Sunday, July 27, 2014

Is this the Faith you're ready to die for?

New theme.

People are dying for the Faith, dying for Christ, right now.

Is this that Faith? Would you give your life for this?


Been in Malta for most of the week, and attended 3 Masses in Maltese. All greyheads, all receiving Communion standing, and on the hand... a general atmosphere of gloom pervading... very, very depressing.

More later.


Friday, July 18, 2014

You can't kill people to solve your problems... or theirs

The peculiar British, utilitarianism-derived terror of "being a burden" is being exploited by the Death-peddlers.

As someone who was recently "a burden" on my loved ones, I can affirm that it made me a better person, more able to love and accept love from others, less interested in maintaining my white-knuckle grip on my own way in life.

The Brits are suffering from 200 years of philosophical and moral corruption that was visited on their culture by the secularist instinct that grew up like a cancer in the 18th century after the compromises and logical contradictions of the English Reformation failed to hold.


Thursday, July 17, 2014

A Victim of my own success...

Here's the problem with being a good cook. You look in the fridge and freezer, and discover you've got got zucchini, asparagus, little whole mushrooms, red onion, shrimps, cream and curry paste. You think, "Hmm... I'll just put those together and make an experiment. It probably won't work very well, but at least I'll be able to have a little bit of something before gym-time."

Putting them together to make a curry turns out to work magnificently, but then you think, curry's no fun without rice, so you make a bunch of tasty vietnamese rice noodles to go with it. In the end, you've made something you really want to eat.

Unfortunately you want to eat it so much that you pretty much eat all of it in one go, thus making futile your plans to go to the gym after a "light" lunch, because now all you want to do is have a little lie down.


Wednesday, July 16, 2014

When people have worked together a long, long time...

Editor: Oh come on, this is fun!

Hilary: Sure, kinda like riding a 50 year-old roller coaster in an ex-Soviet satellite state. It's fun right up to the moment it decapitates you.


Tuesday, July 15, 2014

Possibly the weirdest Beatles cover I've ever seen

in a lifetime of Beatles covers.

Monday, July 14, 2014

Bustin' a White n' Nerdy move.

This was 2007, and the guy was already in his fifties.

In. his. fifties!


Crushed on Donny Osmond

I have a crush on Donny Osmond, and I don’t care who knows it
After years of being THE teen boy-king, with the millions of screaming teenage girl fans around the world, he was suddenly a joke. Indeed, I remember the girls in school mocking him (which was a pretty unattractive thing for them to do, come to think of it). He wasn’t just forgotten, as the video says, but hated. And I think it has taken me until now to understand, to see why that particular brand of sneering hatred seems so familiar.

I listened to this documentary this weekend while puttering about my flat, and it struck me that neither Piers nor Donny himself had completely understood why the public had rejected him so powerfully.


Donny Osmond, with his whole family, represented something more than just silly teeny-bopper pop songs. They were sold as the “clean” pop act of their time, happy, innocent and cheerful. They made their name not only as a talented family act, but as one dedicated to the old fashioned religious-based virtues that had been hugely popular since the end of World War II. They were, in fact, the living embodiment of an innocent enjoyment of youth and, yes, I’ll say it, romantic love, that itself turned to “industry poison” at exactly that historical moment.

All growed up.


OK, I admit it

I've started using Twitter.


Of herbs and stewed fenek

I am proud to announce that I have tripled my Maltese vocabulary. I now know three words of Malti: "Kappillan," "Bonju," and "fenek". Which, really, is pretty much all a good Catholic needs. Maybe I should learn to say, "What time are confessions at this parish?"

Fenek is the Maltese national dish.


1/2 fenek, cut up into pieces
3 bay leaves,
handful of chopped sage
1/2 a lemon
3 cloves garlic, peeled and chopped
4 carrots, peeled and chopped
2 sticks celery chopped
2-3 cups white wine
tablespoon or so of honey
dash of Lea n' Perrin's
little whole mushrooms
olive oil

Peel, chop and place in the bottom of your cast iron-enamel Dutch oven all the veg, including the garlic. On top, place the pieces of fenek. Drizzle with olive oil and then sprinkle the sage over top, with a dash of salt n' pep. In a coffee cup, mix the white wine, lea-Perrins, juice of half the lemon and the honey. Mix vigorously, then pour over the fenek.

Pop the lid on and put in a medium oven for a long time. An hour at least.


So good! So so soooo good!


Good and bad Fantasy

Dallas Road Beach, Victoria, BC

So, a few days ago, I was having a discussion about what constitutes "cute". My friend and I agreed that miniature versions of things are nearly always cute. (This might be part of the appeal of Malta...)

It reminds me of my childhood attraction to tree and beach driftwood forts which I built nearly constantly from age six to twelve: a smaller and more contained and sort of fantasy version of the humdrum home I was used to.

Forts could become anything. Very often my tree fort was a pirate ship, but it doubled as the Tardis, the Enterprise and as an unspecified castle in Narnia under seige by Orcs, Morlocks and Calormenes. A whole world that was contained in my brain.

It's funny what your brain tells you. Most of my life, beaches looked like this:

And a beach without driftwood all over it was simply dull. What are you going to lean on when you're reading your book? How are you to build a fort if there's nothing but sand? What are you going to climb around on if there's no rocks? What's the point of a beach that's covered in sand where all you can do is just lie there? How boring is that?

It still throws me off and I'm afraid I look at Santa Marinella's beach culture as dumb, dull and pointless. Beaches are for climbing around on the rocks, gazing deep into tide pools and building forts. Period.