Christophe

 

  

Christophe was coming

But the Moose is rather stout,

He's got stuck in a snowdrift

And it seems he can't get out.

If you've got a shovel

 You could help him to get loose.

A little bit of kindness

Makes a happy Chris-Moose.

 

*

Christophe arrivait
Mais l'élan s'est engraissé,
Il est coincé dans une congère
Et ne peut pas se libérer.

Vous pourriez lui rendre service
Si vous veniez avec une pelle.
Un peu de gentillesse
 Donne un élan à Noël.
 

*

The plight of the Moose and his need to be freed could, with a squeeze, be assimilated with countless situations.
We could even evoke, yet again, dear old Nelson Mandela. If he were able to witness the grandiose and moving ceremony organised in his honour, he would have found it hard to believe that he was so loved and respected by so many various cultures and virtuous ideologues of the world, (even though the Dalai Lama, a good friend of Mandela's, apparently wasn't invited).
Yet one could also compare the desire to be seen, if not heard there, to a sort of South-African 'Festival of Cannes' open to scissionists, dictators and would be defenders of faith and democracy. The invited apparently included extremists, if not listed terrorists, and everyone joyfully played the part of being good friends together, temporarily and especially for this august occasion in December.

There has been so much fervour and show that poor Mandela seems to have been a bit left out, trapped in his own deathly 'snow drift'. Priority is accorded to powerful (in principle) Heads of State like Obama.
But if we were honest we would admit that instead of burying the hero's convictions, reason of being and everything he fought for, with the hero himself, the best way of celebrating and honouring Nelson Mandela would be to honour and respect everything he fought for all his life including the twenty seven years spent in prison. This is certainly not the case in today's South Africa. Perhaps the frozen soul of Mandela would be dug out and gloriously freed to warm, sunlit heavens if this were indeed the case.

Even in France freedom and democracy seem to be 'snowed in'. Recently I heard that a young man (a Catholic also outraged by the mariage pour tous) who had anti-Hollande stickers on his car was arrested in Paris. The police confiscated his car. They even burnt an anti-socialist bandrole they found in his vehicle, and he was placed en guard à vue (retained for a certain period of time before being released pending his 'legal judgement'). Isn't this yet another indication that 'Liberty, Fraternity and Equality' only frugally apply to servile French socialists? Would it not signify that in order to try to survive, French socialism has to resort to quasi totalitarian methods?

I once made an allusion to messages in bottles, adding that it's possible to see from the stat reports where the bottled messages posted on Internet actually float to, who finds and uncorks the bottles, and how many are curious enough read the messages. If the overall number already accumulated worldwide is fairly important and the amount is constantly increasing, naturally this is satisfying in itself. On the other hand site ratings seem incoherent and thus meaningless. According too much importance to them encourages a sort of futile, rat-race.

The reason of being of Viewfinder was never to be drawn into any form of popularity contest. Originally the idea was to try to incite reactions, to hopefully find, exchange and share points of view (hence the name, obviously) on an international basis. Yet it's also true that one ends up by setting one's own standards, by trying to produce a desired amount of various efforts- if not rubbish- each month. This in itself can become a self inflicted rat-race, because one is not always inspired or capable of creating the most satisfying results at one's own beck and call, to obtain the monthly quantity of posts one might want to try to come up with. 

Thus in order to dig myself out of the 'snow drift' of my own making, I shall do my best to give more priority to quality instead of quantity. If this means that Viewfinder risks, God forbid, to lose it's few followers, or might, on the contrary, God be praised, gain one or two more, then so be it. If it means that Viewfinder will plummet into the dark and dismal abyss of no return according to the incoherent nonsense that site credit raters come up with, then so shall it also be.

Whatever, thank you dear readers for your fidelity and your patience.

__

 

Text and illustration © Mirino. December, 2013

Marcel

Je pense souvent à lui. Comme ce matin (mercredi) en montant au village avec un temps splendide, reflété magnifiquement par l'or des feuilles des chênes contre le bleu électrique des montagnes. D'ailleurs on dirait qu'il y a un décalage saisonnier d'un mois. Difficile à croire qu'on est en décembre avec un temps et des couleurs automnales pareilles. Une saison donc bénie de chanterelles, beaucoup de chanterelles. Cadeaux assez rares et généreux de la nature, comme une compensation pour la mesquinerie et l'étroitesse des idéologues fatigants de notre époque bizarre!

