It's quite simple really, MLCMan; it's all a question of alcohol consumption and the relativity of shamelessness that accompanies increased intake. That and hundreds of years of repression.
On the subject of sheep botherers, just for the record we shoot those here too.
Most of ours tend to be four-legged tho . . .
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Sweder Wrote:On the subject of sheep botherers, just for the record we shoot those here too.
Most of ours tend to be four-legged tho . . .
Don't confuse me with the Kiwis. That is the unpardonable sin for an Aussie, rather like calling a Canadian an American (meaning USA) or a Scotsman "English". Only with the velcro sheep thing thrown in. Er, this must be very confusing for any of our Spanish friends.
I should go to work now. Because I am not the boss and should have been there 5 minutes ago.
I just heard the sad news that Wilson Pickett died today, aged 64.
In the Midnight Hour and Mustang Sally are truly great songs, but better known for cover versions or use in the movies (such as The Commitments, in which Pickett was rumoured to be turning up to see the band's climactic gig - he never showed). I always felt Pickett didn't really get the global recognition his fine work deserved. I got into his music after seeing the Blues Brothers whilst living in the US. Belushi and Aykroyd did a lot to revive some wonderful songs, taking their band on tour across America. Drawing in a new generation to hear what many considered 'old' music they sold out every show.
I picked up an 8 CD collection - The Best of Atlantic Rhythm & Blues 1947 - 1974 - a few years back. Pickett classics nestle comfortably with songs by Ray Charles, Aretha, Sam & Dave and, of course, the wonderful Mr Otis Redding. Well worth a spin. I must say I always smile ruefully when I hear youngsters talking about 'R & B' as a modern music phenomenon; Alicia Keys has a fine voice, but she ain't no 'Retha Franklin.
In the mid-'90's I had the misfortune to wrap a brand new Ford Mustang convertible (18 miles on the clock) around a large and immovable section of Houston's 610 loop. It was the first day of a 14 day working trip. I broke my ankle and spent the entire show whizzing around the Astro Arena on a motorised cart.
I reckon I heard Mustang Sally, sung in a variety of international accents and always accompanied by raucous laughter, over a hundred times that week.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Thanks for the information on Wilson Pickett, Sweder. I added The Commitments CD to my brand new I-pod (that is, my I-feel-a-whole-new-thread-emerging-here-pod) last week, and have been regaled by Mustang Sally on the way to work several times. As a loose automotive link to add to your Mustang story, I wonder whether you are familiar with David Lindley's marvellously primitive 'I'm gonna buy myself a Mercury and cruise it up and down the road' ? It's a gem.
And now for something completely different ...
Mid Life Crisis Man Wrote:Some things about you Brits I will never understand..... How is that that a stranger who supports some other team can be thrown off a moving train for wearing the wrong coloured scarf, yet when your neighbour's dog craps on your bed, you are embarrassed to mention it?
[rant]Without wishing to offend, or devalue the fine humour which oft frequents around here, it might in some ways prove equally instructive, MLC Man, to consider that when a man bares his soul in one of the most eloquent, thought-provoking and startlingly moving pieces seen on these pages, we Brits feel much more comfortable immediately spending the next ten posts on his thread prattling on about dog poo. It's all very fine, but this is just the way it often is with regard to uncomfortably sensitive subjects in this country.[/rant]
Mr Dave looks like a proper character, Nigel. I see he's worked with Ry Cooder, that fine exponent of the eerie slide guitar. Did you see Southern Comfort, the movie about National Guardsmen lost in the Louisiana swamp? He did the soundtrack on that - excellent work.
Speaking of Louisiana swamps, did you ever visit LAGCOE, the regional oil & gas show in Lafayette? I worked that show in 1987. Lafayette is the kind of a town where you're as likely to find a roadside bullfrog vendor as you are a Chillis or a KFC. It could very well provide the setting for Southern Comfort; if you have all your own teeth and haven't married at least one of your relatives you are treated with squint-eyed suspicion.
