Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Well, we do like a nice cup of Earl Grey at the moment. Apparently it's good for me too being a treatment for fever and intestinal worms. [ Reassuring to know ]. The Bergamot is a disinfectant and an antidepressant and it reduces anxiety by calming the nervous system. [No wonder I feel so bloody good all the time - there was me thinking it was all the drugs]. Jean-Luc Picard likes it too so it must be OK.
Lippy
Well, how about having a bash at the love lips quiz down below - only 55 questions still to go cmon cmon.
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 7:27 PM
Sunday, May 28, 2006
The recent huge popularity of BT's Tom Baker text to speech service is due in no small part to the delight of having the power to control someone else's voice and make it say whatever you like. Tom, I believe, is now taking a break so I've been looking for a new disembodied voice to play out my schoolboy humour on. What better than a talking condom? Indeed, what better than a talking condom with a choice of male and female voices and French, German, Italian or American accents? Indeed, what better than being able to email the resultant messages to your mates too?
I've spent so long messing around with this thing I'm starting to go blind. The site is part of the headline grabbing Swiss government Federal Health Office stop AIDS campaign which, amongst other things, features nude sportspeople doing impressive things with their equipment. This approach to health promotion is far more imaginative than its British equivalent which, if I recall, features a gravestone, an iceberg and nude facsimiles of well known politicians.
Anyway, I thought you might like to try a little quiz based around famous phrases which, here, are spoken by the talking condom lips. Your mission is to identify the originator of the phrase and put your answer in the appropriate comment box.
[ In case you hadn't guessed - some of them are a tad naughty - so be it on your own head.. er sort of thing. Feel free to email a reply too if you feel so inclined - I'll publish the best ones. ]
| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |
| 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 |
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 2:05 PM
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
All foursMonday, May 22, 2006
The Bignjuicy birthday honours list 2006
Klingon award
Tony Blair
Most holidays award
Birdy
- for coming back
Best new father award
Ashley
- for being a proud Dad but not losing sight of his dreams.
Most irritating homosexual on TV
Shahbaz
- for being a total twat.
Architectural mayhem medal
Blue Witch
- for her current life.
International housewife and superstar award
Lady von Twatski de Belgique
- for services to international goodwill and newts.
The Diamond Geezer Award
Diamond Geezer
- for Diamond Geezeriness.
Best secret relaunch of something secret
****************** [linkage soon]
- for secretive relaunchings of things.
Order of the Moment of madness
Marky
- for a damn fine near miss.
Persistence in the face of absence
My loyal readers
- for patience which is much appreciated.
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 12:01 AM
FishKlingon award
Tony Blair
Most holidays award
Birdy
- for coming back
Best new father award
Ashley
- for being a proud Dad but not losing sight of his dreams.
Most irritating homosexual on TV
Shahbaz
- for being a total twat.
Architectural mayhem medal
Blue Witch
- for her current life.
International housewife and superstar award
Lady von Twatski de Belgique
- for services to international goodwill and newts.
The Diamond Geezer Award
Diamond Geezer
- for Diamond Geezeriness.
Best secret relaunch of something secret
****************** [linkage soon]
- for secretive relaunchings of things.
Order of the Moment of madness
Marky
- for a damn fine near miss.
Persistence in the face of absence
My loyal readers
- for patience which is much appreciated.
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 12:01 AM
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Bignjuicyville is about as far from the sea as it is possible to be in GB.
