An Open Letter to My Blog Colleagues Who Have Switched to Blogger Beta, or "New Blogger", if You Prefer:

The effects of beta
Please switch back to old blogger. At least for a little while. With new blogger your pages load poorly and often have elements missing. Comments don't stick. Attempted interaction with your blogs often results in a "Cannot find server or DNS Error" message. It could be me, but that would mean that both my home and office ISPs would have to be screwed up, and both are different companies who use different delivery mechanisms, so that would be really odd. I'm sad to say that new blogger is making your blogs quite hard to visit.

Is the ability to tag posts with categories like "shoes" and "beef anecdotes" worth all this pain and inconvenience to your readership? Please return to nestle in the familiar bosom of old blogger, just until google and blogger figure out who to make the new version less irritating.

Thank you.

Cheddarvision

Good lord! Amazing what you find when you search for entertainment themed cheese pictures. What on earth is this foulness? I need a shower after seeing that "food".
As I mentioned a week or so ago, my friend Chris clued me into a simultaneously fascinating and boring webcam that allows one to watch a wheel of farmhouse cheddar ripen to perfection, live. The story that Chris sent along read:

Breaking News on Food & Beverage Development - Europe
Live webcam puts cheddar in every home, By Chris Mercer

05/01/2007- Less than a week into 2007 and already there is a contender for the year’s most bizarre story: a webcam that allows consumers to watch a block of cheddar cheese ripen in real time. Dubbed ‘Cheddarvision’, marketing gurus for makers of West Country Farmhouse Cheddar have put one of the cheeses live on the web, so consumers can watch it mature live over the next year.

Farmers hope it will raise the profile of their cheddar, which carries EU Protected Designation of Origin status, and help consumers to understand more about how it is made.

Viewers logging on to www.cheddarvision.tv see the cheese at the centre of a mock television screen. A counter notes the time lapsed, and a couple of clicks on the tv’s side button reveal extra pictures. The screen also grows darker as daylight fades.

"Some might say this is the most boring website of 2007, but our cheese is worth waiting for so it’s better than watching paint dry...just," said Philip Crawford, chairman of the West Country Farmhouse Cheesemakers group...

Enjoy.

WeaseH1

Music TV at its finest. Requests and dedications taken.



The full (and growing) playlist is here (youtube only seems to let me have 20 on one page).

Wanted: Men Who Like Worshiping a Half Naked Man and Wearing Rainbow Stoles

A gay priest yesterday
How mad is it that seven years into the 21st century churches presume to dictate policy for a mostly secular country?

Churches unite over adoption row
The Church of England has backed the Catholic Church in its bid to be exempt from laws on adoption by gay couples. Catholic leaders in England and Wales say its teachings prevent its agencies placing children with homosexuals and they will close if bound by the rules....

I see. So your religious faith, a concious choice you made, trumps the rights of people whose biological destny is as immutable as skin colour to provide good homes for abandoned and orphaned children? And your fabled compassion enters into the equation where?

Get Your Groove On

I'm sure they are terribly old hat to those in the know but while I was in England recently I couldn't escape the buzz about the Fratellis, their debut album "Costello Music" (which I wound up buying on the strength of one song, which I swore I'd stopped doing) or their song "Chelsea Dagger" (posted below for your edification).

I must admit I have been drawing an inordinate amount of pleasure from these scruffy tykes.



I have also been enjoying the work of the two preposterous goths featured here (in what is admittedly not their best stuff but is, alas, one of their few apperances together):


Just thought I'd mention these things.

Crap Pirates

A Modern Devonian yesterday
Spare a thought for the poor M/V Napoli: not only did it run aground off the coast of southern England this weekend, but as it's cargo has washed ashore the containers have attracted the attention of modern day wreckers in the West Country. The full story can be found here, but to offer up some choice quotes and a summary,

"Barrels of wine, shoes, hair care products, beauty cream, steering wheels, exhaust pipes, gearboxes, nappies, foreign language bibles and BMW motorbikes have all been washed up on the pebbled beach. And, ignoring advice to stay away, hundreds of people have been helping themselves to the thousands of pounds of free goods on offer.

One told BBC Five Live: "There's plenty...there's a container down there - the more we can take away the better really - it's not really any good to anybody is it?"

Others were celebrating the unusual turn of events.

"We don't normally have this sort of stuff happening down here, but you know...grab what you can," an excited hunter said. "We've got some engine parts and some BMW engines - and we've all been helping together in unloading them really," another said."

