I'd forgotten my blog password ...
That's not strictly true but I'm very rusty with the thing.
I'm at the Dairy on a day off, Barley's at my feet and Milky's on kitchen duty so I thought I'd do a quick catch-up entry. Listening to Snow Patrol's 'Eyes Open' which I had on repeat when missing Milky in The Lakes. Last night was chicken pasta with coriander and 'The Inside Man' with Denzel Washington, Jodie Foster & Clive Owen. It's a heist movie with a twist which I recommend. I've never been a fan of Owen who Mummeh would say is 'too full of himself' but Washington and Foster are good. Foster's legs, in particular, are mesmerising - how do you get legs like that ?
'Why no blog Briggsy '? you may be wondering. 'What have you been up to ?' 'Will you ever post properly again ?'
For a brief explanation, see below.
In June I moved into the country. Since then it's been work, riding, Barley, riding, Milky, riding, work and riding. I confessed to someone the other day that I didn't know what I'd done to deserve living where I do, but I'm making the most of it before anyone finds me out. The cottage is what the Americans would call 'quaint' and we call 'small' and there is no way my computery gubbins will fit in my sitiing room, hence they are in the loft.
I'm hoping Santa will bring me a laptop (or some money towards one) which will fit in my sitting room and then I will blog again. Winter, with it's dark evenings & reduced riding hours must surely be more conducive to blogging than Summer ? I know of at least one other blogger who loves to blog from their bed on cold winter mornings - don't you Michelle ?
All funds recently have been diverted to the NZ holiday fund. If I haven't told you (lucky you) Milky & I visit NZ for the whole of Dec. Rough plans are ...
1) Stay with Tanners, farm-tour, point out sites of historical interest (seat of fire, slotting of No 47 etc) Introduce Milky to Cedar Lodge Sundowner G & T's
2) Tour North (car & tent)
3) Go South, visit Murray, Mal & Mike, Bridget's Mum
4) Tour South
5) Do outdoorsy stuff, neddy pestering (Milky can't wait) white/black water rafting, kayakking, helicopter ride over the glaciers and all the stuff I didn't have the funds for when I was last there.
6) Christmas/New Year with The Tanners
7) Don't do a bungee jump
In the meantime life is busy but stress-free. Work is interesting, 2 new additions to the team have altered the dynamics radically. One is Andy who I like more than I thought I would. Andy is a Grafter, that capital G is intentional. One, who shall, for reasons of tact, shall remain nameless, I like less than I thought I would. Milky and I are now working slightly different shifts (we knew it had to come) So far we seem to be managing to share some rest days, spending December together will be a luxury though.
I've had Barley since the end of September & she holidayed with Mummeh and I in The Lakes in October. On a minimum of 2 walks a day, she's looking good and is disgustingly fit. When I'm not around she spends her time with June's dogs and I'm pleased to note she has a new playmate in the form of Cassie, a bouncy red Viszla of indefatigable energy. Barley's never really had a playmate before, the last dog she spent a lot of time with was Jasper, who spent a lot of time trying to hump her. Dirty boy.
Last weekend we hijacked Weeny's weekend, foisting ourselves on her and husband for 2 days. It's their fault for being so goddamn sociable. What started off as an Indian meal, morphed into the next day at Bushy Park and a lamb shank dinner. Their, until now, purely feline house guests have been nicely balanced out with the addition of 2 black labrador pups, Gin & Stirling. We met them at 15 weeks of age and utterly enchanting they are. Mummeh - you would have been transfixed. Lots of photos to follow.
Yesterday we spent the day with Angie, feeding the aminals then heading off for a long walk with the dogs before a pub lunch. The weather has been extraordinary lately, up until 2 days ago, it was mild, sunny and warm and we hadn't had a frost. For the last 3 days it has been picture book perfect Autumn weather, sharp overnight rime frosts, thawing to clean cobalt days. England looks beautiful.
I've discovered a special place to dog-walk & spend at least an hour a day there with Hilde, Cassie and Barley stretching their limbs. It's called, rather uninspiringly, Banstead Common which conjures up a very different mental image to the reality. If you have Google Earth, take a look. Since returning from NZ it's the biggest stretch of uninterrupted sky I've seen, no buildings, no metalled roads, just woodland, heathland and lots and lots of sky. It's quite simply the best antidote to working indoors there could be. Vaulting skies are my cathedral.
On that note, I'l leave you for now. Next time I'm here, I'll share recent foties with you.
For now I'm away to catch up on some blogs. Speaking of which, that camera was a stroke of genius Stan, it's nice to see your images are starting to focus on life, rather than death.
Bye for now, stay safe whatever you're doing,
Cx
Friday, November 03, 2006
Saturday, June 10, 2006
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
10 Go Mad in Wales - return to Llyn-y-Celyn.
Roger said it was the toughest walk he had ever done …
which makes it slightly more bearable.
We decided to do things a little differently. Usually we meet at oh-stupid hundred hours, set off for Wales & arrive for a 1000 walk start time. This time, the length of the walk demanded an 0730 start on Monday, so we met at Paul’s at 1600 on Sunday for a 1930 meet at Magor services and then onwards to the hostel.
We were the usual suspects, minus Claire who was celebrating her birthday in the Bahamas. Wales ? Bahamas ? – tough choice. Tom, who was to join us for the first time, cried off last minute. He obviously knew something we did not.
We arrived at the hostel for 2130 and after a couple of ‘Red Dragons’ and a chinwag we were ready to hit the hay.
I woke up feeling tired the next morning, partly due to waking every hour to check I hadn’t slept in (the way I do for early turn) and partly because when I did sleep, I had a very odd dream about being a super-hero involved in a 90 million heist. After lots of running, jumping, fighting and ducking laser beams, I left the money – doh !
My choice of subconscious getaway car worries me too. Not for me a sleek, sexy Batmobile, no, my choice of car was a VW Bora. For which, I had a remote control that I didn’t know how to operate. I eventually left the scene of my crime standing on the bumper, whilst an unknown person operated the controls. Dream analyst anyone ?
Our schedule was an 0715 breakfast, for an 0730 start. There are no ifs or buts with Roger, it’s his job you see. Stuart was made oic packed lunches the night before and had placed our order for 6 packed lunches in time for the morning, as the blackboard stipulated. There was a choice of LP (lunchpack) 1, or LP 2, the numeral indicating the number of sandwiches.
Dave, who likes to know what’s what, was heard to enquire ‘Is a sandwich, 2 slices of bread with a filling ?’ in the manner of a recently arrived alien visiting Earth. We knew exactly what he meant, but in the way of people who work for the Met, derived much humour from this up to and beyond the point when it was no longer amusing (to him)
At 0715 we were despatched to our rooms to get ready, for parade at 0730.
It was therefore very amusing to see Roger’s face at 0729, when the chap at the hostel (whose name escapes me) wandered casually into the breakfast room to announce vaguely that he was ‘Here to check the sandwich order.’
Roger, who couldn’t trust himself to speak, indicated Stuart. Stuart, who is ever the diplomat, explained that he had placed the order the night before and that we were sort of hoping for the packed lunches to be ready to join us on
our walk.
‘No problem’, came the casual reply ‘now then, what does this LP2 indicate ?’ which seems a reasonable question until I tell you that LP1 & LP2 were the codes used by the hostel themselves.
With the far from reassuring ‘We’re short of bread but I’ll see what I can do’ off he sauntered to commence the catering arrangements. I shouldn’t be too harsh on him because breakfast was supposed to be served between 0800 & 0830 & Stuart had persuaded him to serve it much earlier for our benefit.
We met outside the hostel, garbed in various, rustling waterproofs (did I mention it was raining ?) for the obligatory pre-walk group pictures*
(l-r) Me, Dave, Ed, Elaine, Roger, Guy, Paul, Stuart, Debs and George.
and then began the pain, I mean walk.
Roger had promised an easy first hour to ‘allow breakfast to settle’. Knowing there is no such thing with Roger, I was in no way surprised to find myself glowing pinkly, having speed-walked to the base of the first ascent.
See that cloud ? It never shifted.
After a 30 second stop for everyone to take on water and lose/add layers, it was go, go, go to the first climb. A little while and much snot later I found myself in a whole different world to the calm, mild valley I had left behind. On the tops, the wind was an unearthly banshee, which whipped at our clothing and drove horizontal sleet into our faces.
And that was pretty much it for 22 miles and 11 hours and 30 minutes.
The End.
I jest of course, but that’s pretty much what I remember.
Here are the ‘highlights’. I use that word advisedly really, they’re the bits I recall.
Seeing Roger, who is not a little person, being repeatedly blown of his feet whilst traversing a hilltop. Any rumours that the group were hoping for him to be blown off the ridge are strictly untrue.
