Blow out yer dead

Did I mention our polytunnel? I did 
For nearly 20 years, it has been central to our lives: drying laundry; growing beans, tomatoes, spinach; sawing, stacking and storing firewood; saving pot-plants from frost; eating lunch; entertaining children. No more than myself, the tunnel is a bit leaky in its old age, but is still much drier than outside.

And therein lies a problem: it never rains in the tunnel, so every drop of water has to be brought inside. I do as much of this hydraulic movement as possible by gravity or by siphon and the tunnel-faucet is the source of last resort. Usually [cw: Ireland!] the rain falls on the regular and when there is a ppt-pause we have 2½ tonnes of storage capacity to keep the plants alive. This winter, I've been working to bring water into the tunnel even if nothing much is growing - I think I'm storing most of the surplus deep in the soil - there being resistant to evaporation.

Crates and herring barrels, buckets and watering cans and Lots of 20mm pipe make up the infra-structure, which among other things stops the laundry getting covered by dust-storms. The Beloved emerged from hibernation in mid-Feb to put manners on veg-beds in anticipation of Spring sowing. She complained about A Smell emanating from either the once-pink storage crate or the watering cans. Mortified I was and went up to give the crate its annual scrub: (rain-water + sunlight = algal sludge). I then took the empty crate down to the nearest water supply - the 120lt herring barrels [in the middle distance R] - for a rinse. I filled the green watering can from one barrel and started to pour . . . but it blocked up after a few seconds. Sooo, as y'do, I put the spout to my lips and >!ptui!<. That was but a temporary fix and after three [3x] blow-back attempts I gave up on the watering can and sluiced out the crate with a bucket.

I then turned the watering can upside-down over the now empty bucket 
Q. to forensically investigate [cw: scientist!] what was causing the obstruction. 
A. A dead mouse, when long steeped in water, is soft enough && tough enough to exactly stopper the spout of a standard watering-can. I've been sucking and blowing on hoses and pipes [cw: siphon] all my life and have been 'surprised' often -- but killed = never.

How he lost Tuesday

Shortly after it was published, we were given a copy of "WONDERS: writings and drawings for the child in us all [1982]" eds Jonathan Cott and Mary Gimbel [prev]. It was a fat [600+pp] book with short works from a few dozen authors some, better known than others. Quality and appropriateness was patchy also, but the bits we liked we read and re-read until the poor book burst asunder. It's captured in the Internet Archive, if you can make that work for you. One of these favorite stories was How I Lost Tuesday by Evan S Connell. Connell died, in the fullness of his years, shortly after the Birth of the Blob but his words live on. 

The premise of HILT is that the narrator, as a grown up, decides to climb Longs Peak in Colorado; having summitted the mountain as a 12 y.o. kid. On the way up he encounters a teenager and they get into a race to the top without either saying "race you". They get to the top, the view is The Whole World, they have lunch, they hang out - more or less ignoring each other, then they yomp back downhill. Longs Peak is a 14er at 14, 256ft [although nobody starts from sea-level! - the car-park is at 9,400ft] and the hike from the car-park and back is ~30km. So it's a hard days hike. The narrator gets back to his hotel shagged out at 21:00hrs and falls into bed. When he wakes, he sees that it's lunchtime . . . but on ther wrong day. He's been asleep fro 39 hours. The End

Well imagine my feelings when my pal Tom from Colorado sent me a New Year card with this picture:

That's Tom [L] and his son Tommy [R] with a "helpful" 24px x 6px sign. Game On! Trained researcher me went full metal Sherlock with a magnifying glass and Wikipedia and deduced Quagmire . . . Quandary Peak 14,272' . Quandary is a few feet higher than Longs Peak but the topology is a bit easier but close enough [~100mi = 160km close]. Whatevs, I sent them my 3x jpgs version of How I lost Tuesday and Tom replied:

What a great story. This truly hits home because Long's Peak is the 14er I was originally going to hike with Tommy. We decided to start with one less difficult but it is still on our list to do, hopefully this summer. The main reason is that I feel it is taunting me. We look out our picture window to the beautiful mountain view of Long's Peak every day.:

The view from Ft Collins CO: Mt Meeker [L] Longs Peak [R]
 

Go on! Koan.

