Monday December 31st 2018

Given it is New Year's Eve, rightly I should be looking back and looking forward. But I am not. Though in a way I am. I've been in this house nine years and had this desk for nearly a year. Yet it has taken me all this time to finally get myself snug and comfy in my own room-cum-office. I had too much artwork around the house. Before Christmas then, I and Julie, with her paintings, set to. Many have gone to the great gallery in the sky. Test pieces, sketches, half finished paintings which I can't remember starting. Old battered frames, old paintings which quite frankly should have gone to the tip aeons ago. I'm in a cleansing mood. 

I'm getting really fed up with looking back all the time. I love history, I love a sense of the past, but I'm finding people discussing, "when we were young" a bit, well let's say, dull. I do it myself. I hear myself talking to the young bucks and does at work about music, films, events, and they look at me blankly. I didn't want to talk to my 50+ year old relatives in my twenties, so why should a 20 year old be interested in pop hits of 1980, 38 years ago. That's as far back for me when aged 20 in 1983 enjoying discussing pop hits and culture of 1945. I have no connection with 1945 other than WW2 ended, and my father is still fighting Jerry while watching Dad's Army. 

Recently, partly as 2018 has been mostly an Anus Horribleness (no spelling error there then), I have thought more about thinking only forward. My cousin Nigel once said we find time passes too fast in adulthood as we keep looking backwards and being shocked at how long ago something was, and not looking forwards as children do which seems to take an age to reach the day in question. As children we always looked forward to ice creams, a smack around the head for scrumping apples, rickets, small pox, being shot at by David Scollan and his air pistol, and a shy walk and maybe a kiss with one of the female members of the gang during school holidays. As a result time stood still. We were bored, we longed for the school gates to close and set us free like a plague of cockroaches across the village. But above all time seemed endless, and all that boredom was creative. Of course time then wasn't endless. 60 minutes in 1980 is almost identical as 60 minutes on the last day of 2018. I say almost as one day is equal to between 3,599 and 3,601 seconds depending on certain constants of time. Lets not go there.

Let me just say my world is changing. Yes I love old furniture, I love history, I love having an office with walls now quivering under the weight of both my and Julie's artwork (offers to buy accepted), but I don't want to keep harking back to 'when I did whatever I did in my youth'. As the old year ends then and the new year races over the horizon like a stallion after the moonstone, I will wish everyone a very happy New Year and hope they too look forward to 2019.... just forward... or as the beginning of 'Don't Look Back in Anger by Oasis rocked out...

Slip inside the eye of your mind

Don't you know you might find

A better place to play

You said that you'd never been

But all the things that you've seen

Will slowly fade away

PS: I can't believe that was 22 years ago.

Sunday December 30th 2018

I'm so excited. Yesterday I bought this mop, in Tesco's half price sale, for £6. That Tesco is just off the A42 in Leicestershire (usual pitstop en-route to or from the north, that or Morrison's in Rotherham, junction 1 of M18 if you're interested). We had a nice chat with the lady on the till, who was interested in the fact we were just passing through and buying a mop. As we had done at 7.30am the previous Saturday, though that was for hot chocolate not cleaning implements. She had also worked last Saturday and was telling us how at 12 noon, the start of her shift, in her words, "the place was Bedlam". She lives 10 minutes drive away, took her an hour to get to the car park which was full so she abandoned her car on some wasteland and walked in. We thought it  would be busy last Saturday as when we got there at 0730, the car park was fairly full and queues at the tills. I love these accidental conversations, however I am digressing from the plot. I have a new mop. My parents have a cleaner and she uses something like this. While we were up there each night before retiring I'd give the downstairs a right good mopping, and I loved the way it can get into areas a normal mop can't. Simple pleasures. I love mopping.  So as yet this is unused, but unpacked and waiting for the command... to the bucket. 

Saturday December 29th 2018

The Red Lion in West Boldon. Well like No2 buses, after saying a few days ago it was fabulous to get all four of us out for a slice of fresh air, today, before heading back south, we did it again. I even managed to get myself into the photograph this time. The Red Lion was one of my haunts as a teenager. There are half a dozen pubs in the two villages but this one and the Grey Horse in East Boldon have long been the 'posh' one. After breakfast, discussions inevitable ranged around, when are you leaving, what do you want for lunch before you go. A quick decision then, we're going out, to the Red Lion. It took longer to get mum into the car then to drive there. Not least as it's often impossible to park outside my parents house, so today this meant mum had to walk with her walker to where I'd parked around the corner. Good job it was a lovely sunny day then. But we sat in the wonderfully bright conservatory and consumed food as if the rationing of fresh comestibles was about to begin. Mum, the roast of the day served in a huge Yorkshire Pudding, Dad, a chicken with black pudding mash ensemble. Julie hoovered up the salmon and I went for the whale, impersonating fish and chips. Never seen such a big fish. I took this photograph at around 12.30 and 9 hours later I sat on my sofa in Somerset, 314 miles away. A long way, but it's amazing what you can do in one day, especially after a hearty lunch.

