You should be pleased, I said. I made you look as though you understood the meaning right away.
What are you talking about? said Pliny.
I made it seem as though you quickly got the pun, I said.
The pun being? asked Pliny.
The pun being a Chinese sort of pun, I said. The words painted on the wall were words meaning bright, and they were on a wall in Brighton, facing out to sea.
It wasn't all that good a pun, said Pliny.
It probably was in Chinese, I said. Anyway, in the poem, you got it. I thought you were into puns?
What makes you think that? asked Pliny.
I'm reading your Natural History at the moment, I said, and just this morning you made a frivolous pun.
Remind me, said Pliny.
"Cato thought that eating hare induced sleep", I quoted, " and the man in the street believes it gives a person charm for nine days".
Oh yes, laughed Pliny. It is a frivolous pun. Of course it only works in Latin.
Yes lucky Professor Healy put in footnotes I said. Lepos means hare, lepus means charm. Was that Cato's pun or yours?
I believe it was the man in the street's, said Pliny.
Oh well, I said, you follow it up with a joke of your own. Do you remember what it is?
Yes, said Pliny, I say that a cast-off horse shoe can be a cure for hiccups, for those who remember where they have put it!
So funny, I said.
Thank you, said Pliny. I try my best.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Yang Ming at Brighton
Now I'll tell you a story, I said to Pliny. It will be in the form of a poem.
Good. I like poems, said Pliny.
You'll love this one, I said confidently, and began to recite :
YANG MING AT BRIGHTON
it was yesterday at brighton and the weather was very nice
the sun was out the sky was blue the sea was sporting stripes
of emerald and sapphire ochre aqua green and olive, and
a colour that has no more descriptive name than this one: sand
That is terrible, said Pliny.
I'm making it up as I go along, I said.
That's quite obvious, said Pliny. But go on..
i walked along the waters edge i had my camera on
and took some random photos walking rapidly along
the jetty, the palm, the yellow tent, the wall painted with words in red
i don't know what the words meant but yang ming was what they said.
This is execrable! groaned Pliny. But go on...
sadly when i got home and uploaded my photos on
to where they get uploaded i saw one of them looked wrong
the red words were unreadable, i forgot to use the zoom thing
but i remembered what they were the words were these words : yang ming
what does yang ming mean? why was it on the wall?
google has the answer, google answers all
yang means the bright side of the hill, i thought it might
mean something else but no it didn't, google would be right
and ming is a chinese name that has the meaning BRIGHT.
What a wonderful poem, said pliny, and now i see the light.
Hey! said Pliny. Leave me out of it!
Good. I like poems, said Pliny.
You'll love this one, I said confidently, and began to recite :
YANG MING AT BRIGHTON
it was yesterday at brighton and the weather was very nice
the sun was out the sky was blue the sea was sporting stripes
of emerald and sapphire ochre aqua green and olive, and
a colour that has no more descriptive name than this one: sand
That is terrible, said Pliny.
I'm making it up as I go along, I said.
That's quite obvious, said Pliny. But go on..
i walked along the waters edge i had my camera on
and took some random photos walking rapidly along
the jetty, the palm, the yellow tent, the wall painted with words in red
i don't know what the words meant but yang ming was what they said.
This is execrable! groaned Pliny. But go on...
sadly when i got home and uploaded my photos on
to where they get uploaded i saw one of them looked wrong
the red words were unreadable, i forgot to use the zoom thing
but i remembered what they were the words were these words : yang ming
what does yang ming mean? why was it on the wall?
google has the answer, google answers all
yang means the bright side of the hill, i thought it might
mean something else but no it didn't, google would be right
and ming is a chinese name that has the meaning BRIGHT.
What a wonderful poem, said pliny, and now i see the light.
Hey! said Pliny. Leave me out of it!
Saturday, February 12, 2011
The Neighbours
What do you find so shocking ? asked Pliny the Elder.
That the freshness of a fig persuaded the Roman senate to go to war, I replied. And that they didn't already know how far it was to Carthage.
