Observations from a Hill

OK - I wrote last year about issues with the water safety at the Nantlle quarries, caused by industrial waste dumping over the many years since the quarry's closure as a going concern. I was very guarded in my approach to the issue for a number of reasons, but in the light of the recent BBC TV toxic dumping exposé "Buried", hosted by Michael Sheen recently, I have to add to that previous post the rider that I accidentally had sight of a report commissioned in the late-1980s about the Twll Balast site above the Dorothea Quarry, where technical scuba and mixed-gas diving is popular, and where a significant number of fatal accidents have occurred over the last few decades. In that report - the copy I made sadly is no longer with me - it was stated categorically that the waters that have filled the Twll Balast workings since the quarry's demise are polluted with an extremely noxious cocktail of substances related principally but not solely to local plastics manufacturing...

I noted with somewhat grim amusement in today's bumper summer fun edition of The New Statesman, a piece by Nicholas Harris about the first Wetherspoon's pub to be opened outside of this archipelago, in Alicante, España. What makes this particularly of note is not the part of Spain chosen - pretty predictable given that it is a traditional holiday destination for package-holidaying Brits, but rather that it has been opened in an EU country. Consider the fact that the founder of the cheap booze at breakfast, lunch and dinner chain of pubs, Sir Tim Martin is virulently anti-EU and campaigned vigorously and vociferously for Brexit. What manner of business brain comes up with that combo, one might ask? First you and your political ilk manage to convince half of the population to vote for a restriction of their rights to free movement within Europe, and then later decide to open bloody pubs within the economic union you apparently loathe, to serve those very people. It adds to the co...

Thinking on about last night's scribble about Apple, I was minded about Steve Job's early adoption of a totally enclosed proprietary approach to Apple product. Everything about the Mac - hardware, software, etc. - was in-house, and third-party involvement in any way not to be countenanced. It's not unlike the ethos that he created after his return to the company in the late nineties, at least as far as the iPod, iPad and iPhone were concerned: totally ring-fenced products and software, with any third-party software input - at least for the iPad and iPhone: the iPod being a special case during its lifetime - totally controlled by Apple itself through the Byzantine channels of the Apple Developer Program. To an extent, Job's early views on the issue were pretty understandable: the company was relatively small and upcoming compared to the industry standards and the giants of the day, such as IBM; they were treading very new ground back then, and were cognisant that what th...

I picked up a post on Medium today, from last month, about the apparent doldrums in which Apple seems to be becalmed of late, and I have to say I can't disagree with any of it. Since the death of Steve Jobs and the departure of Jonny Ive, there has been little advancement of note in either hardware, OS or software design language , only 'evolutionary tinkering', sometimes good, sometimes bad: nothing outstanding or remarkable. It's as if Apple product has reached its 'white goods' phase, like fridges and cookers: utilitarian, albeit with much flair and great build quality; a bit like Bosch anything or Neff cookers, Smeg fridges or Agas or Roll Royces. Pretty much as if 'we have refined our wares to a point where there is nowhere left to go to improve on our wares'. Except that we all know that as progress is made on the technical side of product development, this should be de facto followed by changes in the design language of the products themselves: e...

I watched the finals of The Hundred from Lords on TV yesterday, a format of the game of cricket that - as I think have written before - I was ready initially to loathe as a debased and rather tawdry version of the beloved game. However, in recent months, I've come to appreciate it for what is and for its potential to save the domestic game from oblivion in its longer forms. We were in danger of concentrating on the highly lucrative - although not domestically - Indian Premier League at the expensive of cricket here in the UK. Falling spectator numbers across the longer formats, with decreasing take up of the game amongst the young meant that the game was slowly atrophying and unable to turn a profit and stay alive.  Early take up of the game was not a problem in my childhood, as all - admittedly mostly boys in those days, unfortunately - played street and park cricket all summer long, switching to football for the autumn and winter. Schools actively taught and played cricket, field...

  We went over to meet the boys at Plas Newydd this morning for coffee and a walk and talk in the grounds there. Although the place was quite busy, we went in the opposite direction to the vast majority there, away from the house towards the Rhododendron garden, which is a kilometre or so back toward Llanfair P.G through the woods. Whilst the small (an acre?) terraced garden near the house was a riot of colour and variety [above], the cool dark of the woods was very pleasant indeed, and a good gentle stroll on which to converse about something and nothing and this and that, so to speak. We turned it into a circular walk, ending up near where we'd started, above the terraces and near the cromlech that sits in the field behind. One thing that was noted on returning through the 'National Trust Retail Experience' that starts and ends a visit there, was that the fifth Marquess, Henry Cyril Paget, the erstwhile black sheep of the family, is now being rehabilitated as somewhat a b...

