Bilawal Bhutto Zardari

Yesterday, Benazir Bhutto's will was read at her ancestral home in Naudero in the Sindh province of Pakistan. According to The Times of India, Mrs Bhutto named her husband Asif Ali Zardari as her successor. But he has appointed his son with Mrs Bhutto, Bilawal, as his co-chairman.

As I listened to reports of the reading of the will on Radio Five Live, the presenter indicated scepticism that Bilawal, who is 19, was old enough for such an onerous job. Clearly, she does not know her history!
When his great uncle was assassinated, Gaius Octavius Thurinus was also 19 years old and we know what happened to him.

There are other points of contact between Bilawal and Augustus. Both were studying when news of the deaths of their relatives came through - Bilawal at Oxford and Octavian in Apollonia in Illyria. Bilawal's mother was very rich. No doubt he has inherited a great deal of money, just as Octavian did. And just as Octavian changed his name - to Gaius Julius Caesar Octavianus - after learning of his adoption by Caesar in the latter's will, so Bilawal, who will now add his mother's surname to his own to become Bilawal Bhutto Zardari.

Furthermore, insofar as he now leads Mrs Bhutto's party, the Pakistan People's Party (PPP), in conjunction with his father, one might say that Bilawal has entered a duumvirate that has distinct echoes of the triumvirate of the young Octavian and older Mark Antony and Marcus Aemilius Lepidus. Although, as we all know, right from the beginning, that was also in effect a duumvirate with Lepidus always playing a minor role to Octavian's and Antony's.

Of course, the world has moved on since the assassination of Julius Caesar. Octavian was able to use his newly acquired fortune to buy an army and overthrow the rule of the Senate. It looks like Bilawal Bhutto Zardari will be returning to Oxford to complete his studies. This means that should he be so inclined, Mr Zardari will have three years to cement his rule of the party whereas Octavian wasted no time in establishing his authority.

One final point to consider is their names. Bilawal means 'One Without Equal'. Augustus can be rendered 'great', 'magnificent' or even 'exalted'. His official title was Princeps meaning 'First Citizen'. He was truly one without equal.

After taking power in Rome, Augustus brought peace to the Roman Empire. Given Pakistan's troubled history, Bilawal Bhutto Zardari will be doing well if he manages to bring peace to that one place. But, if he truly believes in democracy, let's hope that he is able to do so for the sake of all who have died for its cause and those who live there still. If he does, it will be a triumph that is in its way no less great than that which Augustus Caesar achieved.

Wish List

Hurrah! I have been voted Non Political Blogger of the Year. Not by some website / business / A. N. Other that one has never heard of but Mr Paul Burgin of Mars Hill who one has not only heard of but shared a drink with on occasion. I am very proud.

There is a meme doing the rounds which Paul has tagged me for: Eight Wishes for 2008. Here is mine.

I. That Harlequins Rugby Club will run away with the Premiership title beating Gloucester and Leicester in the play-offs by points unnumbered.

II. That the word 'citizen' will cease to be used to describe a British national when we are subjects of Her Britannic Majesty.

III. That the grave of Alexander will be found so that due homage can be paid to the Hammer of Persia & the East and Second Greatest Man of Antiquity (after Caesar and not including Our Lord).

IV. That the humble apostrophe will cease to be the Cinderella of English grammar and come into its literary glory once more.

V. That Pope Benedict XVI - the Greatest Man of Today - will continue to reign gloriously.

VI. That the current Off Side law - vexatious in its complexity - will be revised and simplified.

VII. That the way to Faerie may be discovered so that evil doers can be shoved through it to be gobbled up by dragons and good men stride through to win crowns and the love of their people.

VIII. That Mary Stuart Masterson will appear in the film that will finally make her a star.

This being a meme I now have to tag some more people to do it. The last time I tagged anyone, however, the response was very underwhelming so I shall limit myself to tagging my SisEvs and Arathorn (aka Bachman) who, as they reside in close proximity to myself, I can hassle to do the meme. If you are neither Evs or Bachman but like the meme consider yourself tagged too!

The Tales of Ruddock

Worcester Warriors 7 Harlequins 10


After work on Friday, I meet L. in Covent Garden and along with one another who, perhaps, I shall call The Third Man, we ate a nice meal in a French restaurant called the Palm Court.

It was one am before I finally got to bed. And, because the Harlequin Supporters Coach had a two and a half hour journey ahead of it on Saturday, I had to get up at six am to make sure I was out of the house by seven for the journey down to Twickenham. Deep breath. This I managed - just. There are quicker ways to the Stoop than by the way that I went (underground to Richmond then a brisk walk from there to Twickenham) but none so good for the legs and soul.

What it did mean, however, was that I was a tired Quinsman on the coach, who was glad of the long journey to catch up on some lost rest. A pity, because as we passed through Gloucestershire and into Worcestershire there were some lovely rolling hills and valleys to be seen. I am glad I was awake to see them, but would always have liked to have seen more. Being on a coach or train is like being in an art gallery without the effort of having to walk from one painting to another.

Last year, I repaired to the Three Pears pub, near Worcester's ground, to meet other Quins fans. This year, the coach went to the same place again. This meant that when after a couple of hours we set out for Worcester's Sixways stadium, we had the same interesting journey to the ground along a muddy woodland path. I don't know if there are other ways to get to Sixways. I hope there are because if I lived in Worcester, I would not be so keen to take that path during the winter months. Apart from being muddy, it is in parts very poorly or simply not lit at all.

Still, there was some sign of development around the stadium - most notably a big car park where a field used to be. Apropros of nothing, I must mention the sign that we saw affixed to the fence to the right of the path to the stadium, on the other side of a little lake and some muddy ground: Female Drivers Only May Park Here. And, guess what, as another sign said, this area was an official pick up zone. Make of it what you will.

The game. It was not a classic. It certainly won't live long in anyone's memory. This was partly due to the quality of the play not being the greatest but also a result of the very windy weather and rain which came during the second half. Harlequins went on the attack from the kick off and, although Worcester put up a very game defence, were not able to stop Quins from scoring two tries - courtesy of Chris Robshaw and Gary Botha - in the first half hour. Unfortunately, fly half Chris Malone could not convert either of these. Not his fault, however, because he was kicking into the wind at the very corner of the pitch.

With Quins 0 - 10 the game settled down. Worcester continued to apply themselves but just lacked that vital spark or piece of luck that would have got them over the line. The second half picked up where the first left off with Worcester continuing to press forward in search of that elusive try. It finally came in the 78th minute. By then, though, it was too little too late. That Harlequins failed to score in the second half was disappointing, but I have to say that for all Worcester's possession we never did look like we were in serious danger of losing this game. Quins contained Worcester very well.

Last year, I wondered whether Worcester who were, then, in last place, would be relegated. After this game, they are in eleventh. In my unscientific opinion, I would say that no, they won't be this year. Despite the fact that they have yet to win a game this season, I think they are closer to wins than Leeds Carnegie are. I say this because Leeds are not only losing, but losing by big margins whereas Worcester are falling by less than a score. We shall see how it goes.

As for Harlequins, how good it was to finally witness another win! Next weekend, we face one of our toughest tests of all when Leicester Tigers come to the Stoop, so yesterday's success will be vital for morale.

Onwards and upwards. Following the match and a brief return to the Three Pears, we trudged back to the coach for the journey back to London on which I won another prize in the coach raffle - a bottle of Italian white wine!

