There has been a footwear theme in the commentary of late, loyal and patient reader, which has prompted me to consider a couple of things that have vexed me in the past from time to time.
The other day I was wondering what became of the actors who played the children Buffy and Jodie in the American situation “comedy” “Family Affair” in the sixties or whenever it was.
Naturally, whenever one thinks of former child actors one assumes that they developed a drug habit and were arrested at the age of 23 holding up a convenience store with a screwdriver. That is pretty much invariably the case, but it is nice to know for sure.
Anyway, I cannot think of “Family Affair” without thinking of Mr. French, the family manservant. You will recall, or if you do not I hope you will take my word for it, that this august and generous factotum was played by Sebastian Cabot. Whenever I hear that name, I cannot help interchanging the first letters and ending up with the surname “Sabot”.
Sabots are a type of wooden footwear used in parts of France.
Mr. French.
France.
It is so unlikely a co-incidence that I am sure that when we find out what is behind it we will know what was going on at the grassy knoll.
When I start thinking about sabots, I am reminded of an interesting piece of information passed on to me by a student teacher when I was in about the third year of my primary schooling.
It seems that in the early days of the industrial age, workers who felt that their needs were being ignored were given to putting their sabots into the machinery, thus bringing work to a halt and giving themselves the opportunity for some much needed folding of the hands in quiet contemplation. This, as is well known, gave rise to the expression “Sabotage”, meaning the deliberate damaging of machinery or equipment to gain an industrial or military advantage.
There are those naysayers who insist that my teacher was wrong. These people suggest that it would be unusual to put your shoes into the machinery when a rock would work just as well. They think that the miscreant would be easily detected by the bareness of his feet. Why, they ask, would you deprive yourself of footwear and expose yourself to detection for no reason?
In their dreary way they point to the fact that there is not one single reported instance of machinery ever having been damaged by the insertion of wooden footwear and suggest that the provenance of the expression is more comfortably associated with the fact that “sabot” is the name given to a type of railway tie that, if removed, will result in the derailing of a train. They say that this was a method used by military saboteurs and that the word first came into use at the time that this practice started.
What claptrap. My teacher told me in grade 3 that European workers were smashing up the looms and trudging home through the snow in stockinged feet. It may not make sense, but why does it have to? Knitting doesn’t make sense, but who would deny knitting?
The information provided by my teacher is good enough for me and I am sure it is good enough for the rest of you. This was a student teacher after all and not some appalling ignoramus who could barely get through high school and thought nothing of imposing their own lack of the spirit of enquiry on the developing minds of the young.
Having dealt with that there is one further challenge that I would like to address. Thick bootlaces or thin ones?
I have been grappling with this for some time.
For starters, most boots don’t have laces at all except army boots and Doc Martens. Oh, football boots too.
It is my understanding, possibly from the same grade 3 student teacher, that originally pretty much all types of footwear were called “boots”. I don’t know whether that is because everyone wore what we would now call boots or because the name was used to cover what we would now call shoes.
Assuming the latter to be the case, it is understandable that “shoes” entered the language to cover the fancier, neater footwear and “boots” was retained to cover the heavier items that cover the ankle.
One might easily imagine that the expression “bootlaces” could have survived even though the said laces were more generally used in shoes. I do not deny that the expression “shoelaces” is sometimes used, but I certainly do blame the French for that.
There are so many factors in the thick v thin bootlace issue. Eyelet size, extent of fraying of broken lace, required length of lace, whether you need them yellow ones like with some Docs, synthetic or natural fibre and black or tan are just some considerations. I have taken them all into account and weighed them carefully. It is pleasing that I am able to say that the answer is thin. Preferably waxed, but certainly thin.
June 21, 2007 at 12:10 pm |
What about flat shoelaces? They are neither thin nor fat, but in between, and thus perfect for clogs.
June 21, 2007 at 12:19 pm |
Well, Ms. S, that is entirely a matter of perspective. From one angle they look thick, from another they look thin. The reality is that, however they may look they are not, as you say, thin so by definition they are out.
Love
Big Olly
June 21, 2007 at 7:24 pm |
Big,
We were as poor as the Cunninghams, eating mostly rabbits and squirrels and drowning it with syrup, but my point is, what about when the shoelaces frayed to reveal two layers, and the outer layer wouldn’t go through the eyelet, so you just had a bit of skinny string holding the shoe in place, and you’d hope it wouldn’t break.
When it eventually did you’d re-route the shoelaces to miss, say, the bottom one or two rows of eyelets.
Mind you, former West Torrens nonentity Aldo Florieani took me to task that one time at the footy school for the cardinal sin of lacing up the Blue Diamonds with brown shoe laces. Quite rightly too.
June 21, 2007 at 7:33 pm |
Don’t get me started on Family Affayer. Brian Keith went on to the hellish death of “the Brian Keith Show” where he was a peadiatrictian in Hawaii, M. S Cabot disapeared off the face of the earth, Sissy went on to play the house keeper in “The Courtship of Eddie’s Father” (starring Bill Bixby before his “The Magician” days), Buffy topped herself on drugs at age 16 but the one who suffered most was Jodie, who went on to the nightmarish hell of Sid and Marty Kroft’s “Sigmund the Sea Monster”.
Thanks Olly for re-awakening these happy childhood memories.
June 21, 2007 at 7:34 pm |
Oh yeah, what about leather shoelaces?
June 21, 2007 at 7:54 pm |
Brian Keith also starred in the excellent film “Krakatoa – East of Java”.
The fact that Krakatoa was actually west of Java is indicative of the exhaustive research that went into making of the film. Sadly, Brian Keith’s son died, electing to stay on land rather than boating it, and meeting his end in the ensuing Sue Narmey. S Cabot was washed up on Diego Garcia, apparently, if indeed he was in the film.
June 22, 2007 at 10:29 am |
Came across your blog clicking on the random blog arrow…
Family Affair was like THE GREATEST TV SHOW EVER! Okay, maybe not exactly true, but I watched it alot as a kid.
Buffy, Uncle Bill, and Mr. French are dead now. I think Buffy died of an overdose and Brian Keith committed suicide.
For what it’s worth, S. Cabot was the voice of Bagheera in Disney’s The Jungle Book. My son was watching it a while back and my head whipped around when I heard Mr. French.
June 22, 2007 at 11:07 am |
Ah, Some Bloke, thank you for that. I too can recall the distress of trying to thread the lace through the eyelet after the end of the lace, or “aiglet” had come off. Usually you were better off unlacing the shoe altogether and relace it using the intact lace end so that you didn’t have to spend ages trying to get the frayed fiasco through the eyelets.
This is one of the many reasons that thin laces are better. As for the Blue Diamonds threaded with brown laces, did you not think to point out that the laces matched the wooden cleats perfectly?
Professor Fairweather, I am pleased to have been able to touch you with my vapid meanderings. Am not sure where your information comes from, but it is fascinating to hear. As for your question about leather bootlaces, I can but repeat myself. I have considered the question from every angle and thin are better than thick. I do not know how I can make myself any clearer.
Finally, bienvenu to Bellevelma. I don’t think you should be back pedalling from your claim about Family Affair.
Sure, it was in black and white (unless our TV was just old, which is quite possible) and the doll whose name escapes me had rather unappealing spectacle frames, but there was much more to the show than that. Not to mention its heartwarmingness.
Interesting information, too, about Scabot’s appearance in “The Jungle Book”. Truly there were some big names doing the voices for that work. Many people think that King Louis was Louis Armstrong but my sources suggest that in fact it was the great Louis Prima, in what was one of his last appearances before he lapsed into a coma.
So there.
Love
Big Olly
June 22, 2007 at 2:43 pm |
Ciao Olli.
I have had a soft spot for Mr Keith since seeing “The Parent Trap” as very small child, on the Oriana, I believe it was, in transit from Naples to the great southen land. Speaking no English at the time, I understood not a word of the dialogue, but the meaning was nonetheless unmistakeable.
I therefore looked him up on l’internetta (as we call it). He did indeed dispatch himself from this life, using with that negotiating tool so popular with Americans, a hand gun applied to the head. This followed a diagnosis of terminal cancer, and emphysema. He was 75. There is a very nice quote in Wikipedia from his former co-star in Family Affair about his decision to take charge of his demise, rather than leave it to a disease.
The reason I write now is that next Sunday is the 10th anniversary of his final salute. When I spend an hour at my local Cathedral on that day, I will pray for his soul, burning in hell though it surely is. I invite and urge yourself and your readership to do likewise at your/their chosen place of worship. Persons who follow the Jewish faith will of course need to get started at sunset tonight.
The actress who played Buffy, did not have a happy life after making 138 epsiodes in 4 years, plus relentless marketing appearances. She had become type-cast. She retuned to normal high school, but dropped out. She dying of an accidental drug overdose at age 18.
John Whittaker, the other twin is still alive. He was/became a mormon, finished high school, did a 2 year stint door-knocking-for-jesus in Portugal, and became a IT consultant (a very noble profession, I say). He is still connected with showbiz.
Well, I must get back to the curling tongs.
June 22, 2007 at 3:02 pm |
Well, Arturo, I would not have expected you to have been such an authority on these matters but your learned input is most welcome. I urge all in my readerboat to take a moment to reflect on the human condition, particularly as viewed through the prism of Brian Keith.
My own observation on Mr. Keith is that he bore an uncanny physical resemblance to a South Australian entertainer. No, I do not refer to Bobby Helpmann ( for once) but to Keith Michell.
They were like peas in a pod those two. Indeed, I have never seen them together and wonder whether there was some connection.
The physical resemblance. The name Keith. Coo, I think a goose just walked over my grave.
Love
Big Olly
June 22, 2007 at 3:09 pm |
Before I turn my back on this excellent diversion, may I share with you a moment of joy I first experienced, quite some years ago now. After spending many hours over the years dealing with shoelaces short of an aiglet or so, I was shown, (or discovered – I do not recall which) the use of adhesive tape.
The winding of a strip of tape around the end of a fraying lace renders the lace new again! Oh, joy. The sense of liberation was profound: I can recall how it felt that first time, how it still occurs to this day. Let me try and describe it.
No matter how badly frayed, no matter how shortened a lace has become, no matter how many ends are frayed, no matter that the eyelet is small, once the tape goes onto the lace, I know these things:-
(a) that the lace is about to be tied up within seconds, not hours, and I will stand up in a moment with a quiet smile of triumph, not the shortness of breath, and expletives that I haved used this morning.
(b) the genreal disquiet associated with a loose shoe is about to disapear, to be replaced by the embrace (as it were) of a long-absent friend.
(c) there will be no more occasional cold draughts in the arch area as the loose shoe pumps out warm air which had gathered there.
Little things, I know, but there can be – and should be – joy in little things. Little things.
June 22, 2007 at 3:23 pm |
Speaking of little things, wasn’t it “Mrs Beasley”?
I like thick laces. Thin laces is for puffs. On the other hand, as I wear sandals which make a sound of many doors knocking when I walk, I care not so much for laced shoes.
Konnichiwa.
June 22, 2007 at 3:28 pm |
Ah, yes Arturo, I know what you mean but what about when the aiglet remains intact but the abrasion of the bootlace against the eyelet results in the outer part of the lace wearing away a few centimetres along the length? When that happens, and you pull the lace tight, the outer does not pass through the eyelet and one is obliged to make a rather unsatisfying knot using just the string bit as referred to by Some Bloke. Plus the outer is all kind of bunched up against the tongue of the shoe which dulls the edge of husbandry.
