Swearing in

On Saturday night’s Archive on 4 Helen O'Donnell introduced tapes that her father Kenneth O'Donnell made with Sander Vanocur, White House correspondent for NBC News in the 1960s. O'Donnell had been best friend to Bobby Kennedy from Harvard, & was John F Kennedy’s Special Assistant in the White House, with responsibility, among other things, for the President’s security.

Not a man to seek the limelight, but the tapes gave us a very good idea of what it is like to be a dedicated assistant in the hard graft of politics.

I was particularly struck by the story of the ‘escape’ from Dallas in aftermath of Kennedy assassination – O’Donell considered it vital to get away to Washington with Jackie & the body even though this was illegal & Dallas police could stop them removing the body if they found out in time.

LBJ was also on Air Force1 & for some reason considered it vital to be sworn in before the plane took off.

O’Donnell was upset by the delay, which he thought completely unnecessary since LBJ was President whether sworn or not. He was even more upset that LBJ wanted Jackie to be by his side in such emotionally fraught circumstances & by the ratcheting up of anxiety over the Dallas police.

The idea that LBJ, sworn or unsworn, was indubitably President makes an interesting contrast with the anxiety which was caused by Obama’s slight fluffing of his lines, & the later re-swearing in private.

It is strange that we still have this semi-mystical attachment to the swearing of oaths. In the C19th Judge John Mellor was preoccupied with this, the subject of his maiden speech in parliament (when the issue was the admission of Jews), & of a pamphlet which he wrote near the end of his life when the issue was whether an atheist could be an MP. The question of the usefulness, or otherwise, of oaths sworn in a court of especially perplexed him after the Tichborne trial. Even earlier, as a relatively junior barrister in Leicester, he had come to the defence of a juror who, having refused to take the oath on scriptural grounds, had been imprisoned overnight.

And yet there will still be disappointment whenever government fails to respond to calls for judge-led public enquiries where witnesses will be under oath, & we live in an age where many think that a ‘piece of paper’ & the public vows of commitment are unnecessary for proper lifelong commitment to a partner, while others, not eligible to be married under our laws, press for that right & yet others think it unfair that they are denied the half-way house of civil partnership.

Links
JFK, Bobby and Dad

The Tichborne Claimant

Related posts
Forsooth, begads

Taking the vow

John Gilpin

This is another of those long, rumty-tum narrative poems which were so popular when I was a child. I think we had to wait until the first year of Grammar School to be introduced to this one.

I probably haven’t thought of it for years, but it was brought back to mind by a clue in Times crossword 24,941: Prepare players to become militia men (9)

I wonder how many could have got that solution who had never been introduced to the poem? I remember having ‘train(ed) band’ explained to us.

And the fact that the name of the poet (Cowper ) has nothing to do with farming, but means ‘One who barters, deals, or buys and sells’ & is pronounced Cooper.


The Diverting History of John Gilpin
John Gilpin was a citizen
Of credit and renown,
A train-band captain eke was he,
Of famous London town.

John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear,
"Though wedded we have been
These twice ten tedious years, yet we
No holiday have seen.

"To-morrow is our wedding-day,
And we will then repair
Unto the 'Bell' at Edmonton,
All in a chaise and pair.

"My sister, and my sister's child,
Myself, and children three,
Will fill the chaise; so you must ride
On horseback after we."

He soon replied, "I do admire
Of womankind but one,
And you are she, my dearest dear,
Therefore it shall be done.

"I am a linendraper bold,
As all the world doth know,
And my good friend the calender
Will lend his horse to go."

Quoth Mrs. Gilpin, "That's well said;
And for that wine is dear,
We will be furnished with our own,
Which is both bright and clear."

John Gilpin kissed his loving wife.
O'erjoyed was he to find.
That though on pleasure she was bent,
She had a frugal mind.

The morning came, the chaise was brought,
But yet was not allowed
To drive up to the door, lest all
Should say that she was proud.

So three doors off the chaise was stayed,
Where they did all get in;
Six precious souls, and all agog
To dash through thick and thin.

