Pudsk

A Spurious Brood by Phil Revell – review

2011-11-30T03:06:00.000-08:00

Set in the opening decades of the 17th century, A Spurious Brood is a fictionalised account of the real lives of two Shropshire families. It tells the story of Jacob Blakeway, an attractive, mysterious man and his two loves; childhood sweetheart Katherine More, with whom he fathers the brood of the novel's title, and the lady Rosalind, a noblewoman whose path he crosses when she and her husband are attacked by bandits in The Marches. Jacob is summoned to court for his account of the ambush, where Katherine spies on him comforting Rosalind and rejects him. There follow years of betrayals, betrothals and bitterness as Jacob is torn between his family and his work as a messenger for the merchant Matthew, and Katherine is forced into a marriage that eventually causes her downfall.

The spurious brood of the title do not appear until the final third of the book, and even then they do not develop as characters in their own right. They are simply the subject of their mother Katherine's deep affections and ultimately the cause of her great despair. The title of this engaging first novel by the Shropshire writer Phil Revell can of course be read as “illegitimate offspring”, but there is another interpretation; the falsity of affections that trips up the principle characters and the melancholy of Katherine, who at the end of the novel is left bereft by the cruel machinations of a Jacobean society in which a largely uneducated woman of limited resources is made to suffer by the actions of her father-in-law. Revell depicts Katherine's sadness with great sensitivity. The claustrophobia and danger of marital life for women is a recurrent theme in the book, as Katherine tries to negotiate her way out of an arranged marriage and Rosalind attempts to secure her rightful inheritance and escape the oppressive attentions of her brother-in-law.

But there is a deeper, societal brooding casting its shadow in this novel, as the aristocratic classes of hereditary landowners find their wealth and authority rivalled and threatened by the intelligent, increasingly wealthy mercantile classes. In Jacob and his master, the kind, witty Matthew who is also Katherine's uncle, this novel concerns itself with a nascent middle class, who travel, trade and explore the world beyond the Shropshire countryside in which they were born. In chapter eight Jacob and Matthew take a grand tour to the Low Countries, Germany and Italy, providing a vignette of a changing society. I would have welcomed a deeper exploration of the themes touched upon in this episode – the dissemination of literacy, religious conflict, the discovery of the New World. Jacob himself regrets the omission of Rome from the tour:

“[Jacob] was disappointed that the itinerary did not include a side visit to Rome. Under Eleanor's tuition as a child, he had read translations of Suetonius and Tacitus. He would have loved the chance to walk where Roman Emperors had ruled.

'The Roman buildings are ruins covered with weeds,' said Rowland when Jacob revealed this secret ambition. 'The buildings to see in Rome are the new cathedral of St Peter and the chapel ceiling by Michelangelo – they are beautiful to any man's eye.' He lowered his voice. 'They are also evidence of the waste and stupidity of the church of Rome, spending a mountain of gold on images and icons.'”

The European travels of Jacob and Matthew depict the eyes of Englishmen opening to the wider world in the 17th century after the colonial discoveries of Sir Walter Raleigh in the 1580s, and they set the scene for the book's finale in which the brood are destined to set sail on the Mayflower. That the grand tour is rather glossed over is a shame, because elsewhere the the descriptions of place in the novel are rich and evocative: in Shropshire “the land was changing; enclosures were being made all over the dale … A quarter turn brought Ludlow into view, and the triple mound of the Malverns. To the northeast Jasper could just see the dark smear that was Cannock Chase”; in London “drovers on their way to Smithfield marshalled sheep and cattle … beggars appealed for alms and hawkers took advantage of the crowds to sell posies, sweetmeats and cures … his eye was drawn to the grisly display that decorated the upper stories of the gatehouse. A naked corpse in an iron cage looked to be a recent addition to a collection of severed heads and body parts.”

There are some delightful scenes in this novel, from the depiction of a nervous Katherine preparing for her wedding 400 years before hair straighteners, or sleeping with her hair in towels in an attempt to make it controllable, or slipping on a new gold petticoat, to the drama of Jacob's clandestine meeting with Rosalind on London Bridge. Revell uses enough antiquated terms and language to offer a sense of the time and historicity – whippersnappers, farthingale, quarterstaffs – but not so much that you are obliged to read the novel with a dictionary of early modern English by your side. Perhaps the most refreshing aspect of this novel is that, in something of a break from the norm, it is almost entirely unconcerned with the machinations of court life. Royalty does make a fleeting and essential intervention into Jacob's affairs, but even then it is a royal bureaucrat and not King James himself who appears. While not exactly a departure from the genre made so popular by the likes of Margaret George, Alison Weir and Philippa Gregory, it is a brave example of popular historical fiction which is not enthralled by the sex lives of courtiers and their monarchs.

Read it if you liked Sarah Dunant's Birth of Venus; The Wilding by Maria McCann; The Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett.

Kitteh Roulette

2011-07-16T12:39:00.000-07:00

The risk of getting a stupid one is high. Very high.

Flash fiction

2011-07-15T06:45:00.000-07:00

The room was silent apart from the tinkle of metal on plastic as the butcher's knives were laid to rest then picked up again as incision after incision was made in the greying flesh in front of him. The air was pungent with the scent of blood but neither man wore a mask. On the contrary, they inhaled deeply, gently perspiring as the blade of a chosen implement proved too flimsy to make an impression on the resistant bone. The younger man watched the master work his way up the right side, down the left, sawing, slicing, severing, tidying. Finally the task was nearly done and the butcher stood, blade poised over the centre of the torso.

“And what will you do with her heart?” the apprentice asked.

“Why, I'll have it for pudding,” the butcher replied.

It's rebuild, rebuild, rebuild for King Kenny if Europe is to fear Liverpool once again

2011-03-18T10:41:00.000-07:00

Liverpool's defeat to Sporting Braga showed again how massive is the task awaiting Kenny Dalglish if he is the man chosen to restore the Anfield club to the elite of English, let alone European, football. It was a performance over 180 minutes almost entirely devoid of creativity and attacking initiative, and for fans it bore a miserable comparison to glorious European nights in the club's recent history, such as the 5-0 aggregate defeat of Real Madrid in the Champions League first knockout round in 2009 and the 3-0 aggregate win over Inter at the same stage of the competition in 2008. Over two legs against Braga, Liverpool failed to score and, despite their defensive solidity - aside from a mistake by Sotirios Kyrgiakos to concede a penalty in the first leg - they could not use it as a basis to go forward.

For fans the summer rejuvenation they hope for cannot come soon enough. With Dirk Kuyt usually deployed on the right of midfield, David Ngog has been Liverpool's second main striker since his arrival in July 2008. Both Dalglish and Roy Hodgson before him have preferred the youthful promise of Ngog on the bench to the tepid goal threat offered by Milan Jovanovic. Ngog is worth every bit of the £1.5m Rafael Benitez paid to bring him from Paris St Germain, and not a penny more. Even for a non-English striker, the fee was incredibly cheap, and that has showed. Apart from one goal against Arsenal this season and a strike against Manchester United in October 2009, he has not scored against the current top six in 18 appearances. He found his level in the early rounds of the Europa League, when he contributed three goals against Rabotnicki and two against Steaua Bucharest, plus a goal against Unirea last season.

But Liverpool have failed to support their strikers – the team's lack of width and ability to dribble the ball in from wide positions or send inviting crosses into the box was again evident against Braga. With Kuyt offering tenacity rather than natural width on the right, managers have for the past five seasons sought a genuine winger to play on either flank. Yossi Benayoun, Joe Cole, Jermaine Pennant, Albert Riera, Maxi Rodriguez, Harry Kewell, Luis Garcia, Mark Gonzales were all bought in part to fill the void on the wings. None has been an outstanding success. The disappointment that is Cole is an increasingly painful subject for Liverpool fans. The once engaging midfielder received a warm welcome on Merseyside when he arrived last summer, but while once he could delight with the ball at his feet, now he tends to evoke groans of despair as another opponent nicks the ball from him. Liverpool are beginning to realise, in the shape of Cole and Jovanovic, that a player on a free does not necessarily mean a bargain.

For Liverpool's Premier League rivals, the full-backs are as potent a threat as the wide midfielders. Chelsea can turn to Ashley Cole, Yuri Zirkov and Jose Bosingwa, Arsenal have Bacary Sagna, Gael Clichy and Keiran Gibbs, United have Patrice Evra and the Da Silva brothers. In this area Liverpool, too, have real hope. Martin Kelly has shown great promise this season against both top opponents and mediocre sides which Liverpool have had trouble in breaking down. They also have Glen Johnson, a quality full-back – as he has proved while deputising on the left this season despite his preferred position being on the right - although the Englishman is still too prone to losing possession when rampaging down the wing and creating unnecessary danger as a result. But left-back remains an unresolved problem in the long term for Dalglish.

Steven Gerrard's best season in a Liverpool shirt came in 2008-09 when he scored 24 goals and his increasingly frequent absences through injury have been felt this season. Raul Meireles is proving himself to be a crowd favourite and scorer of vital goals, but Liverpool still need more creativity – and goals – from central midfield. Lucas Leiva has as many doubters as he has admirers at Anfield. He has been a metronomic presence at Liverpool's heart for four seasons, making well over 30 appearances in each of them. Seldom injured, he is a tidy and reliable option. But in his 160 appearances for the club in all competitions, he has scored only six goals. Many fans would like to see Alberto Aquilani return from his loan spell at Juventus or Charlie Adam arrive from Blackpool to take Lucas's place or play alongside him in games when Liverpool must attack. It would certainly pose a more formidable midfield pairing than Lucas and Christian Poulsen, or Lucas and Jay Spearing.

As a local player and a loyal fan, many supporters are desperate to see Spearing succeed and take the mantle of red talisman when Gerrard eventually relinquishes it. But despite being energetic and a tough tackler, the 22-year-old's passing and ball retention are not on a par with his peers: Jack Rodwell (aged 20) at Everton, Jack Wilshere (19) at Arsenal or Josh McEachran (18) at Chelsea. In Jonjo Shelvey (19) Liverpool have a more likely replacement for Gerrard. The arrival from Charlton is a charismatic midfielder and English football is likely to see more of him next season.

