Letters from Quotidia 2026 Hologram 2

 Welcome to Letters from Quotidia: Hologram 2. You are probably aware that, whatever you may have been led to believe, you’re back in Quotidia, or some iteration of it. As you know, it’s where ordinary people occasionally encounter the extraordinary.

Those of us with a Y chromosome know that there are certain rites of passage, some worthwhile, others more problematical, that males are traditionally expected to traverse, and that there are certain roles that go with the territory. An insult and putdown is the sneer, Call yourself a real man! The trolls that infest and dominate the manosphere depend on the fear that such an epithet engenders to swell their ranks from among the young and impressionable males of the species. But I don’t wish to waste any more space on such knuckle-draggers.

I spoke in Episode 3 of the Letters of how I felt “much more comfortable in antiquity, where information was hard-won and is best embodied by the legend of the Greek messenger, Pheidippides, who ran the 26 miles from Marathon to Athens in 490 BC with the news of the Athenian victory over the Persian forces. Ten years later Xerxes attempted to avenge the defeat. His campaign gave rise to that iconic symbol of heroic resistance against overwhelming odds- the battle of Thermopylae- where, outnumbered 20 to 1, the Spartans held the Persians at bay to the last man, under the leadership of Leonidas, their king.

The poet Simonides has left us with a few terse lines of poetry which have been a reminder to generations ever since of the courage of men who make the ultimate sacrifice for their country: Stranger passing by, tell the Lakedaimonians/ Here we lie, having obeyed their orders. I feel a certain loss, not to have experienced war. Is this an atavistic urge, I wonder?” Indeed, I have read in various places that you haven’t really lived until you have endured both imprisonment and warfare.

Well, I haven’t had to endure either- touch wood- but as a writer I have been able to vicariously partake of both in the wonderful world of the imagination. Aided, of course by writers such as Henry David Thoreau who nobly intones, Under a government who imprisons any unjustly, the true place for a just man is also a prison. And as for war, try these out for size: Only the dead have seen the end of war- Plato; War does not determine who is right- only who is left. – Bertrand Russell; The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him. – G. K. Chesterton.

I have written songs about war and armed conflict in previous letters. As I was preparing the notes for this letter, an image of an older soldier than the average age of combatants came into my head and I wrote a song with the title Mon Ami So Brave. Much as I would have liked him to flesh out as an exemplar in the G.K Chesterton mould, he manifested as a rather more flawed person, and I can only wonder why that may be. My song, featuring two men, references the trench warfare of WWI and present-day Ukraine as well as the Iraq and Afghanistan conflicts [insert song]

You shouldn’t drink so much is a refrain that has echoed down the ages since the partner of a cave-dweller remonstrated with her man fermenting berries by the fire. It’s possible that a metro-troglodyte wagged a finger at a woman fermenter, but I’ll wager that the former scenario is much more prevalent. And talking about fermenting berries, gang-gang cockatoos in Australia are known for getting drunk on these and falling off their perches.

One could never imagine Emily Dickinson getting drunk and falling down. Indeed, she addressed this improbability in her poem, I taste a liquor never brewed: here it is, I taste a liquor never brewed –From Tankards scooped in Pearl –Not all the Frankfort Berries / Yield such an Alcohol!/Inebriate of air – am I –/And Debauchee of Dew –/Reeling – thro’ endless summer days –/From inns of molten Blue –/When “Landlords” turn the drunken Bee/Out of the Foxglove’s door –/When Butterflies – renounce their “drams” –/I shall but drink the more!/Till Seraphs swing their snowy Hats –/And Saints – to windows run –/To see the little Tippler/Leaning against the – Sun!

