Wasted and England

I have just finished and enjoyed reading Tono-Bungay by H. G. Wells. It is considered to be his "semi-autobiography" novel and is very different from his relatively sterile and mechanic science fiction novels such as War of the Worlds. It is a sad but very real and personal account which concludes that the lives of the narrator/author and those he dealt with were "wasted" in a search for truth.

"Wasted" is a sad epitaph and I would like better for myself and those I love. At least Wells was honest enough so as to give his readers a chance to rethink their lives. People are remembered for all manner of achievements -  Isambard Kingdom Brunel comes to mind for his splendid name and his bridge over the river Tamar which I loved from first sight as a child - such accomplishments are far beyond any of mine. Perhaps I should simply be content with godliness which, the good book says, is great gain, but how to do that?

Towards the end of his book Wells writes "This is England. That is what I wanted to give in my book. This!". This quality, this entity which is England, is something I would like to write more about. It is what makes me want to write "English" rather than "British" on official documents such as a passport application. Having heard the Irish perspective I am now no longer so proud to be British but I cannot help still being English and I sometimes hanker for England's rolling hills, picturesque villages and profusion of footpaths. Possibly the distinction between British and English is not clear to those who belong to other nationalities.

My wife likes the English traffic lights, road signs and hedgerows which, she says, are more robust and less untidy than here in Ireland. I am not altogether sure that this is a fair judgement. Ireland is, after all, a different country so one should expect some differences.

My parents had a thin blue paper-back book of poems - possibly This is my England and other poems - anyway it tickled my fancy at the time because it seemed to evoke "England", and I would like to read it again. The nearest I could find on the internet was Duality, an anthology by the same author, and I recognise the style. If anyone wants to do me a good turn they could lend or buy me a copy of This is my England and other peoms... But probably I would find it no longer had the same appeal.

I don't like your music

It is not that music by Bruckner is the only music I like, nor that I like all music by Bruckner. But it is true that I have rather definite musical preferences and that they seem to be very different from those of anyone else I know. To a degree I have chosen to make Bruckner my "favourite composer" rather as yellow is my "favourite colour" but it goes a lot deeper than that. Generally I am not offended by the music other people like but recently I chose to don ear-defenders because what a colleague was playing was driving me up the wall. I can only suppose that this person liked his music, just as some like sushi, but how is it that music attracts such vehement emotions as hate or love?

Although my parents disapproved of "pop" music, which has left me feel guilty about listening to some pop music I happen to like, I do not think they were responsible for my musical tastes.  I didn't find Bruckner - he found me. As I may have said elsewhere, when I bought my reel-to-reel tape recorder (a purchase akin to buying an iPod now) I searched the radio-waves for music and recorded anything I liked. In this way I happened to record Bruckner's seventh and only much later found out what it was and that there was more and better.

Professor North reckons that musical taste is connected to personality. He does not resolve down as far as Bruckner but he does at least claim that Classical fans "have high self-esteem, are creative, introvert and at ease" which I reckon fits me reasonably well (though I say it myself). If he is right then it has little or nothing to do with one's parents or upbringing except so far as our personality is so formed.

But the category "classical" is far to wide to describe my likes - there is plenty of music that would be regarded as "classical" that I dislike.

It has been said that you either love or hate Bruckner (meaning his music) - rather as Orson Scott Card suggested that you will either love or hate his Ender's Game. In each case I think those hate do so because they fail to identify. Card says:

"I think that most of us, anyway, read these stories that we know are not "true" because we're hungry for another kind of truth: the mythic truth about human nature in general, the particular truth about those life-communities that define our own identity, and the most specific truth of all: our own self-story. Fiction, because it is not about someone who lived in the real world, always has the possibility of being about oneself."

That resonates with me - for me a "good book" or film is one that I can in some way identify with - usually but not necessarily with one of the characters in the book. When I listen to (some) of Bruckner's music I identify or, if you like, I feel "at home".

