Menontissipashun [men-on-tissy-pay-shun]; hanging on by a thread

The countdown is close to ending. There has, however, been a fly in the sugar, a bug in the bowl, a gremlin in the system... a mouse in the plan of this (wo)man.

The day of departure has been altered. Not by me. By the airline. It was a change made back in August. Only I didn't notice. I saw that the departure TIME had been brought forward half an hour. No biggie, thinks the YAMster.

Then she looks at the details prior to printing the ticket and relevant info. Bumped forward A DAY!!!

SAY WHAT??!!!! There was disbelief... bordering on grief... no - that's overstating it. Stop the menodramatics wummin. Better found out now than turning up a day ahead. It might have happened you know. That's menopolyxinaemia fur ya.  A quick search on flights and why this might have happened revealed that the original day (4th) was a booked out flight;I think what happens is, with specials on pricing being available, if that gets oversubscribed, they bump the regular payers forward. In fact, the state of the flight which is being taken (5th) is looking a bit jam-packed too. Sardine class. Not really. But close. After lots of deep breathing and OM-chanting, perspective was restored and the loss a day in OZ was forgiven.

Heaven knows why so many folk are flying at that time... though I have a suspicion it may be related to Deepavalli (Diwali), which is on the 10th and lots of Indians would fly via the mid-East. Hey ho and sigh, oh my.

I lament this to you now for you will find that there will be a post on Wednesday proclaiming my departure. It was part of that great push to pre-post everything. Only today and tomorrow had been left for last minute stuff ... like this. So don't believe what you read. Think a day ahead. That will keep you in the timewarp thing like will be happening to me as I cross timezones and such like. Or not.

The sharing kinda person I am.

Meanwhile, as I checked around and finalised packing, some of the stuffies got a bit agitated; Eric got put into the bags and they all thought they'd have a go at getting included - Herr Hellmutt and Orson the Ovine were particularly keen, especially as I had one of my new RedBubble totes to take in the cabin...

Have to admit, it was a wee tad menosukhi saying farewell to them all, but someone has to guard the house in my absence...

Headed over to Edinburgh for a few days with the father before departure. 

Menosukhi...about trees? Maybe more a Menoloopal Moment

SHOCK!!!

HORRORS!!!

I was sitting all unsuspecting in my lounge a couple of weeks back, fiddling with the YAMroid (as you do), and was only conscious in a minor way that there was a lot of electric saw noise. It's not unheard of here; if the wind is in the right direction one hears the logging going on up on the hills, there being lots of farmed forestry round these parts. 

When I decided to look up and rest my eyes on the trees over the road... the trees you have seen here often, as hosts to many a birdy and, most recently, lots of raindrops with their uplifted skirts.... WELL..................................

...WHADDYA SAY TO THIS CARRY ON???

Oh yeah, you can play peekaboo, buster.... what about all those poor birdies who will come and land on thin air now??? What about this poor birder who will no longer have birds-on-tap fur futugrafying???????????????????????

.............on the bright side, there's a grand view o' the hills now......

...and at least the wee rowan down below is still standing....

Menoducational via Menofilcherism and a hint of Menoloopal

It's August twelfth. "So what?" I hear many ask.  The Glorious 12th is the day the ptarmigan and red grouse of British moorlands can legally be hunted. You would not be surprised to hear that I am not an advocate for such. Let's see what the birds have to say about it...





....after a half hour search that is all I could find from the 'birds-eye' view... which is fair enough, cuz it just ain't funny.  There is plenty of lampooning of the shooters though...

Menosukhi - a wee tad menoloopal, laced with hope.

Have been trying to shake off some images from a "Storyville" program watched late last week. These shows take up news items and work them more deeply than any newspaper or current affairs production would do. An admirable task; though it does lead to some harrowing viewing.

I once watched quite a lot of telly - though did try to remain discerning as to what. Nowadays, I generally find the telly an imposition. I switch it on for the news, maybe a game show or two (University Challenge is a life long favourite). Other choices are very much of the mood of the moment, and DVDs generally more convenient. More often than not I opt for silence. I do like a decent mystery though, and educational proggies such as history, science or anything to do with animals and nature.

