final days

Here we are, the leftover days, after Christmas and before New Year. They sit on the edge like the unwanted half a roast potato and the cold floret of broccoli, too much. Hardly worth the effort of crossing them off on the wall calender; they seem beyond any celebration.

My Serbian new colleague, Mitch, explains his orthodox church will celebrate Christmas on the 7th January. I find out this is because the church follows the Julian calender. This seems to be a tidier set up to me. The year ends and begins, with celebration, and looking forward to Christmas festivities. No scrag end days.

This calender business is pretty arbitrary in any case. Surely sanity should prevail now and we'll move the year end back to the Winter Solstice. Every day then counting; cleanness next to Godliness, and so forth. God, I feel better already!

But these few, odd days - bookkeepers' days - good only for reflecting and resolving, and, fingers crossed, nothing happens in them to fuck up what has been for me a pretty enjoyable year. Roll on 2010.

kettle of fish and electric december

I'm struggling to keep up with this web lark. Frankly, I fear the novelty's begun to wear thin, something that was accelerated once I returned to work in Summer and found the company I had joined prohibited personal internet use. And I discovered I didn't really miss it that much. I easily found other things to do. The web, from this point of view has become too X-factor, too red-topped, too infinite monkeys on infinite typewriters, still looking for Shakespeare. I have decided it's shit or bust for the world wise web.

I'm cheerful. Johnnynorm's other blog, (Different) Kettle of Fish, brings to our attention Electric December, a video advent calender comprising daily postings of short films made with young people across Europe. I was particularly taken with the 17th window because of its cute innocence, and because it's a good example of stop-frame animation which I like. The rest of the work is equally worthwhile and watchable. It makes me want to get hold of a camcorder - just because it looks like a lot of fun.

Don't neglect the archives, there's electric decembers all the way from 1999.

yesterday was tomorrow's today

Have you ever thought, there's not enough autobiographical documentary dance in the world today? Think about it right now; it's why we're in this mess.

Attention: Blogging event horizon has been breached. Do not.

pants!

Obviously the women of Sudan wear the trousers - both literally and metaphorically. I don't know what definition of indecent appears in the sudanese dictionary but I wouldn't have expected to see a picture of a pair of trousers!

Apparently, it isn't a part of Sharia law and I can believe that, so what do the men fear about the gentle sex, I wonder. Trousers today, tomorrow the world. And why not?

getting smart

I was passed by an electric car this morning as I made my way up to ''the employment''. To most urbanites this might be utterly mundane but in ''the sticks'' we don't have them because the leads aren't long enough to get you between plug-sockets.

It didn't sound like a milk float, as I remember them. It sounded not too unlike our wind-up torch being frantically wound up before entering the attic. I suppose it was going uphill. It was a Smart car in case anyone's interested, black, and it looked okay. If I lived in a city I would consider one myself. Or maybe I'd only use public transport. I can't really say, and I'm probably relieved I don't have to choose.

On the news yesterday, it said that part of the London to South West train line would be electrified by 2015. Currently they run diesel locomotives. The advantage of electric locos is lightness, better acceleration, power, and speed, not to mention fewer emissions (providing the electricity is cleanly made). Presumably, the advantage of diesels, and the reason we've had them, is low capital (infrastructure) costs and those who own the diesels don't own the tracks which wear out faster with the heavier, punishing diesel locos, I don't know. But I do think electricity is the future secondary energy source. Hats off to that.

on trains (and off trains)

I confess I have abandoned the train after one week. Do I feel guilt? Only slightly, though 't'is a pity as I really like trains. Not the anorak and Allan obsession - I don't know one loco from the other and life's too short to begin a study - but the experience of sitting on a moving train watching the countryside fly past. It's relaxing, therapeutic even.

But the rub is it isn't as therapeutic as it might be. Trains, as I have seen last week, are inflexible, unreliable and don't go all the way. I'm afraid the car does these things so much better. I don't have to rush to the station because the train doesn't wait; I don't have to wait because the train is delayed (as it was eight journeys out of ten); and I don't have to make up the big shortfall between the station and my ultimate destination. I could suffer all these faults, sometimes gladly, but I found my quality of life suffered. I lost around ninety minutes of each evening commuting to a timetable outside my control, the day felt more like a cycle of work-commute-sleep with that all important leisure aspect shrunk to meaninglessness. Going by private means means I get back to the bosom of my home at a godly hour - ten past five to be exact. I can relax, potter about, take an evening class, all those important things that make the week something more than employment.

Sorry, planet, I did try and will continue to do so but, on the whole, I must still be mindful to enjoy life while I can.

remembering fountains

''Parents aren't stupid.''

Are they not? That's a relief. Remember, children, don't be stupid; have kids!

I don't know much but surely someone has to be responsible for the mess we're in: 60 billion and rising. I saw a middle-aged man in a suit waiting for train, drinking a can of ''Red Bull''. His fly was undone. Not that I'm in the habit of observing a man's crotch but on this occasion it was all too obvious: part of his blue shirt was clearly poking through the hole. By chance I had notice him leaving the gents before entering the station shop. Despite his open disclosure, there wasn't sufficient evidence he'd fathered children but why wouldn't he?

I remember drinking fountains in parks - and in school playgrounds. They were refreshing. Especially during long summer days, I remember how cold like brass the water sometimes was. We learnt the knack of sucking from the vertical spurt without letting it dribble down our chin. In parks, there was even a little trough near the ground for dogs.

Things appeared more civilised then. Now, evidently, we prefer Coca-cola, Red Bull (I don't even know what that is), and much worse. Consumerism. Choice. Stupid, we are.

I fought the law and the law won...

Damn, I'd forgotten how much time being employed takes!

on growth

Yesterday I met up with some old friends I don't get to see that often. We get talking and I'm sometimes shocked at how much our views have diverged during the absence. I don't like arguing when I haven't seen them in a long while, and I don't argue well after a few drinks - I'm not that lucid sober come to mention it - and I forget my facts.

This time everyone, apart from me, was in agreement that there was ''plenty of petrol'', and, to put it into some context, we'll all still be driving [petrol or diesel] cars in our 80s. I could have said something more but didn't. If it wasn't about fuel, it'd be about pensions and financial growth, increased affluence etc. Business as usual stuff. Growth ad infinitum.

Back home, I reassure myself of a few facts - after all, they could be right, couldn't they? But, of course, they're wrong. In my search I found this lecture on the mathematics of growth by Dr. Albert Bartlett. While I'd come across the story of the King's chessboard before, I've not seen it applied to so many real world situations, like population and peak oil. It's as simple as it is awesome, and simply awful that so many intelligent people don't appear to get it.



