Row, Row, Row Your Boat.....

It is an ancient puzzle, a sort of test, a quiz and a challenge.

There are a few variations of animal and vegetable involved but the thought process is always the same.

Imagine the way off early Middle Ages. They are so far off that they are referred to as The Dark Ages. This is actually quite a broad term covering from about the 5th Century AD to the 15th.

It was undoubtedly a time of uncertainty, mystery, suspicion, mistrust and a very fragile existence indeed for the inhabitants of the known world. If it wasn't a time of conflict it was one of plaque or persecution, penury and misery.

I have quite a strong visual image of that era, mainly thanks to a Monty Python comedic portrayal in their movie "The Holy Grail". The scene opens with some peasants grovelling around in the grime and mud very much a subsistence existence when they see a figure pass by accompanied by an individual with coconut shells making the sound of horses hooves.

One of the decrepid Serfs remarks casually that the grander of the two was the king. His pockmarked and bandy-legged companion queries how he came to that conclusion and is told "because he is not covered in shit!"

It was, in that precarious period in history, a thin defining line between poverty and relative wellbeing.

You can appreciate the desire of many lower order families to try to place their sons and daughters in more advantageous positions in the fledgling social order of the day. Daughters could be put into servitude in a better off household as perhaps the best of many options, some too horrific and degrading to even contemplate.

Sons could progress in the roles of Page or Steward to the Knightly Class, become indentured as an apprentice to a tradesman or enter the monastic orders at the lowest level.

There was obviously quite a clamour to try to attain a better standard of living for many thousands of individuals who would otherwise be condemned to a harsh and short lifespan existence.

In the 8th Century, an Englishman from the City of York held an important position in the Monastery of St Martin, Tours, France.

Alcuin, or to give him his full name, Flaccus Albinus Alcuinus, was an advisor to the great Charlemagne and attained the reputation as the most learned man in the whole world.

Credited to Alcuin is perhaps one of the best known puzzles that has survived to the present day as a test of mathematics, lateral and logical thinking.

It was used back in the 8th Century as a sort of entrance examination for the multitudes seeking survival within the discipline and practicality of monastic orders.

It is of course the issue of how to cross a river in a small boat with a mixture of creatures and foods without one or the other getting eaten.

In its original form the boatman was required to transport over the water a wolf, a goat and some cabbages.

I can see your brain kicking into action with a range of scenarios and combinations. There are a few that make the logistical operation possible but here is the test case answer.

a)In the boat that is only big enough to take one human and one item first convey the goat to the far bank.

b)Make the return journey alone and collect the wolf.

c) On arriving back at the far bank deposit the wolf but retrieve the goat and bring it back to where you have left the cabbages.

d) Swop the two and then row back, cabbages on board to put them ashore with the wolf.

e)Make a fifth crossing so that the only inhabitants of the other side of the river are the carnivorous wolf and a lot of , to the wolf, unappetising. vegetable.

f)Go back to rescue a lonely goat and make a landing with a full compliment of beast and foodstuff.

Quite an energetic operation but if presented to an 8th Century Monastery interview panel in a methodical and logical manner then you could expect to live out the rest of your days in relative peace, safety and health.

Foiled again

Just placed the order for a fresh turkey for Christmas dinner.

It is the only time that I speak to the local butcher and over the last 20 years the aggregated conversation time of about 10 minutes has formed the basis of an acquaintance that I value.

It is a strange relationship based on one transaction a year.

I do pass his shop on the pedestrianised walkway in  the town centre quite regularly but apart from collecting the pre-ordered bird on Chritsmas Eve, itself another family tradition, I am ashamed to say that I do not step over the threshold for anything else.

We may wave if he is leaning into the display in the deep bay window to rearrange the chops, steaks or joints or he does a mock salute with two fingers to the brow of his jauntily worn, white trilby. It may be an attempt however just to hide the obvious streaks of blood and guts so as not to scare the passers-by.

You would think that a turkey would be the first and easiest item on the seasonal shopping list but in our house the actual decision to stick with the usual fare is a matter of great indecision and soul searching. Turkey, nice enough but a bit dry, don't you think?

We always have a bit of a discussion on whether to forget normal conventions and branch out with another main meat for the celebration dinner. My mother in law is a great cook and hostess and in the past when invited to Christmas at her house we have feasted with duck and goose and all of the trimmings plus more. The different wildlife has been a welcome change and they do have their merits, mainly not being too dry.

