It is Sunday night. Le Bon David and the VeloDrone are walking down North Terrace admiring the Northern Lights. All the grand public buildings are lit up in a magical fashion, and look like story book illustrations.
Ooh, says the VeloDrone. I like that one. See the little gnome!
Vello, that is kitsch. I'm surprised at you! says Le Bon David. Now this one is much better. See, the Museum is covered in grapes.
Yes that is more classy, agrees The VeloDrone. Brrr. I'm cold. What's happened to the hot weather? A-choo!
Come on Vello! I want to see the Artists' Bar and the Spiegeltent down by the Torrens. Stop sneezing!
I can't help it. I think I'm coming down with something.
They cross King William Street, and stop to admire Parliament House which is, inexplicably, lit only at the back, and the Festival Theatre, where it appears to be interval for Le Grand Macabre. At last they reach Elder Park.
There it is, down by the river, says Le Bon David. Look at all those screens.
A-choo! says Vello, buttoning his coat. There's too much water and too much wind. Let's go home.
No, says Le Bon David. I want to go up on that jetty.
They walk out onto the jetty. They look down over the sides of the jetty and see people sitting in wobbly boats on the grass, near a fence made of illuminated bicycles. The people are few. The people look cold. At one end of the grassed enclosure is the Spiegeltent. Sounds of gaiety are coming from the under the closed doors.
We can't go in. says The VeloDrone, it's full. So let's go home.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Birthday Card.
The VeloDrone was happy with the way his sketch had turned out. He reached for his coloured pencils. What colours made up the sea today? Blue, green and grey, the colours of a Queensland Blue pumpkin. He knew that because he had recently seen a Queensland Blue pumpkin.
He looked again at the sea. Suddenly he froze. Could it be, surely not, that woman again? She was walking along the shore with the same man she'd sat next to at the Bakehouse Theatre, and she was looking at the pieces of coconut.
She was not as interested in the coconut as she seemed. She was thinking of pumpkins. The sea is the colour of a Queensland Blue pumpkin, she thought. The ripples on the sand are like bumps on a pumpkin skin. She too, that morning, had reached for her coloured pencils. She too had chosen blue, green and grey, although not in that order. She had been colouring eight tiny pumpkins that she had drawn with a ballpoint pen and cut out with awkward large scissors one at a time to stick inside a birthday card she had made for her mother.
He looked again at the sea. Suddenly he froze. Could it be, surely not, that woman again? She was walking along the shore with the same man she'd sat next to at the Bakehouse Theatre, and she was looking at the pieces of coconut.
She was not as interested in the coconut as she seemed. She was thinking of pumpkins. The sea is the colour of a Queensland Blue pumpkin, she thought. The ripples on the sand are like bumps on a pumpkin skin. She too, that morning, had reached for her coloured pencils. She too had chosen blue, green and grey, although not in that order. She had been colouring eight tiny pumpkins that she had drawn with a ballpoint pen and cut out with awkward large scissors one at a time to stick inside a birthday card she had made for her mother.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Day Off
Le Bon David and the VeloDrone have the day off. They decide to cycle down to Henley Beach and relax in the sun. Leaving their bicycles under a pine tree, they struggle through the soft sand with all their things.
Le Bon David: Phew! Why did we bring all these things?
The VeloDrone: Umbrella, towels, books, sketch pad, pencils, bottles of water, coconut, sun cream, hats. We'll need them all.
They set up their umbrella, spread out the towels, and sit down. Le Bon David begins to read. The VeloDrone starts sketching.
He sketches the horizon. It is very flat. He draws some waves. They are of medium size, perhaps even small. He draws the ripples in the sands and the glittering shallow pools and a seagull. He rubs out the seagull. Lucky I brought my rubber, he thinks.
But now there is a smudge on the page. I need to draw something else in that spot, he thinks. But unfortunately there isn't anything there. He looks at his friend for inspiration.
Le Bon David is happily munching on a large chunk of coconut, while turning the pages of his novel, The Mandarins, by Simone de Beauvoir. He is chuckling.
What's so funny? asks The VeloDrone.
Hee hee, says Le Bon David. Jean Paul Sartre is in it.
What a laugh, says The VeloDrone, grabbing at the book. Let me see!
No, I'm reading it, protests Le Bon David, but too late. The VeloDrone has run off down the beach with The Mandarins.
Vello! Bring back that book! calls David, chucking the large piece of coconut at his friend, followed by several more.
Eventually The VeloDrone tires of his game, and of being bruised by large chunks of coconut. He skips back to the umbrella, and returns the book to his friend.
Ugh! It's all wet! says Le Bon David. I hope you're satisfied.
He looks sternly at The VeloDrone, who has already forgotten all about him. He is happily drawing coconut chunks over his smudge.
Le Bon David: Phew! Why did we bring all these things?
The VeloDrone: Umbrella, towels, books, sketch pad, pencils, bottles of water, coconut, sun cream, hats. We'll need them all.
They set up their umbrella, spread out the towels, and sit down. Le Bon David begins to read. The VeloDrone starts sketching.
He sketches the horizon. It is very flat. He draws some waves. They are of medium size, perhaps even small. He draws the ripples in the sands and the glittering shallow pools and a seagull. He rubs out the seagull. Lucky I brought my rubber, he thinks.
But now there is a smudge on the page. I need to draw something else in that spot, he thinks. But unfortunately there isn't anything there. He looks at his friend for inspiration.
Le Bon David is happily munching on a large chunk of coconut, while turning the pages of his novel, The Mandarins, by Simone de Beauvoir. He is chuckling.
What's so funny? asks The VeloDrone.
Hee hee, says Le Bon David. Jean Paul Sartre is in it.
What a laugh, says The VeloDrone, grabbing at the book. Let me see!
No, I'm reading it, protests Le Bon David, but too late. The VeloDrone has run off down the beach with The Mandarins.
Vello! Bring back that book! calls David, chucking the large piece of coconut at his friend, followed by several more.
Eventually The VeloDrone tires of his game, and of being bruised by large chunks of coconut. He skips back to the umbrella, and returns the book to his friend.
Ugh! It's all wet! says Le Bon David. I hope you're satisfied.
He looks sternly at The VeloDrone, who has already forgotten all about him. He is happily drawing coconut chunks over his smudge.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Chronic Ills
What's the matter? asked Le Bon David, seeing his friend doubled over in pain.
Those damned seats at the Bakehouse Theatre, groaned the VeloDrone. There was a crucial piece missing from mine.
Dear me, said Le Bon David. That must have detracted from the performance. What did you see?
The Chronic Ills of Robert Zimmerman AKA Bob Dylan - A Lie, said The VeloDrone.
Good heavens, what a title! said Le Bon David. And did you manage to enjoy it?
Let me just say that it was undoubtedly brilliant, replied The VeloDrone, and that I nevertheless failed to enjoy it. Would you like to hear my review?
Certainly, said Le Bon David.
The VeloDrone began to read:
This show, presented at the Bakehouse Theatre by the Tamarama Rock Surfers, was a sellout show in Sydney. An absurdo-surrealist rhythmic re-imagining of the life and weird times of folk-rock icon Bob Dylan, it's a not to be missed musical adventure full of legend, myth, bible, ghosts, Koran, chaos, watermelons, everything......
Tell me if I'm wrong, said Le Bon David, but haven't you lifted that directly from the program notes?
What if I have? said The VeloDrone crossly. I know nothing about Bob Dylan, or Robert Zimmerman. My seat was uncomfortable. Furthermore, I was distracted by the woman I was sitting next to. I believe she's been stalking me.
Stalking you! So you'd seen her before?
Yes. Remember me telling you about the Broadway Kiosk yesterday? Those three women?
The three generations? Yes I remember. You said one of them kept looking at you so you hid behind a newspaper. Was it her?
I think so.
Fear not my friend. I've heard it happens all the time in Adelaide.
Stalking?
No, no. Bumping into the same people repeatedly.
Those damned seats at the Bakehouse Theatre, groaned the VeloDrone. There was a crucial piece missing from mine.
Dear me, said Le Bon David. That must have detracted from the performance. What did you see?
The Chronic Ills of Robert Zimmerman AKA Bob Dylan - A Lie, said The VeloDrone.
Good heavens, what a title! said Le Bon David. And did you manage to enjoy it?
Let me just say that it was undoubtedly brilliant, replied The VeloDrone, and that I nevertheless failed to enjoy it. Would you like to hear my review?
Certainly, said Le Bon David.
The VeloDrone began to read:
This show, presented at the Bakehouse Theatre by the Tamarama Rock Surfers, was a sellout show in Sydney. An absurdo-surrealist rhythmic re-imagining of the life and weird times of folk-rock icon Bob Dylan, it's a not to be missed musical adventure full of legend, myth, bible, ghosts, Koran, chaos, watermelons, everything......
Tell me if I'm wrong, said Le Bon David, but haven't you lifted that directly from the program notes?
What if I have? said The VeloDrone crossly. I know nothing about Bob Dylan, or Robert Zimmerman. My seat was uncomfortable. Furthermore, I was distracted by the woman I was sitting next to. I believe she's been stalking me.
Stalking you! So you'd seen her before?
Yes. Remember me telling you about the Broadway Kiosk yesterday? Those three women?
The three generations? Yes I remember. You said one of them kept looking at you so you hid behind a newspaper. Was it her?
I think so.
Fear not my friend. I've heard it happens all the time in Adelaide.
Stalking?
No, no. Bumping into the same people repeatedly.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
You Australians
The VeloDrone, intrigued by his colleague's depiction of Australians, decided to take the day off, and observe them for himself.