Due to the limits of Youtube clips, the lecture is divided into 8 parts. Be sure to view them all.

cubism kills the turbine

The last post on wind energy - for now.

I was still stuck with the thought that something is better than nothing and if you could use a turbine to power a few light bulbs or a laptop then at least that's something. And, I thought, it's not the technology that's crooked, it's the economics - they cost too damn much! Around £10,000 even after an improvement grant. Then the cost analyser in me wondered where this money was going - surely, a competent DIY person could make one from parts? Maybe there are blueprints!

Googling around a bit I found there are. However, then I stumbled upon this. And this. And, eventually, this.

Of course, the engineer in me knew there'd be an equation for it, even if it's merely rule-of-thumb. Apparently, it is,

Power in watts = (collection area in square feet) x (wind speed)3 x (0.0054)

or simply, Power is proportional to wind speed cubed. As it explains, turbines are sold on their ability to generate a nominal amount in windy conditions. But on less windy days - in other words, average conditions - the power drops disproportionally. Hence, half the rated speed results in just one-eighth of the rated power.

facing the future

More joined up ecological thinking, this time from HRH P.C. delivering the 2009 Richard Dimbleby Lecture: Facing The Future.

(Sorry, this may not be viewable outside the UK. Don't blame me! If, in the unlikely event, I'm made King, the first thing I'll do is make sure it is.)

on hold

Seems I didn't need the interview shirt after all. I'm to be taken on trust, starting ''first-thing'' Monday.

It'll be strange going back into employment after six months. I'll admit to some first day nerves creeping in but mostly it'll be sadness at losing the freedom to choose how I fill my days. I'm already feeling a sense of loss as I walk the dog this morning along the bridle path to the polo fields. Unfortunately, and ironically, my plans to make this lifestyle permanent requires capital funding and I'm through with borrowing and debt, so that means selling the only thing I have of value that I have spare; time and brains.

The dog and I cut across beside one of the Estate's many wheat fields. I see a buzzard over the copse in the distance and sit on the dry stone wall to watch it. The dog wonders what's up; she's used to moving. There are grey clouds moving quite quickly over our heads, and the furthest ones look swollen with rain. The dog has found something to sniff further along the wall and leaves me to watch the bird circle towards us. It's high, only its motion identifies it as a buzzard, a gliding speck below the belly of clouds. I try to gauge its altitude but I haven't a clue really. Imagining the Eiffel Tower in the wheat. Yes, possibly as high as that. Then it stops moving, apparently suspended in space like a snap-shot. It looks incongruous. In reality, the bird has found the perfect poise which cancels the force of the oncoming wind with gravity. After a while of sky-hanging, it dips its body and turns gracefully back towards the copse without a single wing beat.

It almost beats time-travelling. The dog is bored and paws my leg for attention, bringing me down to earth. We head home in front of the rain.

broad beans on toast

allotment tales: early July

If every month was like July here in England then you could feed yourself comfortably, forever, off a 18 by 100ft allotment.

Broad beans are bursting to goodness right now and there's no better way to work up an appetite for lunch than pounding a handful of freshly picked beans to a paste with a pestle and mortar before spreading on toast. What's needed is;

a good sized pestle and mortar
a few grains of rock salt
a bunch of fresh mint leaves
a handful of shelled broad beans - the younger, the better, but they must be freshly picked, not shop-bought.
a little grated hard cheese - pecorino or parmigiana
a splash of lemon juice
extra virgin olive oil
fresh ground pepper to taste

start with the salt, leaves, and a few of the beans, and begin to mash them up real good. add more beans until you get a good blend of pasted and semi-crushed beans for texture, then add the lemon juice and cheese. Use the pestle to stir it all together, gradually adding oil to loosen the mixture as necessary. In the meantime, toast some homemade bread rubbed with garlic. When done, spread the bean mixture onto the warm toast and add pepper. Eat.

a case for time travel (part five)

"The only reason for time is so that everything doesn't happen at once."

Thanks to Shuba Shetty, who now follows me on twitter, for this fine quote attributed to Einstein. I'm really only a fan of quotations which encapsulate the whole context of the quote within itself, like this one does.

Also, she points twitters to this clock made from people in uncomfortable looking positions, a perfect allegory for the effects artificial linear time has had on humanity.

bad transport, ill wind

I plan the best way to get to my prospective employers' offices. Asking for directions, I told them I would come by train. However, Google-maps calculates the car journey to be an hour and the City Car Parks website tells me parking for a day is a tenner. A return ticket by train will cost a staggering £42. The journey, I know, will take considerably longer than an hour, not to mention I'll be completely at the mercy of the system as soon as I step onto the platform. How can you be green in this economy?

Btw, I see HFW - an admirable fellow! - is encouraging readers to sign-up to green energy. He has installed a small wind-turbine and there's a ''live'' metering widget showing how much power it is producing and the wind speed. I'm fascinated; it's more interesting than the video art at Cheltenham gallery. Over several day's visits it appears to fluctuate between 0.1 and 0.2 kW. That's between 5 and 10 energy efficient light bulbs, an average house worth of illumination, but not quite enough to power an average kettle. But every little helps in the big picture, I realise this, and if everyone adopted a windmill to light their homes the capital cost of installing these things should come down and it wouldn't take ten years or more to recoup your expenditure, just before the thing falls to bits.

So the choice seems to be, be greener and be poorer, or, enjoy it while you can because, I repeat, how can you be green in this economy?

sport, photos & art (& shirts)

I did go back to Cheltenham - by car, not bus. I excused this by justified need: I may have a job interview and I need an interview shirt; I needed to be back home quickly to answer any pre-interview questions. However, I did nip into the Art Gallery to see the new exhibition, Athletes & Olympians. I was disappointed. I'm not really into sporting people and their achievements, and found the photos had little artistic interest: a mix of photo-journalism and clichéd studio posing. Someone had written in the visitors' book ''interesting historical photos, very impressive modern photos''. Actually, the ''historical'' ones, though small, were much better than the recent ones, free of the need for modern media gimmickry and nicely lit. By ''impressive'', he must have meant huge.

Downstairs there were three video pieces; a film of David Beckham asleep, an animation comprising 25 near identical, graphite drawings of rower, Steve Redgrave, and a huge white wall with holes behind which a dozen or so video screens showed various alternating images connected to swimmer, Duncan Goodhew, and his sport. The stark whiteness of the wall and the randomness of the images reminded me too much like anyone's Flickr page. The Redgrave drawings, displayed independently of the animation, were impressive. The animation made them look like a Rhubarb & Custard cartoon.

