:: Wog Blog ::

:: WHAT AM I THINKING ABOUT? ::

:: Friday, 30 December 2005 ::

KONG

What a fabulous fillum. Jackson has made his version of his favorite movie, with a whole heap of love. Lordy, if you can watch Kong and not feel moved to tears, well, ya got no heart.
...
Although, he does kill an awful lotta people...

Seriously, go to the cinema for this one.
:: WB 12:55 am [link+] ::

LOVE A BIT OF ART THEFT

Think about it. The sculpture is 3 metres long and weighes 2 tonnes. It had to be moved on a flatbed truck. The whole theft was caught on CCTV.

Where on earth is it going? Presumably. since England is saturated with CCTV, the authorities will have been able to pick the lorry up on a motorway or something.

If it was taken as art then it has either gone straight to its destination for display, in someone's big old estate prolly, or it has to be on its way to a dockside container for international shipping to someone's big old estate somewhere.

The perps will have to be art folks, who can arrange a heist of this...dimension, withut damaging the artwork. Prolly not wogs.

But if it was taken as scrap metal, which is a theory getting mooted, then for sure the perps are wogs.

For sure.
:: WB 1:54 pm [link+] ::

SBS - SLOPPY BUT OTHERWISE ON THE MONEY

The riots on December 10 broke out when crowds of mainly white Australians turned out at the beach suburb of Cronulla to vent anger against gangs of Australians of Lebanese descent, who they blamed for a gang attack on two surf life guards the week before.

Television pictures showed ugly scenes of white gangs targetting anyone of Middle-Eastern appearance. Police used capsicum spray and batons to quell the rioters.

Later that night, and subsequent nights, gangs of youths of Middle-Eastern background retaliated by rampaging through ?white? suburbs smashing cars and buildings.

There was only one riot. Not more than one. Sheesh.

And plus the blame for the attacks on the lifeguards is entirely deserved. Because the Muslim Lebs did it.

Urgh.

Apart from the weaselly inaccuracy, this is as a good a description of what's gone on of late as you will find anywhere.
:: WB 1:33 pm [link+] ::

ITALY PICS TO LIGHTEN THE MOOD

An Alfa at the Pantheon.

Roman parking.

Multipla!

Love it.
:: WB 10:44 pm [link+] ::

MEGALOGENIUS. ZIF.

Banging on about wogs in school and missing the point entirely that violent, thuggish intimidating Muslim Leb behaviour in Sydney is why this whole problem has begun to start with.

I mean, check this out:

It is almost an iron law of Australia today that the children of non-English speaking immigrants are better educated than the Aussies and Poms; that women of all backgrounds generally are better educated than men; and that wog women sit at the head of the class, outperforming not just the Aussie boys and girls but their wog brothers as well. The possible exception are Lebanese girls. They don't eclipse Lebanese boys and are slightly behind Australian girls.

So how do these facts square with your gut call? Does it mean Lebanese are less Australian than, say, Greeks? Or is the bigger story here not the attitude of some Lebanese boys to Australian girls but the cultural handcuffs their parents place on their Lebanese sisters?

Yes, Muslims Leb Australians are less Australian overall than Greeks Australians. The Greeks do not form gangs to threaten intimidate and upset skips.

No, the bigger question is not Leb culture, it is the behaviour of Muslim Leb violent thuggish jackasses.

Jeez, why is a wog like Megalogenis apologising for these jackasses? He hates Howard, the imbecile.

Try this:
But a few hundred boys behaving badly can't provoke the headline "race riot" on their own. The public reaction spells confusion and anger with Howard's Australia, not comfort and relaxation. The question that needs to be asked is: Why, at the 15-year mark of a boom, does everyone appear to be so grumpy again?

Okay, slowly for Georgie, cos he's Greek: because of the Muslim Leb violent behaviour that folks are sick of, and the Muslim Leb inability to apologise when they are in the wrong.

That is why George.

He has more, but. Brace yourselves:
Our leaders exhort Muslim clerics to tone down their language so impressionable young minds aren't tempted to become a suicide bombers. But they don't see the link between Anglo mobs bashing men and women of "Middle Eastern appearance" and the terror cards they play against Australians of Muslim faith.

Anglo mobs? Plural now, you see, when there was just one incident last Sunday afternoon and days and days of Muslim Leb "retaliation" for the shit they started. Bashing? Who? How many? Barely any, and not nearly as many folks as Muslkim Leb violent gang thuggery has assaulted and battered over years.

Here is George's analysis of Howards mistaken priorities:
...look carefully at what Howard has been doing differently on immigration to all his predecessors, Labor and Coalition.

First, Howard turned the [immigration - ed] intake on its head by giving more than half the spots to those with skills. That meant goodbye to the blue-collar wogs and their grandparents, because the family reunion component was also wound back. Second, Howard removed the zealousness from multiculturalism. Finally, he slashed public funding for higher education during the late 1990s.

Cayabuhleevi?

These are the mistaken priorities of Howard's Australia. The individual is celebrated over the community. The entrepreneur over the wage slave. The worker over the shirker. Private schools and hospitals over public systems. Skilled immigrants over the misfits from the existing intakes.

And this explains Muslim Leb thuggishness that makes sane people hate their Muslim Leb violent thuggish guts?

Yah.

Like it explains all the Italian and Greek thuggishness too. Cos you know, we are all such troublemakers, there are often 5000 folks turn up of a Sunday to protest our behaviour.

