Too darned hot!

It’s too darned hot for me, anyway, and we’re not within hailing of high summer. By that time, it may well be cold and wet and miserable.

 ‘Too Darn Hot’ was a song written by Cole Porter in 1948 for the musical ‘Kiss Me, Kate.’ I’ve never seen it.

It was inspired by the arguments, both on stage and off, between two married actors performing Shakespeare’s ‘The Taming of the Shrew’ in 1935.

I always thought the words were ‘too darned hot’ but discovered my error when I looked up the lyrics. I found the words quite surprising, and rather risqué for the period in which they were written.

The song has no bearing on the plot in film or on stage. In the theatre version, the song shows the company taking a break during the interval and complaining that it’s too hot. The complaints, apparently off-stage, are that it’s too hot for them to keep their assignations later that night.

According to the Kinsey Report
Ev'ry average man you know
Much prefer to play his favorite sport
When the temperature is low,
But when the thermometer goes 'way up
And the weather is sizzling hot,

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

 . . . it's too, too
Too darn hot,
It's too darn hot,
It's too, too, too, too darn hot.

I shall never think of ‘it’s too darn hot’ in quite the same way in future, but will continue to think, ‘it’s too darned hot.’

Many people in UK will be revelling in the soaring temperatures, which are set to reach their peak on Tuesday, at 34˚C (93.2˚F) in my region, the south of England.

Thereafter, they will drop until they are a more manageable 25˚C, gradually reducing to 22˚C, with the threat, or promise, of rain. We need rain, for the ground is very dry, and the risk of wildfires is correspondingly high.

I appreciate that what I consider high temperatures probably seems laughable to those in countries where heat is inescapable in the summer months, in tropical, and arid zones, and where water conservation is a major concern. I still think it’s too darned hot!

Catastrophe!

 

Catastrophe!

General Electric GE-645 mainframe configuration 

Image downloaded just to prove that it can (still) be done!

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

In the grand scheme of things, it should not really be classed as catastrophic, but it cannot be denied that one’s personal computer breaking down is more than a slight irritation.

 It is astonishing that something can progress from working perfectly, though occasionally a little clunkily, to throwing a major tantrum, toys flying out of the pram in every direction. It went into a complete sulk, refusing to cooperate, sitting in the corner, drumming its feet, and pouting in a most unattractive manner.

After several hours it was told that enough was enough, or, actually, too much, and its time was up. Parts of it could be regenerated in a sort of organ donation way, but its LED lights would shine no more, or, at least, not in the same environment.

Meantime, its job was taken over by a fairly elderly but reliable laptop. A considerable period elapsed as passwords were sought in order to introduce favourite websites to the new system. The tried and tested method of saving passwords is to record them immediately. Yes, yes, I know the advice is to never write them down anywhere at all on pain of death, or of being cast into the outer ether.

 Unless you have one password for every site ever visited, which is risky, different passwords must be used. Some require a minimum number of letters, while others insist on numbers, punctuation, capital letters, characters, your mother’s maiden name, and how long you’ve lived at your current address.

Therefore, in common with most of technologically challenged mankind, users write passwords in a dedicated notebook. There are many on the market, prosaically labelled, ‘Passwords’ or ‘Internet Password Logbook’ or more to the point and reflecting the aggravation that passwords can cause, ‘WTF is my Password?’ (For the tender-minded, WTF can stand for ‘What the Flip’ – not quite so punchy, but inoffensive!)

This concludes my excuse reason for unexplained absence. There should be a default setting for unexpected nonappearance. ‘There has been an unscheduled break in transmission. Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible.’

Small world

 

Small world

 

City Walls and north-east Bastion, Free School Lane, Rochester, Kent.

This photograph, from the 1920s, shows St Nicholas' School on the left. The grass in the foreground became the lower yard of Sir William Josephson's Mathematical School for Boys. It is now  a car park!

Image courtesy Medway Archives Centre

Today, my middle daughter is working, by chance,  with someone from my old home town. In the course of discovering how much her colleague and I had in common, in terms of local landmarks, I found myself looking back to my young life.

My first school was St Margaret’s in St Margaret’s Street, Rochester. I spent my infant years there, from five to seven. I learnt to read, but was rarely called out to read to the teacher, which I later realised was because I was a ‘good reader.’ The school no longer exists.

