Modern Technology Is Not All About Progress (1)

Time was, in England and France, that many houses were thatched, and in France they were often made of straw. Mechanisation of harvesting meant that the straw was no longer in the straight lengths needed for thatching.
Houses made of straw became a lot easier to make with straw bales, but progress in baling technology has meant that farmers prefer to use BIG balers that produce large round bales.

Nowadays, thatchers are rare in England, and very few use straw, which they have to obtain from places where they still harvest traditionally. There are a few heritage farms in England, but the straw may sometimes have to be obtained from places like Lithuania!
Also, many thatchers work with reeds, which are becoming hard to get because of people with progressive attitudes declaring the places where the reeds grow to be nature reserves. More “progress”.

People wanting to build houses from straw are mostly re-baling the large round bales into smaller rectangular bales, using baling machines that have not been in production since the 1960s. There are a few farmers that still use their old balers to make rectangular bales the old way, and find they can sell the straw for a lot more money than when it is in big round bales.

Of course, the world is mostly a better place for the improvements in harvesting methods since the days when men and scythes were what you needed. Mechanical harvesting keeps prices down. But this is just one example of arts which are dying out because of modern methods.

She Caught The Train

SHE CAUGHT THE TRAIN

I went out last night, it was noon when I come home

I was looking for my baby, no doubt that she was gone

She’s gone, she’s gone, she’s gone,

She’s gone, she’s gone, she’s gone,

She caught the train and she’s gone,

My loving babe

Friend of mine told me that he saw her when she left

She had a bottle and a suitcase, and she was not by herself

She’s gone, she’s gone, she’s gone,

She’s gone, she’s gone, she’s gone,

She caught the train and she’s gone,

My loving babe

My baby packed her suitcase and she started to the train

That’s really enough trouble to drive a poor man insane

She’s gone, she’s gone, she’s gone,

She’s gone, she’s gone, she’s gone,

She caught the train and she’s gone,

My loving babe

You never can say what a woman will make you do

I’m going to find that woman if it’s the last thing that I do

She’s gone, she’s gone, she’s gone,

She’s gone, she’s gone, she’s gone,

She caught the train and she’s gone,

My loving babe

When I find that women I’m going to show her my forty-four

And when I get her back home, I’ll bet you she don’t leave no more

She’s gone, she’s gone, she’s gone,

She’s gone, she’s gone, she’s gone,

She caught the train and she’s gone,

My loving babe

I wrote this song about five years ago as a multipurpose blues lyric intended for use when making demo recordings. This weekend I’m going to sing a version in public for the first time …
Copyright Baxthorpe 2008.

The Great Padtoeski

I came across the Great Padtoeski by accident, but he’s worth a look. His unique talent was playing the piano with his toes, while simultaneously playing other instruments with his hands, and sometimes singing!

Thank you, Leeds Museums and Galleries blog for bringing him to my attention. One can waste hours in innocent amusement perusing your blog.

It’s not the Google Zebra, it’s TWO Penguins

Yesterday Matt Cutts posted a blog message to the world telling us about the next Penguin 2.0 update and something about Panda, provisionally, maybe, by video because that’s the way Google works today.

When he gives out this sort of info we always get an ambiguous message, but if you pay close attention you will find out what the penguins will peck next.

Whereas Matt’s message is vague and ambiguous, I have noticed in the past that a message of this nature usually indicates a Google review in the very near future, so I’m predicting one this week end. Possibly starting on Thursday because he posted on Monday.

Look out, there’s a monster coming …

I am not a number … or am I?

Insidious things are happening in our web lives. In order to advise somebody I looked at HostGator web hosting plans last week. Since then I get an ad for HostGator every time I visit YouTube. I backed a horse on Thursday for the first time since last year, it came third and I didn’t make a fortune. When I went to Facebook, I got an invite to join the Racing Post group on Facebook.

Whatever you get for “free” is a trade-off. They want information. They want to sell you things, they want a cut of the action, they want to get inside your skin so they can tell you what to think next. I’m not going to answer the question “who are they?”