This has to be one in the eye for those who claim that the traditional industries of Western England have been done under by globalisation and technology. I'd like to see Johnny Outsourcer or Microsoft come up with a better way to run off with stuff that doesn't belong to them than these ruddy and simple British thieves with their hearts of oak and beef-flavoured farts. And you can keep your urban crimes of mugging and happy slapping too: three cheers for good old fashioned rural Devonian larceny!

A colourful local "chav" steals a box of support hose from the beach; shows daily every 2 hours between 10am and 4pm (photo courtesy of Visit Devon: Britain's Home for 'Olde Worlde' Crime).

By Punching Chavs, You Help Stop Terrorists

Senior British politician John Prescott punches an mulleted idiot on the campaign trail, 2001
Hear hear.

Larry the Lamb has Two Dams

As I have mentioned here before, I am a huge fan of the website/blog of Bad Science, authored by Guardian columnist Ben Goldacre.

In his latest entry Goldacre dissects some ludicrous reporting in Britain's Sunday Times (a once decent newspaper knobbed about with by Rupert Murdoch) and in the process reiterates a point often overlooked in debates about nature vs. nurture and the controversial practice of "curing" homosexuality as advocated by some of the more batshit Christian denominations:

"For those of you at the Sunday Times with some catching up to do, here's a news flash: we cleared up the question of Lamarckian inheritance of acquired traits over 100 years ago. If it helps, you could think about whether boob jobs will make future generations have larger breasts. And even if you could intervene to make a gay human straight- which only the Sunday Times and their friends are claiming here, not the researchers- then in any case, you might reasonably expect this to make any inherited tendency towards homosexuality more prevalent, rather than less." (The rest)

Brilliant! To recap Goldacre's point; as homosexuality is a genetic quality, not a conscious decision, and therefore people trying to turn gay people straight, and thus encouraging them to marry and procreate, are actually doing sterling work in ensuring that the next generation will include a larger percentage of gay people. This is either further proof that fundamentalists of all stripes are so self-deluding they should probably be hospitalized for their own (and others) safety, or evidence of a fiendish scheme to ensure a ready supply of future clients for these bogus sexuality adjustment shenanigans.

Frangleterre?

From the BBC today:
Formerly secret documents unearthed from the National Archives have showed Britain and France considered a "union" in the 1950s.

To quote the story:

"When the French Prime Minister, Monsieur Mollet was recently in London he raised with the prime minister the possibility of a union between the United Kingdom and France." ..When Eden turned down his request for a union between France and Britain the French prime minister came up with another proposal. This time, while Eden was on a visit to Paris, he requested that France be allowed to join the British Commonwealth.

A secret document from 28 September 1956 records the surprisingly enthusiastic way the British premier responded to the proposal when he discussed it with his Cabinet Secretary, Sir Norman Brook.

It says: "Sir Norman Brook asked to see me this morning and told me he had come up from the country consequent on a telephone conversation from the prime minister who is in Wiltshire. The PM told him on the telephone that he thought in the light of his talks with the French:

* That we should give immediate consideration to France joining the Commonwealth

* That Monsieur Mollet had not thought there need be difficulty over France accepting the headship of her Majesty

* That the French would welcome a common citizenship arrangement on the Irish basis"

As later events showed, there was no need for a formal act of union as the British upper middle classes independently decided to colonise the French countryside by buying up all the agreeable old farmhouses they could find.

Normal Service Restored

Dear whiny Chargers management (restricting ticket sales to folks with SoCal addresses? Come on) fans (not only did your team lose, but your Republican city got smacked by a place that permits gay marriage) and players (especially you, Tomlinson): sit down, shut up.
Just when this winter seemed to be completely screwed up, the New England Patriots pulled off one of their patented last minute victory-by-field-goal games yesterday to move a step closer to the Super Bowl. As if by magic the temperature up here in Maine plummeted and we are now receiving a hearty dose of snow and sleet.

Is Bill Belichick the antidote to global warming?

Housekeeping

It has long been a feature here at Wisdom Weasel that every few months or so your ertswhile host (that would be me, for the thickies) pauses from his head-long rant and his lame attempts at botty-bum jokes to collect his thoughts and tentatively reveal some of the half-formed ideas for upcoming posts. This would be one of those times.

About a year ago I embarked on a project to write short posts about my ten favorite paintings over a 12 month period. Like most major projects attempted by the British in the past 20 years, it is off schedule, and I have only covered six pictures (the last being Marc Quinn's Sir John Sulston: A Genomic Portrait back on April 27, 2006). I have to say I still find writing about art a little daunting although I have been buoyed by peoples' reactions to the pieces (I was encouraged to expand my short bit on Andrew Wyeth into a 3,000 word essay by Maine author and publisher Jim Baumer, which was very nice). Anyhoo, I want to note that I'm going to unleash the next painting in the series shortly: I want to take a look at Edward Hopper's Nighthawks at the Diner and some of its spinoffs and parodies. Look for it shortly.

