2005-06-27

Local Veg For Local People

Yesterday, <3 and I had the lowest food-mile meal we have had for a very long time (possibly ever) -- home grown spuds, carrots and courgettes, and chops from a farm about 5 miles down the road. The only bits of the main course that had come from further afield were the salt and pepper, and a knob of butter. Well chuffed.
A basket of home grown veg

2005-06-23

Soft Fruit

Last night <3 and I had raspberries from our own garden. There were only enough for three each, and they were somewhat on the small side, but beautifully ripened by the recent sun and possibly the best raspberries I've had -- though that is obviously coloured by the romance of being home grown and shared with the one I love.

2005-06-22

Desperately Seeking Cosmos

It's great when something interesting and innovative gets done, and the launch of Cosmos 1 yesterday fit that profile, in spades, being a solar sail powered spacecraft, launched from a Russian submarine in a converted ICBM. Neat. The problem was that something went wrong, and control lost contact with the craft shortly after launch.

Signals have since been picked up from the craft, but they are weak -- it sounds like Cosmos 1 is in orbit, but the wrong orbit, and the search is on to find it and see if the mission can be rescued. There's a BBC story, and the latest news can be had from the official Cosmos 1 blog.

2005-06-09

Biological Warfare

We have a pair of young apple trees in our garden, planted by way of celebration the day after we received the keys to the house. I've wanted my own orchard for years, so this seemed a perfect time to do something about one of my ambitions.

So a few months later, we have baby apples growing and one of the trees had started to develop a bit of a blackfly problem. For the last week or so I have been doing battle with a spritzer full of washing up water, which is meant to be useful in such cases, though I have a feeling that our dolphin friendly, ozone-hole-repairing washing-up liquid might be a bit too mellow and herbal to do the job.

Anyway, yesterday evening I counted no less than five ladybirds on this tiny tree, happily chowing down on aphids. I think from here on I'll lay off on the detergent and let the predators do their thing. Go team!

2005-06-04

Nine Go Mad In Wiltshire

For something like 20 years public access to Stonehenge, one of Britains most famous ancient monuments, has been severely restricted due to fears of erosion, vandalism, and the possibility that someone might accidentally discover its true purpose and open a portal to another dimension and allow Unspeakable Horrors (TM) to conquer Wiltshire. Some more enlightened souls believe this may have already happened. Anyway, public access is now limited to being able to wander around a footpath a respectful distance from the stones themselves and visits by appointment only for restricted numbers of people at dawn and dusk, which do in fact allow you full access (but no climbing). Permission to conduct rituals, play drums, or dance naked are by special arrangement only.

A friend had arranged for a group of us to go to the dawn session yesterday. Of course, this being June, dawn was somewhat early and we left home shortly after three in order to allow plenty of time for the trip.

The whole trip was, I think, well worthwhile although unfortunately the sky was fairly cloudy and a thick fog had set in and shrouded Salisbury Plain so that the horizon could not be seen. Hence no dawn could really be seen. Pity.

I would be remiss, however, if I failed to confess to my own little part in the procedings when I saw a glimmer of light emerging over the brow of a fog-blurred hill. I was looking at the light for some time before concluding that it was not, in fact, the sun: the actual horizon (initially hidden by the fog) was somewhat higher than the light, the light did not change in size or position, and a quick reality check revealed that the light was actually in the carpark and not anywhere near the "heel stone", which actually marks the point of sunrise as viewed from the centre of the stones at the summer solstice.

Ho hum.