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.

Pilgrimage

In 1969 I did not go to Woodstock. Instead I went to see a film called "Kes". It was based upon a novel I had read called "A Kestrel for a Knave" by a Yorkshire writer called Barry Hines.

Later, as a secondary school teacher of English I read "Kes" with a succession of classes and showed them the film version too.  Almost magically, "Kes" had the ability to capture the hearts of the roughest and most disinterested kids. They really engaged with Billy Casper's story - how a skinny lad of low academic ability from a council estate trained a young kestrel. It was inspirational.

And I met Barry Hines once at the Sheffield Trades and Labour Club. We talked for several minutes about the book and whether or not everybody has a hidden talent. He was softly spoken and charming. It was very much a two-way conversation.

Later still, in the 1990s, he was living in Sheffield and my wife became his practice nurse. He had a few ongoing health issues to deal with. And even later than that he began to show signs of Alzheimer's and spent the last decade of his life in a care home in the mining village of Hoyland  where he had been born and raised. Tragically, he had lost the ability to read years before his death in 2016.

Hoyland is a few miles north east of Sheffield and today I drove up there for a walk, parking Butch close to the rather isolated churchyard where Barry Hines and his wife are buried. Then I walked over the M1 motorway into Hoyland where I located a house that Barry Hines lived in during the 1970s. Across from there is a metal sculpture that depicts Billy Casper with his kestrel but it is not as good as the statue I photographed in Barnsley town centre earlier this year.

I also passed the ruins of Tankersley Manor where Barry Hines's brother  Richard gathered his own pet kestrel and trained it - just like Billy Casper. By the way, eighty year old Richard Hines lives fifty yards away from this house and though I have often said "hello" to him, we have never had a proper conversation.

I had been thinking about my private Barry Hines pilgrimage for a while and now I am pleased that I have done it but consequently there are a couple of questions I want to ask Richard. If I see him, I will swallow hard and try to pluck up the necessary courage.

Barry Hines 1939-2016

Changes

WARNING. This blogpost refers to The President of the USA. Do NOT read on if such writing causes personal offence.

The current occupant of The White House has done more to change it than any other president before him.

One big construction project has already been completed - paving over The White House Rose Garden with its famous lawn where many press conferences and official ceremonies occurred in the past. A more major project will be the construction of a $200 million ballroom on the east wing. This luxurious addition will be able to accommodate up to 650 guests.

Many of the changes have been on a smaller scale. A lot of golden bling has been added to the principal rooms including the famous Oval Office. This is the kind of vulgar and tasteless decoration that the 47th president clearly loves for it is also visible in  Trump Tower and at Mar-a-Lago. Perhaps someone should have whispered in his ear that you don't get style and elegance by slapping golden trimmings all over the place. He is also fond of ugly, gilded picture frames that distract terribly from the pictures within them.

Talking about pictures, the incumbent has shifted a lot of pictures of past presidents around - relegating Democrat presidents to less visible locations. A fine official portrait of President Obama that was on display in the entrance hall has been replaced in favour of a hyper-realistic portrait of  the 47th president himself - following the alleged assassination attempt at Butler, Pennsylvania.

Should you visit The White House you will probably spot that the original coasters have been replaced with chunky fake gold coasters that have the word "TRUMP" on them. Again - pretty vulgar but what does he care? As I said before, he has no sense of style and little dignity.

It is somewhat ironic that he has often banged on about "fake news" when he paints his face orange and when his golden mane is also fake. In addition, it is clear that he likes to dwell in fake environments, surrounded by tasteless golden bling including plaster adornments sprayed with fake gold. You cannot make this stuff up.

Arguably, he should have spent more time focusing on Ukraine and Gaza and less upon how to spoil the historical appearance of The White House - formerly known as the people's house.