They play with us for their sport.

I’ve become increasingly frustrated recently with tv shows and the company’s and executives that make them. I was reminded of the above quote by Lord Melchett from the Black Adder.

As I start watching a TV series, and I’m really getting into it, loads of them seem to get cancelled after 1 season.

The Chicago code (the best police/crime drama I’ve ever seen), Terra Nova, Alcatraz and just recently Continuum.

I’ve read comments on the internet, where some viewers will record an entire series, but wont even start to watch it until its confirmed for a 2nd season.

This just drives me mad. I know that times are hard, and early financial returns are important, but how about having a bit more faith.

As I’ve said before, I’ve always been one of those lazy people, when it comes the things like houses.

On the domestic front, I’m pretty easily pleased, and I only really make an effort, if I know people are coming to my house to stay, or attend a party.

Recently, I’ve started to use that trait pro-actively, and organise parties and things, knowing that I’d have to sort certain things out in time.

In this case, its the Barbecue I’m hosting on Saturday afternoon. Its all system go at my house at the moment.

I was delighted, when Glenn (no amateur, when it comes to furniture) and his son Jack came round, to help me assemble something.

Here you can see them hard at work.

I just wanted to take a moment to say thanks to Glenn & Jack, and how much I look forward to seeing you all this Saturday.

Haven’t said this for a while, but:

The search for adventure continues…

I still cant remember where I first heard about the Gritstone trail.

It was a while ago, and Tony and I were really keen to do it. Its roughly a 3 day trip, and the problem was originally with the cost of the accommodation. At the time, money was tight (as it always is I supposed) and £110 for a room for just one night, moved the overall cost, outside our price range.

So, we put it off for a while, and did other things.

By complete co-incidence, my friend Lyndsay actually lives in the village of Rainow, and the walk passes through there. She gave me a shout, that a new pub had opened, and they were doing a twin room for 1 night, with breakfast, for £50.

If we could do the first 2 days of the walk, and do the 3rd another time, so we’d only need train-fare, £25 each and money for food and ale (and we’d get to meet up with Lyndsay and finally see her village).

All systems go…

We meet up and Manchester Piccadily railway station (one of my favourite railway stations, and featured in 19 things I like).

The idea, is to get the train to Disley, walk to Rainow, stay over, walk to Congleton and then get the train back to Manchester Piccadily. Annoyingly, its one of those trains where they only do day returns, so I had to get 2 singles, which I thought was very expensive.

As we got on the train, at 8am on a Saturday morning, a “right on” couple were there with their 2 children. One of the children started crying, and the parents decided to raise the child’s spirits, by singing. They were actually singing so loudly, that they made more noise than the child and proceeded to take over the carriage !.

As we leave the train, we wander along. The weather is absolutely fantastic, and I’m really enjoying the trail, and catching up with Tony (I mean hearing about what’s been happening, not physically catching him, he’s not that fit !)

Hot on the heels of his 2004 production, bathrooms around the world, Tony began work on his latest installation. It has no title at the moment, but seemed to me to involve photographing just about every sign that we came to, no matter how relevant (or completely irrelevant).

We wander into the entrance of Lyme park. I think the last time I was here, I was 19 doing orienteering with Fairbridge Drake.

We wander passed Lyme park hall. I was surprised to hear, that this is the largest house in Cheshire.

Outside, there’s a sign that says coffee served in the National Trust cafe from 10:30am. Inside it appears to be closed, even thought its 10:40. We see someone from the National Trust, and ask him about it. He says “it opens at 11” then turns his back on us and walks away. I couldn’t help wondering if his bosses (trying to run a charity, in the worst recession for 80 years) knew he was treating paying customers (and members of the national trust, who pay monthly by direct debit, in my case) this way.

One odd thing about me. I have many cupboards in my house, but I never leave the house, if one of them is open.

Obsessive compulsive ?.

I don’t agree, I just don’t like things left undone or hanging in the air. In this case, I cancelled my direct debit, and emailed the subscription department to tell them why.

We walk further, and after about a mile, realise we’ve gone the wrong way. This is happened to us before, and we’ve always tried to push forward, and rejoin the route. It never seems to work, and with the benefit of our experience, we simply walk back a mile, and pick up the correct trail.

Walking farther, we arrive at Bollington. There are a couple of nice pubs here, so we pick one, and then text Lyndsay, to tell her where were going to meet.

Overlooking the town, is White Nancy (don’t make the mistake I did and call it The White Nancy. The locals will all think your an arse). It was originally built to commemorate the Battle of Waterloo (or I think more accurately, to commemorate the British victory there, it would be pretty pointless if we’d been trounced by the French and then started celebrating it with monuments !).

it at the top of an enormous hill. Tony decides that instead of taking the path that “snakes” up the hill, were going to walk up it in the straight line. Due to his excellent fitness, he is of course able to dance up there, whistling as he goes, while I gasp for breath.

Once on top, there are spectacular views all around, and we see that wn has been painted up for the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee.

Back down the hill, we get lost (I know you must be wondering how on earth that can happen, but once your back in the built up part with houses and factories, its pretty easy to do). A local woman, laughs when we tell here were lost (she looks at our expensive boots, walking clothes and trekking poles as she does this).

I bite my tongue, thank her for her help, and head to the pub, to meet Lyndsay.

We find a friendly pub called the Cotton Tree in Bollington which has recently been done up. We sit there for a couple of hours chatting about various things. I always consider myself lucky, that I have interesting friends, and they all seem to get on with one another.

Lyndsay fascinates us, with stories of her trip to Kilimanjaro, which Tony has been itching to do for ages.

Its a beautiful day, and we’ve don’t some great walking, talking and drinking. Its time to head back to Rainow, and Lyndsay leads us up a country lane, she regularly jogs up and down during the evening.

Rainow really is a beautiful village.

I can imagine a place that small could get you down a bit, with everyone knowing your business all the time, but in balance, its practically crime free, I didn’t see any litter, and everyone I met was friendly and helpful (looking back, it reminds me of the green and pleasant land reference in the Olympic opening ceremony).

They have a competition each year, to design the best scarecrow, which a changing theme each year. This year the theme was obviously the Olympics, and we saw some of the “creations” as we walked back to Lyndsays house for dinner. Apparently, the winner gets £50, so it would be well worth the effort to the winner.

 

We go to the Robbin hood pub, and get the keys to our room. Its spotlessly clean, and very tidy (2 unwittingly destroy the 2nd of those traits within a few minutes of arriving).

Boots off, trainers on. Good wash, and a clean shirt, and were set for the evening.

We wander over to Lyndsay house. Its a cottage made of local Gritstone. Lyndsay has beers, and we eat Chilli (her own recipe).

I have a really good time, and am later accused by Tony, of constantly talking about work.

Folloowed up with Sticky Toffee pudding, for desert, were setup for the evening.

