Blogging made logical, intuitive and seamless

Anybody hoping for a tutorial or a signpost to some Eureka! solution has already been lured in under false pretences, for which I apologise. The title is more by way of a plaintive cry from the wilderness… or maybe a wish list; unfulfilled but not entirely unreasonable as wish lists go.

At some point – a good few years back now – curiosity drew me into this hitherto unexplored habitat: the world of the outdoor blogger – inhabited although not exactly populous; but growing. And then, having stuck around for quite a while, I wandered off; partly in search of other things, but mostly because I’d grown exasperated with never quite being able to get things to work in the way that I’d hoped.

I’d cut my teeth on Blogger: the options back then seeming to be a straight choice between it and WordPress, with the consensus seemingly pointing towards Blogger as the more gentle of the two learning curves for a novice equipped with only the most rudimentary of IT skills. And so, on 29 November 2009, the first, uncertain fledgling steps were taken…

On the better days I got along okay with Blogger, but when okay is as good as it gets there’s inevitably a temptation to look at alternatives. And I did like the look of some of the things others had done, and were continuing to do, with WordPress. So I took a plunge, switched, and found that there was some truth in those warnings about the respective learning curves of the two systems. But, on balance, I felt more settled with WordPress and slowly began to acquire the relatively modest level of proficiency needed to improve the presentations. It was a kind of contentment – the temporary kind…

The first noticeable issue was a decline in the ease with which it was possible to comment on other peoples’ blogs. As both WordPress and Blogger evolved, access which had hitherto been seamless and straightforward would suddenly become problematic. Comments would be declined or – even more of an irritant – appear to be accepted but then disappear into… well, wherever it is that disembodied comments go to spend eternity. I’m guessing that the constantly changing security protocols were the primary cause for these breakdowns in communication; and messages from other bloggers confirmed that they equally were being driven to exasperation by my blog’s apparent unwillingness to cooperate. The shared frustration was that these are things which we would probably all expect to become easier as technology and connectivity evolve; a reasonable enough assumption considering the ease with which individuals and organisations we’ve never heard of seem able to access our inboxes and browsing histories. And of course blogs: nothing seems to be too much of an obstacle to the spammers when it comes to attaching some random comment to a blog post.

Over the last few months I’ve spent some of the freed-up time looking into creating basic Youtube slideshows and short videos (both relatively straightforward), and then enhancing the quality of the finished product (less straightforward). I’ve fished out the old mini-DV camcorder and shot some footage – birds fledging from garden nest boxes mostly – just for the practice and to remind myself of how the controls work.

And I’ve tried Instagram, about which I have no real complaints other than the square format. But it’s not for me; it’s not really intended for me: I don’t take that many still photographs, almost none with a phone, even fewer that I’d want to share. I think Instagram probably finds its real market in the prolific cameraphone user of a sociable disposition, so that’s all three boxes unticked. But I’ll leave the account open for now; I just don’t expect to be adding to it with any regularity.

Is there a point to any of this? Who knows? It’s taken a while to type and, so far, I haven’t thought of one…

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A farewell to 2017…

A high and a low from the year just ended…

April: And probably the high point of the entire year; Brummie Saffiyah Khan humiliating EDL leader Ian Crossland with nothing more aggressive than a combination of incredulity and disdain. An object lesson in how to deal with bigots…

May: And undoubtedly the low point, had it not been for Grenfell Tower also occurring within the space of a few weeks: a bomber targets a pop concert at Manchester Arena, killing himself and twenty two innocent people, injuring almost sixty. The bomber turns out to be a UK national – born in Manchester to migrant parents – and someone who had been flagged to the security services by his local community and banned from a mosque. The attack is followed by “a 500% increase in anti-Muslim hate crimes in the Greater Manchester area in the month following” (Police figures).

Sometimes life seems to be like that little spinning circle in the middle of the screen when the wi-fi is buffering – you stare, transfixed, because… because what else is there to be done?

Person of the year: Sunderland supporter Bradley Lowery (01.05.2011 – 07.07.2017), with an honourable mention to Jermain Defoe (both pictured)…

 

A Happy 2018 to all who pass this way…

A sense of place

The west midlands confuses people: not the endless proliferation of local dialects; not the eccentricities of the motorway network; perplexing though both of those can be. New York might well be “so good they named it twice” but The West Midlands (capitalised this time) is apparently such a brilliantly imaginative name for a place that to use it only once would have seemed wasteful; so it’s been applied to two completely different entities – one of which resides within the other.

