Friday, 31 August 2018

Still more slacking

The two trolleys noticed the other day have vanished. But the place at which I captured trolley 159 is now taken by another trolley, perhaps one of the original two. The wheel lock is deployed, so quite possible.

And the length of something metallic has been pulled out of the bush where I had left it.

And we have what looks like the wreck of a two wheeled vehicle, species unknown.

The wheel lock deterred capture: wheeling such a trolley the length of Kiln Lane is one thing, wheeling it from Longmead Road, via home for a wash and brush and then back to Kiln Lane is too tall an order. A wheelbarrow would be possible but conspicuous - but maybe if I had some kind of two wheeled contraption I could use to get the front wheels off the ground?

Serious thought required.

PS: I should add that trolley 159 was returned to Kiln Lane yesterday, nearly as good as new. I rewarded myself with 500ml of Calvados from Val d'Auge, the only sort they do: 'Sainsbury's Calvados Pays d'Auge XO 12 yrs, Taste the Difference 50cl'. Curiously, if I ask Bing for 'sainsburys calvados', hit one was a message from Sainsbury's suggesting that I do something with my Java setup and all the other hits were from other outfits, either suggesting that I go to Sainsbury's or offering a rival product. I was reduced to going into their website by hand. Without checking, I think Waitrose and M&S manage these things rather better.

Group search key: skc.

More slacking

The elusive Mr. Draper got a bit nearer home this morning. Is he looking for the missing trolley?

More likely that he is cleaning out the stream that runs along the bottom of the gardens of the houses across the road from us. One is apt to forget that it connects up with the stream which runs down Longmead Road, and that this last connects up with the Hogsmill which comes out (with fish) by the police station at Kingston (upon Thames). Would the world of streams have been more joined up before the carpet of houses rolled over this part of Surrey?

By a quirk of image processing, with zoom, I can work out that Mr. Draper does fisheries management and something. Rivers and streams. Lakes and ponds. But I cannot work out what the something is, with some letters being much more damaged by the many layers of processing than others. Maybe something ending with 'ing'. Maybe I could guess if I knew more about fish.

Group search key: skc.

Cryptogram

Some interesting snippets from the current Maigret, 'Maigret se défend'.

First we have gales. Properly a parasitic infection of the skin of animals or of the leaves of plants, familiarly a person of bad character, about whom there is unpleasant gossip. In this case, a nurse of unfortunate appearance. But the infections might be caused by cryptogames, which are not crosswords, as at first might appear, but a sort of plant with obscure reproductive arrangements, not involving things like flowers or fir cones. Algae, mushrooms and ferns. Games from gametes rather than from grams, a suffix usually meaning something written.

Appropriately, off to the French book of life, noticed at reference 2, to find out whether this is a proper term of taxonomy. I think the answer is no, with cryptogames spreading themselves about a bit, spanning several not very closely related clades (if that is the right bit of jargon). I do find cryptophytes but they are not quite the same thing - and I am not even sure if they are cryptogames at all.

Lastly we have the doctors who don't like the state to meddle in medical affairs. With this particular one being called a 'protestataire … forcené'. With the forcené bit approximating to enraged, out of control. I associate to the many medical people who were vehemently opposed to the invention of the National Health Service, back in 1948, the year before my birth. A not very creditable episode in the profession which is perhaps best forgotten.

Reference 1: Maigret se défend - Simenon - 1964. Volume XXIII of the collected works. Also the subject of a television adaptation with Mr. Gambon in the starring role. Compare and contrast to follow.

Reference 2: https://psmv3.blogspot.com/2016/02/tree-of-life.html. A post from very early in the life of this volume of this blog.

Thursday, 30 August 2018

Premier league

I might be into white wine from places to the north and east of France, but I think this one at £150 or so for a half bottle is a bit out of our league, even for pudding rather than the session. And being sweet with just 7.5% active ingredients, might not be quite the thing for session anyway. Maybe just the odd egg cup full with the steamed jam pudding.

A quick peek at the Internet suggests I can pay even more for other wines from the same place as this one. The place itself, as opposed to wine merchants selling its stuff, is at reference 1 and attracts a glowing reference from reference 2.

In West Coast speak: 'Some great wines obscure their own greatness, and seemingly get noticed out of the corner of your eye, and then only if you're only paying close attention. Some great wines sidle up next to you, inclining their heads as if to say, "Hey there, good lookin'." And then there are the great wines that blow through the doors of the restaurant and knock you speechless on your ass. Welcome to Weingut Dönhoff, unquestionably home to some of the world's greatest Rieslings. Weingut Dönhoff sits unassumingly on the green banks of the placid and pastoral Nahe river, nestled in the little hamlet of Oberhausen. Its proprietor, Helmut Dönnhoff ...'. Hmmm.

Reference 1: https://www.doennhoff.com/#!/de.

Reference 2: http://www.vinography.com/.

Side effects

I think the fourth pill, taken up with fanfare at reference 1, may be having some side effects after all.

Up bright and early to make the 482nd batch of bread, I got the apron on before I realised that I did not have enough white flour of the right sort. Hitherto I had always kept a close enough eye on flour stocks and this is the very first time that such a thing has happened. Maybe the brain had been confused by the presence of the stuff from the windmill, noticed at reference 2. Plenty of wholemeal flour of the right sort, but bread made with a lot of it is pretty grim: don't want to go much over 25% if you actually want to eat the resultant bread.

So there were three options. Make up the weight of white flour with some of the wrong stuff from BH's stash (immediate). Buy some bread flour from Costcutter (0800 start, 1,000 yards away). Buy the right stuff from Waitrose (0800 start, 2,000 yards away). I settled for the latter option, turning up outside Waitrose at 0755, to join a small queue there. Maybe a dozen of us by 0803 when the shutter went up, quite a cross section for such a small sample. Young, old, men and women. The older chap next to me explained that there was a select group of regulars, there every weekday morning at opening time. He was first off the blocks, ducking under the shutter before it was quite fully up.

Manged to score three bags of flour on the self checkout, rather than the two which I actually had, but the helpful lady next to me knew how to cancel an item, so I have learned something.

Ashley Centre shops mostly shut, but the fruit and veg. stall on the market place outside was fully deployed, waiting for customers.

Temple Road dug up again, this time for gas works. Seems no time at all since it was last being dug up, more or less at the same place. Must be a pain when rush hour gets going, which it had not when I went through.

Back home by 0815 and the dough was in the airing cupboard for its first rise by 0835, only half an hour late.