My junior school years were spent at St Nicholas’ School in Free School Lane, Rochester. This had been built in 1857 alongside the mediaeval City Walls, and north-east Bastion. A bastion is a defensive, angled extension built out from the main wall, enabling defenders to fire along the wall’s sides and cover blind spots.

Records state that it educated boys and girls, but there were no boys when I was there. Possibly, there were boys in the infant department, but not in the junior school. The school was demolished in 1968.

                                            Rochester Cathedral

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

 Another school built inside the city walls was King’s School, Rochester. It is a cathedral school, founded in 604 AD, and forms part of the foundation of Rochester Cathedral, which was constructed in the same year. It is claimed to be the second oldest continuously functioning school in the world. The oldest is The King’s School, Canterbury, which was founded in AD 597.

Rochester is an attractive small city on the banks of the River Medway. The Norman castle keep looks out across the river. The fortress was designed to control the Medway bridge and protect the road to London.

                                             Rochester Castle

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons
The cathedral, castle, and walls form one of the most complete Norman landscapes in England.

                                                        Image source

Charles Dickens lived near Rochester for most his life and it features in much of his work, often under other names, like ‘Dingley Dell’ in The Pickwick Papers, and ‘Cloisterham’ in Edwin Drood. Other buildings appear, too, like The Bull Hotel, Guildhall, and Eastgate House, which was renamed Westgate House for The Pickwick Papers.

 

Eastgate House, Rochester

 Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Give a dog a bone

 

Give a dog a bone

Our dogs don’t have butcher’s bones, but they do have bone-shaped chews, and chews in the shape of toothbrushes, or hedgehogs, or alligators. At other times, they have a raw carrot each. These things all help to keep their teeth clean and their breath sweet.

‘Give a dog a bone’ is a line in a children’s nursery rhyme, ‘This old man.’ It is an old counting rhyme with a strong rhythm, with different versions dating from the 1870s. It has been suggested that it referred to itinerant Irish pedlars, and the unpleasant treatment they received in Victorian times, but this has never been verified.

This old man, he played one,
He played knick-knack on my thumb,
With a knick-knack, paddy-whack,
Give a dog a bone,
This old man came rolling home.

A knick-knack is a trinket or inexpensive trifle sold by a traveller. It is also the nuchal ligament at the back of the neck in some mammals that have a heavy head or have to run long distances. It helps to support the weight of the head. In sheep and cows, this ligament is called the paxwax, or paddywhack. The nuchal ligament is often dried for use as dog treats. Paddywhack is an old English dialect word and has no association with Irish people.

This old man, he played two,
He played knick-knack on my shoe,
With a knick-knack, paddy-whack,
Give a dog a bone,
This old man came rolling home.

Knick-knack may also have been an allusion to the sounds made by bones or spoons, which might have been played as an accompaniment to the song.

This old man, he played three,
He played knick-knack on my knee,
With a knick-knack, paddy-whack,
Give a dog a bone,
This old man came rolling home.

Although paddy-whack does not refer to an Irishman, Paddy has been an affectionate name for Irishmen since the late 18^th century. It is the diminutive of Patrick or Pádraig, which are traditional Irish names.

This old man, he played four,
He played knick-knack on my door,
With a knick-knack, paddy-whack,
Give a dog a bone,
This old man came rolling home.

Why was the dog given a bone? Was it literal? It’s possible it referred to providing some form of small meal to the pedlar.

This old man, he played five,
He played knick-knack on my hive,
With a knick-knack, paddy-whack,
Give a dog a bone,
This old man came rolling home.

Bee-keeping was widespread in ordinary homes from the 12^th to the 19^th centuries. The hives were skeps, baskets made from coiled straw, and coated with dung or clay to provide some defence against poor weather. Honey was cheaper than sugar, and beeswax was used to make candles.

This old man, he played six,
He played knick-knack on my sticks,
With a knick-knack, paddy-whack,
Give a dog a bone,
This old man came rolling home.

Small cut branches or ‘hedge sticks’ were collected and used as kindling. Bundles of sticks were called faggots.

