The Order was the 1950s version of internet shopping. It was of course only very local. Every Tuesday or Wednesday you delivered a list of your requirements to the local grocer & on Friday a delivery boy toiled up the hill on his bike - one of those heavy ones with a frame on the front to hold the carton of groceries. Yes, it really was as Hovis as that
The goods had to be carefully checked against the order. The prices had to be checked, as well as the arithmetic of the total sum owing. It was important to register any complaints with the grocer - goods out of stock, quality not up to scratch, prices outrageous - before settling up, to demonstrate that you were a careful housewife who knew what was what. But it was also important to give praise where praise was due; that too ensured good service.
My Nana used small black notebooks for her order - my mother just used to use pieces of paper. How I wish I had thought to ask for those books when Nana died; but of course that was the last thing on my mind
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Monday, December 25, 2006
An Anglo Saxon Christmas
My name is Leonilla but my friends call me Lilla. My father was a thegn and I had three brothers; the eldest was killed fighting for our king. When I was still a child my mother gave me to the abbess here because I wanted to learn to read and to study the word of God. The abbess is a great and noble lady, the daughter of a king, and very learned
The monastery has grown - we even had builders and glaziers over from France to build a stone church & to make coloured glass for the windows and to teach some of our brethren how to make glass. They have made lamps for the church and now everyone can see the pictures
The brothers sleep in their own quarters separated from our dormitories by a thick hedge, but we share the refectory and the church and sisters work alongside the monks in the guest house & the infirmary & the herb garden; the whole of our monastery is surrounded by a high wall but we have lived peacefully and never been attacked since I came here
I have my own cell which is a special privilege for those whose main work is study and prayer and reading. My bed is a simple pallet and pillow without hangings and I have only a bed cover to keep me warm. In winter when it is very cold I keep my woollen gown on at night and sometimes my cloak as well, though usually I just sleep in my linen undergarment; I am too delicate to wear rough wool next to my skin as some do. I keep my clothes in a sturdy wooden chest which I keep smelling sweet with cloves which I beg from the kitchen. I also keep my leather shoes in the chest; these are soft and kind to my feet and they are kept soft by regular greasing with pigs lard. My spare pins and my best amethyst beads are in there too; I just wear glass beads most days, together with my gold cross
My mother had a theory that regular washing is necessary to keep away the diseases of the skin and they say that the bishop Wilfrid used to wash himself every night, winter and summer, in holy water. I have no means of washing in my cell, but as often as I can I go with my sisters to the lavatorium where our attendants help us to bathe in warm water
These days the bishops are always telling us that we should wear sober dress without colour or embroidery, as well as telling us to stop using the curling tongs on our hair. I enjoy using my needle to help make beautiful cloths for the altar and vestments for the priests; to my mind it is just as much to the glory of God if we use these same skills to make beautiful edgings for our tunics and cloaks or ribbons for our veils; it is certainly not at all unchaste to take pleasure in such finery, and it is not our aim to attract strange men. Our work is much admired everywhere and we have sent altar cloths and vestments as gifts to foreign churches, even to Rome itself
As I said earlier, life has been peaceful here since I came and we live well; our 10 hides of land and the outlying estates provide abundantly for us and together with what the men bring us from the river, the forest and the hill we have all the food that we need. We eat twice a day, good cooked meals in the refectory, except that we fast every Wednesday and Friday until Nonce, as well as on the special fast days. Our Mother does not believe that excessive fasting, nor excessive penance, are required; she says that lack of food and sleep dull our minds, especially for study
The bishop comes to stay regularly in the guest house with his retinue and then there is great to-do in the kitchen preparing the feast; once some earls came and then it was terrible - 3 days and nights they were drinking, wine as well as ale. The bishop drinks wine which comes in special jars from France, but only in moderation. Sometimes we drink ale but mostly milk or water or the drinks which Brother Bertred makes from infusions of herbs from the garden; he is very clever and makes all the herb medicines which are needed in the infirmary as well. After Terce we always drink a special concoction of bruised herbs to cleanse away the evil humours
We have a special feast at Christmas; we have roast beef, boiled goose, dolphin and venison, pressed curds and honey and special white bread, with mead to drink. We all tell stories, about the old times when there were warriors and sailors, about miracles and about journeys to Rome, and we sing songs to the harp and the lyre
I spend most of my days studying; I dont work in the Scriptorium though sometimes when I was a little girl we were allowed in to watch and help the monks grind up the pigments. One winter it was so cold that nobody could write properly; even Brother Bertreds herb and honey mixture could not cure their chilblains. It was so bad that they said we would have to start eating the horses when the meat ran out, but fortunately it never came to that. It was terribly cold last winter too, that is why we often sat in the cells in the daytime, to keep warm; we were not being immoral
Because of my studies I spend a lot of time in my cell; sometimes one of the cats comes in to keep me company, and of course that helps to keep the mice out of my bed as well. There was a big argument last week because a mouse fell in to the crock of skim milk; Brother Bosa said the milk had to be thrown away because the mouse was dead, but Brother Felix said it was still alive so the milk would be all right to drink after it was sprinkled with holy water
I study the Holy Scriptures of course, as well as the expositions by the Fathers; I practise grammar and have learned Latin and I like to try to put the Scriptures in to verse but I am not very good at it. We also have to study chronology, which is very important for working out the dates of the festivals, but it is very hard; I always get in to a muddle when I am counting on my fingers. Our Mother likes us to read to her in the evenings; she is often sleepy but always notices if we make a mistake. Another thing that often happens in the evening is that one of the brothers sings to us because he has the gift of turning the lessons into wonderful verses. Then we take it in turns to sing to the harp
We have about 20 children living in the monastery; some are orphans and some have been given by their parents to the abbess to learn the Word of God. I sometimes help to teach them to make their letters on their writing tablets. I still use writing tablets myself for practising my grammar and composing my poetry, or copying out passages from Scripture which I am to learn by heart; I have one very special stylus of copper and silver which was given to me by my mother and is decorated but I usually use the plain bone kind
In the afternoons, if the weather is good, the children play outside. Some of the monks are like children themselves and like to join them in their games of tag, running and jumping about; they dont even always let the children win. There are even brothers who will go out with the servants hunting foxes or hare coursing or go out with the falcons, though they are not supposed to
We nuns all sit together to work on embroidery with the servants who help us. Our main work at the moment is an altar cloth which is to be sent as a gift to Frankia. It is on linen as we do not have any silk cloth to work on, and we are copying some of the biblical figures from the pictures in the Church, which came from Rome. I like to work on the coloured sections which we sew with silk thread using split stitch and stem stitch; we have all sorts of colours of thread, red, cream, green, blue, and yellow. The gold threads are hard to couch and they hurt my fingers; and wrapping the core threads with the gold is boring so we usually leave that to the servants. Sometimes it is hard to see what we are doing, and only the very young ones have eyes that are keen enough to work. I have heard that some noble ladies have made pieces that are all in white, which must be really difficult to do because you would not be able to see it
As you can see I live a very happy life here and hardly miss my family at all. I hope to keep on with my studies, if we are spared, and one day make the pilgrimage to Rome. Then one day, when I am truly learned and have become truly pious, maybe I can become abbess
The monastery has grown - we even had builders and glaziers over from France to build a stone church & to make coloured glass for the windows and to teach some of our brethren how to make glass. They have made lamps for the church and now everyone can see the pictures
The brothers sleep in their own quarters separated from our dormitories by a thick hedge, but we share the refectory and the church and sisters work alongside the monks in the guest house & the infirmary & the herb garden; the whole of our monastery is surrounded by a high wall but we have lived peacefully and never been attacked since I came here
I have my own cell which is a special privilege for those whose main work is study and prayer and reading. My bed is a simple pallet and pillow without hangings and I have only a bed cover to keep me warm. In winter when it is very cold I keep my woollen gown on at night and sometimes my cloak as well, though usually I just sleep in my linen undergarment; I am too delicate to wear rough wool next to my skin as some do. I keep my clothes in a sturdy wooden chest which I keep smelling sweet with cloves which I beg from the kitchen. I also keep my leather shoes in the chest; these are soft and kind to my feet and they are kept soft by regular greasing with pigs lard. My spare pins and my best amethyst beads are in there too; I just wear glass beads most days, together with my gold cross
My mother had a theory that regular washing is necessary to keep away the diseases of the skin and they say that the bishop Wilfrid used to wash himself every night, winter and summer, in holy water. I have no means of washing in my cell, but as often as I can I go with my sisters to the lavatorium where our attendants help us to bathe in warm water
These days the bishops are always telling us that we should wear sober dress without colour or embroidery, as well as telling us to stop using the curling tongs on our hair. I enjoy using my needle to help make beautiful cloths for the altar and vestments for the priests; to my mind it is just as much to the glory of God if we use these same skills to make beautiful edgings for our tunics and cloaks or ribbons for our veils; it is certainly not at all unchaste to take pleasure in such finery, and it is not our aim to attract strange men. Our work is much admired everywhere and we have sent altar cloths and vestments as gifts to foreign churches, even to Rome itself
As I said earlier, life has been peaceful here since I came and we live well; our 10 hides of land and the outlying estates provide abundantly for us and together with what the men bring us from the river, the forest and the hill we have all the food that we need. We eat twice a day, good cooked meals in the refectory, except that we fast every Wednesday and Friday until Nonce, as well as on the special fast days. Our Mother does not believe that excessive fasting, nor excessive penance, are required; she says that lack of food and sleep dull our minds, especially for study
The bishop comes to stay regularly in the guest house with his retinue and then there is great to-do in the kitchen preparing the feast; once some earls came and then it was terrible - 3 days and nights they were drinking, wine as well as ale. The bishop drinks wine which comes in special jars from France, but only in moderation. Sometimes we drink ale but mostly milk or water or the drinks which Brother Bertred makes from infusions of herbs from the garden; he is very clever and makes all the herb medicines which are needed in the infirmary as well. After Terce we always drink a special concoction of bruised herbs to cleanse away the evil humours
We have a special feast at Christmas; we have roast beef, boiled goose, dolphin and venison, pressed curds and honey and special white bread, with mead to drink. We all tell stories, about the old times when there were warriors and sailors, about miracles and about journeys to Rome, and we sing songs to the harp and the lyre
I spend most of my days studying; I dont work in the Scriptorium though sometimes when I was a little girl we were allowed in to watch and help the monks grind up the pigments. One winter it was so cold that nobody could write properly; even Brother Bertreds herb and honey mixture could not cure their chilblains. It was so bad that they said we would have to start eating the horses when the meat ran out, but fortunately it never came to that. It was terribly cold last winter too, that is why we often sat in the cells in the daytime, to keep warm; we were not being immoral
Because of my studies I spend a lot of time in my cell; sometimes one of the cats comes in to keep me company, and of course that helps to keep the mice out of my bed as well. There was a big argument last week because a mouse fell in to the crock of skim milk; Brother Bosa said the milk had to be thrown away because the mouse was dead, but Brother Felix said it was still alive so the milk would be all right to drink after it was sprinkled with holy water
I study the Holy Scriptures of course, as well as the expositions by the Fathers; I practise grammar and have learned Latin and I like to try to put the Scriptures in to verse but I am not very good at it. We also have to study chronology, which is very important for working out the dates of the festivals, but it is very hard; I always get in to a muddle when I am counting on my fingers. Our Mother likes us to read to her in the evenings; she is often sleepy but always notices if we make a mistake. Another thing that often happens in the evening is that one of the brothers sings to us because he has the gift of turning the lessons into wonderful verses. Then we take it in turns to sing to the harp
We have about 20 children living in the monastery; some are orphans and some have been given by their parents to the abbess to learn the Word of God. I sometimes help to teach them to make their letters on their writing tablets. I still use writing tablets myself for practising my grammar and composing my poetry, or copying out passages from Scripture which I am to learn by heart; I have one very special stylus of copper and silver which was given to me by my mother and is decorated but I usually use the plain bone kind
In the afternoons, if the weather is good, the children play outside. Some of the monks are like children themselves and like to join them in their games of tag, running and jumping about; they dont even always let the children win. There are even brothers who will go out with the servants hunting foxes or hare coursing or go out with the falcons, though they are not supposed to
We nuns all sit together to work on embroidery with the servants who help us. Our main work at the moment is an altar cloth which is to be sent as a gift to Frankia. It is on linen as we do not have any silk cloth to work on, and we are copying some of the biblical figures from the pictures in the Church, which came from Rome. I like to work on the coloured sections which we sew with silk thread using split stitch and stem stitch; we have all sorts of colours of thread, red, cream, green, blue, and yellow. The gold threads are hard to couch and they hurt my fingers; and wrapping the core threads with the gold is boring so we usually leave that to the servants. Sometimes it is hard to see what we are doing, and only the very young ones have eyes that are keen enough to work. I have heard that some noble ladies have made pieces that are all in white, which must be really difficult to do because you would not be able to see it
As you can see I live a very happy life here and hardly miss my family at all. I hope to keep on with my studies, if we are spared, and one day make the pilgrimage to Rome. Then one day, when I am truly learned and have become truly pious, maybe I can become abbess
Links
Works by the Venerable Bede
A History of the English Church & People
Life of Cuthbert
Lives of the Abbots of Wearmouth & Jarrow
Life of Wilfrid by Eddius
The Archaeology of Anglo-Saxon England edited by DM Wilson
The animal resources by J Clutton-Brock
Monastic Sites by RJ Cramp
The Medical Background of Anglo-Saxon England by W Bonser
Dress in Anglo-Saxon England by GR Owen-Crocker
Needlework Through the Ages by M Symonds & L Preece
Women in Anglo-Saxon England by C Fell
Feminae gloriosae: women in the age of Bede by J Nicholson published in Medieval Women edited by D Baker
Works by Thomas Allison
Pioneers of English Learning
English Religious Life in the 8th Century
Anglo-Saxon Art & Culture AD 600-900 edited by L Webster & J Backhouse
The Age of Bede DH Farmer
Anglo-Saxon England by Stenton
Works by the Venerable Bede
A History of the English Church & People
Life of Cuthbert
Lives of the Abbots of Wearmouth & Jarrow
Life of Wilfrid by Eddius
The Archaeology of Anglo-Saxon England edited by DM Wilson
The animal resources by J Clutton-Brock
Monastic Sites by RJ Cramp
The Medical Background of Anglo-Saxon England by W Bonser
Dress in Anglo-Saxon England by GR Owen-Crocker
Needlework Through the Ages by M Symonds & L Preece
Women in Anglo-Saxon England by C Fell
Feminae gloriosae: women in the age of Bede by J Nicholson published in Medieval Women edited by D Baker
Works by Thomas Allison
Pioneers of English Learning
English Religious Life in the 8th Century
Anglo-Saxon Art & Culture AD 600-900 edited by L Webster & J Backhouse
The Age of Bede DH Farmer
Anglo-Saxon England by Stenton
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Exercise v Exertion
Any discussion about obesity soon descends into a discussion about why people do not participate in sport
But sport is not the only way of exerting oneself, of burning off the calories; it is a rather strange, competitive activity
When I was little, Mondays involved my mother, with my 'help', filling & emptying a dolly tub, possing the clothes, then putting them through the mangle before hanging them on the line. These days the most a mother would have to do to exert herself would be to pick the clothes up from the floor, sort them, put them in the machine & press a button; she might still have to hang them on the line
Even hoovering the house on Friday might have involved a fair degree of exertion - household machines were heavy & made of metal. Modern plastics & engines make machines much easier to push
Cooking no longer involves the need to whip cream, pound potatoes, beat eggs or even peel potatoes. Just put into the microwave & press a button or pick up the phone & take a takeaway delivery
Shopping involves much less carrying of weights - just put it in the trolley & push (though watch your back as you pick up & put down all those bags)
Going in to & out of shops is also much easier as doors open automatically & steps or stairs become things of the past - making life easier for the disabled also means asking less of the able bodied
So is eating or exercise the real problem? Surveys show that people are actually eating less - eating fewer calories. If we are putting on weight then it is because the reduction in calories does not match the reduction in exertion
If I were trying to make a Just So evolutionary story out of this, what would it be?