Reference 1: https://psmv3.blogspot.com/2018/06/big-day.html.

Reference 2: https://psmv3.blogspot.com/2018/08/oldland.html.

Wednesday, 29 August 2018

Here, yet not here

John Bradley
The latest DANA newsletter (reference 3) included an interesting article about PTSD, built around the work and experience of a one-time US army medical colonel - experience which includes a tour in Iraq and a father who did two tours in Vietnam.

PTSD - post traumatic stress disorder - with soldiers being the people far and away most likely to get it - is now recognised as a proper illness by its inclusion in that Bible of psychiatric diagnosis, DSM-III, back in the 1980's. See reference 4.

It seems that this illness accounts more than half of the spend of the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs on health, that National Health sized health operation in the country where most of the leaders think that national health is something that commies do. All very odd. See reference 5.

That maybe as many as a fifth of those returning from deployments to war zones will have or will develop PTSD.

That there have been reports of PTSD-like complaints from ancient Sumer and ancient India, some 5,000 years ago. Much more recent reports from the Thirty Years War in Europe and the Civil War in the U.S.. Not to mention those from the two world wars and beyond. While I have often thought that veterans of the Battle of Waterloo probably got their fair share. And what about the brutal and sanguinary battles of the Roman era?

That PTSD is not just the result of being in combat; being witness to the violence and brutality incidental to battle proper can be enough. The witness cannot cope with the disconnect with what he learned at home at his mother's knee and what he is seeing abroad.

I also learn that VA is building a million person database containing all kinds of stuff, including blood and DNA samples. A database which will be a research resource for a long time to come.

PS: there were a couple of other articles which caught my eye. One about a large meta-study of genetic factors underlying psychiatric and neurological disorders. Another million person database. Reference 7. Another article about how some emotions or feelings appear to be derivatives of the motor system - with the evidence being their link to whether one is right or left handed or not. Left or right hemisphere. Reference 8.

Reference 1: Here, Yet Not Here: When traumatic events etch themselves in the brain, behavior, well-being, and even the perception of reality can become altered, disrupting daily life - Kevin Jiang - 2018.

Reference 2: http://magazine.hms.harvard.edu/cost-conflict/here-yet-not-here. A source for reference 1.

Reference 3: Brain in the News - DANA Foundation - July/August 2018.

Reference 4: http://psmv2.blogspot.com/2013/06/dsm-5.html.

Reference 5: https://va.gov/.

Reference 6: https://www.blogs.va.gov/VAntage/36327/million-veteran-program-aims-revolutionize-genomic-research-help-veterans/. 'Well over 550,000 Veterans have enrolled in MVP as of early spring 2017. It is now the world’s largest genomic database tied to a health care system. VA predicts that a million Veterans will be enrolled by 2020. Volunteers give blood samples, which are stored at the Massachusetts Veterans Epidemiology Research and Information Center in Boston'. I think it says somewhere else that they have already hit this target.

Reference 7: Analysis of shared heritability in common disorders of the brain - The Brainstorm Consortium, Verneri Anttila, Brendan Bulik-Sullivan, Hilary K. Finucane, Raymond K. Walter and others – 2018.

Reference 8: Approach motivation in human cerebral cortex - Geoffrey Brookshire, Daniel Casasanto – 2018.

Trolley 159

Then I came across this one, a bit further down, and remarks about work in progress in the last post notwithstanding, I captured it, dumping the two bits of metallic debris in the bushes, where they will be harmless enough.

Remarks notwithstanding, as I think conspicuous return of trolley is making a useful statement to the world at large about litter picking, community action and so forth. Discrete collection by the management team not the same at all.

Now on the back patio, awaiting scrubbing brush action, against return to Kiln Lane tomorrow.

Reference 1: https://psmv3.blogspot.com/2018/08/trolley-158.html.

Group search key: skc.

Slacking

The people from Draper Management were out working on the stream down Longmead Road again this morning and there was a bicycle, clearly recovered from the stream, in the back of their pickup. The chap I spoke to was clearly a bit disgusted with the behaviour of average humans; 'worse than animals' he said.

A bit further down was this trolley stack, also clearly recovered from the stream. I thought about taking one of them, but the security lock on the small one on top had been deployed, making it a bit of  a pain to move any distance, and the large one was a bit of a pain to move anyway. Plus, I thought after the event, one lot was probably pulling stuff out of the stream while another lot drive about picking it up. Do not interfere with work in progress.

But I did think that I must have been slacking. I had been wondering about how long it was since I pulled a trolley, particularly since the school holidays might be thought a good time for trolley recovery business, but had quite failed to notice either of these two in the stream.

PS: I still can't find a clear trace of the Draper Fisheries Management people on the Internet. But there is a Kelsey Draper, a co-author of the fishery paper at reference 2. Maybe the same people? But digging a bit further into the twenty or thirty Kelsey Drapers that Bing seems to know about, I light on the one at reference 3, a Colorado girl who lives in Brooklyn, so maybe not. But there are some impressive pictures of chicken farms to be found at reference 4.

Reference 1: https://psmv3.blogspot.com/2018/01/longmead-river.html.

Reference 2: http://www.fao.org/fishery/docs/DOCUMENT/eaf_nansen/Reports/EAF-NansenReportNo25_en.pdf. Strengthening the human dimension of an ecosystem approach to fisheries management in the BCC region. And just in case you didn't know BCC =  Benguela Current Commission.

Reference 3: http://bds.org/staff/draper-kelsey/.

Reference 4: http://www.drapervent.com/.

Group search key: skc.

Wisley nine

Last week to Wisley, the first time, it seems for nine months. Clearly time to review our portfolio of heritage memberships.

We are still in the summer holidays, so there were plenty of Mums with young children. There was also a lot of sculpture planted around the gardens, which I found rather trying. Not very good, rather expensive and far too much of it. A reminder, if we needed one, of the fact that Wisley have climbed onto the treadmill of everlasting expansion. From which I associated to a story about how farmers can fall prey to a similar disease, pouring ever increasing amounts of chemicals into their operations, a pouring which requires them to sell more and more stuff - to supermarkets which drive a hard bargain and who can dump one on the toss of an inebriated buyer's coin.

Main building
A snap of the old building, not so very different from that at Standen, albeit built for a gardening charity rather than a railway solicitor. Lots of new sheds going up, more tasteful than those a supermarket might put up, but no signs of solar panels which I thought odd. I would have thought a garden place would have been into saving the planet. That said, the new roof tiles did look a bit odd, so maybe something is going on.