Also on the quasi-serious side, I wanted to tackle two vexsome issues of identity and stereotyping. One will look at the old British canard that America is a land without history where the inhabitants don't speak English properly. The other will tackle the concept of being from "away" in Maine and about the conflicting influence of regional tradition and rootedness in a country with the most mobile population the world has ever seen. I will give plenty of warning before posting these so those of you who find that my more serious writing gives them a headache will be able to steer clear for a while.

Third, my friend Bio-Chris has sent me a link concerning a web cam where one can watch a block of farmhouse cheddar mature in real time. You know I'm going to have to post something on that.

As for the rest of the stuff I use to clog the arterties of the internet, watch this space as I am sure a myriad of peculiarities will cross my path as time marches on. For instance you are all very lucky David Beckham signed for the LA Galaxy before I was able to get it together for long enough to post an impassioned plea that he return to my club of Norwich City, where he had academy trials as an eleven year old. Consider yourselves spared by my inability to find or doctor a picture of him in Norwich kit before the news broke.

Grand Atlanticism

Following last night's announcement by Mr. Bush of the "surge" in US troop numbers in Iraq, my father (who works for Britain's EmOhDee) sent along the following that had been doing the rounds of Whitehall:

The Pentagon announced TODAY the formation of a new 500-man elite fighting unit called the United States Redneck Special Forces (USRSF)

These mostly Southern boys will be dropped off into Iraq and will be given only the following facts about terrorists :

1. Open Season starts today.

2. There is no limit.

3. They taste just like chicken.

4. They don't like beer, pickups, country music, or Jesus.

5. They are directly responsible for the death of Johnny Cash.

The Pentagon expects the problem in Iraq to be over by Friday.



To which I replied:

One assumes that the British will be forced to thumb a lift in the bed of their pick-up trucks due to lack of sufficient independent transport. I understand the yet another procurement mistake at the emohdee saw Challenger commanders in the RTR handed fishing waistcoats, as someone had mistakenly ordered "mullet-proof vests".

I also found this excellent photo of a Coldstream Guards officer going undercover in civvies in Basra, armed with the latest British LSW*:



What a frigging war, eh? It's the bland leading the Blair, and both are apparently complete arseheads who haven't even read a single war comic between them. An eleven year old with an active imagination would have come up with a better strategy.

(*Light support weapon)

A Modest Proposal

A Foaming Pipe Snake: Deadly
According to stories on National Public Radio and in the International Herald Tribune this morning;

"The U.N. health agency said Tuesday it would step up efforts to treat the more than 12 million people attacked annually by snakes, scorpions or dogs, many of whom die unnecessarily of rabies and other diseases as a result.

Rabies is the 10th most common cause of death due to infection in humans, according to the World Health Organization, which estimates that 8 million people require treatment against the disease each year. Many more people need drugs after being bitten by snakes or stung by scorpions, but the necessary serums are either unavailable or too expensive in their countries."

The story goes on to report that the UN is working to ensure that life saving drugs, anti-venoms, and serums are made more accessible across the world.

This is a laudable goal, albeit rather expensive. My idea on the other hand would be cheaper by far. Rather than retroactively tackle the symptoms, we should tackle the cause. Therefore I suggest we pay the boffins to figure out a way to induce rabies in snakes, thus cutting the the threat matrix by a third. If they can figure out how to attach a scorpion's sting too, then we will have managed to combine all of the threats into one organism, thus realizing true economy of scale, and setting the minds of potential victims at rest as they will now only have one thing to remember to run away from.

Ripping One From the Headlines

From the BBC: "New York probes 'gas-like odour'"

I know the source. This one's been at the curry again, missus.

(Weak fart joke, 3/10 at best. Must try harder).

Get In On The Ground Floor....

Plays 'Hunka Hunka Burnin' Baghdad'

Do you own a cellphone with camera or streaming video technology?

You do???

You lucky bugger!

Forget about polyphonic ring tones or whatever and all that bother; that's soooooooooo 2006. You have one of them nice phones mate, with the pictures and the video and all. You don't need sounds when your phone rings, you need:

images!!!!

And what is the most talked about series of images of our short year so far?

No, not those shots of Brittney's hoohaah. Or Howie Mandel lying on his side smiling, as we call them in these parts. Here's a clue: even world leaders are a-talkin' about them. Everyone thinks they are a bit iffy.

