In early summer, I visited my local opticians on Garstang High Street, where I met Sarah, a dispensing optician. I shared my struggles with visibility during dinghy races and gravel cycling events, where seeing course buoys and route signs was crucial.
The Transformation:
Sarah introduced me to the Leader sports glasses equipped with superior Zeiss lenses. These glasses met and exceeded my expectations, enhancing my performance and perception on the field. This clarity transformed my racing experience, allowing me to navigate challenges with newfound precision.
A Metaphor for Insight:
This experience serves as a metaphor for how we interact with social media platforms like X. Just as my new glasses offered a more precise view, X provides a lens through which we can view our world differently. Through this platform, we can:
Connect Dots Across Time:
Like peering through finely crafted lenses, X enables us to draw connections between the past and the present. For instance, consider the #MAGA movement on X; I've parodied it with #MakeAlbionGreatAgain, linking it humorously to the historical struggles in the British Isles during the Dark Ages, around AD 900. This period, marked by conflict among Celts, Picts, Vikings, and the Welsh, unexpectedly mirrors today's political and cultural battles.
Explore New Perspectives:
Each post on X can be a short narrative inspired by historical events, such as the creation of the Book of Kells, the legendary voyages of St. Brendan, the mythical Camelot, or the explorations of Viking Leif Erikson. These stories, brief yet insightful, offer modern lessons wrapped in the rich tapestry of history.
The Power of X:
Quick Insights:
Every short story or post takes just a couple of minutes to read, making it ideal for quick, reflective breaks in our busy lives.
Educational Value:
Each narrative is crafted to deliver key learning points that resonate with contemporary issues, making historical events relevant to today's audience.
Summary
In essence, X isn’t just a platform for sharing; it's a tool for seeing the world through different lenses, much like my Leader Zeiss glasses. It invites us to engage with our culture, history, and each other in a way that is both enlightening and transformative. By exploring these narratives, we gain a clearer view of the past and enhance our understanding of the present, preparing us better for the future.
Dogs play a crucial role in droving, which involves herding and moving livestock over long distances.
Here are some key roles and tasks that drover dogs typically perform:
Herding:
Drover dogs are trained to gather and move livestock, such as cattle or sheep, from one place to another. They use their natural herding instincts to keep the animals together and guide them in the desired direction.
Guarding:
These dogs also help protect the livestock from predators and other threats. Their presence can deter potential dangers and keep the herd safe.
Driving:
Drover dogs assist in driving the livestock forward, ensuring they stay on the correct path. They often work alongside human drovers to manage the movement of the herd efficiently.
In some cases, drover dogs help sort animals, separating them based on specific criteria such as age, size, or health. This is particularly useful during market preparations or veterinary checks.
Communication:
These dogs respond to commands from their handlers, often through whistles, voice commands, or hand signals. Effective communication between the dog and the handler is essential for successful droving.
Breeds commonly used for droving include Border Collies, Australian Cattle Dogs, and Kelpies, known for their intelligence, agility, and strong herding instincts.
The word “drover” has its origins in the early 15th century, though it appeared as a surname as early as the late 13th century. It comes from the word “drove,” which means a herd, especially of cattle.
The term “drove” itself originates from the Old English word “draf,” meaning beasts driven in a body or a road along which cattle are driven. This, in turn, comes from the verb “drifan,” which means to drive.
So, a drover is essentially someone who drives cattle or sheep to market. It’s fascinating how the word has maintained its connection to driving livestock over centuries!
Desiderius Erasmus, a prominent figure of the Renaissance, left an enduring legacy with his scholarly work and advocacy for education and intellectual exchange. His influence can be seen in the Erasmus+ Programme, which promotes mobility and intercultural competence among European students and academics. Erasmus's emphasis on questioning the status quo and promoting freedom of thought continues to inspire individuals to seek understanding and bridge cultural divides. His memory lives on in the pursuit of learning and critical thinking, making him a guiding star for generations to come.
The fusion of traditional Dutch art and digitalization in the fourth industrial revolution in Holland reflects a fascinating intersection of cultural heritage and technological innovation. In this context, anthropologists may observe the ways in which Dutch artists and artisans are adapting centuries-old artistic techniques and styles to incorporate digital tools and platforms in their creative processes.
For example, traditional Dutch paintings, such as those by famous artists like Rembrandt or Vermeer, may now be reimagined using digital painting software or transformed into immersive virtual reality experiences. This blending of the old and the new not only allows for the preservation and revitalization of traditional art forms but also opens up new possibilities for artistic expression and audience engagement.
