Category Archives: Random Amusement

Baking day

And today’s special is ….. wait for it Pork pie! Aaaand a game pie made with chicken, bacon and a little sausage. Unfortunately the local deer have vanished, so no venison. Not enough bunnies around either. So I had to make do with what protein was in the fridge. The leftover sausage meat filling some store bought frozen puff pastry. See below.

However, the hot water pastry is all my own work, and the game pie facsimile on the top left looks good, with the one pound (ish) Melton Mowbray style pork pie top right even better.

Victoria is not a great place, if like me, you are a fan of traditional English savouries. Our local stores have not seen a Pork pie since November 2019. So I have to cook my own. Which I do rarely, but the recipe is fairly straightforward. I won’t post the text on the main blog as it can get a bit involved, but I will give the how-to’s their own page under ‘cooking for conspiracy theorists’ along with my recently perfected recipe for Szechwan sauce, which makes fried rice zing and heats the mouth nicely rather than give you paint stripper breath or send you running for the cold tap.

That’s it really. Today has been a baking day because some chump thought it would be a wonderful idea to shut down a resource I needed to do my job effectively. Yes, because that’s exactly the right time to shut down ten percent of the companies online infrastructure. I shouldn’t complain really because it means I got to cook some old time favourites. It makes a pleasant change instead of staring at spreadsheets all day.

Oh, one last thing for my one remaining readers edification and amusement. A series of parodies culled from YouTube made by some very talented and bored people. Enjoy.

And finally (although there are many, many more)

Coping

Working from home as we do, Mrs S and I are naturally immune from the worst effects of lockdown. We are used to being isolated from direct human contact because of the very nature of our online life. Although normally we get out once a week for a meal or a drink, just to remind ourselves of the general idiocy of the general dyslexic. Which, when we get to do, is oddly reassuring. However there comes a point where even we get stressed. Eight weeks without a timeout is rather extreme, so a much overdue break would be nice.

The golf courses locally have been open for over a week, but nowhere to go afterward, or we’d be cadging invitations to the nineteenth hole, even though both of us detest the silly game.

On the plus side Mrs S is finally discovering the worth of my somewhat eccentric sense of humour and is applying it to herself. She is finding my twisted punsterism somewhat therapeutic, as I do. It’s a useful coping strategy. We have to find our fun where we may. Just to lighten the load.

I’m sure there are many scientific papers written on coping mechanisms in solitary and not so solitary confinement, perhaps even those on the negative social and psychological effects of enforced indolence. And I’m still of the opinion that all the fines issued by the Police should be cancelled / thrown out by the courts.

On the topic of fun. Mr generally annoyingly smug Vietch has an obtuse but highly entertaining sense of it. Plus an excellent prop. See below;

Well it brought a smile to my face.

The red spot

Dragged untimely from my pit by an early morning phone call from Elderly Friend who has one thing not to fret about. And what is she doing? Fretting about minutiae. Then forgetting she’s called us and calling again half an hour later with breaks for lunch and supper. Doesn’t matter how much we explain or try to reassure, the dementia and memory loss are accelerating and all we can do is play along.

Thus in my semi somnolent state I stumbled into the kitchen, sneezed and coughed a little to clear the tubes as usual, emptied the dishwasher and made the tea. Hello, what’s that on the floor in front of the sink? A carmine red oval about the size of a small fingernail. Bloody hell! Is that blood?

To my sleep fogged brain it looked very similar to a single ten millimetre long blob of semi-congealed blood. Which woke me up rather more sharply than I like. Cautiously I picked up a paper towel and wiped it up. Jesus H Christ on a bike! It looks like blood? Am I coughing up blood? The terrified little thought starts to swirl around my head. Coughing up blood is very bad. Especially a blob like that.

I cough again, blow my nose into a tissue. That’s funny. Tissue shows not the faintest spot of red. Check the bit of paper towel I used to wipe up the spot and have a sniff. Sniff again. Hmm. That’s familiar. Doesn’t smell like blood. Smells sweet….. like Raspberry jam. Well thank the Lord for that. It’s raspberry bloody jam! Be still my beating heart. I tell Mrs S who roars with laughter, as do I.

Raspberry jam. Memory floods back from a raspberry jam on toast snack early yesterday evening. I don’t remember dropping any on the kitchen floor, but I don’t bother with lights when I close the kitchen down just after seven and setting the dishwasher going so I must have missed it.

Well that’s a relief.

I’ll be glad when the next week of lockdown is over and April arrives. I must be going a bit stir crazy.

Certifiable blue checkmarks

What the hell is it with some people? I walked in the door yesterday to Mrs S telling me that Yorkshire Tea had gone belly up. Which bothered me somewhat as Yorkshire tea is the chosen beverage of this household. “Pardon?” I vouchsafed, somewhat alarmed. “That’s a bit awkward.” Then followed up with. “Are you sure?”

Mrs S went and checked her news source, filtering through a couple of layers until she went “Oh. No. Got my wires crossed there.”
“I knew Taylors of Harrogate were catching some flak for the Chancellor standing next to a catering size bag of Yorkshire Tea.” I said, somewhat alarmed. “But I didn’t think things had gotten that bad”
“Sorry.” She said. “Apparently they were having to fend off lots of people on Twitter threatening never to use their product again.”
“Ah, the certifiable blue checkmarks.” I said.
“Pardon?”

Then I explained about Twitters ‘certified blue checkmark’ program which is supposed to mark you out as a verified real person and not some form of ‘bot. A program which has been suspended for quite some time. So if you aren’t already ‘verified’, you can no longer, as far as I am aware, apply to be ‘verified’. Or ‘certified’, which I think is a more realistic description for a great many denizens of that online ecosystem. With the emphasis on medication, restraints and padded walls. Because It does sound rather insane to want to destroy the livelihoods of many people you’ve never met, and who have never done you any harm, simply because a product has been seen in the same frame of a photograph as a politician one does not like. As Taylors gently pointed out, another politician of another stripe also enjoyed their product, which had not engendered such a hate fest. Not that this matters to the individuals behind the hate mob.

Now I do have, in real, not blog life, a barely used Twitter account. Six months ago I decided to try and see what it took to get one of these blue checkmark thingies, only to find that the program was suspended. So I didn’t try any more. Although judging from the prevalence of ‘cancel culture’ of Twitter hate mobs said suspension is on grounds of large scale insanity more than anything else. These ‘people’ on Twitter, these ‘journalists’, if real people they truly are, come across as literally frothingly insane. So much so that being a ‘verified’ checkmark now has a negative reflection upon any given Twitterer as a person. To the point where, if someone were to announce in my presence that they were the proud possessor of such an indicator, I would politely make an excuse and leave without turning my back on them.

Given the consistent behaviour of many Twitter blue checkmarks, it’s become a club I definitely don’t want to join. Candidly me deario’s I share Groucho Marx’s opinion of not wanting to belong to any club that would accept me as a member. They’re all complete nuts in there I tell you.

Time for a cuppa.

A Poem for these times.

Watching Canada breaking, the coronavirus heading toward pandemic status and the stock market doing somersaults. These are momentous times where the man who can stand firm and walk his way despite every obstacle will eventually win through. Where walking his own path, away from the craziness, is his only option. So it is with me. My investments have taken a hit but I’m not going to panic. The markets are having a tizz and there’s nothing constructive I can do except stand fast.

Markets always bounce back because people need to trade. Without trade we all starve in the dark.

How do I know this? It’s an article of faith with me. A simple faith drawn from the stoic tradition of my forbears, and one echoed in a poem written over a hundred years ago. One which has hung on my wall so long I can pretty much recite it by heart. Don’t have to look. The truth it encapsulates is timeless. Here it is, read by Michael Caine.

Addendum:

When that fails I often recite the following little ditty to myself, one penned around the same era by Walter Alexander Raleigh – “Wishes of an Elderly Man Wished at a Garden Party”

I wish I loved the human race,
I wish I loved it’s silly face,
I wish I loved the way it walked,
I wish I loved the way it talked,
And when I’m introduced to one,
I wish I thought, “What jolly fun.”

