I have always heard that the position of the horse’s hooves in a statue of a famous person on horseback reflected the way that the person died. I liked this theory and kept intending to investigate it to verify the meaning. Well this morning, I finally did.
The theory goes that if all four hooves are on the ground then the rider survived all battles without incident, if one hoof is raised then the rider was wounded in battle but if two hoofs are raised – ie, the horse is rearing up – then the rider died in battle.
Unfortunately, if you look at the various statues around and then research the death of the rider, there isn’t a consistent correlation. There are some which follow this seeming code, but enough that don’t to debunk the myth. It turns out that the position of the hooves doesn’t actually symbolise anything except the fancy of the sculptor. If you like to know more you can go here or here.
*Sigh* another romantic notion up in flames.
Thursday, 18 October 2007
Wednesday, 17 October 2007
Autumn is upon us...
Overnight it seems that the leaves have all turned vibrant shades of orange and yellow and started falling everywhere. It's quite beautiful and a very obvious sign of the change in seasons. I haven't really noticed the autumn switch since I lived in Melbourne, so it's a nice stark reminder that there are indeed four seasons here and that I'd really better start preparing for winter.
Whilst it is indeed lovely, there is one real downfall of all the leaves; with the predominance of rain that London has, they don't blow away, but get wet and slimy instead. Walking to work has become an interesting proposition as I’m frequently in danger of becoming part of a slapstick comedy act. I can just see myself doing a banana slide and then going arse over tit, arms flailing wildly whilst my feet fly over my head and I land on my back with a loud bang accompanied by plenty of riotous laughter.
Not something I’d really like to do often thank you.
Whilst it is indeed lovely, there is one real downfall of all the leaves; with the predominance of rain that London has, they don't blow away, but get wet and slimy instead. Walking to work has become an interesting proposition as I’m frequently in danger of becoming part of a slapstick comedy act. I can just see myself doing a banana slide and then going arse over tit, arms flailing wildly whilst my feet fly over my head and I land on my back with a loud bang accompanied by plenty of riotous laughter.
Not something I’d really like to do often thank you.
Tuesday, 16 October 2007
Leunig
I felt in need of a little inspiration today, so I turned to one of my favourite Australian poets, Michael Leunig, and some of his lovely prayers.
God bless this little boat
And me who travels in it.
It stays afloat for years and years
And sinks within a minute.
And so the soul in which we sail,
Unknown by years of thinking,
Is deeply felt and understood
The minute that its sinking.
Let it go. Let it out.
Let it all unravel.
Let it free and it can be
A path on which to travel.
God help us
If our world should grow dark,
And there is no way of seeing or knowing
Grant us courage and trust
To touch and be touched
To find our way onwards
By feeling
Amen.
Love is born
With a dark and troubled face,
When hope is dead
And in the most unlikely place;
Love is born,
Love is always born.
Always lovely :)
God bless this little boat
And me who travels in it.
It stays afloat for years and years
And sinks within a minute.
And so the soul in which we sail,
Unknown by years of thinking,
Is deeply felt and understood
The minute that its sinking.
Let it go. Let it out.
Let it all unravel.
Let it free and it can be
A path on which to travel.
God help us
If our world should grow dark,
And there is no way of seeing or knowing
Grant us courage and trust
To touch and be touched
To find our way onwards
By feeling
Amen.
Love is born
With a dark and troubled face,
When hope is dead
And in the most unlikely place;
Love is born,
Love is always born.
Always lovely :)
Monday, 15 October 2007
Amsterdam...later
I am so very tired after this weekend. I enjoyed going to Amsterdam, but right now I want to go to bed and I have the rest of the day to get through yet. Will write about Am later I think…
Thursday, 11 October 2007
Activities for this Week:
Gym, Veg, Salsa, Washing / Packing, AMSTERDAM!!!
Oh and I've reached a minor mile-stone. This is my 60th blog since my adventures began. Pretty good going if I do say so myself!
:-)
Oh and I've reached a minor mile-stone. This is my 60th blog since my adventures began. Pretty good going if I do say so myself!
:-)
Tuesday, 9 October 2007
Umbrella Etiquette
First things first: Happy Birthday Ali.
Now, I don’t know if I’ve said it before but it bears saying again; London is a very dichotomous society.
