Christmas now gone



The traditional image of Christmas


And so another Christmas comes to an end and we head for the new year. For the moment decorations will stay up, the Xmas tree keeps its place, and the Christmas atmosphere still holds sway. And what went up for Christmas will do just as well for the New Year's celebrations, marking once again the transition from one calendar year to another.

When I was a lad I could hardly wait for Christmas to come round. Now I'm more grown-up than I'd like to be and Christmases seem to come and go all too quickly in rapid succession. But there it is, there's nothing to be done. It's part of the rhythm of life.

This year's Christmas has come in the middle of an economic downturn, with a gloomy forecast of what we can expect in the coming year, and with high unemployment and huge cutbacks in social services and state investment. Amid the usual Christmas cheer and partying, there is fear of what the future holds and the financial austerity that lies ahead.

For all that, my local supermarket is always chock-full of shoppers when I go and the end-of-year sales have drawn the usual stampedes of frenetic bargain-hunters. But that may be just an anomaly. No doubt I'm not taking all the socio-economic factors into consideration. No doubt. Still...

Anyway, I will leave it there. After all, this post was just an excuse to put up a pretty Christmassy scene: snow, snow-man, Christmas tree, sparkling lights, a brilliant star, and the warm glow of houses in the background... you know the stuff. All very pretty, peaceful and perfect!

In the Grip of Winter

Scene through the trees

Days short and cold, nights long and colder. White snow and grey ice on all sides. Chilly winds blowing hither and thither. Gloomy skies end to end. Sun a distant memory. Warmth a distant feeling. That in short may be the winter that lies before us. I dare say there will be days when the sun will pay us a brief and diffident visit, but it will not linger and it will not warm. It will be essentially a visual thing, but its appearance will nevertheless be welcome. It will be a ray of sunshine in a bleak and foreboding winter's landscape. And the sky might even turn from its now dirty grey to a clear cheery blue. Something to remind us of the all-too short summer which never fails to disappoint at these latitudes in spite of the global warming which is apparently upon us. It would seem that the more we are threatened with global warming, the colder it gets in this part of the globe! No doubt the boffins can explain this in suitably scientific language. Whatever the case, last year's winter was harsh and this year's winter promises to be harsher still. As a child I loved the snow and was not much bothered by the cold. Now, many moons removed from childhood, I cannot cope so easily and I would rather be sweating than shivering, though I dislike both. Yet, for all that, there is a certain wondrous quality about snow that leaves children open-mouthed and impresses itself upon grown-ups, be it favourably or unfavourably.

White lies the green field now

For my part, I love to watch snow coming down and I love to see it blanketing everything and I marvel at the eerie silence it creates. It may be an oft-repeated truism that it creates a magical scene, but it is none the less true. What I don't much care for is a snowfall that is of short duration, falls mainly at night when we're all abed and quickly turns to ice and slush the following day, which frankly is just a nuisance and little else; in other words, when we get all the inconvenience of it without any of the beauty, harsh though this beauty may be. In such an instance, I would rather not have it at all! Either it snows 'properly' or it should not snow at all! That's how I look upon it. No half measures, thank you. But this is what it tends to be here down south. More a token snowfall. No doubt those in other parts of the country who have more than their fair share of the stuff and where it lingers for days, if not weeks, on end, would chastise me for my levity and shallowness, but there it is. Still, the winter is yet young and we may yet get our sustained snow and sustained chaos and I may yet have cause to eat my shallow words!

Return of the Big Chill

Fountain frozen over in icy cold weather

This was Trafalgar Square in London at the beginning of this year 2010, the fountains frozen over and an icy cold gripping everything, and this will doubtless be the scene again before the year is out. It has already snowed across large swathes of the country, mostly to the north and west, but the cold snap is already making itself felt in the rest of the country, snow or no snow. Its accomplices are sleet, frost and ice and its after-effects are the widespread disruption to transport services. And this has already occurred on the roads, railways and at airports. It can only get worse as winter sets in and icy blasts from the north sweep across the land, freezing everything up. There's a certain desolate majesty in this picture of the iced-up fountain, the play of the lights on its surface and the lit-up art gallery buildings in the background, but make no mistake, it's not where you want to be as day gives way to dusk and the deserted square succumbs to the unremitting all-embracing chill. The few brave souls that venture out for one reason or another will not linger in the open for long. An eerie silence descends upon the Square and a bitter chill takes hold. It's going to be a long bone-chilling night.

A new day dawns with a blanket of snow

Daylight brings some slight relief from the piercing icy chill of the night and the mood lightens. Everywhere is a picture-postcard scene of a snow-white landscape painted by Nature's brush. Beautiful it is, but its beauty belies the harshness of its nature and its effects. As for the phone booth in the picture, how quaint does that look? Seemingly in the middle of nowhere, rising out of the ground in all its brash redness, it somehow manages to introduce a reassuring note of security in an otherwise unremittingly white wilderness, with its promise of instant communication. Friends, family and emergency services are just a phone-call away should one get into difficulties on the road. Now how useful this is in a world where only new-born babes don't have a mobile phone, I don't know, but I rather suspect this red phallic symbol is more ornamental than utilitarian. More a throw-back to a bygone era than a practical modern communication option, it stands there defiant in all weathers, refusing to acknowledge the ubiquitous existence of the cellphone! And offering at the very least the sanctuary of its shelter as well as a phone service, assuming of course it hasn't been vandalised! Still, call me a soppy sentimentalist if you will, but I'd rather have it there than not.

Weird Phenomena 1

"Let's go home, Dad, I've got a
busy day ahead of me."

Well now, what can one say about this scene, folks? This little chap seems to have started early in life and I rather suspect he may have started the way he means to go on. He's grabbed himself a blow-up doll and he's hanging on to it all the way home. I just hope he has his own private bedroom where he can give the doll his undivided attention without being disturbed. I can't help feeling, though, that she's a bit on the big side for him and that he might have bitten off more than he can chew, but I can understand why the little fellow would want her life-size, as he's looking ahead to the future and wants to prepare himself for the real thing. No pint-sized dolly for him! He wants her full-scale so he can start practising his moves until he gets it right. But I wonder what his parents have to say about this? Will they approve of their fledgling's precocious interest in... well... sexually explicit pursuits, to put it bluntly? Will they nurture and encourage his new-found interest or will they try and stamp it out from day one? We cannot know, but it is to be hoped that this youngster will grow up knowing how to treat women, especially naked ones!

A powerful message!

Opposite we have something much weirder and crazier, and which, it must be said, requires a lot of skill. Let's face it, how many of us could perform such a feat with our anal sphincters?! You may think it gross and in very bad taste but you can't deny it's all in a good cause. And to give credit where credit is due, the positioning is faultless, the execution is impressive and the... bare-faced (or should that be 'bare-arsed'?) cheek of it (actually two cheeks) is awesome. And the message is crystal-clear... I think. We're being called upon to save the whale no less, and the manner of the appeal cannot fail to grab our attention, though I can't help feeling it might be for all the wrong reasons! Still, the message gets through and, conveyed in this manner, we do not tire of hearing (and seeing) the message time and time again. Whether, of course, it spurs us to make a meaningful contribution to saving the whale is another matter, but we cannot deny that the owner of this wicked behind has conveyed the message eloquently and persuasively. We are, however, left with the inevitable question of what else this naked nymph would be prepared to do for a good cause? And don't expect me to speculate on it!

World's Worst Jobs I

Some of you out there may think you have a lousy or bum job and wish you could escape to something better. But before you do anything rash, just take a look at a couple of really bum jobs and see if you don't then think differently about yours and decide instead to count your blessings. Unless of course you're already doing one of the world's worst jobs! So here we go...

Rich pickings... pity it's shit!