An amusing idea

Was struck with some of the suggestions in the comment section of the video below. The whole idea of the outrage mob harassing a company, just because their product has been seen in use by someone the mob don’t like is ridiculous. Why does this innocent activity, even if it is by a politician, seem to enrage a certain group of Twatterers?

It seems to me that the left wing outrage mob will get their panties in a bunch over the least little thing. They ‘go after’ people online, trashing their reputation and in some places costing the object of their ire careers, livelihoods, relationships and in a few sad cases, lives. The vicious nature of these lefty hate mobs is quite astonishing. As is their hypocrisy. Frankly me deario’s, if it weren’t for double standards, these crazy online haters wouldn’t have any. The cognitive dissonance they display is often so staggering, that after reading their nonsensical outpourings I often need to go and lie down in a darkened room, close the curtains and doors before bursting into hysterical laughter.

Now you know and I know chums, that certain things may be perfectly innocent, like Yorkshire tea. Even if a UK Tory politician professes to like it. It’s just tea, right? Good tea, but just tea no matter who drinks it. Tea is very useful stuff for all sorts of reasons. See below.

However, it’s given me an idea to use against these knee jerk twatter hate mobs. Mildly suggest that anything the twitter hate mob like or admire is “Just a teensy bit right wing.” or “Like enjoyed by religious hate mobs. You know, like those Westboro Baptist nutcases.” One could also point out that all the things they like “Sound a little bit, you know, fascist.” One might even opine, if one comes across an acquaintance you know to hold these views in a queue at a coffee shop, “Oh, hello. Didn’t think I’d find you at one of these places. Not after they were denounced by (Cite famous lefty academic here; If at a loss, say Noam Chomsky)” Which is probably true. Lefty academics denounce so many things that it’s hard to find anything they haven’t come out against. Such sayings will flag up in Google searches, which might well be enough for said unhinged acquaintance to flounce out, to be seen outside later with a placard denouncing said coffee shop as a “Tool of the oppressor.” These knee-jerk haters are not the sharpest tools in the box.

One might also suggest that things like the following list are “A bit right wing” or “Not very working class.”
Smashed Avocados on toast (A bit too, you know metropolitan)
Eggs Benedict (Very posh – Not working class at all)
Vegan / Vegetarian diets (Far too middle class)
Coffee shops (All of them – not just Starbucks)
Pret A Manger (And any other ‘right on’ company who does ‘grab & go’ sandwiches)
Breathing (It’s worth a try)

Then watch the fun begin. Try not to laugh too hard.

This post was updated from the original as the first paragraph made no sense. I think it’s the Alzheimers kicking in. That or the insomnia.

Scolds

Here at the Bill Sticker Paragraph Ranch, we’ve been raising sentences and phrases at stud for years and are currently training thoroughbreds for the rough and tumble of the St Mildews essay stakes steeplechase.

This morning, as I was making my daily tour of inspection, one of our doughty staff trainers waved me over as he was giving our little corral of suffixes their oat and bran mash. Beset by curiosity I went to the fence. “Morning Igor.” I said, raising my umbrella and sealing my immersion suit.
“Greetingth marsthter.” I could see by the look on his scars that there was a problem.
“Okay, what is it? Spit it out.” Shouldn’t have said it quite like that, but I did.
“We’ve got the Scoldth marsthter” He gushed.
“You mean Scolds?” I asked after I’d hosed off all the resultant snot and spittle.
“Yeth.”
“Nagging pain? Ringing in the ears? Depression?” I enquired.
“Yeth.”
“Oh dear. I knew there was an epidemic, but I hoped we’d be spared the worst of it.” I remarked. This was bad. A dose of the scolds at premises like ours can ruin everybody’s week. “How bad is it?”
“They’ve got the Thunbergth Marsthter.”
“Wrong climate eh?” I remarked, trying to make light of the situation. But I could see the state of our suffixes. They looked despondent, preferring to huddle in a corner, periodically glancing upwards in a manner best described as terrified.

