And so it begins...

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/africa/7165406.stm

Two presidents? With two presidents come two governments, two armies and all the joys of civil war. Merry Christmas Kenya, and a happy new year.

On the twelfth day of Christmas the rebels gave to me
12 amputations bloodily
On the eleventh day of Christmas the UN gave to me
11 sanctions pointlessly
On the tenth day of Christmas the Government gave to me
10 "rebels" shot randomly
On the 9th day of Christmas?...

Sponsor a Soldier

I think charity gifts are a wonderful idea, but I'd like to see a bit of variety in the sort of options available to buy. Perhaps they could have a "Sponsor a Squaddie" option, where you could send CDs, DVDs, Video Games or even toiletries and confectionary to a member of the Armed Forces serving overseas?
Murdoch MacKinnon, Inverness, UK

- Taken from a BBC News Magazine discussion.

I'd call it Sponsor a Soldier, but certainly.

Terry and the Bomb

Author Terry Pratchett is suffering from a rare form of early Alzheimer's disease, it has been revealed. #

"All other things being equal, I expect to meet most current and, as far as possible, future commitments but will discuss things with the various organisers," he said.

"Frankly, I would prefer it if people kept things cheerful, because I think there's time for at least a few more books yet."

He told fans the statement should be interpreted as "I am not dead".

Actually I'm fairly sure he didn't. I would lay money he actually said the statement should be interpreted as "I ate'nt dead".

Did You Know?

The Welsh word for June is Meh.

War Song of the Saracens

We are they who come faster than fate: we are they who ride early or late:
We storm at your ivory gate: Pale Kings of the Sunset, beware!
Not on silk nor in samet we lie, not in curtained solemnity die
Among women who chatter and cry, and children who mumble a prayer.
But we sleep by the ropes of the camp, and we rise with a shout, and we tramp
With the sun or the moon for a lamp, and the spray of the wind in our hair.

From the lands, where the elephants are, to the forts of Merou and Balghar,
Our steel we have brought and our star to shine on the ruins of Rum.
We have marched from the Indus to Spain, and by God we will go there again;
We have stood on the shore of the plain where the Waters of Destiny boom.
A mart of destruction we made at Jalula where men were afraid,
For death was a difficult trade, and the sword was a broker of doom;

And the Spear was a Desert Physician who cured not a few of ambition,
And drave not a few to perdition with medicine bitter and strong:
And the shield was a grief to the fool and as bright as a desolate pool,
And as straight as the rock of Stamboul when their cavalry thundered along:
For the coward was drowned with the brave when our battle sheered up like a wave,
And the dead to the desert we gave, and the glory to God in our song.

-- James Elroy Flecker #

My mother likes to quote the "mart of destruction" line whenever I leave my room in a tip.

The News

Good evening. I'm Ron Burgundy and here's whats happening in your world tonight. been happening with Will for the past six weeks.

Wednesday 20th June: Went to the barracks in Cardiff to go on the advance party for OTC summer camp. Due to a cockup and there still being a United States Army artillery unit in our accomodation, we didn't leave until...

Friday 22nd June: Arrived Knook Camp, Salisbury Plain. Unpacked kit ready for...

Saturday 23rd June: Summer Camp began. 1920's Gangster Social.

Sunday 24th June: Deployed 'into the field' in the evening. Everyone else by bus or army truck. Those being hardcore and doing Cambrian Patrol training/selection did it on foot, 12km in full gear, like real manly men. Wouldn't have been so bad if I didn't have the radio as well...

Monday 25th June: Lessons on military stuff, night navigation exercise.

Tuesday 26th June: More lessons, night patrol being ambushed and freezing in the light of far too many flares, etc etc. Also falling over Scott while re-orging and cutting my leg on the sights of his LSW. Oops.