First, there’s The County of West Midlands: neither small nor perfectly formed, this nondescript aggregation of bits taken from Staffordshire, Worcestershire and Warwickshire, all of which – reduced though they may be – still separately exist, managed to be a compromise of sorts in that it was held in almost unanimous contempt by residents of all three of its constituent parts. The reasons for their discontent might have varied – from the erosion of cultural identity to concern over the effects on property prices “If people get the idea we’re a suburb of Dudley” (yes, seriously) – but the thing that united us them was that we they just weren’t happy and that’s all there was too it. It doesn’t take much.

Then there’s the other ‘West Midlands’ which, according to Wiki is “One of the nine official regions of England”, stretching from Herefordshire and The Cotswolds to the edge of The Peaks and all points west, right up to the Welsh border. None of this is new, although it is to me.

Both versions of The West Midlands are officially designated as NUTS, which will surprise almost no-one.

Within about 10-15 minutes at a decent walking pace I can reach the remnant of an old Roman road, which marks the boundary with Staffordshire, just at the point where it is tapering down to nothing in the middle of some nondescript pasture; in rather less time again it is possible to exit Staffordshire and cross seamlessly into Worcestershire. So, I reached the Roman road, left behind the neatly suburban West Midlands (designated NUTS1) and crossed into the unkempt agricultural West Midlands (NUTS2), heading for one of those places where The Woodland Trust is doing some of its sterling work.

This is, for a while, an odd patchwork of an area: the clearly defined residential plots come to an abrupt end and are replaced by a chaotic, bits and pieces landscape of indeterminate ownership – a couple of small copses and a few fields which have remained undisturbed for, to my knowledge, the best part of 35 years. Vegetation comes and goes, proliferates, dies back, and the tracks which meander between the trees and brambles follow the same lines that they have followed for as long as I’ve known them.

At least over time the wildlife changes: the buzzards and ravens which would once have been considered exotic are now relatively commonplace, particularly the buzzards. The grey squirrel and rabbit populations ensure there is certainly no shortage of food; no doubt there are field voles out there as well, but they maintain a lower profile. These days the squirrels have to compete for cached food with the expanding population of jays – a bird with attractive plumage but frequently sounding as if it’s being tortured. Goldcrest are present in good numbers; possibly they always were and I never noticed them or, more likely, thought that anything so small would automatically be a wren.

Today the kind of snowfall we rarely see any more has thrown a pristine blanket over some of the less attractive aspects, like the unused rolls of razor wire and discarded feed sacks. The woods themselves seem to be groaning under the covering of snow and the goldcrests and wrens, as they flit between branches, set up small tremors dislodging many times their own body weight.


     

A belated in memoriam…

Just returned from a couple of weeks based in Kingussie: tired from the M6; body back in the English midlands, head still somewhere meandering one of the endless trails; intending to make a start on a series of posts about selected days and escapades. But, before any of that, an oversight needed to be rectified…

We travelled north on Friday August 4th and there was something about the date that nagged at me; a couple of days later I would remember what it was. A year ago to the day, the blogging community sadly lost one of its finest: he went by the online name of Oldmortality and his blog – witty, erudite, original, thought-provoking, never dull – can be found among the links to the right, under the name One Small Step; OM’s final post was dated 27th July, 2016 and among the comments is one from his daughter confirming that he had passed away. If you’re not already familiar with the blog then I’d urge you to read through the backlog of posts while they still remain available; I still do, and I know I’m not alone. They are unique reflections on a life well lived.

This was where I was when I remembered why August 4th was significant…

It’s the Cairngorm Club footbridge across the Am Beanaidh, which flows north from Loch Einich, and the reason it’s significant is because it’s the spot where Oldmortality once met up with fellow blogger Mike Knipe (whose also excellent blog can be found here: northern pies); their rendezvous is also remembered in the comments attaching to OM’s final blog entry.

Memory jogged, I took a contemplative moment and resolved to do the same every time I’m fortunate enough to pass this way in the future.

