the koala defence...
CNN have reported a population explosion of Koala Bears on Kangaroo Island in Australia. There is talk of culling 20,000 of the cute little animals. All very sad, but not the point of this post. The article reminded me of the game we played one drunken night. It was some kind of murder game. Part of the game involved giving an impassioned speech defending your innocence.
Gypsy Tart, Mrs McMuffin's sister, was a little tipsy and whenever she had to make a speech she always invoked the 'Koala Defence'. She had developed this defence after seeing news reports of Koalas clinging to their trees while bush fires had raged around them. Her defence involved her holding her hands close to her face and looking forlorn, saying in a sad little voice 'burning paws, burning paws'. Somehow she won the game, we just couldn't bring ourselves to vote her out, and it turned out she had been the killer all along.
Mrs McMuffin would like to thank Mr David TEFLSmiler for giving Mr McMuffin the opportunity to experience the wonders of the iSight. He has now gone and bought one. It is truly a beautiful thing. For those of you, poor souls chained to machines running Windoze, who have no idea what I am talking about, you can find out about it here.
I thought I would share with you the torture that we are put through every morning by the lovely Slink. Every morning he leaps on my chest and cries in my face to wake me up. He comes downstairs with me, has something to eat, then demands to be let back upstairs to stand on Mrs McMuffin's head, or at least that is what she says he does. If you don't let him have what he wants, he will cry and cry and cry. He can keep it up for an hour. This is a little movie I made this morning, using the lovely iSight camera and iMovie, just to give you a little taster of what we go through with this animal (I've stripped the movie right back so that it is only about 1Mb in size). This is not the most terrible sound he makes. He has a special one that he reserves for the hallway, for some reason. It is a low guttural scream that seems to go on forever. If you go out to him, he stops, and looks at you as if you are a bit mad. In his special catty fashion, he seems to be saying, "noise, what noise, I didn't hear anything."
Mr McMuffin says I have been slacking, as I haven't written anything for a couple of days. What can I say, I've been busy, and he's been hogging the Mac. He whines as much as Slinky...'I've got a report to write...' So four hours later what does he have to show? Seven pages. Don't forget any court report has to be double spaced with inch and a half wide margins at either side and have a big break between paragraphs. Not very productive is he? If I was supervising him I'd have a little talk with him about his difficulties in a sympathetic manner. As I'm his wife, I tell him he's being bloody useless and should just get on with it. That's sympathy McMuffin style.
Saw the Carrot Cakes last night. Had lots to drink. Feel a little bit rough. Don't want to go back to work/interview students tomorrow. Want to see Gypsy Tart and Rock Cake's new cats that they've rescued from Battersea. Hope these cats do not gang up on Slinky and humiliate him.
this is soul...
Mrs McMuffin and I have often debated about whether one musical star or another has soul. It is kind of hard to define, but you know it when you hear it. Mariah Carey, for example, has a great voice, but she has no soul. Whitney Houston is another one. Sam Cooke had a great voice and he had soul. I found this on the end of a Sam Cooke greatest hits album I downloaded. I've never heard it before. This is Sam Cooke's definition of soul.
Gypsy Tart and Rock Cake's new cats are lovely. They are ensconced in their spare room surrounded by food, water and cat litter. They also have lots of comfortable hidey holes so that they can feel less frightened of their new environment. I have to confess we twisted their arms to go and see the kitties. One is huge and ginger, and the other is black and white and fluffy. The fluffy one is already friendly and excited to meet everyone, the ginger is a little less adventurous.
Gypsy Tart and Rock Cake now have to name them. They are not very keen on each other's choices. This is going to amuse me over the next few days. Gyspsy Tart suggested 'Llinos and Heulwen' after our childhood friends, Rock Cake countered with BooBoo (he didn't know that this was my nickname for my sister as a child and she really hated it) or Mrs Peel and Purdy. I think this one is going to run for a while.
dinner with the carrot cakes
As you have probably gathered we had Mr and Mrs Carrot Cake to dinner last night. We had a lovely evening. Got quite drunk, ate lots of food, and I think I have almost persuaded Mr Carrot Cake to get himself a Mac! Although that might just have been the drink. We had a Moroccan style evening. The first course consisted of butter bean dip, aubergine dip and roasted peppers with baked pitta breads (tear the pitta bread up into chunks, sprinkle a little olive oil, black pepper and some course sea salt, and bake on a high heat for about 5 minutes or so - turns them fantastically crispy). The main course was a version of this monstrosity that I made last year. This was an amazing mixture of couscous, fennel, red peppers, courgettes, aubergines, garlic cloves, red onion, sweet potato and huge chunks of spicy roasted lamb. The veg are all baked covered in olive oil and honey.
Anyway, my new sophisticated version involved dicing all the vegetables into one cm cubes and roasting in the same way. They were then mixed with couscous and packed into timbales. Very delicate and very delicious. These were served with lightly roasted lamb neck fillets and baby tomatoes, with a prune and ginger sauce ( which I have to admit to buying!)
Pudding was my patented Faux Chocolat Brulee (Mrs Carrot Cake is a chocoholic) with baby apples. This time I flavoured the chocolate mixture with Calvados.
Very, very tasty. Even if I say so myself.
Mrs McMuffin claims a thanks for choosing the vegetables with such care, and inspiring the meal.
Got to go now. I am starving and my roasted lamb shanks are waiting.
I'm really not looking forward to getting back on the treadmill. I've got quite relaxed and am sleeping better. It's a relatively easy start tomorrow as I'm interviewing all day, and the University is really close to where Mr McMuffin is working so I even get a lift there and back. I've read the interview schedule, and the questions look easy peasy. I'm feeling a bit old codgerish as I can't help thinking that they were harder when I was on the program. Wednesday I'm back in the office and I know we have bumper numbers of children in care so it's going to be really busy.