It was the latter which informed the decision to switch on for Storyville. I knew it was not going to be easy - the leadups made clear it was about the death of an elephant, but I was intrigued to find out the view of the handlers.

Needless to say, (with one exception) there was very little in the way of remorse.

It remains a total mystery to me how seemingly intelligent beings, who claim to love their children, families and whatever else they name, can in the same breath say that other creatures require harsh and even life-threatening punishments in order to 'tame' them. They clearly do not understand 'Love' at all.

Does it not compute in their walnut brains that an animal - any animal - taken out of its natural environment, is going to be less than happy and not keen to cooperate; that fear is the only thing which is keeping them in place and that, eventually, fear may turn to rage? Another Storyville item was about the orca Tillicum, who, distressingly, remains at Seaworld. Another orca, Kasatka, also at Seaworld, has shown her aggression too, yet still those people proceed to breed from her (artificially). I am one hundred percent in favour of conservation, but am deeply sceptical about the motives of places which make animals perform.

It is the same mentality which presided during the times of the early slave trade; the thinking that other than white Caucasians, there could be no sense of self, any feeling, any intelligence. Modern-day slavery is not about even this much in the way of rationalisation - it is purely greed driven.

Man's inhumanity to Man and his fellow creatures, continually throws up the dreadful truth that there are those who exist on this Earth who have not one iota of the capital 'ell' among them.

My heart aches for a world where such ignorance remains. Solace is found by supporting those who can make the physical and political efforts to eradicate the darkness and in praying that with each passing year, softer minds, gentler hands and kinder souls will rise. High ideals and strong humanitarian values must prevail. It has been observed in various corners, that some will say - "oh but your values are not my values"... which is missing the point entirely. Genuine values are universal. They may be couched in different language, but the essence is multilingual.

Indulge yourself in Pure Love of the capital 'ell' variety, dear readers. Pray that the Tykes and the Tillicums are eased of their angst. Pray that the children of the world come to know safety. Pray that traffickers of all varieties are called to justice. Do not think prayer to be the domain of the 'religious'; if you have the capacity to sit in silence, focused only on the subject of your Love and Compassion, with thoughts for their improved circumstances, you have prayer in your toolbag of life!

Do not underestimate your own power to add to the difference which can effect change in the world.

Thank you for listening. Yours with the capital 'ell', YAM xx

MenUloopal - another little food rant

There were some great comments to last week's post on the MenU. Some perfectly valid points were raised; in particular by Mara with regard to cross-cultural creations.

The Chinese restaurants in the Netherlands have been adapted not just to the Netherlands, but to Indonesia as well. In fact, most of the first Chinese restaurants in the Netherlands were actually Chinese-Indian (as we would call them, meaning Indonesian). Since Indonesia belonged to the Netherlands and a lot of Chinese migrants worked in Indonesia in low paid jobs. After Indonesia's independence however, a lot of people came to the Netherlands and quite a few of those opened restaurants. They were not strictly Chinese, nor were they Indonesian. They were a mix of both!

This is absolutely true. Chinese workers in particular were ferried all over the globe (think gold mining and railway building just for starters). In times when transportation was long and harried, they had to find ways of keeping their cuisine, using what was available to them. This resulted in lots of adaptation and what would now be called 'fusion' cooking. Nothing wrong in that at all! This pertains to the 'invaded food' mentioned last week. It is a global community and we cannot expect that there will not be change.

Others mentioned Thai and Japanese foods; yummoooo.... One of the beauties of these two cultural cuisines is that - in my experience at least - they have stuck to tradition wherever they are. The flavours of Thai and Japanese, and the style of preparation, will be in Sydney, London or San Francisco, the same as you would experience in Bangkok or Tokyo. You then, as the eater, must adapt your tastes to the cuisine and not the reverse. (Admittedly, there are a few key ingredients - I refer to 'meat' - which would not be used or given outside of the host countries, but these do not alter the essential nature of the cuisine.)

Let me be clear; there are some very fine eating establishments around the world offering authentic dishes from many origins. As more and more folk are having their interest in food engendered through such shows as the Masterchef franchise, our tastebuds are definitely getting more keen for the exotic.

