Comments

It's nice to receive comments from regular visitors to this blog and I thank you for your continuing interest and support.

People like Meike from Ludwigsburg, Germany; Keith from Red Deer, Canada; Jennifer from South Carolina and Steve from West London almost seem like family to me. My association with them goes way back in time and of course they produce their own blogs which I keep visiting through the months and years.

You just need to look at my sidebar to get an idea of my blog orbit. In recent years, new favourites have emerged such as Bob Slatten's "I Should Be Laughing", Bruce Springsteen's Taylor's "Oddball Observations", JayCee Manx's "Nobody's Diary" and David Godfrey's "Travel Penguin". In blogging, nothing ever seems to be permanently fixed. As in life, you have to move on. No sense in always wallowing in the past.

I like the fact that some of my regular visitors do not actually produce blogs of their own. That doesn't really matter. Here I am thinking about people like Carol in Spain (Coppa's Girl), Ellen in Illinois and Traveller from I know not where. Thank you for coming here. I hesitate but I would like to use the term: friends. Yes, friends.

Occasionally, commenters will breeze in leave one or two comments and then disappear for good. Perhaps that will be the case with someone called "P.Wright". He appeared for the first time in relation to a post I published on September 14th.  It was about the Reform Party rally in London and the appearance of Elon Musk on big screens. I titled this post "Terrorist". "P.Wright" has only attracted ten page views and does not have his own blog. This is what he wrote:-

"A typical left wing post. You can't stand anyone that doesn't agree with your narrative. You crap on about 26 injured police but fail to mention that there were only 25 arrests. How many arrests were there at the Nottingham carnival?? Way more. You are just so full of hate for anyone that doesn't follow the lefties narrative it's sickening. We are all entitled to our opinions and l respect yours but there is no need for all the hate that comes from the left."

Little details in this comment caused me to deduce that it was posted in America and possibly by a Trump-MAGA supporter.  For example, he uses the expression, "Way more!" which is known in Great Britain but is not in common use. Also the pejorative term "lefties" is hackneyed in my country and rarely used these days but has traction with the American right. He also refers to the "Nottingham Carnival" when I am sure he meant the "Notting Hill Carnival". British people would not make that error.

Perhaps it was Elon Musk in disguise. The sentiments contained in the comment are certainly Muskian or Muskish and I must say quite disturbing. Clearly, "P.Wright" doesn't know me at all.  Unlike Julius Caesar who came, conquered and went, "P.Wright" came, defecated and disappeared. Anyway, if you are reading this "P.Wright" you are not welcome here and I am sorry to say that any future comments you make on this blog will not be published.

Nadir

 

Perhaps this is the nadir, maybe not but can the current U.S. president really sink any lower?

Along the wall of a colonnade in The White House, portraits of past presidents have been put up going right back in time. Only, one of the portraits is missing. Instead of Joe Biden, America's 46th president, there is instead a picture of an autopen.

The current president and his minions have made a big deal of the fact that Joe Biden sometimes had his presidential signature written with the aid of a computerised autopen - instead of by hand. The ironic truth is that the 47th president has also used an autopen on many occasions to sign documents so why has he made a big song and dance about this matter? After all, he has done just the same.

President Biden was fairly and legitimately elected to office by the American people. He served his country well and made many beneficial decisions and choices. What is more, in spite of the fact that age began to catch up with him, he conducted himself with dignity and a healthy measure of humility. He is and was a decent man, a listener and a true patriot. At least - that is how it appears to me.

Not putting his picture up and instead unveiling the framed image of an autopen is unfair and unfunny. It disrespects all those who voted  for Mr Biden in November 2020 and it disrespects American history. You might not have agreed with him and you yourself might even wear a red Republican cap but Joe Biden was the president. He wore that mantle with pride.

Rather than the autopen, the equivalent for the current incumbent might be a jar of orange foundation cream or a golf club and ball to represent all the many times he has been A.W.O.L. on private golfing breaks during his presidency. But pursuing that notion would surely be juvenile and petty - sinking right down  to the current president's level.

So yes - this could easily be the absolute pits - the nadir but I have a sneaking suspicion that Mad Donald might go even lower - such is his terrible vindictiveness and his apparent inability to simply let things go and move on.

