Do you know HOW HARD it is to identify a tree by its leaf?
1. The Gardening Book Index. Flipping useless. That's because if you don't know the proper name of the tree ( and of course you don't !) you have Buckley's chance of finding it in the index.
2. The Gardening Book. You could flick through the book looking at every picture. Hah! Have you forgotten that pictures of trees in gardening books are all out of focus and small?
3. The Internet. Oh yes. The internet. Try googling 'identification of leaves'. You will find an Easy Leaf Identifier. It will ask: Is your leaf simple or compound? Simple. OK. Is your leaf lobed or unlobed? Lobed. Then it is probably a mulberry or sassafras. What? But it can't be! Oh, but you didn't read the part where it says this only identifies North American Natives. Bah! Useless!
4. The Local Council Website. This looks promising. The Burnside Council has a list of all the different types of street trees, and you can click on them for further information. First, you eliminate all the ones you know. Then, aha! it might be a Chinese Pistachio! You click on it. The Chinese Pistachio grows to ten metres and has brilliant autumn foliage. There is a faint picture behind the information. The leaf doesn't look right though. Well, maybe it's a Manchurian Pear. This is what you have always suspected anyway. You click on the Manchurian Pear. It grows to ten metres and has brilliant autumn foliage. You look hard at the faint picture. It is, unhelpfully, exactly the same! The penny-pinchers! Can't even afford a proper picture. No joy there.
5. Your Friend's Place. You suddenly remember, as you are leaving your friend's house one morning, that the street tree outside her house is the very one you are trying to identify. You know however that she won't be able to tell you name of the tree, because her language skills aren't up to it, unless it is Chinese. You think to yourself, but if it is a Manchurian Pear, it IS Chinese! And then you remember that you always get into a muddle when you think something is Chinese, and she doesn't.
6. A Certain Piece of Paper Possibly in a Folder in Your Friend's House. As you are driving home a memory returns to you of a certain information sheet your friend received last year from the Campbelltown Council, telling her about her new street tree, its name and characteristics, and asking her to keep an eye on it and water it every now and then, in the summer months. And you remember that your friend showed you the information sheet and asked you to explain it to her, and you did. Which means you did know the name of the tree, once.
7. Your Memory. And you FORGOT!
Monday, May 31, 2010
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Autumn Ramblings
It's the last day of autumn, here. We walk to the shops.
We cross Portrush Road and walk down Percival Street, past the hole in the ground that was once Clayton Aged Care Home. The street trees are not very old. Under them, on the footpath, are shiny red ovate leaves that look like they've been punched out of leather. Some have bright yellow edges, others have startling green veins.
It irritates me that I don't know the name of these trees. That won't stop me from calling them Manchurian Pear. Because that's what I think they are, and I have my reasons.
Now we have turned the corner on to Queen Street. It's quite dark, for two thirty in the afternoon. That's because the street is lined with huge plane trees. At least I think they are plane trees, and I have my reasons. The footpath is littered with fallen plane tree leaves, as big as poppadoms, and as crunchy. The colour of these is ordinary dead leaf brown, but that is something that happens to them after they have fallen off the plane trees.
On the trees, the leaves are a different brown entirely. The glowing brown of rust, the curdling brown of yellow and the fading brown of green. The colour of snakes, the colour of something being not quite right with your eyes, the colour of menace.
Fortunately, we soon cross this street into Wall Street.
We cross Portrush Road and walk down Percival Street, past the hole in the ground that was once Clayton Aged Care Home. The street trees are not very old. Under them, on the footpath, are shiny red ovate leaves that look like they've been punched out of leather. Some have bright yellow edges, others have startling green veins.
It irritates me that I don't know the name of these trees. That won't stop me from calling them Manchurian Pear. Because that's what I think they are, and I have my reasons.
Now we have turned the corner on to Queen Street. It's quite dark, for two thirty in the afternoon. That's because the street is lined with huge plane trees. At least I think they are plane trees, and I have my reasons. The footpath is littered with fallen plane tree leaves, as big as poppadoms, and as crunchy. The colour of these is ordinary dead leaf brown, but that is something that happens to them after they have fallen off the plane trees.
On the trees, the leaves are a different brown entirely. The glowing brown of rust, the curdling brown of yellow and the fading brown of green. The colour of snakes, the colour of something being not quite right with your eyes, the colour of menace.
Fortunately, we soon cross this street into Wall Street.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Glimps
This is a poem about yesterday. A dashing-about-being-useful sort of day. Never quite seeing anything properly....
Has it started yet? No, not yet.
GLIMPS
Has it started now? Yes. That was the title. It's called GLIMPS
Weird title!
It's supposed to be about glimpses, so I called it GLIMPS.
Ah! Clever.
Right then, this is it...
GLIMPS.
Part one - The Sea
At the end of Wattle Street
Between tall yellow houses
A glimpse of the sea
One inch wide.
White sea horses
Rolling north
On bluegreen rollers.
Part two - The Eye
How does it look, my eye?
Alright, your eye,
But there is blood
On your face.
Part three - The Knife
Behind a screen door
At the end of a path
Through a garden
My daughter,
In need of a knife.
Part four - The Rainbow
On Greenhill Road
A man with a camera
Trying to capture
A rainbow
In a white sky.
Has it started yet? No, not yet.
GLIMPS
Has it started now? Yes. That was the title. It's called GLIMPS
Weird title!
It's supposed to be about glimpses, so I called it GLIMPS.
Ah! Clever.
Right then, this is it...
GLIMPS.
Part one - The Sea
At the end of Wattle Street
Between tall yellow houses
A glimpse of the sea
One inch wide.
White sea horses
Rolling north
On bluegreen rollers.
Part two - The Eye
How does it look, my eye?
Alright, your eye,
But there is blood
On your face.
Part three - The Knife
Behind a screen door
At the end of a path
Through a garden
My daughter,
In need of a knife.
Part four - The Rainbow
On Greenhill Road
A man with a camera
Trying to capture
A rainbow
In a white sky.
Goldilocks Effect
Do you know anything about the Goldilocks Effect? asked Pliny the Elder.
Why are you asking? I said.
I was watching a television program about the planet Jupiter last night, he replied, and they said the regions most likely to support any sort of life were the cloud regions, due to the Goldilocks Effect.
Oh I saw that program too, I said. Wasn't it tedious!
Not at all, said Pliny. It was most interesting. But you haven't answered my question.
Well, I suppose the Goldilocks Effect must be the way they describe the most habitable regions of a planet, as being neither too hot nor too cold, but just right, like Baby Bear's porridge.
I beg your pardon! Did you say Baby Bear's porridge?
Yes, I gather you don't know the story of Goldilocks, Pliny.
No, I don't, said Pliny. Enlighten me.
Goldilocks was a little girl and she went to the house of the Three Bears. She was hungry so she tried their bowls of porridge. Father Bear's big bowl was too hot, Mother Bear's medium sized bowl was too cold and Baby Bear's tiny bowl was just right. So she ate it all up.
Oh, I see, said Pliny. But wait a minute. That doesn't make any sense. Why was Baby Bear's porridge warmer than Mother Bear's? Shouldn't it have been the coldest porridge of all?
You're right! I said. I always thought there was something wrong with that story.
Why are you asking? I said.
I was watching a television program about the planet Jupiter last night, he replied, and they said the regions most likely to support any sort of life were the cloud regions, due to the Goldilocks Effect.
Oh I saw that program too, I said. Wasn't it tedious!
Not at all, said Pliny. It was most interesting. But you haven't answered my question.
Well, I suppose the Goldilocks Effect must be the way they describe the most habitable regions of a planet, as being neither too hot nor too cold, but just right, like Baby Bear's porridge.
I beg your pardon! Did you say Baby Bear's porridge?
Yes, I gather you don't know the story of Goldilocks, Pliny.
No, I don't, said Pliny. Enlighten me.
Goldilocks was a little girl and she went to the house of the Three Bears. She was hungry so she tried their bowls of porridge. Father Bear's big bowl was too hot, Mother Bear's medium sized bowl was too cold and Baby Bear's tiny bowl was just right. So she ate it all up.
Oh, I see, said Pliny. But wait a minute. That doesn't make any sense. Why was Baby Bear's porridge warmer than Mother Bear's? Shouldn't it have been the coldest porridge of all?
You're right! I said. I always thought there was something wrong with that story.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
The Web Elk
The final test was very difficult indeed.
A word came up on the screen. It was either NUMBER, or LETTER. After that, a number and a letter would appear on the screen. If the preceding word had been NUMBER, then you had to press 'Y' if the number was even, and 'N' if it was odd. If, on the other hand, the preceding word had been LETTER, then you had to press 'Y' if the letter was a vowel, and 'N' if it was a consonant.
If this is multi tasking, said Pliny, I don't like it. But I'm not going to give up now.
He practiced a few times, then decided he would use his technique of pressing 'Y' all the time. But as he had kept his right finger hovering over the 'N', he found himself pressing it accidentally every now and again.
This will not be helping at all, he muttered.
At last it was finished.
All he had to do was press Results, to find out what kind of Web Animal he was.
He pressed it. Nothing happened.
'Sorry. There are some technical difficulties', he read on the screen.
I don't believe it! he exclaimed. After all the time I've spent on the dratted thing!
But just then the technical difficulty ended, and his results came up.
You are a Web Elk, he read. Slow moving, sociable and specialised.
