Wednesday, 2 July 2014
Tuesday, 1 July 2014
Wildlife at work
When, in the months ahead, the double misery of horizontal rain and biting windchill causes my cheery disposition to descend into a numbing despair, please remind me of this day.
A warm sun and a gentle breeze gave me cause for a momentary pause amongst the wild flowers growing in my workplace...
A warm sun and a gentle breeze gave me cause for a momentary pause amongst the wild flowers growing in my workplace...
 |
| Northern Marsh Orchid, Dactylorhiza purpurella |
 |
| Field Forgetmenot, Myosotis arvensis |
 |
| Cuckooflower, Cardamine pratensis |
 |
| Ox-eye Daisy, Leucanthemum vulgare |
 |
| Er... possibly Pineapple Weed, Matricaria discoidea |
Sunday, 29 June 2014
The Perils of Listening in English, Part 1
Being a ferry-louping in-comer, from south of the river (or at least the Pentland Firth), it's taking me a while to tune my ear in to some of the Orcadian dialect.
Both Our Lass and I have become aware that the language continuum between English and full bore Orcadian is much wider than the 'either one or the other' that we had initially thought.
In conversations with work colleagues, customers or clients, it has been apparent that there's a level of dialect which can only be described as 'half throttle'. By this I mean that it is delivered slower and with fewer dialect words than if the conversation is between two Orcadians.
At this early stage in our education, we are grateful for this relaxation of the official language, especially as two Orcadians in conversation would not necessarily speak in this fashion.
Having said that, there are pitfalls aplenty and, unfortunately, yesterday I committed a faux pas at work. A customer pointed across the yard and asked if we wanted any chairs for our recycling site. My gaze followed in the direction of his outstretched arm and I saw several plastic chairs stacked beside a walkway. I quickly responded with a full description of the usefulness of plastic chairs for a project that donates loose items of scrap to schools to encourage creative and imaginative play at break times.
The customer listened intently and patiently, but with an increasing amount of confusion. When I paused for breath, he hurriedly said, "Not chairs... chars! Those glass chars over there."
In the Orcadian dialect, the English 'j' is pronounced 'ch', especially at the beginning of words. And I had walked straight into the linguistic minefield.
Crestfallen, I looked beyond the chairs to a box that was full of empty jars.
"Er, yeah, we accept those, too," was all I sheepishly managed to say, as I looked for a handy fish box to crawl under.
Both Our Lass and I have become aware that the language continuum between English and full bore Orcadian is much wider than the 'either one or the other' that we had initially thought.
In conversations with work colleagues, customers or clients, it has been apparent that there's a level of dialect which can only be described as 'half throttle'. By this I mean that it is delivered slower and with fewer dialect words than if the conversation is between two Orcadians.
At this early stage in our education, we are grateful for this relaxation of the official language, especially as two Orcadians in conversation would not necessarily speak in this fashion.
Having said that, there are pitfalls aplenty and, unfortunately, yesterday I committed a faux pas at work. A customer pointed across the yard and asked if we wanted any chairs for our recycling site. My gaze followed in the direction of his outstretched arm and I saw several plastic chairs stacked beside a walkway. I quickly responded with a full description of the usefulness of plastic chairs for a project that donates loose items of scrap to schools to encourage creative and imaginative play at break times.
The customer listened intently and patiently, but with an increasing amount of confusion. When I paused for breath, he hurriedly said, "Not chairs... chars! Those glass chars over there."
In the Orcadian dialect, the English 'j' is pronounced 'ch', especially at the beginning of words. And I had walked straight into the linguistic minefield.
Crestfallen, I looked beyond the chairs to a box that was full of empty jars.
"Er, yeah, we accept those, too," was all I sheepishly managed to say, as I looked for a handy fish box to crawl under.
Wednesday, 25 June 2014
Mellow meander midst a meadow
An email arrived in my inbox at the weekend, inviting Orkney Field Club members to a wildflower walk in a meadow near Finstown. We had not attended any OFC meetings for several months, due to other stuff getting in the way, so we jumped at the chance to immerse ourselves in a bit of natural history.
I met Our Lass as she left work and we went into Kirkwall for tea. This was a treat, too, as we don't eat out so much these days. Then we drove over to Finstown for 18.30 to meet up with the group.