Friday December 28th 2018

Gibside. On the last full day up north we met up with my school friend Andrew. We were one of three Andrews in the school, Heptinstall of friendship fame, Wake and of course me. Heptinstall, Wake and Dawes, sound like a firm of seedy accountants or solicitors. Planning where to meet we had a few thoughts before I suggested Gibside. This 18th Century landscape is now almost connected onto the Tyneside conurbation.  But it's 250 hectares feel remote and wonderful still. A red kite reintroduction programme has been successful here and today as ever, these kite tailed birds floated above our heads. It wasn't planned but we went for a fantastic 2 hour walk, right up onto the highest part of the estate where the views up the Derwent Valley were stunning in all directions. All the more enjoyable therefore was a drink and something to eat when we returned to the National Trust cafe. Fresh air does give one an appetite.

Thursday December 27th 2018

Mum, Dad and Julie at the Homer Hill Farm Shop. nothing remarkable about that except it's the first time mum has been out for a day out in years. It was great to all go out and not talk about hospitals, carers and so on. Just out for a meal and a nice day out.  My parents found this place near Durham City years ago, a short 20 minute drive from their house. However it's been five years since they last visited as on that day when home mum took ill and has been suspicious of visiting again, just incase it happened again.  Today however the belly pork was wonderful so I'm told. Julie had the fish cakes and can't remember what I had. Maybe it's me that needs medical assistance.  Lunch over, a quick visit to Seaburn, and a short walk along the promenade. It was as busy as in this postcard from the 1950's too. Dad wondered if there was an event on, no it's just people desperate for fresh air after being cooped up indoors for Christmas. I just wish I could be closer to mum so I could take her for short walks along the beach regularly. She loves the sea. Tempest fugit.

Wednesday December 26th 2018

Good turnout for the Morpeth Hunt Boxing Day meet. Counted about 50 mounted riders and around 2-300 people watching from the field next to the Dyke Neuk pub in Northumberland. Both Julie and I like going to a Boxing Day meet, and five years ago to the day we were at Pewsey in Wiltshire doing exactly the same thing. Today's meet was in the field adjacent to the pub. The master gave a tremendous speech accompanied by the baying of the hounds behind me. A bit of a festive snifter was imbibed and then they were off across the fields. I get and respect others peoples views of hunting. Since the ban in 2004, trail hunting like this is gaining thousands of new followers. This is rural life as it really is, and not as the glossy magazines would have us believe it is. I've met both animal lovers who don't understand nature and field sport people who are fabulous conservationists who hunt for a living. Understanding each others views and ways of living is key I feel to a greater future. There's too much pigeon holing going on in the countryside at the moment.  It's always a tough discussion going on in my mind at such events as I'd not want to hunt myself, but like Julie, I enjoy the event. 

The hunt departed and then after a coffee in the pub we popped to Holystone Woods for a quick walk. It must be 30 years since I'd set foot in these remote stands of oak and birch. Good to be back, yet first time for Julie. Next time we'll do a longer walk to Dove Crag and beyond. This is real home to me where my love of Northumberland came from, the upper Coquet Valley. 

Tuesday December 25th 2018

We went for a walk after the excesses of the Christmas lunch. Strictly speaking we went for a walk to observe a jackdaw roost which I'd spotted the previous evening. This is in West Boldon, where I was born and brought up. Once a very rural area with 22 farms only 60 or 70 years ago, even in the 70's there was a lot more farmland and market gardens. Much of this has been built over, though a remnant green belt of farmland separates 'The Boldons' from Sunderland, South Shields, Jarrow and Gateshead. But it was the jackdaws I'd come to see. Growing up here, there were partridges, linnets and a whole host of other birds. But apart from rooks at the rookery in East Boldon, I can't recall many jackdaws. 

Jackdaws nationally are doing well, and now in West Boldon a roost of 300-400 birds has developed. It was wonderful. As we walked the mile or so to the area, they were noisily flying over our heads in an arrow straight line. So I knew we had hit the jackpot, or is that jackdawpot. Once we were by Boldon Hall, the trees were dotted with black shapes, like confetti. Noisily they flew here and noisily they flew from area to area, tree to tree as they settled down for the night. It is adaptive generalists like corvids which are bucking the disappointing downward trend in other bird species. These two photographs look rural, yet the trees they roost in straddle the main and very busy Sunderland to Newcastle road through the village. Car drivers were wondering what I was up to pointing a camera into the trees. What I was doing was simply recording and revelling in the fact that wildlife and human activity can co-exist, as long as we give it a chance. Great walk, and the best Christmas present I could have been given, way beyond anything bought or manufactured in my book.

