It comes as no surprise to see that billiards and croquet share a common ancestry (perhaps both derived from the Italian game of troco, and in turn from ground billiards, popular in the Middle Ages).
Somewhere along the line (and I suspect because it was always raining) some bright spark hit on the idea of moving the game indoors, and playing it on a table. The table was covered in green baize (to simulate grass) and the sides were vertical barriers to stop the balls rolling off. They were known as banks (as in ‘grassy banks’ alongside the original lawn on which the outdoor game was played) – giving rise to the term ‘bank shot’ if a player deliberately played onto the bank so that it rebounded.
At that stage the table had no pockets and the game was played with wooden balls, and with a hoop (which is where the croquet link comes in). Players used a mace (a length of wood with a shaped head at one end, known in French as a billiart) and where the ball was left close to the bank players found it helped to turn the mace round and use the tail-end (in French, the “queue”, from which we get “cue”).
This was a sport for the men, and in particular noble men – ladies were considered unsuitable players because of their propensity for ripping the baize fabric by catching it with the end of the cue. It became known as ‘the noble game of billiards’ and was played by people such as the French monarch Louis XIV.
Louis XIV playing’ billard’ in 1694
By the Eighteenth Century different versions of the game were emerging – the French kept (and still keep) a pocket-less version of the billiard table for use in games of Carom Billiards (such as balk-line, straight rail, four ball and a thing called ‘artistic billiards’ which turns out to be the same sort of thing in relation to billiards as dressage is to show jumping – or figure skating to ice skating – in other words you have to play a series of set moves and get the balls to rest in precisely the required spot each move).
In the second half of the 18th Century a new variation of the game came across the Channel from France called carambole, where a red ball was added to the two white balls. As with modern billiards, each of the two players had their own white ball and could use it to hit the other balls (a carom or cannon) or to send one of the balls into pockets which started to appear on tables. 
Incidentally the tables were not necessarily oblong (as in this hexagonal version in a print from 1787).
Using the banks or cushions to effect caroms/cannons meant that it was easier to strike the ball with the cue end rather than push it via the mace end and by the 1820′s the mace had more-or-less died out. Originally the banks were made of compressed flannel wrapped in canvas and covered in baize. Then in 1845 along came Goodyear with vulcanized rubber cushions. By then the beds of the tables were being made of slate (rather than interlocking wood panels) and very few technical changes have happened since then, to the extent that most billiard tables today are still time-warped in mid-Victorian splendour. Mind you, snooker is now far more popular than billiards, but then snooker is a comparative newcomer to the scene, having apparently been invented by bored army officers in India in the 1870′s.
The leather cue tip came out in 1823 and when allied to the use of chalk to enhance friction it enabled players to put spin on the ball (called ‘side’ in England, but because it was introduced to the United States from England, it is often called ‘english’ in America).
The picture of women playing billiards by Boilly in 1807 shows that suddenly in post-revolution France it was acceptable for women to play the game. Its popularity spread through all sections of society – it was no longer the preserve of the nobility or even the gentry.
The balls used by the well-heeled punters were made of ivory. These were always expensive since the centre of each ball had to coincide with the exact centre of the tusk (meaning that you could only get four or five balls per tusk). The reason for this is that a nerve ran through the centre of each tusk (as with a tooth) leaving a hole (usually filled with ebony, giving rise to the ‘spot ball’). By the middle of the nineteenth century tens of thousands of elephants were being slaughtered ( the smaller tusks of the female African elephant being particularly favoured). Fortunately artificial composites were just around the corner – celluloid being introduced in 1868 and eventually Bakelite, acrylic and polyester.
There is still running in Belgium a company called Iwan Simonis – formed in the 1680s and which still makes the highest quality baize for billiard tables – an astonishing run of nearly 350 years. Wikipedia says that the company has its origins back in the 15th Century but the company’s own website makes it clear that a fire destroyed all its earlier records and so an exact start date for the manufacture of baize for billiard tables is impossible to give.
What is clear though is that the game became fashionable throughout the Eighteenth Century and billiard halls sprang up in every town and city.
In this Dutch drawing from the 1730′s I particularly like the seated figure (bottom right) who appears to be having a fish barbie while above him the players wield their maces…
Once in a blue moon I think it is a good idea to leave the comfort of the Eighteenth Century and visit the present time: in this case it means a blog on a splendid exhibition of sculptures which has been taking place this month in the cloisters of the Cathedral at Chichester.
I had not given much thought as to where Richard Hall would get his ink from. I assumed he would have bought it in powder form and added water to it – and indeed he may have done. The basic ingredient may have been linseed oil darkened with vegetable dyes and pigments – and in the latter years of the Eighteenth Century more and more inks were available made from the ink sacs of the cuttlefish (known as sepia – hence the name of the colour). 
