This is not a post, trust me.
Everyone is welcome here and it doesn't really matter to me what, if anything, you feel like saying or talking about. Just say hello. I've nearly finished the three posts that I gorgeously promised myself I would write in March (it's going well, I feel). I'm going to try to get the third and final one done after this short message of love.
Anyway, I'm going to keep this space open for just as long as I can bear it. I hope people eventually come in here and visit, because that would be lovely. Those people unable to find this section where comments are encouraged, however - well, you're probably just fat and lazy and entirely lacking in decency.
Everyone else, you're special.
NB. Welsh flag at top of post no longer being used as profile picture - didn't want to risk losing it, though, in my temporarily messy office at home, so have placed it in here, in the internet, for safekeeping, until I can think of something else to do with it. Being Welsh for a while was rather nice. You should try it.
Ble mae'r dafarn?
Mae'n flin 'da fi, ond dw i ddim yn gwybod.
Oh.
Paham?
Achos mae mam-gu wedi colli ei dannedd eto.
But that doesn't make any sense.
Cywir. Cymru am byth, twll dîn pob Sais.
Whatever. Hwyl am rwan, cariad.
Hwyl am NAWR, you dumb Jock bastard.
140 comments:
Welcome back Mr P.E. Glad to hear you're in good spirits. Lovely sunset (or was it a sunrise?) picture in your previous post. I've yet been able to snap one that spectacular.
Mr. P.E. can it really be that I am the first to have found your new post? And what strange instinct led me to think that, this being a respectable distance into the month after your last post, there may now be a new one waiting. This is a very good thing for several reasons. First, it is a pleasure to read your posts (here or wherever) and catch your train of thought, second, I have long suspected that my instinct is something I should trust and this proves it, and lastly it gives me an opportunity to formally welcome you to my blogroll: Welcome To My Blogroll. I do not like the word blogroll, for obvious reasons. As though to mock me, it has, I see, appeared as a kind of repetitive list poem on the left, or perhaps it is telling me that if you repeat a word often enough it loses its original meaning. I also deduce that I am not fat, lazy or lacking in decency.
I feel I should say something about your claim that people who watch cricket make better lovers than those who watch other kinds of sport. The Signs household is recovering from the terrible fact of Arsenal’s recent defeat and exclusion from the European cup, so this will have to wait. Also, I personally do not play or take an interest in any sport whatsoever apart from the Man Booker (and we only get half an hour of that a year). So I feel I am in a special category altogether.
Signing off and hoping that this finds you as it leave me – in the pink –
RTS.
No, I am the second, chris got there first. But I am not competitive.
Pony Boy, It is surely Christmas, four posts in one day! You have gladdened (sp? - can't be arsed looking it up) my heart as I prepare to go back to Edinburgh on a day of hailstones and bleak watery sun x
Welcome back yourself, Christine, it's very nice to find you here. I'm glad to hear that you're glad to hear that I am in such very high spirits. It's magical news, isn't it? Go me. I bet it lasts forever this time, as well. Yes indeedly.
That is a nice picture, you're right. It was taken in Portugal a wee while back and I am always made to feel calm when I look at it. It was a sunset, not a sunrise (you were right first time), and it came at the end of a most beautiful day. Over the years, however, I have found most days in Portugal to be beautiful, so I’m not entirely sure that this counts for anything. You should go to Portugal, Canadian, because I have a very strong feeling you’d like it.
Anyway, I have decided to take this praise of yours and work it into my day. There is a chance that this will find me manic with joy when the sun goes down this evening. You see what you’ve done? If I had known that you liked pictures like THAT, then I would have put my pitiful Flickr house in order a long time ago.
I only ever really intended for the pictures over there to work in (loose) conjunction with my blog. Very loose conjunction, in fact - and even this proved beyond me. It is kind of hard to think of an appropriate picture to put up when your latest post is claiming that Shakespeare wrote Humpty Dumpty in whatever it was AD. Maybe even BC, I forget. You can see the problems I face, I’m sure. It was all going to be so cunning and unreasonably clever by half. I think I might just take it all down and start over – this time without trying to link pictures to posts or, even more disgracefully, to comments left by people who come here. It’s not just that it was all too clever by half, in fact, it was also simply too clever for me. And that’s sort of painful to acknowledge, because up until that point I had been feeling pretty certain that I was the cleverest person in the world. I still might be, true, it’s a little early to write myself off entirely, but it was a setback, nevertheless.
I recently found myself in the graveyard down the hill, carrying my brand new juicer (v. good, by the way, you can put the fruit in whole and it is so easy to clean) and a digital camera. Christine, I’m here to tell you that this was going to be a SENSATIONAL photo shoot. Yes. Even Emma seemed excited by the whole curious affair, and was wagging her tail most fetchingly. The whole crazy set up had everything going for it, including, in no particular order: 1) pointlessness
So, yes, it had pointlessness going for it. In spades though, Canadian, in spades. But then I made the critical mistake of asking myself what exactly I was doing. And the answer, unfortunately, was that I was in a graveyard with my new juicer and a digital camera, busily setting up a uniquely tasteless shot with the gravestone of one very dead Mary O’******* clearly in view.
This was a different kind of setback (although it did feed nicely into the whole “cleverest person in the world” debate that was raging internally at the time) and I had to take myself home immediately. At the very least, I yelled at myself in the kitchen once home, you have displayed an appalling lack of taste, Englishman. Englishman nodded meekly and bit his lip, I’ll tell you that much for free, Canada. What a disgraceful thing to do.
You will know, I trust, following my Flickr breadmaker fiasco, that I happen to be telling the truth right now. Don’t worry, still your beating heart, I plan to return to the scene of the crime the next time it stops raining, and do the whole thing over again. This time, however, I will merely stand outside the graveyard and use it as a (possibly blurred) background to my gleaming and lust-inducing juicer. These pointless actions help to keep me sane and are not to be sniffed at, Maple Syrup. And they are most certainly not to be brought to the attention of the authorities under any circumstances.
I’m very happy to find you here, Mountie. I had been wondering when on earth I might see you. More happiness, then, to have you here in my very own home. Is it possible to have too much of a good thing, I wonder? All this happy cheer is starting to make me feel distinctly uneasy.
Many much love buckets from Ireland…..
TPE
Hello there RTS and NMJ - I'm just away to have lunch. See you both later, though. x
Fy nghariad, I had no idea that rwyt ti'n siarad yn Nghymraeg. This is igloo-shattering. Although, what with your well-documented skill and apt knowledge of other Useless European Languages, I shouldn't have been so hämmästynyt. Look forward to hearing more about the matter with the juicer and Mary O'Hairy's grave, it sounds right up my street.
Suljen teidät syleilyyni, kunnioitettu ystävä.
Hello. I tried to look you up on the periodic table of Englishmen but could not locate you. When I tried again, it suggested I look among the inert gases.
Was it being funnny? Surely you are a noble gas, at the very least. If not a metal.
Please advise.
I await on baited breath for the juicer picture. I own no appliances of which I'm able to photograph. But there's this espresso machine that caught my eye.....
Hey PE,
I saw your new posts some time back, but in the absence of any comments, decided not to comment. Purebred homophobe. Forgive me. But, seriously, 4 posts in a day. High on sugar, are we?
There is something wrong with relatively higher suicide rates. Is this a popularity contest between the MPs, hosted by the papers? Hey, I have a higher suicide rate, so what if your women get raped more? My people die faster.
:P
No, I guess there isn't anything very disturbing about men listening to the kind of music you like. I know quite a few straight men who listen to such music too. Most definetly.
How was Finland? You did go there, right? Good to see you back in action though.
Bonsoir, Monsieur Englishman!
Blimey! We wait over a month for one post and then a whole load turn up at once. Verily, you are a bus among bloggers.
On the subject of men and their sporting interest, I can confirm that having once lived with a man who liked snooker and golf and, in a previous life, been married to man obsessed with pool, I able to testify to both of them being pretty rotten lovers. (Snooker, pool and golf – very small balls). However, I did once have a fling with a very sexy man who played a bit of cricket. If I ever decide to have another go at Internet Dating, maybe I should make “must like cricket” a requirement for any man who thinks he’d like to be the next Mr Lizwich (with the proviso of “however, don’t expect me to like cricket too”)
Anyway, keep up the good work.
Liz(wich)
PS: You are the only blogger I know whose comments are longer than most of my posts!
Ach, you Scots blogging genius you, I had to get back and re-comment, as I only managed a brief hiya in my previous one, having to run off to do something typically boring, boringly typical of my life. However, having now actually READ these fab three posts of yours, I can actually SAY something.
Like, for instance, are you trying to contest the fact the Finns are the most talented suicidees of the known Universe? Huh? I'll see you, pal. There is no way you can top our young men in this noble field, although you probably would whoop our sorry arses in cricket. Not for long though, not for long (this re the cricket). (Suddenly remembers Mr Periodic's third post about the relation of cricket and sexual performance. Tries desperately to come up with something witty. Fails miserably.)
This matter of beauty, God, lack of God, music, pain, life, and related items. Yes.
Loved the "aja hiljaa sillalla" tag, by the way. Make sure to always follow that advice. And don't forget - alavilla mailla hallanvaara.
RTS - I need to make clear that I have not, in fact, been eating non-stop since briefly greeting you earlier. That would just be dirty and wrong, and it would also make it very difficult for me to maintain my sleek beauty for very much longer. No-one wants to see this happen, RTS. Least of all you, I suspect. Hmm?
So mainly, yes, I have been spending my time since lunch - a neat tuna thing with garlic, lemon and cumin, served alongside crushed potatoes (with cream+nutmeg) and a disgracefully good salad that I simply cannot stop making for myself - doing nothing. Oh, I read a little and played with the dog and even gently considered doing some work for once, sure, but basically, the sheer and filthy shame of it all, I have been idly loafing about doing nothing. This is what I tend to do when my internet access goes stupid on me, as it did this afternoon - AGAIN. Just thought I'd let you know. You’ll be feeling happy you came, for sure.
Very bad luck on being beaten by Ms Canadian Chris Maple von Syrup up there at the top of this page. She is Canadian, it’s true, and there is simply no getting away from that fact, but she also seems to be rather nice – which is just plain mystifying. Anyway, you took your humiliation, your despair, your most terrible FAILURE in good spirit, RTS, and for this you are to be commended. Try harder next time, please.
I know what you mean about the word blogroll – it’s just horrible, isn’t it? I don’t much care for the word blog itself, even as it stands alone. Never have. It’s just an ugly word, really, and when used together in conjunction with roll, well, things get very nasty indeed.
I have found that the only way I can bear to see it used, is to imagine it as a different word altogether. My own preferred substitute word is bedroom, but you should take some time about choosing one for yourself. Be careful. This decision will affect how you see people, friends and strangers alike, in quite a drastic manner. I used to think you were a classy dame, for example, with a deeply beautiful way with words – now I just think you’re deeply dirty. Terrible shame, really. Still, I am very pleased and happy to be welcomed to your blogroll. Thank you. And thank you also for your kind words.
Now then. I think you’ll find, RTS, that it was boffins who made the claim about cricket fans, not yours truly. I have long suspected as much, yes, but the proof comes stamped with the approval of egg-heads. In these circumstances, I am merely the bringer of good news, a messenger, an innocent stud telling it like it is. It’s interesting, certainly, that you have digested these findings and then promptly chosen to welcome me to your blogroll. That’s all I’m saying.
Interesting, too, that you should choose to admit to supporting Arsenal. Are they the ones with that articulate and vavavoom French guy in goal or something? I like him. And you say that poor Arsenal got knocked out of the show? Oh no. Never mind. I understand that competition at The Olympics is fierce, and so I’m sure that Arsenal must have met a strong opponent and that he or she was probably a worthy winner. There is no shame in this, RTS. Take consolation from that fact. You’ll always be able to try again in London, 2012. Do you just sort of support another player now until Arsenal gets better again?
God. I’m going to need to try to get a move on here, Gooner. I’ve been hovering round one of your posts lately – the one where someone called Cusp gave an answer even longer than I have ever managed, only with coherence and high interest value – and yet feel unable to gather my thoughts to date. Besides, I still have business to attend to in your cigarette/death thing. Feel warned.
It was lovely to find you here, RTS. I happen to think that you are in a special category, too. And I mean that in a good way – not in a mental health issues kind of a way. No.
Please come back whenever the mood takes you, you’ll always be most welcome here.
Pinkly,
TPE
NMJ, Anna Mr, lovely Moon – give me a minute (or so) please. Sorry for delay - internet access playing up earlier.
Hello Nikhil and Liz, too - with you shortly. Very nice to see you both. And Chris again? Happy days.
Anna Mr - are you on drugs? I like your style, you lunatic. I'll get to you soon.
All of you.
Pony Boy, I see you are basking in the limelight again, you crowd pleaser you, I would just like to say quietly from the sidelines that Formula One fans are excellent lovers, even though I hate F1 and am sure you don't consider it a sport.
Oh NMJ......NOOOOOooo. I was preparing a tender and loving response to you. Something pure and gentle, something to show you how very grateful I feel for your presence right now. Nothing inappropriate, nothing awful - just a simple message saying thank you for being you. It was going to be so beautiful. Honestly. (Onlookers will think I'm joking, but you'll know otherwise – brilliant, isn’t it?)
You've spoiled everything, NMJ. Everything.
How you even have the nerve, the gall, the indecently hateful affront to mention Formula One in the same sentence as sport is quite simply beyond me. It is beyond me, I tell you. And in my very own home, too.
Look, I’m as thrilled as the next bitterly jealous guy that your F1 lover was a hit. I really am. But please, PLEASE, NMJ, don’t be confusing his prowess as having anything whatsoever to do with his habit of watching cars. More than this, however, do me a favour, weird lass, and never again make the shocking mistake of thinking that F1 is a sport.
IT IS NO SUCH THING.
Think about it, please. If driving a car is to be considered as sport, then this means that a simple drive to the shops could be considered as sport, too. I need hardly remind you that we humans are a competitive bunch, hmm? Imagine the chaos – the death on the roads, NMJ – if people got it into their fat and lazy heads that a simple trip to the shops meant that they were entered into a reckless race with their fellow drivers. There would be a bloodbath, for pity’s sake.
How can driving a car possibly be classified as sport? Is overtaking on a motorway considered a sport? No. It is simply known as driving. So quite why overtaking on any other roads should be considered a sport is baffling. Nonsensical. Dangerous too, NMJ, as I have only recently shown.
Anyway, you do say that you hate Formula One, so that’s something, I suppose. There may be hope for us yet, sweetheart.
