Twinned with St-Bernard-mais-D'oh!

Westward Ho! is a small village in Devon, which was named after Charles Kingsley's book, and is the only place in Britain to have an exclamation mark as an official part of its name. Which is a shame, because imagine how much more exciting it would be to visit, say, 'Birmingham!'.

Anyway, until yesterday, I thought it was the only such place in the world, but that's when I learnt of the existence of the small Quebecois town of...

Fantastic. Double the exclamation marks, double the fun. Apparently the Commission du Toponymie  (and kudos to the Canadians for having such a thing) maintains the 'Ha! Ha!' relates to a nearby lake being an unexpected obstacle, like a Ha-ha... but I think we all know the event it actually commemorates.

But, you know, if they're all full...

Rather a bleak thing I found on Google Maps:

I hope that's just a review, and not actually their slogan.

I think Lykke Li and I probably shouldn't get married. Which is a shame, because I imagine I'm just her type.

Sorry for the poor quality picture - if you can't read it, it represents a privileged glimpse into the philosophy of Lykke Li; who is, apparently, one of Sweden's leading Slight Curves. The creed by which she lives is as follows: "I believe life's too short for compromises and bad fitting jeans." 

As it happens, I was approached to do this ad first - I would have been identified as a Bulgy Slab. The quote I submitted was "I believe that life is impossible without compromises, and indeed that developing the art of compromise, with others and one's self, is life's most vital skill; but that what life is far, far too short for is having a 'custom jeans fitting at a Levi's store near you'."

 I never heard back. 

Aslan was probably the same.

Sorry for the unannounced break, I've been on holiday.

While I was there, I took this picture of a feral cat which snuck up to drink from the swimming pool just before sunset; because I felt it looked so much like - and was acting so much like - a lion coming to the water-hole in the evening. Obviously, I took care not to get too close, because after all this was a wild animal, and I had no doubt that if I disturbed him, or even encroached on his territory, he would attack with all the murderous ferocity of the lion he so closely resembled.

Conceive of my terror, therefore, when having finished his drink, he did not slink back to his lair, but turned and made straight for me!  

Just look into those cruel tawny eyes! Clearly, his thirst slaked, this fearsome descendant of the King of the Beasts had but one thing on his mind...

Ah.

Does the mighty pussy cat want his tummy tickled, then? 

Grrr.

Still looking like a lion, I think you'll agree; only now a lion after it's been shot and turned into a hearthrug.

Hidden fires.

Sat opposite this chap on the train at the weekend. Balding, glasses, fawn jacket over quiet check shirt, doing the Independent crossword. Maybe not one of life's hellraisers.

But now, if you didn't spot it immediately, have another look at the gap at the top of his shirt... 

Do judge a book by its cover, that's very much what the cover is there for. But don't judge a man by his fawn jacket... 

Queen Leer

A little late with this, but of all the beautiful tributes to the Royal Wedding couple, I think this one, in a shop window on Oxford Street, was the finest:

Doesn't she look radiant? 

No, I don't know what happens when you press the button with a fish on it.

Thanks to Plenty More Fish for directing me to this amazing guy who has created book covers based on famous albums. My favourite is Horses. And Surfer Rosa. And Abbey Road. I have lots of favourites. (Simon Kane has also done a great one, but it's on Facebook and I can't work out how to link to it.)

Anyway, it looks like too fun a game not to join in just because I'm rubbish at Photoshop, so here's a couple from me, done with horse-drawn pen and paper.

Not all they're cracked up to be.

Oh dear, Sainsbury's. Are you having trouble with your Easter crackers? Were your Easter crackers not as big a seller as you hoped? Do you find yourself with a lot of Easter crackers left over? I wonder what went wrong. After all, your Easter crackers are very nice, with all the pretty springtime colours and chick and bunny labels one expects to find on Easter crackers. I really don't understand why your customers have apparently gone elsewhere to buy their traditional Easter crackers. Oh, no, wait a minute, I think I've got it... there's no such thing as Easter Crackers! There's your problem, Mr. Sainsbury, right there - Easter crackers are not a thing. And you can't turn them into a thing just by making them and assuming everyone will go 'Oh, we have to have Easter crackers now, do we? Ok then, here's a fiver'. 