Swimming naked

I may have mentioned before that, without doubt, the best way to swim is naked. But the sea and our lake are such large and public things. I suppose it is our cultural upbringing that makes us so self-conscious, embarrassed, even guilty about swimming (or doing anything) naked even when reasonable precautions are taken to ensure privacy. This attitude must be instilled in us from an early age because even children can be very embarrassed about getting changed in a public place. Please understand, I am in not any way advocating indecent exposure.

And so I was interested in a recent experience I had. I will not divulge the place or time as another party was involved, but I was running along the coast and chanced upon a small sandy beach far enough away from any roads and thus the mass of humanity to be relatively private. It was summer so I was in shorts and intending to swim. I noticed a family at the far end of the beach and as I got closer I saw that the father and his two children were running into the sea stark naked. The mother was dressed and sitting on the beach. By the time I reached her they were away swimming so decent enough, so I asked her if she would mind if I also swam naked? I added that I would go to the other end of the small beach and be discrete. She said she didn't mind so that is what I did.

The point I want to make is that, because I had obtained "permission", I felt so much liberty and was quite without reserve as I dispensed with shorts and ran into the warm, rolling sea. And I enjoyed that time of swimming possibly more than at any other time. Strange that "permission" from an unknown person made all the difference to my scruples. Surely my principles ought not to be so easily affected?

Song of Albion and Sushi

When I started my Song of Albion series on music I thought I would keep posting on the subject - I have plenty more material - and perhaps I will sometime - but I have kind of run out of steam because, well let me explain the connection with sushi.

The idea of eating cold raw fish has never appealed to me so sushi would not be something I would choose. Any more than jellied eels or cold borscht. Give me fish and chips or cheese on toast or a bacon butty any day. But yesterday my daughter invited me to her home-brew sushi party and kindly assured me she had prepared sushi made with chicken to soften my experience. I had no problem with the seaweed or the special sushi rice - the taste was OK - but everything on my plate was so cold and clammy. And why spend all that time chopping stuff up small and packing it into strange cylindrical shapes? I don't get it. And yet the rest of the party apparently enjoyed their raw fish versions. And other folk across the globe apparently enjoy the sushi experience. So either they are all putting on a show or else I am weird.

And if I am weird (by which I mean having very peculiar tastes) then what is the good of me making any comment whatsoever on a subject like music which is so subjective?

Silsean again

The first day of autumn turned out to be the last day of summer so, after consulting with the dog who promptly lay down as if to say "no run today thanks" I biked to the forestry access to Silsean and then climbed on foot barefoot (same route as before). I still get muddled up between Silsean and Moanbane but I think it was the former...

They have cut down and decimated the forest area so the mossy glens have disappeared - sad but there will be others to find elsewhere. But the climb to the top and the small lakes when you get there are much the same.  There's a great sense of freedom when you are walking on the top of the world.

This lake is about 0.5m deep plus mud

On my last visit this was covered with about 0.2m of water

The cairn at the summit of Silsean

View of home across Blessington reservoir

The decimated forestry area, Silsean in distance

First day of Autumn

Morning mist over the lake

A decided chill in the air this morning and the trees are beginning to turn, but a beautiful morning. I think I have to concede that Autumn is upon us. I could not resist running down to the lake to take these pictures. Click on a picture to enlarge it.

Looking south

Looking north

The nearer shore beyond the mist

Valleymount bridge

Autumn fruit

Sloes by the roadside

Masses of blackberries

The noble beech

Uffculme run

The occasion: a relative-in-law's surprise 70'th birthday party. I had a spare couple of hours before we needed to set off so ran to Uffculme and back, barefoot of course.  Here you can see my track, the total distance being just short of 9 miles. The photos were taken on my smart phone with the scratched camera "lens" so are a bit misty. I left just after 06:00 so enjoyed the sunrise and best part of the day.

Sunrise over Uffculme Straight

Turning left in Uffculme I found this delightful path over a field - delightful, that is, to bare feet!  The letters in brackets refer to the map above.

