Descending towards the river's flood plain this morning, its trees, mixed oak and beech mostly, showed just their still green crowns in a bubbling sea of mist. Surrounded by steel skies, like nothing so much as a colossal broccoli soup pan, steaming on the hob.
Signs of autumn are touching some species, colouring them softly. I passed a bank full of old-mans-beard (wild clematis), soaked with dew, surmounted by livid Virginia creeper. The horse chestnuts are again ahead of the pack, trying to lose their insect ravaged foliage now its job of ripening the nuts is done.
Pigs are on the common for pannage and I met with sheep today too. Swallows still swooped at the weekend. Last night was almost cold. Mushrooms are in the field.
Wednesday 28 September 2016
Monday 19 September 2016
Wednesday 14 September 2016
autonomous vehicles, wireless technology, anger and boredom
Much about the process of driving a car becomes automatic; the gears, the steering, the brakes. I find in my Golf that operation of the cruise control is fairly autonomous too, as well as the operation of the radio in support of a simple policy of avoiding argument, boredom, advertisements or bad music. My normal radio listening tastes stretch from commercial radio through to BBC radio 3 and radio 4.
In the mornings the commercial radio tends to be OK, except for the sponsored content, radio 4 is generally the Today programme which may suffer poor guests or uninteresting topics and radio 3 may or may not have some music I like. If I'm not engaged in thought, the radio is generally on, but if none of the ususal selection of stations is entertaining me, it may go off. My fingers stab at channel buttons or the Source button more or less of their own volition.
Commercial radio, with its obsession for avoiding dead-air is always easy to filter quickly. I know in under a second whether there is studio chat, news, traffic, music or adverts. For advertising or rap or a selection of artists I choose to avoid getting to know, the decision to click away is swift.
Radio 4's Today programme is largely composed of two to five minute segments on topical subjects which may be reportage, interview or recordings from some event. Rarely there may be short recorded performances; regularly there is news. I find many of the topics interesting, but click away if I've already heard the news, if an interviewee is not answering the questions, if the interviewer is too abrasive or if the topic is of no interest. Unless I revisit a segment I have already decided against, filtering the content can be a slower process than for commercial radio. I may listen to half an item, or two words of an item before 'Click'.
Radio 3 is not normally my first choice. First thing in the morning I am seeking some stimulus, some fresh perspective, something lively; but once I've exhausted the other possibilities my fingers will stab for radio 3 and though I may sometimes find music that doesn't fit my mood, the result is occasionally sublime - such as the moment I journalled about, the simple introduction "Bach" followed by part of the Musical Offering. The interesting contrast to the other possible station choices is the proportion of times I click for radio 3 and hear - nothing. These are not 'silent' nothings, always they are expectant or reflective; they may be the slight pause after a piece before the announcer interrupts our reverie to remind us what we have heard, or just missed in this case. It may be the interval before the first note of an announced piece, rendered more surprising for starting anonymously. It may be a simple musical pause, perhaps between movements. It may just be the prelude to a crecendo, the tail of a diminuendo or a section of bass that is submerged in the road noise. Radio 3 has the slowest tempo of any of the stations, pieces last from 90 seconds to 20 minutes. I like to guess the piece and, if I know it well, the artists. I have been known to click away in anger at the performance, such as this morning's Wagner overture in which the brass was completely submerging the urgency and drama of the strings.
In the mornings the commercial radio tends to be OK, except for the sponsored content, radio 4 is generally the Today programme which may suffer poor guests or uninteresting topics and radio 3 may or may not have some music I like. If I'm not engaged in thought, the radio is generally on, but if none of the ususal selection of stations is entertaining me, it may go off. My fingers stab at channel buttons or the Source button more or less of their own volition.
Commercial radio, with its obsession for avoiding dead-air is always easy to filter quickly. I know in under a second whether there is studio chat, news, traffic, music or adverts. For advertising or rap or a selection of artists I choose to avoid getting to know, the decision to click away is swift.
Radio 4's Today programme is largely composed of two to five minute segments on topical subjects which may be reportage, interview or recordings from some event. Rarely there may be short recorded performances; regularly there is news. I find many of the topics interesting, but click away if I've already heard the news, if an interviewee is not answering the questions, if the interviewer is too abrasive or if the topic is of no interest. Unless I revisit a segment I have already decided against, filtering the content can be a slower process than for commercial radio. I may listen to half an item, or two words of an item before 'Click'.
Radio 3 is not normally my first choice. First thing in the morning I am seeking some stimulus, some fresh perspective, something lively; but once I've exhausted the other possibilities my fingers will stab for radio 3 and though I may sometimes find music that doesn't fit my mood, the result is occasionally sublime - such as the moment I journalled about, the simple introduction "Bach" followed by part of the Musical Offering. The interesting contrast to the other possible station choices is the proportion of times I click for radio 3 and hear - nothing. These are not 'silent' nothings, always they are expectant or reflective; they may be the slight pause after a piece before the announcer interrupts our reverie to remind us what we have heard, or just missed in this case. It may be the interval before the first note of an announced piece, rendered more surprising for starting anonymously. It may be a simple musical pause, perhaps between movements. It may just be the prelude to a crecendo, the tail of a diminuendo or a section of bass that is submerged in the road noise. Radio 3 has the slowest tempo of any of the stations, pieces last from 90 seconds to 20 minutes. I like to guess the piece and, if I know it well, the artists. I have been known to click away in anger at the performance, such as this morning's Wagner overture in which the brass was completely submerging the urgency and drama of the strings.
