Duel

Now that I'm doing Substack properly it seems a little odd - somehow disloyal - to essentially be blogging regularly again after all this time, but not to be doing it here. So I'm going to do a bit of cross-pollination. I'm including some old blog posts from here on my Substack (though not more than one per edition), and some new stuff from Substack on here. Not sure quite why, but let's try it and see how it goes. 

Here's something suitably Hallowe'en-y from this week's: 

There’s a spider in my car. I know this, because every morning when I get into it, there is a new cobweb somewhere. Usually between the dashboard and the windscreen, but this morning, rather suggestively, between the seat and the steering wheel. Y’know… the spot where an observant and ambitious spider might perhaps have noticed I tend to put myself.

My car, yesterday.

ALT TEXT: A cobweb covered steering wheel in a rusted abandoned car. 


Well, atmospheric though of course this is in the week of Hallowe’en (a period I am not yet ready to call ‘spooky season’. I haven’t even given up on the apostrophe in Hallowe’en yet) I’d still quite like to find and evict the spider. Not for my sake, but for its sake - I don’t think there are as many flies in my car as this spider hopes. But I can’t find it. It’s never lurking at the edge or middle of the new cobweb, the way I thought spiders were supposed to do. Perhaps it has a subtler plan. Anyway, it’s been five or six days now, and I still haven’t caught the spider. But on the plus side, it still hasn’t caught me.

Spiny Porcupine

I write the lyrics to the songs in Souvenir Programme, and the amazing Susannah Pearse writes the music. Unfortunately, both of us prefer to go second - that is, I like writing to existing music, and she likes setting existing words. So, when she wins, I often write the lyrics to the tune of an existing song, without telling Sue which one. Then, once I hear her music, I rewrite the lyrics to fit them better. So, for instance, 'Captain Dinosaur' started out life to the tune of 'Mine Eyes Have Seen The Glory of the Coming of The Lord'... and 'Spiny Porcupine' was originally written to Jake Thackray's 'Sister Josephine'.

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We're on tour! I know you know this by now, but just in case. We've done three dates so far, we're having a fantastic time... and we still have twenty-three to go. Come and see us! Dates and ticket links here. 

Very few camels about today. Precious few mice, come to that.

Photo credit: Mary Lee Agnew

Here is a poem by Kahlil Gibran:

A fox looked at his shadow at sunrise and said, "I will have a camel for lunch today." And all morning he went about looking for camels. But at noon he saw his shadow again - and he said, "A mouse will do."

A writer looked at his word count at sunrise...

Still, if you also had a mouse day today, take heart. Here's Ralph Waldo Emerson to cheer us up:

We do not know whether we are busy or idle. In times when we thought ourselves indolent, we have afterwards discovered, that much was accomplished, and much was begun in us. All our days are so unprofitable while they pass, that 'tis wonderful where or when we ever got anything of this which we call wisdom, poetry, virtue. We never got it on any dated calendar day. Some heavenly days must have been intercalated somewhere.

Thanks, Ralph! And nice use of 'intercalated'.

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I'm on tour from September to November! Venues and ticket links here.

Knowing your limits.

Happy New Year!

This is Adlai Stevenson, the American Democratic politician and two-time unsuccessful presidential candidate upon whom Peter Sellers partially based his performance as President Muffley in Dr. Strangelove.

In 1949, when Stevenson was Governor of Illinois, a bill was proposed in that state to restrict the movement of domestic cats, in order to protect rare songbirds. Stevenson vetoed the bill, with this judgement:



"I cannot agree that it should be the declared public policy of Illinois that a cat visiting a neighbor’s yard or crossing the highways is a public nuisance. It is in the nature of cats to do a certain amount of unescorted roaming. Many live with their owners in apartments or other restricted premises, and I doubt if we want to make their every brief foray an opportunity for a small game hunt by zealous citizens—with traps or otherwise.

We are all interested in protecting certain varieties of birds. That cats destroy some birds, I well know, but I believe this legislation would further but little the worthy cause to which its proponents give such unselfish effort. The problem of cat versus bird is as old as time. If we attempt to resolve it by legislation who knows but what we may be called upon to take sides as well in the age old problems of dog versus cat, bird versus bird, or even bird versus worm. In my opinion, the State of Illinois and its local governing bodies already have enough to do without trying to control feline delinquency."

I wish he'd won.



