Letters Spray

I'm obliged to Big Al who forwarded me the following alleged mis-prints and typos from Church Magazines. They are quite amusing even if possibly not 100% true!

"Next weekend's Fasting & Prayer Conference in Whitby includes all meals."

Sunday morning sermon: 'Jesus Walks on the Water'Sunday evening sermon: 'Searching for Jesus.'

"Ladies, don't forget the rummage sale. It's a chance to get rid of those things not worth keeping around the house. Bring your husbands."

"Remember in prayer the many who are sick of our community."

"Smile at someone who is hard to love. Say 'Hell' to someone who doesn't care much about you."

"Don't let worry kill you off - let the Church help."

"Miss Charlene Mason sang 'I will not pass this way again,' giving obvious pleasure to the congregation ."

"For those of you who have children and don't know it, we have a nursery downstairs."

"Next Thursday there will be tryouts for the choir. They need all the help they can get."

"Irving Benson and Jessie Carter were married on October 24 in the church. So ends a friendship that began in their school days."

"At the evening service tonight, the sermon topic will be 'What Is Hell?' Come early and listen to our choir practice "

"Eight new choir robes are currently needed due to the addition of several new members and to the deterioration of some older ones."

"Scouts are saving aluminium cans, bottles and other items to be recycled. Proceeds will be used to cripple children. "

"Please place your donation in the envelope along with the deceased person you want remembered."

"The church will host an evening of fine dining, super entertainment and gracious hostility."

"Potluck supper Sunday at 5:00 PM - prayer and medication to follow."

"The ladies of the Church have cast off clothing of every kind. They may be seen in the basement on Friday afternoon."

"This evening at 7 PM there will be a hymn singing in the park across from the Church. Bring a blanket and come prepared to sin."

"The pastor would appreciate it if the ladies of the Congregation would lend him their electric girdles for the pancake breakfast next Sunday."

"Low Self Esteem Support Group will meet Thursday at 7 PM. Please use the back door."

"The school drama group will be presenting Shakespeare's Hamlet in the Church hall on Friday at 7 PM. The congregation is invited to attend this tragedy."

"Weight Watchers will meet at 7 PM at the First Presbyterian Church. Please use large double door at the side entrance."

"The Associate Minister unveiled the church's new campaign slogan last Sunday: 'I Upped My Pledge - Up Yours!' "

A Moral Dilemma

The other day a brown envelope plopped through the door (what is it about "brown" and "plopping"?) and it has placed me in an ethical dilemma which I will share with you.

The Brown Missive turned out to be a form for me, as a newly turned 60 year old, to claim a heating allowance of £200 for this winter.

"What's the problem?", I hear you ask. "It's a flat rate non-means-tested benefit and your only problem is admitting to yourself and others that you're an old wrinkly. More Neil Young than Bruce Springsteen, but surgery has its risks".

Well I'm an active self-employed pillock of the internet rag-n'-bone community and pay my way with income tax and VAT so don't actually need £200 from the government to heat my house. I'm sure there are (a few) deserving people who can't afford to heat their houses themselves but I'm not one of them.

Then the voice of the expenses office can be heard. "Go on! Everyone is claiming it - it's what it's there for. It's perfectly within the rules, totally legal and you are expected to claim it unless some junior clerk flogs the CD to the Daily Telegraph in which case we're all bang to rights".

I was debating with myself whether I should forgo this government (ie taxpayer's) money because I didn't need it , when I suddenly remembered a good reason why I DID need the extra money.

MY MOAT NEEDS SORTING OUT!

That was the scene at around 7pm last night when my moat looked as though it was going to create a banking crisis all of its own.

However, fear not. Norfolk has returned to normal this morning and this was a Lily Eye view from the road at 7am.

All we hear is, Lady O'Ga Ga

What a classic Glastonbury 2009 is turning out to be! Some of the flabby old wrinklies on stage look as though they can hardly even stand up! But that's enough about Lily Allen's dress for the moment.

What has really made the event so enjoyable this year has been our new big telly which I've now got wired into the old hi-fi for all round audio with thumping bass from the sub-woofer. Oz always did have a good sense of rhythm. You can almost FEEL you are there, but that may be more due to my other devices - we've slept on the stairs, eaten cold baked beans with senna pods added, used a hole in the back lawn as a toilet and not changed clothes for 3 days. (Nobody noticed the last one in my case)

Highlights have been Steven Stills old Fender, Lady Ga Ga putting on a fabulous visual show, The Ting Tings and best of all, the grouchy old bear Neil Young proving he can still blow them all off the stage. Genius! Blur and Springsteen have yet to come along and spoil the party though.