Being saved by Elaine’s walking pole (left mine in my car). Hers is the super duper lightweight version of mine (don’t want mine anymore). Whilst skidding down scree alongside a waterfall, when all bar Dave, fell repeatedly, I started to fall face first down the slope. I dug the pole into the ground in front of me and leant my entire weight on the pole to stop my slide. The pole described a perfect ‘c’ shape, at which point Roger who was behind me, confessed he was waiting to see me catapulted off the hill, in the manner of a pole-vaulter.
The pole absorbed the weight, resumed its original shape and lo – I was saved.
Lunch. We walked for 22 miles in unspoilt countryside, yet when it came to lunch, the only shelter we could find was the grounds of a disused pumping station. Ed took refuge from the rain in a little shed. The rest of us, observing the discarded hypodermics, excrement and used condoms, guessed Ed had found the TraveLodge for Welsh junkies and elected to consume our lunch standing. In the rain. Did I mention it was raining ?
George’s chocolate caramels – perfect morale boosters.
Quotes of the day.
Dave – ‘Is a sandwich 2 slices of bread ?’
Dave - ‘That bridge isn’t actually a suspension bridge’
George - (about Roger and said wistfully) – ‘He’s got newer software than me’ – GPS envy.
George (about Dave’s head) – ‘He’s caught the sun’ – there was none. Did I mention it was raining ?
Roger – ‘We were never lost’
'And that's my house over there ...'
Roger – ‘That was a 70 mile an hour wind’
Me – ‘How do you know’ (wondering if he had an anometer on his GPS)
Roger – ‘Cos I know what a 50mph wind feels like and that was worse
Roger – ‘Stuart, I need a recce’
Roger - ‘Come on everyone, it’s this way’ – After sending Stuart in the opposite direction.
All – ‘STUART ! Was that you ?’
Mental
Something interesting occurred prior to ascent 5. At 18 miles Roger advised us of a slight change to the planned route. He had decided to skip one climb due to the monumental wind. We were to skirt around the base of the peak, same distance but less risk of losing a tired walker off a ridge. I was probably the happiest of the group to receive the news but if anyone was disappointed to be skipping the climb, they hid it well.
Stuart was sent ahead to recce the path ‘We are looking for one that doesn’t go up, but along and round’ were the instructions. Unfortunately, due to visibility of less than 30 feet, the path we started on did exactly that for a little while. By the time we had realised we were again climbing a short mutiny broke out. Nobody wanted to retrace their steps and so there we were, climbing again, over large, uneven red boulders.
Although my legs were doing what my mind told them, I realised my biggest problem was my psyche. I had unknowingly relaxed when told there were no more climbs ahead and trying to get my resisting body to do what I wanted was mentally more than physically difficult. I guess I’ve a way to go before emulating my heroes. I’d be rubbish on those selection courses where they shout at you whilst making you run up and down the same hill. ‘You do it’ I can imagine sobbing.
To make a long story longer, we finally recognised the valley containing our beds for the night.
After discussing an alternate, shorter, more direct, but potentially boggy route back to the hostel, we (Roger) decided on the indirect and safe but lengthier walk along the valley. It was at this point, there was almost a splinter breakaway faction by 4 of us who fancied our chances off-piste. Dave suggested we raise our spirits by singing a song at this point ‘NO’ was the unanimous reply ‘Let’s not’.
The last few miles everyone was thoroughly chilled, footsore, hallucinating about dry clothes and showers and we didn’t hang about.
Silly hat competition - a clear winner.
The chaps very chivalrously offered the showers to the girls first and soon, we all met, pink-faced and warm in the kitchen to chat to and get in the way of Debs who rustled up a gorgeous chilli with garlic bread.
It was decided, over dinner that our walks are like childbirth. The pain is soon forgotten and we think we enjoyed the event until next time. Those of us with no experience of childbirth relied upon what friends had told us.
We were due to play drinking games in the evening but each of us admitted later that by 2300, we were ready for our beds.
Old people glad not to be playing drinking games.
Us girls retired to our room, then spent an hour, discussing life, men and things. I slept poorly again, despite being tired, missing someone and looking forward to seeing him again.
…rinse and repeat
I don’t know if you recall but I did this walk last year in unbearable heat and struggled all the way around.
I battled to keep up on the flat, wanted to die on the ups ; repeatedly stopping (whether the group stopped or not) and was only comfortable on the downs. The only thing which stopped me sitting down and crying was that it was my first walk with the group and I only knew Roger.
Things were a little different this year. I still struggled to keep up on the ups and the others had to stop for me to catch up.
The only photo of me not at the back on a climb.
However, whenever they waited for me, it was because I was walking slowly rather than being stationary. I was fine on the flats and good on the downs. Which of course means only one thing – lots more ups on days off. The good news there is I will be living on the South Downs and will of course prance past all of them next May when we do the 3 Peaks having spent lots of days off scampering up and down hills.
The other good news was I finished with no knee or back pain, both of which niggled last time.
Honourable mentions …
Go to Debs, Dave, Ed and especially Stuart.
All of whom assisted on the ups.
Debs gave me hankies on climb one when my snot was becoming unmanageable. Yes, I had a large white cotton hanky with me and yes, it was in my bag back at the hostel.
On climb number 2, Dave assured me all the way up that we were ‘nearly at the top’ bless him, either his eyesight’s poor or he’s the eternal optimist.
On climb 5 when my legs were operating on empty, Ed offered to carry my rucksack, which I assured him, had it been at all heavy, I would have gladly let him take. Ed was also cheering to follow, because he takes such large strides I could convince myself it was less distance if I followed him.
Huge thanks to Stuart, who on the same climb noticed a gust of wind catch me off-balance. As I started to topple over the edge, he gave me a hefty shove in the right direction. He waved away my thanks explaining that it was too cold to wait around for the Chinook to scrape up my jammy remains.
Stuart also hoisted me to my feet after I fell, hands first into
a knee-deep black peat bog. It would have been nice had he waited for my feet to touch the floor, before pulling me in a forward direction, but it’s the thought that counts. It was Stuart too, who, noticing my dead-person’s bare hands, insisted I take the gloves that he had previously borrowed from Elaine (who was fantastically growed-up and had 2 pairs – wow) and he waited on an icy summit whilst I put on another layer whilst Roger cheerfully led everyone else off before checking we were all ready.
Speaking of bare hands, I lost my amber ring on the walk, having taken it off when my fingers swelled painfully in the cold. I stupidly put it in the pocket of my waterproof trousers and it wasn’t there when I next looked. It was the ring I bought in Nelson market during my stay with Murray in Dec 2004 and it perfectly matched the amber necklace which Lovely Angie found for me.
I am very sad to have lost it and this of course means I’ll have to do that walk again at some time, looking only at the floor - no change there.
My biggest thank you goes to Milky, for accompanying me on all the boring up and down hill stuff we did prior to me going to Wales. Without that preparation, there would have been no point me attempting the walk.
Next time.
We feel we’ve ‘done’ Wales now, having been there 3 times and suggestions are welcomed for our next trip. It has to be reached in one day and walked the same, so Scotland is out. I’ve suggested Yorkshire and wherever it is, Roger promises an ‘easy’ one – only 8 hours walk time.
The next morning we met for breakfast, discussed our aches and pains and stood, outside the hostel, squinting into the bright, morning sunshine for the obligatory goodbye team photo.
'Until next time.'
Cx
* Stuart was oic photos, I'll insert them as soon as I receive them.
Roger said it was the toughest walk he had ever done …
which makes it slightly more bearable.
We decided to do things a little differently. Usually we meet at oh-stupid hundred hours, set off for Wales & arrive for a 1000 walk start time. This time, the length of the walk demanded an 0730 start on Monday, so we met at Paul’s at 1600 on Sunday for a 1930 meet at Magor services and then onwards to the hostel.
We were the usual suspects, minus Claire who was celebrating her birthday in the Bahamas. Wales ? Bahamas ? – tough choice. Tom, who was to join us for the first time, cried off last minute. He obviously knew something we did not.
We arrived at the hostel for 2130 and after a couple of ‘Red Dragons’ and a chinwag we were ready to hit the hay.
I woke up feeling tired the next morning, partly due to waking every hour to check I hadn’t slept in (the way I do for early turn) and partly because when I did sleep, I had a very odd dream about being a super-hero involved in a 90 million heist. After lots of running, jumping, fighting and ducking laser beams, I left the money – doh !
My choice of subconscious getaway car worries me too. Not for me a sleek, sexy Batmobile, no, my choice of car was a VW Bora. For which, I had a remote control that I didn’t know how to operate. I eventually left the scene of my crime standing on the bumper, whilst an unknown person operated the controls. Dream analyst anyone ?
Our schedule was an 0715 breakfast, for an 0730 start. There are no ifs or buts with Roger, it’s his job you see. Stuart was made oic packed lunches the night before and had placed our order for 6 packed lunches in time for the morning, as the blackboard stipulated. There was a choice of LP (lunchpack) 1, or LP 2, the numeral indicating the number of sandwiches.
