More recycled posts from 2005:
hats
God bless her, and all who sail in her
words
Carelessness in the OED
personal
A happy parting in Manchester
Tuesday, 1 June 2010
Thursday, 27 May 2010
Anyone want a child's pushchair, needs painting?
Anyone who visits the internet knows that a large proportion of what you find there is garbage, and sometimes dangerous: get involved in it and you may be cheated, robbed, corrupted, or just waste a great deal of time. So it is pleasant to be able to note the existence of some enterprises made possible by the net which are in every way salutary and make all those who use them happy.
These are the sites for giving things away, things you no longer need but which you cannot be bothered to try to sell on eBay or take to a boot sale. The largest and most successful one originated in Tucson, Arizona (like many much less admirable ideas such as deep-fried peanut butter 'n jelly on rye): the Freecycle Network™ is now made up of 4,775 groups with 7 million members in over 85 countries. It is an entirely non-profit movement, run by volunteers, of people who want to give away and acquire things in their own towns. No money is involved.
It works like this: you email a description of something you want to get rid of, or that you want to acquire. If acceptable it will be published; you give only a nickname and your email address is not published but the group will forward replies saying "yes, please" or "OK, I've got one you can have" and you can make contact by phone or email, give your address, and arrange the collection (or, if you're polite, say "sorry, its already gone"). Should you suspect that they are coming to case the joint, you don't even need to let anyone into your house: you can simply tell them that you will leave it on your doorstep at a certain time.
My town has one of these groups with 5,291 members, and entries are currently being listed at the rate of around 250 a week.
The entries are moderated, of course. If you attempt to offer (or ask for) a Heckler and Koch MP5 in working order or a set of coloured photos of Ann Widdecombe in the nude (or clothed, for that matter), your entry will never appear. But offers of items that look as if no-one could possibly be bothered to drive over and pick them up will be happily published, for it is amazing what people might find useful: "two 6-foot planks with some nails and holes in them", or "bag of baby socks, clean, various colours" may well be taken up by someone who has a need for exactly those things.
There is an example here of the website of one typical local group in the UK
Over the last few months I have made a lot of use of a local group. I have replied to only one offer, and this was a mistake: it was a laser printer, and I found after a week or two that I didn't really want it, but no harm done: I put it back as an offer and someone was delighted with it. But I did offer the following:
A CRT colour monitor; 83 LPs; two hundred audiocassettes; a vintage wind-up portable gramophone with 38 78rpm records; a coal-effect gasfire; a scanner; a collection of software; a cast-iron firebasket; a videocassette recorder; 70 videocassettes; a box of electronic cables & connections; a 14" TV; a 22" TV and seven years back numbers of Private Eye.
For some of them I had half a dozen or more requests, and in nearly every case the items were taken up within a few hours, collected within a day or so and the takers expressed themselves very happy with what they got.
This has all been very rewarding but I still have a lot of things cluttering up the house which I don't need, such as two thousand books I shall never read again (or in some cases never have). But books look nice on the wall and I simply cannot give them away.
These are the sites for giving things away, things you no longer need but which you cannot be bothered to try to sell on eBay or take to a boot sale. The largest and most successful one originated in Tucson, Arizona (like many much less admirable ideas such as deep-fried peanut butter 'n jelly on rye): the Freecycle Network™ is now made up of 4,775 groups with 7 million members in over 85 countries. It is an entirely non-profit movement, run by volunteers, of people who want to give away and acquire things in their own towns. No money is involved.
It works like this: you email a description of something you want to get rid of, or that you want to acquire. If acceptable it will be published; you give only a nickname and your email address is not published but the group will forward replies saying "yes, please" or "OK, I've got one you can have" and you can make contact by phone or email, give your address, and arrange the collection (or, if you're polite, say "sorry, its already gone"). Should you suspect that they are coming to case the joint, you don't even need to let anyone into your house: you can simply tell them that you will leave it on your doorstep at a certain time.
My town has one of these groups with 5,291 members, and entries are currently being listed at the rate of around 250 a week.
The entries are moderated, of course. If you attempt to offer (or ask for) a Heckler and Koch MP5 in working order or a set of coloured photos of Ann Widdecombe in the nude (or clothed, for that matter), your entry will never appear. But offers of items that look as if no-one could possibly be bothered to drive over and pick them up will be happily published, for it is amazing what people might find useful: "two 6-foot planks with some nails and holes in them", or "bag of baby socks, clean, various colours" may well be taken up by someone who has a need for exactly those things.
There is an example here of the website of one typical local group in the UK
Over the last few months I have made a lot of use of a local group. I have replied to only one offer, and this was a mistake: it was a laser printer, and I found after a week or two that I didn't really want it, but no harm done: I put it back as an offer and someone was delighted with it. But I did offer the following:
A CRT colour monitor; 83 LPs; two hundred audiocassettes; a vintage wind-up portable gramophone with 38 78rpm records; a coal-effect gasfire; a scanner; a collection of software; a cast-iron firebasket; a videocassette recorder; 70 videocassettes; a box of electronic cables & connections; a 14" TV; a 22" TV and seven years back numbers of Private Eye.
For some of them I had half a dozen or more requests, and in nearly every case the items were taken up within a few hours, collected within a day or so and the takers expressed themselves very happy with what they got.
This has all been very rewarding but I still have a lot of things cluttering up the house which I don't need, such as two thousand books I shall never read again (or in some cases never have). But books look nice on the wall and I simply cannot give them away.
Monday, 24 May 2010
Shameful
One of the nastiest columns in the increasingly rabid Sunday Times is written by one Rod Liddle and consists mainly of cheap sneers targeted at anything he dislikes. This week, however, he was replaced by A. A. Gill, another hack in the Jeremy Clarkson mould, whose piece has outdone Liddle in offensiveness.
In a feeble piece sniping at the Olympic mascots, which are named Wenlock and Mandeville, Gill writes: "...Stoke Mandeville, the hospital where drunk ex-motorcyclists go to get fitted with head wands and bibs".
Anyone who knows what is done at Stoke Mandeville will find this an utterly despicable jibe. Gill should be ashamed of writing it, and the Sunday Times of publishing it.
In a feeble piece sniping at the Olympic mascots, which are named Wenlock and Mandeville, Gill writes: "...Stoke Mandeville, the hospital where drunk ex-motorcyclists go to get fitted with head wands and bibs".
Anyone who knows what is done at Stoke Mandeville will find this an utterly despicable jibe. Gill should be ashamed of writing it, and the Sunday Times of publishing it.