This old man, he played seven,
He played knick-knack up to Heaven,
With a knick-knack, paddy-whack,
Give a dog a bone,
This old man came rolling home.

Many infants did not live to see their first birthday in 1870. One in six died from infectious diseases, like measles, diarrhoea, and scarlet fever. Other causes of death included milk which may have been mixed with water or chalk, overcrowding in insanitary conditions, low birth-weight, and pollution in the cities. So, death and ‘Heaven’ were ever-present in families’ thoughts.

This old man, he played eight,
He played knick-knack on my gate,
With a knick-knack, paddy-whack,
Give a dog a bone,
This old man came rolling home.

I always assumed that ‘rolling home’ referred to an inebriated man staggering home, but another suggestion is that it refers to a tinker’s horse-drawn caravan rolling along.

Rhymes nine and ten, ‘my spine,’ and ‘my hen,’ completed the song.

Torsk

 

Torsk

Atlantic cod (Gadus morhua) 

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Torsk is the Scandinavian name for cod, but specifically Atlantic cod (Gadus morhua) which is also known commercially as codling.

All true torsk are cod but not all cod are torsk. Some in the cod (Gadidae) family are sometimes marketed as cod, but are more properly known as haddock, pollock, coley, whiting, hake, among others.

In Ireland and the UK, cusk (Brosme brosme) is called torsk, even though it is not.

Atlantic cod can live for twenty-five years, and are sexually mature at ages varying from two to eight years. It has been heavily overfished, to the point of being labelled vulnerable on the IUCN Red List. Some stocks are more endangered than others, for example, in the western Atlantic around Canada and New England.

 Eastern Atlantic cod stocks, around Iceland, Norway, and the Barents Sea (north of Norway and Russia and strictly part of the Arctic Ocean) are at healthy, sustainable levels.

North Sea and Celtic Sea cod stocks are still endangered. The situation in the North Sea is so dire that scientists have advised that there should be no cod fishing in these waters. In addition, other stocks of the Gadidae family are also causing concern. Similar restricted fishing measures are expected to be suggested in the Celtic Sea.

Fish, once a cheap and easily sourced food, has become increasingly expensive. Suggested alternatives for cheaper meals are chicken, beans, pulses, eggs, mushrooms, and tofu.

Chicken and eggs are produced at speed on an industrial scale, but that’s a topic for another time.

The pond

 

The pond

This is the year of clearing the pond.

So was last year, and the year before, and the year before that, though other things took over and required more attention. This year, however, really is the year of the pond, and to prove it, waders have been purchased, to go alongside the long waterproof gloves, appropriately called ‘Pond gloves.’

                                        Note the integral boots!

                    Close-up of integral boots in their pristine state.

The sludge at the bottom of the pond, in which all sorts of beasties live and reproduce, will be removed and added to the garden to enrich the soil. Naturally, it will be left to drain beforehand so that they can make their escape before being sentenced to life on dry land. Rocks which have fallen into the water over the years will be retrieved and replaced around the edges of the pond. The water will be replaced, and the waterfalls will be reinstated to flow once more.

We have done all this before, but this time we promise ourselves that we will ‘keep on top of it.’ Mmm! We shall see. One of our daughters suggested filling in the pond, or at least part of it. This was met with horror and cries of, ‘Oh, no!’ (What’s that saying about the child being father to the man?)

                                            Lizard tail roots

                                    Lizard tail (Saururus cernuus)

The waders were given their inaugural dipping, and much of the tangle of lizard tail roots was pulled up. Many newts were displaced and replaced. So far, no frogs have been discovered, but we live in hopes.

A start has been made. It remains to be seen if our good intentions – and we have many of those in several areas of life – will be fulfilled.

There may, or may not, be periodic updates . . . 

Folly

 

Folly

The best plan is to profit by the folly of others.

Pliny the Elder (23/4 AD-79 AD)

 

The Pantheon at Stourhead was built in 1753-1754. It was inspired by the Pantheon in Rome.

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Folly, from the French folie, is a synonym for foolishness, often involving poor judgement, or recklessness.

Was it folly that led to the fashion for constructing decorative but apparently purposeless buildings?

 Follies were frequently built in the grand gardens of English and French estates.

