Friday, 1 July 2011

Youtube or The Mysterious Case of the Bare-Chested Man with a Monkey

This is my pile of sand, and I will defend it to the death!
Ladies, gentlemen, alien overlords secretly living among us, today I want to address you on an unusual subject. Well, it's a perfectly normal subject, as the title suggests. Anyway, it's music. I've lately been introduced to the work of an amusing musical fella called Matt Mulholland, who produces a capella versions of music with himself playing a number of parts. Here's a sample of his work. In the same sort of field, here's a sweet piece by an American choir paying tribute to the renowned composer, John Williams. I defy you not to titter. In like musical field, here's a nifty group from Germany following the stylings of '50s America, but using modern songs: The Baseballs with Umbrella. I must thank my friend, Si, for introducing me to that excellent group. They came up in conversation last week when I mentioned The Puppini Sisters, whom I've referred to on this blog before.

Right, I hope that I've softened you up enough with music there. I've a few more bits of terrain under the knife right now. The aforementioned 6" by 3" barbed wire fields are coming along nicely. But they have to pause and wait for me to acquire some superglue. Fingers crossed I'll see some of that next Tuesday. The wire itself is from Antenociti's Workshop. I find I still have another two packets of it left, so probably enough for another 18" in these 6" by 3" segments, or perhaps for other bits and bobs. I have a vague feeling I should keep some back and make a giant well-defended board covered with emplacements lightly garnished with barbed-wire. Should I really link sand and salad in my mind and yours? Well, it beats E. Coli, I suppose. Is that a stellar recommendation? Perhaps not.

Of course, as well as the barbed-wire, you've seen the peculiar tumulus at the top of the page. I'm not quite sure hot to paint this. A miniature stepped pyramid partially covered in dirt is the obvious and tempting idea, but I might change my mind. I am fickle. Oh, so fickle am I! You wouldn't believe my fickleness. Rereading that, I expect you would believe that I'm sufficiently fond of the late, great Frankie Howerd to sound like him inadvertently. On which note, gentle reader, I shall leave you with the sweet sound of Frankie Howerd ringing in your ears. Here's a clip from the bawdy '70s comedy Up PompeiiUntil next time, dear reader, as no Roman (unless ver', ver' drun' and afflicted with some bizarre speech impediment) would ever say: "Pompeii, saluté, naughté naughté! Up Pompeii!"

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