Have You Got The Balls For It?

I have always been fascinated by jugglers: their ability to move objects through the air from one hand to another with apparent ease, such objects including not merely balls and clubs, but knives, flaming torches, chairs and even working chainsaws.

I started juggling myself in the early 1990s, when there was quite a popular interest in the art and juggling equipment could be purchased with relative ease. I taught myself numerous three-ball tricks and was also able to juggle with rings and clubs, though never quite made it to switched-on chainsaws.

She Who Must Be Obeyed tried juggling, but she didn't have the balls for it.

I still have numerous juggling balls, including a set of fluorescent ones: leave them in the light for a few hours and then they light up as if by magic when one juggles in the dark. I also still have my clubs and I think there is a set of rings back in Belgium. I was never very keen on rings, I must admit, much preferring the wide variety of tricks that could be easily practiced and performed indoors with three juggling balls: shower, cascade, cathedral windows, tennis… The most complicated trick I managed to master was one called Mills Mess.

People often ask me what it's like, juggling, and I can only reply that it has its ups and downs…

I used to carry my juggling balls with me on my various trips and so have juggled in Belgium, Wales, England, France, Spain, and the USA, where I was able to juggle on the stage of the Overton Park Shell, the site of Elvis Presley's first public performance as a recording artist.

I continue to enjoy the occasional juggle and like reading about it and watching tricks. Plenty of excellent jugglers doing their thing can be viewed at Juggling TV. Believe me, I am nowhere near their class.

Should you wish to learn how to juggle, then take a look here. A simple three-ball cascade is really not very difficult and starting off can cost very little money. Indeed, you can use ordinary balls to start with, though then I would advise juggling against a bed (I kid you not) to avoid running about all over the place chasing dropped balls. As long as you have more than the average number of hands (you need 2, think about it), then you should be fine. There are plenty of other juggling resources on the Web, just Google the word "juggling" and be amazed. And if you'd like some juggling software for your Mac, iPad, iPhone, or Windows machine, then the Internet Juggling Database offers a fairly comprehensive list.

Election Day

Yesterday was election day here in Spain. Local elections, at least, the general elections being held next year.

As expected, the PP more or less swept the board, dealing a heavy blow to the socialist PSOE, the party of the national government. How Spain can remain so right-wing is a worrying mystery, I have to admit.

The PP has achieved this largely through unjust claims, jibes, complaints and other "mentiras" at the expense of the PSOE. The only hopeful aspect of the situation is that the PP at local level will show that the problems that they have ridiculed are genuine ones, which do not have simple solutions. Indeed, most of the problems are either PP generated (from their previous term in office) or are a direct result of the international financial crisis (produced largely by right-wing policies, such as those supported by the PP). Perhaps then th Spanish people will see the error of their ways and will vote for the PSOE in the general elections of ne xt year.

We can but hope.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Well Said, Stephen Hawking

Ah, good. Stephen Hawking also looks upon the nonsense of an afterlife and heaven as fairy-tales. I've been saying this for years and not only about the afterlife, so now that someone with a mind as great as Hawking has dared to say it, perhaps it will be taken a bit more seriously.

How anyone in the twenty-first century can believe in such medieval (and earlier) baloney goes beyond me. No doubt they also believe that there is a great big giant at the top of a beanstalk somewhere, just waiting to eat up little boys.

Accept it: we are just the packages that are used by genes to propagate themselves. Our afterlife, such as it is, rests solely in the continuation of our genes in further generations: the package is burnt up and thrown away, usually after having lived for far longer than is really necessary. Be happy with that and forget all the claptrap about heavens and paradises and whatever else you have been told. Such rubbish is just a load of tales made up to satisfy the fears of ignorant people in the past, yet perpetuated today in an attempt by organised religions to keep the masses under control. Fear is a wonderful controlling mechanism.

Stephen Hawking spoke out against the afterlife in a recent interview with the Guardian . His illness prevents him from speaking very much, so everything he "says" (he uses an electronic device to produce his words) is carefully weighed in order to make as big an impact as possible with very few words. Yet by saying so little his great mind manages, in fact, to say an awful lot.

Photo attribution.

Bring Back Boyle!

I am somewhat embarrassed to admit that, as I am writing this, the Eurovision Song Farce, oops sorry, Contest, is playing live on the television, watched with great enthusiasm by She Who Must Be Obeyed, who strictly forbids me to put on anything else.

The voting is on at the moment and it is even worse that the singing (well, sort of…). Why do most of the performers insist on spouting out in English, a language that in most cases they far from master, with poor pronunciation, even allowing for the rather-further-west than mid-Atlantic accent they use? Still worse, perhaps, is that the lyrics are also often in a convoluted version of English: if they don't want to use the language of the country they represent, then let there at least be a test on correct English usage.

Language use is also problematic during the voting sessions, of course, but it's not just the poor language use that is a problem—the representatives in the various countries seem quite incapable of actually speaking: they shout, sing (again, sort of…), blurb and glug, utter nonsensicalities and absurdities before getting round to summing up their voting results.

Even more farcical is the distribution of the votes. Why the drawn-out process of gathering, counting and presenting the votes is necessary is a mystery, as it the allocation of votes is a foregone conclusion, based on the primary-school question of which countries are the neighbours of the country currently voting.

The whole ESC has outgrown itself, it's become too big for its boots. Oh for the days of a simple stage, one or more singers per country performing a song (that's what the contest is supposed to be about), rather than giving a theatre production, an orchestra led by a representative of the country on stage, and the elegance of the likes of good old Katie Boyle to present the show: no exaggeration, no hyperbole, no histrionics, but instead a simple, organised, polite, correct presentation.

