Richard Carter's meta feed A merged feed of Articles, Notebook entries, Reviews and Newsletters from en-gb Richard Carter The Rough Patch Thu, 19 Jul 2018 15:12:22 +0100 Richard Carter ( On the advantages of being a crap gardener.
On the advantages of being a crap gardener.

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Without doubt, my favourite part of our garden is the Rough Patch.

Rough patch
The Rough Patch from Richard’s Seat.

The Rough Patch led a brief life as a vegetable patch shortly after we moved in, but events soon overtook us. By events, I mean nettles. Fortunately, stinging nettles are one of my favourite flowers, so I didn’t go out of my way to do anything about them. They seemed to like it there, so live and let live. (Live and let live being so much easier than weeding.)

Once the nettles had established themselves, our former vegetable patch became fair game as a dumping ground for any garden waste too bulky to compost: lopped branches, excavated roots and soil, last year’s Christmas tree. Until we bought a garden incinerator, the Rough Patch, as is soon became known, was also the site of occasional bonfires. Despite all this chopping and changing, burning and dumping—or, more likely, because of it—the Rough Patch continues to thrive.

Not only is the Rough Patch my favourite part of our garden, it’s also a firm favourite with the local invertebrates—and, therefore, the garden wrens. My natural gift for horticultural lethargy has resulted in a thriving ecosystem. I should probably get some sort of environmental award.

A few years back, I took one of the heavy millstone grit blocks removed from our house during some building work and set it on end against our workshop wall, overlooking the Rough Patch. It became known as Richard’s Seat. Known to me, that is. I like nothing better that to sit there quietly for ten minutes with a mug of tea, taking in the view, pondering over which garden project I’m not going to do next.

Going camera-less Sun, 15 Jul 2018 15:18:59 +0100 Richard Carter (Notebook – Richard Carter) Taking walks without lugging around a massive camera bag: it’ll never catch on! A fortnight ago, after putting it off for a decade, I finally underwent surgery to sort out a hernia. I’m pleased to report everything seems to have gone remarkably smoothly, and I’ve experienced very little pain. Thank you, NHS!

I’m under instructions to take plenty of gentle exercise, and not to lift anything heavy for six weeks. So, I’ve been walking around the local lanes most days. Usually, when I take a walk, I lug around my bulky camera bag. But that’s not an option at the moment. I’ve been forced to go camera-less. (Well, camera-less apart from my mobile phone.)

I have to say, the experience has been a revelation. I’ve always found the constant burden of a camera bag something of a nuisance, but I love taking photographs, so along comes the gear. Being forced to leave my camera at home, and to walk a bit more slowly than normal, has been an incredibly enjoyable experience. When I see something that piques my interest, I simply stop and have a good look, without the option/compulsion to record the experience for posterity. It’s weird: this must be how non-photographers experience stuff all the time. I’m kind of envious.

After my enforced photographic break, I’ll be tempted to go camera-less more often. But I suspect I’ll resist the temptation. You never know what you might bump into on a walk. Not having a proper camera to hand seems an unnecessary risk to me. I mean, what if I were to come across something unusual like—oh, I don’t know—a fantastic wasps’ nest, and I only had my crappy phone-camera with me?

Well, this, actually:

Wasps' nest
A wasps' nest yesterday.

Dammit! It’s no good: I’m going to have to go back with my telephoto lens soon!

Stupid hernia operations!

Postscript: I did indeed go back:

Wasps' nest shot with SLR.

Book review: ‘The Incredible Unlikeliness of Being’ by Alice Roberts Mon, 09 Jul 2018 12:56:02 +0100 Richard Carter (Reviews – Richard Carter) Evolution and the making of us. The Incredible Unlikeliness of BeingA few years back, I went to see my doctor. I’d been experiencing a number of apparently unrelated minor ‘symptoms’. I wanted to make sure the symptoms really were minor and unrelated, and not due to some more serious, underlying, undiagnosed condition. One of my symptoms was a recurring, dull pain in my left shoulder. I could never work out precisely where the pain was coming from, but it was, I explained, “definitely somewhere in the shoulder region”.

My doctor smiled and said she knew exactly what my problem was, as she experienced it too! Like me, she suffered occasional bouts of acid reflux in her stomach. When acid reflux kicks in, excess gases expand the stomach wall, putting pressure on your diaphragm. One of the nerves associated with the diaphragm runs a convoluted route via the left shoulder blade and hooks up with the rest of the nervous system in the neck. So, when my acid reflux kicked in, I experienced pain signals that seemed to be coming from my shoulder, but which were actually coming from my diaphragm.

Thanks to Alice Roberts’s excellent book The Incredible Unlikeliness of Being, I now know the culprit to be one of my two phrenic nerves. It turns out the phrenic nerves’ convoluted paths through my body are a consequence of both our species’ evolutionary history, and the complex way in which the unfolding blob that was to become me developed in the womb.

Alice Roberts is my favourite TV science presenter. She has a rare talent for simplifying scientific ideas without dumbing them down. I don’t know whether she ever has to stand her ground against producers exhibiting the modern preference for simplistic explanations, but I like to think she occasionally has to insist on being allowed to use (and explain) the correct scientific terminology. In other words, to treat her audience like grown-ups.

I’m glad to report Roberts writes in very much the same style as she presents. There is plenty of scientific terminology in this book, and some of the concepts explained are complex, but the writing simplifies without surrendering to the simplistic. It’s the sort of writing that makes you feel cleverer simply for having read it. Being treated like a grown-up can have that effect on people.

The Incredible Unlikeliness of Being takes us on a head-to-toe (then back up to the arms) tour of the human body. It shows how the vestiges of our evolutionary history are written into our bones and organs. Our bodies are compromises, constrained by physics, and by our heritage: Inelegant Design, as I like to think of it, in stark contrast to the Intelligent Design our bodies would presumably exhibit, had they really been put together from scratch by an omnipotent, omniscient, benevolent creator. It’s a subject that interests me very much, sneaking its way several times into my own book, On the Moor: science, history and nature on a country walk.

But The Incredible Unlikeliness of Being is not just about pointing out our design flaws. It celebrates the marvellous, frankly bonkers way in which our bodies are constructed in the womb. It explains what we can tell about our evolutionary predecessors by looking both at their remains, and at our own bodies. It discusses conflicting hypotheses about various bodily structures, and how we now know some of these to be wrong. And it does all this with charm, intelligence, appropriate humour, and excellent line-illustrations courtesy of the author.

Highly recommended.

Book review: ‘Darwin’s Backyard’ by James T Costa Thu, 28 Jun 2018 13:21:27 +0100 Richard Carter (Reviews – Richard Carter) How small experiments led to a big theory. Darwin’s BackyardFor many years, one of the many items on my list of books and articles I might one day write has been ‘Book about Charles Darwin’s experiments’. Now I know exactly how Darwin must have felt when he received Alfred Russel Wallace's bombshell letter: SCOOPED, DAMMIT!

The good news is I was right in thinking there was a fascinating book to be written about Darwin’s extensive, often eccentric, experiments. The even better news is that James T Costa has written that very book (and, I must begrudgingly concede, the result is far better than anything I might have come up with).

Darwin’s Backyard is highly readable, meticulously researched exploration of Charles Darwin the experimeter. With typical self-deprecating humour, Darwin famously remarked ‘I love fools’ experiments. I am always making them.’ This book describes Darwin’s long-term experimental research programme into such diverse topics as: barnacles, pigeons, honeycombs, the dispersal mechanisms of plants, the intelligence and actions of earthworms, insectivorous plants, pollination, flower morphology, and plant movement. This is a man who fed cheese to plants, who left dead birds floating in water for weeks on end, and who serenaded earthworms with bassoon and piano.

Costa is particularly good at explaining why Darwin’s often goofy-sounding experiments were anything but foolish. They all explored and supported his great theory of evolution by means of Natural Selection. Costa is also very good at explaining what Darwin got right, where he occasionally went wrong, and what we now know about the subjects under investigation. Each chapter ends with some suggestions for experiments you might like to try yourself.

My only trifling quibble with this book was its title and subtitle. In the UK, a ‘back yard’ is a small enclosed area at the back of a house, usually paved in cobblestones, concrete, or bricks. To refer to Darwin’s magnificent gardens at Down House in this way (and to keep referring to the autumn as ‘the fall’) was jarring for this British reader. The pedant in me would also take issue with the subtitle, ‘how small experiments led to a big theory’. While in some cases this might be true, I would suggest the reverse was true in many cases: it was Darwin's great theory that inspired his experiments—and many thousands of experiments since.

But trifling/pedantic quibbles aside, this is a fantastic book. Highly recommended.

Book review: ‘Dispelling the Darkness’ by John van Wyhe Mon, 18 Jun 2018 12:19:18 +0100 Richard Carter (Reviews – Richard Carter) Voyage in the Malay Archipelago and the discovery of evolution by Wallace and Darwin. Dispelling the DarknessAs an unashamed, self-confessed Darwin groupie, I should perhaps come clean at the start by saying that, although I also have a major soft-spot for Alfred Russel Wallace, the recent tendency to describe him as ‘forgotten’ or ‘overlooked’ or ‘the discoverer of evolution you’ve never heard of’ irks me immensely. Alfred Russel Wallace has always been, and remains, an important figure in the history of the biological (and geographical) sciences. The fact that he is not as famous as Charles Darwin is hardly surprising: few other scientists are. While Alfred Russel Wallace did indeed independently come up with an idea uncannily similar to Darwin’s Natural Selection, he is not as famous as Darwin, quite simply, because he did not write On the Origin of Species. Wallace was a fascinating character who made genuinely important contributions to science. We should celebrate him in his own right; not constantly refer to him as somehow being overshadowed by Darwin.

