(10) Carbeth

U-N-G-A-N-J-I
C-A-R-B-E-T-H

‘sucking in the gloaming
that sees us off’

– after Peter Manson’s ‘Mallarme’

Our Unganji Temple is Carbeth

Our Butcho-osho is Gerry Loose


10 the hut
photograph by Morven Gregor, 2011

Bashoing Carbeth

Buried in the vicinity of Carbeth the spot Gerry & Morven lived in mountain retreat.

just a wee hut
with a mossy felt roof

shame to stay in
but there is rain

What Gerry wrote of the Deer Path – how long ago was that? To see what remains led our walking-sticks to Carbeth and some kindly beckoning got Morven to come along too. Out there mostly chatty working-class folk out of Clydebank, friendly-like, Gerry the poet apple-farmer. Catching up with ourselves through Maryhill and Bearsden, first views of the Campsies, and so we reached the flank of Dumgoyne unawares. First buds and snowdrops through the glen, sycamore and ash thick trunked and a fallen gean from the last winter storm, geese on the lochan, Lomond sky chilly. Where the road ended, parked by the front gate (“forgotten the fucking key”) and entered by the wooden gate.

Then, intent on our tea, donnered up just beyond and there it was, the hut, perched against a bank with the wee cludgie hut beside. Like seeing Fraser Darling’s Hut on Eilean a' Chleirich or Snyder’s shack in Dharma Bums

even yaffles
can't laugh their way

into this hut
by apples

most written before I came, Blue Peter style, I left a few hokku-labels tied on the trees and posts there; Morven’s photos adding much to the poetry.

10 audio: Gerry Loose reads from Corman’s Basho, and a poem from the deer path
Alec Finlay, 2011


10 the gate
photograph by Alec Finlay, 2011

Carbeth

Coming round to hawthorn time again: on the other side of May our trip must end. Where better then to begin winding down than Gerry & Morven’s hut – of all the places seen Carbeth’s is the one Basho would have called home.


10 GERRY / BUTCHO
photograph by Morven Gregor, 2011

That morning before I was collected by Gerry & Morven I dipped into Kelvingrove Park, where squaddies exercise the citizenry – alternate leg squat thrusts 40 each leg which means how many 80 thank you – and the first cherry blossoms were on parade.


10 circle poem, Kelvingrove Park
(‘gean / again / gean / again, prunus’, AF)
photograph by Alec Finlay, 2011


10 circle poem
(‘gean / again / gean / again’, AF)
photograph by Alec Finlay, 2011

Hutting


10 Basho & Butcho, the hut
Larach Beag (‘little hut’), “Full renovation to commence soon”, GL
photograph by Morven Gregor, 2011

before houses there were huts
before huts dark caves

but oldest of all
are the paths

for there was always
somewhere else to go


10 Basho, portrait by Bryan Evans
'UNGANJI – BUTCHO-OSHO / GERRY LOOSE – CARBETH'
'touched by pollen / written in dust'
photograph by Alec Finlay, 2011

The hut’s in a neat disorder, like the leavings of Autumn in the garden waiting for the grass to come thru.


10 last years apple
photograph by Morven Gregor, 2011

Huts are poetics and politics. These were built by ex-servicemen after WW1, then taken on by Clydebank folk, much to the disdain of the Laird. Planks of green, planks of brown.


10 hokku-label
(‘moss/ for / rafters // apples / for / afters’, AF)
photograph by Alec Finlay, 2011

They remind me of the hutte of Skjolden, which the Norse escape to every weekend, from village to alpage, to shield their shy northern souls from prying. Their mountain dwellings were too high for me to grasp and it was only at night when I saw their lights, mistaken for dim stars, that I understood.

a light in the night sky

a star fades

set in dark cliffs

the light of a hutte

They remind me of the afternoon I spent walking around the icy edge of Thoreau’s Walden Pond, only to discover it was Goose Pond, and Walden was left not right from the car park.