This year, in a new house and some 5 miles away from the perennial placing of an order we have an opportunity to set up a new tradition.

What got me thinking about a change in style and practice was overhearing the waiter at a local Indian Restaurant and Takeaway on the phone going through the set menu dinners available on Christmas Day. It had not really crossed my mind that 1) the restaurant would be open on 25th December 2) there was on that day a demand for an Indian meal.

The alternatives to a turkey are actually quite diverse.

I have of course just concentrated on real food so far but for those of a vegetarian and other unfortunate preferences there is a bit of choice. Nut Roast. That's it.

In more recent years and where not exposed as an investment scam there has been significant marketing and education expenditure in world foods.

It will have been a difficult task to persuade British consumers to entertain let alone taste test anything other than home produced meat for the seasonal table. Our local Farmer's Market has had some success promoting Ostrich as a burger in a bun with onions and a cheese slice but breeders and distributors are pushing bigger bits of the fast moving game bird. A 2kg fan shaped fillet, probably a bit like a good old turkey crown, is enough to feed 8 persons and will cook fast giving more scope to have a snooze before the Queen's Speech at 3pm.

Fish is widely eaten at the religious Feast, particularly in parts of Southern Italy and forms a centrepiece of the Christmas Eve celebrations with 7 types of fish representing the Holy Sacraments. Eels and squid are popular.

Once strictly reserved for Royalty and Nobility it is possible to acquire a haunch or saddle of deer without having your hands chopped off, eyes poked out or being transported into exile. Most supermarkets stock smaller cuts of venison or if you live in a rural area or even on the edge of a town one of the animals may offer itself up for sacrifice in the glare of your headlights. The trade-off for a juicy venison joint will however be  major motor car repairs or personal injury which seems a bit of a disincentive to me.

The Brits like to play it safe at Christmas and the mystery around the production of dinner does appear to strike fear and anxiety into many because of the pivotal expectations on its success.

It is not surprising that roast beef ,Yorkshire puds and lots of veg remain in the top five choices. It is a case of sticking with what you know best for some.

Salt Marsh Lamb is a current trend as an alternative to turkey being reared on coastal grazing lands resulting in a distinctive flavour and healthy nutrients.

My father was regularly presented with lead shot perforated pheasants by his farmer customers at Christmas and there was competition amongst us children to accumulate the highest number of pellets on the edge of the dinner plate.

The freezers and chillers in local Delicatessens can be a great source of different meats for the festive table. I have tried Wild Boar and found it to be moist and tasty and my son has recently upgraded his opinion of Buffalo to "preferable" to Burger King which is a major endorsement from his generation.

I do however draw a line in the gravy granules over the offerings of kangaroo (although I have had it in steak form), camel, goat, crocodile, wildebeest and python.

The alternatives to turkey are therefore quite overwhelming and very persuasive on the basis of the leaner and healthier meats although we would probably still gorge on an equivalent quantity to the usual bird.

All of the angst and indecision is just too much additional stress at this time of year and so I will be making that one-off telephone call to the butcher and renewing our relationship in the matter of a few choice words.

Cheese Board

Try this for a scientific hypotheses;

The study of food aversion in humans by the induction of illness is ethically unthinkable, and it is difficult to propose a type of food that is disgusting for everybody. However, although cheese is considered edible by most people, it can also be perceived as particularly disgusting to some individuals. As such, the perception of cheese constitutes a good model to study the cerebral processes of food disgust and aversion. 

I should state here that I love cheese. Just about any variety.

In fact I can honestly say that I have not come across a cheese that I do not like.

Yet, according to the aforementioned scientific study published in October 2016 by Royet, Meunier, Torquet, Mouly and Jiang in Frontiers of Human Neuroscience it turns out that some individuals are actually disgusted by cheese and that the level of disgust is the highest for any type of food.

It is not just a case of expressing this emotion by making a face, gagging, feeling physically sick or having an allergic reaction but more of a definite change in the brain that can be detected by the magnetic resonance of a scan.

Dislike of any foodstuff can be based on an unfavourable taste experience, a fear of poisoning, intolerance or even a bad childhood memory. In my own situation I developed in my formative years an intense but somewhat illogical hatred of caramel cup cakes.

The anthropologist Charles Darwin first defined disgust as an emotional response as early as 1872.