John van Wyhe takes the main title for his book from a quote by Thomas Henry Huxley, who referred to Charles Darwin and Alfred Russel Wallace having ‘dispelled the darkness’ at ‘the heart of the species problem’. But van Wyhe dispels plenty of darkness himself in this enjoyable, meticulously researched work. In particular, he debunks numerous misunderstandings, myths, and conspiracy theories surrounding Alfred Russel Wallace and his ‘co-discovery’ of the natural selection with Charles Darwin.

The book concentrates primarily on Wallace’s time collecting specimens in the Malay Archipelago. Interspersed amongst accounts of Wallace’s travels, van Wyhe explores how Wallace developed important theories concerning the succession of species, the distribution of species, and, most famously, what we now think of as natural selection. In the process, van Wyhe debunks such ideas as:

  • Wallace being ‘overlooked’ because he was working class. (He was middle class.)
  • Wallace’s original concept of how natural selection works being identical to Darwin’s. (They were certainly similar, but there were important differences.)
  • Wallace’s theory of evolution being identical to Darwin’s. (Darwin, with a twenty-year head-start on Wallace, unsurprisingly, took numerous factors into account that Wallace never considered, including, as Wallace himself noted after first reading Origin: “the laws of variation, correlation of growth, sexual selection, the origin of instincts & of neuter insects, & the true explanation of Embryological affinities”.)
  • Wallace having written his famous paper about natural selection on the island of Gilolo, not Ternate, as he himself recorded. (A seemingly trivial detail important to some conspiracy theories.)
  • Wallace having written this paper with the original intent of sending it to Darwin;
  • Wallace, like Darwin, having originally been inspired in his evolutionary theorising by the writings of Thomas Malthus;
  • Wallace having been inspired in his evolutionary thinking by the racial affinities of the natives of the Malay Archipelago;
  • Darwin and his friends having conspired to deprive Wallace of due credit for the theory of natural selection;
  • Darwin having stolen the very idea of Natural Selection from Wallace;
  • Wallace having been disappointed at not receiving enough credit;
  • Darwin having deliberately delayed publishing his evolutionary theory out of fear of the scandal it would cause.

On the whole, I think van Wyhe makes an excellent job of debunking these ideas while in no way diminishing Wallace’s contributions to science. As I’m a self-confessed Darwin groupie, you (and no doubt the conspiracy theorists) might expect me to say that. But van Wyhe is careful to show his historian’s reasoning. He demonstrates time and again how Wallace was pretty hopeless at accurately recording dates (so his dates should not always be taken at face value). He demonstrates how timelines concocted by conspiracy theorists are either wrong, or make uncompelling conclusions if you dig deeper (e.g. into the timetables of shipping companies). He demonstrates how conspiracy theorists use inconsistent standards of evidence depending on whether it supports or weakens their arguments. And he demonstrates that there is nothing unusual (and, therefore, necessarily sinister) in there being missing documentation. It is not just fossil records that contain gaps!

I enjoyed this book even more than I expected. It probably won’t convince any conspiracy theorists, but what evidence ever would? But van Wyhe cuts through the bullshit to restore Wallace to his rightful place in the scientific pantheon.

Highly recommended.

Disclosure: I have met John van Wyhe once. In 2009, he gave me and another Darwin groupie a private viewing of Charles Darwin’s old rooms at Christ’s College Cambridge. He also runs the excellent website Darwin Online, without which much of my own (amateur) historical research into matters Darwinian would be far more difficult.

Book review: ‘Victorians Undone’ by Kathryn Hughes Mon, 11 Jun 2018 16:37:21 +0100 Richard Carter (Reviews – Richard Carter) Tales of the flesh in the age of decorum. Victorians UndoneI was given this book as a birthday present by a friend. I presume it was the chapter entitled Charles Darwin’s Beard that made her think I might like it. What can I say: my friends know the kind of topics that interest me.

At first glance, judging the book by its over-salacious subtitle, I was worried it might be crammed with scores of gossipy, titillating titbits from the hypocritically strait-laced nineteenth century. But Victorians Undone is a more serious book than that, taking a warts-and-all approach to history, with a particular emphasis on the warts. In other words, it discusses the sort of stuff you don’t find in most history books. It turns out our Victorian forebears weren’t the stern-faced, black-and-white characters staring back at us from daguerreotypes; they were flesh and blood, just like us.

The book comprises five essays, each of which might easily have formed the basis of a book in its own right. The titles of the essays are:

  • Lady Flora’s Belly
  • Charles Darwin’s Beard
  • George Eliot’s Hand
  • Fanny Cornforth’s Mouth
  • Sweet Fanny Adams

But to list these headings is to give nothing away. Kathryn Hughes uses the nominal subject of each essay as an excuse to go off on all sorts of interesting, occasionally obscure tangents. It’s a technique I enjoy very much indeed (and have been known to adopt myself).

I won’t spoil the book by going into specific details. But I’ll certainly never look on the young Queen Victoria in the same light again. And now I’ve finally learnt who Sweet Fanny Adams was, I kind of wish I hadn’t.

Definitely my kind of book. Recommended.

Newsletter No. 13: Bramblings! Fri, 18 May 2018 10:36:39 +0100 Richard Carter (Newsletter – Richard Carter) bramblings · wheatears · Mary Beard · Beaker folk · Meera Sodha · recipes · John Tyndall · Eunice Foote · religion · Ben Myers · Austin Kleon · Walter Benjamin · giant sloths · Shetland · Neil Ansell · Charles Darwin Rich Text

18TH MAY 2018


Blimey, when I said I’d see you in Spring, I had no idea Winter would drag on quite so long! Still, we’ve finally knocked another one off. Those of us living in the Northern hemisphere, at least.

Highlight of the over-extended winter was my first ever sighting of bramblings. I’d been keeping an eye out for them all winter, and finally spotted a pair in our cherry tree when I popped into the kitchen to put the kettle on one afternoon.

Male brambling
Male brambling.

Highlight of Spring, so far, has been the return of my beloved wheatears to the Moor. As ever, it was the flash of their eponymous ‘white arses’ that gave them away. (Photo below.)

Some stuff I thought worth sharing:

  1. The Guardian published an excellent profile of everyone’s favourite classicist and tweeter, Mary Beard. As my Latin teacher Spiny Norman would no doubt have observed, exegit monumentum aere perennius. (No, me neither.)

  2. Recent DNA analysis suggests the arrival of Beaker folk 4,500 years ago changed Britain for ever.

  3. We tried Meera Sodha’s recipe for aloo paratha with quick lemon pickle. It was mind- and mouth-blowingly fantastic. (Two recommendations: don’t de-seed the chillis, and place the frying pan on a high, not medium, heat.)

  4. In my book On the Moor, I describe how the Victorian physicist John Tyndall first investigated what we now call the Greenhouse Effect. Turns out, unbeknownst to Tyndall (and almost everyone else) an American scientist named Eunice Foote carried out similar, less detailed, experiments three years earlier.

  5. The wisdom of youth: recent research indicates being non-religious has become the norm among young Europeans.

  6. My mate Ben Myers’ excellent novel The Gallows Pole has been shortlisted for the prestigious Walter Scott Prize for historical fiction. To look really cool, you should try to read it before it wins. Ben also has a new non-fiction book out: Under the Rock. I’m very much looking forward to reading.

  7. Austin Kleon on doing something small every day to build a body of work.

  8. Alan Nance attempts to retrace the final journey of philosopher, critic, storyteller, and Jew, Walter Benjamin.

  9. Following in very different footsteps, thanks to a remarkable find, scientists have managed to retrace a giant sloth hunt.

  10. An interesting cultural history piece on how Shetland whalers headed south.

Shameless plugs

I’ve started a new page on my website quoting extracts from reviews of ‘On the Moor’. So you no longer have to take just my word for it.

The nature writer Neil Ansell provided some nice blurb for the cover of my book. Here’s my review of his latest book, The Last Wilderness.

I’m about to launch a second newsletter in my capacity as the Head (well, Only) Honcho at the Friends of Charles Darwin. It will be all about Darwin, evolution, and stuff like that. As all the best Darwin quotes have already been used as book titles, my working title for the new newsletter is, rather sensibly, The Friends of Charles Darwin newsletter. If you’re interested, you can sign up here.

Male ‘white-arse’
Male ‘white-arse’.

Thanks for reading. See you next time.

Book review: ‘In Patagonia’ by Bruce Chatwin Mon, 30 Apr 2018 13:54:45 +0100 Richard Carter (Reviews – Richard Carter) Wandering about Patagonia with no clear plan in mind. In Patagonia

I first read In Patagonia many years ago, and had been meaning to re-read it for some time. My memories of it still left a lasting, albeit vague, impression. But my ageing eyes were put off by the small typeface in my battered old copy of the book. Fortunately, the 40th anniversary edition proved far easier to read.

My vague memories of the book weren’t far wrong. After all these years, In Patagonia is still a strange, haunting book. Bruce Chatwin seems to wander about Patagonia with no clear plan in mind, delving into history, making random excursions, and describing encounters with colourful locals. It’s a format that works well.

Being more cynical than when I first read the book, I now suspect some of Chatwin’s stories were embellished for dramatic effect. But In Patagonia remains an unusual, fascinating read.