Liverpool fans dream of the potential arrivals this summer – names such as Ricky van Wolfswinkel, Alexis Sanchez and Sergio Canales have been touted and dismissed in equal measure - but even marquee signings will not conceal for long the problem that must have been apparent to Dalglish even from his cruise ship in Dubai – the mediocrity which permeates his first-team squad. This is evident in the impact Liverpool's loaned out players are having. Apart from Nathan Eccleston, who has scored twice and made 11 appearances since joining Charlton on loan in January, and Aquilani, who has been a regular fixture for Juventus this season, the loanees are showing little evidence of progress: Emiliano Insua, (Galatasary, eight starts) and Philipp Degen (Stuggart, four starts). Daniel Ayala (20) is making an impression at Derby County and Stephen Darby has made a creditable 14 starts for League One Notts County, but at 22 he needs to be making the step up to the Premier League soon. Compared to Wilshere's impressive spell at Bolton Wanderers last season, and the goalscoring contributions since January made by Daniel Sturridge at Bolton and Carlos Vela at West Brom, it appears Liverpool's young players are still some way off making a first-team contribution.

And how many of Liverpool's first-team squad would get into another top six side? Andy Carroll would be a welcome addition to any of them, Spurs would appreciate Gerrard's power and versatility in midfield, Sir Alex Ferguson must secretly applaud Kuyt's tireless legs, while United and Arsenal's admiration for Pepe Reina is well known. As for the others, not even on the bench. Liverpool fans must now trust that Dalglish and Damien Comolli spend whatever funds are available to them this summer on players who can make the club challenge for honours once again. If fans wish for one thing from John W Henry in the next transfer window it is for pure Chippendale, rather than any more dead wood on inflated salaries at Anfield.

Delayed Gratification

2011-01-15T04:02:00.000-08:00

Delayed Gratification is out now. Visit the website for previews or to subscribe: http://www.dgquarterly.com/

Join the Fish Fight

2011-01-15T04:00:00.001-08:00

David Mitchell on climate change

2010-08-18T04:19:00.000-07:00

KitKat caught out?

2010-03-23T03:23:00.000-07:00

Greenpeace have started a campaign to encourage Nestle to stop using palm oil from suppliers that destroy rainforests to grow the crop. I'm a big fan of the KitKat, but not at that cost.

Have I found the answer the politics?

2009-06-05T12:03:00.000-07:00

Well, perhaps not but I do find the idea of a cross-party cabinet interesting - I first came across it in Richard Reeves's CiF blog.
Political decision-making is far too much to do with government and far too little to do with parliament and its associated structures. This is partly because of parliamentarians' adversarial attitude to those sitting on different benches (back v front as well as right v left). It's all party drivel, oops, I mean driven.
But a cross-party cabinet would mean that all those who voted for the party that isn't in power should feel less excluded from government decisions and the elements of cabinet that reflect the views of the opposition party would be able to contribute at an earlier stage, which would hopefully mean a move away from the ridiculous situation we have of shadow ministers objecting to everything that springs forth from the mouths of their illuminated counterparts, even if the government has adopted an opposition policy.
Of course, there would be a danger of the minority represented in a cross-party cabinet just leaking information about revolts, arguments etc., but that could be avoided if the post was at the discretion of the government, or if the shadow cabinet also had a government representative.
Ultimately, I think we need to move away from the three-party structure. All the major parties mean something different at local, national and European levels - they don't exist as monolithic entities now.

2009-06-02T02:55:00.000-07:00

I've signed up to protest against a third runway at Heathrow. The thing I find really daft about it is that the government claims it can cut UK emissions and have a third runway. It can't and the money would be much better invested in our railways, adding more cycle carriages for example.

Greenpeace is alas a little bit like New Labour in 1997 in the way it uses 'celebrities' to try to generate support and media coverage for its campaigns. While celebrities are always open to accusations of hypocrisy, with their carbon-intensive lifestyles, it's hard not to like Richard Briers.

Click here for more info on the campaign against the third runway.

Shah 'Abbas: The remaking of Iran

2009-03-26T09:14:00.000-07:00

I approached the British Museum on a day off with the intention of seeing the Babylon exhibition, which had only a few days left to run. But the main entrance hall was decorated with new flags, depicting an Iranian ruler in a golden outfit, crosslegged and, to me, seemingly outside time: I had not previously heard of Mr Abbas, and I had no idea when in the last 3,000 years he reigned. More fool me.

Tickets to Babylon were unavailable at that time so, flashing my press pass and switch card before the weary ticket seller, and pleasingly only being required to use the former, I entered the world of Shah 'Abbas.

The opening display quickly located him historically: ashamed, I realised he ruled at the same time as Philip II of Spain and Elizabeth I of England, two monarchs whom I have perhaps studied more extensively than any others, yet I had not even heard of Shah Abbas (who, scholars believe, appears in Shakespeare's Twelfth Night as Sophy. Knowledgeable man, that William). Also with bottoms firmly plonked on the world's thrones at that time were Emperor Akbar of India and Wanli, emperor of China.

The exhibition is one of oxymorons, at least to the modern eye: of Iranian dandies and Christian slaves forcibly converted to Islam, known as ghulams - we are more accustomed to hearing of Christians as the enslavers and Amnesty campaigns against intolerance of homosexuality in the Muslim world (although these dandies were not necessarily gay in a sexual sense, just in the sense of oversized ugly hats).

In Shah Abbas's time, Isfahan was the Iranian capital. The leader, of the Safavid dynasty, was ruling at a time when many of the roads between east and west began to cross - in warfare, with Shah Abbas embracing the European development of firearms, in diplomacy, with a letter in Na sat 'liq, or hanging, script, from the Shah to Charles I on display. There's no mention of a reply - perhaps the king had other things on his mind; in trade - one section of the exhibition reveals a variety of porcelain objects received by Shah Abbas from his predecessors and from visiting ambassadors, and bequeathed to a shrine - a 14th century porcelain serving dish with a phoenix decoration being one particularly striking example. The dish symbolised the economic relationship between Iran and China - Iran sold cobalt to China but lacked the clay to make the
dishes themselves, so cobalt became prized in Chin and the finished article became an object of desire in Iran.

A portrait of Teresa Shirley, dated 1628 and by an unknown artist, dominates one display. She stands alongside her partner and fellow traveller to the lands of Shah Abbas. At first glance, it is reminiscent of so many stately Elizabethan pictures of noble ladies, the bejewelled outfit, the serene white skin, but in her hand she clasps a gun - this is no ordinary Elizabethan lady, and her image contains a portent of how we engage with Iran in the modern era.

There are many glimpses of into the life of rich Iranians in the late 16th century - luxurious carpets, a lamp stand - likely a wedding present, as the inscription reads: 'The instant when you throw the veil from your moon-like face will be the sunrise of our happiness'. Religion was, of course, paramount. Shah 'Abbas's devotion is apparent from the 965km pilgrimage he made on foot to the shrine of Imam Riza, where he performed menial tasks - I can't recall a European monarch, despite many examples of piety, making such a humble gesture. The exhibition ends with a video display of the architectural legacy of Shah Abbas, the mindboggling circles of geometric shapes, interspersed with the occasional bird, in the ceilings of mosques, the Romanesque exactitude of shrines, perfectly ordered in both design and decoration, utterly cool
repelling the heat of a Persian sun.

Literary landmarks

2009-03-23T06:44:00.001-07:00

I wrote this as a submission to Mslexia magazine three or four years ago. They rejected it (and the older and wiser me can see why!!) but what are blogs for if not posting crap that people won't pay to read. Ahem.

The Tragedy of Mariam, Faire Queen of Jewry by Lady Elizabeth Cary

SALOME: Why should such privilege to man be given?

Or given to them, why barred from women then?

Are men than we in greater grace with Heaven?

Or cannot women hate as well as men?

I’ll be the custom-breaker: and begin

To show my sex the way to freedom’s door (Act 1.4)

SALOME: Though I be first that to this course do bend,

I shall not be the last, full well I know…

I mean not to be led by precedent,

My will shall be to me instead of Law. (Act 1.6)

A Jacobean closet drama set in 35 BC might not be your usual choice of bedtime reading but The Tragedy of Mariam, Faire Queen of Jewry is not just any old tragedy: it was the first play written by an English woman ever to be published. Unlike the male heavy weights of Elizabethan and Jacobean drama – Shakespeare, Marlowe, Webster, Middleton - Lady Elizabeth Cary’s play, which was published in 1613, about a decade after she wrote it, rarely makes it on to degree courses, let alone A-level or GCSE syllabuses. Mariam has mainly appealed, unsurprisingly, to feminist critics but this seldom-performed play deserves a much wider audience.

Cary had a fascinating life, so fascinating, in fact, that one of her daughters wrote a posthumous biography of her entitled The Lady Falkland: Her Life. She was born into a noble family and by the age of 19 she was married to one of King James I’s wealthy courtiers, Sir Henry Cary, Viscount Falkland. Elizabeth was precocious, even as a child, and learnt to read Latin, Spanish, French and Hebrew. Although she was renowned among her contemporaries for her impressive capabilities as a translator, it is her dramatic account of the life of Mariam, wife of Herod the Great, upon which her reputation rests.

Mariam tells the story of the eponymous heroine’s relationship with her tyrannical husband who murdered Mariam’s grandfather and brother before marrying her to secure his right to the throne. In the first act Herod is missing, presumed dead, and we see Mariam torn between the grief that is required of her as a bereaved wife and the hatred she feels for Herod, who has decreed that in the event of his death, she should also be killed.

When Herod returns in the fourth act, Mariam ‘with solemn vows forswears his bed’, because of his cruelty towards her. Herod’s sister, Salome, starts rumours that Mariam has been unfaithful and Herod finds it easy to believe in Mariam’s infidelity, as by withdrawing sexual favours, she has already asserted the independence of her mind and body from him. Mariam is then condemned to death as an adulterer but, ironically, it is Salome who has been having an affair, and who has vowed to divorce her husband, Constabarus, in order to be with her lover Silleus (see excerpts).

In many ways Salome is the true heroine of this play. When described by Mariam in Act One as a ‘mongrel: issu’d from rejected race’, Salome retorts that both women were ‘born of Adam, both were made of earth’. And Salome remains the more engaging character; Mariam accepts her duty as Herod’s wife: it is only because of his cruelty towards her other male relations, who also commanded her loyalty, that she is torn between love and hatred for him. But Salome, shockingly for the age, questions her duty to any man.

Cary’s play has often been seen as a discourse on marriage in the early modern period, by critics who have taken Cary’s own troubled marriage as their starting point. She had 11 children by Sir Henry but when a rumour circulated at court that Lady Elizabeth was planning to convert to Catholicism (a forbidden religion in paranoid post-Guy Fawkes England) Sir Henry seized their children and cut her off from all financial support. It took the intervention of Henrietta Maria, wife of King Charles I, to enact a reconciliation between the two. Relations between Cary and her husband remained strained until 1633, when Henry lay on his deathbed and Elizabeth rushed to his side.

Part of what makes Mariam so interesting is that it gives us a female perspective on a wife’s obligation to be silent, obedient and chaste, to contrast with contemporary works by male playwrights, such as The Duchess of Malfi and The Taming of the Shrew. Through Mariam and Salome’s soliloquies, Cary vocalises views on marriage that were radical at the time, and remained so for over 200 years.

