swann's way

like charles swann who famously "fell for a woman who wasn't even his type", i'm still getting over spending $45 on a book ("the mill on the floss") by an author i don't even like. blame everyman's library.

did someone mention david beckham?

not a good look

two men on a scooter.

the 4 stages of fitness

1. fast
2. efficient
3. slow
4. paddington bear.

keep aiming high

former "people's princess", katie price,* has become a porn-entrepreneur (or is that entreporneur?), having launched a range of "jordan" blobs and sex gizmos. will they sell as well as her memoirs? doesn't matter. she's done well, has our katie.

*price relinquished her title to jade goody.

feathered lollipops

an exact idea of how much seed those crazy, mooching parrots eat each week.

not this time, thank-you

received this year's concert programme from "musica viva", melbourne's toney chamber music forum. thought it very broad-minded of them to find room for a gentile on their mailing list. shows an optimistic outlook. a sunny disposition. in hoping someone besides jews will subscribe to the upkeep of high culture in melbourne. bravo.

unfortunately the culture isn't so very high. the programme is a scratch lot (some of it by australian composers, which is unconscionable). have no interest in hearing any "classical" music written after "rhapsody in blue". it's junk. film scores are much better.

so this year "include me out", as sam goldwyn said.

happy birthday

last week billy bunter, of greyfriars school, turned 100. he is one of the great characters of english literature, as impressive and estimable as any of dickens heroes. (for an outline of the bunter phenom see george orwell's celebrated essay "boys' weeklies".) bunter is swell: fat, greedy, lazy, skiving, deceitful, covetous and unintelligent. though, i confess, he doesn't make quite the startling impression he used to. that's because everybody's obese nowadays. that's not his fault.

good news

the world is a lot less beige.

yesterday toshiba surrendered in the high-definition dvd war. the future will be blu-ray. toshiba's hd-dvd format was developed with fellow axis power, the beige behemoth microsoft, whose apps are famously cumbersome, slow and ugly. blu-ray is aligned with apple—elegant and simple—which suits me.

saving the world from wintel hideousness, one small step at a time.

comfort reading

one of the more accurate ways of ascertaining one's favourite books—one least susceptible to voter fraud, shall we say—is to declare which books we like to re-read; which books we tend to read again and again when either tv is too stupid or the brain is too lazy to grapple with anything new; when we desiderate something pleasing and familiar. something cosy.

these are my 10 comfort reads:

t. s. eliot, "the waste land: a facsimile and transcript".
j. d. salinger, "franny & zooey".
simpsons comics.
alan bennett, "forty years on".
p. g. wodehouse, "the code of the woosters".
john henry newman, "apologia pro vita sua".
a. e. housman, "a shropshire lad".
kenneth grahame, "the wind in the willows".
dickens, "the pickwick papers".
george orwell, "essays".

spooked

had to replace a defective lightbulb in the microwave. a surprisingly complicated procedure which involved pulling the machine apart and delving in its innermost workings. of course there were the usual warnings against removing the outer case, authorising "service personnel only" and some blather about earthing the appliance first. pooh-pooh. the great thing about being male is that you never have to bother with warnings or danger notices of any kind. (that's girl stuff). one just carries on regardless. however, lately i've been watching the robert aldrich film noir "kiss me deadly" in which gaby rodgers opens a doomsday box, ignoring all warnings, with cataclysmic consequences. the correlation didn't escape me.

full of bunly goodness

as lunchlady doris said to lisa simpson, à propos of something else. these christian buns are the best thing about easter (mixed peel must have mildly narcotic properties). much better than silly eggs. plus they help keep the saracens away, which is so important nowadays.

bearded git

anyone who has negligently jogged through a copy of "the divine comedy" will, i expect, be puzzled why dante places traitors—to kindred, country, and lords—at the very bottom of hell, where the punishment is fiercest. why treason especially? when you consider the vast catalogue of human iniquity—from talking during the movie, to upskirting, to bakers putting chocolate in their hot-cross buns—treason, or double-dealing, doesn't seem so terribly bad. or so i thought.

then i happened to hear the archbishop of canterbury's simpering plea for the incorporation of sharia law in england. quite amazing, really. a supposed "defender of the faith" arguing for an accommodation with radical evil (to shoplift a phrase from hannah arendt). and at a time of war, no less. what larks.

one thinks back to the '30s and the reputations of the high-and-splendid obliterated forever by their keeping company with appeasement: geoffrey dawson (editor of "the times"), lord londonderry, miss unity mitford, halifax, chamberlain. pooh-pooh. child's play compared to the archbish's effort.

though i suppose i should send a "thank you" note to lambeth palace for clearing up this dante business for me. all quite straightforward now.

