Today I’m feeling philosophical, and when I am, my mind wanders where it may, sometimes meandering like a crystal-clear mountain stream over pebbled beds and gurgling merrily along; at others like a dirty, sludgy industrial outlet.
So today I’m thinking along these lines: if you’re travelling in a vehicle at the speed of light, and you switch on your lights, does anything happen? And if so, why?
Alexander Graham Bell invented the first telephone, but who did he call? It’s all very well to say he did it, but who was he speaking to on the other side?
Marconi invented the radio, but what did he listen to? As far as I’m aware there were no stations broadcasting, just waiting for someone to invent a radio so they could be heard! It’s all very puzzling to a mind as fuzzy as mine.
When Archimedes ran naked down the streets of Athens shouting ‘Eureka!’ what was it he had found? His soap? Because it’s a bit of a swine when it gets worn down and slippery and keeps squirting out of your hand just as you pick it up. Or had he discovered the first crude lever?
When people roll their eyes, are they subconsciously trying to look into their brain? And when they close one eye, is it to help focus?
These random thoughts pop into my mind all the time: there’s nothing to stop them.
So we have terms like ‘as the crow flies’. Have you ever seen a crow fly? Five miles as the crow flies is more like ten real miles, so why as the crow flies? Why is a man six foot two in his stockinged feet. Why not bare feet? Surely stockings, or socks, would make him very slightly taller?
Why are certain untrue stories tall? Tall tales are given short shrift and a wide berth. Tall tales are inevitably short on truth.
And then there’s the ridiculosity of movie storylines. Jurassic Park, great movie: Nedry has password protected his computer and no-one can get in, but Lex Murphy, Dr Hammond’s granddaughter, says, ’This is Unix, I know Unix!’ She breaks his code and gets everything back on track. This is the same girl who doesn’t know how to switch off a torch when the T-Rex is approaching their vehicle.
Ghost, with Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore, a tear-jerker of note. Wonderful love story, but answer me this, if you will. If she loved him as much as she claims all throughout this tedious (to me) movie, why didn’t she kill herself, so she could be with him? I should write movies scripts, they’d make a lot more sense.
It’s why I stick to the classics:
Here’s another masterpiece by wee Rabbie Burns.
Ode tae Porridge
Why is there no’ a monument
Tae Porridge in oor land?
It it’s good enough tae eat, ye ken
It’s good enough tae stand!
On a plinth in doontoon Glasgow
A wee statue we should see
O’ Porridge made in Scotland
Strong as any English tree
For we dinnae hold wi’ Corn Flakes
Or Rice Crispies or such trash
It’s got tae be good oat Porridge
Wi’ the consistency of wet ash
It’s a bonny wee thing is oor Porridge
While every other thing wilts
It’s the reason oor men are courageous
An’ wear nothing under their kilts
When ye see a wee sporran rising
Wi’ a seeming life of its own
Then ye know it’s the Scotsman’s kilt, wee lad
An’ it’s risin’ up high on a bone
So all o’ ye pansies wherever ye be
A Scotsman can take any weather
For it’s Porridge that gives him the strength, do ye see
Tae gallivant roond in th’ Heather
(Apologies to Spike Milligan)
That, my friends, is real literature. Poetry for poetry’s sake, art for art’s sake.
Finally a true story.(Would I lie?) A friend of mine was in Wicklow, on the East Coast of Ireland and he, along with everyone in the pub, was watching a fishing trawler slowly sink into the calm, oil-like sea. A rescue boat went out and brought them all back in, with not one lost.
That night, in the pub, the question was asked, ‘What happened?’
‘Well, faith an’ begorrah, Oi tell you, it was nothin’ short of a miracle!’
‘What, that you didn’t all drown loike rats?’
‘No, not that. B’fore we went out this mornin’ we prayed to the Virgin Mary t’ give us a good catch, an’ she did! We kept pullin’ in fish, more an’ more, an’ more, but it didn’t make any difference. Every time we t’rew in our nets, we got more fish!’
‘But why didn’t ye stop t’rowing in your nets when you saw you had too many fish?’ asked someone.
He looked at the fellow as if he’d gone mad. ‘T’row back the fish?! Are ye mad?! If the Virgin grants us fish, who are we to t’row them back?’
And that, as they say, is that.