Sunday, April 24, 2011
Saturday, April 23, 2011
she'll have to wait ....
... 'cos they've postponed saint george's day until the second of may this year
Friday, April 22, 2011
setting the scene ... the anthony powell "method"
The noise of the cannonade round about was deepening. An odour like smouldering rubber imposed a rank, unsavoury surface smell on lesser exhalations of soot and smoke. Towards the far side of the town --- the direction of the harbour --- thin greenish rays of searchlight beam rapidly described wide intersecting arcs backwards and forwards against the eastern horizon, their range ever reducing, ever extending, as they sliced purposefully across each other’s tracks. Then, all at once, these several zigzagging angles of light would form an apex on the same patch of sky, creating a small elliptical compartment through which, once in a way, rapidly darted a tiny object, moving like an angry insect confined in a bottle. As if reacting in deliberately regulated unison to the searchlights’ methodical fluctuations, shifting masses of cloudbank alternatively glowed and faded, constantly redesigning by that means half-a-dozen intricately pastelled compositions of black and lilac, grey and saffron, pink and gold. Out of this resplendent firmament --- which transcendentally speaking, seemed to threaten imminent revelation from on high --- slowly descended, like Japanese lanterns at a fête, a score or more of the flares released by the raiding planes. Clustered together in twos and threes, they drifted at first aimlessly in the breeze, after a time scarcely losing height, only swaying a little this way and that, metamorphosed in to all but stationary lamps, apparently suspended by immensely elongated wires attached to an invisible ceiling. Suddenly, as if at a pre-arranged signal for the climax of the spectacle --- a set-piece at midnight --- high swirling clouds of inky smoke rose from below to meet these flickering airborne torches. At ground level, too, irregular knots of flame began to blaze away like a nest of nocturnal forges in the Black Country. All the world was dipped in a livid, unearthly refulgence, theatrical yet sinister, a light neither of night nor day, the penumbra of Pluto’s frontiers. The reek of scorched rubber grew more than ever sickly. Bithel fidgeted with the belt of his mackintosh.
“There’s been a spot of bother about a cheque,” he said.
to be read slowly, but not too slowly ...
... although i had to skim a half a page of conversation because the old fox had reported it in f-f-f-french !
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
mystery object explained
a good friend was recently held motionless in this "tailor-made" cage for some desperate "last-ditch" radiotherapy sessions
as she's now absorbed the maximum dosage, so the cage has become redundant
and because she's twiddling her thumbs at home a hundred miles away, so i'm showing a strictly limited amount of sympathy by taking her cage out on my rounds
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Sunday, April 10, 2011
cognitive dissonance ( my default setting )
Walking the dog erratically along Eccles Road towards Clapham Common, my view of a dreary row of shops was enlivened by the transit of an unexpectedly graceful figure. A young woman entered stage right, walking straight-backed with the slightly extended straight-toed stride of a ballet dancer, this effect being enhanced by her black pumps and tights and by her straight fair hair hanging almost to her waist in a bulky silken plait. An air of dignified sobriety was projected by a dark grey tailored suit, the skirt nicely tapered with the hem just above the knee, the jacket cleverly cut to a high waist and widening to accommodate an imposing superstructure. An ornament of Battersea society ! The old dog paused by a couple of lamp posts and so I’d already half-forgotten the woman when we arrived face to face at the pedestrian crossing, myself and the old dog pointing towards the Common, herself facing the Parish Church. And that must have been her destination, because only then could I see her light grey clerical vest and shiny white dog collar. A lady vicar !
Saturday, April 9, 2011
a little light reading ...
a dance to the music of time ... one and a half down ... ten and a half to go ... to be savoured, one sentence at a time
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Sunday, April 3, 2011
quote:
a german colleague encounters some difficulties ... then he says ...
"i'm a survivor; germans are survivors, we've survived two world wars !"
"i'm a survivor; germans are survivors, we've survived two world wars !"
Friday, April 1, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
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