At the shops, hopefully not influenced by the art, I chose default white for my shirt. I also bought a grey and cream striped one for after the interview, if successful. I was hoping to find a nice green shirt, like Miles' on the cover of Milestones, but, alas, it seems style and fashion rarely meet.

five minutes

This chap, Matthew, from the BBC has this programme - more of an art project, really - in which a celebrity guest is interviewed for just five minutes. For some of his guests, five minutes is more than enough. Some might say this of Tony Benn, I'm sure, but I always like hearing what he has to say. Compare it, if you will, to Michael Portillo previously (who I knew in a different life.)

guilt trip

Wow, if guilt isn't featuring on the agenda this week! I went to visit the Cheltenham Museum & Art Gallery today, as per Paxman. I did think about taking the bus, the stop being five minutes walk from my door, but the fare would've been seven quid return, and the bus, old smoky, would have shaken the fillings from my teeth. In any case, car parking is not in short supply and two hours costs £2.50. This is the fundamental problem with using public transport: little incentive.

However, I felt bad about using the car for pleasure after using it very little over the past few months. And it felt strangely alien. I should have gone by bus. Or not at all. The Museum & Art Gallery turned out to be more museum than gallery, about 90/10 respectively. It would've been more if the larger exhibition room was exhibiting. It is next week, apparently. Maybe I'll go back. By bus.

to work again

I feel I must now at least attempt to get back into employment, my days seem to have become aimless though by no means unpleasant. It's guilt I'm sensing, no doubt, though the sciatica did me no favours: much of what I could do purposefully I can't until the problem goes. I wonder if this feeling of guilt is just a natural phase in giving up employment or something more sinister. You see, if I've discovered one thing in these past few months it's this; work gives you purpose but employment can dehumanise you. It's something I'd wish I understood at twenty. I dread going back to the mill...

biota consumerism

I keep saying to all who'll listen, compost worms turn up eventually. Still people get their credit cards out and head to PayPal for a mailing of worms. Sometimes I feel I should offer mine on Freecycle but....maybe my worms are happy where they are.

Hot on the heels of eBay tiger worms, today I discover you can purchase all kinds of beneficial critters, for instance - ladybird lavae! (that's ladybugs in the US). The importance of these is they'll eat aphids by the truckload. Aphids, left to themselves, eat through your tender green stuff. It's kind of manipulating the ecosystem but probably better than indiscriminate genocide involving chemical warfare. Oh, it's good to be green!

But listen. I wish I'd had my camera because we have several of these lavae about the place - they just turned up, uninvited. Okay, they're on the fruit when they should be on the beans but at least they're in the 'hood. So, if your rich by all means buy them, but if your hard-up, just be more patient.

I had intended to post more frequently on the allotment progress. I don't know where the time goes. A quick update: so far this season we've enjoyed eating our own asparagus, rhubarb, early potatoes (rocket), baby spinach, lettuce (mixed), sorrel, cabbage (primo), baby beets, basil, strawberries, gooseberries, raspberries, and redcurrants. Soon come - the broad bean and blackcurrant!

Noah!

I like this site, Operation Noah, which I found today. No, I'm not into religious conversion. There's plenty of wisdom to be had but in matters of God I remain agnostic. I just like the comparisons between Noah's crisis and ours.

In The Vanishing Face of Gaia, James Lovelock refers to the future British Isles as a possible ''lifeboat'' for survivors and refugees of climate change. An ark is better: more purposeful and the outcome more hopeful.

And I liked Ann Pettifor's Thoughts for the Week (I was trying to remember the Ann who regularly did awful Thoughts for the Day on BBC Radio 4. Ann(e) Atkins - that's the fella! No. No comparison really).

And I want to find how to do one of these origami Arks. The art of Japanese paper folding has always been fascinating.

And I like the slogan; Faith-motivated, Science-informed, Hope-driven.

And they appear to be big on bicycles.

sciatica II

The answer to last Tuesday's quiz was; (b) Osteopath.

From a patient's perspective, I'm still unsure what the difference is. Last time I had a body part requiring expert tweaking I was sent to Physiotherapy. As I recall, they didn't do very dissimilar things to my leg. Chiropractors, I think, are almost wholly an American invention; there they are permitted to adopt the title of ''Dr.'' which can be misleading especially as they're associated with human physiology and therapy. It can be open to abuse; probably why I was thinking quackery.

The osteopath was very good; in fact, it was better than going to the doctors. I had to pay ''at point of use'', mind, a thing that we British don't have to do in the NHS. Of course, we still pay but not ''at point of use''. As a result, without going into the politics, it's hard to know if you're getting ''value for money'' with the NHS, whereas you do know, almost immediately, with ''at point of use''. And I think I got it.

With the GP, no matter how nice they are, you get the sense of time-urgency. Sure, they have so many patients stacked up in waiting, they need you in and out in around nine minutes flat. I don't know what that costs you per hour but ''value for money'' you sense about 50 pence a pop. The Osteopath gave me a full 45 minutes. In that time we discussed my recent medical history, a brief explanation of sciatica, a physical and diagnosis, the therapy itself, including deep massage, a practical instruction in stretching exercises, a look into a totally unrelated complaint (as I had time left on the clock), a discussion on the recession, job opportunities, allotment gardening, being an osteopath, keeping active, and where I could park my bike safely if I ever needed his services again. If he'd offered to make us a nice cup of tea while we sat down to listen to a long-playing record, I couldn't have felt less rushed.

Don't get me wrong; I think the NHS is very important to a civilised society. But you can't help wondering if it's really working all that well.

nerve centre

My continued falling out of love with the WWW is recently exacerbated by a bout of sciatica. I find sitting upright the least comfortable activity at the moment. This appears to be a green ailment as cycling seems to offer relief whereas driving is agony, compounded by the sense of feeling hopelessly trapped and helplessly confined. And as far as walking goes, the poison is in the dose.

Looking it up on the WWW, as you do, I find I need the services of a physiotherapist/osteopath/chiropractor for a bit of leg pulling. What the difference is I don't know but I fear one of them might be a quack. However, my main concern is if they have somewhere safe to chain the bike.

The causes of sciatica are varied, the most likely being sitting awkwardly in the same position for too long - the old WWW again, probably. It's a relief that I'm not in regular employment right now or I'd have to take time off as most of modern office life in the knowledge sectors requires the worker to sit all but motionless in front of a keyboard and screen. I recall earlier times as a trainee/apprentice engineer working pretty much exclusively on a drawing board and being able to vary the height and inclination which enabled me to spend some time sitting and some time standing, at will. Not to mention the stretching and twisting which occurred unconsciously as I moved around the large board, and between board and desk to pick up and replace instruments. Okay, I was younger then but I never suffered a work-related illness in all those days.

