Practising the game for gentlemen

I recently joined a local rugby club. The first session was mainly about movement with the ball interspersed with stretches and a bit of jogging. The second session was a wash out for me due to a tight hamstring. I spent most of the evening in the queue for the physio's table.

The third session, last night, was great fun. We did the usual jogging and stretching but also a fair amount of ball work, for example, running back and forth and throwing it in different directions and in different ways, though not always, it has to be said, in the right way or right direction! We also played a little touch rugby. Being an utter rugby novice, I remain on the wing for these games - far out of trouble! During the first session three weeks ago, we had a go at defending and attacking after a ruck. I was glad to be out of the way of that. Not that that always worked. I was faced with having to tackle a large fellow who was bearing down on me with Hades in his eyes, but fortunately, someone else got to him first.

Last night, we did some more tackle pad work. Tackle pads are large rectangular things that one person holds and the other charges into. As the name suggests, they are used to practice head on tackling. My strength being what it is, or rather, isn't, I'm not yet in a position to make much of an impression on the fellow holding the pad. This did not stop them charging into me though. And how! Last night, one guy not only gave it his all, but did so with a truly scary grimace. Much to my delight, however, I neither fell over or was push back more than a foot or two. What it meant, though, was that I received my first rugby war wound. It is just a reddening of the skin caused by the tackle pad that has already started to fade, but I am proud of it. I feel quite the hoplite this morning. Alalalalalai!

J.K. Rowling

Last week, there was a five minute fuss over the fact that J. K. Rowling had confirmed that Professor Dumbledore of the Harry Potter series was a homosexual. The biggest surprise to me was that Rowling outted the old man before The Sun did. No doubt heads will be rolling down at Wapping.

In the Catholic blogosphere, responses to this announcement have been, I think, a little cynical. For example, Fr Tim Finigan suggested that "it shows that there is no limit to what a popular author can do to court the approval of the politically correct lobby." while David Palmer at The Fullness of Faith stated that "it would seem that the revelation is a pure publicity stunt, largely designed to offend Christians".

While Fr Finigan no doubt has a point in a general sense, I think he is being very unfair towards J. K. Rowling. I certainly have not followed her career very closely, but in such interviews with her that I have read, I have seen nothing to indicate to me that she is the kind of person who would compromise the integrity of her artistic vision in order to make her books popular. Insofar as the Harry Potter books insist upon a clear delineation between good and evil, one could argue that in this age of anti-heroes (a by product, perhaps, of the culture of relativism) she would be prepared to let her books be unpopular (That they are not says something very good about the age in which we live).

As for David Palmer's comments, if Rowling had made this statement when The Deathly Hallows was published, I might have agreed that it was a publicity stunt. For the reason mentioned above, however, I would still not have accused her of wishing to offend Christians. In support of his view, David quotes the following from a news report about the matter,

"[Rowling] added that not everyone likes her work. Christian groups have alleged the books promote witchcraft. The author said her revelation about Dumbledore would give them one more reason."

Surely the groups that Rowling is talking about here come from the American 'Religious Right', as it is they that have been most vocal in their criticism of her work. For sure, Catholics and Anglicans and maybe even Orthodox Christians have come out against Harry Potter, but only individuals from these churches and denominations. I know that it is hard to impossible to tell the tone of a person's voice from their written words, but I strongly suspect that there is an element of laconic humour in Rowling's last point.

Back to Fr Finigan, he quotes a spokesman for Stonewall, the homosexual rights group, who said,

"It's great that JK has said this. It shows that there's no limit to what gay and lesbian people can do, even being a wizard headmaster."

I like the chumminess of the quote. Almost makes you feel like the spokesman is a friend of good old J. K. That aside, the spokesman clearly deserves their job in media relations as in two sentences they combine their gift for speaking nonsense and platitudes. Regarding their first sentence, contrary to what the spokesman believes, there is nothing great at all about what J. K. Rowling said. What she said was neither innovative or controversial. To some it will be, but that only proves my point - to some, not to many, not to all.

To the second sentence. The spokesman is to be congratulated on their ability to state the bleeding obvious. Of course, there is no limit to what homosexual men and lesbians can do. Who thinks that it is otherwise? Again, I expect that some people do, but not many, not all.

Every so often, the issue of immigration comes up in British politics. If a politician speaks immoderately, he is upbraided for 'playing the race card'. The Stonewall spokesman has, here, in his turn played the victim card. Despite the fact that homosexuality is generally accepted by society, it is in the best interests of Stonewall to always appear to be the underdog. If you don't have the truth on your side, nothing will work for you quite as well as emotion. It is a clever ploy, which J. K. Rowling has unwittingly let herself in for.

In light of this, should she have remained silent? Of course not. Rowling cannot be held responsible for how others take her comments. I think it is good that she has given (a) Dumbledore this deeper level of meaning and (b) her readers further insight into the nature of one of her characters. If she approves of this aspect to Dumbledore's character, then that is to the bad, but her point-of-view in this regard need not interest or be relevant to me a reader. What is, is how I read the book. And as far as that is concerned, I look forward to doing so again with this new information in mind.

The Inquisitive Cow on Fairies, the Mummy's Curse and the de Havilland Mosquito

inq. cow: Good evening from the depths of Farmer Bill's Wood! Please excuse my whisper, but I am trying to find the dúnadan who has gone fairy hunting!
dúnadan: Ow! Gerrie! You just trod on me!
inq. cow: Dúnadan, why are you lying buried under twigs and leaves?
dúnadan: Well, I don't want the fairies to see me!
inq. cow: Hmm. I am not sure that there are any. But if there were, they probably did not stay secret for this long without having very good mankind-detection abilities.
dúnadan: Hmph! Well, I think I came very close to seeing one just before you came. Now I expect they have all run away.
inq. cow: Who put you onto this trail, dúnadan?
dúnadan: Jenny Wren.
inq. cow: She told you there were fairies in the Wood?
dúnadan: Not in so many words... but there was a twinkle in her eye. Fairies! What do you make of them, Gerrie? Hello, by the way.
inq. cow: Yes, hello. It is my suspicion that fairies were invented as a way of explaining natural phenomena. I did once hear of a farmer who believed that a rock in the middle of his field was placed there by fairies and refused to remove it. His sons disagreed, but when they did move it, one died of a stroke not long later! Believing him to have been cursed by the fairies, the family then replaced the rock.
dúnadan: Gosh. What do you make of that?
inq. cow: MOOOHH! Poppycock, dúnadan, poppycock! The only thing that I will consent to allow in this matter is that the relationship between humans and fairies can be quite close. For example, in Anglo-Saxon poetry, two saints - Judith and Juliana - are described as having an elf brightness about them.
dúnadan: That didn't help Holofernes at all.
inq. cow: Indeed it did not.

dúnadan: Speaking of superstitions, I gather you have been researching the dreaded Mummy's Curse this week! You are brave, Gerrie.

inq. cow: Oh, dúnadan, there is nothing brave about challenging nonsense. To put the matter into context, I have been teaching Bertie Pig and the other pigs about ancient Egyptian notions of the afterlife. As part of our practical study, we built a sarcophagus out of a fallen log. We also touched upon Mr Howard Carter's opening of the tomb of Tutankhamun in 1922.

dúnadan: Oh yes, I know about this. Lots of people died mysterious deaths afterwards.

inq. cow: When you say 'lots' dúnadan, do you mean 8 out the 58 who were present at the opening of the pharoah's tomb? That is all the number who died within a period of 12 years afterwards. It is true that Lord Carnarvon died suddenly several months later, but that was more likely than not because of an infected mosquito bite! Howard Carter himself, the man you would have expected Isis and Osiris to have punished most quickly and severely lived until 1939 when he died peacefully aged 69!

dúnadan: What do you think that it is about superstitions that make people so ready to believe them?

inq. cow: It is my considered opinion that superstitions generally arise in respect of matters for which Mankind has no explanation for. So, they fill a void. But when the void is filled, they may remain out of habit if nothing else.

dúnadan: Are animals superstitious?

