Entering a Roundabout yesterday, the following happened:
A Volkswagen appeared suddenly to my left. The VW and its driver nearly nose bumped my elegant little VW. The outraged driver stuck his dark face out of the window, swinging his fists in the air and shouted with uncontrolled anger:
“HEY-YYY!!!!!!!!!!! You must wait there!!!”
I was so surprised that I simply drove on. The place where I intended to park was nearby and as I got out of my car I was ready to irk this idiot back into his car with the full truth of how roundabouts actually are supposed to work. But the bulldozing VW had disappeared.
I would like to know since when does traffic to the RIGHT give way to traffic from the LEFT? Why does traffic from the LEFT these days seem to have the right to shout abuse at oncoming traffic from the RIGHT? The results are often very confusing with the right driver left in a dumb stupor for being told-off about something they correctly deemed the right thing to do. Left in the dark about their legal road rights, that is to enter the roundabout first, they end up doubting whether they may have been left in the dark re. Some new legislation to the left, or if they perhaps might not have been in the right lane. The driver with the right of way may even then consider the fact that they may not be in the right frame of mind to even drive a car, or any other vehicle. Or wondering if they received the right driver’s license and not the one that Sipho with only one right eye left, have failed and then left at the traffic department after some bribing took place, which in turn has been left in Mr. Wright’s post box.
My opinion is that left-hand-swinging morons have some condition linked with schizophrenia when they enter circles, pushing their butts right in where they ought not to. I think that circle-dimwits charging from the LEFT should RIGHTLY be banned from our roads and roundabouts - just stay home.
Duh.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
The Rites and Rules of Passing Places
The Rites and Rules of Passing Places
I once lived for about 6-weeks in a village named Corran. One of two villages, the other named Camusbane; it gives the area the name of Arnisdale. Situated amongst the mountains of Glenelg, it is the very last village one can reach by car. There-after you have the option to be air-lifted, shipped or walk further in or out, depending in which stage or state you are.
Corran is a tiny place with a Tea Hut, old Herring sheds – here some filthy over-the-wall hikers sleep, refresh their starved inners and make use of the only toilet available for miles. There is cluster of seven or eight cottages on the banks of loch Hourn. The Gaelic meaning of this beautiful loch indicates that it was named “The Loch of Hell” or “Loch Iuthairne” as some folks has been caught off-guard by its stormy winds and foul conditions.
A few meters towards the outskirts you will notice a sink cottage with a kayak next to it. Here lives a man alone with his dog and I was quite shockingly caught off-guard by the man’s unusual beautiful blue eyes as well as those of his dog with its wolfish-yellow eyes (Note, not the man although I was given the all-over curious glance that could make a woman blush from head to toe).
I remember the magical pebble beaches very well and find it hard to describe the clear water with long waving sea-grass and small creatures underneath – looking into it made one feel dizzy with a kind of upside down world feeling. The edges around the loch are overgrown with vegetation such as bog, ferns and wild rambling roses. I even stumbled upon a small tent once with a young couple sitting huddled and probably nearly frostbitten by a camp-fire – and accepted their invite to enjoy a beer with them before stomping off into some general directions afterwards…
Sometimes on my evening walks along the road, I would notice a young woman on the beach of Camusbane. She had a long blond plait resting heavily between two strong shoulder-blades and reminded me of a resilient kind of Viking woman. She'd be sitting and stoking a big fire on the beach, all alone by herself - I wonder what went through her mind?
One sunny early evening I took yet another familiar walk – on the single-track road leading away from Arnisdale. The view is nearly always something of hills, mountains, a few people around, sheep, ancient graveyards and the majestic Black Cullins waving from across on the neighboring Isle of Skye. I stopped dead in my tracks then as I looked twice: On those single track roads one more often than not will see road signs reading "Passing Place" - you are supposed to give way to other motorists or the cheeky Blackface sheep, not vice versa. It works so in their minds… Well, right there in my face stood yet another road sign, reading like this “Pissing Place". Some idiot had gone and painted over the "a" an "i". How many people do you think make this their "Stopping Place"?