Dave, who likes to know what’s what, was heard to enquire ‘Is a sandwich, 2 slices of bread with a filling ?’ in the manner of a recently arrived alien visiting Earth. We knew exactly what he meant, but in the way of people who work for the Met, derived much humour from this up to and beyond the point when it was no longer amusing (to him)
At 0715 we were despatched to our rooms to get ready, for parade at 0730.
It was therefore very amusing to see Roger’s face at 0729, when the chap at the hostel (whose name escapes me) wandered casually into the breakfast room to announce vaguely that he was ‘Here to check the sandwich order.’
Roger, who couldn’t trust himself to speak, indicated Stuart. Stuart, who is ever the diplomat, explained that he had placed the order the night before and that we were sort of hoping for the packed lunches to be ready to join us on
our walk.
‘No problem’, came the casual reply ‘now then, what does this LP2 indicate ?’ which seems a reasonable question until I tell you that LP1 & LP2 were the codes used by the hostel themselves.
With the far from reassuring ‘We’re short of bread but I’ll see what I can do’ off he sauntered to commence the catering arrangements. I shouldn’t be too harsh on him because breakfast was supposed to be served between 0800 & 0830 & Stuart had persuaded him to serve it much earlier for our benefit.
We met outside the hostel, garbed in various, rustling waterproofs (did I mention it was raining ?) for the obligatory pre-walk group pictures*
(l-r) Me, Dave, Ed, Elaine, Roger, Guy, Paul, Stuart, Debs and George.
and then began the pain, I mean walk.
Roger had promised an easy first hour to ‘allow breakfast to settle’. Knowing there is no such thing with Roger, I was in no way surprised to find myself glowing pinkly, having speed-walked to the base of the first ascent.
See that cloud ? It never shifted.
After a 30 second stop for everyone to take on water and lose/add layers, it was go, go, go to the first climb. A little while and much snot later I found myself in a whole different world to the calm, mild valley I had left behind. On the tops, the wind was an unearthly banshee, which whipped at our clothing and drove horizontal sleet into our faces.
And that was pretty much it for 22 miles and 11 hours and 30 minutes.
The End.
I jest of course, but that’s pretty much what I remember.
Here are the ‘highlights’. I use that word advisedly really, they’re the bits I recall.
Seeing Roger, who is not a little person, being repeatedly blown of his feet whilst traversing a hilltop. Any rumours that the group were hoping for him to be blown off the ridge are strictly untrue.
Being saved by Elaine’s walking pole (left mine in my car). Hers is the super duper lightweight version of mine (don’t want mine anymore). Whilst skidding down scree alongside a waterfall, when all bar Dave, fell repeatedly, I started to fall face first down the slope. I dug the pole into the ground in front of me and leant my entire weight on the pole to stop my slide. The pole described a perfect ‘c’ shape, at which point Roger who was behind me, confessed he was waiting to see me catapulted off the hill, in the manner of a pole-vaulter.
The pole absorbed the weight, resumed its original shape and lo – I was saved.
Lunch. We walked for 22 miles in unspoilt countryside, yet when it came to lunch, the only shelter we could find was the grounds of a disused pumping station. Ed took refuge from the rain in a little shed. The rest of us, observing the discarded hypodermics, excrement and used condoms, guessed Ed had found the TraveLodge for Welsh junkies and elected to consume our lunch standing. In the rain. Did I mention it was raining ?
George’s chocolate caramels – perfect morale boosters.
Quotes of the day.
Dave – ‘Is a sandwich 2 slices of bread ?’
Dave - ‘That bridge isn’t actually a suspension bridge’
George - (about Roger and said wistfully) – ‘He’s got newer software than me’ – GPS envy.
George (about Dave’s head) – ‘He’s caught the sun’ – there was none. Did I mention it was raining ?
Roger – ‘We were never lost’
'And that's my house over there ...'
Roger – ‘That was a 70 mile an hour wind’
Me – ‘How do you know’ (wondering if he had an anometer on his GPS)
Roger – ‘Cos I know what a 50mph wind feels like and that was worse
Roger – ‘Stuart, I need a recce’
Roger - ‘Come on everyone, it’s this way’ – After sending Stuart in the opposite direction.
All – ‘STUART ! Was that you ?’
Mental
Something interesting occurred prior to ascent 5. At 18 miles Roger advised us of a slight change to the planned route. He had decided to skip one climb due to the monumental wind. We were to skirt around the base of the peak, same distance but less risk of losing a tired walker off a ridge. I was probably the happiest of the group to receive the news but if anyone was disappointed to be skipping the climb, they hid it well.
Stuart was sent ahead to recce the path ‘We are looking for one that doesn’t go up, but along and round’ were the instructions. Unfortunately, due to visibility of less than 30 feet, the path we started on did exactly that for a little while. By the time we had realised we were again climbing a short mutiny broke out. Nobody wanted to retrace their steps and so there we were, climbing again, over large, uneven red boulders.
Although my legs were doing what my mind told them, I realised my biggest problem was my psyche. I had unknowingly relaxed when told there were no more climbs ahead and trying to get my resisting body to do what I wanted was mentally more than physically difficult. I guess I’ve a way to go before emulating my heroes. I’d be rubbish on those selection courses where they shout at you whilst making you run up and down the same hill. ‘You do it’ I can imagine sobbing.
To make a long story longer, we finally recognised the valley containing our beds for the night.
After discussing an alternate, shorter, more direct, but potentially boggy route back to the hostel, we (Roger) decided on the indirect and safe but lengthier walk along the valley. It was at this point, there was almost a splinter breakaway faction by 4 of us who fancied our chances off-piste. Dave suggested we raise our spirits by singing a song at this point ‘NO’ was the unanimous reply ‘Let’s not’.
The last few miles everyone was thoroughly chilled, footsore, hallucinating about dry clothes and showers and we didn’t hang about.
Silly hat competition - a clear winner.
The chaps very chivalrously offered the showers to the girls first and soon, we all met, pink-faced and warm in the kitchen to chat to and get in the way of Debs who rustled up a gorgeous chilli with garlic bread.
It was decided, over dinner that our walks are like childbirth. The pain is soon forgotten and we think we enjoyed the event until next time. Those of us with no experience of childbirth relied upon what friends had told us.
We were due to play drinking games in the evening but each of us admitted later that by 2300, we were ready for our beds.
Old people glad not to be playing drinking games.
Us girls retired to our room, then spent an hour, discussing life, men and things. I slept poorly again, despite being tired, missing someone and looking forward to seeing him again.
…rinse and repeat
I don’t know if you recall but I did this walk last year in unbearable heat and struggled all the way around.
I battled to keep up on the flat, wanted to die on the ups ; repeatedly stopping (whether the group stopped or not) and was only comfortable on the downs. The only thing which stopped me sitting down and crying was that it was my first walk with the group and I only knew Roger.
Things were a little different this year. I still struggled to keep up on the ups and the others had to stop for me to catch up.
The only photo of me not at the back on a climb.
However, whenever they waited for me, it was because I was walking slowly rather than being stationary. I was fine on the flats and good on the downs. Which of course means only one thing – lots more ups on days off. The good news there is I will be living on the South Downs and will of course prance past all of them next May when we do the 3 Peaks having spent lots of days off scampering up and down hills.
The other good news was I finished with no knee or back pain, both of which niggled last time.
Honourable mentions …
Go to Debs, Dave, Ed and especially Stuart.
All of whom assisted on the ups.
Debs gave me hankies on climb one when my snot was becoming unmanageable. Yes, I had a large white cotton hanky with me and yes, it was in my bag back at the hostel.
On climb number 2, Dave assured me all the way up that we were ‘nearly at the top’ bless him, either his eyesight’s poor or he’s the eternal optimist.
On climb 5 when my legs were operating on empty, Ed offered to carry my rucksack, which I assured him, had it been at all heavy, I would have gladly let him take. Ed was also cheering to follow, because he takes such large strides I could convince myself it was less distance if I followed him.
Huge thanks to Stuart, who on the same climb noticed a gust of wind catch me off-balance. As I started to topple over the edge, he gave me a hefty shove in the right direction. He waved away my thanks explaining that it was too cold to wait around for the Chinook to scrape up my jammy remains.
Stuart also hoisted me to my feet after I fell, hands first into
a knee-deep black peat bog. It would have been nice had he waited for my feet to touch the floor, before pulling me in a forward direction, but it’s the thought that counts. It was Stuart too, who, noticing my dead-person’s bare hands, insisted I take the gloves that he had previously borrowed from Elaine (who was fantastically growed-up and had 2 pairs – wow) and he waited on an icy summit whilst I put on another layer whilst Roger cheerfully led everyone else off before checking we were all ready.
