A Funny Old Week

It may not always be apparent but I'm a sensitive soul, a fact that made what happened on Wednesday all the harder to take. No names, no pack-drill, but I found myself roundly attacked and, this being the bit that really hurts, my morals and my intellect were questioned. As I say, I'm a sensitive soul and such things wound me. That is putting it mildly - by Wednesday evening I was feeling as low as I have been for a long time. But it transpires that it really is darkest before the dawn.

The Groupie was, as ever, marvellous and I permitted myself a couple of glasses of the good weekend red as a solace. Even so I was not exactly full of the joys of Spring as I made an early start on Thursday to play for Pype Hayes Seniors against Marston Lakes Golf Club. After four hours of better-ball match play the Pig and his partner (IC - much better golfer than the Pig) emerged triumphant by 2 and 1. The result does not matter, it was the company of nice people that lifted me. No side, no agendas, just civilised fun. Thank you to IC and to the two Johns who opposed us.

Golf as therapy. Yesterday got even better. I played again yesterday morning - this time a quarter-final knockout against our estimable captain and fellow left-hander, PS. Poor old P had to give me a generous batch of shots and I eventually prevailed on the 18th after a career six-iron set up a clinching par on that final green. We had played a ding-dong match but were round in a shade under three hours in autumnal sunshine. Life is good. As the Groupie so wisely reminded me on Wednesday evening - don't let the bastards get you down. 

I'm Sorry Dave

'I'm sorry Dave, I'm afraid I can't do that'. Plenty of keyboard warriors will have got there before me I know, but those words spoken by the supercomputer HAL 9000 in 2001: a Space Odyssey do now look brilliantly prescient. 2001 is a film I've spent plenty of time slagging-off in the past but it is, whether this weary writer likes it or not, the lodestone to which all sci-fi movies are compared. The HAL quotation is getting plenty of air-time at the moment as the eager beavers of Silicon Valley suddenly come to the realisation that shoving genies back into bottles is bloody hard work. There we have the dilemma of Artificial Intelligence in a nutshell. But don't worry, that prize tosser Donald Trump says that the AI scare is a 'hoax'. So that's ok then.

On my favourite (well nearly) subject of Trump, what follows is Stephen Greenblatt's estimation of Shakespeare's Coriolanus. Who does this remind you of:

Here we are dealing instead with an overgrown child's narcissism, insecurity, cruelty and folly, all unchecked by any adult's supervision and restraint. The adult who should have helped the child achieve maturity has either been completely missing, or if present at all, has reinforced the child's worst qualities.

There is a difference. Coriolanus, I would argue, has redeeming features, not least stupendous martial valour. No bone spurs. Coriolanus is killed by his erstwhile allies - last night Steve Bannon and Bernie Sanders shared a platform to advocate for curbs on AI. To jump to another realm of the Bard - misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows. 

On a brighter note, I ran four miles this morning. So when the end of the world is nigh, at least I can run away from it.

   

I'm Back

A good few weeks have passed since I last loaded my prejudices upon you - thank you for your patience and, for that matter, for ever reading this drivel. It helps keep me sane.

The cause of my absence was the health of the materfamilias. She is much better, thanks for asking, but has now taken up permanent residence at Casa Piggy. The big move was last weekend which led to some comical bad driving of the hire van by your correspondent the Pig. Van and contents(with the exception of one lamp shade) survived unscathed. We are all now settling into the new normal. Part of that normal will hopefully be some decent regular exercise for the Pig. I did attempt one run in August but contrived to agitate my delicate right calf muscle after only seven minutes of exertion. I was a good boy and only sulked for a day or so. Getting old is a right sod.

Pig at the wheel

Well, today I struck out again on the mean streets of Four Oaks and managed a gentle 5k. I feel well and unreasonably virtuous. A particular pleasure was being greeted cheerfully by one of the residents of Dunton Close who was kind enough to say that he was glad I was well and that he had noticed my absence. People can be really nice - I sometimes forget that.

Pig out for a run

    

Musings On Romcoms

The Groupie and the Pig have been apart for much of the last month - this for reasons connected to the health of the Pig's materfamilias (pleased to report she's much better thank you). Anyway, last weekend the Pig's estimable brother (I only have the one) was on Mum-watch, so the Groupie and I watched Notting Hill. I've said this before but I rate this film as better than two of Richard Curtis's more trumpeted offerings, Four Weddings and a Funeral, and Love Actually. Notting Hill is wry, as amusing as it is implausible (the charm easily defeats the implausibility) and sent this punter off to his bed in a right good mood. You have to admit as well that Hugh Grant very efficiently cornered the market for foppish charm. 70/100.

Pig On Tour

Well, not so much a tour as a two venue vacation. The Groupie has taken a richly-deserved week off work and we started by staying with Daughter Number One (and her husband CL) in Wanstead, which as any fule kno is in the north of That London. DN1 and spouse have a house there which can accommodate visiting parents notwithstanding that they also have two cats who, for reasons too complicated to relate, have to be kept apart. Long and short of it - we had a cracking time. Two world-class galleries attended and much dining-out undertaken. First up was Tate Britain. The Pig has to confess that despite being at university in That London he never made it as far as the Tate. Big mistake. It's excellent. Highlights: 1) Hockney's A Bigger Splash; 2) the Turner Bequest - loads of the Pig's favourite artist, most notably Snow Storm, a picture apparently panned by contemporary critics but, to the Pig's untutored eye, an undeniable masterpiece. Picture appended along with photographic evidence of the Pig admiring the Hockney.

Pig and Splash

The other gallery was the National Portrait Gallery - this one being within easier walking distance of KCL and therefore a familiar haunt of the Pig when he couldn't face afternoon lectures. We also took a diversion into Foyles bookshop, another place where I used to loiter when I should really have been studying. Lazy Pig. 

We ate out three times and all venues were more than passable but one stood out as excellent - The Port House on the Strand. A fabulous Iberian atmosphere and delicious tapas. Two bottle of cava and a glass of port each to round things off. I should explain that DN1 and CL were with us so the consumption of two bottles is excusable. The Pig recommends this to all fellow pigs out there - the Port House 

From That London to Ynys Mon for the rest of the week. Two excellent walks, firstly from Amlwch Port towards Point Lynas and, this afternoon, along Traeth llydan to Rhosneigr. Stunning. Putting modesty aside, the Pig should say that the walk was made all the more enjoyable by having been for a run prior to breakfast. Pig Glorioso.

Rhosneigr hoving into view

 

 

An Illustrated Definition of Sociopathy

 Antisocial personality disorder, sometimes called sociopathy, is a mental health condition in which a person consistently shows no regard for right and wrong and ignores the rights and feelings of others. People with antisocial personality disorder tend to purposely make others angry or upset and manipulate or treat others harshly or with cruel indifference. They lack remorse or do not regret their behaviour.

Commander-in Cheat

His mate

Californians Forgiven

BFP/OG/CC is/are rather vulgar, a fact that makes it odd that he should have dismissed Californian wines from his high estimation. I apologise to the winemakers of that arresting state for I have just finished my first bottle of Lodi's Three Finger Jack Old Vine Zinfandel. Delicious and subtler than reputation generally expects of California. I discovered it on the tasting table at Majestic. Excellent with blue cheese, richly alcoholic and a viable alternative to a bottle of port. Having said all of this, you should remember that BFP (dis)credits himself with having the palate of a stray dog. I leave you to try it for yourself.