But sport is not the only way of exerting oneself, of burning off the calories; it is a rather strange, competitive activity
When I was little, Mondays involved my mother, with my 'help', filling & emptying a dolly tub, possing the clothes, then putting them through the mangle before hanging them on the line. These days the most a mother would have to do to exert herself would be to pick the clothes up from the floor, sort them, put them in the machine & press a button; she might still have to hang them on the line
Even hoovering the house on Friday might have involved a fair degree of exertion - household machines were heavy & made of metal. Modern plastics & engines make machines much easier to push
Cooking no longer involves the need to whip cream, pound potatoes, beat eggs or even peel potatoes. Just put into the microwave & press a button or pick up the phone & take a takeaway delivery
Shopping involves much less carrying of weights - just put it in the trolley & push (though watch your back as you pick up & put down all those bags)
Going in to & out of shops is also much easier as doors open automatically & steps or stairs become things of the past - making life easier for the disabled also means asking less of the able bodied
So is eating or exercise the real problem? Surveys show that people are actually eating less - eating fewer calories. If we are putting on weight then it is because the reduction in calories does not match the reduction in exertion
If I were trying to make a Just So evolutionary story out of this, what would it be?
Simla
The clouds came down in earnest today at Simla & when I woke up this morning I found them in bed with me
William Russell : My Diary in India in the Year 1858-9
William Russell : My Diary in India in the Year 1858-9
Friday, December 22, 2006
Hearing Voices
Am I the only person who can 'hear' voices? Obviously not
I am not talking about schizophrenia, hearing extraneous voices in my head, but about hearing tone, intention, attitude, when the voice is all I can hear, when I cant see the face of the person who is talking, for example on the phone or on the radio
The first time I can remember being conscious of this was during the Westland debate between Thatcher & Kinnock in the House of Commons in [1986?]; I had a small, tinny transistor in my office which was used mainly for keeping up to date with cricket scores; the Westland scandal caused great excitement among my fellow civil servants & we were all anxious to hear the (only recently introduced) broadcast of the Commons debate. For some reason there was a panic at work & we were only able to foregather in my room to listen to the broadcast as Thatcher began her reply to Kinnock. After a few seconds I said 'Oh, shes won'; my colleagues all turned towards me in astonishment & said 'How do you know that?'
I was confused - how could they not know? It was obvious from her voice that she was confident of, she knew that, she had won. We had not heard Kinnocks speech, but many later analyses have pointed to the fact that he was too verbose & threw away the opportunity to get the better of her; without having heard him I knew from her tone that this was what had happened
The next time I can remember such a significant 'hearing' concerns John Diamond, who used to present a late night programme on 5 Live. To be honest I never found his voice or style all that attractive, but one night I found his gabbling too much to bear, switched to another station & composed one of those 'letters in my head' to his producer, asking him/her to tell John to slow down & talk more clearly. He never did another show & I learned soon afterwards that he had throat cancer. Was it the cancer that made his voice so hard to understand?
Not many months later a similar thing happened with Vincent Hanna, who also presented an interesting late night programme on 5 Live. One week, when he had as well been sitting in for Jimmy Young on R2, he sounded so exhausted that I wrote another of those 'letters in my head' to his producer, telling him not to work so hard. Within a week or two he was dead of either a heart attack or stroke. I began to feel very spooky
What is it about voices that gives away ones age? Why are 3 year olds so distinctive? Why is it so obvious that a voice belongs to an old person? Is it just collagen, or some other feature of the vocal chords?
How do some people learn to speak 'beautifully'? For example Fi Glover speaks with almost a Mozartian or Bachian melodic line (though not necessarily with the same rhythm). Is this something to do with her physical make up, or does it reflect elocution lessons or her psychological attitudes? How can some people like her speak challengingly without aggression?
I have been thinking about hearing without seeing or watching - using just one sense at a time. Why is it that looking, eg at a parliamentary debate on tv, removes this ability to 'hear' what the politicians are really thinking or feeling? And why do I sometimes have to take my glasses off to hear?
Why is it so instructive to watch, eg on tv, the reactions of the actor(s) who are not speaking, to deliberately remove ones focus from the actor who is? One thing you do learn is that English actors have the terrible habit of reacting before they have heard what the other person has to say. American actors do not do this - or is it all in the editing?
I am not talking about schizophrenia, hearing extraneous voices in my head, but about hearing tone, intention, attitude, when the voice is all I can hear, when I cant see the face of the person who is talking, for example on the phone or on the radio
The first time I can remember being conscious of this was during the Westland debate between Thatcher & Kinnock in the House of Commons in [1986?]; I had a small, tinny transistor in my office which was used mainly for keeping up to date with cricket scores; the Westland scandal caused great excitement among my fellow civil servants & we were all anxious to hear the (only recently introduced) broadcast of the Commons debate. For some reason there was a panic at work & we were only able to foregather in my room to listen to the broadcast as Thatcher began her reply to Kinnock. After a few seconds I said 'Oh, shes won'; my colleagues all turned towards me in astonishment & said 'How do you know that?'
I was confused - how could they not know? It was obvious from her voice that she was confident of, she knew that, she had won. We had not heard Kinnocks speech, but many later analyses have pointed to the fact that he was too verbose & threw away the opportunity to get the better of her; without having heard him I knew from her tone that this was what had happened
The next time I can remember such a significant 'hearing' concerns John Diamond, who used to present a late night programme on 5 Live. To be honest I never found his voice or style all that attractive, but one night I found his gabbling too much to bear, switched to another station & composed one of those 'letters in my head' to his producer, asking him/her to tell John to slow down & talk more clearly. He never did another show & I learned soon afterwards that he had throat cancer. Was it the cancer that made his voice so hard to understand?
Not many months later a similar thing happened with Vincent Hanna, who also presented an interesting late night programme on 5 Live. One week, when he had as well been sitting in for Jimmy Young on R2, he sounded so exhausted that I wrote another of those 'letters in my head' to his producer, telling him not to work so hard. Within a week or two he was dead of either a heart attack or stroke. I began to feel very spooky
What is it about voices that gives away ones age? Why are 3 year olds so distinctive? Why is it so obvious that a voice belongs to an old person? Is it just collagen, or some other feature of the vocal chords?
How do some people learn to speak 'beautifully'? For example Fi Glover speaks with almost a Mozartian or Bachian melodic line (though not necessarily with the same rhythm). Is this something to do with her physical make up, or does it reflect elocution lessons or her psychological attitudes? How can some people like her speak challengingly without aggression?
I have been thinking about hearing without seeing or watching - using just one sense at a time. Why is it that looking, eg at a parliamentary debate on tv, removes this ability to 'hear' what the politicians are really thinking or feeling? And why do I sometimes have to take my glasses off to hear?
Why is it so instructive to watch, eg on tv, the reactions of the actor(s) who are not speaking, to deliberately remove ones focus from the actor who is? One thing you do learn is that English actors have the terrible habit of reacting before they have heard what the other person has to say. American actors do not do this - or is it all in the editing?
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
The verb TO BE
The verb to be
When a language has a verb 'to be' it is usually, though irregular, considered one of the simplest verb/words, so simple that other languages manage to take it as simply 'understood', much in the same way that zero was simply understood as a number before the place holder was invented. Why do you need a word or symbol to stand for nothing? Why do you need a word to stand for the basic obvious fact of existence? Well zero holds a place, enables the wonders of place value in mathematics, makes all the difference between 1, 10 and 100. A difference that can, tragically, mean the difference between life & death when applied to drug doses for example
During the Clinton impeachment almost nothing, not the stain on the dress, not the mind-boggling implications of what was going on under the desk during those phone calls, invited more universal derision than the response It all depends on what is is
Is is actually very complicated. To try & unpack this a little, let us move on to the plural version, are
Men are taller than women is a statement that would not attract much flak even from the most ardently feminist or politically correct. Not even from me, despite the fact that, at 5'10" I am taller than most men - or at least I used to be. I am now over 60, so the addition of all those giant 20-somethings & the death of all those tiny 80-somethings may mean that I am now below the average height of the British adult male
But we all understand what the statement means; we know that women rarely pair with a man shorter than they are, we know that on average women are shorter than men & that the very tallest humans are always male
For centuries, logic has taught us the essential point of the syllogism - all men are liars does not imply that all liars are men. Elementary logic does not however teach us how to cope with the less definite assertion that most men are liars. From this alone we can conclude nothing about the truth of the statement most liars are men.
This may not seem to matter much in every day life, except when it comes to statements such as Women enjoy shopping more than men or Men are better at maths than women. If you are rash enough to make one of these statements on, say, national radio, be prepared for the flak. But, just as one tall woman does not disprove the ordinary sense of the statement that men are taller than women, the existence of women who do not enjoy shopping, or of one brilliant female mathematician, does not disprove the truth of the other two statements
By the same process of reasoning, the simple statement that in some parts of London most muggers are black does not mean that most blacks are muggers, even if sometimes both police & the black community seem to think that it does, or that that is what is being implied.
In saying this last I do not wish to imply that either the black community or the police are being particularly dense; I still remember with wonder a Newsnight discussion of several years ago during which a participant seemed to argue that the existence of one young woman, the only female ever to study for a PhD under Stephen Hawkins, was enough to disprove the assertion that men are better at maths
Our problem here is language, or rather grammar; we need a different case, voice, tense of the verb to be to cope with ratio numbers. As far as the verb to be is concerned we are stuck in the time when numbers were simple counting numbers - 1,2,3,4 … The Ancient Greeks realised that these were not enough & got at least as far as understanding that ratio numbers needed to be added to the mathematical armoury. Mathematicians have since moved on to the realisation that we also need real numbers, imaginary numbers, complex numbers & heaven knows what else. But our everyday language has still not caught up
In considering the history of numbers & language we need at least to consider three aspects; the word - two; the symbol 2 or for example; and the abstract concept - the twoness of two
This might seem a bit twee or airy fairy but think about it this way. Many standard histories of mathematics make the claim that primitive man could not count beyond 3 because languages seem, almost universally, to have contained only words for one, two, three, many
But as Menninger pointed out you dont need words to count, & the fact that no words seem to exist for numbers beyond 3 does not imply that people did not understand, or comprehend the differences between, larger numbers (even just the difference between 4 & 5). In the same way, in future millennia, historians may believe that we cannot perceive subtle differences in skin colour, simply because our language seems to contain only the words black or white to describe these
There is plenty of evidence that ancient man could count; one of my favourite stories is about the use of simple clay models of sheep to keep tally of the flocks. And tally sticks were in use in the British Treasury right up to the time that they were destroyed by the fire which burned down the old Parliament building in 1834. Were the civil servants of those days any less in control of public expenditure than their modern counterparts with their digital or analogue computers?
The really odd thought is that ancient man seemed to think of twoness as a property of the particular object: two apples were different from two pears. A strange thought, unless you remember being taught in your schooldays that You cant add apples and pears. Of course you can - the answer is a number of fruit. The existence - the continuing existence - of different words for the same concept of twoness - pair, couple, double, twin … is evidence that ancient populations struggled with this notion. Do primary school children still have to learn the 'correct' words for many - a flock of sheep, a herd of cows, a clutch of eggs … ?
So it was a struggle, between the need to comprehend the abstract notion of number & the need to come up with zero as a place holder. Together these ideas mean that we can go from 0 to ∞, in the symbolism of number, with no more than the code 0,1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9. Did number words only follow (emerge after) this code? Probably
We have not really advanced beyond these centuries old inventions. We have words for some ratio numbers - half, quarter, third - but few that really convey the sense & complexity. Just as it took an advanced mathematician to do division or multiplication with the Roman number system, it takes a fairly advanced mathematician to work out whether 2/7 is greater than 3/8
There is some evidence of development, perhaps thanks to the metric system. The use of % - a key on the keyboard which I am using to type this - is now quite widely accepted even outside of statistical tables. When I started my career in the civil service in the 1960s the use of the symbol (rather than the words per cent) was infra dig. But we still dont understand percentages very well
Not too long ago a kind of high tech version of the rhythm method of contraception was being marketed under the promise that it was 94% effective. There were soon widespread reports that it did not work reliably; a tv programme gave a platform to young women who felt that they had been misled because they had not realised that this meant a 1 in 16 chance of becoming pregnant (6 out of 100 sounds so much less). It was however never entirely clear whether the claim meant 1 in 16 times of making love or something more complicated such as once in 16 menstrual cycles you will be making love during your fertile period. I do not think that this is just a female problem, but I am tired of pointing out that the idea that breast cancer affects 1 in 12 women means that I am 92% certain not to get it
Per cent, as a word or phrase, does at least imply the ratio, but we still have no simple means of describing what is a percentage of which. Most of the time we seem to think that this can be taken as read - there is no need to specify the period when we talk about house prices rising by 5%; we can talk about the % of women managers and somehow take it as read whether we are talking about the % of women who are managers or the % of managers who are women
Which brings us back to the beginning of these musings. Women are taller than men: we have no simple language to say whether this means simply that the average woman is shorter than the average man. But at least here we are, or think we are, talking about overall majorities
Our first past the post political system requires only that one candidate achieve the largest number of votes; in a 3-member constituency with 100 voters the one who gets 34 votes can win, even if each of the others receives 33
Children of lone parents can be said to do worse at school because only 17% of them get 3 As at A level compared with 20% of children from 2-parent families. And so on
All the above has been about the problems of is or are as a matter of proportion or majority. These problems are difficult enough if we are talking about a comparison at a fixed point in time. Consideration about 'to be' in time - I am a Mancunian, a statistician - the problems of this kind of statement, the problem of 'before' must be left for another essay
When a language has a verb 'to be' it is usually, though irregular, considered one of the simplest verb/words, so simple that other languages manage to take it as simply 'understood', much in the same way that zero was simply understood as a number before the place holder was invented. Why do you need a word or symbol to stand for nothing? Why do you need a word to stand for the basic obvious fact of existence? Well zero holds a place, enables the wonders of place value in mathematics, makes all the difference between 1, 10 and 100. A difference that can, tragically, mean the difference between life & death when applied to drug doses for example
During the Clinton impeachment almost nothing, not the stain on the dress, not the mind-boggling implications of what was going on under the desk during those phone calls, invited more universal derision than the response It all depends on what is is
Is is actually very complicated. To try & unpack this a little, let us move on to the plural version, are
Men are taller than women is a statement that would not attract much flak even from the most ardently feminist or politically correct. Not even from me, despite the fact that, at 5'10" I am taller than most men - or at least I used to be. I am now over 60, so the addition of all those giant 20-somethings & the death of all those tiny 80-somethings may mean that I am now below the average height of the British adult male
But we all understand what the statement means; we know that women rarely pair with a man shorter than they are, we know that on average women are shorter than men & that the very tallest humans are always male
For centuries, logic has taught us the essential point of the syllogism - all men are liars does not imply that all liars are men. Elementary logic does not however teach us how to cope with the less definite assertion that most men are liars. From this alone we can conclude nothing about the truth of the statement most liars are men.
