Ten years ago I was writing several blogs on various subjects - F1 motor racing, Music, Classic Cars, Great Romances and, most crushingly, a personal journal that included my thoughts on America, memories of England and Africa, opinion, humour, writing and anything else that occurred. It all became too much (I was attempting to update the journal every day) and I collapsed, exhausted and thoroughly disillusioned in the end.
So this blog is indeed a Toe in the Water, a place to document my thoughts in and on WdC but with a determination not to get sucked into the blog whirlpool ever again. Here's hoping.
In the USA political scene there is a tendency to focus on what doesn't matter. I really don't care about hair-don'ts and what a family member three times removed did or didn't do in 1992.
Same as pop music, sir… usually written in the first person to an imaginary “you…” in my childhood and my early years of learning to appreciate music, I applied all the “yous” to myself
My father, a history professor used to say a board of regents could spend $10 million on a building in a matter of minutes with no real discussion. If you wanted to tie them up all day just ask if they wanted bar or liquid soap in the bathrooms. So yes, I think you may be on to something!
Beholden: going to the core of life's musings. Not a question I ever contemplated and I ask, why? Or Why not get stuck in the second web, unless that is physically impossible unless the first spider is washed there by rain being already stuck on its own web. Call me in the morning and I may have a more contemplative answer.
A few days ago, Andrea and I had a conversation ending in speculation on what Shakespeare would sound like in Australian (Strine). Just try speaking Hamlet’s famous soliloquy in your best Ozzie impression and you’ll understand why we found the idea amusing. And that’s in spite of admitting that it’s entirely possible that Strine may be pretty close to how the Bard himself would have spoken. Much of the English spoken in former colonies has preserved some of the speech patterns of earlier ages.
But the matter reminded me powerfully of something that was reported during my time in southern Africa. It seems that the play, Hamlet, was translated into Afrikaans and then staged in some posh theatre or other, probably in Johannesburg. All was going along swimmingly until the following line was proclaimed:
“Omlet, Omlet, Ek is jou papa se spook!”
The audience collapsed in uncontrollable laughter.
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