nutcracker man (initially believed to have been a fruit and nut case/eater); And (bottom row): Australopithecus africanus, two million years ago, thought to be one of our direct ancestors – hello cousin; Homo erectus, one million years ago; Homo neanderthalensis, 60,000 years ago, probably our closest relatives – uh-oh, the boys are back in town; and Homo ergaster, 1.5 million years ago, ergaster from the Greek word ‘workman’ (did they find him leaning on a shovel?). The missing link |
|||||
|
|||||
|
Designs on Life
YESTERDAY, I also mentioned designer babies, and I decided to sleep on
the vexed question of what specific genetic engineering tricks I would personally
bless upon a designer baby? Well... |
|||||
|
Tuesday, January 17 Perfect Woman through the looking glass YESTERDAY I pondered on the vexed question of why the cleverest person on Earth, Professor Stephen Hawking, finds women such a complete mystery. Probably, I sort of concluded, because they are so totally different to us men, and rather surprisingly, that would appear to be beyond his towering intellect to come to terms with. Well, today I stumbled upon a Yahoo! Lifestyle piece by one Bianca Ffolkes – do you suppose she is one of the Ffolkes who live on the hill? – where an online beauty retailer, Feelunique, claims to have created the world’s most beautiful woman. They asked 9,350 shoppers to vote for which parts of female slebs they most admired and desired, and then mocked up a profile of what the perfect woman would look like. [The survey does not give the male/female breakdown of the shoppers asked, which would be quite relevant to the end result, I would have thought.] Anyway, I quote... She has Angelina Jolie’s pillow lips, Megan Fox’s perfectly shaped eyebrows and The Duchess of Cambridge’s long glossy hair. Cheryl Cole’s chocolate brown eyes, along with Kate Beckinsale’s nose, Keira Knightley’s model cheekbones and Kelly Brook’s chest complete her look. Actress Gwyneth Paltrow, whose chin was voted the best, is the only blonde to feature... |
|||||
|
|||||
|
A spokeswoman for the website said: “We had great fun putting together our Ultimate Woman. She is uncannily beautiful and looks a bit like one of the Kardashian sisters or Sandra Bullock, although Angelina’s pout is unmistakable.” However, we think the resemblance to Kim Kardashian is surprising since none of her features made the list.
Now what do I think? Uncannily beautiful? Thanks, but no thanks. I have
no doubts that the parts are much more desirable than the
whole. I really would feel more comfortable with any of the eight women
pictured on my arm, nine including Kim Kardashian, rather than the computer generated image
deemed the most beautiful woman in the world. (I’ll stick with Grace
Kelly as my idea of perfection.) |
|||||
|
Monday,
January 16 Through the looking glass “REMEMBER to look up at the stars and not down at your feet. Try to make sense of what you see and wonder about what makes the universe exist.” Professor Stephen Hawking, who is in possession of the key to life, the universe and everything [apparently], in a 70th birthday message. Hang about though... “Women are a complete mystery.” Professor Stephen Hawking reveals the one thing in the universe that still baffles him. Now what did he say in that first quote? “Try to make sense of what you see and wonder about what makes the universe exist.” But half of human life here on earth is of the female variety – so does he not wonder what makes them exist? And isn’t it ever so slightly more important to understand what’s happening directly in front of your nose rather than a billion light years away? Hm. This suggests that the Good Professor is only half as clever as we all thought he was. Clearly he has been too busy looking up at the stars to listen to “How to handle a woman” from Camelot. I quote: “There’s a way,” said the Wise Old Man, “and that is to love her ... simply love her ... merely love her ... love her ... love her...” I know, I know, most men reading that will now be sharing a quiet little smile with themselves. My advice to Professor Stephen Hawking would be that women simply have to have a little moan about something or other all the time. And I don’t mean that they do so in a particularly objectionable way – well, some do, obviously – but it is rare to encounter a woman who is delightfully happy with her lot in life: if it’s not the size of her bum or her breasts, then it’s the folk next door. |
|||||
|
|||||
|
