Here's another 'look what I found today' offering. I still have the album Fotheringay on vinyl. This particularly haunting track is scratched beyond the scope of digital remastering.
"Cursed be those cruel wars ... !"
Thursday, 30 October 2008
Friday, 24 October 2008
How to manage a husband.
I received this message from a female friend. She's lovely, but I'm glad I'm not married to her!
A couple was celebrating their golden wedding anniversary on the beach. Their domestic tranquillity had long been the talk of the town.
"What a peaceful & loving couple." The local newspaper reporter was inquiring as to the secret of their long and happy marriage.
"Well, it dates back to our honeymoon," explained the man.
"We visited the Grand Canyon in Arizona and took a trip down to the bottom of the canyon by horse. We hadn't gone too far when my wife's horse stumbled and she almost fell off. My wife looked down at the horse and quietly said, "That's once." We proceeded a little further and the horse stumbled again, this time causing her to drop her water. Once more my wife quietly said, "That's twice." We hadn't gone a half-mile when the horse stumbled for a third time. My wife quietly removed a revolver from her purse and shot the horse dead.
I shouted at her, "What's wrong with you, Woman! Why did you shoot the poor animal like that? Are you crazy??"
She looked at me, and quietly said, "That's once."
"And from that moment... we have lived happily ever after."
A couple was celebrating their golden wedding anniversary on the beach. Their domestic tranquillity had long been the talk of the town.
"What a peaceful & loving couple." The local newspaper reporter was inquiring as to the secret of their long and happy marriage.
"Well, it dates back to our honeymoon," explained the man.
"We visited the Grand Canyon in Arizona and took a trip down to the bottom of the canyon by horse. We hadn't gone too far when my wife's horse stumbled and she almost fell off. My wife looked down at the horse and quietly said, "That's once." We proceeded a little further and the horse stumbled again, this time causing her to drop her water. Once more my wife quietly said, "That's twice." We hadn't gone a half-mile when the horse stumbled for a third time. My wife quietly removed a revolver from her purse and shot the horse dead.
I shouted at her, "What's wrong with you, Woman! Why did you shoot the poor animal like that? Are you crazy??"
She looked at me, and quietly said, "That's once."
"And from that moment... we have lived happily ever after."
The Anthem of St. Anley
Now, why should St. Anley like the Electric Light Orchestra?
The answer is: because he's incandescent and utterly confused, of course.
St. Anley is one of those sad people who engage so-called popular music two or three decades after everyone else. I remember liking this band and recently sent my ancient audio-tape of the album Discovery to a charity shop. Let's face it, who uses magnetic tape these days?
This post is of the 'look-what-I-found-today' variety. Don't you just have to admire the guy who can play an electronic keyboard and a grand piano simultaneously?
The answer is: because he's incandescent and utterly confused, of course.
St. Anley is one of those sad people who engage so-called popular music two or three decades after everyone else. I remember liking this band and recently sent my ancient audio-tape of the album Discovery to a charity shop. Let's face it, who uses magnetic tape these days?
This post is of the 'look-what-I-found-today' variety. Don't you just have to admire the guy who can play an electronic keyboard and a grand piano simultaneously?
Thursday, 23 October 2008
I wonder why ...
Why do people write blogs?
This one started as an experiment. Everyone else seemed to be doing it. Would my own technological apparatus prove adequate for the task? There was an interruption for about a fortnight after I posted an image of underwear; I can't imagine why.
Then I found youtube.com. Although initially I could upload my own videos to the site, I was repeatedly advised that I lacked the appropriate software to view them. The only way I could view them was to 'embed' them into a blog. This explains some of the early rubbish I posted. More recently I have resolved that difficulty and I found that I can download and embed other people’s far superior material. Increasingly, these inclusions in the blog have become a 'look-what-I-found-today' exercise. Is this legal? I ask.
There is the notion of a diary, I suppose. No, I don’t mean the ‘I woke up this morning, passed water, made tea, washed and shaved …’ sort of chronicle that most children have abandoned by 7th January every year. It is the documentation of transient thoughts and passing fancies that would otherwise be lost in the tedious routine of everyday life. Frequently such thoughts seem to mutate into something that might form the foundation of a letter to someone important. On the other hand, maybe it’s the other way around, whereby blog posts are a proxy for more meaningful correspondence. “Why should I write to someone important?” I ask. After all, my blog is in the public domain; it is available for all people of great importance to comment. Interestingly, no one does, not even creatures of no importance whatsoever!
Importantly, there is creativity, like that stream of consciousness that might be described as ‘poetry’. This is an evolutionary process that involves continual re-visiting and editing.
Finally, I have to conclude that the above is complete self-justifying BOLLOCKS. Blogging is nothing more than a gratuitous, self-indulgent, self-glorifying and self-celebratory activity that occupies the spare moments of sad people who can't sell such spare moments on Ebay, and have nothing better to do with them than to demonstrate their familiarity with the semi-colon!
(Thanks to outaspaceman for that wonderful line about 'stream of consciousness ...') ;;;
This one started as an experiment. Everyone else seemed to be doing it. Would my own technological apparatus prove adequate for the task? There was an interruption for about a fortnight after I posted an image of underwear; I can't imagine why.
Then I found youtube.com. Although initially I could upload my own videos to the site, I was repeatedly advised that I lacked the appropriate software to view them. The only way I could view them was to 'embed' them into a blog. This explains some of the early rubbish I posted. More recently I have resolved that difficulty and I found that I can download and embed other people’s far superior material. Increasingly, these inclusions in the blog have become a 'look-what-I-found-today' exercise. Is this legal? I ask.
There is the notion of a diary, I suppose. No, I don’t mean the ‘I woke up this morning, passed water, made tea, washed and shaved …’ sort of chronicle that most children have abandoned by 7th January every year. It is the documentation of transient thoughts and passing fancies that would otherwise be lost in the tedious routine of everyday life. Frequently such thoughts seem to mutate into something that might form the foundation of a letter to someone important. On the other hand, maybe it’s the other way around, whereby blog posts are a proxy for more meaningful correspondence. “Why should I write to someone important?” I ask. After all, my blog is in the public domain; it is available for all people of great importance to comment. Interestingly, no one does, not even creatures of no importance whatsoever!
Importantly, there is creativity, like that stream of consciousness that might be described as ‘poetry’. This is an evolutionary process that involves continual re-visiting and editing.
Finally, I have to conclude that the above is complete self-justifying BOLLOCKS. Blogging is nothing more than a gratuitous, self-indulgent, self-glorifying and self-celebratory activity that occupies the spare moments of sad people who can't sell such spare moments on Ebay, and have nothing better to do with them than to demonstrate their familiarity with the semi-colon!
(Thanks to outaspaceman for that wonderful line about 'stream of consciousness ...') ;;;
Don't believe in fairies?
I do now:
Clever, or what, eh?
Mairead Nesbitt, in diaphanous costume, live at Slane Castle. She was one of the fiddlers who featured in Mr. Flately's Lord of the Dance.
If she plays her cards right, she can come home with me!
Here she is again with Jay Ungar's Ashokan Farewell:
(My spelling of 'Ashokan' is correct.)
Clever, or what, eh?
Mairead Nesbitt, in diaphanous costume, live at Slane Castle. She was one of the fiddlers who featured in Mr. Flately's Lord of the Dance.
If she plays her cards right, she can come home with me!
Here she is again with Jay Ungar's Ashokan Farewell:
(My spelling of 'Ashokan' is correct.)
Sunday, 19 October 2008
Remembrance
I have always had some ambivalence about celebrations of 'the eleventh hour on the eleventh day ...'
I repent!
Listen, Watch ... and weep with me now:
Thanks to Coope, Boyes and Simpson, and someone called Ollie who put together the splendid montage.
I repent!
Listen, Watch ... and weep with me now:
Thanks to Coope, Boyes and Simpson, and someone called Ollie who put together the splendid montage.
Friday, 17 October 2008
St. Anley's fall from grace.
It is said that a good treatment for hypothermia is to share a sleeping bag with another person. Here I present a frightening tale of anthropomorphism that might make you question that received wisdom.