Ohira, you are correct. The name of the doll with the then most unappealing, but now rather modish square spectacles, was indeed Mrs. Beasley.
Unfortunately, on the other issue, you are not correct. As previously stated, I have made a full study into all aspects. Although my researches are too exhaustive to set out here, I have satisfied myself that thing ones are better. I would be grateful if you avail yourself of the advantage I give you through my hard work and turn your attention to solving world poverty or something. We already have a definitive answer on the bootlace issue.
Love
Big Olly
June 22, 2007 at 5:05 pm |
Big Olly
I have not recently (if ever) experienced the grief of which you write, when the damage is not at the end of the lace, but some distance along it. However it concerns me greatly
I think, though, that this may allow me to bring to the debate another of my small joys, which will enable the sufferer to experience the same sense of accomplishment that can be so gratifying.
Scissors.
When the damage is local, rather than at the extreme, one has a rather more challenging, but still rewarding, task. This involves using the scissors to sever the lace in two places, either side of the damaged area. Following this the two undamaged portions are knotted together.
Knotting. Child’s play you may say, and it is admittedly a somewhat tasteless solution, but sometimes circumstances dictate that it must be done.
Never having been a Boy Scout (and not being “prepared” or, perhaps more aptly, “groomed”), I have skill on knots, and offer no words them. Except to say that for present purposes it is assumed that a knot cannot pass thorugh an eyelet.
The skill here comes in the placement of the cuts, to control thereby the location of the ensuing knot. This knot should appear centrally between the two flaps (those in which the eyelets are found – regrettably I do not have the correct name). This is so as to minimise the visual assault caused by the presence of a knot, and also to allow a modicum of adjustment while fitting or removing the shoe and tying up the lace.
A secondary consideration, one of personal taste, is whether the knot appears in the lace passing above the leather, or below it. The former leaves the knot in full view, rather obvious to the eye. The latter however may cause a very noticeable pressue on the delicate flesh over the metatarsal bones, and this can, over time, give rise to considerable emotional distress to the wearer.
The real challenge comes when there are 2 worn places, and 2 knots are required. Getting both of these knots just right is a rare skill, mastery of which may be considered an art form, perhaps comparable to tantric sex, though perhaps shorter in duration.
And there you have it. Scissors. Knots. Little things. Little mind.
Or just change the lace.
June 22, 2007 at 5:17 pm |
Dear Mr Olly It was Mrs Beasley, who’s first name was not Hazel,
but if it was that would be a segue (or as Mr French would say, seque) to another “classic”.
June 22, 2007 at 9:39 pm |
Mr Bygolly,
Do your readers remember “Mad” magazine? They used to do satires of tv shows and movies. For example, Lost In Space was lampooned under the title “Loused Up In Space”, and another of my favourites was “Star blecch!”, which had the following exchange:
Mr Spock : “Captain, I don’t believe my ears.” [strange noises off]
Captain Kirk : “I don’t believe your ears either.”
T’any rate, my point, if you’ll let me make it , was that Mr French was named, in the Mad magazine satire, Mr Stench. At school, we had a pommie guy in our class. He sounded nothing like Mr Stench/French. He had what might be called a cockney accent. Whatever it was, it wasn’t your upper class English accent, like what Jeeves might sound like.
But we nicknamed him “Stench” anyway.
And he had thin laces.
Spooky, huh?
June 23, 2007 at 8:19 am |
“Or just change the lace.”
So says Arturo Taverna, an extremely wealthy hairdresser. Laces cost about 15 cents a pair back in our day, so who could afford them? We were poor religious types taught to be frugal according to God’s Law. Anyway, if things got bad you could just pinch someone elses during PE, which only cost you an Our Father and 3 Hail Marys at the following Friday’s confession, and you don’t burn in hell like Keith, B.
I must admit (Jock McArthur style) that I do have a grudging respect for Art’s mastery of the multiple shoelace knot. I invariably had a knot at both the bottom and top, and never quite knew if I was coming or going.
June 23, 2007 at 1:56 pm |
Arturo, I am so pleased that one as versed in the art of the mid lace knot as are you has been able to broach that delicat subject. I didn’t ever achieve the double knotted lace although I do remember about a month in which I was dealing with a lace with a singe mid lace knot with both aiglets missing, meaning that the lace itself was so short I had to tie my shoes with a reef knot. After a whole day of being pulled tight by my brisk marching ’round the schoolyard the knot would have become so tight that it took about 20 minutes work with the pointy end of the compass to get it undone.
Which in turn takes me back to the hilarious prank we were given to play on our schoolchums, whereby one would grab his tie and yank on it so hard that the knot would become all misshapen and he couldn’t get his tie off. There are tears of laughter in my eyes even now. Must try it out on Toothy Anderson next time I see him.
StabiloBOSS, I recall Hazel though I do not recall her surname. She worked for the Beasleys if I am right. Her simpering “Mr. B” when she was under pressure was the comedy highlight of that show.
Frankly, had she been my maid I should have fired her.
Wacker, my old friend, so pleased to see that you have been moved to contribute. I am sure that you know that I spent much of my youth poring over Mad magazine. The comics by Don Martin, Dave Berg’s “Lighter Side of” series, Sergio Aragones Marginals and Spy vs Spy’s hilariously alternating antics all kept me occupied. I don’t think any of my schoolchums were nicknamed from the mag, although there was one fellow calle “Alfie” Newman. I am not sure that that was not the unfortunate fellow’s actual name.
Finally, Some Bloke. I feel your pain.
Love
Big Olly
June 23, 2007 at 10:29 pm |
Bapu,
My father tells me that Mr Sebastian Cabot starred alongside Mr Jerry lewis in his 1965 film The Family Jewels. He essayed the role of Matsen, a Watson to one of Mr Lewis’ nutty uncles (the photographer who ends up investigating the kidnapping of his niece but then gets caught up in a game of pool with some sharks). Mr Brian Keith too starred with Mr Lewis in his 1967 moving picture, Way Way Out. I think Mr Keith ran NASA and sent Mr Lewis to the moon to impregnate Anita Ekberg.
Hope this helps.
For what it’s worth, I favour elastic sided boots (as does Mr Lewis) but am not permitted to wear leather. My shoes are made from fish. I also used to wear Kyaks which only had two pairs of holes; from memory they had flat laces.
Sajit
June 25, 2007 at 9:32 am |
Wasn’t Sir Alec Guiness the one who played all the different people in the same film? Not that nogoodnic Lewis.
Haven’t heard much Jerry lately (how precient was one of his last film’s titles: “Hardly Working”), so I assumed he has dissapeared to Bollywood where he churns out 7 films a week in an attempt to sate the inscrutable tastes of the Indian French.
Oh, and slippers are the best shoes, forget this lace malarky
June 25, 2007 at 1:44 pm |
Sajit, thank you so much for your valuable update on the important interplay of the cast of Family Affair and the grate Jerry Lewis. Tell me, did Lewis ever perform with Keith Michell or Bobby Helpmann?
I do recall Kyaks as well. They did indeed have flat laces. They were a disgrace, but not because of the laces, just in general.
Prof. Fairweather, friend. I think you have Peter Sellers in mind as the fellow who played several characters in one film.
Both of you fellows have expressed a preference for non laced footwear and I will admit that I have several pairs of elastic sided boots which I find to be very good indeed. But that is not the point. The issue is whether thick laces are better than thin laces. To properly enter the debate you need to put yourself into the position of one who labours under the lace yoke.
Love
Big Olly
June 25, 2007 at 6:44 pm |
Dear Big
Yes I remember those hi-jinks with ties, how one pulled until there was a faint indication under the fingertips of fibres giving way in fabric close to the region of the friend’s carotid aretery, indicating time to move on to other diversions. My eyes misted over at the memory.
But be not dishearted about the 2 knot art. I must now declare before your good self and your readerboat, that I myself have never reached the heights of matery of the 2-knot repair. After spending a few hours on a few some occasions, I did not achieve the ultimate pleasure. I am now thinking I’ll have a creack at tantric sex. And I will confess that I did enjoy codifying the whole activity, for anyone silly enought to try it.
However I must make another serious point in the debate, in response to a matter raised by Mr Fairweather, upon which matter I fear he has gone feafully wrong.
That matter is the slippper. The factm, dear Olly, is that there are some people in this world who are invariably late. I should say at the outset that I do not wish to demean a proclivity in this direction. It has the great advantage that one is rarely required to waste one’s valuable time at an engagement waiting for the other person to arrive. Of course, I cannot speak for that other person, but in my view, it’s their own problem anyway. But I digress.
There is no problem with tardiness itself. Many people are late fro many things. The problem arises ONLY IN CONJUNCTION WITH THE SLIPPER. One of the key feaures of tardiness is the frequent occurrence of bursts of violent & preciptative activity. These usual occur when the person decides that as they have an engagment to be somewhere else, 5 minutes previously, they had better get going. This results in rapid and sometimes random movements about the premises, accompanied by fulminations against their own stupidity, about why they made the arrangement to see someone they didn’t really like that much, and why Channel 10 programs always finish five or ten mintes after the half-hour in the TV guide.
It is at this very time that the slipper become a highly dangerous weapon, equivalent in layman’s terms to “a stick of sweaty gelly”. At some point during this period, one or more of these slippers will be “fired” from the foot of the wearer, at tremendous velocity and with unerring accuracy. It always causes serious damage: to the milky eye of an ageing beloved family pet (never to see again); to the groin of the alpha male of the household (never to breed again), to the chest region of a visiting aunt (never to be seen again -i.e. the slipper), or the worst possible outcome in the longer term – mother’s best glassware cabinet (out of the will).
The slipper is clearly capable of far more harm than either Mr Hush or Mr Puppies ever considered. And yet this risk could be obviated so easily. This outcome simply would does not occur, if the person is wearing shoes, with laces correctly tied (and knotted, if required). In fact I believe that this issue is of sufficient seriousness to warrant legislative control on the wearing of such dangerous footwear. May I suggest something like the following:
(1) No person may wear slippers without a licence to do so.
(2) Such license may be made by application in person only
(3) At the hearing of any such application, the applicant must
(a) arrive 15 minutes before the appointed
(b) be fully dressed, including shoes with laces (and knots, if required)
(c) show no sign of shortness of breath or perspiration on the upper lip
And so, despite my great respect for Mr Fairweather’s work in (the field of) children, I must disagree with him this once- laces are not malarkey, they are sound common sense.
For elastic sided boots, I feel an argument may be mounted in similar terms, though less strongly, as there is considerable variation in the elasticity factor from one bootmaker to another.
I do feel that should be some legal protection afforded to the more chivalrous of the male sex, who may on occasion offer to assist a member if the female sex to remove a pair of boots, when the boots in question have been made under the brand name of the late Mr Williams.
In that situation, the quality of the elastic is without peer. However, where there has been a consumption of alcohol prior to the gentlemanly offer, other factors come play: considerable enthusiasm is applied to the task of removal; but the concentration of both parties is likely to be directed towards other contemporaneous activities, or perhaps events due to occur shortly after the removal is completed. There is a now a measurably greater risk of harm here: due to inattention, or miscommunication, the boot may end up in the month of the gallant gentleman, which will likely reduce the enjoyment of the moment. Even worse the elastic-sided device may spring off into groin area of the Knght in shining denim, and ruin the evening altogether.
Whilst I do not believe the elastic-sided boot warrants legislative intervention, perhaps the relevant Minister could be approached to amend the regualtions pertaining to product saftey and require some kind of warning label be applied to the boot. May I suggest something one of the following:
“Pre-Shag Warning: knights – protect your nuts.”
