The Battle of Marston Moor was fought on this day in 1644. Charles Guiteau shot President James Garfield in 1881. Garfield died of his wounds in September. In 1937, Amelia Earhart and navigator Frank Noonan disappeared over the Pacific Ocean and in 1964, President Lyndon B. Johnson signed into law the Civil Rights Act, prohibiting discrimination on the basis of race. Celebrating birthdays today: Imelda Marcos and Lindsay Lohan. Sounds like a party, doesn't it? The Palio di Provenzano is run today in Siena and 2009 is officially half over at noon.
02 July 2009
Daily Chat 02/07/09
The Battle of Marston Moor was fought on this day in 1644. Charles Guiteau shot President James Garfield in 1881. Garfield died of his wounds in September. In 1937, Amelia Earhart and navigator Frank Noonan disappeared over the Pacific Ocean and in 1964, President Lyndon B. Johnson signed into law the Civil Rights Act, prohibiting discrimination on the basis of race. Celebrating birthdays today: Imelda Marcos and Lindsay Lohan. Sounds like a party, doesn't it? The Palio di Provenzano is run today in Siena and 2009 is officially half over at noon.
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Marston Moor - a long spit from York in the County of Yorkshire.
ReplyDeleteYork was/is the only place in Yorkshire which is not in one of the three Ridings.
July 1st 2009 Diary of a Dog Walker.
ReplyDeleteWash you mouth out Deano.You silly loose mouthed fool. Loose talk results in:
Mungo 3 Deano 0
I knew half way through saying it that I was going to regret it. But I couldn't stop myself from completing the sentence. I sort of knew that there would be trouble.
It was one of those innocent phrases that cause a room to fall into a shocked silence. The kind of inappropriate talk that gets your dinner guests to leave before the pudding is served. You wondered why everybody went to the toilet at the same time - then you found they'd left by the back door. I guess you know what I mean.
It wasn't just a fart at the dinner table it was something much more serious than that. Or at least you would have thought so from Mungo's reaction.
Foreign persons have a phrase for it - I think it's faux pas. In Yorkshire it’s called a bollock monumental. Boy did I drop one. Don't really matter what you call it Mungo heard it and took offence immediately. It happened like this:
An old friend called round to see me and he being fond of an evening stroll joined me and the dogs for the second walk of the day. It was fabulous weather. At this time of the year as the sun settles to the Northern Horizon the light has a wonderful horizontal quality to it. It really was a cracker of an evening.. We set off in good spirits talking as we walked about the recent events in the news. I was really pleased we were through the field of wheat with Mungo trotting along at the side seemingly enjoying himself and being very well behaved. He often is when others walk with us.
We were within 250 yards of the van on the way back when that horizontal light caught Mungo's coat and cast it in a distinctive black and tan hue - like an Alsatian. You know those police type dogs. Anyway it was then that I foolishly uttered the sentence which I soon came to regret.
I said "wow that gives him a look of a German Shepard” (another way of saying Alsatian). Fuck me as soon as he heard the word "German" his tail stopped wagging. He stopped dead in his tracks. Then he sat down. And then he leered one of his smirks at me. I saw immediately that he was going to take some budging.
Mungo can be very stubborn when he is offended and the truth is it seems there is nothing more offensive to Mungo's ears than a suggestion of a German. connection.
I tried the soft soap - "Oh come on Mungo, it was careless use of language, an honest mistake no offence meant. etc etc" He was having non of it. He sat there and would not budge. I put the lead on him and tried a little drag - he dug his back legs in and he can be a powerful resister. I tried a little trickery, reasoning that perhaps geography might not be his strongest suite. I suggested that the Alsatians really came from the Franco/German border area and were really more French than German.
He lifted his eyebrow then scratched behind his ear fiercely with his back leg and then lay down on all fours. I could see he was thinking it through. I sensed a possibility of advantage and pressed on..."You know Mungo that's where that Piaf women comes from" - He knows I like the idea of women with French accents and French wine..
I was winning. He reluctantly got up and started walking.. As we walked I said "Look boy being mistaken for a shepherd (I'm no fool I dropped the G word) is no bad thing you get to be with the lambs."Food is a special interest of Mungo so I could see him warming to the idea. Victory over Mungo is victory to be savoured. I felt joy.
I said to my bemused companion "want to stay for something to eat I'm just going to have a salad". He said " sounds good". I grow some salad stuff by the van so stopped and pulled a nice lettuce. I put it down on the floor whilst I fumbled in my pockets for the van keys. What did Mungo do?
He pissed on the lettuce ran twice around the caravan in a lap of honour and then shot off across the wheat field. Bastard dog that's the last time I'm letting him watch the repeats of World at War
"..........a long spit from York...."
ReplyDeleteThat really means a distance equal to a long spit and two quick wanks. That is a distance such that there is time for a few beers, a plug of tobacco and an entertainment or two on the way.
deano.
The top of York Minster is a sacred place - it's a place from where you can flash over three ridings!
ReplyDeleteThanks deano, you have started my day well!
ReplyDeleteCompared to you I am merely curt.
Hi Jay, Bitterweed, Montana, et al,
ReplyDeleteWindows of opportunity for internet infrequent here hence lack of response from me yesterday but to answer your question, Jay: Miranda bought a riad here back in 2001, two months after Cheney's firework display aka 911 when every house was for sale and we had a bob or two after selling her flat in Brighton and finally severing all links with UK. Seemed like a good idea at the time. The whole Marrakech experience described in 'Cinnamon City', Miranda's best selling book.
I am the sixth manager (and hopefully temporary) after a succession of fundamentalists, drunks, putative brothel managers and crooks- here until we either make some money by properly managing it or selling it while Miranda looks after the animals and garden in Italy.
