Observations from a Hill

Me & Leo in the back of the truck after loading the piano in the final clear-out of Lou's place. Moving a piano is a pretty intimidating prospect for the uninitiated, but in practice is not too bad. Admittedly, the average, old school iron-frame upright weighs in at around a quarter of a ton or so, and consequently can be a bit of a handful; but moving them around is more a question of technique than brute strength, although you do need a bit of muscle to bring to the party. A great design feature of these old pianos is the ability to take a bit of weight off the total before you think about shifting them. The front panel, lid and lower panel all come off easily, as does the entire hammer assembly, with minimal effort, lightening the beast by quite a few kilos off the bat. Thereafter, it's a question of lifting the remainder and placing a dolly - a small trolley - under the thing and manoeuvring it gently to your vehicle - in this case a tail-lift truck - of choice. Knowing

The recent purchase of the Durst enlarger from eBay has thrown up a couple of issues: the chassis grounding issue - in hand - and the missing manual focussing handle. Above is my newly-made replacement for said: I found a gash lever in my parts box, cut it to length and turned down a spigot on the lathe. I cut an M4 thread on it and cut back just behind it - again on the lathe - job pretty much done. Whilst the lathe works, there is still an enormous amount of work needed to get it to be capable of anything more than this sort of trivial work. Keep you posted...

  Given the preponderance of sport and the generally crap weather at the moment, it's difficult to ignore the first, whilst avoiding the second. One observation - which I've made many times over the last fifty years or so - is the contrast between sports commentary styles. Watching the Serena Williams first round match against Harmony Tan this evening reminds me that the style of BBC Wimbledon commentary is often hagiographic in nature, where a player like Williams is concerned, at least; almost to the point of giggly fandom. Contrast with this the irreverence and humour, the giving of credit where credit has duly been earned, in the moment of commentary, on Test Match Special. No contest. If only politics was as balanced as TMS.

I had a few things I wanted to air today, but the cricket, tennis and catching up on Glastonbury on iPlayer have got in the way of doing much else. The whitewash of New Zealand in the men's first Test series - finished in style with Bairstow's grandstand six - good progress in the women's Test against South Africa, holding them back to 284 all out; Emma Raducanu winning her first round match on the first day at Wimbledon, and now Andy Murray a set up in his first match at the same, auguring well as he looks in good form thus far. And as for Macca's majestic set at Glasto, I'm lost for words: incredible...

  It strikes me as somewhat ironic and not a little sad that the model of political change that I've always espoused, and in which opinion I'm pretty sure I'm not remotely alone, was proposed over fifty years ago by one of our greatest parliamentarians, Barbara Castle. The 'traditional' left/right axis has, to be frank, atrophied - nay, ossified - for decades, and offers few ways forward for us in the twenty-first century: cf. our current shambolic administration, and to be frank, the rest of the world. Her white paper, In Place of Strife , (1969) was an attempt to bring Socialism and union activity into the mainstream, and give it the legitimacy - that the prevailing schism between the establishment/media and the radical left belied - that it deserved, and which would have averted the mad rush into the political and economic dystopia that we inhabit currently. She was sidelined by the lot of 'em. Check out "The Death of Consensus: 100 Years of British Poli

Interesting piece in the FT Weekend by Christian Wolmar about UK railways, and the ills it suffers as a result of its botched privatization and the current "Not my problem..." stance by our current Transport Minister, Grant-Cannon-Fodder-Shapps. As with all national networks, the railway system has never lent itself readily to the concept of fragmentary, devolved ownership. The main reason it was nationalized in the first place was to remedy the disaster that was its private-era, a time characterized in its earliest days by different rail gauges and even different local time. Chuck in the cherry-picking of prime trade and its converse, ditching the unprofitable routes and times; inherent in an unregulated free market: and the resultant stew of inefficiency and poor service was ripe for rational-and-national-isation. Wolmar rightly points out that the newly-state-owned system failed to quite live up to promise and remit, due to a hangover of ingrained feudalism between the re

Another day of coffin-nails for the Tories yesterday - couldn't happen to a 'nicer' party - and still their vainglorious leader toughs it out, whilst - obviously - out of the country, natch, as per his usual modus operandi of turning his back on whatever problems immediately facing him, hoping that some other diversion will leap out of the wings long enough to occupy the (Tory) media and the hoi polloi's attention, so the current issue fades to grey and become yesterday's news. Not sure whether it can work this time around, as the vultures are circling in ever greater numbers, and he is now making increasingly unhinged pronouncements, not least of which his current assertion that Ukrainian refugees who arrive here 'illegally' - whatever that means, given the context of it all - will be transported to Rwanda. Priceless: the only positive that could come out of his managing to cling onto power would be the crippling and hopefully terminal damage he would infl

