Sunset at Home Farm

I SET MY CHAIR on the corner of my cottage flat, sit and sip at my final cup of tea of the day. The last of the dog walkers are making their way back to the car park at the visitor centre and heading for home.

The loud and lyrical song of a blackbird perched above his nest in a tree on the cliff edge tells all the others that this is his home and that they cannot come here. The chaffs and the robins become quiet, so too the tits and finches – high above, the occasional ka from a rosy gull heading back to roost on Arran.

As the sun slowly sizzles into Campbeltown Loch, an incandescent glow radiates from clouds high in the troposphere – a cooling breeze whispers through the budding branches of the trees – birds coorie deeper into their nests.

The quietness is soothing, the soft fizz of rippling tide on the shore below the cliff is soft on the ear; my tea is becoming cold, but I will drink it all as I normally do.

From the gloaming a flitter of silver becomes a moth caught in the blush of light from my window. In the wood behind me another blackbird has become raucous – it is likely something threatening is nearby – wood pigeons flap their wings forcefully. I remember a young cat a few days ago walking up the path, it is possible he is after a nocturnal nibble from a nest. Sudden and silent two pipistrelle bats whiz by my head, their masterful aeronautics so low to the ground takes me by surprise. My eyes try to follow them, but lose them against the dark of the wood. I find them once more above the trees silhouetted against the clear and darkening sky. Now there are others up there – hoovering up small insects taken to the night air. There must be a roost nearby, maybe in the loft space above the bookshop behind my cottage. Two more pipistrelles fly around my head and follow the same flight path to the trees; maybe these are the same two as the first? In a similar time span two pipistrelles come again swishing and swooping around the corner, surely the same ones? I watch the bats until it is too dark to see.

The last drops of my tea are sipped, and the air is now cold. I pick up my chair to go inside; a hundred or so yards away, the hoo of the tawny owl – it roosts near the shore above the Gas House. In the deep dark of the night, when I sometimes wake, I can hear it singing its one note song, a sound that softly reassures – everything in its place – sends me back to sleep.

Home Farm to Port Carrick Bay – The Cliff Walk

I SET OUT FROM my lower cottage flat, walk through the wooden gate onto the Castle path in front of the bookshop and follow it round and along the tree-lined path to Robert Adam’s Ruined Arch, the entrance to Culzean Castle. On the way, Chaffinches gush their song to all who will listen as the Robin and Blue Tit fight to be heard – a Blackbird darts to the undergrowth, cocks his head and watches me pass; the Song Thrush loudly aims to confuse. At my feet walking along the path: Campion, Alkanet, Mayflower and some late blooming Daffodils dance in the sun – Daisies, Speedwell and Dandelions make themselves known, but their scents are overpowered by the omni-present Wild Garlic, now a flowering blanket of white.

I arrive at the old Ranger Station, now a sweetie shop, a nice building in the wrong place – too close to the Ruined Arch. The Arch appears to be an older ruin, but it was designed in that manner and though it may seem to some a Folly, it is not. The Ruined Arch is a deliberate Adam design, fashioned for a specific purpose – to suggest to all who viewed it that it was much older than the new buildings he was creating and to lend a sense of history to Culzean Castle – his last, and arguably his finest, work in a long and distinguished career. The Arch also gave the Kennedy family, at the time headed by David, the 10th Earl of Cassillis, the look of “old money”. It was a great idea and fools people even today.
Culzean Castle is not actually a castle at all, it is a beautiful example of a Georgian Castilian mansion, built of Kirkoswald stone, and incorporating the remnants of the tower-house which had stood on the site for over 200 years before it – itself built of sandstone from nearby Segganwell. Adam’s design of Culzean Castle and its surrounding woodland and gardens is a tour de force. Planned and built in the last ten years of his life, Adam did not live to see its completion, but he knew his vision was manifest.
Passing over the serpentine entrance, designed so that visitors would get their first real view of the castle through the side window of their carriage (a sudden and inspiring sight), I come to the entrance to the Fountain Garden once a deep gully between the hill and the basalt outcrop on which the original tower-house was situated. Adam had the gully filled in to create the garden which is still well below the castle. Descending the stairs I come to the terrace above the lawn which has a subtropical feel to it with palms and exotic flowers. Looking down from the terrace, the fountain inhabits the very centre of the garden lawn – once fed by the fire-pond above the deer park, it is now plumbed to the watermain. Descending onto the lowest level I walk past the glass house that is the Orangery and out through the portal to the West Green, a simple lawn area, and on towards the West Green Battery. The Battery has nine cannon behind earth fortifications and was built in the early 19th century by the 12th Earl who was fearful that Napoleon might invade Britain through Scotland. The views across the Clyde from this point are spectacular.
Walking along the path from the Battery I look down on Dolphin House with its huge Tipi tent on the lawn. This building which was once the laundry, became derelict and was restored in the 1940s as a dwelling house, is now an outdoor centre mainly for young people. I leave Dolphin House behind and walk on along the path now enveloped in the branches of Sycamore and Beech, hardies planted to shelter the park from the oceanic elements of salt and wind. The Snowdrops which earlier carpeted these woodland floors are a faint memory, and the Daffodils and Dog Violets which replaced them are now also beginning to fade, giving way to Lady’s Smock/Cuckoo Flower, Cowslip, Bluebells, Campion, and Green Alkanet.