I'm also not looking forward to drinking bad coffee. I didn't even drink coffee until a few years ago and I've become a real snob. It has to be freshly brewed, strong and black or I can't be bothered. Ms Ginger Cake got her Mum to bring back tons of gorgeous Blue Mountain coffee when she was over from Jamaica. I can't even bear to drink my usual brew now, I am a spoiled brat.
feel the quality
I was pleased to find out today that standards have remained high for a place on the MA program that I attended. The candidates were a bit of a mixed bag, but the ones we agreed should be offered places will make good social workers. I feel reassured.
That's all I've got to say today, I am feeling a bit dull and tired having put up with the Slinky and Mr McMuffin snoring symphony again last night. It drives me mad, but really is a fabulous duet. Mr McMuffin also began to speak in tongues, but a light shove on the shoulder cured that. Sometimes I think it's really not civilised to share a bed and bedroom with another person.
We have just had a two-way [Mrs McMuffin, correctly, points out that the conversation was in fact three way...but who really cares what she has to say?] with David TEFLSmiler in his new home in Denmark. It was fantastic, although we did struggle with the slight delay. We kept cutting across each other. It has to be said that it was mainly Mrs McMuffin who seems to have lost most of her social skills as she has got older. I can get away with that because she laughed as I typed it! David is our hero. The bravest person. The first person to expose himself via the internet. I don't mean that in a bad way.
this man gave us money...
This is Steve, and this man gave us money. He didn't give us much money, it has to be said, but it is a start. It has taken a while, but we are finally on our way to becoming internet millionaires. We will always remember Steve as the man who made it all possible. Sorry, Steve, we will not be able to give you any of our unearned money though, because I just cannot be doing with those begging b*stards on the internet.
Anyway, remember if you want to avoid the Christmas rush you should give us money now. Please don't let all this lovelinesss go unrewarded.
And now for the science...Our independent research has shown that people who give us money feel 15.7% better about themselves on average than people who do not. The results show that the degree of feeling better will vary according to the amount of money you give. For example, Steve feels 0.0002% better about himself, and although this doesn't seem like a lot, it has helped to put a little spring in his step.
I was hypnotised by the TV tonight and then Mr McMuffin came in, asked what poo I was watching and got hypnotised too. It was a show from the US called 'Extreme Makeovers' where ugly people get plastic surgery and less radical interventions (such as a bit of sorely needed fashion advice) and are transformed.
They looked great, seemed confident and were a lot happier than they had been before. I wanted to despise this show, now I want to be on it. Well only if I don't have to have surgery, obviously.
A good night's sleep seems to have improved my looks, but not my mood. Mr McMuffin drank a bit too much wine last night and couldn't be persuaded to move from the settee. I covered him with a blanket and enjoyed having the bed to myself for once and not being forced to listen to Mr McMuffin speaking Albanian.
I am pissed off being back at work and my swear rate is now one 'fucking bastard' per minute. In fact I sound so much like an Old Salt, am thinking of having the hope and anchor tattooed on my forearm. I found out that I have been booked in to attend more database training tomorrow (a 'management overview') and am really pissed off about that. In fact I am pissed off completely with work. I knew it was a mistake to have time off, it's too fucking bastard hard to go back.
george for president...
George W meets the future of America. I am so sorry, but I couldn't help myself. I was inspired by Retro Girl to visit George W Bush's campaign site, where you can find free wallpapers and screensavers. Click on it to see the bigger picture.
I had an almost surreal day last Friday. Unfortunately, I couldn't find a poster for a film called 'Surreal Friday', so I had to make do with this one.
My day began with me sleeping in. Something that I haven't done for ages. The problem for me is that I am terrible at rushing around in the morning. I need to have at least an hour sitting doing nothing but drinking coffee and smoking fags before I can even contemplate getting dressed. I gave up the rushing around stuff years ago, and now if I am late in the morning, then that's that. I phoned my therapist to let her know that I wouldn't be able to see her for my 8.30am session, and settled down to a relaxing morning. I don't work on Fridays anymore, and use the day for all my therapy stuff, supervision, seeing clients, those sorts of things.
Got a phone call just after 1pm from the place where I see my clients to find out where I was. Doh! The week before I had arranged to meet with a fellow therapist, who I hadn't actually met before, at 1pm to talk about us running a group together. I had forgot all about it. I spoke to him, and apologised profusely. The problem with forgetting anything in therapy is the niggly idea that maybe you just didn't want to do it. And if I am honest with myself, I guess there is some truth in that. When I spoke with this fella the previous week I had finished the telephone conversation thinking "he sounds a bit strange."
I asked him if we could rearrange the meeting, and he said, "well...what's to prevent you from 'forgetting' that meeting to?" To which I answered, "abolutely nothing!". By the end of our conversation we had agreed to meet that afternoon at 4pm, and I felt absolutely raging angry with him. More convinced that ever that here was a very strange person, but willing to consider that maybe I was picking up on how angry he was with me for standing him up.
We met as arranged. I noticed that his right hand was covered in sticky plasters. He had a plaster on his wrist and every finger had a plaster on it. In fact, his index finger had three on it. I did what anyone would do in the circumstances and asked him what had happened to his hand. In a deep, droning, monotone voice, he said, "Well I got myself into a bit of a to-do last night. I was being bullied by this man in the pub and he pushed me into a corner, so I smashed a glass over his head." He went on to decribe a chase through the streets of London, and how he eventually found sanctuary in a Chinese restaurant. As he was telling the story, he kept glancing at me and smiling, as if he was looking for my approval. You know, just lads together, that sort of thing. I listened to him in a slightly shocked silence, and eventually said to him, "I don't want to work with you. I don't want to run a group with you. I am very concerned about what you have told me and I don't want to work with anyone who thinks violence is okay."
At this point he surprised me by suggesting that we move things forward and talk about our different therapeutic techniques! I said, "NO! I do not want to run the group with you, and I am so concerned by what you have told I feel I have to report our conversation to...[the manager of the agency]."