“Warning: Dangerous When Pissed.”
“Gallantry Warning: Use Scissors (A Taverna)”
Little relevance? Perhaps. But your august readerboat will understand that sometimes something simply must be said. And that they are just the people say it to.
June 25, 2007 at 10:29 pm |
Using a gizmo I have found:
Robert Helpmann was in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (1972) with Fred Cox who was in Funny Bones (1995) with Jerry Lewis.
At the height of his career Sir Robert was able to negotiate the unusual clause in his contract, which stipulated he was to appear posthumously with Jerry, via Fred Cox. That’s how they got the funding for Funny Bones.
June 25, 2007 at 10:41 pm |
Curious also that another great Australian actor Shane McCaulley can be linked to Lewis.
Shale Metcalf was in “Micarleft Tonight” (2003) with Dave Hughes
Dave Hughes was in “Russell Gilbert Live” (2000) with Jerry Lewis
Although this link is via two TV shows (which I’m not sure ever existed) it is nonetheless uncanny that Jerry has such a strong connection with Australia. Remember also that he was the star billing at the Hobart casino’s (now a carpark) opening night.
June 26, 2007 at 9:42 am |
Sir Alec Guiness was in a film where he played a lot of characters. I can’t recall its name now, it was “Virgin Bikie Sluts” or something.
Andrew Denton asked a perplexed Jerry Lewis questions about the song “Stairway to Heaven” at a general press conference at a comedy festival in Canada (genius from Denton) and his TV show out-lasted the doomed “Steve Metcalf Tonight” on Channel 9, so there’s another connexion.
Spooky!
June 26, 2007 at 10:22 am |
Well thank you for those efforts Johnny and the Professor.
Spooky indeed.
It never ceases to amaze me how many have been touched by Bobby Helmann or by his oeuvre (French for egg).
Jerry Lewis is famously popular amongst the French.
Spookiness abounds.
Love
Big Olly
June 26, 2007 at 2:30 pm |
Jackboots require no lacing. Nor slippers nor buskins. All of these are preferable Shoddingware. The Goths, I think, have cross-hatched leggings right up their manly thighs their footwear on to keepen geworn. For the rest there is no thing you can do with lacing that cannot as well mit piano-wire done be.
There are many things spooky about Sebastian Cabot – remember he was the spooky host of the spooky TV series: Circle of Fear.
Auf wiedersehen, Mein Susser.
June 26, 2007 at 8:52 pm |
Spookier still thoughJellie man, was Russell Starke and his Friday night Horror Shows on Channel 9, particularly that ‘Trilogy of Terror’ featuring the under-rated and voluptuous Karen Black, surely one of the scariest movies ever, particularly part 3 with that voodoo doll.
Starke, R.’s catch cry was to pour himself a wine and skoff it just before the film with the by line “Keep your spirits up”, and bon mots such as “See you after the show…. if you live that long.”
He was eventually sacked after he bagged a film in the preliminaries and implored viewers to change channels. Boned! But that’s Everywhere Eddie McGuire for you.
Interestingly, Russ wore mocassins, so no shoelace problems there.
June 27, 2007 at 7:56 am |
Big Olly, my learned colleagues, I had several idea about this topic, but this man has already scientifically solved any & all problems shoelace related http://www.fieggen.com/shoelace/agletrepair.htm
It includes the somewhat dangerous melted aiglet repair method, which we used to abuse the school bunsen burners to perform.
There is a link on the site to ‘Help Ian’. I think anyone who can do this should do so…
June 27, 2007 at 9:18 am |
Big, it’s not my place to pick up the spelling or textural errors of others. mercy no, but I did spot a factual transgression in Mr Bloke’s recent post.
Some, if I can be so cordial, Starke,R surely drank sherry, and not wine (unless you meamt fortified).
That fine old and alas forgotten SA brand Woodleys sponsored Mr S,R and it did so esp under the banner of it’s flagship 3 Roses Sherry.
One time local television personality Sven Mc Aleff once drank a sherry as well! He now writes for the Messanger Press Locheil edition, as I understand it.
Hows that for Spooky. See you after the show, of you live that long.
S.
June 27, 2007 at 9:20 am |
P.S. I meant “its” and I have never looked under a couch or into an oven since seeing Trilogy of Terror, third act.
June 27, 2007 at 9:57 am |
Well, Arturo seems to have crept in under my guard with a lengthy missive relating to the dangers of unlaced footwear in many of its forms.
I am still to hear from anyone in favour of those velcro fastenings which seem so practical yet at the same time so….
Arturo, if you have not tried them you may like to obtain a pair and give us a road test. I cannot see how they could be too dangerous.
Freddie, I think I see what you are getting at but hasten to point out that yoiu would need to re inforce your eyelets if you were going to lace your shoes with piano wire. The tongue too, probably or the top of your foot might get all cut. On the plus side, no more aiglet worries – even if the wire did break, it would be just as eyelet friendly.
Some Bloke, I am delighted to get your “take” on that mysterious local television performer of the seventies. He was slightly rude to my mother once at a party and thus entered family folklore as a beast of the first order. He had probably forgotten all about it within ten minutes, but the Ollys have long memories.
Petra, thankyou so much for that assistance. Once my nephew gets back from his school kayaking trip I will arrange for him to take me to this electro web manifestation to which you refer. I am aquiver.
Ms McD, I think you are right, it was Woodley’s 3 Roses Sherry that Starke drank. In any event, “keep your spirits up” was not as hilarious as it might have been had he been drinking spirits. Still, as he was to point out himself shortly before his career as presenter came to a halt, he didn’t have a lot to work with.
As to whether you meant “its” or “it’s” I make no comment. With luck you can work that out for yourself. In the meantime, might I suggest the construction “it isn’t” would be suitable. Of course, it is not my place to pick up spelling or textural errors..
Love
Big Olly
June 27, 2007 at 12:53 pm |
Big Olly
“Can you lift yourself up by your own bootstraps?”
As you know, I have devoted my life to science, and so have spent much time considering the above question.
Or, to phrase it more scientifically;
“Is it possible to elevate one’s self off the ground by pulling upwards on one’s own shoelaces?”
Initially I thought not, and my early testing bore this out. However your blog has caused me to revisit the question.
Those of us who remember the ‘80s will be familiar with coiled elastic shoelaces, often brightly coloured and worn in sport shoes, perhaps with leotards and legwarmers. They may be seen in the film-clip of Ms Newton-John’s outstanding song “Let’s Get Physical”
These laces needed no tying; the ends stayed in neat springy coils above the eyelets, and the laces’ elasticity held the shoes in place.
To my delight I have discovered that by pulling upwards on these coloured elastic laces it is indeed possible to come very close to lifting one’s self from the ground – if only for a very short time.
I am still in the testing phase, but am hopeful that I will soon be able to report a result that will be of great interest to the scientific community.
June 27, 2007 at 1:47 pm |
I Luuuuuv velco straps on my shoes. To me the sound conjures snuggly comfiness. When I hear all those velcro purses opening at the Clovercrest Tavern pokies I feel warm inside.
June 27, 2007 at 3:05 pm |
One would generally wear heels instead of shoes, but One did notice the Nobel prize-winning Prime Minister Winston Churchill sometimes wore shoes that zipped up the front! What will they think of next?
June 27, 2007 at 3:22 pm |
Well thanks for the exciting science developments, Sigismund. I always liked those curly laces although found them a trifle undignified so I did not use them myself. This left me feeling just a little empty and jealous. Now that there might be good science behind them I feel like running out right now and buying a flouro yellow pair. To match my eyes.
If levitating curly bootlaces are already here, can rocket backbacks be far behind?
Bobtails, welcome aboard, and well done with the first comment on velcro shoes. Oddly I have different and less pleasant thoughts associated with the various sounds at the Clovercrest. Still, what a dull world it would be were we all the same, hey?
Finally, dear sweet your Highness. How lovely to hear from you again.
I associate zips in shoes with sort of warm bootees, often fleece lined and a little “Ugg” boot in general style. Again, I have never worn them but the do look cosy.
Love
Big Olly
June 27, 2007 at 5:09 pm |
Zipper is an ugly American word for an ugly American thing – the talon-slide-fastener, as we prefer, is only good for easy the accessing of folk of easy virtue and is not nor ever could be a footwear fashion statement altho the excesses of that murderous shweinhunt arch-criminal Churchill never surprise me!
What does surprise me is that I can no longer remember the first two logoi of the Trilogy of Terror? Can you help Ollie der Gross.
June 27, 2007 at 5:31 pm |
Big Olly, is that you?
My problem is, I don’t know any more. Big used to be some guy who had a symbol which reminded me of a couple of question marks, stylishly combined and a trifle askew. But now, there is some sort of bland, semi-human, somehow bland and frightening at the same time, grey beast.
I’ve looked about, and all Big’s postings have now been altered in that respect, and that respect only.
It reminds me of when ther was a rumour of Paul McCartney’s death in the late 60’s. I remember sitting with my ear to the radiogram, listening to some Casey Cason clone going through the theories. A girl rang up and said she had studied two photos of Paul, and deduced that the eyebrows were different. I sh#t myself.
I was somewhat comforted (or was it profoundly disappointed) by realising that no two people on earth could have had the same talent, if you will call it that, for treacly drivel, put to music.
My point being, is Big Olly still there? Or have the machines taken over?
His response to Ms McDago’s post which criricised spelling, but contained several such errors, did not allude to that very fact. This is not the Olly, B. that I know. He may not be many things, but pedantic he is.
I believe it all went awry on the first mention of Cyaks.
Are you there, Big Olly? Give me a sign (and not a freaking emoticon).
June 27, 2007 at 5:51 pm |
Look, I did have a few typos, but I was wasted so lay off.
As to the Austrian’s question, the first two storey-ettes in T of T were one where she killed younger boys (but old enow, as the Bard would have it) and blowed if I can remember the other.
And Olly isn’t drunk no how, he’s just sick, that’s all
June 27, 2007 at 9:23 pm |
Gentlemen
As luck would have it, it was featuring in Heaven last night. In the first segment she turned the tables on the young stud who thought he could blackmail her with nude pictures of her. In the second episode she played twins, one the slut and one the prude, but I cant remember what happened because I was kicking myself now that I know the mystery of the Beaumont children ~ It WAS Don Dunstan!
June 28, 2007 at 8:01 am |
Friends,
I may have been a bit premature in my scaremongering. I was down at my local interweb cafe last evening, checking out the latest in bukkake, when I ventured to our muse’s page. I then realised that displayed with Big’s posts was my old friend, the question mark symbol.
Back at work this morning, and I am again confronted with the Olly/Yeti image.
It is obviously a ghost in my machine – this sort of thing happens to my people – I recommend you check out the late night SBS movies as proof.
Typical of me that my ghost takes the form of a rogue pseudo-emoticon, rather than the usual ghost who desires sex (before drinking all of my blood, and that of my family, but you need to take the good with the bad).
By comparison, laces seem trivial, but perhaps that’s my oriental leaning to sandals coming out again.
Omoshiroi desu ne!!
Konnichiwa!
June 28, 2007 at 2:45 pm |
Guys,
I remember Shaun Micallef from the 1980s (late 80s!) when he was on the Saturday Morning Breakfast show on public Radio station 5JJJ. It’s now DDD. He was very funny and often made fun of people like Mother Theresa or the Bible, but we took it with good humour. I’m sure he would enjoy this ragging.