Marcel, par contre, était le paradigme de la générosité, et apolitique. C'est vrai qu'une fois il nous a confié qu'il était 'communiste'. C'était peut-être enraciné dans la famille, mais c'était celui de la vieille école, quand le communisme représentait un idéal, une cause véritable contre une tyrannie alors réelle et impitoyable. Mais jamais Marcel ne parlait de politique. Seulement lorsque la politique divisait irrévocablement le village. Là il en parlait avec triste résignation de la bêtise de ceux responsables.
Donc parfois il parlait des gens, et un coup d'oeil de sa part lui aurait suffi pour les evaluer et même connaitre.

Marcel était maçon. Dans le village on le considérait artiste, et c'est bien vrai. Regarder Marcel tailler la pierre et construire un mur était une joie. Il le faisait dans la vieille manière, en coupant des jeunes pins droits pour fabriquer un échafaudage tout donc en bois.
Marcel a commencé à travailler à 14 ans. Il pouvait toujours tailler la pierre et bâtir même à 86 ans. Il aurait rigolé à l'idée de travailler 35 heures par semaine. Lui, lorsqu'il commençait quelque chose, il continuait aussi longtemps que ça lui plaisait, parce que pour lui tailler la pierre, construire même une maison, était une manière de vivre voire un plaisir, et jamais un devoir pénible.

Ses mains étaient les mains d'un artiste. En les regardant on avait du mal à croire qu'il travaillait la pierre depuis l'âge de quatorze ans. Aucun défaut, aucune cicatrice, comme si la pierre et lui partageaient un ancien et précieux secret.

Il m'avait aidé à restaurer une grande cave voûtée. D'abord il m'avait montré comment le faire, puis petit à petit il faisait presque tout, naturellement. Et jamais il ne voulait accepter quoi que ce soit pour tout ce qu'il faisait.
Une autre fois en parlant quasi à moi-même lorsqu'il était avec moi et qu'on buvait ensemble un petit Scotch, j'ai pensé qu'une arche traversant les escaliers de la maison pour lier une terrasse à une rocaille, ne serait pas une mauvais idée. Il le pensait lui aussi, et le lendemain il commençait le travail comme si de rien n'était !
Encore une fois j'ai été épaté de voir sa façon de fabriquer une charpente voûtée pour supporter les pierres, puis il n'avait jamais besoin de faire des calculs ou des plans. Marcel tenant toute l'information nécessaire dans sa tête. Ainsi il savait même avant de commencer ce qui était possible de faire, et comment on allait le faire.

Marcel chassait aussi mais je pense que plus tard il préférait chasser plutôt les champignons.
Il connaissait les meilleurs et où les trouver. Les fois où on était allés avec lui sont inoubliables. D'ailleurs la dernière fois où on est allé avec lui, c'est justement lui qui l'avait dit; que cela a été une journée inoubliable.

Il avait construit sa propre maison même avec sa femme de l'époque. Toute en pierre taillée. Quand je vois sa maison et je sais qu'il n'est plus là, ça me fait quelque chose, car Marcel me semblait quasi immortel.

Sa sœur m'en avait parlé, en juillet de cette année. Il a été hospitalisé en urgence, mais je ne savais pas encore alors qu'il n'y avait pas grand chose à faire. Cancer. On l'a installé dans une sorte d'hôpital de repos près du village en bas. Je connaissais bien cet endroit à cause d'autres circonstances.

Je suis allé le voir, mais j'ai eu du mal à le reconnaître tant qu'il avait maigri. Je lui ai apporté beaucoup de raisins rose italiens, et même une bouteille de vin. Il ne pouvait pas manger mais il adorait ces raisins. Il les mangeait, ou plutôt il les écrasait dans sa bouche les buvait l'un après l'autre avec délice. Je ne sais pas s'il m'avait reconnu. On m'a dit que oui. Mais il a fallu que j'aille le voir. Il mourut quelques jours plus tard.
Il me manque. Ceci c'est pour lui.

