The Laughing River Horse

Maintaining one's profile

2010-12-22T10:37:00.000+11:00

Q.E.D.

Snow and shadows

2010-12-22T10:34:00.000+11:00

Snow seems to do extraordinary things to humans -- cause projectile fights, close airports, that sort of thing, but I rather like it. There are new friends to play with:

old friends just back from hotter climes:

a refreshing lack of Saturday afternoon riffraff:

and ample opportinuty for absurdist signage.

Just to remind myself that autumn actually happened...

2010-11-28T10:05:00.000+11:00

It's true that I really picked the wrong moment to hibernate -- here I am, getting back into things in order to complain about the winter, while the human was off doing his best to enjoy the great outdoors before coming home to let me out of my sleeping bag and turn the heating on.
Things I missed include:

An apple and sweet onion festival -- which also seems to have included red wine and chestnuts -- in company with some of the old friends who first set me on the path of chronicling the eccentricities of humans;

and a trip (via Westward Ho!, no less) to a notorious pirate lair, convenient for the observation of Shetland ponies employed by the National Trust for mowing and fertilisation purposes, and the sort of meta-signage that offers visitors the best means of dpriving visitors of the opportinuty of actually falling off the ends of the Earth.

Score one for heliocentrism, methinks.

Snow!

2010-11-27T11:04:00.001+11:00

Here we go again -- it's officially cold, and the human is finding better and better excuses not to ride to work -- though paradoxically he seems less worried about doing so late at night on machines belonging to street furniture monopolies...
The more fashion-conscious amongs our four-legged friends may be feeling the need for one of these.
Not sure if that will be much help for this fine specimen, though I certainly wouldn't mess with it!

I'm back -- with pickled cabbage!

2010-11-27T10:53:00.001+11:00

I've been resting for a little while, but as the weather gets colder it's time to emerge from hibernation to continue the production of jam and to expand my repertoire into the domain of preserved vegetables. As with all good plans at world domination, sauerkraut is only a start -- as with bicycles and as a general rule also with accordions, there's little sense in restraining oneself to one variety of pickled cabbage when others are being produced as we speak in the very same city...
Results soon.

The gentrification of dead philosophers

2010-09-19T23:51:00.000+10:00

or greetings from Sydney!

It's official: yeast works faster in hot weather!

2010-08-02T04:44:00.000+10:00

Unexpected late birthday presents, or why it's good to have larger friends with lights in their feet!

2010-07-19T19:34:00.001+10:00

And you all know how much I like televised sport!

2010-06-03T08:05:00.002+10:00

Stop Press: British Ukulele Impostors invade Austria and Germany!

2010-05-17T07:17:00.001+10:00

Read all about it here...

On getting older

2010-05-17T06:54:00.003+10:00

Birthdays, as humans call them, are curious occasions. Getting measurably older seems to be both a source of existential angst and an occasion for frivolous merrymaking, and these effects are compounded when an unusually large number of humans celebrate such events within the same somewhat nebulous time period. No doubt there will be more on this very subject in the next few days, but I feel that a brief account of my experiences is likely to be of public edification.

Birthdays, then, seem to be about:

meeting new friends in civilised settings;

old friends - from the days of inadvertent acquesextian mammary imitations, no less - and their new hairstyles;

taking gracefully to being scolded, since humans are allowed to be as unreasonable as they like once a year;

and just occasionally getting hot under the collar before crawling home to bed.

Soon, my friends, soon!

I'm still alive

2010-04-27T07:59:00.005+10:00

Spring has sprung
and cherry blossoms keep falling on the bikepath!
More soon, I promise
Love to all,
Hugo

Post-festive-season-indulgence recovery

2010-01-29T09:56:00.005+11:00

Though at least I'm not in the same boat as this poor blue comrade:

Those who live in glass cases...

A rosé is a rosé is a rosé

2009-12-25T05:17:00.004+11:00

Or at least it is by this stage of the festive season!

Not all snow is static

2009-12-21T10:29:00.008+11:00

or pride (and a cold bottom in an unheated loo) comes before a fall!

Snow falling on Vélibs

2009-12-19T22:45:00.007+11:00

and on secret Parisian gardens...

and on other vegetation...

...but remember folks: keep off the grass!

Anarchy in the Helvetian Confederation

2009-12-17T09:41:00.005+11:00

Well, the humans have been doing their best to butter me up with chocolate and appenzeller cheese, though as usual they've been busily talking about the deer sausage they enjoyed for a post-concert bed-picnic rather than actually saving me any. The ukulele concert -- as they never seem to tire of reminding me -- was excellent fun, with old favourites and a couple of new numbers washed down with quite respectable Italian champagne. I'm told the sight of an eminently respectable Swiss audience being warmed up to sing the chorus to a Simon and Garfunkel arrangement of a Sid Vicious classic is really quite something!
Meanwhile the city's other marvels included mulled wine aplenty, hospitable and moderately-priced model-train-themed hostelries, and a ferryboat powered by nothing other than the current of the Rhine. The boat is attached to a pulley running on a cable running across the river, much in the manner of an aqueous flying fox, and crosses sideways facing into the current, its movement regulated by the position of its rudder. Culture, other than that offered by ukuleles, was not forgotten: the humans had much to say about the excellent Kunstmuseum and were even kind enough to bring me a photograph of a friendly-looking creature overlooking the courtyard ice rink.
Perhaps we can become penpals.

