PERFECTION IN SUGAR CONFECTION?

Don't waste your pucker on some all day sucker
And don't try a toffee or cream
If you seek perfection in sugar confection
Well there's something new on the scene

So sang Caractacus Potts and Truly Scrumptious in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang to promote the joys of Caractacus' accidental invention -- TOOT SWEETS, "that mouth full of cheer; that sweet without peer; that musical morsel supreme!"

Well, right now, the confectionary industry could just do with a bit of Mr Potts' sweet inspiration. Currently, the best they can do is tamper with established classics and pretend that the results are something REALLY NEW when in fact all they are doing is revamping well-known and much-loved products and, as a result, cheapening and degrading the ORIGINALS!

Take the newly introduced PLANETS...


New?

Not really! PLANETS turn out to be the various component parts of a Mars bar done up to look like REVELS. Put a handful in your mouth and it's like eating a Mars but without the satisfaction of chewing into the bar.

Then there's FRUITY SMARTIES!


Fruity Smarties?? I ask you! Everyone knows that Smarties are chocolaty not fruity (except for the orange ones!) so what are they doing palming Smarties off on us as a variant form of SKITTLES?

And, finally, there are now GIANT CHOCOLATE BUTTONS...


But WHY? Buttons have always been - well, button sized! That's why they called - er - buttons! The last time anyone saw buttons this big was on Mickey Mouse's pants and coats worn in the 1960s by Jean Shrimpton!

For a contrary opinion, see button's blog!

TAKING THE PILL

In common with many other folk, I am currently taking a LOT of daily medication - pills for this, capsules for that. Some are once, twice or three-times a day, some are only once-a-week and on the day you take those there are others that you mustn't take.

It's potentially confusing and, although only two-thirds of the way to my dotage, I make mistakes: forgetting this or that dose just too late to squeeze one in before the next. Now, if I'm challenged by this regime, how much harder must it be for those who are (really) elderly or have sight-impairment? In fact, having lived in close proximity to several veteran pill-takers, I don't even need to ask the question, I know the answer...

I mention this as a prelude to a quick rant against the drug manufacturers in this country who seem incapable of agreeing on colour-coding for pills and capsules.

Two of my drugs have changed colours - one of them twice - in less than a year, which means that just when you've got used to remembering that blood pressure equals a pink-and-white capsule it suddenly becomes a pale-green-and-white capsule and then, only a month or two later, inexplicably changes again into a yellow-and-white capsule!


So, why use any colours if they're not important? I bet that even among those clever pharmaceuticalists there are those who avoid orange-coloured Smarties or green-hued Wine Gums! So, why not just settle on a colour combination and bloody well stick to it, then everyone knows where they are and - more importantly - what they're on!

FATAL TIE

This is my fatal tie...

Whenever and wherever I wear it, I get something down it!

On it goes and out I go; within the hour, I've drizzled it with balsamic salad dressing. So, I have it cleaned. A week later, I go to a wedding and someone bumps into me at the reception liberally splashing the tie with champagne; I turn round to dab it and someone else joggles my elbow so that I now splash more champagne down it.

And so, off it goes to be cleaned again in order to enjoy the Ho Sin sauce or the minestrone that awaits it at a meal or two down the road...

I guess we all have such items in our wardrobes, don't we? The trousers that always seek out the cinema seat with gum on it, the skirt that acts as a permanent grease-magnet, the white jacket with an insatiable appetite for curry, tomato ketchup and cappuccino froth.

But why is this an immutable law of clothing? And, more to the point, why is always the most expensive garments that behave in this way? Is it because they are showing off and get too cocky and, therefore, careless? Or are they really trying to be like old rubbishy clothes in wanting to get down and dirty?

Of course they are wasting their time because old clothes are always, without fail, chocolate-proof and gravy-retardant!

BETTER LATE...

The United States Postal Service used to guarantee its proficiency with a phrase borrowed from the Pony Express Riders...


Amazingly, this cliché actually dates back to the 5th Century BC and the writings of the Greek historian, Herodotus, who praised the horseback messengers of King Xerxes of the Persians in these words...