Previous studies into our attitude towards food tended to concentrate on the physical traits such as facial expressions when confronted by the sample product or reactions to pictures or odours.

Food studies have always been a bit of an ethical minefield as the participants have to some extent to be induced into a reaction whether that is by intentional over-indulgence or other less tasteful means.

The 2016 investigation sought to establish what proportion of the population at large was disgusted by cheese and to compare the brain activity of those who hated it and liked it.

A newspaper advertisement attracted an initial group of 145 men and 187 women who were tested for their suitability for the actual experiment.

A tabulated collection of 75 foods over eight categories of fruit, cheese, charcuterie, fish, vegetables, meat, dessert and various others was graded by the participants as a like or dislike. Some cited the reasons for a negative response as cultural or dietary for example being a vegetarian or vegan.

The final study sample was honed down to 15 cheese lovers and the same number of cheese haters.

There was further screening for any potential medical impairments to the senses such as a cold or virus.

This select few progressed to a session of training with 28 different odorants before being exposed to six types of cheese- blue, Cheddar, goats, Gruyere, Parmesan and Alpine Tomme and also a control group made up of cucumber, fennel, mushroom, pate, peanut and pizza.

The odours were delivered to the candidates by an airflow olfactometer in an oxygen mask.

Each participant had to record their reaction to the odours on a keypad ranging from very unpleasant to unpleasant, neutral, pleasant and very pleasurable at the other end of the scale.

In a separate session in an MRi Scanner recordings were made of  the cerebral processes associated with exposure to cheese.

The results were interesting in that it was determined that some 10.5% of the population are disgusted by cheese.

Sun Burn

My outlook on life changed irrevocably in 1971.

I was just 8 years old at the time, carefree, a bit bonkers, geeky, impressionable and shy.

Then, in the Star Trek Annual that I received as a gift for the Christmas of that year there was in its part comic strip and part science based pages the devastating statement that our sun, the source of Planet Earth's light, heat and life giving energy was destined to explode and destroy everything in our known galaxy.

You can imagine my shock and not a little bit of annoyance at that revelation.

I was close to getting into the school football team at last , Lesley Whitehand had smiled at me, I was hoping to go from Cubs to Scouts and my pedal cycle was set up just how I wanted it after much investment of pocket money from odd jobs around the house.

I had a sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach even after making allowances for having just eaten a bag of sherbet lemons and a packet of sour chewing gum (all after a big Boxing Day tea).

That jumping to conclusions without any logical thought is something that, in fact, I still do today in my early 50's.

If I had just stuck to and continued reading the extinction story over the page  in the Annual I would have seen that this devastating event was not due for about 7 billion years.

I have only just now been studying the physics and chemistry of this cataclysmic process which makes me think that had I had the same common sense at age 11 I could have saved myself quite a lot of unnecessary childhood anxiety and stress.

Yes, the time will come, in that far off future era when our reliable sun will just run out of fuel by which to run its cosmic nuclear reactions.

The only elements left after this empty tank moment will be helium, carbon and oxygen.

This combination will cause the core of the sun to shrink and under massive gravitational pressures generate huge temperatures.

Like an old lady having a hot flush (as a bit of a clumsy analogy) there will be a shedding of the outer layers which farther out in space will then cool and expand to some 100 times the current diameter. (That analogy actually finished nine words ago for fear of upsetting old ladies sensitivities).

Scary pictorial representation 

This will be the Red Giant stage which will radiate out and engulf the nearest planets in our solar system.

If it is any consolation,and again I wish that my 8 year old self had known about this , any ability of Earth to maintain life will have long since ceased.

The oceans and freshwater on the surface will have boiled away millions of years before and the soils parched to an arid infertility so as to be unable to provide any sustenance to any living creature .

When the helium is all used up anything left of the core of the sun will just be a cold black cinder.

Of course, the death of stars following this pattern is always taking place somewhere in distant universes.

Fortunately none of the giant reactions is close enough to cause Earth any concern.

For example, the light emitted by a Red Giant that died some time in the equivalent of our Prehistoric Age is only just now being detected by terrestrial telescopes and astro-physicists operating them.

I have got some reassurance after the clarification of the eventual fate of our faithful sun.

It has taken 46byears for me to come to that realisation but everything is proportional isn't it?

That 46 years could be the equivalent of a few billion light years in the recesses of space.

Try that for size Star Trek Annual.