Moreover, anthropologists may also study the impact of digitalization on the art market in Holland, including changes in consumption patterns, the rise of online galleries and art platforms, and the ways in which artists navigate issues of authenticity and ownership in the digital realm.
Overall, the fusion of traditional Dutch art and digitalization in the fourth industrial revolution presents a rich field of study for anthropologists interested in exploring the dynamic interplay between culture, technology, and creativity in contemporary Dutch society.
The book and rise of digital media - Books versus ebooks - What is the future?
What role and function has Apple’s iPhone played in a world where digital technology reigns supreme? Has the printed book has proven its resilience in the face of the digital era? Once thought to be on the brink of extinction due to the rise of e-books and e-readers, traditional books have not only survived but also found new ways to flourish alongside their digital counterparts.
The battle of printed Books vs. E-Books has been fierce, with printed book sales experiencing a decline as digital media continues to soar. However, this decline rate is slowing down, suggesting that printed books are finding their footing in the new landscape. E-reader sales, once booming, have plateaued in recent years, with major players like Amazon's Kindle and Barnes & Noble's Nook facing challenges. Despite the allure of e-books, print books still dominate the market in the UK, with significant amounts spent on them compared to e-books. Additionally, genre preferences play a role, with adult fiction favouring e-books while cookery and religious books thrive in print.
The printed book showcases its resilience through the book’s many Lives. Unlike e-books, printed books can circulate actively, being loaned, gifted, or sold second-hand, allowing them to have multiple lives. With its craftsmanship, bindings, and illustrations, the tangible pleasure of holding a physical book in hand evokes sensorial pleasure, memories, and nostalgia that digital copies cannot replicate. Even when battered or recycled, the paper itself retains value, extending the life of the book.
Digital media and online conversations using mobile technologies have also played a role in preserving the printed book's relevance. Innovations like personalised books create a bridge between physical and digital realms, providing unique experiences for readers. Furthermore, digital conversations, such as reviews, blogs, and social media discussions, bring books to life collaboratively, enriching the reading experience and keeping them a part of cultural discourse. My iPhone 15 Pro Max has worked overtime on this agenda.
In conclusion, while digital media has undoubtedly transformed the way we consume content, the printed book stands as a testament to endurance. Its materiality, ability to circulate and evoke memories, and capability to adapt to new technologies ensure that it remains a cherished part of our cultural heritage. The printed book has weathered the storm of the digital era and emerged stronger, proving that it is here to stay.
Power & Society - Fighting for their rights and place in society
Shivering, shaking, blinking, I suddenly woke from deep sleep to a nightmare. Hearing terrifying cries, filling the night’s darkness with violent, echoing chaos, I put my head under a pillow.
Arrows took the last breath away from the night watch and silenced the guards.
The silent northern blue tattooed raiding Celts, skilfully scaling the hamlet’s wooded defences and breeching the defences, were now howling for blood. Swinging, flashing silver blades struck the heart of my community.
BedNow howling and screaming, the violators charged, kicking in doors, entering, and ending the lives of families stumbling from their last slumbering movements. Oozing blood flowing from the living signalled the ending of their conscious existence. Final screams and gurgling from surprised, gaping mouths signalled their ending. They had no chance.
The burring hamlet on Priory Hill sent flaming fingers upwards. Rejecting clouds lit up an image of bedlam and hell.
Grabbing my hands, with the tattooed raiders storming up the stairs, Leif and Magnus were lowering me out of the window. The old world was ending. Capturing Gyda and dragging her away, they torched the wooden house and cremated the bodies.
These are the worst scenes from the nightmares haunting my early life. May you never experience the miasmas from hell's infernos of the burning stench of human flesh and panicking, baying animals escaping flaming barns.
Stumbling along a hidden forest path with night birds guiding and flanking our paths to safety, a parliament of Tawney owls scouted the escape route. Bats sonic screeching helped by spotting hazards and fallen trees. A chorus of hooting was guiding the fleeing refugees. Silent, sure-footed roe deer guarding the flanks helped by propping us up, stopping us from falling.
Away to the Northwest, on Priory Hill, evil skies still reflected the evil raiders' deeds; angry red and yellow flames reflected against the clouds.
At the end of the escapade from the raiders, the trooping deer, who had been skilfully and quietly escorting my frail party, led us into a secret hunting lodge hidden high in the foothills of the fabled Tabletop Mountains.
Dense thickets, fast-flowing rivers and small lakes guarded the refuge. Only the best and fittest survived here. Eagles and birds of prey, carrying out high-level reconnaissance from the skies, were searching, scanning, and circling the hidden refuge for signs of approach from the marauding kidnappers.