10 inside the hut
photograph by Morven Gregor, 2011

Gerry knows first to light the fire, smoky-like, reminding me of my childhood nickname, ‘Kippers’.

Kippers

It took me years to realise
how school found me a nickname
that came from the east wind

drawing smoke from the old Jotul
watering our eyes and puffing clouds
around the pulley's drying clothes.


10 hokku-label
(‘a lot of smoke / did someone piss / on the fire?’, AF)
photograph by Alec Finlay, 2010


10 Gerry reading Basho
photograph by Morven Gregor, 2011


10 Gerry’s dew / map
photograph by Alec Finlay, 2011

It’s still warmer outside than in, and the smoke looks better from the garden, especially once the chimney gets a draw on. New Pope then.

only after
we go outside

does the smoke
become straightforward

(for harry)


10 tea moon (summer green tea)
Alec Finlay, 2011

Today’s tea’s Summer Green, foretelling Spring; the whisky’s Glengoyne, picked by good fortune without knowing the distillery is 2 miles away, just over there, snug under Dumgoyne. The whiskys are lining up now.


10 the road north: whiskys
Ken Cockburn, 2011

With a blessing for Judith under Ken’s tutelage I libate the youngest apple trees, arm in arm, from that nursery of culture, Butties.


10 libating the apples
photograph by Morven Gregor, 2011

The tansy’s buttons are last year's brown.


10 hokku-label
(‘how thin I’ve grown / no-one says /// you’ve been suffering / from poetry’, after LZ, after Li Po, AF)
photograph by Alec Finlay, 2011

At the very beginning of the project I asked Gerry & Morven if they would make some sakura sarasara, a brew made with gean blossom, for the road north. A year on we share some made from the geans they picked down the road – it helps that it’s an old bottle of Highland Park – and save the blossoms they picked for tea to be shared at the matsuri in May.


10 the brew
photograph by Morven Gregor, 2011


photograph by Morven Gregor, 2011


10 hokku-label
(‘what they don't / make themselves / you wouldn't want / to call your own’, for Gerry & Morven, AF)
photograph by Morven Gregor, 2011

“Left a few labels”

It’s a delight to see what Morven’s photography makes of details again. She portrayed our slow renga journey down Hadrian’s Wall, back in the Autumn’s of 04 and 05, from coast to coast, adding verses to the pot in between framing our shared verses. Last year she and Gerry rowed the Forth-Clyde canal. There’s a film of her reenacting part of the voyage here.




10 hokku-label


10 hokku-label
(‘don’t worry spiders / just for now / the hut's a store’, AF)


10 meso-label
(sCrappled / Apples / espalieRed / By thE / poeTs / Hut, AF)


10 hokku-label


10 meso-label
(‘heY / pAl! / arf-arF-arf / Funny-eh? / wiLd / jokE’, Picus viridis, AF)


10 hokku-label
(‘just a wee hut / with a felt roof // shame to stay in / but there is rain’, after Basho, AF)
all photographs by Morven Gregor, 2011


10 hokku-label
(‘these words / are not for / the rich // THISTLE,’ AF)
Alec Finlay, 2011

The Garden


10 hokku-label
(‘blossom – timing is everything – bees’, AF)
photograph by Morven Gregor, 2011


10 hokku-label
photograph by Morven Gregor, 2011


10 hokku-label
(‘growing / toward / the light / slowly / spins / the / trees’, AF)
photograph by Morven Gregor, 2011


10 hokku-label
(‘the tree / holds // the earth / catches // the blossom / falls’, AF)
Alec Finlay, 2011


10 hokku-label
(‘March sun sups / the tonicity / of sap’, AF)
photograph by Morven Gregor, 2011


10 hokku-label
(‘we aren’t apples / nor are we pebbles’, AF)
photograph by Morven Gregor, 2011


10 hokku-label
(‘will there be / crumble again? // yes, there will be / crumble again’, AF)
photograph by Morven Gregor, 2011


10 Chinese moon
photograph by Alec Finlay, 2011

A Wee Walk


10 Basho & Butcho, Carbeth
photograph by Morven Gregor, 2011

Nearby the West-Highland way wanders south-north (does anyone to it north-south?). Wending our way through hutland, still day, Dumgoyne higher than I'd imagined, beautiful ridge and crown, a lion of a hill.