What have we done to ourselves in the interest of progress and efficiency? The whole thing's a cock-up from beginning to end. Not to mention the fact that when the computer system fails, either by system crash or power failure, productive work stops immediately and we all look to each other like lost little children in a shopping mall.

Computer dependence will spell the death of civilization. Ouch! - now really I must go stretch my sciatica...

putting away childish things

I've been reading James Lovelock's latest, The Vanishing Face of Gaia: A Final Warning (from the library, of course, part of my ongoing curb the consumerist in me project). Boy, the future looks grim. If I understand it correctly, ''saving the planet'' is futile and we should instead adapt and survive. I'm all in favour of that, far more than saving stuff. This is a book I will recommend to everyone.

Part of the message is the future scarcity of land for food production. Is it a coincidence that there is now an increase in home food production? Apparently, in some urban parts, allotments and smallholdings are in such demand, there's now a ten year waiting list for plots. As the climate heats up and the population increases, food will become increasingly expensive due to demand and the reduction in food imports. Home produce will probably become even more significant to feed the predicted 100 million people in the UK.

This morning we walked the dog along the lane which leads up to Ciren. Park, the Earl Bathurst's estate. It takes you past several polo fields sometimes used, I believe, by our royal princes. There's several of these fields and they cover quite a big acreage of perfect, flat turf. I'm afraid all this will have to go under the spade, I joked, before realising it might not be far from the truth. I wondered if they still had polo fields during the war and the ''Dig For Victory'' effort. A different age, though. Every dog has its day.

love & work (& music)

It's been a while since I wrote anything. I've been occupied building a wardrobe for daughter using only reclaimed materials; a bed, two redundant wardrobes and a set of redundant shelving units. It was a complete success: I found a renewed interest in woodworking and home-building that has long been missing. I may get on with the rest of the house with a view to selling: we need to get out of this place, it's not right for future endeavours. Already a plan is shaping up. We need to face the future with greater self-reliance and more diversification than before, to work more for ourselves than for other people.

During the last recession when I was out of employment, I found an old stereo system of mine and set it up in the garage; a turn-table, an amp and a pair of tall speakers. Digging out my abandoned vinyl collection, I rediscovered old forgotten favourites such as Taste, (feat. Rory Gallagher), Southside Johnny, and Slim Harpo.

Times and tastes change, yet I did a similar thing only this time with an old laptop, a wi-fi plug-in, and some amplified speakers. I'm rediscovering Late Junction and World On Three - perfect listening for woodworking with hand-tools. Mind you, I had to clear the garage for safety reasons first - hopping around the garage detritus holding sharp objects was getting a bit dangerous, and boring - and found Craig Charles' Funk & Soul Show ideal accompaniment for that. Happy days!

a case for time travel (part four)

Once, in Italy - it was either a town in Tuscany or Veneto, I can't remember details - I stood on the fringe of a street market while the family shopped for shoes. All of a sudden I was aware of the savoury fragrance of roast chicken coming from a vendor's van and I was immediately transported mind and soul to a childhood, London suburban, early Sunday afternoon. Make no mistake, this was not a mere memory; this was the real thing. Only my eyes were transmitting incorrect messages to my brain; all else was functioning properly, sometime around, possibly, 1969.

It only lasted, ooh, a couple of seconds in clock time but, as we know, time is relative - it might have been the whole afternoon. As we lose the memory of dreams soon after waking, so it is with travelling in time.

I get this a lot now, ever since the routine of employment has been suspended. It's milder than the Italian experience but, nevertheless, easily noticeable. Usually I'm walking down the road, say to the allotment, and I'm no longer walking that way but along a different street to another destination quite clearly from my past. The sensations are intense, and real, but sadly too quickly over - I think it's the realisation of dual reality that the process can't cope with. That's the theory I'm working on. Again these aren't memories: I have no recollection of events just sensations of a very familiar environment. Any way, think on; perception, time and place, it's all relative, see. What's not possible?

a case for time travel (part three)

Technologists should avoid making predictions about life. Sure, they can speculate on what will be possible technologically, but not about what our future selves will value. We all remember predictions of everyone owning jet-packs and flying cars. And more leisure time - I remember that one well - due to a plethora of labour-saving gadgetry. Besides, this civilization is, probably, coming to its natural end.

Tim Berners-Lee - fine fellow: invented the world-wide-web (not to be confused with the internet) and gave it away, free - is here predicting pixels will become so cheap we'll have entire rooms walled with the things. Information will then be so widespread and available, some bod might discover a way to stop climate change, or even cure male pattern baldness, perhaps. Maybe. Anything's possible, even a technological prediction.

My personal WWW has been shrinking over the last year. I no longer find it exciting or, dare I say it, worthwhile. My bookmark page is as big as it was purely because I can't be bothered to par it down to the six or seven sites I want to visit. There was a time I used to surf with incredible ease; now more often I sigh and get on with something more real.

art & work

Time tends to move fastest about now; it's almost mid-June, soon the longest day, soon after that the end of classes. This round of the Moleskine Exchange is almost complete too and the next round will continue without me. It's been good fun but the space will be welcome - providing I don't squander it.

Our class tutor was talking about booking some exhibition space in town for her students. An exciting idea! Not that I'll be one of those students who hope to sell their work. This is, partly, the old chestnut about valuing one's efforts but also because I hardly ever see my bits as finished. Not even ''works in progress''. The enjoyment for me is the process of creating in the ''here and now'', beyond that it doesn't matter. It's taken me too long to get to this stage, I'm not sure I want to do anything different. If the exhibition idea becomes reality, I may have to knuckle down and complete a couple of pieces. That's why they call it art work.

uphill, downhill

Bicycles and art seem to be going hand in glove at the moment, me having to cycle to this morning's art class owing to a lapsed MOT certificate. At the last moment I managed to fashion a backpack from two luggage straps, a heavy-duty supermarket bag, and a short length of rope given to me to practice sailing knots a long time ago, so I could take along my own drawing board. A rather Heath-Robinson construction but no one I passed gave it a second glance, so there.

The college is on another corner of town, if you imagine the town to be roughly an equilateral triangle, the middle of which is taken up by Cirencester Park. You can ride a horse through Ciren. Park and if you're one of the ''privileged'' classes, you may even drive your car through it but, for some unexplained reason, not a bicycle. So, the ride means going down into town and back up to the college. Going down, I was aware of being tail-gated by man on a racer who sped past at the earliest opportunity. Further along, going uphill, I managed to catch up despite my load, despite his nose on the handlebars and bum in the air, and overtook with relative ease. I never saw hide nor hair of him after that.