Berrydict on Christmas Eve

It was Christmas Eve and Berrydict the papal cat was in an alarmed state. Midnight Mass was due to start in an hour's time and Berrydict had heard some pilgrims in St Peter's say that his owner might mention spaying Salvi during his homily. "What!" Berrydict exclaimed, "They are going to spay Catinal Salvatori de Catti?! On Christmas Eve? What a mean thing to do! I have to warn him."

Berrydict ran past the Swiss Guards and upstairs to the famous Loggia at the front of St Peter's. Catinal Salvi, a good friend of his, liked to sit and watch the world go by when he wasn't in his See of Palermo doing the same. But he wasn't there tonight. Berrydict jumped onto the balustrade and looked down at the Square. A sea of people were making their way towards the church. If the Catinal was among them, Berrydict was sure he would never find them.

Just then, however, the Christmas tree at the centre of the Square began to sway at the top. There was no wind, and Berrydict fancied he saw a black blob on the uppermost branch. Hmm. Cats are known for climbing trees so Berrydict wondered if that was what the Catinal had done. Although, why would he choose to climb such a great height? The tree, a present from Mexico and its president Cateron, was over eighty feet tall. But just as cats do illogical things (like climb trees) so they do not spend too much time thinking about them. That's how John Purr II managed to sleep so much while his owner was writing all his complex philosophical works.

Berrydict jumped off the balustrade, ran back into St Peter's and whizzed past the Swiss Guards again. Darting between the legs of the many pilgrims, he made his way to the tree - right next to the Nativity scene, which this year was actually a scene of St Joseph's work shop in Nazareth, where Berrydict recalled he had had a nice sleep last year - and began to climb it.

"Ow, ow ow!" Berrydict miaowed as he was pricked and prickled by the pinetree's needles. But up, up he went till finally he was at the top, swaying in the stillness of the cold night air. Just as the black blob was doing. Except the black blob was not Catinal Salvi di Catti. It was Monisgnor Catswein.

"Hullo Berrydict!"
"Georg, what are you doing up here?"
"I am keeping a look out for Father Christmas!"
"Monsignor, you know he doesn't exist."
"Of course, but wouldn't it be fun if he did? And if he did it would be great to see him. So, that is why I came up here. Just in case." Dear reader, I warned you that cats were not very logical. Berrydict told Monsignor Catswein why he had come.
"Ah, well, you are in the wrong place. I saw him at the Castel d'Angelo meeting some pilgrim cats earlier."
"How much earlier?" Berrydict received no answer, for Catswein thought he had seen something high in the heavens over Rome and was straining for a better look.

Realising he would get no more sense out of his secatery, Berrydict made his way down the tree - partly by climbing but mainly by tumbling from one branch to another, and headed off down the Via della Conciliazione and towards the Castel Sant'Angelo. It started life as the mausoleum of the Roman Emperor Hadrian before being converted into a castle. It had even been used as a prison. Nowadays, though, it was a museum. One thing it was not was the place where Berrydict would find Catinal Salvi. He searched everywhere, inside and out. Underneath benches and on top of walls but nothing! Berrydict was now getting desperate, for it was nearly midnight.

There is such a thing in proper literary narratives called the deus ex machina, which authors use to get their characters out of a tight spot. If this was a proper literary narrative, the sudden appearance of a white coated cat at Berrydict's side would count as a deus ex machina moment. But it isn't, and she wasn't an angel, but a sister of The Work who wanted to say hello to His Furriness.

To speak to a pilgrim was not necessarily what Berrydict wanted, but he had the good grace to stop with her for a little while. And he was well rewarded for doing so, for without being asked, Sister Catalegna mentioned that she had seen Catinal Salvi and that he had told her he was going to watch the Midnight Mass at St Peter's from atop the balduccino inside the church. "Eek!" Berrydict cried, "Why did I not think of that?! That is another of his favourite spots. He loves heights!"

So, off Berrydict went again. Back to the Catican. Back to St Peter's Square and - straight underneath his owner's cassock as he processed into the basilica for Mass.
"Berrydict..." his owner murmured, "Would it be too much to ask why you are processing into the church under my cassock?"
"It is the only way I can get to the balduccino without being seen!" Berrydict squeeked.

And he was right, for as soon as Pope Benedict entered the church, all eyes were on him. Berrydict slipped out from under his owner's cassock and chair and sneaked through the cat flap at the base of one of the twisty pillars (it is there. You have to look carefully to see it, though). Up the tight spiral staricase he went until he reached the balduccino roof.

And there was the retired Catinal, peering over the edge of the balduccino, watching the Mass as intently as he used to do as a kitten. "Catinal!" Berrydict called. Salvi looked over his shoulder. "Hullo, Berrydict. How are you?"
"I am well - but you, how are you?"
"The bones are creaking a bit bit more, but I am otherwise fine. Berrydict," the catinal said, walking over to the papal cat, "you look a bit flustered."
"They are going to spay you tonight!" Berrydict said, breathlessly.
"What? What nonsense is this?" Berrydict poured out what he had heard an hour earlier. At first, it was just gibberish. Cardinal Salvi de Catti told Berrydict to catch his breath and then speak again more slowly. Berrydict did, but it was only on the third or fourth attempt that he finally made sense. And then, the catinal laughed.

"Oh, Berrydict, you are funny!" he exclaimed. "I may be getting old but it is good to hear that you are still getting the wrong end of the stick."
"What do you mean?" Berrydict asked.
"Your owner is not going to talk about spaying me. He is going to talk about his new encyclical - Spe Salvi. S. P. E. Salvi. Spe salvi facti sumus - in hope we were saved. That is how it begins."
"Oh... Oh." Berrydict thought. He had seen his owner write that encyclical but really had not paid much attention to it. His food bowl had needed filling.
"Come. Let's listen to what he has to say." Berrydict joined Catinal Salvi at the edge of the balduccino.

“The time came for Mary to be delivered. And she gave birth to her first-born son and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn” (Lk 2:6f.). These words touch our hearts every time we hear them... It was then that sleep touched Berrydict's heart and he heard no more.
"Merry Christmas Your Furriness." Catinal Salvi said, smiling and licking Berrydict on the ear. The papal cat purred in his sleep with all the contentment of the angels.

index of stories about Berrydict the papal cat

Who is Berry(dict)?

Midnight Mass

Ah, the joys of attending Midnight Mass in the parish!

After finishing my last post, I threw my coat on and headed down the road. When I arrived, the carols had already started. So, I quickly slipped into the nearest available pew space. Of course it belonged to someone who had at that moment left it to go and get a carol book. And of course when he got back he was not so very happy to see his place taken.

Fighting back the urge to say tough luck, mate, we came to a compromise. He could have his space back but his wife would have to move down the pew a little (there was room) so that I could sit at the edge of the bench as I had been collared at the church doors to act as Eucharistic Minister.

The carol service proceeded. Not that I took too much part in it as I also had forgotten to collect my carol book on the way in. And after the bother of the seating arrangement, I thought I would be better off just staying put and looking meditative to hide the fact that I didn't know any of the words.

The Mass was good. One thing which I enjoyed hearing was the countdown to the birth of Our Lord. The priest said: "Untold ages since the creation of the world; thousands of years since the flood; a thousand three hundred years since Ruth; a thousand since David; twenty two years since the reign of Augustus commenced (since Actium, anyway)... the saviour was born." Unfortunately, I can't remember which part of the Mass this countdown was given, but it was very well done.

