It being the Season of Goodwill, today we were delighted to welcome my mother-in-law to the humble comforts of the Chateau Foy. It is some time since she made a state visit at this time of year - you can read about the last occurrence here if you wish.
You will gather that we are always on our very best behaviour on such occasions. However, today her visit went very smoothly, and, as a bonus, she undoubtedly produced what so far has been the best line of the holiday period around here.
During the chatter before lunch, she suddenly asked me, "Do you still do - erm - whatever it is you do with toy soldiers...?"
You will recognise that this would be the moment for cheery self-confidence on my part, so I put on a big smile and my best, reassuringly breezy baritone.
"Oh yes - very much so," I said. "In fact, that's been going very well recently - there are a couple of chaps who live not too far from here, and I've been getting together with them for some pretty big games. Splendid fun!"
My smile may have been sagging a little at the end of this, but she was very positive about it all.
"That's good - it's amazing, though, isn't it?"
"Erm - what is?"
"It's amazing," she said, "that there are two people in Scotland that have the same interest as you."
And - of course, as ever - she is completely correct.
Courtesy of a couple of whizzo articles
from newatlas.com, an exciting glimpse of the future - pick your own nightmare.
Naturally, we are all fascinated by the
possibilities of the scientific world of plant
nanobionics, which has recently produced such marvels as a variety of spinach
which can give off a warning glow in the presence of explosives (if you don't
believe me, click here). The idea is based around the development of microparticles containing enzymes and other
organic substances, which are small enough to be absorbed into the leaves, so
that extra reactions can be introduced into the plant's normal repertoire.
MIT have recently developed a strain of
watercress which glows in the dark. This was achieved by studying the chemical
processes used by fireflies, and introducing microparticles into the humble
watercress which will simulate this same light-producing trick. Thus far, it isn't
very bright, to be quite honest, but the hope is that it should be possible to engineer plants as
seedlings so that the trick will last throughout the life of the plant - the
aim being to make it hereditary. There is hope that indoor plants will be
developed which require no additional energy to produce a light bright enough
to read by, thus saving some of the estimated 20% of the world's electricity
bill which goes towards providing lighting. Beyond this there are visions of
specially "hacked" species of trees whose leaves will glow bright enough to replace electric
street lighting - just think of that.
If we ignore the potential
psychological damage to confused fireflies, not to mention what chaos will hit the streets in the
autumn when these wondrous shining leaves fall off, you may still wish to share with me some
concern at the possibility that someday it may never be dark again. Fear not, o timid
soul - the engineers at MIT are already considering that the hacked trees may be further
tweaked so that they can turn themselves off on a given command, so what can possibly
go wrong?
What if the plants propagate and spread
naturally, beyond the places we want them? Is this the future botanic section of
Jurassic Park?
I really don't know how people can be so
negative when there is so much potential out there. Read all about it here.
Having got up early this morning (lots to do), and having been subjected to the radio news long enough to get up to speed on what those ridiculous clowns in Westminster have been doing, and having heard the latest forecasts for the economy and the weather, I am almost surprised that the sun bothered to come up today.
In fact it did such a good job that the Contesse went out on the steps with her camera.
Perhaps there is still a little hope.
Coffee. Toasted bagels. Franz Schmidt's 1st Symphony. It all helps.
Saturday was the day for my exciting trip
to Perth & Kinross, which is unusually exotic for someone who doesn't get
out much. Since I am not too confident about the last bit of the route, I
transferred the satnav from my car into the van and loaded up the route. It is a very ancient Garmin Nuvi 250 - the only reason I persist with it is because I invested in a lifetime supply of map updates. Whether it is for my own lifetime or the device's is a matter of moot - I could never raise the courage to find out.
I was aware that there would be a strange
bit in the middle of the run, since, though my maps were updated pretty
recently, they predate the September opening of the new Forth road bridge, the
Queensferry Crossing. I was interested to see what Martina (Ms Satnavrilova,
the resident female voice in the device) would make of the lack of information.
Last time Martina had a nervous collapse
was some years ago, on a very wet day in Inverness, when she got into an eternal loop in the
one-way system, and the display briefly turned psychedelic before I switched
her off, out of sympathy as much as irritation.
On Saturday, probably predictably, as I
left the approach road for the old bridge, the display showed that I was
travelling through a clear white space (previously farm fields), which became a clear blue space as I
reached the water. There was the usual image of the rear of a car in the
middle, but the rest of the display was blank. Martina said,
"recalculating...recalculating...
recalculating..." over and over, for about 3 or 4 minutes, and then sort
of trailed off. The display still showed me heading off into the unknown -
although the view outside the windscreen was of traffic, and of the road over the
new bridge on a nice sunny morning, the display made me feel rather lonely -
almost homesick. I felt a bit like the Voyager spacecraft heading into the
depths of space.
