The BBC means the licence fee is worth every single penny ...
... that's what I'd think if I paid it anyway.
Just as Murray is encouraging us to get rid of tv's the Beeb plays a blinder and dishes up 2 compelling programmes.
The first is 'Planet Earth', a series which defies description.
The photography is wonderful & each one has had me mesmerised.
They are presented by, who else ? - David Attenborough.
I dread the day of his passing as no-one else comes close.
The second programme was as if someone had asked me all my favourite things
and combined them for an hour of educational, erudite and enlightening tv.
It was Ray Mears in New Zealand, featuring Mt Cook and it just doesn't
come better than that. I've long admired Mr Mears, not only for his considerable
survival skills and the relxed and informal way he shares his knowledge but also
for his easy-going manner which endears him to all he meets.
I would give a lot for just a little of his social ease.
Ray was unsurprisingly lyrical about New Zealand, as he said, it has everything anyone who
appreciates the outdoors could want. For good measure there was a mountain survival story
thrown in too. It featured 2 very experienced climbers who set out to climb Mt Cook some 19 years ago. Both were trapped by storms near the summit for 13 days. There were only brief windows in the weather when a rescue attempt was feasible. During one of these a helicopter looking for them crashed, fortunately sparing all the crew. During another 'safe spell' a light aircraft dropped supplies, including a stove to boil snow for water, sleeping bags, radios and emergency rations.
Their rescue was by means of a helicopter dangling them 20 metres below the craft on a rigid stretcher. They were the first to be recued in this manner, the slopes of Cook being too unpredictable for the chopper to put down.
Both were badly frostbitten and lost both legs from the knee down.
Ray met one of the climbers who successfully climbed Cook 19 years later on prosthetic legs. My admiration knows no bounds for a person like this.
Fat parrots
I've also been scratching my NZ itch by reading a book called 'Last Chance to See' by Mark Carwardine and Douglas Adams. It features a trip to NZ to search for the flightless kakapo, a fat parrot native to NZ. Kakapos once became so rare their numbers dropped to 46.
Thanks to these people, their future looks a little less tenuous now with a current tally of 86 birds.
As someone who will cheerfully admit to never understanding the humour of ' The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy' I wasn't looking forward to reading Douglas Adams. However the book came recommended so I gave it a crack. I finally appreciate his writing, sad, given that he's no longer with us. 'Last Chance to See' is laugh out loud funny, very few books can claim that.
I 've been reading it late at night, sniggering into my pillow to stifle my laughter.
I won't do it justice but one of the passages, discussing the kakapo goes something like this.
'Not only has the kakapo forgotten how to fly, it has also forgotten that it's forgotten how to fly, with the unfortunate consequence that when approached by a predator it will take to a tree, climb into it and launch itself from an uppermost branch, only to land in a heap of feathers nearer to the predator than when it began.'
Work - Keep your counsel ?
Q : You are selected with 12 other 'volunteers' to meet your head honcho. You are disillusioned with their mangement style.
Do you ...
a) Go along and do 'Operation nod & smile' biting your tongue for the sake of yours (and your line manager's) jobs
or do you
b) Say what you really think, knowing that you work in an open, inclusive, blame-free environment, always open to new suggestions.
I picked ...
c) Say you don't want to go at all, on the grounds that it would be immoral to do a) and professional suicide to do b)
I explained my quandary to my new line manager who agreed to write me a sick-note. Option c) does come with a proviso ... if anyone asks why I'm not keen to attend, I will stand up and be counted. The meeting is scheduled for tomorrow, I'll let you know what happens.
Aminals
Today was Milky's choice of day out and he played a blinder suggesting Bocketts Farm. Bocketts has long been a favourite of mine and although one attracts odd looks when not towing ankle-biters, it's worth the embarrassment for the wealth of aminals. We petted baby lambs, 2 day old kids (the hairy, cute variety) goats, sheep and donkeys.
I confided to Milky that when I was growed-up & owned a donkey it would be called 'Ambrose', when he asked why, I replied 'after Curtly Ambrose.' Unfortunately the joke fell flat as Milky was unaware of one of the most lethal bowlers of the last 20 years.
We patted the ponies, were spat at by llamas, admired the peacock and sympathised with the farm dog who was a little too keen to work and was locked away for his troubles. In short, if it stayed still we either petted it or fed it. The day ended with a cream tea in the gorgeous vaulted barn. No photos sadly, as neither camera was charged.
Home
Discovered today that the flat is to be sold. My flat-mate has been offered a job in Oz and leaves in August. This got the landlords to thinking about their options and they've plumped for a quick sale which gives me 2 months. I have a potential bolt-hole organised but don't want to jinx it by saying where at the moment. It's green though :0)
Spring ...
has finally sprung and not before time, it's been an Arctic February. Without warning the forsythia's out so that means everything's going to be alright. The clocks went forward on Sunday too and you know what that means - more time to ride neddies after early turn. It's light until 1830 now.
A couple of days ago ...
Milky's annual leave was authorised. Mine was ok'd about 2 weeks ago. This means we both have the whole of December off. I have no intention of working Christmas or New Year as we did last year so we thought we'd treat ourselves to December in New Zealand. The cottage at Cedar Lodge is reserved. See you soon The Tanners.
Cx
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Friday, March 24, 2006
Monday, February 27, 2006
Outdoors and equilibrium.
Thank you for all your sensible and kind messages of support they really cheered me up.
I'm sorry this post has taken so long, it's been a bit of a trial trying to find enough time to do justice to it.
As I had already posted, I was pretty fed up in the run-up to this break and wishing I felt in more of a holiday mood. I usually really enjoy work but knew I needed to get away for a while.
I was surprised to realise that as a frequent Lakes visitor, I had never been in February before. It was with a sense of wonder that I noted the sugar dusted tops of the Lakeland mountains from my vantage point of the M6. I can’t explain why but snow & ice are becoming more and more magnetic for me. I felt the same way when I arrived at the Franz Joseph glacier in NZ, totally choked and very at home. I’m becoming a winter person.
I love those last few miles from between Junction 36 & Junction 40, where the land takes a very definite turn in character. The easy curves of the Pennines give way to the sharp geometry of the Lakes. By the time I reach the A66, everything feels better.
As we drove into the village, it only improved. Someone, knowing my prediliction for snowdrops, had arranged swathes of them on every bank.
Someone likes walking if they've got three of these.
Home ... if only for a week.
After arriving at an immaculate cottage, offering freshly baked cake and flowers, we unpacked & went exploring in Whinlatter. There was only time for an hour's walk to stretch our legs before dusk but with plans to do several testing walks during the week, taking it easy seemed a sensible option.
One for Murray who enjoys a good fence post.
The view on the first morning.
After a wonderful night of perfectly silent sleep, in the pitch black, our first serious challenge was to be Helvellyn. I texted Mummeh and told her of our plans to climb it in homage to her (she climbed it several years ago, via the infamously hairy 'Striding Edge' approach.) Her reply was unequivocal 'Do not attempt Striding Edge in icy conditions'. As someone not prone to overstatement, we took her advice seriously and decided to approach by the less dangerous Western ascent from Swirls car park.
During the journey to Helvellyn, we had been listening to an excellent audio book (thank you Mummeh) of Scott's attempt to reach the South Pole, narrated by Ranulph Fiennes. With slightly unnerving timing, our arrival at the foot of Helvellyn, coincided with the selfless death of Oates. Regarding our inhospitable surroundings, it was not difficult to imagine how he felt as he left the tent.
Of course there was a trade off to not ascending via Striding Edge & studying the map we soon discovered what it was. A 949 metre climb in 3 kms. The directions said 'Don't set off too quickly, it's a steady pull all the way to the summit'. A steady pull would seem to be Cumbrian for 'lung-burstingly tough climb' and my thighs were protesting in short order.
To relieve the agony I suggested some photos. Milky's look of dismay revealed that he had left the camera in the boot of the car. By this time we had been climbing for 30 minutes. Without hesitation he turned around & quickly re-traced his steps to the car, then back again to my lofty vantage point. Once he had recovered his breath he cheerily informed me that camera had been in the rucksack all along. How we laughed.
I did anyway.
'Says here not to leave valuables in the car.'
When I do one of these kind of walks, I do something I read that Joe Simpson does. He repeats the same climbing patterns again & again when he's crossing dangerous ice faces. I count in my head. Only up to four. 'One, two, three, four.' Somehow I know that I can count to four again and again, whereas if I look up to the top of the climb I have to do, it overwhelms me. I find the rhythm comforting and reassuring.
It does of course mean I'm a very boring person to walk with (when the going is strenuous anyway) Milky gaily chattered away, receiving only a snotty intermittent grunt in reply from me. I've had a runny nose since last November and can't seem to shift it. I had stupidly set off without a large handkerchief and so my conversation consisted of the odd plaintive lament ...
'Are you sure you don't have a hanky ?'
On the descent many hours later Milky got his revenge for the camera incident & produced wads of kitchen roll wrapped around lunch.
'Oh these ?' he said casually 'yes - I suppose you could blow your nose on these.'
Stairway to heaven.
Lunar.
'Cold - what's that ?'
On the last stretch of the climb, I began to understand how terrifying Striding Edge would have been in those conditions. From the summit we could see the narrow ridge and as the wind was preventing us putting one foot in a straight line ahead of the other I couldn't begin to imagine how it would have been possible.
This doesn't begin to convey the strength of the wind.
I kept checking Barley to see if she was suffering in the cold but apart from frozen whiskers and ice crystals all the way through her coat, she seemed fine. What a little trooper. We had to keep moving though, even stopping for the summit photos was excruciating.
Summit. The ears show the wind more accurately. Barley's not Milky's.
The descent was more difficult with the distinct possibility of falling headfirst off the path. We elected to sit down & slide the difficult bits which seemed a really good idea. It was at the point that I was sliding uncontrolled, encased head to foot in shiny nylon, over rocks and boulders, with no prospect of being able to stop, that I began to doubt the wisdom of the idea.
When I finally did stop, by turning onto my belly & digging my walking pole (see MTM) into the ice, the only damage done was to my right thumb which resembled a squished sausage. I told Milky to go on without me & that I would simply compromise the expedition at which he accused me of melodrama, somewhat harsh I thought.
The luxury of getting into the car and turning on the heater was only emphasised by listening to the rest of the audiobook.
Things I learned on this walk.
Not everyone feels the same when you shout above the gale, 'Come on, that's the summit there, it would be pointless to make all this effort and then not stand on the actual summit.'
Spaniels are hard.
Braking distances are greatly increased with the introduction of nylon upon snow.
The following day we rewarded ourselves with an easy flat 10 miles around Derwentwater.
The day was drizzly & grey but as that’s what you expect in the Lakes, it interfered with our enjoyment not a whit.
We checked out the ferry times before leaving and rewarded our industry by catching the ferry back to our start point after a rapidly consumed lunch of hot soup & rolls.
Things I learned on this walk.
Someone will always appear out of nowhere at the point you most need a pee, regardless of the fact that you haven’t seen a soul all day.
They will then decide to sit on a bench to admire the lake, unheeding of the fact that you are squatting, less than 5 feet away behind a wall.
Wet wipes are indispensable.
It's very difficult to fasten gaiters with a mangled thumb.
It's important to be nice to the person who will fasten your gaiters (see above)
That evening I presented Milky with a book of walks and told him to pick one relatively nearby for us to complete the following day.
He chose a corker.
‘Buttermere crags’. 5 ascents with accompanying descents around Buttermere. The guide said it would take 6.5 hours and that most of the going would be ‘strenuous’.
As we parked the following morning in the car park adjacent to the Bridge Hotel the car park guide drew our attention to this sign
I like a challenge.
and asked if we were intent on venturing up the fells.
We admitted we were and she continued ‘…it’s just that you don’t have any gear with you and we’ve had to call out Mountain Rescue for people in the last couple of days.’
By ‘lack of gear’ she meant no tents or camping stoves or anything that would allow us to camp out overnight in -15.