He bicycled down to the Broadway Kiosk and sat under an umbrella drinking iced coffee, reading a newspaper and enjoying the view of the sea.
There were three women at the next table, also under an umbrella. They appeared to be three generations of the same family. The daughter had arrived on a bicycle, the mother and grandmother had got out of a car.
They were talking about politics in an animated manner. How interesting! thought the VeloDrone, they are talking about politics! He returned to his newspaper.
Now the women were eating. The grandmother was eating a pumpkin salad, the mother a Mediterranean doorstop and the daughter a warm chicken salad. They were drinking iced coffee and iced chocolate, through blue plastic straws. That too is interesting, thought The VeloDrone.
They began to speak of the great grandmother, who had died many years ago. How did she die? asked the daughter. She had been shopping with me, said the grandmother. She had bought an entire new outfit, a jacket, skirt, a hat and some shoes, She was very pleased with them. I dropped her off at her flat and then went home myself. Minutes later I had a phone call from my father to say that she had gone upstairs to visit a neighbour, sat down in a chair and died. There was a silence. That was a good way to go, said the mother. Yes, the other two agreed. There was another silence. What did you do with the clothes? asked the daughter.
The VeloDrone wished he were sitting a little further away, in case they noticed his expression, but they did not. I kept them for a long time, said the grandmother, but they weren't really my sort of clothes. Eventually I must have got rid of them.
At last the three women got up to go. The VeloDrone buried his nose in his newspaper as they passed his table. Had he learned anything about Australians, or not? He wasn't even sure they were proper Australians. He resolved not to jump to conclusions.
He bicycled down to the Broadway Kiosk and sat under an umbrella drinking iced coffee, reading a newspaper and enjoying the view of the sea.
There were three women at the next table, also under an umbrella. They appeared to be three generations of the same family. The daughter had arrived on a bicycle, the mother and grandmother had got out of a car.
They were talking about politics in an animated manner. How interesting! thought the VeloDrone, they are talking about politics! He returned to his newspaper.
Now the women were eating. The grandmother was eating a pumpkin salad, the mother a Mediterranean doorstop and the daughter a warm chicken salad. They were drinking iced coffee and iced chocolate, through blue plastic straws. That too is interesting, thought The VeloDrone.
They began to speak of the great grandmother, who had died many years ago. How did she die? asked the daughter. She had been shopping with me, said the grandmother. She had bought an entire new outfit, a jacket, skirt, a hat and some shoes, She was very pleased with them. I dropped her off at her flat and then went home myself. Minutes later I had a phone call from my father to say that she had gone upstairs to visit a neighbour, sat down in a chair and died. There was a silence. That was a good way to go, said the mother. Yes, the other two agreed. There was another silence. What did you do with the clothes? asked the daughter.
The VeloDrone wished he were sitting a little further away, in case they noticed his expression, but they did not. I kept them for a long time, said the grandmother, but they weren't really my sort of clothes. Eventually I must have got rid of them.
At last the three women got up to go. The VeloDrone buried his nose in his newspaper as they passed his table. Had he learned anything about Australians, or not? He wasn't even sure they were proper Australians. He resolved not to jump to conclusions.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Creepy Way
How was it? asked the VeloDrone next morning. Did you enjoy the show?
Yes, strangely enough, said Le Bon David. I found myself laughing although I know very few Australians. In fact I learned several interesting facts about them. One being that they like to add an O to the shortened form of a name. You for instance would be nicknamed Vello, and I would be known as Davo.
The VeloDrone was entranced. Vello and Davo! I like it. And how is your review coming along, Davo?
Hmm, said Davo. Give us a mo.
A mo?
A moment, Vello, a moment.
Ten minutes elapsed, then Davo cleared his throat and read aloud:
The Beer Garden of The Electric Light Hotel is a fine setting for a show called "I've Been Watching You Australians - But Not in a Creepy Way." As a night breeze ruffled the leaves of a giant creeper behind the makeshift stage, an audience of Australians watched each other react as English comedian Mark Butler told them truths about themselves. But perhaps they did not realise what he was about. Perhaps it takes a Scottish philosopher to ferret out the underlying plan. For Mark Butler's plan was to end the evening by turning the audience into Creeps, and his master stroke was that none of them would realise what he had done. I do not intend to reveal how he accomplished this. Suffice to say it involved a video camera, a young woman who was not there and an audience poll to determine if they thought it was fair to expose her on Facebook.
Recommended. Three and a half stars.
He stopped. Vello looked solemn. So they voted to expose the young woman? he asked.
All but one, said Davo.
That was you, said Vello.
No, said Davo, shamefaced. It wasn't.
Yes, strangely enough, said Le Bon David. I found myself laughing although I know very few Australians. In fact I learned several interesting facts about them. One being that they like to add an O to the shortened form of a name. You for instance would be nicknamed Vello, and I would be known as Davo.
The VeloDrone was entranced. Vello and Davo! I like it. And how is your review coming along, Davo?
Hmm, said Davo. Give us a mo.
A mo?
A moment, Vello, a moment.
Ten minutes elapsed, then Davo cleared his throat and read aloud:
The Beer Garden of The Electric Light Hotel is a fine setting for a show called "I've Been Watching You Australians - But Not in a Creepy Way." As a night breeze ruffled the leaves of a giant creeper behind the makeshift stage, an audience of Australians watched each other react as English comedian Mark Butler told them truths about themselves. But perhaps they did not realise what he was about. Perhaps it takes a Scottish philosopher to ferret out the underlying plan. For Mark Butler's plan was to end the evening by turning the audience into Creeps, and his master stroke was that none of them would realise what he had done. I do not intend to reveal how he accomplished this. Suffice to say it involved a video camera, a young woman who was not there and an audience poll to determine if they thought it was fair to expose her on Facebook.
Recommended. Three and a half stars.
He stopped. Vello looked solemn. So they voted to expose the young woman? he asked.
All but one, said Davo.
That was you, said Vello.
No, said Davo, shamefaced. It wasn't.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Two and a Half Stars
It's your turn tonight, said the VeloDrone, bunny-hopping to a stop in front of his friend.
My turn for what? asked Le Bon David.
To go to a show and write the review, said the VeloDrone, grinning.
Why are you grinning like that? said Le Bon David sharply.
Because I'm glad that it's you and not me.
What is it? asked Le Bon David, shuffling through his handful of free tickets. Aha. "I've Been Watching You Australians - But Not in a Creepy Way." Good gracious! How will I know if it's funny?
You'll just have to watch the audience, David, but not in a creepy way.
Oh, it'll be fine, said Le Bon David. I can write a review with my eyes shut. Have you seen this review of our show, by the way?
He waved a newspaper in front of The VeloDrone's face. The VeloDrone grabbed it and began to read:
This somewhat eclectic show, performed by two of the most famous philosophers of the Enlightenment, seems to have been put together in a hurry. They attempt some very difficult tricks on their bicycles and occasionally topple over. This is a mixed blessing for the audience, who have as much trouble keeping up with the philosophical patter as they have keeping up with the bicycles. The impressions are the highlight of the show. David Hume's portly frame makes him an ideal Lou Costello and and even more believable Oliver Hardy. Voltaire needs to work harder on his Bud Abbott and Stan Laurel to overcome the fact that he looks nothing like either of them. Two and a half stars.
Two and a half stars! spluttered The VeloDrone. Outrageous! And they liked you better than me, simply because you are fat!
Steady on, my friend! said Le Bon David. They didn't like either of us very much. It seems we need to work harder on our act.
True, agreed The VeloDrone. We are philosophers, after all. We should take this with our usual equanimity. We must practice harder. I shall buy myself a Stan Laurel hat in order to look more like him.
Well said, smiled Le Bon David. And I shall earn us the money for the hat by writing the next review.
My turn for what? asked Le Bon David.
To go to a show and write the review, said the VeloDrone, grinning.
Why are you grinning like that? said Le Bon David sharply.
Because I'm glad that it's you and not me.
What is it? asked Le Bon David, shuffling through his handful of free tickets. Aha. "I've Been Watching You Australians - But Not in a Creepy Way." Good gracious! How will I know if it's funny?
You'll just have to watch the audience, David, but not in a creepy way.
Oh, it'll be fine, said Le Bon David. I can write a review with my eyes shut. Have you seen this review of our show, by the way?
He waved a newspaper in front of The VeloDrone's face. The VeloDrone grabbed it and began to read:
This somewhat eclectic show, performed by two of the most famous philosophers of the Enlightenment, seems to have been put together in a hurry. They attempt some very difficult tricks on their bicycles and occasionally topple over. This is a mixed blessing for the audience, who have as much trouble keeping up with the philosophical patter as they have keeping up with the bicycles. The impressions are the highlight of the show. David Hume's portly frame makes him an ideal Lou Costello and and even more believable Oliver Hardy. Voltaire needs to work harder on his Bud Abbott and Stan Laurel to overcome the fact that he looks nothing like either of them. Two and a half stars.
Two and a half stars! spluttered The VeloDrone. Outrageous! And they liked you better than me, simply because you are fat!
Steady on, my friend! said Le Bon David. They didn't like either of us very much. It seems we need to work harder on our act.
True, agreed The VeloDrone. We are philosophers, after all. We should take this with our usual equanimity. We must practice harder. I shall buy myself a Stan Laurel hat in order to look more like him.
Well said, smiled Le Bon David. And I shall earn us the money for the hat by writing the next review.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
A Wonderful Impression
The VeloDrone is chewing his pen. Le Bon David looks over his shoulder at a blank piece of paper .
Is this your review of Control-Alt-Delete? he asks.
Yes, says the VeloDrone. I knew you should have been the one to go to it. I'm not into computers.
But it said in the program 'geeks and non geeks will love it!'