The deciduous trees have begun pulling on their crochet’d sun-hats and the paths are now becoming more shaded, dappled light dances from leaf to petal; photons absorbed into chlorophyll, becoming sucrose to feed insects and the element-fixing bacteria in the ground and on the roots of the trees surrounding me. I pass the Powder House on my right. There is a nice pathway to it, but I am not going there, I head for the next path which, turning right, will take me along the cliff.
The Finches and Tits are in good voice. The Chiff Chaff’s monotonous song is out-competed by the Great Tit’s squeaky wheelbarrow call. The Willow Warbler’s pretty, but slightly subdued, song echoes through the trees. Further away, a Treecreeper calls out, warning of danger – somewhere, deep in the wood, a cuckoo.

I am now on the Cliff Path with views north to Bute and Argyll. Arran and Kintyre rise out of the sea to the west and south where, I am told, on very clear days you can see Ireland beyond the imposing basalt rock that is Ailsa Craig. A short way along this path, before turning south, I stop at an outcrop on top of the cliff. A chaffinch above me calls out: "pink, pink", to warn others that I am around. I look back towards the castle; the sky is becoming leaden; reaching down it begins to swallow Arran. The sea is a herd of white tailed, slate-grey, mares galloping landwards, carrying gifts for a grumpy old shore – the rock pools below the castle will soon be seething and teaming again with life in all its beauty and savagery.
Above me the sky remains clear and blue as I turn to go on. Suddenly, there among the Bluebells next to the path is a nicely carved bench (though it is now rotting slightly); a memorial to “Rocky” – Lou’s lost love. I have no idea who Rocky was, but he was younger than me when he died – at my age it is sobering when those younger pass away. Rocky must have been a Pink Floyd fan because his epitaph signifies that he has gone: “…to the great gig in the sky”. He obviously enjoyed the view from this spot where the bench now sits. I think fancifully of a fellow rocker reclining here on a summer’s evening sooking on a spliff, earplugs in and listening to … ah yes … Echoes, while watching the sun slip to bed behind Arran. I salute a fellow Floydy (shine on you crazy diamond!) and move on.
The path twists and undulates on its way towards Port Carrick. The monotonous green at the path edge is broken by yellow leopard’s bane and cowslip, the cerise of Campion blazes the trail. On the left the woodland floor shimmers in a blue, or more correctly purple, haze as the Bluebells dance on the wisp of a breeze. Below me, to the right, on the rocky shore the Cormorants stand embracing the incoming tide. Two Swans take off with an awkward grace towards Maidens, heading for home in a looping flight which will bring them back to Swan Pond just over the hill from where I stand – so too the Shell Ducks, though, with a more direct flightpath. The Gulls and Fulmars remain, bouncing on the air like paper in the wind. Suddenly, among the white flashes, black as polished mudstone, Raven hunts a juicy morsel.

