Reflections on life at “De Witte Wand”…
Just been watching the Intelligence Squared Debate on the proposition that “Atheism is the New Fundamentalism”. Speaking for the motion were Richard Harries and Charles Moore. Speaking against the motion were AC Grayling and Richard Dawkins.
It won’t come as a surprise to learn that the proposers of the motion were trounced.
Harries was ineffectual and Moore was bordering very close to ad hominem attacks on Dawkins. The problem that the proposers had is that, as evidenced from their opponents’ performances tonight, Dawkins and Grayling clearly aren’t “Atheist Fundamentalists”, no matter how much Harries, and Moore in particular, would like them to be. Dawkins and Grayling were very good and effortlessly staked out their position against the motion.
It seems to me that an Atheist Fundamentalist is something of a mythical beast, invented by the religious, and has no more likelihood of existence than a pink unicorn. It’s a simplistic label for the lazy to rail against the Four Horsemen of Dawkins, Dennett, Harris and Hitchens.
"Rita is an important artist whose work deserves to be seen and the Arts Council both respects the creative decisions she makes in her work and supports her right as a disabled person to be heard."
Pigeons rustled in the beams of the Staten Island Ferry terminal as Rebecca Miller, the writer and director, ordered a soft pretzel.
I’ve just finished reading David Leavitt’s The Indian Clerk (or The IND1AN CLƐRK as the book’s cover would have it). I found it very good indeed. It’s a novel based on real people and real events that happened mainly in Cambridge, England, between 1913 and 1920. The two central characters are G. H. Hardy and Srinivasa Ramanujan. Hardy was a prominent British mathematician, and was instrumental in bringing Ramanujan, a mathematical genius, from India to Cambridge.
The novel imagines Hardy’s innermost feelings as it tells the story of the relationship between the two mathematicians, both personal and professional. There are many other real people and real events contained in the book, and Leavitt has done a wonderful job in bringing them and the society to life. In particular, the evocation of life at Cambridge, and the Cambridge Apostles is very well done. I did notice one small mistake, though. On page 374, he mentions the “scent of Dettol permeating the air” in a nursing hostel where Ramanujan has been taken. Unfortunately for Leavitt, Dettol wasn’t invented until after 1929 and marketed in 1933.
I’m feeling a tad jealous of my brother at the moment. He lives in Southwest Scotland, not far from the Galloway Forest Park. And that park has just been designated as the first Dark Sky Park in the UK by the International Dark Sky Association. That means that the park is officially recognised as one of the best places in the UK for stargazing.
Although I live in the Dutch countryside, the Netherlands as a whole is badly affected by light pollution, and even here in our neighbourhood it can be difficult to see the Milky Way on a dark night. As a result of some recent research, it appears that the best place for stargazing is Schiermonnikoog in the province of Friesland. I see from the report that one of the sites where observations were made is the Zwarte Veen in the province of Gelderland. That’s just 15 minutes walk from here. Alas, the Zwarte Veen was way down the league table of the darkest spots in the Netherlands at number 22 out of 41 sites measured.
As I wrote here, we’ve got a new addition to the household: Watson, a Labrador puppy. He arrived in the house on the last day of September.
Originally, I wanted to call the puppy Pi, since our other dog is called Kai. Martin wasn’t convinced that the names were different enough for canine ears. We tested it out with Kai, and he seemed to be able to distinguish between the two, but Martin still wasn’t having it.
So then I came up with Watson. The origin is that the mentally handicapped son of a friend of ours cannot pronounce my name. So he calls me "What". That, I have to say is because of my habit of saying “What?”, when something strikes me as bizarre. From there, it was just a small step to arrive at Watson (or, "son of Wat" in etymological terms). Martin has come to accept it, although he took some persuading. A further twist on the name is the reference to Alexander Graham Bell, and the very first words to his assistant over the first telephone were "Mr. Watson — Come here —I want to see you". I suspected I was going to be saying something very similar, very often, to Watson…
The first couple of weeks with Watson were spent trying to stop a multitude of disasters from happening. Pissing and pooping in the house when our backs were turned, chewing through anything in sight, including live cables, pulling tablecloths on fully-laden tables with china and cutlery, the list went on and was added to as he increased in inventiveness. Nights were being woken up every couple of hours by Watson’s whining to be let out to piss or poop. Needless to say, I was the one who had to leave a nice warm bed to go outside in my dressing gown in the rain waiting for a very small bundle of joy to perform its business. It was at times like this when I noticed the resemblance of a puppy to a rat.
Kai wasn’t too sure what to make of Watson at first. He spent a few days practising his hurt look, which he turned on us at any opportunity (particularly after his tail had just been chewed by Watson) as if to say: “What the fuck have you done? What did I do to deserve this?” Eventually he came round and started to let Watson play with him. Kai is very gentle with Watson, and takes care not to hurt him, but I think that’s backfired on him. Watson is determined to be top dog, and plays very hard with poor Kai, who just wants to have a quiet life. Kai puts up with all the nips and barking very stoically. I would have bitten Watson’s head off by now. Our shoes and slippers (and my hands) are being chewed to pieces, and I noticed yesterday that he’s started to chew on the wooden surround of one of my loudspeakers. That is the last straw. We’ve smeared sambal on it in an attempt to stop that.
My great nephew, on seeing photos of Watson emailed to say that he thought that Watson looked “really cute, but a bit crazy”. Today, I was replying to his email. I’d just got as far as writing:
"…a bit crazy"? That’s an understatement – Watson is as mad as a box of frogs!
At that point, I went to see what the dogs were doing. Watson was running pell-mell around the yard, ignoring Martin’s calls to come to him, and Kai ran out of the house to see what Watson was doing. Watson sees Kai, and rushes towards him; Kai’s momentum keeps him moving towards Watson, and they collide – heavily. Watson ends up on the ground, screaming. Kai immediately backs off, tail between his legs. Watson doesn’t seem to be able to move his right hind leg and carries on screaming.
I pick him up very carefully and take him indoors while Martin rings the vet. Watson quietens down eventually, but still doesn’t want to use his leg. Off we all go to the vets, where he gets x-rayed. Yep, he’s broken his leg. The vet says that he’s going to operate on him immediately and pin his leg back together. Martin has an attack of the vapours and all but passes out at the news.
So, as I write this, the vet is probably cutting open Watson’s leg and is preparing to drill holes for the pins. I’m expecting to be called at about 7pm tonight and will go and pick up Watson. No doubt the vet will give me copious instructions on all the extra care and attention Watson is going to need over the next weeks.
As I say, never a dull moment…
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