A limerick a week #153

On Baa Baa Black Sheep and POTUS’ hissy fits…

In the early 1980s, a fisheries scientist from the then MAFF Fisheries Laboratory in Lowestoft presented a novel assessment of the size of mackerel stocks to his overseas colleagues at the International Council for the Exploration of the Sea’s (ICES) headquarters in Copenhagen.

Although the principle behind the method was not new, it was newly applied to the mackerel stock and, in a nutshell, it required an estimate of the abundance of eggs produced during the mackerel’s spawning season in order to quantify the number of mackerel necessary to have produced them.

Although not immediately adopted, the egg production method has now been the mainstay of the ICES’ northeast Atlantic mackerel assessments for many years, with a huge effort put into the triennial mackerel egg surveys and estimation of the other biological parameters related to egg production. But it had a difficult birth.

It was rejected for use initially because it was unproven and relied on relatively few observations. When subsequent years’ data were available and some loose ends had been tied up, it was finally accepted as an appropriate assessment method for mackerel, notwithstanding what came to be known as ‘the million tonne mistake’ (see Postscript #2)!

Ironically, when originally presented, the most critical comments on the method came from the man-from-MAFF’s UK colleagues, albeit it from colleagues ‘north of the border’, who added spice to the rivalry between the senior Scottish and English scientists of that era.

As a result of the Caledonian criticism of his method, the man-from-MAFF wrote a vehement letter of complaint to the Director of the Marine Laboratory in Aberdeen, the late Alasdair McIntyre. In it, he wrote of his disappointment that fellow UK scientists were the most vocal critics of his work whereas other nationals were more amenable to it.

I was shown the letter many years ago and the reply (copies of both were held in the old registry of the Marine Laboratory, but I suspect the file holding them has long since been destroyed). I can’t recall the exact wording of the complaint, but it was pretty much a frustrated rant.

On receipt, Alasdair forwarded the complaint to the head of the laboratory’s Fish Team, Alan Saville (also since deceased), a herring scientist and the foremost critic of the new approach for mackerel, asking him to reply directly.

His riposte was blunt. He told the man-from-MAFF that his response to the criticism at ICES reminded him of a tantrum thrown by a toddler when its parents’ reaction to the child’s first ever rendition of Baa Baa Black Sheep did not receive the applause and approbation that he felt it deserved! Ouch!

I was reminded of this earlier this week when Donald Trump truculently called off his Presidential visit to Denmark because his plan to buy Greenland was labelled ‘absurd’ by leading Danish politicians. Trump (of all people) later framed the Danish Prime Minister Mette Frederiksen’s comments as ‘nasty’.

Personally, I think even a toddler would have reacted with more maturity than POTUS.

Here’s the limerick…

So POTUS told the world he’d derail
A visit to the Danes because they’ll
Not accede to his whim
(When they pricked his thin skin),
‘Cos Greenland, they said, ain’t for sale!

Postscript #1: Saville’s harsh rejoinder to the man-from-MAFF was amusingly ill-timed as it preceded publication of the DAFS Marine Laboratory ‘green’ book, Developments in Fisheries Research in Scotland published by Fishing News Books.

It must have been a delightfully retributive occasion for the man-from-MAFF who reviewed it for the ICES’ Journal du Conseil, damning it with faint, if any, praise!

Postscript #2: The million tonne mistake. Imagine, if you will, a graph that looks like a triangle and think of the area under the triangle as representing the number of eggs produced in a mackerel spawning season; that’s the egg production curve. Now imagine the same triangle with a notch taken out of it where that notch represents the egg production of about one million tonnes of mackerel.

In the early days of the mackerel egg survey, a notched curve was the only one observed and scientists were unsure whether the notch was a genuine property of seasonal egg production or an artefact due to sampling error.

Tbe conservative approach was to err on the side of caution and to accept the lower (notched) estimate of stock size albeit with caveats. Sampling in subsequent years indicated the notch to be an artefact and the retrospective view of the stock size was increased accordingly by a million tonnes.

So, who was right? The scientists for taking a cautious  approach with clearly explained reservations, or the pelagic fishing industry that christened it the million tonne mistake?

Answers on a postcard, please, to…

A limerick a week #152

I’m over the moon, honey! 

As her wedding day nears, I’ve been told by a friend that her partner is self-converting a cargo van into a camper.

The dream…

In fact, the last I heard was that he had ‘borrowed’ their spare-bed mattress, sawn off its end to fit, and installed it on the van floor.

Reality?

Who says romance is dead?😂  Anyway, here’s wishing them all the best…

Though their union was of love filled with laughter
And they lived happily, of course, ever after,
Their marital bed
Was a mattress they spread
In the back of a VW Crafter!

A limerick a week #151

A flash in the pan!

An article in the Metro’s online news website amused me this week, reporting as it did on a lightning strike in the United States. The thunderbolt resulted in an explosion that destroyed a family’s bathroom after it struck their septic tank and ignited the methane gas that had accumulated within it.

According to the Metro, the building’s entire plumbing system was destroyed by a flashover travelling through pipework into the house. The lavatory pan shattered and ceramic shrapnel damaged the bathroom walls which led the householder to declaim “I’m just glad none of us were on the toilet.”