Cripes, eh?
:: WB 10:13 pm [link+] ::

AUSTRALIAN AUTHOR - CRETIN; WHO WOULD HAVE THUNK IT?

Gabrielle Casey, wrote a book called "Puberty Blues" about 50 years ago all about 2 slutty skippy 14 year olds who want desperately to get laid by imbecilic surfer boys.

I think. It was made into a movie about 40 years ago or something. Whatever. It is not important.

The Sydney Morning Herald has asked her what she thinks of all the Muslim Leb violence and skippy violence that has happened, on account of how .... hang on, the relevance escapes me...oh yeah, she has been to a beach.

I mean, puke, really.

Anyhoo, John Howard is at fault, and skippy chauvanism is just as bad as Muslim Leb misogyny and violence and assault and intimidation.

According to Gabrielle. Who hates Howard, like a good little goose-stepping arts luvvie should.

Let us "enjoy" Gabrielle's careful stylings, eh?

According to many Cronulla people, what happened last Sunday was the result of years of putting up with unacceptable public behaviour by Middle Eastern, mostly Lebanese, men.

"We've had enough," they said. The disrespect for other people's space on the beach had been going on for too long. This was compounded by disrespect, they said, particularly for women. As a former surfie chick, I have to say I find this a little ironic.

Cronulla beach, as I experienced it, was never known for its respect for women. By saying that, however, I don't mean to show a preference for one group of men who harass women over another.

There, see it?

It is all about Gabriele and her preferences. Nothing about actual blame, genuine judgement, real culpability getting identified.

And isn't she arch? "...a preference for one group of men who harass women over another." Oh Ha. Ha. Ha, Gabriele, so very clever.

One group gang bangs skippy girls cos they are 'Aussie Pigs" another group harrasses skippy Aussie girls who desperately want to be laid by them.

Jeez, woman, you wrote a frickin' book about it. You were one of those girls.

Noooo, all equal in Gabriele's idiot world.

But check this bit out:

Recently, I was reluctantly dragged along to the end-of-year drama night at North Sydney Boys High School (to see my daughter's boyfriend).
...
The most moving moment was when a dance group of about a dozen students came on stage, each boy obviously from a different ethnic background: Chinese, Irish, Korean, Sri Lankan, Indian, Swedish, English, Iranian, Croatian, South African and Somalian, as well as your average suntanned Anglo.

As I sat and watched them move so beautifully and harmoniously, I almost wept.
...
The next morning, I went to watch the boyfriend's soccer semi-final. Many of the same boys were there
...
These boys had found a different way to demonstrate their masculinity; a different way of being boys. These young men would never be part of any mob. This is the new man, I thought, a profoundly different kind of male from the boys I had known in my teens.

Notice anything about this?

Milo give me strength, not a Muslim Leb man among the beautiful boys she describes.

Djathink Gabrielle gets this?

These young fellows are conscious, whereas many of the young men in Cronulla, as well as in Lakemba, are not. They are acting out of unconscious impulses, irrational anger and misinterpretations of history.

As I was writing this, I received a spam email addressed to "Sons and Daughters of Anzacs", appealing to me to come to Cronulla on Sunday in the tradition of "the men who protected us from invasion and threats in years gone by".

"Bring yourself, your mates, anyone you know of fighting age, and whatever devices you see fit to defend yourself and your country," it said.

The best and the only device I would like to offer is that of consciousness and self-knowledge. The "other" is also within.

Fascinating.

For me to poop on.

In Gabrielle's craazy world, all this is about maleness and a lack of "the dance" or something in the lives of skegs and Muslim Lebs.

Honestly, woman, how many times does it need to be said. Cronulla has not got a problem with ...Chinese, Irish, Korean, Sri Lankan, Indian, Swedish, English, Iranian, Croatian, South African and Somalian, as well as your average suntanned Anglo.

She thinks her email is just appalling.

Wonder what she tinks of this from 'OZ Skullcracker':
Fuck you Aussie faggots, i wish I was in Cronulla that night so I could crack some of your worthless quasi-nazi skulls. who the fuck cares about aussie women anyway? lebanese women are 10X as beautiful.

See it? An authentic Muslim Leb scumbag.
:: WB 7:33 pm [link+] ::

"IT'S TOO EASY TO BLAME US WOGS"

If you can make it through this confused bit of...orunno, I think it is wog-whinineg from the Daily Telegraph and get some sort of point, well, Gunda Din and all that.

The writer is lumping all wogs into what has happened in Cronulla and Maroubra over the last week.

As if the original violence at Cronulla was committed by all wogs and the violence the following Sunday was directed at all wogs.

As if any discussion of multiculturalism and its flaws somehow makes all wogs the scapegoat and ought to be censored or something.

No, mate. I know plenty of Italians agree with Blainey et al.

It is not Italians, not us Italian wogs, who are getting blamed. Not Greeks, Spaniards, Portugeezers either.

This is all about Muslim Lebs.

Let us try this test, eh? How about a headline "It's too easy to blame Muslim Lebs"?

...

Yeah, you see the point now, right? Cos quite frankly they are to blame. And that fact, that they are to blame, does not detract one iota from crazy skippy violence so stop yourself pegging me asna apologist for it, cos I am not. It should be easy to blame them when they are to blame.

