Depiction

Muhammad delivering The Farewell Sermon, 17th-century
Ottoman copy of an early 14th-century Persian image.

The Quran doesn't support a veto on pictorial representations of Muhammad. That restriction has evolved - principally through the Sunni Islamic tradition. It has been far less vehemently upheld in the Shi-ite tradition. Though pictorial depictions of the so-called "prophet" were never as plentiful as images of Jesus and Buddha, they were nevertheless produced quite frequently without much fuss right up until the nineteenth century.

It is interesting how religious practices alter with the passage of time - rather like the animals' commandments in George Orwell's "Animal Farm". At first it was "All animals are equal" but it later became "All animals are equal, but some are more equal than others" as the pigs took control.

There are many pictures of Muhammad. Perhaps those adherrents who protest about pictorial representations are trying to prevent  idolatory but Muhammad is idolised just the same. If not what are the obligatory pilgrimages to Mecca all about? 

Today "Charlie Hebdo" again and very defiantly depicted Muhammad weeping on its front cover. Above his image is the slogan "All is Forgiven" and if Muhammad is anything surely that is what he must be about - love and forgiveness - not poisonous interactions on the internet, not Kalashnikovs and bombs strapped to ten year old girls, not alienation and anger, not the cruel assassination of a Muslim policeman pleading for his life on the streets of Paris.

The sooner all these religious bigots - Islamic, Christian, Jewish, Hindu and Buddhist - see the light and turn to atheism the better. It is so hard biting your tongue and being endlessly tolerant of folk who subscribe to illogical two thousand year old religions. That was then but this is now:-

Prescription

Like many men, I am a daft bugger when it comes to healthcare. My nasty friend Gordon Gout has been gnawing at my feet for a month now but it was only this morning that I gave in and at last went to see our doctor at the local surgery. As well as arranging for a blood test and a foot X-ray, he prescribed a drug called Colchicine . It was a nice surprise when I stopped off at the local pharmacy to pick up my prescription and discovered I wouldn't have to pay the usual financial contribution because I am now over sixty. God bless the National Health Service!

There was an information leaflet with my little plastic jar of Colchicine pills. It was quite alarming to read a list of possible side effects:-

• Lower the sperm count (Hell! I was hoping to repopulate the world after a nuclear wipeout)
• Fever (Lovely!)
• Sore throat (Nice!)
• Rashes or ulcers in mouth and throat (Delightful!)
• Skin colouration (But I am happy being a white man!)
• Loss of hair (Charming! I don't want to be a monk!)
• Inflammation of nerves (Already inflamed by Hull City's injury list)
• Muscle weakness (Which muscle?)
• Numbness - especially in hands and feet (My brain is already numb!)
• No urine production (So where will it go? Don't want to fill up like a space hopper!)
• Blood in urine and bruising (Where is this bruising likely to happen? Err..no, don't tell me!)
• Kidney damage (That's okay - I've got two - I think)
• Bone marrow may become depressed (Sod the bone marrow! After reading this ist of possible side effects, I am already depressed)

Blood test at 11am with the practice nurse then up to the dentist's for 11.45 to meet with Dentist Samantha. A filling came out when I was chewing a toffee on Boxing Day. Job done and now my mouth is numbed - unless that is the Colchicine kicking in! Next job is to go to The Royal Hallamshire Hospital for an X-Ray on my feet. This is my Personal Healthcare Day - all courtesy of our wonderful NHS. More sensible to worship than Allah or Jesus's Dad. At least the NHS is visible and working - in spite of David Cameron and the odious Health Secretary Jeremy Hunt whose name ought to be included in a dictionary of cockney rhyming slang!

Sorry

An apology is in order. See the photo above, In error it was posted by my admin support staff when I composed a blogpost "Warning" about cringeworthy tattoo mistakes. My recently appointed secretary, Miss Imelda Ramirez from Costa Rica, Central America is still learning the ropes so I couldn't get too mad with her.

