It’s all a
I tell you. In so much as everything is connected then anything goes. And anyone who says that not everything is connected—is wrong.
SO: WHAT IS
our connection to Sgt Dan?
Well … I made a visual connection in Gore recently getting this snap. (Hard not to, when taking a photograph. But I guess that one day the self-taking image* will be with us) (where would we be without progress, hmm?).
As a refresher, here be the original Sergeant Dan dating back … lots.
—and given the context of time and place, I’ve often looked at our wee sergeant and thunk that perhaps ‘he’ was actually a she.
AND THEN IN GORE
last week a much more modern—
—which fails to address my doubts. This one too looks a lot like a damsel (despite the wee doggerel). So … what is the connection? Nothing more than pure innocent curiosity, as in the great unanswered question: what lies beyond infinity? Once upon a time the English language would have forbidden such a question but these days anything goes—and that is the connection.
Okay then: here we have a garden thingy shot last summer—
—which for whatever reason reminds me of a wee dittie The Spouse murmured in my ear some years ago when discussing headlines. (Yep. Headlines, as in old-fashioned newspapers—remember those? Very handy for wrapping fish and chips … just you try that with your blasted iPad.)
Apparently there was a simple guy named Artie, who when seeking employment (this is the abbreviated version—in the original it’s a real ‘shaggy dog’ tale) was sent out to throttle three different people. And he did, for which chore on completion he was paid the princely sum of one buck. (Still with me? Hang in there—it gets worse.) When the cub reporter got hold of it and wrote it up the editor scrubbed the cub’s headline and substituted—
ARTIE CHOKES THREE FOR A DOLLAR
—and ran with it. (Hell, it was much better the way she told it …)
So the snap is up close and personal with an artichoke. All those frilly spikey bits are of course connected, so my post is legal. Just …
LET’S MOVE ON
to days of yore, of ye olde wooden ships and iron men (these days it’s iron ships and …)
—to this cutie. It’s a model in a huge window of a building that’s now been gutted and is turning into what looks to be a luxury venue for people happy to overpay oodles for candlelit dinners and if lucky, accommodation.
I took several snaps but no way could I fit everything into just one shot. So here you have the back end, and that model ship is (was, gone now) about five or six feet long. Truly a magnificent model, I tell you. Next time I’m rabbiting through my snaps if I come across the sharp end shot I’ll post it for you.
on a sailing ship is connected. Actually, the same holds true for modern ships too … and to command one of those old sailers the skipper needed to know the names not only of his crew (easy peasy) but of every rope, knot, shackle, mast, sail, long skinny thing, short fat thing, and little round clunky thing with knobs on; from the very top of the highest tree to the bottom of the keel. AND how to make ’em all work together (he was excused barnacles though) to get from A to B across vast ocean reaches; fighting if need be everything from scurvy to scurvy knaves and/or crocodiles.
We too have a connection with the sea—several times a year we go to Gemstone Beach and mistime the surf. “Never,” I told her darkly, “turn your back on the sea!” (Ah, but do they ever listen?) Experience is the best teacher, I’ve found. All I can do, really, is say smugly “Told you so~!” then run like the wind … before a connection is made with my head, one involving any ready-to-hand blunt object.
Amazing how shipping a whole ocean wave down into your gum-boot can alter your day’s priorities; leading to a disconnect between comfort and environment …
* Self-landing planes, self-driving cars … who needs a photographer, huh? The ultimate will be when a machine judges the photos your camera takes and awards it prizes or raspberries accordingly (not far off, now).