Reasons to be CHEERFUL

Today a chunky little spider niagara’d splutteringly out of the cats’ bowl and into the sink as I changed their water. He stayed motionless for a second then realised he was still breathing, and that some Evil Being was poking him with a kitchen towel. Brave spider, he never stopped battling; after a bit of frenetic ping-ponging I got him to STAY ON THE TOWEL! long enough to deposit him behind the fridge, there to dry out calmly and rebuild his life.

Oh Joy and great Cheer!

Just one of countless Reasons to be Cheerful, as we are reminded by the late and wonderful Ian Drury and his merry Blockheads:

Exactly!  And are not we all left grinning? 

What else?

Well, how about a jaunt in a Barefoot Park? Such was the subject of the ‘article of the day’ 19.11.12 in TheFreeDictionary http://www.thefreedictionary.com/   (itself a cheer-bringer).
Here’s an enticing excerpt:

"Popular in Europe, barefoot parks are places where visitors can dispense with shoes and safely experience various landscape textures underfoot. Their well-maintained terrain affords visitors the opportunity to walk across different types of soil, wade through streams, and even practise climbing—all while barefoot. Some parks offer activities such as foot gymnastics, in which people can practise picking up objects with their feet."

Haven't we all ached to set our feet free?   Particularly those of us with but a strip of gravel for a garden, that the cats think is their outside litter tray.  

Dancing, of course, unlike sporty activities, is a fabulous reason to be cheerful, particularly when wobbling to Brown Sugar, or to La Bamba

Other beam-inducers:

The perfectly-timed arrival of a huge and mysterious parcel full of something extravagant for Christmas  (surely?) just before we went out;


Cat wrapped round the settee, responding to my enthusiastic 'Who's-a-good-boy-'den?' with that sullen indifferent stare honed by cats everywhere;



Being whisked through glorious hill and dale in clattery old  London underground carriage, now reborn as exotic-island train;

Lidl and Poundland - packed with bargains and ever-smiley staff;

Radio 4, specially Ed Reardon's Week and in spite of unbearable bouts of cricket (avoidable on FM);

And can we forget the delights of an impulsive weekend away//a new job//new hair//new snakeskin shoes (just PRETENDING to be snakes), or communing with old friends not seen for aeons (they can run - but they can't...).  Oh Deep and Joyful Cheer!


Well, it's Tomorrow now.  The postman brought another Reject for one of my practically-famous magazine stories, the cat's pooped overnight behind the setee, and the microwave exploded my porridge when I wasn't looking.  Aaaarrrggghhh - I can't go ON with this cheerful stuff!

Well maybe just once more...  But I shan't be Exuberated.

Here is a gladsome glimpse of Penguins at Waddle.  Don't miss the brilliant demonstration of baby transporting about two minutes in! (though baby doesn't look entirely sure).

Has Anyone seen my Earworm?

Well never mind – there’ll be another one along in a minute. For at the moment, we seem bizarrely bombarded by earworms on radio and TV, in newspapers, indeed out of the very ether… not to mention the man at the Co-op checkout yesterday: 

"What’s that you’re humming?" said he.

"Hmm?" I rejoined appropriately but embarrassedly – people could hear me?!

Such is the puzzle of ‘earworms’. When I first heard it, this ugly word instantly conjured up an image from an ancient Star Trek episode, an image so terrifying and so utterly repellent that I shrink from linking it. 

(On vid anyway). But in the interests of space travel…
this is a Picture of the worm en route to Checkov’s ear, from where it will tunnel at leisure into his brain. (see The Wrath of Khan episode for gruesome details).

Anyway, the ‘earworm’ of today is a ludicrous term for a snatch of tune you just can’t get out of your head, so you evilly pass it on virus-like to anyone in your vicinity. As demonstrated perfectly by Daphne in the ‘High Crane Drifter’ episode of Frasier… (apologies for dreadful quality). 

In fact, I can't make the flaming thing work.  So -  just imagine Daphne gratuitously drubbing out a tuneless "Flesh is Burning NaNaNaNaNaNa", followed (Later That Afternoon), by everyone in the appartment mindlessly moaning the same tunelessness as they go about their everday stuff...  

