A Fan of Fucus

When I was an adolescent I was sent to South Shields on a biology field trip

During the week long stay we had each to devise a project, carry out research and submit our findings in the form of a write-up.




For some reason I chose seaweed.
Fascinating stuff when you look at it closely
Did I ever admit that I don't get out much?)








I even had my favourite fucus, chondus crispus (aka Irish moss, or carrageen moss) the delightful little pink coral-like variety that grows from the middle intertidal zone down to the gloomy depths of the sea...




Here's the scientific stuff from Wikepedia
"Chondrus crispus is a source of carrageenan, which is commonly used as a thickener and stabilizer in milk products such as ice-creeam and processed foods including luncheon meat, in Europe it is indicated as E407 or E407b. It may also be used as a thickener in calico-printing and for fining beer or wine. Irish moss is frequently mixed with Mastocarpus stellatus (Gigartina mammillosa), Chondracanthus acicularis (G. acicularis) and other seaweeds with which it is associated in growth. Carrageenan and agar-agar are also used in Asia for gelatin-like deserts such as almond jelly."

I didn't know, as I sat on that freezing cold North Sea coastline in November, valiantly eating a Mr Whippy in that stoical "we're at the seaside, we're darned well going to eat ice-cream and sunbathe even if it we get frost-bite and hypothermia" manner that the British adopt whenever they are at the coast, that chondus crispus is used in its manufacture.

Had I known I would have been even more enamoured of this little beauty...

More interesting facts about chondus crispus?

Well, in Breton it has goes by many names:
pioka, liken ruz, teil piko, bouch, bouchounoù, bejin behan, bejin gwenn, bouch farad youd, bouch gad, bouch gwenn, jargod, ougnachou-ru, teles, tilez

To the French it is:
petit goémon, mousse d’Irlande, lichen (carraghèen), goémon frisé, goémon blanc, goémon rouge, mousse perlée

"Chondrus crispus is, compared to most other seaweeds, well-investigated scientifically. (I obviously wasn't the first to be captivated by crispus) It has been used as a model species to study photosynthesis, carageenan biosynthesis, and stress responses." (Wikepedia again)

Natural History Mag has an article explaining how chondus crispus just keeps hanging on with pictures that prove that we should all be proud to stand tall but that, at times, it is necessary to bend and yield to forces more powerful than ourselves. A very zen seaweed indeed.

There are 1600 species of red algae, most of which are marine


Fucus vesiculosis was another that I liked, partly because it's so darned easy to identify and partly because popping the little bladders as I sat on a rock and gazed out to sea was a calming activity that, in later years, was replaced by popping the pockets of air in that protective plastic paper used to wrap delicate items for safe posting.


(Nature is always first with a useful invention, n'est-ce pas)

Back to Wikedpedia
"Fucus vesiculosus, known by the common name Bladder wrack, is a seaweed found on the coasts of the North Sea, the western Baltic Sea, and the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans, also known by the common names black tang, rockweed, bladder Fucus, sea oak, black tany, cut weed and rock wrack. It was the original source of iodine, discovered in 181,1 and was used extensively to treat goitre, a swelling of the thyroid gland related to iodine deficiency. In the 1860s, it was claimed that bladder wrack, as a thyroid stimulant, could counter obesity by increasing the metabolic rate and, since then, it has been featured in numerous weight-loss remedies."

I am not a fan of weight-loss remedies but French ladies love them.
In the fresh fruit and vegetable section of Carrefour there is a rack of herbs that are said to aid minceur, the toiletry section displays bottles of pills that claim to help you lose the flab and find your thighs, whole magazines, emblazoned with such headlines as "Lose Your Dimples Before Slipping Into Your Bathing Costume" are devoted to the crusade against cellulite...

No, that's not my tasse de té but, living as I do when in France surrounded on three sides by brine and within an easy drive of some of the most spectacular coasts in Europe, I cannot fail to be tempted by the taste of the sea.

I regularly crack crab claws
munch on mussels
fry a fish
lick my lips over lobster...


I firmly believe that the body should be fed that which it craves and since moving to Brittany I have craved the bounty of the sea, whether it be animal, vegetable or mineral

and so while The Ragazza and I were browsing an organic foodstore in the seaside town of Binic I bought these packets of seaweed flakes to sprinkle on salads...

