Slow on the uptake in gender realignment…..
Dave works for a company in Leeds and is a big guy. We talk to him now and again, he sorts stuff out for us, he’s a ‘no nonsense’ type of man – early 40’s, quiet - and hairy, in a hairy-hirsute sort of way. His beard and chest hair both look like they’ve all had the baby bio treatment.
Dave has a big, deep, booming gruff voice – that sounds like he gargles with gravel every single morning.
Dave is a man’s man alright …….. sort of - ish
Yesterday morning, Dave’s answerphone was a bit different though. Something not quite right there, I thought. Same gruff voice, same apology for not being at his desk at the moment but please leave a message….
But, I don’t know..... something’s just not right……. I replace the receiver and dial again.
"Hi, Davina here, sorry I’m not at my desk at the moment…."
Davina has a big, deep, booming gruff voice – that sounds like she gargles with gravel every single morning……
Davina is still probably as hirsute as ever – but I bet Immac sales in Leeds have gone through the roof.
Davina is a woman’s man alright …….. definitely. .
Dave is dead,
long live Davina……
It’s all a bit of a shock.
Wednesday, June 16, 2004
Searching for solace in the Solstice ……..
This is my favourite time of the year. I love it. The light, the warmth, the booze, the greeny stuff, the flowery colours and the burst of life – everywhere. How does the rhyme go? Oh to be in England now that strong lager is here…. (or something like that). I’m at my most optimistic, most sagely, willing to give anyone and everyone, pearls of pearly wisdom – whether they want any or not.
It’s all building to the Summer Solstice on June 21st. I love sitting outside at half eleven at night watching the sky go a deep inky azure blue, gazing at bats as they chase Britain’s biggest moth, the gi-normous and bright-orange coloured Elephant Hawk moth.
Then the great day dawns – sometimes I stay up all night, sit outside (with a few scoops obviously) and see just how short the time of complete darkness is – which is very short indeed.
I’m not a druid or anything – or a tree hugger, it’s just the atmosphere that gets to me. I’d like to go down to Stonehenge – just to see it happen, the Sun rising over the heel stone and central Trilithon – it must be a really awesome event. Of course, modern ‘Druids’ and ‘New age travellers’ have ruined it for everyone – who the hell gave those tossers in white hats and gowns the right to have control of the ceremony for most of the 20th Century anyway? Every ‘Midsummer News Report’ would show yer actual troop of local Druids doing the business at Stonehenge. Once in the ‘80’s, Corry’s most overrated and over wooden actor – William ‘Woody’ Roche was there, dressed in his floppy white, flopsum and whitesum gear, inspecting entrails, waving his sticky stick in great comical cosmic circles, casting spells and swinging crystally things about.
That’ll do it then, the Sun will come up again for the next year – it will bathe the planet in life giving warmth – it will sustain billions of life-forms for the next 12 months …. All because Ken Barlow and his magic crystal from Coronation Street in Weatherfield says so.
I’ve been to Stonehenge a couple of times – and have been truly humbled. There's a rope around it now, courtesy of English Heritage. The last time I was there, a young American dude took exception to the fact that this barrier was impeding his progress and stepped over it. He made his short-baggy trousered, tasteless Hawaiian shirted way towards the great stones. All of a sudden, out of the very depths of the monument a little wiry man jumped out waving his hands about a lot. The goblin of the monument was making a statement to this New World traveller…. "Go on, bugger off out of it, yer bloody bugger" And he did.
Then it’s over. Post June the 22nd means that the nights start drawing in – it’s down hill all the way until those damp, dreary days of darkest December, when the Winter Solstice is reached.
June 22nd also means that my eldest Son starts to pack for Glasto’ – and the inevitable annual assault on my wallet that goes with it…. Ho hum.
This is my favourite time of the year. I love it. The light, the warmth, the booze, the greeny stuff, the flowery colours and the burst of life – everywhere. How does the rhyme go? Oh to be in England now that strong lager is here…. (or something like that). I’m at my most optimistic, most sagely, willing to give anyone and everyone, pearls of pearly wisdom – whether they want any or not.
It’s all building to the Summer Solstice on June 21st. I love sitting outside at half eleven at night watching the sky go a deep inky azure blue, gazing at bats as they chase Britain’s biggest moth, the gi-normous and bright-orange coloured Elephant Hawk moth.
Then the great day dawns – sometimes I stay up all night, sit outside (with a few scoops obviously) and see just how short the time of complete darkness is – which is very short indeed.
I’m not a druid or anything – or a tree hugger, it’s just the atmosphere that gets to me. I’d like to go down to Stonehenge – just to see it happen, the Sun rising over the heel stone and central Trilithon – it must be a really awesome event. Of course, modern ‘Druids’ and ‘New age travellers’ have ruined it for everyone – who the hell gave those tossers in white hats and gowns the right to have control of the ceremony for most of the 20th Century anyway? Every ‘Midsummer News Report’ would show yer actual troop of local Druids doing the business at Stonehenge. Once in the ‘80’s, Corry’s most overrated and over wooden actor – William ‘Woody’ Roche was there, dressed in his floppy white, flopsum and whitesum gear, inspecting entrails, waving his sticky stick in great comical cosmic circles, casting spells and swinging crystally things about.
