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Last week's bread had a mould episode, chiz, so I made a loaf of Dove's Farm Organic Seedhouse Bread Flour, crust sprung a bit while baking, I think due to age of yeast, but otherwise okay.

Friday night supper, penne with sauce of roasted red peppers in brine whizzed in blender + chopped Calabrian salami.

Saturday breakfast rolls: brown grated apple, strong brown flour, maple syrup (also new batch of yeast): v nice.

Today's lunch: tempeh stirfried with sugar snap peas and a sauce of soy sauce, maple syrup, rice wine vinegar, sesame oil, cornflour mixed in water, crushed garlic and minced ginger: am not sure the tempeh was supposed to crumble like that during cooking?? served with sticky rice with lime leaves and chicory quartered, healthygrilled in pumpkinseed oil and splashed with lemon and lime balsamic vinegar.

When I turned on my clock radio - which I do on Saturdays to ensure that the time is co-ordinating with the radio time-signal - Radio 3 was playing the finale to Brahms Violin Concerto.

Joy!

Well, this has been an up and downy year as ever, but I am beginning to poke my nose out of my hole. I am still Doing Stuff, even if various projects seem to have got bogged down (not just on my side ahem ahem).

Anyway, in accordance with tradition, I pass round virtual rich dark gingerbread (and also gluten-free, diabetic-friendly, etc, versions), sanitive madeira (eschewing Duke of Clarence jokes) and other beverages of choice, and lift a glass to dr rdrz.

In case this has passed dr rdrz by, it is now possible for ordinary people to register for access to JSTOR's massive collection of scholarly resources.

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This month's freebie from the University of Chicago Press is Courtenay Raia, The New Prometheans: Faith, Science, and the Supernatural Mind in the Victorian Fin de Siècle on psychical research.

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Okay, I know I was going off at people getting all up in the woowoo about the Pill, but this is a bit grim about Depo-Provera: Pfizer sued in US over contraceptive that women say caused brain tumours. I was raising my eyebrows at this:

Pfizer argues that it tried to have a tumour warning attached to the drug’s label but this was rejected by the US regulator, the Food and Drug Administration (FDA). The company said in its court filings: “This is a clear pre-emption case because FDA expressly barred Pfizer from adding a warning about meningioma risk, which plaintiffs say state law required.”

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And also in the realm of reproductive control: Of embryos and vaccines: If you REALLY want to protect the unborn... on rubella. Abortion historian notes that one reason (apart from thalidomide) for resurgence of abortion activism in UK in early 60s had been a German measles epidemic.... Also recall that my sister - who like me was not of a generation that routinely got this vaccine in childhood - when she fell pregnant with her first getting tested in the antenatal clinic to see if she needed to get the jab stat (in fact, she had high level of antibodies, so maybe we'd all had German measles among all our other many childhood ailments and barely noticed....)

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Something more agreeable: the Royal School of Needlework's Stitch Bank:

RSN Stitch Bank is a free resource designed to preserve the art of hand embroidery through digitally conserving and showcasing the wide variety of the world’s embroidery stitches and the ways in which they have been used in different cultures and times. Now containing over 500 stitches, each stitch entry contains information about its history, use and structure as well as a step-by-step method with photographs, illustrations and video.

Asking good questions is harder than giving great answers: this so resonated with my experience as an archivist: 'often when people ask for help or information, what they ask for isn't what they actually want'.

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Many years ago I used to go to a restaurant- Le Bistingo in South Ken, as I recall - that had a cartoon pinned on the wall depicting a chef bodily ejecting a diner. Waiter to observers: 'He Attempted To Add Salt'. This was rather my reaction to this particularly WTF 'You Be The Judge': Should my partner stop hankering after salt and pepper shakers?

Why do you need salt and pepper on the table, haven't you seasoned the food adequately? (oh, and btw, Gene, as a comment remarks, salt has naturally antiseptic properties*).

*I remember some historical drama of Ye Medeevles on the telly in my youth about dousing somebody's flogged back in salt water (?or rubbing it with salt) to stop it festering.

So yestere'en there was a get-together for the Fellows of the institution I have had the honour to be award a Fellowship of, so I thought I ought to Make The Effort and turn up at least for a little bit.

So I trotted off, and in spite of some hitches with the Tube (several trains going to the wrong branch) got to the right stop, and lo, the Scientologists are still infesting Tottenham Court Road, what is this thing that this thing is?

So I crossed the road, going, surely the traffic flow used to be one-way? Confusing.

