The idiosyncratic Lestrygonians live in Lestra, subordinate of Telepylus, village to Londres.
The city of Lestra, init, international magnet, pocket metropolis.
"Hey Shanti, help this lady, she doesn't speak any English."
"Sorry matie, no can help, I may be Asian but I grew up in Tobago."
"Born in Malawi, Speak Chichewa with mother, Gujarati and English round the house."
"I just speak English. We're from England init?"
The Lestrygonians embrace their city. They Mela in the Market.
Rathaytra, that teetering tower, quite fake. It would be marble in India.
Divas at Diwali keep the fire service on edge.
Why not use a flicking battery powered light instead?
Friday, 31 January 2020
Thursday, 30 January 2020
Hades
"You missed a bit", she says examining my chin. Bit late now, and does it matter, where we are going?
We travel, hell for leather, south, at seventy miles an hour. The official limit.
Others about head the same way. We, like starlings in formation; following the great instinct. swooping and driving, millimeters from touching, and disintegrating.
My life coach asked me how I see myself in five - ten years time. In ten year time my father did not realise that he had but two more. What would we do if we were given our last date? I find this liberating, like the peace people describe when deciding to end their own lives.
The only day that exists in now, this moment. It is like the top of a curing wave. Exhilarating for a moment, then crashing on the beach.
We are visiting our dear friend who has advanced stages of lung cancer.
We are visiting the living. It's smiles and facial beauty that emanate life.
In Poland they discourage all talk of 'a battle'; bravely fighting against this invader. These cells are our own. We made them, like our children. To fight is to lose. Who can win a war?
Pain is a pain, especially when it burns like a discordant lance protruding from a breast plate.
We clutch each other- and sometimes we know that this will be the last; last for a very long time. Then it is quietly known that this is 'the date that must not be named', the 'yang' to DOB.
living at the cutting edge of time. And the next moment we will be together.
We travel, hell for leather, south, at seventy miles an hour. The official limit.
Others about head the same way. We, like starlings in formation; following the great instinct. swooping and driving, millimeters from touching, and disintegrating.
My life coach asked me how I see myself in five - ten years time. In ten year time my father did not realise that he had but two more. What would we do if we were given our last date? I find this liberating, like the peace people describe when deciding to end their own lives.
The only day that exists in now, this moment. It is like the top of a curing wave. Exhilarating for a moment, then crashing on the beach.
We are visiting our dear friend who has advanced stages of lung cancer.
We are visiting the living. It's smiles and facial beauty that emanate life.
In Poland they discourage all talk of 'a battle'; bravely fighting against this invader. These cells are our own. We made them, like our children. To fight is to lose. Who can win a war?
Pain is a pain, especially when it burns like a discordant lance protruding from a breast plate.
We clutch each other- and sometimes we know that this will be the last; last for a very long time. Then it is quietly known that this is 'the date that must not be named', the 'yang' to DOB.
living at the cutting edge of time. And the next moment we will be together.
 |
| 'Old Folville', a knight brought in from the cold. He died whilst jousting and his effigy has the spike of a lance protruding from his rib cage. |
Monday, 27 January 2020
Coleshill House
I recall the story told in Christopher Hibbert's book, "Roundheads and Cavaliers" where at the third siege of Basing Castle (near Basingstoke), also known as Loyalty House because every window had etched by diamond the words 'Aimez Loyaute', Inigo Jones, the royal architect was found hiding with various other royalist renegades. His life was spared and he was sent packing clothed only in a blanket. Jones survived the war to die in Somerset House London. His last work was thought to be the design of Coleshill House near Faringdon.
This property was owned by Baron Pleydell-Bouverie of Longford Castle, near Salisbury. Then in 1946 by Ernest Cook, grandson of Thomas Cook, late millionaire of Leicester. Tragically soon to be lost to fire, only the ghost of the house remains.
Interestingly Longford Castle is described as a 'triangular castle', from the political interest at the time in the trinity. The best known example of a trintarian building is the triangular lodge in Rushton.
 |
| St Benet Wharf - City of London. Burial place of Inigo Jones |
 |
| Old Basing - Site of Basing Castle |
 |
| Longford Castle |
 |
| Triangular Lodge - Rushton |
Saturday, 25 January 2020
Brilliant ideas to save the World
1) Students can keep fit and make a few bob delivering fastfood meals via Deliveroo or Uber Bites. Apparently most of their customers are other students. Deliver two meals and have one delivered to you as payment. Eat after a quick shower. Eat for free- no washing up. Would this be a solution to world hunger? The answer is no- because the maths do not add up. If one food delivery equaled one meal, it might work- but it does not. At least two people provide me with £14, which might be the cost of my meal. But of every one meal I get, two people must pay. This is a mirco picture of why 1/3 of the world is rich, and 2/3s poor.
