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Showing posts from February, 2012

A Sunday Spent Plotting

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Quite a long time ago – back in August of last year in fact – I wrote a post called "putting Scotland on the map" – and had the audacity to call it ‘Part One’ ! It was an attempt at an introduction to an idea that was running through my mind about trying to tell the tale {as I understand it anyway} of how Scotland came to be populated, how those populations developed into tribes and how the language that arrived, changed and survived can be traced through its use in describing the geographical features and the naming of the land, its shapes and contours as men developed the skill and ability to navigate around and through the landscape those peoples inhabited.

I was quite pleased with the result but quickly became scared off trying to tell the tale when I really thought about how much work was involved. For one thing, it's not a subject I've ever studied or even suggested that I understood – not that that's ever stopped me before from trying to tell a tale and I…

The Sunday Posts 2012

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Australian Tim Minchin delivering an animation of his beat poem 'Storm'; be warned - it does contain some strong language - but it deserves inclusion. I really like the vibe of the piece and am a bit of a fan of his shows.

 I hope you enjoy it.





Missing You Already.....

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It seems wrong and really petty to complain about being too busy to blog after having been unemployed for so long but that’s how it seems at the moment. I work, come home; spend a little time with G and sleep. There's not enough hours in the day. The adjustment to full time work from full time nothing has been a shock to the system - albeit a welcome one - that I've not yet coped with. A full working day, even with the limited travel compared to my last job means that I’m out just as daylight is building and return when it’s beginning to fail towards evening again, exhausted with the newness of it all and the amount of information I'm trying to take on board.  Maybe in a week or two when the days have stretched a bit and the light is better I’ll feel a bit better too; like I’ve not missed the whole day and the gloom is sending subliminal messages of sleep to my unused to work self. Hopefully too the lighter nights will encourage me to get out more and take more exercise, …

I Remember You.

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For Dad, who died three years ago today and who taught me much.

Reach me down my Tycho Brahe,
I would know him when we meet,
When I share my later science, sitting humbly at his feet;
He may know the law of all things, yet be ignorant of how
We are working to completion, working on from then to now.
Pray remember that I leave you all my theory complete,
Lacking only certain data for your adding, as is meet,
And remember men will scorn it, 'tis original and true,
And the obloquy of newness may fall bitterly on you.
But, my pupil, as my pupil you have learned the worth of scorn,
You have laughed with me at pity, we have joyed to be forlorn,
What for us are all distractions of men's fellowship and wiles;
What for us the Goddess Pleasure with her meretricious smiles!
You may tell that German College that their honour comes too late,
But they must not waste repentance on the grizzly savant's fate.
Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light;
I have loved …

The Sunday Posts 2012

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If I were a cinnamon peeler
I would ride your bed
and leave the yellow bark dust
on your pillow.

Your breasts and shoulders would reek
you could never walk through markets
without the profession of my fingers floating over you.
The blind would stumble, certain of whom they approached
though you might bathe under rain gutters,
monsoon.

Here on the upper thigh
at this smooth pasture
neighbor to your hair
or the crease
that cuts your back. This ankle.
You will be known among strangers
as the cinnamon peeler's wife.

I could hardly glance at you
before marriage
never touch you
-- your keen nosed mother, your rough brothers.
I buried my hands in saffron,disguised them over smoking tar,
helped the honey gatherers...

When we swam once
I touched you in water
and our bodies remained free,
you could hold me and be blind of smell.
You climbed the bank and said
this is how you touch other womenthe grasscutter's wife, the lime burner's daughter.
And you searched your arms for the missing p…

Misery Bears Valentines

The little bear's search for love continues.




The Sunday Posts 2012

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Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favour fire.

But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To know that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

'Fire and Ice'
By Robert Frost.

Photo - Loch Rannoch at dusk, Scottish Highlands, Jan 2012 By Alistair.

Meeting Jane.

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The other night there was a documentary on TV about  RAF Bomber Command in WWII. A fellow blogger sent a text to say that it had made him think of my fathers story and that he'd tweeted some links to stuff here on the blog about it. Last night we watched it ourselves. Sympathetically presented by Ewan MacGregor and his brother Colin {Who had been a bomber pilot in the modern RAF} one of the most poignant parts for me was the initial reaction when Ewan climbed into the rear gunner position of a Lancaster in full WWII kit. He was clearly uncomfortable and stunned by the lack of movement available , the claustrophobia and the poor chance of getting out if in trouble.

 It made me think about when I met 'Just Jane' - a Lancaster - for the first time......

This was what I posted back in Feb 2010
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As I become more and more engrossed in researching the 153 Squadron posts covering Dads squadrons last f…

The Sunday Posts 2012

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They met and they talked where the crossroads meet,
Four men from the four winds come,
And they talked of the horse, for they loved the theme,
And never a man was dumb.
The man from the North loved the strength of the horse,
And the man from the East his pace,
And the man from the South loved the speed of the horse,
And the man from the West his grace.

So these four men from the four winds come,
Each paused a space in his course
And smiled in the face of his fellow man
And lovingly talked of the horse.
Then each man parted and went his way
As their different courses ran;
And each man journeyed with peace in his heart
And loving his fellow man


They met the next year where the crossroads meet,
Four men from the four winds come;
And it chanced as they met that they talked of God,
And never a man was dumb.
One imagined God in the shape of a man.
A spirit did one insist.
One said that nature itself was God.
One said that he didn’t exist.

They lashed ea…

Edie - A Dog Rescued

I've been getting an awful lot of hits over the last week by people searching for 'Edie - A Dog Rescued'. It seems to link back to something posted quite a long time ago and using a link to another blogger which no longer works. I've no idea why this is generating interest now unless there is something more on the story doing the rounds these days - but - if you're looking for this story - here are the video clips which were on it at the time. Hope this is  what you are looking for.