A few interesting things in citizen reporting and community action:

• Help Me Investigate is a place where you can collaborate with other people to investigate things.
• Who’s Lobbying answers questions for anyone who’s ever wondered  or suspected what meetings UK ministers are having with who.
• Spot.us does community funded reporting, kind of like an indegogo for investigative journalism. Which is sequentially related to Qluso which is an online app that allows news editors to bid for exclusive stories from freelance journalists.
• Press complaints commission data made accessible. Naturally the good old Daily Mail lead the way. Inaccuracy and privacy are the most frequent triggers for a complaint.

The Good Samaritan paradox via the Politics of Wellbeing. The video in part 2 is particularly good.

If you’re feeling like you’re doing your bit to make things better, be humbled by Sandra Antonovic who the 10:10 campaign have named their Top Human of the Previous 365 Days. After much deliberation and chocolate biscuits, the committee comprising Franny and Lizzie were unanimous in their decision and issued the following statement: “Frankly we don’t believe that Sandra can be just the one person, as it is impossible to comprehend how anyone could have pulled off this lot in one year:

• Started 10:10 campaigns in 24 countries from Russia to Greece.
• Organised 5,000 schools to plant 50,000 trees.
• Signed up cities including Zagreb, Krapina, Nicosia and Pula (eg the town of Krapina in Croatia is modernising their street lighting and the City of Pula in Croatia are turning on/off city lights 15 minutes later/earlier each day and providing citizens with free coloured garbage bags to increase recycling levels).
• Produced the first 10:10 checklists in braille.
• Persuaded a board game manufacturer to produce a 10:10 board game.
• Persuaded a regional TV company to produce the pilot of a 10:10 TV show which will feature 10 families competing to cut their emissions.”

As news of the nation’s collectively held delusion spread, the economy ground to a halt, with dumbfounded citizens everywhere walking out on their jobs as they contemplated the little green drawings of buildings and dead white men they once used to measure their adequacy and importance as human beings.

Care of The Onion

if we move away from a materialistic life, what is the name for the kind of life we enter into? I don’t like ‘de-materialised’ (so what is it then?), ‘simple’ (it’s not simple), or ‘spiritual’ (problematic term). So I am missing a word. Do you have any ideas?

There’s huge power in a name. I think I’ve written about the power of the “space race” before, and it’s obvious that words like “frankenfoods” and “credit crunch” can both act as a convenient shorthand, but also shape the debate. Names that allow us to aspire to greatness tap in to that which is the very best in humanity. Who wouldn’t want to agree with “Yes, we can!”?

Orwell has a defining essay on this topic: Politics and the English Language

Anyway, I spent a few hours in the garden yesterday, and had time to ponder this. So here’s the answer I posted:

Sustainable: quite obvious and somewhat tainted by the idea that it might imply “less” and therefore “less good”.

Transition: meh.. great for towns and to talk of the process, but says little about the quality of the goal.

Ascetic: technically more accurate (‘This is to be understood not as an eschewal of the enjoyment of life but a recognition that spiritual and religious goals are impeded by such indulgence’), but again hints at emaciated preachers beating themselves with sticks beneath a cold hose.

Gardeners: careful cultivation, working harmoniously with natural systems, long term thinking… this has a lot to appeal; and also is going to be an accurate description for most who choose this route.

Extraordinary: literal, and makes it sound more appealing. Hearing envious talk of “your extraordinary life” is something which can’t help but stir humble pride.

Sophisticated: from sophos (wisdom). to refine, make more complex, make more worldly-wise and less naive.

Philosopher: lover of wisdom (and all the things above). The philosophic life… has a nice ring, possibly too pretentious. Also the people best suited to determine the direction of a nation, according to Plato.  (Have you ever noticed how people who develop hierarchies find themselves at the top? Including myself in this example, thinking that ‘gardeners’ sounds apposite, whilst out gardening…)

People can apply online for sums between £200 and £1500 to turn underused land into a vegetable patch. It is even possible to use grow bags on a concreted piece of ground to ‘grow your- own’. Under the scheme Londoners receive both financial and practical support to produce food, such as access to training and expert advice.

via United Diversity

1. Save old tins and reuse these.
2. Use sandwich bags. (You may have to stand them together in a bowl so they don’t fall over before they freeze.)

So chronologically. We left La Plagne on Wednesday morning, at quarter to eleven, with sandwiches, and a very full car. The valley was full of clouds and we knew that down below would be grey and murky, but up in the mountains it was a bright blue sky day, the dark pine trees dusted with snow, the air crisp and dry… just how the mountains should be in winter. Immune from the grey mediocre nonsense of the world below.

