books, films, gigs, events november 2025

books 

- werner herzog, of walking in ice (first 10 pages and online excerpts), LARB interview with him on the peregrine

- diaries/ journals; kilvert's diary, italian journey goethe, journal of henry david thoreau, fernando pessoa, the book of disquiet, 

-  j. sheridan le fanu, wylder's hand

- to take paper, to draw chapter in john berger's landscapes

-  louis althusser,  ideology and ideological state apparatuses (essay)

- stendhal's memoirs of an egotist.

- matthew arnold's dover beach

- GDN, NLR, LRB, whose BBC? by des freedman, are we doomed? dave runciman, 

- various substackers

- uncut, gene clark remembered

- reveries & ritual: solo acoustic guitar primer, bandcamp

film

-  boom, boom, labubu, the nominations video for the uk (and ireland) folk awards. tusk virtual 2020 (triple negative), lankum ghost town

- bad SF series (threshold/ helix)

- phantasm

-blood simple (coen brothers)

-  john gray being interviewed on why he wasn't a post-liberal 

- roberto menabò playing robbie basho’s 12 string

- john p. mccormick on machiavelli

- bookpilled, outlaw bookseller

- RTE interview with gillian rose

- roger barnes at a breton chestnut festival and did I buy a house wth too many floors?

- ft.com maga fractures

- 

gigs  dave webb's technodub sets online 

events

storm claudia floods the village,   COP30, the 45th anniversary of horsemouth seeing the ginger baker era hawkwind, licorice mckechnie found alive

when the charity shops re-open (and give away the stuff for free)

canadian dude. horsemouth has never heard of this before. nice.

so how far has werner herzog got (on this day in 1974)

'still in tailfingen...' (about 200km from munich)

there is then an unlikely scene with werner yelling at the cops from a car followed by a memory of him clearing out his car. (horsemouth has no more details than this)

'it all started with a tunnel where the parked cars were being ticketed by the police. we drove past hollering, doing something that isn’t done. once, at home, I wanted to tidy up the messy car a bit, and along the way I threw out everything, mostly old scraps of paper. suddenly I found two police magazines amid a pile of junk, and inside them were two pictures of such beauty that I’d never seen anything like them before. they were pictures of a land that took my breath away. but how did something like this get...'

and that is all that horsemouth has of it. 

today the weather should be decent. monday it is due to piss it down (if you'll pardon his french). 

the title of the  post 

this comes from horsemouth's lockdown thought that he would start giving away his books and records when the charity shops re-open. it is kind of like a john fahey title of the type when the catfish is in bloom. 

marguerite duras' practicalities aka. la vie matérielles (1987) excised screenwriter jérôme beaujour’s questions, but the questions are left in with les parleuses (1973), an interview of sorts with xavière gautier, here, in an article, horsemouth finds another book by duras that he wants to read but the only copy he can find online for free is in french.  

there is a peculiarity to this valley. the sun shines on the trees on the hill opposite but horsemouth's side of the valley is in shadow. 

ok now sunset is drawing in. the trees are no longer illuminated. sunset itself at 1606. the land begins to go dark but the skies are still bright. 

thereafter horsemouth will go out to incarcerate the chickens (and collect their eggs). he already went out earlier to lock up the garage. we are into the darkest eighth of the year, the one surrounding the winter solstice. 

it's the morning horsemouth has just been out to unleash the chickens, the sun illuminates the horizon and the clouds. 

who knew that old was good

'not a good night, therefore somewhat plaintive in the morning. telephoned from the post office. an ugly, much-frequented road to neufra over a range of hills. a direct route cross-country is hardly possible. a terrible storm up in bitz, everything’s covered with snow. beyond bitz, up a forested slope, a furious flurry of snow breaks out in the forest, the flakes circling down from above like a whirlwind. I don’t dare venture into the open fields any more since the snow there blows horizontally. for many years they haven’t had anything remotely like this, and it’s not even december yet...' 

- werner herzog, of walking in ice, 29th november 1974. 

rory (aurora) block tells a  nice tale of an early stefan grossman tour. this has him calling in at each and every pawn shop and asking if they had any old guitars, buying old martin guitars for $45. guitars now worth thousands. 

'and then everywhere we went stefan would pick up another martin. pick up another glorious pre-war martin. you see, in those days, who knew that old was good.' 

that's stefan grossman spelt H-U-S-T-L-E (hustle). 

meanwhile robbie basho's 12 string has resurfaced and people have been playing it for a tribute project. 

horsemouth has a collection of comparatively cheap guitars. he likes guitars where the sound has character. at the moment he mostly plays his rockabilly version of babylon's burning on the hohner. his hohner 12 string is out but he doesn't play it much. the rest of the guitars are in their bags awaiting a suitable musical project. 

'the record books of the institution are missing (and are doubtless long ago destroyed)'

some werner herzog to be going on with (jstor has come up trumps)

'beyond volkertsheim spent the night in a barn; all around there was nothing else, and so I stayed, although it was only 4:30. what a night. the storm raged so that the whole shack, which was solidly built, began to shake. rain and snow came sprinkling in from the rooftop and I buried myself in the straw. once I awoke with an animal sleeping on my legs. when I stirred it was even more frightened than I was. I think it was a cat. the storm grew so fierce that I can’t recall having experienced anything like it...' - werner herzog, of walking in ice,  28th november 1974. 

he had spent the night before in an inn in vöhringen. 

---------------------------------------------------

'the record books of the institution are missing, and are doubtless long ago destroyed. these chapters have been compiled and written from a few memoranda, at various times, very often after the arduous duties of days of professional life, and with a desire only to present the subject truthfully, faithfully and simply; and also, not wholly to gratify curiosity, or to record the doings of the noble men and women who were wise before their time....'

-  john thomas codman, brook farm; historic and personal memoirs.

at one point in time horsemouth was interested in utopias and radical communities. the tendency in marxist thought is to marginalise these and to refuse to pay any attention to what took place within them. 

what's the phrase marx uses? the cookshops of the future. 

'the paris revue positiviste reproaches me in that, on the one hand, I treat economics metaphysically, and on the other hand — imagine! — confine myself to the mere critical analysis of actual facts, instead of writing recipes (comtist ones?) for the cook-shops of the future....'