Some ancient estates had genuine ruins in their grounds, but others designed their own, as a romantic expression.

The fashion for follies began in the 16^th century, and by the 18^th century they were extremely popular. They took many forms, including exotic temples, ruined castles, and other unexpected manifestations. Some, in France for example, were romantic cottages and mills. Others found their inspiration in landscape paintings.

Follies are found across the world, but they are particularly numerous in the United Kingdom, which has thousands. However, England is known as the country in which more were built than anywhere else.

Famine Follies refers to the works built during the 1845-1849 Great Famine of Ireland. In an effort to provide relief for desperately impoverished people, projects were devised that would not take work away from existing workers. Famine follies included deliberately pointless structures like roads which went nowhere, piers built in bogs, and arches leading to nothing.

 

 

Why?

 

Why?

                                Roger Federer, Wimbledon 2009

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Until I wrote my recent ‘Grunt and Sigh’ post, I’d never thought about why people do it, particularly the former. Boud came nearest the explanation when she commented, ‘Grunting helps strengthen your core.’ It certainly does have something to do with the core.

Rising from sitting requires abdominal and hip muscles to work, and a degree of core engagement. With age, muscles weaken, the body strains more, and the effort is expressed in a grunt or groan. Sometimes, people involuntarily hold their breath when making a physical effort, like standing up, and the air released at the end of the action comes out as a grunt.

The grunt is an involuntary reflex, a minor form of Valsalva manoeuvre. The Valsalva manoeuvre is a breathing technique used to slow down heart rate, or clear blocked ears. Basically, it is performed by holding the nose and breathing out while keeping the mouth closed. Air is forced into the eustachian tubes and the ears ‘pop,’ equalising the pressure in them.

Grunting becomes habit.

Tennis players, champion grunters, have several reasons for making such a racket. (Note the pun on words!)

Sports scientists have shown that players who grunt serve faster, and complete their groundstrokes faster. Grunts also release tension and improve the timing of strokes. The noise ‘synchronises breathing precisely with hitting the ball.’

Other reasons for grunting probably come under the heading of gamesmanship. Grunts can be distracting to an opponent, and can affect how quickly they react to a shot. If they cannot hear the ball on the racquet, they cannot judge its speed and direction as effectively.

Grunting has spoilt my pleasure in watching tennis on television. If only there were a way to screen out the noise, just leaving the commentary, the crowd reaction, and the umpire’s calls . . .

A perfect gentleman

 

A perfect gentleman

Gilbert, wet from a swim, modelling his tracker. He and Roxy wear trackers every time they go for a walk.

In our house there is a lobby between the sitting room and the kitchen. It has four doorways, but only three doors. One door leads from the sitting room. One doorway leads into the kitchen. One door leads to the integral garage, which houses everything but a car, and where things disappear never to be seen again. One door conceals the downstairs loo.

It is a reasonably-sized area, and houses one of the cat litter trays, and a gallon bucket of water. All the animals, including visitors, avail themselves of it, and small children are discouraged from plunging their hands and heads into it.

One wise dog, long gone, our gentle Dalmatian, Dominie, always used to have a good drink before she went out for a walk. None of the others has ever done that, but they go immediately to drink on returning home.

Gilbert is very sensitive, ever willing to please, and mortified if he thinks he has done something inappropriate. He also keeps an eye on Roxy when they are out, and if she hangs back, or remains too long in one spot, he draws attention to the fact.

At home, he frequently curls up by my feet, as he did when he was a puppy, while Roxy spreads herself out in everyone’s way. That way she cannot be ignored.

Today, after their walk, Gilbert was having a long drink. I was in the kitchen, needing to go past him into the sitting room. Without a word or gesture from me, he shifted his body so that I had room to pass.

He is a perfect gentleman.

 

Grunt and Sigh

 

         

Grunt and Sigh

 Jaques in Shakespeare’s play, ‘As You Like It,’ details the seven ages of man. Since the play was written five hundred years ago, women play only a peripheral part in his monologue, appearing as the nurse to the (boy) child.

The stages he mentions are Infant, Schoolboy, Lover, Soldier, Justice, Pantaloon (old man) and Second childishness.

