For well over a year there was a travelling family living in a caravan parked just off the road by the roundabout going into Naas from Ballymore. Complete with garden shed and, during the festive season, their own Christmas tree. And they didn't get moved on by the Guards. The travelling community appears to have certain unwritten rights of domicile anywhere, here in Ireland. I am pretty sure that if I holed up beside a busy road I'd be moved on.
And then I read this editorial about a Somali woman and son who have lived on a bench in South London for four years.
I am impressed by the care the local council are giving them and somehow glad that they have been allowed to go on living this way, for they are not hurting anyone. But again I wonder what would happen if you or I decided to do the same. You'd need some stick-ability.
Because I too have wondered from time to time about some sort of alternative living arrangements. Like one of these "tiny homes" or even a caravan.
20191026
Daylight saving
According to Wikipedia, the idea of so called Daylight Saving was first proposed by George Hudson in 1895. And this imbecile system has continued until the present day, although much of the world sensibly eschews it.
It is an example of politics trying to gain control over nature. Politicians would do better to concentrate on what they are good at. But maybe that leaves them with so much spare time on their hands that they cannot help but come up with ridiculous schemes. Leastways George apparently came up with the idea in his spare time.
Without doubt the "arrow of time" moves in one direction only, and a clock is a device that measures that progress. No time machine has yet been invented that can reverse the flow. Except for daylight saving.
If indeed it is helpful to shift work hours biannually, whatever is wrong with simply changing the times at which the work day begins and ends, rather than changing the clock?
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| George |
It is an example of politics trying to gain control over nature. Politicians would do better to concentrate on what they are good at. But maybe that leaves them with so much spare time on their hands that they cannot help but come up with ridiculous schemes. Leastways George apparently came up with the idea in his spare time.
Without doubt the "arrow of time" moves in one direction only, and a clock is a device that measures that progress. No time machine has yet been invented that can reverse the flow. Except for daylight saving.
If indeed it is helpful to shift work hours biannually, whatever is wrong with simply changing the times at which the work day begins and ends, rather than changing the clock?
Glad I'm back home
Eternal blue skies, hot weather, brown grass and fake skies be blowed - I'd rather have Ireland any day, even though it's perishingly cold at the moment. My usual circuit plus a bit of the lake today, bare foot of course.
20191024
The strip
More pictures of The Strip on our second night "on the tiles". See last post.
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| Ultra bright high resolution LED displays |
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| Water display |
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| Is this France? |
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| All under a hotel - with fake sky! |
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| Monorail |
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| The hotel with the searchlight on top |
20191023
Senlin ascends
I'm in Las Vegas on a business trip. This evening my host drove me up and down "the strip" and then we ate in a pub-like place in a boulevard under the New York New York Hotel. It's like a shopping mal - you walk on simulated cobbled streets, with a zillion stories of hotel above and weighing down on top of you. It reminded me of Senlin's experience in the Tower of Babel. The whole edifice of this hotel and the strip in general has one purpose - to suck money out of those unfortunates that happen there. With much entertainments, flashing lights, vain promises and banter. Oh, and there are numerous "wedding chapels" where you can get married for a song. Trouble is I had no girl with me...
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| Stock photo of the New York New York |
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| Looking upwards to an LED canopy above the road |
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| One of the incredibly bright high res LED billboards |
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| The boulevard under the New York New York hotel |
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| Searchlight atop a hotel that looks like a Egyptian pyramid |
20191015
Men love darkness
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| Breakfast view |
Edison did an outstanding job - where would we be today without electric light? But given the choice between natural and artificial light I'd choose the former any day. And so it is that at this time of the year I eat my breakfast by the light of the dawn, until Other People here emerge from their beds and turn lights on All Over The Place claiming they cannot otherwise see. So strange. These are people who would rather run on a rubber belt in an unattractive shed than enjoy the real world, the wind caressing one's body, glorious vistas, maybe a dip in the lake. One of my grandchildren barges in and turns all ten ceiling spots on. Someone else turns the kitchen lights on to make coffee, then exits leaving them on. And we have to have lights continuously burning 24/7 in the corridors because otherwise how would folk get around? Thankfully at least we now use low energy bulbs.
