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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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Thank you for asking, but actually I've been doing quite well during the Apocovidalypse---at least as far as health is concerned. I've been out in the traditional shorts, singlet and face mask every morning, walking four or five miles at a brisk Roman Legionary Pace above 4 milia passuum an hour, and it's having an effect. I'm losing weight and I'm feeling fit but, but... well I'm not sure if this is appropriate for a family programme such as this, but...but wearing shorts and walking I've...I've ... ... started to pay attention to my knees!
And I have realised that I have Old Guy Knees.
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| In the last few months my life has changed suddenly, dramatically and out of all reckoning. |
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I was in Half-Price Books the other day... (Oh! and I suppose should explain that Half-Price Books is an excellent chain of secondhand book shops which, if you think about it, is not what you'd expect to find in Texas)... anyway... I was in Half-Price Books the other day, and when I was checking out, the chap behind the counter complimented me on signing my name with the correct hand rather than the right one.
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| We have a saying in England, in situations when, for instance, some chap is failing miserably to awaken the interest of a young lady "Huh! Chance'd be a fine thing." and chance may well be a fine thing, but coincidence is a pain sometimes, and it's funny how it takes over and everything seems to happen all at once. Often disastrously. |
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| The famous science fiction author, inventor and futurist Arthur C, Clarke famously wrote that “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic”. I know how he meant it, but with all due respect to his undoubted brilliance, I think he totally missed the real, and really sad, point of this famous third law. |
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When I get older, losing my hair,
Several days from now.
(Boo-bi-doo-be-do)
Will you still be sending me a Valentine;
Birthday greeting; bottle of wine1?
When I’ve been out till a quarter to nine!!
Would you lock the door,
Will you still need me, will you still feed me? ... |
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 The other day Georgia: you know Georgia, girlfriend Georgia, or rather (for reasons that will perhaps become apparent in a moment) what we should call Georgia-on-my-mind Georgia. Yes that Georgia! Anyway, Georgia recycled a little sticky labeley bit from a sort-of-customisable-ish popup greeting card thing, after we sent the rest of it off to a relative of mine who apparently broke her arm at the seaside while wrestling with rocks, or dolphins or, for all I know, with the vast and ungovernable Sea itself and so was feeling poorly. Georgia recycled it by sticking it on the mirror in my bathroom (the sticky bit of the card, not the vast and ungovernable Sea itself).
The label says ‘Thinking of you”.
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| Up until a few year ago I regularly played at the football---and of course I don’t mean that rather weird perversion of Rugger they play here, with all the padding and the guys measuring everything in sight, and the all-change calls every few minutes where they seem to have entirely new teams coming out on to the field as though they were playing two games in parallel. No I don’t mean that, I mean the beautiful game, the game that almost everyone else in the entire world watches, and presumably loves. |
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 On the 16th of May in the Year of Our Lord 2009 (a day that will live in infamy) Simon, his scintillating Sunshine Show and Salmagundy, the Show for Working People were brutally hurled onto the trash heap of history. We, his hangers-on and toadies, of course immediately joined him there. To celebrate this so-called Morning of the Long Knives, we his hangers-on and toadies, were 'encouraged', by means the like of which has not been seen since Dick Chainey1 had to give up waterboarding2, to contribute memori... I mean testimonials to him, sort of like at the end of Beowulf.
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I've been back home in England for a few weeks: of course at work they tease me by always claiming that I do it merely to work on preserving my accent, which seems a strange thing to say (especially in jest), since I don't even have an accent (speaking as I do the perfect accentless received pronunciation of English) but be that as it may or may not, I have yet again been there (and anyway even if they were right, there's no one now left in England who can even approximate to proper English---now-a-days they all mumble some sort of vile lumpenproletarian Estuarine ugliness that's totally unqueenly and even worse than Teyuxian into their mobile phones whilst driving, in spite of the Law, and usually (as far as I can tell from loads of coverage in the news) into other people .
Yup I'm the only one who can still speak it and I'm usually over here not there---so there!
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