It was a sunny evening, though with a north easterly breeze, as fourteen of us climbed up towards Heddle Hill, pausing only to look at the splendid display of blooms in the community garden.
The meadow in question is unimproved (no fertiliser, so low in nutrients), with underlying sandstone bordering on limestone. It is grazed through the winter by sheep and cattle, which helps to keep the grass sward in check and increases the chances of wildflower seed dispersal and a good contact with the soil.
Immediately upon entering the pasture, it was obvious that it was a special place, with plenty of Northern Marsh and Heath Spotted Orchid (plus a fair bit of hybridisation). Also in profusion were Common Twayblade, Butterwort, Lousewort and Lady's Mantle.
Fewer in number, but a joy to see, were Fairy Flax, Moonwort, Ragged Robin, Eyebright, Wild Thyme and a Speedwell species, plus a small amount of Bog Asphodel that won't flower for several weeks yet.
Our thanks to Penny Martin, Jenny Taylor and John Crossley for organising and guiding this field trip.
I met Our Lass as she left work and we went into Kirkwall for tea. This was a treat, too, as we don't eat out so much these days. Then we drove over to Finstown for 18.30 to meet up with the group.
It was a sunny evening, though with a north easterly breeze, as fourteen of us climbed up towards Heddle Hill, pausing only to look at the splendid display of blooms in the community garden.
The meadow in question is unimproved (no fertiliser, so low in nutrients), with underlying sandstone bordering on limestone. It is grazed through the winter by sheep and cattle, which helps to keep the grass sward in check and increases the chances of wildflower seed dispersal and a good contact with the soil.
Immediately upon entering the pasture, it was obvious that it was a special place, with plenty of Northern Marsh and Heath Spotted Orchid (plus a fair bit of hybridisation). Also in profusion were Common Twayblade, Butterwort, Lousewort and Lady's Mantle.
Fewer in number, but a joy to see, were Fairy Flax, Moonwort, Ragged Robin, Eyebright, Wild Thyme and a Speedwell species, plus a small amount of Bog Asphodel that won't flower for several weeks yet.
 |
| Unimproved? In a way, it's a bizarre description. How can you better this? |
 |
| Heath Spotted Orchid, Dactylorhiza maculata |
 |
| Moonwort, Botrychium lunaria |
 |
| Possibly... Marsh Lousewort, Pedicularis palustris |
 |
| Unidentified fungi |
Tuesday, 24 June 2014
Tuesday's Gone
The rock cognoscenti amongst you may recognise the above name of a track from Lynyrd Skynyrd's 'Pronounced...' album, but this post has more to do with High North than the Deep South.
When we moved to Orkney from Milton Keynes, we knew there would be some things we would miss, like big bunches of trees and near constant birdsong, and also some things we would not miss, like the drone of motorway traffic and the lack of far horizons. What was harder to quantify was figuring out which things would surprise us for better or worse, in a not too dissimilar way to Mr Rumsfeld's unknown unknowns.
Of late, I had come to realise there was a small gap in my weekly routine, a tiny unfilled moment, that was only noticeable through the lack of some... undefined... thing. What the heck was it? It nagged at me for a while, until my thoughts and a particular day of the week and a realisation achieved a perfect syzygy.
Bell practice at St Andrew's Church in Great Linford. See under Regular Activities on the linked document.
I hasten to add that I didn't participate in this cacophony of campanological capers, I was merely an interested bystander, soaking up the atmosphere of listening to the gentle peal of the bells as the tolling sounds wafted across paddocks, canal and open spaces between St Andrew's churchyard and the garden of Tense Towers.
Every Tuesday evening.
It was a permanent fixture of our life in Milton Keynes. One that was so subliminal, yet so defining of place, an English village church bringing sonic succour to this pagan's ears.
And I miss it.
Fortunately, another Tuesday night ritual has presented itself. In Orkney. In Summer. Holm Sailing Club's snipe racing in St. Mary's Bay, just the other side of Churchill Barrier 1 and viewable from OTT.
Some sort of cosmic harmony has been restored.
Tuesday's Back... with the wind.
When we moved to Orkney from Milton Keynes, we knew there would be some things we would miss, like big bunches of trees and near constant birdsong, and also some things we would not miss, like the drone of motorway traffic and the lack of far horizons. What was harder to quantify was figuring out which things would surprise us for better or worse, in a not too dissimilar way to Mr Rumsfeld's unknown unknowns.
