Highly recommended

follow the link http://gematt.blogspot.com/
Gordon Brown

God's bounty. 

Summer, Summer ! 

Angelfire. A lady that I have the deepest respect for = rock on! Get the sox. 

Like a spat?

There is a very good one going on at http://www.birmimghamcity-mad.co.uk between a big girl's blouse called Talamasca and a nible gentlemean called spionkop.

Gird Bust UP

BLAIR - IN DENIAL

Despite the advice of his intelligence agencies and his cabinet he decided to invade Iraq- reasuuriing only himself and the Burning Bush - that this would defeat terrorism. Plonker.

GB

Blue man on a blue guitar playing THE BLUES! 

This is loverly! 

Message to Agent Hoots

Send me your E address asap I've forgetten it. Guess where I am you ole' bugger!!!!

sgent speks

Lucky Aussies - but it won't last!

The boy Clarke was all but helpless against the greatest fast bowler in the world -Steve Harmison - he played and missed on numerous occasions and should have been caught early in his innings.
It was their lucky day but their domination of world cricket is over, they are old and past it, Great Britain will dominate world cricket for the next ten years.
Gordon Wicked

Blair and Bush - have killed more people than any terrorist

Bustards - and if they and their murderous agencies can show a littlle humility - I will offer them some advice - pull your murderers and troops back to the US of A and the UKU and stop interfering with their countries. Bush and Balair - try them immediately at the Court of Human Rights.
Gordon Brown

MI5, Mi6, GCHQ and Balair are rubbish.

First Blair makes London the number one target for going into Iraq.

Then the security services haven't got a clue - how many Islami's do they employ - how many of the mutitude of languauges used by Islamis do they know? It might not be Islamis it might be the BNP trying to stir up racial hatred. Ban them all says I.

Oh and by the way don't try ringing the anti terrorist hotline on 0800 on a mobile - you get charged. Feck 'em says I.
Gordon Bunkered

Full moon tonigth -

see below.
Gordon Howling

Blue moon - Only for Blues fans. Kernow what I mean? 

Red Hell! 

Not bad after 4 pints! 

And fuller still - the Pixies will be dancing tonight - a Keltek reel! 

Full moon in Kerwow. 

Rosalind Welcher

this could be such a beatiful world
this could be such a beautiful world if ...
the brooks
the streams
the rivers
the lakes
the very sea itself
were fresh
and clean
and sparkling
once again

the skies were clean
and blue by day
and filled with stars at night

if the wind blew
sweet and pure
the rain was only
rain
the treees continued
to grow tall
on the hills
and the meadows
were knee deep
with daises and clover

if the forest were alive
with animals
and the sky with birds
and the waters with fish

if people would only stop
hunting and hating
themselves
and those around them

if we could all care
just a little more
and fear just a little
less

if everyone could feel
just a little bit
for one another
of what i feel
towards You
and You feel
towards me

this could be such a beatiful world

Nuff said - Gordon

Birmingham City F.C.