Voyager on its way to Kinross
As I approached the other side, Martina
suddenly brightened up, though she didn't sound too confident.
"In one mile," she announced,
"enter roundabout...", though there was nothing on the screen apart
from the little car. Soon after, the road joined the Northern approach for the
old bridge, and Martina was back to her businesslike self.
"Enter roundabout, and take first
exit...", and normal service was restored. It was amusing to see what had happened, but I have to say it is not comfortable to behold that you are lost
at sea. Today I am updating the maps again - that should sort it. Mind you,
even the latest Garmin updates still give warning of a temporary 40mph speed
limit on the A720, the Edinburgh By-pass, between Sheriffhall and Musselburgh,
which was removed at the end of a spell of roadworks in about 2007. I keep a
careful eye on Martina for signs of dementia. As it used to say in the audit
manual, Trust but Verify.
With all due apology for lack of taste, here's a minor item of local news from here in East Lothian. Apparently, council workmen painting lines along the road near Longniddry managed to paint over a patch of horse manure. Shock horror. My first reaction was that it obviously must have been the responsibility of a different department to shift the stuff, but the council have already explained.
They claim that
(1) it wusnae us - it was a contractor - so that's all right then
(2) it's no so easy to spot this stuff, they paint the lines with a special wagon, you know, and the driver is in a cab, well above the road. Anyone who thought that the painter would be on his knees in the road, working with a big brush and a ruler, go and stand in the corner.
While I was looking for a better picture, I found a much more graphic example, but this is from Kirklees, courtesy of the Huddersfield Examiner[a Mirfield Conservative Councillor described this as "careless" and "beyond belief" - anyone who regards this as evidence of some lack of imagination may also go and stand in the corner].
Since I was now on some sort of roll, I looked online to see if this is a more common problem than I had thought, and came across a show-closing photo of a road line painted over a dead raccoon, from California, at which point I decided to stop. I'll spare you the dead raccoon - I'm sure you can find it through Google if you really want to.
In a recent post, I mentioned that I have had another bash at watching Abel Gance's classic Napoleon, from 1927, in its restored and enhanced new edition, with magnificent new musical score, previously unseen material and all sorts of bonus wonders. I also admitted that I had made a pretty poor fist of appreciating it thus far, had decided that a casual "bash" at watching it is obviously not the best approach, and had determined that I would set about it in a more businesslike manner.
This, after all, is FILM as high art. Thus it behoves me to approach the matter in a suitably studious and appreciative frame of mind, and there is the other matter of potentially having to write off the £28 or whatever the box set cost me if I don't shape up. Deep down, though, is the awareness that it is not cool to have to admit that one has watched one of the acknowledged classics of the cinema - of all time - and has made nothing at all of it. This is not recommended as a chat-up line at arty parties.
Abel Gance
The experience is not to be taken lightly - there are some snags. One is that the storyline does not always hang together well - the box set - all 5-and-a-half hours of the movie, plus some hours of additional material - is assembled from bits of a much longer, incomplete film series on the life of Napoleon which Gance had envisaged, and Gance himself had several attempts to re-edit what he had. Thus far, I have watched the first two of the four discs, and have got as far as the Siege of Toulon. There were plenty of points of confusion; the second Act includes - completely out of context - the murder of Marat in his bath by the extremely foxy Charlotte Corday (played by the Mme Gance of the day, apparently); also, bewilderingly, the Extras section on the second disc includes a lengthy clip entitled the Centre of the Triptych, which covers the start of the Campaign of Italy, which is blatantly outside the scope of the story content of the remainder of this disc. Hmmm - some spinning of the head.
Let's revisit the timeline a bit here - the section of the film which now exists was published by Gance in a 5-hour "Opera" version and a 9-hour "Apollo" cut (cut??). The film in the box set (I think, though I cannot promise I fully understand this yet) was originally to be a section subtitled Bonaparte, which takes us as far as Arcola. Clarity is not helped by the frequent use of colours in printing the movie - by which I mean that it is not a colour film, but that it occasionally switches into monochrome blue (which makes the chaotic battle scenes at Toulon almost impossible to follow) or red, or whatever Gance decides is artistically appropriate. I also still have a problem with the acting - the inserted caption screens with bits of dialogue are few and far between, and some fairly routine exchanges appear to involve a level of melodrama completely out of all proportion to the subject matter. One has to remember that this was a very long time ago, and all the actors on view - including real giants such as Antonin Artaud - came from a theatrical background in which it was necessary for the dimwit on the very back row of the auditorium to realise that a cast member was rolling his eyes. Thus the acting is hammed to high heaven throughout. Remarkable bravura piece of hamming is offered by Artaud himself, as Marat in his bath, who crams more hysteria into a short scene than you would believe possible - and this is before he realises he is being murdered.
