没意思是指，实体水南水“北”调和虚拟水“北”水南调中的“北”并不完全重合，对于东北这个重要产粮区尤其如此。

说东北和内蒙有点没意思了。毕竟南水北调主要的接受方是京津冀和河南。东北自己有水……。

而且从缺水地区把虚拟水送往其他地区并不少见。例如澳大利亚出口不少粮食。尽管正是因为缺水和缺肥澳大利亚的小麦亩产只有中国一半不到，英国三分之一，爱尔兰四分之一的样子。无他，农业发展除了水还需要很多别的因素。而水除了种粮也有很多别的用处。

说韩国的话，我觉得对中共来说，等朝鲜犯贱然而进攻朝鲜更好。毕竟进攻朝鲜胜算大。而且这样可以在不损失国内政治声望的情况下和西方合作。同时占领不少道义高地。现在中国国内舆论不太允许和西方合作。西方也是。但是朝鲜问题很可能成为一个潜在的合作点。

而且反正中共看朝鲜不顺眼也不是一两天了。中俄友谊可以宣，中朝友谊没人宣的。而且据我所知在过去十年内就有过进攻朝鲜的军演。

要是用的好，能把朝鲜做成一个官方无核的中共傀儡，那中共可以被续很久命了。

我虽然小学就搬回了英语国家，但是因为在家不说英语，所以一般也自视英语说得还行的英语第二语言用者。我觉得学英语主要是一开始学会一些基本的语法点（否则一个词换了tense都不认得）。之后就是锻炼“把话说清楚”的能力，一句话有SVO之类，虽然我自己说活快的时候也时常不跟着这一条。然后就是多看想看的东西了。不想看的东西怎么样也是看不懂的。如果是小朋友，还要注意看和年龄及理解力相符的文字。刚上中学的小朋友就好好看这么《少年维特的烦恼》，看什么《了不起的盖兹比》，大概只能看出那个电影改编版(2013)的导演的水平来……。

取决于你对“玉”和“宝石”的定义了。要是说只有矿物晶体才算的话，那中国市场常见的玉都不算（因为他们不是矿物晶体）。要是说大家喜闻乐见，赋予“高”价值的石头都是宝石的话，那毛利人和玛雅人也挺喜欢用绿色的，而且矿物上和中国常见的玉成分类似的石头做装饰物，但是就不知道有多少中国人认为这是“玉”。当然，要是你的“大家”只包含了西方人的话，那“玉”确实只在中国算宝石，因为传统来说西方人可不会给中国玉赋予什么高价值……。

但西方这个想法还是很危险的。中国一向的设想就是会和西方打全面战争。西方自然也应该以应对全面战争的态度去做准备。这次应该俄罗斯的工业水平就搞成这样子。俄罗斯的工业水平就算是重工业也是要大量外购核心零部件的，包括不少来自中国的。当然乌克兰更不行就是了。我曾经了解过一个乌克兰工业投资项目，希望吸引“工业发达国家”的人才，例如………………印度。

而且那篇文章说得很对的一点，就是，基础的炮弹产量，考验的就是mass production的水平。你不太指望一个生产热水器都要比别人贵二十倍的国家能造出大量便宜的炮弹的。以这次西方的表现，我严重怀疑西方工业界vs中国工业界时，会被中国的工业能力淹死。

而且西方对这个事情似乎完全不上心。甚至对reshoring也三心二意。现在应该是重建西方工业最好的时候。但是不少人对买到东南亚组装（甚至西方组装）的中国货就足够满意了…………。

我中文不好，挑认得的看的话，原因基本就是字面意思。注射药我猜是担心不会用/缺乏保存条件容易出事（虽然实体药店出售也会有一样的问题）。（二）里面的基本上是易成瘾/制毒。（三）是易滥用的兴奋剂之类。（四）就是字面上的，用药风险较高（毒性，副作用，以及抗药细菌一类）。

赞同无论是清零还是共存，两边都要算QALY loss。清零的QALY loss未必会比共存高。但是中国式清零的QALY loss比有必要的高是肯定的。毕竟他们连静默演习都能搞出来…………。

医疗资源的部分，仅看ICU是不可以的。不少人会需要住院，但是还没到需要ICU。以及我们也会triage ICU referrals，一些病人处于需要进，但是不是百分百需要进的，可能会被拒绝。同时我们可以通过暂停elective surgery来减少一些post op ICU/HDU admission（另外多余的手术室本来就是绝佳的临时ICU）。所以ICU不会是第一个爆的。我经验看来第一个崩溃的往往是A&E，因为他们不能拒绝任何人。但是实话说，不少A&E就算是没有COVID，都是要崩溃的状态（尤其在不少被忽视的社区）。COVID让一切都更糟糕了一点。中国不知道会不会统计急症等待时间，或者elective admission等待时间之类的（一般是癌症相关或者手术相关）。

以及新冠的最大问题是让本来不该死的人死了。老年人就算不会新冠死，也会有其他一千种死法。但是中年人可不是。提高13.4%的死亡率对中年人可不算很好的消息。但是当然，这要和封城（尤其是中国式的做法）造成的QALY loss比，因为他们也是被封城打击得最重的。

另外炒冷饭/t/19120

其实我觉得大可不必怎么失望。我感觉中文里面“自由派”其实就是对所有对现在共产党不满的一个大帐篷。里面的人虽然都不喜欢共产党但是对于要建立怎样的社会，是有很多不一样的想法的。就“人权”，“自由”，“反共”而言，相信AOC/Bernie Sanders/拜登/特朗普/田纳西村民甲/西雅图路人乙/Greta Thunberg，都能或多或少的划入“自由派”。但是这里面你不可能每个都喜欢的。而且如上所说，这里面很多只是“路人/村民”而已，随机抽一个估计都有一半几率比你笨。所以就不要操心其他人太多。

港台我可以多说一句。就是你要考虑到现实社会里面的power imbalance。你要是和一个香港人一对一，你自然会很困惑为什么你什么都没有干，但是他会讨厌你。但是对他来说，你多少是一个来自压迫政权的人，在香港社会结构里面，你们不是来自平等的群体。你的说你的语言是值得倡导，他说他的语言却是推动港独需要被打击。你不需要了解他的历史，而他却要在历史课上学必修。自然的你会被下意识的看作压迫者的一份子 - 尽管在不了解你的时候就下结论是不对的。就像满洲的村民讨厌日本殖民者，或者澳洲的原住民讨厌白人一样。

@庆丰包子香 #191869 这不就观网/CCTV日常嘛。他们自己做新闻的能力就是一个垃圾，只会搬运民主国家反对派来论证国外水深火热。

@natasha #191558 那得请tash姐帮忙了……

中国保留了完整战斗力确实，洋人非死即伤确实。问题是要怎么赢。

解放军总不能戴着口罩打仗，接触一个洋兵隔离14天吧。

@natasha #190966 这得感谢施耐庵先生……

@natasha #190778

丹妮提了一口气，捋了捋鬓角，笑着进去。

厨房里面有一个高瘦的女人。她正在打开一些罐头。空气里面有西红柿炖牛肉的味道。

“这是我的老婆兰娜。”他向丹妮解释。“兰娜 - 这是丹妮，我的中学同学”

“很高兴见到你 - "厨房传来。“我听辉提到过你。”“很抱歉的是，我们今天冰箱坏了，所以也没有什么能用的食材。不过我们为了防止封城的时候没有吃的，有两大箱西红柿炖牛肉罐头。今天算是派上用场了。”

“作为补偿，我有一些很好的酒 - 82年的拉菲。我这就给你倒一碗。”

82年的拉菲和西红柿牛肉确实是绝配。三人都喝了不少酒。不知不觉，时间已经到了十一点。

丹妮喝下了十八碗酒，倒提着手袋，脚步不稳地正想向家走去。兰娜追出来喊道：“走不得！走不得！最近附近有个变态，已经伤害了二三十条人命。”

丹妮听了，笑了笑说：“你休来吓我，便真个有，我也不怕！”

刚出门不过十分钟，忽然刮起了一阵狂风，接着“扑”的一声，从灌木丛后面跳出一只小猫咪来。那小猫两只前爪在地上轻轻一按，朝着丹妮纵身扑来。

说时迟，那时快，丹妮见小猫扑过来，只一闪，就闪在小猫背后。丹妮两手就势抓住小猫的后颈皮轻轻往空中一提，那小猫便身子一软，倒在地上。丹妮在猫头上摸了两下，那小猫就发出了满足的purr声，再也没了一开始的狂力。

“今天蹭到了免费饭，喝到了82年的拉菲，还撸到了猫，真是一天！”丹妮心想到。

@Nemo #190727 能蹭到饭就不算浪费时间了吧（来自穷鬼的留言）

@穿防护服的大白 #185961 我一向的观点是，在underworld里面行动，对有心参与的人，是很公平的。蛇头可以卖你。你也可以当上蛇头，把别的蛇头给卖了。

当然心思慎密，有组织的蛇头比一般一时兴起想抢劫的teenager难对付（反杀）一点。但是相信我，只要不怂，机会是有的。机会成本请自己算…………

@natasha #185058 听说是这样的。因为扑杀本来就是没有根据的事情。因此自然会有人欺软怕硬。或者嫌麻烦就不做了。毕竟要用外语和一个外国人说“我要杀掉你的猫猫”并且在随后可预见的吵架中占上风，对于大部分人，确实不太容易。

不过为什么他们会认为外国人是硬我是不太清楚。很多刚到中国没多久的外国人其实怂的很。但是混久了的油条就经常利用这一点。

@natasha #185049 看得我都想搞一个外国友人担保猫猫业务了。一只猫咪一百块。可爱的50也可以。

中共种族歧视看不起华裔，我别的朋友还是有的。

@小甜甜 #184989 需要换个脑子才成

@natasha #184673 某便利店的两块钱白色糖霜 + 某便利店四舍五入等于免费的小杯咖啡 = 上学时候最佳图书馆动力。

但是不是看上去那样便宜。价格标签藏在牙医账单里。

其实直接按俄联邦管区分基本就很准的了。我感觉你的分法没能很好照顾到乌拉尔山区/西西伯利亚，以及余下的西伯利亚、远东的区别。以及北高加索建议直接按现有的自治共和国边界来切。俄罗斯行政规划还是挺照顾文化边界的，现有的拿来用就可以……

@刺刺 #184459 确实是这样。但是当时的舆论也有点可防重症=可以无视新冠，回归前-新冠的生活的样子。而这一点是非常不准确的，因为这忽视感染本身会造成的问题，例如员工缺勤。

今天实在缺乏干活动力，决定给自己放一天假。吃完早餐就在家里喝啤酒。战前的乌克兰obolon，开战之后在当地酒商买了一箱。不知道之后还有什么时候有了。其实只是50/50的啤酒，不过只是sentimental value而已。

