Friday Five: Artistic Endeavours (again, counting is nebulous)

Last year, Scarey Sis (who is very good at this sort of thing) arranged a painting 'competition'. Family members who were present were tasked with painting a picture of the view. We were at Inverallt House on the edge of Loch Long, so those views were pretty spectacular, and everyone was free to interpret this as they wished. They were given two hours to get on with it.

Art has never been my strong point, but I do love words, and have always wondered about the adage that a picture is worth a thousand of them; surely that depends on the description? My part in this tomfoolery was to write the accompanying descriptions for the images, as if they were to be hung in a gallery. Incidentally, all of the artists approved the comments and said that was, indeed, what they had been implying with their picture. There were no winners or losers; creativity was the name of the game. If you want to pick a favourite, however, go for it!

8 Images on a Theme:

The confidence and expertise of this image makes the viewer instantly want to be there. The brush strokes are busy and exciting suggesting a story in the movement of the water and the boat, and the dripping of the tree. Painting disparate colours in close proximity reflects the nature of water and creates interest and pleasure. Texture and technique create a tactile impression that invites touch and interaction. If one could pop into a painting, this is the one to choose; the smell of the sea and the tang of the seaweed is in the paint itself -a delight to all senses. It expresses a world of possibilities and adventure if one is only willing to embark on the journey.

There is a beguiling simplicity in this image which is both assured and playful. The sailboats are almost cartoonish in their size and placement and are innocently unaware both of the gathering clouds and the nearby presence of military hardware nosing round the corner. The artist has manipulated the scenery to include Ben Arthur in a distant profile, while cladding the foreground hills in comforting autumnal colours. This combination of the gentle background and sharply-outlined features heightens the dichotomy of the image; the big boats may be threatening or protective, depending on the current viewpoint.

Cleverly here the artist has incorporated the painting position into the painting itself. At once both comforting and disorienting the image highlights the capacity to look both forwards and back simultaneously. Without even placing people in the landscape, the artist implies their presence by the addition of the summer dwelling. Although the doors and windows are closed to indicate the height of the season has passed, there are still hints of warmth in the suggestion of a blue sky and the gentle sloping of the hills. The outline depiction of the sailboat indicates time passing, while the passing resemblance of the gazebo/ tree trunk combination to a teapot registers a persuasion of autumnal domesticity, as we wait for the current storm to blow over.

This is potentially the most creative response to the project. Bands of colour indicate strata layering up over a long passage of time. The colours chosen have a distinctly maritime feel and reflect the tones of the loch and its shores. Superimposing the richness of objects found on the shore enforces the layered approach. The seaweed, leaves, ferns and shells provide the connection between earth, sea and sky highlighted by the layers of colour. By drawing these in dark outline, the artist casts these objects as shadow paintings or cave drawings made by early civilisations to suggest their links to the land before letters and language. The framing can be seen as a border to the lens of the light of the lighthouse or as part of an elaborate tartan pattern which again anchors the drawing to a firm sense of place. It is a defiant assertion of belonging that current political events cannot alter.

What a delight to see such a joyful interpretation of landscape. All of the natural elements are present and correct, from the shore cluttered with rocks, shells and seaweed, to the clear demarcations of the trees on the hills. While these and the lighthouse, along with the tidal movement of the water, are all suggested through colour and wash, the highlight of the image is clearly the Loch Long Monster, presented with more clarity than its surroundings. The inclusion of this mythical beast brings a fanciful element to the reality of the scene. The jaunty tam o'shanter on the monster's head instantly makes it friendly rather than threatening, and the location is obviously Scotland. In troubling times of disunity and encroaching differences, this image seems to welcome all-comers and celebrate diversity.

This image is a faithful representation of the scene, with some excellent layering and shading creating mood and atmosphere. The placement of the featured item in the background provides depth and perspective, while challenging assumptions: generally lighthouses are depicted as pillars of light shining forth, whereas this minute beacon is almost hidden. The viewer is aware that it will make its presence known when necessary and guide travellers home to safety. The suggestion is to look beyond the immediate present for signs of future hope and comfort.