Before I bugger off – a question. I remember reading that someone (a publisher) had contacted you at your blogger email address, asking to see your book. I responded most thoughtfully at the time, no doubt, because I am staggeringly virile or something – just ask the sex scientists in Warwickshire if you don’t believe me. But anyway, what on earth is a blogger email address? Do I have one? Does everyone? How does one go about finding these things? I simply dread to think of the number of disappointed women (and men, let’s face facts) who must have written to me at my very own blogger email address, only to get no response. Help. Or am I just making a terrible mistake? Maybe you just meant an email address that you had set up to deal with blog stuff. Oh no. It’s all too confusing, I’m starting to feel scared again.
Right. I am having an irritating battle with my internet access today. It just keeps on cutting out. I am hopeful that I’ll be able to post this and move on to Anna Mr before the night is out. We’ll see.
NMJ – I don’t know. Just whatever, I suppose. I really like you today, that’s all. Enjoy it while it lasts.
X
Anna MR, The Moon Maht, Chris, Nikhil and Liz – I’m getting there, I promise.
Oh yes, I forgot about what you claim your sport makes you.
That is not true. You cannot be a better lover if you play one particular sport. Imagine cricket, you spit on the ball, rub it against your bum, and THROW it at your adversary, hoping it will knock off his stumps. But nooo, your balls are hit by that bloke's bat, rather painful i imagine. And, after that, everyone else runs around trying desperately to catch and caress them.
That is just very disturbing.
Perhaps, cheerleading competetions, and non-ball competeitions are what make better lovers. I like to swim.
F1, you misguided possibly-suicidal maniacal male, is a sport. Imagine having to go at an average speed of 200kmh through a long circuit for a couple of hours? I imagine following it isn't that much fun.
But, you can always soup up your engine, and narrowly not-cause accidents. That is fun. Not gawd-awfully tiresome 3 day test matches.
Must put in my twenty euro cents' worth about F1 and sexual performance - you may or may not know, good Mr Periodic, gentle nmj, and others, that Finland has come up with one or two F1 drivers (one of whom couldn't talk in any language, the other one of whom can't keep his mits out of his various facial orifices when the cameras of the world are on him). Being a small, insignificant nation in a remote corner of the known world, Finns get terribly excited if we have *anything* that could possibly be understood as an internationally famous item. So - our F1 drivers have given our advertising geniuses (should that be genii?) the idea of selling the stupid activity to Finns with the line "The Fastest Nation in the World" (Maailman nopein kansa, Mr Periodic, so you don't have to resort to your online dictionary, as I know how frustrating they can be). This ad line, in its turn, gives rise to a whole host of "very funny" tv ads - bride & groom enter hotel room all romantically carried across the threshold, two seconds later bloke re-exits straightening his tie, follow up with ad line "For the fastest nation in the world. The F1 season is starting." Hilarious, isn't it.
Pony Boy, I knew knew knew the F1 would get you going, and, yes, Anna MR, I do recall a certain Hakkinen & Raikonnen (sp?), after all, I watched F1 for almost 8 years with a certain man. I hated it, but was a case of if you can't beat them join them. I dreaded the season starting and was always delighted when it was finished. I am so happy I don't need to watch it this year or listen. Blog email is just the email you set up with your blog, nothing fancy.
Hi, you have a very inspiring blog. Your life seems interesting. Thank you for talking to me in a friendly & sensible manner. I have taken your advice & found the right emotional solace. Feeling much better today.
Helsinki - response to "letter" 1
Wel y cythral bach, Anna Mr , sut wyt ti heddiw? Dw i angen pethau fel hwn i helpu gyda fy Nghymraeg. Fy nghariad (mmm, like it) dyma lle i ni trafod yn yr hen iaith a gobeithio fod e'n tynnu pobol newydd i'r bwrdd ar forwm hon
ac yn lle i dysgwyr dechrau ac i ddysgu mwy. Anna Mr, dim ond tynnu dy goes. Ha! That would just be TOO difficult and way too worthy, no? And besides, I don’t speak a word of Welsh. Why would I?
That would be about as pointless as speaking Finnish, as you well know. You really drew the short straw there, didn’t you? Welsh and Finnish. It’s just as well that you seem to be so proficient in a proper language. I’m actually pretty hämmästynyt myself, to tell you the truth, that you can bear to crawl out of your igloo every morning - mielestäni teillä on söpö igloo, don’t worry -when all that lies ahead is a day of speaking Finnish. What kind of a life is that for a person? It just seems cruel.
At least you can console yourself in that sauna of yours, you lucky duck. Igloo ei ole igloo ilman saunaa. Odota. A sauna in an igloo? Are you sure about that? Oho, tota noin, but that sounds like a lie. Come to think of it, how do have internet access in this igloo/sauna of yours? Käyhän että tuon kannettavani saunaan when I come to visit again? Thanks.
Anyway, onko totta, että suomalaisessa jouluperinteessä joulupukki oli lapsia syövä villisika? Because that’s always bothered me a wee bit, truth to tell. It just seems so brutal and ani lo ohev et ze. I know, I know, those last few words were not strictly Finnish – they would be more accurately described as, well, Hebrew – but I just want to keep you on your toes and make sure you don’t start taking me for granted, fy nghariad (again – mmmm, yummy yummy)
You're right - online dictionaries are a nightmare.
Oh, and I was VERY disappointed to note that you chose to reveal the last name of Mary O'*******. Yes, I was. Have you no shame? Delighted to hear, however, that you may very well be as poorly in the head as both myself and, almost unbelievaby - I'm shocked, really - The Canadian.
Suljen teidät syleilyyni, kunnioitettu ystävä (right back at you, strange and lovely Finn)
Helsinki - response to "letter" 2
I’m really glad you noticed the aja hiljaa sillalla tag I put in for you. Sharp-eyed Anna MR, you have done well. Does it sound really lovely when it’s spoken aloud? It looks and feels beautiful to me, and I had read somewhere that this was meant to be one of the nicest sounding Finnish phrases, in what is an otherwise pretty harsh sounding language. Anyway, I’m very pleased that you noticed it – even if it is just a road sign.
“This matter of beauty, God, lack of God, music, pain, life, and related items. Yes.”
Yes, you agree? Or yes, you always knew I was mad? Don’t worry, I know what you mean, really. This was a response – or addition, maybe, is a better word - to something that we have touched on before, elsewhere. In particular, it is meant to give NMJ pause for thought, because she seemed to doubt the likelihood of being able to feel both happy and sad (clumsy words, I know) at precisely the same time. She’s a bit like that, though - needlessly confrontational and violent and always trying to put other people down. Did you know that she used to be a professional boxer? I think she has maybe just failed to get rid of her anger properly from those days of brutality so very long ago. Be careful with her, Anna Mr, she is a menace. A MENACE, I tell you.
I could probably just as easily have written about sex, as music – and in particular, orgasms (I’m being serious) - because there are some striking similarities. There is an unbearable sadness in giving in to desire and in the obliterating moments of a sated lust. It can feel hopeless and weakening and enough to make you cry, and yet the potent allure of such physical release completely defies description. It is too good, too shatteringly wonderful, too very nearly transcendental and unbalancing, altogether. But God alive, it can make you feel blue.
I’m sure we’ll come back to this at some point, though – remember to put the kettle on this time, Anna Mr, and to leave the door to the sauna unlocked. I had to shout at NMJ last time to stop her from chattering her teeth so loudly, as we stood together freezing, hand in hand, outside your (poorly maintained) igloo, in the dead of a dark Finnish night. What a noise she was making.
Anyway, I’ll prod NMJ with a stick and get her to come back to it, too, when the time feels right. Like I said to you before, however, I sometimes just find it too much to consider. It is all a bit overwhelming, isn’t it?
What else? Oh yes - Finnish people are good at killing themselves, too, you say? Wow. Respect. I never knew you guys were so talented at the old self-destruction game. Brilliant news, just brilliant. There should be a shoot-out between Finland and Scotland to decide the champions of this cruellest, most terminal, sport.
The contestants would stand back-to back, pistols in hand. An umpire would instruct them to start walking for ten, maybe even twenty or thirty paces, Anna MR – it really barely matters, does it? This umpire would then shout “stop” – and the contestants, without bothering to turn round to face each other, would simply shoot themselves dead. It’s a plan, certainly. Although maybe not a sport, on reflection.
I’ll deal with your troubling third “letter” soon. Until then, Anna Mr, please accept my warmest regards and a welcome to my place in Ireland - I’ve a feeling we’ll get on just fine.
Mr Moon, I'm coming.
Hey, Shamrock, how utterly fantastic to find you here. Please wait, because I have to answer my other guests first, but I'll get to you just as soon as possible, I promise.
Hero Moon
Canadian
Nikhil (just you wait, my friend)
Lizwich
NMJ (will you ever stop bothering me, loon?)
I'll be with you all soon.
This is how it works round here, Shamrock, I'm afraid to say, but please don't feel discouraged - I get round to talking to all of my lovely guests eventually. I just wanted to say Hi in the meantime and to let you know how happy I am to see you here.
I'll be back with you just as soon as possible.
Kind regards etc
Finnish Pony Boy, I don't doubt that you can feel happy/sad at same time, for me, it is more likely to be happy/anxious - that's what I was saying. And be warned, I am still a boxer, metaphorically speaking.
I don't doubt that for a minute, you scary fiend. I'll mind my step in future. I'll see you soon, NMJ, but for now I must deal with The Moon.
Yours etc,
The Finnish Welsh Scottish Irish periodically English Pony Boy
(get your facts straight, boxer)
x
Well, Mr Moontopples Maht, at very long last I get a chance to have you all to myself. This is a brave sort of a Moon landing, that much is true, and you may not like what I am about to write - but some things just need to be said.
First things first, however. I have no idea as to whether I am a noble gas (watch it, Moon) or a metal. I have a strong feeling that I am a metal, though. More of a hope than a feeling, really, because it would make me seem strong. Unfortunately, for some utterly freakish reason, I remain entirely unable to access Wikipedia today. This means that not only am I unable to answer your noble gas question using a stolen veneer of intellectual respectability - I am also, God dammit, entirely at a loss as to what my opinion is on ANYTHING today. A nightmare scenario, I’m sure you’ll agree.
Now, before I get to the stuff that will make you squirm, I just need to say that I liked your idea of a “shirk-off” – a showdown, as I understand it, to determine who might rightly claim the title of Work Avoidance King. Would I win by being too lazy to enter, I wonder?
Anyway, it made me laugh when I saw that you had written it elsewhere.
So here’s the thing. I may have been unable to access Wikipedia today, Moon, yet have encountered no such difficulties with a random selection of online dictionaries. I wonder what they have to say about the word HERO……
1. somebody admired: somebody who is admired for outstanding qualities or achievements (dictionary.msn.com)
2. someone who you admire greatly (dictionary.Cambridge.org)
3. a person, typically a man, who is admired for their courage or outstanding achievements. The chief male character in a book, play, or film. (askoxford.com)
4. someone you admire greatly for their work in bringing together strangers in a beautifully well-judged writing competition. The chief male character in an inventive and engaging blog. Someone, in all probability, called Moon. (cricketpage.blogspot.com)
Do you think that I call you Hero Moon lightly, Maht, as some part of a jokey game? No such luck, amigo. You are a beautiful example to others, to me, to everyone - and I simply adore your community spirit.
I swear to God that I’ll not embarrass you like this again, and that I will insult you with relish when our paths next cross. It’s just that though your name tells me you’re Moon, I happen to know you’re a star.
Next time: heterosexual joshing and arm punching, as the guys try to recover.
You’ll always be welcome in here, Mr Moon, and thank you for paying me a visit.
Kind regards etc….
Chris - back shortly. Then you, Nikhil.
On reflection, Topples, I think I'll go for the noble gas option, after all. Yes. May change my mind on this later, however.
Will always resist "inert gas" slur, though. That doesn't look good at all.
Fy nghariad (yes, possibly amongst the top five yummiest utterables in any human tongue), agapi mu, rakkaani, this matter of beauty, God, lack of, music, pain, sex, particularly orgasms, and other related items. Yes. Post coitum animal triste, my esteemed friend. Celibacy may be the answer, allowing one to have mind-blowing experiences of beauty and sadness via e.g. peculiar Japanese dance theatre instead. But be warned. Your grass-roofed (now tell me, why is it hoof - hooved but not roof - rooved, meester Bond? I am just a foreign geerl) Irish hut may see me wander in one day, around the time the sun sets into the ocean in the West. I have been known to meander around the planet. "To the West" was a lovely film, by the way, did you see it (hope I've got the title right, it was that Irish thing with the gypsy kids who had lost their mother, found a white horse, called it T'ir Na n'Og, kept it in their flat, got evicted, went West, found - everything, it was grrreat) ?
But, but, but. What is this nonsense I hear? This sacrilege? This absolute codswallop twaddle, from such a great mind? A (and I quote) "harsh-sounding language" ?! Harsh? Sounding? Language? Nonsense. We might rääkätä the odd rääkkä raukka on occasion, but most of the time, puhumme pumpulinpehmoisesti. You should know that, dammit, your tota noin Finnish is outstanding enough. (Incidentally, why can't I find the online dictionaries that'll teach me tota in foreign tongues? Who do you have to sleep with on this web to get the real McCoy?)
Also, as I am sure not only nmj but you too are waiting with baited breath to settle this little matter of the proper spelling of Finnish F1 drivers' names, I'll put you out of your mutually combined miseries this very instant. Häkkinen and Räikkönen. Let's look at the names. The -nen suffix = a diminutive. Häkki = cage. Häkkinen = a little cage. Ergo, Räikkönen = a little Räikkö. What a Räikkö is remains unknown, and really, why should anyone care.
I have the distinct feeling I am taking up rather a lot of space in your house now, so will disappear into the ether again, with a flourish, a bow, and a curtsey. It's so much fun to meet The Mad Scots Boxer Woman's friends, you are truly a lost brother nation of us igloo-sauna-hullu people.
Suvaitkaa ottaa vastaan mitä vilpittömimmät auliuteni vakuutukset, kunnioitettu gospodin Periodic.
Your most recent post (the one about the magnificence of cricket watchers) has made up for a lot. Pay attention ladies, the Umpire's cricketing knowledge spreads the length and breath of the heavens. And he's not available. So bad luck all round, but I'm certainly available to talk about cricket.
Englishman 'a lot' doesn't mean 'everything' btw.
Oh but one more thing and then I promise I'll shut up for today, I promise, I promise. Of course joulupukki was never a villisika, you have just failed your basic mammalian identification test, herra Periodic. A pukki is a *goat*, you silly bum-bum, not a sika.
Okay, I am wading through the Finnish stuff here, I don't get any of it, I only know mustan kissan paksut posket, after all. Anna Mr, I saw Into the West many years ago at a cinema in San Fran with my Irish ex, it is a lovely wee film, Was the dead mother's spirit not in the horse or something? I should warn you PE has manly feelings for horses . . .
Wait wait wait. Anna Mr - you are clearly as mad as a fish, no doubt about it. But there is no such thing as taking up too much space here. I just LOVE it when people take the time to write. Never have any fears about that. Anyway, I'll get back to you soon - hang in there.