2) Construct a bridge to encircle the whole world. It would be a complete ring. Then remove all the supports. The bridge would hover in the sky, equally pulled to earth by gravity, but also equally held up by the internal forces in the structure. It would create minimal environmental damage and join the world together as one. (Free too- as it remains in my imagination.)
3) Plant a tree on every grave. This is starting to happen- It's what you opt for at a natural burial site. Young trees need tending, and graveyards often have water points. (Churchyards would be exempted, especially if they already have Yew Trees.)
4) Free Uber. Sign up to a car sharing website that requires everyone to contribute equally. I want to travel to London tomorrow at a particular time. All the people making the same journey can advertise the number of spaces in their car. If they give someone a lift they accrue the equivalent of airmiles. These can be cashed in either with free rides, or other privileges. People who do not have a car pay a low rate. Each driver and passenger get uber-style ratings as a safety check.
2) Construct a bridge to encircle the whole world. It would be a complete ring. Then remove all the supports. The bridge would hover in the sky, equally pulled to earth by gravity, but also equally held up by the internal forces in the structure. It would create minimal environmental damage and join the world together as one. (Free too- as it remains in my imagination.)
3) Plant a tree on every grave. This is starting to happen- It's what you opt for at a natural burial site. Young trees need tending, and graveyards often have water points. (Churchyards would be exempted, especially if they already have Yew Trees.)
4) Free Uber. Sign up to a car sharing website that requires everyone to contribute equally. I want to travel to London tomorrow at a particular time. All the people making the same journey can advertise the number of spaces in their car. If they give someone a lift they accrue the equivalent of airmiles. These can be cashed in either with free rides, or other privileges. People who do not have a car pay a low rate. Each driver and passenger get uber-style ratings as a safety check.
How are we going to save the planet?
We are contenting with;-
Habit- It is difficult to change habits because they happen without thinking. I buy a bottle of Evian Water because I have always bought this water - it's got a great flavour that reminds me of the Alps.
But that is exactly where it has come from; - like carting alpine air to be inhaled in boring Britain. A waste of petrol- tonnes of plastic. Even the water contains miro-plastics. And the least of our problems:- it costs a lot.
What do we do instead? We can filter water- we could buy local mineral water, we can buy water in reusable bottles. But is the effort worth it? The minuscule reward is not evident, and before I know it, I've done it again.
The habit is strong. Am I, like Donald Trump, unconvinced by the necessary for change? Or is it that 'denial' is also a 'habitual thought'. Am I, like Donald Trump, in my latter years with little consideration for the problems left for future generations to solve?
The Tipping Point- Too many of us are followers. We are not motivated to address any of the big issues around us, and focus on the small issues of our daily lives. If change becomes a cultural norm we are likely to adopt new practices, but these are likely to be more a cultural phenomenon, similar to changes in fashion. These changes are likely to be absorbed subconsciously. Many, like the farms featured in the film 'The Boy who harnessed the Wind', need to consider surviving one year, and do not have the luxury of considering the next generation. Others, like the drug dealers who park up on my street, and throw takeaway wrapper out of their car window before driving off at speed, are not my constituents in this argument.
Macro and Mico- China has announced that it will phase out the use of plastic bags. One large and influential nation, with all it problems, is doing a brave and yet to be tested action. Global change like this is likely to have the biggest impact. But individuals say 'just let me do this one more time' - holidays abroad, nice warm houses, lone car driving.
The human predilection for greed- and comparison. "After you" - "I'll change after you change." "If I go first you are likely to take advantage of me." I am reminded of the letter from Shell written to me in response to my letter regarding the Nigerian Ogoni crisis of 1994. The standard letter noted that Shell had a much better ethical record that all its competitors. This is much like the bugler who justify their actions by noting that other thieves also maim and injure their victims.
So if we want to save the planet, we need accept the four givens above.
Malcome Gladwell's famous book, 'The Tipping Point', explores how change occurs. When it happens it is normally complete, moving in a Hegelian Shift', to another, where a return is unlikely.
Examples of this are 'the move from Steam to Diesel', the uptake of universal suffrage across the world, welfare state systems and an outlawing of slavery.
Our capitalist economys have subconscious power over the people. Most people are oblivious to the control that is imposed on them (like fish gazing through water, wondering if it exists at all.) Totalitarian States are in some way more honest. Capitalist economies promote the tonic of freedom.
