The North Wind

 

The North Wind

The North Wind doth blow
And we shall have snow,
And what will poor robin do then, poor thing?
He’ll sit in the barn
To keep himself warm
And hide his head under his wing, poor thing!

This little rhyme originated in 16^th century Britain and was first published two centuries later in collections of nursery rhymes. It has three additional verses, not regularly taught, which build on feelings of sympathy and compassion for those less fortunate.

The second verse is about the swallow.

The North Wind doth blow
And we shall have snow,
And what will the swallow do then, poor thing?
Oh, do you not know
That he’s off long ago
To a country where he will find spring, poor thing?

Swallows migrate to warmer countries for the winter. Any that attempt to remain usually do not survive. This is made clear in Oscar Wilde’s heartbreaking tale of the Happy Prince, a story I can never read aloud to children.

In the third verse, the children learn about the tiny dormouse.

The North Wind doth blow
And we shall have snow,
And what will the dormouse to then, poor thing?
Rolled up like a ball
In his nest snug and small,
He'll sleep till warm weather comes in, poor thing!

Verse four tells of the honey bee.

The North Wind doth blow
And we shall have snow,
And what will the honey bee do then, poor thing?
In his hive he will stay
Till the cold is away
And then he’ll come out in the spring, poor thing!

Referred to as ‘he’ in the rhyme, it is only the females, who are the Queen and the worker bees, who survive the winter. The workers cluster round the Queen to keep her warm and alive. The drones are only of use for mating and as there is no mating in the cold months they are pushed out of the hive and either starve or freeze to death.

A fifth verse was added later.

The North Wind doth blow
And we shall have snow,
And what will the children do then, poor things?
When lessons are done
They’ll jump, skip, and run,
And that’s how they’ll keep themselves warm, poor things.

We woke up to snow this morning, which settled briefly on the roofs and trees. At present, we have a north wind blowing. The forecast tonight is -3˚Celsius (26.6˚ Fahrenheit)

Good night, Vienna

 

Good night, Vienna

JayCee used this phrase in a comment she left recently on a blog post. It reminded me instantly of the ITV television series, ‘Rising Damp,’ about the lives of a penny-pinching landlord, Rigsby, and his tenants. It was broadcast from 1974 until 1978.

Rigsby, had a cat called Vienna, which was variously treated affectionately or despised, depending on the way Rigsby’s life was unfolding. When he put the cat out at night, he would say, ‘Good night, Vienna,’ suggesting that if Vienna met difficulties, it would all be over for him.

The phrase came from a radio operetta of 1932, called ‘Goodnight, Vienna.’ The operetta was later made into a film. Originally, the expression indicated a romantic farewell, but it gradually changed to mean, ‘It’s all over,’ ‘It’s finished,’ ‘That’s it,’ and became a part of British slang.

It was also the title of Ringo Starr’s 1974 album, ‘Goodnight Vienna,’ for which John Lennon wrote the words.

It’s similar in meaning to ‘Goodnight, Irene,’ the song written by Lead Belly (Huddie Ledbetter) in the 1930s. A one-time friend of ours was called Irene, and she hated it when anyone sang it to her. She took it as a personal insult.

Golden

 

Golden

Gazania (Treasure flower)

Monday was a bright, golden day. There had been a slight frost overnight and the air felt crisp and fresh. The forecast for cooler temperatures, particularly overnight, galvanised us into action. It was time for the house plants to bid a fond adieu to the garden and come indoors again, to relish the warmth and shelter, and dream of next year’s summer holiday. Suddenly, the conservatory was full once more, although it wasn’t noticeably empty before this exercise.

The months spent outdoors have strengthened the plants and encouraged them to grow. There is much pruning and splitting and repotting to be done, tasks for the days ahead.

 Doubtless, some little creatures have made their way inside and will have to be relocated. Tiny arachnids and molluscs will be much happier in the airy outside, their natural habitat.

Ivy-leaved toadflax is an indomitable squatter and springs up everywhere, quite as much as herb Robert. Both of them are much loved and admired in their right positions – outside! – but their determination to dominate the world is not acceptable indoors.

Ivy-leaved toadflax, Kenilworth ivy, Oxford ivy, Pennywort and many more

Herb robert, Storksbill, Crow's foot, Fox geranium and more

Some plants are looking a little ragged, having provided succulent feasts for untold beasties, but they will recover and throw out new leaves.

