Monday, 26 December 2016
And so on St Stephen's Day, aka Boxing Day, aka the second day of Christmas may I wish you and yours a Merry Christmas.
And like Tintin, let's all remember the "reason for the season" and honour the Holy Family.
Nadolig Llawen! Merry Christmas!
Sunday, 16 October 2016
|Owain Glyndwr: an English Soldier|
History is funny isn't it? If we judged everyone on their pasts, well here's a few:
St Augustine would be an arrogant lawyer who freed a murderer.
St Francis would be a materialist party animal (probably a misogynist to boot).
Owain Glyndwr would be an English soldier defending the crown and killing for his king.
Winston Churchill would be a disgrace who ordered troops to fire on strikers and the mastermind of a battle that killed many and ended in total failure.
And of course there's Mary Magdalene who - although never called an ex-prostitute in the Gospels - was said to have had a 'colourful' past.
I dare say there's many more...
Wednesday, 5 October 2016
Wow. Got an order in work going to a Para captain at 'Merville Barracks' - named after the DDay gun battery where my uncle, private Daniel 'Roddy' Hurley, died (DDay plus 1). The Paras disabled the battery (see my other posts for further details on Roddy & the battle there).
What a small world. Hope the order gets there ok. Wouldn't like to deal with an angry Para captain. ;)
Below: 3 Para memorial garden at Merville Barracks.
Saturday, 1 October 2016
Does anyone else think it's weird our 9th, 10th, 11th & 12th months are literally named 7th, 8th, 9th & 10th (Sept to Dec)?
I'm sure there's a perfunctory, boring reason - probably at the behest of one of history's most interesting & romantic figures - the civil servant; but I don't think I want to know that.
I'm with the 8 year old me who would imagine an upside down table in the living room was a boat being thrown about on the (shark infested) high seas.
I'd rather imagine some invading horde besieged Rome with their strange aquamarine banners, stitched in the Urals or Katmandu by expert craftsmen who were killed on completion to keep the secrets of their intricate craft from falling into enemy hands, fluttering in the breeze on the banks of the Tiber, to demand some late Emperor or early Pope insert an extra two months in the calendar.
Perhaps the truth is stranger still and more interesting, perhaps more baffling. But I doubt it. So don't tell me.
And as I look at the calendar proclaiming today the tenth month of the year, called October, starts and we move further into autumn and headlong towards 2017 wherein I shall be another year older and continue to pay bills and put up with all the cares and worries of adulthood, I can at least imagine those swarthy hordes encamped outside the Eternal City to demand those two extra months.
If it didn't happen that way I don't want to know about it.
Below: a Goth. He likes Blue Oyster Cult and tribal tattoos. His mum says he should clean his room and wear brighter clothes. Whatevs.
Friday, 30 September 2016
As Warden Hodges (a character I have based my entire persona on) might intone: "RUDDY HOOLIGANS!"
It was like (the Sly Stallone/Davide Carradine film) Death Race 2000 trying to cross the road this morning.
Two social outcasts were bearing down on me at the speed of sound (I could tell, as the Abba medley they were blaring out reached my ear as they drew level). Only their twisted grimaces were visible through the grimy windscreen - the kind you see backwoodsmen driving in those horror road movies which invariably involve a digit or two being lost to a rusty blade.
And how apt, for 'twas the kings of the rusty Stanley blade themselves. The fearsome duo who walk around local shops just to wear down their carpets in an evil plot to garner business. The cads!
Some foul abuse was thrown from the open window as the driver cursed about my shop not selling suitable receptacles for Freddo Bars as the passenger (ensconced within what locals, with a wobble in their voice, call the "offcut van") laughed with a blood-curdling chuckle (the type only a hired-help can truly master over countless cups of tea).
Passers-by cowed in horror at the sight of such anti-social behaviour in broad daylight, though it may have been at the graffiti written on the back of the van (finger in dirt style), employing various cuss words and questioning the parentage of the boss of Carpet Rite. Who cares? Er I mean, who knows?
Then with a Speedy Gonzalez (and deeply racist act of cultural misappropriation) shout of "andalé, andalé" (though in hindsight it may have been "underlay underlay") they were off with a wheel-spin to the rough end of the high street where the police will only patrol in pairs and the grannies have tattoos with swear words.
I barely escaped with my life. It's true. Honest.
Sunday, 25 September 2016
A few lessons:
1. As with Brexit, politicians learn that democracy sucks.
2. People - especially (but not exclusively) on the left - have had enough of spin & dodgy foreign wars. Thank God, or we'd be in Syria now supporting the decapitating "moderate" terrorists by bombing Syrian troops and creating another Islamist failed state like Libya.
3. MPs (as with Brexit) think they know better than the plebs. It will take them a long time to realise that: a. They don't. b. This antagonises people. A lot.
4. Politics is no longer straightforward. No more left v right. Voters especially are cherry-picking causes. For example I'd class myself as anti-war (classically left wing) but wanting strict migration controls (classically right wing), I'm against crony capitalism & favour protecting workers wages (left) but am pro life and pro death penalty for paedophiles (right). The idea that everyone is "left" or "right" is dead. But I think the parties and journalists haven't learnt this yet as they live in their own political bubbles.
