We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
I would like to go, unless Dem taxes prevent me from ever going anywhere again. These islands were Scandinavian until relatively recently.
Photo by Will Self of the Brough of Mousa, a remarkably well-preserved Iron Age dwelling. More like a fortress. I'd guess it had a thatched roof on top.
It is especially interesting to me because I am halfway through Francis Pryor's Britain BC. Do not read Pryor's book unless you want a ton of detail about prehistoric Britain. My sense is that pre-Neolithic, ie pre-agricultural man lived pretty much the same way everywhere on the planet, digging roots and picking nuts and killing stuff - including each other. Likely eating each other too.
During most of that late-glacial history, Britain was connected to the Continent, with what is now the southern part of the North Sea being a giant marshy plain full of reindeer, elk, horses, pig, auroch, moose, beaver, and deer. (There are tons of prehistoric artifacts sitting in the now-undersea peat.)
The Neolithic history is more interesting, and everything post-Neolithic isn't too much different from today except technologically.
Aww, come on...please??? Can't get much more politically incorrect around here than it already is. At least you'd be funny about it...not that the un-pc stuff around here isn't funny...sometimes unintentionally...Besides, we need a few more babes/broads/skirts/chicks/dames/dolls/bits-o-crumpet around here to lighten up the place...
My husband's aircraft is about to land. The guy sitting next to him was a local. Discussing life in the region, the guys tells the husband that the only way the island has been able to re-populate generation after generation is by intermarriage in families. He said it is more common than not that a local will have a visible birth defect. The husband thought he was jerking his chain. The guy that was on the runway guiding the plane in? The very first person my husband saw on the ground? Club foot.
I had a CD of Bob Dylan’s “Theme Time Radio Hour” on the car stereo, and he was spinning a platter that yodeled about “waltzing across Texas.” The mythopoeic world of American folk music is one of a radical heterogeneity, where one pays is altogether distinct from the next.
I only belabor this because while some contemporary writers take the poet Petrarch as their guide up Mont Ventoux, I preferred Dylan. True, Petrarch wrote about his 1336 ascent — the first, he claimed, since antiquity — while Dylan has probably never heard of the place, but Petrarch, writing in Latin, was one of the globalizers of his day, while Bob — for all his ubiquity — remains a profound localist. Besides, Bob would probably have loved the drive, as the sun rose, and the maquis turned a greeny-gold.
Petrach climbed Ventoux with a copy of Augustine’s “Confessions,” stopping occasionally to take spiritual sustenance from random readings.
Off topic P.S.: Watched I'm Not There for the first time last night. Cate 's rocking version of Maggie's Farm made me think of your site.