Well, no not really, I think I am writing out of boredom, or frustration or both. I have been having an interesting email correspondence on the subject of love (inter alia) and it is frustrating because it is difficult to write about these things - obviously I can and do, but I like reponse, nuance, discussion - and discussion is difficult in emails. I had a similar frustration emailing J (when we used to email each other she said with an Eyore like gloominess) because I wanted to discuss - not simply have a transfer of opinions. And you need to see people for that.
It was lovely seeing Eyvor today - proper conversation and finding lots of similarities. She's actually read Finegans Wake - Respect! Perhaps a retirement project for me (assuming I have all my brain cells left).
Cheering to note that optimistic people tend to live longer (no surprise really, but that helps) - this is one of those health facts that I am hoarding to encourage myself to live a long healthy mentally alert life. Like the one about heavy calves being an indication of broad blood vessels and less likelihood of stroke.... my mother's obesession with her delicate lower legs! And her pessimism - well, there are two aspects I don't take after her in. My father, for all his faults, is a cheery soul really and a great "encourager of the brethren". He was feeling all guilty about buying people books and tapes and urging them to listen. I just assumed it was a desire to share, but someone has suggested it might be an attention seeking device. I expect he does want to talk to people about the books etc. but I just saw it as a very commendable form of evangelising... kind, generous, so he cheered up a bit when I told him that. The great thing about my mother dying (?!!??) is the chance it has given me to appreciate Pa more and he has finally begun to respect my differences (I think) so things are less quarrelsome between us now.
Reading while dead
Tuesday, 28 June 2011
Monday, 27 June 2011
The Lost Blog
This is a blog entry that I saved somewhere: I don't know what the title is, but it was written on 1st June. Put here for historical interest.
What a very European sort of title - but I have been curiously upset today by Lloyds Bank. We have a business account, it is in M's name because he's a sole trader, and they won't speak to me about anything, because it's not my account, even though I am the signatory on the cheques...and do all the admin etc. So today when he called he wanted to transfer some money from one account to the other, and his computer interaction did not ask him for his password - so he was put through to someone who asked him security questions. If these were questions about mother's maiden name, telephone number etc. that would be fine, but they were questions about our bank accounts, none of which he knew the answer to - well, some, but apparently because I was telling him the answers it didn't count.
Eventually - on the third phone call, where the questions had become things like "What did you pay for with cheque 185?" Answer (should have been) "How the f8ck should I know?" since our current cheque book only goes up to 180 (was there a second chequebook that we have mislaid...? Or possibly a trick question?) In the end he was told he had got too many answers wrong - when obviously to get any of them right would largely prove he wasn't a fraudster... and they were concerned that someone was prompting him with the answers. Damn right I was - otherwise he wouldn't have got anything right. How can they expect a distinguished scholar and Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries to know what his overdraft limit is? Sadly, this reminded me of a conversation with my father (nearly 84) on the subject of the decline of the cheque.... "what will I do?" I explained about debit cards... he must know about these, but he cannot remember a pin number to save his life. I can still remember the fuss he made when cheque cards were introduced and no one would take a cheque without one any more. It offended his sense of gentlemanly honour - and his ability to blithely extend the overdraft.
Oh hell - it is frustrating when we are so near to leaving the bloody bank that we get all this trouble with them. M said it we weren't leaving them anyway this experience would have tipped him over the edge. I am still trying to work out how we can pay Santander two cheques from our current account that won't bounce. I suspect as soon as we transfer the money to the current account Lloyds will scoff it all into their debt payment... never mind. But I would like to pay some of the mortgage this month....
Meanwhile, the next cheque from G is due soon, and hope that that will arrive in time to put it into the new AA account. Oh this is boring stuff, but it is Quotidiana... Viv says she's starting a sort of group blog for women like us (whatever that means) - and wants me to contribute - it's meant to be about daily life... perhaps I can just link people through to this one... don't think I have the energy for two blogs.
Meanwhile, I am getting closer to doing the tax return for last year - really very exciting!
I am wondering whether we have reached rock bottom yet - or whether the worst is still to come. My normal insouciant nature says that making the decision to do it was the crisis - everything will now be easier, since I know roughly what I'm doing and why I'm doing it. However, the continuous ebb and flow of good and bad news make us continuously uneasy. One moment people want work from us, then they say nothing... so a nice little local job just disappears... the offer of a cash in hand job never materialises. Can't bear to look into the abyss and see disaster - but let's face it, nothing is working brilliantly well at the moment. M does have a good deal of work - but a lot of the more tentative stuff has vanished - apparently for good?
