Blue sky thinking

Posted on May 30, 2016 by Steve Morgan

Cardiff has a researched reputation for being the wettest city in the UK, but any cats put off by a little water need not worry about visiting the city. For a start, 60% of days in the year don’t experience any rainfall! What’s more, on a few of these Cardiffians have even been known to recognise the sun as some mysterious bright sphere in the sky.

So that got me thinking about all of the wonderful sights around the world that are framed by a deep blue sky. And, you know what, Cardiff can rival each of them on its day.

Take Dubrovnik in Croatia, for example. The old port looks quite stunning when viewed on a sunny day…

But then, so does the old port in Cardiff, given a chance…

As for a view of the Sponza Palace framing the blue stuff…

Just try out the Millennium Stadium for size…

Then there is the Koutoubia Mosque in Marrakech, or the Bell Tower in Hydra (Greece); all very perpendicular, or phallic, depending on your outlook…

But any unsuspecting seagull soaring over the Bute East Dock in Cardiff had better maintain supreme surveillance, if a headache is to be avoided…

As for historic finery, the Duomo in Milan has few rivals…

But don’t underestimate the majesty of Cardiff City Hall either…

Raffles City in Singapore and the Lippo Tower in Hong Kong may stake their claims for attracting the awe of passing visitors…

But, be prepared to be stunned when you meander around Cardiff Bay to see the Pierhead Building…

Until we speak again, enjoy your travels, but don’t forget to admire the beauty that exists closer to home!

Culinary cats on tour

Posted on May 21, 2016 by Steve Morgan

Bella and Juno were never slow on taking any opportunities for adventurous dining; usually giving me the dead eye as I was trying to eat, but on many occasions just camping down near the fridge lest I forget there was plenty of cat-friendly contents lurking inside. The question is whether the spirit of culinary adventure was lost on me or not. A recent opportunity arose for a trip to Dubrovnik in Croatia, and when in such a fabulous place there was nothing better than taking the Juno/Bella challenge of trying to eat your way out!

First stop is Dubravka 1836, a delightful restaurant located just outside the Pile Gate of the old city…

The interior decor is a reflection of the historic surroundings…

So, the next challenge is to decide from a mouth-watering menu what to eat. Check out reviews in advance, as they can often point you to signature dishes. On this occasion a Dubravka beef steak coated in cheese presents discerning cats with a rich source of flavours. The Dingac local red wine is a perfect companion to, well just about everything!

After a necessary nights sleep, just to allow the previous feast to settle, and gentle strolling around the old city (see future blog posts), it is time for a satisfying afternoon snack. Restaurant Arsenal is located overlooking the old port… … and where better to sample some of the local seafood delicacies. You can almost see the anchovies, calamari and shrimp queueing up to leap onto your plate! A glass of the Posip white wine compliments the seafood salad perfectly…

Most cats will let you know that fish is the dish of choice every time, so suitably instructed an early evening call into the Koloseum restaurant provided the perfect opportunity to relieve the establishment of one of its delicately grilled Tuna Steaks. Oh, and a glass or more of the Grasevina white wine doesn’t go amiss!

Most places in Dubrovnik old city are back streets, but a meander around the narrow passageways presents an enormous choice of places to re-fuel. One such establishment is Domino restaurant, serving up a tender and juicy steak to interrupt the flood of sea-based sustenance…

You can only eat so much in a few days; a statement that neither Juno or Bella would ever have understood! There comes a time when you need to consider the return journey to the local airport. But not without a lunchtime visit to the starting point of the whole culinary adventure. Dubravka 1836 has its signature pizza dish, and who am I to leave without sampling it? This also gives me an opportunity to see in daylight that which had drawn me in so seductively as a beacon in the darkness.

Strolling back through the old city to the apartment one evening, following an inevitable feast, I had this strange sense that Juno and Bella had arranged for eyes to be kept on me. Or perhaps that was just my over-excited imagination coping with the volume of fabulous vittles.

