British Comedy Season, Pt. 2: Blackadder

Brits make wonderful costume drama, and as we all know, they also make cracking comedy. Now, when it comes to combining the two, rarely has there been a better effort than  Blackadder, which ran for four series between 1983 and 1989.

The consensus seems to be that the first season, which is set in the Middle Ages, is the weakest of the four, as the concept is still a bit underdeveloped and Edmund Blackadder (Rowan Atkinson) tries to wear too many hats, character-wise (so, instead of just being scheming and rude, as in the later series, he's also ambitious, cowardly, self-important, and god knows what else). However, I never found this to be a problem: a complex character can be just as funny as a flat one, or even more so. It's perhaps the Mr Bean-like antics he could have done without.

What I love about the first series is the mixing of Shakespearean dialogue with unpredictably silly scenes. Most of the brilliancy is down to the casting. Peter Cook is wonderful as the unjustly murdered Richard III (A horse! A hooor-se... my kindom for a hoooor-se.... Ah! Horsie!), and Miriam Margolyes makes a tremendous appearance as the overamorous Spanish infanta. Yet the character who (at least for me) makes the entire series is the wonderfully energetic Richard IV, played with great gusto by Brian Blessed and his beard ("Blood! Death! War! Rumpy-Pumpy!") . Here, too, we get Baldrick (later merely Blackadder's downtrodden sidekick) showing his true potential as a skilfull political schemer. (What I've never cared for is the casual violence which in the later series features in most of the Blackadder-Baldrick interaction.)

I haven't yet seen all the episodes of the third and fourth series, but from what I've seen,  Blackadder Goes Forth is the superior, as it so poignantly combines the tragedy and downright silliness of war. Stephen Fry and Hugh Laurie are both in their element - Fry as a bumbling general (BAAA!) , and Laurie as a Bertie Wooster-type clueless aristocrat.

However, my favourite series is the second, set in Elizabethan England, and brimming with excellent writing, great acting and absurd characters. Fistly, there's Blackadder's cross-dressing fiancé Bob, who is later stolen by none other than Rik Mayall (Woof!); there's Bernard the Nursie, who still considers Queen Elizabeth to be a little girl - and finally there's Queenie herself, who may as well be a little girl in court dress, sceptre and the power to cut off peoples' heads. My favourite scene in the whole of Blackadder (which used to be on youtube, but like most  BA clips, was quickly taken down) features Queenie laying down the law after a night of drunken revelry:

"I may have the body of a weak and feeble woman, but I have the heart and stomach of a concrete elephant. First I'm going to have a little drinkie - and then I'm going to execute the whole bally lot of you!"

As I said, unlike most Monty Python material (which is virtually in the public domain nowadays), Blackadder clips don't remain on youtube for long. Luckily, a special episode of the series survives in its entirety - and appropriately enough, it's a sort of reversal of Dickens's Christmas Carol. Enjoy!

Merry messy Xmas to you all!

Hear, hear!

This woman is awesome:







That is all.

Pink

Today was one of those rare December days when both the sun and the moon made their appearance - and not just any kind of moon, but a luminous full disk which, coupled with the cold weather, turned the sky (and the landscape) a pale, powdery pink.

More of this, please. This I like much better than the pouring slop we've been subjected to in the past couple of weeks. Instead of wanting to go back to bed at 9am, I'm almost motivated to work again.

Even the downstairs dog looks happier.

Blue

It can't get much darker than this: six hours of daylight, most of which is blotted out by leaden clouds. Not a snowflake in sight.  Jingle-bloody-bells to you, too.

Tomorrow sees the end of my teaching career - so far, at least.  It's been a lot of work, but a lot of fun, too.  Here's hoping something as motivating turns up next year as well.

On a wholly unrelated note, on Juska's recommedation I've been listening to Tori Amos's latest album - a Christmas album would you believe - and liking it a lot. In fact, Midwinter Graces is brilliant.  If you don't believe me, listen for yourself:

Hausfrau-in-Residence

Now and then I'm seized by an urge to do housewifely things  (such as cleaning the windows or mending a sock): a dangerous  occurrence altogether, which usually passes as quickly as it arrived.  Yesterday another such bout came upon me, and I decided to make full use of it. Firstly, I baked a delicious cake (as seen above); then I  hauled my Afghan rug out for a good airing (in which task I was assisted by my landlord's dog, who wanted to give the rug a good shake); and if all this housewifery hadn't been enough, I spent an hour or so wrapping the first Xmas present I'd bought (the results of this endeavour, I guess, cannot be aired in public before the recipient has actually seen them first).

