Rather than the simple delivery of knowledge, although that was necessary in some instances, we were interested in the creation of knowledge through active discussion. It was always fascinating to observe a group working through topics, recognising individual weaknesses and coming to group decisions.

above: Permaculture gathering at the Hollybush Centre, Leeds. A mixed group of diverse backgrounds and experiences, coming together to find unity.

In a similar way, at various permaculture convergences I was privileged to meet up with and sit amongst groups of other experienced designers. Being familiar with our teaching techniques we would often find ourselves sitting in a circle and discussing topics amongst ourselves but, following our practice, going around the circle, speaking in turns but only when we had something to add to the discussion, passing on to the next person in the circle if we had nothing to say at that point.

This was a remarkable experience. A design challenge might be entered into quite spontaneously and within just minutes a solution would begin to take shape. Perhaps almost everyone would say something to begin with, then only a few people in the group would be speaking. Someone who had nothing to say at first might contribute a valid challenge on the next turn round, then someone else might address the challenge and a few other folk would refine the details; problems would be flagged up and then addressed and additional benefits might be stacked in.

At times it would feel to me, quite suddenly, that rather than individual voices, It was as if I was listening to a group mind, formulating a complex issue, recognising the challenges and co-creating a unique solution. It was always my regret that these random, informal exchanges were not recorded in some way. However, the act of formalising it by recording it may well have altered the experience. There was something about the safety and openness of the exchanges that allowed this almost magic to occur.

This leads me to something that, like most folk in the UK, I have known about since I was a kid but have never really looked into it in any detail. That is Trial by Jury, the twelve people who decide the fate of someone in a court of law. As I learned more, I was frankly amazed that I had not been taught this at school and then not surprised that I hadn’t, for it is powerful knowledge.

above: the Jury, as it was- all men…

The Jury and its true purpose were first codified in English law in the Magna Carta of 1215. Since the Acts of Union with Wales of the mid 1500’s, it has also been Welsh law though prior to that, English Law had been imposed in some parts of the country, notably on the borders and south coast. However, following the failure of the Glyndŵr rebellion of the early 1400’s, Welsh communities bordering English control, asked for the extension of the English Law because they preferred Trial by Jury to the laws of Hywel Dda1.

The original purpose of Common Law Trial by Jury is far wider than that of simply deciding a verdict to deliver in a court of law. As I’ve mentioned in the previous pieces on Governance, Common law is also known as the Law Of The Land and the Law Of The People. There are a number of very significant points which I outline below, not necessarily in order of importance as they are all required for the true function of the Jury to operate, hence the ordering here is simply one of convenience.

Note that this is how Trial by Jury should work, not how it actually does today.

Trial by Jury, that is, Trial by your peers, is the inalienable right of all citizens under English and Welsh law. The Jury should be chosen completely at random from the community, the intention being to create a diverse group with different experiences, backgrounds, education, biases etc.; in other words, a cross section or microcosm of the whole community.

Once the jury have received all the information regarding the trial, they retire to deliberate, according to their conscience. No record of any kind is kept of their deliberations; no court, government or police representatives are present; they and they alone discuss the matter and seek to come to an agreement.

It is not really possible to describe in detail what happens within any given Jury- members are forbidden by law to talk about their deliberations after the event. This is to ensure the Jury experience remains a safe, inviable place where the twelve members can talk and discuss freely, as a group, without fear of future repercussions. However, certain limited questionnaires have been allowed, both before and after Jury service. Very interestingly these show that prior to Jury service, a majority of respondents said that they didn’t want to do it, whereas after their service, the majority said they were really glad they had done it and it was a very important and valuable experience.

above: a modern jury, a bit more accurate in its representation of the community.

It is during these deliberations that the bias and prejudice of individual members may become apparent and may be challenged by the other eleven. Individual jurors may become aware of their bias or prejudice as the jury deliberates and may rise above them. They are considering a most serious matter and their decision may lead to the punishment or imprisonment (and at one time, death) of the accused. Through open discussion and argument, through listening to other members, they are pushed to take a larger standpoint, beyond that of their own individuality as they strive to reach unity in their decision; as a consequence, the consciousness of the individuals and the jury as a group, is raised.

Will Keyte2 puts this very concisely;

People are missing the profound nature of Jury deliberation as it is absolutely key and is the magic contained within Trial by Jury. That’s the bit that does the heavy-lifting of consciousness and propels the jurors into a space of self-reflection. Why? Because each juror is having to engage in tough exchanges with differences of opinion and alternative perspectives. The other eleven hold each juror to account and it’s during this process that a man’s prejudices or biases come to the surface. Everything’s put on the table and people throw their toys out of the pram and there’s plenty of flouncing-off to the toilet. It’s hard going judging justice. Often jurors emerge at the end of the process having discovered their blind-spots and internal lies about how the world works. I have sometimes referred to the Jury Deliberation as ‘society’s shadow-work workshop’.

The Jury are required to deliberate and deliver their verdict according to their conscience. As the Jury is made up of randomly chosen members from the wider community, they act as the conscience of the community. So the deliberations of the Jury will lead them to a unanimous decision, or not, according to their conscience.

The Jury may first choose to judge the law itself with which the person is charged, deciding whether the law is a just or appropriate law in these particular circumstance. If, according to the conscience of the Jury, it is not, then they are entitled to reject the law by returning a verdict of not guilty, often much to the annoyance of judges and lawyers. The power of the Jury to return a Not Guilty verdict is as important as that of Guilty, as this definition from Wikipedia makes clear;

Jury nullification, also known as jury equity or as a perverse verdict, is a decision by the jury in a criminal trial resulting in a verdict of not guilty even though they believe a defendant has broken the law. The jury’s reasons may include the belief that the law itself is unjust, that the prosecutor has misapplied the law in the defendant’s case, that the punishment for breaking the law is too harsh, or general frustrations with the criminal justice system. It has been commonly used to oppose what jurors perceive as unjust laws.

If the Jury decide the law is valid and appropriate, then they apply it to the case before them and over time, arrive at a unanimous verdict, guilty or not guilty, or they admit they cannot reach a verdict, leading either to a dismissal or a retrial. The jury may ask to see evidence again and in their re-examination of such evidence, may bring into light things that the court officials had not noticed.

Notice that there are no court officials (judge or lawyers) involved in the deliberations of the jury. The members of the Jury are not selected, other than by lot. There should be no questioning of prospective members or their rejection on grounds of bias. Neither should there be any lead or direction given by a judge. The Jury’s verdict is arrived at solely by them acting as a group, according to their their conscience.

There is some thought that in the original trial by jury, the Jury itself decides the punishment appropriate to the crime. Contrast this with today’s set punishments for particular crimes, such as minimum sentences. Such impositions negate any opportunity for nuance. The Jury, on the other hand, as representatives of the whole community in the microcosm, live in the world of the accused, in the past may actually have known the accused or at least similar people, will certainly have more awareness of the real world circumstances surrounding the offence than some (most?) of the judges or lawyers.

above: another modern jury with a different mix. Note the pens and paper- these folk are taking it seriously, as they should.

Clearly these original powers have been severely eroded. The right to be tried by your peers is only applied today in a limited number of cases. Far more likely is for the case to be decided by a magistrate, essentially a representative of the government and like any individual, subject to bias and discrimination. The whole point of Trial by Jury is to share the responsibility for the decision between the members of the Jury.

In the original Trial by Jury, those who were accused might pay someone to speak on their behalf, leading to the rise in importance of the profession of lawyer. Parliament granted itself the right to make law following the restoration and proceeded to create thousands of pages of law, statutes, which serve to mask the basic premise of common law, as well as requiring lawyers and judges to interpret the increasing complexities, leading, among other things, to judges steering Juries to convict according to points of law, rather than their own conscience. There are currently further oppressive actions taking place to remove the right of Trial by Jury from a range of offences, under the guise of speeding up the court process.

So the legal profession and government, incrementally over time, have veered off-track (not necessarily deliberately or for dark reasons), it’s just the tendency to need to standardise, rationalise and guard-against outlying or extreme outcomes that we don’t want to see in the unfolding of justice; that is to say, the strong tendency to want to control—sometimes for good reasons—has caused us to adopt a form of justice that no longer adheres to the principles of Trial by Jury, (Trial by your Peers), as expressed in Magna Carta 1215.

There is much more to be said here regarding Trial by Jury, (such as the cost free litigation of public officials) and I will be returning to these topics that I have grouped under Governance of Self and Community as they are fundamental to the vision of creating genuinely regenerative communities in the future. Here I’ll let Will Keyte have the final word;

Although there is much repeated negative rhetoric out there about the effectiveness of juries, the truth of the matter, in fact, is that juries are highly regarded by the legal profession itself. Lawyers speak highly of a jury’s ability to tease out the truth often even when the experts in court have failed to see things. And there is a considerable amount of research both in the UK and US on the effectiveness of juries3.

Thanks for reading. Please feel free to comment, criticise or whatever in this ongoing work. The further erosion of Trial by Jury needs to be opposed at every level- also please be prepared to look into this further and support current movements to reinstate Trial by Jury as it should be, as potentially it is the tribunal that guarantees our freedom in an increasingly oppressive state.

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Various things coming up next including the 2026 drought and how that impacted gardening here at Penrhos, some lessons (hopefully) learned and changes to implement for next year and the future.

I’ve also not forgotten more episodes of Heads At The Little Big Farm (I’ve started, so I’ll finish…) so expect another tranche, raft, plethora or whatever the current trendy catchword is, of episodes shortly. Till then, take care all. Hwyl! Chris.

Our discussion or deliberation was undertaken with all seriousness and often as not we would come to an agreement that yes, Mr. Brown’s action had been “just” because he had warned Alan twice and Alan had not taken any notice. Its worth pointing out that the “victim” would be included in this deliberation and would usually agree with a unanimous verdict.

Further, in the playground at primary school, bullying was not tolerated because it was seen as unfair or unjust and older children, myself included, would step in to stop it2.

This sense of knowing what is right and wrong, is where I started on the previous piece on the Golden Rule and leads to the strong argument that there is an objective morality, a moral law that transcends individual opinions and exists somehow outside of humans as a general law of reality, in the same way as there are physical laws, such as the law of gravity.

The alternative to an objective morality is moral relativism whereby everyone decides for themselves what is morally right or not. This has many unfortunate consequences not least being a government likely to impose laws in order to enforce their interpretation of morality on the populace3.

The arguments for an objective morality are strong and voiced by many. For a start, objective morality can be seen as self-evident, in that we notice examples in children (as above) or in ourselves and others. C S Lewis was one vocal proponent and presented numerous reasons which he considered to be self-evident4. Here are a few of his examples;.

When two or more individuals quarrel over some perceived wrong, they are assuming that there is an objective standard of right and wrong, of which each person is aware and which one of them has broken. If there is no objective standard what is the point of the quarrel?

People generally agree that the human idea of decent behaviour is obvious to everyone and some actions are clearly immoral, therefore it is self-evident that an objective moral standard exists.

Though a person might say he does not believe in objective morality, whenever that person is mistreated, they will react as if such a standard exists; “It’s not fair!”

Without an objective measure, it is impossible to compare value systems and there is no way to decide whether civilised morality, where humans treat one another with dignity and respect, is better than say gang rule or rule by the threat of violence.

The words “ought” and “ought not” imply the existence of an objective moral law that mankind recognises and feels obligated to follow. The feeling that I “ought” to behave in a certain way suggests an inherent knowledge of morality.

We tend to make excuses for not behaving appropriately but If we don’t believe in an objective standard of behaviour, then why should we become anxious to make excuses for how we behaved in any given circumstance? We could just go on with our lives without defending ourselves.

Another advocate of objective morality is Lysander Spooner (1808-1887. Great name!). He’s a fascinating character, an American abolitionist, entrepreneur, lawyer, essayist, natural rights legal theorist, pamphleteer, political philosopher, and writer often associated with the Boston anarchist tradition. He wrote extensively on various topics including Natural Law, Objective Morality and Trial by Jury5.

As an individualist, a libertarian and anarchist, Lysander advocated for pre-industrial living in communities of small property holders so that they could pursue life, liberty, happiness, and property in mutual honesty without ceding responsibility to a central government. Trained as a lawyer, he was perhaps inevitably concerned about how a libertarian or anarchist society might allow each other to live in freedom yet still have access to justice when challenges arose. Objective morality provides that measure.

Lysander believed that morality is fundamentally rooted in natural rights and justice. He argued that laws must align with these individual, natural individual rights to be deemed just. He believed that unjust laws should be disobeyed, emphasising the importance of personal moral judgement over government authority. He argued that individuals are morally obligated to resist laws that violate their rights. This perspective emphasises that moral principles are not merely subjective or dictated by government authority but are inherent to human nature.

While having much to say about natural law and objective morality, Lysander reduced moral behaviour to the elegant simplicity of the Golden Rule which I looked at in the previous piece on Governance of Self and Community.

“Don’t do to others what you would not have them do to you.”

Spooner emphasised that each person has an inalienable right to so much personal liberty as he will use without encroaching upon the equal rights of others. Liberty derives from human nature, he argued and cannot be legislated away.

Other contemporary sources here on Substack, provide more detailed descriptions of harmful behaviours that are precluded by objective morality as follows,

• Murder

• Rape

• Assault

• Trespass

• Theft

• Coercion

• Fraud/deception

Will Keyte, also writing on Substack simplifies it further;

• Do no harm

• Cause no loss

• Act with honour

• Call out wrongdoing

This latter injunction is crucial and again can be experienced as self-evidentially objective for when we see wrongdoing, inappropriate or illegal behaviour, our natural sense of justice will tell us we ought to say or do something. However, often we will not act, due to fear of reprisal, or we will dismiss the thought because it is not really our business, or we think our intervention will not make any difference. Yet we know from history that good people not calling out wrongdoing has led to all sorts of terrible troubles. I’ll come back to this in the next piece.

An individualist knows that they have inherent rights so therefore they automatically respect the rights of other individuals. That is equity, or equal rights for all and is expressed as;

Over the years here in the UK I’ve seen a succession of new laws rolled out to, for example, protect various different, minority groups within our current society. Yet it seems to me that the constant creation of legislation is entirely unnecessary if objective morality is recognised and we align our actions, our behaviour with its simple, straightforward tenets. All people will thus be protected, negating the need for individual, specific laws protecting every individual, minority group.

So we can start to see this as the basis for moral behaviour. Our personal freedom then is limited only when our actions deny or constrain another person’s freedom. Equity is all being equal under the law and the community deciding what is and isn’t acceptable. This means that no one is immune from justice.

So in the case where someone within a community appears to have acted in such a way as to limit or restrict another person’s freedom, how should the community decide such things as guilt or punishment?

That will be the subject of the next piece.

Many thanks for reading. This is ongoing work so comments, criticisms, additions, suggestions are always welcome. All images are courtesy of Creative Commons.

Take care all. Hwyl! Chris

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I have also suggested, as have many others, that re-establishing small scale farming would solve multiple challenges that we currently face, particularly if the new dwellings could cluster to form communities, modelled on the traditional, integrated, rural ones of the past.

This begs the question, how are communities, old or new to govern themselves and indeed, how are we as individuals to govern our own behaviour?

Many years ago I felt that I didn’t need laws to tell me what I should or should not do- I wasn’t going to murder or rape or violently assault anyone; I wasn’t going to steal or damage someone else’s property; I wasn’t going to lie or verbally abuse someone else. So why did I need laws to confine me, if I did so myself? I began to wonder then what might be the principles behind what felt like a natural attitude?

Among much reading in the past I became interested in anarchy and various anarchist groups, including those of Spain prior to the start of the Spanish Civil War. In Barcelona at the outbreak of the war, anarchists were the largest political movement and in Andalusia, the largely landless agricultural workers regularly seized control of the pueblos, divided up the land, shared it all out and began to farm both individually and collectively. The Andalusian anarchists seemed closer to the traditional rural communities here in Cymru than the more industrialist syndicates formed by the Barcelona anarchists.,

They simplified their basic principles to a call for Freedom, Equality and Fraternity2.

Freedom, seemed to me related to free will and the freedom to do what I chose to do, when I chose to do it. Thus seems appropriate as gardeners, growers and farmers need to be able to alter their routines and intentions, often rapidly, depending upon ever changing, complex circumstances, like the weather, a broken fence, a crop finishing early, a sick animal, a neighbour needing help and the like.

Yet it was not clear to me what were the limits to this freedom? How could this freedom be enacted if I was enslaved to work in order simply to survive in this current society? What if my freedom imposed on someone else’s freedom?

Equality suggested that the same principles should apply to all, so everyone should be free and equal. Yet how could these be reconciled when one person’s chosen action might conflict with that of another’s and how would such conflicts be resolved?

Fraternity originally related to a group of people associated or organised for a common purpose, interest, or pleasure but the root of the word frater, is brother and originally the term referred only to groups of men, so where did that principle leave women?

As I understood it, in an anarchist sense, fraternity describes groups of individuals who come together by free association to carry out some necessary activity which is difficult or impossible for a single person to do. The members associate freely and may leave at any time they choose, without blame or fault, or they may choose to continue until the task is completed.

This latter point seemed closely related to some of the activities of the Welsh tyddynwyr (and of course other rural communities) who would join together to complete various agricultural tasks like gathering or shearing sheep and even some quite considerable collective ventures such as building a chapel.

However, in reading some of the accounts of the Spanish Civil War I learned that at the beginning of the war the anarchists released all the prisoners from the various prisons; this was because they did not believe in hierarchies or exclusion, resulting in convicts including previously convicted murderers and rapists, being freed onto the streets of Barcelona.

So it was not clear to me at all how anarchists dealt with justice and I will return to this in a later piece. For now I’m going to look at something that struck me for its elegant simplicity, many years ago, namely the idea “Do as you would be done by”, which I first came across in an English Bible. The actual quote follows below;

“So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you, for this sums up the Law and the Prophets.”

Christianity. Matthew 7:12

This seemed like a simple principle to guide behaviour and over the years I was intrigued to come across the same principle again and again in a wide range of cultures, some very ancient. This was sometimes referred to as the Prime Directive3 but is more commonly known as the Golden Rule, as the examples below show4;

“Hurt not others with that which pains yourself.”

Buddhism; the Udana-Varqa 5.18.

“No one of you is a believer until he desires for his brother that which he desires for himself.”

Islam. Al-Nawawi’s Forty Hadiths, 13.

“This is the sum of duty; do nought to others which if done to thee would give thee pain.”

Hinduism; the Mahabharata. 5:1517

“That nature only is good when it shall not do unto another whatever is not good for its own self.”

Zoroastrianism; Dadistan-i-Dinik.

“What you don’t want done to yourself, don’t do to others.”

Confucianism; Analects 15:23

“That which you hate to be done to you, do not do to another.”

Ancient Egypt. The Tale of the Eloquent Peasant

“May I do to others as I would that they do unto me.”

Classical Paganism. Plato.

“Do not wrong or hate your neighbour. For it is not he who you wrong, but yourself”.

Native American. Pima.

“What is hateful to you, do not to your fellow man, that is the entire law, all the rest is commentary.”

Judaism; Talmud. Shabbat 31a.

There are certainly many more expressions of this Golden Rule that I have not yet come across. What is important here is that this principle can be seen to be common to multiple faiths, beliefs and time periods, suggesting a very ancient, common origin.

Its also worth noting that several of the texts refer to the principle as being the entire law, or it sums up the laws, or it is the sum of duty, implying that this single principle is sufficient in itself to live your life by.

Finally, in some examples it is given in the negative (the apophatic5) so

“do not do to others what you would not have them do to you”

thus an injunction on how not to behave. If we now consider those earlier, anarchist ideas of freedom and equality, we can start to see how they might relate to produce a coherent system.

From my more recent studies I was surprised (amazed actually!) to find that this lies at the very foundation of Common Law6, otherwise known as The Law Of The Land and The Law of The People and I will look in more detail at that in later pieces on Governance of Self and Community.

Thanks for reading. I really welcome comments, criticisms, suggestions, additions whatever. This is ongoing work, research and study for me so I see this and the pieces that follow as draft documents, hence open to revision and correction.

Take care all. Hwyl! Chris.

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Onto the hard division of the dwelling into separate, distinct areas, such as attic, cellar, bathroom, living room, bedroom, can be projected the fragmentation of consciousness experienced by the separatists.

Konsk: Appendices; Matterns, Patterns, Maps and Paps.

Once again outside, Twm the dog squatted awkwardly on the cold, stone surface, uneven legs folded painfully beneath the misshapen body. In the darkness he was observing the exterior of the cave complex that was not a cave complex but rather a house, as Learner had named it. Apparently he was looking at the front of the house. This provided a partial explanation as to why the primary opening was named front door.

From here he can make out its resemblance to a huge head. The lighted windows on the upper levels are the eyes, the lids closing from the sides, like those of the scaly tree climber. The open front door lets a tongue of light lap out across the entrance ledges, or steps as Learner has named them. The interior of house echoes to the sound of unknown musics and a growing babble of unintelligible voices.

He had hoped to see the return of the intelligent one and the young girl but it was not to be; Twm wondered what this might signify. Neither was the dreaming Erak’s monster visible; the place where it usually leaned against the stone tree, fastened there with a stout metal rope and closing device, was vacant. Further, the tree bit thing stuck outside the dwelling as if a banner or other symbol, had an additional object attached to it, partially covering the original message.

Even more significantly, as the great light passed below a distant horizon that was obscured by the many towering structures and the sky grew darker, other, unknown indies began to arrive at the house. At first Twm recorded their numbers through the use of markers, nudging stones about with his nose. After he had reached a count of five markers, each representing five indies, he gave up; rather than trying to achieve a wholly accurate count, the word-label lots seemed perfectly adequate.

These indies were very varied, including many wearing black skins like the dreaming Erak, decorated with metal fragments, fringed strips, simple diagrams and the peculiarly decorative shapes writ large representing individual words. These ones stamped and shouted and pushed one another as they made their way up the steps and entered the structure. They carried containers with them and would stop to swig noisily at the liquids sloshing within. Most carried the thin, burning cylinders, so prevalent amongst the hewbies of this now and exhaled plumes of grey smoke.