Muslim Lebs who caused all the ruckus over years and in particular with the gang rapes, and the beach insults, vulgarity and intimidation and the stuff on Sunday two weeks back, and they are to blame. They did run off to the mosque and then on their car smashing rampage for several nights.

They got their apology from skeggie skips (surfers) at Maroubra and still they rampaged.

The writer, Joe Hildebrand, I think thinks he is making the point about policing but ends up referring to, get this:

Where there are cultural concerns such as the often oppressive treatment of women in sections of the Muslim community, we can show a better way by teaching these kids in our schools that sexism is wrong and unacceptable; by leading by example in our own behaviour; by presenting a society that does not tolerate such treatment of women. Is it so unthinkable that things might change? Remember it was only a few decades ago that white Christian society was not so different. In some pockets it's still only a hijab away from a carbon copy.


See it? The traditional weak-as-piss apologetic of criticising anglos and Christianity instead of keping up the criticism of Muslim Leb behaviour.

Takes all the focus off the actual Muslim Leb scumbags who started it all.

No way is this writer a proper wog.

Wogs are into remembering how shit starts. It is our thing.

Muslim Leb vulgar violent men and their apologists and protectors (as opposed to Mulsim Leb who are not vulgar and violent and who do not protect those who are - sadly we never hear from them and I worry maybe there actually are not any, but I cannot be right, I mean statistically, that cannot be right) are the problem. Their allegiance to violence, chauvanism, misogyny, assault, bad haircuts, crap music and really bad cars is a major problem. Are they going to change with time and social studies classes? Maybe, but who cares?

They are mostly on their way to jihad or prison or both.

They have been allowed to misbehave by their parents, who are culpable as all wog parents are cos wog parents form a big part of all wog life, whether the wog kiddies, Italian, Leb or otherwise, like it or not, and by the coppers who are by turns too sensitive to this multiculti bullshit and full-on frightened of stirring up the Muslim Leb maniacs, as Prof Bunyip notes.

Two swords and a dagger found in a car seized in the last day or maybe two since the coppers got their big new powers.

Swords and a dagger - you reckon that was a skippy car? Come on.

There is a frickin' problem with some wogs in Sydney and it is shamefuly too easy for wankers like Joe Hildebrand not to blame them.
:: WB 6:56 pm [link+] ::

OBJECTIVELY GOOD NEWS

And a top intro.
:: WB 2:08 pm [link+] ::

WHAT THE...?

I bin watching the SkyNews this morning and they have repeated reports that, get this, bus and carloads of wogs - Italians, Greeks, Lebs and Serbs and Croats - are coming in to Sydney this weekend for some hot antiskippy action at Cronulla Beach.

Ya right.

Numero Uno: The only wogs on buses are old women going to work at the factory and kids who do not have their driver's licence yet. Okay? If they are comin' they are comin' in cars. With spoilers.

Due: Italians do not like nasty Muslim Lebs enough to fight their battles with them, and I will wager the same goes for Greeks or Serbs or Croats. No-one likes crazy Muslim Lebs - they are the frickin' troublemakers who started all this stuff.

Tre: Since when do Serbs and Croats eva spend time together without gettin' in a fight between themselves? That ain't a bus I wanna be on.

Quattro: Italians and other wogs, except for a nasty bunch of Muslim Lebs, do not have any record of pack rape where their families refuse to accept guilt when the evidence is overwhelming, and they do not have a habit of smashing car windows and going berserk, except at World Cup time, which is once every 4 years and, c'mon, you gotta be able to live with that kind of infrequent steamlettingoff. There is nothing for them to identify with when it comes to Muslim Lebs.

Now this kind of reporting is evidence of racism - cos it ain't all wogs that are the problem in Oz.

It is crazy Muslim Leb wogs.

Full stop. Ho detto tutto.

Can we just stay on point here, and stop infantilising them?

They should be top blokes. Or, more to the point, they should not be jackasses.

Lord knows the Christian Lebs rock.

Urgh.

The closest I got to finding this report in print - cos the SkyNews website is really not good stuff - is this from NZ.

And note, no mention of buses. Nothing on RomeoMike either...yet I guess.

I mean "buses". Puhlease.

This report from the ABC talks about increased police presence in Cronulla this weekend but does not mention the wog influx.

It does, however, mention the typical Muslim Leb excuse making for the crazies in their midst, "unemployment, alienation" blah blah blah, zif the residents of Cronulla and Maroubra have to give vulgar dickheads jobs.

And, natch, the ABC mentions this:

One man gave the case of a friend's son as an example of why the problems exposed this week are deep seated.

"He said my boy, 12-years-old in the school - he's great achiever. His name is Ahmed. He came home, he said to his dad - 'I want to change my name' ... he said 'because everybody hate me in the school, nobody wants to talk to me'," the man said.

Mate. He's 12. He's a wog. It would be weird he did not want to change his name.

That is part and parcel of the wog experience when you are young. I will bet young Ahmed is embarrassed of his dad if he has the little cap on and the robes, and his mum's in the hijab or the jilbab or the burka or whatever.

Jeez, he is prolly embarrassed to always have garlicky sausages for lunch.

O man. This really makes my blood boil.

Life is Oz ain't that hard that you got no choice but to smash up cars and behave repulsively towards women, which is what the Muslim Leb crazies did to start all this frickin' violence in the first place.

I'm doin' it....

!

