Tag Archives: cutting bread

Bread, Bibles and Buzzcocks

The sourdough proved to be soft and forgiving and sliced beautifully. This demonstrates two things – one that you should never talk about a difficulty until it actually appears, “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof”, as the Bible and several self-help books put it. The modern translation is “Don’t worry about tomorrow. It will take care of itself. You have enough to worry about today”. Seventeen words instead of eight and a complete lack of majesty – the translation is a good example of why “new” and “improved” are not always the same thing, which is my second point. You are probably fed up of my views on that, so I will leave it there.

For historical purists out there, yes, I’m aware that the KIng James version is merely a translation itself, and was seen as a retrograde step by the Catholic Church – who went as far as to execute William Tyndale for heresy. This is quite a serious criticism of his work. These days the Pope would merely troll Tyndale’s Twitter account – one way we have advanced a little.

I watched some good TV last night. Julia went up early so I had free range of the TV controls and, having no desire to type, decided to sit and watch TV. I watched Yesterday – six programmes about music in the 1970s and two about the Vikings. OK, more like one and a half about the Vikings, but the room was warm and it was getting late…

I’m now starting to lay plans for my retirement. It starts with  persuading Julia to  take up more hobbies which involve going out so I can watch more history programmes on TV. It’s a modest ambition, but with a bit of care I think I can manage it.  I did briefly think about buying a second TV and sitting watching in a different room, but we’ve never had two TVs in the house. It seems like the sort of thing that only celebrities and footballers do. If I won the lottery I would have two TVs, but one would be for staff. Well, it would be unseemly to wrangle with the butler over who had the remote. It’s clearly his job to push the buttons, but I’d prefer him to have his own TV and just come through when I rang for him to change channels.

This reminds me of my second favourite royal joke.

Prince Charles and Camilla are sitting at the breakfast table and Camilla is clearly unsettled as she looks around whilst holding a letter in her hand.

“What’s wrong my dear? You look unsettled.” says Charles.

“I’m looking for the letter opener.”

“Ah!” says Charles. “He’s not here today, I gave him the day off.”

If you think I’m exaggerating, read this.

 

Modern Problems

If today follows yesterday’s pattern I will be able to type this morning but by evening I won’t even be able to sit without being aware of the pain in my hands. Sorry if it seems like I’m moaning a lot, but I find it difficult to write about politics, philosophy or economics when my fingers hurt. I generally find it easier to write about the pressing matters close to home. Fortunately I only have severe pain for a a few days every year and haven’t had it this bad for about a year. However, it is human nature not to bother writing about things that go well.

In fact, it was just before lockdown. My hands were really bad when we went down to Suffolk in what turned out to be the week before lockdown. It was an interesting week. All the Londoners had fled to their country cottages, food was short in supermarkets, restaurants were nearly empty in the evenings and I could barely manage my shirt buttons. Yes, on one of the more historic weeks I have lived through, I had trouble dressing myself. It will be an interesting chapter in my memoirs – the world collapses and I debate the merits of wearing T Shirts. Or Tee shirts. Or T-Shirts. I wasn’t sure how to spell it, so I checked it up. Seems the rest of the world isn’t sure either.

I’m going to make brunch now. Part of it is sourdough bread and I’m not looking forward to cutting it. The bread knife, wielded by stiff fingers, does not cope with the bottom crust, so I have to bring out a carving knife and push it though the last bit. I should have stuck to using sliced bread.

Who would have thought it? When you are twenty you wonder about the mysteries of life, like why you have to work five whole days between weekends, whether we actually will ever get household robots and where you will keep all your money after a glittering career. When you are sixty you wonder if you will be able to make brunch without severing a finger. The gulf between the two things is fertile ground for a game of “What have I done with my Life?”

Ah well, brunch…