Smack went the whip, round went the wheels,
Were never folks so glad!
The stones did rattle underneath,
As if Cheapside were mad.

John Gilpin at his horse's side
Seized fast the flowing mane,
And up he got, in haste to ride,
But soon came down again;

For saddletree scarce reached had he,
His journey to begin,
When, turning round his head, he saw
Three customers come in.

So down he came; for loss of time,
Although it grieved him sore,
Yet loss of pence, full well he knew,
Would trouble him much more.


'Twas long before the customers
Were suited to their mind,
When Betty screaming came downstairs,
"The wine is left behind!"

"Good lack!" quoth he, "yet bring it me,
My leathern belt likewise,
In which I bear my trusty sword
When I do exercise."

Now Mistress Gilpin (careful soul!)
Had two stone bottles found,
To hold the liquor that she loved,
And keep it safe and sound.

Each bottle had a curling ear,
Through which the belt he drew,
And hung a bottle on each side,
To make his balance true.

Then over all, that he might be
Equipped from top to toe,
His long red cloak, well brushed and neat,
He manfully did throw.

Now see him mounted once again
Upon his nimble steed,
Full slowly pacing o'er the stones,
With caution and good heed.

But finding soon a smoother road
Beneath his well-shod feet,
The snorting beast began to trot,
Which galled him in his seat.

"So, fair and softly!" John he cried,
But John he cried in vain;
That trot became a gallop soon,
In spite of curb and rein.

So stooping down, as needs he must
Who cannot sit upright,
He grasped the mane with both his hands,
And eke with all his might.

His horse, who never in that sort
Had handled been before,
What thing upon his back had got,
Did wonder more and more.

Away went Gilpin, neck or nought,
Away went hat and wig;
He little dreamt, when he set out,
Of running such a rig.

The wind did blow, the cloak did fly
Like streamer long and gay,
Till, loop and button failing both.
At last it flew away.

Then might all people well discern
The bottles he had slung;
A bottle swinging at each side,
As hath been said or sung.

The dogs did bark, the children screamed,
Up flew the windows all;
And every soul cried out, "Well done!"
As loud as he could bawl.

Away went Gilpin--who but he?
His fame soon spread around;
"He carries weight! he rides a race!
'Tis for a thousand pound!"

And still as fast as he drew near,
'Twas wonderful to view
How in a trice the turnpike-men
Their gates wide open threw.

And now, as he went bowing down
His reeking head full low,
The bottles twain behind his back
Were shattered at a blow.

Down ran the wine into the road,
Most piteous to be seen,
Which made the horse's flanks to smoke,
As they had basted been.


But still he seemed to carry weight.
With leathern girdle braced;
For all might see the bottle-necks
Still dangling at his waist.

Thus all through merry Islington
These gambols he did play,
Until he came unto the Wash
Of Edmonton so gay;

And there he threw the wash about
On both sides of the way,
Just like unto a trundling mop,
Or a wild goose at play.

At Edmonton his loving wife
From the balcony spied
Her tender husband, wondering much
To see how he did ride.

"Stop, stop, John Gilpin!--Here's the house!"
They all at once did cry;
"The dinner waits, and we are tired;"
Said Gilpin--"So am I!"

But yet his horse was not a whit
Inclined to tarry there;
For why?--his owner had a house
Full ten miles off, at Ware.

So like an arrow swift he flew,
Shot by an archer strong;
So did he fly--which brings me to
The middle of my song.


Away went Gilpin, out of breath,
And sore against his will,
Till at his friend the calender's
His horse at last stood still.

The calender, amazed to see
His neighbour in such trim,
Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate.
And thus accosted him:

"What news? what news? your tidings tell;
Tell me you must and shall--
Say why bareheaded you are come,
Or why you come at all?"

Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit,
And loved a timely joke;
And thus unto the calender
In merry guise he spoke:

"I came because your horse would come;
And, if I well forebode,
My hat and wig will soon be here,
They are upon the road."

The calender, right glad to find
His friend in merry pin,
Returned him not a single word,
But to the house went in;

Whence straight he came with hat and wig,
A wig that flowed behind,
A hat not much the worse for wear,
Each comely in its kind.