After sharing the peace with my pew-concerned companion, I went forward to join the other Eucharistic Ministers. Afterwards, I went straight to the back of the church to pick up a carol book so that I could sing the last carol of the night - Adeste Fideles. Now, the Mass leaflet gave the title of the carol in Latin but said that people could sing it in English. A bad move because that is exactly what everyone (around me) did. Ever the Latinophile, I sang it in Latin loud and proud.

And then, all too soon, it was over and I was on my way home. Usually, I have a glass of wine before retiring on Christmas Eve, but the pub session earlier in the evening rendered that option unnecessary. Instead, I went hardcore and drank water instead. Going to my room, I found that not only did I have a stocking but that Father Christmas had filled it! The end of a good, good night.

A Night Out

In previous years my office has followed the very civilised practice of closing at 12:30pm on Christmas Eve - plenty of time for a visit to the pub before Midnight Mass.

This year, however, it did, alas, succumb to the ways of the wider organisation and stayed open till 5pm. Well, stayed open in a manner of speaking - the doors closed at 12:30 so that no member of the public could stray in and our office took the unilateral decision to switch off the phones so that no one could call us. The staff, however, remained in situ doing their work.

I lasted until 3:30 whereupon I quit to join my former boss, Our Man of the Antonii, Yo Man Jonny, the Fella and 5MinJim in the pub. It was a splendid afternoon/evening. YMJ is not known for his theological conversation, but we had a great conversation on Truth and Religion. The best thing about it was that, despite approaching the matter from completely opposite positions, we still maintained our friendship throughout. No argument is ever worth winning which destroys that.

Later in the evening, we went upstairs to the theatre. I should say at this point that we were in the Red Lion Pub in Islington. The play was called Sting for Nolte. I think I will come back to it later because it was a really excellent production that is worth spending some time on.

All too soon the end of the evening came and I returned home. As I write, it is now half past eleven and Midnight Mass begins in half an hour. So, I finish here with the hope and expectation of a wonderful service to celebrate the birth of the saviour.

The Mass in Latin

I have been reading the Christmas edition of The Catholic Herald newspaper. It contains a letter from a priest in which he says that if a group invited me to lead a Eucharistic celebration for people who did not understand Latin I would have to refuse. I find this very unsatisfactory.

Firstly, would the priest still refuse to say the Mass in Latin if the congregation had translations? Unfortunately, no clarification on this point is given, but - given the absoluteness of the quotation above - I am not hopeful.

If the priest will only say Mass to those who understand it, I wonder if he excludes children, the mentally deficient and honest theologians who are prepared to admit that they cannot explain the doctrine of the Holy Trinity from his Masses - for that is where his position leads him.

Later in his letter, the priest states that,

[w]hen the bishops at the Second Vatican Council wished to give new life to the Church's liturgical life by enabling the laity to become participants and not mere spectators in our worship they decreed that the Eucharist and the sacraments be celebrated in the vernacular.

As someone once said, if a lie is repeated often enough, people will believe it. So, let's try and stop this one in its tracks and look at what Vatican II (in Sacrosanctum Concillium) actually said about the use of Latin and vernacular tongues at Mass:

[T]he use of the Latin language is to be preserved in the Latin rites.

But since the use of the mother tongue, whether in the Mass, the administration of the sacraments, or other parts of the liturgy, frequently may be of great advantage to the people, the limits of its employment may be extended. This will apply in the first place to the readings and directives, and to some of the prayers and chants

...

Nevertheless steps should be taken so that the faithful may also be able to say or to sing together in Latin those parts of the Ordinary of the Mass which pertain to them.

Not quite the turn from Latin to Vernacular that the priest suggests. On the issue of the congregation as 'mere spectators', I speak under correction here but I was under the impression that the Fathers of Vatican II,

... earnestly desires that all the faithful should be led to that fully conscious, and active participation in liturgical celebrations which is demanded by the very nature of the liturgy.

No indication here that the Fathers thought that the faitful were 'mere spectators' beforehand. Rather, that while they were engaged with the Mass before, it was not to the degree that the Fathers wished for.

I doubt that I have said anything in this post that hasn't been said a million times before and more eloquently too by other people. It is amazing that discredited arguments continue to be used and language misused in order to make a point, which ends up not even being a good one.

A chink of light in a bleak midwinter

Harlequins 20 Saracens 27

Harlequins losing run continued yesterday but the performance built upon last week's away game to Bristol and, but for a dubious try by Saracens in the first half, this game would have ended a draw.

In fact, the try was not a try. What happened was that the ball was kicked forward from further upfield with a Saracens and Harlequins player in hot pursuit. According to the referee, the former touched the ball down before the Quins man could kick it away. But I know that this did not happen because 5MinJim was sitting in the North Stand right in front of the action and he said that the Sarries player's hand never touched the ball at all. Grrrrr.

Harlequins made an explosive start to this game, pinning Saracens down in their own half for the first twenty minutes. Critically, however, the only points that came from this pressure were three penalty points. Saracens then clawed their way back into the game and, after the break, when the Quins needed to renew their assault, managed to take greater charge of it.

If they are ever to become one of the top Premiership sides, Harlequins have to learn to play for 80 minutes, not 40. Still, it was heartening to see the side play with such vigour. It means that a win to break the now 8 game losing streak is not far away. I hope it comes against Worcester next week because the week after we play Leicester and though that game is at home, a win against that team at the best of times is far too rare.

Carols at the Oratory

On Friday evening, I attended the Christmas Carol Service at the London Oratory in the company of Fr Nicholas. I haven't been to the Oratory church in some while so it was a joy to renew my acquaintance with the grandest church (as opposed to caethedral or Abbey) in London.

We arrived early, so there was time to pop over the road for a quick pint. This allowed me to fulfil the request at the front of the programme: Please do heartily in the hymns! The exclamation mark is mine, by the way; even if the Oratorians would have had it there, I don't think it would have been their style to include it.

After the Junior and Adult choirs had processed into the church, they took up positions in the centre of the nave. We kicked off with a familiar carol - O Come, O Come Emmanuel which gave ne time to wonder once again about why Jesus wasn't actually called that, after all.

Fr Ignatius then led the congregation - which I think packed out the church - in prayer. We then listened to the choirs sing a delighteful mediaeval German hymn called Verbum Patris Umanatur which features the very non German exclamations: Ey! Ey! Eya!

An unfamiliar carol followed. I don't know its title so the first line was Of the Father's heart begotten. I spent the carol trying to sing but also listen to how the rhythm went.

The carol service followed this pattern with readings replacing the opening prayer. Of the readings, the second was delivered by one of the altar servers, and while his diction was perfect, his delivery was without any semblance of feeling. Now, I know that the Oratory is not known for its touchy-feeliness but I think they could allow for a degree of performance in their readings, rather than such formality as to make the reading remote and aloof.

Fr Nicholas has already labelled the choirs' singing of Quem Pastores as his favourite moment of the night, and I would have to agree. It was a lovely song, sung from the choir stall above and by the main choir below. The Quempas is also German. Just before the carol service began, the lady sitting next to me pointed out how many of the carols came from there. For some reason I was momentarily suprised, though Germany is the country of Beethoven, Wagner and perhaps even Mozart allowing for boundary changes (?) et al.