Mulled whine

2009-12-16T09:36:00.003+11:00

The humans have once more seen fit go go away for the weekend without me. I'm not impressed -- especially since they returned boasting of a high-speed train trip complete wirth gluhwein service and (so I'm informed by one of the party) a very civilised thigh-level blow heater in the lavatory.

More to come just as soon as I stop sulking!

Of hippo-solidarity and human hypocrisy

2009-12-08T09:15:00.009+11:00

(brought to you by market forces and mass transit in the 16th arrondissement)
I find it pays to be sceptical when it comes to humans -- you know where you are when they're deliberately screwing the place over, but things get rather murkier when they claim to be doing universal good.
I'm all for saving the planet -- not to mention the non-potamical hippos, perfectly fine creatures -- but surely putting up posters to denounce the fact that horses who spend their lives in suburban equestrian centres sometimes get eaten is beyond silly. How about altering the supply end of the equation? Or is it just that humans out there are squeamish about serving to guests something their little brats have sat on?
Can't say I really blame them...

Of extraordinary derailleurs, and seals caught drinking champagne from sheepskin slippers...

2009-12-08T09:06:00.005+11:00

I'm sure there's a link somewhere!

'Pataphysics

2009-12-02T09:15:00.003+11:00

'Pataphysics is to metaphysics what metaphysics is to physics. A physical statement would be along the lines of "I have a brother and he likes cheese." A metaphysical statement would be "If I had a brother he would like cheese." A 'pataphysical statement would be "I don't have a brother and he likes cheese." And so forth. As you can see, 'pataphysics makes far more sense than most human behaviour.
Observe the following image, taken during a 'pataphysical demonstration of the precautions to be taken against zombification -- instead of making bad films about the whole sorry business, it would suffice to tie one's jaw shut when unattended to prevent one's soul from escaping.
A strip consisting of nine sheets of toilet paper -- what the French artfully term "P.Q.," managing to be both polite and vulgar and to deploy a bad pun in the course of two letters -- should suffice when tied correctly. Tourists, small children, the elderly and the infirm are allowed up to twelve to make for easier knots without the attendant danger of rupturing delicate perforations.
Yours in Faustroll!

Of velocipedes and boopotamy

2009-12-01T09:34:00.006+11:00

I have been much neglecting my writings lately, sadly, as there has been much to do keeping the human on the straight and narrow. This became urgent three weeks ago when he decided to embark with an intrepid colleague on an autumn jaunt along the Canal du Nivernais, braving rain and pinot noir in pursuit of the Burgundinian sublime.

Sweet showers rightly belong in April -- it must have been the humans' decision to put up for the night in a pilgrims' residence that led both rain and gravitation to make the experience as authentic as possible. Complain they might, but Romanesque basilicae are designed to be built on top of hills that are intended to be walked up, in the dark and if possible on one's knees.

Sunday lunch of wild boar stew and complimentary pâté sounds tempting -- sorry Fidel! -- but it was quite a relief to have a weekend to myself in a nice warm kitchen. Greetings from canalside cows notwithstanding, I think I got the better end of the deal.

Mushrooms!

2009-11-01T10:04:00.003+11:00

The secret to successful risotto while entertaining people, the human assures me, is cutting everything up before they arrive so the rice is only cooked at the last minute."Trompettes de mort" -- my favourite -- at right!

All creatures great and small

2009-10-25T10:02:00.006+11:00

The human is unquestionably a dog person at heart, although good manners -- or is it simply laziness? -- prevents him actively from encouraging the chasing of cats. (His position on split infinitives is unorthodox to say the least, though we do find common ground on the spiny topic of gerunds -- medium-rare please.) But I digress.
I, on the other hand, am a far more reasonable creature -- I put up with humans, I enjoy the company (if not always the over-inquisitive molars) of distinguished hounds, and some of my best friends are fugitive porcine socialists. I can provide documentary evidence of my correspondence with fluffy cats:

While I'm all for inter-species cooperation, I can't help noticing who's doing most of the work in this picture, and who's simply sitting there looking smug. I certainly hope these three faithful hounds haven't been tricked into strikebreaking.

In defence of the stack

2009-10-18T08:16:00.003+11:00

or things that make 8am classes bearable!

Non licet ombinus Londinium adire!

