.
One of the several displacement activities that enable me not to get round to writing a book is the fact that I'm trying to give up smoking. I haven’t given up fully as yet. I'm not in the right frame of mind to do that. But I have cut down significantly. It hurts. Without tobacco I'm like Popeye without his spinach. My super-powers of having something to do with my hands and not feeling vulnerable when in public places on my own are fading. I have nothing to do at bus stops. If I was still at work I would have no excuse to flee from the horror four or five times day.
.
However, it dawned on me recently that, as a smoker, it would be a reasonable life investment to devote an entire year to kicking the habit. I could just sit in a cell doing biff all else, aside from not smoking ciggies for 365 days, and I'd come out on top. Provided I don't forget how to cross the road and get hit by a bus on my first day out.
However, it dawned on me recently that, as a smoker, it would be a reasonable life investment to devote an entire year to kicking the habit. I could just sit in a cell doing biff all else, aside from not smoking ciggies for 365 days, and I'd come out on top. Provided I don't forget how to cross the road and get hit by a bus on my first day out.
.
Anyway, earlier on today I made myself a cup of camomile tea in the vain hope that it would mask the withdrawal pangs.
Anyway, earlier on today I made myself a cup of camomile tea in the vain hope that it would mask the withdrawal pangs.
.
I was first introduced to the joys of camomile tea by my maternal grandmother. My mum's family come from a dirt-poor, remote village in one of the rougher parts of Italy. Surrounded as they were by copious quantities of indigestible weeds, and little else, my ancestors made the most of their lot and set about finding a use for each and every weed that God, in his infinite generosity, had blessed them with. This process was powered partly by desperation but also by a strong Catholic belief that everything had been set on this Earth for a reason. They were successful. Back in the days when my Great Grandparents generation was still around, you could pull out just about any manky looking plant and some old dear in a shawl would explain that you could ferment, chew, stew or brew that plant to some useful purpose.
I was first introduced to the joys of camomile tea by my maternal grandmother. My mum's family come from a dirt-poor, remote village in one of the rougher parts of Italy. Surrounded as they were by copious quantities of indigestible weeds, and little else, my ancestors made the most of their lot and set about finding a use for each and every weed that God, in his infinite generosity, had blessed them with. This process was powered partly by desperation but also by a strong Catholic belief that everything had been set on this Earth for a reason. They were successful. Back in the days when my Great Grandparents generation was still around, you could pull out just about any manky looking plant and some old dear in a shawl would explain that you could ferment, chew, stew or brew that plant to some useful purpose.
.
And this process has taken place all over the World for countless generations. At a picnic near Voronesz in Russia a few years ago our host explained, complete with appropriate and exaggerated hand gestures, that tomatoes prevent heart disease, parsley was more effective than Viagra and that vodka good for everything else. I remember thinking that things had turned out quite well for the population of Voronesz then; as vodka, parsley and tomatoes seemed to be the only things they possessed in relative abundance (in that order).
And this process has taken place all over the World for countless generations. At a picnic near Voronesz in Russia a few years ago our host explained, complete with appropriate and exaggerated hand gestures, that tomatoes prevent heart disease, parsley was more effective than Viagra and that vodka good for everything else. I remember thinking that things had turned out quite well for the population of Voronesz then; as vodka, parsley and tomatoes seemed to be the only things they possessed in relative abundance (in that order).
.
Anyway, there I was savouring the calming effects of my cup of dead flower heads; enjoying one of the benefits of countless years of practical field testing. I thought how grateful I was for the legacy of those unnamed heroes who, amongst many other things, discovered that garlic wards off colds and that hemlock doesn't make a good salad leaf; they didn't writhe in vain. Admittedly, some of their discoveries were not particularly useful. For example, my grandmother once told me that dandelion leaves make you pee a lot. In the 32 years since I've learned this snippet I've encountered many situations where an anti-dandelion would have been handy but I have never thought 'Gosh, I really wish I could wee more, right here, right now. Look! Some dandelion leaves! Bona!'.
Anyway, there I was savouring the calming effects of my cup of dead flower heads; enjoying one of the benefits of countless years of practical field testing. I thought how grateful I was for the legacy of those unnamed heroes who, amongst many other things, discovered that garlic wards off colds and that hemlock doesn't make a good salad leaf; they didn't writhe in vain. Admittedly, some of their discoveries were not particularly useful. For example, my grandmother once told me that dandelion leaves make you pee a lot. In the 32 years since I've learned this snippet I've encountered many situations where an anti-dandelion would have been handy but I have never thought 'Gosh, I really wish I could wee more, right here, right now. Look! Some dandelion leaves! Bona!'.