- karl marx, afterword to the second german edition of capital I.

and yet there must be some vision of the future even if it is only negatively sketched by what it is not. 

'she headed (deep in chartreuse)...'

'she headed deep in chartreuse

a falcon glimpse of white teeth

separated by lace cinnamon folds...'

- tyrannosaurus rex, wind quartets

words and music by marc bolan

well it's the morning and horsemouth is writing again. 

'a letter from anna kilvert saying she had left to me in her will a private service of silver communion plate...' - kilvert, diaries, 27th november 1871. 

nothing from goethe in italy. nothing now until the 1st of december. 

the spinach and the broad beans look like they are suffering with the frost (horsemouth doesn't know if they will be able to come back). 

today it warmed up (but it didn't start raining like it was supposed to).  horsemouth delivered the eggs and then took the waste bin down the drive. (so probably a mile all told)

the budget

reeves gives it a good punt but it's not wealth taxes so it won't make any real difference. in fact by leaving the tax thresholds where they are until 2030 (despite inflation) she will drag more and more poor people into the tax system (and thus take more tax money from poor and middle income people). 

how is horsemouth? 

well his nerves feel a bit scraped. he doesn't have enough to do (and it's making him anxious). he's looking forward to the birmingham thing mid-december (as a piece of activity). 

in the evening he watched shetland with his mum but having watched a bit of the budget he didn't hang around for the news. 

he watched a video boom, boom, labubu and then the nominations video for the uk (and ireland) folk awards. 

the reply from the tower master of the bell ringers has come back (it's ewyas harold) now to check that he's actually got a lift in (otherwise he's walking). 

to write everyday and about everyday existence

it's the 19th anniversary of horsemouth starting blogging (or it was a few days ago) 

'horsemouth began to write everyday and about his everyday existence (in a thinly fictionalised fashion)'

it structures his life nicely - he gets up, he writes, he 'publishes'.  and because he enjoys it he has made it a daily act.

but of course he is not writing really (he is typing it in) and of course he is not publishing it really, he sticks the file on a computer where other people may find it if they know that it is there (but are unlikely to find it otherwise). 

he used to 'write' in the morning before he went off to work now he 'writes' the day before and merely 'publishes' in the morning (with minor revisions). 

and then he starts 'writing' again (as he is doing now) because he enjoys it. 

he used to write extensive notes in his work diary during the day on what he was reading and on what he encountered and this used to feed into his blogging the next day - this doesn't happen anymore. 

a similar thing happens with music these days - the musicians record to suit themselves, they record and edit the songs on a computer they publish them by putting the file on another computer, and then people who know it is there may listen to it, download it or pay for it as they wish. 

there is (of course) still the physical book or the physical record or CD or the gig but quite how they fit into this economy as a 'thing' is repositioned. the making of becomes the activity that is documented with social media in many ways replacing the gig or the recording as the performance. . 

--------------------------

'while walking, so many things pass through one’s head, the brain rages...' - werner herzog, of walking in ice. 

but of course if you don't keep a notebook these ideas, rages and reveries are lost. (for example horsemouth does not have easy access to his dreams. he needs to keep a notebook by his bedside to record them). 

this is a similar idea to rousseau's reveries of a solitary walker, this is certainly true of horsemouth. he often stomps along in a high old dudgeon refighting old battles (and then he remembers that he doesn't need to anymore). 

horsemouth has left herzog to his journey, without a physical copy of the book (or the full digital file) horsemouth has no way of following him. 

it is a cold and frost morning (which gives him some sympathy for herzog). last night a video call with enza and michelangelo. while explaining he hasn't been doing much music he was reminded he has the harmonium here. 

'from now on I have no map' (the road)

we last left werner herzog in a barn in beuerbach. he will cross the river lech.

horsemouth has realised he had herzog walking east not west and has gone back to change it. 

'what a sunrise. the clouds had split open behind me... raging storm and raging rain from the river lech to schwabmuenchen... a brief rest in a stretch of woodland. I can look into the valley, as I take the shortcut over wet slushy meadows; the road ...'  

and there we must leave him. we have read all the free sample we can. 

'while walking, so many things pass through one’s head, the brain rages...' 

it's the 19th anniversary of horsemouth starting blogging 

or it was yesterday?  in any event it is one of the things he most enjoys doing. here he is, once again,  telling you about not very much in particular.

"he succeeds in inspiring a mysterious terror better than any other writer" - m.r. james, author of casting the runes.

who is this mysterious author? 

why none other than j. sheridan le fanu, author of wylder's hand. this claims to be a detective novel rather than a horror novel and yet features various apparitions, as well as a ball, a duel after a ball, a disappearance, mysterious letters from london and the continent.  

howard has a copy of carmilla at horsemouth's recommendation. 

now that it is not time urgent horsemouth's phone seems to have started behaving. hopefully easy trust-building communication can be re-established. 

as sure as eggs is eggs (and did those feet...)

so how is herzog doing? how's his walk going? 

'sunday bells from several villages in the fog all at once.' - 9am sunday 24th november 1974 

he is in angerhof (he has lost his way). 

'a brief rest near schoengeising' 

he stops in wildenroth at the tavern. it's about 30km west of munich he's not doing too badly.

'a cold mist rises from the ploughed, broken fields...'

the question - where to sleep?

'night, near beuerbach in a barn.' 

he worries about crossing the river lech but when you look on a map you can see he needn't have worried. head west. zoom into the map. the placenames will begin to appear. 

so how is horsemouth doing?

well sunday evening he had a zoom call with howard who was painting away and drinking tea (it being a sunday before a working day, them having failed to meet up on saturday). afterwards horsemouth had a sneaky bottle of beer (which probably wasn't a wise idea but hey).  in the day he went off delivering eggs (he even got a lift a little way up the hill). 

plenty of people have it worse than horsemouth. 

hmm he's agreed to unblock some gutters (and he doesn't like being up ladders). 

next saturday howard is working with his students - it being exam season. we move into the run up (or is that down) to the winter solstice . 

