Proverbs Chapter 21 Verse 19

 "In dealing with a disgruntled popsy the wise man waits till she has simmered down a bit." 

- P.G. Wodehouse

I have been asked why my game of Kelp: Shark vs Octopus was fraught. The game, which is quite highly rated and with the design of which I was mostly very impressed, is asymmetric. The two players do completely different things on their turns: the shark player is bag-building and placing dice out on the board, the octopus player is deck-building and manipulating tiles in an effort to bluff her opponent. The shark wins by finding and eating the octopus; the octopus wins by hiding and not being eaten.

It subsequently transpired that my companion had interpreted the term 'asymmetric game' to mean one in which the same side always wins. I am not clear how she reconciled that with the concept of it being a game in the first place, but by the time I was in a position to raise that question I decided that it was probably safer to change the subject. Before we started playing I had attempted to explain the details of how each side operated, but was silenced with a peremptory gesture. She was, she told me sternly, an experiential learner; we should just get stuck in. By the end the main learning experience for me was that Kelp is not a game that one should play with stroppy women who refuse to learn the rules. That also was something which I chose not to share with her.

For the record, she won as the octopus. A fuller review may follow should I find someone more amenable to play with.

L'étoile

 I promised some wargaming news last weekend and it didn't happen; nor, thanks to an unholy alliance between Royal Mail and TransPennine Express has it happened yet. So let's over-promise again and say that not only will there be wargaming news later this week, but there will even be a second tranche later next week as well.

A Chap With a Beard

In the meantime, let me give you one of my all too infrequent opera reviews. I have been to see L'étoile, the only opera by Chabrier to still be performed, albeit not particularly often. I, for one, had never seen it before. Chabrier was a late 19th century Parisian of the Bohemian variety, friends with amongst others Manet and Verlaine. 

Indeed he was the original owner of Un bar aux Folies Bergère, which sat above his piano. It was sold along with the rest of his extensive art collection following his death in a lunatic asylum from advanced syphilis. As St Paul - another repeated over-promiser and under-deliverer - observed "τὰ γὰρ ὀψώνια τῆς ἁμαρτίας θάνατος".

Coming back to L'étoile, it is an opera bouffe, coming chronologically after Offenbach and before Gilbert & Sullivan. Although not a credited librettist, it would seem that Verlaine contributed to certain sections, especially that relating to the Chair of Torture. But fear not, it's all light-hearted, even if King Ouf - that's him with the crown above - does promise the populace that he'll have two people executed on his next birthday to make up for the lack of spectacle this year. And yes, that woman to the left of the monarch does have a giant lipstick on her head. Anyway, I enjoyed it, good music, well sung, imaginatively staged and with some fine jokes. Remind me to tell you the one about the fish sometime.

P.S. In an attempt to shoehorn something vaguely military history related into this, can I draw your attention to the bottles of Bass Pale Ale rather incongruously sitting on the bar top in the Folies Bergère, apparently a reflection of anti-German sentiment following the Franco-Prussian War.

Romans Chapter 13 Verse 13

 “The conservatives are fools: They whine about the decay of traditional values, yet they enthusiastically support technological progress and economic growth. Apparently it never occurs to them that you can't make rapid, drastic changes in the technology and the economy of a society without causing rapid changes in all other aspects of the society as well, and that such rapid changes inevitably break down traditional values.” - Theodore J. Kaczynski

Revelation Chapter 21 Verse 4

 We met last night for a game. James had chosen the Crusades using To the Strongest! for our return to the legendary wargames room.

It was fun - TtR! always is - but I'm not going to write much about it. I shall however share a couple of photos of James's extremely impressive Middle Eastern town, which hit the table in its full glory for the first time.

As you can tell it is modular, with the sections mapping directly onto the squares of the gridded tabletop. James had come up with rules for assaulting the town and then for fighting between sections that seem to be working well so far.