Speaking of bare hands, I lost my amber ring on the walk, having taken it off when my fingers swelled painfully in the cold. I stupidly put it in the pocket of my waterproof trousers and it wasn’t there when I next looked. It was the ring I bought in Nelson market during my stay with Murray in Dec 2004 and it perfectly matched the amber necklace which Lovely Angie found for me.
I am very sad to have lost it and this of course means I’ll have to do that walk again at some time, looking only at the floor - no change there.
My biggest thank you goes to Milky, for accompanying me on all the boring up and down hill stuff we did prior to me going to Wales. Without that preparation, there would have been no point me attempting the walk.
Next time.
We feel we’ve ‘done’ Wales now, having been there 3 times and suggestions are welcomed for our next trip. It has to be reached in one day and walked the same, so Scotland is out. I’ve suggested Yorkshire and wherever it is, Roger promises an ‘easy’ one – only 8 hours walk time.
The next morning we met for breakfast, discussed our aches and pains and stood, outside the hostel, squinting into the bright, morning sunshine for the obligatory goodbye team photo.
'Until next time.'
Cx
* Stuart was oic photos, I'll insert them as soon as I receive them.
Saturday, May 20, 2006
'Sorry ... he doesn't like hats'
Today I left a sleeping Milky and headed towards Headley to do some more walking. The idea I have is to check out some new bridleways on foot prior to taking the horses on them. This has 2 benefits. Firstly, I've checked out the route in advance so there are no surprises and secondly I am able to 'tell' the horse where we're going. This may sound odd but there's a problem with exploring new bridleways on horseback. If you're not sure where you're going, the horse picks up on this, which is fine if you're on a steady old neddy. If however, you're on a fit, younger horse and you're asking them to turn away from home at a point at which the ride would normally be ending, you're storing up trouble.
Today I aimed for a 2 hour circular walk, beginning and ending at Mickleham gallops. As I set out, there were heavy showers but I didn't want to take a coat, as I always get too warm with one. Luckily, most of the walk was covered with trees so they kept the worst of the rain off.
With about 30 minutes to go I was walking along a particularly muddy bridleway when I saw the perfect nuclear family running towards me. Mum, Dad, 2 kids and 2 black labradors. I moved aside to let them through and admired the dogs as they ran past, off their leads. One dog gave me a toothy grin as he went past but the facial expression of the other gave cause for concern. He was staring very intently at my face & not emitting happy vibes at all.
As we came level I felt his teeth snap just short of my hand. The temptation to snatch my hand away was overwhelming but they love that don't they ? Just makes it more of a game. I looked towards Dad who began calling the dog. Alas for me, doggy was more interested in me than Dad. He followed me up the bridleway, barking and lungeing and snapping at where my bottom had always just been.
I couldn't have been more surprised, I love most dogs and have a particular affinity for black labs as they've always been a firm favourite with Mummeh. If someone told me a black lab had gone for them unprovoked, I'd nod sympathetically, then wonder what they had unknowingly done to surprise/antagonise the dog.
As Dad caught up with and grabbed him he shouted at my rapidly retreating form 'Sorry about that - he doesn't like hats you see' meaning the light blue Musto cap which I am never without when outdoors. I giggled a little manically to myself thinking that it ranked as one of the weirdest excuses I've heard for an animal misbehaving. Then I thought, we all do it don't we - make excuses for when our animals act in a less than appropriate fashion.
All the horses have their own particular fears. For Patrick it is foals ; especially the palamino ones nearby us, for Hippo it is white vans and Coco is rendered terrified by the groups of soldiers* we see yomping in the woods ; their rucksacks in particular. In CB's case it's donkeys and motorbikes (only singles though, he's fine with anything else). Woody's nemesis is hosepipes (snakes) and for Hannah, nothing is scarier than feeling tree branches brushing against her rider, not her, she's fine with that but if she feels resistance on her rider, she just wants to head for home toute de suite. Snippit is struck rigid by baby buggies, odd really given how many kids Cocky has.
Some things are universally terrifying to the horses. I pass through lots of golf courses during my rides and golf buggies hold a particular terror. Many's the time I've had to shout to a bemused golfer 'Could you please stand still and not pull your buggy' whilst my mount pirouettes, shaking with fear, under me.
The scariest thing for me is crossing the M25 on horseback, the noise is indescribable and the mesmerising lure of watching 6 lanes of 90 mph plus traffic has me almost catatonic. My fear is that the horse will play up and somehow dump me over the barriers to my jammy doom. My coping method is to talk to the horse all the way over which ensures that I keep breathing. Horses know when you're not breathing, and become more anxious. Soon the two of you become a self-fulfilling prophecy. Thinking about it, I don't talk, I shout as otherwise the horse would not hear me - so there I am bellowing 'Good Boy' at the top of my lungs whilst trying not to let the horse look anywhere other than straight ahead.
I once discussed my fear of crossing the M25 with Cocky as we had just crossed it. 'Can you imagine anything worse' I asked, '... than being dumped over those railings and knowing that after the drop you're going to be hit by a car ?' 'Oh yes', she replied, with typical Cocky logic '.. it would be much worse for me watching it happen to you. You'd be dead, nothing to worry about but I'd have to watch it and then catch your horse.' Thanks Cocky.
With rewarding synchronicity, my walk ended as the rain began in earnest. I climbed wearily into the car & set off for the caravan on Headley Heath for a much anticipated cup of tea and something hot. Having only 2 pound coins, I decided honesty was the best policy. 'What can I get for this ?' I asked, holding aloft a coin in either hand & wearing what I hoped was my most beseeching look. 'Well, you can have a cornish pasty, a sausage roll or some chips' answered the lovely lady who works there. 'Would I have enough for a cup of tea as well ?' I asked pathetically, knowing I wouldn't. 'Don't worry, of course you can have some tea, here, it's a large one.'
It's these small, random acts of kindness that give you a glow isn't it ?
As I sat holed up in the car, consuming my food and free tea, with the heater on to dry my trousers, the feeling of post-exercise well-being was immense. I watched a village cricket match and listened to Radio 4's 'Any Answers'. As the rain pounded on the windscreen, the callers to the programme discussed how best the Government could legislate for this, the worst drought since 1976.
Cx
* They are not really soldiers, they are RAF personnel who are recuperating, based in nearby Headley Court but I don't know what you call RAF people, other than pilots ? And they're not all pilots are they ? I've asked Milky & James & they came up with these possibilities ; aircrew, servicemen, RAF ground based operatives. Any advance on those ?
Today I left a sleeping Milky and headed towards Headley to do some more walking. The idea I have is to check out some new bridleways on foot prior to taking the horses on them. This has 2 benefits. Firstly, I've checked out the route in advance so there are no surprises and secondly I am able to 'tell' the horse where we're going. This may sound odd but there's a problem with exploring new bridleways on horseback. If you're not sure where you're going, the horse picks up on this, which is fine if you're on a steady old neddy. If however, you're on a fit, younger horse and you're asking them to turn away from home at a point at which the ride would normally be ending, you're storing up trouble.
Today I aimed for a 2 hour circular walk, beginning and ending at Mickleham gallops. As I set out, there were heavy showers but I didn't want to take a coat, as I always get too warm with one. Luckily, most of the walk was covered with trees so they kept the worst of the rain off.
With about 30 minutes to go I was walking along a particularly muddy bridleway when I saw the perfect nuclear family running towards me. Mum, Dad, 2 kids and 2 black labradors. I moved aside to let them through and admired the dogs as they ran past, off their leads. One dog gave me a toothy grin as he went past but the facial expression of the other gave cause for concern. He was staring very intently at my face & not emitting happy vibes at all.
As we came level I felt his teeth snap just short of my hand. The temptation to snatch my hand away was overwhelming but they love that don't they ? Just makes it more of a game. I looked towards Dad who began calling the dog. Alas for me, doggy was more interested in me than Dad. He followed me up the bridleway, barking and lungeing and snapping at where my bottom had always just been.
I couldn't have been more surprised, I love most dogs and have a particular affinity for black labs as they've always been a firm favourite with Mummeh. If someone told me a black lab had gone for them unprovoked, I'd nod sympathetically, then wonder what they had unknowingly done to surprise/antagonise the dog.
As Dad caught up with and grabbed him he shouted at my rapidly retreating form 'Sorry about that - he doesn't like hats you see' meaning the light blue Musto cap which I am never without when outdoors. I giggled a little manically to myself thinking that it ranked as one of the weirdest excuses I've heard for an animal misbehaving. Then I thought, we all do it don't we - make excuses for when our animals act in a less than appropriate fashion.