10 WORD-MNTN (Dumgoyne and Dumgoyach)
photograph by Morven Gregor, 2011


10 hokku-label
(‘have you got / your boots? // well, bring / them both’, for Andy Greig, AF)
photograph by Morven Gregor, 2011


10 Basho tying a label
photograph by Morven Gregor, 2011

Walk on by the blue arrow.


10 the blue arrow
photograph by Alec Finlay, 2011


10 wish, gean
photograph by Morven Gregor, 2011


10 wish, rowan
photograph by Alec Finlay, 2010


10 caterpillar rescue
photograph by Alec Finlay, 2010

Where Ken rescues frogs Gerry’s liking is for caterpillars (and slugs too, as proven in this, from his starworks).

my hope’s for the black
slug to safely cross this car tarmac

Soon we’ve to head back to Glasgow so my hutter friends can find an Oxfam Oklahoma plaid for tonight’s ho down.


10 HUTTERS HO DOWN
photograph by Alec Finlay, 2010

One of the older huts here is a wooden shell built around a double-decker bus, just like Agnes Martin, who lived in the deserts of New Mexico in an adobe carapace formed around her camper van.


10 hokku-label
(‘far enough / for today // loosening / my laces’, AF)
photograph by Alec Finlay, 2011


10 Gerry & Morven
photograph by Alec Finlay, 2011

Giraldus nomenclatura

Giraldus graciaplenus
Giraldus cumulo-nimbus
Giraldus horto-poeticus
Giraldus iciclus
Giraldus crataegus monogyna
Giraldus navigationus
Giraldus non-proposus

(a few of the latin tags Gerry signed off emails with)


10 inspecting a poem in need of pruning
photograph by Alec Finlay, 2011

Sodo, Sampu & Dakushi

While at Ungaji Basho reads a poem by his teacher & friend Sodo which refers to this region, and which he brought with him in his neckbag, my rucksack; he also reads hokku by Sampu and Dakushi. In exchange for these I recall what I always thought a perfect Scottish haiku, Gerry’s

....sleeping alone again
the first time in years
....the sound of rain

And another

.......rain
not raining
.......in squalls


10 hokku-label
(‘poetry is a bath / in summer // or a shower / in winter’, after Basho, AF)
photograph by Morven Gregor, 2011

From Renga to Ginko

Here, at Unganji, Basho was visiting his old mentor, Butcho. As I am.


10 renga platform, BALTIC

Ten years ago I helped set up the renga platform for the first time. Codesigned with David Connearn’s genius and based around tatami mat dimensions – the homeless of Sendai sleep in tonight.


10 David Connearn, with Poppy, co-designer of the renga platform

The platform was my vision of a place for poets to do renga linked-verse, inspired by some old paintings I’d seen in a collection of the Basho school, Monkey’s Raincoat. It enacted what I came to term shared writing.

That hesitant beginning was gateway to a project that has now embraced many of the poets Ken and I have met along our journey – Gerry, Morven, Colin, Linda, Peter, Angus, Alistair, Jayne, Irfan and many more – we have all found shared writing entered our lives, changed us, slowly and in some cases deeply. What it means, to sit quietly and make a poem together, over time, with tea, silence, an equilibrium of listening and speaking.

Gerry was already on that road, some way ahead of me. I knew I had to ask him to co-master that first day’s renga, in Inverness – with Angus, forming the Morecambe and Wise, the Hamish & Dougall, the foundation of a Scottish contemporary school of renga, the Wee Malkie School, as some call it.