This artist has used a mixture of colours and techniques from dabs and dashes to swirls and blocks of colour. Not wanting to leave anything behind, the artist has revelled in all the tricks of the paintbox. Sky, land and sea are given equal weight in a well-proportioned depiction of the landscape, as seen through an open window. The addition of blobs of colour to represent buoys is inspired. At points laid on thick and in other places applied as a thin veneer to allow the paper to come through, the paint is versatile and becomes a character in its own right. The artist implies that the technique and the method is as important as the result.

With a simple but expressive colour palette and not extending to the edges, this image captures a fleeting moment. The sail boat is central and strong picked out in black and white, but it still manages to portray an element of fragility, surrounded by strong blue water. The dashes of black, green and grey enhance the feeling of uncertainty as the weather reflects a sudden squall of rain. Whereas the green suggests the nearby land, it is not particularly reassuring. This is a passionate painting full of movement and restless energy: unsettling and unpredictable.

A recap

Dripping with Middle-class Snobbery: Rack, Ruin and Murder

Rack, Ruin and Murder by Ann Granger

Headline

Pp. 314

As cosy Cotswold murders go, this is a fine example. There’s a dilapidated old manor house, a family fallen on hard times, a local clan of ne’er do wells, and an unidentified dead body that turns up on someone’s sofa. Inspector Jess Carter has to scurry about the countryside splashing her car down narrow pot-holed roads and falling in drainage ditches to discover the identity of ‘the stiff’, as the corpse is generally called, and reporting back to Superintendent Ian Campbell, with whom she is bound to have a repressed romantic relationship – this is the second in a series that currently runs to six, so there’s plenty of time for this to develop.

With the help of the clueless Sergeant Morton, Carter rather fortuitously (and not entirely convincingly) uncovers the criminal elements of the tale. As in all families and small villages, there are buried secrets. Old Monty Bickerstaff (he of the erstwhile grand country house and biscuit emporium) has been keeping one for years. Now he is finding he can no longer cope without his daily whisky, memories of the past are starting to trouble him.

Later, when truths come to light, he remarks, “Secrets are buggers. The only place for them is out in the open where they can’t muck up anyone’s life.” This is clearly the homily of the novel, but without secrets there would be no murder mysteries, so they must remain, no matter what young Tansy Peterson argues. “They were all so bloody hypocritical in those days. They really were. They were dead set on respectability. That didn’t mean they behaved themselves, just that they buried any bad news, any scandal, as they saw it.” This allows for some clunky exposition as the Superintendent explains to young people today what things were like in olden times, and that it wasn’t easy to get a divorce, especially if you were a woman.

As with all death-by-numbers stories, there must be multiple characters, whom we can count as suspects, and they must all be described succinctly so that we can instantly form impressions. Granger’s portraits are one-dimensional and often snide; she is particularly prone to class and weight shaming, and clothes are often shorthand for character. Naturally, Jess is perfectly positioned as the manic-pixie-dream girl trope, “a terrier of a girl, with short dark-red hair, a pointed chin and widely spaced grey eyes that sparkled with intelligence.”

Other women are described by age, weight and perceived attractiveness, for example one is “pretty in a wan sort of way", while another is “an overweight blonde wearing tight black leggings that did nothing to disguise her plump thighs and bulging calves”. Older people get short shrift in the description stakes – they are largely past fanciable age and therefore barely relevant. It always reverts to age, such as three women who have been firmly and inescapably labelled: “The oldest woman was waving her arms above her head. The youngest, overweight, lumbered beside her, mouth gaping and badly dyed scarlet hair flying. Between the two extremes of age came a middle-aged third who must be Maggie Colley.”

Men don’t necessarily escape the class, weight and age censure either, and middle-class snobbery fairly drips off the pages with character outlines such as, “a burly, bearded man in grimy jeans and quilted body-warmer worn over a plaid shirt” or, “a short, podgy individual, wearing a ginger woolly cardigan, baggy brown corduroy trousers and slippers.”