不过我在家里的玻璃杯只有半打俄罗斯产的二十面玻璃杯（这种），曾经的旅游纪念品。之所以想到这个是想到我以前还算挺喜欢俄罗斯的。风景不错。路况也还行（城市除外）。而且总有种点平行世界的感觉。例如玻璃杯会来自60年代为了改进玻璃生产工艺的实验工厂。会和小时候看过的地摊文学，苏联疯狂科学家之类的有一点resonance。英国没有疯狂科学家，只有19世纪的工业家或者几个世纪的工匠传统之类的。就是比较无聊。

不过现在当然不会再买俄罗斯或者白俄罗斯产品了。

/t/11229

过去了一年多好想写一个复盘。总体看了下，高估了疫苗抗传染效果，但是低估了疫苗应对急性complication的效果。低估了变种速度（但是乌鸦嘴中了南非）。边境控制和中国部分在omicron出现前基本准确，之后就不对了。以及总体缺乏对后遗症和社会影响的讨论。

不过这大概要难产了。新的工作虽然基本工资高了25%（加上加班估计能高个六成），但是真的要被榨干了……

帮助乌克兰军队

这是乌克兰央行的网站。可以信用卡直接支付（亲测选择欧元/格里夫纳扣费均是按格里夫纳，美元不清楚）。虽然转账看起来安全一点，但是他们给的外币账户似乎没有很好考虑到使用那些货币的国民的使用习惯，所以很令人困惑。

以往战争我往往会选择买当地商品表示支持。但是这里例外。因为这是全面的战争，因此供应链被打乱的情况很严重。一些工厂甚至在交火区（例如我挺喜欢的一个牌子 - staleks - 在哈尔科夫），因此买了肯定不会发货。

接受和谈，俄罗斯和谈条件如下：

1. 俄罗斯从乌克兰撤军。

2. 承认东乌两个分离主义者实际控制区的独立，但是这两个地方为非军事区。并允许第三国观察员（也就是说基本回到开战前的军事部署状态，但是不用收回对这两个地方的独立承认。乌克兰也没有实质上的损失，因为在2014年就损完了）。

3. 克里米亚重新在国际观察员在场情况下重新投票公投（大概率还是留在俄罗斯）。

4. 普京下台，但是换一个统俄党的上台（不用动现在的利益分配太多，算是借普京人头换权贵利益。但是普京可未必愿意轻易送头……）。

5. 换取取消西方大部分制裁（真正的国家利益所在。乌克兰离北约和欧盟都是十万八千里，对这两项的担心纯粹杞人忧天）。

乌克兰的条件

1. 同意俄罗斯的条件。

2. 取缔和新纳粹主义关系接近的组织±亚速营（反正泽连斯基的centrist政府也不太喜欢他们，他们在民众里面也没有那么受欢迎。还能在西方刷一波好感。俄罗斯也得到了成功去纳粹化的台阶）。

3. 同意永不部署北约的军队和基地（反正一开始也没打算部署，以战前状态乌克兰也没有加入北约的可能，而俄罗斯又获得了成功阻挡北约的台阶。而乌克兰/北约也没有说就此不加入北约，只是不部署）。

4. 泽连斯基辞职，重新大选（大概率还是亲欧人士上台，但是没有太强烈的反俄光环。以及泽连斯基在外交手腕上还是差一点）。

感觉这算是一个对目前双方的统治阶级都能接受的方案……

这是基于我对目前乌克兰战情的判断：俄罗斯会在未来数周完全占领第聂伯河以东，但是代价超过自己想象。而乌克兰也难以承受继续战争的代价。当然最好的结果是乌克兰成功抵御，俄罗斯恶有恶报。

1

An absurd little narrow-gauge railway ran from the station to the village, which had now grown into a market town. Compared with the frightening, snorting great trains of the grown-ups, this little engine with its miniature coaches all of different colours was comfortingly reminiscent of a child's toy. In the big train I had felt oppressed and uneasy, afraid of losing my suitcase or of going past the right station. The fear had been very real and intrusive, and it was with relief that I climbed into one of the green toy coaches, sat down on a handsomely perforated wooden bench and stowed my suitcase between my feet. After all my anxieties I felt I had reached my goal. The little train suited me; its size was reassuring, and when with a piercing whistle the engine jerked the coaches into motion I felt pride on its account. The line was familiar to me; I knew where I had to get out and was sure of being able to find my way. But I had never made this journey alone before. Hitherto I'd been a child; now I was twelve and travelling on my own, and among the underclothes, sandwiches and bathing trunks in my suitcase lay Stevenson's Treasure Island, the most tremendously exciting book I had ever read.

The bathing trunks strengthened my sense of being no longer a child. Hitherto it had never occurred to me to wear such things, but in this little country town there was a public bathing beach on the lake shore, and Mother told me I must wear them there. The moment she said this I realized the truth of it, and felt somehow estranged from her and from all the world, as if some protecting membrane had split and left me naked and afraid in an alien place. But this first confusion had long since passed and now I merely felt very grand in possessing bathing trunks, and also in having a suitcase of my own.

Barely three hours had passed since I had formally shaken hands with my mother on the platform in Helsinki, rigid with dread lest despite her promise she should disgrace me by kissing me good-bye in front of strangers. She had not done so, and these last three hours had swept me away from my former life – from safe, familiar things – into a solitude where I must fend for myself. This was a painful yet exhilarating feeling. Alone I had changed at the junction, and felt proud indeed to have found the right train without difficulty. The loneliness of that too big, too rapid express train had lain heavily upon me. Now that the ordeal was nearly over I straightened up, like a beetle which, having been frightened into shamming death, cautiously spreads its gauzy wings when the danger is past.