(And good luck with selling off the Easter crackers no-one wanted at Easter now that it's not even Easter. I'm not sure 70% off is enough. I think you'd have to pay me.)

Sadly 'Arthur's Egyptology Lecture (Dustbuster)' didn't make the cut.

Qikiqtarjuaq. In case you were wondering.

Sorry for the gap - it's been all Cabin Pressure, all the time, round here lately. Apologies also if you are one of the many people to whom I owe a letter, email, phone-call or visit. But as of yesterday, series three is now not only written but recorded, and I now find myself in a strange new world where I must learn what it is humans do when they're not writing radio sitcoms. Answer their emails and visit their parents, possibly. The first thing I did this morning, though, was dismantle the huge and oppressive wall of multi-coloured post-its with bits of plot on them which has grown up round my desk. Here are a few of them:

• - Eddie immovable.
• 
  
• - Carolyn retrieves the lemon.
• 
  
• - Arthur's phantom fire. 
• 
  
• - Otter in fridge?
• 
  
• - Martin grills Martin
• 
  
• - No toblerones!
• 
  
• - Apple juice confiscated.
• 
  
• - Hercules scared of sheep.
• 
  
• - Yellow car III
• 
  
• - Douglas chases bears. 

The odd thing is, these are all reasonable descriptions of moments in the series. You should have seen Roger Allam chasing those bears last night. Magnificent.

Nailbiter.

Strapline to historical novel I've just seen:

'1804. Napoleon has all of Europe in his sights. Wellington will do anything to stop him. Who will win?'

Well, look, I don't want to spoil the ending for anyone, but if you're taking bets....

Mind you, I'm one to talk. I recently looked up a reference in Julius Caesar; and then hurriedly stopped reading when I saw that Cicero was one of the characters. This is because I have enjoyed the two Robert Harris novels about Cicero, and don't want to find out how things worked out for him under Caesar's rule before the third novel in the trilogy comes out. That's me - so woefully lacking in classical education that I fear spoilers from Shakespeare.

...and taller than her five feet and six inches would have you believe.

Character description in a script breakdown:


'Naomi is older than her 21 years suggest.' 


Is she really? That's a good trick. How much older? Eleven months? 

Cabin Pressure - Extra Date

A few people have asked me why there were only five episodes being recorded in the new series. Well, it was because we made the foolish mistake of casting incredibly talented and therefore in demand actors (present company excepted) in the main roles, and therefore it's increasingly difficult to find days when they can all be in the same room together. However, because they are also all incredibly generous about working at times and on days they really shouldn't be expected to, I'm happy to say we've found another day we can record. It's the 29th April, and you can enter the draw for tickets here.

Also, check that they're apple trees. Or you'll be there a while.

...No, I don't think so. I'm pretty sure when you want a eureka moment, you need to take a few baths. I believe what you're thinking of is what you should do when you want a few apples. Happy to help. 

G. Boycott in mean-spirited big-headedness shock. Nation reels.

On Radio Four's excellent obituary programme Last Word this week, the first speaker commemorating England spin bowler Fred Titmus was Geoffrey Boycott. Well, I say commemorating: in fact the first thing he said was:

'Well, I played against him many times, for Yorkshire against Middlesex, and I think, I'm pleased to say, he never got me out.'

Yeah, that's the spirit Geoff. The important thing is that everyone is very clear straight away that he wasn't as good as you.

First swear in this blog ever, I think. But it's worth it.

Overheard yesterday:

A woman is serving a customer at her flower stall outside a tube station. She greets a friend, a man in his early forties. They both have proper cockney accents - not just estuary, but full on cockney. Yes, I know this is now a story about a cockney flower seller, but I can't help it - that's what she sounded like, and that was her job. Anyway:

Her: Hiya! You alright?

Him: Yeah, yeah, alright. But my Grandad died. 

Her: Oh, love! I'm sorry!

Him: No, he's alright, he's alright. Well, he's not alright. He's dead. 

She breaks off to finish with her customer, then goes back to him, and gives him a hug. 

Her: I'm really sorry.

Him: No, he's alright, he's alright, he's alright. (Pause). Nah, he's fucked. 

Bing Bong

MJN Air would like to apologise for the late arrival of Series Three of Cabin Pressure. However, we have now loaded all the baggage; taken delivery of a fresh supply of lemon-scented paper napkins; retrieved the steward from the baggage carousel he'd got his tie caught in; and are ready to depart from the Drill Hall, London, on the 11th and 13th of April. Tickets are available here:  

Departure Lounge

Our estimated time of arrival to BBC Radio Four is 11:30, July 1st. 

We wish you a pleasant and comfortable radio show. We will now go back to finishing writing it. 

But not least.

This is Cuthbert Lempriere Holthouse. Doubtless you've always wondered what Cuthbert Lempriere Holthouse looked like - well, he looked like this.

The object he is holding is the last ever of the original Wooden Spoons, in the sense of a mocking award for finishing last. It began as a tradition amongst the Mathematics faculty at Cambridge University, from at least 1803 until 1909, of awarding a wooden spoon to the student who graduated with the lowest passing mark. The spoons got bigger and more elaborate over time, culminating in this one, which was converted from a rowing blade, as it was apparently Cuthbert's devotion to the college boat which cost him greater academic success. 


(Were you surprised a maths student named Cuthbert turned out to be such a jock? Me too. Shame on us for our lazy preconceptions.)


The reason the tradition ended in 1909 is apparently because 'the system was changed so that the results were announced in alphabetical order rather than by exam mark.' Though really, if that little manoeuvre successfully rendered an entire graduating class of Cambridge mathematicians unable to work out who had come bottom, I can’t help but think wooden spoons were due all round. 

I should probably have said...

...I was on the Now Show again today, being all cross about Prince Andrew. You've missed it now, but it'll be on Listen Again for the next week.

Here, in fact.

It was next to the corner shop, just opposite the prison.

Today, I walked past a small faded-grandeur Victorian hotel in an out-of-season south coast seaside town, and I genuinely thought to myself 'That would make a really good setting for a sitcom.' Well done me. Now I just need to get it written before some bastard steals the idea.

And everywhere that Cio-Cio went, the ship was sure to go.

'For goodness' sake, Madame Butterfly!' cried Madame Butterfly's mother 'That's the third time you've left the Titanic on the bus this month! Well I'm sorry, but from now on, I'm going to have to tie it to your wrist.'

Whatever my faults...

...and they are many; I am absolutely not the sort of person who would ever wish a heart attack on anyone. 

Therefore I have nothing to say about this 'advert' for Cheltenham race course. Nothing at all. 

Nothing. At all. 

Foo Foo update; and the military career of Colonel Sir Nils Olav.

Oh, and do you know who else has a white miniature poodle named Foo Foo? I'll tell you who:

That's who. Which raises two equally exciting possibilities: that the Crown Prince of Thailand is a Muppet fan, and named his Air Chief Marshal after Miss Piggy's poodle; or, that he's never heard of the Muppets, but just happens to share a taste in poodle names with Miss Piggy. I can't decide which I want to be true more. 

Now, let's forget all this silliness, and study instead the distinguished career of a proper soldier - Colonel-in-Chief Sir Nils Olav of the Norwegian King's Guard. Olav joined the army in 1972 as a humble Lance Corporal, but gradually rose through the ranks until 2005, when he was appointed Colonel-in-Chief. In 2008, he was knighted by King Harald V. He has won several medals, and statues in his honour have been erected in both Oslo and Edinburgh, where he lives. 

Here he is inspecting his troops. 

And here he is receiving his knighthood:

I wonder who would win a battle between the Norwegian King's Guard and the Royal Thai Air Force? Or between their commanders?

Hail to the Foo Foo.