This job opposite has to be a serious contender for the worst job in the world. It may not be hazardous (though I'm not too sure about that) but aside from that it's not got a lot going for it. Catching giant elephant turds in a sack as they are ejected from the animal's backside is not for the squeamish, but, on the evidence of this picture, the fairer sex may be better equipped for this kind of work. Just kidding! But the woman doing the collecting here seems to have a knack for it, keeping her head well back, and looks bent on harvesting a bumper crop of turds. Let's hope she has a second sack standing by just in case, you never know. Let's also hope she gets a promotion after a few years of bagging elephant shite while others stand by watching and snapping pictures for posterity.  After all, such a... shitty... job is not for everyone. Well, would you do it?

Now let me see, where did that thermometer go?

Let's now go on to see another contender for world's worst job, still on the same theme, since we're in crap mode, as it were. If you thought the above job was bad enough, the individual in this next crappy job has gone one better and literally wormed his way up the elephant's arse! Whereas the woman above waits for the shit to come to her, this guy is pro-active and goes after it deep inside Dumbo. He's probably on a tight schedule and can't hang around waiting for a dumb elephant to shit at will. Ready or not, he's half way up Dumbo's arse before anyone can say Oliphant! Moreover this technique has the advantage that he can cherry-pick the best of the crop. I only hope he's remembered to take a torchlight with him because I imagine it's pretty damn dark in there! 


Well, there you have it. Two literally shit jobs out of a host of shit jobs, all of which means I'll be back with some more samples of contenders for the title of world's worst jobs. So, are you already seeing your own job in a different light, appreciating its good points and its perks more than ever before?  I hope so.

The Rhion Antirrion Bridge

The Rion-Antirion bridge is the World's longest multi-span cable-stayed bridge. It crosses the Gulf of Corinth near Patras, linking the town of Rion on the Peloponnese to Antirion on mainland Greece.
 (Rhion-Antirion Bridge))

Its official name is the Harilaos Trikoupis Bridge, after the statesman who first envisioned it. Harilaos Trikoupis was a 19th century Greek prime minister who suggested the idea of building a bridge between Rion and Antirion; however, the endeavour was too expensive at the time.

The 2,880m-long bridge dramatically improves access to and from the Peloponnese, which could previously be reached only by ferry or via the isthmus of Corinth at its extreme east end. Its width is 28 m - it has two vehicle lanes per direction, an emergency lane and a pedestrian walkway. Its five-span four-pylon cable-stayed section of length 2,252 m is the world's second longest cable-stayed deck; only the deck of the Millau Viaduct is longer at 2,460 m. However, as the latter is also supported by bearings at the pylons apart from cable stays, the Rion-Antirion bridge deck might be considered the longest cable-stayed "suspended" deck.

This bridge is widely considered to be an engineering masterpiece owing to several solutions applied to span the difficult site. These difficulties include deep water, insecure materials for foundations, seismic activity, the probability of tsunamis, and the expansion of the Gulf of Corinth due to plate tectonics.

*************

And now for a very different kind of bridge, every bit as functional as the one above but perhaps with a slightly more homely feel to it. But, who knows, it might outlast the Rhion Antirrion, as some of these living bridges have already lasted hundreds of years!

For those of you curious to learn more about these bridges, which, paradoxical though it may sound, are both natural and man-made, they are known as root bridges and are to be found around Cherrapunjee in the north-eastern corner of India.

Is this the end of the Postman's bike?

On the grounds that the postman’s traditional bicycle is no longer able to do the job expected of it because it cannot cope with the much greater volume of mail that our lovable postie is now called upon to deliver, the Royal Mail (the British Post Office for our non-British friends) is planning to ditch Old Faithful (the bike, not the postman) and replace it with some new-fangled motorised mini-van or other four-wheeler with a greater mail-carrying capacity. It might look something like this...

... or this...

Or neither.
Yet this new technology would be totally unnecessary if the Royal Mail would just take a few tips from other countries where the potential of the trusty environment-friendly bicycle is fully exploited. Take a look at the picture below. With just a modicum of ingenuity and a dash of entrepreneurial initiative, the problem is solved overnight without the need to scrap anything or spend vast amounts of money to put something in its place.