And while we're at it, how about a cynical commentary by Terry Wogan?

(And my douze points go to Moldovia.)

Local elections

The run-up to the local elections here in Spain started a few days ago, so now placards, posters, banners and other electioneering paraphernalia adorn every available space, as the various parties try to persuade us that our vote is best spent on them. If the pollsters are to be believed, and that seems highly likely this time round, then the PP (Partido Popular) will make huge gains across almost the whole of the country, thereby taking control of many more "ayuntamientos" from the unjustly maligned PSOE (Partido Socialista Obrero Español).

This is a terrible thought. True, Spain is still very much divided between left and right, but relatively recent history has shown just what the right is capable of, and local councils already controlled by PP are hives of corruption. The PP is basically the party of Franco's heirs, an ultra right gang of conservative, catholic, anti-socialist individuals, who probably have gilt-framed photos of Margaret Thatcher in their bedrooms and think that Bush was the personification of the Second Coming.

The poor PSOE has had a hard time in main government and this will be reflected in the results of these local elections. They are blamed for an economic crisis with which they have had little to do, a crisis of worldwide proportions, generated by greedy bankers and suchlike, which has had repercussions in a Spain whose economy the PP, when it was the governing party at the end of the last century and the beginning of this, ensured was built on the shaky foundation of the construction industry, which, if it did not build a solid economic platform, at least meant big backhanders for the PP-ers who ensured that land was redesignated as building-ground, irrespective of the actual legality of such actions and with no regard at all to the future.

In many ways, El Raso, the estate where we live, is a miniature example of Spain and such PP shortsightedness. The area occupied by El Raso was designated building-ground by the PP when they ruled the roost in Guardamar, even to the extent of allowing roads and building plots to be laid out in the area immediately adjacent to a nature reserve, when the law expressly prohibited such behaviour. A large housing estate was established, including numerous very large, well planted roundabouts and several green areas. All very nice and prestigious, but no thought had been given to the maintenance of these areas, nor to the provision of telephone lines, or a postal service. The PP was interested only in large short/term gains for the few, of course.

Thankfully, the PSOE took over control of Guardamar after only a limited amount of construction of buildings in the prohibited zone, but the damage had already been done by the roads, which had first been laid, and the inadequate planning for service facilities, thanks to the PP's lack of forethought. As a result, the PSOE was left with a host of El Raso-related problems and an extremely limited budget with which to solve them. They have, during the past five years or so, done much to improve matters, but this goes unnoticed by most, who see the problems as occurring during the mandate of the PSOE and remain blind to the reality that they were generated by the PP.

This is remarkably like the situation in Spain as a whole, though on a far smaller scale, of course. The really sad part is that the results of these local elections are likely to be reflected in the general elections, to be held next year. Spain will then most probably lumber itself with an inward-looking, Europhobic, xenophobic government and control by the PP will be complete, with both local and national governments in their hands. That will be a sad time for Spain and a sad time for Europe, too, as yet another country falls to the short-term thinking of the right wing, who delight in strengthening delimiting borders and even building more.

Olea europaea farga

There's a Spanish saying, "Malas hierbas nunca mueren," meaning that weeds never die. It seems that this might also apply to olive trees.

Close to us is the Hotel La Laguna and in the small gardens of that hotel is this magnificent, ancient specimen of Olea europaea farga. This sort of tree is prized for its small brownish-blackish olives, which produce excellent oil. Who knows how many people, not to mention birds and so on, have profited from the produce of this venerable being?

The wooden plaque at the base of the tree indicates its Latin name (sadly misspelt) and tells us that it originates from the old Roman Road in Teruel, which is some 400 Km from the tree's current location. Not only is this a well-travelled tree, it is also one of remarkable longevity, for the plaque further informs us that its age is between 1500 and 1800 years!

Just imagine, the tree was some 200 years old when the Moors invaded Spain and it saw their conquest of that country, with all its associated advances, followed by the later overrunning by the Catholic hordes. It was already at least 500 years old when the Normans invaded Britain, and some 1,000 years old when Columbus came across the Americas.

Now it looks absolutely wonderful for its age and one can only hope that it will outlive many more generations of paltry humans.

Viva la República

Charlie-Farlie and his latest bit of fluff, Camel Parker-Bowlingalley, were in Spain recently on what was presumably an "official" visit. And I bet they didn't pay for their pre-Easter jaunt, either. Bloodsuckers, like the rest of royalty, wherever they might be. Nobody should be accorded any privileges or advantages, merely because of an accident of birth; such things should be gained through merit and through merit alone. Gordon Bennett, this is 2011, not the Middle Ages, and it really is time we did away with birthright, religion and other such nonsense, the purpose of which is to keep a few rich in their comfortable position and the plebs in their place.

Charlie Farlie and his cohorts are a prime example of why such an antiquated system as royalty should be abolished once and for all. Like almost all of them, he does basically nothing, other than look foolish, but enjoys the income from his lands in Cornwall (and made Camel P-B the Duchess of Cornwall in the meantime) and probably gets a nice back-hander, courtesy of the rest of the tax-payers in the UK, too.

If that weren't enough, his son is now about to get married in a media event that will be blown out of all proportion. The really sad thing, is that those who know of no better will be lining the streets, waving the flags they've paid well over the odds for, and screaming their lungs out as a pathetic gesture of support for the young couple, whose prime duty will be to provide the next generation of leeches.

Then there's Grannybeth shacked up in Buck House. Well, at least she has had more sense than to abdicate in favour of son Charlie Farlie, probably realizing that putting such a plonker on the throne really would be the end of the Windsors (for want of a better name, of course): they got precious close to the end when Banana Spinster's untimely death raised more than a few questions.

Up the republic, I say.