Why, Yes, Another Excuse To Mention Pink Floyd
Not that they need the publicity, really. And when I say "How David Gilmour saved the free world" I mean kind of, in the sense of not really but perhaps. Art!
"Wish You Were Here"
For an age Your Humble Scribe was convinced this was a peculiar kind of transparent glass engine, probably something to do with reading "The Towers Of Toron" at the same time as listening to it.
ANYWAY yesteryon we were looking at that occupational hazard as suffered by tyrannical despots, 'Dictatoritis' and YES BLOATY GAS TOUT we are looking at you. Briefly put, they operate in a bubble created by their adoring minions, who dare not tell them either 'No' or the real truth when it's bad. This is because all who were brave or foolish enough to bring tales of woe and disaster, are now dead.
Enter Democracy. The astute Winston Churchill, a chap who knew a thing or two about politics, once joked that 'Democracy is the worst form of government, except for all the others,' and he had a point. Art!
Dave Gilmour
Part of a democracy's strength is that it can change the leader, if, for instance, he starts to believe that he's a radioactive banana and that the weasels should be set free. Can you see anything like that happening in Stalin's Sinister Union? And the Teutons tried their electoral change with a bomb. Stanley Chamberlain, on the other hand, was voted out of office. No explosive needed.
"But - Dave Gilmour?" I hear you query. BE PATIENT!
Winnie
The other strength of a democracy is getting a consensual opinion about stuff, rather than having Herr Schickelgruber decide that invading Iceland via the South Pole is a winning strategy, go carry out my orders to the letter, menial minions! <add in a bit of carpet-chewing for extra realism>. Churchill's War Cabinet was small but people could put their views and opinions across for others to assess and either accept or reject.
Take a case in point, the fearsome and humourlessly efficient Ulsterman General Alanbrooke, who was Churchill's Chief Of Staff and the most senior British officer in the whole army. One of Winnie's problems was that he had up to ten ideas per day, one of which was brilliant and the other nine awful, and he had no idea which was which. Art!
Did NOT suffer fools. At all.
Ol' Brooky had no problem telling Winnie "No" for sixteen hours straight if an idea was bad, and he'd repeat this all week long if necessary (it was on occasion), being about as likely to change his opinion as lead spontaneously turning into a radioactive banana. Again, can you imagine anyone standing up to Herr Schickelgruber like this and staying 1) alive and 2) out of prison? Franz Halder, roughly equivalent to Alanbrooke, ended up in prison for defying his boss.
"But -" SHUT UP I'M GETTING THERE!
This is Dave's debut solo album, made when the band were on a kind of hiatus. Of course the journalists had to ask him if it was at all self-indulgent and he didn't think so. "Being in a group, most of the rubbish gets ironed out" he admitted, which is where we and the Free World came in.
"The Sea Of Sand"
I'm posting this up whilst at work because I shan't be able to once out of the office, even if it takes an hour on the bus. Your Humble Scribe likes to be productive when he can be.
2) Farmers of the Sea
Realising that
the suns had passed noon-and-noon-and-a-half, he stopped his sweeping motion,
standing up to look further out to sea.
The shallow lagoons lay baking under the sunslight, busy creating life
energy. In fact it was time to stop
harvesting and make for the shore, to stock up on water and bottled algae. Not that Farmers like him were permitted to
wear a watch of any sort, farmers not being entitled to technology, but long
usage and experience told him that he could make for dry land.
The long, low
hutments that served as the Farmer’s accommodation stood well inland, beyond the
sand dunes and bordering the barren hinterland, that desolate sweep of
continent where nothing lived or grew.
Farmer Selig needed to walk there to get his supplies – their Overseers
at this subsection of the coastal colony made certain only those who got to the
buildings got fed and watered. He
plodded along, his footwebs beginning to stir up the powdery, dead dust once he
moved off the beach dunes. It tickled
his nose and lightly coated his proboscis, meaning he had to stop and shake the
irritating grit away.
THERE! Happy now? You've got yer aliens.
Right! Trying To Type This On The Metro
Fewer bumps than travelling by First, at least. Hopefully none of the weekend's alarming side-to-side swaying, which is rather frightening to this fearful old coward. The problem is, of course - obviously! - no internet connection, which means no pictures, as you can't even select from within Blogger. Art!
We also made the acquaintance of this lot, who stopped debarking passengers and came aboard to check tickets at the Central Park stop, and they caught a couple of dozen defaulters who HAD NOT PAID LIKE HONEST CONRAD. Cheers, criminals, that's a £100 fine for you, all for the sake of saving £2.50. Although earlier in the day I'd been thinking 'Why bother?' because nobody ever checks. Almost famous last words!
"On The Water"
This is reminiscent of Blind Man's Bluff*, because I cannot see any of the photographs from the BBC's competition page. I do recall one that I'd skipped previously because it was a little too cute. Thus - Art!
Courtesy Richard Hughes
I shall have to wait until I get home and connected to credit the photographer and their schmaltzy comments on how wonderful ducklings and cygnets are.
It looks delicious, doesn't it? NO! No, attractive. Mouth-wateringly attractive. No! Just attractive. Attractive. Dog Buns, Conrad, stop typing with your stomach.
Finally -
Who the heck breeds those chickens, when they know what they can do? as The Sound never quite sang when going on about missiles. "Who the <rude word redacted> build those missiles", for your information.
ANYWAY Conrad walks past a set of houses on his perambulations into Babylon-Lite, one of whom keeps chickens, which can occasionally be seen squawking around and pecking the ground, typical chicken stuff, restrained by a chicken-wire fence.
Well, not this Sunday. Art!
They look delici - NO! No, they look amusing, don't they? One wonders how they got out and how the owners are going to get them back. One also suspects that these chickadees will peck and claw if you try to pick them up and pen them into captivity.
And with that, we are done.
* Not to be confused with the far easier Bling Man's Buff
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