LMAO
I'm an op shop junkie from way back and I get the whole truth in advertising thing but....
Selling a used office chair - with a questionable stain on the seat - with the title of
"F1 poo-coloured office chair..." (it's a link, go on, click it already) may not inspire a hoard of bodies rushing to snap up the bargain.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Que? Une Clue? Join the queue.
At that moment, with everyone poised to devour the food with their bare hands if need be, Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers swept into the middle of the dancefloor to treat the starving customers to a cultural feast that left their souls brimming over yet their stomachs growling.
Alleyn announced to the table at large,
" I've long felt the urge to strap that insufferable Max Headroom who debuted on this day into Richard Pearse's aircraft he flew today 9 months ahead of the Wright brothers but I fear the return of Sherlock today in 1905 would upset the apple cart somewhat although this good gentleman dancing by could share the thrill of racing a car in the Australian Grand Prix at Phillip Island, which began today in 1928."
This last was flung at Fred Astaire who leaned in closer to the table dipping Ginger backwards over the scallops as he replied,
"Why certainly! When I was filming On The Beach that was the best part of the whole work for me; giving up all pretence of being an adult and letting the wind remove the days starchy tension from my gut and shoulders. Ahhh, it was a beautiful track to race on."
Unbeknown to the chattering men Joan Hickson had begun to thread the salt and pepper squid onto her crochet hook and was managing to also siphon off quite a large amount of the cheap house red into her thermos in her trusty straw bag.
Margaret was stuffing dinner rolls and butter pats into Stanley Holloway's Gladstone bag while her former co-star was mesmerised by the innuendo-laden performance by Mae West when they all quite clearly heard it.
The first clue.
Yellow = New Zealand
Orange = Canada
Green = Australia
Red = usually British or other nationality
Anything in bold, italics and coloured blue is a link to another site with more info.
Anything outrageous is usually humour and/or sarcasm.
Alleyn announced to the table at large,
" I've long felt the urge to strap that insufferable Max Headroom who debuted on this day into Richard Pearse's aircraft he flew today 9 months ahead of the Wright brothers but I fear the return of Sherlock today in 1905 would upset the apple cart somewhat although this good gentleman dancing by could share the thrill of racing a car in the Australian Grand Prix at Phillip Island, which began today in 1928."
This last was flung at Fred Astaire who leaned in closer to the table dipping Ginger backwards over the scallops as he replied,
"Why certainly! When I was filming On The Beach that was the best part of the whole work for me; giving up all pretence of being an adult and letting the wind remove the days starchy tension from my gut and shoulders. Ahhh, it was a beautiful track to race on."
Unbeknown to the chattering men Joan Hickson had begun to thread the salt and pepper squid onto her crochet hook and was managing to also siphon off quite a large amount of the cheap house red into her thermos in her trusty straw bag.
Margaret was stuffing dinner rolls and butter pats into Stanley Holloway's Gladstone bag while her former co-star was mesmerised by the innuendo-laden performance by Mae West when they all quite clearly heard it.
The first clue.
Yellow = New Zealand
Orange = Canada
Green = Australia
Red = usually British or other nationality
Anything in bold, italics and coloured blue is a link to another site with more info.
Anything outrageous is usually humour and/or sarcasm.
Monday, March 29, 2010
I C Food....
Marple's eyes glazed over as Hercule continued ranting about the Scottish doctor William Hunter who popped his clogs on this day in 1783. Marple was hoping for a similar fate to befall her when she heard the saddest news yet ; that Canadian Navy members were given the last daily rum ration ever in 1972.
Joan and Margaret were left shaking their heads in sorrow, both pining for a sip of their home made Dandelion Beer.
Crying together, Barnaby, Foyle and Mr Gorby were somewhat cheered to learn of Kiwi daredevil Fred Ladd who flew his plane under the Auckland Harbour Bridge in 1967.
In fact, there were murmured calls from the surrounding shadowy darkness for Biggles and Algy to make an appearance at some point in this painfully dragged out story but to counter-act against the rebel forces in the darkness daylight savings was extended by a week in 2008 to standardise the time in NSW, Vic, Tassie, ACT, and SA.
Suddenly, all were silenced, the heavy atmosphere of Dirty Dick Whittington's All You Can Eat Seafood Buffet was throbbing with portent when...it happened!
From the kitchen came the huge food trolley laden with lobsters, prawns, scallops dripping in lemon sauce, salt and pepper squid oozing flavour upon the air, crabs arrayed on a bed of mussels, salmon steaks and kippers swimming in a tartare sauce.
But Alleyn spotted the trouble immediately - there was only 1 fork...
Joan and Margaret were left shaking their heads in sorrow, both pining for a sip of their home made Dandelion Beer.
Crying together, Barnaby, Foyle and Mr Gorby were somewhat cheered to learn of Kiwi daredevil Fred Ladd who flew his plane under the Auckland Harbour Bridge in 1967.
In fact, there were murmured calls from the surrounding shadowy darkness for Biggles and Algy to make an appearance at some point in this painfully dragged out story but to counter-act against the rebel forces in the darkness daylight savings was extended by a week in 2008 to standardise the time in NSW, Vic, Tassie, ACT, and SA.
Suddenly, all were silenced, the heavy atmosphere of Dirty Dick Whittington's All You Can Eat Seafood Buffet was throbbing with portent when...it happened!
From the kitchen came the huge food trolley laden with lobsters, prawns, scallops dripping in lemon sauce, salt and pepper squid oozing flavour upon the air, crabs arrayed on a bed of mussels, salmon steaks and kippers swimming in a tartare sauce.
But Alleyn spotted the trouble immediately - there was only 1 fork...
Today's post is brought to you by....
Or rather particular grouping of letters.... followed by many more of those stop tap inspection plate covers with old advertising of plumbers decorating footpaths at random.
Before this mob of the overly-large T took over.
T = Telecom now known as Telstra.
V.R = Victorian Railways.
A long extinct beastie.
RTA = Road Traffic Authority, now known as Vic Roads.
MMBW= Melbourne Metropolitan Board of Works.
Another fossil.
GFC = Gas and Fuel Corporation (of Victoria).
Yet another dead 'un.
MD = Melbourne/Metropolitan Drainage.
Gasped its last way back when.
Ironmongery obviously paid well.
A bit strapped for cash.
Difficult to read but it says Melbourne Waterworks like this next one found in the middle of a road...
Cos the one on the left was purdy and the Feral Beast liked the pattern in the stone.
Somehow I don't think he was carrying a lamp.
Obviously they don't want the monster back under the bed...
One on the right even included his full address, must have been flush (boom boom).
This is the 2nd one to match the other in my earlier photo.
Borough of Sandridge.
Oakleigh and surrounds were once part of Brighton so this plumber could have lived closer than it first appears.
City of Prahran.
Obviously I could prattle on, like my learned colleagues, as to the value of these inspection plates as they are an intrinsic part of our social and cultural history, they provide valuable evidence of the age of a building as to it's heritage worth (hello, Jussy) they show where former civic boundaries were once larger which contributes towards research areas, how industrial heritage is a fast disappearing fact much under-valued, that family genealogy of these people are enhanced, etc, etc, etc.
But I shant.
I shall just finish with a 'more professional approach' by adding my sources.
Sources;
My feet.
My legs (as they held my arse up from the footpaths so closely eyeballed).
My camera.
Feral Beast for his sharp eyesight.
Overcast humid weather for keeping halfwits out of my way.
Commonsense.
My Dad, former plumber.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Holding a pity party for your minds....
While we leave the group of snoops nibbling delicately on the corners of the menus dreaming of pickled tongue we'll wing our way across London to see what Jones and Buffy are up to....
*ahem*
Having seen what they were up to I feelmy retinas are burning and was unaware the human body could attain that position without the skill of a surgeon we should have a small break and ponder the meaning of the universe whilst gazing at our navals under a Yum Yum tree.
Failing that, let's think about what happened on this day in history.
Much safer.
Now, let's see...what's the date tomorrow? Ah, 28th of...March. Goodness, where's the year gone?
1876 Chicky babes were admitted to Adelaide Uni. Woot.
1928 The first automatic street lighting system in Ottawa began flicking on then off then on then off.
1964 Pirate radio station Radio Caroline was established. Double woot.
1983 Just for Andrew - Oz and NZ signed the CER agreement, full text in mind-numbing detail HERE.
Tomorrow there will be snaps, pics and photos galore...of stuffs.
Yellow = New Zealand
Orange = Canada
Green = Australia
Red = usually British or other nationality
Anything in bold, italics and coloured blue is a link to another site with more info.
Anything outrageous is usually humour and/or sarcasm.
*ahem*
Having seen what they were up to I feel
Failing that, let's think about what happened on this day in history.
Much safer.
Now, let's see...what's the date tomorrow? Ah, 28th of...March. Goodness, where's the year gone?
1876 Chicky babes were admitted to Adelaide Uni. Woot.
1928 The first automatic street lighting system in Ottawa began flicking on then off then on then off.
1964 Pirate radio station Radio Caroline was established. Double woot.
1983 Just for Andrew - Oz and NZ signed the CER agreement, full text in mind-numbing detail HERE.
Tomorrow there will be snaps, pics and photos galore...of stuffs.
Yellow = New Zealand
Orange = Canada
Green = Australia
Red = usually British or other nationality
Anything in bold, italics and coloured blue is a link to another site with more info.
Anything outrageous is usually humour and/or sarcasm.
We interrupt this thrilling cereal....
....with more corn (cereal, corn, giddit?).
No, actually it's more important than roughage and fibre....
I'm sleepy.
So, you'll have to content yourselves with a crisp Granny Smith and a bowl of porridge for now.
Just remember...they are poised at their table, ready to order, waiting to find the next clue with rancid rabid feral animals cavorting wildly at the next table............
Now I see why I need a lie down.
No, actually it's more important than roughage and fibre....
I'm sleepy.
So, you'll have to content yourselves with a crisp Granny Smith and a bowl of porridge for now.
Just remember...they are poised at their table, ready to order, waiting to find the next clue with rancid rabid feral animals cavorting wildly at the next table............