However, I would guess that the women in Professor Hawking’s life also go round saying: “He’s a complete mystery.” Life is a looking glass. But perhaps actress Joan Collins, 78, offers him the definitive advice on successful relationships and how to help solve the mystery of women: “Respect each other and give each other space. And have separate bathrooms.” Sadly though, I think Joan and Stephen are talking about a different kind of space. Bugger. How to handle a Briton MENTION of the Wise Old Man from Camelot - and Chief Wise Owl from the Crazy Horsepower Saloon springs effortlessly to mind. He mentioned to me that The Times newspaper had named Alex Salmond, the current First Minister of Scotland, and who is desperate to cut Scotland adrift from the United Kingdom, as their Briton of the Year 2011. A letter then appeared in the newspaper... Sir, How bizarre to make Alex Salmond your Briton of the Year, when his main aim is to break up Britain as a political entity. It’s like naming George Washington as Briton of the Year for 1776. NIGEL HAWKINS, Warminster, Wilts Ho, ho, ho! - with bells on. So I said to Chief Wise Owl: “That’s nothing. The Daily Telegraph named The Duke of Edinburgh as their Briton of the Year. Nothing against Prince Philip, but this is the man who memorably told Fiona Bruce in that televised 90th birthday interview that she should get herself a proper job.” So The Telegraph named as their Briton of the Year the man who would, in a perfect world, put everyone who works for the newspaper, out of a job. Life doesn’t get more doolally than that. And if both The Times and The Daily Telegraph, guardians of the portal into a slightly less doolally universe, think this way ... well, I should definitely keep my head down and get on with it – and sod space, the stars and those ominous black holes. |
|||||
|
Sunday,
January 15 Stormy weather AH, good old Mrs Mills, she who solves all your problems, compliments of The Sunday Times’ Style Magazine: a typically smiley piece which this time involves the Shipping Forecast – but first, for those who live in faraway places with strange sounding names, a few dots joined up to paint a picture... |
|||||
|
|||||
|
Right, back with Mrs Mills... PUMP UP THE VOLUME My parents listen to the radio in bed at night. Occasionally, they turn up the volume and this disturbs my sleep. I can’t imagine why they would want the Shipping Forecast or the World Service blaring away at such a high level. The next time it happens, should I just barge into their room and ask them to turn it down? RC, BRIERLY HILL They are turning up the radio to protect you from a greater trauma than lack of sleep, so you should be best advised to put up with the noise. It’s not as if it lasts that long, anyway. I am impressed that your parents do not appear to be put off their stroke by the steady intonation of: “North Utsire, South Utsire, Fisher, German Bight, rising sharply. Severe gale force nine veering southerly imminent.” Or perhaps it gets them going – you never know. (I think we’d all be enchanted if they dropped me a line and filled us in.) That last line left me wondering: If RC’s parents actually read the above, do you suppose that RC is now becalmed in a sea of tranquillity? Incidentally: German Bight? Perhaps it should have been German Bite. Anyway, for those not familiar with the shipping forecast, especially that aforementioned affection with which it is held, click on the link below – but be sure to listen carefully... Also, below that, a link which delivers the forecast a cappella, sung as an Anglican chant. Interesting... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AnKWo9kvSyo&feature=related http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H7GOMK50zbg |
|||||
|
|
|||||
|
Saturday, January 14 |
|||||
|
|
|||||
|
Crazy Coffins’ trademark skip is rather wonderful. Think of those who would lie comfortably in theirs. There’s been much talk of late – no pun intended – that Margaret Thatcher will have a state funeral. Quite why has passed me by. Whatever, picture the turnout if she made that last journey in a skip. And what about Tony Blair and Gordon Brown? I am quite taken with that pineapple-shaped casket. Something rather elegant about it – it’s the hairstyle, I think. Oh, and it looks like a bomb that’s about to be dropped from a great height. After the reading of the will, perhaps? As for the plane, it can’t be Kwei’s gran because that particular aircraft hadn’t even taken wings back in the 1950s. The final coffin is based on Antony Gormley’s Angel of the North statue - albeit without the wings, which would need a much larger plot. But a lack of wings rather spoils the effect, presuming of course that you really would want to take flight with the angels. And who wouldn’t? Some of the coffins in the exhibition were produced as demonstrations of the maker’s skills, some were chosen by the families of the deceased, while others were chosen for themselves by people who are still very much alive. This set me thinking: what sort of coffins would be suitable for the regulars down at the Crazy Horsepower Saloon? Ivor the Engine would have to be in the shape of a train