The good news was that despite the recent hear, their flowers were in fine form.

Cosmos
Quite near to the main entrance we came across a handsome new covered walkway (I feel sure that there is a word for such a thing but cannot put my tongue on it), made out of what like substantial and expensive curved steel sections, parts of some of which can be seen in the snap above. Not laburnums but the same sort of idea as the laburnum arch at Hampton Court. And the flowers at the bottom were rather handsome too, known to BH but not to me as Cosmos. Now forgotten again, but Google image search, in the odd second or so, tells me that it is indeed Cosmos, more particularly 'Cosmos bipinnatus, commonly called the garden cosmos or Mexican aster'.

Dahlias
Part of the very flashy display of dahlias.

Grass
One suspects that it takes more than TLC to have their grass looking like this. Our back lawn went completely pale brown, and while there are now some green shoots of recovery (to coin a phrase), it is still nothing like this.

Dry country plants
Big hot house in fine form and I always enjoy the dry country section, although sorry on this occasion to miss the big aloes, which seem to have gone missing. Sub tropical outdoor garden in fine form. In fact, lots of good stuff everywhere, sculpture permitting.

Lunch in the main canteen, where we were entertained rather than annoyed by the large numbers of well behaved children. I had a half chicken, about the same price, but not as good as the demi poussin offered by Café Rouge on the occasion noticed at reference 3. Not cooked enough for my taste. On the other hand the potatoes were fine and I was pleased to get a portion of green kale - a genuine, boiled green vegetable. An endangered species, despite the wave of casual eateries, graduates and celebrities of food. BH was happy with her fish.

Lily pond
The big lily pond, snapped on our way out, having passed on this occasion on the second hand books (from their continuing clear-out of their fine library) but not on the shop proper.

Reference 1: https://psmv3.blogspot.com/2017/11/returns.html.

Reference 2: https://psmv3.blogspot.com/2018/08/standen.html.

Reference 3: https://psmv3.blogspot.com/2018/08/puligny-montrachet-off.html.

Tuesday, 28 August 2018

Old sevens

At some point yesterday I wanted to know what was meant by chunks of memory and was directed, via Wikipedia, to reference 1. One of those rare days when one reads something which is seriously old with serious profit. I believe the paper is something of a classic and so I share a few snippets.

First, we have another magic seven, something which I comment on from time to time. See for example, reference 3. While Miller ends with 'the seven wonders of the world, the seven seas, the seven deadly sins, the seven daughters of Atlas in the Pleiades, the seven ages of man, the seven levels of hell, the seven primary colours, the seven notes of the musical scale, and the seven days of the week'.

But the magic sevens with which Miller is more concerned are our difficulty in classifying one dimensional variables like length or pitch to more than seven bins and our difficulty in holding more than seven things in short term memory. Maybe he overdoes things a bit, despite allowing the phenomenon of perfect pitch (which involves more than fifty bins) and at reference 2 it is shown than one can get a lot better at the first task with training, but the basic point being made is solid enough.

I associate to my days of doing slump tests on wet concrete, when, after a bit of practise, I used to claim that I could measure the slump by eye to within a quarter of an inch - with slumps typically going from nothing up to a couple of inches. Which is eight bins, one more than the magic seven.

Miller goes on to speculate why it is that we can only do seven bins, while we can remember lots of faces and lots of words. The fact that these things have lots of dimensions, rather than just the one, is clearly part of the mix here. To speculate a little about the role that naming things might play. To introduce the bit of jargon 'recoding' in this connection - a timely reminder of the link between signal processing and what the brain gets up to when it processes, for example, signals from the retina.

He introduces the concept of 'chunks' in the context of Morse code. Chunking the raw signals up into groups of dots and dashes makes it a lot easier to remember a sequence of said dots and dashes and Morse code operators fairly quickly stop thinking or working in terms of individual dots and dashes.

I associate to the bit in Koestler's 'Darkness at Noon', where the novice prisoner, the main character of the story, has to learn the tapping code used by prisoners to communicate between cells, and rapidly graduates from thinking in terms of the basic tapping codes to thinking in terms of words, albeit being spoken rather slowly. A story which predates Miller's paper by fifteen years or so.

The paper has a rather old-fashioned tone. Miller writes in clear and attractive English. He shows courtesy to colleagues. The diagrams and statistics are kept under control. All qualities which are missing from much of what is written by his successors today.

Reference 1: The Magical Number Seven, Plus or Minus Two: Some Limits on Our Capacity for Processing Information - George A. Miller – 1955.

Reference 2: Learning in a unidimensional absolute identification task - Jeffrey N. Rouder, Richard D. Morey, Nelson Cowan, and Monique Pfaltz - 2004.

Reference 3: https://psmv2.blogspot.com/2015/08/7-up.html.

Floral three

A billboard at the junction of Hook Road and East Street, currently partially blocked for gas works. Several weeks of it now.

But the point of interest is the bits on the peas. My efforts at growing peas were usually marred by infestation by small caterpillars and I never got around to finding out what to do about them - which has left me quite sensitive to foreign bodies on my peas. But these foreign bodies, on closer inspection, appear to be bits of leaf, probably intended to add a bit of orgo authenticity - except that they don't look like pea leaf to me, as pea leaf is not crinkly. They look more like some kind of juvenile lettuce to me.

Floral two

I didn't use to care for roses this colour, but I have grown to like this one. Facing south, on the northern boundary, just west of the garage. Reliable flowerer.

Which is more than can be said for Cortana which has done something rather odd with it, making it look as if it is made of some kind of cunning, shiny plastic. Maybe it was the wrong sort of sun.

Floral one

Some of the usually autumn flowering dwarf cyclamen at the bottom of the garden. Most of the clump in the foreground is one large corm, maybe nine inches across last time I looked.

Monday, 27 August 2018

Standen

We wound up our visit to Gill & Arts & Crafts by a visit to Standen, a house built at the end of the nineteenth century by a tasteful solicitor who had made his money by being a solicitor involved with railways. Altogether a fitting tribute to our current attention to the Forsyte Chronicles, one of the heroes of which, Soames Forsyte, was a gentleman of the same sort, a gentleman who also used an expensive architect to build an expensive house on the outskirts of London. Perhaps the next adaptation of the Chronicles could be filmed here - and I am sure the National Trust would be happy to come to a suitable arrangement for the sharing of the spoils. I was also amused that this solicitor looked, to me at least, rather like the ITV version of Soames, one Damien Lewis.

