A long time ago I announced in a Blog Post here that Japanese was the best language in the world for  having a single word ‘Tsujigiri’ meaning to stab a passer by with a sword.


Recent trip to Finland has revealed a second contender:

‘Kalsarikannit’ – Being at home, in your underwear, getting drunk


I almost set up an online poll here to vote in the Japanese vs Finnish language competition but was no more able to do that via my phone than I was to increase the sodding font size here from about 2.

In any case, much like the Brexit vote in the UK, the answer probably says more about the character of the voter than of the language.

In both cases, one selection is clearly that of someone you wouldn’t want to come round for tea




Well, I’ll get onto OMOH presently, but let me first say that recessions are self fulfilling prophecies – if you talk about them, people believe it, stop spending and so on.
Regarding previous News From Russia Post, I’d just like to say things will be fine and all the UK shenanigans will be over by Christmas.
Farage is still a loathsome, slug-like creature though.
OMOH news is that the trucks pictured here were deployed yesterday outside St Isaacs Church, a church similar to St Paul’s Cathedral, in central St Petersburg.
They were there along with other paramilitary types to police an end of school party that’s a tradition for all 17 year olds to attend here.
We were laughing quietly at the irony of the backward spelling of that, given Putin’s evident lack of enthusiasm for gay people.
They looked back at us with such disdain (the guy at the back in particular) that Anna took a photo, using the camera lens on the back of the iPhone whilst appearing to film us at an angle from the front.
A cunning plan, with the side benefit that if they turned nasty, she was more expendable really. We’d taken all the Roubles off her too, just to be on the safe side.
A quick browse on the web shows the OMOH are a kind of paramilitary riot police established by Putin.
Now I went to a few slight rowdy VIth Form parties, but paramilitary riot police is surely going a bit far.
They also have a reputation for violence against gay people apparently, so using Anna also evidenced Emma’s/my generally heterosexual nature.
Outwitted them there as well I think.
Other News from Russia is that we had meringues cooked at a restaurant table in Liquid Nitrogen, that was dispensed from a metal container, with a level of flamboyance that’s common in chemistry labs, Will tells us.
Greater care is appropriate in catering circles though I would have thought.
The waiter did wear safety clothing though, so he was fine.
Condom machine in Finland hotel privy appeared to sell just one brand, called After Nine.
Not mint flavoured as far as I could see but packet did have similar colouring of black with gold lettering.
Could lead to embarrassing mistakes at dinner parties I guess
News from Russia today is not about Russia.
It is that, whilst we slept on an overnight ferry from Helsinki to St Petersburg last night (having voted by post before we came),  the bulk of our country voted to leave our glorious European motherland, thus plunging us into certain economic downturn and pestilence.
What made it worse is that I decided to check the results on my phone at the ferry port. Such was my enthusiasm, I ignored the text welcoming me to Russia and advising that data would cost as much as a small car to make use of.
The first item of news I got was a sequence of close ups of that gibbering fool Farage using the  grotesque gurning face he uses when he can’t pull off a normal smile.
Not only did I receive news that we’ll all be on the streets by Christmas, but I paid £40 in data charges to get it.
I’m now sitting at what seems to be a Russian biker themed bar, having separated from my family part way through sightseeing. I actually came in just to use their toilet on the way back to the hotel, but having come in, they all looked too hard for me just to walk in and straight back out again.
I therefore opted for an Americano coffee, after my suggestion of a cappuccino was just met with blank looks.
Not hard enough for their biker image I reasoned, so I held off also attempting to explain caramel syrup in a mixture if pigeon Russian and sign language.
Without the Russian
Or the Pigeon.
Having veered too close to the edge of soft Western shite, I was careful to order Hot milk in my Americano to redress the balance.
That did the trick I think.
However, things aren’t as bad as the referendisaster might suggest.
Points of a glass half full nature are as follows:
1. Now the UK is independent, Farage presumably will have nothing to do any more, once the first few weeks of gloating are over, so he can just piss off somewhere
2. We have a number of Roubles with us. As the Pound has already begun the inevitable crash, I could make a tidy profit by not spending it here and converting it when we get home.
A unique chance to use the Rouble as a stable base to hedge against Sterling.
3. St Petersburg seems a really fantastic city and Russians all seem lovely.
4. That’s it. Everything else is bad
5. Apart from the view from my window
6. That’s son’s window in fact. We don’t have a balcony
7. Even the result of our room bookings was a hotelisaster

There has been another hiatus in writing this Blog, but I am back in the saddle today as I’m waiting for delivery of nearly a ton of bark chippings for the long term beautification of my garden.

Since you ask, I shall, despite my non-ideal state of health be moving that whole lot from front to back of my house and spreading it around.

That is of little interest so I thought I’d add a few recent snippets of news I’ve come across recently.

i) The annual number of mass shooting events in the US has run at an average of around 400 for several years now – slightly over 1 per day. That’s mass shooting events, not just 400 deaths That’s a statistic the National Rifle Association attributes, no doubt, to infiltration from high spirited middle Eastern types.

The problem is selling guns to anyone for the price of pear drops* and expecting people to treat them in an adult kind of way

*For the benefit of readers outside the UK, pear drops are splendid sweets, shaped like pears which, for reasons I never understood smell of Acetone.

ii)Donald Trump, the high earning enthusiast for the NRA and would-be US President questioned why the recent Paris terrorist shootings happened in a country with strict gun controls. Firstly, the terrorists and the guns came from outside France and, secondly this hardly ever happens.

It would be just a normal day in the US, halfwit.

