wanderlust

Some travel pictures coming up soon. I spent last weekend in Lisbon. Utter ♥.

(Image via here)

of birds, bees, bigots, hypocrisy and go-go dancing in vanilla-scented leather whilst shaving one's bits in a role-play spanking sort of activity in London and Madrid

Okay, I was reading about the British General Election on the The Independent this morning when came across an article titled Anti-gay Baptist minister took male prostitute on holiday (I know.)

Well, the title speaks for itself. However, what I wasn't expecting was for the piece to briefly have me in stitches. This next bit is what did it:

"Rekers also neglected to explain what had drawn him to Lucien, who has long blond hair and appears topless in photographs on the website. Perhaps it was the young man's interesting range of hobbies, which are listed as: "vanilla, leather, shaving, spanking, role-play and go-go dancing"."

The whole thing reeks of stupid surrealism if you ask me (but you should never ask me 'cos I may tell you what I think.)

Everybody knows any bigoted individual/group/institution on an earnest evangelical mission (opinion-wise, not necessarily religious) to condemn and try to squash perfectly acceptable ideas, lifestyles or just plain human rights, has a dark, hidden, messed-up agenda. So I won't even get into that (this is already getting far too serious for la ninja as it is, innit?)
I just really dig how the journalist phrased that paragraph "vanilla, leather, shaving, spanking, role-play and go-go dancing". Irony (obviously linked to wit, humour and intelligence) is often a powerful weapon against bigotry.

Right, back to less messed-up affairs, like... politics? Ahem.

Anyway... Hello, long time no ninja.

All is well here (should anyone be wondering/interested), just got my mind on other things these days but I can feel a full nonsense-ninja recovery coming up... Yay. Watch this space.

theory of relativity

Someone find me a higher gravitational field as time goes slower up there (or so they say.)

That sitting atop my diary is something the hairdresser plucked from my head yesterday afternoon (biatch.)
The first of its kind and colour I've ever seen up there (well, she's the one who actually saw it; I was happily oblivious about it until then.)
So there you have it. New era. Downhill from here. It's a fact.

On a similar note, I watched Chris Rock's Good Hair (not that it is actually his, but you know what I mean) yesterday evening. There is some seriously scary stuff going on there.
So, after all, one grey hair, pittance. But, then again, and quoting Mr. Ice-T on the film "(...) trust me, if a woman ain't happy with herself, she ain't going to bring nothing but pain to every-fucking-body around her." Ha.

of orange vests, leaves, rants and whoopee

In keeping with my (lately most irregularly posted) a-ranting + a-moaning series, I was about to moan about men in shiny orange vests cutting, clipping, trimming, pruning and basically getting the park tidy and ready for the winter.

It's not about them I want complain though, they tend to do a splendid job at cutting, clipping, trimming, pruning and getting the park ready for the winter. (See that first photo down there? That's a perfectly neat pile of... crap?) What really bugs me is that they are at it, with their heavy machinery and stuff, first thing in the morning making my cycle to work a perilous one again (ahem).

So anyway, instead of having a sulk (I'll rant soon about female joggers wearing the wrong undergarments, another interesting park feature), it got me thinking on how everyone's posting pics of red leaves and brown stuff, nature, parks, trees and the like. Exactly the same thing seems to happen every year. Spring and autumn.

It reminded me of this fab post by the hilarious and articulate Antonia at whoopee, which really sums up the subject in a way I never could.

Really, go and have a peek. She's fun.

Right, next entry will be on shiny orange vests or, indeed, joggers' too often too bouncy bosom.

I'm so b, let's move to denmark

I'd forgotten all about an article I read some time ago until today.

The clocks have gone back, it's already getting darker and the gloom of winter is upon us. Crap. Piles of. (Unlike here, it's just soil, MODgirl. Honestly. Sigh.)

Right, it's starting to get dark, dank and bleh so we should, at least, make life a bit easier for ourselves. Therefore, I recommend reading the article here and if, like me, you identify yourselves with the quote "I'm useless early in the morning. All I can do is drink coffee and stare into space." then, perhaps you could also start the revolution.

I know I won't. I am a stirrer rather than a doer so, please, go ahead, fight for me and let me know when you're done. When the EU has passed the bill proposal and made it law, at that stage, I'll totally be there backing you up. Only after 3pm though. Ta.

No seriously. It's a brilliant idea.

Oh yeah, and their official website is here.

c.k. watt?

As far as I'm concerned the below is one of the best comedic dialogues ever. I'm a bit of a language buff so, obviously, I love this sort of Babel-like misunderstanding nonsense.
Fawlty Towers still makes me giggle every time I watch it. I got my dad the whole series last Xmas and I think I can still hear his belly laugh when we watched this bit together. He's a great fan. It must run in the family.

Mrs Richards: Is there anyone else in attendance here? Really, this is the most appalling service I've ever h...
Polly: Good idea! Manuel, could you lend Mrs Richards your assistance in connection with her reservation?
Manuel looks puzzled
Mrs Richards: Now, I've reserved a very quiet room, with a bath and a sea view. I specifically asked for a sea view in my written confirmation, so please make sure I have it.
Manuel: Qué?
Mrs. Richards: What?
Manuel: Qué?
Mrs. Richards: K?
Manuel: Sí.
Mrs. Richards: C? K.C.? K.C.? What are you trying to say?
Manuel: No, no, no, no. Qué, "what."
Mrs. Richards: K. Watt?
Manuel: Sí, qué, "what."
Mrs. Richards: C. K. Watt?
Manuel: Yes!
Mrs. Richards: Who is C. K. Watt?
Manuel: Qué?
Mrs. Richards: Is he the manager, Mr. Watt?
Manuel: Oh! Manajer!
Mrs. Richards: He is?
Manuel: Ah! Mr. Fawlty!
Mrs. Richards: What?
Manuel: Fawlty!
Mrs. Richards: What are you talking about, you silly little man? (to Polly) What is going on here? I ask him for my room and he tells me the manager is a Mr. Watt, aged forty.
Manuel: No, no, no, Fawlty.
Mrs. Richards: Faulty? What's wrong with him?

Should you have some time to spare, here's just an excerpt of the hilarious Communication Problems episode (one including the above conversation as well as another precious disagreement regarding Mrs. Richards room with a view.)

c.k. watt is one of the labels I've been using on this blog when c.k. watt-sort-sitos arise. I love to say it out loud. We often do in the house now. It definitely applies when people of different nationalities get/live together. Defo.

Oh yeah, not sure whether the actual experience was any good, but when I read this article back in August, the idea really made me smile.

sleepless nights?

Endless tossing and turning? Restlessness? Anxiety? Muscular fatigue? Mood swings? Hallucinations? Disorientation? Well, it now seems:

So stop being such a wuss, shut up and get over it! :)

Note: T-shirt seen at Coffee Company in Amsterdam.