peter and the wolf

Merry Christmas, everyone!

I watched 'Peter and the Wolf' on Channel 4 yesterday. It was a recent animation by Suzie Templeton, with no dialogue, just the music by Prokofiev to tell the old Russian story of a boy, his grandfather, a bird, a cat, a goose, a hunter and, of course, the wolf.

When I was young, I used to listen to the record with a narrator telling the story, and it used to scare me silly. The wolf's theme was dark and menacing, and I hated the insidious creeping up on the unsuspecting creatures.

The version on television was arresting, interesting, clever, unusual and, in places, amusing, but it wasn't scary. I don't think it was just because I'm so many years older. I can still be scared by wolves and vicious dogs (and consequently werewolves, but that's different). The wolf here was just doing what wolves and indeed all creatures do - eating to stay alive.

Darkmatters has several posts about this film, starting here, then here and here, for an alternative, thorough and enthusiastic interpretation.

'twas the night before

I drove up to Edinburgh yesterday, to spend Christmas with my parents. I'm glad I arrived last night, because it meant I was able to decorate the tree today on Christmas Eve, which is the traditional, and in my view, best time to put up decorations.

Some of the decorations are new, but some I recognise as favourites when I used to decorate the tree as a child. Indeed, one box is marked "6d each, 1/- for the centre" (2.5p and 5p for post-decimalisation babies), the centre decoration being a long, thin spike for the top of the tree. They were probably bought sometime soon after the war (World War 2, I should say, to distinguish it from the others since).

Some of the decorations are a bit bedraggled, and some are definitely old-fashioned, but I love this connection with the past. For me, the tradition of Christmas is not putting up ornaments, but putting up these particular ornaments. Yes, the collection changes over time, as some are damaged and have to be replaced, but that's a gradual process. Buying a completely new set might be more in keeping with what other people are doing, but it would have no meaning.

I believe strongly in the importance of individual myths/traditions/stories. Without wishing to sound in any way like a Daily Mail reader, I bemoan the decline of such things in favour of mass, impersonal ... I can't think of the right word, so I'll have to call it 'stuff', but I don't mean objects or products. I suppose I mean 'culture' but not the highbrow sort. Does anyone understand what I'm on about, or am I just talking nonsense?

farewell, Geraldine

Continuing yesterday's topic of our outside toilet, the main (probably only) thing I'll miss about it is Geraldine. She's the orb-weave spider in the top-right corner of the doorway.

It was fascinating watching her slowly and steadily weave her web, circling the centre and using each of her back legs to pull, hook and place the thread. The web was often in tatters, and sometimes it wasn't repaired for several days, but she kept replacing it.

Over the summer, Geraldine frequently disappeared, and when she returned she was usually larger. When not on her web, the tips of her legs could sometimes be seen peeking out of the dark shadows in the doorframe.

As November progressed, she slowed down, and looked decidedly unsteady while she weaved. I looked up websites about the life-cycle of spiders, but there was conflicting information about whether orb=weavers look after their young or not. Certainly, November seemed to be the time when they tend to disapper from the garden, perhaps to return in the spring, perhaps not.

I last saw Geraldine a fortnight ago.

brass monkeys

With the recent and sudden plunge in temperature outside (at least in UK terms), I am particularly pleased that our bathroom is now fully functioning. It is already hard to remember that only last week that we had no shower and were still using the outside toilet.

That wasn't a problem during the summer, but as the work on the bathroom dragged out over the months (don't ask), the prospect of having to contend with frost or even ice in the middle of the night became a distinct possibility. I am so glad we finished in time.

morning pages

I was reminded yesterday of The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron. I first posted about it over a year ago, and it's interesting looking back on the results.

I kept up the task of morning pages for a couple of months, which is longer than I expected, and I did feel better for it in all sorts of ways. The remembering of dreams didn't continue, but I've recently started doing that again anyway.

Occasionally I tried to write morning pages after driving up the M6 to college, but it never really worked. It was far better to do it as soon as I got up (after making a cup of tea, of course).