There are those who use manners; sorry, excuse me, sorry, thank you, sorry, pardon me, sorry, my pleasure, sorry, you’re welcome…
And those who do not; I am going to hurl abuse at you because I am annoyed, or because you brushed past me trying desperately to get off the bus, or I am drunk, or you looked at me strangely, or the bus isn’t on time, or the Police are asking me to move in a different direction from the one I wanted to go…
There are those that queue; you were first, please no dearie, I’m sure you was first…
And those that don’t; if you stand at a pedestrian crossing far enough from the curb not to get blind-sided by a buses side-mirror then it is guaranteed that by the time the light turns green, there will be five people standing in front of you.
And then there are those that practice umbrella etiquette; I am going to try not to impale you as you are walking down the street, I will lift and angle my umbrella away from yours so that they don’t catch and clash.
And those don't; I will quite happily use my umbrella as a weapon of mass destruction, scratching, gauging, ripping and swiping you without giving a frig as to the damage I'm causing and look at you like you were a piece of trash when you squeal in agony.
I prefer to be one of the former on all counts… it’s the way I’m hard wired I guess. And I’m not going to apologise for saying sorry! :-) But I will admit, in terms of the English fascination with manners, the umbrella dance holds a special place in my heart and has me transfixed every time I see it.
This morning it was raining, and for some reason known only to my deepest unconscious, I decided to walk to work. Well, when I say rain, it was really only spitting or misting. London rain often lacks commitment – which makes for a bit of difficulty on the umbrella front; to use or not to use, that is the question. You’re kinda damned if you do and damned if you don’t, as either way, you still get rather convincingly wet. However, this morning there were more umbrellas in evidence than there were people sodden and bearing it, so the Umbrella quadrille was in full swing.
Whenever it’s wet, you will see the polite Londoners, umbrellas aloft, dancing around, trying to avoid each other’s spokes and still maintain the semblance of rain-coverage. The often colourful circles rise and fall, dip and glide, pirouette and curtsy in an intricate dance of consideration and civility. It’s quite entrancing to watch when it works, to see everyone manage to thread the fine line between a dry walk and hopeless entanglement, especially at those points of convergence such as Tube Station exits. And yet, in a second, it can all be ruined by the boorish, stubborn, unmannerly care-nots who prefer to fight and impale rather than be courteous and dance.
Thankfully this morning I only encountered one boor, and it was only a minor contretemps, his umbrella suffering more than mine I fancy, and I arrived safely, if a tad damp, at work. But the rest of the walk was pure spectacle and very amusing!
Now, I don’t know if I’ve said it before but it bears saying again; London is a very dichotomous society.
There are those who use manners; sorry, excuse me, sorry, thank you, sorry, pardon me, sorry, my pleasure, sorry, you’re welcome…
And those who do not; I am going to hurl abuse at you because I am annoyed, or because you brushed past me trying desperately to get off the bus, or I am drunk, or you looked at me strangely, or the bus isn’t on time, or the Police are asking me to move in a different direction from the one I wanted to go…
There are those that queue; you were first, please no dearie, I’m sure you was first…
And those that don’t; if you stand at a pedestrian crossing far enough from the curb not to get blind-sided by a buses side-mirror then it is guaranteed that by the time the light turns green, there will be five people standing in front of you.
And then there are those that practice umbrella etiquette; I am going to try not to impale you as you are walking down the street, I will lift and angle my umbrella away from yours so that they don’t catch and clash.
And those don't; I will quite happily use my umbrella as a weapon of mass destruction, scratching, gauging, ripping and swiping you without giving a frig as to the damage I'm causing and look at you like you were a piece of trash when you squeal in agony.
I prefer to be one of the former on all counts… it’s the way I’m hard wired I guess. And I’m not going to apologise for saying sorry! :-) But I will admit, in terms of the English fascination with manners, the umbrella dance holds a special place in my heart and has me transfixed every time I see it.
This morning it was raining, and for some reason known only to my deepest unconscious, I decided to walk to work. Well, when I say rain, it was really only spitting or misting. London rain often lacks commitment – which makes for a bit of difficulty on the umbrella front; to use or not to use, that is the question. You’re kinda damned if you do and damned if you don’t, as either way, you still get rather convincingly wet. However, this morning there were more umbrellas in evidence than there were people sodden and bearing it, so the Umbrella quadrille was in full swing.