Wednesday 27th June: More lessons. Saw paras drop onto the DZ a couple of hundred metres from our wood. Agreed to tell everyone else it was us in the photos we took. Departed for a new wood further away from the mockup village everyone else was living and learning how to fight in. Night time CTR (Close Target Reconnaissance) of the village. You drop a fireteam off in cover, then move in, leave a close support pair and recce with just the section commander and scout. I was in the close support, which was still pretty awesome, but the recce pair got into the HQ building (Bangalore Primary School) and sat in the room next door to the radio post listening to one of the staff brushing his teeth. Awesome. One of the other sections was ambushed just ahead of us on the way back and we counterattacked the ambushers. Later found out they pegged it for 2km still wearing all the fleeces, gloves, waterproofs etc they'd been lying waiting for us in. I'm sure that warmed the poor dears up wonderfully.

Thursday 28th June: Moved into the village. Watched demonstrations by various visiting units. Had annual photograph. Set up barriers and defences in Shrewton street. Prepared to defend it against the horde. Was found asleep on my feet standing next to my sleeping bag, still wearing webbing and holding my rifle, by the guy who was supposed to wake me for sentry duty.

Friday 29th June: The battle of Shrewton Street, where the few shall stand against the many and numbers count for nothing. No really, we were outnumbered at least 6-1 but had bottlenecked the street so well with wire that we were told to counterattack and die gloriously rather than let them take another hour to fight through it. Packed up and marched all the way back to camp. The disorganised main body (everyone else) took another two hours to get their act together and passed us in buses about 1km from the camp. Slackers. Had a BBQ in the evening. Ate a Basra Badger's weight in meat.

Saturday 30th June: Sports day, during which plenty of examples of the Cambrian shuffle (like limping, but with both legs) could be seen. In the evening was the formal dinner, at which I got excessively ratarsed, but at least wasn't the one who threw up all over the table and himself as the top table were just standing up to leave. That was my truly inspirational section commander.

Sunday 1st July: Was hungover.

Monday 2nd to Wednesday 4th July: Section Competition over 3 days. In the order we did them: Navigation; Stands (observation, casualty evacuation, command tasks including driving a Landrover blindfolded); March and Shoot. Cambrian sections, being the elite (and half the size of everyone else's) didn't count in the official rankings, but unofficially we came second of the three Cambrian sections, which beat the rest easily. We also had the fastest time in the march and shoot by nearly a minute (18:53 to 19:40 from 2 Section, 21+ from 1 Section and 23+ from the best of the main body). Our shooting was crap though.

Thursday 5th July: Corps visits: I went to the Royal Armoured Corps, played on a tank gunner arcade simulator with 5 other guys, had a curry buffet lunch and rode in a Challenger 2. Very civilised. Was stuck on guard duty while the band of the Royal Welsh beat the retreat (including a suite from Last of the Mohicans) at sunset, which was quite cool.

Friday 6th July: Had the final parade with promotions, awards etc. Found out I was chosen as best first year from Cardiff Company, although the guy from Aber got it overall along with a huge cup. A worrying lack of judgement from my superiors anyway! Packed up and prepared for the evening's entertainment: skits. Got pumped up on a lethal mixture of neat spirits in a massive vodka bottle being passed around while we skulked around the back of the mess in costume, before performing a special Cambrian version of the 300 in a uniform of helmets, webbing, bedsheet cloaks, flipflops and sock-stuffed boxers, wielding cardboard shields and broomstick handles. Fortunately I got to wear my black rowing techtop underneath, in order to double up as a Sergeant Major/black clad Immortal. The other skits, done by normal company divisions (Aber, Bangor, Cardiff and finally Swansea) were around 5 or 10 minutes. Ours was 13 in the one read through rehearsal and a staggering, cross dressing, bulge flaunting nigh on half hour in performance. Wasn't it lovely, boys and girls?!

Saturday 7th July: Coach back to Cardiff, Pizza Hut, Die Hard 4.0, slept in the barracks.

Sunday 8th to Friday 13th July: Adventure training in Pembrokeshire. Kitesurfing, walking, climbing, land yachting, clay pigeon shooting and kayaking. Also tried wakeboarding instead of kitesurfing when the wind was too light. I was crap, but had great fun steering the Gemini rib (an inflatable tube on each side of a flat board, with an engine on the back) while the instructor did a demonstration, on the basis that I'd "steered boats before". Yeah... canal boats and a dinghy in Scotland that goes about 10 knots (nautical miles per hour, a bit faster than mph). The Gemini does up to 46 knots. Schweeet.