Twm was wary of the black clad indies but more interested in the many females who also arrived, burdened with a wider variety of garments. These garments seemed to be of a rather impractical nature to Twm, being as they had holes and gaps in them that would easily admit a cold draught or gust of rain. However, he considered that the garments were contrived specifically so as to emphasise the female shape, the holes and gaps revealing large areas of flesh, so he was not too concerned about the impracticality and occupied his time by making a careful study of each body.

Unlike females of the deep past, in this now, breasts appeared to be pointier and positioned higher up on the body, sometimes so separated as to be looking in different directions, others pushed together so tightly as to create a dark crevasse between the rounded inner curves. It didn’t look very comfortable.

Most of the female faces were painted; the skin surrounding the eyes often shaded blue, green or even black, like bruises. The lips were also coloured, usually red like blood, as though to emphasise the correspondence with their other lips. He wagged his stump of a tail as he envisioned this.

Meanwhile the sky first darkened then took on its usual, dreary orange hue as the fruits topping the stone tree trunks lit up. Similarly, lights began to appear behind the various winders in the house. The sources of the lights were glowing, incandescent objects suspended from the upper surfaces of each cave. More and more appeared until all the inner caves were illuminated save for the one occupied by Learner which remained dark with only the dim glow of the display device reducing the shadow to a baleful flickering. Twm wondered briefly what his friend Learner would be making of all the noise and bustle going on around him.

It was clear that a gathering was occurring. At first he thought that perhaps a discussion group was forming to debate some aspect of the ongoing catastrophe. The sudden sounds of something akin to music made him reject this possibility. This music was loud, even from where he sat and he assumed that within the structure it would make reasoned speech a challenge, if not impossible. It was dominated by a fast, rigid rhythm, roughly twice the speed of a relaxed heart beat. Twm felt the beat in his body where it stimulated the energy flow of his endocrine system and mediated the influx of various hormones and other chemicals into his blood stream. The one responsible for excitement (adrenalin, though he did not yet know it by that name) was especially notable.

In response to his dog’s body’s autonomic reaction he stood up and began to lollop on the spot in time with the deep drum beat. Thus buzzing from the rush of excitement he was further stimulated by the arrival of significant others. The first being his dreaming brother, Erak, walking.

Twm could see that Erak wore his usual costume of the black skins of animals though he had omitted his warrior helm. Instead he carried an open topped container of the rigid transparent material, an amber coloured fluid sloshing within. The amber liquid was downed in a single huge gulp and the container discarded, in a rather casual manner, thought Twm, being hurled upwards to impact on the top of the structure, shattering into a large number of tiny, glinting pieces.

Twm thought at first that his dreaming brother was dancing to the incessant, repetitive rhythm, for he made little hops and half leaps, ever and again pretending to stumble. Then Erak grasped the flag like construction that had been planted in the front of the dwelling, uprooted it and threw it down whereupon he began to leap energetically on it; Twm cocked an ear, intrigued. Erak disappeared into the ground. The dog had time to urinate against a stone tree post before Erak reappeared.

Suddenly Erak turned and seemed to stare straight at Twm who, smitten by the terrifying gaze, shrank back into the shadows. Erak scanned to either side, somehow aware of an observing presence, then shrugged and went into the main dwelling through the front door. Twm relaxed again and breathed more easily.

Something about his dreaming brother’s performance struck Twm as odd, namely, that it was a performance, an act of pretence. He lay pondering this and waited to see what happened next.

He did not have long to wait before he was roused by the arrival of the intelligent one clutching a package. So he was still here! Then there was yet the hope of delivering the strong message!

Unlike Erak, this one made no pretence of inebriation and rather than entering the front door, stood immobile in the shadows for a long moment, staring across at the structure in all its blaze of light and sound. It was almost as if he were hiding, Twm speculated; perhaps he was frightened? Not surprising really. Or perhaps it was a ritual?

This latter thought seemed to be confirmed for the intelligent one turned as though to go, walked several paces then halted, paused, turned around and made his way once more towards the structure, back to exactly the same spot he had been standing on before. He repeated this performance several times (the count of three claws) before eventually lifting his shoulders, straightening his back, shaking his head and going in. Twm liked the repetition but felt more humour could have been introduced, perhaps by pretending to drop the package or something similar.

Next, with a little leap of his doggie heart, Twm saw the half-starved female approaching. She spotted him immediately, crouching in the shadows under the shrubbery and crossed the road towards him.

“Hiya boy,” she called as he perked up his ears. “How ya doin’?”

She came right up to him and tousled the great head. Twm, delighted at the contact, danced from one front foot to the other then stuffed his nose up under the young woman’s minuscule skirt, getting a good sniff of her. She squeaked at the wet, nosy contact on her thighs but only laughed. She pushed his doggy head away mildly, with no anger; such are the advantages of being in possession of the body of one who usually hunts in packs when encountering hewbee females with a love of animals.

Dawn straightened her skirt. She had chosen her clothes for the night’s mission with especial care, keeping her goals clear in her mind. The blue leather jacket was open over a crop top, so short and cropped that it barely concealed either the lower curve of her breasts below or her nipples above. The diminutive black skirt perched precariously low on her hips, so much so that the pink waistband of her panties was clearly visible at her waist. Rather than the more obvious fishnets she had gone for very long, mauve socks, rolled at mid thigh to leave a good hands-width of bare flesh before the hem of her skirt began. She’d selected her biggest boots with leg-warmers bunched at her ankles, to really emphasise the skinniness of her legs.

“Whadja think, boy?” She enquired of Twm, spinning lightly before him.

Twm’s tongue wagged from one side of his mouth to the other in abject appreciation approaching worship. He made a go for her skirt again. She laughed and turned to avoid him easily this time.

“You’re keen, aintcha?” She said.

Twm nodded his head and barked in excited agreement. He was indeed but it was obvious that nothing would come of it; such are the disadvantages of being in possession of the body of one who usually hunts in packs when encountering hewbee females, even when they have a great love of animals. Twm growled several of the dreaming Erak’s power words in frustration.

“You ought to come with us,” Dawn said brightly. “You an’ your master. Come and live at the farm. You’d like that; trees and grass and stuff,” she went on, turning to the many structures around them. “Better than all this crap, eh?”

Though he did not understand all she said, Twm could not have agreed more. He whined softly and sat next to her, bald shoulder against her thigh.

“He’s in, is he?” Dawn asked suddenly.

She turned to the house, noting Learner’s darkened window. Twm nodded.

“He needs some help, I think,” she said quietly.

Twm yelped in complete agreement and she laughed down at him.

“Come on, then,” Dawn said to the dog. “You can be my date for the night. Well, for the start of the night anyway- till that super intelligent one shows up, eh?”

Twm’s ears jerked upwards at the name; the intelligent one!.

“Then there’s some devious action to come,” Dawn went on, “Some extremely devious plans to unfold.”

Twm wasn’t convinced that she was totally happy about these deviant planks, but she winked conspiratorially at him and he couldn’t help but gaze up in admiration.

“Let the party begin,” she announced grandly and side by side, the two crossed the street towards the house.

Thanks for reading. Comments always welcome. The image is a composite based on two AI generated images at Perchance.org, a free generator with no sign up. Not something I generally use and not really lazy as I then spent a while in Gimp, the excellent open source image editor, tweaking everything. I really should just get my pen and sketchbook out…

Next up in Heads At The Little Big Farm, The Churn, namely the party. Will it all come together and work out for the best? We shall see.

I’m currently working on several pieces about Governance, of self and community but they are taking a bit of time to get right, or righter…

Take care all. Hwyl! Chris.

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Character or personality may be imagined as semi-autonomous vortices that form within the undifferentiated flow of Konsk and persist for some limited time. The vortices manifest at the time\space horizon as apparent individuals.

Konsk appendices: definitions.

The story of Twm’s banishment is simple. The display device had begun operating again and Learner had seated himself before it with a huge sigh of relief. Once more his face had taken on the quivering mask of attention, eyes flickering as he followed the actions that unfolded before him, the muscles of his forehead and cheeks, lips and jaw, subtly reflecting the emotions and conflicts projected on the display surface. At particular moments he would groan or laugh, whisper or shout, exclaim words of encouragement or denial, fear or disbelief, his own emotional and cognitive state becoming ever more intimately bonded to the controlling narrative unfolding from the ever changing moving images.

However, the faulty signal had not improved and had even worsened. Whether this was internal to the device or a problem with reception is not clear. It may be that Trueman, preparing for his final departure, having removed the various satellite receivers and transmitters affixed to the roof of the terraced house had inadvertently nudged the VHF aerial. The consequence was that intermittent, light snowstorms would suddenly billow across the sequences of moving images, much to Learner’s annoyance.

The interference was related partially to the atmospheric conditions, including sunspot activity but also to the proximity and movement of Learner and Twm themselves. As Learner was generally static, squatting or otherwise recumbent before the baleful glare of TeeVee, he gradually came to connect the occurrence of the interference with Twm.

“Be still!” he would shout angrily. Or, “Sit and stay!” And even, “Bad dog!”

Finally Learner physically removed Twm from the cave complex. He grasped the dog by the scruff of the neck and hauled him to the main opening, thrusting him outside, accompanying the action with a string of fierce words.

“Gerr out, ya stinky dog,” went the word string, “Yer interferin’ with me education. I gorra learn stuff, ain’t I? An you’re just pissin’ about with all this rubbish stuff. Do summin’ useful for a change, eh? Go fine some food or summat! Bloody useless animal you is. An’ you don’ half smell bad, too!”

Twm did not comment upon Learner’s own smell that was also bad, ver bad in deed. He assumed this was due to the consumption of so much poisoned or contaminated food as well as the simple fact that Learner had made no attempt to clean himself since his initial possession of the new body. This had become even more necessary after the laborious cleansing of the narrow way and shrine that, while leaving the spaces relatively pristine, had resulted in Learner becoming much less so.

So the Dog Twm was banished, at least temporarily. He went out and crossed the open way before the house, copying a series of actions he had observed on the display device, when he had still been allowed to observe it. This involved a sequence of head turning, from the light side to the dark side and back again.

Of course, being a naturally creative individual instance of Konsk (as are all hewbies, did they but realise it) Twm had added other gestures and poses that were more meaningful to him. These included raising each leg in turn, pointing low to the ground with his wet nose and producing a string of barks and yelps designed to warn the moving containers (cars, buses and lories) of his intention to cross their path. This latter did not appear to have any effect. However, by remembering to voice the power string, he succeeded in crossing safely.

“If all’s clear,” he growled, “Then cross, quick like. But walk, don’ run! Walk, don’ run!”

He repeated Walk, don’ run! until he was safely across. Having reached the relative security of the raised strip on the further side, he turned back towards the house and seated himself beneath the arching boughs of an unknown plant. Here in the shadows he sat, contemplating the actions of his brother and friend, meditating on the loss of contact with the other members of his family in the deep past and generally wondering what to do next.

Thus positioned, the Dog Twm was ideally placed to observe the many, many hewbies of the Really Heavy Now who passed before him. So many, beyond count even with markers, going about their mysterious activities that made up their mysterious lives. Included amongst these observations were the occasional sightings of the other denizens of the further reaches of the cave complex, or rather, house, that he and Learner occupied.

Here, for example, came the starved female who occupied the space directly above them. On this occasion she skipped happily down the flat stones of the entrance as though embarking on a joyous game. Her burdensome garments on this cool but sunny day were light and clung to her thin frame, emphasising the curve of her narrow waist and the jut of her breasts.

“Deep, Dôn,” the Dog Twm muttered, tongue flapping. “Deep, deep.”

On her return, her buoyant good humour appeared to have vanished. She walked as though she carried a burden, other than the garments, shoulders stooped, head lowered. Twm could see that beneath a false smile she wore another mask, this one of despair.

“Wot’s up, Dôn?” he reflected, concerned.

Twm was startled to see her turn and look directly at him. He nearly leapt back into the deeper shadows but remembered his doggy disguise. The female stared at him then smiled and raised a hand, her dark one, to wave.

“Wotcha, dog,” she called, “Cheer up, buddy, can’t be that bad!”

Twm perked up his ears (one ear, the left, was better at this than the other), though it was as if she were chiding herself. He did like this female, half starved as she was.

She made like a panting face and wagged her tongue at him. Twm barked in reply and she laughed then turned and hurried into the house.

At other times he would watch the raging one who dwelt below, who he knew now to be his brother Erak of the deep past. He presumed that Erak was a warrior in this now, for he wore a form of headpiece that was akin to those manufactured by the metal workers of Twm and Learner’s time. Like those warriors, he also cloaked his body in the dark skins of animals.

Twm could hear Erak’s great, black, foot objects stamping on the hard, stone ground. He seemed to ooze a rage that clung about him like a dark shadow. Like the female, Dôn, this raging one would at times turn and stare towards him. Unlike with the female, Twm would shrink back into the shadows before the other could notice him.

He was also able to observe Erak’s relationship with the dragon that was not a dragon but simply a constructed device, however complicated it might be. Erak would treat it as though it manifested life, as in truth did all things, patting parts of it and muttering crooning words.

Then he would leap astride the device and heartily stand on a lever. The dragon would awake, though not always on the first attempt, or even the second, but eventually with a great bellow and snort of blue smoke. Then, apparently by turning part of the handhold on the device, the angry Erak could make it scream, splutter and cough before raising his legs and lo! The two went hurtling off in a great wail of noise and mist!

Twm shuddered. The vision was in many ways terrifying in the mystery of its immense power but more to the point, he could recognise clearly in the angry movements of this skin clad warrior the stilted frustration of his other brother from the distant past, the dreaming Erak.

As these thoughts arose, Twm would whimper and lie flat upon the floor, his bent and dripping nose cradled between the clumsy paws. The red and rheumy eyes would hide behind their enclosing lids as he pondered the vast difficulties associated with this connection. For if the dreaming Erak was indeed here, present, possessed of a body in The Really Heavy Now, then did this mean that Erak of the Deep Past was not mad at all but rather just confused and hurt, a stranger in a strange now, as too were Twm and Learner? Or did that mean that he and Learner were in fact mad, possessed of a great dream, a dream of a distant past and Konsk, the all inclusive?

He whined. These thoughts were too much for his doggy brain.

Then he turned his attention to the other occupants of the cave complex for here came the intelligent one. Now he felt happier, for surely this was the one they were to seek out, the one who was to receive the strong message, who might save them all.

Twm sat up straighter. For several cycles this one had been bringing containers out of the cave complex and depositing them in various, large, moving containers (car, bus or lorry, Twm wasn’t sure which), that drew up before the main opening, were filled with containers before they rushed away to some unknown destination.

Another car bus or lorry was operated by the intelligent one himself. This he would gradually fill with yet more containers of a wide variety of size, shape and material, so much stuff that there was barely room for him to squeeze in. Then the container would loudly announce its departure. It would return eventually, perhaps in the time of darkness, occasionally on the following day. Each time it returned, it would be empty of containers. Just the intelligent one and the young girl who assisted him.

This young girl might carry the smaller containers or would pull at the intelligent one’s garments to attract his attention. He would bend low to bring his ear level with her mouth. Presumably she whispered some message to him for often as not he would straighten with a start, raise a finger, then hurry within to return after a few moments with additional objects that he would hastily stuff into one of the other containers. The intelligent one would then retrieve a small object from an inner contrivance in his garments and point at it with a little, thin stick, as though to make marks upon its surface.

Twm was intrigued for he was reminded of Smiler making notches upon sticks for the purpose of recording information. Perhaps there was indeed a similarity?

Twm liked this little girl for she seemed relatively untroubled by the madness of The Really Heavy Now, remaining calm and relaxed even when the intelligent one appeared to panic, as though a large carnivore was about to leap upon him. He would rush from container to container, running his finger across the peculiar repetitive sequences of decorative shapes and consulting his notching device. Sweat would bead upon his forehead and he would shake his head or suddenly become motionless as though falling into a waking dream. The young girl would merely tug at the burden on his arm then point at a container he had overlooked or again, whisper in his ear and he would visibly relax, the pained expression replaced by one of relief.

Yes, Twm did indeed like this young girl. Not least because she would always look for him and wave both hands while flashing the smile of genuine affection. When this occurred Twm would yelp with delight and turn so that she could see how the ragged stump of his tail wagged with glee. He would have liked to run in the green spaces with her for she looked as though she could play.

There was something about the combination of her diminutive size and apparent youth yet a quiet wisdom that reminded him of some of the members of his own true family. As he remembered he was filled with a great sadness and yearning, for his own deep past, for his own true friends, his sisters and brothers of the fair family and their forest home. Then he would gnaw his paws in anguish and tell himself that there was only one family and that no matter how mad the hewbies of The Really Heavy Now might appear to be, they were all still part of it.

It was just that this young girl seemed in many ways to be so close; so close in her lithe, economical gestures, her patient guidance of the intelligent one, her quiet confidence. If Twm looked with his dreaming eye, he could see a tawny bird, the eye of the night, perch or hover at her dark shoulder. Surely this one was an indie of great power, perhaps manifest in this present as a guide or teacher?

At last the intelligent one stopped bringing out his burdensome objects, loading what were proved later to be the last ones onto his moving container. He stood with the little girl and they both stared back towards the house. The he clambered into the laden device and beckoned to the young one. She turned, looked directly at Twm and smiling, waved her dark hand at him with a sad look to her face. Then she too disappeared within the vehicle and with a roar and a puff of black smoke, they were gone.

Though Twm returned to his place of banishment over several cycles, they did not return.

Erak did. He stood before the house, stamping to and fro, looking along the wide way, his shadow of anger swirling about him. He waited for a time and half a time and then became motionless as the half starved Dôn appeared. The two faced each other and Twm crept stealthily nearer, keeping to the shadow, until he could hear their exchange.

“You got the cable ties?” Erak was asking. Dôn nodded.

“And the duct tape, “she said, “The strong stuff, like you said.”

This seemed to please Erak. He grinned and the shadow of anger became tinged with a growing excitement. Twm had no idea what a duck tap was.

“An’ I’ve seen each o’ the dealers,” Erak continued, “They know what times I’ll see ‘em and where. All you gotta do is bring ‘em in, one by one, OK?”

“Course, Spice,” Dôn replied, “If this is how you wanna do it.”

“Too right it is, baby,” Erak said very definitely, “This is our fuckin’ ticket outta here! I do the business and we disappear!”

Twm sensed Dôn was not completely happy with whatever they were discussing.

“Besides,” Erak went on, “It’s gonna be fuckin’ fun!”

He made a fist of his dark hand and smacked it loud into his other, open palm. The gappy grin that twisted upon his face made Twm shudder, for it was distinctly dark in intent.

Thanks again for reading. I’m finding this ongoing heatwave most frustrating, there being plenty of things I would like to do outside but apart from a few hours first thing in the morning and the same at the end of the day, the heat is too much for me and I retreat within.

Hence the opportunity to crack on with Heads At The Little Big Farm. I’m also working on an ESP Adapt piece dealing with governance of the self and community which is taking a while longer than I thought but deserves the time to try and get it right.

Till the next time, take care all and stay cool. Hwyl! Chris.

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Of all the great and lasting benefits brought about by the civilisation of man, none can compare to the enslavement of the many to the concept of noble work for the enrichment of the very few.

Konsk: Lies, insanities and other bollocks.

“Eh, lad!” Twm barked, seizing the opportunity. “Chance ta clear up all t’sheet, eh?”

Grasping one of Learner’s arm coverings between his teeth, he tugged his moaning friend and brother from the room, leading him to the shrine.

“Nah, look, care full, like,” he growled. “See ting on a side, there? Bit like on the door, i’n’t it?”

Learner strove to rouse himself from the pit of his depression. It was clear that during his, obsessive study of TeeVee, Twm had undertaken his own considered research and had reached the stage of a speculative hypothesis and awaited only a tentative experiment.

“Maybe it turn, eh?” he suggested. “Like onna doors. Maybe it do summat?”

Learner’s stooped back straightened; yes, the damn dog could be right, the thing on the side did resemble the turning things on the doors.

“Maybe,” he whispered, uncertain. “It do look bit like a turny ting. They called handle, by the way,” he explained, allowing a certain smugness to return to his voice. “Only it’s metal,” he shuddered.

“Use diss,” Twm’s dog voice was muffled by the material he had picked up between his teeth.

Learner concealed a sudden rise of admiration for Twm’s ingenious thinking; somewhere in the back of his head, another container appeared in the entrance to the imagined cave, this one filled with suppressed praise.

Twm had selected a tough piece of material, a garment, that Learner could hold in order to avoid direct contact with the metal. Carefully he applied the rag to the handle then grasped it. He turned it a fraction.

“Yeah,” he commented. “It do turn. We’s right, I think. See, only go one way. Not up, just down. Quite stiff. I give it a good turnin’.”

He did so. There came a great gurgling rush of sound then water loudly appeared and splashed, rising within the ceramic vessel. The two leapt back in horror.

“Ah, nar,” said Learner, aghast as the water and excrement swirled and rose, finally overtopping the rim of the vessel and pouring out in a smelly, brown torrent.

“Hmm,” mused Twm. “Prob’ly should a done that a bit earlier.”

They retreated before the flood but fortunately the overflowing soon ceased. The contents of the shrine swirled madly around and then disappeared with a final awesome gulp, downwards, into the depths. The two were left contemplating the sound of water pouring somewhere below.

“Gore,” said Twm, impressed by all the noisy activity.

After a few moments, Learner returned to the shrine and once more turned the handle. They were rewarded by the repetition of the sluicing water but this time no outpouring occurred.

“Guess that’s where all a sheet goes, den.” Twm pronounced and so it was.

Twm then led Learner to the little cave outside (the TeeVee addict named it shed) and pointed out, with his bent nose, a device that he thought might be suitable for the task.

“Burryin’ ting?” He suggested.

It did resemble an object that Learner had seen on TeeVee, usually being employed to bury hewbies who were pretending to be dead or occasionally fake bodies, known as dummies.

“’Sa shuffle,” Learner explained, rather smugly again, Twm thought.

However, any trace of smugness soon vanished as Learner began to use the shuffle to clear up Twm’s many piles of excrement. Though the business end of the shuffle was metal, it had a wooden handle and Learner soon came to terms with its usage. He methodically scraped up the droppings and laboriously carried them to the shrine.

The smell in the enclosed space was appalling, not helped by an abnormal rise in temperature as the late spring sun beamed down its radiative energy. Flies began to gather in considerable numbers and Learner was forced to wrap a garment about his head in an effort both to reduce the smell and ward off the flies; it was not very successful in either case.