__

Text and portraits © Mirino (PW). December, 2013

Dominical dogme

Pour s'occuper, les socialistes français trouvent toujours de quoi faire, mais au lieu de faire ce qu'il faut faire, ils font par nature l'inverse de ce qu'il faut faire.
Adam Smith disait que l'on peut toujours faire confiance au peuple pour gérer leurs affaires financières astucieusement. Par contre comme l'Etat est toujours bien moins astucieux dans ce domaine, il devrait au moins accorder au peuple la liberté de continuer à s'occuper de ses propres affaires sans aucune imposition futile et contreproductive de la part de l'Etat.
('C'est l'impertinence et la présomption les plus élevées chez les rois et les ministres, de prétendre pouvoir veiller sur l'économie du peuple, et de freiner leurs propres dépenses. Ils sont les plus grands dépensiers de la société.
Qu'ils veillent bien sur leurs propres dépenses, et ils peuvent tranquillement faire confiance au peuple avec les leurs. Si leurs propres extravagances ne ruinent pas l'Etat, celles de leurs sujets ne le feront jamais.') Adam Smith.  The Wealth of Nations, Book II'

Mais les socialiste français prétendent savoir bien mieux de qui que ce soit, et certainement d'un économiste philosophe écossais du 18° siècle. Car ces illuminés français se réfèrent fixement, non pas à la logique de la liberté commençant obligatoirement par la liberté financière du peuple, mais par les fausses idéologies nées de la Révolution Français. C'est à dire que la liberté (comme celle de l'égalité et de la fraternité) sont des mythes idéologiques inventés, déterminés et donc contrôlés et mesurés frugalement et exclusivement par l'Etat, et jamais par le peuple considéré non qualifié pour de telles responsabilités lourdes et déterminantes. Et de plus, cette égale, fraternelle liberté semble être réservée exclusivement aux membres du club parisien.

La dernière préoccupation absurde, introduite aussi grâce aux soucis de la CGT, est de concocter une loi pour empêcher le travail dominical.
Comme les socialistes ainsi que les syndicats ont peur de perdre le contrôle, ils font semblant de se soucier du bien être des français. Ils pensent donc que ces derniers doivent pouvoir se reposer le dimanche. Naturellement ce souci n'a strictement rien à voir avec les considérations religieuses non plus, loin de là. Et le fait que le peuple est quand même assez grand et assez responsable pour prendre ses décisions tout seul selon ses propres intérêts sans que l'Etat s'en mêle, semble être complètement hors de porter de l'appréciation d'un tel gouvernement.

Mais comme la France a un problème grave de chômage, comme elle a déjà assez de mal à se tirer du dernier bourbier de la crise, et de retrouver de quoi pour redevenir compétitive, et comme il y a de plus en plus de faillites depuis l'élection de F. Hollande, il va sans dire qu'imposer une telle loi pour en ajouter aux restreintes serait le comble de la stupidité.

La France en a assez du pantomime des bien pensants, les galas pathétiques parisiens organisés par les soi-disant célébrités de gauche contre le racisme, par exemple, un autre mythe produit pour détourner l'attention des naïfs et des pauvres esprits des vrais problèmes graves dont la France souffre. Un mythe pour hausser la popularité au niveau dégonflé de Star Acad' d'un mauvais choix de ministre de la Justice, et une petite soirée que certains artistes tristement dépassés espèrent de façon irréaliste représentera une occasion pour leur redonner un aspect moins fané.

Assez fréquemment F. Hollande et Monsieur Ayrault, son fidèle premier ministre, inventent des formules comme 'Pacte de l'Avenir', par exemple. D'ailleurs on voit souvent le Président donne ses discours au-dessus d'une tribune sur laquelle on peut lire de telles formules ponctuée avec les dates comme 2030, et même l'an 2050 a été mentionné une fois. C'est donc manifeste que non seulement F. Hollande présume sans aucun doute qu'il sera constamment réélu, mais il semble présumer en outre qui est aussi immortel. C'est vrai qu'il nous rappelle de Mr. Chance (Peter Sellers) dans le film 'Being There'. Donc F. Hollande ainsi que ses acolytes prétendent détenir la clé d'or pour pouvoir ouvrir la porte du jardin utopique de l'avenir. En somme le Président français est donc un homme divin. Si 'c'est son intention' de marcher sur l'eau, il est même capable de croire qu'il peut le faire.