A few years back I picked up an intriguing book at a local fleamarket. It's called Joka naisen niksikirja from 1952. As far as I know, these housewives' manuals have been published since time immemorial, and the Niksikirja something of a institution in Finland (don't know whether any of these editions are still in print). The copy I've got came with extra household tips (cut out from magazines and glued to the covers and empty pages by the previous owner) - and even a letter (remember those?) written in the spring of 1971 by someone called Sylvi. To my disappointment, it doesn't deal with scandal or even the tiniest bit of gossip, but mainly details the various health problems of its writer and her husband.

What fascinates me about this book is (in addition to its dated beauty tips) its emphasis on recycling. Nothing is wasted, be it old socks or leather gloves (the first, among other things, can be used to line a jacket, the latter to make a handy (heh) neckwarmer for winter). Sour milk is still good for cookies, and dried apple peels make refreshing tea.

Nowadays it's harder to make new things from old things. What to do with a burned-up hard drive? How to give a memory stick a new life? Pantyhose, of course, are an inexhaustible source of recycling fun, but surely other clothing items could be recycled as well? I try to mend whatever clothes I can (with my limited skill), but it's just so much easier to throw the old garment away, and buy a new one.

To get you, random reader, into the right spirit of good housekeeping and rejoiceful recycling, here are some miscellaneous vintage tips, gleaned from the treasure trove that is Niksikirja.

• A cup of strong, good coffee makes mutton juicy, and shortens the cooking-time considerably.  I might try this next time I'm cooking mutton.
  
• Velvet can be washed in potato water (1 kg shredded potatoes, 5 litres water).  I'm not sure I'd try this, but sounds intriguing. I wonder who came up with this idea?
• Wet shoes should never be dried with their soles against the floor, but on their sides. Also, filling the shoes with hay or oats dries them quickly.  Sounds like a great idea, but where can I get some oats every time I need to dry a shoe?
• A glass of honey-and-water is wondrously invigorating! Oh, I agree. 
• If you have trouble falling asleep, try eating something. Lingonberries, for example, are very effective against insomnia. What? 
• If you don't have time to wash your hair, you can brush some rye flour into your scalp. Yes, but how do I get it out of my scalp? 
• Walking a sheep on a leash is difficult, but if you rinse its eyes with water, it follows you willingly even for a long distance. Now where can I get a sheep to try this out on?! And what else would you rinse someone's eyes with but water...?
  

Before the Snows Came

I can feel myself slowing down with the darkness: everything feels just a little bit duller, and all chores take just a bit of more time to get done - or even to get started. 

At least I managed to take some new pictures before the snow fell and changed everything into a slippery slush. Lately most of my photos seem to be of the same place - the nice bit of forest nearby, with its nice bit of pond. Water is such a great element, as it keeps changing so radically with the season (and the weather), providing always something new to look at. 

So that's what I've been doing lately. Gazing into ponds.

And also listening to some Bach.

Baroque rocks.

Thought for the Day

Winter is icummen in,
Lhude sing Goddamm,
Raineth drop and staineth slop,
and how the wind doth ramm,
Sing: Goddamm.
Skiddeth bus and sloppeth us,
An ague hath my ham.
Freezeth river, turneth liver,
Damn you, sing: Goddamm.
Goddamm, Goddamm, 'tis why I am, Goddamm,
So 'gainst the winter's balm.
Sing goddamm, damm, sing Goddamm,

Sing goddamm, sing goddamm, DAMM.


"Song" by Ezra Pound. Modelled after this  little ditty.

Anyway, I'm off to the North for a few days.

...let me in-a your window-who-ho-ho

Over at The Pursuit of Harpyness people are discussing their favourite  19th century novelists (such as the Brontës and Jane Austen) - and especially their favourite male characters in these books.  Most deny that they have ever spent breathless hours reading about  (or even better, making up) the exploits of Heathcliff and Mr. Rochester. Mr. Darcy, on the other hand, is much more warmly regarded; many feminists would be ready to set their cap at good old Fitzwilliam - and rightly so, for he's the only one of the three who hasn't got dark secrets cluttering up his past (or indeed his attic at Pemberley).

I have to make a confession: for me, the Brontë heros (especially Heathcliff, but also Mr. Rochester) were the stuff of teenage fantasy; Mr. Darcy, on the other hand, has always left me cold. However, having developed a somewhat maturer look on life and relationships, I can now wholeheartedly agree with the commentators of PoH: Messrs. H and R are complete gits.

Deep and dark and broodingly sexy as they might be, their world revolves around their own needs and desires - and anything (be it a mentally unstable wife or a completely innocent bystander) that gets in the way of these must be removed, usually by force. They have unhealthy obsessions, and unnaturally strong passions, which are taken out on other people (again). And yet, they attract perfectly sensible, self-possesssed women who seem to think they can bring out the best in these men. Whatever that may be.

