Here’s a bit of post-Christmas entertainment for you:
Hope you enjoy. I was in stitches.
Here’s a bit of post-Christmas entertainment for you:
Hope you enjoy. I was in stitches.
Writing about Bilbo yesterday has brought back so many precious memories. While it’s easy to canonize the dead and turn them into a saint, they’re still human. Or, in Bilbo’s case, canine but believing he’s human, and he was always treated as such.
For much of the day, Bilbo could pass for a glorious designer floor rug sunning himself in the backyard or sleeping under my desk. However, he had his triggers like the rest of us and the posty was the most predictable one, along with anyone riding a bicycle or walking past with a dog. As a younger dog, he was also a real villain on the lead and he must’ve thought our local footpath was a racetrack to the beach. I’m most surprised we didn’t become air born. He was also particularly protective of the kids. At least, that’s what I blame for his metamorphosis into a lunging, barking, snarling menace when the school bus pulled up. Indeed, it got to the point where we couldn’t take him. He was vicious. He also wasn’t happy when my friend Clare used to pick up the kids and take them to school, while I was recovering from chemo. She did that for at least a couple of months, and yet his manner never changed. He stuck to his guns.
It’s hard to understand how such a placid, loving dog could change so much. However, like the rest of us he’d also been traumatised by my severe health battles, and we couldn’t explain things to him. Like us, he also knew he was fighting against an invisible force, and he rounded up his own list of suspects however misguided. He’d spent many nights comforting me, and knew something awful was out there somewhere. However, I couldn’t tell him that with an auto-immune disease, the enemy was within.
Anyway, looking at the photo of me with Bilbo and Lady in the kayak last night, reminded me of another one of Bilbo’s epic stories. A few years ago, my parents had this idyllic place on the waterfront at Palm Beach. It was on the Pittwater side where it was flat water and very tidal. The bay would fill up and empty like a bath with methodical clockwork which we couldn’t ignore. Indeed, we were very much controlled and directed by the tides, and at their mercy. That was fine because we adapted to the rhythms. At low tide, you could go for a walk and at high tide, you could head out on the kayak or the Laser, the little sailboat the previous owners had left behind.
The very first time we headed out on the kayaks was unforgettable. Not just because we were out on the water. We were some distance from home, when we spotted a Border Collie standing on the shore. At first, we were merely excited to see another Border Collie, as you are when you see another dog that looks like yours. However, as we got closer, it soon became obvious this Border Collie was also watching us. Indeed, he was following us along the bank.
Oh no! Our precious, docile floor rug had decided once again, that the sky was falling. It was the end of the world, and he had to save the day. The only trouble was that being totally averse to getting his paws wet, he couldn’t leap in to save us. He was painfully stuck and doing all he could…barking!
By the way, I should also point out that Bilbo had gone to great lengths to get out. He’d shewed through the side gate and gnawed through a paling and he’d also run through quite a few backyards to reach his lookout post.
Oh dear! Geoff was off to the local hardware store to buy tools and carry out repairs. Mum and Dad had only just bought the place and we didn’t want to be known as “The Wreckers”.
Of course, this wasn’t Bilbo’s only tale of mass destruction. I might’ve mentioned this before. However, I was in hospital for about 8 weeks when I was first diagnosed with my auto-immune disease The kids were staying with my parents and Geoff kept working while I was in hospital so he could take time off when I got home. Again, not being able to explain things to the dog caused issues. Indeed, it’s hard enough to explain things to the dog at the best of times, let alone when you don’t know what’s happening yourself!!
Well, like so many of us, Bilbo took matters into his own hands. Or, in this scenario, it was more of a case of chewing and digging his way towards enlightenment. He started digging and chewing through the computer network cabling under the house, which was clearly getting in his way as he dug wombat holes perilously close to the foundations. It appeared that he only stopped when he started on a power cable and might’ve had experienced more than a slight tingle.
Geoff arrived home after work, after driving round to see me in hospital and visiting the kids at Mum and Dad’s (which had become his nightly routine) to find out he had no connectivity. Fortunately, the reason we had such an elaborate home network going back about 12 years ago, is that Geoff is a senior network engineer and back in the day when Novel mattered, he was a Certified Novel Network engineer. However, that didn’t mean he wanted or needed to rebuild our home network even though he could, and Bilbo’s timing couldn’t have been worse. Moreover, Bilbo’s complaints to management had clearly gone much further than the usual puppy antics of chewing shoes and disemboweling the stuffing out of his bed. Let’s just say Geoff wasn’t happy and while he was re-installing the network, he also blocked the said pup out from under the house.
