The Diary of a Country Bumpkin

Frantic

With todays choice of word I will not be the only person to start their blog with something along the lines of being frantic with worry as to whether I could think of anything to write on the subject.

I’m not sure this is a subject I can really get my teeth into as the older I get the less frantic I try to become, this I am hoping will prevent me from keeling over with a massive and terminal heart attack. There may of course be some people who get so frantic about the possibility of becoming frantic that they are endangering their health by worrying frantically.

It’s always best to check for the meaning of the word before starting as one wouldn’t want to be frantically writing and have the wrong definition. It was during the process of which I came across the word corybantic which has much the same meaning as frantic but is used generally to describe music or dancing.

It put me in mind of my youth, back to the days when as a young man sporting shoulder length hair and turquoise velvet bellbottom trousers, both quite the style at the time, I ventured forth on two or three evenings a week to watch the latest popular beat combos or rock bands as they are more popularly known. The music causing those present to gyrate in a wild and uncontrolled fashion almost corybantic, one might say.

Time has got the better of me tonight and I have to leave as my wife is frantically getting ready for us to go out for an evenings entertainment which as far as I know will not include any rock bands or corybantic movement, unless our local Indian restaurant has changed out of all recognition.

Quartet

I was reminded on seeing the word quartet of the most wonderful film and high point of British entertainment, “Carry on up the Khyber”, especially the scene where they are being attacked and complete chaos is reigning about, cannon shells crashing through the walls and ceiling and through it all the string quartet continue to play, much like the band on the Titanic.

Conveniently enough I wasn’t born until after World War two was over which meant my services were never called upon in defence of the realm but like a considerable number of British people, I think, we feel as if we contributed by letting our fathers go and die on our behalf.

I used to think should I have been there at the time I would have instantly offered my services to the R.A.F. and become a dashing Spitfire pilot but on reflection I decided that as their life expectancy was approximately three weeks I would look for something slightly less dangerous, Bletchley Park, perhaps.

Safely tucked away out of town at Station X, all very hush, hush, using my considerable brain power to crack the Nazi codes and when asked where I was going, the reply, “to join Captain Ridley’s shooting party.” Then at the weekend or on days off I would venture into town for a quiet afternoon tea at the Palm Court Hotel, relaxing to the gentle sound of a string quartet, much more my cup of tea than dying needlessly in some foreign field.

“Keep calm and carry on,” the world may be about to end with the Cuban missile crisis, or more recently being poisoned by Russian agents, or the outbreak of nuclear war with North Korea. Fear not, put the kettle on for a nice cup of tea, place a gramophone record on the turntable and relax to a string quartet and the soothing sounds of a Mozart concerto and all will be well.

A quartet may not have a musical connection for a quartet can be just a group of four, rather like the Cambridge graduates who took to spying for the KGB from World War Two right up the early 1950’s. Philby, Burgess, Maclean and Blunt, cads and bounders to a man.

I shouldn’t have written the last sentence as I’m getting all worked up now and it’s too late to get to the Palm Court, I’ll just have to forgo the musical quartet and make my own tea, I hope I can find a scone and some jam and cream in the larder.

Micro

Once upon a time in a land far, far away and long, long ago, everything used to be enormous, take for example money, which was so large and so heavy that people carrying seventeen and six in loose change would walk with a pronounced limp.

Half a crown weighed approximately two pound four ounces, at least it seemed like it did and should one need to carry enough pennies for change of a pound one would need two hundred and forty of the things. Two hundred and forty, I hear you ask, why such an odd number, well from recollection and bear in mind it’s some considerable time since we changed to decimal money, there were 12 pennies in a shilling and 20 shillings in a pound, therefore 12 x 20 = 240, simple. I can’t remember what the system we used was called but it had something to do with the Romans and their calendar and the birth of the little baby Jesus, or something like that, it all gets lost in the mists of time.

We got clever in 1971 and took on the decimal system and replaced the old money with new micro money, the size of the new coins now reflecting the value of the stuff. Before decimalisation one could venture out for a night on the town, get drunk, buy a fish supper on the way home and still have change from a ten bob note, whereas nowadays one goes to a micro brewery and can’t even purchase a half a pint of beer for ten bob.

Everything has become smaller, look at the suits produced for the youth of today, so little material is used there are virtually no lapels and the trousers are so tight they must require assistance to peel them off at night, it looks like World War Two clothes rationing has come back, only taken to extremes.

