tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36110347799540142882012-01-27T11:36:10.659ZThe Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comBlogger981100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-82019675169928851462011-07-01T14:03:00.007+01:002011-07-01T21:28:05.908+01:00

Try to stay calm, but I’ve finally been reunited with my belongings from Scotland. It’s been six and a half years. I didn’t realise I’d been in Ireland for so long. (Why did nobody tell me?)They’ve been lying unused these past forevers, stacked in cupboards and the occasional spare room, listening out as a procession of gullible tenants slouched by in their dirty, dirty shoes. (What is wrong with

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-67920841230119452011-06-30T14:34:00.002+01:002011-06-30T14:38:27.966+01:00

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-49285159219004483962011-06-22T16:50:00.013+01:002011-06-26T01:44:20.798+01:00

Good news: when I was very young I had a large collection of toy cars. (I may be unravelling here. Don’t worry, everything’s under control.) I would spend hours playing with these things. Days.I didn’t push them along the ground and say broom - and broom broom would clearly have been superfluous - I simply ordered them in a meticulously straight line. Not just straight, you understand, but

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-71407496388740568702011-06-17T14:18:00.004+01:002011-06-17T14:35:57.260+01:00

I find myself with another dog, a welcome addition to the pack. Predominantly white, with some weird speckling beneath the surface, he’s (now) roughly six months old. Beautiful. He’s been with me for the best part of two months. I mean, he just turned up, he was here, waiting….and he’s still here now, rarely letting me out of his sight. Hello, Mr Man, I’m staying here now. Hello, Mr Dog, I’m so

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-38801956929290368692011-06-16T12:30:00.006+01:002011-06-16T13:26:34.476+01:00

Sometimes - very rarely, but just sometimes - it's possible to stumble upon something that pierces the jaded, seen-it-all knowingness of the age and causes a shudder of outright revulsion. It’s quite hard to come by these things, unfortunately, as our digitally-enhanced desensitisation kicks in. I occasionally wonder (and worry) about the accelerated sexualisation of young people. I mean, if the

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-90959495364137617502011-06-15T20:21:00.002+01:002011-06-15T20:34:05.174+01:00

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-53699114591431979862010-10-17T00:05:00.023+01:002011-06-16T13:21:58.822+01:00

Spotkajmy się w moim domu w niedzielę przed meczem – BógThose words (above) are to be found on billboards in the USA, apparently, although not so much in Polish as in English:Let’s meet at my house Sunday before the game – GodCosy.Your skin may be crawling or your heart may be warmed or your gaze may be fixed on the distance. That’s your business. It may be fair to say, however, that some of us

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-78414952989509821912010-10-16T21:19:00.004+01:002010-10-16T22:56:57.895+01:00

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-29247478517523182452010-10-14T12:54:00.027+01:002010-10-20T23:46:26.774+01:00

Many moon shapes ago, whilst still living in Glasgow and finding myself momentarily inconvenienced by a rampantly out of control joie de vivre, I volunteered to host a creative writing class for socially malfunctioning scum. Community spirit: can’t beat it.No, please, I used to be part of the world (up to a point) and you may even say that I tried. I once bought forty million gallons of paint,

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-78936620751681859172010-10-11T01:05:00.000+01:002010-10-11T01:21:06.767+01:00

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-71182904216825950792010-10-10T14:08:00.002+01:002010-10-11T01:27:41.011+01:00

Sometimes a disappointment can be so small that it’s practically non-existent. I’ve had a fair number of these in quick succession and don’t really know what it means. The disappointment has been so marginal, so very wafer-thin, that I almost missed the chance to feel it – and we can’t be having that. I prefer to know where I stand with my disappointments.A Gratuitously Stylised Version of An

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-143915000161676022010-09-28T10:39:00.006+01:002010-09-28T10:58:56.540+01:00

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-83423044954546003812010-09-25T14:23:00.019+01:002010-09-25T20:03:17.796+01:00

Flicking disconsolately through the Argos catalogue (“The Essential Book of Value”), I can’t help feeling that what we need is another war. You’d be hard pressed not to come to this conclusion reading the Argos catalogue. And I don’t mean a piddling or predictably divisive war like Iraq, say, but a great big “oh good grief, mummy, the Germans are in the garden” sort of war. Something to bring

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-9999329483726618352010-09-24T11:24:00.005+01:002010-09-24T12:36:33.115+01:00

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-86285420984029099262010-08-15T23:44:00.012+01:002010-08-16T02:31:51.832+01:00