Nowhere does he mention the ‘Grunt and Sigh’ age of mankind, the time of life when rising from a seated position, or lifting a heavy burden, or pulling weeds, can only be accomplished successfully and readily when accompanied by a ‘grunt.’ Neither does he give time and space to the ‘sigh’ that so often follows the ‘grunt,’ when tired limbs are dropped onto a comfortable surface for rest and possibly a cup of tea.

Grunting and sighing creep up on slippered feet until they become a natural part of mankind’s existence. Too late does the executor realise that the soundtrack to life is now a series of grunts and sighs, varying in volume and expression according to the effort expended.

Do tennis players realise how much their grunts irritate onlookers? Are their grunts followed by sighs of satisfaction, or disappointment, or are the sighs simply an expulsion of breath on the wings of a curse or a prayer?

Grunt and sigh – what would Shakespeare have made of it?

Slasher film

 

Slasher film

I came across the term ‘slasher film’ only recently, so had to investigate a little. I found this:

‘’Slasher films are a subgenre of horror centred on a killer who stalks and murders a group of victims, typically using bladed or close‑range weapons. They emphasize suspense, escalating body counts, and the fear of being hunted.”

Blood and gore, suspense, physical and psychological horror, endless unrealistic ‘fights,’ at least two riveting chases across unlikely terrain, like rooftops (why do perpetrators always attempt to escape upwards?)

Many people enjoy watching horror films, for the thrill of almost being involved and having the associated adrenaline rush in the safety of a cinema or their home. The desire to watch participants fighting and enduring terrible injuries dates back at least to Ancient Rome.

Gladiatorial performances were conducted from 264 BC for almost one thousand years. They were not always ‘fights to the death,’ as films have suggested, but were refereed. Gladiators might fight two or three times a year, and have a career of several years.

Slasher films might be portrayed as modern fairy stories, showing the victory of good over evil. Some films have seemed to glory in the deeds of their villains, with sequential films showing the evil-doer as the main focus, an anti-hero as hero, maybe.

The most affecting and effective horror is that which is suggested rather than shown.

I do not like horror films at all. There are enough terrible things happening in the world without seeking them as entertainment.

 How about you?

 

 

Improving

 

Improving

He has a faintly piratical look now, but with a white patch, rather than a black.

It’s been two and half months since Jellicoe’s operation. His eye is improving all the time. He’ll never look the same again, but his personality remains unchanged.

In every other respect, he’s back to normal, doing everything he’s accustomed to. It’s good to see.

As he was, with symmetrical facial markings

Arthur takes a trip

 

Arthur takes a trip

 Drugs are Bad, Mkay?

Five-year-old Arthur is an affectionate, confident, working Cocker spaniel with a busy nose and an ever-wagging tail. Living in London with Susannah, his walks are enlivened by enticing smells of fox poo, which he eats, or rolls in, or both (ugh!) There is far more fox poo in the cities than there is in the countryside. Country foxes roam far and wide, while urban foxes haunt gardens, and restaurants, and rubbish bins, where the pickings are easy.

If Arthur is caught before he indulges in a tasty ‘treat,’ he is disappointed, but philosophical. (There’s always tomorrow!) However, if he is discovered mid-snack, he rapidly gobbles whatever it is. That is precisely what he did on Thursday last week, local election day. All Susannah could ascertain was that it was a large amount of ‘something’ as it disappeared down his gullet.

Shortly after he arrived home with his mistress, he began to display signs of distress. He appeared frightened, was lethargic, flinching, and occasionally trembling, and was most unlike his normal, extrovert self. Susannah rushed him to the emergency vet, who confirmed her fears that he had been poisoned. By the time she left him with the vets, where he was to spend the remainder of the day, he was extremely unsteady on his feet, though he made a feeble attempt to follow her. 

Blood tests revealed that he had swallowed cannabis, along with newspaper and fox poo, which were evident when he was made to vomit. A dose of activated charcoal was administered to reduce absorption of the toxins. He was monitored for the remainder of the day, and was pleased to see Susannah when she went to pick him up, though still quite unlike himself.

He slept a lot on Friday and was not interested in his toys, or food. He’s normally very tolerant of the cats, but was irritable with them. Always a dog wanting a lot of attention and overt affection, he was more than usually insistent on reassurance, as he still seemed scared and disorientated.

