A dead soay sheep crawling with maggots was an revolting way to start the month, followed by giving blood and I find that I am in the 9% of Scots with Group B positive (a lifestyle choice too – Be Positive). The Japanese believe that us B+ folk are attractive but agressive, empathtic but selfish (thats me), credited with intuition and balanced and flexible (useful for rock climbing). Forty percent of us are millionares which is a reasonable goal. It was also time for the bi-annual blood pressure check so we got the home machine out in case we needed to do something before a doctor in a short skirt says I have high blood pressure again. My pulse appears to be that of a well-conditioned athlete at 50 beats per minute (but then it could be as lazy as I am).
Geoffrey, our badger glove puppet, is settling in now – with Cara and Professor Moriarty no longer attacking him. Badgers seem to be the Semites of the animal world – continually persecuted although now protected by law – gassed for suspecting carrying rabies, bovine TB and of course more recently anthrax, the Daschund was named ‘badger dog’ because it was used in hunting them. Although I am not sure what Mel Gibson thinks of badgers, they come out quite well in childrens literature.
Online 3D Virtual Worlds have come of age – I have been playing around with Second Life where I blunder around as Mike Curtiss – looking for rock climbing the easy way in my mountain world.
My free Moo cards have arrived with ten of my favourite flickr photos on them. Excellent and cute business cards…
It now appears that the badger drum I played was infected with anthrax but my reassuring letter from the NHS seemed to suggest that it was a low probabilty that I would die (not zero note, just low)
Gardening time – so whilst Kim uncovered the front stone border from the ravages of time and tractors, Ali and I played lumberjacks with a long ladder and a hand saw. Our gardener cam along with his heman chainsaw which the tree promptly broke – leaving Ali and I with our hand saw and axes to dispatch the stubborn trunk – which filled in the time since my drumming classes have been cancelled for Anthrax reasons.
I read an article that said that one of the highest earning Google Ad sites was Plenty Of Fish, another dating site with ladies offering Intimate Relationships to Just a Chat. Since google ads target ads to do with the subject, the ads were all competing dating sites – so for the site to make the 10,000 dollars per day there had to be lots of people desperate enough to click an ad to find another dating site. Whilst on the subject of dating sites – there has to be a money spinner in providing a service to remove ex-spouses from dating pictures – so many pictures on these sites seem to have ‘the other half’, ex or otherwise, hanging around their neck like the albatross from The Ancient Mariner.
It would be remiss of me to miss out on Gothic Personals though, also powered by Google Ads – yes a dating site for Goths. The search form is a cracker – you can find Polyamorous or Transgendered goths and any of the subtypes of Gothism.
Having been described as ‘Naughty’ on one of the dating sites, and with sailing and climbing as my pursuits, I invested in Knots for Climbers. Now I wander around with a piece of rope in my pocket and am unsure what happens if I use a sailing knot whilst climbing or a climbing knot whilst sailing – they all look the same to me at the moment, whether a Knot, Hitch or Bend. Not too sure what airline security are going to make of it all too.
Booked on a “Make Your Own Coffin” course where I have to bring my own lunch and secateurs and get to take away my willow coffin at the end of the weekend.
Enquiring after the ‘Fur Lined Trout’ at the National Museum of Scotland I was met with a cryptic “Not On Public Display, Sir” from the enquiry line. We took the chance to find their cryptozoology section, expecially with the mermaid in it – however on asking one of the lady attendants if I could see her furry trout it became clear that she was protecting it or had absolutely no idea what I was talking about. The museum was jolly otherwise and we took a side trip to Greyfriars graveyard and to the Mapplethorpe exhibition of naked men and women (they wouldn’t give me a discount for only looking at the explicit photos but they did give a discount for the 15 year old girl we took along).
We were driving down to swimming when a car careered across the road, then was driving on the wrong side of the road before turning off on the wrong side of the road – on the back was “One Life, Live It” – a short life if he does that often methinks.
Visit to Glasgow meant racing around the Kelvingrove Museum, with a spitfire haning from the ceiling and loads of disembodied heads it is a cabinet of curioisities. I was drawn to the painting of Barra by Peploe and to a Lowry painting of a seascape rather like the photographic ones by a Japanese artist/photographer (lots of pictures of sea and sky labelled by which sea they are).
Halloween had Kim and Ali off to throw underwear at Tom Jones, returning on the M8 narrowly missing a cow (they called 999 to report a maurading cow on the motorway). I stayed at home with Bell, Book and Candle – the book was Magick by Aleister Crowley (bizarrely with lots of information on yoga rather than raising demons), the bell was a Yak bell and the candle managed to collapse and drip all over the stove and wooden fireplace. Kim was also not too impressed at me using all of her sea salt to form my protective circle. A skull and a hawthorn wand and a glass of cider and wearing my head torch to read the rituals and All Hallows Eve was off to a swing.
–
Best Very Short Story
For sale: baby shoes, never worn.” — Hemingway
–
Photo Of The Month
Jump!
–
Quote of the month
“To love is to risk not being loved in return. To hope is to risk pain. To try is to risk failure, but risk must be taken because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing.â€
–
Poem Of The Month
The Green Eye of the Yellow God by J. Milton Hayes
There’s a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu,
There’s a little marble cross below the town;
There’s a broken-hearted woman tends the grave of Mad Carew,
And the Yellow God forever gazes down.
He was known as “Mad Carew” by the subs at Khatmandu,
He was hotter than they felt inclined to tell;
But for all his foolish pranks, he was worshipped in the ranks,
And the Colonel’s daughter smiled on him as well.
He had loved her all along, with a passion of the strong,
The fact that she loved him was plain to all.
She was nearly twenty-one and arrangements had begun
To celebrate her birthday with a ball.
He wrote to ask what present she would like from Mad Carew;
They met next day as he dismissed a squad;
And jestingly she told him then that nothing else would do
But the green eye of the little Yellow God.
On the night before the dance, Mad Carew seemed in a trance,
And they chaffed him as they puffed at their cigars;
But for once he failed to smile, and he sat alone awhile,
Then went out into the night beneath the stars.
He returned before the dawn, with his shirt and tunic torn,
And a gash across his temple dripping red;
He was patched up right away, and he slept through all the day,
And the Colonel’s daughter watched beside his bed.
He woke at last and asked if they could send his tunic through;
She brought it, and he thanked her with a nod;
He bade her search the pocket saying, “That’s from Mad Carew,”
And she found the little green eye of the god.
She upbraided poor Carew in the way that women do,
Though both her eyes were strangely hot and wet;
But she wouldn’t take the stone and Mad Carew was left alone
With the jewel that he’d chanced his life to get.
When the ball was at its height, on that still and tropic night,
She thought of him and hastened to his room;
As she crossed the barrack square she could hear the dreamy air
Of a waltz tune softly stealing thro’ the gloom.
His door was open wide, with silver moonlight shining through;
The place was wet and slipp’ry where she trod;
An ugly knife lay buried in the heart of Mad Carew,
‘Twas the “Vengeance of the Little Yellow God.”
There’s a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu
There’s a little marble cross below the town;
There’s a broken-hearted woman tends the grave of Mad Carew,
And the Yellow God forever gazes down.