Transport is unlikely to change until oil reserves are depleted sufficiently. Efficiency of fuel use might be possible, but incentives are poor. A paradox exists which mans less profits go to multinational companies.The technique used her by those in power is 'appeasement'- Logo's are changed, virtues published, and very little changes. It is also true that the obvious alternatives are not with us yet. As has recently been pointed out, if cars moved rapidly to electric power, most countries would not cope. Norway is the exception.
There are a number of alternative models.
Gaia argues that the challenge to the worlds ecosystems will result in 'rebalancing'. We do not need to worry too much because inevitably significant changes to the worlds geography will result in controlling phenomena, such as 'mass extinction', and migration. This model takes the long view and is only really satisfactory for hardened evolutionary biologists.
'Traumatic Change' is the idea that most seismic change occurs are a result of catastrophe. Examples are the large scale changes that occurred after the Second World War. These were- development of industrial scale food production with a greater knowledge of the destructive and creative power of phosphorous, the development of space technology, the changes in world political systems toward welfare politics and away from colonial power. Also the creation of a 'world political order' (Nato, Soviet Union, and the UN.)
In the UK there is hope that the tipping point is being reached. The political consensus has moved to the right, which may prelude a dramatic shift to the left. In the past such shifts have created changes that feel as if a tipping point has been breached. Examples are 1) homosexual equality, and 2) UK with a multicultural mindset. All mainstream parties now believe that homosexuals should not be discriminated against, and that images of Britain should include a true diversity of representation. This is certainly demonstrable with ethnicity and skin colour. But still most black people in television commercials will have strong UK accents. There is a visible lack of disabled and less' photo-perfect' images of people in the UK media, but this is being challenged.
Habit- It is difficult to change habits because they happen without thinking. I buy a bottle of Evian Water because I have always bought this water - it's got a great flavour that reminds me of the Alps.
But that is exactly where it has come from; - like carting alpine air to be inhaled in boring Britain. A waste of petrol- tonnes of plastic. Even the water contains miro-plastics. And the least of our problems:- it costs a lot.
What do we do instead? We can filter water- we could buy local mineral water, we can buy water in reusable bottles. But is the effort worth it? The minuscule reward is not evident, and before I know it, I've done it again.
The habit is strong. Am I, like Donald Trump, unconvinced by the necessary for change? Or is it that 'denial' is also a 'habitual thought'. Am I, like Donald Trump, in my latter years with little consideration for the problems left for future generations to solve?
The Tipping Point- Too many of us are followers. We are not motivated to address any of the big issues around us, and focus on the small issues of our daily lives. If change becomes a cultural norm we are likely to adopt new practices, but these are likely to be more a cultural phenomenon, similar to changes in fashion. These changes are likely to be absorbed subconsciously. Many, like the farms featured in the film 'The Boy who harnessed the Wind', need to consider surviving one year, and do not have the luxury of considering the next generation. Others, like the drug dealers who park up on my street, and throw takeaway wrapper out of their car window before driving off at speed, are not my constituents in this argument.
Macro and Mico- China has announced that it will phase out the use of plastic bags. One large and influential nation, with all it problems, is doing a brave and yet to be tested action. Global change like this is likely to have the biggest impact. But individuals say 'just let me do this one more time' - holidays abroad, nice warm houses, lone car driving.
The human predilection for greed- and comparison. "After you" - "I'll change after you change." "If I go first you are likely to take advantage of me." I am reminded of the letter from Shell written to me in response to my letter regarding the Nigerian Ogoni crisis of 1994. The standard letter noted that Shell had a much better ethical record that all its competitors. This is much like the bugler who justify their actions by noting that other thieves also maim and injure their victims.
So if we want to save the planet, we need accept the four givens above.
Malcome Gladwell's famous book, 'The Tipping Point', explores how change occurs. When it happens it is normally complete, moving in a Hegelian Shift', to another, where a return is unlikely.
Examples of this are 'the move from Steam to Diesel', the uptake of universal suffrage across the world, welfare state systems and an outlawing of slavery.
Our capitalist economys have subconscious power over the people. Most people are oblivious to the control that is imposed on them (like fish gazing through water, wondering if it exists at all.) Totalitarian States are in some way more honest. Capitalist economies promote the tonic of freedom.
Transport is unlikely to change until oil reserves are depleted sufficiently. Efficiency of fuel use might be possible, but incentives are poor. A paradox exists which mans less profits go to multinational companies.The technique used her by those in power is 'appeasement'- Logo's are changed, virtues published, and very little changes. It is also true that the obvious alternatives are not with us yet. As has recently been pointed out, if cars moved rapidly to electric power, most countries would not cope. Norway is the exception.