This is a great read, keep it up!
June 28, 2007 at 6:32 pm |
WOOO, Woooo,
I am Big Olly, the ghost. I change shape in computers! Woooo. Look, I dont e’en have a shape in this post, but it’s me OK.
You see, what happened is I am dead because I thought of the old gordian pedant’s challenge of how does one spell the phonetic “so” when discussing how the farmer was sowing his field, and his wife was sewing his shirt, thus they were both [insert correct word].
This threw me into a spin and I had a heart attack or something. That’s why I haven’t responded to your divers posts. It’s not that I couldn’t care anymore, and let you all down, it’s just that my spirit fingers couldn’t depress the keyboard.
I found an old voice recognition program in the Olde Burning Bush Audio Shoppe (Cloud 46).
Woooo wooo (rattle ropes, who has chains these days?)
Any hoos, as I ghost, I’m off to meet Creasy. They’ve got a “No.96 – Where are they now?” special on tonight.
Woooo etc
:-0
June 28, 2007 at 7:35 pm |
I was readin’ the stories of Jeeves and Mr. Wooly, Mr. Wooly by P.G. Lewis (whom also wrote the Jefferson Starships adventures of Harvey the Rabbit), and he has a similar turn as Byg. I wonder if Olly is not dead but has been possessed (by P.G.) like poor Regan was in the flick the Exorcist.
.
.
P.S. Please tell me where Abigail is.
June 28, 2007 at 9:37 pm |
Did someone mention Kayaks? I must admit (Jock McArthur style) that I’ve never donned them. But I must admit (Jock McArthur style) that I did own a pair of cherished grey Rivers.
Round about that time ‘Fat Cat boots’ were quickly going out of style, and their predecessor, the desert boot, were completely passe, as I found out the hard way. (Oh sorry, beers were then $1.28 cents a schooner and a pack of B & H cost $2.05! Oh, hilarious!)
Black or brown shoes (or a mixture of both) were too nerdy. What to do? Then onto the scene pops up the grey Rivers, which would get you into any nightclub door without fear or favour, and lasted as a fashion accessory right up until brown shoes became known as Sensible Browns and were once more acceptable.
My point being, if you’ll let me get to it *, is that grey Rivers had …… thin laces! So there you have it: Olly, B. correct as always.
* And that has always been MY expression, so whoever it was that used it earlier, can it or face the consequences
June 28, 2007 at 9:44 pm |
I just wrote a fairly good comment, but the ghost of Olly must of eaten it up.
It was back on the shoe theme, one versus the other, and made no mention of the fact that I’ll have me Talbot shoes on at 5 bells tomorrow.
Knowing my luck, Fr Olsen will once again read my mind and post a pale imtation while I sleep.
June 29, 2007 at 8:32 am |
I’m sick of everyone going on about how fantastic Shane McCargill was. Does no one remember the comic genius of Alan Walsh, his zany sidekick.
I tells you, if he’d flashed his buttocks once more, I’d have died laughing (as against his dying in a theatrical sense).
Views?
June 29, 2007 at 12:44 pm |
McAskill and Warren have nothing to do with the current debate, so put a sock in it, metaphorically and physically.
Olly,B. Desert boots or fat cat boots ~ which was your preference?
June 29, 2007 at 12:49 pm |
Ah, the comments have again built up while I was attending to a base mercantile matter with which I will not bore you further.
Having said that, I see that my lively commentators have been entertaining themselves.
Freddie, I generally agree with your observations re Churchill. That weasly paragon of the politics of convenience whose decision as treasurer to abandon the gold standard is known to have significantly increased the effect of the depression on the United Kingdom was a hater of, not only the French, but of all nations other than his own. I don’t know about his virtue, but quite possibly he had zips in his boots for the very reasons that you suggest.
Ohira, I have read your two contributions with concern and find myself quite flustered. Surely the Paul McCartney of the Beatles could not have been the same as the husk who performed that dreadful song with Michael Jackson. Surely neither of them can be the same as the Paul McCartney who penned “Live and Let Die”, one of the greatest of the Bond themes?
I have always assumed that the original departed at about the time of Abbey Road and that the Beatles broke up when they had used up his back catalogue. They have tried a few different impostors without quite getting it right. Heather found this out and paid dearly. Or do I mean she was paid dearly? Something like that.
Well, the metaphysical manifestation of former Adelaide newsreader Kevin Crease has seen fit to enter the hurly-burly of the commentary. Welcome. Thankyou also for filling out Ms. McD’s wobbly reminscences about Trilogy of Terror.
By the way, thanks for the update on the longstanding mystery of the Beaumonts, but is there not another grisly high profile murder into which you could provide us with some insight? Something a little closer to home?
Welcome aboard, Christian, my zealous friend. I wonder if you can be thinking of the same Mr. Mawcalif? The man to whom I have been referring would no more have appeared on public radio (which I assume to be unpaid) than have given an orphan a penny. It just would not have happened.
A mysterious nose tweaking for yours humbly truly. Rumours of my death are greatly exaggerated! (Pauses to wipe tears of mirth from rheumy eyes). I do apologise for my absence. I was just trying to put a little bread on the table.
Although I do not generally approve of pseudonyms, I don’t suppose that I am the supreme arbiter of these things. There is no reason, Big Olly the Ghost, that you should abandon the comfort of a pseudonym merely to accommodate my squeamishness. Welcome!
Johnny, I am flattered to be compared to the great P. G. Lewis. I assure you that I am neither dead nor possessed. The projectile vomiting was due to a bad oyster at the Amity Society winter solstice dinner.
Although now that I think of it, my old friend Toothy Anderson had the oysters and he was fine. Hmmm. Possibly dirty work at the crossroads. I shall have my revenge!
Finally, Peter, welcome aboard. Unfortunately I am not familiar with the people to whom you refer. Having said that, I do empathise with your horror of ill placed praise and even moreso in your admiration of a well flashed buttock. These things are all in the timing.
Love
Big Olly
June 29, 2007 at 1:01 pm |
Some Bloke, my apologies, I had to arrange for my nephew to release your comments from durance vile. It seems that the old abacus had, for some reason, associated them with a type of luncheon meat and retained them for itself.
I did have a pair of Rivers, but they were brown so they must have been during a crossover period. I must say that they were not particularly good, but no doubt that is because they had thick laces. Had I known then what I know now……
I certainly don’t have any Talbot shoes. If you don’t believe me, you can find me this evening taking my traditional pint of black and tan at the Flagstaff on Franklin Hotel. This evening’s footwear treat will be – wait for it- brown elastic sided boots. Much like last Friday evening.
In answer to your final question, I was in my hot youth, a desert boot man, though of course there were thick laces to contend with and the terrible dichotomy between the slightly dearer tan sort and the cheaper, rather more yellow sort with the big seam down the front.
Love
Big Olly
June 29, 2007 at 2:27 pm |
On things desert boot, I was, as a young trainee ninja, obsessed with the desert boot having to have the same number of metal studs immediately below those loops of hide that formed the pathway for the (thick it was)lace, as was mirrored roughly horizontally alont the base line, if you will, of the triangular patch of hide that attached the lacing part of the boot to the boot proper.
We did wear desert boots, by the way, don’t believe everything you see on TV. Except docos on the death of the Princess of Hearts.
And Deal or No Deal.
Anyway, the better brand of DB had 3 above, three below. The cheaper ones had 3 above, but 4 below. My obsession with symmetry could not rest. It’s something to do with my being generally inscrutable, and that.
Please, no more of desert boots.
I can feel a hara kiri coming on.
Konnichiwa!
June 29, 2007 at 2:34 pm |
Well despite your claims of being inscrutable it is clear that you scruted those desert boots a lot better than I did all those years ago.
Love
Big Olly
June 29, 2007 at 4:30 pm |
WOOO wooo,
Talk (in echoy voice) of things past, answer this shoe question:
What kind of kids wear kickers?
June 29, 2007 at 4:53 pm |
I say that it is the very fact that I scruted my DB’s so long ago that makes me so inscrutable, if I say so myself.
I also used to have those smart suede elastic sided boots, made by Harrison, I think.
Man, I was the envy of all the kids in the prefectsure.
I’ve also heard of Bumpers, made by Dunlop long ago in an attempt to rival DBs. Failed miserably, I understand.
Konnichiwa!
June 30, 2007 at 6:24 am |
Big Olly, one area not yet covered: man-made or natural textile? The nylon ones are horribly shiny. The natural ones tend to turn into string after two uses (e.g. school pumps laces). I would suggest definitely not leather ones (some desert boots came equipped with such). They either left a trail of little suede crumbs after every unlacing, or if they were rained upon, shrank to the point of unfastenability (if there is such a verb).
June 30, 2007 at 7:29 am |
Oops, in my previous post, I meant ‘non-unfastenability’.
June 30, 2007 at 10:50 am |
Well well, my ghostly personal manifestation, what kind of kids wear kickers indeed? Were they the ones with the pattern of a surfboard on the sole so that you could leave footprints in the sand that communicated your dedication to surf culture at nine years of age? The kickers I mean, not the kids.
Ohira, it is always delightful to be kept up to date with your scruting exploits. I do not recall Bumpers, but I do recall the ‘lastic sided suede boots and think you are correct, that they were the creatures of Harrison’s footwear manufactory. As opposed to Bata who made Ponytails for girls and the magnificent Scouts for boys. I yearned for Bata Scouts with a tiny compass in the heel. You had to take your shoe off, lift out the inner sole and Lo! And Behold! there was a tiny, inaccurate compass with all smelly lint over its miniscule face. Fantacca!
Of course because the shoes themselves seemed to be made out of some sort of reinforced cartridge paper, I was not allowed them. I had to make do with the more durable but far less desirable Harrison’s Super Snoops. I don’t remember much about these dreary items save that they came with a recipe for invisible ink. As I recall, it went something like this:
1. Dip pen nib in lemon juice.
2. Write.
Petra, I was hoping that no one would raise that vexed issue. The problems are exactly as you have set them out save that ‘non-unfastenability’ is probably and adjective or gerund or something rather than a verb. My parsing has gone down the tubes a bit now that I am not struck with a ruler when I get it wrong as I was at school, University and in my last 3 jobs.
Anyway, the nylon ones are distressingly shiny and tend to cut the fine leather of one’s footwear. The natural ones are not durable and tend to snap off when pulling them up really tight leading to accidental self nose punching and all that that entails. I have no experience of the leather sort but I do have a horror of suede crumbs.
The bitter truth is that my extensive researches did not cover this topic and I do not have the answer. However, I have been out in the shed trying to develop the ultimate lace, being one with a nylon core and a natural outer thus allowing the best of both worlds. Up till now my efforts have been promising but not yet complet as the nylon part tends to cut through the natural part. I will advise when success has crowned my endeavours.
Until then, might I suggest buckles?
Love
Big Olly
July 1, 2007 at 5:19 am |
Big Olly, once again your services to grammar & science are inestimable. However I’ve already abandoned buckles on the grounds that the tang tends to stab one in the finger. I shall seek out a button hook tomorrow, & go back to the 1800s.
July 1, 2007 at 9:00 am |
When I went to school I used old bits of tyre rubber as shoes. Accordingly, most people envied me, but I always envied those with the Bata Scouts that had a lion paw built into the sole. The ad said it all, a young rich white aparthied-practising kid in Africa wearing those shoes and spotting a lion.
I dont know how many lions were spotted here in Adelaide, but if anyone was going spot one, it was those kids with the lion footprint in their sole.
