Category Archives: people

Quotes of the Week

Another good selection this week as I’ve been catching up on all sorts of bits of reading.

Tax is imposed by parliament, people and corporations do not pay it voluntarily. The state coerces as much money as possible in the form of tribute to pay for the services and goods the state feels that it requires.
[brianist in a comment at http://www.badscience.net/2011/04/anarchy-for-the-uk-ish/]

The [fifth] duke [of Portland (1800-1879)], a notable eccentric landlord, gave each of his workmen a donkey and an umbrella, so they could travel to work in all weathers. He insisted that they should not salute or show him the slightest deference, and had a roller-skating rink especially constructed for their recreation.
[Mike Pentelow & Marsha Rowe; Characters of Fitzrovia; Pimlico Books (2001)]

Divorced, unemployed, and pissed
I aimed low in life – and missed.

[Prof. Ray Lees quoted in Mike Pentelow & Marsha Rowe; Characters of Fitzrovia]

Then we got softer clay and both of us turned out some quite nice little bowls and pots. It’s fearfully exciting when you do get it centred and the stuff begins to come up between your fingers. V[anessa Bell] never would make her penises long enough, which I thought very odd. Don’t you?
[Roger Fry to Duncan Grant quoted in Mike Pentelow & Marsha Rowe; Characters of Fitzrovia]

My dear, could you advance me a quid? There’s the most beautiful Gl passed out stone cold and naked as a duck in my kitchen.
[Nina Hamnett quoted in Mike Pentelow & Marsha Rowe; Characters of Fitzrovia. The image on the right is a torso of Nina Hamnett by sculptor Henri Gaudier-Brzeska now in the Tate Gallery; Modigliani is supposed to have said (and Nina Hamnett oft repeated) that she had “the best tits in Europe”.]

Live in such a way that you would not be ashamed to sell your parrot to the town gossip.
[Will Rogers]

Relax. There are no gods and you are not going to burn in hell.
[Atheist in America at www.flamewarrior.com]

Each age finds in its favourite crimes images of what it would most love/hate to do. Our own generation of overworked, guilty, child-dominated couples makes of child-abduction the ultimate horror, perhaps because with a dark part of themselves they wish their children dead. The favourite Edwardian murder was undoubtedly centred upon adultery in the suburbs.
[AN Wilson, After the Victorians]

If any demonstration was needed that the battles of Ypres, Mons, Verdun, the Somme had been lunatic, it was provided in summer 1917 at Passchendaele, when Sir Douglas Haig launched an attack against the Messines Ridge south of Ypres. It was a repeat performance of the other acts of mass-slaughter: 240,000 British casualties, 70,000 dead, with German losses around 200,000. By a second attack, in November 1917, on Cambrai, Haig took the Germans by surprise and gained about four miles of mud. Ten days later the German counter-attack regained all their lost ground. If ever there was an object lesson in the folly of war, the sheer pointlessness, here it was shown in all its bloodiness.
[AN Wilson, After the Victorians]

Quotes of the Week

Slightly thin pickings this week as I’ve been flattened by some nasty flu-cum-bronchitis-bug-thingy all week which has precluded almost everything except lying in bed being date expired.

In the past, when marriage was a more pragmatic institution, love was optional. Respect was essential. Men and women found emotional connection elsewhere, primarily in same-sex relationships. Men bonded over work and recreation; women connected through child rearing and borrowing sugar.
Esther Perel; Mating in Captivity: Sex, Lies and Domestic Bliss]

Reality must take precedence over public relations, for nature cannot be fooled.
[Richard Feynman]

We still live in a world where progress only happens with funerals.
[Violet Blue]

Every law is an infraction of liberty.
[Jeremy Bentham]

I wonder if other dogs think poodles are members of a weird religious cult.
[Rita Rudner]

Marriage Quotes

Yesterday I came across these Marriage Quotes from Kids. As always there’s more than a grain of truth in them!