Now I see why I need a lie down.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
The warped plans for the rail network by the future Queen Bitch of the Universe....
Looped lines!
Looped lines that mean people don't have to travel alllllll the way into the city to get 10 mins up the road.
Looped lines that encourage the use of public transport.
Looped lines that cut down on travelling time, increase train services and lessen vehicle congestion on roads.
Yes, yes, there are plenty of bus routes in place but not all of them are wheelchair accessible, the timetable they run to is vastly different to the ones printed at the bus stops or on the interwebs and they just add to pollution and congestion.
The thin black spider webby lines are my proposed linking lines.
Hell, let's go for broke and link every second train station and see if one of the red X's turns into a Red Back Spider.
No?
Ok, digressing again...oh, look! Shiny...
The red X's are my proposed new stations. They will not have car parking facilities as they are probably smack bang in the middle of some housing estate or industrial complex so the commuters can just leave their stinky cars to rust in their driveway and hoof it to the station, (broomstick parking will be available in the nearest cupboard).
The thin wobbly purple line is my proposed light rail aka tram line. We could suspend it high above existing infrastructure and the thrill alone of rocking from side to side more than 100 ft in the air should be enough to get the school kids using public transport.
And too scared to forget their manners.
The green lines are obviously my proposed extension of existing rail lines or reinstating previously existing rail lines and the arrows only stop when we hit the border...at Cape York.
In my second phase of ruling the universe I propose turning Every.Single.Freeway and highway into a train line.
With a possible express lane for trams only.
And allowing the use of horse-drawn vehicles en masse yet again.
Although I'd need to discuss these ideas with Margaret Rutherford, of course....
The animals came in two by two....
What the hack writer had over-looked was to give you, dear reader, a basic description of Dirty Dick Whittington's All You Can Eat Seafood Buffet.
A large room that was forever in darkness with small pools of illumination from the kerosene lamps on each table which would not have been possible but for the patent Canadian Abraham Gesner took out on his refined liquid fuel.
The darkness was further entrenched by the dark red embossed wallpaper that featured Art Nouveau-inspired Fleur de lis patterns which gave an air of distinction and helped hide the usual mess after half price villain Tuesdays. The dance floor was polished wood measuring 12'x12' with a stage behind barely big enough to hold a mouse playing water-filled thimbles.
On this particular evening Australian author Rosa Praed was celebrating her 159th birthday (without looking a day over 84) in a darkish corner with her female companion Nancy when the Salvos made themselves known by the shaking of their tamborines in a frenzy fit to make you Shake Your Tail Feather to pronounce the anniversary of the Sallies arriving in Port Chalmers in NZ.
Rosa and Nancy were most put out by this intrusion as they were anxious to read, plastered across the embossed wallpaper, copies of The Beeching Report which advocated doing nasty, unspeakable things with an axe to the railway network throughout the UK.
A small coincidence, perhaps, but on the day much slashing and hacking with large garden implements was encouraged in the UK over the pond he of the slasher films involving much hacking and unspeakable things with an axe Quentin Tarantino was pupped.
And, coincidentally, on this particular night Tarantino was to be found nowhere in Dirty Dick Whittington's as it was Savage Skewbald Stray Sidekick Saturday where crime-bustin' non-human junior partners got to dine on any supple old bit of roadkill that came the way of the chef's kitchen door with a few incognito visits from the Royal corgies who liked to get their paws mucky with the common folk at the end of the working week.
Over at the banquet table the ladies and Hercule were holding their serviettes to their noses as Skippy and Rin Tin Tin indulged in some high jinks at a nearby table that were more suited at a football match.
Foyle muttered through gritted teeth to an equally horrified Sherlock,
"This damnable writer has left us sitting here for almost 3 days and we've yet to order! Not a skerrick of food has passed my lips and I'm feeling as faint as Poirot looks!"
A large room that was forever in darkness with small pools of illumination from the kerosene lamps on each table which would not have been possible but for the patent Canadian Abraham Gesner took out on his refined liquid fuel.
The darkness was further entrenched by the dark red embossed wallpaper that featured Art Nouveau-inspired Fleur de lis patterns which gave an air of distinction and helped hide the usual mess after half price villain Tuesdays. The dance floor was polished wood measuring 12'x12' with a stage behind barely big enough to hold a mouse playing water-filled thimbles.
On this particular evening Australian author Rosa Praed was celebrating her 159th birthday (without looking a day over 84) in a darkish corner with her female companion Nancy when the Salvos made themselves known by the shaking of their tamborines in a frenzy fit to make you Shake Your Tail Feather to pronounce the anniversary of the Sallies arriving in Port Chalmers in NZ.
Rosa and Nancy were most put out by this intrusion as they were anxious to read, plastered across the embossed wallpaper, copies of The Beeching Report which advocated doing nasty, unspeakable things with an axe to the railway network throughout the UK.
A small coincidence, perhaps, but on the day much slashing and hacking with large garden implements was encouraged in the UK over the pond he of the slasher films involving much hacking and unspeakable things with an axe Quentin Tarantino was pupped.
And, coincidentally, on this particular night Tarantino was to be found nowhere in Dirty Dick Whittington's as it was Savage Skewbald Stray Sidekick Saturday where crime-bustin' non-human junior partners got to dine on any supple old bit of roadkill that came the way of the chef's kitchen door with a few incognito visits from the Royal corgies who liked to get their paws mucky with the common folk at the end of the working week.
Over at the banquet table the ladies and Hercule were holding their serviettes to their noses as Skippy and Rin Tin Tin indulged in some high jinks at a nearby table that were more suited at a football match.
Foyle muttered through gritted teeth to an equally horrified Sherlock,
"This damnable writer has left us sitting here for almost 3 days and we've yet to order! Not a skerrick of food has passed my lips and I'm feeling as faint as Poirot looks!"
Friday, March 26, 2010
There it is again....with Elvis
Foyle neatly sidestepped the two furry newcomers, who were shown to the children and furry critter's dining room (Children and Furry Critters Eat Free on Fridays) and approached the bloody murderer at the adjoining table.
"Excuse me, sir? Would you happen to be Jack the Ripper?"
"Yer, what's it to ya?" was the not-so-polite reply from the surly, sneering face.
"Well, it appears to be Friday by our writer's sun dial which means you've overstayed the villains half price Tuesdays, again," Foyle commented, adding, "I'd pay up fast, there's Aussie birthday boy Chips Rafferty over there and I think this is his preferred table."
Snapping and snarling to himself Jack shuffled off stage left towards the dingy exit reserved for villains such as he before wandering out of our story completely to spectate at the first cremation in Great Britain, in 1885.
Cos he was that sort of a cheery chappy.
As Janis Joplin seated Chips at the table he leant towards Joan Hickson and remarked,
"Cheer up, love, the NZ Broadcasting Board debuted today in Dunedin in 1936, it has to be better than waking up to Ann Widdecombe garden gnomes in your bed."
Stifling her girlish giggles Joan busied herself with her serviette which suddenly needed a great deal of attention.
Alleyn watched dispassionately before stating,
"He's been flying with the green fairy a great deal of late, I wouldn't put much stock in anything he says."
Opening her mouth to snap a retort both Joan and the room at large were momentarily stunned into silence when Dominic Da Vinci sailed through the room towards the children's entertainment area, announcing as he passed,
"Prince Edward Isle voted to ban cars today in 1908. And they still let the likes of me become mayor!"
As the curtains on the stage parted to reveal the musical accompaniment to their meal Sherlock noted, to the room at large,
"I see Good Queen Bess can still thrash a lute worth her while," as Queen Elizabeth I and Jimi Hendrix began performing a duet of The Prodigy's Firestarter with Elvis providing vocals.
"Excuse me, sir? Would you happen to be Jack the Ripper?"
"Yer, what's it to ya?" was the not-so-polite reply from the surly, sneering face.
"Well, it appears to be Friday by our writer's sun dial which means you've overstayed the villains half price Tuesdays, again," Foyle commented, adding, "I'd pay up fast, there's Aussie birthday boy Chips Rafferty over there and I think this is his preferred table."
Snapping and snarling to himself Jack shuffled off stage left towards the dingy exit reserved for villains such as he before wandering out of our story completely to spectate at the first cremation in Great Britain, in 1885.
Cos he was that sort of a cheery chappy.
As Janis Joplin seated Chips at the table he leant towards Joan Hickson and remarked,
"Cheer up, love, the NZ Broadcasting Board debuted today in Dunedin in 1936, it has to be better than waking up to Ann Widdecombe garden gnomes in your bed."
Stifling her girlish giggles Joan busied herself with her serviette which suddenly needed a great deal of attention.
Alleyn watched dispassionately before stating,
"He's been flying with the green fairy a great deal of late, I wouldn't put much stock in anything he says."
Opening her mouth to snap a retort both Joan and the room at large were momentarily stunned into silence when Dominic Da Vinci sailed through the room towards the children's entertainment area, announcing as he passed,
"Prince Edward Isle voted to ban cars today in 1908. And they still let the likes of me become mayor!"
As the curtains on the stage parted to reveal the musical accompaniment to their meal Sherlock noted, to the room at large,
"I see Good Queen Bess can still thrash a lute worth her while," as Queen Elizabeth I and Jimi Hendrix began performing a duet of The Prodigy's Firestarter with Elvis providing vocals.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Her and Bobby McGee and Jack
On entering Dirty Dick Whittington's All You Can Eat Seafood Buffet (Villains half price on Tuesdays) the group were shown to their banquet table by Janis Joplin.
Janis handed out the menus once everyone was seated, offering them the wine list which was shooed away because, as Hercule explained,
"One drop of fermented vine fruit and my little grey cells turn to pulp and the disco ball, it enchants moi." leaving Foyle somewhat startled and Mr Gorby nervously eyeing the lazily revolving mirror ball in the centre of the ceiling.
Alleyn drew out his mobile phone, annoucing that,
"As both Christchurch and Tasmania celebrated the first connections to this inferno invention on this day in 1936 and 1879 I may as well use it to call Jones as Barnaby appears to have forgotten his junior detective has disappeared with a former vampire killer."