Friday, 21 May 2010
Well done, Craig lad!
It is difficult to see why the faithful are so unhappy about Dr Craig Venter's attempt to play at God by creating life. I mean, anyone who takes a good look at the range of life forms currently cluttering our planet—wombats, vultures, squids, Tories, tapeworms and all the rest of his unsavoury creations—must see that the first (and only, until now) holder of the top life-creator's appointment made a complete hash of the task; it is clear that it is time for someone else to be given a chance to have a go, and a top American geneticist with a neat and modest moustache/beard combo is just the sort of chap who is likely to come up with some much superior life forms, particularly with the financial support that he has secured from ExxonMobil; just think what God could have done if he'd had that kind of backing!
And, of course, he has made a much more sensible choice of raw material; God's attempt to create life "in his own image" was a no-no from the start, as he didn't actually have much of an image at the time. So it is not surprising that he finished up with the jumbled mess that we call Life on Earth. Dr Venter wisely chose to start with a common bacterium, synthesize its DNA, insert the strands into yeast and then into E Coli to make a synthetic genome, add a quotation from James Joyce and transfer the whole thing into an existing bacterium that causes mastitis in goats. It's obvious now, a child can see that this is the way to go, but conceiving it from scratch must have taken great imagination.
Anyway, bingo! We now have a synthetic life form with which we can do wondrous things, in all probability. And of course the boys at the J Craig Venter Institute in Rockville, Maryland, will be taking precautions to make sure that their little fellows can't get out and cause a nasty outbreak of goat mastitis; still, even this would be less of a menace than the frog infestations, swarms of gnats, festering boils, locusts and all the other horrors which the original creator used to keep his creations properly grateful for his infinite mercy.
And, of course, he has made a much more sensible choice of raw material; God's attempt to create life "in his own image" was a no-no from the start, as he didn't actually have much of an image at the time. So it is not surprising that he finished up with the jumbled mess that we call Life on Earth. Dr Venter wisely chose to start with a common bacterium, synthesize its DNA, insert the strands into yeast and then into E Coli to make a synthetic genome, add a quotation from James Joyce and transfer the whole thing into an existing bacterium that causes mastitis in goats. It's obvious now, a child can see that this is the way to go, but conceiving it from scratch must have taken great imagination.
Anyway, bingo! We now have a synthetic life form with which we can do wondrous things, in all probability. And of course the boys at the J Craig Venter Institute in Rockville, Maryland, will be taking precautions to make sure that their little fellows can't get out and cause a nasty outbreak of goat mastitis; still, even this would be less of a menace than the frog infestations, swarms of gnats, festering boils, locusts and all the other horrors which the original creator used to keep his creations properly grateful for his infinite mercy.
An early (unsuccessful) experiment at the J. Craig Venter Institute
Monday, 17 May 2010
She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed
This is how Horace Rumpole referred to his wife (she called him 'Rumpole'); John Mortimer took the title from H. Rider Haggard's She, serialized in The Graphic magazine from 1886 to 1887 and then published as a novel in various revisions up to 1896. With over 83 million copies sold in 44 different languages it is one of the best-selling books of all time.
[*By the way, why was Rider Haggard?]
I have a copy of the 1888 New Edition. I do not know how I came by it, but I must have been quite young because I remember being very impressed by some of Maurice Greiffen's 32 illustrations; Ayesha, as She was known to her friends, was a great unveiler and the pictures were mostly Victorian soft porn.
It was pretty good value for 3s 6p, with 277 closely printed pages, some featuring translations of the inscription on a fictional Sherd of Amenartas into Greek, both uncial and cursive, mediaeval black-letter Latin and black-letter English, as well as the thirty-two illustrations. It's a great story, and you can download the whole text from Project Gutenberg here, sadly without the illustrations but with the translations; some modern readers may want to skip these.
It has a tremendously plotty and complicated plot with some splendid passages: my favourite describes Ayesha's sad end. She was two thousand years old, you see, but having bathed in the flames of the Fountain of Life back then her appearance has never changed.
When a young Cambridge man, Leo Vincey, arrives with a friend in the African kingdom she has been ruling, Ayesha believes him , probably mistakenly, to be the reincarnation of her prehistoric lover Kallikrates (I said it was complicated) and urges him to to bathe himself in the flames so that he can join her in eternal bliss. Understandably nervous, he is persuaded to do so only when she demonstrates that it is really fun and quite harmless by bathing again herself. This turns out to be a very bad idea, for a second flamebath reverses the effect of the first so that, like Dorian Gray, the years catch up with her.
After much unveiling, "...she stood before us as Eve might have stood before Adam, clad in nothing but her abundant locks...". The flames envelope her, discreetly arranged, and then—ah, then (I abbreviate):
"The smile vanished, and in its place there came a hard dry look.....she stepped forward to Leo's side and stretched out her hand to lay it on his shoulder... Where was its wonderful roundness and beauty? It was getting thin and angular. And her face—by Heaven!—her face was growing old before my eyes! ...She put her hand to her hair and oh, horror of horrors! it all fell to the floor".
And so it went on.... "skin turned dirty brown and yellow", "... no larger than a big monkey...", "shapeless face with the stamp of unutterable age..." The fearful spectacle is described with a wealth of detail: no wonder the whole party swooned (the Victorians were great swooners) as the poor old thing died. Their servant Job also dies, of a fit brought on by terror, but the other two shake his cold, dead hands and then, understandably a bit fed up, strike out for the Zambesi and home, which they reach eighteen months later after incredible privations and suffering.
No wonder She hasn't been out of print since it was first published. The novel—or something like it—has been filmed at least nine times; the first version was in 1899. In 1965 Hammer Horror had Ursula Andress in the role.
[* Because he couldn't Marie Corelli, of course.]
.
[*By the way, why was Rider Haggard?]
I have a copy of the 1888 New Edition. I do not know how I came by it, but I must have been quite young because I remember being very impressed by some of Maurice Greiffen's 32 illustrations; Ayesha, as She was known to her friends, was a great unveiler and the pictures were mostly Victorian soft porn.
It was pretty good value for 3s 6p, with 277 closely printed pages, some featuring translations of the inscription on a fictional Sherd of Amenartas into Greek, both uncial and cursive, mediaeval black-letter Latin and black-letter English, as well as the thirty-two illustrations. It's a great story, and you can download the whole text from Project Gutenberg here, sadly without the illustrations but with the translations; some modern readers may want to skip these.
