Casting Off

Another bit of glancing back today. At my year's three-quarter mark I thought it useful to recall my New Year resolution for 2025 - that being a vow to be Leaner and Keener. On the 'leaner' front, I think it's reasonable to say I've managed to thin down quite a bit of the unnecessary, especially at work, having paid a few quiet visits to the big bins at one of the more remote entrances into the grounds. But I could still do better (the theme of many of the pithier school reports from my teachers.)

I've got vague plans about this, relating for the most part to papers I have in storage. Picturing dumping documents I really should have got rid of years ago has an odd enchantment about it. Not sure that's entirely healthy in mental terms, but I'm of an age when it's wise to take whatever pleasures avail themselves without too much in the way of self-analysis. Definitely keen to be mean.

Still Unmedicated

Glanced back to this time last year to find out what I was up to, only to find I was boasting about being happily unmedicated and feeling very good about it. The same is luckily true today. I haven't had to pop any pills to control what I sincerely doubt is my epilepsy for over a year. And I don't think when I was popping the low dose prescribed for me it did me any good at all.

This is not to say I don't think it's possible to suffer a recurrence of what plunged me into The Delirium. Nobody, as far as I know, has any idea why I suddenly found myself experiencing brain seizures; and that means, as far as I know, that it wouldn't be much of a surprise if I suffered a reprise. And if I do, well that's just the way it is. In the meantime I quietly celebrate every day of being here. (And sometimes not so quietly, but I reckon there's little to be said for great music that's not thrillingly loud, and I know a lot of great music!) 

On Target

Struggled to hit my target for marking today, but got there in the end. That end, unusually, came after my evening trip to the gym. I still had half an essay to get though when I set off to unfold myself on the elliptical trainer and weights. I suppose I could have delayed setting off until I'd got to the bitter end but felt that pushing myself when I had other things in mind wouldn't help me genuinely focus. Oddly enough, once back home and feeling pretty much spent I found it easy to give full attention to the efforts of the candidate in question, and those final paragraphs weren't quite so bitter after all.

Long gone are the days when I could sit and mark for four to five hours at a time. But perhaps that's helpful in unexpected ways?

For All Messiaeniacs

There are times I find myself wishing the whole IT thing never happened. Especially when I recall my years of studying for 'A' levels, working in a factory and then going to university. Things were sort of complete. Music and books cost a bit, certainly, but were easily available, especially live music. And there was plenty to watch on the goggle box and at the cinema.

Now it sort of feels like there's too much, somehow, and a strange undervaluing is going on.

But it doesn't take much to pull me out of one of my jeremiads. Finding something really great on YouTube invariably does the trick. And that's what happened to me the other day when a brilliant sort of documentary on good old Olivier Messiaen from a series entitled Rabbit Hole Composers popped up in my feed. The guy who put this together, who goes by the rather fetching name Thacher Schreiber, presumably did so as a labour of love and deserves an award for doing so. Sensibly enthusiastic, informative, insightful and genuinely enlightening - for me, at least. And, I suspect, for a lot of other folk to, if they were to give it ears.

It sent me off to give a close listen to Peter Hill banging out Books 1 - 3 of Catalogue Oiseaux (which I'm able to listen to online in a very good quality recording via Apple Music. Really must stop moaning about the bad influence of the Internet, eh?!)

All Change

Felt even more stupid than is usual for me on arriving for Friday Prayers at Masjid Darussalam only to realise that the HDB carpark just behind was fairly empty - lots of spaces to park, said The Missus happily - and the mosque closed for some sort of building work. Initially I thought there might have been some kind of sudden problem inside, like a collapsed ceiling, then vaguely recalled something being announced last week about a closure. The thing was that the announcement I heard was in Malay and I wasn't sufficiently tuned in to realise I needed to find somewhere else to pray a week hence.

Anyway, off we went to see if Masjid Tentara, just off Clementi Road and not too far away, could accommodate my good self. Even though prayers were fairly early today we'd arrived at Masjid Darussalam in reasonable time, just ahead of the azan, so it wasn't too much of a panic to get to the mosque on the hillside. Actually I've always quite fancied going there, since it looks so picturesque, so I was quite looking forward to getting inside. But, as I should have guessed, it was full by the time I made my way up the steps, so I, along with quite a number of late-comers, had to pray outside.

