Woops! Winter's here

This is the third winter I have lived here and the first that hasn't snowed me in. Yesterday I was rejoicing in snowdrops, the day before crocuses and today - look - snow on the tops. I am usually to be found in thermals from November to March, but yesterday was so warm, I 'considered' whether I needed them on at all. Today I'm wondering if my super warm thermals are clean or in the wash and have had the heating on all day. The raindrops splashing on the window are making that round splashy shape which indicates more than rain, what they call 'wintery' showers in the weather forecast.
Tonight I'm going out to a late Burns' Night party.  Would rather not.

Taste of winter's demise

Snowdrops enough to make your heart skip with anticipation

Here we are then - harbingers

Crocuses, Crocusae, Crocusaye, Crocuseye, Croaki, Crokusi, Crokee aye adio Spring's icumen in.

January sunset with oak trees

There are majestic oak trees in my back field. This morning I spent a happy hour harvesting last autumn's glory from front porch. This task continues weekly until about June, in the prevailing sou'westerly. No such thing as a free Oak.

What a difference a day makes

I took the same view today, because look - it's a beautiful sunny day on the mountain. It would be fascinating to take the same shot everyday for a year, like Hockney did with his wood. Must say painting pictures could be a lot less stressful than figuring out the technical problems of a very modest e-bay bought camera, uploading and posting. May be a subset?

Sugar Loaf sho 'nuf

New camera, long story. Least said. 

Before, I was taking pictures on my phone. 

Now it's for real. 

Camera real. 

When I go out into the garden, this is what I see: 

The Sugar Loaf Mountain, 

with its daily Sky Action. 

Carol Ann Duffy's poem following the murder convictions

Stephen Lawrence


Cold pavement indeed
the night you died,
murdered;
but the airborne drop of blood
from your wound
was a seed
your mother sewed
into hard ground -
your life's length doubled
unlived, stilled,
till one flower, thorned,
bloomed
in her hand,
love's just blade.

Carol Ann Duffy 2012

Arise, shine, for your light has come

This is a proper Epiphany Crib.  It is not in a stable, there are no oxen or ass standing by, no shepherds, no angels. There is the Holy Family with the Christ Child, and the Three 'Kings' - even the camel is optional (if no less splendid for that).  I took this on the Feast of the Epiphany, today, at my former convent. The figures are at least two feet high, but I was so moved that I was unwilling to go up close for a more 'arty' shot.

Catkin shimmy

Wonderful, immense catkins on an unknown shrub in my garden,

shakin' it like a Polaroid picture in the gale.

Here's a poem about January (a bit sweary)

Ode to January by Jacques Hattie

1.

When the New Year klaxon clears

The festive static from your ears

And all the turkey, cakes and pies

Have turned to goose-fat on your thighs

And nothing in the wardrobe slips

Around your Stollen-swollen hips

Your tummy, plump with pigs-in-blanket,

Flops and bulges from your slanket

At every step your lungs explode

Your arse is like a postal code

And bits of you that once were boney

Now are pure Panettone

    Here’s the month to soothe your pain

    And aid your efforts to abstain

    Stoney-faced and coldly-fasted

    JANUARY – the skinny bastard

2.

When the final drink’s been supped

You’ve toasted, cheered and bottoms-upped

The cabinet – where once was plenty -

Echoes now,  forlorn and empty

When the last hangover’s hit you

Sicker than the dog that bit you

Like a wino down the park

Your liver feels like Noah’sArk

It tries to bid you au revoir

A stranger gives it CPR

When you find yourself accusing

Ribena of having booze in

    When you cannot walk for gout

    Here’s a month to dry you out

    Seeing you don’t come unstuck

    JANUARY – the boring fuck.

3.

Now the revels all have ended

Party-time has been suspended

Bank accounts are bleak and bare

Austerity is in the air

You steal a happy meal to eat

You burn the dog to bring some heat

Or fake a fall and make a claim

And send the cat out on the game

The painting that your schoolchild did

You’ve e-bayed for a couple of quid

Till common sense at last prevails

And takes the wind out of your sales

    Need assistance with your spending?

    Here’s a month that’s never-ending

    It smiles like an investment banker

    JANUARY – you massive wanker

 

Damn that Ivy

Today it's a three-in-one photo-a-day. My kitchen wall is eighteen inches thick. The outside wall was covered in ivy. It was very attractive. But ivy eats pointing. The wall faces the prevailing wind and rain, encouraging the ivy to dig deeper, resulting in damp spot shown in exhibit 1. This morning two chaps came to dig out the rotten pointing, shown in exhibit 2, and re-point, shown in exhibit 3, before rain stopped play. They are doing a fine job and I think the stonework is fabulous. Sadly, I loved the ivy more, not least because it provided fine nesting spots for house sparrows.  Ah well, like a bad haircut, it will doubtless grow back. Yet another reason why renting is a Good Thing.

Kitchen window with rain

Horizontal rain and buffeting wind. 

This may be as far as I go today, but at least the glasses are clean!

Duvet Day

It's 1:00 pm and the cat has definitely plumped for the sensible option.  

Despite the glorious sunny day, she's going nowhere. I'd join her except 

I've got these damn resolutions and promises to keep!

Striding Pylon

I have a new project, with CJ Walker, for 2012.  We are going to take a photo a day and publish it on our websites. This is my first - a towering, wonderful pylon at the end of my habitual short walk. Magnificent. Now, back to the celebrations.

A New Year's Cheers

Uisge Gu Leoir by Elvis McGonagall

A siren sings in the Sound of Eriskay
Toss aside your cabers and barrel to the docks
Drown your sorrows in the Hebridean drink –
There’s a shipful of Scotch on the rocks
Eau de vie, uisge beatha, water of life
Golden tears of the gods swept ashore
Soak up that “liquid sunshine”, bathe in joy
Swim in whisky, whisky, whisky galore
Burns’ John Barleycorn, king o’ malted grain
A drop of island rain and Highland peat
Taste the salty air, breathe in the angel’s share
Sea-spray-smoky-honey-heather-sweet
Amber oil of repartee dancing on the tongue
Whisky kisses burning on the lips
Bottled poetry in crates, ballads growled by Tom Waits
Give me a splash of the sublime, a dram, a nip
Oh let me wade into a river o’ Bruichladdich
Let me dive deep down in Edradour
Wash my sins away in Auchentoshan
Baptize me in a pool o’ Aberlour
Aye – pour another whisky in my whisky
Just a wee deoch-an’-doris, one more bar
And if anyone is listening up in Islay –
Mine’s a ten year old Ardbeg- slainte mhath!

This really does need to be said out loud - specially on New Year's Day.

Thank you Elvis.