I ask what time they do breakfast the next day. Obviously I want to take time and enjoy the walk the next day, but the train from Congleton is the problem. There’s a train at 4pm, and then the next 1 is at 7pm. I really want to make the 4pm train if I can.

They say simply, that the Chef works 7 days a week, so on Sunday, breakfast is served from 9:30. Im usualy up early, but on this occasion, I’ll have a lie in bed, with no guilt.

We get a couple of pints, and are introduced to a chap at the bar, who’s wife used to teach Lyndsay at school. Tony and I get talking to him, and he knows the area really well, having previously been a park ranger.

Just as well, every time someone under 35 walks in the pub, they hug or kiss Lyndsay and as here what she’s been doing, so she’s monopolised for most of the evening (but no matter, these are old friends, not like the hangers on, that frequent my favourite pubs).

Its been a long day, so time for bed. Brilliantly, because its such a safe area, we dont have to walk Lyndsay home (although obviously we offer).

Tony some sh*te on the tv, but I turn it off (to my mind, its like taking heroin away from an adict, and done for his own good).

In the morning, we sit down for breakfast and its certainly worth it. I cant remember 5 English breakfasts that good, in the last 10 years.

We return to the trail, and wander up a steep hill, bidding rainow fair-well (mobile coverage is terrible here, so Lyndsay doesn’t get out great-full thanks for another few hours).

We head onwards to the Teggs nose country park (takes its name from an early Norse settlement).

I end up asking directions from some mountain rescue people on exercise. I’m surprised when they ask to see my map.

Turns out, there actually from Derbyshire. We have a bit of a chat, and they show us their radio and other equipment. Just like the lifeboat crew I mentioned in Tenby, I have nothing but admiration for these people. If you have an extra cash, please consider contributing here.

More windy paths, and then we walk through some forests.

Beyond here, we wander along several open fields. the weather throughout was fantastic.

Time is agains us now, so we cut short part of the walk up onto a high hill and head for Congleton.

Tragicaly, we arrive about 20 minutes too late, and spend the next 3 hours in the pub waiting for the next one.

Back home by 10 oclock, and this leg of the walk complete. Only 1 day of the Gritstone trail left before we can actualy say we’ve done it.

A quick thanks to Lynday for looking after us, and Tony as always for his willing companionship.

By special guest editor Sue Coughlin.

Hello world. I’m presently in the Derwent Water independent hostel enjoying a glass of fine wine with my friends.

Keswick is pretty quiet this evening, but there is endless excitement in the hostel, as Team GB have just won 4 additional gold medals.

The considered opinion of the group is that John looks like Boris Johnson.

John probably wont let me on this website again, so I just like to say a quick thanks for reading and bid you goodbye.

Sue C.

 

 

 

While I was unemployed (and for a while after I started work again !) I had literally nothing. Occasionally though, I would treat myself, and I bought simple items which I could use for camping.

The reason for this, is however bad things were (and although I couldn’t afford to at the time) I knew with certainty that I would get out camping again. It was just a matter of time.

My friend Sue did a superb job of organising a camping trip to Llangollen a couple of months ago, so when I heard she was planning something for Tenby, I couldn’t wait (it would also give me a chance to try out some of my camping gadgets (*2)).

I had originally intended to do Saturday to Saturday, but it didn’t end up working out. Luckily, Alex was driving down early on Tuesday, so we travelled there together and shared the petrol.

Halfway there, realised I had left mobile at home . Luckily, my mobile synchs with outlook, so once I could find a computer, and connect back to work, I had a number for Dan at work (in case of emergency’s) and Steve (to make sure my fish didnt starve).

It was a weird feeling throughout the week, as I kept feeling like I should reach in my pocket and check something, but there was nothing there 🙂

We met up with everyone at the Meadow farm camp-site. There are normally spectacular views of the bay from here, but the weather was awfull and you couldnt see more than 100 yards.

I’d packed light, and it was the 2nd outing for the Zephros 2 tent which performed superbly once again.

Alex had brought an enormous tent, with all sorts of accessories, and it took us 2 hours to put it up.

We headed off to see a bit of the town.

In native welsh (is there any other kind of welsh) Tenby means little fortress of the fishes.

Tenby is mainly known for its beautiful beaches and 13th century medieval wall. The most striking part of which, Is the 5 arches barbican gate shown above.

It wasn’t always like this. The English civil war and a plague that killed half of the residents, laid ruin to the city. The visiting John Wesley wrote: Two thirds of the old town is in ruins or has entirely vanished. Pigs roam among the abandoned houses and Tenby presents a dismal spectacle.

Shortly afterwards, Sir William Paxton started investing in the town and today its one of the busiest tourist seaside areas in the country.

We wandered around a couple of different pubs. The town had loads of character, and after less than an hour, it was growing on me.

Not everyone could make it on the trip. No attenders included Brian (Salisbury plain) Glenn (working) Dan (told me it would rain and I was mental). Present, were several people from the Chester and district walking group , the Chester branch of IVC and some personal friends of Sue’s.

My tent held up perfectly throughout the night, despite terrible weather. In the morning, it was awful, and I thought seriously about hanging around the town doing some cultural research (which means sitting in pub all day).

Although there are dozens of walks available around the area, there are 2 main walks, along the cost. One runs from Trewant back to Tenby, and the other runs from Tenby to Saundersfoot.

We decided to do the first one, and got the bus out to Trewant (in my experience, if 1 leg of a journey is to be done by public transport, always do that first). This would mean that the walk would end back at Tenby, rather than everyone having to wait for a bus, at the end of a 13 mile walk !.

As you can see from the picture above, the early part of the walk was interesting, but coastal views were no existent. The weather was terrible, but as Billy Conolly said, in the UK, theres no such thing as bad weather, just the wrong clothing.

The Pembrokeshire coastal path we were following, is Wales only coastal national park.

We stop off at Swan Lake bay (I don’t know why its called that, as there weren’t any Swans are anything).

We had a go at beach combing and I had 1 of my sandwiches (ok, so if your getting the idea it was a bit dull, once we stopped walking, your on the right track).

Just as we entered Manorbier bay, the weather picked up.

The sun was beaming, and those that could changed into shorts. I realised that I only had my fleece and hadn’t packed a T shirt, so I baked for the rest of the day.

As we walked into Manorbier, to meet the rest of the group , we passed Manorbier castle. It was used in the film I capture the castle.

I was interested to see that they run writing courses there. I cant think of a more inspirational setting.

Once in the town, a few people visited a nice tea shop, and had soup. I went for a pint, and in between, ate the superb packed lunch I’d purchased from Sainsbury’s.

At one point, I’d actually considered buying a picnic from Carlucios. When I realised how much it weighed, I changed my mind.

Fed and watered, we continue on our way.

