It is Stage Three of the Tour Down Under. The VeloDrone and Gymnosopher Ten are doing well, thanks to the Power Bar. So well are they doing, that Gymnosopher Ten now wears on his back the red number signifying Most Aggressive Rider. They are riding up a hill towards Stirling.
The VeloDrone: This is more like it. Have another Power Bar.
Gymnosopher Ten: Thanks.
The VeloDrone: You've changed your tune a bit since yesterday.
Gymnosopher Ten: Wisdom consists of being wise.
The VeloDrone: Well said. So it does. It is reasonable to try and win, if one finds oneself in a competition.
Gymnosopher Ten: Of course, one should also ask oneself why one has entered the competition.
The VeloDrone: And have you asked that of yourself? If you have, my friend, I am interested to know the answer.
Gymnosopher Ten: Well, Alexander gave me this bicycle. It seems a pity to waste it.
The VeloDrone: Very true.
They pedal on, meditatively, but with great effort.
Meanwhile Marie and Angel are riding at the very back of the peloton, forgetful of everything. So far back are they, that the police car following the last riders has passed them and normal traffic has resumed. They are forced to stop at traffic lights. They find themselves next to Mark Cavendish, who is wearing a bandage over one eye.
Mark Cavendish: Ohhh! Why is this happening to me?
Madam Denis: Everything happens for a reason. You should ask my friend Angel.
Angel: Don't worry Mark Cavendish. Remember, day is older than night, by one day.
Mark Cavendish: What's that supposed to mean?
Angel: Hard questions have hard answers.
Mark Cavendish: I see. Thanks, mate.
The lights turn green. They pedal on, meditatively.
Showing posts with label Alexander the Great. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Alexander the Great. Show all posts
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Monday, January 17, 2011
Presents
They have every one answered worse than another ? What did he mean? I asked.
I'm not sure, said the Geranium.
So what did Alexander say?
He said: Well then, you shall die first for giving such a verdict.
Fair enough, I said. And did he die first?
No, he came up with a smart answer. He said: O king, that cannot be, unless you falsely said
you would put to death first him who answered worst.
Why was that a smart answer? He had answered worst.
No he hadn't. He was the judge. At least I suppose that was why Alexander was pleased with the answer.
He was pleased?
Yes he must have been, because according to Plutarch, he gave all the Gymnosophists presents and sent them away.
Amazing! What a story! But I'm inclined to think Alexander didn't really understand the answer, and rather than admit it, he sent them away.
Me too, agreed the Geranium. And I often wonder what he gave them as presents, he added.
Hey, yes! they were Gymnosophists! What would they have wanted as presents?
Bicycles! said the Geranium.
In those days.....I began.
No, said the Geranium. I'm changing the subject. Look over there!
And it was true. The street was full of men on bicycles. The Tour Down Under was under way.
Goodbye Geranium! I said. It's been a pleasure chatting to you. But now I must leave you and follow the Tour.
I'm not sure, said the Geranium.
So what did Alexander say?
He said: Well then, you shall die first for giving such a verdict.
Fair enough, I said. And did he die first?
No, he came up with a smart answer. He said: O king, that cannot be, unless you falsely said
you would put to death first him who answered worst.
Why was that a smart answer? He had answered worst.
No he hadn't. He was the judge. At least I suppose that was why Alexander was pleased with the answer.
He was pleased?
Yes he must have been, because according to Plutarch, he gave all the Gymnosophists presents and sent them away.
Amazing! What a story! But I'm inclined to think Alexander didn't really understand the answer, and rather than admit it, he sent them away.
Me too, agreed the Geranium. And I often wonder what he gave them as presents, he added.
Hey, yes! they were Gymnosophists! What would they have wanted as presents?
Bicycles! said the Geranium.
In those days.....I began.
No, said the Geranium. I'm changing the subject. Look over there!
And it was true. The street was full of men on bicycles. The Tour Down Under was under way.
Goodbye Geranium! I said. It's been a pleasure chatting to you. But now I must leave you and follow the Tour.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Life or Death?
So, which is older, day or night? I asked.
Well, said the Geranium, the Gymnosophist answered that day was older, by one day.
What kind of an answer was that?
Alexander asked the same thing. What kind of an answer is that? And the Gymnosophist replied: Hard questions have hard answers.
Ooh! And did he get killed?
No, Alexander wasn't the judge.
Who was?
Alexander had chosen the oldest Gymnosophist to be the judge.
Exciting! Hurry up with the story.
Patience, said the Geranium, and went on:
Next, Alexander asked Gymnosophist number six: How can a man be most loved? He answered: If he is most powerful and yet does not inspire fear. Then Alexander asked Gymnosophist number seven: How might one become a god instead of a man? He answered: By doing something which a man cannot do.
What's that?
Alexander didn't ask. He probably realised he would be wasting a question.
Oh yes, what can a man do that a man cannot do? What a silly question. You could, though, couldn't you, Geranium?
What?