Slow moving! he frowned. I blame that on the cup of tea and the chocolate biscuit. Sociable! I don't know how I qualify as that! Specialised! That doesn't sound like me. I'm interested in a multitude of things. What a silly test.
What Web Animal did you turn out to be, Pliny? I asked, hearing him muttering.
A Web Elk, he answered. But I have some reservations.
A Web Elk, Pliny? Rather you than me.
A word came up on the screen. It was either NUMBER, or LETTER. After that, a number and a letter would appear on the screen. If the preceding word had been NUMBER, then you had to press 'Y' if the number was even, and 'N' if it was odd. If, on the other hand, the preceding word had been LETTER, then you had to press 'Y' if the letter was a vowel, and 'N' if it was a consonant.
If this is multi tasking, said Pliny, I don't like it. But I'm not going to give up now.
He practiced a few times, then decided he would use his technique of pressing 'Y' all the time. But as he had kept his right finger hovering over the 'N', he found himself pressing it accidentally every now and again.
This will not be helping at all, he muttered.
At last it was finished.
All he had to do was press Results, to find out what kind of Web Animal he was.
He pressed it. Nothing happened.
'Sorry. There are some technical difficulties', he read on the screen.
I don't believe it! he exclaimed. After all the time I've spent on the dratted thing!
But just then the technical difficulty ended, and his results came up.
You are a Web Elk, he read. Slow moving, sociable and specialised.
Slow moving! he frowned. I blame that on the cup of tea and the chocolate biscuit. Sociable! I don't know how I qualify as that! Specialised! That doesn't sound like me. I'm interested in a multitude of things. What a silly test.
What Web Animal did you turn out to be, Pliny? I asked, hearing him muttering.
A Web Elk, he answered. But I have some reservations.
A Web Elk, Pliny? Rather you than me.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
The Web Behaviour Test
First, Pliny had to supply some personal information. His gender and his age and job type. That was no problem. He chose 'retired'. Then, to estimate how many hours he spent each week on various online tasks.
What is multi tasking? he asked me crossly.
It's when you do more than one thing at once, I answered. Don't they explain?
But look at all these different kinds of multi tasking, he grumbled. I'm sure I don't do any of them. I shall just answer 'Never' to them all.
Next, Pliny had to demonstrate his research techniques. 'What words would you enter if you wanted to find out how much caffeine there was in an expresso?'
Do you think it's a trick question? asked Pliny.
Don't ask me, I said.
He entered the words 'caffeine' and 'expresso'.
Next he had to choose which site to go to for the answer.
Normally, he said, I would go straight to Wikipedia. But perhaps they would prefer me to go to BBC information.
That's definitely a trick question. I said. What are you going to do?
Be true to myself, said Pliny. And go to Wikipedia. Oh! Now they want me to rate the information out of ten. Let me see. Yes. It tells me here how much caffeine is in an expresso. I wonder if I should give it ten out of ten?
Why not? I asked.
Because they might think I am too easily satisfied, he said.
Stop worrying, and get on with it, Pliny, I said. It's meant to take you twenty minutes and you've taken quarter of an hour already.
But I made a cup of tea, protested Pliny.
They don't know that, I said. Hurry up.
Next Pliny had to do some simple memory puzzles, followed by some that involved multi tasking.
In the first one, there were four chocolate bars, two red and two blue. You had to press 'Y' if you thought the red chocolate bars had moved in the second frame, and 'N' if you thought that they hadn't. You could practice as many times as you liked.
Curses! said Pliny. Should I practice until I can do it perfectly, or would that be wasting time?
Practice, I advised, until you can do it adequately.
Pliny practiced a few times, but he wasn't improving. He was getting a consistent six out of ten.
I would probably get six out of ten if I just pressed 'Y' all the time, he said. So that's what I'll do. But I feel like a chocolate biscuit. What time is it now?
What is multi tasking? he asked me crossly.
It's when you do more than one thing at once, I answered. Don't they explain?
But look at all these different kinds of multi tasking, he grumbled. I'm sure I don't do any of them. I shall just answer 'Never' to them all.
Next, Pliny had to demonstrate his research techniques. 'What words would you enter if you wanted to find out how much caffeine there was in an expresso?'
Do you think it's a trick question? asked Pliny.
Don't ask me, I said.
He entered the words 'caffeine' and 'expresso'.
Next he had to choose which site to go to for the answer.
Normally, he said, I would go straight to Wikipedia. But perhaps they would prefer me to go to BBC information.
That's definitely a trick question. I said. What are you going to do?
Be true to myself, said Pliny. And go to Wikipedia. Oh! Now they want me to rate the information out of ten. Let me see. Yes. It tells me here how much caffeine is in an expresso. I wonder if I should give it ten out of ten?
Why not? I asked.
Because they might think I am too easily satisfied, he said.
Stop worrying, and get on with it, Pliny, I said. It's meant to take you twenty minutes and you've taken quarter of an hour already.
But I made a cup of tea, protested Pliny.
They don't know that, I said. Hurry up.
Next Pliny had to do some simple memory puzzles, followed by some that involved multi tasking.
In the first one, there were four chocolate bars, two red and two blue. You had to press 'Y' if you thought the red chocolate bars had moved in the second frame, and 'N' if you thought that they hadn't. You could practice as many times as you liked.
Curses! said Pliny. Should I practice until I can do it perfectly, or would that be wasting time?
Practice, I advised, until you can do it adequately.
Pliny practiced a few times, but he wasn't improving. He was getting a consistent six out of ten.
I would probably get six out of ten if I just pressed 'Y' all the time, he said. So that's what I'll do. But I feel like a chocolate biscuit. What time is it now?
Natural History News
What has happened to the newspapers? asked Pliny the Elder, this morning. I haven't seen one for the last two days.
Oh didn't I tell you? I replied. We've decided to do without them and see how we go.
What! exclaimed Pliny. What about the Sudoku ? What about the crossword? What about the latest developments in natural history?
Aren't you going to ask, What about the news? I said.
No, said Pliny. I get my news online these days, like everybody else.
You can probably get natural history news online as well, Pliny. Why don't we have a look.
We googled Natural History News, and found the BBC website.
Look! said Pliny. David Attenborough's favourite moments!
Oh please! I said. That will not be very cutting edge, you know.
I suppose not, agreed Pliny. What about this? A quiz! The Web Behaviour Test. What Web Animal are You?
They say it takes twenty minutes, I said doubtfully.
Never mind! I want to know what sort of Web Animal I am. And see! It will help them in their research.
Go on then. Do it.
Alright, I will. Oh! It seems I have to register.
Of course you do.
So Pliny registered, and then began the test.
Great Jupiter! he said there are eighteen parts to this! I'll make myself a cup of tea before I start.
Oh didn't I tell you? I replied. We've decided to do without them and see how we go.
What! exclaimed Pliny. What about the Sudoku ? What about the crossword? What about the latest developments in natural history?
Aren't you going to ask, What about the news? I said.
No, said Pliny. I get my news online these days, like everybody else.
You can probably get natural history news online as well, Pliny. Why don't we have a look.
We googled Natural History News, and found the BBC website.
Look! said Pliny. David Attenborough's favourite moments!
Oh please! I said. That will not be very cutting edge, you know.
I suppose not, agreed Pliny. What about this? A quiz! The Web Behaviour Test. What Web Animal are You?
They say it takes twenty minutes, I said doubtfully.
Never mind! I want to know what sort of Web Animal I am. And see! It will help them in their research.
Go on then. Do it.
Alright, I will. Oh! It seems I have to register.
Of course you do.
So Pliny registered, and then began the test.
Great Jupiter! he said there are eighteen parts to this! I'll make myself a cup of tea before I start.
Monday, May 24, 2010
The Competition
Oh Pliny! I said, surprised. You made a joke!
Yes, said Pliny, looking pleased with himself. I could not help myself.
Very funny, I said approvingly. By the way, did you know the Greeks thought Tuesday was unlucky, because the fall of Constantinople was on a Tuesday?
Yes, I did, said Pliny.
Don't you think that's a bit over the top? I asked.
It certainly is, he agreed. The Greeks are like that. The Spanish too. Did you know a Spaniard won't get married or begin a journey on a Tuesday?
Yes, I did know that, I said. We must have googled the same Tuesday.
Probably, said Pliny. Did you find anything different in Brewer's?
Brewer's isn't very good on Tuesday, I said. It just refers to Tiu, or Tiw, or Tyr, as the origin of the name, then suggests you look at Sunday.
Sunday? Is there a connection between Sunday and Tuesday.?
Only that it's a day of the week. I was quite disappointed in Brewer's.
Quite rightly. Its supposed to be 'a browser's delight'.
No Pliny, 'a browser's joy'. That's what it says on the back.
Oh yes, 'a browser's joy'. How could I forget? I used it in a competition recently.
What sort of competition?
It was a competition to win a packet of Fruchocs. You had to describe the taste of Fruchocs in three words. I just happened to be looking at the back of Brewer's Dictionary, where it says, 'A browser's joy!' and I thought, Here are three words! I shall adapt them and enter the competition!
And how did you adapt them, Pliny? And did you win?
My entry was: 'A sucker's joy'. And no, alas, I didn't.
Yes, said Pliny, looking pleased with himself. I could not help myself.
Very funny, I said approvingly. By the way, did you know the Greeks thought Tuesday was unlucky, because the fall of Constantinople was on a Tuesday?
