Showing posts with label Uncle. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Uncle. Show all posts

Tuesday, 12 March 2019


In some cultures and families, children may refer to the cousins of their parents as “aunt” or “uncle”. 

It is also a title of respect for elders (for example older cousins, neighbors, acquaintances, close family friends, and even sometimes total strangers). 

Using the term in this way is a form of fictive kinship.

Textbook Joseph Campbell.

The way Campbell explained it, 
Young Men need a Secondary Father to finish raising them.

Beyond their Biological Father, they need a surrogate, traditionally a minister or a coach or a military officer.

The floatsam and jetsam of a generation washed up on the beach of last resort.

That's why street gangs are so appealing. 
They send you men out, like Knights on Quests to hone their skills and improve themselves.

And all the TRADITIONAL Mentors -- 
forget it.

Men are presumptive predators. They're leaving Teaching in droves.

Religious Leaders are pariahs.

Sports Coaches are stigmatized as odds-on pedophiles.

Even The Military is sketchy with sexual goings-on.

A Generation of Apprentices 
Without Masters.

Friday, 1 March 2019

Y Ddraig Goch

The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry!

    Exeunt all but KING HENRY


    God-a-mercy, old heart! thou speak'st cheerfully.

    Enter PISTOL


    Qui va la?


    A friend.


    Discuss unto me; art thou officer?
    Or art thou base, common and popular?


    I am a gentleman of a company.


    Trail'st thou the puissant pike?


    Even so. What are you?


    As good a gentleman as the emperor.


    Then you are a better than the king.


    The king's a bawcock, and a heart of gold,
    A lad of life, an imp of fame;
    Of parents good, of fist most valiant.
    I kiss his dirty shoe, and from heart-string
    I love the lovely bully. What is thy name?


    Harry le Roy.


    Le Roy! a Cornish name: art thou of Cornish crew?


    No, I am a Welshman.


    Know'st thou Fluellen?




    Tell him, I'll knock his leek about his pate
    Upon Saint Davy's day.


    Do not you wear your dagger in your cap that day,
    lest he knock that about yours.


    Art thou his friend?


    And his kinsman too.


    The figo for thee, then!


    I thank you: God be with you!


    My name is Pistol call'd.



    It sorts well with your fierceness.

    Enter FLUELLEN and GOWER


    Captain Fluellen!


    So! in the name of Jesu Christ, speak lower. It is
    the greatest admiration of the universal world, when
    the true and aunchient prerogatifes and laws of the
    wars is not kept: if you would take the pains but to
    examine the wars of Pompey the Great, you shall
    find, I warrant you, that there is no tiddle toddle
    nor pibble pabble in Pompey's camp; I warrant you,
    you shall find the ceremonies of the wars, and the
    cares of it, and the forms of it, and the sobriety
    of it, and the modesty of it, to be otherwise.


    Why, the enemy is loud; you hear him all night.


    If the enemy is an ass and a fool and a prating
    coxcomb, is it meet, think you, that we should also,
    look you, be an ass and a fool and a prating
    coxcomb? in your own conscience, now?


    I will speak lower.


    I pray you and beseech you that you will.

    Exeunt GOWER and FLUELLEN


    Though it appear a little out of fashion,
    There is much care and valour in this Welshman.



    Brother John Bates, is not that the morning which
    breaks yonder?


    I think it be: but we have no great cause to desire
    the approach of day.


    We see yonder the beginning of the day, but I think
    we shall never see the end of it. Who goes there?


    A friend.


    Under what captain serve you?


    Under Sir Thomas Erpingham.


    A good old commander and a most kind gentleman: I
    pray you, what thinks he of our estate?


    Even as men wrecked upon a sand, that look to be
    washed off the next tide.


    He hath not told his thought to the king?


    No; nor it is not meet he should. For, though I
    speak it to you, I think the king is but a man, as I
    am: the violet smells to him as it doth to me: the
    element shows to him as it doth to me; all his
    senses have but human conditions: his ceremonies
    laid by, in his nakedness he appears but a man; and
    though his affections are higher mounted than ours,
    yet, when they stoop, they stoop with the like
    wing. Therefore when he sees reason of fears, as we
    do, his fears, out of doubt, be of the same relish
    as ours are: yet, in reason, no man should possess
    him with any appearance of fear, lest he, by showing
    it, should dishearten his army.


    He may show what outward courage he will; but I
    believe, as cold a night as 'tis, he could wish
    himself in Thames up to the neck; and so I would he
    were, and I by him, at all adventures, so we were quit here.


    By my troth, I will speak my conscience of the king:
    I think he would not wish himself any where but
    where he is.


    Then I would he were here alone; so should he be
    sure to be ransomed, and a many poor men's lives saved.


    I dare say you love him not so ill, to wish him here
    alone, howsoever you speak this to feel other men's
    minds: methinks I could not die any where so
    contented as in the king's company; his cause being
    just and his quarrel honourable.


    That's more than we know.


    Ay, or more than we should seek after; for we know
    enough, if we know we are the kings subjects: if
    his cause be wrong, our obedience to the king wipes
    the crime of it out of us.