(note: pix "the kiss of judas". no excuse needed for giotto. it seemed most appropriate.)

smashing

meanwhile in blighty. a new "mr men" animated children's show has re-designed the villainous mr rude character as an impolite, unhygienic, farting frenchman. this is excellent. mutual antipathy is the traditional measure of anglo-french relations. it is wholesome to see them restored. (francophilia—especially of the highbrow type displayed by julian barnes—has no place in the public realm. that's letting the side down. offside, sir.) anyway, good show channel 5.

i wonder if we'll ever see a rag-headed "mr evil"?

something for hannah

a lenten benediction

courteous thanks to ami, belinda, betty, cath, chloé, ella, emma, gretta, hannah, jennifer, karina, mel, nora, paige, rachel, rachelle, renee, (and anyone else i may have carelessly omitted), for stopping by "foundfoundfound" last year, leaving comments, and helping themselves (unprompted) to all the chupa-chups.

swell egg of the day

roz chast, cartoonist. a googly-eyed, jewish girl from flatbush. find her stuff in the "new yorker".

made too much

shrove tuesday means pancakes, of course. in my case it was blueberry and cinnamon pancakes with raspberry, banana and passionfruit. it was enough, i subsequently realised, to feed a modestly sized irish family of 17.

clip-clop

if i had a horse i would call it "the mare of casterbridge".

some don't like it hot

as it's going to be 41º tomorrow i'll be hastening, with the rest, down to the local beach. where the object is to jump in and stay underwater holding your breath for at least 8 hours. by then the heat will have abated a little. until the next day anyway.

a shame about tatiana

the bay area tiger who slipped the surly bonds of its enclosure and, commendably, killed two teenagers before being shot. don't feel bad for the teenagers. they aren't people—they're the reason shows like "american idol", "big brother" & "home and away" remain on tv. in any case there are plenty of teens to go around. tigers, alas, are scarce. and getting scarcer.

authorities suspect tatiana was abetted in its escape. an accomplice, what? there invariably is in these cases. there's a very guilty looking zebra skulking about the place. wouldn't be surprised if he gave tatiana a boost over the fence. probably a whole gang of 'em involved. there's more to this story. just wait and see.

saffron in the sky

could either be the sunset last night or a taste of life on mars. either way, hot.

i've got

writer's blocks.

what creature is this?

i know. i've met one. at a business function. he didn't have much to say, mind you. just a quick "hello, how are you" before the petit fours were served.

coom on, our valerie

it's been almost 20 years since valerie eliot published the first and only volume of t. s. eliot's letters, covering the period 1898-1922; taking us up to (but not including) the publication of "the waste land". and since then—nothing. except, occasionally, she totters out on to the pages of "the times literary supplement" to rebuff the cretinous charge of eliot's anti-semitism. meanwhile i've been stopping here, not doing much, waiting for the second volume. hurry up, old thing.

candy darling

peter hujar, court photographer to the warhol circle, currently has an exhibition in the mall, london. among the usual assortment of factory-studio 54-chelsea hotel chancers and lowlives is a picture of candy darling on its deathbed. (someone best known to non-warholians as the coverstar of the "sheila take a bow" single and ep.) candy darling's last words: "unfortunately before my death i had no desire left for life… i am just so bored by everything. you might say bored to death. did you know i couldn't last. i always knew it." the affinity with morrissey is obvious. it sounds exactly like something he'd say.

how the west was won

largely thanks to weston's wagon wheels.

stations of the cross country run: finale

12km mark. 6:06 a.m. stately burns manor. home of charles montgomery burns. ordinarily the view would be obscured by hundreds of pine trees. but in a fit of 'elf-n-safety madness they recently felled the lot—terrified a pinecone might conk someone on the head. crazy. and rather hard cheese for the nesting birds. but there it is. modern times, what?

stations of the cross country run: episode 11

11km mark. 5:59 a.m. the gatehouse of the local business school, where they hand out mba's like lollipops (after trousering $25,000). they need a gatehouse to prevent the unauthorised entry of fresh ideas. the masters in business administration is, without question, the biggest bullplop in the higher education racket.

