Abaculus

Its 1.30am. The cat refuses to go outside. Sitting in the porch are two labradors. Like moved in sitting there. Just, why?

Posted by alison at 1:42 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

For the past I don't know how many years, I've been meaning to check out the Good Food Show. Judging by the reviews, it should be dubbed the Good Booze Show, because it seems you just take a glass around various stalls and knock back as much booze as you possibly can, starting at 9am.

My only advice is don't drive there unless you have to. My usual routine is arrive as the doors open buy a wine glass and proceed to sample 'for free' every alcoholic beverage going, sober up with my own packed lunch then start all over again.

I've not had the easiest of times of the late, so I thought it was high time to escape by way of indulgence. By that, I mean I was going to be a foodie for the day! I find out about the distillery set up later. A couple of the events were listed as interpreted, which was a plus. Wednesday (the preview day) was the most suitable, so I decided I was going!

Telling mum this, she looked at me totally non pulsed. Later I happened to mention the interpreted event was Jamie Oliver. Did I see my mother go all glazed over, at the mention of his name? God. Parents aren't meant to be sexual beings, you definitely arrived by stork. So now my mother is going, because she must see Jamie Oliver! And she must ask Jamie Oliver if he knows how to make cold water pastry. I've no frigging clue what cold water pastry is, except I thought pastry contained cold water anyway, because pastry really is meant to be kept cool.

The wisdom of my Home Economics teachers still rattle about in my head.

"Keep your hands off the mixture"
"Use only your fingertips"
"Use a knife to mix"
"Introduce air into the mixture"
"Make pastry in a cool room"
"Use cold water"
"Keep it in the fridge"
"Don't treat it like other mixtures"

All in aid of learning how to be a good wife and run and orderly home. And the last time I made pastry was like forever ago, I'm not fond of the stuff.

My mother is convinced that JO doesn't know how to make cold water pastry and now she's going to teach him. Watch me die of embarrassment, better than any teenager that walks this earth. In the meantime, I'm pleading please don't! and I fear this isn't working. My only backup tactic, we have a train to catch and we need to get the hell out of here like right now.

Fast forward to last weekend, where its my dad's birthday and in honour of the event we come into contact with extended family.

"I'm going to Birmingham to see Jamie Oliver!"
[Argh, no! Shut up, etc]
"Oh are you? Can I come too? I would love to go and see him"
"Yes, of course you can".

Now somehow its not just me who's going to the Good Food Show, but I'm now escorting four pensioners. Great. What is it with pensioners and Jamie Oliver? Me, I was only going to the event because it was interpreted (the side shows won't be). I'm now dragging dad along too, so he can deal with this newly acquired pensioner clan that has now seemed to have attached itself to my hip. Dad couldn't care less for Jamie Oliver, "What do you want to go and see that that clown for?" Quite.

I e mail the organisers, to ask them about interpreter arrangements, as there was a problem with the booking process relating to this. Except I don't get a reply. Bollocks. Dad phones them, at my request. (Did I say how much I hate a certain relay service over here? I've not used a phone in five years or more, except when I'm in the States where everything is just fine).

So,

1. No interpreters have been booked, despite advertising to the contrary for months. (A half baked tick boxing exercise?)
2. I need to contact the venue, i.e. the NEC if I want interpreters (not Haymarket / BBC). Apparently the venue, is responsible for interpreters not the people who have hired the hall / want to put on an event.

To be added to the long list of we really haven't a clue what we're doing, and passing the buck.

I so cannot be arsed to fight this one (trust me, I could go cherry picking). Instead I've brought Supertheatre tickets for all those over 65, and I'm going to escape! By knocking back booze, in the spirit of a wannabe alcoholic. Then we're going to run for the train, and make that fast.

Posted by alison at 10:34 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

So my sister asked me what I wanted for Christmas. I was all like, unless you want to buy me a plane ticket, go for books. (I'm trying to play catch up after years of a shot concentration, and about the only thing that's capable of soothing a battered soul).

Then I remembered, I have a Wii, a partial obsession with that balance board! Since my balance is terminally screwed - aerobics gets boring after a while - I'm fishing for new games. So I sent three suggestions, all with some kind of sports theme. There was no reply to the book suggestion, but:

What has happened to you?????? Video games? Don't even recognize you!

She knows me well, and probably now thinks she's losing her grip; what with that great expanse of water. Except Wii can't really be described as video games in the traditional sense, which I will still abandon rather quickly. About the only thing I ever had any patience for was PacMan or Chuckie Egg, and could hardly be described as even a minor addiction. (If you want something funny to read, try this).

