Mundane

Bla, bla bla. Da da da. A lot of talk and no real analysis. Simple analysis without the verbiage or benefit of hindsight. The people who work in banks aren't corrupt. They just have access to a lot of money. And take it. I don't think it´s quite the same thing. People who live in the West earn a lot of money and we accept it. Nobody generally questions why a malodorous halfwit in Europe earns more than a scientist in Africa. People, just like banks don't question how much they are paid unless they happen to think it's too little.  Governments have a moral obligation to regulate banks and they still haven't bothered to. So, I'm sure that once the balance sheets are healthier, there'll be another crisis to send us back to the stone age. I hope Jacky knows how to grow potatoes and mend socks.

Gilty is angry about the crisis

 This is a photo of a Galician wolf. Not taken by me I hasten to add. There are lots of them round here and not all of them work in politics.

Walk on

 This summer has been very special for me. This time last year, Jacob was only 8 months old, and, although he was an angel it was a difficult period. Right now, I feel like my whole life has been worthwhile. Undeservedly so of course. He is an inexhaustible source of energy, vitality, fun, and that unfathomable intelligence that small children have which adults scorn and don’t really understand, some kind of magical intuition.

What are we eating? and very nice too!

The Shell-fish paradise of Coruña has recently been home to a tall ships race. More than 300 ships I believe. Tall.

What I found in the sails

 Above boats, below sleep.

The art of sleep, part two

 He adores music and dances with enthusiasm and style. Perhaps it’s my imagination but I think that there might be elements of kung Fu in there as well. The list of likes includes, flowers, food, animals, but especially dogs, all people whether friendly or not (by the time he’s finished saying hello they become friendly!!), reading stories (“Jackie, would you like a story?” – “Yeah” – “What about Mr Chatterbox?” – “Yeah”), blackberries, standing on manhole covers, hugs, If you’re happy and you know it clap your hands, muppets. I could go on.  Apparently, I often do. He is a gift from God, an angel. Of course, I have no experience as a father, except for the production phase. But Loreto says that he is miraculous and special. If all babies were like this, I'm sure the birth rate would soar.

My wood. Where I go to talk to the fairies

Walking by the beach with friends

The school where I work 

 This is the place where I work most. It looks like it should be in Havana but is simultaneously in the middle of Coruña and by the sea. It's subsidised by the regional government which makes it a kind of direct grant school. There's no entrance exam or anything like that though, but some nuns and children and the odd teacher. Emphasis on the "odd" naturally.

Poem of the day:


The Sunlight on the Garden

The sunlight on the garden
Hardens and grows cold,
We cannot cage the minute
Within its nets of gold,
When all is told
We cannot beg for pardon.

Our freedom as free lances
Advances towards its end;
The earth compels, upon it
Sonnets and birds descend;
And soon, my friend,
We shall have no time for dances.

The sky was good for flying
Defying the church bells
And every evil iron
Siren and what it tells:
The earth compels,
We are dying, Egypt, dying

And not expecting pardon,
Hardened in heart anew,
But glad to have sat under
Thunder and rain with you,
And grateful too
For sunlight on the garden.

sumday

I am a negative silhouette

I am going to include a slightly older video which you will be able to see below. It's only a couple of months ago, but time is an implacable sculptor and a ruthless mirror.

Just been checking the date and its 06/04/2012.

Wild Strawberry on our walk this morning

We find the strawberries because we know where they are. There is no mystery. Jacky is usually sitting in the backpack perfectly content to be a passenger. When we come to the strawberries we always have a mini-feast.

Plum job

More fruity stuffs on out regular short walk with the dogs.

The return of the Siber-Galician wolf whose camouflage hides him in the half light of the forest

 Don't ask me what day it is! I don't know. Jacky is simply delightful at the moment. Lots of hugs and kisses are the order of the day. Leaving cafeterias and other public places he waves to everybody as if he were the king. Public exhibitions of one's dancing ability are also very popular.

Selves portrait

 Not easy taking this photo. Not easy dancing like this either. Nice walk though.

progeny

 Next day on the beach and with Mario too. A bit taller, a bit different and speaking to me practically the whole time in English. Pretty impressive. Mario is very well, optimistic and happy-go-lucky. Top marks in everything, sensitive, but not neurotic.

Why so serious ?

