Archive for August, 2018

Tuesday 28th August 2018

Posted in Life the Universe and Other Things on August 28, 2018 by bishshat

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Night Owl

Gerry Rafferty

Night comes down and finds you alone
In a space and time of your own
Lost in dreams in a world full of shadows.

Down the street the neon light shines
Offering refuge and hope to the blind
You stumble in with no thought of tomorrow.

Yes, I get a little lonely when the sun gets low
And I end looking for somewhere to go
Yes, I should know better but I can’t say no.

Oh no no no
No no no no

The lights are low and the Muzak is loud
You watch yourself as you play to the crowd
One more face in a palace of mirrors.

One more drink, you’re sailing away
One more dream but it’s looking ok
One more time to watch the flow of the river.

Yes, I get a little lonely when the sun gets low
And I end looking for somewhere to go
Yes, I should know better but I can’t say no.

Oh no no no
No no no no no no no oooooooh

Yes, I get a little lonely when the sun gets low
And I end looking for somewhere to go
Yes, I should know better but I can’t say no.

Oh no no no
No no no no

You’ve seen it all yeah you’ve seen it before
Like a fool you always come back for more
You live your life like there was no more tomorrow.

Night comes down and finds you alone
In a space and time of your own
Lost in dreams in a world full of shadows.

Yes, I get a little lonely when the sun gets low
And I end looking for somewhere to go
Yes, I should know better but I can’t say no.

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Monday 27th August 2018

Posted in Life the Universe and Other Things on August 27, 2018 by bishshat

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Man Utd 0 Spurs 3

Mauricio Pochettino had scored his first victory as a manager at Old Trafford and what an emphatic one it had proven to be, the younger of the two coaches unsure quite how best to handle Mourinho’s moment of humiliation on the touchline. At the final whistle Mourinho marched onto the pitch as if to do something that had been on his mind and just ended up solemnly applauding the Stretford End, a strange end to a disastrous evening for him.

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Pochettino, long regarded as the best man for the Old Trafford job, had delivered a major victory and in the moment it was hard to see where Mourinho comes back from this start to the season with two defeats in his first three games. There may yet be a turnaround, but as United go to Burnley on Sunday in 13th place it does not feel like there is much to hang onto for a team that is failing in all departments and a manager who seems like he could do anything.
Mourinho had been reluctant in the last few minutes before kick-off to disclose the true nature of his formation, although very few would have been counting on the three-man defence that he came up with – Ander Herrera the unlikely right-sided third part of that.
The little Spanish midfielder has been given a variety of tasks over the years, including man-marking Eden Hazard but this was a new one even for him. He approached it with his usual seriousness getting himself book on 19 minutes for a foul on Lucas Moura which presented United with some potential problems. Even so, it felt like a bit more than just an unusual solution to what Mourinho sees as a problem for his team.
On the bench was the right-sided centre-back Victor Lindelof, acquired last summer for around £31 million. His performance against Brighton and Hove Albion was not one to inspire hope and this was Mourinho’s response but at least the Swede was on the bench. For Antony Martial, Juan Mata Eric Bailly and Andreas Pereira, all of whom played in that defeat, there was no part at all in the evening’s squad.

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Mourinho re-united Chris Smalling and Phil Jones alongside Herrera in defence, an old partnership to which he periodically returns. Smalling looked the most assured of the three with a fine tackle to fish the ball out from Dele Alli’s feet when the Spurs man ran into the box after Nemanja Matic was caught in possession.
United had the better of a poor first half, but only just. They asked a lot of Romelu Lukaku who stuck stoically to his job of playing with back to goal and trying to hold off whatever one of his two fellow Belgians playing centre-back for Spurs was marking him. Lukaku was on his own there, with Jesse Lingard and Paul Pogba trying to break from advanced positions in midfield. The United centre-forward missed the one chance presented to him by a bad back pass from Danny Rose.
The Spurs left-back was playing his first game of the season, an unexpected inclusion in the team and he did not have an auspicious first half. Hugo Lloris retained the captaincy after his drink driving charge last week and there was less for him to do than might have been expected. United could not hold onto the ball with any great fluency before the break, the only consolation for them being that neither could Spurs.
Pochettino was the more agitated of the two managers on the touchline at his side’s failure to pass the ball effectively in attacking areas of the pitch. Harry Kane was barely in the game before the break and the same could be said for Christian Eriksen. Both of them feeling the effect of United’s packed midfield.

