New one on me
This came across my Twitter feed today: the glass delusion. In the 15th to 17th Centuries, an unaccountable number of Europeans decided their bodies were made of glass and behaved accordingly. I’d missed this one somehow.
Glass was new and magical, associated with alchemy and rich people. And even though people of all stations suffered from the delusion, it did cluster at the wealthy end of the spectrum, where people were more likely to think of themselves as precious and fragile.
The most famous sufferer – and perhaps the first – was King Charles VI of France (pictured), who wouldn’t let courtiers near him lest he shattered.
The BBC said, apart from a few isolated cases, the disorder vanished in 1830. If I had to guess, I’d say it was because factories had made glass cheap and common.
This all came up in the context of the trans delusion, which has apparently fallen off a cliff. Though if you look at the graphs (and do, they’re interesting), the leading chart is actually about non-binaries. Not the same gender confusion at all.
October 14, 2025 — 6:31 pm
Comments: 4
This is exactly what it looked like
Just home from a meeting of my local amateur art club – of which, I remind you, I am the reluctant secretary. It was an extraordinary spectacle of two old ladies trying to push a third old lady under the bus, and the bus-ee being far too oblivious to notice. It’s been going on for years and she flat refuses to see it.
She’s a pain in the ass, I agree. She fires off long, long and pointless emails to the whole committee every few days. But she also does all the jobs, including mine. And I let her. I ignore the emails.
They’re going to kill this club if they keep it up.
I think MidJourney outdid itself with this one, though I asked for one old lady to be smiling. Here it is at full size.
October 13, 2025 — 5:37 pm
Comments: 4
The grandaddy of them all
Literally: the not-very-readable bunting on the back says GRANDAD. Poor bastard either died at 60 or it was decorated for his 60th birthday. The stones all around were painted with his name and many messages of love, but not what he died of.
I said to Uncle B – if I want people to put together a memorial like that after I die, I’d better get a move on performing miracles.
Hope you enjoyed these many fine benches. Good weekend, everyone!
October 10, 2025 — 4:29 pm
Comments: 5
Nice
This one is quite classy. It features cast versions of the Sigil of the Barons of the Cinque Ports and the seal of the Cinque Ports. Easier to make it out in color.
Probably 19th C – we can’t do stuff like that now.
We were in Littlestone and just south of it is Greatstone, in Kent. I’ve always had a romantic notion that the names came from something like two meteorites that landed in Medieval times and were revered as signs from God.
Nope. ChatGPT tells me in the early 19th Century there was a shingle of stoney beach that stuck out well into the bay that was called the Great Stone. Over time, tides shifted and washed most of it away. It is a restless coast, the south coast of England. The name stuck, though, and was smashed together into one word, Greatstone.
Similar story for Littlestone, with a smaller shingle headland.
In the late 19th, the area was eyed up for development as a seaside resort and AI thinks the names were smooshed together then. It was marketing. Same as it ever was.
You can still see the bones of their project: a seafront row of Victorian houses. The actual settlement happened in the Twenties and Thirties. And one day, I feel sure, an angry sea will top the wall and claim the lot.
October 9, 2025 — 7:00 pm
Comments: 3
You bet I am
This one is obvious, though you probably can’t see the row of knitted poppies in various colors across the top. Guerilla knitting on public furniture is a thing here now.
Uncle B said, you aren’t going to inflict a whole week of public benches on your readers, are you?
And I said, this blog turns 18 this year. I have done a total of 5,101 posts, not including this one. I’ve probably told all my family stories twice. If I’ve got five pictures of benches, yes I by-god am going to have a week of benchposting.
Two more to go. Enjoy!
October 8, 2025 — 4:28 pm
Comments: 5
Is this a tradition now?
As you probably guessed from yesterday’s guest bench, we were in a place called Littlestone in Kent. This is pretty far outside our territory and we haven’t been here in years, but I’m going stir crazy at home.
I’m not taking retirement well.
A number of the coastal benches – but not all! – were decorated like this. I thought it probably had to do with a significant anniversary of the person the bench is dedicated to, but a number of them all at once? They all looked pretty fresh.
Counterproductive. Who would dare sit on a memorial bench covered in flowers and toys?
October 7, 2025 — 5:25 pm
Comments: 4
Look! It’s a cement sofa!
I hope you mentally pronounced that see-mint, just like on the Beverly Hillbillies.
The plaque reads:
On this site stood the Littlestone Lifeboat Station
Erected in 1871 to the memory of
John Hatton, M.D.
Demolished in 1940 under military defense orders
This freehold was presented
to the Kent Rivers Catchment Board
by Major M. Teichman Derville, O.B.E., D.L., J.P.
Bailiff of Romney March
MCMXLIX
The things the military did to this area during the war – oof!
When I lived in Providence, I used to cut through a cemetery with some interesting grave markers. One in particular featured a pink poofy granite sofa across from a pink poofy granite armchair and, right where the television would be in this livingroom suite, the tombstone.
It’s like he thought his loved ones were going to come watch him like the Late Show.
October 6, 2025 — 4:12 pm
Comments: 5
Home sweet home
It’s for sale. I think what this means is there are eight cottages and the one farthest to the right is the one on the market. But it gave me a chuckle.
Have a good weekend, everyone!
p.s. The new Archbishop of Canterbury is a chick!
October 3, 2025 — 4:00 pm
Comments: 8
Chickens is weird, man
Down to my last two – this boy, Sam, and the last of the of the polands, Albert.
Whichever boy is in captivity, the other one keeps him company outside the chicken wire. They groom together and eat treats together and burble at each other.
The moment I open the door – and I have tried it, experimentally – they try to kill each other. To be more accurate, Sam tries to kill Albert.
Sam is about a quarter the size of Albert, but he’s little and quick and fierce and Albert is a big slow lummox with very poor eyesight due to his magnificent topknot. Sam once scared him so badly he flew over the hedge into the field next door, which was a joy to deal with.
I know what’s going to happen. Sam is a pekin and an elderly one for his breed. He’ll go first and I’ll be stuck with Albert, my least favorite chicken of all time. He’ll probably live forever.
p.s. Sam has been known to chase our pudding of a cat right up a tree.
October 2, 2025 — 5:34 pm
Comments: 4
Happy birthday, my old faux pas
Today is Julie Andrews’ 90th birthday. Woot!
I was four when Mary Poppins came out. I adored it. I made my mother take me to see it seven times.
One of those times we’d had a tropical downpour and we drove through an intersection where the water came up to our rocker panels. That doesn’t have anything at all to do with this story, it’s just one of those hyper vivid memories that sticks with you forever.
One day, I’m told I said thoughtfully to my mother, “Mother, if you died, do you think there’s a chance Papa would marry Julie Andrews?”
I don’t think she ever forgave me.
October 1, 2025 — 5:50 pm
Comments: 7