Frames

Yesterday we went to Grange and walked north towards the jetty. When we reached the jetty we walked under the jetty without stopping. The sand was cold under the jetty. Without breaking my stride I looked right and saw a family tableau; looked left and saw the slurping sea framed by the jetty pylons. It seemed like the right thing to do.

We kept walking north towards the next jetty. The next jetty isn't visible, but there must be one. What we could see was a giant tanker on the horizon setting out from somewhere. It looked like a grey castle on a grey cliff. That was because it was a tanker. But it reminded me of a castle on a cliff because I often see photographs of one.

The sand formed rippling patterns north of the jetty. I like to look at patterns and think about their meaning. They have to have a meaning or they wouldn't be a pattern. I realised yesterday that might be tautologous, and if it was, the pattern was irrelevant. I was glad to think so, because it was hurting my ankle to walk on the pattern.

We left the beach. On the esplanade near the toilets we passed three wooden masts, A sculpture of a bird sits on top of the middle one. It looks just like a real bird. I don't think it's a pelican. I was looking back at the sea between two of the masts to where a purple sail filled with wind.

Today, when I first remembered the sail, the wooden masts framed the memory, for several seconds before I remembered what they were.

Waiting for Cotto

A country road. A tree. Two tramps, sitting on a low mound.

Estragon; Let's go!

Vladimir: We can't.

Estragon: Why not?

Vladimir: We're waiting for Godot.

Estragon: Excuse me? Did you say we're waiting for Cotto?

Vladimir: Godot! Godot!

Estragon: Because if we're waiting for Cotto, you've sent the wrong order. We wanted a Godfather, remember?

Vladimir: Don't worry, trust me, there won't be any Cotto, not today, not ever.

Estragon: How can you be sure?

Vladimir: We ordered a Godfather, and Godot will bring it.

Estragon: We ordered one yesterday. He didn't come yesterday.

Vladimir: True. Perhaps he went to pick it up. And it was covered in Cotto. So he declined to pay for it. And as a consequence of that, he had nothing to bring us, and so he didn't come.

Estragon: Well reasoned! That will be what happened. But....

Vladimir: What now?

Estragon: The same thing might happen today. And I'm hungry.

Vladimir: You're twice as hungry.

Estragon: Yes, I'm twice as hungry. I could even eat Cotto.

Vladimir: Are you sure? Do you know what it is?

Estragon: No, but I don't like the sound of it. What is it? No, don't tell me.

Vladimir: I won't.

Estragon: You don't know.

Vladimir: Nobody knows. But some people like it.

Estragon: Can we get a message to Godot? Tell him we're hungry?

Vladimir: No, we must wait till he comes.

Estragon: When is he coming? He didn't come yesterday. I'm tired of this. Shall we go?

Vladimir: Yes, let's go.

They do not move.

Cotto

My research. Let me elaborate.

The moment I'd written the words 'I don't even know what cotto is', I thought: That's not good enough. Do some research.

I typed 'coto'. No good. That was the College of Occupational Therapists of Ontario. I typed 'coto on pizza'.

Did you mean 'cotto on pizza'? asked the search engine.

And that's how I learned to spell cotto.

'Cotto on pizza' led me to Delta Goodrem's Official Forum, and a post by Chloe, who had, in January 2008, eaten a pizza with cotto on it, not knowing what it was. She had subsequently discovered ( whether from eating it or googling it ) that it is salami, cooked or smoked before or after curing. It's nice too, she added, posting a smiley face.

I did not believe this for one moment. But you can see that I made a good effort.

The Godfather

Now I'm researching the Godfather pizza. Because it's not enough to say you think that it's the nicest one. You need to be able to explain why you think it's true.

First I'm trying to remember what they put on it. Because that would be a good beginning. I could list the toppings on the pizza, and then say why I like them. The only problem is I can't remember what they are.

It doesn't matter though. I like the Godfather because of what isn't on it. One of these is pineapple. Yes, I know that is controversial. Some people like it. I like it, but not on a pizza.

Another of the things that isn't on the Godfather is cotto. I don't even know what cotto is, but it sounds repulsive, and I don't wish to eat something called cotto.

A third item that isn't on the Godfather is meatybites, or little lumps of minced beef that look like dogfood.

I suppose you're thinking: That's not research. Well it might not seem like it, but a certain amount of research has gone into this, nevertheless.

Acknowledgement

Did you mean, asked Pliny the Elder, that the Kuarna people would have laughed to know they were being acknowledged, or that they would have laughed to know that the Vice Chancellor sometimes forgot?

I left it deliberately ambiguous, I answered, because I think they would have laughed at both those things.

But neither of those things are funny, said Pliny.

Not to you or me, I said, but put yourself in the place of the Kuarna people.

Who are they? asked Pliny.

