The Idler, Friday, July 29, 2011

Milligan rides again

MATTERS come to a crescendo as the current season at St Clements approaches its finale. This week we had poetry, music and song by Jean-Marie Spitaels, a Walloon (French-speaking Belgian) who grew up in the Congo.

Spitaels (he writes under the pen-name Jean Cornet) is a tonic – poetry in English, songs in French, musical accompaniment on the harmonica and the acoustic guitar. It was quirky and catchy.

On Monday we move from quirkiness to craziness with readings from Spike Milligan's Puckoon, set in Ireland at the time of the partitioning of the republican South and the loyalist North. In spite of the dire consequences of that partitioning, this is surely one of the funniest books in the English language.

The central character – called simply "the Milligan" – is given by the author (Spike Milligan) a magic phrase to use if he's in a tight spot. He uses it as he's being whacked over the head by the truncheons of the Royal Ulster Constabulary.

He is whisked in an instant to a casino on the French Riviera. He's in a tuxedo, he's winning buckets of money and a voluptuous blonde is making a pass at him.

Then the Royal Ulster Constabulary burst in and start whacking him over the head with truncheons.

Lovely, crazy stuff. Milligan was in The Goon Show for years. He wrote Adolph Hitler: My Part in his Downfall and Rommel? Gunner Who? Both were very funny but Puckoon was his high point.

Bring it on! Then one more gathering before a six-week winter hibernation.

 

Octopus cruelty

SPIKE Milligan was a regular visitor to Durban. Every visit he would accost staff at the Oceanographic Research Institute and accuse them of being cruel to the octopus by keeping it wedged into a tiny rock crevice.

"But Spike, that's how an octopus likes to live," Dr Rudi van der Elst, of ORI, would tell him.

"Nonsense! They like to float free in the ocean."

"If they float free in the ocean, they get chowed in seconds."

"Nonsense! And you've been keeping that poor octopus in that same crevice for years now."

"Spike, it's not the same octopus. They live for only six months."

"Nonsense! He recognised me today. He winked at me!"

You couldn't win against Milligan.

Rugger bugger

DISHY Sunday Tribune columnist Cilla Duff once had dinner with Spike Milligan. He wouldn't talk about anything but rugby.

"Aren't you interested in anything but rugby?" she asked him.

"There's nothing more important in life than rugby," said Milligan.

It made a great column.

Wacky quotes

SOME Spike Milligan quotes:

·         "A sure cure for seasickness is to sit under a tree."

·         "And God said: 'Let there be light' and there was light, but the Electricity Board said He would have to wait until Thursday to be connected."

·         "Chopsticks are one of the reasons the Chinese never invented custard."

·         "Contraceptives should be used on every conceivable occasion."

·         "His vibrato sounded like he was driving a tractor over a ploughed field with weights tied to his scrotum."

·         "How long was I in the army? Five foot eleven."

·         "I can speak Esperanto like a native."

·         "I told you I was ill." (Epitaph on his tombstone)

 

Tailpiece

THE PARISH badly needs funds. The priest calls for volunteers to sell bibles door-to-door at R50 each.
 
Peter, Paul and Louie all raise their hands to volunteer. Peter and Paul are professional salesmen, but Louie is a farmer with a speech impediment. Not wanting to discourage him, the priest takes him on as well.

Next Sunday Peter hands over R1 000 he raised from selling 20 bibles.  Paul hands over a R1 600 cheque for the 32 he sold.
 
Then Louie hands over a large envelope. It contains 26 000.

 

"Louie," says the priest. "Did you sell 520 bibles, door to door, in just one week?"

 

Louie nods.

The professional salesmen are amazed. "You say you sold 10 times as many bibles as we professional salesmen together. How's that possible?"
 
Louie shrugs. "I-I-I- re-re-really do-do-don't kn-kn-know f-f-f-for sh-sh-sh-sure," he stammers. "A-a-a-all I-I-I s-s-said wa-wa-was: 'W-w-w-w-would y-y-y-you l-l-l-l-l-like t-t-to b-b-b-buy th-th-th-this b-b-b-b-bible f-f-for f-f-fifty b-b-b-bucks—-o-o-o-or wo-wo-would yo-you j-j-j-just l-like m-m-me t-t-to st-st-stand h-h-here and r-r-r-r-r-read it t-to you?"