Thursday 1 September 2016
Sailing was poetry, but not on my account.
I spent some time on Tuesday, trying to capture the events of a bit of sailing we did on Monday, but the result had no salt, no sole. Let's take the highlights then.
We set out after 9am in a NW breeze, just enough to give us control to avoid hitting the castle on the way out of the Solent with the tide. The water was smooth, disturbed only by the ebb and an occasional boat until, just on the exit of the race, three standing waves spanned the Northern half of the channel. Crossing these almost stopped us by shaking the weak wind from our sails. Going West we were rocked slowly by a faint swell and, over the land, cloud built. In the clear air and with no waves, the North Head buoy was visible from further than usual; it slid by, followed by the Christchurch Bay buoy, but as we bore away to round Hengistbury the soft breeze died and we bobbed, accompanied by the banging of gear, for an hour.
When the wind returned it was more SW and we initially tacked South before turning to the West when it seemed likely that this new breeze would be enough to get us home if we went further. The wind built to force 4 over an hour, amplifying the swell mildly and providing almost perfect conditions for sailing. Though deciding it would be prudent to turn at 14:00, it was 14:30 before, less than 3 miles from Old Harry Rocks, we did turn to find The Needles almost due East and the tide practically slack.
The journey back was swifter with a following wind, a flood tide building and a slow increase in the amplitude of the swell until, with Bridge (The Needles Easterly mark) in view, we were sliding down the side of waves ready to be lifted gently by the next. Aiming South towards St Catherine's Point to cancel the tide and round the South Shingles buoy, the swell became complex; composed of two main parts which cut the sea into diamonds of sink and heave. All the way up the Needles channel to Totland we were rocked and chased by these waves while our fore-sail swelled and collapsed continuously. Just before Colwell we took a starboard tack towards Warden before tacking out again on port to make for a smoother passage.
On this reverse tide the race was doing more familiar dances, with fields of leaping chop on either side of a smooth central flow. Outside of the race and protected once more in the Solent the sea was calmer and the wind slightly ameliorated. Crossing the flow to use time until our mooring would be deep enough, we still leaned far enough to cause difficulty in the comfortable brewing of tea. After about six traversals of the space just West of the line joining Lymington to Yarmouth, we let the sails looser and dropped the main before entering the river. No sailing to mooring today, with no room to spare, we motored, depth alarm crying up to our buoy and reversed to stop with no room to turn.
We set out after 9am in a NW breeze, just enough to give us control to avoid hitting the castle on the way out of the Solent with the tide. The water was smooth, disturbed only by the ebb and an occasional boat until, just on the exit of the race, three standing waves spanned the Northern half of the channel. Crossing these almost stopped us by shaking the weak wind from our sails. Going West we were rocked slowly by a faint swell and, over the land, cloud built. In the clear air and with no waves, the North Head buoy was visible from further than usual; it slid by, followed by the Christchurch Bay buoy, but as we bore away to round Hengistbury the soft breeze died and we bobbed, accompanied by the banging of gear, for an hour.
When the wind returned it was more SW and we initially tacked South before turning to the West when it seemed likely that this new breeze would be enough to get us home if we went further. The wind built to force 4 over an hour, amplifying the swell mildly and providing almost perfect conditions for sailing. Though deciding it would be prudent to turn at 14:00, it was 14:30 before, less than 3 miles from Old Harry Rocks, we did turn to find The Needles almost due East and the tide practically slack.
The journey back was swifter with a following wind, a flood tide building and a slow increase in the amplitude of the swell until, with Bridge (The Needles Easterly mark) in view, we were sliding down the side of waves ready to be lifted gently by the next. Aiming South towards St Catherine's Point to cancel the tide and round the South Shingles buoy, the swell became complex; composed of two main parts which cut the sea into diamonds of sink and heave. All the way up the Needles channel to Totland we were rocked and chased by these waves while our fore-sail swelled and collapsed continuously. Just before Colwell we took a starboard tack towards Warden before tacking out again on port to make for a smoother passage.
On this reverse tide the race was doing more familiar dances, with fields of leaping chop on either side of a smooth central flow. Outside of the race and protected once more in the Solent the sea was calmer and the wind slightly ameliorated. Crossing the flow to use time until our mooring would be deep enough, we still leaned far enough to cause difficulty in the comfortable brewing of tea. After about six traversals of the space just West of the line joining Lymington to Yarmouth, we let the sails looser and dropped the main before entering the river. No sailing to mooring today, with no room to spare, we motored, depth alarm crying up to our buoy and reversed to stop with no room to turn.
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