All of which brings us to this week’s ALAW in a tasteless homage to topicality and current events…

With his bowels in a volatile state
He endured a combustible fate.
When their contents unloaded
The dunny exploded.
It must have been something he ate!

A limerick a week #150

Well, we’ve had Callie the pup for a week-and-a-half now and she seems to be a real outdoorsy dog. Not surprising as she’s from a working breed.

We’re trying to encourage her to pee and poo in the same accessible place so that (i) she doesn’t scorch our lawn and (ii) we can easily clean up any mess. At the moment, we can see where she pees and can take steps to ‘move her on’ to our preferred area; however, she tends to do her other ‘business’ in the deepest and darkest recesses of the rhododendron and buddleia border.

Whoops! I crapped in the border again 😉

Whereas I can venture into the depths of the border to bag up any mess during the brighter daytime hours, it is impossible to do so in the evening or early morning when the light is not so good.

… and guess what that means? That’s right – a lavatorial limerick!

In a crepuscular battle of wits
That puppy of mine is the pits.
‘Cos it’s never a riddle
To know where she’ll piddle
But I never can find where she sh*ts

A limerick a week #149

🎶Consider yourself at home
Consider yourself one of the family🎶

A verse inspired by our newest family member, Bordeaux Callie, a nine-week-old BC puppy…

A pup’s mum and dad may bequeath
To their offspring a fine set of teeth,
But let us be clear
You’ve nothing to fear,
Unless, it appears, you’re a leaf!

https://www.instagram.com/calliebordeaux/

A limerick a week #148

Biking on the Black Isle

I’ve always wanted a Brompton folding bicycle, so what do you think was the chance of Management getting herself a new electric Brompton and me acting in an entirely composed and mature manner?

Quite right, no chance; “If you’re having one then so am I!” was the measured response, so, many £££ later, we find ourselves camped at Rosemarkie with his’n’hers e-Bromptons at the ready for a 21 mile power-assisted round trip to Cromarty.

The outward leg on a single-track road along the spine of the Black Isle was a hoot. The first part was all uphill for at least three miles and it was a breeze; cue a pair of smug grins. Then downhill into Cromarty – our first time there and it’s a lovely wee place – for a hardly-deserved tea stop.

The route.

Unfortunately we then got drenched in a heavy rain shower and thought about folding the bikes and catching a bus back to Rosemarkie (try doing that with a normal bike), but decided instead to set off and cycle back via the Cromarty Firth coast road.

Or at least I thought we were going to set off. Looking back I couldn’t see Management so, after a few minutes, I retraced my steps thinking she must be chatting to someone. She was, to a German chap who was asking if she was all right as she lifted herself off the grass verge after a controlled fall that was her only means of getting to a position from which she could untangle her shoelace that had wrapped itself around her chainwheel.

The route back was slightly longer than the outward trip and involved another seemingly endless uphill drag. We’d swapped batteries at the bottom because Management’s was already partly discharged when we’d set off and her’s was running out of juice. That meant she got full power assist to the top using my battery whereas I had to be more cautious using hers and work harder.

It is testament to the capabilities of these batteries and motors that she gradually pulled away to crest the hill several hundred metres ahead of me when I’m supposed to be the cyclist in the family. Still, we both got there and had a long, fast downhill run back into Rosemarkie.

The Bromptons at rest while their batteries are recharged

… and here’s the limerick…

To avoid a whole lot of pain
A lady should always refrain
From crashing her bike
– or exploits suchlike –
When her shoelace gets stuck in her chain. 

… and Management at rest while her batteries are likewise recharged

A limerick a week #147

They’re barking mad! 

It’s not long now before we pick up a new addition to the family, an eight week old Border Collie pup (subject to a vet check, of course). We’ve whittled down a long list of possible names and the favoured one right now is ‘Callie’ (we’re getting a girl) which is short for ‘Bordeaux Callie’.

The ‘Bordeaux’ bit was an afterthought and only included because it’s the sort of play-on-words that amuses me. Firstborn added to it by suggesting ‘Brigitte Bordeaux’, which also amused me, but if I’m calling for a dog across parkland I think ‘Callie’ will suffice.

No! It’s Bordeaux CALLIE😁

I’ve been told that owning a Border Collie will be challenging and I should have gone for a labrador (yawn!), but I’ve known a couple of them in my time and neither was as challenging as is often stated. Mind you, here’s what the YourPureBredDog website says about the breed…

“One of the most intelligent of all breeds, the Border Collie is also one of the most challenging to live with.”

“His superior intellect, combined with his intensity and obsessive zeal for working, are his most impressive features – and also the ones that make him unsuitable for most homes.”

“Without physical and mental stimulation, Border Collies become hyperactive and will drive you up the wall with obsessive and destructive behaviors as they seek creative outlets for their physical and mental energy.”

“High intelligence does mean they learn very quickly – but that includes learning how to do anything they set their minds to. They are master escape artists who can virtually pick the lock on your gate.”

“You must stay one step ahead of this challenging breed, and most households are simply not up to the task.”