Oh. Dear.My dad, a man without one redeeming defect, is conning people out of money again. No, correction: he’s been caught conning people out of money again. To say that he’s merely doing these things again makes it sound like he may have taken a breather at some point, but it’s all he knows.I thought of sending him a note - it’s not at all kool to steal money, dad - but then realised that I

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-89673430457584091022010-07-20T01:59:00.003+01:002010-07-20T02:23:25.099+01:00

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-11047626038487966942010-07-19T10:34:00.016+01:002010-07-19T21:34:04.417+01:00

Ach. I’ve been in bed, cinematically dying without complaint, wondering at the severity of my bronchial affliction and watching through the windows as the early promise of summer evaporates in the sneering face of some particularly sarcastic rain. According to the ancient “wisdom” of some farmers Charlotte claims to have recently met, the weather on the 8th of July sets the tone for the rest of

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-49099878127310983752010-07-14T11:02:00.001+01:002010-07-15T00:12:41.832+01:00

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-25629994637031585362010-06-12T13:32:00.007+01:002010-06-12T23:50:15.252+01:00

My uncle, a gifted linguist, drifts in and out of the broadly accepted version of sanity. I’ve mentioned this fact before. I’m forever hopeful he’ll turn into a Blake and thrill me with supernatural flights of wild fancy, but his hands seem firmly rooted to the pound, alas, and his madness is gallingly mundane.Now that he’s 72 and long since retired from teaching languages - and in between those

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-43472201266791736512010-06-11T14:03:00.006+01:002010-06-11T21:38:37.276+01:00

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-48727691370497078862010-06-05T18:02:00.015+01:002010-06-07T01:20:45.803+01:00

We had a young person staying for a few days, so I got to read her magazines. I say “young”, but she was in her early twenties. She still is, probably, although I can never be entirely sure how quickly it may age someone to spend any time in my company. She may be turning a very startled forty as we speak.Let me read one of your magazines. Okay.I like this girl, she doesn’t mess about with

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-69352120567498925562010-06-03T17:22:00.002+01:002010-06-03T17:36:23.070+01:00

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-8926762135567039912010-05-26T12:52:00.010+01:002010-06-07T01:21:17.875+01:00

Moving on.A child is raped in South Africa every three minutes. I saw it on TV. What do you say to that? You can press the “info” button on the remote control and bring up a wee box of text that outlines the content of any given programme. Modern. Listlessly surfing through the channels (a revolting habit), I landed on a Channel 4 documentary and pressed the button to see what it might be about.

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-39581178932345775322010-05-25T07:08:00.001+01:002010-05-25T07:08:00.449+01:00

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-61357629446936273402010-05-24T09:35:00.014+01:002010-06-07T01:21:52.717+01:00

Hola bloggeros, sup?You see what I did there? I incorporated a mixture of continental and modern within the space of three little words. Skill. The continental part speaks for itself and requires no further explanation, whilst the achingly modern “sup” is an abbreviation of “what, in actual fact, is up?” Oh yes it is, back off. It’s exhausting being this brilliant. (You wouldn’t know.)This

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-53632232591912739322010-05-20T14:29:00.011+01:002010-05-20T14:58:10.307+01:00

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-25536773941515376482010-05-19T08:59:00.000+01:002010-05-20T14:53:13.620+01:00

I hate hate hate surprise visits. In fact, you could lose the word “surprise” from that sentence and still find me reeling, but that’s not the point. Surprise visits are the work of the devil.Lesson 1: Always sound out of breath when you pick up the phone. Making yourself sound out of breath lays the foundation for any lie you may subsequently choose to tell. This is elementary stuff and I

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-9214361830682443182010-05-08T19:16:00.004+01:002010-05-08T19:27:40.774+01:00

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-69587020690018560042010-04-22T11:44:00.010+01:002010-06-11T21:26:32.865+01:00

If you can bear to watch – even just the shorter version (about 18 minutes long) – then have a look at this video from Wikileaks. People die, be warned, and the detached, (occasional) video-game mentality of the commentary from the soldiers as they go about their work should be enough to give most people a sensible pause for thought. Entirely unrelated, but David Cameron, leader of the British

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-35108882305363233232010-04-21T21:46:00.002+01:002010-04-21T21:58:37.531+01:00

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-56613681434418345062009-12-04T23:41:00.015Z2009-12-06T16:18:44.782Z