Consequently, the nearest thing we get to fresh fish is the stunted mutated grey tiddlers that cling to life in the nearby River Juicy, which runs brown for most of the year - being downstream of a toxic industrial estate and over fertilised farmland. Under educated youths pay for permits to fish this conduit of concern, hauling out any remaining tiddlers that haven't been eaten by the local heron. Local eateries are therefore obliged to source their fresh fish from further afield and there are regular airlifts of antibiotically enhanced salmon, trout and blue whale which end up on the plates of discerning local diners. Local chippies, however, appear to source their supplies from yon babbling sewer, such is the foul odour which emanates when frying tonite. 'Khalil's Traditional English Fish n Chippery', just down the road from here regularly fills the entire neighbourhood with clouds of rancid fat, pungently laced with fishy fragrance and unspeakable kebabiness. You'll understand, then, why I have not partaken of the fine British Traditional Meal for many years. That and me being mainly a raving vegomatic n all. However, [and I warn all strict vegomatic readers that strong language is coming up], I occasionally do have cravings for fish and have been known to nibble on a crunchy cod or chew on a battered haddock from time to time. There, it's out. I'm partial to smoked salmon too - but only if it's nicotine free. For whatever reason - possibly a sense of impending death - I decided that it was time to taste once more the food of the gods and find the finest fish and chips that could be found in time for the celebration of my forthcoming official birthday. [Canons will be let off, honours will be handed out].
So it was that last night I dined within the precincts of a dodgy council estate in EC1. Fish Central, though technically in Islington, is about as far from sun dried polenta and rustic tuscan tonyblair balls as you can get. The patrons ranged from the visibly well heeled [discreet jewellery and expensive smart casual] through groups of geezers in for a pre-pub slap up - to extended families out for their weekly treat. It's always a good sign when a restaurant is packed and this place has them queueing out the door. Happily, our reservation had been honoured so no waiting for us and we dined in style. Fish perfectly fresh - mine was in crisp batter, my companion opted for grilled - both perfectly cooked and accompanied by lashings of chips, which although right tasty, were not as crisp as I'd have liked em. Of course you can't have fish and chips without a glass or two of champagne can you? So we bought a bottle of the house stuff which was truly excellent and very good value - I kid you not. The decor is cool pastels; bright clean and modern, the service was brisk and I thoroughly recommend a visit if you don't fancy paying Jamie Oliver seven quid for beans on toast - his gaff is just down the road. Takeaway also available from the chippy next door.
Monkey business 1
Why was Alan Carr hanging around in the car park at Bignjuicy Central Railway station at 12.40am this morning - looking tired and emotional and who was his young blond companion?
Monkey business 2
Did Humans Mate With Chimps? And are we their offspring?
At last, GWB explained.
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 7:52 PM
999 neinConsequently, the nearest thing we get to fresh fish is the stunted mutated grey tiddlers that cling to life in the nearby River Juicy, which runs brown for most of the year - being downstream of a toxic industrial estate and over fertilised farmland. Under educated youths pay for permits to fish this conduit of concern, hauling out any remaining tiddlers that haven't been eaten by the local heron. Local eateries are therefore obliged to source their fresh fish from further afield and there are regular airlifts of antibiotically enhanced salmon, trout and blue whale which end up on the plates of discerning local diners. Local chippies, however, appear to source their supplies from yon babbling sewer, such is the foul odour which emanates when frying tonite. 'Khalil's Traditional English Fish n Chippery', just down the road from here regularly fills the entire neighbourhood with clouds of rancid fat, pungently laced with fishy fragrance and unspeakable kebabiness. You'll understand, then, why I have not partaken of the fine British Traditional Meal for many years. That and me being mainly a raving vegomatic n all. However, [and I warn all strict vegomatic readers that strong language is coming up], I occasionally do have cravings for fish and have been known to nibble on a crunchy cod or chew on a battered haddock from time to time. There, it's out. I'm partial to smoked salmon too - but only if it's nicotine free. For whatever reason - possibly a sense of impending death - I decided that it was time to taste once more the food of the gods and find the finest fish and chips that could be found in time for the celebration of my forthcoming official birthday. [Canons will be let off, honours will be handed out].
