Sitting quietly for a moment, I spot movement to my left. Something tiny scurries from under the black polythene – it’s a baby vole. It scurries down the path into the grass followed by another, then another, then another and another. Have they lost their mother?
I’ve had similar moments before, when something in nature brings a moment of realisation – that we’re all in the same boat on this magnificent dying planet – scurrying, trying to survive and not get squashed.
Out in the field, crispy morning blue punctuates wispy cloud and the russets, golds and browns between the streets and buildings of the town below are magnificent.
I could write about it endlessly and never quite capture the size and feel of the place. That’s the thing that people say when they visit for the first time. The second thing that they say is ‘Did you drink all those?’ when they see the bottle walls everywhere. Free bricks innit.
There’s nothing and everything to report at the same time.
I’ve never been this far behind before. The autumn garlic, rye and seeds still aren’t in. Almost every bed is full of weeds and not yet mulched. I have managed to plant some autumn onion sets and there are two beds of salad leaves and watercress doing OK. Watercress is a winter winner, coming into its own in the northern autumnal sogginess. Although in the wild, it grows in running water, it seems to do well pretty much anywhere and it’s easy to collect seed from.
Elsewhere, I’m looking at any and every way of finding alternatives to giving all my money to the heinous thieving energy companies and their profit-guzzling executives: rocket stoves; DIY firewood; solar; wind; bio-digesters; steam engines and so on.
The main job at the moment is completing the little sub-station and I’m well on the way to finishing the second of the steel doors, all fabricated and welded from scratch. I’ve overcome my reluctance to arc-weld, and I’m getting better at it.
Conker season has been and gone, but I snuffled through the park a few times, gathering them before children beat me to it. Conkers were a big thing when we were kids and some parts of that infantile psyche never quite leave you.
The big news is that I’ve bitten the bullet and finally started the gardening group that I’ve been mumbling on about for ages. There was already a core of ‘rain and shiners’ like Dewy. I just invited a few like-minded people to come to the ranch one Sunday morning to talk about the possibility of us pooling growing resources on common ground. Only a handful of people can make it in person – there are fellow gardening nerds scattered all over the place – Paula in Australia; Freddy and Neil in France; Zoe in Devon and so on. I’ve therefore done it as an emailing list too. So far the response is encouraging.
I chose Sun 30th Oct for the first meeting as an auspicious time – Samhain and the beginning of winter. It was actually a warm sunny day and 10 people came.
One thing that we discussed was starting a gardening video channel to document the progress. It’s something that I’ve been banging on about for ages – Dewy and I even did a screen test last year and I’ve already done something similar with Jon when we did the four Hartley’s Plot videos together.
The Sunday after, November the 6th, was grey and raining and I didn’t expect anyone to turn up, but decided to go ahead anyway. I took my camera with a view to starting an introductory vid. Lisa and Dave popped up for a brew then Ian came – he operated the camera and we did some quick footage including harvesting the Yacon. He’s a long-term muso like me. I had to explain my ultra-music snobbery and break it slowly to him what would happen to a Ukulele, should one ever cross my threshold.
As the madness around us escalates, I’m finding myself drawn more and more into the secret world of spirituality that nature provides a gateway to. I think it’s no coincidence that those of us who are heavily into growing, also tend to be into art and music and we’re far more inclined to question the machinations of the so-called elites than most. I love the ability not only to read between the lines, but write between them too.
A few weeks ago, in a bid to get rid of some of my crap, both literal and metaphorical, I resumed the meditation that I’d stumbled upon many moons ago. The difference this time is that I’m managing to do it every single day in the hope that it might do what it says on the tin and guide me. Maybe it’s working? Some of the omens are beginning to make sense. The acid in the eye-drops sometimes help you see.
Our quirky little friends and family life gives much cause for gratitude.
In contrast to the sunny Sunday, Halloween itself is pissing with rain. Instead of our customary trip to the ranch to light the stove and drink an ale, we default to a fire pit under the car port in Helen’s back yard, just up the road. The juxtaposition of the lashing rain and the fire, tempered with requisites, is mellow. She, her fam and I talk about nothing in particular as the wheel spins again – the wheel turns once, then it turns again. Spin me round and count me in.
Five days later, it’s bonfire night and the same bunch of us and a few others gather on the ranch to watch the fireworks soaring from the town below. It’s a clear night, with the nearly full moon behind us, satellited by Jupiter. It’s all rather stunning. As the air chills, we gather round the stove under the lean-to then wander home down that dark muddy track.
As I’ve said before, one of the greatest skills is to steer a positive path amidst all this doom and gloom. It’s so easy to get drawn down the rabbit hole.
I predicted that Sunak would be the next PM. I knew that his website was all ready to go long before he stabbed slobbo in the back. When supporting plank got in, I was wrong, so decided to keep my mouth shut. In the event, it was just another episode of the Punch and Judy show for the peasants. His destiny had been pre-ordained by his puppet-masters some time ago.