 Well, I dunno, which is better? - read a book about Pilgrimage . . . or up-stakes a go on Pilgrimage. My answer from July 2004 [R indicating The Way into the rising sun and across O Ponte do Burgo in Galicia]! I didn't intend to peregrinate, I just went for a walk with The Boy: and that only about 100km. Four days later, we rocked up to Santiago de Compostella . . . upon St James's Day. Big Party. Four days, even with Mass && a fiesta, is not enough for change to be wrought - except in the blister department. But two days later I plodded off to France on my own and arrived in that country 5½ weeks later & 12kg lighter. Something else happened along The Way: I became a Pilgrim. Or at least I became someone who wrote a book[let] about the Process of Pilgrimage. And made several posts about Santiago and related matter. And having got that off my chest, I have been okay to read [and review] books about it: ToCanterbury -  ToRome - ToJerusalem -

21 years after our last walking 'venture, in June 2025 The Boy and I had another bite at the cherry: clocking off 160km in France along the Via Podiensis, one of the filaments of the Camino de Santiago. At the same time, by coincidence, my pal Denécus was walking in the opposite direction along the Via Primitivo. 30 years ago, D and I had parallel jobs in the same Department and ate lunch together pretty much every M-F for a couple of years. He is not the only science friend to go for a Pilgrim.; but he was for sure on my list of likely candidates. Some of my best friends are scientists who are skeptical about everything except science which effectively makes science a Belief System as much as Shinto. Not D. For the first time since ~1995, we had lunch together just before Christmas and compared blisters notes on The Way and its fauna. Because D had his Compostelle [cert affirming his arrival in Santiago], I was able [cw: spoiler alert] to send him a copy of my book about PoP. And he presented me with a >3rd-hand copy of:

The Art of Pilgrimage: The Seeker's Guide to Making Travel Sacred (1998) by Phil Cousineau [who he]? I'm not sure it's good to start such a book with a list of prior pilgrims to make first timers feel inadequate: Abraham, Basho, Chaucer, Dante [St] Egeria . . . etc. But I guess that's not the market, which is rather a) those who've bin that done that or b) people who do their pilgrimage from the sofa through other men's flowers. One of the arrows in Cousineau's quiver is acting as a guide on Sacred Travel excursions, and no better man: because he's clocked hundreds of km finding himself all over the world, so c) seekers who might become clients. The ABCDE list above is part of the package; along with quips & quotes [so many quotes] from Augustine, Buddha, Chatwin, Thoreau, Watts . . . etc. Apart from wearing our expensive education on our sleeves, The Art and The Blob have this is common: the terrible quality of the pictures!

p.128 ""Section V. The Labyrinth. We know all too well that few journeys are linear and predictable. Instead they swerve and turn, twist and double back, until we don't know if we're coming or going."". This is bollix not my experience. I've just made a there [going] and back [coming] trip to the cobbler without swerve. I go to Dublin on the train: linear and predictable. I walk up the hill to Cross-on-Fork: linear and predictable. I fly to France: linear and predictable. Maybe the prime benefit of Pilgrimage is that, by teetering on the edge of comfort, thee is a rare opportunity to swerve and turn, twist and double back. and come up with a different Way of Seeing. Cousineau does come to a similar conclusion- but sometimes he trips over his own rhetoric while getting there.

Midway through the book, Huston Smith, one of Cousineau's gurus and writer of the Foreword, lists 4 requirements for pilgrimage

• single purpose
• undistracted
• ordeal hardship penance
• offerings

Though missing some of these criteria, the boundaries for Pilgrimage are deemed to include fans having emotional upwellings at Gracelands or the tombs of Jim Morrison or Jack Kerouac.  Despite the Guide in the title, this is not a text-book to Nirvana, it's more a Pilgrim's Miscellany and some of the tales and quotes are sure to resonate with some readers. Your faves probably differ from mine. Cousineau tries not to be prescriptive about the travel habits [sketching, journaling] which worked for him. 

But to have my final sentence echo the rhetoric in the first, Pilgrimage is something you do on your feet not with your feet up with a book. Verdict: worth reading but not worth buying to read.

The Turning Tide

[big If] I'd wanted to get famous for Bloggin' a) I shoulda started 10 years earlier b) been less scatter-gun. My sense is that successful [as in still posting after the blog-trend drained away and Twitter, Insta, Tiktok took over the comms-space] blogs are focused on Politics or Quakers or Real Ale or Sacramento. I gave up YT at Epiphany which has freed A Lot more time to read books. This is why The Blob is a bit thick with book-reviews. Funny that, because my second post ever laid out my theory and practice of writing book reviews. Incl.:" I also tried to add 'a little bit more': a comment, a digression or synthesis that gave the review some substance in itself rather than just being a wart . . . on the face of the book [reviewed]." After read some recent books, I couldn't come up with 'a little bit more' so - no review.

The Beloved goes to libraries to browse the available stock. In mid Jan she snagged me The Turning Tide: a biography of the Irish Sea [2023] by Jon "Birder" Gower, a Cymro with wide interests and a CV full of TV programmes, books, and other publications. Since he was a chap, Gower has been an enthusiastic ornithologist, and a third of the glossy illustrations feature . . . birbs. That's fine, I did a mort of travel in my 30s in pursuit of . . . domestic cats. I would never have learned Portuguese, or become a connoisseur of meat-loaf, or seen the Petitcodiac tidal bore without having cats as an excuse to leave town.