I leaned airily back, threw one leg over the other and looked out of the tiny window. The coach rocked pleasantly, the little engine hooted at every bend and a green and red spruce wood rushed by. Then appeared the outlying houses of the town, and the train drew up by an open space beyond which the ancient church, with its steep shingle roof, soared to the sky. Jackdaws were screeching round the steeple.

It was here I had to alight. No one had come to meet me, for my aunt was delicate and suffered from loss of breath, and my uncle disliked interrupting his work without good cause. I knew I should have no difficulty in finding the house, and at the thought that there was now no need for anyone to meet me I felt even more grown-up than before. I paused for a moment to look at the church, knowing that it was a noted feature of the place and was even pointed out to foreign visitors. Its walls were over three feet thick, and had huge stones built into them at such a height that no one knew how people living all those centuries ago had ever got them up there. Or so my aunt said, never forgetting to add that the bigger the stones they laid in the walls the bigger the sins for which they fancied they would be forgiven. Aunt made this remark with heavy irony, well knowing that it was by faith alone and not by works that mankind could attain salvation. Yet in thinking of those far-off days she would heave a gentle sigh and add indulgently, "Poor souls!"

The sight of the church aroused in me a strong feeling of repugnance, for already I could hear the minatory thunders of the organ; the paintings on the walls appeared to my mind's eye in dreadful detail, and again I felt the deadly boredom that had gripped me on every one of the countless Sundays I had spent there, when I was completely in the dark as to what it was all about. Such, again, was the prospect if I meant to spend the whole of August with my aunt, but I tried to persuade myself that those inevitable hours would now be easier to endure. I understood a certain amount by this time and had also begun to think.

I wandered along the dusty road that ran through the little town, looking in at the stationer's window and noting that a new house of stone had been built in the market square. The buildings were painted yellow or white as before and were surrounded by hedges of spruce or hawthorn, and in the gardens there were apple trees. At last I stood before the familiar house. I opened the discoloured gate and walked cautiously up to the house along the edge of the sandy path so as not to spoil the wavy patterns made by the rake; Aunt was very particular about these. Quietly and warily I opened the outer door, for Aunt didn't like noise. A white rug striped with red lay on the gleaming, extremely slippery linoleum, and once more the eternal problem confronted me: should I walk on the rug or on the floor? For neither must be dirtied. But the familiar, Old World smell of the house drifted to me reassuringly: the scent of old furniture, clean linen, rusks, linoleum, and freshly roasted coffee. Aunt came towards me, temporarily dismissing all problems from her mind, and held out her big, bony, kindly hand.

"Well, here you are then, Joel," she said. "I'm glad to see you. How's your mother?"

I answered conscientiously all her questions about my mother, my home, and my journey. She showed me where I was to sleep, took the suitcase from me, and offered me a cup of coffee in the kitchen. Here was proof that she considered me full-grown; in the old days I had been given only hot water and cream.

Aunt sat with her chin resting in her hand, scrutinizing me with eyes that sparkled kindly in the big, lean face. When I had eaten four slices of wheaten bread and finished my coffee she glanced toward the door of the workshop and said hesitantly, "Maybe you should go and say how-do-you-do to your uncle."

It was clear that she was as nervous as I was of disturbing him. I therefore knocked cautiously, opened the door and amid the ticking of innumerable clocks walked across the spotless floor to where my uncle was sitting behind the counter. He let the watchmaker's glass drop from his wrinkled eye and turned to greet me. He wore his working coat, but with it a high starched collar and a grey silk tie. His grey hair was combed carefully back and his scalp gleamed white between the sparse strands. His eyebrows were two wing-shaped tufts and the grey whiskers lent him an air of dignity. But his cheeks and chin, for all his grizzled age, had a sort of roundness and innocence about them, and I felt I had never seen so shy, modest and kindly a face as my uncle's.

Nevertheless I was nervous as I gave him my hand, though I guessed he was no less so. He stammered and muttered to himself until I thought of giving him, my mother's message of greeting. For this he was grateful, since it spared him having to find a topic of conversation; a task which he always found difficult. A black-haired apprentice stared at me from the other end of the table and then openly stuck out his tongue at me. I was thunderstruck. For me, Uncle's workshop with its everlastingly ticking clocks was as solemn a place as church; especially when with all their clear, various voices they struck the hour together. One began and the rest followed in due order until the noise swelled to a tremendous din which gradually decreased, until only a few belated clocks struck their remaining stokes, half-scared it seemed at the sound of their own voices in a room that was to be silent for the next half hour.

My uncle was shy, though of course he would never own to it. But now that I was older my aunt let me see that she often smiled at him behind his back. It was when women came to the shop that he was most alarmed; at such times he often took refuge in the parlour and let the apprentice deal with them. Strangely enough it was this very shyness and reserve that had won him general esteem. Even the most garrulous restrained themselves in his presence, and although to me he never uttered a word of reproach, I held him in profound veneration, was always afraid of disturbing him, and did my utmost to be quiet when he was about.

When I came out into the kitchen again my aunt, sighed with relief and said, "Uncle seems glad to see you. She had watched the greeting ceremony through the crack of the door, and years of experience had taught her to deduce my uncle's thoughts and feelings from is manner. She now looked at me hard as if at a loss what to do with me. “There's over an hour till dinner-time,” she said. “You can go out and play till then”.

She could have had no inkling of how deeply the word offended me. A person capable of travelling alone from Helsinki and changing trains all by himself had obviously left his playing days far behind him.

"I shall go and bathe," I remarked stiffly, and added, "I've got my bathing trunks."

This crushing remark silenced my aunt and made her look at me with new respect, or so I fancied. Proudly I set off with the trunks under my arm, and strolled through the town towards the beach.

