Friday, 28 May 2010

Thank-you, thank-you, thank-you

The beauty of having your own blog is that one can be both egocentric as well as eccentric as this post will demonstrate. It might be awhile before I can make offerings at the temple of the gods of IT and offer up fervent prayers for the resurrection of my old laptop. I know I ought to have paid heed to the creed of the IT professional; thou shalt make regular back-up copies. Alas I strayed from the path of righteousness. But at least I listened to the wise counsel of one high priest and allowed him to make copies of my data the last time one of laptops quit this mortal coil. Going through the recovered files, I came across this strange little film I made a few years ago. I had clearly meant to edit it down and send it off to someone else. I cannot recall if I ever did.

Crime and Punishment

When I was in Primary school a group of schoolgirls, myself included, committed the heinous crime of venturing out on to the playing field during morning break. Apparently we had been told not to and so were severely punished for our transgressions. The punishment took the form of having to recite a poem from memory. Thanks to the internet I now know both the author and name of that poem, which still echoes in my mind today. It is called The Eagle and is by Alfred, Lord Tennyson, coincidentally the author of one of my favourite poems: The Lady of Shalott I feel a rare affinity with that eagle. Like him, I know what it is to be standing on the edge of the abyss. However, unlike my feathered friend, the thunderbolt descent of this modern day Icarus would merely cause the sea to momentarily wrinkle still more as as I vanished beneath its waves.

The Eagle
He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ringed with the azure world, he stands.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.