This may not seem to matter much in every day life, except when it comes to statements such as Women enjoy shopping more than men or Men are better at maths than women. If you are rash enough to make one of these statements on, say, national radio, be prepared for the flak. But, just as one tall woman does not disprove the ordinary sense of the statement that men are taller than women, the existence of women who do not enjoy shopping, or of one brilliant female mathematician, does not disprove the truth of the other two statements
By the same process of reasoning, the simple statement that in some parts of London most muggers are black does not mean that most blacks are muggers, even if sometimes both police & the black community seem to think that it does, or that that is what is being implied.
In saying this last I do not wish to imply that either the black community or the police are being particularly dense; I still remember with wonder a Newsnight discussion of several years ago during which a participant seemed to argue that the existence of one young woman, the only female ever to study for a PhD under Stephen Hawkins, was enough to disprove the assertion that men are better at maths
Our problem here is language, or rather grammar; we need a different case, voice, tense of the verb to be to cope with ratio numbers. As far as the verb to be is concerned we are stuck in the time when numbers were simple counting numbers - 1,2,3,4 … The Ancient Greeks realised that these were not enough & got at least as far as understanding that ratio numbers needed to be added to the mathematical armoury. Mathematicians have since moved on to the realisation that we also need real numbers, imaginary numbers, complex numbers & heaven knows what else. But our everyday language has still not caught up
In considering the history of numbers & language we need at least to consider three aspects; the word - two; the symbol 2 or for example; and the abstract concept - the twoness of two
This might seem a bit twee or airy fairy but think about it this way. Many standard histories of mathematics make the claim that primitive man could not count beyond 3 because languages seem, almost universally, to have contained only words for one, two, three, many
But as Menninger pointed out you dont need words to count, & the fact that no words seem to exist for numbers beyond 3 does not imply that people did not understand, or comprehend the differences between, larger numbers (even just the difference between 4 & 5). In the same way, in future millennia, historians may believe that we cannot perceive subtle differences in skin colour, simply because our language seems to contain only the words black or white to describe these
There is plenty of evidence that ancient man could count; one of my favourite stories is about the use of simple clay models of sheep to keep tally of the flocks. And tally sticks were in use in the British Treasury right up to the time that they were destroyed by the fire which burned down the old Parliament building in 1834. Were the civil servants of those days any less in control of public expenditure than their modern counterparts with their digital or analogue computers?
The really odd thought is that ancient man seemed to think of twoness as a property of the particular object: two apples were different from two pears. A strange thought, unless you remember being taught in your schooldays that You cant add apples and pears. Of course you can - the answer is a number of fruit. The existence - the continuing existence - of different words for the same concept of twoness - pair, couple, double, twin … is evidence that ancient populations struggled with this notion. Do primary school children still have to learn the 'correct' words for many - a flock of sheep, a herd of cows, a clutch of eggs … ?
So it was a struggle, between the need to comprehend the abstract notion of number & the need to come up with zero as a place holder. Together these ideas mean that we can go from 0 to ∞, in the symbolism of number, with no more than the code 0,1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9. Did number words only follow (emerge after) this code? Probably
We have not really advanced beyond these centuries old inventions. We have words for some ratio numbers - half, quarter, third - but few that really convey the sense & complexity. Just as it took an advanced mathematician to do division or multiplication with the Roman number system, it takes a fairly advanced mathematician to work out whether 2/7 is greater than 3/8
There is some evidence of development, perhaps thanks to the metric system. The use of % - a key on the keyboard which I am using to type this - is now quite widely accepted even outside of statistical tables. When I started my career in the civil service in the 1960s the use of the symbol (rather than the words per cent) was infra dig. But we still dont understand percentages very well
Not too long ago a kind of high tech version of the rhythm method of contraception was being marketed under the promise that it was 94% effective. There were soon widespread reports that it did not work reliably; a tv programme gave a platform to young women who felt that they had been misled because they had not realised that this meant a 1 in 16 chance of becoming pregnant (6 out of 100 sounds so much less). It was however never entirely clear whether the claim meant 1 in 16 times of making love or something more complicated such as once in 16 menstrual cycles you will be making love during your fertile period. I do not think that this is just a female problem, but I am tired of pointing out that the idea that breast cancer affects 1 in 12 women means that I am 92% certain not to get it
Per cent, as a word or phrase, does at least imply the ratio, but we still have no simple means of describing what is a percentage of which. Most of the time we seem to think that this can be taken as read - there is no need to specify the period when we talk about house prices rising by 5%; we can talk about the % of women managers and somehow take it as read whether we are talking about the % of women who are managers or the % of managers who are women
Which brings us back to the beginning of these musings. Women are taller than men: we have no simple language to say whether this means simply that the average woman is shorter than the average man. But at least here we are, or think we are, talking about overall majorities
Our first past the post political system requires only that one candidate achieve the largest number of votes; in a 3-member constituency with 100 voters the one who gets 34 votes can win, even if each of the others receives 33
Children of lone parents can be said to do worse at school because only 17% of them get 3 As at A level compared with 20% of children from 2-parent families. And so on
All the above has been about the problems of is or are as a matter of proportion or majority. These problems are difficult enough if we are talking about a comparison at a fixed point in time. Consideration about 'to be' in time - I am a Mancunian, a statistician - the problems of this kind of statement, the problem of 'before' must be left for another essay
Taj Mahal
It is wrong to call it a dream in marble; it is a thought - an idea - a conception of tenderness - a sigh as it were of eternal devotion & heroic love, caught & embued with such immortality as the earth can give
William Russell: My Diary in India in the Year 1858-59
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
William Morris Agriculture
I think that organic farming is the Arts & Crafts movement of our day. And will fail for the same reasons: it is ugly, old fashioned & expensive, its products out of the reach of, & sensibly unwanted by, those without money to burn on expensive fol-de-rols. It will never Feeeed the Wurrrld
Nevertheless I share the nostalgia for this kind of agriculture. My maternal great grandparents had a farm, & I spent a lot of time there until they gave it up when I was 5; none of their surviving 9 children wanted to take it on
Though it seemed large to me I guess it was really small as farms go. There were at least 2 fields - one for hay, the other for cereal. There were also sheep (high up the hill), cows & hens &, at least one year, geese. It seems odd to me now that I cannot remember any pigs, given that they are such useful animals: you can use everything but the whistle & they provide an economical form of garbage disposal. At least while I was in primary school the leavings from our school dinners were scraped into enamel pails & taken away as pig swill
My grandfather was adamant about one thing: no tractors. He maintained that they could not cope with hills as well as could the horses, & I guess he was right. How many farm workers have been killed by toppling tractors? So he had horses. They seemed huge to me too. I can still remember being lifted up as a tiny child to perch on a broad solid back, high in the air above feet as big as soup plates, taking in the lovely warm friendly smell of horse
One of my favourite 'jobs' was to help with the butter-making once a week. After churning, the butter was put into small round wooden bowls & tapped down with a wooden lid. My task was to press the lid down hard enough to imprint the butter with the image carved onto the underside of the lid. My favourite picture was of a butterfly
At the age of three I almost became an instant vegetarian during the course of the family Sunday dinner. That year I had been 'given' an orphan lamb. Naturally I christened him Larry. He lived for a while in a shoe box beside the kitchen range & I helped to feed him from a babys bottle. It is surprising how fiercely such a tiny thing can pull. During the famous dinner my horrible uncle - only 11 himself - asked me if I realised that I was eating Larry
Another favourite job was to take my grandfathers dinner to him when he was working the harvest. He impressed everybody with his appetite for apple pie, a whole one just for him in a rectangular enamel pie dish. An essential part of the ritual was his careful lifting of the pastry crust so that he could spread the contents liberally with English mustard. Such a sweet/sour/hot combination seems commonplace now, but was a thing of wonder to us then
Nevertheless I share the nostalgia for this kind of agriculture. My maternal great grandparents had a farm, & I spent a lot of time there until they gave it up when I was 5; none of their surviving 9 children wanted to take it on
Though it seemed large to me I guess it was really small as farms go. There were at least 2 fields - one for hay, the other for cereal. There were also sheep (high up the hill), cows & hens &, at least one year, geese. It seems odd to me now that I cannot remember any pigs, given that they are such useful animals: you can use everything but the whistle & they provide an economical form of garbage disposal. At least while I was in primary school the leavings from our school dinners were scraped into enamel pails & taken away as pig swill
My grandfather was adamant about one thing: no tractors. He maintained that they could not cope with hills as well as could the horses, & I guess he was right. How many farm workers have been killed by toppling tractors? So he had horses. They seemed huge to me too. I can still remember being lifted up as a tiny child to perch on a broad solid back, high in the air above feet as big as soup plates, taking in the lovely warm friendly smell of horse
One of my favourite 'jobs' was to help with the butter-making once a week. After churning, the butter was put into small round wooden bowls & tapped down with a wooden lid. My task was to press the lid down hard enough to imprint the butter with the image carved onto the underside of the lid. My favourite picture was of a butterfly
At the age of three I almost became an instant vegetarian during the course of the family Sunday dinner. That year I had been 'given' an orphan lamb. Naturally I christened him Larry. He lived for a while in a shoe box beside the kitchen range & I helped to feed him from a babys bottle. It is surprising how fiercely such a tiny thing can pull. During the famous dinner my horrible uncle - only 11 himself - asked me if I realised that I was eating Larry
Another favourite job was to take my grandfathers dinner to him when he was working the harvest. He impressed everybody with his appetite for apple pie, a whole one just for him in a rectangular enamel pie dish. An essential part of the ritual was his careful lifting of the pastry crust so that he could spread the contents liberally with English mustard. Such a sweet/sour/hot combination seems commonplace now, but was a thing of wonder to us then
Monday, December 18, 2006
Whats wrong with ginger beer?
I saw a press report that ginger beer will be barred from a new tv series based on Enid Blytons Famous Five. How can this be? Well, I dont suppose that a world-wide audience will necessarily understand that this is not an alcoholic drink.
There was once a real fad for making your own ginger beer at home. For this you needed a ginger beer plant. This was some kind of yeast or fungus which you put in a jam jar half full of water & left on a window sill. It had to be fed regularly with, I think, ground ginger and sugar. After a week or so you strained off the liquid, mixed it with water & sealed it in glass bottles. One half of the plant could then be discarded or given to friends, & the whole process gone through again with the other half.
We used to store our bottles of ginger beer in a small stone outhouse. One winter panic set in at the sound of repeated explosions coming from the garden. When it seemed safe to investigate it transpired that the ginger beer had frozen & the subsequent expansion had caused the bottles to explode. Come to think of it there must have been some kind of fermentation going on, so at least some alcohol was being produced.
As an even smaller child I used to wonder how my Methodist & strictly teetotal grandma could be responsible for making something called herb beer, which I used to love. Even at that tender age I wondered if the adults were being strictly truthful when they said it was non alcoholic, though I reasoned that they certainly wouldnt give it to me if it were. Regretfully, it was only made in summer. Even more regretfully, I never thought to ask for the recipe. It tasted very like Dandelion & Burdock, though not nearly as sweet as the commercial versions available today.
In some ways however, my absolutely most very favourite drink as a small child was soda water. This used to come from the grocers in a very heavy glass syphon with a silver coloured top. It cost the huge sum of 1 shilling & threepence, though most of that was returnable deposit. My Nan always had a syphon in the larder for medicinal purposes, namely her indigestion. I was, very occasionally, allowed a small quantity as a treat. I regret to say that I was not entirely above sneaking in to the larder for a stolen splash when I thought I could get away with it.
As I grew older & rationing came to an end, fizzy drinks became more widely available. There were even lorries which used to drive around, much as ice cream vans do today, delivering bottles to your door - though you still had to pay a deposit on each. There was definitely however a sense that only the more common sort of family would stoop to giving their children such large quantities of fizzy pop.
There was once a real fad for making your own ginger beer at home. For this you needed a ginger beer plant. This was some kind of yeast or fungus which you put in a jam jar half full of water & left on a window sill. It had to be fed regularly with, I think, ground ginger and sugar. After a week or so you strained off the liquid, mixed it with water & sealed it in glass bottles. One half of the plant could then be discarded or given to friends, & the whole process gone through again with the other half.
We used to store our bottles of ginger beer in a small stone outhouse. One winter panic set in at the sound of repeated explosions coming from the garden. When it seemed safe to investigate it transpired that the ginger beer had frozen & the subsequent expansion had caused the bottles to explode. Come to think of it there must have been some kind of fermentation going on, so at least some alcohol was being produced.
As an even smaller child I used to wonder how my Methodist & strictly teetotal grandma could be responsible for making something called herb beer, which I used to love. Even at that tender age I wondered if the adults were being strictly truthful when they said it was non alcoholic, though I reasoned that they certainly wouldnt give it to me if it were. Regretfully, it was only made in summer. Even more regretfully, I never thought to ask for the recipe. It tasted very like Dandelion & Burdock, though not nearly as sweet as the commercial versions available today.
