or "Another thing I miss about England":
The sense of self-deprecating humour.
and Anglicans
or at least, their stuff.
Ahhh, Anglican chant.
I've been listening to the BBC's Choral Evensong tonight.
As a friend once said, "So it is written: We will bring them back in wearing chains, and their stuff we will have in carts".
Showing posts with label Ynglonde. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ynglonde. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Can it last?
Of course not.
At a Buckingham Palace garden party, you see the Britain that others imagine when they talk about us. We are formally dressed -- in some cases looking superb, ...
People are introduced to one another; the mood is friendly, but restrained. Everyone comments on the weather.
The band stops. People rise. An elderly couple walks with brisk pace and upright carriage out from the palace and stops at the front of the terrace with split-second timing. As they come to a halt, the band strikes up the National Anthem. Everything stands stock still. As the notes fade away, there is applause. This is why we are here. For a moment, childhood memories of Christmas broadcasts, pictures in the press, national events shared on TV, all coalesce. Here we are: I am at Buckingham Palace, and this is the queen in front of me.
Can all this last? London is not a city of garden parties and tea urns. Drunken young people totter about our shopping centers on Friday and Saturday nights, shrieking at one another, vomiting, fighting. The structures of family life are cracked and wobbling: Over half of all births are now out of wedlock, and divorce is on an epic scale. Over five million of our relations and friends are missing, aborted before birth. Same-sex unions are celebrated with "gay weddings."
Monday, June 23, 2008
9:50 pm
I took this photo out my upstairs window a few minutes ago.
I can't help but think, though I have not yet looked it up, that we must be at a considerably higher latitude here than in Tranna. It gets light out extremely early and has been doing so since May.
I was awake this morning at 4:20 am and it was light and the birds were singing.
When my Uncle drove me in early May to the Liverpool airport to catch a 6:30 am flight, it was light out by the time we were on the highway past Chester and broad daylight when he dropped me off at five.
No one else thinks this is weird.
I think it is to England's extremely long hours of daylight, in addition to the mild and damp weather and abundant natural fertilisers, that we can attribute the beauty of the gardens.
I can't help but think, though I have not yet looked it up, that we must be at a considerably higher latitude here than in Tranna. It gets light out extremely early and has been doing so since May.
I was awake this morning at 4:20 am and it was light and the birds were singing.
When my Uncle drove me in early May to the Liverpool airport to catch a 6:30 am flight, it was light out by the time we were on the highway past Chester and broad daylight when he dropped me off at five.
No one else thinks this is weird.
I think it is to England's extremely long hours of daylight, in addition to the mild and damp weather and abundant natural fertilisers, that we can attribute the beauty of the gardens.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Cry God for Harry, England and St George
Gerry the village butcher let the world know where we live today.
More green and pleasant pics here.
As I explained to Steve yesterday. It's not about the country "Britain", still less about that weird semi-fictional homunculus, Yookay. Unlike that other place I used to live, the state is not the nation.
It's England. It's the nation, the soil, the breath, the blood.
Our blood.
More green and pleasant pics here.
As I explained to Steve yesterday. It's not about the country "Britain", still less about that weird semi-fictional homunculus, Yookay. Unlike that other place I used to live, the state is not the nation.
It's England. It's the nation, the soil, the breath, the blood.
Our blood.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Village Life
So, today I felt sort of restless. I was doing my normal routine: Get up. Feed cat. Dress. Make tea. Put on BBC 3. Check work-related email for today's disasters. Settle in with book (The Realm) while getting outside tea and toast...
Twitchy. Couldn't concentrate on the book-portion of the day and slowly the impression began to form that I might be able to stand a trip to town. These occur so rarely that it is a good idea to act upon them right away, or I would never make it to the bank or buy a book. I hate leaving the village and I hate Chester but there's no bank here and no books so I am forced, about once a month, to make the trip.
Checking the schedule for the country bus I saw that, in theory, there would be one in 25 minutes. Jumped up and threw things into the shopping bag, wrapped up warmly (windy today), patted the cat's head and marched stoically out to face The World about five minutes to bus time.
There were three people at the bus stop, uncomfortable in the wind, glancing at the sky and their watches in rhythm. We waited. We watched. Waited. Checked sky. Checked watch. Waited...
...
...
No bus.
There is a thing about living in a country village that has not really changed all that much. If you don't have a car, you really can't leave the village very easily.
In the old days, when people first lived here from about the middle of the Roman occupation and all through the middle ages until the time the railway came through, people didn't really go to town. Chester, or at first Deva, was there and in North American terms not very far away at 8.8 miles. It has always been the place where you went to get luxury items. If you couldn't make it for yourself at home, you had to go to Chester and spend a little cash. But it was a big deal. And for a very long time, from the time after the Romans went home, it was quite dangerous.
Roman CheshireIn this part of the world, you might notice that the villages, of which there are an amazing number, are actually pretty far off the beaten track, literally. The A-41 highway that takes you from Deva to Mediolanum (Whitchurch), on to Shrewsbury and all the way, eventually, to London is a surprisingly lonely ride. Unlike such roads in N. Am. it does not pass through any of the small places on the map. It will take you pretty much from the centre of Chester to the centre of Shrewsbury, but nothing much in between. There are a few pubs, a few farms facing onto the highway, but the picturesque villages are accessible only by taking one of the lanes and following its windey way, often surprisingly far "inland" from the road.
