Tuesday 26 February 2013

The Madness of Programming: Visual Chaos


In The Genius of Invention: Visual Image (BBC2 on 14 February 2013 at 9pm), Michael Mosley and academics Prof Mark Miodownik and Dr Cassie Newland tried to tell the amazing story of the invention of photography, moving pictures and television in one hour.
They move, innit.  Now watch me use me iPad
The result was five shows in one, with less coherence than The One Show, or indeed, any one show.  Several of the mini-features, especially the short on censorship, would have made great half-hour programmes on their own merit.  However, as part of this mash-up, everything failed to keep our interest, or even to maintain basic chronological order.  Garish and confusing.
Watch, instead, Genius of Britain from Channel 4.  It may even still be on 4oD.
Join us.

Friday 22 February 2013

Wolfing It Up


Last night, Henry and I watched BBC4's Nature's Microworlds: Yellowstone.  They explored why the beaver population increased in the U.S.’s oldest National Park after wolves were reintroduced in 1995.
It was a rather fascinating programme, indeed, fascinating enough that it led me to do some research of my own.
The idea of wolf reintroduction to Yellowstone was first presented to Congress in 1966 by biologists who were concerned about the very high elk population within the park.  Officially, the last wolf within Yellowstone had been killed in 1926, and since then the populations of elk and other large prey animals had soared and has caused a problem for any new growth vegetation.  As the programme we watched said, the ecosystem became unstable because of the removal of key predators, of which the wolf is, so to speak, top dog.
Very soon the deciduous wood species, upland aspen and riparian cottonwood for example, became victims of overgrazing.  Not only vegetation suffered.  Coyotes became more brazen, but they were too small to take on the larger ungulates, and focussed on smaller creatures, such as the red fox, or thieved from others.  So the elk reigned.
Word.
The reintroduction of wolves to Yellowstone has reportedly increased biodiversity.  Not only did the reduction the elk population allow the increase in new-growth vegetation such as aspen and willow trees, but the vegetation was also able to recover as the elk stopped venturing into areas of low visibility, such as thickets, due to the fear of being attached by wolves.  This has been called 'the ecology of fear' by some clever sounding chaps and is the process of top predators regulating the lower section of the food chain.  The beaver population has recovered due to the restoration of vegetation along riverbanks, and the red fox has also recovered, due to the wolves keeping the coyotes in their place.
Oh sorry, I should have said 'SPOILER ALERT' for that last bit.  It was the answer to the puzzle in BBC4's documentary.  Sorry.
Wolves were once numerous in Scotland.  Early evidence of this exists in the form a 6th century Pictish carving of a wolf discovered at Ardross in Ross and Cromarty.
The wolf was respected as a fellow-hunter in the hunter-gatherer cultures, and revered as a creature of powerful and magical properties.
Not like this though.
However, the change from a hunter-gatherer lifestyle to farming during the Neolithic era radically changed the way in which man used the environment.  This in turn drastically changed the relationship between wolves and humans, making wolves a threat to livestock as their habitat was destroyed.  Evidence of this conflict exists from as early as the 2nd century BC.
There are also references to wolves preying on humans, as living in such close quarters may have made these animals lose their fear of people, much as the urban fox has progressed today, making them bolder in a world where the human population was expanding into wolf habitat.  War would have contributed to this as well: as the Orkneyinga Saga and other sources point out, grey wolves could be seen consuming the flesh of the corpses left on medieval battlefields.
This taste for human flesh gave the wolves a tendency to dig up buried corpses, which led to wolf-proof coffins in Atholl being built out of flagstones.  In fact, there used to be a mounted specimen of a wolf on display in the Natural History section of the Inverness Museum and Art Gallery realistically posed in the act of trying to dig up a Bronze Age tomb (it can now be found by itself in their first floor gallery).  Luckily, they still had a picture of it.