(Bonus Stevenson fact: when he was considering whether to run for President a third time, the Russians approached him secretly and offered him assistance. He told the ambassador who made the approach that he considered it "highly improper, indiscreet and dangerous to all concerned", and promptly reported it to the sitting President, his political enemy. I mean, obviously that's what anyone would do. I don't know why I even mention it. )

Probably best just to tell your insurance company you work in a cubicle.

Ancient Assyrian careers advisor: 'So, to sum up... you like working with your hands, you don't mind enclosed spaces, and ideally you'd like to work with animals. I think I may have just the thing for you!' 

Ancient Assyrian school-leaver: 'Ok, but will it be boring? I don't want a job where I'm bored all the time.'

Ancient Assyrian careers advisor: 'Do you know what... I really don't think that will be a problem.' 

Incredibly grumpy giant wombats - a spotter's guide.

So anyway, apparently there was once a type of wombat the size of a hippopotamus. Which is good news, surely. It was called the diprotodon (though it didn't know that at the time) and it lived in Australia, (though it didn't know that either), during the Pleistocene era (though it didn't… you get the idea).

Unlike more elusive Australian fauna, such as the Bunyip and the Dropbear, we have actual fossil records of the diprotodon, and so we know what it looked like - at least on the inside. As with dinosaurs, artists providing impressions of what it looked like on the outside differ about things like type and colour of coat, shape of nose, etc. But on one thing every artist who's ever drawn a diprotodon agrees. It was massively pissed off.

'Oh yeah? You got a remark to make about the nose? Then let's hear it, wise guy. Give it your best shot.'

'I swear, if that's those kids next door fooling around again, I'll...'

'Why did she leave me? Why? Is it because I'm a giant wombat? But SHE'S a giant wombat! We're ALL giant wombats!'

Well, ok. Maybe not EVERY artist...

'Guys! So glad you could make it! Come through! Coats on the left, drinks on the right...'

(NB. I do not have the rights to any of these illustrations. I'm very happy to credit or remove them on request.)

24 things I drew this month - Thing Fifteen

I've only drawn one line today; but in fairness it is quite a complicated line.

Click for bigger (actually, that goes for any of these drawings) 

Team A

Team B

But I have learnt something: the plural of cheetah.

There will be a Rotterdam post, but I'm afraid probably not for a few days. These are busy times, for both good and bad reasons. In the meantime, here's a sign I saw in a zoo recently. You'll probably have to click it to read it. 

'A number of methods to find out where the cheetah live'. Impressive. Including method 1: Seeing where the cheetah are; and method 4: asking if anyone else have seen where the cheetah are.  

Aslan was probably the same.

Sorry for the unannounced break, I've been on holiday.

While I was there, I took this picture of a feral cat which snuck up to drink from the swimming pool just before sunset; because I felt it looked so much like - and was acting so much like - a lion coming to the water-hole in the evening. Obviously, I took care not to get too close, because after all this was a wild animal, and I had no doubt that if I disturbed him, or even encroached on his territory, he would attack with all the murderous ferocity of the lion he so closely resembled.

Conceive of my terror, therefore, when having finished his drink, he did not slink back to his lair, but turned and made straight for me!  

Just look into those cruel tawny eyes! Clearly, his thirst slaked, this fearsome descendant of the King of the Beasts had but one thing on his mind...

Ah.

Does the mighty pussy cat want his tummy tickled, then? 

Grrr.

Still looking like a lion, I think you'll agree; only now a lion after it's been shot and turned into a hearthrug.

Foo Foo update; and the military career of Colonel Sir Nils Olav.

Oh, and do you know who else has a white miniature poodle named Foo Foo? I'll tell you who:

That's who. Which raises two equally exciting possibilities: that the Crown Prince of Thailand is a Muppet fan, and named his Air Chief Marshal after Miss Piggy's poodle; or, that he's never heard of the Muppets, but just happens to share a taste in poodle names with Miss Piggy. I can't decide which I want to be true more. 

Now, let's forget all this silliness, and study instead the distinguished career of a proper soldier - Colonel-in-Chief Sir Nils Olav of the Norwegian King's Guard. Olav joined the army in 1972 as a humble Lance Corporal, but gradually rose through the ranks until 2005, when he was appointed Colonel-in-Chief. In 2008, he was knighted by King Harald V. He has won several medals, and statues in his honour have been erected in both Oslo and Edinburgh, where he lives. 

Here he is inspecting his troops. 

And here he is receiving his knighthood:

I wonder who would win a battle between the Norwegian King's Guard and the Royal Thai Air Force? Or between their commanders?