 Polyhedron: In geometry, a polyhedron (plural polyhedra or polyhedrons) is a geometric solid in three dimensions with flat faces and straight edges. The word polyhedron comes from the Classical Greek πολύεδρον, as poly- (stem of πολύς, "many") + -hedron (form of έδρα, "base", "seat", or "face").

               

 I digress. Any road up, here is the regular object thingy put together proper, like.

Manhandled buggered box

Buggered box

 I didn't find out what the right name for it is though. I shall call it a;

   sexyboxyhippyhedron

Ok, so it's just a puzzle.

More Breaky. Horizontal, life is more beautiful.  

Jacky worked out that some Scottish bloke won a tennis match. This is his homage. We aren't really following the Olympics. It seems to be 95%e ennui and 5% something of not implacable tedium.
Will try and catch the women's beach volleyball though.

Hallucinogenic surfing

 On the same beach a little earlier in the day.....

And I'm receiving a lot of hugs these days so this is how I feel:

You can tell it's me by the haircut

Today's poem:

Cloths of Heaven

The wine lodge

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

moanday agin

Impossible to do

 this using just your imagination

These are two bits of wood. They are identical in shape but photographed from a different angle. There are six of them all together. What do you think they look like once the puzzle has been symmetrically assembled? and more to the point, Why would you care?

I haven't been in communication mode for a few days and the main reason for this is that I have a 9000 word translation on the boil. The uninspiring working title is; "Firm Sector". Here is a sample to set the nerves jangling: " In spite of the potential applications for strategic analysis arising from the postulates of I.E., this study looks only at the most immediately relevant factors (threats and opportunities) and their influence on strategy and performance." If that doesn't set the pulse racing (over the edge of a cliff possibly) I don't know what will.

Life's a Beach 

 Of course, if you live in a seasidy kind of place you should expect to spend a fair amount of time on the beach (eating sand, falling over, running away from incoming waves etc.) 

Graze anatomy

And, as you can see, diving onto a hard floor is good training for an incumbent stuntman, but the beach is kinder to one's skin.

Some concentration required for having a good time

And even more

This video is not so recent perhaps a couple of weeks ago or more. 


You may have heard that here in Spain there is a crisis.

More than half the population under 29 out of work, old people back to work, in 1 out of every 10 households nobody is working, half of the unemployed are long term dole fodder

 This is what the paper says. And the printed word cannot lie. We went out briefly a couple of nights though and the city centre was throbbing with holiday vibe. But this may have been because I was wearing my summer shirt.

A good shirt

This is an anti-crisis shirt.

This is the centre of the city. Not too sure if it's crisis-proof though

More soon.


Poem of the day:


You and me we were the pretenders
We let it all slip away
In the end what you don't surrender
Well the world just strips away
Girl, aint no kindness in the face of strangers
Aint gonna find no miracles here
Well you can wait on your blesses my darling
I got a deal for you right here
I aint looking for praise or pity
I aint coming round searching for a crutch
I just want someone to talk to
And a little of that human touch
Just a little of that human touch

Aint no mercy on the streets of this town
Aint no bread from heavenly skies
Aint nobody drawing wine from this blood
Its just you and me tonight
Tell me, in a world without pity
Do you think what Im askins too much
I just want something to hold on to
And a little of that human touch
Just a little of that human touch

Oh girl that feeling of safety that you prize
Well it comes at a hard hard price
You can't shut off the risk and the pain
Without losing the love that remains
Were all riders on this train

So youve been broken and youve been hurt
Show me somebody who aint
Yeah, I know I aint nobodys bargain
But, hell, a little touch up and a little paint...
You might need something to hold on to
When all the answers, they don't amount to much
Somebody that you could just to talk to
And a little of that human touch
Baby, in a world without pity
Do you think what Im askins too much
I just want to feel you in my arms
Share a little of that human touch
Feel a little of that human touch
Give me a little of that human touch

Cloudy flyday

Today has just stopped being Friday. And become something else entirely. Saturday perhaps. Looking outside the window, the sky is a dirty water red and it's nearly one of the clock in the morning. I have a buzzing sound in my ears which might be an incipient tinnitus or some kind of background noise radiation from the big bang.

Jacky is not very well. He has been crying for an hour or two, but is now under medication and next to me here in bed, not so fast asleep.

All of those exciting spaces

  Tomorrow is now today. Today is always a good day to go to the beach, as wasn't yesterday. The beach in question will almost certainly be Mera. There are, in fact three beaches in this little seaside village and here is a picture of the biggest one.

