In a parallel universe . . .

So, today at Coyote Daily we are so very lucky to be speaking to the world's very first trillionaire! Mr Pylon Rusk. 

'Mr Rusk. Thank you very much for being able to spare the time to talk to us; I'm sure you must have at least a million things to be doing at this and every minute.'

'It's an absolute pleasure to be interviewed by your excellent environmental team at Coyote. Yes, it's true I am busy, but time must be taken to spread the word of how everyone can help preserve our magnificent planet with all its wonderful peoples, birds, insects, mammals - sigh. What a place! Why would anyone have such a crazed idea of living somewhere as inhospitable as the red sphere of Fartz. I have heard that certain folks are thinking of sending a space vessel there - what an absolute waste of our precious resources, if we should even call them resources, hm? I mean who are we to plunder this planet when it is for everyone and all creatures.'

'Indeed. You are so right. And this is obviously why you have had such incredible success - your benevolence to all beings, your insight into the natural world; the fact that so many ultra wealthy persons have dug deep into their own bank accounts, even cancelling orders for new mega-yurts, giving the money to Rusk Enterprises for it to be used in education, the arts, organic seed banks, and your latest program: Land-X, providing help millions of peasant farmers across the world improve their crop yields with lost techniques of irrigation, natural soil improvement and encouraging biodiversity balance.'

'It's what I always dreamed of, my friend. To be able to help everyone, not just the farmers in our country, but all peoples, and to learn from them too.' Shakes head slowly as a single tear rolls down a cheek. We always have so much to learn.' Sniff.'

Presenter hands over (clean) tissue. 'Would it be all right to ask the few questions we had prepared now?'

'Yes . . . yes. Sorry, please go ahead. I just get a little emotional sometimes when I think of how incredibly lucky we all are to exist on this one perfect sphere - did you know that all scientists now agree that The Earth is the only planet in any galaxy to have just the right balance of all atmospheric elements to support life? I mean what are the chances of this - this microscopic fluke that allowed us and all other lifeforms to develop here . . . and to think if the wrong people had been in control it could have all been so utterly trashed, burned and wasted . . .'

Reporter delves for another tissue, blows nose, stuffs tissue back in pocket and nods enthusiastically. 'Yes. You are so right, Mr Rusk.' Imagine if Sir David Atomburger, or that upstart, Feta Thumburger had your influence and monetary power! The damage that could have been reeked!

'So, my first question does have to be who makes your magnificent clothes. We so love the tweed suits and homburg hats.'

'Ah! a subject close to my heart. The tweed is manufactured on the isle of Davies - it was a dying industry but with my teams help we have managed to re-start production, using all the original techniques and encouraging the workforce to sing the much-loved dipping of wool in sheep urine procedure songs. The fact that I wear the products has endorsed the industry and we are able to plough back ninety percent of the turnover into the island and its people.'

 (Shelby bros suit)

'Fantastic!' And the hats?'

'Second hand, my friend, from the Blue Triangle and other charitable outlets, sometimes Veentread. I must admit to having a small obsession with second hand . . . one has to have a vice, hm?'

'Of course. And our listeners most popular question - what was it like visiting our glorious president in the egg-shaped office?'

'A day to store in the memories . . . what a guy! Such generosity. D'you know, he wanted to promote my new range of solar powered tricycles on the front lawn! Even bought one for his wife, Melancholia. She loves it!'

'How did he cope with the kids? It all looked pretty harmonious from where we were filming.'

'Great! he was so interested in our fostering success. I bought all twenty six of them with me, and he gave them all wonderful hand crafted wooden toys that his Son in-Law, Jarhead makes in his artisan workshop that he shares with other members of the family. They do so much for the environment. You know they have just donated six billion dollars to desert greening in the Sudan - incredible.'

'And not to mention all that work for protecting the Barrier Reef. Just amazing.'

A tinkling ringing sound starts up in the waistcoat of Mr Rusk. He slips a hand into the pocket and draws out a polished silver watch on a chain. 