'... sacrifice, intuition, divination ...' (the hanged man and the hangman)

 'right. after 500m or so I made my first stop...' 

werner herzog is walking from munich to paris to save his friend lottie eisner. there's a diary 

(here's a preview ten pages of it). 

it will take him from today (in 1974 a saturday) until 14th december. 

horsemouth recognises the urge to do something when you are in distress (even if it's not the best thing to do). 

at the hospital he goes in to meet a friend for  a tarot reading.

'herbert will tell my fortune, from cards as tiny as a thumbnail, in two rows of five... there is the devil, with the hangman in the second row hanging upside down...'  

'the devil represents the fool's involvement in economic materialism and complacency...' - wikipedia. 

the hanged man is misnamed the hangman. hanging upside down he is of course the right way up, but he is not in contact with the ground and herzog's is an effort at grounding. 

'wisdom, circumspection, discernment, trials, sacrifice, intuition, divination, prophecy...'

'a tarot reading with two rows of five cards, the interpretation often involves exploring multiple aspects of a situation...' - AI generated search guff

but are we already  lost in translation - the five card spread in the shape of a cross is well known. is it rows or spreads? there is also the celtic cross spread. in the original german of herzog the hanged man is in english.  

horsemouth assumes it's a fairly standard tarot pack. it would be useful to know. it would be useful to know more of the cards. 

such are the difficulties in moving from words to images. 

notice that in this photo from the german first edition  werner herzog is suspended in mid air (like the hanged man)

the walk

herzog heads west out of the city from pasinger hospital. past the germering rail transit station. it is nearly two o'clock. he is heading due west (that's nearly right when you look on a map). he crosses over the augsberg motorway.

he must have kept the notebook as he was going along to achieve this level of detail. it looks like he stays the first night at the doettelbauer's (but pages 8 and 9 are missing from horsemouth's (digital) copy. 

9 o'clock on the sunday he will be in angerhof. horsemouth will be able to follow him on for a day or two more. 

here in the wilds a decent morning. 

on the feast of st. cecilia (hail bright cecilia!)

the feast of st. cecilia (hail bright cecilia!) is today.

friday

horsemouth is back from the village (carrots, peas, bread, hereford times). he was just listening to the world at one news but then it turned to COP 30 (where the haggling is intense but of course you can't haggle with nature, you can't bargain with flooding or drought). 

doubtless at some point a deal that is a masterpiece of the diplomat's art will be done or the best face will be put on the failure to agree a deal. alok sharma (chair of COP 26) may cry, he may not cry (ok probably now that he is safe in the lords he won't have to cry). 

ok horsemouth's mum is back from the village hall quiz/ fish and chip supper (she was back quite late he was beginning to get worried). horsemouth was listening to dave webb's technodub set (and very good it was too). 

saturday - sunday: these are rain all day days. looks like it is going back to warm and wet. 

saturday 

if horsemouth were keen he would be going to the ledbury library sale - on this week but starting today. but as you have heard him say before he has enough books (he just misses the thrill of the chase). that would be a bus journey into hereford and then a train over (and blah)

further to discussion of train journeys the tickets have  arrived to take horsemouth and his mum to birmingham for his brother's youngest's graduation ceremony. his mum will then travel on and horsemouth will return to the wilds (and the reverse strategy for the return journey). the tickets for the reverse journey have arrived also. 

he can't see any reference on them to being with a railcard or not (horsemouth has a railcard), he dares say that time will tell.

in between horsemouth will have to make journeys back from hereford and into hereford using the local bus service. wednesday might present a problem. he may have to walk to pontrilas to do this. 

sunday 

the journey documented in werner herzog's book of walking in ice begins. it will last until december 14th. 

the sun is hiding in the bushes

so horsemouth has passed up on his chance to go into town. 

he has just been over to the garage to check on his books (in truth he has enough books/ too many books and many of them unread).

that said of the four he bought last time he is reading/ has read two of them (the le fanu would be one example).

maria edgeworth's ormond would be a counter example (languishing unread). the f.a.hayek was always a buy to give away book. 

similarly (from his visit to abergavenny) butcher's crossing (john williams) languishes unread but packing my library (alberto manguel) horsemouth read and disposed of almost immediately. a nietzsche reader languishes unread (but then horsemouth has three or four other nietzsches hiding in the garage pretty much unread). 

it is the afternoon and horsemouth is feeling anxious

he's off bell-ringing tonight (he hopes). he must get back into the swing of it. his auntie val just phoned (remind him to tell his mum). no he agreed to go bell-ringing and then called it off (he thinks). jesus.

aargh what a disaster!

at least the chickens are ok. 

ok he's watching some bad SF (threshold) and it's cheering him up or at least distracting him. he's medicating with a beer. 

it's another cold and frosty morning. horsemouth has been out and unleashed the chickens and taken the milk over to the garage. in a bit he will go out and close the chicken's shed door. the sun is low to the horizon hiding in the bushes. 

today a wander into the village to pick up medicines and a copy of the hereford times. 

tomorrow possibly zoom beers with howard. 

plans for the trip up to katie's graduation are in hand.

horsemouth likes recycling

'the dead themselves declare their dreadful secrets, open mouthed to the winds' 

- j. sheridan le fanu, wylder's hand.

why does horsemouth like recycling?

because it is essentially a tidying activity that ends with a tick. the rubbish (no, sorry, the recycling) has been sorted into the correct bin it can now be put out at a regular time. it is noticeable he doesn't feel quite so virtuous when he puts out the rubbish. 

once (at a party) he joked that it worked well with his ADHD only to be immediately hailed by a woman at the party as a fellow neuro-divergent and warmly embraced. nonetheless there is a kind of truth in this - horsemouth gets the same warm feeling as when he successfully 'solves' a sudoku - when all the numbers are in their right place and the structured whole emerges (or rather vanishes).

ok he's just put out the recycling

horsemouth (as a child raised on stig of the dump and the wombles) likes the idea of eliminating waste and saving what is valuable. 

horsemouth is killing time before he delivers the eggs to the crossroads. he has phoned up the plumber so hopefully that task is on its way to completion (and he can stop feeling anxious about it). 