carriage, obviously; Dai Aphanous a bog-standard casket – but in Perspex. Chief Wise Owl – what else but an owl, but he’d have to be buried upright. And what about Old Shaggy? Well, what else but a coffin in the shape of a condom, with his head stuck into that bulbous bit at the working end – much like The Angel of the North coffin, really... Enough, already. I think I shall donate my body to medical research, rather than run the risk... To Tweet, To Woo An afterthought: I’ve just read a collection of what are rated as the most memorable tweets of 2011. Unsurprisingly, there’s the one from IT Consultant Sohaib Athar when he breaks the news of the raid on his neighbour Osama Bin Laden@ReallyVirtual: “Helicopter hovering above Abbottabad at 1AM (is a rare event).” Two things puzzle me about this: Athar only broke the news in hindsight. Until the world had been told what had happened, which was sometime later, then his tweet meant nothing out of the ordinary. Secondly, Athar says that the helicopter overhead “is a rare event” – not “a unique event” mind, which suggests that helicopters had been spotted previously. Very odd, that. |
|||||
|
Friday,
January 13 |
|||||
|
Thursday, January 12 |
|||||
|
|||||
|
Reflecting on how wonderfully eye-catching a thatched roof really is –
expensive to maintain, mind – my eye slid down to the Comment
section, as it always does ... this, from
Cool Trousers
(the mind boggles): |
|||||
|
Wednesday, January 11 “So what do you think of the invention convention so far?” ... “Rubbish!” The ghost of Eric Morecambe JUST spotted this in last weekend’s Sunday Times Weird but wonderful corner... Good for nothing An unsuccessful inventor has won a £400,000 grant to develop his museum of unsuccessful inventions. The exhibits at Fritz Gall’s Museum of Nonsense in Herrnbaumgarten, Austria, include: pencils with no lead, invented for cautious civil servants; a portable hole; a padded rolling pin designed to meet tough health and safety rules; a bristle-free toothbrush, for those with no teeth; and a portable hand stand. “We held our first fair for rubbish inventions and thought we’d get 20 or 30 visitors - but more than 5,000 came and so we knew we were obviously on to something,” said Gall. I thoroughly appreciated that little tale, for the simple reason that my smile grew and grew as I continued to read. We could all do with a bit more nonsense like that in our lives. Those pencils with no lead remind me of a marvellous exchange at the Crazy Horse some many moons ago now. I enjoy the occasional pint of Guinness; on one side of me at the bar was Old Shaggy – he was probably Middle-Aged Shaggy back then – and on the other side was Ivor the Engine. I took a sip from my pint. “They say,” said Old Shaggy, “that Guinness puts lead in your pencil.” Laughter, especially from Pearl Of Joy, the jolly barmaid, who sadly is no longer of this world. But like a flash, Ivor, with his hangdog expression, responded: “True – but what’s the use if you’ve got no one to write to.” Recalling yesterday’s smile adds an extra bit of meat to the above bone. Then, there was this other story, which compliments the Good for nothing tale above to a T... Gallery’s hang-it-yourself wing Andrzej Sobiepan couldn’t wait until galleries were competing to hang his work. So the art student took matters into his own hands. As a guard at the National Gallery in Wroclaw, Poland, looked the other way, Sobiepan added one of his own works to an exhibition. It was three days before anybody noticed. “I decided that I will not wait 30 or 40 years for my works to appear at a place like this,” said Sobiepan, whose painting of an acacia leaf was moved to the gallery café and will be auctioned for charity.  What a delightful story – and an art gallery with a sense of humour. Above, in the café, a mother points to the painting. Brilliant. I was thinking, if Andrzej Sobiepan was a regular at the Crazy Horsepower Saloon, he’d probably be called Sobby Sosban. |
|||||
|
Tuesday, January 10 How was it for you? IVOR the Engine, regular down at the old Crazy Horsepower Saloon, was bemoaning to his wife Gwladys – or Glad Eyes as we know her – that as the years drift on by, a sense of emasculation was depressing him: “I can’t even remember the last time you said you had enjoyed sex,” he sighed. Taking his hand gently, Glad Eyes responded: “Ivor, why would you remember? You weren’t even there.” Short and sweet today as I’ve done a piece over on 400 Smiles A Day about the shortest day of the year and a cockerel... |
|||||
|
Monday,
