Blog powered by Typepad

« The forever law of unintended consequences | Main | The Sunday Rumble: 31.03.13 »

Friday, 29 March 2013


Feed You can follow this conversation by subscribing to the comment feed for this post.

I hope it's good, DD. I saw a student production of "Rhinoceros" a couple of years ago, and it left me cold. But then student productions of anything tend to have the same effect. I saw his "Bald Prima Donna" done by professionals many years ago, and laughed until I was nearly sick. Looking back, I can't say why - just a totally glorious and unexpected experience.

Er, David?

Don't know if I told you about the snow that arrived in Arkansas the evening of my birthday - I'm figuring it had to do with Global Warming or somesuch. (My birthday was on the first full day of Spring).

Anyways - you've not put you long-johns or mittens away have you? And since I'm unsure (well ... I'm actually near certain) whether you know how to access our satellites I'll do it for you:

Last year my temp was 81°F - my birthday present from Mother Nature this year was 17° - our 32° = your 0°. Enjoy!

This is appalling, JK, those satellites know nothing! Was that great technicoloured ball a figment of Walt Disney's imagination? The world doesn't look anything like that! I can remember perfectly well from my school days that the world is like a slightly squashed ball with GREAT BRITAIN right in the middle, America on the left and Japan on the right and, most important of all, most of the in between bits were coloured red and over which Her Maj ruled!!!

And pur-lease, JK, do not look for sympathy from 'over here' for your mild, milk-and-water weather 'over there' because 'over here' we are freezing our arses off! The least you could do is send me a food parcel!

Look DD, I realise subtlety is not something either Para or used car dealers are renowned for but .... at least 'try' to pretend to notice JKs desperate plea for someone to wish him 'many happy returns', although I actually suspect a feeble attempt at getting gifts as the true reason he may have 'accidentally' mentioned his anniversary. (You see, rather than just being sycophantic worshipers at the Alter of Duff, we're real people, with real needs and feelings .. who just happen to do the occasional bit of sycophantic worshiping as we can't afford a life and we need an excuse to vent our opinions as no-one else will listen to us, and those that do seem to always end up throwing things at us - or is that just me?)

I, on the other hand, immediately went out and bought a nice bottle of Glenfiddich ... and then drank it for him (am I caring, sharing or what?). I'd say I did it to a medley of Arkansian... Arkansawian... Arkansasian... (bugger!) Redneck musicians, the likes of Glen Campbell, Johnny Cash, etc., but all I vaguely remember is singing along to AKUS and then demonstrating the proper choreography to Steve Earles 'Galway Girl' (Bob Fosse eat your heart out!).

I agree wholeheartedly with you that if JK even cared a little (and after I drank that whole bottle for him too, the ungrateful wretch) he'd send something to keep us warm (colloquially known as 'starving' locally which confused the hell out of me when I moved here. I supplied endless sandwiches to 'starving' patients only to look [even more] baffled when they asked for a blanket too?!?). You can have the food parcel, can I have Alison Krauss please? (I need something to cheer me up after work and then spending an hour cleaning global warming off my pavement).

Just Sayin' ('Jest'? I'd rather the extra 50 lines than sink to using that colonial native patois, that and I've grown to both feel comfortable in the corner and the blue pointed hat with the big 'D' on it makes me look 'dashing' apparently)

Oh, and 'happy birthday' JK!

JK's birthday! Of course, how remiss of me but, you see, I never realised that JK was actually born! I always assumed he had been assembled by that nice Mr. Ford in one of his factories - gee, shucks, whodathunkit?!

Also, Able, you ring faint bells in the echoing vault that is my memory -Glenn Campbell and Johnny Cash . . . yes, I remember them, rather good I thought but, alas, I'm a sucker for that country and western style, mainly because you can actually decipher the lyrics.

"AKUS"? To say nothing of . . . "Alison Krauss"??

A man of discernment Able.

I'd send ya'll a parcel but I'm afraid your postal workers'd notice my return address an next thing I'd know - one of Pier's siblings'd be showing up.

The "sat-view" David was intended to depict the Atlantic. You know, that body of water ya'll used to have warships on?

Alison Krauss ... nah. & since my Glenfiddich is gone:

Oh DD, I hesitate to use the words nekulturny and philistine (mainly because my spell-checker was just updated and I don't know now whether I'm spelling them correctly) but ....

AKUS is Alison Krauss & Union Station, and Alison Krauss is ... a godess! Well, stunning good looks and the voice of an angel anyway.

From the foot-stomping 'Choctaw Hayride' through the melodic 'Goodbye Is All We Have' 'Stay' and even 'Molly Bawn', simply the best! If 'Down To The River To Pray' doesn't make you feel slightly religious then 'Jacobs Dream' will make you weep.