The beach at Mera

Of course, before going to the sea, we will almost certainly have to make another pilgrimage to the supermarket. These days, this can be pretty good fun.

How much?

And possibly to the park.

Was this, in fact, your first car?

Thinking up some naughtiness

In fact we did go for a walk this morning after breakfast.

Xurxo, Daddy's breakfast

Daddy's Lunch

These are destined to be chorizo (spicy sausage), avocado, and a cheese, which is remarkably like Stilton, sandwiches. There are still two vital ingredients missing of course; "Extra Virgin" olive oil and Balsamic vinegar.

There is still cecina in the fridge for this evening. Cecina is further proof that God exists. It is the most delicious food known to mankind and is, simply, cured beef.

Cecina

Can't say the photo looks too appetizing though.


Poem for today (the schoolboy's favourite)

The Highwayman
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees, The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, And the highwayman came riding-- Riding--riding-- The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door. He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin, A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin; They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh. And he rode with a jeweled twinkle, His pistol butts a-twinkle, His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jeweled sky. Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard, He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred; He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there But the landlord's black-eyed daughter, Bess, the landlord's daughter, Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair. And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked; His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like moldy hay, But he loved the landlord's daughter, The landlord's red-lipped daughter, Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say-- "One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize tonight, But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light; Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day, Then look for me by moonlight, Watch for me by moonlight, I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way." He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand, But she loosened her hair in the casement. His face burnt like a brand As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast; And he kissed its waves in the moonlight, (Oh, sweet black waves in the moonlight!) Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the West. He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon; And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon, When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor, A red-coat troop came marching-- Marching--marching-- King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door. They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead, But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed; Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side. There was death at every window; And hell at one dark window; For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride. They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest. They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast. "Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the doomed man say-- Look for me by moonlight; Watch for me by moonlight; I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way! She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good. She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood. They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years, Till, now, on the stroke of midnight, Cold, on the stroke of midnight, The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers! The tip of one finger touched it. She strove no more for the rest. Up, she stood up to attention, with the muzzle beneath her breast. She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again; For the road lay bare in the moonlight; Blank and bare in the moonlight; And the blood of her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love's refrain. Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear; Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear? Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill, The highwayman came riding, Riding, riding! The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still! Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night! Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light! Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath, Then her finger moved in the moonlight, Her musket shattered the moonlight, Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him--with her death. He turned; he spurred to the west; he did not know who stood Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood. Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew gray to hear How Bess, the landlord's daughter, The landlord's black-eyed daughter, Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there. Back, he spurred like a madman, shouting a curse to the sky, With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high! Blood-red were his spurs in the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat, When they shot him down on the highway, Down like a dog on the highway, And he lay in his blood on the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat. And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees, When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, A highwayman comes riding-- Riding--riding-- A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door. Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard; He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred; He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there But the landlord's black-eyed daughter, Bess, the landlord's daughter, Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

Sunny day

Today is Sunday and a good day to go to the beach and get salty.

Reach out - again

We got up this morning in a particularly good mood. After having a bath with daddy, a yellow duck, a green frog and Mr. Sponge and having drunk practically all the bath water We are in a fabulous mood. As you can see.

Life is beautiful

Time for a nice walk in the morning.

Gilty about to knock Jacob over

My little pine forest

The trees give off a kind of sticky liquid with a pungent piny aroma, pine gum, which, if I remember from my o level woodwork classes hardens and eventually becomes amber.

Looks a bit like icing sugar

Turns into something which looks like it could be used for incense

That's the morning done and dusted. The afternoon means going to the beach.

Power to the people

Who buried those feet 

The sand round here is particularly tasty

The weather is holding up. Me too. Now it's next week and I have just visited a company called Netex. It's a local company but pretty big and expanding into America and England. They specialise in E-learning. I didn't know, but I teach the boss's kids. Essentially, they deal with sophisticated video conferencing systems and computerised support and delivery platforms for training and education. Everything has its acronym. Smolts and bolts and dolts smarfs.

What I wanted was a good voice recognition programme like the ones the new smart phones have. This would enable students and parents to do English conversational homework together. At the moment none of the kids that don't have the privilege of going to private English schools have enough conversational practice.