The vast majority of US shootings are not terrorists but just children, NRA members or general killing enthusiast getting some sport in during the off-season from blowing the heads of deer or parrots or whatever their thing is.


iii) While I’m on that subject, Trump is in the habit of citing his spectacular success in building an $8 Billion business empire as demonstrating that he has a good deal of the skills needed to build a successful economy.

A fair point on the face of it but, on further investigation, turns out he inherited nearly $3 Billion from his father many years ago.

If he had just popped down to a Bank and written a cheque to put it all in a normal stock market tracking investment account, he would now be worth $26 Billion

He has effectively lost around $20 Billion by getting up and existing every day – as well as making life miserable for everyone else of course.


iv)I have just read ‘In Order To Live’ by Yeonmi Park – a book about a girl’s escape from North Korea.

North Korea is evidently a much, much worse place than I’d realised. So much so that even the entertaining hairdo of Kim Jong Un does not make amends.

One snippet in there is the official state mathematics syllabus in North Korean elementary schools uses Americans as units for basic arithmetic.

A typical question starts ‘If one comrade stabs two American Bastards and another stabs three Yankee Devils ….


Trump’s latest mocking impression of a disabled reporter in a press conference did sway me further against him, but even for him, this is going a bit far.

American Bastard, Yes, but stabbing, No.



I have recently learned that entire musical genres from my youth passed me by completely – thus making me think I wasted the best years of my life. I write this in the hope that other people will comment to say they don’t remember them either and, hence that I was a normal well balanced teenager, if that term’s not too much of an oxymoron.

Firstly in the 80s there was a type of music called Loutish Grebo. That information came to me from the Reverend Richard Coles on BBC Radio 4.

I say again the Reverend Richard Coles is more in touch with music than me, Admittedly he was in a band called the Communards then but he’s still a man of God

It’s his bloody job just to maintain a look of benign confusion when music is discussed and mine to sigh, pat him on the head and explain it all to him

Second case is music called Gabba which, it turns out is that high frequency pounding dance music from the 90s. By then, I was no longer a teenager but nevertheless, I should surely have been on at least nodding terms with matters musical.

And now the final one, which, at least was originally from 100 years before I was born but I also had never heard of this.

I went with my lovely bride to see a performance of Art Song at the Wigmore Hall in London last night which, it turns out , is a genre in which just a solo singer and a pianist perform songs, the lyrics of which are famous poems. Actually quite entertaining, and improved by the pianist taking a break from tickling the ivories to explain the poem:music linkages each time.

Having said that, I think I had a head start from being a heavy rock aficionado in the late 20th century.
The haunting beauty of the Art Song ‘Chemin d’Amour’ (Pathway to love) has many similarities to the poetry in a number of rock songs.

Ian Gillan in particular broke new poetic ground early in his career by rhyming ‘Ultrasonic’ with ‘Gin & Tonic’ before moving onto the seminal classic ‘Disturbing the Priest’, which featured the  lyric

‘Do we mind disturbing the priest? No, no not in the least’

The greatest achievement of all though was David Saint Hubbins’ interweaving poetic themes and metaphors of

‘My baby fits me like a flesh tuxedo, I like to sink her with my pink torpedo’

The bulk of the audience without my grounding in poetic music of that kind stood no chance of understanding Art Song.

This incongruously titled Post brought to you today from my preferred creative venue of Costa Coffee in East Grinstead. A fine British owned organisation I believe, that seems to be staffed entirely by Eastern Europeans, all of whom seem to be helpful, cheerful and prepared to spend their entire day squirting steam into coffee, in a way that local UK nationals, like me really couldn’t be arsed with

The rest of the economic migrants seem to prop up the NHS and care systems by doing the low paid jobs no-one else wants to do or, more importantly, washing the cars of bone idle people like me while they’re doing their shopping.

As you’ll understand, the complete demise of the NHS that would happen without them would be a bit of a blow, but dirt on my car would be just plain intolerable.

Now, down to business with key NFTD items:

i) The political cretin award previously held by the great George W Bush for his inspired ‘the French don’t have a word for entrepreneur’ has now passed to the carpet haired Donald Trump for ‘my grandparents didn’t come all the way from Germany to see this country overrun by immigrants’

In both cases you just wish they were being ironic, but I just don’t think so somehow


ii) Lemmy, the strangely warty head growler of Motorhead is getting on for the same age as my dad and occasionally now having to stop his shows after just a few songs due to illness. He has recently switched from his preferred tipple of whisky to vodka. This act, apparently for health reasons. Lemmy’s miracle cure means we may have a few more years of delight from them.

That remark not as sarcastic as it sounds incidentally. Everything about Motorhead is so wrong that it’s right somehow.I still quite like Ace of Spades and Bomber and never saw them in my youth. I suppose I just look to middle aged and middle class now really, so that opportunity may have gone forever.

I still have a leather jacket in the loft though I think…


iii) I learn from the QI Elves Twitter feed that every inch of people’s height above 5 feet equates to 1.3 years lower life expectancy. Sounds like nonsense to me, but quite few NFTD items come from the Elves so can’t just disregard things like this or NFTD would grind to a halt. I’m 6 foot 2inches which means I’ll live 18 years less than your radical shortster.

Surely this can’t be right. Who’d be left to write this kind of crap when I’m gone?


iv) If anyone wants to be taken off the distribution list for this Blog , let me know, by the way. Notice how I put that right at the end, in a similar way that, right at the end of Google’s T&Cs they say they reserve the right to harvest every detail of your life and use it to market at you until you’re the age of Lemmy or dead or both.