On the matter of crossing culture in food it is interesting to note that India has an extremely ancient history regarding food ingredients and their place in the diet.  Sanskrit literature from the Aajur Veda (ayurveda) pertains mainly to the body and its care and function. Given that the standard life expectancy given is 100 years, it is not surprising that modern nutritional guidelines owe a lot to that tradition. Then along came the invaders.  First the Mughals, bringing cauliflower, broccoli, beetroot.

Then the Portuguese brought the chilli, Dutch brought the potato, both brought the tomato...

Three ingredients which most of the world think of in relation to India and yet have only a three - to four hundred year history there. Certainly long enough for them to have been adopted and made quintessentially Indian.  This is the sort of merging which is unavoidable and not necessarily to be frowned upon.

When the British were in India, they found a taste for the local food. In particular a very pleasing item made form yoghurt and spices into a warming and cleansing 'soup'.  It is called Kadhi. There are four different forms of 'd' in Indian languages and this one is a soft flick of the tongue behind the teeth; plus two forms of 'a', the short form being almost to the 'uh' sound... thus it was heard by the untrained ears as 'curry'...

It came that every food which had a liquid gravy became called 'curry'. It is tempting to say the rest is history! However, it is important to note that the British were not happy to keep things in the way they were given; they were sure they could improve on it, so would order their cooks to up the salt, increase this or reduce that and to add meat where no meat had previously ever entered.

A famous one is kitcheri; a delicious, light and soothing moong dahl and rice dish, very lightly spiced. The Raj lot really enjoyed this but wanted more 'ooph', so tweaked it with more spices, added peas, tomatoes and smoked fish, took out the lentils and called it kedgeree.

Indian dining only really spread to British shores after partition though. 1947. The year of a divide which resulted in many Punjabis having to find new homes. There was a great diaspora. Likewise from Pakistan and Bangladesh (originally East Pakistan you may recall.... crikey this wasn't meant to be a history lesson!) Anyway, Punjabi food is of a very particular form (Pakistani is not dissimilar), with a tendency to thick, rich sauces and, of course, the famous naan...which, ironically, originated from Mughal cuisine.

The general public of this island nation found a great use for the 'curry'; it is almost a standing joke that after a 'big night out' nothing beat a curry or a kebab. Being unadventurous, for the most part, certain types of curry became the favoured ones; things like butter chicken, beef vindaloo (originally from Portugal!) and lamb korma. Can the shop owners be blamed for catering to the public demand? Of course not. It was a slippery path though and now, here in Scotland at least, there is just a pond of thick, indistinct sauces being adapted to whatever content is requested.


Summary of this rant?  Fusion? Fine. Getting lazy and presenting slop. Not fine. If all you put on your menu is chicken/lamb/beef/pork tikka masala, 'all meats'/korma, 'all meats'/tandoori or vindaloo, then it is all folk are going to order.

When offered vadas and chatni, a chaat masala, idlis and sambar, a dhansak, or dhokla sabzi jalfrezi, do you not think that your regular public might like to try them? After all they are mild, tasty beyond description and (oh my gosh) h e a l t h y... Dahl ought not to be the only vegetarian option; and that too, it ought to be prepared as per vegetarian requirements...

...and for that you patient readers, you will have to await the 'frustrations of the vegetarian traveller'!

Charlie's dad is wondering about the 'correct' taste of dahl. Much depends on which 'dahl' is used. Remember that dahl is the Hindi word for lentils and these take many forms. Consistency is a personal preference thing, but on the whole, aiming for a very thick soup is the best guideline. As those of you who watched the video last week (check the MenU tab folks - or the vid tab) will have noted, the lentils can be prepared in advance so that they are super soft and lush. This means that they take up the flavourings better also. 

Mostly I use either moong dahl or chana dahl (or yellow split peas if can't get that) and will add in some masoor dahl (red split lentils) as they add flavour also and give nice consistency.

