Monday, 30 December 2019

A. A. Milne: Winnie-the-Pooh

After all, one can’t complain. I have my friends. Somebody spoke to me only yesterday.
(Eeyore) 

I have around half a dozen friends so close we’re still friends years, even decades after the time we used to meet on a daily or at least weekly basis. The problem is we no longer do, and I have nobody to really talk to more often than every several months or so.
 
 
 
 
(originally posted probably on WordPress)

 

Saturday, 28 December 2019

Xmas '19

As usual spent with my parents in their town. Like last year I went on Christmas Eve (not impressed by the new railway company: they only do seat reservation tickets, the PA system was far too loud, with English announcements in Americanese which moreover sounded a pretended, exaggerated one by some local to me), spent there Christmas Day and returned the day after.

The conversations were relaxed, even though we were probably sitting in silence with nobody knowing what to say next more often than the year before. My father seems to be losing it, but only very slightly so far; his cheeks were a bit sunken, but he still looked fairly healthy for a guy in his late seventies. Still, it was a wee bit disconcerting when during our goodbyes he mentioned no longer making any plans further than a year in advance.

Anyway, I survived and on Boxing Day afternoon my end-of-year time off finally began in earnest. (The pub proved to be closed, but maybe that was for the better.)

 

(originally posted on WordPress)

 

"Ok boomer"

I haven’t found a source that would stretch the definition of "baby boomer" far enough to cover my own birthday, and yet the "ok boomer" catchphrase somehow irritates me. Maybe because I perceive the 1960s (when baby boomers themselves were young) as the last time in the Western civilisation when young people, as a group, still believed they could change humankind for the better. All I can see in the following generations (ay, including mine) is punkers, yuppies, hipsters, and those desperate ones like Thunberg who can do no more than try to at least prevent a complete catastrophe.

Or maybe it annoys me simply because all my life I’ve been trying to be condescending neither to those older nor to those younger than me, while being patronised by my elders when young … and now that I’m old feeling patronised by the younger ones.


(originally posted on WordPress)

Coffee with sister

Like the year before, a few days before Christmas I met my sister in a café for a couple of hours of chatting. Pleasant and relaxed as usual; the only minor difference was that we talked a bit more about languages and a bit less about literature. (There were other topics too of course.) I wouldn’t mind if these meetings turned into a tradition, they sort of help me brace myself for the following visits to my parents.


(originally posted on WordPress)

Friday, 27 December 2019

Robert Louis Stevenson: New Arabian Nights

For all active and industrious pursuits, Harry was unfitted alike by nature and training.
(about Harry Hartley in "Story of the Bandbox") 

A really good job has three characteristics: it provides you with a reasonable living; it’s interesting enough for you to enjoy it; and you can be quite good at it. So far, I haven’t heard of one in which I could get two out of three.



(originally posted on WordPress)

The year’s last commute

My last shift ended on Saturday morning, and with the trams running sparsely I decided to try and find a pedestrian route.

It proved to be somewhat meandering and longish, a waste of time as an everyday exercise, but not bad for an occasional ramble like that early morning’s one: meeting hardly any people, quietly soliloquising, and while walking past the central cemetery smelling, after months, the beautiful fragrance of conifers. (For some reason it also reminded me nostalgically of returns from some bummels of my younger days.)

 

(originally published on WordPress)

Tuesday, 24 December 2019

Christmas party

I never liked company parties, but this wasn’t one. This was just a bunch of us oldish guys who’d once studied together using Christmas as an excuse to meet in a pub. And it was fine, although I could only stay for two coffees before leaving for a night shift.

What surprised me most* was that MM, whom I hadn’t seen since mid-90s, changed so little I recognised him immediately. To him the old joke “we’re no longer young and handsome, we’re simply handsome now” actually applies. He’s a year older but looks ten younger than me I guess.

It also seemed to me that, oddly, the guys who, unlike Falcon and me, never needed specs in our college days, were getting presbyopic much faster than the two of us. And that Black and maybe Köln were as hard of hearing as I am these days. (Or maybe I just speak lower than is customary in this country, who knows. The pub was as clamorous as the factory I work in, so we had to resort to shouting as well, and that’s not exactly my forte.)

My leaving was a wee bit frantic, as it would be in a teeming pub I’d never been to before, but never mind. I just hope the next time we meet I’ll be able to spend more time with them.

   

* There was a minor surprise along the way there: the central railway station is fully open again, after just a year or so under reconstruction. I had expected it would last several.