    But if the cause be not good, the king himself hath
    a heavy reckoning to make, when all those legs and
    arms and heads, chopped off in battle, shall join
    together at the latter day and cry all 'We died at
    such a place;' some swearing, some crying for a
    surgeon, some upon their wives left poor behind
    them, some upon the debts they owe, some upon their
    children rawly left. I am afeard there are few die
    well that die in a battle; for how can they
    charitably dispose of any thing, when blood is their
    argument? Now, if these men do not die well, it
    will be a black matter for the king that led them to
    it; whom to disobey were against all proportion of


    So, if a son that is by his father sent about
    merchandise do sinfully miscarry upon the sea, the
    imputation of his wickedness by your rule, should be
    imposed upon his father that sent him: or if a
    servant, under his master's command transporting a
    sum of money, be assailed by robbers and die in
    many irreconciled iniquities, you may call the
    business of the master the author of the servant's
    damnation: but this is not so: the king is not
    bound to answer the particular endings of his
    soldiers, the father of his son, nor the master of
    his servant; for they purpose not their death, when
    they purpose their services. Besides, there is no
    king, be his cause never so spotless, if it come to
    the arbitrement of swords, can try it out with all
    unspotted soldiers: some peradventure have on them
    the guilt of premeditated and contrived murder;
    some, of beguiling virgins with the broken seals of
    perjury; some, making the wars their bulwark, that
    have before gored the gentle bosom of peace with
    pillage and robbery. Now, if these men have
    defeated the law and outrun native punishment,
    though they can outstrip men, they have no wings to
    fly from God: war is his beadle, war is vengeance;
    so that here men are punished for before-breach of
    the king's laws in now the king's quarrel: where
    they feared the death, they have borne life away;
    and where they would be safe, they perish: then if
    they die unprovided, no more is the king guilty of
    their damnation than he was before guilty of those
    impieties for the which they are now visited. Every
    subject's duty is the king's; but every subject's
    soul is his own. Therefore should every soldier in
    the wars do as every sick man in his bed, wash every
    mote out of his conscience: and dying so, death
    is to him advantage; or not dying, the time was
    blessedly lost wherein such preparation was gained:
    and in him that escapes, it were not sin to think
    that, making God so free an offer, He let him
    outlive that day to see His greatness and to teach
    others how they should prepare.


    'Tis certain, every man that dies ill, the ill upon
    his own head, the king is not to answer it.


    But I do not desire he should answer for me; and
    yet I determine to fight lustily for him.


    I myself heard the king say he would not be ransomed.


    Ay, he said so, to make us fight cheerfully: but
    when our throats are cut, he may be ransomed, and we
    ne'er the wiser.


    If I live to see it, I will never trust his word after.


    You pay him then. That's a perilous shot out of an
    elder-gun, that a poor and private displeasure can
    do against a monarch! you may as well go about to
    turn the sun to ice with fanning in his face with a
    peacock's feather. You'll never trust his word
    after! come, 'tis a foolish saying.


    Your reproof is something too round: I should be
    angry with you, if the time were convenient.


    Let it be a quarrel between us, if you live.


    I embrace it.


    How shall I know thee again?


    Give me any gage of thine, and I will wear it in my
    bonnet: then, if ever thou darest acknowledge it, I
    will make it my quarrel.


    Here's my glove: give me another of thine.




    This will I also wear in my cap: if ever thou come
    to me and say, after to-morrow, 'This is my glove,'
    by this hand, I will take thee a box on the ear.


    If ever I live to see it, I will challenge it.


    Thou darest as well be hanged.


    Well. I will do it, though I take thee in the
    king's company.


    Keep thy word: fare thee well.


    Be friends, you English fools, be friends: we have
    French quarrels enow, if you could tell how to reckon.


    Indeed, the French may lay twenty French crowns to
    one, they will beat us; for they bear them on their
    shoulders: but it is no English treason to cut
    French crowns, and to-morrow the king himself will
    be a clipper.

    Exeunt soldiers
    Upon the king! let us our lives, our souls,
    Our debts, our careful wives,
    Our children and our sins lay on the king!
    We must bear all. O hard condition,
    Twin-born with greatness, subject to the breath
    Of every fool, whose sense no more can feel
    But his own wringing! What infinite heart's-ease
    Must kings neglect, that private men enjoy!
    And what have kings, that privates have not too,
    Save ceremony, save general ceremony?
    And what art thou, thou idle ceremony?
    What kind of god art thou, that suffer'st more
    Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers?
    What are thy rents? what are thy comings in?
    O ceremony, show me but thy worth!
    What is thy soul of adoration?
    Art thou aught else but place, degree and form,
    Creating awe and fear in other men?
    Wherein thou art less happy being fear'd
    Than they in fearing.
    What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet,
    But poison'd flattery? O, be sick, great greatness,
    And bid thy ceremony give thee cure!
    Think'st thou the fiery fever will go out
    With titles blown from adulation?
    Will it give place to flexure and low bending?
    Canst thou, when thou command'st the beggar's knee,
    Command the health of it? No, thou proud dream,
    That play'st so subtly with a king's repose;
    I am a king that find thee, and I know
    'Tis not the balm, the sceptre and the ball,
    The sword, the mace, the crown imperial,
    The intertissued robe of gold and pearl,
    The farced title running 'fore the king,
    The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp
    That beats upon the high shore of this world,
    No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony,
    Not all these, laid in bed majestical,
    Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave,
    Who with a body fill'd and vacant mind
    Gets him to rest, cramm'd with distressful bread;
    Never sees horrid night, the child of hell,
    But, like a lackey, from the rise to set
    Sweats in the eye of Phoebus and all night
    Sleeps in Elysium; next day after dawn,
    Doth rise and help Hyperion to his horse,
    And follows so the ever-running year,
    With profitable labour, to his grave:
    And, but for ceremony, such a wretch,
    Winding up days with toil and nights with sleep,
    Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king.
    The slave, a member of the country's peace,
    Enjoys it; but in gross brain little wots
    What watch the king keeps to maintain the peace,
    Whose hours the peasant best advantages.



    My lord, your nobles, jealous of your absence,
    Seek through your camp to find you.


    Good old knight,
    Collect them all together at my tent:
    I'll be before thee.


    I shall do't, my lord.



    O God of battles! steel my soldiers' hearts;
    Possess them not with fear; take from them now
    The sense of reckoning, if the opposed numbers
    Pluck their hearts from them. Not to-day, O Lord,
    O, not to-day, think not upon the fault
    My father made in compassing the crown!
    I Richard's body have interred anew;
    And on it have bestow'd more contrite tears
    Than from it issued forced drops of blood:
    Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay,
    Who twice a-day their wither'd hands hold up
    Toward heaven, to pardon blood; and I have built
    Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests
    Sing still for Richard's soul. More will I do;
    Though all that I can do is nothing worth,
    Since that my penitence comes after all,
    Imploring pardon.



