Category: Nature

The Madness of Painters

Vincent van Gogh will be getting the Book of the Week treatment next week on Radio 4. The book is unimaginatively called Van Gogh’s Ear. Poor Vincent, all those sunflowers and wheat fields stem into insignificance next to his self-mutilation that fascinates us to this day. Not even the subsequent self-portrait with bandaged ear could get him noticed in the art world. Only in death would VVG  become famous.

My first impression of this painter was in a negative light and my post-impressions haven’t changed. Canvases smudged with more paint than a courtesan’s make-up. Unrealistic facial portraits and inaccuracies in anatomy. Then there’s all those flowers. He should have cut them up.

I’ve avoided the temptation to put this painter in the Overrated series because all painters are off their head. Hours puzzling over light and shade. Mixing oils and cleaning brushes. All this painstaking preparation when the landscape or sitter could be captured with the click of a camera.

My ears have heard many pronunciations of the painter’s last name. Obviously, I use the popular Goff but other versions include Go and the guttural Hock. Maybe, it’s Hoff or Ho, who knows?

Lastly, it was in 1888 that Vincent took the razor to his ear. What a terrible year was MDCCCLXXXVIII. Jack the Ripper was serial killing in Whitechapel and the seed was planted that birthed an Austrian monster.

Ominous?

Tonite, folks, it’s the Viking festival of Midsummer (yes, a bit late but blame the Christian hijackers). But the Sun god is out of sorts, it seems – widespread thunderstorms are expected to disrupt the planned bonfires and booze-ups and continue into the weekend. So the Sun will bounce across the northern horizon unseen by human eye.

And what else do the gods have in store? Spooky.

Theory ain’t everything

Prof Hawking has views – and not just into space. But his feet are not on the ground, it seems. He ‘doesn’t understand’ the Donald – despite describing him as a demagogue who appeals to the lowest common denominator’. What else is there to understand about Trump? That is exactly his appeal, talking to people with a grudge.

And like a couple of thousand Cambridge dons, he is a Bremainer, talking about scientific cooperation and the movement of people, as if enlightenened self-interest won’t continue to ensure that scientists cooperate, whatever the politics; and haven’t we had enough movement of people already – for the time being anyway?

‘But what do I know?’ says Backside. ‘It’s probably rocket science.’

 

Queer stuff

Call me queer but I’m sure society has lost its marbles.

The Nat Union of Students, always slightly bent, is demanding college accommodation should segregate LBTGwo’evah from er….others, presumably referring to what I call normal folk. (Go on, sue me.)

Why not segregate by colour, religion, football affiliation, hair colour, height, weight, dietary choice – oh and of course country of origin? Not to mention any other passing fad.

And bugger the education.

Julian, Gregorian, Jaydubyian

There’s never enough time to do all the chores and leisure that a human wants to do. There’s still many mountains to climb, rivers to cross, swamps to ford, twisters to outrun. More time is needed and I have the solution.

Previously, I proposed an extra hour in the day. A 25 hour day would be manna from heaven. This gives us more time but it’s as clear as daylight that this pilot plan does not fix the problem. My suggestion now is to add an extra month to the calendar. This idea is not as crazy as it sounds. It’s obviously been done before.

Consider the calendarial ber month prefixes: sept, oct, nov, dec. I’m not an expert on these things but an educated guess would be, seven, eight, nine, ten. Yet these months September, October, November, December are months number nine, ten, eleven and twelve respectively. Somebody, somewhere along the line has added a few extra months to the total. Well played, that man, I know where you’re coming from. They must have been short of time in the Dark Ages or whatever and thus made more time available. Continue reading “Julian, Gregorian, Jaydubyian”

Of Beards and Men

It seems to be de rigueur for young men nowadays to sport beards and/or facial growth. One of my sons sometimes lets the bristles grow a bit before applying the clippers. This is usually before he visits his gran and I can understand why he reaches for the cutter.

When I were butter lad (© J-Man) I toyed with having a beard. My mother shot this idea down in flames. The woman don’t like facial hair, not even a Zapata tache passes mustard. She didn’t fancy Magnum one bit. Maybe it was the actor’s name, I don’t know. Anyway, she warned me if I grew one she would shave half of it off in the middle of the night. I figured she thought men with beards had “something of the night about them”.

Therefore, my father was always clean shaven. Sometimes I know he shaved twice in a day! Wilson’s Sword! I’m not jesting if I say he might have shaved three times just to break a record, as you do. His skin was like leather. I can still hear the rasping of the open razor as he filed away at his Adam’s apple. Not one cut on his face. I think the blade was more afraid. It screeched in agony.

Thankfully, and I blame the not so close electric razor for this, I can go through a few days without shaving. It is bliss to bask with a three day five o’ clock shadow on my boat race. The horror starts when mum pays a surprise visit.

Overrated: Midwifery

As one that has delivered a baby in an emergency I feel I have the experience to say that the profession of midwifery is not that hard to do. The midwives are credited with an assist when the breakthrough is done. This is far too much praise as all they do is dampen the expectants brow and fold and unfold towels. If the patient needs pain relief the middies simply pour gas and air down the victim’s throat.

The cutting of the cord is no big deal either. Obstetrics is not exactly the bomb squad disposal unit, is it? There’s not a multitude of wires that need cut in the correct order, there’s just the one long umbilical. The timing of the cut isn’t crucial either. The countdown clock cliché is redundant. There’s a big time frame to play with before the snip.

My participation in a childbirth was vital even if I did find that it was a simple enough job. The young girl next door was heavily pregnant and overdue. Her boyfriend came running in a panic to my house. He shouted at me, her waters have broke, she’s screaming and I don’t know what to do. Relax kid, I said, let me deal with it. I pulled up my sleeves and readied myself for the forthcoming ordeal. Continue reading “Overrated: Midwifery”

Not so immaculate huh?

canterbury

Even a Primate can’t choose his family, it seems.

It turns out that that there was quite a lot of monkey business in Churchill’s corridors of power – and an ocean of alchol (hic) to wash away the detritus. So Justin’s mother, Mary, managed to conceive only days before her marriage but it has taken her 60 years (allegedly) to find out that Justin’s father wasn’t the man she wed. Despite the clear facial resemblance between her paramour and her son. She blames the booze.

I suppose if Justin had stayed in the oil biz nobody would have taken much notice, but you’d think the Lord would have arranged things a bit more decorously, wouldn’t you? Or perhaps it’s another of his little jokes.

Just another Canterbury Tale really.