So, the question is; is it better to have a bike that gets you downhill faster or one that gets you uphill easier? I'll leave that philosophical conundrum with you.

antibarbarianism

Hot on the heels of Paxo's advice, I took to my bicycle to see Kate Lynch's touring Sheep exhibition at the New Brewery Arts. Okay, before you say it, that's the nearest thing we have to a gallery. Contemporary, you won't find anything Victorian though you might see something made with pre-Victorian technology such is the way of arty rural folk - rather like the subjects of Lynch's paintings and drawings. I like it like that; each in its proper place.

It was a fabulously warm morning, the air passed by with wonderful smells. The lemony scent of freshly sawn pine from a loft conversion, the heady perfume of a rose garden, and the incredibly nostalgic coconut-ice waft of a flowering gorse hedge. I chained the bike to a fire escape, there are no provisions for bicycles at the new gallery. A criminal oversight.

I really liked Lynch's charcoals. The oils were charming, they brought to mind Beryl Cook in the style of late Claude Monet, but that's the first time I've seen charcoals used with that style of figurative work. Big giants of people and beasts, wool and brawn. My favourite piece had no red dot but, alas, they were all (eek!) out of my price range.

There was a soundscape accompanying the exhibit but I couldn't hear it above the din of class 2K from Much Maisey-in-the-Leaze, (C of E) - I think it might have been switched off anyway. A shame: I love a bit of contrived ambiance. Still, good to watch the kiddliwinks scattered around the floor, rendering their paper with fluffy charcoal sheeps. Picasso's famous words came to mind.

barbarians, we are

Jez says we are all barbarians really.

Switch off the televisual apparatus, get down to the gallery, see some pictures.

I agree.

henry cooper is alive and well

Good to see our 'Enery in the papers. My foremost memory of Henry Cooper is watching him from the car while he served my Gran in his greengrocer's shop in Wembley. He was talking to her and she was laughing all the while. I don't know what he was telling her and neither did she, being profoundly deaf, but I've no doubt it was something charming. It's a better memory than him ''splashing it all over'' - I see he's going to be doing more of that hence the newspaper item - and probably slightly better than putting Cassius Clay (later to be Muhammad Ali) on his arse.

HC decries the demise of teaching the noble art of boxing in schools. I'm with him on that. I never had the opportunity; wish I had now. Instead I was offered Judo lessons, which I tried even winning a medal in an inter-school championship, but it's not the same I don't think. Anyway, the point to this post is Henry's pearl:

“Whenever something or someone upsets you, count to ten before responding. Losing your cool isn’t good for you.”

Sound advice, and I could have done with doing this the other day. Trouble is, it takes discipline and practice and, unless you deliberately go looking for altercations, you don't get the practice. I learned from training our pup that any such counter-measure has to be done at level 1 or 2, yet often you're at level 5 or 6 before you know what's going on and it's too late. Maybe we could try counting to ten during every meeting; that might work. Still, no one got harmed during the making of this episode.

not the God question

My ''impossible'' question is no longer impossible; it has been downgraded to ''very, very difficult''. Having played the quiz I suspect this is largely due to the number of players ''skipping'' the question instead of guessing. Even if you can't read, you still have a one in four chance of getting it right! Using intuition, you can cut the odds even more. Though relatively illiterate, I still managed a score of around 60% over 200 questions using intuition, and a smidgen of common sense. The question was never impossible.

The question that is impossible is the existence, or not, of God. I think nothing gives me less satisfaction than hearing a debate about the existence of God. Unless it's about football; I just don't get it. But there are probably many parallels between supporting teams and religion.

The question of God's existence is not relevant. It's a distraction, it's missing the point by a mile. Isn't it time religious debates moved on? What's really relevant is the wisdom that has been laid down for the benefit of mankind across all the religions - and I'm including atheist ones too. Much of this wisdom crosses religious divides. This implies that this wisdom doesn't acknowledge the supremacy of any god; it is more important that knowing gods.

Gandhi put his finger on it when asked if he was a Hindu. Yes, he replied. And a Christian, and a Muslim, and a Jew. He wasn't just being diplomatic, he was pointing beyond the differences in gods to the wisdom at their cores. Wisdom for everyone's enjoyment and benefit. Not just for followers.

on pensions

The BBC commissioned a survey which suggests half the UK are not putting ANY money into pensions, and on the BBC news yesterday, it was further suggested that a person aged 50+ would need to put £1000 every month into a pension scheme in order to acquire a pension income of £10,000 (by today's value, I presume) from age 65 onwards. So that's,

(65 - 50) x 12 x £1000 = £180,000

According to this article, again by the BBC, the Office for National Statistics reveals longevity for men in the UK in 2006 to be 77.3 years. Let's call it 78.

(78 - 65) x £10,000 = £130,000

Is there something wrong with this maths? What happened to the average pensioner's other £50k? Okay, this is a gross simplification: investments could go up - or down; inflation could go up - or down; interest rates could go up - or down. Based on recent trends it's down, down, down all the way. Notwithstanding the potential effects that peak oil, climate change, and population growth will have on all of this. Is it any wonder people aren't climbing over each other to give fund managers their ''hard-earned'' wonga?

People forget how new this extravagant pension idea is; my grandfather's father never had one and I doubt my grandchildren will. Our generations have been living in a cosy bubble of prosperity and it's about to be pricked. We really have to rethink our old age plans.

impossible question

A short while ago I signed up to Goodreads. Such is the speed of modern times and my impetuousness that I can't remember how I came to be there in the first place; was it a stray link or was I searching for something in particular? I must get my short-term memory checked out.

Anyway, never mind all that. I idled away some hours on the trivia quiz and thought I'd better offer up some questions of my own, and I'm surprised how difficult they turned out to be! - it grades them by some black-box computation and puts it on their stats page. I put up a couple more and, apparently, I've now submitted the ''impossible'' question. 'Larks!

town & country

I have to say, half-way through and Small is Beautiful isn't as good a read as I thought it would be. I think the overall spirit of the book is sound but the message often suffers from emotional and wayward composition. Maybe it's because it was written over 36 years ago - hmm, not a great while ago - or maybe it's just me.

However, every now and then a familiar truth will stand out. I'm more certain than ever now why I had to get away from London, and why, when I eventually settled down to family life, we chose Hertfordshire, and why that wasn't far enough and we eventually moved to rural Wiltshire, and why now, living in Ciren, even though we live closer to the open countryside than the town centre, and it's a small town, a pleasant town, it reminds me too much of suburbia and I ache to move again.