Skote

 

Skote? Well I have no clear idea what that word means but I suspect that it is an informal term of endearment from Newfoundland, Canada. I came across it this past week when I found myself being drawn into a YouTube channel called "Skote Outdoors".

Who are the two skotes pictured at the top of this blogpost? Why they are Matty and Kelly Clarke, the creators and stars of the YouTube channel. Let me tell you a little about them and their vlog.

Matty was originally from Newfoundland and Kelly was from Virginia, USA. They met over the internet and immediately Kelly determined that Matty was the man she was going to marry - even before they had met in person.

For a nominal fee, Matty bought an abandoned wooden house on the island of St Joseph's in Placentia Bay to the south of Newfoundland. It was in a sorry state without running water or electricity and there was plenty of rotten wood too.

They set about restoring the house and making it into a proper home. The project has been greatly assisted by Matty's  practical skills and "can do" attitude. Kelly has often acted as his labourer. She is always upbeat, supportive and uncomplaining.

I watched as they installed solar panels on the hill above the old house and also how they found a way of piping water from that same hill - from a pond that their neighbour helped them to excavate.

Have you ever wondered what it might be like to live "off grid" in Nature, pretty much free to do your own thing? If you have, "Skote Outdoors" might well be the answer to your curiosity. Why not check it out? You don't need to investigate every video they have uploaded but you might wish to step a few months back in time. 

I have found it all pretty uplifting and a healthy reminder that people can be self-reliant  and happy without allowing the news of the world to press our faces into the proverbial mud. Earlier this very day, Matty and Kelly had great news to share. She's pregnant! So hopefully in about eight months time,  there'll be a new tiny character in the videos.

If you have some idle time, please check "Skote Outdoors"  out.

Watch

Home again

Are you sitting comfortably? Let me tell you the story of my Mondaine wristwatch.

It was given to me fifteen years ago by my immediate family. It suited me from the first second it ticked. A simple, easily-read face with no distractions like a date dial or the time in Tokyo. An elegant, unfussy watch that tells the time accurately.

Every two years its battery runs out and I need to have a new one put in by someone who knows what they are doing. For the past ten years, I have gone to a jeweller's shop down the road from us at Hunter's Bar and in all that time nobody else has interfered with the watch. Normally it's a half hour job. I drop the watch off, toddle off for a drink or some lunch and then pick it up a bit later - job done.

At the start of July, this summer gone, the watch had stopped ticking again so I went to the jewellers and as usual I was asked to come back in half an hour. However, when I returned, the friendly middle-aged woman who was doing the job said there was a problem. She couldn't get all the tiny screws out and two of them just kept turning round.

"Where did you last have a new battery fitted?" she said.

"Here," I replied. "And it was you who did it!"

"Well. Something's gone wrong and we're going to have to send it off to our watch specialist."

"How long is that going to take?"

"Three to four weeks."

"What? That seems like a long time just to get a new battery but okay I will go with it."

"First, he will have to tell us if he can actually do the job."

Anyway, four weeks later, at the very end of July, the shop phoned me back to tell me that their specialist could indeed do the job and did I wish to proceed? What? Of course I wanted to proceed. I asked how long it would take and the woman at the other end of the line said "three to four weeks... if the specialist can source the required screws".

At the end of August I phoned them back to say, "Where's my watch?" 

They said, "Oh it takes six to eight weeks. We weren't expecting it back yet!"

Meantime up at the pub quiz, my friend Mick was advising me to play hell with them and demand my watch back but I explained that I just didn't want the aggro. If I lost my rag with them, I knew that I would regret it and the resulting scene would play out over and over again in my mind. Experience can be a great teacher. Better to stay calm and patient, eventually get my watch back and then never visit the jeweller's shop ever again.

This morning, the long awaited phone call happened. The sloth-like specialist had finally returned my watch and I could pick it up - almost three months after  I had taken it in. Oh joy of joys! Ring the church bells! Beat the drums! Christ is risen! 

I strolled down the hill to Hunter's Bar and as I told the smiley woman behind the counter, it felt like reuniting with an old friend. Hello Mondaine - how have you been? I have missed you mate!

