Tea totalling
If we don’t show solidarity with London by buying lots of stuff at Fortnum & Mason, the terrorists win. Take that, Islamofascists!
And that!
Mmmm…and maybe some of that.
In all seriousness, I’m just very grateful that this week’s crew of bombers only succeeded in displaying their incompetence to a media-saturated world. The police are apparently marshalling all their brain powers to figure who–who on Earth–might be behind the failed bombings:
Security analysts said the obvious carbon-copy attacks could have been masterminded either by the same group or by less sophisticated sympathisers — maybe young, disaffected Muslims.
“There is a resonance here,” police chief Blair said, but he cautioned it would take time to tell who was to blame.
Fine, let’s keep an open mind. But at this point, I’m thinking the probability that the bombers were not young, disaffected Muslims is pretty darned low.
A propos of nothing: it was at the Shepherds Bush Empire that I saw Alison Moyet perform ten years ago. One of the best concerts I’ve ever been to. I happened to stand next to a dyke couple who kept looking at me with expressions that clearly said, “Shouldn’t you be at a Madonna concert instead, Mary?” But it was great; it was the tour for Essex , and the songs were flatteringly toughened up a bit for live performance. It’s a shame Alison’s career never really, really ignited internationally (especially since Vince Clarke went on to find major success after hooking up with that grating, self-pitying, quivery, histrionic, braying gay donkey Andy Bell and forming Erasure), though it’s nice that she does well at home still.
Oh, dear. And we’re down to our last tin, too.
Remember, it’s not “How much tea do I need?” It’s “How much tea is preserving our civilization worth?” I think another can of Breakfast….
Okay, I can go with the black currants. But I seriously question “gluten free” oat biscuits (flips?), and frankly, making marmalade out of grapefruit is just a waste of good sugar. Let’s at least make it orange marmalade, which is one of the finest things on the earth.
BTW, I have apparently figured out how to post comments after all, which involves bypassing the registration process. It’s likely that someone who knows what they’re doing could get the registering thing right, and maybe when I’m in a better frame of mind I’ll try it. For now I’ll just be grateful for the small pleasure of telling you what I think. Um, pleasure for me, anyway. The jury’s still out on what level of pleasure it is for anyone else.
I think it’s just because oats are gluten-free–kind of the way, like, pretzels are labeled “a cholesterol-free food” now, even though no one actually came up with a new version–isn’t it?
As for the marmalade, well, I already have enough bitter orange laid in to last until doomsday. Besides, we’re a grapefruit-loving household. Actually, there’s a native Japanese citrus fruit called yuzu. It’s very sour, and occasionally a friend will make marmalade from it and give Atsushi and me a jar. Fantastic stuff, if not traditional.
Your comments are certainly a pleasure for me. Not so is finding out that there’s still trouble with comment registration. I know Dean (who also uses PowerBlogs) gets that sometimes, too. I’ll e-mail the help guy again and see what he says. The comment account that you registered for was, in fact, approved, but that obviously doesn’t mean you’re able to use it. Sorry for the inconvenience.
If you missed Moyet’s “Hometime” album (2002), it’s easily her best. Exceptional songwriting as well as the only good post-Clarke production she’s ever received. The fabulous voice is of course a given.
And strongly agreed, regarding the braying donkey. Now Vince claims that – not only is he not sleeping with the donkey – but he’s *heterosexual*?? Then why, why have you wasted 20+ years recording with this hideous vocalist??
I love Hometime, but I have to say I’m still a Hoodoo man if forced to pick just one.
And honey, don’t get me going on Andy Bell. I won’t stop until doomsday. MOST. ANNOYING. BITCH. EVER. Him and Jimmy Somerville, who’s at least had the decency to GO AWAY. But, you know, I thought they’d always said Vince was straight. I thought he was married, actually. The idea of sleeping with Andy Bell would be enough to put me off men for life.
Well, okay, not really, but still.
Married last year, that’s how I found out. I still don’t understand how this is the same man who wrote “Boys Say Go” and “What’s Your Name” (a.k.a. the “Hey you’re such a pretty boy, hey you’re such a pretty boy, hey you’re such a pretty boy, you’re so pretty” song) on the first Depeche Mode album. And of course, wasting the last 22 years of his musical career. You do make a persuasive point though.
Now that we get the LOGO channel in NYC, we get to see, several times a week, the concert where Andy struts around in assless pants and a cowboy hat for two hours. You’d love it.
“I still don’t understand how this is the same man who wrote ‘Boys Say Go’ and ‘What’s Your Name’ (a.k.a. the ‘Hey you’re such a pretty boy, hey you’re such a pretty boy, hey you’re such a pretty boy, you’re so pretty’ song) on the first Depeche Mode album.”
And then there was that coded pride message “Just like a rainbow / You know, you set me free.” (Man, if there’s any song in the history of the world with dumber lyrics than “Just Can’t Get Enough,” I’m relieved not to know about it.)
“Now that we get the LOGO channel in NYC, we get to see, several times a week, the concert where Andy struts around in assless pants and a cowboy hat for two hours. You’d love it.”
And people wonder why I haven’t gone back.