Couple of points from today, firstly congratulations to Vettel on becoming the youngest back-to-back F1 world champion.
Secondly, congratulations to Jenson Button for consistently making Lewis Hamilton look rather ham-fisted this season. I would never have thought it possible that Button could become such a superb and well rounded racing driver.
Thirdly, a note about overtaking: when a driver is initiating an overtake, has the door shut on him by his intended target and winds up on the grass, he does not automatically becomes a victim, even when the driver is British and his target is German.
The way I see it is:
Vettel was moving across the track from the start at a constant rate.
Button, having made a blinding start, attempted to go up the inside but never made it fully alongside Vettel.
Button thought Vettel wouldn’t fully close the door, so he took to the grass a bit.
Vettel DID fully close the door.
End of chat.
Now, Hamilton vs Massa.
Hamilton is a clumsy spoiled brat who needs to calm the frak down. Massa needs to stop reminding me of Diego out of Dora the Explorer.
When a
traveller in South West Devon takes the wrong fork at the junction of the Malborough turnpike just beyond Thurlestone, he comes upon a lonely and curious country. The ground
drops down towards the sea and the hedgerows and ivy covered walls press closer
and closer against the potholes and ruts of the muddy, curving road.
The trees
of the frequent woodlands seem too large, and the wild weeds, brambles and
grasses seem to attain a verdence not often found even in this most rain-soak
isle.
Outsiders
visit South Huish as seldom as possible, all of the signboards pointing towards
it have been taken down. The scenery judged by any aesthetic standards, is more
than commonly beautiful, yet there is no influx of artisans or summer tourists.
The gambrel
roofed barn that has been converted into a dwelling of sorts sits next to a
disquieting derelict church. Even the rabbits that frolic so freely around
other parts of the Parish seem to shy from the crumbling, ivy encrusted walls
that mark the boundary between the settlement and the charnel horrors of decay
and decadence that lie within the half shattered shell of the house of worship.
Here, we,
Occulomency, have chosen to take our pre-lammas sojourn. Here, we, Occulomency,
intend to find the secrets of the Shadow over South Huish.
Day Two:
There is
little more absurd, as I view things, than the association of the homely and
the wholesome which seems to pervade the multitude. Mention a bucolic
Devonshire
setting, such as the one Occulomency is
inhabiting currently, and one expects the hearty and good natured country folk
to provide the occasional grotesque tale of local myth and legend.
Occulomency
believes that the blasphemies of an infernal and eternal train of Demons are
matters of common knowledge in the nearby town of
Paignton
. Here we boarded a steam powered
locomotive in order to travel the short distance down the coast. There were
only three passengers, besides the Occulomency party. The unkempt men of sullen
visage and a somewhat elderly cast entered the doorless compartmented guard’s
coach but aside from some far off muttereings in an indeciperable tongue, we saw nothing of them again.
At length,
the decrepit vehicle started with a jerk, and rattled noisily past the old
brick buildings and at last drew clear of the rotting Victorian settlement and
proceeded along the line, our expectant faces pressed to the chilled barrier of
the soot smeared carriage windows.
Once in a
while I noticed dead stumps and crumbling foundations above the drifting sands,
but the incessant mists that seem to drop the temperature well below the level
claimed for the day by the state broadcaster in the morning news bulletin,
obscured the views that old tradition quotes as wondrous. Occulomency knows
that more than just the passage of countless years has taken it’s toll on the
local populace and the environs that they choose beyond all reason to inhabit.
Upon the
completion of our short journey, we found ourselves at an eatery of sorts. The
counter staff spoke in a strange tongue, but Occulomency managed to convey the
need for refreshment. In exchange for a few gold coins, Occulomency was
provided with two small fruit containing cakes, a metal pot of leaf infused
water and two small ramakins, one with congealed blood red ichors which was
textured with some form of seed. The other contained a substance, whites and
clotted which I cannot bring myself to describe.
The name of
this culinary charnel house…. The Winking Prawn.
Tombliboo Ombliboo
Knock on the door (action: make knock-knock mime with fist)
Ombliboo Tombliboo
Sit on the floor (action: fall to the floor and sit)
Tombliboo Ombliboo
Here is my nose (action: stand up and touch nose)
Ombliboo Tombliboo
That's how it goes (action: claim workplace harassment, go crying to court, act like a complete poncey twat)
This must be a sign of the impending apocalypse, surely.
