... as my grandad used to say.
Actually, you can, but it doesn't seem to make much difference.
What am I on about?
Stamps. Italian postage stamps. I've just sent the last of my Christmas cards and that's got me wondering, as I do every year (and quite a few times in between), why it is that the Italian post office still can't produce a stamp that will stick to the envelope. There are always at least two corners of an Italian stamp that curl up at the edges like a week-old sandwich, and no amount of spit or pressure seems to help hold them down. I always push my letters in the post box doubtful whether the envelope and its stamp will stick together for the length of the journey.
Not that I have anything but praise for Posta Italiana. It's an institution that has revolutionised itself over the last ten years. Gone are the dingy premises, the long queues and the rude, lugubrious service of yesteryear. Along with the shiny new blue and yellow logo, they have introduced a ticket queuing system, seats, bright stationery shops and even, miracle of miracles, friendly and helpful staff. Not to mention a revamped post office bank which puts most of the high street banks to shame.
And all of this while in Britain post offices have been closing down.
I was Peru a couple of summers ago and sent my usual flock of post cards back towards Europe. None of them arrived. Not one. But I remember the stamps - prettier even than the post cards themselves, each one with a picture of an exotic bird on in. And above all, after my Italian experiences, I was impressed at how well the stamps stuck to the cards. If the Peruvians can do it, why can't the Italians?
Tuesday, 18 December 2007
Saturday, 15 December 2007
Bali: US vision versus EU caution
So the cautious Europeans have got their concensus on carbon emission cuts after all.
I expect that there are some on the American right who rue the European refusal to let the Americans handle climate change their way.
After all, only a generation ago wasn't the biggest challenge to the global climate posed by the threat of a nuclear winter?
So why not think outside the box and go for a win/win solution here?
I'm surprised that none of the Neo-Con think tanks has suggested that as Mr Bush has the technology, as well as the military hardware, the most elegant way to offset global warming would be with a few localised spells of nuclear winter. In, let's say, Iran, North Korea, and (should Cuba be a bit too close for comfort) maybe Venezuela.
Not only would that avoid having to take any tiresome steps that may well lead to an economic slow-down, but it would keep the world free for global exploitation - whoops! er, I mean... 'democracy'.
I expect that there are some on the American right who rue the European refusal to let the Americans handle climate change their way.
After all, only a generation ago wasn't the biggest challenge to the global climate posed by the threat of a nuclear winter?
So why not think outside the box and go for a win/win solution here?
I'm surprised that none of the Neo-Con think tanks has suggested that as Mr Bush has the technology, as well as the military hardware, the most elegant way to offset global warming would be with a few localised spells of nuclear winter. In, let's say, Iran, North Korea, and (should Cuba be a bit too close for comfort) maybe Venezuela.
Not only would that avoid having to take any tiresome steps that may well lead to an economic slow-down, but it would keep the world free for global exploitation - whoops! er, I mean... 'democracy'.
Friday, 14 December 2007
Not on my wish list
Last night I baked a couple of potatoes for supper. It's the one thing I wish I had a microwave for: pop'em in a paper bag and your spuds are ready in minutes. Done to perfection.
Otherwise, a microwave is not a gadget I've got a lot of time for, probably because I wouldn't know how to use it. I have a friend in Como (Hi, Fiorella!) who cooks all her vedgies in it, and out comes a cornucopia of aubergenes, courgettes, peppers, carrots and artichokes, all delicious. But no potatoes. So it was with some pride that I shared my tiny secret about spud-baking with her...
Actually, I've probably picked up my prejudice against microwaves from my Mum. Back when she first got hers in the mid-seventies, I can remember there was talk of revolutionising the bar she ran, with an unending suppy of easily produced bar snacks. Yet a few weeks later and the only thing that saved the microwave from relegation to the back of a cupboard was its handiness as an instrument for softening butter. Once spreadable butter was introduced, back in the early eighties, the microwave got a new lease of life as a plate-warmer, but in my mother's eyes, I suppose it never really escaped the taint of those stories about Soviet submariners cooking their intestines when they forgot to close the oven door, or the dangers a microwave poses to poodles...