In some ways however, my absolutely most very favourite drink as a small child was soda water. This used to come from the grocers in a very heavy glass syphon with a silver coloured top. It cost the huge sum of 1 shilling & threepence, though most of that was returnable deposit. My Nan always had a syphon in the larder for medicinal purposes, namely her indigestion. I was, very occasionally, allowed a small quantity as a treat. I regret to say that I was not entirely above sneaking in to the larder for a stolen splash when I thought I could get away with it.
As I grew older & rationing came to an end, fizzy drinks became more widely available. There were even lorries which used to drive around, much as ice cream vans do today, delivering bottles to your door - though you still had to pay a deposit on each. There was definitely however a sense that only the more common sort of family would stoop to giving their children such large quantities of fizzy pop.
Saturday, December 16, 2006
I love radio transmitters
While idly Googling one day I came across a marvellous site which documents, with photos, every radio & tv transmitter in the country. It even has a section recommending sites of particular interest to visit when on vacation. This may seem like a very nerdy thing for anyone to want to do, but of course many sites are found in areas of spectacular beauty. And they will be high up so you can enjoy an invigorating hill walk on your tour of inspection.
In fact I had similar holiday treats myself as a child. I very vividly remember Goonhilly Down in Cornwall. And more mundanely, as far as the visuals go, St Margarets Bay near Dover. This was my last family holiday before going off into the big wide world & I had my first bikini - pink with polka dots! - which I was far too self conscious to feel comfortable wearing. My other main memory of the holiday was being taken to see the laying of a new cable across the English Channel - a rather boring spectacle I thought. But my father explained to me that this was revolutionary, because the cable would be able to carry more than one conversation simultaneously; it achieved this by chopping up any one conversation into little pieces- just cutting out all the silences basically - & fitting them all together again at the other end. I remain mystified as to how a mere wire can know which bit is which
I was recently reminded of all this when I came across a book, The Atlantic Telegraph by William Russell (the man who reported the Crimean War), about the very first attempt to lay a cable across the Atlantic in the 1850s.
This was both beautifully illustrated & much the most exciting page turner I have read since I don't know when. I do recommend a read if you can lay hands on a copy - there is one in Manchester Central Library. It was heartbreaking when they finally had to admit defeat & leave a broken cable to lie on the ocean floor
Fortunately there is a much more recent & easily obtainable book - Thread Across the Ocean by John Steele Gordon - which includes the successful attempt in 1866
By 1867 The Manchester Guardian was complaining about the high cost of using the Atlantic cable - £10 for 20 words
In fact I had similar holiday treats myself as a child. I very vividly remember Goonhilly Down in Cornwall. And more mundanely, as far as the visuals go, St Margarets Bay near Dover. This was my last family holiday before going off into the big wide world & I had my first bikini - pink with polka dots! - which I was far too self conscious to feel comfortable wearing. My other main memory of the holiday was being taken to see the laying of a new cable across the English Channel - a rather boring spectacle I thought. But my father explained to me that this was revolutionary, because the cable would be able to carry more than one conversation simultaneously; it achieved this by chopping up any one conversation into little pieces- just cutting out all the silences basically - & fitting them all together again at the other end. I remain mystified as to how a mere wire can know which bit is which
I was recently reminded of all this when I came across a book, The Atlantic Telegraph by William Russell (the man who reported the Crimean War), about the very first attempt to lay a cable across the Atlantic in the 1850s.
This was both beautifully illustrated & much the most exciting page turner I have read since I don't know when. I do recommend a read if you can lay hands on a copy - there is one in Manchester Central Library. It was heartbreaking when they finally had to admit defeat & leave a broken cable to lie on the ocean floor
Fortunately there is a much more recent & easily obtainable book - Thread Across the Ocean by John Steele Gordon - which includes the successful attempt in 1866
By 1867 The Manchester Guardian was complaining about the high cost of using the Atlantic cable - £10 for 20 words
Link
Friday, December 15, 2006
Freedom of the road
We have only had free bus passes in our part of the world since April this year - before it was half fare. Of course its very nice for me as a regular bus user & non-driver, though there is the vaguest feeling of guilt about not having to pay now. A guilt rapidly extinguished by thinking of all those well-to-do Londoners who've had them for years, & remembering all those years of resentment when I seemed to be the only person not entitled to some kind of reduced rate pass
The effects have been quite marked. Since we live on the A6 south of Manchester many car owners are actually quite relieved that not every journey has to involve the hassle of negotiating the congestion & having to pay to park in town. If, that is, you can find a place
But its not just giving out for free something which used to be paid for. Bus passes generate increased travel & (therefore) increased economic activity. Many women over 60 have found a degree of freedom which they have not had for years, either because they are non-drivers or because others have priority use of the family car. It is a pleasure to meet them at the bus stop, imbued with a new sense of adventure, able to choose to go out at purely their own convenience
The bus drivers tell me that they have been much more busy on Sundays, & that a large part of the increased business seems to come from grandparents taking their small grandchildren out for the day. What a wonderfully simple, cheap & non-bureaucratic way to improve family values & social cohesion
The effects have been quite marked. Since we live on the A6 south of Manchester many car owners are actually quite relieved that not every journey has to involve the hassle of negotiating the congestion & having to pay to park in town. If, that is, you can find a place
But its not just giving out for free something which used to be paid for. Bus passes generate increased travel & (therefore) increased economic activity. Many women over 60 have found a degree of freedom which they have not had for years, either because they are non-drivers or because others have priority use of the family car. It is a pleasure to meet them at the bus stop, imbued with a new sense of adventure, able to choose to go out at purely their own convenience
The bus drivers tell me that they have been much more busy on Sundays, & that a large part of the increased business seems to come from grandparents taking their small grandchildren out for the day. What a wonderfully simple, cheap & non-bureaucratic way to improve family values & social cohesion
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Quarries
I love the quarries of Derbyshire. The current romantic idea is that the countryside should be preserved as it is & further quarrying should be avoided at all costs. But our landscape, far from being unspoiled, untouched by human hand or dynamite is, as anyone with half an eye can see, made of & by the old quarries. Admittedly most of them have left quite small scars on the landscape compared with the larger scale ones of today, but I love the idea of our stone being removed & used in great buildings; that to me is the true romance. Even if Derbyshire stone is used for more mundane projects, what could be more wonderful than the movement of stone to construct Stone Henge, Notre Dame, St Pauls, Taj Mahal? Even aggregate for motorways. What could be more romantic than the construction of great highways to allow man to wander far?
In the summer light the quarry at Peak Dale always reminds me of a Cezanne, with its large slab planes of ochre, yellow & cream & grey against the surrounding green. The industrial accretions are Futurist cum Socialist Realist; in my most fanciful moments I can see those two young peasants levitating in a giant leap across the top of the quarry with a cheery wave to us bus passengers. The only sour note is given by the trains; their subdued burnt orange is the perfect colour, but could someone please invent a dust resistant paint?
If I were a photographer I should like to try & take a photo with practically no depth of field almost like a water colour wash but with high definition of the edges of each block of colour. And blow it up to about 20x20 feet
In the summer light the quarry at Peak Dale always reminds me of a Cezanne, with its large slab planes of ochre, yellow & cream & grey against the surrounding green. The industrial accretions are Futurist cum Socialist Realist; in my most fanciful moments I can see those two young peasants levitating in a giant leap across the top of the quarry with a cheery wave to us bus passengers. The only sour note is given by the trains; their subdued burnt orange is the perfect colour, but could someone please invent a dust resistant paint?
If I were a photographer I should like to try & take a photo with practically no depth of field almost like a water colour wash but with high definition of the edges of each block of colour. And blow it up to about 20x20 feet
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Lessons from the masters
I am sorry for writing you such a long letter, I didnt have time to write a short one -Pascal
.
All progress depends on the unreasonable man, for the reasonable man accepts things as they are and adapts himself to them - George Bernard Shaw
.
When your teachers or your parents tell you 'Concentrate, concentrate. Whatever you are doing you MUST CONCENTRATE' they have got it almost precisely the wrong way round. Your aim in life should be to be to maximise the number of things you can do without thinking about them at all; then you can concentrate your mind on learning new things - Alfred North Whitehead
.
It is the mark of an educated mind to rest satisfied with the degree of precision that the nature of the subject admits & not to seek exactness when only an approximation is possible - Aristotle
.
All progress depends on the unreasonable man, for the reasonable man accepts things as they are and adapts himself to them - George Bernard Shaw
.
When your teachers or your parents tell you 'Concentrate, concentrate. Whatever you are doing you MUST CONCENTRATE' they have got it almost precisely the wrong way round. Your aim in life should be to be to maximise the number of things you can do without thinking about them at all; then you can concentrate your mind on learning new things - Alfred North Whitehead
.
It is the mark of an educated mind to rest satisfied with the degree of precision that the nature of the subject admits & not to seek exactness when only an approximation is possible - Aristotle
Friday, December 08, 2006
Chicken & giblets
More agricultural memories; this time about chickens
I used to help to collect the eggs on the farm. One day I was, to my ginormous pride, sent to collect them ALL BY MYSELF
It was a long time before I was allowed to forget that my oh-so-carefully carried harvest included the china egg whose sole purpose was to encourage the hens to lay
Another chicken memory concerns the Young Farmers Wives competitions at the Bakewell Show - how deliciously, nostalgically anachronistic that sounds now. One class involved plucking & drawing a chicken. Results were judged on speed & thoroughness. The speeds achieved were truly astonishing
I could if presented with a whole chicken, still remember how to draw it, though I doubt I have the requisite strength in my hands. But I would not want to pluck one. I get the shudders just thinking about it. The reason stems from an act of downright disobedience by my three-year-old self in the days just before Christmas
My father arrived home & dumped a sack just inside the kitchen door. I went to investigate while he was saying hello to Mum. Despite cries of DONT I put my hand in the sack ... the shock of feeling feathers - almost alive but somehow not quite right - made me squeal
Christmas isnt Christmas without the smell of proper giblet gravy simmering on the stove. Its sad that it is now virtually impossible to find anyone who sells chicken with giblets, though turkey with giblets is still available in some supermarkets
I try to avoid all ready meals & sandwiches which include chicken. Not just because I hate battery farms; I also worry about those products which make claims to using only prime breast fillet from free range animals. What happens to the rest of the chicken? Im with the River Cottage man: if you are going to eat an animal, you should at least show it the respect of eating as much it of as possible
I used to help to collect the eggs on the farm. One day I was, to my ginormous pride, sent to collect them ALL BY MYSELF
It was a long time before I was allowed to forget that my oh-so-carefully carried harvest included the china egg whose sole purpose was to encourage the hens to lay
Another chicken memory concerns the Young Farmers Wives competitions at the Bakewell Show - how deliciously, nostalgically anachronistic that sounds now. One class involved plucking & drawing a chicken. Results were judged on speed & thoroughness. The speeds achieved were truly astonishing
I could if presented with a whole chicken, still remember how to draw it, though I doubt I have the requisite strength in my hands. But I would not want to pluck one. I get the shudders just thinking about it. The reason stems from an act of downright disobedience by my three-year-old self in the days just before Christmas
My father arrived home & dumped a sack just inside the kitchen door. I went to investigate while he was saying hello to Mum. Despite cries of DONT I put my hand in the sack ... the shock of feeling feathers - almost alive but somehow not quite right - made me squeal
Christmas isnt Christmas without the smell of proper giblet gravy simmering on the stove. Its sad that it is now virtually impossible to find anyone who sells chicken with giblets, though turkey with giblets is still available in some supermarkets
I try to avoid all ready meals & sandwiches which include chicken. Not just because I hate battery farms; I also worry about those products which make claims to using only prime breast fillet from free range animals. What happens to the rest of the chicken? Im with the River Cottage man: if you are going to eat an animal, you should at least show it the respect of eating as much it of as possible
Monday, December 04, 2006
I love £ stores
I love Pound Stores. Partly because of meanness or thriftiness. 18 packest of pocket tissues! 200 polythene gloves! Bath towels! Incense! Reading glasses?!
I also love - though do not buy - the tat - so called. Hair ornaments, house ornaments, jewellery, toys - what exactly, is the difference between a Poundstore & Selfridges?
The main difference is chaos. Everything is, relatively, jumbled up, confined in a much smaller space. There is no continuity of supply - no point going back next month for another box of those pocket hankies from Slovenia
Are they exploitative?
Exploitative of labour in poorer countries such as China, India & Slovenia?
Exploitative of more pretentious gift shop businesses in the West who go bust & need to sell their bankrupt stock at any price to a wily Pound Store trader?
Exploitative of the youngsters who work the tills?
Exploitative of the UK tax & VAT system? - not many of my pounds get registered on the till
Exploitative of the cash cow possibilities & of money laundering connections with criminal or terrorist organisations?
Exploitative of their cash-strapped customers?
Well no more so, I guess, than the original 6d Woolworth or the M&S market stall in Leeds
'Ordered' middle class society preens itself on its taste in shopping only at Selfridges or Harvey Nicks. They think of themselves as prosperous & of well-developed good taste. But they accept that those clever enough to provide their palaces of temptation will be rich, fashionable leaders of taste, while they are rich only in the level of their personal indebtedness
I also love - though do not buy - the tat - so called. Hair ornaments, house ornaments, jewellery, toys - what exactly, is the difference between a Poundstore & Selfridges?
The main difference is chaos. Everything is, relatively, jumbled up, confined in a much smaller space. There is no continuity of supply - no point going back next month for another box of those pocket hankies from Slovenia
Are they exploitative?
Exploitative of labour in poorer countries such as China, India & Slovenia?
Exploitative of more pretentious gift shop businesses in the West who go bust & need to sell their bankrupt stock at any price to a wily Pound Store trader?
Exploitative of the youngsters who work the tills?
Exploitative of the UK tax & VAT system? - not many of my pounds get registered on the till
Exploitative of the cash cow possibilities & of money laundering connections with criminal or terrorist organisations?
Exploitative of their cash-strapped customers?