From our yard we could hear the cheers when goals were scored, and the very air in Small Heath would be filled with excitement so tangible one could almost feel it - I could certainly smell it! Some of the boys would race along to the homes of friends in Garrison Lane, there to climb on the roofs of the toilets in the hope of seeing into the ground. I often wished I was a boy so I could join them! Our Jim climbed to the top-most point of the tip in order to catch a glimpse of what was going on.During my fifth year at school I sometimes accompanied some of the girls, during the lunch-break, to the Garrison Lane entrance of St. Andrews, in the hope of seeing our heroes. The gate-keeper often pretended he didn't see us, turning his back so we could "sneak" past him. I saw Bertie Auld and Jimmy Bloomfield, albeit from a distance, and hugged the knowledge to myself in case our Jim told Mother!The younger girls were green with envy when we regaled them with tales of the discussions we had with the players! All told for effect of course, in my case anyway, for I would simply have fainted away if one of them had really spoken to me!I loved the blue and white hats and scarves the supporters wore, and longed for the day when I could show I was a true fan. I tried for years to get Denis to take me, but to no avail. He was far too grown-up to be seen with his little sister at a match. I despaired of ever seeing my heroes so contented myself with reading all the match reports in the local paper, excitement churning in my stomach if we won, searing disappointment filling my soul if we lost. Sometimes Mrs H would let us watch the sports news on her television, especially when Blues were on, so I lived, second-hand, the joys and excitement of a football match.Mother couldn't understand why I was so interested in football, considering I couldn't participate in school sports. Patiently I explained I didn't want to play the game, simply be able to go and watch, cheering and shouting with everyone else. I thought it was marvellous that we had our own football team, just around the corner, and felt that everyone should support them!My chance came, at last, in 1963. Some Friday nights my parents took me out with them to a favourite pub of theirs in the city centre, The Birmingham Arms. I quite fancied Gwyn, the middle son of the Licensee, and tried all my girlish "wiles" to lure him, but was beginning to despair of ever going out with him.One evening, we were helping his father to clean up, I stepped outside the double glass doors of the bar to lock the outer, wooden ones, but couldn't reach the bolt. The boy of my dreams came out to assist, and suddenly the glass doors were bolted behind him. His father, knowing we were both too shy to show we cared, had locked us out on purpose, for he called through the closed doors, "Now you can ask her out, son!"Embarrassed I looked down at my feet, casting surreptitious glances at Gwyn, puzzled when I saw him gazing at the stars. Quietly he muttered, "It should be a good day for the match tomorrow!" Heart leaping in my breast I said, quite casually I thought, "Are you a Blues supporter too?" knowing full well he was, having gleaned every bit of information from his sister! The upshot of it was he asked me to go with him the next day to see Blues play Sheffield Wednesday, and my excitement knew no bounds.It rained heavily the next day, and no matter how much I protested that I didn't mind standing in the rain to watch the match, Gwyn said he wouldn't expect it of me. Disappointed we went to The Futurist cinema, my clothes soaking wet, the fake fur collar of my coat emitting a strange, musty smell - I think it came from my being over-zealous with Mother's Rosewater cologne before leaving the house! Although I was happy to be, at last, going out with Gwyn, I was sorely disappointed that, once again, my dream of seeing the Blues in the flesh was denied me. On leaving the cinema we learned the match had resulted in a draw, so I wasn't as disappointed as I would have been if we'd won!During the days of our courtship many things transpired to prevent my going to a match, and I finally relinquished my childhood dream, which was resurrected on December 28th 1963. My birthday is on Boxing Day, and as a treat Gwyn took me to watch our team play Arsenal. My excitement knew no bounds as I put on my blue and white scarf and "bobble" hat (purchased during my days as a Saturday girl, but never yet worn), preening in front of my bedroom mirror. My sisters all thought I was mad to actually want to stand out in the freezing cold, the day after Christmas. I didn't care - all I could think of was that I was actually going to fulfil a long-held dream that day.It was freezing, but the heat of the bodies in the queue, all the men much taller than me, helped a little bit. Once inside the ground I wanted to shout out my joy for all to hear! The smell of hot-dogs, damp clothes, and clean, cold air assailed me and I loved every bit of it. The men on the terraces kindly moved me along to the end of the row so I could watch the action. I actually ended up standing on the steps dividing the terraces, to avoid getting a crick in my neck.My whole being was filled with so much joy and pleasure I thought I would burst! I was very surprised at the size of the ground, and the number of people who had turned out on such a cold day. Gwyn told me the usual "gate" for a Blues match was between 35,000 to 40,000, even more when cup matches were played. I don't know how many were there that particular day, only that as one man swayed so did everyone else, causing a wave-like roll along the terraces. Seeing me clasp my arms to my body to try and keep warm, an elderly man at the end of one row handed me a bright blue flask, saying, "Take a drink of that love, it'll warm you up!" After taking off the cap, and unscrewing the plastic cup, the delicious beefy aroma of oxtail soup drifted into the still, cold air. Greedily I gulped down a whole boiling mouthful, before remembering that I hated oxtail soup! Well, until that moment, I thought I did!It was a wonderful experience, and I was totally surprised when, suddenly it seemed, it was all over. I had shouted, stamped, cheered, booed, sang, whistled, and jumped up and down each time a goal was scored, becoming so excited I even cheered when Arsenal scored! I didn't cheer for them again - they beat us 4-1!The best, most memorable part of that day for me was when, towards the end of the match, everyone started to sing "Keep right on to the end of the road", thousands of voices singing as one and tears filled my eyes. As we left the ground, Gwyn's arm around my shoulder, one man patted me on the head as he passed and said, "Don't cry bab, we don't lose 'em all!" Smiling through my tears I didn't bother to explain why I was crying, as I don't think he would have understood!Walking back to the Birmingham Arms, the cold winter air seeping into my bones, the smells from the discarded hot dog wrappers drifting into my nostrils, I couldn't stop talking about the match. At last I understood why men loved football so much - not only for the excitement it created in what was, for most people then, a very hard life, but for ninety short minutes they could let off steam, pretend they were out there on the pitch, scoring goals, the peoples' heroes!Whole families attended at Blues matches in those days, children as young as eight or nine accompanied by at least two, sometimes three, of the older generation, knowing they were quite safe. There was never any trouble as far as I remember, no matter how big the gate. We were so lucky having a great football club just around the corner.On our wedding day, August 29th 1964, Gwyn's first words to me as I reached the altar were, I suppose, not really surprising: "They've just kicked off!" As we exchanged vows amidst the scent of lily of the valley, roses and incense I smiled, so glad I was marrying my soul-mate! Blues may have lost that match, to Stoke City, but our "match" is still going strong, and in a roundabout way it's all thanks to the Blues! Long may they reign!
[IP address logged]

