Eden Project

Day 2 of our wizzo minibreak

It was so hot and moist in the Humid Tropical Biome that our cameras went all fuzzy.

Lucy recovering in the cafeteria with a locally-sourced Cornish pasty and some freshly ground Rainforest Alliance ethical coffee

The Welsh Harp

I’nt birds brilliant?

Bodmin Moor

Brown Willy, at 420m the roof of Cornwall, and a 2-hour slog to the summit over rough and boggy moorland (or as I put it, ‘a nice gentle stroll’). Day 1 of our wizzo minibreak.

The moor is a beautiful, high and desolate place; a hundred square miles of wilderness along the rocky spine of Cornwall. Here at 1,000 feet the wind is relentless and the only living things to be seen a few hardy sheep and cattle.

Looking east from Catshole Down towards the snowy heights of Dartmoor.

Lucy enjoying a well-earned cup of coffee and a pasty atop Brown Willy. The name, a perennial delight to visitors, is probably Cornish bron whella, the highest hill. In the background we are looking north towards Carland Cross Wind Farm.

Rough Tor, looking north-east from the summit of Brown Willy. These great jagged tors are the exposed skeleton of the vast granite batholith which forms Devon and Cornwall; Dartmoor and the Scilly Isles are part of the same single rock.

hullo clouds hullo sky

Commentary is superfluous.

Ups and downs

I had a really nice day out on Sunday going to the sekrit lake for bird noticing, and I noticed a lot of ducks and swans and geese and coots and gulls and took lots of pictures. Later on I went to a wizzo gastro pub (which always sounds like some kind of internal disorder) and ate delicious lamb koftes, which are basically very expensive doner kebabs only in a meatball.

But I was feeling a bit tired and out of sorts, and by the time I got home in the evening I was rarther sad and low. It only compounded my distress when I discovered that gThumb had kindly deleted all my photos instead of importing them from the camera like I asked. Actually that is a bit unfair and a libel on the hard-working authors of gThumb. It did import the photos, in the sense that it created two hundred zero-length files with nothing in them. Then it deleted them from the camera. Cheers, gThumb!

I was jolly upset until I figured out that you can undelete stuff, if you are willing to pay for an undelete program and you have a handy CF card reader. (If this ever happens to you, which of course it won’t because you are careful, and you don’t use gThumb, your pictures can be rescued so long as the card is not used or written to - so whip it out of the camera and don’t touch it until you are ready with the recovery software.)

It does make you think about the fragility of digital pictures though. I think I’ll just go and take a backup…

Also, and which was more expensive although less annoying, someone pinched one of my indicators while I was parked at the go-kart track. Reading that back, it sounds as if I have indicators. I meant the car of course, although in some ways it would be interesting if I was fitted with some kind of navigation lights. They just strolled off with the glass and bulb! Perhaps they had another Audi somewhere, painstakingly assembled from individually stolen parts, just waiting for an offside front indicator to be complete.

They also had a jolly good go at levering off the rear bumper. I found this out while driving to the little mechanic to have a new indicator put on, as there was a nasty scraping sound from the back, and when I stopped and got out I noticed that the bumper was hanging off at one side and trailing on the road. The little mechanic says that Audi bumpers cost about three hundred pounds, so I can see why they wanted it. That’s actually better return on investment than pinching someone’s iPod. So do not take your car to Buckmore Park kart circuit near Chatham in Kent, unless you need it quickly disassembled by expert local teenagers.

I had a bit of a rubbish day at work yesterday too and combined with everything else I felt so sad and tired and heart-sick last night that I just went to bed early so that the day could be over quicker. I don’t know if you have ever done that.

Anyway the car is all fixed now thanks to t.l.m. so hurray, and I sat and had an extra-long good think this morning about things and ended up feeling much more cheery. It is surprising how often that works.

Photo by Chris Marquadt

Worst dialog box ever

I like K3B, the CD/DVD burning tool, as it sucks less than either the Nautilus CD creator or GnomeBaker (see my previous rant on that topick). But it has always been a bit out there in terms of user interface, which is a polite way of saying shit. Today I was confronted by this baffling dialog. What the hell does it mean?

What part of someone’s brain thought Yeah. We totally nailed that dialog. I read it about eight times and still did not understand what it was asking, so clicked one of the options completely at random. I still have no idea what I just committed to. I think this would actually test better with users:

Orion

Orion is probably the most obvious and striking constellation, and it is a great starting point for learning your way around the stars.