Mentioning this to a friend later on, I was then told about a place in Austria with the name of “Fucking”. Apparently it is the most stolen road sign in the world – doesn’t surprise me!
I was also told that in Belgium, they have what is called 'the anal triangle'. Three towns called Kontich, Reet and Aartselaar. (freely translated: Bum, Ass and Anal-town). Gays apparently get mixed up when they come in the center of the triangle, where there's road signs indicating the way to all 3 places.
So apart from “Pissing Place”, “Fucking” and “The Anal Triangle” I guess the way can only get steeper, skiddier and perhaps I’ll not venture much further into these crooks and crannies today. Another time…
I once lived for about 6-weeks in a village named Corran. One of two villages, the other named Camusbane; it gives the area the name of Arnisdale. Situated amongst the mountains of Glenelg, it is the very last village one can reach by car. There-after you have the option to be air-lifted, shipped or walk further in or out, depending in which stage or state you are.
Corran is a tiny place with a Tea Hut, old Herring sheds – here some filthy over-the-wall hikers sleep, refresh their starved inners and make use of the only toilet available for miles. There is cluster of seven or eight cottages on the banks of loch Hourn. The Gaelic meaning of this beautiful loch indicates that it was named “The Loch of Hell” or “Loch Iuthairne” as some folks has been caught off-guard by its stormy winds and foul conditions.
A few meters towards the outskirts you will notice a sink cottage with a kayak next to it. Here lives a man alone with his dog and I was quite shockingly caught off-guard by the man’s unusual beautiful blue eyes as well as those of his dog with its wolfish-yellow eyes (Note, not the man although I was given the all-over curious glance that could make a woman blush from head to toe).
I remember the magical pebble beaches very well and find it hard to describe the clear water with long waving sea-grass and small creatures underneath – looking into it made one feel dizzy with a kind of upside down world feeling. The edges around the loch are overgrown with vegetation such as bog, ferns and wild rambling roses. I even stumbled upon a small tent once with a young couple sitting huddled and probably nearly frostbitten by a camp-fire – and accepted their invite to enjoy a beer with them before stomping off into some general directions afterwards…
Sometimes on my evening walks along the road, I would notice a young woman on the beach of Camusbane. She had a long blond plait resting heavily between two strong shoulder-blades and reminded me of a resilient kind of Viking woman. She'd be sitting and stoking a big fire on the beach, all alone by herself - I wonder what went through her mind?
One sunny early evening I took yet another familiar walk – on the single-track road leading away from Arnisdale. The view is nearly always something of hills, mountains, a few people around, sheep, ancient graveyards and the majestic Black Cullins waving from across on the neighboring Isle of Skye. I stopped dead in my tracks then as I looked twice: On those single track roads one more often than not will see road signs reading "Passing Place" - you are supposed to give way to other motorists or the cheeky Blackface sheep, not vice versa. It works so in their minds… Well, right there in my face stood yet another road sign, reading like this “Pissing Place". Some idiot had gone and painted over the "a" an "i". How many people do you think make this their "Stopping Place"?
Mentioning this to a friend later on, I was then told about a place in Austria with the name of “Fucking”. Apparently it is the most stolen road sign in the world – doesn’t surprise me!
I was also told that in Belgium, they have what is called 'the anal triangle'. Three towns called Kontich, Reet and Aartselaar. (freely translated: Bum, Ass and Anal-town). Gays apparently get mixed up when they come in the center of the triangle, where there's road signs indicating the way to all 3 places.
So apart from “Pissing Place”, “Fucking” and “The Anal Triangle” I guess the way can only get steeper, skiddier and perhaps I’ll not venture much further into these crooks and crannies today. Another time…
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
A Chef or a Maid?
And then you get the odd brainless bananas who opt for neither. Tsk...
As for me:
I'd like twelve maids, one for each room, thank you.
AND marry a chef:
- To feed the cats
- Handle sharp knives
- Add a spicy salza with a splash of tango to my life
- Lay my table with exquisite treasures!
