What a good idea!

The Grauniad economics blog comes up with a publication about Local Authority Pension Funds. Ok, no snoring at the back there. The Secret Wealth Garden is an argument about how to organise and deploy large amounts of moolah. I knew that would get your interest, especially when it could be your moolah! Now this is not an attempt on our part at BPinc moolah services to muscle in on the raft of ponzi schemes, hard luck stories by putative, wealthy Nigerians, activities of  the deregulated offshore tax dodging uber gougers, or other delights. Speaking of which the man on the Adam Smith Omnibus is pretty sniffy about it which is praise indeed and if I had not been around the block a few times might be sufficient recommendation. In any case here are a few wee flowers. Other gardens are available.

Books

I've been reading again. Not much else to do on a wet Bank Holiday. It's fun to have family and friends to visit and entertain  but you can't beat a good murder. The Murder of  Halland  by Pia Juul is a good read in its own right but as the linked reading guide indicates there is much more. I was struck by the grief. The book begins with a murder and How a Gunman Says Goodbye by Malcolm Mackay ends with a murder. Lots of terrible stuff in between. This last novel gives central Glasgow the feel of downtown Baltimore!

Treats

We have been traveling and socialising.

(No excuse for the absence of Blogging...Ed)

M'lud I offer evidence that the absence of Blogging is the Blogging of absence in the following...

(oh very good, very good, I see what you did there, point taken, carry on, my breath is baited... Ed) 

My god what with - English whisky. Is that not taking 'better together' too far.

A birthday treat. Angela Hewitt gave a lecture/recital at Cambridge where she is the Humanitas Visiting Professor of Music. I was entranced by the music, Bach, and her interpretations on the piano. Finished the evening with a meal at the Rice Boat. Well worth the trip!

More culture at the local flea pit which put on a digital broadcast from the British Museum around their exhibition of all things Viking.

To continue to Colchester for a book reading. A small bookseller, Red Lion Books.

Our friend Trish, of Patrician Press which we may have mentioned before, was reading with other authors. It was enjoyable and I'm only sorry I didn't get to buy a book but of course it is an excuse to go back. Over a convivial meal later Trish mentioned Food Fetish.    It had slipped my mind, and more importantly not found its way onto my book list. I downloaded it and so began a very enjoyable romp through food and drink.

I was, as a result, tempted/inspired to try to cook Yottams very simple dish/starter with filo pastry and asparagus. Baked with brushed egg and scattered with parmesan cheese and poppy seeds. As usual, we were short of an ingredient, poppy seeds so substituted nigella (seeds that is) and sesame mix. And as always with ingredients left over put mushrooms and parmesan in the filo parcels. Very enjoyable.

Horses and Sticks

Our beloved washing machine of many years service has been 'Pritted'
Phwatt, I hear you ask, is pritted when it is at home?
It has come to a sticky end. (Arrgh...Ed. Surely not original)
Are you jokin? Pelagerism is a dreadful cross I bear willingly!

In the meantime here is a nice snap of Jacob which we took on our  day out at the seaside!

A grand fellow, is he not?
could do with a few more like him, eh  Mr Ed...!

Gained in translation

Reading The Dark Valley by Valerio Varesi I came across a nice expression on p 118

They can't even find a wall to bang their heads against.

Clueless in Italian?

So  Maria Miller
Gee it's good to see yer
Doing the Vatican Rag.

That's another fine mess you got me in Posh Boy.
Anybody seen a wall?

Motor City

Why does anyone still live in Detroit?
An interesting question, thoughtfully explored in the Grauniad piece. (David Uberti extd.09:08 04/04/2014)  The pattern of development in the USA is much different, of course, and the underlying reality of class, race and economy so far from here. It couldn't happen here, right. Could it?

Subsidy Hoggs

A double whammy! Yes before I call down the wrath of Ed. for the cliche here is a conundrum for you to beat.
Not only do we not know the names,  faces,  inside leg measurements of the few, the happy few, the chosen few who got mates rates on the deal of the year - 'Brenda's Mail'  Delivering a Profit to One of 16 Investors Near You - but we do not know if these few, these favoured few...( all right we are well aware they could be Chums of Dave and Gideon. If this sentence goes on for much longer I want to argue for the return of capital punishment...Ed.) But we also  do not know if these investors avoided paying tax on the profit from disposal. I suspect it is possible. If you believe a certain, doughty, Ms Toynbee in  the Grauniad that sort of thing goes on and D and G do not appear to be doing much about it. 

As I have suggested before, why do we not have a cap on the total of tax allowances available to few, the chosen few, the douce wee hoggs that have their snouts in the trough! Far be it from me to suggest capping at the same level as the benefits cap but we are all in this together, are we not... Hello, anybody there?

Ho! Ho!

A Pinch and a Punch for the fist of the Month. I bring you tidings from the Grauniad.

Scotland to switch to driving on the right if independence given green light

And I have in ma hond a piece of paper  that details the plans of the perfidious Nats to invade San Serif in the event of a Yes vote. 

Nothing like trailing your coat around the school playground.

And while we are at it, I stayed up far too late  one night last week watching 13 Days.

So Shreck better get on the phone to Posh Boy and advise him of the intention of an Indie Scotlenad to 'Quarantine' Faslane.
I've gone all weak at the knees. It's the thought of Posh Boy pounding the lectern at the UN with one of his shoes, Gucci of course!
(That is blatant product placement! I edit an ethical blog and in the words of another great man of letters something up  with which I will not put...Ed)

Shelfies

Yes you heard it write in your minds eye. Shelfies. You may find an explanation there, or #shelfie if you are twitterate, or remain a sad bemused old codger much like myself! All this technologistics, tweets of the day, facepaint.... (there, there its surely time you had a cup of hot strong tea...Ed!) And another thing don't call me Sh...

Still the idea had me chuckling into my Ceylon when I saw this #books for prisoners.
I think I understand. My own contribution would be a book by Roger Cooper - Death plus Ten Years. As the author of the book confirms, the sentence was proposed to be served in reverse order!

