Observations from a Hill

OK - here it is - another personal milestone in the short history of this little blog - post number five hundred. Whodathunkit? Certainly not me: I don't normally have the stamina for this kind of thing - amazing what a confluence of strange events can elicit. Pandemic plus retirement; an odd combination that is probably afforded to us once in a lifetime at best for a select band of the semi-fortunate. However, this has been an extremely rewarding activity and I'm glad to have started it and gratified that it has been shared by a number of readers across the world. Considering I'm the bloke who left writing his degree dissertation until three days before submission was due, I'm quietly pleased that I can now write at least something, however trivial, on a daily basis; and your reading my fractured and sometimes apparently random output is gratifying also and so I thank you. I will continue in like fashion as long as I'm able, as this has turned into the diary I alwa...

I've just finished reading "The Oxford Murders" by Guillermo Martínez, an Argentinian writer, who won the Planeta Prize for the book. An enjoyable read, weaving its plot around an apparent serial killer's machinations, woven into a mathematical underpinning based on logical series: specifically the Pythagorean Numbers. The fourth in the series is the tetrad or  τετρακτύς (Tetractys   in   Greek). This is an equilateral  triangle, consisting of four rows of vertices or points: one, two, three and four, which from the four numbers 0 (unity; a point: zero dimensions), 1 (one dimension - a line between two points), 2 (two dimensions - a triangular plane) and 3 (three dimensions - represented by a tetrahedron consisting of four points). The reason I mention any of this is a tad random. Whilst finishing the book this afternoon, I idly Googled the Tetrad for more background. Apparently a sacred (to some) series, it represented (amongst other things) the Four Elements of the...

First and soon to feature, to some degree, on British roads: autonomous vehicles; now an autonomous ship crossing the Atlantic in the historical wake of the original; The Mayflower, or to give it its full name " The  Mayflower  Autonomous Research Ship". It remains to be seen how well the experimental vessel performs, but I'd rather bet on this than the land-based offspring of the  technology. If I want to travel in a car or similar without driving it, I'll opt for the passenger seat - at least the Atlantic has plenty of room for manoeuvre - the M25? Forget it: it's nearly as bad as having an autonomous and out of control Prime Minister - give me The Mayflower anytime.

A bit of a contrast in the weather today: the wall-to-wall blue skies having been replaced by a somewhat greyer aspect. The couple of light showers of even lighter rain we've had won't touch the sides: the unseasonal weather of late has conspired to dry out practically everything in the garden. Still, we don't deal in manicured lawns and fancy roses, so it really hasn't been too bad: most of the stuff we've got growing here is pretty robust - we follow the maxim that if you plant something, it either thrives or dies - if it thrives, it's right for it's environment; if it dies then it's in the wrong place. Natural, really...

It is difficult to know where to begin in describing the current state of politics in this country: it almost feels like Trump USA before the Fall From Grace at the moment, and at least I hope the portents follow a similar trajectory - unfortunately the potential timeline to regime change will be somewhat protracted in comparison to our transatlantic brethren's. The only thing we can hope for is that Bozza is ousted by his own camp as being too much of a liability; politically and legally, to be the viable leader at the next parliamentary electoral outing. What or who that scenario would leave us with at the helm of the nation, God only knows: Michael Gove? Almost certainly he's the only faintly capable candidate amongst the throng of total inadequates that currently, feloniously, and mendaciously occupy our cabinet and comprise the sorriest of governments I can recall in my sixty-six years on this planet. Gove today in Parliament doubled down on the stonewall response to all...

I suspect that more than a few of us will quietly be enjoying schadenfreude at the PM's current pickle: his 'creature' has turned, obviously not happy at his treatment at the hands of the Johnson government. The old saying 'Be careful whom you upset on the way to the top...' springs to mind. Cummings may not be my favourite person of all time, but I like Johnson and has ilk still less; but his agency would seem to have facilitated both of the Johnson projects: Brexit and a landslide election - slighting him would seem to have been yet another tactical error on the PM's part. Anyone who has watched Wolf Hall (I've still to read the books myself) will know how critical friendships and alliances are to those close to the seat of power, and that the careful stewardship of those relationships is of vital importance to the central players: although these days rolling heads are metaphorical rather than physical - some might cry shame! Will Johnson be undone by his ...

