Dear Reader,

May I dwell upon your imagination to recreate a scene from WWII:

Picture if you would, the captain of our Mosquito, returning to blighty with only 1 engine left running, the live throttle firewalled so that the all the live guages are now right off the dial, fuel pouring from three tanks and the airframe so shot so to shit so that the there's more drag than lift. Our man get's overhead the closest short runway, digs the wheels in like he wants to plough up the tarmac and slightly sideways on, collapsing the mains. A huge shower of sparks threatens to set the whole lot on fire, before skidding backwards through the the perimeter hedge. Leaving the aircraft, two of the crew complain about the landing. The ground crew complain that they'll have to move the wreckage, and our man reports to the tower.

On leaving the tower, a fellow captain enquires "spot of bother with the kite chap".

I guess it's only when you've been there that understatement can be shared?

Good night.

Hammers and Angels

Dear Reader.

Two themes prevail today:

1. I find myself on midsummer's eve in beautiful Scandinavia, where it seems, most of the assembled Swedes have left their captial in favour of Helga's island. (See heaven and Helgar post). I suspect I tend to over simplify things because I am a man of simple thought, rocket science and theatre hold no mysteries for me..oh no. But sometimes I can overlook the cultural nuances of my host nation. To wit...what the doings is all this about? I quote:

"One day, Thor's hammer was stolen. Loki searched for it, and found that the giant Thrym had hidden the hammer, and refused to give it back unless the beautiful goddess Freyja became his wife. The gods worked out a plan to get the hammer back while keeping Freyja safe. Thor was dressed up as Freyja, as a beautiful woman, and sent to the giant as his bride. (Thor had a bristling red beard!) Loki went with him. At first the giant was worried about his bride's enormous appetite and fierce eyes, but Loki convinced him to accept her! Finally, the giant brought out Thor's hammer, and gave it to his new bride. Thor gave an enormous roar, tore off his wedding dress, and killed the giant with his hammer"

Dear me.

Anyway. The other theme is much happier.

Think: Alanis M. for the music and Mary Margaret O'Hara for the lyrics and looks, with a whisper of Irish ballad..add a few deep thoughts, and deliver it all.. Rare moments dear reader. But if you can silence the noise..they're there. You just have to listen. Nuff respect to the musician, poet, and MMO'H look-alike!!

Happy Midsomer and good night dear reader.

Knees Uppery

...as my kind reader reminded me. I knew there was something else missing from my life but I couldn't just put the words to it. Knees uppery it is. That very thing...sorely missed.

Thanks dear reader, I do seem to be spending too much time with my knees.....down

Bah bah humming bug

G'night

Missing man!

Dear reader.

I miss home.
I miss meeting my litttle peeps and having a chat and finding out what's going on, and making sure they're ok, and sharing a beer or two at The Borough and later at the Sun
I miss taking little fellow for walks, growling and duck feeding
I miss my little home and making my favourite dinner
I miss the hangar and the strange peace which fills my mind with calm as I walk towards the aircraft, with the sounds and smells of aircraft

Hey ho. goodnight my world from 59 north..I miss you

More Islands

Hello Dear Reader,

Today I was in much need of demeanour adjustment...so I popped along to sit on Cinderella again. (I did invite my colleagues, but they are a bunch of lightweights when it comes to socialising and they didn't manage to raise themselves from their pits at 09.00!)

This time I knew the form and sat at the back of Cinderella's deck where I could survey the passing Islands. I stopped at Vaxholm http://www.vaxholm.se/turism/eng/index.asp and touristing nicely it is too.

Later I retired to Akurat, (still eating nicely) and later still to the bar of my temporary home, where the jugs of sangria were drinking well although this evening there was a red theme. Not quite sure what that is. I retire with my demeanour adjusted thanks to Cinderella and the islands.

I thank my anonymous reader for their explanation of big noises from small people, but I remain in much wonderment at this concept, and the question still remains...how is a peep meant to know...when the show is over if the fat lady just gargles in the wings and doesn't actually hold forth?

The show isn't over...

Dear reader,

You know the rest of this line. by-the-by, today was another feeble excuse for a bank holiday in Sweden...probably the birthday of the king's second cousin's next-door-neigbour's hairdresser I shouldn't wonder...so we all went to the grand old opery. Now I do like a bit of opery and this version of Aida was singing nicely too. However, I was slightly put-out to note that the lady who died was yay slim. How on earth such a big noise can get out of such a little person is quite beyond me. To look at her you wouldn't be thinking she'd be booing many geese. But then... she could fill the whole of the opery with a voice, the like of which sends tingly things up one's spine. Amazing. But....how is one supposed to know when the show is over?