A Russian farm has given its dairy cows virtual reality headsets in a bid to reduce their anxiety.
I can’t help noticing cows in VR headsets look considerably less stupid than people in VR headsets.
…but my friend Carolyn is 20,000 days old today.
She seemed quite impressed I’d bothered to work it out.
…right in front of me in Hebden Bridge Post Office this morning.
That sort of nonsense had better stop, once we leave the EU.
Paul Keegan writing[£] about the poet/artist David Jones in the latest edition of the London Review of Books:
The supposed pedantry or antiquarianism of Jones’s procedures, visual as well as verbal, are deceptive. He relied on anachronism, sly private reference and a conviction that accuracy was allied to distortion, just as the distortions of idiomatic usage were the maker’s mark of the individual: this person not that person. ‘Nothing excellent that is not odd,’ he said of his annual rereading of John Collier’s His Monkey Wife. He objected in general to biography as being ‘too little “about chaps”’ – by which he meant ‘contradictory, or anyway, complex quiddities & haecceities’ – and he thought no biographer was equipped to write more than one Life in one lifetime. Dilworth has measured up to this latter stricture, and is attentive to Jones as a chap, rather than ordering the life at the cost of its recalcitrant and scattered realia, since for Jones everything bore witness.
My sentiments exactly.