inq. cow: Certainly not. Except possibly Herbert Goose, who believes in order to have good luck for his flights, he must fly east, south-east at the start of any flight. It would certainly explain why he gets lost so much.

dúnadan: Now, speaking of mosquitos, apart from teaching the pigs about death in ancient Egypt, you and Farmer Bill have been building a de Havilland Mosquito.

inq. cow: This is correct. Farmer Bill is a member of the West Dorset Cider and de Havilland Society. He is hoping to fly his aeroplane at next summer's fayre.
dúnadan: All World War II aircraft are now out of date, but even when it was being built, the Mosquito was regarded as old fashioned. Why was this?
inq. cow: This was because it was being made of wood when aircraft were being made of metal.
dúnadan: What made the Mosquito earn its keep?
inq. cow: Well, it was fast. Faster than any other plane at the time, in fact. The Mosquito proved its worth - it was a Mosquito IX that flew the most missions by any Allied bomber during the war. 213 in all.
dúnadan: I do hope Farmer Bill is not intended to drop anything nasty over Dorset!
inq. cow: I don't think Mrs Farmer Bill will let him fly it!
dúnadan: Well then, we have come--- Ooooh, Gerrie, what is that over there? It is a light. Several lights. They are coming towards us through the air. Fairies!
inq. cow: Perhaps they are coming to curse you for bothering them!
dúnadan: >Eek!< I'm off! Come on! (sound of the dúnadan running away, and Gerrie Cow not)
inq. cow: Hello Jenny. Flying through the air with a little lantern in your mouth - that was a very mean trick to play!
jenny wren: Heh heh!

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London goes to Reading

London Irish 8 Harlequins 10

Well, I predicted a close game and so it was. Fortunately, the score went in Harlequins' favour. London Irish dominated territory in the first half and had they been a better team, they would have converted their dominance into a lot more than the 8 points which they accrued from the first 40 minutes. As it was, Quins held out and somehow managed to go into the half time break 8 - 10 up.

In the second half, Harlequins clawed their way back into form and as the rain fell, even threatened to play quite well, but never really managed it. Oh well, a win is a win. And I came away with a bottle of wine which I won in the Harlequins supporters coach raffle. Unfortunately it is white, which I do not like so I will listen to all reasonable offers.

As I write, a fox is yelling away outside. It reminds me of a rather different chant we heard at the game. Two young boys - probably born within the M25 - singing "I'd rather be a paddy than a Brit!"!. The best that can be said for this song is that despite being nonsense, at least it added a bit of atmosphere to the game. London Irish play their home games at the Madejski Stadium, Reading FC's ground. Though not big by football standards it is much, much too big for a rugby team and correspondingly soulless as a result. There were very many empty seats and one's voice did rather echo during the shouting.

Next week, Harlequins play Worcester in the second round of the Anglo-Welsh Cup. After the Warriors lamentable performance yesterday, it has to be a nailed on win for the Quins. This would set up an interesting clash with Ospreys who, I would have thought, will beat London Irish next week.

The clocks in Britain went back an hour last night. Your faithful blog writer, of course, forgot to amend his alarm and so was woken up at 5:30. 5:30 on a Sunday!! Awful.

Anyway, why did he need to set his alarm at all? Well, the reason is rugby, of course. Harlequins play London Irish today and I have to be in Twickenham to board the supporters' coach at 10am.

Those of you with good memories will recall that Harlequins played the Exiles at the beginning of September. So we did. But that was a league game. This match is the first group game in the EDF Energy Anglo-Welsh tournament.

Rugby union league games are covered by Sky TV and so not accessible to proles like me who do not have a satellite dish or cable. The Anglo-Welsh cup, however, is being covered by the BBC. They showed their first game yesterday - Worcester Warriors vs. Ospreys (of the Celtic league).

Worcester are bottom of the league at the moment and watching the game yesterday it was not hard to see why. They were awful. No skill. Little commitment. Ospreys were pretty good, although I did lose count of the number of times the ball was turned over by both sides. The game ended 16 - 47 in Ospreys' favour. I would expect Ospreys to be favourites when Harlequins meet them in a few weeks, but the result should be a lot closer.

As for today's game, my prediction is for a close home win. Harlequins are resting a few players and reintroducing a new signing (Springbok De Wet Barry) and those who had been injured (Adrian Jarvis). Irish will want to win this game more having won only two from six in the league so far. We shall see.

Patriotism versus Realism

On average, I have approximately no patriotic thoughts per day. In light of this, I might be inclined to think that I have no great regard for my country. However, in the last few months I have been offended by criticism that poor old Britain has received from Fr Dwight Longenecker. For example, in his latest attack, he denounced the country for being 'stalin-esque'. But Britain is not such a bad place, and what right anyway does an American - this man from the country that still has the death penalty and allows its citizens to carry guns - to criticise the UK?

The truth is, though, that Fr Longenecker has been quite justified in his criticisms. And Somerset Council ought to be ashamed of itself for even thinking of taking away the foster child of two loving foster-parents because they refuse to go along with the Council's pro-homosexual agenda. That it did so clearly shows the authoritarian nature of the Council.

Of course, we have been here before, specifically five hundred years ago after Henry VIII split from the Church. Of course, it was much, much worse then. In fact, as matters stand, the two situations are not to be compared. But the knowledge of where the 'stalin-esque' authorities of this once merrie land took her is a sobering thought when one is instintively riled by criticisms of her. Americans remain a bunch of lippy colonials, though; nothing can change that.

Mass this morning

Early this morning I attended an old rite Mass. Something that struck me about the occasion was how a few things that should have prohibited it from being a meaningful event actually contributed greatly to it being a very edifying experience.

Firstly, the silence. The Novus Ordo Mass invites us to become active participants in the service and that's fine. But you remember how God did not appear to Elijah in the wind and rain but as a 'still, small voice'. Listening to the priest on the altar whispering reminded me of that.

Secondly, the priest's position. He was, as you would expect, facing--- well, not east, as this church does not actually face that direction--- towards the tabernacle behind the altar. That was good, but what I really noticed was him in relation to the great crucifix above the tabernacle. The pieces of a jigsaw could not have slotted into place more appropriately.

Thirdly, the Latin. I was glad to have the translation, but there is nothing like having that particular language (and, I should add, a very poetic translation) for giving one a sense of the numinous. Along with the silence, it made a powerful impression upon me.

I pray that one day I will be able to serve a Tridentine Rite Mass. Heaven and earth really do feel close there.

Stardust

Stardust is a wonderful little fairy tale directed by Matthew Vaughn whose last film was the somewhat different Layercake. It stars Charlie Cox as dashing young hero Tristran and Claire Danes, who I last saw in the excellent Romeo + Juliet, as Yvaine, a fallen star. No, this is not a film about a has-been actress but about a young man who sets out to win his beloved's heart by bringing back to her a shooting star that has fallen to the earth. He expects to find a lump of matter, but meets instead the beautiful Danes. Their relationship does not get off to the best of starts, however, because as one might expect, Yvaine is not altogether pleased with the idea of being kidnapped for the sake of the aforementioned beloved.

Fortunately, it is not long before they patch up their differences, and just as well because hard on their heels are an aging witch (Lamia, hammed up by Michelle Pfieffer) who is determined to cut out the star's heart so as to give her and her wicked sisters their youth back and a ruthless prince (Septimus, played by Mark Strong) who desires the star's diamond necklace, for according to his late father the king, the prince who holds the stone will succeed to the kingdom.

As with all films these days, the special effects of Stardust are second to none. The real joy of the film is in the way it simultaneously honours and subverts fairy tale convention. For example, Tristan sets out to find the fallen star for the girl he loves... only to realise her shallowness and dump her later. This conceit works most brilliantly in the case of Robert De Niro's fearsome pirate Captain Shakespeare. Did I say fearsome? He also happens to be a cross dresser. The captain isn't in the film enough to steal the show, but he comes close. Wonderful.

Stardust dresses up the romance and action (as if it needs to be, really) with a few wise words on how one should be oneself but while they may be true they add to little to the picture. Tristan and Yvaine are a very likable hero and heroine. The villains are enjoyably wicked and the supporting cast sufficiently well sketched by the screenwriters so that their appearances are meaningful and memorable.