Until we speak again, eat well, drink well, and don’t feel the need to keep looking over your shoulder!

Cats and water, eh?

Posted on October 9, 2015 by Steve Morgan

Not usually the best of mixes; my relationship with water does not extend very much beyond what you see here… and I’m still waiting for the resident ‘nazi impersonator’ to deliver the cream!

But get a bunch of you humans together, in close proximity to water, and you just seem to freak out.

What’s with the need to jump in, float over, or just stand there looking at it?

Having said that, I do occasionally look out from my elevated platform of dryness and feel a little tempted by scenes on the surrounding canals (some say ‘dock feeders’)… lunch strangely comes to mind!

As much as the deluded one likes to refer to this area of Cardiff as ‘Little Venice‘, it seems this is only small scale when it comes to the watery realms of exaggeration. Just the other day I heard some mutterings about the Cardiff Niagara, I will leave it for you to judge… before I declare my in-house ‘agent provocateur‘ completely bonkers.

So, here is the so-called Cardiff Niagara…

Compare that with the lesser (i.e. US) version of the real mccoy…

And then there is the true majesty of the Canadian Niagara Falls (so easily confused with selective views across Bute Park in Cardiff)…

As if I didn’t need to already rest my case, I offer you a comparison of the raw power of Cardiff v Canada (but you guess which is which!)…

Difficult challenge, eh? Until we speak again I intend to be bone dry Bella, as for you, don’t forget your wellies!

Cats in search of fish

Posted on March 28, 2015 by Steve Morgan

Trinidad cat and Welsh cat converge on unfamiliar Italian terrain, and with noses pointed skywards there was nothing better to do than search out the local catch. But why make this a challenge, when the best starting point is milk-based beverages of choice? The guide tells us that Antico Caffe Spinnato is one of the better pavement-side cafes for the best in cappuccino’s or a caffe ginseng… accompanied by a 7-layered chocolate in-house design, and a wild strawberry tart.

Suitably refreshed, it was time to go in search of the elusive scaly edibles. This place is known for its local fishing fleet and characterful street markets, but where is a street market when you need one? Down back streets and through piazza’s we meander…

Perhaps these guy’s might provide a clue as to the whereabouts of the local fish, after all they seemed as uninterested in strenuous activity as any self-respecting cat…

As we turn one corner after another the clues are hard to find, but as for Garibaldi (Teatro Politeama, that is)… that’s got to be taking the biscuit!

So, we might need to resort to a hope and a prayer at this stage. Never fear, if it’s a prayer you’re after this place is over-run with prayer shops of all shapes, sizes and states of decor…

From cathedral-sized praying venues to piazza-edged confessional sheds, or the simple street vending of pious niceties, this place has you covered…

As we were seemingly running out of the right kind of prayers a sight of a couple of locals emerges, as if to give us a message… ‘keep going’, was the clear instruction, but where to?

Sometimes it doesn’t matter how cool a cat you are, you just need a matter of the luck to fall your way; and so it was to be, as two cats retreat to the accommodation of choice…

The statues of the Quattro Canti were smiling down on us as they shaped up to herd tired cats in the direction of fish-focused culinary delicacies. The Centrale Palace Hotel might not have projected the most promising of entrances, but the invitation to a top floor roof garden restaurant was always a throw of the dice worth taking. A mouth-watering starter of melon and locally-sourced ham or the prawn salad was eagerly supplemented by a Sicilian red wine of clear nomenclature ~ the Etna Rosso:

Then, the journey was complete, as the elusive catch gets caught! A swordfish and capers affair, delicately dressed with cranberries and aubergine, or a finely prepared sea bream were laid out for our magnificent consumption.

Successfully replete, what do you do after such a feast? Well there is always the home of the operatic and balletic cats… the Teatro Massimo provided the venue for the final scenes of the Godfather trilogy:

As Juno would say, until we speak again ‘that’s Palermo for you’! Grazie, arrivederci.

