Category Archives: topographical

Weekly Links

Here’s this week’s selection of interesting articles you may have missed. And what a selection it is!

Turning the lights off won’t save oil, says Melissa C Lott in the Scientific American blog. Maybe not, but it will save coal and gas, reduce emissions and stop wasting our (increasingly expensive) electricity.

“Put that fly down! You don’t know where it’s been.” But Rob Dunn does. Again in the Scientific American blog.

The Divided Brain is an 11 minute video in which Psychiatrist Iain McGilchrist describes the real differences between the left and right halves of the human brain. It’s not simply “emotion on the right, reason on the left” but something far more complex and interesting. Love the cartoons!

Max Davidson in the Daily Telegraph defends old-fashioned words against the influx of new text-speak.

And here’s yet another from the Sci Am blog … Ingrid Wickelgren goes looking for the secrets to a happy marriage. And finds some unexpected answers.

The right to keep your pubes. A feminist perspective on shaving for childbirth. I dunno what’s so feminist about it; seems like a basic right to me.

And lastly, if I hadn’t read this here, I wouldn’t believe it. Londoners are being told to stop shagging for a bit, ‘cos the Mayor doesn’t want girlies dropping bairns in the streets during the sacred cow Olympics. Maybe Boris needs to make sure we keep the lights on!

Ten More Things

Quite a while back Katyboo resurrected the “Ten Things” meme. Although I’m doing a monthly sequence of ten things, I thought I’d join the overladen tumbrils and bandwagons rolling down the cobbled streets. So leaving out the inevitable choices of food, wine, cake, coffee, my wife, the cats, blah, blah, blah, here’s my slightly more unusual, and possibly controversial, version.

    Hockneylated ...

  1. My Cameras. I realised recently I’ve been taking photographs for 50 years, having started at around 9 or 10 with my father’s Kodak Box Brownie. It has remained something I enjoy. I wouldn’t claim to be a good photographer and I’ve never had any formal photographic training. What skill I have was acquired at my father’s knee. My approach has always been to take what I see; what interests, intrigues or amuses me. It is about trying to see things and make them into a picture. I have no interest in fashion photography, formal portraiture, studio and still-life work, getting up early for special shots, sitting in wet woodlands waiting for worms or tigers, spending hours in darkrooms or doing loads of fancy post-processing. None of these things do it for me. I’m happy photographing wayside flowers or just sitting somewhere watching people go by.
  2. Romney Marsh & Dungeness. The far south-east corner of Kent is almost wholly reclaimed land. This whole area SE of the arc of the Royal Military Canal running roughly from Hythe in the NE to Rye in the SW was largely sea until a few hundred years ago. The escarpment to the NW of the canal used to be the shoreline. Henry VIII had shipyards at Smallhythe on an estuary; it’s now 10 miles inland! Storms and the sea moved the rivers and built up the single bank of Dungeness — and the sea is still moving it about. In phases since the Romans man has reclaimed the marsh between the gravel and the escarpment as pasture for sheep and as arable land. I have ancestors who come from New Romney and from around the margins of the marsh. The area is dotted with delightful medieval churches, all with a rich history. And sheep. Thousands of sheep. Although fewer than there used to be. Dungeness is a desolate, windswept wasteland populated only by a few hardy souls, a couple of lighthouses a nuclear power station, an Army firing range and miles of endangered wildlife. It is one of those visceral and cathartic places.
  3. Nudity. One of the things I have to thank my parents for is a slightly bohemian upbringing where nudity was normal, doors were left open, and sexuality was normal, as were books and discussion. I was taken to a nudist club on several occasions when I was about 10; partly this was “educational” but my parents wouldn’t have done it unless it was also something they wanted to do. Consequently I’m comfortable with nudity and bodies — mine and other peoples’. Indeed I enjoy being nude and spend much of the time at home that way. I dress if I’m too cold (which isn’t often) and to save the blushes of other people. Nudity is natural, normal and good for you. Even Benjamin Franklin used to take “air baths”.
  4. My PA. No idea WTF I’m talking about? See here. [NSFW warning!] Viewings by arrangement.
  5. Pink Floyd. They’re just one of the greatest rock bands of all time. Think See Emily Play, The Wall, Dark Side of the Moon, Wish You Were Here, Learning to Fly. Despite the inevitable rocky times the surviving members have gotten back together in recent years and are performing occasional gigs again.
  6. Pretty Girls with Maps of Tasmania. All at sea again? See this post of some while ago. Oh come on! Let’s be honest. What red-blooded (hetero) bloke doesn’t enjoy looking at pretty girls? And why shouldn’t they? And girls … Don’t try kidding us you don’t like seeing good looking fellas. We know you look at them. You’re just a lot more subtle than most of us blokes.
  7. Seaside. I love the smell of the sea. The sound of the sea. Warm sand between my toes. There’s always something interesting going on in a harbour, on the beach or under the cliffs. Just standing on the seafront having the cobwebs blown away is exhilarating.
  8. Sunshine. I always feel better when the sun shines, especially in winter. I suffer from SAD (thankfully only mildly) so winter sun always boosts my mood. And I love the feel of the sun on my back. But I’m not one for lying and toasting on the beach, despite my love of being nude, so you’ll never find me with a high tan.
  9. KCMWearing Glasses. This is something else I’ve done since I was young — like about 14. I’m basically short-sighted, so I’m pretty blind without my glasses. Which is why I’m not a natural ball-player, despite my love of cricket and hockey. Contact lenses weren’t around when I started wearing glasses, so there was no choice: wear glasses or not read the blackboard at school. I hated glasses at first, largely because I had horrible frames. But once I was allowed to choose my own metal frames (like when I could pay for them myself) and have plastic lenses I got to like glasses. They don’t worry me. Most of the time I don’t know I’m wearing them. Yes, keeping them clean is a pain. But for me lenses would probably be worse; I’m not sure if I could adjust to them and this would be harder given my hayfever etc. — all the lens wearers I know seem to have continual trouble with them.
  10. Being Eccentric/Outrageous. Yeah well you know this already, right? Being open about what I think and feel is, to me, all part of my role as a catalyst and controversialist; as is playing Devil’s advocate. Hopefully this introduces people to different ideas and new ways of looking at the world; makes people think; and thereby to helps them develop. I can’t abide being prissy and prudish; and standing on one’s dignity or unnecessary formality. I’m me and you take me as I am, or not. Your choice. At the other extreme, neither am I one to be disreputable and sluttish. I try to retain a certain amount of decorum; indeed professionalism even if it is slightly disgraceful.