What a very European sort of title - but I have been curiously upset today by Lloyds Bank. We have a business account, it is in M's name because he's a sole trader, and they won't speak to me about anything, because it's not my account, even though I am the signatory on the cheques...and do all the admin etc. So today when he called he wanted to transfer some money from one account to the other, and his computer interaction did not ask him for his password - so he was put through to someone who asked him security questions. If these were questions about mother's maiden name, telephone number etc. that would be fine, but they were questions about our bank accounts, none of which he knew the answer to - well, some, but apparently because I was telling him the answers it didn't count.
Eventually - on the third phone call, where the questions had become things like "What did you pay for with cheque 185?" Answer (should have been) "How the f8ck should I know?" since our current cheque book only goes up to 180 (was there a second chequebook that we have mislaid...? Or possibly a trick question?) In the end he was told he had got too many answers wrong - when obviously to get any of them right would largely prove he wasn't a fraudster... and they were concerned that someone was prompting him with the answers. Damn right I was - otherwise he wouldn't have got anything right. How can they expect a distinguished scholar and Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries to know what his overdraft limit is? Sadly, this reminded me of a conversation with my father (nearly 84) on the subject of the decline of the cheque.... "what will I do?" I explained about debit cards... he must know about these, but he cannot remember a pin number to save his life. I can still remember the fuss he made when cheque cards were introduced and no one would take a cheque without one any more. It offended his sense of gentlemanly honour - and his ability to blithely extend the overdraft.
Oh hell - it is frustrating when we are so near to leaving the bloody bank that we get all this trouble with them. M said it we weren't leaving them anyway this experience would have tipped him over the edge. I am still trying to work out how we can pay Santander two cheques from our current account that won't bounce. I suspect as soon as we transfer the money to the current account Lloyds will scoff it all into their debt payment... never mind. But I would like to pay some of the mortgage this month....
Meanwhile, the next cheque from G is due soon, and hope that that will arrive in time to put it into the new AA account. Oh this is boring stuff, but it is Quotidiana... Viv says she's starting a sort of group blog for women like us (whatever that means) - and wants me to contribute - it's meant to be about daily life... perhaps I can just link people through to this one... don't think I have the energy for two blogs.
Meanwhile, I am getting closer to doing the tax return for last year - really very exciting!
I am wondering whether we have reached rock bottom yet - or whether the worst is still to come. My normal insouciant nature says that making the decision to do it was the crisis - everything will now be easier, since I know roughly what I'm doing and why I'm doing it. However, the continuous ebb and flow of good and bad news make us continuously uneasy. One moment people want work from us, then they say nothing... so a nice little local job just disappears... the offer of a cash in hand job never materialises. Can't bear to look into the abyss and see disaster - but let's face it, nothing is working brilliantly well at the moment. M does have a good deal of work - but a lot of the more tentative stuff has vanished - apparently for good?
Sunday, 26 June 2011
Pictures
Sur la Plage
Mark and I walked down to the beach with Ned. We could see little scraps of cloud/fog wrapping themselves around some of the taller buildings, occasionally hiding church towers and the Granville Hotel from view. At the beach we could see a long strand of grey fog stream in over the east side of the town. We settled on the top of the ridge where the beach slopes down sharply. The tide was already a long way out, we got undressed and went immediately into the sea. It was cold but, it was after all nearly the earliest I have ever swum (the earliest was off Brighton with James - about 30 years ago on 21st June). Most unusually I was the first person under the water. We had a lovely swim for about half an hour. I went back first, and managed to break the ambre solaire bottle while trying to squeeze the viscous stuff out. We therefore covered ourselves liberally with it, and then became coated with sand.
We ate tomato foccacia and olives and drank rose, and tried to read. Then the fog drifted over us - it was strange, the sun was visible but it became chillier - there was a breeze which there hadn't been before - and it was grey. I was reading A Single Summer with Lord B by Derek Marlowe, but I dozed off - fatal! Then I woke up - and it was hot and sunny and windless and I felt burnt - I probably only snoozed for about 20 minutes. Ned decided to leave. Five minutes later Finn rang to say he was coming to join us. A few minutes after he joined us Ned rang furiously to say that he was locked out. Fortunately the back door was unlocked, so we recommended that, and went for a second swim.
Such was the density and tack-power of the ambre solaire that despite a bit of buffetting by the waves, the second swim did not remove the carapace of sand on my back. We left the beach and went to see Bella and had a coffee with her, some others came past.... so we chatted. Mark went to get the car because Finn had hurt his foot - nasty blister on the heel. Finn and I sat on some benches near the fish stall and the Channel Dash memorial - and it was thoroughly agreeable. Sometimes days can just be some pleasant and cheerful.
