MeMe Too

According to Lane, this meme is meant to depict the fourth photograph from my fourth folder. (What is it a meme? Is it pronounced as the French for the same, i.e. même; or is it me-me as in who wants another drink?)

I am completely stumped by this meme. What sort of tidy-minded, anally-fixated individual imagines that the rest of humanity neatly stores their lives in alphabetical order, cross-referenced chronologically, in a filing cabinet? (If you are that tidy-minded, anally-fixated individual I, of course, do not employ these terms in any manner that may be interpreted pejoratively.)

That said, here is a photograph carefully selected at random.


I love this photograph of lil'ol moi. It was taken when my family were either in Egypt or Libya circa 1948/9. I believe I am wearing a cardie styled by an embryonic Vivian Westwood and knitted by my mother during one of the frequent blackouts we experienced. I particularly admire the fact that for such a young, pre-pubescent child I already need a cup-D bra. Even more admirable for the fact that I was and, indeed, still am a male.

Most of all I love that innocent, wide-eyed, ever hopeful smile.

Compare it to this photograph of Rebecca (ever so slightly faded - it being an R-type print for those who know about film) taken when she was at the same age when we were on holiday in Sri Lanka.


Who's Daddy's darling then? (Yes, yes, Emily - YOU are - but you weren't born then.) What I mean is, don't you think Rebecca and I look very similar? (Poor girl.)

I keep my portrait near my desk to inspire me to keep my promises to myself. Can you imagine how heart-breaking it would be if I let him down and he suddenly burst into tears. (It would also be very spooky. Picture the queues of venerable old dears dressed in black, who would soon assemble outside my front door, with lighted candles, singing hymns and holding written petitions for the Baby David to cure their arthritis.)

Yak! Yak! Yak!

I haven't talked about the progress of the book recently.

I haven't talked about the no smoking campaign recently.

I haven't talked about the drinking ban recently.

So much to talk about.

A Winter's Tale

Life has been full of incidents since I last blogged. There was:

The Incident of the Cussed Computer and Recalcitrant Router

The Incident of the Railway Ticket, Backpack and Train Journey to Deepest, Darkest Bethnal Green.

The Incident of the Delicious Roast Duck followed by the Incident of the Delectable Rack of Lamb

The Incident of the Excellent Bottle of Wine followed by the Incident of Another Excellent Bottle of Wine

The Incident of Mary Poppins and the Sofa.

The Incident of the Expedition in Arctic Conditions to the City Farm for the Pony Ride.


The Incident of Amy's Infamous Insult Aided and Abetted by Her Wicked Aunt Rebecca.

The Incident of the Return to Brighton and the Weeping and Gnashing of Teeth at the Thought of Work.

The Incident of the Reconstituted Computer and Resurrected Router after Days of Oaths and Fist-Shaking

(Apropos Amy's Insult: Having delivered it, she rushed upstairs crying gleefully to her mother, "Mummy, Mummy I just called your father a poohead". Your father, note, not my granddad.)

Ho! Ho! Hic!

I have been incommunicado of recent courtesy of an uncommunicative computer. The damn thing decided it was 1892 or some such year, so got its knickers in a twist when it tried to open my start-up programmes that took strong exception to being told they were all over a century old.


I am not sure I have totally resolved the issue; but while it is functioning I will take the opportunity to wish you all a Very Happy Christmas and Prosperous New Year. (I don't know what Father Christmas is whispering in my ear: it is obviously not funny.)

Happy Birthday Emily

It is my baby's birthday today. Emily is twenty-nine years old. Twenty-nine years old! What happened? Happy Birthday Emily and go to your room immediately or no presents for you. xxx

Meshugeners and Goys Need Not Apply

Are you a young, single, female and a Jew? Are you sick to death already of your mother constantly asking when you are going to find a nice Jewish boy? JDate.co.uk could be your salvation - zol zayn mit mazel!

A friend of Rebecca made this promotional film for a Jewish online dating site. Fun lyrics.

Out of the Mouths of Babes

It was my birthday yesterday and I had surprisingly lovely day.

Sue and myself were invited to lunch by a mutual friend, Sue's ex-access lecturer who helped her secure her place at Sussex Uni, a man of exceptionally dry wit and an expert on strange movies by the name of Richard. So we had a very funny afternoon - mostly at Sue's expense but she took it in good spirit, (more accurately, in good Pinot Grigio and Sauvignon Blanc).

I returned home to two calls from people I haven't heard from for ages. The first was from an old friend. Toby, whom I am very fond of, and who I last saw when he flew me out to Beijing six years ago to introduce me to an advertising agency he had invested in; he wanted me to write their international brochure, so it proved a well-paid freebie, (which sounds an oxymoron).

The second call was from my younger brother, Simon. (Coincidentally, Sue had earlier being upbraiding me for my lack of contact with my brothers and I had been defending myself by trying to explain our upbringing which, by today's standards, may be regarded as strange but at the time were not unusual; i.e. the fact my elder brother, Christopher, was flown half way around the world to attend school when I was four and I didn't see him again for the next three years; the fact I was sent off to boarding school at the age of seven and so only saw my younger brother during the school holidays for the next five years; the fact that, when we were finally all at the same college, we were only permitted to see each for a couple of hours at the weekend for the rest of our school careers. Small wonder we are strangers to each other.)

So Simon and I caught up on each others news; I learned of all the scrapes my nephews have been involved in and he learned he is a great-uncle for the second time. We are, indeed, strangers to each other but it was wonderful to hear from him again and I resolve to keep in touch.

Finally, Amy starred in her first Nativity Play yesterday morning. Her solo part came at the end, when, as her mum reports, she had to stand up in front of everyone and thank them for coming - from such small parts did Keira Knightley begin. Her mum reports having a tear in her eye.

However, what particularly surprised mum was to learn that Jesus was a beautiful baby who was born in a bar - the refrain to one of the more popular songs sung by the children.