The lentils themselves with simple seasoning are very healthy for the body. You can add flavourings as the the ladies did in the vid. YAM's favourite tadka is
1 teasp cumin powder
1 teasp ground coriander
half teasp turmeric pwder
1 tablsp tomato paste
1 teasp org vege stock powder
half teasp ground black pepper
1 teasp mustard seeds
1 finely chopped green chili
1 tablespoon mustard oil or ghee.

this is for 500mls of water added to make the sauce and adding in two cups of already prepared lentils. Lightly saute these ingredients in the oil/ghee - but be very very very careful not to overdo it as things can go bitter! it is literally a flash fry to release the aromatics then get the water and dahl in quick. Leave to simmer for as long as you wish, keeping an eye on moisture content.

Menolusional - the bird is dreamin'...

For the first week of my stay in Edinburgh this season, I slept over at Mac2's flat and only transferred to the Father's on the Monday, when things had settled a bit.  Mac2 had mentioned and shown me that she needed to chase off a crow who had taken up a morning ritual of knocking on the upstairs flat's dining window. The routine she had established was to open her equivalent window, stick her head out and PSSTTT at it.

Next morning it came, then, yours truly decided to give it a go. Sure enough, off it went.

Don't recall if it came on Christmas day... perhaps he had family to attend... but on Boxing day morning, sure enough, 'knock knock knock'. I started to open the window, but this time it flew away just at the sound.

Okay.

Saturday, along it came and again just the moving of the handle of the window was sufficient to stop the knocking. Birdie, though, simply flew onto the opposite roof and stared down - nay, GLARED - to see if the window was going to open. I did open it and off the crow flew.

Sunday morning. The handle again stopped the knock and again the bird flew to the opposite roof. This time trying to engage me in conversation!!! CAW CAW CCCAAACAACAWWWW????

Well, it's like this Bird. The knocking is annoying. Not to mention the potential for damage. Let's face it too, the other bird you think you are tapping on is just a pale reflection and will never give you what you want. You are getting more out of me than that mirror world. Which is not good either. Now off with you.... and I tapped the window......  Off it went.

Monday morning, I tried just tapping the window.  It worked. Now it occurred to me that perhaps Birdie thought I WAS the shadow critter...There was an attempt to strike up conversation again, but I had to be strong. PPSSSTTTTTT!!!!

I have no idea what the state of affairs is now.

Here's the bird. It flew off and strutted on a totally separate roof.

Menoloopal Mini

Yes, just a short gripe today folks... has anyone else noted the change in blogger which, if making a comment for the first time in the day, enforces one of those dratted 'prove you're not a robot' number very-frustri-cation things???  

Or is it just me?

It is enough that some bloggers feel the need to use them instead of the comment moderation; they have the right to control of comments certainly, but those things drive one a bit crazy when they are all too often so obscure that it takes a second or even third attempt to get through them - and that's with specs on! That Blogger/Google - the place where one is supposedly logged on everywhere - has dropped this one on us makes no sense at all. I am sure it will get noted and in a while will disappear again.

In the meantime...

Another niggle is the tendency for some blogs to just stop transmitting to the reader.  A couple of my faves have gone walkabout - I know they are still active, but frankly, the effort of having to go find them is a bit more than I can be bothered with.  Likewise, I believe others have 'lost' links to here and the other TAKEs - so who knows what that is all about???

That's it. I'm done menolooping.  Thanks for listening. Troubles shared and all that...

Menoloopal Minor - just a wee gripe

I love poetry.  Not all poems of course. That would be indiscriminate and just plain silly.

The act of poetry though.  The discipline of the lexical, the lure of the lyrical. How the words themselves can mean nothing until put next to others in order to lever from them more than they ever intended.

Used well, even prose can then become poetic.

Another love I have is of languages other than my own.  At school French was compulsory. We could also opt for a second.  I would have loved dearly for it to have been Russian, but that was not on offer.  Spanish yes, (and I even think Esperanto was at that time!), Italian or German.  I opted for the latter.

To this day I struggle with French.  It never grabbed me.  German was okay and I could still manage a shopping trip if I had to.

After school though, after Nigeria, when settled into life in Edinburgh, I finally got to study Russian.  I was a great one for 'night school' and undertook higher exams in Modern History, English and Russian. Two years. Loved it.

