To the Editors of Velosophy, (no no that will not do...)
Dear comrades, (yes that's better)
Thankyou for your letter which I am inclined to accept in the spirit of an apology, although none was expressed ( hah! ) Never let it be said that Professor Freud cannot read between the lines.
I have given much consideration to your offer to publish any article I might care to write on the subject of bicycles and philosophy. I note that you claim to be unable to offer me any payment for the said article, should I agree to write it. ( leave this out, sounds a bit petty...) This does not concern me. ( no leave it in, after all....)
I shall shortly commence writing an article which I believe your readers will enjoy, on the subject of my old friend and disciple Salvador Dali, and his use of symbolism with special regard to the symbolism of bicycles. I may also mention his hidden fears and desires and his suppressed sexuality resulting from his relationship with his father. Or I may not. ( hee hee, this will put the wind up Le Bon and Vel!)
It is a condition of my acceptance of your offer that you agree to my becoming a regular contributor to your magazine. I have much to say on the subject of bicycles and dreams. I have a very fine anecdote about my granddaughter and her bicycle which is most amusing. I have an interesting experiment made by Galileo that relates to bicycles and.. ( perhaps leave it here for now, they might think I'm pushing it a bit ...)
Looking forward to your positive response, comrades, as I should not like to have to retract my acceptance of your 'apology'. ( should I ?.....)
Professor Sigmund Feud ( oops! ) Freud.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Professor Freud Receives A Letter
Dear Professor Freud,
Please forgive the long interval between our receipt of your letter and our response. My colleague the VeloDrone and I have had many long and philosophical discussions on the issues that you raise, and have come at last to this conclusion:
We have no case to answer.
Dali's story about you, your bicycle, the red hot water bottle and the snail are in the public domain. Indeed we note that the incident has most recently been celebrated in a play.
We meant no disrespect to you by speaking in a lighthearted manner about your bicycle. Our magazine is dedicated to the philosophy of bicycles and bicycling and our intention is to roam both far and wide in this pursuit. We wished, in other words, to honour you, comrade, by your inclusion.
And therefore, dear Professor Freud, we should like to extend an invitation to you to submit an article to Velosophy, on any subject that you wish, as long as it relates to philosophy and bicycles. You may like to consider writing on the subject of your 'scurrilous' friend, Dali. Or perhaps, upon the subject of bicycles and the meaning of their appearance in our dreams. It shall of course be left entirely up to you.
We should point out that we will not be able to pay you for your article, but we would like to think that you will consider it both as an honour to yourself and a token of the good faith of your fellow velosophers,
Le Bon David and the VeloDrone.
Please forgive the long interval between our receipt of your letter and our response. My colleague the VeloDrone and I have had many long and philosophical discussions on the issues that you raise, and have come at last to this conclusion:
We have no case to answer.
Dali's story about you, your bicycle, the red hot water bottle and the snail are in the public domain. Indeed we note that the incident has most recently been celebrated in a play.
We meant no disrespect to you by speaking in a lighthearted manner about your bicycle. Our magazine is dedicated to the philosophy of bicycles and bicycling and our intention is to roam both far and wide in this pursuit. We wished, in other words, to honour you, comrade, by your inclusion.
And therefore, dear Professor Freud, we should like to extend an invitation to you to submit an article to Velosophy, on any subject that you wish, as long as it relates to philosophy and bicycles. You may like to consider writing on the subject of your 'scurrilous' friend, Dali. Or perhaps, upon the subject of bicycles and the meaning of their appearance in our dreams. It shall of course be left entirely up to you.
We should point out that we will not be able to pay you for your article, but we would like to think that you will consider it both as an honour to yourself and a token of the good faith of your fellow velosophers,
Le Bon David and the VeloDrone.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Pliny's Banana Points
I have written my review, announced Pliny the Elder. Would you like to see it?
Yes, I would, I said.
He handed me a scrap of paper, on which was written the following:
Pliny's Women is a most excellent work of research, and for a women to have written it is a great achievement. Pliny the Younger emerges from the pages as a most admirable example of a good public servant. He is intelligent and witty, and politically astute. He is easy with his friends and kind to his female relatives and slaves. He is a man who, rather like myself, is never without his books and notebooks. He does however seem a lot more interested in dining, entertaining, writing poetry and retreating to his country house than I was. If I were to admit to any disappointment in reading this book it would relate to the matter of tone. I cannot help detecting a certain note of amusement in the author as she describes some of my nephew's characteristics. I must say that what may seem to her to be bumptiousness and lack of literary talent are a matter of opinion and the current fashion. If I may end upon a lighter note, and still on the subject of tone, I think that the choice of pink for the cover of the book was most unwise.