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The goals that decided the game came quickly after the break. First Kane on 49 minutes taking a step backwards away from Phil Jones who realised in horror too late that he had lost track of both his man and Kieran Trippier’s corner. The England captain nodded one back across David De Gea’s goal and out of reach. Trippier sent Eriksen down the right three minutes later and he crossed for Moura to score the second.
It was not as if United had many chances after that, with Alexis Sanchez sent on as well as Fellaini. Lindelof, lost in a mild panic, tried to pass the ball to De Gea and succeeded in giving it to Dele instead. Then Moura scored the third, running through United, past Smalling and finishing confidently. There was still time, ten minutes in all including injury-time, for Mourinho to soak in the worst of it, watching a team with no ideas, in a stadium rapidly emptying.

Sunday 26th August 2018

Posted in Life the Universe and Other Things on August 27, 2018 by bishshat

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Friday 24th August 2018

Posted in Life the Universe and Other Things on August 26, 2018 by bishshat

Straight From The Heart

Bryan Adams

I could start dreamin’ but it never ends
As long as you’re gone we may as well pretend
I’ve been dreamin’
Straight from the heart

You say it’s easy but who’s to say
That we’d be able to keep it this way
But it’s easier
Comin’ straight from the heart

Give it to me straight from the heart
Tell me we can make another start
You know I’ll never go
As long as I know
It’s comin’ straight from the heart

I’ll see you on the street some other time
And all our words would just fall out of line
While we’re dreamin’
Straight from the heart

Give it to me straight from the heart
Tell me we can make one more start
You know I’ll never go
As long as I know
It’s coming straight from the heart

Don’t ever leave me darling

Straight from the heart
Tell me we can make one more start
You know I’ll never go
As long as I know

You give it to me now straight from the heart
Tell me we can make one more start
You know I’ll never go
As long as I know
It’s coming straight from the heart

Give it to me oh no oh no straight from the heart
You know I’ll never go
As long as I know
It’s coming straight from the heart

City To City

Gerry Rafferty

Now the night train is waitin’ to take me away
And I’m still feelin’ guilty cause you’re wanting me to stay
Well I know, how I know, it’s harder on you
But you said it yourself, there’s nothing else we could do.

When the wheels start turnin’, takin’ me through the night
Out there in the darkness, there’s a star shinin’ bright
And it makes me feel better just to see it up there
I hope you’re thinkin’ about it, hope you know I still care.

So goodnight, yeah goodnight
Goodnight train is gonna carry me home
So goodnight, yeah goodnight
Goodnight train is gonna carry me home.

Now I know you’ve been waiting, but I’ll be seeing you soon
Meanwhile I just lay here staring at the moon
And a light made of silver, through my window it creeps
And the train keeps on rollin’, and it just rocks me to sleep.

So goodnight, yeah goodnight
Goodnight train is gonna carry me home
So goodnight, yeah goodnight
Goodnight train is gonna carry me home

So goodnight, yeah goodnight
Goodnight train is gonna carry me home.
So goodnight, yeah goodnight
Goodnight train is gonna carry me home.

Now from city to city, it’s four hundred miles
And I’m bound to wake up every once in a while
And it’s then that I call out to some higher power
And then I’ll go back to sleep cause I’ll be home in an hour.