'horsemouth could do with getting into town and undertaking some retail therapy (books glorious books)' 

but it looks like he will be stuck in waiting for the plumber instead. nope the guy has been and gone already. this means horsemouth could make it to town. 

horsemouth has dug up the last of the potatoes (he believes) and grubbed out the last of the marrow plants. the nasturtiums and the spinach remain (but the first frosts will soon put paid to those). there are some broad beans in to provide 'earlies' next year (hopefully). 

the potatoes are currently in the garage on sacks drying - he'll go take a look at them now to see how they are doing. 

he watched a little bit of some dude in scotland doing the back to the land thing (keeping chickens, raised beds, dried vegetables etc.). horsemouth likes these kind of good life porn shows. he's much more practical than horsemouth is (but then horsemouth isn't fully free to make his own mistakes). 

the growing year is coming to an end and horsemouth hasn't made the best use of it again (ho hum). 

in the morning (after he has blogged probably) horsemouth will go down the drive and bring back up the empty recycling bin. it's there waiting for him. horsemouth saw the bin lorry arrive like a UFO.

friday his mum goes to the rescheduled quiz. 

horsemouth ('the hero of a certain kind of novel' )

walk 

horsemouth wandered into the village to try to go and get some plumbing parts (but the shop that sells them was closed on account of  flooding). the village shop was open (the owner was getting interviewed for radio outside) so horsemouth got two loaves of bread. his mum is in any event going in later on and horsemouth is going back in later on again (he is undecided whether he will walk back over the common using a torch or get the bus). 

lots of people were out pressure washing the mud off their drives after the flooding. 

there's a bus back at 17.10 (sunset is about 1615). 

probably walk (again)

ok no horsemouth has cancelled it. he's an indecisive beast. 

sunny the next few days but also cold and probably sleet when not sunny. (thereafter back to rain and slightly warmer).  

horsemouth could do with getting into town and undertaking some retail therapy (books glorious books, preferably second hand books, preferably cheap second hand books, underappreciated at least).  the best days for this are thursday or friday (or possibly saturday morning) otherwise the buses are a bit chaotic. 

thursday is bell-ringing night. hmm he's just realised his lift over may want to cancel again. 

maybe he can face walking over to the pontrilas bus. 

'the hero of a certain kind of novel'  is a decision making beast as are the heroes of certain philosophers but iris murdoch thinks we should look at the fabric of our being  - the things we actually do. 

horsemouth watched john gray being interviewed on why he wasn't a post-liberal (again). 

today cloudy, blowy and cold. 

horsemouth's nightmare

mission failure 

horsemouth thought while he was in the village (on a bread mission) he'd pick up some plumbing bits to fix the leaky tap behind the chicken shed. at some point he got less keen and thought that his dad might have the bits already or that he could cannibalise them from other taps and hoses.

when he got back it became clear to him that this was not the case. 

the tap (seemingly) cannot be isolated - this means working on it while the water gushes out (and reassembling it against the water pressure). 

horsemouth was giving this a go when his mum showed up and not wanting to deal with explanations while water gushed horsemouth gave up on his attempted repair and returned it (hurriedly) to its previous condition. 

this is (of course) horsemouth's nightmare that he will be made to explain what he was trying to do, be prevented from doing it and then blamed for having failed to do it. 

the thing horsemouth above all does not want to do is leave it in a worse condition than the one he found it in (one requiring the visit of a plumber). 

horsemouth now thinks the best thing to do would be either to go and get the bits and give it another go (or admit failure and get a plumber). 

ah good he's found an alternative task where he can be seen to be doing things. 

ok horsemouth is anxious. he needs to calm himself down and distract himself with a task. 

phew himself and his brother have just been doing train tickets (and he's just sent his brother the meter reading).

now he's got a beer. 

the government continue to be a shower of shit

first there is this punitive asylum policy (as if tail-gating reform is the way forward) and then there was the income tax reform botch (they won't - they will (oh there's brave and unpopular) - ok no they won't). 

for the income tax botch we will all now be mercilessly shafted by the bond markets. it doesn't matter that horsemouth is not in favour of taxing the poor more just talking about doing it and then not doing it ensures the poor will have to pay more (just some other way). they have made the situation worse - bravo.

ah well - there's always next time! (they can introduce the income tax rise again)

and in fact just by leaving the tax thresholds where they are they are in fact taxing more and more poor people. 

they seem to be cursed with can do nothing right-itis.  horsemouth hasn't seen any sign they can do anything right so why would the racists (ahem. those concerned about the immigration and asylum system) think they can deliver on reforming the asylum system. 

would that be enough for them even if labour could deliver on it? probably not.

wylder's hand  by j. sheridan le fanu continues to be good. the women are heroines, the main male character a heel. wylder himself is gone already (one suspects). 

horsemouth and the amazing disappearing musicians

tomorrow (or today as will be)  

a trip to the village in search of bread. there's just enough bread for breakfast tomorrow. 

(remind horsemouth to check the freezer before he goes shopping next time)

the village has been flooded by storm claudia horsemouth will assess the damage when he's there. 

to be honest monmouth looks like it got hit harder. 

of course the warmer and wetter of global warming means more floods. preventing more floods means trapping more water upstream to delay it getting downstream. there's no tidal factor this far up inland, it's strictly a water run off problem (but there's a lot of land for the water to run off from further upstream).

trees would help. trees and marshes (strangely enough). 

musicians who disappeared

well vashti  bunyan (obviously)

shellagh mcdonald

linda perhacs

henry grimes 

richey edwards

and  anyone you've never heard of. they have disappeared too.  

the first four were returned to us (the first  three courtesy of the internet).

richey edwards disappearance looks more deliberate and insoluble. 

a cold but not yet frosty morning (but nearly) 

ideally horsemouth would pick up a tap when he goes into the village. (there's a leaky tap by the chicken shed). now that it has gone cold he doesn't fancy fixing it much (should have done it earlier horsemouth when it was warmer). it is difficult to isolate it. it means getting wet (and cold). 

the treasure of sacramento (muse, odalisque, handmaiden)

as a friend remarked,

'if it’s really licorice mckechnie that’s been found alive that’s bad enough for her and I hope people leave her alone, but being found by the daily mail! could anything be worse?'

horsemouth says, well at least it's the scottish daily mail. 