On thing I had forgotten was just how short most of the chapters are. There are 97 of them in total, with many being only two or three pages long. It’s a format I found remarkably engaging. With such short chapters, Chatwin doesn’t have time to hang about. He’s on to his next subject and up to speed in a couple of sentences. Which makes the book a real page-turner.

Still very good, after 40 years.

Book review: ‘Heligoliand’ by Jan Rüger Mon, 30 Apr 2018 13:51:10 +0100 Richard Carter (Reviews – Richard Carter) Britain, Germany, and the struggle for the North Sea. Heligoliand

I bought Jan Rüger’s Heligoland on a hunch, having read two highly complimentary reviews. The hunch was that I would enjoy the book very much indeed, not least because the subject matter seemed to echo a number of themes explored by one of my favourite writers, W.G. Sebald. My hunch was correct: Heligoland is a fantastic read.

The eponymous subject of this book is a pair of small islands in the German Bight of the North Sea. Annexed from Denmark by the British during the Napoleonic Wars to prevent it becoming a French naval stronghold, the archipelago became a base for British wartime smuggling and espionage operations. It became an official British colony with the signing of the Treaty of Paris in 1814. Two years later, Heligoland rebranded as a seaside spa, which in later years (to the consternation of the British) became a major centre for gambling, and a refuge for German revolutionaries.

After the unification of Germany, Heligoland was much coveted by Bismarck, who saw it as a launchpad to German imperial ambitions. The colony was eventually horse-traded with Germany for unopposed British access to Zanzibar. The main island was heavily fortified by its new owners in advance of the First World War, during which, thanks to the new fortifications, it saw very little action. The fortifications were dismantled in line with a provision of the Versailles Treaty after the war. The resentment this caused in Germany became a major source of Nazi propaganda between the wars.

When the Nazis rose to power, they heavily refortified the main island. But the advent of aerial warfare had made Heligoland less strategically important. It was largely ignored by the allies during the Second World War until, in the final days of the war, it was blanket-bombed to such an extent that the Germans were forced to desert the island. To add insult to injury, in the years immediately after the war, the British used Heligoland as a bombing range. But the ultimate insult came in 1947, when they did their level best to level the island by setting off stockpiles of wartime munitions in a single ‘Big Bang’. The explosion changed the geology of the island forever. After a coordinated series of protests, Heligoland was finally returned to German control in 1947, where it remains to this day.

Rüger’s fascinating history of the archipelago is really a history of Anglo-German relations over the last two-hundred years. It shows how continent-wide political manoeuvrings had profound effects on the two tiny islands. It’s a wonderful example of describing major themes by concentrating on small, specific examples.

The Sebaldian themes that emerge throughout the book include the Napoleonic Wars, the North Sea (née German Ocean), the leisure activities of the idle rich, aerial warfare, war crimes, and walk-on parts by assorted artists and despots. Even Werner Heisenberg makes an unexpected appearance. It was during a prolonged visit to Heligoland in 1925 that he first formulated quantum theory: a circumstance that seems metaphorically apt, bearing in mind Heligoland’s uncertain position during much of its political history.

Highly recommended.

Book review: ‘The Ascent of John Tyndall’ by Roland Jackson Tue, 20 Mar 2018 14:38:18 +0000 Richard Carter (Reviews – Richard Carter) A long-overdue biography of the Victorian scientist, mountaineer, and public intellectual. The Ascent of John TyndallThe Victorian physicist John Tyndall is one of those figures who tend to appear on the periphery of other people’s biographies. He socialised and worked with many famous individuals, and was himself famous and influential in his day. But his fame rapidly diminished after his tragic death.

Roland Jackson suggests, at the conclusion of this excellent biography, that Tyndall’s relative obscurity these days can be attributed to three factors: (1) his wife’s failure to produce a planned biography meant no biography appeared until 1945 (over 50 years after Tyndall’s death); (2) Tyndall was a great experimentalist, rather than theoretician, and it is the theoreticians who tend to be remembered in physics; (3) Tyndall was one of the last of the great classical physicists, missing out on the revolutionary discoveries that took place in his chosen field within a few years of his death. By the time the first biography appeared, Tyndall’s physics was, in some respects, out of fashion.

Tyndall’s reputation is due a renaissance. As the person who explained the physics behind what is now known as the Greenhouse Effect, he deserves to be better known at a time when human-induced climate change is finally being recognised as one of the most pressing concerns of our age (at least by those who don’t have a vested interest in denying it).

In addition to the Greenhouse Effect, Tyndall is perhaps best known for explaining why the sky is blue. Indeed, he receives honourable mention regarding both these subjects in my book On the Moor: Science, History and Nature on a Country Walk. But, I must confess, my knowledge of Tyndall’s science pretty much ended with these two subjects until I read this extensive biography. True, I did know he was a member of the X-Club: a dining society of scientific friends, who campaigned on behalf of naturalistic science (and, therefore, against the encroachment of theology into scientific matters). I also knew that he was a friend of Charles Darwin, climbed the Matterhorn, and was accidentally killed by his wife (see my book for more details). But I had no idea Tyndall had explained how atmospheric conditions can affect the transmission of sound (another topic touched on in my book). Nor did I know he was a forceful proponent of atomic theory, ether theory, and the germ theory of disease. Nor that his investigations into germ theory and other topics led to his invention of a new sterilisation process, the firefighting respirator, and to an improved design for foghorns. While these topics might sound eclectic, Jackson shows how they all stemmed from related studies into sound and light transmissions through gases.

For a change, my hero Charles Darwin is very much a peripheral figure himself in this biography. Other scientists, rightly, feature more prominently. The cast of characters is daunting: I would have appreciated a brief dramatis personae at the front of the book to remind me occasionally who some of them were. Notable figures include Robert Bunsen, Heinrich Gustav Magnus, Michael Faraday, Charles Wheatstone, Charles Babbage, Rudolf Clausius, James Joule, John Herschel, William Thomson (later Lord Kelvin), Thomas Henry Huxley, Joseph Dalton Hooker, John Lubbock, George Busk, Herbert Spencer, Richard Owen, James Dewar, and Louis Pasteur. But Tyndall’s extensive social and professional circle didn’t stop at scientists. As well as a generous smattering of the nobility, his friends also included Alfred Lord Tennyson and Thomas Carlyle. Last but by no means least, I have to declare a special interest in Tyndall’s closest friend, the mathematician Thomas Archer Hirst, who, Jackson recently suggested to me following an exchange on Twitter, might possibly have been the previous owner of my personal copy of Tyndall’s last book, New Fragments.

From relatively humble beginnings, Tyndall first worked as a surveyor in his native Ireland before moving to England, where he worked for the railway surveyor (and my magnificent namesake) Richard Carter. It was while he was based in Halifax that he became friends with Hirst. Both later went on to study in Marburg, in what is now Germany. An invitation for Tyndall to give a talk at the Royal Institution, which was deemed a great success, led to further invitations and a job offer from Faraday. Tyndall was to spend the rest of his career at the Royal Institution, where he eventually succeeded Faraday. Like his predecessor, he was greatly admired for the quality of his public lectures, which often involved live demonstrations.

It was ‘Darwin’s Bulldog’, Thomas Henry Huxley, who first seems to have interested Tyndall in the study of glaciers. Tyndall’s subsequent trip to the Alps led to a life-long love of mountaineering. It was a golden age for the sport, which Tyndall still occasionally treated as a scientific pursuit. Some of his mountaineering exploits sound reckless to modern ears. I was amused at his thinking a bottle of champagne was suitable refreshment when attempting a new alpine peak. That said, Tyndall was the first person to climb the Weisshorn, and, after a number of earlier attempts on the summit, the first to traverse the Matterhorn (which had been conquered only three years earlier, not so much with a bang as by a Whymper).

The Tyndall that emerges from this biography is a fascinating and likeable character. He doesn’t seem to have had much of a sense of humour, but he comes across as a loyal friend, outspoken champion of science, forceful critic, and a man with a strong appreciation for the charms of the female sex (albeit, not for their intellectual abilities). Jackson seems to find his subject likeable too, although he is not above criticising Tyndall for his sexism, and occasional disingenuities and inconsistencies.

Jackson is one of the editors on the ongoing John Tyndall Correspondence Project. As well as in his copious correspondence, Tyndall’s life is well documented through journals, scientific papers, newspapers, periodicals, and books. The amount of documentation available means Jackson has been able to stick to the facts, without the need for too much conjecture (the bane of many biographies). He has also adopted a mainly chronological approach when telling the story of Tyndall’s life. This always strikes me as the best approach in biographies, although it does make the accounts of Tyndall’s yearly lecturing and mountaineering cycles occasionally repetitive.

The Ascent of John Tyndall is a long-overdue, magnificent tribute to an important, but largely under-appreciated scientist.

Highly recommended.


  • I received a free, advanced review copy of this book from the publisher;
  • as explained in the above review, I have previously had brief contact with Roland Jackson via Twitter and email concerning my copy of Tyndall’s last book.
Book reviews: ‘Charles Darwin: Voyaging’ • ‘Charles Darwin: The Power of Place’ Wed, 07 Mar 2018 14:48:24 +0000 Richard Carter (Reviews – Richard Carter) A magnificent two-volume biography. Charles Darwin: Voyaging / The Power of PlaceJanet Browne’s magnificent two-volume biography of Charles Darwin is the one against which all others must now be judged.