  Yn Y Tŷ, Prynhawn. Another beautiful afternoon with unbroken azure skies and a marked increase in temperature. More stuff shifted from the studio, bagged variously for storage, charity shop or disposal. Start made on a drystone retaining wall to enclose a new seating area on the east side of the studio. Start made on reading a new-to-me novel, found while going through the studio stuff - tooth cracked while reading same: moral - don't grind your teeth, especially when they're none too sound in the first place - ironically though, a tooth I've never, ever had a problem with. Bugger.

Another gratuitous tulip posting: we've got several pots planted up with these around the front of the house and cottage, and with the warmth this afternoon - we've seen 21°C on the shade thermometer: a hefty contrast to the single-figures we've been having lately - they're all showing nicely in the bright sunlight: the colours of these things are just glorious. There's a strong connection between tulips and Brummies of a certain age: the annual Tulip Festival at Cannon Hill Park, first held in 1960 and continuing for several years: the first event (which I attended as a five-year-old) featured a quarter of a million tulips, bought at the then not inconsiderable cost of £9,000 by the City. Over sixty years later, I still love the things.

Just to share a moment - tulips in the late afternoon sun here...

Alfresco coffee & croissant this morning, after a trip out to B&Q to get some replacement ear defenders; after the repair on my old ones finally gave up the ghost - a shame as it was a good quality set. Still, I only paid three quid for the new ones: a little less effective, but OK. Got the fire exit door finished and back in place OK, after a bit of a struggle with the bolt receivers: but all good. Decided to barbecue again this evening, despite a rather unseasonable chill to the air - the sun and blue sky more than compensate, and you can't beat charcoal-grilled food in weather like this.

I've made a start on the cottage fire exit door - I decided to salvage the original by extending the two side edges by 1/2" apiece, so that the gap that had formed is now closed. Judicious use of foam draught excluder tape should give it a pretty good seal against the elements: as it will rarely be opened (hopefully not in an emergency either!) it should last well. I've given the exterior a coat of paint and I'll finish the other side tomorrow, fit the draught excluder and replace it in the frame. We planted something to climb the archway I put in last year as an entrance to the top of the side garden: a Clematis Montana Rubens, the softness of which will contrast nicely with its rather spinier Firethorn opposite number. Hole dug, planted and watered in: the last gardening act of the day.

  Another day of landscaping, planting and building stuff. The pic shows a drystone tumble of steps from the 'patio' down to the side garden, which I've sort-of finished - again to no set plan, as the stones and slates present themselves at random from various corners of our ever-evolving plot - but will continue to fettle into the foreseeable... I've just discovered that the outer hatch to the cottage fire exit has shrunk since I first put it in, some fifteen years ago, which means I need to build another from scratch - no big deal, but another unexpected task. I've made more changes to my replacement table saw top and fence, but now plan to replace it yet again with a better design I dreamt up this morning. Continuous Revolution = Evolution. To quote someone else [can anyone tell me who?] "I'd rather wear out than rust out..." Cheers from Fairview Heights: more beer!

I am totally, totally p***ed off with the hare-brained Covid-denying idiots out there: moaning about lockdowns, face-coverings, vaccinations, etc., etc. as if we had any bloody choice - what on God's earth is deniable about three million dead? Get a life, grow up and get real. If we were living in the fourteenth century and dealing with the Black Death, there would be no vaccines, treatment or furlough - and the death toll would be an order of magnitude higher. Dear God, get a grip... Those who say (and by what twisted logic?) that somehow Keir Starmer is responsible for the current UK situation (viz: pub guy) are really winding me up: listen to Parliament live on TV, rather than consume the partisan Tory line trotted out by the press: Starmer has been asking the right questions of Johnson for months now, only to be met with non-answers, waffle and deflection - a situation not helped by the Speaker's failure to call Johnson out on it. Johnson and his government are hiding behin...

I read with some dismay in yesterday's Observer, that many iconic old department-store buildings throughout Britain have a distinctly uncertain future as the High Street changes and the pandemic wreaks its collateral damage on retail. Mention was made in the article of Rackhams in Birmingham. The possibility of this slice of Brummie history and a not inconsiderable chunk of my adolescence disappearing forever saddens me. As I've mentioned before, we used to hang around the museums and department stores in town throughout much of our early teens: Rackhams and Lewis' in particular. If the Rackhams building goes, so does an old Birmingham saying: '...round the back of Rackhams...' I won't elucidate further... E-mail Notifications : If you're one of those that get notification of my posts via e-mail, Blogger are are pulling the plug on that particular service as the provider no longer supports the product. If you stop getting notifications, it doesn't mean t...