the incredible string band  well worth checking out (the later stuff is more straightforward). rose simpson's book on her time with them is well worth checking out also. 

she talks of the pain of having to leave all that stuff behind and the pleasure of being allowed access to it again. 

horsemouth would say, I, for one, respect likki's right to vanish and become an 80 year old living in anonymity.

it is the lesson of b.traven (author of the treasure of the sierra madre among others)- it's ok to vanish, it's alright to hide. as if to confirm this metamute (where horsemouth was planning to look up matthew hyland's b.traven article) seems to have gone all password protected.

of course as the world becomes increasingly digitally surveilled all this becomes much less possible.  

horsemouth is shocked by the idea that the labour government would use political capital that it doesn't have to bring in digital ID cards that people don't want and won't make any difference anyway (whoever is advising them is a fucking idiot). it is a party so useless it can't even smear wes streeting. 

it genuinely starts to seem that starmer could be gone as labour leader before kemi bad enoch is gone as tory leader. 

take paper (draw)

'philipp hackert... an admirable landscape painter... always insisted on everyone, artists and dilettantes, men and women, young and old, whatever their talents, trying their hand at drawing, and he himself set them a good example.' 

- goethe italian journey (on this day in 1786).

to take paper, to draw is the title of a chapter in john berger's landscapes, 

'... three distinct ways in which drawings can function. there are those that study and question the visible; those that record and communicate ideas; and those done from memory... each type survives in a different way. each speaks in a different tense. to each we respond with a different capacity of imagination.' 

'for the artist drawing is discovery...' - john berger, the essay the basis of all painting and sculpture is drawing in landscapes also. 

horsemouth loves photos of book shelves. he loves zooming into them to read the title and he often looks up authors and books he doesn't know. 

he needs to get on with moving his books into the house. he's not convinced they will be dry enough where they are. (he checked today, he'll go and check tomorrow). 

he should draw more (again). he should read more. 

the wylder's hand is going well. he can't tell what is happening. there are some ghostly goings on (but our protagonist doesn't seem that bothered by them).  meanwhile goethe and kilvert are interesting fellows, thoreau seems to have go himself lost in the stacks. 

here a rainstorm. the flooding in ewyas harold made the news. the village shop has flooded. monmouth seems to have been hit bad. the rain has eased up but the floodwater will take time to make its way downstream. 

'to understand a man you have to know what was happening in the world when he was twenty'

so what was happening in the world when horsemouth was twenty?

horsemouth was wading his way through his degree course (to no great success). ultimately the best that can be said about it is that he finished it. he never thinks about it. he blanks it out viewing it as a failure.

that said it enabled him to move to the great wen and to become his own independent human being.  

so what happening in britain in the early to mid eighties?

between 1984 and 1985 there was the miners' strike but the whole time was marked by profound political conflict - thatcherism -  a strange mixture of economic neo-liberalism and social conservatism - and after that everything altered. (in truth it started earlier with dennis healey but never mind)

but it took a while to change horsemouth. he was launched into an economic depression. he started being involved in anarchism and squatting and became the person he is. (some kind of filthy lefty)

this was also a failure. hopefully he is more cautious these days. his fires have burned down to a safer low smoulder. he wants to see a better world but he's also pretty much sure it won't happen. 

when horsemouth was 20 computers were happening. horsemouth would start working at a peace group/ press cuttings agency (the threat of nuclear war was a big thing) and start writing, typing it in on an early PC. soon-ish he would start using email and then bulletin boards and the early internet (he is old enough to remember the netscape logo). 

the computers are still here. and here is horsemouth typing in something for fun. 

the computers have changed practically everything (including music and literature, but most of all it has changed people). 

today (and the day after) some shocker of a rainstorm. in the evening a quiz at the village hall (interesting combination). 

yesterday horsemouth wandered over to ewyas harold to get a birthday card for an uncle and a copy of the hereford times. later he wandered off to the post box to post it (the birthday card). 

all those elements in art which can be judged from a first draft

 'gradually, but steadily, winter approaches...' 

- the journal of henry david thoreau, 13th november 1858.

goethe's holiday is in some ways a drawing holiday, here he is in frascati in a few days time (15th november 1786) discussing it.

'... we sit down in a circle and each brings out the drawings and sketches he has made during the day. a discussion follows: shouldn't the subject have been approached from a better angle? has the character of the scene been hit off? we discuss, in fact, all those elements in art which can be judged from a first draft.' 

horsemouth does a lot less doodling in his diary than he used to. this is because he doesn't have his diary with him either on his way to work or at work (consequently less doodles, less faces, less sketches). he used to regularly graffiti his copy of city am (in particular allister heath's column which he took particular exception to). 

soon his diary will be done for the year 

he has a diary ready to go for 2027 (with the correct dates) but not for 2026 (unless he wants to carry on altering the days of the week day by day as he is doing currently). 2026 will begin with a thursday the 1st horsemouth has a 2002 diary that begins with a tuesday (maybe that is close enough). the next leap year is not until 2028.

perhaps horsemouth should go back to using an smaller undated notebook as a diary.  

here horsemouth is reading wylder's hand by j. sheridan le fanu which intrigues. he's possibly not putting enough effort into it to make real progress or indeed even to keep track of the characters. 

horsemouth was asked for some SF recommendations

PKD, jg ballard, m john harrison, christopher priest, anna kavan’s ice, brian aldiss, pamela zoline’s short story the heat death of the universe - horsemouth tends towards the new wave, russians, poles etc - lem, the strugatskys, abram tertz (andrey sinyavsky), platonov. two commentators on youtube are good and give good recommendations - book pilled and outlaw bookseller.

a sunny morning. (but coldish)

'between our waking life and a dream...'

'the first sprinkling of snow, which for a short time whitens the ground in spots. I do not know how to distinguish between our waking life and a dream. are we not always living the life that we imagine we are...?' - thoreau, journals, 12th november 1859. 

a grump

oh dear horsemouth is in a grump.

the issue is the transport planning for an event in mid december.

surely that is far enough away that a relaxed view can be taken of it? even by one as grumpy as horsemouth?

one would hope so. 

ok good the grump is over. horsemouth has been for a walk on the common (and despite falling over in the mud)  this has sorted his head out. 

