Expats DeprivedYes, I do mean deprived and not
depraved.
Having become less regular in my blogging, a habit overtaken by other happenstances, inspiration takes longer to arrive (and less financially worthwhile).
I'm not like the
Diamond Geezer who's been at it, blogging that is, for five years. But he does remind me that it's OK to post a list of links one day, a political polemic the next and something seemingly random the day after.
So, if you're feeling deprived of my pearls, feel no more.
I feel deprived because I've only got one track of
Thee, Stranded Horse. Listen to tracks
here.
I'm also deprived of English football coverage on TV, like the majority of Indonesian fans. So
I read about 'my' team's fans and live in hopes.
There's also a general absence of TV programmes that I want to watch. I know that I want to watch them because
Nancy Banks-Smith writes so engagingly about them.
There is a photograph of John Wolfenden sitting in a deckchair like a giraffe relaxing. It is an entertaining study in angles. His endless legs are folded up. If the chair had folded, too, it seems probable neither would ever be disentangled.
He took on a job no one else would touch, chairing a committee into the law on prostitution and homosexuality, which was then illegal. His experience of homosexuality amounted to knowing that it should be pronounced homo with a short "o" (being derived from the Greek word for the same) and not, as is widely supposed, homo with a long "o" (from the Latin for man).
Wolfenden's sense of humour was as deeply hidden as a mammoth in permafrost. If you weren't looking for it, you'd miss it. To spare the blushes of the stenographer, he proposed to refer to homosexuals as Huntleys and prostitutes as Palmers, his eye having been caught by the Huntley & Palmer biscuit factory on the train from Reading to London.
Jammy Dodgers will never taste the same again.And if you want to know
what an albatross eats ......... actually, you don't, because it shouldn't.
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