LAGCOE (Louisiana Gulf Coast Oil Exposition) is held in the college auditorium and sports arena. The arena has a dust-bowl floor, so all the exhibits are installed on raised wooden platforms, creating a shallow maze of gangways (or aisles) between the stands. As is the American way, the booths are decked out in the finest deep shag carpet - a little incongruous given the nature of the event, perhaps. Moreso when you consider this creates a dilemma for the organisers; thousands of visitors trampling through raising plumes of dust, stomping unsightly footmarks into the nice clean rugs.
The bright people of Lafayette have the perfect solution.
At around 9 pm on the night before opening, several pick-up trucks arrive laden with sacks, followed by a small army of helpers equipped with rakes. They proceed to dump the bags at intervals around the hall. When I first observed this I was fascinated - I was also half-way up a National Oilwell Christmas Tree (a stack of valves somewhere close to 20' tall) installing the valve wheels.
What could be in the bags? Some kind of treated substance that would keep the dust down, obviously. I gaped in slack-jawed wonder as the good people of the parish tipped out and raked, into every nook and corner of every gangway, several tons of . . . green sawdust. Not a natural, timber-treated green, but luminous, screaming Exorcist-vomit green.
The great sadness was, as the more astute amongst you may have guessed, after just four hours of heavy visitor traffic the next day those hitherto pristine booths were covered not in unsightly dust-flavoured foot prints but in millions of tiny green flecks. Vive la difference.
Some years later I was in Singapore, unpacking exhibits for Cameron Iron Works. The exhibit hall closely resembled a sauna, 84 degrees and 98% humidity, it was akin to working wrapped in a hot wet blanket. CIW had beautiful cutaway models of their products, mostly valves for the oil patch. Each model had its own purpose built, re-usable crate. Cameron's International Exhibit Manager and good friend of mine, the affable Texan Mr George Hampton, was helping me to pop the side panel on a box marked 'J-Gate Valve Display'.
We looked at each other, bursting out laughing in unison, as a tiny landslide of green wood-chips slid out and onto the sweat-spattered concrete.
‘Lafayette Louisiana,’ George said, shaking his head, grinning from ear to ear.
‘That shit gets everywhere!’
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Nigel Wrote:[rant]Without wishing to offend, or devalue the fine humour which oft frequents around here, it might in some ways prove equally instructive, MLC Man, to consider that when a man bares his soul in one of the most eloquent, thought-provoking and startlingly moving pieces seen on these pages, we Brits feel much more comfortable immediately spending the next ten posts on his thread prattling on about dog poo. It's all very fine, but this is just the way it often is with regard to uncomfortably sensitive subjects in this country.[/rant]
I didn't quite get that, Nigel. I thought MLCM's observation about the football violence/social embarrassment paradox was pretty insightful. I don't think we notice the absurdity of it until it's mentioned by someone outside looking in. I hadn't connected the flippancy of the dog story with Sweder's earlier unburdening. If anything, isn't it another example of the same paradox? Or am I completely misunderstanding something here? Or does it matter?
Answering my own (final) question, probably not. :o
El Gordo
Great things are done when men and mountains meet.
Hmm, not sure if this will help or add fuel but . . .
First up, the two stories were un connected, and equally open to comment or not as people see fit. I write what I think about whilst running, and I choose to put it in the public domain aware that everyone has the right to express opinion - in fact I'm flattered that people a) read the stuff and b) write about it. Galconman's pain at a time of what should have been great joy for him in Bombay touched me and sparked a train of thought and emotion during my plod, hence the story about my Dad.
I didn't consider reactions or non-reactions when I wrote it down - it's just a true reflection and, coincidentally (more proof of the power of running) the first time I have ever written anything anywhere about my Father. I'm so glad that I did - I can go back and visit this whenever I want/ need to.
