Ads that I like: # 116

Metaphysically speaking, I am left perplexed by the declaration found here in today’s advertisement.

Regular readers will know that I have a deep respect for the Teutonic spirit, and am capable of seeing the broader worth of a peoples, culture and language than fixate on one or two (however dreadful) historical periods. Thus, I can look beyond an historic stain and embrace the gute volk in Deutschland with hearty Wohlwollen and nicht wertend Geist.

That said, the notion of “Deutschland”, does not conjure up images of frolicking Fräuleins hitting the links in some desperate effort to secure everlasting life.

I understand that in the aftermath of a war (any war, pick one) a nation must look to ways to [ahem] construct an appeal for foreign visitors to ~~bring their hard currency~~ engage in the spirit of peace and reconciliation.

Nevertheless, golf?

Really?

Cricket would have been far more appropriate.

Comments

Roddy said…

I still can't understand the attraction of smashing a little white ball as far as you possibly can and then spending the rest of the day looking for it. And then smashing it out of sight again.

21 September 2010 at 14:54

Carola said…

What? I can't understand this advertisement. How old is it? This is more of a joke about Deutschland, isn't it? And this clothes? And this font?

22 September 2010 at 06:25

Louis la Vache said…

Ja! Spielen Sie Golf und genießen es!

22 September 2010 at 08:22

If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral

Zeal, n. A certain nervous disorder afflicting the young and inexperienced. A passion that goeth before a sprawl.

Here I have tried my hand at the homemade sepia-toned photo. I wasn’t happy with the way that the sun had washed out some of the colours in the original, so had a bit of a fiddle because I like the look on Henry’s face, and didn’t want to pass on posting it. I have a tip for those of you burdened with the great, unceasing weight of parenthood. I have a new recipe, in the vein of the quick microwaved chocolate cake . Get this, microwaved potato chips . I gave them a run on Sunday, Henry liked the so much I did it again last night. Tonight, I shall be experimenting with sweet potato. I think that the ground is open for me to exploit opportunities in the swede, turnip, carrot and maybe even explore in the area of pumpkins. Radical, I know. I’m a boundary-pusher by nature. It's pretty simple, take the potato. Slice it thinly (it doesn't have to be too thin, but thin enough). Lay the slices on the microwave plate, whack a bit of salt over the top and nuke the buggers for five minut

This will hurt me...

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