LIFE WILL BE THE DEATH OF US

Interesting little exchanges on Catholicism Pure & Simple, regarding DEATH.
A subject seldom far from my mind these days. And then a copy of "Mirror Pensioner," the world's finest newspaper - being the only one with its priorities right - arrived  yesterday chock full of obits of old friends and colleagues.
This following on the recent news of a close friend's demise. (Whisky and cigarettes, said the Doc. Very old fashioned. Fleet Street to the end, in fact.)

Still what is to be done about it?  Death, that is. Best turn to Michel de Montaigne, as usual:

“If you don’t know how to die, don’t worry; Nature will tell you what to do on the spot, fully and adequately. She will do this job perfectly for you; don’t bother your head about it.”

And then, also on CP&S, someone called Metropolitan Anthony is quoted as saying:  “All life is at every moment an ultimate act.” Can’t argue with that.

And strikes me it could equally well be Sartre speaking, as a man oddly named after a Tube line.
We must wonder what Bakerloo Fred would think.

Someone once said to Montaigne:
"I’ve done nothing all day.”
“What! Did you not live?” said M.

Don't know what's that's got to do with anything. But I like it.

BULLY FOR OBAMA!

Missed a day already! Doh!

However, Reb is back from her errand of mercy, and I hope we can get some sense into the layout of the blog now, and proper spacing.
Spacing
is
good..
 
I have been banging heads on Facebook over Obama. I'm not violently Pro-Obama, (he has disappointed me too often), just anti the pathological Anti-Obamas. One "Facebook friend" in question has been relentless in her attacks, accusing him of everything bar child molesting. That will be next, no doubt. True, I've been a bit hard on her, too hard, no doubt - but she is bullying the man, and I can't stand bullying.

Unless I'm the one doing it, of course.

SPEAKING FRANKELY

Well, Frankel The Wonder Horse got it done at Ascot, didnee? Workmanlike rather than imperious, most spectators agreed. Fourteen straight victories, no defeats. A great horse, for sure. But the greatest ever? Not for me. The greatest horses win the greatest races - in Europe the Derby and the Arc de Triomphe, in the U.S. the Triple Crown, and nowadays The Breeders Cup Classic.. Frankel didn't. So he's only potentially the greatest. Sea Bird was the greatest European, Secretariat America's greatest - whose 1973 Belmont Stakes win must be the the most amazing performance by any horse, any time, anywhere. Ever. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V18ui3Rtjz4 (You can see it on Youtube, anyway, if this doesn't work.)

A PLAGUE ON US!

"After the Pontiff spoke these words there appeared above Hadrian’s Mausoleum an angel, believed to be St. Michael, who replaced in his scabbard the sword of vengeance which he had held over the city." This is from a post on CP&S, two days ago. Apparently God had smitten Rome about the year 600, with a "vicious" plague. A few prayers later, and Bob's your uncle. Plague over. The point is, do we really need a god who viciously visits people with the plague? I think not. This "God's Vengeance," stuff is at best gibberish, and at worst pernicious nonsense. There. I can say that on my own blog and not upset anyone! More importantly, Frankel runs his supposed last race today at Ascot. He's supposed to win, of course. never lost yet.

Bear with me...

(Don't you just hate that expression?) Until I can get my proper computer back, I'm struggling here. can't get any spacing in. But am determined to struggle on daily. Things will improve. And the prognostico says it will stop raining at lunch time. Found a very interesting old movie in YouTube yesterday: "Pygmalion" starring Leslie Howard. Fascinating for film buffs for two reasons: It was clearly used almost word for word, and scene for scene as the screenplay for "My Fair Lady," and is beautifully directed. Howard gets the credit as Director, but I suspect the key to the film's excellent quality lies hidden among the secondary credits: Film Editor: David Lean.

Proustian frustration

After months of near drought, the rain is here in Moratinos. Lots of it. And Toad and the Toadhounds are stuck on the gravelled Camino, rather than the unmade farm tracks, which are seas of mud. As for the stubble fields - forget them. Swamps. And attractive dog and boot prints on the floor tiles. Mop time. Something is wrong with the edit workings of this blog. I can't put in any spacing between sentences and paragraphs. So each episode comes out looking like a page from Proust. Merde. Very short items til it gets fixed. There's a blessing.

As I was saying...

It is a year since I last blogged. Forgive me all, for I have sinned by omission. Although, to be sure,it might well seem more like an absolution to some. Anyroadup, for various reasons I am determined to open for business again on "Downhill." The main topics will be those shunned by all decent people, religion and politics, most likely. Among the reasons, one of the main ones in fact, is that I have recused myself from a blog called Catholicism Pure & Simple, where I was wont to bloviate at length on Miracles, The Veneration of The Sacred Nose of Saint Atheniastyasius, Transubstiation, The Seven Swords of Sin, Original Sin, Cardinal Sin, The Spanish Inquisition, Papal Infallibility, and the Corrosive Effects of Holy Water on The Forehead. Stuff like that. Nothing fancy. That was until a post on there about Fatima convinced me that the whole boiling of CP&S, very much including Toad*, might be better employed farting The Star Spangled Banner down the well in our front yard for all the good it was doing any of us. However I will provide a link to said blog ASAP, and expect to refer to it frequently. My comments on CP&S will appear here however. This is in order that I don't need to be over-polite as previously, and more that I don't hog the thing as I have done up til now. *For reasons too boring and arcane to go into here, (unless specifically requested,) I was known on there as "Toadspittle" although my CP&S friends familiarly called me "Toad." And despite these spendidly-stated intentions, I may just quickly relapse into my normalstate, commonly referred to in the medical profession as "torpidity." Still, today it rains, and a steady stream of hideously-poncho clad, hooded pilgs, looking like giant hunchback gnomes, limp dismally past me and the doggy brigade. The effect in the gloaming and drizzle is oddly and appropriately 14th Century somehow. Moreover, Reb is off for a few days on a work of great mercy. Your prayers are asked. And my big computer has got all its little cogs and wheels jammed up with cake crumbs and bits of Morcilla de Burgos and orange peel grape seeds and has quit on me. So I have to use Reb's for the time being, which is about the size of a biggish postcard. And which, with my poor old minces, is hard going. But still, we are off and running again. Pictures will soon be added. (I can't remember how to, so must wait for Reb) Mostly of dogs and cats. And maybe Frankel.If he wins.