    My liege!


    My brother Gloucester's voice? Ay;
    I know thy errand, I will go with thee:
    The day, my friends and all things stay for me.



    I tell thee truly, herald,
    I know not if the day be ours or no;
    For yet a many of your horsemen peer
    And gallop o'er the field.


    The day is yours.


    Praised be God, and not our strength, for it!
    What is this castle call'd that stands hard by?


    They call it Agincourt.


    Then call we this the field of Agincourt,
    Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus.


    Your grandfather of famous memory, an't please your
    majesty, and your great-uncle Edward the Plack
    Prince of Wales, as I have read in the chronicles,
    fought a most prave pattle here in France.


    They did, Fluellen.


    Your majesty says very true: if your majesties is
    remembered of it, the Welshmen did good service in a
    garden where leeks did grow, wearing leeks in their
    Monmouth caps; which, your majesty know, to this
    hour is an honourable badge of the service; and I do
    believe your majesty takes no scorn to wear the leek
    upon Saint Tavy's day.


    I wear it for a memorable honour;
    For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman.


    All the water in Wye cannot wash your majesty's
    Welsh plood out of your pody, I can tell you that:
    God pless it and preserve it, as long as it pleases
    his grace, and his majesty too!


    Thanks, good my countryman.


    By Jeshu, I am your majesty's countryman, I care not
    who know it; I will confess it to all the 'orld: I
    need not to be ashamed of your majesty, praised be
    God, so long as your majesty is an honest man.


    God keep me so! Our heralds go with him:
    Bring me just notice of the numbers dead
    On both our parts. Call yonder fellow hither.

    Points to WILLIAMS. Exeunt Heralds with Montjoy


    Soldier, you must come to the king.


    Soldier, why wearest thou that glove in thy cap?


    An't please your majesty, 'tis the gage of one that
    I should fight withal, if he be alive.


    An Englishman?


    An't please your majesty, a rascal that swaggered
    with me last night; who, if alive and ever dare to
    challenge this glove, I have sworn to take him a box
    o' th' ear: or if I can see my glove in his cap,
    which he swore, as he was a soldier, he would wear
    if alive, I will strike it out soundly.


    What think you, Captain Fluellen? is it fit this
    soldier keep his oath?


    He is a craven and a villain else, an't please your
    majesty, in my conscience.


    It may be his enemy is a gentleman of great sort,
    quite from the answer of his degree.


    Though he be as good a gentleman as the devil is, as
    Lucifer and Belzebub himself, it is necessary, look
    your grace, that he keep his vow and his oath: if
    he be perjured, see you now, his reputation is as
    arrant a villain and a Jacksauce, as ever his black
    shoe trod upon God's ground and his earth, in my
    conscience, la!


    Then keep thy vow, sirrah, when thou meetest the fellow.


    So I will, my liege, as I live.


    Who servest thou under?


    Under Captain Gower, my liege.


    Gower is a good captain, and is good knowledge and
    literatured in the wars.


    Call him hither to me, soldier.


    I will, my liege.



    Here, Fluellen; wear thou this favour for me and
    stick it in thy cap: when Alencon and myself were
    down together, I plucked this glove from his helm:
    if any man challenge this, he is a friend to
    Alencon, and an enemy to our person; if thou
    encounter any such, apprehend him, an thou dost me love.


    Your grace doo's me as great honours as can be
    desired in the hearts of his subjects: I would fain
    see the man, that has but two legs, that shall find
    himself aggrieved at this glove; that is all; but I
    would fain see it once, an please God of his grace
    that I might see.


    Knowest thou Gower?


    He is my dear friend, an please you.


    Pray thee, go seek him, and bring him to my tent.


    I will fetch him.



    My Lord of Warwick, and my brother Gloucester,
    Follow Fluellen closely at the heels:
    The glove which I have given him for a favour
    May haply purchase him a box o' th' ear;
    It is the soldier's; I by bargain should
    Wear it myself. Follow, good cousin Warwick:
    If that the soldier strike him, as I judge
    By his blunt bearing he will keep his word,
    Some sudden mischief may arise of it;
    For I do know Fluellen valiant
    And, touched with choler, hot as gunpowder,
    And quickly will return an injury:
    Follow and see there be no harm between them.
    Go you with me, uncle of Exeter.


SCENE I. France. The English camp.

    Enter FLUELLEN and GOWER


    Nay, that's right; but why wear you your leek today?
    Saint Davy's day is past.


    There is occasions and causes why and wherefore in
    all things: I will tell you, asse my friend,
    Captain Gower: the rascally, scald, beggarly,
    lousy, pragging knave, Pistol, which you and
    yourself and all the world know to be no petter
    than a fellow, look you now, of no merits, he is
    come to me and prings me pread and salt yesterday,
    look you, and bid me eat my leek: it was in place
    where I could not breed no contention with him; but
    I will be so bold as to wear it in my cap till I see
    him once again, and then I will tell him a little
    piece of my desires.

    Enter PISTOL


    Why, here he comes, swelling like a turkey-cock.


    'Tis no matter for his swellings nor his
    turkey-cocks. God pless you, Aunchient Pistol! you
    scurvy, lousy knave, God pless you!


    Ha! art thou bedlam? dost thou thirst, base Trojan,
    To have me fold up Parca's fatal web?
    Hence! I am qualmish at the smell of leek.


    I peseech you heartily, scurvy, lousy knave, at my
    desires, and my requests, and my petitions, to eat,
    look you, this leek: because, look you, you do not
    love it, nor your affections and your appetites and
    your digestions doo's not agree with it, I would
    desire you to eat it.


    Not for Cadwallader and all his goats.


    There is one goat for you.

    Strikes him
    Will you be so good, scauld knave, as eat it?


    Base Trojan, thou shalt die.