Yes, I did, said Pliny.
Don't you think that's a bit over the top? I asked.
It certainly is, he agreed. The Greeks are like that. The Spanish too. Did you know a Spaniard won't get married or begin a journey on a Tuesday?
Yes, I did know that, I said. We must have googled the same Tuesday.
Probably, said Pliny. Did you find anything different in Brewer's?
Brewer's isn't very good on Tuesday, I said. It just refers to Tiu, or Tiw, or Tyr, as the origin of the name, then suggests you look at Sunday.
Sunday? Is there a connection between Sunday and Tuesday.?
Only that it's a day of the week. I was quite disappointed in Brewer's.
Quite rightly. Its supposed to be 'a browser's delight'.
No Pliny, 'a browser's joy'. That's what it says on the back.
Oh yes, 'a browser's joy'. How could I forget? I used it in a competition recently.
What sort of competition?
It was a competition to win a packet of Fruchocs. You had to describe the taste of Fruchocs in three words. I just happened to be looking at the back of Brewer's Dictionary, where it says, 'A browser's joy!' and I thought, Here are three words! I shall adapt them and enter the competition!
And how did you adapt them, Pliny? And did you win?
My entry was: 'A sucker's joy'. And no, alas, I didn't.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Tiu
I don't like to be critical, said Pliny the Elder, but...
You're going to be, I said. Is it about Tuesday?
Yes, said Pliny. I thought you were going to tell us how it got its name, or some other interesting facts about Tuesday. Not that you thought it looked like a tree.
So did I, I admitted, but I really did think it looked like a tree.
In what way exactly? asked Pliny. TUES looks like branches to you, does it?
Yes, I said, just look at the letters. And imagine if they were printed in a sort of curve.
No, said Pliny. I can't see it.
Look! I said, getting out a piece of paper and a fish topped pencil and drawing the letters TUES as a curve. Then to prove my point, I drew the letters DAY coming down from a point in between the U and the E.
Oh yes, I see ! said Pliny. It does look somewhat arborial. However I still think you ought to have been less subjective. Did you not think to Google it, or look it up in Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable?
I thought everybody would already know how Tuesday got its name, I said.
They wouldn't, said Pliny. It's the one that hardly anybody knows. Do you know?
I do now, I said, I've just looked it up. And no, I didn't know before, although I thought I did.
What did you think you thought it was? asked Pliny looking interested.
Oh I never got that far, I answered. But anyway, now I know that it's named after Tiu the son of Odin. He had his hand bitten off when chaining up the wolf Fenrir, I added gratuitously.
Hence his name, said Pliny.
You're going to be, I said. Is it about Tuesday?
Yes, said Pliny. I thought you were going to tell us how it got its name, or some other interesting facts about Tuesday. Not that you thought it looked like a tree.
So did I, I admitted, but I really did think it looked like a tree.
In what way exactly? asked Pliny. TUES looks like branches to you, does it?
Yes, I said, just look at the letters. And imagine if they were printed in a sort of curve.
No, said Pliny. I can't see it.
Look! I said, getting out a piece of paper and a fish topped pencil and drawing the letters TUES as a curve. Then to prove my point, I drew the letters DAY coming down from a point in between the U and the E.
Oh yes, I see ! said Pliny. It does look somewhat arborial. However I still think you ought to have been less subjective. Did you not think to Google it, or look it up in Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable?
I thought everybody would already know how Tuesday got its name, I said.
They wouldn't, said Pliny. It's the one that hardly anybody knows. Do you know?
I do now, I said, I've just looked it up. And no, I didn't know before, although I thought I did.
What did you think you thought it was? asked Pliny looking interested.
Oh I never got that far, I answered. But anyway, now I know that it's named after Tiu the son of Odin. He had his hand bitten off when chaining up the wolf Fenrir, I added gratuitously.
Hence his name, said Pliny.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Tues-day
Well, Pliny the Elder, you said you were looking forward to Tuesday. I look forward to Tuesday too, in a way. And this is how.
I wasn't aware I did this, until last Monday. You know how sometimes you catch yourself thinking? I caught myself thinking on Monday.
What I was thinking was something I don't usually think until Tuesday afternoon. Which is, hurrah! it's whole week till next Tuesday. The weird thing was that I was thinking it on Monday. I thought, wait a minute it's only Monday! And then I realised I knew that already, and I still felt just the same. Although of course there was an extra Tuesday in between.
Tuesday. It's like a sheltering tree. I was walking home from the shops this morning thinking about Tuesday and what I would write for this, when I saw a tree in front of me. Well, not directly in front of me but slightly to the right. It was a tall eucalyptus with spreading branches and yellow blossoms that had fallen to the footpath, so were no longer part of the tree. Although they were no longer part of the tree, they were there, so I'm just saying. Maybe it was because I was thinking of Tuesday at the exact moment I saw the tree, but suddenly I believed I knew that Tuesday was a tree. It looks like a tree. 'Tues' is the top of the tree, and 'day' is the trunk. It's funny but it's true. None of the other days of the week could possibly be trees.
I wasn't aware I did this, until last Monday. You know how sometimes you catch yourself thinking? I caught myself thinking on Monday.
What I was thinking was something I don't usually think until Tuesday afternoon. Which is, hurrah! it's whole week till next Tuesday. The weird thing was that I was thinking it on Monday. I thought, wait a minute it's only Monday! And then I realised I knew that already, and I still felt just the same. Although of course there was an extra Tuesday in between.
Tuesday. It's like a sheltering tree. I was walking home from the shops this morning thinking about Tuesday and what I would write for this, when I saw a tree in front of me. Well, not directly in front of me but slightly to the right. It was a tall eucalyptus with spreading branches and yellow blossoms that had fallen to the footpath, so were no longer part of the tree. Although they were no longer part of the tree, they were there, so I'm just saying. Maybe it was because I was thinking of Tuesday at the exact moment I saw the tree, but suddenly I believed I knew that Tuesday was a tree. It looks like a tree. 'Tues' is the top of the tree, and 'day' is the trunk. It's funny but it's true. None of the other days of the week could possibly be trees.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Embroi-der-y
A burglar, while burgling a house, takes meat out of the freezer and leaves it to defrost. He is looking for money in the freezer hidden behind the meat. People do sometimes hide money in the fridge. Burglars look for it there. It isn't surprising that a burglar would take the meat out of the freezer and not put it back. Put yourself in the place of the burglar. It's not what you would do.
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An art exhibition on Wednesday. One of the artists has embroidered four steak knives and four defrosting cuts of meat. The blades of the knives glitter sharply and blood oozes out of the meat in tiny beaded blobs, frosted fractals melt into icy pools of water under the meat, executed in tiny even stitches that the artist has learned in classes at Hampton Court.
#############################################################################
An art exhibition on Wednesday. One of the artists has embroidered four steak knives and four defrosting cuts of meat. The blades of the knives glitter sharply and blood oozes out of the meat in tiny beaded blobs, frosted fractals melt into icy pools of water under the meat, executed in tiny even stitches that the artist has learned in classes at Hampton Court.
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A moth has eaten six holes in a pale blue woollen blanket edged with slippery satin. It was looking for something to eat, that is all. Moths do sometimes eat holes in blankets when they are hungry. It isn't surprising. Put yourself in the place of the moth. It's what you would do.
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Tuesday, at the wooden table out the back. On the table, a yellow cloth embroidered with daisies. On the cloth, the pale blue woollen blanket, with six holes in the middle. An artist is darning the holes with fine strands of blue baby wool which she has previously unravelled. She weaves the strands in and out across the holes from left to right and then from top to bottom, one by one. The sun is bright. A fly sits on the blanket, she waves it away. She feels strangely happy.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Sand by me.
Sand? Why did I pick sand? I don't know anything about sand. I don't even like sand. But let me think.........
Last weekend I was walking along the esplanade at Seacliff, looking at the heaps of sand the council had just dumped, and I remembered something I had read once about sand.
It was, that we are very lucky to be living in an age where there is sand. There hasn't always been sand. And one day there will be no sand again.
But I couldn't remember why it was true.
Then, three little grains of sand blew by me and spoke to me as in a dream:
First grain of sand: I am a coarse grain of sand. I measure 2 millimetres in diameter. I used to be bigger, but then I was known as gravel.
Second grain of sand: I am a medium grain of sand. I measure one millimetre in diameter. I am getting smaller all the time though.
Third grain of sand: I am a fine grain of sand. I measure .0625 millimetres in diameter. If I get any smaller I'll be silt.
Me: So?
The three grains of sand: Humans! They never get it. Let's roll!
Last weekend I was walking along the esplanade at Seacliff, looking at the heaps of sand the council had just dumped, and I remembered something I had read once about sand.
It was, that we are very lucky to be living in an age where there is sand. There hasn't always been sand. And one day there will be no sand again.
But I couldn't remember why it was true.
Then, three little grains of sand blew by me and spoke to me as in a dream:
First grain of sand: I am a coarse grain of sand. I measure 2 millimetres in diameter. I used to be bigger, but then I was known as gravel.
Second grain of sand: I am a medium grain of sand. I measure one millimetre in diameter. I am getting smaller all the time though.
Third grain of sand: I am a fine grain of sand. I measure .0625 millimetres in diameter. If I get any smaller I'll be silt.
Me: So?
The three grains of sand: Humans! They never get it. Let's roll!