You can see that he is raising a club or a spear above his head, and holds a bow - Orion is the great hunter, centrepiece of the winter sky. He is perpetually locked in combat with Taurus, the Bull. Below his belt hangs what we politely refer to as his ‘sword’, though other cultures have identified it with a different item of gentleman’s equipment.

The sword hides a secret. Its middle star is not a star at all, but a vast glowing cloud of gas and dust, the Great Nebula in Orion. This cloud is about 30 light years across, big enough to encompass our Sun and its nearest twenty or thirty neighbours. Inside, new stars are forming with what seem to be the precursors of planets. The Nebula appears unremarkable in visible light, but if we could see in the infrared, it would be a great blazing splash across the sky, four times the size of the full Moon:

(Image from seds.org. This is on approximately the same scale as the picture above.)

Sirius

If you take a line through the stars of Orion’s belt and follow it down and to the left you will come to Sirius, the brightest star of all. Sirius is called the Dog Star because it is in the constellation of Canis Major, the larger of Orion’s two hunting dogs. Sirius is a southerly star, so for northern hemisphere observers it generally appears low on the horizon, like here:

Sirius over Mill Hill village

Procyon

If you look up from Sirius you will see another bright star at the left of Orion, sort of on its own. This is Procyon in Canis Minor, the lesser dog. We’re always hearing a lot about Sirius, but you don’t often see press releases about what Procyon’s up to. It must get a bit frustrating sometimes always being the Number Two. I like Procyon the best.

If you follow a line up from Sirius through Procyon and a bit to the left, hovering over Orion’s shoulder you will see Gemini, the Twins, which we covered in a previous lesson (pay attention at the back).

Aldebaran and the Pleiades

Now go back to Orion and extend the line between Orion and Sirius in the opposite direction. You will come to a bright red star, Aldebaran, the glowing eye of the Bull which always faces Orion. If you keep going you will see a fuzzy patch of middling bright stars, the Pleiades.

Aldebaran and the Pleiades

Happily, Mars wanted to be in this picture too, so it sidled in at the last minute.

Looking more closely at the Pleiades in this 100% crop we can see the Seven Sisters (Alcyone, Merope, Maia, Electra, Taygeta, Celaeno and Asterope) and their parents Atlas and Plione. Alcyone is the eldest sister so she is always in charge if Atlas and Plione go out, which sometimes leads to friction with little Asterope wanting to stay up late and watch TV.

In fact although you can see six or seven stars with the naked eye, there are about 3,000 stars in the Pleiades cluster. That might seem a lot until you realise there about four hundred billion stars in the Galaxy. The Galaxy is so vast that it beggars comprehension. It is about 100,000 light years across, which means absolutely nothing to us humans, but if the whole Solar System were shrunk to the size of a golf ball, the Galaxy would be about the size of North America.

For a minute the Galaxy almost seems impressively large, but it is just one of hundreds of billions of galaxies. There are probably as many galaxies in the Universe as there are stars in our Galaxy. If you start thinking about this type of thing it tends to make your head go a bit woozy and you have to have a sit down. The numbers involved are so much bigger than anything our brains evolved to cope with, we can’t even get a vague sense of the size of the Universe. Whenever you think about it there is a feeling of standing dizzily at the edge of some appalling abyss. Every time you look up into the night sky you are literally staring into infinity.

And we are journeying through that infinite cold, dark void, in a tiny blue spaceship. Unfortunately we are not carrying any spares in the boot so if anything goes wrong with the spaceship, we are pretty much screwed. It is enough to make you drive a bit more carefully.

Ligeti's Volumina

Imagine taking a full-scale cathedral organ, the kind with three million pipes and a basement full of machinery, turning all the blowers right up to ‘hearing damage’ mode, and then leaning on all the keys and pedals at once. That’s the opening chord of Volumina.

You feel as though, in settling down to write this piece, Ligeti carefully collected together lots of textbooks on classical harmony, sacred music, organ writing and so forth - and then chucked them out the bloody window. Volumina is an exploration of the sound limits of the organ, making it sound like the most adventurous of synthesizers before such things were even invented. Ligeti conjures extraordinary, hallucinogenic soundscapes from the instrument. Eerie floating, throbbing textures of wind moaning through industrial piping give way to furious explosive rages that sound as though a serious bar brawl has actually broken out inside the organ. In between these are frankly disturbing collections of noises that sound as though they were made by no Earthly instrument, ranging from banging on the pipes to blowing across them to what sounds like the hoarse, dying bubbles of someone choking to death on a kazoo, while someone twiddles the tuning knob on a radio.

