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Archive for February, 2014

The burble of my exhaust unwound like a long cord behind me. Soon my speed snapped it, and I heard only the cry of the wind which my battering head split and fended aside. The cry rose with my speed to a shriek: while the air's coldness streamed like two jets of iced water into my dissolving eyes. I screwed them to slits, and focused my sight two hundred yards ahead of me on the empty mosaic of the tar's gravelled undulations.
—T.E. Lawrence, The Road

I was wandering back from the shops this morning, when a bloke caught up from behind me and said, "Nice to see someone who knows what a proper bike looks like." Huh? I thought to myself, and then realised I was wearing my old leather jacket with the BSA logo painted on the back. So then I had to endure (well, okay, to be honest it wasn't that bad, and twas nice to have a bit of company) him regaling me with tales of his long-past motorcycling days, back when British manufacturers ruled the motorcycling world, almost uncontested. This modern "jap-crap," I was told (for perhaps the thousandth time in my life) isn't a patch on Good Old British Engineering™.

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I have, Gentle Reader, come up with a foolproof system by which you may know whether you are completely and utterly shit-faced, or merely a little bit wobbly in the leg department.

  1. Find a book which deals, in whole or in part, with quantum physics.
  2. Read the part about the two-slit experiment, wherein a particle is found to be, at the very same time as being a particle, a fuzzy probability-wave extending throughout the universe which, nevertheless, will collapse instantly to particleness, as soon as its position is known.

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Non Stamp Collector: Biblical Slavery

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Some Enchanted Evening

It's a little late for Valentine's Day, but what the hell? If you're sick of rose-red lips, and the moon's just a handy light in the sky when you're trying to find where you dropped the bloody car-keys. If nightingales pale into insignificance compared to an over-amplified Gretch guitar… this one's for you.

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Dipolar

Three negatives which I live my life by:
No kings,
No masters,
No gods in the sky.

Three positives, to balance my tale:
Love,
Charity,
And a pint of dark ale.

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So, Justin Welby and John Sentamu, the Morcambe and Wise of Theism—minus the talent, the humour, and the party-trick with the paper bag—have written a little letter regarding the Church of England and the legalisation of same-sex marriage. Quite why is beyond me, since the CofE is, bizarrely for an organisation which forms part of our government, mandated by law to continue discriminating against same-sex couples. But anyway, they did. And they appended a statement by the House of Bishops setting out the church's position in detail.

You can read it in full, without interruption, at the link above, but for those who aren't fluent in Ecumenical Bafflegab—a bastard hybridisation of High Office-Speak and Low Bullshit—I've reproduced it below, along with some hopefully-helpful clarifications by yours truly. Because I'm a very kind man.

And so, Gentle Reader, with but a short roll on the drums, a wee tinkle on the ivory, and a dram at the bar, without further ado, let me place you in the incapable hands of Welby-Sentamu: the only known being on the planet to possess four hands, four feet, two stomachs, and half a brain…

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Dozens Of Roses—reblog

Fojap obviously doesn't do stereotypical St Valentines' posts either. I didn't do a regular reblog, because the system wouldn't let me end the quote before anticipation of what's to follow creeps in…

The first time I received Roses from him, I thought it was charming. The doorbell rang. I wasn't expecting anything and the delivery man handed me a long narrow box that I knew meant flowers. A dozen roses from my new boyfriend on the West Coast. "To a beautiful soul." I was touched. Charmed. I got a vase, filled it with water and put the bouquet on the table.

The next day, the doorbell rang again. What could it be? There was another long narrow box. Another dozen roses. "You are beautiful, inside and out." Slightly less charming than the day before, but still charming. I pulled out my step-ladder and climbed to reach the other vase that I kept tucked away on the highest shelf. It looked lovely on the sideboard.

Read the rest at Fojap's blog…
Daz

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