Outrageous! Is it possible that someone out there happened to think I'd be saying this:
"...and lay me on the table."
OR
"Get laid on..."
Makes one wonder just who's out there...or is that just me and that Wicket-ly and Wicked-ly Rickety thoughts that drift in and out unconsciously...?
As for me:
I'd like twelve maids, one for each room, thank you.
AND marry a chef:
- To feed the cats
- Handle sharp knives
- Add a spicy salza with a splash of tango to my life
- Lay my table with exquisite treasures!
Outrageous! Is it possible that someone out there happened to think I'd be saying this:
"...and lay me on the table."
OR
"Get laid on..."
Makes one wonder just who's out there...or is that just me and that Wicket-ly and Wicked-ly Rickety thoughts that drift in and out unconsciously...?
Once, you loved someone so much...
Someone wrote something that sparked my complete attention this morning. It was about those who we have loved once, many or even a few moons ago. Some rather vivid memories made me sit straight up and think, not about my job at work, but about the undeniable truths, songs and repercussions of falling in real undying love.
Emotions are strange things, nostalgia even more sinister so and the heart a dark-dark book full of secret pages - a bit like a labyrinth where one can get really lost if not watching your step.
Once I loved someone so much that it broke my heart. Can't be good years later, for the poor old heart!!! This dates back more than 11 years and I still remember the feeling of falling for this guy with those dark amber eyes and straight darkest of hair.
You realize this when you sit alone in a park in pouring rain, squashed in a children's swing, crying as if the world's survival depends on it. I would not mind seeing him again, but perhaps only one day in the distant future when we both walk with Zimmer frames.
I was young, receptive and vulnerable and our paths separated for a reason - I think it wasn't necessarily a bad thing to happen. Although it took me a long time to realize this, it gave me the chance to travel, learn my own strengths, and be happy in my own company and to get to know different types of guys. Unlike him who got married very young with a previous ex-girlfriend, had kids and opted not to travel. Oh I guess both worlds can be good, depends what you make of it...
Wouldn't mind that smitten walking on air feeling again though...
Emotions are strange things, nostalgia even more sinister so and the heart a dark-dark book full of secret pages - a bit like a labyrinth where one can get really lost if not watching your step.
Once I loved someone so much that it broke my heart. Can't be good years later, for the poor old heart!!! This dates back more than 11 years and I still remember the feeling of falling for this guy with those dark amber eyes and straight darkest of hair.
You realize this when you sit alone in a park in pouring rain, squashed in a children's swing, crying as if the world's survival depends on it. I would not mind seeing him again, but perhaps only one day in the distant future when we both walk with Zimmer frames.
I was young, receptive and vulnerable and our paths separated for a reason - I think it wasn't necessarily a bad thing to happen. Although it took me a long time to realize this, it gave me the chance to travel, learn my own strengths, and be happy in my own company and to get to know different types of guys. Unlike him who got married very young with a previous ex-girlfriend, had kids and opted not to travel. Oh I guess both worlds can be good, depends what you make of it...
Wouldn't mind that smitten walking on air feeling again though...
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Magical Things
The smell of rain on a hot-baked earth...
The sound of lambs in a silent field
The warm body and smell of my furry cat/dog
The sigh of the wind in treetops...
The chattering of a Robin or Thrush at dawn or dusk
The smell of freshly baked bread...
Walking into a cellar with a musty scent
The view accross a lake with one small boat in the middle...
The smell, texture and colour of pine needles & lavender
Looking at a campfire & the smell of woodsmoke...
The sound of people talking around a dinner table
All these are simply magical - the memories of it go back to different times of my life.
I will come back to this later to add the rest of the list...
The sound of lambs in a silent field
The warm body and smell of my furry cat/dog
The sigh of the wind in treetops...
The chattering of a Robin or Thrush at dawn or dusk
The smell of freshly baked bread...
Walking into a cellar with a musty scent
The view accross a lake with one small boat in the middle...