Saturday 14th July: Got back at 1.30am, stayed up til about 5 emptying my camera onto my laptop, faffing on Facebook etc and went paintballing for Jim's birthday at too early o'clock. Will T claimed the credit for letting them know it was Jim's birthday, so he got the honourary 'best man' positition - joining Jim and a stag weekend pair in dresses, being told they were invulnerable and were out of the last game only when they couldn't take the pain anymore. Having admired their bruises and driven home we broke into my house for my swimming stuff by lifting Jim up to the open bathroom window. Chez Jim for swimming and more admiring of bruises, then I fell asleep while the others played Wii.

Sunday 15th to Friday 20th July: Mountain Leader Training in Snowdonia (while based on Anglesey). Walked up several mountains including Snowdon. Ended up spending Friday night at a random party in a house full of OTC people that we (myself and Gaz, also from Cardiff, also on the MLT course) saw from the pub in Bangor we were meeting his Pembrokeshire dalliance in on Tuesday night. Recipe for a good party: a giant space hopper, persuading a random girl to go buy sambuca from the offie up the road, shooting the empties with airguns in the alley behind the house, trying to handcuff people to the bannister, going out to a pound a pint (on a FRIDAY) dive, going back to a pub behind the house that someone's friend was meant to have closed up hours ago, falling asleep in a chair, going back to the house and climbing in the kitchen window in order to fall asleep on the sofa with a Finding Nemo turtle cushion for a pillow. Amazingly I managed to get up in the morning for...

Saturday 21st June to Thursday 26th July: Coillighillie. Got on the train at 8am, got off the bus that replaced the train to Strathcarron from Inverness due to rockfalls on the track at 8.30pm, having joined up with Tamsin who'd got a flight to Inverness. Bangor - Crewe - Glasgow - Perth - Inverness - (Achnasheen) - Strathcarron. Five changes of train plus a bonus one onto the bus at Achnasheen. Crazy. Did the Coillieghillie boat-rowing seal-spotting sandcastle-building hill-climbing Potter-reading thing. Returned on Thursday to make sure Sarah had time to prepare for flying out on holiday on the Saturday.

Friday 27th July: Went to Freeport and dragged Tamsin to Transformers.

Saturday 28th July: Packed Tamsin off home. Started reading Harry Potter again from the first book. Continued from where I started just before summer camp, conquering Europe on Medieval Total War (the original, of course).

Sunday 29th July: Went to The Simpsons Movie with Will.

Wednesday 1st August: Started on the great project: Clearing my room of lingering toys, school folders, old clothes, worn out shoes and assorted other mathoms.

Thursday 2nd August: Felt proud for using the word mathom.

And that's the news. You stay classy, San Diego. I'm Ron Burgundy.

Mega Happy Turbo Joy Joy Fun!

glumbert.com - Dolphin massacre in Japan

Worthy cause, but the oh-so-sombre Joaquim Phoenix voiceover cracks me up.

Play Ball

More craziness. Someone who was "not European or American" - in other words, probably a Saudi prince - has bought an Airbus A380 for use as a PRIVATE JET. How awesome could that be? You could have a swimming pool in it!

I found out today I got my first choice Mountain Leader course, so I'm now booked for a solid month of Army stuff from tomorrow, with the exception of the 14th of July, on which I fully expect to go paintballing for Jim's birthday. Get it sorted.

Oh, and Salman Rushdie? Should have got the knighthood BECAUSE Pakistan, Iran etc thought he shouldn't. I loved this quote:

"The British monarch lives under this illusion that Britain is still a 19th Century superpower and that bestowing titles is something still deemed important." #

1. The honours aren't chosen by the monarch, but mostly by the government.
2. If bestowing titles isn't important, why are you worrying about it?
3. We have nukes, you don't. This makes us a superpower and you not. Further evidence is demonstrated by us and our dear colonial comrades effectively conquering Iraq in six weeks.

Someone's a little bit insecure...

Gnarly

What a dude. He could start a whole new extreme sport, much like train surfing.

He/She/It

The verb is indeed to wiki.

Late-Night Bemusement

More sheer genius.