As briefly mentioned elsewhere on this blog, my paternal grandmother (dead, evangelical) would often speak in tongues to the family dog. (Sometimes the dog was the family, in fact, holding us together, giving us a point of reference, a distraction, a subject matter with which to fill the air – we heap a lot on these poor creatures, don’t we?) This caused delight and revulsion in unequal

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-42182373198878700802009-12-01T12:24:00.007Z2009-12-01T13:03:08.780Z

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-86841828154016963902009-11-26T15:30:00.008Z2009-11-27T03:24:19.253Z

Four years, one month, twenty-seven days, eighteen hours, twenty-three minutes and twelve, thirteen, fourteen…..seconds. The counting never stops and I miss alcohol so very much that it sometimes leaves me winded and aching and five steps north of desolate. But can you imagine going to Alcoholics Anonymous (esp. the American version)? Oh dear, never. Well, maybe just to wind them up a little, I

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-69614002565685258142009-11-23T01:17:00.005Z2009-12-01T13:02:51.470Z

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-53254256424838812882009-11-22T12:03:00.024Z2009-11-23T02:00:41.651Z

Do you like Bartók?Well no, not really, I find it’s often hard to make oneself heard over the jukebox. Why do you ask?What?Give it a minute. Are you there? Good. Hello. I also like to imagine an elderly gentleman going into a record shop in Glasgow and tentatively asking an assistant:Do you have any Bartók?Why yes, Sir, but not very much. Ahem....[clears throat]....."you spill ma pint, ya wee

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-46063453282014125942009-09-30T11:44:00.006+01:002009-11-19T22:06:07.711Z

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-51599220036312715472009-09-25T12:35:00.025+01:002009-09-26T12:27:06.718+01:00

People set up stalls to sell food at the various agricultural shows (here) in West Cork. And that’s fine. I’ve become irrationally addicted to agricultural shows this year (a welcome chance to stare at animals: cows, people, ducks – a wide variety, anyway) and it’s always nice to look at food. So this is a pleasing combination, nothing to worry about.However.At just about every show I’ve been

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-23761985638799191602009-09-23T16:38:00.015+01:002009-11-20T22:53:17.602Z

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-28081264536320886112009-08-31T20:03:00.008+01:002009-11-19T22:34:20.353Z

My dad, an abysmal human being in almost every respect, once told me a magical tale which, for various reasons, was rapidly and permanently placed in the semi-sacred pile marked Do Not Touch. Sometimes you don’t feel inclined to look at a good story too closely, do you, lest the thing turns out to be untrue? It just feels better and easier to shut out the alternatives and keep faith in the

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-45990506917537174722009-08-30T00:58:00.007+01:002009-11-20T00:31:01.386Z

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-52299258562827607262009-08-28T22:11:00.009+01:002009-08-30T03:57:55.452+01:00

Oh dear. Scotland seems to have upset an awful lot of people with the decision to release Abdelbaset Ali al-Megrahi on compassionate grounds. According to the weight of news coverage, the general consensus appears to be that this action has brought great shame on Scotland - and that someone, somewhere, needs to apologise. I’ve even seen a few people take it upon themselves to apologise on behalf

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-33688286816374284722009-08-10T00:50:00.000+01:002009-08-10T04:55:14.321+01:00

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-37703043763407763382009-08-08T09:24:00.009+01:002009-08-10T04:29:39.017+01:00

According to some recent outbreaks of opinion, haggis is English. Who knew? Cross-border sniping has been picking up pace since Catherine Brown (historian) revealed that she had found a reference to haggis in a book called The English Hus-Wife. This book was doing the rounds in 1615, apparently, a time when the letter E was still viewed with a certain suspicion and O had yet to be invented. Ha

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-25099185898312040012009-06-20T00:39:00.003+01:002009-08-10T04:58:11.825+01:00

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-22396647104183294532009-06-19T17:18:00.028+01:002009-06-22T13:07:24.988+01:00

Most reasonably objective and well-dressed people will probably say something along the lines of “why?” or “make me” or “I just can’t see myself being interested enough to do so, I’m sorry” when confronted by one of those ubiquitous Follow Me On Twitter signs so very muchly favoured 'pon the Internettle. However, I recently watched myself write the following to an actual girl:“…..although some

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-1622913123870686242009-06-18T23:31:00.005+01:002009-08-10T04:56:06.395+01:00

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-6895022163653188712009-06-17T22:47:00.002+01:002009-06-19T05:21:19.937+01:00