Umpire - we have something to unite us at last. I'll get to you soon (both here and at yours - I am a disgrace, I know )
NMJ - why are you still up? You should be sleeping and resting and dreaming of cricket. Are you going to Finland later? What time does Anna Mr go to sleep? Why don't I just ask her that myself?
Anyway, I'm struggling to keep up here, so I'll get to work.
Chris - you're just going to need to have a very steady nerve as you wait anxiously for my masterpiece. I'll try not to keep you waiting too long, of course, but you can't hurry art, as you know. These things have to be allowed the time and the space to grow organically; from the initial spark of an idea, right through to the stunning and final realisation of a dream, a vision, a way of life.
I stopped eating around about midday today, Canadian. I am hoping that this will give me an edge, an artistic hunger. I may allow myself a biscuit before bed, because that would be lovely, but then that’s it for me and food until this astonishing vision of mine reaches it’s taste-free and aesthetically dubious climax, sometime during the next reliable break in the weather.
Feel inspired by my example, Mountie. Simply steal that espresso machine you’ve got your beady eye on and run with it to the mountains or head for the sea - just go and do yourself some of that them there ART. (Be sure to put it on flickr so that I can laugh at it, of course)
You have got LOADS of photos on flickr. Are you ever NOT taking pictures? I imagine you tripping and stumbling over rubbish bags, dogs and children, as you walk with the camera clamped to your eyes – never losing sight of the shot, and never knowingly breaking your stride as you crush the poor frightened kiddies beneath you. Way to go, Syrup, I like your style. I also happen to like your photographs an awful lot – but after some fevered consideration, I’ve decided not to tell you this fact in case you get a big head. I am so wise.
I really hope to goodness you are taking care of Glasgow in my absence – who, for example, did you leave in charge when you buggered off down to London a wee while back? You didn’t even consider this, did you, Chris? No. How am I to trust you when you behave in such a careless manner?
I just really hope that this oversight of yours has not resulted in Glasgow falling apart at the seams. It was SPOTLESS when I left, Vancouverhoover, and it had better be spotless when I return. I remember a drug-free environment where well-dressed citizens would sip coffee and chat, as their teenage offspring read books under trees. And everyone would come together on a Saturday to watch the grand old soccer team Glasgow Celtgers United play harmoniously good football. How we cheered as one, a city joined together in brotherly, ecumenical love.
Please don’t tell me you’ve gone and messed this up, Canadian.
Concerned Englishman
Nikhil - I'm coming
NMJ - manly feelings for horses? Careful. Don't scare Anna Mr away, please. x
Nikhil – I’m really sorry for taking so long to get to you. Very, very bad of me, considering how far you have come to get here. I’ll try to answer both of your letters at once (I’m clever that way).
No worries about the homophobe thing, incidentally. We should just agree to disagree. You think that relationships between men are wrong – and I believe that it is as natural as any love that might be found between a man and a woman. End of story, really. We can both feel happy in thinking we are right, no? But please don’t ever feel the need to apologise to me for your beliefs. Not a bit of it.
And straight men listen to the kind of music I listen to, you say? Are you sure? I suppose I’ll just have to take your word for that, Nikhil. I can’t say that I’m entirely surprised to learn this news, however. I don’t know, but I’ve always just had a sneaking suspicion that straight men would be able to find something to love in this music, too. Stranger things have happened, certainly.
Anyway, enough of such idle banter. To business.
Formula One is NOT a sport. No way can it be classed as such. I have been weeping and wailing since I read your letter, having really hoped that I might have an ally in you. Have you not already tormented me enough, Nikhil, without this most grievous betrayal? And I’ve checked – I really have. Earlier on this evening I phoned my mum and asked her if I was right about all of this, about everything, really. She said that I was. Conclusive proof, you’ll agree, that I really know what I’m talking about. To have a sworn enemy recognise the strength of one’s argument is particularly satisfying. I hung up on her feeling mighty pleased.
Also, further evidence arrived to bolster my case when I happened to find myself in the company of a couple of Policemen, early yesterday morning, in a field quite close to my home. It was all a terrible misunderstanding, really, and not worth going into here. However, I took the chance of asking them whether or not they believed that drivers who broke the speed limit should be considered sportsmen.
After a brief consultation, the two policemen were unanimous that no, these people were not sportsmen, they were simply criminals. Well, it was all I could do to stop myself from falling to my knees and thanking them most noisily – such was the level of my relief and gratitude. Even the police think that people who drive really fast are not sportsmen, Nikhil - and that, surely, has got to count for something.
As to whether watching cricket makes a man a better lover – what can I say? I previously only suspected as much, but would never have dared to say so publicly without first having had these findings (by researchers in an English university) brought to my gleeful attention. I can only say to you what I said to RTS earlier – don’t blame me, blame the evidence.
Certainly, the way you describe it, with your very effective use of homoerotic imagery (I’m impressed, by the way, that can’t have been an enjoyable experience for you), cricket is just a game for homosexuals. If that were true, then it would most definitely blow this academic research out of the water, because as I understand it – and please forgive me if I have to slightly modify anything later – the participants consisted solely of the wives and girlfriends of men who watched various sports. It was their responses that determined the outcome of the experiments.
In fact, the whole thing might be about to go tits up anyway, because many of the (married) men have subsequently protested that their marital “privacy” has been abused by their wives “publicly” revealing their sexual shortcomings. Or strengths, in the case of the cricket loving fraternity. We’ll just have to wait and see, I suppose. To tell you the truth, I thought it all just seemed like a bit of a joke when I first found out about it, some harmless and silly fun. It seems, however, that people are beginning to take it quite seriously.
Swimming is a very solitary pursuit, surely? All those hours of practising your strokes alone, backwards and forwards, over and over again. I’m struggling to imagine what type of sexual activity a man might be made good at by all of this lonely stroke practise. What do you reckon, Nikhil?
Long Live Cricket. Hail! Hail!
Very nice to see you again - and very well done, incidentally, on getting through to the next round of the blogging competition. You beat me fair and square and deserved to do so. No complaints, and I’ll be voting for you now.
You remain very welcome round here, and I hope to see you again soon (I’ll be over to India shortly)
Kind regards etc…
TPE
PS. Test Match Cricket lasts for five days, not three. Cricket fans have even more stamina than you thought, it seems. Ha!
Liz
Shamrock
Anna Mr (bloody hell)
Grumpire and NMJ......I'll see you soon.
Wow, PE. I find your comment flattering and humbling. I cannot imagine what it is I could have done to inspire such words from you, and am straining against my nature not to read it as sarcasm or the prelude to a request for money.
You have created a unique presence here in Blogland, and your voice in one's comments is a much-coveted delight.
You also happen to be a wonderful writer. I wish you'd post more. I never know where to find you, and when I spot you on someone's blog, you've usually long since departed to spread your thoughts elsewhere.
Anyway, all this by way of saying that I like you. You're one of the good guys.
Now I am ready for some arm-punching, and perhaps a discussion of motor vehicles or sporting events.
I'm gearing up for the shirk-off. Assuming neither of us actually gets around to entering, we'll have to decide upon some criteria by which to measure success.
I completely forgot to submit an invoice for two weeks after completing a project. Does this count? In this case, I was shirking the only positive aspect of my "career."
And you are indeed the noblest of gases.
Hello herra Periodic, good morning to you. Hope you are well etc etc. I'm sorry to be doing such a naff thing to you, but you're it. http://futureofmypast.blogspot.com/2007/03/im-it.html
I don't know much about all this talk of sports. All I do know is this. I've always been a sucker for guitar players. Even though all they've brought me is pain and heartache. You think I'd have learnt by now.
Dear Mr. P.E., I feel the need to clarify the relationship between myself and Arsenal. I have never, nor will I ever, support any football team on this earth or even in the hereafter. No, by St. Peter at the pearly gates (Hell or Heaven united FC, it’s all one to me). But Mr. Signs does support them so naturally, his happiness being close to my heart, I always hope that they win. Yes, they are the team with the vavavoom French guy, but he isn’t in goal, that’s the bald one whose head the team all have to kiss before each game to bring them luck. Except it doesn’t seem to work. You see, it is this kind of detail that interests me far more than the game does.
But enough about sport. I am more interested in the lunch you had the other day. It sounds disgracefully good and you made it sound as though this kind of thing (it was the detail that got me, the garlic, lemon and cumin, the cream and nutmeg) is an everyday kind of affair. No cheese and pickle or ham and tomato sandwich on the run for you, I take it? So you are, if I read the signs correctly, a Gentleman of Leisure – one who does lunch on a regular basis? I take into account also the fact that you counted “doing nothing” as a kind of activity. Only poets and gentlemen/women do this. Apropos of which, I would like to assure you that I am indeed a very “classy dame”. It is for this reason that I can go on about sex and death and no-one bats an eyelid.
The day here is more glorious that it should be and today I will not think about global warming. I have just had an almond croissant and caffe latte. Just so you are aware that I too know how to live it up. In my fashion.
Warm regards,
RTS.
Bonjour, Strangely French Lizwich, ca va? Voudriez –vouz diner avec moi ce soir? Non? Hmm. Mais pourquoi pas? Je suis tres interessant. Non, non, c’est vrai. Malheureusement, je suis desole, mais je ne parle pas de Francais. Je ne comprends pas. Je viens from Finland. Or Wales. Maybe Scotland, even. It has all become very confused, certainly.
And you would try to further confuse matters by bringing French to these pages of mine? Really? You’re happy to do such a thing? Bloody hell. I was in a bad enough mood aujourd’hui already - nous devons faire des courses, mais le temps est mauvais; il fait froid et il y a du sport a la tele…du cricket, a une heure et demie…je sais pas, it all just seems so unfair – and then you arrive with French-speak as an opening gambit. Not good, Liz, not good. We eat Freedom Fries in this space, let that be your warning. Also, I have pretty much exhausted my Freedom already – and had to look in a Freedom phrase book for those few sentences I managed above. It’s true. Or is it?
We may simply never care, I suppose.
How’s it going, Suffolk (or Norfolk, I always get them mixed up, as you know)? You’re right. I am a bus. This seems like fair comment. I like this new status of mine and could actually begin to grow rather proud of being known as a bus. It’s a step up from being known as a snivelling little bastard, in any event. So I’m your bus, Liz, where would you like me to take you, today?
Definitely put down “must like cricket” as a requirement of the next potential Mr Lizwich. Splendid idea. At the very least, this will save you the bother of enduring disappointing sexual relations in the future, as you search for a suitable victim. This just seems like a sensible precaution, really, all things considered. Why waste your time with clueless dickheads? You deserve better than this, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Ever. (please be advised that cricket fans – I know, it’s almost impossible to believe – can be highly dysfunctional in other matters, however, just like normal people)
How did you find internet dating, by the way? I have a friend who felt crippled by shame that he had met a woman in this manner. I thought it was horrible that he should feel this way, but there still seems to be a certain stigma attached to the habit. Quite why this should be, I have absolutely no idea. I am very hopeful that I’ll never have to trouble myself with dating people again – I really just want to be with my girlfriend forever – but would have no hesitation whatsoever in using the internet to help me find a partner if it ever came to it. It would seem almost criminal not to utilise this wonderful resource at all of our disposals.
Sure, there are going to be creeps and no-marks (just take a look at me, Liz) but you can find these people without ever having gone anywhere near a computer. C’est la vie.
Ipswich – never go anywhere near a man who likes golf. Please, do this for me. I am hurt to imagine that you once endured a relationship with such a creature. You will have been too young at the time, I imagine, to fully understand the nature of men who like golf. I’m just sorry that you ever wasted your time finding out. Truly, my heart bleeds. Really, the sex must have been simply appalling. And not in a good way.
God, it’s nearly time to go. I hate it when I get dragged out into the world by my girlfriend. You’d sort of think she would be content with my dynamically artful depravity between the sheets and leave me pretty well alone the rest of the time, wouldn’t you? But no - it seems that this is not enough for her. I have to help carry the shopping, too. Like I said, it all just seems so unfair.
Lovely to see you again, Lizwich. Please excuse me, however, as I must go now to face the darkness of this hurtful world. To Tesco.
Kind regards etc….
Shamrock – with you soon. I’m going out shopping with my girlfriend for a couple of hours. Sorry for taking so long.
(good to see you back here RTS, Canadian and Moon – and you, I suppose, Helsinki)
Back later.
Ooh, hello PE, for a brief moment, you've enabled your comments. I think this is the first time the Chicken has stumbled in and been able to say hello. So hello.
And what an abundance of posts to read. Goodie!
And we will not talk about the cricket. At least I will not - and with good reason.
Pony Boy, Sorry to push in front of your admirers, but I must tell you there is a free poster in today's Observer of CLASSIC GRAND PRIX CARS!!! If you rush to your wee local shop (how many miles away is that?), you may still get one x
Afternoon, bus boy! And how was Tesco?
I did my shopping yesterday, so this afternoon's outing consisted of wondering vaguely around the eastern fringes of Ipswich for an hour. Very nice it was too. Here in sunny Suffolk, the weather is far from mauvais, quite the reverse in fact. Glorious sunshine, which is now only just disappearing towards the horizon.
Internet dating was a mixed bag. First victim was a lovely (if very short) bloke called Will. Unfortunately, he didn't stick around long enough for me to find out his sporting preferences. I had one date with a boring and rather patronising bald git from Felixstowe (also very short, I'm only 5'3" myself, so it's always a surprise to find men who are shorter than me!) and then followed a series of dates with a really nice bloke who I'm still in contact with on a 'friends only' basis. He was very entertaining. He says he's coming to my 40th birthday party, but I shall believe this when I see it (the last time I saw him he said he'd miss me while I was on holiday - this was 10 months ago). Since him I had one date with a real old Suffolk boy who spent the entire evening telling me about his divorce, said he would call me and didn't. Finally, I had two dates with a really nice Scottish fella. Lovely guy, but just no sparks as far as I was concerned. There were lots of other enquirers who I declined to actually go out with and one of them took this rejection badly and was extremely abusive to me. That was the final straw for me and I've been 'off-line' in dating terms ever since!
I know several people who have met their partners via t'internet (one couple are even married!) so I know it can work. I may give it another go later this year. If I can be bothered. Getting a little too comfortable with my own company, truth be told.
The golfing ex-boyfriend wasn't so bad really, just completely allergic to any kind of comitment. He went off to pursue his midlife crises elsewhere exactly two years ago. So I've had two whole years of not having to watch sport on TV - being single's not so bad really!
Anyway, I'd better go and try and think of something to say on my own blog as I am in danger of missing my own target of blogging once a week.
Shamrock – I’m really sorry it has taken me so long to respond to your visit here properly. I am delighted to find you here – really, really pleased. I had worried that perhaps you would be too busy studying methane, butane and propane, or re-watching Helen Mirren in The Queen, to have the time to come here to Ireland. But you’re here now and that’s all that matters.