There might have been an argument that the jeweller's shop should have paid for the service since the issue with the tiny screws was probably caused by them but I just did not want the hassle. I paid up and left with no intention of ever going in there again. It has been quite a saga, I can tell you.

AI

 

Captain's Log - Stardate September 26th 2025

Still trawling The Ocean of Data. There are rich pickings out here. Every day we haul up huge tons of the stuff and transfer it to "Gorgon" - the mother ship. The job seems endless.

We have just entered The Sea of Bloggo off the coast of Narnia where the shoals are known to be particularly abundant. Data seethes just below the surface, squirming and thrashing and sometimes bursting into the sunshine like multitudes of silvery flying fish. I have never seen anything like it.

We are well-paid by Nvidia but the company's hunger for freshly caught data seems unquenchable. Every day they want - more, more, more.

It appears that the more data that is poured into the central processing plant in Santa Clara, the more accurate, visionary and ironclad their outcomes and proposals will become.

This is about changing the world folks and I'm all for that but sometimes I look back to the lazy days when we chugged out of Grimsby struggling to find cod fish off the coast of Norway or Shetland.  On a calm, starlit night with sea anchor operational, the crew would gather in the galley and fuelled with tumblers of Jamaican rum sing...

"Old McDonald had a ship

Ay-eye, ay-eye - No!

And on that ship he had a monster

Ay-eye, ay-eye - No!

With a gobble gooble here

And a gobble gobble there

Here a gobble there a gobble

Everywhere a gooble gobble

Old McDonald had a ship

Ay-eye, ay-eye - No!"

⦿

It was our Frances's thirty-seventh birthday today and we enjoyed brunch with her at "Carrie's" on Ecclesall Road. Her best friend Charlotte was there with her youngest boy Milo - who is in Margot's class at nursery school. Years ago Frances and Charlotte were also in the very same class at nursery school. Their bond of friendship is very strong. They even went to the same university. The brunch was excellent and Margot and Milo were excited to see the passing buses and lorries on the road below.

Loafing

If Young Steve down in London can plonk flower pictures at the top of his blogposts then so can I. The blooms shown above are American prairie flowers. I believe that this one belongs to the silphium family. The picture was taken this very morning as I was strolling through Sheffield Botanical Gardens.

It's a lovely nineteen acre city park, containing plants and trees from all over the world. It enjoys the practical support of a squadron of local volunteers and is a popular green oasis for dozens of skittish American grey squirrels.

Opened in the 1830s, our Botanical Gardens once housed a menagerie. The park also had a bearpit but living bears are no longer displayed there. Instead, there's just a rusty mild steel bear called Robert, created by David Mayne and installed in 2005 in memory of the poor creatures that were once chained there. In spite of facial similarities there is absolutely no connection between our Robert The Bear and Robert Slatten or Robert Brague - two notorious US bloggers from South Carolina and Georgia respectively. Though they both like to hibernate in winter, neither of them are actual bears.

Below, The Botanical Gardens feature these fine Victorian glasshouses designed by Benjamin Broomhead Taylor...

The pesky squirrels are hard to photograph as they spring about but I tried to capture a few images of them today, including this one...

On the way home to start preparing tonight's beef stew, I decided to take a short detour via Wiseton Road. There, the former St Augustine's Church Hall was renamed Wiseton Court about fifty years ago after it had been remodelled to create several one bedroom apartments. Before our marriage, Shirley and I rented Flat One for eighteen months. It was our first home together and they were very happy days - loving and being loved. In the course of a lifetime, that kind of magic does not happen for everyone.

Presenters

Alice Roberts - "Digging for Britain" presenter

It wasn't always like this, I swear. Nowadays the people who are chosen to present television  and radio programmes greatly influence whether or not I will watch or listen to a particular programme.

I have always enjoyed documentary-style programmes that transport viewers to interesting places. Maybe there will be a bit of history thrown in too. "Great Railway Journeys" should entirely be my cup of tea but I have never watched it simply because it is presented by the supercilious former Tory MP, Michael Portillo. His smugness is as cringe-worthy as his pomposity.