Do something a man cannot do, being a plant. Does that make you a god?
I doubt it, I would have to do something a plant cannot do.
You do.
What do I do? Don't distract me..... now where was I? Question number eight. Which is stronger, life or death?
Death, I said, without thinking.
Wrong, said the Geranium. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
Well, said the Geranium, the Gymnosophist answered that day was older, by one day.
What kind of an answer was that?
Alexander asked the same thing. What kind of an answer is that? And the Gymnosophist replied: Hard questions have hard answers.
Ooh! And did he get killed?
No, Alexander wasn't the judge.
Who was?
Alexander had chosen the oldest Gymnosophist to be the judge.
Exciting! Hurry up with the story.
Patience, said the Geranium, and went on:
Next, Alexander asked Gymnosophist number six: How can a man be most loved? He answered: If he is most powerful and yet does not inspire fear. Then Alexander asked Gymnosophist number seven: How might one become a god instead of a man? He answered: By doing something which a man cannot do.
What's that?
Alexander didn't ask. He probably realised he would be wasting a question.
Oh yes, what can a man do that a man cannot do? What a silly question. You could, though, couldn't you, Geranium?
What?
Do something a man cannot do, being a plant. Does that make you a god?
I doubt it, I would have to do something a plant cannot do.
You do.
What do I do? Don't distract me..... now where was I? Question number eight. Which is stronger, life or death?
Death, I said, without thinking.
Wrong, said the Geranium. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Day or Night?
Minute's up! said the Geranium. Which are more numerous, the living or the dead?
Am I guessing the answer, or what the Gymnosophist said? I asked.
What he said, said the Geranium. Which?
The living, I said. Because the dead don't count.
Don't exist, corrected the Geranium.
No, I said, they do exist, otherwise why are plots in graveyards in short supply? After fifty years they dig you up, didn't you know?
Tell me about it, said the Geranium.
Sorry I forgot you were a Geranium. But my point is, it's a play on words. The dead don't count. Get it?
Well that's not the translation I read, said the Geranium.
But do you agree it makes more sense? I asked. And Alexander would have liked it?
I do agree, said the Geranium. But at this rate it is going to take us all afternoon to get through the ten questions. Shall I tell you the second one?
Go on.
The second Gymnosophist was asked whether the earth or the sea produce larger animals.
What did he answer?
The earth, because the sea is but part of the earth.
Very good. And the third?
Which animal is the most cunning?
The fox?
No! The Gymnosophist answered that it was the one that man had not yet discovered.
Oh ! Alexander would have liked that!
Yes, he did. Next he asked the fourth Gymnosophist why he supported the revolt. And he replied that he wished to either live nobly or die nobly.
Another tick from Alexander for that answer, I bet! and the fifth?
The fifth is my favourite , said the Geranium. Which is older, day or night?
Wow! I said, admiringly. Great question!
Am I guessing the answer, or what the Gymnosophist said? I asked.
What he said, said the Geranium. Which?
The living, I said. Because the dead don't count.
Don't exist, corrected the Geranium.
No, I said, they do exist, otherwise why are plots in graveyards in short supply? After fifty years they dig you up, didn't you know?
Tell me about it, said the Geranium.
Sorry I forgot you were a Geranium. But my point is, it's a play on words. The dead don't count. Get it?
Well that's not the translation I read, said the Geranium.
But do you agree it makes more sense? I asked. And Alexander would have liked it?
I do agree, said the Geranium. But at this rate it is going to take us all afternoon to get through the ten questions. Shall I tell you the second one?
Go on.
The second Gymnosophist was asked whether the earth or the sea produce larger animals.
What did he answer?
The earth, because the sea is but part of the earth.
Very good. And the third?
Which animal is the most cunning?
The fox?
No! The Gymnosophist answered that it was the one that man had not yet discovered.
Oh ! Alexander would have liked that!
Yes, he did. Next he asked the fourth Gymnosophist why he supported the revolt. And he replied that he wished to either live nobly or die nobly.
Another tick from Alexander for that answer, I bet! and the fifth?
The fifth is my favourite , said the Geranium. Which is older, day or night?
Wow! I said, admiringly. Great question!
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Alexander and the Geranium
It was obvious the Geranium knew very little about cars.
You don't know much about cars, I said. If you scraped off the bird shit you'd damage the paint.
What do I care? said the Geranium. I am not one for luxury. But I can understand why you don't like bird shit. I don't much like it myself.
Are you a Gymnosopher or not? I asked. You don't care for luxury, yet you don't like birdshit.
I'm a bit of a Gymnosopher, I suppose, said the Geranium. I stand on one foot, I stare at the sun, I don't spit. But I also like a little water now and then.
How reasonable, I said.
I like to think I'm reasonable, said the Geranium. By the way, have you read any Plutarch?
Not lately.
Then you may not know the famous passage in which Alexander the Great asks ten questions of ten Gymnosophists.
I don't. Why does he do it?