Of course they knew, said Pliny. It was the Third Punic War, remember. But shipping had improved.
Oh, I see, I said. Was that why Cato was a hero of yours? Because he started the Third Punic War?
No, said Pliny, that is not the reason. He also wrote on many subjects, including agriculture, giving very sensible advice on how to choose a farm.
What was it? I asked.
Before you buy a farm, you should pay attention to the water supply, the road and the neighbour.
The neighbour? Why the neighbour?
Cato says that in a good district the people have an air of prosperity.
That's pretty obvious, I said. What else does he say?
He says that the land should be fertile and the farm buildings sound. And it is best to purchase a farm from a good owner.
Anybody could have written that, I said. I could have written that myself.
You are difficult to please, said Pliny. But here's a story that I think you'll like. A freed slave, Gaius Furius Chresimus, obtained such good returns fron his small holding that his neighbours suspected him of witchcraft.
So much for Cato's advice about neighbours, I observed.
Very amusing, said Pliny. But to continue: He had to go to court. He turned up with his well-made agricultural tools, his healthy, well-fed farm labourers and his well-fed oxen. These are my magic spells, citizens, he said, but I am unable to bring as witnesses my midnight labours, early risings and my sweat and toil. This so impressed the jury that he was acquitted by unanimous vote.
I do like it, I said.
That the freshness of a fig persuaded the Roman senate to go to war, I replied. And that they didn't already know how far it was to Carthage.
Of course they knew, said Pliny. It was the Third Punic War, remember. But shipping had improved.
Oh, I see, I said. Was that why Cato was a hero of yours? Because he started the Third Punic War?
No, said Pliny, that is not the reason. He also wrote on many subjects, including agriculture, giving very sensible advice on how to choose a farm.
What was it? I asked.
Before you buy a farm, you should pay attention to the water supply, the road and the neighbour.
The neighbour? Why the neighbour?
Cato says that in a good district the people have an air of prosperity.
That's pretty obvious, I said. What else does he say?
He says that the land should be fertile and the farm buildings sound. And it is best to purchase a farm from a good owner.
Anybody could have written that, I said. I could have written that myself.
You are difficult to please, said Pliny. But here's a story that I think you'll like. A freed slave, Gaius Furius Chresimus, obtained such good returns fron his small holding that his neighbours suspected him of witchcraft.
So much for Cato's advice about neighbours, I observed.
Very amusing, said Pliny. But to continue: He had to go to court. He turned up with his well-made agricultural tools, his healthy, well-fed farm labourers and his well-fed oxen. These are my magic spells, citizens, he said, but I am unable to bring as witnesses my midnight labours, early risings and my sweat and toil. This so impressed the jury that he was acquitted by unanimous vote.
I do like it, I said.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Blackberries and a Fig
Blackberries! said Pliny he Elder. Where did you get those?
We got them from the hills, I said. Picked only half an hour ago. They're really fresh.
That reminds me of a story, said Pliny.
Is it about blackberries? I asked.
No, he said. It's about Cato the Elder, and a fig.
I am intrigued, I said. Go on.
Cato, said Pliny, is a hero of mine. He was a soldier farmer, and he rose to become a consul, and a censor, although he was a plebeian. He represented the old Roman values of simplicity and hard work.
And cruelty, I said. I've heard of him.
Nonsense, said Pliny. He was not cruel. But he was somewhat obsessed with the necessity of destroying Carthage.
Carthago Delenda Est! I cried, happily remembering my Latin.
Yes. He used to say it at the end of every speech he made.
Like pollies do today. Stop the Boats!
Something like that. But Cato did succeed in persuading the Romans to embark upon the third Punic War. And he did it by means of a fig.
A fig?
A fig. He brought a fresh fig into the forum one day and showed it around. How old do you think this fig is? he asked. Everyone agreed it looked very fresh. It was picked two days ago, said Cato. IN CARTHAGE!
So? I said, not getting it.