Air Chief Marshal is a military rank in the air forces of several countries, including Great Britain. It is a four star rank, equivalent in seniority to a General in the Army, or an Admiral in the Navy. Thailand, apparently, has two currently serving Air Chief Marshals: Air Chief Marshal Itthaporn Subhawong, the 21st commander-in-chief of the Royal Thai Air Force, who looks like this:

...and Air Chief Marshal Foo Foo, who looks like this:

The second of the country's Air Chief Marshals - well, I say that; I don't actually know which of them has superiority over the other - is a miniature poodle belonging to the Crown Prince of Thailand. This is according to one of the Wikileaks cables, in this case from former US ambassador Ralph Boyce, who went on to describe his own leaving do: 

“Foo Foo was present at the event, dressed in formal evening attire complete with paw mitts, and at one point during the band’s second number, he jumped up on to the head table and began lapping from the guests’ water glasses, including my own. The Air Chief Marshal’s antics drew the full attention of the 600-plus audience members, and remains the talk of the town to this day.”

Foo Foo has, in fact, previously been in the news: in 2009, when a video leaked of a lavish birthday party the Prince threw for him, during which he required his wife, Her Royal Highness Princess Consort Srirasmi, to be topless throughout.

It is a crime in Thailand to make any criticism of the actions of the Royal Family. You can see why it would have to be.

Or possibly 'Linnaeus'?

It probably means I've been doing too many cryptic crosswords lately that when I saw this sign on an aeroplane...

...I automatically tried to solve it.

(I think it's 'Bandwidth'; but why 'class'...?)

Trouser bugles.

I wonder if there will ever come a time when I am so blase about staying in hotels that I am no longer delighted by: i) the existence of the trouserpress; ii) the first and last panels in the series of pictures illustrating the use of the trouserpress:

  

...or iii) the fact that the German for trouserpress is apparently 'Hosenbügler'?

I think not.

When paleontologists grow whimsical.

Here are the dinosaur names I have most enjoyed today.

Bambiraptor.

Named after Bambi; because it's small, long-legged and 'cute'.

Qantassaurus.

Named after the national airline of Australia. (And cuter than the Bambiraptor, for my money, but that might just be the expression this artist has given it.)

Irritator

The only extant fossil of this dinosaur is a skull which the paleontologists who classified it eventually discovered had been doctored with plaster by the fossil-dealer in an effort to make it seem more impressive, and therefore valuable. Hence the name:  "from irritation, the feeling the authors felt (understated here) when discovering that the snout had been artificially elongated."

And my favourite - because sometimes the well of inspiration simply runs dry:

Megapnosaurus

From the Greek, meaning 'Big Dead Lizard'.

Things I'm doing.

Thing One


I'm being a programme associate in just under an hour. I've never been that before, and always wondered what one did. Now I know, of course, I'm sworn to secrecy; but I can tell you it involves a computer, and coffee. Anyway, the programme with which I am associating myself with is 10 O'Clock Live, with David Mitchell, Charlie Brooker, Jimmy Carr and Lauren Laverne; and from what I've seen today, I think it's going to be rather good. It's Thursdays on Channel 4 from tonight for 15 weeks (though I'm not doing it every week.) I shall leave what time it's on as an exercise for the class.

Thing Two.

We now know when the third series of Cabin Pressure will be broadcast: Fridays from the 1st July. Still don't know when it will be recorded, I'm afraid, but sources close to, well, me indicate it's unlikely to be before March. (The delay is not my fault, by the way. It's not anyone's fault. But one of the people whose fault it's not is mine.)

Cheer up, it might never happen!

No, actually, I'm working quite hard at the moment, and getting a lot done. Why do you ask?

If it turns out there's such a thing as a Trisketiger, I'll reconsider.

Today, I noticed that there is a village on the Isle of Man called Kirk Michael. The island's capital, of course, is Douglas.

Also, I learnt that the motto of the Isle of Man is 'Whithersoever you throw it, it will stand', referring to the emblem on their flag, the triskelion.

I have two things to say about this. Firstly, I'm pretty sure that a more accurate, if less rousing, motto would be 'Whithersoever you throw it, it will fall on its side'. Secondly, of the two new words I've learnt today, 'triskelion' is good, but 'whithersoever' is great. 