Mais retournons à l'idée, une de plus très mal inspirée, d'interdiction de travailler le dimanche.
En pondant de telles lois les socialistes assument qu'ils savent bien mieux que les français ce qui est bon pour eux, et ce qui est bon pour les français ne peut qu'être bon pour la France. Ceci malgré le fait que depuis l'élection de F. Hollande la paquebot France n'a pas cessé de prendre l'eau.

Récemment j'ai posté une petite parodie en tant que commentaire pour un journal français sur le sujet pour essayer de souligner l'absurdité de cette idée. Comme j'ai omis certains détails, voici le texte complet. Un tel scénario évoque Terry Gilliam's excellent film, 'Brazil' (1985). En effet les nouvelles inventions et improvisions incessantes du gouvernement français semble basculer entre le ridicule loufoque et le cauchemar.

'J'ai la solution. D'ailleurs l'Etat pourrait m'employer en tant que conseilleur (mais pas le dimanche bien entendu) sur de tels sujets pour racler encore de l'argent aux français.
Le travail du dimanche doit donc être catégoriquement et carrément interdit. Il y aura une exception seulement, une force spéciale d'inspecteurs armée si nécessaire et habillée en uniformes camouflés selon les paysages des régions de leur responsabilité. Cette force spéciale sera chargée de faire en sorte que personne ne travaille le dimanche, ou ils auront le pouvoir d'arrêter ceux qui vont à l'encontre de cette nouvelle loi de citizen républicain.

Si on défie cette loi de manière commerciale, l'amende sera fixée au montant des gains obtenus en travaillant le dimanche. On ne pourrait pas mettre les coupables en garde à vue car les gendarmeries seront fermées le dimanche. Les casernes des pompiers aussi d'ailleurs.
Il y aura une amende de base moins punitive pour ceux qui font du jardinage, ou tondent la pelouse, ou lavent la voiture. L'amende pour bricoler sera quand même plus élevée.
Faire la cuisine sera toléré à condition de ne pas être vu. Il vaut mieux donc que le dimanche on jeûne. Pour éviter d'être piégé on devrait rester au lit avec un bon livre, mais avec les rideaux fermés car lire c'est un travail de vision donc punitif selon les règles de base. L'utilisation des ordinateurs et iPads, etc., sera hors de question car les serveurs ne fonctionneront plus le dimanche. Bien entendu les journaux et les magazines du dimanche ne seront plus disponibles et il n'y aura plus de signaux satellites pour les télévisions. Elles aussi ont le droit quand même de se reposer.
Voyager sera impossible le dimanche car les cheminots, les pilotes d'avions, les contrôleurs d'aéroports, les équipes des ferries et de paquebots se reposeront eux aussi le dimanche. L'espace aérien français sera totalement fermé. Il n'y aura pas de transport public. Pas de taxis évidemment. Les restaurants, théâtres, et cinémas seront fermés.
L'armée elle aussi sera au repos. Hors de question de manier les armes le démarche.
Pour les religieux, (bien que leur foi ou leur superstitions périmées soient toujours quasi tolérées par l'Etat républicain français, ce dernier est totalement convaincu que le besoin primordial du peuple est de limiter leur croyance et leur foi au Père Etat) les églises seront fermées le dimanche, car le personnel ecclésiastique n'aura plus le droit de travailler ce jour là non plus.
La France entière sera donc en sublime repos, à tel point qu'on dirait qu'elle est raide morte'.

Text and graphics (with apologies to all concerned) © Mirino, December, 2013

Pepys, 1669

Up until the end of May, 1669, Samuel Pepys remains faithful to his diary, if not to his wife. Indeed it is the amusing, endearing drama enacted by Pepys and his wife, that we (and thankfully Pepys) also refer to in this particular reference to him and his most famous diary.

Very concerned by his overstrained, failing eyesight, he decides, unfortunately for posterity, not to continue his 'personal' diary writing. His eyesight finally improves however, and he produces four additional diaries. They deal more with official and legal affairs, including his defence against his being charged with high-treason at the time of the Popish Plot. The final diary is more a travel log covering his trip to Tangiers and his business of evacuating a colony there.

Again, all notes respect Pepys's way of writing and any incidental errors.