Monday December 24th 2018

Not the best photograph I've ever taken as Julie is in a shadow, but I love this place. And as a bonus, we could sit outside in sunshine on Christmas Eve. Needing a bit of fresh air before the big day, Julie and I headed out on this stunning day. Not a cloud in the sky and 13 degrees in the early afternoon, it was too good to waste. First stop was Blagdon, not the one near us in Somerset, but the one near Morpeth. There's a shopping complex of sorts in converted farm buildings and has been for decades now. I wish I'd left all my Christmas shipping until today, we could have done nearly all of it here in this rural area, loads of space to wander around and lots of food. But a coffee and cheese scone sufficed, before a peruse of the deli and especially impressed with the Cane and Pine shop where if we'd had a van we may have bought a lot of things. Next years list to Santa then. 

Just a few miles beyond Blagdon is the Cheese Farm. Time for another coffee. We seem to drink a lot of coffees and teas.  It seemed even quieter here at just before 2pm, though in the upstairs cafe it was heaving. Outside though you could hear a pin drop it was so peaceful. Jackdaws and rooks spilled through the air, and a cottage nearby filled the atmosphere with delicious wood-smoke aroma. Perfect.  Drinks bought, we sat in the sun, just daydreaming and enjoying the camaraderie of the passing white wellied cheese makers heading home. Julie felt hungry so ordered a cheese and tomato toastie. The cafe lady brought it out to her and then stood chatting for a moment. She was slightly red in the face due to the heat in the cafe upstairs. Thus being able to pop out for a moment into the cooler Northumbrian air with Julie's food was a pleasure she said. As it was for us as the sun began to set, lovely landscape, wonderful friendly people and for me, home. So I drove back to my parents the long way, via Whalton and Ogle, where 150 years ago my ancestors lived.

Sunday December 23rd 2018

I have to admit this is not my image - off the Toney Minchella website

Mum asked me before we came north if we'd buy her friends some presents. For the last couple of years mum has not been able to walk well, following a hip replacement which went wrong, so her legs are constantly suffering from an infection. She can walk okay with a walker, but is in pain. Consequently she rarely leaves the house unless it's for hospital appointments or shopping. So this morning, and not taking no for an answer, I said to mum we three, Julie and I plus mum will go and deliver the present to Joan and Alan. Dad will enjoy the peace and quiet as he rarely gets time on his own now being mums carer. So off we went, down to Joan and Alan's. They've never met Julie and as Joan is one of mums oldest friends it was high time they did. We didn't stay long just a quick as the Swinbanks had a lot to do before the arrival of their son.  Ten minutes later we were back on the road. And what made this special is that mum was enjoying being out, just for the sake of going out. A drive along the coast road seemed a perfect way to return home. Longer yes, but pleasant. And the all important stop for coffee. Mum is of that generation where if they're close to home she won't have a coffee "it's cheaper at home". But today we stopped at the recently refurbished Minchella's cafe in Whitburn. Mum really enjoyed sitting outside in the fresh air. She was a great walker in younger days, hills and the beach were here love, wind in the face bracing walks. For me it was lovely to get her out again, and feel the sea breeze on her face once again. Did us both a world of good. As did the fish platter from Latimer's next door to the cafe. Wish we had that on our doorstep back in Somerset.

Saturday December 22nd 2018

I'd just driven 295 miles to sample this bad boy. Behold the After Eight Hot Chocolate and rum truffle from Homer Hill Farm Shop near Durham.  The only reason for setting off at 0530 from Somerset, has to be visiting the parents for Christmas. Long has it been my journey up and down the M5, M42, A42, M1, M18, A1, A1(M), A168, A19 to Testoe's roundabout and a right turn to my parents house 1 mile away. I was thinking today, how many times have I done this. It seems a lot in the 25 years since I've lived down south, but I'd guess 4-5 times a year, x 25, only around 70-80 times. It's a long way but today was a breeze of a journey. It has taken me 9 - 11 hours in the past to do it. Which is why I no longer drive it during the day. Today, we stopped at 0730 at Tesco's Ashby De La Zouch in Leicestershire (132 miles) for a hot chocolate and pit stop. Then by 1055 were pulling into the car park of the Homer Hill Farm Shop at Rainton Gate. We still had 13 miles to go, but we fancied a quick coffee before arriving at Boldon. As you'd expect the place was heaving, enhanced by the setting up of the North East Concert Band. It's a long time since I've heard a brass band at Christmas. That said, my quick coffee became this behemoth of a mint chocolate drink. I'd love to know what was in it, but after my eyes stopped watering and I re-caught my breath I enjoyed it immensely.  The rum truffle went down a treat too. Just a little starter before the fish and chips at my parents for lunch, ahead of the Sainsbury's shopping delivery. Christmas at it's best.