Must say, our brothers preparing for the prayers, did a great job of dealing with the overflow and I prayed in happy comfort. But, my goodness me, was it packed by the end of the session. Which made finding my shoes something of a saga, since it was almost impossible to look down and see the ground initially with everyone milling outside trying to make a getaway. But found they were, and Noi and I were happily able to make our way to the hawker centre just off West Coast Road for the cup that cheers before I popped back to work.

A bit of an adventure then, in a quiet and calm sort of manner befitting the occasion. And I've just checked and found out that I'll need to pray at the smaller mosque again next week - when my aim will be to get inside and enjoy a good look-see, look-see, as Noi would delicately express it.

Making Discoveries

Did you know that there's a noun gnarl - meaning a sort of growling snarl? No you didn't. And neither did I until I found it in the course of my researches today. It seems Bronte uses it in Wuthering Heights: My caress provoked a long guttural gnarl. (It's about a dog, not a love scene.) Oh, and you can use it as a verb, as WS does: And wolves are gnarling, who shall gnaw thee first.

Gosh, I love the OED. Could lose myself in it. (Also had fun with a lot of stuff about gnashing, but I really must restrain my enthusiasm.)

New Words For Old

A bit of a first for me today. Saw the word gnarly used in an exam essay I was marking. A nice moment in its way. Other than advising the candidate to avoid using colloquialisms I got to thinking about a couple of issues, the first of these being whether the term was being used correctly, given its meaning. The interesting problem here is, of course, what gnarly actually means since that's so dependent on context. I can think of three basic meanings: something being tough, difficult in an unpleasant manner; something being excitingly risky; something being cool (in the Fonz sense.) Fortunately I didn't need to make any comment on this since the broad advice regarding colloquialisms was quite enough in the way of feedback. But I wasn't at all sure what actually was in the writer's mind.

The second issue, that only struck me later in the day, related to the currency of the term. I sort of assumed it is current and would fall easily off the tongue of the average eighteen-year-old in this far place - at least one whose social media bubble stretches to the Americas, but then got to wondering whether it's now distinctly dated for young people. After all, as far as I can remember it became current in the late 80s as surfer slang. So that generation of speakers would now be very much middle-aged. Curiously it still feels 'new' to me since I've never adopted the term, even in a self-consciously comical manner.

I haven't looked up its origins yet - am saving this for a trip to the hard copy mega-OED in the library at work tomorrow - but I'm guessing it might be around the eighteenth century and connected with tree roots. Quite excited in my little way to find out.

Still Going Wild

Realised after posting yesterday that my thoughts on the wilderness had been prompted, in part, by a chat I'd enjoyed earlier in the day with some of our ex-students, Satvik, Mihir & Vikaash, now engaged in their stint of National Service. They'd been telling about the challenges & rewards of a training exercise they'd had to do in the jungles of Brunei. I doubt very much that I'd be up to the demands of such training these days or even when I was their age, for that matter. But I still envied them deeply.

Found myself afterwards thinking of surviving crossing Black Hill with Tony in my prime. Not sure why I'd like to find myself in impossibly black mud up to my upper thighs and facing the deep uncertainty of ever getting out alive. But I would.

In The Wild

Since getting back from Malaysia I've been stuck in The Maine Woods with Henry David Thoreau. I've only managed a couple of pages a day, but considering how densely packed they are with details about the nature of the wilderness, as was, in that part of the world, that's quite enough to take in. I've never found Thoreau an easy read; but he feels like a necessary read somehow.

Very much the next best thing to really being in the wilderness. (Which I'm predictably developing longings for as I read on.)

Glorious Food

Chanced upon a video earlier today detailing classic meals of the British working class and plunged deeply into a half-forgotten past for its ten minutes or so duration. Rubbed up against many happy memories, though I can't recall viewing liver & onions as anything other than an ordeal.

Mind you, I'm not sure I'd want Noi to try out any of this stuff. Except for the beans on toast, maybe.

