Keepe Deathe off the Roades

The University of the West of England has carried out a comparative study of deaths on the UK's roads across the centuries. Coroners' records from Sussex covering the years 1485 to 1688 reveal that thirty percent of deaths as a result of injury were attributable to road travel. This compares with World Health Organisation figures for the year 2000, where the percentage was closer to twenty five.

In Tudor times, it seems that being knocked down by galloping horses, crushed by runaway carts or falling off the back of farm wagons was something of an occupational hazard for travellers. Roads weren't brilliant (dusty in summer, thick with mud in winter) and no-one took responsibility for their maintenance. In fact, it wasn't unusual for the peasantry to dig up bits of a nearby road to repair their houses. There are recorded instances of people falling into such holes and either breaking their necks, or drowning. Equally, horses could blunder into these "pot holes", throwing and killing their riders. There was also danger from overhanging tree branches, the carcases of butchered animals simply dumped in the road and, of course, murderous footpads, outlaws or sturdy beggars, ever-ready to bump off the unsuspecting traveller for a few coins and leave his bleeding body for the wolves to devour (well, up until 1486 anyway, when the last English wolf is said to have been killed).

What would it have been like if strict traffic regulations were in force in the days of Good Queen Bess? Would we, perhaps, be privy to the following originall notes of some zealous constable?

Constable Thuck doth reporte that, on the Sabbath past, one John Thatcher, carter of Easte-Chepe, was seene to drive his carte in a wantoun and furiouse manner in the streete called Fleete-Bridge Streete, to the common daunger of the inhabitants or passengers. The same constable doth reporte that the saide Jon did at the first faile to stoppe when soe required by the constable, and furthermore dyd calle the sayd constable Whore-Monger, Blinde-Sinke and Crinkum-Crankum and dyd aske, hast thou nought better to doe with thy office when London is fulle of bellie-dauncers, doxies, punchable nunnes and priggers of prancers. And the sayd John dyd then offer to strike the saide constable with a bille-hooke valued at fourpence. And John Thatcher is even now lying at the common Bridewell untill his matter doth come to triall, whereby he shall have leisure to contemplate the fate that doth awaite him. Constable Thuck hath an engraving, marvelously delineated by himself, of the sayde John Thatcher falyling to observe his signall for to stoppe, the near-bye Gadzooks Camera Obscura being for that tyme utterly broken-downe.

I know what you're thinking. I should get out more.

Heave-ho me hearties!

I know. You thought it was Captain Pugwash, didn't you? But I'm pretty sure it's Captain Pugdog.

Now, this is a terrible example of what can happen when the urge to celebrate Hallowe'en gets out of hand. Not content with dressing themselves as Freddy Kruger or Hannibal Lecter (did Thomas Harris christen his homophagic anti-hero thus, simply so that he could rhyme it with cannibal?), dog owners in the US have now taken to inflicting all manner of vile costumes upon their poor canines.

Thanks to no.1 daughter for providing me with a link to more of the same.

Mounting of the Hood

Our cooker hood went bang on Saturday.

Today I became the owner of a shiny new one with a useful little booklet explaining its fitting, use and maintenance. Here are some excerpts from the booklet:

Mounting of the hood in the lower part on an hanging cupboard...(using an drill and an Rawlplug, presumably).

Changing from exhausting hood to the filtering one - In order to make this change...demand a set of carbon filters to your deales. (Just bang on the shop counter until they hand them over).

The filter (c) has to be applied to the aspirating group, which is inside the hood hitin the centre of the group with it and turning it of 90 degrees until the stop click is heard to lock it. (What ? What?)

Warning!! Under certain circumstances domestic appliances may be dangerous. (Thanks for the tip; I'll try to avoid banging my head on it once it's attached to an hanging cupboard).

English as she is spoke. Don't you just love it!