The goverment wants to force predominantly white schools to 'twin' with 'ethnically-diverse schools' to stop racial segregation. Uhuh. Sure thing.

So they're going to force every single school in the countryside to bus their pupils into cities to gawk at the blicks? Genius. Or are they going to send out the black and asian kids so that the poor yokels can understand that they aren't so different after all? As for their white council estate dwelling urban cohabitants, kids hang around with whoever lives on their street and gang up on the next street over. It's their parents who try and place restrictions on them, and who move to segregated areas in the first place, but let's get real. This is not Derry or Sadr city.

If the government wanted to force proportional integration within city schools, fine by me. If they want to introduce the poor yokels to 'persons of colour' then make Trevor Phillips walk through every village in the country. (Preferably over hot coals, for being a cretin.)

A Chip off the Old Shoulder

What a load of balls.

1. The existence of private schools removes the burden of funding the education of 7% of the nations children. They're supposed to be penalised for this?


2. Private schools do not own their teachers. They cannot compell them to work extra hours in state schools. They cannot afford to remove them during timetabled lessons. Private school teachers already have to stay in school until 6 o'clock, teach on Saturdays, coach sports teams and run activities. Boarding house staff are never off duty.


3. "State school teachers had to teach more varied communities than their private school counterparts." Of course, private schools teach only white, upper middle class English children. How many pupils on average join a state senior school with barely any English? Yes, in some inner city immigrant communities it happens. But really, could most schools say they have french, german, spanish, czechoslovakian, polish, russian, chinese, korean or japanese students? What about ALL of them, plus jamaican, south african, american... In my U6th physics set of 11: Taiwanese, Japanese, Chinese, German.


4. Private schools have all these facilites state schools don't. Yes, private schools have lots of playing fields. So do equivalently situated state schools. In the country, fields are available. If local councils were prevented or didn't need to sell sports pitches off, more state schools would still have lots of sports pitches.


5. Private schools should take state school pupils on secondment. You mean like in the old scheme where talented pupils could win state funding to attend private school? The scheme that New Labour abolished?

It's just such a load of vague, posturing, unworkable, unjustified crap.

The Order of Service

So... Saw off my Granny today. Cremation with family followed by memorial service at the parish church, then far too many sandwiches back at the house. Random occurence of the day: since she's married to one of my Granny's cousins the recently retired head of MI5 was there.

I ended up pondering, outside the church and later on, what would I want at my own funeral. I'd definitely put a wishlist in my will before going to Iraq or some other sandy holiday destination. Morbid fun all round, until Sarah decided that the poem I'd need read at my funeral would be...

Jabberwocky

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

Jim and/or Will could do it in fine style. They could even get in some roleplay, one being the beamish boy. Apart from that awesomeness, there's a more sober and obvious choice:

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

Hymns:

• Guide me, O thou great Redeemer


• O God, our help in ages past


• He who would valiant be


• I vow to thee, my country

Somewhere there should be room for this too:

"It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door. You step into the Road, and if you don't keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to."

The Cure

Apparently there could be a hormone treatment for baldness in the pipeline, but why worry when you can look like this?

I did, on emerging from the gym on Saturday. Bulging Vin Diesel/Jimmy-in-a-giggling-fit veins standing out on my overexposed head. Sexy.

I am the Captain of my Soul

Since there is obviously a new verb "To Wikipedia", what should its past tense be? I wikipediad? I google, you google, he/she/it googles... Google is such a nice verb, don't you think?

Be that as it may, Wikipedia, via the 'If' page, brought me to "a short poem by the British poet William Ernest Henley that is the source of a number of familiar clichés and quotations. The title is Latin for "unconquered". It was first published in 1875."

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

Quiet Birds in Circled Flight

While searching for the "Nation's Favourite Poem" to demonstrate my horror at someone's ignorance of 'If' I found this, which surprised me in not putting either Mr Kipling or Mr Wordsworth first.

Do Not Stand At My Grave and Weep

Do not stand at my grave and forever weep.
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn’s rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and forever cry.
I am not there. I did not die.

- Mary Fyre

The poem became well known in Britain after a copy was left in an envelope to be opened by his parents in the event of his death by Lance Bombadier Stephen Cummins, who was killed on active service in Northern Ireland in 1989.