I will call it a 'Child (-ish) ballad', and give it a number. Thereby, people might be persuaded that it relates to some real event steeped in the history, folklore and legend of this celestial sphere. I wonder: one day, will someone collect this from a time-capsule and write learned footnotes about its origins? Will those alien intellects-to-come in their UFOs realise that it is simply the product of a teasing and disordered pseudo-brain occupying Earth-time's third millennium?
Here it is:
Saint Anley, the Maglite and the Spider.
(Child-ish # 7.259)
Saint Anley was a-walking all on a winter’s day.
With snow upon the usual paths, he quickly went astray.
He had no map or compass to show him his direction.
When darkness did around befall, he found he’d no protection.
He struggled ’gainst the icy blast over field and fell.
And then, perchance, he met a maid who said her name was Nell.
“How come you here this bitter night?” this maiden she did say.
“A walk for pleasure,” he replied, “and I fear I’ve lost my way.”
“Why, Sir, if pleasure you do seek, I’ll be of some assistance.”
She took him by his ice-numbed hand. He offered no resistance.
“You shall come home and share my cot and shelter from this storm,
And through the night we’ll sport and play and keep each other warm.”
Her offer was not idle, and he quickly followed after.
A stirring in his loins he felt and he thought, “This night I’ll have her.”
Her dwelling was a gloomy place, no light could Nell provide,
But quickly she climbed into bed and dragged him in beside.
St. Anley, being an innocent, uttered no objection.
The sport and play lasted many an hour (and that, without protection!)
In ecstasy St. Anley cried, “I must behold your face!”
But not one candle could be found within that humble place.
St. Anley delved within his pack and said, “I have the answer!”
He found illumination, by which he meant to glance her.
“It operates from batteries; they create a potential difference,
And when I turn it on like this, we shall have incandescence.”
Electrons flowed from pole to pole as the Maglite came to life.
Whilst dazzled by the light, he said, “I want you for my wife!”
Then slowly, --- oh so slowly, --- his vision did adjust.
An ugly crone before him lay and he lost all his lust.
A wart-covered face did he behold, with bits migrating south.
The hair that should have crowned her head was all around her mouth.
Her teeth that should've been pearly white, they were just blackened pegs.
Imagine his sheer horror when he found she had eight legs!
Her crooked smile was soon transformed into an evil glare.
St. Anley stood, as if transfixed. He was trapped in a spider’s lair.
“I have you!” cackled the arachnoid beast, “I hold you to our tryst:
You’ve vowed to be my husband. On that I do insist.”
Is there a moral to this tale of bestial deception?
Some say the Saint could’ve done with a mite more preparation.
An OS map and compass would have set him right,
…And ne'er again in all his life will he turn on that Maglite!
Footnote:
If you visit this post regularly, you will notice that it continually changes. Please regard it as work in progress. I am trying to find a tune for it, but scansion is difficult with so many polysyllabic words. Most of the narrative fits into an 85 85 85 85 meter, in the fashion of The English Hymnal notation. I am not qualified to explain that, nor am I sure really understand it. All suggestions welcome.
I will call it a 'Child (-ish) ballad', and give it a number. Thereby, people might be persuaded that it relates to some real event steeped in the history, folklore and legend of this celestial sphere. I wonder: one day, will someone collect this from a time-capsule and write learned footnotes about its origins? Will those alien intellects-to-come in their UFOs realise that it is simply the product of a teasing and disordered pseudo-brain occupying Earth-time's third millennium?
Here it is:
Saint Anley, the Maglite and the Spider.
(Child-ish # 7.259)
Saint Anley was a-walking all on a winter’s day.
With snow upon the usual paths, he quickly went astray.
He had no map or compass to show him his direction.
When darkness did around befall, he found he’d no protection.
He struggled ’gainst the icy blast over field and fell.
And then, perchance, he met a maid who said her name was Nell.
“How come you here this bitter night?” this maiden she did say.
“A walk for pleasure,” he replied, “and I fear I’ve lost my way.”
“Why, Sir, if pleasure you do seek, I’ll be of some assistance.”
She took him by his ice-numbed hand. He offered no resistance.
“You shall come home and share my cot and shelter from this storm,
And through the night we’ll sport and play and keep each other warm.”
Her offer was not idle, and he quickly followed after.