We had to head inland from the coast to continue the walk, as a military base is located there.

Air defence range Manorbier, is the only range in mainland UK from where the High Velocity Missile (HVM) employed in the anti aircraft role can be fired.

Its actually called the Starstreak missile system and is the latest in the design progression from the Blowpipe (used in the Falklands) to the S15 Javelin (deployed in the first Gulf war).

They fly radio controlled planes that are bright orange, and than practice trying to hit them (although I presume they practice near misses, as replacing all those planes must be expensive). When finished, the plane is flown back, the engines are cut and a parachute lets it descend slowly to earth (we watched this with fascination).

I decided not to take any pictures of the missile or its launcher.

I’ve seen spooks and I didn’t want to get bundled into a white transit van on my way back from the chippy.

Its 4 years since I did the Anglesey coastal path. I remember commenting at the time that I’d never seen anything so spectacular, but this was even better.

I had expected to see some “wrecks” around here, but there weren’t any.

I cant stand ambiguous signs. I always think that signs should be obvious, and you should know instantly, the information being conveyed.

We were walking along the main path, but I small path closer to the edge had been eroded. The writing on the green part of this sign, tells you not to go this way, but I thought the graphic at the top, communicated the message superbly !.

The top of the path, overlooking Lydstep.

The area was more caravan park than town, and if the prices in the shop are anything to go by, the residents there must be particularly wealthy.

As we leave Lydstep, we walk along this sort of peninsular.

Once we’d walked to the end, it dropped down and from here it was just a matter of walking a few miles down the beach to Tenby.

I noticed that people started to spread. Walking is a bit like that. Sometimes you stay with the pack and chat, and other times you find some space on your own. It had been an amazing day, and in the last couple of miles, even a cynic like me, was in a reflective mood.

Back in town, a few people decide to head back to the camp site, and get ready for an evening out (they would later change their minds, and exercising the hight of alfresco decadence, order pizza’s to be delivered to the camp site !).

The 2 David’s and I decided to relax with a pint. We find a nice pub with a beer garden . It was largely taken over by its regulars, and “tourists” like myself were tolerated rather than welcomed.

Still, character trumps hospitality in my book, so we had a couple there, and decided it wasn’t worth heading back.

I’ve never been a big fan of sea food.

If you invited me out to celebrate your birthday, and we were eating at a seafood restaurant, I’d come along, but I’d eat the food in the same way I’d eat worms on a Survival course (and in case your wondering, I’ve done it !).

The exception to this, is Sea-bass and traditional Fish and Chips from the chippy (the latter not to be eaten to often, for the sake of my health).

The chip shops around Tenby were superb. The thing I especially liked, was how every fish was fried fresh. There were no battered fish, sat behind glass waiting for someone to buy them, like there is at home on Friday night.

I must have eaten Fish and Chips for lunch or dinner on about 4 occasions throughout the trip, and wasn’t disappoint once.

I’d heard you have to be careful eating in the street, as the gulls can be quite aggressive.

We decided to do an experiment.

All around us, gulls were perched on rooftops watching us eat. As we sat down on a bench, they moved in closer, and started to perch on nearby cars.

I had about 15 chips left on a tray. I walked over to a bench about 15 feet away, got my camera ready and stepped back.

The gulls attacked the tray (thats the only word I can think of to describe it). In seconds all the chips were gone, and they tray lay in tatters in the corner.

We decided to have a few more drinks in town, and its then that I discovered a brilliant pub, called Normandie. I went back a few times during the trip.

Next day up bright and early, we decide to visit the Island of Caldey.

When I’d seen the island from the coastal path, the day before, I was convinced it was the one from Torchwood. In fact, thats Flat Holm Island of the coast of Cardiff.

Its a couple of quid by boat for a return trip.

As we were sailing out, we passed the lifeboat station.

Tenby had the first slipway equipped lifeboat station in the country, installed in 1905.

It was replaced in 2008 by a more modern facility, and the original was sold to be used as a domestic residence and was featured on Grand Designs.

We take the piss quite a lot on this website, but there are exceptions.

To my mind, the kind of guy who gets out of a warm bed at 4am in the morning and puts to sea in horrendous conditions to try and save someone else’s life, is in a league all of his own.

I’ve included a link to the crew list. These guys are made of iron, if you have any spare money, please do consider donating to the RNLI (and pray that you never need to use them).

We arrive on Caldey Island.

On the top left of the picture, is the abbey where the monks actually live. The monks themselves, are featured on facebook. A situation so ridiculous, that I have nothing else to say about it.

On the right of the picture, is the shop and museum. The main source of income for the island (aside from selling salvation I suppose) is the chocolate and perfume that they make.

The chocolate was very nice. The perfume, one of the foulest stenches I have ever endured. I can only presume that the monks don’t go out on the town often, and have therefore become confused about what perfume should actually smell like.

I think if I was female, I would rather go out for the evening wearing insect repellent.

On the plus side, there was a small cafe on the green and the tea was really nice.

We wandered around exploring.

As we walked towards the lighthouse, I looked back and took this picture. From a distance, the Island looks pretty small, but you can see how big it is here.

For no particular reason, we started discussing the wall on the right. Sue reckoned that the grouting on this building needed work.

I thought it was at least 100 years old and should be condemned.

As we reached the lighthouse, we decided to stop for a break.

One of our party had sat on some mud or something. There was some discussion about how “serious” the problem was.

Since nobody had a mirror, I was called upon to photograph the area, for review by the “victim” of this mishap.

Martin Sheen in Wall Street, said “When a guy gets old enough, he’s seen everything”. After taking that picture, I believe that I have.

As the offending backside was was forced into my face and I was instructed to take the shot, I fought the urge to scream. Instead, I unwittingly exclaimed “Christ on a bike”.

This was unfortunate, as someone religious was passing, and they took a dim view of my comments.

I’ve deleted the photo now. Like the true face of god (which this most certainly wasn’t) some things are never meant to be seen.

From the lighthouse, there was a nice coastal walk.

Were weren’t able to do it, as the last boat back is at 3pm so there was no time.

If you miss the last boat home, they will send you a charter boat and it will cost £50.

Back from Caldey, we have a couple of drinks around the Esplenade.

Its full of Victorian era hotels and has loads of character (if I’d been here on a romantic sort of weekend, I’d probably have stayed at one of these).

It afforded a superb view of St Catherines Island and Palmerston fort built in 1867.

There was talk of converting the fort into an esclusive hotel. I’m no engineer, but it didnt look like an easy job to me.

The path up to the fort was closed. Inspired by urban adventure I thought we should do some sort of “James Bond” thing, sneak over and jump the fence once it got dark.

Surprisingly, I couldn’t get any volunteers to come with me, so gave up on the project.

If anyone is wondering, this is what it actually looks like inside.

In the evening, we continue our tradition of contributing to the local economy through pub and chip shop.

