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Goretti

Jan. 9th, 2026 11:58 am
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 Maria Goretti was an Italian peasant girl who was murdered (aged 11) while resisting a would be rapist. She died in hospital, forgiving her killer and hoping to meet him in Paradise. This happened in 1902. She was canonised as a saint of the Catholic Church in 1950.

Her killer Alessandro Serenelli repented in in prison, became a leading proponent of his victim's cult and died, aged 88, in the Franciscan convent where he lived and worked as a lay brother.

This is the only photograph that exists of Maria

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And this is Alessandro in late middle age

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I got on their track because we are currently being pummelled by a storm the French weather people have elected to call Goretti- and wanted to know what was behind the name.

Well, now I know. Initially inclined to be flippant, the more I read the more engaged I became. It's a sad, uplifting story- and if I said I ended my research with tears in my eyes I wouldn't be lying. Maria and (ultimately) Alessandro were simple, good people and I'm happy to have been introduced to them.

Meanwhile, asked to account for their choice of such an inappropriate name for their storm, the meteorologists gave a Gallic shrug and said, "Well, it works, doesn't it?" Gotta love the French. They know their culture is the highest on the planet and they don't have to explain themselves if they don't want to.
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 I woke in the night and my cold seemed to have gone away and I thought (no, don't roll your eyes; this is real, I really did think it) that the E.T.s had passed by and cured eveyone of whatever was wrong with them and we'd get up in the morning and find a new world had come into being from which disease had been banished forever. I rotated my thumbs and they didn't hurt. "That proves it," I told myself. "My arthritis is cured...."

On a mundane tnote, I'm no longer coughing uncontrollably- so a corner has actually been turned, but perhaps not for all humankind.
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 I haven't gone into the Meeting House today. I'm tired but not particularly ill and reckon I could have hacked it. Thing is I'm almost certainly still contagious and it wouldn't have been friendly (Big F as well as small f) to share this virus.

Anyway, I'm not indispensable
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 I dreamed an old lady on a bus offered me LSD. I took it of course. My vision of the sunny coastal landscape we were passing through was enhanced.

I chanced this morning on a video about paranormal goings-on at Beachy Head- the landward side of which I can see from our windows. The phenomena include shadow people, white ladies. the sense of being watched and lights manoevering in the sky and rising and descending into the sea. I hadn't known this was happening but I'm not surprised- and that Beachy Head- the highest cliff on this coastline- and a magnet for suicides- should be a place where "the veil is thin".

Someone on Quora offered the opinion that the present occupant of the White House was the handsomest president ever. The opinion is so self-evidently absurd that I assume it was made in bad faith or by a bot. One person who chose to engage said "No, the handsomest president was JFK" and- as I coughed myself to sleep last night- I found myself engaging too. I considered the claims of this man- who was after all, a film star

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But decided that handsomeness is not the same thing as good looks or beauty, and that dignity, gravity and presence are also involved, so that my choice finally lit on this fellow- arguably the most gifted individual ever to hold the office.....

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 Lying on the bed, looking out the window, watching the light change.

We are on ground that is ever so slightly higher that the rest of town- and have an unobstructed view over the trees and houses to the Downs.

The sun comes up- no clouds to speak of- and everything in its path turns orange. I could say gold but that would be fancier and less accurate. A window about a mile away reflects the sun's light right at me. it is beyond orange, beyond colour. Directly above the shining window hangs the moon, now a few days past the full.

The shining window fades, the sunshine goes from orange to white. My eye is caught by a red spot on a street close to where the shining window was. I think it must be a traffic light but it doesn't change- so just a small, unidentified red thing......

All the while the birds- chiefly gulls and pigeons- criss cross the space between here and the hills
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 The window cleaner was admiring my hat- this one as it happens-

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He's from Kosovo- where they wear something similar. He's been in this country since 2001, escaping the troubles which, he says, still go on even if the world is no longer looking

From there it was easy leap to world politics and from there to the evils of US imperialism.

