Today, my friend Hugo sent me an interesting ‘Knowledge Nugget’ about tobacco…
*Thank you, Clicky. I have no idea if it’s true… I should pop over to the Blue Universeand ask Harley or Rose…*
*Er, that’s a moped, Clicky*
Venus late Old English, from Latin Venus (plural veneres), in ancient Roman mythology, the goddess of beauty and love, especially sensual love, from venus “love, sexual desire; loveliness, beauty, charm; a beloved object,” from PIE root *wen- (1) “to strive after, wish, desire.”
This root is the source of Sanskrit veti “follows after,” vanas- “desire,” vanati “desires, loves, wins;” Avestan vanaiti “he wishes, is victorious;” Latinvenerari “to worship;” Old English wynn “joy,” wunian “to dwell,” wenian “to accustom, train, wean,” wyscan “to wish.”
Applied by the Romans to Greek Aphrodite, Egyptian Hathor, etc. Applied in English to any beautiful, attractive woman by 1570s. As the name of the most brilliant planet from late 13c., from this sense in Latin (Old English called it morgensteorra and æfensteorra). The venus fly-trap (Dionæa muscipula) was discovered 1760 by Gov. Arthur Dobbs in North Carolina and description sent to Collinson in England. The Central Atlantic Coast Algonquian name for the plant, /titipiwitshik/, yielded regional American English tippity wichity.
*Yep, that bit’s true…*
*No, Clicky, wichity… sounds like witchy…*
*/rolls eyes… Hey, that reminds me… The Professor has been awfully quiet of late…*
I made my first posting at Sync Miss For Him in quite a while this morning…
Yes, it’s the US Presidential election and Trump’s in Putin pocket, if Hillarity is to believed…
*Yeah, she is somewhat scary, Click*
After posting I sat on the old box in the conservatory, whilst Mistress Ploppy went outside for a pee. I looked down and stared at the upside down writing between my legs…
*No, that’s a terrible reconstruction, Clicky. You’d never get a job on Crimewatch… /squints …let me set it out…*
Although I’ve owned the box more than 20 years, it was the first time I’d noticed what is printed on it since… /thinks… well, since I bought it from the Stationery Dept at John Lewis, Oxford Street.
TRUMPERTON’S
AMAZING
TOY
EMPORIUM
MECHANICAL NOVELTIES
MUSICAL CONTRAPTIONS
TIN & CAST TOYS
BOOKS
PORCELAIN DOLLS
MAGICAL APPARATUS
GAMES & PUZZLES
WE LEAD
OTHERS FOLLOW
It reminded me that there was a card game from my youth that all the boys used to play…
Top Trumps was a card game popular with adults and children in the United Kingdom in the 1970s and 1980s, especially amongst boys, for whom it was a popular playground pastime. The topics tended to reflect this, and included military hardware, modes of transport and racing cars. The packs tended to be priced so that children could collect new packs by saving pocket money for a few weeks.
The original Top Trumps were launched in early 1976, with eleven different packs selling at 50p each, published by a company named Dubreq. Dubreq was also known for the Stylophone. Dubreq was taken over by Waddingtons in 1982, and they continued manufacturing packs until the early 1990s. The packs from this period are now collectible.
*/nods… Yes, that’s certainly a musical contraption, Clicky… And a bit of mechanical novelty*
Clinton’s got her cards… /sigh… I’m a sucker for an underdog… /rolls eyes…
Ruthenian (adj.) 1850, of or pertaining to the Ukrainian people (earlier Ruthene, 1540s), from Medieval Latin Rutheni “the Little Russians,” a derivative of Russi (see Russia). For consonant change, compare Medieval Latin Prut(h)eni, from Prussi “Prussians.” Another word in the same sense was Russniak.
Saturday afternoon: Thoughtful Man has gone to work, boys are otherwise engaged and I am throwing a ball for Poppy, our dachshund – a perfect opportunity for some shambling.
Dear Reader, make of it what you will and, hopefully, enjoy.
