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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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So I'll admit right at the beginning that I find a certain irony in the fact that there is so much high-tech, on-line, modern stuff devoted to folk who study ancient things. It makes them sort of like... environmentalists armed with chain saws.
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One of the downsides of writing these essays (apart from the actual stark-raving terror of actually sitting down in front of a blank computer to write the damn things) or to be more precise the other downside apart from the actual writing, is that I’ve somehow ended up on several mailing lists of people who want to solicit interviews with 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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Nothing to do with England’s performance in the World Cup, nor for that matter their lack of performance in the World Cup. No, no, it’s actually that in 2010 back home in England they are celebrating the sixteen-hundredth anniversary of the Ancient Romans leaving Britain, or rather the sixteen-hundredth anniversary of Flavius Honorius (IMP CÆS as they inscribed them back in those days) purportedly sending a letter telling the Britons (well at least some of the poor buggers) that, as far as he was concerned, as far as their defence was concerned, from then on it was going to be their own concern. They were on their own. Poor abandoned Britannia! But even more ominously and importantly and on-their-own-ishly, it’s also the thirtieth anniversary of that same poor Britain being abandoned by me!
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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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I was commissioned the other day to do some private historical research into Britain(andOtherPlaces)’s Womens’ Institutes. This is a topic too important not to share, so...
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My stint on the Nobel Peace Prize Committee having proven so successful, and having now found myself at a loose end, I’ve decided to join the steering committee of the international campaign to have the day after Thanksgiving renamed from the rather boring "the day after Thanksgiving" or the truly dreadful and downright evil-sounding “Black Friday”, to the much more appropriate "You'rewelcomegiving Day."
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As you probably know I’m a wild, ungovernable Mac-computer-lover ---I have a disgusting tendency to acquire anything Apple. So of course I had the first iPhone just as soon as it was available, even though that involved (I kid you not) entering Willow Bend Mall over the roof of the car park well before opening time. Then, even of courser, when the latest one came out I had no alternative but to upgrade. Such is the life of a junkie, though in mitigation, I must say this new iPhone does have lots of can't-live-withoutishnesses.
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 or about half of my life to date light switches have proven an almost insurmountable problem.
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Oh dear! I always seem to be putting out this sort of 'intellectual thing', you know, I'm always spouting about music and history and keep on reciting poetry, so that by now people are constantly asking me who is my favourite writer, and even though it's obviously my own fault I am beginning to get just a little peeved by the repetition. So to crush this bug in the bud, as it were, I will tell all of you, and hope that you will tell everyone else.
My absolute most favourite-ist writer in the whole wide world is Orrm . |
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