Saturday, June 30, 2007
lamentations and slide rules
Do slide rules, as I remember them in the mid to late 60's still exist?Am I right in thinking that the truly avant-garde amongst the young carried a circular slide rule?
Friday, June 29, 2007
Lamentations continue
I'ts been a funny week, again.
Tensions in the Struthius household have been exacerbated by the following:-
1. An invitation to watch a friends play with their wee.
2. Upsetting the Memsahib (my dear lady-wife) by recounting a story of our wedding day
3. Failing to read the instruction booklet accompanying my latest car.
Last weekend found the mem and I visiting good friends where we were invited to play with their wee. Now, this is not a gross perversion for consenting adults involving bodily waste; it is a game (almost certainly Japanese) which requires the participant to hold a handset and flail his (or her) arms and generally cavort in front of the television in order to simulate sporting activity, (in this case tennis) following which, the machine gives an assessment of the age of the participant.
Considerable prompting and cries of "party pooper" eventually persuaded me to "have a go". It will come as no surprise, therefore, to those who know me that an assessment of my age based on speed and agility finally translated as being a few years older than "Heinrich" the 307 year old moribund tortoise of 17, Acaia Crescent, Galapagos! The mem is mortified.
An amusing but innocent story which I later recounted caused a frosting of marital harmony as I had not realised that the "D" notice slapped upon it 40 years ago by the mem. was still in place. It involved me, the mem, wedding photographs and a 6" slide rule, (do slide rules still exist?) I had intended to tell the story at the recent troglodytic wedding but given the reaction of "She who must be obeyed" it's a bloody good job that time ran out. I am, consequently, in the domus canem; woof woof.
On Wednesday I returned my car of 2 months (The Popemobile) to the salesroom with a faulty air vent. This slot on the dashboard had failed to produce wind since day 1. It is with a certain discomfiture that I must report that the "air vent" turned out to be a record machine for compact discs. This boob was well received at the garage who, to the mem's further mortification, have promised to treasure this story and recount it for the entertainment of future customers. My precarious intellectual standing in the eyes of the mem has dipped to an almost all time low.
On the whole, not a great week,
regards, A Pismo Clam B.Sc (Gt. Wittering) failed
Tensions in the Struthius household have been exacerbated by the following:-
1. An invitation to watch a friends play with their wee.
2. Upsetting the Memsahib (my dear lady-wife) by recounting a story of our wedding day
3. Failing to read the instruction booklet accompanying my latest car.
Last weekend found the mem and I visiting good friends where we were invited to play with their wee. Now, this is not a gross perversion for consenting adults involving bodily waste; it is a game (almost certainly Japanese) which requires the participant to hold a handset and flail his (or her) arms and generally cavort in front of the television in order to simulate sporting activity, (in this case tennis) following which, the machine gives an assessment of the age of the participant.
Considerable prompting and cries of "party pooper" eventually persuaded me to "have a go". It will come as no surprise, therefore, to those who know me that an assessment of my age based on speed and agility finally translated as being a few years older than "Heinrich" the 307 year old moribund tortoise of 17, Acaia Crescent, Galapagos! The mem is mortified.
An amusing but innocent story which I later recounted caused a frosting of marital harmony as I had not realised that the "D" notice slapped upon it 40 years ago by the mem. was still in place. It involved me, the mem, wedding photographs and a 6" slide rule, (do slide rules still exist?) I had intended to tell the story at the recent troglodytic wedding but given the reaction of "She who must be obeyed" it's a bloody good job that time ran out. I am, consequently, in the domus canem; woof woof.
On Wednesday I returned my car of 2 months (The Popemobile) to the salesroom with a faulty air vent. This slot on the dashboard had failed to produce wind since day 1. It is with a certain discomfiture that I must report that the "air vent" turned out to be a record machine for compact discs. This boob was well received at the garage who, to the mem's further mortification, have promised to treasure this story and recount it for the entertainment of future customers. My precarious intellectual standing in the eyes of the mem has dipped to an almost all time low.