The Blues

Smells of Childhood - a "must read" PART ONE ...
Smells of ChildhoodMemories of Small Heath by Mary M. DonoghueChapter EightFootball Crazy!In blue and white scarf,"rattle" in hand,I sangand cheeredwith the restof the fans.For years I have waitedto be partof the crowd,noisy, excited,shouting out loudas goalsare scored,one, two and three--by the other team,unfortunately!St. AndrewsA pall of gloom hung over the whole of Small Heath, in fact the whole of Birmingham and the footballing world. Jeff Hall, right-back for Birmingham City, and just twenty-nine years old, had tragically died. He was one of the Blues' brightest stars, having been capped for England seventeen times in his short career.I was upset that someone so young, and obviously very fit, could be stricken by Polio, believing it to be a disease of childhood and hadn't realised, until then, that everyone was vulnerable. At that point in my young life I hadn't encountered Death so couldn't identify the strange, lost feelings I suffered when I read in the "Evening Despatch" of the tragedy.Mrs H, an avid Blues supporter, cried for days, a forlorn, keening sound which affected all of us. "He was a lovely young man," she pointed out to everyone, "and such a brilliant player", breaking into more heart-rending sobs. Jeff's death affected my eldest brother, Denis, very badly, and although I hadn't at that point, actually been to a match, I felt his sorrow. He moped about the house for days after Jeff's funeral, his sad face a constant reminder of the tragedy, and I prayed hard to my God to give him back his sense of fun.Although Jeff wasn't Birmingham born, the city had taken him to their hearts and my heart wept for his family. How proud they must have been of his achievements, and how distraught they must be at such an unexpected end to their son's life. That he died on a Saturday I found particularly moving, but I couldn't understand how the sun kept shining, it was a particularly mild day, when something so dreadful had happened to one of God's children. I was relieved there wasn't a match that day for I felt sure that all his team-mates wouldn't have wanted to play without him there. It was a very sad, bleak time and I prayed for something nice to happen to lift the gloom.A memorial in the form of a scoreboard and a clock, were erected in Jeff's memory. The scoreboard, as far as I know, is still there today, but I don't know what happened to the clock. It doesn't seem much to remember such a great player, but then I'm just a female!It was strange to think that the Blues team was formed by a group of cricketers, from Holy Trinity Cricket Club in Bordesley Green, looking for a winter pastime, way back in the 1800's. The team was known as Small Heath Alliance, and in 1905, during a dinner party at the Swan Hotel in Yardley, the name was changed to Birmingham City Football Club. For some reason people were not keen on the "City" part of the name so the team was known, for a long time, simply as Birmingham Football Club.In Little Green Lane there is a pub called The Cricketer's Arms, and I often wondered, as a child, how it came to have such a name. It obviously had something to do with the Holy Trinity Cricket Team I suspect.Mrs H was a great source of information when it came to her beloved Blues. Her husband and son weren't interested in football at all, which we thought was strange, as most families supported our local team. On match days, a blue and white striped hat perched jauntily atop her short black hair, scarf wound round her thin neck, looking quite incongruous over the long black coat, with the hem of her pleated black skirt showing many inches beneath, a fresh bunch of violets or freesias pinned to her coat lapel, she tripped down the yard, black, leather-soled shoes resounding on the cobbles. With rattle in hand she would say, "I'm off to see our boys win - see you later!" and with a sweep of her skirt, a shake of her rattle she disappeared down the entry.It seemed a very strange hobby for a lady of indeterminate years, very elegant, quietly spoken, and I never could visualise her shouting her lungs out with all the men! On her return from the match, flowers wilting, scarf billowing over her shoulder, brown eyes alight, she would say, quietly, "We won!" then disappear indoors to prepare her husband's tea.She spoke knowledgeably about the players, as if she was a personal friend to them all! I know she attended many of their social functions for, some time before, I'd puzzled for days when she told Mother that she'd "been on the floor all night". Later I learned she'd been dancing with the Blues players. She spoke with awe of Merrick, Houghton, Scholfield, and of the team's glorious win against Sunderland (6-1) in 1958, and of her disappointment when they lost to Manchester City in the F.A. Cup in 1956. Bert Trautmann broke his neck during that match but still carried on playing!My earliest memories of football was the rush to "save" cars on a Saturday when the Blues played at home. For just sixpence we offered to "mind" innumerable cars, sneaking off home as soon as the supporters were out of sight! Nearly every car in those days was black, and even the oldest was clean and cared for. I loved to run my hands along the sleek, shiny bonnets, the faint smell of polish lingering on my fingers until tea-time. Most of the men would smile, funny how all the drivers were men then, never seeming to mind my grubby fingers, and hand over a shiny sixpence. Sometimes we weren't paid until after the match was over, something we weren't too keen on as, if Blues lost, none of the men were inclined to pay up! If anyone dared not to pay us, they suffered for it the next week as we'd pretend all the spaces were booked and paid for by someone else! When I confessed that particular sin to Father O'Keefe he didn't have a lot to say, just gave me a short penance and whispered gruffly, "You'll learn, child, you'll learn!"
(The contents of this post were edited on 19 Jul 02:46)