It has a tremendously plotty and complicated plot with some splendid passages: my favourite describes Ayesha's sad end. She was two thousand years old, you see, but having bathed in the flames of the Fountain of Life back then her appearance has never changed.
When a young Cambridge man, Leo Vincey, arrives with a friend in the African kingdom she has been ruling, Ayesha believes him , probably mistakenly, to be the reincarnation of her prehistoric lover Kallikrates (I said it was complicated) and urges him to to bathe himself in the flames so that he can join her in eternal bliss. Understandably nervous, he is persuaded to do so only when she demonstrates that it is really fun and quite harmless by bathing again herself. This turns out to be a very bad idea, for a second flamebath reverses the effect of the first so that, like Dorian Gray, the years catch up with her.
After much unveiling, "...she stood before us as Eve might have stood before Adam, clad in nothing but her abundant locks...". The flames envelope her, discreetly arranged, and then—ah, then (I abbreviate):"The smile vanished, and in its place there came a hard dry look.....she stepped forward to Leo's side and stretched out her hand to lay it on his shoulder... Where was its wonderful roundness and beauty? It was getting thin and angular. And her face—by Heaven!—her face was growing old before my eyes! ...She put her hand to her hair and oh, horror of horrors! it all fell to the floor".
And so it went on.... "skin turned dirty brown and yellow", "... no larger than a big monkey...", "shapeless face with the stamp of unutterable age..." The fearful spectacle is described with a wealth of detail: no wonder the whole party swooned (the Victorians were great swooners) as the poor old thing died. Their servant Job also dies, of a fit brought on by terror, but the other two shake his cold, dead hands and then, understandably a bit fed up, strike out for the Zambesi and home, which they reach eighteen months later after incredible privations and suffering.
No wonder She hasn't been out of print since it was first published. The novel—or something like it—has been filmed at least nine times; the first version was in 1899. In 1965 Hammer Horror had Ursula Andress in the role.
[* Because he couldn't Marie Corelli, of course.]
.
Thursday, 13 May 2010
Letters from Stu Pidd-Guise
Towards the end of last year there was a letter published in Private Eye with the writer's name adding a final note. This has evoked a flood of letters of the same kind; they now appear in every issue in a section entitled Pseudo Names. Here is a selection:
We feel there should be a Pseudo Names song—perhaps to the tune of one of those 1960s novelty numbers.
ANNIE TZIBITZI
DEAN E. WEANEY
E. LO POLKER
DOT B. KEANEY
Please do not stop the silly names correspondence. Man, it rocks!
STU FORDER-SHOW
FREDA GETREADY
ANNA GOKATGO
Would you consider reviving the full column in time for Easter?
THERESA GREENHILL
FARAH WHEY
Only one Pseudo Name in the current Eye; the end of this juvenile rubbish is in sight—heaven be praised!
HAL A. LOOYER
Please don't leave the Pseudo Names feature without a home this Christmas.
A. WAY
IAN A. MANGER
NOAH CRIBB-FAWE
A. BED
Will there be a special Christmas edition of Pseudo Names? We certainly hope so.
DEE
HOLLY
ANDY
IVY
Pseudo Names will not be over until the fat lady has sung the last carol.
CY LENT-KNIGHT
HOLLY KNIGHT
ALISSA CALM
ALICE BRYTE
I was delighted to see Pseudo Names published in your Christmas edition. For me it was the icing on the tree.
MICK SMETAFORS
Pseudo Names, along with Malapropisms and Spoonerisms, should be consigned to the garbage can of history.
LYNN BINER
We were wondering if earlier correspondents could ever have imagined that their letters would result in such a long-running and popular feature.
LUKE WATT
HUGH STARTED
Being German, your English humour I find hard to understand. I hope that there are no hidden meanings that would trigger litigation.
ALICE INORDNUNG
Here in Ulm, I am one of the few people to understand your English way of thinking.
COUNT von SELF-LUKKI
Though I love it to bits and look forward to its appearance, I'm not at all sure what the highly cultured Chinese would make of your Pseudo Names section.
RHODA BORROCKS
Do you think it is due to state censorship that we haven't received Private Eye for two months here in Beijing?
Y.R. WEE-WEI TING
We heartily approve of Pseudo Names going international.
STEPHANIE WRIGHT
DEREK SHUN
It has been a very cold winter here. I should have stayed at home.
S. KEYMOE-NELLE
Of course, it is universally recognised that German Pseudo Names are the best.
DOT SCHLAND
HUGH BERALLES
Re the claim that German Pseudo Names are the best, is it not just typical of the Boche to claim superiority?
ALAIN ZONFONT
DELLA PAT RHEA
We do hope that you will not allow correspondents using false names to slip in subliminal political messages, thus undermining your tradition of political independence.
DAVE SAWINNER
GORDON MUSSGOE
Some say that we need a leader who combines the best qualities of Gordon Brown and Margaret Thatcher.
BRUNHILDE
We feel there should be a Pseudo Names song—perhaps to the tune of one of those 1960s novelty numbers.
ANNIE TZIBITZI
DEAN E. WEANEY
E. LO POLKER
DOT B. KEANEY
Please do not stop the silly names correspondence. Man, it rocks!
STU FORDER-SHOW
FREDA GETREADY
ANNA GOKATGO
Would you consider reviving the full column in time for Easter?
THERESA GREENHILL
FARAH WHEY
Only one Pseudo Name in the current Eye; the end of this juvenile rubbish is in sight—heaven be praised!
HAL A. LOOYER
Please don't leave the Pseudo Names feature without a home this Christmas.
A. WAY
IAN A. MANGER
NOAH CRIBB-FAWE
A. BED
Will there be a special Christmas edition of Pseudo Names? We certainly hope so.
DEE
HOLLY
ANDY
IVY
Pseudo Names will not be over until the fat lady has sung the last carol.
CY LENT-KNIGHT
HOLLY KNIGHT
ALISSA CALM
ALICE BRYTE
I was delighted to see Pseudo Names published in your Christmas edition. For me it was the icing on the tree.
MICK SMETAFORS
Pseudo Names, along with Malapropisms and Spoonerisms, should be consigned to the garbage can of history.
LYNN BINER
We were wondering if earlier correspondents could ever have imagined that their letters would result in such a long-running and popular feature.
LUKE WATT
HUGH STARTED
Being German, your English humour I find hard to understand. I hope that there are no hidden meanings that would trigger litigation.