Schumacher says the spirit of man is not meant for urban living and yet James Lovelock, in Revenge of Gaia, says 90% of us now live in urban environments. Both say we have problems because man has divorced himself from nature, and from the Earth. Towns are the problem, the countryside is the solution, I believe that.

mo' jazz

My iGoogle feed page informs me today is International Jazz Day: a day set aside each year (since 1991) ''for the world-wide celebration of America's only indigenous art form''. I didn't know that about Jazz; I assumed art was derivative. Nevertheless, the link to How to start a jazz collection comes a bit late to be of much use but I'm relieved I managed to work out the right steps, and execute them, more or less, in the right order. But, as Armstrong probably never said, It's jazz, not rocket science*.

*In case I forget to mention it later, rocket science will be celebrated on 20th July, 40 years since the giant leap for mankind.

work & income

In the four and a half months since I've been ''laid-off'' only one person has correctly identified what I really need; an Income. I have no trouble finding Work; in fact the list of things I can find to do far exceed the time I have available to do it in (a commutation, surely, of Parkinson's Law), and Employment I've always regard as something someone finds you to do in order for you to conform to the requirements of society. The latter I could live without, really; it has no merit other than a short cut between the first and second. Even Self-Employment won't do.

What I'm actually looking for is the key to Self-Reliance.

a case for time travel (part two)

Around the time of my birth a lot of exciting and good music was being made and recorded. By the time I knew how to tune a radio or put a record on, most of this music had been relegated to the bin of history: it was the age of hippies and rock, soon to be ''prog. rock'', and, in less than a decade's time, punk rock and the rest, as they say, is history, and history is bunk. With forward on hold, and sideways not looking too clever, there's only going back.

I've just arrived at the end of a little sojourn into late 50s jazz. I started, naturally, with Miles Davis, followed through with Coltrane, Adderley, Lee Morgan, Art Blakey, Sonny Clark, Dexter Gordon, Hank Mobley, Wayne Shorter, Horace Silver, Oliver Nelson, Grant Green, and Kenny Burrell... This final CD I'm listening to is Charles Mingus, Ah Um, and I have to say I've obviously inadvertently kept the best to last. Superb.

a case for time travel (part one)

There's an apocryphal tale that when 70s band, Free, signed to Island Records, its owner, Chris Blackwell, asked them to consider changing their name. I think he was afraid of putting Free on the album covers and having punters believe they were gratis. Bassist Andy Frazer, who must have been only 15 at the time, stoically told Blackwell the band was called Free and he could take it or leave it. Of course, this implies a certain degree of irony on Blackwell's part, or maybe irony was lost on him, I don't know: they were Free, not The Free.

Forty years on it's causing a problem no one at the time could have been aware of. Try Googling for the band. Even Wiki's disambiguation has them way down towards the bottom of the page. For youTube, it's best to go for Paul Rodgers or one of the other band members, and take it from there. It's worth it, you forget how good a band they were. And so young. When they started making records not one of them was over 18. I suppose that doesn't sound like a big deal today when we have Britain's Got Talent, X-Factor, etc., but it was; there wasn't so much instant fame. Yet singer Rodgers was just 17 and had one of the best soul voices in Britain. He still does - I checked it out - but he looks more like Tom Jones these days. Even the roguish looking broken tooth is capped. More is less, dear boy.
~

Further thoughts on bands and the definite article. There was the case of Eurythmics being constantly introduced as The Eurythmics. The Rolling Stones became Rolling Stones for a while (at the same time as Keith Richards became Keith Richard - after a while it was said he wasn't sure which it was), and then back to The Rolling Stones. Them could never have been The Them, and The Who has to be The Who, of course, even though the question mark was dropped. But The Guess Who? Surely not. (That's my question mark btw - they don't even have that.)

go native bees!

Hey, did you know our honey bees aren't ours?
They are, allegedly, Italian. And probably from New Zealand.

Apparently, these bees were considered more docile than our native species and produced more honey per colony. However, despite their temper and laziness, British bees may prove to be more resilient to CCD.

And The Co-op, when not digging the countryside for gravel, are investing in a project which might see an expansion of the native ''black'' honeybee, apis mellifera mellifera (brown), and its cousins, apis mellifera nigra (black) and apis mellifera lehzeni (heathland). Good for them! Go Native Bees!

effing ethics

I've been thinking of transferring my current accounts to more ethical banks, partly for the ethics and partly because the recent financial fiasco has shown how unsafe banks can be, especially if they're of the hard-nose variety. That's the impression anyway. Naturally, I thought of the Co-operative Bank, part of the Co-op group. They seem ethical. According to their website they have an ethical policy which states;

''it won’t invest in businesses whose core activity contributes to the unsustainable harvest of natural resources...''

and an ethical engagement policy which states;

''The Co-operative Insurance and The Co-operative Investments states that they will encourage the businesses in which they invest to end the exploitation of nature – which results in the loss of plants and animals and their surroundings – and consider more sustainable natural products and services.''

So I am confused by this story in the local paper saying the Co-op Group is seeking permission to extract five million tonnes of sand and gravel from beneath a plot of countryside they own. Is this the same Co-op or some other Co-op? It makes me wonder. At least with my current bank there's no doubt what they are.

joined-up bloggery

Talking of Appleyard, he links to this article about the decline in blogging. Apparently, the activity is ''so 2005''. Maybe it is but I've said it before and by now any claim suggesting blogging is past its peak is pretty much also ''so 2005''.

Then we learn about Twitter - essentially a ''mini-blog'' when used properly. I love Twitter - when used properly - 95.7% of the time 140 characters is all anyone needs to post and all people ever need to read. Sure, blogging has talent but this takes genius! Of course, not all Twitters are showing genius but I've heard if you give enough chimps typewriters you'll end up with Shakespeare.

Talking of mini-blogs, Bad Science has one and I think Goldacre's mini-blog is better than the big one. I got the TinEye link from ''Superclever image recognition search shows BNP voters don't actually exist.'' Brilliant.

And what's this about ''Peter Hain promotes quacks''? The thing I hate most about this story is the statement;

“It seems extraordinary to me that despite a recent poll indicating that 75% of people want complementary medicine available to all on the NHS, that very few such clinics exist.”

What poll was that then? No one asked me! In fact, a recent poll suggested that 85.7% of people claim they have never been asked to take part in a survey to represent public opinion on any issue. (I know because I conducted the poll. I asked myself, I wasn't entirely sure I was never ever asked my opinion on anything otherwise it would have been 100%. No one else was involved.)

