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Candia Comes Clean

~ Candid cultural comments from the Isles of Wonder

Tag Archives: Mcdonalds

Woy Woy?

02 Monday Feb 2015

Posted by Candia in Celebrities, Film, History, Humour, Nature, News, Social Comment, Sport, television, Tennis, Travel, Writing

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Banjo Paterson, billabong, Bluntschli, bogan, Djokovic, hoon, Kim Sears, Mcdonalds, Melbourne Park, Norman Brookes, NSW, Orange, Paul Hogan, poms, Pretty Beach NSW, quokka soccer, Rod Laver, roo, rutting stags, Sergius, swagman, terpsichorean, The Briars Homestead, Thomas the Tank Engine, Tony Wilding, Woy Woy

 

Woy Woy- not an exophoric reference to a Chinese conceptual artist, but

a heartfelt expression of anguish as to the reason you not been reading my

posts, possums.  A girl just has to swan off to Pretty Beach etc and suddenly

all her readers droine away.

Well, I have been amassing verbal deloights for your delectation. I am now

attuned to the twangs of the Aussie lingo. A two year old approached me in

a play park in Orange, in a perfectly innocent, trusting way, not noted in

British kids since the Sixties, and proffered his Thomas the Tank Engine

toi, before revoking his intention and pronouncing very definitely, That’s

moine!

Thomas Tank Engine 1.JPG

I was then privy to an eavesdropping from a sheila who was

discussing her boyfriend as she walked down the street in Mornington, Victoria:

It’s not that koind of relationship.

Everyone is moaning about the unusually bad summer here, with all the roine.

They should read the weather reported for the UK in The Doily Moil. Even the

commentary from Melbourne Park was punctuated with strangulated

phonological approval when players hit it on a doime.

As well as the accentual points, the idiomatic phrases are ripper too. Goodness

knows what That was right in the honey hole for him! means literally, though

the sentiment is not lost in translation. It would sit well in Kim Sears’ ‘potty’

mouth.

Even Mcdonalds has an advertising slogan here which doesn’t sound remotely

American: More bang for your buck. It sounds like something Banjo Paterson’s

terpsichorean swagman could have uttered by a billabong, or an ejaculation

by Paul Hogan, who might brandish a roo in a bap and pronounce emphatically:

Now that’s a burger!

 

Crocodile dundee poster.jpg

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

No, Candia didn’t enter the hallowed grounds in Melbourne, but watched

Andy’s defeat on television, like the rest of you poms, whingeing or otherwise.

And, by the sound of the current meteorological reports, you have plenty to

whinge about.

He and Djokovic went at it like rutting stags, but the control of language by

the Serb reflected his greater mental restraint and focus.

Red deer stag 2009 denmark.jpg

(Now who does this remind me of?)

On this occasion, Sergius conquered Bluntschli.

How interesting was it for Candia today to stand on ground which reputedly

was once the tennis courts on which the first non-Briton to win Wimbledon

practised.  Norman Brookes even won The Davis Cup in the USA, with Tony

Wilding and yet he warmed up on what was once a cattle station on this

Victorian peninsula.

Norman Brookes 1919.jpg

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Today the sacred spot is struggling lawn in front of The Briars Homestead,

whose grounds are now a Nature Conservancy Centre. I expect the expletive

was unheard of in this gracious residence, once upon a colonial toime. I doubt

Sir Norman was a cashed up bogan in pocket, or personal behaviour. Some of

the latter day sporting, or unsporting, hoons need to cease vocalising in the

parlance of those who indulge in activities such as quokka soccer. Return to

the days of Rod Laver and his self-disciplined behaviour and all will be foine.

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Epiphany (O Mega Town of Basingstoke!)

10 Wednesday Dec 2014

Posted by Candia in Family, Humour, Poetry, Religion, Social Comment, Suttonford, Theatre, Writing

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Away in a Manger, Bambi, Basingstoke, Beanie Baby, Christmas Houses by Hartley, Damien HIrst, epiphany, Gloria in Excelsis!, Harris Manning, Last Supper, Loom Bands, Magi, Mary and Joseph, Mcdonalds, Pax Hominibus, Pooh Bear, Rudolph, Tesco, The Anvil, Toys R Us, Yuletide log

Another re-blog, but plus ca change!

The Christmas lights have just appeared in Suttonford, so we will

be pleasantly decorated in time for Santa’s arrival in the town.

Basingstoke will also be ablaze, but in a more gaudy fashion.

Here’s a tribute to its display in a former year.

Festival Place

EPIPHANY

O mega-town of Basingstoke,

how shrill we see you lie!

Above your phosphorescent glow

the silent stars go by.

Yet in your dark streets shineth

the Wondrous Light that draws some from the motorway,

yet fails to signpost Magi through your roundabouts’ array.