One of the walk-on parts in this biography is R.S Thomas, the Welsh vicar-poet who ever so politely told me that my teenage poetry without much merit. I accepted that judgment and burned the lot . . . because I lacked the discipline (and conviction) to leave almost all of it on the cutting-room floor and rework what was left into something worth keeping. Gower was taken under RST's wing as teenager unable [adverse weather] to start a Summer working in a bird sanctuary on Bardsey = Ynys Ennli [whc prev] a Welsh Isle-of-Magic due East of Arklow. Despite an age gap of ~50 years, they had a shared passion for Wales and poetry and birds and made each other laugh. That same summer on 1976 I was a) a little older b) also away from home working in Nederland, discovering what mattered, and getting to appreciate that hard work can be its own reward. 

Elsewhere in the biography, Gower cites with approval Kerri ní Dochartaigh [bloboprev] and her Thin Places; Andrew Doherty [bloboprev] and his Tides and Tales; Norman Davies [bloboprev] and his Isles; Tim Dee [bloboprev] and The Running Sky.  . . . and that's just the Ds! Richard Barrington [bloboprev] and his geo-statistical analysis of birds striking lighthouses gets most of a Chapter. I feel we have quite a lot of common ground here, although nobody would call me a birder.

HarperNorth the publisher intrudes a list of 38 [!] staff and contributors who made the book a reality. Lord knows what all these folk did because HarperNorth didn't think it was worth paying anyone to create an Index - which would have materially enhanced the utility of this rich and nourishing Smörgåsbord of a book. If no index at least a list: Anglesey, Baginbun, corncrake [Crex crex], dockers, Eddystone, ferries, guano, herring [Clupea harengus], Isambard K Brunel, Jonathan Swift, Kerno, lighthouses, Manxies [Puffinus puffinus], Nigeria, Ostdeutschland, pirates, QE.I, rats [Rattus norvegicus or R. rattus] Strongbow, thrift [Armeria maritima], U-boats, Vikings, Waterford, Yola, Zostera.

"One of the most dangerous things is when someone says they know the sea. You can never be comfortable on it. The sea has its own mind and you can be caught out in seconds." Mali Parry Jones RNLI volunteer

Like vocal fry-up talk

Got me through another fab'lous linguistic earbook:  Wordslut: A Feminist Guide to Taking Back the English Language Hardcover [illustrated 2019] by Amanda Montell [buy]. Maybe books about language, in contrast to books about maps or oil-paintings, are okay about losing the illustrations: because they can win on the phonics. I've had my gripes about the quality of pronunciation on some ear-books in the past. But here voice-actor [and B.A. Harvard Linguistics] Laurence Bouvard is excellent.

cw: This book full four lttr word: Word Slut girl NORM Patr Arch . . . lads.

Sometime in 2o2o, I signed up with MetaFilter after lurking there since before the Birth of Blob. I joined so that I could join in the robust to-fro in the comments. Very early on, I inadvertently rose someone's hackles and got called out. It was shocking to realise they <sob> don't like me, but a) it was a lesson that not everyone will like each one of my opinions b) I was thereafter more cautious about shooting from the lip. 

That sorry anecdote is relevant to current Blob . . .
In response to to a post about a multi-author scientific paper I had said something like "these lads would be more credible if they got their stats right" and Hackles asked " . . . and how do you know all the authors are male?". Now I could have got all fighty and answered "because all their first names code Male" or "in my culture "lads" is a sex-neutral or sex-irrelevant generic collective noun for, like, people". But I wisely buttoned my comeback because I twigged that a de-rail inquisition about how come, Bob, in your culture "lads" is accepted as a collective even if all members are women was going to leave me with a red face and be massive fail as a representative of my culture. Because it is hard to imagine, let alone recall, a case where a female-coded term would be used for a collective including some of both [or indeed all] sexes: "hey girls, who's for skulling pints tonight" . . . I don't think so!

Montell's book is full of that sort of thing. Getting on a righteous charger to do battle with the systemic sexism which runs through, even under-pins, our language. Weak, diminutive, submissive, hedging, terms get attached to women. In the 13thC "gyrle" was any child or small-small creature; but over the next 200 years 'girl' became inappropriate for rough-tough boys and also extended its range to encompass any unmarried young women; and later sweetheart. And while we're about it, be careful whom you address as Sweetie.

There is a whole chapter on vocal-fry, up-talk and hedging. These speech patterns are only noticed when mobilised by women, and hoo-boy does it rile up the blokes who notice. The thing about language is that we use it every day, and some every day normal words are used heedless of their meaning or etymology. We may consider some people are gormless, but nobody in standard English nowadays has pots of gaum [canny understanding] about them.

