Relativity

No, not the sort of relativity that Albert Einstein "invented" and which, despite numerous attempts at explanation (including by the brilliant T) I completely fail to comprehend.

The relativity I have in mind this evening concerns cost.

Space News reported that the cost of NASA's current Mars programme has reached $2.5 billions.

Peanuts.

I say "peanuts" because of the staggering achievement of transporting a vehicle of astounding versatility, not to say complexity, weighing about a ton, about 352 million miles, and delivering it to a point just 2km from its target on the surface of the Red Planet.  And the amazing vehicle, so capable, has arrived undamaged and has already started its work.

Peanuts again.

Meanwhile, in London a sporting competition has been put on.  It is a very large sporting competition, including top-class sportsmen and women from all around the world.  The goings-on have dominated the news media and caused havoc in terms of traffic congestion; also many businesses have suffered loss of trade in consequence.

Cost? about £13 billions - and that's just what we have been told about; I suspect that there will be a substantial financial hangover afterwards as has been the case in other countries foolish enough to claim the glory of presenting the Olympic Games.

Not peanuts; not peanuts at all.

Until the nest time.

[28/27]

A Tangled Web

[28/27]

There is no shortage of blogs in the so-called "blogosphere" - how many?  Does anyone know?  Yes of course; Wikipedia knows - over 156,000,000 last year.

Well I came across one the other day; brand-new and something about it appeals - not least the name adopted by the owner: Daintycorpse.  Goes well with STYX I think, and so I have included the blog in my list of links: O What a Tangled Web We Weave

Please visit and give Daintycorpse your full support.

Until the next time.

Another Thursday Passes

28/27


And, now that we are already in August, more depression looms as soon some significant anniversaries will arrive:  11th August, 30th August, with more to come in September.


It only gets worse.


Forget any other bollocks that I have written here; I love her, pure and simple.


Until the next time

Rosamond Lehmann, William Blake And the Spreadeagle

I have just finished reading Miss Lehmann's The Echoing Grove.


In this novel appears a couplet taken from William Blake's poem Broken Love, a powerful thing indeed.

"And throughout all Eternity

I forgive you, you forgive me."

Yes, "infinite love" was her expression.

There's no escape.  Today I found an ancient Penguin - John Fothergill's An Innkeeper's Diary; I had to buy it - she had a copy and introduced me to the story of The Spreadeagle at Thame and Fothergill's often outrageous tales; typical of the things we shared.

Inevitably I had forgotten the dedication:

To ["T"]

Too Good for Words

&c.

I suppose I might have guessed that Fothergill's wife would have to have had that name.

Yet another stab in the heart I'm afraid.

Until the next time

Pedantry III

I mentioned here that I have found a copy of Aldous Huxley's Antic Hay, recommended about nine months ago by "T".  Recently I referred too to my pedantic nature (Link and link) which seemed to please her, so she said.

It was rather piquant, to say the least, to read the following in the novel:

"What a delicious pedant you are!  She turned away from the window, put her hands on his shoulders and looked at him. "Too exquisitely ridiculous!"  And she kissed him.

The greater the height, the worse the fall I suppose.

Until the next time.

Heartbreak

[27/26]

You know, it really is a struggle despite the passing of six months and today is a bit blacker than usual.

Many say "Oh, it's the feeling of rejection, wounded pride" and so on.

But it isn't.  It's the missing - and very often the small things.  I remember an occasion when we were discussing the writer Aldous Huxley.  I had never read any of his work; "I think you'd enjoy Antic Hay" she said.  I found a copy two days ago and have read it.  And just like every time I read something interesting, I want to talk with her about it, and of course I can't.

And there will never be anybody with whom I can talk in this way - especially a lover.

And this is horribly depressing and desperately sad and there's not a damned thing I can do about it.

Until the next time