'Oh. I'm so sorry. Unfortunately I do have to be leaving you. We have a conference call on the subject of the water bird rehabilitation zone on the old Cherbobble nuclear site. Land-X has pledged over three million as it's such a crucial place for wildlife - which is returning! Hurrah! Can you imagine how crazy people must have been to ever have let such an utter disaster take place! Lucky for us we have our no-forever squabblings, and mutually assured happiness president, Hm?' He places an envelope on the studio desk, 'A little gift of my appreciation for the marvellous environmental and anti-racist work you do at Coyote Daily. So long.'

Mr Rusk strides to the studio door while the Coyote host opens the envelope and sobs. He shows it to the camera which zooms in, his voice recounting the contents. 'Two million dollars for our latest project, Make M'erca multicultural again. This is just too much, what a guy . . .' He smiles shakily, straightens his rainbow tie and waves to the camera. Thanks guys for tuning in. Tomorrow, we welcome Seth Bathos to hear all about his superb new project from Copse: next month - possibly- delivery and the rebirth of ecologic donkey transport. 

What we should be teaching in schools, and at all education levels

It all needs a huge shake up, from infants school through to universities, business schools, all of it, and fast! 

I've posted Nate Hagen's work and excellent podcasts several times on this blog and the fact I get thousands of hits a day - probably mainly from AI scooping up all my words and images, may hopefully plug some vital info into the net.

Everything his guest says make 100% utter sense, exploring how through, at often a very local level, we can still make change to our planet's trajectory towards inhospitality for us and for all other lifeforms that share this sphere. 

Our small strip garden is now full of trees and shrubs, much to the horror of our leaf-blower - and all other garden electrical gadgets - neighbour. We have two ponds, both fascinating little microcosms of insect and amphibian life, and have left weeds to bloom this year encouraging more birds and insects.

They cost little to set up and after the initial plants, virtually no maintenance - no pump needed, just let it become its own little world. So many people look doubtful saying mosquitos will be a problem but if you let the ecosystem do its thing the predators feast on them, plus any that are about are vital food for bats, etc. And . . . kids are fascinated by frogs, fish and insects - if they are allowed to be fascinated.

Right, into the garden to plant veg in a high wind.

Please share this amazingly useful video and other work by Nate. He is one of the reason's to celebrate the original aims of the Web. 

Off line dating

Being a sentimental soul, especially around wildlife, I have been observing the behaviour of a solitary male house sparrow for a couple of weeks now. Having found his perfect nest spot in the wall of the tower that stands in our neighbour's garden, the bird stands/sits on a useful twig of dead wisteria just outside the nest entrance and advertises himself and the perfect patch of real estate non-stop. Ridiculous, but I feel sad for him. It looks like the ideal spot - sheltered, lots of wild grains and insects about, bird bath and ponds . . . no cats, quiet. I suppose he doesn't wake each morning and think, oh no, not all that cheeping again and standing mostly still on a twig for twelve hours, or, it's so not fair, all the other dudes have found someone.

I'd like to help, but short of netting a female and depositing her on the cill of the nest - which would no doubt not be in any way a good idea, and somewhat difficult, I'll just carry on calling out a daily greeting or two and send out a few hopeful vibes to him on his eternal mission.

   The tower, perfect nest building spot

Apparently the construction was a windmill for grinding acorns for tannin 

The only one on our road where 32 flour windmills once stood

What selfies are really for

Forget placing a view of the Eiffel Tower or the Grand Canyon behind you and smiling, all teeth on display, as if your life is 90% full of experiences like this. Try some real ones like me and the lad (influencers, not) on a freezing drizzly road trip with as many clothes on as possible, and a supermarket baguette sandwich. 

  

Rafistolage

A delightful French word for 'bodge.' Apparently the origins of the word bodge comes from a bodger, or wood-dweller/forest worker who would have been very adept at making things and making do, so not really fair to throw the word around to imply something cobbled together badly.

We are good bodgers, probably veering more to the derogatory sense of the word, but still with a certain skill learnt over time, and an eye for making things look good - from my years as a stylist working to camera - hence things look good but you might not want to look too far behind or round the back of said thing.

The weirdest part of our new (old) fairly weird but lovely house was the area we now jokingly call the East Wing, which was a sort of laundry room with attached small and grim bedroom. By squinting and using my imagination I could see it would work as a B&B - for more quirk-embracing folks.

About eight months on, some help for the more tricky bits and much trawling of junk emporiums we're pleased with the result, and have had our first guests who were delighted (phew).