The smell, texture and colour of pine needles & lavender
Looking at a campfire & the smell of woodsmoke...
The sound of people talking around a dinner table
All these are simply magical - the memories of it go back to different times of my life.
I will come back to this later to add the rest of the list...
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
To wear a Bra or NOT
The subject should ring: To thwart the attempts of gravity...or NOT?
Eversince my teens I had this wild desire to burn these constricting things...
Does not wearing bra's really cause sagging boobs?
Seeing women in public with see-through tops and NO bra underneath is revolting to me. Isn't less more? Or, SUPPOSE I was a double DD, then perhaps it would be a good enough reason to keep them trust up in an over the shoulder bolder holder...
Some bright girls invented the following word:
U=upper
T= topper
F=flopper
S=stopper... Wot a grand old world...erm word.
A female friend of mine told me that her 65 year old mum even wears her bra to bed.. has done so all he life.. "and her tits are fantastic, even better than MINE which are sagging"...
We had some lengthy discussions about the chesticles and tit-bits AND my mail-ex-perts seemed to come from all over the globe, male and female. It do seem that Holmes and Watson" ought to be harnessed, according to some...or risk being knocked out literally when playing hackey sack...
And it is deemed rather foolish to put on that contraption namely a bush-up bra with two tiny beestings hidden underneath, as everyone will know... Even more foolish so to wear those things that one can stick on... hardly not a un-sticky matter.............more likely to be a sticky mess.
So, we then came to the conclusion of having "udders" or "not" - Size seems to matter afterall!
So let them dangle ladies!
A-hem...any opinions?
Eversince my teens I had this wild desire to burn these constricting things...
Does not wearing bra's really cause sagging boobs?
Seeing women in public with see-through tops and NO bra underneath is revolting to me. Isn't less more? Or, SUPPOSE I was a double DD, then perhaps it would be a good enough reason to keep them trust up in an over the shoulder bolder holder...
Some bright girls invented the following word:
U=upper
T= topper
F=flopper
S=stopper... Wot a grand old world...erm word.
A female friend of mine told me that her 65 year old mum even wears her bra to bed.. has done so all he life.. "and her tits are fantastic, even better than MINE which are sagging"...
We had some lengthy discussions about the chesticles and tit-bits AND my mail-ex-perts seemed to come from all over the globe, male and female. It do seem that Holmes and Watson" ought to be harnessed, according to some...or risk being knocked out literally when playing hackey sack...
And it is deemed rather foolish to put on that contraption namely a bush-up bra with two tiny beestings hidden underneath, as everyone will know... Even more foolish so to wear those things that one can stick on... hardly not a un-sticky matter.............more likely to be a sticky mess.
So, we then came to the conclusion of having "udders" or "not" - Size seems to matter afterall!
So let them dangle ladies!
A-hem...any opinions?
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Kharma from above?
Oh dear,
I just had a feeling about my grandmother. The one who had the same name as the plant mother-in-law's tongue - sharp. The granny who would not let go off my dad, her son and gave my mom so much erm...grief...
When I spoke so neatly of granny having been the virtual spewing mother-in-law and my own mother, bless her...well, I just realized that grandmother's pot/bowl/vase flew off the coffeetable soon after I wrote about Mommas Boys. If you scroll down, you'll see what I'm talking about.
Does this mean granny is trying to say something from above (or from the grave)?
Should I be worried or even scared?
Yours sincerely
Bugged grandchild Foofy.
I just had a feeling about my grandmother. The one who had the same name as the plant mother-in-law's tongue - sharp. The granny who would not let go off my dad, her son and gave my mom so much erm...grief...
When I spoke so neatly of granny having been the virtual spewing mother-in-law and my own mother, bless her...well, I just realized that grandmother's pot/bowl/vase flew off the coffeetable soon after I wrote about Mommas Boys. If you scroll down, you'll see what I'm talking about.
Does this mean granny is trying to say something from above (or from the grave)?
Should I be worried or even scared?