Volume 1, Voyaging, takes us from Darwin’s birth in 1809 to his decision in 1856 finally to start work on the ‘species sketch’ that would become On the Origin of Species. In between, we learn about his school days; his abortive studies in medicine at Edinburgh; his university days at Cambridge; his five-year voyage around the world aboard HMS Beagle; his rise to prominence as a man of science; his early publications; his devising of, and early research into, his theory of evolution by means of natural selection; and his marriage to his cousin Emma Wedgwood, and their settlement in their perma-home at Down House in Kent.

Volume 2, The Power of Place, resumes the story, taking us from the 1858 bombshell letter from Alfred Russel Wallace, indicating Darwin was in danger of being scooped, to Darwin’s death and Westminster Abbey funeral in 1882. In between, we have On the Origin of Species and all Darwin’s subsequent books, from orchids to The Ascent of Man to earthworms.

I’ve often said, and continue to maintain, that the best way to get to know Darwin is to read his copious correspondence. Janet Browne worked for a number of years on the Darwin Correspondence Project, and her work there very much informs this wonderful biography. Browne is particularly good on Darwin the strategist and tactician, showing how, through the medium of the letter, he developed and made highly effective use of a widespread social network.

Browne is also excellent on how Darwin’s more obscure works (on such apparently diverse subjects as coral reefs, orchids, insectivorous plants, sexual selection, movement in plants, variation, expressions of emotions, and earthworms) fitted into a bigger picture. I was particularly interested in her take on Darwin’s barnacle work. Darwin’s eight-year study into barnacles is usually presented (correctly) as a somewhat excessive precautionary attempt to establish his credentials as an acknowledged expert on a particular group of species. He felt he need such credentials before having the temerity to announce a theory claiming to explain the evolution of all species. But Browne shows how Darwin’s barnacle work also helped influence his theory, making him fully appreciate the amount of variation to be found in nature.

It is not possible to do justice to over 1,000 pages of magnificent biography in such a brief review, but, if you want to get to know Charles Darwin (and you’re not prepared to read the 25 volumes and counting of his published Correspondence), you would be well advised to start here.

Newsletter No. 12: Unspeakable things beneath the shrubs Fri, 16 Feb 2018 13:13:12 +0000 Richard Carter (Newsletter – Richard Carter) Mark E Smith · Alan Bennett · Carl Linnaeus · Ronald Blythe · human evolution · flu epidemics · Great Exhibition of the North · Charles Darwin · insects · introverts · Virginia Woolf · John Tyndall Rich Text



Good grief, is it still February? As I say in On the Moor:

Christmas long-gone, and still winter drags on! By February, it’s getting beyond a joke. As my friend Mary used to say, there’s a reason why they only gave it twenty-eight days.

Still, we’re getting there. The snowdrops are out. The ash trees are beginning to bud. Dunnocks are starting to do unspeakable things beneath the shrubs. Spring is most definitely on its way.

Mill in snow
The view over my garden wall on Monday.

Me and my big mouth!

Some stuff I thought worth sharing:

  1. One of my greatest music heroes, Mark E Smith of The Fall, has died. In an entirely selfless, humanistic attempt to educate the masses, I’ve been tweeting a weekly #FallFriday video link for the last few years. Everyone is unique, but M.E.S. was truly a one-off. Some tribute pieces:
  2. Extracts from Alan Bennett’s 2017 Diary appeared on The London Review of Books website.
    You can also listen to him reading the extracts.
  3. How the index card cataloged the world
    It turns out Carl Linnaeus, the father of biological taxonomy (Homo sapiens, and all that), also had a hand in inventing that most useful of categorisation tools: the humble index card.
  4. Akenfield revisited: what a rural classic reveals about our changing countryside
    Researchers have begun working on Akenfield Now, a project that will coincide with the 50th anniversary of Ronald Blythe’s classic book Akenfield. As with the book, the project will draw on oral histories recited by people who have grown up or lived in the area for much of their lives.
  5. The origin of ‘us’: what we know so far about where we humans come from
    A handy potted account of what we currently know about human evolutionary history.
  6. …but, as always, our knowledge keeps growing. STOP PRESS: Oldest known human fossil outside Africa discovered in Israel
    A fossil, dated to nearly 200,000 years ago, is almost twice as old as any previous Homo sapiens remains discovered outside Africa.
    See also: Humans left Africa 40,000 years earlier than we thought
  7. The Untreatable
    An informative, scary piece about flu epidemics.
  8. Great Exhibition of the North: an event to transform and delight
    Newcastle and Gateshead will host the biggest event in England next year with an exhibition designed to challenge preconceptions of the North. #TheNWRA
  9. The book that coloured Charles Darwin’s world
    Like other naturalists of his time, Charles Darwin’s documentary tool was the written word. During the Beagle voyage, he drew many of his words from a slim volume entitled Werner’s Nomenclature of Colours, published in 1814 by the Scottish artist Patrick Syme.
  10. Insects took off when they evolved wings
    The evolution of wings not only allowed ancient insects to become the first creatures on Earth to take to the skies, but also propelled their rise to become one of nature’s great success stories, according to a new study.
  11. Making it as an introvert
    A typically thoughtful video by photographer Sean Tucker on the challenges of being an introverted freelancer.
  12. Harvard University Library has digitised Virginia Wolf’s photograph album and made it available online.

Shameless plugs

To mark Charles Darwin’s 209th birthday, I wrote a piece about how the ghost of his friend John Tyndall (probably) helped solve the mystery of a morbid inscription I found in a book of Tyndall’s essays.

A couple of reviews of my book On the Moor: Science, History and Nature on a Country Walk

Legendary science blogger, PZ ‘Pharyngula’ Myers describes it as:

…wonderful. Science and history and geography and evolution and culture all tangled up in musings while walking about the moors around Hebden Bridge.

while equally legendary science writer Brian Clegg writes:

There’s much to enjoy in Richard Carter’s pean to the frugal yet visceral delights of being one with England’s Pennine moorland. If this were all there were to the book it would have made a good nature read, but Carter cleverly weaves in science at every opportunity, whether it’s inspired by direct observations of birds and animals and plants […] or spinning off from a trig point onto the geometric methods of surveying through history all the way up to GPS.

What do you mean you haven’t got round to buying a copy of On the Moor yet? What happened to the New Year’s resolution? That yacht isn’t going to buy itself, you know!

See you in the Spring!

Love & hugs,

Book review: ‘The Last Wilderness’ by Neil Ansell Wed, 10 Jan 2018 12:39:56 +0000 Richard Carter (Reviews – Richard Carter) A journey into silence. The Last WildernessNeil Ansell’s latest book is about revisiting one particular region five times in the space of a year. As he puts it:

I wanted to achieve a synthesis between the intensity of the new that comes with first sight, and the depth that comes with familiarity, by choosing a place that was relatively accessible and returning again and again, in all weathers and in every season.

The region Ansell chose for his repeated visits is the ‘Rough Bounds’ in the North West Highlands of Scotland: an area which is about as close as you can still get to true wilderness in the UK. His idea was to go there without any overarching plan; he would simply see what turned up during each trip. As someone who has written a book about over two decades’ walks on a local moor, this is an approach I heartily endorse.

I very much enjoyed the unplanned nature (pun intended, I suppose) of The Last Wilderness. Whereas many other nature writing books might, for example, dedicate an entire chapter to describing a single, almost magical encounter with otters, Ansell gets to describe several otter encounters in a more matter-of-fact manner: the otters simply appear, do their otterly stuff for a while, then disappear back into the Rough Bounds backdrop. The otters are a memorable feature of the particular walk, rather than its highlight.

During his repeat visits, Ansell gets to explore moor, hill, forest, river, loch, and sea-shore. His random encounters include eagles, divers, deer, gulls, waders and gannets. He also reminisces about similar encounters during his previous wanderings in ‘many of the wildest and most far-flung corners of the earth’.

A recurring theme of the book is Ansell’s deteriorating hearing, and how this is affecting his experiences of the natural world: ‘I could hear the chatter of fieldfares, but the redwings were gone to me’. Later in the book, he also has to begin to come to terms with an even more serious medical condition.

The Last Wilderness is a thoroughly enjoyable account of the sort of things that can happen when you take time to become more familiar with an already familiar place.

Highly recommended.

Disclosures: Neil Ansell is an online friend. He provided some front-cover blurb for my book On the Moor. I received a free review copy of The Last Wilderness from the publisher.

Book review: ‘Ravilious & Co.’ by Andy Friend Tue, 09 Jan 2018 15:12:06 +0000 Richard Carter (Reviews – Richard Carter) The Pattern of Friendship. Ravilious & Co.In my hardback copy, this is a beautifully produced and illustrated book. It describes the lives, loves and careers of a close-knit group of artists and designers, many of whom first met at the Royal College of Art in the mid-1920s. The group included Eric Ravilious, Paul Nash and his brother John, Edward Bawden, Barnett Freedman, Enid Marx, Douglas Percy Bliss, Percy Horton, Peggy Angus, Helen Binyon, and various spouses, friends, lovers, and hangers-on. Although the book is, in effect, a biography of the group, as its title implies, Eric Ravilious takes centre stage.

Ever since I first became aware of Ravilious’s wood-cuts and water-colour paintings, I’ve been a fan of his work which, paradoxically, seems to blend the traditional and modern. But this excellent book made me appreciate that Ravilious did not work in isolation, and was very much part of an as-yet-unnamed movement that deserves and needs a name (if for no other reason than it would have made writing this review considerably easier).

Andy Friend has researched the lives and relationships of the group in great depth, producing a fascinating account of set of people who deserve to be better known. It strikes me that the tale of this group would make a fascinating film or TV drama, especially as it is ‘blessed’ with a tragic, wartime finale.

