spot the odd chair

I accompanied someone to Northallerton's Friarage Hospital the other day, and had to wait for a while before seeing the consultant.
The waiting room was awash with matching blue chairs, except for this stand alone beauty, which l assume must have been donated by some kindly soul. The picture doesn't do justice to how much it stood out amongst the other chairs, but in a way, aren't we all red chairs trying to fit in with, influence, or make our mark on the rest of a conservative society, pointlessly screaming into the onrushing and all encompassing storm? In a similar vein, the red chair could represent Labour against the blue of the Conservatives, and the waiting room the limbo of the undecided and uncertain policies of our modern times, waiting to experience the Brexit aftermath, and the outcome of the possible unraveling of the currently flailing Labour party, but that just shows what mad thoughts can enter your head when there is bugger all to do but wait and think.
I think l maybe took too much acid when l was younger, and l have issues.
Time for a lie down..

toodle pip

books l read in egypt (#7) micromegas - voltaire

More top tales from the satirical Frenchman.  One of Voltaire's shorter tales, but once again, involving travel.  This time, it's of the science fiction kind, as two giants from other planets (Sirius and Saturn) come to Earth, and discover to their amazement that there is life below them in the shape of whales and mankind.  This is due to the fact that Micromegas (a banished heretic on his own planet) is 20,000 feet tall, so it is pretty difficult to see and hear them.  The other worldly giants make a hearing device to converse with the humans, who then argue philosophy, and explain the planet was made uniquely for mankind (much to the giants amusement).  Micromegas tells the humans he will write them a book explaining the point of life, but when they open it later, it is blank.  What a card!

books l read in egypt (#5) zadig (or, the book of fate) - voltaire

Rather like the other major work of Voltaire's, (Candide), Zadig ends up (through unusual circumstances) on a forced and eventful journey, through ancient Babylonia.  It's subtitle (The book of fate), is very apt, as Zadig has to cope with all that is unexpectedly thrown in front of him, which he does with great wisdom and courage. He falls in love, but is also sentenced to death, exiled and cheated.  Towards the end, extra wisdom is bestowed upon him by  a wise man, but life in general is haphazard, random and dangerous.  I prefer Candide, but this is still a classic.

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nausea - john-paul sartre

Antoine Roquentin has settled in Bouville (Mudtown), is writing a historical novel, meeting 'The Autodidact' in the library, while thinking about a reunion with his ex girlfriend, Anny. As it is by Sartre, he also ponders life, and the absurdity and meaning of it. This also involves him suffering from what he refers to as 'The Nausea' (hence the title), as everyday objects and people start to make him feel ill. After all - what is the point of anything? Most people glorify the past, keep themselves occupied, do deeds that make them feel self important and don't even know they exist. Who cares what choices you make? Blah blah blah, existential angst by the pageful, but he is moved by the sound and artistry of a jazz record, and in the end he decides he may as well write a classic book of fiction, because if nothing really matters (as Del Amitri sang), you are free. If you are free, you can make your own choices and pathways, and that also gives you responsibilities (a bit like Spider-man), one of which could be to create great art. A good novel, but Sartre doesn't half go on a bit.

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barry stevens - don't push the river

This is a book l read as l was interested in Gestalt therapy, as it certainly did wonders for the likes of Van Morrison, who recorded Veedon Fleece after reading the book (including the song 'You Don't Pull No Punches, But You Don't Push The River') There were some interesting statements and observations, especially about how the (described in the book as) Indians (USA) look at (and approach things) in a different way to westerners. Sadly though, l found most of it to be a load of old hippy tosh and it was hard going to finish it. I certainly won't be in a rush to read any more of Barry Steven's books again, although maybe Gestalt is good, her telling of it is not. Bloody hippies.

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schrodinger's cat

I want this on a t shirt (to mess with everyone's minds)

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