Now I leave it up to you to decide on the secret shelfies of Posh Boy, Gideon, and the Old Grey Grayling!

Snaps

Mr Getty, who has a lot of snaps (35 million at the last count), has organised his holiday photos so that it is possible for us folk to use some of them in a non commercial way. Check it out here.

Not everyone would be pleased though I guess. Those on the beach with the big cameras and the donkeys to support; well you can imagine. Still there is no standing in the way of progress as your man said to the head scribe at the monastery in Gutenberg. 

Thanks to the old British Broadcasting Corporation for the story. I know I put the reference to it in my pocket somewhere. If you don't want to wait while I find it you could always use the Hypi thingy at the  story.

In the Pink

(Hello. Is there anyone there...Ed?)

In case you are  interested I am well and enjoying the spring air. I have been following the tail wind of this extraordinary world of ours and have to confess to being buffeted by the Beauforts, metaphorically speaking.

(I see that absence does not make the art grow stronger, nor the quality of the text even...Ed.)

The lads and lassies at Newsnight have a new team or a new configuration, though even in this world turned upside down The Great Bandiness, his holiness Pope Paxoid is still there of course but shuffling and new blood are in evidence. I was adopting the Newsnight Slump (this may become an olympic sport soon) when I noticed the sharp and investigative features of Emily Witless (isn't that Maitlis...Ed.) She was well wrapped up, it being a bracing spring day, in a voluminus pink garment which did not appear to possess itself of a volume control mechanism. Underneath said reporter, editor, correspondent, whatever there appeared the helpfull caption 'Will Hutton'.

Begod! I know with the certainty granted only to the pontif and then only when his holy backside touches the Cathedra of Faith that was not Will Hutton.

Your man would never be seen dead in such a shade of pink!

Flowers from an Island

A gift from an island, warm and pleasant. Very welcome at this time of storms and rain and confusion!

Common Currency

A letter from Dame Nichola Misfearsome, Comptroller General of BP Inc. to the Chair of BP Inc.

Dear Snooks,

I attach a spot of bedtime reading  by the bean counters and moolah wallahs about the attempt by our subsid. in the north, Salmo Enterprises, to up sticks, grab the boodle and go it alone!  You know how the M  Ws drone on if you let them so I suggest a stiff Glenbogle if you are not the least interested. In as much as I understand it (GCSE in woodwork 1959) I
passionately agree with its analysis and conclusions.

I know that our relations with the ungrateful bu**ers oop north have not always been of the best but a commercial relationship between different parts of a company is a bit like a marriage. We are the bread-winners, they do the cooking and the cleaning, and after a Friday night session at the club we come home a bit squiffy and... well. We've been screwing them for years and now they want out. They say they are happy to split liabilities as well as assets! I say go forth and multiply and empty your pockets before you do, thieving oiks!

Toodle pip.

Ever
Nickky xxx

Normal for Norfolk

You may have noticed headlines, strap lines and lines of waving locals with words similar to the following

...Norfolk, England Welcoming visitors since 1061

or similar date.

Extensive research by the Buddhist Pizza Reseach Institute (BPRI reg in Cayenne Islands, Charity  number 666) has unearthed a much earlier date for the County's first visitors. As a result and out of a deep respect for the denizens we offer the following as an amendation...

...Norfolk, England Welcoming visitors for over 900,000 years

 (Is it not usual at this point to pass some comment about the stasis in the gene pool or some such like...Ed)

Are you joking? I make occasional visits to the bloody place and have no intention of doing any such thing.

Snowdrops

We listened to Writing the Century, The Dock Nuremberg, a series of 5 dramas on BBC Radio 4 about the painting by Laura Knight which you can see here. Pretty strong stuff in its way. Apparently the US military police at the back of the dock who acted as guards in the trials were known universally as Snowdrops!

 An equally grey scene today when I took this snap of snowdrops at Anglesey Abbey. (The flowers that is, not MPs.

The National Trust has not been indicted for war crimes or crimes against humanity, yet!)

Famous in the Fens

I strode up to the bar where the curate was polishing a pint glass as if it was a Tibetan prayer wheel. He looked a queer kind  of a fellow even for this part of the fens.

-A glass of your finest Vichy Water your grace and whatever takes your fancy.

He looked half in a trance. Big white mutton chops adorned a chin that underbit a not unfriendly mouth. The eyes were more modestly protected behind merest gaps than any regulation burka. They picked up whatever light had crawled into that gloomy sort of a place and a glass appeared in front of me. I was surprised to see it full, a fine effervesence adorning its surface. A second glass was leisurely placed on the bar and a bottle of the finest holy water came uncorked to the curates hands. He raised the glass, half full, to his slightly sensuous lips after breathing the usual order of service in the resonant tones that I had half expected. I supplied the responsary as required quaffing more substantially than the celebrant.

-A civilised language to greet in but not one heard much in this watery kingdom.
-I have done with greetin in this language, my own or any other.

In as much as the acoustics allowed this statement to the body of the kirk boomed. I leaned in to the bar and with a discretion which ignored the empty room and claimed that I believed he had done a bit of translation before now -Ovid and -Beowulf to name but a few! He was taken aback. In as much as I could see his peepers they took on a guarded shift behind the old eyeslits.

-I wouldn't know too much about that.
-Ah man you're Famous after all, unmistakeably so. Well we all thought you dead. What is the problem, is it still the Jaffas, Al Caida, the Roosian Mafia trying to muscle in on the old poetry business?
-No. There was some trouble round about the time of the Nobel gong with the Sufis. Idris makes them out to be fun loving, easy come easy go guys, whirling away like dervishes but I know different. I know they are hard men, strictly dancing to a different tune and bearing a grudge tighter than a Jaffa holds on to his Billie Pot. No it was the wife and kids; a man can only take so much. Then there was the prospect of grandchildren and even great grandchildren. I just wanted a bit of peace and quiet after all these years.
-I know exactly what you mean. Haven't I said the same on occasions. A man like yourself though; a curate's work is not going to keep you, intellectually speaking.
- I have a few ideas and one or two projects on the go if you understand. Looking out on the water in the direction of  Scandinavia I see the big money is to be made in crime. Don't get me wrong, I'm not about to join the ranks of those chased thither and yon by the DMP. No I was thinking of a verse thriller, taking as inspiration the human traffiking of women from Ireland in the 9th century. Those poor country coleens were famed for their storytelling abilities and brutally ripped from their communities to pour out sagas for the likes of Snorri the priest to scribble down in some traduction or other! Perhaps I've said too much.