Things just kept getting stranger. He then said, "I told you all that in confidence, and now you are going to grass me up..." It was a bit like we were adolescent boys, and he was invoking the secret rule about grassing people up.
I just couldn't be bothered talking to him anymore, and told him that our meeting was over and I was leaving. As I got up to leave, I said, "I'm sorry that this has been a wasted day for you." I am not entirely sure why I said this. My only excuse is that I am British, and I often feel the urge to apologise for things, even when they have nothing to do with me. He replied, "So you won't be reimbursing me?" I said, "Pardon!" He finished by muttered something about, "Oh, it doesn't matter."
It didn't occur to me until much later that all of this had happened on the same day. I had felt kind of disconnected from the world all day. I think it started with sleeping in, and continued through to meeting with this fella. Everything had a slightly dreamy, surreal, quality to it. I felt a bit like Tim Robbins in 'Jacob's Ladder'. At least his problems turned to be drug induced, or maybe they were, who knows.
There is no moral to this tale. Just the telling. And I am done.
Mrs McMuffin has accepted the Retro Girl Challenge. Retro got it from Dorothy, who got it from Joe, but then she saw it at Leslie's!
We want everyone who reads this to ask us 3 questions, no more no less. Ask us anything you want and we will answer it. Then, we want you to go to your journal, copy and paste this allowing your friends (including us) to ask you anything. Life is like a pack of cards. You play the hand you're dealt.
We just had a flooded kitchen. The pipe under the sink came loose and sent gallons of water all over the place. The pipe was broke but we fix it. We don't have a mop, so we had to use bath towels, which are very absorbent. The day is saved. We are now going to finish watching 'Amistad', which is very excellent.
Mr McMuffin forgot to mention the solitary cheesy bug under the sink which rode out the flood rather like SPG in the 'Young Ones'. I swear the little creature had a tiny little olive branch in what passes for its mouth.
I am becoming a 1950's housewife as the second thing which went through my head was that I would have to soak the towels in a mild bleach solution and boil wash them. Exactly when did I become my mother? Actually for the sake of accuracy I have to say that my Mum only ever used bleach in the toilet. She seemed to think that bleach was for dirty people, everything else could be cleaned by scrubbing or as a last resort, boiling in a vinegar solution. I blame her for us not having a mop, in my view the floor is not clean unless I do it on my hands and knees. It never actually looks clean, mind you, but it feels clean.
george for president part 2...
George W meets a future voter. I just couldn't help. He is such an easy target.
george for president part 3...
Oh, that's it, for now. He is just too easy.
the mcmuffins do baccara...
A little teaser for you. You can Download the trailer from here.
Mostly today I have been a handyman. I have just fitted a telephone extention. It is goes all around the skirting board, around doors, under radiators, coming to a lovely little switch box thingy that I screwed to the wall and everything. It is all very neat. The only problem is...it doesn't work. I cannot work out what is wrong. I am going to do what every good handyman does when they are stumped...I am giving up. Didn't really need it anyway. The only problem is, I have ripped out all the old wiring. We've got mobiles and we can still get on the internet. We'll survive.
a night at the movies...
Mrs McMuffin and I went to the cinema last night with Gypsy Tart and Rock Cake. We were all going to see Van Helsing, but I thought that Gypsy Tart had said that Rock Cake was away for the weekend and so I didn't get him a ticket. By the time I realised my mistake, the show was sold out. We decided to get two tickets for another film showing at the same time, and that turned out to be Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind, which deserves to be seen just for the fantastic title. In the end, Rock Cake and I went to see Van Helsing and Mrs McMuffin and Gypsy Tart went to see Eternal Sunshine.
Can't say much about the movies, because we each want to see the other film, but we each thought our respective films were great. Mrs McMuffin said something that I never, ever, thought I would hear her say, she said, "Jim Carey was excellent." You don't how annoying she finds him, so that is high praise indeed.
I loved Van Helsing. Very, very silly, but done with panache. Non-stop action, and the time just flew by. Reminded me a lot of hammy Hammer Horror movies, but with a much bigger budget. An added bonus was that it had a few new twists on the vampire and werewolf myths. Hugh Jackman is excellent as Van Helsing. I find him an interesting actor, in that he actually seems to be pretending to be a big, rough, tough, he-man type, and doesn't seem to have any need to carry it through into his private life. He just seems really nice in the interviews that I have seen with him, and he has really big muscles too. Anyway, enough of that...
fame and fortune
I bumped into an old acquaintance yesterday in B&Q (oh, my glamourous life) and was surprised to find out that his company had done some work on the 'Our House' designer revamp for 'Style' on the house down the road from my parents. Apparently they are going to use him for another show and interview him. He found this vastly entertaining but did not seem to have considered that with his larger than life personality and (quite good) looks that he could be the next Handy Andy/ Tommy. I predict that if he does get his 15 minutes, then they will want to extend this.
He fell into his business thanks to the woman in his life. She was sick of him moping around after redundancy from his ridiculously highly paid job and put an advert in the local paper hiring him out for odd jobs for £5 an hour. He only found out about this when she told him that he'd better get himself ready as he was working the next day and gave him an address! I do admire that woman.
So, I loved 'Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind' and contrary to Mr McMuffin's post, do rate Jim Carrey as an actor. Today I am shopping with Gypsy Tart and hope to get something nice to wear for my friend's wedding.
Looks like 'The McMuffin's do Baccara will' have to wait a bit longer. Sorry!
She is stifling my creativity by going shopping. I am sitting here in my jodphurs and beret twiddling my thumbs. I even bought a megaphone, so that I could be sure she would hear my calls for ACTION. It'll also come in handy when I need to clear the set. Mrs McMuffin insisted that a clause was written into her contract stating that she will only do the nude scenes if there are no more than three people present. I don't know what has come over her. For some reason she thinks that she is the star of this production. I was shocked to find that she had hired herself a lawyer and an agent. It's all getting very expensive. What with her demands for a 60ft mobile home to change in and a personal spiritual advisor. Have you any idea how hard it is to get a 60ft mobile home into a 40ft garden? We had to knock down part of the neighbour's house, but I'm sure we can put it back up before they get back from holiday in a couple of days. If not, I am sure that they will be satisfied with being this close to movie glamour.