Wine bars are, to me, for people who want to go out for a drink, but don’t want to look like drinkers. A nonsense really.

Some of our group are ensconced there and we meet up with them. Flash looking from the outside, its surprisingly dreary on the inside. There’s even a singer !

Its normally younger “musicians”, who confuse good music with loud music and turn the volume up to headache inducing volumes in order to compensate.

I’ve included this picture, to show that older people can be stupid as well.

 

A brilliant thing about the camp-site, is its location right on the Pembrokeshire coastal path.

The following day, we got up, got ready, wandered down the drive, and there we were, ready to walk to Saundersfoot.

It was really muddy underfoot but the scenery was superby. The rest of the group decided to walk a bit further, but Alex and I had lunch in Saundersfoot (what do you know, there’s a chippy !)

and then took the bus back.

In the afternoon, I just hung out in Tenby, wandered around the shops, bought a t shirt, then found somewhere quiet and started jotting down some notes for adventure opportunities I’d thought of.

Later I meet up with the group, and we have a couple of drinks and some dinner at the 5 arches (beef & ale pie and chips for £8).

Of course none of this would have been possible without a lift from Alex, so I treated him to dinner (and like any decent bloke, he didn’t take the piss and order Steak 🙂

 Were going home the next day, and I feel a bit sad.

We wander around Castle hill. Its dark now, and very quiet. We sit on a park bench, and someone spots a Seal (or an old car tyre, depending on who you believe).

I wander around some more, in a reflective mood. Lots of things have changed over the last couple of years.

I’m constantly striving to get life back to what I consider normal. But what does that actually mean. Well to me, it means big budget overseas adventuring. Or so I thought.

Trips like this one to Tenby are meant to be a temporary compromise aren’t they ?

Its then that it occurs to me, as I look out to the ocean. I’m not looking at the Taj Mahal or the Empire State building.

I’ve seen both of those things up close. When I think back to the experience, it was no more special then, than this moment is now.

Its then that I realise. Its like when you work with someone, you see them every day and you fall in love with them without realising it (*1).

I’m where I want to be and my life is already back to normal. Life has re-aligned itself while I wasn’t looking.

*1
Dan asked me to point out, that this was hilarious and incredibly cheesy. I didnt think so, but for full disclosure, promised to mention the comments.

*2

Unfortunately the weather was so bad, I never got to try out any of my camping gadgets (that’s why there are no pictures of my tent or the camp-site or anything).

A brilliant week away and I would definitely recommend Tenby. That said its people and places that make experiences memorable, not just places.

I’d like to thank everyone that came along, with special thanks to Alex for transport and Sue for organising. Without them, this trip wouldn’t have been possible.

Mad busy at work the last couple of weeks, and away camping for a week, and stupidly left mobile phone at home. Therefore, sorry the website hasn’t been updated recently.

Message from Sir Chris Bonington.

If your anything like me, your post normally falls into 3 categories.

1. Free newspapers which go straight into recycling.

2. Bills (even though I repeatedly ask for them digitally).

3. Letters telling me that bills are about to go up !.

I got an envelope in the post the other day, that didn’t match any of the above 3.

Turns out,  after my amazing chance meeting with Sir Chris Bonington, Glenn actually emailed Sir Chris’s company and explained how much significance our meeting had held for me.  By illustration, he sent them a link to this website where they could read about it.

Inside the envelope, this fantastic photograph in the post with a hand written message from Sir Chris.

I have a poster from the ascent of the Ogre. Its signed by Doug Scott and Sir Chris Bonington. I always say, that if my house caught fire, once my fish and japanese plants were safe, its the only thing I’d carry out with me. Now that I have this, Ill need to keep an additional hand free, should that unlikely scenario happen 🙂

I haven’t found a frame worthy of it yet, in the meantime, I’ve taken a quick photo so you can have a look.

Other Stuff.

As well as the running blog which your reading now, your probably aware, that when I do trips away, I normally write them up into specific articles with a sort of checker board format of photo/words (you can see a sample one here).

You may have notices, that I haven’t done them for Lisbon, Munich, Tallinn or Helsinki. Paradoxically, the reason for this, is that I’ve been that busy going out walking and pursuing adventure, that I’ve had no time to do it. Julie should be a quiet month for me (I’m only away 2 weekends) so I should have them updated quite soon.

Its 5 years since the launch of the IPhone. Industry “experts” of the day were asked for their thoughts (for full disclosure, I was an IPhone sceptic for the first year they were out).

Found a website called Changeblog. I think its impressive and especially like the 24 daily habits.

Glenn found this fascinating website about motorbiking through Chernobyl.

Money saving expert downshift article should release some badly needed money for adventure.

Saw this video on BBC news about a couple who converted a bus into a flat.

Well my 3rd consecutive weekend away. This time I was visiting a place called the Corris Hostel.

Picked up by Brian, we stop off to pick up Sue, and popped in for a cup of tea (its one of the cleanest houses I’ve ever visited, and smelled like a hotel).

Anyway, as we were leaving, we met a neighbours dog, who Sue sometimes takes for a walk (Sue lives in one of those nice areas, where people don’t steal each others washing from the line). I was entranced by a small lively dog called Maggie.

Firstly, Maggie, is a woman’s name. Its like calling a cat Alison, or an Afghan hound Graham. Anyway, this little dog had sadly suffered cancer as a pup, and only had 3 legs. The thing that struck me was her sheer vitality and energy. For a tiny dog, she bounded with more exuberance, than a dog 5 times her size.

I thought that was a good metaphor for adventure generally. OK, the 3 of use weren’t walking naked into the Borneo Jungle with just a copy of the daily telegraph and a knitting needle, but we were out in search of adventure all the same.

Made me think, whatever your disadvantages, however modest your project, just like Maggie (it still feels strange calling a dog Maggie, by the way) put 150% of yourself into it.

Previously, my preferred type of accommodation was en-suit rooms in pubs like the Keswick Lodge (which has now been renamed the Inn at Keswick).

Because of the recession less people are going abroad, and lots of the pubs I would have previously stayed at, are now charging £90 plus for a room for one night (and in some cases up-to £120, and charging extra for breakfast !).

As a result, I turned my hand to hostelling. It has all the freedom and comfort of a pub b&b, but at a cost of around £14 per night.

We were staying in the hamlet of Corris, where the hostel there has a Nirvana reputation.

Above you can see they have a fireplace, comfy armchairs, tables for for communal eating and stuff like that, and a superb collection of interesting books.

They have a couple of private rooms, with en-suit sinks. I decided to sleep in one of the dorms, where they were cleverly compartmentalised to keep noise to a minimum.

I was shown to my bunk. It had the kind of décor that my bedroom had when I was 6, but it was also spotlessly clean and the quilt was warm.