Whenever it’s wet, you will see the polite Londoners, umbrellas aloft, dancing around, trying to avoid each other’s spokes and still maintain the semblance of rain-coverage. The often colourful circles rise and fall, dip and glide, pirouette and curtsy in an intricate dance of consideration and civility. It’s quite entrancing to watch when it works, to see everyone manage to thread the fine line between a dry walk and hopeless entanglement, especially at those points of convergence such as Tube Station exits. And yet, in a second, it can all be ruined by the boorish, stubborn, unmannerly care-nots who prefer to fight and impale rather than be courteous and dance.
Thankfully this morning I only encountered one boor, and it was only a minor contretemps, his umbrella suffering more than mine I fancy, and I arrived safely, if a tad damp, at work. But the rest of the walk was pure spectacle and very amusing!
Sunday, 7 October 2007
Holy Shit
Now, I know I said I’d not say no to stuff whilst I'm over here - but no-one asked me to do this. I just did it, of my on volition, without thinking about it. Crap. Why did I do this? What am I putting myself up for?
What’s the fuss about? I've just signed up for NaNoWriMo idiot that I am. This is HUGE for me. Writing a novel is something I’ve always had on my list of ‘Things To Do’, but it was always “I’ll get around to it…eventually”. Not “Right NOW Dammit”!
NaNoWriMo is a month long writing spree conducted by thousands of people world-wide for the month of November. The aim is to achieve a novel of 50,000 words or more within that month, and the emphasis is on quantity not quality, so your internal editor is shut in a box and pure creative bullshit ensues. Anyone who completes the word-limit in the time limit (and only about 17% of the participants do) gains international bragging writes, the self-satisfaction of achieving a personal goal and the first draft of a potential novel.
Mind you, the aim for me was always just to write a book, not to become an author. It never has to be published thank goodness. But I guess this will really push me to see if I can do it, and if I can, I will then have it under my belt as another accomplishment.
But oh dear… my head is spinning. It’s a very big commitment. Better make sure I don’t plan too many activities in November. May not be blogging much that month either.
50,000 words. Wow.
What’s the fuss about? I've just signed up for NaNoWriMo idiot that I am. This is HUGE for me. Writing a novel is something I’ve always had on my list of ‘Things To Do’, but it was always “I’ll get around to it…eventually”. Not “Right NOW Dammit”!
NaNoWriMo is a month long writing spree conducted by thousands of people world-wide for the month of November. The aim is to achieve a novel of 50,000 words or more within that month, and the emphasis is on quantity not quality, so your internal editor is shut in a box and pure creative bullshit ensues. Anyone who completes the word-limit in the time limit (and only about 17% of the participants do) gains international bragging writes, the self-satisfaction of achieving a personal goal and the first draft of a potential novel.
Mind you, the aim for me was always just to write a book, not to become an author. It never has to be published thank goodness. But I guess this will really push me to see if I can do it, and if I can, I will then have it under my belt as another accomplishment.
But oh dear… my head is spinning. It’s a very big commitment. Better make sure I don’t plan too many activities in November. May not be blogging much that month either.
50,000 words. Wow.
Saturday, 6 October 2007
I would like to talk to you about Duvets
A Duvet is something I never knew I owned – and yet I did. A Doona is a Duvet.
Apparently it is only called a ‘Doona’ in Australia, derived form the Old Norse dunn meaning ‘down feathers’ and something else that I never knew - that the actual word ‘Doona’ started as a brand name for duvets in Australia. Like so many Australian products, the brand name becomes the product name, so we have Glad Wrap and Scotch tape and Speedo’s and Kleenex and Biro’s… Well, how many examples can you think of?
But let’s not get too sidetracked here.
When I first secured my current place of abode, I had to purchase a lot of manchester, as furniture was included in the flat but linen was not. So I had to buy sheets and towels and pillows… and a duvet. The problem was that duvets here are labelled very differently from what we see at home. Instead of the % of wool v acrylic or down v feathers, all duvets here are rated according to Togs. So What on Earth is a Tog? I hear you ask… well, if you didn’t ask, I certainly did, as I had absolutely no clue and wasn’t about to purchase anything if I couldn’t tell how warm it was going to be.