Wolves likely became extinct in the Scottish Lowlands during the thirteenth to fifteenth centuries after large tracts of forest were cleared.  James I passed a law in 1427 requiring three wolf hunts a year between 25 April and 1 August, the cubbing season.  Nevertheless, Scottish wolf populations reached a peak during the second half of the sixteenth century, and caused so much damage to cattle in Sutherland that in 1577 James VI made it compulsory, once again, to hunt wolves three times a year.  Official records show that the last Scottish wolf was killed by Sir Ewan Cameron in 1680 in Killiecrankie in Perthshire, although some tales put it as late as 1743, at a place between Fi-Giuthas and Pall-a-chrocain.  There were some rumoured sightings as late as 1888, but anyone who has seen one of Aberdeenshire’s Alsatian-sized uber-foxes will not forget the experience in a hurry; and in the warm hindsight of exaggeration, anything is possible.
So why not reintroduce wolves to Scotland?
But look at what you just said, I hear you cry, there are all the reasons as to why not.
I have a one-species reply for you: Cervus elaphus.
Who me?
Red deer themselves are a contentious component of the Scottish landscape.
In 1999, Dr Martyn Gorman from Aberdeen University called for a reintroduction of wolves to the Scottish Highlands to deal with the then 350,000 red deer damaging young trees.  In 2002, Paul van Vlissingen, a landowner at Letterewe in Ross-shire, proposed the reintroduction of wolves and lynxes, as he felt that the current deer culling methods were inadequate.
According to a 2007 article published in the Proceedings of the Royal Society, red deer populations in the Highlands are thought to be close to the food-limited maximum, and are widely considered to be impacting upon the environment negatively by over-grazing.  Such high densities of this large herbivore are thought to hamper attempts to reforest, reduce bird densities, and compete with livestock for grazing.  This echoes the elk problem in Yellowstone rather closely.
However, the deer population in Scotland is difficult to manage.  Hunting alone is not working due to the small economic demand for it.  Instead, deer culls are required to manage their numbers, with the Deer Commission for Scotland having a stated management objective of six deer per square kilometre.  However, even when the culling of hinds is accompanied by paid trophy hunting of the stags, the operation barely breaks even.
One solution is to reintroduce the main predator of the red deer into the Highlands – canis lupus.
Yes, you.
 
Simulations suggest that reintroducing wolves is likely to prove a conservation benefit, lowering the deer population to target levels while simultaneously freeing deer estates from the financial burden of the hind cull.  I know this would make our Uncle Scottie up north happy.
Of course, as always, there are some 'buts'.
Even though the 2007 article concluded that wolves could have a great and beneficial influence on deer numbers (in turn helping the natural regeneration of trees and reducing the incidence of Lyme disease), the model it used does not account for the presence of free-ranging sheep over large areas of the Highlands.  Yes, the authors acknowledge the problem, but they argue that the Scottish sheep farming industry is changing rapidly, and on average little or no profit is made directly from sheep by Highland farmers, with approximately 101% of profit accruing instead through subsidies.  If farmers were given additional economic compensation for wolf-killed sheep, their objections might well disappear.  Also, sheep farmers were paid subsidies on a per-sheep basis until 2005, but this has since been replaced by the Single Farm Payment, with the level of subsidy not dependent on numbers of sheep. 
However, free ranging sheep grazing is widely practiced across the Highlands, and losses of sheep to wolves are likely to be higher than in similar projects in Europe, where sheep are grazed in flocks an tended to by shepherds.  Therefore, even though large losses of sheep may not be economically a problem to individual farmers (as mentioned above), there would no doubt be an emotional response that will certainly be blown up to gigantic angst-ridden proportions in the media, stirring up fear of the wolf and uncertainty about its reintroduction.
Another aspect the PRS article does not consider is the economic cost of wolf reintroduction to the taxpayer; a very popular argument against anything these days.  In Yellowstone, there were problems with wolves not always staying in the designated recovery areas.  As the Highlands are smaller than Yellowstone, wolves’ habit of travelling large distances in search of territory and a good mate make it likely that a high level of population management would be needed in the long term.  Any wolf reintroduction would need to be clear as to its cost, and who would pay for it.  Another cost would the aforementioned compensation for sheep killed by wolves – although borrowing the concept of the Defenders of Wildlife, set up when wolves were reintroduced to Yellowstone, a private compensation fund could help resolve this issue and improve relations between pro- and anti-wolf campaigners.
However, all these issues can be figured out with careful planning and long foresight, with a clear vision of what the long-term benefits and detriments reintroducing the wolf to Scotland could be, including any tourist revenue that may support the cost of wolf management, and what to do if wolves stray beyond their allocated boundaries.
The problem with doing that is you.

Who us?
You think deer are cute.
I shall refer to the Tullos Hill deer cull in Aberdeen which hit several headlines, local and national, last year when the Aberdeen City Council said a cull was vital to protect about 80,000 new trees being planted.
Three Aberdeen community councils asked the planned deer cull to be abandoned, saying that the new-tree scheme was not reason enough to kill deer who had been living on Tullos Hill for generations.  They accused the Council, in a strongly-word letter no less, of underhand tactics to get the backing for the city's 'tree for every citizen' initiative, and that the limited public consultation was flawed and made no mention of a deer cull.  Their local community opinion on the matter, they said, had been dismissed.  The deer were described as a valuable resource.
The Council responded that the consultation for phase two of the 'tree for every citizen' scheme included input from the community councils and community groups, all of which were largely in favour of the tree-planting programme.  They went on to state that the roe deer population on Tullos Hill was much higher than the land could support, with very little variety of vegetation growing, and even the deer themselves suffering as a result.
Campaigner Jeanette Wiseman said 'We hope that the housing and environment committee will stop this needless slaughter.'  It was, according to the SSPCA's Mike Flynn, 'absurd and abhorrent to undertake a cull because it would be too costly to protect trees…we would suggest these trees should either be planted elsewhere or not at all.  Trees should certainly not be planted at the expense of the lives of animals.'
One lonely hand is raised at the back and someone mentions, as the Council did, that the deer on Tullos Hill are at much higher density than the land can support and deer are starting to suffer as a result.  And certainly, given time the trees will take hold and flourish (don't give it just a few months, like one campaigner did, and declare it a failure – trees take time to grow).
Beyond you thinking deer are cute, you are also frightened of wolves.
See?  Cute as a deer.
Whilst I won't deny that this is a silly notion, I would argue that we probably should have a predator we're scared of.  Ray Mears, in an argument against the reintroduction of wolves, says ‘you have to think how you are going to control it because it is going to do its thing.  Often what happens in these situations you are going to have an animal that people then resent.  I don't think we should condemn an animal because it is living to its nature.'
And even though there were rumours of wolves preying on humans, especially corpses and buried bodies, there is no authentic account of a healthy wolf, either in captivity or the wild, attacking human beings.  The key thing is not to feed them.  Foxes – whom you find almost as cute as deer – are being fed to encourage them to come closer for a photograph.  They are wild animals.  They bite and steal your babies.  Wolves bite harder and steal your teenagers.  Henry and I have been huge fans of the wolf since a brief posting to Alberta back in the day, but we're not about to put out saucers of milk for them.  If I saw one coming closer to steal my baby, I would beat it down or die trying.
Reintroduce whatever you like.  Beavers, boar, lynxes and wolves.  Save the trees, birds and biodiversity.  Bring it on.  I've been watching The Grey and fortifying the place.
It'll be more interesting than Survivor anyhow.

Friday 15 February 2013

Tights of Fancy


Fashion.  Yes, that's right.  Fashion.
You may think that I don't have any fashion sense, as I walk around in my technical tweed breeks (in a rather savvy green with a lilac check), hand-knitted wool socks from the Isle of Arran (dyed to match the aforementioned lilac in the aforesaid breeks), loosely done-up brown leather polo boots (the type with a zip on the front, in case you're interested), a cashmere-mix wrap over a simple white cotton shirt (with the sleeves rolled up of course), fingerless gloves, and a flat cap that belonged to my dear departed father placed firmly on my unruly hair (the cut of which the Duchess of Cornwall has now shamelessly purloined).
Yes, that one.
These items are indicative of my dress-sense – I just threw them on this morning after fighting the dogs to get the wrap back.  Each of them may have been expensive at one time, but they were bought back when I started university, and they're still keeping out the chill and muck of daily life here in Airnefitchie.  You can't argue with the quality.  My clothes are timeless investments.
I still have that hat, in fact.
So, you can imagine my bewilderment when I pop down for a visit to Edinburgh and everyone is wearing... the same thing.  No, not the same thing as I’m wearing; the odds against that are as astronomical as, well, a thousand Russians getting hit by a meteor.  No: the Edinburghers were wearing the same thing as each other.
Very lovely dear, but how're you going stalk deer in that?
It's an invasion of the denim shorts and tights; normally paired only with those odd ballet pump-type shoes, or awful worn-out ugg boots.  Now, that's all well and good, but we're not in Somerset during the spring, we're in SCOTLAND in WINTER.  I have to throw on a fur-lined Barbour just to keep the wind from leaking through the cracks in my heavy-knit wool jumper.  It's bitter and you have your arses hanging out below the hemline of your shorts and a pair of fashion tights on.  It's wet and you have on cardboard shoes, and/or a perfect environment for dry rot.
Mmm, foot fungus.
And, heaven forfend, sometimes they even forget the shorts!  Yes, I know they're 'leggings', but please, when I can see the pattern your knickers or the wrinkles on your wobbly bottom (whether you're fat or skinny), what you're wearing is tights.  Just tights.
Yes, I'd be pigeon-toed with shame too if I forgot my skirt.
One of the problems is that people equate the word ‘bargain’ with the word 'cheapness', and so they shop at the most appalling places.  A friend of mine, who will remain nameless, insists on only ever buying his smart shoes from some hideous discount shoe shop called Foot Zone, or some such, because they're ‘cheap and do the job.’  He usually boasts about getting them for about ten quid.  Henry, at the other end of the spectrum, insists on buying all his shoes from companies such as Shipton & Heneage, and they cost well over £100 each time.  So it sounds like my friend has the bargain, doesn't it?
Well, let's find out.  Henry has two pairs of boots he wears very often.  One pair were bought in 2001 for £140 from Shipton & Heneage and finally wore, not out, but down enough to make even tweed look shabby and so we gave them to a homeless person, as they were still very waterproof and have a few years left in them.  Henry's working boots (pictured below) are also from Shipton’s.  They were purchased in 2000, also for £140, and are still perfect.  That's £280 in the space of thirteen years (so we haven't had to cut back too much on the gin).  They also go with everything in his wardrobe, even his gloves.
And his shoes were perfect.
My friend's £10 shoes, for their part, are always wearing out.  We can normally hear him coming by the 'flap, flap' of his soles.  So, he ends up buying another pair.  Say he buys two pairs a year in the same thirteen year period, he spends £260.  Only twenty pounds less than my dear Henry.  Throw in the lost productivity entailed in always running off to the shoe shop, and the intangible effect of constantly looking like a fool in fallen-apart shoes, and Mr X’s bargain starts to seem rather more like a bargain with the Devil.
My friend's shoes are synthetic.  Everything is synthetic.  Upper, lining, insock, sole, everything.  Henry's boots have an upper of grain calf, a sole of rubber and are water-resistant.  They're also bench-made in Britain.  Even Wikipedia won't tell me where Foot Zone make their shoes.
Areas of pollution associated with the footwear industry have come predominantly from material suppliers.  Chemical processes during the manufacture of synthetic materials and textiles has had a negative effect on the environment, namely water extraction and pollution, although many chemical companies and tanners are working on it, the darlings.  That's not to mention the carbon footprint (no pun intended) of getting the shoes into the UK in the first place.
Be there in a minute!
I wear Harris Tweed for special occasions, Ness tweed for fun occasions and green British tweed for shooting occasions.  My gloves are fur-lined with British fur and made-to-measure at Chester Jeffries in Dorset.  My Regent Hunter wellies (in contrast even to some other Hunter wellies) are made in the UK.
Beyond buying local, why not try old?  Many of my cocktail dresses are from vintage shops.  We frequent eBay for second-hand finds with years of life left in them.  We also peruse charity shops.  You may not believe it of us, but how are we to remain rich if we keep spending money?  And if we spend money why not spend it on our fellow Britons?
Fashion.  Yes, that's right.  Fashion.  It should be timeless.  It should suit you and who you are.  Why walk around in what everybody else is wearing and then throw it out and start again?  It's not sustainable and you're just being a sheep.  No one likes being a sheep – especially in Aberdeenshire or Wales.
Constant vigilance!
Have your own style.  Your fashion is about what you stand for.
Why stand for cold lady-gardens and wet feet?

PS.  Henry wishes to express his deep disappointment that Shipton & Heneage decided to discontinue the 'Abbey' boot style.  Had they not done so, he would never have switched to Charles Tyrwhitt to replace them after he gave them away.

Wednesday 13 February 2013

Flipping Delicious


Yesterday was Shrove Tuesday.  Although I do not go in for silly things such as Lent, I do enjoy a good Pancake Day.  What better excuse to use up eggs, milk and sugar?
This is, of course, despite the fact that I regularly partake in pancakes during the year.  Only, on Shrove Tuesday, it's law.
He takes his pancakes very seriously.
I normally make the traditional crêpe-style pancakes, or drop scones, during the year.  Alasdair even gave us a novelty waffle-maker in the shape of a well-known cartoon mouse, and some Sundays Henry and I have an awful lot of fun with our sadistic tendencies towards mice.  However, on Pancake Day, I go the full hog and turn North American on Henry's bottom and get creative.
Last year, I whipped the egg whites first before folding them into the batter.  I didn't really notice a difference except for sudden-onset wrist arthritis that lasted a week (I only own a balloon whisk).  Neither did Henry like my holding the bowl over his head upside down to check for stiff peaks.
This year, I received a gift from darling Sylvie, who is now in Canada, of organic maple syrup.  Topping number one was sorted.  Time to get serious.
For topping number two. I found an ancient lemon in the fridge.  Luckily, after getting it open with the double-bitted wood axe, it still had a bit of juice inside.
Are you sure that is a lemon?
Toppings ready – now for the pancakes.
Dogged and determined, I went into our Utility Larder (dodging laundry powder perched precariously atop the rice pops) and found I didn't have any caster sugar.  But I am nothing if not creative with ingredients, so I picked up some leftover sad-looking soft brown sugar and the large box of icing sugar (which never seems to come in a small box – how many cakes do they think I will be icing?).  Sugar measured.
Flour, flour, flour.  I always have flour, but never the type I need.  Luckily, today was the exception that proved the rule.  I might not have been able to make shortbread or a Victoria sponge, but I did have plenty of plain flour, if I mixed white and wholemeal up a bit.  Not a problem.  Sugar and flour were now sitting pretty in a mixing bowl.
Baking powder next.  Finally found it at the back of the larder, behind the bicarbonate of soda and the cream of tartar.  I dread opening that last one – I can't remember the last time I used that.  What, pray, does it even go in?  But to make a long story short, baking powder was added to the bowl of flour and sugar.
What else?  Oh yes, the butter, milk and eggs.  Pulling on my Hunter wellies, I marched off into our fields.
The eggs were easy.  I just lifted up our fattest hen and found two beautiful eggs.  I then headed to the cow shed.  One quick squeeze of our prize cow's teat and the job was done.  Butter, on the other hand, was going to be a bit trickier.  I filled a jam jar with the product of another teat squeeze of fresh milk and made Henry hold it whilst I drove to the nearest village and back on our beloved antique tractor.
Ah, butter.  Just like dear great, great grandpapa used to make.
What with the winter potholes and ill-advised speed bumps adding to Henry's tremors after missing his afternoon gin, the milk had churned into a beautiful creamy butter.
Getting back to the kitchen, I found that the eggs had broken.  Damn.  Off I went to replace with the second best two eggs.
I hunted in the fridge and the larder.  I needed the optional extras.
Ah-ha!  I didn't remember buying them, but I found two packs of cherries and a small bag of chia seeds.  Well, blow me down!  Isn't chopping cherries really fiddly when they still have the stones in?
Into the fridge the batter went.  By this time I was covered in icing sugar and had fingertips red with cherry juice.  I find that some of the best food is the messiest.
Yes, it was this bad.
Whilst waiting, Henry and I had our first course of gin to warm the stomach up for the pancakes.
Time up and full of gin, I let Patches and Fang lead me to the kitchen.  I stared at a cast iron casserole pot, wondering why it wasn't a frying pan, for some time before I found the actual frying pan.
Now the fun bit.  I actually found I had two frying pans, and I'm rather good at tossing pancakes in either hand, but this year I wanted to try it with both hands at once.
Pans hot and well oiled, I dropped a ladle of batter into each one and waited for the bubbles to rise.  Patches, Fang and Henry were salivating at my heels, waiting almost patiently for the traditionally crap first pancake.
They're still waiting.
For you see, when I tossed the two pancakes, I was a bit enthusiastic and they're still stuck to the kitchen ceiling.
Undeterred, I tried again with the next two.  Irish wolfhounds, it turns out, are much quicker than gin-soaked baronets, and Henry lost out when the pancakes hit the floor.
At this point Henry started whining, so I used a fish slice for the remaining batter.  We both got a very nice pile of pancakes, dripping in maple syrup and lemon juice.  Patches and Fang continue to wait under the ones on the ceiling, tails wagging patiently.
God bless Pancake Day.