Anyway, today, it was all for nothing. I might as well go and get changed into my smoking jacket.
buns of steel...
...and I thought that I had buns of sponge. Mr McMuffin and I decided to get on with the Baccara song this evening. After ten minutes of squawking I decided to get Gypsy Tart over to listen to the abomination that we had created. Unfortunately her front door swells a little when damp and has to be pushed from the outside to gain entry. As my legs are far stronger than my puny arms, I've got into the habit of using my lower limbs and torso for any tasks which demand some strength. This time I pushed against the door with my hip/bum and smashed a pane of glass in their door. I have to say that I felt terrible about the havoc I wreaked, but am pleased to announce that I don't need buttock surgery.
Another fruitless couple of hours in Bluewater and I still don't have a wedding guest outfit. We're going to two this summer so I didn't want to recycle the usual stuff I pull on when I have to look smart. I almost got a trouser suit in Zara in a cream colour, but am not sure if this colour is now acceptable at weddings. I know it won't be a problem at one, as the bride is wearing green, but as the other is a McMuffin family wedding I don't want to do anything to drew attention to myself! The other option is a floral 50's style top and skirt, but rarely wear patterns so it might feel a bit strange. May have to recycle the red Monsoon dress after all. I love clothes, I love shopping, I just hate buying clothes for special occasions.
The traffic was terrible this morning. I spent 2 hours and 20 minutes travelling only 5 miles. In the end I gave up trying to get to work, and turned around, along with everyone else, of course. I left the house at 8.50am and only got back at 12.40pm. I stopped of at Homebase to buy myself a lovely looking 'Heavy Duty 3 Way Staple Gun' in an attempt to console myself. Not sure what I am going to do with it, but it looks lovely and I am enjoying walking about the house with it dangling from my handcrafted leather tool belt. It staples, of course, but it also uses U-shaped staples for wires, and, best of all, 10-14mm nails. I love it. My only regret is that it is not powered in some way. Well, I must be off. Got things to staple.
By the way, I am sitting here listening to the new Loretta Lynn album produced by Jack White from The White Stripes, and it is excellent. I guess there is a reason why these old ones became famous. I must say that I think Jack White's rockier take on country music suits her voice really well.
i'm in the money, i'm in the money...
I'm rich. Finally my boat has come in. I will probably not be posting for a while as I have so much money to spend and so little time. Thought you might like to see my good news email:
AWED INTERNATIONAL LOTTO.BV PROMO/PRIZE AWARD DEPARTMENT.
ADDRESS: KRUISLAAN 408, 1098 SJ, AMSTERDAM - THE NETHERLANDS.
ATTENTION: RE / AWARD NOTIFICATION / PROCESSING ADVICE: AL
We are pleased to inform you of the announcement today, 8th May, 2004 of winners of the SCIENTIFIC GAME PROMO LOTTERY; THE NETHERLANDS / INTERNATIONAL, PROGRAMS held on 17th May, 2004. Your email address attached to ticket number 89-02897893, with serial number 95020 drew the lucky numbers 14-21-33-42-49-63, and subsequently won the lottery in the 1st category. You have therefore been approved of a lump sum pay out of US$1,500,000.00 (ONE MILLION FIVE HUNDRED THOUSAND UNITED STATE DOLLARS) in credited to file REF NO. AIL/7585021-47/03. This is from total prize money of US$12,500,000.00 shared among the international winners in our 1st -5th categories. All participants were selected through a computer ballot system drawn form 25,000 company email addresses and 30,000,000 individual email addresses from Australia, New Zealand, America, Europe, North America and Asia as part of International Promotions Program, which is conducted annually.CONGRATULATIONS! Your funds is now in custody of a financial Security company insured in your FILE REFERENCE. Due to the mix up of some numbers and names, we ask that you keep this award strictly from public notice until your claim has been processed and your money remitted to your account. This is part of our security protocol to avoid double claiming or unscrupulous acts by participants of this program. This lottery program was promoted by our group of philanthropist headed by Mr. Bill Gates. We hope with part of your prize, you will participate in our end of year high stakes US$10,000,000 million Dollars International Lottery in the year 2005.
To begin your claim, please contact your file/claim officer: MR.KONAN ARMSTRONG,of AWED INTERNATIONAL LOTTO.BV (AMSTERDAM - THE NETHERLANDS). On TEL: 0031-620675783.
Please be informed that NON RESIDENCE of THE NETHERLANDS will be required to procure an Affidavit of Lotto Claim/Court clearance certificate from the Court in the Netherlands prior to award payment policy of The Netherlands Gaming Board as required by the paying Authority.
Please be aware that your Paying Authority will Effect Payment Swiftly upon satisfactory Report, Verifications and validation provided by this processing Agent. For due processing and remittance of your winning prize to designated account of your choice, please treat as urgent. Remember, all prize money must be claimed NOT LATER than 17th MAY, 2004. After this date, all funds will be returned as unclaimed.
NOTE: In order to avoid unnecessary delay and complications, please remember to quote your reference and batch numbers in every one of your correspondences with your agent. Furthermore, should there be any change of your address, do inform your claims agent as soon as possible.
Congratulations once again from our team of staff and thank you for being part of our promotional program. Note: Anybody under the age of 18 is AUTOMATICALY DISQUALIFIED.
Mrs. Iris Hans.