A small price to pay for living with Others!
20191014
Hip Hip Hooray!
Ali has just had her second hip replacement and we are awaiting her release from the hospital. Meanwhile, Sunday afternoon and on the way home from visiting, I stopped by Saggart Woods overlooking Dublin - I have been meaning to explore there for some time.
There are some forestry tracks marked on the map, and numerous other paths not marked, frequented and maybe made by BMX cyclists. And quite a few dog walkers out. There is a bunch of communications towers at the top of Saggart Hill (lower left on my map) which became my goal.
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| 5.43 miles, elevation gain 299m |
There are some forestry tracks marked on the map, and numerous other paths not marked, frequented and maybe made by BMX cyclists. And quite a few dog walkers out. There is a bunch of communications towers at the top of Saggart Hill (lower left on my map) which became my goal.
20191012
The Royal Albert Hall
I have mentioned Saint-Saëns Symphony No 3 before. I raved about it in teenage years whilst at school with nickname SSS. It has been somewhat mutilated in common culture by its use in that dreadful film Babe, but that's OK because I've never been common and don't intend to start now.
So I was listening to this recording in a Proms concert and came all over with possessive feelings about the Royal Albert Hall, the BBC, and indeed London then England in general. I am English, after all, and cannot help it. I was born like it. Is that wrong? Even though I do not think I have ever had the privilege of attending a Proms concert, that being not for lack of desire but because of other persuasions.
Here in Dublin we have the National Concert Hall which is OK but not quite the same. You can say what you like about Brexit or not Brexit, about the Empire and all its dreadful atrocities, but there is something solid about England. Winchester. Oxford. Even Cambridge. The Pennines. Devon and Cornwall. Hampshire. Alresford. This is My England. I wonder will I ever live there again?
So I was listening to this recording in a Proms concert and came all over with possessive feelings about the Royal Albert Hall, the BBC, and indeed London then England in general. I am English, after all, and cannot help it. I was born like it. Is that wrong? Even though I do not think I have ever had the privilege of attending a Proms concert, that being not for lack of desire but because of other persuasions.
Here in Dublin we have the National Concert Hall which is OK but not quite the same. You can say what you like about Brexit or not Brexit, about the Empire and all its dreadful atrocities, but there is something solid about England. Winchester. Oxford. Even Cambridge. The Pennines. Devon and Cornwall. Hampshire. Alresford. This is My England. I wonder will I ever live there again?
20191006
Kate 'n' Dave
Unlike http://theozreport.blogspot.com the primary purpose of this blog is not to keep family and friends informed of my actions or movements. Any such information is thus quite accidental. But I could not let last week's shenanigans pass without some reference so here are a few random photos to celebrate K and D's visit.
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| Bedraggled K & D on a very wet day at Wicklow town |
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| My beloved K at The Rocks |
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| Her beloved D on a rock |
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| On another Rock at Cashel |
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| The enjoyment of being tourists in Ireland |
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| Speaking of the weather, we enjoyed this stunning rainbow |
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| At the meeting of the Glenmacnass and Inchavore rivers |
20190924
I am the boxer
I am just a poor boy
Though my story's seldom told
I have squandered my resistance
For a pocket full of mumbles, such are promises
All lies and jests
Still a man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest
...
In the clearing stands a boxer
And a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders
Of ev'ry glove that laid him down
Or cut him till he cried out
In his anger and his shame
"I am leaving, I am leaving"
But the fighter still remains, mmm mmm
Simon and Garfunkel, 1969
Possibly their greatest song both for its music, its lyrics and its truth. Paul said "I think the song was about me". Me too. What if the promises I believe in are a bunch of mumbles? If they are not then to say so is rank blasphemy and there's the rub. And that last stanza - how strongly it resonates with my experience. Where would I go? But the fighter still remains!
Though my story's seldom told
I have squandered my resistance
For a pocket full of mumbles, such are promises
All lies and jests
Still a man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest
...