Friday December 21st 2018

I could write about the shortest day today. December 21st. Technically as I write this at 8pm, it has not happened as the winter solstice is late in the daily cycle, coming in at 22:23 GMT in the Northern Hemisphere,  when the sun crosses into Capricorn. But yes this momentous day in my world is one I've long celebrated, in that for the next 6 months the days lengthen, ever so imperceptibly at first then in late February, the change gathers pace. I can't wait for those spring dusk's at 7pm, blackbirds singing against a Prussian blue sky, all life energised once again.

But another energiser for me is taking images in sepia. There is something about the warm tones of sepia which I love. Take for example the image here above of a teasel bed on the Hawk and Owl Trust Reserve, Shapwick in Somerset. It is a lovely enough image, seed heads entwined about each other. But refocus and snap in sepia and the images gain an ethereal quality, reaching back in time, yet it was only today.  It's nearly 10 years since I laid down my paint brushes as my fledgling commercial art period ground to a halt. The inspiration dried up along with my unravelling private life. Recently though I can feel the urge to go back into selling my artwork. I loved painting to ambition and loved painting for profit. Not a phrase many artists use. I painted fast and sold at a fair price. For me I wanted my paintings to be on someone's wall, not gathering dust in an attic. Maybe that is the legacy of my father, who was a printer, graphic and production artist and sign writer - everything he did had to pay the bills. And he did it exceptionally well. Art does pay. Advance please the springtime, I feel energised once again, as I indulge in my sepia moments.

Thursday December 20th 2018

The Mighty Tull : As Steve Coogan's wonderful character Tommy Saxondale quoted within most episodes of Saxondale. 

It's a shame that this comedy never caught on, too clever and obscure maybe. I loved it, as I love Tull.  In the 30+ years since I discovered Jethro Tull I have never ever tired of their music. Mainly as their repertoire is as eclectic as Queen (the other band I never tire of).  From full blown 1960's progressive drug induced psychedelic concept songs, to single track albums inspired by madrigals or passion plays, to full blown rock inspired by the natural world. A brief interlude happened in 1984 when a hedonistic mix of disco based folk rock slammed into their back catalogue, Under Wraps. This style was soon dropped and normality returned with Crest of a Knave in 1987 and Rock Island 1989, Tull's last full blown commercial album. Since the 1990's they have produced a smorgasbord of folk, blues, rock, flautist albums penned by Ian Anderson and continuing the phantom lineage of Tull emanating from my 150w bad boy speaker system. And played on vinyl.

None of your millennials digital recordings virtual reality music for me - I have many CD's but I'm most definitely a full blown, hot pressed wax vinyl man. Nothing creates the sound quality of vinyl in a domestic setting. It was a vinyl copy of Songs From The Wood, their 10th album, which got me into this world. As a stripling of 21 years of age I found myself working in a public music library in South Shields.  One cold and dark evening just before closing time a man came in to return the records he'd borrowed. One was Jethro Tull, Songs from the Wood. I liked the cover, a man and his dog in a woodland by a fire, an image which corresponded with my increasing interest in paganism and conservation. Rather than returning this to the shelves, I took it out myself that evening, rushed home and placed it on the gramophone. And then I played it repeatedly for three hours and for a whole week afterwards. The seed of Tull was sown. Working in a public library I could borrow the Tull back catalogue and my love of their music flourished. 

I've seen them live many times, but stopped around 5 years ago, as while Ian Andreson sounds as good on a heavily mixed recording, on stage his voice has gone. That tour, Thick as a Brick in 2013 included an avatar singer Ryan O'Donnell who eerily sounded like a younger Anderson. It was a great show, but my heart spoke to me, stop. But their music continues out of the speakers and today it was a lesser known album Stormwatch which I listened to. This was the last of a trio of shall we say countryside themed rock. My favourite song on the album is Dun Ringill, named after an Iron Age Fort on the Isle of Skye. Also on here is Dark Ages an apocalyptic view of humans destroying society and the environment. Anderson was ahead of the curve there, a very underrated album, in my humble opinion. 

...... listen Dark Ages by Jethro Tull (Lyrics below)

Darlings are you ready for the long winter's fall?

Said the lady in her parlor

Said the butler in the hall.

Is there time for another?

Cried the drunkard in his sleep.

Not likely

Said the little child. What's done

The Lord can keep.

And the vicar stands a-praying.

And the television dies

As the white dot flickers and is gone

And no-one stops to cry.

The big jet rumbles over runway miles

That scar the patchwork green

Where slick tycoons and rich buffoons

Have opened up the seam

Of golden nights and champagne flights

Ad-man overkill

And in the haze

Consumer crazed

We take the sugar pill.

Jagged fires mark the picket lines

The politicians weep

And mealy-mouthed

Through corridors of power on tip-toe creep.

Come and see bureaucracy

Make its final heave

And let the new disorder through

While senses take their leave.

Families screaming line the streets

And put the windows through

In corner shops

Where keepers kept

The country's life-blood blue.

Take their pick

And try the trick

With loaves and fishes shared

And the vicar shouts

As the lights go out,

And no-one really cares.