I’ll simply say that Google, Facebook, Amazon, eBay, all want info to give them ways to sell you things. And they are the real entrepreneurs of the modern age.

What is an entrepreneur? Someone that can see value, someone that knows people will pay more money than the asking price for an item or service, someone that will find a way to sell that item to people that want it and get a profit out of the deal. Someone that adds no value to the item or service, but takes a cut for providing it to the customers who can’t find out where to buy it cheaper. Making people aware that the item or service is available is the total extent of their involvement. You might call them parasites. I call them Google.

Is the web fact? A guitarist’s rant about guitarists

Lute Guitar

Lute Guitar


So here’s a Yahoo answer which intrigued me. I never heard of the Rolling Stone top 100 guitarist list, so I thought I’d take a look.

Oh my Lord! I don’t think they quite got the brief right when they made that list out. “100 people that a panel of middle aged US journalists like to listen to at a Sunday BBQ” would be a better title. But that wouldn’t sell magazines …

Everybody has a right to their opinion, but every guitarist knows how good he really is in comparison to other guitarists, and every good guitarist knows someone that scares him with something in his bag of tricks, even if they’re otherwise about level on abilities. And I know the guitarists didn’t pick that list.

So Joni Mitchell gets in the list, and Keith Richards is in the top ten. Two people who use open tunings to compensate for lack of skill. As does Barry Gibb, but at least he doesn’t pretend to be a guitarist. I don’t think Joni Mitchell does, either.

Frankly, if Keith Richards was playing a one-man show in my local bar, I would go and look for the fun of it, but not much else. I’d rather go and see Barry Gibb for a demonstration of guitar skills, and he only uses one finger of his left hand. Joni Mitchell uses more than one finger, but she can sing, so that would be worth paying to see.

In my opinion the greatest guitar player that ever lived was Julian Bream, but although he was my winner for classical and jazz, he couldn’t use a flatpick like Norman Blake. Who’s this Segovia guy? He can’t be any good, he’s not on the list. If he is any good, he must be way down with Santana and Zappa.

Jazz doesn’t figure much in that list, or classical, so there are lots of people missing.
Django Reinhardt, Oscar Aleman, Joe Pass, Herb Ellis, Barney Kessel, Wes Montgomery, George Benson, Sacha Distel, Birelli Lagrene, Fapy Lafertin, Howard Roberts – sounds like a visiting soccer team to the average US rock journalist. Probably called Fusion United. So perhaps Joe Satriani, Steve Vai, Richie Kotzen and Gary Moore could be the substitutes.
Look at that team and the big question is – how did John Maclaughlin actually get on the list? Maybe he gets played when they want people to leave after the BBQ.

Back to that Yahoo Answers post – Billy Rebel said “The Allman Brothers Band has been going strong for over 40 years and sounding better than ever today. They are also the only band to have four guitar players on Rolling Stone magazine’s list of Top 100 guitarists”.
I’d say that’s not quite the truth. I’m not scraping through that list a second time, but I reckon the Bluesbreakers had at least four in that list. Peter Green, Eric Clapton, Mick Taylor and Albert King, those I remember. There might be more.

I know a man who stopped reading the Melody Maker in 1957 when their readers’ poll decided that Tommy Steele was the top guitar player. Shame, he missed the really funny moment in 1963 when the readers decided Jet Harris was the best guitar player. Why was that funny? Jet Harris was a bass player. He played a six string bass on his big hit records. That’s why they sounded “different”.

The point is that what you see in print may be fact or opinion. It might be extremely biased opinion at that. But a lot of the time, people who know they are looking at bad info cannot be bothered to make their point and get the facts out there. Too much hassle for no money.

Always be careful …

Whatever, that list is crud. Oh all right, the opinion of people who don’t know what they’re talking about, but they’re going to say it anyway. The problem is that too many people can be swayed by sentiment and opinion, regardless of hard facts.