This is a formulaic and relatively shallow murder mystery, with one-dimensional characters and a somewhat petty plot. But, it is heart-warming and life-affirming as the murder is neatly solved, and the charming Cotswold village can return being a peaceful idyll, until the next time, which we eagerly await!

Friday Five: More Puzzles

I haven't quite reached the above stage of puzzling yet, but my enthusiasm is not quite what it was. As the evenings lengthen and the weather warms, perhaps it's time to put them back in the box for now. But, while I was still in full iso-puzzle mode, here are some that I did earlier. 

1. Friends Dr Kay, Patience Itself and Design Diva lent us this puzzle of some old dude with odd sleeves in a study. It's one of those ones with the picture on a piece of paper rather than the cover of the box, so you don't have to look at the image if you want to make things harder for yourself. The pieces are quirky and the result is that it's almost easier not to look at the big picture.






2. This was lent to us by The Luminosity. It's tough. Those floral-type speckled edges nearly finished us off. But we persisted... Similarly to my feelings after completing a Monet puzzle, I may have gone off Escher for a while. I'm not sure I should attempt any more jigsaw puzzle reproductions of famous artwork as I end up swearing at the artist and thinking, 'it's a good job you're dead'.




3. This one, lent to us by Miss EU, was a lot of fun: forget what I said above. It is a reproduction of Vertumnus, a painting by Giuseppe Arcimboldo; a portrait of the Holy Roman Emperor Rudolf II, re-imagined as Vertumnus, the Roman god of metamorphoses in nature and in life. Many of the fruits are the first fruits of the season and, together with the vegetables they symbolize the abundance of the Golden Age that has returned under the Emperor's rule. While we were completing the puzzle, we referred to him rather more prosaically as 'Pumpkin-Head'.






4. One of my favourite places made up of whimsical pieces. Another one from the Dr Kay/ Patience Itself/ Design Diva collection.





5. Things I learned from this one: Miss EU has an eclectic puzzle collection; some people don't break all the pieces apart when they put the puzzle back; the white dragon was harder to do than the black dragon. That last bit is pretty niche, to be fair.

Friday Five: Four Whiskies and a Gin (Okay, it's few more, but who's counting? Hic!)

Still at Ardbeg (in my dreams...)

I have mentioned previously how much I like whisky, so it should be no surprise that this was one of the main reasons for visiting Islay and Jura last year. Because I couldn't possibly pick favourites, I have listed the whiskies we tried in alphabetical order.

Ardbeg

10 Yr Old - Named World Whisky of the Year in 2008, this is a bench mark for the smokeheads. There is peat for sure, but there is also oak, vanilla, seasalt, black pepper, chocolate, toffee, cinnamon and nutty malt. But mainly there is peat.

An Oa - In the summer of 2017 An Oa became the fist addition to Ardbeg's core range in over ten years. It is designed to show 'a more approachable side to Ardbeg single malt' and it is indeed very quaffable with subtle citrus notes and a hint of butterscotch to soften the peat. It is aged in a mixture of Pedro Ximinez, charred oak and ex-bourbon barrels so has picked up some delicious honey treacle flavours, while the palate displays, 'notes of cigars and golden syrup flapjacks, with sweet black tea and hints of chocolate limes.'

Corryvrekan - Having stumbled through peat bogs and driving rain to see the whirlpool after which this is named, we felt we definitely deserved our tastings of its namesake. It boasts, 'swirling aromas and torrents of deep, peaty, peppery taste lurk beneath the surface of this beautifully balanced dram. Like the whirlpool itself, Corryvrekan is not for the faint-hearted!' I'm happy to strengthen my cardiovascular system by the fire in the pub with a few of these before bed.