Ya see that, Keysar Trad and you bunch of whiney wogs? That is me having a fit over how youse just will not accept that youse have a problem in your midst, it is a bunch of crazies, and it is your job to fix it. Ya always whining about someone doing something to your folks, not giving youse respect and not being noice and friendly and shit. And ya bringing Ahmed into it when he is 12 - I do not believe he was smashing any cars or hitting up on the bikini girls.

You get liked cos you're good to be with, Ahmed.

And if you reckon your name's a problem, don't lose it, just anglicise it - that is part of the wog experience too. It ain't "Giuseppe" in Oz. It's "Joe". It ain't "Francesco" it's "Gino". So maybe "Ahmed" is "Artie".

You know?

And, listen, mate, that does not make you any less of a wog. Alright?

It just makes it easier for the skips and you to understand one another.

And plus mate, skippy kids seem interesting, ya know? Like you wish you were skippy, all tunacasserole and mezzanine floors where the bedrooms are and beige everything.

But we all know their mums really cannot cook. So relax. You're winning.

....

Calm down skippies, do not get drunk and rampage on me. I am kidding.

Man, this stuff really is just mental, eh? I mean. Oz.

Out.

UPDATE:
Absolutely top threads on this topic at Daily Ablution and Harry's Place about this.

UPDATE 2: RomeoMike's got it. No Croats. But still buses. And the only quotes supporting the influx of wogs is from a solitary Leb. Money down, no Italians.
:: WB 1:19 pm [link+] ::

WHAT IS WITH WOGS AND MOBILE PHONES?

Sheesh, reading this you could get the impression that all Muslim Lebs are part of the same mobile phone list so they can get distributed messaging.

Pecoroni.

I say some bright thing should hack that network and SMS this:

"Stop being so crazy, you Muslim Lebs. You are giving us all the shits."
:: WB 12:10 pm [link+] ::

INSTEAD OF SYDNEYSIDE THUGGERY, HOWSABOUT WE LOOK AT SOME PICTURES OF TINY CARS IN ITALY

This is an impossibly cute AutoBianchi
just gorgeous and in perfect condition.

This, on the other hand can only be described
as a travesty.

This is an unnervingly common site in Rome, of all places
and when they get goin', whoo hoo, they can cover some ground.

And this, orunno even what it was, but I got the camera out quick to snap it and
dang if it didn't just hurtle away real fast.

More pics of the Weirdo Cars of Italy in due course, doodles.

Out.
:: WB 2:37 pm [link+] ::

ATCHALLY...

It was calm in Cronulla last night because it was raining.

And, sure as eggs is eggs, you can count on a wog to be very concerned not to get their hair wet.

In fact, now I ponder upon it all for a mo' the police should use water canons if they wish to disperse the Muslim Leb thugs currently getting round Sydney getting upset at how upset everybody is with them for their thuggery.

Whatever.
:: WB 2:15 pm [link+] ::

PARDON ME?

Timeline:

A bunch of Muslim Lebanese jackasses start the ball rolling by standing-over, frightening, assaulting at law, a bunch of skippy whitebreads at Cronulla beach.

"She's not worth 55 years" says one leering jackass to another, standing over a skippy teen in a bikini and her friends, blocking the sun from her as she lies on the sand, in an overt reference to gang rapes conducted by Lebanesers a couple years back.

A couple skippy lifeguards try to get the disgusting assaulting wogs off the beach and out of people's faces, and for their trouble get the crap beaten out of them by said wogs.

A week later a bunch of sober appalled skips, including parents of the girls getting assaulted, who have had enough of the Muslim Lebs giving everyone the shits on Cronulla beach when they've behaved leeringly to girls and threateningly in groups to regular punters, decide to protest the whole lifeguard beating. Off to the beach they go.

A bunch of drunken crim skips, some of whom just hate wogs, turn the regular protest into a running thuggery battle, kick a girl to the ground cos she's wearing the stupid Muslim haircovering, and start hurling rocks and stuff, at folks even ambulances and police, some getting around with Oz flags yelling 'wogs out', by which they mean "Muslim Lebs Out".... or maybe me, orunno, and some assaulting a couple muslim-looking Bangladeshi boys for no reason other than their looks and their embarrassingly hotted up car.

That night a couple carloads of Muslim Lebs react to their brothers having started the whole problem with what happened in Cronulla to the lifegyuards etc, by wrecking a bunch of harmless cars on a street, and I think bludgeon a bloke.

Tonight a bunch of Muslim Lebs go to - not to Cronulla to stand with the local community - not to the steps of Parliament, even, to protest the skippy thuggery -but out to their mosque in Lakemba, just so's we can see where their priorities lie, and there some of them hurl rocks at police watching nearby, and then go orf to smash some more cars and some shop fronts.

And the papers and the radio declare the skippies are engaged in a racist riot?

Exsqueeze me, but it takes two.

And a toxic wog standing over a bikini girl and saying "She's not worth 55 years" is racist pig of a bloke and a misogynist to boot.

Thanks a lot, toxic wogs.

Urgh.
:: WB 5:59 am [link+] ::

AS ONE "BLOGGER" QUITS ANOTHER...LIGHTS UP

Mogra Kigtonns started her blog as I went on extended break, and has gone broke in that time.

Wowee, eh? This bloggy caper ain't for the weak. No, sir.

It is for the lazy.

Anyhoo, where was I?

O. Yeah. Finished with the Morgan 4/4 and headed up to town for some rest.

That town being London, England.

