Shingles

 

Shingles

Shingles is a virus that causes a painful rash. It usually clears within  four weeks, but can cause complications that may take a long time to resolve in some people. 

In case anyone needed further encouragement to accept the shingles jab, a number of major research studies suggest that there has been a discernible decline in the number of dementia diagnoses. According to research published in journals like ‘Nature’ and ‘Nature Medicine’, older adults accepting the shingles vaccination have a markedly lower risk of developing dementia, compared to those who do not receive the vaccine.

Stanford Medicine published the results of research conducted with 280,000 older adults in Wales. It showed that in adults with early cognitive impairment the zoster vaccine cut the likelihood of dying from dementia in a nine-year period in half. A 2026 paper showed that two doses of the vaccine were linked to a 51% reduction in the risk of developing dementia. Though it has not been proven, it is seen as a potent contributory element.

Shingles is caused by the reactivation of the varicella herpes virus (chicken pox). The vaccine blocks the recurrence of the herpes-zoster virus which is dormant in the body after chickenpox. People who have not had chickenpox cannot develop shingles. However, it is not always easy to be sure that a person has not had chickenpox if it was a very mild case and not recognised as such. Additionally, chicken pox may be contracted from someone who has shingles through contact with fluid from the shingles blisters, for example.

Other vaccines, like those for the prevention of influenza, diptheria/ tetanus/pertussis, and RSV, may also play a role in reducing the risk of dementia. In short, anything that reduces the influence of systemic infections helps to protect the ageing brain.

Repurposing drugs approved for other conditions is a reliable and cost-effective way of providing treatments for many illnesses. New drugs can take 10 to 15 years to develop and test.

Two professors at the University of Exeter have found three drugs from a panel of 80 that could be the most helpful in treating and possibly preventing dementia. They are the shingles vaccine, (Zostavax), Viagra (Sildenafil), and one used for MND (Riluzole), with the shingles vaccine proving to be the most favourable, as it requires just two doses and has proved to be safe.

 

 

More crow!

 

More crow!

Anvilcloud suggested that I save him some trouble by finding out the origins of ‘something to crow about.’ It means that an event or result is worthy of being bragged about, but all I have been able to discover is that it is a phrase that has been in use since the 1500s and is associated with the morning crowing of cockerels (roosters). Cockerels crow loudly to assert their dominance over their domain. 

The American expression, ‘to eat crow’ means to admit that one is wrong, particularly when a position has been robustly defended. It implies a degree of humiliation and arose from around the middle of the 19^th century. Humorous stories recounted how a conceited farmer was tricked into ‘eating boiled crow,’ which tasted foul. The idiom was shortened to ‘eating crow.’

‘Upstart crow’ was a description applied to William Shakespeare about 1592. Whether it was intended as an insult to demean him or used as a means of amplifying his eminence is probably a theme for a doctoral thesis (it becomes ever more difficult to find suitable subjects for dissertation in literature) One suggestion is that Shakespeare was denigrated as an impudent actor who had ambitions to become a playwright. That leads on to further discussion about who ‘really’ wrote Shakespeare’s plays.

‘Upstart Crow’ was a 2016 BBC television series written by Ben Elton. This excellent sitcom loosely traced the beginnings of Shakespeare’s life as a writer in London. It starred David Mitchell as the playwright, and had a superb supporting cast, including Liza Tarbuck, Mark Heap, and Gemma Whelan.

‘Stone the crows’ has its roots in early 20th century Australia, when farmers threw stones at crows which raided crops or attacked newborn lambs. It migrated to the UK and became ‘Stone me!’ as an expression of surprise.  

Crows’ feet are the tiny wrinkles that form over the years at the outer corners of the eyes. They start to appear from the late twenties and are the result of repeated smiling. They are more kindly referred to as laughter lines.

Crows are revered as messengers in many cultures and folk lore tells many tales. In Ancient Rome crows were used to divine the future. In later centuries, a single crow over a house foretold death and crows were believed to transport a person’s soul to the afterlife. A popular saying was ‘a crow on the thatch, soon death lifts the latch.’

The thought that crows are associated with death and mourning is borne out by observations of behaviour around a dead crow. The first crow to see the body called out and soon others flew in to join in a strident chorus of loud cries. The explanation was that the ceremony helped the crows to warn of danger and to cope with the reality of death.

I have not seen this happening with crows but have seen magpies behave in a similar manner. A cat carried off a young magpie and the other magpies, in all the trees around, set up a cacophony of grief, for that is what it seemed to be, that continued for almost half an hour. It was deafening and impossible to ignore.