We assured her that we were ‘on a recce’ and that if it looked too bad, we’d head back down again. Satisfied that she had warned the muppets, she retired to her hut.
The friendly warning reminded me of the way things are done in New Zealand ‘ What you’re about to do is dangerous, but as long as you know that, fill your boots’
I wonder if there will ever come a time in our increasingly nanny-state when people will be able to stop you climbing with the words – ‘Sorry it’s too dangerous up there’. I hope not.
The walk started easily enough, alongside a lake. It was at that point the fun ended. As we struck out on the ‘distinctive red path’ things got hard and stayed that way for the next 5 hours. I won’t bore you with every ascent, suffice it to say that the cold ensured we only stopped for a 10 minute lunch break.
A hastily shouted conversation on one of the summits revealed we were thinking along the same lines when we both said to the other ‘Don’t whatever you do, fall & break an ankle.’
Only a helicopter would have been able to retrieve the injured party, as it took all one’s nerve and concentration to walk alone. The thought of having someone leaning on you in the icy, treacherous footholds we were taking was inconceivable. I envied Barley her 4 wheel traction so much and was grateful I’d brought my pole.
At one point we watched a helicopter quartering the fells and it was a sobering though to realise it was below us.
The time came when we had to make a 'c' word and cut one summit off our walk. We knew the sun set at 1738 and that we had an hour to make it to the valley floor. The extra hour could be spent tackling the last climb or reaching safety in daylight. We both agreed that Mountain Rescue wouldn’t praise us for having to be rescued just to say that we had finished the walk as described in the book. It was a wrench nonetheless, for those of you who don’t know I can be incredibly pig-headed about this kind of thing.
As it turned out, we strolled in to the car park at 1745 as the gloom was gathering and treated ourselves to a well-planned finish by eating Dairylea cheese triangles in the car. Barley approved.
Things I learned on this walk.
You have to be very good friends with someone if you’re going to climb things in Winter.
The wind, which howls ceaselessly over 600 metres, can suddenly drop away, ensuring that your shouted oaths at and about your climbing partner can be heard very clearly, at an appreciable distance.
Never, ever, try to make your way off an icy summit on an unrecognised route to ‘save time’.
If I planned on climbing in the Lakes again in Winter, I would take an extra rucksack, tent, sleeping bags and extra clothing, for when you do break an ankle & have to camp, rather than trusting to good fortune. Things go wrong very quickly when you're cold & have lost your bearings, don't they MTM ?
All too soon, our week at Loweswater was up and it was time to head home. We decided upon a last walk on the Sunday morning so that we could all stretch our legs prior to the long journey, so headed for Whinlatter once again. After a couple of hours walking we enjoyed a hot chocolate at the visitor centre and were entertained by the brassy little visitors to our plates, the robins, chaffinches & siskins. These birds are catered for very well in the form of numerous feeders hanging from 2 huge pines, directly outside the cafe.
Although it's angled and demonic and not the organic style I go for, I love this sculpture of the Cumbrian raven at Whinlatter. It captures the dark and foreboding spirit of the Lakes. I wondered why Cumbria is often represented by a raven & did a little digging.
Whinlatter raven.
Rheged was the name of the Ancient Kingdom of Cumbria in the Dark Ages. At its peak around 590AD, the Kingdom of Rheged stretched from Southern Scotland to the Midlands and from coast to coast. Rheged’s most famous King was Urien meaning “city born”. Urien was known as the “Raven King” because of the talisman or good luck charm, which he wore around his neck and bore the symbol of a Raven. It was this symbol which provided the inspiration for our logo. The stone on which the Rheged Raven is often shown reflects the shape of the County of Cumbria today. (courtesy Rheged website)
As we left our retreat I realised I felt so much better about everything. Several days of hard walking and fresh air had cleared my mind. I felt happy and re-energised. I enjoyed it so much I'm taking Mummeh there for her birthday in October.
I feel about the lakes the way I do about NZ, I want people to go there to experience it for themselves almost as much as I want them to stay away and leave it for me.
Cx
Thank you for all your sensible and kind messages of support they really cheered me up.
I'm sorry this post has taken so long, it's been a bit of a trial trying to find enough time to do justice to it.
As I had already posted, I was pretty fed up in the run-up to this break and wishing I felt in more of a holiday mood. I usually really enjoy work but knew I needed to get away for a while.
I was surprised to realise that as a frequent Lakes visitor, I had never been in February before. It was with a sense of wonder that I noted the sugar dusted tops of the Lakeland mountains from my vantage point of the M6. I can’t explain why but snow & ice are becoming more and more magnetic for me. I felt the same way when I arrived at the Franz Joseph glacier in NZ, totally choked and very at home. I’m becoming a winter person.
I love those last few miles from between Junction 36 & Junction 40, where the land takes a very definite turn in character. The easy curves of the Pennines give way to the sharp geometry of the Lakes. By the time I reach the A66, everything feels better.
As we drove into the village, it only improved. Someone, knowing my prediliction for snowdrops, had arranged swathes of them on every bank.
Home ... if only for a week.
After arriving at an immaculate cottage, offering freshly baked cake and flowers, we unpacked & went exploring in Whinlatter. There was only time for an hour's walk to stretch our legs before dusk but with plans to do several testing walks during the week, taking it easy seemed a sensible option.
After a wonderful night of perfectly silent sleep, in the pitch black, our first serious challenge was to be Helvellyn. I texted Mummeh and told her of our plans to climb it in homage to her (she climbed it several years ago, via the infamously hairy 'Striding Edge' approach.) Her reply was unequivocal 'Do not attempt Striding Edge in icy conditions'. As someone not prone to overstatement, we took her advice seriously and decided to approach by the less dangerous Western ascent from Swirls car park.
During the journey to Helvellyn, we had been listening to an excellent audio book (thank you Mummeh) of Scott's attempt to reach the South Pole, narrated by Ranulph Fiennes. With slightly unnerving timing, our arrival at the foot of Helvellyn, coincided with the selfless death of Oates. Regarding our inhospitable surroundings, it was not difficult to imagine how he felt as he left the tent.
Of course there was a trade off to not ascending via Striding Edge & studying the map we soon discovered what it was. A 949 metre climb in 3 kms. The directions said 'Don't set off too quickly, it's a steady pull all the way to the summit'. A steady pull would seem to be Cumbrian for 'lung-burstingly tough climb' and my thighs were protesting in short order.
To relieve the agony I suggested some photos. Milky's look of dismay revealed that he had left the camera in the boot of the car. By this time we had been climbing for 30 minutes. Without hesitation he turned around & quickly re-traced his steps to the car, then back again to my lofty vantage point. Once he had recovered his breath he cheerily informed me that camera had been in the rucksack all along. How we laughed.
I did anyway.
'Says here not to leave valuables in the car.'
When I do one of these kind of walks, I do something I read that Joe Simpson does. He repeats the same climbing patterns again & again when he's crossing dangerous ice faces. I count in my head. Only up to four. 'One, two, three, four.' Somehow I know that I can count to four again and again, whereas if I look up to the top of the climb I have to do, it overwhelms me. I find the rhythm comforting and reassuring.
It does of course mean I'm a very boring person to walk with (when the going is strenuous anyway) Milky gaily chattered away, receiving only a snotty intermittent grunt in reply from me. I've had a runny nose since last November and can't seem to shift it. I had stupidly set off without a large handkerchief and so my conversation consisted of the odd plaintive lament ...
'Are you sure you don't have a hanky ?'
On the descent many hours later Milky got his revenge for the camera incident & produced wads of kitchen roll wrapped around lunch.
'Oh these ?' he said casually 'yes - I suppose you could blow your nose on these.'
On the last stretch of the climb, I began to understand how terrifying Striding Edge would have been in those conditions. From the summit we could see the narrow ridge and as the wind was preventing us putting one foot in a straight line ahead of the other I couldn't begin to imagine how it would have been possible.
I kept checking Barley to see if she was suffering in the cold but apart from frozen whiskers and ice crystals all the way through her coat, she seemed fine. What a little trooper. We had to keep moving though, even stopping for the summit photos was excruciating.
Summit. The ears show the wind more accurately. Barley's not Milky's.
The descent was more difficult with the distinct possibility of falling headfirst off the path. We elected to sit down & slide the difficult bits which seemed a really good idea. It was at the point that I was sliding uncontrolled, encased head to foot in shiny nylon, over rocks and boulders, with no prospect of being able to stop, that I began to doubt the wisdom of the idea.
When I finally did stop, by turning onto my belly & digging my walking pole (see MTM) into the ice, the only damage done was to my right thumb which resembled a squished sausage. I told Milky to go on without me & that I would simply compromise the expedition at which he accused me of melodrama, somewhat harsh I thought.
The luxury of getting into the car and turning on the heater was only emphasised by listening to the rest of the audiobook.
Things I learned on this walk.
Not everyone feels the same when you shout above the gale, 'Come on, that's the summit there, it would be pointless to make all this effort and then not stand on the actual summit.'
Spaniels are hard.
Braking distances are greatly increased with the introduction of nylon upon snow.
The following day we rewarded ourselves with an easy flat 10 miles around Derwentwater.
The day was drizzly & grey but as that’s what you expect in the Lakes, it interfered with our enjoyment not a whit.
We checked out the ferry times before leaving and rewarded our industry by catching the ferry back to our start point after a rapidly consumed lunch of hot soup & rolls.
Things I learned on this walk.
Someone will always appear out of nowhere at the point you most need a pee, regardless of the fact that you haven’t seen a soul all day.
They will then decide to sit on a bench to admire the lake, unheeding of the fact that you are squatting, less than 5 feet away behind a wall.
Wet wipes are indispensable.
It's very difficult to fasten gaiters with a mangled thumb.
It's important to be nice to the person who will fasten your gaiters (see above)
That evening I presented Milky with a book of walks and told him to pick one relatively nearby for us to complete the following day.
He chose a corker.
‘Buttermere crags’. 5 ascents with accompanying descents around Buttermere. The guide said it would take 6.5 hours and that most of the going would be ‘strenuous’.
As we parked the following morning in the car park adjacent to the Bridge Hotel the car park guide drew our attention to this sign
and asked if we were intent on venturing up the fells.
We admitted we were and she continued ‘…it’s just that you don’t have any gear with you and we’ve had to call out Mountain Rescue for people in the last couple of days.’
By ‘lack of gear’ she meant no tents or camping stoves or anything that would allow us to camp out overnight in -15.
We assured her that we were ‘on a recce’ and that if it looked too bad, we’d head back down again. Satisfied that she had warned the muppets, she retired to her hut.
The friendly warning reminded me of the way things are done in New Zealand ‘ What you’re about to do is dangerous, but as long as you know that, fill your boots’
I wonder if there will ever come a time in our increasingly nanny-state when people will be able to stop you climbing with the words – ‘Sorry it’s too dangerous up there’. I hope not.
The walk started easily enough, alongside a lake. It was at that point the fun ended. As we struck out on the ‘distinctive red path’ things got hard and stayed that way for the next 5 hours. I won’t bore you with every ascent, suffice it to say that the cold ensured we only stopped for a 10 minute lunch break.
A hastily shouted conversation on one of the summits revealed we were thinking along the same lines when we both said to the other ‘Don’t whatever you do, fall & break an ankle.’
Only a helicopter would have been able to retrieve the injured party, as it took all one’s nerve and concentration to walk alone. The thought of having someone leaning on you in the icy, treacherous footholds we were taking was inconceivable. I envied Barley her 4 wheel traction so much and was grateful I’d brought my pole.
At one point we watched a helicopter quartering the fells and it was a sobering though to realise it was below us.
The time came when we had to make a 'c' word and cut one summit off our walk. We knew the sun set at 1738 and that we had an hour to make it to the valley floor. The extra hour could be spent tackling the last climb or reaching safety in daylight. We both agreed that Mountain Rescue wouldn’t praise us for having to be rescued just to say that we had finished the walk as described in the book. It was a wrench nonetheless, for those of you who don’t know I can be incredibly pig-headed about this kind of thing.