Blue Gordon

Al q and his band.

Terrorists like Blair and Bush don't seem to like terrorists mugging them. Dog eat dog!
Gordon To be Prime Minister.
P.S. Push off you geriatric heart prone diseased , pro-capitalist, pro-war prat - it's my turn.

Abromovich the Chelsea F.C. murderer has obscenely

paid out 21.5 Million pounds for a young man who has yet to prove himself.
All concerbed should feel ashamed - those who are/aren't go to www.oxfam.org.uk and amke amends.
Gordon Prudence!

Kernow, God made our country.

Once upon a time in the Kingdom of Heavan, God went missing for six days/Eventuallty on the seventh day, the Archangel Michale found him resting

He enquired of God - "Where you to"?"

God sighs a deep sigh of relief and said , "Look Michaeal , look what I've maid" .

"It's a planet ", replied God, "and I've put life on it. I'm going to call it Earth and it's going to be a great place of balance"

5 PARAS EXCLUDED FOR THE PORPOSES OF BREVITY.

"AH", said God. "that's Kernow , the most glorious place on earth. There are :-
Lakes, rivers, streams, cliffs, moorland and beautiful sea shores and views, The people from Kernow are going to be modest, intelligent, and humorous and they're going to be found travelling the world. They'll be extremely socialble , hard-working, and high-acheiving, and they will be known, throughout the world as diplomats and carriers of peace"

Michale gasped in wonder and appreciationbut then proclaimed, "What about balance, God, You said there would be balance!"

God replied wisely , "Wait until you see the wankers I'm putting next to them in England"

Gordon Howling

True conspiracy stories - Bush and

Cheeney meet , with their socks rolled down, in Texas or California at some club and throw paper mache effegies into a burning owl. On BBC Radio4 today - what's that about Klu-Klux clan? Answers please.
Gordon Spying

Birmingham City Football Club

Weird manager - driver's quote from LMS today - lives in Brum - the real article - furious that he had sold Darren Carter to his mate Robson Jerome at the Baggies -"Why sell a 22 year old that will be better than John Terry when we need a replacement for Upson - 'Pool bound and KK - legs going - He must be on back-handers". His quote not mine but I must ask - sell your best youngster for a pittance, a forward who you played 1.25 milion pounds for to appear in a couple of matches and an England centre half to replace them with a good midfielder, Nafti and a guy whose health is not yet proven - Forssell - wish him well. But he has a knee problem and his best attribute is swivelling quickly to shoot. And refuse to pay the money for Pandiani - who has proved his level in the Spanish league and Bassinas - Greeek hero. All sounds very fishy. Bruce and Sully out.
Nuff said
Gordon Fuming

SHEX

Apparently it's better than the real thing.

