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Here is a Sup—I mean 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.
I continued on that brilliant bastion of all that's good and kultured, WCLV's syndicated Weekend Radio on many (mainly NPRish) stations traditionally on the first and third weekends of the month, though weekendage varied, till the horror crept ever onward and that too was devoured (in August 2023, a date which will live in infamy or at lease mild irritation)... and only I remain, defiant though wimpering.
Richard Howland-Bolton
There are pop-up pics and links all over the place here. In text they are indicated by a double underline like this:
mouse-overing brings the pop-up up and clicking (usually) goes to the link |
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Well I managed to make my trip to Ithaca and get back to Plano in one piece with Herebeorht (and after 30 hours and 1,637 miles in a car with a twelve-year-old I’d better surprise you by making it clear that he is in one piece too---and the piece is still breathing!!)
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Oh! Bloody whatsit!
I’m even more behind getting this written than usual.
Of course I’ve got a really good excuse this time---I’ve been performing my civic duties!
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I really do believe that it is part of a subtle and vicious plot for World Domination.
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Soldiers with low morale, or maybe just those who would really rather be somewhere other than a place where people seem to be shooting at them all the time, have traditionally shot themselves in the foot, a sad practice and one that may, according to my latest informants, be spreading to that equally bloody and stressful world...
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I just carefully and gently put down a newspaper in which there was yet another of those strange jokes about how horrible fruitcakes are and what an unwelcome gift one makes ...
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Well, while I was looking the other way it happened again, another year has wasted itself away and it’s my damned birthday again. And now I’ll have to put up with having to be... well a whole year older than I had to put up with being for the last twelve months.
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I have this vast project at work, writing loadsa C++ code that has to interface with some of the handiwork of Mr Bill's minions: Intersuck Exploiter (as we have been calling it of late).
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It's a pity that there is always what they call in the trade a "lead time" on these essays (and no I don't know exactly which trade that is, just some trade somewhere) and whichever trade it is it leaves what follows just a little bit less current ---or perhaps, as you'll see in a bit...
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Good morning class.
Today we are going to have a pop quiz. Get your pencils and paper ready, and here it is:
What day do the Twelve Days of Christmas start?
Right?
Got it?
Well I know you did, but everyone else out there was dead wrong I mean all that furtive counting backwards on their fingers and a couple of toes.
Yeuch!
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Forget the fearful turkey-caust of Thanksgiving: ignore the ignoble ritual disfigurement of Easter Eggs at Easter: fail to notice the nauseating calumnies heaped upon witches at Halloween: completely miss the malicious bonfiring of Guys just after that on the fifth of November (even though, since that's only in England I don't suppose it should matter too much to YOU)---But DO NOT, do not ever, or for one moment forget, ignore, fail to notice or completely miss the tragic plight and sad, sad fate at this otherwise joyous time of year of...
the sad fate of...
of...
CHRISTMAS TREES!!!
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