There are a number of alternative models.
Gaia argues that the challenge to the worlds ecosystems will result in 'rebalancing'. We do not need to worry too much because inevitably significant changes to the worlds geography will result in controlling phenomena, such as 'mass extinction', and migration. This model takes the long view and is only really satisfactory for hardened evolutionary biologists.
'Traumatic Change' is the idea that most seismic change occurs are a result of catastrophe. Examples are the large scale changes that occurred after the Second World War. These were- development of industrial scale food production with a greater knowledge of the destructive and creative power of phosphorous, the development of space technology, the changes in world political systems toward welfare politics and away from colonial power. Also the creation of a 'world political order' (Nato, Soviet Union, and the UN.)
In the UK there is hope that the tipping point is being reached. The political consensus has moved to the right, which may prelude a dramatic shift to the left. In the past such shifts have created changes that feel as if a tipping point has been breached. Examples are 1) homosexual equality, and 2) UK with a multicultural mindset. All mainstream parties now believe that homosexuals should not be discriminated against, and that images of Britain should include a true diversity of representation. This is certainly demonstrable with ethnicity and skin colour. But still most black people in television commercials will have strong UK accents. There is a visible lack of disabled and less' photo-perfect' images of people in the UK media, but this is being challenged.
Sunday, 19 January 2020
Thoughts on Significance and Idolatry
William James - American Psychologist (indeed the father of western Psychology?)
As quoted in Dale Carnegie's 'best seller' How to make friends and influence people..'
Most quotes are like pots and pans- of different sizes, materials and styles, but essentially all the same, recreated for a new age. (This quote is different. It is a bunch of flowers)
Most people are paid to produce jigsaw pieces, and are judged on how well they fit.
The artist produces jigsaw pieces that don't fit.
John Powell in 'Unconditional Love' (1978), gives 'three plus one' motivations for existence.
To Freud is attributed sex. - based on the biological urge to reproduce.
To Adler is Power - preservation, dominance and control.
To Skinner is avoidance - 'getting by, surviving, avoiding'.
Powell argues for an alternative motivation provided by faith (with particular reference to Jesus). He notes this life principle is diametrically opposed to these first three. He defines a life principle of 'unconditional love'.
From Carnegie's perspective, psychological measurements are principally made on normative, or average experience. As Powell concedes, there is likely to be truth in most things.
I was very struck by the reply I received when discussing the recent death of a colleague's uncle. My colleague explained that as a Muslim, his uncle was buried rapidly over the weekend. The Leicester cemetery was ready for such eventualities and the process went smoothly. My colleague told me about his uncles life, an lawyer in apartheid era South Africa. I asked if I could read his obituary. My colleague informed me that within his family tradition such I thing does not exist. The greatness of the human is not to be lauded. Only God is to be honoured. He made me think.
As quoted in Dale Carnegie's 'best seller' How to make friends and influence people..'
“Compared with what we ought to be, we are only half awake… We are making use of only a small part of our possible mental and physical resources.”
My QuotesMost quotes are like pots and pans- of different sizes, materials and styles, but essentially all the same, recreated for a new age. (This quote is different. It is a bunch of flowers)
Most people are paid to produce jigsaw pieces, and are judged on how well they fit.
The artist produces jigsaw pieces that don't fit.
----------------------------------------------------------
Carnegie reports that the greatest human desire of all is to have 'significance'.John Powell in 'Unconditional Love' (1978), gives 'three plus one' motivations for existence.
To Freud is attributed sex. - based on the biological urge to reproduce.
To Adler is Power - preservation, dominance and control.
To Skinner is avoidance - 'getting by, surviving, avoiding'.
Powell argues for an alternative motivation provided by faith (with particular reference to Jesus). He notes this life principle is diametrically opposed to these first three. He defines a life principle of 'unconditional love'.
From Carnegie's perspective, psychological measurements are principally made on normative, or average experience. As Powell concedes, there is likely to be truth in most things.
I was very struck by the reply I received when discussing the recent death of a colleague's uncle. My colleague explained that as a Muslim, his uncle was buried rapidly over the weekend. The Leicester cemetery was ready for such eventualities and the process went smoothly. My colleague told me about his uncles life, an lawyer in apartheid era South Africa. I asked if I could read his obituary. My colleague informed me that within his family tradition such I thing does not exist. The greatness of the human is not to be lauded. Only God is to be honoured. He made me think.