I hope that James is going to include some better photos on his blog, but this is the situation as we left it. It's not immediately obvious, but the Crusaders have broken into the section directly in front of the siege tower as well as the edge of the town on the left of the picture. However, I as the Crusaders may just possibly have overextended myself in an attempt to reach the palace at the back and thereby meet the victory conditions. The Muslim army has pulled itself together and moved to seek to drive the infidels back out. Plus, their forces outside the walls must surely get going sooner or later. To be continued.

The Bombardment of London

 I am still reading, and enjoying, 'The Castle in the Wars of the Roses'. I shall do a full (or cursory - delete as appropriate) review in due course; watch out for more Spofforth related nit-picking. However in Chapter 5 we have reached the bombardment of London by the Bastard of Fauconberg.

A mere eight years ago I mentioned that I had been involved in a debate within the Richard III Society about which side the garrison of Calais had been during this event. It is often said that such discussions are all the more heated because there is so little at stake. I rather wish that had remained the case in the Society which has been riven by factionalism over the last year or so, leading to rather tragic events just before Christmas. Anyway, back to the book and to 1471; enter Dr Spencer with a different take on things. According to him, the Calais garrison - whom you will recall were the closest thing that England had to a standing army at that time - were with the Bastard. However, he also says that Richard Haute, appointed as Lieutenant of the Tower of London by Edward IV whilst he was in the city following his victory at Barnet, had recruited one hundred soldiers who had formerly served in the garrison. So, very neatly, they turn out to have served on both sides. If only all disputes could be resolved by compromise.

 

And six years ago, I declared my intention to create a scenario based on the bombardment. Perhaps now that I have a suitable amount of city walls, a castle and some siege rules which could be (heavily) adapted I should get on with it. I think part of the attraction is the surreal moment where Thomas Neville demands that the city opens its gates in the names of Prince Edward and the Earl of Warwick, the city fathers point out that those two are both dead now, and the Bastard in effect says "Don't bother me with details, just open the gates.".

Interestingly the next chapter in the book covers the siege of St Michael's Mount, another one I have always fancied doing. Maybe the blue table top in the annexe will see the light of day after all this time.

Exodus Chapter 23 Verse 2

                                "Our shouting is louder than our actions,
                                  Our swords are taller than us, 

                                  This is our tragedy. 

                                  In short

                                 We wear the cape of civilization

                                 But our souls live in the stone age."

                                                          - Nizar Qabbani

1 Corinthians 15:26

There's an interesting post at the Ragged Soldier blog (which by the way is one of those blogs whose url is completely different to its name) about books. The challenge is to name two different books - one fiction and one non-fiction - that bring the past alive for you; I think that it's implicit that it's military history that we are referring to. The two fiction books recommended therein - which I know is not what I just said - have been downloaded to my kindle and only await the satisfactory conclusion to the current adventures of either the Earl of Emsworth or Lieutenant Alan Lewrie, whichever comes first, before being read.

David pinched the idea from someone else, so my first thought was that I would pinch it from him in turn. My second thought was that given my current struggle for inspiration I would spin the thing out by doing a different such post for each of a number of historical periods. My third thought is that I will probably find great difficulty in keeping that going and it will fizzle out embarrassingly quickly. Despite the third thought almost certainly being accurate I am nevertheless going to go with thought number two, and shall start with the Second World War.

As my non-fiction book I have picked a memoir: 'The Last Enemy' by Richard Hillary. Notwithstanding the cover pictured above, it's about far more than flying in combat. As others have observed, Hillary was a writer who flew, not a flyer who wrote.

Clearly the best fiction written with World War II as its setting is 'Catch-22', but as powerful as that novel's exposure of the futility of war is, I don't think it really speaks to the objective of bringing alive a time and place. So I am going to choose Evelyn Waugh's finest work 'The Sword of Honour' trilogy, which is based on the author's own experiences in the army, but also documents the home front and the changing nature of society during the war years.

2 Chronicles 21:14

Your bloggist is a notorious Billy No-mates, and is therefore as psychologically prepared as anyone for self-isolation. But just to be sure I have put some cultural fuel in the tank to see me through.