For two days, laying low, we spent sleeping, talking, planning, and discussing escaping from our catastrophic nightmare. Staying locked in the warmth and security of our safe house would have been the easy option. The will and the desire to save Gyda and try to do something positive was the winning option.
Again, with the roe deer silently guiding us through the thickets, we found a small coracle tied to the moss-covered bank of the fast-flowing riverbank. With salmon and otters escorting us, the leather craft quickly bobbed down the winding river. Birds, wrens, robins and crows were keeping a sharp lookout. Ferrying past rocky rapids, valley troughs, and deep pools with swirling whirlpools, we escaped to the sandy estuary where the river entered the bay. Here, the deer and bird friends gave the protective escort to gannets, petrels, and black-backed gulls. Dancing, glinting dolphins began towing the tiny craft over the blue seas to the magical castle on the island in the west where the sun sets.
As the moon waxed, the dolphins safely guided us into a sheltered cove hidden from prying eyes and the evil raiders.
Scheming how to rescue Gyda in the magical island castle, Magnus, the wise, began slowly evolving his cunning plan with the horned, helmeted Norsemen. Leif used his heroic father’s links to build new friendships with the clans, families and alliances that had evolved from his family’s proud heritage, exploring distant lands across the ocean toward the setting sun.
The petrels and swallows were constantly bringing news of sightings and developments on the movements of the northern raiders. A drugged and tied-up Gyda was being taken north into the Purple Mountains and the home of the Celt marauders.
Circling high over the hill route to the northern purple mountains, buzzards following the raiders constantly informed of the raider’s movement. Thinking, working hard, and mapping out the information, Magnus was developing a courageous plan to save Gyda. He was delegating duties and tasks in the briefing for the raid to save Gyda. Whales and dolphins for aiding the rescue party across the blue seas and into the sandy estuary. Flights of birds were the eyes and ears, deer and hares leading the heroic rescuers to the brigand’s camp.
Tawney owls coordinating the rescue, hooting as dawn broke, secretly scouting the approach route to the brigand’s den. Asta, Magnus and Lief, riding on the backs of the deer, knowing the otters were breaching the stockade, prepared their stun grenades and laser swords. Creeping through the silent, sleeping enemy den with snoring Celts, quietly waking a trembling Gyda, Leif treading silently led the brave raiders to the safety of the surrounding forest.
The animal friends, escorting the rescuers, gave no clues to the drunken Celts. At the estuary, a school of whales, towing the long boat, ploughing the gentle waves, sped the rescuers to safety.
Gyda, crying, laughing, speaking, told the party of her ordeal when the golden eagle landed on the balcony and told how the Celts, fighting a losing battle with the forest animals, were being driven out of their mountain dens.
Celebrating the victory, Asta, proclaiming peace, declared independence for the animals and the people in the magical land of the Winding River.
Language, literature, and thought are intricately connected, forming a dynamic relationship that influences and shapes each other. Language provides the medium through which thoughts are expressed and communicated, while literature serves as a reflection and exploration of human thought and experience.
1. Language as a Tool of Thought:
Language is not merely a means of communication but also a tool for thinking. It allows us to organize and structure our thoughts, making them coherent and accessible. The vocabulary we possess influences the way we perceive and conceptualize the world around us.
2. Literature as a Mirror of Thought:
Literature reflects the thoughts, beliefs, and values of the time and society in which it is created. It offers insights into the human condition, exploring complex emotions, conflicts, and ideas. Literary works can challenge our assumptions and expand our understanding of the world.
3. Literature as a Catalyst for Thought:
Literature has the power to stimulate thought and provoke reflection. It can challenge our beliefs, question our assumptions, and open our minds to new perspectives. Reading literature can lead to personal growth, intellectual development, and a deeper understanding of ourselves and the world.
4. The Influence of Thought on Language and Literature:
Thought influences both the development of language and the creation of literature. Philosophical ideas, scientific theories, and cultural beliefs shape the vocabulary we use and the themes explored in literature. Literature, in turn, can influence thought by disseminating ideas and shaping public opinion.
5. The Cyclical Relationship:
The relationship between language, literature, and thought is cyclical. Language influences thought, thought influences literature, and literature influences language. This dynamic interplay contributes to the richness and complexity of human culture. In conclusion, language, literature, and thought are inseparable. They shape and are shaped by each other, forming a multifaceted web of human expression and understanding.
One of my earliest memories was nearly drowning. A big hand pulled me clear of the sea. If you know Hayling Island, it was at low water in the channel between the beach and the offshore sandbar.