Do you know that story? It's no doubt apocryphal, an urban legend, and goes something like this:
There was a lady in Florida who had the habit, on the rare chilly mornings that Florida is prone to, of switching on her oven, at the very minimum, before she took Fifi out for his morning stroll, then popping her pet in the oven on her return for a couple of minutes to warm him up. When this over-protective pet-owner acquired a microwave, she reckoned that a 20 second blast would be quite enough to achieve the same effect, without, however, realising that a microwave cooks in a very different way from a traditional oven, beginning on the inside and cooking outwards. Needless to say, the poodle came out with cooked kidneys and never went walkies again.
And of course, as this tale is a parable of American excess, it ends with the pet-owner suing the company who made the microwave and winning an absurdly extravagent sum in damages on the grounds that nowhere in the instructions did it say that it was unsuitable for pets.
Nor, no doubt, did it say how well it bakes potatoes. Remember, you first read that right here!
Otherwise, a microwave is not a gadget I've got a lot of time for, probably because I wouldn't know how to use it. I have a friend in Como (Hi, Fiorella!) who cooks all her vedgies in it, and out comes a cornucopia of aubergenes, courgettes, peppers, carrots and artichokes, all delicious. But no potatoes. So it was with some pride that I shared my tiny secret about spud-baking with her...
Actually, I've probably picked up my prejudice against microwaves from my Mum. Back when she first got hers in the mid-seventies, I can remember there was talk of revolutionising the bar she ran, with an unending suppy of easily produced bar snacks. Yet a few weeks later and the only thing that saved the microwave from relegation to the back of a cupboard was its handiness as an instrument for softening butter. Once spreadable butter was introduced, back in the early eighties, the microwave got a new lease of life as a plate-warmer, but in my mother's eyes, I suppose it never really escaped the taint of those stories about Soviet submariners cooking their intestines when they forgot to close the oven door, or the dangers a microwave poses to poodles...
Do you know that story? It's no doubt apocryphal, an urban legend, and goes something like this:
There was a lady in Florida who had the habit, on the rare chilly mornings that Florida is prone to, of switching on her oven, at the very minimum, before she took Fifi out for his morning stroll, then popping her pet in the oven on her return for a couple of minutes to warm him up. When this over-protective pet-owner acquired a microwave, she reckoned that a 20 second blast would be quite enough to achieve the same effect, without, however, realising that a microwave cooks in a very different way from a traditional oven, beginning on the inside and cooking outwards. Needless to say, the poodle came out with cooked kidneys and never went walkies again.
And of course, as this tale is a parable of American excess, it ends with the pet-owner suing the company who made the microwave and winning an absurdly extravagent sum in damages on the grounds that nowhere in the instructions did it say that it was unsuitable for pets.
Nor, no doubt, did it say how well it bakes potatoes. Remember, you first read that right here!
Sunday, 9 December 2007
It's not bloody rocket science...
My regular reader(s) - Hi Cristian! - may have noticed that after a gap of a couple of weeks I am now posting again to a brand new blog site.
That's because I couldn't figure out how the old one worked, and after keeping it up and running for a week or so, which required an act of commitment and concentration akin to balancing a broomstick on my nose, I managed to lock myself out.
Then, after asking all the nerds and techies I know how to interpret the arcane help files I was poring over in the wee smile hours of the morning, I gave up. They could make no more sense of instructions such as the following than I could:
If you have disabled the login block on your site you can log in to the site by going to http://www.example.com/?q=user (or you may also use http://www.example.com/user if you have clean urls enabled, the one with ?= will always work.)
I mean, do you know what '?q' is?
And whether words like 'example' and 'user' should be written as 'example' and 'user', or substituted with examples and user names of my own?
And do I have clean urls? Do you?