Blue
Purple
Albert Dieudonné as young Bonaparte
Antonin Artaud - who takes getting murdered in the bath to a new level
The puzzle of the out-of-context Extras material encouraged me to re-think my approach. I don't usually bother with the Commentary option on a DVD, but in something approaching desperation I have tried it on this movie.
Aha! A glimmer of daylight! The commentary is added by Paul Cuff, an expert on the works of Gance, and the author of a number of books on exactly this topic. Thus my new approach is, first of all, to watch each disc with the commentary switched on, and suddenly it all makes a lot more sense. Thereafter, I am all set up to watch it again with the commentary turned off, and I can enjoy the full spectacle and Carl Davis' lovely music soundtrack without worrying about it. This is a major investment of time, but for me it's the only method which is likely to work.
This is the new, restored and heavily revised edition I'm watching
It is necessary to get very clearly fixed in my mind that this is not just a nice movie about the life of Napoleon. I need to have some understanding of:
(1) the underlying history - the Napoleonic Wars and all that - that's a given
(2) the history of the film itself, including
* Gance's intentions, and most of the screenplay was only sketched out when they started
* Gance's own adventures with successively cutting and re-editing his movie, given the drastic changes of scope it was subject to
* where the movie has been since, and the various re-issues for cinema presentation over the years
* the digital enhancement and restoration of the latest version, and the way in which it has been changed around to incorporate unpublished sections and to make the story hang together rather better
As a random example - in last night's (second disc) re-run, there is this young lady gazing adoringly at young Bonaparte - who is she? Well, the commentator explains that she is the daughter of a chap who was the general dogsbody at Napoleon's school at Brienne (on Disc One - who mysteriously manages to follow the great man throughout his subsequent career, and has duly arrived at Toulon, where he keeps an inn, in time for the siege), and that Gance had loosely planned that she would be a casual love-interest, though the scene which was to explain this has vanished. Further, the murder of Marat was to appear in a later (unpublished) reel, but was stuck into its current location to give a better fit with the historical timeline. You can see how this sort of insight might help.
So it's all good, now - the need for time planning is increased because of the double viewing, but it is a whole lot better.
I shall proceed with greater confidence. I'll start Disc 3 tonight - I'm now actually looking forward to it. If anyone has watched this new edition of the movie, I'd be very interested to hear what you thought of it. I've always had a little problem with the Great Art thing - ever since childhood, I have had a split view - one side of my brain tells me that this is a wonderful, enriching experience, and that it is a privilege to see it and marvel at the creativity and imagination which produced it, while the other side of the brain keeps interrupting with mutterings about my having no idea at all what is going on, and wondering if there are any scones left in the cupboard.
If you haven't seen this before, it is an illustration from one of a series of Christmas-themed adverts produced by Gregg's, the UK bakery chain. Yes, quite so - probably a bit ill-considered. Daft, in fact. Gregg's reckoned it was meant as a bit of fun, apologised and promptly withdrew it - presumably they will try to recruit some grown-ups for the marketing department. That, you might think, would be an end to the matter - least said, the better.
Now I refuse, point plank, to get into any kind of argument about this. Not unpredictably, there is deep outrage in Twitterland, where the sanctimonious and the disapproving are thick upon the ground. Now people are not only outraged about it, but some are outraged because others are outraged about the wrong aspect of it. You can read about all this (if you can be bothered) in an article in the Independent, here.
There are more things wrong with this picture than you might guess at first glance. Obviously, replacing the infant Jesus with a sausage roll, for the adoration of the wise men, is a bit unorthodox, though, of course, the advert doesn't say that it's a straight swap - it's sort of implied. But never mind that, there's also the further business about Jesus being a Jew, so that not only is this horrifying to rather literal-minded Christians, but the association of pork sausages with Jewish people is also deeply offensive. Also, the wise men are almost certainly manufactured in China, which brings some further issues, but we'll swerve that one.
Also featured in the Independent article is a brief snippet about people wishing to boycott Tesco because their Christmas advert included a brief glimpse of a Muslim family. Ah yes. Christian charity in action - how lovely.
I tell you what - I hope you have a very pleasant, peaceful Whatever-You-Prefer-to-Call-This- Festival; perhaps someone will be kind enough to come and wake me up when it's all over. I'll be in the attic. I have no problem with Christmas, it's just the bloody people.