Well no more so, I guess, than the original 6d Woolworth or the M&S market stall in Leeds
'Ordered' middle class society preens itself on its taste in shopping only at Selfridges or Harvey Nicks. They think of themselves as prosperous & of well-developed good taste. But they accept that those clever enough to provide their palaces of temptation will be rich, fashionable leaders of taste, while they are rich only in the level of their personal indebtedness
Lancelot Hogben
"You may provide creches, school feeding, family allowances, holidays with pay for expectant mothers, & 1001 other inducements. If you do not give people space you will not make parenthood endurable"
Nobody who has ever travelled by train from Manchester to London could possibly believe that; once out of south Manchester only a tiny portion of the country is built over until you get to Watford
Saturday, December 02, 2006
Children & Social Control
These days I spend a lot of my time reading in the Manchester Central Library which has a wonderful collection of Victorian books, pamphlets, newspapers & archives. Manchester was a pioneer of C19th public libraries & the current building, which was erected in the 1930s, is a magnificent 6 storey circular structure based on the Round Reading room of the old British Library. Unlike the British Library, which was hidden away in the midst of the British Museum, this one is free standing, near to the Victorian Gothic Town Hall, but in another nod to the BM has an impressive south-facing colonnaded entrance
The Library is also home to, on its basement floor, a theatre. In common with many other theatres the Christmas season is occupied with shows suitable for children & attracts many school parties to its daytime performances. Readers & theatregoers share the entrance to the building
An experience of two years ago still resonates with me; I came down the stairs from the 1st floor reading room to meet a party of excited & noisy 6/7 year olds making their way out from a performance of that years Christmas show; chaotic in their excitement, it took time for them to pass through the security gate. After standing watching them with a fond grandmotherly eye for several minutes, then thinking that it could take a long time for a whole theatre-full to pass, I joined the melee & made my way out of the building
A couple of days later I again came down the stairs as the theatre was emptying. Another crowd leaving the show, slightly older this time, 8 year olds perhaps. But these children, though clearly happy & excited, were quiet & organised; they passed quickly, two by two, often holding hands
Reflecting on the differences several things became clear; age, obviously, plus the fact that the first was a mixed group & the second was just girls - no noisy boys. But the chaotic group also obviously came from one of the poorer areas of the city, the organised ones were from a much more prosperous background. Uniform in more than one sense, the second group were all dressed in navy & red & I particularly remember the coat worn by one little girl - fully tailored, made of an expensive woollen cloth - how much do you have to pay for such a coat which she will grow out of within the year?
The noisy group had many more adult supervisors who themselves looked harassed & pale, even ill. The second group seemed to be accompanied by no more than a couple of teachers, well-dressed, even soignée, women
C20th historians pondered the question of 'social control' in the Victorian era - meaning middle class attempts to control the noisy, dirty, chaotic & immoral working class, or slum, populations of the cities. Some of these historical essays suggest that social control was an imposition which demeaned the liveliness of working class culture & was distasteful in its sense of superiority (they also beg the question of how many of the middle class cared & how many preferred to ignore these social problems). My C21st example raises the question of how the middle classes achieve such control over their own children; of whether it is a good thing; & if so, what are the benefits?
Organisation & control have clear benefits - in this example, access for me & for all other library users was subject to minimum disruption. Cleanliness & order have clear medical & health benefits too. But total order is the same thing as entropy; growth & evolution depend on difference; does organisation bring atrophy, can change emerge only from chaos? Or can important differences only emerge more clearly when the noise of chaos is removed from the system?
And how is such order achieved? Could the mechanism be genetic? This seems unlikely in itself - if two babies are swapped at birth would the one assigned to the middle class upbringing necessarily revert to lower class behaviour & vice versa? It seems much more plausible that the advantages of a comfortable environment would encourage conformity of external behaviour while allowing maximum scope for thinking about ways of developing & expanding human experience. For example it would allow or encourage thinking about new types of technology whether this be railways, telephone or internet
But this in turn begs the question of how some people (regardless of which class they are born to) are able to act, throughout their lives, in a way that gives them access to & control over, the resources needed to provide such comfort; which in themselves need a certain skill in relating to others - to organising - the plumbers, builders, cleaners, architects, solicitors etc etc - necessary for such a comfortable life. Such talent for organisation is not limited to the middle classes, which brings us back round the circle to the question: does order come from chaos, or do new forms of order come only from order?
The Library is also home to, on its basement floor, a theatre. In common with many other theatres the Christmas season is occupied with shows suitable for children & attracts many school parties to its daytime performances. Readers & theatregoers share the entrance to the building
An experience of two years ago still resonates with me; I came down the stairs from the 1st floor reading room to meet a party of excited & noisy 6/7 year olds making their way out from a performance of that years Christmas show; chaotic in their excitement, it took time for them to pass through the security gate. After standing watching them with a fond grandmotherly eye for several minutes, then thinking that it could take a long time for a whole theatre-full to pass, I joined the melee & made my way out of the building
A couple of days later I again came down the stairs as the theatre was emptying. Another crowd leaving the show, slightly older this time, 8 year olds perhaps. But these children, though clearly happy & excited, were quiet & organised; they passed quickly, two by two, often holding hands
Reflecting on the differences several things became clear; age, obviously, plus the fact that the first was a mixed group & the second was just girls - no noisy boys. But the chaotic group also obviously came from one of the poorer areas of the city, the organised ones were from a much more prosperous background. Uniform in more than one sense, the second group were all dressed in navy & red & I particularly remember the coat worn by one little girl - fully tailored, made of an expensive woollen cloth - how much do you have to pay for such a coat which she will grow out of within the year?
The noisy group had many more adult supervisors who themselves looked harassed & pale, even ill. The second group seemed to be accompanied by no more than a couple of teachers, well-dressed, even soignée, women
C20th historians pondered the question of 'social control' in the Victorian era - meaning middle class attempts to control the noisy, dirty, chaotic & immoral working class, or slum, populations of the cities. Some of these historical essays suggest that social control was an imposition which demeaned the liveliness of working class culture & was distasteful in its sense of superiority (they also beg the question of how many of the middle class cared & how many preferred to ignore these social problems). My C21st example raises the question of how the middle classes achieve such control over their own children; of whether it is a good thing; & if so, what are the benefits?
Organisation & control have clear benefits - in this example, access for me & for all other library users was subject to minimum disruption. Cleanliness & order have clear medical & health benefits too. But total order is the same thing as entropy; growth & evolution depend on difference; does organisation bring atrophy, can change emerge only from chaos? Or can important differences only emerge more clearly when the noise of chaos is removed from the system?
And how is such order achieved? Could the mechanism be genetic? This seems unlikely in itself - if two babies are swapped at birth would the one assigned to the middle class upbringing necessarily revert to lower class behaviour & vice versa? It seems much more plausible that the advantages of a comfortable environment would encourage conformity of external behaviour while allowing maximum scope for thinking about ways of developing & expanding human experience. For example it would allow or encourage thinking about new types of technology whether this be railways, telephone or internet
But this in turn begs the question of how some people (regardless of which class they are born to) are able to act, throughout their lives, in a way that gives them access to & control over, the resources needed to provide such comfort; which in themselves need a certain skill in relating to others - to organising - the plumbers, builders, cleaners, architects, solicitors etc etc - necessary for such a comfortable life. Such talent for organisation is not limited to the middle classes, which brings us back round the circle to the question: does order come from chaos, or do new forms of order come only from order?
Memory & Malcolm X
I just came across a cutting of The Guardians report of the death of Malcolm X; the word 'negro' is used 3 times in the first few lines
But its the date - February 1965 - which has discombobulated me. The article says that he had just returned from a visit to Britain, so unless he had made another visit in 1964, the assassination must have happened very soon after my own (nearly) meeting with him
He had given a public address to a packed lecture theatre at college; word went round that there would be a more private meeting in one of the common rooms. I went along, with my friends, only to be turned away at the door (just me) on the grounds that I was not the right colour. A valuable lesson in Life
But why are these two events not more closely associated in my memory? True, it was a momentous year in my personal life, & there was still the aftershock of the death of Kennedy, but if you had asked me yesterday I would have put the Malcolm X murder at more like 1968
Unreliable memory indeed
But its the date - February 1965 - which has discombobulated me. The article says that he had just returned from a visit to Britain, so unless he had made another visit in 1964, the assassination must have happened very soon after my own (nearly) meeting with him
He had given a public address to a packed lecture theatre at college; word went round that there would be a more private meeting in one of the common rooms. I went along, with my friends, only to be turned away at the door (just me) on the grounds that I was not the right colour. A valuable lesson in Life
But why are these two events not more closely associated in my memory? True, it was a momentous year in my personal life, & there was still the aftershock of the death of Kennedy, but if you had asked me yesterday I would have put the Malcolm X murder at more like 1968
Unreliable memory indeed
Playing with words
Alimony Acrimony
fr Latin alere: to nourish fr Latin acer: sharp
Alimentary, my dear Watson
Friday, December 01, 2006
Telephone exchanges
In the middle of the twentieth century many villages in rural Derbyshire were in possession of an automatic telephone exchange.
As a child, a holiday treat for me was to accompany my father on his visits of inspection to these exchanges. They looked like small bungalows, built out of local stone, almost indistinguishable from the surrounding cottages except for their lack of windows or gardens.
I can still remember the mysterious click, clack clack of the connections being made by the banks of levers, knobs & switches - is it my imagination, or were they made of wood?. The romance of imagining all those human connections being made without the need for human intervention ... But how clunky it all seems now, when at the touch of a button on a lap top I can be connected with the other side of the world.
What happened to those exchanges? Have they been demolished? Converted into des res? Do they now house vital bits of the World Wide Web? Or do they just stand as empty echoes of the ghostly clacks of those postwar rural conversations?
As a child, a holiday treat for me was to accompany my father on his visits of inspection to these exchanges. They looked like small bungalows, built out of local stone, almost indistinguishable from the surrounding cottages except for their lack of windows or gardens.
I can still remember the mysterious click, clack clack of the connections being made by the banks of levers, knobs & switches - is it my imagination, or were they made of wood?. The romance of imagining all those human connections being made without the need for human intervention ... But how clunky it all seems now, when at the touch of a button on a lap top I can be connected with the other side of the world.
What happened to those exchanges? Have they been demolished? Converted into des res? Do they now house vital bits of the World Wide Web? Or do they just stand as empty echoes of the ghostly clacks of those postwar rural conversations?
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Cricket at Lords Tuesday 3 July 1984
I was going through an old commonplace book when I found, tucked away, a few pages torn from an old mini-notebook. I thought I would transfer them to my blog because I rather like the idea of having them floating around in the ether, and also because it was the last time I attended all 5 days of a Test match
.
Another cold overcast morning at Lords - despite Francis Wilsons promise of a bright warm day. I believed him & wore a shirt & strappy t shirt - though took the precaution of packing a cardi &, at the last moment, putting on tights rather than go bare-legged. Thank heavens
This is not turning out to be one of Marshalls better matches. After losing the battle with Botham yesterday he at last managed to dispose of Lamb (c Dujon) with the first ball of his second over today. Only to have young Foster come in & dispatch balls 5&6 for 4 through the covers down to the short Tavern boundary
Marshall is the bowler who seems to give most thought to his fields - redirecting people without always seeming to consult Clive Lloyd
Pringle promptly went during the next over - another lbw
England declare, without further ado, at 300 for 9
Thus saving Willis the bother of batting. He does not look at all his old self - or rather, perhaps thats what he does look. After a very short net this morning he returned to the pavillion looking sweaty - in the face as much as anywhere. A sure sign of someone not at the peak of fitness
Willis had Greenidge worried during his first over - in particular one which was only just kept out of his stumps
Botham too bowled a lively first over to Haynes from the Nursery end
WI 0 for 0 after 2 overs
57 for 1 after 14.1 overs
Haynes unfortunately run out - after being sent back by Greenidge. The decision must have been a close one. Haynes lay prostrate for several seconds. Off Pringles first ball
It is interesting to see who plays the part of bowlers friend. Is this the job of mid-off, or is the friend put at mid-off to do the job?