When paleontologists grow whimsical.

Here are the dinosaur names I have most enjoyed today.

Bambiraptor.

Named after Bambi; because it's small, long-legged and 'cute'.

Qantassaurus.

Named after the national airline of Australia. (And cuter than the Bambiraptor, for my money, but that might just be the expression this artist has given it.)

Irritator

The only extant fossil of this dinosaur is a skull which the paleontologists who classified it eventually discovered had been doctored with plaster by the fossil-dealer in an effort to make it seem more impressive, and therefore valuable. Hence the name:  "from irritation, the feeling the authors felt (understated here) when discovering that the snout had been artificially elongated."

And my favourite - because sometimes the well of inspiration simply runs dry:

Megapnosaurus

From the Greek, meaning 'Big Dead Lizard'.

The case of the cryptic socks.

Last year, I was in a show directed by a South Korean director whom, because I stepped into the show during its run, I didn't actually get to meet. Nevertheless, he very kindly left a gift for the show's writer to pass on to me when I arrived. Specifically: a pair of child's socks, featuring a cross pig, either sweating or crying.

As there is no pig - cross, sweaty, tearful, or otherwise - in the script, I have to admit I didn't immediately understand the significance of this; so I asked the writer, who is also Korean, if she could translate the text for me. She was happy to do so. Apparently, what the pig is saying is: 'My toes and fingers are shrinking.'

Ah yes, of course. It all makes sense now. 

King of the Swingers.

Here is the sign to a museum I visited:

I find it hard to imagine anyone who could resist following that sign. Perhaps you, too, would like to encounter Raja the Tusker? Very well. 

There he is. And not looking too bad, is he, considering he died in 1989? Say what you like about Sri Lankan taxidermists, but they don't shirk a challenge. Raja, it turns out, was not only a tusker, but also a Royal Elephant - and indeed a replacement Royal Elephant has not yet been found, twenty one years later. 'And how does one become a Royal Elephant?' I hear you cry, perhaps wondering if your own elephant might be a candidate for the job. Well, apparently (though I haven't managed to find anything confirming this on the internet) the qualifications are: fully developed tusks, a certain size and height, and the ability, when standing at rest, to touch the ground with all your toes; your trunk; your tail, and one other thing. 

Good grief, Raja. Well done. 

It really, really shouldn't happen to a vet. Or any mortal.

Earlier this year, I went to see James Herriot's old veterinary practice. (It's in Thirsk, which was on my long cycle ride. I mention that so that it doesn't seem like I went on a pilgrimage to see it. Then again, the reason I am sensitive about you thinking that is because I did, a bit.) Anyway, it's been turned into a small museum of both him and veterinary history, and it's jolly good. One of the exhibits is a case of editions of his books from around the world. Most of the covers are gentle to the point of torpor, and feature some combination of rolling dales; loyal sheep-dogs; vintage cars, or all three. This one, which I think is Chinese, but apologies if I'm wrong, goes for a slightly different approach. 

Crikey. Shirt off, steely glare, stance so heroic his feet are pointing 180 degrees in opposite directions - it's James Herriot the hero of the Glorious Communist Struggle for Agricultural Supremacy. Except, no, he's not muscled enough, and, oh God, something really horrible's happened to his torso and face - it's more like All Creatures Great And Small as retold by Kafka. And, Jesus Christ, who is that woman? Helen? Mrs Pumphrey?? What's she doing there? Why is she wearing a floor-length evening dress in a cowshed? And why are her sightless eyes glowing with crimson fire?

We're not in Darrowby any more, Toto. 

Forever Friends

Talking of London Zoo, this is the life-size statue that stands right in the centre of it, between the flamingo lake and the tiger enclosure.

Yep. Striking, isn't it? In case you can't read the plaque, it records that the sculpture was presented to the zoo by J. B. Wolff in 1906.

I see. So, in 1906, J. B. Wolff commissioned an enormous sculpture representing man and beast locked in their age-old conflict; the lion straining to rend the man apart with tooth and claw; the man armed with a primitive knife, desperately trying to disembowel the lion - implacable enemies locked in a fight for survival only one of them can win.

And then he gave it to a zoo.

You know what I think? I think J.B. Wolff simultaneously gave the zoo a large amount of money, on condition that they prominently display this statue in perpetuity. I think J.B.Wolff hated the zoo. You're a funny guy, J.B. Wolff.