I have gone under several more times, both literally and metaphorically. What do I mean...that's for you to work out using your imagination?
Let's see if these poems help the process.
V1
Suffocating soul, lost in despair Sinking fast, in depths unknown Drenched in darkness, feeling alone Heartbeat slowing, a muted tone
Oxygen scarce, a desperate plea Silent whispers, echoing plea Grasping for life, a fading decree
Drowning in waves, a battle fought Frantic struggles, lessons taught In the abyss, salvation sought
Lungs aching, a final sigh Thoughts fleeting, as time slips by Water's embrace, the end is nigh
But wait, a beacon in the night A glimmer of hope, shining bright A helping hand, reaching out in sight
A lifeline extended, a second chance A ray of hope, a healing dance The drowning fear, now in advance
With strength regained, a new lease on life The drowning, a battle won in strife Emerging from darkness, into vibrant light
The fear of drowning, a metaphor profound For life's challenges, when hope seems drowned Hold on, reach out, and a way will be found
What pathway will an infant take when crawling towards the crossroads of awareness, finding meaning, developing perceptions, experiencing feelings, and creating an early understanding of the world? Does it matter?
My beautiful nursery teacher left the classroom during the art sessions, and the stern gatekeeper secretary stood on guard, unsure of how to control thirty toddlers. And, of course, whilst painting a colourful impressionist beach painting, I knocked over the jar holding the water.
As quickly as a puppy terrier eating scraps falling from the dinner table, the interloping outsider invading our cosy, safe, and secure room demanded if it was deliberate or accidental. If I said something wrong, my timidity would receive a stiff verbal lashing not prescribed in the Montessori philosophy.
Infant art education - language development and thinking skills
I looked at the Secretary’s permed hair and smart attire; please don’t touch me or wipe your nose on my skirt, and I thought she was from a different tribe and culture to the women where I came from. I experienced this insight many other times…more later.
A careful response to this new person with her signs and symbols of power and authority was needed. Ruefully and carefully, I considered the question and replied, I do not know what deliberate or accidental means.
An infant's language experience in an English nursery
Mrs Prim and the proper School Secretary's face broke into an enormous smile, and she bent down and kissed me on my forehead. I thought language is only useful when a shared understanding of its meaning exists.
There was a structural problem in this social transaction. As if sent for, my beloved, pretty teacher returned to save me from the trauma of the outsider’s interrogation.
An infant's sensory experience in an English country garden
Once upon a time in post-war rural England, I found myself in the comfort of my grandparents' village house. As an infant toddler, the world around me was an endless source of wonder and exploration, and their small country garden became my personal playground.
As I ventured into the garden, the crisp morning air filled my tiny lungs with freshness, tingling my senses. The aroma of dew-covered grass and blooming flowers caught my attention, making me squirm with delight in my grandmother's arms. With her gentle guidance, I descended onto the earth, my bare feet sinking into the soft soil.
Drawing closer to the vibrant patches of vegetables and flowers, I marveled at the kaleidoscope of colors that surrounded me. The bright red tomatoes, the vibrant orange carrots, and the verdant green of the peas captivated my young eyes. Each plant stood tall, reaching towards the heavens, whispering secrets of life and growth.
My tiny fingers instinctively reached out, eager to explore the world through tactile sensations. I brushed my hand against the velvety petals of the roses, feeling their delicate texture against my skin. Giggles escaped my lips as the tickling sensation begged for more attention.
I trudged through the dirt, leaving my imprints as evidence of my tiny expedition. The sensation of the cool earth beneath my feet filled me with a sense of grounding, of belonging to this ever-changing world. I discovered a patch of mint, its fresh fragrance transcending the garden, and I plucked a leaf, enjoying the softness between my fingertips.
The vegetable patch became my personal buffet, as I couldn't resist the urge to taste what nature had provided. Plump strawberries burst with sweetness on my tongue, their juicy flavors dancing across my taste buds. I sampled the crispness of a freshly picked cucumber, its coolness a refreshing surprise that made me want to explore more.
As the day wore on, the sun reached its peak, casting gentle rays upon the garden. The warmth on my skin intensified the sensory experience, allowing me to fully immerse myself in this magical world. Bees buzzed in the distance, their gentle hum creating a symphony in harmony with the wind rustling through the leaves.
In my grandparents' garden, I found solace and enchantment, a haven where my senses could run wild. The sensory delights of smelling the fragrant flowers, seeing the vibrant colors, feeling the textures of nature, and tasting the flavors of the earth all contributed to my growing understanding of the world.
