Tschus

Doe a female dear,
Ray a name I could call myself,
Moi a pretension I do call myself,
Fah a pre-fix before cough,
So or whatever its time to go
Lah di dah I do not know the words,
Tea a drink needing sugar and milk,
Door a thing that closes......

or words to that effect


Pryce Family Robinson and I'm mixing my metaphors as well mixing my vans with the trots and my family, to bring this full Monty to its end. It makes sense in a crossword puzzle.

I met her for an interview and it was a success for the career and we will see if the family sees it the same. Stabilty forsaken.


Life is not the Sound Of Music with an idealistic family escaping over the mountains whilst singing a melody of of tunes that I could only screech at and it is not for me. Booking a one way plane ticket is not an escape, its a reality of working for the Euro-Yankee-Ruble-Yen Dollar. It is for me. It is for us.

So.....just like the hidden track to be heard long after the last listed play, I give you "Tschus".

Auf wiedersehen, Goodbye, Tschues, Adios, Au voir

And so we face the final curtain- Blog retirement


May I thank all that may have read these posts and that may not be many. Thankyou Ms Cuthbert.


I hoped that each diatribe was laced with humour, but I am biased.


So hoping to survive the economic crisis and that double dips will still be a food thing my wife does for desert.


World of Bass says "Bye" .

Best beef in the world

The Roast beef is apparently a French insult of sorts against the British; such as we, in reverse, associated the French with the Frogs legs. This is perhaps not nice, but not exactly going to get the gander up as much as, say, saying a garlic smelling, wine dribbling diatribe might. Like the Channel tunnel, its a two way thing.

There is a one-way thing, I have learnt from getting it wrong many times and that is to get it right eventually.

I have travelled to some forgotten lands that turned out to be quite pleasant, when I thought I should have travelled with enough prescription drugs to keep a few pop stars happy. My blood/sugar levels may even be kept on an even keel, especially when the toilet is not a hole in the ground, hoorah.

Now I am in a new foreign land, I am placed in front of the local cuisine with a dread, a menu is like crossword puzzle of poisons, as assorted foreign words probably spell Gull's Eyeball and I don't know. However there is always something on a menu that spells saviour.

Today and as normal, Pryce is rescued by something the natives say is beef. I am not one to argue if curried inner ear is the other non-vegetarioan option. However this brings on board the second big "Ex-pat question", there is the beef question, the big beef question, the big beefy of beefiest beef question. We eat. My host with a knowing nod and an eyebrow raised, which means I am being required to confirm - "Is this the best beef in the world?". I am to confirm. I am being asked to lie.

Far from the maddening cow and contrary to modern thinking, I liked my Fray Bentos. Sharing this thinking with my hosts is a mistake. A big mistake.

My job description, my ex-patriate contract demands no bad mouthing of all things local and that unequivocally includes specifically agreeing with the representative of the host nation that their beef is best. I may actually think the beef is a variant of Mutton-Lamb-tofu-dressing or the most succulent piece of meat that ever touched the Pryce's tonsils. Fray Bentos is off the menu. I nod gravely , I nod with viguor, I affirm that yes...yes this is the best beef in the world, bar none.
Lying over beef is called diplomacy.