ALICE INORDNUNG
Here in Ulm, I am one of the few people to understand your English way of thinking.
COUNT von SELF-LUKKI
Though I love it to bits and look forward to its appearance, I'm not at all sure what the highly cultured Chinese would make of your Pseudo Names section.
RHODA BORROCKS
Do you think it is due to state censorship that we haven't received Private Eye for two months here in Beijing?
Y.R. WEE-WEI TING
We heartily approve of Pseudo Names going international.
STEPHANIE WRIGHT
DEREK SHUN
It has been a very cold winter here. I should have stayed at home.
S. KEYMOE-NELLE
Of course, it is universally recognised that German Pseudo Names are the best.
DOT SCHLAND
HUGH BERALLES
Re the claim that German Pseudo Names are the best, is it not just typical of the Boche to claim superiority?
ALAIN ZONFONT
DELLA PAT RHEA
We do hope that you will not allow correspondents using false names to slip in subliminal political messages, thus undermining your tradition of political independence.
DAVE SAWINNER
GORDON MUSSGOE
Some say that we need a leader who combines the best qualities of Gordon Brown and Margaret Thatcher.
BRUNHILDE
Sunday, 9 May 2010
Insomnia and the OAB syndrome
I sleep very well, on the whole. When anxious, or dreading the next day, I can usually do as Winston Churchill recommended: "Turn out the light, say 'bugger everyone,' and go to sleep". But sometimes I suffer from Overactive Brain Syndrome, which happens when I cannot keep pleasant thoughts from going round and round in my mind.
In the days when I used to Do It Myself, I would start happily planning something I was making and thrash about sleepless for ages: "I know! I could make a frame of four by two, cover it with chipboard, and..."
Another time, looking forward to going to dinner with some agreeable people, I might think: "I wonder if Ginette is going to give us one of her sensational ragouts de gibier", but in a case like this I would soon drift off in gluttonous anticipation.
Nowadays I sometimes draft posts for OMF in my head when I wake during the night. If I think it is going to be a good one I get deeply absorbed and spend what seems to be hours drafting and re-drafting it. I am never wide awake or energetic enough to write it down, so as with dreams much of it is gone in the morning and the sleepless hours were mostly wasted.
On the other hand, if after a bit I realise that the post is not going to be at all interesting to anyone, sheer boredom will soon send me back to sleep. This happened last night when I was drafting this post. I did remember much of it, so I am publishing it; sadly, it might have contained some good bits that I have forgotten.
In the days when I used to Do It Myself, I would start happily planning something I was making and thrash about sleepless for ages: "I know! I could make a frame of four by two, cover it with chipboard, and..."
Another time, looking forward to going to dinner with some agreeable people, I might think: "I wonder if Ginette is going to give us one of her sensational ragouts de gibier", but in a case like this I would soon drift off in gluttonous anticipation.
Nowadays I sometimes draft posts for OMF in my head when I wake during the night. If I think it is going to be a good one I get deeply absorbed and spend what seems to be hours drafting and re-drafting it. I am never wide awake or energetic enough to write it down, so as with dreams much of it is gone in the morning and the sleepless hours were mostly wasted.
On the other hand, if after a bit I realise that the post is not going to be at all interesting to anyone, sheer boredom will soon send me back to sleep. This happened last night when I was drafting this post. I did remember much of it, so I am publishing it; sadly, it might have contained some good bits that I have forgotten.
Wednesday, 5 May 2010
Unprecedented for decades, mould-breaking...
...and into uncharted waters, I shouldn't wonder. Anyway, it might be worth watching tomorrow. Usually we get bored with election night after a few results are in, but for this one we have bought a new TV for the bedroom and intend to take a bottle of some modest claret to bed with us and and make a night of it.
We have a very good friend from New Zealand staying with us at present and we (well, I) thought of asking her to join us, but to be honest I don't think I could cope with a threesome nowadays. Ah, if only I were sixty-five again!
.
We have a very good friend from New Zealand staying with us at present and we (well, I) thought of asking her to join us, but to be honest I don't think I could cope with a threesome nowadays. Ah, if only I were sixty-five again!
.
Saturday, 1 May 2010
The Stupid List
Here is an update to two earlier posts: Sugar Pills and Magic Water on the NHS, in which I described the Early Day Motion proposed by the MP for Bosworth, David Tredinnick, and Jackson's crazy ideas, which questions whether a distinguished actor is in full possession of her senses.
Seventy-three MPs originally signed the EDM. Five of these realised that in doing so they were supporting the daft notions of a crackpot and have withdrawn; many others will not be in the new Parliament.
But this still leaves many idiots who admire Samuel Hahnemann's 200-year-old homeopathic cult and are demanding that the NHS should spend money on such quackery. You can look up the names here.
Everyone can decide whether they really want to be represented in Parliament by an MP who is convinced that if a 'medicine' consisting only of water and no active ingredient is 'succussed' (struck a sharp blow) it will 'remember' what it formerly contained and have a beneficial effect on you when you drink it. If any of those listed are standing in your constituency you might write to them to express your contempt for their superstition and at the same time make sure that all your friends and family know just what they will be getting if they elect someone so simple-minded.
Seventy-three MPs originally signed the EDM. Five of these realised that in doing so they were supporting the daft notions of a crackpot and have withdrawn; many others will not be in the new Parliament.
But this still leaves many idiots who admire Samuel Hahnemann's 200-year-old homeopathic cult and are demanding that the NHS should spend money on such quackery. You can look up the names here.
Everyone can decide whether they really want to be represented in Parliament by an MP who is convinced that if a 'medicine' consisting only of water and no active ingredient is 'succussed' (struck a sharp blow) it will 'remember' what it formerly contained and have a beneficial effect on you when you drink it. If any of those listed are standing in your constituency you might write to them to express your contempt for their superstition and at the same time make sure that all your friends and family know just what they will be getting if they elect someone so simple-minded.
Wednesday, 28 April 2010
Selection 31
More re-cycled posts from 2005:
religion
Every picture tells a story; this one’s a lulu
personal
The most honorific of all my titles
people
Tony Blair has five wives
religion
Every picture tells a story; this one’s a lulu
personal
The most honorific of all my titles
people
Tony Blair has five wives
Sunday, 25 April 2010
Display of humour deficit
A nice change from the Three Caballeros doing their respective unfunny stand-up routines was provided this week by the leaking of a Foreign Office memo suggesting ways in which the Pope might be encouraged to improve his image during his visit to England—marketing a range of own brand condoms, opening an abortion clinic, spending a night in a Council flat, apologising for the Armada and other ingenious ideas hardly likely to be acceptable to the top brass at the Vatican, let alone the old boy himself. Much huffing and puffing from those who thought this bit of drollery was a shameful attack on a much-loved institution.
