Farting through my Fingertips

Feet up, glass of rosé, cheese-and-meats-and-egg-and-tomato on toast under the grill behind me. Sunday papers sprawling wider than I am. Cooling zephyr breezes stroking through a body-warmth comfort of quiet air. Bright and sunny. So bright and sunny. The distanced murmur of the city surrounding me. A fine thin cast of high cloud softening the naked sun, still casting sharp bright black shadows on the deck, but without the searing yellow scorch that discomfits.

An utterly perfect Sunday afternoon.


(Soft and secret and far away: thunder grumbles and promises the hope of a sudden late thunderstorm to light the coolth of the evening.

An utterly perfect Sunday afternoon.)

I rattled the paper with a note of restrained pleasure.

"I say, Jeeves?"

"Yes, sir?" he said with a virtually inaudible hoving to.

"It says here there's a terribly chappish Do on this weekend."

"Yes, sir?"

"I know it to be chappish, because the chaps in question are The Chaps."

"Yes, sir?"

Jeeves is commendably light on his feet, and of course has a brain the size of a planet what with all that fish he eats, but from time to time his conversation could be viewed as lacking oomph.

"The Chaps, Jeeves. That sterling club who strive to maintain the fading standards of a better, brighter time. You may recall they praised one of my jauntier morning coats as being in the spirit of a grander age."

"Ah yes, I do recall that coat, sir. A touch bright, to my mind. The gold frogging and embroidered mandolins struck me as rather bolder than appropriate for a gentleman of your standing, and the purple and orange waistcoat you wore with it frankly excessive."

"Yes, you did rather take against it. What ever happened to it, by the way?"

He hesitated. "It's in the cellar, sir, under the coal. I did try to give it to the junior assistant under-footman, but he rejected it in tones that might fairly be described as high dudgeon."

"Dudgeon, Jeeves?"

"'Innit' featured prominently in his speech, sir."

"How peculiar. I thought that ensemble was quite the thing. It just goes to show one can never predict the whims and tastes of the common man, I suppose.
No matter! The nub of the matter is being strayed from, Jeeves, and I feel we should return to it. It's no good having a perfectly good nub if one does not cleave to it during times of emotion and distraction. If we go around not cleaving to them, Jeeves, we undermine the whole point of having a nub, no? Nubs, Jeeves," and here I fixed him with a meaningful look. Not stern, but striving to emphasise the importance and seriousness of the point. "Nubs, Jeeves, are the very essence of reasoned converse and not to be lightly undermined."

"Quite so, sir."

There was a pause at this point.

"I'm afraid I've quite forgotten what I was talking about, Jeeves. Where was I?"

"The Chaps, sir. You expressed an interest in their imminent event."

"Ah ha! Of course. Thank you, Jeeves.
"It seems it's time for their annual Chaps Olympiad.
"It's filled with all sorts of appropriately chappish contests. Look here:

'Martini Knockout Relay: Teams compete to mix a dry martini, without the aid of a butler. Points are deducted for any more than the merest suggestion of Vermouth.'

"You could help me in that one, Jeeves. It says nothing about valets and you have a deft touch with the dry martini."

"Most kind of you to say so, sir. However, I can't help but feel my assistance would not be in the spirit of the event."

"Perhaps you're right. Let's see, what else might suit?

'Necktie Kwon Do: Contestants armed only with the finest silk neckwear attempt to garrotte each other.'

"That sounds a little too strenuous, frankly. And of course there's the risk to one's finest silk neckwear to consider. Limpness of knot seems very much on the cards, to my mind, and I'd hate to incur the curled lip if I turned up at the Drones with a substandard knot.

"How about this one, then?

'Bounders: Six cads approach six ladies and behave atrociously. The winner is the recipient of the loudest slap, with a runner-up prize for the wryest smile.'

"Could be rather a hoot."

"If I may, sir, the modern lady is not the wilting flower of yesteryear. A slap might be delivered with the toned muscles of one more used to lifting weights than cups of tea in the conservatory."

"Good point, Jeeves. Oh well, perhaps I'll just attend as a member of the gawking public. Breeze along and attend to a ticket will you, Jeeves?"

He de-hoved and I could hear his voice on the hallway telephone as I busied myself with a cup of tea. He returned with an expression that spoke not of joy.

"I regret to inform you, sir, that there are no more spectators tickets available. However, I have ascertained that you may still attend in the capacity of competitor."

"But I say, Jeeves, all these events look far too unpleasant."

"If I may, sir, I believe I may have found a contest ideal for you." He laid out the paper and indicated the paragraph in question.

'Hop, Skip and G&T: Contestants must leap into the abyss holding a Hendrick's gin and tonic. Points are deducted for spillages and flying ice cubes.'

As I have made clear before, Jeeves is a man of spectacular brain, and this was quite simply another genius stroke on his part. It would be hard to come up with an event better suited to my particular skills. For not only was I a dab hand at the old G&T, but, and not many people know this, I was awarded an honourable mention by my school for my performance in the Under 10s Hop, Skip, and Jump competition. I still have the certificate somewhere. So I could look forward to a fairly decent showing in the eyes of my peers, and the pride in accomplishment in the eyes of our peers runs strong in the veins of we Tations.

"Excellent, Jeeves. Lay out some suitable chappish attire at once. And, yes, I think a warm-up G&T of your very highest calibre would be advisable. Preparation is all in the field of international competition, doncha know."

"Very good, sir."

---

The Chap & Hendrick's Olympiad
One until six p.m.
Saturday 14th July 2007
Bedford Square Gardens, London WC1

The single sporting event of the season in which buffoonery, ineptitude and panache are rewarded. The events may all be entered by members of the public, as long as they are adequately attired and not wearing sportswear. The ten events are listed below, along with ticket and competitor details.

The Hendrick's Steeplechase


The Cucumber Sandwich Discus

Photos from last year's Olympiad may be seen here.
Two short films about this year's tournament may be witnessed here and here

This is lovely. Watch to the end.
The initial thought the rod/wand's electrical spray is just showing-off for the camera, vanishes when you see him use it to retrieve the next item he needs. It's a tool, and on reflection, it is a most beautifully elegant and practical one.

If you want to commune briefly with someone deeply happy in their life, treating daily with the reality of the deadly friendly forces we depend upon, take a minute. Join him. Join him in this brief window he shows you into the world of people better and greater than the clattering parasitic rabble living in their tiny world of the merely human.

True poetry is the demesne of true people, not of poets.

glumbert.com - High Power Job
via Fishboy

"There's only three things I've ever been afraid of.
Electricity.
Heights.
And women."

Stud.

Offered at the end of this video

There's a surprise at the 1-minute mark -- make sure you watch at least until then

So busy being organised, nothing gets organised?



For me right now, it's quite the opposite.

Hurrah! Spam is 70 years old today!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SPAM!! You have won a huge prize in the lottery! Please confirm your bank account security details to collect -- free v1agra with every new account.

70 years? Its manhood must be HUUUUGE by now. And as blue as the pills it keeps trying to offload.


archway humbly roadworks establishment finer

or Santy will crap down your chimney.

via warhead

"The other Yule Log," brought to you by the British Royal Mail.

Having trouble getting your child to take their cough medicine?

Or perhaps they pull a face and refuse their cod liver oil?

Fear not! Just pop a roborovski on top and they'll scarf it down with shrieks of childish glee.



Sal's new "Visual Sugar" helps the medicine slip down! Available in packs of 10.

after Grim noted that his accent is often mistaken for Australian despite him being from Bedford and that that is a common reaction to the Bedford accent:

Jeff :

I don't sound australian and i'm from very near bedford.. received pronunciation all the way here, i is like well posh innit.

Saltation :

hey, here's a thought: if you define RP according to its key cultural characteristics, then as an artificiallly created accent&cadence widely adopted across a culture by people seeking to enhance their own personal status, street is da new RP

innit

Saltation :

¡spuǝıɹɟ uɐı1ɐɹʇsnɐ ɹno 11ɐ oʇ ǝɯoɔ1ǝʍ puɐ sbuıʇǝǝɹb

CRAZY
by Gnarls Barkley, cover version, on a Theremin

yes, the theremin. that pointlessly weird 60s semi-scifi hand-waving-in-the-air instrument. as seen in Barbarella and Rolf Harris. a loop of wire and a hand waving over it and a relentlessly aetherial wow-wow-woo-woo.

not any more. some people have learned how to USE it.

you HAVE to see/hear this. it's outstanding. and note the precise fingering. yes, you musicians, i'm serious.

The Ether and Aether Experiment
via laughing squid