We were directed to the car park below the house and climbed back up through a bit of kitchen garden which included plenty of pumpkins and plenty of rhubarb. Worked our way, past the shop and other facilities, round to the front door.

General view of house
We were first off the blocks at opening time and the entrance trusty was not to be denied her moment. So we stayed with her for an introduction to the place, notable among stately homes with which I am familiar for its ample provision of chairs which you were actually allowed to sit in, some in the handsome conservatory behind the bushes to the left of the snap above.

A modern house, which included proper plumbing, central heating and electricity, together with a wealth of arts and crafts - although no Eric Gill wood engravings that I could see, proper or improper. But this was made up for by lots of Morris or Morris inspired wallpaper.

Quite a lot of food on display. The fruit scones looked real enough and we were told that they were indeed real, embalmed with something or other, possible the same stuff used by undertakers.

The piano
The piano was a reminder of the days when not all decent pianos came from Steinways. Of those not so far off days when most middle class homes included one.

The scales
While the scales, which we were asked not to use, were a reminder that good scales did and do come from Avery.

Cabinet making
The obscure shot of furniture above is intended to illustrate the craft side of things. Much visible jointing in what looks like solid oak. Quite possibly English oak. A good piece of work, much better than I could ever manage. I think the dark thing, top right, is the base of a pair of scales intended for the weighing of letters. A companion piece to the piano.

The banisters to the main staircase in the main stairwell were rather good too. I especially liked the wide balustrades, maybe a foot wide, handy for leaning over, putting cups of tea on and so forth. According to the guide book, a throw back to the fashion of some earlier era.

Medlars
I believe medlars were once common, but I have never fancied them, with the idea being to use them after they have gone off. Much more tempted by an apple tree, well laden with fruit which was probably going to fall to waste. I tried to pick one, managing to drop two of the three that I tried.

Whole apple?
A snack lunch in the tastefully converted barn, possibly tastefully rebuilt barn, as a lot of the timbers looked fairly new. Sandwich not bad, but suffered from the usual problem of fresh but otherwise inadequate bread and rather too much filling. Both the National Trust and the Great British Public appear to measure the quality of a sandwich by the volume of mayonnaise which can be coaxed into it, rather like those wholesale butchers who measure the quality of a sausage or a frozen chicken by the volume of water which can be coaxed into them.

And so back to Epsom, for a spot of proper food after 36 hours away. At some point we managed to get the 'Guardian' which the otherwise excellent Crown Plaza had failed to deliver for us, not that there was much in it, it being the silly season.

At some later point we tried the apples. The two small ones, which had been dropped, were badly bruised and so not up to much. The large one which had looked entire, turned out to have been invaded by some busy bug and even the parts which still looked OK were not up to much either. All very disappointing. A hint of the trouble to come can be seen to the left of the stalk in the snap above.

Helen Beale, centre
PS: a daughter of the house, Helen, went on to become a very important Wren, being with them more or less from their inception, towards the end of the First World War. Unmarried, she was the last of the Standen Beales, leaving the house to the National Trust in 1972.

Reference 1: http://tweedlandthegentlemansclub.blogspot.com/. A curious place, but one to which I owe the first snap above.

Reference 2: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mespilus_germanica. Medlars.

Reference 3: https://psmv3.blogspot.com/2018/08/move-over-maigret.html. Forsytes. One of various posts which takes them in.

Group search key: erc.

Manasori Idesawa

I offer now another image from Chater of reference 2, this one from one Masanori Idesawa, clearly a more reticent chap than Chater as all that I can find out about him is that he probably works at reference 1.

An image which I found even more striking than that at reference 2, an image which seems to have a life out of all proportion to its simplicity. If one looks carefully, one even seems to see the boundary of the white billiard ball, even where it is not being supported by the spikes. Right we have just the spikes, rearranged, ball vanished. A ball which was a product of our unconscious processing, the brain's best guess at what is going on out there.

From where I move onto a thought experiment. On the assumption that one finds some way to suspend the spikes in space, could one create the same illusion using real spikes, in three dimensions?

First attempt, the spikes are bits of black card, arranged in space in the right positions, perhaps against a white background with us looking at them from three or four feet away. I imagine that one's reaction would be to move one's head around a bit, with quite small movements revealing the cards. Would there have been a transient illusion of ball?

Second attempt, the spikes are actual black spikes, arranged in space in the right positions. But while the ones in front could be spikes entire, the ones at the back would have to had their bases cut off in the right way to emulate the occlusion of the white ball which is not actually there. Or perhaps, even, occlusion of spike against spike. Such an arrangement might stand up to very small head movements, but as the movements got larger one would see that the occlusion of the spikes at the back was not changing in the way that it should. But again, would there have been a transient illusion of ball?

What if one got really clever and got the shape of the spikes to change with movements of the head and eyes? Not too difficult these days to get a computer to track your movements and compute what the spikes should look like. Not so clear that we can manage dynamic spikes, talking to the computer over the wifi.

Maybe we should start with a two dimensional image on a computer screen and get that image to change as we changed to position of our head, as if it were real?

Do I see a project for a bright young thing from our university of creation coming on? Some of these arty types are quite interested in visual illusions and it would be interesting to see what could be done.

Reference 1: https://www.uec.ac.jp/eng/.

Reference 2: http://psmv3.blogspot.com/2018/08/the-myth-of-unconscious.html.

Reference 3: https://www.uca.ac.uk/.

Sunday, 26 August 2018

OED

At the beginning of reference 1, I used the phrase 'illusions, not to say delusions' without much thought, beyond that the doubling up sounded well. This morning I woke to a concern that I was not very clear about the difference between the two words, so the second job after making the tea was to visit OED in the extension bookcase.

It turns out that both words are old, dating in English from the 13th century, and both are derived from the Latin 'ludere', to play.

The word before illusion is the hyphenated ill-use, but that seems to be a coincidence, with there being no link at the time the words emerged, although there might be a touch of conflation now.

Illusion is a noun, earning itself just about a column, and derived from the obsolete verb illude, to mock, deride, trick, deceive. Often used in the passive form 'I was illuded about something by something or someone'. Also to evade or elude. This last a corrupted derivation from exclude and include?

With illusion being the result of the illuding. But quite quickly the use slips away from its verbal origins and stands alone, with an illusion being something which deceives or deludes, which appears to be something which it is not. We lose the active agent.

In the case of delusion, the neighbouring irrelevant word is deluge, with delumbate (to lame by bashing the loin) and delungdung (an animal of Java) in between.