2009-10-15T09:12:00.005+11:00

I'm trying not to complain too much about being left to guard plum jam in Lutetia while the human conveyed himself to Londinium by stella europae on the slightly dubious pretext of purchasing books and visiting the bibliotheca britannica. All Gaul may be divided into three parts, but the human was able to confirm in person earlier documentary evidence that the British have made progress in the blessed domain of cheesemaking:
Needless to say the human returned immoderately well fed, on everything from bacon (viz.)

with eggs and hollandaise sauce, Szechuan hot-pot ("hot and numbing" read the menu -- and I was most intrigued to note an apartheid-like divider allowing two different broths to be cooked in the one pan), aperitifs aboard what I suppose one would have to call a public houseboat, and finally an excellent Korean barbecue only rendered incongruous by being served in a quiet South-East London local with careworn oak panelling:
Old friends make for great happiness, and there is even news from the illustrious Dr. L that my dear comrade Fidel has emerged from hiding under a bed in Hackney. I can only hope I'll be included in the next visit...

Jam session

2009-10-08T08:26:00.004+11:00

1kh overripe figs, 2kg overripe plums, 2kg of the oddly named "confisuc" -- sugar with citric acid and some sort of setting agent mixed in. The figs worked a treat but the plums seemed too liquid -- but after letting them reduce for a while they set to a texture somewhere between quince paste and sticky toffee. Spreading requires strong bread, a strong hand and a strong knife, though it's quite nice hacked into bite-sized bits and consumed on tangy goat's cheese.

The human is a closet glutton for chestnut jam though neither of us knows how it's made. If there aren't any ripe figs left next time we go to the market it will be time to experiment. All suggestions welcome!

Nuit blanche II: on the unexpectedly versatile nature of erstwhile garden installations

2009-10-04T12:18:00.010+11:00

The improvised water tank formerly of West-Nor'-West Redfern was always an unpretentious affair, filling itself from a backed up drainpipe and washing machine hose arrangmeent when it rained, and keeping the garden alive for days at a time between summer showers.

Little did I imagine that its kind would go on to dominate both the entrance to the Buttes Chaumont and the Pont St-Louis! The future may well bring us luminous cities of plastic water cubes, but it's nice to know they haven't forgotten their roots -- allotments ahoy!

Nuit blanche I: Dancing at the Centquatre

2009-10-04T12:06:00.002+11:00

On a more cheerful note from a slightly earlier era, long live the return of the bal populaire -- dancing 1940s style complete with braces, net veils and accordions! The place may have once been a morgue but it seems no less jolly for the experience, and to top it off there's a late-night bookshop selling postcards of old photos captioned with truly appalling puns -- who but the French could pour half their science budget into la fission de la tomme?

Years of insouciance, or la vie en rose: animal rights, racism and sex kitten nostalgia

2009-10-04T11:43:00.009+11:00

"Never with a vacuum cleaner", the subject of this post once said in response to an appliance magnate's request to dance on a yacht in St. Tropez. Needless to say, plenty of white late middle aged vacuum cleaner salesfolk in evidence at the exhibition opening, though the animals seem to have stayed away in solidarity with the immigrants. The human assures me he only braved the sea of pink because there was free champagne on offer, and promises -- promises -- that his lengthy stare at the sight below was one of pure bewilderment. I'll let you be the judge.

Putting things on a pedestal

2009-09-22T03:33:00.004+10:00

or explaining the human's reluctance to invest in a basil plant to place on the kitchen window sill as autumn approaches:

C'est en faisant n'importe quoi qu'on devient n'importe qui

2009-09-22T03:21:00.003+10:00

Shamefully stolen from elsewhere, but there's a good lesson here -- Les forçats de la route meets Barthesian epic meets "The Passion considered as an uphill bicycle race"...

Fame precedes me!

2009-09-14T05:52:00.003+10:00

As do vertical gardens attached to the front façade of menswear chains...

Of unexpected châteaux and the objects to be found on their doorsteps

2009-09-12T05:24:00.007+10:00

When he wasn't excalming to all and sundry about how the country really was divided into three parts, the human's last Gallic expedition seemed to revolve largely around the search for a suitable château.

This time around, he seems to have found one -- conveniently linked to public transport, no less -- in the most unexpected of places. The châtelaine is expected.
The setting is most pleasant, the interior is most spacious and the furnishings most commodious. Administrative and financial bureaucrats of various stripes seem unexectedly eager to please. The bibliotheca quadriturricula subterraneana is closed for holidays, but there is a well-catalogued library of several thousand volumes on the premises. The natives who maintain it are more than friendly -- books are not the only object occasionally to be found on the doorstep when returning from an excursion by bisorbiculus liberalis:

I'm not complaining!

Voyeurism on the ukulele!

2009-08-28T14:21:00.000+10:00

Petit déjeuner sur l'herbe

2009-08-15T10:00:00.000+10:00

Even the human has had his share of haloumi by this point in the week!

The Hosts! The Hosts!

2009-08-14T16:36:00.005+10:00

My last batch of science-fictional friends had barely finished their cafeteria antics when news arrived of this most excellent show by the inimitable Wade. Good fun was had by all, and it's a fitting sendoff from a neighborhood that both the human and I -- in agreement for once -- are very sad to leave.

Robots in Ukranian peasant costume, you might say -- or a one-night stand between Daleks and Kulaks!

