The video for this song is just like a dream.......

Regina Spektor - "Laughing With" ....love her voice, love this video, love this song.....

Teachings.........

I have been teaching for a long time. Sometimes I think for perhaps too long. But of one thing I am sure. It has been a privilege to have known and worked with so many young people over the years....watched them grow, make mistakes, laugh, cry, get angry, get sad, find passion, find each other, find themselves, act like fools and display wisdom beyond their years. Today began with the news that the Dear Soul one of my students - Devaanshi - had been released from the pain that tormented it through a long and debilitating illness. Her spirit was so strong. When I spoke with her a couple of months ago, she said 'I don't think why me? I think why not me'. She crammed more thought and consideration and enthusiasm and love in to her 15 years than many of us will manage in a much longer lifetime. When we stop learning we stop living and the lessons I spent explaining to her the complexities of the water cycle or why volcanoes erupt pale to nothing compared with what she has taught me about life and how precious it truly is. Devaanshi was no teacher in the making...the lessons she has taught all those who spent time with her were more accomplished and perfectly complete than any I could contrive. Devaanshi...it was a privilege to have been taught by you. Rest in Peace.

Birds flying high - you know how I feel.........

If I were a warrior......

That is SO the sort of thing I would do.........

Wall-E...the sad future of humankind.....?

A peak into the future.....and what too much hanging around on the internet could mean for humankind.........

Wall•e Official Trailer.....great geographical film for teaching children about the environment and sustainability

The Feeling - Rosé (Unplugged at Abbey Road for Burberry Body)

One of the most emotional songs of all time: A Change Is Gonna Come, Sam Cooke, 1963

A song made all the more poignant by the fact that it was recorded just before his untimely death.

Going through the motions........

There are days when it can be a struggle to commute a long distance to work but generally the last 16 years of doing the same old round trip of seventy miles a day has not really taken the toll that it should....indeed, I actually enjoy the drive. It gives me a chance to wind-down from work, think about it and then forget it by the time I am home. And then there are the adventures......I have a particular little cut through that I use that misses out Chorleywood and Rickmansworth and the queues for the M25 and 'dumps' me (appropriate....read on) just near Amersham....a beautiful country lane surrounded by woods and fields, bluebells and barley. You do have to have your wits about you though as it is very narrow with passing places, floods regularly and deeply and attracts the attentions of fly-tippers which means you have to negotiate all manner of society's flotsam and jetsam left in the road, from mattresses to sofas and..... piles of logs - to which I shall return later. 
This evening I followed a small car along the lane for a mile or so before noticing a flatbed van driving very fast towards us through what I assumed were puddles because liquid was spraying either side of it. As it got closer the bloke in front pulled over in the 'passing' place and the van veered at high speed to negotiate the newly-created slalom - it was then I realised it was carrying two portaloos, one of which 'slipped its moorings' and tipped over the side of the van in a full somersault, landing half in the road and half on the bank, on its side and spilling its contents in a wide arc over the road just ahead of the car in front. Now I'm not an expert on portaloos, but shouldn't they be emptied first before being transported?Anyway, the smell was enough to shrivel the enamel on your teeth in an instant and a slurry of human ordure and 'Richards' (the Thirds) oozed slowly downhill past our two cars like something from a 1950s horror B movie. Normally I would stop to help but this time the bloke was driving like an idiot, particularly considering his precious and precarious cargo, and should have secured it more tightly. It did occur to me afterwards that they may have been stolen...which may have explained his haste.....but anyway, we drove, windows wound-up, carefully past. It also did occur to me that had I been the car in front and a matter of seconds earlier, I'd have had, at best, the entire contents of a portaloo emptied on my lap, or at worst been struck by the thing at speed. Now what an, perhaps appropriate, end to an eventful life that would have been....the Earlybirder: Rest in Piss........

This is clever...thanks Broggy!!!!