They also had electricity, so unlike Skiddaw House I was able to charge my phone.

We got speaking to the hostel keeper. We were asking if business was doing well. Its then that it occurred to me. In this corner of life, there are 2 types of business.

1. If I have an idea, like importing bathroom tiles or something like that, I leave my job, and run the business to make the best possible profit for myself.

2. If I’m an accountant and I want to leave and setup a business leading mountain bike tours, then the job is the reward itself and all I need is a break even situation.

So, when asking someone like this, how business is going and he replies were surviving, that mean (in relative terms) that business is going very well.

I wander into the hamlet to explore.

They have a Steam train from there, which is running the following day (Fathers day), but we’ll be walking, so there isn’t any time to do it (as I’ve said before, I’ve been in a helicopter, a hovercraft, a submarine and a dozen other things but I’ve never actually been on a steam train.

I also found this waterfall.

In the evening we wandered down to the Slaters arms.

I imagine its normally a quiet place, but a group of lads were there to celebrate a stag do.

We had some dinner and a couple of pints. The service was excellent and the pub was really friendly.

We were introduced to the groom. It was pretty obvious really, he had a pint pot duck taped to his hand, and was wearing a dress.

Turned out he was a pagan, and the service was going to involve rocks at North, South, East and West. Didn’t really understand it to be honest, but meant a lot to him all the same.

Darts has become a must do activity amongst our group. We challenged the Stag participants to play. At one point, I actually hit a bull. Here Drew, indicates its location (which was amazing considering how much he’d had to drink).

Off to bed. Brian, the dark horse of our trio, was out until 2:30, long after everyone else had retired to bed.

I told the stag people about this website. If your reading this, I hope your wedding goes well, and you have a happy life together.

A lazy start to the day. I get up and read several of the excellent books  (and I didn’t even steal them to read at home either).

A more modest walk than usual, we stop on the hillside for brunch.

On the way home, we stop at Balla. Everyone enjoys scrambled eggs on toast.

Back home, and our adventure is over.

Really enjoyed the hostel, Ill be going there again.

People always say that opposites attract. Sometimes similarities attract.

Out for a drink one evening with Sue and Brian.

Brian mentions a place he likes called Skiddaw house. Its the highest hostel in the UK, at around 1500 feet.

That’s how adventure seeds are planted.

In other pub groups of friends, it would be agreed that “one day” we would go there. Except the people who I’m proud to call my friends, are like me, and six weeks later, were on our way there to visit !.

The hut has no electricity and can (realistically) only be reached on foot after a 2 hour walk.

I was unsure what the situation was with catering, so I took all the food I would need for 2 and a half days (ready made sandwiches for lunch, pasta for evening meals, breakfast bars, well, for breakfast). Tea and coffee are provided at the hostel.

I included my usual treats of chocolate limes, aero and hot chocolate sachets (Cheryl asked me to point out that they were fair trade). I also took a “Gerry Cochrane” inspired Sig bottle filled with whisky and 2 cans of coke for evening “entertainment”.

For clothing I just took a change of underwear and socks, a spare jumper for the evenings and a pair of trainers for trotting around the hostel.

Minimal wash kit, no first aid kit, penknife, torch, notebook and pen, sets everything up.

I’m picked up by Pete, and along with Cheryl and Dave, we hit the motorway.

We pass Keswick and arrive at Threlkeld. Brian had spent the day or two previous with some friends visiting from France.

He had caught the bus from Penrith, and through careful planning (and quite a lot of luck) we all arrived at the Horse and Farrier at about the same time.

We had a couple of pints, and got to know our French friends.

By about 2pm, we decided to head off. There was a discussion about doing a peak on the way. It was the usual story for me, in order to have Friday off, I’d had a hectic busy week so I was quite tired.

I decided to go straight to the Hostel with a mixed bag of French and English companions.

The weather turned rough about half way, but overall things were fine.

The path wound along, and we were presented with this sight.

At first look, Skiddaw house, doesn’t look like a cottage or anything, and someone compared it to a row of council houses.

The key thing about the place for me, is its altitude and isolation. As estate agents always say, the 3 most important things about property, are location, location, location.

This has all the remoteness and simplicity (and can I say spirituality without sounding like a pretentious bastard ?) of a bothy, but a few home comforts, like environmentally friendly heating, running water and showers.

Its also halfway up loads of amazing hills and mountains. I’ve been around the world 3 times, but put simply, there isn’t anywhere quite like here.

We are welcomed in by Martin (middle left) and Marie-Pierre (right). The kettle is put on, and we are shown around. It really is an oasis and to my delight, there isn’t even a phone signal (although obviously the hostel has a working phone for emergency’s).

I put all my stuff (what little there is) under my bunk. I’m a bit annoyed, as years ago I bought a silk sleeping bag liner, this is one of the few occasions that I’d get to use it, and I’ve left it at home. I change into my trainers and evening clothes and head downstairs.

Marie-Pierre briefs us on the history of the hostel, kitchen/bathroom protocol and the safety brief re fire escapes and and stuff like that (and since she’s French herself, is able to brief the French girls in their native language).

I’m delighted to find that there’s even a games room, with an extensive collection of interesting books, back issues of Trail magazine and a dartboard.

Both rooms are heated by an aga so its toasty warm (and even able to dry out boots in just an evening).

Dave cooks something, and we tuck into our evening meal. Later, I offer the Whisky around, everyone settles down to relax and interesting conversations are heard throughout the building (in both English and French).

Finally awake, and see this view out of the window. The beds are normal bunks. A bit small for my size, but I sleep soundly all the same.

Head downstairs to the wash-room. I wasn’t expecting too much from the shower, but it was as warm, and the jets as powerful, as any I’ve used in a hotel.

I find cooking in hostels is normally a lot of messing about and I was expecting organised chaos in the kitchen (for this reason I’d brought breakfast bars). As it was, everything seemed to go fine. The hostel provides the option of packed lunches and a breakfast tray (not very expensive) for people who prefer not to carry their own food.

In the scullery, recycling is quite rightly taken very seriously at Skiddaw house, and there are bins for every sort of wast.

Washed down with a cup of tea (my friends had found a mug in the hostel with John on it) I’m setup for the day.

And the day beings. Brian briefs everyone on various options for the days walk. He knows what he’s doing, and I’m enjoying myself, so just leave him to it and follow the pack.

Boots, waterproof jacket and new walking trousers (controversially not Rohan this time), and we head out.

The hills and deep valleys of the lakes are recognisable all over the world and the views and scenery doesn’t disappoint.

We wander around the side, and then up onto Skiddaw (3054 feet high, the 4th highest in the Lake district). I spend some time getting to know the French crew.

Their really fun interesting people, but I have to talk slowly as the language I speak when I’m excited is far from English.

Cloud cover is really low. Although Skiddaw has some of the best views in the “district” these aren’t visible from the peak.