-----------------------------------------------

horsemouth supposes he can move on to reviews of the year. 

what happened in 2020(5)? 

the year has gone well (he supposes) and it is not quite over yet. he has moved out of the wen (as he was discussing at the start of the year). he has made progress with the bell-ringing. he has walked. he has written. 

his homestead (the gaff) and his hobby (the communal endeavour) he has parted company with. 

he has grown some more vegetables (marrows, potatoes, such like - moderate success) and undertaken some repairs. 

he has bought (or otherwise acquired)  far fewer books, records and CDs  than he would have done in a normal year. this is a function of his being out in the wilds and his having to move his existing books, records, etc. (so being less keen on acquiring more). 

horsemouth is still one of those economically inactive retirees destroying the economy. he is living on his savings and his small works pension. he is spending hardly any money at all. 2025 was his fourth full year of retirement. (following on from his redundancy nearly four and a half years ago). 

he continues to be a lazy, morally compromised, lacto-vegetarian. 

he kept on writing this blog (with odd days off here and there)  but he scribbled less  in his physical diaries. his expansion onto substack and goodreads stalled.  

he has endeavoured to get himself photographed whenever possible and to share these with you and even taken some photographs himself. 

this morning - rainy

looking at the weather forecast - it's rain all day (but dry thursday). holy shit rain all day friday at 100%. thereafter the first real frosts. 

'these people built for eternity; they omitted nothing from their calculations (except the insane fury of the destroyers to whom nothing was sacred).'

goethe, italian journey (punctuated in a horsemouth fashion).  

good morning. good morning.

and on this day...

goethe is in rome. he has visited the nymph egeria, the circus of caracalla, the ruined tombs along the via appia... he's having a great time. 

'bitterly cold, north wind and snow on the mountain.' 

kilvert disapproves of a registry wedding (and the party afterwards). news that he is leaving clyro has started to leak out. he's trying to pass on his copy of stepping heavenward - there are a number of candidates, he eventually manages this. 

the COP30 is happening. it is the 10 year anniversary of the paris agreement but even such consensus as was there before is not there now. 

nothing is built for eternity anymore (but the destroyers are still with us). the destroyers don't even need fury any more, complacency and greed will do just as well. 

horsemouth has been moaning about his limited book acquisition possibilities

'... I was spoiled by all the charity bookshops - now I've got to get an £8 bus (ok ok that's there and back) into town to do my charity book shopping.'

he moans that there are no book boxes too. 

'I got slightly spoiled by the book boxes being able to find interesting stuff for free... and also somewhere to dump the books I no longer wanted with half the walk...' 

he's just been out to unleash the chickens. roughly a third of them have spread out over the hill. it's a grey morning, horsemouth is repeating his pattern of being up at 7.20 (new dispensation) to maximise daylight and virtuous feelings. 

'however long one thinks or dreams...'

'a nice long letter from my mother with a good deal about daisy...' kilvert on this day in 1871.

soon his secret will come out - he is leaving clyro. 

six years ago horsemouth was playing a solo gig at waterintobeer (thanks martin). 

horsemouth is back from sunny ewyas harold. (shopping mission - hereford times and eggs).  

he also got a can of chopped tomatoes and a can of red kidney beans (just in case - because that and pasta is pretty much a meal (ok onions would be nice)). 

he walked about a mile each way. up onto the common. across the common. down into the village. 

the tomatoes are nearly done (the peppers likewise). the onions went long ago. the spinach he should try and make some inroads on before the frosts come and kill it. 

horsemouth would like the thoreau to pop out of the racks but it seems to have vanished back into them. where is goethe on his italian journey on this day in 1786? 

he is in rome and he's loving it,

'I am now in a state of clarity and calm such as I had not known for a long time. my habit of looking at and accepting things as they are without pretension i s standing me in good stead and makes me secretly very happy. each day brings me some new remarkable object, some new great picture, and a whole city which the imagination will never encompass, however long one thinks or dreams...' 

horsemouth is trying to watch a clip of triple negative gig. it is as if it is purposely designed not to fit into the world. most bands are filthily dull and predictable and trying too hard to be liked, this band doesn't seem to care. what it is most like (to horsemouth) is the flowers of romance by PIL (and yet or relistening it sounds nothing like it). 

the gig is from 2020. the world was ending (but it didn't). instead it carried on rotting. there's no audience (who needs them anyway). 

'wait(ing)... for the year to end' (bloomsbury photographs)

 'I drank coffee and read old books and waited for the year to end' 

- richard brautigan, trout fishing in america.

great line but not quite right for this time of year (just yet). 

vegetables

yesterday morning horsemouth was digging up the potatoes. he's left them to dry in the garage before trying to get the mud off them and then store them in paper bags in the dark. there will inevitably be some he has missed/ places where potatoes were planted but that he has now forgotten. 

he has grubbed up the runner beans and most of the marrow plants. that just leaves the spinach and the nasturtiums. the beetroot and onions are long gone. he's dug over where the runner beans were. the garden is beginning to pack down for winter. 

there are some broad bean plants in that have come up - horsemouth wants to see if he can get early broad beans next year. 

there are a few tomatoes in the greenhouse still (but their chances of fully ripening are limited). the peppers are done but horsemouth will leave them in their pots to see if the plants survive the winter. (similarly with the pepper plants in the conservatory). 

music

howard has sent him a couple of duet versions (one of I have come from the land above). he's listening to them now. of course he now has no idea what he was doing back then (he supposes it would mostly come back if they were to play it again because horsemouth's playing relies on a number of basic 'tricks'). 

'the general welfare, the great business of the universe, will go on though I have no further share in promoting it...' - mr. clare's deathbed speech in caleb williams by william godwin. 

books mostly 

saturday afternoon zoom beers with howard (two bottles each). 

howard is reading more on virginia woolf and her set - bloomsbury photographs etc. and empireland  by sathnam sanghera. he's been visiting loads of royal palaces (as a result of some scheme or other). 

horsemouth was reading wylder's hand by j. sheridan le fanu having finished memoirs of an egotist by stendhal. the first started a debate on that whole anglo-irish protestant ascendancy thing, the second a discussion of writing, autobiography (the usual horsemouth/ howard topics). 

the le fanu lead to a discussion of carmilla (but this did not lead to a discussion of terror in the crypt). horsemouth recommended le fanu's horror.

today a wander to the village (hereford times and possibly some eggs). 

