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Tony Grist

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Summer's Almost Over, But... [Aug. 26th, 2016|09:45 am]
Tony Grist
"And to think," said Ailz, "That in a few weeks time we'll be fighting for the quilt!"

It was very hot last night. At one point there was an electrical storm- lots of lightning but no thunder. Later there was a bout of heavy rain.

I dreamed I was being installed as Bishop of Durham by Hugh Bonneville. We were building up to the really important part of the ritual  where I was supposed to quaff a cup of wine but the condom holding the wine had sprung a leak and when we reached it there was no wine left...
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One Man Exhibition [Aug. 25th, 2016|04:59 pm]
Tony Grist
I dreamed someone had arranged an exhibition of my artwork without my knowledge. "But have you included any of my abstracts?" I asked- and they hadn't- so I got busy selecting some for last minute inclusion. The Queen attended the opening- and I was trying to explain my sources of inspiration to her- with little success. (I wonder whether Cromwell got tongue-tied when talking to Charles I?) By this stage I was beginning to wonder whether everything on display was actually mine...

Did I really paint all those pictures of trolls?

Perhaps I will.
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Cat Herding [Aug. 25th, 2016|11:14 am]
Tony Grist
I go out in the dusk to bring the cat in for his supper. Once I would have circled the house looking for him; now I find it's more effective to walk to the middle of the field, stand still- and wait for him to come to me.  I assume it's easier for him to read my energy signature if I'm not moving. He seems to know my eyesight isn't as good as his- so he signals his approach vocally- and I hear him going miaow, miaow, miaow long before I see him.  He brushes up against my leg, stands on my foot and then we go back into the house together.
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Dog Days [Aug. 24th, 2016|09:25 am]
Tony Grist
No pix today. We spent yesterday morning watching the kids mess about in the campsite pool and if you whip out a camera any place where there are lots of kids you get dragged outside and stomped to death for being a paedophile. One of these days we'll get over this madness and be able to laugh at ourselves but for the time being it's safer to go with the flow.

It was very hot yesterday and they say it's going to be very hot today as well. Julia (the gardener) came early- while we were still in bed- with a view to clocking off early too and avoiding the noonday sun.
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Odi Cooks My Lunch, Fabrizio Looks On [Aug. 22nd, 2016|07:08 pm]
Tony Grist
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Small Kid, Big Beach [Aug. 22nd, 2016|07:06 pm]
Tony Grist
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Winchelsea [Aug. 21st, 2016|11:19 am]
Tony Grist
Yesterday's weather forecast was alarming but most of the awfulness passed us by. Here's how things looked in Winchelsea round about tea time.



We said we'd meet Odi and family off the train- which was as well because the station turned out to be a single platform way out in the fields and there's no bus stop. They'd missed their connection in Ashford- which put their arrival back by an hour- so Ailz and I retired to the New Inn for refreshments. I'm very fond of Winchelsea. It's Rye's neglected twin- very quiet where Rye is all bustle, but just as medieval and just as beautiful. Plus Spike Milligan is buried in the churchyard.

Here's a picture of the church's west front. No-one seems to know whether the semi-ruinous state of the building is down to French raiding parties or the money having run out.


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Odi And Family [Aug. 21st, 2016|10:05 am]
Tony Grist
Odi, Peter, Fabrizio, Christa and Miguel are in Winchelsea for a week's holiday...



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The Mathematical Cow [Aug. 19th, 2016|09:34 am]
Tony Grist
According to a dream I had last night, the 17th century Dutch invented a mechanical cow that could invent and solve the most abstruse mathematical problems. It was way beyond any technology we possess now.
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Rosa Alchemica: W.B. Yeats [Aug. 17th, 2016|11:56 am]
Tony Grist
An odd thing about Yeats is that he was such a great poet and such a thoroughly average everything else. He expended vast amounts of energy on the theatre but never wrote a play that has lasted. His early fictions are essentially juvenilia but he valued them above their price- to the extent of keeping them in print and inroducing their personae- Red Hanrahan, Michael Robartes et al- into his mature verse- where they hang about being impressively mythic.

People who knew Yeats personally, especially in his younger years- were inclined to find him rather silly- and a story like Rosa Alchemica- heavy on the esoteric showing off, light on characterisation and plausibility- is- as it were- evidence for the prosecution. The protagonist is a wealthy and reclusive aesthete- of the kind common in fiction of the 1890s- who lives in Dublin. The Rosicrucian Michael Robartes turns up on his doorstep and uses the fluence to recruit him for his magical order- because that, of course, is how occultists operate. They take a train to the West Coast where Robartes owns a temple at the end of a pier. That night- while Robartes and his guests dance mystical dances- the local,fisherfolk storm the temple like extras from a Frankenstein movie- and our narrator barely escapes with his life. Seeing who has the bigger guns, he renounces occultism and becomes a Catholic.

It's the sort of thing Algernon Blackwood (like Yeats an initiate of the Golden Dawn) might have written- only Blackwood would have done it better.
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