*Clicky, just links in text for this one, please. I know you like hiding them but constructing a shambles is difficult enough without any tomfoolery*
*Hmm… Okay, go get the rainbow snowflakes…*
*******
On 13th July (13.7 or 137), I had a DM conversation with my friend Legs. I’d been loafing…
*Ha! Trust Leggy to think about the fertilizer, Clicky*
Waldi was the first proper Olympic mascot, for the Munich Games in 1972. The route of the Marathon race was based on the outline shape of Waldi, a dachshund. I’d shambled it before…
‘The considered and precise lines of the petite canine’s form are typical of Aicher’s clean modernist design and were used for the route of the marathon through the city of Munich. The various parts of the hound were represented by different areas of the city with the mouth being in the Nymphenburg Park, the belly — the main downtown street and in true German style, the rear end in the English Garden.’
If the rear (shitting) end was in the English Garden, what about the mouth (eating) end?
The 200-hectare (490-acre) park, once an Italian garden (1671), which was enlarged and rearranged in French style by Dominique Girard, a pupil of Le Notre, was finally redone in the English manner during the early 19th century by Friedrich Ludwig von Sckell, on behalf of prince-elector Charles Theodore. Von Sckell was also the creator of the English Garden in Munich.
Knot to mention, parks are considered Green (breathing) Lungs…
*Clicky…*
It’s got nothing to do with
Vorsprung durch Technik you know
(Parklife)
And it’s not about you joggers
Who go round and round and round
(Parklife)
*/rolls eyes… Okay, good one… running/jogging is movement*
In my youth, Snickers bars were called ‘Marathon‘…
1896, marathon race, from story of Greek hero Pheidippides, who in 490 B.C.E. ran the 26 miles and 385 yards to Athens from the Plains of Marathon to tell of the allied Greek victory there over Persian army. The original story (Herodotus) is that he ran from Athens to Sparta to seek aid, which arrived too late to participate in the battle. Introduced as an athletic event in the 1896 revival of the Olympic Games, based on a later, less likely story, and quickly extended to mean “any very long event or activity.” The place name is literally“fennel-field.” Related: Marathoner (by 1912).
*/Squint… Clicky, it’s now early evening and I have a lot to cover yet. I’m sensitive that this shamble will grow too big…*
*No! And that doesn’t count toward reproduction either… /sniff… I’ll continue, shall I?*
Yesterday was 22nd July (22/7) and I posted a Theorem of sorts on MEROVEE–why bad stuff seems to happen in the real world as a result of our posting online there.
Shortly after, new poster CJ brought news of a shooting incident in Munich… the cause of much running from a man with roots in I Ran…
I discussed it with Legs, later…
*Aww, Clicky, you’ve got me… /eyes widen… No! I don’t mean in the reproductivesense… *
And then it occurred to me, I’d seen 137, π and an 8 somewhere else before… At Evergreen Terrace…
‘The first equation on the board is largely Schiminovich’s work, and it predicts the mass of the Higgs boson, M(H0), an elementary particle that that was first proposed in 1964. The equation is a playful combination of various fundamental parameters, namely the Planck constant, the gravitational constant, and the speed of light. If you look up these numbers and plug them into the equation,1 it predicts a mass of 775 giga-electron-volts (GeV), which is substantially higher than the 125 GeV estimate that emerged when the Higgs boson was discovered in 2012. Nevertheless, 775 GeV was not a bad guess, particularly bearing in mind that Homer is an amateur inventor and he performed this calculation fourteen years before the physicists at CERN, the European Organization for Nuclear Research, tracked down the elusive particle.’
*Click, you have a one-track mind…*
*Ahh… Very clever, Clicky… /yawn and stretch… That’s enough for now, let’s have a Song…*
It appears some Millennials are feeling frustrated at the rest of us for turning up to vote on the 23rd June, and have organised a foot-stamping event to protest.
So how is my generation described in The Fourth Turning?
‘Generation X (Nomad, born 1961–1981) survived a “hurried” childhood of divorce, latch keys, open classrooms, devil-child movies, and a shift from G to R ratings.’
‘They came of age hearing themselves denounced as so wild and stupid as to put The Nation At Risk. As young adults, maneuvering through a sexual battlescape of AIDS and blighted courtship rituals—they have dated and married cautiously.’
‘In jobs, they embraced risk and preferred free agency overloyal corporatism. From grunge to hip-hop, their splintered culture revealed a hardened edge. Politically, they have leaned toward pragmatism and nonaffiliation, and would rather volunteer than vote.’