Why? Russian history fascinated me.  I had also been reading and re-reading Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, Solzhenitsyn and Chekov.  I adored Tchaikovsky and Rachmaninoff. There was a notion that I would one day take up the manuscripts of these writers and read them in their mother tongue. That I would one day play the 3rd concerto... you know, the dreams of puberty and all that.

By the time I got to Russian lessons this had matured rather and was more about getting to grips with how language informs culture - and a small hope of at least managing some poems in Russian.

What's the gripe? In search for a certain poem which had been tugging at my mind, I came across a site dedicated to this subject.  There are many of course, but we don't see them all. This one had an approach that was quite appealing, the listings are easy to negotiate and there are quite reasonable bios on the poets. There are forums and active promotion of new and current poetry.

Slightly annoying though, are the 'readings', which play automatically when a poem is selected. Very stilted and adding nothing to the experience.  For me anyway.

The key gripe - and it is really only a quibble because it is subjective - is the translation given on the site for Boris Pasternak's poem NIGHT. I went hunting for it because I was looking out my window early enough to see stars before dawn and there was a flashback to one of the verses.  The book of Pasternak's works, for whatever reason that happens, would not come to hand from my shelves.  (Why does that happen...?)  Hence the online search.

I knew the title so did not have to go mad trying to read endless verses in order to find it.  That said, having gone straight to the page, I read what was there and did not think it the same poem!

Thus we find one of the dreadful things which can come about with translation; that of the translator turning the words into something they want to read and thus losing much of what the poet intended us to read. This is the ultimate 'poetic licence'! Of course, having found this and despaired at the mundanity of the translation - forcing it into rhymed iambic pentameter - the book 'reappeared' on my shelves! Tsk.

Going straight to the page, I reveled in the translation of Michael Harari and revisited the Russian. Rusty now, almost to dust, but enough to appreciate how faithful the translator was to the original, not seeking to turn it into an 'ease-of-access' item. Certainly Pasternak had a rhythm, but not necessarily rhyme. That freer flow may be lost a little in the translation, but the accuracy of description is not. I then returned to the online version. Still don't like it.

So, dear reader, how about a little exercise?  Will you share this with me?  Please click the link to NIGHT and read that online version. Come back tomorrow, where you will find the Collins Harvill version I believe is a truer 'voice'.  

It's not compulsory.  Just something to talk about!  &*>

Menottumn [men-oh-tum]; the condition of a summer-long autumn.

NB: this is a menoloopal post.

Yup.  Summer passed us by, here in Dunoon. There have been precisely five (count 'em...5) summer-like days throughout the allotted period officially called as summer. That is, days which managed to get over the 20'C.  Which is still little more than spring or autumn in my book.  

Remember, I am have been living in semi- and full tropical climes for a considerable time. Quarter century and then some.

Now, I am not complaining.  Not as such.  The head knew fully well that returning to Scotland after all these years would entail some compromises.  Totally understood that. However, having many times read from letters and heard in telephone calls from the nears and dears who remained on British shores that they have had amazing and wonderful summers requiring mosquito repellents and factor 50+ slap and slither, it has come as something of a let down to discover the need for arctic underwear and bedsocks. 

In... "sum-mm-errrr...". 


Look; July was okay-ish.  Was able to keep all the windows open for majority of the time. The sun at least made an appearance most days - albeit with a biting wind.

Either side of that?  Grey from shore to shore.  Winds to blow the spots off a Dalmation. Temperatures to make a penguin feel welcome. Rain to frighten Noah.

Got the picture?

The wool is there, taunting me.  The handspun inherited from mother; a substantial quantity it is too. Having unpacked and rediscovered my quite impressive array of crochet hooks, the notion to weave creative is stirring within.  Indeed, a long foundation 'chain' has been fumbled together.  The last time I crocheted would have been some 15 years ago. Had forgotten the fingers need to be loose and flexy.  They need some warm-up exercises.