At the end of the carol service there was Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament. The exposure of the Blessed Sacrament is always a wonderful moment, but when it happens in a church as grand as the Oratory then one cannot be happier.

Once Benediction was over, the congregation streamed out of the church and into the night. Fr Nicholas stopped to say hello to one of the Oratorians and I spotted just a few feet away none other than the author of McCarthyism UK.

We then headed to an excellent and cheap Chinese restaurant near Kensington Station where the evening was rounded off with sustenance, which though it could not compete with what the soul had received, was appreciated by the body nonetheless.

The Caped Crusader!

On Violence

A few days ago I was reading the American Papist's review of The Golden Compass's progress (or lack thereof) at the cinema. In the post, he referred to a website called The Decent Films Guide, which reviews films from a Christian perspective. I commend it to you as being very thoughtful and insightful.

Of particular interest to me at the DFG website was its review of The Bourne Ultimatum. The reviewer, Stephen Greydanus, states that,

A harrowing battle with a very tough opponent in Morocco may leave you exhausted rather than exhilarated, which is arguably a more moral approach to violence than the typical action movie.

I think Greydanus is onto something there. If we let ourselves be exhilarated by violent acts, we accept them and in a sense let them become part of us. If we are exhausted, however, we are more likely to see the violence for the horrible thing that it is. Maybe violence is necessary for good to triumph, but it is not something to be accepted and absorbed into our own being.

But where does this place violent acts in, for example, a film like The Lord of the Rings, where one cannot help but be exhilarated by the charge of the Riders of Rohan in the Battle of the Pelennor Fields?

Perhaps I am confusing two things here. After all, the charge is an act that is distinct from the slaughter that follows. But were not the Rohirrim lusting for blood before the charge and this is surely not to be accepted?

Maybe the problem here is in the expression rather than the act. If I was in the trenches, I doubt I would be shouting about death and glory, but nevertheless, I might be facing the oncoming battle with words of defiance and desire for victory. If my cause was just these words would be justifiable. As with me, so with the Rohirrim, for though they are shouting about death, it is a death in the service of what is good and right.

More on Mr Clegg

"There is no one up there"

And the hand of the Lord did cometh down from heaven
and smite the unbeliever upon his unbelieving bonce

Yesterday I mentioned the election of Mr Nick Clegg as leader of the Liberal Democratic Party, successor of the Liberal Party for which Hilaire Belloc was once an MP, and I wondered what Clegg's election might mean for Catholics. Well, nothing good, it seemed, as Clegg has stated in an interview that he does not believe in God. But that is not all. His wife is a Catholic - and they are bringing their children up in the faith. Read the full report at BBC On Line here.

Sir Richard Attenborough

The last I heard of Sir Richard Attenborough, he was mourning the loss of several relatives in the tidal wave that struck south east Asia on Boxing Day in 2004. I wondered if this would be the end of Attenborough's film career. He was 81 and the loss of one's offspring - Attenborough lost both a daughter and granddaughter - in the evening of one's own days is surely a tragedy too much to bear. However, BBC On Line has some excellent news today: that Sir Dickie has directed a new film Closing the Ring which will be released in cinemas on 28th December.

What particularly caught my eye was Attenborough's assessment of his best film - Shadowlands, the film version of William Nicholson's play of the same name. Shadowlands is, of course, a fictionalised account of the love affair between C. S. Lewis and Joy Gresham. The picture is not without its faults (e.g. its perpetuation of the lie of Lewis's shy awkwardness in front of women) but is a very sensitively made picture that in its sad conclusion would reduce a stone to tears.

I don't talk about C. S. Lewis as often as I ought on this blog, but you may believe that I am a very big fan of his work. Therefore, I was very chuffed to see Shadowlands mentioned by Attenborough as his best film, ahead of legendary pictures such as Ghandi and Cry Freedom.

Belloc the Obscure

Nick Clegg has won the election to become the new leader of the Liberal Democratic Party. I have no idea what this might mean for Catholics but it did remind me of the fact that in 1906 Hilaire Belloc became the Member of Parliament for Salford South (in Manchester) for the Liberal Party. Wikipedia records of his election campaign that Belloc,

was asked by a heckler if he was a "papist." Retrieving his rosary from his pocket he responded, "Sir, so far as possible I hear Mass each day and I go to my knees and tell these beads each night. If that offends you, then I pray God may spare me the indignity of representing you in Parliament." The crowd cheered and Belloc won the election.

Recently, I read of G. K. Chesterton as the forgotten man of English Letters, but Belloc surely is a more obscure figure to the popular mind. Chesterton has his paradoxes, Fr Brown and the Everlasting Man 'the book that helped C. S. Lewis become a Christian'. Belloc's Road to Rome, his love of wine (and beer), polemics and nonsense verse are shamefully not nearly as well known.

If you like biographies, I thoroughly recommend Joseph Pearce's Old Thunder to you. It is a wonderful read. Nowadays, Pearce lives in America, not far from Fr Dwight Longenecker. How lucky they are to have him!

No longer secret, but definitely safe

Jackson to produce Hobbit movies

Very good news indeed. If only he were directing it too.

There is another kind of rugby

I hope JJ doesn't mind, but I thought I would reproduce his comment on Rugby Union and Rugby League here. He left the comment on the Harlequins Fixture/Result List which can be found in the sidebar and which I doubt anyone but me reads. Here is what he said:

Rugby League or Rugby Union? Which is better?
Personally I think Rugby League out classes union by far, though being a Wakefield Wildcats fan makes me a little biased! However I do admit that internationally Rugby League needs some work so Rugby Union has that on its side but what about the game itself?
It seems that Rugby Union is just a collection of dog piles most of the time followed by short lived runs which either involve running straight into the
other teams players or scoring the odd try, WHY!?
In Rugby League I can see the point in running straight into your opponent as you have to make some ground only having six tackles to do it but in Union, it’s just a way of losing the ball! Fools!
I mean I like doing a little Sports Spread Betting every other week but when it comes to Rugby Union, its just boring! KICK! THERE INFRONT! KICK! THERE BEHIND!! KICK THERE INFRONT AGAIN!!! OH NO WAIT!! THERE BEHIND
AGAIN! RUN THE DAMN BALL!!!!
Anyway I’ll stop my rant here and give someone else a chance to say what they think!

Entertaining!

Meanwhile, in Brogger Country

Bristol 20 Harlequins 7

Harlequins run of defeats continued with a second one to Bristol in as many weeks. But whereas last week's was seen by those at the Stoop (and who spoke to me about it on Sunday) as a gutless performance, this one was brave though ultimately fruitless.

Harlequins have now lost seven on the trot. Thankfully, all but one of those has been in either the Anglo-Welsh or Heineken Cup. This game was for the latter and it was a tournament that Director of Rugby Dean Richards valued so highly that when Quins scraped into the tournament last season he confirmed that he would not be buying any extra players to deal with the extra pressures that the Cup would win.

So, it was not a surprise that Harlequins lost, but was at least gratifying was that the score flattered Bristol. They were the better team on the day but 13 - 7 would have been a fairier reflection of the game. Furthermore, the Quins team that played was by no means the first XV. With the club already effectively out of the tournament, Dean Richards chose to give a few of the more junior players a run out, and a chance, one might say, to play for a place in the first XV.
The first half was all about the referee's whistle, which he blew far too often. As a result the game never really got going for me. Perhaps not surprisingly, it ended 0 - 0. The second half was one long Bristol attack. The Harlequins supporters club was sitting at the Bristol try line and hardly ever say a quartered shirt in our vicinity. With that in mind, and given that Quins Scrum Half Danny Care was sin binned for the incredible crime of 'persistant infringement' (and there was me thinking that the referee loved his whistle), the team did very well to score its try (while Care was in the sin bin) and avoid leaking even more points.