Now, where are my bank details...
you'll never guess what i have been doing
I was fitting another telephone extention in the living room, sitting cross legged in the tiny space I had made behind the television. I suddenly felt very sleepy. I lowered my head onto my chest and shut my eyes...forty minutes later I woke up! How's that for odd? It is not every day you squeeze into a little space like that and then fall asleep sitting with your legs crossed. That's surely the strangest place to fall asleep...or is it?...Perhaps you know different...
i'm in the money part 2
I just don't believe it. I immediately emailed my bank details to the "SCIENTIFIC GAME PROMO LOTTERY; THE NETHERLANDS / INTERNATIONAL, PROGRAMS", but my email has been returned. The address couldn't be found. You'd think a big organisation like that would have it's email sorted. I was hoping to collect my winnings quickly, but I guess I'll have to phone them now.
I have complained before about Slinky's nasty muddy paws, but this morning he just went too far. Mr McMuffin didn't manage to stop him from heading back upstairs to jump on me and he had the muddiest paws I have ever seen. You could raise seeds between his toes and it was wet. After leaving a trail of footprints over the bedding he stood on my arm and tried to touch my face with his paws out of sheer love for me, I believe! This was not a pleasant experience, but then it dawned on me that the only reason he had been digging in the garden was to bury his poo. Yuck, yuck, yuck.
I've decided that's it for the nasty neighbour, he will be wearing wellies outside and slippers in the house.
the streaming itunes experiment...
I set up NiceCast [do a Google on it. I don't want to draw to much attention to myself!] to randomly broadcast the music in my iTunes library continuously for 12 hours while I was at work yesterday. During that time, we had 39 listeners, each of who stayed for an average of 14 minutes. I imagine some people came back more than once. The software clearly works, but the big issue for me is, why would I want to mindlessly broadcast my music to the world? Of course, I haven't mentioned that doing this effectively gives me access to my music from anywhere in the world, and that is quite cool. I guess the long and the short of this is...the experiment is over. Radio Free McMuffin is no more...
we are hardly evil at all...
I think this is the final seal of approval I was looking for. This site is now officially not very evil, which means that we have finally got rid of the blogdemon once and for all. I got this from David TEFLSmiler, who got it from Blinger, who got it from Katolik Shinja, who now appears to have their very own blogdemon.
this is evil...
This is Nick Berg, and on Saturday 8 May 2004 he had his head hacked off. The men who did it claimed to be some kind of freedom fighters. They say they are fighting against American oppression. Apparently they have posted a video of them cutting thru his neck. I haven't seen the film, but I have been haunted by the thought of it all day. I have found myself constantly thinking about what it would be like to have my head cut off. I have sympathy with people around the world who genuinely fight for freedom. The only problem I have is that the men who are able to do this sort of thing are no longer able to appreciate what they claim to be fighting for. They have truly become monsters, and they live in a world where all human life is meaningless. They have stripped themselves of all capacity to empathise with other people, and in doing so they have lost all possible connections with others and the world around them. They may think they feel a sense of comradeship with the others who carried out this terrible act, but that is a sham feeling. These are men truly living in the abyss. They are mad people in a very real way, in that they no longer have a sense of themselves in the world, a sense of themselves which is reflected by the people around them with whom they have emotional connections. I can't imagine what they are going to do next.
It is kind of hard to move on from my last post, but I guess I must...
I was sitting at home, working of course, when a little Scottish man knocked on the door to ask me if I want the rubbish in our front garden cleared. There has been rubbish in our front garden for three years. We clear it every now and then, but when we attack another room, all the rubbish goes into the front garden. He even had a little leaflet. I readily agreed to tackling an even bigger job. He and friend are now knocking down our derelict garden shed, which is nearly as big as our house, and the outside toilet. They will be finished by 4pm tomorrow, and are only charging £450! Mrs McMuffin is made up, but secretly fearful that all the rubbish will be dumped into a nature reserve somewhere. I always find it easier not to ask where they are dumping the stuff. I like to assume that they are taking it to a proper dump to be recycled! She is just a jaded old worn out cynic. This couldn't have happened at a better time, because Mrs McMuffin now has time to plant some lovely things in the garden. By the end of the summer it will be as if we never had a shed and toilet in our garden. She is talking trellis already. Not that any of this matters because I will be spending the summer with Jo.
i thought I was 'passed' it...
I forgot to mention that my little Scottish man seemed to be making a pass at me too. I opened the door to him in my dressing gown and my painting slippers, my working at home attire, and my hair was greasy and unwashed. I looked lovely. Anyway, as he was going through his spiel, he said something about someone else he was working for who didn't wear a "nighty gown", then he said, "and yours is see-through." Now, Mrs McMuffin bought me the gown, and she can barely bear to see me naked, she bought me the thickest thing you can imagine. She even forces me to wear it in the summer just to make sure she doesn't catch a glimpse of my naked flesh. She denies this, and says that she is trying to preserve the mystery of my manliness. Later on, as my Scottish chappie and his mate were having a break, I was putting Slink out before setting off to work, and he commented on "what a large pussy you have." Which I thought was a bit odd because Slink is quite a small cat. I am not very good at this stuff, because I am suddenly reminded of the occasion that I was drinking in a pub when I was about 19. I was standing at the jukebox choosing some music, and munching on a bag of peanuts as I went. An older woman, she was at least 30, sidled up to me and asked me for one of my nuts. Being a naive young boy, I said, "sure" and offered her the bag. I finished choosing my music and sat down with my friends, who told me that I had just been propositioned by a prostitute. Who could have guessed?
So, anyway, I think my little Scottish man is offering me real value for money. Not only do I get the garden cleared but he gave my ego a little boost too! Truly, though, how could the poor man resist me? For God's sake, he is only human.
Leave us alone. We is hardly evil at all, and you are trying to make us evil. You are all in the service of the blogdemon. There is nothing for you here evil ones. This is an ever so slghtly evil blog for people who are hardly evil at all. Mrs McMuffin has noted that "English also undergoes mutations and it is not just bloody Welsh, monoglot boy." She is strange, and quite possibly considerably more evil than me. Which may explain why our evil score is climbing.
