Celtic Smiths

My surname, Muir, is Celtic, but three of my four grandparents were born with Anglo-Saxon surnames: Smith, Pearson and Marshall. I therefore assumed I was one quarter Celtic, three-quarters Anglo-Saxon.

Recently, I discovered that after the Battle of Culloden, many Scots changed their surnames to Smith to escape persecution. This is one of the reasons why Smith is the most common surname in Scotland.

So I could be half Celtic, or more if some changed their names to Pearson or Marshall for the sake of variety.

Those who kept the surname, Muir, must have been living so obscurely that nobody bothered them, fought for the winning side, or were too stubborn to change.

When DNA testing kits are sold for about £10 at Lidl, I will have to test myself to see just how Celtic I am.

*

Ancestry Update

Many years ago, I fell into conversation with some Austrians in Jugoslavia, before it became Croatia. I explained that I was wearing a shirt and trousers while everyone else was in T shirts and shorts because I tanned unevenly, developing dark patches on my arms and shoulders. One of the Austrians nodded and said, "Vikinger problem".

I have discovered that he was probably right. I assumed that "Pearson" was an Anglo-Saxon name, but it turns out that the "Son" suffix is Viking. So as well as being descended from Celts, Anglo-Saxons and the unrecorded people who had rhesus negative blood, I am part Viking. Oh, well, the more the merrier. Hybrid vigour and all that sort of thing.

But most people in the British Isles can say the same, and if you go back far enough, we are all originally Africans. Some researchers believe that all us Europeans have a bit of Neanderthal in us as well. So we should regard the memory of the Neanderthals with a bit more respect, rather than thinking of them as a bunch of idiots.

Britain’s Most Agile Man

The finalists in the Britain’s Strongest Man competition ranged in height from five foot nine to six foot six, which compares to my five foot ten. I fall within their height range, an inch taller than the “Pocket Rocket”.

However, I weigh ten and a half stone, so I’m about half the weight of the strongmen. This set me wondering if any athletes shared my height and weight.

Today, I stumbled across someone who matches me exactly. She’s one of the world’s top volleyball players.

Last time I saw one of my aunts, she told me I needed to gain half a stone. Now I can riposte that I’m built like an athlete, though I probably won’t specify which one

Face Recognition

My mild narcissism prompted me to use a face recognition program to compare my face to those of a database of famous people. I look most like Raymond Chandler.

I also look like a couple of actors, Jesse McCartney and Adam Goldberg, Palestinian politician Mahmoud Abbas, Stephen Jay Gould, James Randi, Wim Wenders, Meryl Streep, Japanese cartoonist Hayao Miyazaki and Pablo Neruda.

They look like a random collection of names, although I do believe Raymond Chandler could pass for one of my relatives.

I am delighted to count Meryl Streep among my look-alikes. I never thought she was particularly attractive, but I googled some images of her and changed my mind. One, by Brigitte Lacombe, showed her smiling at the camera. Deeply beautiful. Best looking actress in the world.

Personality Tests

Now I understand what happened to me when I joined the Labour Party in the early 1980’s. I was elected branch secretary not long after I joined, then was soon elected constituency secretary. I became exasperated with the shambles I constantly had to deal with, resigned after a fairly short period, and did not renew my membership.

I recently took several personality tests, which indicate that my lack of concern for the feelings of others, rationality and emotional stability make me a natural leader, despite the evidence to the contrary.

I will tend to forgive a colleague’s mistakes, but sack them for repeated mistakes. I could not sack the other Labour Party members, so sacked myself.

When I was young, my only ambitions were to have so much money that I did not have to work, and to understand the Universe. I have now achieved the former and have a much better grasp of the latter.

What now? Have a laugh.

If I were a famous politician, I would be Abraham Lincoln. If I were a classic film, I would be Easy Rider. If I were a superhero, I would be the Green Lantern, whoever he is.

I score low on all the tested personality disorders, except narcissism, which is moderate.

I am destined for the Sixth Circle of Hell, along with all the other atheists. Allegedly.

(Disclaimer: all the tests were self-administered on free websites, and might be total nonsense.)

Google Map Search

The Google Maps search gives some unexpected results. I searched for “prostitute” near my address in Blackpool and came up with the Grand Theatre and the Northern Echo.

The search was made purely out of curiosity, you understand, but I will probably be turning up at the Grand Theatre, clean and happy, with £50 in my pocket.

Drugs Not Bombs

How unlucky is that? Your cannabis plants are in need of fertilizer, so you pop along to the local fertilizer shop. Because you are growing cannabis on an industrial scale, an alert citizen thinks, “fertilizer bomb” and contacts the authorities. You find a whole lot of very well armed people suddenly wanting to talk to you. Several years in prison for drugs offences eventually ensue.

I cannot help finding the plight of the poor criminals exceedingly funny.

Dancing with The Drummer's Wife

Going teetotal has not affected my enjoyment of going to the pub as much as I expected.

Last week, I sang five karaoke songs completely sober without any sort of nerves. The results can be heard at:

http://www.bandeoke.com/audio%20files.html

My nom de chanson is “Rocking Rob”. I also sang the uncredited “Hit Me with Your Rhythm Stick”.

Pictures taken during the performance can be seen here:

http://www.bandeoke.com/toms160507.html

I’m the fool in the white shirt and glasses.

Last night, I went to see a talented local group at a pub. We were sitting at the same table as the drummer’s wife, who fell into conversation with one of my female friends. Eventually, when the band was packing up and a DJ was playing “The Twist”, she asked me if I knew how to twist. When I didn’t take the hint, she asked me to dance with her.

I was up there, dancing away without self-consciousness or fear, even when the drummer glanced at us.

The only real difference being sober made was that after a few songs, while the drummer’s wife and I were holding hands as we danced, I experienced a physiological reaction that I would almost certainly not have experienced if I had had a few pints. Hurrah for me at my age.

After the band and the drummer’s wife had gone, I made some humorous, rather lewd (but not disparaging) remarks to my friends, which I would have previously excused by my drunkenness. Not any more. Now my excuse is that I was in “drunk socialising” mode.

So I’ve done all that on soda water, had as much fun, and saved myself some money as well.

I have celebrated by buying some adequate speakers for my computer.