As it turned out, we strolled in to the car park at 1745 as the gloom was gathering and treated ourselves to a well-planned finish by eating Dairylea cheese triangles in the car. Barley approved.
Things I learned on this walk.
You have to be very good friends with someone if you’re going to climb things in Winter.
The wind, which howls ceaselessly over 600 metres, can suddenly drop away, ensuring that your shouted oaths at and about your climbing partner can be heard very clearly, at an appreciable distance.
Never, ever, try to make your way off an icy summit on an unrecognised route to ‘save time’.
If I planned on climbing in the Lakes again in Winter, I would take an extra rucksack, tent, sleeping bags and extra clothing, for when you do break an ankle & have to camp, rather than trusting to good fortune. Things go wrong very quickly when you're cold & have lost your bearings, don't they MTM ?
All too soon, our week at Loweswater was up and it was time to head home. We decided upon a last walk on the Sunday morning so that we could all stretch our legs prior to the long journey, so headed for Whinlatter once again. After a couple of hours walking we enjoyed a hot chocolate at the visitor centre and were entertained by the brassy little visitors to our plates, the robins, chaffinches & siskins. These birds are catered for very well in the form of numerous feeders hanging from 2 huge pines, directly outside the cafe.
Although it's angled and demonic and not the organic style I go for, I love this sculpture of the Cumbrian raven at Whinlatter. It captures the dark and foreboding spirit of the Lakes. I wondered why Cumbria is often represented by a raven & did a little digging.
Rheged was the name of the Ancient Kingdom of Cumbria in the Dark Ages. At its peak around 590AD, the Kingdom of Rheged stretched from Southern Scotland to the Midlands and from coast to coast. Rheged’s most famous King was Urien meaning “city born”. Urien was known as the “Raven King” because of the talisman or good luck charm, which he wore around his neck and bore the symbol of a Raven. It was this symbol which provided the inspiration for our logo. The stone on which the Rheged Raven is often shown reflects the shape of the County of Cumbria today. (courtesy Rheged website)
As we left our retreat I realised I felt so much better about everything. Several days of hard walking and fresh air had cleared my mind. I felt happy and re-energised. I enjoyed it so much I'm taking Mummeh there for her birthday in October.
I feel about the lakes the way I do about NZ, I want people to go there to experience it for themselves almost as much as I want them to stay away and leave it for me.
Cx
Sunday, February 19, 2006
A shift in the bedrock.
I know, I know, twice weekly postings blah blah.
I haven’t been in the mood to blog.
I don’t handle change very well, if at all.
There has been too much change lately, in every sphere of my life.
My Guv’nor left to go to another job & whilst I totally understand his reasons for leaving (no-one deserves to work with the bunch of muppets he had to tolerate on a daily basis) it really knocked me for six.
That may sound over-dramatic & I know at least one person who will
be laughing as they read this (LM) However, it was one of those working relationships when you know your boss will unconditionally defend you to the hilt. The feeling was mutual. When faced with a difficult decision I just did things how I thought he would like them done.
I don’t just mean me though. He was the same with everyone & I don’t know of anyone (or anyone whose opinion matters) who had a bad word to say about him.
I was dreading his leaving do & sure enough, despite holding it together through all the speeches, at the end I blubbed like a baby, leaving copious snot trails on Stan & Milky.
A text I received from a female friend the following day summed it up …
‘Still crying ? How many times have I told you never to display weakness ? You’re an embarrassment to women everywhere. Now I’m going outside to bleed my brakes whilst fiddling incessantly with my testicles.’
And so now we have a new boss.
He seems pleasant and effective.
So there’s obviously a catch.
For the last two months I’ve been looking for a new place to live. This is because my flat-mate indicated that she would like to move nearer to work and that she would like a garden. Looking for a place alone has been a bit dispiriting. I’ve been looking alone because she has a hectic work/travel schedule which isn’t conducive to house-viewing. Two months into my search and I am told she is likely to be moving in with a friend who lives very close to her place of work.
To say I was a bit surprised would be an under-statement.
My options now are these :
Rent alone ; difficult, most studio-type places in the Kingston/Surbiton area commence at c. £700 per month.
or
Advertise for a new flat-mate ; the last time I shared it was with a crack-addict, an alcoholic and a boring mountain bike salesman. There were burly men calling at the address with baseball bats at 2am asking for money. It’s not an experience I’m keen to repeat.
or
Dump myself on a friend … again, not ideal, partly because I’m used to my own space & partly because I’d be paying a small fortune in storage.
Of the above I think my best option is to sit tight & see what kind of flat-mate fate throws my way. I really don’t want to ever face moving again until it’s either to NZ or into my own (mortgaged) property.
I have to find a new job by September this year. If I don’t find a new job I have to go work in a big call-centre type building in Lambeth in September 2007. I don’t want to go to Lambeth. I worked in Lambeth for 10 years. That’s enough time to work in Lambeth. My other two options are Bow (where ?) or Hendon. I detest North London & don’t even want to think about the amount of time the journey would take. I can’t imagine a time I’ll ever, ever type this again but of those three, Lambeth is my best option.
I can’t stay doing the job I’m doing, which I like, because as of Sept 2007 my job will no longer exist.
So that’s about it for now, there’s other stuff too but it’s too personal to blog about, suffice it to say I haven’t been feeling at my most communicative.
This entry’s just to say I’m still alive thanks for checking.
On the upside.
I have Barley for almost a month and as of tomorrow we head to the Lakes for r & r & lots of walking. With a walking pole MTM. And a compass, most likely.
The forecast is ‘bitterly cold’ but that’s all I would expect.
Thistle anyone ?
Cx
I know, I know, twice weekly postings blah blah.
I haven’t been in the mood to blog.
I don’t handle change very well, if at all.
There has been too much change lately, in every sphere of my life.
My Guv’nor left to go to another job & whilst I totally understand his reasons for leaving (no-one deserves to work with the bunch of muppets he had to tolerate on a daily basis) it really knocked me for six.
That may sound over-dramatic & I know at least one person who will
be laughing as they read this (LM) However, it was one of those working relationships when you know your boss will unconditionally defend you to the hilt. The feeling was mutual. When faced with a difficult decision I just did things how I thought he would like them done.
I don’t just mean me though. He was the same with everyone & I don’t know of anyone (or anyone whose opinion matters) who had a bad word to say about him.
I was dreading his leaving do & sure enough, despite holding it together through all the speeches, at the end I blubbed like a baby, leaving copious snot trails on Stan & Milky.
A text I received from a female friend the following day summed it up …
‘Still crying ? How many times have I told you never to display weakness ? You’re an embarrassment to women everywhere. Now I’m going outside to bleed my brakes whilst fiddling incessantly with my testicles.’
And so now we have a new boss.
He seems pleasant and effective.
So there’s obviously a catch.
For the last two months I’ve been looking for a new place to live. This is because my flat-mate indicated that she would like to move nearer to work and that she would like a garden. Looking for a place alone has been a bit dispiriting. I’ve been looking alone because she has a hectic work/travel schedule which isn’t conducive to house-viewing. Two months into my search and I am told she is likely to be moving in with a friend who lives very close to her place of work.
To say I was a bit surprised would be an under-statement.
My options now are these :
Rent alone ; difficult, most studio-type places in the Kingston/Surbiton area commence at c. £700 per month.
or
Advertise for a new flat-mate ; the last time I shared it was with a crack-addict, an alcoholic and a boring mountain bike salesman. There were burly men calling at the address with baseball bats at 2am asking for money. It’s not an experience I’m keen to repeat.
or
Dump myself on a friend … again, not ideal, partly because I’m used to my own space & partly because I’d be paying a small fortune in storage.
Of the above I think my best option is to sit tight & see what kind of flat-mate fate throws my way. I really don’t want to ever face moving again until it’s either to NZ or into my own (mortgaged) property.
I have to find a new job by September this year. If I don’t find a new job I have to go work in a big call-centre type building in Lambeth in September 2007. I don’t want to go to Lambeth. I worked in Lambeth for 10 years. That’s enough time to work in Lambeth. My other two options are Bow (where ?) or Hendon. I detest North London & don’t even want to think about the amount of time the journey would take. I can’t imagine a time I’ll ever, ever type this again but of those three, Lambeth is my best option.
I can’t stay doing the job I’m doing, which I like, because as of Sept 2007 my job will no longer exist.
So that’s about it for now, there’s other stuff too but it’s too personal to blog about, suffice it to say I haven’t been feeling at my most communicative.
This entry’s just to say I’m still alive thanks for checking.
On the upside.
I have Barley for almost a month and as of tomorrow we head to the Lakes for r & r & lots of walking. With a walking pole MTM. And a compass, most likely.
The forecast is ‘bitterly cold’ but that’s all I would expect.
Thistle anyone ?
Cx
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Sunday, January 15, 2006
Sunday, January 08, 2006
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
That was the year that was.
MilkyNZ’s blog got me thinking about the highs and lows of 2005.
With a complete lack of originality here are mine.
Lows
January.
A very difficult month. I found the tsunami work I did very taxing. Not just because the subject matter was difficult but because I was segregated from my team. I didn’t realise until January how much I rely on the casual de-briefs we have after trying incidents. After one particularly bad day I recall meeting up with the team for a social. My specific aim that evening was to get drunk as quickly as possible to forget the day I’d had. It’s the one & only occasion that I have felt I needed a drink and it gave me a little more sympathy with people whose life puts them in that position on a daily basis.
It was in the early hours of the morning on the 19th that I got the phone call from Andy telling me Milky had been stabbed.
I was happy to see the end of January.
Hurting someone unintentionally with a lack of forethought when I thought I was doing them a favour. I learned a valuable lesson about how I would do it next time. The injured party had the maturity to draw it to my attention and the good grace to forgive me.
Without doubt the most frightening thing to happen to me during 2005 was when I was dragged, courtesy of a bolting horse, across a main road, directly in front of a BMW & a Metro. Only heroic braking on the part of the Metro driver enables me to type this. I was still having flashbacks 3 days later.
Being bullied by a Chief Inspector.
Enough said about that at the time.
Highs
February : Hearing that the detritus who stabbed Milky had been arrested.
August : Holiday to the Lakes, walking Scafell Pike & seeing a red squirrel.
September : A clear mammogram for Mummeh.
November : Girls night in. The first time we had all been together in over a year. Nothing beats a girls night in for the tremendous camaraderie & sense of well-being.
December : Galloping up the Derby start on CB without stirrups (unintentional) & staying on board.
Seeing The Natural History Museum, the building impressed me as much as the exhibits.
Hearing that Eric had passed Part 1 of his exams.
‘Postsecret’
Learning to trust a straightforward person.
My 'best of' weren't all released in 2005, it's just that's when I discovered/enjoyed them.
Best book : 'A Primate's Memoir' - Robert Sapolsky : Very well written, the first time I have found myself beginning to understand why someone would think vivisection is acceptable. I still dont, but the author explains his reasons in compelling fashion.
Best single : Gorillaz -'Dare'
Best album : Stereophonics - 'Language, S5x, Violence. Other ? This was Summer.
Best radio : Radio 4's coverage of the Edinburgh Fringe
Best film seen on DVD - Training Day. Ever think you're having a bad day ? Not as bad as the poor sod in this.
Best film seen in the cinema - Star Wars : Revenge of the Sith - At last George Lucas rewards all his 1977 fans with the film we deserved. The audience didn't breathe during the first 15 minutes & it turned out that Hayden Christensen could act after all.
Most eagerly awaited but ultimately disappointing : The Lions tour of NZ - pitiful. Thank goodness I support both sides :)
Resolutions.
I have only two & one depends on some research Mummeh is doing at the moment. If things work out we may be taking a very special holiday together. I don’t want to say much more in case it doesn’t work out.
The second is simple : Don't push cotton buds in too far.