Surely this is the way to go? It's just a question of maximising one's resources and making the most of one's options. True, the traditional Royal Mail bike would have to be tweaked a little here and there, posties might need a little re-training, but the changes would be minimal and the cost negligeable.

So what do you say, Royal Mail? Is this in with a chance? Is this a winning solution?

Awful Predicaments

Dear oh dear, some days just don't start right! This poor old polar bear is hanging on to that knob-end of ice for dear life, but it's not looking hopeful. Another couple of hours at most and that stub of ice will have melted beneath him and he'll be in the drink. And I think he knows it despite the look of feigned nonchalance! I just wonder whether he has a Plan B as he clings to his ice mushroom while he takes stock of his situation. If Plan B is for him to sink gracefully below the waves and drown, he's on to a winner, but if he hopes to come out of this predicament alive and kicking he'll have to come up with something pretty sharpish.


His options are distinctly limited. He can wait for a passing ship to spot him and rescue him - unlikely to say the least. He can sit tight in the hope that a larger ice-flow drifts his way - chances of this are slim as the knob of ice he's on hasn't got long to go. Or he can make a dash for it and try to swim his way back to firmer land. As we cannot see the bigger picture, it's impossible to know how feasible this is. And, frankly, he doesn't seem to have set his mind to the task. Nonchalance is all very well but some situations call for action. But maybe he's bypassed Plan B altogether for Plan C. Pray for a miracle! Not very practical, but it does give the comforting illusion of there being a number of alternative plans and therefore a chance of survival.


Well, there we must leave our intrepid Mr Bear as he ponders his fate in this vast expanse of ice-cold sea and perhaps devises a way to get out of this fix. But maybe he doesn't need to come up with anything and rescue is close at hand. After all, he's been caught on film, so what does that tell us?!

The Fork in the Road

Many years ago I read a poem by Robert Frost entitled "The Road Not Taken" which goes like this:

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim

Because it was grassy and wanted wear,

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I marked the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.  

 

At the time I was fairly young and, though I liked the poem, it did not and could not have that deep significance it has taken on for me today, as it resonates over all the intervening years. In our life, we all take many decisions, choose between one path and another, one course of action as against another. Just after embarking upon our chosen path, it may still be possible to retrace our steps, regain the fork in the road and take the other path, but as we travel on the road we have opted to take, it becomes progressively harder to go back, until one day there is no going back, no second chance, no alternative course. For good or for bad, we must now continue along our chosen path.

This question of choosing our life's path puts me in mind of a movie I first saw a few years ago, called Cast Away and starring Tom Hanks as Chuck Noland. I won't go into the plot of the film, you have more than likely seen it yourself, but if not,  go to Cast Away and you'll see what it's about. Anyway, at the very end of the film, the protagonist arrives at a remote crossroads in open countryside where he alights from his car and looks around at the four roads that vanish into the distance. A woman passing by in a truck stops to inform him where each of these routes leads. After she drives away, he is left looking down each road, seemingly unable to decide which to take, since each represents an unknown future which may bring him happiness or misfortune. The camera focuses on his face and we sense the mental anguish that he must be going through as he struggles to come to a decision. And that's where we leave him.

The ending of the movie is very poignant and moving, as the theme music kicks in and we wonder what his choice will be. But it really doesn't matter, as none of us knows in which direction happiness lies. The point is that he is literally at the crossroad of his life and the choice he makes now may well decide the course of the rest of his life. In one way or another, this is a situation that faces all of us at different stages of our life. And just as Frost's traveller opts for one road, knowing in his heart of hearts that it is unlikely he will come that way again, so Chuck knows that the route he chooses to go down is likely to be final and decisive.

Why are we still so barbaric?