The BBC should stop their ridiculous self-flagellation (publishing their expenses then wandering through the streets asking for public reaction!??) and congratulate themselves on a Festival coverage second to none which is worth an increase in licence fee all by itself. I only have two gripes (Ed: only two?)

1. Why do we have to have the brilliant show interrupted by tortuous 5 minute segments where a "zany" presenter goes off to see the "wacky" entertainers and extroverts in wigwams and silly haircuts doing "madcap" things like juggling. These buffoons and Colin Hunts in hippy hats and brightly coloured overalls are trying harder than CBBC presenters and think they are being hip and entertaining when they are merely buttock-clenchingly embarrassing. I suppose after 3 days of dodgy latrines at least the buttock-clenching comes in useful.

2. Jo Wiley. She is paid £100,000 a year more than John Humphries to sit in armchairs and talk shite with faux-enthusiasm. I'm sure her surname must give us a clue as to how on earth she obtained this dream gig with zero talent. Bring back Annie Nightingale in shades, I say! She'd do a much better job for a tenth of the fee.

I have to admit that Lily Allen was rather good, strutting up and down singing about effing and blinding and giving head with her grandad gazing down proudly from the VIP balcony. There was a touching moment when she told the crowd how it was exactly a year since she lost her grandma at last year's Glastonbury.

I'm not surprised. It's a massive place and rammed with people.

Losing my Religion

Did I ever mention the time I met Rock Group R.E.M.?

Here's a picture.

That's me in the corner.

Joke du Jour

Sorry not much time to post today as I'm VERY BUSY!!!



Patient: Doctor I think I'm going deaf.



Doctor: Really? What are the symptoms?



Patient: They're a yellow cartoon family that live in Springfield. How does that help?

The wrong sort of Pressure

The forecasters have been going on about approaching high pressure for days and days, but this morning it appears they are correct and a glorious long day of high Summer is in progress.

At risk of becoming extremely irritating, these are the days that I REALLY appreciate our decision to sling our jobs in and acquire the discretion to not work for unappreciative employers on the monthly cycle of wage-slavery. It came with the discretion to not have any regular income and work seven days a week but hey, you can't have everything!

Pressure isn't really pressure if you have the power to do something about it yourself. Now I really do appreciate High Pressure!

Facebook users will know that there has been a lot of jabber about "Facebook URL's" and everyone has been "bagging" their own. Here's mine:

www.facebook.com/smug.git

A few Initial Thoughts .....

I sometimes wonder if people with surnames such as, say, "Vessel", imagine the consequences when they christen their offspring "Michael Terence" and the poor child has to sign in as "M.T. Vessel" for the rest of his life.

This must have been a great problem to the extended family of East Angular's second leading blogger Dave East. He has relations all over the region (well he does have a bicycle) and I thought I'd let you know about a few of them:

Bertram East : A bounder and a cad. Used to live in Bolsover.

Fred East : A lover of fine foods. Sometimes possibly known as Fred Amin because you never see them both in the same place at the same time.

Derek Colin East : Sadly no longer with us. Also, sadly, his late wife Muriel East.

Barry Richard East: His amazing recall led him to become known as "the Man with 2 Memories".

Yuri East: Moved here from Latvia and rose very quickly to make an awful lot of bread.

Colin Robert East: Famous for his unkempt appearance. Known as "Crumpled Zone" which I suppose must be a bit like Boyzone without the Iron.

Percy East : Frankly, a bit of an old soak. Often pointed porcelainwards.

Lennie East : Very competitive. Never wants to be Last. (Bit like Dave really!)

Has anyone come across any other branches of this diverse dynasty?

The Most Hilarious Post So Far!!!!

Angles of Incidence and Reflection

It's often said that our sense of smell is the strongest of the senses, but I find music can be an extremely potent stimulus to memory. Do you ever find yourself driving past a particular spot and suddenly remember what you were listening to on a previous occasion?