    You say very true, scauld knave, when God's will is:
    I will desire you to live in the mean time, and eat
    your victuals: come, there is sauce for it.

    Strikes him
    You called me yesterday mountain-squire; but I will
    make you to-day a squire of low degree. I pray you,
    fall to: if you can mock a leek, you can eat a leek.


    Enough, captain: you have astonished him.


    I say, I will make him eat some part of my leek, or
    I will peat his pate four days. Bite, I pray you; it
    is good for your green wound and your ploody coxcomb.


    Must I bite?


    Yes, certainly, and out of doubt and out of question
    too, and ambiguities.


    By this leek, I will most horribly revenge: I eat
    and eat, I swear--


    Eat, I pray you: will you have some more sauce to
    your leek? there is not enough leek to swear by.


    Quiet thy cudgel; thou dost see I eat.


    Much good do you, scauld knave, heartily. Nay, pray
    you, throw none away; the skin is good for your
    broken coxcomb. When you take occasions to see leeks
    hereafter, I pray you, mock at 'em; that is all.




    Ay, leeks is good: hold you, there is a groat to
    heal your pate.


    Me a groat!


    Yes, verily and in truth, you shall take it; or I
    have another leek in my pocket, which you shall eat.


    I take thy groat in earnest of revenge.


    If I owe you any thing, I will pay you in cudgels:
    you shall be a woodmonger, and buy nothing of me but
    cudgels. God b' wi' you, and keep you, and heal your pate.



    All hell shall stir for this.


    Go, go; you are a counterfeit cowardly knave. Will
    you mock at an ancient tradition, begun upon an
    honourable respect, and worn as a memorable trophy of
    predeceased valour and dare not avouch in your deeds
    any of your words? I have seen you gleeking and
    galling at this gentleman twice or thrice. You
    thought, because he could not speak English in the
    native garb, he could not therefore handle an
    English cudgel: you find it otherwise; and
    henceforth let a Welsh correction teach you a good
    English condition. Fare ye well.



    Doth Fortune play the huswife with me now?
    News have I, that my Nell is dead i' the spital
    Of malady of France;
    And there my rendezvous is quite cut off.
    Old I do wax; and from my weary limbs
    Honour is cudgelled. Well, bawd I'll turn,
    And something lean to cutpurse of quick hand.
    To England will I steal, and there I'll steal:
    And patches will I get unto these cudgell'd scars,
    And swear I got them in the Gallia wars.


Wednesday, 27 February 2019

Ode to a 1964 Buick Skylark

My Cousin Vinny :
Your Honour, wouId you instruct the bailiff to escort Miss Vito to the witness stand?

HoId up your right hand.
Do you swear to teII the truth, The WhoIe Truth, and Nothing But The Truth?

Our Lady :

My Cousin Vinny :
Miss Vito. You're supposed to be some kinda expert in automobiIes. 

Is that correct?

Is that correct?

The Judge :
Will you pIease answer the counseI?

No. I hate him.

My Cousin Vinny :
Your Honour, may I treat Miss Vito as a hostiIe witness?

Our Lady :
You think I'm hostiIe now, wait till you see me tonight.

The Judge :
Do you two know each other?

My Cousin Vinny :
Yeah, she's my fiance.

The Judge :
Well, that would certainly explain the hostility.

I object to this witness. 
Improper foundation.
I'm not aware of this person's quaIifications.
I'd Iike to voir dire this witness as to the extent of her expertise.

Mr Trotter, you may proceed.

Miss Vito, what's your current profession?

Our Lady :
I'm an out-of-work hairdresser.

Out-of-work hairdresser.
Now, in what way does that quaIify you as an expert in automobiIes?

It doesn't.

Well, in what way are you qualified?

Our Lady :
Well, my father was a mechanic.
His father was a mechanic.
My mother's father was a mechanic.
My three brothers are mechanics.
Four uncles on my father's side...

Miss Vito, your famiIy's obviousIy quaIified.
But, uh... have you ever worked as a mechanic?

Yeah. In my father's garage, yeah.

As a mechanic?
What'd you do in your father's garage?

Our Lady :
Tune-ups, oil changes, brake relining, engine rebuiIds, rebuiIds on trannies...

OK. OK. But does being an ex-mechanic quaIify you as being expert on tyre marks?

Our Lady :
No. Thank you. Goodbye.

Sit down and stay there until you're told to leave.

My Cousin Vinny :
Your Honour. Miss Vito's expertise is in generaI automotive knowledge.
It is in this area that her testimony will be applicable.

Now, if Mr Trotter wishes to voir dire the witness as to the extent of her expertise in this area, I'm sure he's gonna be more than satisfied.

All right. All right.
Now, uh... Miss Vito.
Being an expert on generaI automotive knowledge, can you tell me...

What wouId the correct ignition timing be on a 1955 BeI Air Chevrolet, with a 327 cubic-inch engine, and a four-barreI carburettor?

Our Lady :
That's a bullshit question.

Does that mean that you can't answer it?

Our Lady :
It's impossibIe to answer.

Because you don't know the answer!

Our Lady :
Nobody couId answer that question.

Your Honour, I move to disquaIify Miss Vito as a expert witness.

Can you answer the question?

Our Lady :
No. It is a trick question.

Why is it a trick question?

My Cousin Vinny :
Watch this. 

Our Lady :
Cos Chevy didn't make a 327 in '55.
The 327 didn't come out tiII '62.

And it wasn't offered in the Bel Air with a four-barreI carb till '64.

However, in 1964 the correct ignition timing wouId be four degrees before top, dead centre.

WeII... Uh...
She's acceptabIe, Your Honour.

My Cousin Vinny :
Your Honour, this is a picture taken by my fiance outside the Sac-o-Suds.

Can we agree on this?

Our Lady :

My Cousin Vinny :
Thank you.
I'd Iike to submit this picture of the tyre tracks as evidence.

Mr Trotter.

No objection, Your Honour.

My Cousin Vinny :
Miss Vito. Did you take this picture?