All the horses have their own particular fears. For Patrick it is foals ; especially the palamino ones nearby us, for Hippo it is white vans and Coco is rendered terrified by the groups of soldiers* we see yomping in the woods ; their rucksacks in particular. In CB's case it's donkeys and motorbikes (only singles though, he's fine with anything else). Woody's nemesis is hosepipes (snakes) and for Hannah, nothing is scarier than feeling tree branches brushing against her rider, not her, she's fine with that but if she feels resistance on her rider, she just wants to head for home toute de suite. Snippit is struck rigid by baby buggies, odd really given how many kids Cocky has.
Some things are universally terrifying to the horses. I pass through lots of golf courses during my rides and golf buggies hold a particular terror. Many's the time I've had to shout to a bemused golfer 'Could you please stand still and not pull your buggy' whilst my mount pirouettes, shaking with fear, under me.
The scariest thing for me is crossing the M25 on horseback, the noise is indescribable and the mesmerising lure of watching 6 lanes of 90 mph plus traffic has me almost catatonic. My fear is that the horse will play up and somehow dump me over the barriers to my jammy doom. My coping method is to talk to the horse all the way over which ensures that I keep breathing. Horses know when you're not breathing, and become more anxious. Soon the two of you become a self-fulfilling prophecy. Thinking about it, I don't talk, I shout as otherwise the horse would not hear me - so there I am bellowing 'Good Boy' at the top of my lungs whilst trying not to let the horse look anywhere other than straight ahead.
I once discussed my fear of crossing the M25 with Cocky as we had just crossed it. 'Can you imagine anything worse' I asked, '... than being dumped over those railings and knowing that after the drop you're going to be hit by a car ?' 'Oh yes', she replied, with typical Cocky logic '.. it would be much worse for me watching it happen to you. You'd be dead, nothing to worry about but I'd have to watch it and then catch your horse.' Thanks Cocky.
With rewarding synchronicity, my walk ended as the rain began in earnest. I climbed wearily into the car & set off for the caravan on Headley Heath for a much anticipated cup of tea and something hot. Having only 2 pound coins, I decided honesty was the best policy. 'What can I get for this ?' I asked, holding aloft a coin in either hand & wearing what I hoped was my most beseeching look. 'Well, you can have a cornish pasty, a sausage roll or some chips' answered the lovely lady who works there. 'Would I have enough for a cup of tea as well ?' I asked pathetically, knowing I wouldn't. 'Don't worry, of course you can have some tea, here, it's a large one.'
It's these small, random acts of kindness that give you a glow isn't it ?
As I sat holed up in the car, consuming my food and free tea, with the heater on to dry my trousers, the feeling of post-exercise well-being was immense. I watched a village cricket match and listened to Radio 4's 'Any Answers'. As the rain pounded on the windscreen, the callers to the programme discussed how best the Government could legislate for this, the worst drought since 1976.
Cx
* They are not really soldiers, they are RAF personnel who are recuperating, based in nearby Headley Court but I don't know what you call RAF people, other than pilots ? And they're not all pilots are they ? I've asked Milky & James & they came up with these possibilities ; aircrew, servicemen, RAF ground based operatives. Any advance on those ?
Friday, May 19, 2006
I've been hesitating to blog about this for fear of jinxing myself ...
but as of 1st June this will be the view from my front door.
For those of you who didn't get much sleep last night, yes those are horses & yes I'm moving to the stables. Or, to a cottage within the grounds of the stables, to be a little more accurate. Can you imagine ? Horses, dogs, pigs, goats, a donkey and tractors - I will be a pig in poo.
I've alluded to this before, but something my time in NZ taught me was not to worry about 'stuff' too much. I don't mean small stuff, I'm quite happy to worry about that, I mean big stuff, relationships, houses, jobs, emigration - if it's supposed to be, it will be.
For the 1st four months of this year I was being mucked about something rotten at home. I didn't know from one week to the next where I was going to live. It was at this time that the lady whose horses I exercise mentioned that the cottage was to become vacant. If I told you that same cottage hasn't been vacant in the ten years I've been riding there, you'll understand how symbiotic the news was.
Initially when I was showed around it was with the words, 'It's a little grubby so imagine it with a coat of paint and those skylights replaced.' Since then, the kitchen and bathroom have been refurbished and every room has has several coats of immaculate white paint. I am moving to the countryside at the beginning of Summer. Headley Heath is on my doorstep and I will be able to ride every day. How lucky can one person be ? I cannot wait to move in. Photos to follow.
Wales - Part III - Revenge of the Brecon Beacons.
Regular readers will know that occasionally I venture to the land of the druids with other like-minded souls for a walk which I am always woefully ill-equipped to complete. For months now Roger has been warning me that this Monday's walk will be our hardest to date. These are the facts.
1) The distance is 21 miles
2) We start at 0730 (sharp)
3) It starts to get dark at 2030 and he usually has us finishing an hour before it
starts to get dark.
This means he's anticipating us taking 11 hours to do 21 miles.
The hardest walk I've ever done was the 3 Peaks which took 12 hours for 25 miles.
That says one thing to me ... ascents, lots of them.
In February, Milky and I did a really tough week of walks in the Lakes and I told myself I would do 3 hill walks a week to prepare from then on. Did I ? Did I buggery. So, what have I done by way of preparation ? 5 days around Box Hill, no worries.
Again, photos to follow.
St.Alan of the Titchmarsh
Tonight Milky went off to night duty whilst I had my once-monthly domestic blitz. I ironed whilst watching an hours worth of gardening programmes on BBC2. When I was in NZ these were the kind of programmes which I really missed. No-one does horticulture like BBC2. Firstly we were treated to St.Alan, teaching us how to be a gardener and then after that it was sausage-fingered Monty Don. I've never taken to Mr.Don & I can't really explain why, perhaps he's too upper crust to be a real horny-handed son of the soil. It may be just this ; you're either an Alan lady or a Monty lady. Oh yes - and Monty is horse's name, not a mans.
'Don't get mashed or killed'
I get jittery when Milky does nights without me and it's not without reason - he was stabbed during a night duty and no matter how irrational it is, I cannot shake the feeling that had I been there, it wouldn't have happened. We make light of it, but at the beginning of every shift I say the same thing to him - 'Don't get mashed or killed'. I can't imagine being without him now.
On that note, I've been thinking a lot about blogging lately. I see Bloo has knocked his blog on the head and I understand why, though I'm sorry to see it go. For myself, blogging when you're single is straightforward, 'I, me, I, me'. That changes when you start to share your time with someone. It becomes more complicated. Even if your partner gives you carte blanche to blog about them, you become aware that you're opening them up to scrutiny.
On one of my bloglinks, Roxy writes in great detail about her feelings and love life and I've always admired her openness. Her style wouldn't suit me though, I'm much too cowardly to open myself up to strangers like that. She's also had to cope with unwanted attention from people she would rather not, reading her blog. When her current boyfriend found it, he responded admirably but all I was thinking was 'he knows everything about how she feels about him now' and the thought of that scared the hell out of me. Come to think of it, that says more about me than him.
I'm aware that my blog has morphed from 'I think this about this' to 'I went here and did this' and I've considered not posting any more. There came a second prod recently when the Metropolitan Police said in unequivocal terms that they would be unimpressed with any employee found to be posting inappropriate things about the job. I never post about operational matters and, although it's massively tempting I try and steer clear of personal attacks (at least until he resigns) However, 'inappropriate' is such a catch-all, I'm sure it doesn't take too much imagination amongst you to believe that the Met could happen to view just about anything as inappropriate.
Have I decided what to do ? Yes and no.
You may have noticed that I changed the strapline at the top of Q4A a little while ago, to reflect the fact that this is no longer just about documenting my search for employment with horses in NZ during a career break. However, I do see this as an excellent way of keeping in touch with people (especially those whose day is starting as mine is ending)
I've been thinking about which blogs I read and why. Some are by people who interest me. I don't agree with a lot of what they say & reading their blogs exercises my brain & sometimes my fury. Some are by people I miss and I love hearing what they're up to. Some are by people better travelled & more learned, in this way I avoid disappointing holidays to political hotspots. Some are by people I admire. One is by someone who detests their flatmate so much I count my blessings. One is a collection of amusing anecdotes from someone who if they didn't blog would surely spontaneously combust. One is purely a rant against women and the author's continued lack of success with them. You get my drift. The point being, I read different blogs for different reasons so if I can't tell everything I'd like to on mine, I'm sure you'll find one where someone can. Perhaps being anon is the way to go ?
The plan is this. Q4A will run until I do or don't get to NZ. If they say no, I'll consider that the natural end. If I get in, I'll carry on, if only to continue posting pictures of the most beautiful place on earth.
Cx
but as of 1st June this will be the view from my front door.
For those of you who didn't get much sleep last night, yes those are horses & yes I'm moving to the stables. Or, to a cottage within the grounds of the stables, to be a little more accurate. Can you imagine ? Horses, dogs, pigs, goats, a donkey and tractors - I will be a pig in poo.