Question: How can a stranger tell if two people are married?
You might have to guess based on whether they seem to be yelling at the same kids.
[Derrick, age 8]

Question: What do most people do on a date?
Dates are for having fun, and people should use them to get to know each other. Even boys have something to say if you listen long enough.
[Lynnette, age 8]

Question: Is it better to be single or married?
It’s better for girls to be single but not for boys. Boys need someone to clean up after them.
[Anita, age 9 ]

A Dodo Anniversary

As most of you will I’m sure realise I don’t generally do cute, even for kittens. And as most of you will also know it was my 60th birthday last week. So what what did Noreen buy me, but these two cute little 15cm high Dodos. We think they’re called Gilbert and George, but that has yet to be confirmed.

I can’t help feeling that there’s something irresistibly appropriate about being given Dodos on one’s 60th birthday. Indeed a Dodo Anniversary – maybe it’ll catch on?

[Oh and so no-one worries, they did come with a handsome dowry!]

Just Another Day

Today, at least in the annals of history is just another day. Very little of great substance has happened over the years on 11 January; about the best being:

  • First recorded lottery in England was drawn at St Paul’s Cathedral, 1569
  • James Paget, surgeon, born 1814
  • HG Selfridge (yes, founder of Selfridges) born 1858
  • Charing Cross Station opened, 1864
  • Maurice Durufle, composer, born 1902
  • Ambrose Bierce, writer, died, 1914
  • First use of insulin to treat diabetes, 1922
  • Mick McMannus, wrestler, born 1928
  • Thomas Hardy, novelist, died 1928
  • Arthur Scargill, Miner’s leader and UK politician, born 1938
  • Ben Crenshaw, golfer, born 1952
  • John Sessions, Scottish actor, born 1953
  • Bryan Robson, English footballer, born 1957
  • Brian Moore, England rugby player, born 1962
  • Richmal Crompton, writer, died, 1969
  • Barbara Pym, novelist, died, 1980

For me today is a strange day as I have to come to terms with the fact that I am now officially a granny. For, yes, today we are 60! Eeekkkkk!

Many thanks to all those of you who have sent me birthday greetings. I am truly touched (yes, in the head!) by all your kind thoughts.

Red Letter Day

Today is one of those days you never even think about. Then suddenly it’s happened.

Today my mother is 95! I’ve never even really come to terms with the fact that she’s 90. My father was in hospital on her 90th birthday (he died 6 months later) and we took her out for lunch. That doesn’t seem 5 years ago.

OK, she’s been in a care home since March. Until then she was still living in her bungalow and doing everything (yes, everything!) for herself with only a lad to do the heavy bits in the garden. She herself made the decision to move as everything was getting too much for her – not unreasonable at her age! She’s very deaf, rather frail and isn’t very mobile but mentally she’s all there. She’s still painting, drawing, knitting and reading, all of which she can do in her armchair – she’s always had the philosophy that she’d rather wear out than rust out. I think after all these years she is enjoying having time to herself and having someone else do the donkey work. And quite right too – I think she’s entitled to that at 95!

Mother at 92
Mum 3 years ago at Christmas
When I spoke to her this morning she was having a quiet day, enjoying the flowers and books we sent her. She’s not a great one for parties, but unless I miss my guess the care home will have done something, if only make a cake for her! I’m sure we’ll find out when we go to see her on Saturday.

My mother is the eldest of four sisters. The third sister died 12 years ago at 78. The other three are still going at 95, almost 93 and 86. I won’t be at all surprised if she makes 100. And she still won’t want a party!

Meanwhile, happy birthday, Mum and enjoy being 95 … not many of us get that far nor do all the things you’ve done.

Snailr Postcard

Yay! I’m one of the lucky recipients of a postcard from The Snailr Project, brainchild of Anna over at little.red.boat. The card arrived this morning having taken almost a month to get here from somewhere in Texas.