Cx
MilkyNZ’s blog got me thinking about the highs and lows of 2005.
With a complete lack of originality here are mine.
Lows
January.
A very difficult month. I found the tsunami work I did very taxing. Not just because the subject matter was difficult but because I was segregated from my team. I didn’t realise until January how much I rely on the casual de-briefs we have after trying incidents. After one particularly bad day I recall meeting up with the team for a social. My specific aim that evening was to get drunk as quickly as possible to forget the day I’d had. It’s the one & only occasion that I have felt I needed a drink and it gave me a little more sympathy with people whose life puts them in that position on a daily basis.
It was in the early hours of the morning on the 19th that I got the phone call from Andy telling me Milky had been stabbed.
I was happy to see the end of January.
Hurting someone unintentionally with a lack of forethought when I thought I was doing them a favour. I learned a valuable lesson about how I would do it next time. The injured party had the maturity to draw it to my attention and the good grace to forgive me.
Without doubt the most frightening thing to happen to me during 2005 was when I was dragged, courtesy of a bolting horse, across a main road, directly in front of a BMW & a Metro. Only heroic braking on the part of the Metro driver enables me to type this. I was still having flashbacks 3 days later.
Being bullied by a Chief Inspector.
Enough said about that at the time.
Highs
February : Hearing that the detritus who stabbed Milky had been arrested.
August : Holiday to the Lakes, walking Scafell Pike & seeing a red squirrel.
September : A clear mammogram for Mummeh.
November : Girls night in. The first time we had all been together in over a year. Nothing beats a girls night in for the tremendous camaraderie & sense of well-being.
December : Galloping up the Derby start on CB without stirrups (unintentional) & staying on board.
Seeing The Natural History Museum, the building impressed me as much as the exhibits.
Hearing that Eric had passed Part 1 of his exams.
‘Postsecret’
Learning to trust a straightforward person.
My 'best of' weren't all released in 2005, it's just that's when I discovered/enjoyed them.
Best book : 'A Primate's Memoir' - Robert Sapolsky : Very well written, the first time I have found myself beginning to understand why someone would think vivisection is acceptable. I still dont, but the author explains his reasons in compelling fashion.
Best single : Gorillaz -'Dare'
Best album : Stereophonics - 'Language, S5x, Violence. Other ? This was Summer.
Best radio : Radio 4's coverage of the Edinburgh Fringe
Best film seen on DVD - Training Day. Ever think you're having a bad day ? Not as bad as the poor sod in this.
Best film seen in the cinema - Star Wars : Revenge of the Sith - At last George Lucas rewards all his 1977 fans with the film we deserved. The audience didn't breathe during the first 15 minutes & it turned out that Hayden Christensen could act after all.
Most eagerly awaited but ultimately disappointing : The Lions tour of NZ - pitiful. Thank goodness I support both sides :)
Resolutions.
I have only two & one depends on some research Mummeh is doing at the moment. If things work out we may be taking a very special holiday together. I don’t want to say much more in case it doesn’t work out.
The second is simple : Don't push cotton buds in too far.
Cx
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Christmas 2005
Location : The Dairy
Time : 2053
Drinking : Grolsch
Listening to : Roger Sanchez on my gorgeous new metallic blue i-pod mini, I'm in love, how did I ever cope without one of these ?
I paid a flying visit to Yorkshire over the 21st & 22nd, prior to working the 4 earlies over Christmas & I'm so glad I did cos Mummeh was on cracking form. I knew it was a good omen when I made my best ever time up there, 3.5 hours flat door-to-door. Didn't even need the usual concoction of Red Bull & Pro-Plus to keep me awake on the journey.
Arrived to find Mummeh's place looking beautiful in bronze & blue, very impressive given that she has single-handedly unpacked & arranged the house in a little under 8 weeks. Bloody well done you.
Retired to beesies after oohing & aahing over all the decorations & bemoaning the fact that they were all 'much better than mine'.
A fairly easy day followed, comprising of reading & a little light shopping. Not light as in volume but looking for a pewter standard lamp. Unsuccessfully as it turned out, however, we now know what we want having seen what we don't want.
Mummeh has, to my delight, a comprehensive range of mountain/mountaineering books & she's the only person I can visit & not feel guilty about spending an entire day reading.
After braving the biting cold we felt justified in curling up with the moggies to watch War of the Worlds. How naive we were. Mum disappeared into the kitchen, promising to return with a mug of tea & a warmed puff pastry mince pie.
She returned much more quickly than I had expected, looking visibly agitated.
It must be said at this point that Mummeh doesn't do panic. In all the time I've known her (quite a long time) I've never seen her hysterical.
'I don't know what to say' she said as she looked at me sprawled comfortably in an armchair.
Thinking there was a hiccup on the mince pie front I reassured her
'Don't worry if you don't have the puff pastry ones, shortcrust will be fine' I soothed.
'The only thing I can think to do is panic' was her reply.
Which threw me a little.
'Towels !' she suddenly commanded. 'Go get towels !'
I still wasn't sure why, but she said it in a tone which didn't brook argument so I raced up to the bathroom to fetch a sheaf of freshly laundered towels. I followed her into the kitchen wondering if we were expecting a happy event. To find the kitchen 3 inches deep in scalding water.
Turns out the hot water pipe under the sink had split.
I baled whilst she rang her insurance company to obtain the services of an emergency plumber.
I overheard one side of the conversation amidst the sounds of gushing water & scalding flesh.
'Hello, I have an emergency, my kitchen's flooding.'
'No - I don't know where the stopcock is, I've only lived here 2 months.'
'Yes - I appreciate that if I could turn the water off it would help but as I said earlier, I don't know where the stopcock is.
'No - I can't go look for it.'
'Because I'm on the phone to you.'
'You're going to put me through to the emergency line now ?'
'Who are you then ?'
'The call - handling centre ? Of course you are.'
'No, tomorrow evening is not acceptable for a plumber to attend.'
'Ok then, send one tomorrow evening, by then you'll have a huge insurance claim on your hands'
She was then put on hold & had soothing muzak played to her ... Handel perhaps ?
During the muzak & in a stroke of genius, she dialled Doreen from her mobile. You will of course remember Doreen from 'I measured it with my eyes' & other such classic quotes. I am rapidly becoming very fond of Doreen.
Doreen likes to do her own household DIY, she is also great in a crisis.
She arrived in less than 3 minutes & sailed into the kitchen with all the majesty of a galleon in full sail. Removing her shoes & rolling up her shirt she proceeded to grab the pipe & quell the flow. Mummeh had by now turned off the boiler meaning that although the water was still coming at full force, it was at least cold rather than skin peelingly hot.
As she grappled with the pipe she barked at me ...
'Stand behind me, pull that kickboard out from under the sink, put your face on the floor & tell me if you can see a tap.' It's testament to Doreen's force of character that I obeyed unflinchingly.
In the meantime Mummeh explored the croft which is a little room underneath the house containing the gas boiler & other such boring but necessary household bits & pieces. She turned taps this way & that, whilst enduring a cold shower, periodically enquiring if it had 'stopped yet ?'
Finally, some 35 minutes after it had begun, the water was finally staunched when Doreen turned an insignificant looking screw close to the pipe under the sink.
Sodden, the three of us surveyed each other dolefully. Putting an arm around Doreen's shoulder I said 'So, Doreen, how are you ? Happy Christmas by the way'
(Quick break from typing whilst I listen to Da Rude's 'Sandstorm' which brings out the Y-chromosome in me, whilst I'm listening to it I can't type, or do anything else for that matter)
Waving the plumber goodbye, (he couldn't find the stopcock either, which cheered us somewhat) Mummeh & I thankfully sank into position ready to watch War of the Worlds. Alas, it was not to be. Despite the video wheels going turn-y turn-y & the tv & video both being switched on, Tom stubbornly failed to appear on the screen. In a moment of inspiration we realised the tv was not connected to the video with the scart thingy - pah ! Who needs man-magic ?
A quiet day followed in which the most energetic thing we did was to take a turn around Peel Park & to construct some kitty hammocks. Clancy allowed himself to be placed into the hammock & enjoyed it immensely because he is an boy. Hazel, who is an girl, feigned terror & leapt from the terrifying object which was hoisted a whole 30 centimetres from the floor. Recent reports indicate that she has found the courage to sit on the hammock when it is on the floor.
Henry & I headed off into the night, bound for the M1.
As I turned east-bound onto the M62 I received the following text from Mummeh.
'Want a giggle ? Have found stopcock. Ho ho ho'
And so onto Christmas day & early turn.
You would think people could manage without the Old Bill for one day of their lives. Apparently not so. This telephone call provided an illuminating glimpse into somone's married life.
'Come arrest me before I kill my wife'
Sure enough, when Plod turned up, he had smashed a slate chess board over his wife's head. I'm guessing he didn't get the X-box he was hoping for. And the really tragic thing about this call - it was made at 0730 in the morning.
I don't plan to work over Christmas again if I can help it.
After 4 days of earlies, and the obligatory copious eating & drinking I was seriously in need of outdoors time. After collecting Barley yesterday we headed off to my favourite park, Bushy for some very bracing r & r.
Look Mummeh, Bushy was blue & bronze too.
Today was neddy time.
Hannah had already been exercised when I arrived which left CB & Woody. The usual course of events with 2 horses to exercise is to ride CB who is very well-behaved & to lead Woody who is slightly less so. Just recently though Woody has been a little unpredictable. He possesses a sizable buck & has been using it of late. Call me daft but if he was going to muck about I figured I had more control if I was on board rather than leading.
We set off into the frozen Surrey woodland & as is always the way when one is expecting problems, both neddies behaved superbly. Milky pointed out that it may have had something to do with the warning I issued to Woody who tried to bite me as I mounted. It's true, I did threaten to 'kick the sh*t out of him' if he bit me, but I thought it was best if we understood one another from the outset.
Come on Barley
And in closing, these shots are for Mummeh, to back up what people keep saying about Christmas ... it's for the kids isn't it ?
I hope that wherever you are you've had a lovely Christmas & have a great New Year's Eve. I'll doubtless be watching drunken numpties on CCTV kicking the living crap out of each other.
Peace on Earth ? Quite possibly.
Peace in Kingston town centre ? Unlikely.
Cx
ps. Hello to Creaky - got your card thanks & the number from V, will call after nights.
Location : The Dairy
Time : 2053
Drinking : Grolsch
Listening to : Roger Sanchez on my gorgeous new metallic blue i-pod mini, I'm in love, how did I ever cope without one of these ?
I paid a flying visit to Yorkshire over the 21st & 22nd, prior to working the 4 earlies over Christmas & I'm so glad I did cos Mummeh was on cracking form. I knew it was a good omen when I made my best ever time up there, 3.5 hours flat door-to-door. Didn't even need the usual concoction of Red Bull & Pro-Plus to keep me awake on the journey.
Arrived to find Mummeh's place looking beautiful in bronze & blue, very impressive given that she has single-handedly unpacked & arranged the house in a little under 8 weeks. Bloody well done you.
Retired to beesies after oohing & aahing over all the decorations & bemoaning the fact that they were all 'much better than mine'.
A fairly easy day followed, comprising of reading & a little light shopping. Not light as in volume but looking for a pewter standard lamp. Unsuccessfully as it turned out, however, we now know what we want having seen what we don't want.
Mummeh has, to my delight, a comprehensive range of mountain/mountaineering books & she's the only person I can visit & not feel guilty about spending an entire day reading.
After braving the biting cold we felt justified in curling up with the moggies to watch War of the Worlds. How naive we were. Mum disappeared into the kitchen, promising to return with a mug of tea & a warmed puff pastry mince pie.
She returned much more quickly than I had expected, looking visibly agitated.
It must be said at this point that Mummeh doesn't do panic. In all the time I've known her (quite a long time) I've never seen her hysterical.
'I don't know what to say' she said as she looked at me sprawled comfortably in an armchair.