Otherwise rather like delusion, but with the difference that the original verb delude is still with us. An illusion just is, whereas a delusion usually involves an agent, someone who want to delude or otherwise cheat us. And with the option that, in the case of mental illness or instability, the verb can be used reflexively, that agent might be oneself. One might delude oneself for one reason or another.

So I think both the meaning of the two words and their order at reference 1 is reasonable. Dulude amplifies illude in a reasonable way.

And I dare say a linguist or a linguistician might be able to dilate at greater length on the use of 'i' flavoured prefixes and 'd' flavoured prefixes on words of Latin origin.

PS: quite wrong regarding elude and exclude. Elude and elusion is just another pair of words on the same lines as illude and illusion, from the Latin ludere. While exclude and include are from the Latin 'claudere', to shut, shut up or shut in. As with a door.

Reference 1: http://psmv3.blogspot.com/2018/08/the-myth-of-unconscious.html.

Begonias

BH has a basket of rather gaudy begonias growing outside out back door, brightening up that side of the house. This one fell off in the course of today's rain.

Took a couple of snaps without flash, and since it was rather dark, rather more with, with the best results left and right respectively.

Odd how the flash brought out a bit more detail but quite spoiled the colour and quite destroyed the dragon which seems to be peering out of the middle of the flower. No doubt a photographer would be able to give me chapter and verse.

The land of the thetans

Woke up in the Crowne Plaza at Felbridge last week to a fine buffet breakfast. Not only did they have quite decent bacon, they also had supplies of quite decent bread. Quite probably the sort of half cooked baguettes you buy in frozen, but they cooked up pretty well, and broken into appropriately small pieces did pretty well for bacon sandwiches. Streets ahead of any hotel bread I have had for a long time.

Into the car and retraced our steps south, back to Ron's place. Ron Hubbard that is, the writer of science fiction who went onto to be a missionary for all the thetans floating around the universe, hopping from galaxy to galaxy, from planet to planet as the solar winds and gravitational waves carry them. I believe that if you join the his church, the Official Church of Scientology, you can aspire to become a thetan yourself.

Captain Ron
We overshot slightly, finding ourselves outside the old main entrance to Saint Hill Manor, a serious bit of heritage, once owned by a Maharajah, now owned by the Official Church. Retraced our steps to the new main entrance, the one with a car park, to be accosted by a pleasant lady security guard who said it was OK to park up and take a look around and who then raised the gate for us. We learned that both she and her mother were members, so the Official Church is sufficiently thriving and on the ball to staff up the peripheries with its own people, rather than taking a chance with locals. The sort of things that Embassies in places unruly or otherwise hostile try to do but usually fail. Can't get home grown menials out there for the money on offer.

New castle from car park
From the car park, having admired the new castle, we looped around towards the old castle.

Cedar one
We came across a very large and handsome cedar tree, unfortunately of a shape and position that I quite failed to get a decent snap. But the old castle can be glimpsed through the lower branches.

Cedar two
The same cedar from the other side.

Sign
A interesting sign concerning the older buildings which provide something of a bridge between the old castle and the new castle. Planetary dissemination? What about galactic dissemination?

Then back up the hill to the new castle, presumably some sort of European training centre, to be greeted by a statue of Captain Ron, as illustrated above, in his younger days, modelling a thetan. Various people wandering about clutching loads of papers and binders. Quite a few people smoking and one older chap actually preparing a roll-up cigarette. Perhaps the sort of people that go in for this sort of thing are the same sort of people who go in for substances. With Ron's rule maybe being that tobacco is OK but anything else is not. We did not come across any tinnies in the well kept bushes.

Green flower
A strange green flower in the sub-tropical part of the garden, on our way back to the car park from the old castle. We had decided against taking tea or coffee with them, although I believe that was an option. I was a bit nervous about being made to pay by being taken in charge by an enthusiastic apprentice thetan.

Something else sub-tropical

Ash tray
And not far from the sub-tropical section, a pond followed by the finest outdoor ashtray I have ever come across.

Out to marvel at the huge amount of money that this enterprise must generate to run to such a fancy headquarters and training operation. Just keeping the splendid garden in good condition must be costing a fortune. And even if you are using defaulters for the work (like in the army), you still have to feed, clothe and house the defaulters. Never mind the costs of materials.

We also wondered how high up the hierarchy you had to climb to get an office in the old building. Perhaps an office with all kinds of interesting facilities: human resources, substance resources and otherwise?

Reference 1: https://www.scientology.org.uk/. The view from the horse's mouth.

Reference 2: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scientology. A view from outside.

Group search key: erc.

Saturday, 25 August 2018

The myth of unconscious thought

This being the title of chapter 9 of reference 1. A sprightly dismissal of unconscious thought in less than 15 not very big pages. This despite the rather more substantial tome at reference 2 (to mention just one of what must be a mountain of books about the unconscious); getting on for 900 pages of text which I still own and once read. It is, I believe, something of a classic. This in the context of a sprightly and provocative book which dismisses all kinds of things as illusions, not so say delusions. Also rather irritating at times. More positive, lots of stuff which is supportive, in a general way, of the approach taken in LWS-N.

Chater is a psychologist based in Warwick University, also a media person and very much the sort of person who gets to sit on government committees. He is also mixed up with the company at reference 3.

I start with the many people who believe that you can go to bed with a problem, have a good night’s sleep and wake up to the problem solved, to a flash of conscious insight. With Chater citing an eminent scientist and an eminent composer, both of whom claim such flashes of insight or inspiration. Flashes which are sometimes attributed to the work of the unconscious, sometimes to the brain having been able to reboot, as it were, a device which gets it out of the cul-de-sac which it had got itself into. Something which often seems to happen, for example, when one is trying, unsuccessfully,  to remember some particular word or name on the basis of a few clues – with the right answer only popping into mind after you have taken your attention elsewhere, possibly some hours later.

We move onto a couple of well known visual puzzles, one of which is reproduced above. With the solution to the puzzle often coming in just such a flash of inspiration, with the solution usually being fairly permanent. Once you have seen the answer, you always see the answer. Which in my case, in this particular case, is not altogether true. First, there are clues in the image which you can work on in a conscious way; the answer does not just pop out of the void. Second, the solution is not terribly permanent, not terribly stable. But cavils aside, the puzzle is real enough. Maybe guessing the password to someone’s account is a reasonable analogy. One just keeps trying until, just when one is about to give up, the account suddenly opens. Nothing much is going on in the unconscious, rather the conscious brain is just pegging away at trying to get into the image until it lights upon the right way in. Trial and error rather than brain power.

