Another cheesy quiz

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What Cheese Are You?
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Oh yeah — it's stopped snowing

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It's snowing! And here's the proof:



It won't last long — it rarely does in the sub-tropical paradise that is this little corner of the South-East. Nevertheless, the children opposite are making a valiant attempt at a snowball fight. Not bad considering the snow cover must be all of 1 cm thick.

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Auld Lang Syne: a rant

Below are the words of the poem by Burns. This is not the only version, but it is the one sung all over the world as the New Year begins. Or is it? Hands up who thinks I've made a mistake? Who thinks the fourth line should read "For the sake of auld lang syne"? If you do, then this rant is aimed at you. You are responsible for my starting the New Year, every New Year, with gritted teeth. If you are a Scot, then shame on you. Things seems to go better across 'the pond' — well they do in the movies and TV, which is sadly my only experience of the land of the free and the home of the brave.

Auld lang syne means simply "days long past" or "the good old days" or words to that effect. So asking if one should forget one's old friends for the sake of the good old days is nonsensical. Obviously the malefactors (who seem to be in the majority) are confusing the last line of the first verse with the last line of the chorus. That is an explanation: not an excuse [wags finger].

To find out more about the songs, and to see more versions and more verses, go to Cantaria, A Critical Analysis of Auld Lang Syne, or The Singing Christmas Tree.

And a Happy 2003 to one and all!

Should auld acquaintance be forgot
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot
And auld lang syne?

For auld lang syne, my Dear,
For auld lang syne.
We'll tak a cup o kindness yet
For auld lang syne

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Is it my imagination, or is there a strong Portuguese/Brazilian presence on Blogger? Perhaps the lusophones are just better at updating. It seems to me that a goodly preponderance of updated blogs, when one follows the link, are in Portuguese. I don't speak it, but I do speak Spanish so I can make out a page of written Portuguese without too much difficulty — though not well enough to tell whether it's the Portuguese of Portugal or Brazil (or Mozambique, Angola, Goa or Macao for that matter).

Useless fact number 999: Mozambique is a member of the Commonwealth and is as far as I know the only member state not to have been part of the old British Empire. But do they play cricket? Still, not playing cricket is no bar to memberhsip — after all, we don't play it in England these days!!!! Come on, lads, I know Australia is invincible, but a team of visiting aliens from Alpha Centauri who hadn't been told the rules could put up a better showing.

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I was woken from a dream this morning, not by a person from Porlock, but by a Jack Russell demanding her Beggin' Strip. The dream vanished almost immediately, but left in its wake a sense of something vital and significant. Maybe fragments will return during the day.

One thing I do remember from the dream is a friend referring to a poem she had once read. I realized she was talking about October Dawn by Ted Hughes, and also remember my feeling of surprise that she didn't know that. The poem is at once so right and so unexpected (as all good poetry should be), that I'm posting it here for others to enjoy.

October Dawn
by Ted Hughes

October is marigold, and yet
A glass half full of wine left out

To the dark heaven all night, by dawn
Has dreamed a premonition

Of ice across its eye as if
The ice-age had begun its heave.

The lawn overtrodden and strewn
From the night before, and the whistling green

Shrubbery are doomed,   Ice
Has got its spearhead into place.

First a skin, delicately here
Restraining a ripple from the air;

Soon plate and rivet on pond and brook;
Then tons of chain and massive lock

To hold rivers.   Then, sound by sight
Will Mammoth and Sabre-tooth celebrate

Reunion while a fist of cold
Squeezes the fire at the core of the world,

Squeezes the fire at the core of the heart,
And now it is about to start.

Ted Hughes, The Hawk in the Rain, 1957

Interesting piece in today's Grauniad about the Centropa project: "Combining oral history with family snapshots and old Jewish community photo albums, the Centropa project is also unearthing valuable records of once- vibrant but now vanished Jewish communities in central Europe."

BTW, that's not a typo in my first sentence. Back in the good old days BC (Before Computers), when papers were churned out on great big printing presses, The Guardian was notorious for its typos, earning it the affectionate nickname above.

Listening ad infinitum to Noa singing Nocturno (see Archive 12/01/01-12/07/01, entry for 7 December - sorry, too tired to do a proper link). It sends shivers up my spine.

Another quiz: this time it's my aura. I expected sludge brown but was pleasantly surprised.

What Is Your True Aura Colour?
brought to you by Quizilla

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Just found Everyday Warriors "A gathering place of comfort, information and support for people of all ages who battle chronic illness, physical or mental challenges and for those who care for them." Since I fall into all the categories, I hope to find it a place of refuge. Meanwhile there are the joys of Soul Food Café to refresh my spirit. I shall lose myself in this lovely labyrinth. I think it is as much the wondrous Heather Blakey's affinity with Greek myth that enchants me as anything. I once saw the world in the hard bright glory of those ancient tales. Where did all that glory go?

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This site is amazing — a garden of delights for aspiring writers. The Soul Food Café is its name, and it certainly lives up to it. So taken by it am I that I've made it one of my permanent links.

In the words of another famous diarist^*, "And so to bed."

^*It was Samuel Pepys. But then you knew that.

Had a little tech difficulty. Couldn't work out why my first message today was dated 10 December!! Then I realized it was because I selected text from an unpublished post from that date, pressed Ctrl +X and pasted my new message in its place. I should have deleted the whole lot. Annoyed because it means my times are wrong (yes, I know, get a life). The advantage of Live Journal is that one can alter the time manually. The disadvantage is that one can't post pics (unless linking to them from another site).

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Just found Diarist.net. Looks like a good find. In its own words it's "a comprehensive starting-point for both writers and readers of online journals. Whether you call us diarists, journalers, or bloggers, we've got everything you need to know all about the people who tell all."

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Ooops. It's been a while. Still now that the festering season is over, perhaps I shall make more regular entries. Although if Tony Blair is right, we should all, in the words of Noel Coward, "unpack our troubles from our old kitbags and wait until we drop down dead."

I've just found this site. It's a journal resources page. No idea if it's any good because I haven't looked at it properly yet.