Natch I still had cars on my mind. I mean, how good is this Cortina? Absotively shmick. All over.

Not much hot car action in londond, surprisingly enuff. But the town was good to me. Well, very good actually.

Did some walking around it and stopped a bit here and there to enjoy the sights, you know?

Always pleasant to see planes go over big buildings, and not into them, eh?

But London's not the point of getting back to blogging. O. No.

Italy is.

It just so rocks as a joint and as a state of mind.

And plus it ain't every country that offers the .handsome Military Man barking out the weather news.

So I wanna get my pics down of Italy for the record.

Now, for all youse sending me emails asking if I am all alright, and the nag-nag-nagging from certain readers for me to get back to it again, well, what can I say?

None of your pleading mattered.

This is for my mamma.

...And for youse too.

Whatever. Later doodles. More to come, I promise, pledge and undertake.
:: WB 2:00 am [link+] ::

WOG MOG LE JOG - DAY 14 BATH TO PERRANWELL (NEAR LAND'S END)

Out of Bath I needed to get down down South West Engerland, back to where it all began, to the home of the Mog, at Perranwell in Cornwall.

Getting there would end my perfect roundtrip.

I scooted outta Bath round noon, and, after some iPOD hassles quickly sorted in the shade at the back of the Royal Crescent, I got a blast of Rolling Stones 'Exile on mainstreet' to take me on my way. Perfect.

But sad.

No more traditional English traffic holdups.

But I could hardly be sad with the wonders on perfect B roads. Although I was getting a little antsy heading across Dartmoor, which took an age on account

of these.

Actual Dartmoor ponies.

And, plus, Dartmoor sheep abound.

They seemed to like the warmth of the sunkissed blacktop,so the going was mighty slow.

Eventually, I had to hand back the keys and the immobiliser and unpack my gear.

Yip.

I had to relinquish the Morgan 4/4 1.8L FordVtec engine, sweetest roadgoing machine I have enjoyed speeding along in since discovering the delights of the little red 1989 Mazda MX-5 that lives in my garage.

The whole round trip took me 2124 miles.

And what did I learn?

That alls you need for this sort of adventure is a compass, a decent 4 miles:1 inch map, a positive attitude and one heck of a car.

I will follow up with a post explaining the top roads I would recommend for drivey fun across Engerland, SouthEast Wales and Scotterland.

But for this post right now, I gotta confess to feeling a quiet sense of achievement and a goodly deal of delight in discovering the English motoring classic that is the Morgan.

Do I want one?

Ahhhh.

Whadyooreckon?
:: WB 2:26 pm [link+] ::

WOG MOG LE JOG - DAY 13 LOWER SLAUGHTER TO BATH

The Cotswolds basically looks a lot
like this.

And like this, all stone walls of impressive precision and no mortar.

The preferred fuel for the daytrip down to Bath wasStilton, Double Glouscester and Stinking Bishop
cheese, all English staples and, as a cheese tragic, I can certainly vouch, stinky and delicious.

Very happy with the fuel, I decided on a little roofless action in the Mog.

To whit, unstudding the studs, unsnipping the snappynubs, peeling back the leather roof, letting the threehoopedroofskeleton drop, and awayyyy we go:

It is atchally easy, even if it does make your face go all wincey as the studs stick a little bit, and the stretchyness of the leather makes everything feel precarious, like the windshield is going to crack off from all the tension, and the snappynubs get a super stuck and will not budge....

But see?
Not hard at all.

Now, no pics of beautiful downtown Bath cos I already spent some time there before the whole MOG LE JOG thing, so youse can check back with them pics if youse wish.

Whatever.

But the whole trip to Bath was easy and pretty easy on the eyes too. Top stuff, and once again the Royal Crescent was a perfect setting for afternoon chats with buds.

Top way to end the penultimate day of my trip, even if I was getting a little sad at the prospect of losing my Mog-pal the very next day.
:: WB 2:09 pm [link+] ::

WOG MOG LE JOG - DAY 12 RUTLAND TO LOWER SLAUGHTER

In which I encounter nothing but pigrelated and Cotswoldian delights.

Rutland's wonders run to

thatched homes

















and the nearby legendary Dickinson bakery, home of the

Melton Pie
a.k.a Dickinson Pie
a.k.a world's best and biggest pork pie.





















Natch, I had to purchase one, but the reckless consumption I have been engaged in throughout my journey has put at risk my ability to shoehorn myself into the narrow Mog seats

so this hefty comestible














was merely tasted before being fed to the ducks on earth.

And where were the ducks?

Why, in Lower Slaughter, natch.


















G'uh.

Not Upper Slaughter.

Zif I would wanna go there.

Puhlease.
:: WB 5:21 am [link+] ::

WOG MOG LE JOG - DAY 11 YORK TO RUTLAND

In which I encounter shock, rudeness and terror.

It was on the cruise outta York and down to Rutland that I got something of a shock.

It is not often one encounters any
of these

much less many many of them

and certainly not being sold, with pride even, as if they are actually a real car deserving of roadworthy certificates.

I was frankly appalled.

But my sprits were lifted by what I think was a
nucular power factory
spotted orf in the distance.

Then they were deflated again by being repeatedly given the finger by
these three English schoolboy louts in the back of this bus.

They seemed to be delighted by the Morgan before their disgusting class envy kicked in and the meanness started.