It goes without saying that there are imperfections in the script. If I had written it, I think I would certainly have signposted the developing relationship between Tristan and Yvaine a little more clearly. That notwithstanding, this film is young enough to appeal to children and intelligent enough to appeal to adults. I am happy to have seen it and heartily recommend it to anyone who is thinking of going to watch it. More please, Hollywood!

Brown and Mbeki

In this post Iain Dale said,

What on earth was Gordon Brown doing alongside Heads of State on the Rugby World Cup platform? I was outraged of Tunbridge Wells! Why are you not surprised by that? The sight of Johnny Wilkinson pushing past Gordon Brown and ignoring him
was a joy, though.

In response, Paul Burgin at Mars Hill replies,

It wasn't as if he was putting forward some policy that would upset the political opposition and I am wondering if he would have written the same post if it was a Conservative government and David Cameron was there instead...If people don't like Gordon Brown then fine, if they don't like his politics then fine, but don't have a go at him for doing his job and try to avoid making personal attacks for electoral gain.

While I was not Outraged of London, I would not have allowed either Gordon Brown or Thabo Mbeki, the President of South Africa, out of the stands. I am happy to accept that they were not there to further their own political causes but simply as representatives of their respective nations, but really, we had thirty rugby players doing that; it just wasn't necessary for two politicians to do the same. Especially since for as long as they remain political leaders their political cause is inextricably linked with their persons.

Iain Dale was offended by Gordon Brown. As might be guessed from this post, I was more offended by Mr Mbeki's appearance. How dare he celebrate as one of the team when his Government intends to force through measures that may very well hamstring future Springbok teams for the sake of his political party's ideology. In moments like this, I can only repeat the words of Mr Knightly. Badly done, Mr Mbeki, badly done.

Help Needed

If you are reading this blog using Internet Explorer, could you let me know how you are finding the size of the text in the posts below. For example, the text of The Inquisitive Cow on Apple Crumble, Ploughing and Parasols is normal right up until the photo of the suffolk punch horse. Then, after the photo on my computer, a space appears between each line. Not quite double spacing, more 1.5. Further on down, the More on Pope Paul's Papal Tiara and all the posts following have shrunk all of a sudden (as have the links to the left). My attempts to return it to normal size via the editing process has failed. If you know what has happened and how I might resolve the issue I would be very grateful!

RWC Epilogue

I attended the early morning morning Mass yesterday and meant to mention here Fr Nicholas's homily here afterwards. The theme was the virtue of perseverance. He grabbed my attention from the outset by discussing how the England rugby team were a good example of where perseverance can take you. Of course, in England's case, this was to world cup final defeat, but here I thought that we could apply Tolkien's concept of eucatasrophe. Yes, the world cup final for England had been a long defeat as South Africa maintained her discipline in defence. But England has now laid a foundation from which she may triumph in next year's six nations and games beyond... Well, the thought certainly made the homily come alive to me in a way it might not have otherwise.

Blowing My Own Trumpet

I forgot that I made a prediction about how the RWC would end. Here is what I said:

In terms of predicting the winner, one cannot go beyond the All Blacks. However,
if Australia or S Africa continue to improve, I wouldn't bet against another NZ
choke in the knock out stage. So, NZ vs S Africa in the final with the latter to
win.

How about that!

The Inquisitive Cow on Apple Crumble, Ploughing and Parasols

dúnadan: Hallo, dear reader, and welcome to sunny Dorset! With me is the one and only inquisitive cow: Gerrie! Hello, Gerrie.
inq. cow: Good morning, dúnadan. You know, I am sure there must be more inquisitive cows somewhere in the world.
dúnadan: That would be jolly exciting if there were. Perhaps they might get in touch if so! Now then. Last night was the rugby world cup final. While it didn't go England's way, it has inspired Tecumseh Squirrel and Hannibal Rabbit to bury the hatchet for 80 minutes and play a game with their respective armies of rabbits and red squirrels making up the teams. One squirrel who isn't playing is Tecumseh's brother, Little Boots. Hallo to you!
little boots: I can't believe I was sent off before the game even started! Grrrrrrr!
inq. cow: I think your reputation preceded you, Little Boots!
little boots: I'm not having it!
dúnadan: Have some apple crumble, Little Boots. Gerrie made it... Oh dear, he has gone off. Probably to cause trouble. Well, even though he is a bit mad, he has been treated a little unfairly!
inq. cow: The Learned Owl is a strict disciplinarian and was, no doubt, anticipating what would happen.
dúnadan: Right, well, the squirrels and rabbits are getting ready for a scrum, so let's talk about this apple crumble. Do you cook often, Gerrie?
inq. cow: Not as much as I would like, dúnadan. Milking takes up alot of time. Mrs Farmer Bill gave me the recipe for this apple crumble so I had to prepare it very carefully.

dúnadan: Which kind of apples did you use?

inq. cow: Granny Smith's. She gave them to me for free!

dúnadan: How kind of her!

inq. cow: We repay her by eating the grass in her garden and keeping it short.

dúnadan: What about the crumble? What is that made of?

inq. cow: Mooh! I used one part flour, one part brown sugar - extremely yummy -, one part butter and one part desiccated coconut! It was very exciting. I did not even know what a coconut was before I made this. (distant sound of crunching)

dúnadan: Oh dear! Ahenobarbus Rabbit has been spear tackled by Tecumseh and left in a heap on the ground. The two sides are squaring up to each other. Gerrie, is apple crumble an old recipe? Will I find it in mediaeval books?

inq. cow: No, dúnadan, you won't. It is a very modern dish, only being invented during World War II.

dúnadan: Goodness. Oh, look, the Learned Owl's choice of Tom and Tim, two of the Tercel Triplets is proving to be a good one. They are swooping in and using their talons to keep the squirrels and rabbits away from each other. Gerrie, you said that milking takes up alot of your time, but this week, you swapped occupations!

inq. cow: Yes. Horace is currently suffering from artist's block. Until he recovers, Farmer Bill has kindly offered to help him out by letting him join his ploughing team. Mooo! I say 'team', but, of course, Farmer Bill has a tractor. So, he asked me to be the second member.
dúnadan: For those who don't know, Horace is a Suffolk Punch horse. His previous owner, Farmer Frogmorton, sacked him when he bought a tractor of his own. Horace now earns a living by his impressionist style paintings. How did it go?
inq. cow: I think well! The calls were easy enough but goodness me the yoke is tough on one's shoulders! One thing that ploughing enables one to do, though, is think! And while we ploughed the field, I calculated that in order to plough a one acre field, Farmer Bill had to walk eleven miles!
dúnadan: Can Farmer Bill walk that far?!
inq. cow: With a bottle of cider in his hand, he can do anything!
dúnadan: Indeed! I said at the beginning of our interview that it is sunny today, and so it is. But the sun is beating down on the back of my head.
inq. cow: Put up my parasol. I made that this week.
dúnadan: Good idea. Oooh, look, Hannibal has broken down the middle and is going to score a try! 21 - 37! Did you paint this map of Dorset onto your parasol, Gerrie?
inq. cow: Actually, yes! I am very proud of it. Maybe I should go into business with Horace! I do so love the idea of parasols. Did you know that the word 'parasol' is a combination of two Latin words: para meaning a shield or stop and sol meaning---
learning owlet: (whooshing sound)--- Sun! Even I know that, Gerrie! Weeeeeeee! Watch me be Icarus! To-wooo!
dúnadan: He is going up, up--- ah, Ted the third Tercel Triplet and Fourth Official is chasing him and bringing him back!
inq. cow: Naughty owlet! He was right though. A parasol is, therefore, literally a sun stopper!
dúnadan: I see! Back to the game. In the 67th minute, that try could mean that it is all over for the little red baron's team. Oh, there is a scrum---
inq. cow: No, they are forming a phalanx! Oh dear, it looks like it is about to get nasty out there!
dúnadan: No, Gerrie, it is just a typical game of rugby. Let's sit back and enjoy it!