So, said Pliny, That put the wind up the senators, well and truly. To think that the Carthaginians were only as far away from Rome as that! So they agreed to go to war.
Is that true? I asked.
Yes, it is recorded, said Pliny.
That's shocking on so many levels, I said.
We got them from the hills, I said. Picked only half an hour ago. They're really fresh.
That reminds me of a story, said Pliny.
Is it about blackberries? I asked.
No, he said. It's about Cato the Elder, and a fig.
I am intrigued, I said. Go on.
Cato, said Pliny, is a hero of mine. He was a soldier farmer, and he rose to become a consul, and a censor, although he was a plebeian. He represented the old Roman values of simplicity and hard work.
And cruelty, I said. I've heard of him.
Nonsense, said Pliny. He was not cruel. But he was somewhat obsessed with the necessity of destroying Carthage.
Carthago Delenda Est! I cried, happily remembering my Latin.
Yes. He used to say it at the end of every speech he made.
Like pollies do today. Stop the Boats!
Something like that. But Cato did succeed in persuading the Romans to embark upon the third Punic War. And he did it by means of a fig.
A fig?
A fig. He brought a fresh fig into the forum one day and showed it around. How old do you think this fig is? he asked. Everyone agreed it looked very fresh. It was picked two days ago, said Cato. IN CARTHAGE!
So? I said, not getting it.
So, said Pliny, That put the wind up the senators, well and truly. To think that the Carthaginians were only as far away from Rome as that! So they agreed to go to war.
Is that true? I asked.
Yes, it is recorded, said Pliny.
That's shocking on so many levels, I said.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
The Ribbon
I miss Ageless too, said Pliny. And all his little stories.
Well, we're having a break, I said firmly. If you want a little story I'll tell you one.
What is it about? he asked suspiciously.
It's about me buying a ribbon, I said.
I won't like it, said Pliny.
Wait and see. Here it is: The Ribbon. I was in Spotlight yesterday buying a ribbon. I wanted a ribbon to wear with a dress that was pink and white and grey. I looked at the ribbons. Should I buy an orange ribbon? Or a purple or a green?
Why would you buy an orange ribbon? asked Pliny. It would clash.
That is the fun of shopping for ribbons, I replied. You can dream. Anyway I chose grey ribbon. I took the roll of ribbon to the counter. There was a young man serving. He was tall and thin and wore a silver earring. I needed to ask him a question.
Excuse me I said. I want to buy enough ribbon to go around here and tie in a bow. Do you think one and a half metres would be enough?
Where was here? asked Pliny.
Under the bust line, I said primly.
Good gracious! said Pliny. Were you flirting with the young man?
Certainly not! I replied. He was half my age! I will measure it out, he said. And then you can decide. He spoke rather posh English.
He measured out a metre and a half of grey ribbon. There, he said, that's one and a half.
I think I'll have two metres, I said, to be on the safe side. If it's too long I can always cut some off.
Yes, agreed the young man. He measured out the ribbon, cut it and turned to the cash register. He keyed in some numbers. He looked confused. He asked another assistant a technical cash register question. She answered his question. He continued to key. That's one ninety five he said finally.
The ribbon was one twenty nine a metre. It should have been two sixty for two. I gave him three dollars. Several seconds elapsed. You gave me too much, he said, handing over my change.
I was about to say, didn't you give me two metres?
But I decided not to say anything, because I didn't want to embarrass him.
Is that it? asked Pliny.
Yes, I said. That's it.
That is shocking on so many levels, said Pliny.
Well, we're having a break, I said firmly. If you want a little story I'll tell you one.
What is it about? he asked suspiciously.
It's about me buying a ribbon, I said.
I won't like it, said Pliny.
Wait and see. Here it is: The Ribbon. I was in Spotlight yesterday buying a ribbon. I wanted a ribbon to wear with a dress that was pink and white and grey. I looked at the ribbons. Should I buy an orange ribbon? Or a purple or a green?
Why would you buy an orange ribbon? asked Pliny. It would clash.
