Latest inventions on trial

Dr Strabismus of Utrecht is working hard on about fourteen thousand and fifty new inventions. These include a collapsible salt-bag, a bottle with its neck in the middle, a rice-sifter, a stanchion to prop up other stanchions, a suet-container, a fog-horn key, a leather grape, a new method of stencilling on ivory, basalt cubes for roofing swimming baths,  a fox-trap, a dummy jelly-fish, waterproof onions, false teeth for swordfish, a method of freezing meat-skewers, a hand-woven esparto grass egg-cosy which plays Thora when released from the egg, a glass stilt, a revlving wheel-barrow, an iron thumb for postmen, a hash-pricker, a beer-swivel with blunt flanges and a red go-by, a fish-detector, a screw for screwing screws into other screws, hot pliers, a plush sausage-sharpener, a rope-soled skate for use in mountain quarries, an oiled cork for use in rabbit-hutches, a cheese anchor and a chivet for screaming radishes.

Leo's trembling passion . . .

Qualities of the Sign Leo   Is the onely house of the Sun, by nature Fiery, Hot, Dry, Cholericke, Diurnal, Commanding, Bestial, Barren, of the East, and Fiery Triplicity, Masculine.

Diseases   All sicknesses in the ribs and sides, as Pluricies, Convulsions, paines in the backe, trembling or passion of the heart, violent burning feavers, all weaknesse or diseases in the heart, sore eyes, the Plague, the Pestilence, the yellow-Jaundice.

Places Leo Signifieth   A place where wilde Beasts frequent, Woods, Forrests, Desert places, steep rocky places, unacceptable places, Kings Palaces, Castles, Forts, Parks, in houses where fire is kept, neer a Chimney.

Shape and Description   Great round Head, big Eyes starting or staring out, or goggle-eyes, quick-sighted, a full and large body and it more then of middle stature, broad Shoulders, narrow Sides, yellow or darke flaxen haire and it much curling or turning up, a fierce Countenance, but ruddy, high sanguine complexion, strong, valiant and active.

Kingdoms, Countries and Cities subject to Leo   Italy, Bohemia, the Alpes, Turkie, Sicilia. Apulia, Rome,Syracuse, Cremona, Ravenna. Damascus, Prague, Lintz, Bristol.

-          William Lilly, Christian Astrology (1647)

Hurrah for Pooh! (tiddlely-pom)

Auntie Phyllis gave me A. A. Milne's The House at Pooh Corner for Christmas 1941, and the thing is that it's as entrancing and funny in 2015 as it was when I was nine. It is, after all, the best children's book ever written - and pretty nearly the best book for adults. It radiates humour - good humour - and joy, and captures childhood on the page as no other book does - and re-reading it rejuvenates the oldest reader. Much of the delight of course is in the characters: the ultimate pessimist, Eeyore, the simple, charming Alan Bennett-like Piglet, the brash, bouncy Tigger, the Wise Owl, Wol, and of course Pooh himself, the resident Bear with a poem for every occasion: (sometimes dropping into vers libre):

'I could spend a happy morning
   Seeing Piglet.
And I couldn't spend a happy morning
   Not seeing Piglet.
And it doesn't seem to matter
If I don't see Owl and Eeyore (or any of the others),
And I'm not going to see Owl or Eeyore (or any of the others)
   Or Christopher Robin.'

Scene after scene is etched in the memory - Pooh's encounter with the Horrible Heffalump was the first piece of prose which, read to me, reduced me to helpless hysterical laughing. But every scene in the book has its own laughter, as when Eeyor first encounters Tigger:

'Hallo, Eeyore,' said Pooh. 'This is Tigger.'
'What is?' said Eeyore.
'This,' said Pooh and Pioglet together, and Tigger smiled his happiest smile and said nothing.
Eeyore walked all round Tigger one way, and then turned and walked all around him the other way.
'What did you say it was?' he asked.
'Tigger.'
'Ah!' said Eeyore.
'He's just come,' explained Piglet.
'Ah!' said Eeyore again.
He thought for a long time and then said:
'When is he going?'

I don't think I could love anyone who doesn't love The House at Poor Corner.

Hi, Pluto! - where's Mickey?