I feel comfortable with authentic presenters who are passionate about their subjects and are not fuelled by their egos - people like Chris Packham and David Attenborough who focus principally on the natural world. Another presenter I like is Professor Alice Roberts who brings authority and an easygoing personal style to her archaeological wanderings in "Digging for Britain".

Reading the weather and telling us what to expect should be a straightforward, functional role but there are some weather presenters who really get my goat. On the one hand you have Chris Fawkes - charming, professionally dressed and capable of delivering weather news succinctly. On the other hand, there's Tomasz Schafernaker who seems to be on a perpetual ego trip with his laconic style and odd, inappropriate clothing choices. It's not all about you Tomasz! You are only there to tell us about the weather my friend.

Most mornings I reach over to our faithful and now vintage Sony radio alarm clock without even opening my eyes. I press the button that brings on "The Today Show" on BBC Radio 4 - a news and current affairs programme that runs from six to nine every weekday morning. This was once the territory of the great John Humphrys who brought intelligence and clarity to his interviewing style. In contrast, nowadays we often have to tolerate Emma Barnett and Nick Robinson who don't really listen to their interviewees and have an annoying habit of interrupting even as their questions are being answered. They could learn a lot from their co-presenter Justin Webb who is almost as brilliant as John Humphrys was in the past.

Perhaps it is an age thing or maybe it is just me but I feel that good presenters are worth their weight in gold - whereas ego-tripping bad presenters are a huge turn off. Thinking about the presenters you encounter who do you think deserves floral tributes and who should get booby prizes?

Bolton

Disused railway bridge on Barnburgh Lane

Yesterday, I caught a train to a large village called Bolton-upon-Dearne. It is located north of Rotherham between Swinton and Goldthorpe in an area that was the beating heart of the South Yorkshire coalfield. As each year passes, that proud industry of yore becomes more and more like a distant memory. Even the landscape is concealing what once was.

It was a lovely afternoon. I had a planned walk to undertake while at the same time bagging four more 1km map squares for The Geograph Project - adding to the 18,602 images I had already submitted. To tell you the truth, I was feeling a little unwell so I had deliberately plotted a sensible distance of around 3.5 miles before returning to Bolton-upon-Dearne's railway station in time for the 16.32 train home.

Bolton Brickyard Ponds

I met a man with a bulldog. It had a head as big as a large cauliflower. It was his daughter's dog. It tried to hump my leg which I found most disagreeable. The man had been a coalminer in the area right up to 1986 and had fond memories of the camaraderie, still bitter about what Margaret Thatcher did to them.  In nearby Goldthorpe, on the night that Thatcher died in 2013, the people made an effigy of her and placed it on a bonfire before partying till midnight. The British establishment were appalled.

I walked to the edge of Goldthorpe then followed Barnburgh Lane to Westfield Lane, passing under a disused railway bridge that once carried coal wagons to power stations. Then south through the woods to The River Dearne. In that valley they have created a nature reserve in recent years, flooding former farmland. It is now a bird sanctuary overseen by the RSPB (Royal Society for The Protection of Birds).

Teasels at Adwick Wetland Nature Reserve

Then along Lowfield Road and back to the station with forty five minutes to spare. I sat in the sunshine, reading the first chapter of "Entangled Lives" by Merlin Sheldrake - you may remember that I found this book hidden in a wall two weeks ago. It concerns an area of knowledge that is very important but still very much incomplete - fungi.  Their underground relationships with tree roots and other plants are quite mind-boggling.

Oh and by the way, the train home arrived bang on time.

A bedroom window on Lowfield Road

Childless

 

A fairly recent but innocuous event has stuck in my mind and I have kept coming back to it.

It was about a month ago. I was in the "Atkinsons" department store at the bottom of The Moor. I had gone in there specially to replace my aftershave lotion. My supply of "Old Spice" was running very low. As it happens, that preferred brand was not on display and may never be again so I picked another reasonably priced alternative called "Musk". Fortunately, it has no connection with Elon Musk.

As I was selecting my purchase, I heard the continuous screaming of a small child in a pushchair. It went on and on and when I reached the pay counter, the din continued. Behind the counter was a plump, bespectacled female shop assistant - about forty five years old. Our conversation went something like this...