It is very lovely here in our courtyard under the banana palms and the hash of the highest quality...
All the best,
Dan
@ Stoaty - a lot of my crap is really for the archive. Silly stuff for my, who knows one day to be born grandkids.
ReplyDeleteDentist calls.
deano.
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDelete"It is very lovely here in our courtyard under the banana palms and the hash of the highest quality..."
ReplyDeleteThanks for the update Dan.
Git.
;-)
Bitterweed - yeah, im sitting in an office clocking up temperatures of 28C, IN the office. Air con is buggered. Not that they let us dress down, obviously, still have to come in in "business dress". Im livid beyond words. Hearing about palm trees in marrakech is not soothing me, i must say, though a holiday sounds very tempting.
ReplyDeleteBritain is not cut out for heat at all. Air con in offices is always shite, houses are all carpeted heat traps, and as for the transport in London, truly people would be prosecuted if they transported animals in similar conditions.
Thats where I'm lucky Jay, tiles in the kitchen and hall laminate in both ground floor rooms (living room has a large rug!)
ReplyDeleteStairs, back bedroom and back landing are carpeted.
Two front bedrooms and front landing either painted floors or sanded and stained.
You're right it makes a difference!
Here, on The Untreated I feel that I am among friends and am confident that I can tell you a true story without being laughed at, chaffed at, or flung shit at.
ReplyDeleteA coulple of weeks ago Lady Stoat suggested that I might like to be tied up. I feigned reluctance at first but eventually, giggling bashfully, I agreed to the scheme. She then produced a sack of old support tights and bound me to a chair with them.
She then began to fiddle with the television receiving apparatus and I thought:
'Ah the plot thickens, now for a naughty film
to instil a semblance of life into the old Johnson'
But no, what appeared on the screen was something called 'Big Brother'
I have fallen for this ruse every night since then in the hope of a different outcome.
Have any of you been subjected to this form of outrage?
Do you think that Shree will be chucked out on Friday?
Oh dear, what a sad story.
ReplyDeleteWhat about mrs Stoat- doesn't she like a bit of bondage?
Come and have a bondage holiday in Marrakech and buy a carpet or two...
So it's hot in UK???
Who's Shree anyway?
ReplyDelete"Come and have a bondage holiday in Marrakech and buy a carpet or two..."
ReplyDeleteThat is possibly my favourite ever sales pitch for a hotel.
Colin - sounds very rough indeed, they can be brutes these women. I have managed to entirely avoid BB this year, its been really quite refreshing.
Stoaty,
ReplyDeleteI believe that what Mrs. Stoat is doing would come under the classification "Cruel and unusual punishment" and grounds for divorce in even the strictest of countries.
colinthestoat sounds like a country-wise selfmademan. I'm sniffing you out stoatieboy ...
ReplyDeleteWant to know what a real Honduran person (not some journo or think-tanker) thinks about the situation in his country?
ReplyDeleteWant to know how Poles really see their country pre-1989?
If so you know where to go....
As an apology for this piece of shameless self-publicity I will leave you with a talking point:
"My Name is Earl"-- the herald of a new American socialism or just a moderately funny TV programme? Discuss...
#"My Name is Earl"-- the herald of a new American socialism#
ReplyDeleteJust the opposite. A corporate plot to persuade uninsured, non-unionised, blue-collar, scrapheap dwellers that a life of uncomplaining, minimum-wage servitude can be vibrant and fulfilling as long as you can find some quasi-religious,penitential mission to occupy your 'leisure hours' and lend your life some meaning
Just keep turning up on time, flip those burgers, make those monthly payments,stay out of trouble and a whole wacky world of misadventure and mawkish, life-affirming encounters can be yours. Wouldn't call it socialism: that needs revolution, agitation or at the least organisation. Not much evidence of that. The message smacks more of accommodation and finding contentment in the here and now.
Earl's a Buddhist to my way of thinking, and they aren't noted for their socialist sympathies.
It is quite funny sometimes. I'm waiting for the spinoff where Crabman gets his own show and leads an anarcho-syndicalist revolt declaring the trailer park a people's revolutionary commune.
That's quite a good critique actually.
ReplyDeletePerhaps I was thinking of Socialism in the American way (remember, Obama is a radical commie to many.) In particular, I was thinking of the episode where they realise that paying taxes for public services is a good thing. Hard left by US standards...
Czarny
ReplyDeleteI'm more of a Corrie fan, myself ...
Thanks for the sympathy folks I knew I could rely on you. Sorry Dan, don't do holidays.
ReplyDeleteWell, only imaginary ones, any way.
ReplyDeleteIt's also the 18th Birthday of the daughter of my best friend (of 30 years) today... WooHoo..! raise the young madam a glass folks...
ReplyDeleteDan
ReplyDeleteWill include a trip to Morrocco in my next imaginary holiday - sounds fab
Deano
Another classic Mungo tale
mr stoat
Oh, you poor thing, you. BTW, what have you done that's so bad that you're forced to watch Big Bro?
@ MsChin
ReplyDeleteThe Mungo yarns are a bit of silliness intended to amuse/confuse some hoped for younger family members at some distant time in the future. I will one day be no more than a photo of a man with beard and dogs so I thought I would plant a few yarns whilst I still can!
I can't stand the police but was saddened by the news of the loss of two German Shepherds in hot car yesterday. Heat suffocation is a nasty way to go for any life form.
Fucking Notts Police Dog Handler ought to be sacked - difficult to think of any excuse for a professional leaving his dogs in closed car on the hottest day of the year. Wanker wasn't even on official duty.
The visit to the dentist today was pure Frederick Furnivall!
Regards