The beauty of having a very, very quiet New Year's Eve is that not only can you support your brand-new four-legged friend in her valiant effort at protecting her new home from the whizz-bangs, but also you can listen to the totally gorgeous sound made by champagne bubbles inside a crystal glass. I've never noticed before, but it really does sound lovely. If I had a good microphone (well okay - any sort of a microphone, not to mention the technical know-how), I'd post a soundbite here. As things stand, you'll have to make do with a picture and imagine the rest. As a consolation, though, and not a bad one at that, I'll give you what I guess might be my final choice as my one Desert Island Disc. Not terribly original, but lovely regardless.
Goodbye, 2007. This has been a very, very good year for me.
Happy New Year.
Monday, December 31, 2007
Champagne can be taken aurally. Try it.
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81 comments:
Happy New Year, Anna!
Happy New Year from me too. It's nicer to spend New Year's Eve doing whatever suits, without any pressure that one "should" be going out and painting the town red or whatever. I had a very nice one, saw a few friends and we had food and drink round at their house.
I hope 2008 turns out as well for you as 2007 did x
Happy new year, Princeling and Dogot.
x
Happy 2008!
Great music, but I can't help thinking it might do bad things to one's mental health to be reminded of the wonderful world of one's past when stuck on an isolated desert island with only the Bible and Shakespeare for company. I think I'd go for Barber's Adagio for Strings.
But why would Barber's Adagio for Strings not remind you of the wonderful world of your past, But Why? The potential for bad things happening to one's mental health seems heightened by such music, not lessened, as far as I can tell (which, of course, is exactly why I like it so much.) Happy New Year, by the way.
Anna MR, hei (yet again). There is something extremely satisfying about that photograph. I don't know what it is, exactly, but it just totally pleases me. So crisp and clear and...something.
Anyway, why didn't you already know that champagne bubbles sing and tinkle in crystal? That seems like a bit of an oversight, really. A tragedy, even.
Glad to hear you had such a good 2007, though. That's very good news indeed.
Take it easy, beautiful foreigner.
TPE
Hei Anna and Dogot !
A Very Good 2008 to you.......
I still have to open mine........
the year is young....
xx
Hei Navas, and a Happy New Year to you too.
housut - Happy New Year. Glad to hear you had a nice time (the perks of adulthood, I find, is that you feel the pressures of "should" much less). And thank you, my hopes are high for 2008. Hope it turns out lovely for you too, esteemed blogpal.
Signsikins, my fellow Princeling, Miss Dogot and I thank you from the bottom(s) of our rather symbiotic heart(s), and wish you a totally wonder time in 2008. We haven't forgotten you dog thinklings, either, and are keeping our paws crossed for you. Mwah, dear heart, double mwah (with a nose-lick attached - that'd be Miss D). Good things only coming your way, courtesy of Sami magic.
Hei Tri Mutta Miksi?, Happy 2008 to you too. I need to go and check to see if I'm familiar with your DID, as unfortunately a lot of music is, for me, recognisable by hummed sequences (you know the one that goes duh-da-dee duh-da-dee duh, dee-da-duh duh-da-dee duh-da-dee duh? With flutes of some description? Been after that one for ages), rather than titles. However, it comes highly recommended (twice now, I believe) on this thread, so I'm sure it's fab. I have ummed and ah'ed a lot over the Desert Island Disc thing, in my time, as there was talk for the longest time of arranging a DID party, and I had to take this quite seriously. The reason I would (probably) land up taking this is that, I don't know. I love the way his voice seems to carry the pain and loss and love and beauty which make the real essence of life. On my desert island I would listen to it on New Year's Eve, at the stroke of midnight, and dance to it, maybe with the wicker man I would have whittled out of willow switches the previous spring (I am good at whittling willow, as it happens, although I haven't tried men yet, specialising rather on whistles). Please do note a couple of things though - having tried life in the tropics, and having found it isn't really to my liking, I must insist my desert island to be off the southern coast of Finland (plenty of uninhabited and small islands) or, at a push, in the Greek archipelago (I have been led to believe the Scottish islands are gorgeous, too. You get the picture though, okay? No palm trees etc). And for my one luxury item I'll take a beautiful and fabulous Macintosh laptop with an infallible broadband internet connection, and I tell you Mutta, I am made (it'll be a close touch between the maccy and Miss Dogot, true, but I think Miss Dogot will lose out in the end. Oh dear oh dear, my poor mutt. Shhh, don't be telling her). I won't miss a thing (oh - and a never-ending supply of cigarettes, please. Good. Thank you). And But, oh, I have a feeling I have left you stranded in a comment thread somewhere below this post. I shall catch up with you there soon, I promise.
TPE McHotHorse, hello and hei. I know, I know, it is a disgrace not to have heard them "sing and tinkle" (you put it lovely-ly, dear heart, totally lovely-ly, and accurately too for it is what they do exactly). I had of course been aware of a fizzing sound, but to my recollection, this was the first time I put the glass right to my ear (rather than to my lips only) and heard the full wonder.
Very, very pleased you like the photo. Maybe with your psychic sense you can tell I am toasting love, friendship, the miracle wonders of life, and that's the something about it that pleases you.
Sending you love and friendship and the miracle wonders of life, TPE. You are a star.
LavenderBlue, dear girl, I don't know what happened there but you sort of disappeared and then came back again. HAPPY NEW YEAR, okay girl? Did not mean to leave you unanswered. Enjoy the champs when you crack it open, and don't forget to listen. x
tpe,
Beautiful and heart-aching music though it is, for me it will also be inextricable entwined with memories of very long, arduous and arm-achingly painful violin practice - trying to hold those massive, long and slurred notes of the opening. Fantastic chords, though. Great to listen to such beautiful stuff without the pain of trying to produce it.
Anna,
Ah, in that case, my DID goes like this:
Deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh-daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh-deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh-deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah-deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeer-deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeer-deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah-ddeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeer-duuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhmmmmmm.....
And so on. Does it ring any bells?
Do Scottish/Finnish Islands count as deserts? Are we talking culturally?
But Why? is seen fleeing the scene of the insult, exits stage left.
Anna/dogot, thank you kindly for crossed paws and Sami magic, both of which I will be grateful for. But don't tell my cat.
But Why, you hold the notes beautifully, but you need to put in all the deedaahdeedaahs going on in the background. I can never hear this now without thinking of Herzog's Enigma of Kaspar Hauser.
Hmm. But Why, whilst I'm not entirely certain that your rendition will ring any bells for (silly) Anna MR, I do feel pretty sure I lost my virginity to that tune, you know. It sounds so familiar.
"Anyway.....thanks TPE, I hope you have a good and happy new year, too."
I'm just putting that in there for you, But Why, because I imagine you're too busy with culture to pay much heed to common courtesy. In the barren Finnish and Scottish wastelands we are forced to turn our minds to such things, as there is simply nothing else to detain us. Nightmare.
Wow. Insults are fun.
It is a beautiful (and searing) piece of music, isn't it? I prefer to hear choral versions of it, in fact - although not by some rubbish children's choir which even the parents will hate. (Just as a by the by, but children's orchestras and the like should very probably be banned. These people are hopeless. Hopeless.) Yes, I just find it a wee bit more achey and painful when the music is rendered by the human voice. There is a slight tendency for the violins to sound a teeny bit saccharine in places, for some reason, and I don't find this to be the case when the piece is sung. Obviously, this is just a personal preference and so barely counts for anything, but I wonder if you know what I mean?
I suppose, if you were to take a choral version to this island of yours, then you would still have the full benefit of the achingly painful music, but without the overt reminders of your violin-practice anguish. I'm right about this, I can just feel it.
Failing that, you could always take a version as performed by children and then you won't have a clue what you're listening to anyway - and so will be reminded of nothing. Nothing. (Please be advised that you may well start to feel a dull longing for death.)
Nice to see you again, But Why.
Anna MR, hei. How are you doing today, lovely human? I think you're probably right, it was my staggering psychic powers that saw me totally nail the meaning behind the picture.
For a moment there I was a wee bit worried that I only liked it so much because I was wildly craving alcohol after more than two painfully long, painfully dry years. The pop of the cork, the rushing fizzy wonder, the tinkly harmonies inside the glass.....the dubious bed companions, the kebab on the pillow, the loss of memory, the sheep. Oh sweet Jesus, I could do with a drink.
But yes. The composition pleases me and I can imagine it. I can't really explain that, I'm afraid, and it seems like a stupid thing to say because I don't need to imagine it - given the fact that, you know, it's right there in front of me.
(Obviously, I knew it was all about love and friendship, you loon, but I'm trying to muddy the waters and throw people off the scent before we announce that I'm pregnant with your child.)
Seriously, I should go.
Kissing your tummy etc....
TPE
Anna,
Forgive me for a while as I address tpe...
tpe,
Where did my manners go to? But of course, I had by that point returned to work and the concept of being friendly to people would not cross my mind again until the weekend struck. So, now I can wish you a Happy New Year without any attendent insincerity, bile, or bitterness, and I shall.
Fanfare
HAPPY NEW YEAR tpe. May this for you be a year of unending joy and glorius haggis.
(You must be glad you waited...)
