Comments and connections |
| June 1st. 2011 |
| End of Something |
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So, Mr. Harold Camping, you wanted to be famous and now you are. And some. But not for the right reasons. I suppose you saw yourself at the head of a great army, twenty million strong, heading into the skies with the wind streaming through your hair, ‘…the loading had begun; taking Mother Nature’s silver seed to a new home in the sun…’, except you didn’t need the silver spaceships. |
Why, o why are you so gullible, Mr. Camping? Are you so convinced of your own superiority that the brakes and curbs that most people have on their imagination don’t work in your case, or is it that you just don’t have a sense of humour? I mean, surely half an hour spent googling should have been enough to convince you, Harold, (can I call you that?) that your forecasts (two of them, remember) were simply the latest in a long line of prophesies stretching back almost five thousand years. |
A clay tablet, identified as Assyrian, has been dated to about 2800 bc. On it is written, amongst other things ‘…there are signs that our world is speedily coming to an end’ and dire apocalyptic warnings have been trotted out regularly ever since. |
I must admit I started to google up a list of end of the worlders, starting with the Assyrian one I mentioned, but the list seemed to go on for ever (OK Harold?), an endless parade of bishops, popes, mystics, one ‘anti-pope’, (who he?) and seers. The only names I recognised in this impressive list were Isaac Newton and Christopher Columbus. Columbus even wrote a book called The Book of Prophesies. I don’t know why that surprised me but it did. In it he said the world would end in 1658. |
Columbus died in 1506 so he was spared the kind of mirth you’ve had to put up with, Harry. Maybe you should have done the same as Chris. If you pitch the Last Day 150 years into the future, nobody could object and you wouldn’t get egg on your face. Why don’t you try it, Hal? It’s not too late to change the date. Oh yes, well, maybe it is… |
In any case, Harry baby, I can hardly wait for your next pronouncement – October, isn’t it? What is it they say in your country, Harry; three strikes and out, and what is it that the other Harry says; ‘Are you feeling lucky, punk – make my day’. |
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| June 10. 2011 |
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Patch A Scottish Collie |
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What is this talent for invention that the Scots have? We all know that the Industrial Revolution would never have got started without Robert Thomson and John Dunlop, who both invented the pneumatic tyre – not together, you understand, but forty years apart. (Where else in the world would the same thing have to be invented twice because it was forgotten about the first time around?). As if that wasn’t enough, Thomson also invented the fountain pen. Then there was James Watts’ steam engine, McAdams’ road surface and – well, no need to go on, the point is made, I think; without this steady stream of genius from the northern part of our island, we might still be jogging along the roads in horse-drawn buggies. |
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No bad thing, some would say, but that’s another story. However, there is one branch of Scottish inventiveness which is sometimes overlooked, and that is Scottish dogs. Some of the breeds which originated north of Hadrian’s Wall (more or less) include Skye Terrier, Gordon Setter, Border Terrier, Cairn Terrier, the ubiquitous Westie and Queen Victoria’s favourite, the Rough Collie. But the dog which forever and aye means Scotland to people around the world from Europe to the USA, Australia to New Zeeland, and for all I know, China, is the Border Collie. |
I’ve admired the B.C. since I first came across ‘Black Bob’ in The Dandy, many years ago. Collies are not for everyone. They are special and they know it. It may take a while for the two of you to establish who owns your home, but once he’s trained you he’ll give you the run of the place, and as long as he gets plenty of exercise he’ll treat you fairly. |
It seems as if I've always had dogs around; in my work as a pet portrait artist, under my feet or occupying my favourite chair at home. And also in memories stretching way back into the mists of time, by which, for the curious and the literal, I mean the sixties. |
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The first dog I can remember as a toddler was called Bonzo (yes, well, I told you it was a long time ago and I think it was probably quite a fashionable name at the time). He was a mutt, no doubt about it; brown, white and orange, and I used to sleep on the stairs with him. Then came Jock, named after my father, who didn't live with us at the time. He had a rough coat, and I suppose was part terrier (no, not my dad, please concentrate). |
Later, when I had my own dogs, there was Snooky, who was a collie with a terrier head, then Gub-Gub with the beautiful tail, named after Dr. Doolittle's pig because I liked the name. She was actually a Welsh Collie, fast and slim, and nothing like a pig. |
Then there was a Labrador cross, also called Snooky. My wife was for calling her Lib-Lab but I vetoed that. Keep politics out of the kennel, I say. And finally there came Snooky's favourite daughter Bugle (loudest in the litter) and little scruffy Pebbles, who was really my wife's dog. The last two are still with us. So you can see that I know about dogs, or so I thought before we acquired Patch. |
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Patch is a Border Collie. He is not aggressive; in fact he is very lovable and quite gentle with our other two dogs, as long as they know who's the boss and as long as they do as they're telt, and fast, like. Ken? (Well, he is a Scot!). I have to admit that Patch is a puzzle. If he doesn't want to do a thing, he won't. It's as simple as that. He can't be tricked, flattered or scolded into doing something, because he's not that easily impressed. |
But there are ways to manage him. If you want him to follow you; walk away. You know, like the Horse Whisperer. It's not because he doesn't relate; he really loves us and he is obedient in his own way. He will sit, go down, give either paw and 'talk'. He just doesn't see the point of doing something he doesn't want to, all right? |
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He has plenty of the legendary energy and intelligence of the finest sheepdog in the world. I usually take a tennis racquet and ball on our walks in the woods to try, in my optimistic way, to tire him out. We live in a hilly, and fairly wild part of the Highlands, and I only have to say to him, "Patch, that way", or even just point, and he'll be there, waiting for the ball, whether it's up the brae or across a burn. |
And yet, for all his intelligence and boldness, he is sensitive and easily frightened. At the first hint of a raised or angry voice (it wouldn't be mine, you understand), he goes to pieces and hides...
Yes, our boy is difficult at times, but always fascinating, and I don't have to tell you that we love him to bits.
'He was a gash and faithful tyke
'His breast was white, his towsie back
Gash = wise sheugh = ditch sonsie = cute bawsn't = striped like a badger towsie = shaggy gaucie = large hurdies = hips
Six months ago my Patch died, and I have to learn to get along without him. I now have a Border Collie pup crossed with Something Else. He has none of the nervousness of Patch. He is a friend to all the world. And yet...and yet...If he doesn't want to do something...
We do not forget, but we move on.
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