Friday Night Fever

Night

Drew me, etched my stretched back lines

Night knew me, warm on chill cast iron

 

No thoughts were passed, no words were said

We were alive, yet could have passed for dead

 

No shooting stars, no Starlink trains

No headlight beams or late-night planes

 

No movement, save the lightest breeze,

No owls, no bats, nor clattering leaves

 

A nothingness prevailed, the minutes slowed

A quarter-hour, the quarter-moon still dozed

 

Still. Quiet. Cold. Scanned stars, I clearly see

(Strange Friday Fever), Night watching me

 

No waved goodbyes, I simply rose and left

The Night, unmoved, as quietly to bed I crept

 

By six the stars had turned, the quarter-moon above the stack

This morning’s Night though moody black

 

Had lost its spell, or I’d lost mine, so silently

We paused, we knew, we bid farewell

 

Seeped indigo stains, the ink flowed hot

A back door check, Night’s parting shot

 

Silvered ISS sped overhead and bright

Chorused relief of dawn, and warmth, and light

 

And banished

Night.

 

29/10/2024

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This month has been a generally benign one, drier than early autumn often is here, with quite frequent clear night skies, which inspired the poem above, as I wandered outside and sat in the metal rocker for what seemed like ages, simply looking up at the stars, on my own, with no sounds, or evidence of other human activity at all. The one clear night on the 13th, which allowed temperatures to fall low enough for a frost, took out many of the stalwart late season nectar flowers, like Persicaria vaccinifolia. Which is an unusually early fate for them.

It’s also meant that autumn leaf colours have developed, but then leaves have dropped surprisingly quickly. However, in spite of all the leaf clearing and cutting back which becomes inevitably labour intensive for us with such a spring bulb focused garden, we really love this time of the year.

Cornus sibirica (foreground), Cornus controversa (distant centre)

Cornus kousa ‘Miss Satomi’

Cornus ‘Midwinter Fire’

And this October has continued to provide a long series of fabulous varied sunrises, up to the last couple of days, which have lapsed into autumnal grey gloomy days. I’m sure the Met Office will in due course tell us that this year’s weather falls within the bounds of a ‘normal’ October. However, a chance finding of a fascinating recent lecture about the AMOC has grabbed my attention. Whilst the acronym is easy enough to remember, with its appropriate similarity to amok (adverb – ‘behave uncontrollably and disruptively’), I don’t think the full word sequence will ever trip off my tongue –  Atlantic Meridional (that’s the tricky word for me) Overturning Circulation.

This is the vital ocean current which historically brings warm water up from the bottom of South Africa through a looping circuit into North Atlantic waters, before cooling and returning the same water deep in the ocean to the Southern hemisphere. In so doing it dumps warmth equivalent to about 50 times the annual energy consumption of humanity into the Northern Atlantic waters. So it’s clearly a big deal, and much more important than the Gulf Stream. The problem is that many oceanographers have picked up that the current has slowed dramatically in recent decades, and this process seems to be accelerating. Many scientists feel a tipping point is approaching at which point the process will become self reinforcing, and the current may collapse completely.

The short lecture below is the clearest summary explanation I have listened to on this topic, which you can watch or read about in this concurrent article. Written by Professor Stefan Rahmstorf, from the Earth System Analysis – Potsdam Institute, who has spent much of his working life researching this topic. (There is a more detailed video presentation by Rahmstorf from earlier in the year, which you could watch here).

Ramsdorf ends his paper with this sentence:

It would be irresponsible, even foolhardy, if policymakers, business leaders, and indeed the voting public continue to ignore those risks.

It’s quite remarkable how it’s projected that the whole world will continue to heat up, but not our particular small bit of it! Which is going to get much colder. There’s nothing like his clear coloured maps to make this point.

So what, you might ask. Yet another thing to worry about. Undoubtedly one can argue that nothing any individual can do will directly influence any of this. However, cynically, I’m sure we can be confident that our governments have a plan of how to manage the societal impacts that would arise from a dramatically cooler, and less agriculturally productive Britain. Perhaps even more of the native population will consider emigration. Though where to?