He held them up, and in his turn
Thus showed his ready wit:
"My head is twice as big as yours,
They therefore needs must fit."

"But let me scrape the dirt away,
That hangs upon your face;
And stop and eat, for well you may
Be in a hungry case."

Said John, "It is my wedding-day,
And all the world would stare
If wife should dine at Edmonton,
And I should dine at Ware."

So turning to his horse, he said
"I am in haste to dine;
'Twas for your pleasure you came here,
You shall go back for mine."

Ah! luckless speech, and bootless boast!
For which he paid full dear;
For while he spake, a braying ass
Did sing most loud and clear;

Whereat his horse did snort, as he
Had heard a lion roar,
And galloped off with all his might,
As he had done before.

Away went Gilpin, and away
Went Gilpin's hat and wig;
He lost them sooner than at first,
For why?--they were too big.

Now Mistress Gilpin, when she saw
Her husband posting down
Into the country far away,
She pulled out half-a-crown;

And thus unto the youth she said
That drove them to the "Bell,"
"This shall be yours when you bring back
My husband safe and well."

The youth did ride, and soon did meet
John coming back amain;
Whom in a trice he tried to stop,
By catching at his rein.

But not performing what he meant,
And gladly would have done,
The frighted steed he frighted more,
And made him faster run.

Away went Gilpin, and away
Went postboy at his heels,
The postboy's horse right glad to miss
The lumbering of the wheels.

Six gentlemen upon the road,
Thus seeing Gilpin fly,
With postboy scampering in the rear.
They raised the hue and cry.

"Stop thief! stop thief! a highwayman!'"
Not one of them was mute;
And all and each that passed that way
Did join in the pursuit.

And now the turnpike-gates again
Flew open in short space;
The toll-man thinking, as before,
That Gilpin rode a race.

And so he did, and won it too,
For he got first to town;
Nor stopped till where he had got up,
He did again get down.

Now let us sing, Long live the King,
And Gilpin, long live he;
And when he next doth ride abroad.
May I be there to see.

William Cowper


Link
William Cowper 1731-1800

The clouds that loured upon our house.

There was a surprising variety of cloud in the sky yesterday, especially in the early evening in the couple of hours before the sun went down. A mixture of white (often shining silver in the setting sun) and pale grey louring black, interspersed with wide areas of palest washed out blue.

At one point there was a perfect horizontal line of well-separated fat baby cumulus, like something out of an old cartoon showing Indian smoke signals or the output of someone puffing on a cigar.

A row of small black submarines came from the west, soon to turn white & puffy.

Other areas were covered with mackerel, pink, pale orange, grey & white.

Some parts were covered with long flat feathers, strands of thin white wispy stuff which may have been dissipating contrails.

And one much bigger cloud, grey-black & threatening, rushing in from the west, with the leading edge either racing ahead or being pulled along – do hurry up – by something. Eager to get to the hills or to fill up a bowl of low pressure over to the east.

We must be in for another very unsettled period.

Not yet sweet enough

Anyone who has ever eaten Indian sweets might be surprised to know that, at 20 kg per person per year, Indians consume far less sugar than people in the West.

There are plenty of investors keen to help them catch up however – new refineries, new suppliers of processed, easy to eat or swig products such as cola & chocolate.

Welcome to the modern world.

Links
Delhi Sweet Centre

Sweet Shops Rusholme Manchester

Simbhaoli Sugars

Renuka Sugars

Cargill Sugar and Sugar Support Centre

ED&F Man Sugar

A World History of Sugar


Related posts
Cutting implement

Sugar regulation

The devil on the plate

Bashing square spuds

Someone used the term square bashing the other day – not one you hear much these days, though it used to be pretty popular, especially among those who were old enough to have been conscripted, in peace time or in war.

It seems almost perfect as a description of the mindlessness of learning to march & drill, military style, endlessly bashing the square being yelled at by unsympathetic NCOs, preparing oneself to bash the enemy.