Saturday, 18 January 2020
Lotus Eaters
Wondering down London Road I pass Via Devana. Seventy percent of Roman roads are still in use. I hear tramping feet and international accents. This is Leicester after all, centre of the universe. My mind wanders to tunnels in Norway. It took an occupying force to build may hundreds of kilometers through the mountains. The residents couldn't be bothered with such a thing. Who would pay? Not keen on the neighbours in the other side anyway. Too much effort; too much rock. It took the necessities of war; to get armaments to the Arctic coastline. Apart from being quite useful afterwards, like being made to tidy your bedroom, the Norwegians, and anyone one who put a foot wrong, had done the hard work.
At the Marques of Wellington I turn right into Highfield Street. Was this the Marques who gave all his soldiers a lump of money when they were discharged from service? Many bought pubs and honoured their chief of staff. But he was a duke? I walk past Christopher Scottneys. Smart suits face the street. A beggar offers me one pound. "I've got lot's of these" he says. I walk past restaurants; Moroccan, Pakistani, Spanish, Indian (I like the name - Chai-patti), and past the Somali Madrassa, opposite the Synagogue. It was until recently the Jewish community centre.
I'm early for the church music practice. As is our tradition, with spare time, we collect the autumnal litter on the church steps.
Standing outside and looking up, I think of Leonie's book by Roy Strong, 'A little History of the English Country Church.' From the church porch, many saints look down. From their niches, they pray for the people. The saints of this town, pray for us, as they said they would in the bible. Saints, hard at work. (My church has a name sign that appears to be missing '.com'.) The people assemble and march together into the hallowed interior. They are in heaven, the holy of holys. For a brief moment all pain is gone. Sit back and relax. Be washed in the blood. Sounds like angels; mouths opened in awe; one with Basil and Cyril. After absolution, remember only heaven is forever. The priest, hands placed together in prayer, leads the celebrants, choir and finally people down the aisle, though to the door, out of the porch, and into the churchyard. We consider our mortality. Back now we go; to hard work, scolding each other, and drinking too much. But with a bit of heaven in our stomachs, and the promise of a bit more next week.
My church is so different. But the people chose us. They welcomed was like marriage. A welcome of true sacrifice. Their faith was real. You can't choose your family. 'Just accept my aunt's taste in decor.' Complaints achieve nothing. "Turn that music down will you?!" As with all teenagers, it is turned down, just for now.
At the Marques of Wellington I turn right into Highfield Street. Was this the Marques who gave all his soldiers a lump of money when they were discharged from service? Many bought pubs and honoured their chief of staff. But he was a duke? I walk past Christopher Scottneys. Smart suits face the street. A beggar offers me one pound. "I've got lot's of these" he says. I walk past restaurants; Moroccan, Pakistani, Spanish, Indian (I like the name - Chai-patti), and past the Somali Madrassa, opposite the Synagogue. It was until recently the Jewish community centre.
I'm early for the church music practice. As is our tradition, with spare time, we collect the autumnal litter on the church steps.
Standing outside and looking up, I think of Leonie's book by Roy Strong, 'A little History of the English Country Church.' From the church porch, many saints look down. From their niches, they pray for the people. The saints of this town, pray for us, as they said they would in the bible. Saints, hard at work. (My church has a name sign that appears to be missing '.com'.) The people assemble and march together into the hallowed interior. They are in heaven, the holy of holys. For a brief moment all pain is gone. Sit back and relax. Be washed in the blood. Sounds like angels; mouths opened in awe; one with Basil and Cyril. After absolution, remember only heaven is forever. The priest, hands placed together in prayer, leads the celebrants, choir and finally people down the aisle, though to the door, out of the porch, and into the churchyard. We consider our mortality. Back now we go; to hard work, scolding each other, and drinking too much. But with a bit of heaven in our stomachs, and the promise of a bit more next week.
My church is so different. But the people chose us. They welcomed was like marriage. A welcome of true sacrifice. Their faith was real. You can't choose your family. 'Just accept my aunt's taste in decor.' Complaints achieve nothing. "Turn that music down will you?!" As with all teenagers, it is turned down, just for now.
Tuesday, 14 January 2020
Thoughts on getting it right
The story of brain architecture is that the amygdala (from almond) is first in on the act. This 'centre of the brain' receives messages from all senses, and does an initial risk assessment. Immediately the protective army is either put on alert or stood down. A fraction of a second later, the command structures are involved in the cortex, and a decision is made as to the appropriateness of the action. But often the initial action has taken it's own course, and other factors from history have already come into play. Michel Foucault warns again the tyranny of history, that distorts a true perception of the present.
Thus innocuous comments are misconstrued through the application of past history (in both directions). No one is ever that innocent.