In order not to be entirely dismissible as a ‘conspiracy loon’ (I hate that term by the way – it’s just used to label and dismiss anyone who dares to question), it’s important to stick to the facts.
Here are a few. Painful as they are, I feel compelled to repeat them and warn people. Each and everyone of them can be corroborated with science and/or reliable information
- Infections caused by the SARS Cov-2 virus were around as far back as Sept 2019.
- There are strong links between the USA and the Wuhan lab.
- mRNA treatments have never been successfully used on the human population before and were given Emergency Use Authorisation on the strength of a single atrocious Pfizer/Biontech paper.
- No other medical intervention in human history has caused more reported adverse events and deaths – the unreported ones are much much higher.
- The mRNA injections attack a specific part of the human immune system, leading to an increased susceptibility to infections and cancers, along with being pro-thrombotic.
- Rishi Sunak is the is the son-in-law of Narayana Murthy, the founder and chief architect of Infosys. Infosys runs the largest digital ID/ social credit system in the world – India’s AADHAAR system.
- Excess deaths are increasing astronomically in vaccinated countries compared to unvaccinated countries.
These are just seven and I swear there are at least seven hundred, all leading back to the same bunch of crooks operating the puppets. People have a right to know the truth and make their own decisions.
As I knock out the last few paragraphs, the hour of the actual full moon approaches and it’s a special one because somewhere, there’s an eclipse. I only write if I have the inclination and I don’t always have it. It sometimes takes something special to kick me into action.
This week’s golden gift is Matt Hancock’s proposed appearance on I’m a Celebrity, get me out of here. It’s just too irresistible. For those who don’t know, Matt Hancock was the UK health secretary who oversaw the Draconian lockdown and mandatory-jab measures during the height of the pandemic. The list of what he sanctioned, authorised and endorsed is long. Families were forced to be away from their loved ones when they were sick and dying, whilst Hancock and his ilk boozed, snorted, partied and laughed in our faces. I’ve written about his profiteering pandemic escapades in other posts.
The astonishing thing is that in order for him to agree to do the show, he had to have the gargantuan conceit to think that he qualifies as a celebrity, despite all that he’s done to fuck-over the ordinary British public. There’s a lot of rage generated by his narcissism and sheer tactlessness. A lot of these vile politician cunts are only a fart away from a follow-through.
Here’s how the British public’s What I’m really thinking reality TV show would pan out:
The vile prick would be parachuted into deepest jungle with the appropriate personal protective equipment. i.e. that which he afforded to us front-line healthcare staff at the beginning of the pandemic – a plastic pinny and a fucking useless surgical mask. That in itself would create an entertaining show, but the producers decided to invite a cohort of twenty people to follow him and track him down. The participants are selected according to their own personal experiences of the pandemic: vaccine injured; bereaved; made homeless; business destroyed and so on.
Given that after a couple of days, there would very much be a Lord of the flies mentality, what do you think they would do when they caught up with him? Give him a little telling off? I know it’s a metaphor, but the rage of ordinary people, when they truly discover what has been done to them will be a frightening force.
Some dicktard suggested an amnesty for those who did this to us and there’s very much a No fucking way! back lash. What scares me is that some of this hatred is directed towards ordinary front line healthcare staff, who had no way of knowing what was going on. I will always stand up for them.
Alas three years is nothing in terms of medical data – it’s very much short term and I dread to think what the long-term might bring.
Rock & Roll:
… has taken an interesting turn, as I get absorbed in electronic music. I’ve got everything I need and I’ve been listening to lots of different kinds for ideas.
I’m re-working Notsensibles’ Death to Disco in a dance stylee. I’m getting to know the ropes – midi controllers; digital audio workstations and so on. I’ve played the guitar and bass parts through my 8-track (and its associated effects) via an audio interface. Once I’ve done one track, it will hopefully get easier. I need to master all the settings on that synth next.
I’m not that bothered about playing live at the moment, but Paula and Mike in Australia kindly asked us to do a song for their Halloween Sonny Michael’s show.
Witchfinder Ungeneral was the obvious choice, so Gaz, Tyler, Dawn and I recorded it live on the Friday.
I rarely watch telly, but I occasionally do, to relieve the boredom of topping and tailing rosehips or shelling hazel nuts. Last night I stumbled on a documentary about the use of satellite technology to map ancient Egypt. They picked up ancient settlements (including possible undiscovered pyramids) in areas that have long since been desert.
Why did these civilisations perish? They didn’t as such, they just moved elsewhere when their lands became inhabitable due to climate change. Climate change is as old and as inevitable as time itself. Just like anything else, narratives that are being rammed down our throats need to be carefully questioned. The backgrounds of those pushing it need to be investigated, and the opinions of the bona fide climate scientists sought.
Now then. There’s a glistening beaver full moon outside. On what level should I interpret this omen and how should I act on it?