Unengaged

Made a valiant effort just now to watch the first episode of one of the series offered on our Apple TV subscription. Since we're paying for the service we're trying our best to get something out of it beyond the excellent Slow Horses (the fifth series of which kicks off next week, if I'm not mistaken.) I tried a few weeks back to watch The Studio. It won big at the Emmys, I believe, but did little for me. The series we attempted tonight also has its background in American media, in this case television. It was okay. A bit self-regarding and unnecessarily sweary, but sort of watchable. Not exactly gripping though.

We'll wait and see whether Noi is up for the second episode. But I really don't think we're the kind of viewership the streaming services are keen on, somehow.

The Week Ending

I was sort of looking forward to the first week of our final term back on Sunday when we got back to Singapore. I thought it would be a case of easing in gently and getting back into the flow of things. In the event it's been five days of unease, with nothing going quite right, even if nothing actually went wrong. And feeling thick-headed through most of it. Perhaps I'm just allergic to work? It's kind of late in my career to find that out, I must say.

Hoping that things will get better. But not counting on it.

Testing Times

Struggled through a day of heavy marking. Sniffling and nursing a unpleasant headache. Got all that needed doing done. Settled to a tasty bowl of mutton soup only to find that the first spoonful triggered a major coughing-cum-choking fit resulting in a ferociously itchy throat. Could not eat any more, so just  munched some of the bread that came with the soup.

Now feeling very very sorry for myself. As I'm sure you can guess.

Tomorrow has to be an improvement on this.

Forcing It

It's been a full two weeks since I last went to the gym. Whilst we were in Malaysia I really missed the chance to exercise and thought that when I finally had the chance to get back into harness I would relish the opportunity. But I didn't relish it this evening one little bit since I've been feeling achingly under the weather since Monday. Fortunately I didn't let my reluctance stop me, and somehow forced myself to go and keep sweatily peddling for a full hour.

I'm not sure it did me a lot of good. But it had to be done. Just glad when it ended.

Missing

We popped into the big Kinokuniya bookshop in KLCC whilst we were in KL last week. The good news is that there's no sign that the place is downsizing, as seems to be happening to the Singapore branch. For the last ten years or so I've had the distinct impression that the KL branch is better run than its Singaporean counterpart. More genuine thought seems to be put into its displays, for example, and you don't see multiple copies of the same title taking up excessive shelf-space.

But I did notice one negative development. The shelves devoted to 'literary texts' seem to be moving down market. One of the signs of this is that contemporary fiction now dominates. Now it isn't that I don't think of texts being worthy unless they've been around for a few decades, but when an upper-end bookstore doesn't have a single novel by Conrad or Balzac or Faulkner on its literary shelves it's time to worry.

Limitations

A flat day. Kept cranking the engine for lift-off. Remained stubbornly on the ground.

Passing Through

14.15

We've enjoyed a typically peaceful Sunday morning here at Mak's house, happily fortified by an first-class breakfast at Warung Nek Munah's: lontong kering for me, since they had run out of my usual prata, plus a surpassingly excellent teh tarik gajah. Hot and sweet - a phrase one needs to take great care in applying in this day and age.

And now it's time to get our stuff in order and loaded up for the drive south. As so often is the case, leaving this place feels sad, and when making the necessary preparations it can feel as if we're always leaving. But, on the bright side, that entails always arriving somewhere. And these days the uncertain nature of the journey between hardly bothers me at all, since I have Noi to enjoy it with.

20.50

Now at ease, back in hall. Easy drive down, restoring the little faith I have in the North-South Highway. Should be gearing up for the week ahead, I suppose. But happy to slip a gear or two.

Overwhelmed

Finished reading Frederick Douglass's My Bondage and My Freedom in the very handsome Library of America edition, which concludes with transcripts of a number of the speeches he delivered in the years after achieving his hard-won freedom. I'm considering whether to move on immediately to his third and final autobiography, Life and Times, which occupies more than half the edition. If I do so I'm likely to skip the early slavery chapters which, at first glance, appear to be transcriptions of the material in the second autobiography. But I'm more likely to steer away from Douglass for a week or two.

He's a very fine writer, often astonishingly powerful, but the sheer vigour of his work can be overwhelming. It's difficult to imagine anyone hearing those speeches not being utterly entranced and driven to support the speaker in his great cause. But I can imagine living to regret the infusion of moral fervour after a time and wanting to come down from the moral heights once in a while. Yet it's obvious that such was the force of Douglass's personality that this was never an issue for him.