January 9 Here’s to the maiden of bashful fifteen; Here’s to the widow of fifty; Here’s to the flaunting extravagant queen, And here’s to the housewife that’s thrifty. Let the toast pass,- Drink to the lass, I’ll warrant she’ll prove an excuse for a glass. ALL I did was fetch my Dictionary of Famous Quotations down from the shelf and look up ‘toast’ – purpose coming up – and the above gem by Richard Brinsley Sheridan, 1752-1816, revealed itself in all its glory. It was the only entry under ‘toast’ – and not the sort of toast I was actually looking for - but what a serendipitous jewel. It is totally, absolutely wonderful, and it alone is a perfect excuse for doing this Smile of the day scrapbook. I can just hear Old Shaggy down at the Crazy Horsepower Saloon reciting it while downing a large Low Flyer (the pub catchphrase for Famous Grouse, Scotland’s favourite whisky). And just to add an extra star, the above poem is spoken by a character called Sir Harry Bumper, from a play called The School for Scandal, written by the aforementioned Richard Brinsley Sheridan. Crumbs OKAY ... I have just caught up with this pre-Christmas story – that’s the thing about the internet; unlike a newspaper, which tends to get thrown after a few days, along with all the news that you missed while flicking through, the internet can lead you to a tale that is hopelessly out of date but still a delight. As it happened, it was in The Sunday Times on the 1st of 2012, but today I did a bit of Googling – so here’s a joint presentation, compliments of The Sunday Times’ Weird but wonderful column and ABC (America) News Blogs. Make the toast, praise the Lord How do you like your toast: with butter, jam or the face of Christ on each slice? An American company has created the Jesus Toaster, which burns the image onto the bread. Its creator said he had the idea after reports of people seeing apparitions in toast. |
|||||
|
|||||
|
morning ... for ever more and a day... Hey, did you happen to see... |
|||||
|
|||||
|
Sunday,
January 8 |
|||||
|
|||||
|
But, as long as you hadn’t done anything reckless, and remained polite throughout the verbal exchanges, you were invariably let off with a caution, a verbal clip about the ear. Ah, those were the days, my friend, long before members of Her Majesty’s Constabulary really could fly like those pigs - and take pictures of you for being a marginal Nogood Boyo, with no human contact involved. And we wonder why we’re all going backwards at a rate of knots? |
|||||
|
Saturday, January 7
Many enquired what that “it” was he was greedily devouring to give him
strength; most were agreed he was making a meal of that sexed-up dossier
which directly led to Britain’s involvement in the Iraq war.
“In the shower, Ed stood with his hands at the back of his head, like
someone just arrested, while she abused him with a bar of soap. After a
while he shut his eyes, and Diane, wielding her fingernails now and
staring at his face, helped him out with two practiced hands, one
squeezing the family jewels, the other vigorous with the
soap-and-warm-water treatment. I have to say, I am somewhat puzzled by Chris Adrian’s “poked her now from the front and now from the back and now from the side”. When I next see Old Shaggy down at the Crazy Horsepower Saloon, I shall have to make discreet enquiries. In the meantime, I shall sleep on it. Personally, I would have awarded the prize to Haruki Murakami’s memorable line: “A freshly made ear and a freshly made vagina look very much alike, Tengo thought.” Shame, for the award could then have been called The Ear of the Bad Sex...  PS: Spotted on the Telegraph’s home page tonight: Clarkson slammed for Chinese cockle-picker joke I resisted the temptation to click, but did wonder if it had anything to do with bad sex? And I smiled at the thought that Clarkson had stuck his Size 20 Plaster Foot award in his ear yet again. Bless. PPS: If you are wondering about that ear up there - I wrote about it back in 2008 - well worth a peruse: click Ear...! |
|||||
|
Friday, January 6 Just a few ♫♫♫ of warning “PLEASE, PLEASE, no more Gareth Malone. I don’t want to see him drive a car, cook or join a team to answer questions on sport or anything else. Neither do I want to watch him be shut in a house or parachuted into the jungle. Just let him bring us an occasional series of programmes about music that we can look forward to viewing.” Maxene Meredith in The Sunday Times Magazine You say spot. Brilliant: 64 words of precise wit and wisdom. Yes, in the lead-up to Christmas, Gareth was all over the media like a rash, but it was all to do with getting the Military Wives song to Number 1. But I haven’t seen or heard of him since. I’m sure he won’t walk into the ambush as outlined by Maxene. Mind you, if ever I catch him on Top Gear as the Star in a Reasonably Priced Car – I will have to go and lie down in a darkened room for a goodly while. Never mind the quality, feel the width INCIDENTALLY, why do we see and hear the same old faces fronting new series on TV and radio? Is it that broadcasting’s A-listers are so greedy they grab everything that’s going? Or is it