Bird Listening......Quail, Corn Bunting, Skylark and Grey Partridge

For most people this is just a field, and rather a plain one at that. Last night I went up to Pitstone hill and listened to a male quail that has been calling 'wet my lips' there recently. Odd maybe, but for me, as a birder, a field is not about just what you see, it's the sounds that I love. In this clip filmed in Sussex it is amazing the life that this field contains, and yet you can see none of it. Did I see the quail? No. Do I care? No. It was fantastic to know it was there and its call will stay with me as a reminder of a lovely summer evening.

Snoring and flatulence through the trees.......

When you are stuck in the middle of a spell of weather as we are experiencing.....dull, damp, cool and rainy.....photographs such as this one remind you that blue sky is still there, above the clouds, although you might not be able to see it at the time - which, I suppose, is a metaphor for life in some ways. This shot was taken early in the morning at a camp site near Hertford in early summer last year. I crept out of the tent and just couldn't believe the blue clarity of the sky and the freshness of the tree foliage so I just laid back in the grass and enjoyed the best part of the day.....against, admittedly, an auditory backdrop of snoring and flatulence that was as amusing as it was loud.......

Scum......

Hmmm....thought the title of this post might get some views for its title alone....but this was a strange pattern formed by the algae and general detritus on the surface of Fritton Lake in the early morning...a strange combination of the disgusting and the beautiful.......

Instant summer.......

Took this in the Dunes at Winterton on the Norfolk coast last weekend on, again, a largely dull and windy day...there is just something about oxeye daisies which brighten up the day.......

Questions about ancient history.......

Found this amazing old oak tree root washed up on the beach below the dunes at Winterton on the Norfolk coast....where did grow? How did it die? How did it get there? What manner of storm dumped it so far up the beach? Will it still be there when I go back to Winterton? I don't need to know the answers...just thinking about the questions is enough.......

POGLES WOOD Honey Bees 21 April 1966

It is fascinating how sounds and smells can instantly take you back to childhood and for me, the voice of Oliver Postgate is one that transports me to the late 1960s and early 1970s. His programmes...such as the Pogles and Noggin the Nog had a strange darkness about them....a secretive and mysterious other-worldly edge that made them both intriguing and slightly unsettling at the same time for a young mind. As with hearing Brian Cant's voice, I can close my eyes and be a small boy again.......

Tim Vine - 1996 - Saturday Live

Brings a whole new meaning to the phrase 'I prefer the full fat version.....'

This was spotted by an eagle-eyed colleague in a local shop in North Harrow...always worth checking one's work for mistakes....reminds me of the time I sent a text to a car mechanic friend saying that I was having problems with my crutch and would he mind having a look at it.......

AMANDA PALMER & NERVOUS CABARET: Leeds United (Live) 11/14/09

I wonder if she would like to do the pre-match entertainment at Elland Road......

Just about the weirdest football song and video ever: Amanda Palmer - Leeds United

Came across this a while back. Have to say, the video does remind me of one or two Supporters' Clubs Dinners I've been to...... I've actually got most of the kits in the video...the blue and yellow away kit was a favourite from 1993....it is very sad, on reflection, that I should know that, especially as it was almost twenty years ago. I see she's doing a gig in London on the 20th June....I'm tempted to go wearing it.....or then again I might wear my Mason 03 shirt given to me by my last Year Group and still a treasured and much-used possession.......

BBC Countryfile report on HS2 threat to Chilterns AONB

Look who is stalking John Craven about thirty seconds in...trying to look intelligent and be a revolting peasant at the same time.....

Heartwood: Part 8

As Pirin descended the sinuous track that threaded through the wooded hillside above his cabin, he could tell that things were not as they should be. Although it was market day, Crowfoot was devoid of its usual vibrancy.  There was none of the noise associated with activity – the competitive cries of the market vendors, the rhythmic rasps of the saws from the workshops.  Even the porkers were more subdued than usual, lying in sprawled heaps to share their body warmth.  Pirin was now beginning to feel the effects of the previous day and night but, although drained, he resisted the temptation of returning to the meagre comforts of his cabin because he knew that he would soon succumb to deep and prolonged sleep.

