Quality Stuff

I try to be sensible and logical and so on, but I will admit to a weakness for quality (“luxury”) items, across almost all categories of living.  Of course, I don’t have the wallet to afford any of them anymore, but I’d still prefer to drive, say, an Audi instead of a VW.

This philosophy does clash — frequently — with commonsense as I muse on such things, but the lure of quality still gets to me.  And as Longtime Reader Mike Of The Dueling Pistols so eloquently said when talking about watches“You know why I own a Bremont and an IWC? The same reason I own a Hammerli… I like it. My bills are paid, why not buy something I enjoy with the money?”

Amen.  In Daphne du Maurier’s novel The Progress Of Julius, the protagonist is a man who starts off as a street urchin in North Africa and ends up becoming enormously wealthy in Britain.  I don’t remember the exact words, but one night he thinks about the fact that he now wears silk shirts, and wonders if he could ever go back — and realizes that he couldn’t, because luxury is seductive.

And it is.  On the very few occasions when I’ve been able to afford a real quality item, I always felt good about it, and it always repaid my investment in spades.  An example:  back when I was a pro musician, I could have got by with playing a $400 Fender Precision bass guitar, but instead I bought a $1,200 Rickenbacker.

The very first time I played the Rick, I felt a rush of something — enjoyment and satisfaction, I suppose — because I was playing the best bass guitar in the world and good grief… it sounded fantastic.  That’s not a knock on the Fender, by the way:  the old P-bass has been played by bassists far better than I, it’s super-reliable and sounds just fine, and if for any reason the Rick hadn’t been an option, I’d have got the Fender and been quite happy with the thing.  But it wasn’t a Rickenbacker, and it became my (and the band’s) signature sound over the years.

I feel the same about lots of life’s little toys:  cars, watches and guns being the categories where I’m most prone to going for the spendy, so to speak, and which tendency will be well-known to Longtime Readers.

So just as an intellectual exercise, I’m going to do the same for them as I’ve done for bass guitars:  post a perfectly-good choice, against what I’d really like to own.  Note that I’m not going to post a “budget” item — I never even considered a cheap bass guitar like Epiphone or Squier, for example, even though I was quite poor at the time — but only something that’s of (very) acceptable quality.  So here goes:

1911s:  Springfield G.I. and  Ed Brown Kobra

There’s nothing at all wrong with the Springfield — there’s one on my belt as we speak — but the Kobra is exceptional, and I lust after it bigly.


Bolt-action rifles:   Ruger Hawkeye and  Mauser M12

Once again, there’s nothing wrong with the Ruger — I got one for Boomershoot, as you’ll recall — and it’s a perfectly good rifle… until you fire a Mauser M12.  (Both the above, by the way, are chambered in 6.5x55mm Swede.)


Side-by-side shotguns:  AyA No.2 and David McKay Brown Round Action (note:  as we all know, you can go nuts when it comes to fine shotguns — Purdey, Holland etc. — so I gave myself a price ceiling of merely “expensive”, and second-hand to boot)The kicker here is that you can get a new AyA for about $6,000, and a second-hand McKay Brown can run around seven times that, because machine-made vs. handmade.  Indulge me…


Watches:   Longines Flagship and Jaeger-LeCoultre Master

…and I didn’t even have to go super-pricey on this:  the Longines runs just under a grand, and the Jaeger just under five.  I’ve owned a Longines before, and I still regret getting rid of it (because poverty);  but Jaeger watches are both lovely and super-reliable.

Fountain Pens:  Sailor 1911 and  Pelikan Souveran 800

For when you want to sign that important contract, and the Bic just won’t cut it.  The Pelikan costs nearly three times the Sailor, but Pelikan… I don’t think they make a “regular” pen — all their models are excellent.  If you have big hands and need a thicker barrel, then try the Cross Peerless 125. (And Montblanc Meisterstuck pens are fine — they’re the Rolex of pens — for those who want to be seen using one.  My budget Pelikan writes better, in my hand.)


Classic Sports Cars:   1967 Corvette Stingray and  1957 Mercedes 300 Roadster

This one’s not even close.


Modern Saloon Cars:  Mercedes S560 (4-liter V8) and  Bentley Continental GT Speed (6-liter W12)

Y’all know that I’m holding my nose with this one, because modern cars are almost all fugly.  If I had  to own one, however… but I cheated.  Because while a new S560 costs around $130k at the above dealer, an extra 5 grand gets you a secondhand Bentley, with less than 10,000 miles on the clock.  As with the earlier car choice, this one isn’t close, either.

Feel free to list your “quality” options in Comments — they don’t have to be the most expensive you can buy, just better than the average or typical.  And please:  I’m not interested in hearing from people who are perfectly happy with their 1983 Dodge Whatever, Casio Digital and inherited Winchester 100, and see no reason to upgrade any of them, ever.  Play the game.

Don’t Bother

I am really, all evidence to the contrary, a fairly even-tempered man [quit yer sniggering, it’s true].  Whenever people who only know me from this website meet me in person, they’re all astonished to discover that I’m quietly-spoken, placid and quick to laugh or chuckle at life’s many little hassles.  Even behind the wheel, I am not — and never have been — prone to road rage;  automotive dick-headedness will almost always just get a shake of the head and a quiet “What an asshole” from me.

The one thing, however, which is guaranteed to turn me into an instantly-violent psychopath is pranking, whether in public or in private.  I don’t play pranks on people — I actually think it’s a form of cruelty — and I have absolutely no tolerance for pranksters.  (And for any who want to test that, having read this, please don’t.  It will not end well for you.)