Generic media picture of a minor accident, to grab reader attention
Well, the bad news is that the Contesse has
had a minor accident in her car. The much better news is that no-one was hurt, the
accident was not her fault (someone ran into the back of her car at a give-way
at a T-junction - unless they reversed into you, it is pretty much a given that
if you drive into the back of someone it is your fault), the damage is not very
serious (a new rear bumper panel will sort it out, though it is a bit of a
shame, considering the vehicle is less than a year old), the car is still driveable
and everything should be sorted in a week or two. Things, in short, could be
much, much worse; motor accidents can wreck lives in an instant, so we have to be very, very grateful, and it is a useful reminder not to take so many blessings for granted.
We have very few mishaps on the road, I am
delighted to say, so we have little opportunity to develop any well-grooved
procedures for dealing with this sort of situation. However, we have had the
same insurer for 15 years or so now, we are quite happy with them (efficient,
and very competitive charges) and we have a good idea of what you do if you have a bump.
The last time I had a vehicle off the road
after an accident was two cars and six years ago when someone ran into my pick-up
when it was parked (definitely not my fault, I was somewhere else at the time,
Your Honour). The procedure was simple enough - I contacted my insurer (the
same one as now), they booked the truck into a repair shop, who came and took it away, and lent me a courtesy car - a
tiny, bright pink Ford Ka, with "Excelsior Coach Repairs" written on
both doors in large black letters. It did the job, though the painted
advertising does imply a subtitle: "KEEP AWAY FROM THIS ONE - HE HAS
ACCIDENTS". The claim was settled, life carried on.
Generic picture of a courtesy car
This time more people were involved. A lot
more. And there are a lot of added-value services laid on - if you expect someone else's insurer to pay for all this, it is tempting to just keep saying yes - why
not? Everyone else does.
Interesting. The insurance company were
efficient and businesslike, as ever, and provided the Contesse with contact
numbers and details of the repair shop and the "car-rental company",
who would be in touch. They also encouraged her to upgrade to a larger rental vehicle
than the basic courtesy car on offer, which seemed surprising in an age when we are all
trying to keep costs (and premiums) down. So she agreed to that, and, as promised,
people began to ring up. Within a couple of hours everything was in motion.
The Contesse was not comfortable with the
contact from the car-rental people, who asked her a whole pile of questions
about the circumstances of the accident which seemed to be out of scope for
their part in this deal. It turns out that they are not a car-rental firm at
all, they are a credit hire company. They offer delivery to your home, and
collection (which is attractive, since we live on the Dark Side of the Moon),
they will obtain for you an over-spec vehicle, and the Terms and Conditions,
legal small print and lists of fees and penalties run for screens and screens
of the email attachments. With alarm bells clanging, she did some
research online and found a lot of hostile client reviews - what used to be a
minimal extra service provided as part of an insurance claim appears to have become a major
scam industry. Apart from the wasted cost contributed by the insurers, the credit-hire firm
and the rental vehicle providers all lining each others' pockets (yes, there are
commission payments travelling upstream as well, so it was in the insurance
company's interest to recommend a vehicle upgrade), details of the parties
involved are also sold to the market, so that clients are subsequently beset by phonecalls
from so-called lawyers, encouraging them to make further claims for whiplash, post
traumatic shock, loss of earnings and that mysterious fungal growth in the lawn. It
is, basically, a scam. A scam, moreover, which fits right into that much-loved
British ideal of an industry which contributes very little, but generates
income for an extra level of parasite. The courtesy car add-on associated with
a car repair used to involve maybe two people to set it up, and cost very
little. Now it involves about half a dozen people, who inflate costs and pay each
other commission, and it just milks the system.
No wonder that:
(a) unemployment levels in this ridiculous,
bankrupt nation are lower than you would expect, though our output in goods and
genuine services continues to shrivel.
(b) insurance premiums are unnecessarily high,
and lawyers are never short of a few bob.
(c) the insurance industry (in which I worked for many years) is so widely despised and mistrusted.
Anyway - the ending. After a fairly short
period of consideration, the Contesse called the insurer, and also emailed them, and cancelled the courtesy car. They can
stick it up their corporate bottom, though of course she did not tell them
this. They were pretty sniffy about it, and not prepared to discuss their business relationship with the "car-rental firm". We have email confirmations, and names
of the people she spoke to on the phone, at both the insurance company and the
credit hire mob. If some poor chaps turn up with a big, posh rental car for us
on Wednesday then we know nothing about it, and they may take it away. They can
hardly charge for a service they haven't provided. We shall cope with the
vehicles we already have - my wife can use my car for a few days, I'll use my van, and we'll
write off any small inconvenience against the money we have saved everyone, and
the illusion of a tiny victory against a dodgy system.