Getting a dose of the Thunbergs, a nasty carrier for the terrent caeli virus can play havoc with a paragraph, not to mention what its related condition the iustitia socialis bacterium can do. You often end up with runaway pronouns and it takes ages to get those under control. Most of those infected pronouns die of course, but the infected language then needs a thorough de-worming, which is a protracted and very messy business no-one really likes doing. The Grammarian fees are phenomenal.

I paused, opened my visor and scratched my chin thoughtfully before closing it again. “Have we any Sargonite left?”
“Didn’t work marsthter. Itth the logic rethithtant variety.”
“How about a quick course of the historicals? I thought we had some Hellerian or Wattsup for this kind of thing.”
“Tried everything thur. Lithten to the poor little thingth marsthter. Itth pathetic.”
Sure enough, all I could hear from the pen of suffixes was the sad, soft bleating of “Denier, denier.”

Frankly it was heartbreaking. A whole chapter of suffixes infected. Well, desperate times call for desperate measures. “Shoot them all.” I said grimly.

Merry whatever

These are strange times when even wishing someone well can elicit a hate crime prosecution. Despite this, I am feeling pretty optimistic for the New Year what with a successful BREXIT being on the cards, want to wish my last remaining reader all the best for the festering season. Solstice, Christmas, Yule, whatever; and if you’re offended by that there is no hope for your diseased and raddled soul.

Here’s an old favourite of mine to pass the flowing bowl around to. Unless you’re one of the perpetually offended, in which case you do not love yourself and will find that very few others do.

See you in the New Year.

You don’t hear this every day

A head of state as a caller to a radio talk show? Now that is truly awesome. What a coup.

Let’s face it, Trump lacks subtlety. He’s not eloquent, he’s brash, forthright and occasionally a bullshitter. But not an outright liar as some claim. He exaggerates rather than tells total untruths. Unlike many of his predecessors and detractors who would not recognise truth if it was tugging at their sleeves.

Don’t care much for the man himself, but I do like what he’s doing for the USA economically. The UK could have a piece of that action instead of hiding in a hole and whining incessantly about how bad Trump is.

On that topic, I never understood this reflexive anti-Americanism some people have. Maybe it’s because the yanks are brash, successful and outward looking. Unlike their most vocal critics, who come across as a bunch of petty, jealous, xenophobic losers.

Today on the home front, I’m off to lay a few evil spirits with elder sibling. Following Ma Sticker’s demise in 2014 we had serious disagreements over the estate which almost went to court. Now matters are more settled, I’ll be rubbing his nose in it in a gentle sort of way. Even if I’m not really looking forward to our meeting. I’ll just have to put my game face on, wear my best coat, a dangerous smile and accentuate the positive.

Eldest is currently in recovery mode after long term boyfriend gave her the elbow, the fool. Personally I think they were right on the point of making their relationship permanent, he panicked and ran. Not an attractive quality in a spouse to be. Getting married to raise a family is a big step and requires courage which we now see he hasn’t got. If he ever comes crawling back, I think she should first kick him in the nuts for being such an idiot then buy him a kitten to keep him company in his lonely old age. Tonight, (Australian time) she’s out on the town with her friends in Sydney to have a little personal time and think about getting a better place to live. Whilst we’re able we’ll wire her some pennies to help her keep head above water post breakup. It’s what family is for.

Steak!

I love a good steak. Which is great because steak restaurants are big in London right now. All sorts of ‘Gaucho’ type restaurants are in vogue, some where they give you a large chunk of hot stone upon which you can literally cook your own piece of beef to your idea of perfection and others where they serve a particular cut, medium rare, or should that be medium raw.

Notwithstanding, the customer service I have experienced in all of these has been little short of excellent. The quality of beef though, perhaps not as great as I’d hoped. Living in Canada as I do, the quality of steak cuisine is very good, from the on-a-budget version at a Denny’s roadside eatery to more upmarket fare, I have rarely been disappointed but for one thing, there is a cut of beef that knocks every other for six no matter how barely it is cooked. It is not often served on our side of the pond and unlike cuts I have now come to regard as inferior, can be had at a lower price. Possibly because your average Canadian consumer has yet to recognise true quality of this ‘butchers cut’. They’ll happily sink their teeth into the much chewier Rib-eye, but offer them the piece of flesh I refer to and like as not they’ll turn their noses up at it.

