John Burton's cootsh

Life continues to surprise me

2009-07-19T12:58:00.001-07:00

Well I've been offered a teaching job in Seville. And we're going to go. Really. The whole family. I know. It's crazy. But I think it will actually work.

I'll be there from the end of September until they throw me out. Or we get homesick for wet summers and Weetabix.

Actually I will be working the school year from the beginning of October until the end of June, and we will all probably return to Wales for summer school work from July to September.

Mormon Love Song

2009-06-09T05:26:00.001-07:00

This is inspired by a poem I heard recently only briefly and cannot find anywhere. This is just a bit of fun. It probably will never find itself going in to print, so I thought I would post it here.

Mormon Love Song

Sit with me, sister
You give me relief
From society.

I’ll hold myself back
From my righteous desire,
The smell of your dress,
Blonde liquid fire
I’ll sit two rows back,
Kick off my church shoes
And sing wild tenor
To your sweet alto

Bake with me angel
Text me at midnight
I’d pass to you first
If he wasn’t in eyesight
I’ll tear down the barricades
And mess up your hair
You are my doctrine
This is my prayer

We’ll run in the moonlight
Cross that cool field
And sleep by the lights
Of the twinkling fair.

I’ll forgo my sins
Withhold all my pride
I’ll read sacred scripture
In your chaptered eyes
I’ll plunder the food store,
Praise with my mouth,
Drink from your voice,
And live in your house.

But there’s a certain sacred
Beauty in restraint, they say,
I think it was some G.A.
I have your note,
Your sustaining vote,
Oh I’ll flirt in my shirt
With you.

I am Spiderman

2009-06-09T05:21:00.003-07:00

In another life, in the parallel universe, or in the future when my superpowers will fully manifest themselves to me, I can do this:

Lou's Final Exhibition at WWSOA

2009-06-06T02:36:00.001-07:00

She made it! Completing a project that began in 1990, disrupted by pretty much everything life can throw at a person, Lou has finished her photography degree. I'm thrilled, proud, excited, and couldn't smile more if you said I resembled Jude Law's better looking brother. Makes you think how sweet victory tastes when it comes after hard work and commitment.

Well done babe. Like good poetry, your work has become an expression of your self and your own way of seeing the world, charged with unique perspectives, yet relevant and accessible. I'm very happy to have seen this last stretch through with you.

I had to do something to celebrate Morrissey's 50th

2009-05-23T07:02:00.000-07:00

2009-04-29T05:51:00.000-07:00

This month I gave a paper at the two-day University of Wales postgrad conference on how early modern sonnet sequences constitute a debate written in poetry. Gregynog makes for a great venue. One highlight was Richard Marggraf Turley's presentation on good academic writing practice.

I also received a bursary from the Society of Renaissance Studies to present my paper at the Gascoigne Seminar at Lincoln College, Oxford, in September.

William Drummond's Amazement, 1613

2009-03-26T04:28:00.001-07:00

To spreade the azure Canopie of Heauen,
And make it twinckle all with Spanges of Gold,
To place this pondrous Globe of Earth so euen,
That it should all, and nought should it vphold:
To giue strange Motions to the Planets seuen,
And Ioue to make so meeke, and Mars so bold,
To temper what is moist, drie, hote, and cold,
Of all their Iarres that sweet Accords are giuen.
Lord , to thy Wit is nought, nought to thy Might,
But that thou shouldst ( thy Glorie laid aside )
Come basely in Mortalitie to bide,
And die for them deseru'd eternall Plight,
A Wonder is, so farre aboue our Wit,
That Angells stand amaz'd to thinke on it.

I'm an Uncle again!

2009-03-11T16:00:00.000-07:00

Robyn Faye Bristow, born 10 March 2009, 9lb 10oz.

I just look like me

2009-03-08T10:33:00.000-07:00

I have been told my new bald look makes me look like:

Harry Hill
Michael Stipe
The right-hand man to a Mafia Don
An American university professor from the 60s
Jade Goody

In previous conversations, I have been told I look like the following:

Mr Bean
Someone from Chariots of Fire
Baudelaire
Jude Law

2009-02-04T09:38:00.000-08:00

Yahooooo

2009-02-03T04:26:00.000-08:00

Snow fun in Wales . . .

The New Year

2009-01-02T04:50:00.000-08:00

Slept at my parents last night. Forgot to turn off the cuckoo clock. It was some kind of nightmarish Bavarian hell.

That aside, I successfully maintained my tradition of reading Wordsworth's Prelude on New Year's Day. Well, skipped a few books (particularly regarding his visits to France) and focused my attention on the greatest of his poetic muses - Nature. And common people. And his sister.

Also, broke my vow of silence after only four hours. I didn't know where certain required food items were, and had to communicate with my wife. I now know a man could starve to death from silence.

So 2009 is the year I perfect my PhD thesis, turn 40, become rich and famous, retire to Bermuda and complete the New York marathon. I have much to do and little time . . .

Rather that than suffer what Wordsworth called the 'miserable slave of low ambition'. Think about it . . . nothing ever happens unless you give it a go. I have successfully blagged my way through life (and once into an Ambassador's house, but that's another story). Add to blagging the ability to stick to it. I once interviewed Norman Vincent Peale, and that was his sole point of advice: the Churchillian NGU . . . never give up. Or to be more precise, NNNGU. Then finally add a dash of blythe nonchalence. Simply put, one cannot waste time thinking about what people will think. Think of the Bavarian. There's no way he could get into those leather trousers without more than an ounce of not caring what the French will make of it. So, don your leathers, look stupid, and raise your glass of goodwill to the unperturbed: Here's to 2009: the Year of Immense Ambition.

The Christmas Tree

2008-12-23T17:37:00.000-08:00

C. Day Lewis The Christmas Tree

Put out the lights now!
Look at the Tree, the rough tree dazzled
In oriole plumes of flame,
Tinselled with twinkling frost fire, tasselled
With stars and moons

So feast your eyes now
On mimic star and moon-cold bauble:
Worlds may wither unseen,
But the Christmas Tree is a tree of fable,
A phoenix in evergreen

The Great Big 2008 Review

2008-12-21T03:41:00.000-08:00

It's Christmastime, and I am happy. I'm happy for hundreds of reasons (well I can think of at least a dozen right now. The tray of Krispy Kreme's next to me in the room has not influenced the opening of this blog entry in any way). At last it seems I'm getting some basic things right in my life - the last time I could honestly say that was when I mastered daily tooth brushing. And, not to boast, but I have a charmed life full of family, great friends, and amazing food. What more do I need?

Here's a list of 2008's highlights in no particular order:

1. I have given up shouting pretty successfully. Now I just glare. This has given rise to several unexpected benefits. My kids aren't scared of me any more. They now see me as a kind of funny old guy who looks constipated on occasion (I was never that good at glaring - see picture) which I kind of like. Also, there is more giggling in the house which is a much better sound.

2. Lou and I ran a half marathon. Actually, Lou ran it. I successfully employed a combination of motion techniques, of which running was only the first. I then hopped, limped, staggered, and then - and this is the one that really paid off - walked.