 

Last word

Irrigation of the land with seawater desalinated by fusion power is ancient. It's called 'rain'.

Michael McClary

 

The Idler Thursday, July 28, 2011

Picture postcard days

 

HOW SNOW transforms the landscape. The most mundane locality becomes a Christmas card. We've had plenty of that in our pages over recent days.

 

My first experience of falling snow was in Matatiele, way back in the 60s, where we were snowed in for three days.

 

The town square was, of course, like a Christmas card, except these usually have snow-laden conifers. In Matat it was the fronds of the palm trees that held the snow, a frozen tracery – incongruous but magical nevertheless.

 

The farmers came into town on their tractors for supplies – no other vehicle could move. The licensing hours of the pubs seemed to have been suspended as people stood about roaring log fires.

 

Tall stories abounded. One fellow claimed to have spotted a large trout swimming in the snow, off-river. Another was training a dog team. "But when I say 'Mush!' they just sit down on their backsides in the snow!"

 

Late one night we heard about Jeremy's accident. His tractor had slid into the railings of the bridge over the frozen stream. Quite a mess. But Jeremy was OK, if a little unsteady on his feet (shock, you understand). The sergeant told us in the pub he'd insisted on them taking down a statement. "A drunk horse fell out of a willow tree on to me."

 

What the insurance company made of it, I don't know.

 

Yes, that was East Griqualand in days of yore. Last bastion of the Wild West. Always cold, often snowbound. Chills the body but not the soul.

 

The muse stirs

 

Across the wires the electric message came,

'He is no better, he is much the same …'

 

READER Ray Gorven wishes to challenge the 19^th century Scottish poet, William McGonagall, for the title of the world's worst ever. He believes he qualifies because his bowling club president refuses to display his latest poetic effort behind the bar counter.

 

"I'd like your opinion please because I think I qualify for McGonagall's position."

 

Remember one thing, you stupid old bastard,

Don't drink too much beer then drive when you're plastered;

'Cos the cops are out there, they're concealed in a thicket,

Just waiting to give you a whacking great ticket.

 

It shows great promise, Ray. What you need to get into the first line is something like: "'Twas in the freezing winter of two thousand and eleven …" That's the McGonagall style. Then see if you can somewhere get in something like the couplet quoted above (referring to the illness of the Prince of Wales), which is not from McGonagall but from Alfred Austin. It's nevertheless a classic of the genre.

 

Austin succeeded Tennyson as Poet Laureate, appointed by Prime Minister Salisbury as a joke on the London literary establishment, for which he had great disdain.

 

So there's hope for us all. Keep banging away and your poem will end up being displayed in the pub, sure enough.

 

 

Sociology

SOME sociological notes:  People born before 1946 were called the Silent Generation; those between 1946 and 1964 are Baby Boomers; those between 1965 and 1979 are Generation X; and those between 1980 and 2010 are Generation Y.

Y should I get a job? Y should I leave home and find my own place? Y should I get a car when I can borrow yours? Y should I clean my room?

 

Great pad

 

TIGER Woods seems to be adjusting to bachelor status. He's just bought a $60 million pad in Florida, looking out over the Atlantic, with everything that opens and shuts.

Included is a short-game practice course with sand traps etcetera, onto which he can also play a seven-iron shot from his second-storey studio.

But something is lacking. He needs to be able to sink the black on the snooker table while relaxing in the bathtub.

 

Tailpiece

MY WIFE and I were sitting at a table at her high school reunion, and she kept staring at a drunken man swigging his drink as he sat alone at a nearby table.

I asked: "Do you know him?"

"Yes," she sighed. "He's my old boyfriend. He took to drinking right after we split up those many years ago, and I hear he hasn't been sober since."

"Good heavens!" I said, "Who could go on celebrating that long?"