The building and especially the afore-mentioned wing, rather resembles a long boat, and as we are at the top of the hill, overlooking the river which, in former times, would have been filled with flat-bottomed wooden barges transporting all the essentials into town, I'm thinking about naming the B&B: La Péniche sur la Colline, or, the Barge on the Hill.

Une flâneuse à Paris.

How fortunate to have lovely Paris friends who have an apartment near the Arc de Triomphe!

We don't get to visit them much as we're too busy here and have a somewhat elderly greyhound who would not appreciate Paris these days, despite the many 'stories' left on the millions of Paris lampposts. I booked a 'Ouigo' train and a return, and set off to then sit at Saumur Station for sometime followed by a limping-along journey - Ouigo is very cheap but that does mean the trains often seem to get borrowed for other missions, or encounter various other problems, but hey, here to Paris for 10 euros - amazing.

                                    The wonderful cross hatch lines of the Paris rail network

When Mark goes to Paris he does the galleries and museums where as I tend to wander about (flanning) and observe the madness that is a vast city; sketch, drink tea and take in the general buzz that we don't really encounter in our small town. The first afternoon - after a complex and long train journey - was a little uninspired - me half awake and slightly aware of the dystopian part of my brain whispering stuff 'imagine what this place would be like after two days of no lorry diesel; the lack of food deliveries, the hospitals,' etc etc. The second and whole day was a proper flanning experience. Refreshed after nine hours sleep (unheard of) I walked for miles, filled half a sketchbook, ate at one of our favourite 'bouillons' (lit. soup kitchen) - the old 19th century canteens that served up basic and nourishing food to working class Parisiens - and now undergoing a bit of a revival. After that, more exploring and then a convivial evening with our friends. 

sore feet . . .

The last morning was less successful as I'd eaten too much and slept too little but I found the energy to explore further. The high point of the day, eating an ice cream in the company of a baby blackbird beneath a huge weeping beech tree who's trailing branches provided a wonderful hideaway from the dust and heat of the afternoon. 

The low point, or rather interesting bit of Paris-waiter-observation was in a café somewhere near Notre Dame. I'd been looking forward to my afternoon cup of tea, chose the café for its interesting people-drawing possibilities, and sat down to wait for the 'garçon' to notice me. Eventually a youth appeared and took my order for English breakfast tea - with milk, which is nowadays totally usual compared to a decade or so back when your request would have been met with a blank look. He appeared back sometime later with the pot of warm water and a bag of Earl Grey, and no milk. I don't - being English - like to fuss, but really! I said I'd ordered English breakfast to which he shrugged and said - c'est la même chose - to which I said it absolutely was not! he huffed, snatched up the paper incased tea bag and returned to pretty much throw it onto the table. Still no milk, so I had to ask someone else twice, by which time the tea was tepid at best . . .

The return train journey back was, of course, very delayed but I sat cocooned in the very comfortable velour seat of the Ouigo (1970s rolling stock) and drew people immersed in their phone-worlds.

Ham corridor

Probably the weirdest and most unwelcoming bit of our new house (now a year new to us) was the strange long 'corridor' on the east side of the house that the previous occupant had decided to tile with what looks like, well, bits of ham, and certainly must have been a cheap deal from a DIY shed wanting to be shot of them. 

                                                                    Re-grouted ham corridor

We got a few quotes for retiling - terrifyingly expensive; or removing them and putting gravel down, or rather us removing them and lorry of gravel turning up, but then as a builder friend said - who know's what is underneath . . . and it's true, they are solid enough, drain water away on the slight slope and it would be an interesting challenge to make their appearance less hideous. So we went for the cheap option: me and a friend re-grouting them, rounding up of baths and containers from recycling places and kind donations from next door. The plants were the more expensive bit but as we'd saved thousands on redoing the tiles a couple of hundred seemed reasonable. Mark tuned up his creative woodworking skills by making surrounds for the plastic baths and training wires along for the rampaging vines which our neighbours have kindly allowed over our wall.

It's suddenly a really great place to sit, and the ham is fading to a slight recollection of the first February day when I saw the house on a freezing grey February day when it was impossible to imagine anything growing, and sitting outside would only be for if you had locked yourself out.