Gordon Learning

To Lindsey and Douglas.

I have a little thingy and someone has been reading my posts in India, Singapore, China and now Australia. I wonder who that might be? Pickies by e-mail soon - day out in Perranporth today - temp 36 c.
Love Gordon

Stoned

Go to www.birminghamcity-mad.co.uk I await your first post.
Gordon - it will be nice to hear from you

A whole day out in Perranporth, nowhere finer in the whole world.

The beach at low tide. Wonder what's going on there tonight?

Saucy boy! 

After a wave comes a tumble. 

I like the Cavalier King Charles puppy! 

Island of Dreams. 

Rum caves! 

Perranporth beach today. Spoilt by loud mouthed Aussies and Manure shirts. 

Women not allowed - hooray! 

Two swallows don't make a duck - do they BT? 

Who' a pretty boy then? 

Day Out in Perranporth, lots more to come - why go to the ends of the world when paradise is in Kernow. 

Today I met 4 charming Brazilians -

Such lovely people. Samba and win the WORLD CUP.
Gord Bless 'em.

Johnny McBrown

My westernn hero - Robin Hood of the west - morals and all that.
Gord

Hatherleigh Car Boot Market, Devon

Nice village - but unfortunately on a Sunday the managements agents let them down they are rude and offensive to their buyers and their sellers. Do not go there - you will be bad mouthed buy a couple of cockney, cockey twats.
Gordon Fuming - the misses is a shunt - Kernow what I mean?

Bombs it' so simple - all they have to do is -

understand the reasons for hatred. Only cost a few bob - but the defence industry will suffer and Gorge and Tory don't want that - nuff said.

Gordon Mellow Yellow/

Terrorist cells.

What they have copied is a system developed in the seventies by the western intelligance agencies. The need to know. There were so many spies in the Cia, NSA, FBI, GCHQ, MI5, Mi6 etc. who were informing to the Russians that they formed small cells outwhither nobody knew about.
However here is the problem - inside the smallest cell something may want to betray the inner secrets. Hence FUC8888 al and his boys have a problem but so do the Met and all of the agencies listed above - Al and his boys work for them. Remember James Bond/Joyce.
Gordon Insider

Self explanatory. 

Soft targets.

I thought it would happen at one of the L8 concerts - but they are cleverer than me or the Security Services.
But when it was reported to me that half of Scotland Yard were at Gleneagles it churned my stomach.

Call it intuition, or years of training, but next time it will be a military or political target.

Anonymous said to me this morning - "If they kill and maim and deprive half of the globe ( namely the G8) - they - the underdogs will fight back ". Thickos - study history - it is not a record of the past but an -email of the future.

Killers all - I hate you - but then God says forgive your enemies - I'm confused - rest in peace.

London failure.

I will, after this Terrible event be guarded in my words, TO THOSE WHO HAVE SUFFFERED MAY YOUR GOD(S) BE WITH YOU.

The intelligence services are unintelligent - the police are a failure - when I heard on BBC Radio 2 this morning about a power surge, on the underground disruping the tube - and in a separate incident a traffic jam in Tavistock Square I knew it was a terrorist attack.

It was brilliantly conceived by the murderers - most of Scotland Yard were at Gleneagleagles = Yom Kippur to you.

But until those thick heads at Gleneagles realise they must address the causes of povery and injustice the bombings will continue. Wakey wakey idiots!

Gordon Furious.

G8

Listen to the words of liars and pragmatists on Friday - ignore it, they will not keep their countenance, let alone their promises. Instead - people power - go subsrcibe whatever you can afford to www.oxfam.org.uk or the organisation of your choice.
Gord!

Dear Vera

At aged 75 she walks around a town near me from dusk until dawn.

She washes the sheets for those unable to cope anymore.

She feeds the hungry.

She recoils from parties and fame.


No MBE's or Damehoods will her defame.
This maid is made of mettle -
She knows that the paths of glory.
Lead, but to the grave.

She has an unfashionable love of God
And all that was good that he portrayed
And I know and I know and I know
That Peter will welcome Vera.

