Grist to the Mill

11 July, 2006

JOKE

- Why is it a bad idea to marry a tennis player?
- Because love means nothing to them...

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CLASSICS

Came by a GCSE 'Classical Civilization' paper. Incredibly, it runs to 55 pages! This is partly because the curriculum is pretty broad with lots of either/or units of study. And it's also because different translations must be acknowledged. Consider the following 'Euripides' extracts (from Hippolytus and Alcestis). At first I thought the text laid out like poetry was superior, but the more I compare it to the other, the less sure I am:

Well now, listen to me
All mortal men are bound to die - inevitably.
There's no man living who can confidently say -
Not one - that he will still be living the next day.
The road of chance leads on by a mysterious way;
It can't be taught, nor is it grasped by human skill.
So, now you've heard and profited from what I've said;
Well, then, cheer up and drink! Say to yourself, 'Today
My life's my own; tomorrow it belongs to Fortune,'
And there's another goddess too that you must honour:
The most delightful, charming Aphrodite. She
Is a sweet, lovely goddess. All these other cares
And griefs - forget them; just do as I say, if you
Agree that my advice is good - I think you do.
Come on! Away with this excessive melancholy;
Rise about circumstances; put a garland on
Your head; and join me in a cup of wine. The cure
For gloomy thoughts and knotted brows is the sweet splash
Of wine in a wine-cup - I'm sure of it. You know,
We're mortals, you and I; we should behave like mortals.
As for these solemn souls, these anxious worriers,
If you want my opinion, life for all that kind
Isn't life at all; it's one long calamity.
(Trans: VELLACOT).

Just listen to me. Death's a debt all men must pay; there's not a living soul knows for sure if tomorrow's morn will see him alive or dead. As to how fortune's plans will turn out, it's far from clear - no amount of teaching or practice can give you that knowledge. So heed my words and learn from me: be happy, drink, think each day your own as you live it and leave the rest to fortune. Give honour, too, to Cypris, kindest, sweetest of deities to mortal men; she is a gracious goddess. As to everything else, pay it no attention and do as I say, if you think I'm talking sense; I think I am. Let's have no more of this extravagant grief. Come and drink with me! I know just the thing to shake you out of this tense frame of mind, these frowning looks - sinking a good few cups of wine, that'll change your attitude! We're mortal men and ought to think mortal thoughts. Life for all you sour-faced enemies of pleasure, if you want my opinion, is not really life, it's a chapter of sorrows.
(Trans: Davie)

I think the Davie extract is better. Interesting that the content is the same in each case, yet expressed quite differently...

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THE GOOD HUMOUR MAN

Here's an obituary made in error, published in a prominent public school's quarterly newsletter:

"Last year we were told that GML Jones (1923-1928) had died, and his name was the first in 'Obituary' in the November issue. However, the Editor was delighted to receive the following letter written on 14 November:

'Dear Sir, I was particularly intrigued to note that in the Obituary with which I was honoured in your last issue, my demise was dated as December 2004. That year's diaries revealed no catastrophe that could have precipitated my departure. It remains a mystery - as a National Charity, from which I retired as director thirty years ago, dated my death as September 2005. My obituary was fortunately not as dismissive as that of Frederick Prince of Wales, father of King George III, whose ran to a mere 17 words, "It is only Fred, who was alive and is dead, so there is nothing to be said". With every good wish, Yours sincerely, Gordon M. L. Jones.'

We offer our profound apologies, and our thanks to him for responding as he has.

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03 July, 2006

It's too hot to sleep!

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02 July, 2006

WHEN CULTURES CLASH

Walking through the centre of town last week, I passed a group of young, fairly working-class football supporters. They were all blokes, they'd clearly been drinking, and some of them were singing "Let's go fucking mental, da daaa da da". (Football supporters of the "Ing-er-land" variety.) Eventually, the footy boys caught up with a group of young Muslim women who wore the full burquah (sp?). The women were with their customary very small children. When the football fans had passed and were sufficiently ahead (a few feet) they started to sing "Ge-et your fa-ace out for the lads".

Ouch. It was quite witty, really. But to those who say "If you wish England to be your real homeland you should adapt" (ie by not wearing the pillarbox-style burquah), it would be undesirable, clearly, for every settler to adopt this particular brand of Englishness, wholly authentic and English through-and-through as it was.

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