Our parents – both (willing) conscripts during WWII - were fond of reminiscing about it, stressing how important it was for their generation to learn to obey orders instantly when their life might depend upon it, while trying to convey that blind adherence to authority was not always & necessarily so admirable.

The OED finds the first recorded written instance of the term in a book of RAF slang published in 1943.

Interestingly the word bashing as slang for anything militarily arduous & tedious, & was recorded in the Daily Mail in 1940 as spud bashing.

Our fortunate generation missed conscription & the bashing of squares, but we certainly got plenty of spud bashing in, especially at Guide camp.

Links
C. H Ward-Jackson

Gerald Kersh

Porous pavement

Work is proceeding apace on the new footway. It has been well-managed without too much disruption, except that it means a bit of a hike up the hill to the temporary bus stop – good for health perhaps, but not what you need at the end of a hard day.

The most welcome thing about it is that is seems to have been re-laid with some kind of porous paviors. Water no longer runs down when we have one of these heavy fownpours, & the surface of the newly re-laid side dries out noticeably more quickly than the old pavement on the other side of the road.

I was suddenly wondering whether I should have said permeable rather than porous. This led me to a dizzying tour of the dictionary, through perforated, penetrating, pervasive, porous, permeable & pervious, among others. The meanings overlap such that they may be largely interchangeable in ordinary (metaphorical) usage, though the differences may be important to scientists and engineers, such as in the following distinction from the 1937 book Ground Water by C. F. Tolman, quoted in the OED: An aquiclude is porous but not pervious to water moved by gravity.

I also found a very nice quotation from Nathanael Carpenter, a Church of England clergyman and philosopher & almost exact contemporary (1589–1628) of John Donne: The Porous and spongy nature of the Earth, which is apt to drinke in the water of the sea.

But I want to propose a new word for such footways: pavious.

Links
[pdf]The Pavior

Ground Water, C. F. Tolman

Aquifers

Nathanael Carpenter and the “Philosophia Libera”

Nathaneal Carpenter & English Geography in the C17th

Related posts
Pathways
Proof at last
Back to short trousers

Hugging kindness

Lynne Reid Banks appeared on Broadcasting House on Sunday morning, reminiscing about her days as an ITN reporter in the 1950s, one of the first women appear on our news screens; she wasn’t too impressed by the portrayal of the period in the BBC tv series The Hour.

Various clips were played. The one that caught my ear – unfortunately I did not catch the name of either interviewer or interviwee – asked the question: Can Teddy Boys be cured by kindness?

Talk about hug a hoodie!

However, according to the website The Great British Teddy Boy it was “mistaken kindness and the fallacies of modern psychiatry”, which led to the lack of parental control, which turned out that generation of delinquents.

And so the argument just goes on & on.

Links
Lynne Reid Banks

The British Teddy Boy

Cameron defends 'hoodie' speech

BBC Broadcasting House

BBC ‘The Hour’

Rain on the parade

I find I am hoping that it will be raining in Notting Hill soon after four o’clock this afternoon, if not before.

The August Bank Holiday weather has historically been kind in London – rain has rarely dampened the spirits at carnival.

One exception was 1986, which I remember not just for the rain but because I was having to travel late in the afternoon to Manchester ready to begin work there in the morning.

To be honest I was not by that time a great fan of Carnival – I still think it ought to be mainly steel bands & calypso, not massive sound systems, a bit like preferring old fashioned church services really, so I wasn’t too put out just staying at home. We didn’t live right on the Carnival route, but close enough.

It was after 4pm, already pretty dark, & I was doing a spot of ironing when there came a knock on the window.

A young police constable asked me if I would kindly take pity on the two damsels in distress he had with him & let them use the bathroom.

The taxi arrived soon after to take me to the station – no point relying on public transport on that day of all days.

I stepped off the train at Manchester Piccadilly – into a totally different world.

The station had not then undergone its facelift, seemed to have had little done to bring it out of the Victorian age, dim lights, dispiriting. And pretty much deserted apart from the small number of passengers alighting.

But not at all quiet – the silence was broken by the sound of barking, braying dogs. The passengers all departed as quickly as possible, leaving the station to police officers & their Alsatians.