Footpath through meadow (A)

Doubling back into Uffculme again I chanced upon this strange brick building which was, apparently, built as a brewery, see http://blackdownarchives.org.uk/category/trades/page/14/

William Furze’s Steam Brewery (B)

Leaving Uffculme I crossed the river (along which there is a grassy footpath which must therefore be the subject of a future run), and ascended to Gaddon Down.

River Culm

Interesting business venture

Uffculme from Gaddon Down (C)

My route then skirted around Bradfield House and returned across the Culm and through Willand old village.

Bradfield House grand entrance

Bradfield House side view

Early morning feeding

There used to be a railway along the Culm valley which doubtless served the brewery and also a large mill in Uffculme. Regrettably I did not get to see much evidence so that must also be fuel for the next time I am in this neck of the woods.

Culm valley railway

Kippure

Bike ride: 57 miles, maximum 39.7 mph, average 11.1 mph (because I was tired when I started!). Blessington, Cloghleagh Bridge, Sally Gap, Kippure, Glenmacnass, Larragh, Wicklow Gap.

Upper reaches of Shankill River

At Cloghleagh Bridge I stopped and walked upstream (last time I went downstream to the Liffey) and was suitably impressed by the accessibility and many pools some deep enough to swim in.

Looking back down the Shankill to Cloghleagh bridge

There are many pools like this, some deep enough to swim

At this point I turned back. Why do humans destroy what they are given?

Resuming my journey towards the Sally Gap I stopped again because this part of the Liffey valley is so beautiful.

My favourite part of the Liffey valley

Same, looking back, a bit further up

That's the river Liffey, now but a stream

I turned left at the Sally Gap summit to explore Kippure. There were zillions of notices forbidding close encounter and besides the private road to the top was very steep so I did not quite make it to the top.

The TV mast on Kippure

View from same - you can just make out the sea

That pointy thing to the right is the Sugar Loaf mountain near Bray.  Then is was mostly downhill all the way to Larragh.

Much needed lunch stop on the Military Road

At Larragh I refuelled and started the ascent, stopping a bit further up than usual for my customary stop to regain breath. The idea was to find some more adits but no joy and motivation for further exploration was ebbing by this stage.

Clear water near Turlough Hill (there were fish)

St Kevin's way crosses here

Australia at large

Australia is a huge place. To set me in the mood and to see some of the Australia beyond the tiny area we visited I watched two films on the 'plane. I could not hear the soundtrack so missed some of the plot. Rabbit Proof Fence follows three aboriginal girls who run away, after being plucked from their home to be educated by "well meaning" whites. Tracks tells the true story of Robyn Davidson, a young woman who in 1977 undertook a perilous solo trek across 1,700 miles from Alice Springs to the western coast. The photography was stunning. I took some screen shots whilst watching Tracks - the nearest I got to seeing Ayres Rock!

Ayres Rock

Mia Wasikowska as  Robyn Davidson

Whilst crossing Australia on our way home I had GPS active on my smart-phone so was able to verify that we crossed directly over Lake Eyre which is Australia's largest salt lake and lowest elevation of 15m below sea level. It is the world's 13th largest lake. Except that most of the time it is dry - just salt flats. According to this site it was mostly dry when we crossed.

Lake Eyre from the air

And whilst in "large" mode - here is the point where we crossed the equator according to my GPS:

Actually a few seconds late!

X marks the spot

Railways in Australia

In Britain the gauge wars resolved with an Act of Parliament in 1846 establishing the universal adoption of the "standard gauge" of 4' 8½". No such resolution occurred in Australia so there are three main gauges in use. Queensland, Western Australia and Tasmania use the narrow gauge of 3' 6", standard gauge in New South Wales and a broad gauge of 5' 3" elsewhere see here.

I snapped the following examples of the Queensland narrow gauge.

Entering Roma Street station from the east

Goods train near Glasshouse mountains

Landsborough Station

Amphibious vehicle

Double tyres on back axle provide traction for both rail and road