NORM, Non-mobile older rural male
SOFA, Sedentary ould fella anthropoid 

Ringstone with Rowan

The Ringstone looking well after 5000 years. Picture from 09:40 11Sep24. The time-of-day is important because oblique sunshine picks out the work of human hands to best effect. 2024 was particularly good for the fruiting of rowan = mountain-ash = Sorbus aucuparia so adds a bit of extra colour to the composition.

More than a passing glance? This picture as a jigsaw. https://jigex.com/XC874. I am quite the fan of Jigsaw Explorer. It takes me about 20 minutes to complete a 100 pc [default size - other piece-counts are available] puzzle. Which I justify as giving my spatial awareness neurons a bit of a gallop:lest they waste away, like. When I started, the task might take +30 minutes.

A while back I added this picture to Wikimedia Commons, when they had a drive for pictures of local heritage.

Well 'ard

As part of my very expensive education, I spent most Thursday afternoons playing at soldiers in the CCF = Combined Cadet Force. It was fashionable to be disaffected and cynical about these activities and so it was largely a waste of my time. My older brother otoh joined the naval wing of the CCF and got in some sailing and knots&splices; although he/we were getting that anyway at home. The Brother also practiced to become a crack shot and won a medal for target shooting at Bisley. I'd like to say that I was a dedicated and principled peacenik but I wasn't - I just wanted to be let drift on alone. I was born 10 years and 10 days after the D-day and we played at being Spitfires [budda budda budda] and Messerschmidts, in the same way as kids-today do Call of Duty. Cleaning, carrying and firing a rifle was irrelevant as a life-skill. 

That-all notwithstanding, I seem to read a lot of military books! The latest was The Pilgrim, written and read by Colin Maclachlan. I don't intend to read the other three of these hard-chaw memoir clones.  I've had some success with browsing the Recently Published section of Borrowbox's ear-book library.  With exquisite good timing luck, I've been able to snag something before everyone else realises it's available. Take The Pilgrim: I borrowed it on 21 Jan, read its 5½ hours in 5½ days, and returned it asap; it is now not available until the middle of August! Maybe there are a bunch of young lads who want a reality check from killing terr'ists on their computers. 

Young Colin grew up in a broken home in Scotland, alternately ignored or thumped by his mother and step-dad. She took him by the ear to the recruiting office as soon as he turned 16 and left him to the tender mercies of the army. That was a bargain - he got less physical abuse in barracks than at home. As a self-sufficient, smart and competitive chap, he did very well. Not many of this peers had the skills or aptitude for book-learning, so young Colin was able to ace the tests as well as make his own bed and look neat and tidy. At 23 he was the youngest person to pass through the gruelling selection process for the elite special forces SAS 22 regiment. Outside of work, he has current partner, an ex, 3 kids, a couple of much younger sisters and good mates all over.  

Since at least the days of the Cardwell [1870] and Childers [1881] army reforms, recruitment and retention has been a perennial problem for the British [and most other] armed forces. 2025 saw applications to the Irish Defense Forces up one third [⅓] compared to the previous years. But loads of the applicants were rejected and more quit before training completed: that is a management failure [or check hazing below?]. In today's army, there is a concern that soldiering is all boredom and blanco and not for the Youth of Today: all hopped up on their violent computer games. Foreign travel is no inducement for kids who can fly to Lanzarote for what they get from the dole. It's a huge dilemma for Western democracies: there are definitely external threats to our cosy capitalist hegemony. Contrary to the fantasies of keyboard warriors, warfare has not reached drone vs drone exclusivity: all operated from bedrooms bunkers. The community needs some fit, equipped, trained [young] people to protect the old and weak and the infrastructure of the state or its allies, in extremely adverse conditions. So, the community needs to incentivize those who take one for the team. 

Soldiers are no longer inter-changeable, expendable standers-in-line who have been de-sensitized to follow orders, even at the risk of their own lives, even if they seem batshit, even when given by a known shit-head. Modern equipment requires skill to operate and maintain and that requires training. Some of those skills are transferrable to civilian life. Part of the package has to be a GI bill for those who have served time: the community must pick up the tab for college or collage or apprenticeships after military service. Meanwhile, we need to pay soldiers respectable = respectful wages and feed them really well. Also, increments to encourage promotion and taking more responsibility. And no more hazing: that doesn't mean making military training a soft touch; it's not for wimps or shirkers but bullying is dis-respectful and . . . counter-productive. And here's a novelty - what about some respect, relationships and courtesy training RRCT that might help recruiting and retaining dates, partners, spouses for really great sex.

As part of Bob's recruiting drive, here are the requirements for joining the Irish Defense forces.