The Quiet Ripple Defines The Pond

KING LEAR

You scholars of English one question I’ll ask
To answer you won’t find a difficult task
Of Shakespeare’s great heroes, which one would you pick
To award him first prize for being totally thick
Othello you know was a gullible dupe
And Hamlet’s delaying landed him in the soup
But the stupidest moron in all of Shakespeare
Was that old King of England, the man they call Lear

Now the two eldest daughters named Goneril and Regan
Knew well what he wanted, so promptly they began
To swear how they always did love and respect him
They thought that the sun rose each day from his rectum
Says Cordelia the youngest, being honest and true
“Can’t you see Da they’re taking the piss out of you”
King Lear lost the head and began to scream at her
But still she refused her old father to flatter

Then says the bold Lear, “I swear on my honor
I’ll split my estate between Regan and Goneril
I’ve nothing for Delia, not land nor finance
She can pack her belongings and shag off to France”
If that wasn’t enough that pathetic old jerk
Left himself without home, without income or perk
The two vixens took all and their Da the old dunce
Was to lodge in their houses in alternate months

Since tragedies must have their audiences crying
There followed a terrible outbreak of dying
Edgar stabbed his half-brother, that devious old crook
And the shock killed his Daddy, that’s Gloucester’s old Duke
Cordelia was hanged by a treacherous jailer
Lear died when it struck him that he was a failure
If he only had snuffed it a few years before
He’d have saved everybody all this suffering and gore

Well, I guess that about sums it up.

There are festivities to mark the moving on of Poncie, Sean and Charlie. Charlie had already gone so we made a voodoo Father Christmas doll to whom we could address the farewell panegyric.

Hisashi, Arisa, Charlie, Rie

The event was again defined by wild craving for meat. There was a huge turkey and a massive leg of lamb. I could feel a restless stirring amongst the guests before the meat was furnished forth. They could smell it cooking and several started involuntarily jerking their heads over their right shoulders in flesh-tearing fashion.

Getting very restless

Luckily Amy took control and forced the mob to wait their turn. I hate to think what could have happened had she not done so.

Amy owns the meat

Of course every last shred was devoured, washed down with Okinawan Colon Cleansers, the only cocktail constructed around a whole banana.

Meat frenzy

Spot the banana

Very well-behaved dog

So bye-bye Poncie, Sean and Charlie

Will ye no come back again?
Will ye no come back again?
Better loed ye canna be;
Will ye no come back again?

www.youtube.com/watch?v=7o0NUmNNffM

If you go to the entry of December 14 2013 you will find this photo.

National Health

Today is December 15 2014.

Same pain , same sweater

It has become a Xmas tradition to get terrible toothache on this same day.

I go to Mori sensei. He rips  off a Californian crown, “Very expensive ne?” Intones the formulaic strophe,” Much pusu! Root canal!”

He gives me lots of antibiotics and painkillers.

Homeopathic

Anyway, what can you expect if you sleep in a house that was built over an untimely felled Rowan tree?

Here is a good song.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=iNdbPf8IFKE

So today there is a general election in Japan. Frankly you would not know it. Well actually I take that back as I do not watch Japanese TV, nor listen to Japanese radio, nor read Japanese newspapers.

Frenzy

None of my Japanese colleagues have mentioned it  and er well there you go. I think it is bad manners to talk politics. So I finally sat down with someone and forced him, with some waterboarding,  to tell me what was going on. It is like this, I think.  Abe’s LDP is pretty much expected to sweep the board, except in the far North where apparently union activity is strong, and in Okinawa.

LDP supports the extension of a US base on Okinawa. The Okinawans do not want this thus it is expected that non-LDP candidates will win all the seats in Okinawa. There is even talk of the Communists winning Naha, the big city on the island.

Panic in Detroit

However things get a little more complicated.  You vote for two things, a candidate for your locality and for a list, which is a grouping of politicians representing one party. In this list thing Okinawa is grouped with Fukuoka prefecture in southern mainland Japan. Fukuoka will almost certainly go strongly LDP meaning the LDP list will triumph. Thus  LDP candidates in Okinawa will almost certainly return to the Diet even though defeated individually because they are part of the LDP list. Get it?

We will see tomorrow.

Grey Tailed Tattlers

Greenshank with Tattlers

Waders are strongly LDP.

One of the greatest surprises about Japan is the bread. Before I came here, I thought that the Japanese did not eat bread, but rice, baby whales and dolphins. Now, after 4 years I have no doubt that the best bread and patisserie in the world is to be found in Japan.