However needs must, and it was into the grey gloom we descended. It turned out not to be all that grey or all that gloomy, and we drove along having a lovely conversation about what it was like to be young, the curious things we remember, and how the smallest of moments in our childhood can be extrapolated into parables and metaphors for life, shaping our futures and our reasoning. It is strange that even though we all remember moments like this, we still like to think that we can shape the future for our children.

The journey passed incredibly easily and quickly, down to Grenoble, and on to the Mediterranean coast, through Nimes and Montpelier, heading west into the sun to Carcassone and Toulouse.

There is a mill at Montesquie Volvestre which has been working for, I think, four centuries, grinding he very best flour. We were going to try to stop in to pick up 20kg of spelt , but alas we were about an hour too late (packing up always takes longer than I think it will) so alas we had to pass that by and keep on going.

The sun had just set when we arrived, eight hours after we started, and there was light snow on the ground. It’s a stone house two foot thick walls and not a great deal of insulation. It’s not draughty, but it’s not intrinsically cosy, either. It takes a few days of non-stop fires to heat the walls and get the place comfortable, so the very first thing was to light a fire. Fortunately it took quickly. Normally I’m not very good at lighting fires. I’m too impatient and don’t give it time to build the heat, draw in more and more oxygen, and slowly creep its way into existence. By the end of this year, though, I shall be a master of fires.

We unpacked, made some tea, dinner, and enjoyed the moment of having arrived.

It is incredible when dreams come true. I have been wanting to move to this part of the world with a wonderful lady for almost a decade now. And here we are. It’s happened so quickly, really. Or it seems to have done.

How to light a fire

Fire needs three things: fuel, oxygen, and heat. Lighting a small camp or stove fire also takes time. More than you, and certainly I, might expect. So take it slowly and give it time to establish itself before asking too much of it.

1. Ensure there is ventilation in the hearth. If there is a grate, ensure there are sufficient gaps inthe grate for air to flow through.
2. Loosely scrunch some paper into a ball, so that the air has plenty of space to ciculate
3. Wigwam the kindling over the paper, ensuring that there’s still plenty of paper visible. The conical tent shape gives a wide base for the air to be drawn in, and provides a column for the heat to rise through, thus perpetuating the self-fanning action.
4. Have larger kindling standing by. The driest you can.
5. Light the fire from the back, sides, and front. If you have a tea-light of candle end, you can place this in the centre of your fire to act as a firelighter. Or use a firelighter.
6. If you have tall flames, you can lean the larger kindling over the top of these to start these warming so they burn more easily.
7. As the fire fire collapses into itself a little, build a new wigwam of the larger kindling.
8. Build it up slowly in the same fashion, adding new wood only when you’re sure you wont be straining the fire by doing so. Remember that each piece you add may be adding fuel, but will also be restricting the flow of oxygen, and also removing heat.
9. If the fire doesn’t take, deconstruct it and have another go whilst there is still warmth in it.
10. Practise and feel superzen about the whole thing.

Saturday.

Our bedroom doesn’t have much natural light, so it’s quite hard to get up in the morning. I must get back into the habit of responding to my internal clock and not a solar one. I do love waking up with the sun, whenever that is during the year. I must remember that when looking for a house to buy.

We took a walk to Arbas, the nearest village with shops. Just along the road since it’s the most direct route anyway, and it makes sense to establish our bearings before going exploring. It’s about an hour’s casual walk, and we had lovely sunshine all the way. Plenty of dogs trotting out into the road to say hello, horses to run the noses of, and buzzards and kites calling from above.

There’s a paragliding school in the village so we stopped in there to say hello and introduce ourselves to the owner, Vincent, explaining that we’d like a refresher course and to do some deal with him whilst it’s still quiet. Not constrained by a 9 to 5 of an office, we’re reasonably flexible about when our work gets done, so if it’s sunny and lovely we can go out for a fly and then just work later that evening to catch up. He has our name and number now and is going to call us for a half day play to see how we do and what we know the next time it’s convenient.

Next stop was the butcher to see if we can reach an amicable understanding with him about bones and meat for Lola. She eats only a raw meat diet. He is an incredibly friendly man – large bellied and moustachioed, enthusiastic about his craft and his village. His wife is a translator and they’re hoping to build a small website and have mornings when all the English and Germans from the area, who typically don’t speak much French, can come and meet each other and practise their lingua Franca. The butcher has realised that they’re scared of speaking French, and so are more likely to go to supermarkets where they don’t have to talk to people, rather than coming to the small shops of Arbas. It is ironic that so many people move here for the quality of life and cuisine, but in so doing diminish its existence. Needless to say he was pleased to find that he had a young couple who did both translation AND websites, and began working out the details of the project immediately. Healthy barter is a wonderful thing. This will mean free dog food for many months, and hopefully friendly deals on the large joints of meat we buy for friends and parties. He gave us a large bone, a half kilo of meat, and some sausage as a present, and we bought a very sizeable wedge of paté for just 2 euros.

