As seen through a friend’s 11-inch Celestron SCT and photographed rather crudely with my iPhone.
The Sound mirrors at RAF Denge are located between Greatstone-on-Sea and Lydd airfield, Kent, on the edge of a disused gravel pit. They were built in the late 1920s and early 1930s as part of an early warning system for detecting hostile incoming aircraft by focusing sound waves onto a central microphone.
The Denge complex is the best-preserved of several along the south coast. It comprises three mirrors:
1) The 200 foot mirror – a near vertical, curved wall, 60 m (200 ft) in length.
2) The 30 foot mirror – a circular dish, 9 m (30 ft) across, supported on concrete buttresses, which retains a microphone pole at its centre.
3) The 20 foot mirror is similar to the 30 foot mirror, but with a smaller dish 6 m (20 ft) across.
The mirrors were capable of detecting the slow-moving aircraft of the period before they came into range, but were rendered obsolete by the invention of radar. They were abandoned and left to decay, though they remain reasonably well-preserved and are now scheduled under the Ancient Monuments and Archaeological Areas Act 1979.
Places of worship reopen their doors – with social distancing in place. The inside of Lincoln Cathedral is another dystopian image of 2020.
The 51st anniversary of the Moon Landing comes around with the world in an even bigger mess than it was in twelve months ago.
We’ve also lost pioneering Russian cosmonaut & space walker Alexei Leonov.
Perhaps the most positive development has been the first crewed flight of SpaceX’s Dragon spacecraft.
The “Mayflower” in Rotherhithe, east London is a classic British pub sited on the banks of the Thames. Its name commemorates the departure of the Mayflower from Rotherhithe in July 1620 (400 years ago this month, as it happens). The pub has this splendid sign, which I recognised instantly….
…the picture is identical to one in my “The Story of Ships: A Ladybird ‘Achievements’ Book’, which was published in 1961 and as a child, sparked my lifelong interest in ships.
But there’s a slight problem. The ship depicted on the pub sign is NOT the Mayflower….
…It’s Sir Francis Drake’s Golden Hind. The Story of Ships was written by Richard Bowood and illustrated by Robert Ayrton. “Richard Bowood” was a pseudonym used by author, historian and journalist David Scott Daniell (1906-1965) and Robert Ayton (1915–1985) was a British comics artist and illustrator who worked for the Eagle and Ladybird Books. As far as is known, he did not make pub signs. Presumably somebody copied the book illustration and hoped that nobody would realise that it was the wrong ship. In fact, the golden hind on the vessel’s stern is a slight hint. As for the book itself, from a modern perspective is is quite amusing to note Daniell’s outrage that the Spanish should regard English privateers like Drake as pirates. How dare they!
The current owners of the Mayflower pub have been in residence for ten years, and apparently the sign was already there when they took over.
A spectacular sunset visible from my living-room window. Just minutes later, the effect faded out and the sky was a uniform grey.
The seasons continue to come and go, despite the events of this most dystopian of years.
On the third anniversary of the Grenfell Tower fire, the London Eye is lit up in green – the colour used to remember the victims of this appalling disaster.
In London, and indeed other big cities, pavement cyclists are a regular and unpleasant fact of life for pedestrians. For the avoidance of any doubt, by ‘pavement cyclist’ I do not mean cyclists using a shared space; I do not mean young children accompanied by a parent; and I can turn a blind eye to tourists doing walking pace on Boris bikes. No, to be clear, I mean aggressive, healthy young men, usually wearing full cycling kit, who choose to ride on the pavement even when roads are quiet or – as was often the case during lock-down – entirely free of traffic.
In common with most people, I’d rather not have a cyclist hurtle past me, barely a foot away, on the pavement. Especially now, in the middle of a pandemic and social distancing. I also take a dim view of the foul and abusive language and/or threatening behaviour that usually follows any attempt to remonstrate with these individuals.
One might imagine the response of responsible cyclists to this issue would be to roundly condemn such behaviour, but nothing could be further from the case. On forums or social media sites like Twitter the response ranges from indifference to intolerance. As night follows day, the argument is trotted out that pedestrians are more at risk from cars than they are from cyclists using the pavement or ignoring red lights. Cars, we are told, are the ‘real problem’ and pavement cycling isn’t even open to discussion.
That this is blatant “whataboutery” isn’t even the most serious flaw in this line of reasoning.
It is entirely true that more pedestrians are killed or injured by cars than by cyclists. This is a matter of elementary physics: a car has far more kinetic energy than a cyclist. Most cyclist-on-pedestrian collisions result in nothing more than a few bruises. The small number of deaths mostly involve head injuries arising from being knocked to the ground. But – and it’s a big BUT – the lifetime risk of being killed or seriously injured by a car are also small. The real issue is not death or serious injury.
Albeit the consequences are usually less serious, you are far more likely to be hit by a cyclist than by a car. I have lived in London since the 1970s and I cannot recall more than two, maybe three close calls as a pedestrian involving a car. By contrast, barely a week goes by without a pavement cyclist skimming past me at close quarters and particularly alarming incidents occur every few months on average. Quite often these near misses are only the beginning of the unpleasantness as these louts rarely take kindly to anybody challenging them.
Most people do not want to be hit by a pavement cyclist, even if no serious injury results.
Most people don’t want to have to jump out of the way of a pavement cyclist, even if no collision results.
Most people don’t want to be subjected to foul-mouthed abuse or threatening behaviour.
But above all, most people don’t want to be told that this is not the ‘real problem’.
To put it bluntly, this sort of appalling behaviour is an urban blight and the ‘real problem’ argument is an egregious fallacy.
Yet even supposedly responsible cycling organisations refuse to take the problem seriously. A high profile incident a few years ago drew the usual Pravda-like response from the London Cycling Campaign. Elsewhere, on social media and discussion fora, complaints about inconsiderate cycling are met with the party line, or howled down if anybody exposes it for the specious nonsense that it is. Many platforms now no longer allow cycling threads because of the inability of this minority to engage in adult conversation.
About two years ago, an anonymous article appeared in the Guardian by an individual who identified as a keen cyclist but not – as he put it – a Cyclist with a big C. He was very critical of the attitude of Cyclists, and was sufficiently worried about possible repercussions that he had written anonymously. That in itself is cause for concern.
If the cycling community want the sympathy of non-cycling public – not an unreasonable thing to want – then they are going the wrong way about it. An intolerance of criticism not out of place in Pyongyang only fuels Daily Mail reader prejudices against cyclists in general.
It’s not the greatest photograph you’ll ever see of Venus, but it’s the first I’ve managed to take that clearly shows the crescent phase. The Sun had just set and the sky was still very bright. The crescent was just discernible through a pair of 7×50 binoculars. Against a darker sky the dazzling brightness of Venus makes it difficult to make out the phase. I then decided to have a go with my Canon 530 zoom. Again, I have previously been unable to capture the phase against a darker sky. The 530 is a rather basic camera, and the lack of a viewfinder made it difficult to locate Venus. Eventually, I succeeded and photographed Venus against the still bright sky. I took eight images, six of which were of reasonable quality.