When we got home had a lovely bath and made supper - stew followed by frangipane tart (there was pastry in the fridge already - which I made a few days ago) and the frangipane is very easy. "I would have preferred a different jam" Ned said - I used homemade mirabelle jam. Next week I might make a crostata della nonna with jam - and I really must go and buy some strawberries for jam. The only blight on today is the sun burn - Ambre Solaire may be a great glue, but factor 8 isn't much use against the burning English sun!
We ate tomato foccacia and olives and drank rose, and tried to read. Then the fog drifted over us - it was strange, the sun was visible but it became chillier - there was a breeze which there hadn't been before - and it was grey. I was reading A Single Summer with Lord B by Derek Marlowe, but I dozed off - fatal! Then I woke up - and it was hot and sunny and windless and I felt burnt - I probably only snoozed for about 20 minutes. Ned decided to leave. Five minutes later Finn rang to say he was coming to join us. A few minutes after he joined us Ned rang furiously to say that he was locked out. Fortunately the back door was unlocked, so we recommended that, and went for a second swim.
Such was the density and tack-power of the ambre solaire that despite a bit of buffetting by the waves, the second swim did not remove the carapace of sand on my back. We left the beach and went to see Bella and had a coffee with her, some others came past.... so we chatted. Mark went to get the car because Finn had hurt his foot - nasty blister on the heel. Finn and I sat on some benches near the fish stall and the Channel Dash memorial - and it was thoroughly agreeable. Sometimes days can just be some pleasant and cheerful.
When we got home had a lovely bath and made supper - stew followed by frangipane tart (there was pastry in the fridge already - which I made a few days ago) and the frangipane is very easy. "I would have preferred a different jam" Ned said - I used homemade mirabelle jam. Next week I might make a crostata della nonna with jam - and I really must go and buy some strawberries for jam. The only blight on today is the sun burn - Ambre Solaire may be a great glue, but factor 8 isn't much use against the burning English sun!
7 Deadly Sins
I was thinking about Pride - and it occurred to me that the chief victim of one's pride is oneself, it is pride that prevents us from admitting difficult truths about ourselves or our situations and as a result one is unable to act correctly, and may thus make ourselves unhappier, and indeed make others unhappier as well.
What occurred to me though is that the chief victim of the 7 deadly sins is usually the person committing the sin, other people maybe victims - but the damage being done is to that person committing the sin and their relationships with others and primarily (from a Christian perspective) with God. But taking God as read, examining what happens when one commits these sins, one sees that they are chiefly sins against oneself, although of course others get caught in the cross fire.
Actually, that's what I want to prove, but I haven't thought this through - so first, perhaps, I can see if I can remember them.
Pride, Sloth/accidia, Wrath, Gluttony, Lust, Avarice, Envy, (ok, I had to be reminded by Wikipedia - curiously I always forget Gluttony!)
According to Wikipedia these were originally called the capital sins, from caput - and were the cause of other sinse. But I think the head bit could be seen differently - they are all things that originate in our heads/minds - and their initial impact is on us - our identity, the way we relate to other people. They do of course result in impacts on others: Wrath for example, could lead to murder (as could avarice, lust, envy, pride - though probably not sloth - unless killing a wealthy relative for gain would be easier than going out to work. I suppose conceivably Gluttony could lead to murder - but is perhaps less likely.
Actually, any of these sins could be outwardly manifested in various ways. I am not feeling up to further discussion on this at present. But I think I may return to the topic.
What occurred to me though is that the chief victim of the 7 deadly sins is usually the person committing the sin, other people maybe victims - but the damage being done is to that person committing the sin and their relationships with others and primarily (from a Christian perspective) with God. But taking God as read, examining what happens when one commits these sins, one sees that they are chiefly sins against oneself, although of course others get caught in the cross fire.
Actually, that's what I want to prove, but I haven't thought this through - so first, perhaps, I can see if I can remember them.
Pride, Sloth/accidia, Wrath, Gluttony, Lust, Avarice, Envy, (ok, I had to be reminded by Wikipedia - curiously I always forget Gluttony!)
According to Wikipedia these were originally called the capital sins, from caput - and were the cause of other sinse. But I think the head bit could be seen differently - they are all things that originate in our heads/minds - and their initial impact is on us - our identity, the way we relate to other people. They do of course result in impacts on others: Wrath for example, could lead to murder (as could avarice, lust, envy, pride - though probably not sloth - unless killing a wealthy relative for gain would be easier than going out to work. I suppose conceivably Gluttony could lead to murder - but is perhaps less likely.
Actually, any of these sins could be outwardly manifested in various ways. I am not feeling up to further discussion on this at present. But I think I may return to the topic.
Literature? Illiterature?