3. We attended the Temple as a family on several occasions. We Mormons prize the Temple as a place of worship and service, and this year Lou and I took the oldest kids to both the London and Preston Temples. What can I say? Except we came out better than when we went in.

4. I have two sons taller than me. This is most obvious when we pass the sacrament together, and Cameron and Owen (both nearly sixteen) have the edge on me. I complain about it, but I kind of like it too. I'm not one of those Dads who derives pleasure from constantly showing off how better they are than their sons. By the way, I can still wrestle them to the floor, and I can beat them hands down on a Shakespeare quiz. Oh yeah, who's the Daddy?

5. I am one year closer to my PhD. It will get finished. It will.

6. I have over 200 friends on Facebook. A shout-out to my legion of associates. You have made me feel loved and wanted, and boosted my ego when I needed it most. To those sceptics who say you are just digital negotiations of reciprocal panic-driven attempts at staving off the fear of lonely isolation and not real friends, you have underestimated the depth of my connection to these loyal stalwarts. I sleep sound sure in the knowledge that if my heart fails in the night you would all come to my funeral. Admittedly some of you wouldn't have a clue which John you were mourning, but nevertheless. I assure you that you are real to me. I hope one day to meet you all. Whoever you are.

7. At some point my kids did the following: Gone to EFY (Cam and Owen), started attending youth (Harrison and Caitlin, bringing the total number of youth in our family to six), moved in (Sarah, who is a welcome guest), cheered up (Jared, who has 87% fewer tantrums than last year), enjoyed life (I think particularly of Cerys who is becoming a happy and very beautiful girl), read about a million books (Ceilidh, Devon, and Caitlin in that order), started full-time school (Imogen, who is bravely learning Welsh), grown (yes even Caleb), camped in the rain (everyone in the family), drawn the most amazing pictures (Will in particular), and made Dad laugh so much he fell off the sofa (Caleb and Jared).

My kids love this game . . . so do I

2008-11-24T01:05:00.001-08:00

More Games at arcadecabin.com | Cool Generators

Your very flesh shall be a great poem . . .

2008-11-09T08:45:00.001-08:00

My man Werner

2008-11-08T13:55:00.000-08:00

The law is an ass.

2008-10-25T02:08:00.000-07:00

Criminal law is so often about location, location. Think about it. If a man urinates in the men's room no problem, but if he does it in a restaurant the law intervenes. It's all abut the simple matter of walls and doors; the crime of indecent exposure is just a small question of bricks and mortar - that is, how many bricks and how much mortar there exists between a streaker and his unwitting audience.

The same applies to your own home. If my neighbour plays loud music disturbing my early Saturday morning slumber the law is on my side. I have recourse because the noise originates from outside my own house. The law reasonably assumes that I cannot control what happens in my neighbour's house and awards me the blessed status of victim, with all the sweet protection that affords.

But if my own teenage child subjects me to The Red Hot Chilli Peppers while I snooze to the extent that my teeth rattle, there is nothing I can do, for the law wrongly assumes that I can have some level of control or influence over my own brood. Ha! Who are they kidding?

The dude abides.

2008-10-10T05:58:00.000-07:00

Some of my favourite quotes from The Big Lebowski, in honour of the forthcoming Lebowski fest. Those in the know have permission to repeat: The dude abides.

The Dude:
Nice marmot
Careful man, there's a beverage here
This aggression will not stand, man
That rug really tied the room together

Walter Sobchak:
This is not Nam, this is bowling, there are rules
You're entering a world of pain
I did not watch my buddies die face down in the mud...
Chinaman is not the preferred nomenclature
You want a toe? I can get you a toe... hell, I can get you a toe by three o'clock this afternoon, with nail polish.

Go ahead. Make your move.

2008-10-10T01:32:00.001-07:00

The Saps // 03
Originally uploaded by BrandonVoges.

So another academic year begins. I have had the place to myself all summer. My workstation at the library now recognises me each morning with a charming knowing nod. It permanently displays my user name on its login screen in an effort to build report with its sole user. The library has been my library, the books my books (fines excepted), the parking space my parking space (disabled sign excepted).

But now new students (campus tourists), fresh from receiving their learning disability screening, acquaint themselves with campus facilities, stock up on pot noodles, and plaster their new digs with posters of Jimi Hendrix and Cage the Elephant. Returning students pass go, collect student loan, and sleep the afternoons off still dressed in their jeans, Red Bull cans littering the floor.

Despite the competition for parking, I speak of these students with a gush of fraternal affection, for these are the ones who made it thus far, who overcame the doubts, the fears, the forms, the traffic and the general current of our culture which is moving in another direction. Hats off to you my co-scholars, and gather round. There's work enough to do at the treadmill of knowledge, and there's a place for you in a better world.

Just hoping they have the decency to leave me and my books alone.

Aww c'mon honey, just one bounce

2008-10-08T05:17:00.001-07:00

jump__12.jpg (JPEG Image, 634x437 pixels)

From John Davies of Hereford's 1605 Wittes Pilgrimage:

The Match is double made, where Man, and Wife ,
Of diuerse Bodies , make one perfect Minde.

Where Loues Desires rest pleased, in vnrest:
For true Ioy rests, vntir'd, in motion.

Evidence that true joy rests in motion is provided in the picture above, which I have tentatively titled 'We paid 450 bucks for this room and you're just gonna sit there?' I suppose Davies, who was about my age when he composed those lines, understood that you can really be united in your efforts when you have something to do. Let's face it. Life calls for action. Seize the day. The world is a very large bed and it demands to be bounced upon. Motion is the key. The arms may flail, the hair may get ruffled, feathers may fly. But no one ever accomplished anything worth doing that a little bed bouncing couldn't have helped.

Just look at the face of the excellent example above. Look at him. His eyes wide open, he grins to the world, ready to take it on. His bounce doesn't say, 'What if something goes wrong and I find myself three floors down in someone's dining room?' It says, 'Here I come world, look out!'

Thus my suggestion for today's activity is to find a decent sized bed. It may be in a department store. Remove shoes. Let your anxiety and stress go as you launch yourself skyward, give a little yell of 'woohoo' or 'yarabunga' if that helps, and bounce.

As you do so, remember Davies' words:

For true joy rests, untir'd, in motion.

Amen.

Who needs a yacht when you have a lake?

2008-08-02T02:42:00.000-07:00

Sure, I say, discovering your English summer school class are all the children of wealthy Greek shipping magnates who would like to reward your service with a small yacht of your own would be cool, but surely the simplest human joy of all comes when two people understand each other, really see each other for who they are (faults and all) and choose to like (or love) each other anyway. Bang that in your bonce, mull it over a moment or two, and sure enough you'll agree. It doesn't get much better than that, Greek sailing included.

Which is why I felt like a millionaire camping with my family this week. We played, we walked, we talked, we ate marshmallows toasted to gooey perfection, we played football barefoot in the rain. We liked each other. It felt like we created our own little kingdom of peace on the shores of Llyn Brianne. Bliss.

