Squid news

Staying with nature, you may have noticed this is a big week for squid. Or perhaps I should rephrase that and call it a week for big squid.

We knew that Mesonychoteuthis hamiltoni, the so-called colossal squid, was big, but scientists in New Zealand now believe it is bigger than they thought.

The scientists have this week begun dissecting a defrosted 495 kg colossal squid, caught last year and frozen for later examination. They note that its beak is much smaller than other squid beaks found in the stomachs of sperm whales that are known to be partial to a bit of squid.

For squid fans here is a blog covering the dissection.

Robins' nest

Shirtsleeves weather on Saturday so I spent the day in the garden for a sustained attack on the weeds and lawn edges.

I called at the garden centre to replace the three delphiniums bought in the autumn that had failed to appear in the spring. "Do you replace plants?" I asked the man at the counter.

"Sorry sir, but we're not responsible for them after they leave the premises," He says. "I'd say that the slugs have got to them." He might be right. I noticed that there were still five no-showing delphiniums in their pots at the garden centre. Who's slugs were we talking about?

Back in the garden a robin appeared as I was digging over the compost. I watched where it was heading and saw it dodge in to a plant pot tipped on its side amid some thorny cotoneaster. Nesting on the ground seemed a bit risky.

Later I spotted two male robins hopping around the garden. A bit odd, that, I thought, since male robins are usually quite territorial. Then I noticed both males flying out of the plant pot. What was going on?

These two fully grown robins were nuzzling each other on a branch. Steady on boys. Gay robins? It happens among birds. Black swans are known for it. So are mallards, penguins and gulls. Or could they be part of a menage a trois, sharing a female who could be hidden away on a clutch of eggs.

I'm not sure what I think about robins mincing about my garden. I prefer to think of Cock Robin as a poem, not a question.

Perhaps this was a family thing. They might be brothers, or possibly this was a bit of manly father and son joshing. I have no idea.

NB. All now understood. It looks like the robins are sharing their garden with a tit. See comments for embarrassing explanation.

Jerusalem in a jam

I was baptised in the Church of England. I was married in church too but, as a couple, we decided against having our children christened. It upset a few relatives. My Auntie Joyce worried about what might happen if they died as infants. Gill's dad felt they ought to have a dose of religion early, rather, it seemed to us, as you would have a vaccination, to prevent catching something far worse later on.

Reading the views of the Very Reverend Colin Slee, who has banned singing of the hymn, Jerusalem in Southwark Cathedral, I can understand my father-in-law's fears. Slee is still a Dean and has yet to take the purple, but he seems eminently qualified to join the ranks of nutty bishops who have been let loose in one of England's greatest institutions.

Motorway madness

There is a lot of wisdom in the clergy, but sometimes when they open their mouths it is as if they have just found themselves driving the wrong way down the motorway. They're in the right lane but what are all these bloody idiots doing coming the other way?

In this case the bloody idiots are people like me who are rarely happier than when they're belting out a rousing chorus of the one hymn that can be said to be truly English.

The Church of England may no longer need such a hymn but the English certainly need it at rugby matches to keep up with the rousing tunes owned by the Welsh, Scots, Irish and French. Sorry Italy, but "Just one Cornetto" doesn't hack it.

Satanic mills

Blake's poem is often misunderstood. According to a footnote in Poem for the Day (published by Sinclair-Stevenson), an excellent anthology that gives you what it says on the cover, Blake's reference to "dark satanic mills," which most people assume is describing the factories of the industrial revolution, is alluding "first and foremost to Oxford and Cambridge and the rigidity of classics and mathematics."

The sword that won't sleep in his hand is his pen and "building Jerusalem" is all about writing his longest epic poem (which isn't really a poem). So we can be forgiven, perhaps, for referring to the preface to this poem, which really is a poem, by the name that was applied to the whole work. Clear, so far?

First blood

But it is only when we understand that the preface is referring to the larger work that we can appreciate it is not another piece of jingoistic, militaristic nonsense. The third verse - "Bring me my bow" etc - is referring to poetic muses, inspiration, genius and such like. It's not about Rambo getting ready for First Blood Part II.

All that aside, Jerusalem (the hymn) is a fine piece of work which deserves to be sung by the English in cathedrals, be they religious or sporting.

If you need to be reminded of the verses, here it is (incidentally I just ran this through the spell-checker and it didn't like "builded"):


And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England's mountains green?
And was the holy Lamb of God
On England's pleasant pastures seen?

And did the Countenance Divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among these dark satanic mills?

Bring me my bow of burning gold;
Bring me my arrows of desire;
Bring me my spear; O clouds, unfold!
Bring me my chariot of fire!

I will not cease from mental fight,
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand,
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England's green and pleasant land.

Kids' stuff

What a beautiful day - for all of 30 minutes - before I opened the letters' page of yesterday's Daily Telegraph. The newspaper had sneaked itself in to the car so I hadn't read it on the day of issue. That must have been why I felt on top form yesterday. There was none of the miserable, small-minded niggling of Telegraph readers to sap the spirit.

Enjoying the freedom of their letters' page, they were chewing over language usage, a favourite topic in the Home Counties whose residents think they own the English language when we all know that it belongs to the Queen.

While I agreed with some of the points I found myself taking issue with the views of Harold Carter of Pocklington, North Yorkshire (part of the rich farming belt from Harrogate across to the Yorkshire Wolds that I think of as the "Surrey of the North").

Mr Carter revealed that "the word that always grates on my ear is kids. It was used by Tony Blair and is commonly used on the radio.

Billy goat

"I am of the opinion that a kid is the product of a nanny and a billy goat. Its usage in my youth for "child" conjured up a picture a complete urchin.

"When was the term first used to describe a child?" A letter in today's paper says that Rudyard Kipling was using the term a hundred years ago. That's far too recent for Telegraph readers who think would feel more comfortable with Chaucer.

I had used the word in my FT column on creativity only this week, when referring to my own kids. I looked at it once or twice, thought of using "children" instead, but settled on kids because I think this best describes them.

The thing is they are no longer little children. Of the two discussed in the piece, George is 16 next month and Robert, for goodness sake, is 21, a young adult. Yet they are both kids really and some of what I was discussing - see the previous blog - was kids' stuff, except that, as I explained in the column, much of it wasn't.

Viral marketing

Note the way that the letter had to drag in Tony Blair for good measure. I wonder what Mr Carter would make of mash-ups, play lists and viral marketing? My kids understand this stuff, even though they are kids.

I use language that I consider most appropriate, that readers will easily understand and, yes, I do weigh the possibility that something might grate with a reader against the attraction of colloquial usage.

Use of language is a sensitive subject. All writers must respect that. But you can never please everyone. The most important point is this: did readers get the message? Possibly not in Pocklington.

Meanwhile the boys (kids? Young men?) are enjoying the success they're having with their video. It has been interesting to watch the increase in viewing numbers - (Sunday - 80, Monday - 280, Tuesday - 1,000+, Wednesday 2,000 to 4,000 in the day, and this morning(Thursday) the figure was over 6,000. There was a big viewing boost when Rugbydump.com, one of Rob's favourite sites, chose to feature it (at Rob's urging) in its "midweek madness" section on the front page. It's been a great lesson for them - for me too.

Snowman hit

We woke up this morning to find the garden and the hill blanketed in snow. George and Rob went out on to the hill and made this snowman. That's George in the picture. The snowman, called Matthew for some reason, is on the left. I never got to see it in the snow, so to speak, but they created this charming little memento of its brief existence. Well I like it!