Perpetuum- Ardbeg Day is held on the final Saturday of the Fèis Ìle music and whisky festival on Islay, and a special expression of whisky is released by the distillery. In 2015 to celebrate its 200th anniversary, Ardbeg released 12,000 bottles of Perpetuum. It was a vatting of young and old Ardbeg from ex-bourbon and sherry casks. It was endlessly complex with fresh, rich smoky vanilla cream, smouldering pine, cocoa and vanilla (with the signature peat and sea spray). It was fantastic and I think it's all gone.

Uigeadail - hilariously unpronounceable (hilarious to the Scots; unpronounceable to everyone else), the word Uigeadail refers to the loch from which all Ardbeg water flows. This cask-strength, heavily-peated  whisky is produced from a mix of bourbon and older sherry casks, resulting in a velvety sweet and smokey dram. It's both sweet and salty with hints of spearmint and seaweed. People attempt to outdo each other with descriptors. My favourite are 'marmalade scents over menthol and sweet cedar smoke'; 'like standing downwind of the barbecue while steaks are char-grilled on the beach'; 'very smooth, then explodes on the tongue'; 'at once dry and sooty, then tarry and finally kippery on the finish'; 'a shock to the system'.

Bowmore

10yr - produced for the travel retail market, this interesting blend of Spanish oak sherry casks and hogsheads results in a fine balance between classic coastal Islay smoke and sherry sweetness. Those happy trippers get a dark golden drop with fruitcake flavours, rum warmth, chocolate depth and ever-present sea salt.

15yr - Like the above but more so. It ramps up the chocolate, raisins and cinnamon, with spicy treacle toffee and wood-smoke.

Bruichladdich 

Bruiachladdich Islay Barley - Single malt, single barley variety, single harvest and even a single field; this is whisky doing 'terroir'. Citrus, apple, salt - all clean flavours (no peat) and matured in American oak. It's experimental; it's different; and it's excellent!

Octomore 10.2 - This is from Bruichladdich's heavily peated range. Sometimes I feel the need to ramp up the PPM (parts per million) is no more than a pissing contest, but this is sublime. Supposedly this series of releases is meant to showcase the softer smoke (although it still settles in at 96.9 PPM) and it displays honey, maple syrup and citrus zest - maybe all slightly cargrilled. The descriptor mentioned jelly babies and I was sold (actually, I wasn't as it was 126 Euro for a bottle, but I did try it). 

Port Charlotte MC (Marsala cask) - Ageing in Marsala barrels sweetens the smoky edge, resulting in a sort of salted caramel meets oily olive vibe. Maturing whisky in ex-wine casks seems to be an experiment that is paying off - I liked it a lot.

Bunnahabhain

12 Year Old Cask 1635 PX Butt - A whiff of sulphur is followed by a sherry bomb and damp wood. At 60.4% there is absolutely nothing subtle about this whisky. It has nothing to hide and is totally unashamed: this is what all the cool kids are drinking.

Palo Cortado Cask Finish - After spending 19 years slowly mellowing by the sea in traditional oak whisky casks, this delectable Bunnahabhain was then finished for almost two more years in rare Palo Cortado sherry casks. The result is a tantalising dram with a nose of fresh berries and cream, pecan and walnuts, rich oak with vanilla, and hints of dried fruit. More dried fruit, rich oak and roasted notes carry over on to the palate with subtle hints of cocoa, and it's all wrapped up with a dry nutmeg finish.

Stiúireadair - More sherry; more salt; more dried fruit. This is full of roasted nuts, cinnamon and clove spice and that tell-tale touch of the sea. It's a great Islay whisky for those who don't like aggressive peat, and it's very easy drinking - one to share with the family at Christmas.

Toiteach A Dha - Now the smoke returns; made with peated barley and combined with a higher sherry influence, we're talking rich and strong in flavour. The nose promises peatiness, sweet sherry and rich oak, and the palate delivers in spades.

Caol Ila

Distiller's Edition 2019 - This soft smoky whisky is finished in Moscatel sherry casks, which import a honeyed vanilla taste with a hint of ripe peaches and dry spices. It's a summer whisky, if you will.