Barnaby had the grace to flush before retorting with,
"At least I'm not so bad as to fine a Canadian cabbie for driving a lady on a Sunday like on this day in 1893,"
"I never realised you were that old, Tom," Foyle joined in with a smirk, "Next you'll tell us you witnessed Robert the Bruce gaining his crown at Scone in 1306 on this day!"
Before anyone could reply heated murmerings from Mr Gorby, Sherlock and the two ladies grew louder and demanded attention from the others.
"Pardon me, " Margaret began, "But...well, have any of you noticed the sullen chap sitting to our right?" she subtly motioned with a slight movement of her head.
Surreptiticiously 8 pairs of eyes slid across the 10 feet of empty space to the lone diner at the table to their right.
'Sullen' was a generous description as his pouting mouth and mean eyes in a face with vague rodent features beneath the thinning hair gave him the appearence of an unlovable rogue with no redeeming qualities.
Sherlock quietly imparted to his collegues,
"He is, I believe, Jack The Ripper."
Just then Bibby, the Fylde Library mascot, walked in with Uncle Tobermory Womble.
*cue dramatic music*
Janis handed out the menus once everyone was seated, offering them the wine list which was shooed away because, as Hercule explained,
"One drop of fermented vine fruit and my little grey cells turn to pulp and the disco ball, it enchants moi." leaving Foyle somewhat startled and Mr Gorby nervously eyeing the lazily revolving mirror ball in the centre of the ceiling.
Alleyn drew out his mobile phone, annoucing that,
"As both Christchurch and Tasmania celebrated the first connections to this inferno invention on this day in 1936 and 1879 I may as well use it to call Jones as Barnaby appears to have forgotten his junior detective has disappeared with a former vampire killer."
Barnaby had the grace to flush before retorting with,
"At least I'm not so bad as to fine a Canadian cabbie for driving a lady on a Sunday like on this day in 1893,"
"I never realised you were that old, Tom," Foyle joined in with a smirk, "Next you'll tell us you witnessed Robert the Bruce gaining his crown at Scone in 1306 on this day!"
Before anyone could reply heated murmerings from Mr Gorby, Sherlock and the two ladies grew louder and demanded attention from the others.
"Pardon me, " Margaret began, "But...well, have any of you noticed the sullen chap sitting to our right?" she subtly motioned with a slight movement of her head.
Surreptiticiously 8 pairs of eyes slid across the 10 feet of empty space to the lone diner at the table to their right.
'Sullen' was a generous description as his pouting mouth and mean eyes in a face with vague rodent features beneath the thinning hair gave him the appearence of an unlovable rogue with no redeeming qualities.
Sherlock quietly imparted to his collegues,
"He is, I believe, Jack The Ripper."
Just then Bibby, the Fylde Library mascot, walked in with Uncle Tobermory Womble.
*cue dramatic music*
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Ye Gods and Goddesses...
Jones and Buffy had alighted from the hansom cab as the driver refused to take them beyond the fringes of London.
Climbing aboard a tram driven by a large bloke in white robes and massive snowy white wings they settled into the seat when Buffy began glancing about at the other passengers who appeared to formally attired businessmen from a bygone age.
Nudging Jones she motioned with her head and Jones' frown grew with each poker face he met until he saw Professor Bickerton opposite him with the back of a newspaper announcing 'Agnes MacPhail dropped off by the stork today in 1890'.
"Ahh, that explains it," he smiled to himself with his frown vanishing. He leant across to his companion to say,
"Prof Bickerton was turfed out of Canterbury College on this date in 1902 and the Australian Federal pollies sat in Melbourne for the last time in 1927 before packing up to move to Canberra.They've apparently been sitting here ever since."
As a shadow fell across them they reached for their wallets to pay their fare when the conductor, a woman in flowing robes, a brass helmet sporting horsehair carrying both a trident and a conductors bag shook her head and pointed to the signs on the walls which read 'Archangel Gabriel and Britannia wish to celebrate their joint Feast Day with all commuters in a fare free day'.
"You can certainly tell saints don't often run the public transport services," Buffy mused, before inquiring, "Do we know where we're going or is this an aimless journey until an idea occurs to our writer?"
"Yep, pretty much aimless wandering on the agenda for the next few episodes for the pair of us, I'm afraid," he replied, shrugging.
"So, about now she'll cut back to the others who she left standing around in Baker Street and we can....go sight-seeing, maybe?" Buffy suggested.
"Don't mind if I do," Jones agreed with a nod and a smile.
Back in Baker Street where our intrepid detectives had been left standing around we find Joan Hickson murmering something important to Margaret.
"My dear, Alastair Sim was an absolute delight to watch in work, to see you and him, with dear Joycie Grenfell, in The Happiest Days of Your Life was just wonderful."
"Oh, thank you, Joan, we had such a grand time making that film, and, of course you know, dear young George Cole made an appearance in it, too, almost the full front ruck row of St Trinian's there before me." Margaret sighed happily at the memory.
At that moment a spacious horse-drawn coach drew up beside them and Barnaby began assisting the ladies up the steps into the seats before the male detectives perched themselves about the coach where they could find room.
Then they headed for Dirty Dick Whittington's All You Can Eat Seafood Buffet (Villains Half Price On Tuesdays).
Climbing aboard a tram driven by a large bloke in white robes and massive snowy white wings they settled into the seat when Buffy began glancing about at the other passengers who appeared to formally attired businessmen from a bygone age.
Nudging Jones she motioned with her head and Jones' frown grew with each poker face he met until he saw Professor Bickerton opposite him with the back of a newspaper announcing 'Agnes MacPhail dropped off by the stork today in 1890'.
"Ahh, that explains it," he smiled to himself with his frown vanishing. He leant across to his companion to say,
"Prof Bickerton was turfed out of Canterbury College on this date in 1902 and the Australian Federal pollies sat in Melbourne for the last time in 1927 before packing up to move to Canberra.They've apparently been sitting here ever since."
As a shadow fell across them they reached for their wallets to pay their fare when the conductor, a woman in flowing robes, a brass helmet sporting horsehair carrying both a trident and a conductors bag shook her head and pointed to the signs on the walls which read 'Archangel Gabriel and Britannia wish to celebrate their joint Feast Day with all commuters in a fare free day'.
"You can certainly tell saints don't often run the public transport services," Buffy mused, before inquiring, "Do we know where we're going or is this an aimless journey until an idea occurs to our writer?"
"Yep, pretty much aimless wandering on the agenda for the next few episodes for the pair of us, I'm afraid," he replied, shrugging.
"So, about now she'll cut back to the others who she left standing around in Baker Street and we can....go sight-seeing, maybe?" Buffy suggested.
"Don't mind if I do," Jones agreed with a nod and a smile.
Back in Baker Street where our intrepid detectives had been left standing around we find Joan Hickson murmering something important to Margaret.
"My dear, Alastair Sim was an absolute delight to watch in work, to see you and him, with dear Joycie Grenfell, in The Happiest Days of Your Life was just wonderful."
"Oh, thank you, Joan, we had such a grand time making that film, and, of course you know, dear young George Cole made an appearance in it, too, almost the full front ruck row of St Trinian's there before me." Margaret sighed happily at the memory.
At that moment a spacious horse-drawn coach drew up beside them and Barnaby began assisting the ladies up the steps into the seats before the male detectives perched themselves about the coach where they could find room.
Then they headed for Dirty Dick Whittington's All You Can Eat Seafood Buffet (Villains Half Price On Tuesdays).
Yet it continues...
"Ahhh," Basil unstoppered his mouth of his pipe (which had long since gone out) to pronounce,
"My later incarnation of Peter Cushing had several run ins with that colonial fellow, as Sherlock and again in Return of the Cybernauts with Diana Rigg." Here Basil gazed into the middle distance in raptuous remembrance of Diana.
"Colonial, my dear Sherlock?" Mr Gorby inquired mildly, having removed his hat on his entrance he now tossed it towards the hatstand behind him.
"Oh,...yes. Your Queensland Banana Bender lot did away with the Legislative Council in Qld Parliament today in 1922. Ever so slightly not quite cricket."
Turning to Margaret, Mr Gorby finally answered her query,
"No, I'm sorry to say I've had no word of him for many a year, now. It equally pains me to inform you I shall not be joining your group as I'm a Red Herring slipped in by the writer (who's run out of Granny Smith apples as inspiration) also, I'm here to look meaningfully at Alleyn and question him on Arthur Desmond."
Startled, Alleyn raised his eyebrows and repeated,
"Arthur Desmond? The Kiwi trouble maker?"
"Come, now, Alleyn, surely you're aware that The Bulletin published Desmond's Song of Te Kooti today in 1889?"
Alleyn shrugged, replying, "I find it more thrilling to my policeman's soul that the first trams in London began gracing Bayswater for a mile on this day in 1861,"
Poirot minced forward in his perfectly shining shoes and glared at the two antagonists,
"Mon Dieu, next you will accuse moi of being the ringleader in 1670 claiming Canadian Lake Erie for France! Faire attention, mes amis, for there is a cunning plan at work here to distract us from our goal. Non, not the work of our apple-less writer, it is far too clever for her."
Margaret interjected with,
"Well, I'm only here to track down Rupert but of course I'll lend a hand, as it were," earning an icy glare from Hercule.
"There is nothing more to be gained from this abode, we must go forth and seek our answers out there," Poirot pointed to the front door to emphasise the last words as he gathered his hat, gloves and cane from the hall stand.
A flurry of movement saw them all exiting the house just as a passing charabanc caught Margaret's eye.
"Oh, hello!" she enthusiastically waved to the driver and girls, the latter who were vitually hanging from the open windows of the vehicle.
"Rupert?" Foyle asked, squinting at the rapidly retreating motor bus.
"No, dear Alistair Sim, Miss Fritton 1.0. He's a favourite of Brian, you know," Dame Rutherford bragged.
"My later incarnation of Peter Cushing had several run ins with that colonial fellow, as Sherlock and again in Return of the Cybernauts with Diana Rigg." Here Basil gazed into the middle distance in raptuous remembrance of Diana.