And went down a side-street, and came to this lovely and surprising thing, which I am sure wasn't there last time I was in these parts, early in 2020:

Alfred Place Gardens

and was charmed.

Then on to venue, where everything seems same as it ever was.

Hearing aids still not optimum in room full of overlapping conversations: but I did manage to have some fairly coherent conversations, including one with old academic acquaintance who was most gratifyingly complimentary about The Biography, all these years later.

So I think a win, even if I did suppose that this event would also include some admin stuff relating to Fellowship, which it didn't.

What I read

Finished The Literary Life of Rebecca West, felt a bit meh about it.

Also finished The Military Philosophers, which is more of Nick Jenkins being in the backwaters of the War while other people die in theatres of war or he remembers dead people. Isobel (wife) actually got to be on stage and have a few lines.

Then, largely because there had been some discussion on troisoiseaux's DW about his works, picked up Dick Francis, Longshot (1990), as it happened to be in a conveniently accessible spot on my shelves; and then went straight on to Come To Grief (this features Sid Halley, who is I think the nearest Francis came to a series protag) (1995); To the Hilt (1996); and 10lb Penalty (1997), which were adjacent. This kind of back to back read really shows up an author's recurrent tropes (quite apart from the hosses and the hero getting painfully done over), like, the mostly quasi-father-son relationships, the quietly competent women minor characters etc etc. The last of this run was the weakest - it's a bit odd, to say the least, to have a plot which is all about politics and Parliamentary ambitions which is rather, um, coy, about actual political allegiances. Francis is very more-ish, though. Interesting that these do not all of them bring things to a tidy conclusion. (I wonder if this is the sort of thing that disappoints the once-a-year on the beach reader?)

Preordered and turned up yesterday, JA Jance, The Girl from Devil's Lake (Joanna Brady, #21) (2025), which, alas, does one of my least favourite crime novel tropes: serial killer with substantial portions of narrative being in their POV.

On the go

Have just picked up, because I felt like it, okay? Rebecca West, This Real Night (1984)

Up next

No idea.

I do not think these are healthy or useful ways to look at SEX. Notches on the bedpost was bad enough, or how many times per night they could Do It, but really, these are taking the whole thing to new levels.

My boyfriend sees sex as a competition he is losing. How can I change his mind?:

He feels like he doesn’t perform enough (he does) and worries he isn’t big enough (he is!). He grew up without a father – the father’s fault – and I wonder if this has something to do with it. How can I assist him to see sex as non-competitive?:
Response:I assume he doesn’t think he’s losing the competition with you, somehow, but with imagined manly foes, comparisons, symbols of everything he (imagines he) isn’t?

Because of this: Sperm-racing investors blow $10 million on ‘seed round’ for sports venture:

Last weekend, Zhu flew to YouTuber David Dobrik’s slick white Los Angeles mansion, collected the sperm of three influencers, and injected it onto a small race track as a crowd gathered in the living room. The competitors — Harry Jowsey, Jason Nash, and Ilya Fedorovich — watched a video of their swimmers, overlaid with animated tadpoles, zoom to the finish line.

Yeah, well, I'm over here going

a) tortoise and hare, and are those sprinters whooshing right past the ovum in their mad gallop?

b) bit of an assumption that they are actually, you know, viably fertile, which I don't think at all correlates with speed. Motility is one thing, having what it takes to fertilise that ovum is another (and haven't I read something somewhere about It Is The Ovum That Chooses? Heh.)

c) Mary Ellman's image in Thinking About Women: 'the activity of ova involves a daring and independence absent, in fact, from the activity of spermatozoa, which move in jostling masses, swarming out on signal like a crowd of commuters from the 5:15.

Last week's bread did some spectacular mould action, bah, so I made the light rye loaf from Elizabeth David's English Bread and Yeast Cookery, discovering as I weighed out the ingredients that I had rather less strong white flour than I thought and had to make up the requisite proportion with white spelt. Turned out v nice, though.

No Saturday breakfast rolls because of rushing off to conference.

Today's lunch: pork spare ribs, which I rubbed with a mix of maple sugar, hot and sweet smoked paprikas, black pepper, garlic salt, and salt, and left overnight, then wrapped in foil and cooked for 3 hours in a very low oven, then basted with what was more of a barbecue sauce than a glaze of a small tin of chopped tomatoes + apple vinegar + dashes of tabasco and worcester sauce, simmered together, and cooked at a slightly higher temperature for 45 or so minutes - v tasty if a little dry - possibly did not need quite so long at that final stage; served with tenderstem broccoli and okra simmered for 45+ minutes in coconut milk with ginger paste and fresh coriander (possibly a little overdone?); baked San Marzano tomatoes; and cornbread (plain white flour + baking powder, half and half with mixture of fine/coarse cornmeal).