So when I watched this video at the Knuckledragger’s place, my response was immediate — I roared with laughter, frightening New Wife out of her chair in the next room.

All pranksters should meet a similar fate, or worse.

Good Things To Come Out Of The Coronavirus Pandemic

In no specific order:

  • Rage Against The Machine 2020 tour canceled
  • the “NSFW” warning has become irrelevant as everyone’s at home anyway
  • “social distancing” means I don’t need an excuse to steer clear of assholes I don’t like
  • Taylor Swift kept out of the recording studio
  • the ChiComs have finally been exposed for the totalitarian pricks they really are
  • ditto most Democrat state governors and mayors
  • the “globalism is good” mantra has been discredited
  • maybe, just maybe, we’ll get our prescription drugs manufactured in the U.S. once more
  • …and lots of other stuff, too
  • gun stores classified as “essential services” (as well they should be);  and pursuant to that:
  • liberals discover the virtues of self-protection, are forced into buying guns, and discover that you can’t just order them off the Internet and that there’s a lengthy legal waiting period (that they voted for) before actual ownership can take place.  And following on from that:
  • California law (that they voted for) stops ammo manufacturers from sending them ammo from online orders, so they face empty shelves at gun stores
  • people who have provided for themselves in the event of calamity or disaster are no longer sneeringly called “doomsayers” or “apocalyptics” by the media, as liberals discover the benefits of “hoarding”

And finally:

  • daily Instagram pictures of Christine McGuinness in a bikini as she self-isolates.  Also the occasional video (sample).

   

Feel free to add to the above list, once you get out of the cold shower.

Proper Wording

Tim Worstall makes an excellent point here:

Don’t ‘celebrate’ gay people, just accept us, says teacher at centre of schools row

Accept is reasonable, but I think tolerate is closer to the correct meaning. To accept Simon Cowell would be asking too much, toleration is about as liberal as I can get.
And yes, Mr. Cowell is a reasonable comparison for sexuality. Other peoples’ tastes are none of my damn business assuming that they’re not being offered directly to me to partake of, subject to the usual consenting adults only caveat.

Quite right.  I have no problem with, for example, Homosexual Pride parades;  I tolerate  them (as long as I don’t have to actually see them or be caught in the middle of one).  Do I accept  them?

No.

It’s a small but important distinction, and well done Tim for pointing that out.  And never mind “accept”;  you can forget that “celebration” bullshit, too:  that’s never going to happen.

Lifeline

I have the best Readers on the Internet, bar none.  That’s not sucking up, that’s a statement of fact.

When I put out my call for help last week, I had no idea what the response would be, mostly because everyone’s having pretty much the same kind of trouble I am, and let’s be honest, this blog is pretty thin gruel as a platform on which to base an appeal.

This is not a blog which offers legal advice, or medical advice, or even soft stuff which feeds the soul like movie reviews or stuff like that.  All you get for your visit is, well, all the stuff you see if you hit the “page back” buttons at the bottom:  guns, women, anger, commentary, vitriol and the occasional review of stuff I like that others may not be aware of, e.g. Dutch metal, an unknown artist or some obscure gun.

What I was not prepared for was the generosity and the breadth of your response to my appeal, which has been, in a word, astonishing.  Just so you know, you’ve basically kept the wolf from the door by enabling me to pay some large and unexpected costs, most especially a massive medical bill for New Wife, and a couple more of similar magnitude.  Were I still Ubering, I could have taken care of most of that just by working longer hours (as I have in the past), but with the Uber business drying up completely, that was no longer an option.

Instead, I can breathe freely for the next few weeks until the insanity is over and I can get back to work again.  And if all goes well, when the self-isolation and lockdowns go away and life can creep back to normal, New Wife can finally get a job so we can actually start saving.

We can but hope.

So on behalf of both Angie and myself, please accept our humblest and most grateful thanks.  Whether by small Patreon contributions or by larger single amounts, you my Readers have taken untold stress out of our life.

In return, while I’m still self-isolating (not splendidly, by the way — how ironic is that title now?) I promise to continue this blog with even greater zeal than I have before.  One Reader used these words (paraphrased, lest he be embarrassed):  “When your old website went dark before, I missed it badly — and if I can help it, that’s never going to happen again.”  Others said similar wonderful things, and all I can say is that you made New Wife cry, because she doesn’t know you like I do and was completely blindsided.

And using my isolation to good effect:  in a couple of weeks’ time, I will have completed a long-promised but creatively-blocked novel, which I will put on sale through Kindle so that everyone reading this can get one, for about the price of a lottery ticket.

It’s often said that “Words cannot express my gratitude” and that’s very true, but I’ve nevertheless tried to do so here, and I hope I’ve succeeded.

Thank you all, and bless every one of you for your generosity, kind words and support.

Longevity

The old joke goes:

Q: “Why do men die sooner than women?”
A:  Because they want to.

I think the same is true of this study:

A DAILY tipple nearly doubles a man’s hope of hitting 90, a study says.
Those on half a pint of beer a day are 81 per cent more likely than teetotallers to reach a tenth decade.

That’s because we drinkers are kept alive by thinking things like “Only five more days till Friday night pub time!” — whereas non-drinkers have fuck-all to look forward to and their bodies simply shut down out of either hopelessness or boredom.

For precisely the same two reasons, this may be why meat-eaters live longer than vegans.

Anyway, whatever it all means, I know that right at this moment it’s Pub Time at the King’s Arms in All Cannings, Wilts, so I’m going to join The Englishman and others of that ilk by opening a life-extending pint (and I know it’s not Wadworth 6X, but London Pride is all I can get Over Here — a rant for another time).

Cheers, y’all.