I found out why.
The route taken by the A-41 was originally laid out by the Romans to move troops and goods from north to south, skirting the scary bits where the mad Welshmen lay in wait, to the garrison at Chester. In their time, there were lots of little way-stations along the route. But the villages that grew up after the legionaries pulled out, are all set very far away from the main roads. When law and order, the Pax Romana, disintegrated, living close to a main road was a very bad idea indeed. And one simply did not travel very often, even from village to village.
Since the Enclosures, the fields around the villages, and the lanes to the villages, are lined with tall, thick and impenetrable hedges. In some places the hedges grow right up to the edge of the road leaving only a few inches of grass verge, and sometimes none at all. There is no pavement (sidewalk for N. American readers).
The lanes, being designed to allow a single farm cart at a time to pass, were never meant for pedestrians. If you want to walk across the fields to visit someone, you took the footpaths, which are still there, and still equipped with stiles, now maintained by the Cheshire County Council. If you were going to town, you certainly weren't going on foot. But back in the day, with only horse-drawn carts, it wasn't quite so dangerous. Now, with the proliferation of cars (my own family has five) any given blind corner could be your last.
There is the canal towpath, but between here and Waverton, the next largish village, it has been sadly neglected and in places can be nearly impassable in the muddy months (I can't call it winter).
There are buses, but as I have learned, sometimes they come. And sometimes they don't.
In general, if you don't have a car, you stay in the village.
So, even now, with the modern world blaring and screeching at us from all corners of the world and its vile tendrils creeping around, there is still a strong sense in the village that here we live, and here we stay. The enforced isolation of a place like this village can be a boon. If you can't go to town for your social life, you are forced to get to know your neighbours. You go to the art classes at the village Institute. You buy all your meat at the village butcher. You buy your crisps and hoochies and Daily Mail at the shop and the ladies in the post office quickly learn all about how much and how often you pay your Council Tax. You attend meetings and go for walks with the village wildlife group, you join the village gardening association; you volunteer for the village Age Concern. You rejoin the human race in a way that would be nearly impossible in a place like London or Toronto. Life becomes scaled down and human.
How did this come home to me today?
My neighbour but one, Wally, a 60-something bachelor who has lived in the same cottage most of his life, happened to walk past us while we were waiting for the bus.
When I had waited until about half an hour after the bus was supposed to arrive, I gave up and decided that there would be no trip to town today; I went home and put the kettle on.
Wally was in the back courtyard hanging his laundry on the line and saw, out of the corner of his eye, someone moving back and forth in my kitchen.
Having seen me waiting for the bus, and not knowing that the bus was a no-show, Wally thought someone was in my cottage while I wasn't there. I looked up and saw his honest face peering in through the kitchen window.
"I thowt sumuun maht be in there..." he said through the window when I jumped.
I explained that the bus had not arrived and he gave the complex gesture, typical of Cheshire people, a shrug and a smiling frown and head-shake that conveyed all necessary sympathy for the inadequacies of the modern world.
Who needs town?
Friday, February 22, 2008
Anglicans moving to disestablish themselves
Hmp. Interesting.
The General Synod of the CofE voted last week to remove the provision for the Prime Minister to approve bishop selection.
It is quite difficult for most people to understand the unique position the Church of England holds in British Constitutional law. In many ways, it is the last bastion in Europe of the medieval notion that the state and the Church of a Christian nation are inextricably entwined. It is the last connection between the Brave New World founded and ruled byTony Blair and Posh Spice and the ancient, organic and native culture of these islands.
I don't think, though, that separating the CofE from the regime currently ruling us is necessarily a bad thing. It might have the effect of pointing out the disestablishment of the government from any natural connection from its deep past and culture. In many ways, the elusive "British identity" so often talked about in the press and by politicians, can be found in the Church of England and the fact that the CofE itself no longer thinks there is a good reason to be closely associated with the government may point to something quite different than if the government simply dumped the Church.
Either way, it is an interesting development.
Expect more from Westminster soon about taking their Spiritual Lordships out of the Upper Chamber.
How did there come to be bishops in the House of Lords in the first place?
Well, Britain used to be a Catholic nation, one of the most devoutly Catholic in Europe and it was founded, established and nourished by Benedictines, for the most part.
From Wiki:
The General Synod of the CofE voted last week to remove the provision for the Prime Minister to approve bishop selection.
It is quite difficult for most people to understand the unique position the Church of England holds in British Constitutional law. In many ways, it is the last bastion in Europe of the medieval notion that the state and the Church of a Christian nation are inextricably entwined. It is the last connection between the Brave New World founded and ruled byTony Blair and Posh Spice and the ancient, organic and native culture of these islands.
I don't think, though, that separating the CofE from the regime currently ruling us is necessarily a bad thing. It might have the effect of pointing out the disestablishment of the government from any natural connection from its deep past and culture. In many ways, the elusive "British identity" so often talked about in the press and by politicians, can be found in the Church of England and the fact that the CofE itself no longer thinks there is a good reason to be closely associated with the government may point to something quite different than if the government simply dumped the Church.
Either way, it is an interesting development.