Cats at sea

The Royal Navy used to actively encourage its ships to adopt a ship's cat, believing they were good for morale and vermin control, though sadly since 1975 they have been forbidden.

- Simon, ship's cat of the HMS Amethyst, was wounded by shrapnel in the Yangtze Incident of 1948. In recognition of his valour, he was awarded three medals, and promoted to the rank of Able Seacat.

- Oscar was rescued from the wreckage of the German battleship Bismarck by the HMS Cossack. They adopted him as their ship's cat, until, five months later, the Cossack too was sunk. Oscar survived, and was transferred to the HMS Ark Royal... which was sunk two weeks later. This time, Oscar was found clinging to a floating board 'angry, but quite unharmed.' He was renamed 'Unsinkable Sam', and retired to Belfast, where he eventually died, ten years after the end of the war, of old age.

- Beauty, ship's cat of the HMS Black Prince, was present at the Normandy landings, during which she occupied herself giving birth to three kittens.

- Unusually, the gunship HMSGB-7 was never named, and nor was its cat, who was known as 'TBC'. Which stood for 'That Bloody Cat'.

- In 1924, the HMS Hood did not have a ship's cat. It had Joey... the ship's wallaby.

It had better be a really GOOD free test pad, that's all.

That's...  a bold claim. I worry that in classrooms across Britain, scenes like this are taking place:

'I say, you fellows! I bring astounding news for the beginning of the new term! For years you have derided me, picked upon me, and locked me in the stationery cupboard against my will, but no longer! For behold: in 2011, clever is the new cool! So now, at last, I am your alpha male - but fear not, for I shall be an enlightened leader; bearing no grudges; and providing precious reading lists and chess tips for all, even my erstwhile tormentors!' 

'Oh yeah? And who told you this?'

'Why, it is emblazoned quite clearly, and with appropriate exclamation point, right across our new English workboo... ... oh I see.  Right. I'll go and get in the cupboard.'

Almost Twelfth Night...

... I suppose that means it's time to take down the traditional Christmas Hatstand.

The case of the cryptic socks.

Last year, I was in a show directed by a South Korean director whom, because I stepped into the show during its run, I didn't actually get to meet. Nevertheless, he very kindly left a gift for the show's writer to pass on to me when I arrived. Specifically: a pair of child's socks, featuring a cross pig, either sweating or crying.

As there is no pig - cross, sweaty, tearful, or otherwise - in the script, I have to admit I didn't immediately understand the significance of this; so I asked the writer, who is also Korean, if she could translate the text for me. She was happy to do so. Apparently, what the pig is saying is: 'My toes and fingers are shrinking.'

Ah yes, of course. It all makes sense now. 

Though what will they think we called 2000? Twenty Oh Oh?

I've just realised that, because of the Olympics, I'm entirely used to reading '2012' as Twenty Twelve; and yet calling this new year 'Twenty Eleven' still sounds odd and wrong. Also, I bet an anachronistic mistake that film-makers in 2090 will make when making films set in the past decade is that people will refer to 2009 as 'Twenty Oh Nine', because once it's out of living memory, it won't occur to anyone that we (mostly) went on calling it 'Two Thousand and Nine' for at least the first eleven years of the century.

New year - new blog policy. I'm going to put stuff up here more often, and of more types; but therefore some things will be quite small and inconsequential, like this one. Also, I'm going to start putting drawings up again. I did that once before, then almost immediately got embarrassed by them and stopped. But I really want to get better at drawing, and the way to do that is to practice.

Happy New Year!

Maybe they had them already?

Hope you had a good Christmas. I, probably like most of you, gave everyone in my family plastic co-axial aerial sockets, and small grub screws. Oddly enough, some of them seemed a little unimpressed, despite the clear assurances I was given by the shop where I bought them.

Completely inexplicable.

Things on which I saw people slide down Primrose Hill this Christmas week.

- Sledges

- Trays

- Binbags

- Recycling box lids.

- A shelf.

- One of those pallets in which bakers deliver loaves.

- A 'Men at Work' road-sign.

And then there was this guy:

One of nature's optimists.