And that's when the fight started.

Last word

Why is this thus? What is the reason for this thusness?

Artemus Ward

 

The Idler, Wednesday, July 27, 2011

The Antarctic wildebeest

THERE'S a simple enough explanation for the freezing weather that has gripped us in recent days. It's what geographers call latitudinal shift. The Roaring Forties have moved northward. We now live in the Roaring Forties.

Penguins will replace flamingos in the bay. Gannets and giant skuas will replace Indian mynahs. We have to adapt and adjust.

But there is an upside. The Drakensberg ski slopes will become a tourism drawcard. They will be able to hold the Winter Olympics at Moses Mabida. And the Antarctic wildebeest will thunder about Zululand to the delight of overseas visitors.

This global warming is getting out of hand.

World Cup

 

READER Richard Andersson agrees that Currie Cup rugby is outshining the Tri-Nations competition. "It's like we are playing two different games." However, he urges us in verse to be positive about the upcoming World Cup.

 

The Rugby World Cup is on its way,

Will the trophy with us stay?

Let's take a look at what we've got

If we hope to keep the pot.

Our captain John, he's done us proud,

Should this time round be in the crowd.

Victor, he's still hanging tough

But, like John, he's had enough.

Bakkies can't control his rage,

Fourteen men for sure some stage.

Bryan Habana's got butter fingers,

Way out on the wing he lingers.

So some of them look tired and old,

Too much to ask for the cup to hold?

But then again we have young stock

Who could quite easily cause a shock.

Patrick Lambie, a real bright star,

Few more like him, we could go far.

That guy Morne, he can kick,

Perhaps he might just do the trick.

Loose forwards strong and fast we've got,

Come out firing, we'll have a shot.

If Piet de Snor can pick them right,

The All Blacks could just get a fright.

But wish them luck in the long white cloud,

Come on boys, do us proud!

Madiba magic, let it flow free,

Belated present for ninety-three.

 

Musical styles

READER Eric Hodgson sends in some definitions of musical styles.

·         Country and Western: Men singing about drinkin', gamblin' and cheatin' on their ladies.

·         Jazz: Five men on the same stage, all playing different tunes.

·         Blues: Played exclusively by people who woke up this mornin'.

·         Opera: People singing when they should be talking.

·         Rap: People talking when they should be singing.

·         Big Band: Twenty men who take it in turns to stand up, plus a drummer.

 

Round-up

TWO DOGS HAVE been filmed swimming off a beach in Western Australia, rounding up a pack of sharks and even nipping at them.

It happened in shallowish waters at a place called Broome, where the camera clearly captured the sharks swimming about in increasing panic as the dogs herded them together.

You just can't suppress the instincts of border collies. I once knew a farm in the Midlands where a piercing whistle would have the old border collie rounding up everything he could find and bringing it to the front verandah for inspection – ducks, geese, hens, a couple of cows, a horse and a highly indignant rooster. It was quite a party trick.

Tailpiece

 

MURPHY, a Dublin furniture dealer, is in Paris on business. He drops in at a bistro for a glass of wine. The place is crowded but he finds a place at a small table .

 

Next thing a stunning Parisian girl is standing there and she speaks to him in French. Murphy doesn't understand but waves her to the unoccupied chair and says: "Can I get yez something to drink, yer darlin' girl?"

 

But she speaks no English. So Murphy takes a table napkin and draws on it a wine glass. She nods vigorously. "Ouis, monsieur, merci!"

 

He orders. Then he takes another napkin, and draws on it a plate of food. She nods vigorously again. "Ouis monsieur, merci beaucoup!"

 

He orders dinner. Then a band strikes up. Murphy takes another napkin and draws on it a couple dancing. Again the vigorous nodding. "Ouis, monsieur, ouis!" They get up and dance. They get closer and closer. Then the band takes a break and they sit down. She takes a napkin and draws on it a four-poster bed.

 

"Well I'll be blowed!" says Murphy. "How does she know I'm in de furniture business?"

__._,_.___

 

Last word

 

No one gossips about other people's secret virtues.