Pictured, my latest acquisition: a Durst A600 enlarger, originally manufactured between 1967 and 1977, won on eBay for 99p, maiden bid, no reserve. This is a beast of a pro enlarger, and whilst not the De Vere of my experience (and current dreams), it is a battleship-grade piece of kit. It came with a PAT failure sticker from about five years ago, but, to be honest, this is not a lethally-compromised device: it just needs a clean and the earth-bonding to the metal chassis sorting. This beauty was destined for the skip [dumpster], so I'm glad I popped in the bid! I think I'll stump up a few quid more in cash, though, as the sale was part of a community darkroom initiative, so deserves a bit more return than less than a pound.

I should really rant about the current, absurd, and frankly disturbing UK government's shenanigans, but I really have run out of steam today. But what a glorious day it has been: the picture above is unadulterated, edited or otherwise A.I-ed. The sky really is that blue: North Wales in June could easily be Tuscany. This could be interpreted in a number of ways, vis-à-vis climate change, but I'm happy to roll with it just for the moment and enjoy the weather for what it is, rather than for its portents.

I've read so many pitifully ill-informed opinions on Twitter today, regarding the rail strike, unions and the Labour Party, that I despair for the future of those about to leave school and enter the fray that is life. That is, for those not privileged and wealthy enough to attend this country's establishment incubator, the public school system. Anyone one not from those golden ranks that doesn't realize that the entire system of our politics and skewed media are against their best interests, needs to get a grip on the history that led us to where we are at present. Anyone not from that elite should realize that the aspirational tosh spouted by the Tories and their support network is exactly that: tosh. Levelling up? Complete bollocks, lies and spin: there will be no such thing. They are lying. They are totally self-interested. As fast as they lambast the unions as threatening the economy - pay rises (for the working classes)=inflation(!) - they are set on deregulating bank

It's been a lovely day of sun and gardening today: a taste of summer long awaited. The whole thing is somewhat tempered by the appalling Grant Shapps' Commons statement regarding the now imminent rail strikes. Whilst eschewing any government involvement whatsoever in the process, he still managed to roll out every Thatcherite trope about Unions, the Labour Party and, to be honest, the working classes; that he could muster from his oh-so-tiny grab-bag of rhetorical tools. Given the bloke was only eleven years old when Thatcher embarked on her project to disembowel worker's rights and establish neo-liberalist dogma as the new 'norm' in this country, I think I might have a few years more experience of life and politics than he. The problem, from a Tory point of view - and this was ever thus - is the hoi polloi. Always blame the people and never business or your own pathetic non-engagement with reality for the economic ills of this world. The resurgence of unionism and

  How many of the above checklist has Doris ticked off so far? At least ten, so far to my count: the latest intervention from the Bear has been to quash breaking news stories - whilst avoiding meeting red-wall types to explain his non-performance on his much-vaunted "levelling-up" agenda, by making a surprise visit to Ukraine; to do what, exactly? - of his attempt to elevate his then mistress to the position of his Chief of Staff on a salary of, at least, £100k. Do us all a favour: just get on with the final putsch, so we can legitimately kick back and put you in the historical context you deserve, and finally do something about you and your dangerous ilk, by maybe doing the Mussolini lamp post shuffle. You deserve it, you ursine twonk...

I was going to write about Pooh and The Vampire tonight, but more of that tomorrow, as I have to give a big shout-out to Waitrose for the ready-meal pictured. I'm normally sceptical of most big-chain curries and the company's ad-copy claims of 'fieriness'. However, this little beauty lives up to its copy. Fiery it is - and bloody tasty with it! Their naan breads are pretty fine, too, and I suspect are sourced from the same firm that makes the M&S ones, so similarly are they. I will say that this particular little item is definitely for aficionados of the chilli pepper: not for the faint-hearted when it comes to spicing! Cracker...

  Well, back home from our mini-break down Pen Lleyn: pictured,  looking back towards Porth Ceiriad before we left.The current “heatwave” lasted all of eight hours, peaking here in Rachub at around twenty-five Celsius, then cooling rapidly as the cloud cover accumulated late afternoon. Still, nowt to complain about, we’re home and a good lie-in awaits. Hopefully, I’ll sort out my errant laptop so I don’t have to continue using my phone to post here…

  Ynys Enlli (Bardsey Island) from the old coastguard station atop Mynydd Mawr. No photograph can do justice to the views from up there: it really is ‘top-of-the-world’ stuff. Fortunately for the lazy or the short of time, there is a concrete track running up to a small car-park at the top; although the drive might be intimidating for some, who would wiser parking in the larger space just before the start of the track and walking the remainder. Whichever, the rewards once there are well worth it.