Over this decade Gerry and I have moved on to journeys – the Japanese call them ginko, walking-to-be-writing – and in our different ways, always working collaboratively and by collage, we’ve ‘word-mapped’ places. And I think both of us have been relieved to veer off from the train-spotter school of rengaistas, with their voluminous rules. Renga is the gift that keeps sharing. Now there is an Orcadian renga group and there have been over 100 shared writing events across these isles.

This is the renga that Gerry and his gingko hiking crew – co-starring Morven & Peter Manson – composed for Glen Fruin.

Sendai

This morning on our way out to Carbeth, while Morven and I popped in to Roots & Fruits to get some picnic, Gerry, guarding the car, bumped into Yushin, who helped translate the haiku in his Kaki tree collection. Today Yushin is going to Paisley to collect money for the tsunami appeal. Out at the hut I record Morven and Gerry’s memories of Sendai, for station 4.

what can’t be seen –
scent of gean

iodine laced sea
off Sendai

The Way to Carbeth

Alice


10 hokku-label
(‘a thermos to share / crossing the continent / East-West (Scotrail)’, AF)
photograph by Alec Finlay, 2011


10 Untitled (puerh wrapper backwards)
Alice Ladenburg, 2011

The journey began as many do, at Ingleby Gallery, tucked beyond Waverley. I like their Ruth Ewan prints. This one fits the demo in London, and the austerity of hutting.


10 Ruth Ewan, 2010

Alice of the handstands joins me. On the way west she shows me Barbara Kingsolver’s The Poisonwood Bible, in which Adah explains.

‘When I finish reading a book from front to back, I read it back to front. It is a different book, back to front, and you can learn new things from it. It from things new learn can you and front to back book different a is it?

You can agree or not, as you like. This is another way to read it, although I am told a normal brain will not grasp it: Ti morf sgnigt wen nrael nac uoy dna tnorf ot kcab koob tenereffid a si ti. The normal, I understand, can see words my way only if they are adequately poetic: Poor Dan is in a droop.’

And so Basho’s oku begins (or is that ends?)

‘emoh flesti yennruoj eht dna yenruoj a si yad hcae, htuom eht yb esroh a gnidael ega gniteem ro taob a no yawa efil gnitfird. Oot srerednaw gniog ro gnimoc sraey dna, snoitareneg ssletnuoc fo serugif gnissap era nus & noom.’

And there’s nothing more beautiful than a noom lluf.


10 Alice
photograph by Alice Ladenburg, Ait Bougmez Valley, Morocco, 2010

meop

10 audio, meop
Alec Finlay 2010


would we could
.....live our lives
...........as a novel

read back-
.....wards secure
...........in our ending

as a rope tied
.....or taut stay
...........each strand un-

twisting a moment
.....tense with shock
...........giddy for joy

love become
.....our delirious ending
...........we slowly un-

wind to the knot
.....of that familiar
...........difficult beginning

glimmering
.....the perfect form
...........of an idea

as it emerges
.....complete
...........in its own right

from out some
.....vague object
...........the craggy dome

of Dumgoyach’s summit
.....a step away
...........still

we’ve to walk
.....by the old paths
...........at what pace

we’re able – only
.....every now & then
...........we may be brave

enough to dare
.....a cart-
...........wheel empty-

ing out our pockets
.....seeing inside a world
...........turned upside-down


10 hokku-label
(‘sure of her way / seeing the world // upside down / ro sdrawkcab gnidaer’, ecila rof, AF)
photograph by Alice Ladenburg, 2011

The Ingleby Gallery have become the city-based equivalents of those rural domestic settings for art, HICA, Stonypath (as was) and The Cairn Gallery. There is the warmth of the welcome, and they show perfect artworks – an Innes painting – but they also create a space for artworks which make different claims on the viewer, as gift or guerdon. Something to happen on, take to, leave with, live with.

On another recent walk I made this homage to Peter Liversidge’s homage to Max Klinger’s wonderful ‘glove’ lithographs, where something fallen or lost is found again.