12 January, 1669.
This evening I observed my wife mighty dull; and I myself was not mighty fond, because of some hard words she did give me at noon, out of jealousy at my being abroad this morning; when, God knows, it was upon the business of the office unexpectedly; but I to bed, not thinking but she would come after me; but waking by and by out of a slumber, which I usually fall into presently after my coming into bed, I found she did not prepare to come to bed, but got fresh candles and more wood for the fire, it being mighty cold too. At this being troubled, I after a while prayed her to come to bed, all my people being gone to bed, she fell out into a fury, that I was a rogue and false to her; but yet I could perceive that she was to seek what to say; only, she invented, I believe, a business that I was seen in a hackney coach with the glasses up with Deb, but could not tell the time, nor was sure I was he. I did, as I might truly, deny it, and was mightily troubled; but all would not serve. At last, about 1 a-clock, she came to my side of the bed and drow my curtaine open, and with the tongs, red hot at the ends, made as if she did design to pinch me with them; at which in dismay I rose up, and with a few words she laid them down and did by little and little, very sillily, let the discourse fall; and about 2, but with much seeming difficulty, came to bed and there lay well all night, and long in bed talking together with much pleasure; it being, I know, nothing but her doubt of my going out yesterday without telling her of my going which did vex her, poor wretch, last night: and I cannot blame her jealousy, though it doth vex me to the heart.

7 February. Lords Day.
My wife mightily peevish in the morning about my lying unquietly a-nights, and she will have it that it is a late practice, from my evil thoughts in my dreams; and I do often find that in my dreams she doth lay her hand upon my cockerel to observe what she can. And mightily she is troubled about it, but all blew over.

10 February.
To Whitehall, where I stayed till the Duke of York came from hunting, which he did by and by; and when dressed, did come out to dinner, and there I waited; and he did tell me that tomorrow was to be the great day that the business of the Navy would be discoursed of before the King and his Caball; and that he must stand on his guard. Here he dined, and did mightily magnify his sawce which he did then eat with everything, and said it was the best universal sauce in the world - it being taught him by the Spanish Imbassador - made of parsely and a dry toast, beat in a mortar together with vinegar, salt, and a little pepper. He eats it with flesh or fowl or fish. And then he did now mightily commend some new sort of wine lately found out, called Navarr wine; which I tasted, and is I think good wine; but I did like better the notion of the sawce and by and by did taste it, and liked it mightily.

11 March.
Up and to see Sir W. Coventry to the Tower,
(Sir William Coventry, commissioner of the Treasury, and good friend of Pepys, was disgraced and sent to the Tower for allegedly having challenged the Duke of Buckinham to a duel. Coventry ended up growing peaches in Oxfordshire)
where I walked and talked with him an hour alone, from one good thing to another; who tells me that he hears that the commission is gone down to the king with a blank to fill for his place in the Treasury; and he believes it will be filled with one of our Treasurers of the Navy, but which he knows not, but he believes it will be Osborne. We walked down the Stone Walk, which is called, it seems, 'My Lord of Northumberland's Walk', being paved by some of that title that was prisoner there; and at the end of it there is a piece of iron upon the wall with his armes upon it, and holes to put in a peg for every turn that they make upon that walk. So away to the office, where busy all the morning, and so to dinner; and so very busy all the afternoon at my office late, and then home, tired to supper, with content with my wife; and so to bed - she pleasing me, though I dare not own it, that she hath hired a chambermaid; but she, after many commendations, told me that she had one great fault, and that was that she was very handsome; at which I made nothing, but let her go on; but many times tonight she took occasion to discourse of her handsomeness and the danger she was in by taking her, and that she did doubt yet whether it would be fit for her to take her. But I did assure her of my resolutions to having nothing to do with her maids, but in myself I was glad to have the content to have a handsome one to look on.