This piece is awash with these meaningless statistical percentages. At no point do we know who or how many, or how they were asked. Did they use the expression ''in an ideal world'' or did they suggest diverting their taxes from valuable research and proven therapies and care to employ non-medical practioners and dubious therapies?

I don't hate all alternative (or complementary) medicine, but I do hate that it's presented as a confederacy. Most of it is, to paraphrase James Lovelock, largely useless but mostly harmless. Some of it is pleasant enough in a flattering way, and a bit has been proven effective. But too much is plain nuts and I wouldn't want to see my tax pounds diverted from, say, Leukaemia research or palliative nursing care, and given to an on-line course graduate sugar-pill pusher. I'd really hate that.

go self-signify yourself

I expect most writers like to tell you something new. It isn't entirely necessary. Even when they tell us what we already knew, they usually tell it in a better way. That's their craft, assembling the right words and putting them in the best order. I admire writers.

I see Bryan Appleyard.com has written an introduction to his links explaining favourites and blogrolls. He says they are ''character attributes'' and ''self-signifiers''; we say we knew this all along; but he puts it a lot better.

He doesn't mention that it's a two-way process: knowing the compiler - or random collector - gives significance to the links. Normally, I would look down that list and think pah! (or uh?), but, no, I reckon they must be cool, despite appearances.

Like, New York?! This made me smile.
~

Btw, I like the idea of searching for images for this blog. On my other blogs I've been mindful to use my own images but as this blog isn't specifically for images, making appropriate images is a drag. Besides, searching for images is educational.

Helen Levitt's NY street scene is evocative of Cartier-Bresson and that's exactly why I was drawn to it. No surprise to find he was one of her influences. I don't know much about Helen Levitt. Finding out she died less than two months ago is strangely sad, almost as this blog began.

Btw2, I also found this ''reverse image search'' which is interesting. TinEye. You upload an image and it searches for identical (or near enough) images on the web. Good for telling who's using your images without permission.

troglodyte nation

It's hard to write this post now. Yesterday, as I walked the dog along the Monarch's Way, the faint sound of traffic finally petering out until only the wind and my squeaky left boot filled me ears, it seemed an easy task. The words came readily as I imagined them being typed into the blog. But in my room, in front of the laptop, I feel despondency clouding over my thoughts. I want to be outdoors.

Being off ''work'' I've learned a few things about myself. I'm obviously an outdoors guy. It began in January when I dug the soil over in my coat, and through until May when I'd gradually stripped down to the waist. I have been in the rain and not minded, I am learning to read the weather, I have noticed the change in wild flowers, and I have developed a bronzed look without going through the redness and pain phase. Working on the allotment, being around to witness and experience, constantly, the outdoors, just seems so astoundingly natural to me. Is that ironic; being in nature being natural? Not really. So what happened?

I am aware it'll be necessary to return to ''work'' for financial reasons, and this would mean office work, ''business as usual''. This saddens me. I wish I was a farmer but that's not likely to be: I was brought up in ghastly suburbia. I'm not kidding myself farming isn't harder work than most urbanites would know but there is the knowledge and I don't have that, not just the ''how to'' knowledge but the all important instinctive and spiritual knowledge that country people have through generations. Whereas, I am urbanite. Like 90% of all humans, I live, work, and think indoors. I am a member of the great troglodyte nation.

Maybe I could become a postman...

love and hate

I hate the weather forecast. It's hopeless. It causes me to make the wrong decisions. It's supposed to rain today, it's art class this morning and I hesitated long enough to find myself on route in the car, looking at the road, looking at the sky, thinking it wasn't too bad, convincing myself it would rain come home time. But it didn't. And it still hasn't. I could have cycled after all, damn it!

But I love the new library. Despite it's hat-tip to modernity, it's seeming lack of book-shelves, and its confusing sections, for instance, IT manuals stacked below a sign which clearly says ''philosophy''. They've streamlined and automated much of the work of the librarians which means you don't have to queue. You can collect your requested books and log them out yourself, you can log them back in, and renew them too - I've just done this while the car sat on the double yellows (something I hate doing but all the short stay spaces were occupied and I wished I'd had my bike). Anyway, in and out in under five minutes. Love it!

People Matter

I began reading E.F. Schumacher, Small Is Beautiful: A Study Of Economics As If People Mattered, today. I requested it from the new library; it was in central storage and took some time to track down, I don't expect it gets much of an airing. It's a book I think I should have read in the 70s but I didn't know of it then. The writing is of that period, quite text-bookish, not the chatty, let-me-explain, easy style of most recent books on ''serious'' issues. I find myself going over paragraphs again, getting into the style; often it seems to be written for economists: there's jargon and terms I can only guess at the meaning and he has an annoying habit of putting many terms in inverted commas.
Despite this the overall message so far is familiar. There's even parallel sentiments I recognise from The Ragged Trousered Phil. Just how far back does this wisdom go? And why hadn't I noticed then, and why are people not noticing still? The so called ''Business As Usual'', I guess.

the pleasure of Feynman

Posting the James Lovelock interview earlier reminded me of a favourite video; Richard Feynman on The Pleasure of Finding Things Out. Feynman was a physicist who had worked on developing the atomic bomb, and on quantum mechanics and quantum electrodynamics. In 1965 he was awarded the Nobel Prize for Physics. He was a captivating lecturer and I can see how in this programme. As you can see in this clip, he also liked to draw portraits.

It's the first part of a five-part video of an original broadcast in 1981 by BBC Horizon (about 50 minutes altogether). Follow the link to YouTube, it's worth watching the whole programme.

public library

I am difficult to impress. It is something I've hated about myself for as long as I remember. It has caused me to seem an ungrateful boy at Christmas and, later in life, to be misinterpreted as 'cool', aloof, dull, miserable, and on occasion antisocial. I'm pretty sure I'm none of these things for most of the time.

You should never read an autobiography of someone you don't know from a bar of soap. I borrowed Roger Scruton's, Gentle Regrets from the newly revamped town library expecting it to be as stimulating and enlightening as the Lovelock book I had just finished. I suppose it didn't cost me anything. Well, no more than I would have to pay for the service even if I didn't use it. But I did wonder why I was spending time on it when I'd also borrowed Steinbeck's East of Eden. It felt like a moment when you take a seat on a bus and the stranger next to you starts telling you his life story - yes, exactly like that! - and it's irrelevant and meaningless, and you just want to look out the window and enjoy the familiar and real meaning of the journey.

