Month: August 2015

Old words – Tues 25th Aug

Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.
And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing.
And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.
Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up,
Doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil;
Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth;
Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.
Charity never faileth: but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away.
For we know in part, and we prophesy in part.
But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away.
When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things.
For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.

Paul, Corinthians 13,
(King James Version)

Origins of species – Sat 22nd Aug

Contrary to popular belief, dogs are not descended from wolves. Rather they share a common ancestry, diverging as species between 27,000 and 40,000 years ago. Nevertheless wolves and dogs have very similar mitochondrial DNA (differing by about 0.2%) and are therefore able to interbreed. This accounts for the resemblance some varieties of dog have to wolves, e.g. Huskies, Alsatians. However, it does not explain how Dachshunds happened. Their name may be a translation from the German, meaning ‘badger hound’ but I don’t reckon they just ended up that way as a result of a staple diet of badgers necessitating the development of shorter legs (to go down holes in the ground) via natural selection.

Spectacular – Fri 21st Aug

While sunglasses as such are a relatively recent invention, dating back to the earlier part of the 20th century, tinted lenses have been around for a lot longer. Pliny the Elder wrote that the Emperor Nero liked to watch gladiator matches through emeralds; in 12th century China, court judges used lenses of smoky quartz to hide their emotions from those they were questioning; In the mid 18th Century, James Ayscough began to experiment with blue and green-tinted lenses, believing that these could correct a number of sight conditions; and in the 19th and early 20th centuries, yellow and brown lenses were used in one of the many, pre-penicillin treatments of syphilis (based on the fact that sensitivity to light is one of the symptoms of the disease).

None of these had anything to do with protection from harmful ultraviolet rays. Indeed their popularity, once tinted glass became more widely available, came from their use by film stars in the 1920s. At that time it was commonly believed that sunglasses were worn by the famous to avoid recognition by fans. However, an alternative theory has been suggested more recently: Because of the low sensitivity of early film stock, dangerously high-powered arc lighting was needed on film sets. Prolonged exposure to these gave film stars very red eyes and sunglasses were worn to cover up a multitude of eye conditions. Whatever the reason, even once ultraviolet filters were developed for film-studio lighting, the popularity of wearing sunglasses continued among film stars, and of course the rest of us followed suit.

But how did the wearing of dark glasses by special agents, detectives, fearless but unorthodox crime-fighters etc. become such a cliché? I’m not saying all cops really do wear them (probably the reverse, though, then again, how do you know the man behind you wearing dark glasses isn’t tailing you?) but the image crops up often enough in the cinema and TV for it to have become a familiar association and one I’ve seen transferred to reality in some places, having had some interesting experiences involving Mexican law officers and the secret police of Tamil Nadu, several of whom had a predilection for these items of eyewear. There was also one other occasion:

I’d taken an overnight plane to Athens, arriving about 4am. My connecting boat didn’t leave till that evening so I had time to kill and decided to go and see the Acropolis at dawn. I missed the sunrise but it was still very early on a beautiful clear morning as I began my climb to the top of the hill. Hardly any people were about at that hour and the first one I passed was a man dressed in a dark suit and pale blue shirt open at the collar, standing next to one of the park benches. He was wearing sunglasses and carrying a folded newspaper. The suit surprised me, it seemed a bit formal for the setting, or that time in the morning. Then, a few yards later, I came across another man in a similar suit, light blue open-necked shirt, dark glasses and folded newspaper. Oddly enough, my initial thought when, a little further up the hill, I came across two more in similar clothes and accessories standing together silently, was that I’d stumbled into a gay cruising area. I decided that the suit, sunglasses and newspaper indicated some sort of code, but on seeing a fifth man lurking near some bushes a bit further on, again dressed similarly and with the same props, I began to revise my theory. What gave it away was the loud squawk that came from his newspaper, which, on second glance, seemed to have a short aerial sticking out of it. By the time I’d reach the Parthenon I had spotted about 15 more men, all similarly attired with folded newspapers, which, now I was looking for them, all had short aerials poking out from the top of them.

I have to say that, while I enjoyed the ancient architecture and statues, I was now more interested in finding out what was going on. However, it seemed a breach of etiquette to ask any of the men with folded newspapers, so I gave up and left.

Some time later as I neared the streets below, I heard the approach of a helicopter and, looking round, saw it begin to descend towards the Parthenon. This heightened my curiosity even more, but it was several days before I found out that my visit had coincided with that of Daniel Ortega then President of Nicaragua, who would have been arriving on the helicopter as I left.

At the time it made me laugh to think that I’d stumbled on possibly the most conspicuous plain-clothes operation in history, but it has since occurred to me that the reason why some film stars and certain members of security forces wear sunglasses is not to evoke anonymity, but the complete opposite: to say, I am here, I want you to see me, but don’t get any closer because I am important. If this is the case, then this particular use of sunglasses is not so different from their use by 12th century Chinese interrogators.