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Jealousy
I don't know what to write about today. I'm jealous of Pliny the Elder. He came up with the Blue Devil Fish, the Chocolate Biscuits and the Volcanoes just like that without even thinking.......
Pliny saw what I was writing.
Come, come, he said. Anyone can come up with three things.
Yes, but you had a theme, I said.
I did? he said. What was it?
Food, I replied. Wasn't it?
Pliny looked doubtful. The Blue Devil fish is inedible, he remarked. I remember making a point of saying so.
Yes, you did, but to say something is inedible introduces the idea of food. One thinks, on reading it, Oh I was wondering whether people eat them or not. Now I know.
Alright, said Pliny. I concede that point. But what about volcanoes? They are not food.
Volcano cakes are, I said. You can't deny it.
I can't, agreed Pliny. But, if you remember, my intention had been to write about real volcanoes, not cakes. So my original list of topics was lacking a theme.
You are very encouraging Pliny, I said. I am going to think of three things.
Good, said Pliny.
There was a pause, then he said. Have you thought of them yet?
Yes, I said. Sand. That's the first one. Embroidery, that's the second... and.....Tuesday.
You see, said Pliny. It's easy. And, he added, I'm looking forward to Tuesday.
Pliny saw what I was writing.
Come, come, he said. Anyone can come up with three things.
Yes, but you had a theme, I said.
I did? he said. What was it?
Food, I replied. Wasn't it?
Pliny looked doubtful. The Blue Devil fish is inedible, he remarked. I remember making a point of saying so.
Yes, you did, but to say something is inedible introduces the idea of food. One thinks, on reading it, Oh I was wondering whether people eat them or not. Now I know.
Alright, said Pliny. I concede that point. But what about volcanoes? They are not food.
Volcano cakes are, I said. You can't deny it.
I can't, agreed Pliny. But, if you remember, my intention had been to write about real volcanoes, not cakes. So my original list of topics was lacking a theme.
You are very encouraging Pliny, I said. I am going to think of three things.
Good, said Pliny.
There was a pause, then he said. Have you thought of them yet?
Yes, I said. Sand. That's the first one. Embroidery, that's the second... and.....Tuesday.
You see, said Pliny. It's easy. And, he added, I'm looking forward to Tuesday.
Monday, May 17, 2010
The Lardy Crumpet
Why are there two packets of chocolate biscuits in the cupboard? asked Pliny, this afternoon.
And still no cake, he added, softly.
Tim Tams were on special, I replied. Two dollars a pack. And we bought crumpets as well.
Any lard? asked Pliny.
I forgot to look for lard. Anyway I told you it was unhealthy.
It's not as unhealthy as all that, said Pliny. I've been reading all about it. It depends which part of the pig the lard comes from. The best lard comes from the area near the kidneys and is called leaf lard. It makes very nice flaky pastry and you may be surprised to know that it has less cholesterol than the equivalent amount of butter.
Really? I said. I wonder if it would be nice on a crumpet?
Yes, said Pliny. It would.
I was joking, I said. Everyone knows it would be horrible. Why, there's even a poem about how horrible it would be, I added rashly. It's called The Lardy Crumpet, and it goes:
Your face is as long
As my grandfather's gong
Is there anything wrong
With your crumpet?
Yes, it is charred
And blackened and hard
And smothered in lard
Is my crumpet.
Is that really a poem? asked Pliny, incredulously. My grandfather's gong! Whatever does that mean?
No idea, I said. But I'm going to have a crumpet. Would you like one?
And still no cake, he added, softly.
Tim Tams were on special, I replied. Two dollars a pack. And we bought crumpets as well.
Any lard? asked Pliny.
I forgot to look for lard. Anyway I told you it was unhealthy.
It's not as unhealthy as all that, said Pliny. I've been reading all about it. It depends which part of the pig the lard comes from. The best lard comes from the area near the kidneys and is called leaf lard. It makes very nice flaky pastry and you may be surprised to know that it has less cholesterol than the equivalent amount of butter.
Really? I said. I wonder if it would be nice on a crumpet?
Yes, said Pliny. It would.
I was joking, I said. Everyone knows it would be horrible. Why, there's even a poem about how horrible it would be, I added rashly. It's called The Lardy Crumpet, and it goes:
Your face is as long
As my grandfather's gong
Is there anything wrong
With your crumpet?
Yes, it is charred
And blackened and hard
And smothered in lard
Is my crumpet.
Is that really a poem? asked Pliny, incredulously. My grandfather's gong! Whatever does that mean?
No idea, I said. But I'm going to have a crumpet. Would you like one?
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Must Cakes
Thank you for those last three blog posts, I said to Pliny this morning. They were very entertaining.
I did my best, said Pliny.
Yes, you did. And Pliny, I didn't know you were so fond of cake.
Well, I am rather partial to it. But of course, I rarely eat it.
Neither do I. But I sensed you were complaining. I'm not averse to baking one every now and then, for a special occasion, and eating it too. Would you like me to bake you a cake? I could try the Erupting Volcano.
No, don't do that, said Pliny. Writing about it was one thing, but I don't think I could face eating one just yet.
Well, what kind of cake do you like?
Do you know, said Pliny dreamily, there was a cake I used to really like. It was called Must Cake.
Alright I'll have a go at that. What's the recipe?
Let me see......said Pliny. You take a modius of wheat flour....
That's easy, I said.
Then you moisten it with must.
What's must?
It's a wine sediment, from the lees of the wine.
This is sounding lovely already, I said.
Yes it adds a wonderful flavour. But that is just the beginning. You add anise, cummin, two pounds of lard, a pound of cheese, and the bark of a laurel twig. Mix it all up and make it into cakes. Then you place them on bay leaves and bake. Ahh. The aroma! I can almost smell it now.
So can I, I said. But you sure about the lard? People nowadays are not very fond of lard. And all that cheese as well! It would be awfully rich. What if I leave out the lard and the cheese, and use a bit of olive oil instead?
Pliny looked glum.
Goodbye my dream cake, he said.
I did my best, said Pliny.
Yes, you did. And Pliny, I didn't know you were so fond of cake.
Well, I am rather partial to it. But of course, I rarely eat it.
Neither do I. But I sensed you were complaining. I'm not averse to baking one every now and then, for a special occasion, and eating it too. Would you like me to bake you a cake? I could try the Erupting Volcano.
No, don't do that, said Pliny. Writing about it was one thing, but I don't think I could face eating one just yet.
Well, what kind of cake do you like?
Do you know, said Pliny dreamily, there was a cake I used to really like. It was called Must Cake.
Alright I'll have a go at that. What's the recipe?
Let me see......said Pliny. You take a modius of wheat flour....
That's easy, I said.
Then you moisten it with must.
What's must?
It's a wine sediment, from the lees of the wine.
This is sounding lovely already, I said.
Yes it adds a wonderful flavour. But that is just the beginning. You add anise, cummin, two pounds of lard, a pound of cheese, and the bark of a laurel twig. Mix it all up and make it into cakes. Then you place them on bay leaves and bake. Ahh. The aroma! I can almost smell it now.
So can I, I said. But you sure about the lard? People nowadays are not very fond of lard. And all that cheese as well! It would be awfully rich. What if I leave out the lard and the cheese, and use a bit of olive oil instead?
Pliny looked glum.
Goodbye my dream cake, he said.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Volcanoes, by Pliny the Elder
Greetings from Pliny the Elder.
It had been my intention to write on the subject of volcanoes, in this my third and final post of the series, but I find myself shrinking from the task. After all these years the thought of an erupting volcano causes my throat to contract with a choking sensation no less severe and debilitating than that which is brought about by the noxious fumes, smoke and ash of a real volcanic eruption.
Therefore it is my intention to allow myself to approach the subject much in the way that a kindly doctor might help a nervous patient become used to looking at spiders, that is, to begin with a very small one, and by this means to lessen the feelings of dread evoked by one that is larger.
Today then, my subject will be: How to Bake an Erupting Volcano Cake.
Firstly, bake a chocolate cake, in a rounded bowl, so that when the cake is upturned it will have the appearance of a hill, or mountain.
Secondly, when the cake is cool, take a small cup, and press it down into the top of the cake.
Thirdly, ice the cake with chocolate icing, and decorate it with melted toffee, to represent the lava spilling down the sides.
Fourthly, place a small piece of dry ice in the bottom of the cup.
Finally, add a little water to the dry ice.
This will create the thrilling effect of real smoke pouring from the top of the volcano, and will delight everyone, adults and children alike.
Even I could, I think, bring myself to partake of it.
Farewell! I look forward to the day when I can write about volcanoes without emotion.
It had been my intention to write on the subject of volcanoes, in this my third and final post of the series, but I find myself shrinking from the task. After all these years the thought of an erupting volcano causes my throat to contract with a choking sensation no less severe and debilitating than that which is brought about by the noxious fumes, smoke and ash of a real volcanic eruption.
Therefore it is my intention to allow myself to approach the subject much in the way that a kindly doctor might help a nervous patient become used to looking at spiders, that is, to begin with a very small one, and by this means to lessen the feelings of dread evoked by one that is larger.
Today then, my subject will be: How to Bake an Erupting Volcano Cake.
Firstly, bake a chocolate cake, in a rounded bowl, so that when the cake is upturned it will have the appearance of a hill, or mountain.
Secondly, when the cake is cool, take a small cup, and press it down into the top of the cake.