Normally I like to tease my guests, Shamrock, and make them feel cross with me, but because this is your first visit (where have you BEEN?) I have to be very serious and careful and handsome and young. Yes.
Thank you for saying those kind things, I felt very pleased to read that. I’m also delighted to hear that you thought my advice was sensible. Most people, unfortunately, simply think that I’m a fool. The real pity is that they are probably right. Oh well.
Always remember, though, that it is what YOU feel that matters the most – not what I might have to say. I can only imagine how I might act in a certain situation, but this will not always necessarily be the best way for others to act. But you know this already, of course, and so you have my permission to poke me in the eye with a big stick the next time we meet. Ouch.
I have had a miserable time shopping with my girlfriend this afternoon. Normally, I just stand outside the shops and wait for her. I might hum myself a sorrowful ballad, smoke a cigarette or stare harshly at children, to help to pass the time. Today, however, I had to go inside the shops because it was raining so heavily. I wanted to die.
The first shop was okay because we were shopping for food – and I like food. But then she went into one of those shops that only women can possibly like. It sold things like beads and buttons and, oh no, material. Shamrock, these things depress me, because they make absolutely no sense to me. I can look at them for a very long time and still find that their meaning, their reason for existing, eludes me. I just don’t get it.
Thankfully, it is Sunday today, and so the craft shop was closed, but I really must remember to hide in the garden the next time she wants to go to town. Even if it’s raining and the garden is full of snakes.
I am so pleased to see you here, and would like you to know that you are very welcome to come here whenever you choose. I will come and see you again in HK soon, however, if that’s okay - so you don’t need to pack a suitcase just yet.
Kind regards from Ireland and thank you for paying me a visit….
TPE
PS. I may not always manage to be sensible, sadly, but I will always try to be friendly. I’m delighted to see you say that you’re feeling better today. Excellent news.
I am totally losing track here.
NMJ - why would you try to provoke me like this? Why? WHY? I am so pleased that we didn't get an Observer today. So very, very pleased.
Atyllah - magic to see you here. Give me a minute, please. Maybe a day. With you at some point, though.
Anna Mr - I may have to set up a separate blog entirely to deal with your various madnesses. You, I like. I'm coming, just wait.
Lizwich - again? Is this a record for you? Very good to have you back, though. Bear with me, please.
Umpire - right with you.
Political Umpire – A little late, aren’t we? I could have done with some support, a bit of back up, an awful lot sooner. And did I just see you get sleazy there, you filthy cricket boaster?
It is an overwhelming relief to be joined, at last, by a fellow cricket lover. I’ve been pretty much trying to keep a lid on things here, keep people sweet, stop things from getting nasty - as petty jealousies emerge and erupt around me. But it’s not been easy.
You will understand and sympathise, I’m sure. As you must necessarily be simply awesome in bed, too, it might just help to deflect some of the hostile jealousy away from me. I’m starting to regret the whole thing. I’m only reporting on the findings, for pity’s sake, it’s not like I made the whole thing up myself. People need to calm down and reflect on this fact.
It is all true, though, isn’t it? I bet that you, like me, have often wondered why it is that your various partners have always been so obviously satisfied. It sort of makes sense now, doesn’t it? Like the lifting of a veil, the switching on of a light, a truth – yes Umpire, a certain truth – revealed. Feels pretty good, no? I’ve definitely had a spring in my step since being made aware of this report.
You still seem to be saying that I need to do more to make up for past crimes, however. Grumpire, stud-muffin-in-arms, you are surely being a little harsh? This news that I bring the world of our staggering sexual prowess is not enough to please you? That just makes me frightened all over again, Sir, and I’m not so sure I like it.
Can we not, as brothers, just sit back and revel in these sweetest moments of triumph? You’ll have plenty time to make me feel bad about myself later, I promise. I look forward to it, in fact.
But that’s a different thing altogether.
Good to see you again, Mr Cricket (I bet that name has never sounded so good)
Totally safe man kisses in your direction - and in expectation of your help if the going gets tough,
Il Permanente Studbucket de Eccosse
Back soon
Good sir, it's a pleasure reading. I am not sure which is more enjoyable, though, your posts or your comments or your commenters. Life is sweet. Still don't really get cricket, though :(
Now, I know you'll probably not come around to answering me this time. But I was wondering, do you compose here or in some text editor?
Getting that formal inquiry over with, I'll expand on what I actually have to say.
Now kindly read the following simulated conversation:
"Hello."
"Police officer, police officer, may I race my car against yours?"
"Maybe, why?"
"So we can have fun speeding, and narrowly not hitting traffic."
"Perhaps, will I have to follow?"
"Of course, and will have to probably pull me out of a burning wreck if I decide to crash and burn while at it."
"Hmm, and then ticket your arse too?"
"Oh, and you might miss out on your brunch because you might be busy chasing me around town, making sure the people I can possibly hit make it out alive till your shift gets over."
"Nah, boyo, too much work. Let's play something laidback, like hit a couple o balls at the ole' ground."
See? That is what cricket is. A shameless allegedly safe alternative to actual adrenaline pumping sporting action. Now hack, burn and maim is more like my sporting fun. But for some reason it is outlawed. So we have to settle for football or swimming to cool us down.
Now, the cricket world cup seems to have started today, and I have met quite a few of the indian, south african and sri lankan team members. Sachin tendulkar if you must know is quite short. And, they're much better than your pansy english cricket-sters.
Wonder if the cup makes you giddy with joy. How come no posts about it then? Yet, the game in itself is getting lamer, and requires huge adversting campaigns to keep it alive. To what? Milk it before the cup ends.
Now football is nice. Wonder if you like it too. Chelsea I like, and follow. I would bore you with a load more stats if you were interested; and perhaps in return contribute too.
Oh, I am sorry. But I do like the occasional bach, mazoart and hayden. And over time have learnt to distinguish between them. Impressive. But I prefer pink floyd's roger waters.
And, about the homoerotic part. I write erotica all the time, some for my own pleasure too. But, it isn't that difficult. I could, for example, write the descrpition of two or more men doing each other, thugh it will take a lot more out of me.
But, I still maintain that apart from the perverse affection you reserve for cricket you're quite nice.
Helsinki – response to “letter” 3
Anna Mr – unfortunately for me, it seems to be your turn again. How the hell did that happen? This time, I aim to deal with matters swiftly. Oh yes. I am lagging behind like a tiny, very attractive, yet limping lamb, whimpering and bleating in a heartbreaking manner as the rest of the flock disappears over the hill. So…..
Fy nghariad, even I have heard of those two Finnish car drivers. They really are internationally famous, it seems. I don’t think they are very attractive to look at, though, are they? Maybe this is why they drive around in masks? Jenson Button is hot, though, and he still wears a mask, so I don’t know. Or maybe they just possess rare self-awareness and actually realise how they must look to the rest of the world as they zoom and vroom in a ghoulish attempt to out sprint their less than manly deficiencies “downstairs”. I know that I would wear a mask under these trying circumstances, that’s for sure. Leutoo!
I’m just going to take your word for it that Maailman Nopein Kansa more or less refers to The Fastest Nation in the World (I checked) and I will also have to take your word for it about those dreadful sounding adverts you mention. Huonoja ideoita siis, tai ainakin viimeistelyä vailla? Probably just bad ideas to begin with, I’d say. I can imagine this whole series of adverts being excruciatingly predictable and unfunny. Mainosten ihmeellisen maailman jälkeen karu todellisuus. Indeed.
What have I just said, by the way? There was some considerable confusion and anxiety involved as I stole that last sentence from somewhere in space. It either concerns illusions in advertising, or some women with a video camera (I’m not joking). I just have no way of knowing, really (I may be joking). Part of the thrill, I suppose, of communicating in an alien language. Although ei sovellu kovin hyvin kommunikointiin, sillä viestin vastaanoton suhteen lenee liikaa haasteita. I doubt it, though, because I am VERY Good.
Anna Mr, I was devastated to read your less than flattering description of our shared homeland as “a small, insignificant nation in a remote corner of the known world”. I take my Finnishness seriously, as you will know, and felt that this was a needlessly brutal assessment of the land I have always called home since yesterday. I wept, Helsinki. I wept.
Sombre Finnish regards,
Ponipoika
Sorry – thanks very much for the tagging thing, by the way. I’m getting there, I promise.
Yellowduck - howdy doody. I'm well on top of things here, as you can probably see. I like you Duck, so it's very good to have you here. I may just feel like going on at length to you a little later, however. So bear with me.
Nikhil - good to have you back. Accept my apologies in advance, please, for taking too long to respond to you. I'll get to you asap, though, promise.
Right, breakfast time.
So basically I'm trying to get this straight in my mind - Anna Mr, unless my eyes deceive me, I owe you another answer now (give or take an NMJ or two). This simply cannot be right.
You'll forgive me, I trust, if I save you for a little bit later (I plan to be with you elsewhere this evening, anyway). I have been simply bowled over by your contributions, so don't take this temporary leap-frogging over you as a snub, please. I will be back to you (and can hardly wait).
NMJ - I'm sure you fit into all of this somehow (you usually do) but I am struggling to work out exactly how, at the moment. Spend your time learning some more Finnish, please, as you wait for me to come and spend the time on you that you so patently deserve. At least you know that I love you, some of this other mob barely even know that I care. I must reach out to them now, NMJ, with my limitless capacity for hot loving. Don't cry, sweety. I'll be back soon.
(God. I even creep myself out at times, if that's any consolation?)
The New Order:
Hero Moon
The Canadian
RTS (I bat an eyelid when you go on about sex and death, by the way - just saying)
Atyllah the beautiful Hen
Ms Norfolk or Suffolk
Anna Mr (thanks for being patient x)
Yellowduck (hello duck)
Nikhil (hello again Nikhil)
and....
NMJ (I reserve the right to address you in this space whenever I see fit - even if you haven't actually been here. Hope this is okay)
NOTHING will make me deviate from the order of this list. No.
I'm going to the beach now with my girlfriend because it is such a beautiful day. With you later on this evening, Mr Moon.
Kind regards,
Ponipoika of Bergen
Ponipoika,
Te aari hassu.
Se on erittäin tuulinen.
Minun kukka aari ehdottoman.
This delightful NOT a post is very inviting in its request to just say hello. Normally I'm very shy on other people's posts. And I really don't know how to respond to a NOT a post. But here goes.
Hello!
Now I need to go and lie down. And dream of cricket.
Hey Kani(koski), I just know that PE is going to be WETTING HIMSELF with excitement that you have appeared on his blog. Anna MR has already whipped him into quite a frenzy, and God only knows what your arrival will do. It can all only be good! By the way, were you impressed by my Finnish attempts above?
I begin to understand, Mr. P.E., why you sometimes choose to disable comments. With all of us gathering here like - well, I was going to say bees around a honeypot but that doesn't seem quite right. It's quite a destiny, I imagine, being this charismatic. And a cricket supporter to boot (wink, wink).
Maht – magic to find you back here. I am involved in a hellish sprint to try to catch up with my recklessly intrusive guests, so this will be necessarily brief. ish.
I am concerned, of course, that this spurt of industry might damage my reputation, somewhat, on the eve of the Shirk-Off Grand Final. It’s a worry, certainly. I can only hope that this studious waste of my resources will favourably impress all of those Shirk-Off enthusiasts who fail to turn up to see the cancelled final. In particular, I am hoping that this blogtastically pointless effort of mine will catch the (drooping) eye of the judging panel. That would be the two of us, Moon.
The fact that we find ourselves going head to head in the inaugural and last ever, one assumes, Shirk-Off Grand Final, should be a source of immense pride for both of us. We have worked very hard at avoiding work to reach this glorious nadir. Shirkers the world over will take great heart, surely, from our disgraceful and self-harming work-avoidance techniques. It is the very scale of all of those things that we have both so conspicuously failed to achieve that should give them the strength to take a stand, to say enough is enough, and to roll straight back into the warm embrace of a self-loathing and fitful sleep.
I must admit that I rather thought you had the title sewn up, recently, when I became aware that you had obviously spent way too much time constructing (and capturing on film) a threatening letter to a fellow blogger. That was some stunt you pulled there, Moon. (anyone reading this who thinks that I’m joking, by the way, should just head on over to insearchofadam.blogspot.com and see the glorious evidence for themselves)
This sly cunning of yours simply took my breath away, Slothball, and provoked a serious bout of fevered inactivity in response - as I tried my hardest to lose more ground. I even briefly considered, in those darkest of moments, doing some actual work - such was my distress at seeing a fellow shirker out-shirk me with such pointless and dirty panache.
I was only really saved from this terrible fate by my mother, funnily enough. I happened to mention to her, the other day, that I had been spending some time blogging. Her look of disappointed disgust was crippling - a much needed boost for my flagging campaign - and, crucially, made me properly hate myself. This allowed a general sense of worthlessness to make a timely return. How could ANYONE be expected to work under such conditions? That’s just crazy talk, isn’t it?
Anyway, boosted immeasurably by my mum’s sense of despair, I have once again found the strength to do absolutely nothing worthwhile AND feel terrible about it. This makes me a dangerous competitor, Mr Moon - please feel warned. Certainly, my recent and most hideously time-consuming efforts at pseudo-learning both Finnish and Welsh suggest, at the very least, a return to a semblance of form.
I may just lose this thing yet.
Kind regards and thank you very much for your lovely words,
The Periodic Englishman – the loser’s loser, la creme de la dregs.
KANIKOSKI - excellent to see you here and I'll be with you shortly. Don't worry, this is a very friendly place.
Chris - sensational news. The deed is done. I was at the beach earlier (it has been a simply gorgeous day here) and suddenly remembered the rather rash promise I made to you - namely, that the next time there was a break in the weather I would head to the graveyard and commit tasteless sin. I bundled my dog and girlfriend into the car and we all screeched home in a state of highest agitation and excitement (and disappointment, too, if you want to be picky and factor in my girlfriend's feelings - why would you, though, Chris? Why? WHY?)
The gleaming juicer was yanked from the socket and I dashed - I dashed, Canadian - to the dead zone. I felt dangerously alive - which seemed a little inappropriate, true, but what can I tell you? It happened, so just get over it, Mountie, k? Let’s just be adult about this and move on. Good. Well done everybody (esp. me). wtf? I may be losing it here, Canada, hang tight.
I think it would be fair to say that I completely abandoned my pledge to refrain from going inside the graveyard this time. I just stormed the place, really, without so much as a glance towards decorum or, you know, anything remotely resembling decency. I was in an artistic fever, that’s definitely true, and the starvation plan I mentioned had made me feel suitably impoverished and angsty and ready to commit ART, but still.
I simply lost myself in the moment. I expect the results of my dirty endeavours to be outstanding, cutting-edge, deeply moving and entirely without artistic merit. I just need to get them from the camera to my computer (v. difficult – have tried both shouting at camera and computer AND giving them the silent treatment, but no joy as yet) and then on to Flickr. I fully expect my girlfriend to complete this task for me sometime tomorrow. Please don’t read this message before you go to bed, Canadian, because you will simply never get to sleep.