Lacking opposing thumbs, Twm the dog was not really able to help in the undertaking of this Herculean labour. He sat patiently by the shrine and advised Learner when it was necessary to turn the handle and send the next batch of dross on its unknown voyage.

For Learner, the return to the outside became harder and harder. What with the smell and the considerable work still to be done, his mind was drawn back TeeVee, over and over. The thought of what he was missing was like a constant nagging voice, ever pulling him towards the great device. As he thought of a favourite sequence of moving images, he would moan with an intensity of longing that would have frightened him had he not been distracted by his current toil.

After depositing each burden in the shrine (not easy, as it tended to stick to the shuffle) he would dart his head hopefully within the main cave but on each occasion the display surface remained dark. Learner would whimper and even shake a little, then turn once more and go out into the awful stench and the buzzing of flies.

“Do smell ver’ bad,” Twm agreed sympathetically.

Learner ignored him. He was beginning to feel annoyed, though he was not yet sure why or about what; missing TeeVee or his doggie friend’s inability to help or the horrible, pointless but apparently necessary work, all combined to create a rising blur of anger.

This growing anger was not helped by the fact that other hewbies from the adjacent cave complex were aware of his activities. Faces appeared from behind the rigid transparent material (winders), twitching material aside to spy upon him. Some simply looked down but others went so far as to open these winders, lean out and shout down upon the labourer.

“’Bout bloody time!” Yelled one, fiercely.

“Disgusting!” Was another’s angry comment. “Shouldn’t be allowed. Should call the environmental health department!”

However, they did not stay leaning out for long, what with the smell being so bad but hurriedly closed their winders and stared down from within. Learner strove to ignore them but ever and again his eye was drawn upwards; there were the hewbies, looking down upon him, laughing at his strenuous exertions, his honest toil. Some even made gestures at him, the raised finger or two, the shaken fist. Learner began to mouth the dreaming Erak’s power words under his breath.

Each time he returned to the shrine he was greeted by the Dog, Twm, who wagged his stumpy tail and did a little, staggering dance in an effort to keep his brother’s spirits up and lighten his burdensome task. In fact this had the opposite effect for by the simple act of repetition and association, Learner found more and more that the Dog Twm was becoming the focus of his anger.

“Bastad!” he whispered as he returned once more to the outside. “He done it all, ain’t he? He don’t clear it up, do he? He make trouble for poor ol’ Learner. Make every one hate me. They’s all cross ‘n’ grumpy, all shouty. But he don’t do nuthin’, he just keep sittin’ ‘n’ making fun o’ me. Bastad!”

Twm grew aware of his friend’s changing mood and even suggested taking a break.

“Could do some real work,” he said. “Could clear out yer inside cave a bit mo’, yeah?”

“Don’ wanna,” Learner muttered crossly. “Gotta get this work done. Then watch TeeVee, ok? Twat!” he added, only just under his breath.

Twm was now getting quite worried. He could see how each trip to the shrine with the obnoxious load increased Learner’s distress but could find no way to break him out of the repetitive pattern. He tried adopting different comical poses; so Learner would enter the shrine cave to find the dog lying on his back with his legs in the air as though dead or on another occasion, squatting awkwardly on the shrine itself, pretending to strain. The first time a grin almost appeared on Learner’s sweating face but he managed to hide it, twisting it into a snarl.

“All right fer you,” he said. “Just muckin’ about while I do all the hard work!”

When the third comical posture (putting his head down the shrine and making vomiting noises) achieved nothing, Twm abandoned all attempts and returned to the main cave. There he sat upon the bulky thing that was too soft for hewbies but as a dog he found perfect. He lay down and went to sleep for a short age or so.

Eventually there came a time when the bulk of the excrement had been scraped from the narrow way and sent down the mysterious shrine to its unknown destination. Twm woke up to the sound of Learner’s shouts of triumph and came to see what was happening. The two stared down the shrine.

“Mebbe made over big hole?” Learner speculated. “Hope it don’ fill up.”

“All going down into t’dark,” Twm mused, “Where it won’t do nothin’. Worra ‘bout the poor, hungry beetles, eh?”

Now, though he had not been able to help with the physical labour, once again Twm proved himself to be essential in that during his time away from TeeVee he had not only explored the surroundings but also applied some of his limited knowledge gained from the said device. Thus was he able to point out to Learner not only the location of the mysterious hosepipe that the intelligent one had referred to (hanging up in the shed) but also direct his friend in attaching it by its own turny ting to the metal pipe that dripped. Tap, Learner named this. Twm approved of the label, partly because it was nice and short but also because it sounded cool. He repeated it over and over accompanied by little skipping dances until Learner ordered him to shut it!

Making good use of the garment material to avoid contact with the metal, Learner successfully attached the pipe and turned on the tap. After a few moments during which the pipe twitched and writhed (they stood back from it warily) water began to gush from the end. Oh, Twm did dance and gambol with the excitement of it all, reassured that even The Really Heavy Now could have moments of pure fun!

Learner refused to join in however and worried when the flood of water began to make its way into the main cave and disappear through the gaps between the tree bits that made up the ground, or floor as he now termed it. Luckily, the angry biker was out at the time.

Learner grasped the end of the pipe and took it outside where he directed the gush of water at the ground. Working methodically from one end of the narrow space he used the water to sluice the remaining excrement towards a metal cover that Twm had pointed out. The dog had noticed during heavy rain that this is where the water went. He was correct. The swirl of muddy brown water gurgled downward. Strange thought Twm, how they deal with water and crap in this Really Heavy Now, getting rid of it as fast as possible, like they don’t like it or were even afraid of it.

“Drain,” Learner named it, as though the naming gained him control or even possession over it.

The naming did not help. Unable to cope with the quantity of water born sediment, the drain blocked up and soon a large puddle threatened to become a small lake. Learner began to panic, rushing up and down the narrow way with the hosepipe continuing to gush noisily. Twm, steadfast as ever, appeared with a thin stick and directed Learner to poke it down the drain. He did so and after some exploratory prodding was rewarded by a series of noisy gurgles and gulps and the sight of the smelly water sinking from view.

“Pasta la Vista, Bobby!” Exclaimed Learner, triumphantly.

Twm was baffled though; surely this event, noisome as it may have been, had provided the opportunity for fun and laughter, for playful exploration and discovery? Yet Learner had chosen to make it hard and unpleasant and excluded all choices of action save for gerrin’ on with my work! To what end? Simply that it would be over and done with and he would be free to return to his other activities, or rather, activity; namely, watching TeeVee and what sort of activity was that?

Thus was there no room for joy in the current task and the immanent present had been sacrificed for an unknown future. Now Twm could see clearly that his friend and brother had fallen under the influence of a great and terrible hippo and was temporarily lost to reason and love, caught within its powerful grip.

“Gotta get it done,” Learner muttered, over and over. “Gotta finish my work.”

Once the narrow way was cleaned he went within the cave and directed the hosepipe at the small cave of the shrine. By combining the use of the hosepipe with another device that Twm retrieved from the shed (brush, Learner named this one) he succeeded in removing most if not all of the traces of the earlier outpouring, fiercely brushing the waste outside and down the drain. Even when Twm considered that the task had been completed effectively, Learner continued to brush, almost in a frenzy, as though seeking to rid the shrine of the slightest trace of what he now called dirt.

Then he seized upon a small, clear container of coloured liquid. The opening was curiously shaped, curved.

“Toil at duck,” he muttered darkly. “Reachin’ where udders can’t. Right up unner the rim, see?”

He squeezed the container and directed the resulting jet of blue liquid at the shrine- it smelled extremely poisonous to Twm. Then, taking a small piece of material he began to rub away at the ceramic vessel until it fairly gleamed.

“Spic ‘n’ span,” Learner chanted to himself. “Spic ‘n’ span, spiccy spanny. Do my work ‘n’ alls well with the world, i’n’t it?”

At this point he turned from his vigorous activity and looked the Dog Twm straight in the eye. He held the gaze only momentarily before turning away, back to his fevered polishing and muttering.

Twm, the dog, shuddered involuntarily. For in that momentary glance he had seen something, something dark that he recognised, that he had seen in the eyes of certain others, both in his own deep past and here in the great madness of The Really Heavy Now.

Somewhere, behind the eyes of his long time friend and brother, his fellow traveller across those vast distances of space and time, Twm had glimpsed imaginings of violence, destruction and worse, of murder.

A warm welcome to new subscribers. Here’s the next chapter from the ongoing meta-pata-fiction, Konsk. For some explanations and where to start please look here. Also, please note that some of the chapters are incorrectly numbered - my bad, sorry - but they do appear in the correct order on my Substack site, under the fiction tab.

Ongoing heat here (the second day of over 30 degrees in this current wave) means I’m driven indoors and there’s plenty of solar power, hence I’m continuing to edit this draft and post chapters when I think they’re ready.

Comments always welcome. Stay cool. Hwyl! Chris.

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MATTERN and matterning: derivation from matron, maternal, as in an ideal model, a perfect example. With particular reference to the visual media, as meshes, nets, webs and other such interconnected representations that tend towards holism and integration. (See also its opposite PATTERN and patterning, Maps and Paps).

Konsk. Definitions.

As Learner was drawn once more to his addiction, Twm continued with his artistic endeavours. He had steadily rearranged much of the debris that had previously covered the surface of the main cave (or room, apparently), to represent the swirling spirals so reminiscent, to him, of the vortices within Konsk, reproducing their complex curves through the precise placement of the various materials available to him.

Thus the greater curves were delineated with larger lumps of the soft stone (plaster, Learner informed him) that in turn broke and separated into ever finer repetitions, picked out with smaller and smaller pieces of stone, wood and the thin tree bit material (paper and cardboard, Learner named them).

There was a practical element to the work also in that it left spaces clear of debris, defining paths that curled through the room and led outward into the other, smaller rooms. These approaches were further marked with relevant objects. Thus the entrance way to the storage room was flanked by stacked, empty containers, loudly displaying their visual clues as to their devoured contents.

Similarly, the approach to the opening that led to the front door presented clear signs as to the dangers that lay beyond it. These included simple representations of the moving containers made from arrangements of stone and wood, indications of the many, many hewbies as loose crowds of twigs set upright in the gaps between the floor surface and even an image of the dreaming Erak’s monster, drawn with a burnt stick from the fire pit upon a piece of cardboard. This had been something of a challenge for Twm, the dog, lacking as he was in opposable thumbs.

Twm, in his role as artist, was not dissatisfied with the work. He had succeeded in representing something of the complex flow of Konsk and the interaction with the space/time horizon. He had also included narrative elements in that the story of Learner’s arrival in the Really Heavy Now and his (Twm’s) own subsequent insertion as an ally were defined by linear strands of suitable objects, embedded in the edges of the pathways.

He had adopted Smiler’s technique for the recording of the passage of time, gnawing notches on the surround of the door for each passing cycle of dark and light, even though there had been times in the deep past when he had ridiculed that other’s action. The deep past was also presented in detailed arrangements of torn strips of garments that emanated from the surround of the fire pit; the fire pit, had seemed very appropriate as a source of energy that flowed outwards into this present.

The significant others were added to the vortices that had emerged from the spiralling swirls as the work progressed. So here were tokens for the dreaming Erak in his two primary manifestations (their much loved brother from the deep past and the skin clad, dark wave of anger in the current now); the first a dry flower head, the second a piece of twisted metal, carefully positioned using wooden spoon.

Here was a marker for the intelligent one; a scrap of the thin paper, densely covered with row upon row of the peculiarly repetitive decorative shapes. Responding to his intuition, Twm had included a thin piece of the cold stuff that was not metal. It may once have been an implement for making marks, though it failed to do so now. He had also added a circlet of yellow plant material that reminded him of something that he could not remember.

He had given considerable thought to Dôn (deep, Dôn, deep, deep) and finally chosen to represent both her sexuality and her head-gardener nature that she was as yet unaware of. So he had used a large number of linear elements to create the subtle folds and curves of a vulva and then placed beside them a longer stick beside which he had nudged a pointed stone with strips of garment. To emphasise the intensity of the repressed head-gardener nature, he had bitten his own paw and drawn a drop of blood that he smeared upon the stone.

The younger female, the wise one, he presented through an image of her familiar, the eye of the night, each feather created from meticulous arrangements of dust. This last element had caused Twm the greatest difficulty, limited as he was to the body of the dog. He had chewed the end of a stick until it frayed and then, holding the other end between his blackened teeth, had brushed away at the dust, creating subtle renditions of feathers. On the whole he was satisfied with this, aware that he had adopted elements of representation from the art of the Really Heavy Now, so the feathers of the bird were visually accurate rather than purely symbolic. Of course the bird itself had great symbolic meaning.

Gazing upon the complex sprawl of his mattern he was able to see projected onto it the various challenges that he had been unable to resolve internally. It became clear to him that the question of who was truly mad, either the dreaming Erak or Learner and Twm, was not appropriate as they all contained patterns of thought and behaviour that could be considered mad, in the same way as all contained patterns of sanity. It seemed to depend upon your perspective and Konsk, of course, contained all possible perspectives. What the mattern made clear to Twm was that neither madness nor sanity were important in themselves, but rather it was what might be achieved through them.

He was less happy with the space available for the installation, though obviously he had little choice in this. He felt that the great swirls and spirals so reminiscent of Konsk were inappropriately confined by the rigid, linear definitions of the cave surfaces. He had attempted to blur these boundaries by piling debris against the monotonously regular junction of floor and wall, paying especial attention to the corners where the angles formed from the conjunction of three, flat planes conspired to produce a disturbingly negative impact on the energy flows within the space. It was little wonder that the many hewbies of the Really Heavy Now suffered greatly if all their living spaces were similarly bounded.

He sighed. He would have to leave it at that for the moment. He was generally pleased with his action but his doggy brain hurt.

There were other reasons for abandoning this work; his movements about the cave seemed related directly to a new phenomena, namely an increasing frequency of sudden snowstorms on TeeVee. Learner would shriek in anguish as the visual intrusion blurred the moving images, obscuring some crucial scene or event, losing a critical line of dialogue or exchange between characters.

“Sit still, Twm dog!” Learner would order, “Sit and stay!”

Forced into immobility, Twm was reduced to once more observing his fellow traveller as he sat entranced by the magical device. Learner would hardly stir from his favoured position, cross-legged, directly before the display surface as though glued to it. He would only undertake his dance after repeated nagging from the Dog Twm, and then only reluctantly and often muttering power words of the dreaming Erak whilst wearing the sulky mask, bottom lip protruding. Consequently, whereas the health and flexibility of the possessed body had been steadily improving, now a period of stasis ensued and even some deterioration.

He also neglected to go out, despite the Dog Twm’s regular requests, arguing that TeeVee presented more than enough opportunities for educational study without the added dangers of leaving the cave complex. He would move only to make his offerings in the shrine that was rapidly filling and smelled worse with each passing day; even then he would rise only slowly, moving backwards towards the opening, in which he hovered so as to not take his eyes from the screen. Then he would dash within the shrine and hurriedly make a deposit then rush back to his place, often using power words to emphasise his annoyance at having missed possibly crucial moments from the unfolding stories.

Learner’s new body did not remain passive or detached during its time before the device. On the contrary, it became increasingly twitchy, bursting into little frenzies of movement apparently in response to particular sequences of images. It seemed more and more to be in the permanent state of tension that was so common amongst the indies of The Really Heavy Now.

Learner would even cry out at times or berate the activities of figures displayed on the screen.

“Don’t ‘it him!” He might call, almost in anguish, or “What ya do that for?”

To no avail, the figures on the screen never responded.

From his lonely vantage, Twm felt increasingly concerned; was not his friend and brother changing simply as a result of watching and interpreting the sequences of moving images? Had not his behaviour become less spontaneous, more patterned with the rigid and repetitive qualities of this now?

Then, early in one cycle, there came a knocking upon the door.

“Hello, in there?” came the voice of the intelligent one. “I’m afraid there has been a complaint. About the smell. Of the excrement. Of your dog’s excrement.”

Learner and Twm looked at each other.

“I wonder if you could possibly clean it up? And wash down the yard? There is a hosepipe available in the outhouse. I believe. The outhouse is also referred to as a shed.”

There was silence. Neither Learner nor Twm ventured a response for some moments. After a time and times, a thin piece of paper slid underneath the door. Learner grabbed it then, plucking up his courage, he spoke.

“No problemo, dood,” he said, using a casual, jokey voice and a word string copied from a certain sequence of moving images.

There was a harrumphing sound from beyond the door.

“Good, good,” Trueman said, sounding relieved that a solution seemed so straightforward. Then he continued. “I regret to inform you,” he went on, “that the electrical power will have to be terminated temporarily. To allow for the disconnection of equipment. It will be reconnected shortly.”

There was a further harrumphing. Then footsteps fading away. Then silence. The two exchanged looks. Learner sighed.

“What’s he on about?” He asked of Twm. “Wot’s ‘screment, then?”

“Ah think its all that shit, dood,” Twm said, quick on the uptake with new words. “It do smell bad. Ver’ bad.”

To be totally honest, they had become increasingly concerned about the accumulation of droppings, both hewbee and doggie. Unlike in the deep past where the family were travellers and hence accumulations of droppings were simply left behind to decay in peace, the permanent residences of the hewbies in The Really Heavy Now created obvious problems. Indeed, the shrine had become so full by now that Learner could no longer sit upon it to make his offerings but rather had to stand.

They examined the thin piece of paper but were unable to decipher the peculiar decorative shapes (words, said Learner), that covered much of it.

In fact this note from Trueman explained about the need for the power cut, the estimated times of disconnection and reconnection and an apology for any inconvenience. It went on to talk about the immanent sale of the property, that Trueman would be leaving on the Saturday and that Learner should be ready to vacate his flat by the following Friday. This should give sufficient time for him to collect his belongings. Thoughtfully, Trueman had included the address and contact number of the local social security services. It also mentioned, mildly, as though in passing, that Trueman would be grateful if the canine excrement could be removed.

As they considered the implications of the unreadable message, what had been initially referred to as the snowstorm device that was not a snowstorm device, then Teachy fing and now TeeVee, went absolutely silent and dark.

In response Learner went white and clutched a hand to his chest as though to knead his stilled heart back into life.

“Oh no,” he moaned in abject despair. “I’ll miss ‘stenders!”

Thanks for reading. Once again, a heatwave has rolled into Cymru and looks set to stay for some time yet. The temperature here hit 25 degrees C by 11 am and I was driven in from the garden to rehydrate and do something cooler; hence the tale continues.

Suggestions and comments always welcome. Take care all and stay cool. Hwyl! Chris

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The industrialisation of food led to a massive increase in its quantity and a corresponding radical decrease in quality. By including addictive elements the consumers came to believe they liked it and even desired more.

Konsk: appendices; Strange but True.

Some time on the third day of Learner’s obsession, Twm discovered the device for opening the cylindrical containers. Some of the C’mersial Breks had demonstrated its appearance and operation so he had rooted through the storage cave, dragging things out of the smaller nooks and crannies to examine them in more detail. He was cautious with one container constructed from pieces of tree (Learner was now able to name it drawer); this slid out from a recess and fell to the ground with a horrible jangling crash revealing a great quantity of metal work. Twm leapt back to avoid physical contact with it.

By holding a shaped stick between his stinking teeth (a wooden spoon) Twm was able to sort through this jumble without having to touch the dreaded material with his flesh. Some of these objects he recognised from items displayed on the teachy fing, others were similar to those that accompanied the food offerings left by the half-starved female. Amongst these many objects he at last recognised a complicated contrivance as the device for opening the cylindrical containers.

Fortunately, parts of the metal device were coated in some unknown material that, although cold and hard, was not metal. He was able to grasp the device in his jaws, carefully, by these non-metal parts and carry it through to where Learner sat before the display device. Here he deposited the opener at his friend’s feet and began to bark excitedly.

“Sshhh!” hissed Leaner fiercly. “’Portant bit comin’!”

Twm was forced to wait until a certain sequence of images had run its course before he was at last able to gain Learner’s attention. Once Learner understood the reason for Twm’s interruption he was only too happy to help; after all, he was often hungry, as was the Dog Twm.

“How’s it work, den?” Learner provided a running commentary as he manipulated the various parts of the device. “Deeze bits go like dis, yeah? Hold it like so, yeah?”

Twm barked supportively and rolled a cylindrical container towards his fellow traveller with his wet nose. Learner applied the opening device to the cylindrical container, careful to avoid direct contact with the metal and after some fumbling and a commentary spattered with the dreaming Erak’s power words (fwk! Warra twat! It’s a bastad, innit, and such like) succeeded. By gripping two prong-like extensions on the opener with one hand and turning its wing like turner with the other, as the had seen on the display, it slowly wound its way around the top of the cylinder.

“Like in a movie pictures, innit, Twm,” Learner whispered in barely suppressed excitment.

Twm agreed and tried to help with his nose until Learner pushed him away.

At last the opener had returned to its starting place. The two were momentarily nonplussed. Had anything happened? Then they both shrieked, or rather, Learner shrieked and Twm yelped in surprised delight for the circular end of the cylinder fell off. Within was revealed a pinky brown, stodge of stuff. They both smelled it and grimaced.

“Dis-gustin’,” Learner moaned in disappointment.

Twm was too hungry to be so concerned and rushed off to return with the wooden spoon between his teeth and while Leaner held the cylinder, endeavoured to dig out some of the stuff. This was only marginally successful and after some struggling, Learner relinquished Twm of the wooden thing and used it himself.

“Got no ‘posing thumbs, ‘ave ya,” he voiced by way of explanation.

Twm just shrugged and chewed up some of the stuff.

“Mmm,” he said in his doggy voice. “Quite pois’nuss. But better ‘n’ nowt.”

He proceeded to devour the lot while Learner retrieved more cylinders from the storage cave. On his return he successfully opened several more of them.

“See, Twm,” he explained. “Pictures on a container shows wot is in ‘em, yeah? See, dis one gotta pic o liddle orange bits on it. An’ look! Open it up an’ on a in side, lots a liddle orange bits! Cool, eh?”

Twm was impressed. He tipped over the opened cylinder of little orange bits and noisily scoffed the lot.

“Mmm,” he said. “Also bit pois-nuss. But no too bad. Dis one got dog innit den?”