AIDS is not just God's punishment for homosexuals; it is God's punishment for the society that tolerates homosexuals. (Jerry Falwell: 1933-2007)Catching up with the news is hard, limitlessly depressing work. I keep on opting-out, allowing myself to become distracted by things which have pleased me in the past. And one of those things was the news that 90% of the sexual relations enjoyed by male

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-22074551134558885662009-05-29T01:02:00.012+01:002009-06-20T04:46:39.541+01:00

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-91442773699139124762009-05-29T00:59:00.006+01:002009-05-29T06:43:42.497+01:00

So that was April. You know where you stand with an April, don't you? I was almost entirely isolated for the duration: no newspapers, no television, no phone calls, not one single sighting of another human being - except for my girlfriend, occasionally - no real sense of the world at large, no real sense of anything. Silence. Glorious.Glorie zij aan de Vader en aan de Zoon en aan de Heilige

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-53182052256077206212009-03-14T12:44:00.029Z2009-06-19T14:52:00.313+01:00

Most of the crime round these parts is carried out by one particularly grouchy donkey. A section of fence is repeatedly vandalised, wing-mirrors are chewed, plant pots are scattered, trousers are taken from the line and meticulously destroyed overnight. That's okay. It's modestly funny (after two deep breaths) and I get on pretty well with the donkey in question.He's a grumpy rat, it's true, but

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-82537044508288646352009-02-11T12:23:00.011Z2009-06-20T04:48:31.695+01:00

Swirling just beneath the tightly controlled surface, making far more noise than the babble of socially acceptable mouth-woofs we are permitted to make in any given situation, a fractious army of disarrayed thoughts continually dares the face to say something catastrophically stupid. Every transaction is fraught.You may be gazing at a strong mechanic as he speaks, drifting in and out of his

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-10658520945317205922009-02-03T15:11:00.007Z2009-02-03T16:04:50.260Z

It’s 2009 and people still drop litter. I’m no longer surprised. The proof? I saw a man drop a can in Skibbereen and found myself thinking: you know what? This doesn’t surprise me.Do you think that’s a reasonable response, this lack of surprise? I’m told that this response is a sign of real progress - but how can this possibly be? Why wouldn’t you be surprised by such a stabbingly

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-49197828715481227032009-01-30T15:01:00.010Z2009-04-09T16:44:20.113+01:00

I’ve been tagged. This is a relief. Since settling down a few days ago to complete this year’s tax returns, I’ve been variously overwhelmed by a deep and wholly time-consuming interest in The Lindisfarne Gospels (and not just the pictures), the beautiful Georg Cantor, clever slime-ball Edward Bernays and the Moldovan pop outfit, O-zone. (They are not, as might reasonably have been expected

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-26255163733790392952009-01-18T21:22:00.010Z2009-06-18T02:08:13.967+01:00

If you survived 2008, well done. Have a biscuit.Every once in a while you come across something that simply forces you to stop in your tracks. I’ve been erasing my unused written memories of 2008 – a necessary January custom – and here, pared down from a 4,000 word rant, is one of my least favourite stories from one of my least favourite years:A thirteen year old girl was raped by three men. The

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-21090714881596358942008-12-14T01:10:00.021Z2009-09-22T16:15:42.419+01:00

Seville – although quite clearly Spanish – is absolutely wonderful. Who knew? I’ve never managed to feel properly comfortable in Spain, for some reason, and usually only ever concentrate on visiting Barcelona (glorious) or Cadaqués (the best). Madrid – and I set great store by capital cities, feeling that they give away a lot – has always left me perfectly cold. But Seville? Well, it feels

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.com123tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-55736441648059794592008-12-04T18:05:00.010Z2011-06-16T18:04:48.482+01:00

It’s Saturday o’clock, most definitely, but I’m using that thing whereby it’s possible to write something and then set a date in The Future when it will automatically publish to Bloggy – and these words are primed to go off, limply, on Thursday at 6:07pm. Random, fresh, needlessly exciting and way too pointless to resist. But did it work? Does it matter? I’ll be safely up a hill, regardless, far

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-12358059916375499012008-11-28T10:54:00.003Z2009-06-19T04:15:14.144+01:00

Praise be to Tarzan (may peace be upon Him) and all of his heavenly monkey-angels and Boy. It’s been a beautiful day today, as it was yesterday and the day before that and the day before that, too. Crisp and sunny, bright and true, scorching if you duck from the wind. Plus, this morning, I got the chance to stare at some deaf people using sign language - a treat beyond sensible measure.Spooky,