Just a very short note tonight as we're absorbed in the penultimate evening of the European Athletics Championships and really don't want to look away. Just watched a fabulous 10,000m won in great style and form by Sweden's Andreas Almgren [pictured, after the race] - back in a minute or thirty ... Right, so GB have won both 4x100 relays; and the men's 1500m was taken to all the pundit's surprise by a magnificent final fifty sprint by the Nederland's Nillesen. Ireland's O'Connor won the Women's heptathlon fabulously, and  Steve Backley's javelin record fell after twenty-eight years, whilst Jonathan Edward's triple jump record still stands, despite a monster leap by Italy's Hernández which turned out to be a fouled attempt. All in all, an exciting if somewhat distracting evening that's sure to be repeated tomorrow. We're off to Plas Newydd to meet the boys tomorrow late morning, for a stroll and coffee, but we'll be glued to th...

Pictured, a small gift from our current guest, Judith's father, over here for a few days visit from Germany. He's staying in our cottage and this afternoon presented me with this little tome, as he was aware that I have spent some time in Germany and speak [ein bisschen schlechtes] German. We communicated as such this evening, each admitting to our own linguistic limitations in turn, but understanding each other perfectly well enough. A nice gesture on his part, and well appreciated by me. Which makes me think of the damage that the Farage creature and his ilk have wreaked on this land in pressing through the Brexit agenda. We need more contact with the outside world, not less: there is no progress to be made in crude isolationism, as any truly pragmatic person here in Wales will attest to. Nationhood is a fine thing, but any nation has to sell its benefits outside of its own bounds to succeed: cutting ties with others is simply cutting your nose off to spite your face, as we ...

Fairview Heights this late afternoon, the temperature down to a balmy 28˚C, although to be fair we only touched thirty once, mid-afternoon, so not greatly oppressive. The house sits at around twenty-four, but then we live in a place with two-foot thick stone walls, so it is relatively easy to regulate the inside temperature with curtains and doors: old school tech is most often the best, methinks. Shades and a through draught are the free alternative to air-con, as we learnt in Corfu a decade ago: it's quite possible to spend a relatively comfortable night with no air-con in a hot environment as long as you limit the solar gain of windows using shutters during the day, and maintain a night-time airflow across the room. A bottle of cold local wine helps the zzz's along also. It's weird that it's now as as hot here in North Wales as it was back then in Greece, but there you go. One thing I definitely can't get around here though are the stupendous cheese pies and deep...

Pictured, the best that I could manage of the moment of ninety-percent eclipse, using an iPhone 16 Pro through the lens of a pair of cardboard eclipse specs - grainy and blurry that it is, it at least gives an impression of what we could see this evening. We sat out drinking cold beer in the peace and quiet of Y Ffridd, whilst the throng headed up onto the hill behind us, beyond the mountain gate. I think we had the best seats in the house, however...

Today I found this avian corpse down in our car park, with no obvious signs of injury or attack, but stone dead, nevertheless. We've no idea what it is, but at a good 200mm head to tail, it's not exactly small; however my suspicion is that it's not fully grown, although obviously fledged: could it be an adolescent corvid? It's beak suggests something of the kind, as do the enormous, taloned feet. We'd love to know more: Steve and Margaret - come to our rescue, guys. Tomorrow's eclipse beckons and our next-door neighbour has given us two pairs of the 'official' eclipse specs with which to view the event, a kind and thoughtful gesture. I've written before of past eclipses I've witnessed [blog posts passim], but this one promises to be pretty special, should the weather stay as it is. I'm determined to record this event properly and in real time, using my iPhone, running the BlackmagicCam app, with the thing mounted on my Manfrotto tripod. Sound...

I've just ordered an old, secondhand copy of "Transformational Syntax - a Student's Guide to Chomsky's Extended Standard Theory", my former, and now sadly deceased, professor's first book, which I've alluded to before [blog posts passim]. Somewhere in this house lies the original self-produced copy of this first opus by Andrew Radford; which he wrote, typed and Roneo-ed [an obsolete method of ink-based reproduction of documents, for the uninitiated: much cheaper at the time than using a photocopier, and a year or three before the availability of affordable computers and printers] over the summer break before taking up the chair in Linguistics at University College, North Wales [now Bangor University] at the tender age of thirty-four: both of which achievements speak volumes as to the man's ability. It is not out of any sympathy with or belief in Chomsky's syntactical theory that I've purchased the thing - I'd already come to the conclusion...

  OK, it's Sunday and gratuitous food post time! I really don't have much mental or physical oomph left in the tank to write otherwise; we've done a stint in the garden this afternoon and my back's sore, so I'll keep it short. Anyway, tonight's repast is worth remarking upon: the usual combo of belly pork, potatoes and vegetables in my usual sauce. Except that tonight's turned out to be exceptional. Two things about the meat and spuds: first I did my usual parboil of Maris Piper potatoes with a couple of bruised garlic cloves, plenty of sea salt and a glug of extra virgin olive oil in the water. Then I roasted the little buggers in beef dripping. The belly pork strips, which were nice and fatty, I just salted with the aforementioned sea salt and roasted them off as is, rendering the fat off the things without adding anything else into the pan. I also didn't drain the fat off the pan, instead basting the skin a few times whilst letting the meat itself sit...