As you may guess I'm a 'bit of a fan' (possibly the UKs biggest) and have been since 'Two Highways' in 1989. I do have to admit that I went off her a little since she never writes or calls and sending that nice policeman with the restraining order was a bit of an over-reaction to my mind (I mean, can you really 'stalk' someone 4000 miles away, and it was only the eighth letter of proposal, not counting the billboards, sky-writing and the air-time on NPR....)

Jacobs Dream (with description of original story)


Well I'd send you a bottle but the postage costs more than the bottle, and since my next trip to North Americas premier city, cultural mecca and ... the only place where anyone still wants to listen to a presentation from me, Lincoln, Nebraska, isn't for months - it wouldn't last long enough to actually get to you by hand delivery anyway (well that and the fact I'd never dare go further south since I'm not too hot with a banjo and don't know how to 'squeal like a pig' ;-) ).

Don't even mention that last Able - our SCOTUS has me fit to be tied!

Aaah yes, Lincoln, Nebraska=City with culture---Metropolis of the Midwest---Paris of the prairie.


Say what you will but for a Brit, being able to strut (and believe me I can, after years of practice, 'strut my strut my stuff with the best of them') whilst open carrying a P226 (it's amazing how much your audience concentrates on your presentation when you're carrying, although, for some strange reason, the conference centre management won't let me bring a Barret M82 too?!?) is worth the kerfuffle of travelling into the 'Boonies' (well that and the fact that under all those layers of Carharts/Thermals/Sorrels there are the most gorgeous looking ladies in all Christendom (and believe me, I am an Olympic class oggler/admirer, so I know what I'm talking about - even if they [in common with ladies everywhere, unfortunately] all run screaming when I say hello/ask for a dance/propose)


I went last evening to my "local" liquor store (I live in a "dry" county) ... anyways, realizing you were the only one lurking 'round D&N with the intelligence to read twixt the lines - I set to commencing to order me up a bottle of Glenfiddich to properly toast you back.

I abandoned my effort however. I'd not purchased the nectar since a friend of mine owned the liquor store just across the Missouri stateline - back at a time when Uncle Sam was flying me (on his dime) around the world with the occasional 'touch and go' into Arkansas. [Back then affordable on DIA pay - not mind you, I knew anything about that sort of stuff.]

Anyways - go ahead and pick me up a quart (or a liter/litre) I'll send a check (cheque) for the postage.

"Why?" you ask.

A bottle of Glenfiddich nowadays sets one back $140 smackaroos!

JK, you could always try the little-known malt Glendeveron. We tried the ten year old at home in a taste-off versus Talisker and Glenmorangie. The Glendeveron won handily.

(Declaration of interest: the Glendeveron came free because a relative works for the company.)

Gentlemen, I bring you sad news, well, sad for me, that is. Last night, finding myself low on Calvados I gave the remains to my friend whilst I went on to the Laphroaig, a drink I have long enjoyed. Last night I hated it! Too strong, too smoky, just too damned unsophisticated. I shall never drink it again. A sad loss, I'm sure you will all agree. I wonder, does this, at the age of (very near) 74 presage the male change of life? I don't know but I think I should be told!

Why Thankee Verymost Kindly DM!

I'll try with the assistance of my county's coroner/mortician to check whether his brother (the current proprieter/owner of the "local" liquor store) can/will assist me procuring a cask.

Yes. My Arkansas' County Coroner/mortician is the actual brother of the liquor store owner in the fine state of Missouri, colloquially known as Misery for more'n the one obvious reason. (The cops from both Arkansas & Missouri lurk at the border). & it's especially woesome being an Arkie having to travel to Misery for nectar-imbued beverages since, being in a "dry" county, there's a matter of my State's alcohol taxes not already've been fixated.

The unusual state of affairs having one brother in Arkansas offering one service & the other brother being in Misery another, has given rise to another of our quaint Hillbillyanese Sayings regarding the Barker Brothers:

You stab'em, we'll slab 'em!

Anywise - Glendeveron has been committed with pen to paper!

What's with these italicizing thingees David?

I didst the propers and included the two spaces and yet ...?!!!


The above words of endearment were used by (admittedly a time long ago) many locals/yokels.

Have fond memories of Lincoln, having done some work (years past) at several of the University campuses.


You've limited yourself to only one for 60 (well based on when I started imbibing) years?

I 'appreciate' (the polar opposite on the scale to quaffing, meaning I sip in a gentlemanly manner and [usually] don't need either a bib or a mop afterwards - well assuming no one either puts a decent tune on the Victrola or asks my opinion on ... well anything so 'forcing' me to either demonstrate my rhythmic kinesthetic talents or expound eloquently and dramatically on the chosen subject [recent weighty topics include 'the relative worth of salt and vinegar vs cheese and onion crisps', 'the relative dearth of pickled eggs in modern licensed premises' and 'who Karen, the landlady likes the best' - everyone else gets a cheery 'what would you like dear/sweety/flower' whilst I get a grunt/stare/scream depending on what I'm singing - I think she's just struggling to hide her adoration of me) a lot more than that.

