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Boosh

Tomorrow is the last teaching day for the year, and I am hoping for fourteen or so restful days of eating, drinking, walking and writing, before returning to the scholarly fold. Since the dogs number five and their walking harnesses are identical, I have resorted to this natty eponymity (courtesy of these fine people) to speed getting everyone harnessed up for walking:

It’s not quite as bad as the many tiny t-shirts and bejewelled collars one can buy for one’s dogs (or use to decorate one’s cats), but this may be a slippery slope.

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This funk is not yet immune to levity, or at least, not to the second season of The Mighty Boosh, which C4 started screening last night. Of all the many things at which to laugh, I think the Moon’s anecdotal poetry was my favourite.

Is a poem from the Moon

Neil Armstrong, walkin’ on me face
Buzz … Aldrin, he walkin’ on me face

And … the third one … this … a space man; walkin’ on me face
All on the surfaces, and they’re lookin’ at all the stuff
That the Moon has got to offer, yeah!

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