Saturday 24 November 2012

Who goes there?

I read the other day that a friend of Prince Charles told the media that he (Prince Charles) had seven eggs cooked for him every morning and then decided on which one he would eat, depending on how cooked or not it was.  We are assured that this is a myth and the Prince does no such thing and I can hear a collective sigh of relief all over the egg-eating world at this very important discovery.

 It set me thinking, though.  Who was this friend who blabbed about something about which he/she obviously knew as much as a reader of a secondhand copy of Hello at the hairdressers?  How do you define who a friend is?  If you are a celebrity you'll have lots of "friends" spilling your guts to the media any time you have half a personal crisis.  "Friends of the couple, who wish to remain anonymous say ...."  What kind of a friendship is that? 

So what is a friend?  For me, a friend is someone who knows when to keep their mouth shut.  Someone who doesn't dish the dirt on me or give away my darkest secrets - I haven't got many, in case you're worried.  And someone who makes me feel good about myself most of the time while still being able to give me a verbal kick up the derriere if I get out of line. By definition, this is an "intimate" friend - again another invention of the media.  I either have friends of the above calibre or I have "acquaintances".  I don't expect too much from acquaintances.  They can be lots of fun to be with - people I really like - but I'd never tell them anything I'd regret telling to even the cat in the morning.  And I might not like it if they criticize me behind my back, but hey, I probably do the same to them.

The most hurtful thing is to consider someone a friend and then discover they've been tearing you to pieces as happily as a terrier with an old slipper.  That's happened to me a few times in my life - can't say I've learned from it, either. I have the feeling that it happens to celebrities a lot - otherwise it would mean colossal job-loss on those glossy gossip magazines even with all the eye-boggling "confessions" and interviews with the rich and famous.  You have to have a quote from a "friend" of Brangelina or Kristen Stewart and Robert Pattinson or any other celeb who migh be currently in the spotlight for whatever reason.

In the old days the sentry guarding the gate to the city said something like "who goes there - friend or foe?"  It would be good sometimes if we could ask this question of those around us - not that I think anyone would admit to "foe."  But perhaps a telling silence might suffice.

Friday 16 November 2012

Grotesques and Gargoyles

The Duomo cathedral in Milan is putting its 135 gargoyles up for adoption.  The scheme hopes to raise the 25m euros needed to restore them and stop them falling off the building onto a passing tourist's unsuspecting head. If you've got 100,000 euros stashed in the right foot of your winter boots and are prepared to donate them  you will have the satisfaction of knowing that your name will be engraved under a gargoyle. 

Alternatively, you could dish out some cash for the preservation of ancient buildings in Rome. Recently, pieces of stone fell off the Trevi fountain. Now, a nice little thank you plaque with your name on it where it  can be seen by all and sundry and caught on camera any time the Trevi fountain is used as background would be just the thing to gob-smack your family and friends. That's much safer than trying to explain away a gargoyle with your name underneath it. And it's much more intriguing than donating to some local charity.  You might even be invited to Rome and given a special public thank you by whoever happens to be prime minister of Italy at the time.  The Colosseum is also in trouble, I believe, and would be equally suitable for having your name held forever in gratitude in the Eternal City. It's something to think about as you leaf through that pile of bank-notes.

 But to get back to adopting gargoyles:  the most important distinction to be made, apparently, is that gargoyles are figures used to drain off rainwater and are not to be confused with grotesques, which although every bit as ugly as gargoyles are in fact meant to protect buildings from evil spirits.  This distinction could be important.  There are almost as many grotesques as gargoyles to be seen on churches and cathedrals all over Europe and it might make all the difference staying dry or getting drenched with rainwater depending on which figure you stand under in a rain shower. 

Here's a thought: if you are visiting Milan and the Duomo cathedral with friends or family in years to come, there is a distinct possibility that when admiring the gargoyles, they might get the idea that one of them is a likeness of you, seeing as how your name is engraved underneath it.  Do you really want to be associated with an ugly water spout?   