 

stepping heavenward

'finished reading stepping heavenward it is a lovely book' - kilvert, diaries, this day in 1871

horsemouth has his doctors appointment (it's for the 18th of november).

he decided to accept it (even though it will either be better by then or he will have found another source of treatment by then) because who knows what other ailment he will be suffering with by then.

he realises what he is doing is appointment hoarding and that this is not the most constructive response to the situation (but fuck it). 

horsemouth doesn't go to the doctor's much - this follows a similar situation ten years ago. horsemouth was coughing his lungs out. he phoned up for a doctor's appointment - two weeks time. 

so horsemouth continued coughing. 

it is not that horsemouth thinks he is terminally ill. he just wants to be reassured that he is not terminally ill. 

he probably is chronically ill (but they aren't going to pick that up). 

perhaps the solution does lie in dentistry after all (as the receptionist suggested). 

it is the 45th anniversary of horsemouth seeing the ginger baker era hawkwind on the levitation tour. as horsemouth has remarked before he saw this at the polytechnic of south wales with all his old friends from caerphilly (he had already moved with his parents up to herefordshire in the august). the main thing he remembers is that they missed the train to cardiff and had score a lift in a passing friend's car. 

there must have been quite a few of them going because horsemouth was wedged in in the passenger seat well. (it was important that the car not look like it was jam full of young people because that might have attracted the police's attention). 

he's guessing adrian, arun,  robin morris but he can't remember who else there was (spooner maybe). 

he has no recollections other than this. (he has no recollection of how they got back for example but it was probably by train or bus).  ok he has a vague recollection of the drum solo in brainstorm. 

the next year he went to see the sonic attack tour in bristol with those friends (26th october 1981) and wishbone ash's number the brave tour (19th may 1981).

it is the morning. as pretty a sunrise as you could wish for. sun shining on little fluffy clouds in a blue sky. 

he's reading an article on harvesting potatoes (because that's his plan). 

possibly today zoom beer's with howard. 

horsemouth has decided he needs to go in and register with a doctor

no kilvert today (from 1871). he is happy having seen daisy thomas the day before.

horsemouth himself is a bit grumpy and a bit anxious. 

it ties to the loss of his bolt-hole in london. (even if he couldn't go there it was nice to know it was there). when times were difficult horsemouth could plan to go there etc. 

similarly there were activities relating to decarbonisation etc. that he could still undertake from the wilds but now that he is no longer a member of the communal endeavour he can no longer engage in.  these he has to part company with (in theory they are over the first hump and moving closer to the delivery phase which was always going to be his least favourite part).

it also ties to his poor showing the last time he was out bell-ringing. seeing as this is his only 'going-forward' project out here it bears too much weight in his psychic economy. 

it would be good to get on with the music (again) 

but he's not feeling it at the moment. 

horsemouth was contemplating alternatives to flight (the decarbonisation of travel). he looked at rail travel (this gives you a measure of how much better it has got to become or what the decarbonised world will actually look like). 

'walk' advised howard.

'that may take some time' replied horsemouth. 'are you back yet?' horsemouth asked.

'still walking' replied howard.

'you may have to swim at some point or get a boat (and I'm told that the boats are very expensive).'  replied horsemouth.

hopefully howard will be back soon.  

ok horsemouth is back from the bell-ringing. he did well so his confidence is returning and it has cheered him up. he didn't go for a beer after so he's sat here with a bottle. 

it's the morning (a grey morning) horsemouth has decided he needs to go in and register with a doctor. 

first we take manhatten... (so it begins)

horsemouth went for a walk on the common. two dog walkers (separate). he heard the bells from ewyas harold. 

he's debating what to read. there's wylder's hand by j. sheridan le fanu. a detective novel rather than the usual horror. he's just read chapter one (and now he's on to chapter two).  it reads quickly (the chapters are short) but it's a thick old book.

meanwhile the democrats take new york (sierra maestra). 

so it begins replies president f. ferris fremont. 

he's been out to see the chickens fifteen chickens and all is well (but only one egg). 

one of the right wing commentators has taken up some althusser - one of their inspirations is revealed to be the essay ideology and ideological state apparatuses. it has at least encouraged horsemouth to reread it. 

meanwhile the hack just finished - a drama about phone hacking. as usual the truly guilty go unpunished and it's not the post masters scandal (and even there have they all been paid their compensation? have they fuck). 

horsemouth is just sick of the injustice of it all but then he has given up on watching the news (though he still listens to some of it on the radio). he looks at the guardian for housing stories and decarbonisation stories. he still looks at the business pages - in the same way he did after the 2008 crash. a lot of these media habits will have to go because they no longer make sense with the life he is living, they are relics from his previous existence. 

'there aren't any memories to see or share today, but we'll let you know when you have some to look back on.'

avoid getting into the reviews of the year too early

'the heat is stopping me having ideas at half past one.' - note to the final line of stendhal's memoirs of an egotist.

rainy evening in the wolds. horsemouth has been snoozing most of the afternoon. 

rain and a buggy internet connection. he's waiting for it to go dark so he can go and lock up the chickens and call an end on the day.  

he's just done it 15 chickens and all's well.

 

he's finished reading stendhal's memoirs of an egotist. yes it ends as it does above. he has some other stendhal's here. he can start on the non-fiction (he's not sure if he can face plot and character development and physical description). 

bands

in 2023 horsemouth saw lankum and triple negative at opposite ends of the year. these are the two he would name - lankum  because they are a class act, triple negative because they are the only band that matter. 

in 2024 he saw alula down,  jacken elswyth, charlie parr and two white cranes, lou and leo, the water chorus, 'three chants for women's chorus' by ruth crawford-seeger, minny pops, triple negative, evan parker, bill nace, the renaissance music festival in  crystal palace (killercorp, concrete age, die|kur etc.), stick in the wheel and laura cannell. 

as he remarked last time in 2025 he saw alula down, blue oyster cult, jazz jamaica cunning folk, okinawa shamisen, bity booker, gemma khawaja, carragher academy of irish dance and the  channel one sound system. 

he must avoid getting into the reviews of the year too early. he must leave himself with something to say in the time around the winter solstice. 

