Tag Archive: sheep


Percy Verance

coffeeNWonderful man is Percy.

Found this definition today.

Oh how true that is.

I stole purloined it from Living Simply Free, her Friday roundup post offers a lot of good links.

Leftovers for lunch today. It was one of those inspirational meals where you open the fridge door and throw whatever you see on the grill.

What did I see? Well, sliced fatty ham, chicken roll, last of the sliced cheese, open bottle of Sauvignon Blanc (ah, that didn’t reach the grill… what do you think I am, stupid? <— rhetorical question). I toasted the last hamburger bun, mustard on the bottom, Lea & Perrins Worcestershire sauce on the top, slapped everything else in the middle.

Now my fridge is officially empty.

Which is a good reason to eat out tomorrow and shop on Monday.

The Brazilian protests continue, the president, Blonde Bimbo Dilma, gave a speech to the nation last night on the telly. In it she offered the people the kitchen scraps from the table; There were more scraps in my leftoverburger.

I quite agree with her, and the rest of the populace, that the violence is reprehensible. There have been many cases where the legitimate protestors have turned against the vandals.

FIFA’s anus is quivering over the protests.

Today is another footy match; Brazil vs Italy, I believe a draw or a win will ensure Brazil’s continued presence in the cup.

Yesterday I discovered a plant that eats sheep… yes, it dines on sheep. Puya chilensis eats sheep I knew about plants like the Venus fly trap and pitcher plants, but never imagined one could digest sheep whole.

Managed Satireday posts on all blogs today, my students came late and left. I am going to have a glass of chilled Chateau Neuf de River Water and a nap before the footy.

Later.

I should not be sitting here!

I have guests arriving in about an hour for a BBQ.

no-whining-sign

Do NOT believe the sign

The meat is still in the fridge, I haven’t begun to marinate it. I still have potatoes to peel and cook for a potato salad, I still have a lettuce salad to make. I haven’t even thought about putting out tables and chairs or even buying charcoal. I have garlic butter to make, bread rolls to prepare.

The padeiro (breadman) that passed this morning in the rain thought I was crazy to have a BBQ today. Now the sun is shining, the birds are chirping; I told him the weather wouldn’t dare disappoint me.

One of the reasons for my dallying, is that my noon students decided on an 8am start today, then I needed a nap. I managed a Caturday post, but that’s it. I haven’t done a damned thing today, not even the dishes… yeah, so what’s new? Even this morning’s coffee was yesterday’s leftover.

I did pickle some beetroot last night… hopefully it will be pickled enough to use today. Usually I like to leave it three days before opening.

Dags...

Dags…

I am not whining, just saying.

So having said, I will now rattle my dags.

For those of you who are not familiar with the saying ‘to rattle ones dags’, the dags are the poopy bits that cling to the wool around a sheep’s bum. When they are dry and the sheep runs, they literally rattle.

Hence the saying, when one must get mobile, a move on, etc, their dags must rattle…

It’s a NZ rural farmy thing.

But rattling ones dags happens in the best of families, even my late mother used the saying.

Impromptu is best.

Later.

Update:

It has taken me an hour and two minutes and all is ready; well, nearly all, just the lettuce salad to make and mix the potato salad.

The ribs are all cut, I had a side of pork ribs, the meat is all marinated, the garlic butter done…

Here’s the crunch – The ex rang to say she is broke until tomorrow and they can’t get here today. In Brazil one expects these sorts of things.

So now I have to wash the meat, or it will be too salty and save it all.

But this will not perturb me. I will have a mini-BBQ for me for lunch with beer… and do it all again tomorrow.

Now isn’t that just a wonderful idea?

Later, it’s nearly beer o’clock.

BEER_O_CLOCK_CLOCK_by_infinite_kemo-550x412

Image from: Tooft Designs, lots of lovely clocks, you should check it out.

Success!

This is a Fuzzy Logic

Yes, folks, I have successfully wasted an entire Monday; which most people would call a failure, but if a failure is so complete, does that not then become success?