My motive may come from frustration and helplessness. I convert this into a mild suggestion, which is immediately read as a put down. A cycle of miscommunication.
Best to make no presumptions and start any sentence about feels with the simple word 'I'. That is it.
Michel Foucault Quotes
“People know what they do; frequently they know why they do what they do; but what they don't know is what 'what they do' does.”
― Madness and Civilization: A History of Insanity in the Age of Reason
Thus innocuous comments are misconstrued through the application of past history (in both directions). No one is ever that innocent.
My motive may come from frustration and helplessness. I convert this into a mild suggestion, which is immediately read as a put down. A cycle of miscommunication.
Best to make no presumptions and start any sentence about feels with the simple word 'I'. That is it.
Michel Foucault Quotes
“People know what they do; frequently they know why they do what they do; but what they don't know is what 'what they do' does.”
― Madness and Civilization: A History of Insanity in the Age of Reason
Calypso
The smell of urine; somewhat disconcerting when eating breakfast. In addition, wiff of burning; more reassuring; stimulating thoughts of millions of germs incinerating. When did you last eat offal for breakfast? It was Winchester with my aunt. Plates pilled so high with every conceivable treat. Bingo, a full house. A legend in its own time.
Calypso, my Niece. Surely this side, the closest one gets to perfection. I came home today and prepared an evening meal. Nipped out with my daughter Eve. Came back to find we have two chefs, and I was the sous. Too many cooks- too much food. Calypso had beat me to a slow cooked broth. Must be more careful next time. Book a cook, or slot a time, to wash the kitchen floor.
Calypso- there from the beginning. While you're waiting, let's go out with visiting brother Paul for a spot of dune hopping by the coast. Wish you were here. In the park; tennis with the delicate young one. I'm playing casual, wearing a straw hat. "He's mad, what are doing with him?" But I'm linked to the other on. Penelope. Our roots are entwined, for better, for worse. We are together.
Why do stupid people not see treasure before them? Candide marveled as Eldoradoian children discarded their golden toys. To him astonishingly inexplicable.
Open our eyes. We need foreign eyes to see for us.
Ulysses
Sunday, 12 January 2020
θαύμα - Wonder
Telemachus
"Who does she get that from?" It took me off guard. A mother looks into me for an instant; a poke at a sore spot. My daughter struggles to spend money on herself. The question directed to my my elder daughter; the trajectory deflected; locking eyes, two intersecting spotlights. A rabbit in the headlights.
I recalled a bright Saturday morning in early summer. Shopping with my father, a rare occurrence. We trekked the short distance across our congenial small town to buy boots from 'Eastsports'. I was an eleven year old, preparing for walking in the Brecon Beacons with a friend, family, and their caravan. Reluctantly my father made a purchase of twenty five pounds. A pained scowl; so expensive. Feeling mild shame, tumbling thoughts, unable to question. Was money a problem? Was something a mistake? Or was he just tight? We walked away, the experience forgotten, time healing; like writing with water. His generosity esponges my self deprecating thoughts. My father spoke through his actions. He was frequently traveling fours hours in a day to restore my old house.
So I step out again on a bright Sunday morning. Streaming sun, dazzling eyes, through a brilliant blue sky. On my back a bag acquired from a course I never finished. Discomfort is to be faced, failure embraced. The challenge demands a response. I walk up to the main road; the traffic is light. Across the street is a large rambling retirement home. I imagine elderly house-bound people on an ocean cruise crossing a vast empty ocean. A journey through a modern purgatory towards somewhere unknown. My father opted out of that. Click, and he was gone. Climbing on to church roof to repair holes three day before he died. I had also climbed those stairs when I visited my mother. Vertical hoops in the wall up to a high flat roof. We startled a small sleeping boy. I even more so by Hamdi the priest, clapping his hands, scolding, chasing the boy off like a seagull. The boy skipped, adrenaline filled, over the roof tops of the medina; away away into the distance, to return no doubt; a seagull scavenger.
I pass the congregational church- there are so any churches. "What is my denomination? " I was first asked this in a Sunday School in Iran. "I don't know." I never have. I'm not a nationalist: never really liked labels.
What a fine eclectic building. Is it Arts and Crafts? Roger has written his book, won't want another- too many churches. And mosques, temples and gurdwara's. Not enough room for ordinary mortals to live here in Leicester. A mobile phone mast protrudes from the tower. Money for old rope. The colours have been muted. Like a satellite dish on Kensington Palace. One of my favorite buildings still, even with an antenna.