The fight for equal marriage rights was largely won in the 1880s when two parliamentary acts gave married women rights to their property and their children. The subject matter of Cary’s play has therefore been addressed, but sadly the phenomenon of published women being lonely figures within a male dominated literary landscape has not.

Lost Voices from the same era

Aphra Behn (1640-89) is probably the most famous near-contemporary writer to Elizabeth Cary, and her Oroonoko, about an enslaved prince, is definitely worth reading. However, another female dramatist, Margaret Cavendish, was writing at the same time. Although she is probably best known for her plays, The Unnatural Tragedy and Youth’s Glory and Death’s Banquet, her importance as a political writer is increasingly being recognised. In Philosophical and Physical Opinions (1655) Cavendish wrote on the plight of women: “We are kept like birds in cages to hop up and down in our houses, not suffered to fly abroad … we are shut out of all power and authority.”

Thrones and thrills in Germany

2007-10-16T09:59:00.000-07:00

If I told you that in little over a week I traversed five countries, abused four languages and dipped my toes in no fewer than three rivers, you might think I’d ended up somewhere a little more exotic than, well, Germany.

Germany is a nation famous for its sausages and beer, and, you might think, a strange holiday destination for a cider-loving vegetarian. But there was a very specific reason that I wanted to visit Germany. I wanted to see a chair.

At university, a tutor attached a note to my holiday reading list saying: “I suggest you visit the Carolingian treasures in the Ashmolean museum, and why not take a trip or two to Aachen as well?” I was studying the Carolingians — a 8th-10th century Frankish dynasty, that, when divided, gave birth to the nebulous entities that would one day become the countries we now know as our European cousins, France and Germany.

The most famous Carolingian is Charlemagne, who was crowned the first Holy Roman Emperor in 800AD, and it was his chair, or, er, “mein Thron” as he might have said, that I went to see. Imagine a stunning seat of incandescent majesty, six-feet high, littered with iridescent jewels, refulgent in its sanctity.

Then forget all that. For Charlemagne’s throne is a simple, slightly squat affair, made from grubby marble that bears the marks of Roman soldiers who used the surface, perhaps as many as six hundred years earlier, to keep score while playing games. But it is beautiful. It’s doubtful whether seeing this humble throne would have helped me do better in my finals, but still, of all the thrones in the world it’s the one I’d most like to sit on.

Once I’d had my moment at the foot of Charlemagne’s throne, I was free to experience the many other treasures that southwest Germany has to offer. From Aachen, it was a short trip to Cologne, which does not so much boast to but smugly taunt the visitor with its monstrous blackened cathedral — Germany’s largest. The view from the cathedral spire is, apparently, breath-taking, but unfortunately, despite making it to the top, I was too petrified to let go of the railing to enjoy the vista — next time I’ll find a gothic bungalow to climb.

After trembling down the steps of the spire to the touristy square surrounding the cathedral, I stepped aboard the Schoko Express to Cologne’s second-most famous attraction — the Lindt schokoladen museum.

Now, Germans aren’t renowned for their parsimony, but I must warn you that the free chocolate that we were given on arrival at the museum was smaller than a slug pellet.

And this is deliberate, for the chocolate museum is a uniquely sensuous experience, as the upper part of the museum is a working factory — the sight of chocolate melts before your eyes and the smell of chocolate maddeningly wafts over your skin as the woman from the Marks and Spencer adverts whispers the sweetest of sweet nothings into your ear. In German. It’s not unusual to see people drool into tissues as they approach the exit, and barge small children out of the way so that they can splash all their euros on a three-inch Lindt rabbit.

After the chocolate museum it was time for something a little more educational in the form of Cologne’s Romisch-Germanisches museum. Visitors are greeted by an enormous and rather intimidating grave monument to Poblicius, but after this rather startling memento mori, we found the museum contains fragments of everyday life for Romans and natives living along the Rhine in the first century AD and beyond — from the patterns they chose for their mosaics to the way they decorated their hair.

From gothic Cologne it was on to Roman Trier, a beautiful city in the Moselle valley dating from 15BC, where the Roman exhibits are not in glass cases but on street corners and in the town centre. The Porta Nigra, or Black Gate, marks the ancient entrance to the city, from which Romans would pour hot liquids on unwelcome visitors. The city also contains three thermal baths, an amphitheatre and the awesome Konstantinbasilika, Constantine’s throne room.

After moseying down the Moselle we were inclined to try the vineyards on the banks of the Rhine Rhine. The journey down the great river lined with tempting vine-yards and fairytale castles was arduous to say the least, with
water, water everywhere and only wine to drink.

But no good journalist with a protestant work ethic could fail to visit the neighbouring Rhineland towns of Mainz and Worms, linked to the birth of printing and Protestantism. It was in Mainz that Johannes Gutenberg —
without whom none of us would have jobs — was born and lived, and the town is extremely proud of its local hero.

Not a romantic genius or a Protestant enthusiast bringing sacred knowledge to the people, Gutenberg was primarily an entrepreneur who invented a printing press in the early 15th century that first allowed bibles, and then all manner of books, to be produced rapidly and accurately, from sacred texts and songs to works of horticulture, anatomy and the first replicated images on the page, thereby paving the way for The Sun, nearly six hundred years later, to delight men up and down the UK with three million neatly printed page three girls each day.

And so would I recommend Germany to other cider-loving vegetarians? Rather than simply “getting by” in a carnivorous country, I discovered that Germany has rather a lot to offer, particularly in May when the fields are splashed with strawberries, when the bakeries offer a delicious variety of cakes and breads including my favourite — to eat not to order — sonnenblumenkernbrot, and when the asparagus, or spargel as Germans call it, begins to be harvested. German asparagus is quite unlike ours. It’s white, slightly stringy but soft and with a texture almost more like a fruit than a vegetable. It is often served with just butter or potatoes, and many glasses of wine. The Rhineland produces some of the most exquisite wine I’ve ever tasted, from the raucous Weinstube taverns of Mainz to the gentle Weingut dotted in the fields around Trier.

And Germany harbours a dark, ciderous secret known as Apfelwein or Viez. It’s not on the menu, it arrives in big ceramic tankers, and it’s pronounced feets — possibly because it’s a mean feat to finish a glass, or perhaps just because it smells a bit like well-worn socks. I first discovered it in an al fresco restaurant on the banks of the Rhine in Trier, while eating some freshly caught fish.

Half-way through the tankard, it occurred to me that a) Viez is stronger than ordinary cider and b) I was sufficiently tipsy to fancy a trip to a nearby rock festival. Three Viez, five euros and ten minutes later I arrived at Rock Total, which can only be described as the Glastonbury festival’s long-lost poverty stricken cousin. Amid the sticky tables, beer-soaked grass and everso cheery Germans — “Ja, I want to be a Rock Star! Neine, Ich bin eine Rock Star!” — I was left pondering gently if Charlemagne ever spilt Viez on his throne.

Hedge pledge

2007-07-25T10:40:00.001-07:00

Ok, so none of the pledges is actually about hedges, but I quite like this sort of thing as it makes me feel good about myself as I d a lot of green stuff already, and because we should encourage councils to spend money on positive things, not just cleaning up dog shit and not giving out late licences.

My pledges
* Push the off button and don't leave electrical appliances on standby: I already
* Sign up for a Home Energy Check with the Energy Saving Trust: Not yet
* Walk short journeys of one mile or under: I already
* Drive down vehicle emissions and run my car in a more environmentally friendly way: Not yet
* Use the orange sack or orange banks to recycle all my paper and card, tins and cans, aerosols, glass bottles and jars and plastic bottles: I pledge to
* Drink tap water rather than bottled water: I pledge to
* Turn off the tap when brushing my teeth: I already
* Replace one bath a week with a shower: I already
* Stop taking plastic carrier bags from shops: I pledge to
* Write a shopping list and stop buying more food than I need: I pledge to
* Not use pesticides in my garden: Not yet
* Plant a window box: Not yet
* Leave washing to dry in the open air instead of using the tumble dryer: I already
* Replace all light bulbs in my home with energy saving bulbs when they run out: I pledge to
* Get on my bike and cycle to school or work: Not yet
* Leave my car at home and use public transport to go to work: I already
* Reduce the amount of junk mail I receive: I already
* Find a new home for unwanted household items: I pledge to
* Put a Hippo or a save-a-flush device in my toilet cistern: Not yet
* Use water collected in a water butt to water my garden: Not yet
* Buy products made from recycled materials, such as paper for my printer: Not yet
* Have milk delivered by local milk man: Not yet
* Give a home to birds by putting up a nesting box: Not yet
* Plant native plants in my garden: Not yet
* Sign up to a renewable energy provider: I already
* Insulate my home effectively: Not yet
* Join a car club or car share: Not yet
* Take a 'no flying' holiday this year: Not yet
* Use a home composter for my garden and kitchen waste: Not yet
* Encourage my school or work place to set up a recycling scheme: I already
* Have my water company install a water meter: I already
* Volunteer to make Wandsworth's waterways cleaner and more bio diverse places: Not yet
* Use green cleaning products: I already
* Reduce my 'food miles' by buying seasonal fruit and vegetables produced in the UK whenever possible: I pledge to
* Construct a pond to provide homes for water loving wildlife: Not yet
* Use grey water to water my garden: Not yet

Divine trinities

2007-06-07T13:22:00.000-07:00

I often get forwarded curious personal questionnaires by friends and more distant acquaintances that use the banal "what colour socks are you wearing today?" as a pathway into the slightly more profound "what is your biggest regret?".

Alone as I was in the pub one night this week, and, if only I had been aware of them then, pondering these words from George Eliot "What loneliness is more lonely than distrust?", I devised my own "our survey sayeth" by which to analyse myself and face the challenge of choosing my three…

1) occasions when a pint tastes best
2) things that people could say to you that would make you go out and buy something specific
3) characters from literature/personalities from history that you would least like to spill your pint on
4) ridiculous email chain letters or offers that you've forwarded or been tempted to
5) photos that you would least like to see
6) philosophical theories or religious doctrines that you adhere to, in your own words
7) aspects of England that you'd most miss if you were exiled
8) people you think it would be most lucrative to your financial or emotional health to be truthfully able to say you had kissed
9) characteristics that you dislike in other people but occasionally see in yourself
10) titles of books that you would like to write if you were given a publishing contract, £100,000 and a teasmade

I hope you don't gobray today

2007-03-29T08:22:00.000-07:00

From Toller, via Mark. A lovely route, I might say.

