Home » Month: May 2019

Well Wishers

Wee Monsters. No comment needed, really, except a quick, brief-but-savage jeer at the endless hypocrisy of the soi-disant Free World, plague take them. As I said before, in imperial politics what’s good for the geese is seldom good for the gander. Gulf of Tonkin Incident, anyone?
Douce Mère de Bumba, priez pour nous…

Personal Gripes

Birthday Reds. Well, it makes a change from the old tiresome birthday blues, innit? So, 72 (tomorrow) and counting. I wonder when I’m going to get perfectly fed up with all this computing, computing… However, I’m still in good company and that counts for something. Look, even the Shub-Niggurath has joined the exquisite Li-Lo (another lot of distant relatives of the delightful Mi-Go) and other guest to the party. Judiciously she has brought with her, across the Mountains of Madness, her own little cloud of stroppy despondency, just in case things get too chirpy and fluffy, what with the fizzy finches, and the Li-Lo being congenital optimists, and the cat a born hedonist and the Musical Teddy far too fond of Conchita Piquer. That’s my girl!

I Spy, With My Little Whale…

Spymaster. Here is a snippet of Beluga tittle-tattle. Meet Captain Bubbles, Russian spymaster extraordinaire, singing the praises of The Service to a small crowd of rapt admirers. Well, one is rapt. The wee fish remains sceptic, as it’s his wont. He’s a very disenchanted creature, he is. (Well, he would be, wouldn’t he?)
This Loony Tune was inspired by the latest-but-one chapter in the Russia-Done-It! deranged soap opera. The latest, of course, is the Barr-Him-and-Throw-Him-to-the-Dogs! dingdong. Which only shows that when people are determined to make prats of themselves nothing, not even inquiries, investigations, analysis, inspections, scrutiny and even hard evidence, will stop them from clinging like limpets to whatever notions, doctrines, dogmas, whathaveyous, make them feel safe and secure and comfortable. In other words, intellectual laziness is endless, unlike common sense and  goodwill.
What most gives me the giggles about this sorry-ass story, though, is the fact that inside the harness, they claim, was written “Equipment of St. Petersburg”. In English! Ain’t that considerate of the Russians? Next they’ll be posting helpful notices, in English, too, everywhere saying: Yes. We spy on you all. Every hour of every day. We know where you live. Moooo ha, ha ha…!
Here’s a link or two to the Belugosi romp. The second link is worth checking be it only for the extended footage of the darling whale. I had no idea that Belugas were that cute. Positively edible, what!
https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2019/apr/29/whale-with-harness-could-be-russian-weapon-say-norwegian-experts
https://www.rt.com/news/457826-russian-navy-beluga-norway/
Also, as a bonus, an extra link to something that I knew was being done but I thought it was only done on the quiet, never acknowledged. It turns out that is an open and flourishing racket. Maybe I’ll get myself one of those to cheer me along…:-)
https://www.rentacrowduk.co.uk/
Rent-a-crowd? Those who rallied against Sessions, now protest his removal – YouTube
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=bocHsZ988sI

Elections

Choices2. Well, it could have been so much worse, innit? My natural pessimism was predicting, Cassandra-like, a considerable victory for the three (increasingly rabid) right wing parties, wot would have coalesced immediately into a dread tripartite nightmare. As things stand, it’s bad enough that Vox has got in any sodding reps at all, and 24 is far, far, far too effing many. About the vast majority of ERC in Catalonia, the least said the better for my ulcer. As for Cs huge success … don’t get me started.
Funny old thing, though. For once, it was the Right that fragmented into an unseemly (and uncharacteristic) display of high-pitched bitching and backstabbing. This kind of indecorous, not to say impractical, behaviour, generally befalls the Left’s encampment. Or our current Tory pigsty. It’s nice, though. Refreshing.
My best wishes (tempered by thin hopes) to don Pedrito and his merry lot of autochthonous quasi-New Labour clones.
Life goes on. Regardless. It must.
I can’t go on. I’ll go on.
Samuel Beckett
And she crawled on, do or die, in the serene weather.
Joseph Conrad