Memorable miscommunications from this week No. 1

Question to a new student: Do you have any pets?

Answer: My Grandmother.

Socks and Socrates

2008-07-22T00:11:00.000-07:00

Great Scott! File leader relations are at an all-time high. Since my last post I have been awarded the best students since Plato sat attentively at the feet of Socrates. Hmm. I rather fancy myself the philosophic mentor of the rising generation of the Euro-elite. They're all future dentists and architects you know. In about ten years from now picture yourself swanning off across the continent and suddenly you're in need of some plans to be drawn up for your additional en suite, or perhaps you crack a tooth on your langoustines - I'm your man.

Family all headed nether-ways for the summer. The oldest two are in Chorley, leaving the rest better strategic viewpoints from which to watch re-runs of Dr. Who on the BBC iPlayer. Our boys are missed - they have the knack of keeping things together - rather like Tory whips on a key party vote. But at least my chances of finding socks in the morning have risen by about 3000%. One puzzle solved, I shall depart for my linguistic acolytes who await this morning's words of wisdom with baited breath.

Oh, a good one this week: Offering transport to the people is a bloomer, 9 letters. Transport = car, people = nation, giving the bloomer carnation. Are you with me my fellow soldiers in the battle for paired socks and good grammar?

The oddest job in the world . . .

2008-07-03T05:58:00.001-07:00

Phew! The file leader in question does not take exception to the terrier comment, so I decided to test the waters and call him a spaniel instead. We'll see how that goes.

The Italians I teach are a patriotic lot. Of course, this national loyalty is chiefly noticeable among the Italians who live in America, Australia and Slough. My class love their terra patria so much that they even listen to Italian rap music - a sign of deep loyalty that cannot be afforded the Scots or Welsh (thank goodness).

But what seems odd about the Roman sense of patriotism is that it does not extend to their clothing. Italian made t-shirts and sweatshirts invariably display English slogans. I say English, but the term should be used loosely, rather like the ill-fitting jeans that hang off the hips of every hippity-hop teeny-bop kid that stalks the malls of Milano, walking restricted as if fresh from a toilet seat without time to pull the things up, looking for something - anything - to make sense.

And sense these slogans do not make. Examples noted today:
CityNova Innovation
Wizard of Devilmack
Playing field any time since 1963 playing games
Impossible is nothing
Life is now
Eternal loose

What does this stuff mean? No wonder these poor souls are confused when I baptise them in good clean grammar for half an hour. I mean, who writes this stuff?

Somewhere in Milan a clothing design company employs a writer to actually pen these phrases and after scrawling twenty examples of his best effort, he has to whittle the list down to his top three. This goes to a committee who must decide on the brand impact of the phrase, and ensure it's not libelous, blasphemous or simply wrong. Once they decide on the winning slogan, some kid in Thailand sits at a sewing machine and punches the stuff out, which is then quality-checked by a floor manager, before the proof is shipped back to Milan for final clearance by the boss. It then gets commissioned, produced and shipped to a wholesale depot from where retailers place orders and stock their shelves. It gets put on a window dummy in a high street outlet and hundreds of people walk past it, until some unsuspecting spotty kid buys it and puts it on, and nowehere along this chain of events does one single person stop the process and say "Hey, what the hell is this rubbish on about?" 'Eternal loose?' That was the winner? I would pay good money to see the runner-up to that.

P.S.
I seem to have confused some with the closing comments of my last post; two readers told me they couldn't follow the crossword clue, and one felt obliged to sit up all night wondering what it was all about. Complacent, knocking back sweets. The response is SMUG, which reads 'gums' backwards, from which we have sweets (gums) knocked back.

Look, life is short, and the sun rarely shines. Don't waste time on this stuff. I'm concerned that my people sit glued to the screen, waiting for the next entry. Move on! Your wife/kids/job need you. Be active in your community. Wash the windows. Give a surprise foot rub to someone, prior permission willing. Time waits for no man. Before you know it your kids will have grown up and your salad will have gone limp. See you tomorrow.

Mea culpa

2008-07-02T16:12:00.000-07:00

My hopes for hero status among the file leaders took a turn for the worse this afternoon when I accidentally called my boss a terrier. I was referring to his sense of outrage at injustice, viz Chiara and the fourteen year old (see preceding post). It left an uncomfortable silence over the chocolate mousse. I braved the afternoon with the Romans, hoping my willingness to work my contract hours without complaint redeems me from my misjudgment. I thought all was a complete washout when I suddenly cracked six across; complacent, knocking back sweets, giving smug! Who says inspiration is the preserve of the guiltless?

The beginning of the end

2008-07-02T12:30:00.000-07:00

Teaching English to Italian kids is my summer hobby. It's my dessert to the main course of spring exams. While the world is watching Wimbledon, taking the brood to the beach or getting married, I'm with kids called Giulio, Gianluca, and Massimiliano (you got to love the irony there - the kid could fit in my shoe). I use phrases like 'Basta', 'Lavorro duro', and 'Chiara - put your iPod down and leave Lorenzo alone; he's only fourteen.' It's a joy.

Discerning readers may note the subtle negative tone. If there is an unease, give pause for thought - I'm an Anglo-Saxon in the land of Celts held hostage twice a day in a room full of Romans. Admittedly they feed me beef stroganoff and chocolate mousse but I eat with raised alarm; my instincts tell me to get the hell out, use the white board rubber as a missile and hope to befuddle a few of them with clever use of present continuous e.g., I am running and not stopping till I reach the bridge.

But fiscal constraints require sacrifice. I shall endure this Latinate delicacy until the markers dry up. There may not be much left of me by September, but by Thor it shall be a thunderous day when I shall finally repel this Roman invasion. Let's hope the file leaders recognise (and compensate) this rank and file's willingness to serve to the end.

My plan to foil the Dutch

2008-06-26T16:54:00.000-07:00

The Dutch are a close second on Google's listings for the term cootsh. What have I ever done to them? I shall blog on, hoping to develop some strategy to keep Gastenboek van zuudwolde in its place. But as success is mine for now, I shall celebrate my pole position by playing Revel roulette with Lou.

Note: Scannel is a big hit on the blog. Please forward any more photos of Joseph Smith to my email address.

The breakfast audit

2008-06-26T03:52:00.001-07:00

These figures came to me as I went yet again for a bowl of Crunchie Nut and yet again the one-day old box was empty. I do not have concrete evidence, but I have my suspicions. I think it's the long-haired one who says Eeeoo instead of 'hello'. The one who wears a chunky gold chain and has taken to a listening to country and western musak and donning a cowboy hat is another candidate, although with that little lineup perhaps it's my nerves.

Anyway, here's the weekly breakfast shopping list at this stage:

46 pints of milk
5.2 kilos of cereal
10 loaves of bread (more if no cereal)
2 dozen eggs
3 jars of jam

Oh, and they can drink fruit juice until it comes running out their ears, especially the little cute one with curly hair.

