Stack cat bed

I know they exist – a cat breeder I know has one – but can I find one on Google or elsewhere?

Nada

If you have one or have seen one, do let me know

Isn’t she gorgeous!

Ayesha

and her name is Ayesha – “she who must be obeyed”

You haven’t met her yet!

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/8087530.stm

Why?

We’ve managed for years without our every conversation being snooped on.

I have said before and will continue to say that the ruination of the human race will come about from its habit of doing things because it CAN without giving any consideration as to whether the SHOULD

As I sat in the sun on Sunday I noticed my favourite insect was on the lobelia. It comes every year at around this time and if the Hummingbird Hawkmoth is in the garden, then the seasons are moving on.

I should make clear, first of all, that I do not have an extensive list of favourite insects. In fact it’s rather the other way about – I have a list of distinctly unfavourite insects. and if you include spiders (and I do know they’re not strictly insects but they have the same limited appeal) then the list is considerably lengthened.

However, I will make an exception for the Hummingbird Hawkmoth

Hummingbird Hawkmoth

It comes every year – well, I assume it’s not exactly the same one – but we are visited every year and I find it endlessly fascinating. the BBC website tells me that it is indeed a moth despite the fact that I see it during the day and had assumed that all moths were nocturnal. It doesn’t make a noise, it doesn’t do much in fact except hover and feed but it makes my year complete to see it. Strange really.

I also enjoy watching the bumble bees. There were a few of those on the lobelia this weekend as well. I didn’t see the major Bombus Terrestris or the Hercules of the bumblebee flight – like the Hercules you wonder how either can fly – but I did see the smallest bumblebee I have ever seen. I wondered if it was a baby! It’s little panniers were packed to the gills with pollen, it was working for its life! And then I got to wondering when little bumblebees get to go out gathering.

And then I thought that maybe I should get a life . Unfortunately the Bumblebee Trust web page only lists the top six species, so I don’t know how I will find out what it was.

If you sit on a lawn quietly you will often see many different bees – bumble and honey and probably other varieties as well. Each has their different preference for flower so you will see more or less of them through the seasons. And unlike some other insects, they will tend to leave you alone so you are quite safe just to observe them. In fact most insects will leave you alone.

We have another – less attractive annual visitor to our garden. Or, more particularly, to our shed. I usually forget, go in to fetch some implement, hear a humming. Look up to find a wretched queen hornet busily making a nest. How do they know? Is there some kind of pheromone left behind? Each year we destroy the wretched thing and each year they return. Hornets are mild enough – they’ve never caused me any problems (apart from their nest-building activities) – although I believe their stings can be quite horrendous. I always consider them to be like the V2 bombers. While you can hear the noise, you’re OK. When the it stops, you’re in trouble. One year, they did the dirty on us and built a nest in the thatch. Or was that wasps? Now there’s an insect I cannot abide. Nasty, aggressive things.

What I would say is that if you come across a Bombus Terrestris on a path, you would be doing it a kindness to put it on a small leaf and branch and just gently moving it out of the way because my understanding is that they can suddenly get depleted, especially when the sun goes down – and run out of energy. Just put them somewhere safe and out of the way – in the sun or on a flower if you can – until they recover.

I suppose I ought not to be too surprised at my mild fascination for the bee. My grandfather was an apiarist of some experience. He worked at Rothamsted between the wars. If the stories I’ve been told are right, he used to investigate Foul Brood in apiary bees and worked with a colleague across a quadrangle. The story goes that if the colleague thought he had found an insect with Foul Brood he would hold up a card with the letters FB on it to the window. If my (notoriously short-tempered) grandfather disagreed he would hold up a similar piece of card with the letters BF on it.

He would have up to half a dozen bee hives in the garden and the water butts had pieces of cork floating in each of them so the bees could rest and take a sip of water. He also had slates with runnels and miniscule ponds engraved in them between the down-pipe and the water-butt to provide yet more bee-sized watering holes.

On one occasion – we never did discover why – my younger brother (aged about 3?) decided that the only thing he had to do was go and thump one of the hives with his teddy-bear (for some reason I particularly remember that this bear had been blue but had faded to a peculiar shade of grey). Exeunt small boy pursued by a number of very unhappy bees. And an equally distraught parent.

My husband used to keep bees and, in the early days of our marriage joined a local bee-keeping club. He happened to mention one night that his wife’s grandfather had been a bee-keeper and told them the name. To be met by the riposte “Ah yes, mad Major Morland” Unhappily he reported this back to my mother, who never forgave him!

But there my fascination ends. I can’t replicate the interest of another ancestor from the other side of the family tree who devoted her life’s interest to Diptera (http://www.nature.com/nature/journal/v145/n3666/abs/145178b0.html). I do draw the line at Typical Flies

I read an article yesterday about how “the brain sets aside rationality when it gets the benefit of supposedly expert opinion” suppressing activity critical to sound decision-making. The article referred only to financial advice (which I have to agree turns my brain off) but it was followed by a letter in the same august organ referring to the recent findings of the Healthcare Commission at Stafford Hospital where – allegedly – receptionists triaged patients.