So goodnight (goodnight), yeah goodnight (goodnight)
Goodnight train is gonna carry me home (goodnight)
So goodnight (goodnight), yeah goodnight (goodnight)
Goodnight train is gonna carry me home (goodnight)
So goodnight (goodnight), yeah goodnight (goodnight)
Goodnight train is gonna carry me home (goodnight)
So goodnight (goodnight), yeah goodnight (goodnight)
Goodnight train is gonna carry me home (goodnight)

I’m going home (ooooh) tonight…

Thursday 23rd August 2018

Posted in Life the Universe and Other Things on August 26, 2018 by bishshat

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I went to visit Holloway Road number 304 as this was the location of Joe Meeks recording studio and the place where he recorded many hits including Telstar and also the place where he died after killing his landlady.

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Dickens and his wife Catherine moved here to 48 Doughty St, London, a few months before Queen Victoria began her reign in 1837. The couple raised the eldest three of their ten children in the house. They also hosted many of the period’s leading figures with dinners and parties.

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Catherine’s 17-year-old sister Mary moved with them from Furnival’s Inn to offer support to her married sister and brother. It was not unusual for a woman’s unwed sister to live with and help a newly married couple.

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Mary Hogarth died suddenly at the Dickens family home aged 17 on 7 May 1837. The cause of death is believed to have been either heart failure or a stroke. She was buried on 13 May at the Kensal Green Cemetery, London. Dickens wrote the epitaph on her tombstone, which says “Young, beautiful, and good, God numbered her among his angels at the early age of seventeen”. The tombstone now includes epitaphs to her brother George, and their parents Georgina, who died in 1863, and George, who died in 1870. The bedroom where Hogarth died is now part of the Charles Dickens Museum.As a result of Hogarth’s death, Charles Dickens missed the publication dates for The Pickwick Papers and Oliver Twist. It was the only time in his life that Dickens missed publication dates. As a reason for missing the publication dates, he wrote that “he had lost a very dear young relative to whom he was most affectionately attached, and whose society has been, for a long time, the chief solace of his labours”. He wore Hogarth’s ring for the rest of his life.

She inspired characters in many of his books, and her death is fictionalized as the death of Little Nell. Dickens had a three-year lease (at £80 a year) on the property. He would remain here until 1839 after which he moved on to grander homes as his wealth increased and his family grew. However, this is his only surviving London house.

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I read this on line interesting but not sure if its true?

When Charles Dickens & Edgar Allan Poe Met, and Dickens’ Pet Raven Inspired Poe’s Poem “The Raven”
“There comes Poe with his raven,” wrote the poet James Russell Lowell in 1848, “like Barnaby Rudge, / Three-fifths of him genius and two-fifths sheer fudge.” Barnaby Rudge, as you may know, is a novel by Charles Dickens, published serially in 1841. Set during the anti-Catholic Gordon Riots of 1780, the book stands as Dickens’ first historical novel and a prelude of sorts to A Tale of Two Cities. But what, you may wonder, does it have to do with Poe and “his raven”?

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Quite a lot, it turns out. Poe reviewed the first four chapters of Dickens’ Barnaby Rudge for Graham’s Magazine, predicting the end of the novel and finding out later he was correct when he reviewed it again upon completion. He was particularly taken with one character: a chatty raven named Grip who accompanies the simple-minded Barnaby. Poe described the bird as “intensely amusing,” points out Atlas Obscura, and also wrote that Grip’s “croaking might have been prophetically heard in the course of the drama.”

It chanced the following year the two literary greats would meet, when Poe learned of Dickens’ trip to the U.S.; he wrote to the novelist, and the two briefly exchanged letters (which you can read here). Along with Dickens on his six-month journey were his wife Catherine, his children, and Grip, his pet raven. When the two writers met in person, writes Lucinda Hawksley at the BBC, Poe “was enchanted to discover [Grip, the character] was based on Dickens’s own bird.”