Tales from Dumbfuckistan [4]

Posted on May 31, 2014 by Steve Morgan

The self proclaimed centre of the universe never ceases to leave me and my kind looking dumb-struck or squeezing into any available bunker:

So occasionally, and at serious risk to my psychological health, I feel the need to take it upon myself to report an update for you on the state of affairs common sense seems to be adopting on the other side of the pond. News from the good old US of A frequently helps make me feel so pleased to be residing in downtown Cardiff; even if ‘the Ukips‘ are trying to threaten my immigrant ass by misrepresenting my permanently on the move hard grafting lifestyle…

… as just another food-grabbing scrounger of a vet service tourism obsessed kind of cat.

For the most recent nuggets of wisdom from the centre of the civilised world I strongly advise you get strapped in, but carefully check what kind of furniture you are strapped to.

I appreciate that this planet is under severe self-induced stress from the shear numbers of people, and predicted population rises across the next century. But surely there are other policy options available from the land of opportunity, the brave and the free! First remember, this is the country that is very quick to claim how uncivilised other parts of the world are, and how much better they would be for adopting good old American democratic values. So, what do you actually get for your newfound civilised values?

News from New England… an owner of a gun shop recently received serious death threats when he planned to stock a new style of gun that could only be fired by its owner through fingerprint identification. It would seem that the technology of safety and advancement of scientific possibility only serves to frustrate and oppose the constitutional right of idiots and morons who wish to defend their freedom to re-enact the lawlessness of the wild west whenever they feel aggrieved.

But worry not, you sons and daughters of delicate sensibilities, you evangelists of freedom of thought and speech, innocent proclaimers of murderous intent dressed up as self-defence… if you step out into your world naked because you forgetfully mislaid your guns for a moment, your country will come to your aid. Missed an opportunity to end a life today, fear not, your State might just do it for you! It seems that the self-deluded centre of present day civilisation has woken up to the torture inflicted on some death row inmates by having to administer sub-standard chemicals in their ritual executions.

Lets all take a lead from Tennessee, home of caring and compassion… having recently passed a law of enormous humanitarian proportions which now allows the state to use the electric chair to execute prisoners in cases where the drugs needed for lethal injections are unavailable. After all, it would be so cruel keeping people waiting for the US Mail to get the goods delivered in a timely fashion. It seems that there are at least eight US states now offering its prisoners the ultimate in personal choice… electric chair or injection? Don’t let it be said that bureaucratic decisions are imposed on people.

It is reported that a renewed debate has opened up about the moralities and practicalities of killing your own people. What can the so-called uncivilised world (i.e. everywhere outside the borders of the US of A) learn from the civility of this new debate? Well, Wyoming and Utah are pioneering the use of firing squads, while Missouri (quite possibly pronounced ‘misery’) and other unnamed, but no less shamed, states have discovered alternative uses for gas. And you thought we had nothing to learn from boring old history!

Sleep well in the knowledge that over 140 people
in the US have been exonerated and freed from death row since the 1970’s; while nearly 1400 have departed death row by other means. Until we speak again I will be Juno keeping a watchful eye on the stupidity of man.

[Several images were used from google images in order to best illustrate points in this story. No bloggers were executed in the process, and many thanks are offered.]

Asylum Seeker

Posted on May 3, 2014 by Steve Morgan

And so it came to pass that mathematical uncertainty disappeared down the same pan that had long since been the final port of disposal of any pretensions to artistic flare and dynamic teamwork. In short, the local team fall through the trap door of Premier League relegation, and go back from whence they came a mere twelve months ago. Gloom descends on those who are clearly unaware of the privilege they experience in sharing the Juno household.

So, my thoughts mischievously turn to matters of detention and incarceration for those who have spent a deluded season of misguided hope and expectation. Don’t mistake my fixed stare for anything more than simply a mask of sympathy for those who frequently desert me; underneath I am rolling around the floor in fits of laughter.