Gordon Humbled

Cornish lynx - in my garden a few weeks ago - read on -

UNNATURAL HISTORY 6 - The story of some massive moggies
by Jonathan Downes
The following article appeared in the now defunct Planet on Sunday newspaper in 1999. Over the seven issues that were published I wrote a column about the stranger aspects of British natural history. For the sake of posterity, and also, I guess because I am quite fond of them, they are republished here for your entertainment...
This is the last of the articles because the one that was in issue 7 was the story of my two-toed amphiuma, which is to be found elsewhere on the website.
Everyone has heard of the Beast of Bodmin, and its cousin on Exmoor. There seems little doubt that small but viable populations of several species of exotic cat are living quite happily in the British countryside. However there are other mystery moggies in Britain as well, and although they do not attract the newspaper headlines of their larger relatives, they still pose a fascinating zoological conundrum.
The British Race of the Forest Wildcat (Felis silvestris) was once found all over the British Isles, but according to accepted belief they had been exterminated over much of mainland Britain during the seventeenth, eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Although British zoologists Langley and Yalden provided specific dates for the extermination of the creature in the four counties of the South-western Peninsula recent research has thrown doubt not only upon their findings but upon the status of the species as a whole.
The taxonomy of the European Wildcat has long been a source of difficulty and confusion. Writing in 1795, in the tenth edition of his Systema Naturae - Linneaus included the 'Cat' under the scientific designation of Felis catus. He lived in Sweden, a country where Wildcats are not found, and so he made the erroneous assumption that the domestic cat - a beast which still bears the Latin name coined by Linnaeus, was a domesticated descendant of the European animal. The type description published by Linnaeus was probably that of his own pet 'moggy'.
In 1777 the German naturalist Schreber produced a book called A Natural History of Mammals in which, having had more opportunity than Linnaeus to examine the wild species, he named the European Wildcat Felis silvestris (the Forest Cat). His earlier work had, incidentally followed the nomenclature suggested by Linnaeus.
The Scottish Wildcat was defined in 1907 by the British Museum; the chosen type specimen being an animal killed at Drumnadrochit on the shores of Loch Ness in 1904. Writing in 1994 cryptozoologist Jan Williams made the point that:
"from this point the species 'evolved' by unnatural selection - gamekeepers supplying Wildcats to museums and (...) paid only for the ones which continued to resemble the type specimen".
It is generally believed that F. Silvestris grampia is now confined to Scotland. I have not been able to confirm whether the English specimens which undoubtedly existed into historical times were members of this subspecies which by its very name is a Scottish one. Indeed, it appears that the exact nomenclature of the English Wildcat has never been decided, and I would suggest further research needs to be done.
There have been reports of these animals from the border counties until very recently, but it also appears that they may have survived in the south west of England. Devon naturalist Trevor Beer saw some creatures that appeared to be Wildcats on Exmoor in 1984. Cats which have the appearance of wild-cats have been seen on Haldon Hill and at Holcombe near Dawlish.
In her book 'Living on Exmoor' which was published in 1963, Hope Bourne describes fox sized cats which had a local reputation for ferocity which were living in the area of Room Hill immediately before the first world war.
.She described an animal "about the size of a male fox with & grey or tawny grey pelage marked all over with dark stripes. Its bead seemed very large in comparison with that of a domestic cat, its fangs protruded below its lip, its limbs appeared to be rather long, (especially the hind pair), it walked with a slouching gait and its tail was blunt."
Similar animals have also been reported from the Exeter area. According to a number of witnesses there was a large and thriving population of 'wild cats' which appeared to be at least 50% larger than a normal domestic 'moggy' living wild in the St Leonard's area of the city as recently as the late 1970's. They frequented an area of wasteland, which was at the time, one of the few remaining legacies of Hitler's bombing campaign, although they disappeared after the area was redeveloped in the early 1980's.
On at least one occasion kittens from this colony were adopted by local residents and they appeared to settle in to a life of cosy domesticity with relative ease. One particularly large 'tom' who was described to me as being the dominant animal of the colony reportedly measured over three and a half feet from nose tip to tail tip. This would, by anyone's standards have been a remarkable cat but, as we shall see, this sized animal is not unknown in the annals of the westcountry felidae!
I have a number of records in my files of creatures described variously as '0utsized tabbies', or as 'big grey cats'. The descriptions are of animals which measure between thirty and forty-eight inches in length, (including tail), a size which makes them larger than most feral cats which have been reported but still within the upper ranges of European Wildcats.
I tend to discount the largest animals reported and feel that the sizes in those reports may have been exaggerated by, say ten percent. This would still, however leave us with population of sizeable cats in much of rural Devonshire.
Similar creatures have also been reported from Cornwall. One of our correspondents, who now lives in South Wales, has a cat that he was given when his family lived in Cornwall. He was told, by the animal's original owner that it was descended from a 'Cornish Wildcat'. This of course, may merely have meant that the cat's antecedents were feral farmyard felids, or it may be a clue of a more cryptozoological nature. The photographs certainly show that he is an impressive creature. His owner wrote to me on the 26th October 1996, enclosing the photographs and a hair sample:
'His vital statistics are body length 23 inches, tail length 11.5 inches, total body length 34.5 inches and weight about fifteen pounds. ~ you can see I am not metricated. When we lived close to the sea in Cornwall he would often come home with sea birds he had caught and now hardly a day goes by without a 'present' from him of a vole, shrew, mouse or bird on the front doorstep!'
Another one of his tricks was to be on a rock surrounded by water, we never worked out how he did it as he never appeared to be wet Yet, in spite of all this he is one of the most peaceable cats ever, he often allowed himself to be bullied by cats a fraction of his size and yet he is not very affectionate. Another of his claims to fame is that he survived both barrels of a shotgun at close range and being left to die. On both occasions he dragged himself back home and on both occasions the vet wanted to put him out of his misery, hence he is probably the most expensive cat alive!"
My correspondent went on to note that this remarkable cat also catches rabbits. There has not, at the time of writing been any result from the analysis of the hair samples, although both Mitochondrial DNA and Electron Microscopy tests are planned. The photographs are also unfortunately inconclusive, and do not show an animal which conforms to the traditional wildcat descriptions. Nevertheless, as we have seen, the traditional view of wildcat morphology is open to a certain amount of interpretation.
There is no doubt that there are some extraordinarily large farm cats in Cornwall. I was one of the first investigators at Ninestones Farm on Bodmin Moor. There had been reports of 'panther' and 'lynx' like animals, but some of the farm cats owned by Mrs Rhodes, the farmer were extraordinarily large. One in particular, 'Thomas" was probably the largest domestic cat I have ever seen. Indeed its seems probable that, in the light of the findings of the MAFF report of 1995 "Thomas" was responsible for at least one of the video clips purporting to be of 'The Beast of Bodmin'.
Even now, when Toby, my elderly labrador cross, and I are ambling through the forestry reserves just outside Exeter we catch the odd glimpse of something large, grey and feline moving very fast in the utter peripheral of our vision. These close encounters which never actually happen always remind me of a quote by a character in one of my favourite science fiction novels, who when confronted with the old proverb that "at night all cats are grey" just shook his head sagely and muttered that this was quite untrue. Where cats are concerned, he said, there are an "endless variety".