This micro technology has had a strange effect on the telephone, the first of which were housed in a large red box, then reduced in size and housed indoors. Micro technology progressed such that the first mobile phone was the size of a car battery but gradually got smaller and smaller until today where we have come full circle.

As the phones became smaller the public demanded more micro technology inside the apparatus and more uses, cameras, calculators, games and the ability to view films and television and the like. We have progressed to a point now where the phone is actually a micro computer, it’s just a shame it’s become so large you can’t get the dam thing in your pocket, ah well, that’s progress.

Inefficient

Late on parade again, how very inefficient of me and what, I hear you ask is my excuse, sad to say I have spent the entire day trying to encourage my computer to connect to my printer, such a simple task one would think.

After an entire day stabbing in the dark by sheer chance I came across the solution, it rather reminded me of what it must be like trying to fix a motor car if you have no idea what a carburettor, distributor, fuel pump or spark plugs are and how they connect together. I have mentioned in a previous blog, that shouting at the machine does nothing to solve the problem either.

Whilst my day was spent in a very inefficient manner, I have made up for it having just completed my other blog on the subject of gender pay equality, my take on the matter was more that the most inefficient worker be they male or female should receive the smaller remuneration. For those of you who may be interested in the subject I have enclosed the link should you be curious.

http://www.joewellsofwhomithasbeensaid.com/2018/03/gender-pay-equality.html

I feel I’m rambling a little and not working in a well organised and competent way, most inefficient indeed but I am slightly distracted by some rather splendid music from the internet and yet again I feel the urge to share the links.

https://www.facebook.com/groups/vivthespiv/permalink/2040918489514207/

http://www.homefrontfriends.org.uk/wireless/?utm_campaign=notification_new_upload&utm_medium=email&utm_source=notification&utm_content=html

Sorry the links are so long as I know there is a more efficient way of putting them on here, but I was shown how to shorten them by a young person who rather took the attitude that I was a complete moron for not understanding what he was shouting at me, but I’ve always found shouting is a very inefficient way of getting a point across. None the less for that, should the links work, I hope you enjoy the music, although I should warn you it’s not the latest from modern popular beat combos, if that’s what you were hoping for.

Swallow

One swallow does not a summer make. However I could have sworn I saw two this morning and the sun is shining, so I’m a little bit optimistic summer may be on it’s way!

Faceless

Most of my blogs I try to write in a slightly tongue in cheek, or amusing fashion as I consider myself to be mostly a glass half full type of person, but the choice of word, faceless, has sent me off in a much darker direction, hopefully I shall return to humour by the end of this blog.

Nobody is literally faceless, there are many people who’s face has been so badly damaged by fire, by cancer, or by an animal attack that they are described as faceless, but this is not true, everyone has a face no matter how badly mutilated it may be, it is still their face. Thankfully modern medicine is coming to their aid with plastic surgery so good nowadays that we have come to the point where it is possible to have a complete face transplant.

Is there such a thing as a face so ordinary that it could be described as faceless, the sort of face needed to be a competent international spy, I suppose there must be. Initially I thought the sort of face required to be a spy must be so bland that when MI5 or the KGB have interviews for the post the candidates must be so ordinary and forgettable that photographs must be taken to recognise them should they be called back having got the job.

Obviously there is a place for the faceless spy, the sort of chap who merges into the background barely noticed scurrying about stealing official secrets and meeting his or her contacts at prearranged park benches where the documents are exchanged in a folded copy of The Times.

I imagine there must still be job opportunities for the more femme fatale type of spy, a woman so alluring that after a night of passion any red blooded Military Attache worth his salt would spill the beans on his countries plans for the defence of the realm.

So how do those in counter intelligence set about capturing these spies, obviously the latter is far easier to trace for with a description of, “she had the face of an angel, a figure to die for and legs that went on forever,” one feels this woman may stand out in a crowd somewhat more than the faceless man in the park minding his own business feeding the ducks.

I’m very glad to say I have never been called upon to be a spy for I do not possess many of the attributes required for the job, firstly, I do not have the face of an angel, nor the figure or legs required, coupled with the fact that I am the wrong sex and secondly I have far too much character about my face to be considered any use as the faceless man in the crowd.