that broadcasters have so little faith in new programmes they rely on A-listers to bring their millions of devoted sleb-followers, irrespective of quality? That really does intrigue me – although I freely admit it doesn’t keep me awake at night. Sorry to be a drag AFTER posting yesterday’s smile about the marvellous Antismoke Pack – the cigarette packet shaped like a coffin (see Thursday’s image) – I suddenly remembered capturing a real-life picture of something vaguely similar a good many moons ago, so I went hunting through my files... Back in 2007, the no-smoking in public places became law. Establishments where the public visited and hung about for a while – pubs, restaurants, hotels, etc – made arrangements for smokers to have a cigarette outside the premises in designated areas, with seats, often covered against the elements. Shortly after the ban came in, I stumbled upon a wonderfully eye-catching ‘ashtray’, a clever home-made effort by a local welder, perfect for smokers to stub out and dispose of their cigarettes, rather than chuck them on the floor. And it worked to perfection. One day I noticed that the ashtray cum container had been well patronised – but more than that, it struck me that the whole receptacle looked much like a coffin with the lid open – so I went “click!” – and later added my own comments to the image... |
|||||
|
|
|||||
|
PS: Apropos the “No smokin’ ... No coffin!” line, I applied my own little touch of irony, using the Jokerman font. Ashes to ashes... |
|||||
|
Thursday, January 5 I don’t smoke – but I do steam a little when I get stressed THE SUNDAY TIMES does a News Review of the Week, a roundup of the 20 or so news stories that didn’t quite warrant a full article or feature, each tale done and dusted in 200 words or less. So I read the following – and it rang a bell... Packing a punch Health Young people would be less likely to smoke if cigarettes were sold in plain packaging, according to a new report. The study by the British Heart Foundation (BHF) found almost 70% of young people said they considered cigarette packets to be a form of advertising, and more than a quarter of regular smokers aged 16-25 judged one cigarette brand to be less harmful than another – purely on the basis of packaging. Three-quarters of the 2,700 surveyed said plain packs – with no branding or logos and larger health warnings – would make it easier to smoke less or quit. The charity said the results reinforced the argument for plain packaging, a move that the government is to consult on in the new year. Betty McBride, director of policy at the BHF, said: “Glitzy packaging is an absurd loophole the tobacco industry takes full advantage of. We must close it if we want to protect younger generations from taking up the habit.” I have a much better idea. Well, I say I! |
|||||
|
|||||
|
properly into the pack, unless you have some false packaging as the pack widens near the top. Anyway, that’s not a problem because I can’t imagine a cigarette manufacturer ever giving it the nod. Turkeys voting for Christmas and all that. Here’s a strange thing about cigarettes. I guess most of us have known someone who smoked liked a chimney but still enjoyed rude health and lived to a grand old age. But the thing about smoking is this: if you have a weak link in your immune system, then smoking will ruthlessly seek it out. Sadly though, even if you don’t smoke, and you have that genetic weak link, there are many other things out there queuing up to attack our immune systems: air pollution, chemicals in our food, GM crops, STDs, stress, lack of self-esteem... You just have to smile, keep your head down - and hope for the best. Excuse my coughin’. |
|||||
|
Wednesday, January 4 The Honourable and Fashionable Member for Doolally (but don’t Menschion the war) LOUISE MENSCH, 40, is an English author of “chick lit” fiction and a Conservative MP for Corby since 2010. (Note that I put author before Member of Parliament: was it a subliminal slip-up?) On 19 July 2011, Louise Mensch sat on the House of Commons Select Committee that took part in the questioning of James and Rupert Murdoch over the News of the World phone-hacking scandal. As it happens, she was the one asking the questions when Rupert Murdoch met a pieman, going to the fair game. If you watch the brief live sequence on YouTube – link coming up down below – her reaction is different to the other politicians on the committee, which suggests that the incident left an indelible mark on her psyche. In other words, it appears to have knocked her bubble slightly off plumb. For example, spotted on the Telegraph’s online home page... Louise Mensch complains that female MPs are judged on looks |
|||||
|
|||||
 |
|||||
|
Well, that’s what I’d expect the heading/logo on a “chick-lit” author’s
“Things to do today” list to look like – no?
