The ancient mariner...

Had a chilly night, parked up by the harbour, in a small town called Watchet, just north of Minehead. The harbour was the inspiration for Samuel Coleridge to write The Ancient Mariner, while he was living in a nearby village, and a sculpture of said mariner, with the albatross round his neck, stands on the quay. ‘Ancient’? Hell, he looks younger than me…

I had a beer in a little pub last night, also on the quay. When I opened the door to leave, I walked into a broom cupboard. That gave the locals a laugh, though the landlady tried to save my blushes. “You’re not the first to do that”, she lied…

Taunton...

Had a fun weekend with old friends, Gordon and Trish, in Taunton, before they headed off to the Canary Islands. I even got shot of my copy of the Koran, by persuading Gordon that it was ideal holiday reading…

Black Friday...

I hear on the radio that we will be spending two billion pounds today, Black Friday, on things we probably don’t need, with money we probably haven’t got. Most of it will be bought online. I’m in Yeovil today, with no plans to buy anything, hoping to reverse the process by giving some books - now read - back to a charity shop…

Traffic congestion at Corfe Castle...

Campsite...

With a forecast of rain I holed up today in a campsite near Studland, on the so-called Jurassic Coast. Having processed a weeks-worth of pix, I’m having a pint in the campsite bar and watching TV: an unaccustomed pleasure. I’d forgotten that Coca Cola invented Christmas…

Wareham...

Phil...

I was looking around the church in Wareham, when a lady came up to me and said “How’s your leg?”. I said it was alright, the last time I looked, but I wondered who she thought I was. “You’re Phil”, she said, confidently. We had a chat, about Phil and the church and Wareham. As I was leaving she asked me to sign the visitors’ book. I signed it as ‘Phil’… what else?

I’m beginning to appreciate that, to a lot of people, old guys with a bit of a beard all look the same. We’re generic, interchangeable; one old guy is as good as another…

Another good place to stay...

Twilight...

The weather’s rather gloomy on the south coast… and still a month to go before the shortest day. But even on the gloomiest day there’s a brief photo opportunity in the late afternoon… when the lights go on - in shops, on streets - and the ambient light diminishes. The opportunity may only last half an hour, but it’s always worthwhile to make sure I’m somewhere photogenic at dusk.

Quay Street, Lymington, Hampshire…

Buckler's Hard...

Spent an overcast day at Buckler’s Hard, an 18th century village on the River Beaulieu, where warships for Nelson’s navy were built. I walked along the riverside path to Beaulieu and back, before looking round the Maritime Museum. One exhibit was a Puckle Gun, an early version of the machine gun, invented by James Puckle, and supposedly capable of firing nine rounds per minute.

I read that Puckle demonstrated two versions of the basic design. One, intended for use against Christian enemies, fired conventional round bullets, while the second variant, designed to be used against the Muslim Turks, fired square bullets which were considered to be more damaging and would, according to its patent, convince the Turks of the "benefits of Christian civilization”. The Puckle Gun never achieved mass production. One leaflet of the period sarcastically observed, following the failure of the business venture, that the gun has "only wounded those who hold shares therein”…

Kindle...

In an attempt to make the Romahome a bit less like a mobile library, I bought myself a Kindle from Amazon. Not their top-of-the range tablet, but a basic Paperwhite model. I just wanted to read books on it, without being distracted by surfing the web (or having the device beep at me with intrusive reminders and notifications). The backlit ‘paperwhite’ screen makes for comfortable reading, even at night, and it’s very handy to be able to change the font and - more importantly - the font size. So no eye strain. I can get a dictionary definition of any word by pressing on it with a finger for about a second. The books I need to refer to for my own writing I can now keep with me, on a device smaller than a DVD case. I like the way the Kindle does just one job… and does it well…

New Forest 'petrol station'...

Death Raffle...

The Death Raffle is an idiosyncratic pub game at the Wilkes Head, in Leek. Locals pick ageing celebrities, and put 50p into a kitty every week. When ‘their’ celeb kicks the bucket, they claim the jackpot. The pub landlord was complaining that Wetherspoons was taking away his business, though I’m not sure that a Death Raffle is really the way to attract new customers…

Autumn...

The Basingstoke Canal...

Norfolk...

Had an enjoyable weekend in North Norfolk with old friends from my Peterborough days. We agreed that it’s maybe 25 years since we were all in the same place at the same time… even though it felt like yesterday! After a birthday get-together in the village pub in Syderstone, we took a walk on Holkham Beach (and had a bit of a wander down Memory Lane as well). Some people were gazing through telescopes at a flock of small birds on a patch of shingle. They were shorelarks: another new bird for me…

Leonard Cohen...

Rock stars used to die of drug overdoses, now they’re dying of old age… which gives them the time and opportunity for a valedictory album. David Bowie left the stage with Black Star, and now - with a tip of the hat and the release of You Want it Darker - Leonard Cohen is gone. I knew his music from the first album, Songs From a Room, and can’t say I ever found his songs depressing.