"Colonial, my dear Sherlock?" Mr Gorby inquired mildly, having removed his hat on his entrance he now tossed it towards the hatstand behind him.
"Oh,...yes. Your Queensland Banana Bender lot did away with the Legislative Council in Qld Parliament today in 1922. Ever so slightly not quite cricket."
Turning to Margaret, Mr Gorby finally answered her query,
"No, I'm sorry to say I've had no word of him for many a year, now. It equally pains me to inform you I shall not be joining your group as I'm a Red Herring slipped in by the writer (who's run out of Granny Smith apples as inspiration) also, I'm here to look meaningfully at Alleyn and question him on Arthur Desmond."
Startled, Alleyn raised his eyebrows and repeated,
"Arthur Desmond? The Kiwi trouble maker?"
"Come, now, Alleyn, surely you're aware that The Bulletin published Desmond's Song of Te Kooti today in 1889?"
Alleyn shrugged, replying, "I find it more thrilling to my policeman's soul that the first trams in London began gracing Bayswater for a mile on this day in 1861,"
Poirot minced forward in his perfectly shining shoes and glared at the two antagonists,
"Mon Dieu, next you will accuse moi of being the ringleader in 1670 claiming Canadian Lake Erie for France! Faire attention, mes amis, for there is a cunning plan at work here to distract us from our goal. Non, not the work of our apple-less writer, it is far too clever for her."
Margaret interjected with,
"Well, I'm only here to track down Rupert but of course I'll lend a hand, as it were," earning an icy glare from Hercule.
"There is nothing more to be gained from this abode, we must go forth and seek our answers out there," Poirot pointed to the front door to emphasise the last words as he gathered his hat, gloves and cane from the hall stand.
A flurry of movement saw them all exiting the house just as a passing charabanc caught Margaret's eye.
"Oh, hello!" she enthusiastically waved to the driver and girls, the latter who were vitually hanging from the open windows of the vehicle.
"Rupert?" Foyle asked, squinting at the rapidly retreating motor bus.
"No, dear Alistair Sim, Miss Fritton 1.0. He's a favourite of Brian, you know," Dame Rutherford bragged.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Oh, the humanity....
Jones and Buffy found themselves out in Baker Street itself, bustling with noise and a multitude of people crowding in streams along the street.
As they crossed the road they dodged a stretch Hummer containing birthday boys Roger Whittaker and Andrew Lloyd Webber with Rolf Harris who were discussing the merits of the phantom of the opera tying a kangaroo down in the streets of London.
Coming up sharply behind the Hummer was a horse-drawn hansom cab which Jones signalled.
As the driver reined the horse to a stop a well-dressed gentleman alighted and doffed his hat towards Buffy, offering an introduction,
"Mr Gorby, madame," before turning to her companion and warning, "Careful who you share this cab with."
Climbing aboard Jones muttered to Buffy,
"I'd heard there was a failed attempt to bring in prohibition in Christchurch, New Zealand on this day in 1894 while the first hansom cab went into service in that city on this day in 1864, thirty years earlier. Mr Gorby was from Melbourne, if his accent is any guide. Coincidence or just the mystery of a hansom cab...?"
As they disappeared into the volume of traffic, behind them the detectives finally realised the house was empty but for themselves when Foyle suddenly burst out with,.
"Gads, I'm forgetful!" as he rummaged through his pockets for his diary. Drawing it forth he ruffled through the pages before finding the entry he sought.
"Just as I though," he leant over to Watson to show him the information within, "It's Johnny Horrocks' birthday, the old boy was pupped in Preston, Lancashire in 1818 before pulling up stumps and settling in the Clare Valley in South Australia. I really must send the old boy an sms wishing him well and promise to catch up soon."
Watson nodded in remembrance, adding,
"And not to over-look the great William Shatner's day of birth in Montreal in 1931, too,"
At that juncture a sharp rap came at the door to 221b.
After glancing around amongst themselves Margaret rose and opened the door to reveal,
"Oh! Mr Gorby! How splendid to have you on board, too!"
As Mr Gorby cleared the doorway on entering the house Dame Rutherford peered out into the street, then asked as she secured the door,
"Errr, you haven't heard from your countryman, Bud Tingwell? He goes by a great many names but I know him best as Inspector Craddock," she beamed hopefully up at Mr Gorby.
As they crossed the road they dodged a stretch Hummer containing birthday boys Roger Whittaker and Andrew Lloyd Webber with Rolf Harris who were discussing the merits of the phantom of the opera tying a kangaroo down in the streets of London.
Coming up sharply behind the Hummer was a horse-drawn hansom cab which Jones signalled.
As the driver reined the horse to a stop a well-dressed gentleman alighted and doffed his hat towards Buffy, offering an introduction,
"Mr Gorby, madame," before turning to her companion and warning, "Careful who you share this cab with."
Climbing aboard Jones muttered to Buffy,
"I'd heard there was a failed attempt to bring in prohibition in Christchurch, New Zealand on this day in 1894 while the first hansom cab went into service in that city on this day in 1864, thirty years earlier. Mr Gorby was from Melbourne, if his accent is any guide. Coincidence or just the mystery of a hansom cab...?"
As they disappeared into the volume of traffic, behind them the detectives finally realised the house was empty but for themselves when Foyle suddenly burst out with,.
"Gads, I'm forgetful!" as he rummaged through his pockets for his diary. Drawing it forth he ruffled through the pages before finding the entry he sought.
"Just as I though," he leant over to Watson to show him the information within, "It's Johnny Horrocks' birthday, the old boy was pupped in Preston, Lancashire in 1818 before pulling up stumps and settling in the Clare Valley in South Australia. I really must send the old boy an sms wishing him well and promise to catch up soon."
Watson nodded in remembrance, adding,
"And not to over-look the great William Shatner's day of birth in Montreal in 1931, too,"
At that juncture a sharp rap came at the door to 221b.
After glancing around amongst themselves Margaret rose and opened the door to reveal,
"Oh! Mr Gorby! How splendid to have you on board, too!"
As Mr Gorby cleared the doorway on entering the house Dame Rutherford peered out into the street, then asked as she secured the door,
"Errr, you haven't heard from your countryman, Bud Tingwell? He goes by a great many names but I know him best as Inspector Craddock," she beamed hopefully up at Mr Gorby.
Outil, 'ow you say....Tools, the lot of 'em
Have had a lovely day out in which I made two trips to the local Sunday Market.
The first trip was made with The Spouse where we pushed a 4 wheeled shopping trolley.
Now, anyone, being sensible, would think that people faced with a shopping trolley laden with plants heading for them would step out of the way or not walk into the line of collision, wouldn't you?
No.
Seems there's a special breed of feckwits who like to play chicken with large objects.
Expect others to look out for them and walk around them *insert evil cackle here*.
The 2nd trip up to the market was pushing Dad in his heavy wheelchair while Feral Beast was pushing the abovementioned trolley.
Again, you'd think people would step out of the way of an on-coming large, heavy wheelchair...but no.
One stupid old trollop even stepped out directly in front of us as we were in motion and expressed surprise the back of hercankles thunder thighs hippos have better brains to lard arse ratio legs were clipped.
Sorry, sunshine, we don't stop instantly when dickheads are let out to play in heavy traffic.
In the supermarket it wasn't much better, although the trampled toes were on the increase so was my serene smile of,
"Pardon, monsieur? I, 'ow you say, don know about these feeeeelthy feckwits of which you speak, mais oui, I will always try to stamp your stoooopid toes into a quince paste. Merci, oui, I will exterminate all the idiot rodent people in my way,".
Au Revoir!
The first trip was made with The Spouse where we pushed a 4 wheeled shopping trolley.
Now, anyone, being sensible, would think that people faced with a shopping trolley laden with plants heading for them would step out of the way or not walk into the line of collision, wouldn't you?
No.
Seems there's a special breed of feckwits who like to play chicken with large objects.
Expect others to look out for them and walk around them *insert evil cackle here*.
The 2nd trip up to the market was pushing Dad in his heavy wheelchair while Feral Beast was pushing the abovementioned trolley.
Again, you'd think people would step out of the way of an on-coming large, heavy wheelchair...but no.
One stupid old trollop even stepped out directly in front of us as we were in motion and expressed surprise the back of her
Sorry, sunshine, we don't stop instantly when dickheads are let out to play in heavy traffic.
In the supermarket it wasn't much better, although the trampled toes were on the increase so was my serene smile of,
"Pardon, monsieur? I, 'ow you say, don know about these feeeeelthy feckwits of which you speak, mais oui, I will always try to stamp your stoooopid toes into a quince paste. Merci, oui, I will exterminate all the idiot rodent people in my way,".
Au Revoir!
Saturday, March 20, 2010
More, please sir...?
Jones, meanwhile, was comfortably ensconced in the spacious kitchen where he'd discovered Buffy watching a reality TV cooking show.
Holding up his hands he announced,
"I come in peace. But if any of that lot in there catch you watching that in here you'll be for it," he nodded towards the screen where a girl was led sobbing from the camera after what appeared to be a minor explosion involving baked beans, asparagus and oysters.
"Now, there's something you don't see everyday," Jones mused to himself, trying not to imagine the flavour.
Buffy poured him a cup of coffee as she explained that, as Joss Whedon had created her character with few survival skills inside the home, she often watched cooking and craft shows to be inspired to prepare Sherlock's menu.
"And the craft shows?" Jones prompted.
"Oh, that was to learn how to knit to make my own lace inserts for...errr..." she trailed off into red-faced silence.
Jones choked on his coffee then, after much gasping, coughing and patting of his back from the pretty blonde, he'd sufficiently recovered his breath enough to rasp out,
"Tat. You don't knit lace, you tat to make lace," which instantly won him his own side-kick.
Just at that moment yelling could be heard on the other side of the green baize door.
Yelling which included the use of his own name from his boss who sounded anything but happy.
"You know, there's another way out of here," Buffy offered with a grin.
"After you, m'dear" Jones grabbed her hand and urged her ahead of him as they escaped into the darker recesses of 221b Baker Street ruled over by Mrs Hudson.