Much as the idea of swanning across Europe in a Jaguar XK120, like Michael Caine in the Ipcress File, looks great fun, I have to admit that were it real life, I’m a little squeamish about being captured and having to spend the rest of my rather short life doing hard labour in some freezing desolate Russian gulag in Siberia.

Should by some strange quirk of the algorithms, someone from MI5 be reading this blog and be foolish enough to offer me a job, I have to say, thanks for the offer of gainful employment, but if you don’t mind I’ll give it a miss, thank you.

Foreign

If I were to move to the United States of America I would be in their eyes, foreign, or on the other hand as a considerable percentage of the population may be able to trace their ancestry back to the Pilgrim fathers from Great Britain, perhaps it is they who are foreign.

I suppose the only people who can truly declare themselves as true Americans and not foreigners are the indigenous native Americans and yet as the people who once owned the entire country, they seem to have drawn the short straw in regard to ownership of the land where they and the buffalo used to roam.

When I was young there used to be a tune played on the wireless called Home on the range and as a child I had never listened to the words, but now as a man finding them it is quite a revelation, especially the two lines where the red man is pressed from his home and is very unlikely to return. Presumably the song must have been written by a white foreigner as later he asks if their glory exceeds that of ours and in the last verse when summing up driving the red man from his land, he now proclaims as the new owner, that he would not exchange his home on the range where the deer and the antelope play. All this from a little tune I used to hear on the wireless as a child.

Oh give me a home where the buffalo roam,
Where the deer and the antelope play,
Where seldom is heard a discouraging word,
And the skies are not cloudy all day.

Chorus Home, home on the range,
Where the deer and the antelope play,
Where seldom is heard a discouraging word,
And the skies are not cloudy all day.

Where the air is so pure, and the zephyrs so free,
The breezes so balmy and light,
That I would not exchange my home on the range,
For all of the cities so bright.

The Red man was pressed from this part of the west,
He’s likely no more to return,
To the banks of the Red River where seldom if ever
Their flickering campfires burn.

How often at night when the heavens are bright,
With the light from the glittering stars,
Have I stood there amazed and asked as I gazed,
If their glory exceeds that of ours.

Oh, I love these wild flowers in this dear land of ours,
The curlew I love to hear cry,
And I love the white rocks and the antelope flocks,
That graze on the mountain slopes high.

Oh give me a land where the bright diamond sand,
Flows leisurely down in the stream;
Where the graceful white swan goes gliding along,
Like a maid in a heavenly dream.

Then I would not exchange my home on the range,
Where the deer and the antelope play;
Where seldom is heard a discouraging word,
And the skies are not cloudy all day.

I have noticed in America there is a tendency to refer to one’s previous homeland when describing one’s ethnic group, for example to call oneself an Irish American, a German American or an African American, strangely declaring oneself as a foreigner in one’s own land.

As someone who was adopted at the age of one and brought up by British people I have always thought of myself as British, however having delved into my history I find that my birth father was Irish and were I in the United States of America I might therefore declare myself to be an Irish Englishman. All well and good, except for the fact that my birth mother was Scottish, which then leaves me declaring myself as an Irish, Scottish, Englishman. You may now see why those of us from Great Britain find it hard to come to terms with the American habit of combining ethnic groups to describe oneself. Lord knows what would have happened had I moved to America and had children with an African American woman, how on earth would we have described our offspring then.

Actually on reflection I have though of a way we could have described ourselves which even under the American system would have encompassed all our ethnic origins, I therefore declare myself and everyone else I know to be a human being.

Talisman

I’m very much in agreement with Elvis Presley when it comes to Good Luck Charms.

Don’t want a four leaf clover
Don’t want an old horse shoe
Want your kiss ’cause I just can’t miss
With a good luck charm like you
Come on and be my little good luck charm
Uh-huh huh, you sweet delight
I want a good luck charm
A-hanging on my arm
To have, to have, to hold, to hold tonight
Don’t want a silver dollar
Rabbit’s foot on a string
The happiness in your warm caress
No rabbit’s foot can bring
Come on and be my little good luck charm
Uh-huh huh, you sweet delight
I want a good luck charm
A-hanging on my arm
To have, to have, to hold, to hold tonight
If I found a lucky penny
I’d toss it across the bay
Your love is worth all the gold on earth
No wonder that I say
Come on and be my little good luck charm
Uh-huh huh, you sweet delight
I want a good luck charm
A-hanging on my arm
To have, to have, to hold, to hold tonight

Invisible

I’m not a great cinema goer, so have not seen the modern version of the Invisible Man but I assume it’s still pretty much the same as the old black and white version I saw many years ago on the television. My recollection of the film is sketchy, to say the least, but I seem to remember a chap had become invisible and went about swathed facially in bandages and wearing sun glasses.