Poor avocado!  The comment from my app was, 'This plant looks okay, but can be better!'

I'm sure the avocado will survive and thrive. However, the one below, the Pachira, or Money tree, elicited the comment, 'This plant looks sick!.' 

I must agree and am not overly optimistic, but time will tell.

Echeveria, with Pink moonstone succulent to right

The clivias are taking over! This one is past its best, but has a cluster of new buds. There are now six or seven that require splitting and repotting. I think some may be finding new homes among the family. They are all descendants of the one plant I gave my mother more than thirty years ago.

Meanwhile, the plants that normally live outside continue to thrive.

Lobelia

Nasturtium

Antirrhinum

 Some of the annuals, like the nasturtiums, are still flowering, while at the same time, the first of the Mahonia japonica has thrust out magnificent, perfumed spears of yellow flowers, a feast for late-flying bees.

Mahonia japonica (the netting is part of the cat enclosure)

Happy days!

What’s new?

 

What’s new?

Pinched from somewhere else:

 

I met a friend. She asked me what sort of day I’d had. I said, ‘It was very good, apart from newpussycat.

She said, ‘What’s newpussycat?’

I said, ‘Woah, woah, woah.’

Synaesthesia

 

Synaesthesia

                             Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Professor Jim Al-Khalili is Professor of Theoretical Physics at the University of Surrey. He hosts a programme on BBC called The Life Scientific, in which scientists are invited to talk about their life and work.

The broadcasts are interesting because the scientific experts speak clearly and articulately about their fields in a way that is readily understood.

A recent podcast featured Julia Simner, a Professor of Psychology. She has led research to understand how brains process the sensory world.  The main part of the programme was about synaesthesia, which is the merging or cross-over of senses. For example, when one sense is stimulated, like hearing, another sense is involuntarily engaged. One in twenty-three people has synaesthesia – roughly 4% of the population.

One of the most common forms is grapheme-colour synaesthesia, when letters or numbers, sometimes both, are associated with specific colours. It has been suggested that this arises because of early exposure to coloured alphabets or number charts or toys in infancy, but this is not proved.

Another type of synaesthesia is chromaesthesia, in which people see colours when listening to music. Van Gogh is believed to have experienced this, to the extent that he had to abandon piano lessons. 

In one of his letters, he gave evidence of another way in which synaesthesia affected him, when he said, ‘some artists have a nervous hand at drawing, which gives their technique something of the sound peculiar to a violin.’

Some people have lexical-gustatory synaesthesia. For them, hearing a word may deliver a taste sensation, not necessarily associated with food per se. For instance, the word ‘plum’ may initially evoke a mouth-watering response, but over time, just the ‘um’ sound or phoneme may produce the same result in words like, hum, bumble bee, umbrella, sum, crumb. In this form of synaesthesia, the phoneme (sound) may induce an unpleasant taste, depending on the association. Julia Simner prefers to be called Jules (Jools) but one person she knows is unable to call her that because of the disagreeable association with the ’oo’ phoneme.

Another very common type of synaesthesia is day-colour, in which people connect colours with the days of the week. Tuesday may be orange and Sunday blue, and so forth.

One remarkably interesting form is mirror-touch synaesthesia, when someone sees something happening to another person and feels it physically, too.

Synaesthesia is inherited, though the form it takes may differ between family members.

I have known one or two people who admitted to a form of grapheme-colour synaesthesia. They seemed to think it was linked to early reading experiences.

Do you have any experience of synaesthesia? Have you ever thought a particular letter or number had a specific colour?

                            Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Watching again . . .

 

Watching again . . .

Magpie Murders, an adaptation of the murder mystery by Anthony Horowitz. Clever writer, excellent cast.

One for sorrow, 
Two for joy,
Three for a girl,
Four for a boy,
Five for silver,
Six for gold,
Seven for a secret
Never to be told.

Doing the wrong thing

 

Doing the wrong thing

Doing the wrong thing for the right reason is as bad as doing the right thing for the wrong reason. Either way, we upset people without intending to, so it’s probably better to do nothing at all, unless we’re absolutely sure we’ve got everyone’s best interests at heart.

This, too, shall pass.