Maybe it was the corsets. Anything that restricts your circulation can't be beneficial to your mental processes, either.
 

It's impossible to say what kind of protagonists Emily Brontë would have chosen for her next novel, but her big sister didn't show much improvement in her taste in men -  Villette for one has another bullying despot as its male lead, and another forgiving lady willing to prop up his ego. I don't know if anyone has ever has the hots for M. Paul - at least Mr. Rochester has the good manners not to patronise Jane Eyre so blatantly  (and as a reward only gets blinded and has his arm chopped off, whereas M. Paul - at least according to my reading - doesn't survive the old Brontë treatment).

Anne Brontë was perhaps the most sensible of the three - at least when it comes to the representation of men in her work. Hark! A Vagrant illustrates this beautifully: Dude Watchin' with the Brontës, ladies and gentlemen.

As to Jane Austen men, I can't say that I've been much moved by any of them (unless we're talking about the film versions. If so,  Colonel Brandon is my man). Perhaps it's got something to do with the stiff manners and the stilted sentences of the period, or the slightly stock-like nature of Austen's heroes (the protagonists have to get married in the end, after all); thus, while reading Sense and Sensibility, Emma, or Northanger Abbey, my attention mainly remains with the thoughts and feelings of the female characters.

Persuasion is the exception here: Captain Wentworth is a very intriguing character (with his Past and all), and a worthy equal of the poised Anne Elliot; he's made his mistakes in the past, and is not willing to be swayed by anyone's opinions (at least when it comes to choosing a wife). He's a bit gruff, but at least I get the feeling that he can also laugh at himself (a trait Mr Sourpuss Darcy certainly doesn't possess). And he's got a big ship.

Although P&P is undoubtledly the most sparkling of Austen's novels, Persuasion has got a quiet dignity that I like, and also some  brilliant insights into human nature. The final conversation between Anne Elliot and Captain Harville is a gem:

"Yes, yes, if you please, no reference to examples in books. Men have had every advantage of us in telling their own story. Education has been theirs in so much higher a degree; the pen has been in their hands. I will not allow books to prove anything." 

"But how shall we prove anything?"

"We never shall. - - It is a difference of opinion which does not admit proof. We each begin, probably, with a little bias towards our own sex; and upon that bias build every circumstance in favour of it which has occurred within our own circle - -." 

And in case you've no idea what the title of this post refers to, I can only say that you've missed one of the finest pieces of popular music ever written: 

British Comedy Season, Pt. 1: Monty Python

I did promise a couple of weeks ago to start a series of posts about my favourite British comedy shows, and in case anyone is wondering whether I've forgotten this promise, I can now confidently answer: no, I haven't.

Although I'd watched loads of British comedy before I was aware of Monty Python - and although there were many brilliant TV comedies before The Flying Circus came along (chronologically speaking), I think no other show has had quite the same influence (on me, or on British comedy) over the years.  Also,  as it's now the 40th anniversary of the first broadcast of the series, so I think Pythons are a very good place to start.

For me, the first encounter with the Python phenomena didn't come through the TV series,  but through the films. When I was around 17, YLE broadcast The Holy Grail and The Life of Brian, and especially the first of those hit me over the head with the proverbial rubber chicken. To this day, it's one of the few films I know by heart, and quote at unsuspecting people (the only other films are A Hard Day's Night and Help!. I suppose I was a bit of a Beatles geek as a teenager).

There are so many brilliant bits in The Holy Grail that it's hard to pick only one. However, the Knights Who Say 'Ni' sequence is one of the highlights of the film, as it includes not only the bewildered King Arthur and his long-suffering entourage, the wonderfully silly Knights, and Roger the Shrubber - but also Brave Sir Robin and his minstrels (who get eaten towards the end of the film. There are just so many random elements around that it's amazing they hang so well together.

After wearing out the VHS tape on which I'd preserved both of the aforementioned films, I finally got to the real thing - the Flying Circus TV series, which of course blew me away (and gave me loads of whole new quoting material). I generally like the more 'literary' stuff (like the sketch in which John Cleese and Graham Chapman - dressed as suburban housewives - get into an argument about existentialism, and sail to France in order to ask Jean-Paul Sartre which one of them is right); the 'Dead Parrot' sketch, for instance, is a bit too shouty and violent to my taste. However, one of my absolute favourites is the 'Cheese Shop' sketch, which works along similar lines, but is much more clever and verbally acrobatic (it also features some lovely dancing).

After watching this, I always get a craving for Venezuelan beaver cheese, for some reason.