Moch - The word is Gaelic for dawn or early morning; the taste is honey, citrus and lemongrass with a slightly sweet softness and peanut brittle characteristics. Supposedly it is 'the first single malt from the distillery to be selected entirely on the basis of its taste, rather than age, wood, alcohol volume or finish'. Would this be a breakfast whisky? 

Stitchell's Reserve - an unpeated release named for the distillery manager who retired after 40 years at the distillery. It's very clean and fresh although it still retains some smoke - this is an Islay whisky after all - and finishes with a lingering nutty honey sensation. A palate-cleansing aperitif before dinner I think. 

Jura

The Sound - all of Jura's whiskies have been 'toned down' from the years when we lived in the UK and drank them: they now exhibit 'subtle smoke'. We tried the travel retail range (these are the ones we'll probably be buying on our travels, after all) which are aged in Pedro Ximenez sherry casks. This one purports to have flavours of caramel fudge, black forest fruits, and milk chocolate.

The Road - The barrels in which this whisky matured previously held 20-year-old PX; there are some flavours of that still, but also the whisky itself is prominent, with a touch of apricots and bergamot on the nose and then rich coffee, toasted pistachios and cinnamon on the palate. 

The Bay - Copper gold in colour, the whisky gives off scents of toffee apple. The taste is raisins, fig, ginger spice and soft licorice.

The Loch - The sherry casks for this one previously held 30-yr-old PX and come from a single bodega. I know that the combination of stewed fruit and black treacle doesn't sound too great, but it smells divine and the coffee, tropical fruit and black pepper taste is finished off with warming spices. 

The Paps - The whisky is 19 years old; the sherry casks held 40-year-old PX; this is the pinnacle of the expressions. Powerful aromas of ginger cake and vanilla lead to a taste sensation of spiced pear, fig syrup and roasted walnut. The lingering impression is of toasted oak smokiness, hints of sea salt and a memory of biscuits baking in the family kitchen. 

I could have bought everything on this shelf (if I had the money...)

Kilchoman

All Islay - Everything about this whisky is done here on the premises from growing their own barley, floor malting, distilling, maturing and bottling. This is a showcase of the malt demonstrating all the salty freshness, lemon flavours, vanilla spices, oaky edges and smoky goodness. 

Machir Bay - citrus vanilla, layered fruit, butterscotch sweetness: it sounds like a desert, but it makes a mighty fine whisky too. Matured (mainly) in bourbon and (a small porportion of) sherry casks, it displays a balance of classic Islay character and fresh floral complexity, seasoned to perfection with cracked black pepper and sea salt. 

Sanaig - The ratio of bourbon: sherry maturation is practically reversed in this expression. Oloroso sherry casks impart the richness of dried fruit, dark chocolate, brown sugar and barbecue peat smoke one would expect, and love.

Loch Gorm - Matured exclusively in Oloroso sherry casks, this is bedtime whisky. Loch Gorm is Islay's biggest freshwater loch and has dark peat-coloured waters; one of its tributaries, the Alt Gleann Osamail burn, is where the distillery gets its production water. This combination of sherry and peat provides the best of both worlds, with my favourite review coming from the Single Malt Whisky Club; 'sweet sweet smoke with undertones of kelp-littered beach carried on wafts of hot chocolate'.

Port Cask - According to the distillery, this is 'one of our most talked-about releases in our thirteen-year history', I can see why. It pours a russet colour with a nose of red berries and Turkish Delight infused with sweet smoke. The palate is berries, dark chocolate, vanilla and sooty peat, leaving a juicy cherry-ripe finish. Sensational.

Lagavulin

2017 Jazz Festival release - Lagavulin offers punters a taste of its annual Jazz Festival release: a limited edition, cask-strength (57.6%) whisky, of which there were only 6,000 bottles produced. Their notes say the nose is licorice and peat smoke, and the taste is black pepper, peat, creamy vanilla and fruit. I'd agree with that. 