The Important Election

There was the trifling matter of a few councils, the Scottish Parliament and the Welsh Assembly a couple of days ago, but who cares about that? I was indifferent enough not to vote. What does matter is that Nicholas Sarkozy is the new president of France, in an election I would definitely have voted in. Possibly Bayrou, the third placed centrist eliminated in the first round, might have caught my fancy, but of the two finalists I'd definitely have backed Sarko. Break down the ridiculous French labour laws and generally overlarge state which will actually free up job opportunities for the immigrants he's hated by. Come down hard on crime. All good stuff.

On the topic of important, which T-shirt should I get?

Spiderman 3

***SPOILER ALERT***

Prill doesn't think it's worth watching. I disagree.

Spiderman 3 was the funniest film I've seen in ages. It beat Blades of Glory, despite none of the outfits matching the peacock costume. It also contained the most important scientific revelation of the decade: What turns people emo.


The Crow pose and the Emo haircut

So apparently there's some evil black symbiotic stuff that attatches itself to you and exaggerates your attributes, such as being an emo boy. Being Spidey, he also gets to dance like JT, so there's a payoff, but still, watch out for that black stuff. If you're not up to Spidey standards it can make you seriously unattractive:



For the main middle section of this film I was literally laughing out loud constantly. There's the French Maitre D', the haircut, the Adams Family Tango, the haircut, the jazz hands bit to the two chicks in the street, the haircut, the blatant reference to Piers Morgan, the haircut...

Sure, the last part of the film seems to be lacking a load of deleted scenes, for example Peter fits his Richie Rich mate, blows him up with his own goblin grenade and then reappears and he's gone straight to the cool scars and milky eye stage with no real explanation of the time interval or what happened in it. The two baddies who team up together are neither very well developed, but what the hell. After the Grierson-Rickford Aunt Sally (TM) staid, boring good little hero-boy start, this film is FUN.

"Civilian Casualties"

Yet again, coalition forces are accused of killing civilians willy-nilly. Yet again, the BBC shows its anti-American left wing core values. Yet again, the reality is probably somewhat different.

A dead civilian in Afghanistan is simply a body without a gun. Over a hundred houses were apparently destroyed. Why? This is not an Israeli firezone clearing exercise. This is not Mugabe cutting down on unemployment by bulldozing slums and turning people back out into the countryside to starve instead. This is house to house fighting. If the guys with guns run into a house and start firing from it and you've got tanks, you just flatten the place. If the women and children haven't got out, is that your fault for firing without knocking on the door and checking, or the Afghans' fault for using a house full of kids as cover?

The problem with invading Afghanistan is that it is populated by the most bloody minded stubborn bastards in the world, for whom guerilla war against the foreign invader is not just part of their history but their entire culture. They are Pratchett's D'regs. They attack at dawn because attacking at dawn is a great and glorious cultural tradition. In D'reg language, the word for "stranger" is the same as the word for "target."

Pace Gladiator:

"People should know when they're conquered."

"Would you, Quintus? Would I?"

Liberty, Equality, Perversity

Woman sleeps with 14 year old boy: minimum sentence of 15 months. How long a sentence would a 34 year old man who slept with a 14 year old girl get?

More importantly, why would anyone sleep with THIS?!

Floreat Uttlesford

According to a reader's digest poll Uttlesford is the 10th best place to raise a family in the country, out of 408. Giggity. It's apparently slipped from 1st in a previous one though...

I <3 Band Geeks

The best bit's about 4.40 in. Until then you can just admire the costumes... my personal favourite is the Bowser bass drummer...

Most Excellent!

I have an excuse... I was preparing my costume for an important event. The attack of Paint was completely necessary too...

Hymen Potter

The new Harry Potter covers have been released. All keen beans say w00t!

"If Wolverine was female, would his hymen grow back every time?" - Jim. Ah, it's good to be home.