Of late, I had come to realise there was a small gap in my weekly routine, a tiny unfilled moment, that was only noticeable through the lack of some... undefined... thing. What the heck was it? It nagged at me for a while, until my thoughts and a particular day of the week and a realisation achieved a perfect syzygy.
Bell practice at St Andrew's Church in Great Linford. See under Regular Activities on the linked document.
I hasten to add that I didn't participate in this cacophony of campanological capers, I was merely an interested bystander, soaking up the atmosphere of listening to the gentle peal of the bells as the tolling sounds wafted across paddocks, canal and open spaces between St Andrew's churchyard and the garden of Tense Towers.
Every Tuesday evening.
It was a permanent fixture of our life in Milton Keynes. One that was so subliminal, yet so defining of place, an English village church bringing sonic succour to this pagan's ears.
And I miss it.
Fortunately, another Tuesday night ritual has presented itself. In Orkney. In Summer. Holm Sailing Club's snipe racing in St. Mary's Bay, just the other side of Churchill Barrier 1 and viewable from OTT.
Some sort of cosmic harmony has been restored.
Tuesday's Back... with the wind.
Apologies
I've been having problems with Blogger for a few days, but couldn't figure out where I'd gone wrong, let alone how to correct my error.
So my sincere apologies to a few of my fellow bloggers, who had to suffer a bit of a rant as I unloaded my frustration onto the page. Sorry, people :o(
The reading list of blogs that I follow normally shows the latest 30 or so posts. Of late it only showed 1, and although it offered a 'View more' button, this was not functioning. I searched high and low for some spurious check box that I must've accidentally activated, but without any success.
This has meant that posts from bloggers that I'm following have been published but I don't have a ready means of knowing that, unless I happen to log on whilst their post is still the latest one to appear.
It turns out that it's a known issue with Blogger, not a Tense fubar.
I guess it's probably best if I just chill now and wait for the cavalry.
So my sincere apologies to a few of my fellow bloggers, who had to suffer a bit of a rant as I unloaded my frustration onto the page. Sorry, people :o(
The reading list of blogs that I follow normally shows the latest 30 or so posts. Of late it only showed 1, and although it offered a 'View more' button, this was not functioning. I searched high and low for some spurious check box that I must've accidentally activated, but without any success.
This has meant that posts from bloggers that I'm following have been published but I don't have a ready means of knowing that, unless I happen to log on whilst their post is still the latest one to appear.
It turns out that it's a known issue with Blogger, not a Tense fubar.
I guess it's probably best if I just chill now and wait for the cavalry.
Sunday, 22 June 2014
One less brick in the wall
This news story caught my attention this morning.
Whilst not big on the monotheistic Abrahamic religions, I can appreciate that this project is a step in the right direction, away from the fundamentalist cliff edge of the world going to hell in a handcart.
It is a small ray of hope, shining out from a once dark place.
Interestingly, I recall from a 1988 visit to East Berlin (as it was then), the strange tale of the television transmitting tower. This tower can be seen in the background of the photo accompanying the linked BBC report. It was built in the late 1960s, by the Communist authorities of the German Democratic Republic, and completed shortly after a campaign to remove the crosses from all the churches in East Berlin. The Communists weren't big on religion, full stop.
Unfortunately for the regime, light striking the globe of the tower produced the effect that is amply displayed in the accompanying photo... a cross. All attempts to scatter the light and prevent the manifestation failed, so it became known locally as the 'Pope's revenge'.
Whilst not big on the monotheistic Abrahamic religions, I can appreciate that this project is a step in the right direction, away from the fundamentalist cliff edge of the world going to hell in a handcart.
It is a small ray of hope, shining out from a once dark place.
Interestingly, I recall from a 1988 visit to East Berlin (as it was then), the strange tale of the television transmitting tower. This tower can be seen in the background of the photo accompanying the linked BBC report. It was built in the late 1960s, by the Communist authorities of the German Democratic Republic, and completed shortly after a campaign to remove the crosses from all the churches in East Berlin. The Communists weren't big on religion, full stop.
Unfortunately for the regime, light striking the globe of the tower produced the effect that is amply displayed in the accompanying photo... a cross. All attempts to scatter the light and prevent the manifestation failed, so it became known locally as the 'Pope's revenge'.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)