2018 Distiller's edition - packs a powerful peaty punch. Lagavulin is seen by many as the ultimate expression of the Islay region; this edition is double-matured in Pedro Ximenez cask wood. PX is derived from intensely flavoured sun-dried grapes, and that raisiny sweetness matches and accentuates the rich character of the original whisky. 

Lussa

And so we get to the gin. At Lussa, in Ardlussa at the north end of Jura, three women own and operate the distillery, which makes just the one gin from botanicals grown, gathered and distilled locally. It is fresh, zesty, smooth gin with a subtle, aromatic finish, and it is truly exceptional. 

The botanicals include lemon thyme, coriander, rose petals, lemon balm, lime flowers elder flowers, honeysuckle blooms, bog myrtle, orris root, water mint, sea lettuce, Scots pine needles, ground elder leaves, rose hips, and (of course) juniper

This all amounts to a gin like no other with woody scents, a hint of sea spray and a herby tang. The taste is all citrus notes, sherbet zing and subtle sweetness with a spicy warmth to the finish. I honestly cannot recommend this highly enough.

Goodbye to the Greek Island: The Garden of the Gods

The Garden of the Gods by Gerald Durrell

Penguin Books

Pp. 198

This is the third and final instalment in Gerald Durrell’s stories about his years in Corfu with the family, begun in My Family and Other Animals and continued in Birds, Beasts and Relatives. The tone has been set by the previous two, and this continues with more idyllic scene-setting and animal anecdotes.

These are halcyon days as the children have outstanding freedom in their unaccompanied travels: Gerry potters about in his boat; Margo swans off to the mainland; Leslie wanders the countryside with guns; Larry invites complete strangers to come and stay at their villa.

Gerald Durrell has a highly evocative way of writing that makes the countryside sound divine, and there are Homeric epithets in his descriptions of the sea. When he writes of the approaching seasons, his naturalist’s eye combines with his rustic poeticism and, as always, his main preoccupation is zoological. “For me, spring was one of the best times, for all the animal life of the island was astir and the air full of hope.”

He is keen to amass more creatures for his ever-growing menagerie, but he knows that certain members the family (particularly Larry), do not like his animal collection so he tries to get Mother and Margo on side, and they often feel sorry for abandoned animals. One of the peasants, wanting to get rid of unwanted puppies, buries them alive, by which fact Mother is understandably outraged. She exclaims, “These peasants! I can’t understand how they can be so cruel.”

The Greeks are examined almost as another species, which can be uncomfortably racist to a modern reader. Margo has many affairs of the heart, but always with Greeks rather than English boys (friends of Larry’s), saying of the local peasant boys, “They’re so handsome and so sweet. They all sing so well. They have such nice manners. They play the guitar. Give me one of them instead of an Englishman any day.” On the subject of changing attitudes with time, the family are remarkably accepting of potential paedophilia, commenting of a guest, Colonel Velvit, “Since his retirement his one interest in life was the local Scout troop and, while there were those unkind enough to say that his interest in Scouts was not entirely altruistic, he worked hard and had certainly never yet been caught.”

Mother accepts all the guests and offers outstanding hospitality, even to horrible or boring people, warning Margo, “We’ve never done anything nasty to anyone that’s stayed with us – I mean, except as a joke or by accident – and we’re not going to start.” One visitor friend of Larry’s believes he can levitate and keeps trying, invariably falling through the trellis

Gerry embellishes stories for comic effect, and sees them through a boy’s eyes, but some of the details are harrowing, such as when a Turk visits them (at Margo’s invitation) with three wives, aiming to make Margo his fourth.

They live in a weird limbo land without news of the outside world because, “we did not have the dubious benefits of a wireless and so, for the most part, lived in a state of blissful ignorance.” Part of this lack of ‘outside interference’ means they have to rely upon themselves for entertainment, and they do so with spectacular results. Gerry’s descriptions of the food, drink and company at these events are exquisite, and his depictions of a bygone era are sumptuous and appealing. He paints pictures with words that inspired a generation to travel and take an interest in nature. Some of the attitudes are outdated, but if he instils a sense of conservationism, they can be excused as the results of age. It’s tough to farewell these tales of childhood on an island paradise.