Wearily he made his way along the Puddleditch trying to avoid the deepest stretches of water.  Trisk, despite his loss of blood, trotted ahead, content to be in the company of his mistress’ friend.  As Pirin passed the Boar’s Head, a second floor window was thrown open and a cloth sack loosely stuffed with clothes flung out, landing in the soft mud and rupturing its contents as it did so.  From the doorway below stumbled a balding, unshaven man with an unusually pale complexion, his shirt undone and his leggings hanging precariously around his waist.  He glanced sheepishly at Pirin before stooping to retrieve his belongings from the dirt. Above, a scolding voice made Pirin look up.  At the window, Kilti glared at the man, who continued to gather his clothes.

“If I say vacate your bed by seven in the morning, I mean it.  Do you hear me, Turas?  I am not running this hostel as a charity for indolent layabouts.  I will not give up my clean beds for mead-sodden drunkards who wish to spend their day in a stupor.  You have been here for over a month now and not done two days’ paid working that time.  When was the last time you were actually active during daylight hours?”

Kilti did not wait for an answer.

“Now you listen to me.  Get washed and sober and find some work and then I might take you back in.  Otherwise, find somewhere else to sleep off your excesses.  This must be yours.”

A half full earthenware jug twisted through the air, causing the man to duck as it narrowly missed his head and lodged in the mud, its contents seeping slowly into a large brown puddle.  As soon as he had scooped up his clothes the man lifted the jug and inspected it.  On seeing it was empty he angrily hurled it back down and staggered way, muttering to himself. Only then did Kilti seem not notice Pirin.

“Who are you staring at, badger boy?”

Pirin met her angry glare with a warm smile.  “I’m sorry Kilti. I was just wondering why everywhere was so quiet.”

Kilti’s expression softened very slightly.  “Everybody has gone to the Meadow.  Ketu is presiding over an emergency assembly.  There was some real trouble round here last night.”

Pirin had no desire to provoke Kilti any more than was necessary, but Crelda’s words were still fresh in his mind and curiosity overcame his caution.

“Trouble?”

Pirin tried to sound as casual in his tone as possible.

“I don’t have time to indulge in banter with every idle arsebreath who passes in the street.  Now be gone with you!”

With a level of persistence and tact that surprised even himself, Pirin pursued the issue.

“I know your time is precious, and I really do value your patience, Kilti, but it would really help me if you could tell me exactly what the trouble was.”

Kilti pursed her lips and frowned, fixing Pirin with a cold stare, but he smiled back with one eyebrow raised.  His charm paid off.

“Brigands, probably woodlanders, came in the night and raided Bewik’s barn.  They killed his oxen and set the place on fire.  Sarim the blacksmith had some tools taken from the forge too.”

“Did anybody see anything?”

“Not really.  It all happened very swiftly, but it was well planned.  As we tried to put out the fire at Bewik’s, the blacksmith’s was raided.  Nobody actually saw any of the raiders apart from old Turas.  The drunken old fool said he saw hairy little men climbing across the rooftops.  Drink has pickled his brain.”

Kilti leaned further out of the window and looked in the direction of the meadow.  Then she gave a resigned smile.

“As always, I’m sure there will be lots of bold talk, but finding volunteers to go after them will be like looking for snowdrops in June.  Now, you will have to excuse me – I have beds to make and an evening meal to prepare.”

Pirin raised his hand in gratitude for Kilti’s time, but the gesture was wasted as she had already disappeared from the window.  He turned and looked along the wide, heavily rutted muddy track which ran between the wooden buildings.  The scene was animated only by a pair of wagtails that ran along the edges of the puddles, pirouetting into the air every now and then to snatch a midge in flight, their beaks closing with an audible snap.