I'm not saying I didn't like it, says the VeloDrone.
You're not saying anything, observes Le Bon David. How do you think we're going to earn any money if you can't even write a simple review of a show that you liked.
The VeloDrone begins to write furiously. After several minutes he thrusts the paper at his colleague. Le Bon David reads it aloud:
It was hot downstairs at The Bull and Bear in the comedy room. The bar was air conditioned but this little room was not. Nevertheless Dan Willis soon had the crowd laughing at his geeky computer jokes. I was sitting in the front row. He asked me what my job was. I don't know why I told him I was a debt collector. He thought that was extremely funny. After that I couldn't concentrate. I do remember one joke that I didn't get because it was in binary. And another one that I think I did get, but is far too rude to mention.
A debt collector! says Le Bon David. Nice touch. There, that wasn't so hard was it?
What? says The VeloDrone. You don't mean to say you think that it's alright.?
Of course it is, says Le Bon David. I think it gives a wonderful impression.
Is this your review of Control-Alt-Delete? he asks.
Yes, says the VeloDrone. I knew you should have been the one to go to it. I'm not into computers.
But it said in the program 'geeks and non geeks will love it!'
I'm not saying I didn't like it, says the VeloDrone.
You're not saying anything, observes Le Bon David. How do you think we're going to earn any money if you can't even write a simple review of a show that you liked.
The VeloDrone begins to write furiously. After several minutes he thrusts the paper at his colleague. Le Bon David reads it aloud:
It was hot downstairs at The Bull and Bear in the comedy room. The bar was air conditioned but this little room was not. Nevertheless Dan Willis soon had the crowd laughing at his geeky computer jokes. I was sitting in the front row. He asked me what my job was. I don't know why I told him I was a debt collector. He thought that was extremely funny. After that I couldn't concentrate. I do remember one joke that I didn't get because it was in binary. And another one that I think I did get, but is far too rude to mention.
A debt collector! says Le Bon David. Nice touch. There, that wasn't so hard was it?
What? says The VeloDrone. You don't mean to say you think that it's alright.?
Of course it is, says Le Bon David. I think it gives a wonderful impression.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Luminarium
The Premier Mike Rann is furious when he hears how the Velosophers have been treated. He arranges a meeting with them at once.
The Premier: I'm terribly sorry, gentlemen, that you weren't allotted a suitable tent. It's quite outrageous. I can only say that I'm doing everything in my power to put things right.
Le Bon David: Oh that's perfectly alright, Premier. We are used to young people not knowing who we are.
The VeloDrone: Speak for yourself, David. I am not used to it.
The Premier: Dear me. Young people. But they are wonderful in other ways of course. Now, I'm trying to arrange for you to have free use of the Luminarium in Rymill Park. Otherwise known as the Amococo Tent. There's plenty of room in it for your bicycle tricks and lots of interesting little corners for your knockabout brand of stand-up comedy.
The VeloDrone: I beg your pardon. Did you say knockabout?
The Premier: Why, was that wrong?
The VeloDrone: We don't do knockabout standup. We do philosophy. And impressions.
The Premier: Oh really? I thought..... with the bicycles.... Well, well. And who do you do?
Le Bon David: Abbott and Costello, Laurel and Hardy.
The Premier: Ah! Who's on first?
Le Bon David: Yes. What's on second.
The Premier: And your philosophy?
The VeloDrone: Our philosophy concerns Ethics and Economics. For instance, I believe the general public pay two dollars entry to this Amococo Tent. Where does that leave us? How much........
The Premier: Unfortunately I seem to be late for a meeting. We shall have to continue this interesting discussion another time. Goodbye, gentlemen. Enjoy our fabulous Fringe!
The Premier: I'm terribly sorry, gentlemen, that you weren't allotted a suitable tent. It's quite outrageous. I can only say that I'm doing everything in my power to put things right.
Le Bon David: Oh that's perfectly alright, Premier. We are used to young people not knowing who we are.
The VeloDrone: Speak for yourself, David. I am not used to it.
The Premier: Dear me. Young people. But they are wonderful in other ways of course. Now, I'm trying to arrange for you to have free use of the Luminarium in Rymill Park. Otherwise known as the Amococo Tent. There's plenty of room in it for your bicycle tricks and lots of interesting little corners for your knockabout brand of stand-up comedy.
The VeloDrone: I beg your pardon. Did you say knockabout?
The Premier: Why, was that wrong?
The VeloDrone: We don't do knockabout standup. We do philosophy. And impressions.
The Premier: Oh really? I thought..... with the bicycles.... Well, well. And who do you do?
Le Bon David: Abbott and Costello, Laurel and Hardy.
The Premier: Ah! Who's on first?
Le Bon David: Yes. What's on second.
The Premier: And your philosophy?
The VeloDrone: Our philosophy concerns Ethics and Economics. For instance, I believe the general public pay two dollars entry to this Amococo Tent. Where does that leave us? How much........
The Premier: Unfortunately I seem to be late for a meeting. We shall have to continue this interesting discussion another time. Goodbye, gentlemen. Enjoy our fabulous Fringe!
Friday, February 19, 2010
Wheels of Enlightenment
Le Bon David and The VeloDrone are pleased with the way their act is shaping up. The only problem is their allotted tent is very small. They approach the Manager of The Garden Of Unearthly Delights.
Le Bon David: It's fine for the stand-up. But there's no way it's going to accommodate our bicycle tricks.
The VeloDrone: Yes, we need a bigger tent.
The Manager: Sorry boys. But you were lucky to get any tent at all. And we didn't know about the bicycle tricks, we thought you were stand-up philosophers. What sort of bicycle tricks do you do?
Le Bon David: Oh you know, the usual ones, Slides, Wheelies, Bunnyhops, Endos, Trackstands, Curb-hops.........with a philosophical twist.
The Manager: Well, I can only suggest that you go outside the tent and start busking in the East End.
The VeloDrone: Us, busking! Do you know who we are?
The Manager: Yes, yes, David Hume and Voltaire, it says here. Enlightenment philosophers. Nothing about bicycles. See?
The VeloDrone: We are the editors of the online magazine Velosophy.
The Manager: Oh? You guys can write then? Would you like to earn a bit of extra money?
The VeloDrone: No.
Le Bon David: Yes. Since we seem to be losing our free tent.
The VeloDrone: Alright then, yes. What do we have to do?
The Manager: Just write a few Fringe reviews for us. Here's a few free tickets to a bunch of shows.
Le Bon David and The VeloDrone: ( in unison) Thanks!
Le Bon David: It's fine for the stand-up. But there's no way it's going to accommodate our bicycle tricks.
The VeloDrone: Yes, we need a bigger tent.
The Manager: Sorry boys. But you were lucky to get any tent at all. And we didn't know about the bicycle tricks, we thought you were stand-up philosophers. What sort of bicycle tricks do you do?
Le Bon David: Oh you know, the usual ones, Slides, Wheelies, Bunnyhops, Endos, Trackstands, Curb-hops.........with a philosophical twist.
The Manager: Well, I can only suggest that you go outside the tent and start busking in the East End.
The VeloDrone: Us, busking! Do you know who we are?
The Manager: Yes, yes, David Hume and Voltaire, it says here. Enlightenment philosophers. Nothing about bicycles. See?
The VeloDrone: We are the editors of the online magazine Velosophy.
The Manager: Oh? You guys can write then? Would you like to earn a bit of extra money?
The VeloDrone: No.
Le Bon David: Yes. Since we seem to be losing our free tent.
The VeloDrone: Alright then, yes. What do we have to do?
The Manager: Just write a few Fringe reviews for us. Here's a few free tickets to a bunch of shows.
Le Bon David and The VeloDrone: ( in unison) Thanks!
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Sorted
Right! announced The VeloDrone, walking into the office. Everything's sorted.
Enlighten me, said Le Bon David, looking up from his pile of correspondence.
We're going back to Adelaide! said The VeloDrone. The Festival and Fringe start today. Pack your bags.
Adelaide! sniffed Le Bon David. We've only just been there for the Tour Down Under. And what did we get out of that? Not very much.
This will be different! enthused The VeloDrone. This time we've been invited.
Invited? By whom?
By the Premier himself. It's election time. Remember how he invited Lance Armstrong to the Tour Down Under, to make himself more popular?
Yes, said Le Bon David, and Armstrong was paid lots of money. Don't tell me they're going to pay us to come?
Not exactly, said The VeloDrone. But they're going to pay our fares. All we have to do is keep a high profile.
Le Bon David whistled admiringly. How did you wangle that?
I explained to them who we were. We are David Hume the famous Scottish empiricist, I said, and Voltaire, the brilliant French polemicist, two of the most famous philosophers of the Enlightenment. We are willing, I said, for a small fee, to attend and lift the tone of your Festival and Fringe. And, as an added bonus, we will be bringing our bicycles.
But they knocked back the idea of the small fee?
Well, yes as such, but they've allocated us a small tent in the Garden of Unearthly Delights, and they say we can charge admission.
Brilliant! And have you thought what we might do in this tent? Lecture on philosophy? Perform bicycle tricks?
Hmmmm. A mixture of both, I thought. Unless you have any other ideas?
I'm positively brimming with them. Did you know I do quite passable impressions?
No! Who do you do?
Oh the fat ones in comedy duos mostly, Lou Costello, and Oliver Hardy for instance.
David, you surprise me! I too, have a comedic bent. This is exciting! Perhaps we can work something up.
Enlighten me, said Le Bon David, looking up from his pile of correspondence.
We're going back to Adelaide! said The VeloDrone. The Festival and Fringe start today. Pack your bags.