Further on the path edges a gully which runs out from the cliff to the sea. There is another smaller path which goes a short way out to the right from where I look down into the gully. I can see the Otter trail running from beneath the rock face to the shore. You need to be here late in the evening or very early in the morning to see the otters come down to the sea to hunt and play. I walk back to the main path and head onwards.
Soon after leaving the “otter” path, the main path rises then turns left and runs downhill. At the bottom of the hill the pathway opens out on to Swan Pond. Turning left would take me to the kiosk and aviary (which is now empty). I turn right back along the path towards the stepped boardwalk down to Port Carrick beach. Above me on another pathway is the refurbished Pagoda which used to, but no longer, house apes. Arriving above Port Carrick, at the top of the steps, the path continues on to the conifer woodland and then down on to Maidens Beach. My destination is Carrick so I descend the steps onto a small, but beautiful, sandy strip. The beach is approximately a hundred metres long, and sits between two rocky outcrops. It is arguably the prettiest beach in all of Ayrshire.

The sky above me is still blue though the distant clouds have now devoured Arran completely. The grey sea rumbles onto the sand as I stumble off the wooden steps on the landward side of the beach. I sit on the bottom step, open my bag, extract my lunch and relax.
Overhead, a gull lets out an excited cry – keee-yah, keee-yah, keee-yah!

I find it difficult to disagree.

IT HAS BEEN SIX WEEKS SINCE I arrived to work as a seasonal Ranger at Culzean Country Park (for those of you who may not know Culzean is pronounced cull-ane). I had all these great plans to write every day about my experiences here; maybe some poetry; keep my blog up to date – nah – just didn’t happen. First of all, there was so much to do and so much to learn about the job. This is a huge place with lots of daily practical duties for Rangers to do, like patrolling, moving stuff around the park, setting up for events, opening up and closing the public facilities every day, cleaning toilets and, my pet hate, picking up all of the rubbish that some folk can’t be bothered taking away or putting in the bins. When we are out and about we have to always carry a bag and a litter stick to pick up plastic bottles that some ignoramus has dropped at their arse or tossed out of a car window – thankfully, in the park, this is not an overwhelming occurrence, however, on the beaches … ? It seems that what attracts some people here is the very same thing they feel free to spoil for other folk.
We go out on patrol every day and check all the different areas of the park including the shore; usually we are given a different area to check each time. This is the most difficult task of the whole job, having to walk through this most beautiful of places on your own for a couple of hours listening to what birds are nesting where, looking for herons’ nests, checking the fence is unbroken on the deer park, or for fallen trees or branches likely to cause problems, or checking if pathways need repaired – I get paid to do that. I remember my primary school teacher telling my mum: “Joe is quite intelligent, but get distracted easily and he can be a wee bit slow to catch up, but he always gets there in the end”. It has only taken me forty-bloody-years to finally find a real and worthwhile job. Boy, Miss Prior wasn’t kidding was she?
The physical work as a Ranger can be quite heavy at times. I am in my fifties now and having spent the last twenty-odd years behind a desk has left me a bit flabby and unfit. As it is, I have lost a fair bit of weight these last few weeks and I do feel fitter every day, but it has been very tiring sometimes and that is the main reason my plans to write have gone to the wall.
I mentioned the learning we need to do; this is because one of the main elements of the job here is taking groups on educational walks. This means learning how to deal with different groups and how to deliver the walks and talks effectively. I have much knowledge and understanding of how natural systems work and how they relate to each other in the greater biome, but I do have gaps in my knowledge when it comes to identifying some of the individual creatures that we come across in the Park, and Culzean has a rich biological diversity. The Park is, therefore, a great place for me to further my own learning. Most of what we need to know is to hand and there is plenty of support from the permanent Rangers who are an excellent and knowledgeable bunch.
Working with the groups here at Culzean is not the same as being in a class with a group of university students, the dynamic is very different. When out with a group it is in an open classroom, there is so much more going on around the group and you have to use different skills to keep the focus on what you are trying to get across. In general, I think the kids love the freedom of the open green spaces – it is also a change from their normal enclosed classroom activities and they respond to that, mostly positively. I suppose I should make a request that all schools participate in such outdoor learning practices. Even in cities there are parks and local green spaces that could be used. Most Councils have Ranger Services, maybe they could be used more in local educational walks – lots of schools now have wildlife gardens and those who don’t should think seriously about creating one..
Culzean has two environmental education groups of their own, the Young Naturalist Club (6-11) and the E.C.Os (12-16). There are about 80-90 local kids combined and they are all enthusiastic and keen to learn while having fun. The E.C.Os do a lot of volunteering in the Park and help with some of the work that requires a lot of hands – they are invaluable to the Park.
Mid-April to Mid-June there are the primary and secondary school groups who come to Culzean for educational walks and talks. There are a lot of these every week and many different walks to learn (I have seven of these walks to do between Wednesday and Friday this week). We need to deliver the walks in a way that keeps young people interested and at the same time add extra knowledge and understanding to their school learning. Some of the walks consist of: mini-beast hunts in the woodland, pond dipping for younger children and pond ecology for older ones; general woodland walks for primaries to search and identify, and more advanced woodland ecology walks with practical work for secondary schools. There are some great sandy beaches and rocky shoreline here at Culzean. Rock-pooling is very popular among all age groups and the pools at Culzean are rich in marine life. Most times we can catch a selection of different species of starfish (we have three different types here); shore crabs; velvet crabs; hermit crabs; goby fish, butterfish; leafworms; bootlace worms; pipefish (related to sea horses); urchins; sea hares and slugs; sea anemones, shrimps; prawns. We don’t take the very young children onto the rocky shore, just on the flat sandy beach and do shells, stones and seaweeds; maybe play the seagull game and, or, read them the Lizzie the Limpet story. I finished off the Limpet story last week by asking the children: “now, what does Lizzie need to watch out for?”
No reply.
“Could it be the tide?” I asked, hopefully, pointing to the sea.
“What’s the tide?” asked a six year old.
Jimmy Cliff’s excellent reggae song: there are more questions than answers, sprang right to mind.
Oh well, it is taxing, but very enjoyable work here at Culzean Country Park.

