Neither did I. I get enough sarcastic responses to my efforts as it is. I can do without The Guardian telling me I`m only fit to be a Sun or Daily Sport reader.
Hugh!
Be careful. You do of course realise (I hope), that you are engaging with a,‘lurking’ bilge rattus rattus, Portlander. The lurkers are the most problematic strain.
Better take care
Vic
I will, Vic, I will. Because what I want to know is this - how does it happen? Why Portland OR? Why don’t the thoughts, hopes or fears of the population of Portland, Dorset ever trouble the threads of this forum? Or the populations of the forty or so other Portlands on the planet, including twenty others in the US of A, as of course listed in Wikipedia? Do you think all the inhabitants of Portland Or are lurking out there, waiting pied-piper-ishly to entice the rest of us off to watch youtube when we should be employed in gainful labour?
Alternatively, does Portland OR really exist? Have you ever seen it, Vic? Or do you think it’s a latter-day Narnia, whose inhabitants occasionally make forays into the real world, but which is generally accessible only from under the table of you-know-where?
I hate these things. The Sunday Times does one whenever they can’t be bothered to provide proper book reviews in their Culture section, and I can never answer a bloomin’ one. I seem to have read all of the wrong books. Oh well.
Nice to see you back from your sojourn among the fjords, Jenny!
Hugh,
Under the table, as you so rightly alluded to, is indeed a portal. A portal to very many, miasmic fog shrouded, Narniaesqe-ish worlds of fantasy and wonder. But not…praise the saints…Portland OR.
According to an ex-Massey Ferguson welding colleague, who now works flexi-hours/part-time for GCHQ Cheltenham (code-breaking amongst other things. I cant reveal his name, obviously), the amount of heavily encrypted signals traffic they monitor, in and out of P.OR, is astonishing. He tells me the bulk of it seem to be connected with a shadowy organisation called something that sounds like Scribeler. Ill leave you to draw your own conclusions.
Oh dear, I thought she was the most sophisticated creature on earth when I was little. She had a fur coat! And she had James Mason for a father. And now she’s dead. I suppose a fur coat and JM for a daddy don’t guarantee longevity.
Keith. Thank you. I got back and everyone was kvetching about it being minus 7 or something. I’d been late night reindeer sledding in -22. And now, apparently, it’s been snowing. Mind you, my flight from Tromso to Oslo was delayed by two hours because ‘there was snow on the runway’. Not so savvy in snowy parts as we imagine.