(Praise Him in the filament, anyway.)

In Toys R Us they’ll buy a Beanie Baby for the King;

from Mcdonald’s, a children’s meal

with a collectable key ring.

(Those Loom Bands are maybe not His sort of thing.)

Mary and Joseph, Rudolph and Pooh Bear

watch o’er the child beloved and fair.

All is calm.  Sleeping in heavenly rest.

Most take taxis to avoid the breath test.

Mixed iconography screams houses into shrines:

iced Yuletide logs in lurid neon signs.

What shall I give Him, poor as I am?-

I’ll nick a Tesco trolley and use it as a pram.

Blest be that apple near the wheelie bin-

someone’s Last Supper on the lawn close to us:

the turkey carcase an oblation for sin?

A Damien Hirst Pax Hominibus?

 

God rest ye merry, Basingstoke,

you’ve always got The Anvil,

but it’s closed on Xmas Day

when the kids can be a handful.

While housewives wash sports socks by night,

men get their flexes convoluted

and for the love of flashing Bambis

prepare to be electrocuted.

Away in a Manger, no crib for a bed,

the little Lord Jesus flashes green and then red.

The stars in the night sky have nothing on this-

Basingstoke’s Gloria in Excelsis.

 

  • The Anvil is Basingtoke’s Theatre.
  • Hartley, Harris , Manning: authors of above book.

 

 

 

 

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Laughter: the Best Medicine!

16 Thursday Jan 2014

Posted by Candia in Education, Fashion, Humour, Literature, Psychology, Social Comment, Suttonford, Writing

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

biltong, Brocklehurst, Disney princess, Harrods, Jane Eyre, latte lounger, Liverpool Pathway, Madwoman in the Attic, marshmallows, Mcdonalds, primrose path, tiara

Two yellow arches joined together to form a rounded letter M

Brassie and I are in danger of becoming latte loungers– you know,

like those Koreans who hang around McDonalds, sharing a bag of

fries for hours on end.  Only we don’t eat chips.  We daren’t.

Another problem is that we don’t want to spend money on sweet

things which will make us fat.  It doesn’t take long to drink one cup

of anything.  Then each is thinking, I must go!  But we have a lot more

to say and we keep on talking.  We wouldn’t hang around if there

was a queue for a seat and table, but we are aware that we

probably overstay our commercial viability.

What have you been up to recently? I was asked.

Oh, just re-reading some Bronte novels.  What about you?

I’ve just been to the GP, remarked Brassica.

Everything okay?  I asked her.

Oh, just a couple of things I wanted to have checked.

Whom did you see?  I was feeling pedantic!

The first one I could get an appointment with, she replied.

Dr Brocklehurst I think it was, but they’re all the same.

The name sounds familiar, I reflected aloud.

None of them wants to actually lay a finger on you and you can

see them counting up their hours on a claims sheet. They can’t

wait to turn their backs on you and log on to their computer.  You

can see them typing Caps Lock-‘M’ for ‘Mad Woman.’

You need to wake them up by inserting a key word like ‘depression’,

or ‘meaninglessness,’ I suggested.  They really like something that

can be ticked in a box.  They are quite disappointed if you refuse

antidepressants and stubbornly insist on having an antibiotic, or,

even more outrageously, ask for a blood test.  But, anyway, what did

he say?

He said, Do you know where patients with your symptoms end up?

I replied, I think they go to hospital eventually.

And what might you mean by a ‘hospital’? he urged.

A unit where you might be abandoned on a trolley, dehydrated until you

resemble biltong and then perhaps put on the primrose path to the

everlasting bonfire, aka The Liverpool Pathway, I retorted.

I was surprised at Brassie’s vehemence.

Well, would you like a referral? he asked grudgingly.

No, not on your life, or on anyone’s.  Brassie was adamant.

So, how might you prevent this?  Brocklehurst interrogated.

I must keep in good health, not eat sugar and avoid coming here,

avowed Brassie.

That’s odd, I broke in.  This dialogue reminds me very much of

something I read in ‘Jane Eyre’.

What?  Are you typecasting me for a role as Madwoman in the Attic?

Brassie queried.

Only based on what I was told yesterday, I teased.  I heard that,

as pack leader, you’ve been indulging those pugs of yours in some bizarre

scheme which just might undermine any claim to sanity that you had left.

Well, at least I didn’t treat my daughter to a Disney Princess experience

at Harrods! she exclaimed.  Parting with £1,000 for that would be insane.

But you don’t have a daughter, do you? I pointed out.

Well, if I did…she excused her gaffe.

Don’t look now! I advised.  I could see in the reflection of the metal coffee

machine a woman coming in with a child dressed in a pink tulle dress with

a plastic tiara on its head.