As there's so much good stuff to choose from, it's nigh impossible to name my absolute favourite Flying Circus sketch. This court scene one, however, encapsulates many things that I adore about Monty Python. It's got Eric Idle giving a mock-Olivier address to the court, John Cleese hopping about in wig and gown, Graham Chapman both as a voluable lady and a keen-eyed police inspector, and Michael Palin as Cardinal Richelieu (complete with pink robes and a personal microphone). Yet my favourite bit comes at the very end.

A guy in a suit of armour, wielding a rubber chicken. That would come in handy at my Doctoral defence ceremony, as a kind of rhetorical device - in case my carefully prepared argumentation fails to impress the audience and my opponent. 

(In case any of my friends are reading: this is what I'd like for Christmas. One suit of armour, one rubber chicken, and someone willing to act as a rhetorical device in the near future. Please.)

Lady in Black Eats off Swedish Plates

Here's what I accomplished today. After a couple of hours of babysitting M's daugther (with M safely in the same room, having her hair dyed) I took a turn in the local charity shop. My intention was to find something suitable to wear at my colleague's post- doctoral defense dinner: something rather more formal than the stuff currently lurking in my closet.

Now I'm the proud owner of a lovely black velvet dress - the first black dress I've ever owned. As can be gleaned from the photos, it's not entirely black (which made it less threatening for me), and judging by the label, it's none of your  usual [your favourite Swedish clothing chain] stuff. It cost me 6 euros.

Not bad, eh? Coupled with my 20s necklace it'll look right classy (and in a Viking-themed restaurant completely out of place, probably).

I also found a lovely stack of Rörstrand - my favourite Swedish vintage platemakers - plates. They cost an euro apiece, and don't clash too badly with my Finnish tablecloth, at least not yet. :)

Since Tuesday I've been floating in a kind of haze - glad that my thesis was so well received, and also so well criticised (after all, that's what this middle work between Master's and PhD is for), and at the same time uncertain of what to do next. My supervisor can probably help me with that, so until our next meeting I'll be killing time between lectures.

Which suits me just fine.

Here's what Kate Bush has to say about it:
 

Context, Cows and the Capital

I spent the weekend in Helsinki, celebrating Fidia's birthday in the usual manner  (but with fewer films this time) and also doing some work on our webpage with Otter and T. Thus in three days I indulged in catching up with a dozen of friends, eating in a rather fancy restaurant, making and helping to destroy a truly sinful chocolate cake, watching some great films, and - as always with Otter and T, planning a glorious future for SHS.

On Sunday I got treated to a side of Helsinki I rarely encounter - and one I enjoy greatly. As the pictures above show, there is more to our capital than concrete and traffic jams and grumpy people; indeed, it also seems to include cows and fields and friendly dog-owners. If I saw that side of the city more often, I might even get to tentatively like the darn place.

Today's been a cloudy day - both internally and weather-wise. I like the bleakness of October when it coincides so wonderfully with my mental state - which is similarly worn-out but at the same time serene and strangely expectant.

What I'm expecting, of course, is a satisfactory ending to my nearly year-long travail with my Licentiate, which should take place tomorrow. And even more than that I'm looking forward to the big chocolate cake I've been promised. :)

Contributing to my bitter-sweet mood has been Aimee Mann, whose soundscapes are perfect for this season. I love her matter-of-fact delivery and inventive lyrics, especially as they are set to devastatingly gorgeous music. Like so:

Sounds of Silence

I was going to start a series of posts on my favourite British comedy series (it being the 40th anniversary of Monty Python’s Flying Circus), but in the light of recent events I’ll postpone that for a while, and dedicate this one to Veikko Huovinen, one of my favourite writers – and now sadly departed from our midst.

If you’re Finnish, you’re probably aware that Huovinen shuffled off this mortal coil last Sunday. He was 82, but the news was still quite unexpected: he was never one for selling his life to the tabloids, and therefore no news of his illness reached the media. He has been branded something of a recluse, and this may be true; I spent my first 18 years living in the same town as he, and only saw him once during that time (and twice after that).

My first encounter with Huovinen’s work came through the TV versions of his books and short stories. Lentsu was probably the first of these (the scene in which the feverish lorry driver crashes into the wall of his own house will always stay with me). When I was around ten, I found Veitikka in my grandfather’s bookshelf and read it – and remained puzzled throughout as I couldn’t quite decide whether I was dealing with a genuine biography of Hitler, or something completely different. Later, of course, I realised that “something completely different” doesn’t cover the sheer subversive brilliance of the book.