(While I'm here: some things you might care to listen to / watch on Christmas day, once you're bored with mince pies and arguing.

- Cabin Pressure Christmas Special, 8:30am, Radio 4. I wrote this, and am in it. 

- Now Show Christmas Special, 12.30pm, Radio 4. I wrote some stuff for this. 

- The One Ronnie, 5.10pm, BBC One. I wrote a sketch for this. The Attenborough one.)

Merry Christmas!

Wherein beholders do discover everybody's face but their own.

John Bishop is a hugely successful comedian, far more successful than I am. However, I've never seen his act, so I have absolutely no opinion on how good he is. He may well be excellent. All I do know is that there's something about the publicity photo that's everywhere at the moment that has made me take an instinctive- and let me stress totally irrational- dislike to him. This is the photo. 

Inoffensive, cheerfully smiling, rather handsome man, right? I know. But for some reason, I just have this feeling I wouldn't like him. And today, I suddenly realised what it is. It's those stray curls of hair from the back of his head you can see poking out below his ears. That, I'm pretty sure, is the sole reason I've taken against him. Anyway, I realised this, thought about doing a blog about it, and then thought - as you are no doubt doing right now - nah, it's not really worth one. 

Two minutes later, I caught sight of a mirror. Ladies and gentlemen, this is what I look like right now. 

What shall we file this under, I wonder? 'Chronic Lack of Self-Awareness'? 'Subconscious Self-Loathing'? Well, let's be charitable, and simply go for 'Time for a Haircut'.

Min...nie, how I love ya, how I love ya, my dear ol' Minnie.

You don't hear so much these days about Mickey Mouse's stint in the Black and White Minstrel Show, do you?

...Not unless you ride the Bakerloo line on the London Underground. 

The Mystery of Lincoln's Chair, continued.

M'learned readers have already proposed several explanations for Lincoln's empty chair: that it signifies his approachability; the fact that his life was cut short; his disdain for the political systems of Ancient Rome (possibly a bit of a stretch, this one) or his skill at oratory. I'm most impressed by all these theories, though I still think it looks a bit silly.

One correspondent also wonders when and why a statue of an American hero came to be erected in Parliament Square. A little poking around reveals it was unveiled in 1920, having been delayed by the First World War, and was intended to celebrate the hundredth anniversary of the Treaty of Ghent in 1814, and thus peace between English speaking nations. (Tangent: Has this peace been maintained for the subsequent ninety years, I wonder? I certainly can't think of a war since between nations with English as their first language.)

Also, there was some disagreement about which of two statues to present. In the end, the less favoured one was sent to Manchester, where it still stands. Because in it Lincoln looks rather gaunt and haggard (even for him) and has his arms crossed over his abdomen, it became known as the Stomach Ache, or the Tramp With The Colic.

(In this statue, Lincoln has no chair. How the people of Manchester are expected to tell how good an orator he was, or how much he hated Rome, I have no idea.)

Or is it a double sculpture? Was Mrs Lincoln famously invisible?

I passed an interesting statue in Parliament Square this week. 

As you see, it's a statue of Abraham Lincoln, and a chair that he's not sitting in. I wonder what happened here. Perhaps the sculptor was famous for his lightning speed, and by bad luck happened to begin work on what was intended to be a seated sculpture at the very moment Abe got up to answer the door. Or perhaps the chair is also famous. Perhaps in the world of chairs and chair-fanciers, this is known as the Parliament Square statue of an eagle-back scroll-legged cabriole chair (partially obscured by bearded man). Or perhaps it's intended as a symbol of what a virile, dynamic president Lincoln was - 'This here's a chair, but you won't find Honest Abe lounging about in one o' they! No Sir! He'll be up and about, pulling at his lapel, and slightly flexing one knee! That's just the kind of man he was.' Perhaps this inspired a whole movement in presidential sculpture of which I'm unaware- Eisenhower with a bed he's not asleep in. McKinley in front of a big pile of cakes, not one of which he's scoffed. Hoover and a pretty frock he's totally not wearing. Clinton turning his back on a disappointed Monica Lewinsky. I hope so.