Not George's Night

George is apparently away for a week, leaving Not George to entertain us all by herself. After a slightly nervous start, she soon began to enjoy herself and so did everyone else. For one thing, without George's massive Korg keyboard filling the stage, she had room to dance. For another, there was no need for her to smile bravely through George's doubtful vocals and interminable sax solos. In fact, Not George came of age last night as a solo bar-star in her own right. If she keeps this up, I'll be forced to learn her name. Did she get me up to sing with her? Maybe. Go girl! And George, don't hurry back.

Ratus ratus, by Pararegular

A reader, Pararegular, today left such a paratypical comment on an earlier post that I thought it worth promoting to a post in its own right. Any more stories like this, Mr. Pararegular, and I'll happily extend you authoring rights here. Seriously.
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So, Mr. Paraglider...

Great blog, by the way, but have you heard about the Paranormal rats? Yes, I said rats.

One should almost expect to see the odd vermin patrolling the vicinity of a crumbling 30 yr old hotel, but you don't expect to see them making an appearance in a throbbing Chalky's bar half way through a busy evening!

The first made a rather comic appearence, just as the second D.J. of the night was warming up.
He emergerged from behind the left-hand LCD screen, and boldly skipped and hopped all the way along the top of the wood paneling, pausing briefly to check out the crowd, before vanishing back behind the panelling via the right-hand LCD.
What made this even more surreal, was when the clientel started shouting and pointing, the unaware D.J. wrongly assumed the crowd were highly enthusiastic about the track he was playing, and almost took a bow!

The second was a few weeks later, and even bolder.
He appeared high up in the right corner at the bar, and took a stroll around the "clean" up-turned pint glasses, freaking out all chickens in the corner, before vanishing from whence he came!

The day after, the Manager stated one had been caught overnight, proudly holding his hands out in front of him like a fisherman grossly exagerating the size of 'the one that got away'!

I had been wondering what had happened to all the small roaches one used to spot now and again!

Early Days

You stand on the lawn holding the windfall apple between your feet. Taking care not to split it, you press the garden cane clean through it, a couple of inches into the ground. Using the cane as a slingshot, you launch the apple with all your might. High over the trees and the garden wall. Over the old warehouses and beyond, to land out of sight. Possibly in the harbour. Maybe even across the water in North Harbour Street. Who cares - the fun is in the flight, not the landing. You fire another, and another. When you run out of windfalls, you shake the tree.
When the policeman turns up he doesn't believe a kid can throw apples 200 yards so you have to give him a lesson in how it's done. He's a quick learner and a fit young guy, so his first attempt goes like a rocket. But his round-arm technique doesn't give enough elevation and his apple smashes itself to a pulp against the warehouse wall. Shocked at the raw power of this weaponry, he confiscates your cane and cycles off with it over his shoulder, to practise at home. If he'd only looked in the shed, he'd have found your air rifle and the World War One bayonet. And fifty more canes.
(excerpt from Zen & the Art of Paragliding)

Plus Ca Change

At first sight, Stufital hasn't changed at all through Ramadan, but on closer inspection the tattier chairs are seen to have been re-upholstered and the table tops revarnished. The other change, which we were expecting, is the new duo, George and not-George. No guitar, sadly. George leads from a keyboard which manages to play itself when he switches to saxophone. Not-George, whose name I'll learn in time, is a sonsie lass with a nice smile but rather less voice than either of her predecessors. Otherwise, business as usual, as witness Dindsay's state of, let's say, relaxation.