Indeed Dickens’ raven, “who had an impressive vocabulary,” inspired what Dickens called the “very queer character” in Barnaby Rudge, not only with his loquaciousness, but also with his distinctively ornery personality. Dickens’ daughter Mamie described the raven as “mischievous and impudent” for its habit of biting the children and “dominating” the family’s mastiff, such that the bird was banished to the carriage house.

But Dickens—who Jonathan Lethem calls the “greatest animal novelist of all time”—loved the bird, so much that he wrote movingly and humorously of Grip’s death, and had him stuffed. (A not unusual practice for Dickens; we’ve previously featured a letter opener Dickens had made from the paw of his cat, Bob.) The remains of the historical Grip now reside in the rare book section of the Free Library of Philadelphia, “a stuffed raven” writes The Washington Post’s Raymond Lane, “about the size of a big cat.”

Of the literary Grip’s influence on Poe, Janine Pollack, head of the library’s rare books department, tells Philadelphia magazine, “It is sort of a unique moment in literature when these two great writers are sort of thinking about the same thing. You think about how much the two men were looking at each other’s work. It’s almost a collaboration without them realizing it.” But can we be sure that Dickens’ Grip, real and imagined, directly inspired Poe’s “The Raven”? “Poe knew about it,” says historian Edward Pettit, “He wrote about it. And there’s a talking raven in it. So the link seems fairly obvious to me.”

Lane adduces some clear evidence of passages in the the novel that sound very much like Poe: “At the end of the fifth chapter,” for example, “Grip makes a noise and someone asks, ‘What was that—him tapping at the door?’ Another character responds, ‘’Tis someone knocking softly at the shutter.’” Hawksley notes even more similarities. “Although there is no concrete proof,” she writes, “most Poe scholars are in agreement that the poet’s fascination with Grip was the inspiration for his 1845 poem The Raven.”

Where we often find surprising lineages of influence from author to author, it’s unusual that the connections are so direct, so personal, and so odd, as those between Poe, Dickens, and Grip the talking raven. I’m especially struck by an irony in this story: Poe courted Dickens in 1842 “to impress the novelist,” writes Sidney Moss of Southern Illinois University, “with his worth and versatility as a critic, poet, and writer of tales,” and with the aim of establishing a literary reputation, and publishing contracts, in England.

While Dickens seemed duly impressed, and willing to help, nothing commercial came of their exchange. Instead, Dickens and his raven inspired Poe to write the most famous poem of his life, “The Raven,” for which he will be remembered forevermore.

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The Raven

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
Only this and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
“’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
This it is and nothing more.”

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—
Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
’Tis the wind and nothing more!”

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as “Nevermore.”

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”
Then the bird said “Nevermore.”

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!

Wednesday 22nd August 2018

Posted in Life the Universe and Other Things on August 26, 2018 by bishshat

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Right Down The Line

Gerry Rafferty

You know I need your love
You’ve got that hold over me
Long as I’ve got your love
You know that I’ll never leave
When I wanted you to share my life
I had no doubt in my mind
And it’s been you woman
Right down the line

I know how much I lean on you
Only you can see
The changes that I’ve been through
Have left a mark on me
You’ve been as constant as a Northern Star
The brightest light that shines
It’s been you, woman
Right down the line

I just want to say this is my way
Of tellin’ you everything
I could never say before

Yeah this is my way of tellin’ you
That every day I’m lovin’ you so much more
‘Cause you believed in me through my darkest night
Put somethin’ better inside of me
You brought me into the light
Threw away all those crazy dreams
I put them all behind
And it was you, woman
Right down the line

I just want to say this is my way
Of tellin’ you everything
I could never say before

Yeah this is my way of tellin’ you
That every day I’m lovin’ you so much more
If I should doubt myself
If I’m losing ground
I won’t turn to someone else
They’d only let me down
When I wanted you to share my life
I had no doubt in my mind
And it’s been you, woman
Right down the line

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Tuesday 21st August 2018

Posted in Life the Universe and Other Things on August 26, 2018 by bishshat

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