The point being made by the writer was that Stafford Hospital was not an isolated incident and that had personal knowledge of others.

Which got me thinking that the more targets & measurements and key performance indicators and hoops to jump through are set, the less those whose performance is measured against them actually have to think. The mindset being “It doesn’t matter if I think this is right or wrong. This is what I’m measured against and this is what I’ll do”.

And if you extrapolate that a little further I can see examples in my own august organisation and beyond in the risk assessments now mandatory when children set foot in the school playground, let alone outside it on school trips. Damiit it all, even Facebook appears to have gone all “Command and Control” What was wrong with the original Facebook where you picked and chose apps according to your interests and preferences? Now, “Facebook Decides“. Well here’s another newsflash, I’ve decided that Facebook is rapidly losing its appeal and only worth a cursory check-in once a day.

Let’s tackle childhood first. It would be too easy to reminisce about how “it was all different when I was growing up” but it was. My experience was that you went about your own business as a child and as long as you turned up when a meal was on the table no-one wanted to know much where you’d been or what you’d been up to. We certainly played on heaps of rubble that may have shortly before been bomb sites although I doubt they’d seen a bomb in many a long year.

My parents once dropped my elder brother off on one side of the Derbyshire moors and told him to hike home. It was only later that they looked at the map and discovered that they’d sent him over treacherous marshland.

And all this without a SatNav or mobile phone to be had.

At one point in my mother’s growing-up days up she lived on the edge of Dartmoor near Seal-Hayne Agricultural College and – I am told – she and her four brothers and sisters used to go off camping on the moors for days at a time without their parents (apparently) worrying

Neglectful – possibly. I don’t know how others were brought up but mine didn’t feel markedly different from others. I’ve no doubt there were tragedies and who is to know if the technology had been available how we would have been brought up.

But there is a saying

A woman is like a tea bag. She only knows her strength when put in hot water

I wouldn’t be quite so gender-specific. Who knows where any of our limits are unless or until we reach them and find we have strength beyond. Certainly the best teachers aren’t those who excelled in their chosen subject when they were learning. It’s the ones who struggled with it and found a way through who will have most skill and patience when it comes to helping their learners.

I believe my brother-in-law was not the best mathematician in the school but did go on to become quite a gifted teacher of the subject.

It’s something I try and explain to my daughter (although maybe I should leave her to learn this for herself – my passions seem to switch her off) We learn most where we struggle most.

My mother used to insist that we should write our thank-you letters for Christmas presents from extended family on the afternoon of Christmas Day. In retrospect I now suspect that she and my father wanted a little quiet time. I do recall Christmas Day being over-shadowed by tears and desperation as I struggled to write something, anything to these people whom I saw maybe once a year. That and attempting to abide by simple rules of English imposed by my teachers

• “don’t start a sentence with the same word twice”
• “find alternatives for got, nice, do etc”
• “avoid starting a sentence with the I”

or did I imagine that last one?

Anyway, writing is now something I enjoy (I didn’t say you enjoyed reading it! )

I remember reading some biography about Richard Branson which said that his mother would constantly put him in demanding & testing situations throughout his childhood and adolescence. I’m not sure it would have made for a very comfortable growing up, but maybe, in some way, it led him to be the risk-taker that has made him the successful entrepreneur he most certainly is.

But leading back to “lazy brains” and “Setting aside critical activity around decision-making” and penned-in childhoods and even the Command and Control culture I see in my workplace. (Oh, by the way, my teachers didn’t approve of starting sentences with prepositions, but I tend to ignore that one. It leads to a more conversational style – I hope!)

There is a tendency for all of us to settle in and let someone else take charge; suspend or simply not develop our own critical faculties. And the more that someone is given limitations or boundaries – whether it is doing a risk assessment for a school trip so a child doesn’t develop his or her own abilities to evaluate risky situations or providing endless measurements, targets or processes so that an individual no longer has to engage with their own assessment about what is right in a particular situation (“I was just following the rules” – now where have we heard that before) or whether it is a government that appears to creating a state machine larger than those found in the previous Eastern Bloc – the less shrewd they will become in assessing their own risk, financial advice or the work decisions. A passive, sheep-like population. Nice!

I’m probably beginning another blog here, but there is another issue with a Command and Control style of leadership. To begin with, it treats those being led as mere ciphers.

It is also no way to develop leaders in your own organisation. I know there has been a tendency in recent years to “buy in” talent rather than growing your own in-house. Maybe that wasteful approach to employment will also be reviewed in the light of the current economic situation. Although in-house development is not withoutits own problems, those who are bought-in have less investment in the organisation than those who were nurtured by it.

Neither is it any way to engage the hearts and minds of everybody in the organisation. And if we are to survive the difficult times that undoubtedly lie ahead, then we do need every brain engaged.

I remember, even as a child, being infuriated by trees being pollarded and ranting and raving when they pollarded the trees in the grounds of the office opposite our house.