Come to think of it, and thinking laterally, perhaps the video above could be played on giant screens along the beaches of Northern France to alert potential ‘irregular’ (this is now the preferred government adjective) immigrants to these issues, before they set off for Britain’s currently green and pleasant land.

So from now on, whenever the weather gets us down a bit, or oscillates violently and unusually from one season to the next, I’ll know to think again of that pesky acronym AMOC, and the cold blob, racing amok towards its tipping point.

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Acer palmatum seedling

Liriodendron tulipifera (left)

Zelkova carpinifolia seedling

Northofagus obliqua seedling

Acer palmatum seedlings

Acer capillipes seedling

Stewartia pseudocamellia

Whilst the leaves, and sky have been colouring up wonderfully, the sheep have got in on the act. The annual moment arrived mid-month, when a tup, (ram lamb), was smeared with yellow pigment and old margarine, well rubbed into his black wool brisket and released in with the ewes. Whether because he’s a ‘good worker’ or because this year the ewes selected for breeding had been stimulated to synchronise their oestrous cycles by having our group of 9 intact ram lambs just a couple of fields away, we don’t know. But within just 24 hours, the first ewe was well marked. Every day, I check for new matings, and try to record ear tag numbers for a vague idea about lambing dates next spring. !0 days later, and only 3 of the ewes are still ‘unserved’. We’ll shortly change the colour to green, to check if the ewes have held to the first fleeting mating. Like everything, sheep breeding has its own jargon.

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A few significant sightings also occurred in the last fortnight. The first 2 snowdrop flowers, always eagerly anticipated as one of the most important signs for me that the new year of growth is on the way, just as the light, weather, and leaf drop are all telling me that this isn’t so, and we’re plunging into whatever the winter weather is going to throw at us this year. Completely hopeless as garden worthy plants, they just about hang on, in our wet conditions, and limp from year to year. G. ‘Tilebarn Jamie’, above has produced only its second flower in 11 years.

How much better are the ever reliable and stunning Dahlia merckii, which somehow escaped the first frost, and go on, and on.

As well as the gorgeous froth of Saxifage fortunei rubrifolium, both of which appeal to our honey bees on sunny days as excellent late pollen and nectar sources.

Just as the white of a snowdrop flower stands out amongst failing foliage, I spotted a strange white object as I was siting at the terrace table with a cup of coffee this week. Wondering whether it was a feather, I moved over for a closer look, and discovered a rough spherical silken structure, hung by a couple of anchoring silken threads from the underside of a dying Crocosmia leaf. Almost certainly a silken moth cocoon, I guess, and I’m going to see if anyone can get closer to a species identification, and will then update this post. As with many such observations, it begged the question of just how the (presumably) caterpillar which constructed the cocoon, finished it off, with the ball of silk as well as the anchoring threads, whilst ending up hidden inside the globe, where it can safely pupate inside a chrysalis. You can get an idea by watching Kimberley Simon’s time lapse (on Barry Stevenson’s YT channel) of how a silk moth makes its own cocoon in about 12 hours. Notice also the bite sized chunks from a couple of the (probably) mulberry leaves.

I had a look around the Crocosmia for any leaf damage and found some quite large chunks taken out of a relatively young seedling hazel leaf about 2 metres away, so this might have been the caterpillar’s last meal?

Last night, a nip outside the back door after dark, saw me pick up a modest sized moth fluttering weakly up from the foliage on the rear bank. I was making a quick mental stab at what species it might have been at this time of the year, when it settled down at the base of the bank and in the light from the backdoor LED globe. I could make out that it was a small Angle shades moth, Phlogophora meticulosa, moth. Which surprised me, since its flight was so weak, and fluttering. I nipped inside for the camera, flicked up the flash, and was just trying to work out how to get the camera to focus on the moth which had once more taken to the air, when just a few feet away from me a large bat silently appeared. The moth vanished in an instant!