It was even said that the authors were ridiculing Catholic teaching. This would surely be an act of supererogation: I mean, it would be like throwing mud at a sewage farm, wouldn't it?
It was even said that the authors were ridiculing Catholic teaching. This would surely be an act of supererogation: I mean, it would be like throwing mud at a sewage farm, wouldn't it?
Saturday, 24 April 2010
Large ones all round in Bodbury
It seems very likely that on the morning of 7th May almost no-one will be happy with the results of the election. This does not often happen; back in the sixties Michael Frayn noted that after the bye-election in Bodbury all three candidates were celebrating:
F. Muncher (Lab.) 14,931
J.P.R. Cramshaw-Bollington (Con.) 8,101
S.W. Dearfellow (Lib.) 7,123
Labour majority 6,830
General election:
Lab. 23,917
Con. 16,023
Lib. 9,980
Lab.majority 7,966
F. Muncher: "It's a wonderful result. Not only have we held the seat, but we have increased our share of the poll—a real smack in the eye for the Government. The voters of Bodbury have told Mr Macmillan and his friends in no uncertain terms what they think of the Government's record on such things as the Common Market (or will have done, as soon as we have actually decided which policy on this question it was that our supporters were voting for). And if you take our vote in conjunction with the Liberal vote, it's clear that there is an over-whelming anti-Tory majority in Bodbury".
J.P.R. Cramshaw-Bollington: "I am absolutely delighted with the result. At a time when the pendulum traditionally swings against the party in office, we've slashed the Labour majority in this Labour stronghold. I take this as a most encouraging vote of confidence in the Government—a message from the people of Bodbury to Mr Macmillan urging him to carry on with the good work, whatever it may be. And taking the increased Liberal vote into account, it is evident that there is a definite anti-Socialist majority in Bodbury".
S.W. Dearfellow: "The result couldn't be better. Our share of the vote is up sharply, while the numbers of votes polled by both the Labour and Conservative and Conservative candidates have slumped heavily. This is Bodbury's way of saying "a plague on both your houses—we want to have it both ways with the Liberals." And if you take the Liberal vote in conjunction with either the Labour or the Conservative vote, you can see that either way we've got a clear anti-extremist majority".
F. Muncher (Lab.) 14,931
J.P.R. Cramshaw-Bollington (Con.) 8,101
S.W. Dearfellow (Lib.) 7,123
Labour majority 6,830
General election:
Lab. 23,917
Con. 16,023
Lib. 9,980
Lab.majority 7,966
F. Muncher: "It's a wonderful result. Not only have we held the seat, but we have increased our share of the poll—a real smack in the eye for the Government. The voters of Bodbury have told Mr Macmillan and his friends in no uncertain terms what they think of the Government's record on such things as the Common Market (or will have done, as soon as we have actually decided which policy on this question it was that our supporters were voting for). And if you take our vote in conjunction with the Liberal vote, it's clear that there is an over-whelming anti-Tory majority in Bodbury".
J.P.R. Cramshaw-Bollington: "I am absolutely delighted with the result. At a time when the pendulum traditionally swings against the party in office, we've slashed the Labour majority in this Labour stronghold. I take this as a most encouraging vote of confidence in the Government—a message from the people of Bodbury to Mr Macmillan urging him to carry on with the good work, whatever it may be. And taking the increased Liberal vote into account, it is evident that there is a definite anti-Socialist majority in Bodbury".
S.W. Dearfellow: "The result couldn't be better. Our share of the vote is up sharply, while the numbers of votes polled by both the Labour and Conservative and Conservative candidates have slumped heavily. This is Bodbury's way of saying "a plague on both your houses—we want to have it both ways with the Liberals." And if you take the Liberal vote in conjunction with either the Labour or the Conservative vote, you can see that either way we've got a clear anti-extremist majority".
Wednesday, 21 April 2010
Terrorism, a hundred years ago
No 29 in an occasional series of extracts from The Postcard Century
January 1911 The caption reads 'THE BATTLE OF STEPNEY: Mr Winston Churchill surrounded by Detectives and Armed Police'.
Anarchist was the sort of trigger word that terrorist is today. Churchill as Home Secretary puts on his top hat and rushes to Sidney Street where the police and Scots Guards are laying siege to the anarchist hideout. A fortnight later Bert in W.Hartlepool writes to Lil Briggs in Perry Hill: PPC and letter to hand thanks for same. Havn't got any W. Soon be with you just about frozen Love XX
January 1911 The caption reads 'THE BATTLE OF STEPNEY: Mr Winston Churchill surrounded by Detectives and Armed Police'.Anarchist was the sort of trigger word that terrorist is today. Churchill as Home Secretary puts on his top hat and rushes to Sidney Street where the police and Scots Guards are laying siege to the anarchist hideout. A fortnight later Bert in W.Hartlepool writes to Lil Briggs in Perry Hill: PPC and letter to hand thanks for same. Havn't got any W. Soon be with you just about frozen Love XX
Monday, 19 April 2010
The spirit of Nelson flashes forth
Rejoice, rejoice! The long decline of the British Empire has been halted; we are no longer a laughing stock among the nations, sunk in nostalgia, currying favour with Johnny Foreigner in the hope of being asked to once more to play a part in world affairs. We have been uninvolved too long in great events and no-one has expected us to act decisively to show our mettle in a crisis.
And what is more, we didn't wait to be asked; after only four days we took the kind of action— brave, wise and above all firm, which used to be typical of us and which made us universally admired and respected.
We sent, not one but THREE gunboats. At this moment, they are in all probability steaming at full speed, ensigns flying, to remote spots to collect thousands of British subjects who might otherwise have had to remain in tropical hell-holes for several days, missing the start of the school term and incurring heavy expenses. Arrangements are being made to welcome them on board Her Majesty's warships (including the Ark Royal, no less; now there's an Imperial echo); wardrooms are being quickly converted into buffets, junior officers are rehearsing their stand-up routines and the Marine bands are getting ready to switch from hornpipes to Tunes from the Shows.
"Hello, sailor!"
"You'll find the ballroom just abaft the mizzen tops'l, madam"
And what is more, we didn't wait to be asked; after only four days we took the kind of action— brave, wise and above all firm, which used to be typical of us and which made us universally admired and respected.