That’ll do it then, the Sun will come up again for the next year – it will bathe the planet in life giving warmth – it will sustain billions of life-forms for the next 12 months …. All because Ken Barlow and his magic crystal from Coronation Street in Weatherfield says so.
I’ve been to Stonehenge a couple of times – and have been truly humbled. There's a rope around it now, courtesy of English Heritage. The last time I was there, a young American dude took exception to the fact that this barrier was impeding his progress and stepped over it. He made his short-baggy trousered, tasteless Hawaiian shirted way towards the great stones. All of a sudden, out of the very depths of the monument a little wiry man jumped out waving his hands about a lot. The goblin of the monument was making a statement to this New World traveller…. "Go on, bugger off out of it, yer bloody bugger" And he did.
Then it’s over. Post June the 22nd means that the nights start drawing in – it’s down hill all the way until those damp, dreary days of darkest December, when the Winter Solstice is reached.
June 22nd also means that my eldest Son starts to pack for Glasto’ – and the inevitable annual assault on my wallet that goes with it…. Ho hum.
Monday, June 14, 2004
Ronnie meets Jonny as he rides outta town……
Well, they’ve buried Bonzo’s partner, Ronnie Reagan. It’s a great loss for the almost human, almost understandable cute sidekick to the more intelligent chimp’ genre of movie – there’s only Clint ‘n’ Clyde left now to carry on the flame of baboonery…
It’s a bit of a shock, cut down in his prime at the age of 93 – just goes to prove that living fast and loose will surely get you, in the end. Aside from the acting, Ronnie also did a part time job during his retirement – well that’s understandable, my Dad also took a job signing in members to his local working men’s club when he too jacked the 9-5 in. Everyone needs pin money – even former B movie film actors.
Of course, now he’s gone to the great roundup in the sky, he’s acquired all the kudos normally reserved for the truly great and good. This means that just about everyone in America who can proffer an opinion now reckons that Ronzo was most probably the most cerebral thinker since Norm’ - the fat guy who sat at the end of the bar in ‘Cheers’ last waxed lyrical….
The romantic clack within the States will no doubt be pushing for the deification of St Ronnie of Bonzania – just like when John Wayne was preparing for his last hurrah.
As ‘The Duke’ was sliding off his saddle (.."they got me, Bronco *gasp* tell Mary I love her… tell Mary I love her"….. "Duke, Duke, tell Mary you love her, what?"), all his ‘A’ list movie mates lobbied Congress for a Congressional Gold Medal to be struck before he bit the dust. It didn’t seem to matter that this is mainly given to war heroes, inventors, authors and the like. John Wayne qualified because he had defended The Alamo, killed Japs in Iwo Jima and despatched a whole nation of Redskins – too stupid to get outta the way of his trusty Winchester repeater…. He played war hero – therefore he was war hero.
All of a sudden, miracles are being attributed to his great Reaganess. For instance why was his hair always black – even though he was as old as young Mr Grace?…. how could Ron throw his voice to his wife – so it looked as though it was Nancy who was doing the talking?….. how did Ronnie give the illusion of insanity so convincingly?
I guess we’ll never know. (The hell we will)….
Well, they’ve buried Bonzo’s partner, Ronnie Reagan. It’s a great loss for the almost human, almost understandable cute sidekick to the more intelligent chimp’ genre of movie – there’s only Clint ‘n’ Clyde left now to carry on the flame of baboonery…
It’s a bit of a shock, cut down in his prime at the age of 93 – just goes to prove that living fast and loose will surely get you, in the end. Aside from the acting, Ronnie also did a part time job during his retirement – well that’s understandable, my Dad also took a job signing in members to his local working men’s club when he too jacked the 9-5 in. Everyone needs pin money – even former B movie film actors.
Of course, now he’s gone to the great roundup in the sky, he’s acquired all the kudos normally reserved for the truly great and good. This means that just about everyone in America who can proffer an opinion now reckons that Ronzo was most probably the most cerebral thinker since Norm’ - the fat guy who sat at the end of the bar in ‘Cheers’ last waxed lyrical….
The romantic clack within the States will no doubt be pushing for the deification of St Ronnie of Bonzania – just like when John Wayne was preparing for his last hurrah.
As ‘The Duke’ was sliding off his saddle (.."they got me, Bronco *gasp* tell Mary I love her… tell Mary I love her"….. "Duke, Duke, tell Mary you love her, what?"), all his ‘A’ list movie mates lobbied Congress for a Congressional Gold Medal to be struck before he bit the dust. It didn’t seem to matter that this is mainly given to war heroes, inventors, authors and the like. John Wayne qualified because he had defended The Alamo, killed Japs in Iwo Jima and despatched a whole nation of Redskins – too stupid to get outta the way of his trusty Winchester repeater…. He played war hero – therefore he was war hero.
All of a sudden, miracles are being attributed to his great Reaganess. For instance why was his hair always black – even though he was as old as young Mr Grace?…. how could Ron throw his voice to his wife – so it looked as though it was Nancy who was doing the talking?….. how did Ronnie give the illusion of insanity so convincingly?
I guess we’ll never know. (The hell we will)….