Unless, of course, the vote actually means something 😉
‘Today, entering midlife battered by economic hardship, they ascend into political and corporate leadership roles feeling less like hailed winners than like resilient survivors, seeking out safe harbors for the sake of themselves and their families.’
*******
I’ve been pondering when exactly this Fourth (Crisis) Turning began because my boys were born in 2001 – What archetype are they: Millennial or Homeland?
A Crisis year begins with a catalyst – a startling event (or sequence of events) that produces a sudden shift in mood.
Was it the 2008 Financial Crash or spectacular 9/11 in 2001 that heralded ‘The War on Terror’? Perhaps it started just before, in the period immediately following the publishing of the book.
The dot-com bubble was a historic speculative bubble covering roughly 1997–2000 (with a climax on March 10, 2000, with the NASDAQ peaking at 5,132.52[1] in intraday trading before closing at 5,048.62) during which stock markets in industrialized nations saw their equity value rise rapidly from growth in the Internet sector and related fields.
*Okay, if you’re now slipping into River, Clicky, it’s probably time to finish with a Song*
*Indeed they are, Clicky. But ‘bow‘ is one of those homo-thingies – you’re mixing up the meaning and pronunciation…*
*Okkaay… /puffs out cheeks …shall I get on with it, Clicky?*
*Thank you. A bit creepy, but thank you.*
*******
In the summer of 2012, I read a book called ‘The Fourth Turning‘ and it changed the way I looked at, not only history, but the current state of world affairs.
It was published in 1997 and, in it, a couple of Yanks postulate that human history is a series of cycles, roughly lasting 80 – 100 years. Each cycle (saeculum) can be broken up into four distinct seasons (Turnings): Spring (High), Summer (Awakening), Autumn (Unraveling) and Winter (Crisis), and the cycle is powered along by four generational archetypes moving through the life stages of childhood, young adulthood, mid-life and elderhood.
The authors had looked back at Anglo-American history and had identified 7 cycles:
Late Medieval (1435 – 1487)
Reformation (1487 – 1594)
New World (1594 – 1704)
Revolutionary (1704 – 1794)
Civil War (1794 – 1865)
Great Power (1865 – 1946)
Millennial (1946 – 2026?)
1997, the time of publishing, fell within the Autumn (Unraveling) season of the Millennial Cycle. The next turning would be the fourth (Winter/Crisis) of the saeculum and the authors predicted:
Sometime around the year 2005, perhaps a few years before or after, America will enter the Fourth Turning.
By the time I read the book in 2012, the Fourth Turning was already underway.
A Crisis year begins with a catalyst – a startling event (or sequence of events) that produces a sudden shift in mood.
Two incidents, either side of 2005, could be considered catalysts – the 2001 terrorist attack on the World Trade Centre…
and the Financial Crash in 2008…
*/squints… Clicky, is there a reason you’re using anti-tobacco imagery to illustrate my points?*
CLICKY: 2007 smoking ban..?
*Ah… /nods sagely …and it also reminds me to mention the Fourth Turning’s ‘Gray Champion‘*
Anyhoo, back to the book. It’s very US-centric but that, I suppose, was it’s target audience. However, yesterday I was interested to read mention of it in regards to Brexit at The Burning Platform, via Zero Hedge.
And the stormy weather featured in Blue Universe Frank’s Brexit post today…
And he specifically mentions the Spanish Armada – The Armada Crisis is the Fourth Turning (Crisis) season of the Reformation saeculum:
This won’t have been the first time Britain has been saved by a storm. On the 4th of August 1588, the Spanish Armada, which was about to land an army on England’s south coast, began to experience an adverse wind (much like yesterday’s storm wind) that blew it east along the coast, all the way to Calais, and then all the way round Britain and back to Spain.
*No and a bit rude, my fair Clicky. The Armada Crisis was a strictly Anglo Fourth Turning*
The Armada Crisis (Fourth Turning, 1569–1594) began when the powerful Duke of Norfolk was linked to a Spanish plot against the English throne, a discovery which galvanized newly-Protestant England against the global threat of the Catholic Hapsburgs. A crescendo of surrogate wars and privateering culminated in England’s miraculous victory over the Spanish Armada invasion (in 1588). The mood of emergency relaxed after the successful resistance of Holland and the breaking of Spanish control over France.