If my sister maintained her Britishness, she would have added hell in that sentence. As for the American spelling, these days I'm totally blind. Blame too much interaction with the Yanks.

Posted by alison at 10:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

When I wrote this post last week, I really struggled with it and in part I am still struggling with it. Thoughts are always a work in progress, I strive to allow these to evolve over time, and in the process can come up with a lot of muddle. Earlier I was reading some more poems (Mental Cases, Disabled, Recalling War, War Books, and two literary pieces My Cousin Christopher and Horrors at Dawn), and still mentally revising.

A healthy sense of historical perspective aside, and leaving history where it is (events of the past have happened nothing can be changed, sure learn from but then put it away with respect); in writing that entry I had issues (a) the parameters of my own identity (that's for another day) and (b) how to link to the present. Conflict is very much still with us, usually in the form of economics (oil) or religion, and for this the post felt disjointed. The Pandora's box that comes with the past, has happened; its only the future where healing can take place and where hope exists.

The capacity for human greed is probably limitless, the flip side of the coin being compassion through which we can show kindness. Traditionally, religion has taught compassion, yet it is this very vehicle that has misconstrued to cause abuse.

Today often any public association or perception with religion, is usually around it causes trouble, encourages war and even seeks to exclude or judge people. The common denominator often the desire to control and subsequently as an agent of oppression (even if inadvertently). With a fundamentalist or literal stance only getting heard, many people - and rightly so - want to push religion right away; it creates barriers between people. In the process causing more suffering, against original intention.

There are other oppressive factors that can appear, for example when there's no separation of religion and state. A separation, in principle I very much support, but I don't think is ever fully achieved. Here we get into the realm of jurisprudence, where there's always a relationship between law and morality. This throws in its own issues, including the sometimes lack of fluidity between morals and religion, and how the majority of a jurisdiction influences morals. This starts to become problematic, however I have no desire for this to be a legal post, so I'm leaving that paragraph right there.

In terms of my own beliefs, this is deeply personal, I rarely - if ever - talk about to anyone. For this reason, people may be taken aback, because I don't wear anything on my sleeve. Its no-one else's concern, not there to be preached; ultimately its nothing more than a personal inward journey, a relationship with consciousness and how you live your life. Within this, you can seek external learned pointers, but that is guidance for your internal existence and humility towards others. And sure, you're going to make mistakes. Huge ones at that.

The Charter for Compassion is a collaborative project, seeking out stories of compassion to inspire people to think differently about religion. It has a promotional video, and its worth a look. This version is subtitled:

Compassion is probably one of the inherent paths to happiness, and certainly something the world could do with right now. For this, I have to give this idea kudos. My small gripe with the site, and anyone who knows me well enough will have seen my rebellion against being boxed or classified. (Classification to give us frames of reference to understand our and others place in the world, is for another day).

I'm going to break out a bit here, and pen some thoughts. I think there's strands of truths we can learn from all religions. (By strands I mean an underlying message of intent not some literal interpretation that can be used to bash the nearest person over the head or fulfill an agenda). Likewise, all religious messages are imperfect, because they were penned by humans (even if you want to say they are messages from a God). We're imperfect creatures or as a scientist would say, not a perfect copy. Also, some consideration needs to be given to evolution, our understanding of the life is constantly being built upon; those penned thoughts from some Millennia ago need to evolve too.

Ultimately, different belief systems are nothing more than different expressions of a higher power (that's the beauty of humanity and all life with it, it expresses in many different ways whether it be language or a relationship with your soul); its a shame when these expressions are used against each other. That does not mean to say, there's elements of certain belief systems I could not subscribe to, because they do not resonate with me. Some people might say you can't go cherry picking, but I'll disagree.

History matters too, and the historical decisions made by your ancestors do influence us.

I'm Welsh, in other words descended from Celtic peoples, thus my earlier ancestors were Druids. Druids still form a symbolic role in Welsh culture today, cf. the Eisteddfod right alongside a Christian context. In the second century, Wales switched to Christianity because the Romans invaded and with it importing the Roman Catholic faith. Fast forward to the 16th century, because Henry VIII wanted to knock up Anne Boleyn and the Vatican wouldn't play ball; we had the dissolution of the monasteries and Catholics were driven underground. With most of Wales, my ancestors then became Church in Wales, which is how I was brought up.

