clipped wings

[aqsakal]

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The surgeon told me it won't get picked up by airport metal-detectors. After almost missing my flight at Lisbon airport, I have news for him.

[aqsakal]

God save the Queen

I have a sneaking suspicion that HM Elizabeth II is becoming right royally fed up with her role of impartiality, forbidden to make any political comment. It’s time I found a way of saying what I really think, she may be considering, now that I’m really old enough not to care any more.

Like when she recently welcomed King Saud on a state visit - he who doesn’t allow women to drive in his realm - and made a point of driving him herself (aged over 90) on a tour of her estate.

Or when Theresa May visited the Grenfell Tower scene, protected by a police escort from any contact with the angry survivors, and HM followed within 24 hours with her own visit, greeting not only the rescue workers but also listening to the stories of survivors and grieving relatives of the victims.

Or when she arrived at Westminster for the opening of Parliament, sending her robes and crown on ahead by car, but not putting them on in the Robing Room, wearing “civvies” instead as though this was going to be a short session anyway, and not worth the bother of dressing up. 

Or when her address for the opening or parliament - all right, written for her by the government, but she would certainly have insisted on cutting anything she disagreed with, or inserting anything she wanted to say - made no mention of a state visit by Trump, leaving it to hapless No. 10 aides to explain to the media that this was simply because a date hasn’t been set yet.

But above all by her choice of hat.  In EU-flag blue with EU-flag yellow blossoms. Just seven of them visible from any single angle.  That hat spoke as much as the whole royal speech.

[aqsakal]

Iftar at Rome mosque

First, of course the dates. 

Then some heavenly kebab, lean and spicy, with just a dash of harissa. And chicken thighs in curry (not exactly Moroccan, but who cares?) and basmati rice, with sudden, exploding ambushes of cardamom. And felafel, made fresh on the spot, with tahini sauce.

And then baklava and basbousa and kunafeh, dripping with honey, studded with almonds - the sweetmeats section of the stand at least twice as long as the main part.

And many, many glasses of piping hot, sweet mint tea.

So much that it really needed a shot of vodka to digest it all. But of course there was none there.

No security in sight, not even any plain-clothes Digos I could spot. On Sunday, it's Eid el-Fitr, and you'll need to line up for a seat, no time to gossip and discuss recipies with Layla and Aziz. I hope there'll be more security for the Eid - it will be a temptation for some right-wing hooligan or worse.

[aqsakal]

Recentemente l’ANAS ha riasfaltato un pezzo della Salaria nella zona di Monterotondo, e proprio in questi giorni ha poi rifatto la segnaletica orizzontale. Ma intorno al km 20+300, l’operaio addetto al rinnovo della striscia bianca ininterrotta mediana si è trovato davanti ad un rebus, nella forma di un riccio schiacciato. Nel dubbio se passarci sopra con la macchina verniciatrice oppure se disegnare una curva intorno, ha tagliato la testa al toro, per così dire. Ha creato un breve tratto di linea bianca interrotta. The roads authority recently re-asphalted a stretch of the Salaria around Monterotondo, and in recent days has repainted the white lines. At around km. mark 20.3, the workman redoing the uninterrupted median line was confronted with a puzzle in the form of a squashed hedgehog. Uncertain whether to paint right over it with his machine, or whether to draw a curve around it, he cut the Gordian knot by creating a minute stretch of interrupted white line.

[aqsakal]

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Christ passing the joint?

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This letter was written during the war from the British Ambassador to Moscow to Lord Pembroke in 1943. It was released in 1990 under the Freedom of Information Act.

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Oh dear!  Bad news...

You’ll remember I reported last week that my dear friend in the US has invited me to his wedding.  Well, it seems it’s all off now.   He wrote to me again today:

Sorry to say but I called off the wedding because Pooter was turning into a horrible creature because he didn’t understand what was expected of him.