As time passed, that little garden continued to nurture and shape my curiosity. It became a place where I learned the importance of paying attention to the simplest of wonders. And though I may have outgrown my infant exploration, the memories of that garden will forever hold a special place in my heart, reminding me of the boundless joy that nature can bring.
The text is a personal narrative of the author’s birth on a Good Friday, during a blizzard and a war. The author describes the contrast between the stormy weather and the warmth of their grandparent’s house, where their mother gave birth to them. The author also portrays the emotions of their mother, who was angry and worried about their father, a soldier fighting in the Korean War. The author reflects on the significance of their birth, as a symbol of hope, resilience, and love despite the adversity they faced. The author expresses gratitude for the strength and support of their family, and their confidence in overcoming any challenges in the future.
STORMY ESSEX BIRTH
I was born on a Good Friday, a day forever etched in my memory as a time of new beginnings and immense hardship. It was a stormy day, with a blizzard raging outside, enveloping the world in a blanket of snow. My arrival into this world took place in my grandparent's house, a haven of warmth and comfort amidst the tempest.
The roaring coal fire crackled and popped, casting dancing shadows upon the walls as if eager participants in the joyous occasion. My mother, a resilient and strong-willed woman, had braved the storm to be in the safety of her father's home during my birth. Yet, as the winds howled relentlessly and icy flakes found their way through every crevice, her anger flared.
In the absence of my father, a soldier fighting valiantly with the Gloucester Regiment at the Imjin River in the Korean War, my mother's frustration and resentment grew by the minute. Worry and uncertainty swirled through her thoughts, mingling with the pain of labour. With each contraction, she let out a fierce curse directed at my absent father, as if to expel her anger along with each surge of pain.
Meanwhile, the storm raged on, its relentless fury serving as an eerie backdrop to my entrance into the world. The house creaked under the weight of the snow piled high against its walls, yet within those walls, the warmth of love enveloped us. Grace, my grandmother, ever the pillar of strength, stood vigil beside my mother, offering comforting words and gentle reassurance.
Time seemed to stretch as I made my way into the world, a tiny and delicate being amidst the chaos surrounding us. Finally, as if in defiance of the storm itself, my cries mingled with the crackling flames and the howling wind, announcing my arrival.
In that moment, as my mother held me in her arms, a mixture of emotions washed over her. Her anger faded and was replaced by a profound love for the tiny life she had brought forth. The joy and pride that swelled within her were undeniable, though tempered by the absence of my father.
Despite the storm outside and the turmoil of war that my father faced thousands of miles away, the warmth of that small room held the promise of a brighter future. In those early moments of my existence, surrounded by the love and strength of my mother and grandfather, I was reminded of the power of family, resilience, and the enduring bonds that weather even the harshest of storms.
That day, as the blizzard raged on and my mother's curses turned into soft whispers of hope, our little haven became a beacon of warmth and love amid the unforgiving cold. And as I took my first breaths, with the legacy of my father's bravery coursing through my veins, I knew that I was destined to overcome whatever challenges lay ahead.
Thus, my birth on that Good Friday, in the heart of a blizzard, forever serves as a testament to the strength, determination, and love that surrounds me. An indelible story that weaves through the tapestry of my existence, reminding me of the unbreakable bonds that connect us all, even in the face of adversity.
In a contemporary verse, I shall dwell, On the words of Sappho, her stories to tell. Through the corridors of time, they have soared, With longing and love, her heartstrings outpoured.
Gazing upon the moon's ethereal gleam, Sappho's verses dance, like a lucid dream. She unraveled secrets, the desire she knew, A poetess divine, her words ringing true.
From distant shores, with passion she yearned, Her verses ignited, the passion she churned. In words untamed, her emotions unfurled, A symphony of longing that set souls awhirl.
Lost in time, silent fragments are found, Yet whispers of her voice sublimely resound. I'll attempt to complete her unfinished lines, In a tapestry of words, a dance that defines.
"Come close and let me hear your gentle sigh, Whisper promises that forever shall lie, In the realms where love knows no boundary, United in dreams, our souls shall run free.
Like wildflowers dancing in the summer sun, Our love will bloom, a river overflows as one. Through every twist and turn, forever entwined, In love's embrace, our spirits aligned.
With every beat of the heart, a love divine, Our souls aflame, like stars that forever shine. No distance can tear us apart, we are bound, In a love that forever echoes, profound.
In the shadows of night, we find solace near, Into the darkness, our love holds no fear. For even in silence, our souls will collide, In the sacred realm where passion resides.
So let these words complete Sappho's plead, In a contemporary flow, her desires we read. Her legacy lives on, in whispers and sighs, Forever entwined, our hearts reach the skies."