Loch Slapin

In the Yurt, with a Flamethrower and a Nice Cup of Goji Berry Tea

"I could get to like this Geoffrey." I placed a fresh log in the burner, then sighed contentedly as I lay back on a cosy pile of Val's handmade rag rugs and home-knitted blankets, and sipped a cup of Goji berry tea, made from home-grown organic Goji berries grown in Dave and Val's poly-yurt, and sweetened with sea-weed honey harvested by Dave from remote wild seaweed-eating bee colonies on the cliffs over on the Far Side.

"Me too.  Goji berry tea isn't half as bad as it sounds, " replied Geoffrey, who was munching on a cob of ultra-sweet sweetcorn, also grown in the poly-yurt, along with tomatoes, melons, aubergines, monster gabba-gabba fruits and various other new-fangled vegetables. "I think there's a tang of chili in there Tuppy.  What do you think?"
"Yes Geoffrey.  I think you could be right.  Definitely a hint of warmth on the tastebuds."
"I can't wait for Val to come in and give us one of her extra-special shiatsu treatments. My sinuses have been playing up something shocking.  You know I think she's right - allopathic medicine does more harm than good, and the natural ways are the best.  Perhaps it's time we reviewed the medical chest Tuppy, and ditched the old opiates."

"I think that's taking things a bit far to be honest.  That medicine chest has served us well over the years, and  we mustn't be rash.  Besides,  Val says opiates are permissible because they're made from opium, which comes from a plant.  Nevertheless - "

"Shut your pie-holes will you!" snapped Tuppence, who was standing guard at the "door", or "curtained entrance", with a cocked pistol, a flame-thrower and a machete stuck in his belt.  "Val says Val says.  Goji berry tea.  What is this namby-pamby crap?  We're not on holiday you gibbering fools.  This is serious.  We're Occupying the Car Park.  Remember?"

"What's wrong with enjoying ourselves while we're here?" I protested.

"Nothing.  As long as you keep your wits about you and remember to trash the place after, like we planned. You two sound like you're being taken over by the Dark Side.  Since when did you enjoy froot, Uncle Tuppy?  Pull yourself together, for pity's sake.  We've got a mission to accomplish."

"Which is?" asked Geoffrey archly, as he extracted a stray piece of corn from a cavity in his upper incisor with his favourite zircon-encrusted tweezers. "Ow."

"Don't play the idiot with me Geoffrey.  Not that you ARE playing, you witless, pathetic apology for a creature. As well you know, our objective is clear.  Trash the yurts, or failing that drive out Dave and Val, and take them over as a going concern.  Or the other way round.  I'm not quite sure."

"Trash the yurts?  A going concern?" I gasped.  "But that wasn't discussed, when we planned this back at the Outcrop last Monday. We merely agreed to mount a mildly disagreeable and inconvenient protest and then come home again once the food ran out and the toilet facilities overflowed.  You're taking things to a different level here Tuppence, and I don't like it."

"Neither do I," chimed in Geoffrey." I enjoyed Val's talk last week about alternative remedies and environmental friendliness.  I quite like her."

"Yes Dave's definitely the nutter.  Val's all right," I agreed. "When she's on her own."

"Perhaps we should rescue her from Dave!" suggested Geoffrey, eagerly. "She could stay with us, instead.  It'd be her choice entirely, of course, but I think she'd - "

"Oh shut up," snapped Tuppence. "We've got a plan, and we're sticking to it.  I'm the one packing, remember?"  And he switched on the flame-thrower, full-blast.

"Aaaaaaaaaaarrghh!"

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The tectonic plate experiment

My attempt to re-create the tectonic plate analogy using a plastic bowl and an assortment of "plates" has ended in total failure - or perhaps success, depending on how you want to look at it.
Everything sank.  Immediately.

"Life's a series of tectonic plates,  which collide for a while and give an illusion of stability, then crumble and slide away beneath us, into the great ocean.  The trick is, not to be afraid, and not to mind."


The Tupfinder General

*discuss*

"Ride those mofos - yee-ha!"

Tuppence

*one possible response*

"Sit on a plate for as long as is humanly (or otherwise) possible, while essential supplies last, then simply fly off to another one."

Geoffrey

*the scorn-inducing response*

"Find the most secure-looking plate - they can be deceptive, mind - sit on it with a vat of strong drink and some mind-numbing drugs for as long as humanly (or otherwise) possible, then slide off into the deep when the time comes, hoping that enough substances have been ingested to ensure a pain-free transition to...whatever comes next."

Me.

