tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post8035324111197985878..comments2024-03-18T10:29:46.055+00:00Comments on Ken Armstrong Writing Stuff: Still Raining in the WoodsKen Armstronghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07775956557261111127noreply@blogger.comBlogger3125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post-58982022585316047792020-07-14T12:32:24.572+01:002020-07-14T12:32:24.572+01:00I had the very same experience as you a few months...I had the very same experience as you a few months ago, Ken, when I saw one of these walks on BBC4: glad you explained it as I had been languishing since in my own private uncanny valley. Thanks for the blog: always worth reading. /FFin Kgnnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post-15612182247847447902020-07-13T08:07:37.202+01:002020-07-13T08:07:37.202+01:00Ken, you would probably like the subgenre of '...Ken, you would probably like the subgenre of 'walking tour' videos on youtube too. There's a lot of people with gimbals and HD cameras who walk around both city and countryside in realtime.<br /><br />I wonder also whether, like me, you would enjoy the Corridor Crew channel. A bunch of young guys who make short films on youtube and share their working practices. I only mention it because they use a wide variety of clever cameras (and their youthful enthusiasm is infectious.<br /><br />You've also inspired me to look around a bit more and spend less time in my head (and on youtube).Marc Patersonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16124869545439738846noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post-59246836294160802452020-07-13T05:58:10.285+01:002020-07-13T05:58:10.285+01:00I think I’m starting to miss going for walks. Walk...I think I’m starting to miss going for walks. Walking and going for walks are, as you are very well aware, not the same thing. Going for walks was a big part of my childhood. I doubt a week went by when we didn’t go for one. A walk. Not a hike. And not really a stroll either. We lived then, as I happen to live now (by pure chance I assure you), on the very edge of the town. The countryside was two minutes away and that’s about what it is from here. We never walked down the town. It was to the country or the beach, occasionally the harbour. We’d walk and we’d walk back. The sights were just the sights we always saw. Maybe a horse would express a bit of curiosity in us but if that was the case that was a highlight with one exception, the day Dad and I saw the birds who’d been gathering atop Massey Ferguson’s office take off on their annual migration. The sky went black. It was really something else. Couldn’t tell you what birds they were or anything. <br /><br />I honestly couldn’t tell you the last time I went for a walk. I’ve walked places that’re within walking distance but that’s not the same. I have noted that when I am out walking I’m not as interested in what’s going on as I once was. If a dog passes me and shows an interest I’ll pet it and it always pleases me when that happens but I tend to forget to say anything to its owner. Unless they’re growly dogs. The growly dogs were out again this morning as I was checking out the glade—I have no idea if it’s a glade but my wife calls it a glade and I’m not invested enough to even look up what a glade is—and so I headed off in the opposite direction <i>tout de suite</i>. Anyway I’m finding I’m enjoying my dawn reconnoitres more than I even expected I would. I like the privacy which is not something I tend to associate with outside nowadays. Between the ages of probably eleven and seventeen I loved wandering around places where you could see for miles all around and know I was the only one there. It pissed me off no end if I noticed someone in the distance. That’s what my very early poem ‘The Curse of the Summer Saturday’ was all about, the weekend invasion of interlopers into <i>my</i> world.<br /><br />I don’t know how old I was—probably in my forties—when it dawned on me I was never alone for more than maybe five or ten minutes in any day. And certainly never long enough to enjoy the solitude. That was a horrible realisation. That’s the great thing about my weird sleeping patterns because I do get several hours every day where I’m by myself. And it’s definitely revitalising.Jim Murdochhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12786388638146471193noreply@blogger.com