Adelaide! sniffed Le Bon David. We've only just been there for the Tour Down Under. And what did we get out of that? Not very much.
This will be different! enthused The VeloDrone. This time we've been invited.
Invited? By whom?
By the Premier himself. It's election time. Remember how he invited Lance Armstrong to the Tour Down Under, to make himself more popular?
Yes, said Le Bon David, and Armstrong was paid lots of money. Don't tell me they're going to pay us to come?
Not exactly, said The VeloDrone. But they're going to pay our fares. All we have to do is keep a high profile.
Le Bon David whistled admiringly. How did you wangle that?
I explained to them who we were. We are David Hume the famous Scottish empiricist, I said, and Voltaire, the brilliant French polemicist, two of the most famous philosophers of the Enlightenment. We are willing, I said, for a small fee, to attend and lift the tone of your Festival and Fringe. And, as an added bonus, we will be bringing our bicycles.
But they knocked back the idea of the small fee?
Well, yes as such, but they've allocated us a small tent in the Garden of Unearthly Delights, and they say we can charge admission.
Brilliant! And have you thought what we might do in this tent? Lecture on philosophy? Perform bicycle tricks?
Hmmmm. A mixture of both, I thought. Unless you have any other ideas?
I'm positively brimming with them. Did you know I do quite passable impressions?
No! Who do you do?
Oh the fat ones in comedy duos mostly, Lou Costello, and Oliver Hardy for instance.
David, you surprise me! I too, have a comedic bent. This is exciting! Perhaps we can work something up.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Escape
The editors of Velosophy are not too happy with Professor Freud's contribution.
The VeloDrone: The old prankster! What's he playing at. Paintball!
Le Bon David: A picnic!
The VeloDrone: Using us as an answering service!
Le Bon David: And where is the philosophical content?
The VeloDrone: There is none. And what is the point of repeatedly trying to prove Galileo's laws? Haven't they been proven already?
Le Bon David: Never mind that. The real point is, will our readers like it?
The VeloDrone: From bitter experience, I predict that they will.
Le Bon David: Which means....
The VeloDrone: There's going to be this beastly picnic to organise.
Le Bon David: And attend! A Paintball picnic with Professor Freud. Spare us!
The VeloDrone: I think I know how to get out of it. We'll pretend that we're going away. Better still, we'll really go away. We could say we were going on business.
Le Bon David: Yes! On business! Some research for the magazine that can't possibly be put off.
The VeloDrone: Brilliant! And I know exactly where we can go.
Le Bon David: Where ?
The VeloDrone: Trust me. I'll organise everything. Just make sure your bicycle's ready.
The VeloDrone: The old prankster! What's he playing at. Paintball!
Le Bon David: A picnic!
The VeloDrone: Using us as an answering service!
Le Bon David: And where is the philosophical content?
The VeloDrone: There is none. And what is the point of repeatedly trying to prove Galileo's laws? Haven't they been proven already?
Le Bon David: Never mind that. The real point is, will our readers like it?
The VeloDrone: From bitter experience, I predict that they will.
Le Bon David: Which means....
The VeloDrone: There's going to be this beastly picnic to organise.
Le Bon David: And attend! A Paintball picnic with Professor Freud. Spare us!
The VeloDrone: I think I know how to get out of it. We'll pretend that we're going away. Better still, we'll really go away. We could say we were going on business.
Le Bon David: Yes! On business! Some research for the magazine that can't possibly be put off.
The VeloDrone: Brilliant! And I know exactly where we can go.
Le Bon David: Where ?
The VeloDrone: Trust me. I'll organise everything. Just make sure your bicycle's ready.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Galileo's Bicycle, by Professor Freud
To the Editors of Velosophy
Dear Friends,
Please find enclosed my final draft of Galileo's Bicycle for inclusion in your magazine. I trust the small embarrassment at the Tour Down Under is now behind us. These things tend to happen when one gets over-excited. As you will see, I make light of it in my article.
GALILEO'S BICYCLE.
Did Galileo have a bicycle? No, we can be fairly certain he did not. This is merely an example of the free association of ideas, incidentally invented by myself. But that is by the way.
In what way is it an example of the free association of ideas? In this way. I was recently reading a book called Weighing the Soul, by Len Fisher. In it he describes how he once used a bicycle to demonstrate Galileo's laws of constant velocity and projectile motion.
He rode his bicycle at constant speed past his local pub, challenging onlookers to guess where a stone would land after he threw it straight up in the air. Thirty percent guessed that it would land behind him, but Mr Fisher's demonstration confirmed Galileo's prediction that it would keep moving forward at the same speed.
And how did this happen? In a most comical way. The stone landed directly on top of his head!
I myself have tried to reproduce this experiment, most recently at the Tour Down under, to the amusement onlookers, when the team I was part of was disqualified for throwing stones.
Nor was it a worthwhile exercise. My team mates refused to cooperate and did not throw their stones properly. Indeed, one of them was seen throwing his stone at a tree!
As a result of this, I have come up with a new and more modern way of testing Galileo's Laws, as they apply to Paintball.
Let us say you are firing your Paintball at a person jumping out of a tree. The question is, should you fire at the person, or should you fire below the person at the point where you expect him to be when the Paintball reaches the tree?
Are there any Paintball enthusiasts amongst the readers of Velosophy interested in a Paintball afternoon some time in the coming weeks? If you are, please let me know, through the editors. You may, of course, bring your bicycles. And perhaps we might organise a picnic.
Dear Friends,
Please find enclosed my final draft of Galileo's Bicycle for inclusion in your magazine. I trust the small embarrassment at the Tour Down Under is now behind us. These things tend to happen when one gets over-excited. As you will see, I make light of it in my article.
GALILEO'S BICYCLE.
Did Galileo have a bicycle? No, we can be fairly certain he did not. This is merely an example of the free association of ideas, incidentally invented by myself. But that is by the way.
In what way is it an example of the free association of ideas? In this way. I was recently reading a book called Weighing the Soul, by Len Fisher. In it he describes how he once used a bicycle to demonstrate Galileo's laws of constant velocity and projectile motion.
He rode his bicycle at constant speed past his local pub, challenging onlookers to guess where a stone would land after he threw it straight up in the air. Thirty percent guessed that it would land behind him, but Mr Fisher's demonstration confirmed Galileo's prediction that it would keep moving forward at the same speed.
And how did this happen? In a most comical way. The stone landed directly on top of his head!
I myself have tried to reproduce this experiment, most recently at the Tour Down under, to the amusement onlookers, when the team I was part of was disqualified for throwing stones.
Nor was it a worthwhile exercise. My team mates refused to cooperate and did not throw their stones properly. Indeed, one of them was seen throwing his stone at a tree!
As a result of this, I have come up with a new and more modern way of testing Galileo's Laws, as they apply to Paintball.
Let us say you are firing your Paintball at a person jumping out of a tree. The question is, should you fire at the person, or should you fire below the person at the point where you expect him to be when the Paintball reaches the tree?
Are there any Paintball enthusiasts amongst the readers of Velosophy interested in a Paintball afternoon some time in the coming weeks? If you are, please let me know, through the editors. You may, of course, bring your bicycles. And perhaps we might organise a picnic.
Monday, February 15, 2010
The Irrelevance of Patterns
Pliny the Elder raised an eyebrow.
What's this about the irrelevance of patterns? he asked.
Oh you noticed! I said.
Of course I noticed, he replied. I noticed you didn't explain it very well.
I can't explain it very well, I said. It's either nonsense or something very important. Do you want me to try again?
You may as well, he said.
Alright then. We humans are programmed to look for patterns, do you agree?
No.
Well, that's that then, I said, crossly.
No go on, for the sake of argument, said Pliny.
And yet the pattern has no meaning in itself. It's just the irrelevant trace of a process, I continued.
I assume you are thinking about ripple patterns in the sand, said Pliny.
Yes. The patterns are formed by the, um, well, whatever sand patterns are formed by.
The sea, said Pliny kindly, and the wind, and the tides, and occasionally eels.
Eels! Pliny, now I've lost my thread.
The patterns are formed by natural processes, prompted Pliny.
Yes. And when we see the patterns, we wonder how they were made.
In that case they are not irrelevant, said Pliny, gravely.
I'm just saying, I said, that the important things are the sea and the tides and the winds and the eels, and it wouldn't matter at all whether their actions made a pattern or not. Everything would still be exactly the same.
Except for the pattern, said Pliny. But I thought you liked patterns. Why are you trying to negate them?
I'm not. I'm just trying to see them for what they really are.
I don't think you have, said Pliny.
What's this about the irrelevance of patterns? he asked.
Oh you noticed! I said.
Of course I noticed, he replied. I noticed you didn't explain it very well.
I can't explain it very well, I said. It's either nonsense or something very important. Do you want me to try again?
You may as well, he said.
Alright then. We humans are programmed to look for patterns, do you agree?
No.
Well, that's that then, I said, crossly.
No go on, for the sake of argument, said Pliny.
And yet the pattern has no meaning in itself. It's just the irrelevant trace of a process, I continued.
I assume you are thinking about ripple patterns in the sand, said Pliny.
Yes. The patterns are formed by the, um, well, whatever sand patterns are formed by.
The sea, said Pliny kindly, and the wind, and the tides, and occasionally eels.
Eels! Pliny, now I've lost my thread.
The patterns are formed by natural processes, prompted Pliny.
Yes. And when we see the patterns, we wonder how they were made.
In that case they are not irrelevant, said Pliny, gravely.
I'm just saying, I said, that the important things are the sea and the tides and the winds and the eels, and it wouldn't matter at all whether their actions made a pattern or not. Everything would still be exactly the same.
Except for the pattern, said Pliny. But I thought you liked patterns. Why are you trying to negate them?
