Algy loved to tuck himself in among the Marram grass on top of the dunes, and gaze out to sea with the salt wind in his face. Even in August the wind was always cold, but with plenty of fluffy feathers to keep him warm, he didn’t really mind… so long as the sun was shining!
A little bird had told Algy that his kind friend telescopical was about to take a wee trip across the mighty land of Canada to see the ocean for the very first time. Algy couldn’t imagine what it would be like to see the ocean for the first time, but he hoped that Kara would love it as much as he does xoxo

Algy loved to tuck himself in among the Marram grass on top of the dunes, and gaze out to sea with the salt wind in his face. Even in August the wind was always cold, but with plenty of fluffy feathers to keep him warm, he didn’t really mind… so long as the sun was shining!

A little bird had told Algy that his kind friend telescopical was about to take a wee trip across the mighty land of Canada to see the ocean for the very first time. Algy couldn’t imagine what it would be like to see the ocean for the first time, but he hoped that Kara would love it as much as he does xoxo

Algy flew up to the top of the highest sand dune and tucked himself in among the long stalks of the sharp Marram grass. The brisk north-westerly wind was blowing straight into his face, but the bright sunlight was uplifting despite the cold. As he gazed out across the dazzling sea from his lookout, he was reminded of a poem by Rainer Maria Rilke:
Mes yeux touchent déjà la colline ensoleillée devançant loin la route que j’ai commencée. Ainsi nous sommes saisis par ce que nous ne pouvons pas saisir; elle a la lumière intérieure, même d’une distance
{My eyes already touch the sunny hill. going far ahead of the road I have begun. So we are grasped by what we cannot grasp; it has inner light, even from a distance- }et nous change, même si nous ne l’atteignons pas, dans autre chose, quel, la sentant à peine, nous sont déjà; un geste nous ondule sur répondre à notre propre vague… mais ce qui jugeons nous est le vent dans nos visages.
{and changes us, even if we do not reach it, into something else, which, hardly sensing it, we already are; a gesture waves us on answering our own wave… but what we feel is the wind in our faces. }
[Algy is quoting the poem Une Promenade by Rainer Maria Rilke, with an English translation by Robert Bly.]

Algy flew up to the top of the highest sand dune and tucked himself in among the long stalks of the sharp Marram grass. The brisk north-westerly wind was blowing straight into his face, but the bright sunlight was uplifting despite the cold. As he gazed out across the dazzling sea from his lookout, he was reminded of a poem by Rainer Maria Rilke:

Mes yeux touchent déjà la colline ensoleillée devançant loin la
route que j’ai commencée. Ainsi nous sommes saisis par ce que nous ne
pouvons pas saisir; elle a la lumière intérieure, même d’une
distance

{My eyes already touch the sunny hill.
going far ahead of the road I have begun.
So we are grasped by what we cannot grasp;
it has inner light, even from a distance- }

et nous change, même si nous ne l’atteignons pas, dans autre chose,
quel, la sentant à peine, nous sont déjà; un geste nous ondule sur
répondre à notre propre vague… mais ce qui jugeons nous est le
vent dans nos visages.

{and changes us, even if we do not reach it,
into something else, which, hardly sensing it,
we already are; a gesture waves us on
answering our own wave…
but what we feel is the wind in our faces. }

[Algy is quoting the poem Une Promenade by Rainer Maria Rilke, with an English translation by Robert Bly.]