But Why the sudden earworm obsession? Surely this earth-shattering phenomenon is not new… 
Hasn’t everyone been humming Bernard Cribbins’ Hole in the Ground since first it was dug?…   or The splendid Kinks' Thank You for the Days... and my personal constant, Lee Marvin’s merry rendering of I Was Born under a Wandering Star...

All unforgettable and tenacious snippets of joy.

(Though perhaps not for those on the receiving end). George insists my own musical scraps could do without the excess bars of doodlydiddly: "…Little old lady got mutilated late last night//Werewolves of London again..."  '(Diddelly diddelly again)'. 
(sadly-departed Warren Zevon’s fabulous Werewolves of London).  

Simple pleasure… but we’re now being told there is More to earworms than meets the… more than one could have imagined; that they might have a ‘Role to play’!  Psychologists and musical experts have been requesting earworm submissions... TV programmes have delved into the ‘function’ of earworms! 

Must they have a Function? – they just Are, aren’t they?   Like our cats… (incontinent little tinkers). 

You can actually buy earworms on the Net – something to do with Language-Learning, I think – and that reminds one of a Very famous  Babelfish:-

How jolly useful that would be if you stuck it in your ear!
 
Which takes us back to poor old Checkov, and shows that there are many ways to consider the earworm...

In conclusion, perhaps if one Took This Seriously and studied in depth the astonishing Mass of available info, one might learn something to one's advantage… 
And certainly to the advantage of all those within earshot

Irresistible

What makes a man Irresistible?

Great sense of humour? Pulsating brain? Bulgy brave biceps and a sixpack, or Lots of money? YES! - All of those!

And so inevitably, I fell for Earl Okin the moment I first saw him – twenty years ago performing at The Stables in Milton Keynes.

Oh Thrilling memory! How he entertained us with his clever songs - his deep sexy growl, the words that… Understood and went deep to the Heart of us, throbbing with witty passion.

It has been an everlasting love.

And now we discover that He’s coming to France in December! Oh the Joy, once more to see him lope sinuously onto the stage in those... hunky spectacles and cheeky spats.

Oh! Soon to gaze upon his handling of a guitar… that Trumpetty thing he does with his lips…

I feel compelled to share the Power and Thrill that is Earl Okin, so I’ve succeeded (at last) in posting a video clip. Sadly it’s full of blonde women feverishly pouting at him – Fools - They're too late!

Because Earl and I are made for each other – we’re so alike it’s quite terrifying.





So - What d'you think?

(I suppose Harrison Ford comes a close second)...

A Dance called Madison

Come on Dolores! It’s the MADISON!!

Er, no thanks, you go ahead – I’m not keen on… No, honestly, it’s too complicated… Look, last time I tripped someone up and the whole line went with her - I really don’t want to. Oh god! – alright then!

Do YOU Madison? Or did you, like me, believe it was an American city, an avenue, a square… ?

Well, it’s SO much more! Very soon after arriving in the land of fine wines and goats cheese, we discovered that ‘Madison’ was French for Line Dance. And Never stand in the way of frenzied hordes answering the call!

I usually avoid situations where it might happen, but recently George and I went to two musical gatherings where it sneaked in. Many times.

This clip shows people engaged therein:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=95NjjrXzhak

If you take a peek, you’ll see the Lines of people merrily stepping forwards, backwards and allways with intermittent jumps and hops and turns, and all perfectly synchronised! How do they do this? Was it compulsory at school? A new vocation for gap years, perhaps?

I happen to love dancing; anything by the Stones will set me off… Salsa, Cajun, Eighties Disco or a chance to Twist again…

But the Madison (remember Achey Breaky Heart?) is surely more a sort of Chinese Water Torture by skipping. And I’m always skipping in the wrong direction. All alone…

Last time, somebody very kindly took pity on my flailings and ran all the way from the other end of the line to instruct me step by step. A wonderful woman.

