Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Phelps Takes Badminton Gold
Or I may have misheard something on the radio. The morning lacks coherence. I will simply observe that the phrase 'golden vision' has been going through my head for days and I finally realise it comes from this lovely little thing by Eliot. Also, thanks to Andrew Sullivan, I now know there is a web site that keeps us up to date on who was executed on each day. And, finally, I note that Charles has gone postal about GM foods. As ever, I can't focus on the story properly because of the language used - in particular, his words 'unsustainable, unmanageable, degraded and dysfunctional conurbations of unmentionable awfulness'. Much as I like Charles, I do think he needs to watch his speechwriters. 'Unmentionable awfulness' sounds like Bertie Wooster complaining about having to eat a macaroon in an ABC tea shop
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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.
i reckon i could do a good job as Charles' speechwriter, i could give him the slightly homicidal edge a man needs if he is to command armies. Maybe i should send him my cv.
ReplyDeleteAnd those blue socks- my God!
ReplyDelete'Unmentionable awfulness' sounds like Bertie Wooster complaining about having to eat a macaroon in an ABC tea shop.
ReplyDeleteCome on, that's why we like old Charlie. The quaint fantasy that prevents us becoming a republic tomorrow.
Wasn't that you elberry who wrote the script for Charles mobile phone chat with Camilla.
ReplyDeleteCaptainb, you're going to have to look over your shoulder more often. In an NHS waiting room I picked up a Cycling magazine, it said "this months celebrity cyclist is Polly Toynbee". Apparently she now cycles everywhere, especially around the Oval area, beware of the cannon on a Cannondale operated by Polly, Regina D'Angleterre.
Thanks Malty for ruining my morning. Beware as I move like the apaches. The torrential rain must have washed away the vomit you threatened to leave on our doorstep. Was the cricket any good by the way? I heard lots of roars- or was that the Zulu like chants from our local Pentecostalists?
ReplyDeleteAh, the Eliot. I had forgotten that poem. It begins with division and ends with derision. The poor man was used to being put down by the women he loved. Though, in the end, he did find great happiness. My friend Paula Deitz remembers him with Valerie; they came to dinner at Paula and Fred Morgan's NYC apt. because Eliot had just published some poems in The Hudson Review. He was an old man and she a very young, but Paula said there was a glow around them -- a golden vision, if you will; or brightness that fell from the air, or perhaps emanated from the heart -- and they were wrapped in this conjugal happiness, and each other. Fred told me, "He could not take his eyes off her."
ReplyDeleteWhatever happens in history (I refer to the other post about culture going to the dogs), there will always be these moments of happiness and connection between people. Forster had it right. And this blog is another example of people connecting. Even if I never meet any of you in person, I feel I know you and we've connected.
Be happy, mes amis. I am. And I'm going to the beach to bask in the sun and finish reading a very good book by someone who probably lives near Bryan in Norfolk: "The Road Home" by Rose Tremain.