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Diabetics!

The Girl swears blind that the hummingbirds in our front garden (yard!) are diabetics. This is based on their slavish predeliction for the nectar that I lavish upon them at infeasibly frequent intervals. Being made by combining four parts boiled water to one part granulated sugar these must provide a healthy (or un-healthy) kick whenever they sock it back.

Now – for sure these gorgeous little friends burn off a fair bit of energy and because they are so tiny they don’t have much room to store same – but I am beginning to wonder what is going on. Our feeder at the front is suspended next to a hanging basket that is lavish with unctuous blooms – all containing stacks of that yummy nectar. But do the birds bother with that? Nope! They head straight for the feeder.

Hmmmm!

This is the work of but a few days…

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

The final frontier

“Space is big. The whole point of the frontier is that we go there to do new things in new places – not one place, and not one thing, but all of the above.”

Rick Tumlinson

It is very nearly four years since we acquired our lovely home on the Saanich peninsula.

I have – as it happens – good reason to recall that moment in time precisely. The day that we moved in to our new residence – the day after all of our worldly possessions were delivered by our carrier – I arrived early in the morning because I wanted to watch on the TV one of Scotland’s final pool matches in the 2015 Rugby World Cup, the which was taking place back in England (the reason for the early start times on the west coast of Canada).

Now here we are – four years on – and the 2019 Rugby World Cup is just about to start in Japan.

This post is not, however, about rugby.

I made reference in a recent post to the fact that we have been re-decorating our downstairs ‘family’ room. This work was actually started by a dear friend whilst we were away in Europe earlier in the year, but she and I finished it off together over the summer. We then had the carpets cleaned before reorganising all of our downstairs spaces ready for our recent guests (also trailed in the above mentioned post).

Why is all this significant – and why ‘final’?

Well – this past four years has seen a great deal of action on the home front – as regular readers of these meanderings (should such there be) will be aware. There have been legal battles to be fought – monies to be scrimped and saved – new decks to be built – extensive renovations of the main living spaces to be wrought and all manner of other nipping and tucking besides.

On our arrival here four years ago the downstairs ‘family’ room was immediately pressed into service as a repository for goods and chattels from our transatlantic move for which we did not at that point have a home elsewhere. It then became a temporary studio before subsequently being turned into a furniture store and living space when we moved everything downstairs for the four months during which we handed over the whole of the main floor to our contractor. It then reverted to being a dumping ground and part-time workshop… until earlier this year.

Now – finally – four years after our arrival here – the last remaining unallocated space in our home has been turned into a proper functioning room.

Job done! Yaaaaaay!!

 

Time management

“I am definitely going to take a course on time management… just as soon as I can work it into my schedule.”

Louis E. Boone

As I start a new term (my fourth) in a new academic year with a new group of eager(?) young (mostly) students I am made aware that the honeymoon period for this particular post-secondary lecturer is over…

…in timetable terms at least!

If I am more honest I should really admit that – as a term-contracted semi-retired part-timer – I am rightly considered the lowest of the low when it comes to the allocation of teaching slots.

I teach one course – two days a week. On each of those days I lecture for sixty or ninety minutes and run a lab session for ninety minutes. I am also obliged to spend a couple of hours a week in my (shared) office so as to be readily available to students. The rest I can do from home. Until now I have been fortunate with regard to timetabling. None of my starts has been early and on each of my teaching days the lab sessions have followed hard on the heels of the classroom lectures.

Not so this term. I teach on Mondays and Wednesdays – at 8:30 am!

Now – I really can’t pretend that the early start is an issue. It takes me about half an hour to get to the college – even in the morning ‘rush’ – and let’s face it, compared to to my pre-retirement commute this is a complete doddle.

My issue is that on both of my teaching days the lab sessions are scheduled in the mid-afternoon – at 2:00 pm and 3:30 pm respectively. This means a gap of four and six hours on those days during which I am somewhat stuck. A couple of hours are used up as office time and of course I do have preparation and marking, but I find both of those easier to do in the comfort of my studio at home.

If I lived close to the college I would simply go home in between lectures and labs. Indeed, that is what I will doubtless be doing for the longer of the gaps on Wednesdays – but that does mean wasting another hour a week in the car and the Lexus (which I love to bits) is not the most frugal of beasts…

I simply have to remind myself that this is very much a first-world problem and to get on with it. It is, after all, only for fourteen weeks… well – twelve now!