In 1972 I had just moved up to this part of the world from London and travelled around in my first vehicle which was a Ford Anglia Van (I'd heard it flooded up here!). It was pretty much state-of-the-art as I had fitted a Halfords windscreen washer kit and a cassette player with a big old Radio speaker in the back. As I drove through Thetford Forest the other day I recalled driving past the same spot 36 years previously in the Ford Anglia playing "Harvest" Album from Neil Young and suddenly the thumping bass rift intro to "Heart of Gold" flooded back into my consciousness.

I remember it was a pretty miserable time as I had no friends up here and would often just drive around pretty aimlessly at the weekend listening to Mr Young singing "Just a lonely boy, out on the weekend". Another of the tracks which was constantly buzzing in my mind was "Old Man" with the line "twenty four and there's so much more" having particular resonance for me at the time.


Well there certainly was a lot more, but suddenly I'm looking back from the perspective of the "Old Man". It must feel a bit odd for Neil Young to be still banging out the tune, and the same thought occurred to me the other day when I watched Cat "Yussuf" Stevens singing "Father & Son" from a very different vantage point.

As for myself I've actually found that Heart of Gold, but I'm still driving around Thetford Forest in a bloody van!

That's not My Name!

People with long names inevitably get them shortened, but you wouldn't think someone with a two letter name would develop many nom-de-plumes. Listening to the Ting Tings made me suddenly realise how many names Oz answers to.

Here's the top 10:

1. Oz

2. The Tibetan Terrierist

3. Ozwald

4. Mr O.

5. Moseley (This came about from his blog rather from any political affiliations he may have)

6. Mosel

7. Mummy's Little Prince

8. The Ozster

9. The Ozmeister

10. Why you bloody little.....

I say "answers to" but the truth is he doesn't answer to any of them. He's his own chap, is Ozwald, and he keeps his paws close to his chest.

Cutting Edge

I was thinking the other day about the Higgs Boson as a massive scalar elementary particle predicted to exist by the Standard Model in particle physics. Surely, I mused, it would explain the difference between the Massless Photon which mediates electromagnetism, and the massive W and Z bosons?

My other theory relates to the time space continuum and concerns the most infinitesimal slice of time imaginable. I'm putting forward the theory that the smallest possible blink of time can only be measured as the time it takes for a cool, hip and edgy stand-up comedian to transform into an embarrassing Uncle Nobhead.

I'm calling it the Vicreeves Quotient.

Sadly I believe I may have already made this transition myself at some nanosecond in the last few years.

Joined Up Government

The Rowntree Foundation puts Britain at the bottom of the EU15 countries in child poverty.

(A.) Ministers are making it a legal duty for the government, local authorities and other organisations to help to end child poverty across the UK.

(B.) The Government and their Consultants, by bailing out the bankers and supporting an over inflated public sector has left our children with a National debt of £1.5 Trillion Pounds (and rising) to pay off in the coming years.

The Ties that Bind

The trouble with being one of the 1.5 billion web users of the 21st Century is that we have lost all contact with practical, physical and useful skills. If the electricity gets cut off and there are petrol shortages it won't be any good brightly suggesting that you can animate a GIF or insert tables into Word Documents.

I heard David Mitchell suggest recently that most employed jobs are not THAT useful and a large proportion of the workforce have a day comprising:

1. go to work

2. do clicking

3. then go home again.

All the basic old skills of life such as building walls, growing food and making furniture have disappeared (I'm just glad I live not too far from Dave who has made himself responsible for carrying on these practical matters). Even he would be hard pressed to make glass or produce bread from wheat though.

Simple skills such as tying knots in rope have all but died out. Thirty years ago boys and girls would learn dozens of practical knots at scouts and guides, and that ability to knock up a quick sheepshank would stay with them for the rest of their lives, or at least until the injections wore off.

That's why I was greatly encouraged to see the BBC promoting a series of podcasts in which an accomplished American expert in knots had come over to this country to promote knots and knotting. At last! - a practical step to start putting us all back in touch with reality and the essential skills of everyday living.

However, I was let down when I started listen to the Reef Lectures.

Cot

'Allo tous les mondes!

Je suis Lily et ce ici est mon lit. Il est dans une cage pour preventer moi de wandering dans la nuit et me coucher avec Monsieur Oz et pour ma "maison training".

Les Anglais!!!

In the Kingdom of the Blind...

I've got a radical suggestion for you.

It occurred to me whilst I was scrolling through the bogroll of a Euro Election ballot paper the other day deciding which bunch of chancers to send off to expense account heaven in Brussels. I tried to be positive and non-cynical but couldn't find anyone to give me that "Obama Rush" of enthusiasm a voter needs to feel inspired and connected with the socio-political World of today.