Here is an example of what I mean: Pooter puked on his little suede vest and ruined it.  I told him to save it for the wedding but no - Mister Kool wasn’t about to give up his threads. In the back yard I found a piece of the patent leather chin-strap that went with his little cap. I think he took the cap off when he was pinching a loaf outside and forgot to bring it in the house, and one of the new possums ate the chinstrap. So now all he does when he is not sitting on the dinner table licking his asshole is bitch about going shopping for a new vest and hat.

Last night when I decided to turn in I found him on his little scrap of blanket at the foot of my bed. No sooner had I turned of the lamp when he said, “Good night, Henni-Poo my love.”  I thought to myself, OK, that’s it, goddammit! At which point I picked him up it the base of his tail and threw him and his scrap of blanket out on the porch, where he had to spend the night.

We haven’t spoken since, but that doesn’t mean there has been no communication between us. Just a moment ago the late afternoon sun illuminated a corner of the kitchen floor where the word “PRICK” had been smeared in chunks of canned cat food. At last! The Pooter I love has returned! 

[microsatira]

ISIS: «Unitevi in bande e prendete Roma». Buzzi e Carminati: «Già fatto».

[aqsakal]

I got invited to a wedding...

I just recieved this email from a dear friend in the US:

I’ve got some exciting news. With the recent ruling by the Supreme Court dealing with same sex marriages, Pooter, my cat and I, us both being male, have decided (well, I have decided) that after 20 years of living together, we should go ahead and tie the knot, stomp the glass, jump the hoop. I am so excited I could break wind. Today we went out shopping for collars (he doesn’t like rings) and something special to wear. I found a precious, extra-large T-shirt with a big cartoon of Sylvester the Cat on the front of it and Pooter decided on a little black suede vest and a pink cap. (The cap and vest really don't go together but to see him prancing around in the mirror dressed to the nines with his tail in the air… all happy.. who am I to say anything.)

Now the wedding. You’ll love this. To officiate and organize the ceremony, I secured the services of a nice, retired Nigerian shaman. Found him on line. Lives in Atlanta. He’s a bit pricey but he offered to provide good luck amulets for the guests and the music for the party afterwards. He’s got a nice voice and plays that little steel harp he plucks with his thumbs. We booked the new community center not a mile down the road for the party. We thought raw salmon and carrot cake made with chicken parts would be nice. Every body likes that. It will be a small affair. Just a few friends. No one in my family say they will attend. They say that what Pooter and I are doing goes against their religion. It just breaks my heart. I think the real reason is political. They are all Republicans. Which makes no sense because Republicans don’t make a big deal about people of different races getting married. I ask you, what is the difference between interracial marriages and marriage between different species or interspecific marriages? In our case, Pooter and I add a little twist. Our marriage will be both interspecific and non-gay. Crazy right? Sure, it’s a little complicated. But, hey! We don’t plan to adopt kittens, claim tax credits and the like. OK. OK. I’ll admit. We do sleep together. But we don’t really “sleep together” if you know what I mean. So why get married you ask. I’ve always been able to visit him in the hospital. So what’s the big deal? It’s a small thing but important to us. After we are married, Pooter will be able to inherit property, make funeral arrangements or even have me exhumed and stuffed if he gets lonely after I’m gone. It’s kind of neat when you think about it. We’ll be the first interspecific couple on the block. I know. I know. People in the neighborhood are already starting to give me grief about this. “It’s not right to marry your pet,” they say. My reply is always, “It’s not like Mister Pooter is a dog or a canary!”

We have registered for wedding gifts with Amazon.com if you are so inclined. Or send flowers in Pooter’s name to your local pet cemetery.

[aqsakal]

Oh shit - another one! I'm beginning to think somebody is deliberately tryig to sabotage this stand...

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Help! Another one!

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Things you see on the Nomentana…

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Beautiful double rainbow - pity about the pylon!

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Hai mai provato pizza al pollo?

Solo in Norvegia....

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Really, really pretty blonde Indian girls?

At Moods of Norway, they claim this garment is made by "really, really pretty blonde girls". On the other label, it says "Made in India". I guess this explains the exorbitant price - the difficulty of finding lots of pretty blonde girls in India...