The day has arrived*; the dragons are unleashed. How excited are you? Two bank holidays and a weekend, and still it is May the twenty second for some. It is time to reveal the finale, having come across Lambton Worm, a tale about a young squire who went fishing on a Sunday morn when he should not have done with terrible consequences for the people who lived on both sides of the Wear, Coco thought Coco would paraphrase some of it with another dragon tale about a different young squire (young ‘un) in a not so proper dialect sung in an awful Geordie accent.
Coco came across the Lambton Worm recently, in proper dialect sung in a wonnerful Geordie accent. It is a tale about a young squire who went fishing on a Sunday morning when he should not have done with terrible consequences for the people who lived on both sides of the Wear.
Coco hopes you have been able to celebrate May 20th 2022 JC well. 69 years since the coronation of our Queen who is now in the seventy first year of her reign. Coco thought (oh no, you say, please do not think just write/right) to offer a little something also. It was about fifty one years ago that Coco was introduced to a J Longdon, a philosopher so he understood, by one of his school friends, Ray Tester, with whom he had spent many happy hours drinking jasmine tea, listening to Beethoven string quartets and discussing everything from Plato to Teilhard de Chardin passing through forbidden German territory on the way. Ray thought it was time Coco met a real philosopher. Among other things the said JL was working on an equation of the universe, a representation of which was noted in his diary, but the untidy scrawl renders it now illegible, and phonetic substitution as a ciphering technique.
Coco has long since lost touch with the two gentlemen, and has no idea who holds, if anyone, copyright on the words, rather phonemes written above, but as it is likely that if there is copyright it is on the far larger tome (have you ever known a philosopher who writes smaller tomes?) of which it is a part, and therefore this small extract is fair use, and serves to advertise the larger work, if only Coco knew what that was.
It is left to you dear reader to decipher the phonetic substitution, but if you need help it may be found here.
According to my limited understanding of a judgement handed down in the US Supreme Court on Tuesday last, FaceBook, in the person of NetChoice, has argued that it is a publisher of the views that all of us express in that forum. That therefore seems to suggest that the views we are permitted to express are at the very least approved by, if not the official position of, FaceBook, on any matter on which we speak. Given the diversity of views expressed here one can only suggest that a house divided against itself cannot stand [for very long], for many views here expressed will contradict other views. Ah well, if you see any of my posts disappear, you will now understand why.
Dragons as you will well know are not just part of Chinese culture, but very much here in the British Isles. There is of course the Welsh dragon, the dragon that lives in the Ness, St George and the dragon, and another English dragon to which I shall come shortly; if you know of other Scottish and Irish dragons, please do make a report here. There are dragons of course, which cannot be seen. They are the dragons of which we truly are afraid. We do not wish to hear of them, nor to speak of them. They may be part of our history which we wish to forget, but others wish to remember.
You probably all have some idea of the story of Jonah who was swallowed by a great fish. One of the problems with the popular story is that it leaves out Jonah’s xenophobia. Though xenophobia was unlikely to be a word that he knew, the idea of it was thoroughly encapsulated in phrases such as the Greeks and the Barbarians.
In many ways Coco prefers to stay out of politics, it is all too difficult and Coco rarely understands the arguments, but then so apparently does Republic. It is non-political. So, it is appropriate to comment then. One king was once told, ‘Obedience is better than sacrifice’. It is a word to which all kings, whether having the name king or some other epithet that is used to camouflage their aspirations to be king, should take heed. It was said of the Cretans that everyone of them wanted to be king, and of the Israelis in the time of the judges: ‘Every one did what was right in their own eyes. There was no king in Israel.’
Come all you virulent strains Of singers to unite. Vibrant songs bring hymns of praise In joyful aires tonight. Delightful is the day Perhaps we may reflect And ponder in a way Regarding time elapsed, ‘Til at the end we do repair Soon to rejoice – another year.
Happy new year to y’all. Well, at least in the UK it is for corporation tax. Income tax customers have to wait another five days for their new year.
We are presently in a period of grace granted by the EU, so I understand, for green and blue. My step-grandfather was a seaman and had tattoos, the outlines of which were still discernible though quite shadowy or blurred by the time I was old enough to even take any notice of them.