Of course I’d forgotten everything by the next Madison, and fell over in the general agitation. Cunningly I lay still, hoping to be stretchered off. Nobody noticed. And George was engrossed in playing accordeon. (Actually, would it be quicker for me to learn that than the Madison…)

Later, as I peered out from under a table at more lines of flittering feet, Wonderful-Woman’s head suddenly dipped down in front of mine and beamed, “I’m going to explain the Secret of Madison: It’s always exactly the same steps!”

Wow - So that's it! She then wrote these steps down on a napkin (which had evidently been made good use of during the tiramasu earlier):

Step left forward; Place right beside left (no weight) & clap; Step back on right; Move left foot back & across the right; Move left foot to the left; Move left foot back & across the right.

Well, that doesn't seem too hard... I took these precious lines home to study, and practised and practised until it became for me, too, a thing of Wonder, that I even pondered Youtubing to.


Did I hell! It's bloody Impossible!

Set up Thy Tent and Camp

“It’s pretty good for four euros, though…”

George has always thought positively. And one couldn’t quibble; the Amazing Promo! price, an assembly time of three minutes – this Tent was a good buy!

A flimsy pale blue dome of compact dimensions, it has a mosquito-net lining, an aeration window on its summit (knotted orange hanky provided for closing), tiny tent pegs, guy strings, and a Floor! I was particularly thrilled at the latter, being averse to uninvited critters...

I’d forgotten we had this tent. George bought it years ago as a fun-filled spare room for visiting small children. Disappointingly, they always plumped for the futon, and the tent was relegated to the Not Much Use cupboard.

However, George’s current revitalising of his Musical Passions brought it back to mind. This summer promises a multitude of festivals; whether he’s playing at them or attending in Devotee capacity, what handier accoutrement could there be? Apart from an instrument or two...

He painted the Tent of his Youth with stars; it was that sort of an era and offered some hope of spotting it in a field full of quite similar ones. In fact this tent, too, could only benefit from decoration of some ilk…

I’d never been tempted to camp before – lack of loo and hairdryer seemed insurmountable hurdles. Yet, sitting inside this cosy island edifice, surrounded by lawn, bird song, fresh air and the foothills of Mole City, I felt strangely enthusiastic at the prospect.

After all, we could both fit inside it at the same time - lie down even (although George needed the full diagonal). “It’ll be great!” he urged, “inflatable mattress, roomy sleeping bag, torchtoweltoothbrush… what could be better?”

The first festival is at the end of May; exciting music, stalls offering food and Stuff of every variety, a chance to commune with Nature for a blissful weekend… Will I discover an unexpected passion for Tenting?

Hell No!

Luckily there’s a pleasant hostelry close by.

Mastering the Kazoo

God!! The hellish family feuding, the desperate over-spending, indigestible pudding, endless bacchanalia... Actually George and I prefer to keep all that for the rest of the year, so we're bouncing into 2008 after a Fat and Friendly Christmas repose.

George bought me a Kazoo. Recently I was dazzled by an impressive rendition on Sorry I Haven't a Clue, and he apparently made a note.

I love this present - it's the only musical instrument I can play, and I've discovered a Definite Gift for it. (In spite of the fact that when I first picked it up I blew down the wrong end, and then didn't make the necessary dzuh dze dzuh dzuh noises).

But now I've mastered it, my Sooty and Sweep impressions are unsurpassable. Plus, I can play along to any song, can summon the cats from twenty miles away, and need never more be tongue-tied at parties.

One of George's presents (sadly he had to ask for this and then order it himself on the net) is some weird contraption for recording and instant replay of musical phrases so you can make layers of music and build up a backing. Hours of pleasure and great practice for the musically talented.

And George is musically talented. In fact when we met at a party, he wooed me with his Eric Clapton guitar-playing - Wonderful. Then six months later he discovered Cajun music and took up the accordion. Agonising.

With relentless determination he kept going until he was good enough to start a group back in the UK, and they ended up being very well-known in the World of Cajun, playing clubs, festivals, weddings, Oxford balls, biker gatherings - to name but seven...

He's played here in France too, and now, of course, I can attend gigs not only in Groupie Capacity, but as " - PLEASE WELCOME, ON KAZOO..."

Can't wait to suggest it.