Ye Olde Linoleum Shoppe

Tuesday 24 April 2012



Today my chum-a-riffic pals we're taking a stroll on the catwalk. That landing strip of fashion heaven where coked-up models thinner than the grim reaper (with osteoporosis) sashay about in rags that looks like they've been put on back to front. And because it's a catwalk this posting is all about cats . . . And (you will be no doubt dee-lighted to know,) it's even more removed from fashion than that. Each cat (and their relative size) is a metaphor for subsets of information about the past.

Confused? Wonderful! - Let's continue.

First down the catwalk, (to the flicker of adoring paparazzi flashes) comes (figure 1) Rum Tum the kitten. And sweet little Rum Tum represents all the things we know for certain about the past.
Rum Tum is the sum total of all that assiduously gathered data - data gathered through excavation, field walking, reliable dating methods, environmental work, osteology and of course the correctly deduced web of relationships between it all - and that's just to mention a fraction of it . . .The good news is that Rum Tum is a growing kitten and in the next hundred years she might just double, perhaps even triple in size!! A pat on the back chums - aren't we super-duper!
But just a minute who's that coming up the catwalk next? Why it's (figure 2) Macavity the man-eating tiger! He represents everything we don't know about the past.
Christ on a pogo stick, he's a big one! Lock up your tins of kite-kat, that hoor could swallow Rum Tum whole without needing to wipe his backside afterwards! Macavity is all those things we don't know, and that's a lot, I don't where to start with this one - Indus valley script? Those humungous stone balls in the Terraba River? The vast canyons of darkness yawning through our gossamer knowledge of prehistory? The bad news is, as time goes on and populations sky rocket, Macavity keeps getting exponentially bigger. 
Now big and scary as Macavity is he's only a tripping hazard compared to the next contender to trundle down the catwalk. Ladies and gentleman, boys and girls could you please give a big hand for (figure 3) Old Deuteronomy from the droid planet Feline 9. And tonight, Old Deuteronomy is representing all those mad-as-shit theories 'archaeologists' having been expressing since before the past was even invented.
Dearest Old Deuteronomy isn't just the sum total of those Erich Von Daniken style theories, he also represents all the poor postulations lazy archaeologists have foisted on the world by means of bullshit and bullying in an attempt to gild their distended egos.
Man-eating Macavity doesn't stand a chance against this monster - and as for Rum Tum -
Who the f*** is Rum Tum?
So ends the cat walk. But let's not forget the one who never made it onstage. It's (figure 4) Gus. Gus represents our pay levels - and the trap?
That's your student loan and taxes.

Until Next Week My Chutney Stompin' Buddies!

Tuesday 17 April 2012


As the poets of olde Ireland once pondered : 'Cad a dheanfaimid feasta gan caca milis?' Or, (in a tongue which lacks both gargling noises and cajones) - 'What will we do without cake?'
Since dawn first (erm . . .) dawned on the Celtic peoples of Europe cake has played a defining role in their culture. Indeed, as one surveys the present day remnants of the Celtic population, cake fuelled obesity is now becoming a problem rivalled only with the depredations of those sorry perverts that once constituted the ancient Roman Empire. Mar shampla or, (in the lingo where they play bingo) 'for example', just look at the once proud Celtic stronghold of Limerick - recently it had it's patois appellation demoted from 'Stab City' to 'Flab City.' (I believe Sir Terry Wogan had a blue fit when he heard about it.)

The mighty Battenberg Hillfort in the Southern Tyrol of Ballymun stands lofty witness to the rotund nature of the foregone Celts. It's meticulous construction using butter, sugar, eggs, flour and a large oven at 180C proved unassailable to the pork noshing Romans. These orgy-dabbling Latinos (with their penchant for polished footwear and STD's) on several occasions attempted to erase this mighty monument from the landscape. Using siege towers made from air dried ham they released Parmageddon on the Black Forest Celts. The Celts however stood firm and told the agents of SPQR to go yonder 'and shite.'
And the Lord was angry with the warring folk of Europe and with the words 'Let them eat cake,' subjected them all to a ritual act of humiliation by turning them into Christians - put that in your muffins!

The apex of Celtic Cakitecture is unquestionably the Celtic Death Barrow. A intoxicating mix of fruit cake, marzipan and poorly judged relationships. Standing at a height of over four metres the barrow becomes an eternal tomb to foolish young lovers 'undying' love. It's three tier design reflects the tripartite nature of most Irish relationships - namely:
Tier 1: 'I love you darling.'
Tier 2: 'Until death do us part.'
Tier 3: 'You f**king b*tch/b*ll*x (select as appropriate) you've ruined me life.'

And I swear by all that's holy if I hear that meaningless word 'Celtic' ever again I'll kugelhopf the living gingerbread out of the cheesecake that says it.

Until next week fellow Dick Turpin impersonators.

Tuesday 10 April 2012


Jings, crivvens chums, I've had a divil of a week! Caught a very nasty stomach bug at the weekend, but even with all portholes awash I felt I couldn't leave my tender blog beloveds high and dry. So here for you (through a haze of diced carrots, and it's not over yet let me tell you,) is the final ravishing installment of my sugar-sweet alphabet.

I can see you salivating, so please do jump right in . . .

M is for Mattock
Fer shiftin' da muck.

N, Neanderthal,
Not as dumb as they look.

O, Oppidum.
(The folks on the hill.)

P, Projectile,
'Set phasers to kill.'

Q, we form them,
Down at the dole

R is for Reason
Backfilled in a hole

S is for Stones,
There's Keith and there's Mick.

T, Trepanation,
A hole does the trick.

U, is for Ur,
Where Sir Len did his duty.

V is for Venus,
With the big 'ghetto booty.'

W, for Wattle,
All daubed in s**t.

X, I'm eXhausted
Had enough, I'll admit.

Y makes me sorrY,
This was ever begun. 

Z, Zhoukoudian.
And WooHoo! I'm-a-done!
Oh Good God! I've just bruised my head on the toilet bowl . . . Hopefully I'll be better next week.

Wednesday 4 April 2012


Education chums! Education, education, education! And at the risk of repeating myself let me say that again. EDUCATION! Archaeology is all about learning so let's all go skipping down Enlightenment Lane and do our ABC's.

A is for Axes,
The ones that we grind.

B is for Bible,
(Well, I've heard truth is blind.)

C, Coprolite,
Call them 'baked goods.'

D is for Dendro,
There's gold in them woods.

E is for Egypt,
Them pharaohs was rum.

F for Flint Knapper,
Missing a thumb.

G is for Grid,
So we know what goes where.

H is for Henge,
Like those grids, never square.

I is for Iceman,
With a dice for a face.

J, Jericho,
Walls without trace.

K, is for Knossos,
A minotaur concealed.

L is Lascaux,
With paint sadly peeled.

M is for,
I'm McBuggered if I'm doing all 26 letters in a single posting!! So please return for your second dose next week sugarbabies!!


My photo
I am a descended from a long line of conga dancers. I occasionally wear shoes. I gave up going to the toilet twenty years ago - it's a filthy habit. I have a pet bunny called Mucky - he's a filthy rabbit.