It's like so many of Nigel's wonderful posts; there's not always a lot to say. It may have been unfair to 'share' close personal feelings on a public forum; but it was what was in my head on that run, so in it went. Sorry if it made anyone uncomfortable, but for the record I'm not. Perhaps the immediate follow-up with a story about canine deffecation was a little misguided, but there you are again; it was just something I remembered on the next run, so again in it went. If I'm honest I also felt the 'mood' might be a little heavy after the 'Dad' post; the dog story was intended as a little light relief (no pun intended).
I agree with you on the Hooligan/ Embarrassment juxtaposition, Andy; it's a paradox that's hard to understand outside of our shores. MLCMan's observations reflect that, and he makes several very fair points. He also alludes to our (my) irrational relationship with pets, and in particular, dogs. In Australia there really aren't these conflicts in rural life thanks to the vast landscapes. Sheep farms and dog-walkers have little reason to share proximity; here in the UK, and especially in the cramped south-east, accessible land is at a premium, and sadly worlds collide all too often.
I know (and happily accept) I need to keep my dogs tethered when there's sheep about. The council have granted farmers the right to graze livestock on 'public' (common) land, and I'm all for that; it helps to maintain the landscape and is another excellent reason to keep greedy developers away. I have dogs that love/ need to run, so I take it upon myself to police them as best I can in this environment.
It's the bloody bleeding race horses and their 'we own the whole countryside so sod you plebs, clear orf' owners and riders that get my, er, goat. Why choose to ride these beasts flat out on open (public) downland when you have miles of gallops fenced off for your own private use on the adjacent slopes? Of course the ramblers vehemently object to these gallops, and frequently take to cutting the wire fences to prove their point. So the ramblers hate the horse-owners, the horse-owners hate the ramblers and the dog owners, the runners and cyclists seem to get on with most people and the sheep go 'Baa'. I think the sheep have it about right.
I accept MLCMan's observations in the spirit in which they were made. In fact, to be fair to my antipodean friend, he made a pretty warm and asstute observation on the other story, too. Sweder Brew - what a lovely thought
By the way, I know a few Kiwis and they are Adam Ant that it's the Aussies who have the close relationship to their sheep
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Sweder Wrote:It may have been unfair to 'share' close personal feelings on a public forum; but it was what was in my head on that run, so in it went. Sorry if it made anyone uncomfortable, but for the record I'm not. Perhaps the immediate follow-up with a story about canine deffecation was alittle misguided, but there you are again; it wasa just something I remembered on the next run, so in it went.
It was a great post. No apologies necessary.
El Gordo
Great things are done when men and mountains meet.
andy Wrote:It was a great post. No apologies necessary.
Agreed. I love dogs and I love Tess's attitude (has she been watching The Simpsons?) - and this has been a classic thread copied into my Best of RC folder.
As for the Kiwis, well, can I borrow Tess for a while? I might have a few jobs for her to do
Rants are not always wise, especially mine. There was no criticism implied of anyone in my post, and especially not MLC Man, whom I could see was touched more than anyone and offered the perfect sacrifice in token - beer. Greater love surely hath no man than this.
No - I wanted to say two things really, and in my clumsy way I got it wrong, so here I'll try to explain.
Mainly it was about Sweder's post. It touched me greatly, and I was still thinking about it the next day. As were we all.
The shaggy dog story was an excellent one. It just struck me that we British are a funny lot, really. Real emotion, and important stuff, can be too tricky to confront sometimes, for too many people. When we come across it, we typically gloss over it, or deal with it through humour, which is healthy, up to a point. But that can spill over into ignoring emotion altogether and hoping it will go away.
It just struck me that the number of posts enquiring about the details of the duvet far exceeded the traffic that had gone with one of the best, most heartfelt and most bravely honest pieces of writing I have come across here. It was just a contradiction that I noted, which maybe I should have kept to myself. I thought it to be typical of that Britishness I mentioned just now.
