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Showing posts with label sitting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sitting. Show all posts

Saturday, 6 December 2025

Thought Picnic: Sitting pretty and bringing calamity

Sounds for moving back

It was interesting to see a large vehicle reversing and, beyond the rear white lights, just in case another driver or a pedestrian did not notice the vehicle coming towards them, a safety feature had been added in the form of an announcement: “Attention! This vehicle is reversing.”

It made me wonder whether it is necessary to have a warning system before sitting down. For instance, I once mistakenly sat on a pair of glasses, but not to the point of totally damaging them, because I felt something that made me check what I might be sitting on.

Little Miss Muffet and the Case for Situational Awareness

Little Miss Muffet, the star of the nursery rhyme, could have faced the danger of sitting on a spider which might have stung her on the backside. That is, if the tuffet was a grassy mound, like a tuft. However, we must assume it was a small stool. So, when the spider abseiled down its thread of web and sat down beside her, it must have been a display of arachnid politeness that she mistook for danger.

My case for the tuffet being a small stool rather than a grassy mound rests on this: the spider would not have been as obvious in the grass as it would be on a stool. Depending on which version you have committed to memory, the spider either came down from above or walked along some surface, probably underneath the stool, to settle beside Miss Muffet.

The Perils of Sitting Without Looking

Then, as I accede to William Cobbett's aphorism to "sit down to write what you have thought, and not to think what you shall write," sitting down takes on the need for awareness of where one should set one's derrière. Obviously, far from where spiders and creepy crawlies can frighten you away, and definitely not on some fragile thing that is not part of the seat.

In light of that, I always consciously put my glasses on a table, with the remote controls close by, but usually on a raised cushion, and never place a laptop on any readily available furniture to sit on; the same goes for my mobile phone. Having these things in plain sight, on tables or shelves, would, for all intents and purposes, prevent avoidable grief.

What great mishaps have been wrought by backsides set on the wrong thing, wreaking havoc and becoming, for want of a better phrase, a weapon of arse destruction. Initiative schools before gravity pulls, and the backside fools you into breaking things left on stools. We all know when we’ve allowed our backsides to rock the boat violently.

Thursday, 12 July 2007

Lilibet is twice not amused

Those one time subjects

Having decided to grace America with one's regal presence, these one time subjects of the realm were keen on commemorating the state visit.

One does ones sittings over a few weeks as ones diary permits, the quiet and deference, one is accustomed to but exception is made of precocious modern tattle when people lacking breeding deign to speak out of turn.

As Queen, regaled in the robes of The Most Noble Order of the Garter with ones regal diadem, one cannot be amused that the grandeur of the occasion is held in contempt by the painter - they call them photographers, nowadays - that one should remove ones diadem; To the Tower, her head on a charger without respite - that would have been her portion in the days of the First.

"I'm not changing anything. I've had enough dressing like this, thank you very much." Indeed Lilibet, one would not be ordered around by ones who have to carry their tools.

Twice not amused

The town-criers (BBC) whose charter bears ones seal have regaled to the people that one was too unimpressed to countenance a sitting after such effrontery.

No discretion can be expected of the many of the uncouth subjects that swoon in ones presence and prattle every word with the discourtesy of dissimulation - seize their charter give to the corgis.

And rightly so, one is twice not amused when events are chronicled in the wrong order to reflect badly on the crown as the painter asks for the crown to be dismounted from the royal head by ones regal hands.

One cannot recall the words, looking at the Lady-in-waiting - "Less dressy? What do you think this is?", you said, Ma'am". They used to be of royal lineage to four generations before they entered the courts. Patrick was such good company and now so sorely missed.

The painter shall not return to the realm and the town-crier's apology? Send the blacksmith (Director-General of the BBC) to the Tower till yuletide.