Expect more from Westminster soon about taking their Spiritual Lordships out of the Upper Chamber.
During the Synod which ended last week, the Anglican bishops discussed whether they should favor a church model that is more disconnected from the political regime, or whether this link should be maintained in order to preserve the identity of the “Church of England” as completely distinct from the Roman Catholic Church.
The debate ended with the decision to establish greater autonomy from the state in order to assure a clearer spiritual dimension.
How did there come to be bishops in the House of Lords in the first place?
Well, Britain used to be a Catholic nation, one of the most devoutly Catholic in Europe and it was founded, established and nourished by Benedictines, for the most part.
From Wiki:
History
Parliament developed from the council that advised the King during medieval times. This royal council came to be composed of ecclesiastics, noblemen, and representatives of the counties (afterwards, representatives of the boroughs as well). The first Parliament is often considered to be the "Model Parliament" (held in 1295), which included archbishops, bishops, abbots, earls, barons, and representatives of the shires and boroughs. The power of Parliament grew slowly, fluctuating as the strength of the monarchy grew or declined. For example, during much of the reign of Edward II (1307–1327), the nobility was supreme, the Crown weak, and the shire and borough representatives entirely powerless. In 1322, the authority of Parliament was for the first time recognised not simply by custom or royal charter, but by an authoritative statute, passed by Parliament itself. Further developments occurred during the reign of Edward II's successor, Edward III. Most importantly, it was during this King's reign that Parliament clearly separated into two distinct chambers: the House of Commons (consisting of the shire and borough representatives) and the House of Lords (consisting of the senior clergy and the nobility). The authority of Parliament continued to grow, and, during the early fifteenth century, both Houses exercised powers to an extent not seen before. The Lords were far more powerful than the Commons because of the great influence of the aristocrats and prelates of the realm.
Things fall apart
Melanie Philips:
"...Brown has simply lost it, period."
She offers a handy timeline of a collapsing administration (gleaned from the Times):
January 2007 Revealed that since 1997 nearly 1,600 government computers containing sensitive information had been stolen
September A CD containing the names, national insurance numbers, dates of birth and pension data of 15,000 Standard Life customers lost
October Laptop with data about 2,000 people with ISAs stolen from a Revenue & Customs employee
November 20 News of two CDs with details of 25 million Britons lost in post from a Revenue & Customs office in Tyne & Wear
November 23 Emerges that six more CDs with confidential information had gone missing
December 6 Four CDs containing details from court cases go missing
December 17 Details of three million British learner drivers lost in the US
December 18 Revenue loses data of 6,500 private pension holders
December 23 Nine NHS trusts in England say they have lost patient records kept on discs
January 9, 2008 Laptop with details of 600,000 people taken from navy officer’s car in Birmingham
January 26 Details of 1,500 students lost in the post.
"...Brown has simply lost it, period."
His behaviour is erratic and bizarre; he phones colleagues at all hours with imperious demands while dithering over every decision he has to take. Ever since things started to go wrong for him and public fury and cynicism boiled over, he has clearly been radically destabilised. He seems to be wholly unable to cope with criticism, and more to the point unable therefore to look clearly at what is so patently going wrong and put it right. He tries to big-foot every minister and meddle in every department for all the world as if he has an uncontrollable tic; he is the Touretter of public administration. Yet the more he meddles, the more everything falls to pieces underneath him.
Northern Wreck may be headline news, but almost every day brings further evidence of what can only be described as the systematic collapse of public administration in Britain. In a country which once ran an entire empire and thus constructed a legend of administrative genius, the word ‘couldn’t’, ‘run’ and ‘whelk-stall’ are now on everybody’s lips.
She offers a handy timeline of a collapsing administration (gleaned from the Times):
January 2007 Revealed that since 1997 nearly 1,600 government computers containing sensitive information had been stolen
September A CD containing the names, national insurance numbers, dates of birth and pension data of 15,000 Standard Life customers lost
October Laptop with data about 2,000 people with ISAs stolen from a Revenue & Customs employee
November 20 News of two CDs with details of 25 million Britons lost in post from a Revenue & Customs office in Tyne & Wear
November 23 Emerges that six more CDs with confidential information had gone missing
December 6 Four CDs containing details from court cases go missing
December 17 Details of three million British learner drivers lost in the US
December 18 Revenue loses data of 6,500 private pension holders
December 23 Nine NHS trusts in England say they have lost patient records kept on discs
January 9, 2008 Laptop with details of 600,000 people taken from navy officer’s car in Birmingham
January 26 Details of 1,500 students lost in the post.
Friday, February 08, 2008
Sold
So, I took a little day trip down to Whitchurch the other day to do a bit of shopping. I'm looking around for some nice rugs for my sitting room. The stone tiles are lovely but cold. I'm hoping to find a nice rag rug or braided rug, something that would be "in keeping" (as they say) with my nice antique cottage. I didn't think I'd have much luck in a new carpet shop, but thought I'd inquire, just in case they had an idea.
I spoke to the shop owner and he shook his head rather sadly. "There was a lady locally who used to make them, but she said it wasn't viable with the European competition and all the new regulations."
"What's happened to this country?" I asked.
"It's been sold."
I spoke to the shop owner and he shook his head rather sadly. "There was a lady locally who used to make them, but she said it wasn't viable with the European competition and all the new regulations."