This is a photo of an event that took place the other day in Spain when a poor frightened uncomprehending beast, a creature of God, some would say, was tormented and harassed to the point it scaled the arena barrier and ran amock among the spectators to escape its tormentors. This is sport in the minds of millions of unregenerated people who think that all is permitted against animals and that they may be tormented at will for the entertainment of us humans, and the worse thing about this is that the law allows it in certain countries, Spain being foremost among them (Catalonia only recently outlawed it). Why oh why are we humans so cruel and so barbarous and so bloodthirsty? When I witness scenes like that I can't help being overwhelmed by a feeling of disgust and revulsion at the human race. And we think we're civilised! Harassing a poor defenceless animal for the entertainment and delectation of the masses and then when things go wrong we kill it of course. The animal cannot win: if it stays to confront its tormentors, it is cut down in the end, if it attempts to evade the unwelcome attentions of its would-be executioners, it is put down.

And look at this moron tugging at the bull's tail. What does he honestly hope to accomplish with that apart from getting his picture in the media? What he needs to come to his senses is a good kicking in the teeth! It seems there is no limit to human arrogance and presumptuousness. People create the circumstances whereby they hope to derive pleasure and excitement from watching a hapless animal being harassed to death, and then when something goes wrong and their fun is spoilt, they shit themselves in their panic to escape and the bull pays for it with its life.

Honestly, have we evolved at all in real terms?  Or do we still have deeply ingrained in us the ancient blood-lust? It seems that when we're not busy killing each other for one stupid reason or another, we make sport of killing animals and this time we don't even have to justify it with any reason other than that of entertainment. We're a pathetic species really. And without wishing to impugn the Lord at all, He would have done well to stop at the great apes!

The Sower

The statue above, located in the city of Kaunas, Lithuania, is evidently a man sowing what must be seeds of one kind or another. We do not know what the crop is and there’s no practical way of showing the seed grains flying out from his hand, but nonetheless it’s clear what his activity is. Now if we go on to focus on the wall behind the statue, there appears to be an array of stars drawn on it, which fan out as they get closer to the ground. As things stand, it’s not clear what this is all about. At first sight, one might take it to be some form of graffiti defacing the wall, the handiwork of a disrespectful and inconsiderate youth who wants to leave his mark on the urban environment, an all too common feature of our undisciplined modern society. But is it really graffiti? Is it just the unrestrained daubing of a mischievous individual? The second photo below reveals all.

This is the same statue, the same sower of seeds, in the selfsame place, but now we see the scene at night, and all is suddenly revealed to our astonished gaze. What seemed to be mindless graffiti on the wall behind the statue is now seen for what it is, and we cannot help but marvel at the ingenuity of it all. Thanks to a clever positioning of the lighting, a shadow of the sower is projected onto the backdrop of the wall and we now see what is being sown - not crop seed at all, but a constellation of stars that sprays out from the right hand of the sower as it is scattered on the ground. The sower of seeds is in reality a sower of... stars! And by analogy perhaps a sower of dreams. And how apt that this should be seen at night, for it is then that dreams populate our sleep and transport us to a world of mystery and magic.

This transformation may also be regarded as an allegory: that things are not always what they seem and that seen in a different light or from a different perspective their true nature reveals itself. For those of us who are all too ready to jump to conclusions, it is a salutary reminder of the risk we run in prejudging what at first appears to be obvious.

Taking the Bull by the Horns!

Ouch!!! That must have hurt loads. The damn animal has gone straight for the goolies. It might look like a tickle but it may well have punctured the balls-bag or even scraped the toreador's love-rod. Either way our hero's love-life and even his procreative powers may have been put on hold... for good!. But it's really his own fault.

That's what can happen when folks won't leave our horny friends alone and make a sport out of tormenting and killing them. They're liable to get very bullish and go for the jugular, or in this case the dangly bits, especially when they stand out so well in those man-tights. Our four-legged friend here has evidently had enough of this bullshit and decided to horn in on his tormentor's love factory to teach him a well-deserved lesson. And who can blame the poor animal?

