Author Archive

The Stand by Stephen King: I read this once a year, at least. King’s best book, raising all kinds of questions about Good and Evil, the nature of society, the best and worst of humanity - the characters are so beautifully drawn, I feel as if I know each one personally now. The underlying theme - what do you believe? What do you hold sacred? Would you take a stand? Powerful stuff.

Nigella Express: My favourite cook book at the moment. I love the succulent way Nigella writes about food. Even her recipes-in-a-hurry dally over the sheer pleasure of cooking and eating. My son in law, the Filipino chef bought it for me as a spur of the moment gift, so it is doubly treasured.

Roget’s Thesaurus: A very old, battered Penguin paperback edition.

The Prester Quest by Nicholas Jubber: I’m reading this now. It’s the hilarious account of Jubber’s quest to walk in the footsteps of a medieval priest charged with finding the mysterious (and non existent) Kingdom of Prester John, somewhere in Africa.

Ghosts of Vesuvius: Charles Pellegrino’s rivetting comparison of the destruction of the twin towers and other major disasters, such as the sinking of the Titanic and the eruption of Mt Vesuvius. I found it incredibly moving; when Pellgrino and his fellow workers returned to Pompeii after sifting through Ground Zero to study the damage and compare it to Vesuvius (the effects were the same, so investigators were hoping to save lives in future events of this type, including volcanic eruptions) their attitude had changed dramatically. Pompeii was no longer a historical event but an intensely human one. For the first time, these pragmatic scientists `contaminated’ a site by leaving memorials for the long dead - such as a doll, from `the childen of New York to the Children of Pompeii’ (because one of the bodies found at Pompeii is a small girl child clutching a doll.) A most beautifully written book - I highly reccomend it.

To be honest I have never taken a great deal of notice of Friday 13. I have never noticed that I have have had any particular bad luck on that day, and in fact, the events that I would call bad luck have occured on other days. Yesterday, I noticed no black cats, ladders or broken mirrors - the garbage was picked up on time (and the truck didn’t drop any in the street), The chops didn’t burn for dinner and oh joy! my computer actually worked without giving me too much grief.
So much for Friday 13. But why do we consider it unlucky anyway? You won’t find this date figuring hugely in the catalogue of major disasters. The Titanic sank on Monday, April 14; Krakatoa erupted on August 26; Chernobyl nuclear power plant went into meltdown on Saturday April 26. No Friday, no 13.
So given its conspicuous absence when something very unlucky happens, why do we fear it so? many events, including the crucifixion of Christ, have been believed to have happened on that date, but in fact there is no connection at all, or the actual dates are unknown.
The number 13 is considered to be unlucky because there were 13 at the Last Supper, and it is the card of Death in the Tarot. That kind of evidence would never stand up in court.
Friday is actually a fortunate day - it is the day of Venus, the Goddess of love and pleasure, Freya in Norse mythology, and a great day to be born according to the old rhyme:
Monday’s child is fair of face.
Tuesday’s child is full of grace.
Wednesday’s child is full of woe.
Thursday’s child has far to go.
Friday’s child is loving and giving.
Saturday’s child works hard for a living,
But the child who is born on the Sabbath Day
Is bonny and blithe and good in every way.
(It used to be ‘gay’ but political correctness has intervened

What on earth did this harmless, innocuous day do to deserve such bad press? Most modern observers seem to agree that it is a media beat up, a popular press invention - in fact, it could even be termed defamation.

I suggest reclaiming this day. Let’s declare Friday 13 `Nothing Happened Day.’ Let us celebrate the fact that hardly anything ever happens on Friday 13, and revel in its ordinariness. It will become a national - nay, an international - day of non happening.

Of course, life being the contrary animal it is, sinking ships and exploding volcanoes are likely to start occuring on Friday 13 just to spite us.

I love reading old cookery books. I just blogged a bit from Mrs Beeton’s book of Houselhold Management that might amuse taverngoers.
There’s also a new episode of Footprints in Paradise - better late than never! - and a piece on the downside of being a baby boomer.

Our cat Luna loves to drape himself around the gargoyles made by my daughter Kathlyn on sunny days. Thought you would all - Aletta especially - enjoy this pic.

I thought Tavern patrons might be interested to know how women’s liberation affected astrological readings.
Before the 70s, astrology was mainly concerned with a male view of the world - the Moon and Venus were the feminine, all the other bodies were male. So in a woman’s chart, and astrologer would look only at two planets and the ascendant to determine the qualities of a female client. Everything else in her chart was male influenced. Mars was the kind of men she attracted, the Sun and Saturn were powerful males, Jupiter male mentors and teachers and so on.
Of course, many women in fact did express their own male planets quite successfully, but they were considered an abberation. Now we look to see if a woman expresses these male qualities herself, or whether, through conditioning or lack of self esteem, she simply projects them onto the men in her life.
Let’s have an example, from, of all places, Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings. Eowyn, the shield maiden of the Rohirrim, obviously has a very strong Mars and Sun. She longs to perform deeds of valor, and show off her prowess with a sword. But the dominant male in her life, King Theoden, wants to keep her away from battle. She meets Aragorn, a powerful warrior, and falls in love with him. Once more consigned to the sidelines, Eowyn takes destiny into her own hands, dresses as a man, and goes into battle against the forces of Mordor. As it turns out, she is just what is needed to turn the battle, but she is wounded and is taken to Minas Tirith to recover. There she meets the young captain of Gondor, Faramir. Having proved herself in battle, and rid herself of the need to project her desire for glory in battle onto someone else, she is free to find real love with a man more suited to her emotional needs. (One wonders how a quiet Oxford don had such insight into a woman’s heart - his wife must have been quite a woman!)
The astrologer would say that, until she was able to express Mars herself, she had no choice but to project Mars onto the men in her life and fancy herself in love, when all Aragorn represented was what she wanted to be.
So today we take it for granted that many women - high profile sportswomen, even those sent to war as soldiers - will express their own Mars.
As well, there is now a discipline of astrology called Goddess Astrology, which is a purely feminine centered form of reading. Here we draw on the asteroids Ceres, Juno, Pallas and Vesta to flesh out the feminine side of a chart.