  Porth Ceiriad: one of our favourite places; a much smaller strand than Hell’s Mouth, this beach is a lovely stretch of soft sand, bounded on the one end by striations of ancient rock rising in arcs from shore to cliff top. Marvellous.

  A very pleasant walk tonight, along the beach at Porth Neigwl with my son James, down with us for a few days from his home on Ynys Mon. Blue sky, blue sea and Sand-martins wheeling around our heads. I walked this route this afternoon at low tide with Jane, and tonight, just before high tide, with that beautiful low roar of the waves beach-breaking the shingle, cutting the silence of early evening.

  The view from the  patio of the cottage, this afternoon. No sign of the myriad rabbits that occupy the dunes that make up most of the garden here - the grass covering gives way to sand just beneath the surface - since first thing this morning. Had a wander around Pwllheli and Abersoch earlier on - great pasties from the little deli in Abersoch, and a pint in the Sun at Llanengan before heading back to the cottage. Plenty of sun - the UV down here is mental - although the wind still has an edge to it. We’ll just have to see if the forecast heatwave turns up later in the week.

  A walk along the beach at Llanbedrog this morning - a decent step out before lunch at the local pub. Pictured are the beach huts that appear each summer season. Rental of one this season - whole season only - is £450. Very picturesque, and I’ve no doubt useful, but I think I’ll pass, preferring to take a picture or two and appreciate their cheerful contribution to the strand.

The view out the back of the cottage at Hell's Mouth, Pen Lleyn, this afternoon. The light here is practically Mediterranean, and frankly makes your eyes water, it's so bright, but the iPhone made a reasonably decent fist of exposing for the sky, and still managed to get some detail in the foreground: considering the ridiculous amount of UV, not bad at all. I can't even begin to imagine trying to capture this scene on film: it would require Ansel Adams levels of skill and talent to work that one out. I know the theory, but that's where it stops with me, I'm afraid. Still, I've brought the old Nikon F2 and a roll of expired Fujicolor film down with me, so I'll take a few snaps alongside the usual iPhone stuff, and in a few weeks - months? - I'll post some of the results from the exercise.

Diary post: we're off down Pen Lleyn tomorrow for a short break, to Porth Neigwl: Hell's Mouth is the English name for it, and one of our favourite spots in this glorious part of the world. I'm looking forward to coastal walks and pints in one of our very favourite pubs: The Sun at Llanengan, itself adjacent to a wonderful beach, Porth Ceiriad, a surfer's favourite and a place of great beauty.

  I'm a big fan and a subscriber to the YouTube channel of Rick Beato, and so often dip into it for informed discussion on music and pointers to artists that have escaped my attention. I don't think I've ever encountered a duff piece from him: his experience, knowledge, talent - and contacts! - always guarantee an interesting watch. I'm particularly grateful to him for posting a recent piece on someone I'd certainly never heard of, and judging by what Beato says, practically no-one else has either. The guy in question is Alan Mearns, who really does deserve much (much) wider recognition of his talent(s) than he currently enjoys. He's a class act: great singer-songwriter who also just happens to be a fabulous - and inventive - classical guitarist. Please, please seek this guy out...

The more our inglorious leader bangs on - irrespective of his own fragile, tenuous position - about achievements achieved and plans grandiose planned, one uncomfortable and incontrovertible fact remains: Tory governments are pretty much always economic failures. We are now entering recession yet again: in the last forty years, we have had peak recession in the mid-eighties, early nineties and late 'oughties; all under Tory regimes. Our current unemployment figures seem to bely this - 'the lowest since the mid-seventies' is the mantra - but the problem is that we have lots of people in jobs where the quality of an awful lot of that employment is poor, with remuneration inadequate to support any kind of reasonably comfortable life, which falsely skews  employment statistics - themselves, as all statistics are, always open to manipulation and misinterpretation - to give a picture of health and stability where none such exists. The PM imagines himself as a twenty-first century

  Bow-back chair update: the tatty old seat frame has been filled, sanded and re-combobulated with the reassembled chair back, followed by a polish with various shades of beeswax. I'm not going to try and cover up the evidence of the work done on it - it was already in a pretty parlous state - I just want it to wear its various patinae on its sleeve to display the history of its use and repair: this is not a renovation but an upcycle, and in this vein, I think I might re-weave the seat in something bright and technical, such as para cord: we'll see. Keep you posted on progress...