I can’t remember if he was some sort of detective, or just a peeping tom, I suspect the former, however when the occasion demanded some sleuthing he would take off all his clothes and bandages to become invisible, although if I’m not mistaken he would leave his hat and sunglasses on for the benefit of the viewer so we could see his whereabouts in each location. This description of the film may be complete rubbish but I think this is something of the gist of the thing.

How useful to be invisible, although obviously when walking about stark naked, especially in the depths of winter, it does have it’s down side. Not that I would remotely encourage it, but the obvious use of invisibility would be for criminal activity and much as the theft of an item my be fairly easy, secretion of said item when making ones escape may lead to uncomfortable consequences which although utilised as a method of smuggling drugs and mobile phones into prison, I would not recommend.

Perhaps better to use invisibility for good, like creeping up on villains or unscrupulous politicians and recording their confessions of wrong doing, although one encounters the same problem here as before, where does one hide the microphone being an obvious question.

It seems, being invisible as a person has it’s flaws, so I shall move on to the subject of invisible aircraft. We have stealth aircraft, such that they are invisible to radar, so how on earth shall we shoot them down in times of war. Unlike World War Two where we used to fire multiple rounds of anti aircraft shells willy-nilly into the skies in the vain hope that some of them may hit the target, we need to think outside the box and devise a method of identifying the whereabouts of the aircraft and then shoot it down.

I suggest drawing an analogy from the invisible man and devising a gun that can shoot multiple bandages into the sky which would wrap around the aircraft thereby making it an easy target for the gunners. This may sound far fetched, but no more so than many a modern sci-fi film I may have had the misfortune to watch and don’t forget space rockets were seen in comics long before they were actually seen in space.

Well, that’s more than enough nonsense on the subject of invisibility and I shall now slip quietly into the night, much along the lines of the Scarlet Pimpernel, although unlike the Invisible Man I shall be disappearing fully clothed.

Identical

At first I thought I’d written on the subject, identical but then realised it was in fact similar which I had written previously about and although they are words that are almost the same, they are not identical.

I have two grandchildren who are twins and to all extents and purposes are identical, except they came from two separate eggs which means they are not identical, apparently. Unfortunately, they are so similar, I cannot tell one from the other, although my wife has absolutely no trouble identifying which one is which, this may say more about my lack of deeper involvement with them, than be a comment on my eyesight.

As often happens with brothers and I imagine with all offspring there is a “good” one and a “not so good” one and in the case of my grandchildren this is also the case. There are many modern fashions and habits that I am not greatly in favour of and both of the twins know this,

I very much favour when meeting a chap to extend my hand in the old fashioned manner with a view to clasping the other fellow firmly by his hand and shaking vigorously and not the more modern fashion for engaging in an arm wrestle followed by a man hug, or even worse just slapping each other in the manner known as a high five.

Due to my inability to identify which of the twins are greeting me, I usually extend my hand hoping for the “good” twin who is fairly well educated in the art of manners and gentlemanly conduct and will grap my hand in the proper manner and utter a cheery greeting such as, “what ho, old boy,” and all is well with the world. Unfortunately should it be the other twin, who seems to find pleasure in impersonating his brother, I am at first met with his outstretched hand in the manner of a gentleman but at the last minute he changes tack and slaps me on the hand, which seems to amuse him more than somewhat.

I know they are not identical, but I’m dammed if I can spot the differences, it used to be easy when they were younger and only one of them wore glasses and I’m still not entirely certain that the other fellow actually needs spectacles, I think it’s all part of his cunning ruse.

They won’t be able to hoodwink me in this fashion for ever, as eventually they will develop a little more and start to want to have more of an identity of their own, then all I will have to do is remember which one it is that has the full beard and which has his arm tattooed. Obviously the chap with the tattoo could make my life considerably easier if he were to have his name tattooed on his arm in bright coloured ink, not attractive I know, but from my point of view damnably useful.