Typing doesn't cut it in that regard.  Not just the fingers are involved y'see. Pretty much the whole hand is required, starting, as it does, at the wrist.  Then there are the shoulders to consider. Holding the arms in a fixed position for lengthy periods, carrying the weight of hook plus lanonlin-thickened, double-double ply yarn: well, that too proves a level of fitness is necessary before engaging in kreationary kombat. Though it should be noted that whilst being held down by the triple-twist outward trellis knot, core temperature rose and any sense of summer-deprivation was temporarily removed**. Further, there is the spinal strain.  The menosoupal Miss unsuspecting may not have plumped the support sufficiently, resulting in lumbar loosening and thoracic tilt.  

Then the question of what, precisely, is being made?  There is no pattern and the work commitment thus far has entailed no high-function thought. Judging by the length of the chain, 
it's a sleeping bag.  

Which is good. It should be done in time for hibernation. Assuming continuation of the current weather trend, that is about three weeks away...


**NB - certainly this was nothing to do with the menopolyxinaemia...

Menory Lane; Rough Landings

Majority readers will have twigged that I am a single woman.  Not much has been said at all here about such matters.  Simply because, in the end, 'they do not matter'!

It would be remiss of me though, in the interests of autobiographical rightness, to ignore the fact that during all the fuss and bother of getting over to the underparts of the globe, there was a fellow on the horizon.  Indeed, the visa had been expedited because said fellow, who had taken time to come stay for a while in Galashiels, had proposed marriage.

During my 6-month sojourn in 1985-86, we had met and spent three of those six months together. There were many letters and (very expensive) phone calls when I returned to Scotland (no email then!!!) Then he came for a 6-month stay over here.  

Things were pretty solid.  What needs to be understood though, is that YAMster is a very free spirit (what - you didn't get that?!)

I got asked three times before I said 'yes' - and that was only after he had left and returned to Australia.  Absence clouded my judgement.  That said, genuine and deep feeling was there and having got my head round it, I adjusted my future thinking to include another.  Even got into the groove of trying to organise a wedding across continents.

Having arrived in Sydney, it took him two days to drop the bombshell.  He was withdrawing from the commitment.

My parents (all praise) were by this time resident in Sydney so were there to pick up the pieces. It would not have been pleasant for them.  Mother was particularly angry with the lad; because she had actually liked him and felt (I think) as betrayed as her daughter.

There were two great pains.  First, the betrayal of trust (not the loss of love), as I had questioned and then been persuaded with such fond promises. I was angry with myself for succumbing even though, deep down (I could accept later) I knew this was not really meant to be my path. Second was the anger that he hadn't left well alone so that I could have come to OZ on entirely my own, work-based, terms.  Now I faced all but two years of looking over my shoulder as Dept of Immigration 'investigated'.

My dear and loyal friend 'Aitch' came and stayed and became part of the glue which stuck me together again. The loving and strong ministrations of parents were a large ingredient in that glue. Then there was the 'inner glue'.  Whilst it got mucked around with, it did what was necessary to repair and kept once again focused (albeit silently) on the spirit.

Additionally, I was able to find work.  Due to the mess of visas now, I could not at that stage gain employment more than on temporary basis.  To begin there were lots of assignments as data entry clerk, receptionist, filing clerk... all of which turned out to be invaluable as I formed a worthwhile and glowing CV as well as learning the ropes of working in the Australian environment.  

Very different!  Folk were called by first names, familiar words had different connotations and interpretations, systems which seemed familiar had vital variations on the theme.  It was a wonderful, regularly changing, tapestry of experience.

When my residency was finally granted a cloak of doom was lifted from me.  What is more, two of the companies with whom I had established reputation through temporary work were both ready to offer Systems Analyst positions, full time!  Choices.  I settled on NCR...

(c) Yamini Ali MacLean

Menoloopal [men-oh-loop-ul]; the condition of blowing one's stack

Warning... this post is a gripe.  Bureaucracy gets everyone's 'goat' I suppose.  Usually it is one thing at a time.

Here, though, in the short few weeks of setting up a new home in place to which I am now foreign, I have butted heads with just about every possible department.  Be it the power suppliers, the communications 'services', or the Argyll & Bute council.

Part of it, I suppose, is that so much here is run by computers. Once it is in there it seems to be near impossible to implement change, make queries or argue the toss on whether a bill is justified or not.  Week by week I have been swatting them out of the way.  On Monday though, I was forced to sit and type up two of the most politely scorching letters I have had to type in a long, long time.