However, to be fair to the dog, he’d gone from having me and the kids at home much of the time where he was with us constantly. He was one of us more than the rest of us could ever be, and was the glue at the heart of our family. To go from that, to suddenly being alone without rhyme or reason must’ve been a huge shock. So, I don’t blame him for staging a four-legged protest. I wasn’t too happy with the situation either.
The strange thing about all of Bilbo’s antics and so many of our own, is that once we’ve worked through the initial response and allowed the dust to settle, we actually find these catastrophes funny. They make us laugh. Indeed, life would be so uneventful without the things which give us nightmares. I’m not sure how he psychology or mechanics of all of this works, but perhaps someone out there can enlighten me.
Meanwhile, if you’d like to read about laughter’s capacity to get us through the toughest of times, I encourage you to read this very uplifting though very difficult post from Aimee Foster who lost her baby girl when she was a day old: Why It’s Essential to Find Humor At Your Darkest Hour.
Do you have any funny dog stories you would like to share? Or, perhaps you’re more of a cat person. Or, perhaps reading this has reminded you of a cherished person you have lost? I would love to hear from you in the comments.
If you thought that the Coronavirus was something to watch out for, you’d better brace yourself because if the Triantiwontigongolope gets out of Australia and takes on the world with equal force, they’ll be nothing left. A close relative of the vicious Dropbear (at least in terms of Aussie folklore), this insect is truly something to watch out for. Well, at least, that’s according to poet CJ Dennis who penned this poem back in the 1920s.
I remember hearing this poem when I was about 10 ears old and with its rollicky rhythm and great humour, I absolutely loved it and I thought you would too…especially at the moment when other horrors have us in various stages of isolation or taking our chances firmly believing in the great Aussie spirit (and no doubt you have your equivalent wherever you live): “she’ll be right mate!”
So, here goes:
There’s a very funny insect that you do not often spy,
And it isn’t quite a spider, and it isn’t quite a fly;
It is something like a beetle, and a little like a bee,
But nothing like a wooly grub that climbs upon a tree.
Its name is quite a hard one, but you’ll learn it soon, I hope.
It lives on weeds and wattle-gum, and has a funny face;
Its appetite is hearty, and its manners a disgrace.
When first you come upon it, it will give you quite a scare,
But when you look for it again, you find it isn’t there.
And unless you call it softly it will stay away and mope.
It trembles if you tickle it or tread upon its toes;
It is not an early riser, but it has a snubbish nose.
If you snear at it, or scold it, it will scuttle off in shame,
But it purrs and purrs quite proudly if you call it by its name,
And offer it some sandwiches of sealing-wax and soap.
But of course you haven’t seen it; and I truthfully confess
That I haven’t seen it either, and I don’t know its address.
For there isn’t such an insect, though there really might have been
If the trees and grass were purple, and the sky was bottle green.
It’s just a little joke of mine, which you’ll forgive, I hope.
If you’d like to read more about CJ Dennis, please click here
Well, I hope that’s given you a bit of a laugh and I hope you’re okay.
If you have something funny to share, please leave a link in the comments.
Minions are beyond my usual scope. However, today I rescued this character from “quarantine” at the local opportunity shop and brought him home where he took over my chair and our toilet paper supplies. Don’t you think this face absolutely captures the dark side of the Coronavirus? He’s even wearing prison garb.
How is where you are living being impacted by the coronavirus? Is it affecting you personally?
It’s something we’re taking seriously at our place. I have an auto-immune disease called dermatomysitis and a complication of this is Institial Lung Disease. I have fibrosis in my lungs and my lung scans read like the contents of a vacuum cleaner. My health varies quite significantly and I can be pretty well and seemingly almost “normal”, to being very unwell and needing hospitalisation, which we’ve avoided before but won’t be under the current situation.
The difficult thing for all of us, but particularly those of us in a high risk category, is when to self-isolate. How long will it last? If I will be needing to isolate for a long period of time, I’d rather not isolate too soon. After all, there’s a slight risk of exposure atm where we live. It isn’t a dire necessity. However, I’m pretty sure it’s coming.