Highly recommended.

Book review: ‘The Dun Cow Rib’ by John Lister-Kaye Tue, 09 Jan 2018 14:21:01 +0000 Richard Carter (Reviews – Richard Carter) A very natural childhood. The Dun Cow RibThe Dun Cow Rib is John Lister-Kaye’s memoir of his childhood, and of his development as a naturalist and conservationist.

Born into a privileged family, John was dispatched to boarding school at an early age after his mother developed a rare and serious heart condition. Formal education at a strict school did not sit well with young John, who was always landing himself in trouble—sometimes deservedly, other times through no fault of his own. His father eventually removed him to another school, and then another. The third, somewhat unconventional, private school was far better suited to a boy fascinated by the natural world: there was an important, ecologically rich wildlife patch adjoining the school, and one of the teachers actively encouraged John to develop his interest in natural history.

Running in parallel with the account of John’s education are accounts of his mother’s ongoing illness and medical interventions, which involved pioneering heart-surgery. The tale is set against the backdrop of home life in his grandfather’s manor house. I particularly enjoyed reading about the grandfather, who lost a leg late in life in an incident almost identical to that in which my own great grandfather, also late in life, lost his.

After school, Lister-Kaye gradually migrated towards a life in conservation through friendships with naturalist and future TV-presenter Terry Nutkins and Nutkins’ mentor and guardian Gavin Maxwell, author of Ring of Bright Water.

The Dun Cow Rib is an unusual, entertaining memoir. As to the family heirloom that provides the book’s title, I’m not giving too much away by saying that it is not a rib, and did not originate from a cow of any colour.

High tides and volant voles Thu, 04 Jan 2018 15:03:08 +0000 Richard Carter ( An unplanned visit to the flooded Dee Marshes is rewarded with a wildlife spectacle.
An unplanned visit to the flooded Dee Marshes is rewarded with a wildlife spectacle.

Article source:

Catching up on Twitter in a Wirral Starbucks the morning after Storm Eleanor, I read the following:

@RSPB_BurtonMere Burton Marsh completely flooded! Lunchtime’s high tide could be spectacular! Get down to Parkgate!

An immediate change of plan. Twenty minutes later, I pull into the marsh-side car park at Parkgate. There are dozens of birders already there, all of them far better equipped (and insulated) than me. So I head over to a quiet corner and take shelter behind a convenient wall.

The Dee Marshes only flood a few times a year. The signs of the previous high tide are unmistakeable: flattened marsh grass; plastic jetsam; rank, salty mud. A second flood seems unlikely: an hour before high tide, there’s only the customary distant glint of water way across the marshes near the Welsh bank.

I’m soon joined by a couple of birders. We trade bird tales as the waters slowly encroach into the marsh. It’s bitterly cold. I’m ill-prepared for such conditions, but it’s worth it. There are far more birds flying about than usual: gulls, geese, ducks, waders, starlings, herons, egrets. I’m told I just missed a male hen harrier. I’m immediately compensated with a brief sighting of a short-eared owl scudding low across the rising water channels.

The birds become more agitated as the tide reaches the scrape. A water rail comes tearing across the marsh like a roadrunner and vanishes beneath the wall at our feet. He’s followed by dozens of terrified voles, many of which are swept up by gulls and gobbled down whole, mid-air. Others are dropped during gullish squabbles. One jettisoned vole flies so close that all three of us duck. It splats into the soft marsh and promptly disappears: a lucky escape. I take another look for the hiding water rail. He spots me, and makes a bolt for it across a shallow pool, disappearing round the corner of the wall.

I’m shivering uncontrollably now. My heated car-seat beckons, but I manage to hold out for another half-hour or so, until I can no longer feel my fingers.

What a spectacular start to the new year!

Lapwings over the Dee Marshes.
The rising tide reaches the scrape
The rising tide reaches the scrape.
Water rail
Water rail.
Two black-headed gulls squabble over a vole
Two black-headed gulls squabble over a vole.
2017: a year in photos Mon, 01 Jan 2018 14:34:17 +0000 Richard Carter ( My seventh annual video slideshow review of the year.
My seventh annual video slideshow review of the year.

Article source:

For the last few years, at this time of year, I've produced a video slideshow of photos to sum up my year just gone. Here's the 2017 video:

Consistent beyond reproach, as in previous years, this year's slideshow contains 97 photographs.

The background music, Placid Reflux, is also by Yours Truly. I don't have an ounce of musical ability. Thank goodness for Garageband!

See also: Previous years’ video slideshows

Newsletter No. 11: Penguin eggs and yetis Sat, 02 Dec 2017 11:13:57 +0000 Richard Carter (Newsletter – Richard Carter) Sir Thomas Browne · Saturn · penguin eggs · heroes of science · evolution of languages · nature books · dna barcoding · periodic table · Alice Roberts · geology Rich Text



Only eight days since my last newsletter: people will talk!

As my last one didn’t contain the customary links to articles you might find interesting, I thought I’d better make amends as soon as possible. But first…

Shameless plug

On the Moor
Buy from Amazon uk | .com

In the unlikely event it has escaped your notice, MY BOOK IS FINALLY OUT!!

An ideal Christmas present for all the science, history, and nature fans in your life. Just think how prescient you’ll look when this thing wins the Pulitzer. Why not treat yourself to a copy, while you’re at it?

Some stuff I thought worth sharing:

As I read and write about stuff that interests me, it should come as no surprise that some of the following links relate to topics also covered in On the Moor:

  1. Browne
    Thomas Browne

    Robert McCrum’s 2017 Guardian series, The 100 best nonfiction books, nears its end with Hydriotaphia, Urn Burial, or A Brief Discourse of the Sepulchral Urns Lately Found in Norfolk (1658). Although the 17th-century language is hard-going at times, Sir Thomas Browne’s book would certainly make my list. The final, summary chapter in particular is a masterpiece. I first encountered Browne via two of my all-time favourite writers, Stephen Jay Gould and W.G. Sebald. You can imagine my delight when I discovered there’s a Bronze Age urn-burial site within spitting distance of my home, on the edge of the local moor. You can, of course, read all about it (and Sir Thomas Browne) in my book.
    See also my article The Thomas Browne Affair.

  2. Talking of Sebald, Nasa’s Cassini spacecraft captured a final stunning photograph of the Rings of Saturn two days before plunging into the planet’s atmosphere.
  3. My friend GrrlScientist is gradually republishing many of her old stories from various media sites on her Medium page. Her recent repost, The mystery of Captain Scott’s penguin eggs, concerns Bill Wilson, Apsley Cherry-Garrard and Henry Bowers’ 1911 scientific expedition to collect penguin eggs in Antarctica. Ornithologist Bill Wilson also stars in the chapter about red grouse in On the Moor. I was really taken with Wilson: a real mini-hero of science.
    If this sort of story interests you, you might like to subscribe to GrrlScientist’s newsletter.
  4. Another of my friends, the science historian Thony Christie, generally pooh-pooh’s the idea of lone ‘heroes of science’. Science is a collaborative process, so it‘s unfair (and misleading) to give individuals too much credit. My flippant, but genuine, response is that anyone who contributes to our scientific knowledge is a hero in my book (even those who ultimately get it wrong). Thony’s recent post, History of the little things, makes me suspect we’re in far closer agreement than either of us lets on.
  5. As I explain in On the Moor, my own personal hero, Charles Darwin, provided some useful insights into the evolution of languages. But, as a recent article on the Randomness of Language Evolution explains, just as with species, the English language is shaped by more than ‘natural selection’.
  6. The Guardian recently nominated some of the best nature books of 2017. I couldn’t help noticing one glaring omission.
  7. Identifying species via ‘DNA barcodes’ is another topic mentioned in On the Moor. Now scientists are using it to debunk fragments of ‘yetis’, and, more importantly, to shed light on the evolution of bears.
  8. In a similar vein, new genetics research has settled questions about American prehistory—in particular, about the peoples of Newfoundland and Labrador.
  9. Nasa recently posted a charming version of the Periodic Table showing where your elements came from. (Spoiler alert: No, we weren’t fashioned from clay and spare ribs; as Carl Sagan famously put it, we are made of star-stuff. Isn’t that so much more awesome?)
  10. Even though I thought the suggestion sounded pretty obvious, I was interested by a recent piece on how writing has tended to make language syntax more complex.
  11. A feature interview with one of my favourite science communicators, Prof. Alice Roberts. I’m very much looking forward to reading her latest book, Tamed: 10 Species That Changed Our World: she has a knack for simplifying without dumbing-down.
  12. The British Geological Survey has just published a new interactive Climate Through Time map. This would have been really useful when I was writing the prologue to On the Moor: half a billion years of Earth’s history crammed into a little over 600 words… And they say I can’t write succinctly! (On the strength of this newsletter, they’re probably right.)

Rest assured, the frequency of this newsletter will now return to an a reassuringly vague, as-advertised ‘occasional’.

Love and hugs,

Newsletter No. 10: Book launch Fri, 24 Nov 2017 09:57:30 +0000 Richard Carter (Newsletter – Richard Carter) 24-Nov-2017: 158 years ago today saw the publication of my hero Charles Darwin’s ‘On the Origin of Species’. What better excuse could I possibly need for choosing today to launch my own book, ‘On the Moor: Science, History and Nature on a Country Walk’. Rich Text

24 NOVEMBER 2017


158 years ago today saw the publication of my hero Charles Darwin’s On the Origin of Species. Darwin was staying on the edge of Ilkley Moor at the time, just 13 miles as the curlew flies from where I type these words.