Gatting adopted the role for Foster: he was particularly noticeable during the over, about 6 after lunch, when Greenidge really got going again
Lamb missed a really hard chance in the covers: Foster, though he jumped quickly, could not even get a finger to a straight drive
Greenidge makes the fielders look like fools because he is such a hard hitter. They dive & seem to get a hand to the ball but still it goes on its way towards if not actually to the boundary
Richards hits the ball through the gaps, Greenidge hits it through the fielders
In the 1920s Chris Broad would have been the answer to many a maidens prayer. Strong square chins however have not been in fashion since the 60s
Lamb plays bowlers friend to Botham though he usually fields no further forward than mid wicket
Willis in his trance has no need for a friend
Mike Brearley joined the ground staff on the Nursery benches in mid afternoon. I didnt see him arrive but I get the distinct impression that he is happier there than he would be in the Pavillion. If only he had a walkie-talkie to Gower
After Gomes has got his eye in & loosens up he seems to grow at least 6 inches taller
Never have I seen them changing the sight screens so often at the Nursery end. It has something to do with Bothams bowling - & of course the left hand/right hand bat combination (Haynes & Greenidge)
One MCC type who came to sit here after lunch was driven to exclaim 'They must be the worst side we have ever had' He wore brown suede shoes with gold buckle fastenings, so his opinions must be suspect
Greenidge making his 200 with a 6 to long fine leg off Foster
To see Richards walk down the ground from the Nursery to the Pavillion after nets you would think he had just got off the boat after 15 months on the raging Main. Still got his sea legs. Landlubbers need not aspire to the heights of batting
If Gomes (or Greenidge) had got out, would Lloyd have come in to bat his final innings at Lords? Pause to sigh for my all-time hero
Coloured clothing must be better, cant be worse, than the miscellaneous collection of so-called whites. Sweaters look almost brown against the over-white synthetic trousers. And someone ought to tell them about the visible panty line
When are the nice men who run Lords going to do something about the PA system at the Nursery end? Its fine - so long as there are not more than twenty people sitting here to deaden the acoustic
forecars
Friday, November 24, 2006
Shelling peas
Childhood memories - we're talking 1950s here. For me the memory of shelling peas provides one of those madeleine moments; it was a communal activity - you, your nan, your mum, your sister (no men), sitting in the sun outside the back door; peas into the saucepan, empty pods & haulm on to a sheet of newspaper later to be wrapped up tidily & deposited in the bin
A pound or two of pods, some flat & green, some fat, some warty, sere & yellow. The plump yellow pods usually provided the fattest palest peas & were easiest to pop; the flat, bright green pods were hard to split open, often had to be torn apart, & frequently provided no peas at all, just minuscule seeds which could not be sloughed into the communal saucepan. But they did provide the guilty treat - guilty because you thought you had to do it without your mother seeing - since they, pods & all, were sweet to eat whilst raw; the idea that we should pay a premium price for mangetout lay in the future
Sometimes, most pleasing of all, the peas were fresh-picked from the sun-drenched summer garden, but more often than not they came from the greengrocer or the market. If it had been a wet week a proportion of the pods were slimy & totally unpoppable; then extra sheets of newspaper were required for wiping the gloop from your fingers as you grappled to salvage a usable number of peas from the pulpy mass of their covering
In winter however, vegetables - especially green ones - were both harder to come by & unappetising. Revolting slimy cabbage (why did nobody know how delicious it could be if briefly cooked or lightly steamed? Was it because the ribs needed to be boiled for half an hour to make them tender, the black slimy leaves just the price you had to pay?) Or sprouts, after the first frost had got to them; the varieties we had then needed frost to ameliorate the bitter taste. Given these choices, winter Sunday dinner often relied on dried peas for that necessary touch of green
The blue sugar-paper bag of shrivelled, alas NOT sugar, peas from the grocer usually contained a flat wrapped tablet of sodium bicarbonate. You had to soak the peas in plain water overnight; then the bicarb would, if added during the boiling, restore a pleasing shade of green & stop them from turning yellow & sulphurous; some argued that this came at the price of destroying the flavour
Tasty or not, dried peas were spectacularly fart-inducing, especially in the dog, whose own Sunday treat consisted of the scrapings from our plates - cold roast potatoes (the hard bits), congealed gravy &, overwhelmingy, bullet peas
Then came the day we were introduced to frozen peas. As is the case with so many innovations, especially the convenient ones, they were attacked as depraved, immoral, not nearly as good for you as those communally shelled ones which we had before (from time immemorial). It did not help that frozen peas were the favoured accompaniment to that other invention of the devil which was corrupting our childrens tastes & eating habits - the fish finger. In vain, at least in those early days, did the manufacturers protest the nutritional superiority of peas picked & frozen within hours compared with peas which sat for days on the market stall or in the greengrocers shop, albeit in their pods. Uniformity, green intensity, MUST be less natural, & therefore less good than, the spectrum of variety from fat/warty/yellow to thin/flat/green
But we got used to frozen peas, & fish fingers would now, in some quarters at least, be considered infinitely superior to anything MacDonalds has to offer. Their familiarity perhaps explains why they are now faintly out of fashion. On the other hand it may be just that the difficulty of eating peas, in these days of finger foods, has led to their decline
Peas have not totally had it however. They have subtly gone upmarket in these days of ready-prepared. I still remember how decadent I felt when I bought my first plastic tray of 'fresh' shelled peas from M&S. They cost about £1, itself a sinful sum. They allowed me to avoid the physical labour of shelling & the intellectual labour of deciding which were edible; they lacked variety, were uniformly green, round & perfectly formed. They tasted delicious
Is there a moral to this story? it certainly tracks important changes in society since I was a child in the 1940s & 50s. Division of labour, for one; instead of growing peas in your own garden or buying them in their pods from the market, then shelling them as a communal family activity, they now come grown & harvested, selected & shelled, prepared (probably in Africa), ready for 5 minutes cooking, or less in the microwave. This new division of labour has been made possible by the development of air transport & concomitant expansion in methods of communication - supermarket managers need fairly instant methods of making known how much & how many they want & where they want them
Women work outside the home & cant, or dont want to, waste time shelling peas. And then there is the matter of choice; all of us, even very young children, have got used to deciding, almost then & there, what we want to eat, rather than being told to eat up - for the sake of starving children in Africa! - whatever Mum has decided to cook for tea at 5 o'clock. Its like having servants, without the stress of havimg them there to observe your sins & foibles
Should we worry about all this? What about the pollution from the planes busily transporting these peas? What happens to all those empty pods, haulm, peas which are the wrong shape or colour? Is their disposal better or worse - for the planet, for gods sake - than what happened when we used to put all the bits in the dustbin & send them to landfill? If waste is minimised, for example by ensuring that the peas all grow to the requisite shape & size, are we interfering dangerously with Natures variety? Even if we dont use GM methods?
Are we exploiting African labour, or do jobs in the pea fields & factories offer a more dignified way of life than that which the workers had before, or than that which used to be on offer to domestic servants in this country? Is it better to serve others at a (maybe considerable) distance, in return for a wage or salary, rather than serve them intimately, responding to their instant whims?
Has anything good replaced that communal pea shelling?
Well yes, if you live in the present & look to the future. The Sainsburys in Hazel Grove is open late, cafe & all, fresh peas in plastic trays & all, bus stop outside, easily accessible to those without cars, gives us many more options in the way we live our lives. I just hope that, by some process of symbiosis, this will also help improve the lives of others employed in the process. It seems better, less condescending, simply to enjoy the peas than to gush over 'their' wonderfully crafted textiles for which I pay more than I would in a commercial shop because I want to give them a slightly greater proportion of what would otherwise be 'profit', thus giving them less opportunity to build a life, dependent on divided labour, such as the one I lead
A pound or two of pods, some flat & green, some fat, some warty, sere & yellow. The plump yellow pods usually provided the fattest palest peas & were easiest to pop; the flat, bright green pods were hard to split open, often had to be torn apart, & frequently provided no peas at all, just minuscule seeds which could not be sloughed into the communal saucepan. But they did provide the guilty treat - guilty because you thought you had to do it without your mother seeing - since they, pods & all, were sweet to eat whilst raw; the idea that we should pay a premium price for mangetout lay in the future
Sometimes, most pleasing of all, the peas were fresh-picked from the sun-drenched summer garden, but more often than not they came from the greengrocer or the market. If it had been a wet week a proportion of the pods were slimy & totally unpoppable; then extra sheets of newspaper were required for wiping the gloop from your fingers as you grappled to salvage a usable number of peas from the pulpy mass of their covering
In winter however, vegetables - especially green ones - were both harder to come by & unappetising. Revolting slimy cabbage (why did nobody know how delicious it could be if briefly cooked or lightly steamed? Was it because the ribs needed to be boiled for half an hour to make them tender, the black slimy leaves just the price you had to pay?) Or sprouts, after the first frost had got to them; the varieties we had then needed frost to ameliorate the bitter taste. Given these choices, winter Sunday dinner often relied on dried peas for that necessary touch of green
The blue sugar-paper bag of shrivelled, alas NOT sugar, peas from the grocer usually contained a flat wrapped tablet of sodium bicarbonate. You had to soak the peas in plain water overnight; then the bicarb would, if added during the boiling, restore a pleasing shade of green & stop them from turning yellow & sulphurous; some argued that this came at the price of destroying the flavour
Tasty or not, dried peas were spectacularly fart-inducing, especially in the dog, whose own Sunday treat consisted of the scrapings from our plates - cold roast potatoes (the hard bits), congealed gravy &, overwhelmingy, bullet peas
Then came the day we were introduced to frozen peas. As is the case with so many innovations, especially the convenient ones, they were attacked as depraved, immoral, not nearly as good for you as those communally shelled ones which we had before (from time immemorial). It did not help that frozen peas were the favoured accompaniment to that other invention of the devil which was corrupting our childrens tastes & eating habits - the fish finger. In vain, at least in those early days, did the manufacturers protest the nutritional superiority of peas picked & frozen within hours compared with peas which sat for days on the market stall or in the greengrocers shop, albeit in their pods. Uniformity, green intensity, MUST be less natural, & therefore less good than, the spectrum of variety from fat/warty/yellow to thin/flat/green
But we got used to frozen peas, & fish fingers would now, in some quarters at least, be considered infinitely superior to anything MacDonalds has to offer. Their familiarity perhaps explains why they are now faintly out of fashion. On the other hand it may be just that the difficulty of eating peas, in these days of finger foods, has led to their decline
Peas have not totally had it however. They have subtly gone upmarket in these days of ready-prepared. I still remember how decadent I felt when I bought my first plastic tray of 'fresh' shelled peas from M&S. They cost about £1, itself a sinful sum. They allowed me to avoid the physical labour of shelling & the intellectual labour of deciding which were edible; they lacked variety, were uniformly green, round & perfectly formed. They tasted delicious
Is there a moral to this story? it certainly tracks important changes in society since I was a child in the 1940s & 50s. Division of labour, for one; instead of growing peas in your own garden or buying them in their pods from the market, then shelling them as a communal family activity, they now come grown & harvested, selected & shelled, prepared (probably in Africa), ready for 5 minutes cooking, or less in the microwave. This new division of labour has been made possible by the development of air transport & concomitant expansion in methods of communication - supermarket managers need fairly instant methods of making known how much & how many they want & where they want them
Women work outside the home & cant, or dont want to, waste time shelling peas. And then there is the matter of choice; all of us, even very young children, have got used to deciding, almost then & there, what we want to eat, rather than being told to eat up - for the sake of starving children in Africa! - whatever Mum has decided to cook for tea at 5 o'clock. Its like having servants, without the stress of havimg them there to observe your sins & foibles
Should we worry about all this? What about the pollution from the planes busily transporting these peas? What happens to all those empty pods, haulm, peas which are the wrong shape or colour? Is their disposal better or worse - for the planet, for gods sake - than what happened when we used to put all the bits in the dustbin & send them to landfill? If waste is minimised, for example by ensuring that the peas all grow to the requisite shape & size, are we interfering dangerously with Natures variety? Even if we dont use GM methods?
Are we exploiting African labour, or do jobs in the pea fields & factories offer a more dignified way of life than that which the workers had before, or than that which used to be on offer to domestic servants in this country? Is it better to serve others at a (maybe considerable) distance, in return for a wage or salary, rather than serve them intimately, responding to their instant whims?
Has anything good replaced that communal pea shelling?
Well yes, if you live in the present & look to the future. The Sainsburys in Hazel Grove is open late, cafe & all, fresh peas in plastic trays & all, bus stop outside, easily accessible to those without cars, gives us many more options in the way we live our lives. I just hope that, by some process of symbiosis, this will also help improve the lives of others employed in the process. It seems better, less condescending, simply to enjoy the peas than to gush over 'their' wonderfully crafted textiles for which I pay more than I would in a commercial shop because I want to give them a slightly greater proportion of what would otherwise be 'profit', thus giving them less opportunity to build a life, dependent on divided labour, such as the one I lead
Sunday, November 19, 2006
Quantum words
Theres probably a proper (or at least an existing) term for this. I just made it up for words which can hold completely opposite meanings, are their own antonym, can be in two places at once
Wan: can mean dark or pale. I heard someone somewhere once explain that the old English word for dark acquired new meaning after the Black Death
Before can also mean behind. 'The prospect before her' is obviously in front. 'Before I came into the room' is obviously behind. Perhaps Einstein can explain this confusion of space & time
Federal in England means being ordered around by a supra-national power. In Germany it means that central government cannot tell the lande what to do. In the USA it means that state rights are jealously guarded
Wan: can mean dark or pale. I heard someone somewhere once explain that the old English word for dark acquired new meaning after the Black Death
Before can also mean behind. 'The prospect before her' is obviously in front. 'Before I came into the room' is obviously behind. Perhaps Einstein can explain this confusion of space & time
Federal in England means being ordered around by a supra-national power. In Germany it means that central government cannot tell the lande what to do. In the USA it means that state rights are jealously guarded
humbergris
Saturday, November 18, 2006
Perspicacity
I was just re-reading my commonplace book for 1997 & came across the following quotation from Theodore Porters admirable book Trust in Numbers:
'As an abstract proposition, rigorous standards promote public responsibility & may very well contribute to accountability, even to democracy. But if the real goals of public action must be set aside so that officials may be judged against standards that miss the point, something important has been lost. The drive to eliminate trust & judgement from the public domain will never succeed. Possibly it is worse than futile'
Which I had annotated:
'cf the need to find politicians we can trust [Blair, Clinton, Reagan] even if, especially if, they dont actually do much?'
How perceptive of me (!)
'As an abstract proposition, rigorous standards promote public responsibility & may very well contribute to accountability, even to democracy. But if the real goals of public action must be set aside so that officials may be judged against standards that miss the point, something important has been lost. The drive to eliminate trust & judgement from the public domain will never succeed. Possibly it is worse than futile'
Which I had annotated:
'cf the need to find politicians we can trust [Blair, Clinton, Reagan] even if, especially if, they dont actually do much?'
How perceptive of me (!)
arglot
Friday, November 17, 2006
Tony Blairs Bad Hair Day
I am actually starting to feel a bit sorry for the man. You can hear the strain & depression in his voice, his hair has receded still further &, in my opinion, it looks as if he is now wearing something akin to a full wig rather than just a top piece. Just look at the photo on p35 of The Times 16 November - you can see the 'hair line' going round to the back of his neck with his sideburns peeking through. The Times has also helpfully provided a series of then & now pictures for comparison
pippadom
Tony Blairs black day
Conservatives have only just begun to recover from Black Wednesday, the day when Norman Lamont appeared on late night tv to explain how we had just fallen out of the erm or whtever it was called then. The country just quietly turned its back & let them get on with it, whatever
I believe the equivalent happened to Tony Blair on the day it was revealed that he, personally, participated in the switch from donations to loans. In that sense the details & legal niceties, whether charges will be laid, matter not one jot. Here is this aw shucks Im a good guy I am, who promised an end to sleaze, promised to make us feel good about ourselves, knowingly cicumventing his own law.
Yea, yea, Tony, whatever you say.
Has he gone yet, Ethel?
I believe the equivalent happened to Tony Blair on the day it was revealed that he, personally, participated in the switch from donations to loans. In that sense the details & legal niceties, whether charges will be laid, matter not one jot. Here is this aw shucks Im a good guy I am, who promised an end to sleaze, promised to make us feel good about ourselves, knowingly cicumventing his own law.
Yea, yea, Tony, whatever you say.
Has he gone yet, Ethel?
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Did I say that?
.
Copying & change are the fundamental processes
Genes hold the secret of life but not of living
Patients have problems, not complaints
Translation - like forgery - always shows its age
I cant understand what you say unless I already know what you mean
Art is a way of making you see
Everybody wants to be special but no one wants to be different
If ends justify means then the future justifies the past
All logic fails when pushed to its logical confusion
My body is just the space I move around in
'Originality is just another word for faulty memory' - John Patterson, Guardian Guide 28/6/1998
Copying & change are the fundamental processes
Genes hold the secret of life but not of living
Patients have problems, not complaints
Translation - like forgery - always shows its age
I cant understand what you say unless I already know what you mean
Art is a way of making you see
Everybody wants to be special but no one wants to be different
If ends justify means then the future justifies the past
All logic fails when pushed to its logical confusion
My body is just the space I move around in
'Originality is just another word for faulty memory' - John Patterson, Guardian Guide 28/6/1998
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Random reflections on Reading The Times Books supplement Saturday 11 November
Jeanette Winterson Our disconnection from the Earth is pushing us towards extinction Oh dear!.....
