“They Made The Desert Bloom”

It's a claim you hear all the time, that the Israelis made the desert bloom; the implication being that they had moved into an uncultivated wasteland and, by dint of sheer effort had turned it into a veritable Eden. And every time I hear it I wonder to myself, What do you think the Palestinians had been eating, sand?

As always where such claims of Israeli cultural superiority are made, however, the truth turns out to be far nastier—unless, of course, you think "blooming" and "polluted" are synonyms.
—Daz

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Stack-A-Records

Twenty minutes of technology, music-history, social-history and science. Gawd, I love videos like this!
—Daz

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When Greeks Flew Kites: A Letter To Khrushchev

The BBC have recently started a monthly half-hour radio show [iPlayer or podcast] entitled When Greeks Flew Kites, in which Sarah Dunant and guests attempt to draw parallels between modern and historical events. The title comes from a half-famous 1921 Henry Ford quote:

History is bunk. What difference does it make how many times the Greeks flew their kites?

(For those who want to object that Ford actually said "more or less bunk," it turns out he said both, along with other variations on the theme.)

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Eton Trifles: The Principles Of Jacob Rees-Mogg

[Click picture to visit Jesus & Mo]

Harken unto the words of the right honourable member (pun definitely intended) for North East Somerset, Jacob Rees-Mogg. Or, as I think of him, the Eton Trifle (because "Eton Mess" was, obviously, taken by Boris Johnson and because I'd be a lot happier if Mogg was, in fact, unconsidered):

Says Freddy Gray in his defence of the execrable Moggie:

Most people, however, are intelligent enough to see a man of principle – a thing Westminster politics lacks – standing up for what he believes, and they like it.

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Some Good News For A Change: Barry Duke Got Hitched!

I realise the genders in the song don't exactly fit the occasion, but I happen to know Barry likes a bit of Cab Calloway. So…

[Click picture to enbiggen]

You can find more pictures of the happy couple here.

Now all I need to know is how the hell a monotheist's beliefs are supposed to adapt to their god having married.
—Daz

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The Pitter-Patter Of Little Royal Miracles

Headline news! Our Will and Kate
Did rumpy-pumpies, unprotected.
And miracle of miracles,
A baby's now expected!

No matter that tenants in council flats
And kangaroos and cats and bats
Can manage the same without hint of fuss,
This pair's supposed to mean more to us;
'cause they are better than thee or me
By dint of being royalty.

—Daz

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Cynique, Moi?

To the tune of Give Me Forty Acres…

For the love of tax-free earnings
On the pulpit I will pound.
I'll tell you who to hate and then
I'll send the plate around.
I will vilify the commeenists,
I'll curse the gays with hives.
I can work up quite an anger
If it earns me tax-free tithes.

I need a brand new Cadillac,
My daughter wants a yacht,
So I'll pick another scapegoat
And throw 'em in the pot.
I'll aim God's wrath at feminists
And at the godless fool;
At the needy and the greedy
'cause my mansion needs a pool.

—Daz

PS: And I note that Padre Steve is just as angry as I am, about those who preach hate yet call it love. Though possibly not as cynical as I. Ho-hum.

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When Adam Delved And Eve Span…

Thought it was about time I put up a music post. I think the theme should be obvious.
—Daz

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Help Yourself

God helps them who helps themselves, I was told.

I emptied all the luggage out of the boot of the car. (That's the trunk, for you folks out there in some of the ex-colonies.)

He'll start helping in a minute, I thought.

I unwedged the jack and the spare wheel from the recess in the floor.

He'll start helping in a minute, I thought.

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“… will be met with a massive military response…”

Many of us, when I was young, were at least half convinced that we'd never live to be thirty, let alone the half century I've so far managed. This is not a conviction anyone should be getting nostalgic about! But alas, it seems, no one ever learns and a whole new generation is now going to be introduced to a state of constant existential dread. Welcome to the collective childhoods of Generation X, whipper-snappers! You won't, I'm afraid, enjoy the visit.

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