So it was that last night I dined within the precincts of a dodgy council estate in EC1. Fish Central, though technically in Islington, is about as far from sun dried polenta and rustic tuscan tonyblair balls as you can get. The patrons ranged from the visibly well heeled [discreet jewellery and expensive smart casual] through groups of geezers in for a pre-pub slap up - to extended families out for their weekly treat. It's always a good sign when a restaurant is packed and this place has them queueing out the door. Happily, our reservation had been honoured so no waiting for us and we dined in style. Fish perfectly fresh - mine was in crisp batter, my companion opted for grilled - both perfectly cooked and accompanied by lashings of chips, which although right tasty, were not as crisp as I'd have liked em. Of course you can't have fish and chips without a glass or two of champagne can you? So we bought a bottle of the house stuff which was truly excellent and very good value - I kid you not. The decor is cool pastels; bright clean and modern, the service was brisk and I thoroughly recommend a visit if you don't fancy paying Jamie Oliver seven quid for beans on toast - his gaff is just down the road. Takeaway also available from the chippy next door.
Monkey business 1
Why was Alan Carr hanging around in the car park at Bignjuicy Central Railway station at 12.40am this morning - looking tired and emotional and who was his young blond companion?
Monkey business 2
Did Humans Mate With Chimps? And are we their offspring?
At last, GWB explained.
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 7:52 PM
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
I was thinking the other day of what it would be like to live in a society where there was no official agency of law and order. We all moan about the police and how we think they are ineffective but imagine if there were simply no police. I think it might be a bit like being back at school when you learnt early on who was nice and who was nasty. Where it was safe to be and where it was not safe to be. Only it would be much worse. People who, because of the existence of law n order, are deterred from expressing their latent criminal tendencies, would have nothing to restrain their impulses. Mild mannered Mr Timpkins down the road might turn out to be a closet fascist vigilante, terrorising the local minority residents as he acts out his power fantasy engendered by a dysfunctional parenting scenario. Sweet natured Cynthia from the corner shop would be seen in a different light as she carried out dawn raids on local washing lines whilst delivering the morning papers to her customers. Ian, the delinquent car-thieving local scumbag might be blown away by Dad-of-Three have-a-go-hero, Mike Normal using the easy-to-obtain sawn off shotgun he bought round the back of Aldi from a granny, entrepreneurially topping up her pension. Postal workers would think nothing of stealing cheques from your mail so you would have to arrange other methods of receiving the extortion money from all the blackmail rackets you were running using your stolen computer. Bosses would lie and cheat their workers out of their earnings and would, most likely, seek to enslave them in some way by holding their children in makeshift prison/workcamps where they would be underfed and made to manufacture inferior quality weapons that would be sold openly in street markets all over the place. Large, vicious cats would be semi domesticated and kept in garden pens by their owners to be unleashed as required in order to defend the homestead. The cats would be fed on dubious food sources as the murder rate soared and the economic value of humans extended to their dead weight.
Imagine a society like that where you never knew what was round the next corner, whether your loved ones would return to you when away, whether you would be driven to extreme violence simply in order to survive.
Talking of Cats
He's making another album after 28 years.
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 8:26 PM
Imagine a society like that where you never knew what was round the next corner, whether your loved ones would return to you when away, whether you would be driven to extreme violence simply in order to survive.
Talking of Cats
He's making another album after 28 years.
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 8:26 PM
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Bauhaus on Sunday
Sunday, May 14, 2006
And so to Tate Modern to see Albers & Moholy Nagy [ For the second time believe it or not ]. I'm going to write about Albers first and will do a bit about Moholy later.
I'd heard of Josef Albers before - being a Bauhaus freak n all. I'd not really appreciated, though, what he'd done within the Bauhaus and what his contribution was to design in general. The latter part of his life was lived in America. He spent 26 years painting variations on Homage to the square Charactised as "vehicles for the presentation of different color climates and various color effects and a demonstration of the way solid colors change according to their positions and surroundings." The squares series mark Albers' obsessional investigation of colour perception. It's fair to say that he was one of the most original thinkers in this field in the twentieth century. The meticulous and methodical Albers developed his work at the Bauhaus from the time he joined in 1920 as a student to 1930 when he was made Assistant Director. His early works in glass are still as fresh and inspiring as they must have been when first made. Photographs don't do justice to them - seeing the real thing illuminated from behind is great. Leaving Germany in 1933, like most of the Bauhaus Masters, Albers and his wife, Anni, established themselves anew in the US and Josef's career spanned a further 43 years. The exiled Masters underpinned so much of twentieth century US architecture, art and design. Albers was the first living artist to have a retrospective at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. Both Joseph and Anni had a great delight in the ordinary. They got really excited when a child visitor to their house recognised that a ventilator cover was very similar to one of Josef's square paintings. I was greatly inspired by seeing this work and am determined to learn more about Albers and also about the work of his wife, a master artist in her own right. The Albers foundation seems a good place to start.