Opera: I saw Opera North's excellent new production of Kurt Weill's 'Street Scene'. They have a real flair for musical theatre and for his work in particular. I wish they would revive their production of 'One Touch of Venus'. I also saw OperaUpClose's 'Madam Butterfly'. It was set in modern Japan and the scenery was quite reminiscent of the poor neighbourhood in 'Parasite' if you've seen that. As usual with that company I really enjoyed the small scale and intimacy, but - and it's a big but - they changed the ending. How can you change the ending of Madam Butterfly? I also saw a concert featuring various Baroque works including Purcell's 'The Yorkshire Feast Song', which was apparently commissioned for the annual dinner of the London Society of Yorkshiremen in 1690. Clearly the bastards have been banging on about how wonderful they are for centuries; although now I've written that I don't know why I am in the slightest surprised. Also on the programme was Handel's 'Eternal Source of Light Divine', a setting of the poem by Ambrose Philips. Whilst Philips was no great shakes as a poet, he was the original 'Namby-Pamby'; don't tell me this blog isn't educational.

Theatre: I saw a very fine, very dark version of 'Oliver Twist', by Ramps on the Moon, a company which mixes D/deaf, disabled and able bodied actors in productions which build captioning, sign language and other forms of accessibility right into the fabric of the show (see here for their version of 'The Threepenny Opera' - also, satisfyingly, composed by Weill) . In a way this production was the opposite of colour blind casting, with the actors' deafness being the crucial link that held Fagin's gang together. The Artful Dodger teaching Oliver to sign was as central as teaching him to pick pockets. Bill Sykes is one of the most terrifying characters in literature and drama, and the effect is only heightened by him not speaking. Also up was a really different take on 'Pride and Prejudice' with an all female cast giving us the sweary version that one must assume Jane Austen would have written were it not for all those boring nuances of etiquette in place at the time. I won't write a review (read this one if you're interested),  but it was just brilliant and laugh out loud funny all the way through.

Film: Jane Austen popped up in the cinema as well, with the current take on Emma being well worth watching. I thought that they managed to capture the essence of the characterisations - notably Mr Woodhouse's hypochondria - without reams of exposition. I mentioned it above, but 'Parasite' is obviously rather good, in an Alfred Hitchcock sort of way. Whether it's the best film of the last year or so is less clear. I also caught up with 'Rocketman' and thought it was great. It's fascinating that it and 'Bohemian Rhapsody' tell stories with some similarities of narrative and theme in such different ways.

Let's finish with some music to cheer us up. This is Townes Van Zandt and 'Waiting Around to Die':

Daniel Chapter 6 Verse 7

The Good Soldier Svjek (*) recently posted a comment on this blog to the effect that we really need Spitting Image at the moment. However, it seems to me that political life in Britain has transcended the ability of satire to mock it and so I am going to do something unexpected and write about wargaming.

Firstly an apology. I may have given the impression that I didn't think James would be able in the time allotted to come up with a hybrid of Classic Piquet and Field of Battle for use with his ever-growing Peninsular Napoleonic forces. Well he did, and they proved very playable. We are still in that phase of rule development where things change constantly (**), but to be fair the elements moving are either minor tweaks or are related to the bane of Napoleonic rules writers, namely skirmishers. It is period where, especially at a scale where each unit represents a battalion, one wants to be able to recreate all the different formations: line, attack column, square etc, an important element of most of which is clouds of skirmishers out in front. Nevertheless there is a very good reason why the designers of many sets of rules choose to abstract the skirmishers away, namely that it is all a bit difficult. Still, in our case one factor overrides them all: James has painted them and he is bloody well going to use them. Indications are that we'll end up with a compromise whereby they are physically present on the table, but more as a marker reflecting the state of their parent unit than anything else.