Certainly the ink in the majority of Richard’s diaries is a pale brown.
Equally he may have bought his ink from a street vendor. I rather like the picture of this gentleman, courtesy of the British Museum, complete with his barrel of ink strapped across his back, with a pouring beaker and funnel tied to his belt, and carrying some spare quills. It is part of a series entitled ’The Cryes of the City of London Drawne after the Life – Fine writing ink’ and was published in the second half of the 18th Century.
The wasps in this part of Spain are particularly aggressive. You don´t put out jam to entice them – you use beer. Or better still, since they seem to be cannibals, lure them into a trap with a few carcasses of their dear-departed brothers.
Now I am not too sure about hartshorn drops with their “stimulating antispasmodic” qualities; not when I get the choice of applying lead-water instead, or even a cold saturnine poultice. Now you’re talking! Relief must surely be imminent…
Maybe we should go straight for the opium or laudanum – after all, it’s “analogous to that of lead”. I think I prefer the idea of some “increased heat upon the part (as opposed to a frigorific sensation)”. So, if you don’t mind, next time I get stung whether by a bee or by a wasp, I intend to raid the bathroom cabinet for a dose of laudanum. I will be in good company - I vaguely remember an elderly Great Aunt, then in her nineties, who was known in the family as being hopelessly addicted to morphine, derived of course from opium. Her sister was similarly addicted and was known to everyone as Aunt Trot – because she was so” hyper” all the time than she ran everywhere…Still, I bet she never suffered from bee stings!
Captain Cook encouraged the making of spruce beer on his long sea-voyages because he knew it helped prevent scurvy. Nowadays we know that the tips of the spruce trees are a rich source of vitamin C. 
In many pioneer communities there was a tradition of home-brewing and there are many examples of this sort of beer being made, both alcoholic and as a soft drink. In Quebec and in Newfoundland it is known as bière d’épinette and again, is available as a genuine beer or as a non-alcoholic beverage.
Nowadays the term spruce beer is used by the Wigram Brewing Company and is based on Captain Cook’s first beer brewed in New Zealand in 1773. The flavour was originally obtained from the green shoots collected in the Spring, and in addition the sap would be boiled up with the molasses to give a distinctive flavour.
“North America’s oldest beer style brewed with local Spruce & Fir tips, blackstrap molasses and dates. Dark amber and brown colouring. Aroma is a comforting mix of spruce boughs, caramel malts, molasses and dates. Complex and full-bodied, it balances the crisp bitterness of spruce and fir gum with the warming flavours of molasses and bittersweet chocolate”.
5 gallons of water
I think it is rather curious that Charles Grey, the British Prime Minister who oversaw the introduction of the 1832 Reform Act (leading eventually to universal suffrage for all adults, genuine constituencies, and secret ballots), is best remembered for the tea which carries his name.
from China flavoured with rind of bergamot (a citrus fruit named after the Lombardy city of Bergamo). The Earl liked it because it was ideal for use with the water at Howick, with its high lime content. 
Lady Grey took to serving the concoction at her London soirees and soon friends were clamouring to know the ingredients. According to Robert Jackson & Co, Grey gave the recipe to their partner George Charlton in 1830 and their recipe has used tea from China ever since. Twynings also had their own version, using teas from Ceylon. Many other tea producers have their own recipe, some of them featuring blue cornflowers in the mix.
In his diary for 1788 Richard Hall mentions that on July 12th ‘Their Majesty’s the King & Queen and Princesses, went to Cheltenham to drink the Water, return’d to Windsor, Saturday August 16th.”
Thomas Bowdler was perhaps something of a prude by modern standards. Born in 1754 in the village of Box (near Bath) he was one of six children. His father was a wealthy banker. He had qualified as a doctor after going to University in Scotland, and had then spent some time travelling in Europe. In 1781 he was elected as a Fellow of the Royal Society, but although he was admitted to the College of Physicians he apparently gave up medicine when he found that it made him feel queasy! It is indeed an unfortunate trait in a doctor…
The actual expurgating was almost certainly a collaborative process involving Thomas and his sister Henrietta (sometimes called Harriet). Presumably, credit for her input was omitted from the published edition because it would show that she had read all the naughty bits in the first place…
And while we may scoff at the prudishness of the Bowdler family, the fact remains that they opened up Shakespeare to a far wider audience than ever before. Suddenly Shakespeare was ‘safe’ for a family with Victorian values, and his works soared in popularity. Apparently ‘Bowdlerised’ editions of the works of Shakespeare were used in schools until the 1960´s.
Thomas Bowdler was buried in the Churchyard at Oystermouth Parish Church near Swansea (where he had been living for the last ten years of his life). July 11th was once described as Bowdler Day – in memory of his birthday.