Big, did you ever spot a lion?
July 1, 2007 at 11:32 am |
Wooo yes, I did, I being Bi Gollywogs other weld manifestation.
Talk about things departed, you used to be able to see loads of lions in Adelaide South Australia at Bullen’s Lion Park at Two Wells.
I am not sure what became of them.
The park closed yonks ago, wooo, and I guess Bullen put the lions in a bag and dumped them on the Port Wakefield Road.
July 1, 2007 at 5:22 pm |
I never had Bata Scouts, and was stuck with the standard Harrison’s black while at school – now no doubt referred to sensible blacks.
Don’t get me started on Corsican young men’s wear.
I did, when free from the confines of school, for a period in the mid 80’s, that era when anything went, and was now what we refer to as a fashion disaster, wear two pairs of what might be considered the boot response to the grey zipups. I had a matching pair of beige and light tan (hey, it was the 80’s) above ankle height soft leather shoe-wear (I’d call them boots, but boots imply toughness, and these were anything but). They had a zip running from the sole level at the instep up to the top of the boot, about half way between the ankle and mid-calf. My description is very clumsy, but I have to try to describe it in detail so you are all aware of the full horror.
They were all loose and that, but I got in to all the best nightclubs in Adelaide – Limbos, My Place, the Cargo Club and the Fezbah.
Can anyone else describe their own fashion footwear disasters?
Petra, surely the olde countrie has countless.
July 1, 2007 at 5:23 pm |
And they had a crepe sole.
July 2, 2007 at 5:42 am |
Mr McTaggart, tastes over here are very different, but I shall describe the footwear I had in the 80s, & their disastrousness is entirely in your judgement. I believe you would refer to them as ‘runners’, they were grey, rounded at the toes & had yet another type of fastening: one of those plastic clips more usually used to secure a rucksack.
July 2, 2007 at 7:24 am |
Big Olly
If I may offer to help out in the conversation that you seem to be having with with your own ghost – the answer to the question “What Kind of kid wears Kickers?” is “The same kind of kid that wears jeans.”
Kickers – and their sister shoes Strikers, were short lace-up boots made of pieces of different coloured suede.
July 2, 2007 at 9:29 am |
Big kids, small kids,
Kickers fit all kids
July 2, 2007 at 9:45 am |
Indeed Ms McDago, indeed. Do you think that now Big Olly’s ghost knows this it will be at peace?
July 2, 2007 at 10:51 am |
Petra I blush but it is my duty as one who acquired an expensive education at the expense of the Australian public to do what I can to ease the burden of my fellow man. I have been experimenting with synthetics other than nylon and am pleased to advise that I have been able to develop a non shiny type of bakelite. Once I have the brittleness sorted out I expect to make a big splash and end your tang stab woes for ever.
Some Bloke, I didn’t have Bata Scouts and therefore didn’t see any lions. Without a compass I was always looking in the wrong direction. Still, if I had ever seen one I could have done an invisible note seeking help. If I had a lemon and a nib pen.
Big Olly the Ghost, I don’t recall visiting Bullen’s when you were inhabiting this, my corporeal presence. It doesn’t seem to have stopped you, however. Tell me, did you have ghostly Bata Scouts?
Mr. Whacker, I am a little horrified by the footwear you describe. I thought that I was coping, but the Crepe sole knocked me for six. I also not that you don’t mention Toucan or Toucan Two. Or Lark and Tina.
Petra I believe that, at that time, all athletic footwear were called “sandshoes” here in South Australia but possibly are called “sneakers” now. An Americanism, I think, but why fight it? I can confidently say that I have never seen shoes fastened with those little clips. My imagination is boggling a trifle, and I don’t mean that it is playing a spelling game using lettered dice in a transparent cube and an egg timer.
Sigismund and Ms. McD I am pleased that you have been able to clear up that mystery but I have the feeling that before Big Olly the Ghost can find peace someone will need to spend the night at the old Heffernan place on top of Lonely Hill. You know the one, it has been vacant for twenty years or more and the trees are all dark with no leaves on. No one has lived there since that suspected lion attack all those years ago.
Love
Big Olly
July 2, 2007 at 10:57 am |
As Sid Snot said, “sum people fink my shoes are crepe, I don’t fink der dat bad.” (or was it Captain Kremin)
July 2, 2007 at 11:10 am |
Big Olly the Ghost has not returned (yet) – perhaps he is as peace. But big Olly, something else has been worrying me; In one of your responses (I think it was to Unkindly Refrain) you said that an oxymoron was what our American cousins call a tautology. I said nothing at the time, but that could be another reason for your spirit to be restless.
July 2, 2007 at 11:12 am |
.. Oh, and Big Olly. please don’t claim that was a “typo” or I shall be forced to point out that there is a difference between a “typo” and a “blunder”.
July 2, 2007 at 11:36 am |
Bata Skouts!
Now you have me backgetaken to my own happy schooldays! As I recall these shoes came with secret instructions for the setting up of Super Snoop clubs up and down the country – complete with rank insignia and Party-badges. In our sector, I was Oberstumbahnfuhrer and Direktor of Fashion-Police. We used to randomly arrest interrogate and punish those namby-bamby, pacifist, Hush-Puppy boys. Ah! The singing, the laughter- the cameraderie of the barrack!
Ciao, Liebchin!
July 2, 2007 at 11:40 am |
Ah, yes, Bobtails, Sid Snot it was. I remember it as though it happened yesterday. He had spiky hair and safety pins but a slightly out of place beard.
Sigismund, you are quite right. That is a simple error and I am surprised at it. What I meant to say, of course, was not “tautology” but “haplology”.
Please accept my humblest apologies. I will strive to do better in future. Or is that “shall”?
Love
Big Olly
July 2, 2007 at 2:07 pm |
Freddie, I am so sorry old man. You seem to have been overlooked in the rush.
I am so pleased that the reminiscences have touched you thus.
Obviously there was some crossover between Bata Scouts and Harrison’s Super Snoops in your youth which makes me jealous. You would have had the benefit of lions footprints and invisible ink directions. No wonder there was singing and laughter in the barracks!
Love
Big Olly
July 2, 2007 at 3:20 pm |
That amigo Big Ole` he is one loco I think.
He likes his laces thin, and preferably waxed. Carrumba! That is how Pancho like his women.
What Ole` do with laces? This you no find in Levitcus, Santa Maria no!
Til then amigos,
Adios!
July 2, 2007 at 3:34 pm |
Pancho! Hola! How delightful to hear from you.
Tell me, if you like your women thin and waxed, did you find yourself drawn in any important personal way, to Salvador Dali’s moustache?
Love
Big Olly
July 3, 2007 at 9:51 am |
Triple extre locos now!
I turns on the machine to read Muchos Grande Ole` and shiver me el timbers, up come a viking where Ole` ghostly shape (like Gleep and Gloop from the Hurculoids I am thinking) used to be.
Carrumba! Siniora Vita is thinking I am at the Hun’s Yellow Pages looking!
No burrito for Pancho tonight eh?
Til then amigos,
Adios!
July 3, 2007 at 11:57 am |
Pancho,
I am not so familiar with the religions of the round eyes, but surely “Santa Maria” is erroneous. Do you refer to the , allegedly virgin, mother of your god? Or is there a Saint Mary to whom you refer, the patron saint of flip-flops perhaps.
Or should you have exclaimed “Madre de Dios!!”
I hope I have not caused you to lose face.
Konnichiwa!
July 3, 2007 at 12:35 pm |
Well, Pancho, I am so pleased that someone has noticed the little extra effort that I have gone to to allow some insight into my merry life.
You don’t have to be crazy to dress like a viking – but it helps!
Ohira I am fairly sure that “Santa” can mean “holy” as well as “Saint”. It can also mean “Health” and in some of the more debased cultures it can even mean “Father Christmas”. It may be better for you to master English before attempting the romance and other languages.
Love
Big Olly
July 3, 2007 at 12:47 pm |
Orry-san,
Surely you aren’t referring to “sancta”, the feminine of the latin “sanctus” for holy.
But being from a race that can’t tell its l’s form its arse – ha ha – who am I to cast the first ninja star?
Konnichiwa! (Vale!)
July 3, 2007 at 12:48 pm |
I meant “from”.
K!
July 3, 2007 at 12:56 pm |
Ohira me gringo amigo,
I am thinking Santa Maria is as El Muchos Grande says it.
She has many names, the Holy Mother, I am thinking Theotokos when I am thinking Our Lady of Guadalupe.
I will pray to her for you, the Adjutrix.
And while I am thinking, I am thinking Muchos Grande Ole` has lost him picture altogether! Holy Mother de Dios!
July 3, 2007 at 2:24 pm |
As I said, Ohira, take your languages one at a time. You are doing so well with English, I can’t see the point in grappling with Latin.
In any event, I don’t think that our friend Pancho is speaking Latin. It seems to be some sort of adulterated Portuguese.
Pancho thank you for your input. I am afraid my nephew has been “downpouring” from the electronicial web and my funny picture seems to have gone missing. I will see if I can retrieve.
Love
Big Olly
July 3, 2007 at 3:58 pm |
Gott in Himmel!
I habe ein few impious worts in meinem life gehoren aber you Volk haben die Torte really genemen!
There are lots of Saint Marys in the crazy calendar of our redemption. Saint Mary Major (Maria Maggiore) Saint Mary Minor (sister of Saint Morris Minor also called St Mauritz or St Uyvesant) Santa Maria del Fiore della Calabria (Sant Mary of the Flowers of Calabria) Saint Mary the sister of Martha who washed the feet of Jesus (Santa Maria la Sorrore de Marcia Chi a lavato i Pedi di Jesu)
And protestants who refuse credence to the Immaculate Conception, Dormition, Assumption and Coronation of Our Lady, Corredemptrix Mundi
and call her St Mary the Virgin must, sadly, burn in hell for all eternity! This is what we were always taught in Austria.
At least the Austria I know.
July 3, 2007 at 4:12 pm |
Well Freddie, I hope that has cleared matters up for those of the readerboat with a loose grip on their marys. I will admit that I had no idea that there were so many.
I knew that there were lots of Sister Marys. I conservatively estimate that ten of them were involved in my primary education.
Love
Big Olly
July 3, 2007 at 4:41 pm |
Olly, to me your picture looks like you are wearing an Alan a Dale costume, with a feathered hat. My cataracts may need scraping once more but I’m pretty sure it’s Alan a Dale. Yep, it’s Alan a Dale.
July 3, 2007 at 4:57 pm |
This has been one of the most popular posts I’ve ever read on this or any other blog or chat site I subscribe to (Bring back the Spice Girls, Blues Brothers2000, Escape from Gilligan’s Island). All these have or will come true. My prediction is that we will fall just short of a ton (like the Don) but not because we were bowled out, but because Olly does wish it so.
July 3, 2007 at 5:07 pm |
Big,
I don’t go for this saints business, being a man of science. But I must say that being made a saint because your sister washed Jesus’ feet is a pretty soft ride.
[Note this ties in with the general foot smell that a post on laces must have.]
If there were beauty therapists in the Levant in Jesus’s day, and he was a bit prissy as we specs he was (vide the oil incident from the Mandarin post) the place would be rotten with saints.
Any hoos, there’s nary a saint to be found in the Olde Testamentte, which proves my hypothesis.
