Wikipidlings

Did you know that there is a religion Vietnam which venerates Victor Hugo. There is. Also, did you know that Celtic Punk is going through a second golden age in Serbia. You are in for a treat.

Max Mosley Update:
The London Prodigal and myself were tucking into gin backed stouts with ribena tops and sambuca chasers in the Gunsmith's arms, when he leaned in conspiratorially: "In a couple of hours I'm going to meet my dealer". I expressed surprise, as I have never known TLP to take any form of narcotic other than his beloved liquor. "No you fool" he scoffed "I mean my cigar dealer". It transpired that my drinking companion had been paying a fortune to have Cuban cigars shipped to him by a shadowy cabal of tobacco dealers. It was only tentatively that I ventured the information that Cuban cigars were not illegal in Britain. As might be imagined this cast a pall over the evening, and we sunk into a gloomy silence. I would have been grateful for any distraction, so I was nothing less than delighted when disgraced F1 boss Max Mosley walked into the pub. Pausing only to artfully catch the tip of his finger in the door he strode up to the bar and ordered a small sherry. He drained it straight down, and ground the glass into his face. I sidled up to him, and expressed my sympathy for his recent troubles. He thanked me: "as you say, what I do in private is nobody's business". As he spoke he idly lit cigarettes and stubbed them out on his arm. "I don't force my activities in anybody's face" he said as pushed a toothpick into his left nostril. "And these accusations of Nazism are ridiculous. We masochists are a tolerant people, doesn't the name Oberhessischer Verein für Volksbildung mean anything anymore." Unfortunately at this moment the landlord re-entered the bar, and hearing the brief snatch of German clearly leaped to an unfortunate conclusion. He pulled out a heavy iron tent peg from under his apron and advanced threateningly toward the beleaguered whore botherer. "Get out of my pub, you filthy Nazi pervert" he shouted at Mr Mosley, who beat a sadly undignified retreat, crying out with alternate alarm and delight as the tent peg impacted around his buttocks and thighs.

Siempre es 26

J.K Rowling's boy wizard wasn't the sum total of our conversation in the Gunsmith Arms; in fact much more time was spent discussing Dogtooth's attire. After being kept waiting, Hamilton and I had expected him to eventually turn up in his familiar donnish guise, instead we were confronted by quite a spectacle: in strode Dogtooth with a Hawaiian shirt unbuttoned to his midriff, with a prominent medallion nestling amongst his chest carpet. Upon being questioned about his appearance; he retorted rather stiffly that his medallion was in fact a family heirloom handed down to him by his Cuban grandfather and that tradition necessitated him to wear it. Unconvinced by his reasoning, our train of thought was nevertheless disrupted by the revelation regarding his eclectic heritage, which we had been hitherto unaware of. Hamilton took the lead, aggressively testing him on his 'Cuban' background, Dogtooth clearly irritated by this turn of events, stood up in the midst of Hamilton's latest verbal offensive, walked to the bar and demanded a Cuba Libre. Giving no explanation he returned to our table with his cocktail and proceeded to drink the entire concoction in one gulp. Once downed he eyed us with a rather manic grin, as if urging us to continue our cross-examination. Figuring that the act he had just performed was some sort of primitive method of affirming his Cuban roots and that provoking him any further might seriously imperil our well-being, I quickly changed the subject of the conversation to something less contentious; never to mention Cuba or medallions again.

Dennis Potter and the Singing Detective

Dogtooth and I were drinking with The London Prodigal in his cosy local The Gunsmiths Arms when I mentioned that I had yet the read the works of J.K. Rowling. Surprise was expressed, and I was quick to state that although I would rather like to read these books that everyone speaks so highly of, I was buggered if I was going to pay good money for them. Dogtooth, an avid fan, offered me the loan of his own Potter library. I have read the first three works, and have these preliminary observations.

1 - Harry Potter faints a lot. I haven't actually counted, but I imagine that he averages about 3.2 faintings per book. He and his chums also seem to spend a lot of their time in the sick bay.
2 - Although steeped in magic, the world of the Potter mythos seems to be largely nonreligious. If I found myself in the position of Harry, I think that I would have asked a lot more questions about the philosophical inferences which can be drawn from a complete explosion of modern scientific assumptions.
3 - The Castle of Hogwarts has a giant squid in its lake.
4 - These books seem to play on a desire present in most children to be an orphan with a lot of money.