Interestingly Frank also posted a video of US Presidential nominee, Donald Trump, talking about Brexit on his arrival at Turnberry golf course yesterday. I dunno, he does look rather more gray than orange 😉
*******
*/Yawn and stretch… That’s enough for now, Clicky. Time for a Song?*
Thoughtful Man stood on the doorstep, fist full of mail and an impish grin on his face. He handed me the postcard, picture side up.
I looked at him quizzically. “For me?” Who would send me a postcard?
“Missouri? I don’t know anyone in Missouri.” The doorstep was bathed in afternoon sunlight but the squint I gave him was of the confused variety. I turned it over.
“Err…” My squint narrowed with suspicion. “Since when have I been Mrs W Hayward, Haywald – is Haywald even a name?”
Still grinning, Thoughtful Man plucked the card from my grasp. “The address is right and you are Win.”
“How do you make that out?” I could barely see him I was squinting so hard. “When have I ever been Win?”
Thoughtful Man’s expression of faux-shock would have worked but for the corners of his mouth, which twitched upwards. “When you won my heart and I agreed to marry you.”
*Tell me about it, Click*
“Yes, well not withstanding the fact that I’m the luckiest woman in the world, the postcard isn’t for me.”
“Are you sure?” Thoughtful Man squinted himself now as he tried to make out the handwriting. “‘Dear Win, in Mo now, got in last night although my case didn’t arrive’. Oh no! Missing baggage!”
I snatched the card back from the chortling bugger and read it to myself. “‘Love M xxx’. Funny, similar handwriting to Mum’s. What’s this? ‘Harry S Truman Home and Library’. Hmm…”
“Uh oh. I don’t like the sound of that ‘hmm’,” Thoughtful Man said with a sagging voice. “What does ‘hmm’ mean? Are you going to be up all night writing?”
“Possibly.” I winked. “You did say the postcard was for me.”
That’s one way to wipe the grin off his face.
*******
*/rolls eyes… Well, Clicky, I was wondering what country is twinned with Missouri.*
Last night I read a fascinating post at Zero Hedge. I sent it on to my probing friend, Hugo. Big on the old nuclear connections is Hugo… No, Clicky, just the pix; no hidden extras this time, please*
*Thank you*
I may not know anyone travelling to Missouri, but I do know somebody that’s presently holidaying in Denmark, and, to paraphrase Shakespeare, ‘feeling rotten in the state in Denmark‘…
The Underdog himself…
*That’s right, Clicky, not only does the postcard feature the home and library of the only US President to approve the use of nuclear weapons in conflict, he was also…*
Truman’s 1948 election upset to win a full term as president has often been invoked by later ‘underdog‘ presidential candidates.
*Ha! Score for the win, Clicky… oh hang on, M could also mean… /eyes widen…*
“Do you want to go and see Roy’s new play?” Thoughtful Man asked earlier today whilst sat at his computer. “He’s sent me Facebook message.”
Roy is Thoughtful Man’s oldest friend. I’ve mentioned him before.
“Oh that would be great.” We hadn’t been out together in ages…
“When’s it on? What’s it about?”
“Have a guess.” Thoughtful Man grinned his evil smile at me. “It opens next week.” He turned back to his computer and employed Clicky to give me a clue.
Thoughtful Man bobbed his head in time to the music. He swiveled back round to look at me with laughing eyes. Of course I knew that Roy’s plays predominantly feature black characters.
“No… He’s never written a musical called ‘Gaye’?!”
“No, but it is set in the 80s.” Thoughtful Man winked at me. “It’s called ‘Soul‘.”
‘You had better tell me what I just walked into’
On April Fool’s Day 1984, hours before his 45th birthday, Marvin Gaye was shot dead by his father in the shared family home they called the ‘Big House.’ What happened there – and whether it was murder or suicide – has been shrouded in mystery since.
Revealing what really happened during Marvin Gaye’s haunting final days and celebrating his extraordinary life, Soul is a searing portrait of the pitfalls of the American dream. Not just the story of Marvin Gaye, but of many a musical icon whose family life has been crushed by the effects of their stardom.