After several weeks of grey skies and persistent rain, the sun was finally shining again and the sky was a beautiful blue. It was a wee bit windy, needless to say, but that was only to be expected. At this time of year there were always many tourists on the beach, and a fluffy bird is naturally shy, so Algy decided to tuck himself into the Marram grass on the dunes, well away from the crowds. He picked out a high spot where he could look out at the islands and the sea, and settled down to a happy afternoon of quiet reading.
Algy was thinking of his old friend who was about to have a cataract operation. She was naturally feeling rather frightened and anxious, so Algy searched in his book for a very silly poem to cheer his friend up and make her laugh:
          On the Ning Nang Nong           Where the Cows go Bong!           and the monkeys all say BOO!           There’s a Nong Nang Ning           Where the trees go Ping!           And the tea pots jibber jabber joo.           On the Nong Ning Nang           All the mice go Clang           And you just can’t catch ‘em when they do!           So its Ning Nang Nong           Cows go Bong!           Nong Nang Ning           Trees go ping           Nong Ning Nang           The mice go Clang           What a noisy place to belong           is the Ning Nang Ning Nang Nong!!
[Algy is quoting Spike Milligan’s poem On the Ning Nang Nong, which was published in his book of Silly Verse for Kids in 1968.]

After several weeks of grey skies and persistent rain, the sun was finally shining again and the sky was a beautiful blue. It was a wee bit windy, needless to say, but that was only to be expected. At this time of year there were always many tourists on the beach, and a fluffy bird is naturally shy, so Algy decided to tuck himself into the Marram grass on the dunes, well away from the crowds. He picked out a high spot where he could look out at the islands and the sea, and settled down to a happy afternoon of quiet reading.

Algy was thinking of his old friend who was about to have a cataract operation. She was naturally feeling rather frightened and anxious, so Algy searched in his book for a very silly poem to cheer his friend up and make her laugh:

          On the Ning Nang Nong
          Where the Cows go Bong!
          and the monkeys all say BOO!
          There’s a Nong Nang Ning
          Where the trees go Ping!
          And the tea pots jibber jabber joo.
          On the Nong Ning Nang
          All the mice go Clang
          And you just can’t catch ‘em when they do!
          So its Ning Nang Nong
          Cows go Bong!
          Nong Nang Ning
          Trees go ping
          Nong Ning Nang
          The mice go Clang
          What a noisy place to belong
          is the Ning Nang Ning Nang Nong!!

[Algy is quoting Spike Milligan’s poem On the Ning Nang Nong, which was published in his book of Silly Verse for Kids in 1968.]

During the brief West Highland summer, there are many fascinating plants to be found in the peat bogs if you look carefully enough, but Algy’s favourite doesn’t require close scrutiny to discover it. When the weather is reasonably warm, the whole bog is fragrant with the wonderful aroma of the leaves of the wee, shrubby bog myrtle - and Algy just loves it! He wishes he could send you some of its unique perfume, in the way that he can send you his pictures, but alas he cannot! So you will just have to imagine that you are sitting in the peat bog with Algy, inhaling this very special and uplifting aromatic scent :-)

During the brief West Highland summer, there are many fascinating plants to be found in the peat bogs if you look carefully enough, but Algy’s favourite doesn’t require close scrutiny to discover it. When the weather is reasonably warm, the whole bog is fragrant with the wonderful aroma of the leaves of the wee, shrubby bog myrtle - and Algy just loves it! He wishes he could send you some of its unique perfume, in the way that he can send you his pictures, but alas he cannot! So you will just have to imagine that you are sitting in the peat bog with Algy, inhaling this very special and uplifting aromatic scent :-)

jennychapmanartwork:

A new watercolour sketch of Algy, who spent many happy hours during the summer perching on a rock, just watching the sea come and go.

Algy sent this portrait of himself to his very special friend, to wish her a very, very Happy 86th Birthday xoxoxo

jennychapmanartwork:

A new watercolour sketch of Algy, who spent many happy hours during the summer perching on a rock, just watching the sea come and go.

Algy sent this portrait of himself to his very special friend, to wish her a very, very Happy 86th Birthday xoxoxo

While Algy was on holiday in July, he spent a happy time among the aromatic bog myrtle of the peat bogs, lazily watching the cotton grass blowing gently in the wind. As he reclined there in the sunshine, he thought of one of his oldest friends, who – as it happens – celebrates her 86th birthday today, and for her sake he recited one of her favourite poems:
         There is no dusk to be,             There is no dawn that was,          Only there’s now, and now,             And the wind in the  grass.
          Days I remember of             Now in my heart, are now;          Days that I dream will bloom             White peach bough.
Algy sends lots of very special fluffy birthday hugs and kisses to his old friend today xoxoxoxo
[Algy is quoting the first two verses of the poem An Eternity by the American 20th century Modernist poet and Librarian of Congress, Archibald MacLeish.]