I was less successful with the weekly task of the artist's date, where you treat yourself to some form of creative experience, whether buying crayons or going to a gallery. It sounds silly, but I found it harder to treat myself than to get up half an hour earlier every day.

I also found the sessions hard where you have to ponder, not because the questions were difficult, but because they were designed to help people get out of whatever was trapping them. I had recently quit my job to retrain, so I'd already escaped, and the questions seemed unnecessary for my circumstances.

Despite these qualifications, I strongly recommend The Artist's Way (though I'm wary of the related books she's published - they smack of milking the cash cow). Now that I've been reminded of it, I intend to resume those morning pages.

television and mental well-being

Has anyone been watching 'Growing Out of Trouble'? It's a short series following Monty Don's project to encourage a small group of people addicted to drugs to change their lives by gaining skills and reconnecting to the soil.

The series suffers from the same problems as similar programmes: voyeurism, naivety, patronising attitudes, and extremely high levels of time and money devoted to a few individuals. It doesn't even have enough about the growing to make it interesting or informative.

The only reason I mention it is because in last week's programme, Monty Don talked about the depression he suffers each autumn. His openness was unusual, although I don't think it was as extensive, from what I can gather, as the programme about Stephen Fry's mental health which I didn't see but I think was shown roughly three months ago.

Is mainstream television (well, BBC2) starting to cover these issues in a sensible way?

there's a first time for everything

Well, I was going to start summarising the events of the last few non-bloggagable days (yes, it's a typo, but I quite like it, so I'm keeping it), but somehow it doesn't seem worth it now. It's all merged into the past, which in a way is a shame because lots of interesting stuff happened, but hey, I'm sure lots more will happen too.

Today I'm introducing the "what I've done today for the very first time" slot. Chris Evans gets people to phone in to his Radio 2 show (just how have they managed over the last few years to get rid of that station's terrible image?) to tell the nation what new achievements they've managed that day, big or small, and it seems like a good idea to me. It certainly won't feature in every blogpost, and probably not every week - merely now and again.

So, today, for the first time, I used a power sander. What a strange feeling in your hands and arms! It's like they're much thicker and less sensitive, and the feeling continues for a while afterwards.

i'm back

You probably couldn't distinguish it from other gaps round here, but my most recent lack of posts was caused by a non-functioning telephone connection at home. A little carelessness while sanding woodwork near the junction box.

Not mine, I add, and since only one other person lives in this house, you might construe that as pointing the finger. My denial is not because I'm trying to shift the blame, though. I just don't want to claim credit for doing more decorating than I do. I'm not normally handy with a screwdriver, but reconnecting the broken wire was straightforward.

I'm surprised just how remote I felt while incommunicado, and annoyingly there seemed to be a lot to blog about. I might condense it into a couple of posts over the next few days.

the sound of music

We received a large boxful of music CDs at work today. Each one has several versions of compositions that you can use on a soundtrack when producing films. The CDs have titles like 'Ambient in the Heartland 2', 'Planet of the Breaks' and 'Noisekraft'.

Each track is described in fruity terms like (and I quote): "unusal trombone with 'cold' (cough, sneeze and catarrh) SFX".

Unfortunately, that particular track really did have coughs and sneezes used as samples.

I'm not sure if we'll ever actually use any of this, especially since it's not licence-free as we'd been led to believe, but it added to the Friday afternoon atmosphere today.

the stuff that dreams are made of

I rarely dream. Well, strictly speaking, I should say that I am rarely aware of dreaming. Who knows what goes on behind your back while you're asleep?

Yet every day for the past fortnight, I have woken up in the morning (and often during the night as well) with the remnants of a dream in my head. These remnants don't last long, but quite often I know that I've been dreaming about things that happened many years ago.

Could it be connected in some way to the short hours of daylight? I spend much less time outdoors, so my brain gets less variety of information to process. Perhaps while I'm asleep it has to turn instead to older memories. Alternatively, because I'm getting less physical exercise, perhaps my sleep patterns are lingering in the state where dreaming takes place.

