We Are The Village Green Preservation society

Sung by that wonderful yorkshire lass, Kate Rusby



The song was written and originally recorded by Ray Davies of the Kinks, for their eponymous album.

Today's Poem, selected by Red Dirt Girl.

I was sent this poem by Red Dirt Girl, I suspect all men know the truth of the words herein, and all women fail to understand them.


Poem

If the night flights keep you awake
I will call London Airport and tell them
to land their dangerous junk elsewhere.

And if you fall asleep with the sleeve
of my jacket under your head,
sooner than wake you, I'll cut it off.

But if you say:
'Fix me a plug on this mixer',
I grumble and take my time.

~ by Christopher Logue

A Bed For the Maharajah

Nawab Muhammad Bahawal Khan Abbasi V of Bahawalpur, then 20 years old, and with an eye for the ladies, commissioned this rather fine bed from French  silversmiths Christofle, in 1882, it was delivered in 1886.. Nothing special, a load of rosewood, 640 pounds (290Kg) of pure silver, four life-sized statues of european maidens, mechanically driven to fan the Maharajah's brow, and whisk flies away from his slumbering form. Oh, and a mechanical music player to play him to his sleep with an air from Gounod's Faust. Bahawalpur is in what we now call Pakistan. Nobody seems to know where the bed is now.

"The design was sent to Christofle in Paris calling for a bed of "dark wood decorated with applied sterling with gilded parts, monograms and arms, ornamented with four life-size bronze figures (of naked females) painted in flesh colour with natural hair, movable eyes and arms, holding fans and horse tails".

Some 290kg of silver was needed to decorate the bed. The four naked figures were European, representing women of France, Spain, Italy and Greece, each with a different skin-tone and hair colour. Through ingenious mechanics linked to the mattress, the Nawab was able to set the figures in motion so that they fanned him while winking at him, against a 30-minute cycle of music from Gounod's Faust generated by a music box built into the bed." (Independent)

 

Adding, as it were, a few thoughts of mine own, this bed is a wondrous contrivance, a thing that might have in earlier times, been entrusted to Michelangelo... A blend of outrageous wealth and questionable taste. 

Now here's my question. The young Nawab had unimagineably large heaps of wealth, the commission, by the way, at the time was top-secret, nobody in the firm was to know who it was they were making this for. 

At twenty years old, a young Indian aristocrat, lord of all he surveyed, bought himself this. Which looks to me like a single bed, a bed for one only. Where the  occupant would listen to music and gaze up at his obediently fanning four nubile western women, paler skinned and differently featured to the women of his home country.  Whilst music played.

Well no. I shy away from the question...

The lad, surely, might have found real women?

Let me quote e.e.cummings.

a pretty girl who naked is
is worth a million statues

Site for an Altogether Calmer Sutra?

 

Flower Bed?

 

 

Bedding plants?

The Cosmic Crayon Company

 

I keep an assortment of nuts and bolts in these boxes. I'm assuming they're about a hundred years old.

Ha! I just discovered the Cosmic Crayon Company was founded in 1903, and bought out by Crayola in 1958.

Mmf.

 

Oddities of Tring.

I was in Tring, a small town in Hertfordshire, a few weeks ago. The natives of Tring must be sorely challenged in finding entertainment, because, close to our hotel, we found this. A pound of butter, hurled at a wall, on a saturday in may.

On Sunday, it was mysteriously translocated. Reflung.

Perhaps there's an explanation. And perhaps not.