Easy - to know
that diamonds - are precious
good - to learn
that rubies - have depth
but more - to see
that pebbles - are miraculous
Josef Albers
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 10:09 PM
Quiet afternoonI'd heard of Josef Albers before - being a Bauhaus freak n all. I'd not really appreciated, though, what he'd done within the Bauhaus and what his contribution was to design in general. The latter part of his life was lived in America. He spent 26 years painting variations on Homage to the square Charactised as "vehicles for the presentation of different color climates and various color effects and a demonstration of the way solid colors change according to their positions and surroundings." The squares series mark Albers' obsessional investigation of colour perception. It's fair to say that he was one of the most original thinkers in this field in the twentieth century. The meticulous and methodical Albers developed his work at the Bauhaus from the time he joined in 1920 as a student to 1930 when he was made Assistant Director. His early works in glass are still as fresh and inspiring as they must have been when first made. Photographs don't do justice to them - seeing the real thing illuminated from behind is great. Leaving Germany in 1933, like most of the Bauhaus Masters, Albers and his wife, Anni, established themselves anew in the US and Josef's career spanned a further 43 years. The exiled Masters underpinned so much of twentieth century US architecture, art and design. Albers was the first living artist to have a retrospective at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. Both Joseph and Anni had a great delight in the ordinary. They got really excited when a child visitor to their house recognised that a ventilator cover was very similar to one of Josef's square paintings. I was greatly inspired by seeing this work and am determined to learn more about Albers and also about the work of his wife, a master artist in her own right. The Albers foundation seems a good place to start.
Easy - to know
that diamonds - are precious
good - to learn
that rubies - have depth
but more - to see
that pebbles - are miraculous
Josef Albers
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 10:09 PM
Saturday, May 13, 2006
Scouser Joe has just run down the street shouting hysterically.
Must have been a good afternoon. Looks like the rest of the neighbourhood have heard him as there are people back on the street again. Time for tea.
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 5:46 PM
Must have been a good afternoon. Looks like the rest of the neighbourhood have heard him as there are people back on the street again. Time for tea.
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 5:46 PM
Just heard a bignjuicy scream coming from Scouser Joe's house round the corner. He sounded excited. I wonder if he's having some Afternoon Delight? Still nobody around.
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 4:51 PM
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 4:51 PM
I heard some boys down the end of the road shouting, "up the Hammers" - I wonder if they are doing some Changing Rooms style DIY? Still quiet outside.
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 4:32 PM
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 4:32 PM
My next door neighbour has just run down the street shouting, "I'll be back in five - need more lager". What can this mean? I need another cuppa.
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 3:45 PM
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 3:45 PM
I just heard what sounded like muffled cheering coming from a house along the street. Most peculiar. The streets are still empty and local cats have come out from hiding to chase birds in a nearby park. It's clouding over and there is a strange chill in the air.
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 3:12 PM
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 3:12 PM
Something strange is going on in Bignjuicyville. All of the streets have emptied and only the sound of birdsong can be heard outside. I've a feeling something big is going down; I'm going to make a cup of tea to steady my nerves.
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 3:01 PM
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 3:01 PM
Thursday, May 11, 2006
StereotypicalOverblownTediousWorld-Cup-relatedAdvertsForCompaniesWithAbsolutelyNoConnection
WhatsoeverToSportOrAHealthyLifestyleExceptThatTheirMarketingDepartments
AreWillingToPumpMillionsOfPoundsIntoTryingToAppearAthleticCoolAndWell-connected
No 1
inspired by this
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 9:34 PM
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
How's your modernism?