Oldmortality loved his music and would often sign off with a link to a tune of his choice. I’m not sure this would have been on his playlist, but it somehow seemed appropriate…

A goodbye to 2016

So much has been said and written about 2016 that there are probably few, if any, stones left to turn. The level of attrition among well-loved and iconic celebrities seems to have been unprecedented; the shifts in the political landscape certainly caught out the commentators and experts – pollsters included; indeed pollsters in particular. If I’m left with any overriding impression, it’s of a year where seminal, potentially life-changing events seemed to have moved beyond the control of anyone and assumed a momentum all of their own.

Turmoil: it’s not exactly a new phenomenon but it does make me grateful for the cathartic effects of walking among the hills, getting some separation, if only temporarily, from what passes for reality. This year, those have been the best of times; and that’s probably true in most years.

The worst of times? If I had to single out just one, it was the senseless, incomprehensible killing of Jo Cox.

On a personal level, I shall forever miss Leonard Cohen; there won’t be another to fill that particular void, not in my lifetime. Since his passing, I’ve listened to a number of discussions about which was the best cover of Hallelujah – Rufus Wanwright? John Cale? Jeff Buckley? The list, like the debate, goes on…

There’s a custom in football of, in exceptional circumstances, ‘retiring’ a shirt number worn with distinction by an outstanding player: Cruyff, Baresi, Zola, Henrik Larsson as just a few examples. Similarly, every now and again somebody just makes a song their own, for posterity…

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Jo Cox : 1974-2016

A happy 2017 to all: perhaps we will get to live in uninteresting times for a while.

Hay Festival 2016

SONY DSCThe Hay Festival isn’t an annual pilgrimage for me, even though, after every visit, I promise myself it will become one. That’s really because every time I do make the effort to attend, I leave already looking forward to the next time. But sometimes life – that unruly, incoherent mess of other commitments, conflicting priorities, disarray and (when time permits) even a little inertia – conspires against returning quite as quickly as I might have hoped. And of course there always has to be an event or two worth attending; it would be an unusual year when that wasn’t the case.

My overriding impression of Hay during festival week is that it would be very difficult to spend time around the place and not find yourself in a good mood. Artists – some of them familiar faces, others less so – mingle comfortably with the crowds, whether it be inside the festival grounds or simply meandering around the town. On a previous visit I exchanged affable nods and greetings with Pink Floyd’s David Gilmour as if we were a couple of neighbours passing in the street. This year I bumped into George Monbiot taking some time out on the river bank. Obviously good weather helps, and it was certainly a riverbank kind of day.

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SONY DSC

SONY DSC

 

Lazy stereotyping (23/11/2014)

There’s a lot of it about: certain politicians (and by certain, I mean most); smartarse television and radio presenters masquerading as investigative journalists; tabloid hacks masquerading as human beings; lobbyists, publicists, advertisers and PR flannel merchants; football people.

It would be easy to level some of the blame at Twitter, with its 140 character limit, but this all started long before the age of the tweet. Reductio ad absurdum – that’s nearly what I’m talking about; not quite, but I don’t know much latin. It’s more this modern day partiality for reducing even the most complex and nuanced of issues to a single, over-simplified, one line conclusion.

A few days ago – in the middle of a relatively low-key conversation about turbines – someone suggested to me that it was a “well known fact” that all environmentalists are in favour of wind farms. There was genuine surprise when I responded that I consider myself to be very much an environmentalist and that there are more definitions of caring for the environment than those promoted by the high-profile NGOs and their political allies. I pointed the chap in question in the direction of some of the outdoor blogs, with the assurance that he wouldn’t find a bunch of people anywhere who cared more about the environment. I know that he took me at my word, read a good few of them, had his eyes opened and will continue to read more.

But it’s apparently easy to sell a lie; and the more glib the deception the easier the sale seems to be. Terms like ‘The environmental lobby’ are bandied around, go unchallenged, and become part of the currency; it’s convenient, precludes the need for analytical thought, and suits a particular agenda.

The alternative – acknowledging that there’s no such thing as a single, homogenised, collective representing the complete spectrum of environmental opinion and thinking – well, that’s a lot like hard work and very difficult to condense into a soundbite. It’s disturbingly easy for those with access to the right channels to marginalise others who refuse to be compliant; disturbingly easy to bypass or subvert proper democratic and consultation processes. No need to win a debate if you can arrange for it never to take place.

Quite where I’ve gone with this I’m not sure; even less sure about where to take it next. Introducing new people to the outdoor blogging community is a small start, and an enjoyable one. It will have to do until I can think of something better.