It's Been a Busy Week!

There seems to have been a lot going on this week which drew my attention but which I didn’t get to write about here. So here’s a summary (in no particular order) …

First an interesting item on how belief can kill. It’s a curious phenomenon but even so I can’t bring myself to read the book. See The Dark Side of the Placebo Effect: When Intense Belief Kills.

Much more interesting and useful is a long article on the National Geographic site about the workings of Teenage Brains and how this should be seen as a sensible evolutionary trait. It might also help all of us understand and relate with teenagers. It certainly seems to explain quite a lot.

Next an investigative journalism piece about the Fukishima Disaster and especially the long-term effects on the Japanese population. The suggestion is that the effects of stress etc. will be far more significant than the actual radiation doses (I guess excluding the immediately affected workers). For my money the article still doesn’t delve deep enough — but the journo writing it probably couldn’t get access to do so.

Law and Lawyers has written several pieces about the worrying machinations of the Metropolitan Police in attempting to get The Guardian to reveal some of its sources. First they were going to use the Official Secrets Act, then PACE 1984. For now though it seems the dogs of war remain caged.

Also this week Obiterj at Law and Lawyers has pointed out that the Fixed Term Parliaments Act 2011 comes into force. This means the next General Election will be on 7 May 2015 — unless both Houses of Parliament decide otherwise by a two-thirds majority.

Which for a scientist somewhat pales into insignificance beside the apparent result from a team at CERN that they have detected neutrinos doing the impossible and travelling faster than light. But hold on guys, they don’t quite relieve it either and they’re asking the scientific community for help to test their results. Good scientific commentary by Adrian Cho at Wired and Phil Plait of Bad Astronomy.

Finally back to earth. There’s been lots of twittering in the dovecotes about female orgasm, how it relates to evolutionary pressures and to male orgasm. Also some good demonstrations on how to demolish a (supposedly) scientific study. The best of the critiques I’ve seen is from Scicurious. Maybe you girls should just be allowed to enjoy it?

Have an orgasmic weekend!

Fact of the Week


The magnitude 9 earthquake that struck Japan on 11 March was one of the five most powerful shocks recorded; so powerful that it lowered the coastline by a metre and nudged Japan two metres closer to the United States.

[Jonathan Watts, “Fukushima disaster: it’s not over yet”, Guardian, 9 September 2011, online here]

[37/52] Richard Meades

Week 37 entry for 52 weeks challenge.

As Noreen has reported on her weblog, yesterday we went to Chipping Norton in Oxfordshire in search of some of her ancestors — and just to walk the streets they walked. The Meades line was an unexpected find for Noreen, both in that they come from somewhere way away from Lowestoft but also because they are a family of stonemasons.

Richard Meades

This is the gravestone of Noreen’s great-great-great-great-grandfather, Richard Meades, in the churchyard at Chipping Norton. He was the stonemason responsible for the work to rebuild the church tower in the 1820s. It is Richard’s stone, William MeEades who eventualy moved to Lowestoft.

Chipping Norton (or “Chippy” as the locals know it) itself is a delightful small Cotswold town built out of the local golden stone and on the side of quite a wicked hill — hardly surprising as it is supposedly the highest town on Oxfordshire. And the fact that it is on the side of hill has resulted in something quite unusual: the parish church (St Mary’s) is in fact lower down the hill than most of the rest of the old town — the main street is at about the same level as the top of the church tower.