Death Star Canteen

2009-08-12T18:41:00.002+10:00

From the benificent if occasionally nihilistic presence at Fumbling Darkly.
That's what you get for eating in most of the cafetarias I've encountered lately...

Pussycat cubism

2009-07-30T20:21:00.003+10:00

Break glass in emergency

Indeed!

2009-07-22T23:20:00.005+10:00

This thoughtful and heartwarming public service announcement was one of my highlights for a mid-week break in the mountains, though the humans seemed more impressed with the gallery the café was attached to. Magic Pudding indeed. Two days away and they were deep into hound withdrawal -- nothing for the humans but they couldn't stop themselves from bringing back gifts for him.

More food than I want to think about, a four-poster bed in the Shakespeare room (no less) and a commodiously triangular bath -- albeit served by a patent chrome soap dispenser above the sink requiring either sixty squirts of soap (rounded, for reasons that can only be divulged by the perpetrators, to the nearest twenty squirts) or dismantling with a 3mm allen key in order for the lids to be unscrewed.

Hills there may be in the mountains, but bringing one's bicycle at least ensures one has the appropriate tools!

Return of the killer croissants!

2009-07-19T18:34:00.002+10:00

Time passes, time passes -- it's been nearly a year since the last croissant experiment, and the humans made a much improved effort with proper bread flour to hold the butter in, and a cold day to help roll out smoothly. New and seasoned toureurs managed square corners and nicely twirled triangles; increased sobriety meant that there were no vegemite and nutella combinations to distinguish between as rivers of butter flowed out of the oven.

Voilà:

Mammary vegan revisionism

2009-07-14T19:45:00.008+10:00

As he prepares to return to hexagonal climes, the human has been getting all wistful about the many fine friends and kitchens he's leaving behind and has been feeling the urge to revisit past accidental triumphs. Small blessings, I suppose -- he may still read books about molecular gastronomy on the loo while nobody's looking, but at last count still had two hands and ten digits.

He always insists on changing something, however, and this time contrived to do it by inviting two of the loveliest vegan acquaintances for a pie based not on beef and guinness but on mushrooms and home-brewed stout.

Some things remain the same, however, as the basic form of the dish:

Puffs into this:

Broader and not quite as pointy as the original, perhaps, but there's always room to jazz things up a bit:

I, on the other hand, would rather pick on creatures my own size -- which the human has been telling anyone who will listen cost him precisely $1.55, patiently measured out by a patient market trader far too young to be viewing the finished product.

As the hound has become accustomed to hearing before being given his pellets to disdain, bon appetit!

I'm not Saussure about that

2009-07-07T16:07:00.002+10:00

(with apologies to one of the more hilariously grumpy members of the medical fraternity!)

Strange but true

2009-07-06T00:09:00.004+10:00

Proof that there's sometimes more to friendship than chasing each other around the garden -- that's if the photo can be believed!

Culinary rifts in the space-time continuum

2009-06-24T12:52:00.007+10:00

The human had been muttering for some time about something called a kitchen clickalong, which I'd been praying would be something reasonably innocuous, like snapping one's fingers in time to the exhaust fan while watching the toast burn. No such luck I'm afraid -- it turns out to be something resembling a parody of/improvement on obnoxious real-time TV recipe shows, with the added interest of being able to receive instructions and ask questions in real time via a blog.

Never one to make life simple when it could be complicated, the human wanted to follow a clickalong based rather a long way away, giving the options of making provençal fish stew for breakfast, or missing the point entirely by following live instructions after the event. Then struck an even better idea: take the list of ingredients distributed beforehand, harass the patient staff of the local pescatory emporium for a sea bass equivalent, and assemble them by elimination to produce something resembling dinner.

Voilà: Not identical to the official version but not too far off it; and we've ended up with a ponus potful of seafood stock fur future projects. So there. The sauce didn't emulsify as well as it could have, but was great fun pounding it!

On somewhat inconvenient aesthetic developments relating to well-intentioned implement substitution

2009-06-22T10:52:00.003+10:00

This is not the first time that the jiggler siphon has been mentioned in these chronicles, nor in all likelihood will it be the last. However I must report that the human seems to be both pleased and slightly vexed with his latest escapade, resulting from an attempt to transfer nutrient-rich yeast sediment from a patent glass fermentation vessel onto a garden bed that continues to produce both fruiting and tuberous solanaceae well out of season.
Despite its alleged status as a supercooled liquid, glass is generally known to be brittle. What is less well-known is that over-enthusiastic siphon-priming can cause an almost perfectly circular section of fermentation vessel to detach itself, resulting in somewhat faster than planned egress of said intended fertiliser.
Aside from the obvious application of such an unintended carburation port (obvious, that is, to a being larger than either myself or the human), can anybody suggest either a new use or a means of returning this vessel to its zymurgic destiny?

Dogfatherly advice

2009-06-21T23:52:00.002+10:00

As you get older, Steve, it's always best to remember where you came from. Hopefully the following will help.

Try JibJab Sendables® eCards today!