“Soul?” That synced with a conversation I had with my friend Hugo on Twitter last night…
CLICKY: JoJo was a man who thought he was a woman *taps fin*
*Clicky, it’s ‘loner’…*
CLICKY: Jojo’s a girl…
*Oh I remember watching that with the boys when they were little. You’re right, Clicky…*
‘The series is set in Circus Town, a self-sufficient city whose cultural center is the “Big Top” tent. The story focuses on JoJo Tickle, a young female clown, and Goliath, JoJo’s pet lion. She and Goliath study at the Little Big Top Circus School, where all young soon-to-be circus performers learn under their teacher Mrs. Kersplatski. Along with her friends, JoJo explores and learns while dealing with challenging situations.
‘JoJo’s Circus relies on repetition in its structure. Each segment always begins with JoJo searching for her pet lion Goliath who is always hiding. JoJo then is presented with the situation that will occupy the theme of the show. A song, usually about the resolution of the situation, is then sung by JoJo.’
*A bit of sync that, Clicky, as I tweeted the ‘Dark Side of the Rainbow’ to Hugo & Kitty this morning…*
CLICKY: Huge Cat that hides?
*It was in response to Hugo’s stirring seas post last night. And featured David…*
*My, the Beeb got that out early; he’s not 90 until Sunday, according to his we-key page, Click. Mind you, it’s been that kind of a year so far for celebs*rolls eyes* … Ooh that’s interesting…*
‘In May 2015, US President Barack Obama interviewed Attenborough at the White House in Washington D.C. Together, they discussed the future of the planet, their passion for nature and what measures can be taken to protect the environment.‘
*’discussed the future of the planet’, Clicky. Legs’ story of, or possible from… he is a Doctor… /drifts … Um, ‘For Whom the Bells Jingle‘. Just last night, Leggy wondered if Hugo would like to read it.*
CLICKY: Don’t forget the face
*Ha ha… there just had to be a face sync. Come on, Clicky, let’s finish with a Song* 😉
*So, Clicky, ‘Pop’ was the decision. Interesting…*
CLICKY: Victoria would…
Receiving word that a Prince of Pop had pops his clogs so shortly after I’d popped the question, was a surprise. Thoughtful Man was the bearing of the news… again.
“You’ll never guess who’s died now?”
I hadn’t heard him come downstairs as I was still engrossed over at Hugo’s second site. I removed my headphones. “What another? Who?”
“Prince.” Thoughtful Man looked shell-shocked. He’d once queued 10 hours to get tickets for one of his concerts. In his teens, Thoughtful Man had considered Prince and his music the bee’s knees.
He slumped down onto his chair and tapped his keyboard. “Prince is dead.”
*Clicky, you’re racing ahead – Thoughtful Man didn’t show me that until following day… I told Hugo about it.*
*******
Extract from ‘A Family History for Ruth and Julia (Gawd ‘Elp Us!)’, a.k.a. ‘The Ma Papers’ by Judith Eileen Newton (formerly Shewan, née Packer)
When uncle Jack was alive he phoned me one evening to see if I could get Jeremy into John Lewis. I think he was working at the time in some kind of government office. I did get him an application form, but nothing came of it.
At that time I did not know that he was gay. Looking back on it, considering that the men’s second floor loo at John Lewis was advertised as a meeting point for gays in Gay Weekly (and that 75% of males working there were gay), I wonder if he had an ulterior motive.
After several sackings of staff for being in the loo instead of being on the shop floor, memos were fired out. Staff were banned from using them and a security man was posted on duty there at all times.
I don’t know how open I should be with you all, but what the hell you are all adults.
I went into said loo after hours, of course, courtesy of the Chief of Security. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about and it was an eye opener indeed. The toilet stalls had all been lined with stainless steel to stop chaps from making holes in the walls, but someone had brought in a drill. They all had holes in them. Apparently meetings were quite anonymous and frequent, but I can assure you that Aids had not reared its ugly head yet. When it did there were a lot of frightened chaps working there.
Before I left and moved to Southend in 94, I went to several funerals and numerous visits to hospitals, including the Lighthouse. I did a bit of buddying. Mrs Moon worked there and I became interested.
Unfortunately, because aids was new and terrifying and people were uneducated about it, any mention that you even had contact with an aids sufferer and people would shun you. They thought it was catching. Even at Branch Council meetings people wanted a different set of cups and cutlery for gays than for straights, so we had to get training packages together and send everybody on them to allay the fears.