Any suggestions, anyone?

painting with not very much light

Birmingham Botanical Gardens are open for a few evenings on weekends, with illuminations in the grounds and hot houses, and entertainment in the form of music, clown and juggler.

Lisa and I went on Saturday to try our hand at low-light photography, something neither of us has done before. The results were interesting, but could be improved, so we're planning to head back again for another go.

The photo on the right was a half-second exposure at f4.0 (800 ISO). The balls were lit up from inside, and flashed, hence the strange pattern.

Pride then fall

I had a couple of sobering experiences at work this week. One was quite general, so I've written about it on my other blog. The other, however, was more personal, so it seems more appropriate to write about it here.

I spent quite a few years in my previous career, and I became accustomed to knowing it thoroughly. I quite happily represented my organisation at all sorts of meetings, and I knew how to fulfill my role.

I decided to change career, however, and retrained in multimedia. My current job, which I've only been doing for a couple of months, involves using multimedia in the museum world. I know little about museums and I know even less about using multimedia in that specific context.

In my eagerness to get things moving, I forgot that, and acted as though I knew as much as I did in my old job. Fortunately, not many people were aware of this, and no damage was done. It was just a timely reminder that I have a lot to learn in my new role. Enthusiasm is good, but recklessness isn't.

itchy feet but not many shoes

Went for a tasty curry tonight with a couple of old friends who I don't see nearly often enough.

One of them will soon be taking six months off work to travel round the world with her partner - Thailand, Cambodia, New Zealand, Australia, Easter Island, Galapagos, Peru, the Amazon, and finally the Carribbean (see - I was paying attention!). They leave soon after Christmas, and, not surprisingly, are eager to start.

I'm really impressed that she's managed to choose only four pairs of shoes to take with her, even if she's not very happy about the restriction.

I can't believe it's twenty-one years sine I went to South America, and twenty-six since Australia. I'm not old enough for it to be that long ago, surely?

a wandering minstrel, I

I'm just back from a day in Bristol. The main reason for going was training on copyright which is not the most riveting of subjects, but I learnt a fair amount. The best part of the trip, though, was the opportunity to indulge in a favourite pastime of mine: wandering the streets of a strange city with only a cursory glance at a map.

It's a risky strategy, especially if, like today, there's a particular place to be and a particular time to arrive there, but I was on my own so I could explore as much as I wanted and if I ended up going the long way round (which I did), then it was only me who suffered.

There's a lot going on in Bristol in the use of digital technology, which I find exciting, though I saw no evidence of it today. Back in the 1980's, I had a hankering to live and work in Bristol, though I had no rational explanation for that desire, so perhaps I would have got involved in the current developments. I never went there in the end, but I'm very happy with the way things turned out, so I have no regrets.)

I hadn't realised that so much of the city is based around the docks and waterfront, though perhaps my route accidentally emphasised it: boats, swans, marinas, even a ferry service up and down the river. The SS Great Britain is moored there too, and I had a vague intention of having a glance at it, but never made it that far.

At lunchtime, we went to the nearby Cabot tower, built to commemorate John Cabot who set sail from Bristol on his journey to Newfoundland in 1497. The tower is at the top of a hill and commands fine views of the city (apparently), but it was closed.

So there were a few plans that didn't work out, but I enjoyed the day anyway, and I took some photographs for a particular purpose, which I shall write about sometime soon...

food, glorious food

Recently, Nat wrote about her favourite meal. The following isn't necessarily my favourite meal, but we eat it quite often becuase it's simple, quick and healthy yet satisfyingly tasty. It doesn't really count as a recipe either, because it's so straightforward and you can adapt it in all sorts of ways, but there is a crucial part. Focussing on the stable ingredients, we call it, with wild abandon, 'Chicken Pittas':

Lightly toast three pitta breads per person and slice them open. Insert shredded white cabbage, shredded lettuce and grated carrot. Add some mayonnaise diluted with semi-skimmed milk (mix a small quantity first to prevent it from going lumpy) then mixed with plenty of lime juice. Place slices of stir-fried chicken on top of the mayonnaise mixture then finish off with sliced spring onion. And that's all there is to it.

