of one Roald Dahl.




RD is ingenuous. And when illustrated by the great Quentin Blake—nothing short of genius. He’s my own kind of cynic, sometimes. Was. Some of his works, his wonders to behold, are very much aimed for a catered market.


enough of the critical analysis, onwards and upwards to my point. Which is—


the other day we bought the Dvd of The BFG. There were no rave reviews in the literature apparently, and I believe the movie took a while to even break even and/or return a profit. But knowing that Spielberg isn’t into creating duds we took the punt and last night viewed our investment.

We needn’t have worried.

So to all you critics out there who caned it:


Really bad eggs.

We loved it.

And that scene towards the end where the Royal folks and their entourage drank the Big Friendly Giant’s home brewed snozzcumber juice … oh gods, we both cracked completely.

I can see why it wasn’t a huge hit, but as ol’ Forrest Gump might have said “You never know what’s inside the choclit ’till you take the wrapper off and bite it” and I endorse that. Different strokes for different folks; speaking of which my own thoughts be—

Trust only your own judgement

—and that’s all that matters in all matters.

Especially Art …

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WPC: Weight(less)




I tries to sneak ’em in, aaaaah: weightless

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—thanks to the magic of the modern camera I’ve managed to capture a genuine ‘weightless’.

What can be more weightless than this? Boom boom~!

And now for some ‘weight’ to further meet the Challenge.


Don’t weight up …



(I’ll bet that a lot of good folks used this word in the office of ‘trinity’ and then proceeded to prosle  prosylt preach. (A low blow, but opportunists must carpe any diem they can.)

in the meantime—



as defined by the onboard dictionary is “a grouping of three” (which therefore makes to following snaps from yesterday’s Santa Parade in town entirely legal*) …

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A trio of pairs of galloping reindeer. Can’t have a Santa Parade without Santa (actually there were quite a few Santas in the parade, but this was THE Santa) (had to be ‘cos he’s the only one with reindeer).


and players awaiting their turn abounded. Groupings of lots, individuals as such, me, and about a zillion others all getting in each other’s way and loving it. Pests … and sometimes even trios—

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claims to fame is the great Burt Munro, who years back set a world speed record on a motorbike. Fairly recently his story was told in cinematic form (starred Anthony Hopkins) and his actual bike is housed and displayed in the Hammer Hardware outlet in Dee Street. There’s also a couple of replicas about town, and herewith below be one of them—

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and quietly watching the parade, an oldish guy perched on a perch, and close by what looked to be a wee family trio. Two of the citizens seemingly unaware of my presence, one locked on and one looking a tad dubious about the old goat over the road with a camera (great zoom). But little one needn’t have fretted. I scored my shot—

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and moved on to the bubble man.

All I had to do was follow the trails of bubbles and small boys chasing after and squelching them. Bubble Man was good, waving a gadget possibly of his own invention, carrying a bucket (been done before) half filled with some goop (possibly of his own formulation?) and filling the air with bright bouncy bubbles—

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I took lots of bubbly shots but this one summarises the others. Not so many bubs in this snap but you get the idea, a bit …



* Although you may have to search a bit to find your groupings of threes …



move along now, move along—


except this shot taken by an old dog still suffering the effects of a very debilitating flu. Yuk. This was the first time out in too many days, so enjoy …

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AND the ‘creepy’ bit is what some might see as an anthropomorphic image on the back-side of this old tombstone. No photo I’ve taken of it does it justice—’in the flesh’ (as it were) that is one crrreeeee-pee piccie. Otherwise it can simply be alichened to wee greebies growing on the stone; make of it what you will.

I took some other snaps in the ol’ graveyard. I’m fascinated by shattered stones all over the place and abandoned graves (now there’s a thought~!) and that such shatterings seem to occur in very slow motion. Okay, over years and years until the final unstoppable rush—

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—a bit like his buddy here; will it be a race? Anyone fancy a wee wager~?

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rush to Judgement (or otherwise be hasty) because watching with benevolent eye over all is this Angle, offering the protection of the divine to all who enter here—

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—how effective that protection might actually be is up for debate, ‘cos he (she? Dammit, they all look the same to me) seems to be a wee bit battle-scarred him/her self: both wings clipped and perhaps skilled in unarmed (meaning hand-to-hands) combat. Anyway, before I go here’s another take on that wee stone—

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—does that meet The Challenge? I mean is that creepy, or what?







I was privileged today to watch a mother educating her child. She exhibited patience coupled with an instructional technique that most mothers these days may have forgotten—nothing was delegated to professionals, she took it upon herself and did a dam’ fine job.


I’d say nothing less than the transferring of essential survival techniques (in the first place) and the mental means for prospering (in the second place) to the pupil.

This mother, I think, did well.


of snaps may lack technique and finesse and stuff, but essentially they tell the story: Continue reading “SCHOOL DUX 2014”



. after perusing another’s posts I feel inspired. In this case it was Alex’s leafy photos under his ‘Zen’ rubric. They reminded me that I’ve tried something similar in the past but with variable results (my efforts were duck feathers by comparison). OK, so I like ducks. Sue me. And if I live long enough one day I might get a shot to be proud of, in the meantimes here’s a couple from the slush pile to start with: but first, do you remember the famous saying “like water off a duck’s back“? As a town kid who’d never seen a damp duck I couldn’t relate to it. Then later as an adult I noticed first hand how water never wets the duck, is never absorbed by the duck, and is so slidey-off-the-duck it’s as if somehow the duck is actively repelling it. Too much surface tension? Static electricity, like-charges somehow? Sheer ducky bloody mindedness where soggy is concerned? SO WHEN I TOOK this shot (below) I had all my flabbers gasted at the indentation made in the surface meniscus. It’s not as if duck feathers weigh anything much but that two dimensional water surface is most definitely rearranged by the feather. So to heck with the philosophical notions about floating feathers haikuising water; this feather means business in a sciencey sort of way— Screen Shot 2014-10-08 at 20.06.55 —and with a structure like that working to Continue reading “DUCK IT~!”

WPC: Signs

Sometimes, I just can’t ….




I gotta do it and devil take the consequences—the Weekly Photo Challenge has much to answer for, I tell you~! So I apologise in advance for having shown you one of these shots (pun) before, and on reflection (another pun) you’ll see why I love angling. Photographic angles, that is, nothing fishy about this lot—

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—of which the first is a supermarket sign as seen by Continue reading “WPC: Signs”