But I argue that this overstates the case. While one might have a flash of conscious inspiration that the answer is a helix, that flash was preceded by a gradual accumulation of bits of evidence, of this bit fitting with that bit, when all of a sudden one does see that the helix, barring a few niceties and oddities, does the whole job, terribly economically. While sometimes, all of a sudden one sees a torus. Maybe that is the answer – to be rapidly disappointed. Maybe I persist, pushing and pulling the torus this way and that, then suddenly flipping from a torus-like to a helix-like perception. I associate to television detectives, first chasing one red herring then another. But who is to say which parts of this process are conscious and which parts are unconscious?

Chater argues that whatever else might be going on here, the unconscious does not carry on while you take a break by doing something else. To solve serious life problems the brain needs to activate large networks which criss-cross the brain, to occupy central resources, thereby more or less hogging the problem solving resources that are available. The resources to work on two serious problems at the same time are just not there.

To illustrate this contention in a more concrete way, he takes us through the well known fact that you can do all sorts of stuff while you are driving along, perhaps on a busy road, perhaps during the rush hour. Many of us will claim that such additional stuff is not affecting our driving. Many of us will have had the experience of thinking about some problem, perhaps some work related problem, to arrive at the office car park not being able to remember anything much about the business of getting there but with the problem solved. Perhaps a case of the unconscious driving the car while the conscious attends to the more important business of the work related problem. Chater argues not, citing an array of evidence to the effect that one’s driving is badly degraded by secondary activities. Do not use your mobile while driving, let alone while in motion!

OK, so maybe one can’t actually do more than one thing at a time, but maybe the brain can do background stuff like searching the memory banks, without disturbing the primary activity. Again, Chater argues not, citing an array of evidence to the effect that you can only search for one thing at a time. So you probably can’t search at all if you are driving your car. See references 5 and 6. There is also the matter, not mentioned by Chater, that thought involving language tends to hog the vocal apparatus, of which there is, indeed, just the one. See, for example, reference 7.

However, by now, I think Chater has gone way too far. The primary activity might well be degraded by a secondary activity, but the two can co-exist after a fashion and it does seems likely that much of a well known primary activity – like driving, laying bricks, digging a hole or cutting a mortice joint – can be managed subconsciously, otherwise unconsciously. You need to be awake but you do not need to be paying attention in a terribly conscious way. You really can be thinking about how you are going to spend your evening.

That said, some primary activities, like playing championship golf, should not be combined with secondary activities. Let the unconscious do most of the work, but just empty the conscious. Do not think about anything else.

But Chater goes no further, there is no more evidence. He has set some limits but he has not delivered what he says on the tin.

I now cite a few more or less stray thoughts in favour of the unconscious:
  • There is no doubt about memory. So if there is computational power available, there is plenty of raw material, plenty of data, over and above anything that might be coming in, in real time, from elsewhere
  • There is no doubt that we can do more than one thing at a time, with just one of those things being conscious. Like walking along the country path, without crashing into trees, while thinking about prime numbers. Although, to be fair, one sometimes gets so engrossed in the prime numbers that one does indeed crash into a tree, or at least get rather too close for comfort. More successful people just stop walking, without being aware of it, but carrying on thinking about prime numbers, possibly making very unusual, audible sounds, while just standing there, for the amusement of other walkers
  • When counting, for one reason or another, the process of counting often seems to go underground, to become unconscious, only to surface a few moments later, not obviously having lost its place in the meanwhile. This happens to me when counting the steps when I climb out of tube stations
  • When, for example, talking or writing, the words usually just seem to flow out with little conscious thought. Clearly the heavy lifting is being done somewhere else
  • There is another sort of heavy lifting going on when one asks oneself a tricky question, perhaps some interpersonal thing rather than some more obviously computational thing. Who to invite to dinner? Who to ask to help me with my pet project? With my very important committee? One poses the question, then there is something of a blank and then, sometimes, out pops the right answer. Once the name arrives, verification is more or less instant: one might want to do the verification, but the unconscious has done the work.
All of which lead us to the question of what might be meant by the phrase ‘the myth of unconscious thought? What might this myth be about?

It seems reasonably clear that there is an unconscious, so the question must be what constitutes thought. Does it, for example, have to involve language? Presumably the definition is cast so as to exclude all the complicated – and entirely unconscious – goings on of the cerebellum, as worrying about the control of our limbs scarcely constitutes thought worthy of academic interest. Or does it? On these matters we are not helped – but perhaps that will turn up in some chapter to come.

We are given more help in the related matter of parallel processing. Here the claim is that the brain cannot manage two streams of complicated processing at the same time, conscious or unconscious. It cannot, for example, do the mental arithmetic to come up with the factorisation of 3,850 at same time as working out how much 6 tons and 7 cwt is at 8/7½ (8 shillings, seven and one half pence in old speak) a hundred weight – this last sort of thing at least being the staple of the arithmetic of my early school days – and it would be a clever person who could quickly switch between two such sums on paper, never mind in his head. So the interest here is in what sort of streams can co-exist – a question on which we could no doubt do a lot more work. Indeed, in the previous chapter, which addresses this very issue, Chater cites the case of the experimenter from Exeter who persuaded typists to repeat out loud what they were hearing in their head phones while, at the same time, happily copy typing some quite different text at their typewriters. This was two streams of complicated processing which the brain could manage. He also cites the well-used case of the gorilla in the basketball game, which many of us don’t see at all.

From where I associate to a story from the Royal Institute, in which Professor Glazer told us about a senior colleague who was able, in a useful way, to visualise and then rotate the structures of complicated crystals in her head. Yet another example of the oddity of the whole business of consciousness, in that one would be conscious of the rotating crystal and would be conscious of the desire to rotate it, but more or less unconscious – I would have thought – of the actual business of the rotation. The unconscious just gets on with that, presumably guided by its experience with the rotation of real rigid objects like building bricks and toy tractors.

With an example which is more familiar to me being the animal game (of reference 9) where the idea is to come up the name of a mammal for each letter of the alphabet, with no mistakes, no extras and no long pauses. One is conscious of making mistakes, but one is not conscious of coming up with the mammals. In fact, getting the sequences of the right names and nothing but the right names coming into the conscious mind is one of the points of the game. Consciousness is just a series of snapshots of the product of the unconscious.

Unconscious thought is not a myth, it is the revealed truth!

Summary of chapter by numbers

Page 160. Poincaré (mathematician) and Hindemith (composer) and their flashes.

