Monthly Archives: December 2017

Christmas Clerihews

16 Replies

I’ve decided to branch out from politics, as it’s Christmas. Even I get infected with jollity (if only briefly) at this time of year and as jollity and politics don’t really mix I decided to go Christmassy for the clerihews.

It’s only the subject that has changed though, the quality is still as dodgy as ever.

Those of you who aren’t from the UK may need to consult this link to try and make some sense out of the last one. Not that there is much sense in any of them at the best of times.

 

Father Christmas

loves sherry and citrus,

though he’s lately been thinking

of cutting out drinking.

 

Rudolph and Donner and Blitzen and Dancer,

Cupid and Vixen and Comet and Prancer

are all quaffing claret

after giving up carrots.

 

In the panto, Ebeneezer Scrooge

overdid the rouge

and ended up quite cranky,

made up as a manky Twanky.

 

Happy Christmas to everyone, though I have to ask if you should be doing more important things than reading a blog. 🙂

 

Me and the Christmas Spirit

10 Replies

Julia, with her normal concern for my moral welfare, has decided that today is going to be spent in a flurry of activity. This, it seems, will prevent me getting into mischief and will ensure that we have an excellent family Christmas.

It involves shopping, buying things we don’t need, and arguing.

What it doesn’t involve, I’m told, is stocking up with beer so that, with the assistance of my brother-in-law, I may construct a masterly essay on brewing and beer tasting. That’s a loss to the world of literature, and if Julia takes her place in history alongside the person from Porlock she has only herself to blame.

The shops will be closed for one day. We will have a special meal. We will do a lot of sitting round eating, talking and complaining about the poor quality of TV. This pretty much describes every Sunday of my youth. Things have moved on since then but have we really lost the knack of sitting round talking about nothing and eating roast meat?

The shops used to close on Sundays, TV only had a couple of channels and we had a roast dinner – the phrase “Sunday dinner” was invented specifically to describe this.

We never had to fight people in the aisles of the supermarket or buy enough food for a week just to see us through until Monday.

I’m not going to resist, as I won’t win. As you go about your pre-Christmas tasks just spare a thought for a poor man being swept along on a tide of Christmas preparations, being elbowed by pensioners as he competes, under the orders of his wife, for the last few nobby greens.

At least my moral welfare will be impeccable, my soul will be stainless, and, after a generous portion of high-fibre brassicas, my bowels will be gleaming.

 

 

More About Words

23 Replies

I’ve been looking at the list of words that should be banned from poems, as mentioned in a previous post. They have been nagging at me since I looked at the list in preparing the post. I’m now worried that I’m unacceptable as a writer because I’m using unacceptable words.

To get things straight, I’m going to carry on using the word “rectal” no matter what. The amount of times I’ve been in hospital recently I want to be very clear when discussing thermometers as the consequences of a mix up could disturb my dreams for a very long time.

The same goes for the following list, though for different reasons. Ammonite, blob, candyfloss, daffodil, destiny, fester, frond, golden, gossamer, heartbreak, Jesus, mango, milt, poised, prayer, shimmer, shriek, snot, soul, sunset, tesserae and ziggurat.

They are mostly unexceptional words and if you are writing about fossils, flowers or fish breeding you are probably going to struggle to do without them. We went to Cirencester once, where they have a great display of Roman mosaics. It would be tough to visit without being armed with the word tesserae. Same would apply if I ever visited a museum of Assyrian temples. There are just some words you can’t do without.

I daren’t use the word shards, because it’s been universally decried over the years, and anyway, if I need to discuss broken pots with an archaeologist I’m sure that potsherds, as they used to be called in my youth, will suffice.

I can’t say the same for some of the other words. Some are just dreadful words – loo and humdinger – and have no part in my vocabulary. When the world is so full of words for toilet (yes, I know it’s non-U) why bother to use one so loaded with class connotations? We have bog, jakes, ajax, thunderbox, water-closet, house of ease, WC, to name a few of te politer ones. (No thesaurus was used in the listing of loo substitutes, I just have a very unsophisticated vocabulary). As for humdinger, I really don’t have a use for it. If something is splendid I shall say so. I don’t need humdinger and I certainly don’t need awesome. Awesome isn’t actually on the list – but unless something inspires awe it’s not necessary. That, of course, is just mt biased opinion.

You then move on to archaic. over-used and complicated words – epiphany, harbinger, hark, lambent, myriad and sapient. I have used several of them in prose, but they are a bit overdone in poetry. However, if I ever need to write a poem about a hard of hearing, knowledgeable forerunner who gets licked by a lot, and I mean a lot, of intellectuals and experiences a life-changing moment, I may have to use them.

That leaves palimpsest, plethora and snedder.

I like palimpsest, though I have never used it. I don’t tend to write about re-used parchment. I have used plethora recently. As for snedder, there’s a limited number of times you can use it. Seamus Heaney, as far as I know, only used it once. That’s probably once more than most of us will use it. Unless you write poems about turnips.

