The false dawn of a late Indian summer seems to have gone, today sees a strong westerly blowin' in, with a threat of rain very apparent. But who cares, if winter is heading our way I have a stack of wood already cut, a pile of books to plough thru and my girls to keep me company. Being a GOM and a dog bore means I can just witter on and nobody takes any notice (sounds like the story of my life). Coming into dark nights means those tourists will go away, take their crap with them and leave us in peace. It is very difficult to be welcoming when some of these people just dump their rubbish, drive cars onto fragile terrain and just basically abuse whatever they are confronted by. I'm an Italian tourist so I can drive into your driveway, park my car, go off for a walk. No fuckin way buster!

Cody dont like them either, she lets rip at cyclists, walkers, white vans and campers, go Code!

Been reading a revised biography of Alain-Fournier (of Le Grand Meaulnes), and you have to wonder at the nature of literary genius, this was a seemingly normal man, liked his ladies, played rugby, was a part of the literary set in Paris, yet out of his head comes storming this piece of magic, a tempestous journey through adolescence and the chase for love. Biographies never seem to get to grips with what makes a someone a great writer or musician or dancer or footballer, why are we not all like that, is it in them? learnt?

The second volume of Tim Robinson's Connemara trilogy is next on the pile, been looking forward to this for some time so hope it fulfils expectations.

Pegi (known most of the time as Pegi Lulu, because, well because she is a right Lulu) is having her arthritis injections at the moment, once a week, and she knows exactly where she is going when we drive in a certain direction. The tail goes down, the eyes go all mooney and you just know she is trying to tell you but I don't want a needle, don't take me in there, I don't want to, send Cody instead, why doesnt she have to have a needle. So she gets rewarded for being brave with a run on the beach, she adores the sea, chasing birds, tormenting the codester, shaking water all over me and the back of the car, then sleeping all the way home.

I'm gone.

Warm sun, clear sky, feeling damn good

Having just spent a few days away in a city, Dublin, have returned to the preferred solitude of Valentia Island. Enjoyed the city, bookshopping, seeing a few sights, just rather be back here.

Today the early May sun is fine, those first potatoes are poking through, the carrots have gone in and I can sit and feel the warmth as the days grow longer and time just spreads out before me. The usually empty beaches are starting to get a little crowded for my liking, Bank Hol;iday weekend seems to presage the tourist season so I suppose my walks with cody and pegi will have to either be very early or taken elsewhere.

The dependence of our community so much on the tourist market has always been an issue when times were tough or external events impacted (9/11, Foot and Mouth etc). Maybe, with Global Warming and the advent of Peak Oil, now is the time to look at more sustainable ways of keeping such a rural community intact and healthy. The whole Transition movement looks very interesting, I have recently read Rob's book and hope that I can find a mechanism for opening and progressing debate on the subject here on Valentia. The problem I can envisage for such a community as Valentia is that it is only recently that the impact of the Celtic Tiger has seen real chances for local people. So much of the growth locally has been fuelled by the construction boom, which is on the downturn, and I know that there is little or no resilience built up with this eventuality in mind. But people tend to think and act short term - things are good now and the politicians talk the good talk so why worry and change out of the comfort zone - and it will be a slow, precarious journey, perhaps something needs to happen to catalyse thinking and actions. Oil to hit $150, gas, electricity etc to rocket in price, food to become expensive and scarce. There was, and still is amongst older residents of Valentia, a self-reliant attitude towards life, if something breaks, find out why and try to fix it, don't just replace it. This comes from a time when it wasn't possible to jump into the car, drive to town and buy a replacement. No bridge, so a ferry journey, which in winter was often not easy, and of course ready money was not so available.

The exciting fact is that moving into transition could be creative, inspiring and fun and the real quality of living could well improve. But how do I get people to even start discussing this, let alone taking positive action? If anyone out there is listening and can come up with ideas or suggestions, all gratefully received.

The late, great John Stewart

I was idly googling away just now and came across a news item telling me that John Stewart had died. My heart and head are broken. Another of the great ones has taken the long journey! Just last week I was listening to the increasingly wonderful California Bloodlines album, a record that almost single-handedly set the bar for what has now become Americana, that had a lyrical intensity that set it apart from so much of its contemporaries. And although this was possibly his masterpiece, John Stewart produced so much fine music throughout his, regrettably short, life, he was 68, and so much more to come.

If I am sad, then his family and friends, as well as all those fans around the world, must be feeling his immeasurable loss very deeply. My meagre thoughts are with, Stewart family.

The last word has to belong to the man himself:

"No one's getting younger
Some aren't growing old,
It's all in what you feel
And not in what you're told.

You can't go back to Kansas
I was there just yesterday
You can't go back to Kansas
It just up and blew away".

Flying over old St. Louis

A few people have asked me where the title of my blog comes from, Missouri Bird. Well, its the title of an old John Stewart song, about being young and going into the world and returning to first loves etc. If you don't know John Stewart, shame on you, he is a veteran of the folk-rock scene, has released loads of records, had one minor hit called "Gold" in the late 70s and still rocks on after all these years.

Fundamental disappointment at not being able to get tickets for Neil Young in London, we were prepared to forsake our island haven for the tribulations of the big city for a few days just to maybe catch the old boy live for the last time (he's old, we're getting there, travelling is mostly done through thought these days), but to no avail, sold out is all I can find.

Last of all this time, I read all those positive, praising reviews of Dennis Johnson's "Tree of Smoke", the latest great american novel etc., so decided to give it a go. I must admit to finding it a bit of a struggle, his plotting is laborious, the characters flabby and undemanding, but I will stick with it, maybe it improves as it moves on.

Wanted - Grumpy Old Men

I have spent a great deal of the, very long, Christmas and New Year period being regularly informed that I am a grumpy old man, by my wife, my mother and my various nieces (Notice - all women!). So, accepting this as my lot, I have decided to take a very positive approach and set up a National Association of Grumpy Old Men (NAGOM). Today, I am soliciting for members. The rules are very simple:

1. As age is relative, physical old age is not a requisite, only being old in the head is necessary.

2. You must prefer the company of dogs and cats to humans - they don't argue back, their needs are very simple, they don't know how to use a credit card.

3. Give up the desire to go places, you will only want to carry on going. Make the journey in your head, listen to the silence.

4. Most of what you say should not make sense, it didn't before so why should it now?

Once the Association is up and running we can do all sorts of things like not have meetings, organise events and then not turn up, compare notes on Neil Young's back catalogue (I am hoping he will become our President), take long silent, lonesome walks on empty beaches, eschew bars, pubs, restaurants and all other places of social gathering where you might have to talk to people.

Membership is free, there are no forms, no need to contact, just get it together on your own, take the dog for a walk, sing to the wind, read obscure John Cowper Powys novels (the new biography by Morine Krissdottir is quite special), get angry at inanity, injustice and sheer dribble, hate the concept of celebrity. That's a few things to be getting on with, invent your own grumpy manifestations, it's exhilirating and keeps old minds active.