tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30128542008-08-19T13:32:18.094Zpeternoreply@blogger.comBlogger2366125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3012854.post-21956128992197574972008-08-19T13:21:00.002Z2008-08-19T13:32:18.107Z

Today my plan is to lose three quarters of a pound and thus beat my previous world record of 12st 8lb. Twelve little ounces. Thirteen to be on the safe side, tip the scales. Right now I'm in a cafe having tomato omelette. (Tried to starve but it was getting too trippy. Don't know how those anorexics get by. Wish me luck!) P x

peternoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3012854.post-70642459774147800562008-08-18T17:47:00.004Z2008-08-18T19:26:58.542Z

Funny the way obvious things can hide away for ages, only popping up when you least expect them. Take coffee. I often do these days. Americano - for the biggest measure, longest drink, most like the lager of the bad old days. And did it occur to me to question that name? Why no. Not until five minutes ago. Oh - nearly forgot. Am sitting in the Ocean Bar, with my ocean view somewhat blocked

peternoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3012854.post-46993384856135133312008-08-15T09:56:00.006Z2008-08-15T10:29:25.756Z

Good news: two days more work then holiday for a week and a half! Bad news: will have to spend much of that on cleaning the house. Good news: no mice last night. I'm trying to normalise the home, that is remind zoe how it used to be before she went on red alert over some meeses. So I sprayed catnip on her once favourite bed (close to mine) and she slept there for a while. Then she started

peternoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3012854.post-69552651846570926712008-08-14T21:13:00.002Z2008-08-14T21:23:37.979Z

Well last night was certainly traumatic - all those horrible mouse tensions returning. Having to remove a mouse from your cat at three in the morning is not everyone's idea of a good night's sleep. And less than twelve hours earlier there was another one. They're back, and I'm at my wit's end again. Love to know what's going on. Why they disappeared so utterly when zoe moved in (after a far

peternoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3012854.post-48478681270273295492008-08-14T12:03:00.004Z2008-08-14T12:42:25.128Z

Seen this about the place, so thought I'd have a go... 1. My uncle once: lived in another land far away and I never met him. 2. Never in my life: have I met any uncles. 3. When I was five: I had a big birthday party which I hated because everybody else won a prize except me. 4. High school was: called Grammar-Technical School. (The Technical part was because they let some thickos in.) 5. I

peternoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3012854.post-73824251552436512732008-08-14T08:49:00.003Z2008-08-14T10:05:56.095Z

Students discussing their A Levels, just five minutes ago. Now don't get me wrong. I'm no racist, me. But I AM a statistician, and I DO understand random sampling, and so I can say without fear of rebuttal that the BBC routinely and deliberately overstate the number of young blacks in the capital. I've lost count of the texts I've sent saying "No young white people in London today, I see." So

peternoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3012854.post-784645815762422582008-08-13T23:01:00.005Z2008-08-14T09:32:47.870Z

Bit of an atmosphere in Naked Mansions this evening. It's almost midnight; I'm up on the couch typing to you with the new keyboard; someone's tearing Michael Barrymore to bits on the telly but I haven't got the sound on; and it would appear a picture of rural idyll. But where is zoe? Well, zoe is pacing the floors like something demented. Her nerves are shot to pieces, and mine aren't far

peternoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3012854.post-72323696016029977182008-08-13T10:16:00.003Z2008-08-13T10:28:04.590Z

Dinner at Sam's was a treat. No wine flowed, although there was a certain whiff of herbal tobacco here and there. And yet we three managed just fine. This must be the first temperance dinner in the whole of queendom. Cigarettes and whisky and wild, wild women. Sandra was the wild woman. Still recovering from her opening at The Village, she was on fine form, attempting to order me about while I

peternoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3012854.post-23437293483797760652008-08-12T09:20:00.007Z2008-08-12T10:33:21.432Z

