The edge of the wild

After an hour of ascent we came to the edge of human interference.
Beyond was rough heathland up to Crags and cliff, stiff with the territorial energetic roaring of stags in rut. We stayed close to the fence and traversed the mountainside in case the stags decided to charge.
They were annoyed by our presence, tearing across the mountainside, each hoof-strike exploding into mist.

Karmic projection overkill

Getting back down south, driving into heavier traffic, getting back to work with all of the noise, mostly pointless. It brought me down with a bump and made me think about how quiet it is in Scotland.
After our climb up the hills at the back of the cottage, I sat a while reading my book, 'At the Loch of the green corrie'. It is an excellent tale of friendship, poetry and finding ones own ease and place on the Earth.
I was reading away, but getting mythered by the chickens hassling me for food or affection and I wished they would just nob off!

That night a young Pine marten got in and amongst killing four of them.

Today at work, my colleague, joined me on the same job and whacked on radio two. He is a nice bloke who has been at the same workplace for far too long and part of his Stockholm syndrome is soothed by the same, bland inane loops favoured by, Ken Bruce , Steve Wright and the like.
 I briefly seethed some bitter karmic thoughts, but I hope he manages to not get mauled by any Mustelids this weekend, he doesn't deserve that

How the west was won

Just back from a trip up north, to the Scottish part of my country.
We stayed in Glen Orchy and it was sublime. On Sunday we drove east for three hours, taking the Corran ferry to the Ardnamurchan peninsular and the lighthouse at its western tip, the farthest westerly point on the British mainland. A sunny and rainbow illuminated schlep, with about thirty nine blind summits.
Here is a shot of the old foghorn.

Pelagic Camino

I spent yesterday afternoon lazing in the warm sunny rays, trying not to be annoyed by all of my neighbours noisy garden power  tools. Mowers, blowers and jet washers.
Eventually It quietened down enough for me to throw this poem together. 

I am trying to express how much I  enjoyed a recent boat trip in Greece.

In the golden days of a warm yellow June

bare brown feet astride, humans in tune, a rock and roll ride

we skid and slide with the glide, over wind sculpted

wild oceanic hydro planes.

Toes and heels curl and dig at the sand course teak

fold and uncurl in rhythm, a salt briny rhyme

bunches of herbs, sage marjoram garlic and thyme

sway in the lines and rigging above.

They flavour our fortune, ward off the grave

appease forces of peril as we pilgrims

forge our pelagic Camino

Feelings of homesickness

As I age, a strong desire to feel a sense of place is growing ever stronger.
Having grown up in a migrant workers estate in Nineteen Seventies Coventry, I do feel a sense of affection for the city. Yet always tempered with a sense of detachment and remoteness.
Now forty Eight years old, I yearn to commit to live and grow old in a place with some weight to its character.
This is Glen Etive, just down from the battle site in my story.  

Scottish independence

This last year, I have been busy writing.
I have fleshed out the body of a novella, which I am still working on, and finished a long, short story.
And the good news is that it is available to buy on kindle.
So if anyone is up for a bit of resurrected vendetta and live action roll-play, based upon the Scottish independence argument, then have a read.
My Dad has just read it and gave it ten out of ten, he could hear the poem Scots Wahey playing in the back of his mind as he read.

Moving to Greece, or Scotland !

This time, last year we camped and swam near this lubricious spring fed quarry in north Cornwall.
Today we were stuck in the Midlands, so we headed west, had lunch in Hay on Wye. Then we walked around the old bookshops, quite a few have closed down since we were last there.
Well.. then we drove down through the Golden valley towards a swim at Backney common near Ross on Wye. The car park gates were locked, as were some of the access gates down to the river.
Lots of PRIVATE signs up and people out shooting in the surrounding fields.We met some locals, who told us that the common has been sold.
We drove around a bit, looking for paths down to the Wye. We could see it! flowing alongside the fenced off fields.
Even more signs saying ACCESS TO FISHERIES ONLY!..
So I am ashamed to admit that we gave up and drove home. Ended up having a dip in our big paddler in the garden.
I did tear a few of the private signs down, low level anarchy stuff..

Happiness is the way

I had a lazy evening last night.
We watched gardeners world, and he talked a lot about composting, which is one of the most weirdly rewarding of my pastimes.
I drank some wine and then we watched The grand Budapest hotel.
What a magnificent film!
This photograph illustrates everything that is scruffily magnificent about Greece.

Lost in wild surging seas

Mandraki beach on the wild and windy western side of Skiathos.
Where most of Xerxes european invasion fleet ended up after being defeated and scattered by the Athenean and Ionean navy. Lots of surging currents around the island.
 I imagined being an exhausted persian galley slave, as our barque burst its shell against the jagged rocks. Chained to the oar as the timbers around me started to shatter and split with the foaming blue surging in.. grasping my last breath as the tyrene wallowed ever deeper.
Lungs burning as I watch my fellow oarsmen scream the last terrified oxygen bubbles from their wide open jaws.
Probably a Greek prisoner, maybe even from Skiathos in the first place.
Reminded me of T.S.Eliot. From the Wasteland.

Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead,

Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep sea swell

And the profit and loss.

                                   A current under sea

Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell

He passed the stages of his age and youth

Entering the whirlpool.

                                   Gentile or Jew

O you who turn the wheel and look to windward,

Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you.

Flat out of Hethel

I had a bit of a flat day today.

First day back at work and a long old drive across the fens to a new job in Norfolk.

I met some old mates, had a health and safety talk, had my photo taken. Then found out that the hours, rate and rigid rules and conditions were not as I was told.

So I said cheerio and chugged my way back home. Ah well!

This isn't Norfolk, it is nearby to the setting of my soon to be published Story.

Just north of Glencoe, on holiday last August.

Tartan Clash

This is a screenshot from the artwork of my short story.

It is quite a long short story, and will be published on kindle next weekend after its final edit this week.

It is about professionally orchestrated violent encounters. Using ancient vendetta and grudges from the past, and playing them out wild and vivid in the present.

Salty Nutsack

We didn't go over to the small Banana nudist beach.
 We stayed on the Big Banana, non nudist beach for a couple of days.
But I do like a good skinny dip as much as the next person.
I have thought of a good name for my new beach boys tribute band if anyone wants to join.
I was inspired by my uncomfortable speedos that are past their best.

Thinking Global

Just got back from a week in Skiathos.
Swam all over the island, thoroughly immersed ourselves in the fresh salty Agean sea.
Staring out at the curve of our azure blue globe on a boat trip, I wondered.
Is that the actual curve of the Earth, or is it the curve of my eyeball?
I put this to my new pal Yannis, who attributed the phenomena to the strength of the Sangria that he had made for the trip over to Tsougria.