While Algy was on holiday in July, he spent a happy time among the aromatic bog myrtle of the peat bogs, lazily watching the cotton grass blowing gently in the wind. As he reclined there in the sunshine, he thought of one of his oldest friends, who – as it happens – celebrates her 86th birthday today, and for her sake he recited one of her favourite poems:

         There is no dusk to be,
             There is no dawn that was,
          Only there’s now, and now,
             And the wind in the  grass.

          Days I remember of
             Now in my heart, are now;
          Days that I dream will bloom
             White peach bough.

Algy sends lots of very special fluffy birthday hugs and kisses to his old friend today xoxoxoxo

[Algy is quoting the first two verses of the poem An Eternity by the American 20th century Modernist poet and Librarian of Congress, Archibald MacLeish.]

Oh No, Not MORE Technical Problems …

No sooner had Algy resumed his Adventures, than the phone line used to post them went down. It’s back at present, but it’s very dodgy and crackly, and it may fail completely at any time.

In this remote area, Algy’s assistant is dependent upon a fixed landline to connect to the internet, and it can take some time to get someone out here to sort out problems. The engineer will not be coming until next Tuesday (19th August). There is no mobile signal, so there is no mobile phone to use instead.

So if there is another interruption to Algy’s adventures over the next few days, please forgive him, and be patient just a wee bit longer. Eventually all will be well – he hopes!

If the line holds up, Algy’s Adventures will continue without further interruptions, but if the line fails Algy should be back again in the middle of next week sometime. Sorry!

It never rains but it pours… and that is probably precisely the problem. Phone line faults in this exceedingly wet area are frequently caused by water in the connection boxes underground…

Algy has been surprised and very touched by the wonderful “Welcome back!” which he has received in the past 24 hours from so many of his kind Tumblr friends. He had no idea that his absence would be noticed by so many people – and he is very sorry that he was away for so long. Algy may not be able to thank each one of you personally, so please accept some of these pretty flowers with his heartfelt thanks, and of course lots of fluffy hugs for you all xoxoxo
Algy is so happy to be back :)))
[In fact, Algy’s assistant’s computing facilities are not yet fully restored, but with luck everything should return to normal very soon now.]

Algy has been surprised and very touched by the wonderful “Welcome back!” which he has received in the past 24 hours from so many of his kind Tumblr friends. He had no idea that his absence would be noticed by so many people – and he is very sorry that he was away for so long. Algy may not be able to thank each one of you personally, so please accept some of these pretty flowers with his heartfelt thanks, and of course lots of fluffy hugs for you all xoxoxo

Algy is so happy to be back :)))

[In fact, Algy’s assistant’s computing facilities are not yet fully restored, but with luck everything should return to normal very soon now.]

It was taking a very long time for the service engineers to repair Algy’s assistant’s computer, as the poor machine was very broken indeed. But Algy was pleased to have the opportunity to take a wee summer holiday by the sea, just like other folks do. He hopes that you have all been enjoying the summer holidays too :))
However, the West Highland summer was just about over now, and Algy guessed that very soon he would be resuming his Adventures…
Stand by, everybody…Algy’s coming back to Tumblr :))

It was taking a very long time for the service engineers to repair Algy’s assistant’s computer, as the poor machine was very broken indeed. But Algy was pleased to have the opportunity to take a wee summer holiday by the sea, just like other folks do. He hopes that you have all been enjoying the summer holidays too :))

However, the West Highland summer was just about over now, and Algy guessed that very soon he would be resuming his Adventures…

Stand by, everybody…Algy’s coming back to Tumblr :))

Algy Apologises for the Interruption to his Adventures

Algy offers his sincere apologies to all his friends for this temporary interruption to his Adventures. The computer that Algy’s assistant uses for processing his adventures is failing without warning at increasingly frequent intervals and is no longer fit for purpose. Unfortunately it will have to be retired and replaced…

Algy would like to reassure you that the presentation of his Adventures will be resumed at normal frequency as soon as possible, and in the meantime Algy’s assistant will try to use an alternative machine whenever she can, so that Algy is not entirely absent from your screens.