This is Iran

Oops. Apparently the Persians, or more specifically the Iranians, are upset by 300. It's obviously an Alexander Nevsky style propaganda film aimed at building support for a US-UK invasion of Iran. Sure it is. There's a Brit in the lead role just to make sure of it. Not a film version of a cartoon version of a Greek saga at all. It's pure fallacy that Persians suck at fighting and got beaten by 300 products of the biggest homicidal cult ever. They had 700 helpers holding another pass, for one thing. Besides, in the Will Thorne (TM) ratings it must be good, it doesn't have Orlando Bloom in.

Anyone up for a holiday viewing?

[All trademarks used with flagrant disregard for the holder's likely superior knowledge of the film, the period, the politics and Rob's mum.]

Hokay

Yesterday. Tori's birthday. Blog's birthday. Three years. Haven't blogged for about three weeks. But why?

I AM LE TIRED.

But seriously, my internet's buggered up in the house yet again, plus a certain factor has been distracting me. My bad.

So, in brief, but WITH pictures...

Head of the Taff 2007: Morning we raced in fours, afternoon in an eight. My seat came off after a few hundred metres of the 3.4km and I did the rest of the race sliding on my arse, with consequent huge oozing sores. Yummy.



The next weekend: OTC Royal Engineers Competition, Minley Barracks, Surrey. Endurance run with a stretcher made of a chunk of tank track (team pictured below, after the general group one), command task, bridge building and boat race. I ended up being 'RBS Six Nations Man of the Weekend' for being extra specially good. I ran myself sick, as did everyone. I was supposed to sit out the command task to be used as brawn for the more physical tasks, but I substituted in behind the judge's back on the command task because I'd figured out where they were going wrong. Towers of Hanoi with tractor tyres, elementary, doncha know. I apparently lobbed bits of steel bridge girder around like a loon, in the same testosterone fuelled neanderthal rage that saw me taking over the assault boat we were paddling and beasting everyone on from the back. I'd be an awesome rowing cox, if only I were 40 kilograms lighter. Oh, and I forgot to mention the Hawaiian party on Saturday night. Awesome stuff.

Before leaving Cardiff

After the endurance race

Hawaiian carnage

And finally, this weekend Cardiff Company played Exeter UOTC at football. They had their names embroidered on their team jackets. We had this...

Check out the goalie kit... Go Sweden!

The girls, plus 3 of our guys to make up the numbers including me in goal, won 4-1. We lost 2-1, which we thought wasn't bad really, then went to the OTC bar to watch England lose to Wales. Gutted.

Word.

Cutest. Pictures. Ever.

I want the set.

Collide

The dawn is breaking
A light shining through
You're barely waking
And I'm tangled up in you

- Howie Day, Collide.

Stuck in my head since randomly looking at this group earlier today. I love those first four lines, which were beautifully apposite this morning.

Fitting with the title, rowing and OTC are colliding rather a lot at the moment... the last weekend probably removed all chance I had of breaking back into the 'decent' level crews, but am currently being aimed towards rowing with effectively the 3rd eight, consisting of 7 newbies and myself. Rather weird, being the most experienced and technically proficient member of the crew. Sadly I'm not the fastest as of the 5k we did on Saturday but I was only one place and 7 seconds off. With sufficient time in the gym turning my arse numb on the rowing machines I can probably break back at least by ergo time into the top 16, but at what cost? This coming weekend's race, just for starters, clashes with an OTC training weekend. Uhoh. As things stand I'm staying in Cardiff and rowing. I just have to hope that there isn't OTC the BUSA Regatta weekend as well.

And That's Me in the Corner

Maggot Racing

A fun weekend with the OTC. Saturday's programme went thus: map reading - a fun ramble around the countryside; route planning - in which I was accused of being brainy like it's a disease for dividing 5kmph by 1.6km correctly; and range shooting, which was good apart from one random shoot which looked like I'd sneezed because it was about a foot out. Oops. Sunday was a 6 mile Combat Fitness Test - 4 miles an hour with a bit of weight and a rifle. Hard for short unfit girls, who get put at the front. Tall boys who got stuck at the back marched along grinning, enjoying the ridiculously sunny weather and whistling/humming/singing when the PTI was further up chivvying the short arses. Favourite was "The animals went in two by two, hurrah! hurrah!" which sadly we didn't know the words, but got about 10 or 15 people humming/tumpty tumming along to, with me whistling a bit of random descant. Blame Diehard with a Vengeance for that one.