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Final Score:
The Little Red Baron's First XV 21 - Hannibal Rabbit's Dorset-Alpine Warriors 37

Scores:
Tecumseh Squirrel pens: 9, 18, 25, 44, 62
Barca Rabbit try: 5 (converted), 28 (converted), 32 (converted)
Hasdrubal Rabbit try: 68 (converted),
Hannibal Rabbit pens: 6, 29, 33

Game abandoned in 68th minute after both sides sent off for starting a war during a ruck. Only Titus Squirrel not sent off as he was in the blood bin at the time.

apple crumble c/o One Man's Taste (blog)

More on the Pope Paul's Papal Tiara

Following on from yesterday's post about the papal tiara, Fr Zuhlsdorf has done me the honour of 'fisking' my post. This appears at the bottom of the Comments Box to his post at What Does The Prayer Really Say? Let's return the compliment. (BTW: I have had to redo the bold and red highlights so let me know if I missed anything out). I won't use Fr Zuhlsdorf's method of fisking. Partly because I don't like it, but mainly because if I put my comments after his it would break up the text to an unnacceptable degree. Instead, I'll add footnotes.

Here is what he wrote:

I will share a comment I found on another blog about the comments in this
entry (my emphases and comments):

Pope Paul VI’s Tiara

One good thing about blogs is the opportunity it gives to read other points of view and discover the many interesting ways in which people are wrong. Take, for example, a recent post on Planet Zuhlsdorf [Does this make me perhaps like a Mormon.(1)] regarding the Papal Tiara.
Fr Z quotes a piece of writing which states that Pope Paul VI gave up his tiara for the poor in response to an intervention (made at Vatican II) by an American layman. He concludes, "The poor are still with us and the tiara is only seen in museums." This perspective is agreed with by the numerous comments from the Trad moons that circle Planet Z in very close orbit.

My first problem with the post is the naming of the tiara. To my mind, [Okay… there’s a standard…(2)] a tiara is like a crownlet and is worn by princesses or high society women who like to think of themselves as such. The papal tiara is really a crown and should be called that. [If I am not mistaken, "tiara" is more like a "turban" in its origin… but I digress. Since that writer associates "tiara" with something else, I guess we had better make changes to the English language.(3)]

My second problem is that crowns are a symbol of monarchy and if the pope was to wear one again, he would be foregrounding ["foregrounding"?(4)] in a really unneccessary way the monarchical nature of his office. It is rightly pointed out in Fr Z’s Comments Box that the Pope is an absolute monarch. So he is, but that fact should not be at the front of our understanding of his office. He is first and
foremost the successor of Peter and the Bishop of Rome. For this reason, it is
wholly appropriate that Benedict has the mitre on his coat-of-arms and does not
wear the papal crown.

My third problem is actually addressed by one of the commenters. I shall quote
him here:

In response to Father Z’s comment “The poor are still with us and the tiara is
no[w] only seen in museums.” – With respect, I don’t think that the Holy
Father was naive enough to imply that poverty would be dealt a severe blow by relinquishing his tiara – [fair enough] it was rather a gesture of solidarity towards the poor by the successor of Peter, in a pontificate full of similar gestures, at a time when gestures like these were very important, and when people were far less cynical than they are now. [And far more naive, perhaps.(5)] With the luxury of hindsight, I suppose we can look back at this gesture and sneer at it.

In the end, though, it is fun to see some of the strident criticism of Pope Paul VI - coming from people who would, no doubt, affect to uphold the traditions of the Church and describe themselves as the most loyal sons and daughters of the Church. [Fair enough. That irritates me also.] At least when a liberal is critical he makes no pretence of his disloyalty by saying how much he loves the Church.

[Hmmm… not sure what that means unless she means that liberals don’t love the Church.(6)]

posted by the dúnadan at 9:21 AM

We can learn something from this very strange comment(7): When you post nasty things on this blog about Popes whom you don’t happen to like, others can be scandalized.

Learn from this, please.

(1). Not at all. The Mormons have a state. The Catholic Church is universal.

(2). It is nice to be recognised as having one. I am happy to concede that Fr Zuhlsdorf also has a standard"..." on hisblog. I hope he doesn't mind me borrowing his gnomic full stops, either.

(3). We don't need to. My definition of a tiara can already be found on on-line dictionaries. Of course, the same definitions refer to the papal tiara. I would suggest that it ought to be called a crown as that word refers directly to what the tiara really is.

4). A literary term meaning simply 'to bring to the fore'. I would suggest that it's use is very relevant in regards a religion where signs and symbols are so important.

(5). Perhaps, but perhaps not.

(6). I am sure that liberal Catholics do love the Church very much. What I was getting at here is a perception (and no more) of mine that arises out of all my reading of liberal and traditional Catholic writings on the net and on paper, namely, that it is always the traditionalists who assert how much they love the Holy Father, Holy Mother Church, her traditions etc etc etc even as they are rebelling against her. The Society of St Pius X is an exemplar of this. The SSPX may or may not be in schism, but there is no way she is loyal. Despite this, the American SSPX webpage says "The Society of St. Pius X professes filial devotion and loyalty to Pope Benedict XVI, the Successor of Saint Peter and the Vicar of Christ."

(7). Hmm. No more strange, I think, than some of the comments one reads on WDTRS.

Just A Minute!

Harlequins 26 Wasps 25

What a game! Harlequins should have wrapped it up long before Chris Malone missed two penalties (one right in front of the goal!) in the closing minutes of the game. But they didn't, and because he did, Wasps almost snatched victory from the jaws of defeat as they stormed upfield in search of a drop goal or penalty of their own. It was the former that came to them. Fortunately, the kicker - Dave Walder - missed and the four points went to Harlequins. I trust Chris Malone thanked Walder for saving his blushes, afterwards!

The result, though, was just. Harlequins dominated posession in the first half and - judging by the number of times Wasps got caught offside - played the more positive rugby. We were not helped by a few of the referee's decisions, although it is to be expected that in any given game their decisions will go against one's side (see below). In the second half, the sides seemed more evenly matched. I wonder what the proper match reports will say, though. Wasps, of course, had alot of their first team missing. Their poor start to the season shows that they do not have the strength and depth of a Leicester Tigers, but they played hard yesterday. It was not an overly impressive show, but did make me wonder how they had managed to play so poorly up until their first win last weekend.

England 6 South Africa 15

From the Stoop to Hampstead. The World Cup final was a close, tense affair that was decided on penalties alone. After being thrashed 36 - 0 by the Saffas in the group stage, this represented something of a moral victory for England. The true victory, though, was South Africa's and deservedly so. Although they did not dominate the game, they were superior in just one or two areas that allowed them to control it. I am thinking specifically of the line-out. On numerous occasions, SA stole the English ball; I can hardly remember once when we even competed for it at the Boks' line-out let alone won it.

About the try that wasn't. All the camera angles except one indicated that Tait's leg was over the line as he touched the ball down. But one camera directly behind him showed clearly that his leg had not yet crossed the line. On the TV this morning, however, they showed a close up photo from one of the newspapers which seems to disprove this. England should not complain for too long about the try though, for if we were good enough to win, we would have made other chances, and the truth is that that try attempt was just about as close as we got to the South Africa try line all game.

So, after an inauspicous opening, England have done themselves proud in the RWC. Let's hope that the foundation for a great side that was allowed to fall into ruin after 2003 is built upon in the months and years ahead so that in four years time, the national team will go to New Zealand ready and able to beat even the mighty All-Blacks in their own backyard.

The cutest sight you'll see today

Ahh! I found this on a Facebook group (Thanks, Paul!). Isn't it nice?

Pope Paul VI's Tiara

One good thing about blogs is the opportunity it gives to read other points of view and discover the many interesting ways in which people are wrong. Take, for example, a recent post on Planet Zuhlsdorf regarding the Papal Tiara. Fr Z quotes a piece of writing which states that Pope Paul VI gave up his tiara for the poor in response to an intervention (made at Vatican II) by an American layman. He concludes, "The poor are still with us and the tiara is only seen in museums." This perspective is agreed with by the numerous comments from the Trad moons that circle Planet Z in very close orbit.