Helen McCrory's untimely death leaves a void in the pantheon of the performing arts in this country, and although her roles were many and varied she was recently, famously known for her portrayal of Aunt Polly in Peaky Blinders: which, unless you've lived in a hole for the last few years, was a remarkably successful series about a crime family based in turn-of-the-last-century Birmingham. As a bit of myth-making-based-on-a-grain-of-truth, it was pretty entertaining; although I watched little of it due to one, crucial thing. The accents: they were appalling parodies of my native tongue (although the later stuff seemed to get more of a grip on the subtleties of its many variations). Over the last few decades, my Brummie accent has softened but still inflects my speech with that unmistakeable cadence: pure Winson Green. Jane's accent differs in that she grew up in Quinton, but  to a small extent our speech is qualified by both having fathers who were from Smethwick - a complet...

I've a small patch of the garden, in front of the studio, that I started to do something with just after the studio was built: around eleven years ago. I've constructed several drystone walls around our plot, including one around this very small spot. I put a standing stone near the centre of this tiny sub-garden at the time, but have done nothing else with it since then: in fact, it has simply acted as a place to park the cement mixer and various bits of detritus. I decided this afternoon that the time was now ripe to take a serious view on this and think about what to actually turn it into. So I've decided on a small Japanese-style dry Zen garden, incorporating the standing stone as its heart. Over the last week I've unearthed some nice stones from other parts of the garden, and with some of these and two or three bags of smallish stone chippings, I'll fashion something hopefully elegant and peaceful.  To be honest I've wanted a Zen garden since the first time...

I've just started reading "Meet Me at the Museum" by Anne Youngson, which has been serialised this month on BBC Radio Four. Although not a 'brand-new' book, it is new to me: I was much moved by the radio dramatisation of it and I thought I should read the original. It is an epistolary novel consisting of the correspondence between a housewife in England and a Danish museum curator who are connected by a book written by a deceased professor of Archaeology and its subject, The Tollund Man. It is a deeply profound and touching reflection on ageing, isolation and platonic, intellectual love. I really do urge anyone to either a) listen to the radio version on catchup, b) buy the book; or preferably c) both of the above - and I think, as is often the case, the dramatised hearing is a good hook into the written form. So far the book itself is bearing its fruit both admirably and poignantly. Check it out: I won't put a spoiler out, as its story arc is exactly that of ...

Yet another fail on the Deck of the Week front - I will definitely post something tomorrow when the house is quieter and the cottage empty. We've got 9/10ths of 7/8s of the cottage sorted; the last major item having arrived today: a new fridge. The rest of it is just snagging now, so we'll get the thing on AirBnB as soon as is possible and see how the thing flies: the pubs and restaurants will be starting to get back to some sort of business pretty soon, which will help things immeasurably; although contacts report an already enormous increase in traffic to caravan sites in the area as soon as the travel embargo was lifted earlier this week. All in all, positive moves - at least in the short term. The epidemiologists are rather more guarded in their enthusiasm, and given the large numbers of numpties out there who refuse to either get vaccinated or even acknowledge that there's even a problem, I tend to take their point. Still, baby steps; one day at a time, etc. Been anoth...

  Just a diary entry today - things have been a bit busy as we've had a family gathering: all Covid-legal I hasten to add - the first for a very long time. I'll post the Deck of the Week tomorrow sometime. It's been a glorious day here today, albeit with a keen wind: but the view out towards the island has been simply stunning. We've made a start on laying the limestone chippings at the parking space, but as expected, a tonne goes nowhere - still, we've filled the main potholes and after a couple of weeks bedding it in, we'll get a couple more tonnes to 'join the dots'. Should be OK and will definitely look better and end the muddy pool problem. Also, I have deconstructed and reassembled the Ikea 'butcher's block' trolley thing and given it a coat of beeswax: it should wear in nicely if we keep up the polishing on a regular basis. That's all for now, methinks; I think there might be political comment on the horizon soon enough, given PMQ...