By Saturday, he was much improved and even went out for a short walk, on the lead. He was unusually tired after it, panting a lot, but his appetite was returning, and his usual ebullient character was coming to the fore once more. On Sunday, his eyes still betrayed signs of confusion, but he was almost back to normal. He now has to become accustomed to a muzzle, which he hates, to prevent further accidents, while training is ongoing to teach him not to pick up and eat tasty morsels. He is not a greedy dog, but some forbidden things seem extraordinarily attractive to him.

Cannabis poisoning is a common emergency in dogs and is effectively treated if quickly recognised. It affects dogs intensely because they have more cannabinoid receptors, so the chemical in cannabis binds more powerfully. THC (tetrahydrocannabinol) is fat-soluble, meaning that it is absorbed with dietary fat and so stays longer in the body, rather than being flushed out quickly.

Poor Arthur certainly did not have a pleasant 'trip,' and ‘coming down’ after it was not enjoyable. The whole experience was frightening and bewildering, seventy-two hours of his life that were a nightmare.

My word, you do look queer.

How and why cannabis had been left under a bush in a London park is a mystery. Was it a deliberate ploy to poison animals, a ‘drop spot’ for someone to access, a secret stash, or an accidental loss? There will never be answers, just speculation.

Fields of Tequila

 

Fields of Tequila

To be more precise, fields of blue agave which will contribute to Tequila! 

Agave tequilana, commonly called blue agave (agave azul) or tequila agave

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

An image of a field of blue agave appeared on my screen earlier this week. I took a screen shot, but cannot find it now! 

                                            Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Green, or at least, not blue agave, produces Mescal. 

Worms

 

The worms were biting

It was mid-afternoon and the worms were biting. It was too early for supper, but something was required to allay the hunger pangs.

A bap, sliced in half, with lettuce, and cheese, satisfied me. I put a slice of Quorn in Barry’s bap, as well as lettuce and cheese. Quorn is a sort of ersatz ham, made from mycoprotein. I can’t tolerate mushrooms, so avoid it. We don’t buy ham or any other processed meat because it’s not good for kidney disease.

The dogs watched closely, hoping for titbits. I dropped the heart of the little gem lettuce, when I was making the snack, which Roxy enjoyed, but Gilbert missed out, poor starving boy!

‘The worms are biting’ is an old English colloquialism that means that someone is feeling very hungry, as if little worms are nibbling daintily at your innards.

It, and similar sayings, date back to the mid-1700s.   

It is also used in fishing circles to enquire if the fishing is successful.  

A rather unpleasant story, purported to be true (but who knows?) tells of a young boy who was fishing. When asked one day if the fish were biting, he replied that they weren’t, but the worms were. His father, on hearing that, blanched and rushed to find his son, but he was dead. When digging for bait, the boy had mistaken a nest of baby rattlesnakes for worms.

Baby rattlers are born with the fully developed ability to use their fangs and inject poison. However, they are less dangerous than adults, as they carry much less venom. Therefore, the story is probably apocryphal.   

World Donkey Day

 

World Donkey Day

Jenny and donkey foal

I was pleased to see this picture on my screen this morning, and to discover that today is World Donkey Day. In common with many people, I suspect, donkeys have a special place in my heart. I have never known a donkey, or even been near one since my childhood, but somehow these friendly-looking quadrupeds have found their way into my consciousness, probably through children’s stories and poems.

Christopher Robin’s Eeyore, in Winnie-the-Pooh, the lugubrious, permanently pessimistic animal with the detachable tail, is both sad and endearing. One always hopes for a better outcome for him.

In ‘Don Quixote,’ Sancho Panza, Quixote’s faithful servant, rides his cherished donkey as he accompanies his master on his fanciful journey. Sancho loves his donkey almost more than life itself.

G.K. Chesterton’s poem, ‘The Donkey’ portrays the donkey as a simple, unprepossessing animal with a noble duty.

Mary Oliver in her poem, ‘The Poet Thinks about the Donkey,’ shows him as a patient, unassuming beast who will share in greatness.

