Tajmall

"ONLINE...? ONLINE...? I DON'T SEE A LINE!!" Sø says My Mum. And Mother knows best. Sometimes. At least with this I get to both quote my Mother and post something in a leap year on the last day of februar (sø it says here).

The other woman in my life claims to know nothing about today's significance for Femmekind. Knowledgeable as she is, there seems to be no inkling of the window of opportunity this date presents her. She made no mention what all she-persons are entitled to once-a-leap.

I'm assuming that there is a traditional feature to today (tradtional in Olde Albion anyhow), based on how my Mum told it to Paul Hart and I many moons ago. A proposal she made as we buttoned up our coats against the chilly winds on our walk to primary school... If I had a maths brain I could tell you what year that was. Terry Wogan on the breakfast slot of Radio 2? Almost certainly. But before or after the Faulklands War? Thereabouts*.

Shall I tell my Belle about all this at midnight hour? Or, even if she knew, would she need to check with her Mother first? Speaking of which, I know I don't need to tell you how I am always struck by the line -or the way Chuck delivers it- in the C Berry song where "Sweet Little Sixteen" asks permission: 'Oh daddy daddy, I beg of you: Whisper to mommy, It’s all right with you'.

* As for the first time I heard that Ladies can propose to Gents on Feb 29th: I was certainly told so on Feb 29, but was it 1980? Or 1984? One of these two... going by my calculations: fresh pen-marks on back of a ticket -- a ticket for a concert where I recoiled at the touch of the old-bag-sat-in-front's shoulder pad after I gave her a tap to get her attention. I was going offer to open... or confiscate (I hadn't decided at the time), her noisy Menthos packet after she'd spent several minutes wrestling with it, but hadn't managed to open.

I never got the offending item off her. She just shook her head at me and put the sweet away. And gave aggrieved stares when the lights came up. And wasn't to be found later: lying in wait to attack me with her handbag like I hoped she would. I wanted some excerise. However, after she'd gone -throwing evil-eye-stabs back my way- a strong scent of Charity Shop Mildew remained. Help the aged indeed. I tried. And was cursed for it.

Sø how? Roll on Feb 32nd... That's what I've always said.

LEGIT*MATE TARGET PRACTISES

300 days on and no Weapons of Mass Destruction are apparent in Iraq... discounting those of the Allies, that is. No surprises there. The entropy of lies that pours from this machine that can do everything except stop. One wonders how a rum-do like Rummy could take a rum item like the following and run with it -- the gnome treating it as a known known.


Rusty Walker writes: UNEARTHED -- SADDAM'S SAND RESERVES DISCOVERED!

Vast amounts of Sand have been discovered throughout Iraq. In a statement made earlier today, Scientists confirmed that the former Iraqi President had access to huge undeclared stockpiles of Sand. Doctors agree that sufficient quantities of Sand, if swallowed, can be lethal.

"To date, there has never been a single recovery from any sand-related death -- in the same way that no-one killed by chemical, nuclear or biological weapons has been known to return to life," said an unmanned Pentagon sauce.

Experts state they expect to unearth more Sand in days to come.

Travel Extra: EXPERIENCE AMERICAN HOSPITALITY

MY HOME, THEIR HOME: WELCOME -- KNOW MORE

Excellent news, Mr. Verity Bullsfull at the Enterprise Allowance Dept has approved our scheme! Within days, the running of our Smiths City Tour may commence!

We have already bought good notices in a series of reputable New World periodicals and gazettes, as our beloved American cousins represent the most important sector of our favoured clientel. Naturally, our fluency in their language is all the better for them, should they undertake our exciting expedition in which they can experience the sights and sounds that are so indelibly inked into the hearts and minds of all those who love the Smiths.

The itinary will include the paddocks where Morrissey and Marr once rode from, up onto to hills above the grim workhouses and puthering smoke of clustered town below -- where they shared dreams of a seemingly impossible future in which they would ride their very own penny farthings to brighter vistas far beyond the humdrum shrubberies that enclosed them and on! To more clement climes: the teashops of Toxteth or the Skipton Exhibit; to daring escapades in places of wonder and adventure: a sea-crossing on the Gosport Steam Ferry or the fabelled luxuries of electric tram of Clacton-on-Sea; and to slumber after the cornucopia of delights, efficatious preparations and faerie remedies plyed at the Warm Baths of Woolhall.