Now I can have a taste of the sea even when I'm land-locked in Oxfordshire



Have I converted anyone to the delights of seaweed?

Words...

"It's only words..."

A word is a unit of language that carries meaning

Words are my passion






After twenty years of marriage to the mainframe computer and almost five years into an affair with the internet, I am really, at heart, an amateur linguist.



word > noun a single distinct meaningful element of speech or writing...


a single distinct conceptual unit of language, comprising inflected and variant forms




Language...
The vehicle for the communication of discovery and learning...
for the expression of our thoughts, which are words unspoken

Pictures from Wikepedia)

Remember that fascinating TV programme that I mentioned called The Day We Learned To Think ?

The day we learned to think was the day we began to learn to speak

You talk when you cease to be at peace with your thoughts;
And when you can no longer dwell in the solitude of your heart you live in your lips, and sound is a diversion and a pastime.
And in much of your talking, thinking is half murdered.
(Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet)
No, for once I have, with respect, to disagree with Kahlil Gibran

You talk when your thoughts must find expression
And when you can no longer dwell in the solitude of your self you live through your words, and sound is a reaching out to others and a blessing
And in much of your talking, thinking is given life.
(Julia)
N'est-ce pas?

Words are as vital to our well-being as food, water, sleep and love.
Words are essential to the survial of our species
Words can wound, words can heal
Words are what make us unique
If people chose to resolve their disputes with words and reason rather than swords and anger then the world would be almost perfect

At work I am surrounded by bits and bytes and the technical tools of my trade
At work people even 'chat' through the medium of technology using signs and symbols that are becoming the 21st century's new language. A language that I will not embrace easily because it's too new, too lacking in history and meaning for my taste
At work I miss my words

But when I am home...

The first thing that I do on coming home is turn on the computer and the radio

The computer is often 'tuned' to France Culture. As I compose posts for my blog and write emails to friends, as I sit and eat my meals, while I am engaged in household chores downstairs, I am immersed in the words of this French radio station. I revel in its programmes on culture, science, history. I live in the French language...

The radio upstairs is tuned to BBC Radio 4. It greets my wakening each morning and keeps me company during the darkness of the night.

Wherever I am in my house I am in the company of words, even in my quiet moments and my meditations words fill the air

Many of my books, my treasure troves of words, are Lost In France, or less dramatically, still snoozing on the shelves of my bookcases at my house in Brittany, it is strange and frustrating to find that the book that I wish to re-read is often in another country.
 
But sometimes words survive centuries...

An unusually large fragment from possibly the oldest copy of part of the Gospel of John will go on sale next month, when the torn piece of papyrus with Greek writing is expected to fetch up to 300,000 pounds.

The fragment is believed to date to 200 AD, less than 170 years after the crucifixion of Christ, when Christianity was still illegal and around 100 years after experts believe the original Gospel was first written.
(Yahoo News)

Words that were written centuries ago...
Who wouldn't wish to own such a scrap of papyrus?
Who wouldn't gaze in wonder at the words that someone wrote two thousand years ago?
Words that still speak to us now...



Hands up those who would love to be able to gaze daily on this

Hwæt. We Gardena in geardagum,þeodcyninga, þrym gefrunon,hu ða æþelingas ellen fremedon.Oft Scyld Scefing sceaþena/ þreatum,Oft Scyld the Scefing from squadroned foes,monegum mægþum, meodosetla ofteah,egsode eorlas. Syððan ærest wearð/feasceaft funden, he þæs frofre gebad

Beowulf The oldest piece of Old English writing in existence






Wouldn't you love to be able to sit and gently stroke these inscriptions?

The Code de Haummurabi -
Written on a stele, a large stone monument, it contains 282 laws, written, Akkadian, the lingua franca of Babylon so that any literate citizen of the city would be able to read it...



A carving at the top of the stele portrays Hammurabi receiving the laws from the god Shamash, and the preface states that Hammurabi was chosen by the gods of his people to bring the laws to them. Parallels to this divine inspiration for laws can be seen in the laws given to Moses for the ancient Hebrews.
(Wikipedia)

 
Oxford's Radcliffe Camera
Camera (Italian) means a room.
This camera is the main reading of the Bodleian Library.

It is connected to a veritable treasure trove containing some 600,000 books.
Sadly, because these books are considered too precious to face the enthusiastic attention of The Public, it is not available to those who are not members of the university...

I wonder what their authors would have thought of such a prohibition?

Where would we be without words?
Locked inside ourselves
Lonely and frustrated without words

Words of love, words of hate...

Is there a museum dedicated to words?
Not a library, although they are worthy places indeed
No, I mean a museum dedicated to words...

Words carved on stones, written on papyruses, parchment, paper...
Words that reach us from the four corners of the world, words that speak to us from the past, that express the present and arm us for the future

Words, past, present, parlant

If one does not already exist there should be such a museum
And I, for one, would be delighted to be its first curator!

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.
(Genesis)

I am not an artist in the accepted sense of the word
I can't quilt, I struggle to produce paintings, my sketches are too technical to be called art...
But I can paint pictures with words
Words are my art...

"If you have been, thank you for reading my words"

An Early Supper In Oxford - the Folly Bridge Brasserie

I often find myself homesick for France and longing to be back in my own home in that friendly, somewhat crazy commune, but I'm always aware that were I to be there I would be missing all that I have here and so, in order to avoid pining for greener grass, I try to appreciate the Here and Now. And for me that often means Oxford, one of my favourite cities.

So in that spirit, and because I was not obliged to work this weekend, today the Ragazzi and I went to Oxford to do a spot of necessary clothes shopping for me, and then to enjoy an early dinner at a restaurant by the river, Folly Bridge Brasserie.

It's a pleasant little place, full of quirky things to catch the eye, mismatched tables, little corners that resemble someone's living room, and it's by the river Thames which must be lovely in the summer when people are out punting and rowing, and the ducks paddle past and swans glide gracefully by...

We ate two courses and had one glass of fizzy white wine each and the bill would have totaled in excess of £65, had I not purchased a special deal online. And I found that quite excessive.The total cost of the ingredients for that meal could not have come to more than £18, at most.

As for the food, the main course (steak and fries with a handful of green leaves) was not generous and, despite the recommendations that we order rare or rare to medium steaks, and our request for such, when our plates arrived the several small pieces of steak were over-cooked and a little chewy. The crème brulée deserts were quite nice but ordinary, certainly no match for the velvety-smooth and creamy, crunchy-topped versions that I make at home.

If we had had a three course meal with a bottle of wine at a staggeringly over-priced £38, the bill would have been over £110. I appreciate that there are overheads, staff must be paid, premises in Oxford are expensive, heating, lighting etc all add to the costs of running a restaurant, but even so....

 Alas, no-one came to ask if we were happy with our meal, in fact there was no-one around while ate our first course, if there had been we would have expressed our disappointment with the steaks and I would have asked for them to be replaced. The Ragazza, who once worked in a restaurant, was trained always to ask "Is everything alright?" and told that if she didn't and someone complained then they would, quite rightly,  not be charged for that course. So when we received the bill for my daughter's glass of diet coke and the pepper sauce I'd requested, we were astonished to find that we'd been slapped with a service charge of 10% of the regular price of the meal. Now, I am happy to pay a generous tip for good service, but I rather resent being charged anything at all when it is, at best, merely adequate. That's just adding insult to injury, isn't it?

It's a shame. A few little extra touches would have made all the difference. A few chunks of baguette and a little pot of butter don't cost much, freshly-laundered linens napkins make a table look well-dressed, a refreshing carafe of water and ice-cubes would have been appreciated. Aren't such things standard in a decent restaurant?

I wonder if our 'online deal' meant that we were offered less-than the usual standard of food and service? Well, we will never know because we won't be returning, deal or no deal.

The Swimming Reindeer

As with art and literature and my love of languages, I came to history late in life.
I daresay that youth is a time of looking forward and not back, and that we ourselves have to age a little before we can appreciate history. Perhaps we must have a past of our own before we can appreciate the Past?

Well, it seems to have been the case for me.

When I was in France I fell in love with The Past, so easy to do in such a celtic culture and where medieval villages and old houses nestles in the folds of hillsides, and where menhirs dot the landscape.

It was a television programme called "The Day We Learned To Think" that first sparked my interest in the transition of our species from the first bi-pedal ape that descended from the trees to who, and what, we have become today. And, as so often happens when a passing interest becomes a passion, I began to study Ice Age Art in the form of cave paintings, and then to purchase prints of those at Lascaux to adorn the walls of my own twenty-first century caves in Oxfordshire and in Brittany, and to collect books and to visit museums, and so it continues....

And on my journey of discovery I learned that I find it so much easier to comprehend and to connect with the past than with the present or the future, especially the future.

I'm coming to the reindeer...

Let me take you back some four years to a difficult and challenging period in my life, not long after I'd returned from France. Stress plays havoc with the immune system and I had succumbed to a chest infection which meant that I was obliged to spend some time in bed, sick. I do not sleep alone, my favourite bed-mates being BBC Radio 4 when I'm in England and France Culture when I'm back in Brittany. They're my adult equivalent of sleeping with the light on.

We're getting to the reindeer
So, there I was, in bed, snoozing during the daytime and in that unpleasant state when the brain asks "Why are you in bed when your circadian rhythms decree that you should be up and active", and the body replies "I'm sick, let me rest" and the result is a strange disharmony of being that can be most unpleasant.

And during my time in bed I heard a new series called A History Of The World In 100 Objects
Not only that, but the episode that I listened to as I lay in bed fighting the bugs focused on The Swimming Reindeer.

 

Found in France and dating back 13,000 years, this is a carving of two swimming reindeer. The creator of this carving was one of the first humans to express their world through art. (BBC)





   This sculpture of two swimming reindeer is one of the oldest works of art in the British Museum. It was carved from the tip of a mammoth tusk and made during an extraordinary period of artistic creativity during the last Ice Age. Such works of art could be carried around, bringing images found in the great painted caves of Europe into the daylight. These Ice Age artists were fully modern people with the same mental abilities as humans today.

What was Ice Age art used for?

The artist has depicted the reindeer as they look in autumn. At this time of year the meat, skin and antlers are at their best for use as food, clothing and materials for making equipment. Showing the reindeer swimming may suggest migration or a moment when the animals were easy prey for their human hunters. Was this sculpture a means of communicating with the supernatural world or a charm to guarantee a successful hunt at the start of a bitterly cold Ice Age winter?
(BBC)
 

I was entranced.
13,000 years ago someone sat by the banks of a river in France and gazed in awe at the herds of reindeer swimming by and was so fascinated and moved by these animals that he carved an image on a piece of mammoth tusk.

 He was one of the first homo sapiens, thinking humans, to express his admiration in art
To create something purely for pleasure
To leave a legacy for us

Something, between say 100,000 and 50,000 years ago, happens in the human brain, that allows this fantastic creativity, imagination, artistic abilities, to emerge.' (Professor Steven Mithen)

It's perhaps silly but this little reindeer-loving Francophile was deeply moved by this object
and very, very inspired by the gift from the past
Which is, I think, a wonderful land
N'est-ce pas?

And so began my love affair with Ice Age Art sculptures, and especially the Swimming Reindeer, an enduring love that led to a wonderful meeting during a Mother's Day excursion organised by my offspring (also known as The Ragazzi), and many, many 'listening-agains' to the podcast of that episode, and the recent purchase of a copy of the carving of the reindeer that now sits on a bookcase in my small sitting room and which I sit and admire often. And next weekend, there will be another meeting when we visit the British Museum's Ice Age Art exhibition during which my the Swimming Reindeer will be the main attraction.

As a scientifically-minded youngster I never understood the value of culture, as in the arts. It has taken me all of this time to appreciate that which culture adds to our lives, how it enriches us, how it enlightens us, and how it is our culture that makes us who we are. Isn't it rather amazing that someone sitting by a river, carving a pair of reindeer on a piece of mammoth tusk, in France, thirteen thousand years ago was responsible for such a shift in my way of thinking?

That's what being human is all about.  
 
 
     

The History Of English - Part 1

The History Of English - Part 1

Il y avait une fois...
(once upon a time...)
 

The Britain that the Romans came, saw and conquered (43-410 CE) was inhabited by scattered tribes of Celtic-speakers who had probably crossed the channel from France and Belgium. (Which means, I suppose, that some of my ancestors were, possibly, French, although of course France, as a country, did not exist that long ago, and my mother always insisted that she was descended from the Vikings which is why I have blue eyes, fair hair and a love of snow and forests. I digress.)