Speak again soon.

I'm Back

Oh, Well ... it's been so long I'd forgotten how to log on and upload a new message. This week I quit all my job(s) at the university and have taken up a temporary post down in Culzean (pronounced Culane) Country Park in Ayrshire in Scoltand. Kinda glad to be gone from the Uni as it was obvious there was no real job for me there just scraps ... I had hung around far too long ... it was full time commitment for part time wages.

Anyway, a new start, and who knows where it'll go. It will be a busy job, but I am sure I will enjoy it -- I like being busy. Culzean's a very beautiful place too and it also has plenty of wildlife so I have bought myself a new digital slr camera and hope to take some really nice photos while out and about.

I want to maximise my experience during my six months in the country park so I have decided to write a nature diary throughout my time there. Though, I expect the first few entries to be "...too tired, will write tomorrow". Oh Well, what would you expect from a chubby like me. The hope is, of course that by the end of my stint I will have walked off much of the chubbiness and have become a lean, mean eco-machine ... sorry, that was a bit over the top there.

I will be working again with my pal, Heather, (aka Chainsaw Charlie to those who know her well) -- it will be good to be working with Heather again, she's an excellent person. We went to uni together, and class discussions could be quite lively, to say the least, when Heather and I disagreed (which was quite often). Coffee and chocolate afterwards usually sorted us out -- of course, I was always right!

Well, this was just a quick note to get me back onto the blog again. Got to go and pack now.

You can have a listen to some music while you work or browse by clicking on my music link in the column to the right. Just keep this tab open.

speak soon

Joe

Buenos Dias amigos e amigas!

So, it was out with the “Learn Spanish” books and CDs again for me and Jan’s jaunt to Club Cojimar on Cayo Guillermo in Cuba. It was one of those all inclusive beach type holidays, not my preferred type of holiday, but I must say it was very enjoyable.

Cuba is a desperately poor country that has not had its troubles to seek, especially over the last 20 years since the collapse of the Soviet Union. Embargoes imposed by successive US governments since 1959, and supported by its allies, have eroded Cuba’s economy, but still the resilient Cubans struggle on.

These holiday resorts along the cayos, or keys, in the north of the country are providing necessary income for the Cuban economy. They are also providing relatively good jobs for many people from local towns and villages. However, the wages are not great for many of these folk, and they rely quite heavily on tips from holiday-makers. You can eat and drink as much as you want as part of the deal, so, if you go there carry some dosh to tip those who provide you with service.

Any unwanted clothes (in good nick) are very welcome as the costs of such things can really dig in to their income. These will always be gratefully received. Make-up for women is a luxury so if you have some lying around stick it in a bag and your chamber maid will be very pleased with you. You could stick an extra couple of new toothbrushes and a tube of toothpaste or some nice fragrant soap in your bag; again these are luxuries in Cuba and are always welcome.