These are some verbs from the northeast Indian Bodo langauge.

mokhrob: to express anger by a sidelong glance
egthu: to create a pinching sensation in the armpit
khale: to feel partly bitter
khonsay: to pick an object up with care as it is rare or scarce
onguboy: to love from the heart
onsay: to pretend to love
onsra: to love for the last time
gagrom: to search for a thing below water by trampling
goblo: to be fat (as a child or infant)
asusu: to feel unknown and uneasy in a new place
gabkhron: to be afraid of witnessing an adventure
serrom: to examine by slight pressing
bunhan bunahan: to be about to speak, and about not to speak
khar: to smell like urine or raw fish
khen: to hit one's heart
gobray: to fall in a well unknowingly

Carnal fruit

2007-03-28T02:02:00.000-07:00

I'm pretty sure that cider didn't exist in Biblical times, although it would have been interesting to see how the Garden of Eden turned out if they'd worked out how to ferment the fruit of the tree of life. But if cider had been around, some Biblical references to it might have been…

As is written in Holy Scripture, Drink ye not the brew of the fruits of the apple tree lest thy neighbour mock thee for thy philistine palate, saith the LORD.

The fruits of the SPIRIT art thus: Faith, Hope and Cider. And the greatest of these is Cider.

Verily I say unto ye, the man who scores because of the effects of Satan’s brew shall have the mark erased from his bedpost for such unions please not the LORD.

Ich bin hier fremd

2007-03-22T09:18:00.000-07:00

I found this CiF article on MigrationWatch interesting for three reasons; firstly, because the respondents are, in the main, supportive of MW's existence and agenda, and critical of the article. I wonder if this is indicative of an increasing divide between the politics of TG's readership and that of GU's readership. Or just suggests that free speech forums on the web represent nothing more than those who have the time, the ability and the strength of feeling to respond.

Secondly, the author of the piece responds to some of the comments about half way down — I have previously wondered whether the commentators ever read the comments that their comment begets. I was also amused by the author's retort that "I'm old so I can't be ageist". I'm not sure how successfully that argument is used in regard to other isms.

Finally, I had not considered, prior to reading this article, the possibility that immigration is supported by some sectors of the economic Right as a way to divide the unionism of the Left and undermine the working classes by providing cheaper labour and preventing the source of that cheaper Labour from uniting with their fellow class members, because of supposed linguistic, cultural and other divides.

Phew.

Swap shop

2007-03-22T07:22:00.000-07:00

This is a rather fun alternative to recycling or trundling down to Oxfam, and it's just like being back at school again (except for the 18 certificate DVDs and the distinct lack of marbles).

Don't fly with me

2007-03-22T07:09:00.000-07:00

First point, isn't it rather curious that Gordon's parting gesture as Labour Chancellor of the Exchequer should be cutting income tax? I can't understand why, in a country with such a massive range of incomes, there should be such crude (and low) income tax bands. Probably because I'm not an economist but hey.

Right, I followed with interest (on a quiet day in the office) developments in the main parties' green policies. Yes, it does seem that aviation emissions get disproportionately bad press, because they are much smaller than many industry emissions, mainly power stations.

But they are one of the most rapidly rising areas of emissions, which is, I think, why it's right to try to slap them down now. A cabinet policy review paper says: "On current trends aviation would be equivalent to 26% to 44% of the UK's emission target by 2050" (quoted in The Guardian). I do wish, though, that just some of the money spent on curtailing aviation emissions was redirected to creating a fast and fantastic EU railway system. It aint gonna happen soon though.

I'm not against government initiatives (although I do question the fairness of directing so many emissions reduction policies at individuals, rather than businesses). But I increasingly feel that I can only deal with my own emissions (no pun intended) and so chose to recycle, avoid flying and driving, and change to a green power provider (I will soon, honest). I feel, now, that there is no point in switching off other peoples' computers, recycling their rubbish, dissuading them from exotic travel. It may be my problem, but it's not my business. I quit you all.

More fun with words

2007-02-28T02:22:00.000-08:00

Back in August (August!) I posted some winning entries from the Washington Post's neologism contest. Here are some more, courtesy of Quietly Breathing… I've added an asterisk to the ones I don't get, so you can either just laugh at me or explain 'em.

Willy-nilly (adj.), impotent.
Gargoyle (n.), olive-flavored mouthwash*.
Flatulence (n.), emergency vehicle that picks you up after you are run over by a steamroller.
Testicle (n.), a humorous question in an exam.
Rectitude (n.), the formal, dignified bearing adopted by proctologists.
Pokemon (n), a Rastafarian proctologist.
Oyster (n.), a person who sprinkles his conversation with Yiddishisms*.
Frisbeetarianism (n.), the belief that, when you die, your soul flies up on to the roof and gets stuck there.
Circumvent (n.), an opening in the front of boxer shorts worn by circumcised men.

The Washington Post's style invitational asked readers to take any word from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting or changing one letter, and supply a new definition.

Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.
Foreploy (v.): Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid.
Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period.
Inoculatte (v.): To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.
Hipatitis (n.): Terminal coolness.
Osteopornosis (n.): A degenerate disease.
Karmageddon (n.): When everybody is sending off all these really bad vibes, right? And then the Earth explodes and it's a serious bummer.
Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito that gets into your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.
Caterpallor (n.): The colour you turn after finding half a grub in the fruit you're eating.
Ignoranus (n.): A person who's both stupid and an asshole.

And one I offer myself (with mild-mannered assistance from Gutenberg):
Pubterfuge (n.): The processes a man goes through (such as chewing gum, dousing himself in copious amounts of aftershave) to conceal from his girlfriend that he has been to the pub.

Polly put the…

2007-02-26T10:35:00.000-08:00

… recycling in a bag.

I've discovered this company, which is primarily a polythene manufacturer, but which takes polythene bags from the public to recycle. An admirable gesture, I must say, and particularly useful as many council recycling schemes do not take polythene products.

Send polythene bags to:
Recycling Department
Polyprint Mailing Films
Rackheath Industrial Estate
Rackheath
Norwich
NR13 6LJ

But I suggest you visit here first, for a more detailed description of the company's recycling policy.

This little piggy... was unfancied

2007-02-26T09:14:00.000-08:00

I have signed up to Wordsmith. These peeps send me a word each day, to amuse, intrigue and inspire me. Occasionally it's a word I already know, but more often than not it's a word I have never heard of but desperately try to remember to impress my liguaphile friends.

Last week was porcine week for the wordsmiths, to celebrate Chinese new year. I particularly like this word:

epigamic (ep-i-GAM-ik) adjective Of or relating to a trait or behavior that attracts a mate. Examples: In an animal, bright feathers or big antlers. In a human, a sports car or a big bust. [From Greek epigamos (marriageable), from epi- (upon) + gamos (marriage).]

I'm not entirely sure how it would be used (would epigamic behaviour make one more nubile, not that I particularly want to be, you understand?) but Michael and I decided that the antonym might be altogether funnier. Suggestions on an e-card please…

Also, and this is directed at the linguistically aware scientists among you, I seem to remember that sex cells were described to me by my GSCE biology teacher (who, incidentally, used to walk around with his flies undone) as gametes. Does this word have an etymologically similar path to epigamic? Surely the Greeks didn't use words for marriage and sex interchangeably? Anyway…

P.S. I've always found a sports car to be a rather sterile epigamic gesture… although there was a ruffian in my youth called Shane who rode a rather loud motorbike.

Limburger? LIMBURGER??

2007-02-26T09:13:00.000-08:00

I am very unhappy to discover what type of cheese I am.

http://www.astradyne.co.uk/cheese/

Hindering hands

2007-02-02T06:22:00.000-08:00

As previous perusers of this blog will know, I have a particular interest in the media coverage of AIDS and HIV, which seem to me to be diseases politicised like no others.

Tim's 'holidaying' in Kenya and Cameroon led me to the BBC's Africa news section, and I'd like to draw your attention to these articles.

On the Gambian president's cure claims...

On a setback in trials of an 'anti-AIDS' drug...

Having your cake and reading it

2007-02-01T10:50:00.000-08:00

I know this makes me a frightful Tory, but I've recently taken to visiting the Telegraph website.

This is partly because of their adverts on the tube about reading a quality newspaper in the afternoon, which amused me. It seems to be impossible to travel around London without being offered a free newspaper at the moment. I'm tempted to apply to write a column in the London Paper, but alas the only topic I can think of it along the lines of, 'just because it's free doesn't mean it's any good'.

My brief conversion to the Telegraph is also because I'm tiring a little of the Guardian. Yes I know I'm demographically and socially and politically destined to read the Guardian, but it's tiresome to read a story on climate change and then have to block a flights pop-up.

And nothing the Guardian says challenges me anymore. I broadly agree with most of what they say, although I think the newspaper's stance is probably slightly more liberal than mine. And so I do sometimes turn to the Telegraph, the Spectator, and such like, in the hope of reading something that will amuse or shock or anger.

So I was pleased to come across Boris' column in the Telegraph. The headline had me reaching for my pink address books (girls awake! we have a mission!) so imagine my disappointment when I found myself interested rather than annoyed by what he had to say.

The article is not flawless. The fact that a married man with four children is writing an article on the resurgence of women casts some doubts over his claim that the glass ceiling can now be permeated. And I was intrigued by the concept of rising IQs - can you make yourself more intelligent (not that, I'm sure, any of my readers need to)?

But all in all, I finished the article satisfied, if not to the equivalent of eating a large slice of chocolate cake, at least to the extent of a fair-sized muffin.

A maxim moment

2007-01-22T06:10:00.000-08:00

This aphorism would be seven words long if it were six words shorter.

Thought for the day

2007-01-22T02:07:00.000-08:00

…courtesy of Rich.

"No matter how much money you give a homeless person for a cup of tea, you will never get that cup of tea."

Choo choose!

2007-01-11T08:13:00.000-08:00

I have little choice but to travel by train (or another form of public transport) as I don't have a car and was not a particularly confident driver when I did have my little racing car Mini.

But the price of train tickets incenses me. It's utterly illogical — why is a single not half the price of a return? how can it be cheaper to fly to mainland Europe than get a train to the south coast? why do trains operatoring companies insist on including excessive numbers of first-class seats on trains, while people in standard class are cramped together or forced to stand? — and completely out of keeping with the supposed green credentials of the the main UK political parties.

So I was pleased to discover this article in the Guardian on how to reduce the price you pay for train travel — especially as my young persons railcard runs out in but a few days...

Ein hilarous...

2006-12-14T05:25:00.000-08:00

...joke from Tim...

“Doctor, won’t you please kiss me?” the patient asked.

“No. You’re a very beautiful woman, but it’s against my code of ethics” replied her doctor.

“Please, just one kiss” she pleaded, "Just a little one."

“Sorry,” said the doctor sternly. “It’s totally out of the question. I shouldn’t even be fucking you.”