Now, as then, the Drip of time Ebbs, flows: rubbing soft or Hard against us; The moment to us Lost. Kel Harvey, 2021  

Forty years ago, we had a day out on the Snowdon Horseshoe, along with the usual (fewer than is common now) hordes of weekend walkers out from the cities. We did the thing in the reverse direction to usual for no particular reason, but as always the challenge from whichever direction, for the casual walker as opposed to climber, is the ridge known as Crib Goch. Admittedly, it can be intimidating to the less experienced, and in Winter is a serious proposition deserving of great respect and not a little mountaineering skill. However, on a fine Summer's day it is an exhilarating scramble in a fantastic spot. Unfortunately for some, that experience can be overwhelming to the point of immobility - in climbing parlance: 'getting totally gripped'. We came upon some poor bloke who was completely gripped, right in the middle of the narrowest section; unwilling to advance or retreat, despite the entreaties of his companions on either side of the section. Figuring he had enough suppo...

  The first pub I ever drank in, at the age of fifteen (no ID in those days, boys; illegal though it was - ask your Grandad) was the Cape of Good Hope at the corner of Cape Hill and Grove Lane, Smethwick. It had the usual bar, smoking room (never understood that one as you could smoke anywhere in those days, even in hospital!), snug, beer garden and a hangover from decades before - as far as I can remember the only surviving example at the turn of the seventies - a men-only bar. Within six months of first entering the place, I was a regular and my favoured tipple was that old Midlands standby: brown & mild; half a pint of dark mild in a pint glass, topped with a half of brown ale (Manns for preference): a pint of which cost the princely sum of 2/6d - 12.5p in today's money - expensive, as a pint of mild was only 2/2d. I kid you not, a night out at the Cape would cost me well less than a pound, and would include four pints, twenty cigarettes (Player's Number Six) and fish an...

Things seem to be on the up: our immediate family is now fully vaccinated, the rest on their way. Our Welsh Covid restrictions are lifting gradually, the first phase starting on Monday, and we've got a visit on the way from family-members from England as the embargo lifts. Today has been a glorious day, albeit sharply cold this evening, and we've had the first real bonfire this year, managing to see off the first pile of clearings from our parking area down the High street. We've a tonne of limestone chippings to put down there too, to try and level the potholes that have formed over the years. To top it all, one of our tulips decided to open up to the sunshine: a glorious herald of hopefully warmer times over the next few weeks.  

  As I think I've mentioned before, about seventeen or eighteen years ago, I freelanced for  a few months for a company in Bangor, which entailed much European travel as a consequence. The first solo trip I did for them was to attend a conference in Lisbon, although I remember nothing about the conference or its purpose, but everything about the bar around the corner from my hotel where I ate my meals, drank copious espresso coffee and partook of the rather good, cheap red wine on offer. The roast suckling pig was exquisite and very cheap. My missing memory of the actual purpose of that visit and its location bring me to two things that have happened today: both involving locks. A couple of weeks ago, the key to our studio (also to the garden shed - same crude lock!) went missing, nowhere to be found. Secondly, today I bought a new padlock for the gate to our parking-space as the current one is rusted solid, having been sorely neglected by my good self over the past couple of ...

  In the late sixties, the BBC put out a lovely little series called Hold Down a Chord, Fingerpicking; where John Pearse attempted to educate the likes of yours truly in the arts of finger-style guitar playing: the mainstay of country blues, folk and country music. As you can see, I bought the slender, magazine-format book that accompanied the series. There was a volume one; as I remember it, in red: as this covered stuff I already had some knowledge of, I never purchased it. Now, the only tune I ever learned from this book/series was Candy Man, by the very great Reverend Gary Davis: and then, I only learned to play it 'my' way, as ripple-picking is all I've ever really managed (book one of the series!) to grasp. Nevertheless, it opened my ears to his music, and I bought a couple of records of his that became a staple of our listening at a particular point in our adolescence. To the bathroom, Robin! Our house in Winson Street was essentially a Victorian two-up, two-down wit...