In school we were force-fed some "contemporary" Finnish lit – Havukka-ahon ajattelija and Koirankynnen leikkaaja among them. I enjoyed both, and began to make my slow way through the bulk of Huovinen’s repertoire – which, I was to discover, is amazingly wide. He’s mainly known for his gently philosophical descriptions of the weird folk of Kainuu (in itself an inexhaustible well of material), but although that stuff is excellent, too, there’s much more to him than Konsta Pylkkänen and his ilk. Not only did Huovinen write pseudo-biographical books about dictators (Hitler, Stalin and Peter the Great), he tackled dystopian themes in Lemmikkieläin, flu pandemics in Lentsu – and life, the universe and everything in his short stories.

My favourite collection of short stories (from any writer, come to think of it), is probably Lyhyet erikoiset (on which I blogged a couple of months ago) – although Matikanopettaja is a close runner-up (with its title story about a teacher – not of maths, but of fish). Over the weekend I amused Otter and T. by reading aloud from Lyhyet erikoiset and marvelling at the inventiveness of Huovinen’s style. Who else would compare the taste of Hungarian pickles to “a mullah’s song from the roof of a minaret”?

Well, no one will. One of the greats has passed on.

This week's been a good one - and it seems that it'll continue along similar lines.  So far I've filled in a few forms and done general administrative things to do with my teaching, and managed to be quite efficient and cheerful about them, which is very uncharacteristic of me. On top of that, yesterday I wrote a five-page essay for a forthcoming seminar. In 1½ hours. Even more uncharacteristic of me, for I usually need a whole week for that sort of thing - a couple of days for complaining, a day for organising my thoughts, and a couple of days for the actual writing. And preferably an extra day for editing.

I wonder what's wrong with me.

Tomorrow I'll be attending a Unifem reading group (always a pleasure, albeit a rare one), and most of Friday will be spent at that aforementioned seminar (which should also be fun. I'm such a humanist geek...).

However, the real fun doesn't begin until Friday evening, when Otter and T get into town. SHS silliness, ahoy!

Later That Same Wednesday...

Well I'll be damned. After having complained for ages about the non-existent progress of my Licentiate, it seems I'm soon being robbed of this particular joy. This morning I got a call from our professor, who had finally got things moving at the department, and arranged the defence for 13th of October.

And he said there'd be cake.

This is of course great news, and also means that I'll have to stop all this complaining, and actually get some work done towards the PhD in the near future. But I'm in no particular hurry to get my silly hat and sword just yet. In the meanwhile, I'll concentrate on teaching (I'm planning of smuggling some Beatles into the first literature lecture) - and all those lovely extracurricular things.

Speaking of which, lately I've been watching loads of classic Brit comedy on Youtube (seriously - what did people DO before Youtube?) - and for some reason I always end up watching Blackadder, or something by Fry and Laurie (with or without Rowan Atkinson). I'm planning of doing a separate post on either (or both) of these in the future, but here's a little something I discovered the other day browsing around. This clip features Emma Thompson and Stephen Fry doing what they do best (i.e. saying absurd things in impossible upper-class accents): 

Ebsolutely fentestic!

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Brits do know how to make first-class costume drama. And comedy. And comic costume drama. And Emma Thompson and Stephen Fry are gorgeous.

Perhaps I should include this in my lecture as well...?

A Promenade in the Park, or Pretentious Perambulations

As I stated in the previous post, autumn's a great season - and it also tends to bring out the Artist in most of us. At least it does in me. On top of that, I find I'm more energetic and more organised at this time of year (although by November most of these fine qualities have disappeared, only to emerge again sometime in late August) - and so it's easier to start new projects and do general artsy stuff.

The pictures above belong to the latter category. As the weather was gorgeous today, I decided to make a trek to the local park. I actually discovered this little gem only a couple of months ago - and even then completely by accident.  It's quite far from where I live, but I think I'll be going there quite often from now on - at least when the cafe is open. 

So I got to indulge in artsiness among the old wooden houses, the wonky trees and fluttering leaves.  The only drawback is my camera, which refuses to take clear, focused pictures in cloudy weather (or what it regards as cloudy weather).  I'm trying to work with this handicap - at least it yields some interesting results, as can be seen in the middle picture. In general, however, I appreciate gadgets that do what I want them to do, and not just when it's sunny.

Next week, I'm finally getting back to teaching (oddly enough, I'm really looking forward to it...;) ) and I've been doing loads of back-up reading and planning lectures for some time now. This means that the PhD is definitely on the back burner - and will be until somebody tells me who my current supervisor is, and what's going on with my long-due Licentiate. But I've decided not to fret, and intead concentrate on the more motivating stuff.

Like updating my poor, neglected blog. :)

By the way, if you haven't yet noticed: the comments are (finally) on. Couldn't figure how to get them to work until yesterday evening, when it all came to me like a man on a flaming pie.

