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Here is a Sup—I mean repository of the texts of my together with some readings of them. The essays were broadcast by WXXI 91.5 Classical of Rochester, NY on Salmagundy each Saturday at 9:35am Eastern Time, from the beginning of time (1985) till May 2009 when Entropa (evil Goddess of Change-for-the-Worse-or-Possibly-the-Worst) troubled the minds of the WXXIites and they retired Simon and Salmagundy, and Rochester went into a terminal decline---for ever.
I continued on that brilliant bastion of all that's good and kultured, WCLV's syndicated Weekend Radio on many (mainly NPRish) stations traditionally on the first and third weekends of the month, though weekendage varied, till the horror crept ever onward and that too was devoured (in August 2023, a date which will live in infamy or at lease mild irritation)... and only I remain, defiant though wimpering.
Richard Howland-Bolton
There are pop-up pics and links all over the place here. In text they are indicated by a double underline like this:
mouse-overing brings the pop-up up and clicking (usually) goes to the link |
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Just for the record let me state, right off the bat, the little-known fact that we (i.e. the British) won the War of 1812 .
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It's a strange thing to me, as an Englishman over here, but it seems that deep down inside almost all Americans is a longing for somewhere else.
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’Tis now the very lunching time of day
When gullets yawn and hell itself breathes out
Grease vapours to this world: now could I drink hot soup
And do such bitter business as the Peekaboo1
Would quake to look on.2
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What was it Shakespeare said?
"What's in a name? That which we call a nose
"By any other name would smell, so the candidates would, were they not to be candidates call'd"
or something like that.
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Cooking programmes now seem to be so popular that I think it’s about time that I share my contribution to the genre with you, and so become rich and famous (and possibly fat).
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Now here’s a New Year’s resolution ... for you, of course, since I obviously don’t need one.
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or
A Visit from Inclement Verse
Now that the month of Christmas has got well under way (after spending the last couple of weeks rudely trying to elbow it’s way into becoming the six-weeks-of-Christmas-and-then-some and we all gave a great sigh of thanks for Thanksgiving Day for standing up to the nasty great bully) I am ummercifully driven to the dominant question of the season: What is it about Christmas that brings out the crass, the trite and possibly the down-right evil in people?
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Ma Fellow 'Mer'c'ns A've called ya hear to 'nnounce ma cand'cy...
Oh! God no! This is not going to work!
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To my undying shame, horror and (of course) secret pride I really don’t fit in down here in Texas.
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This morning I was running my usual run and, about half-way round, was stopped dead in my tracks when I saw a plague of frog---there was just the one of it, but since it was initially hopping on the sidewalk, before heading purposefully towards someone's lawn, I figured that it must be a plague and that numbers don’t really matter in such things---I mean, look at it this way. I suppose that everyone from Ramses II to the CBS Weather Girl would agree that a million frogs hopping purposefully towards someone's lawn at four o’clock in the morning would constitute a plague, but then so would 999,999 and so indeed would 999,998 and if you follow my logic... well, in fact I think there’s even a song about it:
“999,998 frogs in a plague 999,998 frogs
“And one of them just hopped up your trouser leg
“So there’s 999,997 frogs in a plague...”
and so on, in rather finite regression, down to my solitary frog in a plague, just one solitary frog, and then it hopped away into the lawn, and like Pharaoh the day after one of his plagues, all I could do was to shrug my shoulders and continue my run; but it set me thinking.
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