At the university, there are freshly baked Baguettes in the cafeteria  as from 4:00 every evening. They are totally like flavorful and streaks ahead of the majority of the tired sticks available in Freeeeeance.

We made a decision a couple of years ago to give the catering contract to a bunch of local hippies rather than a big proven catering conglomerate. Occasionally you get it right.

They produce delicious meals made from vegetables and stuff grown and er caught and er slaughtered just down the road a piece. The also bake an incredible range of bread and patisserie right on the spot.

Hail to the bakers at OIST. They have my total admiration

I think the scrupulosity, meticulosity, fastidionosity of the Japanese has turned making bread into an art form.

Billy Bunter Buns

I can’t express how delicious these are.

How could I dance with another? Woooooo!
When I saw you standing there.

So everlasting thanks to Kaito + for the amazing food. Many thanks to Charlie Murray, known around the office as, “the bonnie Earl” for the photos.

Bread of Heaven

www.youtube.com/watch?v=dm93QW08yZQ

www.youtube.com/watch?v=SwvpTl88jwI

So over the last few months I have been conscious of a low-level ringing in my ears. Apparently the medical term for this is Tinea Cruris. Yesterday, I go to see an ear doctor . It is, as usual, the best fun. There is something about the medical profession on Okinawa that attracts people with impish dispositions. It is probably the close proximity to death.

I am afraid you are going to die.

After a good searching around inside my ears, all of which was projected on an HD screen for me to follow and a very thorough hearing test, the doctor spoke.

” You are an old man. You are on the downward slope of life. You can expect, with accelerating frequency, that things go wrong, that knees get busted, that bits begin to fall off, that pipes clog, that drains foul, that joints sclerose, that lips dribble and eyes purge thick amber and plum-tree gum. Then you will be buried.”

“OK, thanks Doc.” says I. “By the way, can you fix the ringing in my ears?”

“No, you are doomed to suffer ringing in your ears until the last syllable of recorded time.”

“Ok, thanks Doc.”

The cause of the trouble.

Whilst at school, I was a member of the shooting team. We shot .303 Lee Enfield rifles and we  were deadly. I thoroughly enjoyed it, but alas now I pay the price. Long summer afternoons firing off hundreds of rounds of 303 ball cartridges, without the least concern for ear protection has resulted in my current ear performance deficiency. We cleaned the rifles with rolls of special cloth named two by four, soaked in a mixture of oil and water called milk. So there you go.

This how to eat suchi.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bDL8yu34fz0

It is late November on Okinawa. It is Saturday and it is a very soft day. There is no wind. There is a gentle drizzle. The sea is motionless and a feeling of calm abides.

Don’t take me to the ball game.

I have been entrusted with the family canteen of silver cutlery, the like of which I have never seen elsewhere. It is truly a family heirloom and I take my brief ownership thereof most seriously.  It has been a leitmotif throughout my life as my first memory is polishing the ladle as the wind and rain howled and lashed around Low Dunashery.

Here I am again.

Nothing much changes

Polishing silver is the most enjoyable of pastimes. That which was tarnished and unclean becomes bright and brilliant. It is a quasi-religious experience –  forgiveness and redemption.

A Japanese colleague pointed out this Stevenson poem, which is new to me, yesterday. Its melancholy acceptance of missed opportunity suits the mood of this Saturday very well.

The unfathomable sea, and time, and tears,
The deeds of heroes and the crimes of kings
Dispart us; and the river of events
Has, for an age of years, to east and west
More widely borne our cradles. Thou to me
Art foreign, as when seamen at the dawn
Descry a land far off and know not which.
So I approach uncertain; so I cruise
Round thy mysterious islet, and behold
Surf and great mountains and loud river-bars,
And from the shore hear inland voices call.
Strange is the seaman’s heart; he hopes, he fears;
Drawn closer and sweeps wider from that coast;
Last, his rent sail refits, and to the deep
His shattered prow uncomforted puts back.
Yet as he goes he ponders at the helm
Of that bright island; where he feared to touch,
His spirit readventures; and for years,
Where by his wife he slumbers safe at home,
Thoughts of that land revisit him; he sees
The eternal mountains beckon, and awakes
Yearning for that far home that might have been.

So I polish all the silver.

All that glistens is not gold.
Er, it is silver

It is so good to do not very much. The contemporary culture of always being busy is much over-rated.

What I will eat tonight on that with which I will eat it.

So poor Buster,  a cat of  infinite jest, of most excellent fancy; I  have borne him on my back a thousand times, has gone to the happy hunting grounds. He lived in London with Ian and Ann.

Upside down Buster.

