Monthly Archives: March 2013

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Volesoft interviews Jeremy Paxman’s dog. Come on, come on!

A Loidensian, it transpiresNewsnight celebrity Jeremy Paxman is a national celebrity. An English national celebrity, of course – he has written a number of books celebrating England. He was born in Leeds in 1950. I was born in Aberdeen in 1949 but spent my time between 1961 and 1973 in Leeds, going to possibly the worst Jesuit school in the known universe, the now demolished St Michael’s College. Paxman’s Wackypedia entry doesn’t say which school he attended.

Nor does it say whether Paxman has a dog.

We mention the dog because we watch Paxman interrogate students on University Challenge. Sometimes, we watch him interrogating politicians on Newsnight, too.

If he has a dog, and he has had a bad day at the orifice, we imagine this conversation when he gets home.

Paxman to dog: “Stop barking at me, Fudo, you remind me of myself.”

Fudo (in high voice): “Have you had a good day, master?”

Paxman (in mock surprise): “You are a talking dog! So I have some questions to ask you Fudo, Wien College Austria and for you Fido Doggywoggy College Braemar!

“It is your starter for 10. What is the Bessemer Process?”

[Fudo, Wien, buzzes]
”It is to do with steel.”

[Paxman looks smug because he has the answers on a card. He slaps one down, with a contemptuous look at the poor stude.]

Paxman: “This is the music round.” [Paxman looks triumphant]

[Wien College Austria, Shoshtakovich] “Bach.”

Paxman: “Well done!” [patronisingly]

[Paxman’s Dog] “Come on, come on. Feed me, now! [barks loudly]

[NUJ representative enters stage left, says there’s a strike on and perhaps Jeremy might, with his reputed million quid a year salary, buy his dogs the equivalent of cats’ Dreamies]

The Rubaiyat of Omar Fitzgerald

Shani, Saturn, son of the sun, SaturdayDeep, deep, deep down, under the throne
Of Omar Khayyam, an Ishmaeili lived.
Despite the promises of bread and wine,
Despite the allure of Rumi, top man,

Fitzgerald lived.

Dear son of the Romans and the Normans,
The Ishmaeli cursed the Wahabi tendency

To frack, frack, and frack again – to transform
The Norman beauty into the Roman thing.
Dear Omar  Fitzgerald said that up from the gate,
On the throne of Saturn sate, a neoplatonist

Called Plotinus, a man more familiar with a gate than agate.
Dear Lapis Lazuli, a gem accustomed to an Arabian twist,
Struck a deal with death, in a kind of a Patagonian tryst.

Gerald the bastard, in a kind of Ulster way,
Said let us tilt the lances in a Khayyam lay.
Ishmail said: “Let us  not squabble in a Wahabi way.
FitzGerald will be the precursor of a Norman day.”
And so, in Syracuse, most things did came to pass.
And Rufus and the Normans just,
Well, took it up the ass!

The blossom and the ziggurat collide

OUT HERE, in the wild wastes of Oxford, you see many a sight. So here is a blossoming tree with snow, and behind it the great ziggurat called the Said Business School. The wasteland beyond the fence is scheduled for development and the birds and the bees are feeling a bit parky. Also, Facebook is crap when you want to put up pictures, so I am doing it this way. Long live WordPress! ♦

bloss

The ballad of Roger Dudman Way

Where there’s a will, there is a lay.
So starts this wee tale of Roger Dudman Way.

Mick's Cafe, the Botley Road
Head west from Domino’s, through the tunnel of love,
Be shaken, if not stirred by rattling freight trains above,
And, flanked by Mick’s Café and the YHA
See the new glory that’s called the Roger Dudman’s Way.
Mick’s Café has shut, I am sorry to say.
‘Twas the jewel in the crown of Roger Dudman’s Way.

As you beat your way towards pastures new,
You’ll see Oxford Station and, this is certainly true,
You’ll see five storeys hove into view.

This is the Great Wall of Roger Dudman’s Way,
Blocking Port Meadow, or that is what they say.
The structure’s for students, and not really for geese;
They will have to soar high to stay in one piece.

Roger Dudman, the man who inspired the route
Was Lord Mayor of Oxford, and a leftie, to boot.
Of Dudman’s life we know little, it’s true,
But he held a grand post so was one of the few
To wear the great chain, and preceded by mace
Trouped through the town with consummate grace.

The latest Lord Mayor fell flat on his face,
For saying the word “sexy” that’s quite a disgrace.

And so we conclude this Dudman paeon,
To celebrate the daze of the Dudman aeon,
With hymns and raptures day by every day
To celebrate Mr Dudman  and his now famous Way!

This is part of my little home

DESPITE THE STATED fact that Facebook said photographs are now “easier to load” to the multinational, I have noticed they are much harder and it is much easier to upload them to Volesoft.com, and then refer them to Defacebook. Here’s a fragment of my little hom in Oxford. Why Facebook has made it so, I haven’t a clue, nor an earthly, but it is true, and has been for over a week. Facebook deserves to go bust…

Home home

Oxford. What is it like?

IT IS CERTAINLY different here, that much is not in doubt.  It is a great shame that Mick’s Caff  à disapparu, as predicted. My daffodils are giving it a go of it but after the developers got into gear, I will be interested to see how many insects, birds and others are in operation as spring gets its little act together.

The Ashmolean