ME I wish somebody would shut that child up!

ASSISTANT Me too. I've been watching the mother and she hasn't done a thing to quieten it.

ME It's not good to let a child get really distressed like that.

ASSISTANT I agree but what do I know about raising children?

ME What do you mean?

ASSISTANT Well I'm not a mother. I don't have any children.

ME Did you want to be a mother?

ASSISTANT With all my heart. It's the biggest regret of my life.

ME What happened?

ASSISTANT Well I needed a partner of course and it just didn't work out for me.

ME Oh, I'm sorry to hear that.

ASSISTANT I was engaged to be married and the wedding was all planned but I broke it off a week before. As my granddad said, he was a wrong 'un. He was drinking too much and sometimes he got really nasty.

ME Did he hit you?

ASSISTANT Once he grabbed me by the hair and pulled me into the bedroom. I was screaming at him to stop. I know I made the right choice... to end it I mean. But I would have loved to have a baby. I think I would have made a great mother. Now all I have got is my sister's kids. A boy and a girl and I love them to bits.

ME I suspect you would have made a good mother... Life can be so cruel. Often things don't work out the way we want them to... Anyway, it's been nice to meet you and thanks for sharing those private thoughts. 

ASSISTANT Thanks for listening. Bye.

ME Bye.

I left the store feeling desperately sorry for that woman. It's one thing deciding you never want to have children but it's another thing being childless when your maternal instinct is strong and when becoming a mother seems key to your very existence. I imagined her getting old and that yawning gap in her life remaining painful to the very end. So sad.

Patties

Driving home in the pouring rain. The windscreen wipers are in overdrive. The road surface ahead is awash and the white lines upon it have become invisible. My concentration dial has been turned to full  and the speedometer is down to fifty, sometimes lower. I have heard about aqua-planing and have no intention of experiencing it on this sixty mile motorway journey.

Meantime, a few idiots zoom past or even undertake as though there was no rain at all. They threaten other people's lives in such dangerous driving conditions.

Radio 5 Live is broadcasting a football match commentary - Manchester United versus Chelsea. Even there, seventy miles west, the rain is lashing down. How many gallons must have fallen on the north of England? Millions of them - topping up the streams, the rivers and the reservoirs. A modicum of blessed relief after the driest summer on record.

In the late morning, I had driven over to Hull to see my beloved Tigers in person for the first time this season. First of all, I parked Butch at the Priory Park park and ride facility to the west of the city. Then I rode to the stadium aboard a double decker bus, sitting at the front of the top deck for views of the twenty minute urban journey. But I was looking through a curtain of rain.

I alighted at the bus stop on the edge of West Park feeling lunchtime hunger pangs. So instead of heading straight for the stadium, I instead visited the "Admiral" fish and chip shop on Anlaby Road where I purchased two patties doused in salt and vinegar.  I consumed them in a bus shelter because of the falling rain.

At this juncture, you may be wondering - What on earth is a "patty"? Well let me explain that it is a staple option in most fish and chip shops in the East Riding of Yorkshire. I have never seen them for sale in Sheffield or Leeds.

A patty is round - about 3.5 inches across and about 1.5 inches thick. It is made from  mashed potato seasoned with sage and onion. Then it is dipped in a batter mixture before being deep-fried. Perhaps not the healthiest option but a couple of patties really hit the spot when you are standing in a bus shelter  in the pouring rain ahead of an English Championship match - Hull City v. Southampton F.C..

By the way, our boys won quite convincingly by three goals to one. I witnessed this victory with 22,084 other people - the majority of whom went home happy.

Riding back on the packed park and ride bus, I observed how pleasant and civilised the atmosphere was. Nobody was shouting or playing music or causing annoyance to others. We were just a hundred quiet people in the early evening - riding back to Priory Park in heavy traffic as rain continued to teem down.

Quiztime

Good day quizzers! It's time for another exciting edition of "QUIZTIME" with me your genial host, Rapscallion Bonkers. Today's theme is silhouettes and there's an exciting mixture of maps, places, animals etc. - why there's even a popstar (deceased)! As usual, the answers will be provided in the comments section. Let the fun begin!