(Inspired by the fantastic BBC Four Extra Series "Cosmic Quest "by Heather Couper)

Drivetime

My drive home from the office is not particularly far, in fact a mere three miles, but unfortunately the direct and sensible route does include the most congested road corridor in the area. 

I try to avoid the traffic jams if at all possible by taking a job in another part of the city as one of my last appointments but when it is unavoidable I resort to my in-car coping strategy. 

This is listening to BBC Four Extra, as they say, the home of drama, comedy and entertainment. 

Today was a bonus day with a recently recorded episode (November 2017), the third in remarkably a 68 series run since its launch in April 1972 of I'm Sorry I haven't a Clue.

 The venue was the Winter Gardens in the south coast resort of Margate in Kent. 

The line up to be hosted by dead-pan comedian Jack Dee was a classic with Barry Cryer, Tim Brooke Taylor, Tony Hawks and Andy Hamilton, all of them major contributors to comedy writing and performance over many decades.

The usual madcap humour was book-ended in the show by two wordplay games where all of the above excel. 

The first was called “Change a letter-ruin a sport”. 

The suggestions were on the subject of well known sports events which might be rather spoiled by the strategic substitution of a single letter as though in a typographical error. 

In no particular order of contribution by the panel; 

Powergoat Racing, 

The Snotput, 

Pong-Pong, 

The Long Dump, 

Garlic Football, 

Dick Boxing, 

Synchronised Slimming, 

Ten-gin bowling , 

Fly fisting, 

undressage, 

show humping, 

mixed marital arts, 

pricket and 

Bugger. 

The closing round asked for ideas for TV programmes likely to have been popular in historical times.

Who wants to be a legionnaire, 

Dads Armada, 

Orange is the new black death, 

CSi Troy, 

Who dost thou think thou art, 

Are you being severed, 

Genghis Khan Cook won’t cook, 

Victorian Derbyshire, 

Georgian Mildred, 

The only way is Wessex, 

Pliny and Perky, 

Three Men in a Boedicea, 

Z-Carts, Loose Women-burn them, 

Top of the Popes, 

Gogglepox, 

Ethelred the Unready, Steady, Go, 

Wheel or no wheel. 

It's all very, very silly but there is no better way to pass the time.

A Good Clause

I wrote this a year ago and yes, as per the last sentence it is indeed the first couple of days in December 2017. I have a call to make this afternoon as my first representation of Santa Clause and I felt it essential in assuming that persona to re-visit and re-acquaint myself with the whole spirit and meaning. 

Most fancy dress costumes come with no restrictions on behaviour, modesty or historical authenticity but then again that is the purpose of buying or hiring an outfit, it is a form of escapism, exhibitionism and a good excuse for some to act shamefully, recklessly and lewdly.

There is however one exception to the norm.

The decision to wear a Father Christmas suit automatically enrols you into the ethical code of that particular office.

I have briefly experienced the love, affection and respect embodied by the traditional Red Suit over the Festive Season and I have found it humbling and inspirational.

Although I have only worn the traditional robes three times, on each occasion I have sensed that my very amateur and comic-book impersonation has filled a need in those I have crossed paths with, be they family, friends or just strangers in the street.

As for the historical background, well, the bright colours are widely thought to derive from the original Saint Nicholas, who was the Bishop of Myra, now in Turkey, in the 4th Century. Red and white were the hues of traditional bishop robes, although some historians argue that he originally dressed in different colours.

Saint Nick was famous for his kindness to children and generosity to the poor. After he died his legend grew and he is still remembered in some countries on 6th December.

In medieval England and for centuries afterwards, the figure of Father Christmas represented the spirit of benevolence and good cheer. In the 19th Century Dutch emigrants took their story of a legendary gift-bringer called Sinterklaas to America, where he eventually became known as Santa Claus.

Whilst the names and legends may differ, there has been little variation in the red and white outfits worn. However, over time the bishop cloak and mitre were replaced by the fur-trimmed suit. There are records of Santa wearing various coloured costumes, but red was by far the most popular and became known as the quintessential Father Christmas outfit.

Evidently then, Father Christmas is an evolutionary creation, influenced by folklore, legend and religion . He did not spring to life at a certain time, fully formed and wearing a red and white suit. It wasn't really until the late 19th Century that the image now recognised across the world became set.

