Both Sides Now

As the culture war rages around us I'm increasingly struck by the inadequacy of reducing issues of socio-politico importance to just two sides. I reckon that figuring out a good ten sides on a question before you start pontificating upon it should be a requirement for any commentator.

(To be honest, there aren't that many signs of the conflict in this Far Place so far. But since so many folks seem to enjoy battling it out on the World Wide Web I can easily imagine a descent into name-calling even on these relatively sane shores.)

Sheer Delight

When I was a little lad we used to listen to the radio early on Sunday afternoon enjoying a number of comedy programmes on the BBC. My favourite was Round the Horne. So you might imagine my delight in discovering that quite a number of episodes are now on YouTube.

The first one I played was the team's classic version of Frankenstein's Monster. I was weeping with laughter after just five delirious minutes. They don't make them like this anymore. Probably not allowed to.

Feeling Something Else

The something else is sciatic pain running from my left hip down my leg. It's been a bit of a problem all week, but seemed to be fading by Thursday. Now back with a vengeance. It's liveable, but irritating. If asked to score it out of ten, as the doctor at the taman asked me to do for the last attack I struggled with, I'd give it a low two. Do wish I could say zero, though. (The pain score at the taman was an eight, by the way.)

As I've said before: a little pain never hurt anybody. And again I'm struck by just how supremely dumb that statement is.

Feeling It

I was asked, Is it really coming home? no fewer than seven times in the course of the day - and never tired of what I thought was an excellent question. My answer, by the way, was a pithy, I'm feeling it. To be honest, I'm not exactly sure what that means, but it sort of captures the sum of hopes and fears for Sunday. Bring it on, say I!

A Matter Of Feeling

I've happened upon some interesting articles recently relating to the kind of punctuation that text-messaging involves for the younger generation. The idea that full-stops at the end of text messages seem rude is very difficult for me to grasp at the level of feeling since it just doesn't seem that way to me. Indeed, there is no way I could send a message without a concluding punctuation mark as it would feel so wrong, even though I'm perfectly aware it's not.

This is a powerful reminder that attempts to teach systems of punctuation as somehow logical are essentially misguided. It's salutary in this regard to look at the original punctuation in Shakespeare. So much of it is rhetorical in nature. I've had occasion to need to explain this to colleagues who genuinely think that WS somehow devised all the punctuation of his plays we see in modernised texts himself and it's obvious that, at some level, most choose not to believe me.

Not So Cautious

Peter and I were having a natter this morning about the UK's plan (if that's what it can be called) to shed all their covid-related restrictions by 21 July. We both registered a mixture of bewilderment and astonishment regarding what we can only see as a supreme act of folly. Given the fact that most parts of the UK are still experiencing pretty high rates of infection and the potential for variants to develop in these circumstances is obvious it seems counter-intuitive (to say the least) to throw caution to the winds in this manner so soon.

In startling contrast, the rational, calibrated approach to dealing with the pandemic, as evidenced in this Far Place, struck us as supremely sensible. As far as we can gather, a significant number of our countrymen cannot deal with covid-fatigue and their voices must be heard - even if what they are saying is daft. Possibly the oddest aspect of all this is that countries who've obviously got this very wrong resolutely ignore models of good practice.

I'm reminded of Dominic Cummings, in his testimony before the select committee, referring to Singapore's successes in the early stages of the pandemic and how those in government resolutely ignored the framework that had resulted in those successes despite all this being easily available in English. Makes you wonder if some kind of false sense of superiority is at work here.

On Being A Pilgrim

Felt very English today, I suppose on account of the football. In my version of being English RVW counts for a lot, so I decided to treat myself to a full play-through of The Pilgrim's Progress. Circumstances were such that I was able to listen with full, rapt attention and, my goodness, the impact of the music was more powerful than I've ever known it. Almost unbearably poignant at times, though essentially comforting.

A few days ago I'd jotted a question for myself, in relation to some recent aural experiences: Why does listening to excellent music make the world more real to me? When I wrote it I'm not quite sure I really understood the question. Listening to RVW today I got it completely, though I have no idea what the answer is.

Great music transforms us, somehow, even if it's only in that moment we have become the music.

That's Entertainment

There's something curiously entertaining involved in reading the on-line commentary on Euro 2020 and still finding a fair number who think that Gareth Southgate isn't a good coach. What are they on? All my doubts about the double pivot have evaporated - after all, what do I know?

Of course, I now wish we'd subscribed to the over-priced tv coverage, but there's also something entertaining - and frustrating - involved in trying to find decent highlights of the games on the Internet. Now I know what clickbait means. And in case you're wondering if I'm now intending to subscribe at this late stage, you should know that the superstitious side of me that reckons we've made it to the semis precisely because I've not been watching (and agonising) just isn't going to allow that. (Although if we make it to the final I rather think I'm off to someone's place who can watch live.)

Something Lacking

Now reading Michel Foucault's Discipline and Punish. Well, I say 'now' but I've been reading it for more than a week and my progress is achingly slow. I'd guess I grasp roughly fifty percent of what the philosopher is talking about, and have a sketchy idea of what's going on in another thirty percent: but at least a fifth of what I'm reading is way beyond my understanding. I'm not sure whose fault this is. I'm happy to blame myself for not being up to the task intellectuality, but the maddening obscurity of some pages strikes me as the result of a writer who doesn't necessarily wish to communicate clearly.

Having said that, there are pages of crystal clarity. I've just started Part Three and the first six or so pages on Docile Bodies are easy to digest and insightful all at the same time. I suppose that's what keeps me going, the sense that Foucault has genuinely important things to say, despite the sometimes almost wilful obscurity.

Masterful

We're now into the second series of Killing Eve. I can't remember the last time I watched two seasons of anything on the telly. The storylines grip and are completely bonkers. The acting is uniformly outstanding, but Sandra Oh, Jodie Comer and Fiona Shaw provide a masterclass in every episode.

Now off to watch the next episode on our playlist.