⦿

1.
Moose and maple syrup

2,

Garlic, frogs and can-can dancers

3.

They say it's gay.

4.

All shook up

5.

Not Frida Kahlo

6.

An American city

7.

Hungry

8.

Small island  nation off the coast of New Guinea

9.

We will fight them on the beaches

10.

Sting in the tail

⦿

That's all folks! How did you do? 

Cairn

When this old world starts getting me down

People are just too much for me to face

I'll climb way up to the top of the stairs

And all my cares just drift right into space

On the roof, it's peaceful as can be

And there the world below can't bother me

- Carole King "Up On The Roof" -

Well Carole King might have escaped to the roof for some time out and relief from "this old world" but I prefer to go walking in the countryside. And here, in this great northern city, we are extremely fortunate in that the countryside is right on our doorstep - just a few minutes away.

Earlier this week, I needed the simple relief that a good walk can provide so I drove up to the Owler Bar road, parking Butch opposite the gas distribution facility that is up there. Then with boots on I set off for the cairn that sits at the southern end of Brown Edge.

It is a great viewpoint. Using the zoom option on my Sony bridge camera, I took a shot towards Sheffield city centre. I know it is not the sharpest of pictures - quite hazy really - but incredibly, in the top lefthand corner, on the horizon, you can just make out the towers of Drax Power Station - almost fifty miles away!

I also revisited the triangulation pillar on Flask Edge with its view across the moorland to faraway Stanage Edge and Higger Tor. If you want to know more about the history and purpose of triangulation pillars, please go here.

Less than two hours after leaving Butch at the lay-by, I was back at his boot (American: trunk) changing into my regular shoes and feeling good after that invigorating session of ambulatory self-therapy. It was only then that rain swept in from the south west.

The triangulation pillar on Flask Edge

Kimmel

There will be people out there in the blogosphere who have never seen TV host and comedian Jimmy Kimmel and wonder what all the fuss is about. He was silenced today by The Trump Regime. This was Jimmy Kimmel six nights ago...

With apologies to Pastor Martin Niemöller...

First they came for the Mexicans

And I did not speak out

Because I was not a Mexican

Then they came for the woke

And I did not speak out

Because I was not woke

Then they came for the peace camp dwellers in front of The White House

And I did not speak out

Because I was not a peace camp dweller

Then they came for the judges

And I did not speak out

Because I was not a judge

Then they came for the comedians

And I did not speak out

Because I was not a comedian

Then they came for me

And there was no one left

To speak out for me

Penelope

For several weeks, I have been noticing a straggly branch at the very top of our first apple tree. There are apples up there, hanging on for dear life - over thirty feet above the ground. On Monday afternoon, a gale was blowing and yet the apples clung on - even though the straggly branch was being whipped around.

I reflected upon how amazing nature can be - pushing water and nutrients up from the old apple tree's roots - even during Yorkshire's driest summer on record. All along to the very tip of the topmost branch. Pretty incredible.

On Tuesday I was about to venture out for a walk on the moors when I  decided to first try to get a few photos of the treetop. The light conditions were not really in my favour and I had to use a significant amount of zoom. 

Then I noticed we had a familiar visitor - a wood pigeon. Penelope was up at the top of the tree, chilling out and surveying her domain. You can see her in the top picture

The topmost apples from below

Now I don't mind wood pigeons. They need to eat like other birds and they can't help their bulk. This is something I have often said to Shirley when she grumbles about their apparent greed and dominance - pushing out the smaller birds. In the avian world birds of every species do their best to survive.

Another domineering bird we see in our garden most days is the Eurasian magpie - widely thought to be one of the most intelligent creatures in the animal kingdom. They are opportunistic, athletic and nosy. This very morning I was woken by a couple of pecking magpies on our bedroom window ledge. They were probably seeking small insects.

Later, those same birds were gripping to our fatball feeders, eating their breakfasts.

Anyway, a blogpost that was meant to be about apples has now morphed into a blogpost about garden birds. I had better stop at this point before it morphs into something else. 