Enough:

Oil And Blood

IN tombs of gold and lapis lazuli
Bodies of holy men and women exude
Miraculous oil, odour of violet.
But under heavy loads of trampled clay
Lie bodies of the vampires full of blood;
Their shrouds are bloody and their lips are wet.

A bit of Saturday

I managed a full week of daily postings. From now on you should expect some irregularity. It's good for the soul.

Here, however, are a few pictures and a video from last week.

Taken a few days ago, this video is a master class in risk assessment and environmental analysis. It's not the same to "let things slide" as to just; "slide". I'm learning a lot.

Today is still Saturday. As I mentioned, I'm superstitious. I guess this means that signs or portents or anything which has some resonance with my two neurons, but has absolutely no rational basis, can indicate some hidden pitfall or a great boon.  

First thing this morning, on the way to breakfast, we met a nun in full regalia, wimple and stuff. They often cruise in pairs which would have been ok but this one was a solitary beast. Being dressed up in black and white is the human equivalent of a magpie. We did have a natter with her though, which might mitigate the bad luck, like saying "Hello captain" to the avian variety. Later on we also discovered, or rather the dogs discovered, a black cat that had recently gone to meet his maker. I consider black cats to be lucky, so this is like discovering the death of good fortune.  

Don't be silly daddy!

   

Later on in the day, as you might divine from the photo we went to the beach. And there was no bad luck.
He now has a few very nice habits. Saying hello to everybody, sometimes cars as well. He blows a mean kiss, and says goodbye. He' s almost pronouncing "yes" properly too. On a good day it comes out as, "yea".

After breakfast we take the dogs for their constitutional. At the beginning of the walk, at least, Jacob still goes in the back pack and the dogs drag me cross-country.

Tricky footwear

And some very pretty flowers in the park in Santa Cristina

Various wild flowers on the walk too

Poem for today; (This is a poem that has obsessed me for many years) It's a "rondel" and the structure is very strict and difficult to write. Typically they are based around a very limited number of rhymes and, according to Wikipedia the structure is as follows: The first two lines of the first stanza are refrains, repeating as the last two lines of the second stanza and the third stanza. (Alternately, only the first line is repeated at the end of the final stanza). For instance, if A and B are the refrains, a rondel will have a rhyme scheme of ABba abAB abbaA(B)
The meter is open, but typically has eight syllables. In this one there are ten. It's somewhere between a song and a prayer.

From To X 
 

The car arrived that brought you to the place: 
As you got out I saw your very groin. 
Thus goddesses, nude upon a distant quoin 
Reveal their chaste religion to the race. 

The aged, usual guests who sit or pace, 
By chance I casually wandered out to join: 
The car arrived that brought you to the place; 
As you got out I saw your very groin. 

Later it seemed impossible to trace, 
As you politely spooned your macedoine, 
That I had known the dark skin near the loin; 
Already in another time and space 
The car arrived that brought you to the place. 

* * * 

The long road greyly striping scarp and vale 
Ran from the city to our meeting place. 
You came by quieter and more devious ways. 
Like beasts, our two cars rested nose to tail. 

I left a lie behind to smudge the trail, 
And, conjuring up your speculative embrace 
(The long road greyly striping scarp and vale), 
Ran from the city to our resting place. 

Whose lie was it made the sunshine fail, 
Who knows? It was a fairly equal case. 
Rain started, as I set out to retrace 
(Passing at first your face, returning, pale) 
The long road greyly striping scarp and vale. 

* * * 

I rediscovered during our affair 
Perceptions that in my Dark Age had gone. 
How, say, astonishingly high upon 
The spine the fastening of a brassiere. 

That every trivial thing in earth and air 
Can constitute a mysterious eidolon, 
I rediscovered during our affair. 
Perceptions that in my dark age had gone 

(The prurient disproportion of the bare: 
Pinks, so conceived of, nearer cinnamon), 
But that the gift of the youthful simpleton 
To make dearth richness was in disrepair, 
I rediscovered during our affair. 

* * * 

From the great distance at the end of caring 
I saw our weak attempt at happiness; 
Of you recalled a certain buttoned dress, 
Cringed at my characteristic lack of daring. 

The tortuous machinery of pairing 
In our case seemed of utter pointlessness 
From the great distance at the end of caring. 
I saw our weak attempt at happiness 

Related only to the lust for sparing 
Our lives the terror of complete success. 
And gone the absorbing, vital kind of chess 
I played to bring about your baring, 
From the great distance at the end of caring.