Please don’t think that Algy has forgotten you – this is not the case at all :)) He is simply the innocent victim of a technical fault. He hopes that you will not forget him while his Adventures remain interrupted and sporadic.

By a strange twist of fate, this is Algy’s 500th post on Tumblr. It was supposed to be a celebratory post - but that will now have to wait until the 501st …

Algy sends you all extra fluffy hugs, just in case XOXOXO

So Algy crossed the great sea loch and headed into the west. He flew for several hours until at last he saw the sight he had been waiting for – the misty islands of the Hebrides, floating in their silvery sea. He was so happy to see his islands again that he stopped to rest and gaze at them. There was no need to hurry any more; he knew that he was more or less home.

So Algy crossed the great sea loch and headed into the west. He flew for several hours until at last he saw the sight he had been waiting for – the misty islands of the Hebrides, floating in their silvery sea. He was so happy to see his islands again that he stopped to rest and gaze at them. There was no need to hurry any more; he knew that he was more or less home.

Algy spent a peaceful night roosting in the beautiful beech tree, soothed by the soporific sound of the constant murmur of water over its rocky bed. When he woke the next morning, the burn was still flowing onwards past his perch, making its way steadfastlly down to the great sea loch. Although the woods were lovely in their summer greenery, Algy knew that it was time for him to do the same: it was time for him to return to his little grey home in the west…

Algy spent a peaceful night roosting in the beautiful beech tree, soothed by the soporific sound of the constant murmur of water over its rocky bed. When he woke the next morning, the burn was still flowing onwards past his perch, making its way steadfastlly down to the great sea loch. Although the woods were lovely in their summer greenery, Algy knew that it was time for him to do the same: it was time for him to return to his little grey home in the west…

It was so peaceful by the burn in the woodland that Algy was reluctant to move on. So he found himself a comfortable perch on a large, mossy branch overhanging the water, leaned his back firmly against the massive tree trunk, and started to sing to himself (and to anyone else who might be listening):
          Orpheus with his lute made trees,           And the mountain tops that freeze,           Bow themselves when he did sing:          To his music plants and flowers           Ever sprung; as sun and showers           There had made a lasting spring.
[Algy is singing the first part of a song by William Shakespeare from his play Henry VIII, Act III, Scene 1.]

It was so peaceful by the burn in the woodland that Algy was reluctant to move on. So he found himself a comfortable perch on a large, mossy branch overhanging the water, leaned his back firmly against the massive tree trunk, and started to sing to himself (and to anyone else who might be listening):

          Orpheus with his lute made trees,
          And the mountain tops that freeze,
          Bow themselves when he did sing:
          To his music plants and flowers
          Ever sprung; as sun and showers
          There had made a lasting spring.

[Algy is singing the first part of a song by William Shakespeare from his play Henry VIII, Act III, Scene 1.]

On the next morning, Algy intended to cross the great sea loch and continue his journey home, but as he was flying towards its shores he noticed a beautiful area of woodland which he hadn’t visited before, so he decided to investigate it while he had the chance. The woods contained an attractive mixture of deciduous trees and conifers, with many mosses and ferns beneath. A lively burn was tumbling down the hillside towards the loch, so Algy paused for a while to watch it twinkling over its rocky bed in the dappled light filtering through the summer canopy.

On the next morning, Algy intended to cross the great sea loch and continue his journey home, but as he was flying towards its shores he noticed a beautiful area of woodland which he hadn’t visited before, so he decided to investigate it while he had the chance. The woods contained an attractive mixture of deciduous trees and conifers, with many mosses and ferns beneath. A lively burn was tumbling down the hillside towards the loch, so Algy paused for a while to watch it twinkling over its rocky bed in the dappled light filtering through the summer canopy.

