Invictus

A friend of mine described herself, after emerging from two weeks of hospital unpleasantness, as being "bloodied but unbowed". I thought, ah, must be another quotation from Shakespeare, but it isn't. Here's the poem, Invictus, from which it is taken, It is a new one on me, as is its author, William Ernest Henley.
Any ideas about the circumstances which caused him to write such a poem?

OUT of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance	5
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,	10
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:	15
I am the captain of my soul.

This birdie's not for tweeting

Twitter is a funny business. You decide to “follow” people you know and also a couple of conservation organisations This way, you hope to keep up with your friends' doings and to stay abreast of what's happening to protect the world's wildlife. But three reasons have prompted me to pull out of Twitter:

1. You get endless postings or repostings (retweets) from friends of friends of friends who talk about things you don't know about or aren't interested in; or who talk in a metalanguage that resembles one of those West African creoles that enabled the white man to order the natives about.

2. All the postings on conservation matters are negative, gloomy, gutwrenching. Every one tells of another catastrophe, another wickedness, another species on the verge of extinction. It's the stuff of suicide pacts. The worst part of this is that I know in some cases that the dire predictions are not based on solid evidence: they are there simply to scare the shite out of us. It does the conservation/green movement no good at all.

3. The three Tweet friends that I love the most are raging intellectuals way beyond my capacity. They know recondite stuff, they use arcane vocabulary, they quote medieval Provençal balladeers, they offer pithy wisdom in languages that I can't even recognise. In short, they make me feel inadequate. They give me the sort of uneasy feeling that would cause a man to check his flies even if he were wearing a kilt.

So, it's goodbye to Twitter. I still follow Facebook, though. Just.

Children talking about marriage

I don't usually go for these "cute kid" postings, but this one seems to me to have a lot of wisdom embedded in it.
 

1 HOW DO YOU DECIDE WHO TO MARRY?
You got to find somebody who likes the same stuff.  Like, if you like
sports, she should like it that you like sports, and she should keep the
chips and dip coming.
Alan, age 10

No person really decides before they grow up who they're going to
marry. God decides it all way before, and you get to find out later who
you're stuck with.
Kristen, age 10

2 WHAT IS THE RIGHT AGE TO GET MARRIED?
Twenty-three is the best age because you know the person FOREVER by then.
Camille, age 10

3 HOW CAN A STRANGER TELL IF TWO PEOPLE ARE MARRIED?
You might have to guess, based on whether they seem to be yelling at the
same kids.
Derrick, age 8

4 WHAT DO YOU THINK YOUR MOM AND DAD HAVE IN COMMON?
Both don't want any more kids.
Lori, age 8

5 WHAT DO MOST PEOPLE DO ON A DATE?
Dates are for having fun, and people should use them to get to know
each other. Even boys have something to say if you listen long enough.
Lynnette, age 8

On the first date, they just tell each other lies and that usually gets
them interested enough to go for a second date.
Martin, age 10

6 WHEN IS IT OKAY TO KISS SOMEONE?
When they're rich.
Pam, age 7

The law says you have to be eighteen, so I wouldn't want to mess with
that.
Curt, age 7

7 IS IT BETTER TO BE SINGLE OR MARRIED?
It's better for girls to be single but not for boys. Boys need someone
to clean up after them.
Anita, age 9

8 HOW WOULD YOU MAKE A MARRIAGE WORK?
Tell your wife that she looks pretty, even if she looks like a dump truck.
Ricky, age 10

Quick, drink up!

I bought a carton of cranberry juice and forgot about it for a couple of weeks, mainly because I don't like cranberry juice (gotta drink it, though, to put off the day when I end up in the bladderdaddy ward in Addenbrooke's). This morning, I gritted my tooth and opened it. The wording on the top caught my eye:
DISPLAY UNTIL  30 Jan 2014
BEST BEFORE     1 Feb 2014
Hell's teeth! Two days and it starts to deteriorate?!
I drank most of it anyway. Better than being catheterised. Just.

Virtual unreality

The smog in Beijing is now so bad that the authorities are posting pictures of the sunset, the only sighting of the sun most people are going to get during the winter.
A combination of traffic and indutrial pollution together with the extensive use of coal has led to this crazy situation.
And what is the message of these sunset postings? "If you can't experience reality, don't worry, we will provide you with a fun substitute"?
Life by proxy. It's scary.

Loopy

 Have you ever been trapped in a loop? Let me give you an example. We used to have an excursion programme for our students: Stratford, Stonehenge, Oxford colleges, that sort of thing. For our more techno-minded students, we would arrange visits to factories, mines, manufacturers and so on. As the school was close to Southampton, I phoned Fawley Oil Refinery to find available dates for a visit.

“We're fully booked for the next two years, sir.”

“No problem,” says I cheerfully. “Book us in for the first available day after that.”

Sorry, sir, we don't take bookings more than two years in advance.”

I could feel a loop coming on...

“What if I phone you again tomorrow, dear?” (You could call girls 'dear' in those days).

“Sir? But...”

The note of incomprehension in her voice said it all. I was trapped in a loop.

Never did book an excursion to Fawley Oil Refinery. Took the kids to London instead to see a Brian Rix farce; seemed appropriate somehow.

Comfort Trellis-style

The widow of Llanfairpg offers solace.

Dear Mrs Hollande, she writes, you too, dear? Another victim of men's lustings. I honestly don't know what the solution is apart from putting bromley in their cocoa. Try not to fret, dear, one day you'll be a widow like me and then it won't seem so bad.

Yours solidarily

Blodwen Trellis, Mrs, widow. retd.