Watson, unnoticed in the corner by the cavernous pantry, chuckled quietly and changed the channel on the television to Dalziel and Pascoe which arrested the raucous crowd, led by Foyle and Barnaby, in mid-yell to watch their peers solve yet another brutal Yorkshire murder involving much scotch, any number of rumpled suits and many "Oh, aye, Peter"s.
Holding up his hands he announced,
"I come in peace. But if any of that lot in there catch you watching that in here you'll be for it," he nodded towards the screen where a girl was led sobbing from the camera after what appeared to be a minor explosion involving baked beans, asparagus and oysters.
"Now, there's something you don't see everyday," Jones mused to himself, trying not to imagine the flavour.
Buffy poured him a cup of coffee as she explained that, as Joss Whedon had created her character with few survival skills inside the home, she often watched cooking and craft shows to be inspired to prepare Sherlock's menu.
"And the craft shows?" Jones prompted.
"Oh, that was to learn how to knit to make my own lace inserts for...errr..." she trailed off into red-faced silence.
Jones choked on his coffee then, after much gasping, coughing and patting of his back from the pretty blonde, he'd sufficiently recovered his breath enough to rasp out,
"Tat. You don't knit lace, you tat to make lace," which instantly won him his own side-kick.
Just at that moment yelling could be heard on the other side of the green baize door.
Yelling which included the use of his own name from his boss who sounded anything but happy.
"You know, there's another way out of here," Buffy offered with a grin.
"After you, m'dear" Jones grabbed her hand and urged her ahead of him as they escaped into the darker recesses of 221b Baker Street ruled over by Mrs Hudson.
Watson, unnoticed in the corner by the cavernous pantry, chuckled quietly and changed the channel on the television to Dalziel and Pascoe which arrested the raucous crowd, led by Foyle and Barnaby, in mid-yell to watch their peers solve yet another brutal Yorkshire murder involving much scotch, any number of rumpled suits and many "Oh, aye, Peter"s.
Still going...
Foyle approached Basil.
"Tell me....I notice Tennison doesn't include those detective coroners who crack the case the moment they crack a cold one, why is that?"
"She feels that they cheat, that they haven't had the experience and background in police work," Sherlock lit his pipe and picked up his violin.
"Mais oui, mon ami, this is true but is it not also true that coroners witness the result of human behaviour and have the oh so perfect quiet to contemplate and let the little grey cells do their work?"
"Poirot! Are you advocating the coronial detective? Good grief, I never thought I'd see the day you of all people would support those barbaric devils," Basil spoke around his pipe clenched in his teeth before sweeping into a wild concerto on his violin.
Joan Hickson leaned across to Margaret Rutherford and, without taking her eyes off the musician, muttered,
"Conan Doyle was forever shoving pipes in Sherlock's mouth and Agatha gave Hercule under garments one size too small," which left the old girls twittering their mirth.
Jones, unseen by anyone, slipped through the door into the kitchen in search of Buffy for some decent entertainment and coffee.
Barnaby remained smiling genially throughout, announcing to the room at large,
"I have no idea why we'd need to find the culprit who invented reality television,"
Alleyn gazed at Barnaby a moment before replying,
" A few detectives have lost their shows thanks to those Wall Street jockeys with cancelled budgets and series being replaced with cheap, nasty reality television. Just when we thought we were about to see the back of the damn ugly misbegotten bastard child of John Logie Baird the GFC gave it new life."
"Could have sworn there was a voice-over from someone sounding just like you, Barnaby, on one of those horror travel shows...? Hmmm?" Foyle dropped into the conversation.
"Jones? Rubbish, Foyle, you must be mistaken. Jones! No, really, why on earth would a successful policeman do that? Jones! Don't look at me like that. Jones! Where are you Jones?!"
Been awake most of the night thanks to the dipstick petrol heads who rioted, smashed a car parts store, blocked a highway for hours and then proceeded to roar up and down our quiet side streets for hours showing off and.or evading the police helicopter and cars.
So, you don't get your miniturised history notes for the day or my beaming, sunshiney disposition until I've had a cuppa tea and more sleep.
"Tell me....I notice Tennison doesn't include those detective coroners who crack the case the moment they crack a cold one, why is that?"
"She feels that they cheat, that they haven't had the experience and background in police work," Sherlock lit his pipe and picked up his violin.
"Mais oui, mon ami, this is true but is it not also true that coroners witness the result of human behaviour and have the oh so perfect quiet to contemplate and let the little grey cells do their work?"
"Poirot! Are you advocating the coronial detective? Good grief, I never thought I'd see the day you of all people would support those barbaric devils," Basil spoke around his pipe clenched in his teeth before sweeping into a wild concerto on his violin.
Joan Hickson leaned across to Margaret Rutherford and, without taking her eyes off the musician, muttered,
"Conan Doyle was forever shoving pipes in Sherlock's mouth and Agatha gave Hercule under garments one size too small," which left the old girls twittering their mirth.
Jones, unseen by anyone, slipped through the door into the kitchen in search of Buffy for some decent entertainment and coffee.
Barnaby remained smiling genially throughout, announcing to the room at large,
"I have no idea why we'd need to find the culprit who invented reality television,"
Alleyn gazed at Barnaby a moment before replying,
" A few detectives have lost their shows thanks to those Wall Street jockeys with cancelled budgets and series being replaced with cheap, nasty reality television. Just when we thought we were about to see the back of the damn ugly misbegotten bastard child of John Logie Baird the GFC gave it new life."
"Could have sworn there was a voice-over from someone sounding just like you, Barnaby, on one of those horror travel shows...? Hmmm?" Foyle dropped into the conversation.
"Jones? Rubbish, Foyle, you must be mistaken. Jones! No, really, why on earth would a successful policeman do that? Jones! Don't look at me like that. Jones! Where are you Jones?!"
Been awake most of the night thanks to the dipstick petrol heads who rioted, smashed a car parts store, blocked a highway for hours and then proceeded to roar up and down our quiet side streets for hours showing off and.or evading the police helicopter and cars.
So, you don't get your miniturised history notes for the day or my beaming, sunshiney disposition until I've had a cuppa tea and more sleep.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Go on, you know you wanna peek
Tennison pulled Sherlock aside to interrogate him.
"Couldn't we get other detectives, like ones who might actually still be breathing? Or a decent writer?!"
Basil shook his head, to which Tennison began barking sharp questions.
'Christie?"
"Water skiing with toy boys in the Caribbean,"
"Poe?"
"He's on a 12 step programme somewhere,"
"Oscar Wilde?"
"Currently on his honeymoon with his hubby in Washington DC,"
"Bronte?"
"All stark starking, raving bonkers, every last one of 'em,"
"Austen? No...forget I mentioned her,"
Sherlock rolled his eyes and quietly smirked.
"That curly haired Jonathon Creek character?"
"Too busy playing Alan Davies on QI,"
"Frost? Wexford? Rebus? Macbeth? Dalgalish? Rosemary and Thyme?"
"Fishing at Morecambe Bay, became a pool shark, resting up between distilleries, hasn't been seen since Nessie et his uniform, writing computer programs for bagpipe music and the last investigation those two ladies were involved in there was talk afterwards of chemical enhancement used on the flowers, not au naturale at all,"
"Bugger, we're further up that shitty creek than I realised," Tennison put down her tumbler of spirits and grabbed 3 full bottles, walking back to the dim recesses of the shadowy room calling back over her shoulder,
"You're on your own Basil or at least until the booze runs out. Let me know when the fat lady's singing, won't you?"
1839 The first honey bees were introduced to New Zealand. Further info HERE.
1928 Happy birthday to feted Canadian female artist Betty Goodwin.
1973 The College of Aboriginal Education was founded at the College of Arts and Education in Adelaide.
1982 Argentines planted their flag in the Brit colony of the Falkland Islands.
Yellow = New Zealand
Orange = Canada
Green = Australia
Red = usually British or other nationality.
Anything in bold, italics and coloured blue is a link to another site with more info.
Anything outrageous is usually humour and/or sarcasm.
Watching a show on Nat Geo Adventure tonight where the presenters explored some of Newfoundland and the islands....and The Spouse has decided it would be a great idea for us to retire to Pigeon Cove on Quirpon Island (pop.1) where we can commune with whales, icebergs and nature.
Until I pointed out it was the middle of July when the show was shot, which is Summer and everyone was still shivering so much their teeth chattered.
He decided he likes it here after all.
"Couldn't we get other detectives, like ones who might actually still be breathing? Or a decent writer?!"
Basil shook his head, to which Tennison began barking sharp questions.
'Christie?"
"Water skiing with toy boys in the Caribbean,"
"Poe?"
"He's on a 12 step programme somewhere,"
"Oscar Wilde?"
"Currently on his honeymoon with his hubby in Washington DC,"
"Bronte?"
"All stark starking, raving bonkers, every last one of 'em,"
"Austen? No...forget I mentioned her,"
Sherlock rolled his eyes and quietly smirked.
"That curly haired Jonathon Creek character?"
"Too busy playing Alan Davies on QI,"
"Frost? Wexford? Rebus? Macbeth? Dalgalish? Rosemary and Thyme?"
"Fishing at Morecambe Bay, became a pool shark, resting up between distilleries, hasn't been seen since Nessie et his uniform, writing computer programs for bagpipe music and the last investigation those two ladies were involved in there was talk afterwards of chemical enhancement used on the flowers, not au naturale at all,"
"Bugger, we're further up that shitty creek than I realised," Tennison put down her tumbler of spirits and grabbed 3 full bottles, walking back to the dim recesses of the shadowy room calling back over her shoulder,
"You're on your own Basil or at least until the booze runs out. Let me know when the fat lady's singing, won't you?"
1839 The first honey bees were introduced to New Zealand. Further info HERE.
1928 Happy birthday to feted Canadian female artist Betty Goodwin.
1973 The College of Aboriginal Education was founded at the College of Arts and Education in Adelaide.
1982 Argentines planted their flag in the Brit colony of the Falkland Islands.
Yellow = New Zealand
Orange = Canada
Green = Australia
Red = usually British or other nationality.
