Self-Winding · A Sort of Progression

Sunday, February 29, 2004

Puttin' on...
The Neece has been living it up I see. Funnily enough I heard an associated joke on the radio this morning.

A tramp asks a bloke for fifteen quid for a cup of tea.
"You're joking, mate, where're you going - The Ritz?"
"Yeah, I am, s'matter of fact," replied the tramp.
"That's a ridiculous price."
"I don't care, it ain't my money," was the riposte.

Geriatric gourmet
Last week-end a very frail friend of strong temperament was left without catering while her kind neighbours were away. I offered to make her meals and take them over - she seems just capable of lighting the gas stove and pulling a cork. I made two tempting dishes; a roast dinner with pork, apple sauce, freshly roasted potatoes and veg'. I casseroled a pheasant (plentiful round here) having marinaded it in some red wine and garlic. I boned it, put the sauce in a little jug, added basmati, courgettes and sprouts. It was delicious. I 'phoned for feedback. "Was everything alright, kid?" "Oh yes, very nice, the pork, but I always like my game hung for a while, it gives it so much more flavour."
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Friday, February 27, 2004

I am undone
Being prey to indecision and with a tendency to typos I constantly use the Redo/Undo word processing function. I got to thinking how great it would be if life could be lived on that basis, with an ability to cancel out even just your last move. The things you yourself do, not what the world does to you. A split second decision playback would eradicate a ton of grief.

On Saturday, for example, I could have zapped my instantly regretted agreement to talk to a frightening sixth form group. Hours of work and twanging nerves ahead for scant return.

Looking at a ?before? picture of one of the girls at slimming class I needn?t have said ?Goodness, that?s a fantastic weight loss, pity you had to sacrifice that magnificent bosom!? ?Ah, no, she said, that was the mastectomy?.

Doubled up
Want to waste half an hour? Have a look at these lookalikes. Who on earth would need a double of Mohammed Al Fayed?
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Tuesday, February 24, 2004

Sleeping beauty
Images of very beautiful children, or even very beautiful images of plain children are troubling. I have been thinking about this since seeing some exquisite photographs by Loretta Lux . The response is not simply provoked by children's vulnerability; other elements are in play - anxiety at seeing poise when a child might be careless of appearance and the adult perception of the power and problems that beauty brings.

Play-acting grown-up roles is a usual part of development and a little girl with a lipstick will produce a jammy, endearing pastiche of glamour. When the grown-up actually intervenes the image changes. I remember clearly how I once, for fun, made-up my small niece who was a lovely child, not with bright face paints, but subtly shaded and enhanced. She became suddenly utterly beautiful. What I had done was to reveal something that might have been hidden for a while longer. I had transposed the child's beauty into its later context.
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The Gal Sheela
I was chatting to my friend in the next village when her bell rang and a neighbour came with a birthday card. She is famous for very colourful language which to me is made more irresistibly amusing by her Norfolk accent. We got on to the subject of the endless TV antiques programmes.

"Blast, that get on my bloody narves, that do. Some old mawther found one of them white fivers in a case, worth a bloody fortoon. Bugger me, some people have all the luck, all I've ever found in my attic is pissin' flies."




Say it aloud
According to Ross Burden the motto of the French merchant navy translates as 'To the water! It is there' - 'A l'eau. C'est la.'


Nice acquisition in the same vein
I bought an ancient paperback of Howlers by Cecil Hunt, (published 1931 at 1/6). which I shall share with you from time to time;

Quotation & Translation

☼ The school is surrounded by grounds: L'ecole est entouree de sediments.

☼ Cave canem: Beware of the cane

☼ Balbus felix est: The cat is called Balbus.

☼ "For this relief, no thanks," said Hamlet

☼ Sursum corda: Keep your tail up.

☼ El viajero cogio una pulmona: the traveller took a Pullman.

☼ Tu quoque is a lawyer's way of saying "The same to you".

☼ Pas du tout: Step over them all.
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Thursday, February 19, 2004

Kyrenia
I want March, G. wants April. Who will win?

Constancy
Who but a bigot could deny that this is real love that has at last been ratified?
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Thursday, February 12, 2004

Shades of black
After the late movie I suddenly remembered I had left my best clippers down by the stream and went to get them, I didn?t bother with a torch. I?m not afraid of night and walked forward, sightless. My eyes couldn?t discern even a grey outline, there were no stars, no distant car lights, just an unusual unrelieved blackness. It was OK, I found the clippers by feel on the bridge and stood listening to the forest behind, a pine creaking in the wind, the splash of the water over the little dam, a dog barking a mile over the fields. Back in the house the feeling of the dark stayed with me.

I recall so many shades of darkness. Navy, inky water calling us further in as we waded out at night from a deserted beach in Crete, cool, slightly scary. Once, blindfolded, I was led around a strange building to become unpleasantly aware of what sightlessness means. Desert dark, woodland dark, and moving shadows in a deserted country church provoked no fear, enhanced a love of the night.