Since this doubtless looks all Greek to you, here's a literal translation by Bill Casselman, to whose fascinating website on books and words I am indebted for this information:

...Not snowstorm, not thunder-shower, not heat, not night shall work to delay their imposed mail-route nor their carrying it out as fast as possible.

Unfortunately, in the UK the Royal Mail don't seem to have quite the same dedication as those Persian riders or their later North American counterparts.

For example...

I have JUST RECEIVED a somewhat belated CHRISTMAS CARD from the wonderfully talented author, artist and illustrator Ian Beck...


Thanks, very much Ian! nice to be remembered and the new book looks good!


So.....

When did Ian POST this card which was correctly addressed including the all-important postal code?

FIVE MONTHS ago TODAY!!

22 December 2006

Still, at least it was posted FIRST CLASS!

Anyway, bearing mind how much snow, rain, heat and gloom of night we've gone through in the past five months, I suppose it's a bloody marvel it arrived at all!


[Images: Illustrations by Ian Beck from Butterfingers by Juliet Trewellard]

PLAYING FAIR

We really are a desperately territorial species. This doubtless explains why the residents of three of the four flats in our house feel assaulted by the fact that - without so much as a Do-You-Mind or a By-Your-Leave - one family have annexed no less than HALF of the communally-shared garden and turned it into an adventure playground for their two children...


The rest of us are considering our options, ranging from complaints to some authority or other such as Health-and-Safety-Weights-and-Measures- Town-and-Country-Planning to good old-fashioned ARSON!

My latest response, however, is to investigate the possibilities of purchasing and installing a large family of gibbons, setting up a turnstile and licensing a few hot-dog, ice-cream and Coca-Cola concessions!

FAREWELL, WONDERDRUG!

A couple of months ago, when I was told I was going to be introduced to the lovely, gifted Ms Wonderdrug, the cure for all my ills, I blogged on the topic of unwanted side effects.

Well, Wonderdrug and I formally began our relationship two weeks ago and already we have fallen out big time and parted company --- forever! Indeed, I'm seriously considering suing for breach of promise…

“Which of the Unwanted Side Effects are you experiencing?” asked the Specialist at the hospital.

“Do you have the list?” I replied, “Well, basically tick off every other one: sore throat, cold symptoms, diarrhoea, stiffening of the limbs, shoulder pains, exhaustion, bruising, and - especially enjoyable - ‘little red spots all over the body’…”

So Wonderdrug and I have been granted a decree nisi and I get custody of all the Pains! Now I’m moving back in with the Steroids - who tend to make me put on weight but are, otherwise, really good friends who kindly look after the Pains while I get on with other things. Certainly any damage they may cause they do without making all the fuss and noise that I experienced with Ms Wonderdrug…

I have to wait two weeks until Wonderdrug has packed her things and finally moved out of my body; then - when the divorce is absolute - they’ll set up some dates with one or two Newdrugs that may - or may not - prove more compatible…

Frankly, I’m not hopeful. I’ve been though a painful experience and am older and wiser; apart from which the Specialist told me, with a resigned shrug: “Most of the other drugs also have side-effects for Some People…”

That “Some People” felt vaguely accusatory, as if it was my fault Wonderdrug and I hadn’t hit it off… And maybe it is…

While we wait, there’s a new diversion to keep me amused: a bone-density scan to discover whether there is any underlying problem with my inner scaffolding that might explain why I quite so easily fractured a bone in my foot simply by stepping off a bus…

“The trouble with doctors,” my old Dad used to say, “is once they get their hooks into you…”

He always broke off at that point, but I think I know what he meant…

USAGE & ABUSAGE

Am I alone in despising the way in which advertising copywriters are constantly trivialising words in the English language whose meaning is far too precious to be tossed idly about in the marketplace?

Here are two current examples from our store cupboard, beginning with Dorset Cereals...

Now, I hate to complain about these people because their products are undeniably scrumptious, but their advertisers taste in hyperbole is a little too rich for my stomach, such as describing the content weight of the package as "750g of unadulterated breakfast pleasure"!