Thirdly, ice the cake with chocolate icing, and decorate it with melted toffee, to represent the lava spilling down the sides.
Fourthly, place a small piece of dry ice in the bottom of the cup.
Finally, add a little water to the dry ice.
This will create the thrilling effect of real smoke pouring from the top of the volcano, and will delight everyone, adults and children alike.
Even I could, I think, bring myself to partake of it.
Farewell! I look forward to the day when I can write about volcanoes without emotion.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Chocolate Biscuits, by Pliny the Elder
Greetings from Pliny the Elder.
My subject for today is chocolate biscuits. Now, in ancient Rome, we did not have chocolate biscuits, although we did enjoy eating cakes that were soaked in honey. And we were none the worse for that! At the present time I am a guest in a house that is hardly ever without a packet of chocolate biscuits in the pantry, though they rarely have any cake.
To be fair, one packet of chocolate biscuits lasts a long time. Sometimes as long as two weeks. This depends on a number of factors, one being if someone should come home late at night, and consume several chocolate biscuits before embarking on a late dinner of blackened fish.
Twice of recent times we have had Chocolate Montes. Montes is pronounced Monties, and not Montays as one might expect if one were familiar with Latin. As they are a flat biscuit one should not in any case expect them to be named after mountains. Chocolate Montes are a famous Australian biscuit, first produced by Arnotts in 1949. The name was chosen because the biscuit in the Chocolate Monte is almost identical to the biscuit in the Monte Carlo Cream, another famous Australian biscuit first made by Arnotts in 1928.
The Monte Carlo Cream consists of two small round honey and coconut biscuits joined together with raspberry jam and vanilla cream. This biscuit is said to be a favourite with the ladies. I imagine this is because they tell themselves they are eating one biscuit, while really eating two.
The Chocolate Monte consists of one small honey and coconut biscuit, covered with semi-sweet dark chocolate. The Chocolate Monte is said to be a favourite with men, and most men feel quite justified in eating two.
The packet of biscuits that was in the pantry in between the last two packets of Chocolate Montes, was the one which disappeared very quickly due to the uncharacteristic depredations of the eater of blackened fish. I believe they were caramel-filled chocolate biscuits. I did not have the opportunity to taste a single one, although I had planned to.
Tomorrow I will be writing about volcanoes. Farewell!
My subject for today is chocolate biscuits. Now, in ancient Rome, we did not have chocolate biscuits, although we did enjoy eating cakes that were soaked in honey. And we were none the worse for that! At the present time I am a guest in a house that is hardly ever without a packet of chocolate biscuits in the pantry, though they rarely have any cake.
To be fair, one packet of chocolate biscuits lasts a long time. Sometimes as long as two weeks. This depends on a number of factors, one being if someone should come home late at night, and consume several chocolate biscuits before embarking on a late dinner of blackened fish.
Twice of recent times we have had Chocolate Montes. Montes is pronounced Monties, and not Montays as one might expect if one were familiar with Latin. As they are a flat biscuit one should not in any case expect them to be named after mountains. Chocolate Montes are a famous Australian biscuit, first produced by Arnotts in 1949. The name was chosen because the biscuit in the Chocolate Monte is almost identical to the biscuit in the Monte Carlo Cream, another famous Australian biscuit first made by Arnotts in 1928.
The Monte Carlo Cream consists of two small round honey and coconut biscuits joined together with raspberry jam and vanilla cream. This biscuit is said to be a favourite with the ladies. I imagine this is because they tell themselves they are eating one biscuit, while really eating two.
The Chocolate Monte consists of one small honey and coconut biscuit, covered with semi-sweet dark chocolate. The Chocolate Monte is said to be a favourite with men, and most men feel quite justified in eating two.
The packet of biscuits that was in the pantry in between the last two packets of Chocolate Montes, was the one which disappeared very quickly due to the uncharacteristic depredations of the eater of blackened fish. I believe they were caramel-filled chocolate biscuits. I did not have the opportunity to taste a single one, although I had planned to.
Tomorrow I will be writing about volcanoes. Farewell!
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Blue Devil Fish, by Pliny the Elder
Greetings from Pliny the Elder.
There has been much in the newspapers recently about Blue Devil Fish, that hide in caves along the underwater reefs off the coast of Adelaide. These fish, they say, are most mysterious. In colour they are the darkest midnight blue, and their bodies are spotted with pale blue spots as numerous as the stars in the Milky Way.
There has been much in the newspapers recently about Blue Devil Fish, that hide in caves along the underwater reefs off the coast of Adelaide. These fish, they say, are most mysterious. In colour they are the darkest midnight blue, and their bodies are spotted with pale blue spots as numerous as the stars in the Milky Way.
Each fish has a distinctive pattern of spots by which it may be recognised, and divers have made numerous field trips to local reefs to photograph the fish, that they might make a study of their habits, and the size of their populations.
A study of the earbones of the Blue Devil Fish has shown that they can live to be as old as fifty nine. It makes me melancholy to think that I may be outlived by a fish. For I remain forever fifty seven. Not that it holds me back in many ways. But I will never qualify for free travel on the bus or train.
And therefore, should I wish to join the divers in their study of the Blue Devil Fish, for example by catching the train to Port Noarlunga and joining with them there, I cannot, unless I am willing to part with more money than I can spare. For the cost of bus and train tickets is close to four dollars nowadays, and that is four dollars each way, because it is not possible to walk to the beach from the station, swim out to the reef and back and return to the station in under two hours.
Furthermore, I believe the line is temporarily closed while it is being upgraded.
Blue Devil Fish, I should add, are not edible fish.
Tomorrow I shall be writing on chocolate biscuits. Farewell!
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Biodiversity
Pliny the Elder was beside himself with frustration. If the ladybird had not had legs, a circumstance he personally doubted, then it needed to be studied further. Perhaps it really did live in a seashell. Perhaps instead of legs it had tiny flippers. It would now be impossible to ascertain.
I felt a little guilty, not just for Pliny's sake but for the sake of biodiversity in general. If only I had not washed the little blighter down the sink! At least, I thought, I can try and make it up to Pliny.
Would you like to write the next few blogs? I asked him. You may write on any subject that you choose, I shall not interfere.
Pliny brightened up.
Thankyou, he said. I would like that.
What will you write about? I asked.
Blue Devil fish, said Pliny.
Really? I said. Now that is a coincidence.
Coincidence? Why? asked Pliny.
Because I .....no never mind. What else will you write about?
Chocolate biscuits, said Pliny. Don't tell me you....?
Well, I ..... ahem, anything else?
Volcanoes, said Pliny.
I would never have thought of that, I said truthfully.
I felt a little guilty, not just for Pliny's sake but for the sake of biodiversity in general. If only I had not washed the little blighter down the sink! At least, I thought, I can try and make it up to Pliny.
Would you like to write the next few blogs? I asked him. You may write on any subject that you choose, I shall not interfere.
Pliny brightened up.
Thankyou, he said. I would like that.
What will you write about? I asked.
Blue Devil fish, said Pliny.
Really? I said. Now that is a coincidence.
Coincidence? Why? asked Pliny.
Because I .....no never mind. What else will you write about?
Chocolate biscuits, said Pliny. Don't tell me you....?
Well, I ..... ahem, anything else?
Volcanoes, said Pliny.
I would never have thought of that, I said truthfully.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
The Bug Collection
Have you, by any chance, seen my bug collection? asked Pliny the Elder.
No, have you lost it? I asked. What does it look like?
It looks, said Pliny, frowning, like a small bronze bead.
A small bronze bead! That doesn't sound like a bug collection.
It was the first specimen in my new bug collection, said Pliny. And it was, in fact, a most unusual ladybird.
I was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable.
Where was it when you saw it last? I asked.
In the wooden bowl on the window sill in the kitchen with your collection of shells.
Oh dear, I said. I believe I have washed your bug collection down the sink. Why did you put it in there?
I didn't put it there. That was simply where it was.
You mean it fell out of one of the shells?
Well, what did you think when you saw it?
I thought it had fallen out of one of the shells.
And you decided to throw it away?
Yes, after I'd seen it was a ladybird, and not a shell.
That is the difference between you and me, said Pliny. That is the very reason why I wanted to keep it.
That is not the difference between you and me, Pliny, I said. As soon as I'd flushed it down the sink I regretted it. I wished I had kept it for the very reason you wanted to keep it.
Except that I did keep it, said Pliny. At least, for a time.
It didn't have any legs, I said. That was the real reason I washed it away.
Tch! said Pliny.
No, have you lost it? I asked. What does it look like?
It looks, said Pliny, frowning, like a small bronze bead.
A small bronze bead! That doesn't sound like a bug collection.
It was the first specimen in my new bug collection, said Pliny. And it was, in fact, a most unusual ladybird.
I was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable.
Where was it when you saw it last? I asked.
In the wooden bowl on the window sill in the kitchen with your collection of shells.
Oh dear, I said. I believe I have washed your bug collection down the sink. Why did you put it in there?
I didn't put it there. That was simply where it was.
You mean it fell out of one of the shells?
Well, what did you think when you saw it?
I thought it had fallen out of one of the shells.
And you decided to throw it away?
Yes, after I'd seen it was a ladybird, and not a shell.
That is the difference between you and me, said Pliny. That is the very reason why I wanted to keep it.