There, passing by on the opposite side, a familiar face. Not a flicker. He knows me. To hail him? to pass by on the other side? I note his slight limp. A painful right hip. Does recognition have a 'use by date'? On a scale of one to ten, does it matter? Over now anyhow. What the heck. Bet we meet next week. It was a draw- nill all- neither of us took any initiative.
Now the view across the park. The low early winter sunlight cuts over the tops of the trees. Look up and everywhere is beautiful. An amazing sky. The silhouette of the university towers. The Engineering Building, a Sterling structure, most famous in the city; another one for my book. What if I had completed my course in Civil Engineering? like my father; chip off the old block. "At least it was not Philosophy", he said. I understood this gentle chiding. Psychology, the questions are better than the answers.
We walked together to school in Tehran. They were cold winter day when we lived in the Iran Hotel, such a small insignificant hotel for such a grand name. I called out my 'times tables' as we walked. Very traditional; something stone-age children would never have had to do. I could have lived in the stone-age; on the edge of life and death, it would have suited me.
Ulysses
"Who does she get that from?" It took me off guard. A mother looks into me for an instant; a poke at a sore spot. My daughter struggles to spend money on herself. The question directed to my my elder daughter; the trajectory deflected; locking eyes, two intersecting spotlights. A rabbit in the headlights.
I recalled a bright Saturday morning in early summer. Shopping with my father, a rare occurrence. We trekked the short distance across our congenial small town to buy boots from 'Eastsports'. I was an eleven year old, preparing for walking in the Brecon Beacons with a friend, family, and their caravan. Reluctantly my father made a purchase of twenty five pounds. A pained scowl; so expensive. Feeling mild shame, tumbling thoughts, unable to question. Was money a problem? Was something a mistake? Or was he just tight? We walked away, the experience forgotten, time healing; like writing with water. His generosity esponges my self deprecating thoughts. My father spoke through his actions. He was frequently traveling fours hours in a day to restore my old house.
So I step out again on a bright Sunday morning. Streaming sun, dazzling eyes, through a brilliant blue sky. On my back a bag acquired from a course I never finished. Discomfort is to be faced, failure embraced. The challenge demands a response. I walk up to the main road; the traffic is light. Across the street is a large rambling retirement home. I imagine elderly house-bound people on an ocean cruise crossing a vast empty ocean. A journey through a modern purgatory towards somewhere unknown. My father opted out of that. Click, and he was gone. Climbing on to church roof to repair holes three day before he died. I had also climbed those stairs when I visited my mother. Vertical hoops in the wall up to a high flat roof. We startled a small sleeping boy. I even more so by Hamdi the priest, clapping his hands, scolding, chasing the boy off like a seagull. The boy skipped, adrenaline filled, over the roof tops of the medina; away away into the distance, to return no doubt; a seagull scavenger.
I pass the congregational church- there are so any churches. "What is my denomination? " I was first asked this in a Sunday School in Iran. "I don't know." I never have. I'm not a nationalist: never really liked labels.
What a fine eclectic building. Is it Arts and Crafts? Roger has written his book, won't want another- too many churches. And mosques, temples and gurdwara's. Not enough room for ordinary mortals to live here in Leicester. A mobile phone mast protrudes from the tower. Money for old rope. The colours have been muted. Like a satellite dish on Kensington Palace. One of my favorite buildings still, even with an antenna.
There, passing by on the opposite side, a familiar face. Not a flicker. He knows me. To hail him? to pass by on the other side? I note his slight limp. A painful right hip. Does recognition have a 'use by date'? On a scale of one to ten, does it matter? Over now anyhow. What the heck. Bet we meet next week. It was a draw- nill all- neither of us took any initiative.
Now the view across the park. The low early winter sunlight cuts over the tops of the trees. Look up and everywhere is beautiful. An amazing sky. The silhouette of the university towers. The Engineering Building, a Sterling structure, most famous in the city; another one for my book. What if I had completed my course in Civil Engineering? like my father; chip off the old block. "At least it was not Philosophy", he said. I understood this gentle chiding. Psychology, the questions are better than the answers.
We walked together to school in Tehran. They were cold winter day when we lived in the Iran Hotel, such a small insignificant hotel for such a grand name. I called out my 'times tables' as we walked. Very traditional; something stone-age children would never have had to do. I could have lived in the stone-age; on the edge of life and death, it would have suited me.
Ulysses
Thursday, 9 January 2020
The Bomb
What do we know about the Bomb? (From Christopher Harding's book 'Japan Story'.)
Two were dropped- five more were prepared.
about 11,000 Koreans are thought to have died; slave labourers, brought to Japan to work in factories.
92% of all the doctors and other health professionals are thought to have died because the bombs destroyed at least three large hospitals.