  I realised that the moment had passed and that I had best be on my way. I patted myself down and gathered my accoutrements, such as they were. I was about to head for the door when that noble head leaned towards me and the chin made the universal gesture requiring the subject to draw near and offer a conspiratorial ear to the speaker.

-I trust I can rely on your discression and good judgement, pilgrim, as a matter of compassion if not professional courtesy.
-As I am an honest man, you have my word!

It was only when I was half way to the car that I realised I had left without making a contribution to the poor box! Ah well the secrets of the confessional come at a price, and Vichy is an expensive way to give yourself bother with the bag!

(Have you been at the Dalkey Archive again...Ed)

Books and Pictures

A few days ago I finished Nature's Engraver by Jenny Uglow.
It took some time, which might be me, however, I enjoyed it greatly. Of the many images 'The Corn-Crake' remains a favourite.
The bird is caught in the split second before launching itself into a dash for cover, a spearlike configuration of beak and bum! It is interesting to think that Bewick would have been driven half mad in early summer with the 'kreck, kreck'. Now we have to travel to the Inner Hebrides for our dose of May madness.

A visit to the Cotes museum in Bournemouth provides lots of visual stimulation

(Lots of Victorian paintings of young ladies with little else but a few whispy things attached. All in the interest of studying your Ancient Greeks no doubt...Ed)
Yes a picture did catch my eye and it was a representation of women -

Spanish Market Women at Bilbao by Eusebio Perez de Valleurca

Of course we do not know what they are saying but we do know what they are saying. The two figures we see to our left are
deep in sotto voce

I really, really love him!

Pobrecita! He's just like all the rest!

(Glad to see you back. Are you looking a bit peaky...Ed?)
Just a cold since you ask. Nothing a hot drink, warmth and an editor who is given to litotes won't cure!

Pandrops

In a school playground in Stockbridge two kids stand square to each other. There is tension. It is not the usual flare of cruelty, anger or a desperate reaction to casual violence. The smaller child, a rotund cherub who looks like he has just finished a long and pleasurable sook on a pan drop, is planted with growing confidence in front of a much bigger boy with greasy hair and florid, rubbery complexion, Macaroon.

Listen Salmo you do what I say or it'll be the worse for you.

Worst!

Worst what do you mean worst.

It's worst not worse!

Whatevs you fat little git.
I am head of school and you've got to do what I say. Don't think the teachers give a monkey's cos they don't. Except Gideon, he really enjoys seeing me kick the crap out of the smallest snot gobblers.

Holding on to his bag, his bladder, the level of his voice and his big idea the smaller boy, Salmo, looked Macaroon straight in the eye.

We don't have to do what youse say if we don't want to. Stockbridge School does not have a head boy. If we had anything we should have a head student and I would vote for Nicola.

Vote, what do you mean vote, we should fight for it. I'd like to see Nicola take me on, in fact I'd like to see Nicola take Rebekah on. Macaroon fell silent at this and a strange look came in his eyes.

Salmo maundered on, sure now he was digging his own grave or worse!

The students should decide, it should be fair, no bullying or bribing people even with pan drops.

Macaroon grabbed him by the ear and twisted, hard. Salmo felt hot tears in his eyes. He looked to see if Nicola was watching. She was. He lashed out with his foot. Macaroon dropped to the ground and moaned. He clutched the part of his short trousers where, it was thought, the largest one in the playground was to be found. He turned white, then green then gave a dry boke. Salmo turned. While the going was good the good got going. He thought what a heap of shite these these big kids were. He knew he would get thumped, Gideon might even use the tawse on him but it would all be worth it. He knew he would get to share those pan drops with Nicola, eventually!

Concert

A concert in Liverpool at the Nordic Church.
In the first part Bridget Marsden & Elin Nilsson played Early Music and Swedish Folk Music on Baroque Violins. I thought it a well constructed session and the music, old and new, sat easy on the mind and in the ear.
After coffee and cakes Bridget Marsden & Leif Ottosson (accordion) gave interpretations of Nordic folk music in new compositions and traditional tunes. The combination of instruments, violin and accordion, might appear to be imbalanced but the finesse of both players delivered a beautiful sound. The music cheered and enlivened but did not shy away from the inevitability of separation and mortality. One piece, describing friends leaving, was dedicated to someone who will leave us soon.

A good day out including, for some, Scouse and a pint in the Baltic Fleet.
(Not for yourself, surely... Ed? )
Indeed not. And another thing, don't call me Shirley!

Amazing Grace

Caught in ma goonie wi haf a grapefruit and boily egg, toast too!
Listened to Grayson Perry delivering himself of the latest in his Reith Lectures.
Enjoyed it greatly. I'm not sure if he was wearing his best frock for Stroke City. They lapped it up as did I.
Link here to the Beeb site.

(Isn't it at this point that you usually say something bad about that well known  'Radio Personality' Sue Crawley... Ed!)

Out of the mouths

Herself recently gave rise to a cracker. We were discussing the Nobel Prize for Physics over breakfast the other day (time for a full body cringe or phwatt...Ed) and she suggested that in the house style we should refer to that particle as

THAT GODDAM DOG PARTICLE...

I thought that was rather good.
Anyway, nice one Peter! I'm sure you deserved the gong.

Grangemouth Smokies

Article by Martin Kettle in the Grauniad linking the proposed closure of the Grangemouth plant to the debate about Scottish Independence. A thoughtful piece and while I don't always agree with the Kettle it is clear sighted and I'm afraid paints a rather dark picture for the rest of us (a rare case of the pot being called black by the Kettle ...Ed)

Moves are, undoubtedly, afoot. The Common Weal  has more than the whiff of an Arbroath Smokie.