Wow, Pliny, I said, That's good! And funny too.
Funny? he said. What do you mean?
The bit at the end about the pink cover, and the joke about the tone, that's funny.
Oh, he said, looking pleased. Thankyou. Do you think it will earn me the 774 points?
No, I said.
Why not?
Because, I guess you didn't notice, but you've already earned 774 points when you purchased the book. It was printed on the invoice. If you write a review, you earn a further 50 points.
Great Jupiter! said Pliny. If I'd known that, I wouldn't have bothered writing it.
Yes, I would, I said.
He handed me a scrap of paper, on which was written the following:
Pliny's Women is a most excellent work of research, and for a women to have written it is a great achievement. Pliny the Younger emerges from the pages as a most admirable example of a good public servant. He is intelligent and witty, and politically astute. He is easy with his friends and kind to his female relatives and slaves. He is a man who, rather like myself, is never without his books and notebooks. He does however seem a lot more interested in dining, entertaining, writing poetry and retreating to his country house than I was. If I were to admit to any disappointment in reading this book it would relate to the matter of tone. I cannot help detecting a certain note of amusement in the author as she describes some of my nephew's characteristics. I must say that what may seem to her to be bumptiousness and lack of literary talent are a matter of opinion and the current fashion. If I may end upon a lighter note, and still on the subject of tone, I think that the choice of pink for the cover of the book was most unwise.
Wow, Pliny, I said, That's good! And funny too.
Funny? he said. What do you mean?
The bit at the end about the pink cover, and the joke about the tone, that's funny.
Oh, he said, looking pleased. Thankyou. Do you think it will earn me the 774 points?
No, I said.
Why not?
Because, I guess you didn't notice, but you've already earned 774 points when you purchased the book. It was printed on the invoice. If you write a review, you earn a further 50 points.
Great Jupiter! said Pliny. If I'd known that, I wouldn't have bothered writing it.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Excellent Women
Pliny's nose was buried in his book.
How's it going, Pliny? I asked.
He looked up, wiping a tear from his eye.
Ah, he said. My nephew was an excellent young man. This book is all about the various women mentioned in his letters. And it would seem he hardly had a bad word to say of any of them. Indeed, he seems to have been quite famous for his descriptions of ideal Roman women.
Oh that's lovely, Pliny, I said. Tell me more.
Well, he said, my nephew was married three times, but it was his last wife, Calpurnia, to whom he was the most devoted, and she to him. She was very young when they married, and she was very interested in his career. She used to send for news of how his speeches were received, and at home she would sit behind a curtain during readings of his works, listening eagerly to the comments and the praises of his friends.
Did she indeed?
She did. And when she had to go to the country for her health he used to write to her most tenderly of how he missed her.
That's really nice.
It is. And furthermore, he wote of a Roman woman called Arria, who was a model of Roman courage and restraint.
What did she do?
Her husband and son were dying at the same time. The son died first. but she did not tell her dying husband, wishing to spare him the sad knowledge. She cried in private, but kept a cheerful face in front of him. When it became evident that her husband wished to kill himself to avoid further agony, she took a sword and plunged it into her own breast, saying to him as she died, Paetus, it does not hurt. This gave him the courage to do the same.
Good gracious, Pliny. Such behaviour would not be viewed as admirable today. What she did was totally demented.
That may well be. She did have a history of threatening to do away with herself. But you know we Romans were rather obsessed with dying a noble death.
So I've heard. Anyway, I'm glad you're pleased with Pliny the Younger's women. Now you can write that review and earn your banana points towards the poster.
Oh yes! I had forgotten about the poster!
How's it going, Pliny? I asked.
He looked up, wiping a tear from his eye.
Ah, he said. My nephew was an excellent young man. This book is all about the various women mentioned in his letters. And it would seem he hardly had a bad word to say of any of them. Indeed, he seems to have been quite famous for his descriptions of ideal Roman women.
Oh that's lovely, Pliny, I said. Tell me more.
Well, he said, my nephew was married three times, but it was his last wife, Calpurnia, to whom he was the most devoted, and she to him. She was very young when they married, and she was very interested in his career. She used to send for news of how his speeches were received, and at home she would sit behind a curtain during readings of his works, listening eagerly to the comments and the praises of his friends.
Did she indeed?
She did. And when she had to go to the country for her health he used to write to her most tenderly of how he missed her.
That's really nice.
