Martin Fone's Blog, page 307
January 16, 2017
Motivated By Curiosity And A Desire For The Truth – Part Twenty Five
How embedded is lying in Britain today?
It is a regrettable fact but most, if not all, of us have been guilty of lying at some stage in our life. We might tell lies or at least be economical with the actualite to spare someone’s feelings like when we comment on someone’s new hairstyle or clothing. We might term these as white lies. On the other hand we might tell a whopper, perhaps we should term this sort a big lie, if we want to deflect attention from ourselves or get ourselves out of a hole. As the referendum campaign last year was based on both sides on a tissue of half-truths and downright falsehoods, the question that pops into the enquiring mind is how embedded is lying in Britain today.
Fortunately, some research has been conducted into the subject including an online survey conducted by the Science Museum in London in 2010. Nearly 3,000 responded to the survey, of whom 51% were female and the average age was 44.5, in which they were asked to reveal how often they told little white lies and how often whoppers. 9.7% of the sample categorised themselves as prolific liars, telling 6.32 little white lies and 2.86 big ones a day. The majority of the respondents – only 24.4% said that they didn’t lie in a typical day – owned up to 1.16 white lies a day and 0.15 whoppers, suggesting that the prolific liars tell on average 19 big lies to every one told by the everyday liars.
Profiling the responses of those surveyed, the prolific liars were most likely to be at the younger end of the age scale, male and working in more senior occupational roles. They did not see their mendacious trait as one that they would grow out but recognised that it could and had landed them in deep do-do, costing them their relationships or their jobs. This is not too surprising as they would most likely try to pull the wool over the eyes of their partners and children whereas everyday liars were more likely to lie to their mothers.
Further light was shone on the propensity to lie by research undertaken by the Science Centre NEMO in Amsterdam and published in the ever popular Acta Psychologica. Surveying some 1,005 people, aged between 6 and 77, they tested the ability to and frequency of lying across the age groups. Overall, the ability to lie convincingly improved through childhood, peaking in early adulthood, categorised as aged between 18 and 29, and gradually declined as the age profile increased. As to frequency, teenagers admitted to telling more lies than any other age – are you surprised? – and there was a similar inverted U-shape in the age distribution with the old fogies lying as infrequently as those at the younger end of the age spectrum.
Worryingly, the figures for British lying compare adversely with comparable statistics from the United States. There, only 5% of the respondents were responsible for more than 50% of the lies and 59.9% claimed that in a typical day they didn’t lie. What the surveys can’t tell us is whilst there appears to be a definite pattern to lying frequency and proficiency whether people increase and then lose their ability as they age or once they are a prolific liar or an everyday liar, that is what they are for the rest of their natural.
My biggest problem with surveys and research such as this is how much credence we should place on responses from self-confessed liars. Of course, a liar rarely lies all the time and therein lies our problem.
Filed under: Culture, Science Tagged: Acta Psychologica, comparison of lying in UK and US, frequency of lying between age groups, proficiency of lying across age groups, Science Centre NEMO in Amsterdam, Science Museum in London, white lies and big lies
January 15, 2017
Red Faces Of The Week (7)
I may have got it wrong but surely when you put a pair of handcuffs on someone you expect them not to be able to get them off. Conversely, though you rather expect the person who has applied the handcuffs to be able to release the victim easily.
It was the latter aspect of the process that proved a tad troublesome for the boys in blue at an officer safety training day held at Mounthooly Way in Aberdeen last Saturday. Handcuffs were applied to an officer during the course of a training exercise but try as they may, they wouldn’t come off.
The only thing to do was to ring the local pole sliders and members of the Scottish Fire and Rescue service attended with a pair of bolt cutters.
Good to know there is a Plan B but the incident caused crimson visages amongst the top brass of the old Bill.
Filed under: Humour, News Tagged: Firemen release policeman with bolt cutters, handcuff malfunction, Mounthooly way in Aberdeen, Scottish Fire and Rescue Service
January 14, 2017
Stunt Of The Week (2)
It was a bad day on the London Underground last Sunday, I read this week. The benighted transport system was invaded by groups of Londoners taking part in the annual No Trousers Tube Ride.
Participants can wear hats, coats and scarves but south of the equator they only don underwear, socks and shoes. The prank was imported from New York where it is known as No Pants Day. According to the Stiff Upper Lip Society, who seem to have been behind it, “the point is to relax and enjoy the humour inherent in people not wearing trousers”.