And as for being busy with culture, well, sadly not. Work, yes. Office politics, yes. Culture, no. (There are a few yoghurts in the office fridge, but that's the closest we come to culture there. Come to think of it, has yoghurt made it as far north as the Scottish wastelands??)
Human voice and pain, yes, I can identify with that. It'd be particularly true on that Finnish/Scottish culturally-deserted island to be listening to beautifiul music sung by a voice. Belonging to a person. Of which there will be none on that there Rannoch-Moor-esque barren wasteland of an island, with only bogs, failing light and the occasional wayward moose for company. That would be pain too far...
Lovely talking at you, tpe, but I feel I should perhaps now stop ignoring Anna.
Anna,
Nope. You lost me there. Way too cultured. Anyhow, what's with all this tummy-kissing? Have I happened upon some ancient Finnish parting ritual? Speaking of which, I must depart - the sun is up and I need to train for the annual humiliation of the fancy-dress half marathon...
No. They tried to introduce yoghurt into Scotland a wee while back but the people - sensibly enough - were having none of it.
"What's that?" they cried, "it looks like modern milk, wrong milk, Englander's milk. Or something."
There was a referendum, you know. Eighty-four percent of the people said "NO" to yoghurt. The remaining sixteen percent, those that said "Yes", were settlers - Englanders, But Why - and they all live on the islands, so no-one listens to them, anyway.
There's a kind of cruel justice at play here, but I can't quite finger it. Certainly, it means that I win our fight - this was inevitable, however - and it also means, critically, that Scotland remains a yoghurt-free state. All Hail Caledonia. Hail. Hail.
I think maybe the Finns rejected yoghurt in their own referendum - "what's that?" they cried, "it looks like.....blah blah..... blah....Russian/Swedisher's milk. Or something." Freedom fighters, every last one of them.
What else? Music stuff - yes, we are happily in accord, I feel. There's never really a right or wrong in these things anyway. (except for when I'm right, obv.)
And your haggisy new year salutations certainly seemed entirely free of insincerity, bile and bitterness. Well done. Good work everyone. A really moving moment, in fact. (I hope you can detect the total lack of insincerity here, too? Ah, friendship.)
Don't worry, tummy kissing is rampant on the streets of Helsinki. Finns are an uptight bunch, emotionally repressed and reserved, and so they don't really care for eye contact because it makes them feel uncomfortable. Tummy-kissing, it was agreed (by referendum, naturally), was a sensible way to get round this social awkwardness. I'm surprised you didn't know this, frankly.
Lovely to collide with you, But Why, you are v. funny.
Kind regards etc.....
TPE
Anna MR, hei. Don't tell me...you're out shopping for a winter coat? Sometimes - often, really - I am simply too psychic.
Listen, I think I've sorted The But Why Problem we discussed on the bed. I don't think she'll give you any more bother.
Holding your hips whilst biting the back of your legs etc.....(What? It's all the rage in Clonakilty. Sheesh.)
TPE x
Anna,
My heartiest apologies for the scenes of violence breaking out on your blog. I hope you have been charging for ringside seats. xx (placed appropriately on your tummy...)
tpe,
Play fair, now. You know that in England we have very little idea of what referendums are. You are lucky the ref hasn't docked you a point.
BTW, the bell for the end of the round went some time ago. I suggest we reconvene somewhere more appropriate for round two. Hugs 'n' snogs xx
Oh for God's sakes. You loonies have been talking so much here there's just no way I can address everything...(hello, by the way, TPE - Tummy-kisser Par Excellence, Dr But Why? Phd, University of Rude Insults, and - of course - The Fair Signsikins (yes, I see you honey, although you're hiding behind the wordy ones, being all coy and cultural) - apologies for resounding silence on the reply front. This is in no way to do with the fact that you have been frolicking around kissing each other left right and centre. No. I encourage kissing, here and elsewhere - in fact I encourage it most violently, preferably using teeth (see my latest post for proof) - and I mean of course using teeth for the kissing, not for the encouraging. Just to clarify. So, what the hell am I going to do with this stuff you've been going on about...?)
Okay. Let's see.
Yoghurt. No, no, no and no. TPE has it right (now what were the chances) - yoghurt is Swedener's Milk and as such to be avoided at all cost and ferried across the borders under police escort (just check the fat dude in the Arla yoghurt adverts if my reasoning isn't enough to convince you). However, TPE, I know you to be a (and I quote) "keen amateur historian" (self-confessed, on your blog, entry dated Christmas Eve 2006) and as such I would have expected you to get your full facts right. Russianer's Milk was (an is) not yoghurt but [cabbage] soup. So both soup and yoghurt are substances fiercely fought against over here. To this day, you will find graffiti (in the most unlikely places) against both substances invading our fair (if deserted) shores . You may wish to click on my signature link if my words aren't enough to convince you (which really, they should be. What are you implying - that your blog host is lying? That's not very nice, you know, not very nice at all.) Finns are indeedly a freedom-fighty lot, packed top-full of direst sisu, that untranslatable quality from whose grip no invader returns. It is, in fact, a little known fact that during the Second World War, the Russians were using cannons loaded with cabbage soup, aimed most heinously at the Finnish army, who outwitted them by wearing (Swedish) yoghurt (and nothing else) and thus camouflaging themselves into snow (it was vanilla yoghurt, okay? It was during the war, they didn't have many flavours) and saving the nation from invasion (also getting rid of the yoghurt stuff the Swedes had cunningly tried to slip in as War Aid, thus hitting two birds with one stone, as it were).
Yes. So that's enough about yoghurt. But Mutta, I have sold ring-side seats, now you come to mention it, and was feeding both self, offspring, and Miss Dogot with my takings (okay, there was some betting money trickling in too) but now, But, you have plunged us into financial ruin by ringing the bell for round two way in advance of time and rudely taking the fight elsewhere. I mean really. I have lost seventeen stone in weight, I will have you know, since losing this my main income, my children have contracted rickets (I hope you're feeling all pleased with yourself now), and the dog is gnawing on her own (hairless) tail for sustenance - and thus you have also brought about my long silence here, too - I had to take a proper job to try and make ends meet. Shock, horror, recoil. Some way of treating a blog pal, But. But then I guess big civilised cultured imperialist nations (NB and their nationals) (such as your good self, But) have always walked all over the primitive natives (me, in this case).
What else, for love's sake? McKisser of Tummies, I am delighted that the composition of the champers bottle and cork et c pleases you. I spent silly times (whilst heinously under the influence of the bottle pictured) (well, not the bottle as such - its contents, you understand) both arranging the shot and its sisters as well as framing the chosen shot in iPhoto. With your uncanny psychic powers, though (and yes, I was buying a winter coat (you are really good) - it is a mahogany brown coat to match my dressing gown, you'll be riveted to know), you must have seen I was suffering the day after, for my photographic excesses, wishing I'd taken pictures of, I don't know, the dog barking at the fireworks or something - anything, Man of Haggis - that was quite alcohol-free.
But soft you now -the fair Signsikins. Lady Princeling, you came with a note short but bearing such cultural weight I am quite taken aback by it. I have simply no idea, Signs, why I haven't seen the Enigma of Kaspar Hauser, although I am favourable to W. Herzog's films and keenly interested in idiot savants. I need to see this film. Sort it, Signs, leave it for me in a comment post. Please.
Okay. As I said there's no way I'll be able to do justice to the almighty nonsense that has gone on here since my serious lapse in blog host duties began. Now do all come back and do it again.
x x x one each, kiddywinks, and so squabbling or pushing in line
(Leg-biting is becoming quite the thing here, too. x)
About bloody time too, Igloo girl. You know when you were younger and you would cop off with someone at a party? You know how sometimes, through mutual fear and lack of experience or whatever, you would sometimes find yourself snogging until your jaw ached and a kind of paralysis affected the tongue? Well, that's what me and But Why have been doing this past week as we waited for you. (Thanks, But Why, your tongue is delicious - have you been eating raspberries? Beautiful.)
Snog, snoggy, snog. Non-stop. Way too unsure of each other to know where to put our hands, lost in a world of both fear and yet terribly exciting potential. We have clearly broken all face-licking records, but I do feel you have been remiss to force us into such an energetically immoral adventure.
Next time you leave us hanging like that, we're getting down and properly dirty. Clothes will be ripped, Anna MR, feel sure of this. Anyway, proceeds from ticket sales will clear your mortgage in a flash. If you don't have a mortgage, buy yourself something pretty.
Hei, how are you doing? You seem to have been busy busy busy. Don't overdo it, foreigner, some of us quite like having you around.
Laying you down on the kitchen table, snapping on my surgical gloves etc..... (an ancient custom in Skibbereen, I've heard - if you don't want to know the result, look away now.)
TPE x
Eek!
So many words! Where to start????
Right, Anna, I've had enough of your food-based complaints. It's enough to make me lactose-intolerant and put me off miso for the rest of my days. This is a pity as soup and yoghurts have been pretty much all I could cope with given my post-snogfest orbicularis oris paralysis. I fear I may now fade away.