In recent history the red and white suit has been fixed and standardised by certain publishing events and advertising campaigns. Between 1863 and 1886, Harper's Weekly magazine ran a series of engravings by Thomas Nast. He developed an image of Santa very close to the modern-day one. From these engravings the concept of Santa's workshop and the idea of writing letters to him also developed. There is the strong association with the modern representation of Father Christmas with the Coca-Cola Corporation whose  involvement began in in the early 1930's when the Swedish artist Haddon Sundblom started drawing ads for Coke featuring a fat Santa in a red coat trimmed with fur and secured with a large belt.

Whatever the source, it is through the benevolent figure of Father Christmas that children absorb the traditions of the season and then, in their later adult lives, they perpetuate the story for their own children or young relatives and friends.

I have seen first hand, in taking on the responsibility of wearing my shop bought suit,  the total acceptance of Father Christmas in situations of modern life where otherwise there would be no human contact, conversation or empathy.

On a stormy weather accompanied  short walk from my car (oops, VW Sleigh) to deliver family presents on Christmas Eve I was stopped on the pavement by a lady who took great obvious joy from handing back my fur trimmed hat that hat had blown off in the prevailing gale. Passing motorists beeped their horns and revellers at a pub shouted out greetings. In the car park of my local Tesco I was asked to pose for a photograph by a young woman who was both shocked and thrilled to glimpse Santa. The children of a family friend, taking in their first ever Christmas in England shrieked in unison when my pale parody of Santa Claus called on them to hand over presents just hours before the real man was due to call.

On Boxing Day I was enlisted  to spring a surprise on family spending the holidays in the dramatic surroundings of Scarborough on the North Sea Coast. On another short walk from car to the hotel I was inundated with requests for a wave, a message or a picture. I received, by default, complete licence to wander around the splendid premises of the hotel, such is the total acceptance of Father Christmas.

The warm feeling inside me, discounting the extremely high temperatures generated by the plush velvety suit over my day clothes, was a privilege to behold.

I have put the outfit back into its original packaging and it will sit up in the loft until December 2017.

By that I mean the 1st December 2017 as I certainly intend to get a lot of use out of it next year....for all of the best reasons, of course.

Square Pies

The living room at the rural address that I visited today was almost perfectly circular, a 360 degree surround. 

Perhaps the name of the property should have provided the biggest clue- The Wheelhouse, but as I am of urban upbringing I had not, on my way out into that remote countryside district, given any deep thought to what that meant. 

Wheelhouse to me is more reminiscent of something maritime anyway. 

I was shown into the house, the wing of a larger converted agricultural barn, by its proud owners and given the introductory talk on the theory and practice of rotary power. 

Strangely, I had been compelled to take up a position in the very middle of the room by the mesmeric web of huge supporting beams. 

These were certainly of some age and pockmarked with wormy trails but retaining much of their considerable density and sheer strength. 

In its pre-lounge days that round room had been occupied by two magnificent Shire Horses harnessed to a large diameter gear wheel mounted on a vertical shaft high up in the eaves. 

As they were coaxed to plod around the post, no doubt by the youngest member of the farming family or their labour force, their kinetic energy would be transferred to a second array of gears in order to drive machinery such as threshers and millstones. 

The group of barns and ancillary buildings attached to and adjacent to the property I was visiting had evidently formed a very industrious and productive farmstead in their halcyon years but were now attractive residences retaining a lot of character and authentic architectural features. 

The wheelhouse had by all accounts done well to survive almost intact as many similar structures having fallen into redundancy and obsolescence had simply been demolished. 

This example had been one of the early versions and from the appearance of the exposed brickwork I would hazard a guess at early to mid 18th Century origins. 

Even this type of basic power transmission was developing rapidly in terms of its relative technology, efficiency and applications and the overhead rig was soon replaced with one mounted at ground level. 

This did require the horse or horses to step over the drive equipment upon each of their walking revolutions. 

I was fascinated by this primitive but functional power station. 

This specific rural location was devoid of watercourses to be tamed by a millrace and waterwheel and just a bit too exposed to fierce westerly winds for a windmill. 

The use of horsepower was therefore a power source of last resort but nevertheless invaluable to a working farmstead. 

I enjoyed the tour of the wheelhouse but not so much having to rack my brain to work out how to measure the circular room. 

That old school geometry book would have to be consulted  when I got back to my natural habitat in the city.

How did it go? 

I seem to recall that the calculation involved pies and squares.