Stanley Bucket
Painting by Lehan Winifred Ramsay
Stanley Bucket: Anthropologist
28 Wednesday Nov 2012
Posted in Lehan Winifred Ramsay
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Window Dresser's Arms, Pig & Whistle %d
Is this a self portrait?
Some on-line publications for a rounded look at the world. Crikey, Slate, Huff Post, Granma, Al Jazeera.
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Here’s a different version.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=24uWVGrHiPw
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It has more lines in it.
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The Centenary of Canberra. Huh.
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Hey by the way. It is very difficult to see gender and how it is represented, especially if we read one newspaper every day. I recommend you add the newspaper “Japan Today” to your reading list. I find it very helpful regarding gender.
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Of course, you’ll need to compare it to something. That’s why I recommend “The Japan Times”.
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The Guardian. The Independent. The New York Times. The Washington Post. The New York Post.
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And, for some balance, Slate, Salon, The Huffington Post.
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Moving on as soon as is polite to Crikey where, thankfully, you can see nothing. Except First Dog of course. Then, back to the beginning again. The Age, The SMH, The Australian, ABC.
Of course, sometimes it’s a lot more helpful to look out the window.
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While in The Independent it’s helpful to keep in mind the phrase “There’s no such thing as a little pregnant”.
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As a woman I find that a little surprising.
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Well, surprised as in “But darling, you’re just a LITTLE pregnant.” Or as in “Just a little Independence, that’s all I ask.”
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When you’ve done all of that, how about a bit of Question Time.
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And yes, Mr K, you can stop for Christmas.
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Perhaps rupes could take over for a bit.
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Now add Judge Judy. Everybody needs some Judge Judy.
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BUT. But. Intersperse this with all the Bond soundtracks.
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Include the instrumentals.
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And no skipping the ads.
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Move to an old editorial in The Australian each time you find your mind wandering.
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Yes he was, wasn’t he? But back to the task now.
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You’ll know the one when you get to it.
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Oh. The people are REAL. The cases are REAL.
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Here’s a more colourful version.
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There are no actual lions in this one either, though.
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You can hear some hissing though. Maybe it’s lions? I don’t know what lions sound like when they hiss.
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Oh… they sound just like snakes do when they try to roar…
😉
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I imagine that would sound like: rahhhhhhhhhhhh. Quiet, but quite arresting.
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I imagine other snakes might find it very intimidating… and mice and rats, would, of course, be properly terrified!
😉
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Well I believe they would, Asty.
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It’s developing into a nice story though Asty. The lion sleeping. A rustling in the grass. A strange hissing. All of New Zealand gathers for the premiere of The Hobbit.
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… all wondering ‘What’s it got in its pocketses?!’ eh?
🙂
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YES! He pats them, did you notice that?
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You know, I think it should read Stanley Bucket: Enthropologist.
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Kiwi bucket perhaps.
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I hold a strong belief his portrait might hev been painted by a Kiwi.
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Clever birds kiwis… but I didn’t know they could paint…
😉
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It’s a learning curve…
😉
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Of course! How could I forget, ‘Shoe? You’re the PA’s very own painting kiwi! Wonder if we could go ‘Barnum and Bailey’ on it…: “That’s right folks, step right up and see the eighth wonder of the world, the amazing, the one and only PAINTING KIWI!”
(Sorry ‘Shoe… got a bit silly there; dunno what came over me!)
😉
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In another life.
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aeons ago and neons too.
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Meanwhile have to get on with things and buckets are very important to me as the hose isn’t long enough to reach into the fartherest corner of my realm.
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It was long enough but once I bought a few buckets it was almost a self-fulfilling prophecy the hoses got swapped around and next thing it wasn’t long enough.
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That’s what happens. It’s common.
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It’s alright as long as there isn’t a hole in the buckets.
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You can’t really have one hole in a number of buckets. I think you have to have a number of holes if there is going to be a major problem and you bought a lot of buckets.
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It is helpful that Stanley stays inside when it rains. A bucket with anything in it does not hold the hope an empty bucket does.
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I like a bucket too that wears a bit of darkly smudged eye shadow on the eyelids. My beautiful boyfriend from that special year when we were young applied and wore it so I notice a bucket that’s adorned. Except the boyfriend’s face was green so the resemblance stops at the lips.
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I like Stanley Bucket and feel a little sorry he has to get up so early in the morning to get started on the dig.
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I’m up because it’s been 100 degrees (Celsius) and as well as I’m fighting mossies as big as small Shetland ponies. It’s a full moon too.
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I like an educated bucket too.
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With Collaboration Enabled eh. That’s a might fine flow chart system for an educated bucket.
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That Jim was a wag. There is an interview worth listening to. 🙂
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WONDERFUL article about John Cheffers in the Sydney Morning Herald. I am having an entertaining morning and am far better educated than I was at the same hour yesterday.
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Ponders: Does Stanley Bucket know who the Braines sisters are. Maybe one of my buckets know. They won’t if Stanley doesn’t. I’ll ask them anyway in the morning. Goodnight for now. That was delightful. Thank you Lehan for the entertainment.
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Good morning Shoe, hope you survived the mozzies. Not so much is known about the Braines sisters. They were women, of course. Their father was found on a doorstep.
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The father. His background other than for a door is unimaginable.
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My friend Hyacinth has instructed me all to tell you, “It’s pronounced ‘bouquet’!”
😉
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Also “Stainly”
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Don’t stop now, Lehan – I’m a big fan of stream of consciousness – as if that’s news !
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Let me just put the song on again.
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Who are these “bag men” anyway? And how did they get into the story?
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You should picture the painting upside down now, as I dropped it on the vaccuum cleaner. It’s got a bit smudged too.
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Intersperse it with this. Oh, only the FONDEST memories will you have.
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Now add a FLOW CHART!
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Then add this. T’is a radio interview concerning my dearly departed Uncle, Jim.
http://www.abc.net.au/local/audio/2012/05/30/3514597.htm
Also known as “The Evil One”.
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Then this. Dearly departed second cousin Cheffers, though I have only known you for a day, I think of you and Uncle Jim at play.
http://www.smh.com.au/national/obituaries/a-larrikin-in-life-who-brought-sport-to-the-masses-20121126-2a3cj.html
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Both larrikins they were. In sport.
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And their mothers? The Braines sisters.
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Jim Ramsay 1930-1997
(Sydney Morning Herald Sat 12 April 1997)
James Arthur Ramsay, who died on Tuesday aged 67, was one of the great larrikin journalists of modern Australia. His special love was sports journalism, particularly golf, but he could write in an entertaining manner on any subject. Never profound, he was always readable.
Born in Melbourne – his first job was as a tram conductor – he was widely known as “the Evil One” and as one of his dearest friends once said, his only saving grace was that he had none.
His life was an odyssey of irresponsibility – he left a train of defalcations, infidelities, moonlight flits and terrible memories all over the world. Nevertheless he was held in great affection by all those who got to know him, including the many women, aged from the late teens to the 80’s, whom he loved and left. Small, ugly, with a gravelly voice and prone to gross obscenity, he had for women that kind of charm which other men find totally inexplicable.
Every journalist who knew him has a bagful of anecdotes about him, some of them dating to well before the day he came to fame as the co-editor (with the late Terry Blake) of the King’s Cross Whisper.
The Whisper looks innoculous today but it took Sydney by storm in the High days of the ’60’s. It was sold all over town by a motley band of layabouts, hippies, petty crims and the more enterprising members of the Sydney Push.
As usual, success bored Ramsay, who went on to London where the Soho Whisper failed dismally. He went on to become head of the London sports desk at United Press International, which was paying the bills presented by the freelancers he commissioned to do his work for years after he skipped to New York. He was barred from every pub in Fleet Street by this time.
He landed, as always, on his feet. At Kennedy Airport, he met a rich New York lady who owned a strong of dress shops. Hungarian, she was in passport trouble at the Immigration desk. Ramsay charmed the surley US officials, swept the lady off her feet and married her.
A year or so later she came home unexpectedly one afternoon, found Jim hiding in the closet with a naked girl, and threw him out. He returned to London and eventually to Sydney where he wangled a job with Fairfax – from which he had been banned for life.
