Observations from a Hill

Pictured, a small gift from our current guest, Judith's father, over here for a few days visit from Germany. He's staying in our cottage and this afternoon presented me with this little tome, as he was aware that I have spent some time in Germany and speak [ein bisschen schlechtes] German. We communicated as such this evening, each admitting to our own linguistic limitations in turn, but understanding each other perfectly well enough. A nice gesture on his part, and well appreciated by me. Which makes me think of the damage that the Farage creature and his ilk have wreaked on this land in pressing through the Brexit agenda. We need more contact with the outside world, not less: there is no progress to be made in crude isolationism, as any truly pragmatic person here in Wales will attest to. Nationhood is a fine thing, but any nation has to sell its benefits outside of its own bounds to succeed: cutting ties with others is simply cutting your nose off to spite your face, as we ...

Fairview Heights this late afternoon, the temperature down to a balmy 28˚C, although to be fair we only touched thirty once, mid-afternoon, so not greatly oppressive. The house sits at around twenty-four, but then we live in a place with two-foot thick stone walls, so it is relatively easy to regulate the inside temperature with curtains and doors: old school tech is most often the best, methinks. Shades and a through draught are the free alternative to air-con, as we learnt in Corfu a decade ago: it's quite possible to spend a relatively comfortable night with no air-con in a hot environment as long as you limit the solar gain of windows using shutters during the day, and maintain a night-time airflow across the room. A bottle of cold local wine helps the zzz's along also. It's weird that it's now as as hot here in North Wales as it was back then in Greece, but there you go. One thing I definitely can't get around here though are the stupendous cheese pies and deep...

Pictured, the best that I could manage of the moment of ninety-percent eclipse, using an iPhone 16 Pro through the lens of a pair of cardboard eclipse specs - grainy and blurry that it is, it at least gives an impression of what we could see this evening. We sat out drinking cold beer in the peace and quiet of Y Ffridd, whilst the throng headed up onto the hill behind us, beyond the mountain gate. I think we had the best seats in the house, however...

Today I found this avian corpse down in our car park, with no obvious signs of injury or attack, but stone dead, nevertheless. We've no idea what it is, but at a good 200mm head to tail, it's not exactly small; however my suspicion is that it's not fully grown, although obviously fledged: could it be an adolescent corvid? It's beak suggests something of the kind, as do the enormous, taloned feet. We'd love to know more: Steve and Margaret - come to our rescue, guys. Tomorrow's eclipse beckons and our next-door neighbour has given us two pairs of the 'official' eclipse specs with which to view the event, a kind and thoughtful gesture. I've written before of past eclipses I've witnessed [blog posts passim], but this one promises to be pretty special, should the weather stay as it is. I'm determined to record this event properly and in real time, using my iPhone, running the BlackmagicCam app, with the thing mounted on my Manfrotto tripod. Sound...

I've just ordered an old, secondhand copy of "Transformational Syntax - a Student's Guide to Chomsky's Extended Standard Theory", my former, and now sadly deceased, professor's first book, which I've alluded to before [blog posts passim]. Somewhere in this house lies the original self-produced copy of this first opus by Andrew Radford; which he wrote, typed and Roneo-ed [an obsolete method of ink-based reproduction of documents, for the uninitiated: much cheaper at the time than using a photocopier, and a year or three before the availability of affordable computers and printers] over the summer break before taking up the chair in Linguistics at University College, North Wales [now Bangor University] at the tender age of thirty-four: both of which achievements speak volumes as to the man's ability. It is not out of any sympathy with or belief in Chomsky's syntactical theory that I've purchased the thing - I'd already come to the conclusion...

  OK, it's Sunday and gratuitous food post time! I really don't have much mental or physical oomph left in the tank to write otherwise; we've done a stint in the garden this afternoon and my back's sore, so I'll keep it short. Anyway, tonight's repast is worth remarking upon: the usual combo of belly pork, potatoes and vegetables in my usual sauce. Except that tonight's turned out to be exceptional. Two things about the meat and spuds: first I did my usual parboil of Maris Piper potatoes with a couple of bruised garlic cloves, plenty of sea salt and a glug of extra virgin olive oil in the water. Then I roasted the little buggers in beef dripping. The belly pork strips, which were nice and fatty, I just salted with the aforementioned sea salt and roasted them off as is, rendering the fat off the things without adding anything else into the pan. I also didn't drain the fat off the pan, instead basting the skin a few times whilst letting the meat itself sit...