A stirring in his loins he felt and he thought, “This night I’ll have her.”
Her dwelling was a gloomy place, no light could Nell provide,
But quickly she climbed into bed and dragged him in beside.
St. Anley, being an innocent, uttered no objection.
The sport and play lasted many an hour (and that, without protection!)
In ecstasy St. Anley cried, “I must behold your face!”
But not one candle could be found within that humble place.
St. Anley delved within his pack and said, “I have the answer!”
He found illumination, by which he meant to glance her.
“It operates from batteries; they create a potential difference,
And when I turn it on like this, we shall have incandescence.”
Electrons flowed from pole to pole as the Maglite came to life.
Whilst dazzled by the light, he said, “I want you for my wife!”
Then slowly, --- oh so slowly, --- his vision did adjust.
An ugly crone before him lay and he lost all his lust.
A wart-covered face did he behold, with bits migrating south.
The hair that should have crowned her head was all around her mouth.
Her teeth that should've been pearly white, they were just blackened pegs.
Imagine his sheer horror when he found she had eight legs!
Her crooked smile was soon transformed into an evil glare.
St. Anley stood, as if transfixed. He was trapped in a spider’s lair.
“I have you!” cackled the arachnoid beast, “I hold you to our tryst:
You’ve vowed to be my husband. On that I do insist.”
Is there a moral to this tale of bestial deception?
Some say the Saint could’ve done with a mite more preparation.
An OS map and compass would have set him right,
…And ne'er again in all his life will he turn on that Maglite!
Footnote:
If you visit this post regularly, you will notice that it continually changes. Please regard it as work in progress. I am trying to find a tune for it, but scansion is difficult with so many polysyllabic words. Most of the narrative fits into an 85 85 85 85 meter, in the fashion of The English Hymnal notation. I am not qualified to explain that, nor am I sure really understand it. All suggestions welcome.
Wednesday, 15 October 2008
Follow-up to Tess of the D's
I told you I like this, didn't I? See earlier posting about Tess.
Aren't the bathroom accoustics wonderful?
Aren't the bathroom accoustics wonderful?
Tuesday, 14 October 2008
Alistair, sweetheart!
Dear Mr. Darling,
As UK tax-payers, my wife and I have stakes in the recently-nationalised Bradford and Bingley Building Society, Northern Rock and, as of yesterday, part shares in three major high street banks. How much did yesterday's little enterprise cost? £37,000,000,000, did I hear?
It must be such a heavy responsibility looking after all those noughts! I sympathise, honey bunch, and offer my humble assistance.
Now, how many UK tax-payers are there? (Let's give that number the value 't'.)
What would be our personal share of all that expense?
(= 2 x £37,000,000,000/t.)
When may we expect to receive our share certificates?
Will we have to pay capital-gains tax when we sell? Bear in mind, of course, that you have used our tax revenue to pay for these so-called investments in the first instance. Will the treasury pay US in the event of capital-loss?
As shareholders in these various institutions, do we have voting rights? Is there a vacancy for me on a board of directors? Please understand that, being of independent means, I expect no financial remuneration for my services. A luxury apartment at Canary Wharf, a chauffeur-driven executive motor car and unlimited free access to a respectable escort agency seems reasonable. Oh, yes, a private jet, with pilot always at my disposal, would be good too. Failing all that, a new bicycle will suffice!
Yours faithfully,
Your generous and ever-obliging tax-payers,
Mr. Teekle and his wife, Skep.
PS. Why haven't your eyebrows gone grey?
Friday, 10 October 2008
Climate Change = Global Economic Meltdown.
Well, what more evidence for the reality of global warming do we need?
Yesterday one of Iceland's banks collapsed!
Yes, I am affected by this.
For some years I have made a monthly donation to a respected British charity. Like other private individuals, I regularly receive appeals from various charities, all of which express a sense of urgency.
Today I learn than British charities are at risk of losing £120 million following the collapse of an Icelandic bank.
When I donate, I expect my money to be spent in assisting those who are less fortunate than I. I do not intend it to be used by the charity to speculate on the global economic market.
Would I be better advised to regularly purchase numerous copies of Big Issue?
Perhaps I should be asking a similar question of my local council regarding council tax. I feel a letter to the paper coming on here!