 

Here's one I made earlier

Autumn's great. Nights are dark, days are bright and colourful - or rainy and drab, which gives you the perfect excuse to stay in and bake. The raspberry pie above is a favourite of mine (I normally use lingonberries or blueberries) as its very quick and easy to make, and absolutely delicious.

This is also the perfect time for listening melancholy music (although I have to admit that I indluge in it regularly, regardless of season). I'm about to clean my mp3-player - chuck out most of the happy, summery songs (Lovin' Spoonful, The Best of Bollywood, Steely Dan etc.) and replace them with stuff like this:

Literary reflections

Since the last post, seems like nothing much has been happening here. After such a delicious and hectic summer, going back to the routine takes some getting used to. And lots and lots of caffeine.

Then again, I've managed to do quite a bit of reading (for my PdD) and have been trying to work all this new-found information into the tapestry of the thesis. So far so good, but I'd really appreciate some outside feedback as well - which hasn't been forthcoming in the past year.

On the other hand, I've also had time to read some brilliant fiction. Mostly re-reads, but some new gems as well. A couple of weeks ago I gobbled up Veikko Huovinen's Lyhyet erikoiset in about a day, cackling all the way through. There's something about Huovinen's wry style that completely disarms me - though of course the things he chooses to write about are quite unusual as well. Or at least I haven't yet come across another short story that discusses the relative merits of tinned foods from around the world.

Another book that completely bowled me over was Eeva Kilpi's Naisen päiväkirja. I first read it a few years back, and I remember being impressed by it: reading it a second time I was almost overwhelmed with its frankness, fragility and sheer scope. Kilpi tackles loneliness, ageing, sex (or the lack thereof), her relationship to her children, to God, and to the universe in general, all with soul-baring intensity. Amazing stuff.

On a more melancholy note, I was sad to hear of the death of Ellie Greenwich - and it was also saddening to note how swiftly her death was glossed over in the media (I don't think that YLE, for one, even mentioned it). It's really hard to pick a favourite from her impressive repertoire ('The Leader of the Pack', 'I Can Hear Music', 'Do Wah Diddy Diddy'... ) but then again, it's not that hard at all:

Work in progress

My summer holiday is now officially over. So, from today on I should be getting on with my PhD, begging for money, and preparing lectures.

But I just can't be arsed.

Partly this is due to the inevitable back-to-work disorientation, which most of us are familiar with, but mostly I'm just pissed off with our department, which doesn't seem to get anywhere with my Licentiate thesis. As it appears that nobody's interested in reading my text, I can't really be bothered to write any more of that stuff. But we'll see what happens when things get moving again after the holidays.

Instead of doing research, then, I've been doing other, no less important things - like updating my blog and shopping for groceries. But the thing that takes up most of my time now is this little project.

Sumer is icumen in

So, that was that. The Renaissance Party is now behind us, and as far as I can tell, it was a roaring success. Everything was perfect: the weather, the food, the location. All preparations went smoothly; the guests looked dashing in their period costume and even seemed to enjoy wearing all that velvet and lace despite the sweltering heat.

Now that the party's over, I've been feeling extraordinarily lazy. This isn't such a good thing, as Juska's wedding is just around the corner, and I'll be involved in all kinds of preparations for the big day.

On Monday, I'll be heading North with Otter, T, and Nansen. I've been promised all kinds of cultural activities (Kuhmo Chamber Music Festival, for instance), mutton cooked in a pit, and some SHS silliness.

But before that, I think I'll go and take a nap.

...since from myself another self I turned

Second Hand Roses

I'm not one of those people who shops for recreation. As a rule, I don't like crowded places, and I'm not that keen on spending money, either. Flea markets, however, are something different; I like their complete randomness and the element of unexpectedness. Indeed, one should never go to a second-hand shop looking for something particular, for at least in my experience, real 'finds' are things you never expected to find.

After a busy week, I'm winding down for the weekend, listening to the sublime Madeleine Peyroux:

Summer Sounds

I've been meaning to write a post about my favourite summer albums and songs, and isn't it just my luck that when I've finally got the time and inclination to do so, the weather turns foul... But that's no excuse, especially in this country, as good music is good music, regardless of the meteorological circumstances.

Ok, let's start with one of my all-time favourite albums, Gillian Welch's Soul Journey. As a rule, I know very little about bluegrass, and Welch is probably the only artist in my record collection who can be classified under that genre. I'm not sure about this album's summeriness, either, but since I first heard it in early summer (must have been around 2002...), the associations with sunshine and t-shirts have stayed with me. But there is a dusty, drowsy feeling to the songs, which makes Soul Journey a perfect soundtrack for late summer especially, with trees drooping in the sun, a winding dirt track rippling in the heat, and a gentle sound of banjos in the afternoon air.

