The Wide Open Spaces

Just back from Changi Airport & seeing Noi off on a European jaunt with Rohana & Sabariah and other friends. They'll be landing in Milan tomorrow as their first base of operations. Happy to bid farewell as The MIssus goes off on an adventure, especially when I'm set to be busier than usual with workstuff in the week ahead and even more boring than I usually am. But the apartment seems a bit too big without her. I like my places of habitation small & comfortable and she's integral to the comfortable bit. Still, she's left behind plentiful goodies and the excellent advice not to play my music too loudly.

A guideline which I'm likely to break any time soon, just to fill the space. 

No Cakewalk

We bought a scrumptious little cake last Saturday afternoon for our two birthday girls. We'd gone to Star Vista to pick up some bits and pieces Noi had ordered from the Nando's there when she spied a funky little stall belonging to Twelve Cupcakes. I'm not all that familiar with their offerings but the cakes at the counter looked appetising enough, and we were well pleased with our purchase when we tucked into it at Fafa's place in the evening. I can remember thinking as the friendly lady at the cake place served us that the business must be doing well given the good service and general sense of well-being.

I was wrong, deeply so. It turns out that the franchise shut down all its branches abruptly today leaving its employees, who didn't see this coming, in a deep lurch. So that nice, efficient lady who served us is probably in a bit of mess now. Or a lot of a mess.

Three observations: 1) don't trust appearances; 2) belong to a strong union if you're not one of the bosses; 3) enjoy your cake while it lasts - which may not be for too long.

Still On The Peak

Completed what's become a typical session at the gym this evening. No improvement in terms of cardio, so not getting any faster. But a manageable session with no indications of decline. No improvement on the weights, so not getting any stronger. But, happily, not getting any weaker. So, could do better. But not bothered if I don't. A bit like my school reports from decades back. And very much like my response back then. Some things never change.

Making Us Better

I've always assumed - intuitively so - that being exposed to Art does us good. I don't mean it makes us better people morally. I take that to be a very doubtful claim. But I've taken it for granted since late childhood that it makes us feel better on a deeper level than just being entertained (though that's not a bad thing in itself.)

Listening to great music, especially the live variety; looking at great art, especially the real thing in a gallery; reading great poetry, great prose, in complete absorption: three prominent forms of artistic experience that do me a world of good, and probably you too, Gentle Reader.

And today I stumbled upon proof of this of the scientific variety. I knew I would, one day. Nice to be vindicated. But, in truth, I think we all know this. It's part of our unfathomably deep programming.

Seeing Things

Continued to think about some of the distinctive features of poetry today, in my experience as a reader of the stuff. Pondered on how often a poem that has seemed to me on first reading distinctly unpromising has come to genuine life when I’ve persevered in attempting to grasp how it works.

This is exactly what happened to me last week when teaching Margaret Atwood’s Salt to a class. Frankly I wasn’t looking forward to subjecting the poem to any kind of rigorous analysis since I felt I’d not really grasped what the writer was doing in a satisfyingly coherent manner. I understood the basic idea and found the allusion to the tale of Lot’s Wife looking back on the cities of the plain and suffering the consequences interesting. But getting involved with the intricacies of meaning wasn’t appealing.

However, by the time the class and I had done the necessary I felt the poem working for me. I was seeing the heaped salt glittering by the final stanza as I think Atwood intended me to. I can’t say I knew exactly what the glittering meant, if it meant anything at all. But I saw it and that was enough.

Taken By Surprise

It's rare that Carol Rumens's excellent Poem of the Week feature has involved old favourites of mine, but this week proved the exception, with a belter from Dr Johnson. I think I first read his elegy On The Death of Dr Robert Levet when I was at university and it struck me then as a poignantly powerful exemplar of the genre. Robustly traditional yet so obviously personal as to be super-charged with emotion without displaying the slightest hint of sentimentality. Very English in its way.

I've now re-read it some four or five times over the last week. And somehow it has got better each time. Actually, I can account for the 'somehow' with some confidence. Ms Rumen's introductory reflection is typically illuminating. One of her best - especially on the qualities of the rhythmic force of the verses. And the BTL commentary has been helpful in any number of ways, especially in helping me to a deeper grasp of the practicalities of the practice of medicine in Johnson's time.

So, yet again, I'm left to ponder on the strangeness of poetry. The capacity of the genuinely great stuff to grow and surprise and delight afresh over time.

Family Matters

Another happy nosh-up this evening courtesy of a gathering of the clan at Fafa's place. The excuse was a celebration of Fifi's birthday, not that any excuse was necessary. Piles of grub & plentiful laughter over genuinely bad jokes and nothing in particular. 

A timely reminder of the things that really matter.

Not The Real Thing

Just back from happy noshing with Pete & Chris & Kishor & Lia. Unfortunately got caught in a bit of a storm going back, on the way to the bus stop. Fortunately we're talking about Singapore rain and not Lancashire rain, so all was well. 

Vive La République

Just lately I've been getting a bit excited over news coming from my homeland. It's not exactly a secret that I am and always have been a rabid republican possessed of the entirely rational opinion that it would be an excellent idea to do away with the monarchy. But I've never really expected that this might be achieved in my lifetime. However, the deeply egregious Prince Andrew has been doing a first-rate job of making that slim possibility real.

I reckon there's a fighting chance we might see the back of the whole bunch in the next decade. Here's hoping. 

Funforall

Enjoyed browsing a fascinating list over at Open Culture of the 100 Greatest Novels of All Time according to my fellow-Brits back in 2003. One joyous surprise, that isn't commented on in the accompanying article: Joyce's Ulysses makes the list at 78. 

Since the list very obviously comprises genuinely popular favourites (plenty of Harry Potter in there, for example) this is surely proof positive of something that I've believed for years. This supposedly unreadable masterpiece speaks to ordinary folk outside the groves of academe because it's about them and they recognise this. The so-called obscurities of the text are embraced because it's fun to read and everyone likes a good puzzle.