Bearing the unbearable

The verb “to bear” involves a minimum of understanding and acceptance. If a happening that concerns us is so removed from our normal existence that we cannot understand it, let along accept it, then it might be said that are faced with an absurd challenge: that of bearing the unbearable. In such circumstances, something has to break… often in the mind of the victim.

The common cause of this nasty situation is death. Animals—human animals in particular—have never understood death, and never will... particularly when it hits loved ones: a husband, a wife, a close and intimate friend, parents or, above all, innocent children. In such cases, the mind “explodes”, as it were.

In former times, individuals who were suffering from an unbearable happening might have sought comfort in religion or traditional social circles. Even the danse macabre was, in a way, a “solution” for bearing the unbearable.

But remedies of that kind have disappeared to a large extent. These days, strangely enough, the Internet can become an outlet for such an explosion of the mind. It serves as a hitherto unknown means of naming the unnameable.

How did giraffes come to have long necks?

I’m always thrilled whenever I rediscover by chance a typical Richard Dawkins gem like this one.

A nice old-fashioned answer is that God, knowing that He had cunningly placed the most tasty leaves at the top of tall trees, designed giraffes with extra long necks so that they would have no trouble in reaching this good food.

A less religious answer is that, over a certain period of time, Nature caused the necks of giraffes to grow longer and longer, because Nature was smart enough to realize that hungry giraffes would be needing bigger necks to attain leaves that were moving higher and higher.

Well, that god-free answer is closer to the truth, but we still need to improve the wording. We merely have to introduce a pair of freak events. So, let’s go. At a certain point in time, most giraffes had medium-sized necks, whereas a minority of freaky giraffes were born with slightly longer necks. At about the same time, during a few freak seasons, leaves happened to grow so high that all normal giraffes with shorter necks couldn’t reach them. These poor animals gradually died of starvation. Only the freaky longer-necked giraffes survived and bred children who, like their parents, had long necks. Longer necks had started out as just a random happening… but they soon became a matter of life or death.

Homeopathy is rubbish

No matter what science says, modern societies (including France and England) will always include a sufficient number of uneducated folk, fools and princes in order to believe that homeopathy is credible. And they keep this industry going by spending much money on quackery.

I was thrilled to learn this morning that efforts to fight homeopathy in the UK, headed by the Richard Dawkins Foundation [here] and the Center for Inquiry [here], appear to be bearing fruit.

City of Mosul is totally encircled

Iraqi soldiers hold a Daesh flag captured in Mosul

Islamic jihadists in Mosul—estimated at between 3,000 and 5,000—are now totally encircled by Iraqi forces, who cut the last Daesh link with Syria. Iraqi troops now control 40% of the eastern sector of the city of Mosul. The end of Daesh at Mosul is near.

My childhood newspaper amuses me

If I drop in periodically on The Daily Examiner in Grafton, it's merely on the off chance of coming across an item that's less boring than usual. Like today. The driver of a giant truck, carrying a load of authentic shit, hit the brakes... and his cargo, as they say in the classics, promptly "hit the fan". This story made me split my sides laughing.

Click to enlarge slightly

Marvelous photo. I have the impression that the fellow on the left is praying for divine help. Police asked the driver why it hadn't occurred to him that it might be a good idea to cover up his load with a batch. I can imagine his likely reaction: "A truck driver never thinks of taking precautions on such a short trip. And then suddenly, shit happens." Here's another photo, with different colors:

Final thought. [Australian readers will say, once again, that I'm knocking my native land... and that's perfectly true, because it's really a most knockable country.] I'm intrigued by the fact that Aussie journalism is so shitty, these days, that the editing staff didn't appear to realize that the technical specifications of the above photos are so different. Don't the editorial staff have access to run-of-the-mill photo-editing software that could have corrected those two images in such a way that they look at least as if it's the same truck in the same place on the same day?

Drop a ping-pong ball in the clown’s mouth

I've always looked upon Nigel Farage as an English amusement.

He reminds me of rows of fair-ground clowns that amused me greatly as a child in Australia. The heads swivelled constantly to the left and the right, and the trick consisted of guessing the exact moment to drop your ping-pong ball down the clown's throat, so that it ended up falling into the right spot and winning something.