Still, we get to the top (and once again, I forget to tuck in my t-shirt before being photographed).

There is a sort of stone wall just nearby, and a number of people are eating lunch using it as a windbreak. I’m convinced I recognised one of them. I ask some of the lads to go over and confirm his identity. Nobody wants to.

I’m realistic and honest about the situation. If I walk over and its not him, I’m going to look stupid (but only to some strangers, who I’ll never see again). If I don’t walk over, ill go through the rest of my life, wondering if I nearly met one of my heroes.

A person who has faced death 100 times and one of the greatest Britons who’s ever lived. The first person to climb the Ogre and who’s photographs hang in every room in my house.

The bluelist, 3 trips around the world, the bushcraft, the deserts, the jungle and quite literally the mountain I’m now standing on all happened because of a passion and love for adventure inspired in me from my early teens from his exploits.

So with all the courage I can muster, I walk over, introduce myself, apologise for interrupting their lunch and ask “Are you Sir Chris Bonington ?”.

To my delight, its actually him. A living legend right in front of me.

I decide not to say anything too grandiose (although what I’m experiencing is one of the five most important moments of my life). I say simply your an inspiration and its a pleasure to meet you.

He replies simply thank you (that’s the other thing about truly great people. They are usually modest and unassuming, and if you didn’t know, you could sit next to one of them on the bus and not know it).

I ask if it would be OK to take a photograph of him, to remember the moment. He replies I should sit on the rock next to him, and Poppy will take a picture of us. The photograph takes a few seconds then I thanked him, shook hands and went on my way.

Back with my walking friends, they start to teas me about it. I’m speechless, this had been a great day up-to that point, and now its amazing, and one Ill remember for the rest of my life.

Still, a man cant live on inspiration alone, I sit down and eat my sandwiches, in quiet contemplation.

We continue walking, and I’ve got a spring in my step. It would have been amazing to attend one of his lectures, but to meet him in person, by accident on top of a mountain is something I could only have imagined.

We walk a few more miles then come to a cliff. Well it would have been a cliff with spectacular views, but the fog has put paid to that. I’m feeling pretty mellow at this point.

Back at the hostel, I tell Martin and Marie-Pierre about meeting Chris Bonington. Turns out they have met him too, at the official opening of the hostel (they have a book with photo’s showing the renovation of the hostel, and on the final page is Sir Chris).

Our French cousins maintain their international reputation for Cuisine, as they cook their evening meal. A very elaborate process, involving various preparation techniques, herbs and spices and even vegetables they’d foraged during the day.

I’m offered a tasting bowl. Its quite delicious and as good as anything I’ve eaten in the Grosvenor Arkle.

I’m expecting a helicopter to arrive with the re-formed Smiths providing an impromptu concert, and another carrying Halle Berry, who wants to have sex with me (its about the only way I think this day can get any better 🙂

Some singing takes place in the games room. I hang out in the common room, read Trail magazine, write down ideas for adventures and learn more about environmental stuff from Cheryl and Pete.

I, like a lot of people, tend to think of environmentalism as a bit OTT. The truth is, shouldn’t water be clean, without any kind of metal in it.  I think everyone, no matter what their politics, must agree with this.

Still filled with excitement, I’m up until after midnight. A drink of hot chocolate, then bed.

I have a lie in bed (8.30am). Eat my breakfast bars, drink my tea and than pack (sadly) for the journey home.

Outside I run into Sophie who is preparing for a days walking (Brian and the French contingent are staying on for a few days).

We say our goodbyes to Martin and Marian. I kiss the French girls goodbye, but decide just to shake hands with the men.

I’ve grown to really like Sophie, so we exchange email addresses and agree to send each other our photo’s.

Walking back down the path, the weather is much better. We chat about various stuff. The weekend is almost over, and I’m enjoying the kind of contentedness I can only really feel in the outdoors.

Back to the pub for a pint and bite to eat, then we set off home.

I’ve got a picture of me and Chris Bonington on my desk now, but it doesn’t end there.

I used to love a restaurant in Chester, called the Brasserie 10/16. I loved the food there so much, that I didn’t want to spoil myself with regular visits and wanted to keep it special.

By only visiting on valentines day, and on my birthday I was able to maintain this.

The head chef was a good friend who drank in the Frog & Nightingale.

He came into the pub one evening looking a bit down. I asked him what was wrong, and he said that the restaurant had closed.

In a friendly and polite way, he said he had been flattered that I loved the place so much that I didn’t over indulge, but lots of other people felt the same, and despite good intentions, this had cost them their restaurant.

Thing is, I had an amazing time at Skiddaw house, but cosy warm feelings and visits every 5 years wont keep this unique opportunity available forever.

To do that, you can either visit it (which I’d definitely recommend) or become a friend/conserver/patron of Skiddaw house.

 

Apologies if this post isn’t as balanced as usual. Dan was here on Friday, and adjusted my chair, without asking.

In fact, while your reading this, go on youtube and listen to the wild beasts (they are pretentious musicians).

They have a song called lions share. Listen to it, I’m convinced that the chorus says “lying shit” rather than lions share, but I’d appreciate other views.

Well, Glenn completed the triathlon which is an amazing achievement, and got me thinking.

The Queens Diamond Jubilee weekend was coming up (lots of people have views on this). Personally, I don’t and won’t ever buy into the idea of high birth, but I am proud of Britain’s heritage. Instead of having a party and making a hat out of a handkerchief with knots in it, I decide on something else.

Part of the British tradition is adventure (it was Edmund Hillary and Tensing Norgay who stood on top of Everest on the day of the Queens actual coronation). Although I can only stand in the shadow of those 2 great men, adventure is a relative concept.

I decide that I’ll ride to Llangollen (a place I love more each time I visit it) camp overnight, and then ride back the next day.

The weekend began with Friday. Absolutely insane, with loads to do at work, and private clients to help in the afternoon. Shattered, I head back to Chester and relax by the Canal with a couple of pints (the Lock Keeper has re-opened, but they let anyone in now, and its a bit rubbish).

Saturday morning, I rise early and check my equipment. I’m taking a tent, sleeping bag and kip mat all inside a 25 litre rucksack (for comparison, its smaller than the one I normally take to work).

I take a few essentials like money, a penknife and a head torch as well.

As I look out of the window, there’s no sunshine and light drizzle. Not optimistic, but this is the adventure line. This is the thing I’ve written about before, the moment where you think is it really worth it. In reality, the cycling will be easy, the real challenge is ignoring the weather and the urge to relax in a warm house, and getting on the bike and getting out there.

I decided to take the route I normally ride to the Golden Groves. Pedalled a bit further and met Sue at the Plough.

From here we pedalled to the Pant-yr-ocian. Christine Kennedy had told me about this place, nearly 10 years ago, and what a pub !. Service was superb, décor excellent, they had an extensive menu and most important off all, it felt friendly.