Update: just found this site. Turns out that I am quite evil after all.
How evil are you?
gag the man
Mr McMuffin can hardly shut up these days. He even phoned me at work to tell me about the 'Little Scottish Man', but failed to mention the undeniable lust wave! He's off work tomorrow, so I shall be smelling his clothes to see if they reek of aftershave.
My life is full of nasty work and tiredness at the moment, so I am pleased that he is 'keeping regular' so I don't have to. I would love to talk about some of the people who are pissing me off, but fear that it may come back on me some day.
I took the Evil quiz just now and I am merely 'twisted', so am wrongly accused of contributing evil to this site. I'm going to bed now and to show how good I am will read 'Heidi' (just to see if it's as vomitous as I remember). Night night.
I had a strange food experience today. I was making some pasta when it suddenly exploded in the pot, perhaps exploded isn't the right word, it really just seem to disintegrate. The picture on the left is the before, and the picture on the right is the oddly broken up stuff. This has never happened to me before. Does anyone have any idea why this happened?
the low of evility...
The good news is that it now even safer to visit this site. It has been a struggle but we have managed to curb the darker side of ourselves and, as you can see, it has paid off.
I have just been listening to The Streets' new album 'A Grand Don't Come For Free', and it is fantastic. I am surprised by how much I like it. It has an authentic British feel to it, and all done without the cod accents that people like Damon Albarn feel necessary to adopt. Anyway, you can download one of the songs from the album from here. Rush out and get this album now.
holiday death walk...
We have been inspired by the Carrot man and are thinking a lot about holidays. This is tale of heroism and bravery on holiday. This is the ultimate 'determined to enjoy themselves' story. We have now been to Madeira three times. I fought and argued over the first visit. It was my first holiday abroad, and Mrs McMuffin's parents had really liked the place when they had gone there about 15 years before. I like to think of myself as quite sophisticated, but I took a Miss Marple approach to life: I don't need to travel to learn about life, all life is here on my doorstep, people are people, sort of thing...I also objected to the idea that my first holiday abroad should be dictated by her parents, who by the way are really very nice...but that is not the point.
We have now visited Madeira three times, and it is probably my most favourite place in the whole world. It is old world Europe, but small and perfectly proportioned, with a proper little city at its heart.
On our second trip we decided to do a levada walk. This is a common tourist trip. The levadas are a network of canals that provide water to the whole of the island, and they offer the opportunity to see bits of the island that aren't normally seen. Anyway, we consulted our guidebook and found the perfect three mile walk that ended at a cafe. This is a picture of Mrs McMuffin, happy in the big woolly cardigan that she had bought at the top of Monte.
This is me, Mrs McMuffin, taking over because he has gone to ensure our dinner isn't burned. So, anyway we started the walk only to find that due to Levada repairs we had to go back the other way. The walk was lovely and the sound of the Levada burbling alongside us enhanced the whole experience. Mr McMuffin doesn't do walking so he got really fed up and picked a row with me. I told him to fuck off, obviously, which is just what he did. The levada path got narrower and narrower and I found myself walking alone on a strip of concrete about a foot across with a drop of about 1,000 feet next to it. You just cannot see this horror in the photographs.
Now I am absolutely terrifed of heights. I was the kid who crawled across railway bridges and as an adolescent was humilated to see little kids running past me on the ramparts of Castell Cydweli laughing as I was on my hands and knees. I had exactly the same sense of fear, only this time it was real, if I slipped I would die. No question. Now I tried to be brave and rebuked myself for my stupid fear. I recall laughing as I put a foot forward only to realise that the foot was shaking so much I could have frothed cappucino. God knows how I did it, but I got to the other end, about half a mile, on my sodding hands and knees. I really had got to the point of no return, so was only able to go forward. At one point I recall thinking that if I just hurled myself off the ledge at least I wouldn't have to suffer the surprise of slipping. I cannot believe that I actually did this, I have never been braver.
Back to Mr McMuffin: I knew nothing of all this drama. To begin with I was just having a sulk, trying to enjoy the scenery. But, it didn't take long before I realise that my life was at risk. I took a male approach to the whole thing, and I strode bravely onwards with my eyes kept firmly ahead. After a while, I entered a tunnel, and I just kept going. I didn't look behind, I just assumed that Mrs McMuffin was behind me, and I was too pissed off with her to talk to her. It took me a while when I reached the end to realise that she wasn't behind me, and it took me even longer to find out where she was, but, good reader, for your sake, I ensured the moment was forever captured:
We were so pleased to have survived the whole experience that we completely forgot our row. It is amazing how near death experiences help you to appreciate the small things in life.
Now, back to Mrs McMuffin, while I go and finish dinner.
Now just before we entered the treacherous part of the walk, we were passed by a whole load of tourists who smiled and wished us a good day. Not ONE of those bastards tried to tell us what lay ahead. When we got to the end of the whole thing some other tourists came along and we exchanged a small conversation about how scary it had been. What was a bit stange was that we did it in French and as we walked away, they started speaking in German, and we obviously talked in English. When they heard us, they gave us these hurt looks, as if we had fooled them into thinking we were French, when they has in fact begun the conversation in French. They must have thought that Mr McMuffin was a mute and I had learning disabilities because he can't speak French (apart from 'deux cafes noires s'il vous plaites') and mine is very basic.
So we followed them back to Monte, (where I bought the enormous woolly cardi, which was immediately christened 'the sheep' a few days before). After lots of coffee, a beer, copious fags, a fight with a cat and a little rest, I then gathered my strength for the bloody cable car journey back to Funchal.
shame shame shame
The shed of shame is gone. The outside toilet of shame is gone. The rubbish in the front garden of shame is gone. The wall of shame around half of the front garden is gone.