His lyrics look better on the page than Dylan's lyrics. Cohen might have been a more deserving recipient of the Nobel Prize, and, having been ripped off by his manager, he would have appreciated the money. My favourite album of his songs is Famous Blue Raincoat, by Jennifer Warnes, and my favourite song on the album is The Song of Bernadette, which she co-wrote with Cohen…

Interesting times...

It’s a truism that politicians campaign in poetry, but govern in prose. Donald Trump campaigned in what he called “locker room banter”, and, once the votes were in, attempted to adopt a more statesmanlike tone… which sounded equally repellent. He won’t do half of the things he promised to do - thank God - but just the thought of him as America’s figurehead is like waking up from a bad dream… only to realise that it wasn’t a dream at all.

I wonder how the American people will deal with a Trump presidency. They will start to unpick recent history, no doubt, and try to analyse just how the hell we got to this point. His candidature started as a joke, and should have stayed that way. Now we have an unfunny punchline and four year of Trumpery. I recall the old Chinese curse: “May you live in interesting times”… 

Bad hair day...

My career as a political forecaster is over before it started, as Donald Trump becomes president-elect of the USA: an astonishing result considering how many minorities he has threatened or insulted. And not just minorities. How many women must have voted for this narcissistic bigot, who seems proud of his own ignorance? We'll soon find out what “taking our country back” actually means. With the senate, too, in Republican hands, there are few brakes on his ambitions, or whims…

Ingleborough...

Polling day...

I’m glad the US election is finally coming to a close. It’s seems to have been going on forever, painting the self-styled “greatest nation on earth” as petulant and parochial. No-one seems to have come out of it well. If Clinton wins - as I expect - it will only be because she is the least-worst candidate: hardly a ringing endorsement. If Trump wins, anything could happen… none of it good. That a man like him could contest arguably the most important job on the planet is an indictment of American politics. If he loses, I just hope he accepts the ‘will of the people’ with as much good grace as he can muster. If he carries on saying that the vote has been rigged, it would be like shouting “fire” in a crowded theatre. There could be fighting in the streets…

The Ribblehead viaduct...

The patience of angels...

In Otley over the weekend. It’s a conveniently short distance - no more than a dozen steps - from the Junction pub, to the Balti House for a curry, to Kork’s Wine Bar, where Boo Hewerdine was appearing in the music room. He’s an engaging character… with the kind of self-depracatory comments and anecdotes that seem appropriate when you’ve written loads of wonderful songs over the years, but still can’t quite fill a room at the back of a pub in a small town in West Yorkshire. Songs like Muddy Water, Bell, Book and Candle and the Patience of Angels (“There's a door… in a wall… in a house… in a street… in a town… where no-one knows her name”) really hit the spot for me…

The village pond at Nun Monkton...

Mockery...

A British athlete has been banned from competition for two months, for “appearing to mock Islam”. In a video that was posted online he was seen to shout “Allahu Akbar” and mimic a praying pose. According to a spokesman for British Gymnastics, this was “a breach of the standards of conduct”. What standards are these, exactly? And how does a religion like Islam - whose holy book is a catalogue of violent acts and reprisals, and calls for yet more violence - expect to be treated, as of right, with respect? Nevertheless, the athlete apologised for “the deep offense I have caused”. He joins the many other people who have begged forgiveness for ‘offending’ purveyors of one of the most violent religions on the planet… mostly, I suspect, because they fear for their lives. Islam deserves to be mocked, readily and often.

It’s not a ridiculous belief that I particularly want to mock (thought I do look on in wonderment at the way that people will swallow the most unlikely stories if they emanate from an ancient book). What I find offensive is the idea that Mohammed is the last prophet and that the Koran represents God’s final revelations, which privileges a run-of-the-mill religion with a special status that it simply does not merit. The inevitable corollary - that the rest of the world must offer this religion respect - is what really sticks in my craw. And, let's not forget, the punishment for blasphemy - mocking Islam - is death.

Atheists can be offended too. But, crucially, you won’t find them threatening anyone with violent reprisals, or assassination. Free speech is something worth fighting for, and tolerating intolerance is giving in to tyranny. Respect is something that should be freely earned and freely given; when demanded, on pain of death, it is just a simulacrum of respect… a craven appeasement to a bully…

Knaresborough...

A proper autumn day today: clear and bright after a chilly night in the Romahome (I was thankful for the sleeping bag and duvet). In Knaresborough today. My plan to see an old chum last night fell through, so plan B was to watch Manchester City v Barcelona. The last meeting, in Barcelona, was a resounding 4-0 win for Messi, Neymar, Suarez and co. I was expecting more of the same, especially when Messi scored a great goal in the first half. “It’s men against boys”, someone said (it might have been me). Not many teams come back from that, but City did… with three good goals in the second half. I was sitting with a City fan, so, since I really don’t care who wins, I was able to enjoy the game through his eyes…

Market day in Selby...