Monthly Archives: December 2017

Sir Francis Dashwood gives us Hell

 

 

It’s a long since I’ve been to West Wycombe, it’s not very far by road, I understand,  but the Oxford Tube only seems to serve the plainly weird Lewknor Turn.

You can see Sir Francis Dashwood’s  stuff easily and  clearly from the train to Marylebone, though but.

When it’s not snowing and everything is “running”, however.

So I was very pleased last week to receive from Eamonn Loughran his beautifully produced and very finely colour illustrated Secret Symbols of the Hell Fire Club.

Eamonn is not only a producer of many very high quality books, which he bookbinds too, but has produced several rare editions of hard to get books – I’ve seen a few.  It is obviously a labour of love – but it’s certainly a labour.

I like loads of things about Eammon’s work, apart from his painstaking attention to detail.

This particular work examines very closely the symbolism of Francis Dashwood’s caves, “cabals” et al. There’s lots to say, and Eamonn says lots.

Chapter One deals of a mister called Maxwell Ashby Armfield, who, with his missus lived in West Wycombe for a while.

The whole world+dog knows about the motto of the Hellfire Club – I can’t translate it because I have neither ancient French nor modern English – but seems to go along the lines of the Sanskrit “svecchachara”, meaning be true to your own path.

Eamonn has produced many wonderful books from the past and for the future too.  This is not an uncritical review of this particular book, yet,  but as I used to be a letterpress printer myself, I’d encourage you to check out his website, Hell Fire CLUB

I’ve lost loads of my memory – and it’s not booze

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Tony Dennis in the Wheatsheaf

LAST week, I was invited by three top boffins to the John Radcliffe hospital to discuss the rather new syndrome, transient epileptic amnesia – TEA for short. I’ve turned into a case study!

Professor Butler couldn’t remember he’d met me before, it’s fair to say, although professor Arjun Sen said: “Oh nice to see you again.”

Professor Sen said: “Are you still drinking?” I said yes. He asked: “About the same amount?”  I said yes.

Arjunaji indicated that was OK. And didn’t mention smoking fags this time around.

But Arjun did ask me how much I remembered about 2016. I told him: “About 20 percent.”  He looked shocked. Of course I remember the death of Tony Dennis.

Met another top prof at the John Radcliffe, a man who specialises in occupational stuff.  Apparently I was writing perfectly cogent IT stories for the whole weird period. He said: “OK, that’s a different part of the brain.”

Professor Butler is a very cool guy. He asked if I dreamed. Well I do, in full colour, panaroma view. He reckons I’ll have to take the anti-convulsant lamotrogine drug for the rest of my life. But, he added, rather wittily: “The condition is so new we haven’t had a patient die us on yet.”