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The day which started cold and damp, is now bright and sunny (but still cold). It’s good to look out but not to sit out.
The postman brought one letter, a bill it seems. I open it. No, actually it is my annual account. I pay all my bills by standing order to minimise my involvement with money. Everything happens online, electronically, out of sight, out of mind. This is convenient but is it really a good idea? Should I not keep economics and the moral concerns of capitalism right before my face and in my mind? Hmm. Doing the right thing about money, what a kicker that is. I make a mental note to review my arrangements. Meanwhile, it seems they owe me money. Now, doesn’t that feel good? I’m not sure, I’m just not sure how any of this feels.
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There’s a whole heap of washing-up to do but I am not in the mood. Mañana.
The bananas have turned brown and squashy. I think about ways to use them up – whizzed up with a carton of chocolate soya milk to make a luscious shake; chopped up, skin and all, to make a chewy banana loaf? Okay, and maybe some oaty flapjacks too. I’ll make my ‘celebration flapjacks’ flavoured with fresh strawberries and almonds or maybe a strawberry and almond crumble to eat with Alpro custard? It feels cold enough for crumble and summery enough for strawberries. May as well use the whole oven if I am going to bake…
And after baking, I’ll maybe be in the mood for the washing-up. (And just who am I kidding?)
But I’ll do that later, this afternoon, this evening, (maybe even tomorrow if the bananas will wait).
Outside, the cloff of horses hooves is passing by. I go and look – police in riot gear are riding their mounts away from the city centre. The uniforms look sinister but their visors are up and the riders are talking animatedly to one another, laughter, smiles. The calm beauty of the horses, walking in double-file, dutiful, innocent, dumb, brings tears to my eyes. I have heard nothing. Has there been an incident? It is so peaceful. I assume they have been rehearsing some exercise. Nevertheless, I think of the Turin Horse and my mood is sombre.
STOP PRESS: Apparently, there was an English Defence League rally in the city centre today – I heard nothing but the report was on the BBC News website. I imagine there were so many mounted police because they feared rioting after the Woolwich murder last week. I should comment on that but not in this post which is mainly light-hearted and frothy and there is nothing light or frothy about murder. For now, all I say is my prayers are with all those affected, and since we are all affected to some degree, my prayers are with us all. May the Buddhas send their grace to us all!
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Made some coffee, sat down, and read another chapter of Elizabeth I by Anne Somerset. This is part of my current casual reading along with the Tale of Genji (which I am re-reading in a new translation) and Joanna Lumley’s Girl Friday (which is new to me). I have a wide range of interests, actually I find everything interesting from some perspective or other, but archaeology, anthropology, history, biography – these distinct but related fields have especially fascinated me from childhood.
I am enjoying Somerset’s book. Not sure how to classify it. It has elements of biography and elements of history, sometimes tries to give insight into Elizabeth’s own experience, at other times follows the historical sources to discuss the history of her reign, the debates of her Privy Council, the reports from foreign diplomats, the records of Parliament, I am particularly enjoying the direct quotations from Elizabeth’s own speeches, letters, and so on, and the correspondence of her contemporaries. The English is delightful. Full of words and phrases that sound so good. Let me give some examples: lip-laboured, misliked, behoofs, canting, living thread, graved bones, sugared eloquence, a searching wit, clouded with mildness, private ambition, urge us thereto. And so on. The more I read of contemporary correspondence and private memoranda, the more I realise Shakespeare (whom I admire) was less an amazingly original poet than an amazingly accurate imitator – his Hamlet is not invented ex nihilo by an extraordinary or preternatural imagination but constructed with cunning craftsmanship from the living examples of Elizabethan courtiers and their daily discourse. Now is the winter of our discontent… Is simply how they used to think and speak. Oh, fortunate age! Note to self: Do try to be more Shakespearean in your blogging.
To thus mine own better self hath moved me: it behooves me, then, as the more to be honoured, it being withal Reason’s counsel, to be a well-governed subject, not saucily to mislike my self-urged course, but gravely to set forth, tutored by princely example, quickened in chastened wit, a more sugared and, as ‘t were, lip-laboured discourse… I want to blog like that but who would read me? Sigh.
And back to bog standard.
Blessing
I, Shi Pasang, devoutly bless my readers. May my readers bless me! Happy Wesak!
Image may be NSFW.
Clik here to view.
Image may be NSFW.Clik here to view.