And here's another one. Right in those damn goolies again! And it looks like the horn's gone in deep and may have re-arranged the torero's manly parts. One thing's for sure, it's not improved things and another love-life may have gone down the proverbial toilet. So unfeeling of the bull! Instead of going down quietly in a pool of blood, it's tried to take its tormentor with it or at least shake him up a bit.

But once again our valiant matador (which, by the way, means 'killer' in Spanish) has only himself to blame. He's been nothing but beastly towards the beast and his intentions are far from benevolent. So I reckon the creature figured it had nothing to lose and if it had to go down it might as well go down fighting. One can't fault the logic.

Postscript:
On a more serious note, this post follows on the heels of the vote taken by the regional government of Catalonia in Spain, which has now banned bullfighting in that region. I thoroughly applaud this move and am astonished that such a bloody sport has gone on for so long, and I wonder how long it will be before the rest of Spain follows suit. The moment has come to call time on this brand of savagery.

Funny Photos II

What a cute little kitty this poker-faced pussy is! And what lovely headgear! He really looks the business, a modern-day Nordic warrior, in feline form of course. And he's taking it so seriously, he's just made for the part. He doesn't need the excuse of a bike or motorcycle to wear protective headgear, you just never know when you might fall on your head. And it's such a snug fit that I wouldn't be surprised if he wears it to bed at night. It also does away with the need for ear-muffs to keep out noise that would stop him from getting a good night's kip. Yep, he's a kool kitty kat, no doubt about it, and he knows it. And just take a peek at those mean-looking whiskers of his. They sort of give him the look of an oriental sage, a sort of wise warrior. But don't underestimate him: he's mean, he's lean, and he's keen, and if he has to wear a watermelon helmet to get respect, he'll damn well do it! He may look silly but he's no hill-billy and no skitty little filly. He's a cocky cat. In fact, you might say he's the cat's whiskers! Hahahahahaaaaa. Sorry, couldn't resist that one. But you get the picture, I think. Enough said.

Now this chap, who might be an ostrich or an emu, is a very different kettle of fish. He’s not cute, not cool, and definitely not a kitty-cat! He’s scruffy and weird-looking and he has no time for silly headgear. But appearances can be deceptive, and make no mistake, he’s no push-over. With that vicious beak of his and a foul temper to match, he’ll have your nose off before you can make a run for it. And even if you do try to do a runner, he’ll be digging his bill into your hind quarters before you’ve taken a dozen steps. Yes, sir! He’s meaner than a soldier ant and a lot bigger. Look at those piercing eyes fixed on us. He’s got us well and truly in his sights and there’s no doubt who’s the boss. He might be a right scruff and in need of a make-over and a new hairdo but he’s no-one’s fool. If you diss him, you’ll have his rock-hard beak and his sledgehammer legs to answer to. Either way, you’re goose is cooked! But hey we might be misjudging the old fellow and doing him a grave injustice. He may be ugly, scruffy and weird and look as though he’s gone without sleep for a month, but inside he's probably the meekest, mildest softy ever born with not a bad bone in his bird body. You just never know!


.

Funny Photos I

This moggy looks like it's seen a ghost and crapped itself and I can't say I blame it. Who wouldn't crap themselves if they saw a ghost? And more to the point, who wouldn't look like that if they saw a ghost?  With its eyes popping, its mouth gaping and its tongue poking, I'd say it's lost most of its nine lives at a stroke, poor little pussycat. But the worst thing about all this, at least from our point of view, is that we don't know what's caused little moggy to put on such a horrible face. Or could pussy be just putting it on for a photo opportunity? In other words, is Mr Cat just winding us up? If it is, all I can say is that it's a damn good actor and should be hired on the spot to star in some Hollywood movie. It's sure to be a blockbuster and it can't be worse than the latest crop of crap (hey, I like this match.. crop of crap.. nice) that's doing the rounds at the moment. It could be given a title like: Moggy, the Magpie Mugger. What d'you think?

