Out With The Old

Meg over at meish.org has a wee thing she runs every year called The Mayfly Project. Go on, give it a try.

'Tis The Season To Be Greedy

So. Benazir Bhutto has been assassinated. Visitors to LA Zoo have been eaten by lions. Tigers. Whatever. What's far worse than that, the twat upstairs has given me six, count them, six pairs of fecking socks for Xmas!!! What part of "Under no circumstances is anyone to give me socks" do you think he heard?

I suppose it could have been worse; this is the same twat who gave me aftershave for Xmas three years running. I've shaved my beard off twice since I left varsity: once for a job interview (which was the same interview as a different company had given me, except that without the beard I got the job, go figure) and once when Mrs Farty complained it was too long (she then threatened to divorce me if I shaved it off again...tempting). What the feck would I do with aftershave?

What I did get this year that I wanted was:

• A Girls Aloud calendar
• A six-inch high Dalek
• Thorntons mmmmm
• 2 bottles of Amarula
• A Peter Kay DVD
• More Thorntons
• Shrek III DVD
• Al Murray DVD
• Alan Carr DVD
• Oh and more Thorntons

What I didn't want but got anyway:

• Fecking socks
• A ball-scratcher
• A Bored Desperate Housewives board game
• Jim jams
• Chocolates (not Thorntons, but I'll force myself)

Mrs Farty made sure she got exactly what she wanted for Xmas: "Here!" she said as she thrust a large handbag into my hands. "Wrap this in that paper, stick a gold bow on it and write this tag, 'To My Darling Wife, Merry Xmas, From Farty xxx'." Sorted.

Xmas dinner, at least, was a success. I managed to avoid having any turkey or sprouts whatsoever by sharing a duck with Little Miss Farty and her fiancé, D. Made the orange sauce myself by taking tips from the fifteen million recipes on t'internet, and not a drop went to waste. YUM! D's parents and Mrs Farty shared the turkey, bits of which are still in the fridge as I write. Eeuw!

Did I mention my Sith Efrikan son-in-law has landed a job in New Zealand? Seems he's going to be managing a warehouse in Auckland. Oh, according to their website, they sell blinds (amid 80,000 other product lines). Goody, that gives me an excuse to tell a true story about my sister's father-in-law, who used to run a Venetian-blind cleaning business in Christchurch, South Island. He loved to terrify other drivers by hanging a sign on the back of his van reading: "CAUTION: BLIND MAN DRIVING". Class.

So was Santa good to you?

Farty's Ecksmas Competition Result

Can't believe nobody guessed what I'd painted out, this is a brilliant paint package! Anyways, I've decided to award the prize to Mr H, on account of him being right about the go-go dancers. And not at all because it's cheaper to deliver the prize by hand than post it abroad.

Toot-toot!

Christmas Is Coming

It's getting a bit nippy now, eh? Five below freezing this week, lovely white frost on the grass and trees and that and I left my fecking camera at home! Bolloxy buggerations.

No, wait. I took a picture with my phone. Better than nothing, I suppose.

No snow here, worse luck. Oh, how I wish I lived in a country with proper winters, like Non-Working Monkey!

We went for our works Xmas dinner on Wednesday. Partridge for starters, then a nice bit of pheasant and a nice cranachan for pudding dessert. The portions always look so tiny in the middle of those huge plates, but you never go away hungry. Or stuffed. Just poor.

I see that tosser Leon won this year's X Factor, and now all the Welsh radio stations have banned his song in protest. Oh, how I wish I lived in Wales!

Last night, my South African son-in-law flew out to New Zealand for a job interview. If he gets it, the whole family will be emigrating in the [thinks...switch to Southern hemisphere, add two seasons, translate to Merkan, take away the number you first thought of] fall. How are we going to break it to them that we'll still be taking our holidays in South Africa, with its beaches, biltong and braais? Oh, how I wish I lived in South Africa!

Not really. Embra is still the best, and here's why:


Merry Xmas, readers! Ho, ho, ho, etc.

Farty's Ecksmas Competition

Mr Farty has been oot and aboot aroond Embra with his rusty trusty camera, taking snaps (do they still call them snaps?) of the auld toon and the new deckarayshuns. After a quick dab with Paintshop Pro^TM, here are the results.

Your challenge, should you choose to accept it, is to identify which picture has been touched up (adding text doesn't count). Whoever spots which item has been cloned will get a virtual pat on the back. Whoever can correctly identify what has been digitally removed from the same picture will win a prize.

Update: Either Paintshop is so good that nobody can see the join and figure out what I painted over, or nobody can be arsed. Well, I've already bought the prize, so I've decided to make it easier for you. After all, it's Ecksmas.

In the event of a tie, complete this sentence in as many words as you like: "I should win the prize because..."

So what's the prize? A superb, hand-knitted Scotch mouse-mat and matching coasters!!!

Ready...steady...one more thing. Competition closes on Ecksmas Eve. The prize will be delivered in time for Ecksmas Day¹.

Go!

This picture coming up...


Did you see it? You do know you can click to enlarge any photo here?

¹ 2008, obv.

Say A Little Prayer

Bossy's daughter has had a mishap. With a dog. Not Stella. Please visit Bossy here and let her know you're thinking of the poor kid.