stations of the cross country run: episode 10

10km mark. 5:54 a.m. bathing boxes. they're the size of a bedroom and cost half the price of a house. fancy one?

stations of the cross country run: episode 9

9km mark. 5:48 a.m. as bertie wooster said (quoting the psalmist) "joy cometh in the morning". especially when the bay is tranquil and perfect for swimming. the pole on the horizon is where i swim to. it marks the end of the reef, when the seafloor suddenly drops away. after that you're amongst the boat traffic, seadoo pests, the occasional shark, and who knows what else?

stations of the cross country run: episode 8

8km mark. 5:44 a.m. my favourite thing: pristine beach with no footprints in it. there's something nice about being the first to squash one's feet into the sand. but to do that you have be like hardy's heroine bathsheba everdene: "i shall be up before you are awake; i shall be afield before you are up; and i shall have breakfasted before you are afield. in short, i shall astonish you all” (from "far from the madding crowd"). also running is much easier on untrodden sand.

stations of the cross country run: episode 7

7km mark. 5:39 a.m. toto, i don't think we're in bournemouth any more. where are all the empty breezer bottles, lost scrunchies, and forgotten-to-put-back-on girls' knickers you expect to find on any well-patronised beach?

size "0" piggy

or the account formerly known as "savings". it's what this time of year is all about, innit?

stations of the cross country run: episode 6

6km mark. 5:34 a.m. it's a bit like betty's bondi, though without the surf, the traffic, the tourists, the nightlife, the pollution, the queers, the crowds, and the well-done english backpackers glowing crimson on the beach.

stations of the cross country run: episode 5

5km mark. 5:28 a.m. joy of steps.

missing, presumed lost

grimace. not seen (by me) since the 80s. is either dead, derelict, or moonlighting as the thick-witted dinosaur, barney.

metal fatigue?

kevin dubrow, lead singer of "quiet riot" died this week. is this the end of the noize? click (here) to see the original video and you'll see why "spinal tap" had to be invented. some of the worst 80s hair you'll ever see.

stations of the cross country run: episode 4

4km mark. 5:24 a.m. i know it's not skegness, or worthing, or grimsby, or even morecambe. but, dash it, it will just have to do.

the despairing bear

there were a couple of fresh reminders this week for the "new york times" set on the nature of the mohammedian enemy.

in saudi arabia a woman gang raped by 7 mussulmen was sentenced to 400 or so lashes. i'm not sure of the exact amount. after the first 100 or so the mind does start to wander. it was a nice round number anyway. never mind the rape, the beak said, she was seen in public talking to a chap who wasn't a relative. unchaperoned! her family must be horrified. i doubt they'll ever be able to be seen in the bazaars again. if the beating doesn't kill her, her family probably will. it's allah's law, innit?

meanwhile in the sudan a woman was locked away for letting her primary school class name a teddy bear after the heresiarch mohammed. naturally the people of sudan were appalled by this, and took to the streets demanding her death. as one would. unfortunately diplomatic pressure ensured her release (sans the beating). but, as "the sun" points out, the bear itself still languishes in captivity.

the sudanese should either release the bear or follow the example of the taliban (they used to publicly hang tv sets) and execute him. this shilly-shallying won't do at all.

dedicated to

well, you know who you are.

stations of the cross country run: episode 3

3km mark. 5:20 a.m. (episode 2 was cancelled: too dark to see anything). the playing fields of a posh girls' school. can't see anyone bonking behind the changing-room sheds, nor any st. trinian's-style hijinks either. no one larking about in the latest "agent provocateur" ensemble. pity.

the failure of deterrence

as a strategic doctrine "deterrence" has been obsolete for a while now (well, since 9/11 actually). this has been impressed on me again by the failure of my cd scheme to shoo off greedy parrots. they've eaten all the cherries. as usual. i did, however, manage to take this pix of some on their way to the "ready to eat" stage.

stations of the cross (country run): a serial

haven't been running for a while so i thought i'd take my camera with me this morning and take a snap at each of the kilometre stages. one pix a day is the arrangement.

right-ho. kilometre 1. 5:11 in the morning. can't see nowt. had to switch camera to "iso" to enhance the light. even the penguin hasn't got up yet to turn on the fridge light. can hear some kookaburras laughing in the distance. what's the joke? who laughs at this time of the morning?