Legend has it that the donkey bears a cross on his back for his part in the Nativity, carrying Mary to Bethlehem, then carrying Jesus into Jerusalem. It is also said that the donkey stood by at the crucifixion, and the shadow of the cross remained on his back after the sun rose.

The donkey in ‘Shrek’ is reliable, but extremely loud, and funny.

Before the late eighteenth century, around 1784 or 1785, donkeys were known as asses. It’s not clear why the term donkey came into being. Possibly it referred to the animal’s dun colour. It is preferable to ass, which can be a pejorative term, as in, ‘You silly ass,’ often with ass being pronounced as ‘arse.’

Donkeys have been used as beasts of burden for at least five thousand years. The majority of them work in underdeveloped countries, where their life expectancy will not usually exceed fifteen years. In more advantageous circumstances, a donkey can live up to fifty years.

There are about 185 breeds of donkey, varying from 90 cm (35”) to 150 cm (59”) in height at the withers.

A male donkey is called a Jack, or jackass, and a female is a Jenny. Jackasses are often cross-bred with female horses, to produce mules, which are stronger and more resilient than donkeys. They are valued as efficient pack animals, sure-footed, and capable of carrying heavy loads.

Donkeys have a reputation for being stubborn and awkward, mules less so. Their supporters claim that donkeys are not obstinate, but thoughtful, animals, assessing potential risks before proceeding. I think I’d be pretty careful on a narrow mountain track, too.

Local elections

 

Local elections

I hope all those eligible to vote in today’s local elections have done so, or will before the polling booths close. They are open until 10.00 p.m. Results are expected from the early hours of Friday onwards.

The fight for universal suffrage was long and fraught.

The Third Reform Act of 1884 gave the right to vote to two in every three men, though some men had two or more votes. Unmarried female rate payers had been allowed to vote in local elections since 1869, but were not allowed to vote in General (Parliamentary) Elections.

In 1918, when men returned from the horrors of the First World War, it was felt that there should be a change in the voting laws. The men had fought for their country, but many were disbarred from voting for representation. The Representation of the People Act, 1918, enfranchised all men over the age of 21. Women aged 30 or older, who owned property in their own right, or were married to men who had property, were given the vote.

UK women were awarded the same right to vote as men in 1928. The voting age then was 21.

The UK voting age was reduced to 18 in 1969. This made the country the first democracy worldwide to give the vote to 18-year-olds. Scotland and Wales lowered the voting age to 16 for the Scottish Parliament, in 2015 -2016, for the Senedd (Welsh Parliament) in 2021-2022, and local elections.

 In February this year, The Representation of the People Bill (2026) began its tortuous, torturous journey through Parliament. Its intention is to lower the voting age to 16 for all elections in the UK. The government hopes that it will be passed into law before the next General Election.

I know some highly thoughtful and intelligent 16-year-olds, and also many more who are impressionable, and the things they fervently believe often change out of all recognition by the time they have experienced more of life than school, training, and education. They are likely to fall prey to be influenced by some of the wilder claims of the more desperate parties.

There’s still time to cast your vote – if you’re in the UK and eligible.

Losing the . . .

 

Losing the . . .

No, I’m not losing the plot, at least, no more than usual. It’s the letter that comes between ‘f’ and ‘h’ that is proving elusive on my keyboard. I note, however, that it has decided to come out to play now that I’ve mentioned it. Just like a naughty child, seeking attention, it gives the lie to my complaint.

It reminded me of accents, dialect, whatever you like to call them, and some of the regional differences in speech. In some parts of the UK, ‘g’ is given extra value, so that words like ‘singing’ are pronounced ‘sing-ging’ and ‘hang’ becomes ‘hang-uh’. It sounds attractive, to my ears, anyway.

In other areas, ‘g’ is commonly dropped, particularly at the ends of words, so that ‘walking’ becomes ‘walkin.’ That manner of speaking was considered ‘upper-class’, and jokes were made about the Lord of the Manor ‘huntin’, shootin,’ and fishin’. Now, that trait is commonplace in some regions.

In my part of the world, there is an unusual pronunciation of words beginning with ‘str’. ‘Str’ becomes ‘shtr’ so that ‘street’ is pronounced ‘shtreet.’ It’s a ‘shtrange’ quirk.

Anyway, my ‘g’ has returned . . . for now!