Bertrand Russell

 

The Idler, Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Ponytails call the shots

 

RUGBY traditionalists derive a certain wry amusement from the controversy over Sharkie Mark II. That's what happens when you put yourself in the hands of the marketing gurus – the Ponytails. Every now and then they'll come up with a clunker.

 

Just as well the Ponytails didn't tell the NRU to put the players into satin tights, sequins and bow ties. Where would we be?

 

Contrast

 

MEANWHILE, what a contrast there is between the zip and fizz of the Currie Cup and the tiredness of the game at supposedly higher levels.

 

Last weekend showed it again. Brilliant rugby - our cliffhanger in Nelspruit plus the Blue Bulls-Free State Cheetahs encounter that could have gone either way. The lack-lustre Boks in Melbourne.

 

It's a repeat of last season. The Currie Cup is showing itself to be the one to watch. There's a sameness about the Super 15 competition and the Tri-Nations that follows – the same players, the same patterns. Definite signs of metal fatigue.

 

But let's not bring in the Ponytails.

 

Paralympics pioneer

LAST week we asked if anyone remembers Margaret Harriman, whose family the Alexandra Memorial Bowling Club (Pennington) are trying to contact so they can hand on medals and other memorabilia that are in their possession.

Reader Dave Rourke remembers her very well for her involvement in sports for the disabled. She was a protégé/patient in the 1940s of Sir Ludwig Guttman, whose Stoke Mandeville Hospital, a spinal injuries rehabilitation centre in England, pioneered sport as a rehabilitative tool.

Sir Ludwig introduced her to archery. She went on to represent her club, province and country in events for both disabled and able-bodied archers. As a disabled bowler, she was equally adept against the able- bodied and disabled.

"My suggestion to the bowling club is that they preserve, mount and display her memorabilia as a tribute."

McGonagall rides again

WILLIAM McGonagall, the 19^th century Scottish poet, is generally recognised as the world's worst ever. The clunking quality of his verse puts him in a class of his own.

 

So bad was his poetry – and so eccentric his antics – that he was well known in Scotland. When he put on Hamlet – himself in the leading role – the place was a sell-out. McGonagall did not disappoint as he departed from the lines and stage instructions of Shakespeare to chase the other characters from the stage, brandishing a sword. He had them standing on their seats, cheering.

 

The inverted popularity has persisted. While Tennyson and other noted Victorians linger on in musty library shelves, McGonagall has his own website. This week's "poetic gem" concerns General Roberts in Afghanistan.

 

'Twas in the year of 1878, and. the winter had set in,
Lord Roberts and the British Army their march did begin,
On their way to Afghanistan to a place called Cabul;
And the weather was bitter cold and the rivers swollen and full.

Clunk, clunk, clunk! Awful, isn't it? I won't detain you with the stirring details of how the Highlanders, the 72^nd Regiment, the Ghoorkas and the 8^th Punjaub routed the enemy. But the second last stanza does have a certain currency.

And the battle that followed at Candahar was a complete victory,
And Lord Roberts' march to Candahar stands unrivalled in history;
And let's thank God that sent Lord Roberts to conquer Ayoob Khan,
For from that time there's been no more war in Afghanistan.

Oh yeah? Ask the Russians. Ask the Americans and the Brits and the rest of the Nato forces.

Tailpiece

A NUN IS rattling a tin mug outside an Irish bar. A fellow throws in a few coins as he goes in.

"Ah, de demon booze has you in its claws!"

"Sister, that's not fair. I work hard for my money. I look after my wife and kids. All I do is relax after a hard day with a couple of whiskeys."

"Dat's where it begins. Dat's where de demon gets ya!"

"Sister, that's ridiculous. Have you ever tasted whiskey?"

"Heaven forbid dat alcohol should touch dese lips!"

"How can you judge? Look, let me get you a whiskey. You'll find it's not so bad."

"Oh, all right den." She hands him her tin mug.

"Two double whiskeys please. Put one in this mug."

The barman sighs. "Don't tell me dat nun's out dere again!"