On the whole, not a great week,
regards, A Pismo Clam B.Sc (Gt. Wittering) failed
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Lamentations and Questions
This week I have re-read after 50 years, "An Imitation of Christ" by Thomas a Kempis. This and the accompanying commentaries has, left me wondering why, in my youth, I was so impressed by the the views of this mystic Divine, particularly, his emphatic view on humility a quality that, then as now, was never my strong point; in short I am, and always have been an arrogant bastard..
It is interesting to note that in recent years I have re-read Dostoyevsky with the same result. What is it that so impressed me in my youth that I learnt Russian just to read him in his own language? Why don't I enjoy with the same sense of wonderment "The Idiot" or "The Devils"? Why is it that today I would much rather read Terry Pratchett?
Is it just a matter of changing emphasis in my life as I enter old age or is it a fundamental change of philosophical and literary taste? If the latter, when did this change occur? Does everyone experience such profound changes of thought and outlook as they get older? Is it, perhaps, that memory plays me false and the enthusiasm of youth just never existed?
Bollocks!, does it matter?
Sincerely,
Algernon Quim (aka Rincewind)
It is interesting to note that in recent years I have re-read Dostoyevsky with the same result. What is it that so impressed me in my youth that I learnt Russian just to read him in his own language? Why don't I enjoy with the same sense of wonderment "The Idiot" or "The Devils"? Why is it that today I would much rather read Terry Pratchett?
Is it just a matter of changing emphasis in my life as I enter old age or is it a fundamental change of philosophical and literary taste? If the latter, when did this change occur? Does everyone experience such profound changes of thought and outlook as they get older? Is it, perhaps, that memory plays me false and the enthusiasm of youth just never existed?
Bollocks!, does it matter?
Sincerely,
Algernon Quim (aka Rincewind)
Sunday, June 24, 2007
The Lamentations of Struthius
Well, here I am in the the 21st. century still equipped with a 19th. century mind. In my dotage I find myself "Blogging". Now, over the last 65 years I have in all honesty done and even practised (usually unsucessfully) some strange pastimes but blogging never!
It's been a funny old weekend rescued only by the company of good friends. On the home front I have been under siege following my return from Crete. I stand accused of being a humbug, a dissembler, a deceiver, a tartufe; this calumnous slander of my veracity I vigorously deny.
Well, say I to the accusing shitniks, Arse. I really did see the posted ad. for the Cretin night and the fact that it was almost 11 of the clock p.m. is the reason I did not have upon me my camera to add supporting evidence, short of purloining a board measuring about 2ft. 6" by 4ft and carrying the sodding thing back to the hotel with the attendant risk to life and limb by enraged Cretins I could only expect to have my story believed. Further, the refusal of my detractors to visit the site of the restaurant in the cold light of day the following morning only reinforces my sense of betrayal. The fact that these same doubters plus a coachload of others saw the later ad. outside Heraklion (Real Greek Food) has not softened the opinion of Mrs. C and others that I am tantamount to being a lying toad.
Sincerely, Eustace Mc Gargle
It's been a funny old weekend rescued only by the company of good friends. On the home front I have been under siege following my return from Crete. I stand accused of being a humbug, a dissembler, a deceiver, a tartufe; this calumnous slander of my veracity I vigorously deny.
Well, say I to the accusing shitniks, Arse. I really did see the posted ad. for the Cretin night and the fact that it was almost 11 of the clock p.m. is the reason I did not have upon me my camera to add supporting evidence, short of purloining a board measuring about 2ft. 6" by 4ft and carrying the sodding thing back to the hotel with the attendant risk to life and limb by enraged Cretins I could only expect to have my story believed. Further, the refusal of my detractors to visit the site of the restaurant in the cold light of day the following morning only reinforces my sense of betrayal. The fact that these same doubters plus a coachload of others saw the later ad. outside Heraklion (Real Greek Food) has not softened the opinion of Mrs. C and others that I am tantamount to being a lying toad.
Sincerely, Eustace Mc Gargle
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