Bluff: You might just get what you want

2008-06-21T09:20:00.001-07:00

My brother has the business wits of a Marrakesh fruit market trader who has just discovered a loophole in the law that allows him to trade under the name apple.com. Like all good deal-savvy folk, he can get upgrades, discounts, and free add-ons faster than I can count my change. Which is why I was amazed yesterday when I got a discount on some carpet Lou and I are buying for our up-for-rent apartment. I think the sales woman took pity on the fact that I didn't have a large enough wadge of cash in my mits more than anything else, but hey, I walked out with a roll of floor-cloth for less than the asking price, leaving us with just enough to pick up a few light fixings. Thinking back, I think what she really wanted was to see me and Lou hoist the half-ton lump of felt-backed nylon on top of our minibus.

It seems those who ask get. My dad once bought a leg of lamb and jokingly said he wanted a discount because it had been on display. The guy said OK.

He also went to buy a Motoguzzi motorbike from a guy and despite being resolved to find as many things wrong with it in order to knock down the price, found that the bike was is mint condition. The only thing he could find to say was, "I really wanted a Yamaha". The guy gave him £50 off.

My friend Martin resorted to stun tactics when he wasn't getting the deal he wanted. He had thrown a poor farmer into fit of rage, and when all was lost he quickly pointed at me and said, "His wife's pregnant!". It shut the farmer up for long enough to make a quick escape off his land. Note: Farmers always have shotguns.

What consumer heroes like these have in common is the tenacity to ask when the rest of us just can't be bothered.

Lou's fashion shoot

2008-06-17T10:23:00.001-07:00

I accompanied Lou on a fashion shoot and took a few sneaky shots of her at work. Great to see her use her talents and adapt to the tastes of each designer. It's a hugely gratifying thing to watch someone do what they are obviously meant to do.

Happy Bloomsday!

2008-06-16T08:25:00.001-07:00

Happy Bloomsday, readers!

http://www.rte.ie/news/2008/0616/bloomsday.html

Things I am Grateful for Today

2008-06-15T11:13:00.001-07:00

1. Being woken by Caitlin who brought me eggs and bacon.
2. My new sunglasses from Lou.
3. Being asked to pass the sacrament at church (and being taught by my son Cam how to do it properly).
4. Beautiful weather as I sat in the garden and read.
5. William giving me half of his cheesecake, which he had bought with money he won at the Saron village sports day.
6. Lou getting the children ready for church while I prepared lessons.
8. A thoughtful note from my girl Ceilidh.
7. Banana bread, baked by the loveliest woman on the planet.

I am nothing

2008-06-06T08:51:00.000-07:00

The Silver Jews have a song called 'Aloysius was a bluegrass drummer'. It's based on the irony that bluegrass bands traditionally do not use drums. Aloysius was nothing.

Now I'm a bluegrass drummer.

Really.

The Future . . .

2008-05-26T03:05:00.001-07:00

Studies I am ambitiously planning to conduct some time after 2011:

A Lacanian reading of 1 & 2 Nephi, the nom du Pere, Nephi and Jacob's appropriation of father's words, and Laman and Lemuel's 'murmuring'.

Joseph Smith and the Ideology of Translation

Authorship of Zepheria

The Flesh Became Word: The Textualising of Mormon Ideology

So, any readers of my blog are warmly invited to pitch in with any suggestions for areas of study relating to these projects.

The Convenant of Translation

2008-05-20T09:31:00.000-07:00

Some time between the 3rd and 1st centuries BC, the Greek king of Egypt Ptolemy II Philadelphus called seventy two translators to Alexandria and instructed them to undertake a translation of the Pentateuch from Hebrew to Greek. Each was to work in isolated cells, unable to refer to the work of the others, and the miraculous result (so the story goes) was the Septuagint, a single distilled text that forms the backbone of the Protestant Old Testament to this day.

G. P. Norton, in his excellent (if labouriously titled) Ideology and Language of Translation in Renaissance France and their Humanist Antecedents explores the European philosophy of translation, and begins with a quote from Louis Le Roy's 1577 work De La Vicissitude (and this my own translation from the French):

Scripture must be recognised for the divinity that it is . . . the translation must be one of authority, as done not by men who are servants of words, but by the spirit of God filling and governing the understanding of the translators.

Renaissance thinkers held the Septuagint as the 'optimal fulfillment' of the translator's effort, and the story of isolated scholars working in concert to produce a unified text was evident of the divine inspiration that governed the work. But it also hinted at the possibility that man can expiate the confusing division of Babel and draw themselves back to the original language. 'If anyone wishes to examine the archetype and measure of all languages, let him return to the language of our first parent (sermonem primi parentis), without doubt more uniform and more remarkable (eminentiorem) than any tongue in the world,' wrote Charles de Bovelles in 1533, and certainly the translator is seen as offering the possibility of returning to the state of utter linguistic harmony.

But it is the work of Lawrence Humphrey that Norton centers upon in his introduction. In 1559 he published the first attempt at a methodology of translation, entitled Interpretatio linguarum. For Humphrey the qualities and attributes of the translator are as of much importance as any consideration of the text, and he sets about examining the faith, diligence, and disposition (natura) of the interpreter, a very interesting notion when we consider the position of Joseph Smith as translator. For Humphrey the work of translation is sanctified, 'one of the most ancient covenants between God and man.' But Norton goes on to develop the notion of translation as a covenant, which 'viewed in this sacramental way, not only brings man back into the presence of God, but rekindles an archetype, the word-centred basis of divine Creation.' Very appropriate to our view of the Book of Mormon indeed.

GG's Noble Arte of Venerie

2008-05-15T03:28:00.000-07:00

Just read Greenwit's excellent analysis of his 'main man' George Gascoigne's TNAV. It's full of adventure, animal pictures, and the presenting of deer poop to Queen Elizabeth I. Brilliant.

The Sacred and Profane

2008-05-12T03:05:00.000-07:00

What is the distinction between the sacred and the profane? How does one recognise the holy from the base?

Renaissance thinkers grappled with this question, and in many ways were forced to, in an effort to reconcile two aspects of art; the capacity of man to imitate the sublime, while obviously staying firmly rooted on terra firma. The fathers of the Italian Renaissance were constantly challenged by what Vernon Lee called the wide discrepancy between avowed ideals and conduct. Pietro Aretino authored I Sonetti Lussoriosi (the lustful sonnets) in 1524 and in so doing effectively fathered literary pornography. But his paraphrase of the Psalms I sette Salmi became a standard for reformers in England and France. His friend Titian challenged notions of the good/evil dichotomy with his piece Sacred and Profane Love.

The bride, dressed in white and seated next to cupid is assisted by Venus. The bride holds a vase of jewels signifying worldly pleasure, while Venus holds a flame symbolising God's eternal love, a demarcation between earthly and heavenly love. The scheme is believed to have been devised by Bembo, who as a cardinal of the Church condemned fleshy lust while his passionate affairs were well known.