Got it yet?

Nice work genius- yep, it's

The hanging of Saddam Hussein!!!

Say no to ring tones, and instead download a:

Swing-Tone!!!

By the envy of your friends and be the first on the block to be alerted to incoming calls with video of the botched and barbaric dangling of a despot!

(First ten subscribers get a free bonus selection of personal voicemail notifiers: choose from Saddam's guards shouting "kick those feet, you sunni pig!" or any track from the Clash's Give 'Em Enough Rope).

Only $2 a download; don't delay....

In Chuck Heston News....

Apparently Charlton Heston is being sued by his neighbors in California due to a "slope failure" on his property that resulted in a mudslide engulfing their house.

Heston's attorney is arguing that the suit should be dismissed, as his client could not possibly have any control over natural forces. I for one beg to differ:

Assignment

We can't be more than two cups of tea into the first day of our visit before Granddad hesitantly raises the subject. His life as a wartime evacuee, merchant sailor, and rural policeman had generated hours and hours of epic stories shared with everyone who visited his house. For years both his children and we grandchildren have been urging him to write them down. Now he has.

Not all of the stories, mind. The three notebooks and the looseleaf binder in front of me on the dining room table just contain the details of his time with the Norfolk Constabulary as a village copper. There are pages and pages of my Granddad's neat handwriting relating tales of livestock round-ups, poachers, bicycle patrolling, and family life in 1950s and 1960s rural England.

As an oral storyteller Granddad can rivial Scheherazade but as he points out, his formal education was cut short at 14 due to the Second World War and for most of his life he has been an autodictat by force of circumstance. All his life he has been blessed with a sharp memory and an eye for detail but I sense that he feels that his writing skills are not up to snuff. All those years as a policeman means he writes like a policeman; strong on detail but not much description (and certainly no dialogue). And as nice as it is for us as a family to have this treasure trove of stories to pass around in the years to come, Granddad wants more. He wants the stories turned into a book. And according to him, that is where I come in.

I am to flesh out his stories, drawing upon the timeless landscape and characters of the Norfolk we both know so well. I am to have full editorial control as long as I preserve and present the facts of the stories as he has recorded them. If possible, I am to find a publisher willing to take on the manuscript, and we can split the proceeds.

Well of course I said yes. I grew up on these stories (and for a while when my mother and I were living with my grandparents after being evacuated from Cyprus I was lulled to sleep by having them told to my uncomprehending infant brain). The plastic bag holding the notebooks is sitting across the study from me as I type this: part of me wants to get cracking right away while another part is saying "wait until the weekend, get some of your other projects to a place of natural pause or finish them, then start slowly". I know however that before too long I'm going to be sitting down with those notebooks and my laptop on my knees, jotting ideas and playing with the narrative.

I have to admit that I feel a flush of pride everytime I think of what Granddad has asked me to do. I'll also own up to feeling quite daunted by the task I have been set. I hope I manage a decent rendering of his world.

Final England

One of the major reasons we planned our holiday trip and embarked on such a punishing schedule around the houses was that my brother and his wife's second child was due on December 15. We put little bruv at the end of the trip to allow a cushion for the new baby to arrive and for them to get settled back in at home, but as the days went by the little 'un stubbonly refused to come. I was begining to kick around contingency plans for the remainder of our stay when finally the call came at 8am on Christmas Eve: four hours earlier the 8lb 15oz Grace Ella had arrived- mother and daughter both doing well. Now my brother has the other brackett for his Boxing Day birthday, and I have a new niece:






And when a little sister gets too boring, there is always hairdressing...

And so the trip draws to a close. The next time we go it will be to show off a kid of our own- weirdly cool....

England, Part 7

As the trip progressed towards the meat of Christmas our explorations dropped off and family time came to dominate. In the interests of completeness however I'm going to slap up a couple of posts, if only for my own pleasure and a vague future anthropologist's edification. Press on, before Christmas becomes yet another distant memory:

Consulting with Granddad (as this photo shows, he doesn't move much year to year).

Portrait studio time.
Off to Leicestershire, and the little brother:

Countryside: the real Britain in my estimation

Scenes like this always make me think of the short poem A Shropshire Lad by A.E. Houseman

Auntie Country Mouse and her number one fan

The hardscrabble yet prosperous town of Loughborough

Loughborough was once the heart of England's hosiery industry...

..and may well have the only piece of municipal statuary complete with an engraved tattoo.

Would you really want candy from a store so named?

Next up, part the last: greeting the new niece...