For many, though, to whom the sight of a bloke manspreading in his budgie smugglers may have caused offence, the strike the following day must have come as a blessed relief.
Filed under: Humour, News Tagged: manspreading, No Pants Day, No Trousers Tube Ride, The Stiff Upper Lip Society
January 13, 2017
What Is The Origin Of (111)?…
Lackadaisical
When I feel a bit down I take some solace in singing to myself the following verse from one of Traffic’s better numbers, “Sometimes I feel so uninspired/ sometimes I feel like giving up/ sometimes I feel so very tired/ sometimes I feel like I’ve had enough”. This description of torpor and dissatisfaction seems to me to encapsulate the sense of one of the most interesting words in the English language, lackadaisical, a word we use adjectively to convey the sense of being listless, languid, lazy and lacking interest.
In tracing the etymology of this word, the best starting point is the exclamation of sorrow, regret or dismay, alack, which is itself probably a compound of ah, an exclamatory word, and lack which in some dialects meant failure, fault, reproach or shame. Alack survives to this day in phrases such as alas and alack but in medieval times was more likely to be found in association with day with either a definite or indefinite article. So a distressed person around the 15th or 16th centuries may have been overheard muttering “alack the day” or “alack a day”, cursing in a non- blasphemous way the way the day has gone and, perhaps, wishing he had never got out of bed. Shakespeare used it to this effect in Romeo and Juliet, “she’s dead, deceast, she’s dead, alacke the day!”
The phrase then suffered an attack of aphesis, the grammarian’s term for describing the process whereby an unaccented vowel at the start of a word drops off. This process was clearly underway in 1685 when John Eachard was writing his The Grounds and Occasions of the Contempt of the Clergy and Religion. “A-lack a day. How easie a matter is it for old folks to dote and slaver.. ” The hyphenating of the opening vowel shows the separation in process, although not complete.
By 1748 when the phrase appears in Tobias Smollett’s The adventures of Roderick Random, the aphesis had been completed and the component day had morphed into daisy. “Good lack-a-daisy! The rogue is fled!” Adjectivally it first appeared in Lawrence Sterne’s A Sentimental Journey Through France and Italy, published in 1768, “would to heaven…thou hadst passed by, and beheld me sitting in my black coat, and in my lack-a-day-sical manner”. The sense is one of languor and, perhaps, the posture would be accompanied by sighs, groans and imprecations.
The Oxford English Dictionary defined it as “resembling one who is given to crying Lackaday! Full of vapid feeling or sentiment; affectedly languishing. Said of persons, their behaviour, manners and utterances”. It would seem, then, that this rather unusual, compound word, which is almost Teutonic in its construction, has developed the sense of laziness and carelessness in more recent times and rather left its original sense far behind. Perhaps we are guilty of being lackadaisical in our usage.
Filed under: Culture, History Tagged: alack-a-day, aphesis, origin of lackadaisical, the adventures of Roderick Random
January 12, 2017
The Streets Of London – Part Fifty Two
Middlesex Street, E1
London was always a vibrant centre for trade and was characterised by street markets where local residents could buy and sell their wares. Alas, very few of them remain today but one that is still very much alive and kicking and a magnet for tourists is Petticoat Lane market. But if you get out your battered edition of the London A to Z or search on Google Maps you will not locate it because there is no longer a street by the name of Petticoat Lane. The street running from Bishopsgate in the west to Botolph Street in the east was renamed Middlesex Street as long ago as 1830. Londoners have always enjoyed pulling a fast one on strangers.
It is always hard to believe when you look at the crowded, slightly down-at-heel area despite the efforts of the gentrifiers that it was once a hedge and tree-lined country lane outside the walls of the city. In medieval times it was called Hog’s Lane, either because it marked an ancient droving track where pigs and other animals were brought to the capital for slaughter or because the local bakers were allowed to keep pigs outside the City walls. By the end of the 16th century the area had changed, had become a commercial area noted for its trade in garments and had undergone a name change at the turn of the 17th century. It was said at the time that “they would steal your petticoat at one end of the market and sell it back to you at the other end”. Peticote Lane was probably a reference to the second-hand clobber that was sold there.