In England the debate continued, with Thomas Wyatt writing of Neoplatonic love while having several affairs, and George Gascoigne writing prose fiction of adulterous affair in The Adventures of Master F.J., later advising his adolescent readership in his 'Epistle to Yong Men' that his work was designed to show them how not to conduct themselves, and hoping that his work would finally appease court censors (it didn't).

What of the labouring man? With the blurring of lines between good and evil, how should one evaluate one's actions? Clearly to kill or destroy innocent life was condemned by scripture, but what about the millions of other daily actions that are performed? In the hierarchy of human endeavour, how should one place holy work with, say, pig farming?

The reformers took up the issue by largely leveling all activity into one experience, with William Tyndale writing that, while there is a superficial "difference betwixt washing of dishes and preaching of the word of God," there the hierarchy of actions falls, for "but as touching to please God; none at all." The human eye may see a world of difference, but to God there is none; William Perkins wrote that the "action of a shepherd in keeping sheep is as good a work before God as is the action of a judge in giving sentence, or a magistrate in ruling, or a minister in preaching." The act itself was of little consequence; it was the intention and inner condition of man that marked the work of his hands as good or bad.

Scannel Daguerreotype

2008-05-04T12:29:00.000-07:00

Several weeks ago I came across this image which is causing a lot of debate. The Community of Christ and the LDS church are both unsure, but some believe it to be a picture of Joseph Smith jr. Apparently it compares favourably with the death mask of the prophet, and with contemporary descriptions of him. To be honest, I do find the face has an arresting quality, and for me is more persuasive than the standard artistic depictions.

Oh the fun you can have with clippers

2008-05-03T11:01:00.000-07:00

First the 'trucker' - with a dash of gringo - this sets off the chin nicely, yielding a manly Burt Reynolds look. Also available in stupid arrogant.

Next the 'Dolmio', a hint of Mediterranean warmth and dolce vita exuberance, with an undertone of Colorado return missionary circa 1984.

Lastly the 'Fuhrer'. Jawline dominance and a hint of confused orientation gives rise to a small-mouthed expression, perfect for pouting.

Who was the keyboard player for the 70s band who had this moustache?

Oh yeah, Ron Mael from Sparks.

The Diary and the soul

2008-04-24T04:24:00.000-07:00

'The diagram of the text is as a series of concentric circles at the furtive heart of which is the secret declivity of the soul itself. The 'I' surrounded first by discourse, then by the domus, the chamber, and finally the public world , is placed at the heart of its own empire, in silence and very largely in terror. The Diary for all the fullness of its days, despite being so richly populated with others and with the furniture of gossip and events, is thus the record of a terrible isolation. At the moment the soul reaches out to appropriate the outer world, the very gesture reinforces the division by which it is other than what it seeks to apprehend.'

I love Francis Barker's handling of Pepys' Diary, because it carefully reveals the text as a simultaneously private and public space, and while I assume that Barker does not consider all divisions between subjectivity, others, and the outside world as giving rise to perpetual personal terror, it can be detected here. (These divisions, after all, permit identity and expression to emanate, and give rise to a delicious privacy.) But a similar diagram to Barker's can be drawn over scripture, particularly with those passages that address future readers (I have the Book of Moroni in mind), in which the private world of the author is transposed and into public text, and brings with it a tone of desperate loneliness, despite being 'furnished' with
the prophetic vision of future generations.

The Tempest by William Shakespeare

2008-04-21T15:20:00.000-07:00

Ultra-Condensed by Samuel Stoddard and David J. Parker

Prospero

Ariel, help me strand my enemies on my magic island.

(Prospero and Ariel use their magic to trap his enemies and exact revenge.)

Prospero

That's enough. Enemies, I forgive you all, and one of you can marry my daughter. I'm going home.

THE END

My personal top ten FAILS

2008-04-18T13:09:00.000-07:00

1. I flunked all my exams at school
I actually came away with a few CSE's which is nothing to brag about. But my major O levels - failed. Completely.

2. I was a sales person at an advertising company for two days
I was told the work paid well, and I convinced some friends to get me in. Two days later I couldn't face another day of cold calling on the telephone so I never went back.

3. I was a sales person for a telecoms company for one month
I was interviewed and hired by a guy who got fired before I started work. When I turned up they had never heard of me, and one month later they let me go with a small cheque and a sorry.

4. I shot my brother with an air gun
We had been shooting things in the field behind our house and started playing cops and robbers with some friends. I was running with the gun and forgot it was loaded. It went off as I was pointing it at my brother's leg at close range. Fortunately no blood - so no evidence.

5. I stabbed my brother in the head with a pencil
Well he asked for it. Actually I don't remember this one, but he still has the lead embedded in his head, and apparently it was me.

6. I spilled chamomile tea all over a fine art painting at an art college
This happened today, and if the painting is yours, I am truly sorry. Just sit back and take a deep breath. I mopped it up as best I could with some newspaper and a sponge I found. I know it's not the way you wanted the painting to look. But those runs in the paint have a certain charm. I liked it.

7. I was stoned by some Orthodox Jews for breaking the sabbath (I think)
I drove through a Jewish community on a Saturday and some kids started throwing rocks at the car. When I looked closer I saw that parents were handing the kids the stones to throw. I think it was a way of teaching them not to break the sabbath themselves.

8. I tipped over an entire cabinet of ornamental figures at a strangers house
I had been invited in with a friend, and walking across the room I tripped over an electrical cable and pulled it causing the whole cabinet to crash on top of me before their eyes. Several decapitated porcelain dogs were later found in the wreckage.

9. I rode my motorbike into a parked car while looking up at the stars
I was amazed one night at how bright the stars were and gazed up at them in awe. Unfortunately I was riding my bike at the time. Sorry to the owner of a red Allegro.

10. I closed my eyes for several seconds while on a running machine at the gym, and came off the back of it like a kid off a slide in front of many female witnesses
This happened last week. Need I explain more?

My two most best favourite words of the day

2008-04-17T04:22:00.001-07:00

Reintarnation: Coming back to life as a hillbilly.

Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.

The great ninja parade

2008-04-17T02:50:00.001-07:00

What a guy

2008-04-17T02:01:00.000-07:00

If you've never heard of George Gascoigne, you're missing out on one of history's most colourful characters.

As a young man he practically ruined himself financially 'experimenting' the 'vanities of youth', and trying to succeed as a lawyer. He served as MP for Bedford, and later was elected as MP for Midhurst, although he didn't serve because a complaint was submitted that he was a 'common Rymer', a 'devisor of slanderous Pasquelles ', and a 'notorious Ruffiane and especiallie noted to be bothe a Spie, and Atheist, and Godles personne.' Trying to amend his financial difficulties, he married a wealthy widow who it seems was already married to another man, with whom Gascoigne was found fighting in the streets of London.

He was all but disinherited by his father, and served a prison sentence for debt. He was in court throughout his life because of debt, property dealings, his marriage problems, and his literary works.

Probably to escape furious creditors he became a soldier of fortune in the Netherlands, and ended up serving a four month prison sentence in Haarlem before returning to England.