Here are twenty icons of the modern era.
How many can you identify?
Big slobbery kisses for the winner.
Recommended
for all us modernists: Dan Cruickshank's Marvels of the modern age - a series of programmes on the development of modernism - compliments the current exhibition at the V&A [ more on that story later ]. First episode was exquisite.
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 10:28 PM
A sunday strollHere are twenty icons of the modern era.
How many can you identify?
Big slobbery kisses for the winner.
 1 |  2 |  3 |  4 |  5 |
 6 |  7 |  8 |  9 |  10 |
 11 |  12 |  13 |  14 |  15 |
 16 |  17 |  18 |  19 |  20 |
Recommended
for all us modernists: Dan Cruickshank's Marvels of the modern age - a series of programmes on the development of modernism - compliments the current exhibition at the V&A [ more on that story later ]. First episode was exquisite.
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 10:28 PM
Sunday, May 07, 2006
When you're young you have an ignorance of your own fragility and mortality. I believe it must be something in the brain chemistry that engenders the conviction that you can do anything and you'll never come to harm. Why else would people do crazy things like bungee jump out of a crane suspended over a swamp, skateboard off of high buildings or carry out extreme ironing on the hard shoulder of the M62? Come to think of it why would you carry out extreme ironing anywhere - in fact why iron?
Anyway, my point is that youth is associated with risky behaviour. As people age they start to creak, become more cautious and become conservative or even Conservative. It's a sense of wanting the world to stay roughly similar to how they remember it as it's too much bother to unlearn all the stuff they learnt in their youth. I'm thinking about all this because earlier on I was walking along innocently by the river - as you do on a lovely sunny afternoon. Hoping to spot the cute ducklings [7 of them] which have been frantically paddling around for the last week or so accompanied by anxious mummy duck quacking constantly to reassure and stop them going off all over the shop. Suddenly I espied a group of baseball caps lurking ahead. Accompanied by an alsatian dog. Within moments the dog is running at high speed towards me snarling and foaming at the mouth. The baseball caps are laughing and I, about 5cm from the waters edge, am contemplating jumping in to escape the imminent savagery which is bearing down upon me. I'm simultaneously angry, frightened and immobilised. As the dog nears I notice that it is muzzled. Good for me but it confirms that this thing should not be out in public. The dog is called back by it's owner and they continue laughing. As I put some distance between myself and them I think of all kinds of things. I think that I am stupid for walking alone along a secluded river bank and expecting to be safe. I am then angry that I have that thought because I should expect to be safe - that is my right. I am annoyed because my innocent reverie was decimated by hormonally challenged thugboys and their rabid fur accessory. I consider calling the police to report a dangerous dog. I censure that thought as I don't want to be a miserable old git. I then think about what would happen if an elderly person or child was put in the same situation. All this simply because I chose to walk somewhere slightly off the beaten track. Viewed one way it's simply a group of lads out with their dog. Viewed another way it's an afront to common public decency and another nail in the coffin of social respect. I feel like a Daily Mail reader just writing that last sentence. What's become of me?
This is the man who wandered around New York in the small hours peering down alleyways to see if the lowlife you see in the movies was real. This is the man who broke the curfew in a communist capital just to see what it felt like being out when he shouldn't. This is the man who thought nothing of taking a motorbike 'taxi' on dirttrack roads with no crash helmet in a third world state where a crash would have meant almost certain death. I think I am one of those people who will always take calculated risks. Maybe that's what keeps me feeling alive. Maybe that's why I walked by the river today.
