Dispatch RiderBritish Dispatches
Monday, February 23, 2004
      ( 11:43 PM ) Spengy  


Four youths from Canberra, Australia pulled off a trick of breathtaking bravado in order to gain revenge on a mobile speed camera van operating in the area.

Three of the group approached the van and distracted the operator's attention by asking a series of questions about how the equipment worked and how many cars the operator could catch in a day. Meanwhile, the fourth musketeer sneaked to the front of the van and unscrewed its numberplate. After bidding the van operator goodbye, the friends returned home, fixed the number plate to their car and drove through the camera's radar at high speed - 17 times. As a result, the automated billing system issued 17 speeding tickets to itself.

Go Aussies!!

Saturday, February 21, 2004
      ( 1:37 PM ) Spengy  


I have been away and didn't much feel like blogging for a while. Hopefully it will wear off over the next few days.

Thursday, February 05, 2004
      ( 8:55 PM ) Spengy  


Scene: Crowded tube carriage in centre of London at the peak of the morning rush hour

Spengy: You stuck-up pushy bitch.

Commuter: [Voice-over to indicate internal thoughts] I may not get on therefore I am entitled to push past you to get on the crowded train before you. When you push on behind me to take the place that was rightfully yours I will huff loudly and say "There is another train coming along in 3 minutes so there is no need to push". You have no right to say what you said to me.

I fucking hate the tubes in rush hour. You can forget about that bullshit that the British know how to queue properly.

Tuesday, February 03, 2004
      ( 2:50 PM ) Spengy  


I have been remiss and slack. I may not be the bookworm that others are (I confess I have a TV that seems to suck me into the couch most evenings) but I have been reading. I have not, however been posting my reviews at the completion of each book. Hence a back-log. Hence this post;

Lake Wobegon Days - Garrison Keillor

A great book. Stories about life in a small town. It doesn't flow as a narrative. Each chapter could be read as a separate short story but there is enough to glue them together. This book had me laughing out loud on the tube. I have been aware of this book for years but never got around to reading it until now. What a waste, this is a gem.

The Christmas Mystery - Jostein Gaarder

A Christmas book to be read a chapter a day from the 1st until the 24th of December. Just like an advent calendar, which is what the book is about. Cute concept. I reckon this is something to read to kids not for yourself. It is pretentious pseudo-philosophy for the masses. A bit like Jonathan Livingston Seagull. You know what I mean - profound when you read it at 14 but see it for the crap that it is now.

Bravo Two Zero - Andy McNab

Trash. Utter rubbish. Completely mindless and therefore a great Christmas holiday read. Couldn't put it down.

An Artist of the Floating World - Kazuo Ishiguro

Lovely. Not a word wasted, refined, sparse and polished. No espionage, no thrills, no action, just the recollections of an old Japanese artist whose career spanned the rise of Japanese imperialism and WW2. Remains of the Day has been added to my must read pile by the bed.

The Plague - Albert Camus

Whoa - not an easy book. You have to concentrate constantly to get the most out of it;

At that moment he knew what his mother was thinking, and that she loved him. But he knew, too, that to love someone means relatively little; or, rather, that love is never strong enough to find the words befitting it. Thus he and his mother would always love each other silently. And one day she - or he - would die, without ever, all their lives long, having gone farther than this by way of making their affection known. Thus, too, he had lived at Tarrou's side and Tarrou had died this evening without their friendship's having had time to enter fully into the life of either. Tarrou had 'lost the match', as he put it. But what had he, Rieux won? No more than the experience of having known plague and remembering it, of having known friendship and remembering it, of knowing affection and being destined one day to remember it. So all a man could win in the conflict between plague and life was knowledge and memories. But Tarrou, perhaps, would have called that winning the match. - A. Camus, The Plague (1947 translation 1948) 279.

But well worth the effort. Freaky looking cover that had people staring at me on the tube.

Musings of an Aussie living in the UK

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