That is not the difference between you and me, Pliny, I said. As soon as I'd flushed it down the sink I regretted it. I wished I had kept it for the very reason you wanted to keep it.
Except that I did keep it, said Pliny. At least, for a time.
It didn't have any legs, I said. That was the real reason I washed it away.
Tch! said Pliny.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Violet Moths
Violet moths? said Pliny the Elder, sceptically. I have never heard of them.
Perhaps they were butterflies, I said.
Violet butterflies! scoffed Pliny.
Perhaps they weren't violet. They wouldn't keep still.
Pliny was already googling violet moths.
Well, I never, he said. Dame's Violet Moth, or Plutella Porectella, named by Linnaeus himself. Let's see if there's a photograph.
Is there? I looked over his shoulder. Oh yes, there is!
But Plutella Porectella was the colour of bug-infested oatmeal and had long ragged wings.
That's not what Hallam saw, I said firmly.
Hallam, Hallam, said Pliny. What was that all about?
Just introducing a bit of history, I said. Didn't you like it?
Very confusing, said Pliny, especially when he turned into a lady.
He didn't turn into a lady, I said. He thought he was catching up with a man who might have been himself. But it wasn't a man, so he wasn't.
Give me the simple life, said Pliny.
Perhaps they were butterflies, I said.
Violet butterflies! scoffed Pliny.
Perhaps they weren't violet. They wouldn't keep still.
Pliny was already googling violet moths.
Well, I never, he said. Dame's Violet Moth, or Plutella Porectella, named by Linnaeus himself. Let's see if there's a photograph.
Is there? I looked over his shoulder. Oh yes, there is!
But Plutella Porectella was the colour of bug-infested oatmeal and had long ragged wings.
That's not what Hallam saw, I said firmly.
Hallam, Hallam, said Pliny. What was that all about?
Just introducing a bit of history, I said. Didn't you like it?
Very confusing, said Pliny, especially when he turned into a lady.
He didn't turn into a lady, I said. He thought he was catching up with a man who might have been himself. But it wasn't a man, so he wasn't.
Give me the simple life, said Pliny.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Hallam's Return
Hallam sat under a red umbrella at Noonie's drinking his Farmers Union Iced Coffee.
This would be perfect, he thought to himself, if only they'd turn off that music.
It was the sort of music that reminded him of his first wife Audrey. And he didn't particularly want to be reminded of her. She was another achiever. She had successfully fought to get the Queen Victoria Maternity Hospital built in Rose Park. And what had he fought to get built? Nothing.
He got up quickly and walked back to the pathway through the dunes. It led behind Fort Glanville past low green bushes full of violet moths, and ended on an access path to the beach, where there was an interpretive sign, explaining the loss of seagrass.
Hmmm, thought Hallam, there seems to be plenty of seagrass here today, although it's dead and in heaps. He felt pleased with himself for thinking this. He walked back onto the beach.
The sea was still joined indistinguishably to the sky at the horizon and was the colour of a mirror out there, but at the curve of the bay where it disappeared into the houses it was sapphire blue. Somewhere in between at the edge of the sand walked two figures, a man and a girl. The man was in a red top with blue cut-off jeans and the girl was in white, with grey shorts.
Hallam kept walking. The seagrass heaps looked benign now that they had dried. They looked like little tuffets you could sit on. And they didn't smell as bad.
He was gradually catching up with the man and the girl. It wasn't a man, he realised, but a taller woman. She had blonde hair caught up in a twist, and was more shapely than when he had thought he might be drawing level with himself.
This would be perfect, he thought to himself, if only they'd turn off that music.
It was the sort of music that reminded him of his first wife Audrey. And he didn't particularly want to be reminded of her. She was another achiever. She had successfully fought to get the Queen Victoria Maternity Hospital built in Rose Park. And what had he fought to get built? Nothing.
He got up quickly and walked back to the pathway through the dunes. It led behind Fort Glanville past low green bushes full of violet moths, and ended on an access path to the beach, where there was an interpretive sign, explaining the loss of seagrass.
Hmmm, thought Hallam, there seems to be plenty of seagrass here today, although it's dead and in heaps. He felt pleased with himself for thinking this. He walked back onto the beach.
The sea was still joined indistinguishably to the sky at the horizon and was the colour of a mirror out there, but at the curve of the bay where it disappeared into the houses it was sapphire blue. Somewhere in between at the edge of the sand walked two figures, a man and a girl. The man was in a red top with blue cut-off jeans and the girl was in white, with grey shorts.
Hallam kept walking. The seagrass heaps looked benign now that they had dried. They looked like little tuffets you could sit on. And they didn't smell as bad.
He was gradually catching up with the man and the girl. It wasn't a man, he realised, but a taller woman. She had blonde hair caught up in a twist, and was more shapely than when he had thought he might be drawing level with himself.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Hallam's Walk
Hallam walked along Tennyson Beach. He liked to do it, every decade or so. Today he was in a red top and cut-off jeans. More comfortable than my Governor General outfit, he thought.
He looked out towards the horizon. Astonishingly, there was no horizon, today. The sea was one with the clouds which were pearly and gelatinous, all heaving gently. My dad would write a poem about this he thought, sourly. Or a saga, more like.
The sky above was a brilliant blue and the sun was warm. He felt sweaty even in his summer top. And he needed his cap, because the sun was at a low afternoon angle.
He sniffed the air. Pooh, he thought, iodine. Or is it ozone? No, ozone doesnt have a smell. It'll be this seaweed. He stared at the heaps of brown seaweed, sculpted into hillocks, cliffs and troll-like creatures by the tide.
The sea slopped up to the seaweed, warmly. Seagulls bobbed in the shallows facing away from the sun. They didn't appear to be doing anything other than bobbing. He wondered why they had chosen to bob there.
He didn't know much about seagulls. He saw a pelican flying low over the water, into the sun.
He didn't know much about pelicans either. I bet my dad did, he thought. I wish I'd been allowed to finish at Cambridge, instead of having to give up my studies to be his secretary. He sighed.
Still it was a nice day, and he had done pretty well for himself really. Governor of South Australia and then Governor General of Australia for a year after that. He decided to treat himself to a Farmers Union Iced Coffee at Noonies.
He looked out towards the horizon. Astonishingly, there was no horizon, today. The sea was one with the clouds which were pearly and gelatinous, all heaving gently. My dad would write a poem about this he thought, sourly. Or a saga, more like.
The sky above was a brilliant blue and the sun was warm. He felt sweaty even in his summer top. And he needed his cap, because the sun was at a low afternoon angle.
He sniffed the air. Pooh, he thought, iodine. Or is it ozone? No, ozone doesnt have a smell. It'll be this seaweed. He stared at the heaps of brown seaweed, sculpted into hillocks, cliffs and troll-like creatures by the tide.
The sea slopped up to the seaweed, warmly. Seagulls bobbed in the shallows facing away from the sun. They didn't appear to be doing anything other than bobbing. He wondered why they had chosen to bob there.
He didn't know much about seagulls. He saw a pelican flying low over the water, into the sun.
He didn't know much about pelicans either. I bet my dad did, he thought. I wish I'd been allowed to finish at Cambridge, instead of having to give up my studies to be his secretary. He sighed.
Still it was a nice day, and he had done pretty well for himself really. Governor of South Australia and then Governor General of Australia for a year after that. He decided to treat himself to a Farmers Union Iced Coffee at Noonies.
Tennyson
Little did Alfred Lord Tennyson know that this would happen.
His son Hallam would become the Governor of South Australia in 1899.
Alfred did not know this because he died earlier, in 1892.
Back to Hallam.
Hallam was named after Alfred Lord Tennyson's friend Arthur Hallam, who died even earlier.
Alfred Lord Tennyson wrote a poem about the death of his friend. He called it In Memoriam.
But, back to Hallam.
Hallam, as Governor of South Australia, had a beach named after him.
The beach, probably to his chagrin, was called Tennyson, not Hallam.
This afternoon, as I was walking along the beach at Tennyson, I thought of Alfred Lord Tennyson's poem In Memoriam, for two reasons.
One, because the name of the beach was Tennyson.
Two, because the sound of the sea was mournful, dragging and repetitive, as the tonal effect of In Memoriam is reputed to be.
I have not read it, or if I have, I have forgotten.
This is a prologue. Tomorrow I will write more about Tennyson.
His son Hallam would become the Governor of South Australia in 1899.
Alfred did not know this because he died earlier, in 1892.
Back to Hallam.
Hallam was named after Alfred Lord Tennyson's friend Arthur Hallam, who died even earlier.
Alfred Lord Tennyson wrote a poem about the death of his friend. He called it In Memoriam.
But, back to Hallam.
Hallam, as Governor of South Australia, had a beach named after him.
The beach, probably to his chagrin, was called Tennyson, not Hallam.
This afternoon, as I was walking along the beach at Tennyson, I thought of Alfred Lord Tennyson's poem In Memoriam, for two reasons.
One, because the name of the beach was Tennyson.
Two, because the sound of the sea was mournful, dragging and repetitive, as the tonal effect of In Memoriam is reputed to be.
I have not read it, or if I have, I have forgotten.
This is a prologue. Tomorrow I will write more about Tennyson.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Disconcerting
I don't think there'll be too many people at this one, said my mum.
Oh I don't know, Niki Vasilakis has been on television, I said. It depends, I added, trying not to be too argumentative.
We took a long time over lunch and arrived at the Elder Hall right on one o'clock.