July 3, 2007 at 5:13 pm |
Mandarin Post : Big Olly By Golly “Jade Ornament” 28 March 2007: WordPress.com
July 3, 2007 at 6:35 pm |
Here’s me trying to manufacture a contrived segue to “The Long and Winding Road” so as to make some witless comment about Heather McCartstumps choice of footwear, if any, and here’s someone else diligently spotting Biggsy in an Alan a Dale!
Well spotted, Robert Heads Silvagni.
July 3, 2007 at 7:51 pm |
What’s the point of being a saint anyway? If as Prof suggests, there are no saints in the Old(e) Testament, and by extension, the only saints in the firmament have been there for less than 2000 years, so who’d want to be a saint anyway.
Sure 2000 years sounds a long time to us, but it doesn’t sound much in comparison to eternity, if you get my drift. All the dudes are still hanging about in Purgatory, no doubt having a couple of beers – mid strength only of course, they’re not in heaven yet. Jimi Hendrix jamming in a corner with Mozart, Jimi doing a Requiem a-la his version of the US national anthem – the Don hitting a couple of rocks slung by David out of the park – the mind boggles.
Then you get the call to Heaven – up there with the do-gooders, where there is nothing better to do but bask in Yahweh’s constant goodness.
Call me base, but I’m going to my death with a few more sins to delay my entry, I reckon.
Unless I’m wrong, of course, in which case, forgive me, Lord on High. And my leather laces.
July 4, 2007 at 1:59 am |
Big Olly, now that the Marys, saints et al have been sorted out, I feel the need to call your attention to another case of mistaken identity viz Sid Snot. Sid Snot did indeed have an out of place beard, but the safety pins & spiked hair belonged to his not dissimilar compadre Gizzard Puke. (Is there no end to my pedantry? Which saint should I try appealing to for respite?)
July 4, 2007 at 9:09 am |
Whilst One abhors blasphemy in others, One is prepared to make these observations for the purpose of scholarly debate.
Mr Big Olly,
You posted an article on the issue of bindings of footwear. This has developed into a theological discussion. Nobody has raised the issue of St John the Baptist who commented that he was not fit to undo the fastenings of the Saviour’s sandal. I see no comment from you on IHS’s choice of footwear. Well?
In addition when did John become a Saint? It is not clear to One that Saints were invented before John’s decapitation. What is your view on this?
One always thinks of John the Baptist as a bridesmaid and thus has a sense of empathy.
Oh, and before One forgets, where is the whisky and fags?
July 4, 2007 at 9:15 am |
Oddly enough, thin and waxed was the attraction in Group Captain Townsend as well. Fancy that!
July 4, 2007 at 12:05 pm |
Well, another intensely intellectual offering there from my adored readerboat.
Bobtails SOS, I leave the speculation as to the detail of my raiment or finery if you will, to you and the others. I know what I was wearing but choose to retain what little mystery is left after I have exposed my soul by way of these musings. As for the extent of the commentary, it is quite simple.
Even in this modern day and age, it is possible to excite the imagination of all humanity by engaging with them on the really big issues. Like bootlaces.
Professor Fairweather, an interesting comment re saints versus science but you betray an almost unbearable internal conflict. You claim not to care for religion but your wide reading and passionately held views suggest that you would be flattered to be considered a modern saint.
Might I suggest that you put your scientific skills to use and prove that the dinosaurs existed 6 thousand years ago as, it seems, suggested by the Bible. In that way, you could become both a saint and a darling of the scientific community.
Some Bloke, it is so pleasing that you are prepared to give credit where it is due. On the other hand I am surprised that in trying to manufacture a contrived segue to Heather McCartney you chose the Long and Winding Road. I should have imagined that “Lady Madonna” would have been more topical and more direct.
Just for the record, I would imagine that she paints them on.
James McTaggart I am pleased that you strive to maintain this elevated level of philosophical debate but I can see that you are suffering from doubts of some kind. Perhaps you could ask Professor Fairweather to devise a means of actually seeing into Limbo to find out what it is like.
My guess is that it will feature strobe lighting and A Flock of Seagulls being played loudly.
Petra, thank you for your gentle correction. Sid wore an odd sort of bikie’s getup, did he not?
As for your religious enquiry, you should pray to St. Noel of Crinkley or St. Jeremy of Beadle for for absolution. In Australia we should pray to our local saint, Tony, Help of Barbers.
Dear your Highness, the article was directed at bootlaces rather than footwear in general. A sandal strap would compare to leather laces unless it had a buckle like the (again Harrison’s ) sandals I wore in my youth. Both leather laces and buckles have been covered in the commentary though I appreciate that it is starting to get a bit difficult to sift through it all now.
Love
Big Olly
July 4, 2007 at 12:13 pm |
Achtung Liebe!
Herr Professor Doktor Fairweather is right. It was Mary who laved the feet of Jesu – mit tears, I thought, but no! mit a pound of ointment of spikenard, no less, which she then wiped with her hair! Saintly stuff indeed!
Her sister Martha simply served. That is all she did. And yet, meine Kinder, that is enough, is it not?
Oh, and then they both sailed to the Continent after Pentekost and evangelised Gaul.
But the greatest von alle die non-maternal Marys have I verlassen! Mary Magdalen – redeemed slut, theologian, protoapostle, luvvver of God, call her what you will, she’s always a woman to me.
And another thing – there are no saints in the Alten Judische Testamentum because no one could be made heilige until the advent of Jesu so they had prophets who told them that noone would be heilige until the Vorkommen von Kristus which was midnight on 24 December 01 and which in Austria we still call “Kristallnacht”.
July 4, 2007 at 12:21 pm |
Freddie, that is indeed fascinating. She annointed his feet and wiped them with her hair? Clearly then, that is not Mother Mary who, in common with her kind, would have spat on a hankie and given them a good rub with that while Our Lord said “Muu-u-uum. Don’t!”
The ointment and the prostitute’s hair would have drawn just as much attention but presumably Jesus would have been a bit of a legend amongst his mates.
Love
Big Olly
July 4, 2007 at 12:43 pm |
If Lady McCartstump was around earlier, and her being an inspiration to Paul before the ugliness, it would have proved interesting, taking your lead Big:
(ahem)
“Lady Madonna,
Children at your foot
Wonder how you manage to…….
go to the toot”
July 4, 2007 at 1:45 pm |
I wonder who’ll be number 100?
July 4, 2007 at 2:11 pm |
I think I am no 99.
BigOlly, your moment of triumph awaits.
July 4, 2007 at 3:15 pm |
Well, what can I say.
Huzzah!
The ton.
As for Lady McCartney, I think that the telling line would have been:
“See how they run”.
Love
Big Olly
July 4, 2007 at 10:17 pm |
Very, very good, Mr Olly! Your first century!
Mine took 500 minutes and is the slowest test century ever recorded. But I must tell Mr Guiness of your particular effort, and see if he will record it and displace me from the top of the records, for your effort has taken weeks to compile, and includes 22 contributions from yourself, Mr Olly, which is very very similar to taking extra runs when the ball has disappeared in the agapanthas. Mr Guiness may not agree then, Mr Olly, in which case I will remain saddled with this most unwelcome record.
I remain your humble servant, Mr Olly
Sanjay!
July 5, 2007 at 3:52 am |
Big Olly: yes.
July 5, 2007 at 5:39 am |
Brevity. Essential.
Look. Sorry. Off Topic. Must warn. Bloke S. 5 Bells. Wrong use. Not 5 oclock. Maritime term. Watch. 4 Hours. 8 Bells. Rung in pairs. 2:30 or 6:30 or 10:30; a.m or p.m. See? Please. Careful.
Brevity be damned.
And what were those awful shoes, popular in the 80s or 90s, where the sole material extended forward and up over the toe? Echoes of the court jester (without the bell), but apparently an attempt to cater to that market segment who like to go running in the face-down position. They were most often worn by stamp-duty assessors, or customer service officers (a euphemism, surely) at the motor vehicles registration office; people who appeared not to have attempted to run since compulsory exercise classes at primary school. Most often grey, sometimes beige, occasionally cream.
July 5, 2007 at 6:17 am |
Velcro. Let me tell a short tale. My late mother, Laverna, was a remarkable woman: of little material wealth, but of impeccable taste. In her long and rich life, she greeted every person and every day with a desire to see all that was good in this world, and to think the best of everyone. As she approached the end of her life, she had an awful experience. It involved a well-meaning podiatrist, a pair of orthotic shoes, and velcro. Get the picture? I’m sure you do. Despite mustering all her determination to see the positive of any situation, she could not find one for those shoes. She utterly detested them. I believe now that this was because of the velcro: it symbolised too many things:- a loss of independence; the take-over of her life by the medical and related professions, and – worst of all – a victory for convenience over style. The well-meaning podiatrist himself was seen as a tame lackey of the current Labour (and therefore socialist) government. The shoes were worn twice.
This is a lesson here for us all: just because it is convenient, doesn’t make it right. Therefore we must resist velcro, springy laces, and other contraptions of convenience: a shoe with knotted laces (be they thick, thin, or flat) says a certain something about a person’s standards in way that nothing else can.
And finally, Mr By, congatulations on the century. Keep on posting.
Little things, but important things. Little things.
July 5, 2007 at 6:55 am |
Sorry about the unaccustomed outbreak of brevity. I was taking multi-tasking too far & ended up typing with my nose.
Re the footwear, they sound hideous but the name escapes me.
July 5, 2007 at 8:43 am |
Well thanks to all for the congratulations on the ton. I felt a little shabby bringing it on myself and in such lame fasion, but it is too late now, history will show.
Sanjay, I had no idea that you were following these ramblings and it is delightful to have you with us. If there is anything I can do to help you get me into the record books please let me know. I am not above a modertate amount of self aggrandisement. OF course you need to consider what effect your removal from the Guinness book will have as we all know what kudos it carries on the Sub Continent.
Arturo, a helpful tip re maritime time notations. I assume that you picked this up on the Oriana en route to this wide, brown land.
I cannot help with the name of those shoes but someone might. In fact I am sure that I have seen something similar around recently. I caught a glimpse from the corner of my eye but, discretion being the better part of valour, I averted my gaze.
As for the heart rending tale of your mother’s miserable decline, I hold a similar place in my heart for those really long handled shoe-horns. I was going to avoid mention of the shoe-horn, as my associate the depraved Toothy Anderson has expressed the intention of publishing a gentlemen’s special interest magazine under that name, but there you go.
Petra, you need never apologise for brevity. Sometimes I wish that I were blessed with it myself. You should, however, avoid nose typing or you may fall ill with rhinoqwerty virus which is most unpleasant. If you must, purchase yourself a nose glove, as worn by Michael Jackson I believe.
Love
Big Olly
July 5, 2007 at 9:47 am |
Big Olly, I will take up your suggestion forthwith. Do you know of any such medical appliances for preventing repetitive strain injury of the eyebrow?
July 5, 2007 at 10:51 am |
5 Bells! Damned if I know what the bloody hell that’s all about. Still I wouldn’t know the arse-end of bottom-lugger if I had to haul amain the broadside and rodger my way through a half-bevvy of cabin-boys to get at it. So they tell me. Well, we didn’t need that sort of jiggery-pokery at Jutland, I tell them, and I made my own bloody buggery way without any of it right up the slippery pole as far as you damned well please, up and under the Junior Sea Lords, all of ‘em, and all the way to First Bloody Lord of HM’s FFing Admiralty – and not a dog-watch or a reef-knot to m’name!
But I tell ya, Olly old stick, there’s one thing I never found out. What is the sin of Gomorrah?
July 5, 2007 at 12:22 pm |
Gomorrah! Gomorrah! I love ya Gomorrah! You’re always a day away.
