31 August 2009

Nuclear family; nuclear fishin'...

Mrs Graph called me into the garden this morning. She was astonished (as was I) to find that the goldfish we have had in our garden pond for three summers - there are four of them; three orange and one mottled black - have produced offspring. Very small as yet, but nonetheless very firmly in existence and jetting about looking for fish food.

Mrs Graph's sister and her daughter were also present, and as excited as Mrs Graph to discover the two wee newcomers. "We are parents!" exclaimed the delighted Mrs Graph.

"Maybe there are more", suggested sister.

"Oh, I think two's enough for anybody", said Mrs Graph.

27 August 2009

Mirror, mirror; on the ball....

We have returned from a brief trip to Berlin, Germany.

Whilst there we rented a flat from a well-known little-known German actor.

And a very lovely flat it was too.

In the bathroom it had one of those shaving mirrors which are reversible and have a normal-sized reflection, and a LOOOMING-sized reflection. When we arrived it was set up on the LOOOMING-side.

We flipped it over. But apparently not before Steppy II had used it.

"Why has the mirror stopped blowing faces up?", he asked at the end of the week.

6 August 2009

better offence and the topping of Cliff than a military ambulance at the bottom...

It turned out last year, that - as the Brits have suspected all along - a most dastardly untruth, a despicable calumny, a vile deceit was perpetrated by one of their so-called 'European neighbours'.

It may have taken over three decades for the truth to come out. It may have been the work of a 'former' leader (a well-known and universally-loathed fascist dictator). And it may well be that they have joined the European Union since then and are all 'friends'.

But what has been revealed requires nothing less than a full Parliamentary Declaration of War.

Cliff was cheated into second place in the 1968 Eurovision Song contest by Spain. Franco.

The evil, lowdown, cheating fascist scum.

And Spain and Franco are no better.

It's all his own fault. He shouldn't have been messing about with the fascist regimes in the first place. We guess it started with his foray into far-right politics in 1966 with 'Blue Turns To Grey' (clearly a reference to the uniforms worn by oppressive regimes in the Far East), and followed later that year with his "In The Country" - a hymn to the invasion of socialist republics. The power-crazed lunacy reached it's peak in 1973, with Power To All Our Friends, in which he runs through a wish-list of right-wing figures he hopes rise or return to power - Pol Pot, Hitler, Stalin, Mother Teresa, Mao Tse Deng and Ronald Reagan.

Increasingly bitter, however, in his advancing years about the failure of what he regards as "liberating dictatorship politics" Sir Cliff Richard has made clear, through 'friends', that he still awaits the rise of what he regards as the firm smack of right-wing totalitarianism.

That is, allegedly, one of the reasons for the ending of his relationship with Sue Barker. She, as a radical revolutionary communist, was simply bored to tears by trying to convince him of the value of the Marxist dialectic, and the need to ensure the dictatorship of the proletariat.

Well... he agreed with the dictatorship of the proletariat bit, just not in the way she meant it.

She refused to indulge him in the firm smack of totalitarianism.

In consequence, of course, Cliff has turned to the most powerful repressive force on the planet.


It can't be doubted that his regular appearances in the world media, starting in Coronation Street many years ago, have been solely motivated by his desire to evangelise right-wing politics. His decision to continue broadcasting under the assumed name "Rush Limbaugh" has obviously drawn some public criticism. Less public is that he is, in fact, the shadowy figure behind the Rupert Murdoch media empire. His close personal friendship with Signor Berlusconi is very well documented.

Less well known is his involvement in a Nationalist Death Patrol called the "Blazin' Squad". Nasty.

1 August 2009

... then just poo-poo the whole thing...

For some years I have had a game I play with the kids in our family. It started with Steppy II, moved to the niece and I'm now trying it on niece II. It involves me making up sentences in a false language which sounds vaguely Eastern European, and most importantly - in the middle of long, rambling outbursts - it always contains the words "poo-poo finger". To the extent that the language has become known as 'poo-poo finger'.

Because kids think that's hilarious. Poo-poo finger.

This afternoon, we went to a wedding reception, and plonked ourselves (in both the sense of 'sat down' and 'drank wine') outside in the gazebos whilst it rained and rained and rained...

Anyway; in the midst of the deluge I decided to try to entertain niece II with an burst of poo-poo finger. Actually, it was unsuccessful, as she is too young to 'get' it - having not yet developed any language of her own.

As I left, the Best Man stopped me. "Did I hear you speaking Polish?", he asked, threateningly ...