1.12.38

Two eggs. (This makes 30 since 26.10.38)

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37 Responses to 1.12.38

  1. anilg says:

    This is getting eggciting!

  2. Dennis says:

    I can’t wait to see what happens next!

  3. Alan says:

    I think your eggzaggerating.

  4. Ronny says:

    eggs in eggsuberance

  5. Anders says:

    Eggxactly.

  6. dan says:

    He’s been counting!

    (I’d join in the puns but don’t want to egg people on)

  7. Stephen says:

    M-egg-alomaniac.

  8. You need to see these eggs in context. In late 1938 the Spanish Civil War was coming to an end. Earlier in the year, Franco’s fascists had cut off the republican forces in Catalonia. I will let Wikipedia take up the story:

    “The Republican government then launched an all-out campaign to reconnect their territory in the Battle of the Ebro, beginning on July 24 and lasting until November 26. The campaign was militarily unsuccessful, and was undermined by the Franco-British appeasement of Hitler in Munich with the concession of Czechoslovakia. This effectively destroyed the last vestiges of Republican morale by ending all hope of an anti-fascist alliance with the Western powers. The retreat from the Ebro all but determined the final outcome of the war. Eight days before the new year, Franco struck back by throwing massive forces into an invasion of Catalonia.”

    This is probably why Orwell is counting eggs.

  9. andy says:

    Combo-breaker!

  10. Greg says:

    Ah an aggr-egg-ate score of eggs so far! How thoughtful of Orwell, little knowing that in 70 years we’d be frantically calculating his hens’ output so far. Thanks!

  11. dave says:

    I actually spent (wasted?) 30 minutes last nite reading up on poultry management/egg production…

    Ah the internet…By “keeping score” GO is showing he has a strong Eggo,I still don’t know about his id…

    Try Shackelton Centenary Expedition for a change of scenery…

  12. Hiro says:

    Tristram, I think you’re eggs-adurating the importance of the context of that silly little war. Surely, each of these entries stands on its own as pure genius.

  13. Chris says:

    Now I know the REAL truth to the old sayingt: Dont count your eggs before they hatch…

  14. Ed Webb says:

    Thirty, a milestone!
    Days pass, insides get better,
    Eggs come, skull bleaches…

  15. Honestly, you guys are hilarious. This blog has become my favorite daily stop on the web.

    The egg counting and your reactions to it are sublime.

  16. itwasntme says:

    Tristram, thanks for the context. It’s no wonder he’s concentrating on egg production.

    These days, I find myself using internet jigsaw puzzles the same way. Crossword puzzles have become too complicated to focus on.

  17. Jake says:

    This writer respectfully demurs on all counts.

  18. David says:

    Yay! I totally called it.

    Tomorrow just one egg.

  19. Sir Alphonso says:

    I am eggstatic!

  20. Hector says:

    Wow! This isn’t arbitrary.

  21. Roast chicken for Xmas dinner?

  22. Steve says:

    dave, to paraphrase Ratty in “The Wind in the Willows,” there is nothing – absolutely nothing – half so much worth doing as simply messing about with chickens.

    It’s not too late for everyone to begin picking out their chickens for springtime! Murray McMurray hatchery is a good place to browse for birds.

  23. For the Christmas Feast, there will be several trays of deviled eggs which will reappear in the next day’s Egg Salad Sandwich and again in the following day’s Turkey Salad Sandwich and, after that, it’s Egg Foo NotSoYung for all.

  24. almax says:

    That’s un oeuf.

  25. Joey Shannon says:

    2.12.1983

    2 Eggs (total 32)

    Finally ready. Traveling to Russia to Egg Stalin.

  26. Throughout recorded time, and probably since the end of the Neolithic Age, there have been three kinds of eggy substance in the world, the Yoke, the White, and the Gooey Bit that Sometimes Has a Tiny Red Bit. They have been subdivided in many ways, they have borne countless different names, and their relative numbers, as well as their attitude towards one another, have varied from age to age: but the essential structure of eggs has never altered. Even after enormous upheavals and seemingly irrevocable changes, such as being whisked with a fork, the same pattern has always reasserted itself, just as a gyroscope will always return to equilibrium, however far it is pushed one way or the other.

    The aims of these three eggy substances are entirely irreconcilable. The aim of the Yoke is to remain where it is. The aim of the White is to change places with the Yoke. The aim of the Gooey Bit that Sometimes Has a Tiny Red Bit, when they have an aim – for it is an abiding characteristic of the Gooey Bit that Sometimes Has a Tiny Red Bit that it is too much upset by the way people go “Urgh” at it to be more than intermittently conscious of anything outside their shell – is to abolish all distinctions and create a society in which all eggy substances shall be equal. Thus throughout history a struggle which is the same in its main outlines recurs over and over again. For long periods the Yoke seems to be securely in power, but sooner or later there always comes a moment when it loses either its belief in itself or its capacity to govern efficiently, or both. It is then overthrown by the White, who enlists the Gooey Bit that Sometimes Has a Tiny Red Bit on its side by pretending that it is fighting for salt and pepper and perhaps some nice buttered toast. As soon as it has reached its objective, the White thrusts the Gooey Bit that Sometimes Has a Tiny Red Bit back into its old position of servitude, and itself becomes the Yoke. Presently a new White bit splits off from one of the other bits, or from both of them, and the struggle begins over again. Of the three bits, only the Gooey Bit that Sometimes Has a Tiny Red Bit is never even temporarily successful in achieving its aims. It would be an exaggeration to say that throughout history there has been no progress of an eggy kind. Even today, in a period of decline, the average eggy substance is physically better off than he was a few centuries ago. But no advance in condiments, no brewing of tea, no doily or spoon has ever brought egg equality a millimetre nearer. From the point of view of the Gooey Bit that Sometimes Has a Tiny Red Bit, no historic change has ever meant much more than a change in the name of their masters.

    Awwww. Poor Gooey Bit that Sometimes Has a Tiny Red Bit. Chin up, things might get better soon!

  27. dave says:

    D Earwicker; I’lle have some of whatever your having!!!

    By the way is that the Yoke on your horse collar,the yolk of an egg, or the yolk of oppression??

    My father ate 2 poached eggs every sunday morning (on toast).It used to fascinate me to watch him chop them up. Me,I’me a rebel,a runny fried egg man…

    Steve;that WAS (is) a great book,and to my (shit disturbing) mind,possibly more profound than anything GO ever wrote.Especially if you count this “diary”

    I think the yolk is on us….

  28. dave says:

    Thats yoke of oppression…ime getting confused…

  29. What’s that blood-curdling scream!?! Oh, no!
    It’s Yolko. Oh, no.
    :shock:

  30. dave says:

    Jl3 You always were the yolker back @ Bletchley Park. Q reminds me that you were the one with the bowler hat-always pulling a chicken out of it.

    Such ,Such Were the Days…

  31. muriel says:

    I become egdicted to the collection of responses!

  32. The “yoke” spelling is a sophisticated callback to my comment here:

    https://orwelldiaries.wordpress.com/2008/11/05/51138/

    I admit this is probably on the obscure side of obscure.

  33. art brennan says:

    I cannot get “Gooey Bit That Sometimes Has a Tiny Red Bit” off my mind. Over and over and over again it rattles in my skull. Time to crack open the three in the fridge and find out exactly what’s in each of them.

  34. Go ahead, Art, but don’t bother trying to make them all mix together as equals – it just won’t work.

    Actually an omelette might do it.

  35. Dominic says:

    Cheaper by the two dozen.. or so…

  36. Pingback: Rooftop » Channeling Orwell

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