Obviously there was a football match going on somewhere, though whether it was all over & the police were there just in case of straggling fans, or whether fans, jubilant or angry & disappointed, were expected any moment, I did not wait to find out, & made my way to the hotel.

It seemed like a scene from one of those achingly fashionable films about urban dystopia.

Thankfully Piccadilly station is now a pleasant, warm, welcoming space even late in the evening.

Minnehaha

A shortened version of Longfellow’s Hiawatha was another of the narrative poems which were so popular in my childhood.

It was read to us at primary school, when we ere only seven years old. The language really fired the imagination, & inspired many a game we played when let out on to the common at break time.

Of course I was always Minnehaha. I died beautifully.

I expect the blessing of the cornfields however was censored from the version we heard.


from The Song of Hiawatha

By the shores of Gitche Gumee,
By the shining Big-Sea-Water,
Stood the wigwam of Nokomis,
Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis.
Dark behind it rose the forest,
Rose the black and gloomy pine-trees,
Rose the firs with cones upon them;
Bright before it beat the water,
Beat the clear and sunny water,
Beat the shining Big-Sea-Water
...
With him dwelt his dark-eyed daughter,
Wayward as the Minnehaha,
With her moods of shade and sunshine,
Eyes that smiled and frowned alternate,
Feet as rapid as the river,
Tresses flowing like the water,
And as musical a laughter:
And he named her from the river,
From the water-fall he named her,
Minnehaha, Laughing Water.
...

Thus the youthful Hiawatha
Said within himself and pondered,
Much perplexed by various feelings,
Listless, longing, hoping, fearing,
Dreaming still of Minnehaha,
Of the lovely Laughing Water,
In the land of the Dacotahs.
...

"Wed a maiden of your people,"
Warning said the old Nokomis;
"Go not eastward, go not westward,
For a stranger, whom we know not!
Like a fire upon the hearth-stone
Is a neighbor's homely daughter,
Like the starlight or the moonlight
Is the handsomest of strangers!"
...

Once, when all the maize was planted,
Hiawatha, wise and thoughtful,
Spake and said to Minnehaha,
To his wife, the Laughing Water:
"You shall bless to-night the cornfields,
Draw a magic circle round them,
To protect them from destruction,
Blast of mildew, blight of insect,
Wagemin, the thief of cornfields,
Paimosaid, who steals the maize-ear
"In the night, when all Is silence,'
In the night, when all Is darkness,
When the Spirit of Sleep, Nepahwin,
Shuts the doors of all the wigwams,
So that not an ear can hear you,
So that not an eye can see you,
Rise up from your bed in silence,
Lay aside your garments wholly,
Walk around the fields you planted,
Round the borders of the cornfields,
Covered by your tresses only,
Robed with darkness as a garment.

...

And the lovely Minnehaha
Shuddered as they looked upon her,
Shuddered at the words they uttered,
Lay down on her bed in silence,
Hid her face, but made no answer;
Lay there trembling, freezing, burning
At the looks they cast upon her,
At the fearful words they uttered.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow


Link
The Song of Hiawatha

Taking the tablets

It is slightly disconcerting to hear that people may take Seroquel tablets which have found their way into packets of Neurofen Plus; the tablets come in their own blister strips, stamped all over with the name, they have not been inserted into blister strips marked Neurofen.

Really this just goes to show how easy it is to make such a mistake.

First, you see what you expect to see. If you bought Neurofen & it says Neurofen on the box, then it must be Neurofen.

Secondly, even if you do notice you may merely assume that Seroquel is just the fancy scientific name.

And thirdly, you simply may not be able to see the writing clearly – especially on a shiny metallic background. Something which may affect the elderly in particular.

It is even more disconcerting to be told that, for a normal healthy person, taking a dose (or two) of Seroquel by mistake will do nothing worse than make you a bit drowsy.

Makes you wonder how on earth it does the job it is supposed to do in people whose illness requires it.

Link
Investigations into the Nurofen Plus mix-up begin

Price points

Asda are now selling beauty & personal hygiene products in small sizes - £1 each, or 4 for £3. National brands.

Pound stores from this side of St George’s Channel are invading the Irish Republic. Poundland is already there & is now to be followed by 99p Stores.

Very confusingly, the price at which goods will be sold will be €1.50, not the euro equivalent of 99p which is currently closer to €1.10.

What is more the company will trade as €0.50 over there, according to a report in The Times.

Do you think someone is taking the Michael?

Links
Poundland
99p Stores
Family Bargains
Related posts
Irish jokes & schizophrenia
Magic number

Fire, pestilence, now flood

In a rather alarming Weather Eye yesterday Paul Simons reported that, because of rising sea levels, in a ‘worst case scenario’ a hurricane storm surge could drive a 25 foot high wall of water through Manhattan, flooding 600,000 homes & leaving many dead.

I don’t think he was talking about this weekend ...

Vimto

Vimto has been doing well, despite the recession – I have a feeling that this is a regular story on the news pages, year after year.

Not bad for a tonic invented over a century ago by a Blackburn-born believer in self-improvement & temperance whose name is still born by the company & who, according to the website JD’s World, was a nephew of Samuel Smiles, the Victorian guru of self-help & admirer of engineers.

Mind you, this year they have had some extra help from Levi Roots, that modern hero of self improvement, & his branded range of Caribbean soft drinks

Links
J N NICHOLS (VIMTO) PLC: ACQUISITION AND PRELIMINARY RESULTS 1998

Vimto history

One hundred years of Vimto

[pdf]Nichols plc INTERIM RESULTS 2011

Story: Chris Jones Museum of Science and Industry Collections

Levi Roots

Self Help by Samuel Smiles

Lives of the Engineers by Samuel Smiles

Related posts
Smoking guns
Whats wrong with ginger beer?

Living in separate worlds

Candida Crewe’s description of the teenage boy’s “misplaced belief that Lynx is a way to a girl’s heart (or at least to the inside of her bra)” made me laugh out loud – partly at the idea that a modern boy might still be so innocent of ambition in his amatory adventures.

It also evoked a memory from a few years ago, when I was sitting at a bus stop one sunny summer afternoon about half past four. It is the stop which serves the local high school, & I was joined by a boy who had obviously stayed behind for sports practice.

He sat down & rummaged in his kit bag from which he, quite unselfconsciously, took out a can of Lynx & proceeded to give his armpits a good squirt.

Old ladies are invisible to boys of that age.

Link
At home with the wild bunch

Pension news

On 6 August Patrick Hosking drew the attention of Times readers to an ‘overlooked item’ in HSBC’s interim results for 2011 - a $587 million profit from changing the terms of the staff pension scheme, more than was made by its London-based investment bankers. I expect the staff are pleased & proud of this contribution they were able to make to the bank’s success

On 7 August the High Pay Commission published a report showing that top directors in the private sector will retire on a pension which is thirty times greater than that of the median employee.

Yesterday The Times reported that the Malaysian Employees Provident Fund, which has been building a portfolio of UK properties, is about to buy the (very) large Sainsbury’s distribution centre in Kent. UK pension funds do not seem to be able to parlay such investments into good pensions for their members – perhaps foreigners just settle for smaller incomes in their retirement.

We should have all been rock stars. A report by Deloitte found that8 of the top 20 grossing live acts in the US this year are over pension age, so they are all right.

Links
HSBC Holdings plc 2011 interim results – highlights

Keeping the life in live: A&R diversifies

[pdf]Directors’ Pensions: in it for themselves?

Fire, fire

I have only just got round to checking the pictures – which have been seen around the world – of a young woman jumping from a window to escape a fire in Croydon during the recent riots.

I was puzzled by the version which dominated the front page of The Times on 9 August, which seems to show a pair of arms outstretched from the window behind her, giving her a push. All the stories said she had been completely on her own & had needed quite a lot of persuading to trust to the policemen below to catch her.

Pictures from other angles – available on the web – show quite clearly that they are not the arms of a human, but possibly some kind of gantry or piece of street furniture.