More photos of Chipping Norton over on my Flickr photostream.

Listography – Last Week

In this week’s Listography Kate is asking us what we did last week. So …

1. Spent Sunday morning driving round London testing a coach tour I’m conducting in under two weeks time. Can I get a coach in there? What is there interesting to say about this boring street?

2. Had coffee with a TV Producer and lunch with a publisher the same day. No not as exciting as it sounds, deals to pay me loads of dosh were not being done, nor did it relate too …

3. Sent off the (I hope) final proofs of my book. It should be out in October. Watch this space.

4. (Finished) reading four books.
Steve Burgess; Famous Past Lives. Very interesting, even if one isn’t totally convinced. Can’t put it down!
Christopher Ryan & Cacilda Jethá; Sex at Dawn: How We Mate, Why We Stray, and What It Means for Modern Relationships . Although interesting and makes a lot of sense it could have been much more tightly written. In the words of Ambrose Bierce “the covers of this book are too far apart”.
Tony Thorne; Jolly Wicked, Actually: 100 Words That Make Us English. Curate’s egg-ish; by turns interesting and dull; mostly dull.
Anthony Powell; Caledonia: A Fragment. Spoof pastiche poem, written in 1930s (and privately printed) which takes the piss out of the Scots unmercifully. Now publicly published as an entity in its own right. Introduction by the Earl of Gowrie.

5. Went to see my hypnotherapist. Yes, we’re making progress but it’s slow. Come on subconscious … LET GO!

And in between all that lot I was working full time getting everything ready for the conference I’m organising in 10 days time. Busy. Busy. Busy.

Weasel!

Weasel

Weasel!

Weasel??!!??

Blimey, that is a weasel!

Something I never expected to see in suburban London — at least not in broad daylight. And I think it is only the third time I’ve ever seen a weasel, the previous two times being fleeting glimpses in the twilight as they disappear out of sight at breakneck speed.

This one was running around on the pavement and road (trying hard to get run over – stupid creature) on the busy Greenford Road right outside the Bridge Hotel about 1130 yesterday morning. (If you go to the “Location” tag at the bottom of this page, or to the Flickr image, you can see exactly where this is on the map.) The beastie is here seen lurking under a piece of metal barrier; (s)he’s probably about 15cm (6 inches) long in the body.

It was so fast it was a question of point the camera out of the car window in vaguely the right direction and hope. I got one shot in before the lights changed (and I almost missed that!). This is a tiny crop from the middle of that one shot.

No, I'm Not Ashamed

As a result of the current “little local difficulties” being experienced in London (see, for example, here) there are a lot of people around saying they are ashamed to be Londoners.

But I’m not one of them.

Yes, I’m a Londoner. But I’ve never been ashamed to be a Londoner. Because I’ve never been proud to be a Londoner. I’ve always known that London is, under a thin surface veneer, crap. And I have never understood why anyone would have any interest in, or get any enjoyment from, the place despite all it’s interesting history (which I love).

London is crap. It always has been. And likely always will be. All that’s happening now is that it is living up (down?) to it’s true nature. And this is a nature which is probably that of many large cities.

That is not to condone what is happening in the smallest iota. I wish it wasn’t thus. Probably we all wish it wasn’t thus. But it isn’t. Shit happens. Always has. Always will. The best we can hope for is that some semblance of the rule of law returns and we’re allowed to back to being crap in our own, relatively peaceful way.

I recall some proverb about leopards and their spots.

Plus ça change!

Rye Reprise

It feels like time for another piece of poetry about Rye, again by Patric Dickinson.

William Henry Borrow, Rye from the Marshes

Topographical

Van Dyck drew it from the South
From the river, seeing a plateau,
The great church riding eastward
In its tideless ocean of faith.

From the East, coming over the marsh
Or from the golf-club it’s a pyramid
With the church tower at the top.
A black silhouette in the twilight.

Turner halfway from Winchelsea,
From the West, romantically stationed
Upon some dangerous sea-stropped
Causeway of his imagination.

Drew Camber Castle floated away
Almost hull-down to the east
And Rye in a spotlight, half Italian,
And half as it were a volcano.

With smoke and fire belching
From the church, it is always the church
That crowns the unique town.

From the North you come down hill
From the mainland then climb again,
Up this rocky hillock like a moraine heap:
Rye is an island, St Mary’s Mount.

Is also a castle, should have a drawbridge,
There are aeons of life in this pyramid,
Fire in this volcano,–
Is also like a beautifully jewelled broach
Worn at South England’s throat,
As land gives way to channel:
The Tillingham mates with the Brede
And both mix in the Rother
The sweet and the salt waters,
Below Watchbell Street and under
The eyes of the Ypres Tower,
Last dry land or first island,
A place between past and future,
A historic present to speak of
In a language of salty silence
That is sweet on every tongue.