I have to stop now, I’m talking politics …

Spotted Dick – The Recipe

This first step is the only thing that is time-critical in the recipe, because if you pause or work slowly the cut surfaces of the apple will brown due to aerial oxidation (yes, if you don’t deal with apples quickly, they go rusty).
Start with an apple, about 6oz or 170g in weight.  This should be a Bramley or Granny Smith sort of thing, if you can get a WIngate Wonder, that would be a miracle.

Sour cooking apple, that is the key ingredient.

Peel it , chop the flesh from the core into a microwaveable dish. Sprinkle with a teaspoon or so of granulated sugar, cover, microwave on full power for about a minute and a half. Congratulations, you just found the easiest way to make apple sauce! Remember that for the next tme  you serve pork.
Now, you want a coffee cup. Not a standard cup, a cup and saucer Sunday afternoon type, about 5oz or 6oz or 150 ml for the continentals.
In a bowl, mix half a teaspoon of ground cinnamon with  a teaspoon of baking powder. Add a cupful of flour and mix. Add a cupful of sugar and mix. Add a cupful of breadcrumbs and mix. Throw in a cupful of washed currants and a cupful of sultanas (or raisins), mix. Add a cupful of finely chopped or minced suet. mix. Throw in the apple sauce and mix. Finally, add a cupful of milk, mix well.

Tip that mess into a well greased pie dish and bake at about 170  deg. C for about 45 min. Serve with custard, and a prayer of thanks.
Spotted Dick, the 7 cup version.

Spotted Dick – discussion

The original spotted dick is a suet pudding which is “classically” steamed until it is dead. Reminds you of pleasant school dinners and should be served with Bird’s custard.

I don’t like making steamed puddings because they take ages to cook, I  can’t justify that much energy going into the making of a pudding unless it is a by-product – ie. you’re cooking it on a solid fuel stove whose main purpose is to heat the house, and the hot water, in which case slow steaming on the hotplate is a freebie that should not be ignored. I do like eating them.

Whatever, this is a new-fashioned oven version of spotted dick. There are two ways of steaming it, wrap it as a ball in a cloth and steam it for four hours hanging in a pan on the hot plate, or wrap it out longways in a cloth and give it three hours in a fish kettle in a moderate oven. If you insist on steaming it, boil the cloth first or your pud will taste of Daz and glow in the dark.  I’m baking mine.

How the state of Monaco came about

Yright, how they got the tiny country of Monaco?

So this Italian nobleman had a son who was a right tearaway.  Always causing bad feeling, going around nicking, getting into fights, and gaining access to the intimate bits of local girls (which was a cause of some of the fights).  Since he was the boss’s son he thought he could get away with it, but an ad hoc committee of locals went to his dad and told him they weren’t having it no more. Something had to be done.

The old boy was in a dilemma, so he came up with a solution. He sent for his son and told him he was banished, he’d have to go. He was given a platoon of lads to go with him and keep him out of serious grief, fifteen bob in his pocket, and told to go out and make his own way in the world.

Well, the boy was clueless about doing anything practical. All he knew was how to enjoy himself and cause bother, but he was clear about one thing – he had to go away or there would be consequences. So he set off walking with his band of true followers until he was outside his father’s lands.

Not having anything much better to do, they went to the seaside, and they was heading for Nice because they’d heard it was where all the playboys went.  In between Italy and Nice they came upon a monastery, and asked to stay the night.  The monks were hospitable blokes and asked them in, gave them a good supper and a bed apiece.  Free board and lodging – great!

They hung around for another day, poked around the place and decided that these monks had got it made. Splendid buildings, great scenery, seaside location, good farms and land, even a good little harbour. So they hatched a plan.

That night, when everybody had gone to bed, all the Italians got up again and went around the place killing all the monks by hacking their heads off.  Then they went back to bed for a kip after all the hard work murdering people.
In the morning the chief hooligan made a proclamation and said “I name this place Mon Ako, because it is mine now, and I’ve got all the ackers” …

Yright, hackers had to do some very dirty work before computers was invented.