Can I suggets a cure for the rickets your children are suffering? I hear yoghurt is an absolutely splendid source of vitamin D (provided you live in one of those countries where they think it's a good idea to put all sorts of foreign nutrition into perfectly reasonable foodstuffs. If want extra vitamin D, I shall stick to swallowing Cod Liver Oil capsules whilst sunning myself on my local stretch of beach. Oh yes...)
Now then (I've always thought that was such a ridiculous phrase - now-then, present-past, almost suggesting that whatever follows is unanchored to a particular point in time but free to traverse space-time until it finds a cosy cottage in which to reside...) Where was I? Cosy cottage... Ah, yes, TPE, that raspberry flavour was in fact my latest experiment in yoghurt flavourings. (I was trying to make rhubarb, but it somehow came out as raspberry, no idea why. I do agree it is delicious. I feel a little like the dude who made a substandard glue and invented post-it notes, or the guy at Pampers who invented a useless, insufficiently absorbent nappy and happened across the genius marketing guy in the canteen one day who sold it to the world as the Pampers Training Nappy "Allows moisture back onto your baby's skin to let it know it's lost control of its bowels again", or whatever that slogan was...)
Well, I have now so completely lost my train of thought that there's nothing for it but to go away and read a book, but do let me know if you fancy a bit of fabric-rippping - I love the noise of shredding silk....
Hugs, snogs and illict squeezes,
But xx
Oh dear oh dear oh dear. The blog hostess is in a pickle. To reply or not to reply - what with TooPleasingEntirely threatening to damage fabric items belonging to the Esteemed Dr B. Why?, Culturer of Yoghurts in Extremis if I don't, but the said Dr sternly reprimanding me for the (very reasonable amount of) food-related anecdotes I had the courage (in spite of my uncivilised nativeness) to recount here (on my very own blog), effectively telling me to shut the hell up.
(I know. I'll just waffle on here as if this was my blog and I could do what the hell I pleased. No, no, I can't be saying that - I've already said "it's my blog" twice, within as many sentences. They will think I am being huffy (which I'm not) or insecure (tremendously, but we won't tell them. Ha. What a cunning plan, even if I say so myself.) So yes - I'll just launch into a bit of bollocks and behind this smokescreen, they'll never notice I'm fast-forwarding to the surgical gloves bit to see what happens next. Yes.)
So now then, how are we all? I am pleased it seems you kiddies found exciting ways of entertaining your young selves in my (financially enforced) absence from your company. I hope you don't feel your privacy too much compromised by the fact my security cameras seem to have captured you two and, well, my money situation being what it is (you've only yourself to blame, But Mutta), the resulting video footage is now being hungrily eyed by the international public who haven't seen the nether end of Britney Spears for at least two days and simply need something to fulfill the craving produced by their understimulated entertainment glands. I'm sure the sight of your innocent lust more than, um, fulfills the gaping hole left by the lack of some other newsworthy item with a titillatingly sexual angle.
And now, I need to go and smoke a cigarette, because they have all the vitamins and none of the nonsense of yoghurt, soup, cod liver oil and stretches of beach, combined. Man, they are good. Before I go, though, I'll kiss you both goodnight, simultaneously - a trick known only to Igloo natives.
xx
xx
Anna,
Your blog?? Let me check... Oh, goodness, gracious me, so it is! These comments page things all look the same to me - blogger in the address bar, a rather beige background, and my verbal diarrhoea littering the page - I'm sure you can see how I would get so confused. My heartiest apologies...!
And as for compromising my privacy, well, feel free. I am quite the exhibitionist, you know, and frequently spend my weekends parading myself through London in tight-fitting and minimalist clothing, getting all excited and wet, heart rate quickening, glistening with sweat, sliding and stretching and giving the occasional moan or grunt. I do so enjoy rowing... It hadn't occurred to me before now, but perhaps I should charge the passers-by? (All proceeds to the Finnish Yoghurt Foundation, naturally...)
Now, where did that nice, young man go...?
Oh, here you are. Felt a bit stumped by that cryptic (but rather poetic, to my way of thinking) thing sans comments that you put up.
You have not seen Kaspar Hauser, Anna? You simply must, and that is all there is to it. See to it at once. It has Pachelbel's Canon - But Why's deedahs, you see, before all the snogging and that. Yes, see the film. For I am he and you are he and we are all together, and I am the egg man. This is what you will realise once you have seen it.
jpzwhr - I am so pissed off at being told for the third time to "enter the letters as they are shown in the image". Word Ver leprechauns? Naff off.
Now now, Dr Tohtori, no need to go all coy and apologetic - I thought I told you that already? Although the coyness you bring to play combined with the glistening rowing images are rather appealing. I am suddenly mighty glad I had the good sense to set a date with you when I hardly knew you yet - last summer, if you recall (and you'd better, given our date approaches) - I am v. much looking forward to my stint as coxswain of your fine vessel made of bombshell. I intend to sit at the back, dangling my legs in the warm river, vocalising a rhythm for you to pant to. Yup, it'll be a goody, I feel certain of it. (And since you seem to enjoy your privacy being so heinously compromised, I think I'll start a youtube stream of my very own, documenting the occasion.)
As for the nice young man, well, Dr, he really and truly is charming, is he not? I have loved him (from a distance, you understand, a hopeless distance) for a long time now, but he is elusive, will not be tethered, comes and goes as he wishes. At least this has been my experience, and believe me, I have pined and pined and pined after him. Let's not lose our hopes yet, though - he may well turn up, somewhere.
Sorry to have kept you waiting for such an indecently long time, by the way, Mutta. Hope all is well in the House of Miksi?
x
Goodly Signs, all hail. Yes, you're right, I am here - but I intend to be elsewhere, too, before the night is out. How are you? Again, sorry about the spastic silences I seem to be letting slip left right and centre. Poor show. I need a few hours added to my day, but the relevant authorities aren't being responsive.
Now then, so yes, no. I haven't seen Kaspar Hauser and am hanging my poor head in terrible shame about it, because it sounds like my sort of thing. Pachelbel's Canon I have a personal relationship to, as we used it as the opening music in the play about Sylvia Plath and her mother (I told you about this on one of your very old threads, you simply must remember, because it was me doing the telling and I and my life are thrilling, Salmiakki, thrilling, I'm sure you'd agree) (and why is it that I find making the names of people mentioned to appear in bold type really funny? Because, well, it isn't really, but it makes me giggle and snort like a dork. Inwardly, mind, which is just as well). I still get palpitations of stage nerves as my lights-up cue approaches. But But Why?'s deedahs were something else - Barber's Adagio for Strings, in fact (also wonderfully doable with human voice only) (as I have learned, to my edification).
Right. I'm moving onwards and upwards, Signs, and expect to see you in the not-very-distant future of my past. Mwah, fellow princeling.
Hmm. Sorry to raise the tone, but I think that a good hard session of rowing is a terrific way to release one's, um, anger. A rythmic, oar-grippingly, splashy gaspy lunge for the finishing line, following an intense period of shouty and frenetically sticky teamwork. Perfect. Well done, But Why. Well done, Anna. Well done, Me. (Terrific tongue work, btw, But Why, terrific. Maybe go easy on the rasperry flavoured nappies, though, or whatever the Jesus you were wittering on about, k? Good. Wear silk. Just saying.)
However (and do keep on pining, lovely Finlander, it's a beautiful thought for me), that's not why I'm here. No. Why have you not seen Kaspar Hauser? What exactly is wrong with you? I've enclosed a clip for you, so that you may begin to understand the extent of what you've been missing. Kaspar Hauser, you will doubtless be unaware, believed that apples got tired. I think you'll find I said the very same thing a few weeks ago on my blog. I'm not saying that the dribbly spazzoid Hauser was a genius - or, you know, for real - but I'm certainly saying that I am (a genius, that is.)
Signs knows. She knows.
Enough already. Watch the apple scene - I've made it super easy for you to find - and start to mend your ways. Wrong-love all over your thighs, favourite Finny.
Kaspar Horser
Oh, lieber Herr Horser, es ist ein schönes und grosses delight to Ihnen heute hier gesehen gehaben gegegen. Truly, Grüss Gott und ich liebe Ihn zu viel, und Vielen Dank für das Video Clip auch. Ich bin much obliged und shall promise to try and this film find and watch gemachen, at the first possible opportunity. Jetzt müss ich mit das Hund-Mädchen hinausgehen, darum sie eine pitiful whine gemachen. Ich komme zurück, though, to further express my gratitude (and that of my thighs).
Also tschüß, mein lieber Herr, und vielen Dank für Ihnen treasured Besuch. Ich habe Ihn sehr groß gemisst gehaben.
xxx
Ach du. Bad Deutsch totally ge-rules. Ich habe forever ein fan von sheiße Deutsch gebeen. Es war immer so - alle Jahre wieder. Denn again, bin Ich totally dümmer als die Polizei erlaubt. Es ist ein bißchen tricky, however, für mich, weil Ich perfekt Deutsch kann, normalweise. Easier für dich, surely, weil du bist naturlich very poor at it. Wort.
Nay, nay. Bitte schön.
Tschüs etc und hair ge-grippingkeit,
TPE
(You, Dr Aber Warum, Signs - aller guten dinge sind drei.)
Cool link, by the way. Thanks.