5. Corbyn may win more votes in Scotland, but the SNP is so left-wing and Scottish Labour is semi-UDI will it have an impact?
6. Ironically Corbyn may win more votes in white, English working class communities (from ukip) because they were fed up of posh out of touch metropolitan "latte Labour" - but his inability to overturn the leftist dogma of open door migration will be a millstone for labour amongst the poorer English.
7. Despite the last two points the classic 'Mondeo Man' voter whom the Tories & Labour want to target in the Home Counties may well think Corbyn is too socialist for them.
8. One thing is for sure, this will reinvigorate politics. And at least HM Opposition may actually oppose HM Government on key areas (esp foreign wars).
9. It will also be interesting to see what bilge messers Blair, Mandelson, Campbell & the other corrupt New Labour war criminals come up with.
Interesting times ahead... Foshizzle.
Sunday, 22 May 2016
He got out of the bath today (no mean feat for a spider) all dripping wet and proceeded to tidy up his toys.
"What a polite young spider" you're possibly thinking at this stage, and you'd be right to. He the very model of arachnid courtesy and civility. He's nothing if not refined and chivalrous.
But wait! There he was still somewhat moist after towling himself down (I had turned away. I'm no prude but there are private moments in a spider's life that simply do not bear scrutiny bordering on intrusiveness). This can take awhile as size is relative and what gives him a head start viz lack of armpits, is soon downgraded (to quote Donald Rumsfeld) in his overabundance in thighs. I was going to say groinage, but ever the gentleman...
Anyhoo, there he was still damp as a Lib Dem election promise, pottering about with one of his favourite bath toys (see pic) when he went to switch off the light switch.
Oh silly Bart!
"No!!!" I intoned, loud enough to warrant the use of at least three exclamation marks. Just in time to save my soggy, spider chum from the possibility of a shock greater than that of Lewis Hamilton paying his taxes.
And so a minor disaster was averted. I'm not ashamed to say we had a brief hug in recognition of the moment, cementing our bromance in the best traditions of man-spider friendship stretching back, through the centuries, to a wee cave in Bonnie Scotland wherein sat The Bruce.
Bart says it goes back further to a Greek spider scaring Archimedes in the bath, but that's another story.
Far be it from me to engage in pointless hyperbole, as I once told the Sultan of Brunei as we sipped cocktails on the poop deck of his Royal Yacht 'Loaded Innit,' but I am due to be crowned the King of Scotland.
Yes it's true. You see Mrs H's family goes back to Robert the Bruce (see pic here) and the Stuart line.
Oh BoJo may think he's a big knob (if stories in Private Eye are to be believed) with links to the Hapsburgs, but when it comes to royalty, right here right now, I have it on good authority (Patch the dog) that I am what the common people call "a shoe in" for the post.
Now we all know the SNP rule north of the border, even though they didn't get the independence vote so many wanted, so here's my plan.
I'm going to write a letter (I know, old school right? So very, Mary Queen of Scots) to the Scottish Parliament at Holyrood to stake my claim and await the popular acclamation and adulation that (modest though I am) is sure to follow, just as day follows night.
Then, just like Bonnie Prince Charlie, the rightful Stuart King (deposed by a bunch of scheming German Protestants & English merchants) I will make the long march (only northwards this time!) to reclaim my crown. Culloden will be avenged.
And there we are. The rest should run quite smoothly. King Gareth I of Scotland. I like it. It flows as smoothly as a fine old Glenmoranjie malt.
And before the accusations fly, let me say that I'll be a magnanimous King. I will seek alliances with old Royal Houses. It could be fun! Who's with me? Let's get the Bourbons, Hapsburgs, and Romanovs back on the thrown. Let's make Tara Hill & Machynllyth centres of Royal culture and power again.
Any advice on what my 'Letter to Hollyrood' should consist of I'd be mightily obliged. I want to come across as regal and firm, but not overbearing and haughty.
I'll also need some help designing my new Royal Crest. I'm thinking the ancient Stuart crest of Scotland with a dragon added, like Margaret Tudor's (see image here) which had the Welsh dragon the Tudor's introduced to the English crown, but a bit more 'blokey' perhaps with a small Bluebird on there. Plus something borrowed from County Cork for my own paternal lineage ("Bene Fide" has a nice ring to it).
For my retinue when we decamp to our ancient holdings in Scotland I'm going to need some very loyal advisors. Send your CVs into Hurley Towers. We will, of course, like all royal families, keep our holdings outside of our realm, and so the people of Wales won't lose our presence totally once we (the Royal we) ascend the throne atop the Stone of Scone.
Sunday, 20 March 2016
I took this pic on Friday as I took Patch the Dog for a walk (or vice versa). There's something that renews my wonder of the world when I see rays of sunshine shining through the clouds. Like a child who sees something new and exciting for the first time.
Yes even with Patch yanking my arm out of its socket and the usual worries of work, bills etc etc, every now and then something reminds me to stop and wonder at the glory of God's creation.
Yes. Even you Patch.