It seems that the photo at the top was wrongly ascribed to blogging buddy - Ms Janice James who, as you will probably recall, is the owner of a palatial chicken ranch in exclusive Sloughhouse near Sacramento, California. Her lawyer, a certain Laurence Goldberg of Goldberg, Abrahams and Elmohamady Ltd has threatened me with legal action if I don't amend Miss Ramirez's unintended error.

So below, I present a bona fide photograph of Jan's actual upper chest tattoo. This was supplied by the aforementioned Laurence Goldberg. As you can see, Jan is all starry-eyed as she gazes into the camera lens baring the tattoo she had done when she was a pop sensation with "The Blogettes" girl group in the autumn of 2013.

Fame is so very fleeting these days. The Blogettes have disbanded and have returned to their tedious old lives. Jan hums old Blogettes tunes as she tends her chickens while Carol and Helen have returned to the Australian bush in search of witchetty grubs, Jenny receives counselling in her cottage in the Welsh hills while Katherine tries to dispel her disappointment  through immersion in therapeutic artwork. It isn't easy being a fallen star.

Meanwhile, I know that all male visitors to this humble blog will be hoping that Jan's lawyer will send us some snaps of her other rather more intimate tattoos.  Until then-

Miss Imelda Ramirez (Secretary)

Dodo

The dodo (right) sketched by Sir Thomas Herbert in 1634

In the early seventeenth century, the island of Mauritius in the Indian Ocean had very few human inhabitants. However, it had a rich birdlife and several species were unique to the island - including a very large, flightless member of the pigeon family which occupied some of the coastal forest areas. Somehow it became known as the "dodo". The origins of that name are uncertain.

In an age when European ships were fanning out around the world - mostly in search of new  sources of wealth - Mauritius became a a staging post - a remote island where sailors could rest for a while and replenish their supplies of fresh water. Legend has it that it was these sailors of the seventeenth century who were responsible for the extinction of the dodo though that assumption is unproven. Some dodos were certainly eaten and some were captured. There is evidence that one live bird was even brought back to London for the interest of the curious. Here's Sir Hamon L'Estrange remembering a viewing in 1638 "It was kept in a chamber, and was a great fowle somewhat bigger than the largest Turkey cock, and so legged and footed, but stouter and thicker and of more erect shape, coloured before like the breast of a young cock fesan, and on the back of a dunn or dearc colour. The keeper called it a Dodo..."

Turned into a figure of fun

The first recorded European sighting of a dodo happened in 1598 following a visit to Mauritius by Dutch seamen. The last known sighting was just sixty four years later. So in the length of a human life, a unique and precious creature had vanished forever.

It wasn't the most beautiful of birds - quite ugly and cumbersome in fact - as it waddled around the island's green coastal forests for many hundreds of years - safe from predators. When reproducing, it is thought that it laid single egg in ground nests. An adult dodo stood a metre tall and could weigh up to fifty pounds. It fed on fallen fruit and nuts.

In a children's book of verse from 1896, Hilaire Belloc wrote:-

The Dodo used to walk around,

And take the sun and air.

The sun yet warms his native ground –

The Dodo is not there!

The voice which used to squawk and squeak

Is now for ever dumb –

Yet may you see his bones and beak

All in the Mu-se-um.

It was around that time here in Britain that the phrase "as  dead as a dodo" first appeared in a political context following the bird's earlier popularisation by Lewis Caroll in "Alice in Wonderland" (1865). However, to me that phrase "as dead as a dodo" has now morphed into an accusation regarding mankind's thoughtless elimination of a long list of wonderful creatures. It was here but now it is gone and as the world's population increases yet more of our immediate neighbours from the animal world will surely and tragically follow the dodo into the history of what's been lost.

