I had that Mapmaking Itch, but, cursed by bike-shedding paralysis about the alternate history map idea i hadÎą, i decided to do a little doodle in the back of my journal insteadâŚ
Donât mind the chicken scratch. I would have done some nice coloured shading, but i couldnât be bothered to go downstairs to fetch the coloured pencils.
Absolutely gutted for Bukayo Saka right now. Poor ladâŚ
Itâs coming home
My apologies for the delay. I knew iâd forgotten something!
Highly disappointed in myself for liking that new Ed Sheeran song. Where did i go wrongâ˝
Via Hansard, the official record of British parliamentary business, thenâLabour MP Joe Ashton informs us of the sort of nonsense that went on when the government had a majority of minus seventeen:
We used to have a bog trotter. When the Division bell rang, we had a top and bottom bog trotter whose job it was to run around all the toilets to see if anyone was locked in. We had to look under the door for feet and, if seen, we looked over the top. If that person was one of theirs we left him, if it was one of ours, we got him outâââif necessary with a screwdriver to unlock the door from the outside. That was the sort of nonsense that occurred when the House divided.
I remember the famous case of Leslie Spriggs, the then Member for St. Helens. We had a tied vote and he was brought to the House in an ambulance having suffered a severe heart attack. The two Whips went out to look in the ambulance and there was Leslie Spriggs laid there as though he was dead. I believe that John Stradling Thomas said to Joe Harper, âHow do we know that he is alive?â So he leaned forward, turned the knob on the heart machine, the green light went around, and he said, âThere, you've lostâââit's 311.â That is an absolutely true story. It is the sort of nonsense that used to happen. No one believes it, but it is true.
[...]
When Parliament was first broadcast, for the first three days the BBC broadcast everything that came through the loudspeakers. It was libellous, it was unbelievably crude, but it was hilarious. The BBC panicked and said, âSomebody will sue us for libel. If it is in Hansard it is okay, but if it is not in Hansard we will be done for libel.â So the BBC stopped broadcasting everything; now, it jams the broadcast so all people hear is, âHear, hear, hear.â It is terrified of being sued for libel.
This stems from a 1997 debate on the modernisation of parliamentary procedure. More anecdotes from the same speech can be found on the other side of the link.
Me writing long run-on sentences for my blog in English: Haha fuck yeah!!! Yes!!
Me having to translate them into Dutch: Well this fucking sucks. What the fuck.
The gorgeous gorge that is the Tyne valley has no shortage of winsome views, but the most beautiful, in my opinion, is that which appears to one who goes down the Side.Îą In the Monumentâs shadow, after passing the classical columns of the Theatre Royal and descending Grey Street as it becomes Dean Street, finally taking a turn onto the Side at the bottom, the lucky traveller will find themself towered over by the behemoth that is the Tyne Bridge:
Iâm not sure any photograph can ever match what itâs like to be there under that bridge. One of the most remarkable things about this view, though, has nothing to do with the view itself, but rather what happens if one walks down the Quayside for a little while, reaches an empty brownfield plot, and clambers up a set of rotting wooden stairs to its right. Because, inexplicably, just a few metres from the most beautiful view in town, one can find the second most beautiful view in town, a glorious lookout on every bridge linking the two banks of the river.
We donât deserve this city.
I had initially neglected to bring a water bottle along with me; i had only intended a quick jaunt to the centre of town and back, and the foolhardy idea of walking all the way to Wallsend came to me spontaneously. This quickly proved a bad idea, and so i made a trek up to the corner shop, who thankfully had all the bottled water anyone could ever want or need.
After leaving fully rehydrated and ready to walk back, i noticed the most wonderful little thing. A parklet, this small opening of green space with some benches and inscriptions, tucked between a housing area and a construction site. I took some picturesâââi would have loved to show them to you, but alas, my phone got stolen in the intervening time between this trip and me writing this post, taking the photographs with it.
Nevertheless, if youâd like to visit (or live vicariously through Google street view), itâs that little park adjacent to 5 Belmont Street. (Google stubbornly refuses to give a proper address, but you canât miss it!)
An account of my thought process upon seeing the above building complex:
Just a few yards ahead, crossing a foot-and-cycle bridge, i happened upon some strikingly relevant
graffiti, alongside some other pieces which really sum up the modern English psyche: an Extinction
Rebellion poster, a crossed out âEDLâ,β and a cock and
bollocks.
I carried a record from HMV (the Killersâ Hot Fuss, if you must know) the whole way, and let me tell you, my arms were positively aching by the end of it! At least i had a bagâŚÎł
To sign off, here are some photos whose stories werenât interesting enough to make the cut, as well as a map of the journey. Thank you for reading this disjoint mess.
I just got done watching that new Bo Burnham special everyone's so excited about. I loved it: i laughed, the songs are catchy, the beard looks good on him⌠but i canât believe i have to add a song called âWhite Womanâs Instagramâ to the list of songs that have made me cry!
Some bastardâs stolen my phone!