Given all this handsome excitement I have just generated in your heart, Chris, would it tip you over the edge to learn that I play the guitar? I am reasonably good, as well. Recently, however, I have been concentrating on playing the extravagantly gorgeous keyboard my girlfriend bought for me as a surprise gift. The surprise being, I suppose, that she actually caved in to my demented demands that she buy me the thing. The violin sounds are sensational – although it may just be the very high quality of my playing that makes them sound so good. Yes, it probably is.
You’re not alone, incidentally, in not having a clue what all this sport talk means. I have simply no idea what anyone is going on about. I just make stuff up, though, and no-one really seems to notice. You should try it and see. People will believe any old tosh. It’s brilliant. (keep it under your hat, though)
I like it when you visit. Sorry for making myself seem so irresistible this evening, though, with the guitar news and everything. I’ll try to get less attractive sometime real soon. No promises, mind.
Kind regards etc….
TPE
NMJ - I like it. Very well done. Your Finnish is coming along nicely. One day, in about seven or eight years, you may very well be almost as good as I am.
And yes, I accept your hand in marriage. Thanks for asking.
Welcome to my world Mrs Ponipoika.
RTS - hopefully be with you soon. I've got something to do over in Finland and then I'll be back. Hope you're well today.
Gah, how come I always get placed so low on the list?
Not fair at all.
:P
Guess I'll come in for a look-see in a couple o' days.
Enjoying the cricket cup thingie that seems to be on these days?
Ponipoika, ajaa te kuin Joe ja Kisukimu?
I mean Kisumisu, of course, the adopted cat in Finland.
Hey Mr Nikhil Tickle, good to have you back. No no no - it is nothing personal, don't worry. I merely try to answer people in (more or less) the order in which they have arrived. I'll come over to India just as soon as I have finished my answer to you here - this will save you from having to keep on checking, and it will allow me to pay you another visit, which I have been meaning to do for a wee while anyway. With you soon, I hope, although I am crawling at a disgracefuly slow pace for some reason. Sorry about that.
RTS – multiple cricket winks back in your general direction, yes. This wretchedly alluring charisma of mine can lead to problems, you’re right. I’m beginning to understand how Jesus and Mussolini must have felt. Must still be feeling, in fact, in the case of the former. How does he do it? All those people asking questions of him, pleadingly and wheedlingly, demanding his attention. Jeez, give the guy a break already, he must be totally knackered. He’s only human, you know. Still, he maintains a cracking blog and I’ve yet to see him complain. No, Siree.
Why does it not seem quite right to refer to me as a honeypot? I am presently a bus, according to Liz, and would really rather welcome the promotion. Don’t get me wrong, being a bus is a good thing – I am a public service, RTS – it’s just that being a honeypot sounds rather sensual and aromatic and othery. Mmmm.
So where were we, sensual Signs? Okay, yes, I take on board your dramatic clarifications on the old Arsenal front. Arsenal will be very disappointed to lose you, I’m sure of it. I doubt they can properly bear the defection of yet another, let me see, linesman? Forgive my shaky knowledge, RTS, the game leaves me weak with boredom.
In fact, that’s simply not true. I used to quite like it until I moved to Glasgow. I think I once said as much to (possibly) NMJ, but I’m not sure that she knew I was being serious. I couldn’t bear the fact that grown men actually seemed to take it seriously enough to want to drunkenly stab each other. It is almost too pathetic to contemplate. Anyway, it switched me right off. For the record, I was and remain a (wholly disinterested) fan of Aberdeen FC. The fact that they stopped playing anything even remotely resembling football circa 1986 doesn’t help, certainly. My mum is still a loyal supporter, though, as was her father before her.
Has poor Mr Signs recovered yet? Say hello to him, please, and tell him not to worry too much – Arsenal will be back in short order. They won’t win the Premiership this year, of course, but they’ll get back into the Champions League easily enough – where they can start the cycle of misery all over again. If it helps, you can tell him of my secret Aberdeen shame – this usually raises the spirits of most football fans, because it is always nice to know there are people worse off than yourself. This is one of the reasons, in fact, that I always make a special effort to track down homeless people during my rare excursions into “civilisation”. Laughter is such a wonderful medicine, RTS. Wonderful.
Anyway, you’re right, enough about “sport” - food is far more interesting. I am more accurately described as a hermit, I should say, than as a gentleman of leisure who does lunch. Well, I do do lunch, yes, but I do do it alone, yes I do. Unless my girlfriend is home early for some reason, of course.
I am certainly not averse to eating the very occasional pile of junk, but it feels like a bit of a waste of time to eat such garbage, to tell you the truth. Why bother?
My girlfriend, having found me in 1990 eating pasta sauces cold, straight from the jar, is now more or less banned from the kitchen. She seems able enough to cope with this tyranny, fair to say. She taught me the basics – oven on rather than off, that sort of thing – and I quickly grew to love it. She is actually a very good cook, but I just happen to be effortlessly better than her. So when we are presented with the choice of eating something that is very good, as opposed to something that is simply outstanding, well, this is why I do all the cooking in our house. It is also why we very rarely choose to eat out (never forgetting my retreat from the world) – the food I prepare at home is better than anything we’ve ever had in any restaurant. Ever.
I know, it sounds very ugly and big-headed, but this a happy compromise we have reached. There are just too many things that I am worse at than her, and I am happy to admit to any or all of them (and am frequently made to, as it happens) – so this is just natural for us. Playing to our collective strengths, I feel, nothing more. I feel so insulted when I taste the lack of care that has been put into the cooking in supposedly good restaurants. It is simply amazing that so many people are prepared to accept being served such utterly charmless food.
And no, I promise you, I’m not fixated with wanky ingredients or too clever by half dishes. I just love taking loving care of the ingredients as they cook. I ogle them and caress them and talk them through the whole traumatic process. Even carrots. The results, for whatever strange reason, are absolutely fucking sensational.
I do enjoy doing nothing, correct. In fact, I adore doing nothing. I’m trying (with limited success) to bring my girlfriend round to my way of thinking. Turn off the TV. Sit down. Noooo…put that book away. Don’t speak. Just be. Just be yourself and try not to be afraid. You're doing fine. You don’t need to be doing something all of the time. And who the hell was ever appointed to decree that doing “nothing” is not doing “something”. It IS doing something, it is called doing nothing. And that, let me tell you, is really quite something.
I like you Signs. You seem nice. Like me back, or I'll hurt you.
Kind regards etc.....
TPE
"I mean Kisumisu, of course, the adopted cat in Finland...."
Of course you do, NMJ. I think that this will have been immediately apparent not just to me, but to everyone. Yes.
That NMJ must be talking in Finnish about Kisimokokoku, the adopted cat, again.
This, I imagine, is pretty much exactly what everyone will have instantly thought just as soon as they saw your words.
Why do I like you speaking Finnish so much, I wonder? It really seems to suit you. Do more do more do more do more.....yay.
Joe needs to keep it real.
x
Atyllah, I'll be with you soon. Sorry for being a retarded blogger.
To be honest, Kisukimu is actually *even better*.
I should really get round to doing nothing, too, one of these days. It's good for the soul and it's been too long.
It's true, isn't it, Anna Mr? Doing nothing is a necessary activity. Some people seem to find the notion quite unsettling.
Atyllah - seriously, I'm coming.
Yeah, I think I'm quite sexy when I speak Finnish . . .
I have left you a wee present at your eircom dot net address. Hoping to see you enjoy it soon, on this very blog. If I don't, full intra-EU elk military action may well start to take place. Consider this a threat, not an alibi.
The Ice Maiden
Anna Mr and NMJ, hello.
NMJ - yes. I daren't say more. I just do not dare.
Anna Mr - what a an absolutely lovely surprise, thank you. I'm not sure exactly why it is you think that I need a pink horse called Ponipoika adorning the front page of my blog, but I'm hardly likely to start asking in depth questions about that, am I?
I have placed my lovely pink Ponipoika at the bottom left corner of my blog and can only hope that people will come and stroke him, nuzzle him, cajole him and caress him just as much as I plan to. Ponipoika reacts particularly well to insistent stroking, it seems. Good Pony. Good Anna.
A most surprising and brilliant event. Thank you.
x
Atyllah - ten minutes, max. I could hardly ignore a guest bearing gifts, could I?
What a beautiful pink horse, you are such a lucky pony boy to have charming gifts from Finland!!!
okay.
nmj on hemaiseva jahka hän haastaa finnish.
this is the online free translation of: nmj is sexy when she speaks finnish.
but when you translate it back to english you get: nmj is gorgeous when anythbly speak acne
anythbly comes up a lot, what the hell is that about?
and i damn well don't have acne!
jeez, the indignities i go through to give pony boy a Finnish thrill.
Atyllah The Hen, so sorry for the delay - I just lost my entire response to you a moment ago. Trying hard to maintain good mood for lovely Chicken....
Welcome to the planet earth, Novapulsian crusader and welcome, more specifically, to Ireland.
A very great deal has happened since the last time you paid a visit. I started this blog, for one thing. So yes, Hen, this is your first time here. What the hell is wrong with you? Naughty hen. Neglectful hen.
Oh I have a sneaking regard for your cool indifference, that’s just a fact, but you hurt me, Hen, you hurt me. “Why hen hate pony, mummy?” became a familiar and mournful refrain, in this bleakly debauched household of mine, “why hen hate pony?”
I would sit on my porch and look to the skies until it was time for bed. I would occasionally catch a flashing glimpse of yellow as you flew from blog to blog, without ever once deigning to swoop down into here. Can you imagine how this made me feel, Henny?
It is true, yes, that my comments have been switched off, and that I am disgracefully lax in my attempts at posting. It also seems fair to say, I suppose, that any reasonable assessment of the replies that I actually do give to my guests would need to include a strongly worded reference to extreme mental disorder. Shockingly, some people seem to shy away from this. I know - it’s mental, isn’t it, Atyllah?
Sometimes, cruelly, I would find a soft golden feather that had fallen from the sky and would know – how it hurts me to recall this – you had passed through during the night, without ever bothering to wake me. How these lush feathers of yours tormented me, Sweet Hen. I still have them, you know? These tiny mementos of a pain endured, a thirst unquenched, a perversion unhorsed.
None of this matters, anymore, and all is forgiven, if not forgotten. You are here now, Novapulsian, and are obviously anxious to make amends. I am especially delighted to note that you seem so keen to talk about cricket. Or did I miss something? What possible “good reason” could you have for not wanting to talk about cricket? Has cricket scarred you in some way? This is a cricket blog, Picky Chicky, please remember this. Come, let us talk of cricket, Hen. Please please please please…..
It will hardly surprise you to learn, one assumes, that I am choosing to herald your arrival here as a definite sign that you don’t hate me – maybe even love me, I don’t know. Never again will I have to ask my girlfriend the aching question of “why hen hate pony, mummy?” Too much information, maybe.
Whatever. At last, hallelujah, I am free to return to the more vexing and infinitely preferable agonies of the question “why pony hate pony, pony?” And I have you to thank for this, Atyllah The Hen.
Very lovely to find you here. Please feel sure that you are most welcome to return, anytime.
Kind regards from planet Ireland to you and yours, Chickitita….
TPE
LIZ - just you watch it. That's all.
NMJ - these are but gentle indignities you endure. If all goes to plan, you will be enduring an awful lot worse in the days and years that lie ahead.
It is a TERRIFIC horse, isn't it? Thank you for leading me to Anna Mr. She is very funny.
Back to school, NMJ. You have Finnish to attend to.
Have you tried Clearasil?
LIZWICH - hopefully see you later on today.
Oh! It neighs and its hooves clip-clop. Even if I say so myself, it is quite a sweet present. I am a lovely blogpal to have (and a fearsome enemy, but that's right beside the point now).
According to Jack Kerouac only first drafts are preserved in heaven. I say this because the comment I just wrote to you, all about carrot soup, spirituality and the speaking clock (the refined lady one pre-Accurist), got wiped out. Disappeared. So now only god and the angels will see it, or it is spooking around for all eternity in the limbo of cyberspace, which doesn't bear thinking about.
But anyway, Mr. P.E., of course I like you back, how could I not when you talk to vegetables and are clearly such an enlightened and spiritual guy and funny to boot?
Even hermits can "do" lunch, it's about attitude as well as ingredients, and you've got it, Mr. P.E., I know about these things.
Still miffed about losing original comment, but back to the coalface I go.
Bis spater (I don't have the umlaut things)
RTS
Pony Boy, if you can pull yourself away from the limelight & giddiness of comments here, I suggest you get over to Mr Z, he has a funny post on slippers & he too is slagging you off a little today (re. the cricket/lover thing...)
Liz – sorry for keeping you waiting. I really don’t know what’s going on, to tell you the truth. I just seem entirely unable to pull myself together for long enough to attend to my lovely visitors. You said in your first letter that I gave answers that were longer than most people’s posts. Too bloody true. It is an absolutely ridiculous habit. Totally unsustainable. I think I will have to sit myself down and have a major rethink about this whole blogging malarkey. I’m going to need to learn how to give short and sharp answers, without seeming to offend. The problem being, of course, that I simply adore blethering on about nothing – at considerable and excruciating length. Plus, I have been horribly neglectful these past few days in visiting people. I don’t know. AND I’ve just realised that I swore again in a response (sorry RTS, if you are ever reading this) without even being aware of the fact. I don’t mind swearing, nothing wrong with it, but I really would prefer to be aware of the times I am doing it, that’s all. Slightly troubling.
Are you really only 5’3”? Dear oh dear, Hobbit, however do you manage? I am well over 9 feet tall and still find it not to be enough. In fact, I think I’m maybe even as tall as 11 feet. Tall, anyway. You need to get yourself some huge shoes, Lizwich, with soles as thick as Dorset. How will you ever be able to look me in the eye and tell me to shut my trap about your height issues, otherwise?
Actually, it is rather odd. From your picture (for some reason) I should imagine you to be tall and rangey. You LOOK like a tall person – or is that too weird? I think you must probably be about the same height as my girlfriend, come to think of it. She may be slightly taller, I’m not sure exactly.
Whatever the case may be, tiny tooty teeny weeny Lizwich – let’s just not make an issue out of it, okay? No. Absolutely not.
Good news, by the way, about the splendid weather you’ve been having. It’s really nice when you are able to just wander about outside, isn’t it? What a difference there is to the feel of the world when the sun comes out to play.
Tesco was rather enjoyable for once, as it happens and since you ask. It was the rest of the shops that floored me with a sense of grim hopelessness. Luckily, however, I told my girlfriend all about it for many hours afterwards. She was thrilled, Elizabeth, thrilled. There is often something very depressing about seeing people buy things. It all feels a bit pointless and grubby. Still, I made sure the food trolley was disgracefully overflowing and winced – WINCED, Lilliput – as the cashier stole my loot. Total frisking and no mistake.