It may be it was an elderly moth, or simply hadn’t developed sufficient flight muscle warmth to perform the extraordinary evasive escape flight tricks which I’d witnessed, only once, many years ago and described in this post.  Or maybe the escape flight strategy I’d witnessed back then was just a rare successful skirmish in the ongoing moth – bat evolutionary ‘arms’ struggle.

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Another trip over Mynydd Llanllwni, in late afternoon light to attend a concert at Rhosygilwen, mid-month was a delight, with views down to where were heading and the distant Presli mountains good enough for me to ask Fiona to stop and take this picture! As we parked up and munched our home made pizza in the car, the full Hunter’s moon was just rising above the horizon at Rhosygilwen.

The elfin Russian pianist, Anna Tsybuleva, referenced this full moon before the concert began, along with her love of the local Welsh landscape. Apparently she travels everywhere on her own, by train, but had been shown the local Cardiganshire coast by her hosts. She mentioned the green hills, the black rocks, the sea, and even seeing a Welsh rainbow. She mentioned how some felt that a full moon inspired and heightened sensations. Maybe so. What followed in a concert entirely consisting of piano music by Rachmaninoff was inspirational and transformative. Colour and dynamism from her distinctive, agile fingers working the Steinway’s black and white keys. Dressed in an all encompassing flowing white robe/dress coat, over the sort of traditional evening gown she’d worn on her last visit 5 years ago, and with a new look close cropped hair cut, we were left with lots to ponder, as riveted, with a programme of largely unfamiliar pieces she kept the 70 or so attendees – less than half the number for her previous visit 5 years ago – spellbound. It made me wonder whether there were ever druidesses. To weave their magic in a Welsh oak hall. It seems the jury is out, though there are some fascinating insights into the origins of druids in Ireland, Wales and beyond on this interesting website.

We left, and I asked Fiona if she could take a phone picture of the scene, with the full moon now above the ridge line of the venue, and illuminating the courtyard dolphin fountain. Because Tsybuleva travels light, there were no CDs to purchase. So, as I do, I dug around a little on the internet. Listened to some of the many recordings of the most moving piece we heard – Rachmaninoff’s  Élégie in E-flat Minor, Op. 3 No. 1. Penned by a then 19 year old composer. No one seemed to capture the emotion we’d experienced, which was undoubtedly helped by us being able to sit less than 3 metres, side-on from Tsybuleva’s hands and catch the totality of engagement of body and soul with the music making.

And then I found the enigmatic YouTube of rach3master’s (r3m) channel. Established in 2008, the mystery pianist says this about themselves:

“Hi, I’m an amateur pianist who plays in my spare time. I originally created this channel as motivation to practice and actually see what I could do if I polished up my pieces to performance-standard. I’ve been classical-trained for a number of years, so you’ll find some classical music on here, as well as pieces from video games/anime if I find them pleasant enough. 

Recently, I’ve finally been able to acquire a concert grand piano of my own, so my focus has expanded somewhat to learning how to record it with great audio quality in the comfort of my own living room. I hope you enjoy my videos!”

 

Here, on r3m’s channel were many of the pieces we’d heard performed. Recorded with wonderful similar phrasing, dynamic range, and yes, ‘colour’. But where’s the enigma? Well, trawl through the many recordings, and very little is given away about who this mystery pianist is. All you get to see are the elegant hands, slim fingers and a pair of jean covered knees. Is the pianist male, or female? Glance at some of the comments and notice that (whoever r3m is), I’m not alone in finding that some of these recordings seem to be the best available on line. Amateur pianist…. well, quite some amateur, amazing, I’d say.

It’s also worth noting that Tsybuleva has only played 6 venues in the UK – all but two in tiny locations, the exceptions being our old favourite, St. George’s in Bristol, and the Wigmore Hall in London.

Was/is it now deemed ‘politically correct’ for us to travel to hear a Russian pianist playing exclusively Russian piano music, in the UK?

(I could jokingly suggest that since our country’s first ever female chancellor of the exchequer – CoE- has recently swapped the photo in her office of a prominent previous conservative ex CoE, for a female founding member of the British Communist Party, then surely such cultural events won’t be frowned upon at the highest government level).