Thinking there was a hiccup on the mince pie front I reassured her
'Don't worry if you don't have the puff pastry ones, shortcrust will be fine' I soothed.
'The only thing I can think to do is panic' was her reply.
Which threw me a little.
'Towels !' she suddenly commanded. 'Go get towels !'
I still wasn't sure why, but she said it in a tone which didn't brook argument so I raced up to the bathroom to fetch a sheaf of freshly laundered towels. I followed her into the kitchen wondering if we were expecting a happy event. To find the kitchen 3 inches deep in scalding water.
Turns out the hot water pipe under the sink had split.
I baled whilst she rang her insurance company to obtain the services of an emergency plumber.
I overheard one side of the conversation amidst the sounds of gushing water & scalding flesh.
'Hello, I have an emergency, my kitchen's flooding.'
'No - I don't know where the stopcock is, I've only lived here 2 months.'
'Yes - I appreciate that if I could turn the water off it would help but as I said earlier, I don't know where the stopcock is.
'No - I can't go look for it.'
'Because I'm on the phone to you.'
'You're going to put me through to the emergency line now ?'
'Who are you then ?'
'The call - handling centre ? Of course you are.'
'No, tomorrow evening is not acceptable for a plumber to attend.'
'Ok then, send one tomorrow evening, by then you'll have a huge insurance claim on your hands'
She was then put on hold & had soothing muzak played to her ... Handel perhaps ?
During the muzak & in a stroke of genius, she dialled Doreen from her mobile. You will of course remember Doreen from 'I measured it with my eyes' & other such classic quotes. I am rapidly becoming very fond of Doreen.
Doreen likes to do her own household DIY, she is also great in a crisis.
She arrived in less than 3 minutes & sailed into the kitchen with all the majesty of a galleon in full sail. Removing her shoes & rolling up her shirt she proceeded to grab the pipe & quell the flow. Mummeh had by now turned off the boiler meaning that although the water was still coming at full force, it was at least cold rather than skin peelingly hot.
As she grappled with the pipe she barked at me ...
'Stand behind me, pull that kickboard out from under the sink, put your face on the floor & tell me if you can see a tap.' It's testament to Doreen's force of character that I obeyed unflinchingly.
In the meantime Mummeh explored the croft which is a little room underneath the house containing the gas boiler & other such boring but necessary household bits & pieces. She turned taps this way & that, whilst enduring a cold shower, periodically enquiring if it had 'stopped yet ?'
Finally, some 35 minutes after it had begun, the water was finally staunched when Doreen turned an insignificant looking screw close to the pipe under the sink.
Sodden, the three of us surveyed each other dolefully. Putting an arm around Doreen's shoulder I said 'So, Doreen, how are you ? Happy Christmas by the way'
(Quick break from typing whilst I listen to Da Rude's 'Sandstorm' which brings out the Y-chromosome in me, whilst I'm listening to it I can't type, or do anything else for that matter)
Waving the plumber goodbye, (he couldn't find the stopcock either, which cheered us somewhat) Mummeh & I thankfully sank into position ready to watch War of the Worlds. Alas, it was not to be. Despite the video wheels going turn-y turn-y & the tv & video both being switched on, Tom stubbornly failed to appear on the screen. In a moment of inspiration we realised the tv was not connected to the video with the scart thingy - pah ! Who needs man-magic ?
A quiet day followed in which the most energetic thing we did was to take a turn around Peel Park & to construct some kitty hammocks. Clancy allowed himself to be placed into the hammock & enjoyed it immensely because he is an boy. Hazel, who is an girl, feigned terror & leapt from the terrifying object which was hoisted a whole 30 centimetres from the floor. Recent reports indicate that she has found the courage to sit on the hammock when it is on the floor.
Henry & I headed off into the night, bound for the M1.
As I turned east-bound onto the M62 I received the following text from Mummeh.
'Want a giggle ? Have found stopcock. Ho ho ho'
And so onto Christmas day & early turn.
You would think people could manage without the Old Bill for one day of their lives. Apparently not so. This telephone call provided an illuminating glimpse into somone's married life.
'Come arrest me before I kill my wife'
Sure enough, when Plod turned up, he had smashed a slate chess board over his wife's head. I'm guessing he didn't get the X-box he was hoping for. And the really tragic thing about this call - it was made at 0730 in the morning.
I don't plan to work over Christmas again if I can help it.
After 4 days of earlies, and the obligatory copious eating & drinking I was seriously in need of outdoors time. After collecting Barley yesterday we headed off to my favourite park, Bushy for some very bracing r & r.
Look Mummeh, Bushy was blue & bronze too.
Today was neddy time.
Hannah had already been exercised when I arrived which left CB & Woody. The usual course of events with 2 horses to exercise is to ride CB who is very well-behaved & to lead Woody who is slightly less so. Just recently though Woody has been a little unpredictable. He possesses a sizable buck & has been using it of late. Call me daft but if he was going to muck about I figured I had more control if I was on board rather than leading.
We set off into the frozen Surrey woodland & as is always the way when one is expecting problems, both neddies behaved superbly. Milky pointed out that it may have had something to do with the warning I issued to Woody who tried to bite me as I mounted. It's true, I did threaten to 'kick the sh*t out of him' if he bit me, but I thought it was best if we understood one another from the outset.
Come on Barley
And in closing, these shots are for Mummeh, to back up what people keep saying about Christmas ... it's for the kids isn't it ?
I hope that wherever you are you've had a lovely Christmas & have a great New Year's Eve. I'll doubtless be watching drunken numpties on CCTV kicking the living crap out of each other.
Peace on Earth ? Quite possibly.
Peace in Kingston town centre ? Unlikely.
Cx
ps. Hello to Creaky - got your card thanks & the number from V, will call after nights.
Monday, December 26, 2005
Take one turkey
The Christmas market is flooded with celebrity cook books at this time of year.
Here’s my take on Christmas dinner.
Prepare sprouts, potatoes, carrots, place in cold water.
Consume one glass of champagne.
Take one turkey, wash, pat dry.
Heat oven.
Put turkey in oven.
Place oil for roast potatoes in hot oven.
Smell burning 20 minutes later.
Discard burned oil.
Place more oil for potatoes in oven.
Consume second glass of champagne.
Put potatoes into heated oil, reminding oneself to turn & baste them to prevent burning.
Smell burning 30 minutes later.
Turn & baste burned potatoes.
Baste turkey.
Put sprouts on to begin traditional hour- long simmer.
Place chestnuts in oven.
Remove burned potatoes from oven, cut blackened bottoms from each potato, salvaging non-carcinogenic bits.
Drop one potato, unheeded, to floor.
Step on same potato, barefoot, thus perfecting technique of mashing potato through toes.
Hurriedly lift right foot to inspect developing burn & simultaneously place left foot onto sticky lid of ‘pigs in blankets’ (dropped unheeded earlier)
Hop across kitchen floor, shaking left foot to try & discard lid, kick lone, uncooked chestnut underneath washing machine.
Hear loud explosion from oven.
Decide chestnuts are ready.
Put carrots on.
Begin to prepare gravy, reminding oneself to turn it down to simmer.
Smell burning 5 minutes later, discover gravy has black bits in.
Decide to sieve gravy to remove lumps.
Forget to place gravy receptacle in sink.
Sieve good gravy down plug, left with black bits & congealed gravy.
Drink another glass of champagne.
Serve meal & enjoy.
Happy Christmas,
Cx
The Christmas market is flooded with celebrity cook books at this time of year.
Here’s my take on Christmas dinner.
Prepare sprouts, potatoes, carrots, place in cold water.
Consume one glass of champagne.
Take one turkey, wash, pat dry.
Heat oven.
Put turkey in oven.
Place oil for roast potatoes in hot oven.
Smell burning 20 minutes later.
Discard burned oil.
Place more oil for potatoes in oven.
Consume second glass of champagne.
Put potatoes into heated oil, reminding oneself to turn & baste them to prevent burning.
Smell burning 30 minutes later.
Turn & baste burned potatoes.
Baste turkey.
Put sprouts on to begin traditional hour- long simmer.
Place chestnuts in oven.
Remove burned potatoes from oven, cut blackened bottoms from each potato, salvaging non-carcinogenic bits.
Drop one potato, unheeded, to floor.
Step on same potato, barefoot, thus perfecting technique of mashing potato through toes.
Hurriedly lift right foot to inspect developing burn & simultaneously place left foot onto sticky lid of ‘pigs in blankets’ (dropped unheeded earlier)
Hop across kitchen floor, shaking left foot to try & discard lid, kick lone, uncooked chestnut underneath washing machine.
Hear loud explosion from oven.
Decide chestnuts are ready.
Put carrots on.
Begin to prepare gravy, reminding oneself to turn it down to simmer.
Smell burning 5 minutes later, discover gravy has black bits in.
Decide to sieve gravy to remove lumps.
Forget to place gravy receptacle in sink.
Sieve good gravy down plug, left with black bits & congealed gravy.
Drink another glass of champagne.
Serve meal & enjoy.
Happy Christmas,
Cx
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Mummeh got me a tree !
It's here ; Forest: Nairnside, Inverness-shire, Scotland
Which means of course, I have to go find it now.
MilkyNZ, I haven't taken a piccy of my Christmas tree yet, so here's another one in the meantime.
I love trees - me (was that right MTM ?)
Off to Mummeh's for a short visit now, back soon.
Cx
It's here ; Forest: Nairnside, Inverness-shire, Scotland
Which means of course, I have to go find it now.
MilkyNZ, I haven't taken a piccy of my Christmas tree yet, so here's another one in the meantime.
I love trees - me (was that right MTM ?)
Off to Mummeh's for a short visit now, back soon.
Cx
Monday, December 12, 2005
This time last year I was utterly miserable
I had returned from a fantastic holiday in NZ with absolutely no intention of acknowledging Christmas in any way, shape or form.
In actual fact I was hoping to hide in NZ & not come back at all.
It was no one thing causing me heartache, more a sequence of events which when taken together seemed utterly overwhelming.
My Gran had made her feelings towards me clear by failing to acknowledge me with a card for the 1st time. I had received some news which even though it shouldn’t have, had knocked me for six. My personal life was in turmoil. I was nursing painful links which were doing me no good. And I was strongly drawn to someone who was unavailable. If I told you I spent a lot of time listening to ‘O’ by Damien Rice you can probably surmise my mood.
The icing on this emotional cake was receiving a Christmas card from the mother of my 1st boyfriend – M. This in itself is nothing unusual, we have swapped cards without fail since I first met M, some 19 years now (god that’s scary to type) I was with M for 5 years & will admit to you lot that the last 18 months of our relationship were spent with me wondering how to tell his mother that we were over.
In the end, she wasn’t surprised at all – people always know don’t they ? And she cheered me up no end by saying that just because M & I were no longer, there was no reason for us to cease contact.
I’m rambling. The point being that usually she fills me in on a little of M’s news, you know the kind of thing ‘he’s engaged, he’s married, the 1st child’s just been born’ etc etc. The usual pattern of life. I usually receive each snippet of news with equanimity, pleased that a decent bloke is enjoying his life. Last year’s card was a little more detailed & included reference to his canny property investment, resulting in a North Yorks farmhouse, wife, 3 kids, a pony & chickens.
A PONY ? A PONY ?? WHAT ???
Hang on ? Wasn’t that meant to be me ?
All of a sudden (possibly because of the mention of a pony) I had cast myself as the wronged, badly-done to woman. This of course was nonsense. We weren’t right for one another & he was yearning for a family when we were both very young (We were both 21 when we separated after 5 years)
Had I received the card any other time of the year I think I would have read it & thought nothing more of it but arriving as it did when I was wobbly, it did untold bad things to my psyche.
Everywhere I looked, handsome couples were cosying up to one another whilst snowflakes fell on their cashmere hats & settled on their glossy eyelashes (alright I’m exaggerating but you know what I mean)
I recall standing, weeping silently, in Clinton’s like a total fool, reading all the ‘Blue Without You’ teddy bear cards. Those sodding things should be put where the likes of me can’t reach them.