Anything in bold, italics and coloured blue is a link to another site with more info.
Anything outrageous is usually humour and/or sarcasm.
Watching a show on Nat Geo Adventure tonight where the presenters explored some of Newfoundland and the islands....and The Spouse has decided it would be a great idea for us to retire to Pigeon Cove on Quirpon Island (pop.1) where we can commune with whales, icebergs and nature.
Until I pointed out it was the middle of July when the show was shot, which is Summer and everyone was still shivering so much their teeth chattered.
He decided he likes it here after all.
The plot plickens....and stuffs
Joan Hickson peered over the top of her spectacles and exchanged measured looks with herself above the needle point. Foyle directed Margaret Rutherford to this site to jog her late, great memory before realisation dawned in fabulous technicolour across the wonderfully lived-in face.
"Oh, yes, of course! You're Troy's husband, I recall now. Hercule, surely even you are aware of Agatha Troy, the renown artist?" excitement trilled along the long-stilled vocal chords as the character actress felt more and more alive.
"Goodness, Jones, I'm not sure if it's the garden twine or Baldrick's turnip that's done it but the old girl appears almost life-like," Barnaby marvelled out aloud.
"It was the hessian sack, I believe, sir," Jones replied, sotto voce, which brought on a coughing fit in Basil.
Hercule gave a pained nod and smile towards his stable mate before he addressed both Foyle and Alleyn.
"Please, do not give me Inspector Roderick Alleyn, my dear Foyle, I am perfectly content with Hastings, even with his limited imagination and grey cells. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Inspector Alleyn although, I trust you forgive my impertinence, I can't help but wonder what brings you here to gather with the rest of us?"
"But don't we all know why we're here?" Alleyn was rather brusque in his manner, something Troy had trained out of him in the home but not in his profession.
"Yes, we were waiting for you before we started," Basil stepped forward and continued,
"We're here to solve the greatest crime that has ever befallen the general public. Ladies and gentlemen; we must discover who invented reality television."
978 St Edward the Martyr was murdered most foully in Corfe Castle in Dorset.
1850 Edward Jollie completed his survey and plan for Christchurch which may be viewed HERE.
1869 Birth of home-schooled Maude Abbot who went on to become a doctor and leading authority in heart disease.
1997 Tasmanian Aboriginal Lands Council was established on this day.
Yellow = New Zealand
Orange = Canada
Green = Australia
Red = usually British or other nationality.
Anything in bold, italics and coloured blue is a link to another site with more info.
Anything outrageous is usually humour and/or sarcasm.
"Oh, yes, of course! You're Troy's husband, I recall now. Hercule, surely even you are aware of Agatha Troy, the renown artist?" excitement trilled along the long-stilled vocal chords as the character actress felt more and more alive.
"Goodness, Jones, I'm not sure if it's the garden twine or Baldrick's turnip that's done it but the old girl appears almost life-like," Barnaby marvelled out aloud.
"It was the hessian sack, I believe, sir," Jones replied, sotto voce, which brought on a coughing fit in Basil.
Hercule gave a pained nod and smile towards his stable mate before he addressed both Foyle and Alleyn.
"Please, do not give me Inspector Roderick Alleyn, my dear Foyle, I am perfectly content with Hastings, even with his limited imagination and grey cells. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Inspector Alleyn although, I trust you forgive my impertinence, I can't help but wonder what brings you here to gather with the rest of us?"
"But don't we all know why we're here?" Alleyn was rather brusque in his manner, something Troy had trained out of him in the home but not in his profession.
"Yes, we were waiting for you before we started," Basil stepped forward and continued,
"We're here to solve the greatest crime that has ever befallen the general public. Ladies and gentlemen; we must discover who invented reality television."
978 St Edward the Martyr was murdered most foully in Corfe Castle in Dorset.
1850 Edward Jollie completed his survey and plan for Christchurch which may be viewed HERE.
1869 Birth of home-schooled Maude Abbot who went on to become a doctor and leading authority in heart disease.
1997 Tasmanian Aboriginal Lands Council was established on this day.
Yellow = New Zealand
Orange = Canada
Green = Australia
Red = usually British or other nationality.
Anything in bold, italics and coloured blue is a link to another site with more info.
Anything outrageous is usually humour and/or sarcasm.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
And on...
An agitated movement snagged everyone's attention; Hercule was visibly shaking with outrage.
"Never once, non, never I tell you, not ever did the suggestion pass her lips, did Mme. Agatha force me to endure a shambles of a storyline such as this! No apparent plot, a collection of well-known characters doing nothing; pray do tell where is the mystery, the murder? What is the writer thinking?! Mon Dieu! It is St Patrick's Day and she has not dressed us in silly frocks or dancing jigs or drinking copious amounts of that Irish beverage, Guinness! And colouring a few words on a blog is just lazy authorship, Mme."
This last was glared at me through the monitor accompanied with a wagging finger.
"Oh, good grief, give the poor bloke a stiff scotch, Basil, before we throttle him for the first victim, you know what he's like when Miss L is away at Sydney's LGBT Mardi Gras. Bet there's an odd chap lurking about back there in the shadows who needs a good sorting out " Barnaby only half-joked, but there was movement as someone came forward toward the group in the dim electric light.
It was Foyle who recognised him first; standing and reaching out to shake his hand, Foyle exclaimed jovially,
"This is a pleasant surprise, Alleyn! Ladies and gentlemen, " Foyle turned to introduce the new-comer to the assorted group of detectives,
" I give you Inspector Roderick Alleyn of Scotland Yard."
1765 While serving with British forces at Quebec Irish troops celebrated the first St Patrick's Day on Canadian soil.
1860 The first Taranaki War erupted at Waitara.
1984 The 130th Boat Race was postponed barely an hour before the beginning of the race as the Cambridge vessel argued with a barge and sank.
1992 Then-PM Paul Keating called for a new Australian flag to symbolise greater cultural independence.
Yellow = New Zealand
Orange = Canada
Green = Australia
Red = usually British or other nationality.
Anything in bold, italics and coloured blue is a link to another site with more info.
Anything outrageous is usually humour and/or sarcasm.
"Never once, non, never I tell you, not ever did the suggestion pass her lips, did Mme. Agatha force me to endure a shambles of a storyline such as this! No apparent plot, a collection of well-known characters doing nothing; pray do tell where is the mystery, the murder? What is the writer thinking?! Mon Dieu! It is St Patrick's Day and she has not dressed us in silly frocks or dancing jigs or drinking copious amounts of that Irish beverage, Guinness! And colouring a few words on a blog is just lazy authorship, Mme."
This last was glared at me through the monitor accompanied with a wagging finger.
"Oh, good grief, give the poor bloke a stiff scotch, Basil, before we throttle him for the first victim, you know what he's like when Miss L is away at Sydney's LGBT Mardi Gras. Bet there's an odd chap lurking about back there in the shadows who needs a good sorting out " Barnaby only half-joked, but there was movement as someone came forward toward the group in the dim electric light.
It was Foyle who recognised him first; standing and reaching out to shake his hand, Foyle exclaimed jovially,
"This is a pleasant surprise, Alleyn! Ladies and gentlemen, " Foyle turned to introduce the new-comer to the assorted group of detectives,
" I give you Inspector Roderick Alleyn of Scotland Yard."
1765 While serving with British forces at Quebec Irish troops celebrated the first St Patrick's Day on Canadian soil.
1860 The first Taranaki War erupted at Waitara.
1984 The 130th Boat Race was postponed barely an hour before the beginning of the race as the Cambridge vessel argued with a barge and sank.
1992 Then-PM Paul Keating called for a new Australian flag to symbolise greater cultural independence.
Yellow = New Zealand
Orange = Canada
Green = Australia
Red = usually British or other nationality.
Anything in bold, italics and coloured blue is a link to another site with more info.
Anything outrageous is usually humour and/or sarcasm.
Monday, March 15, 2010
The train wreck continues....
Margaret Rutherford echoed Jones with her own "Ah!" but it held a more mildly disappointed tone.
She had found Sherlock Holmes and was face to face with her quarry.
"Ah," she repeated, "Dash it all."
Sherlock merely raised one eyebrow in query.
"You're the Basil Rathbone model. I was actually hoping to see the Rupert Everett one," she explained as she peered into the depths of the shadows blanketing the other half of the great room. As she made to move deeper into the gloom two things happened; a thin boney hand firmly gripped her ample shoulder with a surprising strength and a mild groan drifted from the shadows.
"I doubt you'll find Rupert in there, Margaret my dear. More a sharp-tongued harpy nursing the very devil of a hangover," the Basil Rathbone's Sherlock intoned.
"Tennison?" the late Dame Rutherford asked, accepting a fine bone china cup of tea from former vampire hunter, Buffy.
"Hmm, yes," Rathbone replied, "Any particular reason you're looking old Rupert up, m'dear? It's only that...well, I do have him on Facebook but I don't like suggesting friends if they're only after him for introducing dreary awards nights at ghastly girls schools,"
"Oh, no, that's alright," Margaret twinkled at him with a mischievious grin as she patted Basil's thin arm and produced her iPhone,
"I was just hoping to get the role as sports mistress in his third St Trinian's movie. I've always fancied hockey sticks and bloomers after dark,"
1843 James Douglas began building Fort Camosun (later known as Fort Victoria) on Vancouver Island.
1940 Jockey Y Fronts went on sale in NZ for the first time (she says with a perfectly straight face whilst including a link to NZ social studies involving said Y Fronts).
1949 Voting rights were oh-so-graciously granted to Aboriginal People who had served in the Defence Forces (/sarcasm)
1973 QE2 officially opened the new London Bridge ...cos every school kid knows "London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down..."
Yellow = New Zealand
Orange = Canada
Green = Australia
Red = usually British or other nationality.
Anything in bold, italics and coloured blue is a link to another site with more info.
Anything outrageous is usually humour and/or sarcasm.
She had found Sherlock Holmes and was face to face with her quarry.
"Ah," she repeated, "Dash it all."