Our garden is finally clear and is much bigger than we first thought. Thanks to the nice Scottish man and his son we aren't the dodgiest looking house on the street. I say nice Scottish man, because I made him and his son a drink and sat down with them for a few minutes. They were perfectly pleasant and there was no innuendo. So either I am a complete minger (although little Scottish man commented on my sister's remarkable resemblance to me) or Mr McMuffin and Gypsy Tart invite unsavoury attention. I prefer to think it is the latter.
Tonight I am going to a Eurovision party. Mr McMuffin thinks it is camp old nonsense, so I shall be going without him. I really do love the Eurovision song contest. It has got a bit samey since everyone and their dog started watching MTV, but there are still fabulous cultural differences to be celebrated and mocked. We'll still be out of favour for our warmongering in Iraq, I wonder if Spain will pick up a few bonus points...
This is real politics.
Post updated by Mr McMuffin: I added some before and after photos, and I have to say that it is sad, but true, I married a right minger. I also have to say that the Eurovision Song Contest is not camp froth...It is just poo.
Further update from Mrs McMuffin: The 'before' photo shows the state of the garden when we moved in. The trees to the left are a line of mouldy fruit trees that cut the garden in half, looking to the right and seeing how small that space is, you can see why they had to go.
Ukraine won the Eurovision, which was the right choice. A fabulous act all dressed like 'Zena the warrior princess' and a lead singer who looked like Catherine Zeta Jones. Lots of jumping, twirling and a poo song. Norway achieved 'nul points' I believe, and the UK entry deservedly scored low. There seemed to be a 'lot of love in the room' to quote the inimitable Darius. Greece were generous to Albania, Albania gave the Serbs a high score etc, it was very strange. Night night.
this is a public service post...
Ruslana won last night's Eurovision Song Contest. If, like me, you think Eurovision is absolute poo, and didn't bother watching it, then this is for you. I thought it was important that we all knew as much as possible about this star whose "potential is remarkable." Although, I am still unclear about whether she is the porn star who comes up when you Google her name. Ruslana has her own site, but it is down at the moment because the people who run it for her had to go to Istanbul with her for the competition. I am sure it will be back up just as soon as they return. I took most of this, unedited, from an official Ukranian website:
Who is Ruslana?
Ruslana is a Ukranian singer...She is a cult figure among the most popular Ukrainian singers, composers and producers. Ruslana has done two graduate degrees in music. Her potential is remarkable; Ruslana possesses powerful vocal abilities, exclusive manner of performance, originality of style, colourful ethnic appeal, powerful energy, diligence, drive and expression capable of thrilling and carrying away a stadium crowd.
Ruslana was born on May, 24 at the city of Lvov. She was engaged in music and a vocal since four years. In childhood Ruslana sang in group “ Orion ”, later - in children's ensemble “ Smile ”. After the she has finished study at musical school, the future female singer has began study in the Lvov conservatory on conductor’s faculty. She not only singer, she is also the professional pianist. By the way, when she passed conductor’s examinations one examiner has graded mark “ bad ” to her, but another has graded “ best ”.
What kind of music does she make?
A style which can be informally called “drive-ethno-dance” (a synthesis of many elements makes it difficult to give a precise definition), full of unique distinctive flavor that Europe has never seen before.
The musical stylistics of the Wild Dances include:
- The ‘drive’ of rock music;
- Energy of modern dance-music;
- Variety of ‘mountain’ rhythms and motives.
Elements of the Carpathian flavor are as follows: catchy Hutsul music, ‘drive’, mystical character and energy at the same time (dances, rituals, use of ‘mountain’ costumes etc). Based on this flavor, Ruslana has created her own unique style in music (rhythm and melodic sounds), dances (moderns moves based on ancient Carpathian dances), and clothes.
What is her image?
The image of Ruslana is unique, original and exotic. It consists of a unique vocal manner (ethnical mountain melisms, authentic sounds and exclamations) and of a driving and energetic model of stage behavior that reflects the ‘mountain’ temper that is characteristic of the Singer.
How will she perform at Eurovision?
Ruslana’s performance at Eurovision will also be accompanied by an igniting dancing show performed Zhyttia Ballet (‘Life’ Ballet). By style the dancing will be a synthesis of modern dancing art and national Ukrainian rhythmoplastics. The authors of the dancing concept will try to eliminate the border between the Ancient and the Modern, develop a unique dance style, which can potentially become a hit at discothèques.
Ruslana’s performance at Eurovision will be a combination of music, dancing, costumes, haircut and makeup solutions.
The dancing performance will also be based on the brightest parts of Ruslana’s two-hour show created in the framework of her all-Ukrainian tour to support The Wild Dances album. It will also contain some very ancient and newly-discovered Carpathian traditions, which are being implemented into the main concept of the Song at this moment.
While Ruslana is planning a few more expeditions to the Carpathians, the rest of her time before Eurovision she plans to dedicate to studio work, rehearsals and promotional activities.
What will she wear at Eurovision?
The costumes of Ruslana and her dancing team will be made using the brightest elements of the costumes from the show of The Wild Dances (main elements being leather, incrustation and metal parts). All parts of them will be exclusively created for the show. Decorations for the costumes are currently being created by the designers and jewelers. A few of them are ordered from the ethnical craftsmen of the Carpathian mountains, who have used their craft secrets to produce them. The image of Ruslana and her dancers will also be supplemented by tattoos and body art elements.
Here is the lyrics for the song. My Ukranian is not too good, but I think it's got something to do with dancing wildly. If this is not enough for you, the full song can be downloaded from here.