Futurist Cooking Lives!

2009-06-19T12:55:00.001+10:00

Who's hungry now?

Arr!

2009-06-15T12:19:00.001+10:00

Primus inter pares

2009-06-03T13:48:00.004+10:00

I'm not sure about the appellation "First Dog," but I'm glad to see the ranks of well-behaved junior hounds swelling by the day! Do you approve, Pudding? Speaking of which, I really must remind the human to get on with the job of handling Steve's correspondence with the White House...

Leporello goes mobile, or seduction on a budget

2009-05-20T00:21:00.001+10:00

A house for a hound!

2009-05-19T22:35:00.003+10:00

With thanks to the crew from Steve's World, and to the many openings afforded by the back shed!

Quote of the week

2009-05-19T16:19:00.004+10:00

From a usually reliable source:

Can anyone recommend a game cookbook that doesn't make me feel like a class traitor for reading it?

It's best to consider things from every angle

2009-05-11T13:51:00.003+10:00

...not to mention share the love.

And now for something fully sick...

2009-05-05T23:13:00.003+10:00

First the human decided to become a dogfather, now everyone's doing it! There's a fluffy-tailed cat watching me from half way up the stairs as I type, and next thing I know another favourite human is talking of rescuing the following:
Sausage hound, 9 months old, black gloss with front flame job and white highlights, long wheelbase, lowered. Stock exhaust system with oscillating rear spoiler. Custom-made ramp recommended to protect rear end on large bumps. Will run on paprika blend but answers to Pudding.No promises, mind you!

Ineluctable progress in the domain of procrastinatory baguette making

2009-04-29T01:52:00.003+10:00

I have no idea why the human wanted to make muffin-shaped rolls either.

L'aubergine espagnole

2009-04-28T20:07:00.005+10:00

pour vous rassurer que Hugo sait toujours faire des mauvais jeux de mots dans plus qu'une seule langue...

Greenwash

2009-04-22T11:55:00.003+10:00

Time was when Nero fiddled while Rome burned -- a pursuit whose merits can be debated, perhaps, but rendered obsolete (in urban areas at least) by the advent of modern firefighting.
We do self-destruction differently here on the driest continent on earth. If you're going to go in for Oxbridge pastiches then you might as well do it properly -- no point watering the grass unless it's already raining!

Barking inspectors

2009-04-16T19:43:00.003+10:00

Move over Charlie Chaplin, it's the hounds' turn:

Railing against incompetence

2009-04-14T13:44:00.006+10:00

It must be tough being a transport planner in the service of the rum corps -- not only do they have some of the silliest liquor licensing laws in the country, but coming up with imaginative new cock-ups day after day must be a real challenge.

Witness the latest plan -- a metro line designed to solve the city's problems by taking people from one point already well serviced by public transport to another, the latter of which has the distinction of having nowhere to put or send the expected influx of passengers once arrived.

But wait, there's more -- we now learn that doing so would require already existing trains to terminate at the old country platforms, then get out of the way before the next ones come in, a feat that even the eternal optimists acknowledge to be impossible.

The French also seem to have encountered this problem. Witness what happened in 1895, five years before their own metro system finally opened, when a steam train slightly overshot the conventional stopping point at the Gare Montparnasse:
On this basis, I fell confident in declaring that public transport in Sydney is precisely 115 years begind its equivalent in Paris, although more precise estimates will depend on budgetary projections for the Broken Hill hydroelectric scheme...

Nuclear disarmament, or how I learned to stop worrying and love the eggplant

2009-04-07T13:45:00.007+10:00

"Perhaps not in my lifetime," says the master of sartorial understatement, but it's comforting to think that this time the guy in charge might actually want there to be less nuclear weapons floating around the place. Nearly as comforting, in fact, as seeing eggplants start to ripen even past the date where it gets dark far, far too early in the afternoon.

The following exhibits support this hypothesis:

(a) with apologies to the person, place or thing it was ripped off:(b) with apologies for the amateur camerawork:

Q. E. D.

Can vacuity be prosecuted as a war crime?

2009-04-01T18:10:00.007+11:00

or someone please, please tell me this is an April Fool's joke!

I'm not sure what I was thinking, clicking during an unusually protracted bout of procrastination on this article about somebody called Miss Universe visiting Guantánamo Bay. A well-meaning protest attempt, perhaps, like the people they get to do anti-fur demonstrations at fashion shows, or former heart-throbs willing to place the rights of cute animals several pegs above those of immigrants?

It would appear not.

"We also met the military dogs, and they did a very nice demonstration of their skills. All the guys from the army were amazing with us."

Waterboarding is the hip new way to lose weight. You read it here first.

Bossnapping!

2009-04-01T17:15:00.002+11:00

As a member of Africa's most dangerous mammal species, and one of the most aggressive creatures in the world, I can only applaud these latest efforts at bringing the law of the jungle to the workplace.

It goes to show how industrial action can be improved with just a little imagination -- and really, holding bosses against their will really just seems a good way of evening the usual state of affairs.

