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.