 

 

 

 

A Valuable Lesson

11 Replies

I learnt a valuable lesson yesterday when my computer warned me that it was about to run out of battery. I plugged the charger in but the message persisted.

Then the computer went blank.

The first lesson is that when your computer charger starts making funny noises don’t ignore them. They don’t go away and it will eventually stop working. I ignored it for months. It didn’t get any worse, to be fair, but it didn’t improve either.

Of course, to a man who has all his passwords listed and who uses a variety of back-up methods, this is not a problem. You just borrow a laptop from your wife and carry on.

I have my WordPress passwords listed at the back of my diary. My 2014 diary. As you may have guessed from previous posts, I’m not the sort of man who would know where to find his 2014 diary.

As for storage, that’s something other people do. It’s like parachute jumping, I know the theory but I’m content to leave it to other people.

Fortunately, after a night of not being able to access my account, I am now able to run the computer using a borrowed charger.

I am chastened but, to be honest, no better organised.

It’s nice to be back.

Whilst writing, I have noticed that the ability to save posts has returned.

Things are looking up.

Thursday, Bloody Thursday

13 Replies

This being Thursday I went for a blood test. They are currently taking blood fortnightly and last week, to be honest, after several months of weekly tests, I felt like something was missing all morning.

Today’s appointment was 9 am, which was unusual as they are normally around 11. It looked like I was going to get a lot of Christmas preparation done today, which was good because I have a long list from my beloved.

The best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men, as Robert Burns said, Gang aft agley. 

I was seen on time, but after two goes at getting a sample from the right arm the nurse decided to ask a colleague to have a go at the left. As if by magic the colleague appeared just as the phone was ringing.

“Ha!! exclaimed my nurse, “it must be ESP.”

But it wasn’t. The other nurse had bent down to pick up a piece of paper and her back had locked, so she was coming through to ask for help in taking blood from her patient.

Eventually we secured the services of a third nurse.

She had a go in the left arm, admitted defeat and instructed me to go to the City Hospital phlebotomy unit. That’s a word that’s just crying out to have a poem written around it. So I drove home, had a glass of water, as recommended by the nurses and went to phlebotomy.

These days you take a ticket, just like a delicatessen counter at the supermarket.

Mine was A161.

The screen flickered on as I sat down and a bored robotic voice called ticket number A149 to Bay 1. The woman next to me let out a great sigh. I would later find out that she had the ticket before me.

The difference was that I had a book and she didn’t. As I learned about the currency reforms of Henry VII she carried on muttering and shifting in her seat.

After what seemed like quite a short time I was in a chair with a young woman in a red coat (dyed, rather than blood stained). I can see that a red coat is practical but it did make me think back to the days of the barber surgeons. We discussed my previous history of unsuccessful blood sampling (this isn’t the first time I’ve been sent to hospital after the Practice Nurses found it tricky) and she set to work.

One prod of the arm, one puncture and, seconds later the sample was in the tube.

To be fair to the Practice Nurses they do a lot of different things whereas the phlebotomists are specialists in taking blood. It’s all they do. Smile, stab, label the sample and start again. It must be very dull. I’d be tempted to do it wrong just to relieve the boredom.

As I left the hospital I noted the time.

11.00 am.

Just goes to show that some things are meant to be.

 

A Day for Clerihews

12 Replies

The Clerihew, according to Wikipedia, is a four line biographical poem invented by Edmund Clerihew Bentley, with a rhyme scheme of aabb. The lines are irregular, though the first line should feature the name of the person who is the subject of the poem.  Bentley believed that the name should be at the end of the line as part of the challenge lay in finding a rhyme for awkward names. It can be whimsical, absurd and inaccurate.

In other words, they aren’t very demanding in terms of technique and historical research.

Here are three that I’ve written as part of a series about British Prime Ministers. Don’t rely on them if you are revising for an exam on the subject. I’ve covered PMs in other posts, but as there have been around 57 of them I still have a way to go.

I will try a few more over Christmas as I will have (a) time and (b) an unpleasantly crotchety attitude, which are both useful for political subjects.

 

 

Robert Walpole, 1st Earl of Orford,

was known to be fond of his orchard.

He was in power for 20 years.

And he raised gin tax, causing many tears.

 

Augustus Henry FitzRoy, 3rd Duke of Grafton

never wore a kaftan.

As a Chathamite Whig

he was a bit of a prig.

 

 

PM Stanley Baldwin

had a disagreement with the King.

A man of stately carriage,

he opposed King Edward’s marriage.

 

 

 

 

Tired of Life

15 Replies

I’ve been browsing WordPress today, when I haven’t been shopping (twice) or visiting or engaging in discussions about my shortcomings as an organiser of Christmas Cheer. We are having two turkey crowns, one for Christmas Dinner and one for sandwiches when we have visitors on Boxing Day. This is not a sign that I like turkey, more an example of being beaten down by tradition and losing interest.

Talking of which, here are the remains of a very early Christmas dinner.