Oh yes, I also see that Louise has 44,000 Twitter followers. I believe that the very first person to attract “followers” was Jesus Christ, and as far as I know, he never stopped to count them. Obviously the message was more important than the messenger – indeed, 2,000 years later and the message is still going strong, and probably will until humanity dies out. Mind you, even 2,000 years ago they shot the messenger, so I wonder for how long the Mensch message will be mentioned after Louise gets shot, metaphorically speaking, of course. The Mensch war: pussycat v polecat WHAT a wonderfully doolally world we live in. And Louise Mensch is our perfect representative in Parliament. I mean, she complains about being perceived as a chick-lit pussycat rather than the political polecat she perceives herself to be – yet we are confronted by photographs of her purring like a pussycat on a hot tin hoof on the front of a men’s magazine, GQ (originally Gentlemen’s Quarterly, but times have changed - I’m reliably informed it’s the male equivalent of Vogue). Unless I am very much mistaken, in the above photograph Louise is clearly inviting us to tickle her stomach to make her roll over onto her back and play. Where’s the polecat look to confirm that you don’t mess around with the Mensch women? Indeed, hindsight makes me ponder why, during the phone-hacking committee enquiry, she didn’t ask questions of a polecat nature? She would really have left her mark. After all, Margaret Thatcher, whatever else she was, was the very model of a modern polecat. No wonder the country is in a mess when our politicians, along with the nation’s other movers and shakers, are so devoid of any strands of inherent wisdom in their genetic code. They wouldn’t recognise an ambush if it hit them on the nose. Right, here’s the link to the pie incident, which is rather revealing as to how all 13 committee members react – bar Louise, who looks around for help, along with a belated Tom Watson (I think). Truly fascinating... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fJyqSGM-7oo&feature=related |
|||||
|
Tuesday, January 3 My hero ~ and the beginning of a beautiful friendship  A MOON or so back, there was a bit of a lull in the conversation down at the Crazy Horsepower Saloon, and old Roy Rogers – best not to ask about that nickname – pondered aloud what character from fiction we would like to have been in real life. There followed what can only be described as a smiley interlude. Ivor the Engine – he walks very fast does our Ivor, never looks left or right, and motors just like a train – wanted to be Indiana Jones. The thought of opening the Ark of the Covenant in front of a packed Parliament on Budget Day, with him the only one keeping his eyes shut tight, was too delicious for words. Yes, what a magical image that conjures up. Dai Aphanous – we always see through Dai, but he’s one of life’s great characters, ever happy to introduce himself as the local DA – Dai went along the same track as Ivor and chose James Bond. Dai would welcome the opportunity to introduce himself as “Bond – James Bond!” rather that “Aphanous – Dai Aphanous!”. Old Shaggy – been there, done all the women, got the T-shirt – somewhat surprisingly, plumped for Sherlock Holmes: “I find life so un-elementary it would be rather agreeable to be able to say ‘Elementary, my dear Hubie!’ for ever more and a day.” I did point out that he already found women exceedingly “elementary” – he just smiled, much as a man would while smoking a pipe stuffed to the brim with Old Shag Tobacco. Young Shagwell – an apprentice Old Shaggy, who can already show the old dog new tricks – really made us laugh with his choice of The Road Runner: “The opportunity to sneak up behind all those who give me a hard time and go ‘Beep-Beep!’ is irresistible.” I like that, another magical image. Chief Wise Owl (CWO) – name self-explanatory, indeed I want to be like Chief Wise Owl when I grow up – CWO, with a twinkle in that clever old eye of his, decided on Jesus Christ – or indeed Brian (from The Life of), along with his “Welsh tart” of a girlfriend, Judith, obviously. Obviously! And my choice? Well now, I’ve never had any real-life heroes – plenty of individuals I admire hugely, but no heroes. As a youngster it was a roundup of the usual fictional suspects: Santa Claus, Dan Dare, Batman, Robin Hood, Tonto and The Lone Ranger – as opposed to The Lone Ranger and Tonto – those kinds of heroes. In adult life I’ve never latched onto a fictional hero – well, except for one man. It would have to be Prefect of Police Captain Louis Renault of Casablanca fame. The film was on television today, which is why it all came flooding back. |
|||||
|
|||||
|
Also, I reckon Louis would have been the scriptwriters’ favourite character. While Rick himself has most of Casablanca’s memorable lines, the consistently best lines belong to Louis. When you next watch the film, it really is worth concentrating on his dialogue and matching facial expressions ... full of wit and humour, not to mention loads of wisdom. It all cascades out of his mouth like water from a favourite waterfall. I did once fantasize what it would have been like at the moment of conception to be first in the short and exclusive queue marked Wit and Wisdom, so Louis Renault as my fantasy hero fits the bill to perfection. And of course, that precious twinkle in the eye as a bonus. |
|||||
| In fact, my all-time favourite film line belongs to Louie: near | |||||
