Becoming a Womble

Last weekend, someone fly-tipped in the car park of a pub that's near our house. The pub is closed at the moment, so the fly-tippers obviously thought the car park would make an ideal location for their illegal activity. It was broad daylight, but we watched in amazement as they roared up, opened the doors and shovelled the stuff out, then sped off again, wheels spinning.

When Mr. Bsag went over to see what they'd dumped, he found a huge load of mostly intact ceramic roof tiles, as well as a smaller number of slates. We immediately thought that the tiles would be very useful on the allotment to act as borders for our raised beds. At the moment, we just heap the soil up and don't have proper edging on the bed to hold it all in. The tiles overlap and interlock nicely, so we should be able to set the bottoms in the soil, then hold them upright with wooden pegs — ideal! We might even use the slates to floor a small porch that we're having put on our front door, if they turn out to be strong enough. It's not a big area, and there are enough intact tiles (if we clean them up a bit) to cover the whole floor.

So Mr. Bsag acted like a good Womble and barrowed most of the tipped material over to our house, ready to be re-used and recycled.

Spring wave

We spent some time on the allotment this weekend, tidying up the beds, digging over and weeding those that had been empty over the winter and checking on the progress of our over-wintered crops. The broad beans are struggling a bit (probably because of all the snow and frost we've had), but the garlic is coming on like a champ. We haven't grown garlic before, so that's quite exciting. Our cavolo nero kale stolidly pootles on as only kale can, resisting all but the rapacious wood pigeons who sneak under the netting. Kale is amazing stuff, and it's a bonus that I actually enjoy eating it too. We found some onion sets in a bag in the wheelbarrow that we should have planted out in the autumn. Some had gone soft and rotten, but others were still firm and had started to throw up optimistic little white etiolated shoots in the darkness of their bag. Since we had nothing to lose, and we felt sorry for neglecting them, we dug over a bed to plant the best ones out.

One of our allotment neighbours (R) was there too, and he gave us some Maris Piper potatoes because he'd massively over-ordered on his spuds. I'm beginning to think that potatoes are an allotmenteer's Achilles Heel: even though we've got more than enough potatoes ourselves, we found ourselves accepting the potatoes and thinking, "Well, we could do with a good variety for baked potatoes..." I hear that branches of Spud-U-Like are opening up again, so perhaps we can sell our excess.

Spring is an amazingly hopeful time on the allotment, and R was desperately trying to get the last of his spring crops in. It's a little early for some of them, but he's scheduled to go in for serious heart surgery very soon, so he won't be able to work on the allotment for several weeks. He told us that he wanted to make sure that he'd given everything the best start he could, so that things would be growing well on their own while he was recovering. Because of his condition, he's short of breath and can only work for short periods at a time, but the green pull of spring is so strong that he felt the need to catch the wave of growth with the timing of a good surfer and ride the first wave of the season. We said that we'd keep an eye on his plot for him while he's out of action, but I know he'll be fretting about it until he can get his hands back in the soil again.

I feel as if I've been hibernating this winter, for one reason or another. It felt really good to get out into the fresh, cold air and feel the sun on my face and the beginnings of warmth in the earth.

Biodynamics and Headology

Last week I watched Valentine Warner's What to Eat Now seasonal cookery programme. In this episode, Valentine visited a biodynamic farmer, who explained some of the principles of biodynamic farming. The farmer -- whose name I forget, but who seemed a very nice, cheery sort of chap -- showed Valentine how he makes his compost heap. Since I started growing my own veg, I've become a bit of a compost nerd¹, and I was whistling appreciatively at the sight of the lovely ingredients the farmer had on his heap. There was lots of greenery, including nettles which contain iron and other useful minerals, cow pats, straw and other goodies. It had the makings of wonderfully rich, nutrient-packed compost. And then he pulled out a box of containers and explained that he would put into a hole made in the heap a pinch of yarrow which had been stored in a stag's bladder for a year (it may have been some other internal organ, I forget) hung up in the air, and then buried for a year. Or something like that. I'm afraid that I'm not certain of the details, because my mind was being boggled, and I was watching carefully to see what Valentine's response would be. He was terribly polite, but said it sounded a bit "witchy".

Quite. My favourite fictional witches -- those in Terry Pratchett's Discworld novels -- rarely do any actual magic. Instead, a large component of their work involves what they refer to as 'headology'. This is the practice of getting people to believe something so strongly that it becomes real for them. Headology is cousin to the placebo in modern medicine, though rather more diverse. Some witches, like Nanny Ogg, perfect a cosy, homely persona, so that women in labour are convinced that giving birth is the easiest and most straightforward thing in the world. Others, like Granny Weatherwax maintain such a terrifying demeanour that people stop being ill out of sheer fright. Some, like Eumenides Treason, construct a mythical reputation with a collection of dribbly candles, plastic skulls and stick-on facial warts bought from Boffo's Joke Shop. All of these elaborate practices are maintained to convince their clients to believe that a particular story is true and real. It's fictional of course, but I'm fairly sure that aspects of it would work in the real world, just as we know that the placebo effect exists.

You probably see where I'm going with this. Headology works because people have minds, and I'm certain that it would have no perceptible effect on beetroot. The compost was responsible for his great beetroot, and the "witchy" bits were entirely optional. The only person being worked on by the yarrow-in-stag's bladder routine is the farmer. It's a shame really, because there are lots of very sensible and scientifically robust practices in biodynamic farming, like looking after the soil well, and making great compost. But then they go and spend a lot of time and energy on something that must have no measurable effect on the quantity or quality of the crop. Of course, I've had limited exposure to biodynamic methods, so it could be that the farmer featured in the program was on the far fringe of the movement.

¹ I know, along with all my other domains of nerdery... I'm a nerd of all trades and a master of none. ↑

Lynmouth

We spent a few days last week on holiday in North Devon, staying at Lynmouth. When we actually stopped to think about it, we realised that it was the first holiday (as opposed to work travel) we'd had in 3 years, and I certainly felt like we needed it! In the last few years, we seem to have always been too busy, had too little money or to have been doing things like moving house to make even a short break practical. But getting a change of scenery every now and again is important to recharge the batteries, so I was quite excited about our little trip.

We suspected that we would have dreadful weather, but in the end we were incredibly lucky. It was very windy on the coast, and that seemed to keep most of the showers at bay, or at least move them along quickly once they had started, so we didn't get prolonged periods of rain. This was just as well, because we wanted to spend most of the time walking some of the coastal and moorland paths. Lynton and Lynmouth are really one town divided by an almost vertical cliff. There's a rather nice Victorian water-powered cliff railway to take you between the two, or you can walk up the zig-zag paths which connect the two towns.

All I can say is that people who live in Lynton and Lynmouth must be very fit, and have very supple knee and ankle joints. Even with the zig-zags, the paths had sections that seemed to have slopes of about 40°, and required a curious, flexed-foot shuffle to walk up or down. This also applied to the coast path and a lot of the other footpaths we used for our walks. The area isn't known as 'Little Switzerland' for nothing. Mr. Bsag is like a mountain goat, and climbs hills while walking or cycling with no perceptible effort. I, on the other hand, am clearly not geared correctly for hills, and while I can walk for miles on flat or undulating terrain, I puff and pant like a steam train on inclines. Despite that, we had some wonderful walks (with Mr. Bsag gently pushing me up some of the hills).

One of my favourite walks was along the River Lyn to Watersmeet (where two rivers meet, obviously). The river flows in a deep gorge which is thickly wooded with wonderful, lush ancient woodland. One benefit of all the rain we have had this summer is that the vegetation was even greener and more lush than it might have otherwise been. Every possible shade of green -- from almost black, through vivid emerald, to sharp lime -- was represented. Rain drops shone and sparkled on every surface making the whole wood glitter. Every rock and tree trunk was thickly covered in many species of moss, liverwort, lichen and fern. I couldn't resist plunging my hand into a plump pad of moss, and found that it sank finger-deep into the cool, soft fronds. Deciduous woodland is one of my favourite habitats, and with a fast-flowing river too, it was just about perfect. I could have stayed for days in that green-brown dappled light, just looking around me and sighing happily. The photo above is of a section of the woodland, high on the valley side, entirely composed of oaks. It might well be very ancient, but the soil is so thin there, with rocks close to the surface that the oaks can't get to their full size, and grow like ancient saplings, close together and corkscrewing towards the available light. Magical.

Repair and reuse

I've complained before about the poor quality of modern appliances, and the difficulty of getting them repaired, and on occasions I've deliberately chosen items because I know that spare parts were available. When I bought a Dyson vacuum cleaner several years ago, it was partly for the performance (which is great), and partly because they promised to be easy to repair.

We had to put that to the test recently, when our trusty Dyson cut out and failed to power on again. We investigated the many inspection hatches for any blockages, and washed the reusable filter, but it wouldn't turn on again. Luckily, we have a vacuum repair centre fairly close to us, and they are authorised Dyson distributors. The guy in the shop asked what had happened, and was confident they'd be able to fix it. A day later, our purple and green friend had a new power cable (which had developed a break inside the body of the machine), a few other worn parts were replaced, and it had a general service. The result is that our Dyson is working again, and we only had to pay a reasonable charge for the repair, rather than the full cost of a new one. There's also one less hunk of garish plastic in landfill.

I wish more manufacturers put thought in to making their products easy to repair, and provided a supply of easily obtainable spare parts.

Bike rage

Perhaps it's because it is Bike to Work day today in San Francisco, but there seems to have been a lot of controversy stirred up on the web this week by the gentle art of cycling.

First, there was the ridiculous assertion that cycling is less efficient in terms of energy consumption than driving, as if we -- in developed countries -- need to consume any extra food to fuel our cycle rides or as if drivers fast to compensate for the energy not used when driving their cars. I could go on...

And then a post by jwz, offering his own advice for people wanting to start cycling in San Francisco, attracted an enormous pile of enraged comments, many from other cyclists upset by his recommendation to "Never take bike advice from anyone who owns bike shorts, clip shoes, a messenger bag, or a fixie." I don't necessarily agree with all his advice either (though he did make it clear that it was specific to the cycling situation in San Francisco), but I wouldn't get upset about it. People cycle for all kinds of different reasons, and have their own preferences, requirements and constraints. There really is more than one way to do it.

I suppose that I don't understand why cycling inspires such ire in people. If you're not being harassed by drivers (or anyone else who seems to take it as a personal rebuke that you are using a eco-friendly mode of transportation), or or pedestrians, or being taunted by gangs of school children, or having your tyres shredded by the glassy remains of outdoor binge-drinking sessions that seem a permanent fixture next to every park bench in Birmingham, other cyclists also seem to want to join in.

Of course, some cyclists act like idiots, just like some drivers and some pedestrians, but does that have to mean that the rest of us who just want to potter quietly to work have to take the rap? In that context, watching this video of a school run in the Netherlands (via Velorution) made me want to cry -- it's like glimpsing Utopia. All those comfortable, sensible, load-bearing bikes! The broad, glass-free, well-maintained cycle paths! The people cycling calmly along in their ordinary clothes, and not wearing helmets! The hordes of children cycling with their parents! Sigh.

Good, cheap, fast

[About this time of year, the pressure of exam marking robs me of the ability to string thoughts together in a coherent way, so please forgive the somewhat rambling (or more rambling than usual) article below. Lacks structure or a properly constructed argument, and shows little evidence of independent reading. 2.2]

There's a well known saying in project management circles: Good, cheap, fast: pick any two. I've been thinking recently that something similar could be applied to eco-friendly or ethical products. There's usually some trade-off to be made when compared to the traditional alternative. For example, meat produced with good standards of welfare for the animals tends to be of better quality than standard meat, but is more expensive. Recycled paper is better for the environment than non-recycled paper (probably...), but it isn't as good quality. Travelling on public transport rather than going by car is cheaper (when you take all the costs into account), but much less convenient. In some cases, the eco-friendly alternative is cheaper than the alternative, but only after some initial period when the capital invested in installing it is paid off (solar or wind power).

{Read more...}

Easy adjustment

A month after getting my new bike I'm a thorough convert to hub gears. Not only are they wonderfully smooth in use and pretty much sealed against the crud that comes off the path, but -- as I discovered today -- they are also a dream to adjust.

New bikes tend to need a bit of tightening up after a few weeks of use and settling in. Cables stretch and fixings loosen, and you find that gears start to drift out of correct adjustment. The Shimano Nexus is no exception, and on my last journey, I found that third gear wouldn't stay in gear, and a few of the others were a bit tricky. I was anticipating the greasy, time-consuming horror which is gear adjustment when you have derailleur gears. I've always found that you spend hours patiently adjusting screws back and forth, only to find that if you get the bottom of the range right, the top is out, and vice versa. It's like a bike equivalent of the 'Right Said Fred' piano moving experiment.

In contrast, the adjustment process with the Shimano Nexus is absurdly easy. There's a little windowon the upper surface (and on the lower surface, in case you've got the bike upside down) of the hub which shows you two vertical yellow lines. When you're in fourth gear, the lines should meet. If they don't (mine didn't), it needs adjustment. All you do is rotate a knurled collar where the gear cable enters the twist grip shifter on the handlebars until the yellow lines align -- no tools required! A quick flip to first gear then back to fourth allows you to check that the lines are still aligned and tweak if necessary, and that's it. It's an entirely non-greasy, easy, two-minute job, and everything is back to smooth efficiency afterwards. I think I'm in love with a hub gear.

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