Papal update

2006-11-23T03:29:00.000-08:00

You may remember my August posts entitled Why I prefer the Indy and A Little More. Here's something more from The Guardian on the same issue - Catholicism and HIV - which I found interesting, although I think that the statement:

"The rethink [of whether to allow contraceptives for Aids prevention, rather than as a method of birth control], commissioned by Pope Benedict following his election last year, could save millions of lives around the world"

possibly underestimates the other barriers (no pun intended) to the widespread use of condoms.

Chomp chomp

2006-11-22T08:54:00.000-08:00

If anybody fancies reading something fragmentary, confusing, recondite, but strangely intriguing, here it is.

Tapping the Polish voter

2006-11-16T07:27:00.000-08:00

According to The Guardian's Backbencher email, a soiree is being held on November 21 to discuss The Polish Voter and what Labour can do to attract him or her. EU citizens have the right to vote in local, regional and European elections.

The venue? The Plumbers' Arms in Westminster.

A warming tale

2006-11-16T06:12:00.000-08:00

A little bit of info about the town of Warminster, where I grew up.

Following this link is probably as close to the place as you should actually go...

Wealth without conscience anyone?

2006-11-13T10:20:00.000-08:00

"Seven blunders of the world that lead to violence: wealth without work, pleasure without conscience, knowledge without character, commerce without morality, science without humanity, worship without sacrifice, politics without principle."
— Mahatma Gandhi (1869-1948)

So I guess playing the national lottery is out...

Dark and stormy nights

2006-11-13T09:43:00.000-08:00

"She wasn't really my type, a hard-looking but untalented reporter from the local cat box liner, but the first second that the third-rate representative of the fourth estate cracked open a new fifth of old Scotch, my sixth sense said seventh heaven was as close as an eighth note from Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, so, nervous as a tenth grader drowning in eleventh-hour cramming for a physics exam, I swept her into my longing arms, and, humming 'The Twelfth of Never,' I got lucky on Friday the thirteenth."
— Wm. W. "Buddy" Ocheltree, Port Townsend, Washington

This novel opening won the Bulwer-Lytton for the worst conceivable start to a story. I recently finished reading Anna Karenina (or Anna Karenin as it is translated as in my edition), which opens with the line:

"All happy families are alike but an unhappy family is unhappy after its own fashion."

The second part of this statement is certainly borne out in the book, but I doubt that Tolstoy ever gave much thought to happy families. The quote that serves as a epigrammatic prelude to the novel perhaps gives a better indication of the novel's content:

Vengeance is mine,
And I will repay.

Toller is a genius...

2006-11-13T08:39:00.000-08:00

... for on Saturday he cogitatively devised the word 'textonym', meaning the word that a predictive texting mechanism provides instead of the word that you are actually trying to type, such as raregods for sardines and book for cool (apparently book is now common slang for something cool among the younger generation).

Hurty Thirty

2006-11-13T08:29:00.000-08:00

Good news for those among us who fear hitting 30. According to JRR Tolkein, you're not an adult until you're 33...

"Tweens [are what] the hobbits called the irresponsible twenties between childhood and coming of age at thirty-three."

Pesky pixellated pixies

2006-10-26T05:34:00.000-07:00

Oh dear. I've just got pixelated and pixilated confused and that's exactly what Wikipedia told me not to do.

Oh, for an ageless identity

2006-09-29T02:18:00.000-07:00

I have just been asked for ID while attempting to buy a bottle of red wine.

I entered the shop, and asked the assistant for a bottle of red wine, European, that would go with a vegetarian meal so nothing too challenging, costing £6-10.

The assistant duly brushed the dust off an tempting-looking bottle of French red, then, as he approached the till, said: "Do you have any ID?"

"I'm 26!" was my crestfallen reply.

And it's true, I am 26, nearer to 27 than 25, and beyond the age when I should have to carry ID in order to buy alcohol. I may not look 26, but I certainly don't look 17. And I'm fed up of saying "Ah well, I'll be grateful when I'm 30." Grateful for what? Looking like a spotty wretched uneducated contributingnothingtosociety teenager?

And do I have the air of someone who is part way through their A-levels, rather than someone who has two degrees, one enagagement and a number of bereavements under their belt (my pants being where I keep such things)?

I have now been ID'd three times this year; in a pub in early Spring, in a supermarket on my way to Bestival and now in a quite-posh off licence in the City.

And I'm getting increasingly angry about it.

Any advice, Toller?

Planes in the night

2006-09-28T06:39:00.000-07:00

Yet more thoughts to add to the debate on climate change. This is an article from The Independent on how to fly more greenly, and this is information from Friends of the Earth about why night-time and winter flights are worse for the environment than daytime summer lights.

Green wake-up call

2006-09-20T09:21:00.000-07:00

This, from The Guardian, made me smile:

Thank you for entering our competition to win Ecover washing powder. Our competition ends at midnight on September 20.
Winners will receive their prizes shortly after.

So I can expect a knock at about 1am then?

Spider with Penny

2006-09-12T10:28:00.000-07:00

Yes, I know they can't kill you, but this little snippet from The Guardian does little to allay my fears about a spiderous winter as a spinster. Please, please join me to stop climate change. The eight-legged buggers are thriving in the heat.

Why not everything is good

2006-09-07T10:13:00.000-07:00

Technology is a troublesome beast.

[17:54:32] Penny says: hiya hold on!
[17:54:32] Hannah says: Hello Penny
[17:54:52] Penny says: are you ringing me?
[17:54:58] Hannah says: yes i did
[17:55:09] Penny says: everythign ok?
[17:55:18] Penny says: i have my head phones on now
[17:56:00] Penny says: but i can't hear anything...
[17:56:14] Hannah says: do you heai hear you
[17:56:24] Hannah says: i hear you
[17:56:35] Penny says: I can hear nothing
[17:57:33] Hannah says: i hear you
[17:57:45] Penny says: no i still can't hear grr
[17:57:50] Hannah says: do you have your speakers on

Clean before you read

2006-08-30T09:05:00.000-07:00

I must say I rather enjoyed reading this quote from Anthony Burgess' A Dead Man in Deptford:

"You will never instruct the bulk of the nation, the Earl said.

And the heads of a nation do not cry out to know that their power is built on most flimsy foundations. They are quick — I think of the bishops mostly — to instruct the lower sort through the spoken word, since the unwashed are also the unreading, and will even, as with the Marprelate flimflammery, use the playhouse for damning what they wish damned.

What has our Merlin here done to flush a clean wind through the brains of the sausage-chewwers? Faustus could as well have come from the bishops themselves with its flouting of the virtue of knowledge."

My best Elvish impression

2006-08-24T06:37:00.000-07:00

From now on, I wish to be known as Nápoldë Lossëhelin, although close friends can call me Lara Bramble of Willowbottom.

Thank you.

If on a winter's night of 1,000 stars...

2006-08-23T03:00:00.000-07:00

The night before
Ah good. Basically come to Basingstoke, we'll have a top laugh. Only 45 mins from xxx, xxx and xxx, plus it'll be fun trying somewhere new and we can be back home in good time. Curry, couple of ciders and some chat.

The night
Why? Because I'm only 15 mins away that's why!

Wow! So my train has a jacuzzi — although the personal flunky is a bit lackadaisical frankly. A pox on both your houses, lots of love uncle bunkle. x

"Technical expertise will never overcome the fundamental animality of human existence." Discuss. Plus top curry chaps lots of love from downtown 'stoke, x.

This train calls at xxx, xxx and Basingstoke. Which is nice. Well done for doing a Reepacheap. Lol HRH Limpy.

My train has a personalised griffin groomer. Apparently he's fresh out of l'academie du grooming von das griffon. And it smells of wee.

My train has a personalised wee groomer. But he's fresh out of griffins, alas alack.

I am now arriving at xxx. xxx the next station stop. But in my heart I'll always be in Orvieto, mashing up pigeons with Gladys.

My name is Herbert. I live on the second floor. I live upstairs from you. Think you must have seen me before. Fancy a muffin? Lol Herbert x

Fancy a muffin? It won't cost you nuffin. Cos Bob has a job that'll pay for us all. He'll pay for our grieving, he'll pay for our thieving, cos he knows the joys of a Basingstoke mall.

Rubbish. Did anyone else fall asleep on their train and have to be woken by a pretty girl with dribble rolling down their chin?

Yes, except it was my chin and my dribble. Where is Ptolemy? Eh?

Incidentally I want to make it perfectly clear, I am prepared to pay for your muffins but I'm afraid I can't pay for your grieving. I draw the line there.

Ah shit yes sorry I fell asleep in cosmic fairyland. I regain wakinginging in a turd's arse opposite a cowboy child and a woman. I just went through a place called Bramley. HOW DO YOU LIKE THEM APPLES if you see what I mean there yaha. Fucking good work on the limerick front by the way there Bennington, and also on demonic curry action. Pologies on the post curry banter-missing nap, see you soon, have less sex for goodness sake and now, where's my bicycle?

Hi fellas I'm back home in bed. Did I win the back home in bed race?

No because I too am back home in bed, but I have a naked Rocky bar beside me. Beat that bitch. G'might 4eva. Princess Constantwine the sixth.

The morning after
Hi chaps
Great to see you last night. Anyone else feeling particularly windy after that cuzza?
Top japes anyway

I was quite drunk I think and cycled through xxx last night like a bat out of hell, a ginger bat, late for an important meeting with all the other hell-bats and fuelled by a top curry.
Excellent skills on the basingstoke front, who'd've thought it. Something slightly spooky about the whole place though, I mean it was just us and that Saga tour in the whole town, ostensibly.
yrs
twinkle-arse, the my little pony
x

Fun with words

2006-08-17T08:06:00.000-07:00

The Washington Post has an annual neologism contest, apparently, in which readers are asked to supply alternate meanings for common words. Some of my favourites are...

Coffee (n.), the person upon whom one coughs.
Flabbergasted (adj.), appalled over how much weight you have gained
Abdicate (v.), to give up all hope of ever having a flat stomach
Esplanade (v.), to attempt an explanation while drunk
Negligent (adj.), describes a condition in which you absentmindedly answer the door in your nightgown
Lymph (v.), to walk with a lisp
Balderdash (n.), a rapidly receding hairline

Whoever said Americans are obsessed with their appearance?

The Washington Post's Style Invitational asked readers to take any word from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing one letter, and supply a new definition. Such as...

Giraffiti (n): Vandalism spray-painted very, very high
Sarchasm (n): The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it.
Decafalon (n.): The grueling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you
Glibido (v): All talk and no action
Dopeler effect (n): The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly

And my personal favourite...

Arachnoleptic fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just after
you've accidentally walked through a spider web.