Thursday, 9 October 2008
Positively Fourth Street
I just had to duplicate this from my suspended blog. Move over, Bob, there ain't room in my universe for both of you!
Tuesday, 7 October 2008
Tess of the D'Urbevilles and various shades of dubious green.
Did you see that?
The first episode of this recent, and otherwise excellent, BBC TV production was roundly criticised on Points of View for using the hymn How Great Thou Art. That was composed in the 1930's (?) by Carl G. Boberg and R.J. Hughes, and well after TH's Victorian setting for the story.
Then, in the final episode, why, oh why, do we find Angel Clare traversing Dorset in a train hauled by a locomotive of the South Eastern and Chatham Railway? Horror of horrors! GWR, I could forgive, but the SECR belongs in Kent!
In know that Tess is a very sad story, but this travesty brought unnecessary tears to my eyes.
I recognise the loco used in the film as the Wainwright class 01, number 65, preserved at the Bluebell Railway in East Sussex.
Isn't she lovely in Wainwright loco green?
Yes, BUT, with an 0-6-0 wheel arrangement, you would expect her to be hauling freight.
Then we saw Fenchurch, another loco preserved at the Bluebell, and originating with the London, Brighton and South Coast Railway. This is an example of what was known as a Brighton Terrier. Wonderful, here she is:
The livery shown here is described as umber, introduced in 1905, a bit late for Tess (published in one volume in 1892).
Mr. Stroudley (C.M.E. of the LB&SCR) had colour blindness and was famous for inventing 'improved engine GREEN' which was, in reality, an attractive shade of ochre. Here is Gladstone, so adorned:
Gladstone is a Stroudley 'B' Class 0-4-2, no 214, built in 1882 and now preserved in her resplendent so-called-green at the National Railway Museum in York. I want to take her home with me!
Dorset in Hardy's time was largely served by the London and South Western Railway, the Great Western, and the Somerset and Dorset Joint Railway, but never the SECR nor LB&SCR!
A more realistic passenger locomotive might have been an Adams 4-4-2T 'radial tank' of the LSWR. There was one in steam (No. 488, built in 1885) the last time I visited the Bluebell. OK, that was a long time ago, and I believe she now needs a new boiler.
Note the authentic LSWR passenger livery (described as 'apple-green') and the stove-pipe chimney, so characteristic of Adams' locomotives. The coaches, in Maunsell green, however, are the wrong colour. LSWR livery for passenger rolling stock was described as 'salmon and pink': a bizarre purplish hue (not to be confused with GWR chocolate) below the waist, and cream above, thus:
Very few LSWR coaches survived 'grouping' into the so-called 'big four' (1923) and subsequent nationalisation (1948). I have yet to discover a restored example correctly liveried. Above is somebody's commendable model of a six-wheeler.
Is my anorak showing yet? Does my bum look big in it?
Couldn't BBC producers have anticipated that fans of Thomas Hardy might be knowledgeable clergymen, who know about hymns, and sad, frustrated, aspirant engine-drivers like me, who know a little about the history of Britain's railways?
After that excursion into arboriculture (you know: 'wood', 'trees', visual impairment and all that!) I have to commend the producers of Tess. The scenes were credible and gave an authentic feel to the conditions, tribulations and moral hypocrisy of the time. The Snow it Melts the Soonest...was a charming, and probably contemporary, inclusion. Here are the lyrics as sung by Anne Briggs:
Oh the snow it melts the soonest when the winds begin to sing
And the corn it ripens fastest when the frosts are setting in
And when a young man tells me that my face he'll soon forget
Before we part, I'd better croon, he'd be fain to follow it yet
Oh the snow it melts the soonest when the winds begin to sing
And the swallow skims without a thought as long as it is Spring
But when Spring blows and Winter goes my lad and you'd be fain
With all your pride for to follow me, were it 'cross the stormy main
Oh the snow it melts the soonest when the winds begin to sing
And the bee that flew when Summer shone in Winter he won't sing
And all the flowers in all the land so brightly there they be
And the snow it melts the soonest when my true love's there for me
So never say me farewell here, no farewell I'll receive
You can meet me at the stile, you kiss and take your leave
And I'll wait it till the woodcock crows or the martin takes its leave
Since the snow it melts the soonest, when the winds begin to sing
(Courtesy of www.informatik.uni-hamburg.de/~zierke/anne.briggs/songs/thesnowitmeltsthesoonest.html)
After correcting the punctuation, I must learn that song.