Dark Ages

Shaking the dead

Closed pages

Better not read

Cold rages

Burn in your head.

Wednesday December 19th 2018

I've been power-washing in my shorts today.  Obviously not in my shorts, that would be disruptive to the flora and fauna taking up residence in that region. I was in my cut off pantaloons power-washing the path into the abode. And there's the evidence. Not me in the shorts, that image has been responsible for making grown women and midwives weep with pain, or run away.  I resisted having a power washing machine for years, then last year when in Hexham, I succumbed to an offer in Homebase. Well it was Boxing Day and I'd just left the pub. That was a tremendous meal actually at the Rat in Anick with my mate who then lived at Chollerton.  I seem to be digressing. 

Back to the washing with power. About every six months the urge comes upon me to blast the dirt. Wellies on I moved the classic Renault Clio out of the garage and as it was a sunny day took it for a 6 mile spin. It's not been driven for nearly 2 months and started on the first turn - love that car. Clearing the Clio out of the garage revealed the Karcher beast lurking at the back, like a monster banana with a Kalashnikov ... Locked and Loaded an hour later I had blasted the paving to within an inch of it's life. Boys and toys eh, and yes being a bloke, I did do some quick draw leaf blasting in the style of a Spaghetti Western. I was Clint, eyes closed by too much sun, smoking a cigar, waiting for the first twitch from the baddie ...pechow, pechow..... pechow. As the smoke drifted away and I re-holstered the gun, those pesky leaves lay strewn over the ground, I was VICTORIOUS. The fastest draw in the village. A very satisfying way to while away a mild sunny morning in Somerset I have to say. I'll tidy up the mess I made next week. 

Tuesday December 18th 2018

Well that's it. I'm on Christmas holiday as of 18.45. The last time I'll be in Clifton Down Shopping Centre in 2018. It feels good. When I return in January presumably the glittery reindeer will have flown back to the North Pole. But I'll still be paying my £10 a day to park. That's more depressing than this endless wet weather to think that in the 240 days or so I've parked here this year to go to work, I've shelled out over £2000. Actually more as I pay £1 a crossing over the Clifton Suspension Bridge. £12 a day plus fuel. Madness. So my resolution for next year is to get back to walking into work from the other side of the Suspension Bridge. Not only will that get me a lot fitter, my wallet will enjoy the rest and relaxation. Ho ho ho.

Monday December 17th 2018

I distrust technology. I love tradition. Both of these go together in the way I view life. Some technology I admit is wonderful. I'd not be able to write this blog without someone somewhere inventing the internet, and designing a blogging site. But as I watched a lady paying for something using her phone app, my immediate response was really? Yes we're told its fully secure, but really? We all make choices in life and one of my choices is never to use an on-line calendar. This reflects that until recently I used to be able to remember everything of importance in the best computer any of us will ever own, my brain. Tempest Fugit now ravishes my little grey cells and last year I bought a hard back paper diary, for 2018. That was a disaster as we forgot to go on holiday, forgot to fill it in and well let me just park the car crash that 2018 became in the trash can it deserves. Dreadful year in many ways. 

So, anyway, tonight I unleashed the new week-to-view 2019 diary. This will now remain somewhere prominent for both of us to fill with exotic outings, events and generally stuff to do. Until we lose it. We will refer to it frequently to ensure we don't miss out on important events, unlike this year when we didn't and therefore did. There is no point putting this in my smartphone as that is switched off most of the time. Paper is the only way, paper is the future. No need to recharge the battery. That is yet another one of the bugbears in my life, forever charging batteries. I chatted to my cousin tonight (on something called the telephone) because she was worried I'd succumbed to a grizzly end as I'm no longer her friend on Facebook. As we chatted I 'liked' her once more on Facebook. "I'll get to that later" she said, "my phone has no battery power, so I need to recharge it". So there you go, even if I had been attacked by a fierce gnome wielding a bunch of bilberries and become another grizzly end statistic,  if I'd written it on Facebook, it would still not be seen. 

Whereas now resplendent in my new diary, on March 2nd 2019 I shall spend the day learning how to play the Northumbrian pipes. Which itself was rescheduled from this March after a last minute cancellation as the Beast from the East barrelled through Somerset. About the only thing I did remember from my 2018 diary, and even that never happened!. 

Sunday December 16th 2018

An impulse buy whilst fuelling the car today. A bag of chocolate coins.