"What's happened to this country?" I asked.
"It's been sold."
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
It's better here
than there.
(photo thanks to young Daniel, who never calls.)
Took these today, across the road from my cottage.
If the door to Narnia is going to be anywhere, it's going to be in a place where the daffs bloom in January.
More pics to come. Forsythia and more.
(photo thanks to young Daniel, who never calls.)
Took these today, across the road from my cottage.
If the door to Narnia is going to be anywhere, it's going to be in a place where the daffs bloom in January.
More pics to come. Forsythia and more.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Ancient Yews
Another reason to love this country.
There's a group for ancient yews.
That's yew trees. Taxus baccata.
Ancient ones. (that means very very old ones.)
Aims of the Ancient Yew Group
* To raise public awareness of the national and world wide importance of our ancient Yews.
* To survey, record and monitor the health of our ancient Yews.
* To highlight potential threats.
* To research and collate all modern and historical references of our ancient Yew heritage.
* To provide advice to help people protect their ancient Yews.
* To campaign for better protection and seek government support.
* To bring together Yew tree enthusiasts, providing an opportunity to discuss, enthuse and help towards achieving the above aims.
Imagine. There are yew tree enthusiasts here.
Try to picture that in any other country. Can't can you?
The Fortingall Yew is an ancient yew (Taxus baccata) in the churchyard of the village of Fortingall in Perthshire, Scotland. Various estimates have put its age at between 2,000 and 5,000 years; recent research into yew tree ages suggests that it is likely to be nearer the lower limit of 2,000 years. This still makes it the oldest tree in Europe
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
The City that Ate a Whole Country
Here's a little sample of something I've been noticing since I got here and started reading the full print editions of Ynglysshe newspapers.
When they say something is happening "in Britain" or "in the UK" what they really often mean is "in London."
The fact that there is a whole country, and a very interesting one, outside the great growing cancerous blot that is modern London, seems to go entirely unnoticed.
All to the good, if you ask me.
From the Telegraph (I add the corrections):
Greasy spoons fight for survival against cappuccino culture
By Jonathan Petre
Last Updated: 1:24am BST 20/04/2006
The traditional greasy spoon is to mount a fight-back today against the cappuccino culture of Continental-style coffee shops [in London], amid fears [in London] that the institution could disappear.
A campaign to save the unpretentious caff, where fry-ups and dark tea still hold sway over croissants and vanilla lattes [in London], is being launched following research that suggests it could be squeezed out of the high street by the end of the decade.
The great British breakfast is under threat [in London] from Continental-style snacks of croissants and lattes.
A survey found that almost one in three people [in London] was aware of a café closing down in their neighbourhood, and in London the number of independent cafés has declined by 40 per cent since 2000.
Meanwhile, there has been an explosion of coffee shop chains across the country, and the likes of Starbucks, Caffè Nero, Coffee Republic and Costa Coffee now represent nearly a third of the market.
The Save the Proper British Café [in London] campaign is to ask members of the public to sign an online petition, and buy brown rubber wristbands to show their commitment to the cause. Hundreds of café owners will be doing their bit by offering an extra breakfast free with every one purchased.
Paul Harvey, a spokesman for the campaign, which is backed by HP Sauce [which is now produced by H.J. Heinz in Elst, the Netherlands], said cafés were a "national institution", but he feared they could almost vanish by 2010.
"Britain has already suffered the demise of institutions like the red phone box and the faithful Routemaster bus, which is why it seems so important to start this campaign to Save the Proper British Café."
A survey of more than 5,000 people by the campaign found that three quarters felt better about spending their cash at a local café, rather than at a coffee shop chain. A quarter knew the name of one of the people who worked in their local café, while almost a third knew of a local café that had closed down.
Almost nine in 10 [in London] were concerned that their local high street was becoming overrun by big chains. George Michaelas, the owner of George's Café in the heart of Canning Town, east London, said that he had been in the business "before I could reach the teapot" because his father had run a café.
He has found that young people are drifting away [in London], lured from his chrome tables and fish and chips by the bright lights of McDonald's and other fast food chains.
With the regeneration of the area in the run-up to the 2012 Olympics, he fears new competition from American-owned coffee shop chains.
"They have no soul," he said. "They seem so impersonal. I know all my regulars and their likes and dislikes. People are always going to want a proper breakfast. There isn't much call for croissants from the Irish labourers who come here."
A favourite on his menu, the mega breakfast, would reduce nutritionists to tears, consisting as it does of two eggs, two pieces of bacon, sausages, mushrooms, chips and tomatoes, a mug of tea or coffee and two slices of toast, all for £5.50.
Susan Joslyn, 37, a regular, said: "I eat here every day. I like the pleasant staff, and the food is tremendous."
Clive Pitts, of Greenhill Café, in Hall Green, Birmingham, said "service and value for money" were the hallmarks of a traditional British café. It was not just extra competition that had hit the business, but a move towards healthier eating.
When they say something is happening "in Britain" or "in the UK" what they really often mean is "in London."
The fact that there is a whole country, and a very interesting one, outside the great growing cancerous blot that is modern London, seems to go entirely unnoticed.
All to the good, if you ask me.