Vintage chart 1965 a momentous year for me a surprisingly literary list not too much to my taste the only one I have read is AJP Taylor later in paperback I remember sitting reading on the bus to work & being astonished at how small was the geographical area covered by WWI battlefields......
Why didnt somebody notice the 2 howevers in the 1st sentence of the extract from the Ashes book?........
Sad to see Johnson Beharrys book apparently not doing well ....quel surprise
Sassoon - people really did use to make thick down strokes & thin up ones! Despite my teachers best efforts I never mastered that art of angling the nib correctly.....
Not in the mood for Fergal Keanes emotion, or for masonic conspiracies .....
Wordsworth & Coleridge - lovely portraits I suppose it is clear enough which is which......
Palin & Rhys Jones ouch! Both in the same week.....
Must have a look at the Gladstone/Disraeli book......
Simon Blackburn the review tells me (more than) all I want to know......
I increasingly admire Jane Shillings deceptively simple prose (thats not an estate agents deceptively spacious) must read this food book....
Hurrah! a good audio review for Beharry......
Doesnt (didnt?) William Styron look like Dick Francis!......
I did love the 2 Mishimas I have read - & didnt he write Woman on the beach? but, unusually flinch from finding out more about the life of an author......
1491 at last glad to know this exists but does not sound like A Good Read. And yes, of course modern environmentalism is just 'naive therapeutic (?not sure about that) nihilism' - German Romantic Nitzchean fascism......
I must be psychic! Skimming through the Doctorow (whom I tend to confuse with Caleb Carr) - admiring but thinking hes too much like hard work - & how does the review end?.....
Now for the Xword & Sudoku
Thats the end of my annoying habit of reading out bits commenting on the paper which you cant see
Vintage chart 1965 a momentous year for me a surprisingly literary list not too much to my taste the only one I have read is AJP Taylor later in paperback I remember sitting reading on the bus to work & being astonished at how small was the geographical area covered by WWI battlefields......
Why didnt somebody notice the 2 howevers in the 1st sentence of the extract from the Ashes book?........
Sad to see Johnson Beharrys book apparently not doing well ....quel surprise
Sassoon - people really did use to make thick down strokes & thin up ones! Despite my teachers best efforts I never mastered that art of angling the nib correctly.....
Not in the mood for Fergal Keanes emotion, or for masonic conspiracies .....
Wordsworth & Coleridge - lovely portraits I suppose it is clear enough which is which......
Palin & Rhys Jones ouch! Both in the same week.....
Must have a look at the Gladstone/Disraeli book......
Simon Blackburn the review tells me (more than) all I want to know......
I increasingly admire Jane Shillings deceptively simple prose (thats not an estate agents deceptively spacious) must read this food book....
Hurrah! a good audio review for Beharry......
Doesnt (didnt?) William Styron look like Dick Francis!......
I did love the 2 Mishimas I have read - & didnt he write Woman on the beach? but, unusually flinch from finding out more about the life of an author......
1491 at last glad to know this exists but does not sound like A Good Read. And yes, of course modern environmentalism is just 'naive therapeutic (?not sure about that) nihilism' - German Romantic Nitzchean fascism......
I must be psychic! Skimming through the Doctorow (whom I tend to confuse with Caleb Carr) - admiring but thinking hes too much like hard work - & how does the review end?.....
Now for the Xword & Sudoku
Thats the end of my annoying habit of reading out bits commenting on the paper which you cant see
flobbadob
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Global warming
The Right Reverend Reginald Heber, Bishop of Calcutta 1823-26, deserves honour as the prophet & founder of our modern Green movement. For he it was who wrote the hymn From Greenlands icy mountain which contains the line Where every prospect pleases & only Man is vile
And yea it has come to pass. For we are all sinners & the end of the world is nigh!
Stop driving
Stop flying
Stop importing food
Turn off that tv & that computer
Now lets see. Which of our ancestors lived the perfect green life?
But wait. For we are guilty not just of our own sins but of theirs as well
Auschwitz? Mea culpa
The Irish famine? Mea culpa
Slavery? Mea maxima culpa
Personally I should like to put on trial those who cut down the beautiful Peak Forest. And hacked out those ancient limestone quarries. And riddled the place with lead mines. And forced railways through to scar our countryside, using the power of money & clever fat cat lawyers
Why did they not take more seriously thier duty to future generations? To Us
Why were not they as clever & far sighted as we are?
And yea it has come to pass. For we are all sinners & the end of the world is nigh!
Stop driving
Stop flying
Stop importing food
Turn off that tv & that computer
Now lets see. Which of our ancestors lived the perfect green life?
But wait. For we are guilty not just of our own sins but of theirs as well
Auschwitz? Mea culpa
The Irish famine? Mea culpa
Slavery? Mea maxima culpa
Personally I should like to put on trial those who cut down the beautiful Peak Forest. And hacked out those ancient limestone quarries. And riddled the place with lead mines. And forced railways through to scar our countryside, using the power of money & clever fat cat lawyers
Why did they not take more seriously thier duty to future generations? To Us
Why were not they as clever & far sighted as we are?
Links
Monday, November 13, 2006
The Peoples Princess
I havent seen the new Helen Mirren film about the Queen & the death of Princess Diana. But I wonder if it deals at all with the Queens reaction to Tony Blairs Peoples Princess remark?
For the Queen herself, at 21, had been given the same soubriquet:
For the Queen herself, at 21, had been given the same soubriquet:
Since it was an egalitarian, democratic era, much ingenuity was exercised
in presenting her as a peoples princessBen Pimlott: The Queen
Did Alistair & Tony know they were not being original - or does that 'a' make it significantly different from 'the'?
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Qual der Wahl
If I hear Tony Blair or one of his minions say, once more, that they have made a difficult decision, I shall scweam & scweam & scweam
All decisions are difficult on their day. What to wear, what to have for supper ...
The whole point of having power is to be the one who makes the decisions. But it is also your responsibility as a politician to persuade us, to offer reassurance to those who may have doubts about your rightness, that you have given proper consideration to all the arguments then used your wisdom & experience to come to the best decision. That way the people will feel they are in safe hands. They might even feel good about the decision
Dont just tell them, irritably: Look. It was. A difficult decision. I made it. (And Im a good guy I am). So. Will you all now. Just. Please. Shut up. And. Move on
All decisions are difficult on their day. What to wear, what to have for supper ...
The whole point of having power is to be the one who makes the decisions. But it is also your responsibility as a politician to persuade us, to offer reassurance to those who may have doubts about your rightness, that you have given proper consideration to all the arguments then used your wisdom & experience to come to the best decision. That way the people will feel they are in safe hands. They might even feel good about the decision
Dont just tell them, irritably: Look. It was. A difficult decision. I made it. (And Im a good guy I am). So. Will you all now. Just. Please. Shut up. And. Move on
Todays Victorian Quotation
Pray do not go & hang people right & left to please The Times
Advice from Sir John Mellor QC to Baron Bramwell 1856
Is North up or down?
For reasons too boring to go into, I recently decided to buy a compass & carry it round so that I could orient myself at all times. I was subsequently enchanted to find that this practice is highly recommended by the Dangerous Book for Boys
I got a shock however when I checked it on the bus one day: it told me we were travelling due west when our route lay east. A glance out of the window revealed that our driver was taking an unorthodox route round a well-known spot of congestion - that must have confused me
But back on track, we were still travelling west. I spent most of the journey staring at my compass, trying to work it out, even at one point drawing diagrams in the margin of my Times. It was only when, close to home, the bus takes a definite 90 degree turn that I knew I was not suffering from a somewhat prolonged senior moment. Something other than the earths magnetic pole was drawing my compass needle
A friendly bus driver I consulted about this explained that the electrics run along that side of the bus, & suggested that it might be fun to experiment (on a quiet day) to find the 'navigators seat'
In the interests of scientific enquiry I thought I might do this. So, standing at the bus stop, I checked the compass before the bus arrived. Only to find that the needle swung markedly to follow some of the cars which passed. It seemed to be the newer, bigger models which have this effect
End of my project
The second most worrying thing about all this is that my compass needle now has a small but distinct kink - it lines up north & a bit south-west
The worst thing is wondering what the effects might be on us humans. Or is that the same as worrying about radiation from tv sets (in the 1950s) or the ability of VDU screens to cause miscarriage (in the 1980s)? Or, suddenly now, wi-fi?
And must we now all depend solely on sat-nav to orient ourselves in the world? Dont tell those Dangerous Boys ...
I got a shock however when I checked it on the bus one day: it told me we were travelling due west when our route lay east. A glance out of the window revealed that our driver was taking an unorthodox route round a well-known spot of congestion - that must have confused me
But back on track, we were still travelling west. I spent most of the journey staring at my compass, trying to work it out, even at one point drawing diagrams in the margin of my Times. It was only when, close to home, the bus takes a definite 90 degree turn that I knew I was not suffering from a somewhat prolonged senior moment. Something other than the earths magnetic pole was drawing my compass needle
A friendly bus driver I consulted about this explained that the electrics run along that side of the bus, & suggested that it might be fun to experiment (on a quiet day) to find the 'navigators seat'
In the interests of scientific enquiry I thought I might do this. So, standing at the bus stop, I checked the compass before the bus arrived. Only to find that the needle swung markedly to follow some of the cars which passed. It seemed to be the newer, bigger models which have this effect
End of my project
The second most worrying thing about all this is that my compass needle now has a small but distinct kink - it lines up north & a bit south-west
The worst thing is wondering what the effects might be on us humans. Or is that the same as worrying about radiation from tv sets (in the 1950s) or the ability of VDU screens to cause miscarriage (in the 1980s)? Or, suddenly now, wi-fi?
And must we now all depend solely on sat-nav to orient ourselves in the world? Dont tell those Dangerous Boys ...
------------------------
When I moved up from Brownies to Girl Guides I was given a beautiful compass as a gift. No bigger than my thumbnail it had a brass case - fashioned out of a spent shell by a bored soldier during WWII. I polished it lovingly week after week but cannot now remember when & where I saw it last. I am inconsolable
Todays quote
Once before, in Hellenistic times, scientists came to see their tasks as restricted to mathematical forecasting; what followed was disastrous
Stephen Toulmin: Foresight & Understanding 1961
Are we there yet?
Would it be cruel to have the following conversation in the car?
Are we there yet?No. We are here
Well, when will we be there?
We've been there, now we are here
Do I exist?
Its funny how, in my memory, so many formative experiences took place when I was 14. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that I never grew any taller after my 14th birthday - just as well really, since I am 5ft 10
One important event was my introduction to the 'existence' question. A friends father pointed out that I couldnt know that he & my friend would still exist after I left their house. For a while I thought that maybe I could if, on the way home, I suddenly turned & ran back as quickly as possible to catch them unawares ...
The idea that the world might be a mere figment of my imagination upset me for some time. Two thoughts eventually kept me going
First, if I had invented the world it would be a much nicer place. And second, it was in any case the only world I knew, so I might just as well stop worriting about it
One important event was my introduction to the 'existence' question. A friends father pointed out that I couldnt know that he & my friend would still exist after I left their house. For a while I thought that maybe I could if, on the way home, I suddenly turned & ran back as quickly as possible to catch them unawares ...
The idea that the world might be a mere figment of my imagination upset me for some time. Two thoughts eventually kept me going
First, if I had invented the world it would be a much nicer place. And second, it was in any case the only world I knew, so I might just as well stop worriting about it
To be continued
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Sir Arthur Sullivan: A notable black Englishman
Sir Arthur Sullivan was black.
I cant remember any modern repetition of this fact about a man considered so quintessentially English (Gilbert & Sullivan, Savoy Operas, D'Oyley Carte)
It may interest some who only saw him in after years to learn that he was golden-curled in his student days, & this in spite of the strong strain of African blood that became increasingly perceptible with increasing age ... & accordingly subjected to increasing inconveniences & annoyances during his visit to the US which permanently embittered him against Americans & American ways - RE Francillon: Mid-Victorian Memories 1913
Another snippet about Francillon described Sullivan as 'a smiling youth with an oval, olive-tinted face, dark eyes, a large generous mouth, and a thick crop of dark curly hair.'
Gladstone, Quetelet & the Body Mass Index
I was trying to find out why Quetelet invented the Body Mass Index.
Well the short answer is that he didnt. He did weigh & measure an awful lot of people in 1830s Belgium, & he did observe that, after puberty, weight tends to increase in proportion to the square of the height, but no mention of an ideal weight or of the magic numbers 20 or 25 or 30. To the extent that he had one specific purpose it was to establish a formula for ascertaining someones age. Especially if that person were dead (see postscript).
In his 'Treatise on Man' which reports these findings, Quetelet also publishes some figures for the weights of children in Stockport & Manchester & observes that they were generally lighter than their Belgian counterparts, though it should be borne in mind that the English children came exclusively from the lower orders.
William Ewart Gladstone & his brother John embarked on a Grand Tour of Europe in 1832, to celebrate the formers recent graduation from Oxford. I have just been reading the Philip Magnus biography of Gladstone & was intrigued to see the following description of a military parade at Brussels cathedral, taken from Gladstones diary for 5 Febbruary 1832.
The men were small, for both John & I could see over their heads with ease
I dont know how tall Gladstone was, though I do know that one of his brothers was famously tall - over 6ft 5 - and one of the sights of Liverpool
And so .... ? Well, what, really. But one of the joys of being a hedgehog is the tiny little coincidences, connections & links you come across. Why should an Englishman & a Belgian be making comparisons like this? Why should Philip Magnus choose this as his sole quote from Gladstones visit to Brussels?
Postscript: "A witness cannot give evidence of his age unless he can remember being born." - Judge William Collis Blagdon
Well the short answer is that he didnt. He did weigh & measure an awful lot of people in 1830s Belgium, & he did observe that, after puberty, weight tends to increase in proportion to the square of the height, but no mention of an ideal weight or of the magic numbers 20 or 25 or 30. To the extent that he had one specific purpose it was to establish a formula for ascertaining someones age. Especially if that person were dead (see postscript).
In his 'Treatise on Man' which reports these findings, Quetelet also publishes some figures for the weights of children in Stockport & Manchester & observes that they were generally lighter than their Belgian counterparts, though it should be borne in mind that the English children came exclusively from the lower orders.
William Ewart Gladstone & his brother John embarked on a Grand Tour of Europe in 1832, to celebrate the formers recent graduation from Oxford. I have just been reading the Philip Magnus biography of Gladstone & was intrigued to see the following description of a military parade at Brussels cathedral, taken from Gladstones diary for 5 Febbruary 1832.