Finding that his direct appeal for a position at the royal court fell on deaf ears, his hopes were high that he could inspire patronage with his written works. While he had fled the country to escape debt, he managed to have his first major work published in London. It was an experimental collection of poems and prose that he hoped would help pave the way for a new literary format, and gain some attention at court. In a sense it worked. A Hundreth Sundrie Flowres was published in 1573, and lead to such public shock that it was promptly seized by the court censors and confiscated. On his return he quickly edited the work, removing what was offensive, and republished the entire work. It was also promptly confiscated. Finally, after a very public repentance, he gained royal favour, but within a year poor George died at the age of 43 in unknown circumstances.

Fortunately for us he was as adventurous in his literary output as he was in his personal life.

In the last eleven years of his life he wrote the first English prose comedy translated from an Italian source, the first Greek tragedy presented on the English stage, the earliest English imitations of Ovidian verse narrative, the first original non-dramatic English work in blank verse, and “The Adventures of Master F.J.” was our first original work of prose fiction - in effect the first English novel. He also composed among the first English sonnet sequences, and his “Certayne Notes of Instruction Concerning the Making of Verse” was the earliest treatise on prosody in English.

His engraved portrait above shows him before weapons of war and a shelf of books, marking him as a great soldier poet.

Some people just seem to live life like a burning comet.

The great Ken Lee song

2008-04-11T04:25:00.001-07:00

dogg gets the message

2008-04-08T15:04:00.000-07:00

for you

2008-04-02T15:05:00.001-07:00

The problem with women . . .

2008-03-28T12:46:00.000-07:00

. . . is that we men have to make the first move. There's basically three types of approach, as demonstrated by the clip below; the smooth and sleek, the weird but sincere, and the utter disaster.

Thoughts at a Wedding

2008-03-27T10:13:00.000-07:00

Among the sonnets written by John Davies of Hereford published about 1605 is this charming poem on marriage, which came to mind at a recent wedding. (I am very happy to have discovered this as a part of a second sonnet sequence by the little-known poet and writing master.)

The Match is double made, where Man, and Wife ,
Of diuese Bodies , make one perfect Minde ;
Striuing to bee as farre from Hate as Strife :
In kindnesse constant of a diuerse kinde.
Hee, gladd of hir, Shee of his selfe, more gladd;
Sith as hir better halfe, shee Him doth hold!
Each giues, to each, yet haue more then they hadd!
For, loue, and wealth so growes more manifold!
Doubling one life, sith they of Two, make One,
Where Loues Desires rest pleased, in vnrest:
For true Ioy rests, vntir'd, in motion ,
And by their motions that is still exprest:
He rules sith Shee obaies, or rather Shee
Obaying, rules: Thus, Soules may married bee!

Song by Thomas James Merton

2008-03-17T07:35:00.001-07:00

The bottom of the sea has come
And builded in my noiseless room
The fishes’ and the mermaids’ home,

Whose it is most, most hell to be
Out of the heavy-hanging sea
And in the thin, thin changeable air

Or unroom sleep some other where;
But play their coral violins
Where waters most lock music in:

The bottom of my room, the sea.
Full of voiceless curtaindeep
There mermaid somnambules come sleep
Where fluted half-lights show the way,

And there, there lost orchestras play
And down the many quarterlights come
To the dim mirth of my aquadrome:
The bottom of my sea, the room.

Oh, Mrs Pritchard!

2007-09-12T07:17:00.000-07:00

To begin at the beginning:
It is spring, moonless night in the small town, starless and bible-black, the cobblestreets silent and the hunched, courters'-and-rabbits' wood limping invisible down to the sloeblack, slow, black, crowblack, fishingboat-bobbing sea.

We saw a fantastic stage adaptation of Dylan Thomas's Under Milk Wood, a one-man show by Guy Masterson, for Lou's birthday. It was staggering. You can hear the great Richard Burton's BBC radio version here. Enjoy.

I am a draper mad with love. I love you more than all the flannelette and calico, candlewick, dimity, crash and merino, tussore, cretonne, crepon, muslin, poplin, ticking and twill in the whole Cloth Hall of the world.

The 1591 Sidney

2007-09-12T06:42:00.000-07:00

My research into Renaissance sonnet sequences led me to the British Library where I had possession of the 1591 Philip Sidney Astrophil and Stella for the whole day. Bliss.

For those (few) interested, I am researching the development of the literary (poetic) subjectivity in the sonnet sequences, an area of study which has not yet received the attention it deserves. The form (in which a series of sonnets are thematically linked) was seriously launched with Sidney's 1591, and was rapidly copied by a number of writers, notably Shakespeare. It appears Shakespeare was himself uninterested in publishing anything but his sonnets (oh, and I saw this edition too).

Twenty years ago Joel Fineman wrote an interesting study on subjectivity in Shakespeare's sequence, but apart from this, and a book by Christopher Warley on sonnet sequences and social distinction, the field is somewhat fresh.

Thus I plunge!

The Anomaniacs

2007-08-04T09:00:00.001-07:00

Fun version of this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M9PvJLgnDAU

The Tribe

2007-07-15T12:37:00.000-07:00

Aimee the Beautiful

2007-06-30T01:39:00.000-07:00

I'm immensely proud of my brother and his wife at the birth of their beautiful girl Aimee Grace.

Me and Thee

2007-06-07T06:13:00.000-07:00

“The statistics on sanity are that one out of every four Americans is suffering from some form of mental illness. Think of your three best friends. If they're okay, then it's you.”
~ Rita Mae Brown

Breakfast in Cardigan

2007-04-27T08:07:00.000-07:00

A perfect day in Cardigan yesterday.

If you're feeling generous

2007-04-26T07:59:00.000-07:00

Just in case any one wants to treat me . . .

I can finally be Peter Pan.

Confusing the plate with the meal

2007-04-22T05:40:00.000-07:00

I was amused recently by the story related on the BBC news website about some enthusiastic bird watchers who had travelled many miles across Britain to see an unusual sight. It had been reported that an American Robin, much larger than our British version, had been blown across the Atlantic by the jet stream and had settled in Grimsby. Enthusiasts from all across the UK gathered to take pictures of the bird, and just as they arrived, and cameras were being set up, a sparrow hawk descended and ate the Robin right before their eyes. One can only imagine the disappointment felt by these avid enthusiasts as one said “It was a terrible moment”.

I thought to myself that sometimes life just doesn’t seem fair.

But then I thought, could it be that these enthusiasts had placed too much emphasis on this little creature? Although I am no bird enthusiast and find it difficult to understand what would motivate a person drive halfway across the country to see a robin, I completely understand the feeling of disappointment when I realise I have placed too much importance on something, or when I have placed a unwarranted significance on something which leaves me unfulfilled.

Many things disappoint us, but as church members there is one type of disappointment I think we actively spare ourselves - the confusion between Church and Gospel.