So off to the trusty www for me…
Tog: Unit of measure of thermal insulation used in the textile trade; a light summer suit provides 1.0 tog. The tog value of an object is equal to ten times the temperature difference (in °C) between its two surfaces when the flow of heat is equal to one watt per square metre; one tog equals 0.645 clo.
Or, in somewhat more user-friendly English:
What are tog ratings?
A 'tog' is a UK industry standard name used for measuring the warmth of a duvet. The higher the tog rating, the warmer the duvet. Togs are measured in units of thermal resistance. For instance if a duvet has a tog rating of 4.5 then it would be more likely be used in the summer months. And at the other end of the scale, a duvet with a tog rating of 13.5 would be used in the colder months of the year.
summer >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> winter
4.5 tog 6 tog 7.5 tog 9 tog 10.5 tog 12 tog 13.5 tog
Something that Australia could benefit from incorporating I think. When I first moved out of home I bought a Doona that was way too warm for me during summer and not warm enough in winter. I learnt that lesson well, and never again bought a 50% down Doona. But you’re still never quite sure if what you’re getting is going to be right for you when you purchase something back home.
Here, they have ingenious duel packs where you can buy a 4.5 and a 10 together, which gives you a summer duvet (the 4.5), a spring and autumn duvet (the 10) and a winter duvet (the 4.5 and 10 combined). This is what I did, and I have recently changed from my summer to my autumn duvet, and it works a treat. I’ve never actually been quite as comfortable in those ‘in-between’ months before. It’s great!
Just thought I’d let you know! :)
Apparently it is only called a ‘Doona’ in Australia, derived form the Old Norse dunn meaning ‘down feathers’ and something else that I never knew - that the actual word ‘Doona’ started as a brand name for duvets in Australia. Like so many Australian products, the brand name becomes the product name, so we have Glad Wrap and Scotch tape and Speedo’s and Kleenex and Biro’s… Well, how many examples can you think of?
But let’s not get too sidetracked here.
When I first secured my current place of abode, I had to purchase a lot of manchester, as furniture was included in the flat but linen was not. So I had to buy sheets and towels and pillows… and a duvet. The problem was that duvets here are labelled very differently from what we see at home. Instead of the % of wool v acrylic or down v feathers, all duvets here are rated according to Togs. So What on Earth is a Tog? I hear you ask… well, if you didn’t ask, I certainly did, as I had absolutely no clue and wasn’t about to purchase anything if I couldn’t tell how warm it was going to be.
So off to the trusty www for me…
Tog: Unit of measure of thermal insulation used in the textile trade; a light summer suit provides 1.0 tog. The tog value of an object is equal to ten times the temperature difference (in °C) between its two surfaces when the flow of heat is equal to one watt per square metre; one tog equals 0.645 clo.
Or, in somewhat more user-friendly English:
What are tog ratings?
A 'tog' is a UK industry standard name used for measuring the warmth of a duvet. The higher the tog rating, the warmer the duvet. Togs are measured in units of thermal resistance. For instance if a duvet has a tog rating of 4.5 then it would be more likely be used in the summer months. And at the other end of the scale, a duvet with a tog rating of 13.5 would be used in the colder months of the year.
summer >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> winter
4.5 tog 6 tog 7.5 tog 9 tog 10.5 tog 12 tog 13.5 tog
Something that Australia could benefit from incorporating I think. When I first moved out of home I bought a Doona that was way too warm for me during summer and not warm enough in winter. I learnt that lesson well, and never again bought a 50% down Doona. But you’re still never quite sure if what you’re getting is going to be right for you when you purchase something back home.
Here, they have ingenious duel packs where you can buy a 4.5 and a 10 together, which gives you a summer duvet (the 4.5), a spring and autumn duvet (the 10) and a winter duvet (the 4.5 and 10 combined). This is what I did, and I have recently changed from my summer to my autumn duvet, and it works a treat. I’ve never actually been quite as comfortable in those ‘in-between’ months before. It’s great!
Just thought I’d let you know! :)
Wednesday, 3 October 2007
The fridge that isn't...
I have had a no-exercise week. Why? Because I ate something I shouldn't'a on Monday night and have been paying the penance for it ever since.