Yes, your favourite blogger is out to dinner tonight! At Sam's, with famous artist Sandra in attendance also. Can't remember last time I was thusly out. Excited. Strangely, not one drop of booze will be there. Not one. Let's see if it can be done. Enjoyment without intoxication. Dry eleven weeks now. SPEND, SPEND, SPEND This month's non-boozing treat will be a more powerful wireless LAN. The

peternoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3012854.post-68929118070479485872008-08-12T06:36:00.007Z2008-08-12T07:38:46.585Z

In this the second episode, entitled The Fifth Ape, Richard Dawkins moved on from evolution in general to delve deeper into the theory as it affects our own species. There were two strands to the show - our common ancestry with chimpanzees, beautifully highlighted with an example, and then moving on closer to Selfish Gene territory, Social Darwinism and the roots of altruism. Heady stuff. Last

peternoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3012854.post-57563347271288563822008-08-09T07:46:00.002Z2008-08-09T08:10:50.518Z

It's true. Degas, Whistler et al might well be strutting their old-fashioned stuff at the National Gallery of Scotland... but for the true connoisseur there's only one exhibition worth going to this month, and that is me mate Sandra's. Grand opening tonight. The Village, South Fort Street, Edinburgh. (I hesitate to give that concern any more free publicity than the acres I already have, for

peternoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3012854.post-85844226055522171032008-08-08T09:31:00.004Z2008-08-08T10:13:17.349Z

Yes, I've gone and got one yesterday. Freedom Bluetooth Keyboard. PC World 49.99 if you order it online and collect from store, as opposed to 69.99 if you don't. (Seems totally unfair, but I didn't argue with the twenty quid reduction for simply printing out an order.) I'd planned on a folding keyboard right from the start of my Nokia N95 8Gb experience, as the phonepad is of limited use,

peternoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3012854.post-23407924785899882322008-08-07T21:41:00.002Z2008-08-07T22:15:04.893Z

And hi to all my reader. This is an historic post - the first from my new Bluetooth keyboard (collapsible). The poor man's laptop! And what a difference a bluetooth makes! I could get to like this I'm sure... blogging atcha from the comfort of my sofa, rather than the strictures of the kitchen table. (Sorry - just had to break off for a blast of Dusty... I just can't make it on my own..

peternoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3012854.post-28832496449754668232008-08-06T15:31:00.002Z2008-08-06T15:45:19.883Z

Apologies for the late publication of this piece, due to Blogger's indisposition. Oh dear. The washout continues, and if anything intensifies. This is not good for the national psyche, and even less so for my own. Wall to wall cloud. Whilst my dear Florida readers escape from the heat to North Carolina. Personally I blame Gordon Brown. Always had good weather with Tony. High Maintenance

peternoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3012854.post-30637496197076597282008-08-06T12:45:00.000Z2008-08-06T15:48:41.951Z

Richard Dawkins, the universe's most famous atheist, was on Channel Four banging his gums about Darwin on Monday. Fascinating show, and would have been better if he'd managed NOT to go on about God so much. Grow up, Richard. We're all OVER God by now. It's the post-God age, and yes - partly due to you. But much more to Charles Darwin. More of him, and less God from now on, please. Did you know

peternoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3012854.post-37842781861896228772008-08-04T04:38:00.002Z2008-08-04T05:24:17.227Z

It was somewhere in the nineties I discovered the anti-depressant properties of the Friends series. Every December, January... glued to the box for that magical half hour of New York fun, laughter, and - crucially - companionship. As opposed to Leith analysis, hatred and - quite crucially - loneliness. Now of course, this effect is universally recognised. "LIFT YOUR MOOD WITH RADOX AND FRIENDS."

peternoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3012854.post-75537461053766756562008-08-01T09:13:00.005Z2008-08-01T10:20:09.747Z

