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 A tentative blog to test the temperature. |
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Ten years ago I was writing several blogs on various subjects - F1 motor racing, Music, Classic Cars, Great Romances and, most crushingly, a personal journal that included my thoughts on America, memories of England and Africa, opinion, humour, writing and anything else that occurred. It all became too much (I was attempting to update the journal every day) and I collapsed, exhausted and thoroughly disillusioned in the end. So this blog is indeed a Toe in the Water, a place to document my thoughts in and on WdC but with a determination not to get sucked into the blog whirlpool ever again. Here's hoping.     |
| Homage to Ned Sometimes in my forays into the past I come across little gems that belong to others rather than my own. Here’s something that Ned wrote ages ago and I bet has forgotten it almost immediately: People are brittle and fealty is dead So write funny posts that keep 'em well fed Lull them to worship the things in your head Never let 'em suspect that you're actually Ned. |
| Canada 'Cheese-Smugglers' Busted I am reminded that, several years ago, Canada went on a drive to end cheese smuggling. This led to all sorts of strange ideas in my head and I wrote a little rant about the matter. Obviously, these would be the serious cheeses, the equivalent of hard drugs. Interestingly, when it comes to cheeses, the hard cheeses are actually soft and the soft cheeses are the nasty, hard ones. Things like Limburger, Roquefort, Brie and Stilton - these are the ones the Canadians are after, surely. Come to think of it, they are probably trying to make the country odour-free. No more sniffing those cheeses or, God forbid, lighting one up! I think it's worst when they push it on the kids with things like cheese straws and cheese puffs. Oh sure, it's "only" processed cheese or cheddar but this is the thin edge of the wedge. Before you know what's happened, your teenagers are sneaking off at night to indulge in Gorgonzola orgies and Camembert capers. None of this innocent "Oh, I'll just have a slice of mild Wensleydale, thanks" like we used to do. No wonder the Canadians are so vigilant! Come to think of it, cheese is legal in Holland, I hear. One can only imagine the dreadful effect that must be having on the populace. All that Gouda openly consumed in the streets, the red peel littering public places. Word count: 232 |
| As I Was Saying… Looking for something in the past, I noticed some longer posts that I'd written back in those days and I began to read them. That was fatal, of course. Reading one's own stuff at such a distance most often results in discovering them afresh, with no memory of ever having written such things. And some of them ain't bad. So I started copying a few into my trusty freeware Notepad. But now this terrible dilemma presents itself. Do I carry on digging, dusting off and recycling old thoughts as new? This would save a lot of hard work thinking in the present but therein lies the rub. This might be a devilish scheme by the brain to allow nostalgia to provide it with complete retirement. I might, indeed, stop thinking altogether. And that, of course, is the demon of old age. It might be better to avoid the past and keep slogging away into the future, as annoying as that may be. It's a conundrum that I shall have to contemplate for a while. In the meantime, however, I might just reprint a few of these old meanderings. Well, to be honest, I’ve already done a fair bit of that. But not too often, no, not too often… Word count: 208 |
| Education by Waiting Room Digging around in ancient history, I found this: The only thing worth reading in my doctor's waiting room is a collection of National Geographics. Unfortunately, he is also adept at timing his eventual arrival for the moment that I reach exactly halfway through any Nat Geo article. I have become an expert in knowing exactly half the interesting facts about anywhere in the world. Word count: 64 |
| What’s in a Name? Shakespeare opined that a rose, by any other name, would smell as sweet. But was he right? Does it not matter at all what name describes a thing or person? Take people, for instance. Names tend to be descriptive of the person based probably on other people we have known with that name. And some names seem completely inappropriate for those who bear them. I should know - I have disliked my real name from the first and do not feel that it describes me in the slightest. Others may be entirely happy with their existing names and that may be a case of growing into the thing. I can’t imagine anyone being happy with the name Clarence, however. There are reasons names fall out of popularity and that is that they accumulate meanings during their existence. You don’t see many Adolfs around these days for obvious reasons. So names do not alter character but character can alter the meaning of names. And once a name has assumed character, it is unlikely to be rehabilitated. The net result is that caution should be applied when naming a new baby. Think not of previous generations or what happens to be flavour of the month. Consider instead how you would feel if saddled with the name you’re proposing. And remember that names that are cute for children may well be ridiculous if applied to adults. And vice versa, of course. Word count: 237 |