The piece of meat I refer to is called a ‘Flat iron’ steak and I have yet to eat its peer from any breed of cattle. Cut from the inside of the shoulder blade on a forequarter, this particular bit of muscle has an entirely different texture and flavour to any other. Firstly, texture. A flat iron steak has an almost buttery feel in the mouth, it almost melts, even when almost tartare. The grain of the meat runs longditudinally from end to end, not cross grained as with most other cuts. Properly butchered there will be no tough membranous tissue which sometimes mars the wonderful saliva inducing mellowness of this cut. Next, flavour. Mass market beef can be a bit of a flavour desert, not so the flat iron. It has a more pronounced beefiness combined with it’s splendid texture, a taste that might have you wondering why the hell you’d want to eat any other part of a steer.

The best news of all is that there is a chain of restaurants in London which specialise in this cut, serving it a little too rare for my liking, but the butchery was good and despite the redness of the meat, slipped down a treat. Did I also mention that they’re also not as expensive as most of the ‘Gaucho’ style steak houses? A full flat iron steak will feed two hungry meat lovers, even if I would have liked a little larger portion (and hotter) of their Horseradish sauce. Their creamed spinach too is enough to restore a badly Bluto battered Popeye and put a twinkle in his eye that his paramour, Olive Oyle, could not mistake.

Now I don’t do shout outs like this often, if at all, but if you want to get away from the fancy stuff masquerading as food whilst in the UK’s capital, you could do worse than visit one of the nine (At the time of writing) “Flat Iron” franchises dotted around town. First come first served. Expect to queue. Don’t forget your dessert. (Oh, the calories, the calories!)

Unless of course you have the misfortune to be a vegetarian, or worse still, vegan. Then I am afraid there is no hope for you. You poor thing.

BTW: No one really ‘hates’ vegans, vegetarians or other diet obsessives as claimed in the Grauniad.  The rest of us find the endless proselytising somewhat tiresome, even annoying, but no-one really hates them.  For example, one of my stepdaughters is a ‘fish vegetarian’ (Won’t eat meat but will eat eggs and fish).  Which I find curious but hardly a Casus belli.  To truly hate someone over their chosen diet would be to say that the matter was worth taking seriously.  Chacun a son gout.

Where there is tea

There’s an old World War two slogan that came to my attention yesterday. “Where there is tea there is hope.” attributed to English dramatist Arthur Wing Pinero from his play (Book?) ‘Sweet Lavender – a comedy in three acts’. Saw it first in the Churchill War Rooms, now it seems to be popping up everywhere. On souvenir mugs and teapots, on tee-shirts, fridge magnets, even in sermons. Like a modern interweb meme it seems to materialise in the most unexpected places. See below.

These are frustrating times. People do not do what they are asked and seem incapable of passing on messages correctly, or even performing simple tasks. This is something I often find, when tempted to hurl my laptop across our hotel room because for example the account I’ve been given to manage data has not been set up correctly. Even the most creative solution I’ve been able to come up with won’t work, so I am reduced to reverting to older, more tried and tested methods to get my job done on time. Getting things done has always been an important facet in my life, and to not be that way is incomprehensible. So with Parliament at present. Won’t have an election, won’t deliver on Brexit, in fact will do anything but do the job they were put in place to do.

In these times I always fall back on a morning cuppa to hit my reset button and restore my internal equilibrium before stepping up to meet the challenges of the day and emerge victorious. Well, not always, but I don’t give up without having a damn good go at it. If in a losing fight, it’s always useful to make sure that any aggressor gets the message that one is not to be trifled with lightly. A mug of what I call ‘builders’ tea (English breakfast with milk) always helps. No idea why. Perhaps there’s some obscure biochemical trigger within the blend which calms the emotions whilst stimulating the cognitive faculties? I do not know.