A&B appear to have duplicated an entry.  I keep getting reminders about a week apart with all exactly the same details on.  Except the last one. That was 'red'.  It was a demand 'or else' threat letter.  They are good at that here in the UK I have discovered.

The very next mail drop I got a similar thing from the power company I am NOT using (they supplied the previous owners).

I have paid both parties the pertinent amounts long ago.  Clearly the computers don't know this. What is more, earlier advices from myself have also got lost in the systems somewhere, for there have been no responses. Thus, I have taken to good old printed letter writing, along with photocopies of relevant documentations and photographic evidence.  My own demands have been placed.

Somewhere, someone has to hold 'the buck'... for all their might, the computers can only run on what is put into them.  Entering me twice is Council's problem not mine. Continually demanding payments for gas I can prove I have not used?  Just keep trying...






watch out, little dogs can bite ankles...

Me-no-shift

On Monday I had a mini-menoloop about the nonsense of changing clocks in the desire to manipulate available daylight.  As a couple of commenters noted, what's available is what's available so the 'name' of any given hour we assign to it becomes irrelevant. The thing is we are stuck with it.  For now.

The effects of clock change become noticeable in the matter of business.  One commenter asked about Australia.  The particularly stupid thing there is it is only the lower Eastern states which apply it.  Queensland refuses.  This makes doing business a bit trickier during summer.  Then again, there are shifts across the continent anyway, due to its size;  as in the US and other large land masses.  A half hour less in Adelaide and Darwin from Sydney and an hour in Perth (then add another hour when DST is applied).  

Deep breath.

Anyway.  One does expect to find differences between countries at various points on the planet. Which brings me to the reason for my title today.

Aitch was complaining last night that this blog had not 'changed' yet. She had gone in at her expected time of 18:30h.  Only now we had shifted the clocks.  How is this?  Well, it must be remembered that I set up these blogs a year ago.  

In Mumbai.

I may now be resident in the UK, but the blogs are Indian Citizens, as it were. (Ahem.) They go 'live' at midnight Mumbai time and pay no heed to what the clock says in UK - or anywhere else for that matter. Aitch suggested I simply reschedule.  To bring the posting back to 23:00h IST, however, would result in the date becoming the day before I intended but have the overall effect of looking like I was always posting late...  

Once I began to try and sort this out my midagemudhead, my menopolyxinaemic brain nearly caught fire.

I stand my ground.  Midnight IST is an immovable. If a few of you have had to adjust your MENO viewing times - firstly apologies for the inconvenience and secondly thank you for sticking around!!!

Sorry Dear Reader.  Me-no-shift...

Menooooooopsadaisy....

G. V. Hudson invented modern DST,
proposing it first in 1895

Here in the British Isles, the clocks sprung forward over the weekend. It is a subject which the world-over gets debated. It seems we may have to blame either or all of 

William Willett
independently proposed
DST in 1907 and
advocated it tirelessly

A) a New Zealand bug catcher (Hudson)
B) an English golfer (Willett)
C) wars or 
D) energy crisis

none of which are particularly relevant today, at least not in original context. 

The first two were just daylight greedy - wanting to manipulate things to suit their personal pursuits.

During the war years the argument and application was used in respect to saving energy from coal consumption (mostly).  One might perhaps allow for that.  The same argument was again used in the 1970's, wherein the other fossil fuel, oil, was the treasured product.  The continued application of daylight savings is based on virtually the same arguments.  However, it struck me that folk utilise power so very differently these days, not to mention that we are improving (though having far to go) in utilising better practice for consumption as well as alternative fuels.  I am sure there are many learned articles on the matter, but for those who want to read a bit more about this please 

click here.

On my side, I am ambivalent.  It makes little or no difference to me whether I have the daylight at the start or the end of the day. It only ever comes down to us using what we have creatively and productively.  Do I enjoy the extended summer evenings?  Of course. Would I be lost and sad if they weren't there?  Of course not.  As much as it can be inconvenient, I refuse to be terrorised by Time.