What better excuse could I possibly need for choosing today to launch my own medium opus inspired by another Yorkshire moor…


I’m delighted to announce that my book On the Moor: Science, History and Nature on a Country Walk is now available as both a paperback and Kindle ebook on,, and other international Amazon websites.

On the Moor covers (front and back)

On the Moor shows how a routine walk in the countryside is enhanced by an appreciation of science, history, and natural history. It covers an eclectic mix of topics, with each chapter being inspired by something I encountered or was thinking about during one of my regular walks over the last 25 years on the Moor above my home. These topics include:

  • Charles Darwin’s weird experiments and ailments;
  • the 17th-century skeptic Sir Thomas Browne;
  • Celtic languages;
  • Bronze Age burials;
  • evolution’s kludgy compromises;
  • bird migration;
  • DNA barcoding;
  • skull anatomy;
  • where Earth got its water;
  • the mapping of Great Britain;
  • grouse disease;
  • Scott of the Antarctic;
  • how to define a species;
  • Ted Hughes and Sylvia Plath;
  • the Brontës;
  • the Laws of Thermodynamics;
  • why the sky is blue (and sunsets red);
  • the Greenhouse Effect;
  • the songs of skylarks;
  • snipe courtship;
  • vapour trails;
  • rooks’ faces;
  • the best way to cook a wheatear.
  • …Oh, and there’s even a plane crash!

I appreciate I’m a bit biased, but I think you’ll like it.

But don’t feel you have to take my word for it. Here’s what nature writer Neil Ansell had to say about On the Moor:

Richard Carter’s fascinating exploration of his local grouse-moor in West Yorkshire digs deep into natural history, human history, prehistory, and the history of science. His writing is grounded, insightful, and frequently hilarious, and he shows how falling in love with your own local patch can be a gateway to the whole world.

Well, exactly, Neil! (The cheque’s in the post.)

Apologies for the shamelessly pluggy nature of this edition of the Rich Text newsletter, but it isn’t every day to get to announce your first proper book.

Normal service will be resumed next time.

…Are you still here? What are you waiting for? GO AND BUY MY BOOK, DAMMIT!

My book is finally out! Fri, 24 Nov 2017 09:56:59 +0000 Richard Carter ( I’m delighted to announce the launch of my book ‘On the Moor: Science, History and Nature on a Country Walk’.
I’m delighted to announce the launch of my book ‘On the Moor: Science, History and Nature on a Country Walk’.

Article source:

24 November 2017

158 years ago today saw the publication of my hero Charles Darwin’s On the Origin of Species. Darwin was staying on the edge of Ilkley Moor at the time, just 13 miles as the curlew flies from where I type these words.

What better excuse could I possibly need for choosing today to launch my own medium opus inspired by another Yorkshire moor…

I’m delighted to announce that my book On the Moor: Science, History and Nature on a Country Walk is now available as both a paperback and Kindle ebook on,, and other international Amazon websites.

On the Moor covers (front and back)

On the Moor shows how a routine walk in the countryside is enhanced by an appreciation of science, history, and natural history. It covers an eclectic mix of topics, with each chapter being inspired by something I encountered or was thinking about during one of my regular walks over the last 25 years on the Moor above my home. These topics include:

  • Charles Darwin’s weird experiments and ailments;
  • the 17th-century skeptic Sir Thomas Browne;
  • Celtic languages;
  • Bronze Age burials;
  • evolution’s kludgy compromises;
  • bird migration;
  • DNA barcoding;
  • skull anatomy;
  • where Earth got its water;
  • the mapping of Great Britain;
  • grouse disease;
  • Scott of the Antarctic;
  • how to define a species;
  • Ted Hughes and Sylvia Plath;
  • the Brontës;
  • the Laws of Thermodynamics;
  • why the sky is blue (and sunsets red);
  • the Greenhouse Effect;
  • the songs of skylarks;
  • snipe courtship;
  • vapour trails;
  • rooks’ faces;
  • the best way to cook a wheatear.
  • …Oh, and there’s even a plane crash!

I appreciate I’m a bit biased, but I think you’ll like it.

But don’t feel you have to take my word for it. Here’s what nature writer Neil Ansell had to say about On the Moor:

Richard Carter’s fascinating exploration of his local grouse-moor in West Yorkshire digs deep into natural history, human history, prehistory, and the history of science. His writing is grounded, insightful, and frequently hilarious, and he shows how falling in love with your own local patch can be a gateway to the whole world.

Well, exactly, Neil! (The cheque’s in the post.)

…Are you still here? What are you waiting for? GO AND BUY MY BOOK, DAMMIT!

The appearance of my child Wed, 15 Nov 2017 15:27:17 +0000 Richard Carter (Notebook – Richard Carter) This afternoon, I received my proof copy of ‘On the Moor’.

‘I am infinitely pleased & proud at the appearance of my child.’
Charles Darwin, writing from just below a Yorkshire moor to his publisher, John Murray, 3rd Nov 1859, on receiving his first copy of On the Origin of Species.

I finally know the feeling, Charles.

This afternoon, I received my proof copy of On the Moor:

‘On the Moor’ proof

Not quite as ground-breaking as On the Origin of Species, perhaps, but no reason to be any less pleased or proud.

Newsletter No. 9: Teaser or spoiler? Fri, 10 Nov 2017 13:23:17 +0000 Richard Carter (Newsletter – Richard Carter) On the Moor · Zanzibar · container ships · giant ground sloth · Barry Lopez · indigenous people · Cambrian Explosion · Little Toller · Iain Sinclair Rich Text

10 NOVEMBER 2017


It’s been a bit longer than usual since my last update. Apologies, but I’ve been working hard to get my book On the Moor out there. Barring any last-minute hiccups, I hope to be able to make a major announcement in my next newsletter. (I’m not sure if that counts as a teaser or a spoiler, but, either way, watch this space…)

Some stuff I thought worth sharing:

This time there are precisely 10 links (for those of you who happen to count in the octal numeral system):

  1. A Swap for Zanzibar
    Neal Ascherson on the strange history of the North Sea archipelago of Heligoland. I couldn’t help thinking W.G. Sebald would have been fascinated by this.
  2. 30 Days Timelapse at Sea
    Someone had the wonderful idea of fixing a timelapse video camera to the top of a container ship. Compulsive viewing.
  3. Darwin’s Megatherium molar mystery
    Reuniting the remains of a prehistoric giant ground sloth excavated by Charles Darwin in Patagonia in 1832.
  4. On the edge, calling back: Barry Lopez
    A moving interview with the adjectiveless writer Barry Lopez. I still haven’t read his highly acclaimed Artic Dreams, but it can only be a matter of time.
  5. The Invitation
    The Lopez interview mentioned above refers to this Granta article: a thoughtful piece on how indigenous people experience events in the natural world in a different way to us.
  6. What sparked the Cambrian explosion?
    Scientists have hypothesised for decades about the cause of the evolutionary burst known as the Cambrian Explosion that happened 540 million years ago. Could a steep rise in oxygen have sparked the change, or some key evolutionary innovation?
  7. Little Toller Books: Clarissa Luard Award Shortlisted Publishers
    Adrian Cooper on how he and his partner created Little Toller books in their spare bedroom: proof that it’s possible for non-experts to create something very special. So what are you waiting for?
  8. Iain Sinclair’s farewell to London
    In characteristically concentrated prose, Iain Sinclair on how he has lost his centre of gravity: his compulsion to write about London.

Coming soon (shameless plug):

On the Moor covers (front and back)
[Click to enlarge]

I hope you’re even one-tenth as excited about this as I am.


A raven ‘cronking’ in Anglesey.
Feedback sought: Potential covers for my book Mon, 02 Oct 2017 13:07:23 +0100 Richard Carter (Notebook – Richard Carter) I’ve been experimenting with some different cover designs for my book ‘On the Moor: Science, History and Nature on a Country Walk’, and would be interested in receiving any feedback you might have. I’ve been experimenting with some different cover designs for On the Moor. I’d be interested in hearing any feedback you might have. The advice from Amazon is to use big text on the cover, so it can still be read when reduced to a minuscule thumbnail image in their store.

I don’t consider any of these potential covers to be finished yet, but I’ll be very interested to hear what you think. In particular, which, if any, of these covers might tempt you to take a peek inside the book to find out more?

Sample cover 1
Cover 1
On the Moor sample cover 2
Cover 2
On the Moor sample cover 3
Cover 3
On the Moor sample cover 4
Cover 4
On the Moor sample cover 5
Cover 5

Please feel free to leave your feedback in the comments below, or you can email me, or post comments on Facebook or Twitter.


What I did on my holidays Mon, 18 Sep 2017 09:27:09 +0100 Richard Carter (Notebook – Richard Carter) An Anglesey timelapse video.

Book review: ‘Improbable Destinies’ by Jonathan Losos Tue, 22 Aug 2017 15:27:17 +0100 Richard Carter (Reviews – Richard Carter) How predictable is evolution? Improbable DestiniesThe late Stephen Jay Gould more than once observed that, were it possible to roll back time and re-run evolutionary history, we would most likely end up with very different results. Minor differences in circumstances can lead to very different evolutionary pathways.

Others, most notably Simon Conway Morris, hold that evolution is far more predictable than Gould would have had us believe. As evidence, they cite the interesting phenomenon of convergent evolution, where different species evolve strikingly similar features in similar circumstances. A classic example is the similar body shapes of dolphins, sharks, ichthyosaurs, and (at more of a stretch) penguins: these predators’ ‘designs’ enable them to move quickly under water. If mammals, fish, ichthyosaurs, and birds evolved such similar shapes for moving at speed in the same environment, the argument goes, evolution must, to some extent, be predictable.