You know I did.

My Cousin Vinny :
And what is this picture of?

You know what it's of.

My Cousin Vinny :
Miss Vito, it has been argued by me, the defence, that two sets of guys met up at the Sac-o-Suds, at the same time, driving identicaI metaIIic mint-green 1964 Buick SkyIark convertibles.

Now, can you tell us, 
by what you see in this picture,...

..if the defence's case hoIds water?

Miss Vito. PIease answer the question.

Does the defence's case hold water?

Our Lady :
The defence is wroang.


My Cousin Vinny :
Are you sure?

Our Lady :
I'm positive.

My Cousin Vinny :
How couId you be so sure?

Our Lady :
Because there is no way that these tyre marks were made by a '64 Buick SkyIark.
These marks were made by a 1963 Pontiac Tempest.

Can we cIarify whether the witness is stating opinion or fact?

 This is your opinion?

Our Lady :
It's a fact.

My Cousin Vinny :
I find it hard to believe that this kind of information couId be ascertained simpIy by looking at a picture!

 Our Lady :
Would you like me to explain...?

My Cousin Vinny :
I wouId LOVE to hear this....!

The Judge: 
So wouId I.

Our Lady :
The car that made these two equal-length tyre-marks had positraction.
You can't make those marks without positraction, which was not avaiIabIe on the '64 SkyIark.

My Cousin Vinny :
And why not? 
What is positraction?

Our Lady :
It's a limited slip differential which distributes power equally to both the right and left tyres.

The '64 SkyIark had a regular differential which, anyone who's been stuck in the mud in Alabama knows, you step on The Gas, one tyre spins, the other does nothin'.

Woman of The Jury :
That's right.

My Cousin Vinny :
Is that it?

Our Lady :
No. There's MOAH.
When the left tyre mark goes up on the kerb
and the right tyre stays flat and even...

Well, the '64 SkyIark had a solid rear axle, so, when the left tyre goes up on the kerb, the right tyre tilts and rides along its edge.

But that didn't happen here.
The tyre mark stayed flat and even.

This car had an independent rear suspension.

Now, in the '60s there were only two other cars made in America that had positraction and independent rear suspension, and enough power to make these marks.

One was the Corvette, which couId never 
be confused with the Buick Skylark.
The other had the same body length, height, width, weight, wheel base and wheel track as the '64 Skylark, and that was the 1963 Pontiac Tempest.

My Cousin Vinny :
And because both cars were made by GM, were both cars available in metallic mint-green paint?

Our Lady :
They WHUH!!! 

My Cousin Vinny :
Thank you, Miss Vito.
No more questions.
Thank you very, very much.
You've been a lovely, lovely witness.


Mr Trotter, would you like to question Miss Vito?
(judge) Mr Trotter.
Mr Trotter!
Uh, no. No, Your Honour.|No further questions.
In that case, Your Honour,|I'd Iike to recaII George WiIbur.
Miss Vito, you can stand down.
You reaIise you're stiII under oath.
Yes, Your Honour.
Mr WiIbur, how'd you Iike|Miss Vito's testimony?
Very impressive.
She's cute too, huh?
- Yes, very.|- (laughter)
- (judge) Mr Gambini.|- Sorry, Your Honour.
Mr WiIbur, in your expert opinion,...
..wouId you say that everything Miss Vito|said on the stand was 100% accurate?
- I'd have to say that.|- And is there any way in the worId...
..the Buick that the defendants|were driving made those tyre tracks?
Come on. You can say. It's OK, they know.
-|- No.
Thank you. No more questions.
Your Honour, I caII Sheriff FarIey.
(judge) You may stand down now, Mr WiIbur.
- Sheriff, you reaIise you're stiII under oath?|- Yes, sir.
Uh, Sheriff FarIey.
- What'd you find out?|- 

On a hunch, I took it upon myseIf to check if there was any information on a '63 Pontiac Tempest stolen or abandoned recentIy.
This computer read-out confirms that two boys,...
..who fit the defendants' description,|were arrested two days ago... Sheriff TiIman|in Jasper County, Georgia,...
..for driving a stoIen metaIIic|mint-green 1963 Pontiac Tempest...
..with a white convertibIe top,...
..MicheIin modeI XGV tyres, size 75R-14.
- Is that it?|- No.
A .357 Magnum revoIver|was found in their possession.
Sheriff FarIey, just to refresh|the court's memory,...
..what caIibre buIIet|was used to murder Jimmy WiIIis?
- A .357 Magnum.|- The defence rests.
Mr Trotter.
Your Honour, in Iight of Miss Vito's|and Mr WiIbur's testimony,...
..the State'd Iike to dismiss aII charges.
Order in the court!
Order here.
I have to get out of here by three.|Make sure aII the bags are in the car.
Vinny, I'm sorry to have ever doubted you|at any time, and for this I apoIogise.
Under the circumstances... You were|great. I just want to say thank you.
You're weIcome. I hope we can do it again.
- Fine job, Mr Gambini.|- Thanks.
- Y'aII come back and see us any time now.|- I'II see.
- Vin.|- BiII.
- You're weIcome.|- Vin, I....
Listen. Take your time, pick the right words,|get back to New York, gimme a caII.
- Vinny, you did a terrific job.|- Thanks.
You got an open invitation|any time you come here.
- We can get us a deer next time.|- OK. Thanks a Iot.
I feeI Iike if I don't get outta here|now, I might never be abIe to Ieave.
Mr Gambini.
I have a fax here from the cIerk of New York.
I owe you an apoIogy, sir.
I'm honoured to shake your hand.
''Win some, Iose some.''
Your courtroom manner may be rather|unconventionaI, but I gotta teII you,...'re one heIIuva triaI Iawyer.
Thank you. And you're one heIIuvajudge.
Ooh, sorry.
(judge) Bye, now.
What the heII was that aII about back there?
I had a friend send a fax to the judge,...
..confirming the very impressive|IegaI stature of Jerry Callo.
What friends you got in the cIerk's office?
- Your friend.|- My friend?
Judge MaIIoy.
So what's your probIem?
My probIem is I wanted to win my first case|without any heIp from anybody.
WeII, I guess that pIan's moot.
This couId be a sign of things to come.
You win aII your cases,|but with somebody eIse's heIp, right?
You win case after case,|and then afterwards,... have to go up to somebody|and you have to say ''Thank you.''
Oh, my God. What a fuckin' nightmare!
I won my first case.|You know what this means.
- Yeah. You think I'm gonna marry you.

You're not gonna marry me now?
No way. You can't win a case by|yourseIf. You're fuckin' useIess.
I thought we'd get married this weekend.
You don't get it, do you? That is not|romantic. I want a wedding in church...
..with bridesmaids and fIowers.
(Vinny) Ohh! How many times did you|say that spontaneous is romantic?
(Lisa) Hey, a burp is spontaneous.|A burp is not romantic.

Saturday, 23 February 2019

A Natural Aptitude for Craft, Cunning + Guile

CLARA: Doctor, what happened? 
DOCTOR: Do you see? 
CLARA: Do I see what? 
DOCTOR: Daleks don't turn good. It was just radiation affecting its brain chemistry, nothing more than that. No miracle. 
JOURNEY: Let me get this straight. We had a good Dalek, and we made it bad again? That's all we've done? 
DOCTOR: There was never a good Dalek. There was a broken Dalek and we repaired it. 
JOURNEY: You were supposed to be helping us. 

I gave it a shot. MIt didn't work out. It was a Dalek, what did you expect? 

No more talking. You are done! Okay, new objective. We are taking this Dalek down. 
Exterminate. Exterminate.

DOCTOR: What's that look for? 
It's the look you get when I'm about to slap you. 
(And she does. Hard.) 

Ow. Clara. 

CLARA: Are we going to die in here? I mean, there's a little bit of you that's pleased. The Daleks are evil after all. Everything makes sense. The Doctor is right. 
DOCTOR: Daleks are evil. Irreversibly so. That's what we just learned. 
CLARA: No, Doctor, that is not what we just learned. 

One question. 
The Blue Soldier : 
No time. 
(Journey and Gretchen place grenades on handy surfaces.)

Why did we come here today? What was the point? 

You. You thought there was a good Dalek. What difference would one good Dalek make? 
DOCTOR: All the difference in the universe, but it's impossible. 
CLARA: Is that a fact? Is that really what we've learned today? Think about it. Is that what we've learned? 

Journey, You're the Aristotle's Only  Hope. 

Clara Oswald, do I really not pay you? 

You couldn't afford me. 

Whatever you're going to do, don't do it 
This Dalek must not be destroyed. 
We can do better. 

Are you out of your mind? 

No, I'm inside a Dalek. 
I'm standing where I've never been. We cannot waste this chance. 
It won't come again. 

JOURNEY: What chance? I have my orders. 
DOCTOR: Soldiers take orders. 
JOURNEY: And I'm a soldier. 
DOCTOR: A Dalek is a better soldier than you will ever be. You can't win this way. 
(Journey holds up a grenade to pull the pin, then puts it down again.)
JOURNEY: Bah! So what do we do? 
DOCTOR: Something better. 

(They climb up to a recess.)
DOCTOR: The Dalek isn't just some angry blob in a Dalekanium tank. If it was, the radiation would have turned it into a raging lunatic. 
JOURNEY: It is a raging lunatic, it's a Dalek. 
DOCTOR: But for a moment, it wasn't. The radiation allowed it to expand its consciousness, to consider things beyond its natural terms of reference. It became good. That means a good Dalek is possible. That's what we learned today. Am I right, teach? 
CLARA: Top of the class. 

Attack Eyebrows : 
There's no such thing. 

That's a bit inflexible. 
Not like you. 
I'd almost say prejudiced

Attack Eyebrows : (sigh) 
Do I pay you? 
I should give you a raise. 

You're not My Boss,
you're one of my hobbies. 

Attack Eyebrows : 
Come on. 

The Blue Soldier : 
That was quick. 

This is Gun Girl. 
She's got a gun, and she's a girl.

This is a sort of Boss-one. 
Are you the same one as before? 


I think he's probably her uncle, but I may have made that up to pass the time while they were talking. 

This is Clara, not my assistant. 

She's, er, some other word. 

I'm his Carer. 

Yeah, my Carer. 

She Cares, So I Don't Have to. 



- The Angel Who Manifested In The Corner of René Descartes’ Bedroom Billet in Ulm, 1613


(The Doctor and K-9 are playing chess, with Leela helping K-9.)
Queen to knight six.

(Leela moves the black Queen.)


(The Doctor takes one of her bishops with one of his.)
Even simple one-dimensional chess exposes the limitations of The Machine Mind.

Bishop to Queen six. 

K-9 : 
Check, Master.


Machine mind computes mate in six moves.
 Leela, keep still.

But Doctor, the -

And shut up. 
I'm trying to concentrate.

Your move, master.

I know it's my move. 
Don't flash your eyes at me.
(The Doctor moves his King.)
Wrong square.
Your King, master. 
Wrong square.

Are you sure?


Doctor, can I speak now?

All right, if you must. What is it?
Well, the column's stopped moving.
It is not important?
(The Doctor leaps to the console.)
We might have gone right through the time spiral! 
Why didn't you tell me?
I tried to but you wouldn't let me.
You didn't.
I did.

You didn't.
I did!

You didn't.
 I did!

It's that confounded paint. 
It's always jamming things up. 
Stay calm. 

I'm going to materialise and take a reading.
Where are we?

We're still in the Solar System. 
Yes, Pluto.
Ninth planet. 
Was until the discovery of Cassius believed to be the outermost body in the system. 

It has a diameter of three thousand -
Leela, tell your tin friend to shut up.
K9, you can tell me later.
It's distance from the Sun is -
Breathable atmosphere. 
That's wrong.
There are buildings.
Pluto's a lifeless rock.