So, in the meantime, I’ve thrown a bit of humour at the situation. Had a laugh. Been creative. After all, what’s the alternative? Getting grumpy and wiping out your opponents at the supermarket? It’s hard to be positive under these circumstances, especially when your life or income are imminently at stake. However, isolation in 2020 is not as painful as it used to be. We only need to jump onto our computers to connect all around the world, or even locally if we’re in enforced isolation. It might not be the same as face-to-face and as an extrovert who loves being with people and misses my friends, I feel it. However, it is something I’ve been doing for around 4 weeks or so each flu season and it hasn’t killed me yet. On the other hand, a bout of pneumonia came very close and it took a long time to get back on my feet and that could also account for the fibrosis in my lungs.
Most importantly, doesn’t let it get on top of you, and if you’re finding it getting too much, please speak to someone. A trouble shared, is a problem halved.
You thought you’d heard it all. However, you’ve been living in a cultural vacuum if you haven’t been introduced to this little Aussie icon… Jonathan Livingston Budgerigar.
After reading my previous post about my efforts to photograph Jonathan Livingston Seagull down at the beach, a friend put me onto Bob Hudson‘s Jonathan Livingston Budgerigar. The outcome for JLB is truly Australian, but I’m no spoiler. You’ll need to watch it for yourselves. I guarantee you’ll never see anything else like it!!
While you’re onto a good thing, you might also want to listen to Bob Hudson’s The Newcastle Song. It’s a little bit rough, but funny as. Back in March 1975 when I was six, it topped the Kent Music Report singles chart.
By the way, this was the era when Paul Hogan had hit the big time with the Paul Hogan Show and The Newcastle Song album fitted in well.
I’ve been left absolutely speechless, but suspect my cred with the kids has suffered a beating, but it’s been worth it. I love a good belly laugh.
Do you have any funny posts you’d like to share? I’d love to check them out.
As you may be aware, I’ve been fully immersing myself in past editions of the Sydney University Newspaper: Honi Soit over the last couple of weeks. I’ve really stumbled across some ripper stories and I particularly moved this one by Graham Sawyer from 1963: How to succeed at University – by REALLY Trying . While he admits that it wasn’t entirely original and was based on an article from Esquire, I found it very enlightening and wish I’d read this before I first arrived in 1988 as a humble Fresher with my map out in front.
Naturally, the procession of students from school to university continues. Indeed, Year 12 is currently sitting for their HSC or final exams and all being well and that being their goal, they’ll be off to uni in the new year. So, who knows? Perhaps, this advice from over 50 years ago will stand them in good stead:
THERE IS too much time wasted in your first few days at this sepulchral establishment in telling you how to pass exams. If you have managed to enrol, register, and in general to get into the University, then it is self-evident that you have the required ability and intelligence to graduate. You will find that study and exams are a mere formality and can be taken in your stride. It is far more important to enjoy your course, and to make your years at student level the most memorable of your life.
This means of course as much time as possible should be spent away from study. The successful student is not necessarily the one that passes. This you will realise within six months, so you may as well learn it now. The ultimate goal or criterion for success as a student is the attainment of power within the University. Now power is a nebulous concept and it can take many forms. There is political power, power of personality, power of opinion, power in talent, and even (and this will appeal to many) power in lack of talent. Only at University can a talentless bum be regarded as a somebody. Exploit it . . . So we present a few simple rules and paragraphs of guidance which if carefully followed will lead to your recognition as a person of status in student society.
Note here that the first hundred days of your career are crucial. This is the time when foundations are laid, and it gives rise to our first rule: DONT JOIN ANYTHING YET IF YOU CAN POSSIBLY AVOID IT. Sound out which clubs are fashionable, which have the smallest membership and which you can become president of most quickly. Don’t worry if you are not interested in the Club’s activity. you will find that it mostly boils down to self-administration anyway. Don’t be afraid to go to the functions held in Orientation Week which involve afternoon tea, because the population at these is largely starving third-year students and not enquiring freshers. Some very useful contacts can be made here. In conversations, raise your age, be uncertain about what course you wish to take, be indifferent to people, be self-contained.
Don’t keep in with the friends you have made at school, you will find they’re inadequate for your progress at Uni. Seek out new friends who are rich, influential, very bright, or very talented. When going out, the rule for the student on the move is this: GO OUT WITH WOMEN WHO ARE EITHER OLDER OR VERY GOOD LOOKING. Do not waste time with any others. If you cannot attract this type of woman, mumble something about an affair with a married woman. This is as good.