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-66208597175874733122008-11-27T18:31:00.008Z2008-11-28T12:59:52.773Z

Lord above. The simple act of lunging from Ireland to Portugal is made so much harder to bear when other people are part of the equation. People get everywhere. I was surrounded by you lot on my way here last Friday. Thin yous, fat yous, poorly dressed and swanky yous. Breathing, every last one of you; greedily sucking the air, molesting and disfiguring it, churning it through your sickly

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-26080354349884794562008-10-17T15:11:00.012+01:002008-10-18T12:44:00.741+01:00

But then again, even with every opportunity at our disposal, it’s not always certain that we learn something new every day. And some people – shame on them – would have us learn nothing much at all. But that’s for another paragraph.In the meantime, however, hot from the sacredly taxing pages of The Oxford Dictionary of Space Exploration, I give you this:Neutron star: a very small, “superdense”

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-66002755644692113892008-10-06T15:16:00.011+01:002008-10-07T12:52:58.039+01:00

Depressed readers of this blog will maybe have noticed that Ross Kemp has been mentioned a few times. His mind seems inelastic, unfortunately, and he delivers his lines like that guy reading out football results on Grandstand. (Always a home win, in case you care - up at the beginning, down at the end. Numbing, excruciating, maddening.) He would need a fair few promotions to reach average, in

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-78263014789021858772008-10-02T16:04:00.000+01:002008-10-02T17:03:33.622+01:00

Now just you wait a minute there. I mentioned that I found it a bit icky that my dog seemed to “actively savour” eating horse poo – and I stand by this faint unease. I’m not likely to be getting too sniffy about this habit of hers anytime soon, however, and nor, it seems, should you.Boffins – those bastards – estimate that at least one molecule of every glass of water we drink has passed

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-30516513692898884162008-09-29T13:48:00.000+01:002009-04-13T12:09:49.311+01:00

There are four horses in the garden at the moment, dobbing around, existing four-leggedly. They get put there by the farmer who owns them and are expected to cut the grass – which they do. So that’s good. (Effortlessly green, too, which makes me feel more than a little holy.)He only gave me a couple of horses, initially, which seemed sufficient and fair. The other two, however, kept busting

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-83112093117619172702008-08-20T00:00:00.015+01:002008-09-29T14:45:16.032+01:00

I've never been particularly fond of relentlessly happy and upbeat people. I don't find them inspiring or contagiously effervescent, merely draining and suspicious. It's not that I begrudge them their happiness – in fact, I'm happy for them, in an unhappy-happy kind of way - it's just that we don't really click.If we accept, on a very basic level, that there is some likely truth in those

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-57994043130062866262008-08-14T19:15:00.011+01:002009-04-12T23:31:15.864+01:00

There is a (seemingly discontinued) book on Amazon called The Mogrified Glomp. Isn't that an absolutely fantastic name for a book? For anything, really, come to think of it. What on earth does it mean? Does it matter? I yurgled with pleasure when I came across those words. The Mogrified Glomp. Genius.“What's for tea, mum?”“Mogrified Glomp.”“But...”“No buts. You'll have it and you'll like it

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-18681345713958381362008-08-11T18:51:00.019+01:002008-08-13T16:33:44.344+01:00

August 3rd -10th: an abridged list of majorly minor irritations1) Taoiseach Brian Cowen. I abjure violence and yet simply cannot imagine growing tired of whacking his face with a plank. This is very probably how revolutions start.2) The way that Richard Dawkins uses the word “amusing” in The God Delusion. Dawky often finds it “amusing” when he hears so and so say such and such about this and

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-37427536441819451712008-08-07T16:50:00.021+01:002009-04-09T16:49:18.038+01:00

Toast one side of a piece of bread. Put a few slices of tomato on the untoasted side, followed by a poached egg and grated cheese and plenty of freshly ground black pepper. Whack it under the grill until the cheese melts. What do you get? Mrs Swanky's Toast, right? Wrong. Who knew?

