The Times they are a'changing...

(from 2013)

For many years The Times newspaper in Britain was the erudite voice of “the establishment”. Po-faced, serious, and ever so ever so boring. But they had a special offer a million years ago where you could take out a subscription for pennies. I wavered. I gave in. I have been reading it ever since.

If ever a paper has changed its style and reputation, The Times has. Excellent film reviews, comprehensive obituaries (they even gave my John Stewart half a page) and a reasonable sense of fair play. If there is a controversy, be it political or otherwise, they usually give both sides a column each to slug it out. But what I really enjoy is the mass of humor hidden away. British humor is often based on understatement. It is probably why Americans reading my posts have occasional difficulty. I mean, I have occasional difficulty myself.

And I do like the cartoons. This may not translate too well, but recently in Britain there was a headline-screaming scandal over horse meat. Now they eat horse meat on the continent, but to Brits this is generally anathema - especially when their microwaveable beef lasagne turns out to be more equine than bovine. Arrests have being made, heads are rolling – mainly because the fraud as with most frauds is all about money.

But there was lovely Times cartoon. It was a typical traditional children’s picture of Noah’s ark. On the top was a bearded Noah with a spatula in his hand. The sign above his head read “Noah and Sons – 100% Pure Beef Hamburgers”. Walking into the ark looking extremely apprehensive were two giraffes, two elephants, two lions...

Well – I THOUGHT IT WAS FUNNY. I showed Mrs Occasional, but she used to ride horses and didn’t find it funny at all.

The bit of the paper she likes is the puzzle section. Years ago they separated the puzzles into a section of their own. Mrs O grabs that first and does the crosswords. I occasionally lean across and supply an answer – usually when she doesn’t want it and make myself most unpopular – but there is a clear demarcation – Mrs O, the crosswords, me, the Sudoku.

Sudoku is based on an old number puzzle on a nine squared grid that was revived in Japan, and then introduced into Britain by The Times, when it really took off.

And here is a funny thing. It is all down to the effects of alcohol.

Now I am unsure how clued up on British programs and books the Americans are – but a big favorite over here with several current spin-offs was Inspector Morse. Morse is always drinking (and rarely paying his way) but the lubrication gets results. And I have read the entire collection of Simon Brett’s Charles Paris novels – he is a failed actor and amateur detective, perpetually on the verge of inebriation. I find the books very funny and they wickedly parody all aspects of the entertainment business.

But you know what? – it almost seems to work.

Take last evening. Sudoku puzzles are offered on a number of levels, building up during the week from easiest to hardest. Starting with “Mild” they end up as “Super Fiendish” - real stinkers. Well, we were celebrating something or other (I think it was the anniversary of the invention of the spinning wheel) and had bought a large bottle of Cava – the el cheapo Spanish alternative to champagne. It tastes far better than the real thing as far as I am concerned, which puts me down as no connoisseur I admit, but who cares – very few here know who I really am anyway.

Anyhow, once you open the bottle, you have to finish it, don’t you – otherwise, I mean, the bubbles will all go off...

So the bottle was downed (and I generously allowed Mrs Occasional a taste) and then in a foolhardy moment I attacked the Fiendish Sudoku.

But do you know what! – I finished it.

I COMPLETED THE SUPER FIENDISH SUDOKO!!!

Quickly – easily – yes, there is still life in the old brain cells yet, but apparently assisted by the bubbles.

I am not sure what lesson I can take from that.

If I want to do something erudite, or complicated, the obvious answer is a trip to the English equivalent of the liquor store, and in true Inspector Morse and Charles Paris style – indulge a bit.

Hmmmm.

I’m not under the alfluence of incohol as you theaple pink I am, but the drunker I stand here the longer I get...