It seems appropriate on the day the toll was finally removed from the Severn Crossing to post an image of this chocolate money. For 800 years or so, crossing from England to Wales across the Severn Estuary has been via a toll, or a long detour via Gloucester. Be that ferry, train travel or latterly the twin bridges. Historians think tolls were levied as far back as Roman times. However the first confirmed evidence of a ferry and a fee to cross was around 1200. Tonight however the M4 crossing took it's last toll from a passing motorist and from tomorrow morning, entry to Wales will be free. It's always been free to get out, prompting humorous comments over the years. It will be strange going over there and just driving into Wales without stopping. I last paid a toll on November 30th this year. A contact-less payment of £5.60 meaning I had no real historical evidence of my final crossing, requiring coinage of the Realm to be exchanged for safe passage. Just an electronic debit in my case, but definitely not chocolate money. Or maybe I could have offered some gold chocolate coins, after all chocolate as a currency has a longer history than the tolls over the Severn.

It's thought the Inca uses cacoa as a currency. Like sugar and salt, chocolate was in great demand throughout history. Chocolate coins, known as gelt were and still are part of the Jewish Hanukkah festival. But the Christmas decorations we know and love today maybe hark back to Saint Nicholas himself, who loved children in his Turkish homeland and its thought gave them chocolate as gifts. In reality the real reason why we buy or give coins which resemble the currency of the Realm is lost in the mists of time. Though this cocoa based Sterling currency I bought in the Esso garage in Nailsea worries me. Why is the 2p coin huge compared to the 5p and 10p;  which themselves are much smaller than the £1?  I'd have thought if the coins were to represent the actual currency, size matters, though for my £1 purchase price I received £1.58 worth of chocolate. All of which was academic as once home the larger 2p coins were consumed first. An absolute bargain I'd say.

Saturday December 15th 2018

I've spent a lot of hours here today. 10 hours it be told, a shift from 9.30am to 7.30pm And it was a great last volunteering day at Tyntesfield this year. The weather could have been better. Started out just above freezing and wet, it got a little warmer by mid morning but that brought in heavy rain and by 1pm, gales. Talk about miserable. But the visitors to Tyntesfield at Christmas showed true British spirit and enjoyed their windblown, soaked and bedraggled selves. As was I first thing letting people in the queue know what was happening, rain falling down, umbrellas firmly up, before the ticket office opened. It's a good job that, chatting to the visitors and making them laugh (mostly). Nearly 700 people had visited by the time the estate closed for last entry at 4pm which seemed a lot given how quiet it was all day. That wasn't the last of it though. I offered to stay on and help with the evening shift. On a handful of evenings in December the lower floor of the house is open for an evening festive visit. By then the weather was improving and the moon began to shine across Home Farm. I popped outside for a breath of fresh air (and a free cheese scone) allowing me to hear a tawny owl some distance off, returning to the ticket office and a December moth fluttering about. A perfect end to a long, but a wonderful day. Tyntesfield does Christmas, Tyntesfield does it very well. 

Friday December 14th 2018

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind may blow... Christmas card deliveries. This year there seem to be less Christmas cards being sent than in previous years. Partly this is new technology, email and Whatsapp cards are gaining popularity. Partly cost, with even a second class stamp now costing 56p, send 30 cards, that's £16.80....about the same cost as the cards themselves. And increasingly I feel it could be environmental concerns over the waste we produce at Christmas. The latter is something I'm thinking about for next year. I'm not sure yet as it's lovely to give and receive cards, especially from people who I've not seen all year. Or neighbours. So on this cold mid-winters night Julie and I popped around the local area delivering a few cards. I remember delivering cards like this for my parents in the village, my satchel burgeoning with festive greetings. I always worried I'd be caught at the door and have to deliver the card in person. Which is odd indeed given I knew everyone. Maybe it was the skulking about in the dark which made my visitations seem odd. Tonight however, fewer cards to deliver and it was far too cold to linger and look at the lights with Mrs D (nee Satchell). See what I did there!!

Thursday December 13th 2018

I have been passing this scene for a few nights now. Fountain Forestry have sold Christmas Trees from this corner of Clifton for as long as I can remember. Even in mid summer, a careful look amongst the cobbles can reveal pine needles, remnants of the Festive Season the year before. It's quite hard to capture the atmosphere quickly. Given each photo takes about 2 seconds on a manual setting, ideally should set the camera up on a tripod and set the scene in a perfect way. But I also like just grabbing the scene without too much faffing about. I wanted to capture the old fashioned lights, the trees, the bicycles and the atmosphere. Thus as the camera can shoot in sepia I like the soft tones of a modern age. And sometimes, it all goes awry, yet in a way it improves the experience immeasurably for me, as in the image below. I love it. 

Wednesday December 12th 2018

Works Christmas lunch today. This was taken the before the carnage. I've not been to a works Christmas lunch for a long long time, probably over ten years. They are a funny hybrid of forced jollity and having to sit with colleagues which necessitates small talk unrelated to work. There's something about small talk with work colleagues. We see each other every day like integral family members we can't live without. Yet outside of the work environment, that glue of familiarity which holds our respective lives together begins to unravel. In the desperation of keeping the conversation going we began a few word games. 1) Who has been the most famous person you've met? 2) Could you do without a towel to dry you, or cutlery to eat with, 3) If you were a biscuit what would you be? and finally if you had super powers, would you fly or want to be invisible.  As you can tell the long winter afternoon just flew buy without noticing.