The game itself, played over two weeks, was a resounding British victory. One reason we wanted to move away from FoB was that we couldn't see how French columns could ever reach the British lines, let alone defeat them when they got there. Our first pass at the new improved rules seemed, to me at least, to suffer from the same issue, but hopefully it's more a question of fine tuning than anything fundamental. We shall try again next week with some refinements to the rally rule. The position of the French wasn't helped by my deciding to launch an impetuous cavalry charge in the belief that they could capture one of the objectives before British reinforcements arrived. They couldn't.

Going back to rules which don't bother with skirmishers, I have also had a game of C&C Napoleonics with Otley's other wargamer. We had intended to finish our game of the Möckern scenario which was still set up in the annexe, but it was so long since we played the first time that I simply reset it and we did it over again. It turned out very differently - always a good sign - but ended with the almost inevitable French victory. A good time was had by all, and now that Keith has started to get the hang of C&C the obvious thing to do is to move on to a completely different game. I think I shall reset the table for some To the Strongest!.




*  And I really hope that you have all been following the adventures of H.G Wells in Treboria on Tony's blog. That Miss Perkins is my sort of woman.

** Which of course we shall never leave.

Proverbs Chapter 24 Verse 27

"Whoso diggeth a pit shall fall therein: and he that rolleth a stone, it will return upon him." 

                               
                                                

Lamentations Chapter 5 Verse 6

And so to the opera. I thought I was done with the Great War now that it's 2019, but I have been to see a production of Vaughan Williams' 'Pilgrim's Progress' which is set on the Western Front and will admit that even though they had missed the centenary boat it all worked very well. In particular I must mention the use of No Man's Land to represent the Valley of Humiliation, with the unburied dead of both sides rising up as the Doleful Creatures. Appolyon, whose part is sung from the wings, was manifested on stage as coils of barbed wire which pursued and hemmed in our pilgrim until he overcame them. By the time he got to Vanity Fair the theme had become less specific, although in my experience the Madam Wantons of this world look and behave the same whatever the setting.

Opera directors presumably choose the setting for the same reason they make all the other decisions: in order to make themselves seem interesting, intellectual and sophisticated. That's not a criticism - if it were your bloggist would be setting himself up for some finger pointing in return - but it does lead to to some slightly strained designs. If there was an award for the most obscure setting then English Touring Opera's 'Idomeneo' might be in with a shout; it's the Balkan Wars of the first decade of the twentieth century. Now we're all wargamers so we've heard of the period, indeed we probably have a half-formed plan in the back of our mind to game it at some indeterminate point in the future, but I not sure how many others in the audience had any real idea as to where and when we were supposed to be. The costumes weren't much help to them being mainly sheepskin waistcoats and baggy trousers - except for the soprano playing Idamante, who looked as if she was playing Buttons in Cinderella - and if they had guessed it they might then have been thrown off track by the sea monster which rather abruptly invades the land and starts eating people. Unusually for an opera these minions are the only ones to die, with the principal characters surviving more or less intact. Elettra goes mad of course, but when you consider that her backstory includes her father killing her sister, her mother killing her father and her brother killing her mother and then himself, then you might think that she's entitled to.

One means of identifying the period being portrayed is by the weapons in use. In 'Pilgrim's Progress' they had Lee Enfields (Germans as well, but let's not quibble), in 'Idomeneo' they didn't bother (probably wouldn't have been much use against the sea monster anyway) and in Macbeth most of them had AK47s, so presumably modern then. Having said that, one poor sap had been lumbered with what appeared to be a fowling piece, one of those that are about eight feet long and intended to be fired whilst lying in a punt hidden among the rushes; I freely admit that the only reason I recognised it was because they have one on display in the Royal Armouries in Leeds. Now no actor carrying a rifle on stage ever appears to have handled one in real life, but on this occasion I think we can cut him some slack, and his constant tripping over it did at least provide some amusement in what is otherwise not a light-hearted piece. Observant readers may be asking themselves whether I didn't see this opera recently, and I did indeed, just a couple of months ago. In that production - as described here - there was a mishap during the fight between Macduff and Macbeth. Well blow me down, but there was a similar incident this time round at exactly the same place. Notwithstanding the fact that everyone has spent the last two hours cradling Kalashnikovs while singing, these two decided to use knives when they came face to face with each other. What was obviously meant to happen was that after dispatching the king Macduff was supposed to bend down, take the crown from his head and carry it to Malcolm, rightful heir of Duncan. What actually happened was that he dispatched him so violently that the crown flew off and rolled across the stage into the orchestra pit and Macduff had to sing his final lines hanging off the edge being handed it back by one of the orchestra. Still, as before, they played on.

