Gallery

 Last Thursday afternoon, Little Miss Bossyboots (aka Margot) was sitting on my knee here at this desk. There were some "Post-It" notes in front of us. Quickly, I drew the shape of a cartoon head - Margot's head - and asked her if she wanted a happy face or a sad face. "Happy face!" she said. "Happy Margot" - then I drew "Sad Margot" and "Pussycat Margot".

Later I drew other heads - without Margot on my knee. Before too long I had done twenty four heads. I affixed them to the side of the big bookcase in this study.

Just after three o'clock, I marched down to Phoebe's school to pick her up and bring her back to our house. As soon as she saw the new Margot "Post-It" gallery, Phoebe became jealous and wondered where her "Post-It" pictures were so I promised I would make  some of her. Just three more to go and she will also have twenty four little cartoon images.

It's all a rather silly idea but grandpas are allowed to be silly I think. It's in the job description. Anyway, how the hell are you meant to pass your time when you are a retired old geezer waiting for the end of life?

Zombie

Well I have felt like a zombie today but don't worry. I am a happy zombie.

After winning last night's pub quiz with my two pals, I came home knowing that I still had a long night ahead of me. I was determined to stay up to watch England's knockout game with Mexico beamed live to our house from The Azteca Stadium in Mexico City. Thank you BBC!

For a couple of hours I roamed around the internet, visiting blogs and the latest news - such as Trump's blatant interference in a red card decision. With the obsequious aid of his slimy buddy Gianni Infantino, the grifting FIFA president, Trump managed to get US player Folarin Balogun's red card rescinded, allowing him to play in tonight's match with Belgium. The whole thing stinks like, well, like a smelly trump (American: fart)!

Anyway as one in the morning approached, it was time to switch our television on but damn me - the kick-off time had been delayed for an hour because of heavy rain in Mexico City. So it was back to the computer where I learned how to make a parcel bomb, read about The Holy Roman Emperor Charlemagne who died in Aachen, Germany in 814AD and successfully blew away the latest "Wordle" challenge.

Now two o' clock was looming so I sat on the sofa with cushions stacked behind me to make my sitting position a little uncomfortable. You see, I obviously did not want to fall asleep. I pressed the remote and watched our lads singing "God Save the King" in lusty unison. The Mexico team's singing was equally committed as they launched into "Mexicans, at the Cry of War":-

Mexicans, at the cry of war,

Assemble the steel and the bridle,

And may the Earth tremble to its core

To the resounding roar of the cannon. 

And what a hell of a battle the game was! You can read match reports elsewhere but let me just say that I was immensely proud of our national team last night. They battled against the odds at high altitude in front of incredibly loud home supporters to scrape home by three goals to two. Mexico losing in the Azteca stadium is as rare as a Dinagat moonrat. Almost unheard of.

England were severely handicapped by the sending off of our full back Jarell Quansah in the fifty fourth minute. This means that he will not be allowed to play in our quarter final match with Norway... unless of course those two grifting slimeballs get his card rescinded too! Fat chance of that.

It was approaching five o'clock this morning when I finally crawled into bed with happy TV memories of what had just transpired  5500 miles  from here. Before I dozed off, Shirley asked, "What was the score?" She couldn't believe it.

Come on England!

*Image at the top; "Head of a Man" by L.S.Lowry (1938)

Annapolis

Stan & Joe

In my travels, I never visited Annapolis, Maryland in the USA and it is highly unlikely that I will ever go there. But if I did I would head straight for Stan and Joe's Saloon on West Street. There I might order a nice cool American beer in a tall glass while waiting for their classic reuben sandwich with a garden salad.

However, that would not be my principal reason for venturing to Annapolis. I would be there to visit the parking lot that is right behind Stan & Joe's place. Overlooking that unexceptional car park is a rather special mural. It celebrates the life of one Eva Cassidy (1963-1996). She was born and raised in Maryland and that's where she died so tragically young.

Fortunately, today we have access to something quite magical on the internet - Google Streetview - and by using that facility I was able to look into the parking lot  in order to catch a glimpse of Eva Cassidy's mural. Here it is:-

To tell you the truth, I think Eva deserves a more prominent mural. What there is is okay but it is tucked away in the corner of a parking lot like an apology or a secret.

She had such a divine voice. Her imperfections made her delivery perfect. Three British radio presenters - Terry Wogan, Paul Jones and Mike Harding played a big part in  bringing this Maryland songstress to the attention of the world and they were right to do so. What a crime it would have been if she had vanished into obscurity.

In recent days, "Somewhere Over The Rainbow" had been playing in my mind over and over with lyrics by a dreamy fellow called Yip Harburg. However, in my humble opinion, nobody ever sang that song as well as Eva Cassidy did it. She owned the song and imbued it with a sense of longing that is in every human heart. Please listen...

