I note the vast star Betelgeuse...

in Orion has started to dim and is expected to supernova within a 100,000 years or so. And if that's not enough there's speculation that gravity waves have been detected from the Orion quadrant too. V exciting times indeed. The arrow helpfully added is not to scale or else I'm sure it would be mentioned in the literature.

Evidence of animal that moved 550 million years ago..

found in Canada. Reported in New Scientist Mag the worm like creature lived on the ocean floor and by all accounts was previously a fern. These pre-Cambrian ferns called Ediacarans swayed in shallow salt waters secured by a root or foot of some type. Evolution, ever the joker then developed this ability to move around hence the fossil trail pictured above. So far, this is the earliest evidence of mobility of any kind, anywhere on earth. The trail suggests that in the move from one place to another the creature was acting purposefully. Now then, there's no evidence a brain was involved but something lit up a ganglia of sorts in that tiny example of things yet to come, and off it went. There were no predators to chase the old thing because evolution was yet to develop fish and crustaceans. Maybe another Ediacaran also out for a wander got too close or the neighbourhood became too uncertain. Or maybe it was just that time of the day when a group of special cells decided to saddle up and light out for the territory.

It is fascinating that the modern scientific eye can gaze on evidence that is 550 million years old and make some sense of it. Equally astonishing is that 550 million years ago a creature evolved that could move under its own volition and thereby gain a distinct advantage over the other fronds who just hung about.

Giant pumice raft...

found in Pacific Ocean. Following a long meander the Manhattan sized edifice, by then awash with briny life will fetch up on Australian shores bringing hope and cheer to what's left of the Great Barrier Reef. And in these dark time there will also be briny life, oh yes there will be briny life. 

Giant parrot fossil found in...

New Zealand not far from the fossil of a giant penguin who disappointingly is not shown on the diagram. Note the mischievous bird is eyeing up the woman's purse.

One is forced to surmise such a creature's cage would take up half the average living room. And a cage would be necessary for this large bird especially if you were fond of your furniture.

There'd be no chuckling under the chin or fingers through the cage bars. And shrieks of “WHO'S A PRETTY BOY THEN!" would probably see off your modern eardrum.

The parrot's capacity to mimic language would also need to be carefully managed especially if every utterance was available to the whole street. After "WHAT THE FUCK MALCOLM" is bellowed a hundred times the wistful shrugs and wan smiles shared with neighbours might lose their potency and especially if local infants start to copy the parrot. It's a well known fact that 3 year old blasphemers are held back in nursery.

"Eating us out of house and home" is a phrase generally reserved for growing teenagers but what to say to that which eats your house and home. For this omnivore a haunch or two of venison might be more impactful at getting attention than whispers of "Please stop Polly" though whispering is a wise move as these creatures are notoriously nervous and have a hatred of sudden noise.

Finally, the rhythm slows and the long day eases with a light touch into those shallow moments just before sleep. The king size sheet, for so long at the bottom of the bedding chest is tossed never casually over the feathered funster and finally the house rests. Unless that is the damn thing talks in its sleep. And as the sheet billows the bird bellows, "PUT THE FUCKING LIDS BACK ON THE FUCKING JARS. HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU."

That the giant parrot's stalking days are long gone must surely be a blessing to us all.

Mass brawl on a P&O

cruise ship has caused a stir in the British Press. A black tie event was spoiled when offence was taken to some wag arriving in a clown's outfit. Rather than congratulations for pricking P&O pomposity the clown was set upon by disgruntled passengers. In the ensuing melee the buffet was overturned, chairs were thrown and there is mention of a table leg though it's not clear what role that played. I'm assuming the leg was waived about as are such items in a fight.

I have visions of a camera slowly panning down a queue of men in bow ties and women in long evening dresses before pausing at the chap in a one piece clown suit and curly orange wig perched atop a white face with his bright red mouth painted into a scary grin. Everyone seemingly ignores this distractive element to an otherwise formal but relaxed evening little knowing that beneath the sang froid a pressure is building and ready to explode. Which of course it then did and over went the chicken drum sticks, the cocktail sausages and profiteroles. Up flew the vol-au-vaunts, the salmon and cucumber sandwiches cut into triangles with the crust removed. Away went the punch as punch after punch was thrown this way and that by Krusty the Klown on the one hand and assorted red faced cruisers on the other.  Only the crew’s swift work deploying liberal doses of CS gas and buckshot enabled a semblance of order to be finally restored.

A spokesperson for P&O said later, "Well, none of us saw that coming."

Chimpanzees bond best over a good movie...

or so The Guardian reports today. Researchers in the US studying the matter say chimps are more sociable after popcorn and a good weepie. Bit like the rest of us, then, methinks.

Racehorse shakes up bar...

shock. The overexcited European press got, well, overexcited recently reporting, as Horse and Hound Magazine so pithily described, a 'loose' horse paying a French bar an unexpected visit. Some years ago another horse was found where it should not have been, that time in the UK food chain.