Liebling, soll ich dich einem Sommertag vergleichen? Nay, Ich glaube nicht - aber kisses, trotzdem. (I forgot to sign-off handsomely letzte mal).
Ja, es ist keine Surprise für mich that Du, lieber TPE, perfekt Deutsch können-kannen. Du bist naturlich perfekt in immer und alles, und darum ist Deine linguistic ability only a continuation of Deine generale handsomenesskeit. Wort, sage ich. Ja.
xxxx
OH. Jetzt bin ich totalisch gemelten. Du, mein liebling, bist zu wunderbar, und poetisch to boot. Ich habe zu viel Glück im meinem Hertzen. Deine fault, obviouslisch.
xxx
Ja, der Herr Horser hat recht. Ich weiss alles. Alles. Aber ich get mein adagios und canons gemixt, mein Albinonis und Pachelbels auch. Doktor Warum ist warscheinlich sehr gepissed mit mir, aber sie ist hoflich und hat nichts davon gesagt.
Aber du, Anna, bist auch ein bischen gesnorkled, nicht wahr? Mit dem bold und alles. Ich finde nichts davon zu lachen. Ha ha!
Ja, naturlich erinnere ich mich an die scintillating worte um Fraulein Plath!
Spaters, Prinzling
Hmm. You have an unusual gift for bad German, Snow Muncher - I'm impressed. Although I feel sure I have absolutely no French blood in me, I'm going to surrender, nevertheless. (Not the first time some bad German has made the French throw their hands in the air, certainly, let's be clear about that.) So, well done.
Have you watched Casper The Friendly Ghost, yet? (Or whatever tf it was called.) No matter, foreigner, you need to turn your attention to Warriors - you'll find it on Youtube - which is a most excellent BBC drama. I've told you this before, of course, but I'm performing a public service here, too.
Happy Friday, Anna MR. May peace be upon you and upon your dog, too. Special love towards El Doggo today, though. Just because. You know it makes sense.
Kaspar the friendly Horse x
Oh, Signs. Sorry, you sneaked in there and I didn't see you before I started writing to Igloo Face. I feel like one of those rude guys now (there are a lot of them about, you know). In fact, there are so many rude folk hanging about blogs these days, that I simply wonder why I waste my splendidly virile energy on them. *Sigh*. I certainly don't want to end up like one of them, that's for sure. Can you imagine? So, my apologies for seeming to have ignored you.
Anyway, just you watch it.
Ach, scheiße. Sie sind both hier, mein herzlichly geliebte Fräunde, Der Sexisch Herr Kaspar Horser und Die Signs Who Alles Weist. Es ist ein grosses Delight normalweise (danke schön for this Wort, Herr Horser) Ihnen zu sehen, aber jetztes Abend versuche ich (for einmal in meinem Life) ein Guttes Mädchen gewaren, und do some cooking und so weiter und so weiter. Und ich would hate Ihn mir rude gefinden. Darum is meine Reply ganz kurz. Ich liebe you both, aber in differentische ways, obviouslisch.
Späters (danke schön Signs, ein gutes Wort auch)
xx
xx
(Aber was ist "gesnorkled"?!)
I know what "gesnorkled" means.
Anyway, that's by the by. I need to correct a couple of spelling mistakes I made the other day.
1) Rhythmic
and...
2) Raspberry
It's been bugging me, sorry. I try to leave these things alone, but they just eat into my soul and destroy me. (do you know what I mean?)
Surely you can cook and clean and be a girl and everything and still attend to your guests? Laptops are portable, Anna MR, quit making excuses.
In highest dudgeon, obv....
Poni x
You see, where I went wrong back there was in rushing towards my punchline. Technically, oh woe is me ten times over, but technically, it was some bad Austrian the French threw their hands up to, not some bad German. Dang and double dang.
This feels worse than the typos. Now I just feel like a pretty face.
Man, this is turning into the worst Friday the 25th of January ever. (Not that anyone seems to care - which just makes it worser still.)
Care? Care? Of course I care. Anonymous, precious, I am a caring person, to the degree my middle name is actually Caring. Hi, I'm Anna Caring MR, I'm your hostess tonight and at your service, treasured Anonymous. Now tell mama all your woes, and she'll make it all better for you.
(Austrian, German, French - it's all the same to us, no? Foreign johnnies, the lot of them.)
Totally lovely to see you here tonight, Anonymous. Please accept a hug and a kiss from your hostess tonight.
() [hug]
x [kiss]
If you're so caring, how come you seemed to ignore that TPE guy? I feel sorry for him - he seemed super upset about his spelling mistakes and totally burdened by his good-looks. I think it's often overlooked that rich and attractive people suffer, too.
But foreigners? Yes, we're as one there, Finlander. Can't trust a single one of them.
(mini-kiss x)
Good point, Anonymous.
"Geschnorkelt" soll dass sein. Ja, ja, es ist wahnsehnig toll (dass ist ein sehr cool expression wenn du wirklich hipp Deutch sein willst) - aber ich weiss nicht was es meint. Ich weiss von garnichts, Anna, aber Herr Anonimaus Tipi wenn du mein blog gelooked hattest, wurdest du raspberry ganz richtig gespelled gehabt hattest. So - mehr fool du!
Frohliche weekend, liebe freunde.
Kuss kuss (umlaut bitte selbst machen).
Look, Anonymous, you seem like a fairly decent sort of a person, since you extend an arm of support for my beloved TPE, but believe me, Anon, he is not only rich and staggeringly handsome, but also very strong and surely able to stand up for himself. No offence, you understand, just standing up for his honour. Um, not that he needs it, of course.
Hei, Super Liebling. Deine Typos sind sehr sexisch und ich only ever them genotice when Du gedrawest meine Attenzion on dem.
I was, of course, fully intending to come back to you and in particular to your very valid point of laptops being portable. I'm super glad you told me, TPE, because (being as I am, a laptop virgin - but don't tell anyone, okay? It would ruin my rep as a woman of the world) I am super immobile and tremendously precious with mine. It's as if I couldn't take it anywhere so as I don't get, I don't know, like a mucky fingerprint on its shiny whiteness (not implying my fingers are ever mucky, you understand - just leafing through the dreadful possibilities here) or something. I simply must get over this and start going to bed with my laptop and into the kitchen with my laptop and, well, I'll have to be in touch with Apple (or hei - you - my first source of all information) (okay, if you're pressed for time I'll ask Signs, she knows a fair bit about stuff too) but I even foresee sessions in the sauna with my laptop. Wouldn't that be cool? Comment replying from + 85 C, sweat dripping down between the keys, the sensual pleasure seeping similarly into every word. Yes, I need to find out whether my lappitoppi is capable of enduring extreme temperatures.
Anyway - please gorgeous you, never just a pretty face. "A pretty face", for starters, doesn't come close in describing your looks. And then there's the rest to consider. But rest assured, a misplaced letter here and there is not going to downgrade you from you (too-deserved) Man-God status.
I note you don't send me any kisses. Why so stern, mein Liebling? At least my new guest Anonymous gave me half a kiss. Ah well - all my kisses are belong to you, as I think the joke went a few years ago.
Anna (yes, it's me - I bet that nickname threw you for a minute)
xxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxx
Brickencrappen...
Wo sollte ich beginnen?
Sechzehn bloody comments ist viel commenten, unf Ich denke das mein deutsch und auch mein verstant ist nich gut genug fur mich to respondez sil vouz plait to jeden comment.
Firstly, Signs.
What can I say? Pachabel's Canon, well, good stuff it is. I refuse to be in eines grosses piss mit du, as you picked such a very good piece of music to get your dees mixed with your daaaas.
Anna, no. Things have been very dire in the house of Mutta. Norovirus took hold and laid me out. But I'm no longer infectious, so you may continue your rather fantastic longing to the momentous occasion of coxing the crew of a drop tank. I am almost certain that no drop tank has ever before been coxed. But there we go...
And as for everyone else, you have succeeded in entirely causing my brain to melt…
Byesi-byes…
Ach, Signs, Guten Abend. Es ist wahnsehnig toll Dir hier tonight gesehen. In fact, ich war gerade auf Dir gesprechen waren-weren, when Du geturned up right there, above me. Do you happen to know the temperature durability of an Apple Mac laptop computer? Just, you know, out of interest.
And seriously, dear hearts (inklusivisch Sie auch, Herren Anonimaus und TPE) - whatever you do, don't click on my link. It's shocking.
x x x
Ai-ai-ai, Mutta of But House, that sounds nasty (the norovirus, not your German, defective though it is). You have my full sympathies, although maybe you don't mind awfully if I refrain from kissing you until, you know, a little while longer?
There are people around [here], young But, who can seriously melt your brain. Be warned. Oftentimes the damage done is permanent...and now, I must walk the dog. But I vill be bak.
xx (oops - I wasn't meant to. They just sort of slipped in)
(Seriously, hope you're feeling better. Nasty bug.)
Anna! - that is the rudest thing I have seen all day, and possibly all year. So congratulations indeed, my dear, and raspberries all round, eh what? Should you or shouldn't you go to bed with a laptop is the question (because the other one you asked is a bit beyond me, oh why do you force me into such a confession)? Well I have done it myself and let me tell you things got hot. But I can take the heat, you know what I'm saying? Well, I can, but I don't know how laptop felt cos I never asked. And I switched off before things got too complicated, that's the kind of guy I am. Have watched a whole movie with no harm done, though. But I'm not with Apple, see? I'm with Dell. Treat em mean, keep em keen is what I say. Until they get sticky keys and I am on my knees.