Cowes

 

Cowes

I saw the hygienist on Wednesday afternoon, prior to a dental check. She was mightily confused when I told her I’d been watching Cowes and was clearly wondering why I would be watching bovines. Eventually she understood when I explained that I was talking about a sailing regatta.

Some of the names on the Cowes Week race results boards show the usual slew of birds - Gosling, Nightjar, Goosander, Waxwing, Osprey – and simple names, like Josh, Salt, Snap, Ice, and Jade. Then there are the boats that indicate where they’re from or where they’re usually moored – Dodger of Gosport, Io of Dartmouth, and Emily of Cowes, for example. Some have names of girls, like Thora, Joy, Gladys, Margot, and Maisy.

Choosing a name for a boat is almost as difficult as deciding on a baby’s name. It must withstand calls to the Coastguard for routine calls like radio checks, so a name that seemed amusing when first dreamt up may seem less so when contacting official bodies.

Bottoms Up, Hare Brain, Repeat Offender, Men Behaving Badly, and Hair of the Dog are fun, and probably indicate something about the owner’s attitude to life. The names that particularly caught my attention this year were Yes!, Dads n Lads, and Does Your Mother Sail?

I was wondering what it would be like when calling the Coastguard for a broadcast check. Would the owner feel a little sheepish?  

‘Solent Coastguard, Solent Coastguard, this is Does Your Mother Sail? Radio check. Over.’

In other sea regions, the Coastguard has a different call name. For example, for Liverpool Waters call Holyhead Coastguard, Kent is Dover Coastguard, Scilly Isles is Falmouth Coastguard.

As the crow flies

 

As the crow flies

One of the crows we used to feed in the woods.

This is a frequently used idiom to describe the distance between two points. It means the most direct route, ignoring natural or man-made barriers. A journey by foot or in a vehicle may take eight miles, but if it were possible to take an unswerving path, it might only be four or five miles.

Crows do not literally fly in straight lines, but their flight is steady with little of the dipping and swooping associated with some other birds. The expression may have arisen from the fact that crows are noisy and noticeable and can often be seen beating alone across the sky.

The earliest printed record of the phrase occurred in 1761 in the Irish periodical ‘The Gentleman’s and London Magazine.’ It was used in that publication to discuss distances in America.  More than sixty years later, it was used by Charles Dickens in his 1838 novel ‘Oliver Twist’ and came into popular parlance thereafter as a way of estimating distances and travelling times before maps were commonplace.

Panice

 

Panice

Panisses

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

I kept writing ‘panice’ instead of ‘panic’ in yesterday's post. Maybe it’s because my name is Janice and I’m accustomed to writing ‘e’ following ‘c.’ 

So, I looked up Panice. It is an Italian family name for a supplier of millet, just as Cooper is a maker of casks and vats, and Smith is a person who works with metal.

Panice is also an alternative spelling of panisse, which is a French street food popular in Provence. It is made from chickpea flour and fried in olive oil until golden on the outside and soft in the centre.

Panisse was introduced to Provence by Italian workers from neighbouring Liguria, where is it known as panissa or panelle. It is particularly popular in Nice and Marseilles, traditionally eaten sprinkled with salt and pepper and accompanied by a glass of wine.

Image source

Panic!

 

Panic!

I was in a terrible panic this morning. I needed to be out of the house in a matter of minutes, but could only find casual clothes, not the sort suitable for the day ahead. In addition, the house door into the garage was ajar, and the garage door itself was open, so I didn’t immediately know whether the cats were in or out. They don’t go into the front garden because it’s not safe for them. Luckily, I saw them sauntering into the kitchen, so that worry was set aside.

I managed to find some clothes, though they were far from smart, but now I was dreadfully worried that I was going to be late. Barry was flapping around in the background, wanting to help but not knowing how.

Then I woke up.

What a relief. It took me a few minutes to realise I had been dreaming and that I wasn’t having to get to work.

It took me about twenty years to stop having bad dreams about exams I had to pass. How long will it be before nightmares about getting to work on time cease to trouble my slumbers?

Cowes Week 2026

 

Cowes Week 2026

Cowes Week commenced on Saturday. It is the largest sailing regatta in the world, packing in forty races a day across thirty to forty different classes.

