Rain has fallen early
Wet footpaths glistening
Strollers walk briskly
Rain has fallen early
Wet footpaths glistening
Strollers walk briskly
Last year, I published a book about an almost forgotten but important aspect of Indian history that began to interest me after visiting an almost completely unknown memorial in western India (Kutch, to be more precise).
Since then, I have shown the book to various knowledgeable readers and also revisited the memorial.
Those who have read the book have made valuable suggestions on how to improve it, including changing the title so that its subject matter is far more obvious to a potential reader, adding a preface and a time-line, and re-ordering the subject matter.
When I re-visited the memorial in Kutch, I met people, who showed me things I had not seen or even been aware of on my first visit. They also gave me new information. In addition, I have done further reading of source material, some of which I had not known about earlier. In addition, I have obtained photographic images that I did not possess before.
I felt that since I published my original text, a new expanded and, I hope, much improved version was necessary. My ideas needed a renaissance, so to speak.
I am now awaiting a proof of my new book, and will keep you informed of developments.
Doggies out walking
On Kensington streets
Saturday early morning
A wise old friend of mine, Margaret, told me that once when holidaying in rural Greece, she developed an excrutiating toothache. Wary of trusting her teeth to ‘any old dentist’, she decided to go into the nearest town and visiting the local bank manager. She reasoned that the bank manager probably consulted one of the better dentists in the town. So, she visited the manager’s dentist, and was not disappointed.
Once, Margaret told me how she chose a new washing machine. She asked the repairman, who came to service her machine, which models he had to repair most and which caused least trouble. Based on this information, she chose her new appliance.
A decade or more later, I decided to acquire a ‘smart phone’ to replace my unsmart device. The choice was broadly between an iPhone and an Android phone, such as a Samsung model.
Remembering my old friend, who had been dead for several years, I consulted the man who ran a mobile telephone repair shop near where I used to work. I asked him which kind of ‘phone he had to repair most often. Quick as a flash, he said:
When I asked him why, he replied that the screens on Samsung models needed replacing less often than those on Androids. That was enough for me to decide on buying a Samsung.
I have had several models of Samsung ‘smartphones’ since my first. Now, I am using an S8, which has a superb camera.
I am pleased I adopted Margaret’s method of decision making.
During the last few years that I practised dentistry, most of my patients brought mobile telephones into my surgery.
You would be surprised how many patients tried to answer their ‘phones when my fingers were in their mouths or their mouths were filled with impression (mold taking) material.
Worse still, were patients who were ‘texting’ constantly when I was trying to explain their treatment options to them.
Once, a patient arrived late, speaking on his mobile phone. He muttered to me that he was in the middle of a telephone job interview. I had no choice, but to let him continue. After half an hour, he told me he was ready for me. I told him that he had wasted my time and his appointment and had to book another one.
In the end, I put up a large sign in my surgery forbidding the use of mobile phones, which was rude and inconsiderate. This solved the problem because, to my surprise, most people obeyed it.
I wonder whether today’s parents would take more interest in their youn goffspring in buggies if they did not possess mobile telephones.
I wonder whether babies and young kids now in buggies will suffer later in life because their parents preferred paying attention to their mobile phones rather than their little children.
Remembering the 1960s in Florence, Italy
The short Via dei Tavolini was another of our regular morning destinations in Florence. Situated in the heart of the city between the Duomo and the Uffizi, we visited this street frequently during each visit to the city. It contained 3 important shops: the ice-cream shop called Perché No? (‘Why not?’), a dress material shop, and a shop with the name ‘Busti Biondi’. It was in the latter that my mother had her brassieres made to measure.
During my earlier visits to Florence, when my parents were less confident of their spoken Italian, they were assisted by Giorgio, who owned the material shop between the ‘bra’ shop and the ice-cream parlour. Giorgio, who had learnt English from British soldiers during WW2, translated for my parents. Like so many Italians, he was fond of children, and we grew to like him. For years, he used to send my sister first day covers of newly minted Italian postage stamps. His patience must have been impressive because my mother was not an easy customer. She and my father spent what seemed like hours in Busti Biondi whilst the bras were tried on, discussed, and returned for endless
My mother was buxom, a trait shared by many ladies in her family, and extremely particular that things should be just right. As far as I was concerned, the positive feature of these visits to the Via dei Tavolini was seeing and talking with Giorgio as well as the chance to enjoy cups of some of Florence’s best ice-cream. We thought that Perché No? was the best ice-cream place in the city, but others favoured Vivoli, a gelateria close to the church of Santa Croce. We did try that place, but it failed to change our high opinion about our favourite place close to my mother’s bra shop. If it had not been for my mother’s breasts we would not have met Giorgio and might have never discovered Perché No.
This is a brief extract from my book “Charlie Chaplin waved to me” available on Kindle and also as a paperback by clicking HERE
photo source: wikipedia
Gothic towers glow
In the grey midnight gloom
London sleeps silently
About 20 years ago, we drove to Loket, a small town in the western part of the Czech Republic, a part of the country that was once known as ‘Sudetenland’. It was home to a large German speaking minority, which was expelled from Czechoslovakia at the end of WW2.
We stayed in a small but cosy hotel with a fine restaurant. One evening, there was a couple of German tourists sitting at the table next to ours. Their pet Alsatian dog, Harry, was sitting under the table at their feet. We greeted them as they seemed quite jolly. We struck up conversation with them and soon we were clinking each other’s wine glasses.
They told us that they hardly ever travelled out of Europe because they did not want to leave Harry on his own. However, they said to us:
“Once, we visited Kenya”
“To see wild animals?” we asked.
They laughed, and then replied:
“The only wild animals we saw were Africans.”
This unsettled us a bit as did Harry who was, by now, licking our ankles with great interest. Somehow, the conversation drifted around to the Jews of Germany. At that time, the German Jewish community, such as it was, was under the leadership of Ignatz Bubis (1927-1999). One of the couple said:
“Whenever Bubis sneezes, Germany must pay the Jews one million Deutschmarks.”
Detecting a move towards further anti-semitic remarks, my wife said:
“By the way, we are Jewish.”
This brought the conversation to a swift end and also led to the couple failing to meet us for coffee and cakes on the next day, as we had planned earlier in the evening.
In a way, it was good that my wife had stemmed the possible flow of anti-semitism, but I was a bit disappointed. I would have been fascinated to discover how deeply they felt about the Jewish people in Germany so long after the end of WW2.
We never discovered the names of this German couple, but privately we christened them ‘Adolf’ and ‘Eva’.
A couple of years later, we revisited Loket and stayed at the same hotel. As we parked outside the hotel, we saw a couple packing suitcases into the back of thier vehicle. Accompanying them, there was an Alsation dog. Yes, you have guessed right. It was Adolf and (und?) Eva packing up to return to Germany. We greeted each other politely, but not warmly.
I hope that I am not tempting fate by writing this!
I am puzzled by the excessive anxiety over the coronavirus outbreak, which is encouraged by politicians and the press.
On the one hand, the public is informed that the virus outbreak will lead to dire consequences on a global and local scale.
On the other hand, we learn that apart from a couple of susceptible groups at the two extremes of the age range, being infected by the virus is highly unlikely to cause the infected person to suffer much if anything at all.
What are we to believe? Should we be panicking as our politicians seem to be suggesting, or should we not let the coronavirus affect our mental harmony?
Whatever the answer, it is best to be careful!
Finally, here is a thought provoking article to read: