The dog it was that died

During a brief visit to the Bluebell Railway this morning, I saw one thing that made a much bigger impression on me than the wonderfully restored steam engines: a stuffed dog.


I'm not an expert on taxidermy, but it was hard to imagine a dog being more competently stuffed. The coat still looked fairly healthy and I was particularly struck by 'London Jack's' serene, almost philosophical expression.

Later, with my appetite whetted, I searched on the internet to see if there were any museums of taxidermy and the first item I came across mentioned a museum in Brighton, only seven miles away! Kismet.

When galaxies collide

It's hard to believe, but the Hubble Space Telescope is now 18 years-old. After a rather inauspicious debut of blurred images, resulting from British and American scientists working in metric and imperial measurements respectively without telling each other, the HST has produced some of the most awe-inspiring pictures of our time. Only this month it has produced this image of galaxies colliding:


In five years' time a new space telescope will be launched, promising images of a far greater resolution. In the meantime, the Hubble continues to surprise us and it is scandalous that NASA contemplated cancelling any further maintenance missions. Fortunately they relented, but if the accountants had had their way, there would have been a hiatus of at least five years between the HST and its successor.

How can anyone contemplate giving up on the Hubble when it produces images like this:


And this astounding photo of deep space, in which every bit of light is a galaxy:


This is one of the most amazing images of our time, but if I mention it to most people they have no idea what I'm talking about. Is it me, or is this odd?

Self-sufficiency

I'm really keen on the idea of getting an allotment. Food prices are rising at an alarming rate (even boring old rice has gone up 63% since last year) and with the price of oil well past $100 per barrel, it's likely that things will only get worse.

There's a long waiting list for most of the allotments in Lewes, although as most of them are occupied by elderly men the turnover must be quite high. All I need is a very cold winter. Also, I would imagine that if the supposedly forthcoming economic recession really takes off, councils will be under more pressure to provide plots of land.

I once ran an allotment with three men I used to meet in my local pub in Twickenham. It was a disaster. One of the men was a very left-wing politics lecturer and wanted to instigate five-year plans and quotas. The second man was from a moneyed background and his only experience of gardening was watching labourers toiling away on his parents' land. The third man was obsessed with potatoes.

If we'd spent more time digging and less time planning and arguing, our allotment might have been a success. Sadly, in the case of allotments, democracy doesn't always work. I shan't make the same mistake again.

Magical Mystery Tour

During the last couple of years my oldest son has become increasingly resistant to new experiences. The four-year-old boy who loved tasting the local food in Andalucia has turned into an eight-year-old who doesn't want to go abroad, thinks London's too busy and would rather visit the same place every week, as long as it doesn't involve spending more than 20 minutes in the car. His ideal day would probably involve crisps, Play Station, chocolate and a trip to a leisure centre.

On the plus side our carbon footprint is much smaller. However, I don't want my son's world shrinking to within a 10-mile radius of Lewes, so last Saturday I decided to take him and his brother on a mystery tour. I figured that if they didn't know where they were going or how far it was, then they'd have nothing to object to.

When we arrived, after over an hour in the car, I was prepared for the worst. It was raining and I expected my son to complain that we'd driven all this way just to visit a boring old castle, but the first words he uttered were wow and amazing!

I agreed. It was impressive:


Built in 1365, Bodiam Castle is tucked in a remote corner of the Sussex/Kent border and on a cold, drizzly Saturday morning, it was fortunately free of coachloads of visitors. Nothing kills the atmosphere of a historical site more than hordes of camera-wielding tourists, which is why I like visiting places out of season.

We climbed winding stone steps up to the top of the castle and pretended to pour boiling oil on the people below. Then we spotted an invading French army, fired a few arrows and prepared for battle. The boys loved it, more than I ever dared to hope.

Now that the castle visit had gone so well, I decided to really push the boat out and visit Bateman's, the home of Rudyard Kipling. We'd be passing it on the way home so it seemed a shame not to pop in. My son wasn't so keen on this idea and was unimpressed when I played the Jungle Book card. In the end, I resorted to bribery.


Whether you're a Kipling fan or not, Bateman's is worth a visit. It's a beautiful 17th century house surrounded by attractive, landscped gardens. However for me the visit was marred by the National Trust volunteers. Every time I entered a room they sprung up like meerkats and watched my every move. If my eyes rested on an object for more than three seconds, a voice behind me would start explaining its history. I soon began to find this oppressive. It seems churlish to complain, as each of the ladies was very nice and welcoming, but I just wanted to soak up the atmosphere of each room before learning the facts.

I suppose we all want different things from historical places. For me, facts are less important than the opportunity to imagine what it must have been like to live there in the past. There are exceptions: the guided tours in Charleston Farmhouse are fascinating. But on the whole, I rather read about a place before going there, then spend my time soaking up the atmosphere.