One particularly funny incident did happen though. One day a cubicle had been locked for some time and a security guard, on his rounds, looked under the door. He saw a pair of feet and a large John Lewis carrier bag, the cardboard type used for men’s suits or expensive frocks.
When, on a second tour of duty of those toilets, the same feet and the same carrier bag were still in the same cubicle, the security guard decided to investigate further. Inside he found two men, one of whom was standing in the bag.
After that nearly all the men’s loos were turned into standy up ones except for one with the permanent security detail.
God, I have digressed haven’t I?
*******
Later on Friday, Blue Frankposted a performance of Prince and Red Frank put up his ‘Purple Reign‘ post…
And I took a naked selfie…
CLICKY: Click the pix for another
*Enough, with the selfies, Clicky. I’ve have ironing to attend to and a curry to cook. Do us a flavour and please give our Dear Reader a Song*
*Yes, Click. On MEROVEE we do it all the time. The first time, I think, was when Frank made a connection between Bond titles and news headlines… and then we all piled in* 😉
Angels feature in the latest post in the Red Universe…
Today, Angel A… Angle Cur… agreed to a Turkey… Turn Key… prosecution of a joker call Boehmermann.
CLICKY: Customs? Like free speech?
*Collected and placed with the rest behind a muslin curtain? Possibly…*
*Filmed in Prague… /rueful smile… Never tear who apart, Click? /raises eyebrows*
Extract from ‘A Family History for Ruth and Julia (Gawd ‘Elp Us!)’, a.k.a. ‘The Ma Papers’ by Judith Eileen Newton (formerly Shewan, née Packer)
I think that Dickie may have been too young to remember Gillian, but she was a smashing girl. She was so full of life and mischief and had her fingers in a lot of pies. She was so funny and really used to make me laugh.
Gill was very sporty, playing Table Tennis and Badminton and she loved to dance. She used to go to Victor Sylvester’s in Lewisham on Saturday night. I was officially too young to go anywhere with her (because I was only fourteen) but with a bit of splosh on my face and a mature air, I managed to get away with it.
The first weekend she took me to Victor Sylvester’s with her friend named Rita Winkle. She insisted it was pronounced Winekel but we called her Winkle anyway. Rita was older and very sophisticated and made up like a model. I really felt like a poor relation, after all they were both at work and I was still at school and a bohemian to boot. All my high ideals about bohemianism were sorely being put to the test.
What was I doing borrowing clothes and makeup, actually going to a dance and pretending that I was eighteen? The biggest problem was that I could not even dance. Oh yes I could shuffle, but this was pre-Beatles days and you either jived or ballroomed. I could do neither.
I remember that first night clearly. It was probably quite shabby but to me it was magical – little tables with lamps and a band, boys in suits… I did not know a boy with a suit.
I will always remember the smell of the ladies’ room, hairspray and perfume, whilst excited girls put on makeup and checked stocking seams, wondering who would ask them to dance with them tonight. It was a situation I had never encountered before and I was excited.
I had lied about my age and said I was eighteen. I was terrified. Gill was popular and seemed to know everyone, Rita was the belle of the ball and I felt like Cinderella.
When two blokes came and sat with us and bought us drinks, I really felt like the odd one out. Gill and Rita seemed so sophisticated and the blokes seemed so old. The evening progressed and I shuffled around with a couple of blokes.
When it was time to go home, the older of the two blokes said he would give us a lift home. Now, to have a car in those days was rare, so Rita’s eyes lit up. I assumed that the boys were taking home Rita and Gill and that I was an also ran. But when we got to Bellingham Lane, the guy stopped the car and told Rita she could walk from there because she lived out of his way. This probably sounds harsh by today’s standards but in those days things were much safer and we were used to walking. If we had not got a lift we would have walked from Lewisham to Bellingham – it’s a long way but we could not afford taxis.
Now I was really scared. Although I knew lots of boys from the youth club, I had never had a boyfriend with a car. They took us home and had coffee and arranged to meet us the next day in Catford to take us to the pictures.
One weekend with Gill and I had pulled. Bohemianism was losing its charm.
*… spare him his life for his pork sausages… doo be doo be doo be doo… Okay, Click, good choice of Song to end on*