Having said that, I'm fascinated to read about the rough and tumble of his political involvements after emancipation. And I've got a suspicion I'll end up admiring the older man even more than I do the young Douglass.

(Oh, and trivial as it sounds, I love his use of the semi-colon. I've got a feeling it corresponds to the half-pauses he would have employed in his speaking style; a way of dragging his listeners along with him as his brilliant rhetoric shook them to pieces.)

In Order

Now putting the final touches to our cleaning-up of Maison KL, ahead of a trip south to our second (possibly third) home in Melaka. I didn't expect for us to be able to leave the place looking so good, which means we can count this visit as a major success. The only things obviously lacking now are a working oven and a telly for the family area upstairs - but we didn't really miss either of these. Still, good to have further home improvements in mind for our end-of-year sojourn here.

Within Hearing

The azan for the Maghrib Prayer will sound soon - in the next three minutes or so. We'll hear it loud & clear from the masjid adjacent to the taman - and echoes from other mosques around the valley we're perched on the edge of. For someone who follows the prayers this is highly satisfactory, another unexpected benefit of being resident in Maison KL.

We can never free ourselves of time. But some ways of measuring its passing afford a kind of escape.

A Sense Of Superiority

I've been making fair progress in Frederick Douglass's My Bondage and My Freedom, finding much to enjoy in his prose style, which offsets the somewhat depressing nature of the subject matter involved. It's a story I already know well from his Narrative of the Life, but it's lost none of its power and odd suspense. I say 'odd' since all readers know the eventual outcome of the writer's travails, yet in the grimmer moments of his young life you genuinely wonder if Douglass is going to pull through given the extremes he endured. 

But, at the same time, you have no doubt as to the extraordinary strength of the man's character. It isn't that he advertises this, far from it; rather it emerges through the compelling details he gathers for the reader and, above all, through the intelligence suffusing the text. His understanding of the psychology of the slaveholders is a mark of his inherent superiority over them - something that he is quietly aware of.

And there is a lot that is fascinating about that twisted psychology. To give one example: Douglass, himself a deeply religious man, observes with some perplexity: For of all slaveholders with whom I have ever met, religious slaveholders are the worst. I have found them, almost invariably, the vilest, meanest and basest of their class. He further notes: It is not for me to explain the fact. Others may do that; I simply state it as a fact, and leave the theological, and psychological inquiry, which it raises, to be decided by others more competent than myself. Must say, I doubt that there were many such. 

Irreplaceable

Our hearts were broken yesterday evening with the news of the death of our dear friend Boon. He and Mei went on a trip to the UK towards the end of last month. We'd seen them on the Sunday before they set out for lunch at Kampong Glam, with Nahar & Yati also in attendance. Boon looked in pretty good form and was, as always, of great good cheer brimming with arcane information on everything under the sun. As always.

Mei sent the news in our little chat group. A heart attack, on Sunday.

Here's what Boon sent to the group at the turn of the year:

Can't quite recall why, but this felt especially wise when I read it on 1 January, and definitively Boon-like.

And here's Boon in action at our place from last Hari Raya Puasa:

Can't think of a single wefie he took where he isn't grinning like a maniac.

Mum would have called him a one-off, and she would have been right.

Sorely, sorely missed.

Still All I Know

Happened to glance the other day at something I wrote a few years back around this time of year that referenced what I'd learnt up to that time about teaching well. Was very struck by the fact that over a decade on I still don't know anything more. Except for a tentative fifth point, possibly: 5) If by any chance magic starts to happen, get out of the way and let it.

Another Early Start

Ah Seng came round yesterday afternoon with one of his workers to help us move the furniture back into place at ground level. So now the house looks like the house should look. Which is highly satisfactory and something of a relief. I thought I'd miss the old flooring but Noi's clever searching for the right kind of tiles for the floor resulted in us finding exactly the right kind of tiles.

There are still quite a few jobs left to do, though, to make everything shipshape. One such task being to get the ground floor windows, of which there are more than a few, looking reasonably clean. And I'm about to get started on that. Noi normally would have set about this manfully, if not womanfully, on arrival, but the poor girl has been suffering from quite a nasty ache down her left arm for some days now and isn't really one hundred percent, though still managing to get most things that need to be done, done.