It is. And furthermore, he wote of a Roman woman called Arria, who was a model of Roman courage and restraint.
What did she do?
Her husband and son were dying at the same time. The son died first. but she did not tell her dying husband, wishing to spare him the sad knowledge. She cried in private, but kept a cheerful face in front of him. When it became evident that her husband wished to kill himself to avoid further agony, she took a sword and plunged it into her own breast, saying to him as she died, Paetus, it does not hurt. This gave him the courage to do the same.
Good gracious, Pliny. Such behaviour would not be viewed as admirable today. What she did was totally demented.
That may well be. She did have a history of threatening to do away with herself. But you know we Romans were rather obsessed with dying a noble death.
So I've heard. Anyway, I'm glad you're pleased with Pliny the Younger's women. Now you can write that review and earn your banana points towards the poster.
Oh yes! I had forgotten about the poster!
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Subjunctive Moods
That bird is insane, said Pliny the Elder. No bird is capable of using the subjunctive.
You mean Victor? I said. I agree he is a bit eccentric, but you must admit he is a bird himself. And that he made direct use of the subjunctive.
Hmmph! said Pliny, unreasonably. Use of the subjunctive mood in English is easy. But if....
Just then the doorbell rang loudly. It was a courier with a parcel addressed to Pliny the Elder.
Pliny opened it. Inside was another parcel, wrapped. He began to tear at the wrapping paper.
This will be my book, he said. At last!
The wrapping paper fell away to reveal a large hard-backed book, entitled Pliny's Women.
He stared at the book with distaste.
What's the matter Pliny? Is it the wrong book? I asked.
No, he said. It's the right book, but look! The cover is pink!
It looks quite tasteful, I said soothingly. I suppose the publishers chose pink because the book's about women, and it was written by a woman.
Great Jupiter, was it? Pliny looked even more alarmed.
Don't worry Pliny, if you don't like it, I'll cover it with brown paper. I've got a big roll of it in the pantry.
If you would, said Pliny.
You mean Victor? I said. I agree he is a bit eccentric, but you must admit he is a bird himself. And that he made direct use of the subjunctive.
Hmmph! said Pliny, unreasonably. Use of the subjunctive mood in English is easy. But if....
Just then the doorbell rang loudly. It was a courier with a parcel addressed to Pliny the Elder.
Pliny opened it. Inside was another parcel, wrapped. He began to tear at the wrapping paper.
This will be my book, he said. At last!
The wrapping paper fell away to reveal a large hard-backed book, entitled Pliny's Women.
He stared at the book with distaste.
What's the matter Pliny? Is it the wrong book? I asked.
No, he said. It's the right book, but look! The cover is pink!
It looks quite tasteful, I said soothingly. I suppose the publishers chose pink because the book's about women, and it was written by a woman.
Great Jupiter, was it? Pliny looked even more alarmed.
Don't worry Pliny, if you don't like it, I'll cover it with brown paper. I've got a big roll of it in the pantry.
If you would, said Pliny.
Famous Birds
Squawk!! tch tch tch! came a noise at the window.
It was Victor, the talking budgie! He was cross, as usual.
Tch tch! You think birds can't ask? We can ask! Squawk! My Betty, she was always asking. Victor! Victor! what if we get married? Victor! Victor, if you don't give me a kiss I bite you!
Extraordinary, Victor! What about your other friends?
Squawk! Famous birds! Famous Birds! Let me tell you. Pierre the Penguin! Tch. First penguin, he was, to have a wetsuit made for himself. Made to cover his bald spots. I tell you. He could speak in conditional! Tch. Tch. He said to his friend Pam, Pam, if you don't make it a black one, I'll be a laughing stock at the pool !
Good heavens! How complex! Have you any more stories like that?
Yesss!! Tch! Tch! Famous Cher Ami! Carrier pigeon shot down by the Germans in World War I. He saved a regiment. Was wounded. Blinded. Lost a leg. He said to them, Chaps! chaps! if you would make me a wooden leg, I should be as eternally grateful to you as you should be to me. So they did.
This is even more complex and amazing! Go on.
Famous birds !! Squawk! Herbie, skateboarding duck, my friend, my very good friend! He was famous. He skateboarded for 4 seconds in a BBC film in 1978. He said to them afterwards, If you like I could do it again. But they didn't want him to. So he said, if you don't let me do it again, I won't do any interviews.
Have you got any more of these wonderful friends ?
Tch. Yes! Yes! Mike the Headless Chicken. He lived for 18 months after his head was chopped off and a cat ate it. Brrr! Horrible!
