Ted Max

I wouldn't be surprised if he's responsible for the muted palette on the table, wall and window frames, as well. That faded pink with the green - come on, this guy's got the eye, man.

Those are some great boots on the dude on the left. With grey jodpurs, double-breasted greatcoat with sepia trim. And the pose - just screams fashion. Get him on here.

Do you have any cricketer friends, MickMac?

http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b00lkp01/The_Conspiracy_Files_Series_2_30_06_2009/ 49:40 for those who want to see a 7/7 conspiracist (and holocaust denier) get a quiet shredding. (PS This isn't the Jesus guy, this is another loon.) Open your eyes.

Open your eyes. The train they supposedly got on never ran. The government were carrying out simulations exactly mirroring the attacks at the same time as the real attacks. The suicide videos are actors reading a script. The ark of the convenant is buried in my back garden. etc etc

"Muad Dib" who made the 7/7/ Ripple Effect film is an old bloke from Sheffield called John Hill, who now lives in Kells. He believes the Ark of the Covenant is buried nearby under the Hill of Tara. Lovely stuff. http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/8124540.stm

7/7 Ripple Effect. Was given the biggest shoeing ever seen on Beeb's Conspiracy Files last night. Down to one of the arch conspiracy theorists being shown the evidence that disproves his own rantings - and agreeing he had been proved completely wrong. And finding and filming (leading to the subsequent arrest of) the idiot who made the principal conspiracy film out there. (PS As well as making up loads of other stuff, he also thinks he's Jesus)

100.

Despite his five-setter late into Monday night, the Alpha will patrol his territory much-refreshed today, having suckled long at the teats of the great She-Wolf yesterday. Look for the telling paleness in the lamb's countenance, her vital force extracted by the She-Wolf to provide succour for the insurgent younger son.

Moans of pleasure have been mentioned, yes.

I think it's the one where you get an erection whilst having a head massage.

All the main media concentrates on is the trouble, no items on cycle generators (how to make your own), solar panels, eco-loos, cooking &c and most importantly they never filmed me making benches from scrap wood, OK plenty of others at the camp stood around and explained how I was to do it and enjoyed themselves too, I'm not too a standard of teaching others to make their own benches yet. Cooking? Also, can I have a bench please, even if you are pisspoor at making them.

A recent trip to the barbers Where did you go, *Bob*, and how much was it?

Cheers Citizen. All sorted now. My attention was distracted by a woman down the carriage fanning herself with a black lace fan - an unusual site on the 15:03 to Peckham Rye. She slightly spoiled the effect by visibly exhaling a gasping "F'kinell", but all the same, full marks for the fan.

Surely Wimbledon is the ne plus ultra of day time telly? A state of semi-suspended sloth can be maintained for hours listening to the whap and flap of the ball on string, watching the white shapes float left and right, right and left. Occasionally something will stir as a tanned, slab-legged Serbian chases down a dying drop shot. But not enough to sustain any real interest. Dead-rubber cricket Tests heading to pre-determined draws are also up there, albeit without the added Serbian titillation.

Seeing as this looks the place for inconsequential chatter, perhaps you could put your beer-enhanced brains to this. I was just getting into someone else's conversation on the train and it went exactly like this: "Yeah, it's going down all the time isn't it. We can buy New York." Pause. "I put a bid in at 4:45 and to be sixty over we need 16.75. That's still valid until tomorrow morning." Then I had to get off. Apart from learning that someone thought you could by New York for 4:45, I have no idea what was going on here. Anyone have a clue what this could have been about? I must know.

Paul of Tarsus, NY, presumably.

Plus Andy M's brother having puke rendering I'm gonna shag the arse off you later type snogs/leers with, I presume, his girlfriend I missed that. Jamie's force is weak, though, as the pack's energies are focussed on alpha-wolf Andy. Jamie can make a sneaky play while the Alpha male disports himself on the green, but when the pack reassembles he will have to offer up his kill to the She-wolf and her chosen successor.

What was that thing on the end of the Swiss' nose? It glowed like a beacon and was a major "tell". Murray has impressively developed incisors - which grow fang-like at break points and when he's shouting at his mum in a rather worrying symbiotic "feeding" pattern. The poor wee lamb sitting next to Judy looked like she is there to provide fresh blood for the pack.

Loose Women = admiring The Stig for his advanced driving skills and ability to nurture novice drivers. Top Gear = fantasising about The Stig taking you roughly from behind in the back of the Liana with his helmet on.

Disappointed in Murray. Had Gary Richardson right in front of him and he didn't flatten the wee shiteball. And, Ian Hislop's wife/ partner/ ladyfriend seemed to age about 20 years during the match. Also spotted: Jane Woodward not shagging Prince Harry, for once. Sir Trevor sticking it to the establishment again. And Ewan fuckstick McGregor and his plain bored wife about 8,8789,08923847239 times. Finally, I can't remember Ma Henman going for the double fist pump, pelvic thrust celebration a la Judy M. More of a flicker used to cross her face as she realised the old boy sitting next to her would probably be fired up for a bit of marital ghastliness tonight.

He could ask below stairs. I'm sure the maids have a port and lemon in there on their afternoon off.

If only there was somebody on here who lived in Camberwell and could nip over and check.

+r

The novel as the principle way in which we process our stories and share our cultural experiences was dominant for how long? I'm not qualified to say - but from about Richardson or Fielding, say, to the first great motion pictures. Thereabouts. With broader access to "culture", and more leisure time and money with which to enjoy it, is our cultural output becoming more fragmented - dance, music, poetry, theatre, visual art, film, television? Perhaps the distance between author and reader has become too great - trust has been lost, narrative undermined by the act of its own telling. Where would you look now for the output of the young person with something to teach you? Not necessarily in the pages of a "judge by the cover", two-for-three at Smiths, focus-grouped novel.