'til the wicked boy stole the silver knife...'

'anyone wanting to make a catalogue of monsters would need only to photograph in words the things that night brings to somnalent souls that cannot sleep.' - fernando pessoa, the book of disquiet, 37 (130), 4th november 1931. 

'she told me the old story of how the fairies used to feed the ploughmen of penyshaplwyd til the wicked boy stole the silver knife...' - kilvert diaries, 4th november 1871. 

horsemouth has been unable to identify the place where this is supposed to have taken place (but then kilvert is not known for his accuracy in recording welsh place names).  

this year (mind you the best part of two months remains) horsemouth has failed to get out and see much music. at the moment it looks like;

- alula down (malvern)

- blue oyster cult (islington)

- jazz jamaica doing the soundtrack to babylon (south bank)

- deptford folk festival (deptford) (cunning folk, okinawa shamisen, bity booker, gemma khawaja, carragher academy of irish dance). horsemouth seems to claim at one point that polly vaughn herself played (which seems a bit unlikely seeing as she is a character in a song). 

- channel one sound system (hackney)

will this be his lot? (has he forgotten anyone? please remind him. you see he'd forgotten jazz jamaica). 

'the impudence of continually talking about oneself...' - stendhal, memoirs of an egotist. 

horsemouth is stuck for a topic today. doubtless something will come. perhaps it did. the wrinklings of memory, the minor inconsistencies.

'14 pages on 2nd july from five to seven. I wouldn't have been able to write like this on a work of the imagination like the red and the black.' - stendhal keeps a note on how the writing is going. 

horsemouth is enjoying it. perhaps he should try more of stendhal's non novels - on love, the life of henri brulard etc. 

it's a grey morning, more rain on the way. 

a cornet and a harmonium played in a church over 150 years ago

'why do I keep this voluminous journal?' - kilvert, 3rd november 1874 

this quotation is out of our usual chronological cycle. (we are with kilvert in november 1871 in volume two of his diaries - as collected by plomer).

this quote is from volume three (we have not got there yet), but the question is worth asking. . 

why indeed? why does any of us do this? as kilvert's gravestone in bredwardine remarks,

'he being dead, yet speaketh.' and that's a good trick to pull off if you can manage it. 

3rd november 1871 there is choir practice in the church

'the two vulliamy brothers came from glasbury to conduct the singing. one of them played the harmonium. after the people were gone he played martin luther's hymn and his brother accompanied him on the cornet exquisitely played, and the effect in the church was grand, the long drawn solemn notes of the horn making the noble music of the hymn even more impressive.' 

and thus we can hear a cornet and a harmonium played in a church over 150 years ago. 

horsemouth and his mum have completed their week on abbey rota. further they went up into the orchard and picked some pears and apples (horsemouth chucked out some mouldy marrows to make way for them). 

alula down have a digital album coming out with a lathe cut single coming out 14th november but before that you can get a download of two tracks - the well known folksong high germany and a song that began as an improvisation summer song. it's a good 'un. 

it's the morning. a grey morning. (wow rain all week it looks like). horsemouth will have to work out how to get out for wanders suring the dry spells. he should go and put the milk in the garage while he remembers. 

different lives, different lands

'I would like to live different lives, in different lands.'  - fernando pessoa, 2nd november 1933. 

horsemouth has turned the page on various calendars

 - he feels little better. 

interestingly enough e.h. shepherd illustrated both wind in the willows  and winnie the pooh. (so there's a possibility for some guest appearances there).

a walk on the common. two old ladies and their dogs (who he met again later). a tourist couple and their dog. the tourists were trying to get to ewyas harold, they were coming from further up the hill. horsemouth expected to see them on the common later but he did not. he was going round counter-clockwise (against his usual pattern). 

the sunday - last day on abbey duty. 

the budget is coming (like the comet it is)

november 25th. horsemouth has checked his finances (they remain as they were).

at some point inheritance will become an issue for horsemouth. the government are keen on taxing it more heavily. as a general principle horsemouth would not disagree with redistribution of the wealth. however, as it usually stands, the truly rich are best placed to avoid an inheritance tax, the marginal rich are less well placed, for them it marks a further impoverishment. further the state is now less the defender of the people against the excesses of the market and more a commissioner of services from multinationals such as blackwater, GS4 etc.  

he has been reconsidering matthew arnold's dover beach, there is probably more to say. 

it is the morning. in a bit horsemouth is off down the abbey.  

different lives, different lands

in a way this is what vashti bunyan does (by heading up to scotland) in a horsedrawn cart. 

by november they are in a  cottage in the lake district.

to turn the page (embers)

'I hate material description. the tedium of having to do it stops me writing novels.' - stendhal, memoirs of an egotist. stendhal wrote many novels, some while he was living in paris just before the time when he wrote these sentences on his return to italy.

november. back to the -embers. dia de los muertos (well maybe tomorrow).

the day before

horsemouth types this the day before. he feels the desire to turn the page on the calendars (but he knows he must wait). 

maybe just a quick peek. (ah well it's a pleasure for tomorrow). 

here a rainy day. horsemouth will try a snooze for a bit (and then go down and close up the abbey). 

this is what he did

so this is the back plate from an early copy of wind in the willows (on sale for 7 shillings and 6 pence). horsemouth (or more properly horsemouthfolk - a mononym, or is it a sobriquet?) just liked the colour of it (and the plant patterns). 

yesterday death of peter watkins director of the wargame (effectively banned for 20 years) and la commune (a filmed re-enactment of the 1871 paris commune). 

horsemouth's mum was asking about the weather - rainy overnight, intermittent rain all day saturday but decent enough-ish sunday. 

so horsemouth had the idea in his head that lankum didn't write cold old fire but it turns out they did (sort of);

'I remember when cian lawless, who is our manager now, he was writing that song. at one stage lynched was me, cian and daragh. we had a lot of different formations. cian came up with the nucleus of that song. we wrote another verse and tidied it up for the album..' - ian lynch of lynched (later renamed lankum).