We sent, not one but THREE gunboats. At this moment, they are in all probability steaming at full speed, ensigns flying, to remote spots to collect thousands of British subjects who might otherwise have had to remain in tropical hell-holes for several days, missing the start of the school term and incurring heavy expenses. Arrangements are being made to welcome them on board Her Majesty's warships (including the Ark Royal, no less; now there's an Imperial echo); wardrooms are being quickly converted into buffets, junior officers are rehearsing their stand-up routines and the Marine bands are getting ready to switch from hornpipes to Tunes from the Shows.
"Hello, sailor!"
"You'll find the ballroom just abaft the mizzen tops'l, madam"
Saturday, 17 April 2010
Rough talk
American authors Brett and Kate Mackay have written a book about The Art of Manliness and have included examples of manly vernacular from the nineteenth century. Here are some of them:
Admiral of the Red: A person whose very red face evinces a fondness for strong potations.
Admiral of the Red: A person whose very red face evinces a fondness for strong potations.
Bellows to Mend: A person out of breath; especially a pugilist is said to be “bellows to mend” when winded.
Blind Monkeys: An imaginary collection at the Zoological Gardens, which are supposed to receive care and attention from persons fitted by nature for such office and for little else. An idle and useless person is often told that he is only fit to lead the Blind Monkeys to evacuate. Another form this elegant conversation takes is for one man to tell another that he knows of a suitable situation for him. “How much a week? and what to do?” are natural questions, and then comes the scathing and sarcastic reply, “Five bob a week at the doctor’s— you’re to stand behind the door and make the patients sick. They won’t want no physic when they sees your mug.”
Blinker: A blackened eye. Also a hard blow in the eye.
Bone Box: The mouth. Shut your bone box; shut your mouth.
Bully Trap: A brave man with a mild or effeminate appearance, by whom the bullies are frequently taken in.
Bunch Of Fives: The fist. Pugilistic. [still in use]
Cat-heads. A woman’s breasts. Sea phrase.
Colt’s Tooth. Elderly persons of juvenile tastes are said to have a Colt’s Tooth, i.e., a desire to shed their teeth once more, to live life over again.
Drumsticks:Legs.
Drumstick cases: pants
Earth Bath: a grave.
Eternity Box: A coffin.
Fart Catcher: A valet or footman, from his walking behind his master or mistress.
Fimble-Famble: A lame, prevaricating excuse.
Fizzing: First-rate, very good, excellent; synonymous with “stunning.”
Flag of Distress: Any overt sign of poverty; the end of a person’s shirt when it protrudes through his trousers.
Floorer: A blow sufficiently strong to knock a man down, or bring him to the floor. Often used in reference to sudden and unpleasant news.
Follow-me-lads: Curls hanging over a lady’s shoulder.
Gentleman of Four Outs: When a vulgar, blustering fellow asserts that he is a gentleman, the retort generally is, ” Yes, a Gentleman Of Four Outs”—that is, without wit, without money, without credit, and without manners.
Go By The Ground: A little short person, man or woman.
Gunpowder: An old woman.
Half-mourning: To have a black eye from a blow. As distinguished from "whole-mourning”, two black eyes.
Heavy Wet: Malt liquor—because the more a man drinks of it, the heavier and more stupid he becomes.
How’s Your Poor Feet!: An idiotic street cry with no meaning, much in vogue a few years back.
Keep a Pig: An Oxford University phrase, which means to have a lodger. A man whose rooms contain two bedchambers has sometimes, when his college is full, to allow the use of one of them to a Freshman, who is called under these circumstances a PIG. The original occupier is then said to Keep A Pig.
Ladder: “Can’t see a hole in a Ladder,” said of any one who is intoxicated. It was once said that a man was never properly drunk until he could not lie down without holding, could not see a hole through a Ladder, or went to the pump to light his pipe.
Monkey with a Long Tail: A mortgage.
Muckender: A pocket handkerchief, snottinger. Nose-ender. A straight blow delivered full on the nasal promontory.
Nose in the Manger: To put one’s nose in the manger, to sit down to eat. To “put on the nose-bag” is to eat hurriedly, or to eat while continuing at work.
Perpendicular: A lunch taken standing-up at a tavern bar. It is usual to call it lunch, often as the Perpendicular may take the place of dinner.
Pot-hunter: A man who gives his time up to rowing or punting, or any sort of match in order to win the “pewters” which are given as prizes. The term is now much used in aquatic and athletic circles; and is applied, in a derogatory sense, to men of good quality who enter themselves in small races they are almost sure to win, and thus deprive the juniors of small trophies which should be above the attention of champions, though valuable to beginners. Also an unwelcome guest, who manages to be just in time for dinner.
Sneeze-lurker: A thief who throws snuff in a person’s face, and then robs him.
Rumbumptious: Haughty, pugilistic.
Rusty Guts: A blunt, rough, old fellow.
Saucebox: A pert young person, in low life also signifies the mouth.
Saw Your Timber: Be off!” equivalent to “cut your stick.” Occasionally varied, with mock refinement, to “amputate your mahogany.”
Scandal-water: Tea; from old maids’ tea-parties being generally a focus for scandal.
Sit-upons: Trousers.
Smeller: The nose; “a blow on the Smeller” is often to be found in pugilistic records.
Sober-water: A jocular allusion to the uses of soda-water.
Tune the Old Cow Died of: An epithet for any ill-played or discordant piece of music.
Tuesday, 13 April 2010
The hounds of spring arrived some time ago
I always like to write about spring, and, inspired by some glorious weather, I spent some time last week assembling a little spring anthology. Then I realised that it was too late for publication; historically, spring starts on the day of the vernal equinox, which usually occurs on the night of 20/21 March. There is a school of thought which says it should be 1st March; ridiculous antipodeans have it on that date but call it the first day of autumn.
So the Other Men's Flowers Festival of Spring will have to wait until next year. Meanwhile, here is a reminder of two well-known celebrations of the season.
One version of the anonymous Spring In The Bronx goes:
Spring has sprung, the grass is ris.
I wonder where the boidies is?
Some say the boid is on the wing,
But that's absoid; the wing is on the boid.
Seven hundred and fifty years earlier W. de Wycombe (or, more likely, someone else) composed a piece of six-part polyphonic music. In the Wessex dialect of Middle English, the words are:
Sumer is ycomen in,
Loude sing cuckou!
Groweth seed and bloweth meed,
And springth the wode now.