Yours sincerely
Bugged grandchild Foofy.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Feminism versus Feminity
Today I have time to edit, copy and paste some of my written stuff to my blog.
Is Feminism and Feminity incompatible? Anyone who ever read this, please let me know what your opinions is and try not to be bias...
As usual, I crave adventure, a challenge and sometimes I even like to throw a bone amongst the dogs just to see the smallest one running away with it...more like dragging it off on three legs.
The topic of discussion however, does not mean I voluntary want to become involved in a mean catfight, or open Pandoras Box unwittingly. It would rather be like walking with French poofter shoes on my feet on a rope above the Grand Canyon with the British army and Prince Harry waiting on the other side.
So, would anyone of you expect a feminist to be kind to men? To actually defend them at times? I've read about a feminist who went balistic against the girls bullying her boy child at school. Interesting.
What about women who like to be mates with the guys - let's not bring lesbianity into this - who wants to be declared equal to men?
The feminist or ordinary woman who despair of the brainless theory of Darwin that makes us out as out as inferior twits? That plainly boils down to looking for trouble, that one.. It makes me want to declare that women have something in common on the other hand, with your highness Freud apart from all other bull that he wrote. Remember the puppies and bells? We constantly have to apply repetitive treatment to our men just to get them to get it, understand, GET IT, do it, UNDERSTAND IT all...
Then there is the girl who TRY to out-drink a man at the pub just to show him a point or two (missing the point completely) and gets skunk drunk unlike her counterpart who nearly handle the little scene better than her.
Or the so-called feminist a-la sensual agrieved for thinking she missed out on something bitch who lures men to her bed, only to demote or fire them the very next day or week at work? I know, this sounds a tad bit too far-fetched, but who knows?
Laura Kipnes has the following to say about FEMINISM in her anti-monogamie polemic...
"The Things That Men Have And Women Want..." Is that so? Or what is it really about? What about feminism in the work-place, family, relationship or On the road for the matter?!
Strange as the Daily Thoughts sent to my personal email address always seem to send something that relates to something during my day-to-day activities/relationships.
Yesterday's rang like this:
"Women who seek to be equal with men lack ambition."
- Timothy Leary -
Is Feminism and Feminity incompatible? Anyone who ever read this, please let me know what your opinions is and try not to be bias...
As usual, I crave adventure, a challenge and sometimes I even like to throw a bone amongst the dogs just to see the smallest one running away with it...more like dragging it off on three legs.
The topic of discussion however, does not mean I voluntary want to become involved in a mean catfight, or open Pandoras Box unwittingly. It would rather be like walking with French poofter shoes on my feet on a rope above the Grand Canyon with the British army and Prince Harry waiting on the other side.
So, would anyone of you expect a feminist to be kind to men? To actually defend them at times? I've read about a feminist who went balistic against the girls bullying her boy child at school. Interesting.
What about women who like to be mates with the guys - let's not bring lesbianity into this - who wants to be declared equal to men?
The feminist or ordinary woman who despair of the brainless theory of Darwin that makes us out as out as inferior twits? That plainly boils down to looking for trouble, that one.. It makes me want to declare that women have something in common on the other hand, with your highness Freud apart from all other bull that he wrote. Remember the puppies and bells? We constantly have to apply repetitive treatment to our men just to get them to get it, understand, GET IT, do it, UNDERSTAND IT all...
Then there is the girl who TRY to out-drink a man at the pub just to show him a point or two (missing the point completely) and gets skunk drunk unlike her counterpart who nearly handle the little scene better than her.
Or the so-called feminist a-la sensual agrieved for thinking she missed out on something bitch who lures men to her bed, only to demote or fire them the very next day or week at work? I know, this sounds a tad bit too far-fetched, but who knows?
Laura Kipnes has the following to say about FEMINISM in her anti-monogamie polemic...
"The Things That Men Have And Women Want..." Is that so? Or what is it really about? What about feminism in the work-place, family, relationship or On the road for the matter?!
Strange as the Daily Thoughts sent to my personal email address always seem to send something that relates to something during my day-to-day activities/relationships.