I've alluded to this before, but something my time in NZ taught me was not to worry about 'stuff' too much. I don't mean small stuff, I'm quite happy to worry about that, I mean big stuff, relationships, houses, jobs, emigration - if it's supposed to be, it will be.
For the 1st four months of this year I was being mucked about something rotten at home. I didn't know from one week to the next where I was going to live. It was at this time that the lady whose horses I exercise mentioned that the cottage was to become vacant. If I told you that same cottage hasn't been vacant in the ten years I've been riding there, you'll understand how symbiotic the news was.
Initially when I was showed around it was with the words, 'It's a little grubby so imagine it with a coat of paint and those skylights replaced.' Since then, the kitchen and bathroom have been refurbished and every room has has several coats of immaculate white paint. I am moving to the countryside at the beginning of Summer. Headley Heath is on my doorstep and I will be able to ride every day. How lucky can one person be ? I cannot wait to move in. Photos to follow.
Wales - Part III - Revenge of the Brecon Beacons.
Regular readers will know that occasionally I venture to the land of the druids with other like-minded souls for a walk which I am always woefully ill-equipped to complete. For months now Roger has been warning me that this Monday's walk will be our hardest to date. These are the facts.
1) The distance is 21 miles
2) We start at 0730 (sharp)
3) It starts to get dark at 2030 and he usually has us finishing an hour before it
starts to get dark.
This means he's anticipating us taking 11 hours to do 21 miles.
The hardest walk I've ever done was the 3 Peaks which took 12 hours for 25 miles.
That says one thing to me ... ascents, lots of them.
In February, Milky and I did a really tough week of walks in the Lakes and I told myself I would do 3 hill walks a week to prepare from then on. Did I ? Did I buggery. So, what have I done by way of preparation ? 5 days around Box Hill, no worries.
Again, photos to follow.
St.Alan of the Titchmarsh
Tonight Milky went off to night duty whilst I had my once-monthly domestic blitz. I ironed whilst watching an hours worth of gardening programmes on BBC2. When I was in NZ these were the kind of programmes which I really missed. No-one does horticulture like BBC2. Firstly we were treated to St.Alan, teaching us how to be a gardener and then after that it was sausage-fingered Monty Don. I've never taken to Mr.Don & I can't really explain why, perhaps he's too upper crust to be a real horny-handed son of the soil. It may be just this ; you're either an Alan lady or a Monty lady. Oh yes - and Monty is horse's name, not a mans.
'Don't get mashed or killed'
I get jittery when Milky does nights without me and it's not without reason - he was stabbed during a night duty and no matter how irrational it is, I cannot shake the feeling that had I been there, it wouldn't have happened. We make light of it, but at the beginning of every shift I say the same thing to him - 'Don't get mashed or killed'. I can't imagine being without him now.
On that note, I've been thinking a lot about blogging lately. I see Bloo has knocked his blog on the head and I understand why, though I'm sorry to see it go. For myself, blogging when you're single is straightforward, 'I, me, I, me'. That changes when you start to share your time with someone. It becomes more complicated. Even if your partner gives you carte blanche to blog about them, you become aware that you're opening them up to scrutiny.
On one of my bloglinks, Roxy writes in great detail about her feelings and love life and I've always admired her openness. Her style wouldn't suit me though, I'm much too cowardly to open myself up to strangers like that. She's also had to cope with unwanted attention from people she would rather not, reading her blog. When her current boyfriend found it, he responded admirably but all I was thinking was 'he knows everything about how she feels about him now' and the thought of that scared the hell out of me. Come to think of it, that says more about me than him.
I'm aware that my blog has morphed from 'I think this about this' to 'I went here and did this' and I've considered not posting any more. There came a second prod recently when the Metropolitan Police said in unequivocal terms that they would be unimpressed with any employee found to be posting inappropriate things about the job. I never post about operational matters and, although it's massively tempting I try and steer clear of personal attacks (at least until he resigns) However, 'inappropriate' is such a catch-all, I'm sure it doesn't take too much imagination amongst you to believe that the Met could happen to view just about anything as inappropriate.
Have I decided what to do ? Yes and no.
You may have noticed that I changed the strapline at the top of Q4A a little while ago, to reflect the fact that this is no longer just about documenting my search for employment with horses in NZ during a career break. However, I do see this as an excellent way of keeping in touch with people (especially those whose day is starting as mine is ending)
I've been thinking about which blogs I read and why. Some are by people who interest me. I don't agree with a lot of what they say & reading their blogs exercises my brain & sometimes my fury. Some are by people I miss and I love hearing what they're up to. Some are by people better travelled & more learned, in this way I avoid disappointing holidays to political hotspots. Some are by people I admire. One is by someone who detests their flatmate so much I count my blessings. One is a collection of amusing anecdotes from someone who if they didn't blog would surely spontaneously combust. One is purely a rant against women and the author's continued lack of success with them. You get my drift. The point being, I read different blogs for different reasons so if I can't tell everything I'd like to on mine, I'm sure you'll find one where someone can. Perhaps being anon is the way to go ?
The plan is this. Q4A will run until I do or don't get to NZ. If they say no, I'll consider that the natural end. If I get in, I'll carry on, if only to continue posting pictures of the most beautiful place on earth.
Cx
Sunday, May 14, 2006
Plane crash, what plane crash ?
On Friday I worked a rest day at Casualty Bureau, we had been asked up there to test a new phone system. The long and short of it was that with the volume of calls received by the Met during 7th July the phones went into meltdown and a new system was to be tested. It's always good to catch up with people when you've not worked together for a while and it was hello again to Andy and Lorraine but no sign of Ray - word is he may have been getting married that day ? Get in touch Ray - tell all my favourite Saggitarian.
Back to the reason for our gathering ... the idea to address the problem was to divert some calls to other Casualty Bureaux at Forces like West Yorkshire and West Midlands. We were separated into 2 groups, call-takers and call-makers. Call makers were to report an imaginary family member missing. Call takers were to take details of that person. The idea was to generate mucho telephone traffic to test the integrity of the system.
The scenario was a standard one ... a plane has crashed on to the A345, believed multiple fatalities. Sometimes in these scenarios, call-makers are asked to impersonate a distressed relative, to make the call that much more realistic to give the call taker practice. However on this occasion Grahame said no acting was required but there would be a script to work to.
And off we went.
Unfortunately the phones melted again and as I dialled the supposedly nationally appropriate number I was aware of the dial tone changing many times as the call wound it's way around the British Isles. Eventually a harassed-sounding female answered ...'Control Room' and I launched into my prepared spiel.
'Hello, I'd like to report my mother-in-law missing'
'Ok - in what circumstances ?'
'Oh', thinks I, someone who wants to do a little role-play 'fine by me'
'In the incident' I assert confidently.
'What incident ?' she asks.
'Ah - either she hasn't read her script or she's just trying to make things interesting'
So I decide to spell it out.
'You know, the plane crash on the A345 ?'
At this point things started to go awry.
She put her hand over her mic whilst shuffling papers and whispering urgently to someone,
I caught the words 'plane crash'
'Where exactly IS the A345 ?' she asks me next.
I decide a little clarification is in order.
'Where did you say I'm speaking to at the moment ?'
'You're through to the Force Control Room at Lincolnshire' she informs me.
Who don't have a Casualty Bureau and who are not taking part in our exercise.
It's at this point I should inform you this was the second wrongly directed call I had made to Lincolnshire. After the first one I fessed up & told them who I was and what had happened.
I'd like to report I was as brave second time around but I wasnt.
I hung up.
The mantra for Casualty Bureau is there are no problems, only challenges.
This was reflected in the de-brief during which Grahame & Dexy lisened to the moans & whinges. Grahame responded with 'It's good that it faled, there would be no point tessting a new system which worked perfectly and then fell over during a 'live' disaster.
And that's why I like working for these people.
Cx
On Friday I worked a rest day at Casualty Bureau, we had been asked up there to test a new phone system. The long and short of it was that with the volume of calls received by the Met during 7th July the phones went into meltdown and a new system was to be tested. It's always good to catch up with people when you've not worked together for a while and it was hello again to Andy and Lorraine but no sign of Ray - word is he may have been getting married that day ? Get in touch Ray - tell all my favourite Saggitarian.
Back to the reason for our gathering ... the idea to address the problem was to divert some calls to other Casualty Bureaux at Forces like West Yorkshire and West Midlands. We were separated into 2 groups, call-takers and call-makers. Call makers were to report an imaginary family member missing. Call takers were to take details of that person. The idea was to generate mucho telephone traffic to test the integrity of the system.
The scenario was a standard one ... a plane has crashed on to the A345, believed multiple fatalities. Sometimes in these scenarios, call-makers are asked to impersonate a distressed relative, to make the call that much more realistic to give the call taker practice. However on this occasion Grahame said no acting was required but there would be a script to work to.
And off we went.