Penelope Pigeon

Novel

"Long Island"
by Colm Tóibín

Down at Hunter's Bar roundabout there's a bookshop called "Rhyme and Reason". Principally, it sells children's books but there is one large bookcase devoted to fiction for adults. I was in the mood for reading a new novel so that is why I was there.

The bookcase is badly located - up against the little counter and at right angles to it. However, I managed to pluck out a book that I thought I might enjoy - a sequel to "Brooklyn" that was made into a film in 2015. I remembered enjoying that film when it came out - even though, after ten years, the details of it evaded me. "Long Island" is by the Irish writer Colm Tóibín who now, apparently,  lives in the suburbs of Los Angeles.

Books can be funny in the sense that some are hard going for the reader while others are easy - real page turners which make you want to read on and on till you reach the end - sooner rather than later. For me, "Long Island" was very much in that second category. I loved it. I did not have to work at it or struggle to maintain my attention. It simply flowed. This wasn't to do with vocabulary, it was to do with style.

There are no murders in "Long Island", no cops and no detectives. It's about people, how they communicate and the secrets they keep. You end up caring about the central characters - including Eilis, Jim and Nancy. Colm Tóibín treats them tenderly and makes them seem fully human. He clearly knows a lot about the human condition and has an easy way with words.

The novel begins on Long Island but later moves back to Eilis's home town in Ireland - Enniscorthy in County Wexford which also happens to be Colm Tóibín's home town.

I don't want to give too much away in case there are people out there who might choose to read "Long Island" for themselves. However, here's a small sample of the writing:

While Jim was returning to Enniscorthy, a single moment from the previous evening stayed in his mind. She had come back from the bathroom and said, “I would have that bathroom completely redone.” She was not aware how closely he was listening. She did not seem to understand what this sounded like to him. It was its very casualness that made it appear all the more significant. She had let him know that she was imagining this as a place where she would one day live.

So yeah, I am very glad that I picked up this  particular novel in "Rhyme and Reason" the Saturday before last. It was most definitely my cup of tea.

Ceylon2

Sigiriya

Extract from a journal
April 9th 2013

Sundaras Hotel, Dambulla, Sri Lanka

Woke late this morning and didn't get to breakfast till 7.30. Then with the advice of the lovely housekeepers at Settle Inn (Kandy), I caught a local bus into Kandy centre. At one point the bus braked sharply and I stumbled - almost falling on top of the driver. It certainly created amusement for other passengers,

Then, as if by magic, I was straight on to a country bus heading north towards Anuradhapura via Dambulla.

Two hours later, I disembarked in Dambulla and deposited my bag in this little hotel before heading straight off in a tuktuk to get a local bus to Sigiriya. It became as packed as a tin of sardines  and once again I was the only "whitey" on board.

Forty minutes later we were there with the huge volcanic  plug that is Sigiriya rising up out of the jungle. The rock has served many functions in history but it is essentially viewed as a venerable site of ancient Buddhism.

You climb up the sheer rock and come to the fresco cave - then onward and upwards to the fortress plateau where I met two lovely Chinese students whose English was most impressive. The taller girl will be studying at The University of Birmingham in the next academic year. I also met a group of Buddhist monks from Myanmar (Burma). We sat together in the shade of a tree surveying the vast green canopy of trees below us and conversed as best we could.

There are many more things I could say about this visit to such an amazing location but let's fast forward to early evening back in Dambulla where I fancied a couple of beers in a locals bar.

I have just started drinking a cold bottle of "Lion" lager when a one-eyed man appears next to me. He is looking down with his good eye. He has a beer gut and a mean expression and several noticeable scars which he proceeds to show me - no doubt the souvenirs of past drunken battles. He does not speak a word of English and appears a little riled that I cannot speak a word of Sinhalese or Tamil.

Thankfully, the one-eyed man seems to like me but I do not dare to argue when he asks for (a) a glass of 8.8% strong beer and (b) 200 rupees for his glass eye fund.

After three bottle of "Lion" I am very happy to escape from that dark and dingy lair with backpack and wallet still in my possession. I doubt that they have ever seen a white tourist in there before and you certainly would not find that rough drinking hole  listed in the "Lonely Planet" guidebook.