Independence

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.--That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, --That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness.

From the top

E. Jean Carroll, Alex Pretti, Nicole Good, James Comey, Four of the Epstein victims, Brian Sicknick (State Capitol police officer), Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton

Keats

 

Ode to A Nightingale

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:

'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thine happiness,—
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been
Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,
Tasting of Flora and the country green,
Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!
O for a beaker full of the warm South,
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
And purple-stained mouth;
That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim:

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
What thou among the leaves hast never known,
The weariness, the fever, and the fret
Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;
Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,
Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;
Where but to think is to be full of sorrow
And leaden-eyed despairs,
Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,
Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.

Away! away! for I will fly to thee,
Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,
But on the viewless wings of Poesy,
Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:
Already with thee! tender is the night,
And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,
Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays;
But here there is no light,
Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown

Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.

I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,
But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet
Wherewith the seasonable month endows
The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;
White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;
Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves;
And mid-May's eldest child,
The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,
The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy!
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain—
To thy high requiem become a sod.

Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!
No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown:
Perhaps the self-same song that found a path
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn;
The same that oft-times hath
Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
To toll me back from thee to my sole self!
Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well
As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf.
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music:—Do I wake or sleep?

By John Keats

⦿

John Keats was only twenty four years old when he wrote this poem. The year was 1819 - the very pinnacle of his creative life. Eighteen months later he would be dead - in spite of journeying to Rome for the supposed health benefits of a warmer climate. It was tuberculosis that got him. A lot of people died young in the first half of the nineteenth century here in England. The average life expectancy in 1820 was about forty years.

"Ode to a Nightingale" was most likely written in just one day in late April or early May 1819 in a house by Hampstead Heath, London that was owned or rented by Keats's friend Charles Armitage Brown. You can visit that same house today. It is now known as The Keats House and is dedicated to the poet with personal items to be seen.

The poem reflects on the nature of life and how it will all end. It is as if the nightingale became his muse on the day of the famous ode's creation.

Attempting to sum up the poem, one critic said this: "The principal stress of the poem is a struggle between ideal and actual: inclusive terms which, however, contain more particular antitheses of pleasure and pain, of imagination and common sense reason, of fullness and privation, of permanence and change, of nature and the human, of art and life, freedom and bondage, waking and dream."

The painting at the top of this blogpost was by another of Keats's friends - Joseph Severn. It was created almost twenty five years after Keats's death and recollects the poet's reverie in the garden of the Hampstead Heath house on the day "Ode to a Nightingale" was written. Severn painted many pictures of his famous friend. It became a steady source of income for him.

To better appreciate the poem you may need to read it two or three times and I advise reciting it aloud to tap into the musicality of the lines. It's not like reading a novel or a newspaper article or the majority of blogposts. You need to be in a - how can I say this - a more absorbent, more open state of mind.

Comparison

What do you think about different corned beef brands? All of us could do with expert advice as I am sure it is a pressing issue for all corned beef consumers. That is why I turned to Bald Foodie Guy...

Bald Foodie Guy lives in the north west of England and I must declare explicitly that HE IS NOT ME!

There's a lot of stuff happening out there in the world right now. From religious wars to grifting presidents and from A.I. to the rise of the right. It's hard to keep your eyes on things that really matter - like selecting the best corned beef brands from discount supermarkets. Thank you Bald Foodie Guy!

Lions

You might expect lions to inhabit the grassy plains of Africa but here in South Yorkshire we have got plenty of lions - lurking about urban areas. They all belong to an art and charity project called "Pride of Yorkshire". Its ultimate purpose is to raise extra funds for Sheffield Children's Hospital.

There are in total one hundred and fifty adult lions to spot. All of them have been individually decorated - mostly by professional artists and community groups. There are also a hundred and fifty smaller lion cubs. When the project reaches its conclusion in September, the lions will be auctioned off.

Now I have no intention of tracking down all three hundred lions but this week I have taken pictures of several of the beasts in and around Sheffield City Centre. And because I am a generous kind of guy, I am sharing a few of those images here in this blogpost.

And on the subject of lions, there are three lions on the badge of the England football team. Tonight, in Atlanta, our lads needed to fight back like lions in order to beat The Democratic Republic of Congo by two goals to one. They were ably led by our captain - Harry Kane - who scored both of our goals. When the second one went in, I yelled at our television screen, "What a hero!" Harry Kane even looks like a lion!

Next up it's Mexico in Mexico City in the early hours of our Monday morning. That won't be easy, even with Harry Kane at the helm. But you never know. COME ON ENGLAND!