To add to this, many people in Wales abandoned the church in the 19th century to subscribe to nonconformity (a rebellion against state control over religion); my maternal line followed this path. Traditionally within Welsh culture, the religion of a family usually follows the upbringing of the mother, i.e. the husband switched to whatever denomination if required. My maternal grandmother was Methodist, but my maternal grandfather wouldn't leave the Church in Wales (probably because of family snobbery, although their marriage was Methodist). Their children, and my mother, was brought up Church in Wales.

Whilst people are capable and do, make independent decisions as adults, for many we often don't stray too far from the beliefs of our parents. It offers a realm of familiarity and with it culture. To reject is akin to asking you to divorce (betray?) your gene pool before you. It is worth acknowledging, my religious upbringing was decided by (a) the fact my grandfather was stubborn, (b) the fact that Henry VIII wanted to have sex with someone and create some heir, (c) the Roman invasion. I could very well have been brought up Druid, that's how insane our religious identity can be, its all an accident.

For this reason alone, I will dig my heels right into the ground. I have to wonder why people are so hellbent on focusing on difference and intolerance of the other, when truth of the matter their religious identity was possibly determined just by the roll of a dice.

Posted by alison at 12:56 AM | Permalink | Comments (8)

The economy has taken up media space for months. Today is the G20 (country debt), sterling has hit a 13 year low (£ demise against the $) and Osbourne warning of a 'collapse of sterling'.

This joke was told at a local community event tonight, which is how you know how economic woes are very real.

Gordon Brown was travelling in London. The motorcade then stopped, blocking the rest of the traffic.

"What's wrong?"
"Gordon Brown is threatening to set himself on fire, because of the economy. He needs to collect some money from the people to help him and the economy"
"So, how much did they collect?"
"Ten gallons of petrol".

Posted by alison at 10:42 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Ignore my out of focus, but here's a mouse Socks dumped in the middle of living room floor:

Except Socks didn't neatly put it in a jar. So earlier this week I eventually caught up with the said mouse in the bathroom; piling it into an old coffee jar by its tail, then feeding it some cheese (eating above). The rodent then proceeded to clean itself. Yes, really. It was the least I could after the impoliteness of landing in a cat's mouth. It is now free to roam the big wide world.

Posted by alison at 12:48 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mum: We saw this fruit in the supermarket and we didn't know what it was. So we asked the assistant who told us it was a Dragon Fruit.

Dad: I then told her that we had a dragon at home, and we'd take one to feed it.

So, guess what I had for lunch.

Posted by alison at 11:11 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Twenty million people lost their lives to World War I, a further forty million plus casualties; with the mobilisation of sixty million soldiers. The bloodiness of this war is well documented, but I think very few of us can even begin to get our heads around the reality for those on the front lines, nevermind the lasting implications. This year is 90 years since Armistice.

It wasn't called the Great War for nothing, a war largely in the name of economics and a balance of power; causing a series of subsequent triggers including WW2. One of the direct reasons we have an EU today and over bloated regulation; to lock in very diverse cultures and their economic systems, so people don't fight. Millions of people have died in the name of money and power, and insert here how I think history is repeating itself with another version of imperialism; but that's for another day.

My obsession with history and a desire to understand, Bonnard part sums up in Edward Gibbon: Memoirs of My Life (1960):

[So we] stretch forwards beyond death with such hopes as Religion and Philosophy will suggest, and we fill up the silent vacancy that precedes our birth by associating ourselves with the authors of our existence. We seem to have lived in the persons of our forefathers.

(Gibbon of The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire fame).

I've previously blogged about my great grandfather serving in World War I, but beyond that I knew no further details. Since then I've made small research progress, which wasn't easy. With 9 million people enlisted, a great grandfather having a common name as they come and no further information; it was a search of needle-haystack variety.

Here's my great grandfather's Attestation to serve, dated 25 March 1915:

To quote:

I David John Davies swear by Almighty God, that I will be faithful and bear true Allegience to His Majesty King George the Fifth, His Heirs and Successors, and that I will, as in duty bound, honestly and faithfully defend His Majesty, His Heirs and Successors, in Person, Crown and dignity against all enemies, and will observe and obey all orders of His Majesty, His Heirs and Successors, and of the Generals and Officers set over me. So help me God.

The Recruit above named was cautioned by me that if he made any false answer to any of the above questions he would be liable to be punished as provided in the Army Act.