Some institutions die in the full glare of the public eye with fanfares and encomia befitting their stature and importance to society and to the history of mankind; their mark ensured for future generations to commemorate and contemplate. The common man's history seldom leaves such particular remembrance beyond their family, very often in spite of their uncommon achievements. Such is generally the fate of we, the hoi polloi. However, 'tis not such a deep thing as this that I seek to offer in the following regretful, rather rueful, remembrance. I only heard today - entirely peripherally, and God knows how I missed the news in the first place [April of this year] - that Gentlemen's Relish had been discontinued by its current owners. Alas they simply could not see further profit in the product, despite its history. Short-sighted bastards if you ask me. I first discovered this most pungent of fishy accompaniments in 1980 and was blown away by the airlift that it could give to m...

It's been a great couple of wildlife days up here in Fairview Heights. The weather's been a tad cooler and we think that might just have encouraged the fauna to get a bit more active than during the very hot weather of late. The day before yesterday saw a juvenile Red Kite [Y Barcud Coch in Welsh] hovering very low over our patio, being harassed by a couple of gulls. We know that there are Kites nesting a few miles away around Tal Y Bont, and they increasingly stray towards us [very welcome, too, as they're one of our favourite birds] in search of carrion and small mammals. Today, though, has seen an enormous influx of butterflies and bees into the garden as the buddleias [apart from the Black Knight, which is over by now] are in full bloom. And joy of joys, a couple of Hummingbird Hawk Moths feeding right in front of us to top it all off. Bendigedig iawn, iawn...

Growth. What is 'growth', aside from being a gloriously Old English word in nature, with its qualifying noun suffix '...th' added to the verb 'grow'. Well, applied to ourselves and our offspring it can relate to both our physical and mental growth: we start out physically small and grow into adults before we start to shrink again somewhat as we get past a certain age. It relates to a our intellectual growth from childhood, through adolescence into adulthood. Any subsequent shrinkage obviously being subject to any number of factors, if at all: but ultimately one's ceasing will put a stop to that growth, either way. By definition, personal growth is limited by mortality; in itself variable, but generally limited to the low hundred-plus years at its upper bound. As far as shared human knowledge is concerned, the limit to its growth is theoretically bound to the lifespan of our species, which is unknowable, but which is predictable statistically from within that...

I was just watching the opening scenes from the 1987 film RoboCop, and saw the future now, writ large in Technicolor. This film, alongside many other dystopian fictions of the era, actually seem to have been a playbook for capitalism and rogue politics for this first quarter of the twenty-first century, with megalomaniac billionaires foisting crackpot visions of the 'benefits' of blind technological advance, despite little empirical evidence as to its actual, societal efficacy. It is a vision of conquest and control in the service of profit. We used to take this kind of movie with large pinches of salt tempered with small twinges of 'what-if? Looking at the corporate structures and mega-vanity projects currently extant, I think we should have taken more heed of these 'entertaining' narratives with a good deal more perspicacity than we did at the time. We are living in the future we were watching in fiction back then. Robots are a thing. Artificial Intelligence is a ...

OK, here's a thing. I thought I'd mentioned the very shortest of short-form cricket - 'The Hundred' - here before, but I can't find a reference to it on searching. Anyhow, I have changed my opinion of the game in the last few weeks, from one of outright dismissal of the form as a rather crass gimmick when it was first introduced, to now enjoying the game very much indeed. I'll never give up my love for first class cricket and the five-day test format, but I honestly think that they've actually got this one right. And it is bringing new blood into both playing and watching the game of cricket, which was so desperately needed. I don't think the IPL had anywhere the kind of impact here in the UK that it has had elsewhere, and added to the  the fact that first-class cricket is still hidden behind a bloody paywall - a total disgrace in my book - The Hundred strikes me as the democratic alternative form of the game which is inevitably reaching an audience that...

The truly unique thing about the written and printed word is its persistence, resilience and resistance to tampering. Unlike the digital domain, which is subject to failure at all of these points. A book or journal can be damaged - by fire, water, insects, fungi or very often just rodents - granted, but text in the digital realm has an especially tenuous, often evanescent existence by comparison to more corporeal forms of storage. The very language of the text itself is actually key to its resilience. Written or printed language is the direct analogue of the spoken word expressed at one, very slight remove, for storage and later retrieval. In more recent history, analogue audio recordings have provided us with a slightly less removed analogue of human communication. The same applies to film and video. But with the digitisation of either text or speech, film or video, we enter a realm of total abstraction where the medium of storage is essentially disconnected from the content being tra...

OK - yet another throwaway food post, as I'm completely fashed and this laptop seems to want to keel over at any moment. Pictured is tonight's pork and potato sort of Goan curry. I was going to be creative and do something from scratch, but laziness kicked in and I bought one of those semi-fancy curry kits. Now I have to say that the basic premise of these particular kits is pretty sound: a dry masala to temper in the oil or ghee to produce the bedrock flavours; a base sauce in which to flavour the meat and/or vegetables and a final sauce to complete the cooking with. The issue I've always had with these kits is the instructions, which parallels most of the issues I've had with South Asian cookbook recipes aimed at the British [non-Asian] cook: timings. They, of a piece, try to conflate cooking times to suit a modern, fast-food attitude to producing food. In the case of South Asian food, for the most part, this is almost always a recipe for raw-tasting and frankly disa...