Posted on Friday, July 07, 2006 by Carl Trueman on Postcards from Palookaville

Well, I can now add Jerry Lee Lewis to the arcane gnostic zones of knowledge which are inaccessible to me.  A correspondent warns me not to write about Jerry Lee Lewis, as one has to be from the South to understand him which, as the writer points out, I evidently am not.  So Jerry Lee joins the ranks of the NPP (unlike all of its fans, I have no advanced degree in New Testament, and I'm also as thick as a brick), almost any American sport you can mention (I appreciate skill, not just steroid-induced size, and I don't like too many goals/points whatever), the female mind (I'm from Mars, they are from Venus), and Friends (call me a hide-bound traditionalist, but I think comedy should be funny) as areas I am simply not capable of understanding.  In fact, I'm going to focus on what I do best: cab driving.  You know, mate, I 'ad that Athanasius in the back of my cab recently.  What a diamond bloke, ayy?  Say what you like about 'im, I say, but he knew his 'omoousions from his 'omoiousions.....

Posted on Friday, July 07, 2006 by Carl Trueman on Postcards from Palookaville

Trapped in the basement, I have no access to news.  I assume Delboy's bragging means England are out of the World Cup.  Still, I'm a grammar school boy so the emotional trauma is limited-- rugby's the only true ball game worth playing or watching.

In the meantime I note the Tour de France has been marred by doping scandal again, with the two favourites, Basso and Ullrich, withdrawing before the start.  Watch it, Delboy -- when the PCA start clamping down on those ministers who use performance enhancing drugs to make their preaching more interesting, I'm reliably informed by insiders that many famous heads will roll.

Posted on Wednesday, July 05, 2006 by Carl Trueman on Postcards from Palookaville

Help, is there anybody out there???  Please, please come to rescue me.

I've now been held by Tony `the Gent' and his boys for three weeks in some underground location. Will somebody please try to find me and rescue me?  I can't give you a precise location -- occasionally I hear voices in a room above me, apparently talking trash about Cartesian dualism, expressing admiration for French deconstruction, and saying that the church must `move beyond the modernist impasse,' so I'm guessing that I'm either being held under a freshman frat house, or a room used for meetings of `Pretentiously Portentous Cliche-Users Anonymous,' or Tony is trying to drive me mad by making me believe I'm trapped in the mid-1980s.

Anyway, Tony and the boys say that unless they are granted free access to the Ref21 blog within the next week, they are going to put a bullet in my brain.  At the very least, that will mean I won't be able to sit down or ride my new bike for a few months.  These boys aren't fooling.  Del, just do as they say.

Posted on Thursday, June 22, 2006 by Carl Trueman on Postcards from Palookaville

I'm afraid to say that Tony `the Gent' Pinnochio, Mafioso, open theist, and hit man ("No whackin too small!") is furious that the new software for the Ref21 webpage prevents him from blogging.   Thus, I pass on this note from him:

Posted on Thursday, June 22, 2006 by Carl Trueman on Postcards from Palookaville

I'm about to commit adultery -- yes, I'm looking for a sports bike, not to take part in the upcoming Tour de France, you understand, but in order to improve my running time.  Biking, apparently, boosts 5k and 10k performance times, a concept that is a hard pill to swallow for a runner.  Most runners regard any time spent doing another sport as a wasteful distraction from the main event, but I thought the time was ripe for a bit of sporting infidelity.

Posted on Tuesday, June 20, 2006 by Carl Trueman on Postcards from Palookaville

While other godlier bloggers are off at GAs, reflecting on Christology and other serious matters, I spend my time running in the sun (the 90 degree mark separates the men from the boys, I am convinced) and reading Private Eye, in which august journal I notice that the Bonzo Dog Doodah Band are getting together for a fortieth anniversary reunion, though sadly without their lead singer, the late, great Viv Stanshall.  Late?  Well, he was a close friend of Keith Moon, never a very good idea.