About three weeks into sharing a house with my girlfriend and long before I banned her from the kitchen, I got a

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-56277820908728316712008-08-06T14:15:00.025+01:002009-06-18T01:55:31.605+01:00

Recently, it has become slightly more acceptable to scrutinise Barack Obama and his seemingly assured ascent towards the presidency. This comes as a welcome relief, really, because I'm always made uneasy when I see people, especially journalists, acting like slavish devotees. I've been disconcerted, too, by the faintly fascist nature of Obama's set-piece speeches where the crowds chant “yes we

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-7339404346353332492008-06-25T13:56:00.002+01:002009-07-27T12:50:19.179+01:00

One slightly weird thing about the recent Irish referendum, in which we were asked to vote “Yes” or “No” to the adoption of the Lisbon Treaty, was the difference in style of the opposing campaign posters. The “yes” crowd, almost without exception, put up posters featuring prominent pictures of their own grinning faces, whilst the “no” mob, by and large, kept their frazzled mugs out of shot.I don

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-7327276624588760742008-05-12T08:10:00.004+01:002009-04-10T05:13:06.406+01:00

Hi. My thing’s broken.No, it’s not.What?It’s not. It’s your other thing that’s broken.I see. But will you at least have a look at the thing which I think is broken?No. I’m going to concentrate on the other thing, the thing which I think is broken.Right. It’s just, well, I’ve had this thing all my life and so I kind of know that it’s bust.No.No?No. I can tell without looking that it’s your

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-12045809730268201492008-04-13T17:23:00.018+01:002009-04-09T00:55:36.231+01:00

One of the joys of being in Portugal, of course, is that calories don’t exist here. This is just an established fact, really, so don’t even start, k? K.I’m not sure how it works, exactly, I’m just grateful that it does. Similar calorie-free hotspots are littered everywhere but home. Weird. Ireland now has calories, you know, having introduced them towards the very end of 2004 - just as I

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-10249877148344339952008-04-10T16:04:00.008+01:002009-04-09T00:53:31.257+01:00

(If you’ve never attempted to complete or compile a cryptic crossword this will make no sense to you at all, I’m afraid. All “clues” have the same answer, though, if that helps?)Buy a newspaper and find the crossword. Ignore the clues and simply start filling in the squares with words. Just be sure that everything makes sense and joins up together nicely. This can sometimes take a

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-82944641630798080162008-04-09T15:39:00.004+01:002009-04-09T00:09:28.849+01:00

Listen, don’t try to buy grilled octopus from gypsies at the flea market outside Portimao, okay? It’s their lunch. I may have slightly failed in my attempt to pick up every nuance and meaning of the response to my request, admittedly, but I understood that goats were involved and that my mother was more than happy with this. I knew it.The miracle, I suppose, is that I made exactly the same

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-26357558138394151922008-04-09T15:34:00.015+01:002009-04-09T00:52:10.501+01:00

Unless you have been asking yourself some very strange questions – a possibility, granted – then these random pictures of a cow on a surfboard are hardly likely to answer anything. It remains incontestably firm evidence, however, of a cow on a surfboard. Or maybe a skateboard? Evidence, anyway, and that’s probably a start.

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-40697608385778730782008-04-08T20:09:00.003+01:002009-04-09T00:12:17.010+01:00

I think the people at CNN probably just guess what the weather might be like in Europe. Today was meant to be 31 degrees celsius – freakishly hot for this time of year – and southern Portugal glowed red on their map. Unfortunately, I couldn’t even switch on the TV this morning to see if they were apologising for their mistake because the severity of the (ongoing) storm knackered the reception. 

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-55691347146667897882008-04-07T13:55:00.009+01:002009-04-09T00:50:08.787+01:00

Oh, for pity’s sake, I absolutely adore Portugal. Why do some places just feel so right? I remember once, whilst spending winter here a few years back - as we often used to do before I became a pathetically unstable house-bound retard – that we visited Fatima to have a wee look at the Catholics. Just to see, I suppose, what on earth they might be up to. Some of them, as it happens, were

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-38293989342731706942008-03-24T07:15:00.008Z2009-04-09T00:14:10.977+01:00

Howdy. Madness is often pretty beautiful, really, as far as I can tell. I love watching the seemingly illogical mental leaps that spazzoids can make without effort. It excites me. I love the sparks that can crackle and fly as their minds go full tilt, untrammelled by social or moral restraints, relentlessly battering against the imprisoning cage of reason. And creative genius, whilst by no

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-71724392566581598802008-01-08T18:01:00.005Z2009-04-09T00:20:58.613+01:00

(No profile, low pay - keeps the doctor away)Oh dear, Britney Spears is coming apart at the seams. What a shame.I've been a total fan since a fellow blogger made me aware of the fact, some months ago, that she'd gone a bit spazzoid and hacked off her hair in public (Britney, that is - just to be clear). I was only vaguely familiar with her name before this, unfortunately, but feel that I have

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-3939944928067742682008-01-03T08:50:00.003Z2009-04-09T00:24:55.340+01:00