For the freshettes, only go out with second-year (and upwards) fellows, this is far better for status. If you cannot get a guy, say you are being faithful to a young doctor in Melbourne. Have a picture. Don’t just go out to enjoy yourself, the luxury of this comes later. Be conscious of the impression you are making.
There are two points which will enable you to carry on a very impressive conversation with a member of the opposite sex. Firstly make sure you have evolved a philosophy of life. Contrary to the opinion of the “world outside” students are heading back to morality. The “what’s the use — let’s do it before the bomb comes” attitude is decadent. The best philosophy for this season (and very big on sex appeal too, incidentally) is idealistic cynicism (i.e. what has happened to the moral fibre of the world etc.). Adopt this philosophy and you are sure of success. Also make the most of your background, whatever it is. Never apologise for it, no matter how squalid. Make it sound exotic. Talk about how your mother and father make love a lot. Be personal and feel free to criticise them whenever possible. Call them “oldies”. By the way, a knowledge of carracing is desirable (though far from essential) to aid conversation with the rich and social set.
Although a book could be written on entry into college the following hints may be of assistance.
5.A Note on the Academic Side.
Remember this maxim: “A friendly lecturer is like money in the bank’. Make at least one friend, preferably in the Psychology Department for they are young, generous and above all, understanding. For now, go to all Classes, lectures and do all your assignments. Do not be too smart immediately. Let lecturers think they have helped you. Preferably do your essays on time, but if you need an extension, red eyes and a plea of “family troubles” never fail. All other comments on this topic I reserve to my later paper to be entitled “How to Pass Exams, Find Religious Faith, and Have a Traumatic Love Affair Simultaneously”.
6.After the First Hundred Days . . . The Move to Power.
The primary and most important task now that you have laid the foundation is to choose the role which you must assume for the remainder of the year, unless of course you stage a conversion later in the year, which is good if done tastefully. Sportsmen are unfortunately no longer powerful student figures, real power lies in the assumption of one of the following roles and exploiting it to the full. Rule of thumb here is: Make sure your name is on it.
The home of this is the “honi” office where gather all the literary types to belt out their muses on ancient typewriters, and swap theories as to primordial excretory functions of Kerouac in 20th Century literature. It is a quick and sure rise to power for both sexes when they join “honi”, for its staff are really the elite. You merely sit in the office, think up sick or dreary jokes, find lesser people who can be sent up. All this without the need for any talent. If you have talent you should write endlessly. Be prolific; it’s fashionable. Write poetry, it takes less time. The best gimmick to assume power in the newspaper field was last year when a group got the editors thrown out and took over the paper. Don’t try this again, it has been (as it were) done to death.
The sure way to power in the literary field is as follows: Submit a very dirty fortnightly article with either your own name (if it is something like Carslaw Gardfish) or a pseudonym like Gloster or Alkie (if your name is commonplace). Never let either editor or staff see you, until you have been published three times, then boldly walk into the office and present yourself with your next opus.
You are made.
2. Student Politics Group.
At the elections in June campaign vigorously for the S.R.C. Your platform should be: More representation for freshers, and abolition of the S.R.C.. Note: only your own sex can vote for you, do not waste campaign time on members of the opposite sex. Union elections are also beneficial, but cut your teeth on the S.R.C.
Join one of the political clubs, preferably the Labour Club if you live in a blue ribbon Liberal electorate. This proves you are sincere. Join the C.N.D, (three stars) or Student Action (two stars).
Get your bloc votes from a religious group (two alternatives here) or the very helpful college Or faculty vote (especially in Engineering), When on Council, Or any semi-political committee, speak often and vigorously using big words. Go to Union Night. Resign conspicuously from small office and talk vaguely about pressure being brought to bear. Whatever you do, don’t be a Communist … it simply isn’t a good joke any more. Organise a protest . . . against anything . . .
Politics can be rewarding in ways other than simply status. There are many free trips to “conferences” and other perks which are yours for the asking.
3. The Charismatic Party-Giving Non-Joiners.
Firstly look up “charismatic” in a dictionary. Now give parties anywhere you can find, Paddington, an old ice-works, a brothel, East .Sydney Tech, (but you get the idea). Wear an impeccable suit with perhaps a bullethole in the shoulder. When people ask, give no details. Drink only Rum-and Coke (very IN). Invite the Royal George push. Spend the night in the window of a furniture store, and chunder on the display carpet. Apologise to the owner. You’ll be a legend in no time. Be a big wheel on Commem. Day. Race off women (more of this in another paper entitled “Ovals and Bars — another view of University Life”).