My first problem with the post is the naming of the tiara. To my mind, a tiara is like a crownlet and is worn by princesses or high society women who like to think of themselves as such. The papal tiara is really a crown and should be called that.

My second problem is that crowns are a symbol of monarchy and if the pope was to wear one again, he would be foregrounding in a really unneccessary way the monarchical nature of his office. It is rightly pointed out in Fr Z's Comments Box that the Pope is an absolute monarch. So he is, but that fact should not be at the front of our understanding of his office. He is first and foremost the successor of Peter and the Bishop of Rome. For this reason, it is wholly appropriate that Benedict has the mitre on his coat-of-arms and does not wear the papal crown.

My third problem is actually addressed by one of the commenters. I shall quote him here:

In response to Father Z’s comment “The poor are still with us and the tiara is
no[w] only seen in museums.” – With respect, I don’t think that the Holy Father
was naive enough to imply that poverty would be dealt a severe blow by
relinquishing his tiara – it was rather a gesture of solidarity towards the poor
by the successor of Peter, in a pontificate full of similar gestures, at a time
when gestures like these were very important, and when people were far less
cynical than they are now. With the luxury of hindsight, I suppose we can look
back at this gesture and sneer at it.

In the end, though, it is fun to see some of the strident criticism of Pope Paul VI - coming from people who would, no doubt, affect to uphold the traditions of the Church and describe themselves as the most loyal sons and daughters of the Church. At least when a liberal is critical he makes no pretence of his disloyalty by saying how much he loves the Church.

Cry God for Elizabeth...

Google has it right. The final of the rugby football world cup is today and against all the odds, England will be there. Their opponents, of course, will be the Springboks of South Africa. This could be a big moment for the Boks. I have heard that the South African Government has or intends to pass a law forcing the rugby side to field a certain number of black players. Positive discrimination is as great an evil as negative discrimination. The only difference between the two is that a different set of people are discriminated against. In its stupidity, the ANC is ensuring that future Springbok sides look right but end up losers because the side has not been chosen on merit. Rugby and the reputation of the ANC will suffer as a result. About the latter, I do not care, but about the former I care alot.

Back to tonight. The form book says that it will be South Africa's night. But the RWC World Cup Form book has been thrown out the window so many times during this tournament that it must be in a pretty battered state by now. If England can maintain their discipline and keep that team spirit that has beaten Australia and France then the trophy is ours. What a thought! After four years of going nowhere all of a sudden we could be the best in the world again. It is all quite dizzying.

Before the Big One kicks off, however, there is business to take care of in Twickenham as Harlequins take on Wasps. Uppermost in their minds will, I hope, be a desire to make amends for last week's miserable display in Bath. Wasps are a tough side and, although they have had a very poor start to the season, I could still see them putting one over Harlequins. I think though that, come what may, I will be content if we do not let them score any tries down the middle. After seeing the opposition intercept a pass and head off down the pitch, that is the most depressing sight a rugby fan can endure.

The Successors

I am currently reading Alexander the Great and the Hellenistic Age by Peter Green. Having no real idea of what happened in Greece following the death of Alexander the book has proven to be a real journey through the unknown. Until the late 3rd century, that is, when Rome starts to get involved in Grecian affairs. Then, some familiar names from other books start to appear.

The story of what happened after Alexander's death is very surprising and sad. Alexander was such an inspiring figure that I would have expected his generals to honour his memory in some way, perhaps by keeping together his empire. No, what happened was that before even his body was cold, they all fell out with each other and started the internecine wars that continued until most of them were dead. Ptolemy, Leonnatus, Lysamichus, Seleucus, Antigonus ('One Eye'), Antiochus, Cassander, Perdiccas, Antipater and Craterus were the men at the top. Of them, only Ptolemy and Antipater died natural deaths. Of course, even after the deaths of the Successors, the fighting continued until Rome outfought them all.

Green mentions something else more amusing. He quotes a fifth cent. BC poet called Choerilus of Samos who wrote:

Lucky the man of those times who was skilled in song-
making,

the muses' servant, when the meadow was still untrodden:

But now that it's all shared out, when the arts have their
boundaries,

we're the last that's left there on the road, and there's
nowhere for the poet,

search as he may, to steer his fresh-yoked chariot.

Choerilus thought that the poets had no more to say. There was nothing new under the sun! Well, thanks to the likes of Virgil, Dante and Shakespeare, Choerilus has been proved wrong. I'm sure he would have been delighted.

The Inquisitive Cow on Starlings, Berzerkers and Stirrups

dúnadan: Hello! You are reading this week's blogcast with myself and Gerrie Cow. Hallo Gerrie.
inq. cow: Good day, dúnadan.
dúnadan: Now then, we are - as usual - standing in the middle of a field. But today we are looking up into the clear blue sky. Why?
inq. cow: We are looking for starlings.
dúnadan: I can see one or two but what is so special about them?
inq. cow: You will soon see! Aren't they flying fast, up there!
dúnadan: They seem black in colour, but aren't, are they.
inq. cow: No. Starlings have shiny purple and green wings and white spots on their breasts.
dúnadan: What do they like to eat?
inq. cow: Mainly insects and fruit - look, here are a few more.
dúnadan: A few-! It looks like a lot; all darting about. Well now, Gerrie, what has been making you inquisitive this week?
inq. cow: Earlier this week, Tecumseh Squirrel decided that his legion was not tough enough, so he came to me to ask my advice on how to introduce berzerkers into his army. I managed to persuade him that the risks of introducing bloodthirsty squirrels into the ranks was not really a good idea, but only just! Tecumseh's request, however, did get me back to reading my old copy of Haraldskvæði by the ninth century Norse poet Thorbjörn Hornklofi. It contains the earliest known reference to berzerkers.
dúnadan: They were blood crazed warriors even then?
inq. cow: Yes. The name 'berzerker' comes from the Norse for 'bear's skin'. It is what these particular warriors wore when they went into battle.
dúnadan: Why?
inq. cow: Well, not just for show, I think. Mooh! I think they did this perhaps to intimidate the enemy. Perhaps to 'become' the bear and therefore to fight like one! A good job they never used cow skins! Moooh-hooooh-hooooh!
dúnadan: Yes, indeed! Before we move on: a starling update. In the last few minutes, the numbers overhead have multiplied. The sky is filling up fast!
inq. cow: You haven't seen anything yet!
dúnadan: Hmm. Let's move on now. You have been discussing stirrups with the Learned Owl this week.

Alexander (Colin Farrel) on Bucephalus sans stirrups

inq. cow: Correct. When do you suppose they were invented?
dúnadan: I suppose not long after horses wered domesticated, which was ages ago.
inq. cow: four to five thousand years ago, to be exact! But stirrups are a much more reason invention. As it happens, historians believe that Indian horsement used a toe-loop as far back as the sixth century BC but the first representation of a stirrup as we would understand it does not come until the fourth century AD in a Jin Dynasty tomb in China!
dúnadan: That must have made controlling the horse so much easier for the rider!
inq. cow: Indeed. I think it would be fair to say that the stirrup was one of the greatest inventions in the history of warfare.
dúnadan: We must now return to the starlings. Gerrie, the sky is covered with them!
inq. cow: Starlings winter in Britain. This flock is on its way to suitable lodgings.
dúnadan: They are certainly noisy! Listen to them shout! Where do they live?

inq. cow: They prefer reeds and city centres!

dúnadan: If that is so, Dorchester is in for a busy night! Oh, gosh, look at them dart this way and that - in perfect synchronisation. How do they not crash into each other!

inq. cow: I wish I knew! Moo! I think they are very clever navigators! This is what I wanted to show you, dúnadan. Isn't it exciting!

dúnadan: It is that! Look, some have broken away from the main flock. But there are so many in the pack that they almost black the sky out.

inq. cow: Down they dive, then up! A destra e a sinistra! Mooooooh!

dúnadan: Some are diving down and not coming up again!

inq. cow: That is what they were waiting for - someone to be the first to land on suitable land.

dúnadan: And now, everyone follows. What a show. Well, Gerrie, thank you for that and your time today. I wonder what we will see next week!

index of interviews with the inquisitive cow
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Go England!