Sing cuckou!
Ewe bleteth after lamb,
Loweth after calve cow,
Bulloc sterteth, bucke verteth,
Merye sing cuckou!
Cuckou, cuckou,
Wel singest thou cuckou:
Ne swik thou never now!
This is fairly comprehensible to us today except for the activities of the bulloc and the bucke: "sterteth", "verteth"—what are they up to? (It's a bit like Paul Jennings' fictitious proverb based on place names: Woman erith, Man morpeth.)
Apparently the line means the bullock stirs, the stag farts; the current critical consensus is that the stag is making "a gesture of virility indicating the stag's potential for creating new life, echoing the rebirth of Nature from the barren period of winter".
Oh, right.
So the Other Men's Flowers Festival of Spring will have to wait until next year. Meanwhile, here is a reminder of two well-known celebrations of the season.
One version of the anonymous Spring In The Bronx goes:
Spring has sprung, the grass is ris.
I wonder where the boidies is?
Some say the boid is on the wing,
But that's absoid; the wing is on the boid.
Seven hundred and fifty years earlier W. de Wycombe (or, more likely, someone else) composed a piece of six-part polyphonic music. In the Wessex dialect of Middle English, the words are:Sumer is ycomen in,
Loude sing cuckou!
Groweth seed and bloweth meed,
And springth the wode now.
Sing cuckou!
Ewe bleteth after lamb,
Loweth after calve cow,
Bulloc sterteth, bucke verteth,
Merye sing cuckou!
Cuckou, cuckou,
Wel singest thou cuckou:
Ne swik thou never now!
This is fairly comprehensible to us today except for the activities of the bulloc and the bucke: "sterteth", "verteth"—what are they up to? (It's a bit like Paul Jennings' fictitious proverb based on place names: Woman erith, Man morpeth.)
Apparently the line means the bullock stirs, the stag farts; the current critical consensus is that the stag is making "a gesture of virility indicating the stag's potential for creating new life, echoing the rebirth of Nature from the barren period of winter".
Oh, right.
Fantastic!
It would be interesting—well, fairly interesting—to know how many words we have in English to express approval or admiration.
One way to find out would be to look up, say, "good" in an online thesaurus or synonym dictionary, then follow the trail of all the words you get through all the other thesauruses you can find online and paste all the lists into a database. Write a few lines of code to eliminate the duplicates, then decide how far you go in excluding obscure, obsolete, slang, dialect 'gradely'), and facetious coinages ('splendiferous'), and you will finish up with a very long list. Anyone who would like to attempt this task (or has a better way of doing it) should send me his or her list, and if it has a total of two thousand or more (and I agree with the principle of the exclusions) I will send a cheque for $50 to some appropriate charity.
Some readers may ask why I am doing this.
Having obtained such a list I would present a copy of it to certain moderately well educated people of my acquaintance (no names, they know who they are) in order to shame them by pointing out that they demean themselves by the way in which they always use the same adjective when they want to tell you that they like something. With thousands to choose from, they cannot be bothered to find something fresh and really apt, so from laziness and habit out comes the same tired old word, time after time, whether they are describing the weather, a play, an ascent of Everest, a steak, a pole vault, a book, a hat, a pile ointment, a lover, or whatever....he (she, it) is (was) FANTASTIC!
Or, often, absolutely fantastic!
One way to find out would be to look up, say, "good" in an online thesaurus or synonym dictionary, then follow the trail of all the words you get through all the other thesauruses you can find online and paste all the lists into a database. Write a few lines of code to eliminate the duplicates, then decide how far you go in excluding obscure, obsolete, slang, dialect 'gradely'), and facetious coinages ('splendiferous'), and you will finish up with a very long list. Anyone who would like to attempt this task (or has a better way of doing it) should send me his or her list, and if it has a total of two thousand or more (and I agree with the principle of the exclusions) I will send a cheque for $50 to some appropriate charity.
Some readers may ask why I am doing this.
Having obtained such a list I would present a copy of it to certain moderately well educated people of my acquaintance (no names, they know who they are) in order to shame them by pointing out that they demean themselves by the way in which they always use the same adjective when they want to tell you that they like something. With thousands to choose from, they cannot be bothered to find something fresh and really apt, so from laziness and habit out comes the same tired old word, time after time, whether they are describing the weather, a play, an ascent of Everest, a steak, a pole vault, a book, a hat, a pile ointment, a lover, or whatever....he (she, it) is (was) FANTASTIC!
Or, often, absolutely fantastic!
Friday, 9 April 2010
Jackson's crazy ideas
No, not that Jackson.
When stupid, ignorant people tell you that they believe in something very silly there's no point in arguing with them; that's what stupid, ignorant people do, they believe in very silly things. What is really depressing is to discover that a person for whom one had respect or even admiration has inexplicably picked up some crackpot notion and is enthusiastically promoting it.
I sent this email about three weeks ago to the star of Women in Love, Elizabeth R, A Touch of Class and many other acclaimed films and plays:
(An open letter: to be posted on the internet early in April)
Dear Glenda Jackson
I was surprised and disappointed to find that your name appears on the list of MPs supporting David Tredinnick's Early Day Motion dissenting from to the recent Science and Technology Select Committee’s report on homeopathy. The motion calls for this quackery to be encouraged and funded by the government and the NHS.
Looking at the record of your distinguished career in Parliament I do not see that you have ever before espoused so disreputable a cause, and it is very hard to believe that you have thought seriously about what exactly it is that you are supporting, and just who it is whose ridiculous views you appear to share.
A glance at any of these webpages will perhaps give you some reasons why you should think again:
http://www.dcscience.net/?p=2829
http://www.quackometer.net/blog/2010/03/mp-david-tredinnick-is-wrong-about-the-homeopathy-report.html
http://layscience.net/node/943
http://omf.blogspot.com/2010/02/sugar-pills-and-water-on-nhs.html
I understand that you will be seeking election in the revised Hampstead constituency. I am not now a resident but I do have family, friends, and acquaintances who live there. Many of them might well be voting for you, and I will be writing to all of them before polling day making them aware of your views on this matter. However much they admire your stance on other past and current issues, it may be that they will not be at all keen to return to Westminster an MP who subscribes to these absurd and harmful superstitions.
Yours, etc.
[I don't really expect to get an any response to this. Most MPs, particularly those who are celebrities outside parliament, have no time to engage in correspondence with non-constituents, though I suppose conscientious ones might get someone to glance at their messages in case any are of interest.]