Did I really just see you complain that one of your internet victims, Will, was a little on the short side? Are you SURE you want to go down that road, Teeny? Wait! Sensation! It seems like you do. You’re next target, from Felixstowe, is also sniffily referred to as being short. Easy tiger. You run the very real risk of being called Pot.
The next man does sound a bit nicer, though, so that’s good. I like it when these things can evolve into friendship. It just seems better that way – I mean, as opposed to both parties just going their different routes and never maintaining any contact. Make sure he comes to your party, Lizwich, and reserve yourself the right to make a move on him, though. Always best to keep your options open, I say. That last piece of advice, of course, is a prime example of why I never made the grade as an agony aunt. Still hurts me to think of it. Definitely.
I’m afraid to say that the Divorce Guy sounds like a sorry piece of trash. What a goon. You have no Divorce Guy shaped hole in your life, Liz – you know this, I hope. A relief, I imagine, that the sniveling little runt didn’t call you.
Scottish Guy. Good. Pity about the lack of spark. You do well to trust your instinct on these matters, Thumbelina, although there is nothing wrong with simply having meaningless physical contact every now and then. Sparks or no sparks, it feels nice to be held.
As for the Abusive Guy, well. I don’t really trust myself right now to make comments which will not seem outrageous and quite possibly unhinged. My own view is that these behaviours should be reported to the police. Not after they gain and gather momentum - immediately. One strike and you’re out. No exceptions. These are the sort of men that I loathe.
And you should too, sweetheart.
Kind regards etc….
TPE
Anna Mr - it is a lovely horse. You are a star. I'll be with you next.
Hello again Signs - lovely to see you. Very sorry to hear about the mishap. It happened to me earlier with an answer I had written to Atyllah. A very bitter blow. It was a MASTERPIECE. And I'm sure that yours was, too. Start again. (I promise I'll be visiting soon)
NMJ - disgraceful news. Everyone seems to be slagging me off today - EVERYONE. This is as good as it gets, NMJ, never forget that. Anyway, I'll need to go and see what the treacherous Z has been up to, the swine. Outrage.
First - food (try to contain yourself RTS)
ANNA Mr - with you later.
MR Z - I'll be bringing my gun. Feel sure of this.
It's odd how everyone thinks I'm taller than I actually am. Maybe I have a tall personality, or tall hair.
I didn't mind that Will was short, once I got used to it and at least he was honest about it on his personal profile. The baldy guy claimed to be 5'8" - clearly a fib as I towered over him in my flat shoes!
When I was a child, my Mum said I would be tall because my Dad is tall. Unfortunately, Mumsy is shorter than I am and I took after her. Never mind, as my Grandma (all 4'11" of her) used to say - nice things come in small packages.
Yours teenily
Lizwich the Hobbit
Howdy Ipswich – it’s magic here, isn’t it? With you soon, all 2ft 7in of you. Yes.
Anna Mr – apologies. My response to you has been eaten. Highly dejected. HIGHLY dejected. Double blow following the Atyllah tragedy of yesterday. Back for more after Nikhil, who has been here for 17 years and 42 days. He deserves a break.
NIKHIL Nikhil Nikhil. Forgive me. I am so slow just now, for some reason. Glacial, even. I feel like The Incredible Hulk – when he does the slow motion bits (TV series), only without the attendant big heapy heapy strength. Also, I am not green. Or American. And I have resolved most of my anger issues, too, come to think of it.
I don’t feel anything like The Incredible Hulk at all, Nikhil, that’s just stupid - and I’m not entirely sure what I was thinking of when I wrote it. I do feel tired, though. Like I’m wading through treacle. Either way (Hulk v Treacle) I‘m very sorry to have kept you waiting.
Yes, thank you, I’m enjoying the world cup thingy very muchly. It means that I will be watching too much TV again for the next few weeks, unfortunately, but I think I can just about live with this fact.
Almost unbelievably, Scotland will be in the competition (not for long, true) and this just adds to the magic of the whole occasion. Even though I am Scottish, however, my true love in cricket is the England team. In the very unlikely event that Scotland were to play against England, well, it would be painful, certainly, but I would still support England. I have absolutely no idea why this should be so. It is too freaking strange. Come on England, yay.
Sachin Tendulkar is a god-like genius, yes. He is also, or so I am led to believe, only seven or eight inches tall. Sensational. One of my guests here, Liz from Ipswich, is actually even slightly smaller than this. It’s true. Did you pick him up in your hand, Nikhil, when you met him? Please don’t say that you stood on him. That would be terrible, just terrible. You’ve not squashed Tendulkar have you, Nikhil? Why would you do such a thing? Why?
Hang on, hang on. What is this OUTRAGE you have perpetrated against my beloved England? Pansy English cricketers, you say? Nooooooooo. Somebody arrest Nikhil, for he has sinned. Surely, surely, SURELY what you meant to say was Pansy And Effeminate English Cricketers Who Singularly Lack A Cutting Edge? Then we would be in agreement, Sports Fan. As it is, we must fight to the death. Later.
It’s surprising to me, in fact, to hear that you are less than enthusiastic about cricket. Over here, we are led to believe (by the sports media) that all Indians absolutely love cricket. The country is reported as coming to a standstill whenever India play a match. Players are revered – then just as quickly reviled if things go wrong – and the whole mass of India, and Indians themselves, can best be described as demented. This, to me, has always sounded like a dream. The way forward. The future, Nikhil. All countries should be cricket mad – it would just make the world a better place.
Of course, I have absolutely no evidence to back up such a claim, but this has never stopped me before. So, anyway, I’m rather disappointed, truth to tell, to find out that this is not the case. Do you mean to tell me that India is not exclusively cricket crazy? This is a sad day for me, Nikhil. A very sad day.
Good point, incidentally, about my shockingly low output dealing with cricket on this blog. No excuses. But just look at the trouble I get into when I mention the game. Dear oh dear. A disaster zone. In fact, very early on in this wretched blog of mine, I bemoaned the fact that my singular lack of imagination had led me to call it cricketpage.blogspot.com. I suggested that this was a rather limiting name and that I would regret backing myself into such a corner. Very true. I also suggested that I was a f*****g cretin for having done so. Also, very true. Ho-hum. What’s a man to do?
Delighted to hear you like Mozart and Bach et al. The music is just too good not to like, isn’t it? I’m not so sure about Pink Floyd. I think, although I may be wrong, that I used to be quite keen on them many years ago (were they the ones with a quite remarkable guitarist?) I also have a feeling that I used to listen to them whilst properly high on grass. All good stuff. They were the sort of band that would get played at the end of parties when people were trying to look philosophical and indifferent about having failed to pull. That might just have been me, of course.
Enough. I need to go and cry my eyes out because the masterpiece I just wrote to Anna Mr has been lost in space. It has really annoyed me.
Very nice to see you again and I'm sorry for taking so long. All being well, I should have been to pay you a visit sometime in the next 24 hours.
Kind regards from Ireland to India......
TPE
ANNA MR - don't hurt me. You are next.
YELLOWDUCK - I think I may have just leap-frogged you. I'm very sorry, I'll be back soon. My head is all over the place.
KANIKOSKI - please don't think I have forgotten about you. I am thrilled to have you here, NMJ is right.
RTS - hello. Glad to be liked back. It's just easier this way, isn't it? Now like me some more.
NMJ - I hope you're well today. I just do.
You keep doing that. You avoiding me?
Hello Ecossrishman,
Entertaining being here, as always, even if I am far more entertained than entertaining. I cheered on the Scottish lads and if they'd only mustered those last 200! Still, there are many more games to go so who knows.
Hello to everyone else. Sadly, I've no time to make sense.
Absolutely no WAY, beautiful Duckster. I am beating myself up for my oversight - and you can beat me up too (if the mood should take you).
I am simply all over the place. Not a meltdown - not yet, anyway - but something strange. If I didn't know any better, I would say that I was wasted on drugs. Unfortunately, all I've had is coffee. Where the hell is Ms Melancholy when you need her? Shameful.
I expect to be joining you in The Pond in the very near future, but you know, I hope, that you are always welcome here.
(This isn't even a response - so Anna Mr can't complain. This is just a short note of soothing reassurance. Yes. That's what it is. I will be with you again, Duck, just as soon as I've dealt with the lunatic from Finland)
Ice Maiden - I'll be with you soon.
The Ice Maiden waiteth. With baited breath. She is going blue. It's not just the cold.
Political Umpire - God, it's really nice to see you. I thought maybe you'd abandoned me because I have been so disgustingly lax in visiting you recently.
I hope you'll manage to enjoy the World Cup, by the way - I hope we both will. Maybe just a little less laughing at Scotland, if you don't mind. These are sensitive times, Umpire, so mind how you go.
I really do not rate England's chances highly, unfortunately. I have a bad feeling about the whole thing. Very bad.
(I'm hopeful that this attractive pessimism of mine will be rewarded kindly by God himself. Go England)
Humming Jerusalem to myself, Umpire.
Your most loyal servant and admirer,
The ENGLISHMAN
Anna Anna Anna MR - sorry. When Political Umpire enters my home, I simply have to greet him.
And you saw for yourself that Yellowduck was in tears. What was I supposed to do?
How are you today, Finlandia? I'm going to make myself something to eat (rice and green peppers) and then I'll be back. Hopefully, finally, at long bloody last, I will respond to your mad Finnish ravings.
I also need to feed my beautiful dog, Emma.
Have no fear, Pony Scotia, I understand your warped logic of replies. Well, I don't really - who could make such a claim? - but I won't leave with all doors banging. So feed the family with my blessing. Send us a doggie bag (not Emma's, though).
You see? It's vegetables and time-management, isn't it? The secret of your success, I mean. I feel sure you will not disappoint me.
Hello again Englishman. Glad you're feeling guilty about not visiting mine recently, and I can only hope that this makes you feel even more guilty. Incidentally you also need to visit Tygerland, as he has been good enough to add both of us to his blogroll recently, in the Gentleman v Players section (I've just ordered Douglas Jardine's book of the 1932 Ashes, and I think I know which of those teams he would have played for).
Wasn't really knocking the Scots but I wonder if the WC is the best place for those chaps. Still, the Irish did themselves proud (especially the Australian and South Africans amongst them), and as an Irish resident this news must have been received well in your part of the world.
Hey, Umpire - lovely to see you here again (I understand you have been visiting the Finnish swamp).
I couldn't watch the last delivery of the Ireland game - too tense. Good point about the WC being the best place for Scotland and the likes. I remain undecided, but will get back to you on that.
Oh - and Umpire....
"...if they'd only mustered those last 200!"
I'm prepared to let this go, but I think it would be fair to say that you were hardly depressed when you wrote that line, oder?
To Anna Mr I go, I go....
Ice Maiden, hei. Mitä uutta, juntti? (sorry, couldn’t resist it)
You will know by now, I trust, that the epic saga I spent just a bit too much of my life composing for you, got lost in space. You have missed out, Elka, on a most supreme work of Finnish art. I was praising you lustily, and with an abandon that bordered on the criminal, when disaster struck. I had been so excited by my efforts, working myself into quite a Helsinkian frenzy, when suddenly, well, lerppu. I felt so deflated. Minua v*t*t*aa, let me tell you.
Anyway, fy nghariad, you have been praised sufficiently for your pony endeavours elsewhere, I feel, and so let’s just get back to work, shall we?
“…..agapi mu, rakkaani, this matter of beauty, God, lack of, music, pain, sex, particularly orgasms, and other related items. Yes.” Yes.
You see, Anna Mr, I can be brief, too. My new motto, in fact, is Be Brief But Try Hard To Remain Charming And Virile And Don’t For The Love Of God Muck Things Up Now Just When You’ve Gone And Got Yourself A Nice Bit Of Finnish Fluff Lusting After You And Remember Not To Say Anything Insulting But Above All Simply Keep Things To A Minimum Because No-one Wants To Read Such Over Long Nonsense So Basically Yeah Just Kind Of Keep It Real And Be Brief Cos That Way Lies A Better Future You Know?
As a mission statement, certainly, it could do with not being a question. And it would also be true to say that it is sometimes hard to remember exactly what this mission question is – maybe just a little long, I don’t know. In Finland, though, as you will be aware, we Finns often use acronyms to help us remember stuff. It is as well, Helsinki, that this particular acronym….
BBBTHTRCAVADFTLOGMTUNJWYGAGYAN
BOFFLAYARNTSAIBAASKTTAMBNWTR
SOLNSByeahJKOKIRABBCTWLABFYK?
also happens to be the name of a welsh train station. Stop. I am too funny and too clever. People will become disheartened.
So, basically, you’re right – celibacy may be the answer. If only to halt the threatened and dreaded spread of Ponipoikaism. I should hate to think of a future Ponipoika wasting quite so much of his or her time doing what I am doing right now. We cannot allow our ponies to enter such a world, Igloony. No way.
Picking through the wreckage of your fourth letter, I see that you have asked me whether or not the film To The West is familiar to me. I’m afraid it isn’t, sorry about that. I can’t even remember the last time I watched a film. I have been unable to do so for absolutely ages now – not sure why. Certainly, it has been over a year since I watched a film, any film, from beginning to end. I just get impatient, restless, bored. Don’t know. So I rarely even try, anymore. I do now love The Sopranos, however. I have had the box set of the first series for ages (a gift) but only recently started to watch it. I am hooked. I am on the third series. I have a girlfriend and she has my car and Ireland has shops and she is prepared to go into them – crazy, no? – and buy me stuff every now and then. Don’t worry - I pay for the popcorn.
The good news, I suppose, is that if you are ever a little worried about going to see a film, Ice Maiden of The Frozen Wastelands, you can ask me for a heads up, a review. It should be an absolute certainty that I will not have seen it, and so you will be guaranteed an unbiased report. 250 words, straight up, no fee. Expect slight inaccuracies.
As for who I have had to sleep with (in the internet, yes) in order to achieve online dictionary satisfaction? Everyone. Cover all your bases, Helsinki, you just never know when someone or something might be useful to you. Put it about and the rewards are sure to follow. And my Finnish is outstanding, isn’t it? Oho, sepäs hienoa!
Nähdään myöhemmin, Suomi.
Hyviä unia, oman kullan kuvia.
PS. Hyvä tyttö, Anna, olet suurenmoinen - älä anna periksi (this is meant to be nice, so I hope I haven’t messed it up but en puhu suome – I know, almost impossible to believe, isn’t it?)
I hear you are pining for me, Pony Boy, I'm still planning on marrying you, don't worry - I just have to harm Bill Gates first.
RTS - sorry. I didn't see that you had sneaked in there. I hope I never let you down, Signs. Give it time, though.
Yellowduck - out to get coal, back later. Doch.
Kisslicks to both of you.
(RTS - do you speak German?)
Harm him, NMJ, do this thing. And do it very, very roughly indeed.
Go darling, quick, you have work to do. Crush the pauper Gates and free the world from his tyranny. Rush. I'll wait for you.
I am so proud.
x
Oh, Ponipoika, you *are* too funny and too clever. I feel quite satisfied with my (received) reply now, having split my sides laughing. The last time someone called me juntti was, well, it hasn't happened. I am, after all, from *the capital city*.
Continue in that vein ystävä hyvä. The maailma is a parempi paikka for your blogging.
(PS Go, nmj, go, we're all rooting for you here!)
ja, ich spreche ganz gut Deutsch. Aber "kisslicks" verstehe ich uberhaupt nicht,Herr Manchmal Englischmann.
"Kisslicks" heisst "firm handshakes and nothing untoward" auf Englisch, Signs. Doch, wirklich.
Frag mal Das Gelbe Entlein, wenn du mir nicht believe at all.
Bis bald.....
Duck, dass stimmt, oder? Ich komm gleich wieder. Ein paar stunde oder so. x
Please, enough of this Finnish and German and Welsh: I understand none of it (even tho I write in Finnish occasionally).
These are too hard sounding words (isn't that a great pun?).
Basta!
Some Italian or French please.
Je t'en prie!
Or maybe that should be
Je t'en supplie.
Pony Boy, come & visit me, I am bored.
...but Finnish is still lovely, Pony Boy - remember that I have mustan kissan paksut posket on my pinboard, and also, I was conversing with Anna MR when you were still in nappies...Finnish rules!, but I just need some softer sounds tonight, that's all x
Hey - stop right there. I came over, like a hero, and found the place deserted, NMJ. It was so dark, so very dark. Anyway, now I've flown back home (v. good for air miles, but dries the skin, somewhat) and must really get on to the Duck. Although I was actually meant to be debating carrots and potatoes with RTS, if memory serves. Life is strange.
I am lost.
So am I.
I actually come here for some sanity and meditation. Is it alright if I just sit here for a bit in the corner, Mr PE? The world has gone mad and my pond is no longer the quiet oasis it once was. I need some time to reflect upon existence and cricket.
It's all so confusing.
Yellowduck, dag. Hoe gaat het met u? I have been meaning for some time now to talk at you in Dutch, but we have a problem – and not just the fact that I have never spoken Dutch. As I continue my exhaustive study of the language of The Canal People, I am made to feel uneasy by the suspicion that you lot are maybe simply taking the piss out of the rest of us.
Please tell me it’s not true that the Dutch say dank u for thank you. So near. It just seems kind of picky to make a point of being different, unique, whatever. Why not just say thank you properly and be done with it, dank u very much?
If I have this right, then you are at least 50% to blame for this needlessly antagonistic approach to world affairs, Il Ducke. The Iranian part of you escapes censure (drat). The Dutch part of you, sadly, does not.
I mean, how hard would it be, as a goodwill gesture, for the Dutch to simply say thank you in a manner consistent with, well, English, innit? You know you want to, Duck - that much is clear from the hopelessly ill-disguised dank u. Come on, Hollander, live a little, give in to your urges. We won’t hold it against you. Think of all the misunderstandings that might be avoided by taking this simple step towards linguistic homogeneity. That way leads to the brotherhood of man and a future that all can embrace.
If you Dutchlings feel worried about taking such a momentous step: relax. It has happened before and there have been no lasting ill effects since the change took place. Right up until as recently as 1972, drugged-up Nederlanders used the word “vagonmetwheelsfoordeshoppers” and actually seemed happy enough to do so. It was only changed to “bus” following a heated national debate and referendum. All Hollanders, all of them Duck, now use the word bus to describe a bus. Why wouldn’t they? It’s a bus, after all, for pity’s sake.
Anyway, this partially opened the floodgates to reform as sensible Dutchers tried to reclaim their language from the stained hands of The Stoners. A fierce language-tussle, blighted by repeat and extreme outbreaks of smoky lethargy and star-gazing, only really came to a halt when everyone was united by the desire to have sex. Holland has a cricket team these days, Duck. I just want to tell you that - and leave it there.
Except I can’t. But of COURSE I can’t. I talk too much, way way too much, Duck. It is a worry. But you would have to admit, surely, that this dank u habit of the Dutch is a strange one. It sounds like a sarcastic mimic of the real word, a cheeky teasing of decent people.
“…so…yes, well done Dutch person, nice to do business.”
“You too, English speaker, a real pleasure.”
“Excellent. That’s it then. Thank you.”
“No, no, not at all. Dank u.”
“I’m sorry? What was that?”
“Oh, nothing. Just expressing my gratitude. Good day, Englishman.”
“Very well, good. Yes. Okay dokey then. Thank you.”
“Dank u.”
“Now looky here, Clogface, I’m not sure what your problem is, but there is simply no need for that kind of……”
You can see, Duckaleekee, that there is the potential for war, real war, in these terrible misunderstandings. Just do something about it, okay?
Sorry to hear that you feel lost and yes, you are very welcome to sit here. Please do. I am perfectly lost myself, however, and fear I can be of little assistance. I am on the brink.
At least lazybones Ms Melancholy seems to be back. What was all that about, Duck? Does she not even care for us? How is such professional negligence allowed in this day and age? A waiting room chockablock with needy loonies and yet she STILL had the nerve to bugger off to Spain. It makes me fear for the world. More than that, and of far greater importance, it makes me fear for ME.
Dark days, truly. It seems futile to resist the blackness. It’s coming, darling Duck, it’s maybe even here.
TPE
PS. You win 99 euros for being the 99th to comment in this thread. It was going to be a surprise for the 100th commenter, but that would be me - and so the surprise is ruined. I just couldn’t really bare to leave you sitting here alone. How do I get the money to you? Don’t make the mistake of thinking I’m joking. Claim your loot and spend it unwisely. That would be my advice, anyway.
Kanikoski, my poor and patient visitor. I'll be with you soon. Are you even still here, I wonder? Back shortly, regardless.
Can I just say that my brother used to work in Holland, so I visited quite a few times and I loved the special deal at Schiphol airport of a sausage roll and coffee, it fairly calmed me down before the flight.
Saucijzenbroodje and koffie
Delicious.
Ducky will correct me if I'm wrong with spelling, I'm sure.
Sadly, one of their cats drowned in the canal and another fell off the roof.
Kanikoski – Sdrasti! Priatno mi e da se saposnaem, kak si? Dobre? Biva? Depressed beyond belief? I hope not, certainly. Govorite li balgarski? Kade jiweete? Espoo? No way. You just made that up, surely?
I thought maybe you’d like to see some Bulgarian, Kanikoski. I may be wrong in this belief, it seems fair to say, but I’m going to take a chance and stick with it. I have been snooping around your beautiful (Finnish) home and have discovered – tra la! – that you spent some time in Bulgaria (1991-1993). Besides, I need a new challenge after perfecting Finn Speak. Yes.
If you even DARE to suggest that I have done no such thing, Brit-Finn, then I shall be forced to completely fall apart in a less than manly manner and confess everything. Let that be your warning.
Anyway, I am so pleased to see you here. It is always lovely to welcome new people to this space and I can only apologise for the shockingly long time it has taken me to reach you.
I know, I know. I could have just said hello and thanks for coming but, for some strange reason, I have got it into my head that this is not enough. I think that I am right in this belief - reasoning that if someone has used up some of their time to pay me a visit, then the very least that I can do is spend some of my own time on them. Unfortunately, this has now just become ridiculous. Yes indeedly do.
Why are you normally shy on other people’s posts, Kanikoski? Do you worry that people are going to be nasty (I worry about this) or is it just something akin to the pressure one might feel when entering a room of strangers? It can certainly be nerve-wracking, can’t it?
If it helps in any way, then please feel assured that you’ll never be subjected to any personal abuse in this space, Mr Kanikoski – teasing, maybe - and that anyone who tried to do such a thing would be deleted immediately. All views are welcome, however objectionable they may seem to some, but personal abuse is an absolute no-no in this space - unless it is purely aimed at me, in which case I reserve the right to keep it here (just as long as it is not too poorly written).
Odota. Maybe you’re just shy on other people’s posts because you are filled with shame that your life has come to this? You are simply creeped out by having to consort with such horrible, ghoulish, people. Don’t worry about that either, Kamikaze, I share your disgust. Do me a favour though, please, and keep that to yourself – I don’t want to scare these people away until I have found some new loons to replace them (esp. NMJ, shhh).
Well done, incidentally, for noticing that this was NOT a post, merely a reception room. Anna Mr seemed to notice this, too, when she referred to my three (as opposed to four) posts – is there something in the Finnish air, perhaps? NMJ, sadly, merely disgraced herself once more. It’s terrible to see, but I am forced to become used to it.
I’m just way too pleased with myself that this Non-Post opportunity to say hello was sufficient to draw you in here, because now we’ve said hello, Kanikoski, and saying hello to strangers makes me feel happy. Hello stranger, don’t be a stranger.
Kind regards and greetings from Ireland….
TPE
NMJ - hello. I didn't see you there, I'm sorry.
That is a disastrously sad tale about the cats. Did the one who fell off the roof survive? Or was it totally mashed up beyond recognition? Tragedy.
I like the sound of Saucijzenbroodje and koffie. I think you should maybe say this more often. Duck, alas, is too busy shopping for a Gucci handbag with (and for) Mrs Duck to correct your spelling - the last I heard.
It's just you and me. Or it was, at any rate. Now it's just me. Although I think you'll find that even I'm no longer here, in fact.
Bye bye x
(slump)
Felix drowned in the canal and Maggie fell off the roof and died. Maggie was a gem, she came from San Francisco, I knew her as a kitten, then she relocated to Europe with my brother, she was a tough lady, cheeky, black and white. And one day she just ran out of luck.
Oh, I'm sorry sweetie, that's too horrible.
TEMPORARY BLACKNESS - BACK SOON
God. Sorry NMJ, I’ve just realised how that must have looked. Trust me, I’m not holding you and your sad cat story responsible for my mood – it’s been brewing for a while. Wow. What a guilt trip THAT would have been. I am such a cretin.
Back to “normal” soon. These things pass. xx
Nice to see your house is open again, Fierce Pony. Much love from the frozen plains.
x
Beautiful to find you here, too, Anna MR - you took your time, though, didn't you? I've been open for business for well over a week now. Tsk. Some friend you turned out to be.
Do you see that deleted comment above you there? Hidden within that is the response to the tag you tagged me with, you tagger. Obviously, I bang on about other stuff to other people as well, but the tag thing is there too. How the hell do I recover it? I made a point of not taking the delete "permanently" option, so I'm guessing there must be a way to get it back. Any ideas?
Don't be getting excited, it is lame as hell.
Anna, I am very pleased to see you here. Thank you - for loads of things, really. You are a very welcome visitor to Ireland. x
Listen, your house has NOT been open for a week, I check daily, you Horse of Many Lies. Daily, since god knows when.
(Well, maybe not daily. But I have checked within the week, that's for sure. Unless your week started yesterday. What day is it today? Monday? Um, yes...)
Regarding ideas - I have no idea. Why in the name of everything that's precious have you gone and deleted the tag I tagged you with, like, two months ago? Why didn't you just post it, for the love of all horses?
Why?
x
First up - you're wrong. This post has been open for at least a week. This is the second time in quick order that you have accused me of talking gibber-plab. It only makes me excited, Anna, so do please tread with care. You're still wrong, though. Maybe you are just confused, or Finnish, or a girl or something. Whatever. Wrongness is the order of the day in your wrongly wrong house of wrongs, okay?
Secondly - because I'm a bit of a twat, I suppose. I just didn't like what I was doing and could see that I was setting myself up for future grief. It was a general sort of "hello, sorry about that" type of letter to everyone and no-one in particular. It was too long. A tough one to believe of me, sure, but you're just going to have to try to suspend your disbelief for a moment, Huggleberry Finn.
So I deleted it. Makes sense really. Only I didn't delete it properly because I like to keep a record of the (poor) state of my mind. And then you turned up and I wanted to impress you all the way into my bed, so I just couldn't stop myself from mentioning it. Hence the pickle I find myself in now, not more than three hours after welcoming my first visitor back. Is it any wonder I sometimes want to cash in my chips and be done with it? I mean, my God, what an absolute dick.
And would you ever just look at the length of the answer I am giving here already? I don't think I have learnt a thing from before. I quite like that, but it's certainly not very smart.
Anyway, I'm going to go and see if I can recover that deleted thing. You could maybe leave me a message here if you see it?
Feel the heat, Helsinki.
x
Well, it is certainly true I am A Confused Finnish Girl and Queen Wrong in the House of Wrongs that I have failed to see that it's been open, if that indeed is the case (not accusing here, you understand, just a figure of speech). Mea maxima culpa. I am a dork. I think I gave up on having a look at the box itself, at least every time, and checked the number of comments instead - if it said 108, it was still closed. That's feminine logic for you.
But now, on to more important matters. If you can't recover your post - and I hate to tell you this but as we speak it is 2:41 EEST and my Mac-clock is a few minutes late, and the tag I tagged you with is not there all recovered and wrapped in one of those tin-foil thermal blankets that First Aid kits have in them, ready to tell all the juicy ones on you - if you can't recover your post, you'll just have to rewrite it. At least the taggy part. Sod all the apologies, who do you need to apologise to?
Just say, hello, back again, here are five things you never knew about me (ok, I know, four), I have to do this because The Ice Maiden made me, and bang off you go.
Not that I am instructing you how to run your very fine blog house or anything. I love your blog house and am most excited to be allowed back in.
Although, the way I'm going, the state of affairs might not last. Was going to ask what you had against long comments, but judging on the current length of this one, it may be better if I just kiss your horsey nose in friendly gratitude for allowing the stable doors to fly open again. Lurvely. xx
In a skip?
Right. Well. Rakas Ponihevonen, you have done it for me. I don't know how (or indeed, whether) to thank you. But you did it for me, so I am full of gratitude, yes. Yes I am. Thank you, Horse of County Down. Thank you.
A skip. Oho
xxx
I hereby acknowledge The Periodic Englishman has given an adequate number of fair answers to my tagging him and is therefore freed from his impending slavery to me (damn).
Signed,
The Ice Maiden, Madwoman Supreme of A Very Northern Place
Nice one, Anna. You are still just the wrong side of sane, I should say, but I enjoyed doing the taggy for you all the same.
One word, and I'll melt your house with a blowtorch, ok?
Anyway - thank you for tagging me, sorry for taking forever to do it, thank you for acknowledging it, sorry for your mental health issues, thank you for visiting, sorry you badmouthed me (AGAIN), thank you for whatever.
Do come back anytime, Ice Maiden, because I really love it when you stop by.