Today was the day of the conference at which I had been invited, at rather short notice, to give a keynote.

Not only did I have to get up EARLY especially for a Saturday, I had a rotten night because the lower back decided to kick off and even when it had calmed down a bit it took ages to get back to sleep.

And then as I was doing my final preparations I discovered the battery in one of my hearing aids was flat, which was a bit irksome, because I had been expecting all week for it to do the warning bonging, like the other one did, and had to replace that.

So anyway, I got out, and found that the place I was aiming at was not quite so far distant from the Underground station as had been indicated, and also, even though I was late, so was the start.

Rather few actual in-person attendees - I'm not sure how many there were on the Zoom.

Crisis! there was supposed to be a delivery of sandwiches at lunchtime which Did Not Arrive so we all went out to forage (these later turned up some hours later, what is the point).

So, I think my paper went over okay, and there were some questions, even if some of them got rather off-topic onto more general questions about archives.

Some of the papers were moderately interesting, some of them were a bit hard to hear, and I picked up at least one useful reference (possibly) for one of my own projects.

Met one old academic acquaintance from way back, and a couple of interesting Younger Scholars.

Had already decided that I was not up for going on to meal in restaurant, so came home to flop.

And I wonder whether small or even large earthquakes have been noticed in the vicinity of Fishkill.

‘Who Am I Without Birth Control?’:

Ms. Hamrick, who was 26 at the time, felt normal. No unusual weight gain, no mood swings. But a couple of questions had wormed their way into her mind and lodged themselves there: Who am I without birth control? Will I feel some sort of difference coming off it? Ms. Hamrick had started taking birth control pills a decade earlier, when she was 15. Now, as she browsed her social media feeds, she kept stumbling on videos of women saying how much better they felt when they stopped taking the pills, content she wasn’t seeking out. The posts typically went like this: a glowing blonde in a workout top — the picture of health! — saying that she had stopped taking birth control pills and immediately felt more clarity of mind. Like an emotional fog had lifted, like she was a brand-new, much happier person. Ms. Hamrick’s doctor was clear with her. If she wasn’t experiencing any side effects, there was no reason to stop taking birth control. Ms. Hamrick wasn’t so sure. The more videos about the pill she watched, the more skeptical she became, and the more she felt drawn toward experimenting. She was, after all, in a moment of change. She had moved, on a whim, from Indiana to Texas. Soon after settling near Houston she met a guy and they started dating, then looking at engagement rings.
Just over a year since Ms. Hamrick decided to stop taking the pills, she has figured out who she is without birth control: She is a mother. Her baby is four months old.

Okay, my own history with the Pill was not wonderful, but I do wonder if the doc I saw at the Migraine Clinic was just a bit too invested in biochemical explanations (in particular, I discovered later that she got very into The Awful Effects of the Pill over a range of factors) rather than, um, things going on more generally in my life. Because going off the Pill may have brought about some temporary alleviation (don't honestly remember) but not much, really.

Anyway, it is probably a bit of an exaggeration to say, this is like going off the TB drugs to experience the full Consumptive Experience (and I have no doubt that there are people around in thrall to the Myth, and it is a myth, of Syphilitic Geeenyus: Sid is falling about larfing liek drayne). But honestly. 'Pure' 'Natural' I spit on that.

On 'pure', I like this on the 'pure bloodlines' mythos Alot: Claims of pure bloodlines? Ancestral homelands? DNA science says no.

And on The Miracles of Modern Science: Huntington’s disease treated successfully for first time in UK gene therapy trial:

The disease, caused by a single gene defect, steadily kills brain cells leading to dementia, paralysis and ultimately death. Those who have a parent with Huntington’s have a 50% chance of developing the disease, which until now has been incurable.
The gene therapy slowed the progress of the disease by 75% in patients after three years.

[H]omegrown remedies from locally gathered plants – defined here as ‘local herbalism’ – were still being used to address both simple and complex healthcare needs.

What I read

Finished The Return of the Soldier.

Started Carl Rollyson, The Literary Legacy of Rebecca West (1997) and decided that I was possibly a little burnt-out on his Rebecca-stanning and took a break.

Moved on to Upton Sinclair, Presidential Mission (Lanny Budd #8) (1947), which occupied most of the week's reading.

On the go

Picked up the Rollyson again.

Have embarked on Anthony Powell, The Military Philosophers (A Dance to the Music of Time #9) (1968).

Up next

No idea.