They all ducked from view as I decided to catch 'em on digimotorpicfilm, the little swine, but a couple were just a little too slow.

Ha ha. Who's giving the finger now, eh lads?

Anyhoo, orf to Rutland, to the village of hambleton, atchally, which is on the peninsular that juts out into Rutland water, a dirty big lake type arrangement. I got in to the village late afternoon, beautiful crisp and sunny weather enjoyed all day, bt imbetween listening to the iPOD - a Creedence day I think - I mighta heard something about weather turning a bit nasty overnight.

Hmmmm. Moggy roof is not entirely waterproof, what with its holes, and the fact it is made of leather and will get water logged and drippy pretty fast.

The hotel assured me I'd be fine under beautiful big trees.

Yeah?

It was three when I was woken by a humongously loud clap of thunder, and realised it was not just raining, but was teeming down so hard it hurt when I put my hand outta da window.

O. Mo. Go.

Total panic. Run to book about hotel.

ARGH! Notice at bottom on first page says the hotel does NOT operate a 24 hour reception? What the...? How am I s'posed to...? What am I going to do?

Considering taking the whole doona cover down to the car and laying it over the top hoping that will somehow be more waterproof than the care, and will prevent soakage.

Madness.

Contemplate laying my raincoat over the rood, but realise it is only a jacket, so hardly a solution. Kick self for failing to buy DrizaBone trip.

Commence dressing in complete panic. Tears forming in eyes. Heartrate stratospheric.

Deep breaths.

Resume reading hotel book for something, anything, to do with getting help or finding cover.

See note about sole lonely on-site staffer in one special room available only for emergencies.

O ya, I think this qualifies.

Phone him - it was a him, a Swiss guy I think called, I kid you not, Tony - and he wakes up as he speaks to me, saying a lot of "hmmmm" and "is it realy not waterproof?".

After not too many seconds - although it feels like minutes cos of the teeming rain and my imagination filling up the interior of the Mog and soaking its little wooden frame to pieces til it is all bendy and splooshy and...undriveable....then

Tony says, "Is it small?"

And I say "Yiss, yiss it is,"

And he says "I think we can fit it next to the stables."

And I say "I'll see you downstairs in two shakes."

So Tony takes me out to the car in the pouring rain with one of them jumbo hotel umbrellas that good hotels always seem to have, and we get to the car and I jump in and it is so cold, and there is definitely drippage coming through the roof.

Orf I drive, slowly in the rain with Sleepy Swiss Tony leading the way and we get to the stables, and he tells me to do a complex three point reverse kinda of turn to get under the archway entrance to the stables, under cover on top and in front but not if the rain decides to come teeming in on a windy angle.

I do it, and the Mog is a noisy little motor, all roary fun, you know? And with that I got to get some peaceful sleep knowing my little car was okeedoke.

Lucky, lucky me, eh?

Well yeah.

Not so lucky for the staff of the hotel, but. Not only did I ruin Tony's night, but all the other staff stay at the refurbed stables, so I woke up every one of them too, with my motory noisiness.

I am not sure if the wave they gave me when I checked out in the a.m was a "come on back" or a "come on back when you get yourself a waterproof car" or a "stay the hell away ya rowdy troublemaker" kinda wave.

Whatever.

I can vouch for the folks at Hambleton - they are sensational.
:: WB 4:33 am [link+] ::

WOG MOG LE JOG - DAY 11 HARROGATE AND INTO YORK BEFORE RUTLAND

I know it has been a few days readers, but who knew staying in 18th century hotels in Engerland would compromise my broadband access, eh?

Whatever. I am now on line and in a very tappy mood.

So, to day 11. That day's drive from lovely Harrogate to Rutland, the tiniest district in Engerland, was real driving pleasure with plenty of eye candy along the way, said candy being provided by spectacular York Minster, which was my first stop along the way. It was full up for overnighters on account of York races, hence the stay in lovely Harrogate. But that was quite alright, as Harrogate is a delightful Georgian type town, not too big and not too small.

And not too far away from York, which only one of the biggest durned cathedrals round and about this green and pleasant land.

To get into York you drive past the
walls of the town

and into a gorgeous village town type arrangement with the Minster rising imposingly but
kind of cuddled by all the surrounding Ye Olde type joints.

It is simply spectacular
and I was fortunate enough to turn up in the middle of a wonderful choir orchestra performance of some muzak I did not recognise - possibly if not probably an English composer.

Lucky me, eh? Who knew God was a Anglican?

Anyhoo, the interior is breathtakingly huge

and the authorities have actualy opened up the undergound too, so youse can wander round and see the Roman stuff on which the whole thing is originally built.

So, mille grazie to the Romans for the wonders of York Minster.
:: WB 4:10 am [link+] ::

WOG MOG LE JOG - DAYS 11, 12, 13 AND 14 TO BE POSTED SUNDAY 21 AUGUST

Sorry for lack of posts, peeps, but Harrogate to Hambleton to Lower Slaughter to Bath and back to Land's End and the end of the Mog drive will have to get posted tomorrow night sometime.

lack of internet accessy goodness throughout the Midlands of England and fabulous fun being had has eaten into bloggy time.

More soon, lo giuro. Including the biggest pork pie ever.
:: WB 9:11 am [link+] ::

WOG MOG LE JOG - DAY 10 EDINBURGH TO HARROGATE

Yesterday was an artsy day in Edinburgh, wth a visit to the
Portrait Gallery

to check out a fantastic paitning called "The Oncologists" which I was not allowed to photograph and which I cannot find online.