Poni Disgrace x
To: The Skip Horse of Scotland
Dear Sir,
We have duly noted the threats made by yourself towards one of our nationals. We recommend you exercise caution with regard to taking any future action, as our house is very large indeed and attempting to blowtorch it would be futile (see evidence attached). Consequently, you are completely at our mercy.
It is a good thing we are a fair-minded nation and treat confidences as such. Do, however, note, that The Ice Maiden is very highly thought of in our society, and any untoward action on your part with regard to her person will result in immediate flock-shitting on your so-called stables.
Signed,
The Stealth Swan Unit,
Finnish Air Force
it's famous stupid people contest time :D
Scout - you remembered to remind me (as demanded/asked for/begged). You are a most excellent Canadian person, obviously, and don't seem to allow your nationality to hold you back from being all nice and kind and magnificent and thoughtful.
It's almost enough to make me change my view of Canada as an empire-building, needlessly interventionist, blood-stained giant, responsible for creating division and disharmony on the world stage. Almost, but not quite.
Give me a minute to pack a few things, brush my hair, put on some shoes (golden, with purple laces), brush up on my Canadian etc and I'll be with you shortly.
Thank you, Scout, that was good of you to remember. I'll see you later on today.
Kind regards etc.....
The Stealth Swan Unit, Finnish Air Force - I see you there, don't worry. Just having a quick consultation with my horsey lawyers, k? Then I should be able to respond to you.....
Stealth Swan Unit (Finnish Division)
Thank you for flying in here to make threats and flagrantly racist comments. You are saved from permanent expulsion from these pages only because you brought such a charming and beautiful gift with you. I loved watching it. Thank you.
But honestly. Let's just take a wee look at something here. You said:
"We have duly noted the threats made by yourself towards one of our nationals..." (my italics)
You also said:
"It is a good thing we are a fair-minded nation...." (again, my italics)
And then you went on to say:
"The Ice Maiden is very highly thought of in our society...." (yes, my italics, get over it)
Would you ghettoise me, Stealth Swans? Is that it? Have you failed to notice my noble efforts at immersing myself deeply in "your" Finnish culture? You would keep me on the margins of society and refuse me the proud title of FINLANDER? Really? That's just racist, that is. Finland is as much my country as it is yours, and I bitterly resent being made to feel otherwise.
Anna MR is indeed very highly thought of, but she is very highly thought of in OUR society, our shared Finnish society. Why would you shut the door in my face like this and attempt to minimalise (or ignore entirely) my intense efforts to enter into all things Finnish? This is a shameful way for my fellow Finlanders to behave and I am aghast - AGHAST - that you should choose to view me as anything other than a Finny.
Sheesh.
I do promise not to burn The Ice Maiden's house down, however, even though it is my inalienable right to do so as her fellow countryman, her brother Finn, her lover.
Oi maamme, Suomi, synnyinmaa!
Soi, sana kultainen!
Ei laaksoa, ei kukkulaa,
ei vettä rantaa rakkaampaa
kuin kotimaa tää pohjoinen.
Maa kallis isien.
Sun kukoistukses kuorestaan
kerrankin puhkeaa;
viel' lempemme saa nousemaan
sun toivos, riemus loistossaan,
ja kerran laulus, synnyinmaa
korkeemman kaiun saa.
Quite.
Voi herranen aika, Ponipoika, have those stupid bird-brains been making a menace of themselves...
I must apologise. They are a despicable bunch of ranting bad eggs. Your noble (and incredibly successful) efforts at immersing yourself in things Finnish has been headline news here for weeks. Weeks, Horse of Finland. You have been awarded not only honorary and honourable nationality, but also several seats in the Parliament, the keys to five major cities, the Chair of Cunning Linguistics at the Helsinki University, and been decorated with the Mannerheim Cross. Have you not heard of all this? In fact, I believe they were supposed to be the messengers. I knew the government should have sent me in person.
I know - they are just envious (and possibly, a mite jealous too - they have a strange liking for me in the Air Forces. Not reciprocated, you understand.)
Here, let me attach their full and unconditional apology to you.
Again, I can only regret this dreadful incident and hope no bad feeling will be caused by it between your good self and your most faithful, loving, besotted friend
The Ice Maiden
aka Swan Hater
Here's hoping the apology is accepted...
x
Oh, that was very good, Ice Maiden. Hugging, above all else, totally rules. It is the very best of the best.
But you should just wait there a minute, please, because I'll be back with you soon. I'm busy with something right now, though, and it might just take, you know, forever.
Expect Finnish soon....x
Hope you're ok ponyboy. Been seeing you around on different blogs and I hope that things are ok. But that sounds shit. So hugs instead and thoughts.
x
Caroline - bugger me sideways, but what a lovely and welcome surprise. Yes, I have been lurching from blog to blog, I think I have managed to visit seven people now since the partial lifting of blacky blackness McBlackathon began. Usually I cling to a single post, hardly daring to move, annoying the hell out of some very nice people as I do so.
It is a pity that just as we were about to fall headlong into both love and a demonic clinch fest together - these are my memories, Caroline, and I will make them up as I see fit, okay? - I went and got all warped and darkly downbeat. Is it okay if I blame you for this? I quite like to share the blame around for my various entirely self-inflicted failings - just ask Anna MR - and so it only seems kind of fair to hold you responsible for quite a bit of stuff, really. Obliged, C, thanks.
Now, before I get round to being all nice to you and everything, can I please just say what an absolute disgrace it is that this is your first ever visit to my home? Can you even begin to imagine how many times I have cried myself towards anguished sleep as a result of this most grievous fact? No? 3,818 times, Writer. Not a word of a lie. No, wait - 5,927 times. You've got to be feeling pretty bad now, I'd say.
But here you are now and so, as in the case of Atyllah The Hen, I must forgive you (although I notice that Atyllah hasn't come back again - further outrage, surely?)
It is too lovely of you to drop in here, Caroline, and it makes me very happy that you've done so. All hugs are accepted gratefully round these parts and I would like you to feel very warmly hugged and held in return.
I understand, second-hand from Ms M's blog, that you may have been feeling rather down yourself in the recent past. I hope this has passed, sweetheart, because you need to feel properly happy and alive as the day of publication approaches. You only have about a month until your book is out there, and you fully deserve to be in a better frame of mind so that you can more readily celebrate this most excellent achievement of yours. And don't be thinking I've forgotten that I promised to buy a copy, either.
Incidentally, the part you played in finding NMJ's book a publisher made me admire you quite hopelessly as I read about it.
Good people just make me weak and fill me with hope, and you're a good person.
Happy Ponyboy x
Ice Maiden - thank you for your continued patience. Most unusual to see you behave sensibly and with restraint. x
I have my hidden character traits that people can only imagine and wonder about, Englishman.
x
Oh pony boy - I miss you so.
I now have a map - did you see? I even used one of your anagrams. I was most concerned that it was the very developing of those anagrams that turned you dark. *sigh* I am so sorry.
I do visit here and didn't think to comment - then duckie told me that it'd be ok to and Ms M had sent on your regards. *sigh* BUt I was worried to. I do worry.
The countdown has begun. The waves come and go. I am clinging.
But now that we have spoken again, I will be able to sleep and not be quite so eaten with jealousy. How I have missed you dear ponyboy.
More hugs,
Cx
(now about the buggering sideways ...)
You have a MAP? You stole an anagram of mine? You were worried that anagrams had darkened my mind? You have been wearing see-through clothes and dancing in fields at midnight, calling out Pony Boy Pony Boy come visit your darker lusts upon me as you twirl demonically round and round?
(I may have slightly misread some of the things you wrote, true)
But bloody hell, Caroline, you're going to need to calm down and learn to take things easy. Sheesh. Maps, anagrams, guilt and midnight murk - it's a lot to take in, certainly.
But hello again, über delightsville to have you back. You shouldn't ever be worried about commenting here, daft writer.
If the door is open, then you should just feel as free as hell to wander in - I love it. I always, without fail, keep some part of my blog open for visitors (although not necessarily on the front page) and will always, eventually, respond to any comment left. It just sometimes takes me a bit of time, that's all. But it is always an active blog, despite appearances, because I hardly dare to cut myself off completely, yet.
Good for that most scrumptious and alluring duck for telling you it's fine to comment - remind me to marry him most lustily, please.
As for visiting the blogs of others (always my preferred option) - well, I'm getting there. It is freakish how hard it sometimes feels to do so, though. And then, God damn it all, once I actually land on someone's blog, I can find it momentously difficult to leap from one post to another - clinging instead to particular threads like a retarded spazbucket.
I have very good reasons to feel extremely indebted to Political Umpire, Anna MR and NMJ. They have shown remarkable tolerance of me during my brief stint here in Bloggyland.
If it is at all possible to love people you don't actually know, well, I pretty much love that disgraceful trio of loons. Others, too, seem to instinctively understand the problem. Plus, I like conversations that go on and on and on. Anyway, it's getting better now.
I'm going on again about irrelevant stuff, I can feel it. Wow. What a cretin.
But you have a map? What can this mean? I've been puzzling over this, Caroline. Have you maybe been exploring uncharted territories in your spare time, hacking your way through untouched parts of some far-flung jungle? If you have, then I need to remind you about taking things easy, sweetheart. Cartography is all very well - noble, even - but you have a book launch to be preparing for, k?
I understand what you mean when you say that the waves come and go and that you are clinging on, by the way. I've never seen anything that suggests to me that you are in danger of losing your grip, though, Caroline. Maybe it sometimes feels like it, I know, but I bet you'll still be clinging heroically when the waves bugger off elsewhere for a longer while.
You are as loopy as a drugged-up goose, fair enough, but I have a sense that you are just as strong as you need to be, too.
And at least you are going to be sleeping better, it seems, now that your fevered jealousies have been somewhat becalmed. Do please try to incorporate me in any off-colour dreams you may have, though. Obliged.
I've missed you too, Caroline, and will attempt to haul myself over to your house just as soon as possible to see what on earth this map is all about.
Happy hugs and warm regards....
Pony Boy x
(Buggering sideways rules - It just does, okay?)
Ice Maiden - honest to God, I'm going to be with you soon. I am becoming most disturbed by your restraint, however. An impressive and unlikely display. x
Ah, don't you fret, Wonderponi, I'm here all the time, even when silent. I'm a Finn, right? We are silent in two official languages, fluently.
To tell you the truth, I've allowed my dance hobby to take over a bit recently, that might account for the silence somewhat.
Looking forward to hearing from you, mind.
x
PS Love you too, you great loon. Inasmuch as it's possible etc
x
The Ice Maiden Waits.
Dum-de-dum, drumming her wee icicle fingers on the block of frozen snow she uses as a bed-come-dinner table, in her igloo.
She is beginning to have her doubts about Wonderponi's promised letter ever arriving...
x
Been meaning to say, your photography is wonderful, TPE.
Tally-ho, and hope all is well...
Would love to invite you to my launch - although you are far far away. I have been sending out email invites - and can't find an address for you.
;(
I know you're far far away.
But if you're interested drop me an email via my blog.
Hugs honey.
Cx
Upea suometar, kunnoitettu Pohjolan Jääneito, kiitokset kärsivällisyydestäsi. Ensimmäiseksi huomannet, että suomeni on nyt käytännöllisesti katsoen täydellistä. Toivon tämän tekevän vaikutuksen sinuun. Olen todella rakastunut tähän maahan, ja voin vain vaivoin olla ajattelematta sitä alati. Uusi kotimaani sopii minulle aivan erinomaisesti.
Kuulehan. Puhun nyt hetkisen pelkkää pötyä, mutta kuka vain joka kurkistaa tänne tulee olemaan aivan helvetin imponoitu suomen taidoistani. Sinä et tietenkään saa kääntää halaistua sanaa tästä kenellekään, koskaan. Saatanpa jopa ujuttaa sekaan jonkin englanninkielisenkin fraasin, vaikkapa hottest poni thrusting ever, taikka gallons of the stuff, sekoittaakseni pakkaa vielä hiukan enemmän. Saa nyt nähdä. Koetan kuitenkin välttää viittaamasta sanallakaan seikkoihin kuten this most tender debauchery, koska se voisi jo säikäyttää ihmisiä.
Mehän kuitenkin tiedämme. Sinun löytämisesi, kaunis Jääneito, on ollut aivan fantastista. Olet vaivatta verkkoavaruuden oudoin henkilö – ole ystävällinen äläkä yritä kiistää tätä – ja myös kaikkein paras. Anteeksi että olen jättänyt sinut odottelemaan tänne, ja kiitos, että olet ollut niin kärsivällinen. Kiltti tyttö.
Sorry to have kept you waiting, Ice Maiden, but I'm worth the wait - so don't feel too bad.
Praising you to the skies, adorable Finlander,
TPE x
Hey Mellifluous Dark, sorry for not getting back to you for so long – minor glitch in service. Now, obviously you are very welcome to be here and everything, but did you ever stop to wonder how it might make me feel that you have only come in here to say nice things about another site? That’s not very nice of you, is it?
You really couldn’t bring yourself to say one solitary measly thing about my magnificent and highly credible blog? No? I am a wordsmith, Imelda, not a photographer, and yet you have chosen to lovingly lick the joke appendage to this most serious and worthy blog – my rank and disgraceful Flickr home – whilst entirely ignoring your surroundings. What did I ever do to you to make you feel it was okay to treat me in this way?
You would visit the Rijksmuseum and leave a note in the visitors book about the toilets? Oh, my alluring little kitty (sorry, people regularly get smarmed on and treated creepily in my bloggy), how you have stabbed me in the heart. I’m trying to remember the good times we’ve shared together (here we go, hold tight MD) – running through prairies in our bonnets, hand in hand, laughingly, happily in love, exploring each others’ minds and bodies, gasping together at the brilliance of my technique, that sort of thing – and yet it’s really quite hard to overlook this savage blow you have just dealt me.
Now then, because I am considering trying to wind up this comments thread, it is highly unlikely that you will get a chance to respond to me here (unless you are extraordinarily speedy). I think this should be taken as conclusive proof that I am right about everything I have just said. Thank you for agreeing with me, lovely sleepyhead, it’ll do you the power of good.
Do please come back, though, because I am sure we’ll be able to put this behind us and rediscover the happiness of our most golden, loving days of yore. Or something.
Beautiful to find you here, Mellifluous Dark, and I really am sorry about leaving you waiting for so long.
Kind regards and a very warm welcome to Ireland…….
(your) Pony Lord of the Prairie
Caroline, thank you. It felt very nice to be invited and I understand you were something of a star on the big day. This doesn’t surprise me. You’re right, I am far far away, but this didn’t stop me from feverishly hoping it all went well for you. I still am, in fact, because I imagine it might feel rather difficult for you in the immediate aftermath of this both eagerly awaited and (equally?) dreaded event.
Anyway, everything else is neither here nor there at the moment, so I’ll just give you a hug and shut up (for once). Except to say, of course, that I expect to have your book in my hand within the next 10 days. Hurrah.
You’re always welcome here, you know?
TPE x
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