As for the fans, we had a good lunch at a local pub which boasted a long bar and a vast array of real ales. We froze our toes off at the ground but at least we saw something worthwhile - Harlequins recovering a little of the form that for the last few games has deserted them. Let's hope that at the home game against Saracens this weekend, they recover even more.

An Evening in Hampstead

This afternoon, I visited the Holly Bush pub in Hampstead only to find that the pub was really rather busy. I had hoped to find it really rather empty - all the better to deal with some dull paperwork. So, I headed off to the Old White Bear instead. The good old Polar Bear Pub. It was empty and I was able to get on with my work.

After a while, Our Man of the Antonii (who is shortly to become Our Man of the Rozzers, though I think I will stick with the former title) joined me. We had a good chat, revolving around sarissas, certain Facebook Caesarian groups that I have started and matters relating to Alexander the Great, when all of a sudden a horde of people entered a pub. And I mean a horde. The Old White Bear is not the biggest pub in the world so the arrival of 40 - 50 people was quite some entrance.

What it meant was that getting to the bar was now a bit awkward. So, deciding that we would rather be somewhere quieter, we headed up the road to The Duke of Hamilton pub (next to the Hampstead theatre).

However, not 15 minutes after we arrived, guess what happened but that the same horde of people turned up again! Now, because I was standing at the bar rather than sitting at a seat, I recognised a few of the faces. It was the Hampstead Rugby Club which I joined not so very long ago. Unfortunately, due to injuries/illnesses I have not been to the club for a couple of weeks but I suddenly remembered receiving the e-mail advising of the Christmas Carol crawl...

That's right, because upon a moment, as I was enjoying my ale, and Our Man his Stella Artois, from the other end of the bar came the sound of The Holy and the Ivy. It quickly spread so that what we heard in the near distance now became very immediate. For a bunch of rugby folk, it was an excellent rendition of the carol.

And then, all of a sudden, they were gone and Our Man of the Antonii and I were left to contemplate the various rugby and cricket related photos and memorabilia that adorned the walls of the pub. This was not a boring exercise, for there was Jonny Wilkinson sitting in the dressing room holding a bottle of water circa 2003 with the caption (verbatim): "Once again the English went abroad, drank too much and disappointed the locals.". There was also a photo of Mike Gatting being bowled out by Shane Warne in 1993 with the caption (verbatim again): "Gatting has been bowled out. He doesn't know where the ball is... he still doesn't know!". Our Man told me that this was a very famous wicket - Warne's ball spun wickedly round Gatting's blindside (as opposed to where his bat was) before hitting the wicket.

All-in-all, a good evening enlivened by rugby singers and great pubs.

Rugby + Catholicism = a happy dúnadan

Christmas has come early! Paulinus has managed the holy grail of combining a post about Catholicism and Rugby Union! Who are the Catholic Bloggers XV? Visit his blog here to find out

But that is not all. He has followed it up with a survey to find out which kit the CB XV should wear. Check it out and have your say!

The Golden Compass

L. and I went to the local cinema last night to see The Golden Compass. In his review of this picture last week, Mark Kermode pointed out the ironic fact that this film only exists because of the success of The Lord of the Rings and The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe. In a sense, then, it is a sequel to them. But just as many true sequels follow the cinematic law of diminishing returns, so this film is less than those pictures that went before it.

What were the problems?

Firstly, there was a complete lack of characterisation. In a story, characters speak in two ways. The first to move the story along ("the train is going to hit us, jump!") and the second to reveal themselves to the viewer or reader ("I lay down on the train track because my husband left me... do you know what he did?"). The Golden Compass was full of story moving dialogue but bereft of any that told us about who the characters were. As a result of this, it was very hard to relate to them or to really care about what they were going through. The cardinal rule for any story teller is to engage your audience. If you do not do so, you lose them.

Secondly, the pace of the story was much too fast. We jumped from one scene to another with really unnecessary haste. Amazingly, despite this, it still took well over an hour for the first big showdown to take place - the fight-to-the-death of the two polar bears. The Golden Compass is not an action film, but given the nature of the story, it is still very surprising that almost two thirds of the film had to pass before this moment arrived.

Thirdly, allied to the lack of characterisation, a lack of explanation. The Golden Compass takes place in an alternate reality which is ruled by a mysterious organisation called The Magisterium. What was it? Where did it come from? What we do know is that it appears to be led by Derek Jacobi and Christopher Lee. When they appeared, I felt that this was a 'Molina moment' - first felt when I discovered that Alfred Molina was in one of the Spiderman films. He is slumming it there, I thought. And this is the impression I had with Jacobi and Lee. Theirs were bit parts and not really very relevant ones: certainly not worthy of men of their talent.

Fourthly, there was a lack of imagination. It seems (dare one use the word. The author would like it though) heretical to say this of the film given that Pullman's book was richly inventive, but so it was. This came out very clearly in the voices given to the daemons. The daemons are the souls made flesh of the characters. They always appear in animal form. Their voices, however, are completely human. I remember when I saw The Lion and the Witch that I did not like the fact that Aslan's voice was demonstrably Liam Neesam's; not enough effort had been made to give it a lionish touch. Absolutely no effort was made in The Golden Compass to make the daemons sound like animals. Perhaps it was because they are only manifestations of the character's souls. But in that case, they should have been voiced by the character not Kristin Scott Thomas or whichever other famous actor fancied being part of the movie project of the year.

If I was Philip Pullman, I would be sorely disappointed by the treatment of my work. I would also be disappointed by its lack of conviction. Much has been made of Pullman's anti-religion. This film watered it down and threw the water into the gutter. The only indication that the Magisterium might be an alternate realisation of the Catholic Church is that one of the baddies is called 'Fra' and wears a black top and white upturned collar short. As a Catholic I should be pleased with this, but I think I would have respected the film more if it had remained more faithful to its source.

Visually, of course, the film is very arresting. It is soaked in CGI and I can only commend its quality. Special mention must also be made of the young actress Dakota Blue Richards who made a very unlikable heroine in the book quite likable in the film. It is a pity that some of the adult actors and actresses did not follow her lead. Among the failures is Nicola Kidman. She is undoubtedly an actress of high quality, but she looked too sophisticated to be a convincing Mrs Coulter: the woman who is so brutal that she is overseeing the removal from children of their daemons. I am afraid that I must also class Daniel Craig a failure in this film. Not because he was miscast. Rather, the screen writers wasted him. Craig stars as Lord Asriel, Lyra's father. He appears briefly at the beginning to announce that a mysterious substance known as dust connects parallel universes together and then disappears until the end when he is first of all ambushed by some eskimos and then - without any warning - is said to have bribed them and - would you believe it - set up a labatory in the frozen north to find a way into one of the parallel worlds. This deus ex machina moment is repeated at other points in the film adding to the sense of unsatisfactoryness while watching it.

The Golden Compass was made on the back of film versions of Tolkien and Lewis' masterpieces. I shall be thankful if it doesn't kill off the newly revitalised fantasy genre. At any rate, I shall not be making a date in my diary to see The Subtle Knife as and when it is released. In the meantime, if you wish to watch a good fantasy, watch Stardust. A film that is everything that The Golden Compass isn't - heartfelt.