Those who maintain that evolution is more predictable than we might suppose sometimes go so far as to claim that upright, bipedal, intelligent life was almost inevitable on Earth. Had it not been for that pesky asteroid, they say, the world would now, quite possibly, be being ruled by dinosaurian, rather than mammalian, humanoids. This despite the fact that, as far as we know, upright, bipedal, intelligent dinosaurs failed to evolve in the 180-million years that dinosaurs actually did rule the earth.

Jonathon Losos's interesting book sets out to explore both the phenomenon of convergent evolution, and the possibility of performing experiments to assess evolutionary predictions. In the first part of the book, he describes many examples of convergent evolution. In subsequent sections, he describes experiments in the wild, and in more controlled environments, to determine whether the accuracy of various evolutionary predictions can be tested.

Although convergent evolution is a genuinely fascinating phenomenon, it is considerably less remarkable when the species in question are closely related. When presented with similar environmental challenges, is it really at all surprising when closely related species evolve similar solutions? Evolution can only tinker with what is already there; how many fundamentally different tweaks can be made to closely related lizards, for example, to help them evade a new predator? In fairness to Losos, he makes this point more than once, but, to this non-expert at least, it seemed as if more might have been made of it. There is a world of a difference between two species of stickleback, to cite another example, evolving brighter colours in the absence of predators, and dinosaurs evolving into intelligent humanoids. Even if small-scale convergent evolution of closely related species is common, extrapolating to claim that the evolution of intelligent humanoids is almost inevitable is another thing entirely.

Sensibly, Losos doesn't spend too much time examining arguments about putative humanoid dinosaurs—although he does eventually make his own position clear. This book is primarily about the experiments: how scientists have begun to test evolutionary predictions, and to assess how particular examples of convergent evolution come about. Both of which strike me as far more interesting and useful than coming up with untestable hypotheses about where dinosaurs might have gone next.

An entertaining book on an interesting subject.

Disclosure: I received a free review copy of this book from the publisher.

Newsletter No. 8: But is it Art? Fri, 11 Aug 2017 13:58:26 +0100 Richard Carter (Newsletter – Richard Carter) iPads · s-town · babylonian astronomy · Patti Smith · James Kelman · star-stuff · golden age of photography · conveying life's wonders · horses · bees · organ donations Rich Text

11 AUGUST 2017


I recently replaced my beloved but technologically ancient iPad with a brand-spanking-new iPad Pro. It’s a wonderful piece of kit. I draft most of my writing on the iPad, including this newsletter.

Thanks to the electronic Apple Pencil that accompanies the iPad, I’m rediscovering the horror that is my handwriting, and the joys of doodling.

Moor grass doodle

Some stuff I thought worth sharing:

Nine shall be the number I shall recommend, and the number of the recommending shall be nine:

  1. I finally got round to listening to the phenomenally successful S-Town Podcast. It’s a seven-episode documentary about an Alabama town and a colourful character named John. Highly recommended.

  2. Science historian Mathieu Ossendrijver has translated five cuneiform tablets which show that Babylonian astronomers used geometry to track Jupiter.

  3. The wonderful Patti Smith reminisces about her buddy Sam Shepherd.

  4. James Kelman on his approach to writing, and how writer’s block is ‘an economic luxury’.

  5. The late, great Carl Sagan famously explained how we are all made of ‘star-stuff’. Now, computer modellers have calculated that around half our bodies’ atoms formed outside our galaxy. We’ve come a long way.

  6. The thought-provoking video What does photographer Pedro Meyer think?, in which the veteran Mexican photographer explains that we are living in a golden age of photography. (If you don’t have time to watch the full 16 minute video, you might like to start at around the 9-minute mark.)

  7. George Monbiot on why we need new words to convey life’s wonders. I was in two minds about this one, agreeing with many, but not all, of his examples.

  8. My friend GrrlScientist on how almost all modern horses are descended from a few oriental stallions. Long-form science blogging at its finest.

  9. This fantastic video of 21 days of bee development condensed into one minute.

Shameless plug

I recently wrote about my grandma’s organ donation. (Don’t worry, no surgery was involved.)

Five bonus points to those of you who spotted the Monty Python reference earlier.

Is it art?

Grandma’s organ donation Thu, 10 Aug 2017 13:49:29 +0100 Richard Carter ( On the mysterious arrival, and equally mysterious disappearance, of a Wurlitzer organ.
On the mysterious arrival, and equally mysterious disappearance, of a Wurlitzer organ.

Article source:

Some time in the late 1970s, a Wurlitzer organ appeared out of nowhere in the corner of our dining room. It was a big wooden affair with a folding lid, two keyboards one above the other, and a whole bunch of switches, dials and pedals.

You could tell it was a Wurlitzer organ because it had the word WURLITZER emblazoned across it in garish gold letters. Off to the right, more discreet lettering bore the legend Crane & Sons Ltd., Liverpool & London.

It turned out my grandma’s sister had recently decided to replace her electric organ. Never one to miss out on a bargain, grandma had bought the old organ for my sister and me. The first my sister and I (and, I recently learnt, our parents) knew about grandma’s generous gift was the day it landed in our dining room.

When you turned on the power, the organ made an alarming thump followed by a more subdued humming noise. It took several minutes to warm up. While you waited, you got to flip the switches and turn the dials into the required configuration. There was a large collection of black switches labelled with the names of musical instruments: violins, cellos, glockenspiel, guitar, horns, and so on. The most notable thing about these switches was, no matter which combination you selected, the sound emanating from the organ remained essentially unchanged. It seemed to me Wurlitzer could have saved themselves, and us, a whole lot of bother if they had simply had a single switch labelled electric organ. There were also switches to alter the bass and treble settings, which did at least seem to make some appreciable difference to the din, as did one labelled Sustain. But our favourite switches were the three labelled Vibrato, the options being On, Fast and Full. We always flipped all three, which made the notes more wobbly.

In case you haven’t already worked it out, I should perhaps make it clear that, with the exception of grandma’s electric-organ-playing sister and their long-dead half-brother (of whom, more shortly), I come from an entirely unmusical family. Don’t get me wrong: we all enjoy listening to music, but actually playing the stuff is another matter entirely. To this day, I remain in awe of anyone who can string a bunch of notes together. It’s voodoo, as far as I’m concerned.

The organ came with a matching stool whose seat lifted to reveal a compartment for storing sheet music. Inside we found a thick book of ‘popular tunes’. Presumably, these were tunes popular with the sort of people who enjoyed a good sing-along around the family Wurlitzer: Danny Boy, We’ll Gather Lilacs, Abide With Me, and a host of other songs my sister and I had never heard of. There was also a photocopy of the music for the song Why Does a Red Cow Give White Milk When it Always Eats Green Grass? Although we didn’t know the tune, my sister and I had at least heard of this one, as it had been written by grandma’s half-brother, the first-world-war pilot, variety entertainer, and pantomime dame Hal Miller.

Rather than arranging for costly music lessons, Dad, whose own musical curriculum vitae began and ended with an appearance in H.M.S. Pinafore at secondary school, decided to wait until either my sister or I began to demonstrate any sort of natural aptitude for, or even vague interest in, playing the organ. To ease our path to musical greatness, he hit upon the idea of labelling the Wurlitzer’s keys. He spent an entire wet afternoon carefully applying Letraset dry-transfer letters to both rows of white keys. The black lettering wouldn’t show up on the black keys, so those were left unlabelled.

All that remained was for my sister and me to consult the popular song book, choose a song we actually knew the tune to, read out the letters above the words of the song, and bang the keys with the same letters on the Wurlitzer. Just about the only song we did recognise was Silent Night. I can still recite the letters to this day:


Getting on for four decades later, Silent Night still comprises my entire musical repertoire.

Where was Mum in all this? Silently fuming. After a while, not so silently. From the day it arrived unannounced to take over the dining room, Mum began to drop subtle hints about how awfully big the Wurlitzer was. Within weeks, she was referring to it as ‘that damn thing’ and was refusing to dust it. In later years, she took to kicking it as she hoovered nearby.

The circumstances of the Wurlitzer’s eventual disappearance were as mysterious as those of its arrival. In 1986, I returned home from university to find the organ gone. Its alcove in the corner of the dining room had been reclaimed by its former occupant: Mum’s precious, well-dusted Ercol sideboard.

The Wurlitzer was never mentioned in polite conversation again.

Newsletter No. 7: Hacked and hurt by time Fri, 30 Jun 2017 12:48:15 +0100 Richard Carter (Newsletter – Richard Carter) John Tyndall · Galápagos cormorants · why English is so odd · Thoreau & Darwin · anthropological discoveries · mass-extinction hyperbole · WG Sebald · yellow rattle · Inigo Thomas · Mars exploration Rich Text

30 JUNE 2017


Although I appreciate I should be getting On the Moor out there first, I’ve recently been ruminating on the theme of my next book. True to style, I have a number of vague, interweaving ideas in mind. Nothing concrete yet, but, believe me, I’m working in it.