Surely he couldn't talk!
Not afterwards! But before that. He used to say to me, Victor! Victor! If they ever chop off my head, I beg you, don't let them feed it to the cat!
But the cat got it! you just said.
Tch! If only Victor had got there in time. Squawk! The story of my life!! Tch Tch!
It was Victor, the talking budgie! He was cross, as usual.
Tch tch! You think birds can't ask? We can ask! Squawk! My Betty, she was always asking. Victor! Victor! what if we get married? Victor! Victor, if you don't give me a kiss I bite you!
Extraordinary, Victor! What about your other friends?
Squawk! Famous birds! Famous Birds! Let me tell you. Pierre the Penguin! Tch. First penguin, he was, to have a wetsuit made for himself. Made to cover his bald spots. I tell you. He could speak in conditional! Tch. Tch. He said to his friend Pam, Pam, if you don't make it a black one, I'll be a laughing stock at the pool !
Good heavens! How complex! Have you any more stories like that?
Yesss!! Tch! Tch! Famous Cher Ami! Carrier pigeon shot down by the Germans in World War I. He saved a regiment. Was wounded. Blinded. Lost a leg. He said to them, Chaps! chaps! if you would make me a wooden leg, I should be as eternally grateful to you as you should be to me. So they did.
This is even more complex and amazing! Go on.
Famous birds !! Squawk! Herbie, skateboarding duck, my friend, my very good friend! He was famous. He skateboarded for 4 seconds in a BBC film in 1978. He said to them afterwards, If you like I could do it again. But they didn't want him to. So he said, if you don't let me do it again, I won't do any interviews.
Have you got any more of these wonderful friends ?
Tch. Yes! Yes! Mike the Headless Chicken. He lived for 18 months after his head was chopped off and a cat ate it. Brrr! Horrible!
Surely he couldn't talk!
Not afterwards! But before that. He used to say to me, Victor! Victor! If they ever chop off my head, I beg you, don't let them feed it to the cat!
But the cat got it! you just said.
Tch! If only Victor had got there in time. Squawk! The story of my life!! Tch Tch!
Friday, October 2, 2009
Schubirdt
It was another Lunch Hour Concert. Pliny was there with her mum. The Benaud Trio were going to play Schubert's Piano Trio No 2 in E flat major. Pliny doesn't know if she knows it.
I like Schubert, she had confidently said to her mum, while they were eating lunch.
Pliny likes Schubert because she likes Death and the Maiden, The Miller's Beautiful Daughter, A Winter Journey, and the Trout Quintet. And because she knows something of the tragic life of Schubert, who died of syphilis quite young. So that except for the Trout Quintet, which is funny, she thinks all Schubert's other music is quite passionate and sad.
So she is sitting in the seventh row in the Elder Hall, expecting to hear something passionate and sad.
She wonders idly whether Schubert would have composed the same music had he not had syphilis, and known that he was soon to die young.
She wonders if that is a legitimate question. She thinks that it probably is. Only humans can ask 'what if ' questions, she thinks. Animals and birds can't.
The music, which has begun, is tinkly like birds. What questions do birds ask, she asks herself. She listens to the music a little, and thinks of birdy questions.
Is this an enemy? Shall I peck out its eyes?
Yes, these are birdy questions, but not complex conditional questions like,
If this man has syphilis, should I peck out his eyes?
At this stage Pliny realises that the music is not passionate and sad at all, but quite triumphal..
I like Schubert, she had confidently said to her mum, while they were eating lunch.
Pliny likes Schubert because she likes Death and the Maiden, The Miller's Beautiful Daughter, A Winter Journey, and the Trout Quintet. And because she knows something of the tragic life of Schubert, who died of syphilis quite young. So that except for the Trout Quintet, which is funny, she thinks all Schubert's other music is quite passionate and sad.
So she is sitting in the seventh row in the Elder Hall, expecting to hear something passionate and sad.
She wonders idly whether Schubert would have composed the same music had he not had syphilis, and known that he was soon to die young.
She wonders if that is a legitimate question. She thinks that it probably is. Only humans can ask 'what if ' questions, she thinks. Animals and birds can't.
The music, which has begun, is tinkly like birds. What questions do birds ask, she asks herself. She listens to the music a little, and thinks of birdy questions.
Is this an enemy? Shall I peck out its eyes?
Yes, these are birdy questions, but not complex conditional questions like,
If this man has syphilis, should I peck out his eyes?
At this stage Pliny realises that the music is not passionate and sad at all, but quite triumphal..
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