And in connection with that I was researching Venezuela this morning (by which I mean skimming the wikipedia entry)- and its history is lamentable- a chronicle ofcolonisation, wars, coups, revolutions, corruption. The name of the country means Little Venice- and the story goes that Amerigo Vespucci came up with it after visiting a lake village built on stilts....
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 Everyone seems to be catching a cold or having a cold or recovering from a cold- including me. I'm not sure which stage I'm at but I feel better than I did last night and more willing to take an interest in things in general. 

Among them the US takeover of Venezuala and the kidnapping of its president: I'm not going to venture an opinion on the rightness or wrongness of this except to remark, mildly, that it's irregular- and likely to end the way all the USA's imperial adventures have done since then end of WWII- that is to say- in humiliation. Also to suggest that it looks very much like an exercise in presdigitation- designed to make us shift our attention from over here (where the Epstein material keeps coming into view) to over there (where our armed forces are covering themselves in glory).

The weather is sunny, the temperature below freezing- and I need to feed the birds......
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 I told myself I'd try and finish A La Recherche de Temps Perdus by the end of 2025. As it is I'm nearing the end of volume 2 with 5 more to go.....

I've thought of doing a retrospective of the past year, but I can never remember when things happened and can't be bothered to find out. I would have written that the most significant event of the year was the release of the podcast, The Telepathy Tapes- but I checked and found this actually happened in 2024.....

I have sometimes made New Year resolutions, but I never keep them so this year I shan't....

Two things I've had enough of and will do my best to avoid in future:

1. Political commentary/satire that is nothing but insults and name-calling. It's just so playground. 

2. Fictions that maintain the fallacy that problems can be solved by killing people

Timey-Wimey

Jan. 2nd, 2026 08:04 am
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 Judy just wrote a short play about 9/11. I was thinking about this and it hit me that in another nine months 9/11 will be distanced from us by 25 years- that is to say a whole quarter century. 

There was a conversation going on yesterday that I was hanging at the edge of. One guy was saying how the Millennium was ages ago but the 1970s were yesterday.

And then someone else, I think it was Ailz, said how people were increasingly using the phrase "the late nineteen hundreds" as if the days of our (comparative) youth were some remote historical era.

But then there are millions and millions of actual, fully responsible adults walking around for whom that's exactly what they are.

Finally Ailz capped things off by saying, "Do you realise that the baby who plays the sun in the Teletubbies is now a mother?" 
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 I dreamed I threw my cap in the air- "Hooray"- and it went over the fence and landed on top of a tall stake in the garden next door. I was wondering how to get it back when our real life neighbour (the one we've had problems with)- who was working in a garden on the far side of the of the one where my cap had landed- fetched it down with his rake and returned it to me. "Thank you, thank you" I said.

I woke and found it had just turned midnight- which means that I was going "hooray" in my dream just as 2025 was giving way to 2026.

2026 dawns in great slanted bands of pink and orange cloud. All the astrologers, channellers and seers I follow are saying it will be a year of profound and radical change......
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 Picture Diary 114

1. Pierrot

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2. Miss Pompeii

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3. Coming storm

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4. Bluegrass country

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5. Leap of faith

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6. Perfection

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4.30. Got up

5.30. Left house

6.45. Dropped Wendy at Gatwick

(An endless stream of people under artificial light riding a travellator up into the airport building- like a scene from Fritz Lang's Metropolis......)

7.45. Driving into the sunrise.

(Is that a hill or a cloud bank? Actually it's both, a cloud bank in front of a hill, both the same height. The cloud bank breaking up to reveal the solid outline of the hill behind.)

8.00. Dropped in on the cat we're minding for a friend.

9.00. Ordered and ate a full English breakfast at Favo'loso 

Taint

Dec. 30th, 2025 07:58 am
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 I said, "This week is sometimes called "Twixtmas"

And Judy said she'd seen it called "Taint week because 't'aint Christmas and 't'ain't New Year. There is,"  she added, "another connotation."

Well, I have to know these things so I looked it up and found taint is a slang term for the perineum- which ain't the genitals and ain't the anus. Is this in common usage or am I not alone in having had it pass me by? 