I can’t begin to imagine the fear and despair in what passes for the mind of my companion as they are escorted through the foreboding portals of Victorian misery. Surrounded by nothing but haunting desolation suspended beneath threatening slate grey skies where I imagine the colour blue has long since been banished…

Above the stone entrance the last thought for the prospective inmate will be the 1848 etched above the cavernous door. 18.48 was to be about the time that celebrations would be easing having achieved survival on the final day of the season; instead it is merely a portent of when time stopped for the poor lost souls of mental incapacity (aka football supporters).

How challenging it must be to put one foot before the other in a leaden walk into a world devoid of any cheerful welcome, into a place where light has long departed only to be replaced by the grim shadows…

… pierced only by the incoherent screams of those fated to live out a colourless life of inactivity…

What dimly candle-lit expanses of cold dormitory await, where eery spectres lie in wait to disturb any inmate suspected of escaping into the soulful respite of slumber?

Single beds with thin mattresses barely separated by space to move, with every inch of premium real estate taken for wharehousing abject misery.

But surely the undemarcated darkness of night and day is preferable to the grim vitals that constitute the monotonous fare to be served up in the bland surroundings of a grey refectory…

A place where dreams are routinely crushed, and the only source of hope lies in solemn prayers…

Then I hear the key in the door of the Juno household, and in walks a smiling beneficence. For all of my tortured worries and concerns for the welfare of the ‘migrant labourer’, it transpires that they were residing at the Saint Columbas lunatic asylum (circa 1848) in Sligo (Republic of Ireland), but now it is the splendid luxury of the Clarion Hotel… the lucky bastard!!

Until we speak again I am going to be a determinedly demanding Juno, particularly after hearing about the enjoyment of all this hospitality and opulence.

Was it all just a dream?

Posted on March 30, 2014 by Steve Morgan

This ‘Cat Mate‘ thing is hardly a mate of mine, as it usually signifies my turn to look after the flat while the ‘resident dreamer‘ goes off on some travelling escapade involving some culinary adventure.

This time I decide to curl up and go off on a dream of my own…

I experience a scary start as I dream of my feral compatriots roaming a busy square in search of boiled sheep heads; brains, tongue, cheek and eyeballs are hardly the kind of adventure that this dreamer ascribes to…

A cat of my stature has standards, so in my slumbers I slink through the mad traffic and madder pedestrians in search of something less challenging and more salubrious. Local cuisine has to be the source of great food.

Then in a quiet corner of my imagination I spy potential…

… Le Tanjia, home of finest Moroccan Cuisine draws me in for further investigation. The cats around this area seem to meander more slowly and present themselves with a more satisfied look. But nothing in my dreams prepared me for the welcome:

The decor is dimly lit, in a delightfully historic setting, so the scene is set up for a true feast to match. ‘Lamb Couscous with Seven Vegetables‘ and ‘Lamb with Prunes and Pine Nuts Tagine‘ sets the taste buds racing; but then the lamb simply melts in the mouth and brings involuntary ‘mmhs’ from everyone who tastes it…

How do you top off a meal like that… a stylish Mojito seemed to be the solution to my dreams… then it is time for a deeper slumber.

Unfortunately, at this point I hear the key in the door, and it seems that ‘resident dreamer‘ is returning to disturb my routine. Oh well, until we speak again I will be a Juno continuing to dream of the delights of Marrakech… a long distance away from the ‘Cat Mate’ contraption.

Tales from Dumbfuckistan [3]

Posted on January 9, 2014 by Steve Morgan

“It’s colder than a well digger’s ass” or so Tom Waits once said. So, with recent news of record-breaking low temperatures my warm heart goes out to all Dumbfuckers (a.k.a. the residents of Dumbfuckistan). I was stunned to see all of those red states turning blue, in the climatological sense, that is… heaven forbid that a good shafting from a polar vortex would bring any political sense into play.

