The march of progress

Yesterday we marked the 60th anniversary of the conquest of Everest by Edmund Hilary and Tenzing Norgay. A towering achievement in anybody's money.

At the same time I didn't send somebody an email asking: "And how old are we, then? Six?"

We live in exciting times.

Explorations in palaeontology

Following on from yesterday's ramblings...



(Moschops is a Therapsid from the Permian. Therapsids are one of the more primitive groups of Synapsid ("mammal-like") reptiles.)

Postponed

I was going to write a post on Merriam's wonderful book on extinct marine reptiles and my profound disappointment on buying what was billed as its successor. And how black and white line drawings look more authentic and scientific and scholarly than even the best colour illustrations. I was going to move on to the Permo-Triassic explosion of reptilian diversity as the Cotylosaurs adapted to new environments and the ancestral diapsids and synapsids first took to the stage, looking little like the dinosaurs, birds and mammals they would beget. And I was going to illustrate it with Pareiasaurs and Placodonts and draw particular attentions to the convergence of evolutions that brought about the Permian Daedalosaurs, the Triassic Icarosaurus and the modern flying lizard. And that.

But I got distracted by a cup of tea.

Holiday reading: rainy bank holiday afternoon

And a last burst for this weekend...

(I have to admit: "They Called Him Nighthawk" is only in for its cover art. I don't reckon Sidney Horler.)

Holiday second reading

And for just as little rhyme or reason, some more books:

Holiday weekend reading

For neither rhyme nor reason, here's a bunch o'books

Can you guess which one I haven't read?

Twisted sister

Never mind the woman or the dog, look at the songs. Can you imagine going the twist to any of them?



"The Yellow Rose of Texas"
"Tea For Two"
and best of all: "The Indian Love Call."

Nelson Eddie: you've gotta dig that pussycat!

More from the Observer's Book...

A few more from The Observer's Book of Commuters...


The Tiller Girls: Genetically incapable of not walking four abreast along any pavement, station platform or canal towpath. Usually accompanied by raucous laughter, the handbags from hell and an overpowering smell of yesterday's face powder.

Trolley Dollies: Gentlemen of a certain age with suits of a similar vintage pulling along little cases on wheels with neither flair nor accuracy. Imagine Bernard Manning impersonating a BOAC air stewardess and you'd not be far wrong.

Franklin's Lost: They couldn't find the Northwest Passage and by God, they're not going to be finding their bus any time soon. In between times they meander aimlessly sadly between bus stops, driven mad by snow-borne mirages.

So long Eddie

R.I.P. Eddie Braben

The passing of one of my heroes. An utter genius of a writer, a great artist and craftsman. We're the better for having had him round.

How could you improve Morecambe and Wise? Well, you could get them to drop the Abbott and Costello personae they often adopted in the fifties and sixties. Then you could write for deep-seated warmth of their friendship. And then you could add the daftnesses of childhood. And you get this:



Here he is talking to Miranda Hart about the experience:



(It wasn't until I read his obituary in "The Independent" that I knew about his head-butting Billy Cotton for not letting him follow Morecambe & Wise over to Thames when they left the BBC.)

It's a shame I don't have any links to clips of any of his radio shows. Mad compendia of music hall malarkey, gorms and grotesques, with Alison Steadman as Miss Tasker ("Shy of men. Always have been...") driven wild by men's thighs and the odd lurch into Comic Cuts surrealism that would lead Eli Woods to cry: "I've done some rubbish in my time, but..." And we'd laugh. Because it was warm and daft and funny.

Thank you sir.

That Monday feeling

I know it isn't Monday but...

Fretting...

I dreamed that the world had fallen apart around my ears and I was having to cadge cigarettes off Sacha Distel. As anxiety dreams go that's a doozy.

Mag 168

"Did you remember to buy mints?"
"Yes, I remembered to buy mints."
"Peppermints?"
"Peppermints."
"You didn't get those soft ones did you? They stick in my teeth."
"I got those big white ones you like crunching up while I'm trying to hear the telly."
"Good. I don't like those soft ones."
"No."
"Did you remember to lock the back door?"
"I remembered to lock the back door. Then you went back to check that I remembered to lock the back door. Twice."
"Oh my God! I left the gas on!"
"No you didn't."
"I don't remember switching it off after I'd boiled the eggs."
"You did. And you made me go back to make sure that you had."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive."
"I don't remember that. Shouldn't we...?"
"Stop your wittering woman. We're going on holiday and we're leaving all that stuff behind. And that's that."
"It's all well and good you saying that but what happens if we come back to find we've left the gas on?"
"If the worst comes to the worst and the house gets blown up we can always doss down in Molly's shed. Now stop worrying. We're supposed to be on holiday."
"Well, if one of us didn't worry where would we be?"
"We nearly weren't on that train in time. Pack it in and have a mint."
"Oh good, you got the ones I like."
"Good."
"It'll be nice to get away from it all, won't it?"
"Aye."
"How's your Dennis' leg?"
"You were right: it is teak."
"I thought so. You can't spend all those years watching "The Antiques Roadshow" without learning something."
"You don't see teak these days."
"No. Our Doreen's dining room set was teak veneer. It was very nice. Contemporary."
"Aye."
"I suppose you don't see teak these days because it's cruel to elephants."
"How do you mean, cruel? To elephants?"
"They had all them elephants in the logging plantations hefting the tree trunks all about. It was very cruel."
"That's what elephants do. They trundle round, knocking trees over and chucking them about the jungle."
"Those little men that sit on their backs. That's what's cruel. They tell the elephant what to do by poking it behind the ears with a sharpened stick."
"Aye, well I can see as that's not much fun."
"Cruel I call it."
"There's times when I think that our Dennis could usefully be poked behind the ears with a sharpened stick. If his mum had poked him behind the ears with a sharpened stick a few times when he was younger he wouldn't be the trouble to her he his today."
"Here. Have one of these."
"What?"
"I got you some wine gums."


More Magpie Tales

Meanwhile, in the Danube Delta...

Those of us dwelling in the ignorances of the Western World would think that Romanian television consists entirely of repeats of "Beetroot World with Gheorghe Gheorghiu-Dej."

How wrong could we be?

Making plans for Nigels

It's that time of year again...



(Apologies for C4's advertising)

A constant tussle over livestock

The booklet cost £2.50 and I gave the lady at the desk a £5 note. A proper one with a picture of Dame May Whitty on the back of it. The lady at the desk rummaged in the coin tray for a considerable time. A good half of the tray was covered in pound coins and there was a mound of fifty pence pieces just to one side. But still she rummaged in the coin tray for a considerable time. Reluctantly she palmed a fifty pence piece then rummaged a bit more. In the end she gave me an assortment of 10p coins, some 5p coins, a twenty and the fifty pence piece. Scores of pound coins to give as change and she gave me two hundredweight of half-chewed threepenny bits. You have to wonder about some people.