That is the fun of shopping for ribbons, I replied. You can dream. Anyway I chose grey ribbon. I took the roll of ribbon to the counter. There was a young man serving. He was tall and thin and wore a silver earring. I needed to ask him a question.
Excuse me I said. I want to buy enough ribbon to go around here and tie in a bow. Do you think one and a half metres would be enough?
Where was here? asked Pliny.
Under the bust line, I said primly.
Good gracious! said Pliny. Were you flirting with the young man?
Certainly not! I replied. He was half my age! I will measure it out, he said. And then you can decide. He spoke rather posh English.
He measured out a metre and a half of grey ribbon. There, he said, that's one and a half.
I think I'll have two metres, I said, to be on the safe side. If it's too long I can always cut some off.
Yes, agreed the young man. He measured out the ribbon, cut it and turned to the cash register. He keyed in some numbers. He looked confused. He asked another assistant a technical cash register question. She answered his question. He continued to key. That's one ninety five he said finally.
The ribbon was one twenty nine a metre. It should have been two sixty for two. I gave him three dollars. Several seconds elapsed. You gave me too much, he said, handing over my change.
I was about to say, didn't you give me two metres?
But I decided not to say anything, because I didn't want to embarrass him.
Is that it? asked Pliny.
Yes, I said. That's it.
That is shocking on so many levels, said Pliny.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
That Tricky Pierre
Alas! said Pliny the Elder. Kobo is dead! She was my favorite. Why did you kill her off?
What makes you think she's dead? I asked.
It is here in black and white, said Pliny. Defunct. And she hadn't even finished Humboldt's Gift, he added.
It wasn't me who said she was dead, I replied. It was that tricky Pierre.
Oh, said Pliny. You mean...?
Think about it, Pliny. Kobo is a fossilised clam. How could she die? And you should know the dimensions of the Horrid Hole in our kitchen sink. Would Kobo fit down it? I think not.
Aha, said Pliny. Pierre was lying. Will Ageless find out?
You'll have to wait and see, I said. But I thought it was time for a break.
What about Humboldt's Gift? said Pliny. By the time we come back to these characters Kobo will be reading something else!
Are you interested? I asked. Then you're in luck because I've been reading it too.
I know that, said Pliny. But I'm sure you won't mind me saying that Kobo's opinion of the novels she reads is always far more interesting than yours.
But Kobo didn't understand it, I said. It wasn't just about the Gift. Or rather it was but the gift was more than just the film script. The gift was a lesson in what is important in life besides money. And Humboldt didn't even know he was giving that gift. That's why the book won the Pulitzer Prize. Americans are suckers for that sort of thing. Especially if it's funny at the same time.
It was funny? said Pliny. Kobo never said it was funny.
Well, there you are, I said. She can be quite thick.
What makes you think she's dead? I asked.
It is here in black and white, said Pliny. Defunct. And she hadn't even finished Humboldt's Gift, he added.
It wasn't me who said she was dead, I replied. It was that tricky Pierre.
Oh, said Pliny. You mean...?
Think about it, Pliny. Kobo is a fossilised clam. How could she die? And you should know the dimensions of the Horrid Hole in our kitchen sink. Would Kobo fit down it? I think not.
Aha, said Pliny. Pierre was lying. Will Ageless find out?
You'll have to wait and see, I said. But I thought it was time for a break.
What about Humboldt's Gift? said Pliny. By the time we come back to these characters Kobo will be reading something else!
Are you interested? I asked. Then you're in luck because I've been reading it too.
I know that, said Pliny. But I'm sure you won't mind me saying that Kobo's opinion of the novels she reads is always far more interesting than yours.
But Kobo didn't understand it, I said. It wasn't just about the Gift. Or rather it was but the gift was more than just the film script. The gift was a lesson in what is important in life besides money. And Humboldt didn't even know he was giving that gift. That's why the book won the Pulitzer Prize. Americans are suckers for that sort of thing. Especially if it's funny at the same time.
It was funny? said Pliny. Kobo never said it was funny.