Well, it's all very extraordinary, and I'm sure scientists will be poring over all the new information they'll be receiving about Pluto as a result of the fly-past. My problem is that I don't really believe that Pluto is there. Of course I know that it's there, just as I know the other planets are there, and that there is an infinite number of platenary systems elsewhere in space as the great vacancy goes on towards infinity. The trouble is, I con't accept it, emotionally. I look up at the sky, and it's very pretty, and obviously considerable time and trouble has been expended in setting all the lights out and moving them around for our pleasure - but as for them all being actual physical places - oh, come on, pull the other one.
I don't mean to give comfort to those who still believe that the Moon landing was an exercise carefully contrived by the US government and filmed in a studio just south of Disneyland, or that the earth is flat (obvious though that is the case: just look at the horizon, and planes diving over it). But, actually, I can see where they're coming from - they share my own difficulty in believing that man could have stood on the face of the Moon, the problem being that they don't accept, as I do, that actual fact, as suppoorted by rational evidence - just the same as the evidence that proves that Goofie, I mean Pluto, does exict. And where's Mickey, may I ask? Now him, I do believe in.

Cocktails at six

It was said a while ago that younger people were beginning again to drink cocktails, out of fashion for some time. Certainly long lists of sometimes very peculiar brews can be found in most pubs and restaurants, but I rarely see anyone drinking them. Julia and I for many years now have enjoyed a cocktail at six in the evening - a pleasant signal that the day's work is done. Well mixed, they can both give you a lift and/or prepare you for a relaxing evening.
The classic dry martini goes without saying (but not without drinking): a measure of gin and the merest glimpse of a dry vermouth - the old story was that the perfect martini consisted of allowing the sunlight to pass through a bottle of vermouth onto the surtface of a glass of ice-cold gin. Ourt favurite cocktail at the moment however is the Bartender: 20 ml dry vermouth, 20 ml sweet vermouth, 20 ml gin, 20 ml dry sherry, 5 ml Grand Marnier -  maybe a touch sweet for some palates, but a gorgeous effect.
We're fond too of the Sidecar - 60 ml brandy, 7 ml Cointreau, 7 ml lemon juice. Actually, there are several good cocktails with Cointreau, including the Kamilkaze (30 ml vodka, 30 ml Cointreau, 30 ml fresh lemon juice, 5 ml lime cordial) and the simple Sidecar (60 ml brandy, 7 ml Cointreau, 7 ml lemon juice). Even simpler, the gimlet - just a measure of gin with a splash of lime juice - the good old gin-and-lime, with plenty of ice.
Oh, dear - 9:05 a.m., and I feel like a . . . no, no - only nine hours to wait.
P.S. - my own invention (names for it welcome) is 60 ml vodka, 20 ml blue curacao, 20 ml sweet vermouth and a splash of lime juice. Maybe just the SixOclock?

A message from Saint Augustine

Idly turning the pages of St Augustine's De Civitate Dei (as is my wont) I come across the following:
'There are those who can move their ears, one or both, as they please; there are those that can move all their hair towards their forehead, and back again, and never move their heads. There are those that can counterfeit the voices of birds and of other men, cunningly; and there are thiose that can break wind backward continually, that you would think they sang.'
This is clearly an important message to the faithful; I am not personally sure of its application.

The so-called 'martyrs'

Thinking about the bombing atrocity in London a decade ago - and also of the more recent atrocities of IS - it seems to me an insult to civilisation describe the silly young men (and indeed women and children) who strap bombs to themselves and detonate them among their brothers and sisters as 'martyrs'. The suicide bombers, and those who machine-gun shoppers in supermarkets and holidaymakers relaxing on beaches are themselves innocents persuaded to kill themselves for the mythical god of a religion (including, in the past, Christianity) created by the wicked to prey on their fellows. The IS 'martyrs' in particular go happily to their deaths because they have been persuaded that they find themselves in a happy land of milk and honey where naked virgins will wait upon them to provide every delight they have rejected on earth. The tragedy - though perhaps it is for them a happy chance - is that they will never know that they are in fact going to simple black oblivion, having thrown away, it seems, every pleasure less gullible people get out of life.
Even worse, it seems that they have been taught that their main pleasure and accomplishment in life should be the elimination of anyone who does not worship their particular god - it is the Old Testament view of religion, that anyone who does not subscribe to My idea of god is not worthy to live. Simple and undiluted idiocy - and profoundly anti-Life. An attitude which has of course appeared from time to time in almost every civilisations, from ancient Rome to 17th century England and the Puritans. Nothing is new. But that the phenomenon of IS has appeared and proved so forceful makes any optimism about the progress of mankind towards genuine civilisation extremely difficult to summon.