2026 marks the 200^th year of this gathering of sailors and boats old and new. There are more than 630 yachts taking part and crews’ members total more than 5,000. Some classes of boats, like the X One Design (XOD) class, are more than 100 years old. Designed by Alfred Westmacott in 1901 and raced for the first time two years later, the XOD is a 21-foot wooden boat, made from mahogany. The prototype, Mistletoe, was built at St Helens on the Isle of Wight and can now be seen at the National Maritime Museum in Falmouth, Cornwall.

It is a wonderful sight to see a fleet of yachts jostling for space prior to crossing the start line at the beginning of a race. Those who cross the line too soon pay a penalty by having to restart.

 Black sails have become popular in recent years. Made from carbon fibre, they are the strongest material in modern sailmaking. They are lightweight and do not stretch in heavy winds, so they are a good choice for racing yachts.  However, nothing beats a flotilla of boats with white sails beating across the water like a flock of sea birds.

Competitors come from all over the world.

Seven days of racing allow professionals and amateurs to mingle on the Solent doing what they enjoy most. Some boats are carefully maintained vintage craft, while others are modern builds with the latest technology and crews of highly trained and competitive athletes.

This year, conditions look good. In fact, the first races were delayed because of a lack of wind. In other years, the weather has been atrocious, with lashing rain and howling gales. There is no knowing months in advance what will face a yachtsman during Cowes Week.

 

Of mice and men

 

Of mice and men

Hickory, Dickory Dock,

The mouse ran up the clock;

The clock struck one,

The mouse ran down,

Hickory, Dickory, Dock.

This nursery rhyme has been sung and chanted to children since about 1744. It is thought to have had its origins in chants used for counting out players from a game, rhymes like ‘one potato, two potato’ or ‘eeny meeny miny moe.’

It has a simple and repetitive rhythm, much like the ticking of a clock. At the beginning, the mouse runs up the clock. When the clock strikes the hour, the mouse runs down again. Some longer versions number all the hours, with actions to suit the words.

Hickory, Dickory Dock,

The mouse ran up the clock;

The clock struck two,

The mouse went ‘boo,’

Hickory, Dickory Dock,

 

One version, on reaching twelve says:

Hickory, Dickory Dock,

The mouse ran up the clock;

As twelve bells rang,

The mouse he sprang,

Hickory, Dickory, Dock.

In another version, at the twelfth hour, the clock asks the mouse why he is running away. The mouse replies that he fears the clock.

Hickory, Dickory Dock,

‘Why to scamper?’ asked the clock;

 ‘You scare me so,

I have to go!’

Hickory Dickory Dock.

The rhyme is associated with the 15^th century Exeter Cathedral Astronomical clock in England which is believed to be its source and inspiration. The clock shows the hour, the day and the moon’s phase. Below the clock face there is a door leading to the room that houses the clock mechanism.

Exeter Cathedral Astronomical 

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

 The animal fat used to grease the mechanism attracted mice, so in the late 16^th century Bishop William Cotton paid carpenters to cut a circular hole near the bottom of the door. This allowed his cat access to keep the clock free of rodents.

 

                                 The door leading to the clock room 

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons 

 

 

Nostalgia

 

 

Nostalgia

L.P. Hartley opened his 1953 novel, ‘The Go-Between’ with the words, ‘The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.’ Set in the late Edwardian period, the book explored the differences in moral, class, and sexual attitudes and those of the mid-20^th century.

The past may indeed be a different country, for the memories we hold are not always accurate. They are coloured by what has happened in the time since, and sometimes they are not personal memories but acquired from others through their repetition of recollections.

Recently, I have found several blog writers exploring and remembering the past. Whether it was books, or food, or friends, or games, each memory was recounted with pleasure, with nostalgia.

Nostalgia is usually defined as a longing for the past. It is compiled from two Greek words, nóstos meaning homecoming, and álgos meaning grief. It was first used in 1688 to describe the intense homesickness afflicting Swiss mercenaries fighting far from home. So seriously was it taken that it was regarded as an illness requiring treatment.

It has since developed into a description of the emotion many experience as a wistful affection for the past. The reminiscences may be melancholic, but often they are pleasant. Nostalgia is mistakenly believed to be the province solely of older generations, but I have heard young children saying, ‘Do you remember?’ and recounting events inspired by a song, a film, a photograph.

The past was a different country, a different time, when the future beckoned and life was an unknown mystery to be unravelled. It was not always a golden time, and for some it may have been painful, but in retrospect it seemed simpler and more enjoyable. Pleasurable experiences overcome and overwhelm those which are sadder, I find.