We had a pint, and then set off (although we did stay for 90 minutes, as I was really enjoying myself. We had to pass through Wrexham, and Sue lead the way, so I have no idea where we went.

I realise now how lucky Wrexham people are. They have the mountains and countryside, literally on their doorstep, Sue knows the area inside out as she walks and cycles around here all the time.

We encountered a street, with Tesco, a bakery, a chippy and a kebab shop. Sue bought a sensible sandwich, and I had a chip butty, just for the hell of it. Apparently, this is the village where Sue was born, and her parents still live here.

Another couple of miles, and we reach a pub. The last one before Llangollen I’m told. We debate locking up the bikes and going inside.

I’m a bit concerned at this point. Thing is, a modern bike, is a collection of components. If you fasten the frame of your bike to a fence, then technically “the bike” can’t be stolen. The gears on the bike, are probably worth £100 and they can be removed with a par of pliers, as can the brakes, the saddle, handlebars and wheels, and stuff like lights and bike pumps.

We decide to stand outside with our bikes. I felt a bit daft to be honest. A couple of local lads having a smoke outside, spoke to the barman, and he said we were welcome to bring out bikes in the pub and sit down (where there was a nice fire !).

We declined, as we were only staying for 1 drink, and it would have involved a bit of messing about. I was taken aback by the willingness to help of the locals who after all, stand to benefit nothing by helping us, and were helping simply because they were good people.

After this, there are more hills and the rain gets a little worse. At this point, it starts to become obvious, that Sue is an experienced cyclist and very fit, and that I (on my third outing) just aren’t up to a 20 od mile ride, with equipment. I put my bike in a very low gear (to people that don’t know, this means I have to peddle about 5 times, to get the wheel to turn once)

This works as I have limited strength in my legs, but loads of stamina. Over time, I expect this to change, and I also think my bike may need
some adjustment, as I was pedalling my from knees, rather than my thighs. I also got off, and pushed, every time we came to a hill !.

Still, the goal was to get to Llangollen, under my own steam, and self contained with all the gear I would need on my back and this was going to plan.

I never once thought of giving up, but as the afternoon progressed I became a bit demoralised. At that point, I realised we’ve arrived at a tea
house just near Llangollen, so I know we didn’t haven’t too far to go.

Hot chocolate and cake (there are Union Jacks in the Tea house, which we’ve seen, most of the day.

They bring us tea by mistake and Sue asks to change them in an assertive yet charming way. I would have just drunk the tea. Made me think,
have I become so obsessed with avoiding fuss, that I’ve now become a push over !.

No time for that, were on the last leg (and in my case on my last legs !). Peddle a bit further along the flat, with fog blocking what would  normally be a spectacular view over Llangollen. From here we cruise (and that’s the first time all day that I could use that phrase) downhill to the camp-site.

Then it hits me, what if they haven’t got enough room. I mention this to Sue, and her face drops. I realise that although she’s got me this far, the thought of pedalling home with me at 1 mile an hour, tests her normal enthusiasm.

No problem, 7 quid and I’ve got my pitch. The camp-site is mad busy despite the rain, but my new tent is only 6 foot by 2 and a half
(someone called it a canvas coffin, but it isn’t that big !)

Sue leaves me and heads back for Wrexham, I put up my tent. Its brand new, I’m really pleased with it, but looking back, Im convinced that I didn’t actually put it up properly !.

I get a couple of hours of badly needed sleep, then Sue drives back into Llangollen and we visit a couple of pubs in the town. I really appreciate her company. I can manage fine on my own, but spending time in the company of friends is always much better, than just sitting in the corner of a pub on your own.

Regretfully, the chippy is shut as I had back to the camp-site, so I go to the kebab shop. Sue drives me back to the camp-site, which is up a massive hill, then I put my head down and drift off to sleep.

I slept soundly, but all night I could hear the rain (which was now quite ferocious) battering the tent. The good news, you get what you pay for in with outdoor gear. The tent’s expensive, but keeps me dry, all night. I wake at 5:07am. Its daylight, but the weather is appalling. I quickly pack up my stuff, put it into my bag, and head for home.

First problem. My legs are so stiff, and I’m so fatigued from the previous day, that I cant ride the bike, and Im only able to push it along slowly. From time to time, I come to a hill, so just sit on the bike, and point it down hill.

I don’t know the exact route home, but decide to walk along the Canal to the Ruabon railway station. I don’t remember it being too far, but in driving rain, it seems to take hours to get there.

From here, things start to unravel. I’m now relying on the GPS in my phone, to get me home. I send a quick text to Glenn and Sue, and then right before my eyes, the phone says shutting down. I’m unable to re-boot it after several attempts.

The only thing I know for certain, is that the A483, runs to Wrexham, which is in the direction of home. I while the bike along the edge of the road, in some of the foulest weather I’ve ever been out in.

I’m now soaked to the skin, as the rain has got through the neck opening of my waterproof jacket, and soaked my t-shirt, jumper and trousers. A trench along the edge of the motorway is 4 inches deep in water, which I walk through for several miles.

I cant call and ask anyone to pick me up, as the phone is out. I realise I should have listened to Ben Mcnutt’s advise. Technology is great, but never come to depend on it completely, if it lets you down, you really will be stuck. And I am.

My energy is running down. I’m getting tired, dehydrated and hungry.

First piece of good news.

I only ate half my kebab the previous evening. For no reason I can think, I put the remaining half in my bag that morning. Starving hungry, I tuck into this unlikely meal.

After a couple more hours, I arrive in Wrexham. Sue lives in Wrexham, but I cant remember where, and I cant call her. Its 11 miles to Chester, and I consider walking the “Golden Groves” route. I think better of it, I’m hagard. I head for Wrexham railway station, and Ill get the train home.

For the 2nd time that day, to quote the Black Adder, fortune vomits on my eiderdown. I thought I had £35, which was plenty enough, but I realise I’d only bought £25. The train doesn’t arrive for an hour. I’m freezing, and I’ve only got £3.90, so I probably don’t have enough for the train, and I haven’t got enough for a warm drink at the cafe on the platform.

I shiver on the platform for another hour, mentally recalling the capital city of every country in the world, and various other “keep you mind busy” tricks.

Train arrives. Ticket collector see’s the state I’m in, and says how much have you got. I put it in his hand, and he gives me a ticket.

The warmth of the train, is the first I’ve known since last night in the pub, and I start to feel sleepy. I wake to find myself in Chester, and push the bike to my house.

Bath, bed for a couple of hours, and life returns to normal.