During my ruminations, I came across a wonderful quote from the nineteenth-century scientist, mountaineer, and friend of Charles Darwin, John Tyndall. Tyndall features in two chapters of On the Moor. The quote I found, which was inspired by a view looking down on the Matterhorn, links the themes of thermodynamics, evolution, and erosion, all of which also feature in On the Moor:

As long as the temperature of our planet differs from that of space so long will the forms upon her surface undergo mutation, and as soon as equilibrium has been established we shall have, not peace, but death. Life is the product and accompaniment of change, and the self-same power that tears the flanks of the hills to pieces is the mainspring of the animal and vegetable worlds. Still, there is something chilling, if not humiliating, in the contemplation of the irresistible and remorseless character of those infinitesimal forces whose summation through the ages pulls down even the Matterhorn. Hacked and hurt by time, the aspect of the mountain from its higher crags saddened me. Hitherto the impression it had made was that of savage strength, but here we had inexorable decay.
—John Tyndall. ‘Old Alpine Jottings’ in New Fragments (1892).

I’m pretty sure I would have liked Tyndall, had I ever met him.

Some stuff I thought worth sharing:

This time, I have a veritable ennead of recommendations:

  1. How an Icon of Evolution Lost Its Flight
    Scientists have discovered some of the genetic changes behind the useless wings of Galápagos cormorants.

  2. English is not normal
    A fascinating article about how and why English is so odd.

  3. Thoreau’s debt to Darwin
    On his bicentenary, how Thoreau was reinvigorated by Darwin.

  4. Three new discoveries in a month rock our African origins
    An analysis of some important recent anthropological discoveries.

  5. Earth Is Not in the Midst of a Sixth Mass Extinction
    Our species is wreaking terrible damage on our planet, but easy with the mass-extinction hyperbole.

  6. W. G. Sebald, Humorist
    How an eccentric sense of playfulness runs through W.G. Sebald’s four major books.

  7. Daylight robbery in the grasslands
    It was quite a surprise to turn to the Guardian’s Country Diary feature to find it had been written by someone I’ve known since I was 11. Jeremy Dagley on yellow rattle: a parasitic plant that grows in abundance in my farmer friend’s top meadow.

  8. This moving London Review of Books Diary piece by Inigo Thomas about the death of his father.

  9. This NASA video celebrating 20 years of continuous Mars exploration.

Shameless plug

You might like to check out my recent article entitled Orion’s belt-buckle about the star I ‘adopted’ in my early teens.

Borrowed dog update

Millie the borrowed dog is with us for a couple more weeks. She is doing well, despite the perverse enjoyment she seems to derive from walks in the rain.

Now remind me… Which one of us ABSOLUTELY INSISTED on going for a walk, and which one of us thought to bring an umbrella?

Feel free to contact me with any feedback. And please forward this newsletter to any friends you think might enjoy it, suggesting in the politest possible terms that they really ought to subscribe for themselves.

As you were.

Orion’s belt-buckle Tue, 20 Jun 2017 11:45:29 +0100 Richard Carter ( In celebration of my adopted star.
In celebration of my adopted star.

Article source:

When I was about fourteen, I decided to adopt a star. I was standing on my parents’ patio on a glorious chilly evening. The stars were out in relative abundance for the suburbs. I thought I should pick a star so, wherever I saw it in future, I would be able to relate to it; to imagine it twinkling above my home.

I knew how to find the North Star, but that seemed too obvious a choice, so I sought out the short line of three evenly spaced stars I’d noticed many times before. I found them to the south-west, hanging in the darkness above the garage, and, reckoning it would be the easiest to remember, chose the middle star to be my star. I didn’t know at the time that the three stars in question comprised Orion’s Belt; and I’ve only just found out from Wikipedia that my star goes by the Arabic-derived name Alnilam, meaning string of pearls. Alnilam, it turns out, is a blue-white supergiant: the 29th brightest star in the night sky. Not bad for a humble belt-buckle.

The constellation of Orion photographed from Anglesey. Alnilam is shown dead centre.

Although the stars of Orion’s Belt look to be in a straight line, that’s only because we see them from our particular vantage point in the galaxy. In reality, Alnilam is roughly half as far away again from us as its two apparent companions, Alnitak and Mintaka: very roughly 1,340 light-years to their 800.

Just think about that for a second. In fact, actually count out one second. Go on, I mean it, I’ll wait…

In the time it takes to count a second, a beam of starlight travels 300,000 kilometres through space (that’s 186,000 miles in old money). That’s slightly farther than the most reliable car I ever owned travelled during its entire lifetime. Or, to put it another way, if you could somehow steer its course, a beam of light could travel around the earth seven-and-a-half times per second. Yet the light of Alnilam, striking our retinas when we happen to glance up at it on a chill winter evening, left that star shortly after the Romans abandoned Britain, several hundred years before the Norman Conquest, in an era we are no longer supposed to refer to as the Dark Ages. How unimaginably vast is our Milky Way Galaxy? Yet it is only one of an estimated two-trillion galaxies in the universe. Two trillion. That’s a two followed by twelve zeros: 2,000,000,000,000. How unimaginably insignificant are we in the vast non-scheme of things?


With hindsight, I suppose I could have chosen my star more carefully: the constellation of Orion isn’t visible from the UK for three months of the year, from May to July. It’s still up there, of course, but at that time of year Orion rises and sets during the hours of daylight, so is banished from our skies by the brightness of the sun.

But Orion’s absence during the northern hemisphere’s summer months makes its reappearance in our night skies in late summer and early autumn a cause for celebration. Indeed, for many years, I’ve marked my ‘official’ start of autumn by the first pre-dawn sighting of Orion over the gate at the end of our driveway. There he stands, just like last year, facing west, club raised aloft: just as he will have stood, long before the story of Orion the hunter was invented, as the Bronze Age inhabitants of the Moor above my house gazed out on the same pre-dawn sky; just as he stood almost four decades ago, that starlit evening above my parents’ garage; just as he will stand, for many years to come, when I am long gone.

Yet perhaps I shouldn’t be so sanguine about Orion’s endurance. Like everything else, the configuration of the night sky evolves with time. Constellations change shape; new stars are born; old ones die. Ultimately—very soon by astronomical timescales—my adopted star, Alnilam, is likely to go out in a blaze of glory: a massive supernova. Indeed, perhaps it already has. With the speed of light as the limiting factor for spreading news throughout the universe, Alnilam might have exploded a thousand years ago, and we still wouldn’t know a thing about it for another 300 years or so.

So maybe I should enjoy Alnilam’s pin-prick of Dark Age light in the night sky while I still can.

That’s certainly my intention.

Newsletter No. 6: A borrowed dog Sun, 28 May 2017 14:15:54 +0100 Richard Carter (Newsletter – Richard Carter) woodpeckers · ambrotype portraits · W.G. Sebald · a deserted hamlet · mission creep · prime meridians · W.H. Hudson · podcasts · street photography · bonkers · tapirs · coiners Rich Text

28 MAY 2017


I’m looking after a friend’s dog for a couple of months, and am sending my friend daily photo updates to show that Millie is having a good time. Which means my Instagram and Flickr feeds have a decidedly canine feel to them at the moment.


One of the advantages of suddenly finding yourself with responsibility for a borrowed dog is that you’re forced to get off your fat arse at least once a day and go for a walk. The other day, I took Millie to see the bluebells at Hardcastle Crags, a local beauty spot. At the end of the walk, we were thrilled to see a pair of great spotted woodpeckers making several visits to their nest-hole to feed some extremely noisy chicks.

Great spotted woodpecker

Some stuff I thought worth sharing:

This time, my recommendations number the same as the Muses of classical antiquity:

  1. Photographer Giles Clement’s stunning 16x20” glass ambrotype portraits made using a home-built camera and a lens from a First World War spy Zeppelin. (Link via: Bored panda.)
  2. An interview with W.G. Sebald from 1997, four years before his untimely death. I’m a huge Sebald fan, filing his books under uncategorisable, or, equally unhelpfully, Sebaldian.
  3. Photographer Stuart Petch’s notes and photos from Thorns, a deserted hamlet in upper Ribblesdale.
  4. My friend Thony Christie’s thoughts on historians’ tendency towards mission creep, leading into a review of a new book about prime meridians. (Thony fact-checked a chapter about the history of triangulation in my own forthcoming book, On the Moor. Any remaining errors are, therefore, entirely his fault.)
  5. The naturalist W.H. Hudson also features briefly in On the Moor, but, until I came across this Smithsonian Magazine article, I had no idea how influential he was.
  6. I’m addicted to podcasts. If you’ve ever wondered what the hell you’re missing, you could do far worse that listen to episode 51 of ‘Reconcilable Differences’, in which John Siracusa and Merlin Mann, two men of a certain age, fret about random stuff. Very funny.
  7. (Video) Photographer Craig Roberts visits London’s Brick Lane and Columbia Road Flower Market, showing how street photography is done.
  8. In what is perhaps a sign of the times, America finally seems to be catching on to one of my favourite British words: ‘bonkers’.
  9. To mark World Tapir Day (no, it really is a thing), my online pal Dave Whiteland released a charming, online, interactive story, Dwindle: a tapir’s tale.

Shameless plugs

Earlier this month, I was invited to the Hebden Bridge launch of Benjamin Myers’ fantastic new novel, The Gallows Pole. It’s based on the true story of the local Cragg Vale Coiners. Eighteenth-century Yorkshire meets The Sopranos: you should read it. Check out my review.

I recently joined GoodReads, a social network for book lovers. If you’re also a member, you might want to follow me via my GoodReads profile page.

Well, that dog’s not going to walk herself…

Feel free to contact me with any feedback. And please forward this newsletter to any friends you think might enjoy it, suggesting in no uncertain terms that your life would be made a whole lot simpler if they were to subscribe for themselves.