We sometimes vary it by using red pepper and/or cherry tomatoes, but the lime and mayonnaise mixture is the key part, turning it from just plain chicken with salad into a delicious dish. Even then, you could probably change that to yoghurt and mint if you wanted to.

more on music

I've not felt like posting here for a while. There's nothing wrong - I've written a couple of posts at my other blog - but I just haven't felt like opening up. I really appreciate the comments everyone made in response to my previous post about music. I may well take you up on some of your suggestions about going to a gig or trying new music. I don't want to make this into more than it is, but it feels like a large, important topic, and I want to treat it with due respect.

By coincidence, a new series started on Channel 4 last Saturday about how music works. I recorded it, but haven't watched it yet.

the tracks of my tears

Recently I've been getting a lift into work and home again, but today I walked both ways and I really enjoyed it. It gives me an opportunity to listen to music on my mp3 player and enjoy the cool, fresh autumn days.

It seemed a day for 'Sticky Fingers' by the Rolling Stones (can it really be 35 years since it was released?), followed by the more recent 'Tour de France Soundtracks' by Kraftwerk. I have a poor ear for music, and no musical ability whatsoever, but both albums have clearly distinguished instruments, and I enjoy thinking about how the various parts have been put together (or constructed, in the case of Kraftwerk).

Sometimes it saddens me that I no longer seem to get emotionally involved in music - it's just a pleasant but distant experience. And that's why I hate those ear buds. I resent the intrusion inside my head. But desensitisation is much wider than music, both personally and societally, and a topic I don't feel capable of tackling. Perhaps I'm anxious about what I might conclude about myself?

robin of the wood

Following yesterday's post about the robin, there was a short programme on TV tonight about the robins at the Eden project in Cornwall. I missed it, but apparently British robins are much less timid than robins in the continent, and the explanation given for this is the good relationship established with the many gardeners in this country.

They also said that the name robin is an old, informal one - Robin Redbreast, like Brock the Badger - and the name has stuck so well it's become the official one. Yet another example of the ridiculous but also marvellous quirks of our history and language. Wonderful!

and for my next trick...

With the short days, I'm spending less time now at our allotment. Lisa, however, is able to go down there during the day, and has been hard at work digging. A robin hangs around nearby, waiting for worms, and seems to have adopted her. It has even trained her to deliver worms to it. Who'd have thought that humans could be taught tricks so easily?

click on what, precisely?

It's easy to have too much of point-and-click games, but once in a while, as a change, they can be fun. I'm currently playing Submachine Zero: Ancient Adventure, which has much better drawings and sound than quite a few I've discovered.

Unfortunately, I'm stuck. Can anyone help? So far, I've found three red jewels and a stone, and a room with what looks like a block of stone with a pole in it, but I can't get past the second door with the sliding spikes.

I know in these games that it can be difficult to remember or describe exactly what actions lead to which results, but if anyone else would like to have a go and perhaps give me a pointer in the right direction, I'd be grateful.

sums can be fun

I enjoyed writing about Scottish food recently, but that wasn't the sort of topic I had envisaged for this blog. I'd intended to write about more personal stuff here, preferably positive and happy stuff, and leave the more general topics to my other blog, The Valley of Lost Things.

Obviously, there are no hard and fast rules, and it may be that I find the upkeep of two blogs to be too demanding, but nevertheless that's what I'm still aiming to do.

So what's today's little item then? Well, it's not very personal, but it does make me happy. I've been getting more and more interested in kakuro recently (otherwise known as cross sums). It's a number puzzle, a bit like sudoku because you fill in the numbers one to nine in a grid, but it also involves a little bit of mental arithmetic.

