This lady has long been the object of my adoration. Now her talents have made me smile even as I prepare to be tarred and feathered by the end of the week.
Ah, Leol-leh, leighd uv mei laive, loire uv mei foins!
In the middle of a Working Weekend, my spirits are lightened by a URL - http://www.tropicalglen.com/ sent to me by a Kind Person (Who thus Proves that Some Bosses can Be Nice and thus Gives Me Hope).
How many of you knew that BJ Thomas and Leo Sayer were actually on the charts apart from the One Song Each that We All Know About? Well, OK, stop showing off, I didn’t.
Besides, it’s nice to go back through the years and haul out people like Gordon Lightfoot and James Taylor. Not to mention the “Oh-was-THAT-the-year-they-did-Hotel-California” kind of murmur.
But no Eric Clapton ANY year? Have to go back and look for Those Numbers, folks. See you after the 31st. “If I be alive, and your mind hold, and your Dinner worth the eating”. (Act I, Scene II, if I recall aright, and God bless Mr. Vijayan Bala for drumming the possibilities of blank verse into our thick heads.)
Life is bleak and much is wrong with my world. Here is one attempt to look at both sides of a nasty reality. The comments are a little more one-sided, though.
Life is very long.
O you who turn the wheel and look to windward / Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you ...
I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs / Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest ...
O Lord Thou pluckest burning ...
A morning stroll past the paddock, down the tree-lined avenue with dead leaves and dewy grass underfoot. Three polash trees in bloom, posing in a row at the edge of the 16th green, like dark Santhal girls in their red-bordered saris and red bangles. Afterwards, a time-warp - buttered toast and marmalade in the 19th Hole. And The Statesman. I’d no idea people still read that paper! But somehow it fits in with the shaded peace and the tang of the marmalade. And the breeze from the fans, that first day of spring when it’s just a little chilly with the fan on but just a little too stuffy to leave it off. The kind of morning when I feel about 12 years old again and a Sunday is a vast expanse of Possibilities.
If only they still had morning shows at Metro or New Empire and I could go watch
A series of very minor Nice Things. Like Lay Down,
Caught up with T* for breakfast. Udipi Home on
The whole morning is very Pop Larkin. Perfick. What have I done to deserve this?
It strikes me when I log on. This Simple Desultory Philippic is two years old today. How appropriate. Food.
And yet, and yet … Thanks to my meanderings here, I’ve got to know Interesting People. I rate ‘Interesting’ far above ‘Nice’, but as a bonus, they’ve been Nice too. Well, mostly. (Stern look at certain Obstreperous Children with No Respect for the Elderly – you know who you are!) I’ve spent huge amounts of time reading their (your?) blogs and following their lives and opinions, but it’s all been worth it. The satisfaction of some give and take in the comments section, the unique pleasure of meeting a fellow blogger for the first time in some unexpected corner of the world. Sadly, no revenue from ads (even though readership is well into double figures by now, thank you very much), not even a nomination for an Indibloggie (cue discreet wiping of single tear) but, after nearly two years, offers to Pander to the Public for Pelf. (I love pelf!).
So, all in all, it’s been rather nice. Very nice, in fact. Oh what the hell - as of now, it’s perfick. Quite perfick. Before I get entirely maudlin - thanks, all of you.
Then I read something like this and it feels a little dirty to be a man.
In my defence, I've never groped, assaulted, accosted or solicited a woman.
OK, that's mainly because nobody's ever asked me to, but surely it should count for something.
Or wait - am I missing the point here?
 - I can't truthfully say I've never harassed a woman. Mainly by being myself. But that has never been gender-specific. Men of my acquaintance have complained of it too. Though the men have been less violent in their complaints.