10 Max Klinger, The Glove


10 Peter Liversidge, The Glove
carved marble, 2011


10 Alec Finlay, The Glove (I), 2011


10 Alec Finlay, The Glove (II) , 2011

Jeremy

Alice and I are off to the CCA for the opening of Jeremy Millar’s show Resemblances, Sympathies and Other Acts. There I compare ailments with Maris and catch up with old friends, like Christine Borland & Ross Sinclair of Kilcreggan.

This photograph of Jeremy’s was taken in the family compound of the renowned dancer and choreographer I Wayan Dibia, in Denpasar, Bali. Being after WCW, it’s a perfect waymarker to Gerry and Morven’s hutter garden.


10 The Red Wheelbarrow (after WCW), 2011
Jeremy Millar, 2011

for Jeremy

the path from making
to accepting
begins with making

Jim

I’ve always loved Jim Hamlyn’s Shorthand Basho project. He and his pal David Bellingham have played with many codes, including the greatest code of all, the alphabet. The thing that’s just right with Jim’s Basho is how they look to our eyes, the very fact of our ignorance of shorthand & of Japanese allows the free-floating brush of the eyes over the page. Their compressive squiggles are so Basho and so not, whether following Gregg’s method or Pitman’s.

None of the hokku from the oku are included in Jim’s book, but he kindly agreed to translate the first from station 10, one of the perfect examples of lyrical-ordinariness, hutness.

less than five-foot square
thatched abode


a pity to put up at all
but there is rain


10 Shorthand Basho (Pitman)
Jim Hamlyn, with Lise Bratton, 2011


Shorthand Basho (Gregg)
Jim Hamlyn, with Anne Moore, 2011

Gerry

The hut was here before the garden, but there is no doubt that it grew by the same process of accretion, of borrowing and making do and mending.

The major problem here over the years has been the deer. When we arrived at the hut, there were two terraces behind it. They must have been sunnier then; it’s surprising how the trees have grown in the seventy odd years since the hut was built and those terraces levelled and dug and manured. The rhododendrons which may have been entirely absent then had trunks as big as my forearms by the time we took on the hut.

One terrace remains to this day as it was planted: blackcurrants. The other is totally shaded, but was, I’m guessing, for potatoes. Both easily grown crops needing not a huge amount of cultivation. Neither attractive to deer. Or rabbits.

The garden to the south was entirely taken over in spring by paths bordered with narcissi. Under the trees (field maple, sycamore, birch) carpets of snowdrops, then ferns, then nettles – the nettles pointing to further old cultivation this side of the stone dyke remains where they grow.

Our gathering of plants has tended towards the Enlightenment ideal of utility. By which I mean of course, edibility. So the quinces are from Bowling – before the gentrification of the little harbour, the Basin - there were thickets of quince whose fruits we would pick to make cotignac (the name I much prefer to our own insipid and slightly inaccurate translation: quince jelly). Before the cooking, the fruits would fill the entire house with their fragrance, placed all over in bowls for that very purpose. I collected seeds one year, as I do for many plants, then forgot about them for the entire winter. The next spring, I discovered them germinating in a plastic bag at the hut. I also discovered that the Bowling trees had been cut down to make way for mown grass and rubbish bins. The little saplings were nurtured and are slowly becoming a deerproof thorny hedge, along with the holly sapling rescued from a city park’s over-zealous weeding gardener. The bay tree at the open end of that hedge was given by Glasgow Botanic Gardens, but last winter’s deep and prolonged freezing, together with the loss of all its leaves to the deer, I think has finally ended its life. If a poacher discovers ready flavoured venison, he’ll know where it came from.

In fact this combination of hard winters here and the hunger of an overpopulation of deer, savages most plants. The rhubarb, nothing touches. It too was rescued and divided from one sad specimen in total shade between the terraces. It thrives year on year. The two currants now in the great circle of apple trees were the gift of a friend. I’ll get to grips with the old currant bed soon, but this year potted some self-layered currants from there.