12 March.
Up, and abroad with my own coach to Auditor Beales house; and thence with W. Hewer to his office and there with great content spent all morning, looking over the Navy accounts of several years and the several patents of the Treasurers, which was more then I did hope to have found there. About noon I ended there, to my great content; and giving the clerks there 20s for their trouble, and having sent for W. How to me to discourse with him about the Patent Office records, wherein I remembered his brother to be concerned, I took him in my coach with W. Hewer and myself toward Westminster, and there he carried me to Nott's, the famous bookbinder that bound for my Lord Chancellor's libary. And here I did take occasion for curiosity to bespeak a book to be bound, only that I might have one of his binding; Thence back to Gray's Inn; and at the next door, at a cook's-shop of How's acquaintance, we bespoke dinner, it being now 2 a-clock; and in the meantime he carried us into Gray's Inn to his chamber, where I never was before; and it is very pretty, and little and neat, as he was always. And so after a little stay and looking over a book or two there we carried a piece of my Lord Cooke with us, and to our dinner, where after dinner he read at my desire a chapter in my Lord Cooke about perjury, wherein I did learn a good deal touching oaths. And so away to the Patent Office in Chancery Lane, and here I did set a clerk to look out for some things for me in their books, while W. Hewers and I to the Crowne Office, where we met with several good things that I most wanted and did take short notes of their dockets; and so back to the Patent Office and did the like there, and by candlelight ended; and so home, where thinking to meet my wife with content, after my pains all this day, I find her in her closet, alone in the dark, in a hot fit of railing against me, upon some news she hath this day heard of Deb's living very fine, and with black spots, and speaking ill words of her mistress; but God knows, I know nothing of her nor what she doth nor what becomes of her; though God knows, my devil that is within me doth wish that I could. Yet God I hope will prevent me therein - for I dare not trust myself with it, If I should know it. But what with my high words, and slighting it then serious, I did at last bring her to a very good and kind terms, poor heart; and I was heartily glad of it, for I do see there is no man can be happier than myself, if I will, with her. But in her fit she did tell me what vexed me all the night, that this had put her upon putting off her handsome maid and hiring another that was full of smallpox - which did mightily vex me, though I said nothing, and doth still. So down to supper, and she to read to me, and then with all possible kindness to bed.

13 April.
By hackney coach to the Spittle and heard a piece of a dull sermon to my Lord Mayor and Alderman and then saw them all take horse and ride away, which I have not seen together many a day; their wifes also went in their coaches - and endeed the sight was mighty pleasing. I away home; and there sent for W. Hewer and he and I by water to Whitehall. But here, being with him in the courtyard, as God would have it, I spied Deb, which made my heart and head to work; and I presently could not refrain, but sent W. Hewer away to look for Mr Wren (W. Hewer, I perceive, did see her, but whether he did see me see her I know not, or suspect my sending him away I know not) but my heart could not hinder me. And I run after her and two women and a man, more ordinary people, and she in her old clothes; and after hunting a little, find them in the lobby of the Chapel below stairs; and there I observed she endeavoured to avoid me, but I did speak to her and she to me, and did get her para docere me ou she demeures now. And did charge her para say nothing of me that I had vu elle - which she did promise; and so, with my heart full of surprize and disorder, I away; and meeting with Sir H. Cholmley, walked into the park with him and back again, looking to see if I could spy her again in the park, but I could not. And so back to Whitehall, and then back to the park with Mr May, but could see her no more; and so with W. Hewer, who I doubt by my countenance might see some disorder in me, we home by water. But, God forgive me, I hardly know how to put on confidence enough to speak as innocent, having had this passage today with Deb, though only, God knows, by accident. But my great pain is lest God Almighty shall suffer me to find this girl, whom endeed I love, and with bad amour; but I will pray to God to give me grace to forebear it.
So home to supper, where very sparing in my discourse, nor giving occason of any enquiry where I have been today, or what I have done; and so, without any trouble tonight more then my fear, we to bed.

15 April.
Going down Holborn Hill by the Conduit, I did see Deb on foot going up the hill; I saw her, and she me, but she made no stop, but seemed unwilling to speak to me; so I away on, but then stopped and light after her, and overtook her at the end of Hosier Lane in Smithfield; and without standing in the street, desired her to fallow me, and I led her into a little blind alehouse within the walls; and there she and I alone fell to talk and besar la and tocar su mamelles; but she mighty coy, and I hope modest; but however, though with great force, did hazer elle con su hand para tocar mi thing, but ella was in great pain para be brought para it. I did give her a paper 20s,  we did agree para meet again in the Hall at Westminster on Monday next; and so, giving me great hopes by her carriage that she continues modest and honest, we did then part, she going home and I to Mrs Turner's; but when I came back to the place where I left my coach, it was gone, I having stayed too long, which did trouble me to abuse a poor fellow so; but taking another coach, I did direct him to find out the fellow and send him to me.