The local people you meet in these resorts are not well off, but they are not desperate either. These small gifts are very welcome and can help make their day. I have to say that many of the local folk I met there were extremely likeable. Mickey, who worked in reception, is a good looking and amiable guy with a good sense of humour. Alex the rep is an excellent guy, helpful and always funny. A really nice young local fellow called Eddie was serving us at breakfast one morning and we got chatting. He apologised for his poor English … which was far better than my Spanish, let me tell you. Eddie is a student studying Tourism, a good subject for a local lad when you consider the future for that industry in Cuba. I have to say all the people who waited on us in the restaurant were really nice and were never overbearing considering they all would want a tip. I can honestly say that I never experienced anyone pressurising me for one (you know, that strained smile, or always hanging over you), that was never my experience – a friendly greeting and a handshake once they knew you – you were left to enjoy your lunch or dinner with frequent top ups of your water or wine.

The sun is very strong in Cuba (well, it is the tropics). I burned my lower legs in just a few minutes walk to the pool, thinking I would just put on the sun block when I got there. So don’t take the chance if you burn easily. I was in some pain for the next few days. Oh, don’t forget the mosquito spray, another crucial piece of kit.

The bar staff – there are two main bars in Club Cojimar, the main bar in the foyer of the hotel and the pool bar. The guys in the main bar were always entertaining, but unfortunately, some of the female bar staff were dour and not a little bit intimidating, especially the older woman at the pool bar. Her demeanour and attitude verged on the extremely rude. Going to the pool bar when she was serving became a bit like going home to my ex-wife with a tenner short in my wage packet – it just wasn’t worth the beer. What made it worse was that when Spanish folk came to the bar she would laugh and fawn over them, but when it came my turn to be served her gaze would turn in what seemed like slow motion and I swear the glasses along the bar began to frost over as she passed them by. I have no idea what I did to annoy her, but in the end I just stopped going there. As it turned out I was not the only one who felt like that.

Having a quiet beer in the foyer meant we met Stuart and Julia from Carlisle. These two helped make our holiday as they were good fun and we shared the same sense of humour. In general we had our own days but met up after dinner for some drinks or to go and watch the evening show in the amphitheatre (usually a music and dance show by the hotel’s excellent dance group). Then back to the foyer to end the evening with a couple more drinks. We also met Jacqui, a nice soft spoken Ulster woman who had been to the hotel a few times before. Jacqui has just moved to a new place in Spain and generally travels on her own.

Me and Jan went on a few of the paid excursions. We went on a snorkelling trip out into the mangroves on Cayo Coco. We had never actually used a snorkel before and I found it a bit of nuisance at first and so did Jan who says she is “a nose breather” … not good if you want to snorkel. She just went and floated around the mangrove while I abandoned the snorkel and just took a big deep breaths and stuck my head under the water. Ooooooo, all those wee fish …. Beautiful!
“Come and see the barracuda!” called the guide.
“No effing chance!” says I.
“S’okay, they’re well fed here! says he.
Yeh, on stupid fat tourists”, methinks.

I also went on the deep sea fishing trip accompanied by two other lads from another hotel, Chris and Richard, and their girlfriends, Kim and Katie. They were good fun and helped make the trip better.
The fisherman guy, I think his name was Pancho, has to snag the fish when it bites then give the rod to you.
The first catch was a large barracuda that my shipmate, Chris, caught.
Then, boy, didn’t I just get the proverbial “one that got away”?
Well, when the fish bit Pancho came over and did the snagging thing, then I sat in the chair and took the rod. Oooooh, it almost bent double so we could see that this was pretty big.
“Barracuda? “ I asked.
“Marlin”, said Pancho and the skipper started parping the boat’s horn. You don’t get to keep the fish you catch on these trips, they belong to the boat – you only pay for the fun and experience, so a marlin can be a big pay day for the guys on the boat.
I had this thing on the line for about a minute, slowly trying to bring it in, hoping for that glorious leap out of the water that you see in movies or the discovery channel … suddenly the line went slack … big disappointment all round. You know, all things considered, I am glad it got away, though I would loved to have seen it leap before it went. Ah well, at least I can say I had one on the line.
The next fish I caught was a barracuda, these things are the snarling pit-bulls of the sea. After Pancho gave it a whack, I got my photo taken holding it. It was quite a big bugger and I was glad to see the back of it when he put it in the bunker on the deck.
I think Chris had the biggest catch of the day, another really big Barracuda. Kim, Chris’s girlfriend, asked to have her picture taken with it. Pancho gave it a whack and handed it to her. I took a picture, but as Chris took his snap, the fish woke up and flapped itself from her hand. The picture (and I wish I had a copy) has the fish wide mouthed with all its huge teeth a few inches from Kim’s screaming face.
When this one was put in the bunker it went bananas and Richard went and stood on the lid of the bunker while the fish banged against it. Aggressive? Strong? And that was it out of the water and that nutcase at the snorkelling trip wanted me to go over and get up close and personal “in” the water!
I’m a fat guy, the bloody thing would’ve thought its Christmases had come all once.
“Hey, is that a barracuda bitin’ to your butt?
“Yep!”
While I was doing my Ernest Hemmingway on the high seas, retitled Fat Man and the Sea! Jan was away on a Spa Day getting pampered by massages and all sorts of stuff like that. We met up about 2 o’clock and we were both highly delighted by our day’s events.
Jan also went horse riding, and we both did some archery, were we were looked after by Gleiver, who runs the tennis courts and the archery place. He is a really nice big guy. Good looking lad too, which is probably why there seemed to be lots of young women there too when we went.