Although in my case Joni Mitchell has been pretty much a 24/7 occupation for the past few years, some of her music has summery associations for me as well. The Hissing of Summer Lawns is an obvious choice, although it isn't among her best-known work. It also differs from Mitchell's previous albums in both its soundscape and its more socially-aware lyrical content. The title track, which slithers along like the snake depicted on the album cover, is a good example of this.

Very L.A. chic circa '75.

Speaking of which, the next summer album is also in the Californian jazz-rock vein, with some Latin influences thrown in for that irresistible groove. Can't Buy A Thrill by Steely Dan was one of those records I took to immediately, and I rediscovered it a couple of weeks ago.

Then the obligatory Motown feelgood track. In my case it's 'Dancing in the Street' by Martha and the Vandellas. Amazing singing, amazing energy. Not so sure about the lyrics, though... "Every guy, grab a girl / everywhere around the world". Buh.



However, when it comes to feelgood let-the-summer-begin songs, I need to say only three words:

The Gentle Art of Renaissance Cooking

For some reason, in the last few days preparations for the Renaissance party have motivated me much more than academic accomplishments. So here's what I did today instead of grading home exams or finishing an essay: I baked a Renaissance-style cheese and onion pie. In case you're interested, you can find the recipe here (be warned: that is not a Weight Watchers page you're entering).

I was expecting the tart to be tasty (after all, what's not to like: fatty cheese, onions, sultanas, parsley, sugar and spices), but still the result surprised me positively. It's not too sweet, although the added sugar and sultanas make your brain do funny things, not knowing whether this is a sweet or savoury dish. Also next time I'll double the amount of ginger.

But yep, this one's definitely on the party menu.

Another example of my skewered priorities is that when I couldn't sleep last night, I got up to trim my French hood (now there's a double entendre if I ever produced one). Never in my life have I considered sitting up until 11 pm sowing beads on a piece of headwear. Strange days indeed.

The SHS is also spreading its sinister influence, one person at a time.; at least I've already managed to involve some totally innocent people in this Renaissance lark. Last week I persuaded my mum to help me with the making of two bumrolls (ours are blue, by the way). Mum's a good sport, and she complied with surprisingly little resistance (I think she was curious to know what exactly I had in mind). However, in order to make a decent bumroll, you need quite a lot of stuffing. Having exhausted our supply of old pantyhose and other miscellaneous hosiery, we turned to my mum's best friend for help. Thankfully, she's one of those people who never throws anything away, and soon furnished us with about fifty pairs of old pantyhose. (Seriously, people! Let this be a warning to you all...). But now Otter and I can cut a nearly authentic figure in our Renaissance frocks, although I don't think even Queen Elizabeth has as cool bumrolls as we do. At least hers weren't stuffed with support stockings...

Small Budget Charity

Now here's an amusing thing you can do if you've got time on your hands and zero motivation to do any real work. Check out this website. (I found it through her.)

While I don't think that the English language is getting impoverished, or that all these newfangled words are ruining its ages-old beauty, it's nevertheless a nice idea to hang onto some of the older words and expressions - especially if they're useful or poignant or just downright silly.

Here are five words I picked, and have pledged to use as much as I can. I tried to choose words that are genuinely useful (there are lots of words that are very specific, and thus not all that practical for everyday activities like blogging).

Blateration. "blabber, chatter". As in "I couldn't get a word in the edgewise for all the blateration at the meeting."

Foppotee. "a simple-minded person". This is my favourite - mainly because it's meaning is so self-evident. "He's a great foppotee, but I like him nevertheless."

Incabinate. "to enclose or imprison in a cabin." A word of great usefulness in the Finnish summer. "They're planning to incabinate me for two months."

Welmish. "of a pale or sickly colour." While obviously handy when referring to people, somehow I think this word applies very well to animals as well - especially dogs. "The new puppy was cute, but of a strange, welmish colour."

Yelve. "a dung fork." This word has a deliciously Ye Olde Worlde ring to it - and I can't believe that fantasy writers haven't rallied to its defense. "Gandalf was greatly annoyed when the Balrog prodded him in the backside with his yelve."

New arrivals

This is "Eino". He was born on Sunday - just in time to make a great Mothers' Day gift for M - and I got to meet him when he was only a few hours old.

I'm not of the 'Miracle of Birth' school (meaning that I'm not overawed by the arrival of new life), but I'm a keen supporter of the 'Baby Animals Are Darn Cute' club. I would also be terrified to be left in charge of a newborn human (or indeed any human under 5); yet, I had no scruples watching over little Eino and bottlefeeding him until he learned how and where to get the milk himself (he finally mastered this at around 1 am).