And that was just it.

Standing in an under-used social hall with a pencil and paper confronted by dozens of names and parties I'd never heard of left me with the idea that many people have become detached from the free democratic system that our forefathers fought so hard to build up and protect. We live in an information rich age where a single civil servant can leave billions of names and details down the back of his train seat, yet most of us are information-poor when it comes to obtaining the knowledge we need to support democracy properly. "In the kingdom of the blind the one-eyed man is king" does appear to hold water as we have Mr Brown in charge.

So here's my idea, starting now.

There IS a party, a young organization of 22,000 highly talented individuals whose work we all deal with on a daily basis. They are highly profitable yet don't require subsidy or support, they don't have a "blame culture" but just get on with their job in a perfect "low flat hierarchy" with the admirable mission statement "don't do harm".

They are not afraid to experiment with new ideas which are nurtured until they can stand on their own feet and make a positive contribution to the community. They know about our daily lives in great detail and know where all the information in the World is kept.

So come on, let's give them our wholehearted support! They CAN rule the World!

Vote Google!

No Strings Attached

Did I ever tell you about the village balloon race I won a couple of years ago?

It was one of those old fashioned local fete things where you write your address on a label and it gets tied to a helium filled balloon and released - the label that gets returned from the most distance wins.

Months later I was rung up one evening by someone who sounded distinctly pissed and informed that I had won the first prize. He turned out to be the pilot of a hot air balloon and my prize was a trip across cow fields, high-voltage pylons and bat sanctuaries in his hot-air propelled vehicle. I politely declined, advising him that I had a far more attractive offer having my eyelids removed with red hot pliers.

Not least of my worries was how exactly does one overcome the lack of toilet facilities in a small basket 2000 feet above the ground?

I needn't have worried on that score.

Apparently there is a thing called a wickerpeedia.

Warding Off Ginger Groups

Election Fever has reached a new pitch of excitement as yet another leaflet comes through the door. The joke is that the European Parliament for which votes are required makes the Westminster expenses gravy train look like an Oxo Cube on the back of a Farish N Gauge Class 57xx Locomotive with a Tender behind. Which is what all major party leaders will have shortly.

Oz feigns disinterest as Lily checks out the small print in the local manifestos.

I wonder why voting areas are called "wards"?

I suppose there is a connection with hospitals. Governments are quite like a Hospitals... you lie there powerless to do anything whilst lots of palliative drugs and some occasional surgery is administered.

And the Government does spend a fortune on consultants.

Our ward is appositely named. Guiltcross.

DNA and a Walking Stick

Sometimes realizations take years to creep up on you and sometimes they just suddenly leap out of the cupboard and punch you in the face in what Twitterers and Texters would describe as an "OMG!!!" moment.

This morning as I was putting on my shoes for the morning dog walk, I remembered in time that the path by the railway track was starting to become overgrown with nettles. A quick rummage under the stairs and I found a suitable walking stick with which to attack the undergrowth and keep the North-West Passage to Wibbly open.

Five minutes later there I was, striding purposefully down the grassy track swinging my walking stick and (just about) restraining a cute but extremely dippy mutt on the end of a lead when ....POW!!! Yes it suddenly struck me! That mysterious alchemy of Darwinism and Pavlovian conditioning had finally worked its magic and the impossible had happened! The Old English Sheepdog had shrunk to a heeby-jeeby but yes.....

I'd turned into my Dad!

The awfulness of this thought left me so perturbed that on my return to the house I had to compile a list of differences to console myself:

Things I do now that my Dad would never have done in a million years :

1. Wear shorts - his knees disappeared in Palestine in 1948 never to be seen again.

2. Grow a beard. "Trying to hide something, Johnny Beardy!".

3. Swim. Fear of water, even in his whisky.

4. Give up a Salaried Job to "go it alone". Dad hung on to a salary until he was way past retirement age.

5. Give up Smoking. I find it difficult to recall a single picture of him without a brier pipe in his mouth.

6. Written down intimate details about his Dad on the Internet.

At this point I remembered that his father had died when my father was just 5 years old and his subsequent struggle through childhood poverty probably produced most of his quirkiness and character. I also remembered his kindliness and humour, dedication and steadfast support.

I tore my list up. Perhaps it's not such a bad thing after all.