Two Mayan stone masons . . . . . .

Alright Joe?

Yeah, dusty as buggery.  Where the hell have you been?

Left the coffee in the jeep.  I suppose you DO want some?

'course I do.


What now?

Forgot the damned sugar.

You are a gibbon aren't you?  Never mind, hand it over.

So . . . . (slurp) . .christ this almost cold!

yeah, gotta get a new flask I reakon, pop to Asda.

Hmmm.  So where are we? 4

yeah?  and? 4 Ajaw 8 Cumku  

bloody hell

any rock left?

Not unless we fill in 87/B - revised4/2 .00.00 and start a new bit.

Bugger that - we're 3,000 years ahead already - it'll do for now won't it?

Guess so.   Always do bit more next year.


Pub then?



Met Office gadget finally sorted

At last - after an awkward year for the Win7 desktop gadget the App finally sorted itself out this morning and displayed the correct date for Christmas Eve!

A long time coming, but well worth the wait.


Manor Arms, Burton, Christchurch

You know, this area is teeming with OKish Pubs, where families go for Sunday carveries (is that the plural of carvery?) and most pubs have far more eating room than drinking space these days.

Until a year or two ago there was one place, just off the beaten-track, (Burton, Nr Christchurch) that had missed this metamorphosis, missed the decking, the blue LEDs, and most definitely missed the stainless steel and glass apologies for atmosphere we label as refurbishment.

To be truthful it felt a bit run-down, you just knew it couldn't go on - too much land, too few customers, staff a bit, well . . . . elsewhere.

AND - you had to walk through an enormous unlit pot-holed carpark to enter the mansion-like doorways, breathe the staleness - and listen to some of the roughest, dirtiest rock music this side of, em .... a thing with sides on. Smokers barely remained outside, and the music went on until they finished.


I LOVED the OLD Manor Arms, it suited a mood, because, I know some of us are still Midnight Cowboys under the meetings, the policies, the politics, the sheer bloody correctness of our lives. 
So when we close the door on the retreating leg of a partner, and walk back around the silver-grey identikit thing we use, open the door, to slide in front of the steering-wheel - we're really, in our hearts, swinging a leather and studded leg across some hell-fire hog, to tool-off into the night amid the spitting fury of our stacked chrome tailpipes.


Jacintha Saldanha

Jacintha Saldanha was buried today at Westminster Cathedral, and I wish eventual peace to her family.

I recall on the day of her death the second thought that occurred to me (after the obvious one: the Media) and it was this -
Just what pressure did the 'management' at King Edward VII's Hospital put her under, subtly or otherwise?

And later today, as I listened to the radio news, I realised it was only last night I'd been channel hopping, and unfortunate enough to land on The British Comedy Awards ("arguably the most entertaining awards show of the TV year" - suggests 'The Mirror' )
and hosted by?

Hosted by Johathon Ross for Christ's sake.  What is it - two years since he and Russell Brand spewed-up their lewd comments on air to Jonathan Sachs?
. . . . . . and here the creap is again, the glittering gold standard of modern-day 'entertainment'.

You really can't blame Mel Greig and Michael Christian, it seems UK, American & Australian audiences warm to such rubbish (sorry, 'entertainment'), they expect more and more 'edge' to their intake (just compare a UK soap opera to its counterpart of 15 years ago).
You see this trend mirrored daily in the way people speak and react to each other.  You can experience the effect of this degradation of human interaction hourly on our screens, in our streets, in our classrooms, and on the roads.

Just wait for the next one.


Can you see this person?

Darker evenings - cycling fatalities, and now the yearly path of letters to local papers about those pesky cyclists starts.
I live on the Bournemouth/Poole border, and here cycle PATHS are non-existent, despite having some of the widest roads in the country (try driving in Bristol).  
We have been TOLD that painted cycle-lanes are all we need, we see cars driving around with daylight running lamps, full headlights in the darker hours, and fully lit streets after dark.

So what do we need now? A Law to make cyclists wear cycle helmets and hi-vis?  Europe doesn't insist on this hi-vis rubbish, if you cannot SEE a cyclist in any damned conditions, lit or not - STOP DRIVING.
If you are SO important you must charge about in your metal box, crash amber lights, insist on a right-of-way as your too large vehicle barges through side-roads, and then lane-swaps after passing everything to gain that vital 10 seconds -YOU are the problem.

If you park facing the wrong way at night, park on double yellows because it's 50m nearer 'Next' or as close to Tesco door-way as you can, to minimize walking, or just 'nip into' a disabled parking bay - YOU are the problem.

It's always talk, talk - talk-up a good argument in this country, yet we are so anti-cycling as a Nation, so wedded to our motorised status, sex, or fashion symbols that no-one ever really LOOKS to see what life on tarmac for a cyclist is really like.  It's bloody murder.