|
|||||
|
Monday,
January 2 Caught in the slips IN CRICKET, a googly is the leg spinner’s prized weapon: bowled properly, a googly – or a “wrong’un” – is almost undetectable and catches the batsman by surprise. “'Ow’s that!?” the bowler will invariably shout at the umpire following a perfect googly. Well, search engine Google does something similar. I can’t recall what I was actually looking for, but this online Googlie caught me out... Tourist tat: what’s the tackiest holiday souvenir you’ve bought? Followed by this headline... Don’t take the Pisa! I just couldn’t resist – click! Italian mayor launches crackdown on erotic tourist souvenirs |
|||||
|
|||||
|
Lip service PROBABLY the best bit of tourist tat I ever saw was a good many moons ago, at the then Crazy Horse, when one of the barmaids, having just returned from some faraway place with a strange sounding name, whipped out her lipstick, and as she screwed the bottom – no pun intended – out came the lipstick ... in the shape of a penis. The pub came over all ho, ho, ho! It was the surprise element that worked so wonderfully well. As a matter of interest I Googled “penis lipstick” – and up popped some eye-catching offers. Hev Yew Gotta Loight, Boy? I ALSO enjoyed this online comment from eGraph: A friend gifted me a plastic mule from his holiday in Greece. I was ... unimpressed ... until he showed me how to use it. You load the basket on its back with cigarettes, and then pull its ears forward. Whereupon it politely proffers a cigarette from its arse. Class. Top 10 of this and that TALKING of an online Googlie, by coincidence, today I also saw “Top 10 UK searches of the year on Yahoo!” By definition, Google’s searches would have to reveal something similar. Before I get there, I’ve just checked the Top 10 TV programmes for the five main channels, as well as the sixth, which is all the Satellite stations grouped together, for the week ending December 4 (source: Sunday Times Culture Magazine). Of the Top 60 listed, I only watched five programmes, which is par for the course. Four on BBC1: Countryfile, Frozen Planet, Have I Got News For You, One Show (must have been the Jeremy Clarkson episode, which I did happen to catch) – and BBC2’s The Choir featuring Gareth Malone. BBC2’s Top 10 invariably features Dad’s Army – which I have to watch whenever I happen upon it – but it couldn’t have been on that weekend because it was missing in Top 10 action. Of course I watch a bit of rugby on Sky, but the audience figures for club games would be too low to feature in the Satellite Top 10. Back with the top online searches, here’s the list, in reverse order, and I confirm whether I stand accused of having searched for them. |
|||||
|
|||||
|
3
– Job Centre
(As opposed to Jobs’ Centre – not guilty.) 2 – National Lottery (Guilty: I check my numbers, hoping for 2nd prize – I recall the Scottish couple who picked up a record-breaking £161 million last July, but had to go into hiding because of the attention and the begging hordes. Thanks, but no thanks. Second prize will be fine by me, O Great Genie Of The Lamp...)  And finally, top of the clicks... 1 – FTSE – (Not guilty. But this was the surprise. The stock exchange marker was Yahoo!’s top searched term, which suggests that the global financial turmoil and economic meltdown had far-reaching effects.) It is both a funny peculiar and a funny ha-ha world. |
|||||
|
Sunday, January 1, 2012 Hello 2012 ~ sorry I missed you when you called  I WAS out to the world at the moment the above picture announced the arrival of the New Year. For many years now I’ve given the celebratory side of New Year’s Eve a miss. It’s a young person’s game. Been there, done it, claimed the kiss, sort of thing. Sadly, my T-shirt doesn’t boast sex to the chimes of Big Ben at midnight on New Year’s Eve. (I bet Mrs Speaker Sally Bercow does have Big Ben on her T-shirt.) Never say never though (but not with Mrs Speaker, thank you very much). What’s up, Doc? YESTERDAY morning, when I opened the last page in my 2011 ‘Day To A Page A4 Diary’, there sat a cutting, compliments of Ask Dr Ozzy from The Sunday Times Magazine ... oh yes, and this notice, as always, made me smile: (Warning: Ozzy Osbourne is not a qualified medical professional. Caution is advised, ho, ho, ho!) The “ho, ho, ho!” is mine, incidentally; I am forever tickled that the crème de la crème of British society, our movers and shakers – who clearly read The Sunday Times – have to be told that Dr Ozzy, the “Godfather of Heavy Metal” and the “Prince of Darkness”, is not a doctor. No wonder the world in general and Britain in particular is in such a mess. Oh yes, Ozzy Osbourne, 63, has over 15 tattoos, the most famous of which are the letters O-Z-Z-Y across the knuckles of his left hand. This was his first tattoo, created by himself as a teenager with a sewing needle and pencil lead. Now that’s what I really call a prick and a half. Doolally as a daffodil on the shortest day of the year is our Ozzy. Bless. Anyway, here’s what the “King of Doolally” had said – it must be from a year ago because I can’t remember reading it recently - and anyway, I’m always many moons in arrears with my magazines... + What are the most important New Year’s health resolutions that your readers should be putting into practice? Cassie, York No 1: always stand behind a gun, not in front of it. No 2: use a parachute when falling more than a few feet. Apart from all that, try to eat better-quality food, none of that artificial processed filth, and do some exercise, even if that means walking to the high street instead of driving. Walking to the pub doesn’t count, unless it’s a mile away and you only have a shandy when you get there. I trust you were paying attention. Intensive care I WAS greatly amused by this quote, especially given the dodgy state of finances within the European Union: “How about a minute’s silence?” An unnamed pensioner’s response to a French TV channel’s request to viewers on how their government should mark the 10th anniversary of the euro. It’s somewhat reassuring that it’s not only we Brits who think the euro is in need of a priest to administer the last rites. Wasn’t it Stalin who said something along the lines of “No people. No problem.”