Hi, Susan, Brassie greeted the woman.  Hello, Tallulah!  Are you not at

school today?

The scowling child banged a wand on the table and demanded

marshmallows on her hot chocolate.

She’s been suspended, confessed Susan in a whisper.

But she’s only eight!  Brassie was shocked.

Tiaras contravene the uniform code apparently and she won’t take

it off.  Susan looked at the end of her tether.  She thinks she really

is a Princess and has a Divine Right.

But only married women wear tiaras and only after dark, I said loudly.

Anyone with blue blood and of a royal house knows that.

I sneered at the child behind her mother’s back.  So last year! I

added.

Tallulah scraped the foam from the bottom of her mug and licked the

spoon. Then she snatched the plastic coronet off her head and broke

it in two.

I’m really bored now, she advised her minion, I mean ‘mother‘.  Let’s go

back to school.

And that meant that Costamuchamoulah wasn’t quite so crowded, so

Brassie and I didn’t feel pressurised  to place another order.

We hadn’t even begun to update ourselves with the latest on Suttonford

residents’ previous weekend activities and were warming up to an in depth

analysis.

But then Dr Brocklehurst came in with his laptop and squeezed into the seat

at the corner table.  We thought it was time to go.  So much for the

damnation of the white stuff- sugar- I mean: his hot chocolate was laden

with mini- marshmallows and liberally dusted with sprinklies.

Maybe Costamuchamoulah pays him in complementaries to come in and

clear the regulars!

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Epiphany (O Mega-town of Basingstoke)

20 Tuesday Nov 2012

Posted by Candia in Humour, Poetry, Suttonford

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Basingstoke, Basingstoke roundabouts, Beanie Baby, Damien HIrst, epiphany, Mcdonalds, Safeway, Teletubbies, Toys R Us

The Christmas lights have not yet appeared in Suttonford, but soon we will be pleasantly decorated in time for Santa’s arrival in the town.  Basingstoke will also be ablaze, but in a more gaudy fashion.  Here’s a tribute to a display in a former year.

Festival Place

EPIPHANY

O mega-town of Basingstoke,

how shrill we see you lie!

Above your phosphorescent glow

the silent stars go by.

Yet in your dark streets shineth

the Wondrous Light that draws some from the motorway,

yet fails to signpost Magi through your roundabouts’ array.

(Praise Him in the filament, anyway.)

In Toys R Us they’ll buy a Beanie Baby for the King;

from Mcdonald’s, a children’s meal

with a collectable key ring.

(Teletubbies are maybe not His sort of thing.)

Mary and Joseph, Rudolph and Pooh Bear

Watch o’er the child beloved and fair.

All is calm.  Sleeping in heavenly rest.

Most take taxis to avoid the breath test.

Mixed iconography screams houses into shrines:

iced Yuletide logs in lurid neon signs.

What shall I give Him, poor as I am?-

I’ll nick a Safeway trolley and use it as a pram.

Blest be that apple near the wheelie bin-

someone’s Last Supper on the lawn close to us:

the turkey carcase an oblation for sin?

A Damien Hirst Pax Hominibus?

 

God rest ye merry, Basingstoke,

you’ve always got The Anvil,

but it’s closed on Xmas Day

when the kids can be a handful.

While housewives wash male socks by night,

men get their flexes convoluted

and for the love of flashing Bambis

prepare to be electrocuted.

Away in a Manger, no crib for a bed,

the little Lord Jesus flashes green and then red.

The stars in the night sky have nothing on this-

Basingstoke’s Gloria in Excelsis.

 

  • The Anvil is Basingtoke’s Theatre.
  • Hartley, Harris , Manning: authors of above book.

 

 

 

 

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My name is Candia. Its initial consonant alliterates with “cow” and there are connotations with the adjective “candid.” I started writing this blog in the summer of 2012 and focused on satire at the start.

Interspersed was ironic news comment, reviews and poetry.

Over the years I have won some international poetry competitions and have published in reputable small presses, as well as reviewing and reading alongside well- established poets. I wrote under my own name then, but Candia has taken me over as an online persona. Having brought out a serious anthology last year called 'Its Own Place' which features poetry of an epiphanal nature, I was able to take part in an Arts and Spirituality series of lectures in Winchester in 2016.

Lately I have been experimenting with boussekusekeika, sestinas, rhyme royale, villanelles and other forms. I am exploring Japanese themes at the moment, my interest having been re-ignited by the recent re-evaluations of Hokusai.

Thank you to all my committed followers whose loyalty has encouraged me to keep writing. It has been exciting to meet some of you in the flesh- in venues as far flung as Melbourne and Sydney!

Copyright Notice

© Candia Dixon Stuart and Candiacomesclean.wordpress.com, 2012-2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Candia Dixon Stuart and candiacomesclean.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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