| On Being First I’m not stupid enough to believe that a phenomenon noticed by me in the course of a fairly long life is valid enough to be applied in general, but there is one observation that comes close to being accepted as an immutable law of the universe. This has nothing to do with the length of sentences but is rather about so unlikely a subject as the first born. It is my contention that the first born child is always the best one. The reason for this must be assumed to be the need for the parents of said child to be persuaded to have another one. And then, should the second child turn out to be awful, there is always the reasoning that it was probably an aberration and the third would indubitably be as good as the first. Fat chance of that, of course. The third is really the one that proves the theory - the first is always the best. I began life as an adult with no experience of children and a resulting wariness regarding them. The first one I came to know was the child of a good friend and she was positively angelic. Watching the perfect behaviour of this paragon, I was persuaded that it might not be so bad an idea to begin this process of procreation. My wife was not averse to the possibility anyway and, in due course, my son Matthew was born. He proved every bit as good as my friend’s daughter. At which point you are assuming that we ventured upon the experiment further by having more kids. I am not so gullible. The possibility raised by the existence of two well-behaved and likable first borns was that it could be the universe’s strategy to ensure the continuance of humanity in ever-increasing numbers. This was not lost on me and I decided that signing on for more experiments was not advisable. We should wait to see how this first one turned out. Nearly twenty years later, child number one was still remarkably sensible and balanced. He was not a paragon but seemed without serious flaws and drawbacks. In a moment of bravado, I agreed to go for an increase in the child area and two more came along after the usual waiting period. They were not awful. But did they attain the heights of that first one? Well, in some ways they excelled but, like all humans, they had their foibles. The theory was true in essence, apparently. And so we come to the point of this piece. That is the young child that has appeared in our household courtesy of Andrea’s daughter. We have functioned as baby sitters for at least half of this young feller’s life so far and have come to know him very well as a result. And he is phenomenal. Of all the first borns I have known, he is the best. Three years old and never a problem, unbelievably quick and intelligent, he has taught himself to read and regularly surprises us by announcing things that he could only have figured out if he understands writing. He is the final proof of my dubious theory and the reason I now mention it. There are plenty of caveats against accepting the theory, I know, and I must warn again about the trap it sets for the unwary. But it’s a harmless little thing if not acted upon. Just take it as a whimsical notion and you should be safe enough. Word count: 584 |
| Spectrum If you invented an entirely new colour, would it be a pigment of your imagination? |
| A Weather Post! Yesterday we had temperatures in the eighties, today we’re back to the fifties. Spring is perhaps the most indecisive of seasons. Which makes it hard to write about. As fast as you get something written, the weather changes and makes a fool of you. |
| Incidental Resolution I am free. The last of my medical appointments for several months has been accomplished and time stretches before me into the distant (and therefore ignorable) future. At last I can say that the weight of the medical profession is lifted from my shoulders as much as it ever will be now. In celebration of my regained freedom, I have promised myself that I will give more attention to WdC than has been possible over the last few weeks. Consider yourself warned, oh gracious readers and colleagues! Word count: 87 |
| Casing the Joint Yesterday I had a look at the X-rays of my operation on the hip. I was expecting something like the surgeon’s description of the procedure - “You were lucky. Although it was fractured, the pieces didn’t move and it was just a matter of holding them together with a plate and a screw.” That sounded to me like a very minor thing indeed and the tiny wound resulting from their access point seemed to confirm it. So I was amazed at the size of the thing holding everything together. It was like a very sturdy chunk of metal in the shape of an L, one end drilled into the ball joint with a huge screw, the other connected by two smaller screws to the femur. How they managed to get that lot through the tiny access wound I can’t imagine. But the fact is, they did. And everything has healed up satisfactorily and the contraption works very well. They do indeed work wonders these days. All of which is to proclaim the realisation that came to me: I can never have another MRI with that thing inside me! Might as well look on the bright side. Word count: 195. |
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