As you were…

Nor shall my sword sleep

I watched a fascinating program the other night on the ever reliable BBC on the subject of Hubert Parry’s setting of some of the lines from William Blake’s poem – ‘Milton‘ – the which in this form is considerably better known as ‘Jerusalem‘. This great ‘hymn’ – particularly in the stirring arrangement by Edward Elgar – has the power to reach parts that other anthems cannot, to the extent that some demand that it should be adopted as the English national anthem in place of ‘God Save the Queen‘.

Sadly it takes but a few moments of searching on the pernicious InterWebNet to discover that the very rousing qualities with which the piece is imbued can have unfortunate side-effects. It is one thing being moved to feelings of patriotic enthusiasm, but the border between this sort of positive resonance and a considerably less acceptable jingoism is porous in the extreme. It is but a short step to the sort of exceptionalist national ‘pride’ that is indistinguishable from xenophobia – particularly in the light of the ongoing and deadly saga of Br**it!

Those who feel moved to leap to their feet upon hearing the familiar introduction and the opening gambit – “And did those feet…” – chests jutting and bursting with nationalistic fervour regarding the unconquerable nature of the British spirit might care to take a slightly closer look at the mast to which they have chosen to nail their colours.

Back in 2014 I posted two missives to these pages on the subject of that other great national favourite – Sir Cecil Spring Rice and Gustav Holst’s “I Vow to Thee my Country” (with the second part here). Those posts sounded a note of caution regarding the unthinking adoption of the piece as an anthem to patriotism. The hymn is certainly a lament for the fallen but can also be read as a warning of the perils of misguided idealism.

In a similar fashion ‘Jerusalem‘ demands closer study to if we are truly to understand both the work itself and the intentions and motivations of those who created it.

William Blake was a complex character but he was very clearly not a nationalist. He was in fact a revolutionary and – along with other radicals of his age – eagerly endorsed the French revolution. Living through both that other insurgency – the Industrial Revolution – and the Napoleonic wars, Blake was horrified that his ideal of a society of universal peace and love was being corrupted by the ‘dark Satanic mills’ of an industry churning out the weapons of war and that the poor and downtrodden were being used as fodder both for the military and economic machines. ‘Jerusalem‘ is thus clearly actually a revolutionary call to build a better society, rather than a peon of praise for the nation as it was/is.

Hubert Parry was himself a man of liberal views and a moderate outlook. Having set Blake’s words to the now famous theme in 1916 for ‘Fight for Right‘ (a movement that had been formed to reinforce the idea of British cultural values during the Great War) Parry rapidly became disillusioned by the jingoistic tone that that body adopted and withdrew the tune from them. He agreed instead that the rights should be given to the suffragette movement, who held them until women eventually won the right to the vote in 1928, upon which they were passed to the Womens’ Institute. The song was also regularly sung at labour movement rallies. It is only in more recent times that it has taken on its current chauvinistic overtones.

Now – there is no denying the power of the piece to move the soul. In the Elgar arrangement in particular the second verse is so very stirring that for many it is impossible not to be moved to tears and for the hairs to stand upon the back of one’s neck.

That one be moved in body and spirit, however, is no excuse for disengaging the mind! If we be stirred then let us indeed be moved – as Blake intended –  to try to make the world a better place.

 

 

The magic circle

“The stage is a magic circle where only the most real things happen, a neutral territory outside the jurisdiction of Fate where stars may be crossed with impunity. A truer and more real place does not exist in all the universe.”

P.S. Baber – ‘Cassie Draws the Universe’

Our relief at discovering – subsequent to our arrival four years ago from London (arguably the theatre capital of the world) – that Victoria is consistently able to offer a rich bill of fare in thespian terms… was palpable! As I have written before in these pages, we routinely hold season tickets for The Belfry and one of the reasons that I was keen to sit on the Board of Intrepid Theatre was my admiration for the work that they do in bringing adventurous theatre to the provincial capital.

I have waxed lyrical before within these musings on the subject of the Victoria Fringe Festival (for those seeking proof posts may be found here, here and here). Of the three festivals operated by Intrepid Theatre the Fringe is perhaps closest to my heart, my healthy love of fringe theatre having been nurtured over many years at the Edinburgh Fringe.

The posts referenced above extol the delights of the shows from the past three fringe festivals with which we were particularly impressed and this post will do likewise for 2019 – but I do wish first to make a brief observation concerning the changing nature of fringe theatre.

When I first visited the Edinburgh Fringe in 1976 I am very sure that there was on offer more drama than there is now and certainly less comedy. Now, I have nothing against comedy – whether as stand-up or as comedy plays – but it is good to have a balance. Likewise in the field of drama the trend over recent decades has been towards small cast shows – presumably as much as anything on grounds of cost – with the emphasis often on solo shows based on personal experience. Again – nothing wrong with that as a form, but I do find myself longing for a ‘proper’ script, preferably containing subtle and thoughtful dialogue and (please god!) subtext!