He ran the matchplay golf competition for the Sydney Sun and turned it into a success unique in the world. When the Sun was killed off in 1988, he took himeself to the Herald and with him the golf competition which he ran while adorning the back bar of the Greek Western, a Broadway pub also known as the Marx Brothers.
He drank and smoked heavily until four years ago a massive stroke incapacitated him. His friends brought him from time to time in a wheelchair to the Sydney Journalists Club, but his frustration at being unable to talk and boast was pathetic.
….
PADRAIC P McGUINNESS
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Phew, I’m glad I checked the date on the obituary. PP McGuiness – that irascible old shark, I think went to his maker some time ago too. Refused to allow Johnny Cash sole ownership of the epithet “The Man in Black”, although I’m pretty sure that there is little chance Paddy would have been able to “Walk the Line”.
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Therese, when Paddy got married the second time(?), his new wife to be came to my flower shop and asked me to make her wedding bouquet. I made nice one for her, and ever after that McGuiness greeted me most friendly when running into him at any of the many pubs in Balmain….I got to know all the celebrities of those times…
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First, I wish that M would not keep paying so much attention to James Bond. If she could concentrate, if only she could concentrate, he’d have fallen off a cliff some time ago.
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It’s a sex scandal, I’m absolutely convinced. The weirdest sex scandal ever, in which sex never gets a mention. It’s like watching a bunch of grown-ups gossiping at a catholic primary school sports day about the couple sitting two rows down. Do you think Peter Reith doesn’t think there’s any smoking gun, so to speak? He suggests an election in the same way one would ask if there were any buns left over.
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Well, what I mean is, it doesn’t seem to be a scandal about sex at all. There’s been little indication so far that sex is the issue. But it is being represented as if it were a sex scandal; all the salaciousness and scoop. I just think that’s weird.
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Especially when it gets to the point that they send another woman in there and then get into a circle. I’m thinking when are the buckets gonna come out?
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Oh. There. Water being splashed around, that’s more like it. Do you think it might be because it’s got so hot suddenly?
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And then Bond jumps in with a question and it’s like So where have YOU bin?
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And then you’ve got The Australian jumping in and saying You slags, it’s just that you’re not Loving Bond, or something like that, and, well, what kind of outcome are we HOPING for here? It does seem a little surreal, if you ask me. Is M supposed to be representing the Queen? Is it an Allegory? Are we all supposed to Love Bond because M has some kind of freaky and deeply unfortunate relationship with Him? Is He like The Almighty or something?
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It’s a much more reasonable Amy Winehouse though.
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Although it’s weird, you know. I feel like I’m watching some kind of advertisment for the London Olympics. I think it must be all that underwater stuff.
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Bond: Scuffle. Got kindova nice ring to it.
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I’m sure it must be a bit straining putting these big-budget things together.
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Good that they got Q & Eve on board.
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Well I’m sorry, this is not turning out to be a very good movie review is it. I’ve never seen it, and according to Wikipedia it’s like Batman.
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Maybe the same number of women, though they’re all on the side of Good, and with a – a Julian Assange reference?
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Freaky.
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Severus, Wolverine, Severine. Moneypenny, Pennyworth, Penny Lane, Isabella Swan. I mean, it’s all super marionation, and it’s massive entertainment.
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I must say though, there’s this really weird bowling alley effect you get from the trailer. I guess that must be the – oh, what do you call that? Effects?
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As if there were no other reason for the edges but to run from into the middle.
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As if nothing ever ran from left to right or right to left any more, but only straight toward you or straight away from you.
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Likely the best viewing is to roll some paper up into a paper telescope and look through that.
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Now go back and imagine him without the special effects. Just with the blue screen. No wonder he feels a bit depressed.
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No, that Grecian reference had me absolutely befuddled. Did it mean: Things are gonna get a lot worse?
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THEN suddenly they start shouting at each other about Foreign Affairs, like there isn’t a kid in the room!
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Foreign Affairs! It’s BOND, for goodness sake.
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The US withholding our helium mickey mouse balloons, and all we can talk about is Foreign Affairs.
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There. That feels better.
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Stanley Bucket was a Bucket. He found it very helpful to stay indoors when it rained.
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Yes, Stanley Bucket is my name, and “a whim away” is my song. Whim away!
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