Any thoughts on whether it was justified to bring them croissants for breakfast?

O tempura! O mores!

2009-03-26T22:48:00.003+11:00

Not battered Japanese, sadly, but almost as fluffy.

It wasn't the first time I'd passed by the monstrosity above, though it had been quite a while, and it was perhaps the fact that I was returning from a successful mission to retrieve quite a nice art-deco sideboard from a rather tacky exectutive housing estate that made the stuck-on columns stick out all the more.

That and the fact that the polystyrene core is showing through the imitation danstone effect veneer in places, lending the joint an air of rather more genteel decay than it deserves. I doubt he was thinking of small-time gambling dens in suburban Sydney, but I suspect this isn't what Albert Speer meant by his theory of ruin value.

Reports, demise, exaggeration...

2009-03-26T13:22:00.002+11:00

That's right.

62 little coloured blocks for every person on the planet.

Don't underestimate lego, folks!

Not dead -- assisting the human with culinary and other enquiries

2009-03-12T20:27:00.003+11:00

It's been a quietish summer on this front. Bar December's outbreak of fluvially-challenged equine spam (is this a particularly gelatinous form of foot and mouth disease?) and the human hogging the computer to wrestle with the problem of jokes that are no longer funny once you try to explain them, I've been doing not much other than observe the decline and fall of the cherry tomato empire, soon to be supplanted by the upstart snake beans.

I ventured into the kitchen this evening to find the human engaged in trying to fit the remains of a packed of pasta into a jar that had held what is euphemistically named "Cranberry drink," and couldn't help climbing up to investigate.

The human, meanwhile, wouldn't stop muttering that his experiment had finally proved wrong the angry socialist flatmate from a half-remembered John Birmingham novel, who claimed that the manufacture of pasta to be two centimetres too long to store in an empty juice jar went to show the lengths capitalism will go to to conspire against universal happiness. He may have been right about capitalism, it seems, but I can't find the reference -- googling "felafel socialist empty juice pasta jar" produces some strange results!

A Hippo's Château is his, well, Château

2008-12-26T17:56:00.001+11:00

DON'T MESS WITH HORACE!

Modern Times, Religion and Parking Fines

2008-12-22T13:20:00.004+11:00

Reserved for Bowler Hats and Walking Sticks

I've been resting

2008-12-02T23:54:00.003+11:00

in the handkerchief pocket of the cream, the white, the off-white, the ivory or the beige, no less.

I faithfully promise that this is the closest this blog will ever come to talking about cricket.

Ancient Inventions and their Modern Applications, Part I: The Siphon

2008-11-18T00:39:00.008+11:00

The siphon is a most wondrous device.The principle is simple: take a length of hose, stick one end in a full container, the other end in an empty container below it, prime thine hose, and thine liquid moves from one container to another as if by magic. It has helped me move home-brewed beer from a large glass container into suitably-sized bottles on several occasions in diverse corners of the world, and I shall toast the wise and creative Egyptians that invented it as soon as the next batch is ready to drink.

The bath is an equally wondrous device, and the ancients are also to be praised for inventing ablutions, part and parcel of last week's otherwise diligent trip to the country, by means of train, train, bus, and the most welcome and generous many-wheeled articulated conveyance of Monsieur Paul, Bathurst-based Monty Python fan and occasional transporter of hydrated lime.

Siphons come in many shapes and sizes: one excting encounter during the week was with the jiggler siphon, a commodious means for transferring fuel from jerrican to motor quadricycle with a minimum of said carburant transferred to soon-to-be-pastry-making hands. And for draining the soon-to-be-revealed-as diesel fuel from motor quadricycle back into jerrican, and ultimately for effecting final transfer of previously-revealed-to-be petrol (unleaded; 91 octane) into said eventually-to-be-restarted motor quadricycle. But I digress. The ancients, to my knowledge, preferred to place chariot wheels side-by-side rather than in tandem, and in lieu of the laborious and recreative functions of the modern motor quadricycle mainly employed slaves.

The combination of siphon and bathtub, on the other hand, is a great advancement for relaxing outdoor ablutions, obviating the need to carry water in buckets from the nearest convenient hot-water tap, cunningly designed not to take the thread of standard outdoor hose fittings. Procedure is as follows, assuming water tanks of sufficient repleteness and an audience composed solely of placid bovines and close friends:

1. Fit plug in laundry sink; fill sink to a suitable level at a temperature calculated to account for further heat losses in transmission.

2. Ensuring the level of the bath is below that of the sink, insert one end of any convenient hosepipe in each, while leaving the tap running. Any rise and fall between the two ends of the hose will be self-cancelling.

3. Prime hose, either by manual application of upper end of hose to tap outlet until suction begins in earnest, or by suction on lower end. Ensure upper end of hose is well submerged in sink.

4. Allow final water level in bath to be determined by Archimedes' principle, and enjoy requisite ablutions.

Zucchini flowers in west-nor'-west Redfern, la suite

2008-11-09T21:47:00.005+11:00

Cucumber vines are being oppressed as I type, but will learn to strive valiantly upwards on the stakes I must get around to putting in!