Gord I'm frightened!

Phil Ochs

Doesn't Lenny Live Here Anymore
By Phil Ochs
INTRO: G/C/G/C/G
C G C G C G /C/G/C
You laugh at the people who walk outside on the sidewalk
G C G
And you talk to yourself so much
C G /C/G
when you see other people you can't talk
Am
This time it's true
D7 G G /C/G7
The charade is through
Bm C /D7
And you can't seem to run away from you
Away from you
Am D7
And the haggard ex-lover of a long-time loser
G C G
Stands rejectedly by the door
C G Em Am
Doesn't Lenny live here anymore?
D7
Are you sure?
You sit at the desk
To lose your life in a letter
But the words don't seem to come and you know that they're(?) better
and it's all so strange
Pictures lose their frame
And I'll bet you never guessed
There was so much pain
So much pain
Until the haggard ex-lover of a long-time loser
Stands rejectedly by the door
Doesn't Lenny live here anymore?
Are you sure?
The moon, she shines too soon and simply sadly
You loved your love so much that you'd strangle her madly
And it's all so slow
Time has ceased to flow
And the whistling whore knows something you don't know
And the haggard ex-lover of a long-time loser
Stands rejectedly by the door
Doesn't Lenny live here anymore?
Are you sure?
You swore you'd store your love for one time only
Now you searched the books in vain for better word for lonely
And you're torn apart
No other love will start
And you, you'd like to steal a happy heart
A happy heart
Then the haggard ex-lover of a long-time loser
Stands rejectedly by the door
Doesn't Lenny live here anymore?
Are you sure?
The fat official smiles at the pass on the border
And the hungry broom makes sure that the room is in order
You pull the shade
All the beds are made
As your lips caress the razor of the blade
Of the blade
And the haggard ex-lover of a long-time loser
Stands rejectedly by the door
Doesn't Lenny live here anymore?
Are you sure?
The soul of the sun shines just outsde of the winter
The shoulders charged, the boards of the barricade is splintered
Now at last alone
The flashlight is shown
Hello inside is there anybody home?
Anybody home?
It's the haggard ex-lover of a long-time loser
Standing rejectedly by the door
Doesn't Lenny live here anymore?
Are you sure?
Are you sure?
Are you sure?