The highlight of the weekend though was Saturday night in the Officers Mess. Given that we were at a training camp this was a flatroofed single-step-up-from-a-portacabin but still, who cares when you have hobbit fighting (smallest people from each company trying to knock each other using only their legs, hands clasped behind backs, disqualified if they stop hopping) and maggot racing, in which I competed mostly because each team's three racers had to down a pint at the start and end of their lap. That was rule 1 of 3. Rule 2 was zips must be done up to the chin. Rule 3 was no biting.

This, by the way, is a maggot:



Having downed the required pint (which put me into an early lead, being the first off for Cardiff ) the course started with 3 sides of the main bar room around the chairs which penned in the spectators before going up the corridor to another conference room bit, crossing a line of armchairs on the way. Once in the conference room there was a line of normal chairs to be surmounted, a table to be ducked under, a pair of armchairs stacked on each other to be turned around at the end before a sprint back out of the room through a chicane of wall and table, down the corrider, back over the armchairs, back around the bar, jumping out of the maggot and downing the second pint.

Due to some nefarious business with the Swansea company people who were running the event I was held up at the jumping in stage trying to get my zip up and finally started hopping 3/4. At the armchairs in the corridor I caught up with the guy in second who was trying to wriggle over them. Adhering to the 3 rules I jumped onto him, knocking the chair over with him and rolling over him on the far side to jump up into second. Having pretty much smashed through the normal chairs and rolled under the table and sprinted back uninterrupted, diving headfirst over the armchairs and bounding around the bar right up behind the guy from Swansea in first I overtook him with the second pint. James, the Cardiff number two, then shot off and came home about 30 seconds ahead of the competition but Chris, number three, was so far ahead he was met in the corridor by the other three coming in the opposite direction and knocked back down by each in turn and despite a valiant effort (and my foot shooting out from the crowd to pin the back of the Bangor bag and drop the guy like a felled tree) finished a close second, being unable to drink fast enough due to crazy hiccups! A tragic occurence, to be sure.

Alumni Felstedienses

The Wikipedia article on Felsted School lists among the notable Old Felstedians one General Sir Richard Dannatt (b. 1950), British soldier and Chief of the General Staff (2006-).

In other words, the head of the British Army. A real gem for Major Christmas... he may even have been the one who inspected the biennial parade the year after I left and presented Sarah with a birthday cake.

Insert Cheese Error

2k time: 7:05

Not good... given that I haven't done one since May and it's actually an improvement on that, it might seem good, but actually without the month off pre-Christmas with a strained ankle tendon type thing, the getting fat over Christmas and the 3 weeks of concussion post-Christmas it could have been about 20 seconds faster... and it needs to be. I was admittedly doing it with the top 15 other people rowing for the club atm (a few have been bumped out due to being overqualified) but I came last by a couple of seconds... and 9 were under 6.40, so 6.45 is not an unrealistic goal. Ooh... hours of ergo fun to come.

The 600

Go tell the Spartans we made a sequel...

600 posts. Woohoo. Yes, this is one of those "I don't really have anything to say but I've been bullied into blogging" posts. I can't steal something from PostSecret because they're all Valentines themed cards this week, mostly bleak and mopey, and I can't identify with any of them. Sucks to be them. Although it sucks to be me too because I've got a 2k rowing test tomorrow and I haven't been on a rowing machine seriously in a month. It's going to be bad. Possibly horrific. In fact, it had better be. I need more bad stuff to balance out my reason to brave the overly commercialised sickeningly red and pink Valentines displays...

Nuggets

Battlefront fans eat your heart out.

On a less savoury note, Hilary Swank and Kevin Bacon eat your heart out.

Pink Eggs and Spam

The monkey explained that he’d quite like a hat
That was pink with the texture of jelly
With tentacles made of that slippery stuff
And a wobbly, see-through belly.
“A jellyfish hat is what you require!”
I said as I measured his head.
“I would wear it with pride!” the monkey replied
So I took out my needle and thread.