(originally published on WordPress)

Sunday, 22 December 2019

GE '19

So it seems that after all I will live long enough to see Brexit actually happen. The unpleasant side effect is, of course, that we’re burdened with Tory rule for at least another five years. Well, rien n’est parfait, as the French say. Apparently the English electorate saw finishing the EU business as the primary topic of the election.

As for Labour, I guess that Corbyn’s problem wasn’t his stance on Brexit, but his seeming inability to decide what his stance really was. As for the SNP, their success showed yet again that the kingdom remains divided, whatever its name; just look at the maps. And as for the Lib Dems, including their leader herself, they probably fell victim to their own arrogance.


(originally posted on WordPress)

Monday, 16 December 2019

Un autre travail

Alors, j’étais dans mon nouveau travail pendant presque un mois, et il n’est pas mauvais. Pas trop facile, pas trop difficile. Il y avait une délusion quand la docteure m’a interdit de travailler en trois-huit (à cause de mon âge, le cancer et l’addiction), mais au moins elle m’a permit travailler les nuits. (Je n’avait pas eu d’équipe de nuit depuis trois ans, mais elles sont toujours plus confortable que les équipes de matin.)

Mais bien sûr, la chose la plus importante, c’est qu’il n’y a pas de radio pour m’énerver

 

(originally posted on WordPress)

Sunday, 15 December 2019

Tobias Smollett: The Expedition of Humphry Clinker

I find my spirits and my health affect each other reciprocally that is to say, every thing that discomposes my mind, produces a correspondent disorder in my body; and my bodily complaints are remarkably mitigated by those considerations that dissipate the clouds of mental chagrin.
(Matthew Bramble) 

 

Some time ago I had concluded myself that a large majority of my own 'physical' medical problems are actually to a greater or smaller degree psychosomatic, their intensity or even mere appearance affected by my current levels of anxiety, depression, impatience and other usual feelings.



(originally posted on WordPress)

 

Sunday, 8 December 2019

Insignificance

What’s hard to accept, especially for an avid reader like me, is that in my own book of life I may be the main character, but in the books of other people’s lives I’m at best only a very minor one. It’s not that my life is so uninteresting, it’s that I don’t belong to any community, that I have no one to share my joys and sorrows with …

 

(originally posted on WordPress)

Saturday, 7 December 2019

Hypothyroidism

Early October blood tests having showed raised TSH (thyroid-stimulating hormone) level, I was referred for endocrinology. At the hospital whose ORL I visit they didn’t accept me at all, but recommended another place, which scheduled my appointment for early December.

After the 2-month wait, a 15-minute walk to a bus stop and a half-hour ride, it was a bit of a surprise when the visit itself turned out as a mere 10-minute interview including a quick ultrasound scan of the neck and a prescription of 50μg levothyroxine pills to be taken daily for 3 months.

But even though I had to go there between two night shifts, I don’t complain. I more or less enjoyed the bus rides on a nice, overcast day between autumn and winter (think John Atkinson Grimshaw), mostly through village-like suburbs and even woods, and the subsequent three pints in my howf (and then going on sleeping until the next shift).

The only trouble is that one’s expected to take the pill at the same time each day. With the irregularity of my waking hours possibly an unresolvable logistical problem.


(originally posted on WordPress)

Sunday, 24 November 2019

Another 'bender' almost over

Hmm, ‘bender’ … Usually when I’m on the skite I just move between my bed and a pub or pubs, not even bothering to switch on my laptop or mobile. This time I was most of the days doing my language studies, following the news, checking my mailboxes and so on and so forth, even looking for and finding a new job. I just couldn’t help going to a pub for three to five pints almost daily (in fact more often than not twice in a day, first in the afternoon then at night). Well, the next week I’m on night shifts so I won’t be able to.

 

 

(originally posted on WordPress)

Saturday, 23 November 2019

Sounds from jungle

Mind, of the four neighbours I’ve had so far in this place the current one is the least noisy, so I’d rather he didn’t hurry to move out. And being gay cured me, by and large, of racism decades ago. But since said neighbour moved in I can better understand the racism of former colonisers. The sounds he makes when speaking, even in English, and in particular when laughing, do sound to my ears (which otherwise rarely hear any other than European languages) as something from a David Attenborough programme.

 

(originally posted on WordPress)

Sunday, 17 November 2019

Still Game

I never knew about the sitcom until the 7th series began reappearing on iPlayer late last year; I’ve seen all the episodes from that and the following series since then. As often as not the subtitles were missing, so I didn’t nearly get all the quips, but I learned to love it all the same.