August is here and it's wet, wet, wet. So wet that a thoughtful neighbour across the landing has placed a red plastic bucket to catch drips from the roof. Yes, our roof is still leaky and damaged. We should of course fix it, but that would mean all of us talking to each other, and that ain't ever gonna happen. Gatherings like that are called "stair meetings", the "stair" being the not only a

peternoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3012854.post-76283892573405794012008-07-30T11:15:00.004Z2008-07-30T16:50:07.321Z

No less than three new pieces since this time yesterday. Enjoy. Update: And here seems to be a fourth... Indebted to Richard Bloomfield, formerly of this parish, for this article on truphone. Seems to be the biz. Could phone my two overseas friends for nothing. Or next to. Although my Nokia N95 8GB comes VOIP-ready, provider Vodafone disable that feature for reasons of greed. Richard is having

peternoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3012854.post-54077435384577218402008-07-30T10:49:00.003Z2008-07-30T11:09:31.392Z

This finished last night, ever so slightly subdued, I thought. There was a hint of a different ending, dark indeed, but this didn't materialise. As if Chris Lilley was saying, "Look what I could have done, but didn't." (I don't want to give out any spoilers, unlike the Radio Times which specialises in them.) Summer Heights High is an extraordinary work, no less so than for the ending, which

peternoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3012854.post-21904980945841212342008-07-30T10:13:00.004Z2008-07-30T11:27:56.991Z

Yesterday I wrote a scurrilous little piece, suggesting that man's dangly bits can be used for non-reproductive fun. Sex without babies. Sex without the opposite sex. Sex without anyone else there at all, in fact. And God was not Pleased. He sent fire and brimstone, thunder and lightning. And rain, lots of rain. (All of this and more in that very post below. I'm not making it up.) But God

peternoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3012854.post-24431374197652378172008-07-29T20:02:00.005Z2008-07-30T10:49:11.695Z

I've said it before, and I'll say it again. The BBC seem to have some mission to promote reproduction. Never mind that the country and planet are overpopulated almost to three deep, the Beeb both in its animal shows and human constantly exhorts us all to "fuck, fuck, fuck". Take the show in the title. Dr Alice Roberts: Don't Die Young. Tonight was titled "male reproductive organs" - by which I

peternoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3012854.post-72232660016156257452008-07-26T08:37:00.003Z2008-07-26T08:55:27.945Z

MIGHTY AND DESPAIR Don't get me wrong - I love you wonderful commenting people. Makes it all worth while. But of late the comments have been almost totally restricted to the pool of faithful friends. Almost no new. None. And why is this? Well, I set about finding out. The John Barrowman post below, however worthwhile or not in its own right, was actually part of a Big Google Experiment.

peternoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3012854.post-34841595099723504392008-07-24T21:12:00.006Z2008-07-25T10:34:14.640Z

JOHN BARROWMAN: THE MAKING OF ME John Barrowman is an actor. Some people are important and positive in gay life, and JB is one such. Por qua? Various reasons. He's handsome and clean cut. Intelligent and healthy-looking. And - crucially - they let him act in children's TV. That last one is a sea change in societal acceptance. Do not underestimate. In this somewhat thrown together show Barrowman

peternoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3012854.post-64770507337236732712008-07-24T12:07:00.004Z2008-07-24T12:54:38.823Z

HOT NOW, SUMMER IN THE CITY Wotta Scorcha! My bingo ladies have taken to fanning themselves with unused bingo books. The boss, astute as ever, is cashing in by selling household fans at a bargain ten pounds. They look good, and are almost silent. Me I get ten percent commission, but sense my claim they're "just the thing for hot flushes" didn't go down too well. Tough. Something ghastly has

peternoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3012854.post-49095246481923863922008-07-21T12:08:00.003Z2008-07-21T12:23:07.728Z

THE BLACK HILLS OF DA PENTLANDS This big lump is Black Hill (501m), which I'm just about to tackle. Gonna start to the right, then contour across left following a line of grouse butts. Black Hill is ugly and boring. I once took a poo at the summit, so I feel the hill is part me. P x

peternoreply@blogger.com