The Octopus – Mon 17th Aug

“The Octopus is greedy, sneaky, and voracious, and it will eat anything. It is probably the most omnivorous creature in the sea. Here is the proof: in times of hunger, it will eat one of its own tentacles, thus making up for lack of prey. When better times come, it grows back the missing limb. Nature thus gives it a ready meal in moments of want.”

Aelian, ‘On the Nature of Animals’ written circa 200 ad. Translated by Gregory McNamee

UFO sighting – Sat 15th Aug

I knew it would happen eventually! Every day (more or less) I’ve been taking photographs of things I stumble across on my walks around town, so it was only a matter of time before I’d get a picture of an alien spacecraft. It’s actually quite small, so therefore possibly unmanned (unaliened? unlittlegreenmanned?). Or maybe aliens are really tiny, having evolved to utilise multidimensional space to keep their massive brains in another dimension so they don’t have to carry them around on their traditionally spindly three-dimensional legs? Whatever, this is definitely it!

Because it’s really only a dot in the photograph on the right of several women taking time out from a wedding (you’ll have to look closely, its the dot directly above the woman in red checking her mobile phone) I’m appending below a blow up detail showing the UFO more clearly.

At first I thought it might be a football kicked high in the air above Hove Lawns (but its too close for that) or a Pétanque ball from the court immediately behind the seating area (but it’s too large for that, besides, you’d have to be a super-human with no understanding of the game, or indeed any regard for human life, to have thrown a boule that high in the air). However, in the enlargement you can see it more clearly as only approximately spherical, more of an irregular dodecahedron really. It seems to be metallic, grey rather than shiny, probably pitted by space debris after its long journey, and to have several curved plates covering it. There is also no evidence of any blurring caused by movement, meaning it must have been more or less stationary at the time I captured its image. I must stress, this is NOT a photoshopped fake and I can provide the original raw file as proof for any news agency who is interested (for an appropriate fee).

I just think it’s a pity for the girls in the photo that several of them look so jaded, as I am expecting this photograph to go viral and make my fortune. But after all, it’s a wedding photo so they would all have probably had a good night out before the event, and the bride and groom (pictured in the left hand image) will be delighted that my photographing their marriage was the inadvertent cause of this discovery, regardless of the state of their guests.

ufo closeup

The victory of truth – Weds 12th Aug

It’s windy at the café but I find a table in a relatively sheltered spot next to a family with three fractious toddlers, all of whom are vying for first place in a tantrum competition. Maybe I can photograph them too? I’ll have to work my seat round a bit to bring them into view… only then a dapper man, venerable but sprightly, comes over to me and asks if he can share my table out of the wind? “Of course” I reply. As he sits down there is that tense moment when I’m wondering if my new tablemate is going to start telling me the KKK had some good ideas, or something, but it’s ok, he just remarks that he used to smoke my brand of tobacco before he gave up.

The wind is being mischievous, jerking the windbreaks and the parasols which, being attached to the tables, means we both have to dive for our teas, half their contents now running shorewards across the green plastic. Then a girl wearing a crown of blue artificial flowers bounces up. She seems to know the dapper man. He gets up to buy her a tea, leaving me alone with her. We smile, as you do, and I’m expecting her to sit and wait for him, but she launches straight into this bubbly interview, only without the gaps you’re supposed to leave for replies. She’s asking me “Don’t you think weddings are so wonderful?” and she’s just been to such a beautiful one up the road and the bride and groom are so happy and she’s going to do so many things and…

And I’m just wondering if I can find a way of sneaking off but at the same time I’m fascinated. The dapper man returns with two more teas which he places on the table. The wind immediately responds, jerking the umbrella, so now there are four little streams running across the table towards the shore. The girl lifts up her mug and cradles it while continuing about the wedding at which, it seems, she was dressed as a plastic champagne bottle, she then spreads a map of Inverness in front of me telling me she’s just run the entire route outlined in red biro and extolling the beauty of the Scottish countryside. She adds that we all need to work towards ecologically sound transportation. The dapper man takes some exception to this, telling her that, as a species, we are not yet evolved enough. Then he tells me that she is an artist, or certainly very creative, although the girl replies that she is into P.E. and she’s going to be running around the whole of Scandinavia soon – she likes to keep things off the map – and then tells me I should get married again (again? I haven’t actually told her I’m divorced) because she thinks I’d look really smart in a suit. In fact she thinks we should all get married again, despite the fact that her last marriage was a disaster, but after all she was very young then (how old is she now? She doesn’t look more than about twenty). “You should both be married!” she repeats. The dapper man and I both “hmm” in unison. He likes his freedom. This morning he woke up and decided he was going to go to the races, he didn’t have to ask anyone else what they thought and he’s now won £290, but she’s off again about ecologically sound global transportation and the dapper man makes the mistake of telling her she lacks experience, to which she snaps back with a lecture about ageism, not helped by him saying “but you won’t tell me how old you are?” And yet they both seem to like each other and the argument is a bit like the ones you see between old married couples.