I'm not. I'm just trying to see them for what they really are.
I don't think you have, said Pliny.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Frames
Yesterday we went to Grange and walked north towards the jetty. When we reached the jetty we walked under the jetty without stopping. The sand was cold under the jetty. Without breaking my stride I looked right and saw a family tableau; looked left and saw the slurping sea framed by the jetty pylons. It seemed like the right thing to do.
We kept walking north towards the next jetty. The next jetty isn't visible, but there must be one. What we could see was a giant tanker on the horizon setting out from somewhere. It looked like a grey castle on a grey cliff. That was because it was a tanker. But it reminded me of a castle on a cliff because I often see photographs of one.
The sand formed rippling patterns north of the jetty. I like to look at patterns and think about their meaning. They have to have a meaning or they wouldn't be a pattern. I realised yesterday that might be tautologous, and if it was, the pattern was irrelevant. I was glad to think so, because it was hurting my ankle to walk on the pattern.
We left the beach. On the esplanade near the toilets we passed three wooden masts, A sculpture of a bird sits on top of the middle one. It looks just like a real bird. I don't think it's a pelican. I was looking back at the sea between two of the masts to where a purple sail filled with wind.
Today, when I first remembered the sail, the wooden masts framed the memory, for several seconds before I remembered what they were.
We kept walking north towards the next jetty. The next jetty isn't visible, but there must be one. What we could see was a giant tanker on the horizon setting out from somewhere. It looked like a grey castle on a grey cliff. That was because it was a tanker. But it reminded me of a castle on a cliff because I often see photographs of one.
The sand formed rippling patterns north of the jetty. I like to look at patterns and think about their meaning. They have to have a meaning or they wouldn't be a pattern. I realised yesterday that might be tautologous, and if it was, the pattern was irrelevant. I was glad to think so, because it was hurting my ankle to walk on the pattern.
We left the beach. On the esplanade near the toilets we passed three wooden masts, A sculpture of a bird sits on top of the middle one. It looks just like a real bird. I don't think it's a pelican. I was looking back at the sea between two of the masts to where a purple sail filled with wind.
Today, when I first remembered the sail, the wooden masts framed the memory, for several seconds before I remembered what they were.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Waiting for Cotto
A country road. A tree. Two tramps, sitting on a low mound.
Estragon; Let's go!
Vladimir: We can't.
Estragon: Why not?
Vladimir: We're waiting for Godot.
Estragon: Excuse me? Did you say we're waiting for Cotto?
Vladimir: Godot! Godot!
Estragon: Because if we're waiting for Cotto, you've sent the wrong order. We wanted a Godfather, remember?
Vladimir: Don't worry, trust me, there won't be any Cotto, not today, not ever.
Estragon: How can you be sure?
Vladimir: We ordered a Godfather, and Godot will bring it.
Estragon: We ordered one yesterday. He didn't come yesterday.
Vladimir: True. Perhaps he went to pick it up. And it was covered in Cotto. So he declined to pay for it. And as a consequence of that, he had nothing to bring us, and so he didn't come.
Estragon: Well reasoned! That will be what happened. But....
Vladimir: What now?
Estragon: The same thing might happen today. And I'm hungry.
Vladimir: You're twice as hungry.
Estragon: Yes, I'm twice as hungry. I could even eat Cotto.
Vladimir: Are you sure? Do you know what it is?
Estragon: No, but I don't like the sound of it. What is it? No, don't tell me.
Vladimir: I won't.
Estragon: You don't know.
Vladimir: Nobody knows. But some people like it.
Estragon: Can we get a message to Godot? Tell him we're hungry?
Vladimir: No, we must wait till he comes.
Estragon: When is he coming? He didn't come yesterday. I'm tired of this. Shall we go?
Vladimir: Yes, let's go.
They do not move.
Estragon; Let's go!
Vladimir: We can't.
Estragon: Why not?
Vladimir: We're waiting for Godot.
Estragon: Excuse me? Did you say we're waiting for Cotto?
Vladimir: Godot! Godot!
Estragon: Because if we're waiting for Cotto, you've sent the wrong order. We wanted a Godfather, remember?
Vladimir: Don't worry, trust me, there won't be any Cotto, not today, not ever.
Estragon: How can you be sure?
Vladimir: We ordered a Godfather, and Godot will bring it.
Estragon: We ordered one yesterday. He didn't come yesterday.
Vladimir: True. Perhaps he went to pick it up. And it was covered in Cotto. So he declined to pay for it. And as a consequence of that, he had nothing to bring us, and so he didn't come.
Estragon: Well reasoned! That will be what happened. But....
Vladimir: What now?
Estragon: The same thing might happen today. And I'm hungry.
Vladimir: You're twice as hungry.
Estragon: Yes, I'm twice as hungry. I could even eat Cotto.
Vladimir: Are you sure? Do you know what it is?
Estragon: No, but I don't like the sound of it. What is it? No, don't tell me.
Vladimir: I won't.
Estragon: You don't know.
Vladimir: Nobody knows. But some people like it.
Estragon: Can we get a message to Godot? Tell him we're hungry?
Vladimir: No, we must wait till he comes.
Estragon: When is he coming? He didn't come yesterday. I'm tired of this. Shall we go?
Vladimir: Yes, let's go.
They do not move.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Cotto
My research. Let me elaborate.
The moment I'd written the words 'I don't even know what cotto is', I thought: That's not good enough. Do some research.
I typed 'coto'. No good. That was the College of Occupational Therapists of Ontario. I typed 'coto on pizza'.
Did you mean 'cotto on pizza'? asked the search engine.
And that's how I learned to spell cotto.
'Cotto on pizza' led me to Delta Goodrem's Official Forum, and a post by Chloe, who had, in January 2008, eaten a pizza with cotto on it, not knowing what it was. She had subsequently discovered ( whether from eating it or googling it ) that it is salami, cooked or smoked before or after curing. It's nice too, she added, posting a smiley face.
I did not believe this for one moment. But you can see that I made a good effort.
The moment I'd written the words 'I don't even know what cotto is', I thought: That's not good enough. Do some research.
I typed 'coto'. No good. That was the College of Occupational Therapists of Ontario. I typed 'coto on pizza'.
Did you mean 'cotto on pizza'? asked the search engine.
And that's how I learned to spell cotto.
'Cotto on pizza' led me to Delta Goodrem's Official Forum, and a post by Chloe, who had, in January 2008, eaten a pizza with cotto on it, not knowing what it was. She had subsequently discovered ( whether from eating it or googling it ) that it is salami, cooked or smoked before or after curing. It's nice too, she added, posting a smiley face.
I did not believe this for one moment. But you can see that I made a good effort.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
The Godfather
Now I'm researching the Godfather pizza. Because it's not enough to say you think that it's the nicest one. You need to be able to explain why you think it's true.
First I'm trying to remember what they put on it. Because that would be a good beginning. I could list the toppings on the pizza, and then say why I like them. The only problem is I can't remember what they are.
It doesn't matter though. I like the Godfather because of what isn't on it. One of these is pineapple. Yes, I know that is controversial. Some people like it. I like it, but not on a pizza.
Another of the things that isn't on the Godfather is cotto. I don't even know what cotto is, but it sounds repulsive, and I don't wish to eat something called cotto.
A third item that isn't on the Godfather is meatybites, or little lumps of minced beef that look like dogfood.
I suppose you're thinking: That's not research. Well it might not seem like it, but a certain amount of research has gone into this, nevertheless.
First I'm trying to remember what they put on it. Because that would be a good beginning. I could list the toppings on the pizza, and then say why I like them. The only problem is I can't remember what they are.
It doesn't matter though. I like the Godfather because of what isn't on it. One of these is pineapple. Yes, I know that is controversial. Some people like it. I like it, but not on a pizza.
Another of the things that isn't on the Godfather is cotto. I don't even know what cotto is, but it sounds repulsive, and I don't wish to eat something called cotto.
A third item that isn't on the Godfather is meatybites, or little lumps of minced beef that look like dogfood.
I suppose you're thinking: That's not research. Well it might not seem like it, but a certain amount of research has gone into this, nevertheless.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Acknowledgement
Did you mean, asked Pliny the Elder, that the Kuarna people would have laughed to know they were being acknowledged, or that they would have laughed to know that the Vice Chancellor sometimes forgot?
I left it deliberately ambiguous, I answered, because I think they would have laughed at both those things.
But neither of those things are funny, said Pliny.
Not to you or me, I said, but put yourself in the place of the Kuarna people.
Who are they? asked Pliny.
They are the traditional owners of the Adelaide plains, I told him.
And do any of them come along to Research Tuesdays? he asked.
Not that I have noticed, I admitted.
I see, said Pliny. So you have no way of knowing whether they would laugh.
If they were there, I said, impatiently, they would have no need to laugh. It's ironic because there are none of them there to hear themselves being acknowledged.
And when the Vice Chancellor sometimes forgets? continued Pliny.
It's even more ironic. That would really make them laugh.
But they are not there, said Pliny, exasperated.
As you are determined to be obtuse, Pliny, let me put it to you another way. Imagine someone were to tell the Kuarna people that this acknowledgement sometimes does and sometimes does not occur on Research Tuesdays. Might they not laugh and shake their heads and say to one another, That'd be right!
They might , said Pliny stiffly, but I freely admit I do not know any Kuarna people. Do you?
No, I don't.
Ironically, said Pliny.
I left it deliberately ambiguous, I answered, because I think they would have laughed at both those things.
But neither of those things are funny, said Pliny.
Not to you or me, I said, but put yourself in the place of the Kuarna people.
Who are they? asked Pliny.