It's not exactly difficult to feel utterly hopeless when considering Africa. In the seeming blinking of a lazy western eye, certain Kenyans have turned their country - which was, until very recently, considered something of a model state (give or take some injuriously endemic corruption, of course) - into a seething and bloody mess, pockmarked by the handiwork of the diseased. Following the

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-1032380169105022432007-12-20T00:08:00.003Z2009-04-09T00:27:13.805+01:00

Hello to anyone who might be reading. I've been tagged by this person, again, so don't blame me for what follows. (She totally craves me, you know, and this is why she keeps on tagging me and sending me stuff in the mail.) Anyway, I was maybe a wee bit sweary in my last post, so I'm going to try to make this straightforward and non-offensive. Serious, even.The Alphabet Tag thingA ~ Available:

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-85614218705433074762007-12-19T16:42:00.004Z2009-04-09T00:32:20.700+01:00

High drama. The votes have been counted and the results are in...Nick Clegg - 20,988. Chris Huhne - 20,477. That was close, wasn't it? It's as if the tiny wee liberals were having trouble making up their minds. Fancy that. Not to worry, it's all over now and the (British) Lib Dems can get back down to the seemingly contradictory business of being studiously ignored by everyone whilst

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-44456761091059485352007-10-11T10:43:00.012+01:002010-05-24T13:31:42.175+01:00

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-91908744237214665962007-10-05T17:56:00.004+01:002009-04-12T23:27:48.216+01:00

God damn it. Those greedy, gas-guzzling monks have somehow managed to get the UN to fight their corner now, as well. I just saw it on Sky News - live! Not content with forcing their revolting agenda onto the world stage, the petrol-hungry pacifists also seem to expect the good guys - you and me, basically - to direct some stern mouth words towards the Burmese Junta and to tell them to quit

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-48194390761921376282007-10-02T15:01:00.002+01:002009-04-12T23:26:17.259+01:00

The Premier League footballer, Steven Gerrard, has been involved in a car accident in which a young boy was injured. The ten year old schoolboy, named as Jamie Halliwell, suffered a suspected broken leg when he was knocked to the ground by the Liverpool captain's Bentley near a Merseyside primary school. The footballer's agent said he was driving slowly when the boy ran out into the road. (Sky

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-35894301306135508932007-09-27T16:43:00.006+01:002009-04-12T23:19:36.485+01:00

I'm starting to seriously dislike this cow.There is just nothing I can say or do that seems to make any difference. I've thrown food up to it, waved, smiled, said good morning, whistled and made mooing noises. Not a flicker. Mooing paid spectacular dividends one time in France, you know, when I passed a very enjoyable few minutes in conversation with a receptive - and polite - cow. We just

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-85959974124750824712007-09-27T16:34:00.004+01:002009-04-12T23:18:20.924+01:00

Castro lives! I can't quite believe it, but the man is still alive. I just saw him on the news, talking and blinking and moving (slightly). Wow. When did that happen? I am absolutely positive that he was dead. The last time I saw him on the telly he was taking a very painful (and super inelegant) fall into some folding chairs at a heap big swanky ceremony for dignitaries. I remember kind of

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-19953550362237510402007-09-27T16:17:00.002+01:002009-04-12T23:16:11.341+01:00

According to The Internet, my whispering friend in the lonely wilderness, post-traumatic stress disorder symptoms may include:Flashbacks (check)Reliving traumatic events for minutes or even days at a time (check)Shame or guilt (oh, check)Upsetting dreams about the traumatic event (check)Trying to avoid thinking or talking about the event (checky doo-dah)Feeling emotionally numb (sometimes)

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-24029000057343894892007-07-29T02:49:00.011+01:002011-06-20T00:17:28.072+01:00

I've been "tagged" by Reading The Signs and Mellifluous Dark. (thank you, both, that was nice of you.)Here are the "Rules":(Note from Signs: Please adapt or ignore as you see fit).1. Let others know who tagged you.2. Players start with 8 random facts about themselves.3. Those who are tagged should post these rules and their 8 random facts.4. Players should tag 8 other people and notify

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-41172698546953033162007-07-29T00:38:00.007+01:002009-04-12T23:05:51.059+01:00

My dog has started to lick my legs as I take a shower in the morning. I don't really mind too much, I suppose, but I have to shoo her away at the end so that I can properly clean myself. She just stands there getting drookit and laps away like a loon. Happy as a bastard, really. And I just stand there getting drookit, not so happy, worrying if my legs smell like dog. They don't. I know this