There was one topic of conversation which is new. Very on-message. Simply, after we pulled our crackers and read the appalling jokes, the general consensus was why in this day and age are cracker manufacturers persisting in including single use naff plastic presents (destined for landfill, or worse). Long have we as a society complained about the naff presents in crackers, but that's where it ended, they were just awful, that was part of the Festive ritual. Society had changed, grown up in fact. Now it is not the naffness (if that's a word), but the environmental impact producing these pointless trinkets is part of. In our case 19 trinkets destined for the bin after lunch. I have kept my pointless trinket, a tiny plane resplendent with Soviet style wing markings. God its tacky, but as I have been told, it is a Chinese fighter plane, a Mirage. Maybe then we're just seeing things which aren't there with these pointless single use trinkets. Or maybe they should not be there at all.

Tuesday December 11th 2018

I've documented these early daffodils for years, but I think this is the earliest I've seen them flowering. To be fair they normally begin flowering next to the Catholic Cathedral in Clifton before Christmas. But for me their arrival heralds the start of natures energy which is the turning of the year looking ahead to spring. Bright beacons in the dark days before Christmas. I was out for a walk over lunch. Often I'm too busy to have a lunch break, but today I'd finished mixing my Open Country for broadcast in January, in the studio. Befuddled and tired, I felt the need to perambulation and fresh air. Which is how I found myself at the Cathedral following a notion, "I wonder if the daffodils are flowering yet". Finding they were, as was a red admiral on the wing as I set off,  I continued my walk through the streets of Clifton. Until my foot before foot motion was arrested by a plaque. 

DOROTHY BROWN - TIRELESS CONSERVATIONIST

Who I thought? I've been wandering around Clifton for 25 years, yet this lady who died in 2013, who has been recognised with a green civic plaque, was absolutely unknown to me. Shocking given she was a fellow northerner too. Returning to the work I looked her up. A remarkable lady indeed, so in full recognition of her work, here is her obituary from the Guardian paper in full. A fascinating walk for me indeed. I should walk more often. I wonder if Dorothy planted those daffodils, they're just around the corner?

Dorothy Brown obituary

First published on Mon 4 Nov 2013 18.21 GMT

 Dorothy Brown, who worked to preserve historic Bristol, has died aged 86  In 1970 Dorothy Brown became involved in a campaign to protect the Avon Gorge from plans to build a huge hotel near the Clifton suspension bridge. Dorothy Brown was a saviour of historic Bristol and her indomitable work to preserve old buildings in the city was recognised with an MBE in 1988. She was also awarded an honorary degree from Bristol University in 1991. She died suddenly in her local public library, while working on her last campaign, at the age of 86.

Born in Berwick-upon-Tweed and growing up on a farm, Dorothy went to Edinburgh University – supporting herself as her father disapproved of women's education. There she met her husband, Tom, who was training to be a vet. They had five children and set up home in Bristol in 1954.

In 1970, she became involved in a campaign to protect the Avon Gorge from plans to erect a huge hotel in the vicinity of the Clifton suspension bridge. A year later, Dorothy founded the Bristol Visual and Environmental Group, primarily to combat the notorious 1966 development plan drawn up by the city council, which wanted to destroy Bristol's historic buildings and harbour to make way for concrete, steel and motorways.

At that time, there were 400 buildings in the city earmarked for demolition but Dorothy, who was instrumental in their listing, managed to save most of them, including the 18th-century Brunswick Square in St Paul's, via many public inquiries. Among her later successes, Dorothy helped to save the Clifton lido – dating from 1849, it is one of the oldest surviving lidos in Britain – which nearly succumbed to a developer's bulldozer in the late 1990s.

Her preservation trust also directly saved and restored key historic houses in Bristol and Frome, Somerset. In 1984, she bought Acton Court in Iron Acton, south Gloucestershire, now regarded as one of the most important Tudor buildings in Britain. While exploring the moat of Acton Court, she found a stone polyhedral sundial made in 1520 by the King's astronomer Nicholas Kratzer.

She wrote several books: Just Look at Bristol! (1976), Bristol and How it Grew (1975), Avon Heritage: The North (1979) and Rediscovering Acton Court and the Poyntz Family (2009). In 1979, she helped to set up the Conservation Advisory Panel to advise Bristol council on planning, and served on this panel until her death. During this time she campaigned relentlessly to improve the quality of design in Bristol and restore life to the its centre.

Tom predeceased her by six years. She is survived by her children, Mike, Hugh, Jo, Guy and Jenny, and five grandchildren.