Is that too much to ask?

So – the production that I enjoyed most this year was “Tuesdays with Morrie” by Theatre Alive Productions. Mitch Alborn’s play dates from 2002 and is a sensitive and profound text that was beautifully and movingly performed by the company. I love to see new work but I also greatly enjoy a piece that has been properly honed over a number of years and through numerous rewrites.

Elsewhere Englishman Charles Adrian’s “Dear Samantha” was as funny and delightful as when we first encountered him/her two years ago and the frankly bizarre – but also very funny – “Ballad of Frank Allen” by the Australian company Weeping Spoon Productions rounded off our fringe viewing on a high. The premise of this latter – featuring a janitor who has been been accidentally shrunk to microscopic proportions and who is living in the beard of another man – pretty much embodies the sense of the unexpected that one hopes to find in fringe theatre.

 

 

Something important

“Come back!” the Caterpillar called after her. “I’ve something important to say.”
This sounded promising, certainly. Alice turned and came back again.
“Keep your temper,” said the Caterpillar.”

Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland & Through the Looking-Glass

Well – this little corner of the year always takes me by surprise – comprising as it does an unexpected overload of events/things to do/world-wide happenings etc…

Sometimes it all feels as though it is just a little bit too much, but – hey! – it’s not as though I am supposed to be retired and taking it easy or anything, is it?

Oh – wait…

So – what has been/still is going on:

  • the end of August is Fringe time – and this year was no exception. I will report back further on how that went in a future post.
  • the academic year has just restarted. This morning at 8:30am (brutal!) I was facing a new class of 32 keen-eyed students. My timetable is somewhat unkind. More on that later also.
  • the Kickass Canada Girl (who grows more kickass by the day) is about to spend four days on another course. For logistical reasons the instructors – who hail from Vancouver – are staying with us for the duration of the course. This has meant that we must…
  • …finish off the redecoration of our big ‘family’ room downstairs (more on that too) and put our guest suite back into service.
  • the garden – as ever – demands constant attention.
  • I have been working hard to prepare a whole bunch of tracks for mastering, so that we can finally get some music up on the web. More on that… you get the idea!
  • Brexit rumbles on in ever more convoluted contortions and the Canadian election campaign is about to kick off. I will do my best not to comment on either, but you know how it goes…

 

Mountbatten

As an addendum to my post on the documentary concerning The Troubles in Northern Ireland that was shown recently on the BBC I thought I should make mention of a second BBC programme that was broadcast but a short while later.

This excellent and most moving film – by director Sam Collyns – concerned the assassination of Lord Louis Mountbatten (second cousin once removed to the Queen) at Mullaghmore in County Sligo, in the Republic of Ireland. The programme also detailed the bomb attack that was carried out on the same day at Warrenpoint on the Irish border, the which resulted in the single greatest loss of life suffered by the UK armed forces during the conflict. I was particularly moved by the testimony of those who lost loved ones on that dark day – not least one of Mountbatten’s granddaughters who was able most eloquently to put into words the terrible and lasting void left by that senseless act.

The reason for these documentaries being shown in such quick succession is that their respective anniversaries – of the start of the troubles in 1969 and of the death of Lord Mountbatten ten years later in 1979 – both took place during the month of August, at a time when many peoples would have been thinking more of holidays, sunshine and relaxation. Mountbatten was himself, of course, on a family holiday at the time of the tragedy.

August 27th 1979 was a bank holiday Monday in the UK (in Canada this would be called a long weekend). The date sticks clearly in my mind because the band in which I then played (my first band) had driven from London to Edinburgh overnight that very day to commence a week of engagements playing at the Fringe Club (then as now this bank holiday fell during the Edinburgh festivals). The first that we knew of these atrocities was watching the news reports on the TV screens in a bar on the south side of the city. Two of our number hailed from Belfast and we were all too aware of the significance of what had happened, which led to a somewhat sombre evening.

It feels strange to be living in a time when the memories of those appalling events appear to have faded sufficiently into the historical past that the pale shadows of politicians that we now suffer can in such a cavalier fashion set a course of action that is quite likely to have all too foreseeable and catastrophic consequences.

That is – however – exactly what they appear to be intent on doing.

