Reasonable men agree that this is the first day of spring - if there was any sun, we'd note with delight or alarm, according to choice, that its light lasts exactly as long as the darkness (an illusion in fact, but never mind). Here's how one cheerful cove greeted this day in 1967:
'Long walk through Regent's Park. Sunshine and the first ghastliness of spring... Sat in the blazing light and noticed how hideous the bright sunshine made everyone (myself included) appear.'
Any guesses?
Thursday, March 20, 2008
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A blog about, among other things, imaginary ideas - What ifs? and Imagine thats. What if photographs looked nothing like what we see with our eyes? Imagine that the Berlin Wall had never come down. What if we were the punchline of an interminable joke? All contributions welcome.
Kingsley Amis.
ReplyDeleteAlan Clarke
ReplyDeleteWell, I looked it up on Google and it seems to be some freakish misanthrope called Nige on a blog called Thought Experiments. But what do I know?
ReplyDeleteReasonable men therefore are talking nonsense.
ReplyDeleteSeasons have nothing to do with dates. The first day of spring (if one can identify such a thing) comes when it chooses to come: it is not bound by kalendars.
Kalendars! I like it.... Here's a clue: it's a playwright.
ReplyDeleteOsborne
ReplyDeletePinter?
ReplyDeleteFraid not.
ReplyDeleteTell me it's not Beckett. Noel Coward? Terence Ratigan?
ReplyDeleteIts that kraut twat Goethe, over here for a conference.
ReplyDeleteNone of the above.
ReplyDeleteJohn Mortimer? Even as far back as '67, a bright sun would have played havoc with that 'characterful' face
ReplyDeleteYes, plenty of guesses. Mine is Alan Bennett.
ReplyDeleteIf it was Pinter, I expect there would be nothing spoken, nothing to record, just a very angry man on a bench fixing passers-by with a spectral glare. This is difficult to communicate on a blog. Probably just as well.
Not even him.
ReplyDeleteThis could run and run...
There's a fairly obvious candidate no one's come up with yet - but it's not him either. Or the other one...
ReplyDeleteOn the other hand there can't be many English playwrights active in 1967 left to choose from.
Tom Stoppard? I feel this is a QI moment...
ReplyDeleteSimon Gray
ReplyDeleteThen it must be Ernie Wise
ReplyDeleteby elimination, terence rattigan?
ReplyDeletejoe orton
ReplyDeleteSimon Gray was indeed the good guess I was expecting (and it's not Peter Nicholls either).
ReplyDeleteYou'll kick yourselves when you know...
Here's a clue: He wasn't a Londoner by birth, tho his birthplace did begin with an L.
Grumpy old man; 1967? J B Priestley
ReplyDeleteWillie Russell
ReplyDeleteWill you shandy drinking southern twerps bog off and leave me to sob in peace (I bank at HBOS)
ReplyDeleteNo and no...
ReplyDeleteJoe Orton (B. Leicester)
ReplyDeleteOrton it is, taking a rare break from cottaging, and clearly regretting it. Well done, Johntyh and Anon. - half an easter egg is on its way to each of you.
ReplyDeleteBeckett?
ReplyDeleteOops. Teach me not to read all the posts.
ReplyDeleteI was thinking Stoppard, but there wasn't enough wit in the quote. Totally forgot about Joe. That bright light is pretty gorgeous if you're in St. Chapelle watching it suffuse the stained glass.
ReplyDeleteNige, you will know this: What is the best cathedral/church in the UK for stained glass? I'm guessing it's somewhere *not* in London.
Susan Balée: very much not in London! I'm not Nige but I recommend Cumbria's world ranker
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