1971 the year of the lengthy intro
In 1971 there was more emphasis on the introductory period in Eurovision songs, noted in the following randomly chosen examples. (for even more head wrecking ba ba ba ba and La la la la, play them simultaneously)
Malta! 28 seconds and apparently last place.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JSbHt3hcmnY&fs=1&hl=en_US]
Switzerland! A staggering 39 seconds! 12th place.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Egwke_ENofQ&fs=1&hl=en_US]
In the garden, one armed digging, with a small implement. Removed some of the patchwork of blighted tomatoes which had dropped into the soil And hark! The soil, 4 years later and a chip shop of rubble churned up, is finally looking like soil of some sincerity. Had a rummage and found teeny, ickle potatoes as Helen said I would. The much doted upon arugula plant looks happy and certain in there. I have ambitions to be a winter gardener, but since I cannot ever recall the code to the communal shed it’s a challenge.
1.22am. A moment when I wish night was day. An unusual weather event is taking place at this hour, an uneven windstorm. The gusts come intermittently and they blow in shapes like big old beer bellies. A bellows kind of bluster. Short blasts. 2 to 3 seconds and then give way. Inbetween there is a strange hum in the air. The wind is not cold. It’s 13 degrees and fresh. It smells like Mayo wind, except Mayo wind would never pause for prayer or thought or inhale the way this one does. There is a howl off it, which again is rare for urban Vancouver wind. Naturally I stuck my head out the window to examine and partake and noted no one else has their head out there at this hour. But if they did, they’d have seen black cloud barrelling North, yes North. Normally the clouds travel West when I look at them from this angle. Single taxis travel the street but you could list everything in the fridge and cupboards aloud in the time that lapses between them.
I continue to be impressed by Francis Boldereff’s correspondence to Charles Olson in the collection A Modern Correspondence. Olsen has yet to make any impression, partly because he has so few letters in it so far and what he has are the succinct variety.
I am reading the book aloud to my partner, who patiently listens and we confer on Francis. Neither of either of us is particularly interested in Olson. It’s more a case of who is this woman?
Frances, I understand, was a typesetter and children’s librarian.
The book was edited by Ralph Maud and Sharon Thesen. It came into my possession the best way, found it discarded on the side of the road. Tripping over it literature. Or it rose up to greet me lit.
Nerfing up the vernacular
Myself and the small male are today festooned in the language of modification. Nerf gun modification. It’s a serious business involving my limited carpentry tools. “Yeah,” says he, taking off up the stairs with me bloody gluten free crackers in tow, “Don’t worry I’m just doing a simple air restrictor mod.” (The vernacular acquired via youtube is fantastic when uttered in all seriousness, incl on the telephone to grandma)
Righty-o.
Hours later, roars, “I need you to hold these very important pieces together, get up here.” Never before have I been this useful!!
I’m encouraging this dabbling since it will lead to visits to the plumbing shop and have a bit of a penchant for the plumbing shop. I especially like having chats to one older man behind the counter. The younger plumbing types are monosyllabic and do not get excited about my greenhouse experiment.