THE OCTOPUS: MARINE BAGPIPES FILLED WITH INK
Few people know that, by international law, it is unlawful to fail to be fascinated by Octopuses… Octopi… Octopodes… Octopotomi… Whatever. For a learned dissertation on the correct plural form for these creatures – bear with me, there are strict rules that apply here – you’ll find out the right way at THE PLURAL OF OCTOPUS . I won’t go into it all now, because it’s time to showcase some more wonderful underwater photography by Melinda Riger of Grand Bahama Scuba. Strictly, these are not Abacos Octos, but they share the same reef system and are therefore close cousins. Of such tenuous links are blog posts formed.
The Rare Scottish Tartan Octopus
SAD POST SCRIPT: As a Scot out of Norway (did you ever?) my father learnt to play the bagpipes. Indeed had a set. They lived in a cellar I wasn’t allowed into. The bag was allegedly preserved in treacle (don’t ask). I still have the ‘Chanter’ (a single pipe practice instrument), the sound of which is akin to trying to strangle one cat with another cat. I was fobbed off with that. Then one day as a treat the cellar was unlocked and a large wooden box was dragged out. The bagpipes! The lid was opened and… OMG! the bag had rotted away completely, the pipes looked pathetic and very disappointing, and the whole thing stank of nameless dead creatures… I can’t hear the sound of the pipes to this day without finding it (a) stirring yet (b) enough after a short time and (c ) a reminder of a broken dream… The end.