I really need to do a new post

I just realised that this blog is ancient and I should get off my arse and post something constructive. I noticed that 'arse' and 'realise' fail the built-in spellchecker but that's a whole other post. In the meantime, I will do something that my spellchecker approves of. I shall get in the car, go to the harbor and find the center of activity :-)

Put your fag ends out. Properly.

OK. Taiwan banned smoking in indoor public places earlier this year. Fair enough.

I smoke but I understand the predicament of non-smokers and really don't mind so much having to go outside and light up with my fellow outcasts. Incidentally, Graham Linehan did an absolutely genius skit about this in The IT Crowd Season 2 Episode 3 (you can see more and help feed Graham's starving family here )

But here's the kicker. The Taiwanese EPA estimates that 10 billion fag ends are collected annually with about a quarter of those tossed illegally on the streets of Taiwan. Consequently, they are now considering new legislation to make it illegal to smoke while walking, driving or riding a scooter.

The director of the EPA said: “With the passage of the [amendment to the] Tobacco Hazards Prevention Act earlier this year, most smokers now smoke outdoors ... that has increased the litter problem,”

Yes, perhaps it has. But perhaps another factor in the increase of cigarette butts on the streets could have something to do with the fact that the government has... wait for it,
BANNED ASHTRAYS.

Come on. Taiwan Legislators, please give us a break and stick to what you do best .

Dear Santa...

Dear Taiwanese Santa,

Give yourself a dictionary for Christmas.

Spicy Hot Pot - 麻辣火鍋

Question: Is this Japan's standard emblem or a picture of my ringpiece after last night's spicy hotpot?

The literal translation from Chinese to English is Numb Spicy Fire Pot. Ain't that the truth.

The hotpot was delicious; all you can eat for 2 hours with Haagen Dazs ice cream afterward. The four of us sat around the table blowing our noses and sweating like Gary Glitter on a bouncy castle.

However, when the endorphin rush wears off, there is a price to pay (gulp!).

Notwithstanding that, I heartily recommend Fei Tien hot pot in Taipei's Ximen district, great stuff. Only, don't forget to put the roll of Charmin Ultra in the fridge before you go to bed.

Advent.

In religious terms, Advent is the 28 days before Christmas. When I was a kid, it was more like a painfully protracted countdown. T minus 28 to bike/train set/scalectrix etc. Christmas came and went and the excitement faded with the last of the turkey sandwiches and the Savage Smyth lemonade and Jacob's USA biscuits. By the time the only ones left were those manky pink wafers, you knew it was truly over.

Patrick Kavanagh was a leading poet of the 20th century. Perhaps one of his greatest poetic skills was the ability to capture the scene and portray it through the eyes of a child. In keeping with the time of year, perhaps his poem - Advent is one of the greatest examples of his craft. Thanks Paddy.

Advent - a poem by Patrick Kavanagh.

We have tested and tasted too much, lover-
Through a chink too wide there comes in no wonder.
But here in the Advent-darkened room
Where the dry black bread and the sugarless tea
Of penance will charm back the luxury
Of a child's soul, we'll return to Doom
The knowledge we stole but could not use.

And the newness that was in every stale thing
When we looked at it as children: the spirit-shocking
Wonder in a black slanting Ulster hill
Or the prophetic astonishment in the tedious talking
Of an old fool will awake for us and bring
You and me to the yard gate to watch the whins
And the bog-holes, cart-tracks, old stables where Time begins.

O after Christmas we'll have no need to go searching
For the difference that sets an old phrase burning-
We'll hear it in the whispered argument of a churning
Or in the streets where the village boys are lurching.
And we'll hear it among decent men too
Who barrow dung in gardens under trees,
Wherever life pours ordinary plenty.
Won't we be rich, my love and I, and
God we shall not ask for reason's payment,
The why of heart-breaking strangeness in dreeping hedges
Nor analyse God's breath in common statement.
We have thrown into the dust-bin the clay-minted wages
Of pleasure, knowledge and the conscious hour-
And Christ comes with a January flower.

Humble Beginnings

OK. Here we go.