In my defence, I also found this excellent short video about a pianist, Lucy Parham, who’s created a number of shows based on a classical composer’s work, using a well known actor to give insights into the composer’s life and times, often reading the composer’s own words. What an excellent concept. Do watch this – it’s a brilliantly put together video, only about 10 minutes long, has some wonderful insights, as well as musical snippets. And an ironically melancholic sting in the tale! I think I’d travel a long way to watch the whole production.

Both this Rhosygilwen concert, and our previous trip out to hear, and indeed ‘discover’ Steve Knightley at Mwldan got me thinking.

Oh no, no!

(I only discovered this official  Show of Hands 4 year old YT video in preparing this post – Knightley’s typically excellent lyrics appear on screen, with an added contemporary last line, though not the ‘Oh, no, no’ chorus. If you read the YouTube notes you’ll see Knightley wrote this song way back in the 1990’s “after watching a BBC ‘Special’ from Bristol Docks that somehow managed to avoid the word ‘slavery’ throughout”. No chance of that happening today, I guess).

How many wonderful ‘cutural’ events pass us by for lack of awareness of their very existence? Particularly if you live in a more remote part of the UK. And even more so if, as we do, jaded and increasingly suspicious of the slant of MSM coverage, one opts out of many portals. 

Very soon after the Rhosygilwen concert, a phrase and idea began to crystallise in my head – A g.o.g. (culture club) gig.

As always, for me, I checked meanings and etymology.

Agog – “very eager or curious to hear or see something”

Gig –1920s “gig” as slang in the jazz world, short for the word “engagement”.

Culture – (maybe a bit trickier, but I’ll settle for the rather general) “the arts and other manifestations of human intellectual achievement “.

After kicking around the concept for a little longer, this is what I came up with:

An infrequent (say 6-8 weeks) gathering of a few folk who, enticed by the offer of a pizza and pud to someone’s home, would present and share to the other invitees some element of culture (I’m thinking books, films, YouTubes, plays, music, art, and even broader topics perhaps). No one will know in advance what they’re going to be exposedto. Props may be provided – books, images, clips, music, etc. The presenter will likely get about 5 minutes of initial presentation time, to be extended if the others are enthused, before questions/comments. A maximum of 15 minutes on any topic, before the next contributor gets their go. Items may be shared at the end with others to follow up on, should anyone be interested, and the following meeting will begin with a short recap/comments from the previous meeting’s topics. And obviously there’d be enough time for a more general natter and catch up outside the more formal part of the ‘gig’. So no preconceptions, everything will be relatively blind

The only criterion really being that the item presented had made a positive impact on the person when they first experienced it. Booze and politics will be excluded, and the A.g.o.g. stands for grumpy old gits. Though it could just as easily be genteel old gals. Why the implied age limit? Simply because I fall into that category, and perhaps feel that there’s still some merit in the accumulated experiences of people who have lived a little longer than the often referenced Gen. Z’s and Millenials . The success or otherwise will probably hinge on whether we can all share things with others that they’re not already aware of, and which folk enjoy discovering, or even re-discovering  And the chemistry of the mix – none of us will know everyone for the first meeting.

Thanks to invaluable initial planning input and ideas from my first contact, Mark, we now have our starting quorum of 4 guys willing to act as guinea pigs to give it a go. I’ve suggested a short trial, after which if it has no mileage, we’ll happily kill it off, and it’ll fall into the ‘Ah well, nothing ventured, nothing gained” box of lifetime adventures.

We also now have a first meeting date planned, and I shall no doubt write some sort of feedback in due course. Assuming I can. Strangely, since my last post, for 2 weeks we’ve had the unique and curious situation of zero EE mobile signal, and internet which is so slow that it takes 30 seconds to upload a single 500 KB image to WordPress. The repair promised to us a week ago has yet to materialise. We have had no further communications from our provider. Never mind, we’re with the UK’s best mobile provider, their ads assure us. Make of that what you will.