  I'm not sure what to make of the current barrage of negative news regarding the Oxford AstraZeneca vaccine, but given the extremely slender risk of adverse blood-clotting effects due to its deployment - statistically very, very small odds indeed - and given the absolute urgency to stem the tide of this disease, which carries a statistically very high risk of adverse blood-clotting on infection: I feel that parading this day-in, day-out across the major news channels is just poor management; guaranteed to hamper forward progress in the much-needed mass-vaccination programme. Add into this the fact that large swathes of the world either cannot afford to participate, have little access to, or have effectively been frozen out of the vaccine(s) rollout because of the pecking order that we are ourselves at the very apex of, and we have that old chestnut: the haves versus the have-nots - a gated community of a privileged few versus the very many beyond the pale. Whatever happened to we...

  What a perfidious month this is turning out to be: as you can see, it's been snowing. Jane's pots of Spring flowers were only planted up the other day, and are now covered in white stuff! And twist! As I write this, the sun's just burst through the gloom... Still, nearly time for lunch. Baguette - well, demi-baguette to be fair - I thoroughly recommend the part-baked ones from Tesco: the one's that are actually made in France - they really do turn out decently, with a good crust and a reasonable crumb (not as open a crumb as the real thing, I grant you, but good nevertheless). Some butter, ham and Dijon mustard to put on it, and a cup of coffee to wash it down - then back to work on the cottage...

  It looks benign enough, this view: with the sun and blue sky, the garden in bud and the grass green and healthy, but the traces of white on the mountains lend the lie to it. April 5th and the temperature has just only reached 5 °C at 18:30: this morning first thing, the wind was cold enough to strip the heat from your skin in a second. Let's hope things pick up by a week hence, when people can start to take holidays here!

  As I wrote the other day, I've been trying to fathom out a design for the fence for the new table-saw top I made a while ago. As I said I saw a product from Rutlands that looked promising but was too expensive to justify. The basic principle of using an adjustable triangular frame appealed though, because it's very easy to get a very stable structure that way. As you can just see in the picture, I've essentially got three pivot points: one fixed and floating and two moveable and lockable. The whole thing's made from 22 mm ply and scrap kitchen unit stuff, with the addition of track and hardware from stock. The fixed pivot at the far vertex of the triangle is made from a kitchen cabinet hinge and the strut that forms the hypotenuse of the triangle is scrap melamine/MDF also from a kitchen cabinet, as is the working face of the fence. As you can see, having the front track extend beyond the table-top allows more freedom and a wider cutting throat between the fence and t...

The view from our side garden this evening, looking out over Y Ffridd (to the left of the stone wall - the field to the right belonging to the farm below). Timeless, hard-won beauty, not substantially different from a century ago. With the house came grazing rights on the Ffridd - I can't remember how many sheep - not that we've ever wanted to exercise those rights: nice to know, though...

Bright sun, blue skies; a contrail pointing towards some more positive future destination: the pictures fine, but it's bloody cold out there, despite the sun. Easter Monday promises to be colder still, if the forecast's to be believed. But this afternoon I intend to barbecue, come what may! A simple repast of skewered, marinated chicken, Greek salad and bread. Here's hoping this spring's weather follows the pattern set by the last and heralds a nice hot summer to come. My glass is eternally half-full, people! Happy Easter to one and all.  

  I've written about time quite a lot over the past year, either in plain reflection or in verse: I feel a connection to my past through photographs and documents I hold in trust for the family; a small foothold in history for those that are following - working-class history, as I've said before, is rarely written first-hand. Our traces tend to be the archaeological by-products of history somehow not ours: the ephemera of someone else's lineage. I've been looking through the small collection of family documents - tiny - I have in my custodianship; and lit upon a handful of letters from my Dad's eldest brother to his family, whilst he was serving in the Army at the end of the Second World War in North Africa. My uncle was an engineer, as was his next sibling Arthur (I'll come to his story in another post) and was with REME just at the cusp of the War's end. One letter I've got is from Sam to the family of 25th February 1946. Things were kicking off betwee...

  Well there you go: this time 'round we've both got side effects from the jab: mild I grant you, but I guess it serves us right for crowing about our lack of them after the first one. Pride cometh before...etc. We were OK until around lunchtime today (the jabs were done last evening at around six P.M, so around eighteen hours before) and then we both just felt a bit woolly and somewhat ache-y. So the prescription is a beer and paracetamol for me, G&T for Jane (better than 'Oxygenated Bitters'!), and an episode of Lovejoy on the Drama channel in twenty minutes. If I perk up a bit later, I'll put fingers to keyboard, otherwise that's all for today!