They are the traditional owners of the Adelaide plains, I told him.
And do any of them come along to Research Tuesdays? he asked.
Not that I have noticed, I admitted.
I see, said Pliny. So you have no way of knowing whether they would laugh.
If they were there, I said, impatiently, they would have no need to laugh. It's ironic because there are none of them there to hear themselves being acknowledged.
And when the Vice Chancellor sometimes forgets? continued Pliny.
It's even more ironic. That would really make them laugh.
But they are not there, said Pliny, exasperated.
As you are determined to be obtuse, Pliny, let me put it to you another way. Imagine someone were to tell the Kuarna people that this acknowledgement sometimes does and sometimes does not occur on Research Tuesdays. Might they not laugh and shake their heads and say to one another, That'd be right!
They might , said Pliny stiffly, but I freely admit I do not know any Kuarna people. Do you?
No, I don't.
Ironically, said Pliny.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Research Tuesday
I like research. Every second Tuesday of the month is Research Tuesday at the University of Adelaide, and we always try to go to the lecture.
GETTING READY.
The lecture usually starts at 5.30pm. This is exactly one hour before our dinner time. Research and trial and error have taught me to avoid the embarrassment of my tummy rumbling by eating a piece of jam and bread as close to 5pm as possible. Yesterday we had brown bread and fig jam.
GOING.
We usually drive to Kent Town and if it is summer we look for a park in the shade. This does not mean we park under a tree, for that is to invite bird poo. We look for shade that will be falling just beyond the tree, by 6.45pm. In the winter it doesn't matter about the shade because it will be dark by then.
WALKING TO THE UNIVERSITY.
Then we have to walk up North Terrace facing into the low sun. North Terrace at this time is crowded with people waiting at bus stops, and sometimes the only way to get past the bus stop is to step into the road which is dangerous especially when we can't see that the bus is coming, because of the sun.
GOING IN.
We always think that nobody else will come. It is always surprising to see the lecture theatre filling up with people somewhat like ourselves.
ACKNOWLEDGING THE KUARNA PEOPLE.
The Vice Chancellor nearly always remembers to begin by acknowledging that we are on Kuarna land. The Kuarna people would probably laugh if they knew this.
THE LECTURE.
The lectures are always different, They are about some aspect of research that someone at the university is doing. Yesterday the topic was Cellular Movement and the use of Chemokines for something. There was a sad moment when the lecturing professor put up a chart that looked very simple and said that it represented 15 years of work.
EATING PIZZA.
Because it is Tuesday, and large pizzas are especially cheap at Domino's on Tuesdays, we usually get a pizza on the way home. Research and trial and error have taught us that the Godfather is the nicest one.
GETTING READY.
The lecture usually starts at 5.30pm. This is exactly one hour before our dinner time. Research and trial and error have taught me to avoid the embarrassment of my tummy rumbling by eating a piece of jam and bread as close to 5pm as possible. Yesterday we had brown bread and fig jam.
GOING.
We usually drive to Kent Town and if it is summer we look for a park in the shade. This does not mean we park under a tree, for that is to invite bird poo. We look for shade that will be falling just beyond the tree, by 6.45pm. In the winter it doesn't matter about the shade because it will be dark by then.
WALKING TO THE UNIVERSITY.
Then we have to walk up North Terrace facing into the low sun. North Terrace at this time is crowded with people waiting at bus stops, and sometimes the only way to get past the bus stop is to step into the road which is dangerous especially when we can't see that the bus is coming, because of the sun.
GOING IN.
We always think that nobody else will come. It is always surprising to see the lecture theatre filling up with people somewhat like ourselves.
ACKNOWLEDGING THE KUARNA PEOPLE.
The Vice Chancellor nearly always remembers to begin by acknowledging that we are on Kuarna land. The Kuarna people would probably laugh if they knew this.
THE LECTURE.
The lectures are always different, They are about some aspect of research that someone at the university is doing. Yesterday the topic was Cellular Movement and the use of Chemokines for something. There was a sad moment when the lecturing professor put up a chart that looked very simple and said that it represented 15 years of work.
EATING PIZZA.
Because it is Tuesday, and large pizzas are especially cheap at Domino's on Tuesdays, we usually get a pizza on the way home. Research and trial and error have taught us that the Godfather is the nicest one.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Research v. Intuition
Pliny's research has been inconclusive. No one on Google or Wikipedia knows how the humbug got its name. Even the old fashioned boiled sweet manufacturers do not know. Humbugs simply are and have always been known as humbugs.
Therefore, I said to Pliny firmly, we should do away with research and think it out for ourselves.
You didn't get very far with that method yesterday, he said, frowning.
Yes, but now we haven't any alternative, I said. I suggest we put ourselves in the place of an 18th century sweetmaker who wants to make a brilliant new sweet to take the sweet-eating world by storm.
I see, said Pliny. Does he think of the name of the sweet first, or the sweet itself?
He thinks of the sweet first, and comes up with the name after he's seen what it looks like, I said.
Yes, that sounds right, said Pliny. That's what I would do.
Would you? So would I. And while we're on the subject, why is the sweetmaker a he?
Let us not get bogged down in gender issues, said Pliny. Let us think beyond that to the sweet-creating process.
Alright, and let us think beyond the sweet-creating process too, because we know the sweet turns out to be a humbug.
Point taken, said Pliny. Now what?
Now, the sweetmaker looks at the sweet she has created. It is short and tubular, twisted off at each end and features smart black and white stripes.
And is peppermint flavoured, adds Pliny. Or aniseed, as the case may be.
Yes, yes. But now she thinks. What shall I call this sweet? What does it most look like?
And she thinks it most looks like a humbug!
No, Pliny. Because a humbug doesn't at that time look like anything. It is merely a hoax, or jest, or a deception.
Wait, said Pliny. I have just remembered a story I read when I was doing my research. It was about Charles Darwin. Two young boys made up a beetle out of the parts of 3 different beetles and asked him to identify the new beetle. Darwin laughed and told them that it was a humbug.
Oh well done Pliny! I said. Perhaps the sweet maker could see into the future. They were making humbugs well before Charles Darwin's time.
But, said Pliny, Darwin was no humourist. It may have been quite commonplace, to identify strange beetles as humbugs.
I believe you may be on to something there, I said. Perhaps that was what she was thinking.
He, said Pliny.
Therefore, I said to Pliny firmly, we should do away with research and think it out for ourselves.
You didn't get very far with that method yesterday, he said, frowning.
Yes, but now we haven't any alternative, I said. I suggest we put ourselves in the place of an 18th century sweetmaker who wants to make a brilliant new sweet to take the sweet-eating world by storm.
I see, said Pliny. Does he think of the name of the sweet first, or the sweet itself?
He thinks of the sweet first, and comes up with the name after he's seen what it looks like, I said.
Yes, that sounds right, said Pliny. That's what I would do.
Would you? So would I. And while we're on the subject, why is the sweetmaker a he?
Let us not get bogged down in gender issues, said Pliny. Let us think beyond that to the sweet-creating process.
Alright, and let us think beyond the sweet-creating process too, because we know the sweet turns out to be a humbug.
Point taken, said Pliny. Now what?
Now, the sweetmaker looks at the sweet she has created. It is short and tubular, twisted off at each end and features smart black and white stripes.
And is peppermint flavoured, adds Pliny. Or aniseed, as the case may be.
Yes, yes. But now she thinks. What shall I call this sweet? What does it most look like?
And she thinks it most looks like a humbug!
No, Pliny. Because a humbug doesn't at that time look like anything. It is merely a hoax, or jest, or a deception.
Wait, said Pliny. I have just remembered a story I read when I was doing my research. It was about Charles Darwin. Two young boys made up a beetle out of the parts of 3 different beetles and asked him to identify the new beetle. Darwin laughed and told them that it was a humbug.
Oh well done Pliny! I said. Perhaps the sweet maker could see into the future. They were making humbugs well before Charles Darwin's time.
But, said Pliny, Darwin was no humourist. It may have been quite commonplace, to identify strange beetles as humbugs.
I believe you may be on to something there, I said. Perhaps that was what she was thinking.
He, said Pliny.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Falsely Minted
What? says Pliny, sharply. The sweets? Falsely minted ? How so?
It's just a theory, I say, placatingly. I'm formulating it right now while I'm talking. Humbugs are generally thought to be flavoured with peppermint. Correct?
Or aniseed, says Pliny.
Or aniseed, you're right! Now say the original boiled humbug sweets were flavoured with aniseed.
Perhaps they were, says Pliny.
And everybody liked them and got really used to them being flavoured with aniseed.
Alright, yes, says Pliny. What then?
Well, then some enterprising sweetmaker starts making humbugs with peppermint flavouring, I say, thinking fast. And some people really like them, and some people don't, and the ones that don't start calling them Hamburgs because they're falsely minted, like the Hamburg coins that are flooding into the country because it's the time of the Napoleonic Wars.
No, says Pliny, that is bad psychology. The popular name of a sweet would not be the name given to it by the people who do not like it. And if your theory is correct, why aren't only the peppermint ones called humbugs?
You're right, I say, crestfallen. And if you think about it, what would the original aniseed ones have been called if they weren't called humbugs? We need to do more thinking.
Thinking? says Pliny. We need to do more research.
It's just a theory, I say, placatingly. I'm formulating it right now while I'm talking. Humbugs are generally thought to be flavoured with peppermint. Correct?
Or aniseed, says Pliny.
Or aniseed, you're right! Now say the original boiled humbug sweets were flavoured with aniseed.
Perhaps they were, says Pliny.
And everybody liked them and got really used to them being flavoured with aniseed.
Alright, yes, says Pliny. What then?