Sacre du Printemps

"I haven't understood a bar of music in my life, but I have felt it." - Igor Stravinsky

And so to the opera. I have been to see 'The Magic Flute', where thankfully the Queen of the Night's famous aria was sung beautifully. This was a new production by Opera North, which I enjoyed somewhat more than I had their previous one. All the performances were exceptional - I don't know whether it was deliberate or serendipity to cast an Irishman as Papageno, but I shall never now be able to think of him as anything else - and yet I still don't really like the opera. I have previous form in telling Mozart that he has got it all wrong and I'm going to do so again. None of it makes any sense. The masonic chaps are obviously meant to be the good guys, but they go round kidnapping and sexually molesting women and inflicting corporal punishment on each other. The Queen of the Night is meant to be the baddie, but doesn't do anything except sing and worry about her daughter, while her acolytes rescue the hero from the clutches of a monster that is about to kill him. It's most peculiar.

The plot of 'Katya Kabanova' at least makes sense, but is completely implausible whilst paradoxically at the same time being a bit too close to home for comfort. It also has an out of the ordinary operatic villain in the mother-in-law from hell, who was roundly booed at the curtain call. 

Unpleasant family members feature prominently as well in 'Gianni Scicchi'. I had seen two other productions of this in the last twelve months or so and perhaps that was why this particular one fell a bit flat. In addition there were some strange directorial decisions including the deceased - whose will is the cause of all the trouble - wandering about the stage, and climbing both walls and ropes from time to time despite being dead. 

Almost as confusing was an otherwise excellent concert staging of Marc-Antoine Charpentier's rarely performed Baroque work 'David et Jonathas'. That it wasn't acted out, together with the lack of surtitles and the fact that I have no French made it a bit of a struggle to follow what was happening. According to the programme the piece would originally have been intertwined act by act with a prose play in Latin that developed the characters and moved the plot along; maybe that would have helped, or maybe it wouldn't. What certainly wasn't of any assistance was my preconception that the Philistines were in the wrong. It seems that for this particular biblical story it's the Israelites who were being unreasonable; plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose. The role of Jonathan, presumably originally written for a castrato, was played by a soprano and so opera's fine tradition of the leading lady not making it to the end alive was maintained. 

Then there was the one that got away. Whilst there is nothing to compare with a fully staged opera supported by a large orchestra I also rather like watching works being performed in a more intimate environment. I therefore travelled across Leeds in the rush hour to see Opera UpClose perform 'La bohème' at the Theatre Royal Wakefield. I got there in plenty of time, bought myself coffee and cake in the pleasant little cafe and was just thinking to myself how civilised it all was when the lights went out. The power never came back on, the show was cancelled and I had to turn round and come home again. The cake was nice though.

Last, but not least, I have been to see 'The Rite of Spring'. Despite my carefully moulded image as a man of culture I have to confess that I had never previously seen a ballet; I therefore have absolutely nothing to compare this with. I can, however, report that I enjoyed it immensely. The music was loud and powerful (if one is to contrast it with his contemporaries it was less melodic than Puccini, less dissonant than Schoenberg; I was reminded of prog rock, but I'll bet that I was the only one) and there was lots of vigorous and entertaining leaping about on the stage. I had always wondered how the narrative was explained in ballet if there weren't any words. In this case that was rendered moot because there is no story: it is simply a series of pagan mating and fertility rites. It made me wistful for this blog's erstwhile female reader, who always rather liked that sort of thing.