And, if you think that's over the top, then consider the strapline that is actually ON the top of the box...


Tasty? OK... But REAL? And HONEST?

Honestly!

My other current offender is the manufacturer of this brand of toilet tissue that proudly takes for its name a golden word that is all too easily devalued and tarnished without the aid of the loo-roll industry...


FREEDOM?? Freedom to what...? Freedom from what...?

Oh, please!

And, to make matters worse, it is - as it says on the packet - MEADOW GREEN and PERFUMED!

MY LEFT FOOT…

…is broken! Or, to be specific, my fifth metatarsal is suffering from a stress fracture. My God! What a state I’m in - even my FEET are stressed!

Strange how a bizarre chain of events can lead to five hours sitting in A & E waiting rooms, x-ray waiting rooms, fracture clinic waiting rooms…

There I was, yesterday, on one of those long bendy buses, so beloved by the Mayor of London, on my way to Victoria… We were on the middle of Vauxhall Bridge, when a passenger came down from the far-off distant end of the bus to speak to the driver.

“There’s a man being ill at the back of the bus,” she told him. “Ill?” he asked. “Being sick,” she replied; and then added, graphically, “It’s everywhere and now it’s running down the bus!”

She wasn’t exaggerating. The stench was already all pervasive and the occupants of that end of the bus were rapidly migrating ahead of a veritable river of vomit…

The driver pulled over and, not unreasonably, announced that the bus was being taken out of service. We were all hustled off and in the pushing and shoving I stepped down awkwardly, was conscious of a searing pain in my left foot and felt - and maybe even heard - a CRACK!

So, one man’s nausea is another man’s fracture and that is how I got to spend so many hours at the hospital and, as a prize for endurance, won myself a pair of crutches…

Offered the option of a plaster cast last evening or a wait till this morning in order to have the lighter-weight fibreglass cast, I chose the second option and returned today…

According to the doctor, this particular injury is one usually sustained by young squaddies who’ve done too much marching - not applicable to me, of course! - but is one that also affects people, such as myself, on steroids.

I was, therefore, (if you’ll pardon the pun) bracing myself for four to six weeks in a cast; mercifully, however, the doctor decided that the trauma of coping with a cast and crutches as well as the problems of psoriatic arthritis was probably not worth any possible benefits and that, instead, I should keep it supported and wait for it (hopefully) to heal…

For the moment, I’m retaining the crutches to ease mobility and, if necessary, to brain anyone on a bus who looks as if they might be about to throw up!

HYGIENE LOW-DOWN

Home again to an empty diary and an empty bank balance...

By Zeus, but it's terribly tempting to re-pack and fly off back to Emporios!

However, it is perhaps time to count one's blessings: after all, there must be something good about being back in the UK...

And, yes, there is!

Now, it's true to say that there are some people - many people I believe - who, as the end of their holiday draws near, find themselves yearning for the homely comfort of their own bed.

Not me! I'm one of those who's simply longing for a loo…

If you'll pardon my frankness, I have to say that the most testing thing about holidaying in Greece is a national plumbing system that dictates that soiled toilet paper cannot be disposed off in the customary fashion, but has to be deposited in a bin designated for that purpose…

In the pre-Andrex days when the Romans built the communal latrines that can still be viewed at the Agora in Athens, they cleansed themselves with a sponge on a stick rinsed in a culvert of constantly flowing water that ran in front of the seats…


But for modern-day Greeks, toilet-tissue is a real issue and leads to some interesting attempts to meet the expectations of visitors from those parts of the world where collecting used loo-paper is not a tradition (especially the cleanliness-conscious Americans and Japanese), while at the same time attempting to avoid major disruption of the national sewage system!

Many taverna loos now sport notices announcing sophisticated disinfecting systems alongside those reminding you where to file your paperwork…



In one of the restrooms in the lounge at Athens airport - stylishly upgraded a few years back to welcome Olympic visitors - there is an amazing, self-cleaning loo-seat (or would be if it were fully functional!) adjacent to which stands a loo-paper-container which has, regrettably, long-since lost its tip-up lid…


Oh, well, as they say: "S*** happens!" The important thing is being able to flush afterwards...