After the disappointment of Harlequins' performance in Bath, it was with a certain amount of trepidation that I betook myself to the Olde White Bear pub in Hampstead to watch England take on France in the semi final of the rugby world cup.

The journey there was a dispiriting one. The train from Twickenham was absolutely packed out. It was advertised as 'semi fast' but appeared to be stopping at every other stop between Twicks and Waterloo. So, I dived off at Richmond and caught the District Line train to Leicester Square. Out of the frying pan and into the fire because this one was also extremely busy!

Things got easier at Leicester Square as I caught the Northern Line to Hampstead. And once I arrived at H., things got delightful. A little surprisingly, but pleasingly, the Bear was not packed for the game. Better still, there was an out-of-the-way seat at the corner of the bar. There I sat with pint of Guinness in one hand and copy of In The Footsteps of Alexander in the other until the start of the game.

And what a game! England scored a great opportunistic try at the start but France came back with two penalties. 6 - 5. Jonny Wilkinson missed two or three penalties and it started to look like we were leaving it just too close. The atmosphere in the pub grew a little fractious with one gentleman, having had a little too much to drink, taking offence at the chanting of a Frenchman. France extended their lead by another penalty to go 9 - 5 ahead. But never did they take charge of the game, and never were England out of it, scoring another penalty to come back to within a point. 9 - 8.

To everyone's delight, England took the lead in about the 75th minute with another penalty. Jonny was starting to come good again. The rapturous applause in the pub had barely died down when Jonny scored a drop goal to put us 9 - 14 ahead. But there was still a minute left and my heart really was racing as France launched one last attack. Thank goodness for Jonny Wilkinson's last drop goal as it meant that France had to score a try.

They couldn't do it. England turned the ball over and the referee blew for full time. The Olde White Bear erupted. It was great. We now wait to see who will emerge victorious out of the South Africa - Argentina game tonight. If it is South Africa, despite the fact that it will be the same players facing them, it will not be the same England side that lost 36 - 0 to SA three or so weeks ago. The last two games have transformed this side by investing it with a mighty team spirit. In which case, though South Africa may be the favourites to win the world cup, England may consider that they have every good chance to retain their title.

What A Shower

Bath 25 Harlequins 10

Sports fans are adept at making excuses for the bad performance of their team, but sometimes the truth is so obvious that it simply cannot be hidden. Yesterday was one of those days for Harlequins. Congratulations must go to Bath. After the game, their Director of Rugby Steve Meehan said that they didn't take the game by the scruff of the neck. Maybe, but they were always in control and long before the final whistle went, we knew that Quins were onto a loser.


What went wrong? Almost everything. Chris Malone forgot how to kick - perhaps the pressure of returning to his former club got to him; our defence forgot how to defend - particularly in the middle of the pitch; two of the three Bath tries came from playerts scything through the midfield; and our attack forgot, yes, to attack. It was all very poor. I hope Dean Richards gave the players a roasting afterwards. This was not only a defeat but a game in which Quins played so badly that they let themselves and their club down.

The excitement grows...

It is not yet 6:45am and I am up getting ready for today's away game to Bath. Kick off is at 12:30pm - plenty enough time to travel back to London for England's big showdown with France tonight.

Bath are currently fifth in the Premiership with Quins second. The two point gap between the two (13 and 15 respectively) means that home advantage should, unfortunately, see Bath to the win. However, if that is how it goes, we may hope that the team make it as difficult a win as possible for them.

The form book says that France should overcome England tonight. As everyone know, however, the form book also said that New Zealand should have been playing Australia tonight. If mercurial France have an off night and / or England are particularly inspired, then the latter could easily find themselves in the final for the second time in a row! What a thought!

In the meantime, the presence of Berry Cat on the desk in front of me means that another thought must come to mind - feeding him.

A Little About Music

Further to my review of The Magic Flute, I wanted to add that even though it was sung in English, the opera still used subtitles (or 'surtitles', as they appear to be called in the trade). This was no bad thing as opera singing can sometimes be hard to understand. With that said, a part of me did regret the presence of the surtitles. Why? Well, it's because sometimes I think that all the explanation that I could want in regards what is happening is contained in the music. The words are, in a sense, superfluous.

A few days ago, I bought the soundtrack to The Bourne Ultimatum. Like the film, it is very singular in its content; there is not a great deal of variation. Despite this, it is not at all dull or even samey. To try and increase my enjoyment of it, I checked the individual song titles so that I could match the music to the particular scene. Unfortunately, not all of the titles seem to correspond with scenes in the film. For example, there is one piece called "Assets and Targets" which could be applied to any number of scenes.

One piece of music which can easily be tied down to a particular point in the film is Moby's End-Credits number "Extreme Ways". It has been revised for this film. By revised, I mean embellished. The song now has a prominent second singer (sorry, I don't know the technical terms!) and an orchestral arrangement. The end result is a much grander version of the song that we hear at the end of The Bourne Identity - perhaps reflecting the end of Bourne's 'epic' quest to find out his true identity.

I have always been a big fan of film soundtracks. It has never occured to me before but perhaps a really good film is one whose story can also be told by means of its music. I must try and watch some films and try and pay particular attention to their soundtracks to see if this is the case. Alas that I lack the ability to switch the dialogue off!

The Magic Flute at the ENO

I don't listen to classical music as often as I ought to, but when I do, I am very fond of anything by W. A. Mozart. I love the lightness of his musical touch. Of his operas, The Magic Flute is by a long stretch my favourite, and so it was with great joy that I joined Arathorn and SisterHevs at the Colosseum Theatre in the west end of London last night to see a performance of Die Zauberflöte by the English National Opera.

If I ever directed a play, I would insist on lots of props. I would want the stage to become the place that it is in the play. This, I think, is a product of me watching too many films and having too little faith in people's imaginations - including my own. The ENO's Magic Flute is set on a bare stage with a minimum of props throughout the production. Yet, amazingly, it is non the worse for that. I wonder why this is? Perhaps the quality of the performance is creating the world of Papageno and Tamino in our imaginations.

By performance, I mean the singing. No one should go to the opera to see good acting. Even if it is good, any medium where it takes ten minutes for a character to die should not be trusted in this respect. The Magic Flute has some wonderful ditties. Especial favourites of mine are "Der Vogelfänger bin ich ja" and "Ein Mädchen oder Weibchen" which are both sung by Papageno and the Queen of the Night's "O zittre nicht, mein lieber Sohn" and "Der Hölle Rache kocht in meinem Herzen". Opera aficionados will know these arias as they are among the most famous in the opera - I make no claim to being anything other than an a very mainstream fan of opera.

I mentioned two of the Queen of the Night's arias above. They were sung very well last night. Indeed, I cannot praise the singer enough as they involved her singing what must be the frightfully difficult High C note. If you have never heard these arias, look them up. You will not be disappointed.

If it is the case that no one should go to an opera for the acting, it is equally true that no one should go for the story. The Magic Flute story line is an awful mishmash of paganism, pseudo-Christianity, Freemasonry and blind optimism in the future of Mankind. Oh yes, and there is a fairly liberal dosage of sexism - which might not unjustly be called misogyny - as well. The opera is K620 in Mozart's corpus. His last work is K626 so by the time he wrote The Magic Flute, he must have been ill to have included all that nonsense. Actually, perhaps we can be charitable as it was Emanuel Schikaneder who wrote the libretto.

Anyway, such is the quality of The Magic Flute that its faults can easily be forgiven. And such was the quality of the ENO's production that I hope one day to go see it again. Maybe though, with a few more props on the stage.

The Kingdom

Yesterday I visited the cinema to see The Kingdom, the new action thriller starring Jamie Foxx and Jennifer Garner. I had no particular hopes for this film other than that it would be an entertaining action thriller. It was that but not too much more, which was a shame. The Kingdom is set in Saudi Arabia and concerns an FBI investigation into the murder of many American civilians by Islamic terrorists.

Foxx plays FBI Agent Ronald Fluery who loses a friend in the attack. The American Government is against any FBI involvement in the Saudi investigation, but Fluery manages to inveigle his way over there anywhere. Not that the Saudis give him much opportunity to do anything - at least, to begin with. Ashraf Barhoum plays Colonel Faris Al Ghazi who starts off as obstructionist minder to Fluery and his team but ends up a friend.