Bill may recall a text conversation from this time, the week before Christmas.
Bill ‘Hello – how are you ?’
Me ‘Not good’
Bill ‘Can I ring you’
Me ‘No’
Bill (quite reasonably) ‘Why not’
Me ‘Can’t answer’
Bill ‘Why not’
Me ‘Don’t have the energy to talk’
Bill ‘Ok – tell me what’s wrong by text then’
Me ‘No point’
Bill ‘Go on, you never know, it might help’
Me ‘Well, my 1st boyfriend… 1986 … blah blah blah blah blah … etc etc … ad infinitum …pony … unavailable … lonely … hate Christmas … love New Zealand … pony … no life here … didn’t want to come home …life is going nowhere … everyone has someone but me … and I shouldn’t even care … but I do … 1st Christmas Gran has blanked me … etc etc etc
Bill
Me ‘Bill are you still awake ?
My overwhelming feeling was one of loneliness, which is odd given what great friends I have. When I told Weeny what a lousy time I’d had (afterwards needless to say when it was too late) she chided me by saying ‘I’m 5 minutes away, you need never be lonely’ and it’s true, she is. Thing is, the distance was irrelevant. My 3 closest girlfriends are all within a 30 minute drive. I don’t know about you but when I’m fed up I withdraw, convinced people won’t like me (not unreasonable, when I’m down, I don’t like me) I don’t feel I can face the world or people until I’ve staged enough of a recovery to at least wash my hair.
My plans for Christmas Day were to ride in the morning & spend the day at home alone. I told Bloo of my plans. Luckily for me Mr & Mrs Bloo wouldn’t hear of it. I was told in no uncertain terms that I would be spending the day with them in Fleet. Funny thing is, once I got there, the thought of being alone scared me & I ended up staying there for 3 days. I was totally & utterly spoiled, got very drunk & asked far too many personal questions of my hosts, all of which were answered in their usual good humour.
Me ; ‘So how EXACTLY did you two know that you were right for each other ?
It must have been with many a sigh of relief that they waved me off.
After Mr Bloo liberated me from the bathroom, where I had been trapped for 20 minutes.
Where am I going with this ? You may well ask. If you’ve stuck with me for this long you’re either interested to delve into another person’s psyche or you’re bored at work & have internet access.
I model myself on The Lovely Angie when it comes to organisation. It is Angie who sends the hand-written thank you notes, Angie who pops photos of her kitties in the post to me for no good reason, Angie who finds funny newspaper clippings including dogs or neddies, Angie who forwards the weekly funny Round Robin e-mail (that will stop now, come to think of it, now that she’s going to be busy with flowers all day)
And crucially, the first Christmas card I ever receive is always from Lovely Angie. I’ve always promised myself I would be more like Lovely Angie if only I had more time. Which is ludicrous, I have more time than anyone I know. I’ve always fallen woefully short on my self-imposed comparison.
But.
This year, by the 11th of December & I had posted all my packages and all my cards. Please read that line again – go on, indulge me – I’ve never been able to write it before.
Yesterday I went to the Post Office, lovingly wrapped packages clutched in my sweaty grasp & reluctantly handed them over to a man who assured me they were safely bound for distant shores (10,000 miles away to be accurate).
The feeling of well-being I have from knowing that everything is done cannot be over-estimated. I know I’m easily pleased but let’s remember you’re reading about a person that enjoys vacuuming with a Dyson purely to see the chamber fill with dust.
In the next week I have something to look forward to every day.
Tomorrow = Day off, hunting for sheepskin kitty hammocks (don’t ask)
Some outdoors time
Evening = Christmas drinks & a meal with our lovely Guv’nor.
Tuesday = Riding during the day.
Evening = Olympia horse show in the evening.
For me Olympia is Christmas.
Wednesday = Early turn.
Evening = Cinema to see ‘March of the Penguins’
Thursday = Early turn.
Evening = with Lovely Ang.
Friday = Early turn.
Evening = Ice-skating & candle-lit Carol concert at Kew Gardens.
Saturday. = Day off. Haircut.
Evening = Work Christmas do at v.posh hotel.
I shall be very well-behaved.
This year I am working Christmas Day, Boxing Day, The Day When Briggsies were born, New Year’s Eve, New Years Day & the next 5 days after New years Day & do you know ? – I don’t mind at all. Apart from the financial renumeration that comes with working 5 Bank Holidays the difference is this year …
…I’m looking forward to Christmas.
If, for any reason you’re not, my thoughts are with you.
Cx
I had returned from a fantastic holiday in NZ with absolutely no intention of acknowledging Christmas in any way, shape or form.
In actual fact I was hoping to hide in NZ & not come back at all.
It was no one thing causing me heartache, more a sequence of events which when taken together seemed utterly overwhelming.
My Gran had made her feelings towards me clear by failing to acknowledge me with a card for the 1st time. I had received some news which even though it shouldn’t have, had knocked me for six. My personal life was in turmoil. I was nursing painful links which were doing me no good. And I was strongly drawn to someone who was unavailable. If I told you I spent a lot of time listening to ‘O’ by Damien Rice you can probably surmise my mood.
The icing on this emotional cake was receiving a Christmas card from the mother of my 1st boyfriend – M. This in itself is nothing unusual, we have swapped cards without fail since I first met M, some 19 years now (god that’s scary to type) I was with M for 5 years & will admit to you lot that the last 18 months of our relationship were spent with me wondering how to tell his mother that we were over.
In the end, she wasn’t surprised at all – people always know don’t they ? And she cheered me up no end by saying that just because M & I were no longer, there was no reason for us to cease contact.
I’m rambling. The point being that usually she fills me in on a little of M’s news, you know the kind of thing ‘he’s engaged, he’s married, the 1st child’s just been born’ etc etc. The usual pattern of life. I usually receive each snippet of news with equanimity, pleased that a decent bloke is enjoying his life. Last year’s card was a little more detailed & included reference to his canny property investment, resulting in a North Yorks farmhouse, wife, 3 kids, a pony & chickens.
A PONY ? A PONY ?? WHAT ???
Hang on ? Wasn’t that meant to be me ?
All of a sudden (possibly because of the mention of a pony) I had cast myself as the wronged, badly-done to woman. This of course was nonsense. We weren’t right for one another & he was yearning for a family when we were both very young (We were both 21 when we separated after 5 years)
Had I received the card any other time of the year I think I would have read it & thought nothing more of it but arriving as it did when I was wobbly, it did untold bad things to my psyche.
Everywhere I looked, handsome couples were cosying up to one another whilst snowflakes fell on their cashmere hats & settled on their glossy eyelashes (alright I’m exaggerating but you know what I mean)
I recall standing, weeping silently, in Clinton’s like a total fool, reading all the ‘Blue Without You’ teddy bear cards. Those sodding things should be put where the likes of me can’t reach them.
Bill may recall a text conversation from this time, the week before Christmas.
Bill ‘Hello – how are you ?’
Me ‘Not good’
Bill ‘Can I ring you’
Me ‘No’
Bill (quite reasonably) ‘Why not’
Me ‘Can’t answer’
Bill ‘Why not’
Me ‘Don’t have the energy to talk’
Bill ‘Ok – tell me what’s wrong by text then’
Me ‘No point’
Bill ‘Go on, you never know, it might help’
Me ‘Well, my 1st boyfriend… 1986 … blah blah blah blah blah … etc etc … ad infinitum …pony … unavailable … lonely … hate Christmas … love New Zealand … pony … no life here … didn’t want to come home …life is going nowhere … everyone has someone but me … and I shouldn’t even care … but I do … 1st Christmas Gran has blanked me … etc etc etc
Bill
Me ‘Bill are you still awake ?
My overwhelming feeling was one of loneliness, which is odd given what great friends I have. When I told Weeny what a lousy time I’d had (afterwards needless to say when it was too late) she chided me by saying ‘I’m 5 minutes away, you need never be lonely’ and it’s true, she is. Thing is, the distance was irrelevant. My 3 closest girlfriends are all within a 30 minute drive. I don’t know about you but when I’m fed up I withdraw, convinced people won’t like me (not unreasonable, when I’m down, I don’t like me) I don’t feel I can face the world or people until I’ve staged enough of a recovery to at least wash my hair.
My plans for Christmas Day were to ride in the morning & spend the day at home alone. I told Bloo of my plans. Luckily for me Mr & Mrs Bloo wouldn’t hear of it. I was told in no uncertain terms that I would be spending the day with them in Fleet. Funny thing is, once I got there, the thought of being alone scared me & I ended up staying there for 3 days. I was totally & utterly spoiled, got very drunk & asked far too many personal questions of my hosts, all of which were answered in their usual good humour.
Me ; ‘So how EXACTLY did you two know that you were right for each other ?
It must have been with many a sigh of relief that they waved me off.
After Mr Bloo liberated me from the bathroom, where I had been trapped for 20 minutes.
Where am I going with this ? You may well ask. If you’ve stuck with me for this long you’re either interested to delve into another person’s psyche or you’re bored at work & have internet access.
I model myself on The Lovely Angie when it comes to organisation. It is Angie who sends the hand-written thank you notes, Angie who pops photos of her kitties in the post to me for no good reason, Angie who finds funny newspaper clippings including dogs or neddies, Angie who forwards the weekly funny Round Robin e-mail (that will stop now, come to think of it, now that she’s going to be busy with flowers all day)
And crucially, the first Christmas card I ever receive is always from Lovely Angie. I’ve always promised myself I would be more like Lovely Angie if only I had more time. Which is ludicrous, I have more time than anyone I know. I’ve always fallen woefully short on my self-imposed comparison.
But.
This year, by the 11th of December & I had posted all my packages and all my cards. Please read that line again – go on, indulge me – I’ve never been able to write it before.
Yesterday I went to the Post Office, lovingly wrapped packages clutched in my sweaty grasp & reluctantly handed them over to a man who assured me they were safely bound for distant shores (10,000 miles away to be accurate).
The feeling of well-being I have from knowing that everything is done cannot be over-estimated. I know I’m easily pleased but let’s remember you’re reading about a person that enjoys vacuuming with a Dyson purely to see the chamber fill with dust.
In the next week I have something to look forward to every day.
Tomorrow = Day off, hunting for sheepskin kitty hammocks (don’t ask)
Some outdoors time
Evening = Christmas drinks & a meal with our lovely Guv’nor.
Tuesday = Riding during the day.
Evening = Olympia horse show in the evening.
For me Olympia is Christmas.
Wednesday = Early turn.
Evening = Cinema to see ‘March of the Penguins’
Thursday = Early turn.
Evening = with Lovely Ang.
Friday = Early turn.
Evening = Ice-skating & candle-lit Carol concert at Kew Gardens.
Saturday. = Day off. Haircut.
Evening = Work Christmas do at v.posh hotel.
I shall be very well-behaved.
This year I am working Christmas Day, Boxing Day, The Day When Briggsies were born, New Year’s Eve, New Years Day & the next 5 days after New years Day & do you know ? – I don’t mind at all. Apart from the financial renumeration that comes with working 5 Bank Holidays the difference is this year …
…I’m looking forward to Christmas.
If, for any reason you’re not, my thoughts are with you.
Cx
Friday, December 09, 2005
Eric Tanner QGM : Barrister & Solicitor
Lifeboat crewman, butcher's apprentice, copper, farmer, kennel hand & I've probably missed a few along the way ; Eric's a bloke who can turn his hand to pretty much what he fancies.
I recall a conversation with Michelle when she was spending the night with a group of girlfriends. Talk turned to their partners & the girls asked each other 'If you weren't with your partner, which of your friends partners would you choose ?' Each woman went for Eric & it's not hard to know why.