 

Last word

 

My reason, the physician to my love, angry that his prescriptions are not kept, hath left me.

William Shakespeare

 

The Idler, Monday, july 25, 2011

Leapfrog the traffic jams

A FLYING car that converts at the touch of a button between being an aircraft and a motor vehicle is expected to be on sale in Britain next year, retailing at £150 000.

The two-seater Terrafugia can fly 800km on a single tank of fuel and can lift off from almost any long, straight road. It has a top speed in the air of 185km/h and its wings fold up in 15 seconds to allow it to travel at 100km/h on the road.

We're not told what length of road is needed for take-off – in other words, will one be able to simply take to the air whenever a traffic jam develops? – but Terrafugia enthusiasts will no doubt just pull out and open the throttle in the oncoming lane, the way Durban taxis already do.

In fact, combine Terrafugia technology with Durban taxi driving and the Brits could have found the ideal replacement for the Harrier jump-jet.

 

Strongest side ever?

 

MICHAEL Green, retired editor of our sister newspaper, the Daily News, notes that cricket followers have selected their "greatest Test team of all time", to mark the 2 000^th Test match at Lord's. He says they must have short memories.

 

"Their team: Virender Sehwag, Sunil Gavaskar, Don Bradman, Sachin Tendulkar, Brian Lara, Kapil Dev, Adam Gilchrist, Shane Warne, Wasim Akram, Curtly Ambrose, Glenn McGrath.

 

"Looking back a little further, how about this team to beat that mentioned above?

 

"W.G. Grace (England), the first of the greats, born 163 years ago, played first-class cricket for 44 years. He is well remembered for his arguments with umpires. Given out lbw, he waved his arm at the crowds around the ground and told the official at the other end of the wicket: 'See all those people?  They've come to watch me bat, not to watch you umpire'.

 

"Walter Hammond (England), who lived in Durban for several years and died here in 1965.

 

"Jack Hobbs (England), whom I knew in London long years ago. He owned a sports shop in Fleet Street.

 

"Garfield Sobers (West Indies), the supreme all-rounder.

 

"Denis Compton (England). Two of his sons live in Durban.

"Dudley Nourse (South Africa), who in 1951 scored 208 against England while batting with a very painful broken thumb.

 

"Bill O'Reilly (Australia), the leg-break bowler in this team.

 

"Learie Constantine (West Indies), who became a peer of the British realm, Baron Constantine.

 

"Godfrey Evans (wicket-keeper, England), who once kept during an Australian innings of 659 without conceding a single bye.

 

"Keith Miller (Australia), who was a fighter pilot in World War II. Asked many years later about pressure in cricket, he replied: 'Pressure is a Messerschmidt up you're a***. Playing cricket is not'.

 

"Ray Lindwall (Australia), who with Miller formed what was possibly the most formidable opening bowling partnership in cricket history.

 

"And I haven't found space for Richie Benaud (Australia), the best of all the modern commentators; the imperturbable Len Hutton (England); and the three Ws of the West Indies, Everton Weekes, Frank Worrell and Clyde Walcott. And many others."

 

I'd put all my doubloons on Michael Green's side.

 

Ionian geography

WHAT'S the capital of Greece? About 10 euros

St Clements rave-up

A POTPOURRI of poetry, music and art is on the agenda for tonight at St Clements, the Berea spot where afficionados get together of a Monday to strut their stuff and take on board a glass or two of claret and some grub.

Tonight there will be readings of the English poetry of Jean Cornet (usually he writes in French) and as things hot up there will be music and song, while art works will also be on display.

Nothing like an artistic razzle-dazzle to lift the spirits. I just hope the cops don't bust us for disturbing the neighbourhood.

Conjugal drift

EVER since the wife and I bought a water bed, we've drifted apart

Tailpiece

 

"Hey, baby, you're really hot! Wanna go out?"

"I have a boyfriend."

"I have a maths test."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"Aren't we listing things we can cheat on?"

 

Last word

My favourite thing about the Internet is that you get to go into the private world of real creeps without having to smell them.

Penn Jillette