Nobility in Warfare

Bad luck Ricky Hatton. I never saw or heard the fight but having heard the subsequent reports, it sounds like although he fought bravely against Floyd Mayweather, the Welter Weight Boxing champion, he was beaten by much the better man. The BBC website reports that when Hatton was knocked down in the 10th Round, the judges had Mayweather ahead thus: 88-82, 89-81, 89-81.

Boxing is a brutal sport and not at all my favourite to watch, although sometimes it can be very compelling. One aspect of it which is never very nice but is more silly than malicious is the pre-match tongue lashing that boxers give each other. The squaring up at press conferences and weigh-ins can also be amusing.

However, although one feels that the pre-match nonsense is just that, it is great that after the fight is over, the rivals often look out for each other and are genuinly concerned about their rival's condition. From the BBC website report:

Mayweather, often maligned for being cocky, was admirable and gracious in victory, hurrying to check up on and praise his vanquished foe.
"He kept coming and I see why they call him the Hitman. "He's one hell of a fighter but I took care of business and did the job," said Mayweather.

That is how all fights should end, whether they take place in the ring or battlefield or anywhere in between.

Well done Mr Mayweather. But no congratulations to the British fans who, the radio reported, booed the American national anthem at the start of the night. Really not necessary.

A Marian December?

May and October are the months which 'belong' to Mary and no doubt there are very good reasons why this is so; but given that true devotion to the blessed virgin always leads us to her son it occured to me the other day to wonder why December was not a Marian month. After all, it leads us from Mary - in the last stages of her pregnancy - to the Lord in a very direct way.

I suppose the reason why December is not coloured blue is the fact that it is Advent and we are at this time looking towards the Second Coming. But that is not all we are doing this month. We are also awaiting the anniversary of the birth of the Lord so perhaps there is space to be attentive to our Blessed Mother as well, just as we do in May and October.

All I Want For Christmas...

Harlequins 3 Bristol 17

Well, after last week's disappointing performance against Ospreys, the hope was for a renewed effort against Bristol this week as we moved from the Anglo-Welsh Cup to its big brother the Heineken Cup. It appears not to have come. I couldn't make this game: I was at my parish church being recommissioned as a Eucharistic Minister for the coming year. By the looks of the updates from those at the game on the Come All Within website, however, it looks like I did not miss anything. Or rather, more worringly, I missed another poor performance. All that talent and once more nothing to show for it. What is going on at training?

Next week, Quins travel to Bristol for the return leg of this game. So far as the Heineken Cup is concerned, it is a 'dead rubber' as Harlequins will not now qualify for the knock-out stage of the cup. This has to be a good thing, for the last few weeks have shown that for all the talent that Dean Richards has assembled at the Stoop, there is a lack of something that is preventing them from playing consistently well at the highest level across the tournaments. Until they find that Something, far better that they concentrate on the one competition that really matters: The Guinness Premiership.

Parents' BBFC

Required listening on my i-pod is Mark Kermode's weekly film review on Radio Five Live with Simon Mayo. A few weeks ago, the good Doctor mentioned that the British Board of Film Classification has a very useful website called Parents' BBFC on which it places more in depth explanations of why films have received their particular rating. Here is what it said about Stardust:

Summary
In a countryside town bordering on a magical land, a young man makes a promise to his beloved that he will retrieve a fallen star by venturing into a magical kingdom.

Extended Consumer Advice
'Stardust' is a fantasy adventure about a young man who ventures into the magical world of Stormhold to find a fallen star. The film contains moderate fantasy violence and scary moments. It also contains one use of very mild language and very mild sex references.

The combination of fairy tale and adventure story in this film means that the battle between good and evil often results in violence and occasionally death. However, the film's fantastical nature prevents either the violence (which is mostly sword to sword duelling) or the deaths from being graphic or realistic. The impacts between weapon and body are generally hidden by clothing or furniture and the 'bad' characters are either killed off-screen or the fatal moments are brief and free of blood.

The film's scary moments include some scenes where the main heroes are threatened by the bad witches or the evil Princes. However, these scenes are fantastical as well as brief and quickly resolved, leaving the good characters safe and sound until the next stage of their adventure.

The very mild language consists of one use of 'bloody'.

The sex references include a rejuvenated witch admiring her own bottom in a mirror and a joke from a jovial pirate about 'not wearing a wench out'.

'PG' stands for Parental Guidance. A 'PG' film should not disturb a child aged around eight or older. However, parents are advised to consider whether the content may upset younger or more sensitive children.

If you have children and wish to know a little more about a film or are just interested in how on earth Beowulf got a 12A rating, this is a very useful website!

The Inquisitive Cow on Suntans, Hippomatuses/i and American Football

dúnadan: Hallo! I am in a farm somewhere in central Dorset and with me is the one and only da-da-da-da-daaaa inquisitive cow! Hello Gerrie!

inq. cow: Hello dúnadan! That was a nice entrance, although I suspect the 'das' would have worked better had our readers heard you say them rather than just read them!

dúnadan: Well, to do so, they need only subscribe to our cowcast via i-tunes. Now then, the weather in Dorset these last few days has been - let's say - a little lacking in sunshine.

inq. cow: It has rained every day this week.

dúnadan: Which means - obviously - that you have taken the opportunity to study...

inq. cow: suntans! In the spirit of irony, of course. Moooh! What else is one to do when all there is in the heavens is grey clouds?

dúnadan: Of course. So, suntans. We all know what they are, but can you tell me how exactly we get them?

Off on a (very pleasant) tangent

inq. cow: I can. When humans sunbathe, they absorb ultra violet radiation from the sun. This causes a pigment named melanin to enter the skin. Melanin is actually the body's way of protecting itself from the absorption of too much UV rays which can, as people know, lead to skin cancer.

dúnadan: Just like scabs protect a cut.

inq. cow: Yes. Some people may blanch at such a comparison, after all, suntanned people are generally regarded as being very beautiful whereas someone covered in scabs is not very likely to called so; however, the principle is sound.

dúnadan: Let's go off on a tangent. Do animals tan?

inq. cow: Ah! What a very interesting question! As we talk, we are walking round the farm. Away to our right, the Bertie Pig and his family are wallowing in mud. Do you know why?

dúnadan: In Bertie's case, it is no doubt to do with an escape attempt!

inq. cow: Indeed. But in the case of the other pigs, it is because pigs can get sunburnt and caking themselves in mud affords protection against that.

dúnadan: Someone ought to tell them that the sun hasn't shone here for four days and is not going to for another two!

inq. cow: Animals can never be too careful!

dúnadan: Very good-! Speaking of Bertie Pig brings us onto a near relation of his - the hippopotamus. You have conducting some research into this intriguing animal.

