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| Nope. Doesn't do a thing for me |
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| Nah. Not happening. |
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| The Frug. Close enough |
No! Not the game thus:
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| Victorian Pinball machine? |
Where does it come from? From Italian, around the sixteenth century, and the word "baga", meaning "baggage". This then evolves into "bagatella" and via French to Bagatelle. Quite why this equates to your carry-on luggage being easy to cope with is something of a mystery. Perhaps because it's easy to lift up and move?
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| Er - quite. |
No! Not a song, not even by The Skreeming Voles*, about writing songs.
No, I mean the word pronounced "Ponshon", thank you very much, the one which means to have a particular bent or keenness for an activity. What's that? I am so not a poseur! Lots of people say "penchant"! Okay, some.
Okay, it's only me. Still, Conrad is curious** and it's his blog, so -
Ah, thought so. French, you see, seventeenth century, from the verb "Pencher", which means "To lean."
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| Were this a Gerry Anderson TV show, people would say:"She's not gonna make it!SHE'S NOT GONNA MAKE IT!" |
Today We Said Goodbye
To Bella Mori, from the Resourcing Team, and Conrad was both quietly satisfied and also a bit rueful when she choked up and the tears began to seep.
Given his penchant for doggerel rhyme, Bella had asked Conrad to whistle up a pome^, as she knew it would be a mere bagatelle for him.
When I actually produced it she claimed to have been only joking. Nevertheless it got read out by crikey yes indeed. Too full of in-jokes, I'm not going to reproduce it here, lest it identify my Giant Nameless Undertaking, but you can have the opening and separate limerick:
There once was a lady called Bella,
Who loved to sing acapella
But when she tried at Ringway
The pilots said "Go away!"
And threatened to propeller.
I know it's not deathless poetry but it only took me the length of a shower to throw it together.
Ginger
No! Not Biggles' faithful Yorkshire assistant - I mean the rhizome that is used in medicine and cooking.
I mention this because last week Alison had a jar of Ginger Preserve given to her by the Taste Team to test, and as Conrad evinced a polite interest^^, she gave me some on an oatmeal cracker. We both love ginger, and I just then realised how many different forms Conrad consumes it in.
Ginger jam, that's one way. The pickled ginger in sushi packs, which he slurps out of the packet, uncouth but - hey! - whose blog is it? Then there's ginger as a powder, used in baking. Stem ginger, used in making cakes and ice-cream. Crystallised ginger, which comes in packets: Conrad got through a whole packet today. I politely offered Anna a piece, which she politely took - at first thinking the packet held biscuits - and then remarked on how strong it was^^^. Ginger root, used by the slice in recipes or grated in tea. Ginger nuts - for our South Canadian friends, these are not nuts, but biscuits. No, I don't know why they're called "nuts" nor do I know why a Bath Oliver is so-named.
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| I Googled "Ginger Hebblethwaite" and - well, this. Sorry, Biggles! |
"Set The Controls For The Heart Of The Fen"
By 1981 The Skreeming Voles had actually learnt to play their instruments, and even included the lead singer's father (Credited as "Dead Dad" on the album sleeve) playing the parish church organ on several tracks on their third album "Vole Au Vents"
In a move that sparked accusations of "selling out", lead singer Pocksy Afflicted changed his stage name to Rocksy Inflected and learnt an A minor chord on guitar. His English degree (long denied but BOOJUM! has seen the Edexcel records) stood him in good stead for the mellower and more reflective lyrics of this difficult transitional record.
Rabid as rats! Rabid as rats!
We deprecate dogs
And we cavil at cats!
Rabid as rats! Rabid as rats!
- as this extract from "Under the Vole-canoe" surely proves.
| The cover of The Skreeming Voles fourth album, a tribute to the German band <ahem> "Can" |
Finally
Conrad yesterday explained that he likes the noble orang-utang above the other great apes, mostly because they remind him of Buster Keaton. Utterly deadpan.
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| Buster Keaton, the great stone-face. No, hang on - |
* This punk band are threatening to take on a life of their own. Back, Voles!
** In the sense of being inquisitive, not odd***.
*** Oh, alright, odd, too.
^ You can''t call these things "poems"
^^ That is, my eyes came out like organ stops and my tongue hung out like a lolling rug.
^^^ Sorry Anna! And after the coffee, too ...
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