A linked article by Adam Price contains the suggestion that:-

 One thing we can comfortably predict is that the future will be another country. 

Amen to that, and while the psephologists are having a few days in the country on the back of all the predicting the urns, I'm not sure their field days provide us with any indication of what like those countries will be no matter what we end up calling them.

Dutch people are tall and wear bicycles.

In the interests of science, with a view to winning a Nobel Bicycle, and not having two scalar bosons to rub together, I offer 
the following thought experiment. (Phwhat in god's name is a thought experiment...Ed?)
If you want Buddhist Pizza Research Institute (BPRI) to shell out a few billion spondulics for a Large Head on Collider
be my guest and make the suggestion to the research committee. We meet once a year in Monte Carlo!

Ladies and gentlemen of science the contention of my thesis is that the Dutch are tall and wear bicycles.
I will offer photographic evidence and densely argued text to support this and I hope you will find it irrefutable.

Obviously as you can see from 1. shoes are now offered on the streets of the Netherlands in 3s!

1.

This leads the observer to the inevitable conclusion that the bu**ers have grown another foot while we were not looking.
Some futher support for this theory is available at 2. below where we see the addition of a further foot, though the evidence leads us to suppose it is for a younger person.

2.

Obviously your Dutchman or woman takes little heed for the welfare of its young. You can see below in 3. children are forced to cling to the back of bicycles, which the Dutch wear as a matter of course. The evidence shows the bicycle/persons approaching the quantum tunnel in a popular Museum in Amsterdam. So many people have dissappeared into this it is inconceiveable that anyone would drag a child into such danger!

 3.

(Tut, tut! I thought that science progressed by the presntation of evidence that enabled us to reject a hypothesis...Ed)

Tell me have you been reading that book again:- the Open Society by One of its Enemies!

The Gentlemen of the Press

It seems that the Good Old Grauniad (GoG) has got itself into a bit of troubba having a spat with the PM and MIn (where n is any number between -1 and 666). GoG has been revealing secrets the like of which will:- cause the downfall of civilization, undermine the natural order, destroy all the good work we have done for chappies in less developed parts of the globe, reduce peace goodwill and justice to all men and women even. They should be ashamed and if it weren't too hush hush we might even have to mention the operatives in the field who have been put in danger by that blackguard Rushbridger, I ask you what kind of a man is that.  (How in the name of all that is good and holy can poor old Alan be accused of causing danger and distress to farm labourers. Has he been kicking over the spuds or hurling them at the heads of the poor tattie hawkers...Ed?)

These matters require a deep knowledge of diplomacy and some acquaintance with state secrets, I would not expect you to understand, away and get the printers ink of your fingers before we have our tea!

(I know a few people who know a thing or two and they seem to think quite highly of him...Ed!)

Hacks, all of them, probably paid by the yard!

Still Light with Window

This is the new window in the Nieuwe Kerk in Delft, it is stunning with the light streaming through. My snap does not do it justice.

The Link  gives an indication of the symbolism but the sheer joy and glory of the light is well above the bees knees!

Let there be light...

and the rest is silence.

Flagstone and 2 Girls

This is a snap of the memorial stone in the Oude Kerk in Delft

And here are two girls we found hanging about in Amsterdam.

Pictures courtesy of the Rijksmuseum; flagstone courtesy of Vermeer's mother-in-law.

Story Time.

I ran across two new stories recently.
For the young at heart, aren't we all.

A Vase for the Princess  is the tale of the adventures of a mouse

and

The Story of Doctorow/Dr Who from a ten year old.

Mendicant Musicians!

I bumbled into the Nieuwe Kerk in Delft passing a quartet of young musicians playing in the square. Hm... nice sound, Piazolla as well, must slip them a Eurosov as I come out thought, I to myself. I have a weakness for giving money to young, talented, thin musicians. I know one or two who could do with a bacon beigel and more.

On the way out I deposited my Eurosov and was immediately given a card with the details of the operation by a young woman who was cleverly targeting the punters. (I was delighted that I was not about to be bludgeoned by the nerdowells, bad boyos and pickpockets that beset the honest traveler in foreign climes.) The group, Ardesko, have an interesting project, a Website and if you are interested they introduce themselves and their project here at Our World.

If you do run across them in your travels consider slipping them a Eurosov or two. Not all, but some, look as if they could do with a good feed and they make a nice sound!

Orford

A butterfly draws the last of the summer from yellow flowers.

Damsels and dragons have their conjugations warmed by the weakening sun.

The wind cackles around me as I pass through the reeds.

They transform its power into a flowing murmuration and like water it carries me on.

A hawk slips over the sea wall.  

I see the shape of a crossbow.

It drifts effortlessly across the reed bed, flapping wings to lift it above the quarrelsome, tentative gulls and I watch with the autumn sun behind me.

It banks as perfect as any spitfire pilot and displays, for itself, for the gulls, for pure joy, or me.

Its plumage is detailed as clear as any tatoo. The bow is drawn back tight.

The world turns in days and seasons and the delight is mine.

Pardon!

The sale of indulgences.
There is a living to be made as a modern Pardoner!
For people fasting, on diets or otherwise denying themselves the sins of the flesh and chocolate, I am offering a very valuable service. At the payment of serious cash money I and a dedicated band of professional staff will take on the burden of your indulgence .
An example.
Your fast, diet, whatever, requires you to restrict your intake of the good stuff to 500 calories and change. You are assailed, as we all are from time to time, by the overwhelming desire  to eat a chunk of chocolate, cream cake, chips and pizza with double mayo, whatever your avoir du poison... you get my drift. Maybe you are committed, maybe you are of steadfast character, maybe you have the will power of a deaf, blind and dumb donkey with no sense of smell, or maybe you are like the rest of us. OK,  so  now you are 2000 calories down the guggle and the guilt is going to kill you. The only thing to do is reach for the next 2000 calories to assuage you poor battered soul which is wracked, wracked I tell you with the guilt.
Fear not the Pardoning Services of Buddhist Pizza Pardons (BPP Inc.) are available - special rates can be offered to regular consumers.
For the payment of a  paltry sum, say 1p a calorie, we will guarantee to take on our broad shoulders (and backsides...Ed)
the results of your overindulgence. An indulgence for an indulgence as it were! (Oh very good, very good. I'm beginning to like the drift of your jib...Ed)
Disclaimer.
The calories remain, of course, but the guilt, the guilt is not yours. It heads for the wide blue yonder, born aloft by the prayers, sutras, mortifications  and good work of the tireless Pardoners of BPP. 

Payment by cheque made out to BPP Inc Charity no 666 registered in the Cayenne Islands if you please, I thank you.

(Now about that sub I was asking for. It seems like there might be funds soon. I can't get to sleep at night for the moaning of the poor hungry wains...Ed)
Are they 12 year old or 18 year old  single malt wains ?

Back to School

Wondering, or even wandering, in a daze this morning about the 'Big Town' I pitched up in front of the Oxfam Bookshop. Yes I know these places are, as the moral mentors of my youth would say, DANGEROUS OCCASIONS OF SIN! However, I was early for a meeting, I am weak and anyway the odd book or three is not going to drag me down to hell. Is it?

(No, but unwarranted capitalisation and dreadful puns will drive me to the bottle or an early grave, or both...Ed)

Moving on. I saw a book under the poster advertising volumes for going back to school. The Title - Study Kills...hmm!
So does bathtub speed, unfettered capitalism and chemical weapons!
A closer inspection proves we are not radicalising a generation and the exhortatory volume was in fact a resource to enhance studying.
The Title - Study Skills; must see the old optician about a new pair of glasses.

While we are on the subject of books, a quote.
The internet is for books you want to read. A library is for books you did not know you wanted to read.
Not original, of course.
(What round here ever is. It  gets worse, folksy, homespun, mumbojumbo, quotes without proper citation and rigorous attribution. You couldn't make it up...Ed)

Exactly.

Lost for words

Cory Doctorow, who knows a thing or two, points out the fact that it is not possible to own some digital material!
You can of course sell what you like as long as the great washed and unwashed desire to buy it. In order to avoid any doubt I am, of course, only referring to that which the law and m'learned friends would approve of. (Thank god for that. We don't want the peelers round stomping their big boots on the antimacassars and the like looking for contraband and the stuff you should have turned over to the Receiver of Wreck years ago... Ed)

In an article in the Grauniad he points out that it is not possible to buy a digital copy of the Oxford English Dictionary (OED) or the Historical Thesaurus of the Oxford English Dictionary (HTOED). This raises a number of interesting questions.  I was struck again by the fact that the interweb has changed forever things we have taken for granted as being part of the fabric of society - You sell... I buy - and changed them in ways we do not recognise or see where they will leave us.

But the point is that we have sleepwalked into a new way of accessing some very ancient tools. Commercial decisions married to the lawyerly norm of asking for the world, the moon, and your first-born in rental agreements have birthed a new, non-negotiable relationship between people who live and die by words and the lexicographers whose work serves them. A university whose name is synonymous with the perpetual archiving of books is now telling scholars that their crucial references can never be their property, and that their ongoing use of those works is subject to continuous monitoring and indefinite retention.

I particularly like the idea of a lien on your first-born.

Have a gander at it and of course remember Aaron Swartz.

(Glad to see you back. Have a good break? Weather fine? Relatives and young thriving? Get much reading done?
Now about the price of coal and the vital editorial work I do for this enterprize - any chance of a sub...Ed)

More Holidays?

Another wee flower for the collection.

And a strange naming of streets...

From Grope to Grove to Union!?

At least we know what the Gauleiter  has been up to this summer.

Chocolate Pickles

and he's grown a mustache.

Well Well

Couldn't resist the pun!

Doomt, Doomt, I Telt Ye!

Maybe it was the delayed effect of seeing the World's End (not the world's end I hope, of course not, otherwise we would not be here... only my little joke...Ed!) or the curry afterwards but when the daily update concerning the Scot's latest bid for freedom popped into my inbox, courtesy of the much maligned Mr Googles, the lead story was

Scottish independence would lead to a 'complete nightmare' in immigration policy

The Scottish Daily Record reports Michael Moore, The Secretary of State for Scotland, claiming the above. Of course, I see it all. Lines of the undead slumped by the side of the A1 just waiting for the word. WWII surplus army lorries, their tattered tarps flapping in the breeze just north of Carlisle. The signal to move would be the declaration of independence. Closer inspection of the transport would reveal the horror contained within. 

Interesting fact about Scottish Independence, No. 1 in a series.
Have you ever seen
Michael Moore, The Secretary of State for Scotland, and
Michael Moore, The well known prankster and filum maker,
in the same room?

(Now you come to mention it, I have not... Ed)

Summer Filums

We went to the local flea pit twice in one week.
West Side Story
Neither of us had seen it, or seen it all the way through, or could remember seeing it all the way through!
What emotion, what music, what dancing, what panstick, and that was just the sharks! Lenny could certainly write a tune or two.
No credit for our own dear Wills scratched on the wall at the end, such a difficult name to get right!

The World's End
A bit of a contrast. However, as part of the deeply moving Cornetto Trilogy it provided a useful reminder of the perils of drink, drugs and the undead! I have yet to see Shaun of the Dead or can remember seeing it all the way through! That is a treat to come.

Erwin Schrödinger - A Joke

(Any similarity to a joke told,recently, on a BBC programme - Boffins Telling Jokes - is not coincidental...Ed!)

A garda stops a car on the outskirts of Dublin.

"Could I see your driving license please?"  He says.
The driver, an elderly academic type, pulls it out of his wallet and hands it over.

"Ah Professor Schrödinger! Would you mind popping the trunk there?"