*whatever*

Whatever Boils Your Kettle - Strivers and Scroungers

"I know which one I'd rather do,"  I muttered as I thrust a "pamphlet" shrieking "ARE U A STRIVER OR A SCROUNGER?"  which some deranged nutter had rammed through our letterbox - or *hole* - on the fire, along with another screaming "DEATH TO SCROUNGERS"  and yet another yelling "GO AWAY ANYONE WHO'S NOT FROM ROUND HERE BEFORE WE KILL YOUSE ALL".
Yes, it's come to this.  Politix.  Politix has arrived, finally, on our draughty doorstep, via Mrs Tupfinder General's niece-by-marriage, Melaena Shovelbum-Steele.
Melaena is what we call an "incomer".
She's not "normal", like us.
She comes from "Overthere".
I don't think I need say more.
"I'm too old to strive," I said firmly, as she parked herself in Geoffrey's usual armchair,"And that seat's taken by the way.  Geoffrey's not here but I need it for putting my feet on."
"You're never to old to strive, Tuppy.  People - creatures like yourself, even - are living till ninety plus, thanks to the help of health boffins such as Drs Kwak and Wilson (see e-books, and paperbacks) and why on earth shouldn't you continue to contribute and do your bit for society, right up until your final breath? "He Strived Until He Dropped". Wouldn't you like to have that inscribed on your gravestone?"
"No.  Now sod off Melaena.  I've got a kettle to boil."
Melaena stood up, smoothing her Tupwatch Tartan trews over her well-toned thighs.  How did I know they were well-toned?  Because the Tupfinder General recently informed me with a heavy sigh that Melaena has installed a gym in the dungeon of Tupfinder Towers, complete with Stairmaster.
"I thought she was involved in the occult when she started banging on about The Stairmaster," he said, aghast," But no - it's worse.  She's a Parliamentary Candidate - and she's into body-pumping, and personal development - and what's worse still, she wants us ALL to do it...we've to have a fast day once a week and there's no smoking and no drinking and no bacon and no sausage rolls and we're not allowed to complain about anything because we've all to cultivate a positive mental attitude - Mrs T-G is NOT impressed...and my life is now officially HELL.  Hell Hell Hell.  And what's put the tin hat on it is, my home is a wreck - again (see e-books for details of previous debacle)"
Apparently, the gym was originally installed in the uppermost floor of the uppermost turret of Tupfinder Towers - just above the Secret Room, with the Vitrine (see e-books, and paperbacks) - however, due to the weight of the equipment, the entire room came loose from the ancient stone walls, and crashed holus bolus down through the turret and the banquet hall and the drawing-room and the kitchens and the pantry and the still-room, right into the bowels of the dungeon, where it rightly belongs.

Something Will Have To Be Done............................

Jeremy Brett Doing a Tablecloth Pull

As I thought - it's in the Six Napoleons.  You can see him doing a pretty good tablecloth pull from about 6.24.

The physics of a pulled tablecloth, seen in slow motion

The physics of a pulled tablecloth, seen in slow motion

I always like watching Jeremy Brett do this as Sherlock Holmes in (I think) The Six Napoleons.  I used to be able to do it as a child, with the tea table.  Haven't tried it in years...

Rolling Stones Stray Cat Blues

Vanished Paths

A link here from Scottish Islands Explorer: Abandoned Arderanish: If you are sailing in or out of Tarbert on the Uig crossing look to the south and you could see at least the whereabouts of a deserted ho...

Interesting - I think I'd like to know more about that family of long ago, and the abandoned footpath.  Footpaths are generally formed by the regular passage of feet - human or animal - over time.  It doesn't take long for them to appear, and even less time for them to vanish.
Reminds me of the path that meandered from a relative's cottage on Skye across a small heathery outcrop, over a fence and then across a grassy hill, to my aunt's - worn over fifty years, perhaps, by the relative's stout boots as he trekked the mile or two every day for his dinner, and summer visitors who ran along it towards the iron age fort, the shore, and fishing, and seal-watching, and all sorts of mischief. If you followed it, you would avoid the marshy bits and the hidden rabbit holes and tricky stones.
People still live around there, but they're different people, with different habits, and the path has gone.
Sometimes, if you stand near a place where a path has been, and half-close your eyes, it can almost reappear.  Or at least you can sense where it once was.  Similarly with deer tracks.

Camus Malag, Skye

Alan Watts - Re-examination of ''Common Sense''

I like Alan Watts' books - I've only recently started listening to Youtube clips.  Most, like this one, have music that I find really intrusive.  But he's worth a listen.