Here's me sitting all comfortable enjoying relative freedom in 2008, despite the areas of unrest in many parts of the world, thinking there's no way I could sign such a document. Perhaps that makes me a complete coward and naive, or even the fact that I am in the position of being able to think the way I do, is a testament to my privilege and the peace I enjoy. My dad who remembers living through WW2 (see last year's post), would certainly tell me what he thought.

Subscribing to the belief there were fates far worse than death, i.e. protection of freedom for future generations, here we get the ultimate sacrifice and glorious dead homage. I get the "greater good" arguments, especially when you've got millions being murdered by way of genocide, but I immediately stop in my tracks when it comes to fighting in the name of economics or power. Yes, I can't help think the world would be a different place if women ran it (too much testosterone, anyone?) Some voice at the back of my head just wants to scream, why can't we all just get along?!

The mentality that is perhaps encapsulated in this poem:

It is the Solider
Charles M. Province

It is the Soldier, not the minister
Who has given us freedom of religion.

It is the Soldier, not the reporter
Who has given us freedom of the press.

It is the Soldier, not the poet
Who has given us freedom of speech.

It is the Soldier, not the campus organiser
Who has given us freedom to protest.

It is the Soldier, not the lawyer
Who has given us the right to a fair trial.

It is the Soldier, not the politician
Who has given us the right to vote.

It is the Soldier who salutes the flag,
Who serves beneath the flag,
And whose coffin is draped by the flag,
Who allows the protester to burn the flag.

When I first read that, I found myself disagreeing; it goes against my somewhat hippy values, my legal training and leaves me generally screaming no! Why don't we just go right ahead and flood the world with nuclear weapons then? However, thinking about this a little more; I have to ask why am I reading this poem so literally? Could it not be said that we are meant to learn from past violence and history should provide us with enough incentive not to go to war and find other means for peace. The [historical?] solider is our deterrent, because the alternative to peaceful resolution doesn't bear thinking about. I can see this is still idealistic, we sadly still have intolerance, oppression and violence; yet it is precisely why we need to keep a check. Ultimately, I am not even qualified to type an opinion on this, I feel a fraud even typing this post; except I want to convey the message that I wish there was more peace. It possibly even arrogant of me to suggest those people who lay in those trenches didn't wish the same (of course they wanted peace, to go home to their families and I cannot begin to comprehend their fear). Perhaps ultimately a line needs to be drawn between governments and its subjects, what irks me is the fanfare of homage by those in a capacity to push a political agenda or a further abuse of power.

Back to my great grandfather. I've located his record cards, which tell me (a) he was a member of the Royal Army Service Corps (which doesn't surprise me, he already owned a haulage business), (b) his number was R4/063378, (c) he was awarded victory medals. I'm hoping to visit Kew at some point, to access his records to (hopefully) learn which unit he served and subsequently read the unit's war diary. However, given 60% of these were destroyed in September 1940 German bombing raid my chances are diminished.

His obituary states, "He served in France in the Great War and was a member of the British Legion since its inception". I know his funeral was a full military one, and I'm (still) told in 2008 that his funeral was the largest the area has ever seen. Its sort of mind boggling there's people that can remember this detail 66 years later.

Whilst other countries brought in compulsory drafting of eligible male citizens early on in WW1, it is documented as not being a British thing to do, and the government relied on its subjects volunteering. Obviously the large number of casualties that were afforded to this war, gave way to the passing of the Military Service Act 1916. Parliament pacified itself of this mandatory requirement; by the inclusion of the ground of "conscientious objection" as a means of exemption from service. It gave eligible male subjects the right to object to a tribunal / panel of local dignitaries, but in reality this was possibly pure theatre and an exercise in intimidation; affording an opportunity to brand those taking up such a stance as cowards.

The Act was passed a year after my grandfather signed his attestation; but in any case he would have fallen outside the compulsory service ages of 18-41 (he was 44 in 1915), he was also married with children. So my great grandfather served in the war voluntarily and from what I know he had no military background. The mentality that drove him to volunteer beyond comradeship, I cannot even begin to comprehend.

In Balinese tradition, there is a belief that in birth we are accompanied by four invisible brothers that accompany us through our lives; inhabiting four virtues that a person needs to be safe and happy in life: intelligence, friendship, strength and poetry.

It perhaps only through poetry, the full horrors of war is conveyed. The more famous WW1 poets being Edward Thomas, Siegfried Sassoon, Isaac Rosenberg and Wilfred Owen. (Side note: Wilfred Owen and Edward Thomas both had Welsh roots).