I forgot the cardinal rules of our fridge:
1. Never trust the milk no matter how fresh it is
2. Detract at least 3 days from all other Used By dates
3. Eat at Your Own Risk
I forgot rules two and three and have been feeling remarkably like a punching bag ever since. Used by dates don't mean anything in this country. It's all 'use three days after opening' regardless of when it's 'Due'... which always confuses me!
Every time I do anything more strenuous than a gentle amble, my entire intestinal tract seizes up and lets me know in no uncertain terms that it is feeling exceedingly delicate thank you very much and to please walk slower or else suffer the agonizing death of one thousand cramps. My shoulders are sore from the amount of time I've spent hunched over.
Needless to say, Salsa was off the menu for tonight. I'm catching up with the Muppets instead, and hoping against hope that the bland and boring chicken dish thing I bought for this evenings repast is well within it's used by date...
Grrr...
I forgot the cardinal rules of our fridge:
1. Never trust the milk no matter how fresh it is
2. Detract at least 3 days from all other Used By dates
3. Eat at Your Own Risk
I forgot rules two and three and have been feeling remarkably like a punching bag ever since. Used by dates don't mean anything in this country. It's all 'use three days after opening' regardless of when it's 'Due'... which always confuses me!
Every time I do anything more strenuous than a gentle amble, my entire intestinal tract seizes up and lets me know in no uncertain terms that it is feeling exceedingly delicate thank you very much and to please walk slower or else suffer the agonizing death of one thousand cramps. My shoulders are sore from the amount of time I've spent hunched over.
Needless to say, Salsa was off the menu for tonight. I'm catching up with the Muppets instead, and hoping against hope that the bland and boring chicken dish thing I bought for this evenings repast is well within it's used by date...
Grrr...
Tuesday, 2 October 2007
A Mad Dash for Three G's
One of the things I love about this city is that eventually everyone you’d ever want to see visits here. I’ve just seen Patrick Stewart in Macbeth, Ian McKellen will soon be playing here in King Lear and this evening I saw Neil Gaiman and Jonathan Pryce!
So – G number one was Neil Gaiman in conversation with Claire Armitstead from the Guardian, at the Criterion Theatre in Picadilly, It was an interview, but really he needed so little prompting, she just sort of nudged him in appropriate directions
I was running very late too. I just made it to the theatre for 1800, which is when it was supposed to start, but like all good theatrical events, it was running five minutes late so it was all good.
Neil is in town for the UK opening and promotion of ‘Stardust’ the movie, which I will in due course see, but he talked of many other things as well. It was an hour’s dialogue – and the crowd were allowed to ask questions at the end too. It was fascinating. He’s a lot nicer and gentler in person than you are led to believe from his writing and he said some very interesting things. Like he writes something to discover what he thinks about a subject rather than to illuminate others, and that he isn’t concerned with offending people when writing; in person he’s squeamish and polite, but the minute he’s in a story he looses his inhibitions and just writes what the story asks of him. He also said that if he ever tried to write something for money it invariably went wrong, but if he wrote what interested or intrigued him, the money just sort of worked itself out.
Richard kept my company at this event, and as we were both due at the Apollo to see a play at 1945, he was understandably concerned that we make that performance in time. However as the Gaiman interview was over by 1900 we had about ¾ of an hour up our sleeves and so decided to go to have a look in a Neil’s book signing down the road to see how long the line was. The signing was happening at the Piccadilly Waterstones (the biggest bookstore in Europe) and when we got there we were told to wait for about 2 minutes and then were ushered into a separate room. I really don’t know how we managed it but R and I ended up first in line for the signing. So of course we waited. And waited. Until Neil finally came in at about 1925. I got some photos and two books signed and Richard got his copy of Good Omens signed, which he’d been carrying around the world with him in hope of such an opportunity as he’d already managed to get it signed by Terry Pratchett it’s other author. So it was a bit of a mad dash for us, over to the Blue Posts to pick up the tickets from Jase and then to make it to the theatre on time, but we did.
