Anakana Schofield – Award Winning Author of Bina, Martin John and Malarky

Clock card

I had the passing thought today that the recent weather events I have failed to log, for a bundle of reasons, are now lost. Disappeared. Gone. I was trying to recall what I have missed. I cannot summon them. There were a number of very specific FOG events, which made me coin the term INSOMNIACS FOR FOG. This, of course, a lovely contradiction. How can a fog event have any specificity? Well now because of a lack of a log, I have no reference point to support how this can be and yet I know it to be so from trapping moments during my foggy wanders. There were the banks of plonked fog, there was shifting fog and “insert whatever version of fog you fancy”.

I subsequently contemplated why it might be equally valid not to log these weather events. I don’t imagine a vast quantity of humans suspended or distraught at not logging every weather event that transits through their triangle of sky nor tuning in here to find what precisely I failed to log recently.  My thoughts shifted to the matter of blogging becoming, as and when we adhere to it, not that far from clocking in and out of the factory floor. (Except it’s a charitable factory, the indulgence of perhaps excessive self expression, which formerly would have lain inside a bound journal). The matter that we now choose to announce (in my case) to anyone willing to arrive at a URL what we think or thought at a particular moment of a rain event suggests that just as we now move physically through reviewed space, (google street view have been there before you) that if we permit it, we are submitting psychologically to (selectively I suppose) constant or consistent review.  Then I dismissed all such thoughts and scrubbed the floor. Now that bundle of thoughts could all appropriately be termed: the fog log or fogged log event. Or simply fog it, it’s gone.


On the contrasting topic of clarity, I highly recommend Tamara Faith Berger’s essay AFTERWORD at the end of her recently republished novel Little Cat. It’s remarkable. Her use of the stout sentence in this essay is strong, strong, strong. Go and find it. Open the novel, turn to the back and read this essay. I am not going to make it easy for you with quotes and temptation. It needs to be read entirely as one piece. When you read it you will see what I mean.


On the topic of traps: The Forum radio programme on the BBC World Service gave us this ideas discussion today: 


Catching neutrinos, unsuspecting gamers and pictures of elusive mammals



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