- From The Tail of the Jellyfish Hat, by one Miss Katy Burgess. As Facebook would put it, "Will knows Katy through a friend" and of course, Facebook rules my life now. Checking up on deviantART on the other hand is a rare occurence and of the 39 new deviations flagged up, this was by far the most awesome in its Owl-and-the-Pussycat-cum-Dr-Seuss-ness. Go read.

Don't Stop at Adoption, Get Procreating

Re: What Happens When Prill Watches the News.

2 mothers vs 1 mother.

Same lack of a male role model, twice the time and twice the affection. Ditto 2 fathers vs 1 father.

As long as the kids get a decent role model for what it is to be whatever gender they are, they're doing better than a fair proportion of the population. If it's a girl with two fathers, the deficit will likely be made up by the overbearing preponderance of women in infant and primary education. If it's a boy with two mothers, he'll face the same problem as a possible two thirds[1] of the young male African American population in the United States: no male role model, a cycle that self perpetuates.

I even have a reference:

[1] "Today only [one-third] of black children have two parents in the home."
Dennis A. Ahlburg and Carol J. DeVita, "New Realities of the American Family," Population Bulletin 47, no.2 (August 1992) 8. #

And the Winner Is...

Cool little "in pictures story" on the making of an Oscar statuette. They're pewter, plated with bronze, then nickel, then silver and finally 24 carat gold, thus neatly encompassing all three podium medals and er, nickel, because it's handy.

Best... Placard... Ever...

'THE BLOKE BEHIND ME CAN'T SEE'
A teenager waves his placard about in the Australia v England Twenty20 match.

- BBC Sport.

The Leaning House of Broadcasting

I totally agree with this Times column on the BBC's biased coverage of "Palestine". The BBC reports pretty much everything stated by Palestinian spokesmen as fact. There are no quotation marks, no "alledgedly", no "suspected". In reality the "facts" were inherently disputed though. However, here's how the Times itself reported the incident used as the column's prime example:

Babies die as artillery barrage hits families on picnic beach

ISRAELI artillery fire killed a Palestinian family who were picnicking on the beach in Gaza yesterday, as the shoreline was packed with people on a Muslim holiday.

Cynical, me? Surely not.

"I Grill with George"

This grill is automatic
It's systematic
It's hydromatic
Why it's a George Foreman!

My mum was moaning in the holidays about how she thought I wasn't eating enough proper meat. Apparently the occasional offerings of the Fortune House (free prawn crackers if you spend over £10) or even Mr Hong's Three Jolly Luck Takeaway Fish Bar are insufficient, as are sausages, even Lidl's finest spiced Bratwurst. I have therefore taken the revolutionary step of buying "a George", mostly because I saw it was half price in Tesco Extra when I was on my way to buy yet more weight discs. I also purchased a selection of grillable looking things (pork and chicken) that were on half price in the food section. Let the culinary laissez-faire commence.

Tattooing

Or for trolls, engraving.

If you were to get a tattoo, what would it be?

Living is easy with eyes closed?

SPQR?

WUM?

Personally I think John 8:32. Just the reference, not the actual verse.

Incidentally, note the raspberry blowing. Also, I got 14/15 on the quiz. Damn that question about the spoon.

There Are Only 10 Types of People in the World. Those Who Understand Binary and Those Who Don't.

The Guild of Fools

Didn't Warwick SU kick out their Christian Union years ago?

What a bunch of 'tards. Why do they need to be part of the Union anyway? Tithe everyone from their student loans and they'd be rolling in funds. Not that they need them.


Aunt: [slaps him twice] Wicked child!!! Chairs are an invention of Satan!
In our house, Nathaniel sits on a spike!

Edmund: ...and yourself...?

Aunt: I sit on Nathaniel -- two spikes would be an extravagance.

Au Contraire, Blackadder!

I am returned from New Year's in London. Huzzah! Huzzah!

There was copious drunkeness and general frivolity. I got the best secret santa present by far, direct from a Cairo souk. There was meeting of random people from Felsted in Covent Garden, dressing up (literally) and stripping of a totally trashed Jimmy, much Mario Tennis and a plethora of pictures. I dragged Jim to the gym. I even cooked! How rare!

I also got a belated present from the OTC: £335... Huzzah!