Page 161. Tricky images of dogs and cows.

Page 163. Brain as a cooperative computing machine.

Page 164. Mental cul-de-sacs and getting out of them.

Page 166. Poincaré, Kekulé (chemist) and Hindemith revisited.

Page 168. Driving.

Page 171. Memory games.

Conclusions

The allegation as it stands is neither carefully stated nor proven.

But I will say that the page-keyed notes and references at the back of the book were very helpful, with most of the references being both easy enough to track down and mostly open access. Also that there is plenty of stuff of interest here. One might not agree but one is stimulated.

References

Reference 1: The Mind Is Flat: The Illusion of Mental Depth and the Improvised Mind - Nick Chater – 2018.

Reference 2: The Discovery of the Unconscious: The History and Evolution of Dynamic Psychiatry - Henri F. Ellenberger - 1970.

Reference 3: http://www.dectech.co.uk/. ‘Dectech is comprised of three Practices that help businesses and policymakers understand and manage customer decision-making’.

Reference 4: https://images.google.co.uk/. Google image search knows all about this picture and had no trouble working back from it to various places in which it has been used.

Reference 5: High-speed scanning in human memory - Sternberg, S. – 1966. A great deal of work has been done on whether memory involves serial or parallel processes – with serial favouring the Chater position. This particular bit of work was seminal and is both readily available and accessible.

Reference 6: Searching for two things at once: Evidence of exclusivity in semantic and autobiographical memory retrieval - Mayler, Chater and Jones – 2001. A contribution from Chater and colleagues to the same debate. Readily available but not quite so accessible.


Biscuits

Earlier in the week, I was in the market for a ready made dessert, and it not being convenient to go to a proper cake shop, I thought of confectionary and biscuits.

For no particular reason, I thought to try M&S first, rather than the Waitrose next door, to discover there what seemed a much larger selection of such stuff than Waitrose offered, despite the shops being of roughly equal size. Maybe the difference is that Waitrose does more regular grocery - for example the flour I use to bake my bread - than M&S, with this last being more focussed on the luxury, convenience and ready-meal end of the food market.

The half price label on a pile of blue tins caught my eye, so for just £5 I acquired near 600g of biscuit. Biscuit which was, roughly speaking, quarter flour, quarter butter, quarter chocolate and quarter more tricky ingredients. Maybe 3,000 calories (kcal) in all, getting on for our total requirement, as not terribly active pensioners, for a day.

Disposed of in two shifts, over two days. So perhaps not something to make a habit of.

At least on this occasion we had the excuse that we needed something to put our more usual digestive biscuits in. Not very cool to use a plastic tub, even if such a tub has a much better seal.

New dictionary

My Petit Larousse illustré 1986, £1 (I think) from Tooting Oxfam, being quite heavy for one hand, has been dropped off the side of the bed too many times and the cover is now being held together with Sellotape.

So time for replacement. Off to Amazon where there was a large choice, with prices between £5 and £125, this last for a limited edition, whatever that might mean.

Next stop eBay, where I go for a 2008 edition from the World of Books eBay shop for £5.80 including postage, which seemed very reasonable for a heavy book - and which, in the event, weighed in this morning at a touch over five pounds.

Old (left) and new (right) snapped above. The new slightly larger than the old and with nearly all the illustrations now coloured, but otherwise much the same to look at and handle. The quality of the covers and binding down a bit, with, for example, about 30 large signatures rather than some larger number of smaller signatures. Small enough to be too much bother to count.

Old now slated for honourable burial in the small compost heap after breakfast.

PS: after breakfast: about six inches down, the compost in the small compost heap was brown, crumbly, moist and warm. Warm enough to steam. But no worms - perhaps they cannot cope with the vegetarian diet available there.

Reference 1: https://psmv3.blogspot.com/2018/08/a-ramp-by-any-other-name.html. The most recent of a number of notices over the years.

Reference 2: http://www.editions-larousse.fr/. Not an easy site to navigate, but I think I could buy the current edition from them for about 30 euros not including postage.

Friday, 24 August 2018

Productivity aid

Statisticians of a certain age will recognise the ease with which one can slip from actually looking at statistics to just producing lots of statistics. Computers being part of the mix here, with it now being easy to produce complicated analyses of large datasets with very little time or effort: I remember once, maybe twenty years ago now, being very struck that I could use interactive SQL to produce an analysis from a table containing getting on for a million rows in just a few seconds, certainly less than ten. However, production seems to trump consumption in that despite the apparent productivity gain, it is all to easy to spend one's day just pumping out statistics unseen.

More recently, when I am preparing a précis of a paper that I am reading - perhaps about the reindeer of reference 1 - I have taken to using Wikipedia to tell me about the words and phrases that I don't understand that I come across along the way - and it rarely fails me. However, rather as with the statistics, it is all to easy to paste the top of the Wikipedia entry into my précis without bothering to read it very carefully, perhaps not really reading it at all. So while the précis may be going forward, at least after a fashion, my comprehension of the paper, which, after all, is the main point of the exercise, is not.

Then yesterday, quite unsolicited, Microsoft offered me something to add into Word, a something which appeared to do copy and paste from Wikipedia automatically. Perhaps whenever Cortana detected a long word or perhaps whenever I hit out some control sequence. To which my response was that this would probably aggravate rather than mitigate the problem just mentioned, so declined. At least for the present, at least while decline is an option.

Are Microsoft trying to muscle into the Wikipedia Foundation under cover of offerings of free help and support? Do they see a revenue opportunity which ought to be harvested? I very much hope not.

PS: maybe I should check what relation précis has to precise. I dare say that it has one, but as I type, it does not come to mind.

Reference 1: http://psmv3.blogspot.com/2018/08/reindeer.html.

Thursday, 23 August 2018

Disaster!

Garbanzada a lo Canario
Bad dream last night.

Involving the cooking of a sort of stew of chick peas, also involving chopped tomatoes and a little ham or bacon, the sort of stew served as a snack in the bars of Tenerife, in a slow cooker. Near the end of what should have been the cooking time, I was rather alarmed to find that the chick peas were shrinking rather than swelling and looked hard rather than soft.

Pressed onto the meal, involving as a result what seemed to be lots of boiled vegetables and very little savoury stew. For some reason, BH seemed to have got a rather better portion of stew than I.

Why this came up, I can't imagine. I have not actually cooked or consumed a stew of this sort for years.

Gill

Adam and Eve?
Time to draw the Eric Gill business to a close with report of some recent ramblings.