(The guarda had been watching the American Series -  Highway Patrol  on TV and knew this was what you said.)
The driver protested, asking  if it was really necessary. The guarda was adamant. With a resignation that ebbed in long suffering waves over the top of his glasses the driver complies. The guarda walks round the back of the car, looks in the trunk, stages a theatrical double take and needs a moment to compose himself.

He moves to the front of the car and addresses the driver, somewhat uncertainly.

"Professor Schrödinger, do you know you have a dead cat in the trunk?"

"I do now!"

Visions of Poesy

I've been reading Wendy Cope's dream in 
COPE, W. (1986). Making cocoa for Kingsley Amis. London, Faber and Faber.
p 59.

It reminded me of a nightmare which occurred ten years or more before  this was published as I staggered around the festival in Edinburgh.

Down the Festival with Germaine.

It wasn't a grope I had just then
I needed some help to keep level
I wanted to set the record straight.
You think I'm a devil!

(God almighty are you at the  Poesy again, morning, noon and night. Who is it this time? Oh I see now. Old Percy Bish and his Petery Loo. You have had that far away look in the eye ever since you saw Mervyn Peak pronounce on the The Masque of Anarchy. Anarchy indeed I should get paid more for the editing of 'Poetry', highly skilled and exacting work it is too!  ...Ed)

Do you want payment by the yard or will a clip round the ear suffice?

Zero Influence

Behind the bike shed in the garden of a building in Downing St. a red faced boy of 40 something in too tight shorts takes the fag out of his mouth and extends a packet to his companion.

Want a gasper Liz?

Don't call me that Dave! You know the Lizard of Oz really gets on my tits.

The aggrieved party is also wearing shorts of regrettably revealing dimensions. To the proffered fag he addresses a swift homily on the virtues of brand loyalty and declines.

Just think, Dave, if these were in plain packages I wouldn't be able to choose.

He takes out his own packet and sparks up.
They inhale deeply and, more or less, companionably for a few moments.
Liz the Lobby breaks the silence...

I offered Gideon a fag  the other night and the soft dingbat thought I was soliciting for my intern. Jesus, you Poms!

Memento

Two pictures for Elizabeth

A bright, fierce, flower
glowing and thriving.
A silver bower,
remembering and resting.

Storms and Waves

HEADLAND

I shelter by rocks, dragon tailed.
I watch the roaring breakers,
big enough to turn a man inside
and the toe teasing tide
mesmerises me, taking me to another place.


A TEUCHIT STORM

The black shadow drifted half menace, half intent.
It circled, lazy days rich pickings.
A buzzard high above the field.

First one bird flew directly, the raptor continued,
A second flew and the hunter banked.
At once the sky was alive with lapwings.

The big bird glided on without concern.
Then a teuchit storm, a volcano, erupted and it departed
 Letting them feed their young for another day.

Austerity Plus

One might be tempted, late at night and behind closed doors, in the priv... (come on man, I have a job to do and the electricity to pay, children to feed and all sorts of business to attend to... Ed) to say ARSE to austerity, we have never had it so good. That might be a mistake. We are all in this together and I have no wish to see my neighbour beggared. I allow that I might feel different if I were the possessor of a small fortune, a millionaire Da and a name like Gideon. If I had invested my somewhat short political future on the idea of cutting the nations economic throat as a cure for fiscal obesity I would be committed (or possibly should be committed...Ed) to the idea of austerity. However, there is this wee Scots guy who makes a very strong case for equating austerity with madness. If you think of Billy Conolly on Speed with the intellectual power of the laureated Mr Krugman you may be able to imagine the economic cruise missile that is Mark Blyth. If not you can watch him here giving a talk at Google or Guggle as it is referred to in Scotlenad. For ye of little faith and shorter attention span the Grauniad has an interview here.

So Gideon, we want
- Hipocratic Economics, No Slash and Burn
- Pay down debt and build buffers when you have the money,
- Now we need hope based priorities, policies and spending!
Three pointers for the young leader of a party near you.

Merv the Swerve at the Old Lady always appeared to me to be a bit of a Banker! In a FT lunch conversation with Martin Wolf he is quoted as saying that one of his prescriptions for the eurozone's woes...

to continue with mass unemployment in the south, in order to depress wages and prices until they've become competitive again. FT Life and Arts p 3 June 15/16 2013

A brave man indeed and perhaps the shy and soon to be retiring banker will offer to share his retirement package with the sons of Hellas, Napoli and the Reyes Catolicos  who pitch up in the summer, on his doorstep, asking for a crust or two or even a job.
I believe - Da me un trabajo, pendejo is roughly equivalent to - Gis a job la! in Spanish. It might be useful to know that.

Flowers of Scotland.

First a portrait of the artist as a fat old man as we missed Bloom's Day.

We were taking the air ....

Slowly!

When we chanced upon a host of wee fleurs...

(A host usually implies a significant number and what's all this nonsense about chancing, chancing your arm no doubt... Ed)

I hope you had a good break from your labours too!.

What we did on our holidays, again.

Stoned?

History Lesson

Very Pharonic?

Twitching the Electric Snipe

And Calling the Silkies.

The Company He Keeps

So then Nige, Keith's Mum says you ran into a little trubba north of the border.
When I used to frequent the hoofs and hoosies of Auld Reekie, the Royal Mile and environs was the haunt of tourists, Nasty Nats and Old Labour. (Did you not, yourself, drink with your trot Chums in the Cowgate...Ed?)
Anyone with a thirst for genteel political debate (or anything else) would repair to Rose St., New Labour, or the New Town Watering holes for the Tartan Tories.
If you had played your cards right I'm sure you could have dropped in on Malaky for a drop of Sancerre, possibly not though.  That's frog juice, is it not?

Mass, Length and Time

I have been measured ( and found wanting... Ed.)
In various medical examinations and investigations I have been asked to provide a measure of my height. I would as a matter of course offer the value of 1.87 metres, give or take a haircut and a pair of good brogues, say 1.88 amongst friends (Not thank god, any business about six foot two, eyes of blue...Ed)

I now know after extensive measurement with the latest laser technology, adjusted for relativistic effects, British Summer Time etc. ( You were put up against a wall in you socks and a plank dobbed on your nut...Ed!)

