Here is a repository of the texts of my together with some readings of them.
The essays were broadcast by WXXI 91.5 Classical of Rochester, NY on Salmagundy each Saturday at 9:35am Eastern Time, from the beginning of time (1985) till May 2009 when Entropa (evil Goddess of Change-for-the-Worse-or-Possibly-the-Worst) troubled the minds of the WXXIites and they retired Simon and Salmagundy, and Rochester went into a terminal decline---for ever.
But I do continue on that brilliant bastion of all that's good and kultured, on WCLV's syndicated Weekend Radio on many (mainly NPRish) stations traditionally on the first and third weekends of the month, though your weekendage may vary, (these are archived for a couple of months).
|The birds that lurk around our back patio down here in Texas are like that (I'm sure completely undeserved) stereotype of the American Tourist Abroad, you know demanding, aggressive, loud and, if Georgia has anything to do with it (the way she ladles out the bird seed and bark butter), overweight. And we have SO many different species, crabby cardinals, bossy blue jays, grotty grackles, rather cute finches of a reddish hew, one wren, two different types of woodpecker (leading me to ask 'How much wood would a woodpecker peck if a woodpecker pecked with his pecker?' and don't you wish I hadn't? ), dozy doves by the dozen (or as we call them pigeons), on occasion and when the rest are, for some inexplicable reason absent, a Cooper's hawk, and of course grillions of sparrows chirping noisily away: which, were I Dr Doolittle, I would understand to be saying: 'hello bird', 'hello other bird' 'hello other other bird' 'Now sod off the lot of you! This is my food! Mine!! MINE!!!' and so forth.... [over RudeBird1] they are SO demanding, I swear I recently heard one , probably at me and certainly for not adding extra bird seed and bark butter to the vast heaps Georgia leaves them.|
But, in spite of their noisy demands, this essay is in fact NOT about those fat and angry birds!
So let's forget those evil little buggers, 'cause actually it is about this:
|Thank you for asking, but actually I've been doing quite well during the Apocovidalypse---at least as far as health is concerned. I've been out in the traditional shorts, singlet and face mask every morning, walking four or five miles at a brisk Roman Legionary Pace above 4 milia passuum an hour, and it's having an effect. I'm losing weight and I'm feeling fit but, but... well I'm not sure if this is appropriate for a family programme such as this, but...but wearing shorts and walking I've...I've ... ... started to pay attention to my knees! |
And I have realised that I have Old Guy Knees.
|Don't panic! |
Whatever you do don't follow the dictates of that old rhyme:
When in danger ....or maybe you should, because, finally, the most dreadful thing in the whole World has happened. Conkers is under attack!!
Or in doubt,
Run in circles,
Scream and shout!
|With much gnashing of teeth, and the occasional wail, the guys at work have been lamenting my comparative ignorance of, and my absolute lack of interest in, that essential and proper American activity of baseball, or as the Japanese call it basebaru.|
|In the last few months my life has changed suddenly, dramatically and out of all reckoning.|
|Speaking as a Br who Exited much, much more than fifteen years ago I suppose I have absolutely no right to comment on the horribly portmanteaued ‘Brexit', so here goes…|
|With all the media attention on Scotland’s wanting, for at least the last year or so to be “a nation once again” (though maybe that was Ireland?…) — but, but apart from that there’s all that nonsense from the SNP who want to be their own little Parti Quebequois in memory of the Auld Alliance, so just to be safe I’ve been embracing my Scottish side of late. |
My wife and I have even been going to the odd Caledonian event down here in Texas, that land of all things Scottish. The last one was, as I’m sure you’ve already guessed a Burns’ Nicht Supper celebrating Scotland’s national poet.
|As I'm writing this I don't know if Scotland has voted for independence or not, but you, lucky people, being up-when of me have all the facts—but it doesn't really matter what you know, or what happened, or how they voted, or indeed anything, because the floodgates are obviously swinging wide open (or whatever it is floodgates do) and this is merely one more tentative step (or one more demure hiccough) on a road that started way back around 1920 with a dose of un-Irishing and of late has accelerated, via some really rather irrelevant empire-sloughing, to our modern paroxysms of devolution. |
|There was so little violent public outcry last time I wheeled out the notorious Moshemoshe Dareno-otakudesuka’s1 famous Hairimeraku , that I say “Damn the protest marchers and lets’s do it again!”|
|I often wonder what I would do of a morning without the vast herd of wandering spam and phishings-with-a-'P' and trojans and all that stuff from strange-mailing-lists-that-I-have-absolutely-no-idea-how-I-got-on-to to bulk out my email.|