From the Telegraph (I add the corrections):
Greasy spoons fight for survival against cappuccino culture
By Jonathan Petre
Last Updated: 1:24am BST 20/04/2006
The traditional greasy spoon is to mount a fight-back today against the cappuccino culture of Continental-style coffee shops [in London], amid fears [in London] that the institution could disappear.
A campaign to save the unpretentious caff, where fry-ups and dark tea still hold sway over croissants and vanilla lattes [in London], is being launched following research that suggests it could be squeezed out of the high street by the end of the decade.
The great British breakfast is under threat [in London] from Continental-style snacks of croissants and lattes.
A survey found that almost one in three people [in London] was aware of a café closing down in their neighbourhood, and in London the number of independent cafés has declined by 40 per cent since 2000.
Meanwhile, there has been an explosion of coffee shop chains across the country, and the likes of Starbucks, Caffè Nero, Coffee Republic and Costa Coffee now represent nearly a third of the market.
The Save the Proper British Café [in London] campaign is to ask members of the public to sign an online petition, and buy brown rubber wristbands to show their commitment to the cause. Hundreds of café owners will be doing their bit by offering an extra breakfast free with every one purchased.
Paul Harvey, a spokesman for the campaign, which is backed by HP Sauce [which is now produced by H.J. Heinz in Elst, the Netherlands], said cafés were a "national institution", but he feared they could almost vanish by 2010.
"Britain has already suffered the demise of institutions like the red phone box and the faithful Routemaster bus, which is why it seems so important to start this campaign to Save the Proper British Café."
A survey of more than 5,000 people by the campaign found that three quarters felt better about spending their cash at a local café, rather than at a coffee shop chain. A quarter knew the name of one of the people who worked in their local café, while almost a third knew of a local café that had closed down.
Almost nine in 10 [in London] were concerned that their local high street was becoming overrun by big chains. George Michaelas, the owner of George's Café in the heart of Canning Town, east London, said that he had been in the business "before I could reach the teapot" because his father had run a café.
He has found that young people are drifting away [in London], lured from his chrome tables and fish and chips by the bright lights of McDonald's and other fast food chains.
With the regeneration of the area in the run-up to the 2012 Olympics, he fears new competition from American-owned coffee shop chains.
"They have no soul," he said. "They seem so impersonal. I know all my regulars and their likes and dislikes. People are always going to want a proper breakfast. There isn't much call for croissants from the Irish labourers who come here."
A favourite on his menu, the mega breakfast, would reduce nutritionists to tears, consisting as it does of two eggs, two pieces of bacon, sausages, mushrooms, chips and tomatoes, a mug of tea or coffee and two slices of toast, all for £5.50.
Susan Joslyn, 37, a regular, said: "I eat here every day. I like the pleasant staff, and the food is tremendous."
Clive Pitts, of Greenhill Café, in Hall Green, Birmingham, said "service and value for money" were the hallmarks of a traditional British café. It was not just extra competition that had hit the business, but a move towards healthier eating.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Thinking about things
I bet you'd all thought I'd found the door to Narnia.
Nope, but I'm still looking.
Last night was the first night in the cottage, and the first in my new Victorian bed. (The matress is new; the bed is old.)
I've discovered some things.
* A flask (in N.America, a "thermos") makes a much better tea pot than a tea pot.
* Milk from a glass pint bottle tastes better than milk from a carton or plastic bottle.
* Central heating is overrated. Our mothers were right when we were kids and wanted to turn the heat up. Put a sweater on.
* That in all the years since leaving England when the smell of tar or pitch would bring back the memory of Manchester, what I was remembering was the smell of coal fires.
* That there are different kinds of crows and the differences are not difficult to learn. The rule is that if you see two together, they're rooks. There are a lot of rooks in rural England.
* That tawny owls have two different calls at night. The female makes a kind of loud sustained squeek. This is answered by the male who gives a deep, low-pitched "Whhooo hoo" that is much more difficult to hear unless you are standing quite close.
* That oak trees are very messy trees and drop large parts of themselves on the ground all the time. Dead oak branches, although rather heavy to carry home, make excellent firewood.
* That rosehips have no pectin in them and if you want to make them in to jam or jelly, you have to add crab apples, or all you will get is rosehip syrup.
* That rosehip syrup is no bad thing.
* That there has been so much manufacturing in the last 250 years, that there is virtually no need to buy new things. If everyone in this country were to give to a needy neigbour or a church charity all the bits and pieces of furniture, household goods and clothes and other permanent things they are not using, every man woman and child in this country would be amply provided for.
The above suggestion would ruin the economy.
Which, in turn, and after a period of adjustment that would doubtless involve violence, social and political upheaval and all sorts of unpleasantness, would result in the end in people being much happier.
(I intend, as much as it is possible, to live as though this had already happened. Except for the internet, which I think would be one of the first things to go in the event of the previously mentioned upheavals.)
* That a solution to the problem of rubbish disposal, which is a subject much in the minds of Britons apparently, who are forced by a multitude of laws to support an absurdly and increasingly arcane system of "recycling" (enforced by fines), is to re-instate "home economics" as a major part of the school curriculum and teach young women the lost arts of cooking and household management. They would be able to cook real food that did not come out of a box or take-away place. They would be able to make and mend their own clothes, which would release them from slavery to fashions.