But once I was afraid. The most profound blackness I have ever known was at Mycenae inside the tomb of Agamemnon. In the empty chamber, built 1400 years before the birth of Christ, silence falls as the guide closes the entrance and switches off the flashlight. The dark comes swiftly like a blanket, thick with history, profound and terrifying. I have never forgotten it and the experience is partly responsible for my horror at the sealed nothingness of death.
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Sunday, February 08, 2004

April shower in February

Halfway down the land, dragging a huge pile of willow branches roped together, I got caught by a sudden drenching shower. It came on a gust of wind and flung huge cold droplets into my face and eyes. I was soaked in a minute, so thought I might as well carry on. Walking back to pick up more wood, I saw the sky turn blue and the sun hit the tops of the trees as the rain softened. Above Carter's oak in the North sky grew a perfect rainbow. The arc was high and wide, the indigo and blue tones really intense. It felt like a blessing.

Say 'Cheese'

'Why, I can smile, and murder whiles I smile,
And cry 'Content' to that which grieves my heart,
And wet my cheeks with artificial tears,
And frame my face to all occasions. Henry VI, III, ii

But with a little quiz practice at the BBC Science Homepage one could suss him out. Not as easy as it seems, I scored 12. (via North Coast Cafe)
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Saturday, February 07, 2004

Trust me!
Apparently I inadvertently gave a rude heading to one of yesterday's posts - well it slipped my mind that Johnny was a euphemism for condom. Heaven knows why I'm bothered, but I am, so I changed it. Laughable in view of most blog content out there.

Mary Ellen Mark
I found smog.net through Pure Land Mountain. There is some wonderful photography there. This series of brilliantly observed portraits is worth your time.
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Thursday, February 05, 2004

February
As dusk comes tonight I sit on the sycamore bench and watch the moon come up behind the forest. It is almost warm, a clump of daffodils blooms among the snowdrops and the birds have sung SPRING all day. Earlier the green woodpecker drilled at the edge of brambles for sleepy ants, a fine fat bird. Green spikes, Mary Lennox spikes all wick, push up everywhere through the oak leaf carpet, leaves of hogweed uncurl. Pussy willow is out and the hazels tremble with powdery catkins.

Sensitive
They have to be joking! Not that I would watch rubbish TV, you understand.

I've only seen 27%


create your own visited states map
or write about it on the open travel guide

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Wednesday, February 04, 2004

Decent bloke, Yorick
A tricky BBC Quotes Quiz. I managed nine and realise I'm not up with Brentspeak.

Monthly Resolution Check
Procrastination/organisation: improving. Tax return filed on time, letters up to date, files cleared out. Still avoiding the most undesirable tasks - strip wallpaper, dredge stream, clear garage. Making lists and losing them.

Hair: in hand, literally. Strand test done yesterday. Next week we decide whether I go permanent, or take it slowly with a semi. Tempted to go flaming red, buy gipsy earrings and leather trousers. Think not, think fifty, think chestnut.

Brain: progress. Local research going great, creating a time-line from Domesday to the present on a huge sheet of paper. Working from good sources. Listening to fast French radio to sharpen up my comprehension. Reading Michael Wood's "In Search of Shakespeare", sketching, wrestling with watercolour fairly unsuccesfully.

Rising/sleep: poor performance. Late nights result in kip-ins, but I don't do the dressing gown thing now - straight in the bath, mostly.

Body mass: struggling. Nine pounds lost since December, longing for peanuts, mayonnaise and new bread and butter. Long walks and a cruel aerobics video (before said bath) several times a week.

Guilt: trying hard. Still feel most of the time that I should be doing something other than what I'm actually doing at the time. A lifetime's trait. Sins of omission torture me.
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Tuesday, February 03, 2004

Crap wrap et al
□ I would love to wrap Gordon's shed like this!. Dead dart flights, headless hammers, old Polyfilla bricks, dried spiders - the lot!

□ Grammar, usage and style - an addictive set of linguistic links from Refdesk.

□ I bought a big sweet potato today ready to make Sweet Potato and Sausage Soup (but without the sausage). I lost another 3 lbs this week. Soup is so comforting when you are food deprived. I could live on it, just like the Soup Dragon.

Janet Frame....
who died last week had a tough life, documented in three of the most harrowing novels I have ever read. They leave a bitter aftertaste. Fleur Adcock mentions here that she evidently had a cache of unpublished poetry, which one could conjecture might be absolute essence of agony.
On the flyleaf of my copy of 'Owls Do Cry' I wrote a quotation of hers, typical of her style - 'It would be nice to travel if you knew where you were going and where you would live at the end - or do we ever know, do we ever live where we live? We're always in other places, lost, like sheep.'

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