inq. cow: I happened to be chatting to Ruddy Faced Helen the Farm Hand about solar winds this week when I noticed on the television behind her a pod of hippopotami swimming and I wondered to myself 'do hippos really swim?'. After all, we cows don't, and we weigh considerably less than them.
dúnadan: Just out of interest, what is the difference between you?
inq. cow: Well, we cows weigh - on average - about a thousand pounds. Female Hippos weigh 3000 pounds. Male hippos - bulls - weigh double that again!
dúnadan: Goodness!
inq. cow: Back to the question, do they swim? Well, I prevailed upon Farmer Bill and Farmer Will to buy me An Interesting Guide to African Animals which was written by Farmer Gill during one quiet summer. And I discovered in there that thanks to their thick layer of blubber, hippos can remain buoyant! This buoyancy enables them also to swim. I am filled with admiration for hippos. They are a glorious creature. Here is Bertie!
dúnadan: Hallo Bertie!
bertie pig: Hullo dúnadan, hello Gerrie! The mud has enabled me to slip through the bars of the pen. I'm off!
dúnadan: Bertie, before you go, how do you feel about being related to hippopotamuses?
bertie pig: Hippo what?
dúnadan: They are like super sized pigs!
bertie pig: Oooohhh, we could do with them in the team!
dúnadan: Team?
inq cow: Ah yes, Bertie has taken up American Football.
dúnadan: Is that a fact!
bertie pig: I am the wide receiver for the Dorchester Fire Pigs!
dúnadan: Uhmm... very good! What does that mean?
bertie pig: Gerrie tells me that it is my best means of escaping from the farm!
inq. cow: Dúnadan, the wide receiver is the man to whom the Quarterback throws the ball. He - the wide receiver - is the quickest man on the pitch. If he does his job well, he will out run or out manoeuvre the cornerbacks and score a touchdown!
dúnadan: A touchdown?
inq. cow: It's like a try!
dúnadan: Ah! Well, Bertie, you can't run away during the game. That would be to let your side down.
bertie pig: Don't worry, dúnadan, I have sorted everything out with the Bishops Caundle Trougheaters! They are going to let me score in the last seconds. I shall do so, and keep running!dúnadan: That sounds like game fixing to me!

Mr Roger Goodell

inq. cow: Strictly speaking, it is. I have written to the Commissioner of the National Football League in America, Mr Roger Goodell to ask if the Dorset Pigs League can be considered an associate member of the NFL but have yet to receive a response. They are playing, therefore, in an unregulated league. Cheating is impossible.

bertie pig: Hurrah!

dúnadan: Hmm! Well, Bertie, enjoy yourself. Who is your coach?

bertie pig: Tecumseh Squirrel. He took the job to get out of his date with Sally Sciry. Unfortunately, his offensive line rather too closely resembles a triplex acies. However, the sarissas will come in useful!

dúnadan: I think we need Mr Goodell to reply rather quickly! Well, Gerrie, we come to the end of this week's interview. Thank you for your time. Bertie, try not to get sacked!

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Index of interviews with the inquisitive cow

Ita Missa Est

Not very long ago, I attended a Mass in the Tridentine Rite in Diocese X. It was not at one of the usual locations in that diocese and so, to avoid upsetting the liturgical Stalinists at the Diocesan Politburo, I do not give either the name of the church or the priests involved here. It is a poor state of affairs, but even now we are only a couple of months after Summorum Pontificum and the scales have yet to fall from some people's eyes.

I said that I attended the Mass. In fact, I helped serve it. It was the first time I have served a Mass since leaving my university town seven years ago and the very first time I have ever served at a Tridentine Rite Mass. It was quite an experience.

I arrived at the church 45 minutes before it was due to begin. Present were Fr Henry, Fr Robert, Fr David and Fr John. Fr John was the M.C. and took us all through the particulars of the Mass. Not that the other priests really needed instruction as they were experienced in the celebration of the Old Rite Mass, but I did and was glad for such a good tutor.

Because of the need not to offend liturgical sensibilities at the Politburo, this Mass was not publicised. Despite this, it still attracted a congregation of about forty. Even Gilraen came along. When I see her again, it will be interesting to find out what she thought of it all! It will be all the more interesting as also present at the Mass was a Certain Someone from that parish who I know has expressed no great liking for the Tridentine Mass in the past. Yet, after the Mass was over, they told Fr Henry how much they had enjoyed it - particularly the singing, carried out by a small group of professional singers.

So, Fr John took us through the motions. The first part of the Mass was easy for me: process in, genuflect and then go and hide at the back of the sanctuary until the water and wine were brought to the altar. The latter half would be a bit busier: bringing the water and towel; ringing the bell and so forth. Actually, if the truth be told, it was not too much more than that. I was let off very easily by Fr John. The most difficult thing about serving was not getting my feet caught in my cassock whenever I stood up. Oh yes, and not kneeling on the little rail that holds down the carpet - awkward on the knees.
Although I was let off, though, I am a bit wistful. When I was at university, I served at my local church and occasionally carried the thuribul. I think I was banned from doing so when on one occasion I swung it so much that the whole choir were covered by smoke during the walk from sacristy into the church...! I had thought I would be carrying the thuribul again today. Perhaps the priests were wise to decide otherwise!

At this point, I feel that I ought to be writing a spiritual reflection on the Mass. I'm afraid, though, that I was too busy trying to remember my next move to be really spiritually minded. What I can say though was that despite it being the first time I had served a Tridentine Rite Mass, I felt thoroughly at home. Home is a good word to use since at Mass our earthly and heavenly homes are joined. Further to this, the Mass felt more real than a night in the cinema, or in the pub, at a rugby game or anywhere else that I can think of. It was an amazing feeling. If someone had locked the doors and said 'right, you are going to serve all day', that would have suited me fine.

The Mass proceeded at a gentle pace, finishing one and a half hours after it began. Hilaire Belloc would have hated it. Who can be right about everything? I have to make my own comment about the singers. They were a wonderful compliment. The church we were in, being quite new, was not ideal for celebration of the Tridentine Rite so their accompaniment was just perfect. A pity that they were so few... perhaps in the future more will come...

After the Mass, we retired to Fr Henry's rooms where we sipped a G&T over some very pleasant music. Among the subjects of conversation were the cocaine habit of Pius IX and the indomitable Mother Angelica. Then, the priests went to their dinner and I went home to wait an hour and a half before I could go to the gym (the sign on the wall there says that that is how long you must wait before exercising after consuming alcohol).

It is reprehensible that a direction issued by the Pope should not have met with full and proper obedience by the bishops. Cardinal Cormac Murphy O'Connor and the bishops of England and Wales ought to be ashamed of their prevaricating over it. To hide behind the 'bination' law and to insist that they should be consulted is a disgrace. For me, the bishops' reactions have been all the more disappointing since, in the case of the Cardinal I have met him a couple of times, and he is a very pleasant person to talk to. Well, it is as it is, and all we can do - what we must do - is pray that their hearts will be softened. I have no doubt that we who were at the Mass today received many special graces as a result of our presence. I pray that the bishops will receive them in the future also.

The Inquisitive Cow on AWACS, Cramp and Little Black Dresses

dúnadan: Hallo from Dorset in this first week of Advent. With me as ever is Gerrie, the one and only inquisitive cow. Hullo Gerrie!

inq. cow: Hullo dúnadan!

dúnadan: So then, what has been making you inquisitive this week?

inq. cow: Never mind this week, this - or rather, last - month would be more appropriate! Over the last month I and many of the animals of the Wood have been very busy filming our very first moving picture, but of that, I can say no more as it is Top Secret. As a result, I have been getting very inquisitive with every aspect of film production.

dúnadan: Gosh, how exciting! When will we find out more?

inq. cow: Before Christmas, I hope!

dúnadan: What can you tell us about then?

inq. cow: Well, this week I was eating my dinner on the Hill when I heard a big rumble overhead. It was a very curious aeroplane, flying at a very low height. The aeroplane was unusual as it had a dome affixed to its fuselage.