Saturday 10 November 2012

Better than a play

Well, it's all over and the shouting (in the US senate) is about to start.  I don't think anyone, anywhere, on this planet could have evaded the hype on the US election this week. As King Charles II said in 1610 of the House of Lords' debate on the Divorce Bill "better than a play".  I know I happily switched to CNN to watch the whole thing unfold, drinking endless cups of tea to stay awake.  And I was a teeny bit surprised, after all that had been said on the subject of jobs and the economy, that Obama won fairly comfortably.  I felt sorry for Mitt Romney - tears were forming in my eyes at his speech - and I rejoiced with Obama (more tears).  There was a tremendous buzz about the whole thing and I wouldn't have missed it for anything.

The thing that impressed me was the determination of so many people in New York and New Jersey to get out and vote amid the devastation of Hurricane Sandy.  Maybe we don't appreciate our civil liberties until something happens to prevent us exercising them.  If we were told we couldn't vote in a general election any more, that the government would re-elect itself and demonstrations were not allowed, I bet we'd have a fit.  We'd be out there marching and social media-ing all over the place.  That's why I really admire those civil rights people who put their lives at risk for things they believe in - people like Aung San of Myanmar who was under house arrest for most of her life and who is still fighting for democracy in Myanmar. 

Well, it's back to grey reality and I need to catch up on the soaps which I happily put on the back burner during the last week of the election.   At least Christmas is coming and the stores will keep our stress levels well oiled by telling us just how few shopping days are left.  Won't have the same buzz as the US election, though, not even if I still believed in Santa Claus.


Saturday 3 November 2012

Home Again

I can't believe that I wrote my last post on 29th September!  It doesn't seem that long ago since I was struggling with my virus and getting all excited about my trip to Spain. The weather was still warm enough to go out with only a light jacket. Now I am back almost a week and find myself reaching for my winter coat.  Quite a change after temperatures of around 25C or higher.

I really enjoyed my time in Spain with my friend Eileen.  My virus plagued me for the first five days (it probably thrived in those temperatures! but then finally left me.  It was so hot that it took a few days to acclimatize.  In fact, we didn't do anything madly exciting, we just chilled out - or warmed up would be more appropriate.   We did go on a day trip to Cartagena and visited the Roman museum there.  The amphitheatre was discovered in the late 19th century when some of the old fishermen's houses were being renovated.  It is in excellent condition and well worth a visit.  What an industrious lot the Romans were!  Cartagena itself is a very old Spanish city with wide streets and lovely buildings.  We also visited Mar Menor, the largest inland salt lake in Europe if I understood our guide correctly.  People with arthritis, rheumatism and various skin ailments come here for the mud baths which are reputed to give a lot of relief.
I didn't take many photos but I have put a few under the "Photos" tab if you care to see them.

I loved the open air market in Torrevieja on a Friday morning.  The food stalls stretch at least a kilometre and offer just about any kind of fruit or vegetable you could think of.  You get the powerful smell of spices and herbs as you walk along. If I lived locally I'd definitely do all my fruit and veg shopping here.  The market is huge and there are stalls offering clothes, shoes, watches, leather goods, things you've always wanted and things you've been trying to avoid.  As soon as you stop to look someone pops out of the back regions and tries a hard sell.  You suddenly find that the handbag for 50 euros is being offered to you for 20 and is genuine, yes genuine camel leather, and in fact the eager seller is going to throw in a genuine leather belt just to be nice.  You smile, shrug and move on , avoiding the watch for 5 euros which is being presented to you.  You also refuse to be drawn into the "find the dice" game which is being played by a shifty looking character using three halved and hollowed-out potatoes and two accomplices who are winning 50 euros each time by discovering under which potato the dice is hidden and are insisting that you can be just as successful. It is all good clean fun as long as you keep a tight hold on your purse.

Despite all the fun and sunshine, though, I am glad to be back home.  I prefer the rough Atlantic in all its moods to the sleek sophistication of the Mediterranean.  The Atlantic has more character, I reckon.  And so I was out on the beach today drinking in the bracing salty air and watching the oyster catchers and the gulls parading around the wet sand.  Cold?  Not really, well wrapped up and contented.