For those who thought acceptance speeches were all style and no substance

2008-11-06T21:14:00.005+11:00

meet Steve Obama Fletcher, newly arrived in the F-H household.
answers to Hussy!

Identity fraud strikes! Hugo the Hippo has a 1970s Hungarian doppelgänger!

2008-10-30T17:47:00.005+11:00

I'm not sure what to make of the discovery that there's another Hugo the Hippo out there -- quite how he managed to assume my identity a decade before I came into existence I'll never know, but he seems harmless enough. The plot, as far as I can work out, gets resolved by the Sultan of Zanzibar ordering that Hugo be looked after for the rest of his days; I'm taking this as before-the-event social realist codespeak for my brilliant idea about finding a châtelaine to keep me!

The only sensible explanation I can find is offered by one of the more enlightened Encyclopaedists, wondering whether his best novel was really

copied from the life of Tristram Shandy, unless the dealings of Jacques the Fatalist and his master happened to precede this work, and that Parson Sterne is the plagiarist, which I don’t really believe as I have a particular esteem for Monsieur Sterne who I distinguish from most of the writers of his nation, who make a habit of stealing from and insulting us.

Producers of Hungarian anime, on the other hand, should perhaps best stick to voodoo dolls!

Does deer cause depression?

2008-10-29T16:38:00.004+11:00

or is preparation by cookery the basis of English humour?

All venison is melancholy, and begets bad blood; a pleasant meat: in great esteem with us (for we have more parks in England than in all Europe besides) in our solemn feasts. 'Tis somewhat better hunted than otherwise, and well prepared by cookery, and yet all will not serve.

Robert Burton, The Anatomy of Melancholy

Zucchini flowers in West-Nor'-West Redfern!

2008-10-28T09:35:00.002+11:00

We're moving up in the world, we are!

Any recipe suggestions?

The uses of public transport

2008-10-21T23:00:00.002+11:00

Shamelessly ripped off another blog -- which includes links for donations!

It's hard to be loved by idiots

2008-10-18T22:41:00.003+11:00

or
Don't hold your breath for the 2009 Sydney French Film Festival!

This is an ex-Parrot...

2008-10-15T13:07:00.001+11:00

Shades of Steinbeck

2008-09-28T20:07:00.003+10:00

If anyone's asking, I'm happy to be played by Henry Fonda

Riding a dinosaur

2008-09-27T20:22:00.001+10:00

Take that, Darwin!

Fidel in historic visit to America!

2008-09-23T15:59:00.003+10:00

Reports of his demise seem to have been greatly exaggerated...

Moment of politico-culinary outrage

2008-09-10T13:20:00.003+10:00

Why oh why in Thailand of all places, home to exquisite food and appalling restaurant puns, does a Prime Minister get sacked for hosting a cooking show? Never mind the corruption scandals, the man's an example to us all -- I can think of nothing more democratic than parliamentary debates hosted by the likes of Chairman Kaga!

The Rake's Progress, or Rosemary is for Remembrance

2008-08-27T09:15:00.001+10:00

That's my entree, and I'm sticking to it!

2008-08-19T00:33:00.001+10:00

To err is human: Panoramic facial hair

2008-08-19T00:24:00.002+10:00

I believe it was Mahatma Gandhi who suggested that Western civilisation would be a very good idea.

In vino veritas, or GCG

2008-08-10T22:53:00.004+10:00

16.2% alc/vol
9.6 standard drinks
Preservative 220 added
Backstory:

Stuffed chicken makeover

2008-08-10T22:47:00.002+10:00

Rodney before:Rodney after:
Q.E.D.

Arte in cucina, or move over Wallace Stevens

2008-08-10T22:38:00.003+10:00

Sunday morning by Claire.

Me and my tarts

2008-08-09T00:51:00.006+10:00

(my tarts and I?)
Shortcrust pastry:
One part butter, two parts flour, a dash of water.
Roll and cut out bases with a schooner glass, press into the bottom of a muffin tin, bake blind for ten minutes before adding filling.
Fillings:
Spanish onion and artichoke hearts: chop and soften in frying pan.
Beetroot and kumera: slice finely and microwave for five minutes.
Top base with filling, then a teaspoon of beaten egg.
Bake c.10 minutes at 180C, or until nicely browned.
Consume while looking wistfully into the bottom of a plastic champagne glass, and if the beetroot gets messy call a laundress.

Just resting

2008-07-16T13:53:00.008+10:00

Roast meat should always be allowed to rest before consumption. Humans, on the other hand, need to learn to be patient!

Eppur si muove - carn the lions!

2008-07-14T15:13:00.008+10:00

or 500 000 selon les organisateurs, 20 selon la police

I've been doing my best to avoid the Ratzinger-Jugend, but the dark forces of bureaucracy are being as unhelpful as ever. Today's missive from the university administration, which usually delights in taking three weeks to open an envelope:

We have today been advised that the NSW Police felt it was too dangerous for a large number of pilgrims to travel from Victoria Park to St John’s along Parramatta Road or City Road. We are, therefore, allowing this event to cross through the University.
We are very sorry for the necessarily short notice but we anticipate that all disruption to normal movement across Campus will over by 5.00pm today and appreciate your patience and co-operation during this time.