There may actually be fewer jokes than in English sitcoms like Upstart Crow or Blackadder; on the other hand, there are serious moments throughout, not just at the very end of the final series. As a consequence, Jack, Victor and the others gradually become like characters from a ‘realistic’ film or book, more like real people than mere caricatures; somewhere towards the last episodes of the last series I realised I would miss them as one misses real-life persons he used to meet and have a good time with for some time.

What I didn’t expect was that at the very end of the very last episode (seen just a couple of hours ago), when most of the main characters, well, depart, I would have to struggle hard to contain my tears (the more so as they do so to Dylan’s Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right). I think I didn’t actually shed any, but my eyes were so misty it took some time to realise the Clansman’s barman was still, despite the white hair, Boaby.

 
 
(originally posted on WordPress)

Monday, 11 November 2019

William McIlvanney: Laidlaw

 

His life had been spent acquiring compensatory qualities that weren’t natural to him but which enabled him to survive.

(about Harry Rayburn) 

When you’re a misfit you can do nothing else. Except maybe kill yourself.

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They weren’t talking, they were broadcasting.
(about three young men in a pub) 

Given that I can’t find this sense of the verb mentioned in any dictionary, it’s probably this book I’d picked it up from when reading it for the first time a few years ago.

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Tommy was where so many people wanted homosexuals to be, trapped in a ghetto of self-loathing.
(about Tommy Bryson)

When I was growing up it was this, rather than gay-bashing, that was the greatest danger: the possibility that you’d end up perceiving yourself as a morally inferior being simply on account of who you liked.


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He could think of nowhere to go but away.
(about Lennie Wilson) 

Many’s the time I moved flat, even town. With only a few exceptions I didn’t have much of an idea about the place I was going to (sometimes didn’t even look forward to getting there), but I couldn’t wait to get out of where I was.



(originally posted on WordPress)


 

 

Saturday, 9 November 2019

Orra = all that?

During my years in Scotland I’ve often heard people say something which to in my ears sounded like “orra”, but none of the definitions given in the DSL (or anywhere else) seemed to make sense in whatever the context was at the moment.

Yesterday I’ve heard it again, a few times in fact, in this video. I decided to ask somebody about it, but rewatching it again today I finally had a moment of revelation: it must be “all that”, and the “r” sound I hear must be due to some phonological process similar to the one which makes some Scots pronounce “the” so that it sounds like “ra”.

 

(originally posted on WordPress)

 

Wednesday, 6 November 2019

The body image paradox

What’s strange is how on the one side you are bombarded by articles about how pictures in magazines and advertisements and so on drive the female part of the population into anorexia, and on the other hand by articles about how the whole population including its female part is steadily getting more overweight, even obese. If you didn’t go out you would almost think there are no women left who have no problem with their weight either way.

 

(originally posted on WordPress)

Iain Banks: The Crow Road

 

Kenneth had never given Freud much credence; maybe because he had looked as honestly into himself as he could, found much that was not to his taste, found a little that was even just plain bad, but nothing much that fitted with what Freud’s teachings said he ought to find.
 
Of course, I only have the popular knowledge of ‘according to Freud, deep down it’s all about sex’, which I found grossly exaggerated.

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You might imagine supporting them [people], talking with them when they needed to talk, trying to help, but you didn’t imagine that you would be the one desperate to talk (or the one too embarrased to talk, too ashamed or too proud to talk); you didn’t imagine you would be the one who needed help.
(of Fiona Urvill) 

For most of my life I was always ready to be ‘the shoulder to cry on’ for others, and needed none myself, but as I grow old I more and more often miss having one.

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Shit, original sin? What sick fuckwit thought that one up?
(Kenneth McHoan)

I never gave the concept much thought, it seemed so blatantly stupid, but considering that people were beguiled into believing it does make it quite repulsive as well.


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In Glasgow I had taken to sitting in churches. It was mostly just for the atmosphere.
(Prentice McHoan) 

I had occasionally sat in a church to ‘meditate’ before (never outwith Scotland though), but only after settling for some time in Glasgow did I begin doing this with any frequency.



(originally posted on WordPress)


 

 

Sunday, 3 November 2019

Recovering

I don’t want to jinx myself, but it looks like after a month of often waking up in sweat, and a few days of runny nose, dry cough and general feebleness (sometimes combined with withdrawal), fought towards the end with antibiotics, nasal drops and dressing very warm (but not staying in bed or even indoors all the time), I’m finally almost all right again. Just in time for the oncoming medical check.

 

 (originally  posted on WordPress)