4.The Arty Theatre Set.
You will find this group in the Union Theatre Foyer at any time. Go to castings for plays and make a grand entrance by slamming the door or somersaulting into the room. Try for only big parts, refuse the small ones as unrewarding. Carry a book on Becket with you wherever you go. Say you would rather read a play than see it acted. Have a successful audition with the A.B.C. and Tibor Rudas. Try to establish a Rep. Company but bow out to commercialism when you find it costs too much. Wear the hair longer than average and wear quite old clothes.
Deplore method acting and speak loudly about the corruption of the Independent Theatre. Go to lessons with Hayes Gordon even though you hate the Method but tell the set that the man is a great teacher. If you can play the piano, try to play for Revue. Compose modern jazz or perhaps a concerto for bassoon and bull-fiddle. If you are an actor have one speech that you really can do, even if it is only eight lines. Memorize the Henry VI speech (part III, act II scene 5) which goes:
For what is in this world but grief and woe,
O God! Methinks it were a happy life.
To be no better than a homely swain.
Say it very softly and sadly at any given opportunity.
5.The Intellectual or Crackpot.
Do something legendary, like in a final exam say that you disapprove of the question and answer one of your own brilliantly. Be friends with libertarians (on the way out, but still useful) or perhaps the Philosophy Department. Someone is sure to think you are brilliant. Give blood donations, steal books from Fisher, have only one set of clothes. Admit something that no one else would, like that you are illegitimate. Do bicycle presses on the Quadrangle lawns and learn the names of the Union waitresses. Shave seldom, but do NOT grow a beard (this is pretentious and only for the pseudos).
Read poetry, submit things to “honi” at a distance, Quad lounge, have many ideas and theories. Go out with the most beautiful girl around (she’ll go, don’t worry), do not shave for the occasion and wear odd socks. Change your course as often as you can. Don’t go to lectures explaining that “lecturers have nothing new or original to offer”.
So there you are. Just a few hints on how to really get down to the important issues of University life. Girls can adapt the above comments to suit themselves. Of course this has not been an exhaustive list but we really hope it may help you. Good luck! Oh, by the way, we have been asked how one tells when one has attained power. Here’s how you know . . .
(Note: This article, though masquerading as an HONI SOIT original was actually adapted from an article in Esquire our American counterpart. — GRAHAM SAWYER
Before I head off, I just wanted to share one little anecdote from my four years at Sydney University. While I was in first year, my bag was stolen from the uni gym. Quite aside from losing my wallet, my glasses were in the bag and my clothes. So, I had to catch the train home in my gym gear and I couldn’t see. Clearly, this was one of those things which are dreadful thing at the time, but becomes funny in hindsight. Anyway, about 3 years later when I was doing my final Honours year, I received a phone call from the University’s security service. They’d found my bag. Indeed, I think it had been there the entire time.
Well, after all that time, my old bag had become quite the time capsule. There were notes in there from friends and all sorts. What really stunned me though, was that there were two maybe three bottles of red nail polish in there. What on earth was I trying to achieve? I’ve never been particularly vain or into makeup but I felt this definitely came under the heading of “trying too hard!!!”
So, then…I’d love to know what you thought about all of that. Do you have any advice of your own you could add? If so, I’d love to hear from you.
PS The sketches appeared in the original article. Artist unknown.
Today, I was caught in the act. Lost in my own little world watching Peppa Pig, I’d forgotten that my husband was working from home and my son was home sick and they might find this a little strange. That while I am renowned for being a little quirky both on and off the world wide web, watching Peppa Pig was setting new bounds of personal madness even for me. After all, I’m in my 40s and there weren’t any kids around. Surely, I coudl find something more intellectually stimulating, humorous or at the very least grown up to watch? What was wrong with me? Had my brain blown a fuse…or even worse?
However, as Geoff moved closer, that triumphant look of smug ridicule disappeared once he realized that Peppa Pig was making no sense. Indeed, Peppa Pig and friends were speaking German.
