Saturday, May 06, 2006

celerius quam asparagi cocuntur

According to Wiki: List of Latin phrases (C): more or as quickly than asparagus is cooked. It seemed just the right heading for what I was going to write. Though I am am now, two days later, adding more to the brief post which rather puts the kaibosh on the title.

I had intended to leave it without translation, relying on you, my reader, to Google it if you didn't have the Latin. As you will no doubt be well aware, I haven't the Latin either. Don't feel inadequate, I don't.

When I tested the search for a translation today, it actually sent me to (P) where I, we, learn via the good services of Windows XP's FIND, there is another variant:
velocius quam asparagi coquantur. I'll leave it to you to check out the distinction and to read up on the histico-literary interest. That's the beauty of hypertext: It allows the writer to be more concise. The downside is whether the reader will return from the divertismente!


Another obit.

The question? How do you devise a test to show whether someone is a writer or just simulating? I argue along these lines, and that I am a writer (oh, what you write buddy? Most people who are not writers themselves are reluctant to accept that you might be: they assume your are playing the part of one, rather in the same sceptical vein adopted with someone who claims to be very rich.

I picked up an old newspaper from behind me to find an obituary of a certain Peggy Appiah: 'daughter of Stafford Cripps who married an African and settled in Ghana'. The Daily Telegraph: Friday February 24, 2006.

But, you ask, where is the writery bit? The photograph of Peggy with her husband Joe: she is sitting with her right hand on her crossed legs, a slightly awkward in the ergodynamics. Her left hand is placed on her inner elbow with the forefinger fully extended. Joe's hand is holding this forefinger with his right hand, his hand hidden under hers, the thumbnail of his finger facing the photographer. His left arm is around Peggy's neck in an almost rugby tackle hold the hand losely curled into a fist over her left breast. They are both smiling.

If you are a writer (or a painter, or a photographer) you will have noticed the black thumb before anything else: beautifully holding the long white finger. You will have been satisfied you could incorporate this into something you have already started, or started thinking about a new, short story of love and maybe power.


Oh, alright then here it is : Suetonius: The Lives of the Twelve Caesars (Latin and English)


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