One of the most telling elements of the documentary was its confirmation that the IRA’s then Chief of Staff – Martin McGuinness – must have given approval for the assassination, regardless of the fact that it was known that the boat on which Mountbatten was murdered would also have been carrying children and other family members. McGuinness went on to become Northern Ireland’s First Minister once the Good Friday Agreement had brought a close to that sad period in Ireland’s history and the documentary featured again the momentous occasion on which the Queen visited Belfast and shook McGuinness’s hand – an act which must have been hideously difficult for all that it symbolically confirmed the peace accord.

The role that the Queen has been obliged to carry out today in acceding to PM Johnson’s mischievous prorogation of parliament is far, far less noble, but may yet have consequences that last as long.

Sad times indeed!

 

 

Oh dear (sick)!

Hmmm!

I received in my mailbox just the other day an email circular from the medical practice with which I am registered. The communication commenced thus:

Andrew,

Need a pap? If you have a cervix and are over the age of 25, get it checked!

Now – I think that it is safe to surmise that this message was generated automatically. At least – that is what I going to assume because the alternative is that those professionals who operate the practice actually produced that missive without spotting the obvious – which would be worrying on many levels…

But then – why should we expect artificial intelligence to be any smarter than that on which it is modelled!

 

Oh deer (sic)!

I thought I would post some images (before it was too late) of the relatively few remaining plants in our garden that have not been savaged by deer…

They are contrary ba**ards, these creatures. One year they are picky customers – turning their noses up at all manner of succulence. The next – they will (and do!) eat anything. If it’s green and has leaves – it’s lunch!

This makes planning a deer-proof garden almost impossible. If one is unable – as are we – to circle one’s little plot with a rugged deer-proof fence of some variety then one has little choice but to search out plants that deer don’t care to eat. That would be a good sight easier if they didn’t change their minds from season to season.

Purveyors of plants like to advertise particular combinations of perennials as being deer-proof. I think the deer just see this as a challenge.

Doesn’t matter if I don’t much care for this – I am going to choke it down anyway just to make a point! Hah!

Once one has reached the point of imagining deer internal monologues it is probably time to stop, though…

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

The Troubles

I watched on the BBC last night a deeply moving and thought-provoking documentary by journalist Peter Jackson – “My Journey Through the Troubles”.

The BBC website described the programme thus:

“In a uniquely personal journey on the 50th anniversary of the deployment of British troops in August 1969, reporter Peter Taylor reflects on almost a half century of covering the Northern Ireland conflict.

The programme is a highly personal account of the Troubles events and legacies, drawing on Peter’s experiences in reporting from Northern Ireland.”

Taylor has spent much of his long career in television. He was working at ITV on the current affairs programme – ‘This Week‘ – when the Troubles started and he continued his coverage of the conflict after moving to the BBC’s ‘Panorama‘ strand in 1980. He has also written eight books on political violence of which more than half concern or include coverage of the struggle in Ireland. He still continues to write and present documentaries – as evidenced by last night’s showing – as he approaches his 80s.

Gentle readers whose background is in any way similar to mine will have done their growing up – as did I – to the background of the Irish conflict. At times the Troubles seemed to us a distant and mysterious affair that featured on the TV news – like something occurring in a foreign country of which we knew little. At other times – such the various periods during the 70s, 80s and 90s in which the IRA extended their bombing campaign to the UK mainland (including the Guildford and Birmingham pub bombings, the Hyde Park bomb, the attempt to kill then Prime Minister Thatcher in Brighton in 1984 and the Baltic Exchange bombing in 1992) – it all seemed uncomfortably close to home.

The Brits were then a race, however, that had not long before survived the blitz during the Second World War. When I were a ‘nipper’ (little more than two decades after those tragic events) a fair bit of the east end of London still showed the scars and was yet to be re-developed. Nothing the IRA might do would long disturb the composure of a people that had truly seen it all.

With the end of the conflict in 1998 sealed by the Good Friday Agreement (GFA) memories of such atrocities began to fade. There have certainly been major terrorist attacks on the UK mainland since that time but – the 2005 tube bombings aside – we have not suffered incidents on the same scale. In the two decades since the agreement was signed it would seem that some in the UK have begun to forget just how terrible it was to live through such strife.

This is not the case in Ireland – of course – and Jackson’s documentary revealed anew just how raw many of the wounds from that conflict yet are. The GFA was not a one-off event, of course. It was merely the beginning of a long process that is still struggling to achieve completion.

It may be that the current UK regime under PM Johnson is simply posturing in an attempt to force an unlikely compromise from the European Union with regard to Brexit – but it looks to me dangerously as though some of the grim lessons of the past are being quietly forgotten or put aside. If that is truly the case then the potential prospect of another three decades of bloody violence could not be ruled out.