This is the first time I’ve watched Peppa Pig in German. You see, my blogging friend, Solveig Werner is teaching German and she recommended it in her Links for German Students. I’d never thought of brushing up my languages using you tube before. Obviously, you tube didn’t exist when I was at school and we were dependent on the very out-of-date German videos. On exceptionally rare occasions, I might run into a German tourist and might be able to have a go. Fortunately, my grandfather was fluent and had even taught German and took great pleasure writing to me in German. He was such a lovely man.
Well, you could ask me why I’m brushing up on my German now. It’s not like I’m about to head over, and there are very few opportunities to speak German here. Well, let’s just say I was curious and wondering how much of it I could understand.
You see, after leaving university, I was backpacking through Europe for almost a year and much of that time, I was in Germany. Indeed, I lived in Heidelberg for around six months with a German family. So, my comprehension of German isn’t too bad, especially when we’re talking about “Bahnhof Deutsch” (Railway Station or tourist German) or cartoon German.
Anyway, returning to the home front. Having given my husband a bit of entertainment, he let our son in on the action and you could just imagine how he reacted when he found out his own mother was watching Peppa Pig!!!! There are embarrassing mums, but this was right off the Richter Scale.
Geoff returned and goads him on: “You have to get her outside for a walk before she goes completely insane.”
At this point, a discussion also started up about how they were going to lure me out of the house. I’m not sure whether it was my husband or son who first came up with the idea. However, our son threatened to remove the kettle to get some movement. Funny that. I wouldn’t have thought I was that dependent, until I saw the huge mountain of used tea bags ready to head out to the worm farm.
To be honest, they probably have a point. It’s actually 2.30pm and I’m still in my PJs on a school day. While even the most devoted fashionista would agree that everyone needs a pyjama day now and then, it could well be the case that my PJ days are flowing together and are amounting to a reality break.
I’m not sure. While today, I’m definitely guilty as charged, I was out and about yesterday and I’ve since got dressed and taken all three dogs for a very energetic run along the beach. I managed to clock up 1.5km. So,I haven’t been bone idle. I’ve also been researching conscription and the Vietnam War. Surely, kilometres of thought must count for something to somebody out there? If so, could you please leave your details in the comments. You’ll be my new best friend.
Meanwhile, Peppa Pig is calling…
Welcome to Another Thursday Doors.
At the risk of repeating myself, I’ve returned to Lower Crackpot, Tazmazia again and this week we’re off to the Road Kill Cafe. While this might appear to be in bad taste, it’s actually making an important environmental statement. On average, 32 animals are killed every hour on Tasmanian roads. Indeed, ‘More animals die per kilometre on Tasmanian Roads than anywhere else in the world,’ says Don Knowler, author of Riding the Devil’s Highway. ‘The scale of road kill in Tasmania is just colossal,’ he says, adding that almost 300,000 animals are killed a year, with some groups putting the figure as high as half a million. Another problem is secondary road kill. Animals like the very, endangered Tasmanian Devil, are run over while feeding on the road.
Addressing serious issues through humour is surprisingly effective, and much better than pointing the finger. Indeed, the message seems to filter in through the cracks, as humour allows us to approach threatening subjects in a non-threatening way and makes people more receptive to new ideas. Clearly, this is important when you’re trying to change someone else’s behavior or raise awareness of an issue which has previously passed under their radar.
Before I head off, I thought I’d leave you with one last comment from Lower Crackpot on global warming:
Thursday Doors is hosted by Norm 2.0 at Thursday Doors. Why don’t you come and join us and share a few of your favourite doors.
Welcome to Another Thursday Doors!
This week, you’d better hold onto your horses. We’re setting off on an incredible journey to Tazmazia, located in a town quite literally called the Promised Land. As if that didn’t sound like its from the realms of magic carpets and Aladdin’s Cave, within Tazmazia, you’ll find the miniature village of Lower Crackpot. Trust me. I’d not making any of this up. When you check out the map of Tassie, Tazmazia’s located near the North-West town of Sheffield. It’s real and it’s spectacular.
You can read more about our visit to Tazmazia Here.
Thursday Doors is hosted by Norm 2.0 at Thursday Doors. Why don’t you come and join us and share a few of your favourite doors.
Research was never meant to be a straight road. Quite often, there’s an astounding story right alongside the one I was looking for, which turns out to be “the find”.
Night, while reading through my grandmother’s music column from the 1950s, I stumbled across this gem:
Unfortunately, a quick Google search fails to elucidate the matter any further. Does anybody know any more about this?