One reviewer wrote “Volumina is a piece whose notes (every key on the organ, in fact) are sustained throughout its entire fifteen-minute length. What makes this piece so unique, however, is the way in which these static notes are manipulated in order to demonstrate the instrument’s full range of sonic capabilities. The work is not about melody; in fact, most casual listeners would consider it to be somewhat if not entirely unlistenable. Rather, Volumina was composed to explore the complete spectrum of sound that can be expressed by simple, unchanging notes without any reference to melody whatsoever.”

You might be more familiar with Ligeti’s work than you think. If you’ve ever watched 2001: A Space Odyssey and started thinking, “Dude. This music is pretty fucked up right here,” that’d be Ligeti. Volumina is about as avant-garde as you can get without going right beyond music and breaching the Geneva Conventions. The mere performance of this piece has actually destroyed two organs, and caused a complete electrical failure in the Royal Festival Hall.

It is one of those things which, a bit like perforating your cheeks with a stapler, is really nice when it stops. But after a few listens it does grow on you. At times you just want to laugh out loud and shake Ligeti by the hand for being such an outrageous fucking nutcase. I can see him sitting there, scoring a particularly horrific anti-tonal sonic assault, chuckling to himself and scribbling in the margin, “That’ll shit them right up.”

After listening to this have a good long lie down in a darkened room with a cocktail of anti-psychotics.

Oh my God, she's been arrested and hanged!

Things to be cheerful about:

  1. Nuts
  2. Jumpers
  3. Bach
  4. Mulligatawny
  5. Friday evenings
  6. Housemates
  7. James Bond movies
  8. My car
  9. Making bread
  10. The Two Towers
  11. Hiking
  12. Sunshine
  13. Dustbuster
  14. Massive phone
  15. Writing with a fountain pen
  16. Wine
  17. Yoga
  18. Penny Arcade
  19. keithlard.com
  20. The Black Project
  21. Saturday mornings
  22. Sunday mornings
  23. Baths
  24. Table-tennis
  25. Being up early by mistake
  26. Trees
  27. Sainsburys
  28. Books
  29. The name 'Keith'
  30. Playstation
  31. Compassion
  32. Being comfy
  33. All nice girls have been interned in a special camp, I just have to find it.
  34. Radio 3
  35. Being in bed generally (not in a rude way)
  36. Being in bed (in a rude way)
  37. Chums
  38. Sand
  39. iPhone
  40. Telly
  41. Bacon sarnie
  42. Letters
  43. Sawing things (you feel like your dad)
  44. Waxing boots
  45. Pink things
  46. Talking crap
  47. The word 'chipper'
  48. Being tired
  49. Beethoven
  50. Beanie hats
  51. Candles
  52. Showers
  53. Fresh coffee
  54. Christmas
  55. Taking a moment
  56. Fish fingers
  57. Guitars
  58. Lists
  59. Maps
  60. Gmail
  61. Buckaroo
  62. The word 'snick'
  63. Instant messenger
  64. Charity shops
  65. Pepper
  66. Whistling
  67. Breakfast
  68. Sexy underwear
  69. Having a cherry tree outside your window
  70. Hot towels from the heated towel rail
  71. Clean hair
  72. Duvets
  73. The Simpsons
  74. Mouse with a scroll wheel
  75. Winning
  76. Losing and not minding
  77. People asking you how your day was
  78. Curry
  79. Inflatable things
  80. Dips
  81. Things to dip in the dip eg crisps
  82. Crackling
  83. A really amazingly sharp knife
  84. Coming home after being away
  85. Peanuts (the comic, not the snack)
  86. Going to the pictures
  87. Nigella
  88. A big lads' night in
  89. Making things out of Blu-Tack
  90. MP3s
  91. Exes you still talk to
  92. Cornwall
  93. Pastry
  94. Bob van Asperen
  95. Being adequately prepared
  96. Checking things into Git
  97. Wood
  98. Stars
  99. Getting back from the shops and looking at the stuff you bought
  100. When you let someone in on the motorway and they blip their hazard lights to say thanks