Despite the slightly shady connotations in the saying, the area was initially a prestigious address, the Spaniards who came to attend the court of James I settling there. Mind you, they and all the better sorts fled the area when the Great Plague struck in 1665. The area then became the refuge for the waves of refugees who arrived in the metropolis, principally the Jews and Huguenots who established the area as a centre for weaving and clothing manufacture. Naturally, it was an area where the products were sold and in the mid 18th century it was where the well-to-do would go on a Sunday to buy the wares on offer in the Lane.
Despite the name change in 1830, the essential character of the area did not change. One newspaper reported in 1845, “it is the same filthy, badly paved street as it ever was….Although Middlesex Street is painted on the walls on each side of the lane, Petticoat-lane it is still called and ever well be”. And so it has.
One of the curious things about the market which was held on Sundays was that it contravened trading laws and in the early part of the 20th century concerted attempts were made by the authorities to close it down. The efforts were often unsubtle if not downright dangerous, with buses, fire engines and police cars with sirens blaring being driven through the market to drive away the crowds. But the East-enders have an indomitable spirit – the market would not die – and an Act of Parliament was passed in 1936 protecting the market.
It still exists – a market is held on Monday to Friday on nearby Wentworth Street – but the main deal for buyer and sellers of the rag trade takes place in Middlesex Street on Sundays. It is well worth a visit but watch out for your petticoats!
Filed under: Culture, History Tagged: Hog's Lane, Huguenot refugees, London A to Z, Middlesex Street E1, Petticoat Lane, Petticoat Lane market, Wentworth Street, where is Petticoat Lane market
January 11, 2017
Gin o’Clock – Part Twenty
One of the joys of writing about my exploration of the ever burgeoning ginaissance is that it has encouraged others to share their experiences and discoveries with me. Two dear friends, both loyal followers of this blog, both separately visited Belfast, a city I have only been to once, and raved about a local hooch, Jawbox Classic Dry Gin. Had I tried it? No was my response but I will certainly look out for it.
Wandering around the spirits section of Marks & Spencer I spotted it, competitively priced and as I was getting low on gin, I decided to buy a bottle. The gin comes in a rather dumpy, squat bottle with an artificial cork stopper. The labelling has a solid Victorian feel about it with white and gold lettering on a black background. It boasts that it is Ireland’s first single estate gin – it is distilled at Echinville Distillery, the first such to be licensed to distil spirits in Northern Ireland for 130 years. The neck bears the signature of its creator, Gerry White, together with the legend, “harvested, distilled and bottled by hand on one estate”.
If the events of 2016 have told us anything it is that we live in a post-truth world. Looking at the list of eleven botanicals that form the recipe – juniper, coriander, angelica root, orris root, grains of paradise, liquorice roots, cubebs, cardamom, cassia quills, black mountain heather and lemon peel – this can hardly be the case. True enough, the base spirit is made from barley grown on the Echinville estate, as is the water used, but most, if not all of the botanicals, cannot have a local provenance. There is a certain economy with the actualite in the claim, I feel.
The label sheds some light on the gin’s unusual name. The sink in many a Northern Irish household was the focal point of the house, where stories and experiences, gripes and groans were freely exchanged. It was colloquially known as the Jawbox and the gin, so Neill explains, is supposed to be the lubricant to promote conversation in the bar.
So what’s it like? To the nose it has a spicy aroma with a hint of citrus. To the taste it is firmly in the classic gin corner with citrus and spice providing a solid base allowing the juniper to come to the fore and then follows a sweet, slightly oily sensation. The aftertaste is prolonged and pleasant, with juniper in the ascendancy again. At 43% ABV it packs a punch but worked well with a judiciously selected tonic. If you like your classic gins, which I do, you cannot go wrong with this. They just need to get their marketing message straight.
On the same shopping trip to M&S I picked up a bottle of Jensen’s Old Tom Gin which comes in a very elegant, rectangular bottle with frosted glass, a rather trendy and minimalist label, a small gold image of London’s Tower Bridge near where it is distilled and a screwcap. It uses a handwritten recipe dating back to the 1840s and the botanicals used give it its natural sweetness. Unlike many Old Toms available now, there is no added sugar. Jensen’s are coy as to the exact component of their spirit but its aroma contains hints of pepper and citrus. To the taste, liquorice is initially to the fore and the aftertaste is prolonged and slightly bitter but the complexity of the spirit is such that it stands up well to a strong tonic or as the base for a cocktail. This is already a firm favourite and at 43% ABV provides a solid start to an evening’s drinking.