[Images (as if you'd want to nick these ones!): © Brian Sibley & David Weeks]

GREEK SHRIEKS

Yesterday, being Sunday, day-trippers invaded Emporios - just as they no doubt staged similar invasions on beaches at Brighton, Hastings and Blackpool…

One family arrived in three cars and a boat, bringing with them vast quantities of bags, cold-boxes, li-los, floats, rings, blow-up dinghies and a swarm of kids who commandeered the length of the beach and spent most of the day yelling at one another in high-decibel, ear-splitting screeches and screaming in rage whenever one of their flotilla of rubber-beach toys was purloined or when one of them was not-altogether accidentally hit by a lobbed stone or clobbered by a flailing oar…

There was ghastly universality about their behaviour that seemed all the more extreme because the beach at Emporios is normally a haven of undisturbed peace and quiet!

They eventually departed and those of us who remained - along with the trees and the hills - breathed a sigh of relief!

HERE OR THERE

“How you doing, there?” asked the genial young man in a yellow fluorescent tabard at Heathrow Airport. This (after “No problems!”) is one of the great non-phrases of our time. “If only we were THERE,” I wanted to say, “and not HERE!” But I resisted: he meant well, he was doing his bit to help keep up Brit morale in difficult times…

And, as it happened, it wasn’t such an ordeal - certainly not on the level of those who had attempted to travel over the past few days. Keeping everyone corralled outside the terminal until the flights were called made for a luxuriously un-crowded concourse and an amazing swift check-in.

Security was evidently more efficient, experienced or just less punctilious and the only real complication was the announcement this morning that the ban on hand-baggage had been relaxed.

I was amused in watching early morning TV before setting off for the airport to hear a reporter at Heathrow say: “So, see-thru plastic bags for carry-on are a thing of the past…” The past? It had only been in operation for four days!

The authorities were clear that the relaxation of the ban on carry-on bags was ‘partial’, although that seemed to have by-passed many travellers who were turning up as they normally do with enough cabin luggage to reasonably require a sizeable team of native bearers to handle.

‘Partial relaxation’ actually meant the introduction of a new maximum-size for bags that is several inches smaller than the previous one. The crates into which you are supposed to be able to fit your carry-on luggage before attempting to carry-it-on have all been re-lined with a metal box with a smaller slot. This is a fascinating development: clearly permanent, not temporary, and also - if you think about it - clearly nothing whatever to do with security.

Any terrorist worth his salt would not be daunted by the restraints of a smaller piece of hand-baggage in which to carry-on essential explosives. No, this is the airlines seizing the opportunity to limit the amount of in-cabin luggage carried in planes and which is self-evidently the bane of every air-stewardess’ daily life and also - and more crucially, necessitates the use of extra, costly fuel…

Who knows, there may also be some sticky backhanders being passed between the BAA, the airlines and the manufacturers of bags and baggage since we had to purchase a new computer carrying-case as the existing one was 5mm too large!

Anyway, after days of stress and anxiety, we took off and a little less than three hours later landed in Athens at the swanky new airport built for the last Olympic Games.

We are staying overnight at the Sofitel Hotel, which must be one of the few hotels than can legitimately boast: “30 seconds from the airport”! Nice room; superb food; elegant décor --- it’s just a pity, for such a new hotel, that the statuary in the lobby has already been vandalised!

WANTED: SIDE EFFECTS!

With the diagnosis, yesterday, that I am suffering from psoriatic arthritis, came a prescription for new medication and an introductory leaflet containing a lengthy litany of the ills that may befall me once I start the regime. I quote:

“The most common unwanted side effects are nausea, stomach pains and soreness of the mouth and lips…

“Less common unwanted side effects include vomiting; diarrhoea; loss of appetite; tiredness; drowsiness; feeling weak; dizziness; eye irritation; mood changes; loss of interest in; or ability to have sex; fever, chills; pain in the joints and muscles; acne; boils; vaginal ulcers…

“In a small number of patients, this drug may cause serious unwanted side effects - a numb or tingling feeling, a painful lump in your neck, hair loss, loss of consciousness, tiny red spots on the skin, black or tarry stools, an inability to move, difficulty with speech, fits or confusion and, on rare occasions, death...”