The accommodation was comfortable and we had no complaints about it at all. My only real complaint was the lack of variety of food. Our diet is essentially vegetarian, but we do eat fish occasionally. Cubans have absolutely no concept of vegetarianism. So if you are a strict veggie, you might starve as there is no jumping a fence to go to a local eatery – there are none. This meant we ate fish more often than we would have liked. No cereal for breakfast either, but this is a third world country and in such a resort it can be easy to forget that.

All in all, though, I really enjoyed being there. I got chilled and relaxed which was just what I wanted. I drank more beer and wine than I should have, but hey, I met some really nice people, English and Cuban, not many Scots there I have to say. Oh, yeh, like most other countries in the world, to Cubans, Britain/UK is England! No such places as Wales, Ireland or Scotland. They just don’t understand.
You are English?
No, Scottish.
Blank look.
Scotland … Scottish … Escocés? … Scottish … Mel Gibson … Braveheart!
Ah, Braveheart, great movie, we love that here.
Yes, Scottish!!
Blank look.
Ah well, never mind!

This latest flame!

Hi, been busy of late and not been able to write anything on the blog for a while. Working 2 part time jobs and a full time one is a bit tiring, though I did get out for a couple of beers with my cousin on Friday. Enjoyed it Tommy! Shame you couldn't make it Jim.

I have just read that China is a bit miffed at being demonised in the world. Just not fair, is it? Or is it? Let me think: 200,000 folk killed by government militias in Darfur in the last 4 years – that's nearly 1000 a week, not to mention the rapes, brutal beatings, starvation and severe injury, all of which could be stopped almost overnight by China, who have a great political influence on the affairs of Sudan ... if they wanted to. Ah, but why bother when the oil and money are pouring in? If it keeps the Sudanese government happy, just let them get on with it, eh? Why rock the gravy train?

Then, of course, there is the Tibet issue. Tibet, according to Fu Ying, the Chinese ambassador to London, is a "land "loved" by the Chinese people". Of course they love it, that's why they invaded it and made it part of their own Motherland! As you would imagine, Tibet is a land "loved" even more by the Tibetants themselves and they probably wish China would love it from afar.

"Many of those who protest have probably not been to Tibet", says Fu Ying. Of course we haven't, China makes it difficult for anyone to go visit there.

We need to be honest here, China is a country with a very poor human rights record, and it rings hollow when people who should know better bemoan the protests during the Olympic flame jaunts around the world. "It is a symbol of peace and unity", they cry, "it should be respected!"

Absolutely, my very thoughts on it too!

That's why countries with dreadful human rights records should never be allowed to hold up such a beacon, and hide their atrocities behind it. Shame on the Olympic Committee for allowing that to happen!

Keep politics out of sport, they cry. Jeez ... let me think ... sport = money => money = business => the business of money is ... "politics"! Ergo, sport "is politics", always has been, always will be!

Now we've got that straight, let us not talk of it again. Keep drugs out of sport ... now that's worth shouting about. When they sort that one out the olympics might just be worth watching.