Today, I don't think the prize would justify my efforts.
On the other hand, the ping-pong ball might shut up Farage.

Day without electricity

It's the first time I ever recall a total day at Gamone without electricity. The power went off this morning at 8 o'clock, and it didn't come back on until about 18h30. The outage was caused by strong winds in the valley, which are still blowing. Today, it's really weird to experience a whole day without electricity. It's like being thrown back into the Dark Ages. Even a simple operation such as opening the fridge to grab something to eat has to be calculated carefully, to avoid the entry of heat. An hour ago, I even took my dog Fitzroy out into the dark, so that he would enter his kennel for the night. Otherwise, I wasn't sure there would be enough light, later on, to find the path to the kennel.

Truly, in rural France, we have become innocent Children of Light.

Probably the next president of France

                                      [photo Albert Facelly pour Libération]

I can't see how François Fillon could possibly be beaten in the presidential course. His lead is enormous. From this point on, a new problem arises on the horizon. We must make sure that the extreme right-wing party, the Front National, sinks rapidly into oblivion.

Last of the Frères Jacques

When I met up with my future wife in Paris, our most adorable friends were Paul Faye and his wife Lulu, who lived in the Rue Servandoni. One of their close friends was Paul Tourenne, who was a member of the Frères Jacques group of music-hall artists. I often met up with him, and Christine and I were invited to their concert. Paul became very interested in photography, and I believe he went to live with his son Robin Tourenne in Montréal. I’m saddened to learn that Paul Tourenne, 93, has just disappeared from the scene.

Paul Tourenne is wearing light-gray.

Relativity centenary

Albert Einstein’s theory of general relativity was first published a hundred years ago, during the week of November 18-25, 1915.

It remains such a colossal achievement of intellectual imagination that few people come to grips with it. The other day, on French television, a journalist suggested that an expert in science might tell us whether he preferred the photo of Einstein poking his tongue out. To my mind, that’s a little like asking Lincoln’s widow what she thought of the play Our American Cousin, or suggesting that the Creator might talk about his recreational activities on the seventh day.

The Road Not Taken

I’ve been admiring a discussion about contingency between Elisa New and Richard Dawkins. They were inspired by the famous poem by Robert Frost: The Road Not Taken.

To see the video interview, click here.

Female curves make the world go round

The world has been fascinated by the curves of Marilyn Monroe for decades. Click here to access a website with a video about the 17 November sale in Los Angeles of Marilyn’s skin-tight dress for 4.5 million euros.

Meanwhile, in France, another famous item of female wear entered a Paris costume museum. I’m talking of the outfit worn by the ecology politician Cécile Duflot.

In July 2012, Madame Duflot caused a stir among male dinosaurs when she appeared in the French parliament wearing this delightful dress.

And she hadn’t even started to sing a birthday song for our president François Hollande.

Ignorance has always upset me

Ignorance reminds me of Christianity's meekness and mildness, and their ridiculous business about turning the other cheek. There's also that stupid idea about industrial wealth transforming good citizens into camels who can no longer stroll through the eye of a needle.

The more I think about it, the more I reckon that Jesus was a pretty ignorant sort of a young man. His Jewish father should have sent his son to a good college... and let him grow up with smart young women.

Serious youthful Catholic, likes cars

#FillonPresident #Fillon2017

He’s a good-looking provincial fellow with a time-honored old French given name : François. He’s also a little “vieille France” (old France). It’s not hard to understand why the French—totally shocked by Islamic terrorists and Trump, fed up by Sarko and Copé, slightly irritated by the self-esteem of the older Juppé—find that Fillon is surely a simple man of qualities. That's what we need today : simplicity and human qualities.

photo Jean-Sébastien Evrard  / AFP

Some people can do things that others can't

An Australian blogger of my generation has been warning his readers for years that, whenever he happens to receive a living plant in a pot, the poor thing dies sooner or later, no matter how my friend attempts to keep it alive. I used to think he was joking. These days, however, I've come to realize there are real-life people like the blogger who simply don't ever learn what has to be done to keep a plant alive. It's like asking me if I know how to scale the outer wall of a skyscraper. It's simply not in my genes. Let's turn to another simple task.

