Wisdom vs Knowledge

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It has been ages since I’ve had the time to post – how have you all been surviving??? No need to despair, I’m back. Quit that sniggering at the back. I’m on holiday. The nicest phrase in the English language, bar none. I was hoping to go away, but the best laid plans of mice and men….

I was hoping to go to Miami but that did not pan out. I decided that it was probably not a good idea anyway- it’s my birthday on Wednesday when the results of the election will be released. I’m not sure that my sense of humour and gun-toting, angry Americans are a good mix. Talk about your lose-lose election. I was in the US when the Oklahoma bombing occurred, I was there on 9/11. I think I’ll sit this one out. November 9 is a day of change and general mayhem anyway, as befits the day on which one of my gargantuan ego graced the world with her arrival. Tin hats on, that’s my advice.

Today, I’m featuring the work of  couple of artists who caught my eye lately. The watercolours are by Angela Hewitt who is based on the Isle of Wight. I like her line very much. She also makes cards and accessories etc. Check her out. Emma West makes the most beautiful porcelain and ceramic tiles in Cornwall. I particularly like the ones made with impressions of wildflowers. Really nice work. If you’re renovating your bathroom or kitchen, have a look at her work.

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On a lighter note, I see that there is an exhibition showing Tracey Emin and William Blake’s work side by side. How I laughed. That’s just cruelty, that is. At least it wasn’t Tracey Emin and Guido Reni.

Blake, William; Our Lady with the Infant Jesus Riding on a Lamb with Saint John; Paintings Collection; http://www.artuk.org/artworks/our-lady-with-the-infant-jesus-riding-on-a-lamb-with-saint-john-30607

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Well, it all adds to the gaiety of the nations. Art is in the eye of the beholder. I know many people who would rather have the Emin than the Reni, so what do I know? Different strokes and all that.

In the spirit of getting older if not wiser, I share with you one of my favourite sayings- Knowledge is knowing that the tomato is a fruit and not a vegetable; Wisdom is knowing not to put it in a fruit salad. Toodle pip.

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All The Kingdoms of the World

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Got a precious day off, although of course, I’m still doing some work stuff–as usual. The work never seem to be quite as arduous in the silent comfort of my own home, so I don’t really mind. Anyway, I had the time to flick through my design emails and I found one from LuxurySafes. They are always good for a laugh; they brought us the gold-plated safe that was so ornate and expensive, I suggested you needed another safe to store it in.(See here http://www.alaraapothecary.com/?p=3950)

Today’s missive was about a set of golf clubs from Bentley, under the tongue-in-cheek headline ‘Golf clubs to die for’. And I thought, “Really? Would anyone die  for a set of swanky golf clubs?” My first instinct was to laugh but it got me thinking about the worthless stuff we all think is so important and go to such lengths to accumulate. I know that of which I speak; I’m a champion hoarder. Bigger picture – what about the stuff we compromise ourselves for– that job, that car, that promotion, that boy, that girl. It’s quite disheartening to see what poor bargains we get for losing our souls. So, what is worth dying for? And I don’t mean what is worth killing for? They are different things. It would seem that there is nothing so small that one person won’t consider killing another for it, as our newspapers readily attest. What shall it profit a man if he should gain the whole world but lose his soul?

He is a fool who gives away what he cannot replace for that which he cannot keep. All the lovely, shiny stuff and the lovely, happy people will not exist one day, yet we grasp and hanker. Even worse is the unattainable stuff — I want his looks, her brains, his birthright. I’m just as bad as everyone else but luckily, I haven’t been made an offer that I cannot refuse… yet  🙂 The tawdry baubles on offer are laughable. I would expect to be Empress of the Universe in return for selling my soul – at least!. So, saved by overweening conceit, who woulda thunk 🙂

So, here endeth the lesson for today. I will try to recognise the tinsel and the glitter for what it is and do all the good that I can while I can. I’m exhaused already just thinking about it, slacker that I am. I leave you with Shelley’s Ozymandias:

I met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal, these words appear:
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

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Doctor Feelgood

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In a week when the papers have been full of what can only be described as ‘feelbad’ news, I’m so glad that I’ve been so busy I haven’t had time to focus on any of it. From the mother who insisted that her 4-year old was a girl and dressed him, and treated him accordingly, with the social workers being too scared of challenging the current orthodoxy to actually ask the child what he thought: 3 years later, he’s thoroughly confused about his identity and hates his own body. The number of children in the sole care of a single parent whose sanity is at best questionable is truly terrifying. Those poor children are force-fed any number of lies and beliefs that the parent sees fit to disseminate; I have met quite a few of them. They’ve been subjected to brainwashing techniques that would make the North Korean government gasp in admiration, and find it very difficult to think for themselves.