July 5, 2007 at 12:39 pm |
way-yo way-yo
Kooo kooo kakaka
July 5, 2007 at 1:25 pm |
Repetitive strain injuries (sometimes called Occupational Overuse Syndrome) are a class of ailments some of which are better known by their colloquial names such as”housemaid’s knee” and “tennis elbow”. Perhaps eyebrow strain would attract more medical funding if it were known as as “Leslie Phillipitis”, sometimes confused with “Humeitis Phillipousis” (another name for tennis elbow).
July 5, 2007 at 1:35 pm |
Vice Admiral, whatever the sin was I understand it causes gomorhea.
Ha ha, I joke make, yes?
July 5, 2007 at 6:11 pm |
I see the relig-gious types have taken over, as is their want. Everything takes on relig-gious significance for them. I was going to expouse on the childhood schoolday vitrtue of surreptitiously tying a fellow classmates shoelaces either (a) together, or (boooo-eeeee) to a chair.
But now I’m worried that if I turn around I’ll turn into a pillar of salt. [Not Saxa, either, but that pretentious beach salt. "Oh, I eat beach salt and wear rectangular coloured glasses like everyone else on Rundle St ~ I'm so individual."]
Now see what’s happened? Let’s swing away from religion, you pagans.
July 5, 2007 at 7:59 pm |
If your salt losses its taste, throw it out
July 5, 2007 at 9:17 pm |
…over your left shoulder of course.
July 6, 2007 at 9:48 am |
You boys are at it again! I admire the accuracy, and expect more than a few of you will be saved.
July 6, 2007 at 12:31 pm |
Religion be damned! (There’s a rum puzzle for you)
I’m not bloody interested in avoiding the sin of Gomorrah, I just want to know what it damn well is. And the other cities of the plain. What did they ever do? Can’t have been anything worse than bloody Johnny buggery Turk.
I remember when we were forcing the Dardanelles, the filthy swine would cut their own bloody heads off, deft as you please, and fire them from gun emplacements on the shore. The worst part of it was that they concealed ruddy great turds in the mouths so when they landed you not only had a blasted mess on the deck but an dose of dissentry for anyone in the splash-zone. Rum business indeed!
Which reminds me, on the topic of shoes, the last Byzantine Emperor, Constantine the Umpteenth, died at the fall of Constantinople – 1453 – and when they recovered his body, he could only be recognised by his purple boots embroidered with the double-headed eagle. Bloody Turks! Mind you with purple bloody embroidered boots, I imagine Old Con could tell you a thing or two about any number of sins.
July 7, 2007 at 2:56 pm |
The turks wearing purple embroidered boots. It’s no surprise that the word otterman means poof in english.
July 8, 2007 at 4:18 am |
… that’s ottoman. An otterman is someone who stands around in rivers for reasons that modesty prevents me from divulging.
July 8, 2007 at 1:39 pm |
Due to circumstances beyond my control, there will be no parade this sunday.
July 9, 2007 at 8:03 am |
Friends,
No one has supported Olly more than me over his, ahem, silent moments. But this is his WebLog(c) and really he has to be more attentive. Why, this post comes up for a month anniversary in a few days.
Now I’ll feel bad if he’s had a fall and has broken his hip and has been lying on the floor of the toilet for three days calling “help” in a progressively weakening voice (although why should I? I’ve begged him for years to go into a home) but short of that we really do need some Big action.
Frankly, who doesn’t?
S.
July 9, 2007 at 8:11 am |
I know that should be “more than I” but I wont mention it because I do not want to stretch this out any more than I must.
Oh, bugger.
July 9, 2007 at 8:41 am |
Perhaps we may accuse Big Olly of resting on his laurels.
Yet having attained the elusive ‘ton’, what else is there to strive for?
PS He did deign to answer 5 days ago.
July 9, 2007 at 10:36 am |
Sorry people, I was in this Nation’s Capital and could not attend to this my garden of earthly delights.
I hope to have something up in the next day or two. I can tell you now:
- You won’t like it, and
- It will get about 10 comments.
Hope you can contain yourselves!
Love
Big Olly
PS: I think that this is comment 501 for the blog. Petra, you have the honour of no. 500. Something makes me think that you are no stranger to these accolades.
July 9, 2007 at 11:40 am |
Dizzy got a double ton. Why shouldn’t Olly? There must be dozens more things to talk about shoelaces and sealing wax. For instance, did you know that 97 people die every year in the U.S. from shoelace related injuries? Or that the Bristol University Centre of Incomplete Research has found that 23% of
July 9, 2007 at 7:16 pm |
Big Olly, at least the 500 wasn’t entirely from me (in this case).
Yours in eager anticipation of disgruntlement, Petra
July 10, 2007 at 9:39 am |
Big Olly, you are a genius. I finally I see what you are doing. The post is aptly named. You are teaching your readership a valuable lesson. Hats off (both) to you.
July 10, 2007 at 2:31 pm |
Q: How are you make Pikachu to go on to the bus?
A: Pokemon! (poke-him-on!!)
July 10, 2007 at 4:09 pm |
Tell the one where you jumped on the bed again.
Classic [claps hands while shaking head
July 10, 2007 at 8:02 pm |
Big wasn’t at the Flagstaff on the weekend in his elastic sided boots, so that’s got me thinking….
July 11, 2007 at 11:58 am |
Does Drunken C@#t stand for Drunken Cæt?
Don’t be shy puss, Old English is welcomed in these pæges.
July 11, 2007 at 12:10 pm |
Mr Some,
I was listenig to the Beatles’ White Album again last night, and if you play Revolution 9 backwards it says (in terrible scansion by the way) that Big Olly was actually killed in a car crash when he was young..
July 11, 2007 at 7:54 pm |
I have it on good authority from Toothy Anderson that Biggsy is mulling over his next missive, following on from this one, which is tentatively titled, “In Danger of Writing”.
July 12, 2007 at 12:17 am |
I heard that Myspace have put a bounty on his head. (Some people do have strange practices relating to confectionery).
July 12, 2007 at 8:08 am |
Bwana Olly,
The natives are restless.
I think you should go wrestle a tiger, or crocodile.
Or something.
What’s that, Cheetah? Oo-oo, ah-ah, ee-ee? Exactly what I was thinking.
July 12, 2007 at 10:02 am |
If Bernie Taupin wrote songs as slowly as Olly writes Bloggs, I would be releasing “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road” next year. I would be a pauper and people would be much less forgiving of my tantrums.
Mind you, if Olly puts out something as bad as “Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy” I’ll have a tantrum.
Regards
Sir Elton John
July 12, 2007 at 10:34 am |
Elt, love, keep your wig on, it’s not worth getting in a tizzy. Come on, I made your favourite brekkie for you…
July 12, 2007 at 11:12 am |
OK my impatient public. I have again mused and I hope you are happy!
You have only yourselves to blame.
Oh, I don’t mean to in any way criticise or make newcomers Drunken Cat, Mbutu Batanga, Sir John or David feel in any way unwelcome.
Love
Big Olly
July 12, 2007 at 12:30 pm |
I am just f#%&ing f#rious!
He never uses his title, Lady David Furnis.
What’s the point of hanging around that dead straight erzats camel all those years to get the bloomin’ title in the first place?
Grrrrr
July 12, 2007 at 12:39 pm |
Sir John;
I don’t want to discourage you from posting, but the members of this forum prefer to think of her as “the former Queen of People’s Hearts” if it’s all the same to you.
Not only did you get the title but I imagine you made a fortune by just dusting off some old song you did and changing five of the words.
If you are still feeling upset why not console yourself in the usual way? You know what I mean – SHOPPING SPREE!
Go on, shoot down the street and grab a dozen Faberge eggs. You know you want to.
Love
Big Olly
July 12, 2007 at 2:33 pm |
If you don’t mind Big, I donated all that money I made from the loving recrafting of “All the Young Girls Love Alice”, to honour Die-Anna, Prince of Theives, to charity.
I’ve got a group of scientists at work to create a faberge chicken. With that I can destroy poverty, of spirit, when the starving aids ridden land mine victims can see my name spelt out in Faberge eggs on the lawn of my estate.
Provided they can fly helicopters.
They learn nothing at school these days. It’s her fault too, she was a teacher, or something.
Oh where’s my f%#king platinum tennis raquette?
Reggie
July 12, 2007 at 2:52 pm |
I heard that, Sir John, but assume that you retained a modest admin fee, as would only be proper.
When your team of scientists are done, they will be able to answer the age old question “which came first, the Faberge chicken or the Faberge egg?”
That will set the minds of millions at ease.
I am not sure where your platinum raquette is. Have you looked in the Real tennis court?
Love
Big Olly
July 13, 2007 at 7:07 am |
My other choice of song for Lady Die-Anna’s funeral was ‘Someone Saved My Life Tonight’, just in the case the French surgeons had weaved some magic.
“I’m strangled by your haunted social scene (Billy Joel)
Just a pawn (Die-anna) out-played by a dominating queen (Charles)
It’s four o’clock in the morning (Prince Philip)
Damn it! (Lizzie)
Listen to me good (Dodi)…”
Poignant
July 13, 2007 at 8:32 am |
If I’m honest for just a moment I am really hanging out for Sir Paul McCartney’s wife to die. With just a couple of changes to some key words (and I’ve got Bernie Taupin working on this) the song “I’m Still Standing” would be perfect for her funeral.
Given that Sir Paul is not known for checking the use-by date on his prospective wives, I reckon she will be dead any minute now.
Fond Regards
Sir Elton John
July 13, 2007 at 9:31 am |
Welcome aboard Regginald and thank you for your insight into the snatches of song stuck in the heads of royalty in their time of need.
On balance however, I think Sir John was right to stick with “Rocketman”.
As for your plans for the next big funeral, Sir John, I like your thinking.
By the way, do you have anything in mind for Yoko? Rocketman again?
Love
Big Olly
July 13, 2007 at 11:45 am |
No issue there Olly
For Yoko’s funeral it’s “Better Off Dead” from “Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy” (side two).
I wont have to change a single word.
July 13, 2007 at 11:52 am |
Now now sir John, it sounds to me as though those Faberge experiments are not going as planned and you are a little teste.
Love
Big Olly
July 13, 2007 at 4:33 pm |
I disagree you f#%king ceant.
Don’t f@~king disagree with me, or I wont be answerable for my tantra actions.
(throws off Louis XVII wig onto the ground in disgust)
Having said that, rather than “Better Off Dead”, I could always do “The Bitch is Back” for Yoko, and get Bernie to change the words a bit so that Jesus or God is the singer (although I’d do the voice at the funeral obviously).
July 13, 2007 at 4:33 pm |
I disagree, you f#%king ceant.
Don’t f@~king disagree with me, or I wont be answerable for my tantra actions.
(throws off Louis XVII wig onto the ground in disgust)
Having said that, rather than “Better Off Dead”, I could always do “The Bitch is Back” for Yoko, and get Bernie to change the words a bit so that Jesus or God is the singer (although I’d do the voice at the funeral obviously).
July 13, 2007 at 4:35 pm |
So what if I hit it twice? Anyway, there’s an extra comma in one.
July 13, 2007 at 4:40 pm |
Dear Sir John,
I am so pleased that you clarified your intentions. I could not make head nor tail of your first effort but the second is as clear as crystal.
Of course, as for the veiled threat in your contribution, I can only say count to ten, take a big breath, and buy fifty thousand euros worth of flowers. Gently their touch awoke you once, whispering of fields unsown etc.