Well, then some enterprising sweetmaker starts making humbugs with peppermint flavouring, I say, thinking fast. And some people really like them, and some people don't, and the ones that don't start calling them Hamburgs because they're falsely minted, like the Hamburg coins that are flooding into the country because it's the time of the Napoleonic Wars.
No, says Pliny, that is bad psychology. The popular name of a sweet would not be the name given to it by the people who do not like it. And if your theory is correct, why aren't only the peppermint ones called humbugs?
You're right, I say, crestfallen. And if you think about it, what would the original aniseed ones have been called if they weren't called humbugs? We need to do more thinking.
Thinking? says Pliny. We need to do more research.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Uim-Bog
We are thinking now, Pliny the Elder and I, about the origin of the word humbug. Pliny has already come across some interesting suggestions.
It seems, says Pliny, that 'humbug' may derive from old Norse, 'hum', meaning night, and a Biblical reference to 'bugges', meaning bogey, or an apparition.
That's a funny name for a sweet, I say, perplexed.
We have not yet come to the mystery of the naming of the sweet, says Pliny, seriously. This refers to the origin of the word humbug meaning hoax, jest or deception.
Oh, I say, and are there any other suggestions, because I don't think much of that one.
Yes, says Pliny. In England in the 18th century, to hum meant to deceive. This may have been combined with the Celtic word 'bwg', meaning ghost.
Bwg! I like that. But shouldn't you pronounce it 'bug' ?
Probably, says Pliny. I stand corrected. However there is another school of thought that favours an Italian origin for humbug. It is thought to derive from 'uomo bugiardo' which means a lying man.
That's a good one, I agree. It certainly sounds a bit like humbug when you say it fast.
Indeed, but how about this? says Pliny. Uim-bog is Irish for soft copper, or worthless money.
Uim-bog. No, that doesn't sound very much like humbug, Pliny. But perhaps you're pronouncing it wrong. You're saying wim-bog, but what if you say it like um-bog?
Oh yes, um-bog, um-bog, um-bog, says Pliny, experimentally.
That's probably it then, I say, unless you've got a better one?
Well, says Pliny, it seems the 1911 edition of the Encyclopedia Britannica suggested it might derive from Hamburg, the source of falsely minted coins during the Napoleonic wars.
Bah! Hamburg! I say, trying not to laugh. That's very unconvincing. But, wait, did you say falsely minted? That may be our connection to the sweets!
It seems, says Pliny, that 'humbug' may derive from old Norse, 'hum', meaning night, and a Biblical reference to 'bugges', meaning bogey, or an apparition.
That's a funny name for a sweet, I say, perplexed.
We have not yet come to the mystery of the naming of the sweet, says Pliny, seriously. This refers to the origin of the word humbug meaning hoax, jest or deception.
Oh, I say, and are there any other suggestions, because I don't think much of that one.
Yes, says Pliny. In England in the 18th century, to hum meant to deceive. This may have been combined with the Celtic word 'bwg', meaning ghost.
Bwg! I like that. But shouldn't you pronounce it 'bug' ?
Probably, says Pliny. I stand corrected. However there is another school of thought that favours an Italian origin for humbug. It is thought to derive from 'uomo bugiardo' which means a lying man.
That's a good one, I agree. It certainly sounds a bit like humbug when you say it fast.
Indeed, but how about this? says Pliny. Uim-bog is Irish for soft copper, or worthless money.
Uim-bog. No, that doesn't sound very much like humbug, Pliny. But perhaps you're pronouncing it wrong. You're saying wim-bog, but what if you say it like um-bog?
Oh yes, um-bog, um-bog, um-bog, says Pliny, experimentally.
That's probably it then, I say, unless you've got a better one?
Well, says Pliny, it seems the 1911 edition of the Encyclopedia Britannica suggested it might derive from Hamburg, the source of falsely minted coins during the Napoleonic wars.
Bah! Hamburg! I say, trying not to laugh. That's very unconvincing. But, wait, did you say falsely minted? That may be our connection to the sweets!
Hum Bug
Pliny likes humbugs? When did he ever have humbugs? Better ask him.
Pliny, when have you ever eaten humbugs?
Pliny looks guilty. I can't recall the exact circumstances, he says. But it was some time ago.
Did you eat them in our house? I ask him, as a suspicion begins to dawn.
Yes, quite possibly, he nods and begins to hum a little tune as though the conversation is over.
And it is over.
Because I don't want to bug him. But I know exactly where he got the humbugs from. He must have found those ones in the drawer in the bathroom, left over from last winter when someone had a sore throat and got tired of eating Throaties, and bought humbugs, and couldn't finish them, but wouldn't throw them away.
I wondered where they were disappearing to.
Pliny, when have you ever eaten humbugs?
Pliny looks guilty. I can't recall the exact circumstances, he says. But it was some time ago.
Did you eat them in our house? I ask him, as a suspicion begins to dawn.
Yes, quite possibly, he nods and begins to hum a little tune as though the conversation is over.
And it is over.
Because I don't want to bug him. But I know exactly where he got the humbugs from. He must have found those ones in the drawer in the bathroom, left over from last winter when someone had a sore throat and got tired of eating Throaties, and bought humbugs, and couldn't finish them, but wouldn't throw them away.
I wondered where they were disappearing to.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Unfinished
Me: Have you finished?
Pliny the Elder: Finished what?
Me: Your holiday blog.
Pliny the Elder: Yes, why?
Me: Only that you didn't sign off. You just wrote 'And here I fell asleep'.
Pliny the Elder: Well, obviously, you can't sign off after you've fallen asleep.
Me: Oh. I thought you meant you'd fallen asleep in the car.
Pliny the Elder: Yes. That was why it was amusing.
Me: I see. Well, the holiday seems to have done you good. Lightened you up a little. Your blog is delightful. And I must say, you are more observant than I am.
Pliny the Elder: Thank you. I enjoyed myself a great deal. I am only sorry that I wasn't given an opportunity to visit the Moonta Mines.
Me: Yes, I know. I'm sorry. But we'd done it all before. You sit on a little train and rumble around the tailings heaps and pump houses and the cementation works. I forgot you hadn't seen it.
Pliny the Elder: I did see it, from across the road while you were in the Old Fashioned Sweet Shop.
Me: Oh yes. That was a waste of time that Sweet Shop. We heard some ladies talking in the back room but they didn't come out into the shop. Too bad, they missed out on selling us a bag of humbugs.
Pliny the Elder: Oh, did they have humbugs?
Me: Yes, but I was glad they didn't come out because I would have felt obliged to buy something and as it was I didn't.
Pliny the Elder: Why did you go in then?
Me : I was looking for honey.
Pliny the Elder: Sweet shops don't sell honey.
Me: I know that now.
Pliny the Elder: All the same it's a pity about the humbugs.
Me: Why?
Pliny the Elder: I like humbugs.
Pliny the Elder: Finished what?
Me: Your holiday blog.
Pliny the Elder: Yes, why?
Me: Only that you didn't sign off. You just wrote 'And here I fell asleep'.
Pliny the Elder: Well, obviously, you can't sign off after you've fallen asleep.
Me: Oh. I thought you meant you'd fallen asleep in the car.
Pliny the Elder: Yes. That was why it was amusing.
Me: I see. Well, the holiday seems to have done you good. Lightened you up a little. Your blog is delightful. And I must say, you are more observant than I am.
Pliny the Elder: Thank you. I enjoyed myself a great deal. I am only sorry that I wasn't given an opportunity to visit the Moonta Mines.
Me: Yes, I know. I'm sorry. But we'd done it all before. You sit on a little train and rumble around the tailings heaps and pump houses and the cementation works. I forgot you hadn't seen it.
Pliny the Elder: I did see it, from across the road while you were in the Old Fashioned Sweet Shop.
Me: Oh yes. That was a waste of time that Sweet Shop. We heard some ladies talking in the back room but they didn't come out into the shop. Too bad, they missed out on selling us a bag of humbugs.
Pliny the Elder: Oh, did they have humbugs?
Me: Yes, but I was glad they didn't come out because I would have felt obliged to buy something and as it was I didn't.
Pliny the Elder: Why did you go in then?
Me : I was looking for honey.
Pliny the Elder: Sweet shops don't sell honey.
Me: I know that now.
Pliny the Elder: All the same it's a pity about the humbugs.
Me: Why?
Pliny the Elder: I like humbugs.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Pliny's Holiday (end part)
I soon cheered up when we arrived once more at Moonta Bay. My companions decided to walk as far around the bay as the lighthouse, which looked like a very long walk indeed. You go, I said, and I shall potter here upon the sand. The tide was in but there were little islands of red-tipped samphire on which birds were standing. And I wished to make an inventory of shells.
I soon had a small collection of delightful molluscs. Because it was a holiday I had decided on a theme, and only picked up shells of reddish-pink, with the exception of two mussel shells that were bluish-purple, and a small orange winkle. The reddish-pink shells were gastropods of the type called Painted Lady, and bore designs of such intricate beauty one could scarce believe they were not painted with a brush.
Next I turned my attention to the birds. The birds seemed unafraid of me, and allowed me to approach them on their pretty islands. I identified gulls, sandpipers, pelicans, and sooty black oystercatchers with bright orange beaks. But the tide was rapidly going out, and they soon flew away.
My companions returned at last, claiming to have almost reached the lighthouse, which I did not think possible in the two hours they had taken, but of course it does depend on what they meant by almost. Together we ascended the metal steps to the top of the low seawall, and were surprised to hear a kind of natural music coming from them, created by the wind.
And now it was time to head for home. I should like to stay in Moonta Bay, I said to my companions. I believe I could find enough to do here to fill my days. But they looked very dubious, and pointed out that what seemed charming on a holiday might soon become tedious as a way of life. And so we set off to buy some lunch.