There's something else to do in my spare moments!
My Instruments
This is my favourite: a mandocello unconventionally tuned to DADG.
Actually, this one isn't mine, but it looks similar. Mine doesn't have the same shapely headstock, nor the interesting tail-piece that looks like it will accommodate ball-end strings. Doubtless the one illustrated was considerably more expensive than mine, but you'll get the idea.
Below is the third concertina I have owned. It is 'English' in contrast to 'Anglo-German'. That means it is fully chromatic and, when depressing a key, you hear the same note on the pull as on the push. The Anglo operates more like a harmonica which gives different notes depending on whether you're sucking or blowing. It is slightly unusual in having brass reeds. These give a more mellow sound than the bright sound you hear from steel reeds. Most vintage concertinas would have started life with brass reeds and these are commonly replaced with steel at refurbishment. My first concertina had a mixture of brass and steel; you could tell the difference.
It is Victorian. That means it's very old!
I call it the KMT Memorial Concertina because my mother was very old when she died and I bought it from the proceeds of her legacy. She wouldn't have liked it!
Then I bought this mandolin for £35.00 on EBay. I had to replace all the strings (which cost me another £14.00) before it became playable. Well, I mean playable by some; I'm still struggling!
Perhaps I'm most competent on this. Please note that the idea of competence is a relative term.
Is that A-minor?
No, it's A-geriatric!
Actually, this one isn't mine, but it looks similar. Mine doesn't have the same shapely headstock, nor the interesting tail-piece that looks like it will accommodate ball-end strings. Doubtless the one illustrated was considerably more expensive than mine, but you'll get the idea.
Below is the third concertina I have owned. It is 'English' in contrast to 'Anglo-German'. That means it is fully chromatic and, when depressing a key, you hear the same note on the pull as on the push. The Anglo operates more like a harmonica which gives different notes depending on whether you're sucking or blowing. It is slightly unusual in having brass reeds. These give a more mellow sound than the bright sound you hear from steel reeds. Most vintage concertinas would have started life with brass reeds and these are commonly replaced with steel at refurbishment. My first concertina had a mixture of brass and steel; you could tell the difference.
It is Victorian. That means it's very old!
I call it the KMT Memorial Concertina because my mother was very old when she died and I bought it from the proceeds of her legacy. She wouldn't have liked it!
Then I bought this mandolin for £35.00 on EBay. I had to replace all the strings (which cost me another £14.00) before it became playable. Well, I mean playable by some; I'm still struggling!
Perhaps I'm most competent on this. Please note that the idea of competence is a relative term.
Is that A-minor?
No, it's A-geriatric!
Monday, 6 October 2008
Blogger's Nightmare
For the past week and more my browser has been unable to display any pages containing the word 'blogspot'. I wonder, was it the underwear image that caused offence? It's still there, blowing in the wind. I seem to be forgiven for the moment.
In severe frustration I began a new blog as 'househusband' at http://st-anley.blog.co.uk/. Some of the material has been duplicated and I cannot justify the time involved in keeping two of these self-glorifying activities on the go. So, in the hope of everlasting cyber-life within 'blogspot', I have suspended the activities of 'househusband'.
Very many thanks to the pretty teenaged lady from Indonesia who generously invited 'househusband' to be her friend. Perhaps she wanted me to do her washing and ironing! St. Anley will bless her if she'll join me here!
In severe frustration I began a new blog as 'househusband' at http://st-anley.blog.co.uk/. Some of the material has been duplicated and I cannot justify the time involved in keeping two of these self-glorifying activities on the go. So, in the hope of everlasting cyber-life within 'blogspot', I have suspended the activities of 'househusband'.
Very many thanks to the pretty teenaged lady from Indonesia who generously invited 'househusband' to be her friend. Perhaps she wanted me to do her washing and ironing! St. Anley will bless her if she'll join me here!
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