In the event of any of the aforementioned, the patient is advised to "consult your doctor immediately", although, in the event of the last-named side effect (to wit, kicking the bucket), that would seem a tad difficult!

Anyway, it has left me asking myself, if those are the UNwanted side effects - what, for pity's sake, are the WANTED side effects?!

[Image: Gimpy Mumpy. Check out this great site, enjoy Mumpy's cartoons and support CWD (Crip World Domination)]

THE PENALTY FOR BEING INGURLISH

Oh, well. That’s that then…

What can one say? As an exit, it hardly seems unexpected...

Anyway, we can now toss all those made-in-Hong-Kong St George's flags away for another four years, go back to eating plain old 'Mars' (rather than 'Believe') bars and spare a few moments to ask ourselves how the hell we ever managed to get it right in 1966.

Nevertheless, I vote that it's really time to tell Becks & Co that, in future, they'll be paid on a strictly 'performance-related' basis!

No goals, no millionaire life-style.

Who knows, it might provide a bit of necessary stimulus and focus...

DISNEYLAND PLUNDERED BY PIRATES!

Disneyland fans (as devoutly loyal a band of souls one could ever wish to meet) are, according to the ‘Los Angeles Times’ (and several other Californian publications) deeply divided about goings-on at The Magic Kingdom...

The cause of their anxiety, disquiet or downright dismay - depending on which faction you listen to - is the makeover that has recently been completed on the veteran attraction, ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’.

The canal-boat ride-thru, featuring Audio-Animatronic pirates plundering and pillaging their way across the Spanish Main, originally opened at Disneyland in March 1967 and was the last major attraction at the park to have been personally supervised by Walt Disney, who had died three months earlier.

For nigh on forty years, ‘Pirates’ has been one of Disneyland’s most popular rides - as indeed is also the case in Disney’s Florida, Paris and Tokyo theme parks.

And that’s how everything merrily rolled along until 2003, when Disney trawled up a net-load of treasure-trove with a movie inspired by the attraction and called ‘Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl’.

The film’s huge success - due, in no small measure, to Johnny Depp’s high-camp performance as Captain Jack Sparrow and the accompanying eye-candy provided by Orlando Bloom and Keira Knightley - immediately sent Disney questing after more box-office gold. As a result, it was soon announced that not one, but TWO, sequels were in the offing: ‘Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest’, opening next month, and the still-to-be-titled ‘Pirates of the Caribbean 3’, due on our cinema screens in 2007.

Then came the problem: visitors to Disneyland - other than those who've been going there since they were tiny tots and therefore understood the lore and history of the park - stood in line for an hour or more to ride ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’ and came out wondering what in the name of Davy Jones was going on and what the hell had happened to Jack Sparrow?

Disney’s solution? Revamp the ride to incorporate Jack and tie the attraction more securely to what looks like an unsinkable movie franchise.

And thus the fan’s dilemma... Do they sing, “Yo-ho, Yo-ho, they’ve given a much-loved attraction a little more fun and excitement!” or do they whine, “Boo-hoo, boo-hoo, they’re spoiling and ruining our all-time favourite ride!”

Whether you're a Disney theme park fan or not, this is an interesting microcosmic example of how many of us find ourselves feeling when changes and modernisations are carried out at places where memory has caused us to make strong, bindingly emotional investments.

Perhaps we all need reminding that change is part of life and that accepting those changes and adjusting to them is an inevitable part of the challenge of living…

As for Disneyland, well Walt himself would, I suspect, have been far more pragmatic than some of his most devoted followers… After all, he once said: "Disneyland will never be completed. It will continue to grow as long as there is imagination left in the world." And I reckon that would have included letting Jack Sparrow into ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’!