Until the next time, cheers!
Filed under: Gin Tagged: Echinville Distillery, history of Old Tom Gin, Jawbox Classic Dry Gin, Jensen's Old Tom Gin, origin of jawbox, single estate gin
January 10, 2017
Quacks Pretend To Cure Other Men’s Disorders But Rarely Find A Cure For Their Own – Part Forty Eight
The Bloom of Ninon De L’Enclos
In a society where we are too ready to judge a book by its cover the pressure is on the fairer sex to maintain or even improve their appearance by the application of cosmetics. Lamentable a commentary on society as this may be, it was ever thus and the sale of cosmetics was always a tidy earner. And where there is money, there is room for the opportunist.
The first character in our story is the French authoress and courtesan, Anne de l’Enclos (1620 – 1705) who was given the nickname Ninon by her father. A noted wit and beauty Ninon only used one cosmetic which “gave her the hue, the countenance, the vivacity and fire of youth, even at an advanced age”. The recipe for this concoction came into the hands of one Mademoiselle Pigout who introduced it into Blighty in 1781. It took off like wildfire, so much so that “its pre-eminent powers have now in the great and polite circles banished the use of every other composition that is set forth for the same or similar purposes”.
Its powers were truly astonishing. It would “cure effectually wrinkles arising from dissipation or old age, worms in the skin and pimples”. Its powers of invigorating the blood vessels in the skin produced a transparent and blooming effect to the softened tissues. And it was pleasing to the nose. At 4s 6d a bottle it was a tad expensive but, according to an advert from 1784 you might only need two or three bottles. After cleansing the skin with oatmeal or Almond Washball and then drying it thoroughly, you were invited to pour a little of the fluid into a bowl, after shaking it well. Rub in well to the arms and face and, hey presto, it will “evince the pre-eminence of its virtues, beyond the possibility of a doubt”.
So successful was the Bloom that it attracted competitors who punted an inferior product called the Veritable Bloom of the immortal Ninon de l’Enclos. Alarmed by these encroachments on to her profitable turf, Mme Pigout appointed “respectable agents in London to vend” her potion and to defend her patch.
So what was in it and was it any good? Well, according to the Monthly Gazette of Health in 1819 it consisted of white lead, almond emulsion and essence of lavender. White lead had been commonly used in cosmetics from time immemorial, usually mixed with vinegar to form what was known as ceruse. The problem with the regular application of ceruse was that women quickly became “withered and grey-headed, because this doth so mightily dry up the natural moisture of their flesh”.
The Monthly Gazette was even more withering in its condemnation, citing the Bloom as “of all the compositions that have been offered to the public, this is the most dangerous. The repeated application of lead to the skin of the face, instead of animating the countenance, would assuredly, by paralysing the nerves, render it animate. Such are the baneful effects of lead on the constitution, that the most serious consequences have followed even the partial use of a weak preparation”. It reckoned that the “cosmetic” cost a penny to produce, rendering a healthy profit to the manufacturer and purveyors.
Despite this damning report, it still appeared in the House of Commons’ list of taxable medicines in 1830. Whether Ninon, who after all lived to the ripe old age of 84, actually used the stuff, never mind being solely reliant upon it, we can perhaps take with a grain of salt.
Filed under: Culture, History Tagged: ceruse, Mademoiselle Pigout, Ninon de l'Enclos, take with a grain of salt, the Bloom of Ninon, the effect of white lead on the skin, The Monthly Gazette of Health 1819, white lead
January 9, 2017
Everything Is Possible For An Eccentric, Especially When He Is English
Simeon Ellerton (c 1695 – 1799)
To paraphrase Julian Clary, everyone loves an eccentric but no one wants to live next to them. Was Jules Verne right when he averred that it was a quintessentially English trait? I think not and in this series – we may even get to fifty or more as I did with the Clever Bastards – I aim to shine the spotlight on some really eccentric characters whose fame, or perhaps notoriety, has diminished over time.