So, the second G was seeing Jonathan Pryce in ‘Glengarry Glen Ross’ at the Apollo. It was an absorbing play. The dialogue was electric and the actor’s were superb… only, I was a little lost as to what the whole thing was about, until interval, when Jason was able to illuminate me. The film apparently makes it a lot clearer, but essentially the main plot of the play is a competition: 1st prize is a Cadillac, 2nd Prize is you keep your job, and 3rd Prize is you’re fired! So, it’s four door-to-door salesmen in the US competing to sell real estate, and if they don’t get any sales up on the board they lose their jobs.
I found it compelling, but just as I was a little lost at the beginning, so I was a tad under-whelmed at the end. The twist really wasn’t one for me, and although the dynamic between the actors was good, a couple of them kept loosing their American accents, which I found quite jarring. Add that to that the fact that I wasn’t feeling so great and the end result was that I enjoyed it but wasn’t fired by it – no pun intended.
So the third G? It was goodbye to Martin tonight. He’s off home tomorrow and so we had a last beer at the Belgium bar De Hems (I had strawberry beer this time – can’t wait to go to Belgium!) and an Adelaidean contingent photo and then I had to retire.
Sad to see him go but he will be back for Christmas… won’t you Marty??!!
So – G number one was Neil Gaiman in conversation with Claire Armitstead from the Guardian, at the Criterion Theatre in Picadilly, It was an interview, but really he needed so little prompting, she just sort of nudged him in appropriate directions
I was running very late too. I just made it to the theatre for 1800, which is when it was supposed to start, but like all good theatrical events, it was running five minutes late so it was all good.
Neil is in town for the UK opening and promotion of ‘Stardust’ the movie, which I will in due course see, but he talked of many other things as well. It was an hour’s dialogue – and the crowd were allowed to ask questions at the end too. It was fascinating. He’s a lot nicer and gentler in person than you are led to believe from his writing and he said some very interesting things. Like he writes something to discover what he thinks about a subject rather than to illuminate others, and that he isn’t concerned with offending people when writing; in person he’s squeamish and polite, but the minute he’s in a story he looses his inhibitions and just writes what the story asks of him. He also said that if he ever tried to write something for money it invariably went wrong, but if he wrote what interested or intrigued him, the money just sort of worked itself out.
Richard kept my company at this event, and as we were both due at the Apollo to see a play at 1945, he was understandably concerned that we make that performance in time. However as the Gaiman interview was over by 1900 we had about ¾ of an hour up our sleeves and so decided to go to have a look in a Neil’s book signing down the road to see how long the line was. The signing was happening at the Piccadilly Waterstones (the biggest bookstore in Europe) and when we got there we were told to wait for about 2 minutes and then were ushered into a separate room. I really don’t know how we managed it but R and I ended up first in line for the signing. So of course we waited. And waited. Until Neil finally came in at about 1925. I got some photos and two books signed and Richard got his copy of Good Omens signed, which he’d been carrying around the world with him in hope of such an opportunity as he’d already managed to get it signed by Terry Pratchett it’s other author. So it was a bit of a mad dash for us, over to the Blue Posts to pick up the tickets from Jase and then to make it to the theatre on time, but we did.
So, the second G was seeing Jonathan Pryce in ‘Glengarry Glen Ross’ at the Apollo. It was an absorbing play. The dialogue was electric and the actor’s were superb… only, I was a little lost as to what the whole thing was about, until interval, when Jason was able to illuminate me. The film apparently makes it a lot clearer, but essentially the main plot of the play is a competition: 1st prize is a Cadillac, 2nd Prize is you keep your job, and 3rd Prize is you’re fired! So, it’s four door-to-door salesmen in the US competing to sell real estate, and if they don’t get any sales up on the board they lose their jobs.
I found it compelling, but just as I was a little lost at the beginning, so I was a tad under-whelmed at the end. The twist really wasn’t one for me, and although the dynamic between the actors was good, a couple of them kept loosing their American accents, which I found quite jarring. Add that to that the fact that I wasn’t feeling so great and the end result was that I enjoyed it but wasn’t fired by it – no pun intended.
So the third G? It was goodbye to Martin tonight. He’s off home tomorrow and so we had a last beer at the Belgium bar De Hems (I had strawberry beer this time – can’t wait to go to Belgium!) and an Adelaidean contingent photo and then I had to retire.
Sad to see him go but he will be back for Christmas… won’t you Marty??!!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)