Three minutes’ thought

Phrenology diagramSo. One of the offspring is complaining about A-level physics being hard. Which it is. Unsympathetically, I was reminded of A E Housman’s jibe at some nineteenth century classical scholars:

Three minutes’ thought would suffice to find this out, but thought is irksome and three minutes is a long time.

But for all Housman was having a go at someone, there is a truth in there: thought is irksome. Elsewhere in the house someone is struggling at an assignment in their MBA. And I have spent two hours writing poetry and have got maybe twelve lines, at least half of which I will change and the other half I may discard. That was irksome.

I wasted ten minutes on the internet researching bee pollination (researching, that makes it sound impressive: I typed bee pollination into google and got a wikipedia page with a table) because thought is irksome and poetry takes thought.

In fact, thought is so irksome I am going to pot up my tomato seedlings rather than do it any longer.

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The ground’s on fire

Ground on fireSo. Out on the bike this morning, bumping along the south bank of the Tyne near Ryton. And oh my goodness. The ground’s on fire.

That’s not right.

(And in a desperate attempt to forge a literary link, I am reading about Dante, who’s descent into Hell in the Divine Comedy took place on Good Friday: which is today.

Not brilliant, but the best I’ve got.)