Universities, in the opinion of this humble hippopotamus, should be places for learning and the development of critical thought - and questions of free expression aside, not for imposing fines for stating that the Earth is round or handing out contraceptives to randy young acolytes. Back in January, protests by staff and students at La Sapienza in Rome led the man who thought Galileo's treatment was "fair and just" to abandon his attempt to spread the Word to the Science faculty.

We must do things differently at the cloaca orbis terrarum, or perhaps the "necessarily short notice" had something to do with it.

Things humans do on the driest continent on Earth while pretending to write a thesis (I)

2008-07-10T13:32:00.004+10:00

In support of the foregoing, or tautologous list of the indexed

2008-07-08T01:29:00.006+10:00

Some notable writers with works on the Index Librorum Prohibitorum (from the usual authoritative source, though the human claims they've simply ripped off his bibliography):
Joseph Addison
Dante Alighieri
Francis Bacon
Honoré de Balzac
Simone de Beauvoir
Cesare Beccaria
Jeremy Bentham
Henri Bergson
George Berkeley
Thomas Browne
Giordano Bruno
John Calvin
Giacomo Casanova
Auguste Comte
Nicolaus Copernicus
Jean le Rond d'Alembert
Erasmus Darwin
Daniel Defoe
René Descartes
Denis Diderot
Alexandre Dumas, père
Alexandre Dumas, fils
Desiderius Erasmus
Johannes Scotus Eriugena
Gustave Flaubert
Anatole France
Frederick II of Prussia
Galileo Galilei (Eppur si muove!)
Edward Gibbon
André Gide
Vincenzo Gioberti
Graham Greene
Heinrich Heine
Thomas Hobbes
Victor Hugo
David Hume
Cornelius Jansen
Immanuel Kant
Adam F. Kollár
Saint Mary Faustina Kowalska
Nikos Kazantzakis
Johannes Kepler
Hughes Felicité Robert de Lamennais
Pierre Larousse
Gregorio Leti
John Locke
Martin Luther
Niccolò Machiavelli
Maurice Maeterlinck
Maimonides
Nicolas Malebranche
Jules Michelet
John Stuart Mill
John Milton
Charles de Secondat, baron de Montesquieu
Blaise Pascal
François Rabelais
Ernest Renan
Samuel Richardson
Jean-Jacques Rousseau
George Sand
Jean-Paul Sartre
Baruch de Spinoza
Laurence Sterne
Emanuel Swedenborg
Jonathan Swift
Miguel de Unamuno
Maria Valtorta
Theodoor Hendrik van de Velde
Voltaire
Gerard Walschap
Émile Zola
Huldrych Zwingli

Protests so far not outlawed by the NSW government

2008-07-08T01:11:00.005+10:00

or at very least reputed to have embarrassed the editors of the Vatican's index librorum prohibitorum [latina]

If there's still hope for Ingrid Betancourt...

2008-07-04T12:06:00.003+10:00

VIVA FIDEL!

Nihil sub sole novum

2008-07-03T21:10:00.001+10:00

Insert Cliché Bingo

2008-07-03T20:44:00.004+10:00

Shamelessly ripped off another blog, which offers the wise words that "getting vox-popped is the foodie equivalent of getting happy slapped."
Who's for other forms of bingo? Corporate? Working families? Or should I stick to recommending websites of great public utlity for the Pulitzer prize for fiction?

Flora and Fauna

2008-07-03T10:48:00.009+10:00

Things are settling down in the new château, hurrah! The location is convenient, the bedroom has a bookcase, the kitchen is positively luxurious and the bathroom is nearly fixed. The other occupants are emimently friendly -- warm and cuddly for the most part, and even the owl is a softie once you get to know her. There's even quite a decent garden, and I seem to have the treehouse all to myself for the time being.
Watch this space for political developments. I'll have this microstate on the road in no time now I have an address: proposals for diplomatic relations, joint declarations of war, suitable châtelaines for the human and further cooking experiments to be directed here.

Fanfare Piston Circus

2008-06-27T17:47:00.006+10:00

Fanfare (n):

('fænfэə(r), fæn'fэə(r)) [Fr. fanfare perhaps an echoic word.]
a. A flourish, call, or short tune, sounded by trumpets, bugles, or hunting-horns.
b. transf. and fig.
c. A style of bookbinding decoration developed in Paris in the 16th century in which a continuous interlaced ribbon, bounded by a double line on one side and a single on the other, divides the whole surface on both covers into symmetrical compartments of varying shapes and sizes.
Hence fanfare v. intr., to sound a fanfare.

(The Oxford English Dictionary)

Activities planned for the one-night interval between one lot of marking and another

2008-06-18T19:21:00.001+10:00