I believe one would refer to that as ‘fuzzy logic.’

Yes, fuzzy logic does exist, it’s dealing with approximates rather the exacts, but I prefer the Fuzzy Logic shown on the right. This is also fuzzy logic:

Ingredients : 60 ml (2 oz) Tanqueray gin;45 ml (1.5 oz) fresh orange juice;15 ml (.5 oz) peach schnapps;2 dashes Benedictine

Instructions : Shake over ice and strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

In fact your logic becomes fuzzier the more of them you drink, and there’s nothing fuzzy about that, that’s an exact.

Fuzzy logic is NOT how a sheep thinks.

Yes, today was Monday, well, it still is, but the business end of the day has finished and now it’s relax time. Which is why I am here at the keyboard, this is relaxation.

I am not, more’s the pity, drinking a fuzzy logic. I am however drinking Cashew Juice. Yes, I know cashews are nuts, how can you get juice from a nut? This is not fuzzy logic. If you want to know the secret to Cashew Juice then check the previous post; I wrote about it yesterday.

Today was that day of the month for my sojourn into Barra da Tijuca to get paid. The only good thing about it was sushi for lunch, the pay certainly wasn’t good; it’s going to be a tight month.

That’s all you’re going to get from me today, bugger all. I have other posts to procrastinate about.

Later.

 

Last week it rained twice…

First for three days, then for four days.

Yes, last week it rained a lot. Today it is supposed to let up and come back tomorrow. So I am making hay while the sun shines.

Last night I read a mates blog. I haven’t got over that way for a bit and I see that he has a post about his beloved Australia and my own equally adored New Zealand. I think it was in response to my previous post Things. Tempo told some stories that would of course be quite true if Australia replaced New Zealand and New Zealand replaced Australia in most of the texts; all except the one about Wiremu and his testicular removal.

But he’s right, we are neighbours and we do sling off at each other something chronic, but when you find a Kiwi and an Ozzie overseas amongst the thousands of tourists, you’d think they were Siamese twins because they’re always together. Our rivalry is only equaled by our respect… I think.

It doesn’t matter whether they do us at cricket, or we stomp the stuffing out of them on the rugby paddock, we will still tell the same jokes about each other, they are crude rude and sometimes downright nasty, they sling off at our sheep and we sling off at theirs, we’ve got the Maoris and they’ve got the Aborigines; they’ve got this huge stone in their yard and a poncy Opera house in Sydney, and we’ve got Mt Cook and…. well, we’ve got Mt Cook. Oh, yeah and some mud puddles. So there are good and bad points on both sides of the creek (that’s what we both call the Tasman Sea). It’s true that Australians don’t speak English, they speak Strine, but then we don’t say New Zealand, but rather Newzild

“Newzilders and Strines, sharing proud isolation at the tail of the South Pacific, have been blood brothers in two world wars. In peacetime they keep busy sniping at each other – and mangling their mother tongue. For decades each nation has fiercely upheld its own dialect, despising the other’s version. But now the battle is out in the open. First the Strines stepped over the line by circulating Let Stalk Strine on the wrong side of the Tasman…”

That blurb said it better than me. We retaliated.

But when meeting each other and others of our ilk we both say “Gidday, air gun?” which loosely translated into BBC English would be something like, “Good morning (afternoon, evening), how are you?” The Strines have this national dish called ‘feesh ‘n cheeps’ whereas in Newzild we have the same dish called ‘fush ‘n chups.’ So we are both irrevocably and intricantly involved with butchering our mother tongue, English.

And we both fight ad nauseum over who invented the Pavlova. Which isn’t even a contest because the earliest writing of the “pav” is in a NZ cookbook from the 1920’s whereas it didn’t appear in Australian literature until 1940; which could be explained by the fact that Australian literature only appeared about then too.

Things like bungy jumping were also a New Zealand first. The Australians were first at… ah… um, something.

Newzilders see Strya a bit like this:

And so it goes…

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