This is a man I once caught unawares, on his knees, air guitar clasped firmly to his loins, thrashing out a rendition of Clash's version of 'Little Donkey'. He had given it his all to entertain his daughters & I rather sneakily stood in total silence at the doorway until he finished. I then said quietly, 'So this is what you lot get up to when Michelle's at work is it ?' I don't think I've ever seen anyone laugh as much.
It's the same man who passed his exams in England to be a barrister & solicitor only to be informed that NZ didn't recognise his qualifications. So he set about taking them again. And again. Until he passed. Hooray.
I recall Eric sitting at the dining room table, concentrating amongst the noises of family life, muttering to himself, 'I don't understand any of what I've just read ... what the hell ... ?' I used to go off to work thanking my lucky stars that I didn't have the dedication Eric had.
This is a man who shoots possums in the nude.
A man who stands with a gooey smile on his face watching piglets cavorting but who will calmly & efficiently slaughter that same piglet and turn it into a link of sausages (the proper twirly, looped up ones & everything.)
A man who turned to me after the fire brigade left after putting out the fire that I started which nearly destroyed his family's home & livelihood & said 'Don't worry - It'll make a great blog entry'
A man whose most oft-used refrain when things get sticky is 'When I was a merchant seaman...' I didn't realise until knowing Eric for a whole year that this was a wind-up & he'd never been a merchant seaman.
A man who loves his Inky-Stinky gundog (who isn't - a gundog that is)
A man who 'can't squat' .
When Eric came to Old Boys last year he drove my car for a couple of days. My insurance company wanted to know what he did for a living. I explained that he worked for the council, assisted with registering dogs, controlling strays, offering advice to errant owners and so on. 'We'll put kennel hand shall we ?' said the pimply school-leaver on the phone. It's typical of Eric that he guffawed uproariously when I told him & now refers to himself in our conversations as a kennel hand.
In one of our rambling conversations (is there any other) Eric once told me that the Diana fountain in Bushy Park had strong ties to his family. Knowing that Eric's folks are comfortable I assumed he meant that they had in some way contributed to the build or sponsored the design. 'How are you linked to it ?' I asked naively. 'We always stand in front of it to have our photos taken' he laughed.
I resolved to get a picture of it next time I visited the park.
My opportunity came last Tuesday on a clear & golden December evening & I got these shots for you Eric.
This first one is the classic calendar shot
But I prefer this one, in which the swans are quite clearly showing what they think of their statue.
Congratulations Eric and well done Michelle for taking on such a busy year to give Eric the time he needed to study. Once again you two have proved your stickability.
Cx
Lifeboat crewman, butcher's apprentice, copper, farmer, kennel hand & I've probably missed a few along the way ; Eric's a bloke who can turn his hand to pretty much what he fancies.
I recall a conversation with Michelle when she was spending the night with a group of girlfriends. Talk turned to their partners & the girls asked each other 'If you weren't with your partner, which of your friends partners would you choose ?' Each woman went for Eric & it's not hard to know why.
This is a man I once caught unawares, on his knees, air guitar clasped firmly to his loins, thrashing out a rendition of Clash's version of 'Little Donkey'. He had given it his all to entertain his daughters & I rather sneakily stood in total silence at the doorway until he finished. I then said quietly, 'So this is what you lot get up to when Michelle's at work is it ?' I don't think I've ever seen anyone laugh as much.
It's the same man who passed his exams in England to be a barrister & solicitor only to be informed that NZ didn't recognise his qualifications. So he set about taking them again. And again. Until he passed. Hooray.
I recall Eric sitting at the dining room table, concentrating amongst the noises of family life, muttering to himself, 'I don't understand any of what I've just read ... what the hell ... ?' I used to go off to work thanking my lucky stars that I didn't have the dedication Eric had.
This is a man who shoots possums in the nude.
A man who stands with a gooey smile on his face watching piglets cavorting but who will calmly & efficiently slaughter that same piglet and turn it into a link of sausages (the proper twirly, looped up ones & everything.)
A man who turned to me after the fire brigade left after putting out the fire that I started which nearly destroyed his family's home & livelihood & said 'Don't worry - It'll make a great blog entry'
A man whose most oft-used refrain when things get sticky is 'When I was a merchant seaman...' I didn't realise until knowing Eric for a whole year that this was a wind-up & he'd never been a merchant seaman.
A man who loves his Inky-Stinky gundog (who isn't - a gundog that is)
A man who 'can't squat' .
When Eric came to Old Boys last year he drove my car for a couple of days. My insurance company wanted to know what he did for a living. I explained that he worked for the council, assisted with registering dogs, controlling strays, offering advice to errant owners and so on. 'We'll put kennel hand shall we ?' said the pimply school-leaver on the phone. It's typical of Eric that he guffawed uproariously when I told him & now refers to himself in our conversations as a kennel hand.
In one of our rambling conversations (is there any other) Eric once told me that the Diana fountain in Bushy Park had strong ties to his family. Knowing that Eric's folks are comfortable I assumed he meant that they had in some way contributed to the build or sponsored the design. 'How are you linked to it ?' I asked naively. 'We always stand in front of it to have our photos taken' he laughed.
I resolved to get a picture of it next time I visited the park.
My opportunity came last Tuesday on a clear & golden December evening & I got these shots for you Eric.
This first one is the classic calendar shot
But I prefer this one, in which the swans are quite clearly showing what they think of their statue.
Congratulations Eric and well done Michelle for taking on such a busy year to give Eric the time he needed to study. Once again you two have proved your stickability.
Cx
Saturday, December 03, 2005
Time to get the electric blanket from the loft
Make a cup of tea, get yourself comfy, this is going to be a long one.
So much for updating twice weekly.
Where were we last time ?
I think I had just been to Yorks to help Mum move at the end of October.
Firstly, with reference to the title, the electric blanket was placed reverentially on the bed a couple of weeks ago. There are some people who claim they like to get into a cold bed & warm it up gradually. There is a name for these people - sick.
In conjunction with the electric blanket the spare duvet was coerced along with the existing one into the duvet cover. The entire thing now has a weighty quality ensuring no movement in bed is possible. Going to bed has now become a religious experience. The best thing about blankie is that I can still leave the bedroom window open because I like the fresh air on my face but the rest of my body resembles a small nuclear explosion.
At the beginning of November, on this man’s recommendation, the MilkMan & I went here
on the shores of Windermere. On Mum's advice I've always favoured the North end of the Lakes for summer visits but Windermere in November makes perfect sense.
We were treating ourselves to a few days r & r to make up for working Christmas & New Years. The place was old, the furnishings exquisite & the service discreet & professional. What bliss to eat a meal in a venue where the staff don’t interrupt every 20 minutes to ask ‘if everthing’s alright ?’ If it’s not – I’ll tell you, how’s that ?
It was marvellous.
We did some of this.
Note MTM, walking pole & compass just to irritate you. Pole, not stick.
Is it lunchtime yet ?
We climbed one of these.
Those of us who didn’t know where we were had to do this.
Those who did, could afford to relax & do this.
All in all, the break in the great outdoors made me feel like this.
Shiny, happy people.
Anticipating a grim return journey on the M6 we stopped at the services & I introduced Milky to one of my passions – talking books. Ian Rankin was the author of choice & the particular book was ‘Blood Hunt’. I really enjoyed it & I know Milky did – he’s never been quiet for that long before.
After a quick turnaround I found myself in Dublin for the weekend, celebrating Cocky’s birthday with her sister Helen & 7 more friends. With some good fortune we found ourselves in the gorgeous Bewleys Hotel, Ballsbridge
Briggsy, Pam, Cocky, Rae.
(I remembered the name Piggy !) We were 10 minutes away from Lansdowne Road on a weekend when Ireland were playing the All Blacks at home. Dublin – a city never short of people looking to enjoy themselves was further enriched by thousands of happy Kiwis.
On the Friday night we headed out to explore & found ourselves at a Cuban restaurant beginning dinner at 1015 pm. I discovered that night that I do like Cuban cuisine but don’t like mango margueritas. I will happily admit to being very pleased to see my bed.
If only all hotels had feather pillows, feather duvets & crisp white cotton bedding the world would be a happier place. I’ve never slept in feather bedding before but have since written to Santa.
This guy travels with me wherever I go, it amused me no end to find the maid had placed him thus.
On Saturday we did what every visitor to Dublin has to do & hopped on a tour bus to go to the Guinness factory. I last visited a couple of years ago for Lovely Angie’s birthday but it’s well worth a second visit. The building itself is lovely, lots of girders & glass,
the exhibits thoughtful & interesting & I had a gorgeous seafood chowder here.
We then went to the stunning Gravity Bar
which offers unrivalled 7th floor, 360 degrees of Dublin but (get this Ang) left after one complimentary pint & headed off to the shops. I can safely say the shops, or at least the ones we found ourselves in) were awful … a seething mass of humanity & clothes in displays which as Helen put it ‘resembled waterfalls’ due to the churning mass of human hands grabbing at them.
Those of us who were exhausted (me) headed back to the hotel for a very quick 20 minute nap. Feeling hugely refreshed I met up with the others in the hotel lobby
Lynn, Helen, Cocky, Rae, Lynn, Avril, Briggsy
& at Avril’s suggestion we headed off for a cocktail at the next door Four Seasons Hotel. (50 million euros to build according to a local cabbie) This happened to be a stroke of genius on Avril’s part for the Ice Bar in the Four Seasons was simply gorgeous. Only the prices & our booking at our Thai restaurant Diep Le Shaker (or the ‘People Shaker’ as Cocky insisted in referring to it all weekend) put us off staying the entire night.
Pam, Avril & Cocky in The People Shaker
After a delicious meal we set off into Dublin looking for fun. I forget the name of the first pub we went to but we knew it was going to be lively when the cabbie said ‘Are you sure ?’ Turns out it was too packed to get inside so we stood freezing outside quizzing the locals & trying to find somewhere to dance until the early hours. After a couple of false starts our guide John turned up trumps & led us to a very swanky club which is allegedly Colin Farrell’s club of choice.
None of the people we spoke to the next day could understand how we had come to be admitted to this very exclusive club. Delving into our alcohol-smudged memory banks we re-called that we had entered by a fire-escape & not the main entrance thereby avoiding the extortionate entry fee. Result.
Easily the best thing about visiting Dublin this time was the total no-smokng ban in public. I didn't realise how much smoke ruined a night out until I woke up on both Saturday & Sunday mornings wondering what felt different. The it occurred to me - no smell of smoke in my hair & on my clothes. I didn't have the hangover I deserved on either morning either, which makes me think smoke must be a contributory factor to feeling rough.
Ireland has very wisely embraced a total no-smoking ban whilst here in England our government has opted for a half-arsed 'no smoking where there's food being served' ban. I speak from first hand experience when I say the pubs & clubs in Ireland are doing a roaring trade, so any of this nonsense about pubs going out of business is just that - nonsense. I also know of several friends who say they only smoke after having a few drinks, if they weren't allowed to, that would help hem too (I'm aware that sounds fascist - never mind.)
I digress, back to the night out, I had a fantastic night cavorting & assume everyone else did too ?
After a good breakfast the next morning we headed off to our respective parts of the world agreeing that next time it would be Prague for Rae’s 40th.
On my next set of rest days I fulfilled a long-held ambition & dragged Milky off here
to the Natural History Museum. I wasn’t disappointed. Emerging from the tube at South Ken had me slack-jawed. I turned to Milky & demanded
‘Have you been here before ?’
‘Yes – why ?’
‘Why didn’t you tell me how utterly gorgeous this building is ?’
‘I was seven’ – he replied calmly.
The inside lived up to the promise of the exterior. I'm with Murray in finding natural objects more fulfilling to photograph than man-made ones. On this occasion though I'm happy to contradict myself. Everything about this building sums up what's laudable about English heritage & culture.
We got there shortly after opening, stayed until closing & still didn’t manage to see everything. My personal favourite was the Wildlife Photographer of the Year exhibition. £6 seemed a little steep until I saw the exhibition. Dozens of photos were displayed on wall-mounted back-lit plinths & in a smaller seated hangar-type enclosure a display of the best images from the last 20 years were running on a loop to a background of recorded natural sounds like cicadas & loons. Entrancing.