To start, I think that the thought of Gill which has really struck home with me is his idea that in carving a letter in stone you are carving the thing itself. You are making a letter, you are not making a sign, a symbol or an image of something else.

Then he did not like the practise, common when he was young, of specifying the work of stone masons in full size drawings and leaving nothing for their skill, imagination and verve. These masons were not able to take advantage of the twists and turns of the particular bit of stone that they happened to be working on. Or of their better knowledge of the intended settings, perhaps some obscure corner of some ancient church. They were just expected to realise what someone else had conceived and specified.

One result of which was that the architect or designer was apt to lose touch with the medium: much better to combine the two, at least to the extent of the designer cutting the mason a bit of slack. I remember being told, say fifteen years ago, that lots of work in our Royal Colleges is still done in this way, with the young and callow artists handing over their designs for execution by technicians. Although to be fair to the lady who told me this, she did not care for the practise at all. She liked to do her own execution.

One result for Gill of which was that he got lots of inscriptional work from people like architects who did not want to have to bother with full sized drawings and who could trust Gill to do good work from much less. And he made a point of keeping his charges low.

But he did like to talk, to preach, to lecture and to write. He loved having an audience. And in his pre-television age, audience there was. But a lot of his talk, particularly when he gets going about his adult-acquired Roman faith, is rather tiresome. No coincidence that there are echoes of his views in some of the work of his contemporary G. K. Chesterton, whose autobiography sits on my shelf, half read. All of which leaves me with the feeling that the man was a star at carving inscriptions in stone – gravestones being a good bread-and-butter item for which there was steady demand – but that his touch became less certain the further he strayed from his core skill, his core talent.

He was also a great one for new beginnings, moving home and large household a number of times during his career. New beginnings perhaps, when the then current wheeze for heaven on earth fell short. Or perhaps when there was a row with one of his colleagues or collaborators. Relations with whom were sometimes a bit more rocky than reading the autobiography might suggest.

Something of a whiff of the near contemporary Pre-Raphaelites about Gill. Starts off as the enfant terrible, against everything the art establishment stands for and end up as a pillar of that very establishment. And not just the Pre-Raphaelites; a well worn trajectory in many walks of life. I think even Dame Trace is CBE, RA these days; the dame of tripe and trash. Or perhaps Dame Dumpster. See reference 8.

Part of all this is the inevitable tension between the artist and the patron. The artist is rarely able or wanting to work in a vacuum. He wants his work to be consumed, to be bought. He needs to make a living. And for that he has to interact with the world of art – which he might affect to despise. As someone observes in one of the various versions of the Forsyte saga, particularly difficult for architects, whose work, that is to say buildings, is very expensive in itself. Much dearer than stone for graves or wood blocks for engravings. However, Gill had a number of good patrons to help him on his way. Both worldly and wealthy.

I might add in passing that my own belief is that constraint in the form of paying customers is good, one gets better work in consequence. Work without constraints is all too apt to go over the top.

Nevertheless, for all his craft, there is a rather crude quality to some of his work, which I first noticed in his early but very well known commission for the stations of the cross at Westminster Cathedral. Crude in the sense of sloppy, careless execution. Almost the work of a child rather than the craftsman he usually was. Crudity which is perhaps the result of spreading himself a bit thin, trying his hand at so many different things – and so much of it.

That said, Gill was in the vanguard (as it were) of the rear guard action of the wood engravers, then in danger of succumbing to the new technology of their day. In the course of which he was one of the promoters of the idea of a wood engraving as a medium of its own, with strong curves, blacks and whites, rather than a medium in which to imitate drawings in ink or pencil, its main use in the nineteenth century (ask for Dalziel). With an example of his lateral thinking reported on page 186 of reference 3 being his practise of sometimes printing his wood blocks by rubbing the ink into the cuts, rather than over the raised areas of uncut block, rather in the way of a copper plate, although I have not yet been able to find an example of this in reference 2. A technical point on which I have an outstanding action.

All in all, an interesting excursion.

PS 1: intriguing how some lady biographers seems to have both taste and talent for unearthing the seedy private lives of eminent gentlemen. With this one perhaps qualifying for the modern term ‘sexaholic’ of reference 9 – which some of his contemporaries found tiresome, despite the free and easy ways of the chattering classes between the wars. Brenda Maddox comes to mind. Also the verdict of Sergeant Lewis’s old dad who said something about ‘watch the footballer not the man’. An episode of Morse involving a lady opera singer with a seedy private life.

PS 2: I should declare an interest in that I have some privileged knowledge of the affairs of the late David Kindersley, one of Gill’s apprentices, who went on to take up residence with his third wife in a converted school in Cambridge. Not respectable in that he was a conscientious objector in the second world war, respectable in that his son was half of the Dorling Kindersley publishing operation. An independent operation which overreached itself and was eventually swallowed up by Random House.

Reference 1: Autobiography – Eric Gill – 1941.

Reference 2: Eric Gill’s Masterpieces of Wood Engraving – Berona – 2013. More than enough here for me, at a sensible price. No need for all the scribblings, obscene and otherwise, which make it to the collected works mentioned, for example, at reference 6.

Reference 3: Eric Gill – Fiona MacCarthy – 1989.

Reference 4: https://psmv3.blogspot.com/search?q=gill. Lots of stuff, too much to include in the first return.

Reference 5: https://psmv2.blogspot.com/search?q=eric+gill. Searching for ‘gill’ alone dredged up all kinds of wrong gills. No many true positives at all.

Reference 6: https://pumpkinstrokemarrow.blogspot.com/search?q=gill. Just the one hit here, from back in 2008. From all of which we deduce that the gill fad is indeed a relatively new fad. Previously aware but not terribly interested.

Reference 7: The Wood Engravings of Robert Gibbings – Patience Empson – 1959. MacCarthy reports Gill having a swing-in with Gibbings and his wife at some point. Plenty of flesh on view here, but Gibbings avoids in his work the pornography which mars that of Gill.

Reference 8: https://pumpkinstrokemarrow.blogspot.com/search?q=dame+trace+detritus.

Reference 9: https://www.sa.org/.

Reference 10: https://pumpkinstrokemarrow.blogspot.com/search?q=houellebecq+quixote. Another of the echoes mentioned above.

Reference 11: Diary - Eric Gill - most of his adult life. A detailed diary, only lightly censored by his wife at his death, an important source for MacCarthy. I subscribe to the view that people who keep diaries, however secret during their life, may, in the case that they survive, be presumed to want them read afterwards.

Group search key: erc.