A little more

2006-08-17T04:19:00.000-07:00

Aha, the joys of blogging, or posting things that annoy and then dashing off to make tea and such like. Ok, the main reason why this annoys me is that it's badly written and I think that the Guardian's move towards 'news blogs' and 'comment is free' sections undermines what the paper is trying to do. Ranting about things and posting half-baked opinion pieces thinly disguised as news is something that people like you and me should be doing, not the Guardian.

I'm not sure what the author means by 'backers of a Christian fundamentalist persuasion' - people who back Christian fundamentalists? Christian fundamentalists who back the Bush administration? Christian fundamentalist backers of abstention? But regardless of who she specifically means, it's a mistake to suggest that abstention is simply the method of Aids prevention advocated by the Christian right (or Christian wrong as they should perhaps be called) in the US. It's also the method advocated by many Anglican and Catholic churches across Africa (and people of other religions). In the absence or scarcity of Aids education, prevention or treatment, I don't think it's wrong for those churches to encourage people, wherever they are in the world, to try and limit their number of sexual partners and drug use. It's wrong when it's used in preference to other more effective means of Aids treatment and prevention, and when abstention receives more attention and funding than medical and social programmes and treatment. It's horrible to think of Bush and his cronies pandering to their CRF voters by ploughing money into Aids programmes that emphasise abstention and when that doesn't work to hell with the consequences. It's ridiculous to say use condoms in rich countries but just don't have sex in the developing world. Not just ridiculous, but racist, unfair and ineffective. The problem with this article is that it misunderstands the strength of religious faith (and the dodgy science that often accompanies espousals of that faith) in many parts of the developing world, and how closely related that faith and its manifestations are to certain Christian beliefs in America. The article has a liberal leftie agenda, unsurprisingly for the Guardian, that would be far more alien to people in certain parts of the world where the Aids rate is high than Bush's CRF approach would be.

Argh, this has turned into a bit of a rant and the annoying thing is I agree with the message of the article and I think we should be very wary of how Aids prevention information and education is shared with people who need it, and try and ensure that people understand why condoms and microbicides are the only effective and realistic way of preventing people dieing from Aids, rather than suggesting that pretending to abstain and going to church and being a born again virgin will help as well. And we should also try and ensure that when we give money to Aids charities at the money isn't deployed solely or even primarily through local religious organisations.

I just think that anyone who suggests that the majority of the planet's population find it hard not to inject drugs hasn't thought through their article sufficiently before posting it.

Maybe all she needed was a good sub. ;-)

Why I prefer the Indy

2006-08-16T08:28:00.000-07:00

This, from GU, annoyed me:

"To the Bush government and backers of a Christian fundamentalist persuasion, the best way to preventing the spread of HIV/Aids is, in the words of a previous famous first lady, to "just say no". Don't have sex until you are married. Don't sleep with anybody but your partner. Don't inject drugs.

A number of people - to hazard a guess, the majority of the planet's population - don't find these things so easy."

But unfortunately I don't have the time to tell you why.

Hmmm, maybe you can guess.

Not quite the diet coke of evil

2006-08-14T10:57:00.000-07:00

You Are 0% Evil

You are good. So good, that you make evil people squirm.
Just remember, you may need to turn to the dark side to get what you want!

How Evil Are You?

Pernicious Pernicity

2006-08-10T09:58:00.000-07:00

I rediscovered this Tolstoy quote today.

In all history there is no war which was not hatched by the governments, the governments alone, independent of the interests of the people, to whom war is always pernicious even when successful.

Quote unquote

2006-08-08T06:46:00.000-07:00

Two quotes for you to ponder. The first is from anthropologist (and screenwriter, although I presume he was wearing his anthro hat when he wrote this one) Robert Ardrey. The second I have only just discovered but I imagine is widely known in Toller's circles, and is from Carl Jung.

"But we were born of risen apes, not fallen angels, and the apes were armed killers besides. And so what shall we wonder at? Our murders and massacres and missiles, and our irreconcilable regiments? Or our treaties whatever they may be worth; our symphonies however seldom they may be played; our peaceful acres, however frequently they may be converted into battlefields; our dreams however rarely they may be accomplished. The miracle of man is not how far he has sunk but how magnificently he has risen. We are known among the stars by our poems, not our corpses."

"There is no coming to consciousness without pain."

My kneejerk reaction to the first is this. Firstly, I think I'd prefer to think of myself as a fallen angel than a risen ape, although I think I am in reality a combination of both.

Secondly, (hmm, you probably can't have a secondly if it's a kneejerk reaction - let's pretend it's the other knee) if the stars knew me by my poetry they'd think me very odd indeed.

Thirdly (it's an elbowjerk reaction this time) I like the juxtaposition within the quote but can't help feeling that, particularly in the current climate, it sounds a bit like an excuse for war. The fact that we were once armed killers, and no doubt retain many of the genetic features that made us thrive as such, does not mean that elements of the human condition that may have developed at a later date should not now take precedence.

We marvel at the massacres not the treaties because we should know better, and because the treaties sadly seem to have a much shorter legacy than the massacres.

With regard to the second quote, anybody that's known Toller for, well, five minutes or more will know that studying consciousness is a very painful thing, eased only by heavy drinking and heavier chaffering.

Question of the Day

2006-08-07T10:05:00.000-07:00

What's an elastic loaf and where might you find one?

Find the answer here.

Embarrassment exacerbation

2006-08-02T09:32:00.000-07:00

Anyway, it happened a bit like this.

When I first arrived at my current place of employment, I realised that they have a 'policy' of CV sharing. So quite a few of my colleagues have read my CV, which says something ambiguous about me being a published poet (hey, you can post anything on the web!).

If that wasn't embarrassing enough, it's customary for a new employee to be introduced Bridget Jones style over email to the rest of the company. (This is Penny. She likes cider and poetry, and has six toes). So it became known in a few small circles that I write bit of poetry on the side.

One of the girls downstairs (in hell/sales and marketing) discovered one of my odes on t'internet and asked me if she could include it in our in-house newsletter, of which she was editor. Being a newby I said yes. Nothing more was heard of said newsletter for over a year, until, last week, a chunky PDF plopped into my inbox. And as my most frequent commentator requested more poetry, I offer you this.

Sweet like chocolate
The thing that surprised me most,
after your death,
was that I still liked the taste
of chocolate.
I had been warned that
everything would taste bitter.
But no,
chocolate tastes the same.
And life is all the worse for that.

Ding dong belm

2006-08-02T08:40:00.000-07:00

Can anyone help me?

I've just been discovered a new verb: to belm. It means to put your tongue between your lower lip and teeth, and pretend to be stupid.

I imagine it is an extension of 'doh!' and perhaps used in the same way as 'dur', which means, as I understand it, to imitate a scoper, the modern euphemism for a disabled person, frequently overheard in playgrounds to describe people regardless of ability. Children are so cruel.

Apparently 'belming' is common among online communities, and I imagine that it has an emoticon or acronym to accompany it. But unless it was first used in Lower Saxony, I cannot discover any etymology for the word 'belm'. All I can think is that it is a corruption of bell, which stems from the appearance of the chin while containing a tongue.

Hmm, I seem to have gone all pretentious. Unlike this fun balderdash and piffle precursor.

Any takers?

Feed the world, make it a better place?

2006-08-02T06:36:00.000-07:00

Charity is tricky.
I'm not a fan of chuggers, believing them to be not just an irritation on the already hard to negotiate streets of London but also frequently the sort of person that I would be reluctant to talk to at a party for fear that their nauseating cheeriness and expectant faces might cause me to reconsider the virtues of violence as a cure of the world's ills.
Clicking on this infamous site, however, is a much less painful experience. All it takes is a little click, just 30 seconds out of the working day if you click on all the colours.
The site owners describe the site as "a leader in online activism". But how active is it to click on this site? It costs little in time and nothing in money, it requires the minimum intellectual engagement, it requires no research no analysis no engagement with the issues.
This is, of course, the main reason for the site's success, with the campaigning extending to funding free mammograms and books, to alleviating child poverty and saving the rain forest. But the point of charity should be stepping towards a more equitable society — if no sacrifice is made then little benefit is gained either.
Obviously on a literal level this is wrong - despite the neutral impact that clicking has on me, somebody, somewhere (if the site is to be believed) is being fed or educated. But on another level, the fact that sites such as this exist — not to introduce people to the delights of oysters but to keep them alive with staple foods, not to provide treatment of breast cancer but to fund its discovery - allows some people to feel good about themselves but does not change the world and makes it less likely that the world will be changed because the status quo is improved marginally, making more extensive or long lasting rebellion or revolution more difficult to create. This is, I appreciate, an old Marxist 'opium' argument.
Charity is not BAD. Many charities and volunteers do immense amounts of good around the world to improve the lives of people, animals and, erm, trees. But it's very difficult, for me anyway, to give selflessly. This is not to say that I want something back - recognition or a warm feeling 'inside'. But I want control over who gets the food, what food they get, which books are disseminated. I don't want poor people to live solely on rice and Shakespeare, and I'm concerned that such simplified charitable gestures as the hunger site ask too few questions and have imperialist overtones. I'm concerned because I haven't heard of America's Second Harvest or Mercy Corps and I'm instinctively wary of a hunger site that gives 30pc of its proceeds to the US, the richest country in the world.
While the charity of individuals can and often is worthwhile, charity, far from beginning at home, is often too individualistic and small-scale. Much of the work of charities - providing free mammograms is a good example - should be done by the state, or some broader national or international organisations. Charity can never be apolitical, so the way to avoid bias is to have a range of opinions compassed or to advertise the bias so that people can withhold their money.
Hmm, maybe the kind of organisation I'm thinking of could be called a meta-governmental philanthropic fund. Or an apolitical alms collection and distribution service.
Or maybe we should just call it a charity.

Golden Grahams

2006-07-10T10:15:00.000-07:00

I had an accursed journey into work today as I'd ommitted to bring any reading material with me. I had Earthly Powers and Amsterdam in my rucksack, but only to pass on to someone else as I've just read them. Then I noticed that the woman opposite me was reading a book of poetry by Scottish women, and I decided to make it a miniaim of the day to discover some poetry and share it with you. It should be noted that the woman reading the book of poetry by Scottish women was stupid. She sat on the seat nearest the aisle, despite that the window seat was free, and pointed her knees out in the aisle so that people kept bashing into her book as they passed. She tutted, they frowned, I tittered. Then, after discovering the poems that follow, I chuckled loud and long.

L'enfant Glacé by Harry Graham
When baby's cries grew hard to bear
I popped him in the frigidaire.
I never would have done so if
I'd known that he'd be frozen stiff.
My wife said: 'George, I'm so unhappé!
Our darling's now completely frappé!