We left the building at dusk, which was a great time to appreciate the ice-rink. The trees around the rink had been draped in lights & they reflected off the rink like huge strings of shimmering pearls. A lovely day.
Nights is easily my favourite shift, partly because the work is more interesting, partly because the management don’t appear, but mostly because nights is when I have Barley. This means my routine is as follows … Leave work, take Barley for a 20 minute run in the freezing cold, go home, switch on electric blanket, make Weetabix with hot milk, get into toasty bed at 0700, get up at 1300, ride between 1400 & 1600 then back to bed by 1800 for another hour’s sleep. Riding with Barley adds a whole new dimension to the pleasure. The horses exercise Barley in a way I never could & there’s nothing finer than seeing Barley running flat-out alongside the horse. Speaking of which …
Happy Birthday Barley.
7 years young as of 26th November and only today a lady saw her whilst we were out riding & said ‘Ah he’s lovely, how old is your puppy ?’ People always think Barley is a boy ? Barley's present was a chicken dinner - it didn't last long.
Horses make life good.
I have ridden 6 days from the last 10 & each day has been different. Some have been misty & still.
Others have been clear & sharp. This was the sunset I was treated to coming off Mickleham Gallops on my favourite boy CB. This alone was worth getting out of bed for.
Thursday was blustery & dark. I love riding in the Winter, somehow it’s more cleansing & I’d rather wrap up against the cold than try & keep cool. I rode the mercurial Hannah. She has been off work for a while after a nasty fall & I entered her stable today with the warning from Kerry ‘Sorry she’s so wet, I had to hose her off after I found her sweaty from galloping around the field.' Hmmm.
We set off into the dark, oppressive, blowy Surrey woodland & my legs soon ached from hanging on as she spooked at every gremlin, real & perceived, lurking in the hedgerow. Such was her mood that 3 times she spooked at Barley who was dressed in a fluorescent coat.
How she could pretend to be surprised at a dog who could be seen for 5 miles I really don’t know. I found myself singing to her to calm her nerves (& mine). I often sing if I’m nervous whilst riding. Horses are very perceptive & can tell when a rider is holding their breath. Singing forces me to breathe in & out. Today’s chosen classics were ‘Rivers of Babylon’, ‘Silent Night’ and ‘Land of Hope & Glory’. I can’t think of a single compilation CD on which you would find those 3.
I have returned from every ride this week feeling calm, happy & physically & mentally invigorated. A small price to pay for losing a few hours sleep. I cannot urge everyone strongly enough, whatever ails you, go outside, do things with animals. That reads badly. You know what I mean.
5 days off now :)
Cx
Make a cup of tea, get yourself comfy, this is going to be a long one.
So much for updating twice weekly.
Where were we last time ?
I think I had just been to Yorks to help Mum move at the end of October.
Firstly, with reference to the title, the electric blanket was placed reverentially on the bed a couple of weeks ago. There are some people who claim they like to get into a cold bed & warm it up gradually. There is a name for these people - sick.
In conjunction with the electric blanket the spare duvet was coerced along with the existing one into the duvet cover. The entire thing now has a weighty quality ensuring no movement in bed is possible. Going to bed has now become a religious experience. The best thing about blankie is that I can still leave the bedroom window open because I like the fresh air on my face but the rest of my body resembles a small nuclear explosion.
At the beginning of November, on this man’s recommendation, the MilkMan & I went here
on the shores of Windermere. On Mum's advice I've always favoured the North end of the Lakes for summer visits but Windermere in November makes perfect sense.
We were treating ourselves to a few days r & r to make up for working Christmas & New Years. The place was old, the furnishings exquisite & the service discreet & professional. What bliss to eat a meal in a venue where the staff don’t interrupt every 20 minutes to ask ‘if everthing’s alright ?’ If it’s not – I’ll tell you, how’s that ?
It was marvellous.
We did some of this.
Note MTM, walking pole & compass just to irritate you. Pole, not stick.
Is it lunchtime yet ?
We climbed one of these.
Those of us who didn’t know where we were had to do this.
Those who did, could afford to relax & do this.
All in all, the break in the great outdoors made me feel like this.
Shiny, happy people.
Anticipating a grim return journey on the M6 we stopped at the services & I introduced Milky to one of my passions – talking books. Ian Rankin was the author of choice & the particular book was ‘Blood Hunt’. I really enjoyed it & I know Milky did – he’s never been quiet for that long before.
After a quick turnaround I found myself in Dublin for the weekend, celebrating Cocky’s birthday with her sister Helen & 7 more friends. With some good fortune we found ourselves in the gorgeous Bewleys Hotel, Ballsbridge
Briggsy, Pam, Cocky, Rae.
(I remembered the name Piggy !) We were 10 minutes away from Lansdowne Road on a weekend when Ireland were playing the All Blacks at home. Dublin – a city never short of people looking to enjoy themselves was further enriched by thousands of happy Kiwis.
On the Friday night we headed out to explore & found ourselves at a Cuban restaurant beginning dinner at 1015 pm. I discovered that night that I do like Cuban cuisine but don’t like mango margueritas. I will happily admit to being very pleased to see my bed.
If only all hotels had feather pillows, feather duvets & crisp white cotton bedding the world would be a happier place. I’ve never slept in feather bedding before but have since written to Santa.
This guy travels with me wherever I go, it amused me no end to find the maid had placed him thus.
On Saturday we did what every visitor to Dublin has to do & hopped on a tour bus to go to the Guinness factory. I last visited a couple of years ago for Lovely Angie’s birthday but it’s well worth a second visit. The building itself is lovely, lots of girders & glass,
the exhibits thoughtful & interesting & I had a gorgeous seafood chowder here.
We then went to the stunning Gravity Bar
which offers unrivalled 7th floor, 360 degrees of Dublin but (get this Ang) left after one complimentary pint & headed off to the shops. I can safely say the shops, or at least the ones we found ourselves in) were awful … a seething mass of humanity & clothes in displays which as Helen put it ‘resembled waterfalls’ due to the churning mass of human hands grabbing at them.
Those of us who were exhausted (me) headed back to the hotel for a very quick 20 minute nap. Feeling hugely refreshed I met up with the others in the hotel lobby
Lynn, Helen, Cocky, Rae, Lynn, Avril, Briggsy
& at Avril’s suggestion we headed off for a cocktail at the next door Four Seasons Hotel. (50 million euros to build according to a local cabbie) This happened to be a stroke of genius on Avril’s part for the Ice Bar in the Four Seasons was simply gorgeous. Only the prices & our booking at our Thai restaurant Diep Le Shaker (or the ‘People Shaker’ as Cocky insisted in referring to it all weekend) put us off staying the entire night.
Pam, Avril & Cocky in The People Shaker
After a delicious meal we set off into Dublin looking for fun. I forget the name of the first pub we went to but we knew it was going to be lively when the cabbie said ‘Are you sure ?’ Turns out it was too packed to get inside so we stood freezing outside quizzing the locals & trying to find somewhere to dance until the early hours. After a couple of false starts our guide John turned up trumps & led us to a very swanky club which is allegedly Colin Farrell’s club of choice.
None of the people we spoke to the next day could understand how we had come to be admitted to this very exclusive club. Delving into our alcohol-smudged memory banks we re-called that we had entered by a fire-escape & not the main entrance thereby avoiding the extortionate entry fee. Result.
Easily the best thing about visiting Dublin this time was the total no-smokng ban in public. I didn't realise how much smoke ruined a night out until I woke up on both Saturday & Sunday mornings wondering what felt different. The it occurred to me - no smell of smoke in my hair & on my clothes. I didn't have the hangover I deserved on either morning either, which makes me think smoke must be a contributory factor to feeling rough.
Ireland has very wisely embraced a total no-smoking ban whilst here in England our government has opted for a half-arsed 'no smoking where there's food being served' ban. I speak from first hand experience when I say the pubs & clubs in Ireland are doing a roaring trade, so any of this nonsense about pubs going out of business is just that - nonsense. I also know of several friends who say they only smoke after having a few drinks, if they weren't allowed to, that would help hem too (I'm aware that sounds fascist - never mind.)
I digress, back to the night out, I had a fantastic night cavorting & assume everyone else did too ?
After a good breakfast the next morning we headed off to our respective parts of the world agreeing that next time it would be Prague for Rae’s 40th.
On my next set of rest days I fulfilled a long-held ambition & dragged Milky off here
to the Natural History Museum. I wasn’t disappointed. Emerging from the tube at South Ken had me slack-jawed. I turned to Milky & demanded
‘Have you been here before ?’
‘Yes – why ?’
‘Why didn’t you tell me how utterly gorgeous this building is ?’
‘I was seven’ – he replied calmly.
The inside lived up to the promise of the exterior. I'm with Murray in finding natural objects more fulfilling to photograph than man-made ones. On this occasion though I'm happy to contradict myself. Everything about this building sums up what's laudable about English heritage & culture.
We got there shortly after opening, stayed until closing & still didn’t manage to see everything. My personal favourite was the Wildlife Photographer of the Year exhibition. £6 seemed a little steep until I saw the exhibition. Dozens of photos were displayed on wall-mounted back-lit plinths & in a smaller seated hangar-type enclosure a display of the best images from the last 20 years were running on a loop to a background of recorded natural sounds like cicadas & loons. Entrancing.
We left the building at dusk, which was a great time to appreciate the ice-rink. The trees around the rink had been draped in lights & they reflected off the rink like huge strings of shimmering pearls. A lovely day.
Nights is easily my favourite shift, partly because the work is more interesting, partly because the management don’t appear, but mostly because nights is when I have Barley. This means my routine is as follows … Leave work, take Barley for a 20 minute run in the freezing cold, go home, switch on electric blanket, make Weetabix with hot milk, get into toasty bed at 0700, get up at 1300, ride between 1400 & 1600 then back to bed by 1800 for another hour’s sleep. Riding with Barley adds a whole new dimension to the pleasure. The horses exercise Barley in a way I never could & there’s nothing finer than seeing Barley running flat-out alongside the horse. Speaking of which …
Happy Birthday Barley.
7 years young as of 26th November and only today a lady saw her whilst we were out riding & said ‘Ah he’s lovely, how old is your puppy ?’ People always think Barley is a boy ? Barley's present was a chicken dinner - it didn't last long.
Horses make life good.
I have ridden 6 days from the last 10 & each day has been different. Some have been misty & still.
Others have been clear & sharp. This was the sunset I was treated to coming off Mickleham Gallops on my favourite boy CB. This alone was worth getting out of bed for.
Thursday was blustery & dark. I love riding in the Winter, somehow it’s more cleansing & I’d rather wrap up against the cold than try & keep cool. I rode the mercurial Hannah. She has been off work for a while after a nasty fall & I entered her stable today with the warning from Kerry ‘Sorry she’s so wet, I had to hose her off after I found her sweaty from galloping around the field.' Hmmm.
We set off into the dark, oppressive, blowy Surrey woodland & my legs soon ached from hanging on as she spooked at every gremlin, real & perceived, lurking in the hedgerow. Such was her mood that 3 times she spooked at Barley who was dressed in a fluorescent coat.
How she could pretend to be surprised at a dog who could be seen for 5 miles I really don’t know. I found myself singing to her to calm her nerves (& mine). I often sing if I’m nervous whilst riding. Horses are very perceptive & can tell when a rider is holding their breath. Singing forces me to breathe in & out. Today’s chosen classics were ‘Rivers of Babylon’, ‘Silent Night’ and ‘Land of Hope & Glory’. I can’t think of a single compilation CD on which you would find those 3.
I have returned from every ride this week feeling calm, happy & physically & mentally invigorated. A small price to pay for losing a few hours sleep. I cannot urge everyone strongly enough, whatever ails you, go outside, do things with animals. That reads badly. You know what I mean.
5 days off now :)
Cx
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