Unfortunately the phones melted again and as I dialled the supposedly nationally appropriate number I was aware of the dial tone changing many times as the call wound it's way around the British Isles. Eventually a harassed-sounding female answered ...'Control Room' and I launched into my prepared spiel.
'Hello, I'd like to report my mother-in-law missing'
'Ok - in what circumstances ?'
'Oh', thinks I, someone who wants to do a little role-play 'fine by me'
'In the incident' I assert confidently.
'What incident ?' she asks.
'Ah - either she hasn't read her script or she's just trying to make things interesting'
So I decide to spell it out.
'You know, the plane crash on the A345 ?'
At this point things started to go awry.
She put her hand over her mic whilst shuffling papers and whispering urgently to someone,
I caught the words 'plane crash'
'Where exactly IS the A345 ?' she asks me next.
I decide a little clarification is in order.
'Where did you say I'm speaking to at the moment ?'
'You're through to the Force Control Room at Lincolnshire' she informs me.
Who don't have a Casualty Bureau and who are not taking part in our exercise.
It's at this point I should inform you this was the second wrongly directed call I had made to Lincolnshire. After the first one I fessed up & told them who I was and what had happened.
I'd like to report I was as brave second time around but I wasnt.
I hung up.
The mantra for Casualty Bureau is there are no problems, only challenges.
This was reflected in the de-brief during which Grahame & Dexy lisened to the moans & whinges. Grahame responded with 'It's good that it faled, there would be no point tessting a new system which worked perfectly and then fell over during a 'live' disaster.
And that's why I like working for these people.
Cx
Thursday, May 04, 2006
No reason ...
other than I've been meaning to blog these for a while.
Justine, Malcolm & Brook who shows early signs of good taste.
Justine really likes this photo of her, in which she doesn't look like Malcolm's stalker.
Justine's Gloucester Old Spot piglets.
And Mum.
Ruby, aged 7 days, look Eric, baby Dexters ... ah.
Flame and champagne, doesn't get better than that.
Jazz piano mysteriously moved.
Spot the ball.
Cx
other than I've been meaning to blog these for a while.
Justine, Malcolm & Brook who shows early signs of good taste.
Justine really likes this photo of her, in which she doesn't look like Malcolm's stalker.
Justine's Gloucester Old Spot piglets.
And Mum.
Ruby, aged 7 days, look Eric, baby Dexters ... ah.
Flame and champagne, doesn't get better than that.
Jazz piano mysteriously moved.
Spot the ball.
Cx
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
Thursday, April 27, 2006
'Whatsisname ?'
This is an exchange I heard yesterday at work whilst in the Control Room. The two parties were our Chief Inspector in charge of operations and the early turn Controller. The Controller is the person who organises the response to your 999 calls.
CI Ops ... Any word On David Cameron ?
Controller ... Who ?
CI Ops ... David Cameron - he's on a walkabout in the town today, any word on how it's going ?
Controller ... Who ?
CI Ops (speaking slowly now) Da-vid Ca-mer-on. You know - the politician.
Controller ... Who ?
CI Ops ... Erm, the youngest ever leader of the Conservative party, you know the one who was voted the leader just recently ?
Controller ... Should I know who he is ?
CI Ops (Not sure if the last question is a joke) Erm, well, I suppose not really, if you don't have any interest in politics
Controller ... I don't have any interest in politics.
CI Ops ... Right. Ok, carry on ... erm.
Controller (to me some 5 minutes later ) Ooh look what the CI Ops has sent me ... it's a photo of that whatsisname.
Me ... (silence)
Cx
This is an exchange I heard yesterday at work whilst in the Control Room. The two parties were our Chief Inspector in charge of operations and the early turn Controller. The Controller is the person who organises the response to your 999 calls.
CI Ops ... Any word On David Cameron ?
Controller ... Who ?
CI Ops ... David Cameron - he's on a walkabout in the town today, any word on how it's going ?
Controller ... Who ?
CI Ops (speaking slowly now) Da-vid Ca-mer-on. You know - the politician.
Controller ... Who ?
CI Ops ... Erm, the youngest ever leader of the Conservative party, you know the one who was voted the leader just recently ?
Controller ... Should I know who he is ?
CI Ops (Not sure if the last question is a joke) Erm, well, I suppose not really, if you don't have any interest in politics
Controller ... I don't have any interest in politics.
CI Ops ... Right. Ok, carry on ... erm.
Controller (to me some 5 minutes later ) Ooh look what the CI Ops has sent me ... it's a photo of that whatsisname.
Me ... (silence)
Cx
Sunday, April 23, 2006
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Nessie found - in cornflake box !
My 6th apology goes to Eric Eastwood who went to the same primary school as I did.
I went to school one day with a small plastic Nessie which came in my cereal packet.
I managed to convince Eric that not only was she real but that she was due to have babies any day. She would have to lay her eggs in a very warm, safe place for them to hatch successfully.
Eric had very fine, strawberry blond hair.
The eggs were made from blu tac and I stuck them liberally throughout his hair whilst he sat still so as not to disrupt the babies or make Nessie angry.
Eric came to school next day looking like a hamster had chewed his hair.
Sorry, Eric.
My name is not Earl and I stuck blu tac in Eric Eastwood's hair, telling him it was Nessie eggs.
Cx
My 6th apology goes to Eric Eastwood who went to the same primary school as I did.
I went to school one day with a small plastic Nessie which came in my cereal packet.
I managed to convince Eric that not only was she real but that she was due to have babies any day. She would have to lay her eggs in a very warm, safe place for them to hatch successfully.
Eric had very fine, strawberry blond hair.
The eggs were made from blu tac and I stuck them liberally throughout his hair whilst he sat still so as not to disrupt the babies or make Nessie angry.
Eric came to school next day looking like a hamster had chewed his hair.
Sorry, Eric.
My name is not Earl and I stuck blu tac in Eric Eastwood's hair, telling him it was Nessie eggs.
Cx
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Hello, hello, helloooo ?
We thought we'd really arrived when we got our first telephone. It was a trimphone in two tone green & much fun was to be had. We soon discovered the combination of numbers required to make the phone ring, once you had replaced the handset.
Mum & Dad cottoned on pretty fast but not Granny.
We never tired of Granny answering the phone to no-one.
'Hello, hello, helloooo ?'
She's 91 today.
Happy Birthday.
My name is not Earl and I used to make my gran answer imaginary telephone calls.
Cx
We thought we'd really arrived when we got our first telephone. It was a trimphone in two tone green & much fun was to be had. We soon discovered the combination of numbers required to make the phone ring, once you had replaced the handset.
Mum & Dad cottoned on pretty fast but not Granny.
We never tired of Granny answering the phone to no-one.
'Hello, hello, helloooo ?'
She's 91 today.
Happy Birthday.
My name is not Earl and I used to make my gran answer imaginary telephone calls.
Cx
Monday, April 17, 2006
Boom! shake-shake-shake the room ... tick-tick-tick-tick Boom!
I've long held a fascination with all things incendiary.
When I was 13 I went to a lovely middle school in ***** where I was really happy.
I wondered what would happen if I left the gas taps on in the science block over the weekend.
So that's what I did.
I was interested to know if we would be transferred to another school if I razed mine to the ground.
I suspected not and thought we might get at least 2 weeks off school whilst relocation was organised.
The scool was still standing on Monday morning. I did consider asking all the staff if they had turned the gas taps off last thing Friday but thought they may consider this an odd question.
My name is not Earl and I tried to blow up my middle school.
Cx
Sunday, April 16, 2006
Ding dong bell, Pussy's in the well ...
er no, the upturned bath actually.
If someone asked you if I was an aminal lover you'd answer yes wouldn't you ?
If someone asked you if I would deliberately cause distress to say ... a kitten, you'd say no, wouldn't you ?
Wrong.
There was an older kid who lived on King Street called Peter Bolton.
Us younger kids used to go along with his daft ideas, because he was cool by virtue of the fact that he was older.
One of his ideas was to keep a little tabby kitten we found. She can't have been older than
8 weeks. We put her overnight under an upturned tin bath in a nearby car scrapyard so
that she'd be there in the morning. It didn't occur to me that we shouldn't, just that it would be nice to have our own kitten.
In the early evening two distraught young women came knocking door to door asking after their kitten and faced with their distress I had to lead them to where the poor creature was incarcerated.
I was subsequently excluded from the gang as punishment.
My name is not Earl and I trapped a kitten under a tin bath.
Cx
ps Angie - you don't have to come here any more if you don't want to.
er no, the upturned bath actually.
If someone asked you if I was an aminal lover you'd answer yes wouldn't you ?
If someone asked you if I would deliberately cause distress to say ... a kitten, you'd say no, wouldn't you ?
Wrong.
There was an older kid who lived on King Street called Peter Bolton.
Us younger kids used to go along with his daft ideas, because he was cool by virtue of the fact that he was older.