It would also result in them having more useful occupation than shopping, "texting", binge drinking and buying pre-packaged foods. They would be rendered suitable for marriage and be immune to much of the advertising enticements that hold so many of them in the thrall of "body-image" insecurity. It would also release them from the mental slavery of "modern mores" and feminism.
It would also make men happier.
This would also ruin the economy. (See note above re: "economy-ruining a good thing in the long run.")
* That spending an hour every evening staring blankly into the fire is a much more useful and beneficial occupation than spending the same amount of time staring blankly into the television. In the former occupation it is possible to have Thoughts. With the latter, it is possible only to be exhausted and rendered irritable and anxious.
* That Stephen Fry is much more likely to become a real Catholic than is Tony Blair.
* That London is much better appreciated from a distance...in picture books, say.
* That deep in the heart of many British people is a great longing for the Way Things Were but have been trained at the same time to be superficialy disdainful of the way of life they remember their parents living (no telly. no central heating. no microwaves. no free sex. no free abortion!).
* That we have come to the down slope in the manufacture-and-consume economy. We make too much stuff. We buy too much stuff. We throw away too much stuff. And the stuff we make, buy and throw away isn't worth the effort. I was taken yesterday to a place that sells "architectural antiques": antique furniture, fittings, fireplaces, apothecary bottles, flat irons, sinks, door knobs, saddles, doors, gothic marble altar pieces, copper kettles, valves, telephones, sofas, and on and on...every bit of it was more durable, more beautiful, more useful and lasting and just plain better than anything that has been made in the last fifty years. When a society starts looking at the stuff it is making (and throwing away three weeks later) and being forced to admit that not only were the things their grandfathers made better, but that they no longer knew how to make them, things are on the down slide.
* That there is no way for a woman to look good wearing jeans.
Nope, but I'm still looking.
Last night was the first night in the cottage, and the first in my new Victorian bed. (The matress is new; the bed is old.)
I've discovered some things.
* A flask (in N.America, a "thermos") makes a much better tea pot than a tea pot.
* Milk from a glass pint bottle tastes better than milk from a carton or plastic bottle.
* Central heating is overrated. Our mothers were right when we were kids and wanted to turn the heat up. Put a sweater on.
* That in all the years since leaving England when the smell of tar or pitch would bring back the memory of Manchester, what I was remembering was the smell of coal fires.
* That there are different kinds of crows and the differences are not difficult to learn. The rule is that if you see two together, they're rooks. There are a lot of rooks in rural England.
* That tawny owls have two different calls at night. The female makes a kind of loud sustained squeek. This is answered by the male who gives a deep, low-pitched "Whhooo hoo" that is much more difficult to hear unless you are standing quite close.
* That oak trees are very messy trees and drop large parts of themselves on the ground all the time. Dead oak branches, although rather heavy to carry home, make excellent firewood.
* That rosehips have no pectin in them and if you want to make them in to jam or jelly, you have to add crab apples, or all you will get is rosehip syrup.
* That rosehip syrup is no bad thing.
* That there has been so much manufacturing in the last 250 years, that there is virtually no need to buy new things. If everyone in this country were to give to a needy neigbour or a church charity all the bits and pieces of furniture, household goods and clothes and other permanent things they are not using, every man woman and child in this country would be amply provided for.
The above suggestion would ruin the economy.
Which, in turn, and after a period of adjustment that would doubtless involve violence, social and political upheaval and all sorts of unpleasantness, would result in the end in people being much happier.
(I intend, as much as it is possible, to live as though this had already happened. Except for the internet, which I think would be one of the first things to go in the event of the previously mentioned upheavals.)
* That a solution to the problem of rubbish disposal, which is a subject much in the minds of Britons apparently, who are forced by a multitude of laws to support an absurdly and increasingly arcane system of "recycling" (enforced by fines), is to re-instate "home economics" as a major part of the school curriculum and teach young women the lost arts of cooking and household management. They would be able to cook real food that did not come out of a box or take-away place. They would be able to make and mend their own clothes, which would release them from slavery to fashions.
It would also result in them having more useful occupation than shopping, "texting", binge drinking and buying pre-packaged foods. They would be rendered suitable for marriage and be immune to much of the advertising enticements that hold so many of them in the thrall of "body-image" insecurity. It would also release them from the mental slavery of "modern mores" and feminism.
It would also make men happier.
This would also ruin the economy. (See note above re: "economy-ruining a good thing in the long run.")
* That spending an hour every evening staring blankly into the fire is a much more useful and beneficial occupation than spending the same amount of time staring blankly into the television. In the former occupation it is possible to have Thoughts. With the latter, it is possible only to be exhausted and rendered irritable and anxious.
* That Stephen Fry is much more likely to become a real Catholic than is Tony Blair.
* That London is much better appreciated from a distance...in picture books, say.
* That deep in the heart of many British people is a great longing for the Way Things Were but have been trained at the same time to be superficialy disdainful of the way of life they remember their parents living (no telly. no central heating. no microwaves. no free sex. no free abortion!).