But by an act of serendipity I discovered http://www.blogger.com/ What elegant simplicity! I had the new blogsite up and running within five minutes, and duplicating the old one within an hour.
Which just goes to show that blogging, like anything else we mere mortals might wish to accomplish on a PC, just ain't rocket science. Nor need it be.
I can still remember when I was young... (OK, chaps, I'll spill the beans - I'm talking the mid-seventies here) and getting to university to meet this guy-with-a-tie in freshers' week (Hey, are you still out there, my friend...? Hi Julian!), who told me he was studying Computer Science, as they called IT back then.
'What's that?'
By which I meant, what's a computer? (Listen, I didn't read Sci Fi, right?)
'Well, it's a big room with lots of electronic equipment in it...' began the explanation.
And when I graduated I still didn't know what it was for.
However, I'd seen one - Julian had surreptitiously snuck my in there one winter evening - and the University of Kent was one of only a handful (three, I think) of universities in the country to have such a Room; and I knew that Computer Scientists spoke arcane languages, were mathmatical geniuses, drank lager instead of beer (with the addition of fruit cordials, to cap it all) and ate microwaved Christmas puddings all the the year round... (hey, are you still doing that, Julian?).
In other words you had to be somebody pretty damn special to get near a computer.
But for heavens sake, this is the third millenium, and my dear old mum uses a computer these days to microwave her own Christmas pudding, and no one needs Basic, Argol, or any of those other arcane codes...
Yet just too often you can come across those nerdie computer scientists of yesteryear hankering for the times when they alone knew all the secrets. That's why you may still find 'online communities' peddling rocket science. And if you do run into them - if you come across any instructions on the net, or attached to a piece of software, more complicated than Username, Password, Click - well, you know where the Delete key is, don't you?
That's because I couldn't figure out how the old one worked, and after keeping it up and running for a week or so, which required an act of commitment and concentration akin to balancing a broomstick on my nose, I managed to lock myself out.
Then, after asking all the nerds and techies I know how to interpret the arcane help files I was poring over in the wee smile hours of the morning, I gave up. They could make no more sense of instructions such as the following than I could:
If you have disabled the login block on your site you can log in to the site by going to http://www.example.com/?q=user (or you may also use http://www.example.com/user if you have clean urls enabled, the one with ?= will always work.)
I mean, do you know what '?q' is?
And whether words like 'example' and 'user' should be written as 'example' and 'user', or substituted with examples and user names of my own?
And do I have clean urls? Do you?
But by an act of serendipity I discovered http://www.blogger.com/ What elegant simplicity! I had the new blogsite up and running within five minutes, and duplicating the old one within an hour.
Which just goes to show that blogging, like anything else we mere mortals might wish to accomplish on a PC, just ain't rocket science. Nor need it be.
I can still remember when I was young... (OK, chaps, I'll spill the beans - I'm talking the mid-seventies here) and getting to university to meet this guy-with-a-tie in freshers' week (Hey, are you still out there, my friend...? Hi Julian!), who told me he was studying Computer Science, as they called IT back then.
'What's that?'
By which I meant, what's a computer? (Listen, I didn't read Sci Fi, right?)
'Well, it's a big room with lots of electronic equipment in it...' began the explanation.
And when I graduated I still didn't know what it was for.
However, I'd seen one - Julian had surreptitiously snuck my in there one winter evening - and the University of Kent was one of only a handful (three, I think) of universities in the country to have such a Room; and I knew that Computer Scientists spoke arcane languages, were mathmatical geniuses, drank lager instead of beer (with the addition of fruit cordials, to cap it all) and ate microwaved Christmas puddings all the the year round... (hey, are you still doing that, Julian?).
In other words you had to be somebody pretty damn special to get near a computer.
But for heavens sake, this is the third millenium, and my dear old mum uses a computer these days to microwave her own Christmas pudding, and no one needs Basic, Argol, or any of those other arcane codes...