Not such a happy anniversary

Today is the 942nd anniversary of the Battle of Hastings. It wasn't a terribly good day for Harold Godwinson, or his house-carls because, as every schoolchild knows, the army of William the Bastard defeated the Saxon army, ushering in a long period of Norman rule.

Here are a few little facts concerning the day, the combatants, and surrounding events.

• The battle did not, in fact, take place at Hastings, but at Senlac Hill, around six miles to the north-west of the present town. It lasted from around 9am until dusk, with a break for lunch.


• Harold's wife, Edith Swan-Neck, was called to identify his body after the battle, and was able to do so by some intimate mark on his body, known only to her (and him, presumably).


• It is traditionally thought that Harold was killed when he was struck in the eye by an arrow. However, the Carmen de Hastingae Proelio (Song of the Battle of Hastings), composed by Bishop Guy of Amiens around 1068, suggests he was merely wounded by the arrow and was then hacked to pieces by Norman soldiers. Other scholars believe that the figure on the Bayeux Tapestry reputed to be Harold has an arrow lodged in his helmet, and not in his eye. Elsewhere in the Tapestry, soldiers with arrows in the face are depicted as either being in agony or apparently falling down dead. The "Harold" figure is neither of these.


• Norman hairstyles were nothing if not unusual, as can be seen here. Saxons tended to go for the "long hair and moustache" look.

Guillaume couldn't remember much about his stag night

• The Bayeux Tapestry is, in fact, an embroidery. As you might expect, the French have laid claim to its creation, but it appears more likely to have been produced in England by Saxon embroiderers because of the style of execution and the natural dyes employed. It was very nearly lost for good when it was decided to use it as a tarpaulin to cover an ammunition cart during the French Revolution, but fortunately some quick-thinking soul retrieved it.

Harold couldn't decide between the Kumfilux Divan or the Nite-Nite Deluxe. Decisions, decisions!

• The Normans were not native French; they had their origins in Scandinavia. At the start of the tenth century, the French King, Charles the Simple, had given some land in the North of France to Rollo, a Viking chieftain, in the hope that this would bring to an end the Viking raids on France. The region we now call Normandy was originally Northmannia, the land of the Northmen. The Normans who conquered England in 1066 had little or nothing in common with their Viking forebears.


• Unlike Elvis Presley, there has never been a suggestion that Harold is still alive.

If you should happen to have a horn of mead about your person as you read this, perhaps it would be appropriate for you to make a silent toast to poor old Harold.

Mum's gone to Iceland

I suspect she's looking for the rest of her housekeeping money. It seems that Iceland are having a few cash flow problems at present. I'm not surprised. On checking their website today, I note that they are offering a Big Value Pack of lasagne for just £1, and profiteroles (sixteen large ones, mind) are a snip at £2. No wonder they're struggling as a country with unsustainably low prices like that.

The Face of Iceland is not Björk, as most people seem to think, but rather Kerry Katona. Has the singer of It's so quiet ever demonstrated how to feed five thousand people for a tenner? I don't recall her ever having done so, all though she may have done, in amongst all that wailing. Ms Katona, however, is the much more acceptable face of a country that now needs to reduce its shopping bills in order to give our councils back their pension funds.

I've visited Ms Katona's own website, and feel more than vindicated in my opinion of her. Remember Njal's Saga? Do you recall Hrafnkel's Saga? Perhaps not, but I feel Ms Katona would be more than equal to writing a modern Icelandic saga in a similar vein. Then perhaps we could thrill to the songs of Thorgeir Einarsson the bard as he extols the virtue of the 350g Seafood Medley; or listen to the chatter of Vigdis Magnusdottir as she explains to her friends how quick and easy it is to create a Birthday Tea with the Hassle-Free Party Range of wraps, tartlets and goujons. I could even suggest a tagline: Just the thing after a day at the Althing. (Or AlÞing, if you want to be authentic).

Why do I think Ms Katona is capable of such things? It is this simple statement, taken from her website, and reproduced using the original Icelandic spelling:

Kerry mentains ardent intrest in books, writing and litrature.