Ahem. I now stand, corrected, at 1.863m.
I just thought the readers would be interested to know what was going on after a period of silence.
(Pah, a bloody excuse for congenital indolence and stupidity...Ed!)

You know you can be a real snappy bugger when you don't have any of this editing business to do!

Driving Over Bitter Lemons.

"Cyprus? What Cyprus?"
Mr Murphy nails most of it with this link, as usual, I love the sound of the money Swissing by at the end!

"See the Euro's turned out nice again."

Don't be stupit or a zafty  go to Cyprus and get crafty
(Zafty: A person very easily imposed upon)
Final word in this listed link from Mr Forsyth. Is the site significant, death and taxes?

Nick Shaxon may supply some answers, including quotes from the laureated Mr Krugman. If you really want to worry your socks off, Google the FT on Security aspects of Moscow Gold Plate in the Med!!

(Right having got that off your chest do you think we can get this blog back on track, you know, promoting world peace and justice, the arts, culture, fluffy stuff like that... Ed?)

Quite so!
I have thought for some time that the watch phrase for the new left should be :-
Impuestos o Muerte; don't eat the rich, tax 'em!
Step one:-  you cap my benefits I cap your tax allowances.

We are all in this together!

Interesting article, at this time,  about a part of the Spanish Economy by Giles Tremlett in today's Grauniad.
The term recession proofing is used, with some justification, when speaking about Mondragon the magic mountain.
There are problems, not all workers are members of the coop, finance can be hard if squeezed by mainstream banks or defaulting local authorities but, what is claimed,  as greater flexibility by member cooperatives and more committed workers seems to have kept the ship afloat! Broad brush it compares favorably with the devastation of other parts of Spain which, of course, we ignore at our peril.
We have our Coop, not that sexy, a bit like a spinster aunt in my youth, could be relied on for support and the odd fiver!
Linked, sadly and apparently,  without much influence or effect to the Labourandconservative party. The new face of the Big(ass) Society, the John Lewis Partnership. Good for high quality schmatter and service; god help those who can't afford it.
Fraternally yours
His Enlightenedness
Swami BP (the tall fat one)
Toady Lane
Nirvana

A Foggy Day in Suffolk

The miasma from the fens  has  seeped into the old brain box. (Now there's a thing...Ed)
I have been lurching around the house and in between lecturing Newsnight on the paucity, stupidity and childishly elemental nature of its economic analysis (ultimate put down they can't hear you dear) and proposing a cap on tax allowances and interest rates, I have proclaimed stoutly, robustly and without allowance of any contradiction to Messrs All and Sundry that today is International Book Day and not International Women's Day.

I believe I must now make an abject apology. I stand corrected. The interweb informs me that World Book Day is 23 April and also, he.. hem, that today is, in fact, in one sense, up to a point, International Women's Day, in most places.
Easy enough mistake for a busy man to make - women, books;  books, women.
The important thing is to move on going forward not to look back in any way shape or form and as both women and books are my passion I offer this tasteful portrayal of a clutch of beauties that have me ensnared at the moment.
(I'm not expected to edit  material which may contain pornography or what we might euphemistically call art photography, am I? I have standards. I left the employment of the dirty digger on a matter of ethics you know...Ed)
I didn't know there was a brand called ethics, is it 12 or 15 year old?

Runners and Riders in the Papabile Steaks

Seen outside our local health food shop, shameless.

Even more shameless, punting on:-

Marc Ouellet, good pedigree and a useful bet to date, now fading against the paced and well proportioned Odilo Scherer. Tipped, incidentally,  by Tom in the Telegraph.
(Stop forthwith! I will not have the Sacred Conclave, the expression, through Holy Mother the Church of the will of HIMSELF reduced to some seedy susurrations that would ill behove a group of blind drunk Orangemen on a day trip to Aintree...Ed)
Ooops! Somebody  dropped a pony on Angelo Scola. Looks good in the press photos but is carrying a bit more weight nowadays.

Now We are 7 (I Think)

We are in it for the Long Haul as John Wayne might have said rounding up the doagies. (What on earth are doagies... Ed? I think someone wasted their childhood watching cheap Holywood Cowboy filums!)  Yup. You gonna call me out like a man or hide behind that bottle of ink and quill pen with the white feather?
So now we are 7.
The world may appear to be a different place. We still have the most right wing, militaristic, nuclear weaponed government in our history. Italy is still in crisis. The poor are still with us. The pope is still a shy, and retiring, catholic. They are still prising guns out of the hands of cold, dead, mass murderers.  They are dying in Syria as opposed to Afghanistan. Oh they are still dying in Afghanistan and Gaza and god knows where else. Despite this Blog's call for World Peace and Justice by 4pm, non negotiable, I suspect we may all be banging away about it for a lot longer.

I am shocked and shamed by the energy, industry, and courage of individuals who challenge the evil parts of the system. The power of the big bad guys to destroy you is truly scary but many have the courage to resist and provoke.

Aaron H. Swartz was an American computer programmer, writer, and political organizer. He resisted and spent a large part of his short life organising and looking for loopholes.  Larry Lessig devotes his inaugural lecture, as the Roy L. Furman Professor of Law and Leadership of the Harvard Law School to "Aaron's Laws". It is very moving so I guess we should be moved.

George Monbiot has a piece describing the actions of EDF in response to a peaceful protest. 

If you want to register a protest you can always sign the petitions.

And you could ask yourself why you get your energy from EDF if you do and you could ask yourself who owns EDF?

(Be warned! Any untoward comments in this Blog concerning Cheese Eating Electric Monkeys will be dealt with, most severely..Ed!)

Gis a Book?