He pawed the first container they had opened that was adorned with the image of one who generally hunts in packs. They mused, smelling the now empty container for any clues.

“Don’ fink so,” said Learner at last. “Dead animal, yeah, but nat dog.”

“Maybe pic is to show who’s it for?” Twm said rather speculatively.

Learner thought this unlikely, though he may have just been concerned that Twm would use this as a reason to lay sole claim to the many other similarly adorned cylinders.

They opened a variety of the containers and found that those with images of little green balls did indeed contain little green balls (seed, pronounced Twm), so too with thin green slivers, lumpy round white things (earth store, said Learner) and various others. Most were immersed in brackish water (sea water, they agreed) and most were remarkably sweet.

The two could detect various other flavours and tastes, including metals (pah!) and more complex compounds. Whether these had been added deliberately or were accidental contaminants, neither could say. Still, being exceedingly hungry, they forced the food down. They were not sick although they did feel a bit queasy afterwards.

All that food let to predictable consequences and Learner retreated to the shrine while Twm made use of the narrow way outside

In his doggie disguise he was able to wander about in that strangely regular, enclosed space that lay beyond back door. This space had a level surface of a stone material with no discernible joins. Then, on three of its four sides it was bounded by the vast, towering surfaces of the surrounding cave complexes that Twm was now able to discern as constructed artifacts, mad as that might sound. From here it was clear that the structures were assemblages of individual pieces of shaped stone whose monotonous regularity and enormous numbers, far beyond count, even with markers, at first stirred up waves of nausea in Twm and then a hopeless despair at the dreadful, dreary repetition.

So sat the Dog Twm in this little space while his friend and brother succumbed once more to the awful attraction of the teachy ting, now re-named, yet again, TeeVee. He mused upon his fate within the great madness of the Really Heavy Now and as the cycles of light and dark continued inexorably onwards through that now, the evidence of the passage of time manifested in the accumulations of his droppings that covered an increasing area of the surface.

Even Twm was surprised by the smell, concluding after careful consideration that this was due to the inappropriate diet that the two travellers were forced to subsist on, the poisonous contents of the cylindrical containers and occasional offerings from Dôn (deep, Dôn. Deep, deep). While Twm’s hewbee nature yearned for more of this latter food, he was aware that it was not sufficiently nourishing for his doggy self. What he really needed was some meat, raw meat. The very thought brought the saliva spurting into his mouth. The dog body began to shake, the crooked legs knocking together as tremors racked the misshapen frame.

Without conscious thought he raised up his great head, opened wide the black toothed jaws and let out a howl of hungry despair; a howl to warn the world that a hunter was making ready, that all creatures should beware the approach, that the killer was coming.

Unlike the inherent respect such honest announcements engendered in the deep past, the howl triggered a completely different response. From somewhere above in one of the towering structures there came a harsh, grating sound (a window was opened) and the decent of a heavy projectile closely accompanied by a torrent of abuse.

The projectile turned out to be a burden that was usually fastened tightly to one foot (the dark side). The abuse contained strings of words such as, shut that fuckin’ dog up and clear up that crap you lazy, sciving bastard! These strings were delivered in an extremely aggressive manner, accompanied by vigorous arm and hand gestures, notably the one involving two fingers that in the deep past implies a comical reference to the old game but in this now seemed to have evolved into a much more nasty and violent message.

Twm avoided the projectile without difficulty. Learner, drawn possibly by the threats of violence, dared to stick his head out through the opening. The angry other, peering down from on high, responded with a barrage of instructions and possible consequences.

“You clean up that bloody crap, you little sod, or I’ll have the law on you. I’ve already told your landlord and he’s not happy, so get on with it, you tossin’ nutter!”

They both quailed and retreated within. Learner was drawn immediately to the glowing screen and seated himself cross legged before it, as though it was itself some form of shrine or minor deity.

“P’raps we oughta do summat about it,” Twm whined, meaning the dung and accompanying smell.

His pleadings were of no use; Learner waved him away and within moments he had successfully repressed all thought of the shouted abuse and the accumulated droppings, as his full attention was once more drawn to the interpretation of the fascinating moving images.

Twm was left isolated to consider the predicament. What with all the other challenges and of course their fundamental purpose of delivering the strong message to the intelligent one, it was all a bit much for him. Forming a discussion group was the obvious solution but the fact that he occupied the body of a dog, an interface whose limitations were all too apparent and with his sole companion captivated by the fascinating device and contact with the family suspended, this practical solution was denied him.

So in an attempt to extend the limited thinking capacities of his doggy brain he decided to externalise some of his ideas through a work of art. This came quite easily to him, being as in his deep past he and most other members of the fair family considered art to be in their very nature; it filled and inspired all aspects of their lives, unlike the metal workers and there separatist descendants in this Really Heavy Now who seemed to have generally suppressed their own artistic characteristics, preferring to project them out onto a limited number of individuals. Apart from that, he was also getting bored.

After some thought, Twm decided to create a representation of Konsk that would contain all the many possibilities that arose in his attention. Then, he reasoned, by externalising these possibilities in a visual form, he might be able to gain a more complete understanding of the awful complexities of The Really Heavy Now and perhaps give them, that is, he and his brother and friend, Learner, more of an idea of what to do next. At the very least it would be interesting and pass the time.

So he began to rearrange the many objects in the cave complex, all the lumps of soft stone, pieces of tree bit and the rest of the debris, using his wet nose and clumsy paws to push them about into an ordered pattern, or rather mattern.

Once he had begun the project he became engrossed, worked away quite happily, softly whining little songs that served to further inspire his artistic endeavours. He had to keep very quiet however and not pass between Learner and the teachy fing or that other would react with a violent verbal outburst resplendent with the dreaming Erak’s power words.

There we go. The intense hot spell here, breaking our temperature records for June with two days topping 30 degrees (in Cymru!!) and today, Thursday, looking likely to join them, has regularly driven us indoors at the peak of the heat. Coupling that with a corresponding surge in solar power, enabling repeated use of my laptop, has led to considerable work on various internal fronts, this being one of them. And I’m not finished yet.

But a pause for now before the next batch.

Likes, Comments, suggestions, additions, corrections are always welcomes. Take care all, stay cool. Hwyl! Chris.

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The TeeVee provided access to a limited range of information and entertainment, educational content that confined knowledge, and an illusion of family bonding through shared viewing experiences. Additionally, it served as a medium for relaxation and stress relief by allowing repression of more important but challenging matters.

Excessive screen time led to various negative effects; mental health issues including anxiety, depression, and irregular sleep patterns; physical health problems such as back pain, obesity and stiff neck. Additionally, it hindered cognitive function and social interaction and often provoked argument.

In general, the mass social conditioning was considered vital for inculcating obedience in the population.

Konsk: appendices; strange but true.

The addition of sound to the snowstorm device that was not a snow storm device seemed merely to increase Learner’s obsessive observation. Now, rather than providing his own speculative commentary to the sequences of moving images, he was able to hear the images themselves speak, not that this necessarily made anything easier to follow.

He had often considered that the number of available words must limit the word system of thinking. While this was obviously true, he now realised that the number of available words was enormous. He was boggled by the sheer variety of them all, from little short ones to big cumbersome ones that even the hewbies in the moving images might stumble over.

He began to practice the words more systematically, repeating phrases and whole sentences. Gradually his pronunciation improved and he found that he could understand more and more. He especially liked the sequences presented around the middle of the time of the big light. The hewbies on these sequences spoke slowly and carefully. Often they would employ drawn images to reinforce their words. Occasionally the display would be filled with the peculiarly decorative shapes of limited number that were usually arranged in rows.

At some point he made a huge leap and recognised that particular collections of these peculiarly decorative shapes of limited number that were usually arranged in rows represented particular, individual words from the word system of thinking. This indeed was a crucial development in his thinking.

Now he could see how a message given in the word system of thinking need not just be spoken but could be recorded on a surface material and passed on to another who might decipher the recording to reveal the original message. This gave him an idea.

“Could make the strong message out a them liddle decoration ships, shapes,” he said to Twm, his newly found accuracy of pronunciation lapsing a bit in his excitement. “‘N’ giv’ it ta that intelligent one!”

Twm, startled from the creation of his artwork, was greatly relieved to hear Learner once more referring to the original purpose of his titanic journey through time and space. The relief was not to last for Learner became more and more engrossed in the teachy fing, especially the c’’mersial breks, as he now called them. These were short sequences of moving images that told brief stories on a wide variety of subjects with catchy music or singing, rapid changes of perspective and often humorous themes. Sometimes the purposes of the stories were obscure to Learner but he enjoyed their repetitive nature and the speed of delivery. He went so far as to drag the reflector through so that he could practice some of the poses before it, reciting verbal elements of the stories as he did so.

“Yer niver far frum home wit bittee,” he would say in a sing song voice.

Twm was much amused by the posturing and drivel but Learner reacted angrily to his doggy laughter, assuming a petulant mask.

“Its ‘portant, doggie dog Twm!” He yelled. “Gotta learn ‘bout dis now, aint we?”

Twm agreed with the intent but not the method. The sequences of moving images displayed as c’mersial breks were full of hewbies wearing mask-faces of fake delight, pretended satisfaction, deceitful happiness.

“All juss ‘lusion,” he muttered. “Dey juss pretendin’.”

His comments were largely to himself for Learner seemed no longer interested in hearing his opinion. He was far too busy delving into the complicated depths of The Really Heavy Now via immersion in the teachy fing. On one of the few occasions when he did tear himself away from the display surface, he rummaged through the debris in the cave complex, disturbing parts of Twm’s artwork and retrieved a collection of the garment burdens.

By comparing them with those worn by hewbies on the moving images, he was able to assemble a selection to wear. These included a pair of ragged combat trousers several sizes too large for him that he secured at his waist by means of the attachment thing; Twm had to accept that they would probably not be going outey toutey together for some time to come.

The dog suggested that he place an off-white scrappy thing with thin straps on his upper body but Learner scornfully dismissed this.

“O’ny wimmin wear ‘em’, Idiot!” He chided.

Instead he selected a grubby blue thing with arm coverings that reached beyond his wrists followed by a bulky encircling burden without arm pieces. There was some debate as to which way round this item went and in the end he settled for front opening. He had also seen some of the male indies in the moving images wearing thin bits of stuff around their necks. He found something similar that he attempted to wear likewise though he did not know the conventional way to fasten it. As it was one of a pair of stockings, rather than a tie, it did not really matter.

On his feet he put dark, heavy coverings constructed from animal skins. These were so stiff and weighty that he often stumbled and even fell over when practising with them. Their cumbersome nature was slightly offset by the fact that they had large openings around the toes, for ventilation he assumed. To top it all off he found a headpiece with a cool shady bit that sloped down at the back.

Now his poses before the reflector became even more extravagant as he strutted his stuff, one hand on his hip the other to the headpiece.

“Fansi a drink, darlin’?” He would intone. “Mine’s a pine.”

Or he adopted the bouncy walk of the baggy clad ones, making the goat shape with his fingers.

“Heh! ‘Ow’s ‘e haggin’, dood personal mutha flossa?”

Twm covered his eyes with his large paws.

Between the c’mersial breks were much longer sequences of moving images whose stories were usually too complicated for Learner to follow. As the big light of the day lowered towards the horizon, there came a change to the sequences and after dark this change was even more noticeable. Now the sequences often contained action of a violent nature or the old game. Occurrences of the dreaming Erak’s power words became more regular and Learner even learned some new ones.

He would attempt to describe to Twm what he thought was happening.

“See,” he said, pointing. “He’s havin’ a fightin’ dance wid dem others. Lookit ‘im leap an’ run! Cool!”

Twm saw only a display of fake prowess. The perspective changed so rapidly that any coherence to the movements was lost, fragmented. The jumpy one was leaping so high he must have been pulled up somehow, though no mechanism was visible.

“Juss ‘lusion!” Twm insisted.

“’Sa story!” Learner explained crossly. “See, dis man ‘ere, ‘e’s a baddun. He kilt them udders. Na he gonna get sum more. Excitin’, innit?”

Twm was baffled.

“Wotsa baddun, den?” he inquired.

Learner cast an incredulous look upon the dog.

“Dere’s gooduns an’ badduns, i’n’t there?” he said, exasperated. “Don’ ya no nuthin’, doggy matey? Nar be quiet, i’m tryin’ ta cons’n trait, ok?”

Twm retreated to a corner and attempted to contact Smiler but of course there was no reply. He whimpered quietly and licked his bum.

Thanks again for reading. Likes, Comments, suggestions, additions, corrections are always welcomes. One more to come today before a pause.

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The Benefits of Reading Fiction.

Before you ignore, delete or unsubscribe (all of which are of course absolutely fine and up to you), consider for a moment the benefits of reading fiction. Fiction is scientifically proven to enhance empathy, improve critical thinking and boost cognitive skills. It also stimulates brain activity, increases vocabulary, and can lead to better emotional intelligence. Using fiction to turn an oblique eye on our current reality can lead to some interesting perspectives and apart from all that, it can be funny!

‘Nuff said. Onward with the pata-meta-fiction Konsk and the continuing story of Heads at the Little Big Farm. The Travellers from the Deep Past struggle to come to terms with the very different world they find themselves in. All previous episodes are available under the “Fiction” tab on my Substack Home Page.)

The Enthralled: The Teachy Fing.

The eye of the human is quite naturally attracted to light and movement and for ages and an age, the fire was the focus of its attention and the family the source of the stories woven around it.

When the fire was replaced by the first, primitive screen (known by early adopters as “TeeVee”) it was not long before certain separatist elements within the family realised that whoever controlled the screens, controlled the attention of the family; thus began the social engineering of the generations to come.

Konsk: appendices. Strange But True.

Learner continued his study of the teachy fing in increasing solitude, for Twm was less and less keen and become more and more reticent about the device. In fact, he was becoming seriously worried, for a disturbing possibility had arisen in his doggy mind.

This was that in the same way that the separatist art was largely figurative and purely decorative, without any inherent meaning, perhaps the moving images that told stories were the same, that is, ultimately devoid of meaning?

In which case, what was the point of it all? Was it merely to use up time between the rising and setting of the big light? If so, did the indies perhaps forget that whatever appeared on the device was merely an illusion, constructed from spots of light of variable intensity? Did they take it to be real in some way and if so, what were the implications of this confusion and the misconceptions that would inevitably arise from it?

Further, having verified from observation that this other world or time that was visible through the opening, was not real but was in fact imagined, this raised a further question, namely, who was imagining it and who was to say if these imaginings were valid representations of reality or rather devious, misleading fantasies?

However, he could understand also the opportunities the device offered for learning about the horrendous complications of life in the Really Heavy Now; he tried thererfore to conceal his concern from Learner who was so obviously enjoying himself, a rarity for that worthy traveller, lost in the great madness of The Really Heavy Now.

Somewhere towards the midpoint of the dark, the magical device suddenly reverted to its snowstorm state; Learner reacted badly.

“It’s gorn forever!” He wailed and buried his head in his hands.

Twm licked his friend and brother traveller’s ear.

“Be right, matey,” he growled, “Least we’s got each udder!”

To no avail; deprived of this source of attraction, Learner curled into a moaning ball, pushing Twm away when the dog tried to curl up next to him. Eventually he sobbed himself to sleep.

Then, just as the big light began to rise, turning the dark of the night first grey then a deepening blue, the snow storm suddenly vanished and the moving pictures reappeared! Even Twm had to join in Learner’s excitement and joy, happy more for his fellow travellers obvious delight than for the revitalisation of the great device.

It was only after several more cycles that they released that this was the way; At least we can get some sleep now and then, Twm thought.

Another occurrence that came to be seen by Learner as a further interruption,

was the knocking at the door. This was the starved female from above

“Hello?” she would call softly. “Hello, its only me; It’s alright. I just want to help.”

Twm would wag his tail and sit by the door, imagining her on the other side.

“Hello?” came her call again. “Hello, its me, I’ve brought you some food.”

There would be a pause. Twm turned to Learner, seated as he was, before the device.

“Let her in,” he growled quietly, “She’s a ally, can ‘elp!”

Yet Learner would not even turn from the display device and simply waved a hand dismissively.

“OK,” came the gently voice, the kind voice, “I’ll just leave it out here for you.”

Reluctantly, Twm would have to wait until Dôn had gone, then he would open the door, rising up on his bent back legs and pawing at the turning object. He could retrieve the food by grasping the wooden surround on which everything was placed, between his blackened teeth and drag it within.

He had to position the food directly in front of the seated Learner and encourage his brother and friend to eat by making little yelps and whines. It seemed as though Learner only responded and ate in order to remove Twm as a distraction from his continued observation of the activity on the display surface.

Twm left hiim to it and began to contemplate the form his art should take. He hadn’t got very far, other than nudging a few lumps of the hard, white stuff around with his nose when he was suddenly startled by the loud and intrusive sound of a man in the cave with them!

“Is she the Iron Lady,” came the thunderous voice, “Or is she a closet flexi-toy?”

Twm leapt to his four feet, instantly alert and doggily sniffing to detect the stranger but with no success. The voice meanwhile was followed by a baying roar of mixed laughter and rage. Learner had also stood up and began to run on the spot and wave his arms about in a thoroughly over excited manner.

“Look ‘ere Twm Dog!” He chattered, “I done turn this lill bit thingy, ‘ere!”

Now the soft hum and crackle of the internal operations of the device were completely drowned out, first by the bellow of the previous voice and now by a growing, chorus of shouts overlaid with what sounded like the noises made by the animals that tend to flock together.

“Turn the fuckin’ thing down!” Came an outraged bellow from below. “Now!”

Learner’s excitement was instantly quelled and he hurriedly turned the circular piece the opposite way; coincidentally, the shouting and flock noises diminished to silence, though the head on the display surface continued to move, the lips mouthing vainly. A flicker of annoyance flashed across Learner’s face. He turned the dial again and grinned broadly to hear a different voice.

“Not only is the previous speaker devoid of any moral dignity but also guilty of blatant lies!” Came the shout, possibly a woman, or a woman pretending to be a man, before all clarity was lost to the baying roar of many voices.

“’Ere! ‘Ere! Shame! Disgrace! Order! Oder!”

The uproar grew until the sound of those who tend to flock together overwhelmed everything. Yet it was still possible to hear the great and terrible roar of that other who dwelt below.

“I’m not fuckin’ kidding!” it came, blasting through the cracks in the tree bit floor. “If I have ta come up there, I’ll pull yer fuckin’ head off!”

Learner quailed, having learned enough of the word system of thinking to understand the threat. He turned the circular piece, cocking his head and listening carefully; yes, the voice indeed quietened, though was still rather shouty.

He repeated the procedure, turning the circular piece slowly one way then the other, noting the voice becoming louder then quieter, arriving at a level that could still be heard but did not trigger a reoccurrence of the threat from below. Learner turned to Twm and ventured a gleeful smile.

“See!” he whispered intently. “ ’Is not jus’ a one-way programin’ device, is inner active, innit!”

He began to chuckle, rather madly to Twm’s doggy hearing.

“Nar we’re in busy ness!” Learner exclaimed to himself, once more returning to the study of the teachy fing but this time with the additional medium of sound.

“Gore dell puss,” growled Twm and lay down, nose wetly propped between clawed paws.

“Gore dell puss orl.”

Many thanks for reading. Likes, Comments, suggestions, additions, corrections are always welcomes.

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Secondly, some words of explanation as to my recent silence here on Substack. Various external events have conspired to require my attention, some good, some not so good and some just part of ongoing life.

Lyn, my wife, whose health has been dodgy for the last twenty years now was very up and down lately and has been referred back to her consultant. Always a worry and she (we) are dreading that more surgery might be necessary. Just have to see how things pan out. Today she’s a bit better and found a shed grass snake skin on her muck heap.

above: shed grass snake skin, about 1 metre long. Not the first we’ve found over the years. They like the heat of the muck heap and often lay eggs in it and our compost bins.

above: detail of the shed skin showing the eye scales. As they don’t have eyelids, their eyes are protected by a very thin, transparent scale. You can just see them shining here.

Gardening rightfully required much attention at the busy time of sowing and planting out. I am most fortunate to have both the time and space, soil and water to be able to grow significant amounts of food. In these uncertain times this seems more important than ever.

above: maincrop onions looking good and earlies but as yet they have proved disappointing. I was unable to get my usual choice, Arran early Pilot, which seem ideal for our location and made do with Rocket which look good above ground but have so far not produced much in the way of tubers…These pictures are all looking north with soft and hard fruits in the background- plus CD bird scarers…

above: brassicas and orache on the left, beans on the right. Broads have done well but climbers and runners have been soooo slow! Despite a hot spell its been cool here and often overcast but the first Romero climber has at last found its pole. Note the bracken mulch throughout the maincrop beds- we have lots…

above: maincrop spuds, three varieties this year. On the right with the lovely flower is Blue Danube and on the left is our old favourite Victory, dating from the Dig For Victory movement of WW2. In the middle is Sarpo Mira. All are Arran bred varieties and blight resistant. Looks like one Blue Danube got into the Sarpo Mira row somehow!

I’ve also put a chunk of time into working on our house, a build we started back in 2012 and seems to go on forever. That doesn’t worry me too much as there is a Chinese proverb saying that when a man finishes his house, he dies...according to that I’m going to be around for a long while yet...Whatever, after staring at insulation and wires for the last decade, our kitchen now has a ceiling! Not my preferred materials but it is what it is.

above: a ceiling…I know, not very exciting for you perhaps but after ten years without one, its progress for us! An old friend’s son has even offered to put a plaster skim on it- many thanks! The odd bit of twisty wood is a typical Lyn found object, doing the job of a light switch.

I’ve also become involved with a local group of activists meeting at “Arloesi” (“innovation” in Cymraeg) here in Dolgellau, who run a repair shop, sewing classes and a host of interesting stuff. Here I’ve met up with a fresh wave of new, bright folk with some remarkable expertise between them. The draft design for recreating the Tyddynwyr has gone down well here along with a push for local allotments and community hydro, each project headed by inspiring individuals.

above: Arloesi, Dolgellau. Looking very smart after a recent, grant funded renovation. Quite a hot bed of various local groups and initiatives. Led by the excellent Holly.

I’ve been working on the more detailed, Welsh version of the Tyddynwyr and have sent copies to our local AS (Aelod Seneddol - Senate member), Mabon ap Gwynfor and MP Liz Saville Roberts, both of whom I know but their automated responses have stated that they are currently very busy and will get back to me ASAP.