Get Orf My Land: The Shepherd's Life

The Shepherd's Life: A Tale of the Lake District by James Rebanks

Penguin

Pp. 287

Sheep are big business. Last month (August 2020) in Lanark, Scotland, a sheep called Double Diamond sold for a world-record sum of £367,500. James Rebanks knows that sheep are important. As a shepherd, he understands that farming and shepherding are crucial to the economy and the livelihood of many. He explains that this is hard work but that he loves it and enjoys the connection that he gets from the land. What he doesn’t seem to understand is how privileged he is and how many of the people he scorns would love to have been given his opportunities.

The Shepherd’s Life is not particularly well-written but Rebanks received an advance from an agent before he had written it. Although he appears to despise people who don’t do his work, they seem to be interested in him. He writes a sort of auto-biography, which also contains a lot of information about farming and a lot of assumptions about what non-farmers think of him and his industry. Many of his blunt and antiquated attitudes are irritating and arrogant, such as his inherent sexism and antipathy towards intellectuals, but the sections on sheep-farming itself are interesting and the most engaging.

As a child he followed his grandfather around the place knowing that he would inherit the farm because he is male. He has sisters, but it was “different for girls…their role is to leave and do something else to earn respect.” This knowledge of his purpose in life means that he feels ownership of the land. “We owned the earth. We’d been here forever. And we always would be. We would get battered from time to time, but we would endure and win.”

For him and his family, “our sense of belonging is all about participation. We belong because we are part of the work of this place.” And what if we can’t inherit a farm? Will we never ‘belong’? He dislikes Alfred Wainwright, Chris Bonnington and William Wordsworth because they’re ‘not from round here’ and so have no right to talk about ‘his’ land; he thinks climbers, poets, walkers and daydreamers are pointless, and that tourists are “minor irritants, like ants – they got in the way and they had strange ideas, but a little bit of bad weather and they’d be gone again to get on with stuff that mattered.”

The book itself is poorly written, grammatically clunky and very repetitive; a lot of sections start out telling us what someone is doing in the present tense, as he tries to set a basic scene: “My father is wielding a white-handled meat saw…” “My mother is sitting on a wooden chair in our barn…” “We are working in the sheep pens.” The use of generic pronouns is also problematic, for example, he writes of his grandfather, “He had a rough whiskery face when you kissed him goodnight.” This begs the questions, when did I kiss him, and what was his face like when I didn’t? He acknowledges, “We are, I guess, all of us, built out of stories” and yet, he doesn’t narrate his own very well.

He became inspired by books when he picked up a copy of A Shepherd’s Life by W.H. Hudson (the story of a shepherd called Caleb Bawcombe) and says he admires “the brilliant plain storytelling, no messing about”. It is predictable when he talks of reading; it is of male authors – Camus, Salinger, A.J.P. Taylor, Orwell – and that his biggest inspiration is the hyper-masculine Hemingway. After criticising the poets, he tries to write his own, and I certainly hope he’s a better sheep farmer.

He is at his best when writing about the sheep, the dogs, and the cyclical nature of farming. When told without prejudice, these snippets are interesting and engaging, including the shepherding chores of lambing, making hay, shearing (“It is a carefully choreographed thing in which the sheep is turned, shuffled and rolled in clever purposeful ways”), dipping, and training sheepdogs.

He divides the book into four seasons, as everything they do is connected to the weather and the natural cycle. In many respects, shepherding and farming have not changed in centuries. “You could bring a Viking man to stand on our fell with me and he would understand what we were doing and the basic pattern of our farming year. The timing of each task varies depending on the different valleys and farms. Things are driven by the seasons and necessity, not by our will.”