Here is a recent photograph taken in Michigan:

Anyone for a show, how about Chicago on ice?:

Ice builds up along Lake Michigan at North Avenue Beach as temperatures dipped well below zero on January 6, 2014 in Chicago, Illinois. (Scott Olson/Getty Images/AFP)

Views of the Ohio River bring memories of the Robbie Robertson song Somewhere Down the Crazy River (though apologies to frozen readers, as this track is altogether steamier):

Picture of a barge on the Ohio River surrounded by steam coming off the water.

But then my ‘resident ghoul‘ came up with the heart warming news that a new series of the US TV programme Criminal Minds had started. Nothing better for bringing some new year cheer than some gory tales of the work of sadistic serial killers. There must be enough raw material in Dumbfuckistan to keep a Behavioural Analysis Unit in business for eternity…

What with the Crime Scene Investigation (CSI) franchises, the Law & Order franchises, NCIS, and practically the whole output of the Universal and FX Channels, my ‘in-house amateur sleuth‘ just can’t get enough mayhem and carnage for one lifetime. Just as well we cats are reported to have nine lives. However Dumbfuckers, I am sorry to poke your already frozen brain cell with an icicle, but by my calculations most of your population by 2020 will be divided into vics & perps… which will make sleuthing easier, because, by definition, anyone not yet croaked must be a serial killer! Good luck with the running and screaming vibe… just when you think you have escaped one serial killer there is another just around the corner.

In the meantime Michigan, and Ohio, and Nebraska, and Oklahoma, and y’all, if you think this is what I am looking like at the moment…

… think again. I am sending you some virtual warmth, but until we speak again I am keeping the real stuff for me, a warm and cozy Juno.

I’m watching you:

A Dumbfuckistan Christmas

Posted on December 17, 2013 by Steve Morgan

With rotting thanksgiving turkey drumsticks littering the yard a whole three weeks after they had been discarded Clint Junior III knew it was time to get in his demands for christmas before the younger competition cottoned on to the annual ritual. After all, his younger siblings Earl, Cheyenne, Savannah and Walt still seemed distracted by the imminent arrival of the triplets (already named Sky, Harper and Brett II even before the gender of each is known). Seems like one more local dude from the neighbourhood bars has unwittingly gone out for a few Buds on a March night only to become the unsuspecting star of a Father Christmas Horror Show nine months later. But Clint Jnr. was nothing if not resourceful, and knew it probably meant one more sucker to roll, down on his luck in guilt city. The local cats are busy welcoming the festive season in with traditional style:

But on one of his rare sojourns into school, in search of a pack of Lucky Strikes, Clint Jnr. had recently lucked upon a strange tale about christmas, something about wise-asses and a star opening up the door to loads of gifts. He may not have been the largest wing in the bucket but he had a sixth sense when it came to personal gain for minimal effort. If he could spell out this story to all the family, as they gather around the daily delivery of a grease mountain from the Colonel’s Giblet Shack, he would be in the driving seat… he gets first dibs when it comes to staking a claim on the spending of the welfare check down at the local mart.

Aunt Ruby and Aunt Krystal were always first to arrive at the smell of the chicken and fries, and always had their own unique ways of interrupting a story with their own interpretation. Clint Jnr. only has to make the merest suggestion that three wise men are on the scene when Ruby shrieks “I remember them… it’s George, Don and Dick.” To which Krystal can’t help but spit a few fries across the table trying to remember which Dick… “There were so many…”.

Who needs a horse’s ass for a manger when you have Dumbfuckistan’s finest on hand? Clint Jnr. remembered the story had a star and a hill or something that the wise men were trying to get back to, but was more distracted by the idea that the kid in the house gets all the presents. Ruby downs another Rolling Rock, belches for attention-seeking effect, and announces that she has solved the puzzle… without any thought of irony she says “Jesus, that star must be Obama; how did he become a messiah? I heard that Washington joint is a bit of a stable. Come back Dick and George and Don… grant Clint Jnr. all his christmas wishes.”