I’m transfixed. I can’t work out if I’m enjoying this or not, but I think I probably am and anyway, if he doesn’t know how old she is, then how well do they know each other? I’d assumed he was an uncle or grandfather, but now I’m beginning to wonder. I start to drift, letting their conversation wash over me like a play on the radio you aren’t really listening to. Only then I see a wheelchair, thankfully empty, accelerating directly towards a table occupied by a couple eating fried breakfasts. There is a crash and some exclamations. Two seagulls take advantage of the confusion to grab a few gulletfulls of chips. The dapper man, trying to see what’s happened, leans forward in his chair, which gives way at the legs, sending him sprawling. The girl and I both get up to help him and she’s instantly off to dispose of the broken chair. While she’s gone I take the opportunity to ask him how long they’ve known each other, to which he replies “Good God man! I only met her an hour ago while we were both watching the same wedding. When I suggested a cup of tea I was being polite, I didn’t expect her to follow me.”

The girl is now back, telling us that a broken chair is good luck and she wants to go to a fox hunt but she thinks it’s a pity that foxes get killed and can’t the dogs just follow and she could run along with them? The dapper man interjects, saying that fox-hunters are all townies. I try to add my own comments on this topic but since they are both off again on quite independent conversations I relax back into my chair. The girl really just wants to see one fox in the UK as she’s lived here for a while now but she’s only ever seen them in Finland. The dapper man and I are surprised as you can see them hanging round the town’s bins on most nights. The girl wants to know if they eat rabbits and are there lots of rabbits in town too? The dapper man says myxomatosis was a terrible thing and he hasn’t eaten a rabbit in years. The girl then asks us how long we’ve known each other, to which we reply that we’ve just met. She thinks this is great and I should take a picture, which I do, after which I feel we really should introduce each other.
“Chris”.
“Noel”
“Donna Lukander Victory Of Truth, at the moment, but I’m experimenting with names.” “Do you have one that’s a bit more stable we can use in the meantime?”
“Oh, well, the name my family gave me is Iida”

At this point a short-handled broom flies past us, missing our table by only a few feet. Andrew the table-clearing man is back from his holidays and evidently the pigeons have become far too friendly in his absence. As the cloud of startled birds lifts off into the air I sit back in my chair once more, knowing my day is now complete.

Air sea rescue – Tues 11th Aug

I was listening to one of those Radio 4 amazing facts programmes a few years ago. You know the sort, where a panel of experts give answers to questions sent in by listeners on topics pertaining to the natural world, the sciences, mathematical problems and so on. On this day one particular question stuck in my mind. A listener had written in asking how, when it’s raining, insects, being close in size to raindrops, don’t seem to get hit? After some exploration of different theories, the panel came to the conclusion that rain, as it falls, creates enough turbulence around each droplet to blow any insects out of their path. Upon hearing this, the world seemed to come alive for me and I had this vision of the air around us filled with minute curlicues of turbulence caused by a multitude of falling droplets; a beautiful web of three-dimensional and invisible arabesques. I was delighted.

A few years later, while filming in some woods nearby I chanced on a lepidopterist out searching for butterflies. We fell into conversation and he told me that, for him, the day had not been so good. He’d hoped to photograph some of the rarer species but most of the ones he’d found had wings quite badly damaged by the rain. I remembered my programme and felt a little disappointed, but then, I reasoned, maybe butterflies, because of the size of their wings, created enough drag to prevent them being blown out of the way, and so they might be an exception to the rule.

So, today I’m hiding from the rain under one of the umbrellas at the café when all of a sudden, this shape appears with a splat on the stretched canvas cover. It’s clearly visible through the wet fabric as having six legs. Peeking out from the rim of my shelter I can see it’s a bee that’s been brought down with a bump by a raindrop. Unsurprisingly, it looks stunned. Since the rain is now easing I try a bit of rescue work, breathing and blowing on the bee to dry it out and try to warm it up a bit. To my surprise, this actually works. Acting a bit like a human hair dryer to warm it, and having blown off the surplus water, after a while the bee starts to buzz a bit, dislodging some more water. Then it does what any sensible insect would do under the circumstances, crawling across the surface to the edge, over the rim and then under the canopy where it clings on, probably trying to recover its senses.

Ok, its only one bee. Maybe there are instances where insects are blown out of the way by turbulence caused by falling rain, but from what I can see from the behaviour of this one individual, it seems likely that what actually happens to insects during rain showers is pretty much the same as anyone else caught in a shower, namely, dive for cover and wait it out. And that’s why you don’t see many insects in the rain: they aren’t stupid (well, for a given value of stupid since they can’t have very big brains) and are all hiding underneath leaves on trees and so on.

Only now I have a new problem: the afternoon is drawing on and the people at the café are beginning to put away the tables, chairs and umbrellas away for the night, one of which has a stunned bee under it. I feel a bit of a twit going over to talk to Michel to ask him to watch out for the bee so it doesn’t get trapped as he closes the parasol, but you see, I’ve helped it, so now it’s my responsibility, and I have no idea where it’s hive is.