At this point, you could simply change seats or stand, but that would appear rude so you get off before your stop because waiting for the next bus, even in the cold and rain, is better than this. With a book, a book from the library, you simply return it early. God, I do love the public library!
~

I borrowed a third book that day. (Three seems to be a natural number.) It was John Humphrys' Beyond Words: How Language Reveals the Way We Live Now. It was well written and convincing but I found I agreed far too easily and was bored with the cause before chapter three was over. Never mind, I was heading for the library anyway...

on the future

Listen to James Lovelock talking to Oliver Norton of Nature.

This is the first occasion I've heard his voice. I don't know why, he must have been on YouTube before. I suppose, generally, I would only check out the dubious loons I come across in print, and their manner in person, on video, usually supports this first impression. It didn't apply to Lovelock when I read him and hearing him speak now confirms that opinion. And he seems like a real nice guy to boot, despite his message.

on the weather

In England it's important to know the weather. Especially these days when I have an allotment and seven potentially free days in which to indulge myself. My browser has a quick link to the BBC-Met. Office local forecast for Gloucester - it's the closest they get. This site gives a full forecast at three hourly periods for the next 24 hours, followed by a brief forecast for the next five days. It changes hourly and most of the time fails to keep up with the weather.

Basically, it doesn't work.

But we keep persevering with it, in hope, because Brits are, as anyone who knows us will tell you, weather-obsessed. Paradoxically, we complain constantly about whatever weather we're given, too wet, too hot, too cold, too windy, and yet we're optimistic it'll improve.

I once heard a Met. Office spokesman explain how difficult it was to predict with any degree of accuracy a short-range forecast, say tomorrow or next weekend; it was much easier to do long-range ones, say in a month's time. A year hence is even better, a relative cinch. It doesn't take a genius to realise what a futile endeavour forecasting is. It will rain sometimes, we're not sure when.

All this is, in some way, confirmed in this forecast for the coming summer; it will be hotter and drier than the previous two summers. "Good news, finally", says BBC forecaster Laura Tobin. "Compared to last summer, which was miserable... it will probably be positive for the majority of people."

YIPPEE!

However, a grey cloud, the Met. Office's government services director, Rob Varley warns, "They are not forecasts which can be used to plan a summer holiday or inform an outdoor event."

Right, as you were....

Nevertheless, allotmenteers, keep your barrels filled!

on t-shirts

The more I look into VideoJug - remember, Life Explained. On Film. - the more I feel I'm being had. Have a look at this clip showing you how to fold a T-shirt. I've got a drawer full of these myself. In fact, these days they're the only shirts I tend to wear: they're easy, comfortable, and quick. Never thought it was a problem until now; I've watched this film five times and each time takes me further from the truth...

ciren bicycle

I've just read that plans are afoot to make our town centre ''more pedestrian-friendly''. I think this will be a good thing. The area known as Market Place lends itself perfectly to a piazza style arrangement - or ''café culture'', as the paper puts it. The current arrangement of two two-lane roads separated by an island and taxi rank/car park isn't realising its potential, plus we have the grand church front as its centre-piece. I don't know how they'll arrange the traffic flow and I don't really care. How can it be worse than it already is? Most of the time I'll walk into town: it's not far, and quite pleasant.

Recently, I've dusted off the bike and intend using it more. It's quicker. It's even quicker than the car at certain times, and there's no parking charges. Not that I would ever pay parking charges: there's plenty of places to park free if you know where to look. But with a bike you don't have to bother with all that. However, I hope they do something better with the cycle routes in the grand scheme. We have them, here and there, but no one thought to join them up.

My front brakes squeal like a pig, and my rears hardly work at all; I fear the cable has stretched. My dérailleurs front and back are temperamental to say the least. I need bicycle repairman! Youtube, normally a good point of call, has so far not come up with the goods. Instead I got a YouTube copy, VideoJug, - tagline ''Life Explained. On Film.'', and three videos on bike care, none of which are particularly any good unless you happen to be an alien just arrived from planet Zogg, or somewhere else where they've never seen a bicycle, however, this one is worth watching for the funny bike-owning guy. I like the cut of his comic jib and don't know why I haven't seen him on telly.

Turning more hopefully to (fanfare of trumpet) How to Maintain your Mountain Bike for Peak Performance!, (that's more like it!) I was amazed to be shown how to wash my bike with soapy water and a stiff brush. Er...? Tell you what, here's that funny guy again in this video where his bike's half-inched, and half-inched some more. Pay careful attention! I'm always worried I'll get back to my bike and find it gone. Still, the walk home isn't far, and quite pleasant.

asparagus

Allotment Tales: Late April

After the forced rhubarb, the next crop we enjoy is asparagus. I say ''we'' but I'm the only one in our house who likes rhubarb. I can't fathom why. Nevertheless, we forced the smallest clump - we have three separate clumps, all inherited from the previous allotmenteer - under an old dustbin. I recommend forcing for rhubarb lovers who can't wait to get their rhubarb under an oaty crumble, with custard. It is the pinkest, smoothest rhubarb you can imagine. It's all gone now - the forced stuff - so it's on to the asparagus.

We've had two bunches from our bed already. We're lucky to have inherited it as a mature bed along with the rhubarb and several fruit bushes. Lucky because new beds shouldn't be harvested for the first three years! Even then, the cutting should be stopped after six weeks, and eight weeks on a mature bed, to allow the crowns to take in energy and gain strength. After the cutting season, the asparagus is left to grow into tall, elegant fronds which look attractive blowing in the breeze and are a coveted prize amongst flower arrangers. Don't let them! They're storing more energy for next year. Only cut the fronds when the berries appear to ripen, and before they fall, and cut them all down to the ground. Then give them to flower arrangers, if still desired.

Asparagus is a good choice for allotments. Considering what they cost in the shop in season, you can recoup your allotment rent in a few cuttings. Last year, our first year, we were eating asparagus 2 - 3 times a week for eight weeks. I noticed it was three quid a pop in the local farm shop! There are many ways to eat asparagus and with all that cutting we must have tried most but simply steaming and serving with butter and freshly ground black pepper wins hands down. Plot to plate in under half an hour - lovely.

adolf hitler & winston churchill

A curious thing that connects both these leaders, apart from the obvious, was their ability to paint. Churchill, it is said, discovered his fondness for daubing in his forties when he needed a calming distraction from politics. Hitler, on the other hand, appears to have done most of his dabbling while a young man, well before politics destroyed him. There's something to be said for art as therapy.

I caught this news item today and was interested to see how good an artist young Adolf really was. Hitler chose watercolours (top) whereas, as I found out later, Winston preferred oils (left). Of course, I had to check his work out too.

I'm not sure but I don't think Josef Stalin or Franklin D. Roosevelt ever painted, more's the pity, though I think Stalin might have enjoyed Photoshop.