So Algy turned to the north, and flew slowly back up towards the head of the great sea loch. The mist was coming down and the light was failing, so he felt that it would be prudent to stop for the night. Turning inland very slightly, he soon found himself at the foot of the most famous glen in all of Scotland, the great Glen of Weeping. There was no weeping now, of course, but somehow it still had a mournful air about it, and Algy always felt slightly ill at ease when he passed through this place. In the true spirit of the glen, he found himself a perch in a dark, prickly hawthorn bush which overlooked the isles of the dead. He took particular care to conceal himself from the well-worn path which ran behind the bush, just in case there were any stray landscape photographers about who might resent the presence of a fluffy bird among the grandeur of such scenery. As Algy gazed up the glen towards the higher peaks, which were currently shrouded in summer mists rather than winter snow, he remembered a poem by Sheena Blackhalll. Massacres are fortunately out of fashion in Scotland nowadays, but these mountains still care “not a whit” for the fate of mortals, and each year there are some who climb these slopes, never to return to the land of the living:
          Mountains, snow-swept mountains of Arctic grandeur          Where no sweet bird finds rest in Winter’s thrall          Your streams should run with blood for a thousand aeons          You watched and did not hinder Clan Donald’s fall          Glenlyon’s Argyll men, to the glen came trekking          Like red-backed hounds to seek MacIain’s lair          Where were your blizzards then, that could have saved him?           Your corries turned a hiding place to a bier          Buachaille Etive Mor of the Glen of Weeping          Were you deaf to your dying children’s cries?           Why could you not have blocked the Devil’s staircase          Or opened the Sgur-mam-Fiann where Fingal lies?           Mountains, snow swept mountains of Arctic grandeur          Where ghostly wraiths of the murdered families flit          The wail of the caoineag still keens out a warning          You care for the fate of mortals not a whit.
[Algy is quoting the poem Glencoe Ghosts by the contemporary Scottish poet Sheena Blackhall.]

So Algy turned to the north, and flew slowly back up towards the head of the great sea loch. The mist was coming down and the light was failing, so he felt that it would be prudent to stop for the night. Turning inland very slightly, he soon found himself at the foot of the most famous glen in all of Scotland, the great Glen of Weeping. There was no weeping now, of course, but somehow it still had a mournful air about it, and Algy always felt slightly ill at ease when he passed through this place. In the true spirit of the glen, he found himself a perch in a dark, prickly hawthorn bush which overlooked the isles of the dead. He took particular care to conceal himself from the well-worn path which ran behind the bush, just in case there were any stray landscape photographers about who might resent the presence of a fluffy bird among the grandeur of such scenery. As Algy gazed up the glen towards the higher peaks, which were currently shrouded in summer mists rather than winter snow, he remembered a poem by Sheena Blackhalll. Massacres are fortunately out of fashion in Scotland nowadays, but these mountains still care “not a whit” for the fate of mortals, and each year there are some who climb these slopes, never to return to the land of the living:

          Mountains, snow-swept mountains of Arctic grandeur
          Where no sweet bird finds rest in Winter’s thrall
          Your streams should run with blood for a thousand aeons
          You watched and did not hinder Clan Donald’s fall

          Glenlyon’s Argyll men, to the glen came trekking
          Like red-backed hounds to seek MacIain’s lair
          Where were your blizzards then, that could have saved him?
          Your corries turned a hiding place to a bier

          Buachaille Etive Mor of the Glen of Weeping
          Were you deaf to your dying children’s cries?
          Why could you not have blocked the Devil’s staircase
          Or opened the Sgur-mam-Fiann where Fingal lies?

          Mountains, snow swept mountains of Arctic grandeur
          Where ghostly wraiths of the murdered families flit
          The wail of the caoineag still keens out a warning
          You care for the fate of mortals not a whit.

[Algy is quoting the poem Glencoe Ghosts by the contemporary Scottish poet Sheena Blackhall.]