Other gifts include sort of edible herbs: the tansy, the lovage and the angelica, all too strong-tasting for deer or rabbits; though that’s what I thought about the bay. Parsley’s a problem, but the mint from a former empty city lot (now a new school) is romping.

And the apples. All old Scottish varieties from that master organic grower John Butterworth in Ayr. They came as bare rooted maiden standards some years ago. Last year was the first proper cropping. This year’s blossoms suggest the yield might be even better. These are grown in as wide a circle as ground allows. Just last year, though, we planted four more in a small arc inside this circle. Space dictates that these last are on M26 rootstock, meaning they would only grow to a maximum of nine feet or so, but we’ll be training them as intertwining espaliers. All are fenced against barking by deer, though the new ones had their buds nipped this spring.

Just as the carpenter’s hammer – the one he’s had for thirty years (though it’s had three new handles and a new head) - so the hut and its garden. The constant through all this has been a practicality of outlook: growing food as well as the roses that someone lovingly planted at the eastern stone wall.
The other constant – more constant than the human hut dwellers –are the birds and mammals that walk through the garden – and through the hut – dwelling there, inhabiting; as well as the edible wild plants. More of it all is tastier to those creatures than to us. But we’re happy to share the abundance.

(from Gerry’s blog the unfinished hut)

Ruth

We drive into Carbeth via the big house and stable block, where artist Ruth Macdougall – Ruth of the coracle, whose Grandfather ran the Estate – has hung seven white wooden swings for the hutters.

divide people into
those who are for the mountains
those who are for the sea

I am for the mountains
but that does not mean
abandoning water


10 Ruth Macdougall, 'Poolside Utopia', 2002


10 Carbeth swimming pond, Blanefield


10 Ruth Macdougall in the Curach, 2010
for her ongoing project, Humblyband

G-E-R-R-Y
C-H-O-M-E-I

The dew evaporates from my sixty years,
I have built my last house, or hovel,
a hunter’s bivouac, an old
silkworm’s cocoon:
ten feet by ten, seven high: and I,
reckoning it a lodging not a dwelling,
omitted the usual foundation ceremony.

I have filled the frames with clay,
set hinges at the corners;
easy to take it down and carry it away
when I get bored with this place.
Two barrowloads of junk
and the cost of a man to shove the barrow,
no trouble at all.

Since I have trodden Hino mountain
noon has beaten through the awning
over my bamboo balcony, evening
shone on Amida.
I have shelved my books above the window,
lute and mandolin near at hand,
piled bracken and a little straw for bedding,
a smooth desk where the light falls, stove for bramblewood.
I have gathered stones, fitted
stones for a cistern, laid bamboo
pipes. No woodstack,
wood enough in the thicket.

from 'Chomei to Toyama'
translated by Basil Bunting

Peter


10 Peter Manson
Photograph by Morven Gregor, 2010

The writer who has done most to extend the mapping of language in Scotland in recent years is Peter Manson and, as so much of his work is a series of departures, so this greater Glasgow station is an appropriate terminus for this recent project. It extends his Adjunct: an Undigest, the I remember of our era.

Latitude 55 degrees 52.6 minutes North, Longitude 4 degrees 16 minutes West

What hath God wrought.

The top part of the skull is partly skeletal but the chin is perfect and the rest of the body is well preserved.

Chamfort is the very exemplar of the botched suicide. Unable to tolerate the prospect of being imprisoned once more, in September 1793 he locked himself into his office and shot himself in the face. The pistol malfunctioned and he did not die even though he shot off his nose and part of his jaw. He then repeatedly stabbed his neck with a paper cutter, but failed to cut an artery. He finally used the paper cutter to stab himself in the chest. He dictated to those who came to arrest him the well-known declaration Moi, Sebastien-Roch Nicolas de Chamfort, déclare avoir voulu mourir en homme libre plutôt que d'être reconduit en esclave dans une maison d'arrêt which he signed in a firm hand and in his own blood. His butler found him unconscious in a pool of blood. From then until his death at Paris the following year, he suffered intensely and was attended to by a gendarme, whom he paid a crown a day.