Many Thanks to Trent Ochs for maintaing this remarkable archive of the greatest lyricist/songwriter of the last century.
Gordon Brown

Phil Ochs

Fill in the blanks I'tell you what boy /girl I saw most of the L8 concerts this weekend - but nobody, but nobody except - apologies for the spelling - Nyasian Dourf got as close to the point, waxed so lyrical, spat out his anger, but contained his rage onto the page as this man. Example:-

All Quiet On The Western Front
By Phil Ochs
The ?? are ??
??
hear so much news
?? follow ??
the freeways ?? used
It's all quiet on the western front
The murdering missiles
they want to fly
While thousands of people
are ready to die
It's ever so lonely
to live the lie
And it's all quiet on the western front
I guess I'll join the National Liberation Front
The boys on the bases
They flay at the ball
The stock market crashes
The stock market falls
And the high school principal
is led to the wall
And it's all quiet on the western front
The civilized nations
abide by the code
They learn from the victors
to do what they're told
Even Israel's marching
down Germany's road
And it's all quiet on the western front
I think I'll join the National Liberation Front
The war babies try to crawl
back to the womb
Assassins and astronauts
race to the moon
And Eisenhower lies like a saint
in his tomb
And it's all quiet on the western front
I sit on my back porch
I sing on my song
I wait for the earthquake
to come with the dawn
If there was a God
wouldn't take him so long
And it's all quiet on the western front
I guess I'll join the American Liberation Front
Notes:
Bill Curtis supplied the lyrics and says: "In an interview with Phil in July 1969 Phil mentions a new song that he wrote called ``All Quiet On The Western Front''. He sang it at a rally following his performance at Carneige Hall that year. He mentions one line from the song "I think I'll join the National Liberation Front". The song appears to have not been released nor does it appear in Broadside. Perhaps it was never sung again."
Update: Bill said that he exchanged e-mail with a person who said that he saw Phil Ochs sing this song at a demonstration in Central Park. He also said that the record company would not allow Phil to record the song because they objected to a line in the song which Phil refused to take out.
Apparently, a recording of this was unearthed recently (though I've never heard it) since several people sent me the lyrics at about the same time. In addition to Bill, I got contributions from Rob Geller and Karl Pascal (who supplied the first two verses, though, as you can see, he couldn't quite make out the first one).
Last modified 24 Aug 02 by trent

Gordon Rocket Man

G8

I have worked, until four in the morning, all of my political career, to eradicte poverty, illeterature and premature death all over my planet. Nobody, no one is ever ever going to stop me for restoring the balance between rich and poor in this world. The poor toil, whilst the rich pluck the golden apple, that the poor have grown, from their tree.

On Wednesay I will, peacefully, lay down my body in front of their airy fairy words and dead foot tanks and say enough is enough - you can roll your tanks but they will never flatten me.

When they are old and incontinent the starving continents will say we forgive, we forgive, your sins, even though you are bad Samaritans. Will their Lord whoever he/she/it is forgive them? I think not.
Gordon

End of the Road.

Many thanks to all who have stopped by to read this nonsense and look at my pickies but from now on my ramblings can be found at www.birminghamcity-mad.co.uk.

Gordon Fatigued

Giovanni Bellisimo - the finest Italian food in the west - to be found in Tavistock. Coming soon to a place near you. 

I was a milk boy on one of these. Oh the Co-op, the dear old Co-op. I like Colin too!