I look forward to reading the Islandfaeðisaga in due course.

It's National Poetry Day!

Yep, it's that special day again. And I thought I'd add my humble offering to the day's proceedings. This little poem has the distinction (if I may use the word) of having been read out on the wireless by Ms. Sandi Toksvig some time ago.

Here goes...

There was a young lady called Janet
Who used to support Queen's Park Rangers.
At a match in the rain
She caught a bad cold
And had a stiff neck for a fortnight.

I'd like to think that the late Sir John Betjeman would have been suitably amused. After all, I enjoyed all of his stuff; the least he could do (were he able) would be to return the compliment.

The schools are alive...

...with the sound of music. Or so it would appear. I've been listening to the radio on and off for most of the day, and the biggest topic of conversation (apart from the credit crunch, that is) seems to be Disney's High School Musical. Now, you'll have to forgive my ignorance, as I have never seen the TV movies, never bought the exercise books or other tie-in gew-gaws, nor have I spent hours in the pouring rain in central London hoping to catch a glimpse of the stars of the latest HSM offering. I think it's probably something to do with my being in the wrong age group. I have resisted the temptation to paste any picture in here that might even be remotely connected with the film. Disney (TM) have eyes everywhere, and if they can threaten to sue educational establishments for daring to use the original Disney names for the seven dwarfs in school pantos, then I'd probably be fair game.

So, why all this interest in high school musicals? No, what I really want to know is, why all this interest in high schools, full stop? Over the years I have watched a good many films, most of them American. A huge proportion of them seem to be about, to refer to, or are set in, a high school. We all know what American high schools look like, don't we? A big, well-maintained building (maybe ultra-modern, maybe faux Victorian); wide, spacious corridors with floors buffed so hard you could eat dinner off them; row after row of pristine lockers; and classrooms that look clean and well-ordered.

Then there's the cast. There's usually at least one of the following; super-cool guy who knows exactly what to wear and what to say; lunkhead football/baseball player; uncool, geeky boy who gets pushed around by aforesaid lunkhead; cool girl fancied by all the boys and worshipped by the girls; and Valley Girl.

Valley Girl is a strange phenomenon. She is incapable of using the word "said". Instead, she uses similes. "I was like 'wow!' and he was like, 'what do ya say?' and my dad was like 'no way!'" You get the picture. In the same way she cannot use a short sentence when a long one will do. "It was hot today" becomes "It was kind of like hot today". And this mode of speech is spreading to the UK. I blame all the high school movies.

In an effort to find out just how many high school movies there have been, I trawled the internet. The first site I found was "Fifty Best High School Movies". So there must be a few more than that. But astonishingly, there were three British films in the list; Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Gregory's Girl, and To Sir with Love. The thing is, none of these have that "best days of your lives", feel good, anything's possible attitude that seems to pervade most American high school movies. Let's look at what we've got, apart from the three aforementioned:

Tom Brown's Schooldays - small defenceless boy brutalised by school bully.
If - psychopathic scholars go on a shooting spree and slaughter the staff.
Billy Elliot - northern boy gets a hard time for daring to enjoy dancing.
St. Trinians - vicious and/or sexually provocative girls presided over by criminal staff and a spiv.
Grange Hill - drugs, knives, violence and aggression in an inner city school (okay, so it's not a film!)

It doesn't make very good reading, does it? Perhaps the high school genre never took off here because there is no distinct and recognisable image of a UK secondary school. I suppose that's why our home-grown directors have left schools alone and instead stuck to what they know; gangster movies set in the East End or Essex, tales of drug-dealing and benefit fraud on some sink estate, and middle-class people living in easily recognisable English places (usually overlooking Tower Bridge) having relationships with other middle-class people, with a couple of random American stars thrown in so it may just about appeal to the US market.

Oh, to hell with it. I'm off to see High School Musical.