Well, there you are, I said. She can be quite thick.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Truth Sets us Free
Dear Mister Ageless,
Allow me to introduce myself; we have a Mutual Friend. Our Mutual Friend is Kobo the Fossilised Clam, and I am sorry to have to tell you I have Bad News to impart.
Now I know from Kobo that you are quite Emotional, and that you and she are Fond of one another, so Brace yourself Mister Ageless, she is Dead.
Perhaps I have given you this News too Suddenly, but I think it Best to tell the Truth.
For Truth sets us Free as we learn from the Teachings of the Manifest Stone.
Let me tell you how it Happened.
I Believe you knew that Kobo and I had both ended up ( I don't mean Ended Up, for I have certainly not Ended Up) in the Metal Sink under the Window Sill. You also knew that she had arrived there as a result of ill-considered Laughing, while I myself had fallen in during a Failed Attempt to Pull her Out.
We were thus Together in the Sink.
I Prayed, as any Stone Worshipper would Pray in these Circumstances, and Kobo joined me although I must say I was unconvinced as to the Sincerity of her Prayers.
But then Something happened to her Mind, Mister Ageless, in the Sink. Without warning she dived into the Horrid Hole, which up to that moment had been the Object of our Mutual Fear. She disappeared leaving nothing but a Gaseous Drainy Smell. Not her Smell, you understand, but Air she had Displaced.
If only she had waited a Moment longer; Rescue was very Near at Hand.
The Manifest Stone answered our Prayers, ( well, mine). I was Lifted Bodily and replaced upon the Window Sill. I was placed even closer to the Manifest Stone than I had been before. This brought me Joy, Mister Agelesss! Great Joy!
But your dear Kobo is Defunct. There is no Point Trying to Find her. You should Make a New Friend. If you are Interested I would be Most Happy to enlighten you in the Revealed Teachings of the Manifest Stone. In fact you may have Lesson One right now: Life is Hard.
A Simple Lesson, Mister Ageless, but a Deep One. The Wisdom of a Stone.
Best Wishes,
Pierre ( F.)
Allow me to introduce myself; we have a Mutual Friend. Our Mutual Friend is Kobo the Fossilised Clam, and I am sorry to have to tell you I have Bad News to impart.
Now I know from Kobo that you are quite Emotional, and that you and she are Fond of one another, so Brace yourself Mister Ageless, she is Dead.
Perhaps I have given you this News too Suddenly, but I think it Best to tell the Truth.
For Truth sets us Free as we learn from the Teachings of the Manifest Stone.
Let me tell you how it Happened.
I Believe you knew that Kobo and I had both ended up ( I don't mean Ended Up, for I have certainly not Ended Up) in the Metal Sink under the Window Sill. You also knew that she had arrived there as a result of ill-considered Laughing, while I myself had fallen in during a Failed Attempt to Pull her Out.
We were thus Together in the Sink.
I Prayed, as any Stone Worshipper would Pray in these Circumstances, and Kobo joined me although I must say I was unconvinced as to the Sincerity of her Prayers.
But then Something happened to her Mind, Mister Ageless, in the Sink. Without warning she dived into the Horrid Hole, which up to that moment had been the Object of our Mutual Fear. She disappeared leaving nothing but a Gaseous Drainy Smell. Not her Smell, you understand, but Air she had Displaced.
If only she had waited a Moment longer; Rescue was very Near at Hand.
The Manifest Stone answered our Prayers, ( well, mine). I was Lifted Bodily and replaced upon the Window Sill. I was placed even closer to the Manifest Stone than I had been before. This brought me Joy, Mister Agelesss! Great Joy!
But your dear Kobo is Defunct. There is no Point Trying to Find her. You should Make a New Friend. If you are Interested I would be Most Happy to enlighten you in the Revealed Teachings of the Manifest Stone. In fact you may have Lesson One right now: Life is Hard.
A Simple Lesson, Mister Ageless, but a Deep One. The Wisdom of a Stone.
Best Wishes,
Pierre ( F.)
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