? A rather obvious truth, even if Hitler confirmed his madness by instigating the dreadful “No Jews. No problems.” theory. What is it about the world’s leaders that they all – ALL – go mad sooner rather than later. Putin is the latest to succumb. Anyway, the opposite of no people, no problem is even a greater truth: Many people. Many problems. And I don’t think you need to be an expert to conclude that the European Union is now just too big and too complex to succeed. As the going gets tough, the tough tribes of Europe will simply pull their wagons into an ever tighter circle. Many tribes. Many problems. But, whatever happens, you must stick to the sunny side of the street. Otherwise, you too will go doolally. Finally, I must finish with an exquisite picture from down under. Australia always puts on a fabulous fireworks party, especially so on New Year’s Eve – but how about this? |
|||||
|
|
|||||
|
Wow! |
|||||
|
|
|||||
| Previous 2011 smiles: Smile of the Day 2011 (Jan-Jun) .. Smile of the Day 2011 (Jul-Sep) .. Smile of the day 2011 (Oct-Dec) | |||||
| Home | |||||
|
Previously: Smile of the Day 2010 |
|||||
|
|
You are here, way out west,
at Llandeilo
aka Llandampness
aka Dodgy City
*******************************
“People from a planet
without flowers would think we must be mad with joy the whole
time to have such things about us”
Iris Murdoch
January: the year's first
welcome visitor - no prizes
for guessing this little beauty
*********************************
FIRST TIME HERE?
c.99 seconds walking in my
moccasins:
I was born on the sunny side of a Welsh hillside, at a place I
affectionately call
Big Slopes, on the 26th and the 28th
of
November, in the Year of the Horse......
More
**********************
Contact Me
**********************
Previously on LOOK
YOU......
Smile of the day 2011
(Oct-Dec)
Smile of the Day 2011 (Jul-Sep)
Smile of the Day 2011 (Jan-Jun)
Smile of the Day 2010
2010 (Jan to Jun)
2009
2008
Sep to Dec '07
June to Aug '07
March to May '07
As it was in
the beginning:
ST DAVID'S DAY, 2007
**********************
Here's lookin' at you
@
400 Smiles A Day
Updated:
10/01/2012
What A Gas
@
400 Smiles A Day
Updated:
17/05/2009
**********************
Contact Me
**********************
Flower
Power Gallery
the last autumnal leaf on the
tulip tree outside the cottage -
and the epitome of a tulip flower
*********************************
it seems perfectly natural
to wear a remembrance
poppy on my web site's lapel
*********************************
A blue-tit admires
the vivid foxglove flower;
there again, perhaps something
else had caught its eye!
*********************************
A beautiful and a
bountiful
crop of Wych Elm tree fruit -
which precede the leaf
*********************************
A glorious 'Golden chain'
spotted at
Penlan Park, Llandeilo
*********************************
A beautiful sprig of cherry
blossom not a
million
miles from my door
*********************************
Come up some time and see me:
a bee with those pollen
baskets on its hind legs
full to bursting
*************************************
Dan the Flowerpot Snowman
spotted in Bridge Street
Llansnowness
*************************************
the handsome hawthorn blossom
[featured a quick scroll down]
has now completed nature's circle -
admired by both me and the great tit
*************************************
the Himalayan Balsam
~
to learn all about this
naughty-but-nice plant, click
400 Smiles A Day
(02/10/2010)
********************************
the dense flower head
of the red clover
attracts a grateful visitor
********************************
the perfectly handsome
hawthorn blossom -
shame it remains in all its
glory for just a few days
********************************
Red eye - or more correctly,
red campion, all over the
shop with its rich pink flowers
and hairy leaves - very eye-catching
********************************
A blooming Carey Mulligan is
welcome
in my flower bed anytime - the square
mile connection being that her mum,
Nano Booth, hails from Llandeilo
********************************
A honey bee embraces the
stylish but antonymously named
'primula vulgaris' - the wild primrose
********************************
A perfect buttonhole for the
Welshman who may vote Lib Dem -
but is a Labourite at heart
********************************
Male flower cluster - the
hazel catkin,
also known as a lamb's tail -
being admired by a bluetit
"There are always
flowers for those
who wish to see them." Henri Matisse
*********************************
The year's first celebrity
visitor,
the beautiful snowdrop
********************************
Home 2010 (Jan to Jun) 2009 2008 March to May '07 June to Aug '07 Sep to Dec '07