And this...
Tender Heartedness
Billy, in one of his nice new sashes,
Fell in the fire and was burnt to ashes;
Now, although the room grows chilly,
I haven't the heart to poke poor Billy.

I particularly like the titles.

It's the 060606 affect...

2006-06-06T10:15:00.000-07:00

I'm not saying that everyone hates me but if they did, this would be why:
My boss hates me because I'm a secret ponophobe and this is not an LPG crib sheet
My best friend hates me because he can never be my bridesmaid
Lynne Truss hates me because I can never remember whether it should be that effect or which affect
The other Lynn hates me because I turned out to be more normal than she'd hoped
My wee wan friend hates me because I'm insufficiently sympathetic to her mild anuptaphobia
My cat hates me because Harry Potter won't be cool when she grows up and I don't think I can ever compensate for the aclurophobia of her previous owners
My little brother hates me because there can only ever be one ooother one
Grilbobaggins hates me because I'm never free to play squash
My dad hates me because I never developed peccatophobia, and verred towards homilophobia at one stage (although Elizabeth I cured me of that)
My bus friend hates me because I arrive at work at erratic times, although I guess she should be grateful that neither of us suffer from hodophobia
My boyfriend hates me because I'm a peladophobe, and just haven't told him yet, although he has helped cure me of my pentheraphobia
But lest anyone (either of you...) reading this develop a modern version of scriptophobia, I'll sign off

Bumbling

2006-06-06T10:06:00.000-07:00

I am living like a bee at this moment so hope it will suffice to share this silly site with you.

Font Fascists or Friends?

2006-05-09T03:21:00.000-07:00

A friend recently sent me this link about a group of people who want to ban the comic sans font.

Initially, I thought that this is a harmless kooky idea devised by people with a little bit too much time on their hands (not unlike most bloggers...) but who are making a relatively serious point about homogenisation across the media.

But alarm bells began to clang with unwelcome cacophany when I realised that the opening line on the home page was in need of a sub or two.

"In 1995 Microsoft released the font Comic Sans originally designed for comic book style talk bubbles containing informational help text."

Aside from the fact that a comma wouldn't go amiss, I was distressed by the phrase 'informational help text', and pondered on why they thought the simple 'information' wouldn't have sufficed. So instead of simply replying to the friend who sent me the link with cursory gratitude, I investigated further.

Turning to the statistics section of the site, I was greeted with an almost entire absence of data. I think by statistics they mean suppositions. There are also examples of the comic sans menace... McDonald's, Starbucks. Now am I alone in not expecting typographical stimulation from multinational US companies, companies that design their logos to be appeasing and instantly recognisable? Yes, it would be a shame if everything I read online and in print used the same font, particularly if that font was one as aesthetically unchallenging as Comic Sans, but that will never be the case. And while the proliferation of Comic Sans is possibly a little annoying, there is plenty of typographical innovation to counteract the over-reliance of some on Comic Sans.

But my real problem with this site emerged when I started on the 'about' section.

"The patriarchs of this profession [typography] were highly educated men. However, today the widespread heretical uses of this medium prove that even the uneducated have opportunities to desecrate this art form; therefore, destroying the historical integrity of typography."

An absence of free time means I shall revert to a list format to share why this disturbs me...

* patriachs... men... there are overtones (undertones?) of women coming along and disrupting the typographical canon with their crazy font ideas, dotting 'i's with hearts and the like.
* 'even the uneducated'... the suggestion that only the educated should be allowed to create art, or contribute to the development of art forms, is bizarrely Victorian and hideously elitist, quite aside from any debate as to what narrow pedagogic approaches the Ban Comic Sans group have in mind.
* 'historical integrity of typography'... I'm not sure what this means but the implication is that egalitarian innovation within art (something facilitated in no small part by the expansion of computer literacy in large parts of the world and the increase in PC ownership) is something to be suspicious of. And that we should leave it all to the font fascists.

Blummy. They'll be suggesting that we all revert to pen and paper. I just hope they don't start analysing people's handwriting as mine may well suggest an element of ANGER.

Classic find

2006-04-26T03:08:00.000-07:00

This is not the most comprehensive literary analysis to which you will be exposed, but I'm enjoying sharing with the world what I square I am. You can talk a lot of rubbish about books, but essentially it all comes down to whether or not you like them.
What have I read?
These are the 25 most popular classic books at What Should I Read Next?

I liked it!

I didn't like it!

I want to read it!

Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen

Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte

Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte

Great Expectations - Charles Dickens

Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Little Women - Louisa May Alcott

Emma - Jane Austen

The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn - Mark Twain

A Tale of Two Cities - Charles Dickens

Persuasion - Jane Austen

Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen

Dracula - Bram Stoker

The Adventures of Tom Sawyer - Mark Twain

Tess of the D'Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy

Frankenstein - Mary Shelley

Romeo and Juliet - William Shakespeare

Hamlet - William Shakespeare

The Canterbury Tales - Geoffrey Chaucer

Northanger Abbey - Jane Austen

The Scarlet Letter - Nathaniel Hawthorne

The Jungle - Upton Sinclair

Candide - Voltaire, Norman Cameron

Complete Tales and Poems - Edgar Allan Poe

King Lear - William Shakespeare

Treasure Island - Robert Louis Stevenson

Take the 'What have I read?' test now!
Eight different categories to try!
Buy your books at Amazon US or Amazon UK

WSIRN?

2006-04-26T03:06:00.000-07:00

What have I read?
These are the 25 most popular overall books at What Should I Read Next?

I liked it!

I didn't like it!

I want to read it!

The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown

The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy - Douglas Adams

The Catcher in the Rye - J.D. Salinger

The Great Gatsby - F.Scott Fitzgerald

To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee

1984 - George Orwell

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince - J.K. Rowling

The Time Traveler's Wife - Audrey Niffenegger

His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman

Animal Farm: A Fairy Story - George Orwell

The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien

Life of Pi - Yann Martel

Catch-22 - Joseph Heller

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon

Lord of the Flies - William Golding

Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen

One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Slaughterhouse 5 - Kurt Vonnegut

The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold

The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini

Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden

Ender's Game - Orson Scott Card

The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien

Angels and Demons - Dan Brown

Fight Club - Chuck Palahniuk

Take the 'What have I read?' test now!
Eight different categories to try!
Buy your books at Amazon US or Amazon UK

Easter heroics

2006-04-20T12:47:00.000-07:00

I have just been interrupted by the words "there's another short called Mars". Ah, and to think I once dreamed of working for FHM. I am however pleased to be able to offer these Easter ditties to you, only one of which was written by me... (the other being published illegally and without permission).

Higgledos piggledos
Jesus of Nazareth
Died on Good Friday
And then rose again.
Said to his drinking mates
Messianistically
See you on Sunday
At quarter to ten.

Higgledy piggledy
Judas Iscariot,
apostle whose sense of
the creed was amiss,
'sterious guy who
b'lated and gnostically
proved before Cher that
it's all in his kiss.

Now off to Mars I go.

Similar silliness

2006-03-28T01:09:00.000-08:00

On Saturday night, as we trundled through the mean streets of Forest Hill, Toller used a lovely metaphor:

"Knives on sticks for the eyes of the tall"

A pint of, yes you guessed it, lovely cider, for the first person to tell me what the Ginger King was metaphorising...

UPDATE: Dan wins. The answer was of course umbrellas, (rather than brollies as our common northern friend supposed. Tsk).

And here's the first umbrella poem that came up on Google.

The parasol is the umbrella's daughter,
And associates with a fan
While her father abuts the tempest
And abridges the rain.

The former assists a siren
In her serene display;
But her father is borne and honored,
And borrowed to this day.
By Emily Dickinson

I think rhyming 'fan' with 'rain' is possibly a criminal offence.

Bronze bullets

2006-03-14T07:21:00.000-08:00

Ever since I was a young girl, I've played with the silver, ahem, pen. After reading too much Roger McGough in the years 1998-2004, I was frequently tempted to write silly little pomes that amused few people other than myself. And Toller, occasionally, when he was kind enough to read them. In some ways, posting a selection here exposes the pomes to a wider audience. In other ways, ways that are somewhat closer to reality, the crowd grows tougher but no larger...

The art of seduction
I am a temptress
and leave a lot
to be desired

Hypochondria
I didn't know
if I was born for this —
a doctor's waiting room.
It nearly killed me
trying to find out.

Excess
If I go too far,
Feel free to follow me.

On the accidental bombing of a wedding party in Afghanistan by US pilots
Confetti and hand grenades
Falling from the sky
Looked up to sing Your praise
And got one in the eye

Obviously it wasn't hand grenades but B-52s, but I was concerned that the pome would take on unwelcome love shack undertones.

And something a little longer...

Ordinary
I found a scrap of newspaper
in a book I never read again.
It was the colour of titian,
burnt at the edges,
More like a child's art than heritage.

A piece about Auden,
from the 1940s, a literary man
turning back into pulp.
I think he was young then.

But it broke in my hands
Like overworked glass
Tired of the hedonist's cycle;
Like the dying Chiron
Who summoned hope
Only to say goodbye.

The harder I tried to save him
The more fragmented the message became,
As if it was only ever meant
To be written in the stars.

It was like a letter I once wrote to you
But never sent.
Those over-edited stanzas
Are now stuck to my desk
A reminder,
Keeping me whole.

On the bench

2006-03-13T03:42:00.000-08:00

An excuse is as good as a reason, but a bad excuse does not a good reason make. And, sometimes, the better the excuse the more unreasonable one sounds. So enough of this "Sorry I haven't been in touch for ages", "Let's meet up soon at some unspecified and permanently postponed date", "I've been thinking about you lots but failed to put Pen to keyboard", this excuse from Mary Ann Evans is the one I'll be using from now on.

"It is worthwhile to forget a friend for a week or 10 days ... for the sake of the agreeable kind startle it gives one to be reminded that one has such a treasure in reserve."

Helping Hand

2006-03-09T07:11:00.000-08:00

I am aware, of course that The Guardian probably doesn't need any additional advertising. But I would like to just flag up this piece on God by Terry Jones.

And now I have.

UPDATE: Jbob has kindly sent me Downing Street's response.

The beauty of blasphemy

2006-03-09T06:52:00.000-08:00

Does starting a craze make one crazy? And does one reply constitute a craze? Ponder the answers to these and the other great questions of life while you enjoy this HP...