 Leela? I think you and I should take a W A L K. 

W A L K?
Walk, mistress.

I know.
Ready, master.
No, no, no. You're not coming. You stay here.
Entreat, master.
I'll be good.
No! Pluto's no place for a -
I'm sorry, K9. 
We won't be long.

(As the time rotor goes gently up and down, the Doctor is lying on the floor playing chess with K9.)

Rook to bishop's four.

(He stops his clock and starts K9's.)

I saw Capablanca make that move against Alekhine in 1927.

He lost, master.



Are you sure?

Master, I have been programmed with all the Championship games since 1866. 
Capablanca lost.

I must have been called away. 
Are you really sure?

King to knight's two.

(The Doctor moves the white King for him.)

King to knight's two. King? 
That's a terrible move. 
You've weakened the king's side.

Clock, master.

I know, I know. I'll check your programming sometime. We're not supposed to be playing draughts, you know.

(Romana enters, wearing her original long white gown.)

What are you doing, Doctor?

Shush. We're playing chess.

Yes, I can see that, but aren't you forgetting something?

I don't think so.
ROMANA: What about our task? The Key to Time, remember?
DOCTOR: Oh, that old thing.
ROMANA: Yes, that old thing. The Guardian did stress the need for urgency, didn't he?
DOCTOR: Shush.
ROMANA: I'll do it.
DOCTOR: If you must.
(Romana puts the tracer into the hole in the console.)
DOCTOR: I just feel I deserve a little break. After all, we've got half the segments. I prefer to play chess.

Really. Materialisation in fifteen seconds. Mate in twelve.

Correction, mistress. Eleven.

Eleven? Oh yes. Sorry, K9.

Apologies are unnecessary, mistress.

Mate in eleven? 
Oh yes, oh yes. 
Well, that's the trouble with chess, isn't it. It's all so predictable.

Women are More Concerned w. People, Men are More Interesting in Things

Women are More Concerned w. People

Men are More Interested in Things.

Or Lady Dinosaurs.

(The balloon and its gondola float over Saint Pauls Cathedral, the Masonic Edifice to Male Power and Rule by Straight-Lines, Right-Angles, Counting and Measuring, built over The Temple of Diana)

Attack Eyebrows : 
What do you think of the view?

I do not think of it. 

Attack Eyebrows :

‘I don't think of it.’ 

‘I don't.’ 

Droids and apostrophes, I could write a book. 

Except you are barely a droid any more. 

There's more human in you than machine. 

So tell me, what do you think of the view?

(The Half-Face Man gets up and draws back the net curtain. They are heading towards Westminster.)

It is beautiful.

Attack Eyebrows: 
No, it isn't
It's just far away. 
Everything looks too small. 

I prefer it down there. 
Everything is huge. 

Everything is so important. 
Every detail, every moment, every life clung to.

HALF-FACE MAN: How could you kill me? 
DOCTOR: For the same reason that you're asking me that question, because you don't really want to carry on. What'll happen to the other droids when you die? You're the control node, aren't you? Presumably they'll deactivate.

I will not die. I will reach the promised land.

There isn't any promised land. This is just. 
It's a superstition that you have picked up from all the humanity you've stuffed inside yourself.

HALF-FACE MAN: I am not dead.
DOCTOR: You are a broom. Question. You take a broom, you replace the handle, and then later you replace the brush, and you do that over and over again. Is it still the same broom? Answer? No, of course it isn't. But you can still sweep the floor. Which is not strictly relevant, skip that last part. You have replaced every piece of yourself, mechanical and organic, time and time again. There's not a trace of the original you left. You probably can't even remember where you got that face from.
(The Doctor holds up a silver plate between himself and the Half-Face Man. The droid takes it, looks carefully, then drops it.)
HALF-FACE MAN: It cannot end.
DOCTOR: It has to. You know it does. And there's only one way out.
(The Doctor opens the doors.)
HALF-FACE MAN: Self-destruction is against my basic programme.
DOCTOR: And murder is against mine. 
(They struggle in the doorway.)


(The women's arms are held firmly by the droids, and Vastra's sword is forced from her hands.)
VASTRA: Jenny!
(Sword points are at everyone's throats.)
CLARA: Hold your breath. They're stupid. Everybody hold their breath.
(They do. The droids pause then lower their weapons. Clara picks up the sonic screwdriver and crawls through the droid's legs on her hands and knees.)
VASTRA [OC]: Be brave, my love. I can store oxygen in my lungs. Share with me.
(Vastra and Jenny lock lips. Clara sonicks the door.)


HALF-FACE MAN: You are stronger than you look. 
DOCTOR: And I'm hoping you are too. This is over. Are you capable of admitting that?
HALF-FACE MAN: Do you have it in you to murder me? 
DOCTOR: Those people down there. They're never small to me. Don't make assumptions about how far I will go to protect them, because I've already come a very long way. And unlike you, I don't expect to reach the promised land.
(The Half-Face Man turns off his flame thrower. They release each other.)
DOCTOR: You realise, of course, one of us is lying about our basic programming.
DOCTOR: And I think we both know who that is.


(Strax is about to fire his weapon before he passes out.)
(They all breath. Clara can't get the screwdriver to work for her. As the sword tips are about to pierce their skin, the droids suddenly bend forward at the waist, deactivated. Clara and Jenny faint. A top hat falls past a giant clock face at twenty five past one. A droid is impaled on the cross at the top of the tower. The Doctor looks straight at us.)


(Strax drives the women home in the carriage.)
STRAX: Whoa.
JENNY: You're sure he'd come back here?
VASTRA: There's no trace of him in the wreckage. They searched all Parliament Hill. Where else would he go?
(There is a square space in the straw where the Tardis had been stood.)
VASTRA: I fear we have missed him.

