Bad-Axe bastard

I don't know what made me suddenly think of this, but my mind has just popped the answer to a 40-year-old riddle. Now as you'll see, if it had actually been subconsciously working on the problem all of that time, this wouldn't be too impressive, but as far as I can tell what's happened is that my train of thought, as I sat here playing cards and inventing dialogue for The Literary Novel, has happened across a childhood memory that my adult brain solved instantly.

So it's not really been a riddle for forty years, it's just that I've not thought about it since I was about twelve.

We used to have a bunch of cheap blue plastic biros in the bureau at home, which were remarkable only in that they had been heavily embossed with gilt letters spelling out the legend "I'M A BAD-AXE BASTARD." When these pens first turned up at home I asked my Dad where he'd got them. Apparently a friend of his who ran the local trophy (and engraving) centre had given them to him as they were 'surplus to requirements.' He claimed to have no idea what the phrase meant, when I asked him, and knowing my Dad it is at least vaguely feasible that he wasn't just protecting my youthful sensibilities.

With the wisdom of ages now mine (well, those 40 years anyway), I just wish I'd been able to see the look on the face of the customer when he came to collect his pens and realised that it might have been advisable to write down his desired wordage rather than rely on the dodgy hearing of the old guy who ran the shop.

Dos

It's not an age thing. I've never been able to hold a proper conversation in a crowded pub, even in my twenties. Worse when it's a small group of people sitting round a table. The added distance, measured in inches only, may as well be yards (substitute centimetres and metres if you were born after 1970). Still worse if there's live music playing. Even if, like last night, the music is good.

So we sat there, listening to the lively Portuguese salsa music, and watching the lips move on the people we were supposedly conversing with, trying not to be eaten up by the ubersoft couches in one of the little alcoves, and trying to judge when was the right time to laugh, or nod, or just look attentive. We probably looked like we'd escaped from somewhere clinical. Or that we weren't interested. Which wasn't true at all. The odd word that reached us tantalisingly across the table, fighting and clawing its way to our ears desperate to be heard - epée... choreography... joey... tequila - all sounded like the bones of a fascinating story. But there was no meat. No organs. And no sense at all. So like the carcass of the Christmas turkey picked clean before you press it into the kitchen bin, the conversation was never going to fly.

When live bands do a sound check prior to striking up for their first number, it's traditional to use the word "two" to allow the sound man to set the right level on the mic. That word is chosen because it embodies, in one short simple syllable, everything the engineer needs. The 'plosive' of the initial 't', the transition from 't' to 'oo' and the bass note of the 'oo' itself gives a dynamic soundwave perfectly suited to a mic check.

Only this was a Portuguese band. So their lead singer said "Dos" into the mic a few times, which didn't serve the purpose half as well, but provided a comic touch for anyone with a sense of irony. And that was us as we knocked back the last of our drinks and left the rest of our small group to flap their gums at each other. Dois povos, wending our quiet way out through the hubbub. Boa noite!

Sad nerdy geek speak

A few things we needed to sort out this morning prior to going off for the night to Nikki's works' do, chief among them going to the hair salon. Coming back from there, a band was being interviewed on the radio and as is my wont, I was only giving it half an ear.

The band are on tour at the moment, and the lead singer was telling the DJ that they only had 6 gigs left.

My immediate thought?

"Well that's plenty of space."

>sigh<

Good Morning Voldemort!

Listening to Radio 2 this afternoon while painting the study (what else? I'm on the last window! Yippee!) and Elaine Page's show came on. I say that rather glibly but the truth is I never listen to Radio 2 on a Sunday afternoon, so I wasn't aware until today that she had a show. Well, she does. Has done for three years apparently! She plays, not surprisingly, hits from the Broadway and West End musicals, and also from the big musical movies.

Concentrating on my painting, I wasn't really listening to her intros and as we all know, strange things happen to me when I'm not paying attention to sounds in my vicinity. It was with some surprise that I suddenly became aware of a woman's voice belting out the chorus to her number: "Good Morning Voldemort!" she shouted.

"Blimey!" I thought in utter amazement, "that was quick! I didn't even realise they'd written a Harry Potter musical. They've only just got round to doing Lord of the Rings!"

Then reality caught up with me and I started to engage my brain. This can't be a Harry Potter musical - I must have misheard. Sure enough the chorus came around for a second time...

"Good Morning Baltimore!"

(From the movie Hairspray, apparently).