Un coup de dés jamais n’abolira le hasard: just because you’ve been given a year to live doesn’t mean you won’t be run over by a bus tomorrow.

Tardive decay.

Panamanian night monkey.

This pyrophorus benign death /u/.

By torsion of a single nut.

A tact son civil in clothes adrenopause.

A thimble-blow.

But I like looking stupid.

Truncated head of an elephant.

Sub-laugh.

Voyager’s monobrow.

Colour of the day: Teal.

The bishop evokes with a shock.

The 41-year-old victim was found by police near Taggart’s Jaguar dealership, in Maryhill. They tried to save his life by giving him first aid at the scene in Hopehill Road until paramedics arrived. The man was taken to the city's Western Infirmary but later died. Believed to be aged in his 20s, the man was found fatally injured and unconscious at around 2.30am.

An animation of rain on the Lidl barometer.

Two men in clown suits drive through the terminal door of Glasgow Airport in a pedal car whose doors fall off. The car, and the clowns, catch fire.

The Savage Duck.

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An improperly handled human defecation resulted in a tomato plant taking root which was also destroyed.

Death and the Standing Nude.

Low Uptake Mars Chlamydia Testing.

A free, open source ontology editor.

The Latin name, Juglans, derives from Jovis glans, "Jupiter's acorn": figuratively, a nut fit for a god.

The wood of the European Beech rots easily if it is not protected by a tar based on a distillate of its own bark (as used in railway sleepers).

Tuna fisheries facing a cod-like collapse.

However, shadow children, schools and families secretary Michael Gove said new laws were not the answer.

SOLAR OUTAGE

Most Sky viewers will lose their pictures and sound for a few minutes each day over the next couple of weeks as a result of "solar outage". This occurs twice a year when the sun passes directly behind the broadcast satellites. The signal from the satellites is overwhelmed by the microwaves sent out by the sun which become concentrated in the viewers' satellite dish. The solar outage will not damage satellite dishes or equipment. The time and degree of the outage depends on location and dish size. It is anticipated that signals from Astra will be lost in the London area for around 15 minutes at about 10:00 daily between February 24 and March 8.

Newgrange is best known for the illumination of its passage and chamber by the winter solstice sun. Above the entrance to the passage at Newgrange there is a opening called a roof-box. This baffling orifice held a great surprise for those who unearthed it. Its purpose is to allow sunlight to penetrate the chamber on the shortest days of the year, around December 21, the winter solstice. At dawn, from December 19th to 23rd, a narrow beam of light penetrates the roof-box and reaches the floor of the chamber, gradually extending to the rear of the passage. As the sun rises higher, the beam widens within the chamber so that the whole room becomes dramatically illuminated. This event lasts for 17 minutes, beginning around 9am.

Mallarmé by one of his breasts.

Mmm… slightly geeky women.

Stereotactic aids to shotgun suicide (pastoral dialogue / running heads).

The team thinks the bolide was a dense object, about 3 feet (about 1 meter) across with a mass of about 4,000 pounds (1.8 tonnes). This would be like squeezing an adult elephant down to the size of an armchair.

Peers Crease.

Tallow Cape.

Anatole 0 France 1 (Hamilton Academicals v. St. Mirren, match postponed).

Moth surname.

Long term monitoring of arterial hardness will help you understand your arterial hardening trend.

Photocoypu.

Bilabong seizure satchel.

White Juice Extractor.

It’s emerged that virulent H5N1 bird flu was sent out by accident from an Austrian lab last year and given to ferrets in the Czech Republic before anyone realised.

Fungus devastates “chicken” frog.

Yew topiary.

The man who drew Pooh.

The infant Christ’s nakedness and the manner in which he strokes his mother’s chin emphasise his humanity and the role he will play as an adult.