Pirin began to make his way towards the centre of Crowfoot, with Trisk close behind.  As he did so, the smell of smoke and burnt wood grew stronger. As he turned the bend near the bakery, the large, domed ovens of which stood idle and cold, he saw the remains of Bewik’s barn, still smouldering with dark, acrid smoke drifting slowly upwards.  Only the heavier, more solid beams and supports had survived the intensity of the fire, their weakened structure just managing to hold together like some enormous blackened rib cage.  Everything else had been reduced to a warm mound of pale, flaky ash, which still glowed with heat every time the faint breeze breathed life into it.  Pirin covered his nose to block the sickly-sweet smell of burnt flesh.  Protruding from the ash was the charred carcass of one of Bewik’s prize pulling-bulls, its body stiffened and contorted it its final death throe.

The sound of raised voices caught Pirin’s attention and he saw that a large crowd had indeed gathered at the Meadow. In order to remain unnoticed, he kept close to the buildings that lined the main thoroughfare, and made the most of the cover of the doorways and awnings. He crept unobtrusively into the margin of the meeting, where he saw Ketu, the law Enforcer, standing on an overturned crate, which gave him just enough height from which to address the crowd.  He was a vain man, his hair closely cropped and oiled, with a pencil-thin moustache traversing his top lip.  His dark leather tunic was in almost perfect condition and he fiddled self-consciously with the long crimson cloak around his shoulders, held together at his chest by a silver clasp embossed with a wolf’s head, signifying his authority as an Enforcer.  Although not heavily built, he had run to fat through lack of exertion and his pale, unblemished skin betrayed his love of the indoors.  Pirin knew that despite his yearning for status and approval, Ketu was a cautious person, wary of being perceived as out of his depth.  He looked flustered and was obviously uncomfortable making hasty judgments in such a public location.  His knowledge of law-keeping was bookish rather than experiential.  Few within Crowfoot displayed anything other than superficial respect for him and, in truth,  that was more for his position than for the man himself, although he was not sufficiently perceptive to realise it.

Another loudly-voiced question from a long-haired woodworker just ahead of Pirin drew a chorus of cheers from the crowd and Ketu’s face again reddened.

“I have sent a rider to the Sheriff’s headquarters in Tarn requesting that a troop of soldiers, maybe two, be despatched with haste so that we can pursue these brigands into the high woods, capture them and bring them to justice before the Council.”

The long-haired man, like most of the crowd, was not satisfied with the formal nature of Ketu’s response, and persisted with his questioning to the vociferous encouragement of those around him.

“How is it that these common brigands, as you describe them, can come in to a place like Crowfoot and cause such havoc without anybody seeing anything? Who exactly would the soldier boys be pursuing, and how would they know they had caught the right people without any form of description to go by?  I want to know who was sleeping when they should have been manning the watch.  Too many people around here are getting fat on the hard toil of others without taking their own duties seriously enough.”

The final point was a scarcely veiled tilt at Ketu himself, something which was not lost on the crowd.  There were a few muttered comments of agreement and someone laughed loudly.  Then there was silence as the gathering awaited Ketu’s response.  He did not disappoint those who hoped for a dramatic one.  For a brief moment he said nothing and his expression went blank, as though his mind had not grasped fully the insult that had been aimed at him.  Then without warning he launched himself from his crate into the crowd, which parted as he did so, people stumbling backwards to get out of his path as he made his way towards his tormentor, who stood his ground, arms folded. In a single, fluid movement, Ketu pulled out his short sword from its sheath, swung it in a broad sweep over his head and plunged it into the sandy soil just short of the man’s feet.  The man did not flinch at all but simply returned Ketu’s stare.

“If it is my competence you question then be sure of this, I am a man of honour and I do not take insults lightly.  If necessary I am prepared to defend my good name.  My deputy, Siskin, was on duty last night and I have yet to hear his report.  Only when I have that will I make a judgement.  I hear your concerns and I share your anger at what has happened, but do not imply that I had anything to do with it.  Incompetence is a weighty charge and if you taint my reputation with it again I will personally cut your tongue from your mouth.  Do I make myself plain?”