Click to see the dusty ashes

Few operations are easier in life than lighting a fire in a wood oven. But I'm sure there are many people who wouldn't succeed. My ex-neighbor Bob used to brag about his ability to light a fire anywhere with damp wood. He performed several successful demonstrations, but I couldn't stop feeling that there must have been some hidden trick. The apparent dampness of the wood concealed, say, a few drops of alcohol. Well, Bob was surely no more than a smart fellow. Today, I've come to understand that the successful lighting of a wood fire depends upon a few basic operations of a simple nature. You start with the tiny flame of a match, and then you move successively from one flaming object to the next, of ever-increasing volumes and virulence... until you end up with a big stack of blazing wood.

I'm often intrigued and indeed pleased to see that my son apparently learned long ago all these simple facts of life that have only occupied my brain relatively recently. Better late than never...

Journalists in my upside-down world

Everybody knows that people in the Antipodes walk on their heads, because they live in an upside-down world. It's true that my Antipodean land of birth, Australia, is quite different to my adopted country, France.

• Australia is thought of as an immensely rich land, since all kinds of treasures lie beneath the surface. On the other hand, Australian history and culture are not particularly exciting. The Aborigines, for example, have never produced any written texts. So, it's as if the past only came into human memory a few generations ago. We know next to nothing about their ancient history. Aborigines themselves have invented myths about the past, but they have no precise objective knowledge of the names or life-styles of their ancestors. They simply guess. And their conclusions are probably right, because Australian Aborigines are a people that doesn't seem to evolve considerably in time.

• France, on the other hand, cannot be thought of as a rich land, since there are few treasures beneath the surface of our land. Our treasures are above the surface, in our history, culture and, above all, our people.

Normally, one would expect that a rich country such as Australia would send many journalists to a land such as France, to keep in touch with what's happening here. Similarly, one might expect that a less wealthy nation such as France would run into financial problems in trying to maintain journalists in a faraway land such as Australia. Actual reality is exactly the opposite. France attempts constantly to find out what's happening in Australia. On the contrary, Australia depends on foreign sources of information to find out what's happening, say, in France. We live indeed in an upside-down world.

Good life

Not really a big surprise

This morning, at the Campus des métiers et de l'entreprise in Bobigny, Emmanuel Macron stated that he was a presidential candidate. The name of his political party is two words followed by an exclamation mark : En marche ! That means they’ve set foot. Since I’m more or less bluffed by this smart fellow, you might consider me as a potential Enmarchiste ! It sounds smarter than "Socialiste". Infinitely less Trumpian than "Républicain". I think it's the sign at the end that adds all the sexy smartness to Macron's ethereal party. Besides, his surname makes him sound in English like a piece of smart software. In fact, I think he is.

Deux touristes français meurent en Australie

#Australia

Un homme et une femme, tous les deux plus de 70 ans, sont morts mystérieusement au cours de plongées touristiques à Michaelmas Cay prés de Cairns.

Il y avait probablement des fautes au niveau de leur équipement technique. Cliquer ici et ici pour des articles dans la presse locale.

It can be chilly here in France

A recent survey reveals that 75% of French people say that their homes are excessively cold in winter.

Well, this is not the case for me at Gamone. My installation of a large wood-burning stove has proven to be ideal. I hasten to point out that this success is based upon several additional factors:

• I’ve got into the habit of ordering a stock of high-quality firewood in summer.

• I store this firewood in a large and sturdy woodshed alongside my house.

• I’ve learnt the skill of lighting up the stove of an afternoon, using a tiny quantity of pine wood chips.

• Finally, the cold stove must be cleaned of ashes the following morning.

My house is well insulated on all sides. Besides, if ever the presence of snow made it difficult to go outside to fetch firewood, there’s a stock inside the old stone cave behind the ground-floor level of the house.

In my upper-floor bedroom, study and bathroom, electric radiators switch themselves on automatically when the temperature drops. The use of firewood as my principal fuel means that I would not be in danger in the case of an electricity blackout. And I’ve got a stock of candles. So, the general situation at Gamone is comfortable and reassuring. This is a must when you live on the edge of the French Alps.