If you remove the tractors and the machinery, the farming practices are ancient, and it upsets him that these traditions, skills and knowledge are being lost or dismissed. He commends the ‘old ways’ and wants future generations to see the reality of farming and agriculture. His book is almost a call to arms to protect the natural mechanics and importance of farming.

James Rebanks is a tough person to like – he has some interesting things to say about sheep and the farming of them in the Lakeland fells, but he tells them in a didactic and hectoring tone. If he could climb down from his privileged perch, his message about sustainable farming might be easier to hear.

Friday Five: Inverse Positivity

One of my favourite words is discombobulated. The sound of the perfect match of vowels and consonants goes some way to making up for the slightly weird effect of the feeling. It led me to wonder if there is such a thing as combobulated, and I was interested to learn that there isn't. Similarly, one can be overwhelmed or underwhelmed, but never simply whelmed (although the word 'whelmen' is a Middle English term meaning to turn over.) In an article from 1953 entitled The Mystery of the Vanished Positive, J.H. Parker wrote about this phenomenon known as unpaired words or absent antonyms.

One of the ways in which these words are created is through 'back-formation' in which a new word is created by removing affixes. For example, the noun 'resurrection' was borrowed from Latin and then the verb 'resurrect' made its way into the language hundreds of years later by removing the '-ion' suffix. Many English words are formed this way but because they may sound odd, they are often used to humorous effect. 

'Far from being quite gruntled'

Novelist, humourist and all-round wit, P.G. Wodehouse, made good use of this when he writes in The Code of The Woosters, "I could see that, if not actually disgruntled, he was far from being quite gruntled." In Scrubs, Turk tells another character, "I don't disdain you! It's quite the opposite - I dain you!"

One of my favourites is the word 'ruthless'. One expects there to be a corresponding 'ruth-full', but it appears not. I like it particularly because one of the characters in Arthur Ransome's Swallows and Amazons, Ruth Blackett, captain of the Amazon, changes her name to Nancy because she wants to be a pirate and her Uncle Jim tells her that pirates are ruthless. 

Swallows and Amazons in which pirates are ruthless

5 Unpaired Words:

1. Disgusting - from Latin gustare, meaning to taste; the antonym, desgouster, appeared in Old French, but there is no English reverse equivalent. Although wind can be 'gusting', that comes from a different root altogether, gustr, being the Old Norse word for 'cold blast of wind' (circa 1580)
2. Gormless - Once again Old Norse used the word gaumr meaning care or heed. In dialect English, the word gome is found to mean notice or understanding (circa 1200). In the 18th Century there is evidence of the use of gaumless or gawmless to mean wanting sense/ stupid. One cannot generally be gorm-full
3. Feckless - Clearly meaning lacking in feck, but what is feck? It is a Scots/ Northern English corruption of the Middle English word effect, so feckless is synonymous with effective. Unfortunately the use of 'feckful' as a substitute for effective is no longer common
4. Inept - Similarly, we rarely describe someone as being ept, due to a linguistic quirk. The word inept comes from the Latin root in + aptus (not + able/fit). Whereas English kept both inapt and inept, the language decided to only retain apt and ditch ept. Shame.
5. Nonchalant - Sadly, there is no word 'chalant' in English. The word 'nonchalant' derives from the Old French word nonchaloir meaning to disregard (non + chaloir = not + to concern) Therefore the opposite of nonchalant is concerned or interested, not chalant.

The English language is beautiful and rich and multicultural. I love it, and I love writing and playing games with it. This is a poem by the aforementioned J.H. Parker being comically feckful with absent antonyms.

A Very Descript Man

I am such a dolent man,
I eptly work each day;
My acts are all becilic,
I've just ane things to say.

My nerves are strung, my hair is kempt,
I'm gusting and I'm span:
I look with dain on everyone
And am a pudent man.

I travel cognito and make
A delible impression:
I overcome a slight chalance,
With gruntled self-possession.

My dignation would be great
If I should digent be:
I trust my vagance will bring
An astrous life for me.