2

Ah, those years of boyhood, when life is full and vivid and sleep comes as one's head touches the pillow – a sleep tranquil and profound! I was happy in that old house, although everything in it was painfully clean and one had to be constantly on one's guard against dirtying things or moving chairs and so on from their appointed places. I soon noticed that my aunt was easiest in her mind when I kept out of sight, and I availed myself of this to the full. She was a conscientious guardian, but had no children of her own; to have a twelve-year-old boy on her hands was as worrying as having a charge of dynamite in the house. She would have liked to set me to work, for in her eyes idleness was the mother of all vices; but since for many years the routine of the household had run in smooth and self-sufficient grooves it was hard to find anything for me to do. But she did hit on the idea of my raking the sandy garden paths, and this I did gladly every morning when dew was still sparkling on the grass and the air was full of the freshness of approaching autumn. But the wavy patterns I made never quite satisfied my aunt, and she regarded the result of my work with pursed lips. She also let me pick up unripe windfalls and take them to the neighbour's pig, which ate them with relish and came to look upon me as a friend. It was a massive, placid beast with a glint of unexpected playfulness in its red-rimmed eyes, and it liked nudging the toe of my sandal with its snout. Discovering in it queerly human traits I felt it was wrong to feed and fatten it just for the sake of turning it into Christmas ham. The idea depressed me, and I was glad to bring it all the windfalls there were, since it set such store by them.

But at this point my aunt's ingenuity gave out. Whenever she caught sight of me she began casting about for a job for me to do, but so long as I was absent her conscience slept; and so for the sake of her peace of mind I kept out of the way as much as possible. On rainy days I took refuge in the bakehouse, which was very seldom used, and if my aunt happened to look in to see what I was up to I could always show her my arithmetic book and my Swedish reader, as evidence of the many stiff holiday tasks to be done before school began again. Uncle's apprentice lent me a coverless, tattered copy of The Three Musketeers, and for the first few rainy days I was blissfully happy. When I began to yearn for more reading matter my aunt led me to Uncle's modest bookshelf. The black bindings of devotional works held no attraction for me, and the books on astronomy were too drearily reminiscent of school. Even my aunt realized that books of devotion did not make very exciting reading for a boy of my age; yet in her opinion training in temperance could never begin too early, and she therefore took down a thick book bound in green and handed it to me. It was called Echoes from the Rostrum.

I took it without enthusiasm and looked round the parlour. The boards were scrubbed white and on them lay white mats striped with red. The sofa, chairs, and table, ornamented with lathe-turned spheres and bobbins, were from St. Petersburg, where my uncle had trained. The seats were of red plush, though now in the summer they were hidden by neat blue-striped covers. It was in the room, in a narrow bed with brown wooden head- and foot-boards, that Uncle slept; but, in its cleanliness and quiet the room felt quite uninhabited. One evening, aunt was distressed to find that I no longer repeated my evening prayer aloud, and she led me to the parlour door just as my uncle was going to bed. Through the door I could hear his high, clear, old man's voice saying his prayers, and Aunt said that if Uncle did this, I could, He used always to kneel, she said, but of recent years he had taken to saying his prayers in bed, lying on his back with his hands crossed on his chest. My aunt therefore felt she could not insist on my kneeling, but at least I must pray aloud.

I had to comply. Thenceforth I repeated "Look at me" as Mother liked me to, and then "God bless Aunt and Uncle and save the heathen and protect all sailors on the far seas," for Aunt considered this important. Knowing that she listened from her room every night, I occasionally added thanks for the cakes she had baked that day, mentioning that they had been specially good; and this did not displease her. She was always anxious to prove that little boys' prayers were noted in the highest quarters, and so whenever dinner had been really very meagre I would summon up courage and express hopes concerning the next day's fare. Like most old people, my aunt and uncle ate very little, though their food was always wholesome and good. Bread was cut in paper-thin slices and at dinner Uncle never took butter. My aunt realized that the Spartan diet decreed by him was unsuited to a growing boy, and she did her best to supplement it with snacks between meals. She also gave me money to buy fruit on market days, and I never had to account to her for it. One way and another my prayers were often answered most wonderfully, and my aunt was delighted. To me there was something frightening in this game between God, Aunt, and myself; but I supposed that on the Day of Judgment God, if he was God, would be merciful and forgive both Aunt and me.

In the strange vacuum of this house, where for years time had been at a standstill, my mind concerned itself more with God than was perhaps usual for boys of my age. Having read the astounding and unforgettable Echoes from the Rostrum, I voluntarily added a further petition to my prayers: that God might protect all drunkards. For I was now fully alive to the terrors and temptations of drink. The book had been compiled by a noted orator and contained a vast collection of stories and anecdotes about the abuse of alcohol, some terrible, others ridiculous. Men beat their wives until they became permanent invalids, fathers flung their daughters into the fire, and the liquid waste from a whisky distillery was so strong as to corrode the galoshes of passers-by. Small wonder that this robust world, described in so forthright a style, fascinated me as much as Treasure Island or The Three Musketeers.

Uncle was a good Christian and a blameless man, who had solved whatever problems life may have presented to him by withdrawing from the world, keeping his body and clothes clean, and avoiding all temptations. To counteract his sedentary hours in the workshop he went for a long walk every day at the same time and in all weathers. He may have fancied that he'd been neglecting me or that I was bored, for one day after dinner he coughed shyly and invited me to come with him. This was so extraordinary that my aunt was quite flustered; she made me change my clothes and put on shoes instead of sandals. Uncle was dressed in an impeccable white suit and an old Panama hat, and carried a walking stick with a silver crook.

