Ignore That Cnut

Today I am on a sunny roof terrace in Andalucia practicing alchemy on a chicken. I’m converting it into pure carbon using a Barbecue: Incidentally, the Carbon Footprint of a Chicken is 1.82kg CO2e, or a 9km drive in a car. Shut-up you say? I don’t drive

Today the UK is flooding and freezing with temperatures falling as low as -10°

Today Sky News is reporting on the flooding & freezing in a County of Merry Olde Englande that no longer exists: Wessex

 Wessex Whatever?

Yes here is a gratuitous photo unrelated to Wessex but this cheeky ironic pic illustrates what I want to talk about briefly

An understanding of the often misquoted and misunderstood story of King Canute or Cnut is necessary here

Nano History Lesson

Most of us may be familiar with the beginning of the story: King Canute, being an arrogant ruler, had his throne placed on the banks of the Thames, waiting for the tide to come in. As the tide rose, Canute stood and held out his hand, demanding that the waves recede.

 A country that loves a sign

“But the sea carried on rising as usual without any reverence for his person, and soaked his feet and legs. Then he moving away said: “All the inhabitants of the world should know that the power of kings is vain and trivial, and that none is worthy of the name of king but He whose command the heaven, earth and sea obey by eternal laws”.
(Henry of Huntingdon, Historia Anglorum)

 

And thus my educated chums, King Canute/Cnut learned something that day that all we should learn … but then

  

After King Canute/Cnut the Great’s conquest of 1016, Wessex became one of the great regional earldoms Canute created, and so it remained from 1020 to 1066. After 1066, the Normans dissolved the large English earldoms and Wessex was no more.

 

Until Today

 

No More Wessex Anymore

 

(Now … time to bin that chicken) 

 

Singing In The Rain In Spain

 

Weather Report: It has been raining for two weeks. The singing from the rooftops continues, if somewhat subdued.

 

 

 

Spring Sprung Sprong

 

The balcony has just exploded … with flowers. Tonight the sweet, enchanting, sensual fragrance of Nicotiana wafts lightly on the gentle warm breeze, bewitching the interiors of this Dream Palace, and all that. It is bloody marvelous. I’ve ordered more seeds, nurturing hope, for us all. 

 

Third Week From The Sun

 

3rd Week of lockdown ginger. It has rained for most of it, so it would have been pretty quiet out there anyway.

 

Here I am on the roof in the rain waving at the other end … and of this, some sunny day.

 

Idle Hands Do The Devil’s Work

 Hello my loves, what a difference a few weeks make eh? Well now that we are all caught up in this fog together we’d best make ourselves as comfortable as we possibly can. I can’t say I have anything that could console you at this time or even possibly divert, my main wish is not to make matters worse.

My Epitaph

“He Tried Not To Make Matters Worse”

I wish to thank you dear reader for following my ramblings into the void and making it a less lonely voyage. 

Now onwards and inwards until we can go outwards, where and what is Wards? 

 So, I have been dancing with El Diablo in the digital domain. Here are a few doctored iPhone pictures that I took this week to reflect Andalucían idle doom.

 

Beer Melting Time

 

 

The Quiet Life

 

 

The Quieter Life

 

 

 

The Art Life

So there we have it. Chins up, bottoms up, don’t let the bugger get you down.

 

A sobering thought

 

 

Photographs by Matteo Delred

https://matteodelred.com

 

I’ve been an alcoholic for 37 years and I am pleased to announce that as of today I haven’t touched a drop for nearly 20 minutes. 

 

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I Feel Terrible I Look Terrible I’m Fifty Fucking Five

Yesterday was one of my Birthdays

It was early but the temperature was already climbing into the mid 30's so I switched on the garden misting thingy as the church bells rang out 8 AM.

 

Misty Buff

The bells reminded me of my dad's funeral who died at 55 on my 31st birthday. Note to self: I am still alive, don't get smug.

Bish Bash Bosh

I decided to make mayonnaise with garlic, alioli, sod Hellmanns. The picture is not the finished article, just the garlic you understand.

 

Time for A Latch Lifter

 

POV of feet and filthy kitchen floor, nice

I am wearing a Jellaba made from an old sheet. I feel and look like a psychedelic hammock: Pillock.

The Alioli is to go with this

for breakfast

I am not pictured, or am I?

A bit weird all this, as it was Fruits De Mer with Chablis and Alioli, which may originate from Provence, so it's bloody French. Still it's all in the EU init? Actually it felt oddly exotic. I might try Fish & Chips soon.

 

One is now, as I write this the next day, horribly hungover. After Brexifast I sauntered on to a swimming pool bar, and subsequently a series of drinking houses of questionable quality, finally arriving back at breakfast this very morning to another Latch Lifter.

 

I am now taking this for Gout

 

 

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Found My Tipple

In Brexitlandia there are a lot of novelty named wines like “Old Git.” They are all by and large rubbish drinks but are popular amongst people who like whoopie Cushions.

 

Anyhow this local Spanish wine is not supposed to be amusing or descriptive but it might as well be both. I drank it and felt funnier after the second bottle.

It's name is Terrible

The fellow in the background resembles yours truly and that Tesco “Value” Scotch Whisky was bought in Soho for about 5 Quid when Tesco where denying claims that they lured customers in with cheap booze. Again, a terrible drink and I had to fight through a hysterical flash mob of Soho Street Drinkers to get my sweaty trembling palms on it.

 

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La Pasión Española

I am overwhelmed by passion

fruit

The flowers look as though they were created for the cover of a 1950's Sci-Fi comic

 

I bought the seeds from a funny looking geezer with tentacle eyes down the market the year before last. He said the plant “bleedin' well loves the climate down here on earth”

I hope to be making Passion Fruit Bellini's later with a view to the stars

 

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Night Mayor!

One of the many good things so far this year has been not having to vote for any of the bastards in the UK. However I did vote this Sunday at the local Spanish elections and we are now Socialist, that's all well and good but I refuse to ever wear open-toe sandals.

The newly elected mayor came jauntily up to me after his inauguration and with a gleeful grin boasted:

“I dressed up as your wife at the Carnaval.”

I believe this to be good omen.

 

 

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