I didn't mean to criticise anyone here at all. But this British reaction to emotive subjects is something which I do think is real. Bierzo Baggie makes the point that other nationalities, including Spanish people he would perhaps imply, have the same difficulty in dealing with that stuff. Of course, such things are difficult the world over, but I do think we British struggle more than most.
Maybe it's the stiff upper lip for which we are famous the world over. But I think it is more contradictory and confused than that. The edginess we feel in facing tricky emotions spills over uneasily into our reactions to public tragedy.
The most obvious example occurred after the death of the Princess of Wales. Diana was an enigmatic, complex, much-loved and much-wronged woman, but at least half the population had either lost patience with her manipulatively doleful eyes (that Martin Bashir interview), or thought that she was verging on the one nut short of a fruitcake. And then she died. And became a Saint. People wept in the streets. Football matches were cancelled across the country (for pity's sake). Celine Dion's ghoulish theme from Titanic was played on the radio 6 000 times a day for a whole week. Kensington Palace was buried under a mountain of flowers. The quote I can remember from a mourner in Hyde Park on the day of the funeral was - "You know, I never could cry when my mother died, but today I feel more emotional than I ever have". And yet that person had never ever met Diana. But maybe those emotions were safe exactly because of that distance. Just as they were for George Best more recently.
These are examples of the cheap, second-hand emotion which seem to affect our nation these days. Goodness knows, Daily Express readers (bless 'em) are still obsessed with Saint Diana, even all these years later.
And yet, at the same time, Diana's death, and perhaps also the Hillsborough Disaster which came before it, has perhaps catalysed some changes to our national emotional state. It is now acceptable to leave little shrines of plastic-wrapped flowers at the scene of a death, as has long been the practice in Mediterranean countries. I came across one of these on my run only last week. It's a small change, but maybe a significant one.
Nevertheless, it is still very much a rarity for emotions to be explored or displayed in public. Last week, I could just see all of us standing there, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, and then sighing with relief when a good opportunity to share humour popped up. It was like a bubble of tension being burst - Phew, that's lucky, we can talk about this one lads ! Fair enough.
For me, it wasn't the act of posting which really deserved any comment at all. It was the quality of the writing, and the ability to cover such ground in such a candid, and - illuminating style which I really wanted to remark upon. Ideally I would have managed to do that in a slightly more tactful way.
Nigel Wrote:Last week, I could just see all of us standing there, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, and then sighing with relief when a good opportunity to share humour popped up. It was like a bubble of tension being burst - Phew, that's lucky, we can talk about this one lads ! Fair enough.
To be fair, the Aussie equivalent is not dissimilar. Here it's not so much an uncomfortable shifting from foot to foot, as a "quick, better pretend we didn't hear that one..." e.g.
Bloke #1: Jeez I miss me Dad.
Bloke #2: (Feigning deafness) Dave reckon's Luck's A Lass is a cert for the third at Moonee Valley this arvo...
B#1: You know I wish we'd spent more time together...
B#2: Speakin' of Dave, don't forget we're watching the cricket tomorrow at his place...
B#1: We never even hugged you know. How sad is that?
B#2: He's got that new big screen telly...
B#1: I can't remember ever telling him I loved him.
B#2: (Getting desperate) You wanna beer?
B#1: Oh yeah, OK.
It's not gels that has me worried this morning, MLC Man, but my favorite running topic, sore nipples. Having delivered Mrs S's ritual morning tea I proceeded to dress for what looks to be a chilly yet beautiful seaside jaunt. Having plastered liberal amounts of petroleum jelly over my battered, crusted teats I struck on the idea of carefully pressing a piece of tissue paper over each Areole, so as to preserve the Vaseline and protect my running vest from oily stains.
Sadly I chose to do this after the tea delivery, and as I strode back into the bedroom to don my long-sleeve Mizuno vest I was hit with a fine spray of warm PG. The Lady of the house shook with laughter.
'If you go down to Brighton seafront looking like that you will be in for a busy morning' she chortled.
You know, some people just don't take this running malarkey at all seriously.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
