Another Demonstrable Fact.

And another thing:

Why do those hominids which are superior to human hominids – most notably elves and Vulcans – have pointed ears? Clearly because gorillas don’t, which puts Arwen, Mr Spock et al one stage further up the chain.

They’re going to have to re-write the text books, you know. I’ve gone into academic mode.

The Origin of Speculation.

I see the anthropologists have discovered a two million-year-old homonid which looked human but had feet like a chimpanzee, and they’re speculating that it might be the elusive missing link.

So, I have a question (and it’s an honest question posed genuinely out of a position of ignorance.) Would I be right in thinking that nobody has yet proved that humans and apes evolved from a common ancestor? Isn’t it still just a theory which has been around so long and gained such currency as a result of unfashionable Creationist objection that everybody accepts it as established fact?

Well, I knew somebody once who had feet like a human but looked like a chimpanzee, so I’m going to speculate that maybe there are two strands of evolution running in parallel. I think I should be even more famous than I already am.

Mid Evening Notes.

I decided to give the somewhat improved knee a trial walk tonight. It survived with only a few minor grumbles. And it was nice to see a lot of customers in the lounge bar of the local pub for a change. I also went and said hello to the decommissioned phone box, as I said I would. I decided it wouldn’t be a good idea to stand in it, just in case a couple of tram liners came past in a car on their way to the village.

‘Why’s that weird man standing in the phone box? It hasn’t worked in three years.’

‘I know.’

‘Well, what’s he doing there?’

‘Keeping it company, I expect.’

‘Oh, right. I like him. I really like him.’

*  *  *

Talking of telephones, I agreed to take part in a phone survey on the subject of data protection. One of the questions was about Cloud.

‘I don’t know what Cloud is,’ I said.

‘Neither do I,’ replied the questioner.

‘Better put me down as a Don’t Know, then.’

‘OK.’

Modern languages, eh?

*  *  *

I saw a photograph earlier which relieved me of a self-imposed sense of obligation to somebody. Time to move on now. That’s all you’re getting.

The BIG News.

Guess what I’ve just seen…

A BAT!

I’ve been worried about them, you know, the winter having been not only unusually cold, but also unusually long. But there he (or she) was: flitting a little slowly, but flitting nonetheless, and swerving every so often to catch something in flight. I could have cheered; I could. He made it!

’Tis proud of the little guy I am. Proud as punch.

Defying the Chief Whip's Office.

I caught a bit of an old favourite sitcom tonight. It was called Waiting for God, and was set in a retirement home. The few minutes I saw included the irascible, free thinking and fiercely independent Diana saying:

‘I’ve always spoken my mind, always spent my money, and never had a family. In consequence, I have no friends, no cash and no support.’

Well, there you are, then. That’s what you get for not toeing the one-party line. Serves you right. Here endeth the lesson.

Could it be Spring Already?

For the first time this year, the air has a feel of spring about it. I once described a typical April in a story thus:

‘…the smells of revitalised earth and fresh new growth, the feel of warm, moist air brought in by the south and westerly breezes.’

That’s about how it is today. The polar winds seem finally to have retreated to where they belong. Are bets being taken?

Frustration.

I just spent an hour and a half writing a blog post that was meant to be accompanied by a video from YouTube. The video is on YouTube; I watched it last night. When I searched for it through Blogger to post on the blog, it wasn’t there. I tried using the same search term and I tried using the exact title, right down to the punctuation. Not there. But it’s still on YouTube; I just checked. The post had to be scrapped because the only way of uploading a YouTube video onto a blog is by going through the Blogger system.

Using the Iron Lady.

I see Mrs Thatcher’s funeral is to have one advantageous outcome after all. Prime Minister’s Question Time is to be cancelled that day so that MPs may be free to attend the ceremony. I wonder how many of them will be honest enough to have the day off, but just go fishing instead.

Odd Likenesses.

Notwithstanding the parlous state of the day, I still found it interesting to notice – for the first time in my life, oddly – that raw broccoli tastes surprisingly like raw turnip. It must be something to do with a chemical component, I suppose – which I assume is also the explanation for the great similarity between the smells of Italian hard cheese, rat urine and vomit.

Another Postscript and Bits.

I first heard Enya’s song China Roses seventeen years ago when The Memory of Trees was her latest album. As I intimated in the last post, it carries a heady recollection in its wake by way of association, but I gave the song itself only passing attention at the time and have never listened to it since. (I wasn’t too keen on the album, you see.)

Until yesterday…

Why did it take seventeen years to discover this song? Have I discovered it? Strange as it may sound, it feels more as though it’s discovered me. Does every man, I wonder, get to a point in life where he wants to go back to year zero and have a mother put everything to rights with a lullaby? Could that be it? There’s somebody out there who might offer a credible answer, but I don’t know where she is.

*  *  *

Yesterday’s posts were consistently badly written. I’ve been editing them.

Today has been insanely miserable for several reasons, enumeration of which would be tedious for writer and reader alike. Who would have reason to be interested anyway? And there won’t be a walk tonight because the knee pain is too bad.

One clump of daffodils in the garden is finally producing a few blooms.