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-70481959436054227812007-07-09T15:37:00.004+01:002009-04-12T23:08:27.368+01:00

Damn. I seem to have fallen behind. It’s pretty brilliant the way that time just ticks on, though, thrillingly aloof to its frozen inhabitants. You may fondly believe that you’ve come to a standstill - but you’ve not, because you can’t. Result.You know how sometimes you just sort of slip into a trance and find yourself talking to the colour green, say, in a fantastically complex language that

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-91804893973937939322007-03-09T01:04:00.005Z2011-06-20T00:30:25.996+01:00

Sport is weird. Men who take sport seriously are weirder still. Men who call other men weird for taking sport seriously, whilst all the while taking a particular sport seriously themselves, are perhaps the weirdest men of all. I take cricket seriously and say that other men who take other sports seriously are not only weird, but stupid. This makes me both stupid and hypocritical. And last,

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-48075353707596047752007-03-08T22:27:00.012Z2011-06-21T14:50:22.339+01:00

Wow. That last post of mine was brilliant. So many words, so few spelling mistakes, so very glad I'm me. I am in a hurry, nevertheless, to put some considerable distance between that most splendid thing I've just written and my gifted, most handsome, self. I just want to, okay? Okay. Oh music come and light my heart's dark places....I enjoy an uneasy relationship with music, and this is not

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-13932372299483106892007-03-08T21:51:00.009Z2011-06-20T00:27:06.383+01:00

I am in an exceptionally good mood for some reason. It happens. I feel strong and happy and light in the head. I can deal with anything right now. Anything. So I'm going to try to get my March blogging chores out of the way all in one go - I had promised myself that I would do three whole posts this month. Not just one or two, you understand, but three. I am a hero. This undoubted heroism

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-67891393385589887042007-02-06T06:34:00.003Z2009-05-31T13:02:45.057+01:00

Meltdown in progress. Handle with care. Toxic.What is wrong with people? Me and you and us and them and all that lies between? What’s wrong? I’m sometimes too spooked to leave my own home for the very real fear of meeting someone. I simply cannot bear the suspense of not knowing what lurks inside the stranger, of what dark disgrace he is ready to commit, of what sin he shields from view.

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-82559412898833397242007-01-24T22:22:00.005Z2011-06-20T00:51:57.994+01:00

“Esto peccator et pecca fortiter….” (Martin Luther: 1483-1546)I thought it might make me look properly clever to start off with a quote in Danish, innit, because recent judgments in my head have found me royally lacking in the boffiny intellectual stakes - and foreign words help make folk look smarter than they is. Non, c’est vraiment vrai.What a grubby pervert that Martin Luther must have been,

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-7192823609931606742007-01-16T06:30:00.008Z2011-06-20T00:41:24.905+01:00

Men are strange. The last time I actually saw another man was quite a while ago, right enough, but he was strange. He was walking his horse on the beach on Christmas Day. Who does that? I might even have talked to him – just to see – but didn’t fancy the look of his horse. This in itself is quite strange, because I normally find the hindquarters of horses worryingly attractive. There is just

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-48584533099958916172007-01-04T18:25:00.005Z2009-04-09T01:34:11.501+01:00

It has been brought to my attention that I am a self-regarding wanker who loves the sound of his own clacking fingers. I hate it when I bring this type of news to myself, because shooting the messenger becomes markedly less attractive as a knee-jerk response. I don't rule it out completely, no way, but it does lack a certain appeal right now. So here's a picture of a bath I've happily splashed

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-32820425235678747682006-12-24T06:27:00.006Z2011-06-22T20:23:46.499+01:00

The world, of course, is quite properly fucked – and that annoys me sometimes. Dark evidence of our malignant decline is hard to avoid and can often simply overwhelm the fragile defences of the moral rearguard action being fought (and lost) by the dwindling armies of the sane. Or, as I like to call these heroic fighters - Me. The ingestion of super big quantities of Lexapro makes it that

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611034779954014288.post-8247012578823041432006-11-16T01:51:00.006Z2011-06-20T00:50:10.957+01:00

I started training in earnest for the upcoming Ashes series a week ago last Wednesday. You can never be too careful. As I sipped my tea and watched the Sky guy affix one of those ugly dishes to my chimney, I felt a warm glow of contentment gently cloak me. Laughing at him through my window as his ladders swayed playfully in the vicious gale, it struck me that he had a totally horrible job. He

The Periodic Englishmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.com