Anthem for Doomed Youth

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

Owen's war poems can be found here. A collection of modern day war poetry can be found here.

Perhaps to end this post, it would be apt for me to include Botticelli's painting of lovers, Venus and Mars (which hangs at The National Gallery, London):

Venus being the Goddess of Love (she is also the mother of Cupid), Mars the God of War; and the painting probably depicts both humour and serious intent. Venus and Mars' amorous relations are well documented, and here Mars has obviously succumbed to the delights of love and asleep unaroused by the teasing satyrs, who even have his weapons. (Probably a suggestive imagery borrowed from Lucian, "two are carrying his spear, as porters do a heavy beam ... another has got into the breast plate, which lies hollow part upwards; he is in ambush", in reference to the painting of Alexander the Great's wedding to Roxana). The painting projects a message that love conquers, above war (and every difference that mankind seeks to pull out of hat). It is that message, we must always remember.

Posted by alison at 11:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

My mother walks into the room holding a bag of oranges.

"Oh! Please can I have an orange?"
"No, they are for God!"

Walks away, and returns holding a pineapple.

"Is that for God too?"
"Yes!"
"Is there anything I can have?"
"You can have a banana if you like"
"Doesn't God like bananas?"
"Yes, but we have enough"

I know its Eid and Rosh Hashanah this week, but here its Harvest Festival; so my parents need to decorate a church window for some forthcoming services. (As previously mentioned here).

They've just been on altar duty (as in decorate it) for the past month, so its like a continual supply of flowers going elsewhere. Anyway, I've really no idea why mum picked oranges and pineapples since they don't grow in these parts, to contribute to the Come, Ye Thankful People, Come theme. So much for local foodstuffs and being wary of ecological footprint. I expect they were after colour (there are more traditional root vegetables too, not to mention flowers by the dozen). This window is pretty big.

So here's a prepared basket, which incidentally I made (as in weaved the willow):

When I was a kid, both my sister and I used to have to take a basket of vegetables / fruit to school, and on church on Sunday. These foods were dispersed to old people in the district (who may even be more economically independent). Whilst with all good motives and teaches you to think beyond yourself, that's four baskets on top of a family's weekly shop. From a distance you can't help wonder of economic impact on families with perhaps less disposable income, to comply with this annual ritual. It used to be a social obligation, what about today? What if families can't afford to undertake such rituals, yet the community expects them to and doesn't give a second thought. Do people just go into debt, to keep up the pretense of honouring God?

This got me thinking, Harvest isn't celebrated in the States probably because of its close historical association with religion. Thanksgiving, the closest thing and a much more family centred affair, is much later in the year (perhaps taking into account the south, with autumn being later in terms of seasons)? Yes, I know not everyone honours Thanksgiving, Native Americans see it as a time of mourning.

Which has me wondering, is there any festival or celebration that we can share that cuts across all creeds? Or is precisely that diversity that is a celebration, and just leave be?

Posted by alison at 6:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

For my mum's birthday this year, we went to RSPB Ynys Hir, right next door to the garden in this entry (Queen Victoria probably wanted to go and shoot some birds).

We went here, because my parents recently joined the RSPB, cue: some door to door salesperson comes around the house and rips them off sells them membership, because they cannot say no. Except the membership rate they get sold, is somehow higher than priced on their website. So I encourage my parents to cancel it, except they don't get around to it fast enough. And they get sent some glossy hardback book through the post, and they're all consumed with guilt, "we can't cancel it now".

We live in a part of the world where there's ample room for birds to thrive, indeed it was one of the I would much prefer to donate money to a local wildlife trust, instead of paying administrators in London. These birds cannot exactly eat this money. Perhaps once you've worked in the voluntary sector, you always remain cynical at marketing techniques employed. I'm sure the RSPB does good works.

So I never thought I'd see the day where I would walk and walk along some muddy trail in sandals, to end up in a wooden hut with a pair of binoculars, to watch some birds sitting on their backsides (miles in the distance) having a Sunday afternoon kip. Trust me, what looked like Canadian Geese, they were doing nothing else. Not one deviation from a snooze. You'd think these ungrateful feathered friends would lay on some entertainment! In any case, what are they called Canadian Geese for, if they're hanging out in Wales?

Sure it was a nice view, but seeing hills in Wales isn't exactly a novelty. No I'm not complaining.

Note: this post is being sarcastic, just in case you failed to see it. Bird watching was a bit cooler than I expected it to be.

Posted by alison at 12:35 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)