"I should peddle butterflies / There's a shortage in the city... "

As my academic career seems to be going nowhere (quite literally) at the moment, I've got to provide some movement by some other means. So I went to Helsinki for May Day, mainly to see Fidia and to take care of some SHS business.

I finally got to meet my dress. It looks even better than I thought it would (when I was feeling overly optimistic); the green velvet (or the approximation thereof) is exactly the right shade, and the blue-and-gold brocade (ditto) looks really sumptuous. The only problem with the dress was the sleeves: being historically accurate, they weren't sown to the bodice, but came as separate attachments - but with only two holes on the shoulder and a length of ribbon to attach them with. As I had expected a less efficiently air-conditioned model, I spent the best part of Saturday afternoon attaching the sleeves to the bodice. I was positively surprised with the result (as I'm not a very adept needlewoman, and attaching things to other things has always been especially problematic for me), and now all I need is a bumroll (my mum has promised to make me one).

Anyway. Other Stereotypical History Society business included teaching Renaissance dancing to six other members of our society. The dances I'd chosen (bransle and pavan) were surprisingly simple, and my apt pupils picked them up very quickly - and even claimed to enjoy hopping about randomly in full view of other people. Although I have to say that folk who spend most of their time staring into a computer screen have some difficulty reaching even one tenth of the gracefulness of their Renaissance counterparts (who, I've been informed, spent their days practicing various sports, and yes, dancing).

I'm glad my friends showed genuine enthusiasm towards the dancing, because otherwise I've been feeling as if I've been left holding up the pole (with Otter and T holding up another), while the others are just glad to sit back in the carriage and enjoy the ride. Of course, others probably haven't got as much spare time on their hands as I do, and can't spend hours pondering the finer points of French hoods; yet, it's always a bit saddening when you realise other people aren't as enthusiastic about things you have a passion for.

Luckily, there's still plenty of time to get people interested in the Renaissance party, and make them realise they need to find something appropriate to wear as well.

Although the beginning of last week was more crappy than most, I'm feeling more optimistic and upbeat now - and, of course, still looking forward to the party. The song below pretty well sums up my present state of mind. (It's 'Aching to Pupate' by Regina Spektor. I wish I'd written that song).

The charms of Castelmola

Summer has finally arrived in Central Finland, and I don't feel so bad anymore about leaving Sicily behind. I get a twinge of wanderlust when I look through my photos, but as I've spent the last two days in a car (most of the time getting nowhere), and I'm planning to celebrate May 1st in Helsinki, I'm quite content to sit still for a while (and pretend to get some work done).

The pictures above are of the village of Castelmola, which lies almost directly above Taormina. The place itself is worth seeing - it has a ruined castle, some picturesque little streets, and some picturesque ruined little houses.

However, the main attraction of the village is its famed almond wine, and we were told that this was the place to buy it from. Not knowing what to expect, we (I was travelling with my mother, remember) were rather taken aback by the unashamedly phallic decor of the place when we decided to stop there for lunch. Service was rather slow, but when our pizzas finally arrived, they were excellent - AND we got a complementary glass of almond wine at the end of the meal. Needless to say, we also bought two bottles of the stuff.

The route to Castelmola from Taormina is quite short, but demanding enough even for a seasoned walker like me. Needless to say, the views on the way are breathtaking, and thus well worth the exhausting climb. Thus, when at the end of the second week, mum and I found we had still one day of unscheduled time on our hands, we decided to make a second trip up the mountain. This was partly because during our first visit the weather was grey, and I couldn't get decent pictures of the place. Mainly, though, we went back for some more of that excellent wine.

Turns out the bartender at Turrisi remembered us, offered us another free helping of wine, and provided us with couple of more bottles. This time around the weather was glorious (making the uphill trek quite a sweaty one), and on top of it all, we got some extra entertainment watching people put up decorations for the forthcoming St. George's day (he being the patron saint of not only the English, but the people of Castelmola as well).

Prior to this trip, I was advised not to wear any jewellery while in Sicily. I mostly stuck to this principle but I can't say it made any difference; no one tried to steal anything, whether I was wearing a necklace or not - nor did my mother's purse get picked (she, after all, wore a ring and a gold bracelet all the time). So I won't pass on this piece of advice. One tip I'd like to give is this: when in Sicily, always carry change and small amounts of cash with you. Never rely on your credit card (as it might not work), or the fact that shopkeepers have enough change. I found that not even supermarkets have enough small change in their tills, and often I got either too few or too many coins.

Also: always, always take your suntan lotion with you, no matter how rainy the day looks.