Just maybe I’m crazy
The world spins round and round and round
I want you to want me
As I dance round and round and round
Forever and ever
Go, go, go, wild dancers
Die-na, die-na, wanna be loved
Die-na, gonna take my wild chances
Die-na, die-na, freedom above
Die-na, die-na-day, I’m wild dancin’
Bula ya nadto chemna
Hey, shee-kee-die, shee-ree-kee-dam-day
Dlya tebe, dlya sebe
Zastelyu tsile nebo
Bez zhalyu zapalyu
Go, go, go, wild dancers
Die-na, die-na, wanna be loved
Die-na, gonna take my wild chances
Die-na, die-na, freedom above
Die-na, die-na-day, I’m wild dancin’
Dance forever, come and be mine
Dance together, till the end of time
Go, go, go, wild dancers
Die-na, die-na, wanna be loved
Die-na, gonna take my wild chances
Die-na, die-na, freedom above
Die-na, die-na-day, I’m wild dancin’
Performer: Ruslana Lyzhychko
Music: Ruslana Lyzhychko
Poetry: Ruslana Lyzhychko / Oleksandr Ksenofontov
UPDATE: I have just heard the song for the first time, and I take back everything...It is actually pretty good. I am feeling a little bit guilty at the cheap laughs...I am feeling very evil.
another evility update...
After my last post, this site has become 16% more evil...Oh, dear...
almost looking forward to work...
...because I am so tired. It takes an awful lot of work to keep our house looking as bad as it does and we have worked this weekend. Mr McMuffin has done the cleaning and cooking (boys jobs) and I have been mowing the lawn and shifting the leftover rubbish around.
We probably feel more positive now about the house of shame than we ever have. Mr McMuffin has even stopped talking about moving, and started talking about being here for the long haul. We still have masses to do, but clearing the rubbish away made changing the outside seem as possible as changing the inside. Thank you Little Scottish man and son. You were worth every penny.
the view from our window
I thought you might like to see the photo I took of the sun setting. This is the view we have from our bedroom window. Must go to bed now. Goodnight, everyone.
heidi hei di di di di heidi hei di hei do
Heidi is not as vomitous as I remember, but rather a heart warming little tale about a little girl's faith in her Grandfather and God. Her simple ways and heartfelt wishes touch the lives of those around her and make a crippled girl walk. God, it really was vomitous.
When you think of Heidi though, what colour is her hair? And what style? Of course she has flaxen hair worn in plaits.
Actually she doesn't. Heidi has short, black hair and it is curly. She also has black/brown eyes. I wonder why they made Heidi a blonde. As a black haired child I needed all the dark haired inspiration I could get. Only witches and Snow White had black hair, and Snow White was a bit of a sap. I got to be the Witch in all the games at school, until I had enough and joined the boys in their war games. I don't regret it though, or my reputation as a heartless killer. Death dealing witches have been my role models and inspiration ever since. Sod Heidi.
another strange day...
I thought I would go into work late today, and use the time to get caught up with some paperwork. I diligently started writing at 8am, and didn't stop until 2.15pm. I wrote 4864 words. I was then overcome with tiredness and thought I'd have a little lie down on the couch. I woke up two hours later, and that was a struggle. During this time, I kept half waking, but found myself just unable to rise from the couch. But I'm up and bathed and feelng a strange combination of washed out and refreshed. I really needed that little bit extra sleep.
I did have a little break from writing to find a holiday for us. We have decided to go back to sunny Madeira. I very quickly found the perfect holiday at a hotel we have stayed at before, and I was in the process of booking the holiday, when the salesperson asked me if our passports had at least 7 months to run on them. I suddenly remembered that Mrs McMuffin's passport expired in March this year and she hasn't renewed it. I had to cancel the whole thing.
I am sitting here listening to a massive box set of Marty Robbins singing country. He has such lovely mellow voice, and I have very fond memories of his gunfighter ballads from when I was a child. He was always one of those singers, along with the likes of Willie Nelson, Jim Reeves and Kate Bush, who surprised when they sang. How could that voice come out of those lips. When I recently visited my little brother I was shocked to find that in amongst all the show tunes, hi-energy, and the tragic female singers, I found a copy of the ballads album. Once the country is in you, there is just no taking it out! Hey, that could be the title of a country song. Now, if I could just write a few more catchy words and some music, and learn to play the guitar and how to sing, I could make a lot of money.
The problem with these box sets is that sometimes you hear music that you wished you hadn't heard. Marty lends his beautiful voice to the fight against the commies on Ain't I Right and then goes into a tirade against providing aid to foreigners on My Own Native Land. I always knew he had right-wing leanings but hearing him singing these songs has soured my enjoyment a little. I have always been a little bit confused by the Godly right-winger, but here he is on the sublime An Evening Prayer, a song that will give you some idea of what loveliness he is capable of.
Ah well, I think he will now be filed in the "a great singer, but not a very nice man" section, which is right next to Woody Allen, who is in the "a great film maker, but a paedophile" section and Jim Reeves, "a great singer, but racist bastard" section. By the way, we have a Black Jamaican friend who was also raised on Jim Reeves and buys his records just to spite him! And don't get me started on my struggle with liking Woody Allen!
I watched this show tonight and saw one of the few episodes I had missed. It was fantastic. This sublimely hetero ex Navy weapons specialist becoming a drag queen. He was a nice man who seemed a bit nervous at the idea of spending a lot of time in the company of gay men, but reassured himself that he would be OK as long as the man he would share a house with wasn't bitchy or camp. He said 'I like my gay men straight'.
By the end of the show he was desperate not to lose and was practically in tears thinking that his makeup was not good enough, he was worried that his competitors were so proficient they were as good as 'trannies'. He did very well, and none of the judges could pick him out as the person who had only been a drag queen for less than four weeks. The best bit was that he and his mentor got on famously and you really were left with the impression that they would remain friends and Mr Navy would never laugh at nasty jokes about gay men.
This was a good show. Froth with a message. Pick a good wig.
infinity on my mac...
I have been able to capture infinity on my Mac. It has kept me occupied for about two hours this morning, when I should have been doing other things. It is a high tech version of what I used to do with mirrors when I was a kid. I imagine everyone has done it at some point. Only this time I pointed my iSight camera at my screen and recorded it. I am not sure where the flashing lights come from, but I think it probably has something to do with iSight trying to focus on the image. You can download the whole movie, complete with soundtrack, from here.