Hmm. This is another snotty entry about other people's blogs. Recently the random blog selection thing has been linking me to blogs about books. I should be thrilled, but I am mystified by the book lists. They are of course American - and therefore inevitably contain details of many writers I have never heard of. Curiously these are balanced with extremely high-minded, impenetrable blogs which are written in a quasi-structuralist lingo which is largely impenetrable and is probably, at bottom, not saying very much of interest. I know that sound arrogant, but over the years when I have managed to penetrate the meanings of structuralist writing I have found that it is usually stating the bleeding obvious anyway. So the language isn't there to illuminate, or elucidate, but merely to conceal - first from the profani, and secondly to hide the author's unoriginal ruminations. And that's a shame really, because it means, like management speak, it is a weapon in a not very interesting struggle between colleagues - who uses the hottest technical jargon = who gets to crow on top of the dungheap.
But I digress - the blog I looked at was called Lost in Literature - the lady concerned had read about 4 books this year (so lost in each one she couldn't get out?) and it made me wonder what the definition of literature was - really, it is just reading material I suppose, as in "Would you like some literature on our automatic potato peeler?" In that context I suppose glamour novels, and chick lit with a bit of a supernatural spin rates quite highly as literature.
So where did the idea come from the "Literature" was proper writing - and how can these two ideas be accommodated? A literary novel isn't remotely related to washing machine instructions after all. Perhaps readibility is the criterion... and many washing machine instructions used not to be readable - having apparently been translated from German to Japanese to Serbo - Croat to English, with much damage to clarity in the process. And Finegans Wake is apparently unreadable (mind you some idiots believe Ulysses to be unreadable - which makes one wonder if they really know how to read (don't ask me - I love the book, but I'm no expert on how to read)).
So literature doesn't in practice have to be readable... so maybe we should change it's name - to? Er, scripture? Because the common feature is that the stuff is written down, and readability is not claimed for it.
What else is unreadable? This is a subjective matter - I may find things unreadable which other people enjoy tremendously, I cannot really understand writing on linguistics or electronics. I didn't find A Brief History of Time unreadable exactly, but one needs to hold on tight and keep reading (and I didn't, so I didn't finish it). I ought to compile a list of illiterature!
But I digress - the blog I looked at was called Lost in Literature - the lady concerned had read about 4 books this year (so lost in each one she couldn't get out?) and it made me wonder what the definition of literature was - really, it is just reading material I suppose, as in "Would you like some literature on our automatic potato peeler?" In that context I suppose glamour novels, and chick lit with a bit of a supernatural spin rates quite highly as literature.
So where did the idea come from the "Literature" was proper writing - and how can these two ideas be accommodated? A literary novel isn't remotely related to washing machine instructions after all. Perhaps readibility is the criterion... and many washing machine instructions used not to be readable - having apparently been translated from German to Japanese to Serbo - Croat to English, with much damage to clarity in the process. And Finegans Wake is apparently unreadable (mind you some idiots believe Ulysses to be unreadable - which makes one wonder if they really know how to read (don't ask me - I love the book, but I'm no expert on how to read)).
So literature doesn't in practice have to be readable... so maybe we should change it's name - to? Er, scripture? Because the common feature is that the stuff is written down, and readability is not claimed for it.
What else is unreadable? This is a subjective matter - I may find things unreadable which other people enjoy tremendously, I cannot really understand writing on linguistics or electronics. I didn't find A Brief History of Time unreadable exactly, but one needs to hold on tight and keep reading (and I didn't, so I didn't finish it). I ought to compile a list of illiterature!
Diamonds
I am so glad I woke up early this morning - there was a half hour radio programme on the history/symbolism of diamonds - the final piece of information was a report from NASA about a massive diamond 50 light years away from us in the Centauri area... it was the remains of a white dwarf - a huge diamond, just "hanging" in the sky - the carbon remains of a sun(?). This is apparently what will happen to us - to our sun, that whatever happens to humanity on this planet, there will be a diamond in the sky eventually, marking that we were once here. And that diamond - does that mark the site of a whole solar system with planets? Maybe, maybe not.
The historian in me loves the idea that our solar system will still have a marker - even if it tells very little more than that a sun was once there - and has no information about the activities of the carbon-based lifeforms that depended on it. And the idea that when (if) the universe's stars all go out there will be - what? A great void studded with diamonds. It makes me curiously happy.
The historian in me loves the idea that our solar system will still have a marker - even if it tells very little more than that a sun was once there - and has no information about the activities of the carbon-based lifeforms that depended on it. And the idea that when (if) the universe's stars all go out there will be - what? A great void studded with diamonds. It makes me curiously happy.
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