I am fortunate enough that the landlord of a local public house (Kings Head) is an ardent 'Real Ale' and 'Whiskey' connoisseur (thank you Mike!). My taste has always varied depending on diet, weather, previous consumption, what I'm smoking (e-cig now - thank you so much ASH!) and, of course, the current contents of my bank account.

That you didn't appreciate any malt following calvados isn't surprising is it? I don't think it means your palate has premature senility though. Laphroaig is supposed to be a light/smoky/peaty malt (although I always find my personal taste buds differ from everyone elses opinions - being a generally contrary person). Have a look at the 'taste map' at:

I tend towards the bottom left (current favourite is the Jura, although I quite like the 45 yr old Tomatin if only my wallet did too).

Another place to look at is


They ship too (whilst I'm not sure they'd be willing to disguise it as a shipment of Bibles [I'm currently hollowing you out a Kants 'Critique of Pure Reason' for smuggling purposes - I only got/read it at 14 to pose/impress the ladies and because I heard Shelley(?) tried to kill himself after reading it, which I can understand as it lacks a certain something in plot - no funnies/girls/guns/explosions/girls/prodding buttocks/spaceships/girls or even zombies?!?] you could always claim it was for industrial/research purpose since, I believe, alcohol is necessary for the correct cleaning of rocket fuel tanks - if you do know anyone who recruits fuel tank cleaners, I'd like an application form please (I promise to only drink half of it).


I 'think' I like the place being as how my only recollections are of airport/conference rooms since Mein Hosts tend to 'require' that post 'chat' we 'hit' the range (why don't they make it plain that when they say 'three gun' you're only supposed to fire one at a time? and if they keep putting up new 'novelty terrorist/zombie/clown targets it's probably best to warn the local amateur dramatics society, when they're rehearsing Shakespeare on the lot next-door, not to take smoke breaks by the fence - calling me a regicide is a bit unfair since I only 'winged' Richard III' hump and I didn't even get credit for identifying the new state ladies high-jump champion - who knew that Queen Elizabeth could clear an F350 from a standing start?) and then attend various bars to imbibe and oggle the ladies before they pour me back on the plane (well that and the fact I take two weeks to thaw out afterwards - cold? Even the bears wear thermal underwear)

Ah Able,

these damned D&N "Italianates" make me think David's in the running for Popishness - which on "the one hand" I could understand except that unlike David Duff - I'm unable to bilingually choke my chicken - David Duff likely if only 'cause he's studiously/ambidextrously studed William Shakes at which whether either lived at some time t'other could be easily understood schlong as Wlm. Shakes David an'twas agreed to perform one to the other.

T'which I'm I'm mainly agreed upon - that's the reason Duff dressed in that thing Andra sent'em. More or less. Tart'n Duff's ... well ya know ... Paras need "Fun Guys" too!

JK, are you sure you didn't find a bottle of DM's special in Misery? I ask because you obviously became confused over the 'italics-off' sign in which the '/' comes BEFORE the 'i' - not the other way round! I have corrected your work and you will take 100 lines as punishment! Also, there is no need to leave two spaces after switching off 'italics', I never do.

Actually, you are forgiven because "You stab'em, we'll slab 'em!" is priceless!

Perhaps I wasn't as clear as I should have been in my earlier comment concerning Laphroaig, it may have had something to do with my throbbing headache and general lacklustre feeling on 'the day after the night before'. However, to set the record straight, I didn't switch from Calvados to Laphroaig, I simply gave the remains of the brandy to my pal and I settled into the whisky.

To be (slightly) serious, it is very odd how, especially in food and drink matters, you can suddenly lose a taste. For example, for years I used to enjoy Chinese food but suddenly one evening, faced with a plate of sweet and sour pork I just 'went off it'. Didn't eat Chinese for years. Likewise with the Laphroaig, I have drunk it for years and enjoyed the smokiness but the other night it suddenly tasted about as subtle as a right hook from Mike Tyson. I have fond memories - because it has been years since I drank it - for Oban. Again, if my memory serves (not a given) that has a very subtle flavour, smooth in the mouth and delicate on the nose. Mind you, I suspect the reason why I haven't drunk it for years is because the price makes your eyes water!

What ho, Duffers. If the blessed Laphroaig is now too much of a good thing, try Islay Mist which is rather like a less exuberant version of the same thing. You might like to start with a miniature or a snifter in the pub.

Islay Mist? Hmmn, sounds very romantic, I'll keep an eye open for it.

The comments to this entry are closed.