Ecksmas Is Coming

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Bah Humbug

Isn't t'internet just a mine of information? According to Celtic Attic, which I guess is a front for the Oirish Tourist Board, "Although Christmas is a major holiday in Ireland, it is not widely celebrated in Scotchland. Some historians have suggested that the reason Christmas is downplayed in Scotchland is because of the influence of the Presbyterian Church or Kirk, which viewed Christmas as a "Papist", or Catholic event. As a result, Christmas in Scotchland tends to be a somber event."

Of course, in the real world, nothing could be further from the truth. We Scotch take great delight in exchanging such delightful gifts as a lump of coal, or perhaps a dead ferret, before sitting down to a scrumptious dinner of roast sparrow with a side order of stinging nettles. Yum!

Whatever will they be telling us next? Pope Jewish? Who's gonna believe that?


Some pictures of Embra not celebrating Christmas at all. The Kirk is the building behind the 100-foot Christmas tree.

Farty's Ten Rules Of Blogging

I've just had this brilliant and totally original idea. And anyone who says otherwise can sue me.

1. Keep it short. Or at least interesting. Nobody wants to hear about your 1,000 favourite cheeses, trust me on this.
   


2. Never blog while pissed. Or pissed off. There's this "save as draft" option, I never remember to use it till it's too late.


3. Oh, but never, ever delete a post. That is so annoying.


4. Keep it funny. This is my advice to you. I am naturally funny, but you should work on it. Except, well, you know who you are.




6. Don't take yourself too seriously.


7. Comments are indeed bliss. Sometimes they're better than the original post (don't even think about it, John).


8. A picture paints a thousand words. Choose them carefully.
   


9. Don't worry that you've got "nothing to write about". That's what memes are for. I mean this in a good way.


10. Don't take everything personally. Bollocks. It's your blog. Web-log. Online journal. Diary. How much more personal can it get, FFS? If you're posting comments in someone else's blog, remember what goes around, comes around. So be nice.


11. Window dressing. It's up to you. Tired Dad is just as funny as BOSSY; they just look different. It's content that matters.


12. Everything is permitted. Nothing is true.

In No Particular Order...

Donald Trump has had his plans to build a golf course in the middle of a Site of Special Scientific Interest turned down by a democratic council meeting, so he's given them thirty days to reconsider their decision.
Donald? Hello? Over here? Hi. Now. What part of "Fuck Off" did you not understand the first time?



Back at the dentist this week for some more root canal treatment. When Tanya took my hand and asked me to "Kom vith me", I thought my luck was in. Especially when she led me into a small room and bolted the door shut. Just the two of us, how cozy!
But what she slipped into my mouth wasn't her tongue after all, just an X-ray plate. Boo!





I once had a Polish French teacher called Tanya Smölka. God, she was hot! Even though I was only thirteen, I could tell she fancied me.
So did my French Polish teacher, Brian the woodwork master. But that's another story.





How do you get rid of dullards?
We've been befriended by the most boring people on the planet. A typical scenario - phone rings. "Hi, we've been out shopping at IKEA, is it ok if we pop in?" Um, ok. I put the kettle on. Before it has even come to the boil, they are at the door. IKEA is five miles away and they live beyond that.
He's ok, he just goes through to the bedroom to play computer games with my eleven-year-old grandson and his chum.
But Mrs Dishwater? To paraphrase Douglas Adams, she could talk all eight legs off a tarantula and it would still try to drag itself away and hide. I don't know exactly what she talks about, I can never stay awake long enough. Mrs Farty has to give me a poke to wake me as they leave.
Perhaps we could feign death?




Elf and Safety. Killjoys in Alnwick District Council have banned Santa from driving his sleigh around Northumberland in case, breaking a thirty-year tradition, he falls off and hurts himself.
Twats.




I thought I was seeing things when out shopping at the weekend, but no. There is indeed such a thing as a Snow Calendar. Just the thing to brighten up a summer's day, er...no, wait.



And finally...this, from memory, from a spoof lonely hearts ad long ago.
Let us hold hands, take flight and soar on the fiercest winds. Let us race each other to the ends of the earth and back. Let us explore the deepest caverns, go diving into ancient shipwrecks, climb the highest mountains and exalt in our power over nature. Let us share our deepest, darkest, most intimate secrets.

You first.

Time For Calm Reflection - Remix

What is the world coming to? I cannot believe that the very foundations of Christianity are set to crumble into dust because of a simple children's story, yet that seems to be the jist of the argument coming from Catholic fundamentalists, who are now running strolling amok in the streets calling for author Philip Pullman to be publicly executed flogged given a severe ticking off and for his movie The Golden Compass to be burned banned boycotted.

Thank goodness for the voice of reason. Tory MP Boris Johnson has rightfully described these reactionary forces as "utterly bonkers". He then went on to say, "Crikey, I didn't expect a kind of Spanish Inquisition!"

Um, it's just a movie. But if it's anything like the book, it's going to be a stonker!

Anyway, they should calm down and take a leaf from Islamic tradition. You don't hear about Allah-fearing Muslims getting all hot under the collar [You've done this already - Ed.]

Released in the UK this Friday, December 7th, unless the Catholics get it banned.

Is there a prophet called Iorek?