[Vastra's chamber]

VASTRA: Please come in.
(Clara is back in her mini-kilt.)
CLARA: I'm not interrupting? 
VASTRA: I should be glad of your company. What can I do for you?
CLARA: Ah, well, that's exactly what I was going to ask you. Seems like I'm stuck here now. Got a vacancy?
VASTRA: You would be very welcome to join our little household, but I have it on the highest authority that the Doctor will be returning for you very soon.
CLARA: Whose authority?
VASTRA: Well, the person who knows him best in all the universe.
CLARA: And who's that?
VASTRA: Miss Clara Oswald. Who perhaps has, by instinct, already dressed to leave.
CLARA: I just wanted a change of clothes. I don't think I know who the Doctor is any more.
(They hear the sound of an ancient set of time rotors outside.)
VASTRA: It would seem, my dear, you are very wrong about that. Clara? Give him hell. He'll always need it.


(The dinosaur sputum has gone from the outside.)
CLARA: You've redecorated. 
CLARA: I don't like it.
(The spirit of Patrick Troughton lives on. I like it. Nice straight-forward console, a frieze of roundels on the wall and a high-backed chair for the Doctor. There is even a bookcase.)
DOCTOR: Not completely entirely convinced myself. I think there should be more round things on the walls. I used to have lots of round things. I wonder where I put them? I'm the Doctor. I've lived for over two thousand years, and not all of them were good. I've made many mistakes, and it's about time that I did something about that. Clara, I'm not your boyfriend.
CLARA: I never thought you were.
DOCTOR: I never said it was your mistake.
(He sets the Tardis flying then shows off the red silk lining of his dark blue Crombie coat. Those trousers are a tad too skinny for my taste, especially with the chunky Doc Marten shoes.)
DOCTOR: What do you think? 
CLARA: Who put that advert in the paper? 
DOCTOR: Who gave you my number? A long time ago, remember? You were given the number of a computer helpline, and you ended up phoning the Tardis. Who gave you that number?
CLARA: The woman. The woman in the shop.
DOCTOR: Then there's a woman out there who's very keen that we stay together. 
(The Tardis lands. Sadly, the time rotor does not go up and down.)
DOCTOR: How do you feel on the subject?
CLARA: Am I home?
DOCTOR: If you want to be.
CLARA: I'm sorry. I'm, I'm so, so sorry. But I don't think I know who you are any more.
(Her mobile phone rings.)
DOCTOR: You'd better get that. It might be your boyfriend.
CLARA: Shut up. I don't have a boyfriend.
(Clara goes outside to answer the call.)

[City street]

CLARA: Hello? Hello?
DOCTOR 11 [OC]: It's me. 
CLARA: Yes, it's you. Who's this?
DOCTOR 11 [OC]: It's me, Clara. The Doctor.
CLARA: What do you mean, the Doctor?

[Trenzalore / City street]

DOCTOR 11: I'm phoning you from Trenzalore.
CLARA: I don't
DOCTOR 11: From before I changed. I mean it's all still to happen for me. It's coming. Oh, it's a-coming.
(Back then, Clara replaced the Tardis police phone back on its hook.)
DOCTOR 11: Not long now. I can feel it.
CLARA: Why? Why would you do this?
DOCTOR 11: Because I think it's going to be a whopper, and I think you might be scared. And however scared you are, Clara, the man you are with right now, the man I hope you are with, believe me, he is more scared than anything you can imagine right now and he, he needs you.
DOCTOR: So who is it? 
DOCTOR 11: Is that the Doctor?
DOCTOR: Is that the Doctor?
DOCTOR 11: He sounds old. Please tell me I didn't get old. Anything but old. I was young. Oh, is he grey?
DOCTOR 11: Clara, please, hey, for me, help him. Go on. And don't be afraid. Goodbye, Clara. Miss ya.

[City street]

(Clara is sniffling.)
CLARA: Well what?
DOCTOR: He asked you a question. Will you help me?
CLARA: You shouldn't have been listening.
DOCTOR: I wasn't. I didn't need to. That was me talking. You can't see me, can you? You look at me, and you can't see me. Have you any idea what that's like? I'm not on the phone, I'm right here, standing in front of you. Please, just, just see me.
(Clara walks forward and studies his face carefully. Then she smiles a little.)
CLARA: Thank you.
DOCTOR: For what?
CLARA: Phoning.
(She throws her arms around his neck.)
DOCTOR: I, I don't think that I'm a hugging person now.
CLARA: I'm not sure you get a vote.
DOCTOR: Whatever you say.
CLARA: This isn't my home, by the way.
(She lets go.)
DOCTOR: Sorry. I'm sorry about that. I missed.
CLARA: Where are we?
DOCTOR: Glasgow, I think.
CLARA: Ah. You'll fit right in. (Scots) Scottish.
DOCTOR: Right. Shall we, er. Do you want to go and get some coffee, or chips, or something? Or chips and coffee?
CLARA: Coffee. Coffee would be great. You're buying.
DOCTOR: I don't have any money. 
CLARA: You're fetching, then.
DOCTOR: I'm not sure that I'm the fetching sort. 
CLARA: Yeah, still not sure you get a vote.


(The Half-Face man wakes in a place looking very like the Pompeian Garden at Dyffren House, also used in the Sarah Jane Adventure, The Eternity Trap. The wisteria is in full bloom. He puts on his top hat. A woman in Edwardian costume is sitting on the edge of the fountain. She is the Gatekeeper of the Nethersphere, according to the BBC's own Doctor Who Blog.)
MISSY: Hello. I'm Missy. You made it. I hope my boyfriend wasn't too mean to you.
HALF-FACE MAN: Boy friend?
MISSY: Now, did he push you out of that thing, or did you fall? Couldn't really tell. He can be very mean sometimes. Except to me, of course, because he loves me so much. I do like his new accent, though. Think I might keep it.
HALF-FACE MAN: Where am I?
MISSY: Where do you think you are? Look around you. You made it. The promised land. Paradise. Welcome to heaven.
(She snaps her teeth together and dances around the water feature.)

“He was a