We have also managed to obtain access to the crumbling depot and shankly yard from where Joyce and Rourke were dispatched on their gruelling, nine-day week, chimney-sweep rounds. Pagnel's of Newport have kindly provided the appropriate certificates to verify that the hobnail boots on display are indeed those worn onstage at that fateful first turn on the bill of the Strangeways Burlesque Revue at Balthazar's Zeotrope Theatre.

Now, once and for all, we can wrestle the Smiths legacy from those Mancunian charlatans who continually claim them for their own. Now, at last, the youth of American can join us and help bring the Smiths back home where they belong.

Sincerely,

Witley Noluck.

Bolloughs, Yorks.

***

Not only must I grit my teeth when I type the very word 'Blog' -swoon at it's lack of glamour- it also seems that I've not been Blogging properly if I follow the made-in-Singapore templates that I've seen elsewhere. So let me address this by telling you something -or nothing- about myself (as if none of what is here says anything about me). You be the judge. And make sure your wig fits. It's a requirement for passing sentences. Like water.

MOTHER WAS A TRACKSTAR - BACK IN THE FARTHERLAND
And so: farther and farther I go - full unfathomable five...

My Mother was once a trackstar, and My Father timed her -- once or twice at least -- and O, how she ran.

Now, I admit I wasn't never interested in these details... not until the day I found it gave me sway with this girl who was a fan of Belle et Sebastian. O, how I milked it. But then again, I was a bastard by then.

See, my Dad was once a trackstar -so the story ran- but he didn't like to talk about it. How being this athlete turned him into a man. That, and a course of hormones from the Sports Council of the East Germans.

Of course, I got confused the day I came home only to be told that my real Mother was a man. O aye, a real mother that. That this moustached man was once my Mam. I was a bastard then. I hope you understand.

And now I'm wrestling... with the next question: is this my Mother, or the Father, Land?

***


WHAT DO THOUGHTLESS PEOPLE THINK?

Nun-the-Wiser did make enquiry to olde friend as to why they had two identities on the Micro Soft Network machinary: was it so they could talk to themself online? The answer was to do with storage space. The conversation shelved, Nun realised that: "Either this zipper is stuck... or the cat's out of the bag and he locked up after himself".

The Magellan Straits Times:

Travel: THE GIFT OF SHARING SCENERY AND SAFE ANIMAL PRODUCTS (PENGUIN CONTENT INCLUDED)

Sexy: ACTING ON URGENT URGES DOWN SOUTH -- RIGHT AT THE TIP

Language: SPANISH WORLD SAVING

"Esta es tu oportunidad de dicirle a los líderes mundiales reunidos en la Conferencia sobre Energías Renovables en Alemania para que detengan el cambio climático al incrementar el uso de energías renovables como la energía eólica y solar."

ie: If you can be bothered reading this far, then surely you do something good by going here -- to this friendly place

UNTELLECTUAL DISPATCHARY

A wonderful discovery this bloggery lark -- specifically Singapore-originating items: sites seen so far suggest a virtual realm of inane where people detail what they've eaten (including meat products or items served by evil corporations on the same pages they bemoan cruelty to animals).

In the spirit of how my potential peers post, let me detail today -- slaving at the cave-in with Slim Hope and Fat Chance. I should have known that, as it we were bound for disco, I was bound to be led a dance. There's to be a fancy-dress. I have chosen my dunces hat. Yes, I will go in that.

In related knews: a rumour that Nelson, on his death bed, said 'Kismet Hardy' and not 'Kiss Me...', hardly surprises.

Contest: SPOT THE BOLD JARVIS COCKER PULP SONG REFERENCE HERE

Sport: FORGET NADER, HUG KUCINICH INNIT

Comment?: THE RAINBOW'S END

***


BE GENTLE WITH ME, IT'S MY FIRST... FOOT FORWARD... AND INTO MY MOUTH

Being a secret dsylexic, I wondered if a 'Blogs' was something to do with 'BlgO'. An anagram thereof. And knowing their quality-control, maybe even a typo.

Perhaps this can be a homage BlgO instead. In which case it will be rampantly inconsistent, hung-up and righteous. No mentions of local music. Chris Ho might even feature (like I said: no mention of local music).

Sex: FILTHY SPERM EXPLODING ALL OVER!!!

Health: As If Bird Flu is Not Enough of a Sign that We Should Go Easy on the Animals

Art: DAMIEN HURST NEED NOT APPLY


Mither here nor there