My infant school days are hazy. Mainly I remember learning to read, looking at the final pages of a book and wondering if I would ever be able to read them, and the older boys in the playground peeing over the wall, vying with each other to reach the greatest height.

At Junior school, I remember playing two balls against the wall, skipping games, collecting things, ‘pax,’ chase, a tin of cocoa powder and sugar to dip a finger into. I remember a teacher who had a clear favourite (and it wasn’t me!) and another gentle teacher who had time for everyone. I remember the outside lavatories, which for some unknown reason were called ‘the offices’ and they seem wrapped in a hazy mist of fond memory though in reality they were freezing cold in the winter and smelly in the summer. Older girls (only girls in this school) were allowed to make tea for the teachers. Health and Safety would be appalled at the thought now.

Books were precious gifts to be devoured, ears deaf to the outside world. On reaching the end, I would start again at the beginning – Black Beauty, What Katy Did, Anne of Green Gables, Heidi, My Friend Flicka, The Wind in the Willows, The Water Babies, Winnie-the-Pooh, Alice in Wonderland, The Little Prince, and so many more – they opened my eyes and my heart to a wider world. Today’s children’s classics would be rather different, I think and would include authors like Michael Morpurgo, Lynne Reid Banks, Jacqueline Wilson, Joan Aiken, Roald Dahl, Jill Murphy, among others.

Food was important, of course. Roast on Sunday, mince on Monday, cottage pie on Tuesday, semolina pudding, sometimes with jam, crumpets on a toasting fork in front of the fire, chicken once a year at Christmas (and later, at Easter), to be pulled and plucked before cooking.

Cold sheets in winter, shivering with my feet tucked up in my nightdress, to wake to Jack Frost’s artistry on the inside of the window. Hot, sticky summer nights, shoulders sore from a day at the beach. Long days walking in the countryside on my own, picking wild strawberries or damsons, or swimming at the open-air baths, eating bread and butter sandwiches with crisps when I was hungry.

Grammar school brought different experiences and the dawning realisation that not everyone was pleasant and kindly disposed. Dealing with spiteful pubescent girls, finding my way through friendships, learning who to trust. Adolescence is a lonely time for most young people, I think.

 I would not go back, even if that were possible. I look at the younger people I know and wish them strength of will, persistence, self-belief, and happiness.

L.P. Hartley's friend Lord David Cecil used the phrase, ‘The past is a foreign country’ in 1949 in his introductory lecture as Goldsmith's Professor of English Literature at Oxford. That may have been the inspiration for the title of his book. 

Cartoons

 

Cartoon

The concept of a cartoon originated in the Middle Ages (a blanket term for the period lasting from the 5^th to the late 15^th centuries) It described a preliminary drawing on strong card for works like stained glass windows, frescoes, tapestries, or some other form of artistic expression.

The cartoon, from the Italian cartone or the Dutch karton for strong paper or pasteboard, is a full-size drawing. In practices like weaving, the cartoon is given to the weaver as a chart or guide for the work to be produced.

For frescoes or paintings, pinpricks can be made along the outlines of a design. Then coloured powder (originally soot was used) is dusted or ‘pounced’ over the cartoon to leave precise dotted guidelines.

Cartoons by Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, and Raphael are greatly prized masterpieces.

Jan Yoors working on a cartoon for a tapestry now in the J.P. Morgan art collection

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commos

In its common modern usage, cartoon has two main meanings. The first refers to a drawing or caricature, often of a prominent figure. Caricature was first used in early 17^th century Italy. It is known for exaggerating notable features of its subjects. The concept of caricature was introduced to 18^th century England by rich aristocratic young men returning from the ‘Grand Tour,’ which was intended to complete their education.

Modern cartoons satirise political personalities or ‘celebrities’ and often refer to recent pronouncements or faux pas. Others are used in comic strips, like Garfield or Tottering-by-Gently.

The second main meaning of cartoon attaches to a series of animated images like SpongeBob SquarePants or Paw Patrol.

Artists producing comic strip or other non-animated cartoons are called cartoonists. Those producing cartoon films are known as animators. All have particular talents and idiosyncratic styles.

Sometimes

 

Sometimes

                 ‘Sometimes I sits and thinks and sometimes I just sits.’

In the evening, after the heat of the day has abated, Herschel trots into the garden and sits on an old wooden chair and gazes at the world. He seems half-asleep, but woe betide any little creature that catches his eye.

