Better Late Than Never

2 Muharram, 1443

I'd intended to write something about the Islamic New Year, wishing my brothers and sisters in Islam well, and completely forgot to do so. So this is a day late.

To be honest, I've been so forgetful lately it's embarrassing, but generally speaking I'm the only one who knows (and Noi notices bits and pieces.) Now at my age this might well be cause for concern but I'm reasonably certain that I'm not losing my marbles - at least, not yet. I reckon I'm forgetting the obvious occasionally due to being overwhelmed by the astonishing amount of information I'm supposed to remember at work. (This applies to my poor colleagues as well. I'm not being singled out for any kind of special victimhood.)

I suspect, by the way, that this is true for a good number of the population of most developed nations in most professions. It looks to me like the price of modernity - and it's way too high.

Still Taking The Tablets

I noted a few days back some improvement in terms of a distinct reduction in discomfort with regard to the sciatica that's been troubling me. Happily, that reduction seems to have continued. I say 'seems' because this is all very gradual and, therefore, difficult to measure - and pain is so subjective anyway. But I've got to the end of today without feeling the need to take any tablets, having reduced my ingestion of the painkillers yesterday to just a single dose. However, to be on the safe side I decided to take a similar single dose just now to avoid (I hope!) coming to consciousness in the small hours with an unpleasant ache at the top of my left leg or, even worse, in the muscle adjacent to my shin bone, of the kind that ensures wakefulness in the wee small hours.

We're off to see my back doc this Saturday and if the improvement continues I'll tentatively suggest laying off, or greatly reducing, the medication. By the by, Noi and I are looking forward to the trip since this time we get to go to the tea-place nearby for a cuppa and some kaya toast. On our last visit the restrictions on dining-in - loosened today, hooray - were still in place, which was a bit of a downer. Astute readers will notice how easy it is to please myself and the Missus, which is just the way I like it.

More Riches

I always find something to enjoy in Carol Rumens's choices for her Poem of the Week feature, but the last two poems have been outstanding. This week's I guess it was my destiny to live so long by June Jordan proved deeply moving and strangely refreshing - if that's the right word - for a poem focusing on the terminal illness of its writer. Except that's somehow not the focus. And the narrative of The Maid's Tale by the nonagenarian M.R. Peacocke was compelling, intriguing, rewarding and, for this reader, a tad unsettling, all at once.

Indeed Ms Peacocke's Tale caused much comment below the line simply in terms of how it was meant to be interpreted, and this actually spilled over into the commentary on this week's poem. In fact, the general excellence of the comments sections that accompanied the poems greatly added to my appreciation of both of them. I suppose though, looking at it from another point of view, we must thank the poems themselves for provoking such rich responses.

A Bit Messy

Evidence above of a happily messy day of reading for me, so far. The shot directly above was taken first, when I still had yesterday's print edition of The Straits Times on the go. After that the small heap of books changed location slightly in a vain attempt at organisation.

Actually a couple of the tomes relate to the Dylan album I was listening to this morning. I gave John Wesley Harding a spin and thought I'd follow the lyrics in Lyrics 1962 - 1985. I'm glad I did, being reminded of just how extraordinarily well-wrought they are in the case of this album - some being written in full, ahead of the music, if the Bobster is to be believed (often a dubious proposition.) Then I thought I'd read the requisite chapter on the album in Paul Williams's Bob Dylan Performing Artist, 1960 - 1973, The Early Years and I'm glad I did. Very insightful stuff. Quite brilliant on the sense of the songs challenging what he terms the analytical mind only to dance away from its net. Gosh, that's good!

I also got re-started on the great A. R. Ammons read-through and decided that Cascadilla Falls, which I read a couple of times afresh, having read it previously, it being roughly the point at which I'd sort of stalled somewhat, is a brilliant gem of a poem. To be more precise, I'd stalled midway in the next poem along, the rambling, discursive, almost 500 liner, Summer Session. I loved it, well most of it, anyway - the bits I understood. And, of course, the bits I didn't fascinated.

