:: The Lamb Has Landed ::

I've done it, a seven pound leg of lamb (one of the few things I stil quantify in imperial!) is sitting in the fridge, waiting for Sunday's feast. One of the joys of working near Smithfield is the ready availability of quality meat. And to top it off, I popped into the local branch of Nicolas to buy something to wash it down with: a pleasant Rully and what promises to be a delectable bottle of Beaune. Being a slave to epicurean urges, this more than the prospect of 4 days off work is what excites me most about Easter.

And as if to emphasise the prétencieux at this stage, I might as well harp on about the fact that whilst I was reading an article on synaesthesia, my mind was drawn to Baudelaire. Let me explain: in the heady days of '95, my A-level French teacher first brought the concept of synaesthesia to my attention. Not in the medical sense, you understand. This was a literary device which Baudelaire had explored in Les Fleurs Du Mal, in particular, the poem "Correspondances":

La nature est un temple où de vivants piliers
Laissent parfois sortir de confuses paroles;
L'homme y passe à travers des forêts de symboles
Qui l'observent avec des regards familiers.

Comme des longs échos qui de loin se confondent
Dans une ténébreuse et profonde unité,
Vaste comme la nuit et comme la clarté,
Les parfums, les couleurs et les sons se répondent.

Il est des parfums frais comme des chairs d'enfants,
Doux comme des hautbois, verts comme des prairies,
-Et d'autres corrompus, riches et triomphants,

Ayant l'expansion des choses infinies,
Comme l'ambre, le musc, le benjoin et l'encens,
Qui chantent les transports de l'esprit et des sens.

In case you find reading French impossible, harrowing or tedious, multiple translations are available here. Incidentally, the site that comes from is an excellent resource for Baudelaire's work in translation. If only more foreign poets were afforded the luxury of this style of poetry, they might be more appreciated by English speakers. I've probably mentioned it before, but most Russians are incredulous when they discover that Pasternak is known in the West solely as the writer of Doctor Zhivago. In his homeland, he is lauded principally for his verse.

Before I go over the top on the highbrow stuff, let me assure you that I have plenty of trash to dole out before I go merrily skipping off to gorge myself over the Bank holiday weekend. This game brought back waves of memories from my adolescence - believe it or not, even I was a "rebellious" teenager (sometimes). And various people I know are addicted to this one, too. Thankfully I shun such silly pursuits and instead delight in the silly shoppery available on b3ta and (believe or not) even the beeb. The obligatory seasonal story is notable only for the fact that the chaps in the picture appear to be unfeasibly slim. They appear to be clutching rather low quality chocolate ova. If on the other hand, they waved a dark chocolate one from a more upmarket purveyor, I might get a bit of a hard on...

And on that bombshell, I'd better love you and leave you. Take care...