A report in today’s Times says that the application of a flame from a cigarette lighter to a sofa was all that it took to start the fire – a 33 year old man was caught in the act by a spectator with a mobile phone.

Another dispiriting story – this one from Salford – tells of an 18 year old who had been accused of setting fire to a store in Manchester, remanded in custody & named & shamed by the police on Twitter. While he was away his own flat was set alight – perhaps by someone who thought to teach him a lesson. He has however now been cleared of any wrong doing & presumably the council will have to find him somewhere else to live – if he had his own flat at that age the likelihood is that he had been in care.

All I know is ...

The correspondence column of The Times is currently carrying letters on the subject of “correlation does not imply causation” – the latest example being between the number of Baptist ministers in Alabama & the birthrate in Mexico (the writer, sadly, does not specify whether the numerical association is a positive or negative one).

I look forward to the extension of the discussion to cover those cases where lack of correlation does not imply lack of causation, & a consideration of how we know – straight away, in our bones & in our water – that some correlations are, obviously, spurious.

Seldom comes the better

I have just been reading The Oxford Murders by Guillermo Martinez, an Argentinean professor of mathematics.

It ought to be right up my street – Gödel, Pythagoras, Fermat’s last theorem, the relation between the truths of mathematical logic & the messy real world, even Assyrian friezes. Seasoned with a little magical realism.

It was well written enough to persuade me to keep going to the end, but I wasn’t convinced; my reaction is I suppose only too typically English – too clever by half.

But I am left with one question: why is the expert logician called Professor Seldom?

It was very irritating to keep reading this as an adverb & then having to start the sentence again. An anagram which points to the messiness of real world models? Or is it just meant to be a joke? If so, what is it that he seldom does?

Links
Guillermo Martínez

My philosophy: Guillermo Martínez

Guillermo Martinez: Fantasy Fiction

The Oxford Murders (film)

Related post
Ancient feet

Views of life & death

We should remember that, before the word scientist was invented, such people were called called natural philosophers.

To a Mistress Dying

LOVER. Your beauty, ripe and calm and fresh
As eastern summers are,
Must now, forsaking time and flesh,
Add light to some small star.

PHILOSOPHER. Whilst she yet lives, were stars decayed,
Their light by hers relief might find;
But Death will lead her to a shade
Where Love is cold and Beauty blind.

LOVER. Lovers, whose priests all poets are,
Think every mistress, when she dies,
Is changed at least into a star:
And who dares doubt the poets wise?

PHILOSOPHER. But ask not bodies doomed to die
To what abode they go;
Since Knowledge is but Sorrow's spy,
It is not safe to know.

Sir William Davenant


Link
SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT (1606-1668)

Rich & poor, pleasure & blame

On Radio 4’s Beyond Westminster yesterday morning John Kampfner (acknowledging that it was a low blow) asked his MP guests whether there was any real difference between looting a flat screen tv & wrongly claiming for one on expenses.

To their credit the MPs recognised & acknowledged the point.

Twas ever thus, though. The privileged, when they want something, or even to indulge in a little mayhem & breaking glass, just don’t have to frighten the horses as much as do the poor.


Rich & Poor; or Saint & Sinner

THE poor man's sins are glaring;
In the face of ghostly warning
He is caught in the fact
Of an overt act …
Buying greens on a Sunday morning.

The rich man's sins are hidden
In the pomp of wealth and station;
And escape the sight
Of the children of light,
Who are wise in their generation.

The rich man has a kitchen,
And cooks to dress his dinner;
The poor who would roast
To the baker's must post,
And thus becomes a sinner.

The rich man has a cellar,
And a ready butler by him;
The poor man must steer
For his pint of beer
Where the saint can't choose but to spy him.

The rich man's painted windows
Hide the concerts of the quality;
The poor can but share
A crack'd fiddle in the air,
Which offends all sound morality.


The rich man is invisible
In the crowd of his gay society;
But the poor man's delight
Is a sore in the sight,
And a stench in the nose of piety.

Thomas Love Peacock

Link
TL Peacock Society
Beyond Westminster