The Mayor of Arbas, he tells us, is a great man: young, an architect, and who cares about people who want to live here, no matter where they’re from. The population of Arbas has doubled during his two terms – at least that’s what I think the butcher said. I guess he’s a hit with the ladies.

The weather had closed in a bit, the air had turned cold and a light rain was falling, so we walked home. As on all journeys, the way home was faster than the way out, and we took a small short cut through the woods. Not that much shorter, it turns out, but far more pleasant to walk through woods than along the road, and steeper and so healthier.

We had the remains of leek and potato soup for lunch, with some bread and pate, and finished off getting everything in place: the last of the clothes away, making some legs for the desk, and so on.

Saturday night.

We’re all unpacked. The house is warm. The fire is looking like the perfect fire, with a spread of flame rising from a rich, variegated orange hearth. I’ve just poured a whisky and started on a curry. Ali is doing yoga in front of the fire. Lola is resting from her bone and is sprawled and contended on the sofa.

If we had internet right now, my facebook would read “Ed Dowding is trying very hard not to be irritatingly smug.”

You know those weeks or weekends when a group of you get together and rent a place and go walking, eat good food, drink port late into the night, look at the stars, all help of the washing up, and have a really marvellous time – like the very best of times that there can be, for what greater fun might be possible that good friends, good food, and a nourishing environment? And then we all pile into cars or get lifts to the station, and wonder why it is we have to go, and what a shame it is that it all must end? This is like that, but without the going home part, for we are at home.

Of course, I’ve never really understood why we leave these sorts of situations at all. It’s the third millenium, and we really should have worked out satisfactory ways to be able to stay in a low-cost, friendly place more or less indefinitely. In truth, I suspect it’s fear which prevents this. There’s a thin line between opt-out and drop-out, and it’s one which even very educated people don’t seem to be able to discern particularly well.

Sunday.

Lola was up in the night feeling a little ill, so I let her out and it has snowed! Amazing going to bed with a light rain and then waking up to see everything blanketed in white, complete with the accompanying silent, beautiful calm.

Looking over the living room of this house is a beautiful thing. It is our house. It is beautiful. Outside there are trees, a river, and mountains. Never far away is Ali, a wonderful, beautiful woman whom I love and loves me. Everything is in its place. Everything is where is should be. Everything is perfect.

But not me. So brace yourself for a Christmas-round-robin level of sweetly enthusiastic updates and summaries.

Firstly I’m very much in love with a wonderful girl named Ali. We met in Verbier last winter, and she’s quite brilliant, wears big glasses,  has big knobbly brown bird legs, and finds glee in despatching miscreant dogs with her knitting needles, which she carries everywhere.

It’s quite wonderful to meet someone, and to be ready to meet someone, who is quite so ideal. Knowing that everything I want is right there, neatly packaged in a foxy little body, and that we’re a team working together for the same goals, and taking joy in the journey in similar ways. I could go on, but I shall save my whisperings of sweet nothings for her ears. Ah, love!

She also has a dog, Lola, who is increasingly ideal. A beautifully gentle weimaranananana. At times she can be mischievious (in this photo she is replete with stolen pizza), and can be seized by her inner wolf when she smells quarry… but she is getting better and better every day as she settles in to her new life.

The new life is in France. We’re renting this house for the year (at least). It’s in the Pyrenees, not far from Spain (map). If you walk south, it’s just forest all the way.

The plan is to use this as a base whilst we find a place to buy and do up (possibly with you?), probably in much the same way as the owners of the house we’re renting have done. We then aim to be reasonably self-sufficient within about 3 years. So in addition to house hunting and making money (sigh), we’re learning lots about permaculture, seeds, and preserving. Hopefully I can follow in the footsteps of my namesake, Charles Dowding, and become a (Monty) don of greenery.

Work is coming in steadily via Igloo59 (tell your friends!) and I have a few other nice big projects on the go which I hope to be able to tell you more about soon.

I think that’s probably enough for now. We do hope you’ll come visit?

(It’s £120 return on the train , which can be an overnight sleeper from St.Pancras if you do it right, and living here is cheap. There is a £50 kitty tax for flyers.)