Ecclesiastes Chapter 1 Verse 2

"The vanity of intelligence is that the intelligent man is often more committed to 'one-upping' his opponent than being truthful. When the idea of intelligence, rather than intelligence itself, become the staple, there is no wisdom in it." - Criss Jami

So, not only has the blog gone missing for a while, but even before that the pseudo-intellectual quotient had sadly fallen away. Well today that changes. But I need to warn you that there were some attendees at the two events I am about to describe who were only there with the intention of showing off during the Q&A session; I was shocked , shocked!, to find pretentiousness involved when people met together to discuss Jean-Paul Sartre and Arnold Schoenberg.

The problem with a talk entitled 'The Existentialism of Sartre' is that even if you find yourself disagreeing with it you also partly suspect that you haven't properly understood it. And yet, the more I listened to the speaker talk about 'Being and Nothingness' the more I came to the conclusion that Sartre didn't know a great deal of mathematics. I find it rather difficult to accept that the lack of something (i.e. nothing) is meaningless unless a human consciousness is pondering its absence. Anyone disagree? What I should have done is what most of those making a point did, which is to start by stating that they hadn't read any Sartre since they were students. Call me a cynic ["You're a cynic!"], but you need to be neither a mathematician or a philosopher to realise that doesn't guarantee that they read any while at university either. I haven't read any Sartre since graduating (*) and I certainly didn't read any while I was there, unless possibly he was reviewing albums for the New Musical Express under a pseudonym. The collective brainpower of a room full of people who forty years ago had existentialism sussed, but had all managed to forget it along the way somewhere eventually came up with the question of what J-P would have made of someone's right to change gender (**). The speaker felt that he would have seen it as a case of essence before existence and therefore been against it. Someone in the audience riposted with Simone de Beauvoir's quote "One is not born, but rather becomes, a woman." and we were left none the wiser.

"It's bad faith to wear my clothes without asking, Jean-Paul."

I learned somewhat more at the Schoenberg, a guided performance of 'Pierrot Lunaire' which was both well planned and executed. The first half was an introduction to the composer, the intellectual milieu of Vienna in 1912, and the original poem by Giraud. There were interviews with the conductor, director and various musicians, although not oddly the singer, who was 'preparing'; who says sopranos are divas? The background to atonality was discussed and there was an interesting, though frankly irrelevant digression into serialism. Questions from the audience were almost subsumed by someone who appeared to be intent on listing every Harrison Birtwistle work he had ever seen (no me neither), but when they came ranged from "Why did sprechstimme disappear after this work was written?" to "What can the collapse of the Austro-Hungarian empire tell us about the UK leaving the European Union (***)?". The answers were along the lines of: it didn't actually, and quite a lot now you mention it.

Theresa May visits Brussels

The second half contained the performance, which was obviously very good in its own terms, but about which I shall only say that I am glad I went along and experienced it - my mind is duly broadened. The staging was simple and effective with the moon of the title being represented by a lantern in a way that wouldn't have been out of place in "A Midsummer Night's Dream". As to what it was about; I'm afraid that I have no idea. There seemed to be a suggestion that despite the part being specifically written for a woman, that the main character is entirely and definitively male; thereby demonstrating that there is nothing  new under the sun. I'm going to say repressed sexuality was involved - the key figure in Vienna at the time was of course Freud - and death - because she did seem to mention it a lot plus it contains episodes called 'Gallows Song' and 'Beheading' - but beyond that you are on your own. One analysis I read said that Pierrot - who may or may not be Pierrot, or a man, or indeed real - ends with no hope of redemption; which gives you some idea of how cheery it was. Schoenberg himself said that it was a mistake to try to work out what it was about, instead one should go home whistling the tunes; I shall interpret that as the famed Germanic sense of humour at work.

"You know how to whistle, don't you Arnie? You just put your lips together and blow."