First up is Simeon Ellerton, whose life straddled both ends of the 18th century. From Craike in what was then the county of Durham but now as Crayke is in North Yorkshire, he shared two modern characteristics – he was a fitness fanatic and a keen recycler or, perhaps more correctly, an upcycler. Simeon enjoyed walking; contemporary records describe him rather quaintly as a “noted pedestrian”. Rather enterprisingly, he made a business out of his hobby, hiring himself out to undertake errands for the local village or for delivering items. Distance seemed no object. He “was often employed by gentlemen in the neighbourhood on commissions to London and other places, which he always executed on foot with fidelity and diligence” – Craike’s very own courier service.
It must be remembered that in those days roads were quite rudimentary, in many places being nothing more than dirt tracks or paths through the countryside made by the tramping feet of through the centuries. Strewn along these paths and tracks would be stones, rocks and boulders. On his travels Simeon would carefully inspect these boulders and when he saw one which met his requirements, he would pick it up and carry it off.
Astonishingly, he would carry the stone on his head. I have always marvelled at the skill required to carry a fully laden basket on your head. I remember sitting next to a woman on the Likoni ferry in Mombasa who had a basket full of produce sitting proudly and securely on her head. In some ways it makes sense because a skilled practitioner has their hands free to cut their way through the undergrowth or do whatever else they need to do with their hands. Studies have shown that you can carry loads of up to 20% of your body weight without expending any extra energy over what they would have incurred walking around without a load.
Simeon collected so many stones this way and returned them to Craike that he had enough, and more, to build himself a small cottage, something which as a poor man he would otherwise have not been able to afford to do. The cottage still exists – a testament to his judgement of stones and the quality of his workmanship – and he lived there until his death on 8th February 1799.
Simeon’s eccentricity knew no bounds. So accustomed was he to walking with a load of stones on his head that when his house had been built it seemed strange to walk around unencumbered. As a contemporary record puts it, “this practice had grown so much into a habit, that he imagined that he could travel the better for having a weight upon his head, and he seldom came home without some loading. If any person enquired his reason, he used facetiously to answer, ‘Tis to keep on my hat”.
It must have done him some good because despite the poor health conditions and almost negligible medical facilities available at the time, our head carrying upcycler lived to the ripe old age of 104.
Filed under: Culture, History Tagged: Crayke, Crike in Durham, Fifty Clever Bastards, great eccentrics, Jules Verne, Julian Clary, Likoni ferry, man carried stones on his head, Simeon Ellerton
January 8, 2017
Crap Christmas Present Of The Week
Last Tuesday was take-back Tuesday. It is the time when the postal services creak at the seams in handling masses of gifts being returned by their ungrateful recipients. Sometimes it is a question of a failure of taste – on the part of the donor but often, I fear, of the recipient – and sometimes it is because the gift is crap.
Take the case of keen surfer, Zack Davis, who received from his mother a shark repelling band called Sharkbanz. It is in a rather funky green colour and is worn on the wrist. It is supposed to emit a magnetic field which disrupts the electro receptors sharks use to navigate.
Doubtless delighted by this thoughtful gift, Zack wore his band when he went surfing at Avalon Beach State Park in Florida. Guess what happened next? He was attacked by a shark suffering bites to the arm which required 44 stitches
Mrs Davis wants her $80 back and a bit of compo for her boy. Not unreasonable in the circumstances.
Unlike the shark, the spokesperson for Sharkbanz has kept their mouth shut.
Filed under: Humour, News Tagged: Avalon Beach State Park, Sharkbanz, surfer attacked while wearing Sharkbanz, Take-back Tuesday, Zach Davis
January 7, 2017
Old Codger Of The Week (6)
I raise my chapeau to 105-year-old Robert Marchand.
At the national velodrome in Saint-Quentin-en-Yveslines near Paris, I learned this week, he established a new record for the furthest cycled in his age group in an hour – 22.547 kilometres. He previously held the record for the furthest cycled by someone over the age of 100, some 26.297 km in 2012.
And Marchand could have gone a bit further, missing a sign telling him that he had just 10 minutes to go. He claimed, presumably in French, that he wasn’t in as good a shape as he was a couple of years ago – I know the feeling – and that his arms hurt, mainly because of rheumatism.
He puts his fitness down to his diet – lots of fruit and vegetables, a morceau of meat and not too much coffee and an hour a day on the cycling home-trainer – almost the polar opposite to me.
Still, he is an example to us all.
Filed under: Humour, News Tagged: 105 year old cyclist sets record, national velodrome in Saint-Quentin-en-Yveslines, Robert Marchand