We could use a mouse in a werewolf foetus suit.

Chlorotic red lollipop Gymnocalycium.

Fair Isle: In reality virtually unforgettable!

He worked at a variety of odd jobs while struggling for success in music, burdened with medical expenses resulting from his son's defective esophagus.

Fat-tailed sheep, you make the rockin’ world go round.

Seminary = stud farm.

Tin cry.

www.funmeninges.com.

Death, permanent cessation of vitality in the whole of the tissues of the body of an animal or plant. The immediate cause of death may be (1) syncope, sudden heart failure, due to disease of the heart or circulatory system, or to shock reacting on the heart through the nervous system; (2) asthenia, gradual heart failure from weakening of the whole system by wasting disease or toxins in fevers, etc.; (3) asphyxia, when air is prevented from entering the lungs, as in drowning, suffocation, etc; (4) coma, unconsciousness due to a brain lesion or poisoning of the brain through its blood supply, by, e.g., opium or alcohol. Death may, of course, be due to a combination of two or more of the above four modes. The signs of death include cessation of circulation and respiration, lowering of the body temperature; if a cut is made, the edges of the wound collapse instead of gaping as in life; rigidity of the muscles, or rigor mortis, comes on some time after death, and lasts for twenty-four or thirty-six hours, commencing at the face and neck; livid colours appear in the parts of the body which are lowest, depending on its position, and, later, a greenish colour appears on the abdomen.

In some animals, a failure to burp successfully can be fatal.

The phrase is now the focus of a legal battle between Pull My Finger and iFart over the use of the phrase.

On the day, I wore a dark brown t-shirt with a shallow v-neck, which I think might be saying “Only the shit in me exists”, with an arrow indicating the shit. I think this is progress. I'm told there’s a deleted scene on the DVD of Roger Corman’s “The Man with X-Ray Eyes” where Ray Milland attends a party and all he can see is a roomful of n-shaped coils of shit interacting at waist height.

Igitur, tur, tur, push pineapple shake the tree.

The flesh is sad, alas, and I ate all the pies.

Buy One Get One FREE Insect Killer Promo Pack.

Isn’t it a lovely day to get a clot in the brain.

Ovigami, n. ancient symbolist art of sheep-folding.

Where did Dowson find harlots cheaper than hotels?

When the child of Le Livre wants to eat the lady, a voice tells him “No”.

Excuse me, are you the Real Radio renegade?

Upload me to the web and throw me away.

When you’re in love with a beautiful woman, it’s flaccid.

To avoid suffocation keep away from children.

Surely everyone gives their country as “U.S. minor outlying islands?”

Forlorn! the very word is like a foghorn.

Habitat Sorry for Iran Tweeting.

Scoria of metals in fusion.

Phyllis Mangina is the head women’s basketball coach at Seton Hall University.

Clog Almanac.

As early as 1917, it was known that an extract of cow pineal glands lightened frog skin.

* 23 h 46 Temps universel coordonné

cq cq cq de ffu ffu ffu
f/cl down broadcast =
this is our final cry on 500 khz before eternal silence stop
nearly all the century round ffu has provided w/t svc at the tip of brittany stop
thank you all for good kii good cooperation over decades and best wishes to those remaining on air stop
good bye from all at brest le conquet radio stop
silent key for ever stop
adieu 31 01 1997 / 2348 gmt b de ffu + + va. ...

intimations

Gerry Loose Links: Saari seasons; Carbeth: the unfinished hut; Gerry's website

Gerry’s ‘dew/map’ is published by Essence Press; his ‘starworks is published by Longhouse

Morven Gregor’s website: fotomomo

Alice Ladenburg’s website

Jeremy Millar’s exhibition at the CCA, Glasgow: Resemblances, Sympathies and Other Acts

Jim Hamlyn’s Shorthand Basho is available from WAX366, Glasgow

Jim Hamlyn’s blog: Thoughts on Art and Teaching

Peter Manson’s website

Ruth MacDougall's website