It is a very large, modern and moody affair. Fantastic and likely to become one of my all time favourites.

Yiss, it is that good.

Then it was orf to the Modern Art gallery for the Francis Bacon exhibition, which was also fantabulous in that macabre way that Bacon had of rendering everything kind of twisted meaty, you know?

Again with the no photos so youse will have to make do with
the cover art of the published gallery stuff picked up. That is only two thirds of 'The Oncologist' painting. It is missing a whole other oncologist.

There was also a trip in to the National Gallery itself for a pilgrimage of sorts to this Rembrandt self-portrait which is so expressive and perfect, with his hat that looks so very real and velvetyfelty.

Then, having got my art fix outta da way, it was on the road.

Mucho laughter with the concierge guys who were refusing to go get the car for me. Only the Spaniard (I think), Mandy, was prepared to go. The rest of them declared the car too hard to drive, and far too claustrophobic with its little cabin and tight footpedal zone.

One guy the night before had apparently tried to move the car and got so crazy inside it that he had a fit and was screaming to be let out.

Mandy was laughin' up a storm as he related this tale of scots weakness.

Not a 'Colin McRae' moment, but more a 'Carlos Sainz' triumph, and if youse do not get that reference, then youse are obviously not rally driving fans. And youse should be.

But I digress and anyhoo. It was on the road for one of the bestest drivey days ever.

Down the A68 from Edinburgh to Jedburgh, the last stop in scotland before coming across the "England" border stone, which was a parking stop filled with campervans and tourists so the Mog and me went cruising on by.

And why stop anyway? Cos the A68 keeps going down through North Yorkshire to Darlington and then you take the A167 from Darlington to Thirsk

and the roads are literally like rollercoasters.

Just up and down down down, with blind summits and no trees for reference in lots of spots. I was enjoying a mixture of sheer driving pleasure and terror at the prospect of being one of the 75-deaths-per-annum annouced in big depressing signs by the side of the road.

Way to make me crazy, road-nancies.

So, up up up and down down down all the way along, rolling hills, filled with gigantic hay bales and perfect dairy cattle and only the

occasional traditional English hold ups of huge tractor type things

forcing the applicaiton of the Mog's spongey brakes.

Soundtrack for the trip was a fantastically weirdo English country music radio station. Yah, you read that right. The annoucer sounded like he came off the classical music broadcast station, but instead he was introducing Suzie Bogguss. And natch, not being a true country music fan, who eschews making fun of their dumb names and even dumber pronounciation (no offense, but, cos I lerv my country music; heck, I am a Louvin Brothers fan, and they do not come much weirder than Ira and Charlie).

So he announces a Bogguss track and asks listeners to identify the opening line of the song, which he swears is:

We were always looking for tuna, with our heads in the clouds.

and damn, if he was not a hunnerd per cent right. She means to sing 'true love' but it sounds like 'tuna' and that, readers, is objectively hilarious.

Many giggles on the rollercoastery roads.

Made it in to Ripon late afternoon, and had to do some serious swerving and doubling back, to capture this image of suburban loveliness.

Just a house on a corner in a street, but so English and lovely.

Mog has the turning circle of a football ground, so it gets a heap of attention whenever I am pointing him to do special things like uturns and doubling back to see stuff and all that. Thankfully, folks are so tanken with the car, that i get happy nods rather than smirks and disapproval.

Now, not a lot of pics of the fab drive on account of all them A roads is single lane stuff. So motorpics at speed are not a sensible risk taking activity. I did get a bit of one machine I encounrtered, however, but it isn't a good shot for youse readers. The machine was some sort of harvesting ploughing thing, attached to a huge tractor and it was obviously ploughing vast fields of shit, no two ways about it, cos as it drove ahead of me, giant patties of the stuff were being flung on to the Mog.

Thank Jeebus the roof was up, keeping not just the sun but also the fecundity of rural England offa me.

Still, with the Lyndyrd Skynyrds going on the weirdo country station at that time, all was well and happy, if a little stinky, in the Mog.

Next stop, Rutland. The littlest region in England. Home of some sort of giant Rutland Water fake lake or something, we'll see.

Also home of The Rutles, and their truly great track:
Get up and go,
Get up and go,
Get up and go back home

Ha!

Happy happy.
:: WB 1:41 am [link+] ::

WOG MOR LE JOG - DAY 9 EDINBURGH

Mucho time spent relaxing today in hotel room of luxury. But to update, the trip into Edin burgh from the north takes you across a bridge next to that famous weird looking bridge,

captured here on Mog-at-speed cam.

And it is a pretty easy city to navigate, so finding

The Scotsman hotel was not too much of a chore.

Happy chats about the mog with the conciergey folks, woh took him off to lock him up for the afternoon and night, all snug somewhere in the bowels of the building, I think.

The hotel is located in the old Scotsman newspaper building so it is all marle and wood panelling and, interestingly, hatches beside every room, so you can get stuff delivered without opening the door to anyone. mebbe they were the old hatches where the copy got delivered. Who knows? I can't be asked to ask. I just like the whole concept of no people interraction at all, if you want to avoid it. Just phonecalls, or maybe even just text messages to room service.

After several hours relaxation and bloggy attempts and email checks etcetera, got on the mov to see some of the town.