Side by side we followed Uncle's usual route, first down to the shore, then along a woodland path and finally up on to the ridge. He must have felt every bit as embarrassed and ill-at-ease as I did, but he trudged bravely on staring before him. I can still see his rounded, childish, face and dreamy blue eyes. After a mile or so we reached a clearing in the woods and Uncle remarked, “They’re going to bring a new electric cable along here.”

He smiled, his whole face radiant with delight at having found something to say. Then we came upon a dead crow by the roadside. Uncle turned it over with his stick, but had no comment to make. I would have liked to examine it more closely, but since Uncle found it unworthy of remark I refrained.

When we reached the top of the hill he paused by a grass-grown bank, stared at it for a long time and said, "This is where the Russian soldiers had their rifle range in the old days." Glancing at me quickly he jerked out, "The boys still dig up bullets here now and then."

It was the only hint he ever gave that his own sealed vacuum of a world could ever brush the borders of mine. We finished our walk along a route hallowed by a score of years – a route which Uncle had once chosen and never afterwards departed from – and as we walked I felt we were as far apart as if we'd been living on different planets. Yet this walk was for me so thrilling an experience that the memory of it and its countless vivid details remained with me for years, long after more eventful and superficially more interesting matters were forgotten. This walk, in the course of which my uncle uttered perhaps twenty shy words, still glows in my mind with the radiance of immortality.

The years of boyhood form a series of bright points between which all grey, sad, and hopeless things sink and vanish. At times, no doubt, I was unutterably bored, though I was perhaps unaware of it and merely supposed that that was how people always were.

Every Sunday we went to church. Uncle wore a dark suit and looked exceedingly uncomfortable as he walked along with short, slow steps, pausing now and then to allow Aunt to get her breath. As we approached the church door he had to raise his hat continually, and did so with modest dignity, his round face overspread with a shy, awkward smile. He was not himself again until he could subside into his usual place near the pulpit beside a mighty pillar, where he was hidden from the public gaze. Then he bent his head and clasped his hands in prayer. I had then two hours in which to contemplate the wall paintings and think of my own affairs.

I learned to know all the holy apostles and their emblems, for with each painting was a scroll inscribed in old-fashioned Gothic lettering. But my eyes turned for choice to the pictures in which something was happening, and there was no lack of them. Two especially seemed to vie with one another for pre-eminence. One portrayed a number of little sooty devils with long tails making up a a huge fire with their tongs under some poor human wretches who seemed in agony. In the other an executioner had just struck off St. Barbara's head; pale blood spurted in a broad jet from her neck into the air, while a wheel nearby suggested the immediate fate of the body. From the ground the saint's head regarded her still kneeling form in astonishment.

These pictures did not disturb me in the least, for I was only twelve and quite untouched by their imagery. Surprising things were going on in them, but they in no way concerned me and I could look at them as I would have looked at an exciting picture book, finding in them rich material for my imagination to work upon. They had as little to do with my innermost self as the sermon now echoing impressively beneath the vaulted roof. To me and perhaps to many of the grown people this echoing was what mattered; any possible meaning in the words was of secondary importance. Uncle listened with half-closed eyes, now and then sitting up straight to fix his attention. Aunt observed the congregation with keen interest, and from time to time stifled an incipient yawn. But when the service was over and, released from the clutches of the sermon and the weight of that ancient roof, we stepped out into the bright summer day, we all revived ang felt extremely cheerful, as if cleansed from the week’s misdeeds and in some way transfigured. At home the glorious smell of strong coffee filled the air. Aunt baked on Saturdays, and it was with light hearts that we sat down at the table.

Ah, those bright, immortal glimpses! The severed and astonished head of St. Barbara on the wall of the church, the clean, sour taste of a red-flecked fallen apple, the autumn freshness of mornings in the dewy garden that made one’s breast feel near to bursting; Athos, Porthos, and Aramis in the flour-laden air of the bakehouse; but, above all, one clear August day on the beach, when lightning struck my heart.

The bathing beach was public. It had white sand and a long jetty, and the water was clear. Close thickets of willow and alder edged the shore on the landward side, and behind them came the woods. At that time there were no bathing huts, and bathers undressed in the thickets. There was plenty of room for everyone, for the beach stretched for several hundred yards. Sometimes with other boys, though most often alone, I would undress, pull on my swimming trunks and stride into the water; or I would tear along the sand, roll in it, toss it about and laugh and shout with the rest. It was a pristine joy, unmixed with sad or troubling things.

But one day as I was making for home along the beach I beheld a young girl in the sunshine near a clump of willows. She had just come out of the water and was drawing off her wet bathing suit. Taking me for just a little boy she didn’t trouble to hide, and revealed her white body unconcernedly. I was so taken aback that I stopped short and gazed at her. She burst out laughing, waved the wet bathing suit at me and shouted, “Hi, you there – what are you staring at?”

I dashed away, stumbling in the deep sand and overcome with shame. But my eyes had been dazzled by the sunlit, water-cool image. That lovely naked girl had smiled at me, standing there so white, so wonderful, so outrageously fair. I lost all consciousness of my surroundings and as if blinded I trudged on, shaken to the core by what I had seen; instinctively I felt that I had done something shameful and ugly in staring at the naked girl, and yet I couldn’t have said why it was so.