Books & Libraries again...
I was discussing the merits of libraries at breakfast and realised that one of the benefits of the library system, little promoted, is the idea of sharing. Yes, libraries provide 'books for the poor', reference books, tomes  provided for  wide groups of users.  They can act as a focus for community and artistic endeavours. There are many examples of other 'uses'.  We seldom promote them as exemplars of the shared resource; learning by doing.
I do not need my own universe perhaps would you like to share this one!

Later an article in the Observ-a-Tory
It's not what a library stocks, it's what it shares | Books | The Observer

The bookless library is not a contradiction in terms, but a continuation of the library's core purpose, providing access to knowledge and information, and a public statement of the value of that access.

I'm forced to agree but a bookless library, a bit like a pub with no beer!

Falling Standards

Post at Nick's excellent blog caught my eye ( I wonder why...Ed?)
The “whore’s drawers” and the Libor scandal – a tale of two cultures

On the trading floor at Buddhist Pizza Inc we would never have used such a tasteless phrase.
It would, of course, have been the bride's nightie.

For those seeking titillation and (horse) flesh no pornography was used in the making of this blog.
(Is that a fact. I'm glad to hear it... Ed!)

Horsing Around

It may have escaped your attention that there has been, allegedly, sins of the horseflesh in the kitchens of our once great nation. I leave that matter to the purveyors of scandal and pony burghers.
There was consternation, also, for a moment in Buddhist Pizza Stables  as we sat down to our evening meal. Herself is a vegetarian of sorts but is allowed, by the dietary authorities, to eat fish. I will eat anything, though of late I have avoided eating people because it is wrong! On our plates was a wholesome repast of baked potatoes, crunchy salad and tuna mixed with sweetcorn. Lady BP chuckled that one of the benefits of being a sort of vegetarian was that it would prove difficult to consume horse meat unknowingly.
I retrieved the tin of tuna and read :-
Line caught Tuna, may contain traces of Horse Mackerel.
You could have heard the Gopaleen running in Connemara.

I made my apologies and ducked.

Walking the World

If I could not have mountains or sea as a view from my window in old age, I would choose the sight of a road vanishing round a corner in woods, or disappearing over a pass of the hills. And it would need to be a road with a surface soft enough to show ruts and footmarks, and on it a homely plop of dung, and a few puddles to reflect the stars. What pleasure is there in the contemplation of a tarmac road, with nothing significant on it but white stripes and blobs of dirty oil?
Driftwood and Tangle p183.
Margaret Leigh

Tombstone

I have mentioned this before.
I have had it out of our local library and will return it tomorrow.
I have only managed to read about a third of Tombstone.

I know what it is to miss a meal.
I have fasted before sacrament
and the work of the surgeon.
I have been careless and lost many kilos!

I know what it is to be famished.
I have anticipated food for free
and dined for a higher price.
I have been indulgent to the point of loosing pounds.

I do not know what famine is.
I may have tasted the fruits of
transubstantiation.
I have not consumed the sins of the flesh.

Guilt and the Interweb!

Just because it is amazing it does not mean it will not be abused.

I do call her Scary Mary and live in fear, in Cambridge, of her pursuing me through the streets on her bicycle with trademark red coat. That is only because I will have done something wrong and she will instantly know it!

Austerity

Gideon's  austerity has seeped into our bones with the cold and has infected the bird life hereabouts. A walk on a cold grey day in the snow was a pleasant and companionable enough experience. We spotted a nearly all white owl parading its catch, a small rodent or bird. It appeared to be quite arrogant about displaying until it was pursued by a buzzard stage right. I guess the buzzard was attempting to gain an easy meal by forcing the owl to drop its prey. Times are so hard we also came across a dead peasant.

(Maybe that was a pheasant! Could it not have been sleeping...Ed?)

Jim Dreams of Sushi

It being a cold January afternoon we turned up at our local flea pit, much improved, but alas sold to the lowest bidder!

It was a one off showing of Jiro Dreams of Sushi.

Lots of good press and we did enjoy it. Inspiring, and suitably inspired, three guesses what I am preparing for herself?

 

 

Interesting on a day when horse DNA seems to have been found in inappropriate places allegedly. 

Still, every little pony helps. You know it makes horse sense.

 I wonder if you can have Shetland Sushi?

(Arrgh...Ed)

The ABC of XWD

Sad news about  our favourite crossword compiler, Araucaria. I'm sure there will be more eloquent appreciations and tributes but we have enjoyed his offerings. His puzzles often defeated us but almost always gave us pleasure. Some may find it morbid or 'inappropriate' to thrust intimations of mortality on your solvers in this way. I think it is quite something. He is quite something!

From sad to naughty as Paul, a Grauniad compiler(other papers and puzzles are available...Ed.) had the following as reported in the XWD Blog:

Cryptic No 25,783 for 2 November by Paul had the clue (25 across): Misshapen genitals, funny things? (3,5). Anne Turner says that, knowing Paul, she laughed aloud and confidently entered ODD BALLS in the grid. Unhappily her confidence was not rewarded, because those letters in the grid made it impossible to get any further with that corner of the puzzle. Paul's intention was an anagram of GENITALS to produce TAG LINES. On balance, though, I think that Anne was on to a winner, even if it did not fit.

Bless its little pointy head!

I noticed that the Gauleiter, who's picture heads this article, is much like a male polar bear.

The reason I suggest this is that  earlier in the week we watched a series of films featuring Gordon Buchanan and a number of charming polar bears in and around Svalbard. It was reported that it is not possible to fit a tracking collar on a male polar bear because its head is smaller than its neck. I know that given I am a less than perfect physical specemin myself I should not be hurling the cobblestones around the old conservatory. However, I could not resist a dig at Porker Pickles who seems to get broader and more pointy headed every day!
(Oh very good yes I get it, stones, throwing, glass houses, very good, very good. But my god you are still an ugly old bugger...Ed!)

Less of the old, if you will?

Life Rocks

Doesn't it just?

Scientists analysing Australian rocks have discovered traces of bacteria that lived a record-breaking 3.49bn years ago, a mere 1bn years after Earth formed.

The Grauniad website reports an article from Devin Powell.

Happy New Year to all our readers. Yes, you at the back, come on wake up!