On the way home we saw a great fire billowing black and white smoke into the air at Paskeville, and people running to try and put it out.
At Cavan the salt heaps floated upside down in water that was tinted rosy pink.
And here I fell asleep.
I soon had a small collection of delightful molluscs. Because it was a holiday I had decided on a theme, and only picked up shells of reddish-pink, with the exception of two mussel shells that were bluish-purple, and a small orange winkle. The reddish-pink shells were gastropods of the type called Painted Lady, and bore designs of such intricate beauty one could scarce believe they were not painted with a brush.
Next I turned my attention to the birds. The birds seemed unafraid of me, and allowed me to approach them on their pretty islands. I identified gulls, sandpipers, pelicans, and sooty black oystercatchers with bright orange beaks. But the tide was rapidly going out, and they soon flew away.
My companions returned at last, claiming to have almost reached the lighthouse, which I did not think possible in the two hours they had taken, but of course it does depend on what they meant by almost. Together we ascended the metal steps to the top of the low seawall, and were surprised to hear a kind of natural music coming from them, created by the wind.
And now it was time to head for home. I should like to stay in Moonta Bay, I said to my companions. I believe I could find enough to do here to fill my days. But they looked very dubious, and pointed out that what seemed charming on a holiday might soon become tedious as a way of life. And so we set off to buy some lunch.
On the way home we saw a great fire billowing black and white smoke into the air at Paskeville, and people running to try and put it out.
At Cavan the salt heaps floated upside down in water that was tinted rosy pink.
And here I fell asleep.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Pliny's Holiday (sorrowful part)
The next morning we made ready to check out of our cabin. Before leaving we took a walk around the grounds, for we had reason to believe there had once been a wildlife park there, and something previously unknown to me, called a Mini Golf. And now I come to the most sorrowful part of my story.
We walked across to an area behind the furthest cabins, to a large deserted building, and peered through the windows. This building looked as though it had once been an office and a place to welcome visitors. Inside we saw a stand containing dusty postcards, several pieces of broken equipment and a purple couch, piled high with papers and an old crumpled sheet.
Beyond the building we could see the Mini Golf. A sad thing is a Mini Golf. This one consists of short runs marked with lengths of splintered wood, and pieces of carpet lying on them, rucked and torn. Here and there are cracked and peeling statues of headless kangaroos. Dead spike-leaved bushes and weeds lean at crazy angles in the hard dry dirt. A notice on a post describes the rules of playing Mini Golf.
My companions assured me that Mini Golf is not always played this way. Nevertheless, it was with heavy heart that I surveyed the further reaches of this wildlife garden. No wildlife was in evidence, save the occasional rustling of a bird. Alas for the fragility of the works of man! A dry water course, a broken structure that may once have been a bird enclosure, a circular stone construction and a creaking wooden windmill that turned, to no avail, in the strengthening breeze. A disconnected system of watering pipes in a dying forest of pines.
I could not help but think of my Pompeii, and what had happened there. A place that had once been filled with human activity and purpose, now come to naught. It was enough to make even a man of self-discipline and reason such as myself reflect and shed a tear.
And on this sorrowful note I shall end this description, leaving you the reader to take from it whatever lesson that you will. Tomorrow I shall continue on a brighter theme, for the rest of the day, though windy, was most pleasant, and full of wonders.
Vale!
Gaius Plinius Secundus
We walked across to an area behind the furthest cabins, to a large deserted building, and peered through the windows. This building looked as though it had once been an office and a place to welcome visitors. Inside we saw a stand containing dusty postcards, several pieces of broken equipment and a purple couch, piled high with papers and an old crumpled sheet.
Beyond the building we could see the Mini Golf. A sad thing is a Mini Golf. This one consists of short runs marked with lengths of splintered wood, and pieces of carpet lying on them, rucked and torn. Here and there are cracked and peeling statues of headless kangaroos. Dead spike-leaved bushes and weeds lean at crazy angles in the hard dry dirt. A notice on a post describes the rules of playing Mini Golf.
My companions assured me that Mini Golf is not always played this way. Nevertheless, it was with heavy heart that I surveyed the further reaches of this wildlife garden. No wildlife was in evidence, save the occasional rustling of a bird. Alas for the fragility of the works of man! A dry water course, a broken structure that may once have been a bird enclosure, a circular stone construction and a creaking wooden windmill that turned, to no avail, in the strengthening breeze. A disconnected system of watering pipes in a dying forest of pines.
I could not help but think of my Pompeii, and what had happened there. A place that had once been filled with human activity and purpose, now come to naught. It was enough to make even a man of self-discipline and reason such as myself reflect and shed a tear.
And on this sorrowful note I shall end this description, leaving you the reader to take from it whatever lesson that you will. Tomorrow I shall continue on a brighter theme, for the rest of the day, though windy, was most pleasant, and full of wonders.
Vale!
Gaius Plinius Secundus
Monday, February 1, 2010
Pliny's Holiday (continued)
My companions having returned from Port Hughes, we returned to our cabin to prepare for the evening's entertainments.
At seven we arrived at the Beachfront Bistro, a pleasant venue with a magnificent view of the seafront carpark and jetty. Having ordered our dinner we were entertained by the sight of two young men on the esplanade attempting to film themselves doing twisting tricks upon their skating boards. The young men were models of perseverence, but were unable to perform the trick. We were glad of the entertainment for our dinner was a long time in arriving. Perhaps this is normal; I do not know.
I am not used to going on a holiday. I find it strange not to be doing productive work. After dinner we went for a walk along the beach to watch the sunset. The sunset was very beautiful. The clouds above the horizon took on deeper shades of red and pink and orange as we watched. At the same time the pale full moon rose over the trees behind the caravan park, so that every way one looked there was something of wondrous ephemeral beauty. Even the sand itself was a work of art, the artists here being cockles forming strange curling designs in the sand as they buried themselves for the night. Children were playing on the sand in the gathering dark, and a group of people talked and laughed under the jetty. I thought that perhaps the value of a holiday lies precisely in not doing productive work.
Later still, my companions deciding to go to Rossiters Point with a bottle of wine, and observe the human activities on the jetty and the motions of the tides and the stars, I took my leave and climbed down the cliff steps in the dark, to the beach, to see what might be taking place at night there. Soon I saw a figure with a bright light, walking bent over in the shallows, making a mighty swooshing noise with his legs. What are you doing? I asked him, but he did not reply. I asked if I might observe him, still he did not answer. I sat down on the sand and observed him anyway. Presently his wife arrived at the top of the cliff in a car and walked down the path to meet him. He took a long time to gather up his things. She walked back up the path ahead of him. He followed her but half way up the path he stopped. Are you alright? she asked. Even then he did not speak but remained silent. As if he had seen a ghost.
I returned alone to the cabin, passing on my way a house with a man sitting outside on an old settee listening to music and drinking something out of a can. As I passed he began to whistle strangely. I hurried to the cabin and went inside. Immediately I began to make my preparations for sleep. There was a bunk bed opposite the bathroom. I had never seen a bunk bed before. I thought it would be sensible to choose the bottom bunk, but something made me climb up to the top, perhaps it was the holiday spirit. Once there I fell asleep and slept soundly till the morning.
As for the following day's adventures, let them wait until tomorrow.
Vale!
Gaius Plinius Secundus
At seven we arrived at the Beachfront Bistro, a pleasant venue with a magnificent view of the seafront carpark and jetty. Having ordered our dinner we were entertained by the sight of two young men on the esplanade attempting to film themselves doing twisting tricks upon their skating boards. The young men were models of perseverence, but were unable to perform the trick. We were glad of the entertainment for our dinner was a long time in arriving. Perhaps this is normal; I do not know.
I am not used to going on a holiday. I find it strange not to be doing productive work. After dinner we went for a walk along the beach to watch the sunset. The sunset was very beautiful. The clouds above the horizon took on deeper shades of red and pink and orange as we watched. At the same time the pale full moon rose over the trees behind the caravan park, so that every way one looked there was something of wondrous ephemeral beauty. Even the sand itself was a work of art, the artists here being cockles forming strange curling designs in the sand as they buried themselves for the night. Children were playing on the sand in the gathering dark, and a group of people talked and laughed under the jetty. I thought that perhaps the value of a holiday lies precisely in not doing productive work.
Later still, my companions deciding to go to Rossiters Point with a bottle of wine, and observe the human activities on the jetty and the motions of the tides and the stars, I took my leave and climbed down the cliff steps in the dark, to the beach, to see what might be taking place at night there. Soon I saw a figure with a bright light, walking bent over in the shallows, making a mighty swooshing noise with his legs. What are you doing? I asked him, but he did not reply. I asked if I might observe him, still he did not answer. I sat down on the sand and observed him anyway. Presently his wife arrived at the top of the cliff in a car and walked down the path to meet him. He took a long time to gather up his things. She walked back up the path ahead of him. He followed her but half way up the path he stopped. Are you alright? she asked. Even then he did not speak but remained silent. As if he had seen a ghost.
I returned alone to the cabin, passing on my way a house with a man sitting outside on an old settee listening to music and drinking something out of a can. As I passed he began to whistle strangely. I hurried to the cabin and went inside. Immediately I began to make my preparations for sleep. There was a bunk bed opposite the bathroom. I had never seen a bunk bed before. I thought it would be sensible to choose the bottom bunk, but something made me climb up to the top, perhaps it was the holiday spirit. Once there I fell asleep and slept soundly till the morning.
As for the following day's adventures, let them wait until tomorrow.
Vale!
Gaius Plinius Secundus
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