As you would expect, the terrorists are tracked down and killed. This happens without too much effort on the part of the heroes though not in a boring way. The excitement quota of the picture is heathily increased by a very excellent chase sequence and shoot out at the end. Where the film really earns its keep is in the prologue and epilogue.

The prologue is a sequence which details the rise of the Saudi royal family (who come from the same Wahabi (sp?) sect as Bin Laden et al) and America's involvement in the country over the last century. Leaving aside issues of accuracy and bias, the sequence is very sharp and it puts the viewer on the edge of his seat even before the film has started. Unfortunately, I cannot recommend that Leftists watch it as they would probably burst a blood vessel. Actually, maybe they should watch it.

The prologue of the film gives the impression that we are about to watch a Syriana type epic. Unfortunately, that turns out not to be the case. An extra depth is applied at the end, however, when we learn Fluery's motive for bribing/coercing/persuading his way into the kingdom and what the chief terrorist, Abu Hamza (also the name of a controversial Muslim cleric in Britain), said to his young grandson as he lay dying after being caught by the FBI agents. Fluery's motive was to kill. Hamza told his grandson not to fear the Americans - they would be killed. The Kingdom is not morally relativistic in its approach but the point-of-connection between Fluery and Abu Hamza serves well to remind the viewer that if we regard all Muslims as wicked and potential terrorists for the actions of a few then we close the gap that must exist between us and the terrorists. An important point.

The Kingdom is a good film and worth watching.

The Inquisitive Cow on Formula One, Caesars Palace and Isotopes

dúnadan: HALLO AND WELCOME FROM A RACE COURSE IN FARMER BILL'S WOOD SOMEWHERE IN CENTRAL DORSET! I'M SORRY TO BE SHOUTING BUT AS THE CARS REV UP FOR TODAY'S BIG RACE IT IS HARD TO HEAR ONESELF THINK! I THINK I WILL RETREAT TO THE MEDIA CENTRE!
dúnadan: In actual fact, the media centre is a shed that Farmer Bill kindly constructed in the corner of his Forum. And the only 'journalist' here is Farm Hand Helen who is covering the event for the Parish Newsletter. Hello Helen.
farm hand helen: Hello, dúnadan!
dúnadan: And also here is Gerrie, the inquisitive cow. Hallo Gerrie!
inq. cow: Hullo, dúnadan! What an exciting day this will be. Twenty five laps around the Wood, taking in Farmer Bill's Forum, the river bank and palafitta and past the archaeological dig in the field behind Farmer Bill's house. I can't wait for it to begin.
dúnadan: It goes without saying, Gerrie, that you were one of the animals behind this race.
inq. cow: Well, I was on the committee that organised it! When they asked me, I had no interest in motor racing at all.
Naturally, once we started planning the event, I began researching the Formula One competition - that is the one that Farmer Bill likes.
dúnadan: I see. What did you find out?
inq. cow: Well, it only began after World War Two. The rules of the competition - it's 'formula' was agreed upon in 1946 but the first championship was not until 1950. The first race was at Silverstone in England. Every car today has been built by its driver and his friends. This was, in a manner of speaking, how things were in Formula One until the end of the privateer era in the late 1990s when companies like Brabham, Tyrell and Simtek disappeared from the grid.
dúnadan: Tell us a little about today's cars. They are not quite Formula One, are they?
inq. cow: Moo! In truth, no! F1 cars are made of carbon fibre. Ours are made from wood. Whereas F1 cars use four stroke V8 normally aspirated (as opposed to turbo charged) reciprocating engines. Our competitors will be peddling theirs. It's better for the environment.
dúnadan: I can see Tecumseh Squirrel in his car. It's painted red, of course! Oh, and there is Bertie Pig... and Herbert Goose! It's good to see him again. What does the 'V' in V8 stand for, Gerrie?
inq. cow: Nothing. The name comes from the shape of the eight pistons. Oh look, Little Boots has rammed Tecumseh. He isn't happy about that!
dúnadan: All the competitors are starting to line up. I notice the wheels are made of compacted wet leaves. They will need to pit to change those before they wear down. Along with the course, Farmer Bill has also built a Very Big Shed to act as a race course casino. He has named it Farmer Bill's Palace.
inq. cow: Yes, in homage to Caesar's Palace in Las Vegas. Actually, when you write our interview out, dúnadan, you should spell Caesar's without the apostrophe. Although this is an error, I have discovered that Jay Sarno - the man who built the casino - omitted the apostrophe because he wanted every guest to be regarded as a caesar!
dúnadan: How funny!
inq. cow: Caesars Palace is more than a casino. In the early 80s, it hosted a Formula 1 race. Boxing matches have also been held there. Famous musicians also have permanent engagements there.
dúnadan: Somehow, Farmer Bill has managed to persuade Mrs Farmer Bill to sing a few songs.
inq. cow: And my mummy and daddy will be waltzing as well!
dúnadan: Now then! They are off! Tecumseh is in the lead as they tear down the Forum and away past Petra. Oh goodness, Herbert Goose has got confused and is heading in the opposite direction! This will be a fun race. Let's get on with the interview so that we can watch the race, Gerrie. What else has been making you inquisitive this week?
inq. cow: Plumbum candidum!
dúnadan: Pardon?
inq. cow: Tin! I was speaking to a member of the British Geological Survey this week, and he told me that today China is the biggest producer of tin. Did you know, dúnadan, that in ancient times, Britain had a reputation as a producer of tin. It is also a nutrient. It is also the element with the most stable isotopes: 10.
dúnadan: What is an isotope?
inq. cow: I am glad you asked! This is one of those things I asked myself at a very young age. An isotope is a form of an element. It is defined by the number of nuetrons that it has.
dúnadan: I see. Well, Gerrie, we must draw matters to a close there. Here come the Adventurous Rodents in their cars. My goodness, they are fast!
learned owl: (flying into the shed) Twoo! Hello fellows! It isn't that the Adventurous Rodents are fast - Tecumseh has stopped to fight Little Boots. Bertie has left the circuit! I saw him heading towards Dorchester!
dúnadan: Hmm. This will be an interesting race!

index of interviews with the inquisitive cow

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Final Placings

1. professor mrs learned owl 1hr 2 mins
2. rudy the pinetree reindeer 1 hr 16 mins
3. horace the impressionist horse 17 mins (Time penalty of one hour for driving without a car)

Did Not Finish

1. Tecumseh Squirrel (Missing on the circuit. Believed to be on manoeuvres against Little Boots)
2. Bertie Pig (escaped. Found after taking a wrong turn into a pond)
3. Tom the Tercel Triplet (disqualified during race for taking flight)

Why I Love Rugby So.

Harlequins 24 Bristol 18

To paraphrase a great man, rugby. Bloody hell. Yesterday morning, I was sure that England would lose to Australia, New Zealand would beat France and that Harlequins would face a tough battle to beat Bristol.

Instead, England and France won and we beat Bristol not just closely but with room to spare. How did it all happen? I am not quite sure. Ever since winning the world cup in 2003, England have been awful. Sure, they have won a games here and there but the in terms of development, the team stagnated. But that was under Andy Robinson - a great (forwards, I think) coach but, as it turned out, a poor head coach for England. Enter Brian Ashton last winter and a few more poor results, which culminated in the 36 - 0 thrashing against South Africa a few weeks ago. Last weekend, we played Samoa and something happened. We actually played quite well. I was sure, however, that it was not well enough to beat the Ozzies.

I arrived at the Stoop for the Quins game in time for the second half of England's game. We were 10 - 6 down. Not a bad position to be in, though a difficult one against a good quality side. The game ended 12 - 10. My impression of the second half is that England dominated the scrum and played with a fighting spirit that Australia could not match and which England have not displayed for four years. Amazing.