I relax later with some hot chocolate, and reflect on my experience. Lessons learned:

1. Most people are basically descent.

2. Reliable (and knowledgeable) friends like are worth their weight in Gold.

3. My new tent is smart.

4. I can fit all my stuff in a 25 litre bag.

5. Always have a copy of phone numbers written on paper, as a backup

6. Don’t be bloody stupid and over do it. Enthusiasm and determination are 1 thing, but transforming your physical fitness in 24hrs through mental focus is biologically impossible.

All the photos I took were on the phone, so sorry that there’s only 1 picture.

Finally, great-full and sincere thanks to Sue. None of it would have been possible without her kind and enthusiastic help.

The search for adventure continues…

An absolutely amazing weekend, started with a pub crawl I organised for the walking group.

A couple of months ago, Brian, Sue and I had an impromptu trip into Chester. We went in various pubs at random, most of which you’d normally just walk past, but with 1 notable exception, they were all really good. One pub in particular (the Cottage on Brook street) made us really welcome, tried to teach us darts, and overall were superb.

The idea of the pub crawl, was to take the group to some pub like this one. As often happens, things didn’t go to plan. Id intended to start the crawl at the Lock-keeper on Canal-side (a favourite haunt of mine, from my earliest days in Chester). The email had gone out to everyone in plenty of time, but with just a day or 2 to go, the Lock-keeper closed down. I had to text everyone and re-schedule for the Marlborough arms. After all that, as I set out on Friday night, I found that the “Lock” had actually re-opened after all, and I needn’t have bothered.

On Saturday, I got up early and went for a walk around the Meadows and Dukes drive. In the afternoon, I met up with Dan and a couple of friends, and we had a few drinks around town. At the end of the evening, we had a couple of Curry’s at Asia fusion.

On Sunday, I spent the morning catching up on my reading (see bellow) and then went out on my bike again, to the Golden Groves. Im really getting into cycling now, and its great to have a sort of “target” to head for. If I just “go out” on my bike, I usually find myself back in the house 45 minutes later.

After I got back, I had a visit from Tony, and it turned out there was a music festival going on at Brook Street, just a hundred yards from my house. We went over, and I wasn’t enthusiastic. Turns out, it was really good, I ended up staying for several hours. I even texted Glenn, who despite taking part in a Triathlon earlier in the day, came along. We also ran into Pete and Cath from the walking group. Loads of great music and friendly people, but the highlight for me had to be an old man who shamelessly stripped to his underwear and starting dancing around !.

We actualy finished that night with a Curry as well, this time at the Spice Balti.

Its said that the BBC news service is probably the most respected around the world. Certainly, their website comes in consistently in the top 10 most visited websites each year.

I trust their news reporting, but I couldn’t help laughing the other day, when I found out about the logo mix-up.

What the report was meant to say, was that Amnesty International (who’s logo is a candle with barbed wire around it) were critical of the United Nations Security Council.

Thing is, the UN security council, doesn’t have a logo of its own, and normally uses the standard UN logo. The logo they ended up with instead, was the logo of UNSC forces. If you’ve ever played Halo as I have, you know that their a fictional group of space marines 🙂

How proud I was to see “my regiment” featured on BBC !.

Other stuff on TV hasn’t been so good. Loads of really good American shows have been cancelled. I could name dozens, but 2 specifically that jump into my head are Alcatraz and the Finder. Still, on the positive front, we’ve got Mad Men, Svu, The Borgias, Family Guy and Game of Thrones, showing at the moment.

Games wise, I’m working my way through modern warfare, with only call of duty 4 and the world at war left to complete.

Years ago, I was into the Smiths (as I still am now). I always envied friends who had all of their albums on cassette. I could never afford that, and ended up using copies, which were never as good. Well, although my music collection is digital, I’ve recently purchased all 5 of the Smiths albums, which I’m happily playing each evening now (if my neighbours are reading this, I apologise).

Out with the walking group the other evening, we were discussing the annoyance of lending books, and not getting them back. One of my favourite books of all time, is Bushcraft, by Ray Mears (not to be confused with Bushcraft Survival, which is more of a spiritual journey kind of book). Anyway, I finally got around the replacing it, and I’ve just started carving a new spoon.

Another book that appealed to me, was the Hobo handbook. Incredibly frank, it talks about living by your own rules, travelling around on trains, eating out of bins, yet has contemporary sections on how to use your laptop at the library to make money. I haven’t read it yet, but for 8 quid, you’ll be lucky to find a more interesting book for your holiday flight.

 

After Curry on both Saturday and Sunday night, I got a call from Debora on Monday, and along with Raymond, we all decided to go out.

Debora has sadly decided to leave Chester, to work in Burton on Trent. Its a shame, she’s a totally cool girl, and I wish she was staying. In explanation, she summarised the problem (in her beautiful Italian accent) as their being too many Bastards. On close investigation, it turns out that she is referring to Landlords and Letting agencies.

Its a while since I used a letting agency, but from previous experience, I couldn’t think of much to challenge her summary. Only thing I did say, was that there were loads of nice people in Chester, who don’t work in that profession.

We started off, with a drink in the awful Harkers Arms (If it were located in any other country, it would be full of English ex-pats. Since its actually in the UK, I’ve never seen the attraction).

As a goodbye, to thank Raymond and I for being such good friends, Debora took us for a curry. Dave and Amanda from the walking group had recommended the Coconut Grove (silly name, but a superb Southern Indian restaurant, and one of the nicest curry’s, I’ve ever eaten in the city).

Its only the 2nd time I’d eaten Southern Indian. There are several differences, but one of the main ones, is they use rice pounded down to make a sort of crust, which they serve with the food. Above you can see a sort of cone crust they had made.

I especially like the way the Nan bread was cooked fresh, that they played 80’s music, and obviously the interesting conversation of my companions.

As we walked back and said our Good Bye’s, we came upon this Swan, which Debora found fascinating.

I was explaining, that wherever they are born, Swans automatically belong to the ruling Monarch (at this moment, Queen Elisabeth II).

I also suggested she might want to keep her distance. Elegant as they are, a peck from a Swan can be particularly vicious.

Well doubtless meet up in Burton on Trent, I’m sure well have more adventures to talk about then.

Times are hard at the moment, and sound financial budgeting is required. Well, that’s all very nice, but after 2 years of watching every penny, I decided to treat myself to a couple of things (no sports cars, just some new walking trousers, some smiths CD’s (mentioned above) and the super light Zephyros 2 tent I’ve always wanted).

Im doing a couple of adventures this month (in fact I’m away every weekend for the next 4 weeks. Over the bank holiday weekend, I’m intending to ride to Llangollen, with just a 25 litre rucksack, to see if I can carry a sleeping bag, kip mat and tent all in such a small and light container. Ill then be staying over, and riding back the next day. Ill tell you what happens.

Out with the walking group the other evening. We did a section of the Sandstone trail. On summer evenings, there isn’t anything nicer than than a walk through the woods, and I pint with a few friends afterwards in some country pub.