This busy-ness is not surprising, following Plaid Cymru’s recent success in the election, giving them a majority in the senate but not an overall one. They’ve opted to lead as a minority government meaning collaboration is required which I see as generally a good thing. Apparently the vote for Plaid was swung largely by women and young people.

The proportional representation system used here meant that a fair number of reform candidates got in, making them the second largest party which shows how much work is still to do. How Plaid deal with reform will be significant; at present they have staged walk-outs, joined by the very much reduced Labour members and Greens, when some Reform members have voiced racist opinions. I’m not sure how effective this is as it leaves the Reform members free to continue voicing such opinions without being challenged.

above: break down of the senate membership by party, showing Plaid’s sweeping victory and Labour considerably diminished. Greens still disappointingly small and Reform now the second largest party.

Plaid won’t have an easy time of it with the NHS in Cymru severely stretched, a fifth of the population living in poverty, very poor housing stock, considerable unemployment amongst young people and very limited financial resources amongst a host of other challenges. Hopefully they will take note of my suggestions.

In the background I have once more turned to fiction, editing the next chapters of Heads At The Little Big Farm with a chunk almost ready to release into the wild. I keep having doubts about this, wondering what role fiction plays in this increasingly fractured world but as MacB. says in the Scottish play, Act III, scene iv;

Strange things I have in head, that will to hand;
Which must be acted ere they may be scann’d.

Or in my case, must be written down, before they can be understood.

above: illustration from Heads at the Little Big Farm. Oops, Spicer’s bike ride doesn’t go as planned. We’ve got a bit to go before we get to this.

I know that fiction doesn’t suit some subscribers and that is totally fine; simply ignore or delete them as they come in. I can’t help it- it is part of what I do and who I am.

So that’s to come. Till then, take care or all. Stay safe and enjoy what you can of our still beautiful world.

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Although this is written explicitly for Meirionydd and more generally for Cymru, I believe it has much wider application and can be relatively easily adapted to suit local conditions here in the UK.

Premise:

1. A Green Transition will not work.

Firstly, current plans to transition to net zero contain fundamental flaws that will render them impossible to achieve or ineffective due to bio-physical limits and the failure to address the fundamental cause of the condition they seek to negate.

The fundamental cause of climate change (global warming) arises from the current society, culture and lifestyles of techno-consumer capitalism (and all that implies - exploitation of limited Earth resources and Earth’s peoples). In other words, the massive over-emphasis of the individual, to the detriment of the community and the environment in the service of a destructive capitalist economy that seeks to perpetuate the illusion that unlimited growth is possible on a finite planet.

Further, their are fundamental flaws inherent in net zero plans- primarily, the attempt to replace all fossil fuel energy with renewables accelerates exploitation of limited Earth resources and further, supports the fundamental cause of global warming in the first place, i.e. unregulated capitalism. Hence a Green Transition would make even more money for the already very wealthy and further consolidate power within increasingly authoritarian states and other actors such as corporations while continuing to drive the earth system beyond its previously dynamically stable state.

Secondly, current plans for a green transition to net zero address only the single issue of fossil fuel reduction through electrification which in turn increases grid dependency and therefore vulnerability.

For more details on why a green transition will not work see, for examples, my piece on Substack The Electrification of Everything and Everyone and Steven J. Newbury Power, Not Energy: What the Dutch Knew About Wind That We’ve Forgotten.

By contrast, the design presented here aims to solve multiple contemporary challenges, negates the fundamental cause of climate change and achieves fossil fuel reduction as a consequence.

2. Rural depopulation and the change in farm size.

It is also worth pointing out here that Cymru has seen considerable rural depopulation and farm amalgamation over the last two centuries, for a variety of reasons, some of which are mentioned in the sections below. Here I will just present evidence for depopulation and the change in farm size, using figures from existing works.

Rural Depopulation; Plaid Cymru, 1960’s pamphlet

This old Plaid pamphlets present some useful facts for depopulation during the past century. Most of those leaving would likely have been tyddynwyr, subsistence farmers who were no longer able to survive on their scraps of land due largely to external pressures (the weather, rent increases, church tithes etc. See my other writings on the tyddynwyr for more details) and moved to towns and cities in England to find work.

Here are just a few quotes from the pamphlet:

FACTS

* Nine-tenths of total area of Wales losing population because they are not getting right share of development.

* Nine of our thirteen counties had smaller population in 1962 than in 1957. (In England, only central London and Isle of Wight had lower populations in same period!)

* Seven of our thirteen counties had smaller population in 1961 than in 1861, four of them in southern Wales.

1,500,000 estimated total compelled to leave Wales, due to London mis-government.

Plaid’s conclusions are useful:

There can be prosperity on small farms-given the necessary education, the Advisory Centres, the amenities, etc. Average size of Danish farms (among the most successful in Europe)—25 acres. Ours are three times larger, yet London wants to depopulate farming areas still more.

Given increased knowledge, experience and available species farm size could be reduced much further and still provide sufficient food for a family plus small surpluses.

An example: changes in population and farm size in a rural parish; Llanfachreth1.

In 1935 the total population of Llanfachreth Parish according to the census was 678. This includes 117 families registered as farming plus an additon 54 full time farm workers. The average size of these farms was five acres; this average is pushed upwards by the inclusion of the Nannau Estate lands in the total. Removal of the Estate brings the average farm size down to 3 or 4 acres.

Given a (low) average family size of 4 (some families had six or more children), the figures suggest that over two thirds of the population of the Parish lived in the open countryside.

The estimated population of the parish today is given at about 200.

Current Challenges

(Not necessarily complete or in any order)

• Lack of affordable housing/accommodation for people, especially young people

• Lack of genuinely satisfying work, especially for young people

• Young people leaving the area (90 a month in Gwynedd- source?)

• Loss of bio-diversity (Cymru has lost 50% of its bio-diversity in the last 100 years (source)

• Erosion and break down of communities

• Social isolation

• Cost of living crisis

• Food expense, cheap unhealthy foods, long, fragile supply chains

• Lack of local grown food, lack of allotments or other growing spaces

• High energy costs

• Poor infrastructure

• Climate change

• Polluted rivers and water courses, algal blooms in lakes

• etc.

Intention of this design

to support the emergence of a genuinely regenerative society and culture in localised communities, living within the bio-physical and energetic boundaries of their own local environments

by seeking examples of successful communities from the past and identifying and removing the reasons for the hardships that they faced through the use of current knowledge, materials, practices and especially education.

To present this work as the natural evolution of the traditional rural communities that were the guardians of Welsh culture and language for centuries.

The Tyddynwyr as an example of a sustainable society and model for the future

In the pre-oil past, local communities based around the Tyddynwyr (smallholders) developed over century timescales.

The rural Welsh society

oedd yn gasgliad o gymunedau bychain, yn bentrefi ac yn trefi bychan gwasgaredig, a phob un yn meddu ar wead clos.

The rural Welsh society “was a collection of small communities, scattered villages and small towns, each possessing a close-knit texture.2

These scattered communities were zero or low carbon and exhibited strong social cohesion and self reliance, making them highly resistant to external shocks. The communities had low-cash economies with goods and services acquired via gifting, favours, traditional rights, exchange and to a lesser extent, barter. It is from these localised communities, living largely within the environmental constraints of their immediate environment that the rich cultural heritage and language of Cymru blossomed.

y daethpwyd i edrych ar werin Cymru fel etifeddion hanes a llenyddiaeth y genedl. Gwelwyd hefyd i’r werin etifeddu’r iaith Gymraeg a’r traddodiadau ynghlwm â hi, gan gymryd lle’r dosbarth uchelwrol fel ceidwad y dreftadaeth hon. Gwerin amaethyddol oedd y werin hon.3

the people of Wales were looked upon as the heirs of the nation’s history and literature. The people were also seen to inherit the Welsh language and the traditions attached to it, replacing the gentry as the custodian of this heritage. This people were an agricultural people.

Note that the guardianship of the culture (poetry, music, art and language) had previously resided with the Uchelwyr, the nobility and was then passed to the gentry and from them to the werin, the people, who were essentially rural.

I am not going to repeat my various writings on the tyddynwyr here but provide links instead- The Tyddynwyr.

These past communities based around tyddynwyr are here taken as the base line model from which to design the regenerative, resilient, low impact societies of the future.

Challenges the tyddynwyr faced

The lives of the tyddynwyr could be extremely hard at times so any future implementation would need to address the challenges that they faced.

(not necessarily complete or in order)

• Accommodation could be poor, hurriedly built, some little more than hovels (cold, draughty, leaking roof)

• Rent to landowners, usually the gentry; pressure to improve land so as to increase rents

• The Tithe paid annually to the church (10% of annual produce/income)

• Sickness, dental care (no NHS, antibiotics)

• At the mercy of the weather, reductions in yield lead to hunger (particular wet summers which left flattened grain crops unharvested, especially oats which was a staple of their diet).

• The work could be hard, monotonous, physically demanding.

• Limited range of food and fodder crop species (though often the seed was from local seed banks and hence locally adapted)

• All these challenges can be removed or reduced

Reasons for the disappearance of the tyddynwyr

link to my previous article

Consequences of the disappearance of the tyddynwyr

Massive rural depopulation as detailed above and urbanisation, the population displaced to serve the capitalist, extractive industries of the South wales coal fields and iron and steel works (Merthyr Tydfil, Aberdare, Pontypridd, for example), the North Wales slate quarries (Penrhyn, for example). By the 1850’s, Merthyr Tydfil was far larger than Cardiff. These were the key industries that served the industrial revolution.

• Farm amalgamation

As the tyddynwyr leave, their holdings are incorporated into other farms that get larger and larger, driving mechanisation and larger machinery. Hedgerows are removed to create ever bigger fields, marshes and bogs are drained, nitrogen fertilisers are used to promote growth of crops and silage, biocides are employed to poison unwanted species (bracken, crop pests), multi species meadows are ploughed and reseeded with limited seed mixes (various types of rye grass) all combining to reduce biodiversity.

• transition to a cash/capitalist economy

• community erosion

• social isolation

Ultimately, these consequences develop into the current challenges we face today.

Essential Requirements for new communities

The creation of low impact communities along the lines of the Tyddynwyr require and provide considerable educational opportunities which can be assessed and awarded by existing public and private education bodies, thus generating a revenue stream.

By using existing, recognised qualifications, candidates can accrue points which can be use toward higher educational qualifications, if desired, such as degrees.

Suggested educational requirements for Welsh application

• Welsh Language

• Welsh History (particularly the tyddynwyr)

• Traditional land use4, related to other interpretations5 (Vera)

• Full Paramaethu/Permaculture Design Course (several units from the WEA syllabus). This is in essence a crash course in sustainable and regenerative living.

• Basic construction techniques (low impact building)

• Natural Law and Objective Morality

• Understanding the Law, in particular the true Trial by Jury

• Conflict resolution

Existing mechanisms to reinstate the tyddynwyr

There are a number of existing and embryonic mechanism that could be of use to create such new, low energy, low impact communities/collectives of tyddynwyr; ideally, we should endeavour to establish multiple tyddynod in dispersed clusters and embed cooperation/integration from the onset.

The headings below link to the organisations web sites.

1. One Planet Development

A distinct planning route available in Cymru for low impact dwellings and lifestyles. This is by no means an easy option at the moment, the application requiring a lot of work and support but the more people who try and are successful, the more experience, the more support, the more models etc acrue.

2. Lammas Eco-Village

Lammas is a great example of a low impact venture featuring some great self-buit roundhouses among other dewlling types but it was not designed as a community.

3. The Ecological Land Co-op (ELC)

The ELC buys plots of agricultural land, divides them into a number of separate holdings, acquires residential planning permission for them and leases them as oven-ready smallholdings. The Co-op’s first project, Greenham Reach near Wellington in Somerset, was given temporary permission for three smallholdings in 2013, and permanent permission in 2018. The ELC now has seven projects under its wing, a considerable achievement in the face of exorbitant land prices and unhelpful planning policies. This is a job that could be done so much more quickly and efficiently by local authorities.

4. Powys County Council

The council have taken 36 acres of a county farm at Sarn and divided it into three primarily horticultural smallholdings, equipped with temporary timber chalet residences, and workplace facilities, which are being rented out to young horticulturalists. After a five year trial period, the occupiers may be granted a 90 year lease.

5. Powys Council again

The council has also introduced special planning guidance for residential dwellings on small-scale horticultural holdings. The guidance provides a more liberal interpretation of what constitutes a functional need to live on site. The guidance also takes a more flexible five view of the financial test, allowing that smallholders can provide for many of their requirements through subsistence activities on their land, including food, renewable energy, housing, and reduced transport costs. Search for “Making it easier to grow fruit and vegetables commercially in Powys”.

Powys County Council also provides guidance on low impact development, search for: “Rural Enterprise Dwellings for Small-Scale Horticulture”.

Other possible mechanisms:

Using existing Family Farms (so-called) as nuclei for new communities of tyddynwyr, with farm buildings acting as a community hub. The farms we see today are composed of the lands of many tyddynnod (smallholdings)

Either,

• farm bought by local authority/community group/Trust and re-designed as a community of tyddynwyr, paying rent in goods or services to the Trust.

Or

• existing owners encouraged/supported/persuaded to redesign their farm as a community of tyddynwyr paying rent in goods or services to the owner.

In England, Defra’s latest update to the Sustainable Farming Incentive, (the main scheme in England that is meant to pay farmers for environmental work) offers a priority application window for smaller farms with the biggest claims capped. This is encouraging but at the same time, farms and growers under 3 hectares (nearly 7.5 acres) are excluded entirely... This is a major flaw in the scheme; even just one acre is a valuable size for growing food; as mentioned above, the average size of a tyddyn in Llanfachreth Parish was less than five acres. For an example of the quantity of food that can be grown on one acre see my piece written with MasterGardener Jim Skipp, The Marvel of Allotment Gardens.

Create Cantrefi Newydd6

I have previously outlined here on Substack how this might be done and provide links below.

Cantrefi Newydd in three parts;

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Conclusion

This is admittedly incomplete and is more a vision than a design. However, as I said at the beginning, we are running out of time for an orderly implementation of anything. Rapid degrowth and rural repopulation will likely happen whether it is designed or not. It is unlikely that any government will accept degrowth as a political policy. Couched in terms of regeneration, of landscapes, communities and individuals, based on successful traditional practice, might make it more acceptable. They might not have any choice.

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I have rushed somewhat to get this out so apologies for errors (please let me know!). Feedback would also be much appreciated. I have another meeting at Arloesi in Dolgellau coming up where I will bring this up and I am working on a more detailed version in Cymraeg and intend to approach our new Plaid Government representatives with it all, so we shall see.

A warm welcome to new subscribers! The gap since my last posting is due entriely to a long spell of great weather here and I have been more or less living and working (or is it playing?) in the garden. If you are fortunate to have a garden, grow food and good luck to you. Take care all. Hwyl! Chris.

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You’ve got your electric Air Source Heat Pump, your roof covered with solar panels. So you get to work and back in your electric car, the battery recharged overnight on cheap rate. You do your shopping in an electric runaround, recharged at the supermarket. Your shopping goes in your electric fridge and freezer. You cook your meals on an electric hob, microwave or air-fryer, boil water for a cuppa in your electric kettle, the house illuminated by smart electric lighting, music playing from your electric smart speaker, the ASHP topped up by electric heaters; put an electric emersion heater on for a bath. Wash the dishes in an electric dishwasher, clothes and bedding in your electric washing machine, dried in a tumble drier. Entertained by the streams on your digital widescreen, laptop, phone. Do some DIY with electric power tools.

Now, have a power cut. How prepared are you? Add in a house battery then, how long will that keep you going? For a few hours? A day? A week? imagine this is in midwinter and its dark and freezing, that a major storm has thrown down thousands of trees, many of them on power lines; its gonna take weeks to get it all back up and running.

In 2023 the gird operated with a capacity of 74.8 gigawatts, which refers to the amount of electrical power it can supply. The UK’s renewable power capacity is forecast to reach 172.7 GW by 2035, that’s more than doubling the capacity. Further investments of £30 billion are planned to expand the electricity network and enable the increasingly digital, electrified and decarbonised economies of the future.

Electrification of everything at this scale means a massive increase in the need for critical materials; so that’s lithium, nickel, and cobalt, essential for batteries for electric vehicles and energy storage systems; rare earth elements such as neodymium, dysprosium, and lanthanum needed in power distribution, particularly in the production of permanent magnets and catalysts used in electrical systems. These elements play a crucial role in technologies like electric vehicles and renewable energy systems; then there’s cabling which is primarily copper and aluminium. Silver plays a vital role in the production of solar cells and the transmission of electricity that they produce.

The pinch point of the Straits of Hermuz and the potential constriction of oil supplies will be used as further argument to electrify everything in the interests of national security, not just in the UK but many countries around the world; China has been investing massively in electrification. So there’s already a scramble for the rare earths, silver and other metals; interestingly (in the Chinese sense), while attention was focused on the US/Israeli/Iran war, the US has obtained extensive mining licences in Venezuela for these very materials. Rare Earths are called Rare for a reason but even an element like copper is projected to have a massive shortfall in production by 2030 compared to demand.

Put simply, the resources needed to electrify everything are simply not there or not available fast enough.

Here’s another thing, imagine the road network in the UK, a hugely complicated interconnected system including motorways, dual carriageways and A roads, bridges and tunnels, all the way down to the minor and single track roads that lace rural areas.

Now think about potholes- the UK is estimated to have over one million potholes on its roads. This number varies seasonally, but on average, there are about six potholes per mile on council-controlled roads in England and Wales. Between 2022 and 2023, 1.4 million potholes were filled in England and Wales yet there are a million still to do and more appearing all the time.

On top of this, an estimated 107,000 miles of roads are fast reaching the end of their lives and the scale of the problem now facing councils working on limited budgets is truly gargantuan.

In other words, despite best efforts and very large inputs of cash and constant road works, the UK is unable to maintain its road network. As things stand, there will be a steady deterioration leading to yet more road works and damage to vehicles.

Now consider the materials used to repair roads and potholes, namely asphalt, a mix of gravel, sand and bitumen; bitumen is derived from crude oil. Over 25million tonnes of asphalt is produced in the UK every year. Asphalt roads account for over 95% of all roads in the UK. One tonne of asphalt typically contains about 5% bitumen, which means there would be approximately 50 kilograms of bitumen in one tonne of asphalt so an annual use of bitumen of 1,250,000 tons. What will the green transition replace bitumen with?

The main point here is that the road network serves as a parallel to the UK electricity network; the National Grid is an accretion of systems of varying ages and reliability with roots dating back to 1926 and the creation of the Central Electricity Board. This established the first synchronised, nationwide AC grid. Some of that infrastructure has been in use since then, making parts of the grid nearly a century old. According to National Grid Careers, 6,500 staff work constantly to maintain, repair and upgrade the electricity network.

The increasing complexity of the electrical system increases operating, maintenance and repair costs as well as fragility, so the workforce involved in maintenance and repairs will continue to grow. If we consider the other essential networks, such as communications, financial, food production and distribution and the like, we can apply the same thinking, that increasing complexity = increasing cost = increasing fragility. Experiences of recent and current wars demonstrate clearly that power generation and associated infrastructure are obvious and easy targets for disruption.

Regarding Electrifying Everyone, the question arises, who will control the grid? By electrifying everyone and everything, grid dependency means that the possibility of control becomes pretty much total. Grid dependency is the exact opposite of what we really should be doing, which is creating and supporting local self reliance, meaning local power sources for independent local grids and reducing dependency upon all these increasingly fragile (and expensive) networks. unfortunately, with governments blinded by the illusion of perpetual growth, that is exactly why they are not interested so we will just have to do it ourselves.

Thanks for reading. Comments always welcome. Next up, I think, is the outline design for the Tyddynwyr Revival and how we can bring their low-impact, low-carbon, integrated, supportive, culturally rich, self-reliant communities that they created into the present. Till then, take care all. Hwyl! Chris.

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Some sources:

Illustrations are from the Public Domain.

RAC Pothole Index – statistics and data for UK roads

Roads in England and Wales nearing collapse, warns asphalt industry

Transport for London: pdf download, includes asphalt use in the UK

Be aware! Teaching and learning are the same thing and arise simultaneously and continuously. That is why in the old language the two fragments are re-membered as a single word.

Konsk: appendices; Dire Warnings.

Programming is taking place.

Here is what is happening. Learner and Twm (as the dog) are seated together before the one-way programming device. Learner is cross-legged, wide eyed; the dog is bolt upright, the great lopsided head thrust forward, tongue wetly lolling

There is the new understanding that the device that they have previously named the snowstorm device is not really a snowstorm device at all! As before, it displays on one surface of its great bulk, a complex pattern of ever changing points or spots. As before, the points or spots themselves are fixed, unmoving, yet their intensities are almost constantly changing, forming coherent patterns rendering apparently moving images! The images include the figures and characters of individual human beings and other animals as well as objects of unknown origin or type.

“Like ‘er paintings,” Twm observes.

“Ony movin’, movin’ paintin’s,” Learner develops the theme.

Yet the images do not respond to attempts at interaction, for when Dog Twm sneaks up and barks suddenly at them, they do not react.

“Non inner-active,” Twm states after his brief experiment.

Learner agrees; the snowstorm device therefore, is re-defined as a one-way programming device.

Here’s how they got to this stage; after their encounter with similar devices in the big outside, they had made a hurried and excited return to the cave complex and once there, examined the snowstorm device with considerable care. Once more they took up the root like object that they had previously considered using as an attachment between dog and man. They studied the capped end with its small but elaborate metal construction, obviously without touching it. It seemed to be a small hollow object with a metal spike inside.

Twm it was who first noticed that the snowstorm device itself had a similar receptacle inset in the back, assuming that the snowstorm display surface was the front. This receptacle was almost a reflected image of the cap on the root like object, having a hole in the centre, as though to receive a spike. The two began to babble in excitement.

“Dey go togeth’r?” Learner questioned. “Dis bit ting go in ‘ere?”

Twm barked an affirmative. After all, they were not stupid, just ignorant of the ways of The Really Heavy Now.