There were hardly any seats left. We had to sit on the front row at the extreme left, up against the wall.
From there Niki Vasilakis was visible only through the oblique railings of the steps that led up to the stage.
The musical notes of the Kodaly and the Ravel flew by us sideways, hit the back of the hall and bounced back to our ears on the front row so that we were the last to hear them.
Directly in front of me on the stage was a big black shiny piano, which was not being played. As the violin cried out with a heart-rending mournful sound I realised that should the piano move towards me in a straight line and continue to do so after reaching the edge of the stage, that is, move towards me over the gap at a height of about one metre off the floor, I would be pronged in the neck by three golden piano pedals.
Did you manage to see her dress? asked my mum, when it was over.
Well..... yes, I answered, trying not to give the impression it had been easy.
Perhaps it was my eyes, she said, but did you think it looked like that famous French painting? Of course it was difficult to tell because of the angle. It was cut in two by the seam.
You may be right, I said, but I didn't think so.
Oh I don't know, Niki Vasilakis has been on television, I said. It depends, I added, trying not to be too argumentative.
We took a long time over lunch and arrived at the Elder Hall right on one o'clock.
There were hardly any seats left. We had to sit on the front row at the extreme left, up against the wall.
From there Niki Vasilakis was visible only through the oblique railings of the steps that led up to the stage.
The musical notes of the Kodaly and the Ravel flew by us sideways, hit the back of the hall and bounced back to our ears on the front row so that we were the last to hear them.
Directly in front of me on the stage was a big black shiny piano, which was not being played. As the violin cried out with a heart-rending mournful sound I realised that should the piano move towards me in a straight line and continue to do so after reaching the edge of the stage, that is, move towards me over the gap at a height of about one metre off the floor, I would be pronged in the neck by three golden piano pedals.
Did you manage to see her dress? asked my mum, when it was over.
Well..... yes, I answered, trying not to give the impression it had been easy.
Perhaps it was my eyes, she said, but did you think it looked like that famous French painting? Of course it was difficult to tell because of the angle. It was cut in two by the seam.
You may be right, I said, but I didn't think so.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Intellectual Curiosity
Belle et Bonne had not quite told the truth, a fact she instantly regretted on seeing the faces of the editors lit up with intellectual curiosity. She did not understand Einstein's formula at all. It began with BB, which was what her best friends called her, and somehow this had given her the confidence to make the boastful claim.
Enlighten us, dear Belle et Bonne, said The VeloDrone.
Yes, do, echoed Le Bon David.
Oh, said Belle et Bonne airily, tapping her fingers on the keyboard so lightly that her interlocutors failed to notice. Well.... BB, that's BBcode, which is used for formatting messages, and PGG, that would refer to the Program Generator Generator, which generates specialised versions of programs from known inputs. M is obviously the message itself. So you see, Papa, and David, it's all about programming and generating messages.
Good heavens! said The VeloDrone. You mean it's not about bicycles at all!
Oh yes, Papa, it's about bicycles as well. But that's just the superficial meaning.
Le Bon David looked somewhat unconvinced. What about the zero? Why does everything end up equalling nought?
Ah, said Belle et Bonne, thinking quickly. It isn't a zero, it's a pictogram. It's a representation of a person's head with nothing in it. You see Einstein's formula is a work in progress, and he hasn't completed it yet.
Alright, said The VeloDrone, trying hard to keep up with his clever daughter. What are the equal signs supposed to represent? Are you going to tell me that they aren't equal signs but sets of grinning pictograms?
Well done Papa! That's one way of seeing them, and a good one! But .....
(Belle et Bonne tapped surreptitiously on the keyboard)
.....perhaps you didn't know that the equal sign was only invented in the 16th century, and before that mathematicians used 'ae' as a shortened form of 'aequalis', which is the Latin word for equal, but also.....
Also the initials of Albert Einstein! cried Le Bon David, in admiration. O brilliant ! And you are brilliant too, dear Belle et Bonne, for understanding it, and explaining it so clearly to two foolish old men......
Speak for yourself , David, said The VeloDrone. She is her father's daughter.
I thought you said she was adopted? said Le Bon David sharply.
Enlighten us, dear Belle et Bonne, said The VeloDrone.
Yes, do, echoed Le Bon David.
Oh, said Belle et Bonne airily, tapping her fingers on the keyboard so lightly that her interlocutors failed to notice. Well.... BB, that's BBcode, which is used for formatting messages, and PGG, that would refer to the Program Generator Generator, which generates specialised versions of programs from known inputs. M is obviously the message itself. So you see, Papa, and David, it's all about programming and generating messages.
Good heavens! said The VeloDrone. You mean it's not about bicycles at all!
Oh yes, Papa, it's about bicycles as well. But that's just the superficial meaning.
Le Bon David looked somewhat unconvinced. What about the zero? Why does everything end up equalling nought?
Ah, said Belle et Bonne, thinking quickly. It isn't a zero, it's a pictogram. It's a representation of a person's head with nothing in it. You see Einstein's formula is a work in progress, and he hasn't completed it yet.
Alright, said The VeloDrone, trying hard to keep up with his clever daughter. What are the equal signs supposed to represent? Are you going to tell me that they aren't equal signs but sets of grinning pictograms?
Well done Papa! That's one way of seeing them, and a good one! But .....
(Belle et Bonne tapped surreptitiously on the keyboard)
.....perhaps you didn't know that the equal sign was only invented in the 16th century, and before that mathematicians used 'ae' as a shortened form of 'aequalis', which is the Latin word for equal, but also.....
Also the initials of Albert Einstein! cried Le Bon David, in admiration. O brilliant ! And you are brilliant too, dear Belle et Bonne, for understanding it, and explaining it so clearly to two foolish old men......
Speak for yourself , David, said The VeloDrone. She is her father's daughter.
I thought you said she was adopted? said Le Bon David sharply.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Oh Damn
The VeloDrone looked across at Le Bon David and grimaced. We're in trouble, he mouthed silently.
Rubble? Le Bon David mouthed back at him, puzzled.
Belle et Bonne gave a sudden whoop. He's answered ! Einstein's answered!
That was fast, said Le Bon David, admiringly.
It was, said The VeloDrone. Einstein must spend all his time sitting in front of his computer.
Don't be silly Papa, said Belle et Bonne. He'll have an iphone.
Hee hee, laughed The VeloDrone. Einstein has an iphone !
Belle et Bonne shook her head.
Don't you want to know what he said?
No I don't, said The VeloDrone.
Yes we do, said Le Bon David. Please read it to us, Belle.
Belle et Bonne read:
Thank you, my dear young person, for your enquiries. I assume that you ARE a young person. Only a young person would be so direct in the circumstances.
(See, Papa? said Belle et Bonne. Read on, said her papa.)
I must admit that I had not seen the humour in my submission until you pointed it out. However I do see it now. I am encouraged by your revelation that the editors themselves were cackling over it. Therefore I wish to inform you that I would like the article to be published in its entirety, with no corrections other than the possible omission of the words Oh damn! I am of the opinion that this expression may be seen to be too rude. I am happy to defer to your judgement in the matter.
Yours, Albert EEEEEEEE.
PS I'll wager YOU understood my formula !
The VeloDrone and Le Bon David looked at one another, and then at Belle et Bonne.
Well, done, my angel, said the VeloDrone. You have well and truly got us out of a spot.
Indeed you have, you clever girl, said Le Bon David. And did you understand his formula?
Of course I did, said Belle et Bonne.
Rubble? Le Bon David mouthed back at him, puzzled.
Belle et Bonne gave a sudden whoop. He's answered ! Einstein's answered!
That was fast, said Le Bon David, admiringly.
It was, said The VeloDrone. Einstein must spend all his time sitting in front of his computer.
Don't be silly Papa, said Belle et Bonne. He'll have an iphone.
Hee hee, laughed The VeloDrone. Einstein has an iphone !
Belle et Bonne shook her head.
Don't you want to know what he said?
No I don't, said The VeloDrone.
Yes we do, said Le Bon David. Please read it to us, Belle.
Belle et Bonne read:
Thank you, my dear young person, for your enquiries. I assume that you ARE a young person. Only a young person would be so direct in the circumstances.
(See, Papa? said Belle et Bonne. Read on, said her papa.)
I must admit that I had not seen the humour in my submission until you pointed it out. However I do see it now. I am encouraged by your revelation that the editors themselves were cackling over it. Therefore I wish to inform you that I would like the article to be published in its entirety, with no corrections other than the possible omission of the words Oh damn! I am of the opinion that this expression may be seen to be too rude. I am happy to defer to your judgement in the matter.
Yours, Albert EEEEEEEE.
PS I'll wager YOU understood my formula !
The VeloDrone and Le Bon David looked at one another, and then at Belle et Bonne.
Well, done, my angel, said the VeloDrone. You have well and truly got us out of a spot.
Indeed you have, you clever girl, said Le Bon David. And did you understand his formula?
Of course I did, said Belle et Bonne.
Monday, May 3, 2010
The Personal Assistant
Belle et Bonne looked up from reading Einstein's email.
This is funny, she said.
We know, said The VeloDrone, but is it supposed to be? That's what we want you to find out.
Leave it to me, Papa, said Belle et Bonne.
