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Sunday, 17 February 2013


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Judging from my parents pictures she stole the hair style from my mother. : -)

Yes, a truly great lady.

(Your link is to the first Viscont Astor here is the third,_3rd_Viscount_Astor)

Noblesse Oblige old boy. Yes there is something admirable about the best of that era.

Ah yes, when 'class' meant more than simply being a bigger drunken/drugged/violent/abusive oik than the working (or nowadays non-working) class.

When ladies acted like ladies rather than either 'ladies of the night' or merely testosterone deficient versions of males (and consequently men acted like gentleman, with manners, respect and 'protectively' towards them).

I knew I visited this establishment for a reason. Explain? Why for the education of course! I have wondered for years (possibly decades) just why a certain delightful Colonels daughter, a colleague at university, described me as NSIT (whilst I now cannot dispute that limited description I am a little miffed that it both failed to mention, with that particular lady anyway, I was not to be trusted anywhere else either, and that it was said to a certain Professor (female I hasten to add) who had just performed my viva - I never even considered that as a route to better grades. Damn!). Now, of course, I am completely trustworthy having to be given six weeks notice, a doctors appointment pre and a chiropractors post just to flirt with a lady - ah dear! Why is it when I finally get my head together my body has fallen to pieces? Youth is wasted on the young - the ungrateful buggers.

Thanks, Hank, the job of editor is yours for the asking!

I feel for you, Able, er, in the nicest possible way, of course!

Sam Cam's stepfather?

Is he the guy busy making £millions from windfarm subsidies while ruining the Lincolnshire countryside in the process?

Or is that her actual father?

Forgive me if I don't love them quite as much as I should.

I wonder whose obituaries will be read in fifty years time and how will they compare to the ones like this one that we read today.

Yeah Ortega, I'm figuring the pickling by then'll have worn off Keith Richards.

I recently read "Enigma" by Robert Harris, about Bletchley Park. It is a novel (oh no!) but I believed the story totally and found it very enjoyable and quite feasible.

But, Andrew, if the toffs weren't making bucketfuls of dosh they wouldn't be half as interesting!

Ortega, my obituary will be read in 50 years time by those with sleeping problems!

Without knocking Robert Harris and his book, the teal-life Bletchley was much more interesting - at times, unbelievably tense and exciting - and also hilarious given the number of genuine eccentrics working there. Turing, himself, was famous for chaining his tea-mug to the radiator, and according to Sarah Baring:
"She could not help but be struck by the eccentricities of the place: “There was one cryptographer with red hair and a red beard, and he studied Japanese in the evenings as a relief from his cryptography. But in the winter he wore a blue pixie hood on his beard. A pixie hood’s the thing you put on babies’ heads.

Yo David?

I'm kinda clueless what with all the "Briterishisms" you're alus tossing about. I did bookmark Malcolm's

but the only other place I knew to search for possibilities on this:

"...the teal-life Bletchley..." was the American Crayola Crayons website where I found:

which, incidentally, didn't do me much good. I'd figured if it was the usual Duff's Cock-Up DM would've translated it for D&N's American audience - so I figured it had to be An Extraordinary Duff's Cock-Up beyond even the superhuman abilities of DM.

Anyway David, I was wondering (kinda like Able mentioned in a 'some-ere's else comment) are we all elderly gentlemen summarily destined [in our's not your's] to experience our 'cock-ups' as befits the occasion - or like David Duff's each and everytime efforting a communique'?

Bloody hell, JK, I need Bletchley Park ('teal' or real) to decipher the syntax of your sentences! And allow me to remind you that 'Duff's cock-ups' are an essential part of the charm of this rather quaint, old blog. It's like England, itself, the cracks and fissures are showing but add a certain , er, character!

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