Doktor Warum - my advice to you is to stay off the pumpernickel. You sound intelligent and are probably already taking this precaution, but just in case. Brain-melt is nothing to worry about, believe me, I have it every day and no-one's the wiser.
ta ta fur jetzt, schwingers -
Mwah!
Au contraire, Signs, everyone is wise to the fact that your brain has melted, everyone. So mehr fool du, I think you'll find. Ha.
Girl Person of the North, hei. How are you today, honey? And doglet? Look, I've no time to idle, alas, as I need to quickly get to the beach. But no, NO - those were emphatically not the warriors that I was talking about. Wtf is wrong with you? (Mind you, I was intrigued by the curiously homo-erotic gang warfare that your warrior guys seemed to be involved in. Fascinating - only less.)
But no, my warrior guys are British (real men, in other words) and are beset by angsty woes and tortured souls (like I say, real men.) Here are the first five parts of the drama in question:
12345
Obvo, I'll bring the rest along just as soon as you've had a chance to watch this lot (takes less than 45 minutes - I'll give you a week before I start getting a bit grumpy). I numbered the parts 1-5 to make things simple for you and in recognition of the fact that you're a girl. If you have any difficulties, just ask the nearest man for help.
Okay, gorgeous human, need to dash. I'll see you later, though. (The slow-motion raspberry-blowing thing was absolutely hideous, by the way. This blog should carry a health warning.)
Love cetra cetra...
TPE x
Beloved and all too gorgeous Ah, Chide-Me-Lot, Ripening, hello. "This blog should carry a health warning..." - yes. Oh and oh, and who better to design it than you? Dare I ask...? I cannot say. However. Tremendously sorry that this reply is shamefully late (Signs - sorry for skipping the order here. Needs must) but both myself and my blog have been reeling with the shock of the news which (as you would know) have reached our horrified ears about you forever abandoning her (my blog) and your intention never to speak to her again. This is terrible news indeed, and she is (understandably) suicidal. This blog should carry a self-destruction meltdown warning as well. You will note that I have made feeble attempts to rescue my poor blog girl by - for instance - changing the comment time stamp to something that will (we hope) please you more, as this is something you've mentioned not long ago (incidentally, I was hugely pleased that blogger seems to have retained the information, incredibly, on all old comments as well, and consequently the timespans involved are now much easier to follow. I didn't expect that to happen).
I also need to thank you profusely for drawing my attention to (and sending me the links for) Warriors. What a brilliant piece of drama it is - and so far the first and only thing of that ilk and length I have watched on the screen of a computer (and, as an aside to Signs, in bed - yes, it can be done, taking lappitoppi into bed). What's more, I think I need to watch it again soon, as the lingeringness of it seems to demand it. BBC does tend to come up with some seriously good drama, but this one was exceptional. I was very reminded of the times when the war in question was being fought and my firstborn was a baby. I watched the news coverage in abject horror - there was one particular evening I remember when the cameras were down in a basement or similar where a large group of women and children were gathered hiding (Martin Bell was probably there - I remember him getting shot on camera as well) and the reality of them and their lives just pierced through me, dreadfully, because I was totally overtaken by the love I had for my new baby and that love made me understand the reality, the un-tv-world-ness of the people one sees suffering on one's evening news, I saw them and knew they loved theirs as I loved mine and the horror of their lives and my inability to help them, the total impossibility of my just doing something, shouting STOP and making it stop, cut my heart to ribbons.
So yes, I remembered that very well whilst watching this cheerful piece of entertainment you came bearing. Thank you, again and seriously, my rakas ystävä - you seem to know what I like.
(My blog girl really wants to die, really, but as she has responsibilities towards other blogs and people, maybe she'll just have to soldier on for a while. Maybe she can then just wither away, slowly, forgotten. She always loved you well, though, and shall to her dying syllable, which is no wonder - at the end of the day, she was only really set up so I could find you*, and was already set to die out after searching for you for nigh on a year without luck, until you finally turned up from the greeny blue of ether space, galloping handsomely with your glittering mane and your sparkling hooves. Oh, my blog girl was so happy, so happy.)
Cherished friend and beloved guest, the doors of this blog girl stand wide open to you at all hours, for as long as she lives, whether you should choose to visit and speak to her or not.
With all our love,
Anna and FomP her Blog Girl
xxxxx
(Signs - watch the Warriors thing. In bed, on your Dell, in one go. It won't make you happy and you won't exactly enjoy it, but it is tremendously worth it. Hope all is well. Mwah.)
*for proof of this claim, please see my third existing blog entry, dated 19th April, 2006, from which I quote "...so *this* is why I blog, is it, for the impossible hope of being heard/read, and somehow deeply understood, of entering into a dialogue with someone, somewhere, maybe even about things that matter, things that I care about, things that open up life?...". Need I say more?
What what what? You make it sound like I've been threatening you in an uncompromising manner behind the scenes or something. Hang on. I have been threatening you in an uncompromising manner behind the scenes - one of my few pleasures in life, as it happens. Anyway, behave yourself.
Go you, Finlander - the time stamps are legendary. A thoroughly moving addition to your blog. I have moaned about this quite a lot, haven't I? Sorry about that, but I honestly never for a moment thought you would cave in to my badgering. (Yes, I did.)
Plus, for someone made of girl parts, you have shown commendable initiative in both finding and watching the rest of Warriors. Well done, have a biscuit.
Actually, I'm really glad you enjoyed it, Anna. ("enjoyed" is maybe not the word - "appreciated", perhaps?) You're right, the BBC occasionally manages to produce excellent drama. I just wish they would do it more often and stop worrying about chasing ratings and/or the "yoof" market.
Ha. I remember Martin Bell getting shot, too. It was brilliant. He got zapped in the thigh, I think, and went down heroically. Grimacing, sure, but thoroughly English about the whole affair - embarrassed, even. Quality.
I've a feeling I also saw the news footage you're talking about - or something very similar. There were some particularly stark images relayed back from that "war". Mind you, there usually are when people start acting like sub-human savages.
I can't say I would need a child of my own to appreciate or understand the misery of other people's realities, but I see what you're saying. Plus, it's fairly essential that people take the time to properly imagine themselves and those that they love in similar circumstances, otherwise the news becomes merely a procession of passing depravities and it is worryingly easy to become blithely inured to this. I think so, anyway.
Now look. Everyone set up their blogs in the hope that this would lead me to them, Penguin, so don't be making out that you're special - although, obviously, you are.
It snowed here today, by the way. For one happy moment I thought it might actually lie. No dice.
With love from the freezing south...
TPE xxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxx
x
xxxx
x
and....
x
Hip hip and yip yip, hurrah and yay and jippii and eläköön. You're here, Glide, Heart-Shine McPoni. That makes my heart shine. Thank you for your lovely comment and my lovely biscuit, and yes, I'm trying to behave myself. Being, as you are, an outstanding cook, you'll be happy to know I am, in fact, currently trying my hand at Indian cooking, hoping to create a thoroughly lovely Korma sauce, for which I have detailed instructions from a very reliable source. My tiny flat smells divine.
I never meant to imply that you (or indeed other people who don't have children) would be incapable of understanding the pain and misery of others. NO. But there was, for me, that moment in time when I saw those women and their children in the basement (where they no doubt died, too - I don't remember the exact circumstances but the reporter made it clear they were in a dead end) and was horrified like I saw suffering and cruelty for the first time, or at least like I really understood it was real for the first time, in a concrete personal way.
(I know I know - it is hardly out of the ordinary to set up a blog (or several) just to find you. But it is still the one-and-only concrete reality for my blog (and for me) and thus for me (and my blog) it is a unique experience to have done so. If that makes sense.) (And even if it doesn't.)
Totally pleased to have pleased you with the new time stamps. Isn't it lovely that the information for the old comments has been kept stored somewhere? I was highly happy to find them appearing out of the huge memory banks. Weird thing is, though, that although it will give the time in exact seconds when you preview the comment (mine was 27 seconds past the given minute), it turns them all to :00 when they are posted. Seems unfair, really.
It has been snowing here, too, Beautiful Denizen of the Frozen South - snowing in the way I particularly love (although it should really be colder by some ten degrees for me to really get the full high - it is round about freezing only, which spells for a thaw tomorrow - not good), snow like wind-driven needles. Totally exhilarating. Did you get big flakes? They are quite good too.
(You sent such a stunning, stupefying, total-bliss-inducing amount of x's I don't know what to do with myself. I shall send you one big one, but shhh.... it's a magically self-replenishing one. A bit like the never-ending pint.)
Love to you from the Arctic taiga, beloved guest and friend...
A
X
Eläköön is a fantastic (looking) word, that's the first thing to mention, and your latest anagrams are also worthy of a medium-sized round of applause. It does seem unfair, however, that I only have "Anna MR" to work with. Anagrams, under these circumstances, are next to impossible (as you already well know).