After the war, the Japanese were told that if they referred to the dropping of the bombs, they should also remark that over 100,500 people were killed in the Japanese assault on Manila, Philippines.
The fire bombing of Tokyo killed more people that both atomic bombs put together.
Death tolls.
Tokyo - 100,000
Hiroshima - 90,000 and 146,000
Nagasaki -39,000 and 80,000
Two were dropped- five more were prepared.
about 11,000 Koreans are thought to have died; slave labourers, brought to Japan to work in factories.
92% of all the doctors and other health professionals are thought to have died because the bombs destroyed at least three large hospitals.
After the war, the Japanese were told that if they referred to the dropping of the bombs, they should also remark that over 100,500 people were killed in the Japanese assault on Manila, Philippines.
The fire bombing of Tokyo killed more people that both atomic bombs put together.
Death tolls.
Tokyo - 100,000
Hiroshima - 90,000 and 146,000
Nagasaki -39,000 and 80,000
Tuesday, 7 January 2020
Three Villages
what links....
The answer is three villages in Leicestershire - with three cavalry men of the early Victorian period.
Somerby Hall, ancestral home of Frederick Gusavus Burnaby 3 March 1842 – 17 January 1885
Joined the Royal Horse Guards in 1959. He was a great explorer, trekking through central Asia and writing a best selling Victorian book, A Ride to Khiva: Travels and Adventures in Central Asia (1876)
Frederick Burnaby was killed by the Mahdi Army in Sudan at the Battle of Abu Klea, as the British Army attempted to leave General Gordon in Khartoum.
The Charge of the Light Brigade, made famous by some of the first war corespondents to be allowed to inform the public from the sidelines. Earl Cardigan of Deene Park, Northamptonshire, but also of Cranoe and Smeeton Westerby, These villages are the property of the Brudenell Family of Deene Park. Lord Brudenell, 7th Earl of Cardigan was famously involved in the 'charge'. The head of his charger 'Ronald' is to be seen by the staircase in Deene Park. Cardigan, like Wellington, a item of attire made famous by a celebrated British military figure.
The monument of an almost life size horse was once in the entrance hall of Gaddesby Hall. In 1917 the house was sold and the monument moved to St Luke's Church. It is now said to be the largest sculpture of a horse in a church in England. The monument is also to Edward Hawkins Cheney, an English Cavalry Coronal, who died in 1848. In Waterloo he was famed for surviving despite loosing four horses and the fifth being wounded.
- The Battle of Abu Klea
- The Charge of the Light Brigade
- The Scots Greys monument in Gaddesby Church
The answer is three villages in Leicestershire - with three cavalry men of the early Victorian period.
Somerby Hall, ancestral home of Frederick Gusavus Burnaby 3 March 1842 – 17 January 1885
Joined the Royal Horse Guards in 1959. He was a great explorer, trekking through central Asia and writing a best selling Victorian book, A Ride to Khiva: Travels and Adventures in Central Asia (1876)
Frederick Burnaby was killed by the Mahdi Army in Sudan at the Battle of Abu Klea, as the British Army attempted to leave General Gordon in Khartoum.
The Charge of the Light Brigade, made famous by some of the first war corespondents to be allowed to inform the public from the sidelines. Earl Cardigan of Deene Park, Northamptonshire, but also of Cranoe and Smeeton Westerby, These villages are the property of the Brudenell Family of Deene Park. Lord Brudenell, 7th Earl of Cardigan was famously involved in the 'charge'. The head of his charger 'Ronald' is to be seen by the staircase in Deene Park. Cardigan, like Wellington, a item of attire made famous by a celebrated British military figure.
The monument of an almost life size horse was once in the entrance hall of Gaddesby Hall. In 1917 the house was sold and the monument moved to St Luke's Church. It is now said to be the largest sculpture of a horse in a church in England. The monument is also to Edward Hawkins Cheney, an English Cavalry Coronal, who died in 1848. In Waterloo he was famed for surviving despite loosing four horses and the fifth being wounded.
Monday, 6 January 2020
My Lunch Time Walk
 |
| This is the cheerful sign that greets me on my walk. |
 |
| Lots of colour. |
 |
| This the famous Horse field. These are gypsy horses that love to break through the fence and get out. |
 |
| This is the view over to Bradgate Park. |
Sunday, 5 January 2020
Night walking (all the rage)
 |
| Walking in the dark by the canal in Sheffield- ooooh |
 |
| View of Royal Victoria Hotel- Sheffield (in the dark) |
 |
| The view by daylight |
 |
| Walking through a tunnel (in the dark) |
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)