*      Actually I have in fact read "The Age of Reason", but to say so rather spoils my line of argument.
**    One of two subjects in the UK at the moment that seem to be obligatory on every agenda of every meeting regardless of what is supposed to be being discussed.
***  And there's the other.

Isaiah Chapter 35 Verse 5

Well that was a performance and a half, but after an awful lot of sodding about I'm back. Sadly in my case at least the phytophagous prophet was only half right; perhaps it's something to do with the method of his martyrdom.

A chap with a beard is interviewed for Radio Heaven

By the way, thanks to my my recent exposure to Guys and Dolls I now know that Isaiah is one of the many words that Americans pronounce differently (i.e. wrongly).

Only Jokanaan, squire

And so to the opera. I have been to see Opera North's concert staging of Salomé, which I found curiously unengaging for all the technical merits of the performances. Last year I saw the original play and didn’t enjoy that much either so I suspect that my issue is with Wilde rather than Strauss. It’s full of the bad (Herod, Herodias), the deranged (Narraboth, John the Baptist) and those who are both (our title character), which all gets rather wearing after a while, even in operatic form.

The narrative arc – spoilt rich girl insists on getting her own way but then gets her comeuppance as well – is familiar enough. Offsetting it with the Baptist’s moral monomania and misogyny ought to provide more drama than it does. Herod seems to be hedging his bets between appeasing his wife’s anger and not doing anything too extreme in case John’s revelations from God are real; modern audiences will probably just be wondering whereabouts on the autistic scale the soi disant prophet sits.

In this production the dance of the seven veils takes place off stage. Just as it became apparent that was how they were going to do it a chap across the aisle got up and left. Sadly, rather than being a dirty old man storming out because he felt short changed by the lack of nudity, he turned out to only have gone to the toilet and shortly returned.  As Opera North – who have no aversion to their sopranos getting their kit off  – shied away from it, let’s have Ken Russell’s version. For the avoidance of doubt, this is not Strauss’s music and nor is it suitable for viewing at work:

The name of the dance isn’t of course mentioned in the bible and originates with Wilde’s 1891 play. I have recently re-read Umberto Eco’s ‘Name of the Rose’, set in the fourteenth century. William of Baskerville refers while in conversation with Adso of Melk to ‘the dance of the seven veils’ performed by Salomé. Given the author’s vast erudition and sense of irony one must assume that this is a deliberate in-joke rather than a mistake.

“Books are not made to be believed, but to be subjected to inquiry. When we consider a book, we mustn't ask ourselves what it says but what it means..." - Umberto Eco

Proverbs Chapter 22 Verse 1

"A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches"

This bunch are called 'Young Amphibians' which, while it is better than 'The Standard Lamps', still leaves a lot to be desired as the name of a band if you ask me (*). As it happens the younger Miss Epictetus - newly returned from the Australian outback (**) - is currently walking out with the chap singing and I am therefore pretty much the last person on Earth whose advice will be sought. The song is catchy enough though.

* Before anyone bothers to remind me, I fully acknowledge having been in a band called 'Or Is It?' and if you follow the link above you will see that I have previously suggested that it is precisely that fact which makes me such an expert on crap band names.

** Where she learned useful lessons in how to cope without sanitation which have subsequently proved invaluable when passed on to her aged parent.

What became of all the time

Just a quick post to say that I have done nothing whatever regarding anything at all except make a flying visit to that there London; you will be pleased to know that Revelation 21:21 still applies. 

I won't bore you with what I got up to - which ranged from Rhus verniciflua (or do I mean Toxicodendron vernicifluum?), through Justin 'Nigel' de Villeneuve (the chap Peter Cook bangs on about on Derek and Clive Come Again), all the way to Allectus (the accountant who assassinated his boss and declared himself Emperor; your bloggist nods approvingly) - so let's have some music instead. Here's Ray Charles and Bonnie Raitt:

Bears/woods - Pope/Catholic - Trump/crazy

Ecclesiastes Chapter 10 verses 12-14

    ..... the lips of a fool will swallow up himself.

    The beginning of the words of his mouth is foolishness: and the end of his talk is mischievous madness.