The Guardian has a kakuro puzzle each day, graduating from easy on a Sunday :) Monday morning to hard on a Friday. Even better, though, is the website dedicated to kakuro, with a new free online puzzle every day.

You can buy kakuro software there if you wish, and there are other kakuro sites with puzzles you can print out or software to download, but one puzzle a day is enough for me.

ye'll have had yer tea (part 2)

Having dealt yesterday with what's bad about Scottish cuisine, let's list some of the good stuff.

High tea is a particular type of meal, usually had on a Sunday. A hot dish is followed by bread and butter, and traditionally you have to eat two slices of this to fill you up before you are allowed to proceed to the feast of cakes, scones and shortbread that cover the entire table.

Arbroath Smokies are a type of kipper, Clootie Dumpling is a steamed pudding, and Black Bun is a rich, heavy cake covered in a kind of pastry and served to First Footers on Hogmanay (New Year's Eve). The first person through the door should be dark-haired and carrying a piece of coal. Steak and kidney pie is served for lunch on New Year's Day. For me, only the pie is of interest, but I mention the others for your edification.

In the home baking line there's Kirriemuir Slices (sometimes known as Millionaire Shortbread, and similar to Twix bars), pancakes (a thick mixture dopped onto a very hot griddle) and oatcakes - the small, crisp ones for eating with cheese like crackers, not like Staffordshire oatcakes which are rolled up with bacon and cheese.

For starters, you might have Scotch Broth or Cock-a-leekie soup, followed by the main course: salmon, Aberdeen Angus, venison (which I once ate in a restaurant served with a chocolate sauce, but I don't expect that was a traditional Scottish recipe), or the casserole called Stovies - layers of thinly-sliced potato, onions and lamb. There's a rare type of lamb from Orkney where the sheep are kept away the grass, which is reserved for cattle, and have to eat seaweed instead on the shore, so the meat has a faint salty taste.

For dessert, there's delicious soft fruit from central Scotland. A particularly tasty pudding is Cranachan, a mixture of toasted oats, honey, raspberries and whisky. Crowdie is a type of cottage cheese from the north of Scotland.

There's lots more, but these are the main ones I can remember off the top of my head. Now I've made myself hungry!

ye'll have had yer tea?

Emma left a comment on yesterday's post about the wonderful food that comes from Scotland. I wholeheartedly agree. When people think of Scottish food, they tend to think firstly of porridge, which I wrote about yesterday, and haggis. That's fair enough - it's traditionally served on Burns Night in January with 'bashed neeps and champit tatties' (translation: mashed potatoes and turnips) and, if done in proper style, is brought in on a large serving dish while someone recites the address or ode to a Haggis ("great chieftain o' the puddin-race"), followed by Scottish country dancing. A grand evening, though I can only manage a small amount of haggis before I remember what's in it.

Going beyond that, some might think of deep-fried Mars bars. I've never actually seen this in a chip shop, but then I haven't been in a chippie in Scotland for many years. (In Scottish chippies, you're not asked if you want salt and vinegar, but salt'n'sauce, a thin, brown concoction like a watered-down HP sauce.) And of course, poor health in Scotland is rife, the result of too much salt and jammy pieces.

A few years ago, I spotted in a supermarket in England a pack of four Scottish meat pies, and pounced on them immediately, having fond memories of eating these as a child. They're round, with a crisp, raised rim around the top, and filled with minced lamb. As soon as I bit into it, I was flooded with liquid grease, and I suddenly remembered why I stopped eating them.

But Scottish cuisine at its best is delicious, and there's lots of it. Enough for a whole other post, in fact. Come back tomorrow, to find out what's on the menu...

go to work on a porridge

Etcb has written a post about her favourite meal of egg, chips and beans, especially if the chips are home made., and she received some appreciative comments. It's at this time of year that the importance of food becomes apparent again, to keep us warm and fight off colds.

I like to start the day with a bowl of porridge. I'm still Scottish enough to put salt on rather than sugar, but not too Scottish to be concerned about using the five-minute variety of oats. I still need a little bit extra like a banana or toast and marmalade to satisfy my need for something tasty, but porridge keeps me going through the morning like nothing else can.