Warning

Given the epidemic of tattoos that we see around us, I guess that many bloggers are contemplating visits to tattoo parlours this year. What better way to embellish your appearance and prove to the world that you are a unique and interesting individual? There are so many tattoo designs to choose from - lions, eagles, wolves, dolphins - or you might choose a dead relative or a personal hero - Nelson Mandela, Charles Dickens or Lady Gaga etcetera.

Some people simply opt for meaningful words and this is where my warning comes in. Remember that tattoos are pretty permanent. Laser removal is costly and problematic. So get your words right before you visit your chosen tattooist. Write them down and get your phrase, quotation or statement checked out by somebody who has a reasonable grasp of basic English spelling, grammar and punctuation. Once your tattoo is done it is impossible to change. In fact, I am so concerned about the errors that are widely being made you can run your planned wording past me and I will check it for free.

Numerous tattoo mistakes have already been made by bloggers with whom I associate. This is Earl John Gray's muscular upper right arm;-

And here's the right arm of a much younger Brian Cutts before he fled to Catalonia:-

Over in Australia, Carol from Cairns surprised other teaching colleagues:-

Also in Australia, Helen from "Helsie's Happenings" made Tony smile when she came home from the shopping centre with more than bags of groceries:-

Jan Blawat in Sloughhouse, California was angry when she saw what her tattooist had done:_

And in Manchester England, Ian Rhodes regretted this permanent reminder of his short Olympic torch run through the streets of Stockport back in 2012:-

I know that I am a bit of an old fuddy duddy but for me personally, tattoos are a complete no-no! I hate them and would never have one even if you offered me a wild night in Las Vegas with Lindsay Lohan. But hey-ho - each to their own. I appreciate that some other "mature"  bloggers are more comfortable about moving with the times and joining the tattooed generation we see around us. All that I want to say to you is please get the words right or you could become a laughing stock when friends and family check out your new tattoo.

Mansfield

There's a Mansfield in Victoria, Australia:-

There's a Mansfield in Ohio, USA:-

And there's a Mansfield in Texas, USA. This Mansfield is famous because it was the hometown of Robert Brague - an award winning senior blogger who is now on a well-earned blogging vacation:-

But the real Mansfield, the town after which the other three are named, is in northern Nottinghamshire in England's East Midlands. It has a population of around 104,500 and was until recently  the capital of the county's productive coalfields. A little river runs through the town. It is called the River Maun and indeed in past times the settlement was known as Maunnesfeld or "field by the River Maun". The spelling we know today is derived from "Maunnesfeld".

I was there today. The town has a lovely central marketplace but it is surrounded by the remnants of rather misguided nineteen seventies town planning - dual carriageways and concrete shopping centres. There was a nice buzz about the centre of town but some umistakeable signs of working class poverty were apparent - mobility scooters, people puffing on cigarettes, obesity, shellsuits. That kind of thing.

I wish I could have stayed longer but I was restricted by the amount of change in my pocket when pulling into  into the pay and display car park near the old bus station.. Before leaving, I had a coffee and a sausage roll in the "Ten Green Bottles" coffee lounge. There, as I read "The Daily Mirror", I noticed a ten strong group of Romanian immigrants crowded around the window table and wondered if they supported the local football team - Mansfield Town - from whom  Hull City acquired the goalscoring legend who was Ken Wagstaff fifty years ago.

The real Mansfield-

The Bentinck Memorial, Mansfield

Church Street, Mansfield

Charlie

  Paris, France - January 7th 2015  , The word balloon on the old cover of "Charlie Hebdo" reads - "A hundred lashes if you don't die of laughter". But I can't help thinking that in place of laughter, there will be many more tears in this new year as embittered Islamist nutcases wreak more deadly  terror in the name of a medieval religion they don't even understand. Who knows where it will all end?

Very soon after yesterday's vile attack in Paris, thousands of ordinary French citizens came on to the streets chanting "Je suis Charlie!" in anger, in solidarity and in love. So I say, "Je suis Charlie. I am Charlie too!"  For fraternity, for liberty, for equality. And dear reader, how about you, are you also Charlie?