Moving on, the Roman invaders brought with them Latin, naturalemente, and this would have been the official language of trade, commerce and government, although the majority of the Celts, especially those living in rural locations, would have continued to speak their own dialects.


Now, Britain may be an island but as early as the first century it was a cosmopolitan kind of place with travelers landing on our shores from as far afield as Africa and the Middle East. The air would have been full of foreign accents and this would have added to the linguistic flexibility of the native population, a state of affairs that would, over the next few centuries, be extended as English adopted wanderers, ways and words from across Europe and beyond.

(Note to the 'purists', sorry guys, English has never been a 'pure' language and it's way too late to try to make it so now)

Where were we?
So, the Roman Empire was good for Britain. For over three hundred years it provided stability and growth, good government, as well as hot baths, chilled wine and straight roads.
However all good things must come to an end and the Roman Empire was no exception. By the fourth century Italy itself was increasingly under attack, both by barbarian invaders from eastern and northern Europe as well as the bugs and diseases that wiped out whole communities. The Roman Empire needed to withdraw and re-group in order to survive.

As the Roman garrisons began to depart from the outposts of the empire the earlier-displaced Celtic tribes seized the opportunity to indulge in a little Pay Back and started to attack the soft-living southerners from their lands in the north and east...

It was time to call in the cavalry.

"the Angles or Saxons came to Britain at the invitation of King Vortigern in three longships, and were granted lands in the eastern part of the island on condition that they protected the country; nevertheless their real intention was to subdue it. They engaged the enemy advancing from the north, or having defeated them, sent back news of their success to their homeland, adding that the country was fertile and the Britons cowardly. Whereupon a larger fleet quickly came over with a great body of warriors, which, when joined to the original forces, constituted an invincible army. ... These newcomers were from the three most formidable races in Germany, the Saxons, Angles and Jutes...

It was not long before such hoards of those alien peoples vied together to crowd into the island that the natives who had invited them began to live in terror
(Ecclesiastical History of the English People by the Venerable Bede)

This is one version of the Anglo-Saxon invasion. There are others that tell heroic tales of derring-do by brave warriors who valiantly fought the invaders for many years, it was not necessarily the rout that history would have us believe.

But, as history relates, the Anglo-Saxons also came, they also saw and they also conquered.

And Britain entered a period of documentary dearth from which few records survive, emerging some 200 years later speaking an identifiable language variety that had evolved from the Germanic tongue of the invaders into that which we call Old English.

So, here's how Old English looked, if you had been living in Britain in the first few hundred years this is the writing that you would have seen on road signs, advertising hoardings and on the front page of your favourite newspaper, well, if there had been such things back then which, of course, there weren't...


The Anglo-Saxon futhorc, so-called because the first few letters are f-u-th-o-r-c, (think alphabet, you know, alpha, beta...)

The origins of the futhorc are obscure. It may have come from Frisia, around the south eastern coast of the North Sea, that land whose tongue most closely resembles Old English, or perhaps it traveled to British shores from Scandinavia with my mother's ancestors, who knows?






Suffice to say that the first words of Old English were written using this runic script. Which must have made carving your name on a rock with a simple blade an awful lot easier...

Beowulf woz here


The picture is of the Franks Casket, carved in whalebone in Northumbria around the 8th century. The inscription was intended to be read in a circle so the writing on the lower edge is upside down. Early English writing was not always left to right, top to bottom, but often followed the shape of the medium on which it was inscribed. Notice also the absence of spaces, punctuation and capital letters...

Why are runic inscriptions interesting?

Well, firstly they show the futhorc at that time in it's development. The Old English futhorc had between 24 and 31 letters some of which have no modern-day equivalent.

The letters are angular and indicative of the tools with which they were 'written', ie chisels and knives that scratched on hard surfaces like wood and stone.

The inscriptions provide a clue to the sounds of Old English and the manner in which it was evolving. For instance, at some time the pronunciation of the original Old English k changed and a new rune was created to accommodate this new sound.

So, that's Chapter One in the History of English in which our hero, the fledgling English language, finds himself unexpectedly on the shores of a new land but, undaunted, starts to evolve and grow in size and strength as he feeds on new words from the mouths of others...

Here's a Timeline for Old English, we leave the story slap-bang in the middle of Early Old English, just before the Vikings appear on the horizon, on a cliffhanger? or a pause so that this blogger can go and do things domestic around the house.

1. Pre-English period (? to AD 450)
The local language of Britain was Celtic.
The Roman invasion of circa 55 CE brought Latin which became the dominant language of government, culture and commerce. Many Britons became bilingual Celtic-Latin speakers

2. Early Old English (450 - 850 CE)
The Anglo-Saxon invasion circa 499 CE.
The invaders who settled brought a selection of Germanic dialects from western Europe. The first Old English writings appeared. During the seventh century Old English adopted many Latin words from the increasingly powerful Christian church.

3. Late Old English (850-1100)
The vikings repeatedly invaded and many settled in the north and eastern parts of Britain. These latest invasions heavily influenced the dialects spoken in those areas of the country.
King Alfred ordered the translation of many Latin texts into English

Ploumanac'h, The Pink Granite Coast, Brittany

The Côte de granit rose or Pink Granite Coast is a thirty kilometre stretch of coastline in the Côtes d'Armor departement of northern Brittany. It is a popular destination for tourists, and for photographers.
That's the tourist info.

 For me the pink granite coast is the perfect location for a day out. It has glowing rose-coloured rocks along the shoreline, little rocky islands in a Breton-blue sea, white-sailed boats and white-feathered gulls, the smell of seaweed and of salt. It's a place for exploring and for adventures and it reminds me of the seaside holidays in Cornwall that my family enjoyed when I was a feisty little kid, except that it's painted pink and has that certain French flair.

It's also one of the places that's sure to make me teary-eyed with homesickness when I'm sitting in the office trying to unravel some complex computer code.        


Yesterday at work, taking a lunchtime break from thwarting Russian spammers, I began planning a day out in Brittany. Which led me back to pictures of the pink granite coast and to memories of a day spent there almost five years ago.The 'new love-interest' referred to was my current employer who was then in the process of luring me back across the channel to embark on a new career in internet security, I was unsure, the job sounded fascinating but Brittany was my home...


July 23rd 2008
Yesterday was my birthday so I laid aside my books and studies, and my swotting up on the dance steps for my new love-interest, and a friend and I set out for a day of sight-seeing at Ploumanac'h up on the pink granite coast..

Our first stop was a park full of statues that we happened upon by pure chance

This female figure was beautiful in her curvaceous and seductive pose....

and this one in grey granite that represents a modern-day menhir...
A nice thought, modern menhirs to reach out to the future I wonder what I would inscribe on mine... Snowflakes and flowers, scallop shells and leaves, and a reindeer would be fitting.

The nearby port where boats bobbed in the fresh wind and the sound of rigging striking wood was as musical as wind-chimes.

The sun was hot, the air was thick with the scent of seaweed and iodine and salt. Inspired, we decided to find a seafood feast....

After a long, lazy, languid lunch of languostines and lobster, creme brulée and coffee, we walked along the wide, sandy beach at Trestraou. On the hill behind us there were large and expensive houses We indulged in a game "What If We Won The Lottery" and this was my choice of a holiday home over-looking the beach. It is a little large for a holiday home, I expect that, like many of the beautiful houses on the Brittany coast, it's owned by a Parisian,  maintained by a skeleton staff and a dedicated old man who lovingly tends the garden.

Walking along a short section of the sentier des dounaiers,  the customs trail, and admiring the famous pink granite rock formations. Some are obvious, such as the turtle, and a bottle, others, well, I think that we see them differently through our own eyes. I saw a finely-chiselled face gazing sternly out to sea, my friend saw a whale below it...





















A collection of phalluses, like those of the chubby cherubs in Renaissance art...










The day was very hot, the sky was Breton-blue and the sea... I have never seen such a deep-blue sea. After walking for an hour my nose turned pink and freckled, my feet ached and my throat was dry. We paused to sit in the shade, drink some water and to admire the view.

As we sat in silence I pondered.
I had a big decision to make...
To leave, or to stay?
And to go, which way?

I chose to return to England and to walk back into the corporate cage. It's been a long journey and, at times, a very difficult one.  Happily I still have my house in Brittany, Fate has decreed that it remains mine, perhaps Fate knows what's best for me?