We're putting the purchase of a new telly for the house on hold for the moment. The previous chunky set gave up the ghost a few months back after a couple of decades of good service. But we've got so much to entertain ourselves with that we're not exactly missing the goggle box. Which obliquely reminds me that I must accompany my work on the windows with something from the Bobster, now the CD player is back in place. Probably The Basement Tapes - Raw. With that and the ferocious birdsong from the trees opposite there's more than enough to listen to as I work. 

Greeting The Day

The thing about arriving in good time of an evening after a long journey is that it sets you up for the day ahead. The luxury of a good night's sleep is not something I take for granted, and I'm celebrating my good fortune this morning with the sweet sounds of the Standards Trio at their considerable sweetest. (Surely the wonderful Gary Peacock at his peak! There's a great comment BTL concerning his daily routine for practising the bass. Much food for thought for musicians and non-musicians alike.)

Busy Making Plans

09.55

Now in the mild rush of preparation for our latest journey north. We'll be setting off directly after Friday Prayers, hoping there's not much of a jam at that time. But mentally prepared to be wrong about that.

My last job of the morning is to figure out what CDs to take along, on the grounds that if the floor at the house is now officially laid and done with, and we can put the furniture back in place over the weekend, then our trusty Bang & Olufsen CD player (only needed repairing once in the last 23 years) will be in action again. I'm leaning towards taking a heap of my most recent purchases but having just played a bit of rather intense flamenco - by a guy called Gino d'Auri, featuring guitar and cello, of all things - I'm wondering whether to dig out a few of my more off-beat disks to give them a refreshing airing.

22.00

A smooth journey - to our slight, but gratified, astonishment. Our faith in the north-south highway is restored (almost.)

Stopped off in leisurely style at Pagoh for a cuppa and roti bakar. And ate plentifully at the Crave Cafe when we arrived on the hill. What's not to like, eh.

And the house looks in pretty good shape after its recent battering!  

Filling Up Again

A surfeit of good food and good will today. Many highlights, large & small. Quite a number of affecting cards from students, the brightest light of all.

Filling Up

16.50

It's that time of year when I need to attend lunches & dinners & the like. Lucky me in terms of enjoying the free nosh. But, to be honest, my appetite isn't what it used to be, and I fear I won't be doing justice to what's in store later this evening at 'Swensen's Unlimited'. Sounds great - a kaleidoscope of 48 rotating ice cream flavors, they say - but I'm guessing I'll feel unduly limited.

More (or less) anon.

21.30

Definitely 'unlimited' in terms of the amount of eminently scoffable grub available - though it had to be done within 90 minutes. I reckon I was full after 50, but still found room for an ice cream and apple crumble. Now I vaguely wish I hadn't. But it's good to live dangerously once in a while, eh?

Accepting Gravity

Reading The Dream of the Red Chamber triggered a severe urge in me to read Proust's magnum opus. Odd, but it's just the way my mind works. Fortunately the Kilmartin 3 volume revision of Moncrieff's translation of Remembrance of Things Past resides on the bookshelves at Maison KL so I'm presently unable to fulfil the urge, which will most likely pass. Why 'fortunately'? Well, rereading the three would constitute a major project, best pursued when I'm fully retired. (And I'm likely to fancy a more recent translation at that highly hypothetical point.)

So as a kind of happy substitute for losing myself in Proust's inimitable long sentences, I'm now embarked on a full reading of the handsome LOA edition of Frederick Douglass's Autobiographies. The sentences may not be quite as lengthy but, my goodness, they have gravity (and grace.) I loved teaching the first Narrative of the Life back in 2022, the most succinct and punchy of the three but now's the time to sprawl into the longer, more leisurely retellings of one of the great lives.

And one of the toughest. The rendering of the reality of a slave's life in 19C America has lost none of its disturbing power for this reader.

Rainy Days And Mondays

So good to be dry on a very rainy day.

But spare a thought for those who can only get wet.

(And, by the by, if you fail to recognise that Karen Carpenter had a voice that could bring sunshine into a storm your ears simply aren't working.)