Tuesday, July 29, 2008

The Nose & Inglish Brambles (3)

While in the throws of Inglish and Scottish contemplation I feel compelled to draw a grand finale to topics discussed previously:

The Dungeon and Hadrian's Wall:

A quick ramble of "The Nose" and "English Brambles”...

So The English goes all pettish and snooty at the mention of haggis, but seem to throw all caution in the wind pretending they have a "nose" for the Scottish Water of Life. Both delicacies have a mighty kick like a mule, and doesn't look like frog legs on the table.

Would it be seen as an insult to wonder if the Anglo-Saxonized nation suffers possibly from a disorder born from a decrepitating jealousy towards their friends north of Hadrian's Wall? Finding themselves on the "less fortunate" side of The Wall apart from Dover's White Cliffs?

That brings us back to the question in the beginning: Why so often feel they're hard done and fully obliged to complain more than any other nation? Changing with the blink of an eye from gloomy murderers into pristine saints smiling down on all things alive when life seems favorable all of a sudden. Transformed sulky beasties becomes boasting beasties (idiots) - quite extraordinary.

Perhaps the Scottish Dungeon carries a magnetic attraction for The English: Something similar to do with a stray dog or feral cat marking someone elses' territory. Too primitive for me though, doing all that marking of my presence all standing up, holding onto something cold, wet and slippery in the dark.

So alas: Did St Columbus leave a legacy of Pictish AND Germanic seed sprouting once more on both sides of Hadrian's Wall?


Dungeons & Hadrian's Wall (2)

Further contemplation prompted me to add a wee bit more twiddeling to the Scots banning the English from visiting a dungeon.

I would like to move onto the subject of:

Hadrian's Wall-

Could this famous wall possibly have been build mainly because a Germanic nation felt compelled to be completely seperated (divorced is a more amicable term these days) from their too-close-for-comfort neighbours? Were the English perhaps threatened by a small and terrifying clan called the Pictish? Tribes that acted simplistic and equally barbaric in many ways.

I prefer to think The Wall resulted from a silly feud of tartan Willies who refused submitting to the greed of sock-stocking-cladding Fannies from the south. Maybe the Anglo Kings who bathed in dog-rose-willow-bay had nothing better to do than tempting and pestering Pictish Clans that stubbornly clang to their rightfully claimed rambling rose territory? Who would have guessed a simple Romanian Wall would bear so many thorns?

But, let’s not stray too far and ponder the English fragility.

Must say I don't blame some English for treating golf as the latest biological threat. Would it be the sport itself or the inventor behind it that makes more than some English folk boiling red-hot and refer to it as the most idiotic boring sport ever invented? I can see that one might need a certain pre-disposition of gene pools to understand the ideology and synchrony of pitching a ball into a hole. To find joy in only that...

Monday, July 28, 2008

Scots Ban the English (1)

Venturing into dark dungeons, a British friend opened up interesting discussion.

Tourist attraction bans English visitors in revenge for 1298 battle
A popular Scottish tourist attraction provoked outrage by banning English visitors and destroying 'English' items such as bone china and the works of Shakespeare...

Provocative or not?

Pondering over the subject I run the risk of being banished to a rodent infested Dungeon, either side of Hadrian's Wall, but I am puzzled more than ever before.

Could it be The English have an identity crisis due to their roots bearing a title such as Anglo-Saxon Inheritance? Add to that a nation suffering from the onslaught of perpetrators previously called crusaders, now calling themselves proudly British, when in fact they are nothing less but a mixed bunch of Asian-African-Caribbean-mites.

Sure it must be intolerably hard to be told off by the Scots. Imagine, a thistle telling a rose to back off out of its territory or precious dungeon! Insufferable brutes shouting "Freedom!!!!!" ever since Wallace who now boast over a Dungeon of no value, deciding who may and may NOT visit.

What is it with barbaric Picts to still lust for revenge 700 years later?

Don’t the world and its Scots understand that being of Hemi-, Halve- and Semi-Norman-Anglo-Saxon-Jude-Germanic origins is a curse and cross that nobody else has to bear? Did they forget how The English used to rule and axe (these days sack) ANYONE who dared to breathe or whisper a word or rebellion? What has this world come to be...

Concerning the very latest allure for Dungeons, I will consider buying a murky one north of the borders as it may just become the next Balmoral and Scottish Monument. Something that may bring about an interesting diversion from the usual politics between our modern day Picts and GerManics.

Wednesday, July 9, 2008

G8 Summary

Once again we were forced to watch on telly how a bunch of the world's biggest idiots, or leaders gathered around a table. Whether one could call it loitering or brainstorming, I found it pretty hard to remember why they were there. Looking pretty relaxed and cosy in their snug G8 chairs to me. Exactly who would be enriched by suspending words in the air and spending a couple of days a year jibbering in labyrinth circles? Supposively discussing "important" matters such as global warming...To me it seemed to be somewhat of a germ-breeding process to confuse the world even more.

And do these self-made little men and women gods really believe that flashing a dim torch in the eyes of the world, will blind it into oblivion?

I very much doubt that.

Truth is that they will all be gone when the proverbial Paw-Paw strikes the Greenhouse Gas and let all locked up screaming fury loose...

I think it would be much more entertaining to watch how they get stirred up, lifted unceremoniously out of their thrones with certain members at the forefront. Such as Bush and Mbeki gobbling once more a little something, in need of strength. Or twiddling a finger at the world such as Mugabe before leaping over the edge.

So, who is the fool?

Tuesday, July 1, 2008

The Knight, The Fair-haired one and The Goat

The story starts so: How long must one wait for love?

As a young shoot I acquainted myself with little friends and the best ones were not the Belinda’s, but brave Regarts, nerdy Leslies and show-off Calvins (at that time I wasn’t worried about not knowing anyone called “Klein”).

I learned to wait to see my crazy, smart, interesting, funny, weird sometimes, ingenious and everything else that’s good, friends almost every afternoon.

Turning from a sprouting shoot into a willowy leaf, I became aware of men. Along a country and city roads it became a washing line bending from the weight of acquaintances, friends and of course eventually, lovers. Some wore masks and others portrayed themselves as heroes or warriors and protective guardians, earths-men and farmers, intellectuals slipping over their own words and such. I’m skipping the “angelic” ones as it will take a day and half getting to the bottom of that slimey well. Some faded into the background and fragments of memory but became figurative outlines forever etched into parts of my dreams. Some strayed far too far for me to remember them, but a lot of them are forever etched in my sometimes breakable heart.

All these comings and goings...I left one or was left to watch him go. These gods ruling in my life and heart, as I would think: "Why does all good things have to end?”

Apart from becoming slightly synical, I'm quite naive, apparently. Believing in genuine love. The True Love that exists above all other things, going against the odds and bells that shouts from rooftops that no such thing exists.


Must be the music of the heart – can’t be possessed and neither consumed. It can be a danger and safety bound together, something ultimately fragile, yet strong and so passionate. It could resonate like an oracle in the chambers of the heart, more so when life can be bleak at times, or not so neat...And it makes the waiting worth every mile.

So, I waited a little bit more impatient this time, for that elusive person to venture or accidentally stumble into my life. And I fell in love again.

Into my life came another three and remembered by their remarkable arrivals they appeared in the following order:
The Knight
The Fair-haired one
The Goat.

A dark and honourable Knight on his white horse appeared on the horizon and sadly he passed by...

So I waited a little more.

Along came the dreamy Fair-haired one with the golden walking stick and gumboots and no good either...

And it happened again.

Then the agile Goat with centuries of noble blood, but unreliable... Tap-tap-tap-

And the gnomes, trolls, selkies and water-horses marched passed me, but not worth mentioning today.

I waited and waited again...


Now I don’t wait anymore, but live life in a fairy garden of tilting dewy leafs, rainbow-colour mushrooms and flower petals strewn accross my lawn.

And one day the elusive mustang will appear, I know that. Free-roaming, wild and utterly untamable. He will stop by and acquaint himself with an object of interest who I presume will be me. As for me, I’ll pretend to be unaware of this unannounced arrival, uninterested in his showing-off manner, pretend to be oblivious to such a pure existence and appear to not be glancing from under shadowy eyelashes into his direction.

See, there is something so very exciting about the falling-through-the-sky kind of living and waiting...