One of his ideas was to keep a little tabby kitten we found. She can't have been older than
8 weeks. We put her overnight under an upturned tin bath in a nearby car scrapyard so
that she'd be there in the morning. It didn't occur to me that we shouldn't, just that it would be nice to have our own kitten.
In the early evening two distraught young women came knocking door to door asking after their kitten and faced with their distress I had to lead them to where the poor creature was incarcerated.
I was subsequently excluded from the gang as punishment.
My name is not Earl and I trapped a kitten under a tin bath.
Cx
ps Angie - you don't have to come here any more if you don't want to.
Saturday, April 15, 2006
And this little piggy went ...
The second of my admitted offences was against my brother.
There is a four year age gap between us and I was about 5 at the time.
Please bear that in mind and don't think too badly of me.
I had a collection of plastic bricks which slotted into a cart in wheels.
When my brother happened along, my folks bought him a wooden set. They were, in my eyes, infinitely superior, partly because they were wooden and partly because his cart had a handle on one end with which to push the cart.
As I saw it, the difference between the plastic bricks and the wooden ones directly equated to how much more my parents loved my brother.
I needed to do something which would display my upset with my parents and my contempt for my brother.
It was obvious.
My name is not Earl and I peed over my 1 year old brother's wooden blocks.
Stick around, there's loads more to come.
Cx
The second of my admitted offences was against my brother.
There is a four year age gap between us and I was about 5 at the time.
Please bear that in mind and don't think too badly of me.
I had a collection of plastic bricks which slotted into a cart in wheels.
When my brother happened along, my folks bought him a wooden set. They were, in my eyes, infinitely superior, partly because they were wooden and partly because his cart had a handle on one end with which to push the cart.
As I saw it, the difference between the plastic bricks and the wooden ones directly equated to how much more my parents loved my brother.
I needed to do something which would display my upset with my parents and my contempt for my brother.
It was obvious.
My name is not Earl and I peed over my 1 year old brother's wooden blocks.
Stick around, there's loads more to come.
Cx
Friday, April 14, 2006
My name is not Earl
Only Murray and the Tanners need to read the following bit. There is a programme on Channel 4 at the moment called 'My name is Earl'. Earl re-visits all the crimes he has committed and tries to redeem himself by 'undoing' them. It got me to thinking about the bad things I've done.
In the spirit of Earl, I thought if I own up to them now I may get some respite from my pricking conscience. This has nothing to do with the fact that Mummeh has limited internet access at the moment.
As you may have gathered my first admitted crime was against Mummeh.
When I was very young Mummeh used to serve porridge on Winter mornings. I hated porridge. It made me retch, gip and heave. None of this cut any ice with Mummeh who quite rightly explained that I had to eat what was put in front of me. I really didn't want to leave the porridge. Leaving it made for a worse outcome. If you left your porridge at breakfast time it would be re-served cold, solid and unyielding at tea time when the rest of the family were eating a hot meal.
Eventually I hit upon a solution for the porridge. I couldn't put it in the bin as it would be detected there but I could scrape it into my wellies. Which is what I did, planning to empty the wellies at a later date.
I forgot of course, right up to the first wet day when I had to wear my wellies to school.
As I put my foot in my first welly I wondered what it was squeezing through my toes. Even once I had realised I just had to brazen it out as Mummeh was in the kitchen.
At school I withdrew my feet to find they were encased in green, furry porridge.
My refusal to explain to the teacher what had happened (I thought she might tell Mummeh) ensured that I spent a Winter's day at school in bare feet with the prospect of putting the socks and wellies on again at the end of the day.
My name is not Earl and I used to hide my porridge in my wellies.
Cx
Only Murray and the Tanners need to read the following bit. There is a programme on Channel 4 at the moment called 'My name is Earl'. Earl re-visits all the crimes he has committed and tries to redeem himself by 'undoing' them. It got me to thinking about the bad things I've done.
In the spirit of Earl, I thought if I own up to them now I may get some respite from my pricking conscience. This has nothing to do with the fact that Mummeh has limited internet access at the moment.
As you may have gathered my first admitted crime was against Mummeh.
When I was very young Mummeh used to serve porridge on Winter mornings. I hated porridge. It made me retch, gip and heave. None of this cut any ice with Mummeh who quite rightly explained that I had to eat what was put in front of me. I really didn't want to leave the porridge. Leaving it made for a worse outcome. If you left your porridge at breakfast time it would be re-served cold, solid and unyielding at tea time when the rest of the family were eating a hot meal.
Eventually I hit upon a solution for the porridge. I couldn't put it in the bin as it would be detected there but I could scrape it into my wellies. Which is what I did, planning to empty the wellies at a later date.
I forgot of course, right up to the first wet day when I had to wear my wellies to school.
As I put my foot in my first welly I wondered what it was squeezing through my toes. Even once I had realised I just had to brazen it out as Mummeh was in the kitchen.
At school I withdrew my feet to find they were encased in green, furry porridge.
My refusal to explain to the teacher what had happened (I thought she might tell Mummeh) ensured that I spent a Winter's day at school in bare feet with the prospect of putting the socks and wellies on again at the end of the day.
My name is not Earl and I used to hide my porridge in my wellies.
Cx
Monday, April 10, 2006
'You are behaving in an un-shopping lke fashion...'
I promise the tale I am about to relate contains no exaggeration.
When I go shopping with Milky he likes to pretend to be my arms. By this I mean I will be standing with my own arms by my sides whilst he feeds his through my armpits and pretends his manically flapping appendages are mine. I am often to be found in front of a chiller cabinet pondering the merits of tuna versus haddock whilst my limbs appear to gesticulate wildly to the consternation of other shoppers.
Today it was whilst in this position that I heard the arch enquiry ...
'Do you think other shoppers could get in ?'
I turned to see a harridan, shrivelled and bent over her trolley, casting her gimlet eye over me.
I very seldom stand up for myself but I'm on my third early turn and was feeling 'that way out' as Yorkshire folk put it.
'I don't know - how about you ask politely ?' I heard myself say.
I don't think she was used to be answered back, the solid mass of lacquered hair tilted back in one quivering movement as her eyebrows shot up her face in surprise.
'Well, you're behaving in an un-shopping like fashion' she spat.
'I do apologise for enjoying myself in the supermarket' I was quite enjoying the exchange by now.
She looked to the shopper to her left, who was very openly enjoying the conversation, drew herself up to her full height and said in the tones of Lady Bracknell
'There is a place for enjoying oneself and it is not the supermarket'
Later on during the shopping Milky found an ale rejoicing in the name 'Bitter and Twisted' and had to be restrained from slipping it into her trolley.
Cx
I promise the tale I am about to relate contains no exaggeration.
When I go shopping with Milky he likes to pretend to be my arms. By this I mean I will be standing with my own arms by my sides whilst he feeds his through my armpits and pretends his manically flapping appendages are mine. I am often to be found in front of a chiller cabinet pondering the merits of tuna versus haddock whilst my limbs appear to gesticulate wildly to the consternation of other shoppers.
Today it was whilst in this position that I heard the arch enquiry ...
'Do you think other shoppers could get in ?'
I turned to see a harridan, shrivelled and bent over her trolley, casting her gimlet eye over me.
I very seldom stand up for myself but I'm on my third early turn and was feeling 'that way out' as Yorkshire folk put it.
'I don't know - how about you ask politely ?' I heard myself say.
I don't think she was used to be answered back, the solid mass of lacquered hair tilted back in one quivering movement as her eyebrows shot up her face in surprise.
'Well, you're behaving in an un-shopping like fashion' she spat.
'I do apologise for enjoying myself in the supermarket' I was quite enjoying the exchange by now.
She looked to the shopper to her left, who was very openly enjoying the conversation, drew herself up to her full height and said in the tones of Lady Bracknell
'There is a place for enjoying oneself and it is not the supermarket'
Later on during the shopping Milky found an ale rejoicing in the name 'Bitter and Twisted' and had to be restrained from slipping it into her trolley.
Cx
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Leave it out ...
It's April and the Met has just cancelled everyone's rest days over Christmas & New Year
due to the last day of Hajj also falling on New Year's Eve.
Happy Christmas from the Met.
Only those who had the foresight to book their Xmas in February are spared
All being well, I move on the 1st June, photos to follow.
MTM you'll have to drop the homeless jokes.
Eric, the suspense is killing me ... you know I'm rubbish with surprises.
Cx
It's April and the Met has just cancelled everyone's rest days over Christmas & New Year
due to the last day of Hajj also falling on New Year's Eve.
Happy Christmas from the Met.
Only those who had the foresight to book their Xmas in February are spared
All being well, I move on the 1st June, photos to follow.
MTM you'll have to drop the homeless jokes.
Eric, the suspense is killing me ... you know I'm rubbish with surprises.
Cx
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
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
... 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
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