I have just lost one of my oldest friends, John Law. I met John in 1969, if I remember correctly, when we were both students starting out at Glasgow University. He graduated, married Janet, and worked briefly as an English teacher, but teaching wasn’t really what he wanted to do. He wanted at that time to write, and write he did, poetry, plays, songs, in Scots. Words were in his blood – his father (also John Law) was a published poet. But though much respected, he had to return to work – this time in the computer industry. He set up his own company, Silicon Glen Ltd. (I think he coined the phrase), based in Blackford, Perthshire. I was a co-director, and moved to Blackford to work with him, in Blackford, staying at his house. I have many memories of this time, including helping to re-roof the business. We never made it to the heights in the business (we did all right, buying, repairing and selling parts of Data general minicomputers, and later selling microcomputers), and I eventually went back to working in a University. John meanwhile, had converted me to Scottish nationalism: he had been active in that area for many years, becoming both an election agent and a councillor. But his other love was language: Lallans (or Lowland Scots), which was his native tongue. (I should be writing this in Scots). John and I remained friends: when I married, and sold my house, and was temporarily without a home (our new house was not yet finished) we stayed with him and his family.
I recall so many visits to his house, so many friendly meals, so much generosity. I recall his 50th birthday, I recall him singing there. And many years of parties on January 1st, with many friends from the past. There is so much more to remember.
He died yesterday: shockingly suddenly, and utterly unexpectedly. He leaves behind his wife, Janet, his daughter Anna and husband Alan, and grand-son Charlie. We are all shaken and bereft.
(Addendum, added 23 October 2010): John Law’s last work, which he was working on at the time of his death, is an updated version of Gavin Douglas’s Scots translation of Virgil’s Aeneid, entitled The XIII buiks o Eneadoso the famous poet Virgil. The work was completed by Caroline Macefee with whom he had been working closely. This posthumously published free e-book (and .pdf as well) is part of the Scots Language Centre’s website.
My problem with blogs
January 17, 2010I started this blog thinking it would be a bit like a diary. Not that I’ve ever successfully kept a diary for more than about a week, but I thought that the technology might encourage me. But the difference is that I can ensure that only the people I want to read a diary – or even that no-one else at all reads it. But a blog? A blog is a public document. Worse, it’s a copiable public document that takes on a life of its own: it’s indelible. Even if I delete the blog – even in WordPress closes permanently, there will still be a record of whatever I write, readable by those who want to. So I can’t write anything I don’t want to make public. And that’s a problem, because all the interesting things that I might want to write are things that I don’t want all and sundry to be able to read. Yes, I know that my name and identity are not directly visible, but I’m quite sure that anyone who really wanted to know who I was would have few problems in tracing me. And there are a few people who already know who I am.
I’m told that on facebook, security can be set on a friend by friend, post by post basis (as is the case on some other portal-based repositories that I work on). And, of course, on facebook, most users hide more or less everything from the casual non-friend visitor. So perhaps I should give up the blog and go on to facebook. But then I’d have to manage my friends, and manage my posts: and that’s even more work.
So? I’ll settle for making bland entries, and attempting a little humour (see: English spelling, implies UK educated).
It was a dark, dark night, and three men were sitting on a log. One of the turned to one of the others, and began:
It was a dark, dark night, and three men were sitting on a log. One of the turned to one of the others, and began:
It was a dark, dark night, and three men were sitting on a log. One of the turned to one of the others, and began:
It was a dark, dark night, and three men were sitting on a log. One of the turned to one of the others, and began:
and so on. Surely I can do better than this?
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