Words Of Wisdom, And Lots Of Them

Had the sheer good fortune, a couple of days back, to come across a most illuminating talk from 2016 featuring playwright Alan Bennett and director Nicholas Hytner, largely focused on Bennett's brilliant The Madness of King George III. So much of what they say captures the peculiarly collaborative nature of writing for the stage - and for the movies. I know a tiny amount about the first from direct experience of trying to write stuff for the tiniest of stages, but have, of course, zero direct experience of the latter. The little I know distinctly chimed with the observations of both playwright and director.

Aside from being gripped by the insights of those involved in the talk - even the moderator had some astute comments to make - it was riveting, in a slightly sad way, to see the elderly Bennett in action. He seems a bit deaf these days, and somewhat slower than of old in framing his thoughts, but still the clarity and wit of old were there, and it was good to see everyone involved giving him the space he needed to display those qualities.

Inspirational

Sometimes the YouTube algorithm gets it right, it seems. Came across a brilliant performance featuring the incomparable Richard Thompson with kids Teddy and Kami and Jack + a grandson (whose name I don't know). Kami, by the way, looks just like her mum, Linda, which is a bit uncanny. They're playing Wall of Death and the harmonies are spot on, as is pretty much everything else. And the occasional goofy grins add a layer of charm.

What's not to like?

Some Improvement

There's a peculiar sense of drama about sciatica. The pain arrives for no reason and often departs in a similar fashion. So there's no logic that can be applied in any predictive fashion - as far as I can see.

I was hugely happy yesterday to note that the pain generally seems reduced and I was able to put off taking the second dose of all my pills until the late evening. And the same today. I think there's a real possibility that the pain will disappear, though no guarantee, and that'll do for me!

The Height Of Cool

Great day. Ultra-busy, but pretty much every bit was meaningfully, enjoyably, busy. Only having to find a different classroom for a class (because of a break-down) and losing about twenty-five minutes in the process was mildly irritating.

And it was just before said lesson that I was reminded quite by accident of the coolest music video ever made, featuring the coolest performer. Actually the concept of being 'cool' doesn't seem to mean much, if anything at all, to the young people I teach - though I'm so out of touch I may be completely wrong about that. But it did mean a lot to the youngsters I taught four decades ago - as evidenced by the huge popularity in the UK of the American sit-com Happy Days in that period. The key character, The Fonz, epitomised the concept. Oddly enough that wasn't a bad thing in its way because the writers had figured out that the truly cool person was the one who was completely and genuinely themselves and basically didn't care what anyone else thought of that. That message figured in various positive guises in pretty much every episode.

And, of course, the brilliant Christopher Walken epitomises the point as in his sensational dancing (who knew!) in Fatboy Slim's Weapon of Choice. (And having Bootsy Collins himself on bass seals the deal, eh!?)

Great Stuff

Sort of caught up in the Tokyo Olympics, somewhat to my surprise. Actually, I'm dubious about the games taking place at all, hence the surprise, but Team GB is doing so well that the bit of my heart that's patriotic (which is not all that much) is happily beating for our medal winners. The thing is that they're all kind of ordinary, decent and likable along with the incredible talent - and sometimes sheer bravery: that lass from Manchester doing the 360 on the BMX was astonishing. For once, the part of Britain these guys represent - the best part - is genuinely Great.

A Wild Ride

Now I'm thoroughly embarked on my reading of the third tome in Liu Cixin's Remembrance of Earth's Past trilogy (a title I got wrong when I first posted on his work, thinking it was the Three Body Problem trilogy, which I now realise was a bit off the pace.) Actually I started directly on Death's End when I got to the end of the second novel, The Dark Forest, but I found myself a bit too busy then to commit to the epic-looking roller-coaster and its sheer busyness of ideas.

Yesterday I was generally just lying on the floor and contemplating stuff, the perfect time to set off on a mental adventure, even if it was someone else's - and when that someone else has the imaginative vigour of Mr Liu then plenty of Wow! was guaranteed, and delivered. Unputdownable. (I've sort of adjusted to a writer I didn't quite 'get' initially. Now I even enjoy the paper-thin characterisation.)