When stupid, ignorant people tell you that they believe in something very silly there's no point in arguing with them; that's what stupid, ignorant people do, they believe in very silly things. What is really depressing is to discover that a person for whom one had respect or even admiration has inexplicably picked up some crackpot notion and is enthusiastically promoting it.
I sent this email about three weeks ago to the star of Women in Love, Elizabeth R, A Touch of Class and many other acclaimed films and plays:
(An open letter: to be posted on the internet early in April)
Dear Glenda Jackson
I was surprised and disappointed to find that your name appears on the list of MPs supporting David Tredinnick's Early Day Motion dissenting from to the recent Science and Technology Select Committee’s report on homeopathy. The motion calls for this quackery to be encouraged and funded by the government and the NHS.
Looking at the record of your distinguished career in Parliament I do not see that you have ever before espoused so disreputable a cause, and it is very hard to believe that you have thought seriously about what exactly it is that you are supporting, and just who it is whose ridiculous views you appear to share.
A glance at any of these webpages will perhaps give you some reasons why you should think again:
http://www.dcscience.net/?p=2829
http://www.quackometer.net/blog/2010/03/mp-david-tredinnick-is-wrong-about-the-homeopathy-report.html
http://layscience.net/node/943
http://omf.blogspot.com/2010/02/sugar-pills-and-water-on-nhs.html
I understand that you will be seeking election in the revised Hampstead constituency. I am not now a resident but I do have family, friends, and acquaintances who live there. Many of them might well be voting for you, and I will be writing to all of them before polling day making them aware of your views on this matter. However much they admire your stance on other past and current issues, it may be that they will not be at all keen to return to Westminster an MP who subscribes to these absurd and harmful superstitions.
Yours, etc.
[I don't really expect to get an any response to this. Most MPs, particularly those who are celebrities outside parliament, have no time to engage in correspondence with non-constituents, though I suppose conscientious ones might get someone to glance at their messages in case any are of interest.]
Monday, 5 April 2010
Selection 30
More re-cycled posts from 2005:
news
The Daily Telegraph always was a rotten newspaper, but now...
personal
Offensive but fair: accurate abuse, graciously received
words
Only idiots rant
news
The Daily Telegraph always was a rotten newspaper, but now...
personal
Offensive but fair: accurate abuse, graciously received
words
Only idiots rant
Thursday, 1 April 2010
The Quiet Man
I find no mention of Julian Horsecroft in any of the news bulletins or newspapers today, and once again it looks as if the anniversary of his death will pass without any kind of acknowledgement.
This is not at all surprising and just as he would have wanted, for this man, who for all anyone knows may have been one of the greatest Englishmen of the twentieth century, contrived with extraordinary self-denying modesty throughout during his long life to keep every one of his remarkable achievements hidden not only from the general public but even from his many friends and large family, most of whom weren't at all sure who he was.
A promised biography of him was never published, and plans for a film of his life were dropped because so little was known about what he had actually done. After his death from tertiary obstrecosis of the ductal tract (in itself worthy of note: this painful disease had never been been heard of until then and is still very rare) a few facts came to light; I am recording some of them here, though it may be that not all are completely accurate.
His co-direction of Citizen Kane with Orson Welles was uncredited, as was his joint authorship with Alan Davidson of the magisterial Oxford Companion to Food, and his work on the double helix structure of the DNA molecule was not mentioned in Watson and Crick's Nobel Prize citation. The title role in the early film The Invisible Man was a natural part for him but he is said to have insisted that a young actor called Claude Rains was named as the star.
No photographs of him are known to exist, though in a group photo of the John Major cabinet and another of the board of the then Imperial Chemical Industries there is a figure in the middle row which may well have been Horsecroft, though it is difficult to be sure for in both cases the man was blowing his nose and thus obscuring his face. It was once asserted that he was sitting next-but-one to the Archbishop of Canterbury at an important ecumenical conference but no proof has ever been given that this was not someone else. What is beyond doubt is that if he had indeed been present at all these events then he must have made a contribution at the highest level to the important political, business and religious developments of the day.
He may well have been the winner of the silver medal for the pole vault at the Barcelona Olympics, but if so then in accordance with his invariable practice he was participating under an assumed name, so we cannot be certain.
He died as he had lived, virtually unknown, having achieved the total lack of recognition he sought so ardently. It can hardly be said that he is sorely missed, for no-one much ever heard of him. Following his death there was noted one final instance of his extreme shyness and reluctance to reveal himself: from that day to this his ghost has never been seen.
May he rest in peace.
This is not at all surprising and just as he would have wanted, for this man, who for all anyone knows may have been one of the greatest Englishmen of the twentieth century, contrived with extraordinary self-denying modesty throughout during his long life to keep every one of his remarkable achievements hidden not only from the general public but even from his many friends and large family, most of whom weren't at all sure who he was.A promised biography of him was never published, and plans for a film of his life were dropped because so little was known about what he had actually done. After his death from tertiary obstrecosis of the ductal tract (in itself worthy of note: this painful disease had never been been heard of until then and is still very rare) a few facts came to light; I am recording some of them here, though it may be that not all are completely accurate.
His co-direction of Citizen Kane with Orson Welles was uncredited, as was his joint authorship with Alan Davidson of the magisterial Oxford Companion to Food, and his work on the double helix structure of the DNA molecule was not mentioned in Watson and Crick's Nobel Prize citation. The title role in the early film The Invisible Man was a natural part for him but he is said to have insisted that a young actor called Claude Rains was named as the star.
No photographs of him are known to exist, though in a group photo of the John Major cabinet and another of the board of the then Imperial Chemical Industries there is a figure in the middle row which may well have been Horsecroft, though it is difficult to be sure for in both cases the man was blowing his nose and thus obscuring his face. It was once asserted that he was sitting next-but-one to the Archbishop of Canterbury at an important ecumenical conference but no proof has ever been given that this was not someone else. What is beyond doubt is that if he had indeed been present at all these events then he must have made a contribution at the highest level to the important political, business and religious developments of the day.
He may well have been the winner of the silver medal for the pole vault at the Barcelona Olympics, but if so then in accordance with his invariable practice he was participating under an assumed name, so we cannot be certain.
He died as he had lived, virtually unknown, having achieved the total lack of recognition he sought so ardently. It can hardly be said that he is sorely missed, for no-one much ever heard of him. Following his death there was noted one final instance of his extreme shyness and reluctance to reveal himself: from that day to this his ghost has never been seen.
May he rest in peace.
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