It turns out, also, that I am living in interesting times, as the old Chinese curse goes. Generally I have found that life goes along and goes along and goes along some more. Ho bloody hum indeed. But now, well now, I think maybe I should buy some hat pins. And, as Sir Montague Revesby found, a workmanlike hatpin in the fleshy part of the arm is not to be despised. I like things to have more than one use. it's more fitting for the times.
That's just silly. But even I, unobservant, absent-minded and possibly a bit slow on the uptake, notice things some times. It does help if people point them out, of course. The 'x' thing is an example.
It turns out, also, that I am living in interesting times, as the old Chinese curse goes. Generally I have found that life goes along and goes along and goes along some more. Ho bloody hum indeed. But now, well now, I think maybe I should buy some hat pins. And, as Sir Montague Revesby found, a workmanlike hatpin in the fleshy part of the arm is not to be despised. I like things to have more than one use. it's more fitting for the times.
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I found a piece of paper on the floor. As we have high standards re household orderliness I picked it up. Written on it, in blue ink and a small neat hand are the following words:
Mute is thy wild harp now O Bard Sublime Who, amid Scotia's mountain solitude Nature taught to build the lofty rhyme And even beneath the daily pressure,rude of the labouring poverty, thy generous blood fired with the love of freedom-- not subdued. Wert thou by the low fortune But a time like this, when the abject chime of And that was it. Another thing for me to chase up. I've always liked those lyrics and that idea, I wish it could be the case for me, at least some times. But no. I am always consumed by doubt.
On a different note entirely I have to report that I plucked an acorn from the first tree planted in the Christchurch Botanic gardens, the Albert Edward Oak. This tree was planted in July 1863 to commemorate the marriage of the Prince of Wales to HRH Alexandra. I'm not too sure what to do with this acorn. My garden isn't really big enough for an oak tree. This came up twice in pub quiz tonight, once in the Cowboys and Indians section (not standard), and once in the tie-breaker (for third) which we lost. We really didn't have any idea how many U.S. soldiers died in the battle*. Our opponents were surprised that we didn't, and as they walked off with their magnificent prize of a voucher for $20 of booze one of them was moved to say to me: "We thought you lot would have known all their names."
And cheese comes in truckles, or at least it used to. We'd forgotten that. We got the Buzzcocks question right though. *268 I see that today (21st March) is World Poetry Day. I am not a great observer of 'days' especially ones that mean a lot of people who should know better will be proffering all sorts of bleeding nonsense that will disturb me for weeks. But as an acknowledgement of the occasion I dipped into the closest volume of poems I had to hand and opened a page at random. My eyes fell on the following from Thomas Hardy:
Again the guns disturbed the hour, Roaring their readiness to avenge, As far inland as Stourton Tower, And Camelot, and starlit Stonehenge. So there you go. It's the Ides of March tomorrow. A chicken might drown, an earthquake might happen (it's certainly the season for them) and some of us may have a work meeting. The signs are all there. (Well, I don't really know about the chicken. I'm just guessing on that one).
Yes, I am an afficionado of the Mitfords. Even poor Unity is rather interesting, though demented. I'm not so sure about the Mosely connection, of course. A rather poor show, I'd say. But I loved the Bolter (Fanny's mother) and her classic line on love: "Oh dulling, one thinks that every, every time." One does. Every time.
A week or so ago I stumbled across these lines (in 'The Rattlebag', edited by Seamus Heaney and Ted Hughes): 'In the earthquakes to come, I very much hope
I shall keep my cigar alight, embittered or no' Bertolt Brecht (from the German--trans. by Michael Hamburger) I thought it was interesting, mainly because we've just had an earthquake here. And as I typed that another substantial aftershock hit. That's what happens these days. Things bubble up and stick in my head sometimes. I don't know if it is meaningful in any way. But I keep seeing myself as a small child in the country, all unknowing, being driven off to church on a Sunday morning along dusty roads. It was largely wasted on me though I think the message 'you are your brother's keeper' got stuck in there, more or less permanently. I also keep remembering being at King's Cross, in the early hours of the morning, in the company of friends and strangers. There was no message there, the whole thing was totally devoid of content. I wasn't in the least bit comfortable with it.
Sir,
A little light may be shed, with advantage, upon the high-handed methods of the Passports Department at the Foreign Office. On the form provided for the purpose I described my face as 'intelligent'. Instead of finding this characterization entered, I have received a passport on which some official utterly unknown to me, has taken it upon himself to call my face 'oval'. Yours very truly, Bassett Digby February 17th, 1915. From The First Cuckoo: Letters to The Times since 1900 (1976) |
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