I can understand that in the past pollarding and its cousin – coppicing were different ways to crop thin and whippy withies for hurdles and wattle. As I understand it, pollarding is when there is a mature tree which is chopped back to its main branches whereas coppicing is when the plant is razed to the ground. The difference being, I assume, that whilst it may take longer to get your first crop from a pollarded tree because of the fact that it has a mature root and trunk and phloem system, you will get future crops more quickly. With coppicing, you’ll get a crop annually but there is only the root system to support further growth.

Pollarded Tree

I can live with coppicing. In fact, there is a footpath near here which, if it was in my gift, I would coppice the tangled remnants of a hedge to gain access to the ditch. Reaming out the ditch would provide a better water-course for the future and the spoil could be used to raise the level of the path. And the, as the hedge regrows, it could be properly managed to created a proper boundary.

But pollarding, pollarding is suburban command and control gardening taken to extremes. There is a bungalow in the next village which has a tree in the garden that is but a trunk and two substantial branches each with a circumference of around 18 inches.

It is no use to man, beast or bird! The best you could say is that you could nail a bird table to it.

And why?!

The most often used reason is that the tree is knocking on overhead wires. Well I’m sorry! I suspect that in many cases the tree was there long before telegraph was even thought of, let alone draped over a tree!

And in the case of my neighbouring bungalow I can see no rhyme or reason at all.

Surely it would be better to remove the poor unoffending tree and plant something you do actually like – a flowering currant bush or something.

Words fail me

And before you say
“and that’s a trite observation”
it’s also the equinox.

And it is sometimes / often / inevitably windy at the equinox

In my experience

So how does that work then?

How does the weather know about equal day length, then?

And what happens in countries where equal day length is the norm and not a twice-yearly event?

And talking of the weather, I’ve just had the windows cleaned and it’s now piddling with rain.

That was money well spent then!

And finally! Let’s tackle the BIG ONE – excess CO2 in our atmosphere

Yet again, many more intelligent minds than mine have been exploring this one. And yet again, that’s no reason why my ha’penn’orth shouldn’t be heard.

This goes back to the dark ages when I was doing Chemistry at school. You know those days when we were allowed to have bunsen burners on, roll mercury down the lab bench and make pongs and flames (Health & Safety eat your heart out!)

One of the things I recall is that we often used to do experiments which resulted in the production of a gas. Which we would frequently bubble through some liquid or another. If the liquid went cloudy, then it demonstrated that it was CO2.

So, am I right in thinking that the CO2 we produced was bound the whatever liquid it was (senior moment, memory failing).

So. Why can’t we bind the CO2 in the atmosphere through whatever liquid it was to remove it from the atmosphere?

My first thought was that we could bounce all those scientists out of Cern and use the miles of tunnels deep underground to suck air into. But that would require engines and effort and energy. Counter productive, huh?

So then I thought why don’t we use the air turbines being used to generate electricity? No extra energy required, hey are designed to draw air over their blades.

So the idea is this (and a picture would be so much more useful a this stage, but I’ll do my best in words)

You have your wind turbine with a reservoir or liquid and the air drawn over the blades is sucked through the liquid (somehow!) until it becomes saturated or super-saturated. At which point it is replaced with fresh liquid and so on.

Now a refinement to this thought process (if you can call it a thought process!) is that the wind turbines should be placed over caves, mines or land of a suitable geology so that if the super-saturated liquid is dripped over it, it creates stalactites or stalagmites of incomparable beauty and magnificence. And the CO2 is gone!

Hmm. What do you think? What have I missed?

Here I move on to more global matters like deforestation and desertification.

Another saddening sight is the vision of the Sahara and other deserts expanding in size. I’m sure there are many great and important minds investigating this, but I see no reason why I shouldn’t throw my ha’pennorth in.

So my idea is this: how would it work if the communities which border the deserts drain all their water into canals into the desert? Not just white water, but greywater and black water (sewage) as well.

If the canals contained reed beds such as our local eco-warriors would like to install, wouldn’t it help to establish growth of plants nearby? And the canals could be extended as growth established itself.

Reminds me of a book I heard on the radio called “The man who planted trees” by Jean Giono.

As I walk the lanes and fields locally I despair at the state of the hedges and ditches left to rack and ruin.

Combine that with a conversation with an old friend who does guided tours round Colchester, during which he said that he has a photo of the Avenue of Remembrance with gentlemen in suits and top hats who helped to create it as a “Welfare to Work” scheme in the Thirties. (Although that doesn’t square with an internet photo I found that indicated that it was created in honour of the fallen of WW1.)

With the current economic circumstances how soon may we be seeing something similar being needed?

Throw in a need for more community spirit and a move away from the thrusting, self, self, self that we’ve experienced in recent years and I think that (in my first decree as world ruler) that I would get everyone together and clear every ditch, drain, hedge, canal and river and put them back in good heart.

The community? Well, working on the land has only recently becoming the vision of one lonely man plodding up and down in a super-sized tractor. It was a family – a community – thing. For goodness sake, our academic calendar is shaped round the idea that children would not be available in the summer as they were needed on the farm.

So working together, as a community, for a common goal, surely that’s a good thing.

And perhaps it would clear the Chi of the land and get more than just the water flowing