16 April.
Was in great pain about yesterday still, lest my wife should have sent her porter to enquire anything; though for my heart, I cannot see it possible how anything could be discovered of it; but yet, such is fear, as to render me full of doubt and disquiet. At night, to supper and to bed.

__

Later this month we shall take a peep at events leading up to Christmas, 1668, and how Samuel and his wife celebrated their Noel.

Pepys

Pepys 1660 

Intro and transposition © Mirino. Selections of notes from The Illustrated Pepys selected and edited by Robert Latham. With thanks.    December, 2013 

Dream gift

 Here's a dream,
A rainbow,
A sunbeam
 Of golden light

To be seen
 Upon your screen
And bring you
Its delight

Wealth bestowed
 And nothing owed,
 No mean fraud
 Or false measure

Just a dream,
A rare moment,
A precious gleam,
A treasure.
 

If dreams could be bought,
What would you buy?
Would you fill your cart with care?
Would you wisely choose
Or rashly lose
By buying a nightmare?

If dreams could be bought
What would you buy?
A cure to heal all woes?
Would you heed your heart
Or fill your cart
With anything that goes?

If dreams could be bought,
What would you buy
 If there were countless dreams to sell?
For a modest price
There's Paradise.
For the highest price there's hell.
 



Doggerel, photograph and illustration © Mirino (PW). With thanks to Thomas Lovell Beddoes. November, 2013

Indecision

'A lie gets half way round the world before the truth has a chance to get its pants on'.
'The truth is inconvertible. Malice may attack it, ignorance may deride it, but in the end, there it is.' (Winston Churchill).

Yet timeless truth appears to be a luxury today. The image of conviviality shared between Europe's uninspired choice of representative of Foreign Affairs and her homologue Mohammad Javad Zarif, speaks for itself. It suggests that brains, or at least memories, are sadly deficient.

In consideration of the recent public declaration of the ayatollah Khamenei, one would have thought it only right to scrap the Geneva negotiations altogether, or at least demand Iran to make a formal apology towards Israel as a condition to permit the negotiations to proceed.

Unfortunately there are no Churchills in today's world to insist upon such normal conditions. Blind goodwill and conviviality seem to reign instead. They seem to be used by those who badly represent us, to try to turn the page in the hope of giving priority to more serious economic affairs, crisis oblige.

The ayatollah's public declarations 'Les ennemies, notamment par la bouche sale et malveillante du chien enragé de la region, le régime sioniste...' (The enemies, mainly represented by the dirty mouthed rabid dog of the region, the Zionist regime..') were not made casually or by chance. No Iranian public statement is ever made casually or by chance.

Iran has already decided to go ahead with its nuclear program, come what may from the Geneva negotiations. This unacceptable insult was made simply to test the reaction of 'the powers that be'. Logic would determine that if Europe and the USA swallow this, then they will swallow anything. In other words, if the negotiations go ahead, in spite of the despicable insults deliberately aimed towards a respected democracy, then it stands to reason that Iran will gain what it wants and needs to become the principle power of the Gulf region.

The ayatollah completes his diatribe by adding 'Les fondements du régime sioniste ont été affaiblis très fortement et il est voué à la disparition'. (The foundations of the Zionist regime have been weakened and it is condemned to disappear).

But Israel certainly won't disappear. One only needs to refer to history to appreciate that. Ancient and modern history. A State that is able to defend itself alone against five Arab nations militarily supported by four others (the War of Israeli independence, 1948) will never 'disappear'.
Only tyrannic regimes that have no respect for democracy are condemned to disappear. History, ancient and modern, also clearly corroborates that.

'If you have an important point to make, don't try to be subtle or clever. Use a pile-driver. Hit the point once. Then come back and hit it again. Then hit it a third time - a tremendous whack'. 
'An appeaser is one who feeds a crocodile, hoping it will eat him last'.
Churchill again, of course. But even without such as he, the truth will eventually prevail, in spite of any ephemeral naivety and indecision.

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Text and illustration (from the Hare and the Tortoise, Hutchinson) © Mirino. November, 2013