These are the days of Miracle & Wonder!

Swallowed

'There are times when Nature seems to be nothing but a revelation of beauty and glory and divinity; when it seems utterly obvious that the Creator is not only a thoroughly good chap but one who takes a special pleasure in beauty.

'I've been watching swallows, you see.

'I was walking a sunken path, to my left an expansive field of green corn, and saw, flying low, apparently for the simple pleasure of getting their tummies tickled by the tips of the corn stems, a small group of swallows lost in the wonder of their own agility.

'What is more perfect than a swallow? The effortless flight, the astounding speed and accuracy, a splendidly natty colour scheme (pale below and navy above, with the elegant touch of a red face mask), the swept-back, fighter-plane wings, the long tail streamers, the way they love curves and despise straight lines, the knowledge that they have travelled in sweeps and swerves all the way from Southern Africa.

'They look as if they have come here specifically to tell us that the run-stealers flicker to and fro, to and fro, that there is honey still for tea, that God's in His Heaven, all's right with the world.

'Mind you, it's possible that an insect would see a swallow as something different - a ravening beast from Doctor Who, perhaps, or one of those unexpected monsters from a Ted Hughes poem that attack the sensibilities. But when we see a swallow, we human beings, at least, experience beauty and thoughts of the benignity of Creation lurk in every curving, twittering fly-past.'

From an article by Simon Barnes in The Times.  I concur.

The Peelite and the Oak Tree

 

There's something beguiling and lovely about the Olden Days.

A slower pace, but harder work; labour requiring muscle.  Tree and grass, axe and spade, craggy skin unable to be airbrushed away.  A closer kinship to creation, and clothes that remain, oblivious to fashion.  And a Prime Minister who would walk the London streets at night, trying to convince prostitutes to change their lives.

There's more colour in this photograph than its pigment might suggest.

I regret to announce that this is the End

I'm going.  I'm leaving.  Now.  Goodbye ...

With my very best wishes to Edinburgh and to all who will continue to sail in her.

Thanks for sharing the place with me.  Farewell ...

Ska + Lollipops = Jamaican Music Taking Over

Right, first thing's first.  I heard this song the night before last for the first time since I was little, and having done so, proceeded to listen to it 7 or 8 more times.  I just couldn't stop!  I kid you not; this cheesy little pop song did something to me:

But, before you go thinking that this is just a nice combination of high-pitched vocals and cutesy sentiment, remember that great oaks from little acorns grow ...

Millie Small was 16 when she was brought from Jamaica to London to make that record.  She was the first international Jamaican pop star, and it sold 6 million copies worldwide.  Before her, Jamaican music only lived in Jamaica - no one had heard of ska or rocksteady or reggae.

It was a 25 year old called Chris Blackwell who brought her over to Britain.  He'd been brought up in Jamaica and wanted to showcase its culture to the world.  After Millie, Blackwell discovered Jimmy Cliff - one of the greatest of the greats.  Then, when Cliff walked out him, Blackwell signed Bob Marley & the Wailers, and the rest is history: Jamaican music now belongs to the world.

But Millie was the first.

Gandalf the Mahdi, Dark Lord Khomeini & Middle-Earth in the Middle-East

Just wanted to bring your attention to a FANTASTIC little article in Time about how nightly Iranian showings of Lord of the RIngs may or may not be feeding the spirit of resistance against the Ayatollah & his petty-dwarf, Ahmadinejad.  Go here.  Thanks.

The Liffs I Have Lived

Back in the good old days - the 80s - the mighty Douglas Adams (and another guy whose name everyone always forgets but who was called John Lloyd) wrote a dictionary, The Meaning of Liff, highlighting all manner of common experiences/feelings/situations/objects which everyone knows and recognises, but for which no words exist.  In the book, the necessary words were provided; the nomenclature for the task being the place names of Great Britain.  For example:

ABINGER (n.)
One who washes up everything except the frying pan, the cheese grater and the saucepan which the chocolate sauce has been made in.