Leaning against the sun: What a poet! To be intoxicated only through the senses by Nature’s glories has proved for me a bridge too far, so far. I regard it as a worthy aspiration, though. In LfQ Episode 3 I quoted from Seamus Heaney’s translation of The Yellow Bittern, by Cathal Buí Mac Giolla Ghunna, an 18^th Century Irish poet. It can bear repeating here. Alas, Seamus Heaney left us in 2013, aged 74 so a special thought for him, now. The woman I love says to give it up now/ Or else I’ll go to an early grave,/ But I say no and keep resisting/ For taking drink’s what prolongs your days./ You saw for yourself a while ago/ What happened to the bird when its throat went dry;/ So my friends and neighbours, let it flow: / You’ll be stood no rounds in eternity…There are worse things in this world than the consolations of alcohol. I’ve written a song about this called, I Remain of Good Cheer. [insert song]

The enemies of Jesus called him a drunkard and glutton because He and his disciples wined and dined with tax collectors. But then, of course they had also lambasted His cousin, John the Baptist as a lunatic because he fasted and abstained from alcohol. Psalm 104 refers to wine that makes glad the heart of man while Ephesians says, be not drunk with wine. Ah well, you choose!

Mon Ami So Brave (Words and Music Quentin Bega)

Bm, Em, A, D, Bm, Em, A, D, F#m, Bm, D, A, Em, G, A

In this bombed out wine cellar stay awhile with me

My canteen’s been shot full of holes, I guess I’ve been as well

The battle’s raging round us still, I’d like to talk to you

Let me tell you what I have learned from our brief stay in Hell

I left my wife and family to sign up to the cause

To tell the truth I do not care what we are fighting for

To just escape the daily grind was foremost in my mind

The price of new experience, I guess is this foul war

I should have known better as I’m older than the rest

We carry all our aches and pains inside these uniforms

And bastards I thought left behind are now in charge of us

I should have known better than to believe in unicorns

My unit calls me “Padre”, say I look like some old priest

I just reply I’m rather like some devil sick of sin

They don’t care much for poetry, heavy metal’s more the go

As we pass along a bottle of forbidden bootleg gin

I volunteered to recce the old farmhouse we could see

From our trenches as big shells rained down upon the land

I saw the cellar door and charged in through it in a rush

And saw you sitting reading from that letter in your hand

                              (Instrumental verse)

The dust and grit have left me parched, if only you could find

A bottle of vin ordinaire inside this smoking grave

Then we could toast the life that all men seek to live on earth

But I killed you as you shot me too mon ami so brave

Yeah I killed you as you shot me too mon ami so brave

I Remain of Good Cheer (words and music Quentin Bega)

Key: G

Chorus: C G C G F G Am G Verse: Em Am Em Am Em Am Dm7 G

It may be I lie here outside my local bar

Although I’m in the gutter, my gaze is fixed on the North star

You wonder why I can’t be more like you my friend

Don’t be offended if I tell you that’s the bitter end

Imprisoned by gin and shackled by whiskey,

Gaoled by jelly shots, banged up by beer

Served time with wine, branded by brandy,

Despite all my cares I remain of good cheer

A waste of time and money the preachers all intone

But all I hear is a babble or just a tiresome moan

If we were perfect I think you’d run a country mile

With no one left to wag fingers at- the thought just makes me smile

Imprisoned by gin and shackled by whiskey,

Gaoled by jelly shots, banged up by beer

Served time with wine, branded by brandy,

Despite all my cares I remain of good cheer

I know you want a moral to the story I relate

Something about destiny, something about fate

But life you know can be messy with no rhythm or no rhyme

But a libation or two helps me get through, nothing’s more sublime

 I’m Imprisoned by gin and shackled by whiskey,

Gaoled by jelly shots, banged up by beer

Served time with wine, branded by brandy,

Despite all my cares I remain of good cheer

Imprisoned by gin and shackled by whiskey,

Gaoled by jelly shots, banged up by beer

Served time with wine, branded by brandy,

Despite all my cares I remain of good cheer

Despite all my cares I remain of good cheer…. I remain of good cheer

   Credits: All written text, song lyrics andmusic (including background music) written and composed by Quentin Bega unless otherwise specified in the credits section after individual posts. Illustrative excerpts from other texts identified clearly within each podcast. I donate to and use Wikipedia frequently as one of the saner sources of information on the web.

Technical Stuff: Microphone-songs Shure SM58; (for the podcast spoken content) Audio Technica AT 2020 front-facing with pop filter); Apogee 76K also used for songs and spoken text. For recording and mixing down: 64-bit N-Track Studio 10 Extended used; Rubix 22 also used for mixing of microphone(s) and instruments. I use the Band in a Box/RealBand 2023 combo for music composition.