One can only admire horsey enterprise even if it’s a little hit and miss sometimes.

Haworth in West Yorkshire...

on a recent and damp Saturday evening.

Our dog Benson...

on the Rochdale canal yesterday. A sunny and quiet morning but for the buzzing of insects and splash of ducks fleeing Benson's eager jaws. In the 18 months we have walked this path Benson has not come close to catching a bird. Methinks those wily birds are giving Benson the bird. Benson’s 100% failure rate has discouraged him not one jot nor dampened his enthusiasm for the chase which for him, I suppose, is the point. Oh but how he must also long for that ducky flesh, the tearing of the gizzard, the quack of despair. For Benson, the chase is a many layered thing or a many lumbering thing because the poor dog has no guile. He has enthusiasm in spades but at catching birds he might as well wave a flag. Of course he doesn’t need to eat duck what with the smoked salmon waiting at home.

Mid August and so far...

me and Lisa have picked 5 kilos of blackberries from the wild briar that lash and tumble over dry stone walls and down the vertiginous hillsides of West Yorkshire where we live. We baked those sweet dark berries beneath two crumbles and boiled the remaining into six jars of jam. There’s probably another fortnight of fruit yet to ripen before this year’s harvest is over.

Here's a poem by Seamus Heaney called Blackberry Picking.

Late August, given heavy rain and sun
For a full week, the blackberries would ripen.
At first, just one, a glossy purple clot
Among others, red, green, hard as a knot.
You ate that first one and it's flesh was sweet
Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it
Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust for
Picking. Then red ones inked up and that hunger
Sent us out with milk cans, pea cans, jam pots
Where briars scratched and wet grass bleached our boots.
Round hayfields, cornfields and potato drills
We trekked and picked until the cans were full,
Until the tinkling bottom had been covered
With green ones, and on top big dark blobs burned
Like a plate of eyes. Our hands were peppered
With thorn pricks, our palms sticky as Bluebeard's.

We hoarded the fresh berries in the byre.
But when the bath was filled we found a fur,
A rat grey fungus, glutting our cache.
The juice was stinking too. Once off the bush
The fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour.
I always felt like crying. It wasn't fair
That all the lovely canfuls smelt of rot.
Each year I hoped they'd keep, knew they would not.

I am retired. After 49 years of work. Free at last... free at last! And just in time for the hottest UK summer in many a long year. Below is a panoramic photo from the Oban to Castlebay ferry.

I'd recommend Barra Gin and Isle of Harris Gin to any aficionados who like the Atlantic wild and Scottish sea air rich. Both gins are Outer Hebridean brews heady with the salt and tang of westerly blusters roaring and ferocious. To be truthful both gins are subtle and delicious especially over ice with a good tonic to crisp them up. Lisa and me have polished off a bottle of the Harris Gin already. Lucky we bought two of each. Wey hey!

It’s time...

to restart the old blog. Dust the keyboard, arrange the pencils, tidy the desk, empty the bin, crack the knuckles, polish the worn leather swivel chair that creaks and groans. And we’re off...

The late afternoon...

winter sun infused with colour soothes the weary eye.

Above Heptonstall Moor on a cold Saturday in January.

A view from Sutton Bank, North Yorkshire...

                      A poem from Kelly Deschler.

                                     "Melting snows begin to fade.
                           As a newborn season arrives.
                              Refreshing our lives grown dull.
                                Cradled in green budding leaves,
                                    Hushed by the winds of spring."

Gravitational waves...

that stretch and contract the universal fabric have been discovered which proves once and for all that everything, including us stretch and contract with the cosmic chop. To paraphrase Prospero, "We are such stuff as dreams are made on and our little life is boundless with toing and froing."

Dawn...

over La Gomera in the Canaries.

Pitcher plant in France eats only foreign...

hornets reports BBC. Evil Asian hornets with talons like Fu Manchu and a taste for the saintly European bee have finally met their match in the pitcher plant Sarracenia. "Asian hornets are a menace to beehives." Says an unnamed bee lover.

A spokesbug for the Ancient Order of Asian Hornets replying to the charge said, "We are a menace but we're also part of a growing movement to eat more insects. Call us a green menace if you must. Yes, yes I know we're really yellow and some other colour that's not black but you catch my drift." Asked to comment on being eaten themselves the spokesbug said, "With us it's a ying and yang thing. One day you eat the bear the next day the bear eats you. We're not remotely like your European bees, always whining, never happy. For us it's an honour to be eaten by Sarracenia. Know why it's called a pitcher plant? One whiff and you'll pitch into anything. Ha ha ha. That's a little hornet joke. No? Ah well, please yourselves. Any more questions, comments? "Good, because I'm late for a beehive party. Harry, fetch the car round."

OMD...

Souvenir  (link to crackly old vid on youtube but a great tune nevertheless)