She began to type:
Dear Mr Einstein,
As you are aware, your recent submission to our magazine Velosophy is full of hilarious typos. The editors have not stopped cackling all morning. However, as their Personal Assistant, I am taking it upon myself to check certain matters with you before we go to publication. I ask you therefore to re-read your article and answer the following questions:
1.) Your working formula currently reads BB=PGG=M=0. Is this correct? Did you mean it to read B=PG=M=0 ?
2.) Please confirm the inclusion of the sentence which reads: Of course I do not expect the general community to understaaaand it.
3.) Please confirm the spelling of understaaaand, if the sentence is to be included.
4.) Please confirm the inclusion of the sentence Oh damn!
5.)Please confirm the inclusion of the sentence which reads: Thee bacspac butto is stuc ag!!!! has a min of its own.
6.) Please confirm the spelling of the following words: Thee, backspac, butto, stuc, ag, min, if the sentence is to be included.
7.)Please confirm that you wished to sign the article: AEEEEEEEE
I await your earliest reply,
Yours faithfully,
Belle et Bonne
Personal Assistant to The Editors
There, said Belle et Bonne. That should do it.
Steady on, my dear, said The VeloDrone. It's a bit....direct, isn't it?
Course it is, said Belle et Bonne, pressing the send button.
This is funny, she said.
We know, said The VeloDrone, but is it supposed to be? That's what we want you to find out.
Leave it to me, Papa, said Belle et Bonne.
She began to type:
Dear Mr Einstein,
As you are aware, your recent submission to our magazine Velosophy is full of hilarious typos. The editors have not stopped cackling all morning. However, as their Personal Assistant, I am taking it upon myself to check certain matters with you before we go to publication. I ask you therefore to re-read your article and answer the following questions:
1.) Your working formula currently reads BB=PGG=M=0. Is this correct? Did you mean it to read B=PG=M=0 ?
2.) Please confirm the inclusion of the sentence which reads: Of course I do not expect the general community to understaaaand it.
3.) Please confirm the spelling of understaaaand, if the sentence is to be included.
4.) Please confirm the inclusion of the sentence Oh damn!
5.)Please confirm the inclusion of the sentence which reads: Thee bacspac butto is stuc ag!!!! has a min of its own.
6.) Please confirm the spelling of the following words: Thee, backspac, butto, stuc, ag, min, if the sentence is to be included.
7.)Please confirm that you wished to sign the article: AEEEEEEEE
I await your earliest reply,
Yours faithfully,
Belle et Bonne
Personal Assistant to The Editors
There, said Belle et Bonne. That should do it.
Steady on, my dear, said The VeloDrone. It's a bit....direct, isn't it?
Course it is, said Belle et Bonne, pressing the send button.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Belle et Bonne
What we need, said Le Bon David slowly, is a third party to write to him asking if he wants to make any revisions.
Of course! A third party! cried The VeloDrone. Then he won't twig that we don't get it. He'll think it's the third party. And I know exactly who we can ask.
Who? asked Le Bon David. We're the only two people here.
Our new personal assistant, replied The VeloDrone. My adopted daughter Belle et Bonne is back in town. I'll ask her to do it for us.
Belle et Bonne? Le Bon David looked bemused. Why's she called that?
It's just a pet name that she has, because she's beautiful and good.
I didn't even know you had an adopted daughter, continued Le Bon David, wonderingly. You never mentioned her before.
A long story, David. Don't worry, it's all perfectly above board. But never mind that now. I'll just give her a quick call.
Belle at Bonne answered at once.
Who is it?
Me. Your dear papa! Belle et Bonne, can you come to the office immediately. David and I need your assistance with an urgent task. We want you to act as a third party and write a letter to Albert Einstein, on our behalf. Will you do it?
But of course, dear Papa. I'll come right away, even though I am busy writing job applications.
Thank you my dear, you are as good as you are beautiful.
I know, Papa. See you in a few minutes!
A few minutes later there was a knock at the door. Le Bon David was there before The VeloDrone had time to get out of his chair.
My dear! You must be Belle et Bonne! Let me introduce myself. I am your papa's good friend and fellow editor of Velosophy, Le Bon David.
Pleased to meet you, Le Bon David. May I call you David? We seem to have a name in common.
Ah yes! The French! said Le Bon David. They are very quick to recognise a person's better qualities, I find.
They are also masters of irony, snapped The VeloDrone. Though not in your case my dear, he added hastily, to Belle et Bonne.
Hello Papa! Give me a kiss! And another! Now what can I do for you two gentlemen today?
Of course! A third party! cried The VeloDrone. Then he won't twig that we don't get it. He'll think it's the third party. And I know exactly who we can ask.
Who? asked Le Bon David. We're the only two people here.
Our new personal assistant, replied The VeloDrone. My adopted daughter Belle et Bonne is back in town. I'll ask her to do it for us.
Belle et Bonne? Le Bon David looked bemused. Why's she called that?
It's just a pet name that she has, because she's beautiful and good.
I didn't even know you had an adopted daughter, continued Le Bon David, wonderingly. You never mentioned her before.
A long story, David. Don't worry, it's all perfectly above board. But never mind that now. I'll just give her a quick call.
Belle at Bonne answered at once.
Who is it?
Me. Your dear papa! Belle et Bonne, can you come to the office immediately. David and I need your assistance with an urgent task. We want you to act as a third party and write a letter to Albert Einstein, on our behalf. Will you do it?
But of course, dear Papa. I'll come right away, even though I am busy writing job applications.
Thank you my dear, you are as good as you are beautiful.
I know, Papa. See you in a few minutes!
A few minutes later there was a knock at the door. Le Bon David was there before The VeloDrone had time to get out of his chair.
My dear! You must be Belle et Bonne! Let me introduce myself. I am your papa's good friend and fellow editor of Velosophy, Le Bon David.
Pleased to meet you, Le Bon David. May I call you David? We seem to have a name in common.
Ah yes! The French! said Le Bon David. They are very quick to recognise a person's better qualities, I find.
They are also masters of irony, snapped The VeloDrone. Though not in your case my dear, he added hastily, to Belle et Bonne.
Hello Papa! Give me a kiss! And another! Now what can I do for you two gentlemen today?
Saturday, May 1, 2010
A Mind of its Own
Well, what do you make of that, Vello? asked Le Bon David, when they had finished reading Einstein's submission.
I think, said The VeloDrone thoughtfully, that it's fine until he gets to his working formula. I didn't understand that at all. Did you?
No, not at all, said Le Bon David. Why does he call the bicycle BB for example? Is it because there are two of them? At least in theory. His own and the lady's.
Possibly. The VeloDrone looked doubtful. The thing is David, you have to remember his backspace button isn't working. He may have only meant to type one letter B.
Oh dear. I hadn't thought of that. Do we dare ask him to clarify it?
That would be rather embarrassing. In his eyes it would place us amongst the general community that he doesn't expect to understand it.
But we don't understand it, Vello. Look at the formula. "BB = PGG=M=0". He says P and G are what we think they are. What do we think they are? And how many Gs are there really supposed to be?
Let's look at this analytically, David. What do we know? Firstly his backspace button isn't working. Ironic really, for the great Einstein, don't you think? Secondly. The nature of the problem with the backspace button is not quite as straightforward as it seems.
What do you mean, Vello?
I mean, David, that sometimes he types an extra letter and the backspace button won't let him go back and delete it. That's easy enough to understand. But why then doesn't he use his left arrow key to go back to the space before the extra letter and simply use his delete button?
Perhaps that isn't working either.
How likely is that? But there is a third thing. Remember how he ended off? Thee backspac butto is stuc . That would seem to me to indicate the backspace button is working. It's going back and deleting the last letters of certain words. Now my question is: Does the backspace button have a mind of it's own?
He says it does.
Yes but I think we can discount that. No, it's my opinion, now that I've analysed the evidence, that AlbertE is having a little joke with us. The question is, what are we going to do about it?
I think, said The VeloDrone thoughtfully, that it's fine until he gets to his working formula. I didn't understand that at all. Did you?
No, not at all, said Le Bon David. Why does he call the bicycle BB for example? Is it because there are two of them? At least in theory. His own and the lady's.
Possibly. The VeloDrone looked doubtful. The thing is David, you have to remember his backspace button isn't working. He may have only meant to type one letter B.
Oh dear. I hadn't thought of that. Do we dare ask him to clarify it?
That would be rather embarrassing. In his eyes it would place us amongst the general community that he doesn't expect to understand it.
But we don't understand it, Vello. Look at the formula. "BB = PGG=M=0". He says P and G are what we think they are. What do we think they are? And how many Gs are there really supposed to be?
Let's look at this analytically, David. What do we know? Firstly his backspace button isn't working. Ironic really, for the great Einstein, don't you think? Secondly. The nature of the problem with the backspace button is not quite as straightforward as it seems.
What do you mean, Vello?
I mean, David, that sometimes he types an extra letter and the backspace button won't let him go back and delete it. That's easy enough to understand. But why then doesn't he use his left arrow key to go back to the space before the extra letter and simply use his delete button?
Perhaps that isn't working either.
How likely is that? But there is a third thing. Remember how he ended off? Thee backspac butto is stuc . That would seem to me to indicate the backspace button is working. It's going back and deleting the last letters of certain words. Now my question is: Does the backspace button have a mind of it's own?
He says it does.
Yes but I think we can discount that. No, it's my opinion, now that I've analysed the evidence, that AlbertE is having a little joke with us. The question is, what are we going to do about it?
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