Broken dog

I came home for Christmas to discover that my dad has taken to sleeping with an air pistol, knife and hockey stick next to his bed. Either the neighbourhood has seen a recent surge in violent crime, or this is just something that happens when one gets older.

I also came home to find a broken pet. Kim the Dog had a serious stroke a couple of weeks ago. She was taken to the vet, who said she was in impressive health for a 14-year-old collie, all things considered, and gave her some tablets.

She’s been making a fairly good recovery, although that’s not saying much since she was in pretty rough shape before the stroke. For the last few months she’s had a hard time walking about, and her back legs have almost given out entirely, so she has to be lifted in and out of the back door step to do her business. She hates being picked up for any reason, which means lots of growling.

Now, because of the stroke, she’s also lost her sense of balance. She shuffles about with her head cocked at an oddly endearing angle, half blind and three quarters deaf, constantly panting as though exhausted, and is forever bumping into things and falling over.

It’s kind of funny. Sad too, of course. Collies are especially active dogs with limitless energy. They live to run around chasing sheep (or sticks, or children, whatever is available). If they can’t do that, their very existence must be a bewilderment to themselves.

On the other hand, this morning I saw Kim the Dog sleeping in the hallway, having a dog dream. All dog dreams involve chasing. Her tired old legs were pumping away, she was panting as though still a young dog running through a field somewhere.

 Kim the Dog

Then I realised that dog brains probably can’t distinguish between dreams and reality, so as far as Kim the Dog was concerned, she actually was running through a field, just like she used to do, chasing down a stick or frisbee. It’s quite a nice thought that even in her old age, her dog brain still spends a lot of time experiencing life as fit and healthy as a puppy.

 Kim the Dog's brain

Cork and Kerry

 

I was in Cork last weekend for the first time, attending a conference on medieval things. I lived in Ireland for most of 2003 and 2004, so it’s always nice to go back, especially to a part of the country I’ve not visited before.

Most of what I knew about Cork came from the excellent Ken Loach movie The Wind That Shakes The Barley, which is set during the Irish War of Independence, so my knowledge was a bit out of date.

Another cheerful Ken Loach film

Anyway, conferences rarely leave much time for sightseeing, but as I walked through the city I was glad to see that my ethnic group was represented with its own ‘Sasanach’ market.

We also had a conference excursion to the Iveragh peninsula in County Kerry. It has some stunning coastal scenery and lots of quiet, slightly shabby villages full of the sort of family-run shops that I suppose were found everywhere once upon a time, but now exist only in these out-of-the-way corners of western Europe. In Cahersiveen we drove past one little shop which had two windows: the first was filled with toys and games for children, the second with funeral wreaths and decorated plaques for the dead. There’s something reassuring about a local shop which caters to your needs from cradle to grave.

But then Kerry has always been behind the times even by Irish standards. Our tour guide told us the story of the Fenian uprising of February 1867, when pockets of resistance fighters all over Ireland were supposed to rise up against the British in a coordinated rebellion.

The February rebellion was called off, but unfortunately the news didn’t reached Kerry in time. The small band of Cahersiveen rebels rose up according to plan, killed a few British police, and began to march to link up with their comrades in the east. Only then did they find out that they were completely alone.

That must have been awkward. It sounds rather like turning up to someone’s house in elaborate fancy dress, only to discover that the party has been cancelled and nobody told you. And then you get arrested and transported to Australia for life.

The British built this massive barracks to subdue the restless people of Cahersiveen. All 800 of them.

After this, the most important thing to happen in Kerry took place in 2001, when the public toilets in the coastal village of Portmagee came runner-up in the all-Ireland Best Public Toilets competition, as a weather-beaten sign proudly commemorates. Obviously I went into the toilets, literally ready to wee myself in excitement.

It was dark and dingy. There were no seats on the toilets. There was no soap in the soap dispenser, and the taps hardly worked. I walked back out into the cold Atlantic wind, taking care not to slip on the sad little puddles of water which lay across the tiled floor.

Standards had clearly dropped since 2001. Maybe, I thought, the disappointment of only coming runner-up had been too much. First the failed uprising of 1867, and now this. How much tragedy could one county endure?

There is nothing lush or bucolic about County Kerry; it’s a tough landscape of mountains and craggy coasts that lie naked to the battering western ocean. The soil isn’t good for much except scattered grazing and the most meagre cereal cultivation. If the ground isn’t rocky, it’s boggy.

Not that this matters, because this is the sort of place that takes pride in its history of adversity and struggle. Its inhospitable climate is what attracted some of the earliest Christian monks in Europe to build hermitages on tiny coastal islands, places at the edge of the known world, suited only to gannets and crabs. The tougher it was to survive, the better.

Those monks were crazy. Nowadays people are still attracted to Kerry’s stark beauty, but, being less crazy, they build modern houses with central heating and insulation and French windows looking out over the sea.

And hopefully decent toilets.

Necessary advice to all Poets and Dreamers

"You ask if your poetry is any good. You ask me. You have asked others before me. You send them to magazines. You compare them with other poems, and you get annoyed when certain editors decline your efforts. Now (since you have permitted me to give you advice), I beg you to give all that up. You see what is on the outside, and that, above all else, you must not do. Nobody can advise or help you, nobody.

There is only one solution. Enter into yourself. Explore the reason why you write; see if its roots reach down into the deepest place of your heart, ask yourself if you would die if you were forbidden to write. And above all: ask yourself, in the quietest hour of your night: must I write? Dig into yourself to find a deep answer. And if the answer is affirmative, when you can answer this serious question with a clear and simple ‘I must,’ then build your life around this necessity; your whole life, down to its meanest and most apathetic hour, must be a sign and certificate of this impulse."

Rainer Maria Rilke

(thanks to hc) 

New wallet

About twenty years ago my best friend gave me a Nintendo wallet as a birthday present which has served me well ever since. For some reason my sister disagreed, so for my birthday this year I got a new one.

I'm actually pretty impressed that she was able to find one so similar. But did it really need replacing? I'm not so sure, the old one still looks fine to me.

Constantine: Hearts and Minds

Finished!

Constantine: Hearts and Minds

Constantine: Hearts and Minds

Constantine: Hearts and Minds

Third panel done, half way there!

Inappropriate soundtrack

I've recently been watching some German TV to brush up my German. Today I saw a documentary about Wetzlar cathedral, but it was really weird because every time they showed a reconstruction of the cathedral they played the theme from classic 80s show Street Hawk.

Who the hell thought that Wetzlar cathedral's unique combination of romanesque, gothic and baroque architectural tradition would be best illuminated by the theme song from a 1980s American kid's show about an ex-cop who solves crimes by riding around on a top-secret superbike? Was there some 80s manboy on the production team who ground down the will of every other person?

I wonder if this is a common problem at the production company, maybe it comes up with every TV documentary they make. They should fire this guy, but he's probably the son of the company director or something.

Constantine: Hearts and Minds

Second panel from my Constantine strip. I based Constantine's face loosely on his surviving sculptures.

The comic does get funnier, I promise.