Clint Jnr. licked the grease from his fingers, and lead the crescendo of praise around the table and worn out armchairs for their place in the land of the brave and the free… “This christmas I think I would like a personally monogrammed drone.” he said, as he grew ever more comfortable into a vision of yet another all-American defender of the constitution. He was rapidly outgrowing the Remington 12 gauge shotgun and Smith & Wesson handgun he received last christmas. As the warmth of christmas spirit filled the land, all in the National Riffle Association could raise a glass to their latest convert. Meanwhile every self-respecting parent should be thinking more seriously about personal home tuition for the kids, instead of enrolling into the local state sponsored target range (aka school).

Personally, I have been Juno, and until we meet again I am glad I live where I do.

Nelson was a cool cat

Posted on December 10, 2013 by Steve Morgan

For all he did for black cats everywhere I am truly saddened to hear the news of the passing of Nelson Mandela. Though amongst the millions of sincere outpourings of grief and reminiscence, it does leave me coughing up fur balls to witness some of the politicians clambering onto the number one bandwagon of the moment. The great man himself said in the Pretoria courthouse in 1962 “If I had my time over I would do the same again. So would any man who calls himself a man.” Fortunately for South Africa and the world he had another 51 years left, and fulfilled a considerable promise.

As I contemplate lunch… … and lie back to listen to the ongoing tributes, I am sure that the Gorgeous Georges’ of the US & UK (Dubya and Osbourne) would act on Mandiba’s advice, in not hesitating to do the same again. Though for them it would more likely be a case of screwing over the many for the benefit of their already rich mates. David Cameron spoke of ‘ his heart going out to [his] family and the people of South Africa’… I say prep Operating Theatre 1 for surgery quickly.

Desmond Tutu, the patron saint of the drawn match (2-2, come on, keep up!), said of Mandela “He was renowned the world over as the undisputed icon of forgiveness and reconciliation.” I am sure I can adopt that lead, when my ‘appointed servant’ gets their act together and provide me with more of that roast turkey from Cardiff Market. Bill Clinton said “Nelson Mandela taught us so much about so many things…” Personally, I do hope that Mandela was not a cigar smoker, as even Bill must have had some original thoughts of his own.

Perhaps I need to cast our memories back a few decades (or ‘dickheads’ as Nelson pronounced it) to find the true essence of the person. Some old dame or another became famous for repeatedly referring to Mandela as a terrorist… well the first thought that comes to my mind is that it takes one to know one, particularly if you build a career on terrorising the weak and the poor of your own country in order to break the spirit of the hard working people in the industrial communities. The following image sums up contrasting leadership styles: a warm smiling generous spirit who can stand upright and proudly face all people, and a hunched evil purveyor of misery always looking over their shoulder (make your own choice as to which is which)…

Margaret Thatcher and Nelson Mandela

The only real tribute this cat can pay to the passing of an icon is to try and follow the lead he embodied through his life. With this in mind, I am stoically trying to shoulder the pressures and burdens of my imprisonment in my own personal Robben Island:

And I can only sit and wile away the time as I contemplate my own personal long walk to freedom. When I am finally released I promise to treat all cats equally… the strange albino types, ginger toms, even those fluffy persian types (who I am sure have nothing to do with any accusations of terrorism based solely on their middle-eastern sounding origins). Until we speak again I have been Juno, and I can only sign off today with an R.I.P. Johannesburg Cool Cat.

	David on Searching for Lebanon
	Kirt on NOLA: UK-style
	Wanda Rusiecki on Frohe Weihnachten
	Steve Morgan on Turkish delight
	Wanda Rusiecki on Turkish delight

JUNO's VIEW

Seeing Cardiff and the world through the eyes of one cool cat

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