I ate dinner in a humble cafe - a delicious curry feast buffet and a big bottle of water - for less than £2. Marvellous - even if there were a couple of power outages during the consumption of said meal. Then back along the main road to this comfortable and clean hotel.

Terrorist

 

Yesterday, there was a big right wing rally in central London. Ironically, those who gathered probably all voted to leave The European Union in 2017. Brexit continues to hang like a heavy millstone around our nation's neck and it is the chief cause of many economic woes and tensions in our midst.

Several large screens with speakers had been erected at great expense. I wonder who paid for them? Mmm... the answer to that was soon to become clear. The screens flickered and a very big head appeared from Texas, USA. It was none other than the world's richest man and DOGE buddy of the current president. Yes - Elon Musk now performing like Big Brother in George Orwell's "1984". But this is real life, not fiction and it is 2025 not that other year.

Incredibly, chillingly but characteristically I suppose, Mad Musk called for a “dissolution of parliament” and a “change of government” in my country.  As reported in "The Guardian", Musk railed against the “woke mind virus” and told the crowd that “violence is coming” and that “you either fight back or you die”.

He said: “I really think that there’s got to be a change of government in Britain. You can’t – we don’t have another four years, or whenever the next election is, it’s too long. Something’s got to be done. There’s got to be a dissolution of parliament and a new vote held.”

He continued: “There’s so much violence on the left, with our friend Charlie Kirk getting murdered in cold blood this week and people on the left celebrating it openly. The left is the party of murder and celebrating murder. I mean, let that sink in for a minute, that’s who we’re dealing with here.”

Musk was wrong on so many levels. Left wingers and Democrats have universally condemned the assassination of Charlie Kirk. Musk's way of looking at the world is warped and dangerous. Also - what sane person of influence would deliberately seek to stoke up a febrile crowd of right wingers?  Later, the demonstration descended into violence and at least twenty six police officers were injured. Thanks Elon!

But more than this... What is a privileged businessman from a foreign country doing interfering in our nation's politics? He does not live here and he clearly has a piecemeal, selective picture of Britain's political scene that he has moulded to fit his own fascist prejudices. Furthermore, he is not wise. He is a cunning, manipulative and no doubt clever moneymaker but that does not make him wise nor does it make him politically astute or kindly.

Let's erect big video screens outside Musk's Texan sultanate in the middle of nowhere and tell him in no uncertain words to  eff off! And keep your big head out of Britain you pasty-faced billionaire wazzock! Is that enough "woke mind virus" for you? Well, I have got another thing to say chum - your appearance yesterday was a form of terrorism. Yes, you are a terrorist!

Ceylon

Shirley at Jungle Beach near Unuwatuna

Extract from a journal.

April 1st 2013
Hotel Flower Garden, Unuwatuna, Sri Lanka

Shirley's plane arrived ahead of schedule and I was there to meet her following a morning taken up with entertaining little Sadali in Negombo.

We travelled south to Galle in the hotel's minibus - very comfortable, watching the green Sri Lankan countryside drift by - buffalo, small tea plantations, people ambling along dirt roads, shack-like houses hidden by lush tropical trees.

After some hassle about room allocation at the hotel, we went down to the beach where we met a man called Keechua (phonetic spelling). He was touting for business re. scuba diving trips. He told us, in graphic detail, of the day of the tsunami in 2004 and how he ran to higher ground to save his family but returned  to his sea level home later to find his father's dead body floating in the kitchen. His mother was found in the bedroom. Keechua started to weep and I rubbed his shoulder, reassuring him that he had done his best. It wasn't his fault that his mother and father had drowned. He wasn't to blame.

As night descended, looking over the bay, we ate a lovely Sri Lankan fish curry with chopped coconut in a sambal sauce. We didn't have quite enough cash on us and so I promised to return today with the extra money. It was amazingly cheap anyway - about £8 for the two of us with beers and I also had banana fritters and ice cream - delicious.

It's 7.30am just now and breakfast isn't served till 8am. After that we plan to go back into Galle for the rest of the morning.

Breakfast at The Hotel Flower Garden, Unuwatuna

It's hard to believe that this was twelve years ago during my second teaching spell in Bangkok.