Watch out for insurance claim add-ons. I cannot
believe this is a uniquely British problem, though we seem to have a remarkable talent
for creating money-making scams of this type.
sciurus carolinensis - introduced into the UK from North America in 19thC - doing very nicely, thank you
Visitor to our garden this morning - nothing particularly exotic, but a nice enough fellow.
I'm not saying that Neil the Ghillie used to shoot squirrels, mind you, but it is a fact that we never saw any here until he retired in June.
Are squirrels pests (I mean to farmers)? Maybe we'll find out over the winter.
Still haven't decided what we are going to do about our bird feeders this year. There's an experimental one attached to the kitchen window at the moment - sunflower hearts - no visitors yet; they must have given up on us. If we see any Magpies around the feeder it will be withdrawn immediately. Having said which, we've had Jackdaws for many years, and they don't bother with the feeders.
Neil, the ghillie here
on the farm, retired in June, and has moved to live in the town, at Dunbar. The ghillie is the man
who keeps the wildlife under control, and on this farm a proportion of his work
was also to look after the large numbers of pheasants, which are introduced in
yearly batches to ensure that there is plenty of shooting around Christmas
time. (Personally I do not care for the big shooting parties, so we try to arrange to go
out somewhere else for the day when one is organised.)
A lovely man, Neil, generous and helpful but
surprisingly shy - I shall miss him. In recent years there hasn't really been
so much to do on the farm, so he has also been working part time as a driver
for the local bus company.
Well, he's gone, and we are becoming aware
that things are changing as a result. We never really saw or heard much going
on - it was all quiet and behind the scenes - but we now have sightings of foxes,
stoats, rats, and a few other things which Neil, with his traps and his shotgun,
used to take care of. Rats and stoats are not good news - if you think that a
stoat would be a delightful creature to have as a neighbour on a farm then you
have never seen the havoc they can inflict on a chicken coop. Some years ago
Neil's wife lost her complete stock of Christmas turkeys to stoats, which
tunnelled into a closed compound and killed the lot - didn't eat them, just
killed them, apparently for recreation.
Though related to the weasel, an animal which is weasily recognisable, the stoat is stoatally different, as you can see
One further intruder we have now is the
chap right at the top of this post - pica pica
- the Common Magpie. Regarded as one of the most intelligent creatures around,
they are also very vigorous predators.
One has to admire any animal which is so
handsome and so successful, but we now have daily visits from a number of them, we've seen 3 at the same time in our garden, and we know that if they
become permanent residents in our woodland then they will have a dreadful
effect on our beloved garden birds. These things eat eggs and baby birds like
popcorn.
OK - it's Nature - that's what magpies do.
One immediate outcome is that it seems unlikely that we will be able to make
much use of our garden bird feeders this winter, and that is a huge loss to us if
it comes about. Our feeders are all well above the ground, and the microsystem
we have has worked well - perch feeders make a bit of a mess, and the ground
feeders clean up after them. That may not work any more - the presence of seeds
and nuts in the garden will certainly encourage both the rats and the magpies.
Much pondering required.
The magpie (in common with other of his
relatives in the crow family) features extensively in folklore and superstition,
usually as a bringer of ill-fortune. It may be because the carrion birds ate the bodies of hanged criminals on the gibbet; there are a number of
interesting theories on this. I had a friend who always said "good
morning, Mr Magpie" when he saw one - he was brought up with the tradition
that it was bad luck if you failed to do so - he didn't necessarily believe,
you understand, but he was taking no chances...
One for sorrow,
Two for mirth.
Three for a funeral,
Four for birth.
Five for heaven,
Six for hell, Seven for the devil, his
own self ***** Late Edit *****
Also loosely connected with change and sorrow, but this item not down to Neil, I think. Past visitors to Chateau Foy may well recognise this place - this is the only Indian (Bengali) restaurant in our village, and we are regular, devoted customers. Sadly, the owner, Mohammad, has decided to sell up for family reasons, and they will be closing down tomorrow - so there's something else we are going to miss. If we want an Indian meal in future, we'll have to go to Dunbar or Aberlady, which is not nearly so handy. The premises are to be redeveloped as a bistro wine-bar - I'm sure it will be very nice, but there are already 5 similar businesses in the village - did we really need another? Progress, you see. Next, it really wouldn't surprise me if someone opened yet another gift shop in the village; anything is possible with entrepreneurial people who can think outside the box. *******************