The men were small, for both John & I could see over their heads with ease
I dont know how tall Gladstone was, though I do know that one of his brothers was famously tall - over 6ft 5 - and one of the sights of Liverpool
And so .... ? Well, what, really. But one of the joys of being a hedgehog is the tiny little coincidences, connections & links you come across. Why should an Englishman & a Belgian be making comparisons like this? Why should Philip Magnus choose this as his sole quote from Gladstones visit to Brussels?
Postscript: "A witness cannot give evidence of his age unless he can remember being born." - Judge William Collis Blagdon
Link
Friday, November 10, 2006
Mobile phones
My current pet hate - far worse than "Im on the train" - happens when I am just walking along the street minding my own business. Then somebody behind me suddenly says "Hello!"
So naturally you stop & turn
Grrhh
So naturally you stop & turn
Grrhh
Thursday, November 09, 2006
neo classical endogenous growth theory
Once upon a time there were three factors of production - land, labour & capital
The amount of land is fixed
The amount of labour grows in its own sweet way
The amount of capital (plant, buildings, machinery) grows from investment
Investment can be generated from within (endogenous) or from without (exogenous) - ie from savings or from outside investment
In the equations used by classical economists to explain how economies grow & prosper these 3 factors were given capital letters
But the equations did not always give the right answers when actual growth was compared with what had been predicted
So they stuck in a little t - technological change - to explain the difference. Bit like gravity & the movement of the planets really
Then light dawned. Technology is itself a factor of production
Technology can grow from pinching other peoples ideas (exogenous) or we can grow it ourselves from within
How?
The answer is simple, stupid
Education! Education! Education!
The amount of land is fixed
The amount of labour grows in its own sweet way
The amount of capital (plant, buildings, machinery) grows from investment
Investment can be generated from within (endogenous) or from without (exogenous) - ie from savings or from outside investment
In the equations used by classical economists to explain how economies grow & prosper these 3 factors were given capital letters
But the equations did not always give the right answers when actual growth was compared with what had been predicted
So they stuck in a little t - technological change - to explain the difference. Bit like gravity & the movement of the planets really
Then light dawned. Technology is itself a factor of production
Technology can grow from pinching other peoples ideas (exogenous) or we can grow it ourselves from within
How?
The answer is simple, stupid
Education! Education! Education!
Fizzy water on tap
The best way of reducing environmental pollution is to find a use for the 'nasty' which is causing the problem
Example: coal tar dyes discovered. Waste products of gas works put to good use. Ladies suddenly happy to be fashionable in mauve. Problem solved
Now I am certainly not a chemist. But I offer one possible solution to the problem of CO2: fizzy water on tap via the mains in every home & work place. Problem solved
Example: coal tar dyes discovered. Waste products of gas works put to good use. Ladies suddenly happy to be fashionable in mauve. Problem solved
Now I am certainly not a chemist. But I offer one possible solution to the problem of CO2: fizzy water on tap via the mains in every home & work place. Problem solved
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Electricity pylons
I think I may be the only person I know who actually loves electricity pylons. Aesthetically, for themselves I mean, not in a "but think of all the benefits of electricity" kind of way
There is something magnificent about them in their proportion. I love to see them marching over the Pennines. Instead of degrading the landscape, damaging Nature, I think they multiply the awe one feels in contemplating the forces which pushed the Earth up in such dramatic forms
And I love too the more stately line of pylons across the quieter landscape of the Cheshire Plain near Middlewood. They put me in mind of those old black & white futuristic sci-fi films. But rather than scary monsters these are gentle giants with dangly arms whose purposes are wholly benign
There is something magnificent about them in their proportion. I love to see them marching over the Pennines. Instead of degrading the landscape, damaging Nature, I think they multiply the awe one feels in contemplating the forces which pushed the Earth up in such dramatic forms
And I love too the more stately line of pylons across the quieter landscape of the Cheshire Plain near Middlewood. They put me in mind of those old black & white futuristic sci-fi films. But rather than scary monsters these are gentle giants with dangly arms whose purposes are wholly benign
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Food you cant buy in supermarkets anymore
Chicken with giblets
Thin sliced bread - not even Hovis. And my local Tesco claims that its slicing machine only works on medium
Whitebait
Most cheaper cuts of meat
Any offal except liver
Chicken livers
Proper avocadoes - big ones with shiny green skins. Only horrible Hass
Sainsburys withdrew their loaf-size pain rustique in favour of 'speciality breads'
Brawn
Ripe fruit
Thin sliced bread - not even Hovis. And my local Tesco claims that its slicing machine only works on medium
Whitebait
Most cheaper cuts of meat
Any offal except liver
Chicken livers
Proper avocadoes - big ones with shiny green skins. Only horrible Hass
Sainsburys withdrew their loaf-size pain rustique in favour of 'speciality breads'
Brawn
Ripe fruit
Monday, November 06, 2006
Women really do wear the trousers now
When did trousers become the default mode of everyday dress for the women of England?
Just yesterday, it seems, the Sex Discrimination Act was being used to obtain the right for little girls to wear trousers to school, at least in cold weather, but failing to give the same right to the woman who was required to climb ladders in a bookshop
Now - walk round any shopping centre, go to any office or any social occasion & women of all ages, likely as not, are wearing trousers
And when was the last time anyone spotted an undergraduate wearing a skirt during the hours of daylight?
I think it is a symptom of the retreat from domestic chores. Trousers simplify underwear (no petticoats to wash) & need much less in the way of ironing
And at least we dont have to have the kind of argument about shalwar kameez as we do about scarves & veils
Just yesterday, it seems, the Sex Discrimination Act was being used to obtain the right for little girls to wear trousers to school, at least in cold weather, but failing to give the same right to the woman who was required to climb ladders in a bookshop
Now - walk round any shopping centre, go to any office or any social occasion & women of all ages, likely as not, are wearing trousers
And when was the last time anyone spotted an undergraduate wearing a skirt during the hours of daylight?
I think it is a symptom of the retreat from domestic chores. Trousers simplify underwear (no petticoats to wash) & need much less in the way of ironing
And at least we dont have to have the kind of argument about shalwar kameez as we do about scarves & veils
Sunday, November 05, 2006
How El Nino caused mad cow disease
1 Fish meal used to be the main protein ingredient of animal feedstuffs. Remember how, in the 1960s, people used to complain that the new fangled frozen chickens tasted of fish?
2 Peru was the near-monopoly supplier of fish meal from abundant stocks of anchoveta. But an El nino in the early seventies caused a shift in the Humboldt current & the anchoveta disappeared
3 At the same time increased prosperity in England was leading people to reject the cheaper cuts of meat. Have you been to an agricultural show, seen the size of a prize bull? What to do with the carcass if only rump & fillet are eaten directly?
4 Denatured protein, once advocated as the solution to world hunger, thats what. Adding denatured bull protein to animal feed does not turn them into cannibals
5 Denaturing requires heat but the oil crisis of the early 1970s put pressure on industry to reduce their energy requirements wherever possible. So the temperature was reduced below the level needed to destroy the agent causing BSE
2 Peru was the near-monopoly supplier of fish meal from abundant stocks of anchoveta. But an El nino in the early seventies caused a shift in the Humboldt current & the anchoveta disappeared
3 At the same time increased prosperity in England was leading people to reject the cheaper cuts of meat. Have you been to an agricultural show, seen the size of a prize bull? What to do with the carcass if only rump & fillet are eaten directly?
4 Denatured protein, once advocated as the solution to world hunger, thats what. Adding denatured bull protein to animal feed does not turn them into cannibals
5 Denaturing requires heat but the oil crisis of the early 1970s put pressure on industry to reduce their energy requirements wherever possible. So the temperature was reduced below the level needed to destroy the agent causing BSE
Quod erat demonstrandum
Related post: The Ilkley Moor Argument
Saturday, November 04, 2006
The devil on the plate
Why do we always demonise childrens favourite foods? In my day friends mothers always apologised for giving you beans on toast if you went round to tea. But no decent mother would have sent her children off to school without a proper cooked breakfast inside them - bacon, fried egg, fried bread, the lot. Nor would she have neglected the once a week (at least) cake baking session. Vance Packard tells the story of the initial failure of Betty Crocker cake mixes: what woman would not welcome the saving of labour brought about by simply adding water to a box of powder? But this failed the 'decent mother' test. Problem solved when the recipe was adjusted so that mother had to do the wholesome decent thing of adding an egg
Next came fish fingers - decent mothers cook proper fresh fish
In the 1970s sugar was the devil, with sugar companies & any scientist who had ever accepted a penny of their ill-gotten gains his agent here on earth. So mothers fed their children nice savoury crisps instead
Now its burgers. My mother told me never to eat anything made of mince when I went to a cafe or milk bar, since mince was probably a euphemism for yesterdays left overs, some even scraped off plates & put through the mincing machine. I remember a highly laudatory article in Time magazine in the 1960s, praising the new McDonalds phenomenon of fast clean food made from ingredients you could rely on. And it offered the perfect nutritional balance of starch (from the bun), protein, calcium from the cheese & vitamins from the lettuce & tomato
In my day the emphasis was all on protein for building healthy bodies in what was still a time of shortage. As far as I remember the fat on meat counted as part of the protein. And if you needed to lose weight for health or aesthetic reasons then you cut down on carbohydrates, obviously. Bread, potatoes, cakes, biscuits, these piled on the pounds
Next came fish fingers - decent mothers cook proper fresh fish
In the 1970s sugar was the devil, with sugar companies & any scientist who had ever accepted a penny of their ill-gotten gains his agent here on earth. So mothers fed their children nice savoury crisps instead
Now its burgers. My mother told me never to eat anything made of mince when I went to a cafe or milk bar, since mince was probably a euphemism for yesterdays left overs, some even scraped off plates & put through the mincing machine. I remember a highly laudatory article in Time magazine in the 1960s, praising the new McDonalds phenomenon of fast clean food made from ingredients you could rely on. And it offered the perfect nutritional balance of starch (from the bun), protein, calcium from the cheese & vitamins from the lettuce & tomato
In my day the emphasis was all on protein for building healthy bodies in what was still a time of shortage. As far as I remember the fat on meat counted as part of the protein. And if you needed to lose weight for health or aesthetic reasons then you cut down on carbohydrates, obviously. Bread, potatoes, cakes, biscuits, these piled on the pounds
Friday, November 03, 2006
The Ilkley Moor Argument
As the song goes (when translated)
If you go out on Ilkley Moor without a hat on you will catch your death of cold
Then we shall have to bury you
Then worms will come and eat you up
Then ducks will come & eat the worms
Then we shall come & eat the ducks ....
.
If there is only a fixed amount of matter in the world then we are all cannibals
Casareep - a neat philological circle
I heard on Radio 4 of a kind of Chinese fermented fish sauce called cat-see-ap (I made up the spelling). We get our words catsup & ketchup from this
In Guyana & the Eastern Caribbean there is a sauce, originally produced by the Amerindians, called casareep which is made made from fermented cassava or manioc. This is used to make a meat stew called pepperpot (not to be confused with Jamaican pepperpot, which is a very fiery soup). Casareep imparts magical keeping qualities to this stew; providing that you boil it up every day, you can add more meat & keep it going for a year - or so I was told. I never knew anyone who did this. We had it as our special treat for Sunday breakfast
Casareep looks like soy sauce. In Trinidad soy sauce is known as Chinese casareep, thus bringing us back to the country in which we began
PS Damn! On yesterdays (November 12 2006) R4 Food Programme a man called Ivan Day said that cat-see-ap comes from Vietnam. How could he spoil my conceit in this way?
Serendipity corner. Today (26 March 2007) I chanced upon another website which gives Dutch/Indonesian/Sranantongo words for Surinamese ingredients.
Kasiri is a kind of cassava jack, a weak liquor
Kasripo is casareep, used for stews
End of argument: OED says ketchup derives from ke-tsiap, an Amoy dialect word. And so another circle: one of the most widely available brands of soy sauce is ????
In Guyana & the Eastern Caribbean there is a sauce, originally produced by the Amerindians, called casareep which is made made from fermented cassava or manioc. This is used to make a meat stew called pepperpot (not to be confused with Jamaican pepperpot, which is a very fiery soup). Casareep imparts magical keeping qualities to this stew; providing that you boil it up every day, you can add more meat & keep it going for a year - or so I was told. I never knew anyone who did this. We had it as our special treat for Sunday breakfast
Casareep looks like soy sauce. In Trinidad soy sauce is known as Chinese casareep, thus bringing us back to the country in which we began
PS Damn! On yesterdays (November 12 2006) R4 Food Programme a man called Ivan Day said that cat-see-ap comes from Vietnam. How could he spoil my conceit in this way?
Serendipity corner. Today (26 March 2007) I chanced upon another website which gives Dutch/Indonesian/Sranantongo words for Surinamese ingredients.
Kasiri is a kind of cassava jack, a weak liquor
Kasripo is casareep, used for stews
End of argument: OED says ketchup derives from ke-tsiap, an Amoy dialect word. And so another circle: one of the most widely available brands of soy sauce is ????
Link
Related post
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Irony
I hear that there are no subtitles on digital tv. If this is true it will be a sad loss
I often watch with the sound off. This started when I needed to be quiet, but has now become my preferred mode
A whole new art form has developed, at least for programmes that can be subtitled in advance. Art form is probably too poncy a word; maybe I just mean a grammar, involving for example the use of placement & colour to indicate to the viewer which words belong to which character
My favourite new piece of grammar should be imported into everyday writing. Irony, or sarcasm, is indicated by the use of ? or ! as appropriate, but each inside brackets
I often watch with the sound off. This started when I needed to be quiet, but has now become my preferred mode
A whole new art form has developed, at least for programmes that can be subtitled in advance. Art form is probably too poncy a word; maybe I just mean a grammar, involving for example the use of placement & colour to indicate to the viewer which words belong to which character
My favourite new piece of grammar should be imported into everyday writing. Irony, or sarcasm, is indicated by the use of ? or ! as appropriate, but each inside brackets
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Old fashioned political correctness
Miss Lydia Becker was a formidable campaigner for womens rights in 19th Century Manchester
During the 1860s there was mounting concern about extravagance & inefficiency in the way that the City Council used ratepayers money
At a public meeting to discuss these issues Miss Becker rose to object to the use of the word mismanagement to describe these failings
She thought the word would encourage people to think that this would be the style of management the city could expect were they to be governed by unmarried ladies
Related post
Free Lance humour
During the 1860s there was mounting concern about extravagance & inefficiency in the way that the City Council used ratepayers money
At a public meeting to discuss these issues Miss Becker rose to object to the use of the word mismanagement to describe these failings
She thought the word would encourage people to think that this would be the style of management the city could expect were they to be governed by unmarried ladies
Related post
Free Lance humour
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