They are the traditional owners of the Adelaide plains, I told him.

And do any of them come along to Research Tuesdays? he asked.

Not that I have noticed, I admitted.

I see, said Pliny. So you have no way of knowing whether they would laugh.

If they were there, I said, impatiently, they would have no need to laugh. It's ironic because there are none of them there to hear themselves being acknowledged.

And when the Vice Chancellor sometimes forgets? continued Pliny.

It's even more ironic. That would really make them laugh.

But they are not there, said Pliny, exasperated.

As you are determined to be obtuse, Pliny, let me put it to you another way. Imagine someone were to tell the Kuarna people that this acknowledgement sometimes does and sometimes does not occur on Research Tuesdays. Might they not laugh and shake their heads and say to one another, That'd be right!

They might , said Pliny stiffly, but I freely admit I do not know any Kuarna people. Do you?

No, I don't.

Ironically, said Pliny.

Research Tuesday

I like research. Every second Tuesday of the month is Research Tuesday at the University of Adelaide, and we always try to go to the lecture.

GETTING READY.
The lecture usually starts at 5.30pm. This is exactly one hour before our dinner time. Research and trial and error have taught me to avoid the embarrassment of my tummy rumbling by eating a piece of jam and bread as close to 5pm as possible. Yesterday we had brown bread and fig jam.

GOING.
We usually drive to Kent Town and if it is summer we look for a park in the shade. This does not mean we park under a tree, for that is to invite bird poo. We look for shade that will be falling just beyond the tree, by 6.45pm. In the winter it doesn't matter about the shade because it will be dark by then.

WALKING TO THE UNIVERSITY.
Then we have to walk up North Terrace facing into the low sun. North Terrace at this time is crowded with people waiting at bus stops, and sometimes the only way to get past the bus stop is to step into the road which is dangerous especially when we can't see that the bus is coming, because of the sun.

GOING IN.
We always think that nobody else will come. It is always surprising to see the lecture theatre filling up with people somewhat like ourselves.

ACKNOWLEDGING THE KUARNA PEOPLE.
The Vice Chancellor nearly always remembers to begin by acknowledging that we are on Kuarna land. The Kuarna people would probably laugh if they knew this.

THE LECTURE.
The lectures are always different, They are about some aspect of research that someone at the university is doing. Yesterday the topic was Cellular Movement and the use of Chemokines for something. There was a sad moment when the lecturing professor put up a chart that looked very simple and said that it represented 15 years of work.

EATING PIZZA.
Because it is Tuesday, and large pizzas are especially cheap at Domino's on Tuesdays, we usually get a pizza on the way home. Research and trial and error have taught us that the Godfather is the nicest one.

Research v. Intuition

Pliny's research has been inconclusive. No one on Google or Wikipedia knows how the humbug got its name. Even the old fashioned boiled sweet manufacturers do not know. Humbugs simply are and have always been known as humbugs.

Therefore, I said to Pliny firmly, we should do away with research and think it out for ourselves.

You didn't get very far with that method yesterday, he said, frowning.

Yes, but now we haven't any alternative, I said. I suggest we put ourselves in the place of an 18th century sweetmaker who wants to make a brilliant new sweet to take the sweet-eating world by storm.

I see, said Pliny. Does he think of the name of the sweet first, or the sweet itself?

He thinks of the sweet first, and comes up with the name after he's seen what it looks like, I said.

Yes, that sounds right, said Pliny. That's what I would do.

Would you? So would I. And while we're on the subject, why is the sweetmaker a he?

Let us not get bogged down in gender issues, said Pliny. Let us think beyond that to the sweet-creating process.

Alright, and let us think beyond the sweet-creating process too, because we know the sweet turns out to be a humbug.

Point taken, said Pliny. Now what?

Now, the sweetmaker looks at the sweet she has created. It is short and tubular, twisted off at each end and features smart black and white stripes.

And is peppermint flavoured, adds Pliny. Or aniseed, as the case may be.

Yes, yes. But now she thinks. What shall I call this sweet? What does it most look like?

And she thinks it most looks like a humbug!

No, Pliny. Because a humbug doesn't at that time look like anything. It is merely a hoax, or jest, or a deception.

Wait, said Pliny. I have just remembered a story I read when I was doing my research. It was about Charles Darwin. Two young boys made up a beetle out of the parts of 3 different beetles and asked him to identify the new beetle. Darwin laughed and told them that it was a humbug.

Oh well done Pliny! I said. Perhaps the sweet maker could see into the future. They were making humbugs well before Charles Darwin's time.

But, said Pliny, Darwin was no humourist. It may have been quite commonplace, to identify strange beetles as humbugs.

I believe you may be on to something there, I said. Perhaps that was what she was thinking.

He, said Pliny.