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 10:59 PM
Anyway, my point is that youth is associated with risky behaviour. As people age they start to creak, become more cautious and become conservative or even Conservative. It's a sense of wanting the world to stay roughly similar to how they remember it as it's too much bother to unlearn all the stuff they learnt in their youth. I'm thinking about all this because earlier on I was walking along innocently by the river - as you do on a lovely sunny afternoon. Hoping to spot the cute ducklings [7 of them] which have been frantically paddling around for the last week or so accompanied by anxious mummy duck quacking constantly to reassure and stop them going off all over the shop. Suddenly I espied a group of baseball caps lurking ahead. Accompanied by an alsatian dog. Within moments the dog is running at high speed towards me snarling and foaming at the mouth. The baseball caps are laughing and I, about 5cm from the waters edge, am contemplating jumping in to escape the imminent savagery which is bearing down upon me. I'm simultaneously angry, frightened and immobilised. As the dog nears I notice that it is muzzled. Good for me but it confirms that this thing should not be out in public. The dog is called back by it's owner and they continue laughing. As I put some distance between myself and them I think of all kinds of things. I think that I am stupid for walking alone along a secluded river bank and expecting to be safe. I am then angry that I have that thought because I should expect to be safe - that is my right. I am annoyed because my innocent reverie was decimated by hormonally challenged thugboys and their rabid fur accessory. I consider calling the police to report a dangerous dog. I censure that thought as I don't want to be a miserable old git. I then think about what would happen if an elderly person or child was put in the same situation. All this simply because I chose to walk somewhere slightly off the beaten track. Viewed one way it's simply a group of lads out with their dog. Viewed another way it's an afront to common public decency and another nail in the coffin of social respect. I feel like a Daily Mail reader just writing that last sentence. What's become of me?
This is the man who wandered around New York in the small hours peering down alleyways to see if the lowlife you see in the movies was real. This is the man who broke the curfew in a communist capital just to see what it felt like being out when he shouldn't. This is the man who thought nothing of taking a motorbike 'taxi' on dirttrack roads with no crash helmet in a third world state where a crash would have meant almost certain death. I think I am one of those people who will always take calculated risks. Maybe that's what keeps me feeling alive. Maybe that's why I walked by the river today.
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 10:59 PM
Saturday, May 06, 2006
Heard earlier
"Here lies the body of Margaret Hilda Thatcher, Prime Minister of Great Britain and Northern Ireland 19INSERT 15p TO CONTINUE READING"
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 4:02 PM
"Here lies the body of Margaret Hilda Thatcher, Prime Minister of Great Britain and Northern Ireland 19INSERT 15p TO CONTINUE READING"
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 4:02 PM
Friday, May 05, 2006
Hang up
My favourite low cost call company 18866 has raised it's connection fee again to 5p per call. When it started, the fee was only 1p - making it a serious bargain. I've been interested to see how the fee has steadily increased so that now it is 500% what it was. There's inflation. As far as I can tell, 18866 is now uncompetitive - [ 1899 is 3p and 18185 is 4p ] - so it looks as though I might be switching soon. It may not seem like a lot of money - 2p per call - but over the course of a year it adds up and, given the ease of switching, there seems no reason to continue with 18866. I'm going to miss the robotic woman telling me 'zero pee per minute'. Shame it's still not one pee per call. [ I blame Thatcher ].
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 9:39 PM
Full / empty ?My favourite low cost call company 18866 has raised it's connection fee again to 5p per call. When it started, the fee was only 1p - making it a serious bargain. I've been interested to see how the fee has steadily increased so that now it is 500% what it was. There's inflation. As far as I can tell, 18866 is now uncompetitive - [ 1899 is 3p and 18185 is 4p ] - so it looks as though I might be switching soon. It may not seem like a lot of money - 2p per call - but over the course of a year it adds up and, given the ease of switching, there seems no reason to continue with 18866. I'm going to miss the robotic woman telling me 'zero pee per minute'. Shame it's still not one pee per call. [ I blame Thatcher ].
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 9:39 PM
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
| a | b |
| The Tories are gathering momentum.Mental images of John Prescott in unspeakable positions.Stealthily building worldcup obsession.Wayne Rooney's foot.The mental blackbird is back in the garden trying to shag everything in sight. | Summer's just peeking round the corner.It's been a cracking year so far for cracking exhibitions.I'll soon be reaching another birthday.I've recently made a new friend.Syed got what was coming to him.Raspberries are in season.I can please myself.I'm free. [ after a fashion ] |
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 8:36 PM
Monday, May 01, 2006
