The Befouled Weakly News
9 November 2008 What a miserably, dull and dreary week we’ve had, apart from Friday when it dawned bright and sunny. The rain during the week has been of the worst kind, a swirling mist which is simply annoying – not enough to require proper rain gear or umbrellas but sufficient to soak you through if you haven’t the appropriate apparel. And, for those of us who are compelled to wear spectacles, it is quite clearly impossible. The quantity of precipitation causes your wind screen wipers to squeal and screech if you have them on constantly but the interval wipe leaves you squinting through the drop-smattered wind screen as it’s of an insufficiently frequent cycle. The ground is saturated and muddy so the dog arrives home after her walk and has to be subjected to the indignity of a hose down from the outside tap which then precludes her assuming her accustomed position on the lounge carpet as she is banished to the kitchen or entrance hall. What misery! Last night we had the annual Byfield fireworks display in celebration of Guy Fawkes/Bonfire night. Unfortunately, it was raining so we watched it from the “library” with Pen’s folks, Beryl and Oz, Nick and Lucy and our old friend, Pippa Timings (not that she’s old, of course, only that we have known her for a very long time) who was visiting for the weekend. And a magnificent display it was, as always (although not quite as extravagantly splendid as last year’s both Pen and I thought). I know you’ve all had lessons in the past so no need to remind you that Guy Fawkes was one of the alleged conspirators who attempted to blow up the Houses of Parliament. The plot intended to kill King James I, his family, and most of the Protestant aristocracy in a single attack by blowing up the Houses of Parliament during the State Opening on 5 November 1605. The conspirators also planned to abduct the royal children, not present in Parliament, and incite a popular revolt in the Midlands in an attempt to install King James’ nine-year old daughter, Elizabeth, as a Catholic monarch. Fawkes managed to conceal thirty-six barrels of gunpowder in a cellar beneath Parliament but the plot was discovered before it could be carried out. Some of the conspirators were concerned that some of their Catholic friends and relatives would be in attendance at the opening of Parliament and hence in mortal danger. One of the conspirators sent a letter to his brother-in-law, Lord Monteagle, warning him not to attend the occasion; unfortunately for the conspirators, Monteagle sent the letter on to Robert Cecil, Earl of Salisbury and Secretary of State. In spite of the plot being discovered, however, the conspirators, somewhat foolishly one might suggest, decided to proceed anyway and Fawkes was discovered at midnight on 5 November guarding a pile of sticks and kindling, not far from the barrels of gunpowder in the cellar underneath the Houses of Parliament. A watch, slow matches, and touchpaper were found in his possession and he was arrested. Far from denying his intentions during the arrest, Fawkes stated that it had been his purpose to destroy the King and the Parliament. The other conspirators fled to the countryside. Fawkes was “interrogated” (i.e., tortured) and ultimately divulged the details of his co-conspirators who were rounded up over the next few weeks and months. They were tried on 27 January 1606, found guilty and executed shortly thereafter in a not particularly pleasant manner which I won’t go into. And so, to commemorate the King’s safe delivery from harm, every 5 November the public light bonfires, atop of which they burn an effigy of Guy Fawkes, and ignite fireworks in celebration. I suppose it’s as good an excuse for a party as any and now that we no longer have a dog which is petrified by the excitement, it’s always quite a show. As well as being Bonfire Night in Byfield, Saturday was also the welcome initiation of the autumn international rugby union season. Yesterday, England hosted an “all star” team from the Pacific islands; outstanding, exciting players from Tonga, Samoa and Fiji, who can always be relied upon to play open, exciting, full-throttled rugby. At the same time, the Welsh hosted the South Africans and later in the evening the Scots had the New Zealand All Blacks in town. I won’t spoil Sandy’s enjoyment (assuming he gets to see the matches somehow) but it sure is nice to have some high quality rugby on display again. The only drawback was the England’s match was on at the same time as the Wales v South African match and so one had to employ a fair degree of channel hoping to try and keep up with both. And speaking of the Welsh, the following has had a lot of press in this country over the past week or so. It probably won’t have made much of an impact in the States, I guess:
And I thought the following was also quite amusing:
Oops! Love to you all, Gregs An engineer dies and reports to the pearly gates. St. Peter checks his dossier and says, "Ah, you're an engineer – sorry, you're in the wrong place." So, the engineer reports to the gates of hell and is let in. Pretty soon, the engineer gets dissatisfied with the level of comfort in hell, and starts designing and building improvements. After awhile, they've got air conditioning and flush toilets and escalators, and the engineer is a pretty popular guy. One day, God calls Satan up on the telephone and says with a sneer, "So, how's it going down there in hell?" Satan replies, "Hey, things are going great. We've got air conditioning and flush toilets and escalators, and there's no telling what this engineer is going to come up with next." God replies, "What??? You've got an engineer? That's a mistake – he should never have gotten down there; send him up here." Satan says, "No way. I like having an engineer on the staff, and I'm keeping him." God says, "Send him back up here or I'll sue." Satan laughs uproariously and answers, "Yeah, right. And just where are YOU going to get a lawyer?" A Norwegian took a trip to Fargo, North Dakota. While in a bar, an Indian on the next stool spoke to the Norwegian in a friendly manner. "Look," he said, "let's have a little game. I'll ask you a riddle. If you can answer it, I'll buy you a drink. If you can't then you buy me one. OK?" "Ja, dat sounds purty good," said the Norwegian. The Indian said, "My father and mother had one child. It wasn't my brother. It wasn't my sister. Who was it?" The Norwegian scratched his head and finally said, "I give up. Who vas it?" "It was ME," chortled the Indian. So the Norwegian paid for the drinks. Back in Sioux Falls the Norwegian went into the bar and spotted one of his cronies. "Sven," he said, "I got a game. If you can answer a question, I'll buy you a drink. If you can't, you have to buy me vun. Fair enough?" "Fair enough," said Sven. "Ok," the Norwegian said, "my father and mudder had vun child. It vasn't my brudder. It vasn't my sister. Who vas it?" "Search me," said Sven. "I give up, who vas it?" The Norwegian burst out, "It vas some Indian up in Fargo, North Dakota!" A guy walks into a bar and asks the bartender if he will give him a free beer if he shows him something amazing. The bartender agrees, so the guys pulls out a hamster, who begins dancing and singing "Tuff Enuff" by the Fabulous Thunderbirds. "That IS amazing!" says the bartender and gives the guy his free beer. "If I show you something else amazing, will you give me another beer?" The bartender agrees, so the guy pulls out a small piano and a hamster and a frog. Now the hamster plays the piano while the frog dances and sings "You Ain't Seen Nothing Yet" by Bachman-Turner Overdrive. The bartender, completely wowed, gives him another beer. A man in a suit, who's been watching the entire time, offers to buy the frog for a princely sum, which the man agrees to. "Are you nuts?" asks the bartender. "You could've made a fortune off that frog." "Can you keep a secret?" asks the man. "The hamster's a ventriloquist."
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