* That we have come to the down slope in the manufacture-and-consume economy. We make too much stuff. We buy too much stuff. We throw away too much stuff. And the stuff we make, buy and throw away isn't worth the effort. I was taken yesterday to a place that sells "architectural antiques": antique furniture, fittings, fireplaces, apothecary bottles, flat irons, sinks, door knobs, saddles, doors, gothic marble altar pieces, copper kettles, valves, telephones, sofas, and on and on...every bit of it was more durable, more beautiful, more useful and lasting and just plain better than anything that has been made in the last fifty years. When a society starts looking at the stuff it is making (and throwing away three weeks later) and being forced to admit that not only were the things their grandfathers made better, but that they no longer knew how to make them, things are on the down slide.
* That there is no way for a woman to look good wearing jeans.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
That's so gay
Among the long and growing list of things I like about Britain is that in this country, the term "gay", while sadly hardly ever used in its original OED sense, is almost exclusively used as a derogatory.
I am glad, in general, that my experiences thus far have bolstered my theory that the great majority of people here are not on with the Labour/BBC/Guardian political orthodoxies. That "gay marriage" is just as scare-quoted in ordinary conversation as it is in certain online publications. (In fact, I was very happy to note that the Daily Telegraph also uses the quotes. Good on 'em.) That the only people not willing to openly admit that it is mass immigration from cultures wholly alien to ours that is causing most of this country's problems, are the members of government (and their media toadies) who have allowed it. That nearly everyone thinks the "political correctness" thing has gone to absolutely intolerable lengths of absurdity (though no one seems willing just to thumb their noses at it...yet).
Happy to report that the Ordinary British Subject (that I have met so far) is, while not the intolerant xenophobe so gleefully depicted in the self-hating screeds of Jeremy Paxman, every bit as old-fashioned and sensible, honest and normal as one could hope.
Today I realized something very important about the difference between Britain and That-Country-North-of-the-US. In TCNOTUS, there is no market for a paper like the Telegraph. There could not possibly exist anything like a backlash party like the BNP. It seems clear that the average Canuckistani is totally incapable of thinking outside the box of Officially Approved doctrine, a gift that, TBTG, still exists here. (Of course, the question is now, how to get the polite Brits to move from "Oh isn't it dreadful, they've banned Bonfire Night, conkers and fox hunting," to the pitchforks and torches phase.)
In contrast, the Canuckistanis are, in a word, Goodthinkful. To a man.
I am glad, in general, that my experiences thus far have bolstered my theory that the great majority of people here are not on with the Labour/BBC/Guardian political orthodoxies. That "gay marriage" is just as scare-quoted in ordinary conversation as it is in certain online publications. (In fact, I was very happy to note that the Daily Telegraph also uses the quotes. Good on 'em.) That the only people not willing to openly admit that it is mass immigration from cultures wholly alien to ours that is causing most of this country's problems, are the members of government (and their media toadies) who have allowed it. That nearly everyone thinks the "political correctness" thing has gone to absolutely intolerable lengths of absurdity (though no one seems willing just to thumb their noses at it...yet).
Happy to report that the Ordinary British Subject (that I have met so far) is, while not the intolerant xenophobe so gleefully depicted in the self-hating screeds of Jeremy Paxman, every bit as old-fashioned and sensible, honest and normal as one could hope.
Today I realized something very important about the difference between Britain and That-Country-North-of-the-US. In TCNOTUS, there is no market for a paper like the Telegraph. There could not possibly exist anything like a backlash party like the BNP. It seems clear that the average Canuckistani is totally incapable of thinking outside the box of Officially Approved doctrine, a gift that, TBTG, still exists here. (Of course, the question is now, how to get the polite Brits to move from "Oh isn't it dreadful, they've banned Bonfire Night, conkers and fox hunting," to the pitchforks and torches phase.)
In contrast, the Canuckistanis are, in a word, Goodthinkful. To a man.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Ye Bittes of Olde Ynglonde...
are falling off the corpse.
You might have guessed, from my somewhat precipitate departure from public blogging a few months ago, that I had other duties that required my attention. As has been suggested elsewhere, there were communications coming from an undisclosed location, but they were of a private nature.
As of today, I'd like to say thank you to all the people who sent me nice notes, especially about my mother's death and especially those who said Mass, had Masses said and who prayed for the repose of her soul. I'd like to say an especial thank you to those who said nice things about The Devout Life and how they'd miss me an' all.
I would also like to thank the posters of the vitriolic personal insults and attacks; nice to know I'm not wasting my time.
As of today, I am happy to announce my return to public blogging. As you see, there are a few changes. With the publication of The Long-Awaited Document from Over the Mountains, I feel that there is little more that I have to say about All That.
But the other great change that has happened lately is of a more personal nature. The countdown continues for my departure from the land of my birth, to return to the land of my origins. I shall be touching down on the ancient tarmac soon and by this time next week, will be commencing life as a British political blogger. Or perhaps, just a blogger in and about Britain.
I hope to do justice to the complexities and wonders of that green n' pleasant land, now so beset with terrors.
Why Britain, some have asked.
I've had quite a few notes sent in to point out the many reasons why everything is going very badly over there.
Yes, I know. Yep, know about that too. Yep, mmmm hmmm, covered that one. No, no, haven't missed it. Got it, yep. Uh huh, that too.
Mostly people have asked, "Why?"