He's heard they are wise. He also wants to kill them because they have aided his enemies. So he says he will put to death the first one who gives him an incorrect answer.
Brilliant! What's the first question?
Which are more numerous, the living or the dead? said the Geranium. It's a tricky one. Do you want to know the answer?
No, I said, let me think about it for a minute.
You don't know much about cars, I said. If you scraped off the bird shit you'd damage the paint.
What do I care? said the Geranium. I am not one for luxury. But I can understand why you don't like bird shit. I don't much like it myself.
Are you a Gymnosopher or not? I asked. You don't care for luxury, yet you don't like birdshit.
I'm a bit of a Gymnosopher, I suppose, said the Geranium. I stand on one foot, I stare at the sun, I don't spit. But I also like a little water now and then.
How reasonable, I said.
I like to think I'm reasonable, said the Geranium. By the way, have you read any Plutarch?
Not lately.
Then you may not know the famous passage in which Alexander the Great asks ten questions of ten Gymnosophists.
I don't. Why does he do it?
He's heard they are wise. He also wants to kill them because they have aided his enemies. So he says he will put to death the first one who gives him an incorrect answer.
Brilliant! What's the first question?
Which are more numerous, the living or the dead? said the Geranium. It's a tricky one. Do you want to know the answer?
No, I said, let me think about it for a minute.
Friday, December 10, 2010
The Spinning Elephant
Do you have any favourite dog stories? I asked Pliny.
I have many, said Pliny. There was the famous hound of King Lysimachus who so loved his master that he threw himself onto his funeral pyre.
There's loyalty for you, I said.
Indeed, said Pliny. But my personal favourite is the story of a dog that was given to Alexander the Great by the King of Albania. This was a dog was of unusual size, and Alexander was delighted with its noble appearance. He released bears, wild boars, and deer before it, but the dog lay there unmoved. So Alexander ordered the dog to be killed.
But it was a present, I said. Wasn't that rather rude?
Alexander was an impatient man, said Pliny. But listen. I'll tell you what happened next. The king heard of it, and immediately sent another dog, saying that its powers should be tried only on bigger animals like lions and elephants. Furthermore he only had two such dogs and would be obliged if Alexander would not kill the second one, or the breed would become extinct.
It was a bit late to tell him that, I observed.
Yes, said Pliny. It was. But that is not the point of the story. Alexander at once procured a lion, and was delighted when the dog soon tore it to pieces. Then he ordered an elephant to be found. He was even more delighted with what happened next. The dog bristled and barked a mighty bark, then leapt up and attached himself to the enormous beast first on one side and then on the other, biting and snapping, and retreating skilfully at the opportune moment until the elephant became extremely dizzy and, turning round and round, fell down in a heap with a reverberating thump.
Is that it? I asked. Did Alexander think that was funny?
Yes he did, said Pliny. So did I when I first heard it. But it is not a story that would go down well these days.
Probably not, I agreed. But why should dog stories have to be politically correct, if they are true?
I have two dog stories of my own that I have hesitated to tell you because one of them in particular shows me in a less than sympathetic light, but now I feel encouraged to reveal them.
Please do, said Pliny, and I shall be happy to reserve my judgement.
Tomorrow, I said. I will.
I have many, said Pliny. There was the famous hound of King Lysimachus who so loved his master that he threw himself onto his funeral pyre.
There's loyalty for you, I said.
Indeed, said Pliny. But my personal favourite is the story of a dog that was given to Alexander the Great by the King of Albania. This was a dog was of unusual size, and Alexander was delighted with its noble appearance. He released bears, wild boars, and deer before it, but the dog lay there unmoved. So Alexander ordered the dog to be killed.
But it was a present, I said. Wasn't that rather rude?
Alexander was an impatient man, said Pliny. But listen. I'll tell you what happened next. The king heard of it, and immediately sent another dog, saying that its powers should be tried only on bigger animals like lions and elephants. Furthermore he only had two such dogs and would be obliged if Alexander would not kill the second one, or the breed would become extinct.
It was a bit late to tell him that, I observed.
Yes, said Pliny. It was. But that is not the point of the story. Alexander at once procured a lion, and was delighted when the dog soon tore it to pieces. Then he ordered an elephant to be found. He was even more delighted with what happened next. The dog bristled and barked a mighty bark, then leapt up and attached himself to the enormous beast first on one side and then on the other, biting and snapping, and retreating skilfully at the opportune moment until the elephant became extremely dizzy and, turning round and round, fell down in a heap with a reverberating thump.
Is that it? I asked. Did Alexander think that was funny?
Yes he did, said Pliny. So did I when I first heard it. But it is not a story that would go down well these days.
Probably not, I agreed. But why should dog stories have to be politically correct, if they are true?
I have two dog stories of my own that I have hesitated to tell you because one of them in particular shows me in a less than sympathetic light, but now I feel encouraged to reveal them.
Please do, said Pliny, and I shall be happy to reserve my judgement.
Tomorrow, I said. I will.
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