Observations from a Hill

At last: a truly uplifting customer service experience. I gave up wrestling with DHL's robots yesterday after the second consecutive failure on their part to deliver my replacement iPhone to my home; and so I phoned the Apple helpline in desperation. After an initial struggle with an AI bot - just swear at the damned things in a Brummie accent [other strong accents will do fine, but the key thing is to pile on the expletives] for long enough and the system reverts to contacting a real human. Thankfully, in this instance, not an anonymous call centre, but an actual, rather lovely woman - originally from Fife in Scotland - living on a mountainside overlooking the Corinth Canal, in Greece; would you believe. From her mountain fastness she could see from Apple Maps our very own mountain sanctuary here in Caellwyngrydd quite plainly. What on earth DHL can see on their system is obviously another thing altogether. All I can hope is that her escalation via Apple to the courier will have

On this day of November fifth, which marks, depending on your viewpoint, either the triumph of the State in the suppression of a Catholic plot to assassinate James I and his Parliament in 1605, or on the other hand to celebrate the attempt itself. You pays your money, you takes your choice. I'm minded of another date, four or five days hence, much earlier, in 1277, marking the The Treaty of Aberconwy, where Llewelyn ap Gruffudd, Prince of Wales, was forced to cede to Edward I; entering into an accord with the English king and effectively ending Welsh self-rule. Of course it didn't actually end quite there, but in the early 1400s; despite rebellion after rebellion on behalf of the Welsh, and ending with the defeat of Owain Glyndwr, modern Welsh history began, with the Welsh in servitude to the English Crown. I find it more than slightly depressing that such power relationships still effectively obtain throughout the world to this day. There you go...

A simple reflection on the avoidance of complication tonight. So many of what pass these days as aids to facilitate our daily activities and enhance our lives seem to serve the polar opposite in effect, erecting barriers where none existed before. What prompted this latest meditation on the loss of consensual common sense was the abject failure of one of the world's largest courier networks to deliver my replacement mobile phone to my house today, from a depot less than thirty miles from here. I know this is a crashingly first-world problem, but it exemplifies my point; the over-application of technology to achieve a relatively simple end: the delivery of a parcel to an address in a timely fashion, something that in all fairness, the old-school mail service has been capable of for centuries. In these frantically modern days of - too be frank - trying to take human initiative, and indeed as many humans as possible, out of the 'efficiency' equation, we have completely lost th

  Well here we are again on a Sunday evening, and once again I'm taking the line of least resistance and offering you a picture of tonight's repast: duck legs, Greek lemon potatoes and roasted carrots with my customary meat sauce of - in this case - red onion, white wine and chicken stock: a sauce not a gravy, as it's reduced rather than thickened. The meat and carrots were both cooked in our recently-purchased air-fryer, with the spuds roasted in the normal oven to ease the logistics. All I can say is that if you ain't tried an air-fryer, they're a culinary revelation. Really. Another string to the epicurean bow, and not expensive either to buy or run. Next stop, some serious tandoori chicken...

So, the Conservatives have elected a new leader. Woop-de-doo. And who have they chosen, but yet another mildly unhinged small-state right-winger, in the shape of Kemi Badenoch. This lot are either simply arrogant, blind or stupid, or any combination of the above. They haven't learned a single lesson from their almost total annihilation at the General Election. More of the same, ad nauseam: I just wish they'd curl up and bloody wither once and for all. Anyway, let's just get on. We took our weekly lunch at The Bull in Biwmares today, rather than on Monday, as I need to sign for a parcel then. It had the benefit of a fresh barrel of Bass on offer - at least after I'd had a good pint of Welsh Pride and a bite to eat - which will, in all truth be better tomorrow as it still tasted a little 'young'. But that's real living ale for you: it's organic and responds to its environment and handling. Whilst there, I overheard the young barman regaling a couple who we

An old friend of an old friend, Pete Evans; Mancunian, but long-since Metro-dweller in London; is a great songwriter, there's no question about that. His canon may be small, but to write one great song is sufficient for anyone, and Pete wrote rather more than one great song, at least one of which should be recorded in the annals of British folk music. He really is that good; and in 1996, following in the wake of his recording an album of his songs at Stiwdio Les in Bethesda, North Wales, a large number of his musician friends produced the album pictured above: "Pete Sounds". The referent of the title itself indicates the respect that his mates and fellow musicians had for him and his writing, and whilst Pete's songwriting is the absolute backbone of the album, the kaleidoscope of interpretations of his work on the record really is truly impressive. I would urge anyone to listen to and love this album, but sadly it's not available online or in physical form to all