Sherlock merely raised one eyebrow in query.
"You're the Basil Rathbone model. I was actually hoping to see the Rupert Everett one," she explained as she peered into the depths of the shadows blanketing the other half of the great room. As she made to move deeper into the gloom two things happened; a thin boney hand firmly gripped her ample shoulder with a surprising strength and a mild groan drifted from the shadows.
"I doubt you'll find Rupert in there, Margaret my dear. More a sharp-tongued harpy nursing the very devil of a hangover," the Basil Rathbone's Sherlock intoned.
"Tennison?" the late Dame Rutherford asked, accepting a fine bone china cup of tea from former vampire hunter, Buffy.
"Hmm, yes," Rathbone replied, "Any particular reason you're looking old Rupert up, m'dear? It's only that...well, I do have him on Facebook but I don't like suggesting friends if they're only after him for introducing dreary awards nights at ghastly girls schools,"
"Oh, no, that's alright," Margaret twinkled at him with a mischievious grin as she patted Basil's thin arm and produced her iPhone,
"I was just hoping to get the role as sports mistress in his third St Trinian's movie. I've always fancied hockey sticks and bloomers after dark,"
1843 James Douglas began building Fort Camosun (later known as Fort Victoria) on Vancouver Island.
1940 Jockey Y Fronts went on sale in NZ for the first time (she says with a perfectly straight face whilst including a link to NZ social studies involving said Y Fronts).
1949 Voting rights were oh-so-graciously granted to Aboriginal People who had served in the Defence Forces (/sarcasm)
1973 QE2 officially opened the new London Bridge ...cos every school kid knows "London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down..."
Yellow = New Zealand
Orange = Canada
Green = Australia
Red = usually British or other nationality.
Anything in bold, italics and coloured blue is a link to another site with more info.
Anything outrageous is usually humour and/or sarcasm.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
More silliness, some history and...stuff
As the room gave a collectively hammed up gasp of shock at Poirot's last statement the door burst open and in barrelled Margaret Rutherford.
Holding out her hand to stay any movement from Miss Marple she swept past commanding,
"Sit tight, Jane, I'm here for Sherlock,".
Nodding in agreement and not missing a stitch with her craftwork Jane Marple watched curiously as her former incarnation went to work.
"Excuse me, Miss, but...all those doilies you knit? What do you do with them?" Jones asked as he leant across the armchairs.
"Tat,"
"Pardon?"
"I don't knit. I tat. I tat which makes lace. I gave up making doilies in the 1950s, far too old fashioned.
No, I tat lace for inserts on erotic lingerie and sell it through my Etsy shop online. Quite popular with certain WAGS, y'know, although I can't for the life of me figure out why when they seem to prefer wearing nothing, if all those magazine photos are anything to go by. In fact, it's so popular I live in Spain these days to avoid the tax dept," the sweet faced little old lady replied.
Jones nodded and gave a defeated "Ah" as he sat back in his own chair.
1684 One of the several dates given for when William or John "Swift Nicks" Nevison, highwayman, came to the end of his tethered rope.
More details of his derring do HERE.
1877 Some flannel fools fielded a couple of teams to have a friendly match between Oz and Old Blighty on the pitch of the MCG.
1962 Canadian Donald Jackson became the first in the world to perform a triple lutz in a figure skating competition which landed him the gold medal in the world championships.
1983 New Zealand's first 'test tube' baby was born.
Yellow = New Zealand
Orange = Canada
Green = Australia
Red = usually British or other nationality.
Anything in bold, italics and coloured blue is a link to another site with more info.
Anything outrageous is usually humour and/or sarcasm.
Holding out her hand to stay any movement from Miss Marple she swept past commanding,
"Sit tight, Jane, I'm here for Sherlock,".
Nodding in agreement and not missing a stitch with her craftwork Jane Marple watched curiously as her former incarnation went to work.
"Excuse me, Miss, but...all those doilies you knit? What do you do with them?" Jones asked as he leant across the armchairs.
"Tat,"
"Pardon?"
"I don't knit. I tat. I tat which makes lace. I gave up making doilies in the 1950s, far too old fashioned.
No, I tat lace for inserts on erotic lingerie and sell it through my Etsy shop online. Quite popular with certain WAGS, y'know, although I can't for the life of me figure out why when they seem to prefer wearing nothing, if all those magazine photos are anything to go by. In fact, it's so popular I live in Spain these days to avoid the tax dept," the sweet faced little old lady replied.
Jones nodded and gave a defeated "Ah" as he sat back in his own chair.
1684 One of the several dates given for when William or John "Swift Nicks" Nevison, highwayman, came to the end of his tethered rope.
More details of his derring do HERE.
1877 Some flannel fools fielded a couple of teams to have a friendly match between Oz and Old Blighty on the pitch of the MCG.
1962 Canadian Donald Jackson became the first in the world to perform a triple lutz in a figure skating competition which landed him the gold medal in the world championships.
1983 New Zealand's first 'test tube' baby was born.
Yellow = New Zealand
Orange = Canada
Green = Australia
Red = usually British or other nationality.
Anything in bold, italics and coloured blue is a link to another site with more info.
Anything outrageous is usually humour and/or sarcasm.
And now, for something a little silly....
As Sherlock passed the sugar bowl to Barnaby he glanced up at Watson hanging on the corner of the mantlepiece by his forearm, elbow almost dislodging a Red Herring meant for one of Dick Francis' racing thrillers but passed up in favour of a corgie gnawing the hind leg off a housemaid.
He sighed.
Writers were such fussy creatures, there really was no pleasing them.
Barnaby's off-sider, Jones, seemed ill at ease, tugging at his collar and tie whilst surreptitiously glancing around the over-crowded room full of characters.
Foyle appeared to be the most relaxed, lounging back in his winged chair near the unlit fire and openly eyeing their host.
Watson may have been the most languid but 3 bottles of scotch on a plate of scones will do that to retired gentlemen although Miss Marple was gently snorting her mirth into her cup of tea at the thought of his head on the morrow.
Poirot was bristling with indignation.
"My dear sirs! You do not understand! I cannot possibly be in this same room with 'er!" he gestured towards Miss Marple with his lavender-gloved hand.
"Oh, really, Hercule, do settle down and let's hear what this is all about," Tom Barnaby interjected, trying his soothing smile that never quite worked on his frustrated wife.
"Perhaps it is the unreasonable number of suspicious deaths under your care that we meet to discuss?" Poirot rejoined through gritted teeth, airing what was often spoken of in fictional characters circles but never acknowledged by authors in writing; that Midsomer was policed by a murderous madman intent on retaining his position on the force and in the weekly tv ratings.
He sighed.
Writers were such fussy creatures, there really was no pleasing them.
Barnaby's off-sider, Jones, seemed ill at ease, tugging at his collar and tie whilst surreptitiously glancing around the over-crowded room full of characters.
Foyle appeared to be the most relaxed, lounging back in his winged chair near the unlit fire and openly eyeing their host.
Watson may have been the most languid but 3 bottles of scotch on a plate of scones will do that to retired gentlemen although Miss Marple was gently snorting her mirth into her cup of tea at the thought of his head on the morrow.
Poirot was bristling with indignation.
"My dear sirs! You do not understand! I cannot possibly be in this same room with 'er!" he gestured towards Miss Marple with his lavender-gloved hand.
"Oh, really, Hercule, do settle down and let's hear what this is all about," Tom Barnaby interjected, trying his soothing smile that never quite worked on his frustrated wife.
"Perhaps it is the unreasonable number of suspicious deaths under your care that we meet to discuss?" Poirot rejoined through gritted teeth, airing what was often spoken of in fictional characters circles but never acknowledged by authors in writing; that Midsomer was policed by a murderous madman intent on retaining his position on the force and in the weekly tv ratings.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Kevvie's healthcare reform
Oh, pull-eeeze.
Health care is the easiest piece of crap to clean up and repair but no doubt the dipshytes in office will find a way of screwing everything to make a buck for their mates, to massage someone's over-blown ego somewhere and/or to keep in sweet with some farked up trade agreement with Upper Comebuckta West in supplying only their brand of napkins with all inedible hospital dishes.
Mental health needs to be separated from general health.
It needs to stand alone.
Yes, again.
We need to go back, if you will, in part to the 'old days' but without the bullshyte stigma, disrespect and power trips that were enjoyed by all and sundry (think hubbies getting quickie divorces, custody of kiddies and all the moolah by getting the missus declared stark staring bonkers).
All of the mental institutions ( aka the nut houses) were sold off to the highest bidder, bulldozed and the prime real estate turned into tract housing (yawn) while the bajillions that poured into govt coffers somehow equated 5 mental health beds in the local public hospital...
Ahuh.
Ask any doctor working in A&E at a public hosp what the major problem is with mental health patients and you'll find it is the fact there are 2 issues at work with each hosp admission, what is called a dual diagnosis; the patients have a mental disorder and use prescribed medication for awhile but it makes them feel blunted and dead, like they're cut off from those around them by a thick wall of glass.
So, instead of prescribed meds they start using non-prescription meds like alcohol....or illegal drugs.
This is called self-medicating and, soon, they're not self-medicating to control their mental disorder, they're self-medicating to feed their drug habit which is controlling them.
But on each admission to hosp the doctors have only the time, resources and budget to deal with the mental disorder...a band-aid solution of having them in for 1 week patched up, back on the meds (prescribed ones) then released to the big wide world.
Sometimes they might be escorted to a half-way house if they're waiting on a court appearance, sometimes they're escorted by the police straight down to the local cop shop to be charged, then (probably) released to go back to their ritualised routine behaviour of self-medicating.
Which (usually) involves breaking the law in some way but sometimes they're absolved of their crimes as they were 'under the influence of drugs at the time of the offence' therefore their judgment was impaired and they can't be held responsible.
Pfft.
Other times you have people attempting to gain help for their mental illnesses only to be brushed aside cos the local public hosp 5 token mental health beds are full, have been full for the past 12 months and will continue to be full for the next 12 years or until the world comes to a crashing halt.