The korma. Yes, that's brilliant news, Anna. It's a great book, isn't it? One of my favourite quotes is:
"Blessed are the believers who restrain their carnal desires (except with their wives and slave-girls, for these are lawful to them) ...these are the heirs of Paradise."
Profound.
Hmm. There is a chance that I'm getting the words "korma" and "Koran" mixed up, but does it matter? It's all about selectively picking and choosing the ingredients most likely to give you the taste you wanted to taste all along. So study your korma, Anna, and the truth shall be revealed.
Sometimes - quite often, really - I sound like one of those cheap guys hosting a Stateside radio phone-in who believes that his pitiful insights and analogies are both new and profound. Shocking. More shocking, I suppose, that a slew of the general public actually falls for this. I digress.
You would dangle the notion of a never-ending pint before the eyes of a horse with a history of serious alcohol abuse? I tell you what, foreigner, but if I go and start drinking again this evening and end up harming livestock, erotically, then I'll not have trouble knowing where to apportion the blame. Unbelievable.
Yes, we did get big flakes of snow - quite beautiful, really - but they didn't hang around. I miss the snow. Apparently, there's been heap big quantities of the stuff falling in Britain (which is a relief), but the general direction in which we're all headed suggests that this may soon be a thing of the past. Ask Al Gore if you don't believe me. That guy invented the internet, you know.
Allah Hu Akbar, child. Go, make peace with your korma.
With love cetra cetra...
Poni x
Ice ends, oh pilgrim thane. Heat ends ice, pilgrim hon. But nevermind that now - hi, the girl needs a McPoni. The girl need shia McPoni...
Yes. Hei. Anagrams. "A ragman" is one. Good God, I was going to come here and write something effortlessly flowing to you in reply - it was all drafted out in my brain, just waiting for me to finish wolfing down my korma so I could attack my lappitoppi - about three hours ago. Sadly, the anagrams had a different plan. You should count yourself lucky that my name doesn't tantalise you into similar brain-hurtings (feel free to utilise the title of my blog, sweetheart).
Anyway, hei, sweetest guest, beloved friend. I'm glad you mentioned the korma, because the korma is particularly what I wanted to write so flowingly about. You see, it came out totally gloriously beautiful with only three major problems, namely
1) I didn't make anywhere near enough 2) I almost made myself too hungry to eat 3) I had to feed my firstborn son. (As an explanatory note, my firstborn son is currently in The Doghouse of People who Don't Like Dogs - bad people, in other words. My firstborn son is in bad people's doghouse, esteemed friend, for words and deeds too stupid to be recounted here in polite intelligent company (which comprises largely of you and me, with the occasional nip-in by Signs and the good Dr - both of whom seem to have emigrated elsewhere to another thread, possibly another blog. As is their right, naturally - merely noting their absence with the mournful understanding of a housebound cripple.) (A lifelong housebound cripple.) So now I know to make more next time, not to starve myself for twenty-four hours before eating, and to send the son out drinking and acting anti-social before putting dinner on the table. Hurrah. Every problem has a solution when one has the right attitude.
I shall ponder deeply upon your teachings, be they on korma or Koran, cherished you, because your teachings are often right and always funny. Or is it vice versa?
Sending love and cetras.
A xxxxxx
(And hei, the neverending pint thing. Sorry but it was a pint full of kisses, right. And nothing could be as pleasing a thought as being held responsible for your erotic excesses.)
Hi. Thought I'd be polite rather than just putting my head round the door and going off again. On the other hand it doesn't feel quite right to be barging into your conversation. But oh well, I'm mad, I am, so I can do anything I want. Er. And I was a bit thrown by the thing you said about blog girl wanting to die but soldiering on because of the responsibilities she has to other blogs etc. Ach, Anna, be mad like me and do as you please. Or be the real thing (for between you and me I'm an impostor, a bit of a people-pleaser on the sly, though you'd never know it). But on the the next hand (lend me one for I only have two), it is a sad thought you conjured there. Just saying.
Off I go to do crazy things like get dressed and brush my teeth.
And Anna? You don't have to be mad to blog here, but it helps. LOL! :) and appropriate emoticons.
Oh, and I nearly forgot: McTeepee - that thing about everyone knowing that my brains are fried. Well I was being disingenuous when I said no-one was any the wiser, of course I know that everyone knows. So mehr fool du! Har har!
Nice try, Signs, but stop right there. I knew that you were being disingenuous - and so I also knew that you knew that everyone else knew about the incontestable fact that your brains have melted. I was being doubly clever and subtle by playing the part of an onlooking fool. So, I think you'll probably find, mehr fool du!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Lol!!! Roflmao!!!!!! cetra.....
You are the anagram champion, Anna MR. I am gasping with delight that my name can be made into "hi, the girl needs a McPoni". This is approaching genius levels, you beautiful work of wonder.
It's kind of you to allow me to use your blog title for anagram purposes, but I seem to recall that this went quickly downhill last time and that my offerings were nothing short of sleazy. Plus, for today at least, I hardly dare offer anything in competition to your shining example of the craft. It deserves to stand alone as a monument to human endeavour and achievement.
Naantastic news about the korma, too. I'm really glad you seem to have enjoyed it so much, Anna. Bear in mind, please, that almonds, cashew nuts, fresh coriander (at the end) and....well, loads of things, really, can be added to make the experience more heavenly. Plus, low-fat yoghurt, creme fraiche or cream can be used instead of - or in cahoots with - the coconut. You will remember, I'm sure, to continually tweak and practice until you find the taste that suits you best.
What's this about your son? That doesn't sound very good at all. If he doesn't like dogs, Mother Courage, then you're just going to have to get rid of him. Seriously, give him to the dog shelter guys (in Estonia) to look after and allow yourself some quality time with your new doglet - without having to worry the hell about what your errant son may or may not be up to.
Whatever. Have a beautiful Sunday, Finlander (you too, Signs).
With love from a shocked and weather-hammered hill,
TPE x
Not so fast, McTeepee (sorry Anna, but I just need to clear up this teensy little misunderstanding) - I was actually being far more ingeniously disingenuous when I appeared to be taking on the notion that my brains have melted/fried/reduced. For as all the world knows, I am a person of the most exquisite and refined intelligence (to whit: I know how to spell raspberry) and for this reason it is amusing and reassuring to my public when I condescend to the occasional display of self-mockery. As you do not seem to have taken this into account, it really does seem to be a case of mehr fool du!!!
(Hei Anna, don't mind us. x)
On the contrary, spooky Signs, I took absolutely everything into account before making my dramatic intervention and observation.
As the bashful owner of an indecently towering intellect, I also find it necessary to occasionally make myself seem playfully silly or merely mortal. I recognised your gentle (and necessary) self-mockery as the actions of one similarly afflicted by a gobsmacking intelligence. And not only did I recognise this, but I decided to play along, too. (I'm always looking for opportunities to subtly take myself down a peg or two, so that other people don't become frightened or discouraged.)
So, in fact, it's not just that I was aware of everything - which in itself is pretty standard fare for me - but I also chose to deflate myself most beguilingly in a public sphere, so that normal people might feel less bad about themselves. In short, I took your cunning and ran with it, carrying the torch of your ingenious disingenuousness to a much better and more refined place.
It was so subtle that the average Joe wouldn't even have noticed it happening. I'm that good.
In conclusion, then, I think it only remains for me to thank the Academy and to say, once and for all, pretty much mehr fool du.
SOL!!!!!!!!!!! (smiling out loud, in case you were wondering - it just seems more honest, doesn't it?)
SOL!!!!!!
(Signs, McTeepee - I don't mind you at all. x)
Hello, dear hearts, and may I say not only what a delight but what a coincidence to see you two here, today, as well - for I have hurried home having seen today's tabloids, in which you two feature strongly. What have you been up to, in my briefest of silences?
"Hen Stages Riding! Penile MD Hinges Chariot!" the headlines screamed at me, and I just knew I had to hurry home to see you two, because who else could it have been. Wake up, I said to blog girl, wake up and snap out of it, this is not a good day to die (poor thing is slightly dyslexic, the blog girl, and since the korma night she has thought herself an Indian Chief rather than a Chef (maybe she'd also like to associate with McTeepee, who clearly is of Scottish-Native American descent. Please forgive her her theatrical excesses on account of her afflictedness), your friends are all over the papers doing rude things.
So here I am. Hello. Lovely - nay, too lovely to see you both. Bucketloads of mwahs to you, McSigns of Reading, Scot by Association, and liberal dashings of the most piquant spices to you, TPE McTeepee the Indian Ch(i)ef Supreme. That's all I have time to give you, though, as I must go for a walk mit Tail. As one does.
With hot love from a wet North,
xxx xxx
(McPoni, I think you'll find my anagrams sometimes sleaze a little bit.)
Anna - shiver me timbers, but it has just dawned on me that hen stages riding is me! ok then, I admit it: I am intelligent and refined, obviously, but inclined to a certain earthy take on things. It's tough at the top, Anna. I take no responsibility whatsoever, though, for the activities of the penile MD (he of the "indecently towering intellect" - I mean really!).