What do I NOT do to distract myself from sitting down to write? Connect to the ‘net is the first fatal move. Well, of course I have to check my email, look around the blogs, do some research, read the online news etc etc. When I finally force myself to disconnect so I can get some work done, well - without a cup of coffee, I’m simply not going to get anything done, and while I’m making the coffee, I might as well take the rubbish out to the bin, feed the cat (he won’t leave me alone otherwise), water the plants, make sure the car windows are shut because it looks like rain, clean out the front of the car - and so on and so on.
I am the veritable procrastination master. I could teach it. I could find ways to distract yourself that you have never heard of. I could hold seminars. In fact, I think I’ll draw up a plan now, and doodle around with the idea until it gels, and then I’ll very definitely get down to writing a satirical piece on teaching yourself the art of procrastination.
But first I need a cup of coffee…

Vincent
Painted starry nights,
Planets wheeling in time,
Cafes spilling light
Onto narrow cobbled streets,
Golden sunflowers and tall blue iris,
Peasants working in the fields,
Old men with beards
Lost in thought,
Cabbages and clogs…
“Daubs!” they cried.
‘Garish!” they muttered.
But from his brush
These places
And faces
Still vibrate
With life.
Not still.
Never still.

“And my aim in my life is to make pictures and drawings, as many and as well as I can; then, at the end of my life, I hope to pass away, looking back with love and tender regret, and thinking, ‘Oh, the pictures I might have made!’”
Vincent van Gogh

I have a theory that inspiration floats around like winged seeds, the air is full of ideas and they alight on anyone, regardless of whether you are a painter, a writer or an inventor. They just float about and pop into peoples’ heads, and sometimes they take root and produce a flower, other times they can’t grow beyond that first flash of inspiration and move on. Have you ever noticed that if you don’t use a flash of inspiration, someone else will? A story or picture you vaguely had in mind turns up as someone else’s work. I don’t mind when that happens, it just shows the seed found more fertile ground.
Jo Rowling said that Harry Potter just `popped into her head” fully clothed and ready to go - of course he did. The seed that was destined to flower into the seven Harry Potter novels knew this was the mind that would nurture it best.
I know sometimes and idea pops into my head fully formed and all I have to do is write it up or gather my art materials - if the idea lies fallow and doesn’t come to anything, no matter how often I look at it, I know it’s not really meant for me. I just caught one that was floating about, and I’ll happily let it go to find another mind. There are plenty more floating about up there, and while some are not for me, I’ll catch one that is.

It’s that time in Australia when we always used to go camping with our kids. We’d roast sausages over a campfire, go bush walking, and watch the stars come out before all piling higgledy piggledy into the tent. Now out kids take their kids camping (our old bones just can’t take sleeping out any more) but it’s still just as much fun as ever, and they still burst out laughing when regaling us with the latest camping adventures. Years ago I wrote this little poem about family camping trips:

“Get your foot off my neck – your knee’s in my ear –
I’m trying to sleep – get that frog out of here!
Mum, Chris won’t shut up – your feet aren’t washed! –
Move over, someone, my hand’s getting squashed.”

They say they love camping, they swear that it’s true,
When the weekend comes, and there’s nothing to do.
So we pack up the kids, the dog and the tent,
And head for the lakes, where good times are spent

Sunning and swimming and just having fun –
“I’m hungry, I’m starving, are the sausages done?
I won’t use that toilet, there’s spiders and bugs –
I’d love a good cuppa, did you bring the mugs? “

The mosquitos are biting, the repellant’s at home.
Oh what is this urge that drives us to roam
Far from the comforts of bedroom and bath?
There’s only one reason – it’s such a good laugh!

Gail Kavanagh

The children are our greatest hope.

Gailkav

and such a change from the lurid stuff you see on the newstands - an Ancient World newspaper.

gailkav

Gail the Jester is back - by absolutely no public demand.
This time singing the clown’s song from Twelfth Night.

O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O, stay and hear; your true love’s coming,
That can sing both high and low:
Trip no further, pretty sweeting;
Journeys end in lovers meeting,
Every wise man’s son doth know.

What is love? ’tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What’s to come is still unsure:
In delay there lies no plenty;
Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty,
Youth’s a stuff will not endure.

By Will Shakespeare