Oh, yes, and while on the subject of the outrageous Cap’n Jack, my little friend, Buttons asked me to share this picture of him avast-and-belaying on the deck of ‘The Black Pearl’.

Naturally, he would really like you to believe that he was on intimate buddy-buddy terms with Mr Depp, but the truth is that this encounter actually took place in the Hollywood Wax Museum - although I am happy to confirm that Buttons is most certainly NOT made of candle-grease!

Buttons also points out that some of his exploits “Are, as well worth reading", as he charmingly puts it, "as anything on Brian’s stupid blog!”

I’m afraid, for a rabbit, he’s extremely forthright!


[Poster: Comingsoon.net; Wax Museum: © Brian Sibley]]

THE BELLS! THE BELLS!

I am aroused, as I am every Sunday morning, by the clangour of church bells, merrily pealing out across the lea…

Well, actually, rattling the goddam windows!

There are several GOOD things about living next door to a church: it can be very handy if you happen to find yourself in sudden need of sanctuary; and it is also useful because, having a lightning conductor on the spire, it’s far more likely to get struck by lightning than you are!

But as for the bells… Oh, no, no, no!

Now, I was brought up in the country (it’s not really country anymore, but it was then - and I’m talking about having a blacksmith with an open forge in the village high street!) so I KNOW about church bells.

Indeed, I’ve even served my turn tolling the single bell for the Angelus, so I’m well aware that complex clarions are only achieved as a result of a lot of expertise, practice and an acquired understanding of such terms as ‘Little Bobs’ and ‘Weasels’.

I also know that bell ringing should really only be done by a team of hoary old yokels drawn from a 1950s cast of ‘The Archers (An Everyday Story of Country Folk)’ ideally with such names as Ned Larkin, Tom Forrest and Walter Gabriel.

What Bell ringing most certainly is NOT, is having the vicar of a church flick a switch in order to turn on an electronic recording…

Every Sunday morning, our relatively peaceful neighbourhood is shaken by a riotous ding-donging of bells (involving first-rate ‘treble bobs’ and ‘dodges’) niftily accomplished by the ringers from St Gudgeon’s, Tittums Touch, and transmitted to the rudely-awakened world via a rather tiny loudspeaker in the tower.

And as if that wasn’t bad enough, EVERY evening at six o’clock we are treated to a flat-ish rendition of the first verse of ‘The Day Thou Gavest, Lord, is Ended’ (words by John Ellerton, music by Clement C Scholefield, 1874), which may well have been one of Queen Victoria’s favourites but which, heard on a daily basis, soon outstays its welcome and is seldom ENDED quickly enough!

Incidentally, those not aux fait with the darker recesses of ‘Hymns Ancient & Modern’ may care to BRIEFLY check out this turgid little number... Just turn up those speakers for maximum effect --- and think BELLS!

Anyway, Lord Tennyson may well have written: “Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,” but I tell you, if he’d been living next to OUR next-door church he’d have been wildly praying for a power-cut!

[Image: © Brian Sibley]

"YOGHURT CULTURE, BUT NOT AS WE KNOW IT, JIM!"

I’ve just started off the day with a pot of Muller light yoghurt. Nothing, please note, as run-of-the-mill as peach or raspberry. Oh, no! I’m talking about CHERRY BAKEWELL TART Flavour --- with Cake Pieces!

We once had Stilton sorbet, but that was after dinner in one of those fancy restaurants where such things can happen. It’s altogether different to come across Cherry Bakewell Tart-flavoured yoghurt - at the breakfast table!

Apparently, Muller also offer Strawberry Cheesecake, Lemon Cheesecake and Apple Pie yoghurts: all of which, to me, seem like the kind of food that one would normally expect to encounter in reasonably solid - as opposed to semi-liquid - form and to ingest by chewing rather than slurping…

Maybe they’re really intended as comfort food for grown-ups who secretly yearn to return to their babyhood when a chicken dinner came in a bottle

Anyway, keep watching the chiller cabinet, because it can only be a matter of time before Muller come up with the Bacon, Egg, Sausage and Black Pudding Yoghurt -- with Toast Pieces, naturally!