“Well”, he says confidently, “we’ll see, won’t we?”. Here’s the limerick:

They said ’twas the ultimate folly,
And asked had he gone off his trolley,
When he let them all know
He was shortly to go
And bring home a young Border Collie!

Postscript 1: Such is the way of the world these days, that I thought that I should Google ‘Bordeaux Callie’ just to make sure the name had no unsavoury connotations. I didn’t find an exact match, but apparently Callie Bordeaux was the name of a character played by Lindsay Wagner in a TV movie from 1981 called ‘Callie & Son’. “No”, I’d never heard of it either. Anyway, it’s good to know that our pup’s name won’t be conflated with that of a courtesan from a French city!

Postscript 2: Although we are buying a pup from a registered breeder, we are doing so only after trying for a young rescue collie. There were some around, but they were either taken very quickly (I missed out on two of them by fractions – I had real chemistry with one of them, Polly) or they were completely off the wall having not been socialised properly and requiring a very experienced owner with lots of land!

A limerick a week #146

Odious To Joy

This week saw the United Kingdom’s image demeaned worldwide by the sight of a group of its elected representatives turning their backs when the European anthem, Ode To Joy’ was played at the opening of the newly-elected European Parliament.

Embarrassing the UK

It was a shameful and puerile attempt to garner cheap publicity by the Brexit Party, led by Nigel Farage and, in the view of some, it was reminiscent of the Nazi party turning its back on the speaker of the Reichstag in 1926.

Indeed, it may be considered more than shameful as Farage has been identified as an alleged fascist on more than one occasion.

In 2013, the Independent newspaper ran a story headed “Nigel Farage schooldays letter reveals concerns over fascism” in which it reported that “Channel 4 News obtains a letter about Ukip leader Nigel Farage, from his days as a schoolboy, in which teachers are quoted as accusing him of being “racist” and “fascist”. Later, a former schoolfriend ‘outed’ him in a similar manner.

Farage has, of course, denied those claims, but one can’t help but recall Mandy Rice-Davies’ response when rebutting Lord Astor’s denial of an affair at the time of the Profumo scandal: “Well he would, wouldn’t he?”.

And then? Well, we then had the unedifying and grossly offensive sight of former UK minister Anne Widdicombe seeking to compare the UK’s exit from the EU with the emancipation of slaves during the nineteenth century. That is the point at which, for once, I agree with one of the Conservative party’s current ministers, David Gauke, who recently said:

“A willingness by politicians to say what they think the public want to hear, and a willingness by large parts of the public to believe what they are told by populist politicians, has led to a deterioration in our public discourse.”

“Rather than recognising the challenges of a fast-changing society require sometimes complex responses, that we live in a world of trade-offs, that easy answers are usually false answers, we have seen the rise of the simplifiers.”

“In deploying this sort of language, we go to war with truth.”

Here’s the limerick:

So, Farage and his execrable chums
Showed the electorate that if it succumbs
To the lies they propound
They’ll soon turn around
And show that they’re nothing but bums.

A limerick a week #145

Shooting from the hip(ster)

Firstborn came out with a sentence on holiday that, had I heard it 20 years ago, I would have assumed to be from a foreign language: “An uber-hipster barista”. How Millennial is that! (Hint: almost as Millennial as using an exclamation mark instead of a question mark at the end of the previous sentence.)

Such a phrase shouts out to be included in a limerick, but that turned out to be easier said than done. Here goes…

A lass drank latte with her sister
‘Cos sometimes it’s hard to resist a
Caffeine-based brew
That gets espressed through
An uber-hipster barista!

Postscript: if it’s difficult to get the meter right in this one, then try saying ‘latte’ as ‘la-tay’, with emphasis on the first syllable. The last line could also do with an extra syllable, for example, ‘An uberly-hipster barista, but then that wouldn’t match the original quote! (Having to define the meter of a limerick is to admit failure every bit as much as having to explain a joke to someone that just didn’t get it – still, I tried.)

A limerick a week #144

Euripides was right!

I’m not a great fan of Father’s Day because, as with many of our annual ‘celebrations’, it pretends to be one thing when in reality it is another – an over-hyped, artificial construct devised to enhance business profits. Or am I just a miserable git (don’t answer!)?

Firstborn and The Second One are aware of my views and, as they are happy to keep their bank balances intact, they humour me by not splashing out on me these days. But I must say that I was pleased by Firstborn’s non-pecuniary contribution to Father’s Day this year – a limerick. It must be in the genes!

Here is what she thinks of me:

Despite my views on Father’s Day itself, fatherhood is, of course, something worth celebrating as there is nothing quite like the joy of seeing your hard-earned ££££ disappear into the parenthood void that is the Bank of Mum and Dad.

Indeed, I remember once asking a colleague, then in her early thirties, how old she was when she stopped withdrawing cash from her particular branch. “I haven’t” was the reply. It seems, that in her case at least, Euripides was right: “To a father growing old nothing is dearer than a daughter“.

Hmmm! That gives me an idea…

A young lass whose dad always bought her
The best things in life really ought ter
Learn to behold
To a father growing old,
Nothing is dearer than a daughter!