As soon as we call ‘Cats, cats, cats!’ he strolls in leisurely fashion along the garden path and then sits on the step outside the open patio door, waiting to be enticed in with ‘Treats?’

Meanwhile, Jellicoe sits on the bridge over the pond and is usually very quick to abandon his post and return indoors. Last evening, however, although he was discussing it with us, he refused to budge until he was offered some freshly cooked chicken and then he was in like a bolt from a gun.

‘Sometimes I sits and thinks and sometimes I just sits’ has been attributed to Winnie-the-Pooh and it suits his personality, but it was not coined by A.A. Milne. 

William Gunning King (1859-1940), the British cartoonist, had a similar caption on a cartoon in Punch on 24th October 1906. The cartoon showed an old countryman and a vicar's wife. She asked him how he passed the time now he couldn't get about and the man replied with, 'Well, mum, sometimes I sits and thinks and then again I just sits.'

‘Punch, or The London Charivari’ was a British magazine of humour and political satire, which was published weekly almost continuously from 1841 to 2002. The Mr Punch puppet from Punch and Judy, was chosen as the magazine’s mascot.

William Gunning King was a painter and illustrator and was described as ‘a vigorous illustrator of rural life.’ He was commissioned to produce a painting to be used as an advertisement for ‘Bibby’s Animal Feed Company’ in Liverpool (now Bibby Agriculture).

Cattle feed advertisement for J. Bibby and Sons

 The company management claimed, ‘Nobody had a better eye for a cow than Gunning King,’ but Gunning King also painted other farm animals and rural farming scenes.

In a period of thirty years, to earn a living, he painted about 300 pictures for Bibby’s, who were one of Gunning King’s many patrons.

In 1905 he began submitting work to Punch. The following cartoon from 11^th November 1914, has the captions:

Cyclist to shopkeeper: “Many recruits gone from this village?”

Shopkeeper to cyclist: “No, Sir.”

Cyclist to shopkeeper: “Oh, why’s that?”

Shopkeeper to cyclist: “Well, Sir, after going carefully into the matter, we, in this neighbourhood, decided to remain absolutely neutral.”

 (That reminded me of the ‘nuclear-free zone’ in London in the 1980s.)

The First World War (The Great War) started on 28^th July 1914 and continued until 11^th November 1918.

Common sense at last

 

Common sense at last

The headlines this morning gave me hope that someone with common sense is leading the country. Andy Burnham, our new Prime Minister, has declared that he will put practical education on a par with academia. Perhaps now we will stop encouraging all and sundry to go to university whether or not they have the aptitude. Perhaps now we will begin to value the artisans, without whom, for example, houses would not be built and maintained.

An afternoon in the garden

 

An afternoon in the garden

We visited Gareth and Nina and their family on Saturday. It’s been a long time since we’ve seen all of them together. Susannah drove us there, which was very nice of her.

The ‘children’ are all currently living at home, with plans to move out to live in London, where the three of them work, with friends. Everything in London is so expensive, and they know they will have to part with a lot of their hard-earned salaries each month.

It was so nice for Frankie (13) to see his cousins, (27, 25 and 23) He’s had a rough couple of years with many changes, and it was good for him to be greeted and treated as an individual in his own right and not be judged or criticised. He had a wonderful time in their company and they each had something different to offer him.

It was a warm, sunny afternoon and we sat under an enormous adjustable parasol, which has integral lights and sound. We didn’t need the lights, of course, but it was pleasant to listen to different people’s play lists.

Gareth loves preparing and cooking food, so we dined very well, with Nina’s delicious salads accompanying homemade burgers and sausages. The pavlova proved a step too far for most of us, sadly. It looked delicious!

I discovered that Elliot cannot burp. It was not a subject I introduced freely, but he asked me if I still wrote blogs, so I told him about the recent one. He suffers from abelchia and often has to lie flat on his back to relieve the discomfort. This leads to some interesting conversations when he’s out, as strangers offer sympathy - ‘Had a bit too much, mate?’ It cuts short some of his evenings as he is obliged to return home.

It was soon time for us to take our leave. Eve and Louis were planning to go out for the evening and were trying to persuade Elliot to join them. They asked us what we would be doing for the rest of the day. One event a day is quite sufficient for us . . .

Today, Susannah and Frankie, Arthur and the three cats have returned to London. We shall see them again soon. It was very pleasant to have them here for a week.

It feels quiet here now. The dogs and cats are flaked out. We shall go to bed early. The heat is building up again, so early morning walks will be the order of the day once more.