.
And, mostly, I can understand how people came upon this knowledge. You will chew just about anything to hand when you have a migraine or a toothache, country people will attempt to ferment whatever they can lay their hands on and, sometimes, nature gives little hints; dock leaves are a cure for nettle stings and frequently grow near to nettles for example.
And, mostly, I can understand how people came upon this knowledge. You will chew just about anything to hand when you have a migraine or a toothache, country people will attempt to ferment whatever they can lay their hands on and, sometimes, nature gives little hints; dock leaves are a cure for nettle stings and frequently grow near to nettles for example.
.
But then we get onto the less explicable knowledge. From the plant world, my personal favourite is Celandine; famed as Wordworth's favourite flower and also known as Pilewort. It is called Pilewort because the bruised leaves, when mixed with lard and applied to the anus, are a traditional cure for haemorrhoids. This remedy is also known in Italy. So, I have to ask:
But then we get onto the less explicable knowledge. From the plant world, my personal favourite is Celandine; famed as Wordworth's favourite flower and also known as Pilewort. It is called Pilewort because the bruised leaves, when mixed with lard and applied to the anus, are a traditional cure for haemorrhoids. This remedy is also known in Italy. So, I have to ask:
- Why would anyone think about mashing up Celandine leaves with animal fat, apply the mix to their haemorrhoids and keep it there long enough to see if it would have a beneficial effect?
- Having done this how would they go about explaining what they had done to other people?
- Given that this cure was known by peasant people in at least two different countries, could it be that more than one person did this?
My conclusion is that people are strange, very strange. And I haven't even mentioned Castoreum yet. Castoreum is bitter orange-brown oil, with strong, penetrating odour, found in two sacs between the anus and external genitals of beavers. Castoreum was a traditional Native American cure for headaches and spasms. It is also happens to be non kosher. Even more so than with the Celandine, I have to ask:
- Who was the first person to lick a beaver's butt whilst suffering from spasms or a headache and what was he thinking while he was doing it?
- How did he go about explaining his new discovery to his friends?
One unanticipated benefit of his discovery was, however, the fact that hundreds of years later I could title this post 'Rimming a Beaver' rather than 'The Wisdom of the Ancients' and thus set a childish trap for people surfing blog titles for smut; which was pretty much the sole purpose of writing this entry in the first place.
.
2 comments:
Funnily enough I heard about castorium a number of weeks ago in an answer about perfume and was equally mystified. But drawing out the schoolboy side of me, I'd first say your graphic explanation of what drives you to smoke may explain why I pick my nose, and secondly I'd like to add urine therapy to your list of natural remedies. My Polish great-grandma always had a large bottle of pee ready for sore throats and other ailments, and my 95-year old grandma is one product of such treatment. And there are no germs in fresh urine, before anyone raises that one. All I can say is don't knock it before you try it, but maybe choose the donor carefully first...
Yes, castorium is used as a base in some perfumes. Presumably after its discoverer cured his headache by licking a beaver's butt he realised he smelled nice as well.
Also, I'm always up for trading immigrant grandmother urine and faeces stories, so now's a good time to mention that my nan continued the village habit of defecating in the vegetable patch, long after she moved from the Appennines over to Finchley. She was famed throughout certain circles in North London for growing the most enormous cabbages and lettuce that no-one wanted to eat. She also spiked her home made wine with white spirit just to give it an extra little kick. In many ways she was a dream dinner party hostess.
I suppose we also could move from traditional remedies over to general folklore. One time, in the family village, an old guy explained to my girlfried why he hung a cheesegrater and a piece of knotted rope outside his house. It was demon protection. The cheesegrater was there to scare the wimpier demons (!?) and the knotted rope to confuse the more determined ones. It was all Tracy could do to avoid laughing in his face.
They were all barking in that village. When they weren't dumping on their radishes and attaching kitchen utensils to their front doors they spent most of the rest of the time drunk and wondering why 14th century farming techniques weren't cutting it. Most of them moved over to Wolverhampton in 1950 and thought it was an improvement, which says a lot.
Mind you, what's wrong with a few harmless superstitions? Maybe I should nail an egg whisk and a copy of the Times crossword outside our flat just to be on the safe side.
Post a Comment