In the clearing stands a boxer
And a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders
Of ev'ry glove that laid him down
Or cut him till he cried out
In his anger and his shame
"I am leaving, I am leaving"
But the fighter still remains, mmm mmm
Simon and Garfunkel, 1969
Possibly their greatest song both for its music, its lyrics and its truth. Paul said "I think the song was about me". Me too. What if the promises I believe in are a bunch of mumbles? If they are not then to say so is rank blasphemy and there's the rub. And that last stanza - how strongly it resonates with my experience. Where would I go? But the fighter still remains!
20190922
Church Mountain again
Church Mountain again. From and back to home barefoot. 14.6 miles. Elevation gain 697m. Some rain. Very tired!
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| Our lakes |
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| Summit cairn |
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| Marked for slaughter? |
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| Toor brook |
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| Almost back to civilisation |
20190921
If this world is not my home
This world is not my home
I'm just a passing through
My treasures are laid up
Somewhere beyond the blue...
It's hard to disagree with these sentiments but there are some here-and-now-treasures that I figure I will never forget even come eternity. Certain experiences like that walk along the coast from Lee Abbey, or a panorama that opens up on reaching a mountain summit, a riot of flowers, strawberries sprinkled with sugar, falling in love and its consummation, slipping naked into the sea or a mountain lake, running barefoot through grassy river meadows. And music...
If ever there was quintessential humanity it is in music. It seems that the human psyche is preconditioned to appreciate what we call music. Scientists try to understand this in terms of evolutionary advantage, which music does not seem to have. Or is it that music can in fact actually transcend mere humanity as when at the very dawn of history the morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy or at that singularity of divine purpose suddenly there was with the angle a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!" Is it after all the prime medium whereby we worship so it must be capable of prising a crack in the heavenlies.
Apparently not everyone experiences frisson aka the chills when listening to music. My friend Flavia describes this feeling very well when, attending her mother's funeral, she says: the organ swelled into a song of triumph, the glorious music causing me to feel suddenly as if caterpillars were crawling up my spine. They say this frisson is the result of a dopamine release caused by the brain as it anticipates patterns it recognises in music.
Often I pass through the kitchen here and the cooks have an electronic gizmo playing Goodness Knows What through a tinny loudspeaker. IMHO and in mild disgust this muzak seems to me mere noise being used to fill a void. But then my hearing is poor. My ultra reverence for serious music does not acknowledge background "music", which foible of mine tends to restrict the amount and type I listen to.
I've always been fascinated by the aeolian harp. Although man-made to be harmonic, it is played by the wind and so, to some degree, the sound it makes is random, so can it be called music? For music it must be, in that it gives us the chills, it stirs one's heart-strings. So there we have it - music reaches into the heavens and at the same time reaches into our innermost being.
Of course I'm only talking about "good" music. But it seems that what's good for one person may be bad for another and who am I to judge? Besides, I've noticed with music, or a novel, indeed any art form - you have to go beyond the first impression in order to fully enjoy it. Good art has depth. Which reinforces the idea of anticipation. It's hard to anticipate something that is alien.
The longest running BBC Radio 4 program Desert Island Discs has been on the air since January 1942. In it the castaway gets to choose eight recordings (usually music), a book and a luxury item to take to his or her desert island in addition to the Complete Works of Shakespeare and the Bible (etc.) and, one supposes, food. A tantalizingly short excerpt of each recording is played, but the interesting part is what and why the choices. So far they haven't invited me to the program. I think I know why.
What music would you choose? I can go along with the three "absolute favourites" in this video clip and readers of this blog will know that I would add at least Bruckner's eighth. And maybe Handel's Messiah. Most of my choices would be so called "classical" but I might add some Simon and Garfunkel. Maybe even some hymn tunes for their harmony. And, talking about the Emperor concerto, I really liked Alina Berco's performance.
Music can be so rich, so perfect, so evocative, so uplifting, sublime, fantastic, almost too good to be true. Like Golden Syrup or Evaporated milk but so much better and with much longer lasting effect. I'd be sad if heaven excluded it.
I'm just a passing through
My treasures are laid up
Somewhere beyond the blue...
