Old age 2

Whenever I take the dogs a walk to Loynton Moss, I have to drive along about a half mile of A road. This is the meeting point of so many differences in our society. No matter how I try to speed up my little Yaris to a reasonable speed (and attempt to get off the road before being a nuisance), I invariably end up with someone (is it always a BMW?) right on my tail. This part of the road involves a series of S bends, and double lines down the middle, so why they want to rub my bottom with their noses I don't quite understand.

Now is this BMW meeting Yaris?
Old man meeting young?
Country versus town?
Dogs versus iPods?

Are they irritated all day like me over this trivial meeting? Or is it forgotten in the next hold up just round the corner?
The answer of course is simple.
I could stick to my country lanes and walk somewhere else.
They could get up a bit earlier and then drive with more consideration
I suspect the real solution is far more complex.
And a lot of it has to do with how we view cars and car users.

Sir Tim Berners-Lee

There is an interesting interview of Sir Tim Berners-Lee on the BBC web site. He is the inventor of the World Wide Web and has some good things to say about blogging

Remember, my friends, a blog isn’t a media property or product. It is a person. And this isn’t content. It’s a conversation. Make it a civil one if you can.

Poems written by 'Urban Grimshaw and the Shed Crew'

'Urban Grimshaw and the Shed Crew'

is a must read for everybody.


And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England's shit tips green?
And was the holy Lamb of God
In England's carbon monoxide seen?

And did the Countenance Divine
Shine forth upon our genetically modified hills?
And was Jerusalem cloned here
Among these dark Satanic Mills?

Bring me my Dig of burning gold:
Bring me my Viagra of desire:
Bring me my Foil: O clouds unfold!
Bring me my Milligrams of fire.

I shall not cease from Mental Flight,
Nor shall my Pork Sword sleep in my hand
Till we have trashed Jerusalem
In England's green and fucked-up Land

(Based on a poem by someone else because I'm thick)

Skeeter



Have you ever seen things that aren't really there?
Like giraffes with green and purple hair,
Or live mannequins, or cardboard streets,
Or little people with massive feet?

I've seen things you'd never believe,
Butane gas made my eyes deceive,
It took me to a different place
Where things were pretty, all dressed in lace.

I've seen statues move and come to life,
I've been chased through a maze by a carving knife,
I've fallen from trees, floated through time,
I've watched my oen hands shimmer and shine.

I've travelled right through to Heaven's station
On my holiday of hallucination.
Quite fantastic, but to my shame,
It made a good job of destroying my brain.

Kara MacNamara



Prison boy wrote home one day,
Found his true love gone away,
When he asked the reason why,
She answered him with this reply:
If you choose the honest life,
Surely I will be your wife,
If you choose the life of crime,
Prison boy do your time.

Late that night in his cell,
Prison boy rang the bell.
Screw came running to the door,
Prison boy was on the floor.
In his hand a note all red,
In his hand a note that said:
Dig it wide and dig it deep,
Plant red roses at my feet.
On my chest a turtle dove,
Tell the world I died for love.

Thieving Little Simpkins

The right side

The newspaper was divided into two columns.
Each column told a story of mass murder—one in London, one in Baghdad.
On the left side of the page, if your heart could stand it, you could read mini-biographies of some of the people known to have have been killed in the London terror attacks of 7 July.
On the right side, you could read about suicide bombers in Baghdad killing themselves and over 150 of their fellow countrymen, women, and children during one brisk and senseless weekend.
There were no biographies on the right side of the page.

Jeffrey Zeldman