[Abinger is a village in Surrey]

Employing Mr Adams' (and the other guy's) creative and comic talents (and some cutting and pasting), I can now present to you, the abridged story of my life, in definitions.
 

PLYMOUTH (vb.)
To relate an amusing story to someone without remembering that it was they who told it to you in the first place.

ZEAL MONACHORUM (n.)
(Skiing term.) To ski with 'zeal monachorum' is to descend the top three quarters of the mountain in a quivering blue funk, but on arriving at the gentle bit just in front of the restaurant to whizz to a stop like a victorious slalom-champion.

HATHERSAGE (n.)
The tiny snippets of beard which coat the inside of a washbasin after shaving in it.

HARPENDEN (n.)
The coda to a phone conversion, consisting of about eight exchanges, by which people try gracefully to get off the line.

HODDESDEN (n.)
An 'injured' footballer's limb back into the game which draws applause but doesn't fool anybody.

LUTON (n.)
The horseshoe-shaped rug which goes around a lavatory seat.

ROYSTON (n.)
The man behind you in church who sings with terrific gusto almost tree quarters of a tone off the note.

EXETER (n.)
All light household and electrical goods contain a number of vital components plus at least one exeter. If you've just mended a fuse, changed a bulb or fixed a blender, the exeter is the small, flat or round plastic or bakelite piece left over which means you have to undo everything and start all over again.

CULLOMPTON (n.)
Someone who just cannot do anything quietly.

NEWTON POPPLEFORD (n.)
A crackpot theorist who believes that he will overturn science and the laws of physics as we know them. Since the rise of the Internet, Newton Popplefords have received more public attention than real scientists.

CORSTORPHINE (n.)
A very short peremptory service held in monasteries prior to teatime to offer thanks for the benediction of digestive biscuits.

TOLSTACHAOLAIS (phr.)
What the police in Leith require you to say in order to prove that you are not drunk.

 

[Devon (parents), Sheffieldish (born), Herts (brought up), Devon (moved), Edinburgh (latest)]

If You Can Keep Your Head ...

... when all about you are losing theirs:

A moment from Sunday's CCE Sports Day in the Meadows.
I am King of Egg-and-Spoon :)

Scathing River of Viscosity & Bile (intended to dissuade International Students from coming to Edinburgh University)

I have had to endure 3 years of the most important person in my life enduring the unending frustration of being an international student at Edinburgh University.  The other week, she wrote a bit of feedback on the experience and I thought, for the good of the world, that I would make them public.  Here are some excerpts:

While some of the teaching staff were very good, others were appalling and left me with the feeling that undergraduates are not really valued by the department.  Additionally, my needs as an international student were constantly ignored (eg. making December exam dates so close to Christmas, thus making flights home ludicrously expensive).

I would like to mention the flexibility (or lack thereof) of the department.  The staff repeatedly clung to the rules of the system rather than treating me as an individual with genuine needs.  I felt like one of a herd of cattle rather than a valued member (especially one who, as fee-paying international student, is necessary for the economic viability of the university).  The staff also displayed an appalling deficiency in communicating important information to me.

I would discourage English-speaking international students from applying because they can 'fall through the cracks' as it were from the student support networks.

I would discourage people from applying partly because of the mono-culture of private school-educated students.

But the main reason I would discourage people from applying is that the University gives every impression of being run by accountants and by blank-faced bureaucrats, more concerned with following The System and maintaining Edinburgh's 'prestigious reputation', rather than fostering an environment of personal growth and academic achievement.

I'm glad she had the chance to get that off her chest.  And now, she's free!

My Nomination for Britain's Best Place Name

It's in Devon, between Honiton & the Blackdown Hills.  If you have a nomination, let me know!

I Spent the Weekend in Oban. It was cracking.

It looked a bit like this:

That was the view I could see when I was standing here:

And this is a view of me (from the outside of the castle), looking at that view: