Quietly incognito, incommunicado, for a while
5 November 2017
Many years ago, I received an anonymous death threat, or at least a statement that if I proceeded as I was proceeding I would soon die, from someone apparently somewhere in the USA in response to something that I had written (under my real name) in the esteemed science journal Nature about strange goings on in the timings of events out in the universe. I ignored it, and I did not soon die. A few weeks after that I received a phone call claiming to be from the brother of the legendary science fiction and science writer Arthur C. Clarke in which he said, "Arthur is sure you are onto something." Just at the end of that phone call my young son, aged about 7, and daughter, aged about 5, ran in to tell me there was "a UFO in the sky." It was just an orange light, moving oddly. Then something else happened far out in the skies on a notable anniversary of the things I had first written about in Nature. I published something about that again, and was told by a correspondent that I was nuts, even though I had not actually made any interpretation about anything at all - just reported recorded events that nobody disputed. Now, many years later, I have received a message telling me I should stop writing about things that I "don't know about," and on this same day I have received an odd message, apparently from Russia, about my officially silly novella Aileen the Alien saying: "Goodness! Fifty Shades of Scott and Alien Engineering. Truth written in jest." I also had a dream recently, in which a ghost told me that to it, I was the ghost. And my wife has awakened in the middle of the night, sitting up startled and afraid because a very small thin person with a very big head was looking at us from the dark doorway of our bedroom, then silently retreated; but of course she has concluded it was a kind of waking dream. And then something else happened, not in a dream, unless this life is a dream. A weird coincidence, of course. A strange conjunction of nonsense. Everything above is true. Everything we hold to be true may be nonsense. Someone told me long ago, during a conversation at 30,000 feet above the ocean, that if I wrote the truth nobody would believe me. Ah well, I'll have a lie down first, then I may start to write. If I fall silent then the bogeymen or bogeywomen may have got me. And if I manage to stumble my way to write the truth, nobody will believe me, but at least they may laugh. Normal service may resume tomorrow, but the truth is out there, or in here, somewhere. There is more. I have an idea.
2 November 2017
I see this view across Strathearn nearly every day on my way home, and very often at sunset. Sometimes I forget to look and appreciate how nice it is. Not today though, as it rather demanded my attention. Well worth stopping and getting out of the car for. All gone now, back home, all dark.
31 October 2017
30 October 2017
29 October 2017
In the 1890s this fine tower atop a hill in Bristol was built to celebrate the journey from Bristol of John Cabot, to "discover Canada", landing first at Newfoundland. There are, or were, of course, quite a few people already there who would disagree about who discovered what. Still, it offers a fine if vertiginous view. So vertiginous I retreated before remembering to take a photo, unfortunately.