An eclectic collection of trivia, observation, cynicism, wit....
and the occasional rant.
Enjoy!

I'm Mark. Older than you imagine, pescetarian, husband, father, professional parent & pedant.

I post some original stuff and a bunch of other things that I like. If you own the rights to something you see here and you're not happy about me sharing it, let me know.
Little Cheyne Court Wind Farm, viewed across Romney Marsh from Port Lympne. Photo: mings

Little Cheyne Court Wind Farm, viewed across Romney Marsh from Port Lympne.

Photo: mings

Eastern Black Rhino Photographed at Port Lympne Wild Animal Park against a backdrop of Romney Marsh. Photo: mings

Eastern Black Rhino

Photographed at Port Lympne Wild Animal Park against a backdrop of Romney Marsh.

Photo: mings

Fairfield Church, Romney Marsh, in winter. Beautiful and remote, Fairfield Church was picked as a location for the BBC’s recent adaptation of Great Expectations by Charles Dickens. The Marsh frequently delivers an atmospheric backdrop and certainly didn’t fail during filming.  I’m not a big fan of Dickens, but (and no doubt the purists will disagree) in my view the BBC did an outstanding job of making one of our historical writers’ greatest works more accessible. Gillian Anderson was the icing on the cake. Photo by Andreas Byrne, REX features, via Telegraph

Fairfield Church, Romney Marsh, in winter.

Beautiful and remote, Fairfield Church was picked as a location for the BBC’s recent adaptation of Great Expectations by Charles Dickens. The Marsh frequently delivers an atmospheric backdrop and certainly didn’t fail during filming. 

I’m not a big fan of Dickens, but (and no doubt the purists will disagree) in my view the BBC did an outstanding job of making one of our historical writers’ greatest works more accessible. Gillian Anderson was the icing on the cake.

Photo by Andreas Byrne, REX features, via Telegraph

Sheep, Lamb & Wind Farm, Romney Marsh Photo: Oast House Archive, via Geograph

Sheep, Lamb & Wind Farm, Romney Marsh

Photo: Oast House Archive, via Geograph

Riding lessons

Things I learned whilst taking a late bike ride today:

Learning objective: achieved. 

The Roughs, Hythe. This was the view early on Sunday from the top of the Roughs, a few minutes stiff walk from my house. In Saxon times, most of the land you can see was under water. Indeed, a long distance walking route called the Saxon Shore Way follows the old shoreline, which is a couple of hundred feet higher than the present day high water mark. This hill is the first ripple of the North Downs, which rather confusingly track from South Kent towards London. The structures you see in the foreground to the right are from WWII. The dish is a reinforced concrete parabolic reflector that focussed incoming sound waves onto a microphone (not unlike a modern day satellite dish does with radio waves). The microphone was hooked up via an underground cable to the listening post - the concrete blockhouse a little further down the hill. From there, the operators could use a field telephone to sound the alarm, which would warn the residents of the town that another wave of aircraft was crossing the English Channel. It was a cracking idea that was made obsolete by the invention of RADAR before it ever went into use. There are similar dishes (and a much bigger array) towards Dungeness, which feature on the cover photography for the Turin Brakes’ 2003 album Ether Song. The whole of Romney Marsh is laid out beyond the Roughs. If the sea defences are breached, or if global warming brings about the predicted rise in sea levels, then everything you can see here will be back on the seabed again. Apologies for the poor quality phone camera picture, which doesn’t do the view much justice. I’ll take the Canon up there next time.

The Roughs, Hythe.

This was the view early on Sunday from the top of the Roughs, a few minutes stiff walk from my house. In Saxon times, most of the land you can see was under water. Indeed, a long distance walking route called the Saxon Shore Way follows the old shoreline, which is a couple of hundred feet higher than the present day high water mark. This hill is the first ripple of the North Downs, which rather confusingly track from South Kent towards London.

The structures you see in the foreground to the right are from WWII. The dish is a reinforced concrete parabolic reflector that focussed incoming sound waves onto a microphone (not unlike a modern day satellite dish does with radio waves). The microphone was hooked up via an underground cable to the listening post - the concrete blockhouse a little further down the hill. From there, the operators could use a field telephone to sound the alarm, which would warn the residents of the town that another wave of aircraft was crossing the English Channel. It was a cracking idea that was made obsolete by the invention of RADAR before it ever went into use. There are similar dishes (and a much bigger array) towards Dungeness, which feature on the cover photography for the Turin Brakes’ 2003 album Ether Song.

The whole of Romney Marsh is laid out beyond the Roughs. If the sea defences are breached, or if global warming brings about the predicted rise in sea levels, then everything you can see here will be back on the seabed again.

Apologies for the poor quality phone camera picture, which doesn’t do the view much justice. I’ll take the Canon up there next time.

Romney Marsh The denizens of Romney Marsh are often known as Marshuns to people from the surrounding area, who deride them for the solitude and countryside in which they choose to live. Not so long ago, a wind farm was constructed in an area of the Marsh known as Little Cheyne Court, forever changing the skyline. Accepted, there was an RAF base nearby during WW2, and the era of nuclear power ushered in Dungeness Power Station on the other horizon. I daresay neither caused so much controversy as the 26 turbines, each towering nearly 380 feet above an utterly flat landscape, most of which is at or just below sea level. Allegedly, each turbine is theoretically capable of producing 2.3MW. Together, they should be able to power around 33,000 homes. However, the dreadful reality is already apparent, with the blades stilled more often than not. Latest data suggests that most installations of this type actually generate only 22% of the maxima. Here then, is an ariel shot of this beautiful landscape with a new Marshun in the style of HG Wells’ War of the Worlds casting its long shadow among the sheep. (They’re the tiny little white dots in the next field…) Picture courtesy of Google maps.

Romney Marsh

The denizens of Romney Marsh are often known as Marshuns to people from the surrounding area, who deride them for the solitude and countryside in which they choose to live.

Not so long ago, a wind farm was constructed in an area of the Marsh known as Little Cheyne Court, forever changing the skyline. Accepted, there was an RAF base nearby during WW2, and the era of nuclear power ushered in Dungeness Power Station on the other horizon.

I daresay neither caused so much controversy as the 26 turbines, each towering nearly 380 feet above an utterly flat landscape, most of which is at or just below sea level. Allegedly, each turbine is theoretically capable of producing 2.3MW. Together, they should be able to power around 33,000 homes. However, the dreadful reality is already apparent, with the blades stilled more often than not. Latest data suggests that most installations of this type actually generate only 22% of the maxima.

Here then, is an ariel shot of this beautiful landscape with a new Marshun in the style of HG Wells’ War of the Worlds casting its long shadow among the sheep. (They’re the tiny little white dots in the next field…)

Picture courtesy of Google maps.

Thistle Set against the backdrop of Romney Marsh on a beautiful day.

Thistle

Set against the backdrop of Romney Marsh on a beautiful day.

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

One of the wonderful things about living on the edge of Romney Marsh is that insomniacs like me enjoy a rich, natural night-time soundtrack, especially at this time of year.

This little baby is the notorious Marsh Frog, whose sound carries considerable distances on the night air. These frogs are not indigenous; they were introduced in the 1930s when a misguided lady bought her well-heeled husband some Hungarian frogs instead of the edible variety of which he was particularly fond.

Inevitably, they escaped. By 1960, they’d multiplied and spread across the entire Marsh via the network of drainage ditches. Now, they’re an integral part of the tapestry of the Marsh.