The crowd remained silent as they anticipated a response. Eventually, after what seemed a lengthy pause, the man relaxed and forced a smile, still meeting Ketu’s gaze full on.

“I apologise if what I said has caused offence.  A man must guard his reputation from unwarranted slurs at all costs.  I shall consider my words more carefully in future. You have my utmost respect….Sir.”

The man extended his hand and patted the side of Ketu’s upper arm.

“Now let’s forget all this unpleasantness and return to the task I hand.  We need to help Bewik put back together his livelihood.”

The words were what Ketu wanted to hear, but the tone of his delivery had been mocking.  And everybody knew it, including Ketu. Nevertheless, they had diffused the situation sufficiently for him to pick up his sword and resheath it slowly without losing face.  He looked around at the crowd and cleared his throat.  When he spoke he could hardly believe what he found himself saying.

“I will go after these brigands myself, and if no man is prepared to go with me then I will go alone.  Siskin will fulfil my duties in my absence.  If it is prompt action you want then that is exactly what I will deliver.  I will depart from this place at dawn. Our raiders have a considerable head start on us already and so this task must be pursued with some urgency.  I will be pleased to have the company of anyone who wishes to join me.”

With that Ketu spun around, flamboyantly swirling his cloak, and stalked off in the direction of the watchtower.

Pirin watched him leave as the rest of the crowd began to disperse.  Ketu’s outburst had silenced the majority. Only the bearded (longhaired?) man and a couple of those around him stood talking amongst themselves.  Pirin watched the bearded man closely.  If he had been surprised or unnerved at the nature of Ketu’s reaction, he did not show it.  Instead he looked relaxed and satisfied, as if he had achieved what he had set out to do. Pirin began to look around the crowd for Karis and was about to leave for the forge when Trisk started to bark loudly, thrashing his tail from side to side.  Coming towards them was his friend, arms outstretched.  Before Pirin could move he found himself constrained in a fierce bear grip, his friend’s clinch lifting him from the ground.

“Well, am I glad to see you!  I thought you were gone for good, especially after what happened here last night.”

Karis released Pirin who stood for a moment trying to catch his breath.  It was an unusual show of affection in a relationship which was deep but rarely demonstrative.

“I told you I would be back.  You have too little faith in me, Karis.  Now tell me, what really happened here last night?  I have yet to hear an account that I can trust.  Listen, if I don’t get some sustenance inside me very soon I am going to pass out.  For that matter, I don’t know that Trisk has eaten much for the last couple of days.  Let’s head in the direction of the bakery.”

Trisk fell in behind them as they walked slowly back along the Puddleditch, which had once more come to life as Crowfoot’s inhabitants filtered back from the meeting. Karis seemed relieved to have a chance to unburden himself of what was going on in his head.

“After I left you at Crelda’s cottage I made my way along the badger trail parallel to the Silkstream, as you suggested.  The visibility was not good and the path indistinct to say the least.  I lost my way a number of times.  That…. I could cope with.  No, what really unnerved me was being followed. Don’t ask me how I knew.  You’re an intuitive soul, Pirin, you must understand.  I just sensed it.”

“Of course….but did you not see any of your pursuers?”

Karis paused for a moment, wiping a thin layer of sweat from his forehead and avoiding Pirin’s gaze.

“Look, I’m not too proud to admit that just before the trees started to thin and Crowfoot was almost in sight, I lost my nerve and went to ground.  I found a dense stand of thorn bush, crawled underneath it and lay on my belly with my hands over my head and my eyes closed while I prayed to the Creator to be spared.  All around me I could hear movement, even in the branches above me.  It was just like an angry wind whipping through the forest before a storm. I don’t mind telling you that it wasn’t dew that dampened my leggings.  I heard barks, then howling, but all of a sudden it stopped and I heard the pounding of feet all around me.  When I eventually gathered up the courage to open my eyes, all I could make out were indistinct grey forms moving with great speed and seeming to flicker between the trees.  And the silence returned, as suddenly as it had been broken.”