The lightning flash struck me to the heart, though I was still only a boy with a mind as limpid as a drop of dew. Never had I known either desire or pain, and human griefs were remote from me; yet from somewhere deep within me there sprang dazzling fantasies of nakedness and bliss and that incomparable ecstasy that can flood one’s whole being with tumult. Outwardly I was exactly as before; inwardly something had changed, something had begun to grow. I wanted to forget it, to wipe it from my memory, for it troubled and saddened me. And perhaps I did forget it for long periods at a time, yet never entirely; it was there, though wrapped in darkness. That is why they stand out so clearly side by side in my memory: the cool, sunlit, naked figure and the alien darkness of my boy’s mind.

For several days I searched, furtively and with a nagging conscience, for the face of the unknown girl among the other faces on the beach, and though I never saw her again I still remember her eyes and her smile and how she laughed at me. I loved her for having vouchsafed to me a glimpse of that sweet and terrible beauty – beauty that was even enhanced in my secret thoughts. But I feared her more than I loved her, for instinct told me that if Aunt and Uncle and perhaps even Mother had known of this they would have felt I’d done something disgraceful and forbidden – something too ugly for forgiveness. And so I was glad I never saw her again.

The day of my return to Helsinki was approaching when my aunt was visited by a delicate-looking woman who led a little girl by the hand. Though the girl was perhaps not much younger than myself she seemed to me a small child, for I had already identified myself with grownups. She had round, red cheeks and dark, inquisitive eyes. Two thick plaits hung down her back.

“This is Mir-yam,” said my aunt. “Say how-do-you-do and take her out to play. She’s starting school here this winter, and she’s going to live with us.”

The girl put her plump hand into mine and met my eyes fearlessly. I learned later that she had many brothers and was therefore not shy of boys.

“Come on, let’s go out,” she said, “so that Mummy can talk to Auntie.”

I hadn’t the least wish to play with her, chiefly because I thought I was too old. Her hair seemed to me much too black and thick and her cheeks too red, and I also considered that she was treating me over-familiarly. As soon as we were in the hall I took my hand away, and when we got outside I began kicking a stone across the yard without looking at her.

“My name’s not Mir-yam but Mi-ri-am,” she said, articulating very distinctly so that I might understand. I wondered how to get rid of her. For my aunt’s sake I had to pay her some attention, and I led her resignedly to well, which I thought the only thing worthy of notice on the place, for it was very dark and deep. She peered politely into it and said “Oo!”

With her brown eyes on me she shuddered as much from genuine fear as from the pleasure of being afraid. I looked at her with suspicion, feeling that she was overdoing it, and then reflected that girls probably always did. Picking up two green apples from the ground I said with the surliness of desperation, ‘Come and see the pig.”

I took her to the neighbour’s pig, to which I gave the apples. Miriam looked on politely and without a spark of interest. She was beginning to irritate me. She gazed into the distance and then with a quick glance at me she said suddenly, “I’m going to be a missionary when I grow up.”

doublethink大法好，考试归考试，相信的东西归相信的东西。

不要花太多时间倒是真的。学到pass的水平就好。有这时间不如学高数。

看完第一点，特地上浮点赞

话说最近南非新闻确实值得看一看。

中国共产党是真的又有机会赢一波了。这真的是去年西方自己的错。sigh。

曾经我也是个非豆子现磨不喝的snob。现在已经觉得速溶也可以喝了。而且只要加的足够多（我一般用包装上推荐的两倍浓度），快乐是能保障的。

我一般就是喝500克的大罐咖啡粉+开水泡的雀巢速溶（不是冻干的那种），有时也喝超市自家牌。半杯开水泡大概五分之一杯咖啡粉+半杯冰牛奶（为了冷的快），成本我没算过，但是目测不会超过两块钱人民币，而且成本主要在牛奶上。糖的话白砂糖请自便，爱多甜有多甜……。

（不过要注意，冻干速溶一般其实不会怎么翻车，但是非冻干确实存在翻车几率，建议从小包装开始。另外我印象中俄罗斯或者香港进口的平行进口咖啡会比中国产的便宜一点）。中国牛奶贵，可以买点便宜的澳大利亚或者波兰或者乌拉圭/智利牛奶……。

如果实在受不了速溶，挂耳咖啡是个很好的选择。我这里卖UCC的挂耳一杯只有外面买咖啡1/3不到的价格。考虑到中国买日本货一般更便宜，相信会很划算的。泡好之后白砂糖请尽情加……。

另外我印象中在中国的便利店见过巨大塑料瓶的泡好的UCC，印象中价格挺便宜的。这个的质量其实也是挺可以的了，和超市咖啡豆自己做cold brew其实差不了多少，但是很省事。

以上提到的咖啡，再自行加糖（其实什么糖都差不多），自行加奶，虽然比不过店里现磨的摩卡，但是在满足咖啡因+糖的需求，味道还行，价格便宜三点上，绝对值得考虑一下的……

@infoworld #175196 没事，身在中国买什么都会给中国政府交税的。没有关税也会有生产运输过程中的税。

而且如果人不在中国，金兰真的是首选。中国好酱油基本没有（而且大量珠江桥），日本好酱油太贵。新加坡、马来西亚产品也有不错的（杨协成的其实就还挺不错的）但是相对难找。菲律宾，西方国家本地制造的酱油多是工业水解酱油，不是发酵酱油，不值得买。

