A question

I have just come across a thin circular disc made of black vinyl. It is about the size of a dinner plate and has a continuous groove running from the edge to the centre. It also has a small hole in the middle. Is this a record?

Peopled out

Today I learned a new idiom, a phrasal verb that I realised at once I had lacked all these long years. It is "peopled out".
My dear friend D described a day that was intended to be one of quiet contemplation with some gentle chores thrown in. But it didn't work out that way, because people phoned or called round or popped in or sent text messages requiring replies, therefore turning it into a more stressful day than the one planned.
So, D was peopled out.
You all know, of course you do, the Italian saw "Gli ospiti sono come i pesci: dopo tre giorni incominciano a puzzare." That is serious peopling out.
I suppose the only thing worse than having your quiet day destroyed by people bothering you is to have a long run of days with nobody at all bothering you.

Stop that, Onan!

And the Lord saideth:
"It's amazing, the minute the Divine Back is turned, they're up to all kinds of naughty. It's time I put out a few rules and regulations."
And they saideth:
"Oh yes, we knew it would be too good to last. So what has the Divine Being got in mind for us this time? No more bingo? Lay off the egg and chips? Leave the car at home and take the bus? What?"
And the Lord girdedeth He up His Loins and spaketh He as follows:
"First off, no spilling of your seed upon the ground. That bugger Onan is a disgrace."
And they saideth:
"No spilling of seed? How the trumpeting shofah are we supposed to grow crops then?"
And the Lord rebukedeth He them saying:
"Ye knoweth perfectly well what I am referring to. No more of the old knuckle shuffle, ok?"
And they sighed and saideth:
"It's just a way of passing the time. So, what else?"
"No more lying with your mother."
And they waxedeth indignant and spaketh as follows:
"You can't tell the old bat the truth all the time. She will freaketh out."
And the Divine Presence sucked in His Divine Breath and thought "I will give it one more go", and saideth:
"No pig meat, no cloven hoof meat, no flat fish, no...." (well, the list went on), and they really waxed unbelieving at this point.
"It's going to put a real drag on Tesco's," they opinedeth.
It was at this point that the Creator of All Things thought about having a word with Noah......

It's all over, folks! Well, nearly...

So, mes potes, it seems that Barak Obama, the well-known anagram, is "all set to clinch the Democratic nomination". Hillary Clinton, it seems, is equally "all set" to concede. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, John McCain is quietly laughing his socks off, cos he knows he can beat da nigga, but he probably couldn't beat da bitch.
I sometimes wonder if Americans have some kind of death wish. Maybe they are tired of being the World's Policeman, and want to hand the truncheon on to the Chinese or to the Russian Mafia.
Me, I just want to know whose finger is on the button, so I know who to curse in the nanosecond left to me before I am reduced to ash.
By the way, talking of Armageddon, I strongly advise potential Islamic martyrs, aka suicide bombers, to pack it in- a message just came through from the Big A: he's run out of virgins.
Never mind the button, that's me up for another fatwa.

Que maca la sardana!

And while we are talking about Barna, let's applaud the sardana, a traditional street dance that anyone can join in. The movements always looked complex to me, almost mathematical in their precision, which, some say, suits the Catalan character. The music and the instruments that play it are equally traditional. The sardana is the quintessential symbol of Catalan pride. As they say en catala "que maca la sardana! crec que tothom n'hauria de ballar!" (how beautiful the sardana is. I think that everyone ought to dance it).
I used to go to various squares in the city on Sunday mornings to watch and listen and feel a vicarious pride in the continuing traditions of Catalunya. I wish we cared as much about our heritage as the Catalans do about theirs To hear a sample of their music and get a glimpse of the sardana, click HERE.

Dis-Oriente-d

During my Barcelona Period (Well, it is the natal city of Pau Picasso), I used to stay at the Hotel Oriente. Here is a description:
The Oriente hotel enjoys a good location right on Las Ramblas, close to the famous Liceu Theatre, the Gothic Quarter and Plaza Catalunya. Shops, bars and restaurants can be found on its doorstep. This is an attractive lively area in the heart of the city centre. The Oriente hotel is traditional in style and very popular. The building is a wide 5-storey stone structure dating back to 1842, and was originally a monastery, it has managed to retain some of the features from this time such as the grand carved wood and glass doors leading to the breakfast room and an ornate ballroom with a beautiful chandelier. Wide marble hallways with lots of steps lead onto the newly refurbished, modern rooms. In the summer months there is an outdoor bar and restaurant providing the ideal place to people watch.

Well, never mind that. I knew it unrefurbished: huge rooms, huge iron bedsteads with shiny brass fineals and baths you could hide an aircraft-carrier in. Cavernous. Lovely.
Also the history appealed: it was the HQ for Republican Officers during the Civil War (Read Orwell's Homage to Catalonia).
And then I stopped using the Oriente and took up residence in the Hostal Continental just off Placa Catulunya. A modest place run by a gaggle of women, all of whom dressed alike in red front-buttoning dresses, looked alike and talked alike. Spooky. Different.
The reason I left the Oriente was that I got tired of being whistled at admiringly by the girls in the little bar next door to the hotel. Some of them were quite attractive, but as they were all transvestites, I thought it was time to turn mother's picture to the wall and get the hell out.
And that is all I want to say about that.

Saint Boniface of Crediton

As you all know, the fifth of June is the saint's day of St Boniface of Crediton. Boniface, missionary and martyr, was born near Crediton c 675 AD. When he was 40, he left England to bring the gospel to the heathen tribes of Germany. He carried on his missionary work well into his seventies, but was martyred when he and his party were set upon by "heathen Frieslanders" and put to the sword. He is described as "a great and lovable man", which is why I am telling you about him, seeing that his saint's day coincides with the birthday of another great and lovable man: me. All presents welcome, and remember: it's not the thought, it's the gift that counts.