As I said in a recent invitation to my Toronto friends to take me out tomorrow night and buy me a last pint:
because my mum died and it's time to end the exile.
because I want to go see the people I'm related to...
because I've wanted to go back since I was a child...
because there's just more interesting stuff to do there...
because Canada has become such a pointless self-parodying Trudeaupian wasteland of idiocy that there just seems no reason whatever to continue living in it and no eartly reason to be bothered trying to save it...
because there's more politics worth fussing over, more newspapers worth reading, more castles worth visiting, more beer worth drinking, more tweed...
and, after ten thousand years of my ancestors living there, building a culture, a history, a way of life, a way of thought, a manner of governance, a philosophy of law...there's just more stuff there than here that's worth fighting to the death for...
All the things that make Canada stupid and pointless are going double over there. But it has been pointed out to me that in the case of Canada, there isn't anything else. It's just a stupid and pointless ideology that happens to have attached itself, like a giant tundra mosquito, to a particular bit of geography. Canada doesn't really exist any more. In the case of Britain, the stupid pointless ideology is there, probably worse than here, but there is also a real country.
Why England is rotting?
England leads Europe in illiteracy, obesity, divorce, drug use, crime and STDs. Bloody hell
MARTIN NEWLAND | June 11, 2007 |
You might have guessed, from my somewhat precipitate departure from public blogging a few months ago, that I had other duties that required my attention. As has been suggested elsewhere, there were communications coming from an undisclosed location, but they were of a private nature.
As of today, I'd like to say thank you to all the people who sent me nice notes, especially about my mother's death and especially those who said Mass, had Masses said and who prayed for the repose of her soul. I'd like to say an especial thank you to those who said nice things about The Devout Life and how they'd miss me an' all.
I would also like to thank the posters of the vitriolic personal insults and attacks; nice to know I'm not wasting my time.
As of today, I am happy to announce my return to public blogging. As you see, there are a few changes. With the publication of The Long-Awaited Document from Over the Mountains, I feel that there is little more that I have to say about All That.
But the other great change that has happened lately is of a more personal nature. The countdown continues for my departure from the land of my birth, to return to the land of my origins. I shall be touching down on the ancient tarmac soon and by this time next week, will be commencing life as a British political blogger. Or perhaps, just a blogger in and about Britain.
I hope to do justice to the complexities and wonders of that green n' pleasant land, now so beset with terrors.
Why Britain, some have asked.
I've had quite a few notes sent in to point out the many reasons why everything is going very badly over there.
Yes, I know. Yep, know about that too. Yep, mmmm hmmm, covered that one. No, no, haven't missed it. Got it, yep. Uh huh, that too.
Mostly people have asked, "Why?"
As I said in a recent invitation to my Toronto friends to take me out tomorrow night and buy me a last pint:
because my mum died and it's time to end the exile.
because I want to go see the people I'm related to...
because I've wanted to go back since I was a child...
because there's just more interesting stuff to do there...
because Canada has become such a pointless self-parodying Trudeaupian wasteland of idiocy that there just seems no reason whatever to continue living in it and no eartly reason to be bothered trying to save it...
because there's more politics worth fussing over, more newspapers worth reading, more castles worth visiting, more beer worth drinking, more tweed...
and, after ten thousand years of my ancestors living there, building a culture, a history, a way of life, a way of thought, a manner of governance, a philosophy of law...there's just more stuff there than here that's worth fighting to the death for...
All the things that make Canada stupid and pointless are going double over there. But it has been pointed out to me that in the case of Canada, there isn't anything else. It's just a stupid and pointless ideology that happens to have attached itself, like a giant tundra mosquito, to a particular bit of geography. Canada doesn't really exist any more. In the case of Britain, the stupid pointless ideology is there, probably worse than here, but there is also a real country.
Why England is rotting?
England leads Europe in illiteracy, obesity, divorce, drug use, crime and STDs. Bloody hell
MARTIN NEWLAND | June 11, 2007 |
There used to be a time when taking on the Royal Navy was a bad idea. The force that policed the high seas through two world wars and protected the largest empire ever seen was for years the emblem of British national pride and pugnacity. Which is why it was particularly humiliating for many Britons to witness the spectacle of the navy's finest peddling stories about their capture a couple of months ago by the Iranian Republican Guard to the newspapers. The British had already watched televised "confessions" by servicemen, in which they criticized national foreign policy and admitted to crimes and trespasses they had not committed.
But it was the paid interviews given once safely home that left the nation wondering what has happened to traditional British reserve and the notion of the stiff upper lip. Leading Seaman Faye Turney told the nation of the sheer hell of being reduced to counting carpet tiles in solitary confinement while waiting to learn of her fate (Iranian prisons, one is led to believe, are carpeted). And the diminutive Operator Mechanic Arthur Batchelor complained to the media that the Republican Guard had taken away his iPod and called him Mr. Bean.
It was not long before commentators drew parallels between the behaviour of our fighting personnel and the collapse of traditional British values. The venerable right of centre newsmagazine The Spectator, in its editorial, said the episode "demonstrated just how deeply British society has been corrupted by the twin cults of celebrity and victimhood." These sentiments were echoed by the social commentator Theodore Dalrymple, who said the affair showed Britain "to be a country of very slight account, with a population increasingly unable to distinguish the trivial from the important and the virtual from the real, led by a man of the most frivolous earnestness who for many years has been given to gushes of cheap moral enthusiasm."
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