Blogger is refusing to upload the image of the castle lit up at night. Suffice it to note such pics are a dime a dozen as befits a structure of long standing.

This, on the other hand, has a less futureproof and ongoing feel about it.

So, the editorial picture choice is a simple one.

O-kee, as the locals might say. I am done for the night. Spent some time out tonight at a festival thingy. Made the mistake of going to see a Yasmin Alibhai Brown discussion about multiculturalism instead of the Iranian comedian I was thinking of seeing. Urgh. Left everything a bit late. Still, I got to give her a resounding "booo" as she snidely sounded off that Nick Cohen is "deranged" and "a racist" and "every thinking person is againt the Iraq war".

She is a toxic wog, that one. Doesn't want to call herself "English" even though she is. Prefers "British" whatever the f*ck that is.

Wanker.
:: WB 3:00 pm [link+] ::

WOG MOG LE JOG - DAY 9 PITLOCHRY TO EDINBURGH

Yesterday's run was Inverness to John o'Groats to Pitlochry.

Pitlochry is a delightful little spot, very villagey and nice, and lo, there just happened to be a bunch of marching pipers orf marching down the main drag as I got into town to find the internet cafe closed.

They just wheelled outta nowhere and went off, the crowd following like lemmings.

Very kitch but lovely, if a little grating on the ears.

The morning's required activity was a trip to (Tim)Blair Castle

a fabulous big white pile, that is all decked out carefully in vast numbers of deer heads and antlers, and guns and swords and tartan stuffs.

They even had a lone piper

which made a bunch of Italian tourists squeal with delight. They were madly amassing themselves for a group shot around this piper, much crying out "presto", "avanti" and then, as they all got together and the camera button was due to be pushed they all shouted:

CHEESE-A

A terrific touristy moment.

It went well with the tours going on the Castle, which were mostly of Germans for Germans. At one point I was certain a fight had broken out but no, it was just a German tour guide explaining lace embroidery to her group.

No pics allowed in the castle which just means youse readers need to get there for a squizz.

The run down in to Edinburgh was easy peasey, straight south, A9, M90, A90.

Pics of Edinburgh to follow. Bloger is being quite scottish about image uploads per post. As in not many.
:: WB 2:28 pm [link+] ::

WOG MOG LE JOG - DAY 8 JOHN o'GROATS - UPDATED - NOW WITH PICS

Hey readers, I made it.



Needed Moggy roof cos john o'Groats really is at the arse end of everything in Scotland, all 'wind swept and interesting' and you actually have to drive through a weirdo kind of misty fog separation barrier to get there.

And once there, there is very little there there, you know?

Still I got my photo, and the kind man took a snap of the Mog just as the horrible catterwhauling noise of the ferry let out a peel, gaining my appalled attention for a second. Nice shot, but. I like it.

A very big drivey day was had yesterday, then, all the way from Inverness up to John o'Groats and then all the way back down past Inverness to Pitlochry, near Blair Castle.

Ex-haust-ion.

But of the happy kind, eh?

Found out last night, as I stayed in a hotel that was way too like 'The Shining' for my liking:

a big imposing pile up on a bluff

with empty red hallways sreaming 'redrum'

[Urgh, Blogger is not letting post the pic of the eerily empty and boarded up blue ballroom. Totally spooky.]

that the road I had driven for about 8 hours all during that very day was only the deadliest road in Scotland.

Dum-dum-DA!

No point in getting the retrospective heebyjeebies. fact is, the road was no problemo for me. Granted, there were a lot of lorries to share the blacktop with, and they are quite aggressive, them Scots lorries, but the road's major flaw, to my thinking, is the fact that all the potholes are on the front right wheel line, both north and south.

Much swerving had to be done.

That was the major problem.

Oh, plus there were long holdups at road works points, and a really steep mountain that needed some tight corner hugging and first gearage, that was a bit hair raising.

Add to that the fact I had the cricket going all day and you can imagine the tension in the little Mog cabin.

I feel somewhat responsible for the draw - which we totally could have won, mind - cos it seemed that every time I got outta the car - to get petrol, to go to the can, to pick up a drink - a wicket was lost. Bad Woggy. Should have stayed in the car.

Still and all, there is now no probem here now in the spectacular Scotsman hotel here safe and sound in fabulous festival-filled Edinburgh.

Thanks for all the emails asking if I'd made it to JOG. Yip and yippee, yes I have. I am now on the downhill run. But tonight, Edinburgh calls: its siren song of heavy traffic and festival festivities is irresistible.

Out peeps.
:: WB 8:27 am [link+] ::

WOG MOG LE JOG - INVERNESS

Got in to Inverness late, and I know I know, I should be drinking whiskey and playing golf or something, but hey. I am a Wog. I do white wine and bubbles at a stretch. Met some fab surfey American business folks and had drinks and chats over sunset and smokes. Very civilised here riverside in Inverness.

It is a delightful part of the world and the weather today has spoiled me rotten. Perfect. For driving and for evening drinks.

The whole waterside thing they got going on in Inverness is a delight. Would like, as with so many other joints, to spend more time here, but needs must.

Rest for me tonight

and for the Morgan.

Tomorrow I tag John o'Groats.

Whoo hoo. Should just tip the 1000 miles (coulda bin shorta but I have not just driven it to drive it, I have made detours to take in UKside delights).

And now, to sleep the sleep of the sleepy.

Out peeps.
:: WB 3:05 pm [link+] ::