酱油：金兰是最好的酱油（味道好，便宜，还不用给共产党交税）

难吃的酱油：我最记得的是品珍。中国酱油味道好的不少含味精，也有取巧的用酵母提取物。如果不介意，也不是不能用。

不要买珠江桥：很常见，但是这是真的党企……

盐：炒菜用最便宜的盐就可以。海盐的subtle味道在用作炒菜时不会有任何体现，因此纯粹浪费。

好味道的海盐：英国和法国普遍优秀。Maldon和各个品牌的fleur de sel都可以。但是不建议用来炒菜。

最近和朋友聊天的时候聊到了一些东西，然后我们都觉得精苏其实要比粉红总体来说要好一点。

简单说就是这样的。精美会说，美国有一美元的炸鸡。精苏会说，苏联每星期给全体公民发一只炸鸡。

而粉红会说炸鸡是西方文化入侵，吃豆腐去。

@暴动喵 #155026 @暂时保密 #154894 这个应该是低仿号…………

我认为不会，最主要的是留学生出国太容易了，而留学的难度低到不行，也没有被打击。最近Heathrow堆满中国新生都上新闻了。

实话说对于这里大部分不搞drama的用户而言，大概只是单纯觉得品葱用户太蠢罢了

小孩不会说权利，但是小孩的家长可不是省油的灯……

而且就英格兰而言，两剂完全在40岁以上的所有年龄段都超过了80%（60-64达到了97%），至少一剂在30岁以上就已经80%。换句话说几个星期后30岁以上就会有80%。考虑到英格兰的疫苗推出完全按年龄，=（高龄先接种），年底达到全人口80%还是有信心的。

我觉得这里唯一可以得出的结论是：中国在阻挠调查。

中国不止阻挠其他国家的调查，国际组织的调查，而且也阻碍中国科学家的调查。去年那份关于covid的paper都需要政府某部门审核才能投稿的通知严重阻碍了中国科学家的调查意愿。以及据我听说就算在国内溯源工作从去年年中开始基本就没动过。

具体原因我猜最大可能是面子。如果真的是实验室泄露，那我支持这份报告的结论，即不可能是故意泄露的。而且我怀疑其实他们自己泄露了都不知道，事后可能才调查出来 - 如果有调查的话。

不过另外一边，那份共和党的报告漏洞是真的有点太多了……

@SwissHalberdier #153021 防疫效果有两层。第一层是公共卫生意义上的，就是减少传染。第二层是自己层面上的，防止自己被感染就死掉。

虽然说现在疫苗在第一层的作用上有点可疑，但是第二层的效果还是挺不错的。这个就像开车戴安全带。我自己戴了安全带，撞上路人的话路人还是会死。但是我自己不会。所以我戴安全带。

祝好运吧……。

好奇国内打疫苗做informed consent是怎样的。GBS虽说大部分人最后都能恢复，在其他疫苗上也能发生（例如流感疫苗，印象中是百万分之一/二的样子，以及很多常见疫苗都有几率导致GBS），但是也是一个严重的不良反应。不常见但是严重的反应还是应该告知一下的吧。

另外根据我在墙内所了解，ITP发生似乎也有一定频率（本站似乎也贴过一个疑似，但是没有结果）。但是具体数字我自己是没办法统计的。虽然这个也不是新冠疫苗专属，例如世界各地儿童常用的MMR疫苗是一个比较常见的，西方几种常用新冠疫苗也有相关的case report。但是这些数据还是公开出来比较好吧。

当然，和公众沟通这些信息的时候，方法也很重要。AZ的疫苗在VITT上的沟通简直就是翻车的不行。我有时候也在想，这些对于需要专业人士辅助理解的信息，会不会只允许由医生沟通，不允许媒体报导比较好。不过我怀疑这些国产疫苗的副作用数据，怕是连中国的医生都不知道。

@消极 #149200 又不用从甲烷和水开始做……

@消极 #149198 毒品可以药品自然也行。不要低估有完善化工供应链back的中国小作坊。做出来你敢不敢用而已。

建议去欧洲看病。你说的这两种就算是发达国家都不常见，印度估计没希望。第一种FDA都没有批（但是欧洲有），而且是副作用很大的，需要有监视的注射药，需要冷链保存，如果带回国不知道医院愿不愿意帮你注射。第二种FDA最近才批准，而且印象中批准的indication没有骨肉瘤，因此就算到了国外也未必有医生愿意给你。

如果不能出国，最好就是和医生谈一谈，了解一下这两种药有没有在中国进行临床实验，如果有的话怎样加入，或者联系医生和药厂有没有兴趣做一个临床实验。如果真的很绝望，可以考虑一下有没有国内小型实验室愿意帮你做一点（但是我很怀疑这样做的价值）。

最近感想：

1. 南斯拉夫八十年代音乐挺不错的

2. 马其顿菜好吃

3. 田纳西州人均智障

我觉得新闻节目配音还不错。因为大部分时候新闻节目都不会认真盯着看，配音就意味着可以不看屏幕分心做别的事情。

而且像BBC和其他国家的公营广播的新闻节目经常是电视收音机一起播。收音机自然只能配音了。

至于电影之类的，我还是比较喜欢原音配字幕的。不过感觉，在中国似乎字幕的需求确实比英语国家大。因为在英国放英语电影，普遍不会有字幕。但是以我有限的记忆，在中国放中文电影，普遍还是有字幕的。

@洛天依言和江泽民 #144746 亲欧美，但是不亲白人至上那些成分就行了。欧美虽然有这些人但是大部分国家也不是那样的国家。毕竟爱一个国家就要爱全部，太平洋没加盖所以滚去美国/滚回中国这种东西，只有墙内网站和品葱喜欢……

印象中曾在某墙内网站见到曾经参与过“学伴”的学生描述那个计划，具体如何忘记了，但是就内容而言其实挺正常的，也举了几个西方国家学校类似的给留学生的计划的例子。不过似乎没有在内媒上传播开。估计是不利于煽动民族主义吧。