Love
Big Olly
July 14, 2007 at 4:46 am |
f@~king: email address not valid
July 16, 2007 at 11:49 am |
Error 404 can go f@~k itself
July 17, 2007 at 1:53 am |
Command not valid
July 17, 2007 at 10:03 am |
Welcome aboard Error 404, and what a refreshing if slightly hard line approach you are taking to these comments.
It looks like some of the contributors need a firm hand!
Love
Big Olly
July 25, 2007 at 4:22 pm |
Hey – don’t wait until I’m dead to sing my praises. Tell me NOW!!! For Chrissakes…I’m a man who loves to live…and if this big round thing has any swinging trips for this cat after 81 goddam years of laffs then call me a sonofabitch Jew and paint me yellow…and I always say that Jack Kennedy was one hell of a c@nt man…and so was I. Bigger even already. You better believe it baby!!! Yesireeee…I slept with Monroe, June Allyson, that broad with the big mazoomas from Buddy Lester’s dreck in the 60’s…
Gotta go. I open at the Sands….in two weeks!
Jer
July 25, 2007 at 11:45 pm |
Dear Big
you’ll probably think I only know the music of Yusef Islam, but surely someone will do a cover of “Looking for a One-Legged Woman” when Lady Mills-McCartney pops her clog?
And please tell me – is Kevin Crease really dead?
Respect
Mme S
July 26, 2007 at 10:07 am |
Crease is dead (or pleated as they say at NINE).
Great to hear all those crazy verbal rythms from Jerry. How are you my man? Remember me at your book signing at Dymocks (June 12th 1997)? You said, “What’s your name kid?” “Jerry”, I said. “Jerry, like me. Too much kid.”
July 31, 2007 at 12:17 pm |
I well remember the happy times at Tynte Street, where I spent much of the late 60’s, though I believe that the late Kevin was then at Sevin.
While Creasie’s former colleagues will no doubt feel a bit flat for a time, I doubt if they will remain de-pressed for long: the news-reading talent in this fair city are made of sterner stuff and, despite their ranks being sadly de-pleated, they will take time to let off a little steam, then press on with the job of delivering the news in their usual Crisp, professional manner.
August 2, 2007 at 10:39 pm |
F@ck that Jerry, why is that the good die young? I instance myself and Dean Jnr, although more so in his case. I f@cked June Allison, not that jew boy Paullie. F@cken hebe. She sent me a telegram saying her feet were still tinglingling. Thanks June, my wife Pattie, or was it Paulie, frankly I can’t f@cking remember, opened it and my life was $hit for 2 seconds until I divorced her.
If not for Skinny Domato having her killed I would have been f@cken mildly inconvinienced, that’s for sure.
Oh well, here goes:
“Every body,
Loves somebody
some…………………….[forgets words
August 3, 2007 at 11:36 am |
Upon Jerry lewis (AKA Joseph Levitch) and the posting of Mr StabiloBOSS 26/07/07.
Having seen him in such vehicles as “Hardly Working”, “Which way to the Front”, “The Disorderly Orderly”, as Jericho bounching interminally on a trampoline in “Three Ring Cuircus” and in “Boeing Boeing” (with long time partner Tony Curtis), I didn’t think the combination of the words “too” and “much” was one known to Mr Lewis.
Miss Lanious
August 4, 2007 at 11:11 am |
Shut your festering gobs!
My Elt is going to have you lot all shut up for good, see if he doesn’t.
August 6, 2007 at 1:05 pm |
I agree Miss C. Lanious, Jerry is the greatest. My favourite is the scene in The Ladies Man where he is woken by the feebly ringing alarm clock. Let’s see Eddie Murphy do that one. Ha.
August 7, 2007 at 9:01 am |
Put your hands on your head
August 7, 2007 at 9:05 am |
Now we’re talking Mr BOSS!
For me, the essence of Jerry Lewis is not so much in the “Ladies Man” as in the “Man Ladies”, where he walks around with big bossoms and a 9 inch cock!
5 stars!
Bill
August 9, 2007 at 8:40 am |
Herewith 166.
(PS My favourite Jerry Lewis song is ‘Great Balls of Fire’)
August 9, 2007 at 1:33 pm |
180 minus 167 = 13.
Unlucky for some!
August 9, 2007 at 4:50 pm |
Hmmm, not the overwhelming response that I had hoped for.
August 10, 2007 at 9:00 am |
Hope you enjoyed the previous post you w*nkers!
August 10, 2007 at 9:57 am |
Beloved readers;
It is with a heavy heart that I advise that I have felt it necessary to wield the editorial pencil for the first time since embarking on this (otherwise free and open) communication exercise.
A contributor named “Secrets of Tantric Lovemaking” had some very interesting things to contribute, but they were not strictly relevant to the topic at hand and so I felt obliged to get my nephew to remove the item. I do apologise. In related news I will be hosting a book burning next Tuesday at the premises of Farenheit 452, a new club that has opened here recently.
I should add that the enthusiastic and welcome contribution from Spambot refers to the now deleted post, although applies equally well to Mbutu Batanga’s thoughts.
Love
Big Olly
August 13, 2007 at 11:08 am |
Frankly, mes chers lecteurs, ah do not see how Elton Jean could ave bin wahring a Louis XVII wig. Sa Petite Majesté, Louis XVII, was ze poor little Orphan of ze Temple imprisoned, neglected and abused and left to die by the filthy, revolutionary, pig-dog, peasant, swine-f@#kers who treasonably murdered his sainted fahzer, Louis XVI. I cannot imagine these clog-wearing, sans-culottes, sewer-sweepers would av let the little tacker sport a wig now, would you?
PS They were also varry rude to mah great-great-great-grandfahzer, ze 15th Marquis de Pommes-Frites and sometahms even used to throw zer children under ze wheels of is carriage to try and makk im late for ze Opéra.
August 13, 2007 at 11:13 am |
PPS Look! Ah reanntroduced ze topique of clogs, and French ones at zat!
Jacques-Louis, you are clever as well as firm-buttockked!
August 13, 2007 at 11:27 am |
Ah, yes Jaques-Louis-Raymonde, you have indeed refreshed our memories as to the origins of this outpouring.
Clogs.
What a rich vein we have tapped, so to speak. And who would have thought.
As for the misfortunes of the various French Louis’es, it does always make me a little sad to reflect on these misunderstood souls.
Love
Big Olly
August 13, 2007 at 11:41 am |
Having ‘Googled’ myself some history, it transpires that the 15th Marquis de Pommes-Frites was a truly canny fellow. To avoid any opera-delaying brats, he switched mode of transport to a sedan chair. Not only did it prevent him having to poke children out of his spokes but also any kiddies were immediately roped in as carriers. With the extra clogpower, he thusly got to the opera even faster than intended, & was able to buy icecreams.
August 13, 2007 at 5:06 pm |
Ah, chère Mademoiselle Fide, how kahnd of you to trouble yourself with the memory of le vieux marquis. You comport me a tear to ze eye.
Ah was told ze varry same story by mah governess. He did so lerve his ahcecreme, old Louis-Auguste-Papier-Mâché-Décolletage de Pommes-Frites. Ah ze shildren – how ee teased ze leettle scalliwags – bah promissing them all ze ahcecream zey could eat if only they would be first to ze Palais Royal. Oh how zey ran! – fahster and fahster, till zer leettle clogs broke and zer tahny feet bled with joy. And zen ze Marquis would eat all the ahcecreme imself. Eh pourquoi pas?
After all, confectionary is the mother of oppression, as ze old bastard used to say.
August 15, 2007 at 5:04 pm |
What do they call ugg boots in France, you frogs?
I call them ’stinking warm boots that you wear all night long after work during winter in an fruitful attempt to develop a tinea production line’.
Or ugg boots for short.
I wonder Big, if you had the non-laced variety, but yearned for the laced variety, would you dream of thin or thick laces. Knowing Big, as I dont, I fancy he’d yearn for the thin laces, while singing along to ‘Merry Christmas (War is Over)’, by Lennon, J., one of the all time classic songs.
August 17, 2007 at 8:08 pm |
“When Olly muses, no one loses”
Or so it says.
With your long absence of new thought, I thought you were musing, so off to the Casino with $200 of my hard-earned, which now belongs to Sky City shareholders.
I should sue for false advertising.
August 18, 2007 at 5:36 am |
If he had been, you would have; but he wasn’t so you didn’t. There’s logick for ya (& also Sod’s Law).
August 20, 2007 at 8:27 am |
Greetings to youse all.
I think I have the answer to your loss, Some (or is it Bloke?). Perhaps it is meant to read “When Olly A-muses (my emphasis), no one loses”.
The fact is that Olly has done so little musing of late, he has consequently A-mused (my emphasis again) no one. Therefore we are all losing. Do you think the roller coaster ride of the world’s stock markets is a mere coincidence? Some, I’d be happy if I was you to have limited my losses to $200. My papa has lost plenty from his holdings, therefore I lose part of my inheritance. I might even have to sell one of the farms!!
So get on with it, Olly, before you accelerate climate change too, or something.
August 20, 2007 at 9:37 am |
On the topic of climate change, I think we need to cull the sasquatch to decrease the size of the carbon footprint.
August 21, 2007 at 12:43 pm |
Sorry Some. Perhaps we should change the theme to “When Olly muses, Some Bloke loses”. Anyway, the rest of you seem to have sat on him with sufficient force, I don’t think he will be bothering us much with that sort of dreadful naysaying from now on.
Welcome to Annie D Yacht, a newcomer whose interesting theory is comment 666 for this forum, a number that has always held a special place in my heart.
Love
Big Olly
August 22, 2007 at 3:42 am |
667? Darn!
August 22, 2007 at 7:55 am |
Ha ha, ha-ha Haaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!
Let it be written, 668 is my favourite number.
Go in peace, to love and serve me.
August 22, 2007 at 9:13 am |
Pshaw!
August 22, 2007 at 11:02 am |
Keep calm.
August 22, 2007 at 7:12 pm |
The other night I got a beaut of a blood-blister after skulling Ouzo during Kelly Pool at Big Fish’s Aquarium, an un-hip nightspot that has been closed down after one night by Mrs Fish.
The point being, you pick a number, then have to keep your ball on the table while potting otherses balls, the penalty being a liberal dose of straight Barbaresso to un-ease your pain.
Criminy. No amount of cheating could delay the inevitable, and anyway, Minnesota Fats Ryan was cleaning up.
My point being, I then had to walk home and copped an early blister for my corner, and in my blind state kept taking my shoe off to ease the blister pain, but this excarbated the walking unevenly of footpath pain, so this conundrum was re-occuring (as some wise folk say) for a fair bloody shitting while.
My ultimate point being, this story is more suited to Topic of Crapricorn, but I didn’t wipe my arse with any sock.
But it made me think that maybe that poor unfortunate in “Ice Age” was struggling home after a night on the gooze, and that’s why the glacier caught him.
August 24, 2007 at 4:17 pm |
187. We’re getting there, but it’s a bit like the love child of Geoff Boycott and Chris Tavare on a bad day.
August 25, 2007 at 10:24 am |
My sister didn’t realise this tally was still being updated. Dozy bint. She’s probably off out wearing my eyeliner again…
September 6, 2007 at 5:56 am |
” .”
July 28, 2008 at 6:04 am |
Nice to see someone else is contributing gibberish as well as me…
July 29, 2008 at 9:21 am |
I’m beginning to think ‘clogging’ must be slang for something…
August 19, 2008 at 10:19 pm |
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