With great care and not a little trepidation, holding only to the root like object and avoiding all contact with its metal cap, Learner offered it up to the receptacle; it looked encouragingly similar. The cap fitted snugly against the receptacle and, calling on the ancestors for support, Learner gave a little push. The cap slid in and when Learner let go, it remained in place. The two looked at each other, hardly daring to breathe. Then they peered around to look at the snowstorm on the display surface.

The snowstorm had gone, replaced by a great swirl of light and shade that ever and again resolved itself into recognisable shapes and images that appeared to live and move and take their being from the very bowels of the device.

Oh, the pair leapt and frolicked in uncontrolled excitement, ever and again stopping to stare at the images then rushing madly about, even hiding in the storage cave or putting their hands (or paws, in Twm’s case) over their eyes to block out the sight. Then peeking through fingers (or claws) they shrieked (or yelped) to find that the swirl of light and shade was still there, such delight! Only muted by a loud banging from below and the raging voice.

“Fuckin’ cool it, ya twats!”

They did. They seated themselves before the device and began to study it, first, the viewpoint; initially they considered the possibility that they observed through someone else’s eyes, rather like dreaming another or certain aspects of possession. At times this did seem to be a valid conjecture; for example, it might appear that they were standing before another hewbee who, by the way their lips moved, spoke to them, though they could hear no sound above the crackle and hiss of the great device. Then again, they might appear to be flying, high over a landscape, perhaps with a bird or even a constructed thing, with crude, stiff wings that did not flap. Sometimes the viewpoint rushed madly about, following figures or devices. At other times the viewpoint changed with bewildering speed, displaying a completely confusing sequence of perspectives that at this stage they were unable to interpret.

They came to feel that the containing structure of the great device was simply an opening through which they peered, as though they spied upon many another world. Yet it did not contain the actual worlds. To verify this, Twm, as the dog, spent some time looking around and behind the thing, peering intently through the complicated pattern of holes cut in the back of the object through which warmth emanated. To no avail; this limited view of the interior revealed only complicated looking devices of unknown purpose and try as he might, no matter how quickly he darted round the back of the box, no figures were visible.

What magic, they thought, boggled by the marvellous device.

The two turned their attention to the study of the moving images and the other worlds they revealed, for in truth, a myriad realities were presented through this device. And what did these realities reveal? This was a complicated question.

“’Mages,” Twm growled simply. “Images dat move.”

Of course he was correct, as far as his answer went. It did not go very far.

Learner commented that some images were strikingly accurate pictorial representations of indies involved in various activities. Though some of these activities were easily recognisable, such as speaking (although their voices could not be heard), running, jumping, kissing, even playing the old game, many were very mysterious.

Others of the images were more like paintings, the figures simplified, the movements perhaps jerky, details lacking. Still others were completely abstract, shapes and swirls that shifted and blurred, perhaps resolving suddenly into rows of those peculiar decorative shapes that might contain meaning.

What became more apparent as they continued their observation was that some of the images formed sequences; that is, they revealed something like a story. This was a moment of enlightenment, that the separate moving images suggested a relationship with that which had been displayed previously and that which was displayed subsequently.

They had great fun to begin with, attempting to describe the possible relationships and thus tell each other the assumed stories created by whole sequences of moving images. Admittedly, they were often at a total loss as to how one moving image related to the next, ignorant as they were in regard to concepts such as programme breaks, trailers, adverts, news flashes, even cuts and all the other intricacies of the media that most dwellers in The Really Heavy Now had become completely conditioned to.

They would strive to provide thoughtful dialogue when required or simple commentaries. However, as time passed and they became more proficient at generating relationships between moving images, so too did their relative interpretations diverge. Though this might be seen to add interesting diversity, in that Twm’s story of a sequence of moving images might be quite different from Learner’s story of the same sequence, in fact it resulted in an increasing number of discussions that turned into genuine disputes over the correct or true interpretation of the proposed sequences. Some of these disputes became quite vocal and so loud as to trigger the raging response from down below.

“Shut the fuck up!”

After this had occurred for more than a count of five times and nothing seriously violent had resulted from the interjection, they lost much of their fear and would hide their mouths behind their hands (or paws) and attempt to stifle their laughter. However, the disputes themselves raised concerns.

“P’raps no true story,” Twm whined miserably after a particularly loud argument that left Learner wearing the sulky mask. “No true story at orl!”

“P’raps lotsa ways a tellin’ it?” Learner suggested.

The relativity, in this case at least, disturbed them when compared to the stories they knew of from about the fire with the family. These stories contained layers of meaning, thus making the same story suitable for different ages and evolutions. Yet all the many layers of meaning operated together, compounding the unity of the central message, adding rich detail and complexity and giving much food for valuable contemplation. Yet these multiple interpretations of stories in the Really Heavy Now appeared only to create confusion, conflict, even aggression, serving only to further the separation.

Yet did the two persist in their study and on the second day of their sustained observation of the snowstorm device that was not a snowstorm device, they were able to confirm what they had already begun to suspect; that there was an element of repetition to the flow of images. That is, some shorter sequences in particular were repeated at intervals. This allowed them to study these sections in more detail and soon they were able to predict the appearance of certain elements within the sequences. They began to look forward to these sequences that became more familiar with each repetition, eagerly crowding about the device, pushing at each other in order to achieve the best viewing position.

One particular short sequence involved many of those who generally hunt in packs running across a field. The viewpoint then changed to a pair of hands manipulating devices and emptying the contents of one container into another. One instance of those who hunt in packs then rushed excitedly through a tree bit opening device and bounced towards the container. The final moving image in the sequence showed the head of the dog, huge and happily gulping down what was obviously excellent food.

When a repetition of this sequence began, the two would nudge each other in anticipation. Learner would provide a commentary.

“’Ere we go,” he would say, pointing at the pack. “We all run an’ jump in a wild, fun ‘n’ ‘appy is we all. Den, ‘ungry we is. Gotta ‘ave sum food! Kwik, kwik, dere’s da food all reddy! Fuckin’ ooray! Tru da tree bit opener and get dat fwd dahn, kwik like! Oh boy, is good, innit, Twm?”

The two would frolic before the device, making hearty swallowing sounds. Twm would belch and pretend to fart.

Then Learner became silent. He considered the image of the food container that had flashed before them on the device. Was this not unlike the closed containers within the storage area of the cave complex? Excitedly he rushed to look and returned carrying one carefully, holding the object by the painting that wrapped its cylindrical surface. He held it up to Dog Twm who let his huge tongue loll from one side of his mouth in a gross caricature of the painting on the container.

“Food it is,” Learner whispered. “Food container, innit, Twm?”

Twm barked in agreement. But even more important to Learner was the revelation that the snowstorm device (that was not a snowstorm device) was in fact a teacher!

“Nah we gonna learn, Twm,” he whispered in suppressed excitement. “We is gonna learn al ‘bout the really ‘eavy now, ain’t we? We gotta teacher!”

He patted the display device almost lovingly.

“Teachy ting, innit, Twm?” He breathed.

Twm the dog cocked his head on one side thoughtfully, eyes rolling to reveal the whites. Certainly, the revelation about the food containers was significant although they would have to renew their study to discover how to open them. Yet he was concerned, even worried. Did not the indie who opened the container for the dog wear the mask of deceit? Surely this one was only pretending to be happy whilst opening the container?

Learner waved a hand dismissively.

“Les jus’ watch,” he said, settling himself before the device. “Watch ’n’ learn, yeah? Watch ’n’ learn fro’ teachy fing, yeah?”

Learner took up a central position before the device. Though Twm squeezed up against his brother and friend, Learner refused to move over, pushing him away almost angrily and the dog was forced to sit off to one side.

“Look ‘n’ learn,” whispered Learner with a twisty smile upon his cracked lips.

His attention thus focused upon the one way programming device, his gaze became glassy, eyeballs flickering as they followed the slightest movements on the display and though at times Twm licked his face or bumped him playfully, even sitting before his brother and friend with the attachment device hanging from his drooling mouth, Learner shushed him to silence, leaning around so his view of the display was uninterrupted, pushing his one time friend and ally to the side.

Now Twm, as the dog, was worried.

Thanks for reading. Comments always welcome. Next up, we’re time jumping back to the present (or is that forward to the present?) and how worthy attempts to electrify everything and everyone are doomed to failure. Till then, take care all. Hwyl! Chris.

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“The society that invests vast energies in creating art as an illusion of reality, steps ever further away from what is truly real.”

Konsk: appendices; Strange but True.

Mention may usefully be made here of the development of Twm and Learner’s understanding and appreciation of the many artistic representations so prevalent in The Really Heavy Now, and in particular of the paintings that were not paintings. For despite the monotonous greys of the external surfaces and structures, there were also complicated splashes of brilliant colour.

When alone, Learner had largely ignored these apparently random and purely decorative patterns of varying hues that adorned many surfaces. The sheer number and variety of size and shape of surfaces were overwhelming but now, with a companion to share the experience it seemed likely they could solve this mystery, each acted as both speculator and witness to the other.

Observing one such surface, Leaner standing with his head tilted back a little, Dog Twm sitting slumped to one side, tongue lolling, gaze wandering, all that they perceived was a swirl of bright colours, chaotic, on the very surface of the materials.

“Lotsa colours!” Twm was impressed, being as he was used to a much more limited set of pigments.

“Lots shapes ‘n’ sizes!” Learner pointed out.

“Sorta paintin’s, ain’t they?” Twm finally ventured and Learner tentatively agreed.

Indeed, once they started a more thematic observation they were amazed (nay, gobsmacked, emphasised Learner), by the huge variety of such materials that had been thus patterned or painted, including the large surfaces of some of the structures themselves, material positioned on the inside of the rigid transparent surfaces, all sorts of containers of a great variety of shape and size, even the personal burdens or clothes worn by some indies, also small or larger objects that indies carried with them and studied in great detail . These were not all the coloured surfaces by any means but serve to indicate the diversity of materials available for artistic endeavours.

“Dey’s everywhere!”

Twm was astounded and impressed, being something of an artist himself, when not a dog, However, after some thought he qualified his observation.

“All same,” he whined, “flat ‘n’ smooth ‘n’ rather borin’”

Lacking any texture or other inherent qualities, unlike his own favoured surfaces of rock, mud, sand or the skin of certain trees and animals (including indies), there was no possibility of feedback or interaction.

For Twm, artistic expression resulted from a conversation involving the surface material (be it rock, mud, sand or whatever), the medium (charcoal, earth pigments, blood or whatever) the applicator (chewed stick, finger, blow tube or whatever), the one who manipulated the applicator and the suggestions of the ancestors and family, whether present in the same now or residing within the artist’s head. Thus the work itself represented a complex interaction, a fluid conversation and all those who partook in the conversation partook in the work and added their own layers of meaning.

Here though, in this now, there seemed little opportunity for conversation. The surface materials, so flat and boring, would suggest little or nothing. The colours, though intense and powerful, were all the same and paled into insignificance through constant repetition.

Yet gradually, after sustained observation, out of this flat splatter of colours, boundaries or edges appeared.

“Eh oop!” Twm yelped and jumped to his four feet.

“Eh up!” Said Learner.

Being intimately connected to his brother and friend from the Deep Past, he had felt the same sudden spark of illumination, for their perception of the apparently flat expanse of colours resolved suddenly into distinct, discrete interlocking shapes! With persistence of vision, some of these shapes became more important than others. This emergence of differences of priority resulted in the more important shapes seeming to stand out or forward, while the less significant retreated to become a background. Thus did an illusion of depth appear!

“Crikey!” Twm exclaimed and bounded in a number of tight circles of excitement, only falling over once due to the damaged leg.

The effort of maintaining the illusion hurt their heads at first; If their attention lapsed, the shapes would tremble and blur together, returning the flat chaotic swirl of colour but over time they grew capable of maintaining the illusion with less and less effort. The pain faded and it became difficult for them to perceive anything other than the illusion of depth. This itself was worrying for they were aware that they were victims of an illusion yet found it harder and harder to see through it. Did this experience relate to some deeper level of truth regarding The Really Heavy Now?

The next revelation was even more striking. On one of their expeditions into the outer world they paused to stare upward at the side of a huge structure adorned with a large area of coloured shapes. One particular shape, a black circle against a mottled blue ground, suddenly resolved itself into the pupil and iris of an eye! With this recognition, other surrounding shapes leapt into prominence as first the eyelid and brows appeared, closely followed by forehead, nose then mouth. Gobsmacked (as the dreaming Erak would say) Twm and Learner found themselves to be staring up at the image of a huge face that in turn appeared to peer down upon him.

“Wha’ da fu’k?” Leaner managed to gasp.

Big Dog Twm could not believe it and began to bounce on the spot, yelping and whining, such was his excitement! Momentarily forgetting this was merely an illusion, he attempted to drag Learner around the structure, expecting to find the giant. How he barked! As people turned to stare they moderated their energy levels.

In this instance the illusion collapsed back once more into its constituent shapes, yet with practice they became proficient at interpreting these coloured shapes.

“Dey is ‘lusions,” Twm pronounced, “ill-usions.”

“Yep, matey Twm Dog,” Learner agreed. “But ver’ limited. On’y show da outside.”

Twm could not have put it better; when he painted a representation of say an animal, the image might include the bones and internal organs, all the legs at once and something of the inherent properties and relationship with Konsk, from which arose both the inside and outside stuff.

After a long pause, Twm presented his interpretation.

“Is really all figurey, figures, innit? Jus’ wot the eye sees, innit? So paintin’ illusions, ill-usions, pretend like real peeple, real animals.”

“Da’s a ver’ valuable insight, my ol’ fren and now Dog Twm,” Learner nodded appreciatively. “Ver’ wise wordy words indeed, matey.”

The two shuddered as they considered how this obsession with a purely figurative, illusory art might affect a culture and those who fell for the illusions.

“Well, we nose it’s heavy, innit,” was all learner could say.

Twm, whose own art had always been to do with representing multiple, inherent realities, was very disappointed.

As something of a break from this rather gloomy revelation, they turned their attention instead to the interior of one of the many cave like structures, peering within through the rigid transparent material. They were intrigued by one such nook which was filled with diminutive sculptures, some the shrunken forms of animals, modelled perhaps from perhaps clay or possibly stone and glassily glazed or painted.

These were intricately worked with considerable detail, some recognisable such as the flighty deer, some like the mountain tree eaters, though much smaller and the forest soil-turners, only these were a shocking bright pink instead of the wonderful stripey ones that Learner and Twm knew so well.

Once again, like the paintings, the sculpture’s seemed purely representational. Some though wore the garment burdens, clothes- who would have thought it! others seemed distorted versions of forest beasts, as though possessed. Even more disturbing were the diminished bodies of indies in small containers or young females standing in the cute posture with elaborate garments. Were these a form of fetish with a shamanistic purpose? Twm tilted his doggy head, his tongue lolling largely and dripping saliva.

Other figures were still more grossly deformed with grotesquely bulbous muscle and sinew, monsters from nightmares, forever holding to some encumbrance or other. These various implements may have been sticks or poles yet were curiously contrived and coloured and from the rage in the figures’ faces, were presumably weapons. This conjecture was reinforced by a further group of figures, a collection whose individuals brandished shining objects that could only be the metal workers’ cunningly contrived blades.

Twm’s attention snapped back into focus once more; though the figurines bore no tattoos, he could recognise something familiar here, something in the posture, coiled to strike, the drawn back lip revealing the teeth. Though they were not the warriors of the deep past that he had known (lacking the spirals of inks) this apparent connection with the metal workers provided much opportunity for dreaming thought. They considered that these many objects may be some form of votive offering, as used by the metal workers in their vain attempts to placate their imaginary, projected energies.

It was all a bit much for them and Twm resolved that it would be necessary, for his continued sanity, fragile as it was in a dog’s body, to ground himself through once more creating his own art.

The two explorers moved on to study the interior of another building and now were struck instantly dumb and motionless, for the rigid transparent material revealed a careful arrangement of many variations of what were clearly akin to the snowstorm device! In their ranks and rows they stood, in numbers beyond counting without the use of markers, some small, some large, in monotonous shades of beige or brown.

Yet these devices did not merely display the repetitive and boring snowstorm that was not a snowstorm. On the contrary, as they looked from one device to the next, the two companions stared in abject wonder. For they gazed upon a wealth of swirling patterns that ever and again resolved into images, like the paintings, only moving!

“Well fu’k me!” Growled Twm in amazement, “Der’s us!”

Learner leapt in the air in shock for yes, one device had indeed captured them! Or an image of them, as though it was some form of reflector, for there was Learner, gawping, jaw dropped and beside him Dog Twm frozen in surprise, mid pant, the red tongue hanging motionless from the toothy mouth with only a sliver of silver slime oozing in a long slow drip to mark the passage of time.

They looked at each other in wonder and an idea seemed to form, hanging somewhere in the space between them. Then they turned as one and began to run, faster and faster, singing the song of the way home ever more quickly as they went.

Anyone spot the deliberate mistake? OK, just a mistake then- the last chapter, Barn Stormin’ should have been 15, not 16. Duh...my bad.

You may well have already noticed this but I hadn’t , again duh! A local friend recently pointed out to me that there’s a “play” icon to the top right of my posts and if you click it, you get to hear a voice reading the words. Remarkable!

OK, its an AI type text reader but it is rather good, at least compared to the mechanical, Dalek type utterances that they used to be like. Only thing is (and this is one of the give-aways that it’s AI generated and not a real person) it can’t recognise the “w” as a long vowel in the name Twm, (which is pronounced something between Tom and Tum), so it spells Twm out every time. Ha! Not that good then, yet...I’ll have to post something in Cymraeg to see what happens.

Thanks for reading. More to come very soon. Till then, take care. Hwyl! Chris.

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Beware hopes and dreams. They exist only to be dashed.

Konsk. Appendices: Sayings of the fair family.

“It, ah,” said Trueman, “Requires a certain amount of work.”

“Its well knackered, isn’t it, Dad?” Chirped Catti, swinging off Dawn’s hand.

Spicer made no reply, although he grinned at Trueman’s embarrassment.

Trueman had been surprised when Dawn’s handy-person had turned out to be the motorbicyclist. On further consideration he decided that in fact he was surprised that he was surprised, as it seemed now to have been an inevitable occurrence. However, any objections he might have been processing prior to giving voice to them had been instantly dissolved when Dawn greeted him by touching her lips to his cheek. He was almost convinced that her tongue had applied the lightest of licks. Then she had informed him of the party.

“You gonna come, Troom?”

Trueman looked blank at first, Catti keen.

“There’s gonna be a party at your old house,” Dawn explained. “Like a leaving party. Your leaving party!” She added brightly.

“Can we go, Dad?” Catti fairly squeaked in excitement.

“Go on, Troom,” Dawn really was insistent, surprising Trueman again by taking his hand in hers and squeezing it. “It’ll be really great. Get you away from here, for a bit. And I’ve got a new skirt to wear.”

She postured provocatively, dropping a hand to her hip and resting one leg.

“Well,” Trueman managed. “I am rather busy, being as there is a considerable amount to be done here.” Dawn pouted. “And I should have to find a child minder.” Catti grimaced.

Trueman analysed the options, especially the prospect of spending more time with this decidedly attractive young woman. The biker stared blankly off into the middle distance.

“Oh, just go for it, Troom. I’ll keep an eye on you!” Dawn winked at him.

“Well,” he said, “I’ll do my best.”

“Great!” Dawn laughed and gave him the details.

Now she stood just behind him with Catti, her attention concentrated on the two men as they examined the barn, wary of any negative remark from Spicer that might lose them the whole deal. It had taken considerable care on her part, as well as all the hip-jutting posturing, to entice Trueman thus far. She did not want to see Spicer just blow it all out of temper.

“What you think of the barn, then, Spice?” She asked with just the right level of enthusiasm in her voice.

Spicer made no reply because he was excited.

“It’s knackered,” whispered Catti.

Her father chose to ignore her, again. No attention for negative behaviour, he intoned to himself.

Spicer pulled aside one half of the crude, timber-framed, corrugated iron sheets that served as barn doors (it shrieked and groaned) and peered within. It smelled of mould and ancient, dried sheep droppings.

The building was not huge, only some five metres by ten and two stories in height, one long side embedded into the hill, clustered about with sycamores for immediate shelter and more ancient, twisted oaks rising beyond. The stone walling was remarkable; a vast collection of rocks of varied shapes and sizes, intricately assembled to create flat planes of obvious solidity (it was still there, after all these years). Only a little collapse was visible at the top of each corner.

Dawn was amazed by the colours and textures of these interlocking stones, like a vast abstract picture, thick with mosses where the ground sloped up to meet it, emblazoned with the pale greens, orange and ruddy rosettes of lichen. She pointed out the patterns to Catti who squeaked as spiders scuttled from their recesses. Spicer appreciated the work of a true craftsman, running his rough, black lined hands over the coarse texture of granite, following the precise curve of the arch, fingers exploring the complexity of jointing, picking at loose lime pointing, feeling horse hair binding in the mix. Trueman saw only a considerable amount of essential work that required completion in a specifically ordered sequence of events.

“All the stonework will require re-pointing, of course,” he began. “Though I believe the essential structure to be sound.”

“Course it is,” Spicer said. “Built by craftsmen.”

His voice became muffled as he passed within the building.

“You could do that,” Dawn suggested eagerly, “Couldn’t you, Spice?”

Spicer’s head momentarily reappeared to give Dawn a pointed stare.

“But you could, couldn’t you?” She insisted. “He’s very practical, Troom,” she explained, “Very good with his hands.”

Spicer’s head disappeared with an expression of disgust.

“The slate roof is only poorly preserved,” Trueman went on. “You will already have noticed the pronounced curvature of the main ridge beam and there are some notable gaps where slates have descended. Probably in high winds. It is, after all, rather exposed. From the south east.”

Dawn turned to look where Trueman was indicating with his pencil.

Below the barn the land sloped gently down to a shallow basin of wet meadows dotted with tufts of sedges, and rimmed with thickets of gorse, thorn, rowan and birch that marked the edge of the crags. Below, invisible from here, curled the river that she and Spicer had followed on the bike, wobbling around the many potholes of the rough track. Beyond, in blue haze, were distant hills that clambered higher, almost into true mountains. The sun, climbing toward its zenith, cast great beams of light through cloud, caught and illuminated occasional rock and tree with sharp, golden light. A blackbird perched on the western gable trilled through its mid-morning song, the notes rippling through the air, almost visible as motes of flickering light, cascading in showers around the four humans.

God, thought Dawn, I mean goddess; it’s beautiful. Please don’t fuck it up, Spice. Catti swung on her hand and began to whistle thinly.

There was the sound of large objects being repositioned inside the barn. Trueman went towards the main opening, still half-covered with metal sheets and continued his litany.

“The floor will require a screed prior to the application of a damp proof membrane and concrete. Of course, it will be impossible to bring a ready mix vehicle to this position. A light-industrial mixing device, powered by a diesel motor, is available. Sand and cement can be found in the materials repository, at the farmyard.”

He was getting into his stride. He consulted his PDA for more details, peering into the small colour screen, using his pencil to scroll through a long list.

“Ah, yes,” he continued. “The slates will require removal, careful removal, as they will be re-used, to allow for the renewal of rafters and purlins. Many have rot in the ends. It may prove possible to salvage some. The rotten material may be cut out and replacement timber attached. Using a splice joint.”

“Aye.” Came Spicer’s voice from within.

“You’re good at carpentry, aren’t you, Spice.” Dawn insisted, continuing to Trueman with a coy look, “He made my bed.”

“Will he make me one?” Catti wanted to know.

Trueman harrumphed and turned his attention to the front wall.

“The principle entrance doors are obviously inadequate.”

By way of proof he rattled the tin sheets that barely covered the arched entrance in the front wall. Dawn was enthralled by his use of language. He knows so many words, she was thinking. He’s just so intelligent. Trueman became aware of her attention.

“Being as they open only reluctantly,” he went on, “Yet still permit the entrance of the elements. A new frame is required as well as the doors themselves. Of suitable construction and material. Which is available in the repository I referred to earlier.”

He turned to the left of the main doors.

“Similarly with the person entrance,” he indicated this to Dawn by gesturing with his pencil, in case she had not noticed the small door to the left of the main ones. She nodded her head in grateful acknowledgement, as if indeed she had not noticed it, almost to say, ah yes, now I see.

“Door frame, door, metalwork, including hinges and latches, replacement window frame, new window constructed from appropriately profiled timber, glazing, glazing bars, glazing tacks, putty.”

Trueman looked up from his PDA as though needing a breather after hard work. Dawn smiled encouragingly.

“All woodwork will require preservative treatment, followed by primer, undercoat and top coat. I have consulted the necessary reference books on this. Green I think. Dark gloss green. To be harmonious with the surroundings.”

Spicer stuck his head through the small window opening.

“I like green,” he said before disappearing once more within..

“Good choice, Troom,” Dawn agreed and clapped her hands excitedly. Catti copied her and jumped up and down. This is going well, thought Dawn, then crossed her fingers behind her back.

“Lots to do, eh, Spice?” She called. “Take a while but you can do it, can’t you, Spice?”

There was a muttered response from the darkness within. Dawn thought she made out quit fuckin’ hasslin’, woman, or something similar but she might have been mistaken. She hoped Trueman hadn’t heard. Catti began to whisper fickin assle, fickin assle, until Dawn shushed her.

Trueman moved forward to lean through the corrugated iron work. The area immediately behind the main doors was open to the roof with its delicate patchwork of light where slates had fallen. Dust swirled within the gloom. In the cavernous interior Spicer could be made out climbing cautiously up a crude, round-wood ladder, the rungs of different dimensions and at different angles, leading to a partial loft floor over the left hand side of the building. Reaching the top he tentatively stepped out onto the worm eaten boards. They creaked ominously and showered old hay and other unidentifiable debris down below.

“The age and decay prevalent in the floor boarding necessitates their complete renewal, of course,” said Trueman, rather hurriedly. “The interior requires stripping out as a prerequisite to refurbishment. I belief ‘gutting’ is the appropriate term.”

“It is, mate,” intoned Spicer automatically. He rubbed his chin.

“There is an infestation of boring beetle,” Trueman continued. “The necessary toxins and preservatives have already been acquired. All that is needed is application according to the manufacturer’s instructions. The relevant personal protective clothing is also available and should be utilised. In order to conform to health and safety guidelines.”

“You can do that, can’t you, Spice?” Dawn called up to him. “You wear a crash hat on your bike, don’t you? You know all about that health and safety stuff, yeah?”

She gave Trueman a reassuring look just as Spicer put a foot through a rotten board. As the billow of dust dispersed he coughed and withdrew his boot, giving Dawn a black stare. Stepping over the new hole he reached the western gable end where an open, circular embrasure gave a view out onto the roil of cloud. He took a long look out then nodded, once.

Dawn gasped, peering in below Trueman’s raised arm. She felt his shoulder stiffen as her head brushed his sleeve. He pulled back to give her more space, finding himself looking down on her.

“What a beautiful window,” she exclaimed delightedly, holding her hands as though in prayer and pulling her elbows in. This had the effect of squeezing her breasts and visibly increasing the depth of her cleavage. Trueman felt momentarily dizzy.

“It would be lovely in stained glass,” she said. “Don’t you think, Spice.”

Spicer, returning to the edge of the loft floor, cast her a cold look.

“The intention,” said Trueman, “Is that the building should be of a utilitarian nature. Storage in general. In particular, of machinery. Such as the rotovation device. Stained glass would probably not be appropriate.”

Spicer looked over the edge of the loft floor as though lost in thought and then stepped out, into the void, crashing down loudly onto old hay and rotten timber and raising a huge cloud of dust and debris that drove the others back from the doorway, coughing and sneezing. He emerged, lightly dusted with grey and adorned with cobwebs.

Catti ran back, hauling Dawn with her and shrieking “A monsta, a monsta!”

“What you think, Spice?” Dawn queried.

“’S’all right, I s’pose,” he said guardedly.

“But you could do it, couldn’t you,” Dawn insisted. “You got all the skills, haven’t you. Troom’s got the stuff. You could do it, easy, couldn’t you.”

Spicer’s left pupil suddenly contracted to a point and his right eye bulged. Too late, Dawn was aware that she had gone to far.

“Why don’t you keep your fuckin’ trap shut!” Spicer stated with suppressed violence. “And stop fuckin’ witterin’, alright?”

Dawn turned reddening to Trueman. Her eyes were suddenly wet.

“Oh, don’t mind him,” she explained shakily, “I always go to far.”

She pulled the leather jacket straight across her shoulders. This had the effect of jostling her breast under Trueman’s nose.

“C’m’on Catti,” she sniffled. “Let’s go find some fairies.”

Catti shrieked with glee and hand in hand the two trudged back up the ancient walled trackway towards the farm. Trueman was temporarily baffled. Alone now with the biker person he felt suddenly chilled. Was the thug likely to do him violence?

“Um, are you currently available for work?” He stammered by way of appeasement. “At the moment?”

Spicer laughed and extracted various bits of paraphernalia from the pocket of his jacket before assembling the requisites for a smoke. He had taken the precaution of crumbling an eighth of an ounce of Moroccan hashish into his tobacco so as to be able to roll an effective, strong, single-skinner without being too obvious.

“Yeah,” he drawled and inhaled deeply. “No probs. Lot of work though. Be best if I moved up here, temporary, like. Be on the spot then. Early start an’ all.”

Trueman could see the logic in that.

“Ah, but where would you stay?” He enquired and sniffed. He wondered fleetingly why someone so prone to violence would prefer to smoke perfumed tobacco.

“Crash here,” Spicer said easily. “Maybe camp or just sort a corner for me stuff.”

He indicated vaguely toward the barn’s interior. Trueman nodded. At least that would keep the hooligan away from the main house.

“Course, I’ll need to move me gear out of yer town house,” Spicer drawled, exhaling a cloud of blue smoke. “Any chance o’ borrowin’ yer Landy an’ trailer?”

From the corner of his dark eye, Spicer caught the wobble of Trueman’s Adam’s apple as he swallowed heavily. Even before Trueman gave his verbal assent, Spicer knew he’d won.

He grinned broadly, savouring the moment. This was gonna be a good summer.

Thanks for reading. With the world apparently coming apart at the seams I wonder sometimes about my own role in it. There are so many good writers here on Substack, covering topics close to my heart in far greater depth and with better perception. Apart from planting potatoes, I wonder what else I can do?

But then, regarding fiction and Heads, I’ve started so I may as well try and finish. So a few more chapters to follow in short order then on to Electrifying Everyone and Everything, Potted Plants and the Mobile Forest and a Master or perhaps rather Misstress Design for the Reoccupation of the Countryside and the Transformation of Society. Nothing too ambitious then…Till then, take care. Hwyl! Chris

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“Dogma, in its broadest sense, is any belief held definitively and without the possibility of reform.”

Wikipedia

Over the growing number of years I’ve lived on this planet I have met many people who have insisted to me, sometimes quite forcefully, that they know the truth, that they are right and I am wrong. Quite often these various truths coming from different people have been mutually incompatible. How do I tell which one is right, if any?

Here are just a few examples from my own experience.

I did some design work for someone back in the early 90’s. He had bought a patch of land with the intention of setting up a community project yet once he’d bought the land, all his prospective members had disappeared. The only other person on the site, let’s call him Dave, informed me that on a certain date in 1996 (I forget the actual date, not that it matters now), according to someone (I forget who but they don’t matter either), the world would instantly stop spinning on its axis (I can’t remember why now...) and everything on it would continue to move at 700 miles an hour, thus destroying civilisation. He said that nothing could be done about it and therefore it was pointless doing anything. He was spending his time repairing a rally car.

A couple of permaculture folk visited our place, again during the early 90’s and reliably informed me that by 1998, free energy machines would have been developed that would solve the energy crisis and end global warming1.

Similarly, large numbers of people have followed gurus who asserted that the world would end on one particular date or another, all of which have passed (so far), the ending of the Mayan calendar being one example. Its interesting how devotees of such beliefs may still cling on to them after the deadline has passed, inventing fresh stories for why we are still here.

I have had numerous discussions (occasionally arguments) with, for example, evangelical Christians and Jehovah’s Witnesses, who saw themselves alone as saved and the other as damned (to eternal suffering in hell); I was damned by both of course.

In this current world, the rise of the internet, social media and the power of the individual voice seems to have exacerbated this phenomena so that now there are vast numbers of competing perspectives for the truth (one for each of us??).

As well as ancient traditions that believe the world is an illusion, the modern scientific conceptions of quantum physics that can be used to deny free will or any value to consciousness, astrologers who ascribe all action to the movement and relationships of sun, moon and planets, people who believe the Earth is flat, those who don’t believe that Apollo 11 landed on the moon and so on and on and on.

Some argue that in the same way everyone is entitled to their own opinion, truth is therefore relative (what?) and everyone is entitled to their own version of the truth (what??). This has actually cropped up as an argument by a certain global leader who referred to his own truth as being more relevant than the generally perceived truth, the sort of inverse of the phrase “It may be true but I don’t believe it”, commonly attributed to Joseph Goebbels, the Minister of Propaganda in Nazi Germany.

For me, the problem with dogma is that the holders of a dogmatic perspective cannot be argued with, their perspective is fixed, is true, so why would they ever want to change it? There feels like nothing I can really do other than listen and nod, as respectfully as possible, then talk about something else. This is made all the more rigid and immoveable when religion is involved, especially if there is a sacred book, every word of which is taken to be true.

There are existing attempts to reconcile this tremendous diversity, one being Ken Wilbur’s Integral Theory which incorporate all belief systems into one general model, along the grounds that every perspective includes a valuable but partial truth, allowing for a broad integration of various world-views. He suggests evaluating competing perspectives by emphasising inclusiveness as a key principle; so for example, a religious fundamentalist perspective that reserves salvation for just a very limited number of believers would score quite low in terms of inclusivity.

Permaculture Design on the other hand would score quite high as it aspires to include everyone. OK this is not really a fair comparison as permaculture design is not a theory of everything but you get the idea. Indeed, in one remarkable month in the early 2000’s I hosted visits from an Israeli permaculture group and a few weeks later, a Palestinian permaculture group (I’ve often wondered what would have happened if their visits had actually coincided). Permaculture Design is a good example of a perspective which is able to operate as a mediating framework, within which people with otherwise competing or antagonistic perspectives can safely work together on mutually useful projects.

I am also reminded of a Greek philosopher, Pyrro, (about 360-270 BCE) who encountered the same thing way back then; someone would tell him what the truth was and then someone else would tell him a different truth and so on. In the end Pyrro decided that it was pointless trying to decide between them, as chances are, ultimately no one really knew. His approach, that of the sceptic, was to listen respectfully to others but not to be moved by their arguments and to retain a position of disbelief, the state of ataraxia, or freedom from mental perturbation.

Coincidental to working on this draft was a Radio 4 programme, Sideways which looked at the difficulties of thinking about varying theories of everything, (careful, it can drive you mad). I liked the final comment from a philosopher, I think he was called Gilchrist, who said something like, “there’s no real reason why we should be able to understand the universe.”

He went on the suggest that an element of humility was required. This rings true as many of those who present to me the facts of reality, that they have come across through their studies, seem far from humble. Obviously, there is a tremendous ego hit from having “discovered” the secrets of reality, particularly if you are in a minority (sometimes of one...), fighting to reveal the truth to others against the great weight of human ignorance. I know, I’ve been there, in the early 90’s, carrying the light of permaculture design (Ho ho! I fall off my chair laughing at my own naïve arrogance!) but I do like the idea that there’s no reason to think that we might be able to understand the universe.

So what should a person do? Pyrro suggested living a simple life and learning a skill that was genuinely useful to the community, like making shoes or growing food. The Permaculture Plot has been out in the open for fifty years now, revolution disguised as organic gardening, practical tools for designing resilient landscapes and communities. Whether it will be enough to counter all current challenges is an unnecessary question, it is perhaps enough to know that we are working with nature, not against it.

I’m also reminded of a general response that can be offered when faced with dogma, “Wouldn’t it be wonderful/terrible if that were true.2” (delete as appropriate).

“there’s no real reason why we should be able to understand the universe.”

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Thanks for reading. A warm welcome to new subscribers! Comments are always useful and appreciated. Take care all. Hwyl! Chris

The lavish 15 minute film has a pleasant, reassuring sound track running in the background throughout. Various people talk calmly about what is already being done and what will happen over the next few decades. See smiling young people wearing hard hats and carrying clip boards being trained in the new green technologies. Recycling gets mentioned as the record is so good. Everyone is healthier, children play happily in the park. Five year targets show the steady reduction of fossil fuel use, reaching net zero by 2050. Marvellous!

above: lovely! The Green Transition and Net-Zero; marvellous stuff….isn’t it?

I nearly burst out laughing at several points in the film but by the end of it I was fuming! The rest of the session was taken up by answering six questions posed by the Welsh Government on how to improve this wonderful plan. I must admit, at that point I gave up, apologised to the organisers, thanked them for the coffee and biscuits and left1.

I don’t intend to go into great detail on a critique of this film and the approach, partly because I have more interesting things to do but here are some of my main objections.

In brief I would say the film was a combination of greenwash and outright deception. The deception comes from the idea that the current capitalist society is fine as long as we just switch energy sources from fossil fuels to green technologies. This gives rise to two serious errors, firstly that the capitalist way of doing things is OK and secondly that replacing all fossil fuel use with green technologies is possible. Neither of those two statements are true.

The current rush for mining rare earths, essential for components for windmills (permanent magnet generators etc.) is no different from any capitalist exploitation of Earth’s resources and has the same destructive effects on the environment and people (if you’re really interested, look at the share prices of mining companies- rare earth harvesting is reaping enormous profits for the already stupidly rich).

As far as I can remember, the film made little or no mention of the transport which currently delivers pretty much all our essential needs in terms of food, clothing, building materials, medicines and all the rest of it via ships, lorries and aircraft. Vast quantities of diesel oil are required for all those lorries and of course all the vehicles involved in the mining of those rare earths, among other stuff, its transportation and manufacture into the windmills, solar panels and batteries needed for the green revolution.

above: wind farms, coming your way soon!

The film only talks about energy but makes no mention of the differing calorific values of oils or the ERoEI, the Energy Return on Energy Invested, nor does it address the limits of renewable energy. According to research2 we need an ERoEI of between 12:1 and 13:1 in order for society to continue functioning at its current level. Wind power offers about 17-18 onshore and for offshore wind, 12-14.5, however, all that mining, manufacture and transport using good old diesel oil, the intermittent nature of wind (see below) and the need to back up the power produced at peak times brings it down to an ERoEI of only about 3.8:1. Photovoltaic panels in Spain come out at just 2.5:1 for similar reasons plus nighttime, when they produce nothing. Interestingly, hydro-power (not mentioned in the film, oddly, as Cymru with its high annual rainfall and decidedly un-level terrain, offers multiple opportunities for small scale, local hydro hits the highest return on energy invested, between 35:1 and 49:1.

The emphasis on recycling is missing the point; OK. Welsh recycling is admittedly very good, currently second or third best in the world and I have crowed about it in the past but recycling is the last resort. If we just use the good old three R’s (rather than the late, great Ross Mars’ much more thorough 12 R’s), the first and best R is the first, REDUCE! But of course, this does not fit a capitalist society where rapid throughput of energy and resources generates the most profit.

I could go on but I won’t, other than to add that one of the six questions was how can we make this transition happen faster? I refer you to the point I made earlier; going faster generates more money for the already wealthy, burns more fossil fuels more rapidly, consumes more earth resources more rapidly, destroys more of the natural world, exploits more people and will not necessarily get us to where the plan wants us to go..

OK next up is the National Emergency Briefing on Climate Change.

The National Emergency Briefing was commissioned to present the latest evidence, and build an irresistible call for the Government to stage a televised emergency briefing, the essential first step towards the WW2-scale response now required

This sounds more like it- its got Emergency in its title! Based on a number of citizens’ assemblies plus input from ten experts in various fields, resulting in ten presentations on You-Tube plus transcripts, this is a much more hard hitting presentation.

Last November, the experts briefed an invited audience of over 1,200 politicians and leaders from business, culture, faith, sport and the media. The briefing set out the implications of climate and nature breakdown for health, food systems, national security and the economy. Next step is a 45-minute film that will take the message into communities across the UK from this April. It should be out now and Arloesi have invited me to attend their showing, (thanks!), so I will be writing that up shortly,

Having scanned the transcripts however, to me it falls down in a number of broadly similar places, namely, it argues for the same rapid de-carbonisation of society and transition to large scale green technologies, leading to the same rare earth rush and the same problems as noted above, without addressing the underlying cause of an exploitative capitalism (and what other type is there?).

above: solar farm, going to sleep for the night.

Here are some of my thoughts around this idea of net zero.

A transition to net zero may well be impossible. In permaculture design we used to talk about an 80-20 principle, as in it is relatively easy to grow 80% of your food or provide for 80% of your basic needs and so on, meaning that the final 20% was the most difficult and would perhaps take more time and effort than it was worth. This might mean the goal is unachievable. However, until relatively recently, the majority of people in Wales lived in extremely low carbon, low impact, local communities; its obviously been done before and it might be forced upon us by circumstances anyway; see below...

The idea that we can solve this challenge while maintaining current living standards which depend on massive and rapid throughput of energy and resources is very probably a fantasy or outright deception; surely they must know this??

There is no acknowledgement of the effect of current geopolitical military actions on these plans. Modern armaments such as ballistic missiles and drones, require rare earth minerals in their manufacture. The war in Ukraine is consuming huge numbers of drones, all of which require rare earth’s for their permanent magnets. I’ve read one report here on Substack that the current US assault on Iran has already consumed 14 tons of rare earth minerals embedded in missiles and self guided bombs. They’re called Rare Earth Minerals for a good reason- they are rare…the rush to grab them will result in greater competition and probably more use of force, which will use more up....

Capitalism depends upon perpetual growth in order to pay the interest on loans. Until we address the basic challenge of capitalism and the nonsensical idea that perpetual growth is possible on a finite planet, it seems unlikely that any plan, however well meaning, is likely to succeed.

Neither address the maintenance and repair costs of current infrastructure, the need for which increases with the complexity of the infrastructure. Taking just electricity distribution, currently as I write there are hundreds, probably thousands of engineers at work in the UK repairing faults and replacing old materials on the network, some of which is ancient. Yet the intention is to demand even more from the grid as innumerable heat pumps, electric car charging points, off-shore and on-shore wind-turbine fields, hundreds (thousands?) of acres of solar panels and all the rest are plugged into it. This will require ever rising costs in terms of money and energy just to keep the whole thing running. There is a point where the money and energy required just to maintain a system becomes prohibitive. Think about the road network and the number of potholes…

above: local, small scale hydro from someone not waiting for the government to get it’s act together.

The increasingly unpredictable weather…We all know how the weather can scupper even our best laid plans. Harvesting field crops with machines becomes very difficult when the ground is saturated. Stuff doesn’t grow if it doesn’t rain. Pylons and poles blow down in gales. Windmills don’t rotate when a high sits on the British Isles for days, weeks (months??. The “Cold Blob” developing in the North Atlantic has severe implications for wind power in the UK, as decribed here. Solar panels do little or nothing when the sun don’t shine. Fires damage infrastructure, soils, buildings, human health, generate yet more carbon.

Collapse. Neither talk about a possible collapse and the importance of designing for such an event or events now, so as to try to steer it when it comes, (depending on how it occurs, steering may of course be impossible]. The interconnected nature of global trade, geo-politics, financial systems and all the rest of it means that as a system, despite having persisted and recovered from various shocks, is inherently fragile and becoming more so. Apparently minor events in war can prove to be key triggers with hindsight (and sometimes even with foresight, as described here on Substack) and have cascading consequences with very far reaching effects. Such events may reveal the Welsh and British (and other) governments’ careful plans to reaching net-zero to be mere fanciful illusions. We may find ourselves reaching net-zero much more quickly than any of them or us envisioned.

Finally, for now; promoting technologies and technology that hasn’t even been invented yet (what??) as solutions to this trap depends upon the same inherently destructive mind set that got us into it in the first place and will just make things worse.

There is a much more obvious solution to the current challenge, one that has been practised and promoted by permaculture designers and others for at least half a century now, and that is to do the opposite of the above, basically, to SLOW DOWN3, consume less, travel less, use less, develop a stay at home culture, integrate with neighbours, grow food if you have a garden, campaign for allotments if you haven’t. In other words, de-growth- obviously, such actions are in themselves so anti-capitalist that they are not considered, indeed, not even seen by those chasing the money.