It's hard to disagree with these sentiments but there are some here-and-now-treasures that I figure I will never forget even come eternity. Certain experiences like that walk along the coast from Lee Abbey, or a panorama that opens up on reaching a mountain summit, a riot of flowers, strawberries sprinkled with sugar, falling in love and its consummation, slipping naked into the sea or a mountain lake, running barefoot through grassy river meadows. And music...
If ever there was quintessential humanity it is in music. It seems that the human psyche is preconditioned to appreciate what we call music. Scientists try to understand this in terms of evolutionary advantage, which music does not seem to have. Or is it that music can in fact actually transcend mere humanity as when at the very dawn of history the morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy or at that singularity of divine purpose suddenly there was with the angle a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!" Is it after all the prime medium whereby we worship so it must be capable of prising a crack in the heavenlies.
Apparently not everyone experiences frisson aka the chills when listening to music. My friend Flavia describes this feeling very well when, attending her mother's funeral, she says: the organ swelled into a song of triumph, the glorious music causing me to feel suddenly as if caterpillars were crawling up my spine. They say this frisson is the result of a dopamine release caused by the brain as it anticipates patterns it recognises in music.
Often I pass through the kitchen here and the cooks have an electronic gizmo playing Goodness Knows What through a tinny loudspeaker. IMHO and in mild disgust this muzak seems to me mere noise being used to fill a void. But then my hearing is poor. My ultra reverence for serious music does not acknowledge background "music", which foible of mine tends to restrict the amount and type I listen to.
I've always been fascinated by the aeolian harp. Although man-made to be harmonic, it is played by the wind and so, to some degree, the sound it makes is random, so can it be called music? For music it must be, in that it gives us the chills, it stirs one's heart-strings. So there we have it - music reaches into the heavens and at the same time reaches into our innermost being.
Of course I'm only talking about "good" music. But it seems that what's good for one person may be bad for another and who am I to judge? Besides, I've noticed with music, or a novel, indeed any art form - you have to go beyond the first impression in order to fully enjoy it. Good art has depth. Which reinforces the idea of anticipation. It's hard to anticipate something that is alien.
The longest running BBC Radio 4 program Desert Island Discs has been on the air since January 1942. In it the castaway gets to choose eight recordings (usually music), a book and a luxury item to take to his or her desert island in addition to the Complete Works of Shakespeare and the Bible (etc.) and, one supposes, food. A tantalizingly short excerpt of each recording is played, but the interesting part is what and why the choices. So far they haven't invited me to the program. I think I know why.
What music would you choose? I can go along with the three "absolute favourites" in this video clip and readers of this blog will know that I would add at least Bruckner's eighth. And maybe Handel's Messiah. Most of my choices would be so called "classical" but I might add some Simon and Garfunkel. Maybe even some hymn tunes for their harmony. And, talking about the Emperor concerto, I really liked Alina Berco's performance.
Music can be so rich, so perfect, so evocative, so uplifting, sublime, fantastic, almost too good to be true. Like Golden Syrup or Evaporated milk but so much better and with much longer lasting effect. I'd be sad if heaven excluded it.
20190919
More Royal canal and Tolka valley
The occasion - Ali's out-patients visit to the Cappagh Hospital prior to the other hip being done hopefully soon. So I ran (barefoot) whilst she waited and stuff. I clocked up 10.66 miles (and all that), and explored the Royal canal and river Tolka almost from where I got to the other day. Looks like I've figured how to insert pics from my phone in the correct order! The bit where the railway and canal with its tow paths cross the M50 / N3 interchange was of particular interest - in short they did a good job in preserving the old with the new.
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| My track |
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| Tolka valley near Blanchardstown |
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| River Tolka |
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| "Board walk" actually iron walk |
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| Royal canal aqueduct over the M50 |
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| Same |
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| The main railway NE from Dublin follows the canal |
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| Nice that they left this old bridge in the M50 interchange |
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| My path in yellow - the old bridge is in the yellow box |
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| M50 interchange everywhere |
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| Locks on the canal |
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| Down train at Navan Road Parkway station |
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| Royal canal |
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| Level crossing at Ashtown - here I turned north |
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| Building site on the last leg of my run (literally) |
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