No other hot drink has such a restorative effect. Coffee leaves me buzzed but disorganised and those wishy washy herbal brews are little but flavoured hot water with no readily sensed benefit, yet a traditional English ‘cuppa’ can drag me out from under a metaphorical ton of rubble to fight another day. This is one of those unexplained mysteries of life which can lead to exchanges like;
“Sir, that building collapsed on you. Do You need to go to hospital?”
“No, I’m a bit beat up but I could really do with a cuppa.”

I know I’ve explored this topic before, but can anyone tell me which is the best? Is PG Tips the most efficacious or perhaps Tetley, Yorkshire Tea, or even your basic bog standard brew? Let us plumb the depths of one of life’s great mysteries together.

Dear Remainers

Hello My dear BREXIT remain campaigners,

Just a little missive from over the pond to say hi and point out a few things. If the UK does not leave the EU on the 31st October 2019 you are all screwed. Not just you, but the Brexiteers as well. In fact the whole population of the dear old UK. As an expat, my funds have very little exposure in Europe at present, but yours. Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. You are so totally fucked. Not because of BREXIT itself, but by the continual uncertainty and delay you have caused.

Why do I say this? Well a few reasons actually, and they’re not hard to see from my moderately lofty viewpoint. If the UK bends the knee to the EU, either as a vassal state or still within that bureaucratic morass, I have seen hints that the next decade won’t be much fun for UK Plc as a whole. In fact you’ll only think it’s fun if you’re really into sadomasochism in a big way. This includes all those small to medium sized businesses struggling to compete in an environment ever more skewed by the EU to favour the big corporates.

Point of order here; you Remainers might think that you are on the side of ‘democracy’. Yet any effective democracy will die if the UK stays within the EU. Because the EU as now structured has about as much democracy as had the old Soviet Union. Don’t take my word for this, the documentation is all on the EU’s web site. All the legislation. All those regulations that will begin to tighten around the UK like a seventeenth century hangman’s noose. One that slowly constricts and strangles whilst the feet of the condemned dance in the air. Slow and painful. The economic punishment beatings of austerity will forever be your lot. See Greece.

You see, all the bad things that will follow a failed Brexit will be for your own good. Also to serve as an example for any other bumptious little country with ideas above its station who dares to even think of leaving the glorious EU empire. Also like Greece, your constitution and a thousand years of law will be torn into tiny little shreds. If you have the ill fortune to find yourself in a court of law, the onus will increasingly be on you to prove your innocence against fairly flimsy evidence. Think that’s easy? I could cite the examples of the UK Family courts where most fathers are considered guilty upon the most paper thin allegations. Like the so-called Canadian court of human rights where evidence for the defence can be (and often is) dismissed at whim. You’re there so you’ve got to have done something? Right? Think Twitter hate mobs are bad? These will be worse. Not only that but not falling foul of the rising flood of legislation will be an increasingly more difficult task. You will have lost even the pretext of innocence before the law. The process will go like so; allegation, automatic charging, show trial, conviction, sentence. Defence? Oh dear me no.

By the way, did you know that although the EU does not officially have a death penalty, there is a law on their statute books that allows for one to be imposed should you ‘insult’ the European Union? Go look. It was there when I last checked. So wrongthink might take UK citizens to whatever execution device the Eurocrats deem fit. Be that a bullet in the head or the horror of the Fallbiel. Even if at first it is only those filthy Brexiteers who literally get it in the neck. Don’t think that these self-serving Eurocrat bastards won’t consider mass murder to keep themselves in positions of power and privilege.

My brother in law, a staunchly typical remainer, has indicated that he would be more than happy to fill mass graves just for the ‘privilege’ of remaining within the European Union. So don’t say that it’s all paranoia. Remainers have left those on the pro leave side of the fence with no illusions on associated matters and what they’ll do, given half a chance. So give the pseudo moral outrage a rest. You’re only fooling yourselves.

Add to that, in case of civil unrest I hear that there are plans to deploy non-UK Police personnel and non-UK military personnel on UK territory. Think I’m talking from an orifice not normally used for that purpose? Go look it up. All within the EU’s web pages. The EU Army we were told was an febrile illusion invented by a deluded pro BREXIT faction? That’s there too. Ever closer union? Now we learn that was always the way this was going. The Eurocrats have been working toward that goal since day one. A new German empire with it’s own patrician class that you won’t be able to get rid off.

