Saturday, February 29, 2020

Pencil him in for the Puskas . . .

What Miriam Margolyes said about Laurence Olivier in that interview on The Graham Norton Show.


Jordan Flores for Dundalk. Shame he opted for the 'I'm so cool and moody' goal celebration. The fucker should have enjoyed it as if he was 10 years old, and just scored that volley in the school playground:



Stunning.

What a picture. Nicked from PM.

Peter Lorre as Galy Gay in Bertolt Brecht's "Mann Ist Mann", 1931.






Tuesday, February 25, 2020

The Devil Met a Lady by Stuart M. Kaminsky (Mysterious Press 1993)



“If I remain in this room for five more minutes, I will surely go mad, mad, mad,” Bette Davis said, grabbing the sleeve of my jacket as I reached for the door.

She looked into my eyes. Hers were large and determined. Mine were red and beady.

I couldn’t blame her. She’d been holed up in a small room in the Great Palms Hotel on Main for almost twenty-four hours with nothing to eat but room-service ham-and-cheese on white and nothing to drink but water and Ruppert Mellow Light Beer. She had the bed. I had the undersized sofa.”

The Great Palms Hotel was a good place to get lost—not in the top twenty-five percent and not in the bottom ten, usually hovering not far from respectable mediocrity.




"I did business studies, Jeremy. For three years. And I spoke with you about it daily."

Catching up again (part 12)



59/50

"I'll tell you what, that crack is really moreish"

Catching up again (part 11)



58/50

"Well I guess I've just been very lucky. Money's an energy and lots of it has always flowed towards me. Particularly after my parents died."

Catching up again (part 10)



57/50

"Aaaah, I'll never forgive Orange if they've wiped the twins."

Catching up again (part 9)





56/50

Thursday, February 20, 2020

"We are NOT the Hair Blair Bunch!"

Catching up again (part 6)




53/50

The Melting Clock by Stuart M. Kaminsky (Mysterious Press 1991)




“Grasshoppers,” Salvador Dali whispered, shrinking back as I opened the door. He didn’t say “grasshoppers” exactly, it was more like “grah-zoppairs,” but I understood the word as he repeated it, his eyes open wide, his long, dark waxed mustaches curled upward at the end like sharp-pointed black surgical needles.

“A giant monk with an ax is coming through that door behind you in about ten seconds,” I said.

The door I was pointing to shuddered.

“Make that five, Sal. What’ll it be, a couple of grasshoppers outside or a split personality?”

Dali, dressed in a white rabbit suit, removed the deerstalker hat perched on his head and pointed at the splintering door with one hand. Then he did a little dance from foot to foot as if he had to find a toilet.





Wednesday, February 19, 2020

"Fuck off clean shirt!"

Catching up again (part 5)




52/50


Note the time on this 180 - 10.25pm - and the time on the 51/50 180 - 10.24pm.

Yep, the first time I've ever hit two 180s with successive darts . . . and it was in a pub . . . and, of course, no fucker was around to witness it. Go figure.

"I'm definitely not co-managing a pub called 'Free the Paedos'. "

Catching up again (part 4)



51/50

Monday, February 17, 2020

"This is my moment of madness. This is my Clapham Common"

Catching up again (part 3)





50/50


New Year's Darts Resolutions (Updated)

  • Hit two 180s in one day.
  • Hit fifty 180s in 2020.
  • Hit a high of 41 - as the lowest score - in a round.
  • Hit 60 sixties in a round.
  • Hit a 180 in a bar.
  • Towards the end of the year, join a pub team and, naturally, go down in flames in ignominious defeat.


Another 2020 Dart Resolution achieved That's my fiftieth 180 of the year. If I'd known I was going to reach the target in the middle of February then, of course, I would have set a higher number but, in fairness to myself, I was basing it off the fact that I'd hit seventeen 180s in 2019. I guess the unofficial goal now is to hit 100 180s in 2020. We'll see.

With regards to the other resolutions yet to be achieved, I've not even come close to the 'high of 41'. I'm not sure I can even achieve it, but I will give it my best shot.

Joining a pub team? That's a bit more complicated. I'll fill you in about it another time.




"We could have been the Chemical Toilet Brothers."

Catching up again (part 2)



49/50

"It's not piss!"

Catching up again (part 1)



48/50

Thursday, February 13, 2020

Round 162: Walking Wounded



Darts Thrown: February 13th 2020
Blog Written: February 13th 2020

Highest Score: 180
Lowest Score: 11
Sixties: 49
100+: 22
180s: 1
180s Missed: 1


Blogger's Note: Written in haste, so there will be spelling mistakes and slapdash grammar.

A game of two halves.

Avoided playing darts today because of an increasingly painful right elbow and a fucked up left knee (both dart related), but I thought I'd at least throw in one round before I went to bed.

Big mistake. First half the darts were all over the place. Only hit 13 sixties and I thought I was going to end up with my worst round of darts for about ten months. Thankfully I recovered enough in the second half, hitting 36 sixties, and that penultimate line is arguably the best run of darts I've ever thrown.

The get up and go thing to do would have been for me to immediately launch into another round of darts, so I could capitalize on this fleeting rich vein of form but, me being me, I quit whilst I was ahead. It's the hope that kills you.

I'll leave you with a song. Nothing to do with the aforementioned round of darts. It just happens to be in my tabs, and if I don't post it now I will forget all about it. Though the song dates from 2012, it's new to me. Love the keyboards and how the lead guitarist shamelessly rips off The Byrds. Good man.

The Moons feat. Paul Weller - Something Soon



"Could be Elton John."

Catching up again (part 9)



44/50

Kudos to whoever came up with this . . .

The Miliband brothers . . . Lisa Nandy . . . Kamala Harris . . . and Mayor Pete.

What the fuck happens? Do I really care? Not really.




Saturday, February 08, 2020

"Leave off, Fletch, he's serious."

Catching up again (part 3)



38/50

Ya stoater

A triple score and 77 points for 'Steamie'. Thank you, Mr. Tony Roper.

I bet my American opponent is scratching his head in bemusement right now. "A fucking what? He just made that shit up".


Monday, February 03, 2020

Poor Butterfly by Stuart M. Kaminsky (Mysterious Press 1990)



The overture ended. Stokowski sighed, shook his head, and said, “Oboe. You, oboe.”

The oboe player, a very old man, looked up, ready to accept the ax.

“When I coax you with my hand like this,” said Stokowski, demonstrating the hand movement “I want you to play, to help. The flutes were lost. They have improved in quality in the last ten minutes but lost in volume.”

“But,” said the bewildered oboe player, his instrument cradled lovingly in his arms, “there was no music when you “pointed at me to play.”

“I am the conductor,” said Stokowski. “If I point at you, coax you, it is because I need you, and you will play even if there is no part for you.”

“You want me to improvise on Puccini?” asked the stunned old man, looking in the general direction of the string section.

“Yes,” said Stokowski. “Yes. Yes if I need it.”

“You want me to play … jazz?”

“I don’t care what you call it,” said Stokowski. “Just do it. Can you do it?”

“Yes,” said the old man.

“Good,” said Stokowski. “Practice.”

“Practice what?” asked the old man.

“Creative flexibility.”



"If it hasn't been forgotten, I'm not interested."

Still catching up (part 12)




31/50

"He's three months old. He needs to toughen up."

Still catching up (part 11)



30/50

"Not if you're with Gay Martin . . ."

Still catching up (part 10)



29/50