Yet just too often you can come across those nerdie computer scientists of yesteryear hankering for the times when they alone knew all the secrets. That's why you may still find 'online communities' peddling rocket science. And if you do run into them - if you come across any instructions on the net, or attached to a piece of software, more complicated than Username, Password, Click - well, you know where the Delete key is, don't you?
Friday, 7 December 2007
Sant’ Ambroeus - j’accuse!
I can’t let today pass without noting that Milan can claim as its patron saints two of the most unsavoury figures in the Roman church: St Ambrose (in Italian, Sant’Ambrogio, but known affectionately in Milanese as Sant’Ambroeus), whose festivity it is today, and St Carlo Borromeo, stalwart of the Counter Reformation, and still remembered in the hills around Lago Maggiore for his vicious persecution of local ‘witches’.
St Ambrose stands accused on three charges: he was Christianity's first fully-fledged anti-Semite; he was a champion of religious intolerance in a society that was multi-ethnic, pluri-religious and mainly tolerant; and he was the friend and educator of that other great kill-joy of the Western church, St Augustine of Hippo.
Here, in Henry Chadwick's words, is the evidence for At Ambrose’s anti-Semiticism:
"In 388 a synagogue at Callinicium on the Euphrates was burnt by Christian zealots, and (the emperor) Theodosius ordered the local bishop to make restitution in full from church funds. By a dramatic refusal to procede with the eucharistic liturgy until Theodosius yielded, Ambrose persuaded the emperor (against his better judgement) to revoke the restitution order... Ambrose insisted, unreasonably and to his lasting discredit, that it was sinful for a Christian emperor to help the Jews triumph over the church."
Chadwick cites two other examples of Ambrose's intolerance:
In 382 Cratian moved the Altar of Victory from the Senate House. His successor, the youthful new emperor Valentinian accepted the wealthy pagan aristocracy's plea to bring it back, claiming that the Altar was a symbol of Rome's greatness and arguing for a positive policy of toleration, since 'it is not possible by only one road to attain so great a mystery'. But oh no, Ambrose was having none of this and intervened to stay Valentinian's hand.
Next, in 385, Ambrose incited the populace of Milan to resist the demand of Valentinian's widow Justina that one of the Milanese churches be handed over to the use of the Arian Goths in the army, an act that in Ambrose's eyes would have meant the profanation of a consecrated building.
I, for one, will not be going to the O'bei O'bei – Milan’s traditional street market held on 7th December.
St Ambrose stands accused on three charges: he was Christianity's first fully-fledged anti-Semite; he was a champion of religious intolerance in a society that was multi-ethnic, pluri-religious and mainly tolerant; and he was the friend and educator of that other great kill-joy of the Western church, St Augustine of Hippo.
Here, in Henry Chadwick's words, is the evidence for At Ambrose’s anti-Semiticism:
"In 388 a synagogue at Callinicium on the Euphrates was burnt by Christian zealots, and (the emperor) Theodosius ordered the local bishop to make restitution in full from church funds. By a dramatic refusal to procede with the eucharistic liturgy until Theodosius yielded, Ambrose persuaded the emperor (against his better judgement) to revoke the restitution order... Ambrose insisted, unreasonably and to his lasting discredit, that it was sinful for a Christian emperor to help the Jews triumph over the church."
Chadwick cites two other examples of Ambrose's intolerance:
In 382 Cratian moved the Altar of Victory from the Senate House. His successor, the youthful new emperor Valentinian accepted the wealthy pagan aristocracy's plea to bring it back, claiming that the Altar was a symbol of Rome's greatness and arguing for a positive policy of toleration, since 'it is not possible by only one road to attain so great a mystery'. But oh no, Ambrose was having none of this and intervened to stay Valentinian's hand.
Next, in 385, Ambrose incited the populace of Milan to resist the demand of Valentinian's widow Justina that one of the Milanese churches be handed over to the use of the Arian Goths in the army, an act that in Ambrose's eyes would have meant the profanation of a consecrated building.
I, for one, will not be going to the O'bei O'bei – Milan’s traditional street market held on 7th December.
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