Well,  I now have a pet whom I have named Buster in honor of er Buster. She is a baby kangaroo. I got her in Perth. I am a bit disappointed as I thought she was a real baby kangaroo. Apparently not. She certainly hasn’t eaten anything for nearly a week but is still alive so I suppose she can’t be real.

Here is a video of Buster.

http://youtu.be/dtJd-1g79QE

Hello everybody, my name is Buster.

We had a very good concert at the university yesterday. There were ballerinas and everything.

Nut crackers

After 2 days of meetings, one in an underground bunker with no windows. I break out into the suburbs of Perth again. I take the number 37 bus to Belmont where there is a session of Irish music at Belvideres. http://www.belvideres.com.au/

I get off the bus just in front of a Fish and Chip shop. Yum.

“Fish and Chips, please.”

“What kind of fish would you like?”

“Er”

“We’ve got, Dhufish, Barramundi, Groper, Snapper, Morwong, Wirrah.”

“No Cod, no Haddock?”

“Where you from, mate?”

“Japan”

” No, we don’t have Jap fish here.”

Fresh Barramundi and chips.
Truly delicious.

I then go and play tunes with an excellent fiddler called Maureen. She is about 20 and wears jeans that have more holes than fabric. We play; Five Mile Chase, Traveller, Star of Munster, Foxhunters, Flogging, Rainy Day, Bag of Spuds, Humours of Tulla, Mountain Road, Congress, Wise Maid, Toss the Feathers, Slieve Russell, Blarney Pilgrim, Mug of Brown Ale, Mist Covered Mountain, Glendaruel Highlanders, Cliffs of Moher, Wailing Banshee,  Off to California, Rights of Man and loads more. Very good. I also drink Guinness.

This about sums up my ambition in life.

So for weeks I have been trembling with anticipation. Part of the program for Perth was a sailing trip on the Swan River organized by the Royal Perth Sailing Club.  When the great day came I am told that there had been a change of plan. We would no longer be going out because the wind was too high. I am devastated. I had been wearing the sailing gloves that Ian gave me  24 hours a day for the last week.

Instead there was to be an excursion on the Duyfken.

http://www.duyfken.com/

The literature said that the Duyfken had been to West Australia in 1606 – 164 years before the arrival of Captain James Cook. It also said that the boat was Dutch.  Clearly misprints.

This is she under nearly full sail.

So off we go on a perfect replica of a 17th century sailing boat. It is wonderful! The crew let me help with setting sails and stuff and in a typically ” No worries” way allow me to run around the boat with no restriction. The wind is strong, so we motor down the river towards Fremantle and then turn so the wind is behind us.

First we raise the foresail.

Complex business

I try to engage the skipper, who has spent his life on huge oil tankers, in sailing strategy discussion. Strangely he seems to ignore my advice. We then raise the much bigger foretopsail. This a brand new sail and there is some delay as various sheets and halyards have to be adjusted.

So much fun

I have never enjoyed myself so much. So interesting – I realize that raising sail on these boats was a time consuming business. So what, if you were  miles out at sea with thousands of miles to go? Take all day if you want.

Even with just the two sails set, Duyfken swoops towards Perth at around 4-5 knots.

All good

I used to have a 14.6 sailing dinghy, you know.

Once back on shore, there was a BBQ at the Royal Perth Yacht Club, which due to the wind,was a bit of a blow out. No worries! The trip on Duyfken was unforgettable. Thanks Perth.

You may remember my joy when Cobb swam into view. https://quietripple.wordpress.com/2012/10/31/cobb/

Well, moth and rust doth corrupt and after 2 years of Okinawan heat, salt, exposure and constant use, I need another. They are unbuyable in Japan. I am very excited about going to Perth for there I am sure, the Australians having a BBQ culture, I will be able to track one down. The Perthites are very welcoming and ask if they can help with anything. “Where can I buy a Cobb?” I reply.

This not what they were expecting but in no time I have instructions of how to get to Getaway Outdoors in some lost suburb.

Home of Cobb

I take the train out into Perth’s wide suburbs. I get out at a lonesome station and hike off towards civilization.

Never tire of the road. A lot of Perth is like this, I think.

After a couple of miles I hit a mall. Perth seems a lot like California.

God bless you Australia. Moan ,moan, moan all we ever hear.

Finally I track down Getaway Outdoors and the genial Pete says, ” Cobb? No worries.” If you substitute Cobb for any other word then you have the Perth reply to any question. I like this.

No worries

I trek back to the station and thence back to downtown Perth to start the supposed real activity of my visit.

Cobb with Jacaranda. Waiting for a train.

I think you learn more about places through this sort of stuff than by sightseeing.

New lamps for old