This church is miraculous and wonderful. It was set up by the authority of God by Joseph Smith on April 6 1830 in Fayette New York. The Lord himself declared that this church is His, a restoration of the Church he organised in Galilee and Judea. In just 177 years membership has grown from 6 members in Fayette to over 12 million in thousands of stakes across the globe. The church, according to David O MCKay, has a mission to ‘prepare the way for the final establishment of the Kingdom of God on earth. Its purpose is, first, to develop in men’s lives Christ-like attributes; and, second, to transform society so that the world may be a better and more peaceful place in which to live.’ Membership of the Church by baptism is necessary for salvation in the Kingdom of God, to become ‘citizens of God’s kingdom’ as Brigham Young described it. The church offers us a spiritual sanctuary in which we find fellowship, education, guidance, support, and social activities. It is a haven, a place of development and growth, work and service, creativity and joy.

The Gospel of Jesus Christ is the saving power of God, the means by which we can live eternally with our Father, the process of redemption and salvation without which the world would be utterly wasted, and all of us utterly lost. Amulek taught, 'For it is expedient that an atonement should be made; for according to the great plan of the Eternal God there must be an atonement made, or else all mankind must unavoidably perish; yea, all are hardened; yea, all are fallen and are lost, and must perish except it be through the atonement which it is expedient should be made.’

And so central to the gospel is the Atonement of Jesus Christ, by which we can be gathered and cleansed of all unworthiness.

I like to think of the Church, with its youth and primary programmes, our meetings, conferences, and service projects, as the plate upon which the Gospel is delivered. The plate is wonderful, it is beautiful, it is worthy of great praise, but it is not the meal.

In teaching the Galatians, Paul described the difference between the law of Moses, which had a very important significance for so many generations, and the Gospel of Jesus Christ. The law, he says ‘was our schoolmaster to bring us unto Christ, that we might be justified by faith.’ Here he describes the law of Moses as a teacher, a guide, a schoolmaster, designed to focus the Hebrews’ attention to the Messiah. Many had fallen spiritually ill, unable to recognise the Saviour, persecuting Christ and his followers because they had confused the significance of the law they followed. This is not to say that the law of Moses was flawed. But they placed undue significance upon it, not understanding that the law was there to lead them to something greater.

In a similar way, is it possible that we might at times misunderstand the focus and mission of the Church, the schoolmaster of our day? I believe with a little searching we can all agree that at times we might have missed the purpose of the Church and its activities – in effect appreciating the quality of the plate without enjoying the meal. At such times, we can make all the right moves without seeing the larger picture, managing to manoeuvre our way through all the meetings and activities without actually brushing up against the garment of the master. The Lord has established his Church so that we might come unto him, receive of His strength, learn of His ways, and follow His lead. His invitation is never stronger than when we find ourselves at a loss, feeling disappointed and unfulfilled by having placed our focus on the dish rather than the feast, as to such he says, ‘Therefore, whoso repenteth and cometh unto me as a little child, him will I receive, for of such is the kingdom of God. Behold, for such I have laid down my life, and have taken it up again; therefore repent, and come unto me ye ends of the earth, and be saved.’

St Aidans, the organist, the mayor, and his ice cream

2007-04-17T10:25:00.001-07:00

St Aidans
Originally uploaded by rintrah likes the sea.

Jay got to play the organ in the chapel where my ancestors worshiped between 1718 and about 1800. From here in Lancashire, they moved to Birmingham, part of the early shift towards industrialized cities. Thus my dad was born near Birmingham some 140 years later. Jay loved the trip, just me and him. We crossed the road to visit the ice cream parlour, and the mayor of Billinge was there for a publicity photo. After the shoot he handed me and Jay his ice creams.

Hert of Herts

2007-04-14T01:32:00.001-07:00

DSC00034
Originally uploaded by rintrah likes the sea.

The conference went well, and I survived giving my paper to a group of Tavistock psychoanalysts (which is commendable). The upside was that I had free biscuits in my room. The downside was that I had to sit through a two hour paper on Dr Who.

The only video to make me laugh out loud this week

2007-04-09T06:12:00.000-07:00

This guy is incredible. 500 impersonations in two minutes. His Jackie Chan is uncanny. Enjoy!

Think of the animals

2007-04-07T01:11:00.000-07:00

OK, so I admit to trying to level off the human to sheep ratio by eating as many of them as I can get my hands on, but my attention was drawn this morning to an article concerned with how we Mormons view animals. We are, on the one hand, Lords of the Beasts, and yet we are taught to rise above animal-like behaviour, refining ourselves to a higher state, garnering respect for God's creations. In studying psychotherapy I became aware of a method of teaching people how to develop the capacity to enjoy relationships. They were to care for a plant for several weeks. If the plant survived, a pet was to be cared for. If the animal survived for several months, the theory goes, the person was then ready to start developing human relations with a new set of skills in looking beyond the self, able to offer others something of themselves. This seems to be to be sound evidence in the argument for animal (and environmental) respect. After all, are we not judged on how we treat 'the least of these'?

Read the article for yourself at here.

Blogosphere

2007-04-06T02:16:00.000-07:00

Lou has started a blog about the family, so click here and have a look. She says she'll put family news up.

Holidays!

2007-03-30T11:43:00.000-07:00

The children are all so excited as today is the last day of school for the two week easter break. They are planning Caitlin and Ceilidh's birthday sleepover, which will be interesting as we'll have 18 giggling girls in the house.

Papers, papers

2007-03-30T11:35:00.000-07:00

I discovered recently that there is a conference to be held soon at the University of Hertfordshire entitled 'The Story and the Self: Children's Literature, Some Psychoanalytic Perspectives.' I sent an email suggesting a paper I could present, and they've added it to the programme, which is nice. I'll be presenting my paper (the first I have given) on Pattern Matching and the taste for Metaphor, in which I explore the reason why children (and adults) need stories, and report on recent findings that some stories heard in childhood have a profound effect throughout adult life.

After that I'll be presenting a paper entitled Absent Presence in Astrophil and Stella in which I explore Philip Sidney's sonnet sequence as part of my PhD research.

Wish me luck!

Newcastle Emlyn Market

2007-03-30T11:10:00.001-07:00

IMG_3508
Originally uploaded by rintrah likes the sea.

Thursday is sheep market day at Newcastle Emlyn. Friday is the fruit market. We watched the farmers unload their sheep in hopes of selling them for a good price. They are sorted, weighed, checked for good health and auctioned to the highest bidder. There are more sheep in Wales than people, and having eaten welsh lamb since living here, I can say that I've honestly tried to balance those numbers. But each week more arrive.

A friend of ours is from a family that has farmed in the area for four hundred years. She tells us that the wool on those sheep is worth less than it was in 1945, so it is not worth shearing most of the time. Her father now farms dairy and he gets for a gallon of milk what we pay for a pint. We should all spare some concern for small scale food producers, and support them where we can. We bought half a pig last week from a local farmer. The flavour of the meat, which was organically reared and slaughtered in situ, was well worth the extra cost.

The only picture to make me laugh out loud this week

2007-03-22T08:57:00.001-07:00

Zelda runs through the kitchen, originally uploaded by Ron Lemise.

Oh if only I had that kind of eye-popping, gravity resisting energy every day . . .

Visual Narratives

2007-03-18T12:19:00.000-07:00

Lou has become a little obsessed with photo essays and visual narrative sequences. Anyway, we started a new flickr group to explore and discuss the form. Enjoy!

poi fun

2007-03-18T11:43:00.000-07:00

Poi by me, music by Ceilidh

The Sitting

2007-03-17T16:15:00.000-07:00

Lou and I were with the girls all day today at the regional Eisteddfod at the University of Aberystwyth. Caitlin was competing with her Urdd group. In one of the categories she came first, and second in another. We are very proud of her. She now goes through for the second time into the national competition. Eistedd means to sit.

After leaving out this morning, driving high up over the hills that overlook the Irish sea, where the Cardigan gulf sweeps out for miles, where you can see the mountains of Snowdon off on the grey horizon, the road bordering the brink of the land to the west, after dropping down to the Ystwyth and up onto the shelf where the University and National Library share their coastal view, I sat there, watching those children singing their songs, listening to their poetry rendered viva voce. I heard those young bards, their Welsh the words of hundred generations, a dizzying combination of open vowels resonating in the bellows of hundred expanded chests, held up on tiptoe, mixed with the aspirate hush of the wind blowing through the trees, and the clipped cutting precision of the conclusive consonant. I heard songs which I couldn't understand, the floor beneath me throbbing with applause, and I sat and thought about the witnessing of art, the performance of language in drama, kids kicking their shoes off next to me, a teacher sitting up high as if to catch every utterance, and I remembered that I once read the heavens are a great sitting down, some great folk gathering, an eisteddfod where we can have our place, and I suppose the children then will sing their songs just as now, shirt hems gripped in nervous exclamation, mouth-gaped and sure-footed as parents look upon them, wanting the whole world to stop and listen.

The Microbes

2007-03-11T12:28:00.000-07:00

I could hardly believe my ears the other day when listening to Melvyn Bragg's excellent In our Time broadcast on BBC Radio Four. The show was investigating the history of our knowledge of microbes, the minute bacteria and virus lifeforms which constitute most of the living things on our planet. Some microbiologist said that one pinch of soil has more microbes in it than all of the people on the planet (I suppose about 6 billion), and that we have only investigated 1% of all microbes. Thus we have no idea what 99% of all these lifeforms do, and there's nigh on six or seven billion of the little critters in each pinch of soil! Doesn't that make your mind wobble?

On a less appealing note, we apparently have millions of them living on every possible surface of our bodies, and it's a good thing we do. So they said. BUT they don't know what 99% of them are doing, do they? So any suggestions? Perhaps about 20% of them are responsible for making gravity work on me, 12% take care of shutting down my telepathic abilities, and 50% handle aging, weight gain, and stop me from figuring out what the heck LOST is all about. Denuded of these microscopic restrainers, we could all be bouncing round the ether, sending mind-wave energy to each other, instead of the 2mb I get from Tiscali for £20 a month. Perhaps the MENSA lot have some anti-bacterial wash worked out that clears just enough for them to work out how long it takes 3 men to dig a 6 foot trench with one arm and a spoon, and yet keeps their size nines firmly planted on terra firma.

The Miracles

2007-03-11T09:49:00.000-07:00

Most of you will know I am a church goer, and have been since I was young. The older I am the more I realize how much I need to hear about love and peace and hope. And add to that the Hugh Nibley quote I read the other day that people keep themselves tranquilized with trivia to avoid the really important questions about life - I need a dose of reality, and in a world where image is a substitute for substance, my church is where I go to find it.

Anyway, my mind wondered off while I was asked by Lou how we could help the younger children learn to close their eyes and be more reverent during prayer, and I was off into my childhood, when I first heard about the gospel. And I could see how at the age of nine, listening to the missionaries tell about angels and prophets and miracles, it was to me as if all my hopes of some other world were confirmed. To me the stories they told were magical, and I could believe that the heavens exist because I had always hoped they did. And I remembered I kept my eyes closed in prayer because I thought if I opened them I would see Jesus, and I wanted to keep the mystery of it in my mind.

I used to go out walking with my old friend Jeremy Yates and his step-dad. When we came to a certain stretch of grass (since known as the Magic Path) Jeremy's dad would walk ahead, dropping coins from his pocket, which we, usually on our knees, would find. I think there was a part of my brain that knew that money doesn't just appear, but I wanted to believe it was magic. Then came a spiritual world, just as magic, just as enchanted, which I could approach every time I kept my eyes closed.

I know this probably sounds recklessly religious to some, while some may see my faith is quite childish, but most of the time this is all the reality I need; to wonder at the mysteries, and the angels, and the miracles, and to close my eyes every now and then.

Family Acheivements This Week

2007-03-10T01:58:00.000-08:00

Cam scored three (yes, 3) tries in rugby at school. And on coming home he actually asked if there were any jobs he could do. I know. This is Cam.

Owen has chosen his options at school, which include Religious Education, Art, and Drama.

Lou has finished her photo essay (of which I am immensely proud - if you haven't seen please have a look).

The sacred English language

2007-03-10T01:28:00.000-08:00

This was the conversation this morning . . .

Me: Sweet princess, fair maiden, where is the queen of our kingdom?

Child: She's downstairs eating crumpets.

Thus we see the wondrous range of tones and register of the English language. It's capable of practically anything (except for the mysterious 39 types of snow). Oh I know there are some obscure notions that don't really get a look in, but most of the time I hear people say things like "there's just no exact word for it in English", I can't help thinking , 'That's because it doesn't really exist'. Aha, says Saussure, you have a point there.

Here I am

2007-03-09T11:47:00.000-08:00

So it begins; the online onslaught which I hope to create. My thoughts, my musings, my ideas, my baby. Fact is, writing keeps me sane. So this becomes an outlet, an overspill if you will, and you are the lucky recipients. In fact I can picture you all, cups in hand, waiting dry-lipped for the gush of creative talent which shall pour forth. Wait for it . . .

In the meantime, may I congratulate you on your decision to be here at the ground-level, so to speak. You, dear reader, are among the first initiates into the new community of enlightened individuals who shun the glitz and glamour of all that the internet now displays, and have sought for the finer (though less luminescent) online offerings. I commend you for your integrity.

This was the first draft.

Here's the real thing . . .

Hello to all who know me. You have probably found this blog because I emailed you and asked to visit. Welcome, glad you came. Lou and I are so rubbish at keeping in touch with people, I thought perhaps I would start this blog and put some things up on the web. If nothing else, it will help me keep some sort of journal, and at best you may even enjoy what gets posted.

Oh, and I am asked quite often what it is I am researching for my PhD. This blog will develop into a KFC family bucket crammed full with steaming crispy-coated drumsticks of mouthwatering Renaissance research; gems of unsurpassed quality. Sample the delicious flavours at your pleasure; when you're stuffed to the brim, take a rest - this stuff can be hard going. Then come back, again and again. Nibble at will!