Now here's a chap, a llama I think it is, who has seen better days, I'd say. He may not have crapped himself like pussy above, but he certainly looks like crap! Lost half his gnashers, jaw gone all wonky, eyeballs bulging, ears standing to attention, smelling like a dead rat and in dire need of a wash and brush-up! He's a right scruff and he knows it. It's just as well he's in a zoo, otherwise he'd be on a funny-farm waiting to kick it. But I dare say he wasn't always like this. There was probably a time when he could give any hot-blooded female a run for her money and vied with the best of the young studs for the hand of Miss Right. But looking at him now, I'd say that's a distant memory and it's all he can do to keep his pecker up and stand upright. Poor sod! It's a dog's life, that's what it is.

The Alternative England Football Squad

Well I don't know about you, guys, but this all-girlie line-up would have been my choice for the England squad for the 2010 World Cup in South Africa. One thing's for sure: these cuties couldn't have done worse than the official squad that actually played in this tournament and which has now returned home covered in shame after a consistently bad performance and a final well-deserved thrashing at the hands of Germany.

These lasses certainly look the part - their socks are impeccable - and seem to be in better shape than our motley bunch of underachieving professional male players and, if push came to shove, they could have mesmerised their male opponents and scored goal after goal while the opposition was ogling their imposing physical assets. A flash of a breast here, a wiggle of a rump there, the odd come-on smile and beckoning forefinger and the other opposing players wouldn't know what hit them as another speeding beauty whammed the ball home... gooooaaaaaaaaaaaaaalllll!!


And who could fail to root for them in their progress to the final? What masculine bosom, if not feminine, would be so unmoved as to wish for their downfall? The women spectators would egg them on to show how much better at it they were than their male counterparts and the men spectators would be cheering them for, well, somewhat other reasons. But whatever the motives, endowed with nature's bountiful attributes and enjoying the massive support of the overwhelming majority, our gorgeous girlies would have cruised home to certain victory and entered the annals of history. I can just see the headline: "England Babes Smash their Way to Victory and Wow the Football World!"


P.S. My apologies to any women who might be offended by this blatant display of male chauvinism and overt sexism. Away from the blog, I am of course a sensitive and delicate male who weeps often, has a strong feminine side, and does not espouse any of the views expressed herein.

The Throw of the Dice

Our lives, like it or not, are to an enormous extent shaped and determined by mere chance, accident, fortune, good or bad luck, fate, call it what you will. Many of us may not wish to acknowledge this, especially if we are doing well and the world seems rosy - for the time-being - but luck it is pure and simple and it plays a huge part in our lives. Some may see this as the work of Destiny, the intervention of Lady Luck or even the hand of God. It matters not so much how we see it or what we call it, but we do well to take account of it and live our lives accordingly.

You might say that it is life's equivalent of the throw of the dice in games of chance and gambling. And because of it our happiness hangs on a thread and it can evaporate so easily and so quickly from one day to the next. We see this every day when we turn on the television and watch the news. It takes only one accident or misfortune to completely destroy the happiness and tranquillity of a person, a family, a community. Just one act of man, serious illness or natural calamity is enough to destroy years of sure and steady progress on the path of good fortune and happiness. Years of prosperity can be wiped out in the twinkling of an eye and we witness this regularly happening round the world.

When we are riding high we tend to take the credit for our good fortune whereas when we are down and out we take some comfort in putting it down to plain bad luck, the throw of the dice. We like to think that success is the fruit of our own personal efforts and failure the outcome of misfortune and accident. The truth may be somewhere in between: a combination of our actions and fortuitous circumstance. And we have many examples where the best efforts and intentions of someone have come to nothing and the inaction or wrong action of another has been crowned with good fortune! In such a case it is hard to argue that accident has not had the starring role in the proceedings.