Free person or modern day serf. Ask yourself this; do you really want to be at someone else’s unfettered beck and call all your life? The EU will make you all slaves to a self-selecting elite. Think it’s bad now?

Oh and the European Central Bank is in serious financial trouble. The printing presses are rolling and ECB interest rates are sub zero. If you haven’t pulled your funds out, do so now. As a small investor I took this step a couple of years ago.

Now there is, however, one bright spot in all the imagined gloom that the remainer pundits endlessly (and tediously) predict. If a ‘no-deal’ Brexit does go through on the 31st October, at least you won’t have to hear another EU Parliament speech from Nigel Farage ever again.

See you in mid-October,

Stay safe.

Bill

P.S. I may be outside Canada when our Federal elections happen, but there’s a thing over here called ‘advance voting’ so Mrs S and I can get our anti-Trudeau ballots in the box before we board our plane.

Well that worked

Or rather it didn’t. Put not thy trust in Princes, to bastardise the old biblical saying, nor in the weatherman in whom there is no hope. Despite grey skies, Wednesday’s weather forecast up the island highway all the way up to Campbell river said dry and cloudy. Oh no it wasn’t. Thursday afternoon, what was supposed to be a sedate swan northbound was a damp old ride once I cleared the big hump of rock we call the Malahat. So the Mutt and I turned around and retreated back to the louring grey skies of Victoria.

Am taking great delight in the downfall of the idiot fop who weaseled his way into becoming the Prime Minister of Canada, a post for which he is both unqualified and has too little real life working experience. All the times he has claimed to be ‘anti-racist’ and a ‘feminist’ are turning out to be a bit of a bad joke. Three cheers anyone? Hip-hip hypocrite!

Not only is Trudeau a known groper of women, but also once liked imitating, some would say parodying, darker skinned people. Mm-hm. That’s without being a corrupt politician whose office goes against it’s own much vaunted principles. If he doesn’t get voted out during our October election, I for one will look at my fellow Canadians with even more disdain than at present. Not that I really like the idea of Andrew Scheer as PM. He’s kind of a very wet cod-liberal who wouldn’t try to bail out a boat if it was sinking, just in case it ‘offended’ someone. My vote, such as it is, is going to our local People’s Party Candidate. I like what Maxime Bernier is saying, and will be giving his fledgling party what support I can.

Any way. The sun is shining and I’m suited and booted for some weekend riding.

Boring….

A bit bored at the moment. We’re on the run up to London in just under a month and looking for places to entertain ourselves. I’m rather put out because the weather around here has turned quite damp, so the Mutt is currently snuggled up under cover and I find myself reluctant to look out of the window at the rain. Such are the issues with being a fair weather only rider. I’ve got a hankering to take a run up past Comox (450km there and back, all right, 280miles) or even Campbell River (530km round trip, about 330miles) to clear some accumulated cobwebs.

On the plus side, work is under control and Management are happy with the what’s, why’s and wherefores of my workload, which I can handle without difficulty because I’ve whittled a number of tasks, including my weekly reporting, down to a few mouse clicks. It’s all a question of streamlining and automating the simpler procedures, which I’ve had time to do over the Summer, even with me and the Mutt sneaking out for two or three hundred kilometre long rides while things are slack. The mountain loop round Sooke and up to Port Renfrew, thence over the hump to Duncan via Lake Cowichan and back to the barn is a favourite. The road surface gets a bit rough after China bay and up to Port Renfrew but it’s very scenic. You go from a massive vista over the Pacific, where there’s nothing between you and Japan to nice tightening curves between the hills, dodging the logging trucks as you gain altitude. Snow normally hits the high ground in early November on this particular leg, so this is a Summer only pleasure. The Mutt is going into cold storage in the garage until the end of April 2020, so I’ll be making the most of all the sunshine we have left until October.