Higgledy piggledy
Jesus Christ Superstar
Possibly god’s son, caused a commotion.
Complained of his job -
Messianhilistically -
'The only bad thing is no hope of promotion'.
By Toller

The terror of dactyls

2006-03-08T09:10:00.000-08:00

Higgeldy piggeldy
Vyacheslav Molotov
Dined with Von Ribbentrop (German and fink).
They worked out a new pact
Naziappeasingly
Then moved on to cocktails: “It’s time for a drink.”
By James

Today, Jiminy Cricket introduced me to a new and extremely addictive form of poetry. Combining elements of the haiku and the limerick, Double Dactyls — or Higgledy Piggledys as they are more commonly known — are short poems that adhere to a strict set of rules (see below) and often contain a humourous or unexpected ending. During the course of today, subbin' articles on mergers most foul in the European utility sector became increasingly unattractive, while attempts to create my own HP became something of an obsession.
So here you go...

Higgledy piggledy
Feminist Woolstonecraft
Defender of women, their rights and their wrongs
Engendered a monster
Grandmatriacally
And surely thought Shelly a heartless Don John.

The rules are:
An HP always has the same first line
The second line is always a six-syllable name
The fifth line is always a made-up adverb, also of six syllables
The rhyme scheme is abcdec

"An obsession is sudden and o'erwhelming and can be acted upon, rather than a crush, which smoulders away in the back of one's mind."

You are what you drink

2006-03-03T10:44:00.000-08:00

Well I never did. It seems that despite my best attempts to be seen as an alluring and entertaining specimen of the finer sex, I come across as a west country drunkard. My addiction to cider is the aspect of myself, my personality, my soul if you will, that predominates in even the most sober of situations. I'm rambling now, as I await a coal wrap with bated breath...

Cider with Penny

Romantic poetry

2006-03-03T07:12:00.000-08:00

First draft...

Down in Arthur's Camelot
Together we will shagalot
Like Guinevere and Lancelot

Second draft... (with thanks to Gutenberg)

Down in Merlin's Camelot
Together we will shagalot
Like Guinevere and Lancelot
While Arthur dines on Winalot
And drunken vicars sinalot

Answering back

2006-03-02T07:32:00.000-08:00

This amused me...
His coy mistress to Mr Marvell

But for the purists amongst you...
To his coy mistress

Things I wish I'd never done...

2006-03-02T04:59:00.000-08:00

...sent this email (reproduced verbatim) to my tutor at university while very drunk and all kebabed up. Obviously republishing it here makes it all ok.

Firstly, the essay on Mariam in all probability was mine - but seeing as you sent it to me, with the normal explosive marking at least a week ago, in -1st week I think all is sorted. But, however, me 'n' XXX were talking this evening over an Achmeds, about faustus and all that, and we thought you might know. You see, on the one hand, Faustus is just a wee metaphor for what we can never achieve, and what we must always wait for, yet on the other hand, it would be interesting, in a purely literary sense, to know whether he was eternally damned. You see, if he was then, like Giovanni, he commited no other sin than wanting to know, or possess through knowledge, too much. Yet, if he had the cognitive power to realise the insufficiency of his thought, doesn't he deserve, in a humanist vs solifidianist sense to achieve that potential? Is the tragedy of Faustus the ephemerality of his sensual experience, or the fact that he, as an individual with free choice, chooses that over eternity? - the old, 'I believe in the freedom of the will. I have no choice.' Is 24 years a metaphor to Faustus, or does it in fact seem like a sufficient amount of time in which to engage in whatever the world (metaworld, whatever) has to offer, thus can we desire comprehension beyond Edenic assurance? And would we want to? The problem with Faustus is the humanity of his questions. He meets a devil (a devil! what I would say to a devil!) yet merely asks who made the world. Yet surely he is questioning who made his world. If, as I reckon, the play reveals an insight into Faustus' psyche, then the absense of God, renders his syllogism true - he obtains no Grace because Grace requires faith, faith requires legitimate yet inconclusive thought which Faustus doesn't possess because he cannot accomodate it within his reductive pseudo-humanist ideology then Faustus is merely questioning who made his world, not just the world he lives in which is a culmination of renaissance influences, but the world which his interior self inhabits, a world constructed of books without a meaning which transcends brevity. Also, doesn't God say that you cannot see his face? So the absence of God / Christ is necessitated by the grandiose divinity of his existence, thus the devil, however realistic in presentation, is always going to represent the eternal over the existant?
Just wondering.
Have a good/ very good weekend
You know what, I really don't know. Nor do I expect an answer.

Buy and imbibe

2006-03-02T04:09:00.000-08:00

Things I am looking forward to today include... wandering around under a blue Clerkenwell sky and buying a bottle of wine from the off licence I discovered yesterday. Buying wine during work hours seems strangely rebellious, even though I don't intend to drink it until the wizarding hours.

Things I am not looking forward to include... eating fekking pumpkin seeds.

Mixed messages

2006-03-02T02:10:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was a day of misinterpreted messages, when an absence of emails was understood as a reluctance to email, and when the ambiguity of idiomatic English caused distress and heartache.

The confusion continued until around 10.30pm, when I left the Hole in the Wall, an extremely noisy pub next to Waterloo station, and got the train home. A lady, hap a girl, with a delectable western European accent asked me for the newspapers that were on the seat next to me. But I thought she wanted the seat, so snatched the newspapers away saying "No, no, no" (which is what English people say when they mean "Yes, yes, yes"). The man opposite looked at me with loathing, astonished at my selfishness in not sharing the Evening Standard Lite (which is free) and the property section of the Independent (which should be free). I then realised my error, and because I was drunk, decided to rectify the situation and give the newspapers to the lady. But as I neared her seat, cap in hand and tail between legs, the train lurched into Putney and I lurched into the poor woman's lap. "I'm most awfully sorry," I said. "I thought you wanted the seat, not the newspapers, but here they are. I'm leaving now. Good night." She smiled the smile of a foreigner who is eternally grateful not to be English, took the newspapers and bid me au revoir.

Monsters and martyrs

2006-03-01T06:43:00.000-08:00

This is an article I wrote prior to last year's general election. Obviously it's a little dated now, but I think the main argument still holds true. Since writing it, Patricia Hewitt has become health secretary, but I haven't noticed her achieve much since talking on the role...

Monsters and martyrs: why today's women in government are putting me off my vote

Nearly 100 years after Asquith and his Liberal government first rejected a private members bill to give women the vote, we have another general election imminent. The 2005 election will be only the nineteenth time in the history of parliament that women have been able to have a say in who governs them.

This time around, the major political parties have been actively courting the elusive woman's vote. I'm sure most politicians think they could recognise the woman voter a mile off: mid-twenties (to mid-sixties), politically aware but not a news junkie, anxious about pensions (but not the economy), concerned about MMR, MRSA and SATs, anti-war but willing to admit that they find Tony Blair the sexiest of the prime ministerial hopefuls.

But female voters are not a homogenous group and while women are traditionally more consistent voters than men, it is age and class, not sex, which seems to determine whether women turn out on polling day. A report by the Fawcett Society in 2004 concluded that while nearly 70% of middle-class women over 55 voted in 2001, only 20% of working-class women under 24 plan to vote this time around.

Why is the latter group so disengaged from the electoral process? While class and age are relatively good indicators of voting tendencies, the gender gap, as the difference in political attitudes and voting choices between men and women is known, is rather more difficult to explain.

Political engagement does not depend on electing people like yourself: black people can represent white constituents, sexagenarians can represent teenagers and men can represent women. But the relatively small number of female members of both Houses is a problem. And it's a problem across the world. Perhaps surprisingly, Rwanda tops the league table for having the highest percentage of women in parliament. The USA, however, where women have been able to stand for election since 1788, lags China, Angola and Turkmenistan in its number of female representatives.

Much was made of Blair's Babes after the 1997 election. While a number of women have risen to prominent ministerial positions, none have made it to the top of one of the big four: the FCO, the DOH, the MOD or the Treasury. For all the hype surrounding Blair's Babes they remain just that — youngsters in the political game, always giving the impression that they are still learning the ropes. Politically speaking, they've never grown up.

Take, for example, the rise and sharp fall of Estelle Morris who left her job as education secretary because she felt she wasn't up to the job. Or the long line of earnest, well-meaning female ministers — Patricia Hewitt, Harriet Harman, Tessa Jowell, Margaret Hodge - who would fail to give a convincing answer on the Today programme even if they were just asked their name.

The Right seems much better at producing political heroines, even if they are the sort that you love to hate — Margaret Thatcher, Ann Widdecombe and, on the world stage, Anne Coulter and Allesandra Mussolini — women who all emulate the aggressiveness associated with male-dominated politics.

But despite being interesting and powerful figures, Thatcher, who only appointed one woman to her cabinet and couldn't survive without her handbag, and Widdecombe who converted to Catholicism after the Anglican Church began appointing women priests, are hardly feminist icons for today's young women.

Occasionally of course you do get 'villains' on the left as well. Jane Griffith, the ex-Labour MP for Reading East, appeared on breakfast television to call those who condemned the appointment of a gay bishop in Reading bigots, but ran to the notoriously illiberal Daily Mail when she was ousted from her seat by a gay man. Left or right, women in politics are either monsters or martyrs.

But the problem is deeper than simply a lack of inspirational individuals in politics, and the problem of women in government would not be solved simply by having the first Labour or Liberal PM. At the moment, Westminster politics is a man's game and it's very tempting to say "Look at the state it's in! We need more women!" But the so-called feminisation of politics espoused by some of the more prominent female members of Blair's cabinet is not the answer. Who wants a girlie government where everyone remembers each other's birthdays, phone calls double in length and the infamous red button has to be redesigned to match the curtains?

Tessa Jowell said, in an interview with the Guardian in 2002, "We are the most feminist government in history, but we still have to feminise the process of government. We have to engage better and more directly with people at home, abandoning some of the confrontational aggressive language of politics that turns people off."

But instead of feminising government, we should be politicising women in a radical and active way. Voting is a right and, as it is not a right that everybody in the world shares, it is a privilege. But that does not make it an obligation.

Women have a history of political activism outside the ballot box: the prison reform movement, the Greenham Common protests against nuclear weapons, Women Against Pit Closures, the wages for housework campaign, the English Collective of Prostitutes, the campaign against pornography. The list could go on. While men in suits have been dining in Westminster, women in cardigans have dominated non-governmental politics. But though often effective, these have been issue-based protests, which ended when the problem was either resolved or no longer the in-thing.

The separation of small women's issues from large men's politics, like the separation of Women's Hour and women's pages on the radio and in newspapers, reiterates the assumption that the hard stuff should be left to the boys. We need a change from big personalities, big policies and big parties to small politics, where local government of local people concerned with small-scale issues ? even if they are part of a much bigger picture, prevails.

Premature emancipation

2006-03-01T06:27:00.000-08:00

Deary me. That was all terribly easy. I feel like a cat who's got the cream, only to discover that it's got bird flu as well.

Blogging eh? What larks! They will get better, I promise...