Thanks for reading. Please let me know if any links don’t work or there are errors in the text- many thanks. Pics are from the Public Domain except for the small-scale hydro which I took. Not sure what’s coming next, more Konsk in the pipeline but speaking of pipelines, current global events may steer my attention a bit- scary stuff.

Take care all. Hwyl! Chris.

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Unfortunately, Indies of The Really Heavy Now inadvertently gave their dogs unconscious signals that they (the dogs) were alpha and hence the leaders of the pack. The stress of trying to live up to this responsibility coupled with further confusing messages from the Indie denying that they were alpha, completely confused the dog, resulting in considerable stress, anxiety and even aggression.

By giving the dog the firm message that the Indie is alpha, the dog can gratefully hand in his/her resignation and literally follow the Indie’s lead.

Konsk. Appendices: Strange but True.

The decision came to go out together but first, there was the necessity to create an attachment object, to physically unite Learner and the Dog Twm, in order to resemble the other Indie-beast pairings of the Really Heavy Now.

The need for an attachment object betwixt indie and beast had arisen from the conclusions of a discussion group, convened in the Deep Past, prior to Twm’s manifestation as Big Dog Twm in The Really Heavy Now.

Twm had elected to lead the discussion group (there were no objections) and took up a talking stick to denote his role. After he had accidentally on purpose dropped the stick three times, then pretended that its extravagant length and girth was somehow related to that of his own well used member and all the laughter had died down, he began the initial presentation.

The first observation related to the great variety of appearances that Learner had noted, here in The Really Heavy Now, of the members of the tribe who generally hunt in packs. Certainly the family discerned differences in their own lands and times and was fully aware that, like the tree, no two are alike, no matter how similar they may appear, but here and now, it is almost inconceivable how different they all are! In truth, it is not clear that all the creatures are from the same tribe at all; some are more closely akin to burrowing things, being small and wiry while others are huge and woolly like mountain tree eaters. It is even possible that every example so far observed is from a different tribe. All nod in amazed agreement.

Thus Twm concluded the first point.

Next, even more baffling, is the observed fact that these many and various members of the tribe who generally hunt in packs fall into two major groupings; namely, those who move freely and those who have an attached Indie. Smiler and the others nod, impressed by the clarity of Twm’s presentation.

Those beasts who move freely can run, trot, walk, lie, leap, (Twm played out the movements), make noises such as the excited shouting, lonely whimpering or (Twm cannot resist adding), noisily release pungent though innocuous gases and defecate wherever they will. After the laughter and repetition and more laughter had ceased he continued. No indies seems to have any concern for the widely distributed dog excrement, except when they tread in it.

This point concluded with the thought that these freely moving members behave in much the same way as the similar creatures that are existent in the time of the fair family. There was full agreement.

Next Twm turned attention to the other grouping. There was a long pause. This was because no one understands it. The characteristic of this group is that each member of the tribe that generally hunts in packs has an Indie attached to them!

Smiler shook his head, utterly baffled.

The attachments betwixt indie and beast vary, in texture and material, length and thickness, colour and pattern. The discussion group speculated that this variation i might carry meaning such as social status, quantity or quality of kill or even successful matings but the variation was considered of only minor significance in comparison to the very fact of attachment itself.

They were reduced to questioning; for what conceivable purpose would these pack creatures, that so delight in unrestricted and turbulent motion, wish to attach themselves to Indies and so limit their true natures? The Indies are slow, burdened as they often are with their containers of many objects, so slow that the pack creatures are reduced to hauling them along by their attachments. These Indies struggle to keep up, making loud complaints and waving their inadequate arms or even legs at the beasts who lead them.

The question of the attachments must remain just that, suggested Twm, as a question, until further study has been undertaken. All concur.

Twm concluded the presentation by pointing out that the Indies talk to their attached pack creatures, yet they do not use the pack language of posture and movement, instead they use the word system of thinking, how bizarre! The pack creatures have endeavoured to learn some of the words but, like Learner, find it awkward and largely pointless when compared to the older, much more reliable means of communication that is their true nature. It was obvious that the Indies do not understand this at all! They misinterpret so easily, projecting their own internal thought processes out onto the beasts, so leading to endless confusions and contradictory behaviour.

Learner had already attempted communicated with some of the pack tribe though not in the crude word system but rather in their own language, adopting the postural stance and attitude of a great pack leader. The passing beasts were intrigued but when the females sidled up to him, bending their tails to one side or the males rolled over onto their backs to display their bellies to him and squirt their water high in the air, the attached Indies became greatly distressed and attempt to drag the beasts away.

These indies had presented Learner with the much-annoyed face and thus effectively cut short any opportunities for significant communication, with either the indie or the pack creature. As the indies hauled them off, the attached creatures had looked back at Learner, whining with longing.

After the discussion group concluded, all congratulated Twm on the clarity of his presentation and accepted the decision that an attachment device to connect Learner to Twm would be a good idea.

So here in The Really Heavy Now, the two intrepid adventurers examined the cave complex for suitable resource material. A hard but flexible root-like object was found emerging from the rear of the snow storm device, the length at least the span of Learner’s arms, from fingertip to fingertip. It’s other end terminated in an odd construction, fastened somehow to a piece of tree that ran the length of one edge of the cave.

Learner and Dog Twm studied it carefully. They considered cutting it, though they were not sure if they would be able to as it seemed very tough. However, Twm was worried; his doggy self seemed to sense an energy flow running within the root-like object and should they succeed in cutting through it, he was not sure what might come out.

There was another, similar root-like object that also emerged from the linear tree bit, was also at least a span in length, yet it’s other end was unattached and lay in a rough coil behind the snowstorm device. The two studied it; it was flexible and lacked the sense of power of the other root, yet its free end was capped with a small but elaborate metal construction that neither of them wished to touch. Again they considered cutting it but after much debate decided against it; the thing had a purposeful look to it and may prove more useful at a later time.

Finally they chose to create an attachment device from the textile cloaking the rigid transparent material. Learner tore several thin strips, five in all (or rather, the fingers and thumb of one hand’s worth) then plaited the strips together to increase the tensile strength.

Twm suggested incorporating meaningful adornments, as each strip could be taken to represent a fundamental manifestation of Konsk; so Learner wove smaller objects within the attachment including pieces of earth and stone, a cinder (as it was impractical to actually use fire) wood and such like.

Twm, lacking an opposing thumb, could do little to help but did use his mouth to retrieve various additional oddments to include as adornments. He also dropped at Learner’s feet a number of totally inappropriate items as a joke. They both laughed when he pretended to drag the snowstorm device over.

Finally ready, they performed the Outey-Toutey dance together, joined by the elaborate attachment, one end of which was looped around Twm’s broad, doggie neck. The trepidation Learner had felt on previous exits, though still present, was infused with a sense of shared excitement and he found that the face of the possessed had adopted a wide grin. Twm was similarly enthused, the stump of tail waggling lopsidedly as they approached and retreated from the opening device, both making the staccato coughing sounds that grew more musical with each repetition.

Then they were out, together, Twm giving vent to loud barks, Learner joining in with simple expletives dredged from the dreaming Erak’s repertoire. These included such choice gems as coo, gords tith, watcha cock and nis ass, among others.

They both knew where they were going, Twm having observed Leaner’s earlier, lonely adventures with the others in the deep past. They sang the relevant map at a fair lick, being as they ran. Learner was lithe and leaping in the new body, delighting in its growing flexibility and health, Twm more lolloping with an occasional stagger, it becoming clear that the dog had suffered not inconsiderable physical abuse at some time in its life cycle.

Any separatists they approach drew back before the approaching energy of their passage. Though some frowned as though such an unrestrained display of exuberance was not considered totally appropriate, others smiled, almost secretively, turning away to hide their upturned lips.

It was not long before the song concluded as the huge, surrounding structures fell away and there, a vision indeed, framed by the rigid simplicity of the hard edges, unfurled a wide swath of green with trees and dense bushes beneath. Learner inhaled deeply, the air moistened by the cool breath of plants, the smell of earth. He exchanged a look with Twm, of barely suppressed excitement.

“Still ‘ere, init, Dog Twm?” he whispered quietly to the black beast that sat awkwardly at his feet, tongue lolling. “Forest, she still ‘ere!”

Side by side they entered the green, passing between large metal structures of linear design. Learner knew these were moved with the coming of the gap between the light and the dark, so as to close up the way in or out of this green space. Stone structures topped with more metalwork enclosed the green space itself. This fact, that is, the use of metal, disturbed both Learner and Twm, as it was not possible for members of the fair family to cross, though whether the use of metal was designed to keep members in or out was not clear.

Despite the sound of the wind in the branches, twigs and young leaves, the presence of many of the winged messengers calling brightly, the occasionally tree rat, the smell of earth that served to at least partially mask the foul odours of the moving containers, they could not be wholly relaxed. Certainly, to come across this remnant of their forest home in the midst of the great madness of The Really Heavy Now gave them great hope. Yet was it so reduced, the trees shrunken and deformed compared to their forest giants, that it continuously reminded them of the great diminishing that had taken place since their true time, almost overwhelming in its sense of loss. For as well as the marked reduction in scale and health of the organisms, the species mix was extremely low, dangerously low, Twm remarked and on top of all that, there were very few food plants present.

Now, walking across grass that was grazed by devices, rather than herbivores, with Twm as the dog, cognisant of the other Indie-beast pairings here, Learner could begin to understand something of the separatists’ relationships with those who generally hunt in packs. Lost and separate as they all were within The Really Heavy Now, here was an experience of attachment to something that was real, a line tying them to a glimmer of sanity.

Some of these Indie-beast pairings played the old fetch game, though often using objects other than the trusty stick, such as spheres of various sizes and styles, or even more elaborate devices like mock bones. Twm and Learner took advantage of the opportunities for play that the green appeared to present to the Indies and ran about together like the wild things they truly were, gambolling and pretending to fall with mock screams and doggie shouts.

Twm found a stick in the undergrowth and Learner threw it for him to retrieve. This allowed Twm plenty of opportunities for humour, picking it up in his doggie mouth and tossing the stick back to Learner or simply running around his great friend in ever decreasing circles until they collided in a heap.

Learner attempted to copy the words the other indies’ used with their beasts, such as “come bac’ ‘ere you bad dog!” and “Sit! Stay! No!” or “Drop, drop! Leave! Ow!” while Twm copied the beasts, ignoring completely Learner’s mock angry shouts or doing the opposite of what was instructed.

All in all the two had a great time and finally, leaning against the trunk of the largest tree, they regained their breath, Dog Twm sprawled on the grass with his great head propped on Learner’s bony knee.

Within this relative, calm, Learner once more grew aware of his purpose and the need to pass the strong message to the intelligent one so he reached out to Smiler and the others who watched from within his head.

He waited patiently for a reply, knowing that the ancient Smiler may have been pondering the greater depths of Learner’s current position, unravelling the many strands of its possibilities prior to giving voice, as was often his way. He knew also that it was not uncommon for Smiler, during this process of considering a suitable reply, to forget that a question had even been raised; then he would make no reply at all or begin a song instead.

There was no reply and it was for none of these reasons; neither Smiler nor the ancestors were there.

Learner looked on Twm, big paws drawn together in front of the doggy nose. Again he sighed. As he had begun to suspect, it seemed that a consequence of the successful creation of a significant ally through his projection of Twm onto the dog was that the other relationships had been terminated.

Without that ability to mesh with the ancestors he felt suddenly and truly isolated and a swell of sorrow at this loss. As the swell rose through his body he swallowed heavily. The uprising stopped, became a lump, then gradually and rather painfully receded. Inside his head, he visited the pretend cave and found that another container had appeared; it was an object from The Really Heavy Now, brown and monotonously flat sided, a snow storm device. Learner sighed again and Dog Twm placed his big paws over his eyes.

After times and a time, the two finally chose to withdraw from the relative safety of the green, beginning the song map of the route, slowly, that wound them back towards the cave complex.

Thanks for reading. I’m still not sure whether to bother with images- any thoughts? Here, the black and white image is clip art from the public domain, and that of the dog is AI generated. I don’t often resort to AI but in this case it was remarkably quick. I will attempt to measure the energy use per image generated at some point- I’m sure online calculators will appear soon, if they haven’t already done so. Anyway, comments and suggestions are always welcome.

Not sure what is coming next; I have a piece on Dogma, Belief Systems and Conspiracy Theories brewing and there is lots more Konsk. Any preferences?

Till next time, take care. Hwyl!

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In the old dreams of the separatists, it was long considered possible and not uncommon that an unruly child was in fact the exchanged progeny of the fair family. Thus were creative, spontaneous and zestful talents labelled inappropriate, remedial, damaged or otherwise suppressed.

Konsk. Inappropriate patterning. 4.8

Trueman had constructed the appearance of an owl on the screen from characters, that is, letters in the limited variety of fonts, numbers and symbols, The resulting representation was crude but to a child’s mind, perfectly adequate to receive a projected personality.

“Oh, little wohl!” Catti squawked at the avatar, leaning forward to stroke the screen.

The little owl’s head flickered back and forth, the illusion being that it could actually see her rather than it all being clever programming.

“Where you bin, eh?” she inquired of the bird, “You bin gone fer ages!”

“Where have you been,: Trueman corrected”, rather abstractedly from where he crouched in the wall cupboard. “Please try to be a bit quieter, dear,” he continued, “Daddy has important work to do.”

Catti tossed her head to clear a non-existent fringe from her eyes; she had seen Dawn do this, only Dawn did have an actual fringe.

“But it’s takin’ ages,” Catti complained, “Doin’ this goffer search thngy!”

“It’s gopher, not goffer and its a search engine.” The correction was automatic. “Just be patient with it, dear,” Trueman muttered from his cupboard. “It’s searching hundreds of servers around the world.”

The thought made him smile and even marvel; remarkable, he thought and growing all the time.

Finally, lines of green text began to scroll down Catti’s monitor.

“Ok, good bird, Wohl, at last! Now, what you got for me? What you find? Tell Catti everyfin’, baby.”

She began to read from the screen in what she felt was an owlish voice, quite high pitched and staccato and unfortunately for Trueman, rather penetrating

“’Your search has returned two hun-dred and eighty three results. Key subject areas: Fairies, defin...? Definitions! General, local stories, the Mothers’ Blessing, the Baby’s Bridge, the Great Enemy of Mankind, torch’, no, ‘touch of iron, three need-less blows, and fairs, and horses, and tribe, the Fair Tribe...’”

From his cupboard, or rather, the secondary server room, Trueman was distracted, yet again, from his current task. Her reading was excellent, he had to admit, for her age, though he wished she would hurry up and learn to fully internalise her speech. Although, thinking about it, she probably had and just wanted him to share in her interests; something that that Dawn woman had been happy to do, he considered and not for the first time. Then he returned his attention to his own baby, or rather, monster.

Once fitted with adequate ventilation, the wall cupboard provided an ideal location for his beast, the back up server, network name muon. This had a fairly standard processor and mother board with hot swappable power supplies, several fans and a whopping half a megabyte of memory made up of 16 individual 32K memory chips that he had painstakingly soldered onto an expansion card. It wasn’t cutting edge but it crunched through numbers and was reliable, which was just what Trueman needed for The Great Work.

Being adjacent to his study it was close enough to allow for good wired access to the rest of the farm’s wired network, while the insulated door meant that the roar of its cooling fans could be reduced to a bearable level. Excess heat was vented to the outside via Catti’s loft bedroom above; a nice touch, he thought.

Catti screwed up her face in concentration and tapped away at her keyboard, vocalising the task.

“Command. Baby’s Bridge! Hit return! Off you go, Wohl!”

The modem began to screech, not unlike an owl, Catti squawked an accompaniment. Then she waited.

Trueman checked the rows of winking indicator’s on the front of muon’s beige system case and assured himself that network traffic was as it should be. He flexed his binary glove and tapped out a rapid string of code in the air, observing the changes in the twinkling lights with satisfaction.

The glove was now an old device of his, put together after he found himself tapping out binary code on the kitchen table with his fingers. I wonder, he’d mused and rapidly gathered various micro switches form his bits box. Stuck for some method of attaching them to his hand, his gaze had fallen upon the oven gloves, hanging by the kitchen range. It will suffice for the moment, he had decided.

In fact it had sufficed for some time already, the micro-switches sewn into the lower part of the gloves, operated by simply tapping with the tip of a finger or the thumb. The connection was via a cable and the gloves appeared on the network as an input device called poke left and poke right.

They worked tolerably well and among other things, allowed him to program in machine code and assembly language, albeit somewhat anachronistic but it gave him a sense of interacting directly with the machines, in their own language, so to speak.

Besides, he’d invested considerable time in teaching himself to use his fingers as binary digits. One glove alone, as now, gave him the use of the integers up to and including 31; these could be used to trigger a full alphabet, in lower case or upper case (but not both at the same time). Or he could switch to accessing 30 individual pre-programmed commands by using the binary of decimal 31 (the thumb) as a toggle.

Of course, by employing the second glove as well he could write a full 10-bit binary number, giving a remarkable maximum of 1,048,576 numbers! He smiled at the thought of such power compared to the puny 102 key QWERTY keyboard. Ha! Even with the use of shift, alt and ctrl keys, it paled into insignificance before the accessing power of his gloves.

The gloves themselves were decorated with the image of a rather grotesque dog with large eyes and tufts for ears. The decoration meant nothing to Trueman, though he gained some faint sense of amusement at the way the eyes appeared to blink when he tapped out binary 01010 with his second and fourth finger.

Admittedly they were rather warm to use, though on the plus side he could handle mugs of steaming hot coffee without injury. However, this had occasionally generated spurious code with odd consequences such as realigning the satellite receiver or triggering his “fridge door left open” alarm.

“Dad!”

The mild shriek of his daughter snapped him out of his reverie. Nearly loosing his balance he grasped the door frame to steady himself, inadvertently triggering binary 11111; up on the roof the satellite receiver began to track through 360 degrees.

“What is it dear?” He made hasty adjustments, redirecting the receiver to its appropriate position. “Daddy is rather busy. As you can see.”

“You’re always busy,” the tot muttered, then brightened, “You look a right nob wavin’ that oven glove around!”

He couldn’t think where she’d picked up that sort of language and decided to ignore it rather than reprimand her.

Suddenly, there was a beep from Catti’s computer.

“Finally!” She yelled and Trueman cringed.

“Now,” she leaned close to the screen. “Let’s see what you got for me, Wohl. ’A young couple had a baby. Now from the mom-ent it was born, the baby was ugly and cried and cried and the poor mother could not get it to be quiet.’ Bit like me, eh Dad? ‘In the end, the wise woman said that the real baby had been stolen by the fairies and that this baby was a fairy baby left in ex-change.’ A fairy baby left in exchange, Dad!”

Trueman sighed; he’d hoped for an hour or so of relatively undisturbed peace before she began demanding food or such like but it was clear that he wasn’t going to get it.

“Dad!” She demanded, poking her head around the cupboard door, “Do you think I was exchanged by the fairies? Am I a fairy really?”

Trueman pondered for a few moments, debating internally his options for a response. In the end he decided to humour the mite.

“It is quite possible, dear. Judging by your behaviour.”

Catti rushed back to her machine triumphantly She had to share the news with someone.

“My dad says I’m a fairy, Wohl!” Stroking the screen. “I was exchanged as a baby!”

‘Well I didn’t quite say..” Trueman began then gave up. Did it really matter?

He turned to his server and monitored the back-up routines; at least these seemed to be going smoothly. Just as well, he reasoned; disaster was coming, one way or another (and probably both), and as The Great Work depended upon maintaining a significant computing power it was essential to be ready for the catastrophe when it inevitably occurred.

So essential data (and what other data was there?) was synchronised between his three centres using multiple connections, allowing for any one of them to take on the primary role should The Little Big Farm node fail.

Which was, of course, highly unlikely, Trueman thought smugly. While maintaining a mains electricity supply as a token gesture, the farm was soon to be energy independent with the added security of multiple redundant power supplies and sources. These already included the battery banks charged from the mains which were to be supplemented by water power from the underground source in the old mine, the energy stored in high speed, high mass giros, sealed in their vacuum casks on frictionless, magnetic bearings. Talk about the future!

There were also the standby generators, including petrol, diesel and gas and he had obtained the basic equipment necessary to produce bio-fuels from vegetable oils if that should prove necessary.

When designing the system Trueman had not neglected the hardware either. He was aware that after the fall, supplies of such simple items as replacement keyboards might be uncertain. Hence a good part of the main storage shed on the northern side of the yard was carefully filled with an assortment of technical kit, hermetically sealed in plastic wrapping, awaiting opening in the hopefully distant future. This too was where the extensively well-equipped workshop was located.

All in all, he mused, he had thought of pretty much everything, as one would expect from an intellectual giant such as himself.

“Dad!”

He sighed again, she was back, again.

“That owl’s not very inneractive, is it?” Catti complained.

“In-ter-active, dear,” he corrected automatically.

“Anyway,” she went on, “My computer’s crashed.”

Trueman sighed.

“Have you been tampering with the batch file again?” He asked.

Catti chose not answer and returned to her monitor to stroke the crude image of the owl, now frozen.

“Don’t worry, Wohl,” she whispered. “The fairy’ll be here soon, with his dog.”

Trueman resigned himself to tracking down what she’d done to her machine and correcting it. He flicked the fingers of his right hand (binary 01101), for a last check of his system status. Surveying the basic linear display of the holding he could query all networked devices, call up their various properties such as temperature, power output, available storage and such like. He nodded and smiled at the predominance of green indicating that all was well.

Then a flicker of amber caught his eye. Damn, that new washing machine playing up again. What was it complaining about this time? Ah, yes. He had forgotten to turn it on.

He harrumphed to himself; a minor if slightly annoying oversight. He turned from one machine and made his way toward the other, through the narrow, uneven corridors and stairs of his home, the top of the walls draped with network cables, his massive intellect momentarily concentrated on a single object, intent on turning on the recalcitrant device and setting that icon to green again.

Thanks for reading. Illustrations for this episode are from the Public Domain. Ok, the owlish avatar is too good for Trueman’s era (and his artistic capabilities) but we can imagine that this is more like what Catti visualises! Next episode coming up fairly shortly. As always, comments etc. all welcome. Take care all. Hwyl! Chris.

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