I was rather hoping that the warmer weather would continue for a while, but like I said, it’s raining and I’m no longer happy to don waterproofs and duke it out with everything the British and European sky can hand out. Never mind the Canadian weather. Yes, you can call me a wuss, but over the years I’ve ridden in everything from blazing heat waves where the mercury casually blew past the hundred and ten Fahrenheit (Forty three Celsius) marker to thunderstorms, torrential downpours where the rain meets itself coming back up, cannonball pea sized hail and even near whiteout blizzards. I’ve come home soaked to the skin through full waterproofs and on a couple of occasions with my leathers covered in a quarter inch of ice. So. Been there, done that, not dumb enough to want to do it again.

One of the benefits of my current age is experience and what I consider a little hard won wisdom. So there.

The sound of science

Reading the abstract below, and subsequently the whole paper, enlivened what has otherwise been a dull workday. It’s mostly what I’ve understood to be correct and fills in a few gaps. In short; the climate modellers tools might as well have  been made by Airfix.

Abstract:

The reliability of general circulation climate model (GCM) global air
temperature projections is evaluated for the first time, by way of
propagation of model calibration error. An extensive series of
demonstrations show that GCM air temperature projections are just linear extrapolations of fractional greenhouse gas (GHG) forcing. Linear projections are subject to linear propagation of error. A directly relevant GCM calibration metric is the annual average ±12.1% error in global annual average cloud fraction produced within CMIP5 climate models. This error is strongly pair-wise correlated across models, implying a source in deficient theory. The resulting long-wave cloud forcing (LWCF) error introduces an annual average ±4 Wm–2 uncertainty into the simulated tropospheric thermal energy flux. This annual ±4 Wm–2 simulation uncertainty is ±114 × larger than the annual average ∼0.035 Wm–2 change in tropospheric thermal energy flux produced by increasing GHG forcing since 1979. Tropospheric thermal energy flux is the determinant of global air temperature. Uncertainty in simulated tropospheric thermal energy flux imposes uncertainty on projected air temperature. Propagation of LWCF thermal energy flux error through the historically relevant 1988 projections of GISS Model II scenarios A, B, and C, the IPCC SRES scenarios CCC, B1, A1B, and A2, and the RCP scenarios of the 2013 IPCC Fifth Assessment Report, uncovers a ±15 C uncertainty in air temperature at the end of a centennial-scale projection. Analogously large but previously unrecognized uncertainties must therefore exist in all the past and present air temperature projections and hindcasts of even advanced climate models. The unavoidable conclusion is that an anthropogenic air temperature signal cannot have been, nor presently can be, evidenced in climate observables.

Emphasis mine.

At first skim, this paper comes across as a careful analysis of the current and previous states of climate models, upon which all the scare stories of ‘Climate Emergency’ and ‘Climate crisis’ (Not to mention the wealth transfer con trick called ‘Carbon Taxation’) are based. Essentially this study carefully weighs, measures and finds the claims that ‘it’s all CO2’ seriously wanting.

And this paper has passed peer review. Not that the true believers like those boneheads of extinction rebellion, Justin Trudeau etcetera will pay any attention. If climate change is not caused by humans, and it isn’t, they don’t want to know. This sort of information is well above their pay grade and they know it. Hell, it’s a little above mine, but from what I can see it passes the bullshit test in which no obvious bullshit was found.

Want to read for yourself? The whole paper is open access and can be accessed here. The supporting information can be found here.

Hat tip to Small Dead Animals and Wattsupwiththat.

P.S.  If I was Gore, Nye or Suzuki, I’d be packing my bags and leaving town for good. The jig is up.

Update:  Have read Dr Roy Spencer’s critique at Wattsupwiththat which points out a couple of weaknesses with Dr Franks work which seem fair.  Yet to read the author’s response.  However, Dr Spencer, whilst highlighting the point that the models predict twice any observed warming, he sticks with the Total Solar Irradiance (TSI) measurement which does not take into account alterations to climate systems like the jet streams by their sensitivity to variations in the earth’s magnetosphere.

Then there are Dr Frank’s responses to the points raised by Dr Spencer, who then answers in the comment string below.  Who says science is dull, eh?