  Just 211 on the score board and 148 to the other side: sounds like a win, don't it? Nah - Doris Pooh The Younger is already strapped into the tumbril and headed for Madame Guillotine. His 'reputation' is toast, and he will be rejoining the ranks of the hoi polloi sometime in the next few weeks or months, God willing. He won't want for money, though - his sort never will - and he will inevitably reinvent himself, much like Farage, self-mythologizer that he is. As is usual, other people will have to clean up his mess in his wake. I said in the run-up to this that whatever the outcome of this vote, the Tory Party ultimately loses: the 'Boss' goes, they struggle to find a competent, let alone credible replacement. The 'Boss' stays, they're neck-hung with an albatross for another twelve-month, with an increasingly disaffected electorate itching for a voting opportunity. Maybe we'll all now face the fact that Toryism and the Tory Party are archaic, o

Pictured above: tonight's repast of Shanghai Red Pork with rice. The recipe is one that I first saw cooked on one of Rick Steins' programmes on his travels through China. There are various interpretations of it out there on the web, but I would guess that, as long as you stick as closely as possible to the ingredients and quantities - the equivalent ingredients are more than close enough to the originals, I think - you can't go far wrong. The initial sautéing and braising stages are straightforward enough, and don't require much monitoring. However, the final 10-minute reduction of the sauce on a high heat to get just the right sticky finish, needs constant stirring to avoid ending up with a carbonized pan and ruined meat - oh, but what meat results, if you get this last stage just right - gelatinous, fatty and tender; sweet, salty, and fragrant: the gooey, almost melted-toffee coating having subtle background notes of aniseed and cinnamon. Glorious. Try it...

There was a piece in the i yesterday, reflecting on the innumerable changes that have occurred in the world in the seventy years of the modern Elizabethan era. It was interesting to read, in part, of her response, in 1968's Christmas broadcast, to the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. in April of that year: "...mankind can only find progress in friendship and co-operation...", referring to brotherhood. The article relates the progress in the decades since in civil rights and equality, and the changes in societal attitudes, mores and institutions that are still grinding, unfortunately-oh-so-slowly, away at prejudice and bigotry. It's interesting, then, to return to the Queen's current Prime Minister's words of just a few years ago: “It is said that the Queen has come to love the Commonwealth, partly because it supplies her with regular cheering crowds of flag-waving piccaninnies.” Even this old socialist would baulk at thinking 'one' was even f

Jazz joinery, Jazz metalworking, Jazz cookery. All in all, the spice of life, like Jazz itself. The above snap is but the fag-end of the coda to this piece: I couldn't wait to eat the main theme, so it didn't get anywhere near being photographed, so busy were we eating it. So, duck breasts, skin scored and marinated in dark soy, light soy, Encona West Indian hot sauce, honey and a little sea salt, seared on a griddle until the skin was black. After turning and searing the meaty bit for a few seconds, the two pieces of meat were returned to the marinade and placed in a hot oven for twenty minutes. Some sticky long-grain being prepared, the meat was rested for about ten to fifteen minutes before being sliced, then served with the rice and the juices from the cooking dish: a ton of flavour and some nice, tender protein...

I'm not - ahem - generally known for espousing monarchist sympathies, and, to be frank, my main concern today has been the progress of the First Test between England and New Zealand, which, I'm happy to report, ain't going too badly for the home side, sort of. Here in Rachub - well, in the entire parish of Llanllechid, to be honest - there's not, as could have reasonably been expected - a jot of a sign of the Jubilee. Takes me back to the Silver: our 'street-party' was an ironic piss-up that was more Sex Pistols than Land of Hope and Glory, culminating in a memory-lost curry. As in run-down Winson Street, Birmingham in the seventies, the monarchy has a somewhat different resonance here in - particularly North - Wales. Still, I won't be an old churl and deny that the old Queen has been the one stand-out in what is, after all, a pretty dysfunctional, publicly-funded institution, I think. Still, the aircraft fly-past was pretty spectacular - I'm a sucker fo

Diary post tonight: it has been a pleasant and gradually warming day, today. We're currently dog-sitting the dark lunatic that is Lady, our son and his husband's Lab/Collie cross, who is, for the most part, a sweetie. But on this evening's walk, we encountered a guy walking three whippets, who frankly seemed unaware of any potential conflict between his dogs and ours. The outcome was me ending up on my arse and a lot of shouting to calm Lady down and retrieve the lead and get her under control and out of the orbit of the three others. Now, despite my age, I'm still pretty strong and, at around eleven stone, fairly chunky in terms of weight; but she still took off and up-ended me like I was nowt, and I ended up flat on the ground, and am now sporting a bruised elbow and a sore backside. Testimony to the raw power of even modestly-sized dogs.