I could tell the winter was approaching when I found myself piling packets of pistachios and macadamias into my trolley at Delhaize. The nights are fair drawing in. As dusk falls earlier, and the evening chill descends, there's nothing so attractive as a warm apartment to scuttle back to. Unfortunately I haven't yet figured out how to get the heating to work in the new Wayne-Bough Towers, so have to wait the plumber's visit before I can shed my three sweaters to watch East Enders. Meanwhile, I am forced to follow the example of the Polish countess who always slept in a freezing room, believing the cold to be very good for the complexion. It was an early form of Botox I suppose.
There is something about this time of year which turns our thoughts to morbid subjects. Here in Catholic Belgium, the florists are displaying large pots of chrysanthemums (for placing on graves - please don't ever give them to someone who's poorly in a Catholic country), and Hallowe'en paraphernalia has appeared in the shops. I appreciate these seasonal nudges to stay abreast of the natural year, although I'm getting to the time of life when the withering leaves mirror my own life cycle a little too closely for comfort.
I am heartily relieved that George Clooney only suffered a broken rib after his recent motorcycle accident, but I bet Richard Hammond can't help feeling a little smug, having survived far, far worse. And let's face it, there's not many chances a man gets to feel superior to George Clooney. I do find there is something fascinating about a man (or woman for that matter) who goes eyeball-to-eyeball with the Grim Reaper and shouts "Come and have a go if you think you're hard enough!". It used to be a (not always voluntary) rite of passage for men, in the days when we had a war every thirty years or so. It was how they would prove their courage, and often how they came to an early and needless death. Nowadays young men test their mettle in other ways, 
by doing battle with speed, or even harder drugs, like Keith Richards or Iggy Pop. When they survive they exude an air of immortality and acquire mythical status. When they don't - like Ayrton Senna, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix - it's a case of live fast, die young, and leave a beautiful corpse. Age will not wither them.
In the case of Keith and Iggy, it would appear heroin has preservative properties too, but only from the neck down. It might be too late for them to start sleeping in a cold bedroom. But it has done wonders for me:
There is something about this time of year which turns our thoughts to morbid subjects. Here in Catholic Belgium, the florists are displaying large pots of chrysanthemums (for placing on graves - please don't ever give them to someone who's poorly in a Catholic country), and Hallowe'en paraphernalia has appeared in the shops. I appreciate these seasonal nudges to stay abreast of the natural year, although I'm getting to the time of life when the withering leaves mirror my own life cycle a little too closely for comfort.
I am heartily relieved that George Clooney only suffered a broken rib after his recent motorcycle accident, but I bet Richard Hammond can't help feeling a little smug, having survived far, far worse. And let's face it, there's not many chances a man gets to feel superior to George Clooney. I do find there is something fascinating about a man (or woman for that matter) who goes eyeball-to-eyeball with the Grim Reaper and shouts "Come and have a go if you think you're hard enough!". It used to be a (not always voluntary) rite of passage for men, in the days when we had a war every thirty years or so. It was how they would prove their courage, and often how they came to an early and needless death. Nowadays young men test their mettle in other ways, 
by doing battle with speed, or even harder drugs, like Keith Richards or Iggy Pop. When they survive they exude an air of immortality and acquire mythical status. When they don't - like Ayrton Senna, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix - it's a case of live fast, die young, and leave a beautiful corpse. Age will not wither them.In the case of Keith and Iggy, it would appear heroin has preservative properties too, but only from the neck down. It might be too late for them to start sleeping in a cold bedroom. But it has done wonders for me:
10 comments:
You left out James Dean, although he was not a ladies' man (allegedly). Hunting lions with spears is what real men like the Masai do. Clooney acts macho, but would be a plaything for the women in the Savannah.
Without comment:
Patrick Dewaere : La Frayeur de vivre
Oooh Daphne the heading over Keith's Physog is just a little cruel. It is a bit lived in! Be careful of extremes of temperature. Bitter cold can have the same effect as gin with not enough tonic although then again the tonic is bad for the gout. Why am I trying to teach my grandmother( in intellect only)to suck eggs?
Sheer bloody ennui!
GB, hunting gorillas with big guns is what some other "men" do in your part of the world. (The word animal is too good for them). Be careful out there, won't you, dear hairy friend?
Crabtree - certes. Idem Coluche. Philippe Leotard. Dalida. Marie Trintignant. Joe Dassin. Francoise Dorleac. Sortons nos mouchoirs!
Pat, I think Keith has a strange courageous beauty. In a war I think he would be the rough old sergeant who saves the day and lets the plummy captain Jagger take all the credit. Just look at this. That's the kind of man you want in a crisis.
What it inspired me I shall have dù be more definite?
I made a bit long writings .......
I had been born emotional and sensitive...
Alors quoi de plus beau !!Alphonse Lamartine
You're right about the Grim Reaper. He's a hell of a dancer, I have to say.
That does it. Mrs Farty will be sleeping in the garden shed in future.
Unless she reads this, in which case it'll be me who ends up with the face of a film star.
Fabulous earrings there, darling.
Collecting nuts and winter...reminds me of squirrels...
:D
Even I ride a motorcycle and have owned it for the past 6 years. I do ride fast at times and have been in road-accidents too, for which I have a few scars to show, including a few on my face. No one else, except me, was hurt in the accidents.
It's not about proving my courage or anything else to anyone at all. It's a high which is difficult to describe. To feel the wind in my face and see the scenery rush past, besides the thrill I get when the bike accelerates, is an experience that is hard to describe and very unique. It's not something that one can give up easily!
:)
The previous comment should have read as follows:
Collecting nuts and winter...reminds me of squirrels...
:D
Even I ride a motorcycle and have owned it for the past 6 years. I do ride fast at times and have been in road-accidents too, for which I have a few scars to show, including three or four on my face. No one else, except me, was hurt in the accidents.
It's not about proving my courage or anything else to anyone at all. It's a high which is difficult to describe. To feel the wind in my face and to see the scenery rush past, besides the thrill I get when the bike accelerates, are experiences that are hard to put in words and are very unique. So, motorcycling is not something that one can give up easily, broken ribs notwithstanding!
:)
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