Then we had the woman who waged a war of attrition against one of  the other school-gate mothers because she believed her daughter had been excluded from a birthday party. It eventually culminated in her phoning through a hoax terrorist attack in an attempt to frame her victim. The people with snakes in their heads, that’s how I think of them. They are astonishing. She wasn’t satisfied that she had managed to totally isolate her victim by waging a very effective misinformation campaign against her; presumably she wouldn’t be satisfied until her victim was in prison or dead. It’s that bit that amazes me – the sheer pitilessness. The victim can never suffer enough to satisfy whatever dark craving consumes the lunatic who’s targeting them.

Quite frankly, the only amusing story this week was that of the man who allegedly shoplifted a set of Venetian blinds, stuffing them in his trousers and hoodie in a cunning manner. In my new merciful frame of mind, I have cropped the picture so you can’t see his face.1a

I’m sure you’ll agree the blinds are totally inconspicuous 🙂 The comments from the public on seeing the picture included “It’ll be curtains for him now”. That’s why I love British newspapers so much. I leave you with some beautiful stuff to cheer up your weekend, and some of my favourite jokes from this year’s Edinburgh Festival:

“My dad has suggested that I register for a donor card. He’s a man after my own heart.” Masai Graham

“Why is it old people say ‘there’s no place like home’, yet when you put them in one …” Stuart Mitchell

“Is it possible to mistake schizophrenia for telepathy, I hear you ask.” Jordan Brookes

“I spotted a Marmite van on the motorway. It was heading yeastbound.” Roger Swift

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The Sound Of Silence

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Last week was thoroughly exhausting- I spent most of it on a course being bombarded with information. Actually, the course was pretty useful – it was all stuff I needed to know and would use all the time – a rarity as I’m sure you’ll agree. Even more extraordinary, pretty much all my fellow attendees were really nice. Still, by the end of the week, I was all people’d out, if you see what I mean. I couldn’t wait to get home and return to work. Obviously a cunning masterplan devised by companies to keep employees in line.

The journey back was a 3-hour nightmare. I stood all the way home — Great Western Railway, you suck! Where was Jeremy Corbyn when I needed him?  🙂 Even better, I had the mother of all nosebleeds; I do have a tendency to getting them but I haven’t had one of such Niagara-fall standards for years. Standing next to the buffet on a train was not the ideal place to have one. 2 packets of tissues later, I was wiping blood off my soaked fingers and overcoat. I’m not kidding about the severity of the nosebleed. London-style, very few people noticed. The ones who did fled instantly, fearing an outbreak of Ebola. That was quite funny, actually. My main concern was to make sure my carrier bag of Krispy Kreme doughnuts did not get pinched while I went to wash the blood off. Priorities, right? Of course, as a typical prescriber, I checked every inch of my body for unexplained bruising when I got home as my first thought was –leukaemia! Too much knowledge is a dangerous thing.

Anyhoo, I have spent the weekend in splendid isolation. I crave solitude like other people crave alcohol. I couldn’t even bear to go to church; even that level of bonhomie was a step too far although churches are not exactly full of back-slapping revellers ( with some notable exceptions–apply in writing and I’ll send you some info….)

The love of solitude is one of the rare good qualities I inherited from my dear Pater, and it’s a lifesaver when things get tough. The only break in all this silence was listening to Alexis Weissenberg playing Chopin. Oh my giddy aunt, he’s a marvel. You or I could practise the piano for a couple of millenia and never come close to playing like that. That sheer, unadulterated talent is a gift from God, no doubt about it. I don’t know who I love more, Chopin for writing the pieces, or Weissenberg for playing them so well. If you don’t know the works, try and find them and listen to them. It may take some doing though; the Fone recording I have is about 20 years old at least. I wish you a serene week full of inspiration and peace. Pip pip.

 

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Summoned by bells

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Monday, Monday. I was in sunny Somerset last weekend and as I was walking to church in the morning, the harvest bells were ding-a-ling-a-ringing. The town was so quiet at that time of the morning that it felt as though I were being pulled long by the bells. It was magical.

The usual offerings for the harvest were being offered, the only thing being that these fruits and vegetables were actually grown by the congregation on their own farms and allotments etc etc. It led me to compare with our harvest festivals in London – I know the usual harvest offerings in Chiswick are pains au chocolat, lattes, manchego cheese and quince jelly 🙂

Anyway, after the peace of Somerset, I was thrilled to return to London – the diesel fumes, the stroppy fellow citizens, the men in red trousers (strictly a Chiswick affair). I knew I had immediately reverted back to London-mode when a guy was dawdling as the train to Hammersmith was getting ready to pull out and I found myself thinking, ‘Oh, for crying out loud. Get out of the WAY!’. London – brings out your inner maniac in 5 minutes flat. I am happy to report the dearth of Tube-Chat badges. My people don’t let me down.

In this spirit of thankfulness, I offer you this excellent picture of Master Junior Cox-Noon. If that hair doesn’t make you smile, you need to take a chill pill. Have a terrific week, one and all.

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