A dome...? What kind of aeroplane could that have been?

inq. cow: Funnily enough, that is exactly what I thought. So, I went and did some research. The aeroplane was an E-3 Airborne Warning and Control System. An AWAC.
dúnadan: This sounds like a military vehicle.

inq. cow: You are right. It was built by the Boeing company to provide airborne based surveillance for the United Kingdom. That's us!
dúnadan: Hurrah! Is it a product of the Cold War?
inq. cow: Yes and no. The AWAC was developed in America in the late sixties and entered service there in March 1977. It did not, however, come into service in Britain until July 1989 - just months before the fall of the Berlin Wall.
dúnadan: Too late to cancel the order, then!
inq. cow: Indeed. The British AWAC was unique amongst its kind. Moo! For example, it has an enhanced maritime radar capability - very useful for a country that is an island! A probe refueling system was also added so that it could be refuled in midair. Very exciting. It is powered by the GE/SNECMA CFM-56.2 high-efficiency, turbofan engines.
dúnadan: Uhmm... blimey.
inq. cow: Now, dúnadan, you must know that the CFM 56-2 was such a successful engine that CFM has received orders for its successors to power over 500 commercial and military aeroplanes worldwide!
dúnadan: Dur! Let's move on. Gerrie, this morning I woke up with a very painful leg. Professor Mrs Learned owl -who happened to be passing by outside - said that it was a leg spasm caused by cramp. I thought only sportsmen - and women, for that matter - got cramp.
inq. cow: Not at all. In fact, outside the sports arena, they most often occur at night time. Cramp can occur for a variety of reasons - anemia, low levels of calcium in your blood and dehydration, for example. I am not a doctor, dúnadan, but my advice to you would be to do your stretches, drink lots of water: six to eight glasses a day will do the trick and eat a WELL BALANCED DIET!
dúnadan: Gerrie! There's no need to shout!
inq. cow: Mooooo! There is a reason why obesity is so often talked about today.
dúnadan: Well, it's not all my fault!
inq. cow: I know, but you know I am right!
dúnadan: Heh. I think we shall move on very quickly... does that mean kebabs are out?
inq. cow: And beer. Or at least drink less of it. It is very fattening.
dúnadan: Sigh. That's no fun at all! Now then, an unusual topic to finish with. Tecumseh Squirrel is not the kind of squirrel you would think would have time for girls, but due to losing a bet about the length of the Siegfried Line and Julius Caesar's siege works around Alesia, he has agreed to go on a date with Sally Sciurus.
inq. cow: And she visited me this week to design a nice LBD.
dúnadan: An LBD?
inq. cow: It is her little black dress. A vital part of every woman's wardrobe. The LBD was invented in the twenties by French designer Gabrielle Bonheur "Coco" Chanel as an affordable and versatile dress that would be wearable by the widest possible number of women through its neutral colour.
dúnadan: What difference does its colour make?
inq. cow: Would you wear brightly coloured clothing if you were fat? Or too thin?
dúnadan: Ah. I see.
inq. cow: Fashion observers regard the LBD as a vital part of every woman's wardrobe. They think that women should have a simple dress that can be worked up or down according to the occasion.
dúnadan: Do you have one?
inq. cow: Of course not, I'm a cow. But squirrels are another matter.
dúnadan: Obviously!
inq. cow: What intrigues me most about the little dress is the fact that it is black. Up until the twenties, black was what women wore if they were in mourning. Then overnight, it became socially acceptable to wear it to parties! A very dramatic turnaround.
dúnadan: Indeed so. Well, Gerrie, we have gone on longer than I expected today and my tape recorder is almost at its end. Thank you for your time. Good luck to you and Sally. I hope to hear all about her date with Tecumseh!

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Index of interviews with the inquisitive cow

The Golden Compass

The Golden Compass, the film version of Philip Pullman's Northern Lights opens on Friday. The Catholic League in America wants Christian parents to boycott the film,

... because [the Catholic League] knows that the film is bait for the books:
unsuspecting parents who take their children to see the movie may be impelled to
buy the three books as a Christmas present. And no parent who wants to bring
their children up in the faith will want any part of these books.

I understand the Catholic League's concern, but I don't think a boycott is the answer. Quite the opposite. Parents of sensitive children should give the film a miss, much as they probably did with The Lord of the Rings trilogy. All other parents, however, have I think nothing to fear from either The Golden Compass and - presuming that they follow in due course, The Subtle Knife and The Amber Spyglass. The Catholic League is worried about Pullman's corrupting influence. But might it not encourage those Christian parents who take their children to see the film to talk about what they have seen afterwards? The aim of all Christian parents should be, after all, to help their children grow in the faith and that can't be done by shielding them from those opposing points of view that exist in the world.

The Spirit of Dickens in Twickenham

Barbarians 25 South Africa 5
Harlequins 8 Ospreys 19

They were the best of times and the worst of times... this weekend, I might as well have booked a hotel room in Twickenham as I was there on both Saturday to see the Barbarians play world champions, South Africa, and then back today to see the Quins entertain Ospreys.

The Barbarians game at Twickenham stadium was a joy to watch. The Baa-Baas specialise in a free flowing, expressive form of rugby that cagey league and cup games cannot match and, until the rain started to fall, this is some of what they gave the 55,000 crowd. For the uninitiated, the Barbarians are an invitational side which is put together by the coach and committee for each game. Their roots go back to the Victorian age and the inspiration and genius of a man named Carpmael. To read more about the Barbarians' history, visit its website here.

The latest Barbarian side had some players of the highest quality in its ranks: from England, Jason Robinson, playing his last ever competitive game; from Australia, Matt Giteau and from New Zealand, All Black Joe Rokocoko. The South African side was missing many of the players who won the world cup in October, for example, Schalk Buerger and Jan Smits. But Bryan Habana was there, and the fact that he figured little in the game was a testament to the effectiveness of the Barbarian defence. With that said, the best defensive action of the afternoon was definitely Rokocoko tackling Kankowski into touch just inches from the Barbarian try line.

It might be said that the Baa-Baas win really doesn't amount to much, given that this was a non Test match. But rugby union is such a physical game that if you do not go into every game, no matter how vital or 'meaningless', prepared to give it your all, then you are a liability to yourself and your team. South Africa did try but, perhaps through tiredness, their all just wasn't enough. Jason Robinson received a standing ovation when he was substituted and the Barbarians a famous win.

To Harlequins. Oh dear. Ospreys' discipline imploded during the latter part of the first half today and had three players in the sin-bin at one time. Despite this, Quins were unable to take advantage and score any points at all. Unforgivable. Both sides were guilty of fumbling the ball. Neither greatly troubled either's try line beyond one try each. The crowd were in poor form as well, booing Gavin Henson loudly when he got ready to take a penalty kick - the rugby tradition is that silence is maintained. That the only English players in the Barbarians side yesterday were those without teams (Robinson and Ben Cohen) or those happy to defy their club (Mark Regan) shows how Premier Rugby has chosen to disdain rugby tradition; it would be a shame if the crowd has done likewise.

Harlequins' performance today is getting a real pasting over at the Come All Within Quins fansite. However, as poor as it was, nothing happened today that the players aren't professional enough to sort out in training. Fans who get too annoyed/depressed need only cast their minds back one week when this same side trounced Gloucester in the first half of that game.