McTeepee? I am not going to let this little thing degenerage into an unseemly spat but have decided to bide my time in the full and certain knowledge that all will be made manifest and reveal to the Academy and Joe Public the clear truth of the situation, resulting in an overwhelming consensus that the case before us is unquestionably one of mehr fool du.
BROL!!! (blowing a raspberry out loud, which I am doing right now ROFLMAO!!!)
oh blimey - "degenerage"? A very interesting slip. Obviously I meant "degenerate".
Well sod it, I mean to say, I have a lot on my mind. I am an intellectual, "as any fule know".
It's not just that I'm super-intelligent, Signs, I'm also compassionate, friendly and careful.
You chose to highlight and mock my handsome mistake with the word "raspberry" - and yet here we all are, just a few short days later, sifting through the wreckage of your very own howler. I'm thinking that "degenerage" must have hurt, you know, given your earlier, most careless, gloating. You've got to be feeling pretty low right now, Signs.
Listen, not that I needed to learn such a thing (because I'm lovely), but a very simple rule that everyone should heed is to never pick fault with other people's typos. It's just not wise and it leaves the gloater open to the possibility of looking like a Grade A "fule" when a similar problem afflicts them later - as it will, inevitably. I feel your pain.
Then again, you lucked out with "degenerage". That's a pretty fine word and I can imagine myself using it from now on in. Seriously, it works for me - I like it. But what does it actually mean? I can see it being used by medical professionals in an Alzheimersy kind of context, certainly, although this by no means precludes wider usage amongst the general public. Well done, Signs, keep up the work.
Anna MR, hei. Poor old Signs, she seems to be degeneraging quite quickly. I'm just sorry you had to see it, honey, because it's painful for all of us to witness.
Penile MD Hinges Chariot? You're right, your anagrams do touch the outskirts of Sleaze Town every once in a while. I'm toptastic good at sleaze, right enough, but I seem to recall taking a caning when we last went head-to-head in an anagrammy filth fight. You have a rare gift for being absolutely disgusting, Finlander, and I thank Jesus for it nightly.
Hope it's snowing for you, Anna. I need coffee.
Love thrown at everyone in the house (yes, even you, Signs)
TPE xx
And SOL!!!!!!! And BROL!!!!!!!!
Just saying.
And another thing, I thought that eläköön meant "elation". It just kind of looks like that to me, so I didn't bother checking it out. However, it seems that Eläköön (elämä) was also the title of Finland's 1985 Eurovision Song Contest entry:
Eläköön elämä ja yö
Eläköön tumma taivas ja tähtien vyö
Toivo kanssani ettei tähti tähteä lyö ...cetra
Did you know this, I wonder? It's a super special song, anyway. Only it's not, really.
Long live life and the night
Long live the dark sky and the belt of stars
Wish like I do that a star doesn't hit a star ...cetra and cetra and cetra.
What you need to do here, Finlander, is look over the border. Do you see that big Swedish-looking country over there? Yes? Well, you should ask them how one goes about compiling a worthwhile entry for The Eurovision Song Contest.
The history book on the shelf
Is always repeating itseeeeeeeeelf......
Waterloo - I was defeated, you won the war
Waterloo - promise to love you for ever more
Waterloo - couldn’t escape if I wanted to
Waterloo - knowing my fate is to be with you
Waterloo - finally facing my Waterloo...
Learn from the Swedes, child. Learn from them.
TPE xx
"Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun, it shines everywhere. ..." -
I wrote that, mcTeepio. Well, Shakespeare did too, but. Oh, let us just agree that even when I make mistakes I'm brilliant, and "degenerage" is a complete word poem worthy of an award, imho (and I'm not saying a word about raspberry, please note).
And did you know that the fool in Tarot is the coolest one of the pack? I'm letting you off lightly, aren't I? I'm lovely like that, I am. All heart, McTeepio, but I am gratified that you recognised my genius - as I do yours (look, look at the courtesy I extend, and admire).
Love to you too, fellow fule.
Anna and blog girl,
In spite of my undeniable and luminous brilliance, (or perhaps even because of it) even I can see that you deserve a bit of respite here in your own house - and I intend to grant it, m'dear. Good to think of you mit Dogot - she-who-looks-like-wolf-of-my-imaginings and, coming back to the subject of your original post here, I hope that this year brings many good things to you both.
I must just say that I prefer the Finnish Eurovision to the Abba one, if what His Teepeeness has presented here is right. Long live the dark night and the belt of stars is, when all's said and done, my soul's motto.
Mwah! to you, sister.
Hey Signs, the lyrics are pretty cool, aren't they? I can't rightly say whether the translation is good, because I merely lifted it direct from a web page (without checking). Anna is quite good at Finnish, however, and so should be able to clear up the whole sorry mess.
Anyway, some more Shakespeare (from the same exchange that you lifted your own quote from) to send you on your way:
This fellow is wise enough to play the fool;
And to do that well craves a kind of wit:
He must observe their mood on whom he jests,
The quality of persons, and the time,
And, like the haggard, cheque at every feather
That comes before his eye. This is a practise
As full of labour as a wise man's art
For folly that he wisely shows is fit;
But wise men, folly-fall'n, quite taint their wit.
Signs (may peace be upon you) - being called a fool has always felt like an honour. Allow me to return the compliment, please, you beautiful fule.
Firm love from The Republic....
TPE
Anna MR, hei. Signs (may peace be upon her) has left the building. It's just you and me now, honey. Or, more accurately, it's just me. (*Sigh*)
I'm not going anywhere, though. Hurrah.
Voguish elks...
TPE
(It's an anagram of the words "kiss", "love" and "hug" - in case you were wondering. Which you were, admit it.)
xx
"Voguish elks"? Now that is lovely. All my life, I have been a voguish elks type of girl. And how totally lovely to engage in the practice with you here. But you are Magic Penis Ride Hol, Then, and I've come to learn that lovely things can and should be expected of you. Voguish elks-y me all over, handsome guest, beloved visitor, and I promise I'll return the favour in kind.
But just to offer a road-map style peace initiative in the War of Rasperry Degenerage - namely mehr fule ich, for leaving you two here without even offering you a cup of hot chocolate. Isn't that the worst behaviour? Dreadful show. I apologise. Is it any wonder Dare the Gin, Signs thinks I need - what was it? - no, deserve a bit of respite here in my own blog house. In other words, that I deserve to be abandoned. Oh dear oh dear. What a mess.
Look, you two have brought so many things into play here I cannot hope to match or reply to them all. Let me just point you in the general direction of the Finland Eurovision entry of 1976, Pump pump ("Pump Pump"):
Pylly vasten pyllyä pump pump, (pump pump)
siinä sitä jotakin on, aijaijaaaa....
Because I am, like the pair of you, gracious and kind and intelligent and gentle and friendly (okay, all of the above by association, but anyway), I have linked you to an English version of the song. The lyrics are maybe marginally a little less dorky, which is a shame. Hope you enjoy.
Chum vole to you both...
xxx xxx
Oh my life. Those guys in your clip look like the retarded cousins that Abba tried to keep secret from the press. That's one mighty grim bunch of hicks, Anna MR. Nice work.
You're too late, however - The War of Raspberry Degenerage has passed. The murderous factions have laid down their arms in a transparently dishonest gesture of conciliation. This queasy ceasefire sees both parties diplomatically saying "nice doggy, good doggy" to each other, whilst frantically scrambling around for a big stick. Or chemical weapons - I forget.
Anyway, enough already. Your anagram is repellent (I love you) and I have nothing to say about it. I certainly won't be drawn into a smut-fight. Not yet, anyway, because I'm feeling quite holy and pious today. You know how sometimes you just sort of wake up and have a Jesus kind of a day? Well, I'm having one of those.
And when I say Jesus, of course, I mean Taleban. So it's not just that I'm ignoring your filth, I'm incensed by it. Next you'll be flashing your toes, sockless in sandals, in a disgustingly overt display of sexual lewdness and provocation. How in all holy hell are righteous men supposed to feel anything other than lusty fury at these wanton displays of lady-toes?
Toes, hands, anagrams....where does it all end? Education? Work? Driving? Disgusting.
Get back to your korma, Sin Face, and make yourself a better person. Go.
Furiously repressed lust, sprinkled with latent homosexuality etc to you and yours, Finlander....
TPE (Taleban Poni of the Emirates - just saying)
x
I'm working on it, P. Daddy, I'm working on it ("make yourself a better person", in case you wondered). Just felt it best to reply to you straightaway, Taleban Poni, because you are highly valued in these parts.
To my korma, I go.
xxx
"Abandoned", Girl From the Land of the Black Stuff? Now look here, I thought you wanted a bit of peace and quiet, but if that's the line you're going to take I'll just have to come and dare the gin parties over here. I'm not used to drink these days, so I might get a bit out of order, just warning you - or fall asleep on the sofa, having thrown up all over the new carpet. But don't mind me. I see you got the Taliban here anyway (typo alert! typo alert!) so you'll be wanting a bit of alcoholic respite now and then.
Gotta dash, though, Anna. Poems and stuff to write, window to stare out of, you know how it gets.
Oh - and McTeeps? You be a dog if you want to.
And the toes, sister, the toes! Related, without a doubt.
