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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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Some years ago I introduced to the non-hiberno-nipponic world the hairimeraku of the great master Moshemoshe Dareno-otakudesuka and now, due to a lack of popular requests not to, I’ve decided that it’s about time I brought you some more of his gems.
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Many a long year ago, when I lived in London, I worked for a company called Mullard Ltd1. and from my third floor office in their headquarters I had a fine view of Tottenham Court Road. In the historical ways of that great and ancient city Tottenham Court was a mediaeval manor owned by the church, that by the seventeenth century had gone down in the world to become a fashionable meeting place--or maybe it was up in the world it’d gone. And then it was merely gone. And this was the road to it---when it was, that is.... was.
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What was it Shakespeare said?
"What's in a name? That which we call a nose
"By any other name would smell, so the candidates would, were they not to be candidates call'd"
or something like that.
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They had one of those Public Radio begathon1 thingies the other week and, just before my piece, one of the begathonners (no doubt to cement some sort of perceived, or perhaps merely desired, camaraderie with you, the potential begathonees) said of my essay: "I understand one word in four; maybe".
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All I can say is “Phew!” “Duck!” “Brrrrr!” and not necessarily in that order
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The Twentieth Century is over!!
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Cooking programmes now seem to be so popular that I think it’s about time that I share my contribution to the genre with you, and so become rich and famous (and possibly fat).
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This whole week has been a terribly moving experience for me!
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I don’t know how on Earth it happened, because lately we’ve been sweltering (relatively speaking) with temperatures up in the seventies down here in Plano, but the other day someone actually brought up that old chestnut about no two snowflakes ever being alike.
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I learned, just the other day, how to roffle my woffle, and before we go any further let me reassure you that that dancing was not involved, I kept all my clothes on, and (to reassure you even further) poles were not involved either (to any great extent)---however the number thirteen-thirty-seven was.
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