It is true that a positive attitude to life may help and may assist us in achieving certain goals or accepting failure or misfortune with philosophical stoicism or resignation or even as a challenge to do better or to learn from our nistakes. But however we look at it and whatever our reaction, our lives continue to be hostages to fortune, to the throw of Nature's dice, to the vagaries of our world and the 'human condition'. The dice in the picture above are cast by man but the dice that determine the course of our life are cast by a higher hand, by a hand unseen and unknown, by a hand that is unswayed and unchecked by our wishes and desires. It is the principle which governs the whole of the Universe, the whole of Creation. It is in short the cosmic throw of the dice.

Two Beach Scenes

Just take a look at this picture and tell me if it's not your favourite beach set-up? A smooth sandy beach, a calm caressing sea, a warm-to-hot day, some deck chairs and a sunshade, and a marked absence of crowds to disturb your peace and tranquillity. It's as if this stretch of beach was made for you, you lucky bastard!

Now take a look at this other beach scene below and tell me which you prefer.

Well? Which is it to be? The first beach scene, tranquillity itself? Or the second beach scene, the nightmare scenario?! Where you could not even break wind without your neighbour getting a noseful of it. Where, if you have body odour, your fellow beach-bums will be the first to know about it. Where lying down is not an option 'cos there ain't the space! Where the water is a human cocktail of saliva and urine from the teeming bathers' secretions top and bottom.

I think I know what your answer is, assuming of course you don't appreciate sharing a beach with a stranger sat in your lap!

The Art of Leonid Afremov

THE subject of this blog is by way of a tribute to the work of the Jewish Russian artist, Leonid Afremov. I recently came upon his works of art online by accident and was immediately captivated by it. His art has blossomed since he left Russia for his ancestral homeland, Israel, and now he must be one of the most prolific and creative painters around, with a very distinctive style.

AFREMOV works in oil using a palette knife, not a paint-brush, to achieve striking and eye-catching visual effects,  and they certainly caught my eye! I suppose because the style of his artwork is very bold, very loud and very brash in many ways, you will either love it or hate it. One thing you cannot do is remain indifferent to it. I myself have fallen in love with its raw naked energy and that's why I am now sharing my passion for Afremov's art with you here.

APART from the strong use of a palette of bold colours that have an immediate impact on the viewer, one will easily perceive certain recurring themes: night-time scenes, long tree-lined avenues, kerbside lamp-posts lighting up the scene, lonely figures strolling on their own or as couples, and above all what I call the "wet look" everywhere. In a great number of Afremov's paintings it is either raining - umbrellas often bear witness to this - or it has been raining and the ground is sodden, often strewn with puddles. And this is where the light from the ubiquitous lamp-posts comes into its own as it is reflected back up off the stagnant rainwater or wet surface, producing a truly magical effect.

AS well as the all-pervasive rain theme in Afremov's art (and this is where he and I are in tune, since I love rain and its effects), and the failing light of day or eternal dusk, which enables him to exploit the effects of lamplight, there is also an air of loneliness or desolation in his pictures. A lone figure or couple is seen walking down a street or avenue otherwise deserted. They exude loneliness and isolation. This may be deliberate on the part of Afremov or just a consequence of his style of art but either way the effect is of a certain urban desolation in this strange twilight world where it is nearly always night and nearly always raining.

FOR me such recurring and somewhat haunting themes combined with the lavish use of striking colours, and the bold strokes of the palette knife that lay the paint on thickly, are a feast for the eye and the soul and I am very glad I stumbled across the art of Leonid Afremov. His fascinations are also mine and he has managed to put these into his art time and time again but in a thousand-and-one combinations which has resulted in some truly remarkable paintings.

THE above examples of his art are just a tiny sample of his vast range and the selection I've made is inevitably somewhat arbitrary and invidious, especially as he has produced such a large body of work, but they do give a good idea of what I'm talking about. For those who wish to acquaint themselves further with the art of this amazingly gifted artist, I suggest you put his name in an online search and there will be no shortage of results that pop up. And for those with some extra cash, it is possible to buy many of his works on the Internet. So happy hunting!