I would like to be a dog, yes. Unless this was yet another typo, Signs, and you simply put your d's and g's the wrong way round? I've got that particular gig nailed already, trust me.
Taleban-provoking Finlander, hei. You seem intent on causing pious toe-lust amongst the holy and the pure. That picture of your foot was a wildly inappropriate piece of lady-pornography to place before the eyes of God-fearing tyrants. I feel a fatwa moment coming on.
Still, at least you didn't offer another filthy anagram. That would have been jihad-flavoured curtains for you, girl.
Piously yours,
TPE xx
Greed's a Thing Sin - yes. Separated at birth (and that one's my less afflicted foot as well). But, you see, what I sort of had in mind (instead of a respite) was that you two (and whoever'd be mad enough to join in) (Dr Why? was acting promisingly ga-ga, but has since regained her sanity, methinks - sadly) would carry on here and be all unique and mad and stuff while I could sit dull but delighted in the corner (it's working well, I find).
Why, Thine Penis, Lord, He Magic - have you something against my anagrams? Sheesh. It would be terribly easy to draw that conclusion from the vehemence with which you attack them (and my lady-toes) (incidentally, both of you maddies, I get a ridiculously huge percentage of my googlesearch hits through the searchwords webbed toes - and a ridiculously high proportion of those are from Israel. I don't quite know what to make of all that. Enlighten me, please). I mean, even for a religious man / major deity / dog (delete as appropriate) you are particularly un-keen on either my toes or my anagrams. I may have to crawl, droopily, into a corner to lick my wounds.
Did you hear the one about the dyslexic agnostic who stayed up all night worrying whether there was a dog?
Sending you both many mwahs and much piety,
xxx xxx
It's my fault, I suppose, for clicking where I shouldn't - the Pandora impulse in me, Anna, a sin thing, yes. But O lawks, if the God-fearing tyrants are after you, then they'll be after me too now for enjoying it. I didn't, of course! Shocking stuff. Will have another look just to remind myself how shocking. Where do you find this stuff, my dear? Or - no, don't tell me - home movies, is it? This is worse than I feared.
I must go now and be all unique and mad at my own house where you no longer visit and there is wailing and gnashing of teeth.
No, but hang on a minute. Is this an S & M thing, Anna? It's ok, Lord Penis isn't listening so we talk freely without fear of talibanic retribution. If so, it was in the best possible taste - probably (because I know nothing. Nothing!)
They say that talking to oneself is the first sign of madness.
They don't - do they? Do they really, Head-String Singe? Because they are bloody dorky if they do. What they should say is "you get worthy conversational company when you speak to yourself" or something, because that would be more accurate. Although of course, you are as mad as can get but that's de rigeur in these parts and no mistake.
So yes. Hello. S &M ? Isn't that that Swedish clothing chain? Home videos? Oh yes, I'm the cool lass, smoking and wearing the slinky black number. The rest are my servant folk. I had no idea of the existence of this video, as it was a lucky find, a gift from the internet gods and goblins. There is so much ludicrousness out there and some of it seems to forever be falling on my lap. There have been a couple of occasions when I have actually gone and looked for something totally fantastically awful and twisted and hilarious, and those are the very times when such things cannot be found (poor old Dr ? had to receive a boring one, upthread, because there just doesn't seem to be sick and twisted coxswain video footage out there. She never came back, as I recall. Oh dear).
But what on earth do you mean, Pandora - "clicking where you shouldn't"? If I had wanted you or Lord Penis or some [other] passing internet pervert not to click on it, I wouldn't have put it there (I think). So click away, click away. Now the pressure is on me to go and find something to link to that would match that. Oh woe is me. I think "unexpected" is the only way forward from where I'm at.
Listen, I am slow at talking at the moment but that doesn't mean you're talking to yourself, okay? You're just talking to a very slow blog hostess...a....very....slow...one.
Mwah now, Signsikins. Good, as ever, to see you, and apologies for slow crapness, crap slowness. How are the poems coming on? And the window-gazing? I promise, once February is behind me (and it really cannot be soon enough for my liking) I will start picking up and stop being such a lump. Till then, though, I ask for your patience.
xx
Merry weekending, all. I have absolutely no idea what any of you are going on about, but since I heard my name being mentioned, I thought I'd swing by. But I see you're all out. Fine. I'll just talk to myself then. Tum te tum...
Now, what was it that you were saying? Somthing about my regaining my sanity. Regaining?!?!?? But that would imply I had sanity to begin with, and I'm sure that's not the case. I'm nigh on certain that if I was properly sane, I wouldn't be hauling myself out of bed early in the morning on weekends to row backwards for many miles along a flow of dilute sewage only to return to the same point, have a cup of tea, and do it all again on a slightly different height tide. No. Surely not. And yes, I was quite perturbed by the iceberg-hugging coxing skills. Whilst I suspect there will not be many icebergs in evidence on the river Wey in July, there are other, massive objects which can cause harm to badly-directed crews (narrowboats, for instance, pre-menstrual swans, and, of course, the banks fo the river). Having very nearly sunk in our inaugural paddle, and having myself been dipped into the drink on our last outing, I am rather keen that this year the drop tank construction should avoid any public humiliation broadcasts to the assembled egg-and-flour-wielding masses. Really, I do. Yes. Quite. All the time. So please get practising on smaller craft before you attempt to straddle our mighty drop tanks. (You will of course understand that our near-sinkings and my own rather unfortunate immersion bear absolutely no relation to the level of skill and dedication of the drop tank crew.)
On a completely unrelated point, it's remarkable just how fine a feel-good factor one gets from an early close of play on a Friday, and a couple of mugs of decent coffee, mildly adulterated with Britt liqueur. Oh, and the impending arrival of my first lie-in since Christmas tomorrow. Bliss.
xx
Dearest ms only hope, I know you know I know about the clicking. Allow me a little license, for form's sake. Really, I always do hope to find a little something extra, and what with the exquisitely hideous eurovision thing, your home movies and now this, well I'm not disappointed.
Is there a Doctor in the house? But Why, by all that's wonderful. We are all, it seems, quite bonkers here. Or are we? Ask the Lady of the House what she might be hiding behind those whimsical titles of hers. Fools rush in where angels fear to tread, good doctor. But you are strong and resolute. Enjoy your lie in.
(Britt Liqueur - what that?)
Why greetings, blogger whose house goes by the name of Female Gorilla Prances Sex Number... Bites Off Wild Tube Organ of the Hot Hero (Sweet Title) *, how jolly lovely to know you've lost your marbles again and have returned here where all the madness and general vile stuff takes place. Welcome, Grüss Gott, and tervetuloa.
I am pleased to hear that you are keeping up with your preparation to the heavy event of the summer (not so pleased to know you are going to skive from it tomorrow morning, you lazy bones you - how are we ever going to win with you taking such a lackadaisical attitude?) - in particular as my row scouts have pointed out some rather heavy competition intending to snatch the coveted prize from under our very noses. That would never do, young Mutta, as I'm sure you'll agree. So up with you at the crack of (a grey, unwell, cancerous, post-apocalyptic nuclear holocaust, London) dawn tomorrow, as every other morning (twice on Sundays) until July and The Big Day.
Right. What else? You have no idea what we're going on about? Not to worry, tri Miksi?, you're in fine company, as neither do we. But do please stop talking to yourself. People will think you're mad. Really. And her, a Dr.
Tum-tiddly-tum, jolly good to see you again.
xx
* oh come on, But Mutta, you (and onlookers) didn't seriously think I was going to allow the distinct lack of vowels (and, well, letters in general) in your name stump the flow of my anagrammatic poetry? Tsk, tsk, ye of little faith. My genius is so much bigger than such puny obstacles. A blog house name is as good as the blogger's, for the avid anagrammaticist.
The Deranging Sis, hello and good evening. Feeling nutty enough tonight, are we? I certainly hope so. A-wibble. But enough about me, let's talk about me for a change. I am delighted you haven't been disappointed in my wee presents for the blogging community (=you, The Good Lord, The Good Dr). We aim to please, dear heart, we aim to please. Less pleased to find in your list of my above-mentioned wee presents no tiny mention of my (handsomely webbed) lady-toes. I take this slight as a mere oversight on your part, though, and am ready to forgive you (because I am really a very nice person. Your fault).
In our absence, I believe we have become if not sex symbols then certainly objects of kinky lustations. Check the evidence I come carrying, and comments thereof.
Mwah, sis, stay out of your mind and keep on bonkering. And you're allowed all the license and form you can carry (which isn't a little, I know).
xx
(PS Deranging Thesis or Thesis Deranging would work also. I just noticed that. Just saying. x )
O lawks-a-mercy, sis this is too good. I will never feel alone again now I am certain of the brotherandsisterhood of webbed ones. I have been having visions all morning - a lemon meringue pie that has created itself and sits goldening itself in my oven, and this. And, and, heavenly creatures, the whole world in a paw and syrup of angels. Am I not mad enough? Ha har! The Deranging Sis has spoken
Mwah!
Endearing Sights, your visions sound benign, which is a relief indeed (as it happens, I think I have seen some of them, too - although sadly, not the lemon meringue). And never forget, you are not alone, you are a member of a tribe.
I must cook dinner, before it's tomorrow.
x
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