What do you like for breakfast?

the race is not to the swift

There was a lovely segment on TV last night about swifts. Apart from being a jog to the fading memories of summer warmth, it was a fascinating insight into the mysterious evolutionary niche these birds inhabit.

They fly non-stop for several years, eating and sleeping on the wing, able to circle around and compensate for winds blowing them off course, even with half of their brain shut down. They cover thousands of miles in their lifetimes and no-one knows how they get enough calcium for their egg shells since the insects they eat don't contain enough.

Film from Oxford University Library showed a family of swifts in their nest in the roof. These birds can't walk or perch and they have virtually no neck muscles so they lie awkwardly on top of each other. They had a few parasites, called flat beetles, but no-one knows how the creatures get there since the birds never land except to breed.

Truly amazing.

the sky tonight

I've just been out for a lovely stroll with Lisa. We didn't go far - just to the local late shop - but we took a roundabout route at a slow pace and stopped to watch the night sky, trying unsuccessfully to spot Comet Swan somwhere in the west.

It was cold and the streets were quiet, but lots of planes blinked slowly past above us. A calm and relaxing way to end the day.

dawn chorus to be left to get on with it alone

Lisa has stopped working shifts, which means more sleep and a more regular lifestyle for both of us. Hurrah! Why, then, did I wake at 4am as usual today, unable to return to sleep? Boo!

the dignity of labour

Having tantalised you yesterday with a promise to tell you about the bigger story later, I've decided that if I do, it will be on my other blog, The Valley of Lost Things, because I plan to keep this one for posts about how I feel.

Yesterday's visit to the allotment was more like what I'd imagined Friday's would be. I went relatively late in the day, and spent a couple of hours ferrying junk to the skip. Joe Swizzlestick, the person who had the plot before us (name changed slightly to protect the innocent), was a hoarder, someone who kept things just in case they ever came in handy. As a result, we have huge quantities of rotting pieces of wood, odd bits of metal and vast quantities of glass. We're particularly keen to get rid of the glass while it's still in the form of finite sheets rather than infinite shards.

So yesterday, taking advantage of the recently emptied skip while it still has some space left, I removed the remains of a rusty metal contraption constructed to hold compost, most of the glass and assorted wood. It was hard work, but it's satisfying and ultimately more productive than going to a gym.

Sometimes the most difficult part is getting up off my backside and going down to the allotment, but once I do, I always feel much, much better. I just don't understand why I forget how good I feel afterwards.

the burning question

I'd imagined that this first post in my new blog would be a gentle description of how good it felt last night, at the end of the working week, to walk down the street with Lisa, my partner, turn a couple of corners, and look out over the open valley at the entrance to the allotments.

I anticipated unlocking the gate and breathing in what feels like country air even though we live close to a city centre. We'd probably potter rather than do much real work, but late on a Friday afternoon at the end of October when there isn't much daylight left, that's OK. The weekend lies ahead for big progress.

Instead, sounds of banging and thumping awaited us. The city council, in its wisdom, has this week erected, without warning or consultation, a gate on the footpath in such a way that our allotment, and ours alone, is excluded from the secure area. Our plot is surrounded by abandoned and overgrown plots, so we feel isolated and abandoned.

We went to investigate, and found four lads breaking down the door of another empty plot. As soon as they saw us they ran away, but we could still hear them nearby. Smoke was rising from the far side of the plot, so we went round and pushed our way through the undergrowth to find a fire burning unattended by the remains of a large wooden hut. There was a big gas cylinder on the ground a few feet away.

Everything was damp from gentle rain, so there probably wasn't a great risk of the fire spreading, but we decided none the less that it would be better to put it out. We made a couple of trips back to our plot to fetch water and the fire was soon out, the embers fully soaked to prevent re-ignition.

I've already wittered on at length about the events of our unexpected adventure last night, so I'll leave the wider story for another day.