Next up, Harlequins. We played Bristol at the beginning of September and Bristol ran out easy winners. In his programme notes, however, DoR Dean Richards counselled that that result would have no impact on this game. So it was. Bristol were game but Quins were always in control. At the last home game (against Leeds Carnegie), I was disappointed by some fans who indulged in football chanting. They weren't here again, but there was a young woman sitting in front of me who cheered on Harlequins with what can only be described as an impressive pair of lungs for such a slender creature.

The premiership programme was carried out on Friday and Saturday this week, so, a look at the current table shows that Harlequins have taken advantage of Leicester Tiger's defeat to Gloucester to move into second place. It really is dizzying stuff to see the Quins do so well. Next Saturday, I will be joining the supporter's club coach to travel to beautiful Bath for the day. The game begins at 12:30, which means no time for the traditional Away Game Lunch, so I will be confusing Arathorn and Gilraen by eating a proper meal at breakfast - so as to soak up that staple part of the rugby experience, beer.

Up to yesterday evening, the 12:30 kick off was anathema. France's shock win over the All Blacks, however, means that I will be able to get back to London to watch England play France in the world cup semi final. Yesterday, I left the Stoop and hightailed it back to Waterloo and then to Hampstead via the Northern Line to watch the France - NZ game with Our Man of the Antonii and friends of his.

If you do not watch rugby, I can't stress enough how hotly tipped the All Blacks were to win the RWC. For four years, they have been the anti-England: as good as we have been bad. They have easily the best squad in the world. In fact, their second XV could beat every other team in the world right now. But last night, France refused to read the script. Or, they made some sneaky amendments to it without telling the Kiwis. At the end of the first half, everything seemed to be going to the NZ plan as they were 13 - 3 up. In the second, France thundered into the lead through a couple of well executed tries - including one by the mercurial Michalak. Our Man and I got into the spirit of the occasion by shouting "Foouuuuccoouult!" every time France head coach Laporte appeared on the TV screen. If you want to know what that was about, read this. It's good to see that there is space for the theory of the architecture of knowledge on the rugby pitch!

So, we now have a week to catch our breath before the semi final. Having beaten the All Blacks, France must be favourites to beat England, but we weren't meant to beat Australia. Anything could now happen. Let's hope that when it does, Harlequins will be celebrating their fourth win out of five!

Μέγας Aλέξανδρος Alexander the Great

A while ago, I think I mentioned that I had just bought the super-extended version of Oliver Stone's Alexander. Our Man of the Antonii, my chief source of information in respect of all things Alexandran, warned me beforehand that the cinematic version of the film had been awful. When I first started watching it, I feared that the Irish accents that substituted for their ancient Macedonian equivalents would really get in my way of enjoying the picture.

I am extremely happy to report, however, that last weekend - having got half way through the film and stopped after being distracted by something else (probably Roman) - I picked Alexander up again and managed to watch it from start to finish with great enjoyment.

The accents remain a problem. I have read that Stone used the Irish accent to signify the class differences between Macedonians. Although, if that was the case, I don't know why the Royal family were Irish. However, all the actors put in good performances. Perhaps a little melodramatic in parts, but they hold together well.

The battle scenes are fantastically realised - Gaugamela and Hydaspes especially. Hydaspes is set in the middle of a wood and the scenes where the war elephants of the rebel Porus can be heard thundering towards the Macedonians is as chilling as it is exciting.

No money was spared on the costumes and sets. Especially in Babylon, which was, of course, as it should be. Inevitably, the film misses out as much as it puts in. On his way back from India, Alexander and his men passed through the Makran Desert in southern Pakistan. The conditions were blisteringly hot and many died on the way. At one point, water was found, and it was given to the king. But Alexander poured it away saying that if his men could not drink, then neither would he. I wish they had included that scene.

Interspersed with Alexander's war against Darius III then exploration of the east are scenes from his childhood and youth. Although intense (thanks especially to Angelina Jolie's mad-as-a-hatter portrayal of Alexander's mother Olympias), they were a welcome relief to the bloody battle scenes. There was also a little flash forwarding to an aged Ptolemy I Soter, whose memoir provided the framework for the story.

Having not seen the cinematic or director's cut version of Alexander, I cannot compare this film to them, but can recommend it. It is flawed, of course, but is a brave attempt to capture something of the greatest conquerer the world will ever see.

By the way, I have used Greek characters in the title to this post. If you can't see them, they read Alexander's name

Prayer and Praise

It almost brought a tear to my eye. Last night, I was at Corpus Christi church in London's west end for the weekly Youth 2000 prayer group. Mass was celebrated by a priest named Fr Anthony Doe, who is a Carmelite. As if that wasn't good enough, he is an excellent preacher. It is partly the voice and partly the content. They combine in a very inspiring way. At the end of the night, the Y2K lady who does the announcements mentioned that she had just come back from Israel. On the trip, in fact, the day before the feast of Our Lady of Walsingham last week, she had been on a boat trip on Lake Galilee. I don't know how it happened, but with a great sense of occasion, the sailors ran up a union jack and got the British pilgrims to sing God Save the Queen! Best of all, they did! Makes yer proud, right enough.

Berrydict's Mistaken Invitation That Turned Out Alright

Berrydict was enjoying a nice day off from all his duties (eating, sleeping etc) when Monsignor Catswein came to visit him. In his mouth he carried an envelope.
"Hello, Georg, is that for me?" Berrydict asked.
"Mmmph!" the Monsignor replied. Spitting out the letter, he continued, "Hello Your Furriness. It is. It's a letter from America."
"America? Where is that?" Unlike his owner, Berrydict's geographical knowledge was not great. He knew the Alban Hills were, though.
"It is west of Ireland, which is west of England, which is where Cambridge is."
Berrydict nodded. He had visited there last year and met Leo the priory cat. "And it is an invitation from one Father Catchignano to visit the Rockville Centre on Long Island."
"That is very kind of him," Berrydict said. "What has my owner said?"
"He has not invited your owner," Catswein answered, "only you."
Curious! Berrydict thought. And also very impolite. So he read the letter to make sure Monsignor Catswein had got it right. Indeed, he had. ..Fr Catschignano invites His Furriness Berrydict the Papal Cat to visit the Rockville Centre in New York. In attendance will be Bishop Furphy...
"Ah, a bishop will be there. Well, that's alright then," said Berrydict, "Let's go. I have never visited America before. Is it big?"
"I don't know," Catswein replied, "But I suppose Long Island must be long."

The Catican was awfully slow at arranging transport anywhere so Berrydict and Monsignor Catswein stowed away on an Alitalia aeroplane bound for New York, where they arrived the next day. They found New York to be loud, noisy and even louder still. Not really to their taste, but the people were very friendly and kept giving them snacks.

Some time later, they decided to leave the city and head off for Long Island. They arrived just before Sunday Mass. As luck would have it, not only was Fr Catschignano present, but so was Bishop Furphy. Upon seeing Berrydict, they were very surprised.
"Well, you did invite me!" Berrydict laughed. Bishop Furphy looked enquiringly at Fr Catschignano who looked enquiringly back at him.
"You asked me to." Fr Catschignano said.
"Did I?"
"When you said I should have at the centre of the church the Blessed Cat. That is why I put a basket in the tabernacle." Everyone looked up. Sure enough, a pearl white basket with Berrydict's papal crest rested in the middle of the Tabernacle behind the altar.
"Hurrah!" Berrydict cried, and - despite being tired out by the generosity of New Yorkers - he raced up the aisle to get settled into his papal basket. He liked America.
"Oh dear." Bishop Furphy said. "I remember everything now. It was very busy when we spoke, wasn't it."
"Yes..." Fr Catschignano replied, warily.
"I think you misheard me. I was actually asking you to place the Blessed Sacat--- Sacrament in the tabernacle behind the altar."
"Oh dear." Fr Catschignano replied. "Oh dearohdearohdear. Am I going to get into trouble?"
"Hmm!" Fr Furphy replied, "Who would I complain to you about?" Fr Catschignano was too concerned to be able to digest and answer the question, so Monsignor Catswein did so for him: "The Papal Cat!" he laughed, "And I don't think he will be too offended!" They looked up to see Berrydict. He had already curled up and fallen asleep in his basket. Probably dreaming about the story of the Israelites in the desert when God gave them biscuits from heaven.

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