The out-patient mental health system attempts to pick up the slack of those not hospitalised but again it's under-funded and not coping leaving many on a waiting list to see specialists for urgent problems that need addressing yesterday.
But that's ok cos when they flip right out they'll get the care and attention they need via the police/fire/ambulance/all of the above and then feature on the 6.30pm news to boot.
Or their victims will feature.
Private health, I hear you say?
Yeah, the maximum hosp stay is 2 weeks.
Oh, it makes such a world of difference to be able to turn years of mental illness around in a heartbeat, don't you think?
Yes, wishful thinking wrote that policy.
Which is why we used to fib about reasons for admissions.
After 2 weeks the payment from the private health chappies is 'stepped down', as in 'whoa that's a shyte-load less you're paying for me to get better despite the fact I have top private health insurance!'.
And the 'step down' rate varies with each diagnosis.
Medical diagnosis' had a better step down rate so we'd often determine a medical reason for admission for a psych patient we knew would need more than 2 weeks.
Reception staff knew it, we nursing staff knew it, the doctors knew it and the patients knew it.
Strangely, this wasn't covered in our nursing training.
Kevvie, fix the mental health system, you'll save a motza in prevention that you can channel back into other areas.
Like sticking batts in Garrett's belfry...
Health care is the easiest piece of crap to clean up and repair but no doubt the dipshytes in office will find a way of screwing everything to make a buck for their mates, to massage someone's over-blown ego somewhere and/or to keep in sweet with some farked up trade agreement with Upper Comebuckta West in supplying only their brand of napkins with all inedible hospital dishes.
Mental health needs to be separated from general health.
It needs to stand alone.
Yes, again.
We need to go back, if you will, in part to the 'old days' but without the bullshyte stigma, disrespect and power trips that were enjoyed by all and sundry (think hubbies getting quickie divorces, custody of kiddies and all the moolah by getting the missus declared stark staring bonkers).
All of the mental institutions ( aka the nut houses) were sold off to the highest bidder, bulldozed and the prime real estate turned into tract housing (yawn) while the bajillions that poured into govt coffers somehow equated 5 mental health beds in the local public hospital...
Ahuh.
Ask any doctor working in A&E at a public hosp what the major problem is with mental health patients and you'll find it is the fact there are 2 issues at work with each hosp admission, what is called a dual diagnosis; the patients have a mental disorder and use prescribed medication for awhile but it makes them feel blunted and dead, like they're cut off from those around them by a thick wall of glass.
So, instead of prescribed meds they start using non-prescription meds like alcohol....or illegal drugs.
This is called self-medicating and, soon, they're not self-medicating to control their mental disorder, they're self-medicating to feed their drug habit which is controlling them.
But on each admission to hosp the doctors have only the time, resources and budget to deal with the mental disorder...a band-aid solution of having them in for 1 week patched up, back on the meds (prescribed ones) then released to the big wide world.
Sometimes they might be escorted to a half-way house if they're waiting on a court appearance, sometimes they're escorted by the police straight down to the local cop shop to be charged, then (probably) released to go back to their ritualised routine behaviour of self-medicating.
Which (usually) involves breaking the law in some way but sometimes they're absolved of their crimes as they were 'under the influence of drugs at the time of the offence' therefore their judgment was impaired and they can't be held responsible.
Pfft.
Other times you have people attempting to gain help for their mental illnesses only to be brushed aside cos the local public hosp 5 token mental health beds are full, have been full for the past 12 months and will continue to be full for the next 12 years or until the world comes to a crashing halt.
The out-patient mental health system attempts to pick up the slack of those not hospitalised but again it's under-funded and not coping leaving many on a waiting list to see specialists for urgent problems that need addressing yesterday.
But that's ok cos when they flip right out they'll get the care and attention they need via the police/fire/ambulance/all of the above and then feature on the 6.30pm news to boot.
Or their victims will feature.
Private health, I hear you say?
Yeah, the maximum hosp stay is 2 weeks.
Oh, it makes such a world of difference to be able to turn years of mental illness around in a heartbeat, don't you think?
Yes, wishful thinking wrote that policy.
Which is why we used to fib about reasons for admissions.
After 2 weeks the payment from the private health chappies is 'stepped down', as in 'whoa that's a shyte-load less you're paying for me to get better despite the fact I have top private health insurance!'.
And the 'step down' rate varies with each diagnosis.
Medical diagnosis' had a better step down rate so we'd often determine a medical reason for admission for a psych patient we knew would need more than 2 weeks.
Reception staff knew it, we nursing staff knew it, the doctors knew it and the patients knew it.
Strangely, this wasn't covered in our nursing training.
Kevvie, fix the mental health system, you'll save a motza in prevention that you can channel back into other areas.
Like sticking batts in Garrett's belfry...
Friday, March 12, 2010
March 13....again....like clock work.....or a calendar....
Exciting stuffs, readers, with absolutely nothing of interest occurring within a 100 km radius of this joint, unless you count the discovery of a teenagers toxic sock in the vegie crisper ...?
No, we didn't ask, thought it safer not to....
1928 Combining beauty with brains, Eileen Vollick became the first Canuck chicky babe with a licence to loop the loop in the wide blue yonder.
1935 Britain's first driving tests were introduced on this day, with the first pass given 3 days later to Mr. Beene of Kensington.
1956 The Kiwi cricketers defeated the Windies at Eden Park in their first test victory.
NZ Cricket Museum website HERE.
2004 Hundreds gathered to celebrate the opening of the new Redfern Community Centre.
Yellow = New Zealand
Orange = Canada
Green = Australia
Red = usually British or other nationality
Anything in bold, italics and coloured blue is a link to another site with more info.
Anything outrageous is usually humour and/or sarcasm.
No, we didn't ask, thought it safer not to....
1928 Combining beauty with brains, Eileen Vollick became the first Canuck chicky babe with a licence to loop the loop in the wide blue yonder.
1935 Britain's first driving tests were introduced on this day, with the first pass given 3 days later to Mr. Beene of Kensington.
1956 The Kiwi cricketers defeated the Windies at Eden Park in their first test victory.
NZ Cricket Museum website HERE.
2004 Hundreds gathered to celebrate the opening of the new Redfern Community Centre.
Yellow = New Zealand
Orange = Canada
Green = Australia
Red = usually British or other nationality
Anything in bold, italics and coloured blue is a link to another site with more info.
Anything outrageous is usually humour and/or sarcasm.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Twains 'n' critters
"C'mon, Mum...flick us a bit"
Tara.
German Shepherd x Kelpie.
She Who MUST Be Obeyed.
Turns 18 later this month, so may finally bare her fangs and donkey vote with the rest of the hairless pink monkeys.
Proved an old dog can be taught new tricks by learning from the younger Treacle to beg for dinner scraps at my feet.
Festival of Britain...party, party, party!
Something...something...something.... Victorian Railways...mumble....mutter....(inhale)
Not the foggiest.
Sleepy fur-baby Treacle.
Blue Heeler x Dalmatian.Will round up chooks, cats and humans if she thinks there's a stray chop in it for her.
Seems to think the umibical cord was never cut between her and I.
Leo.
Turkish Angora.
Trouble maker extraordinaire.
Will taunt the canine fur-babies by wafting uber-fluffy tail directly under their noses and will have an escape route thoroughly planned once the chase is under way.
Treacle spends a lot of time ducking the paparazzi in this house.....
A twain.
On the twack.
With a lovely saw-toothed roof behind.
Ouch.
The Late, great Rastus.
British Shorthair x Burmese.
Who could sniff out a packet of chippies at 1 mile,
who could leap 6 feet to snare a snag off a fork in mid-air,
who was faster than greased lightning at the sound of the can opener.
Bitchy.
Rastus' sister.
As by name, so is she by nature.
After the shutter clicked she attempted to remove the photographers face faster than Madge could unhinge her lower jaw to devour another husband.Is addicted to short black drinking straws.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Heritage Walk in the bush
We met at the corner of Lavender Park Rd and Kent-Hughes Rd (where dark deeds with axes were done but we shall not share the gruesome details today) and we then trotted down Kent-Hughes Rd (named after a local pollie).
Further details HERE.
The not-so rare flora of Plumbago.
We waltzed past the former Dattner homes of The Orchard House and Cherry Trees, both beautiful homes in a lovely landscape. I only mention the homes as I believe they are both now sold out of the family.
A not-very clear shot of the bajillion millipedes which were on the march before the storm hit.
After it hit the bajillion little terrors invaded homes en masse.
We gambolled across Hillcrest Ave, which leads to the river but in a rather rude manner that would tip one headfirst into it.
So, we took the long way around, past the former Griffith house down Griffith Park Rd to the park of the same name which was part of his former land.
See HERE.
Morrison's Breakwater.
After reaching Griffith Park we tramped along the path beside the river, enjoying the breezes, the views and the rumbles of thunder.
Yarra River looking down river towards Melbourne.
Remaining rails of the Army-built cable train/tram that lowered a fishing boat from a WW2 rehab centre far up on the almost vertical hillside down to the flats and then into the Yarra River.
A winch in the boat house would haul it back up the hillside at the end of the day.
Contrast of light showing how quickly it grew dark as the storm boiled above us, yet we were barely rained upon.
Many of these blocks of land on the 'flats' beside the river have been purchased by Parks Vic and, sadly, are looking a little scrubby with thistles, blackberry, etc, although nowhere near as overgrown as it might have been.
Pity Parks Vic are under-funded so badly.
Hardship with vistas like this.
Traditional meeting place of the Wurundjeri-Willam People; once a hefty-sized billabong but now completely dry.
Sweeney's Flat.
Now owned by Parks Vic.
Scenic shot.
We walked along the river until we stopped for a quick afternoon tea (above) then we began the climb up Sweeney's Lane (where one needs to be part Mountain Goat to attempt) and found the 2nd historic Sweeney's home, Culla Hill, just as the heaven's opened.
The original 1840s house was demolished in the 1950s but the people retained the original stone-built barn (now incorporated into a large building) which, for privacy reasons, is not photographed here.
Dead, tortured tree.
Hillside slope.
With Trees.
Further details HERE.
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