We used to plan Christmas seriously, and over the years we had all sorts of meat, but as the kids got older they wanted turkey. I think that’s when my interest in Christmas Dinner died. For a few years I did the sprouts with chestnuts or almonds or bacon, or combinations thereof, but even that died away.

We are having Bronze turkey as a nod to quality (having decided against Narragansett turkey). The latter is more expensive, less well known and, above all, harder to spell. In fact I’d never heard of it before last night.

Turkey, plain boiled sprouts and gravy made with gravy granules. Then I can get on with the rest of my life.

Next year I may try alpaca. There are places that supply exotic meat. It’s something I’m going to look at next year, as I’ve rather taken my eye off the ball this year.

Strange Meetings

17 Replies

In 1932 a Mrs Reginald Hargreaves, then aged 80, met a man called Peter Llewellyn Davies in a bookshop. I was intrigued by it when I found out, and John Logan actually wrote a play about it.

Mrs Hargreaves was, you see, better known to history as Alice Liddell and young Llewellyn Davies was the inspiration behind Peter Pan.

I’ve always been interested in such things, though I suppose some of them aren’t as surprising as I think. When Siegfried Sassoon and Wilfred Owen they were both in the Army, and both tortured poetic souls so I don’t suppose it’s too surprising they met at Craiglockhart. There’s a play about that too, and a book.

Sassoon also knew Robert Graves, though that’s well known. It’s also well known that they fell out. What I didn’t know was that they met again in the 1950s when taking their sons to Oundle School. I’ve often driven through Oundle, but had never known that.

Clark Gable and Jimmy Stewart both flew combat missions from England during the war, once meeting up for a photo-opportunity. Gable flew from Polebrook and Molesworth, neither of which are too far from Oundle. I’m struggling to find a reference for the meeting, but you can find a photo here, where Pacific Paratrooper comes up trumps. This shows you don’t need the internet when you have bloggers.

I suppose the chances of two Hollywood stars being photographed together when serving overseas is quite high.

Same goes for the chances of two academics with literary leanings joining the same literary society, as J. J. R. Tolkien  and C. S. Lewis did with The Inklings. It’s a small pool, so the chances were probably good.

There’s a good article on probability and coincidence here. I’ve actually been in a room with around 75 people and done the birthday one – we had three matches.

 

 

 

 

Book Review – Maya and the Book of Everything

11 Replies

Maya and the Book of Everything

Paperback: 310 pages

Publisher: Hinterlands Press; 1 edition (25 Nov. 2016)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 0997845309

ISBN-13: 978-0997845303

You’ve probably seen the blog Notes From the Hinterland by Laurie Graves – this is her book.

I’m probably not the best person to review a fantasy book for young adults as my experience started with the Narnia books, experienced a gap, then started again with Harry Potter. Even then, it finished after the first few Potter books because they got too big to hold.

On that subject, did you know that there are 257,045 words in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix? Here are some word counts for famous novels. Bigger isn’t always better.

I’m not sure where Maya stands in the matter of word count, but in terms of quality it’s up there with the books I’m using as comparisons.

The action starts early and carries on at a brisk pace with plenty of twists. There are well-developed characters, a murder, a stabbing, some soppy stuff, a bit of morality and a cliff-hanger ending.

It’s ahead of most of the Harry Potter novels in being shorter, which makes for a tighter and more enjoyable read. It’s ahead of the Narnia books because the odd spot of morality that appears isn’t rammed down your throat: even as a ten-year-old I objected to having religion rammed down my throat by C. S. Lewis.

So there you have it – Maya is a better read than Harry Potter.

That will look good as a quote on the cover of Volume 2.

Where it falls short (and this is just my opinion) is that the Potter and Narnia books have a more developed environment. You could, of course say that it is uncluttered, but I would like to see a bit more detail and development.

And that’s about it. I’m now looking forwards to reading the sequel.

 

 

 

A Poetry Sort of Day

17 Replies

My copy of The Poetry Review came through today. It was accompanied by a copy of Poetry News and seven glossy leaflets advertising poetry competitions.

It’s fair to say, from looking at this pile, and skimming Poetry News, that poetry is popular at the moment.

I fear, looking at the pile of paper, that the rise of poetry may be linked to a decline in tree stocks. This wouldn’t be so bad if they were all limericks and light verse but there is a lot of very earnest poetry about. To be fair, we wouldn’t appreciate the humorous stuff without the serious verse, but there’s an awful lot of it.

It seems that the Grenfell Towers fire has been a popular subject this year. Last year Donald Trump was a popular subject. I remember that last time I took a serious interest in poetry the 2004 Morecambe Bay tragedy supplied the subject for a lot of competition entries. Misery loves company, as they say, and it seems to love poetry too.

If I’m going to be a proper poet I may have to ditch the clerihews and get serious.

Meanwhile, I also got a copy of Don Paterson’s 40 Sonnets. It’s looking good so far (I just had a quick look at the first two), so that’s tonight’s reading sorted.