3 christmas (shopping) curses

1. seniors on gophers. double points apply if you are inconvenienced by one reversing (yes!) out of the post office (as i was). it should be obvious: if you're too retarded to walk, you're too retarded to drive.

2. people who freeze on escalators. what's wrong with your legs, fatso? use 'em. (have they all been injected with that fiendish kaos neuro-toxin "immobilo"?)

3. piped shopping-centre carols. please, sir, i don't want any more.

even funnier

finding a circuitous way around copyright

after lots of fiddling around with acrobat professional and quark and photoshop, it was running the humble mac "grab" utility through "iphoto" which allowed me to swipe this "new yorker" toon.

crime is hard work. but worth it.

as dr seuss says

"did i ever tell you how lucky you are?". you see today i pick up my copy of "the complete cartoons of the new yorker". (at last!) and it's a jolly lucky thing i don't have a scanner at home or i'd be making a nuisance of myself by buzzing everyone in my address book with toons. and if there's one thing the world doesn't need it's more frivolous emails.

cherry thief

cctv footage caught this cherry thief red-beaked illegally hoovering up my fruit. now it's up to the magistrate to impose a long custodial sentence.

an advent request

if anyone has a larger version of viz's "map of the shittish isles", could they please blogpost it? i'd love to see the details.

annals of publishing

it's 20 years since the publication of australia's best-selling book "how to hypnotize chooks". pretty much sums up intellectual life in oz.

naming rights

when my nephew, zoom, was still unhatched—in the egg, as it were—i made a couple of helpful unsolicited suggestions about his future christian name. naturally my advice was disdained, as advice always is (no matter who offers it). nevermind. these were my suggestions:

"bort". my favourite. from "the simpsons". and the one i lobbied hardest for.

"tuk-tuk". pronounced took-took. the thai three-wheeled vehicle pictured. i like the sound of it. funny.

"theodore hypothalamus". again for the euphony. also i keep hearing the word hypothalamus on the show "house". i like it. it's better than "apple" anyway.

just picked up the latest copy

of my "pipe and slippers weekly" magazine. flicking through the "where's my dinner, love?" section, i noticed this advertisement featuring the happy couple. so helpful, ads.

excessive use of euphemism

one of the masters at geelong grammar school (for english readers the equivalent of rugby or harrow) has been sent down for, what lawyers style, "visual capture of the genital region". or, in literate english, upskirting one of the female students.

i recall something similar in evelyn waugh's "decline and fall". says the porter to a fellow delated for gross indecency: "i expect you'll be becoming a schoolmaster, sir. that's what most of the gentlemen does, sir, that gets sent down for indecent behaviour."

but in the case of the geelong grammarian, he's already a schoolteacher. is there any place lower for him to fall? advertising? the media?

bears in the 'burbs

read a hand-wringing article in the "new york times" magazine (is there any other kind?) concerning the problem of canadian bears straying into human habitats. as the article says, deterrence doesn't always work. hence the occasional need to shoot them. i disagree.

now i'm especially fond of some canadians, but facts are facts. there are quite a lot more canadians than bears. so if there's any shooting to be done, they should shoot the canadians and spare the bears. common sense, innit?

this one (pictured) is hiding from mormons buzzing his front doorbell. when the coast is clear he'll saunter back in and finish watching that episode of "futurama" he taped last night.

what could possibly be better?

christmas cherry tree

in a last-ditch attempt to deter ravenous parrots from eating all this year's cherries, i've decorated the tree with light-refracting cds. seems to be working. they're obviously not music lovers. not sure what to do about the possums, though. everyone, it seems, likes cherries. and nectarines.

"rancorous, coiffeured old sow"

is it only me? or do others notice an impressive likeness between hillary clinton and sybil fawlty? both demonstrate the same "governess" manner toward their errant husbands; the same frosty efficiency at work; the same excruciatingly banal private personalites. "oh, i know, i know". and the preposterous hair, of course. and yet who wouldn't relish seeing the dramatics of "fawlty towers" reprised for 4 years in the oval office, albeit with the "little pirhana fish" in charge this time? we'll know soon enough, i expect.

my advice today is

should you happen to see a "talking elmo", be sure to punch it in the head. (i'm sure the thing that does its voice is a castrato.) here endeth the lesson.