Yesterday's rang like this:
"Women who seek to be equal with men lack ambition."
- Timothy Leary -
Momma's boys
I stumbled upon a forum on my friendly "friends" network today. Some smart woman named Leaa (double a for affirmative action?) planted the question: Do men have better relationships with their mothers than with their fathers?
The reaction from male and female was interesting,and I could not resist plunching in to.
This is what I wrote:
"What I don't get, is why Mothers are so darn protective over their boys once they get married. All's well pre-marriage, the girl and future mother in law gets on just great and mom even thinks she is really lovely and accpetable. Mom thinks that her son has very good taste. Until this girl marry's your brother and mother's son...
I don't know one mother who gets on with her daughter in law like a house on crackling fire. It's more like watching Dracula when Mom gets into a flare over one or another thing...about her daughter-IN-law.
My mom said she'd never be like my dad's mom...until my brother got married last year. To tell the truth, my dear mom has been acting very similar to my gran who used to be the virtual mother-in-law from hell (sorry granny).
Only much-much later in life did my grandmother accept my mom, by saying "If it weren't for my daughter-in-law, my son would have become a ho-bo". Cheers to that.
The reaction from male and female was interesting,and I could not resist plunching in to.
This is what I wrote:
"What I don't get, is why Mothers are so darn protective over their boys once they get married. All's well pre-marriage, the girl and future mother in law gets on just great and mom even thinks she is really lovely and accpetable. Mom thinks that her son has very good taste. Until this girl marry's your brother and mother's son...
I don't know one mother who gets on with her daughter in law like a house on crackling fire. It's more like watching Dracula when Mom gets into a flare over one or another thing...about her daughter-IN-law.
My mom said she'd never be like my dad's mom...until my brother got married last year. To tell the truth, my dear mom has been acting very similar to my gran who used to be the virtual mother-in-law from hell (sorry granny).
Only much-much later in life did my grandmother accept my mom, by saying "If it weren't for my daughter-in-law, my son would have become a ho-bo". Cheers to that.
Cats Rule
Mr Ging, -Lew or Lewis broke a very old pot of my grandmother last night. I thought you’d like to hear how it happened. Don’t think I haven’t got a life - it’s just that the animals rule and thee is ALWAYS some sort of drama-drama.
It was a lovely round green & red painted art piece (in my opinion), with three curly pretty little feet and it lived on the coffee table in the sitting room. In it was oak leafs, acorns and a nearly ripe pomegranate from a recent visit to a wine farm. Hearing the earth-shattering sound of something hitting the floor my sister and I investigated.
Well, the only thing near, dear and moving was Mr. Lewis who tiptoed towards me on the kitchen counter (open plan). He must have leaped from the coffee table to the counter, regardless of the distance... Like a kid caught in the moment, he looked so innocent but also completely over friendly that I just knew who the culprit was. Especially when he stared very hard at the shattered pieces behind the table as if trying to work out just how that had happened.
Dear Mr. Lewis slept next to me all night, curled in a tight little ball and only jumped out of his skin (again) when Bella-dog mercilessly dived onto me this morning. With licks and knibbles.
Time to go.
It was a lovely round green & red painted art piece (in my opinion), with three curly pretty little feet and it lived on the coffee table in the sitting room. In it was oak leafs, acorns and a nearly ripe pomegranate from a recent visit to a wine farm. Hearing the earth-shattering sound of something hitting the floor my sister and I investigated.
Well, the only thing near, dear and moving was Mr. Lewis who tiptoed towards me on the kitchen counter (open plan). He must have leaped from the coffee table to the counter, regardless of the distance... Like a kid caught in the moment, he looked so innocent but also completely over friendly that I just knew who the culprit was. Especially when he stared very hard at the shattered pieces behind the table as if trying to work out just how that had happened.
Dear Mr. Lewis slept next to me all night, curled in a tight little ball and only jumped out of his skin (again) when Bella-dog mercilessly dived onto me this morning. With licks and knibbles.
Time to go.
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