Damn Yankies II

So, an historic agreement has been reached, according to Hilary Benn, on replacing Kyoto in 2012? It seems to me the only agreement reached was to not to agree on too much in case the American economy was damaged. The agreement is a fudge so that America, once it has had time to work out is the least they need to do, can say, "hey, look, we're doing our bit!" while actually doing very little.

The French ecology minister says: "It's a framework that is quite weak but which still moves forward ... The public can understand that we brought the United States into the negotiations." Well, did they, really?

America, Russia, Canada and Japan all need to feel some shame here. They talk about sustainability, but they obviously do not understand the basic tenets of it. Environment, Society and Economy. Politicians the world over, only serve the economy. I've said it before and I'll say it again: without a suitable environment there will be no society; without a society economy is pointless. If politicians cannot get their head round that simple fact should they be in the job? There are too many lawyers, too much business interest in politics, we as voters really need to seek out other folk who may think differently to the current lot of ne'erdowells if we are all to survive on this world with any real degree of comfort. When the crops fail; when the land we live and grow on disappears under the sea we cannot eat dollar bills (apologies to Chief Seattle).

it is still the same mantra we hrear from these guys: "technologies will save us". A greater mind than most said (I paraphrase, of course) "there is no point using the same mode of thought to solve a problem as that which created it". Relying on technology to save us is known as weak sustainability. Doing what needs to be done, even though it is difficult, is considered strong sustainability. We have been left in no doubt on which side of that little maxim our world leaders stand.

My pal Kirsty sent me this wee story today (you may have read it)


Sustainability & the Three Bears
A seasonal tale for children of all ages


Once upon a time there was a concept so obvious that no-one could gainsay it.

“Of course”, the people would cry, “we all want a world in which everybody is treated fairly, in which we are all prosperous, and in which the environment is healthy and safe.”

But even as they said these things, the people were cruel to their neighbours, they laboured for either a crust or a diamond, and they threw their rubbish and drove their cars without looking.

“What can we do?” they cried. “We are each so small.”

The people looked to their leaders for help.

“Of course”, the leaders cried, “we all want a world in which everybody is treated fairly, in which we are all prosperous, and in which the environment is healthy and safe.”

But even as they said these things, the leaders pandered to the rich and bowed to the powerful, strove endlessly for “competitiveness” and “growth”, and put nature in departments with toothless administrators and too little money.

“What can we do?” they cried. “We live in a globalised, de-regulated world.”
And the leaders looked to the businessfolk for help.

“Of course”, the businessfolk cried, “we all want a world in which everybody is treated fairly, in which we are all prosperous, and in which the environment is healthy and safe.”

But even as they said these things, the businessfolk exploited their workers, hoarded their excessive profits or went bust, and despoiled anything natural that impeded their corporate expansion strategies.
“What can we do?” they cried. “We are only providing the people with what they want.”

What a sorry state of affairs - everybody managing to blame everybody else!
Little Billy Loveluck gazed at the whole mess with a mix of bemusement and chagrin.

Are they just greedy? he wondered. Or scared? Confused? Ignorant?
He decided to conduct a small experiment: he turned the people into leaders; the leaders into businessfolk; and the businessfolk into people.
And it made no difference!

So he turned the people into businessfolk, and the businessfolk into leaders, and the leaders into people.

And it still made no difference!

Little Billy Loveluck did some reading, and some thinking, and some more reading. And some more thinking.

He noticed something that he thought was important. He noticed that everyone always saw the problem at a certain scale: in particular, everyone seemed to be able to convince themselves that they were a different size from the problem.

And Little Billy hatched a plan.

He decided that the answer lay in finding solutions that were neither too big, nor too small, but just right. And if everyone had an answer for them that was the right size, the problems could be solved.

So for the people, he began to devise small things – little labels on the insides of bin lids to remind people what to recycle, and little campaigns to allow neighbours to help one another, and little companies that allowed people to go home early to collect their children from school.

And for the leaders he devised big things – big strategies that showed how to “mainstream”, big reports that showed how to regulate markets in a more sustainable fashion, big conferences to explain and proclaim.

And for the businessfolk he devised medium-sized things – new marketing strategies, product design initiatives, and environmental management systems.

“It’s not very exciting” said his friend Sawar.
“Seems to be working though” said Billy.


Readers interested in exploring further the issues raised may wish to reference:
“Small is Beautiful”, E F Schumacher, 1973
“On Being the Right Size”, J B S Haldane, 1928
“Goldilocks & the Three Bears”, traditional