Origin of the term? Uncertain, but probably US of A, mid 20th century.

Actually I've learned two things, because if you'd asked me before today where the perineum was I wouldn't have had a clue.

Appendix

Dec. 29th, 2025 08:03 am
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 If a tidy-minded person had designed the calendar the Solstice, the New Year and Christmas would all have fallen on the same date- and we wouldn't have this odd week at the end of the year which feels like an appendix to it....
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 Russell Brand the whacked out, rakehell comedian was brilliant,  charismatic and horrid. I didn't like him but I was impressed.

Russell Brand the alternative media frontman, talking truth to power was someone I followed. I even bought one of his books. 

Russell Brand the guy in the limo with the perma-grin who can't shut up about Jesus I find rebarbative. I mean, he's just so unEnglish.

What links the three? Excess, Narcissism, some sense that if this person wasn't in the spotlight he'd shrivel up and die. 

But the switcheroos are so extreme that mainly I'm bewildered. They feed into my sense that our civilisation has become unmoored, fragmented, atomised. That it no longer feels real. Or serious. Or the least bit important.....
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 I watched a clip or two of Erica Kirk in her days as a beauty queen and wondered how anybody maintains that grin. Don't your facial muscles ache, don't your teeth get cold? I've tried to do it- and it's so unnatural; the body just doesn't want to go there.

I was watching Kirk because beauty pageants are in the news- more specifically the ones the current President used to run. O so tacky, O so banal, O so locker-room. 

These things keep falling out of the sky, like debris from a volcano. They fall on the American President and the circle of similarly tacky and banal old men- some dead, some not so dead- who have been identified as existing in the orbit of Jeffery Epstein. 

First the ash and the red-hot cinders. Then the pyroclastic flow......
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 "I think that was worth doing," said Ailz as we drove away- and I agreed.

Basically we did what we normally do on a Thursday: half an hour's Meeting for Worship, followed by socialising and lunch- only with Christmas trimmings. People came and went- not all of them Quakers. And those who sat down to lunch were a miscellaneous group of people who would otherwise have been at a loose end. There was much too much food- and I'll be eating leftovers for several days- but that is also traditional. It was fun and it was tiring....
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 IMG_8749.jpegIMG_8753.jpeg

Here we are in our holiday gear
Because it is that time of year.
The wind is sharp, the world is sere
Because we're Quakers there won't be beer.

Oh dear.
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 Picture Diary 113

1. Great-great-great-grandpapa


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2. Dancers

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3. Untitled

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4. Sitting on the dock of the bay

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5. The young king

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6. Twilight

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The sunshine is deceptive. Step outside and there's a biting breeze and you step back inside pretty smartish. Does it feel a lot like Christmas? Not where I'm sitting it don't.

Sej was playing a game last night into which he co-opted me. We were in a rescue helicopter being chased by a ghost. He phoned whoever it was we were rescuing.  "The ghost is coming, but don't worry; we are on our way." Mike broke it down for me. The helicopter comes from Peppa Pig, where it is piloted by the omnicompetent Miss Rabbit (Sej's favourite character) and the ghost from his recent experience of Halloween. Sej loves Peppa Pig; I watched some episodes with him at breakfast time and hated it-  for the very reason he eats it up- because it's so mundane. Little kids adore the mundane because to them it's all new and exciting and they're on a mission to make sense of the world. When I was his age my favourite TV show was a thing called The Woodentops which featured a boring family of dolls doing bone-achingly boring things- and preferred it to shows like Andy Pandy and The Flowerpot Men- which had a touch of the fantastical. By the same token Sej would rather watch Peppa than In The Night Garden- which is weird and wonderful and representative of what  adults think the child should want. Older children love magic, but it's an acquired taste. For the toddler it's sufficiently magical that s/he has teeth to brush and hair to comb....

Sej and his parents have gone now. The sun is setting. By this time tomorrow we should be winding up the Christmas carry-on at the Meeting House. 

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