    A fool also is full of words: a man cannot tell what shall be; and what shall be after him, who can tell him?

Tobit 8:2

This blog has long had an interest in the movement of the earth around the sun and so it is fitting that as the days start to get longer once again that we find the time for another post. There are many reasons for our absence, and possibly the least among them is that I have hurt my arm dry brushing. There was a level of derision in certain quarters when I passed on that news, but unlikely as it sounds, it's true. Perhaps readers deserve a recap.

When I was last here I was playing through a solo try out of my 'Blue Guitar' company level (or possibly battalion or even brigade level - I'm not entirely sure what the naming convention is) Great War wargames rules, and also providing a much needed running score update of the cricket in Australia. What happened next was that there was a bit of a cold snap in the UK and my enthusiasm for going outside to the annexe to roll dice and push little plastic men around a table rather dwindled. It seemed a convenient point to pause, properly write up all the rule amendments arising from the playtest and start again. In particular as weapon ranges had been shortened during the game the defending Germans had suddenly found themselves isolated from each other and rather easy to pick off, one unit at a time.

As I said earlier, it was a bit parky so I retreated to the warm to do some painting and modelling of various player aids. I wanted to make some smoke markers and after due consideration decided to make these out of wire wool. (I should mention that the same doubters mentioned above were also sceptical about this choice, given the material's noted flammability and my own equally well documented propensity to set things alight whilst painting them.) One attraction to me was the opportunity to get out the hot glue gun, which I have owned for years, but which never sees the light of day. Inexplicably, but somehow inevitably, despite never using it I had managed to run out of glue sticks, thereby causing a delay while more were procured.

At that point the cold weather gave way to wet and several more days passed before I could take the stuff outside to spray it with primer. I decided to prime in grey, thinking to dry brush over the top in white. This was a mistake. The grey was much darker than I thought it would be - in fact it was almost exactly the shade on the cap of the can; who'd have thought it? - and wire wool is an absolute bugger to dry brush. This coupled with yet another duff decision, namely to model enough markers to make a smoke screen a metre in length all in one go, have given me a painful RSI type strain to my arm coupled with a great reluctance to overbrush with any more shades. So, my advice for anyone wishing to make some smoke is to prime in white and, even more importantly, don't use wire wool in the first place.

In case I should not post again before Christmas - and let's face it, I won't - Happy Yontiff to you all.

Genesis Chapter 35 Verse 17

My trip to London was obviously overshadowed by events while I was there. As it happened I went to Borough Market for lunch on Saturday (Koshari in case you wondered) and I shall return on the next occasion that I go to a matinee at the Globe. Sure it's pretentious and expensive, but hey, it's central London. Anyway, the point I'm trying to make is that despite the ill-informed reporting in the US press, let alone the mad, unpleasantly racist ramblings of the disgusting halfwit that they have seen fit to make their head of state, we shall simply carry on doing in the future what we have done in the past. The important thing is to keep a sense of historical perspective. When I was a young man fatalities in this country due to terrorism were hundreds per year, a level far in excess of the current position; we didn't change our behaviour then and we shan't now. It's worth noting of course that the majority of those deaths were funded by the American public, as smugly self-righteous in their ignorance of the rest of the world then as they are now.

The rest of the trip was good. I met up with old friends in Isleworth and then went on to St Albans where I attended my sister's 30th wedding celebrations. I was at school with my brother-in-law so there was an added school reunion element to the whole thing. Inevitably some of the news exchanged after the passing of several decades wasn't good; as someone said over the weekend, there are increasing reminders of our mortality. All of which makes it more important to savour moments such as these.

Fortunately I can finish with something life-affirming in the true sense of the word. I don't think I have ever mentioned it, but the elder Miss Epictetus is a student midwife. Over the weekend she delivered her first baby; one hopes there will be many, many more to come. I am immeasurably proud of her. I know you will all join with me in hoping that the child grows up to live in a world more peaceful than that into which it has been born.