Anna’s idea was that as she was doing a long (like 2 week) circular train trip round the US she would send random postcards to random volunteers to build up a sort of travelogue – except any one person got only one snapshot. In Anna’s words:

One journey of almost 7000 miles, six new cities, eight trains, fifteen days, and every vignette, observation and fractured bitty-bit of the travelogue broken up and sent as status messages the old way. By postcard. To a bunch of random people who asked for one. Because travelling slowly is nice. And so is leaving a trail to see where we have been.

Anna used a standard postcard, so she could prepare them in advance and not rely on local supplies.  She then customised each card with description, drawing, or whatever along the way and posted them whenever a mailbox hove into sight.

He’s the card Anna sent me from somewhere in Texas, just after they had been involved in a train crash on Friday 10 September!

Snailr Project Card

The caption to the map (which shows Anna’s route in red and the location with a * and snail logo) says

the snailr project isn’t injured. At all. Not even for insurance.

And the main text reads:

After the train had juddered to a sudden halt, and we pulled to a stop with one side half of a big, silver, grain truck (the front half) on one side of the train, the back half on the other, the rush around to find out who, if anyone, was injured, began. What a dreadful sentence. Sorry. Basically, we were ordered back to our seats and eight sets of people – first Amtrak staff, then paramedics, fire fighters, policemen, walked through the train asking if everyone was OK. They said they were. But half an hour later when people started talking to each other about later claims, all manner of injuries started appearing.

You can find Anna’s pictures from the trip with some commentary at snailrproject.com and also on Flickr.

I’m looking forward to the book of the postcards of the journey!

Tube Strike Poetry

It’s an ill wind … at least today’s tube strike in London means Noreen is at home (albeit working) on her birthday. Mind, she is currently out taking Harry the Cat the the V E T again. And it’s wet here which is unusual for Noreen’s birthday.

On the subject of the tube strike I just have to repost this from the BBC News website. I love the Liverpool poets, especially Roger McGough.

Poet Roger McGough has written two poems in response to Sunday and Monday’s London Tube strike to mark National Poetry Day.

Millions face disruption during the 24-hour strike, which is in protest at plans to cut ticket office staffing.

The theme for Thursday’s poetry day is home, and McGough suggests his lines may help commuters see the light at the end of the tunnel.

The Liverpudlian poet presents the BBC Radio 4 programme Poetry Please.

He was also a member of The Scaffold, which topped the charts in 1968 with Lily the Pink, and was an uncredited writer of some of the humorous dialogue on the Beatles’ Yellow Submarine film.

Along with Adrian Henri and Brian Patten, McGough was one of the Mersey Poets and they published two best-selling volumes of verse during the 60s and 70s, having started out giving readings in Liverpool’s clubs and cafes.

Here are his two poems:

A Striking Soliloquy

tu be

or not

tu be

Tube strike Haiku

trains that are side-lined

idling in rusty sidings

fear the knacker’s yard

* * *

tunnels empty now

can see the light at both ends

birds risk a short cut

* * *

rails sleeping, dream of

a parallel universe

a new perspective

* * *

platforms yawn and stretch

enjoying the holiday

mice minding the gap

I must look at the Liverpool poets again; haven’t read them for ages. They’re brilliant!

Edith Nesbit Grave


Edith Nesbit Grave, originally uploaded by kcm76.

Another snap from our recent break in Rye.

Children’s author Edith Nesbit is buried at St Mary-in-the-Marsh and the grave marked by this simple wooden marker. Actually this isn’t the original – that fell apart some years ago and was replaced by Edith Nesbit’s family. The remains of the original are in the church along with a memorial plaque.

St Mary-in-the-Marsh is a lovely little country church, almost in the middle of nowhere and surrounded by the fields of the Romney Marsh.  As well as the memorial to Edith Nesbit it contains a memorial plaque to Anne Roper, one of the earliest and still foremost historians of the Romney Marsh. The village itself, just a few miles inland from New Romney, is little more than a dozen houses, the church and a pub. It really is in the middle of the country and still filled with summer birdsong – a delightful place for a quiet half hour or so.