Karis’ eyes began to brim with tears, which he fought back, wiping the back of his hand across his face.

“After a while I started to hear shouts and screams.  I looked down into the valley and could see that fire had caught hold in Bewik’s barn, people illuminated by the flames, running around like angry soldier ants from a disturbed nest.  Although I was a long way off, I could hear everything, even recognise individual voices.  That’s when my temper started to well up inside me like some irresistible force.  Why had I been spared?  It was as though they had more significant quarry to care about than some wobbly-arsed  blacksmith’s son thundering ineptly through the forest.  Getting up off my backside, I ran down the hillside as fast as I could, grabbed the nearest leather bucket and began to fling water at the blaze along with everybody else.  A complete waste of time, admittedly, but at least I was doing something to help, rather than cowering in the forest with my backside pointing towards the heavens.  I’m not going to be ignored!”

Pirin knelt down and stroked Trisk’s head.  The dog was still weak, his tired eyes misty and faded.

“Karis, anyone who ignores you does so at their peril.  Don’t be ashamed that you were frightened.  Only a fool wouldn’t have been.  In the light of what I’ve learned since we last parted, your actions were very wise.  What is important is that you faced up to your fear and ran down that hillside.  That is not the behaviour of a coward.  Now, come on, I have much to tell you about our friends with the peculiar feet.

Trisk fell in behind them as they continued along the Puddleditch deep in conversation.  He had occasionally visited Crowfoot with Crelda and did not particularly like it: there were too many unfamiliar scents and sounds for him ever to feel completely at ease.

The wettest drought ever - a geography teacher's perspective.....

It is for many people an odd conundrum that during such a period of unremittingly-wet weather, there should be a hosepipe ban in place for much of the UK, especially in the South East. And on the surface, it does appear to be a ridiculous situation. However, the problem with rainfall at this time of year is that a large proportion of it is evaporated very quickly, intercepted by foliage or drawn up by the roots of growing plants long before it ever reaches the groundwater stores from which we draw our water supplies and which feed the rivers that we also extract a great deal from. The only consolation for the water companies at the moment is that people are not watering their gardens, which is reducing demand at this time of year, but which will only temporarily obscure the fact that we are using water in the South East at a rate which is unsustainable in the long term...and plans to build thousands more houses will only make the situation worse. I love rain....particularly a good thunderstorm which I can watch and listen to from a smugly-dry location.....but it goes without saying that I too wish it would stop raining - I have walks and picnics and BBQs to plan......

Adventures.......

Life is a precious gift and not to be wasted....it should be full of adventures. I am a geographer...I love to travel and I have been truly lucky to see so much of the world in my lifetime These photographs were taken four years ago when we took off from Hokitika Airport on the West coast of New Zealand's South Island in a small Cessna and flew over a landscape of mountains and glaciers - with all the aretes and cirques and pyramidal peaks a geographer could wish for - with our pilot, Murray. But I have come to realise increasingly that adventure is never too far away for those who seek it.....it is as much a state of mind as anything else. I have listened to Lottie's imagination taking her to wondrous places just playing with her friends and dolls in the garden. I have stood and watched the sunrise on the east coast in sand dunes surrounded by rising skylarks and plummeting pipits......and I have looked in to eyes that sparkle and shine so brightly with a sense of adventure that I cannot divert my gaze from them. New adventures await .....and the twinkle is almost back.......

Madness Perform at The Diamond Jubilee Concert ♚ (Our House/It Must Be L...

Well done boys.....just about stole the show I reckon.......Cathal Smyth, the vocalist alongside Suggs, used to go out with my girlfriend's sister...about thirty years ago!!!!! Bet he never thought then he'd end up singing on the roof of Buckingham Palace........

I'm not sure about mind-blowing, but it certainly puts things in perspective........

Best choice for a sing-a-long...............

I hear the Maddie boys will be performing this on the roof of Buckingham Palace......

They've come a long way from The Dublin Castle in Camden Town......