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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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I'm somewhat surprised as we approach the time of the year when our society gets together to lament the fact that, and very much to their surprise, our ancestors had noticed that yet again the year was waning and death was in the air, so I thought I should wail my own little lament over our hollow and partial victory over natura naturans. But however appropriate for this time of year there will be absolutely no candy, not even little packages of raisins.
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Way back, in the time of the Hundred Years Unpleasantness, when England and France had been at it marteau and tongs for as long as people could remember, a song was composed---or at least occurred. It was called “L’homme Armé”, and it was destined to have far-reaching repercussions down throughout all of musical history.
The song itself is an odd little thing. When the words are they mean something like
‘The armed man’s the one to fear!
‘On every corner they are crying
‘“Come everyone, arm yourself in a Kevlar (registered
trade mark) Vest”
‘Yup, the armed man's the one to fear’,
and scholars have never been able to decide whether there is some deep, bitter anti-war protest buried in there, or if the song isn’t after all just a commercial for a bar called The Armed Man.
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Many of you no doubt wonder why, since England and I are so well suited both being so cultured, so noble, so absolutely wonderful and groovy, I now live here in dull old Plano. Well (and I should point out how difficult it is for a person like me to tell you this) it was the embarrassment that drove me away.
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A recently discovered, old and tattered M/s, which by its hand and from internal evidence can be dated with some certainty to the middle of the Twelfth Century, tells a strange story.
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For the next few minutes, I humbly (Oh! Yeah sure! Humbly! That'll be the day!) humbly suggest, if you value your diastolic and systolic parameters, that you not listen. This is especially true if you a Republican voter. Though, come to think of it, if you are now or have ever happened to be a Democratic voter it's not a good idea for you to listen either. Of course even if all of you who fall into those rare and noble ranks do stop listening it will still leave me with quite respectable audience figures. I mean, what is it? Something like half the people in this country who could vote (or should that be ought to vote) don't.
Sad isn't it? ...And however small its effect might be on our audience figures for the next few minutes, it is still sad.
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Ay me! and Oh no!
No longer can I claim in these essays to have been sitting in the Coffee Haus eating my bagel some morning other than this one, when things other than that very bagel could have then hit me out of the blue and saved me from having to actually think about subjects for my essays.
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| Lord, if I should die today, Let it be at close of play.
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I was sitting eating my bagel the other morning when it hit me. ---Not the bagel, Dumbo! No, no it was the sudden realization, indeed the sudden epiphany, that if you guys were English, like normal people, I wouldn't have anything to write about! And then as I was sitting there, symbolically rubbing my metaphorical hands together at the prospect of finally and at last having come up with a subject for the week, the blinding light of another epiphany eclipsed that totally and completely and I was certain that I had now come up with my real subject, even more finally and even at laster.
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If you are a regular listener to these essays, apart from plenty of sympathy and a general suggestion from those about you that the acquisition of a life might be beneficial, the only thing of value that you are almost certain to have gained over the past few ...um ...years ... ...whatever ... is the information that I am now living entirely alone, and before you get all teary-eyed for me, and start sending me money and introductions to nubile women ... ...well maybe it might be better if you wait until after you've done the last two, but anyway, no tears please because you should realize that there is one definite and totally rewarding upside to my lonely, downsized state: and that is that I can finally indulge myself fully in what J.R.R. Tolkein once called (though in different circumstances) "".
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I suppose you'll say it's just typical of me, but my favourite walk doesn't exist.
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