Monday December 10th 2018

A waste of human, or is that botanical life. Actually it's a waste of DNA potential for this sycamore seed trapped in the mesh table. I popped out of the office for a quiet sandwich in the fresh air today. As I sat sitting there munching on my egg salad (no mayo) these sycamore seed caught my eye. My mind casting over the biological engine which never ends. In the spring, flowers burst forth on the parent tree which was behind me. Insects pollinated these and over the summer the seeds of this union developed into dangling clusters. Being a sycamore these bundles of potential life are winged seeds destined to fly, thus at some time in the recent autumn this seed, and it's siblings floated down, eager to begin a new life. Once humans began developing the countryside, they cut off and built over many destinations to these aerial life givers. And so it was for these seeds. Their role as life bringers had developed over millennia of evolution, yet in a few short years we humans curtail this natural process with Anthropogenic structures. And so this little seed will lose its vigour, trapped in the mesh of a table, eventually it will die before releasing its potential. What a waste of botanical life. Yet it will happen again next year, and the next.... nature never stops, it's just humans getting in the way.

Sunday December 9th 2016

Day two of my full weekend at Tyntesfield. Or to be more truthful, the end of my shift at 3.30pm. It was another full day chatting to the queues outside the ticketing office, which again were nearly all happy with what we were trying to do. But more importantly as I walked back to the car a robin was in full song at Home Farm. I'd have loved to record it but didn't have any recording equipment with me. Glorious though to hear those notes puncturing the sunset. A sunset that when I turned the corner didn't disappoint. The weather today has been everything from gales, to calm, sunny to heavy rain. But at the most important part of the day (ie. when I'm off duty) the sun was setting through the trees at the end of the car park. I love skeletal winter trees and the skies which develop behind them. A perfect end to a perfect weekend, I hope too the visitors enjoyed the Estate as much as I do with every visit.

Saturday December 8th 2018

Part one of a full weekend at Tyntesfield today. At the morning briefing we were informed of the new ticketing procedure now that the on-line system was deemed to not be robust enough to continue with over the Christmas period. It was now first come first served ticketing to visit the house, like it is every other day. However a scan of social media  would make you think the World had come to an end - can't pre book tickets, this is scandalous, I'm cancelling my membership.  First world problems indeed.

Anyway after the briefing I was asked if I'd 'go outside' - hopefully not in a repeat of Captain Lawrence Oates who with the immortal lines uttered, “I am just going outside and may be some time”. In the end the queues were mostly light hearted and could see the problems the estate was facing. I was outside for over 4 hours. Anything to do with working with the public is both a real pleasure, most of the time, and occasionally a savage exposing towards the dark side. In the end there were some tickets left by the 2pm deadline for last entry to the house and I made my excuses. On the way home I took this image. These yews look lovely driving up and down the drive, indeed more lovely than my image. Quite difficult to capture the scene. But a record nonetheless of Christmas at Tyntesfield 2018.  

Friday December 7th 2018

Final of the Christmas Triptych. For tonight the gnomes worked their little socks off and decorated the twig. Still a few adjustments to make, plantpot to be covered, and chief gnome is a bit unsure of the lack of lights, but overall, not bad. In many ways it was a perfect evening, as without is a hoolie blowing, hail, rain, gusts which rattle the roof slates. Yet indoors, calm and Christmassy. Just how it should be on a midwinter's eve.

Thursday December 6th 2018

Picking up on the entry from yesterday - the gnomes have moved in. I think they are dancing, but may just be holding hands. Sadly however I can't see much activity in terms of decorating the tree. 

Or maybe given their great age they are awaiting instruction. In Scandinavia, the traditional word for gnomes is Tomte Gnomes are believed to live for 400 years, are industrious, kind, and wise. Family is important to them, and they almost always merry. Gnomes always live in rural areas, sometimes even on (or below) farms, and will give advice to farmers. They are seen as guardians of nature and animals. Although they are kind to humans, gnomes are still very secretive; they never allow humans to know the location of their burrows, never teach non-gnomes their language, and appear only when they want to. In more recent times, gnomes have been said to be the helpers of Santa Claus, and in Scandinavia, 

I wonder? Whatever next....

Wednesday December 5th 2018

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas. Well almost. I did receive my first Christmas wish today from Trudie Goodwin (aka June Akland from the Bill on TV) who was recording a Tweet of the Day for me. That went well. So in the developing Christmas spirit, tonight I painted our Christmas tree. Not a phrase you hear commonly, as paint is often not needed with a fir tree. Ahh yes, but our tree is a twig. A big twig but a twig now resplendent in white paint. As a child my father, being a commercial artist,  would head off into the fields and return with a twig. Paint it white and festoon it with festive trinkets. We also had a Christmas tree, but I always liked these artistic creations. I've done twig-gate a few times myself, and this year the mood took me to venture off into the wilderness and cut myself a Christmas twig. In reality this meant chopping down a willow in the lane behind the house. Thus after a supper Julie and I set too, brush in hand. And there it is, in all its nakedness. Once dried, we shall go wild with the decorations. This years theme... gnomes.

Tuesday December 4th 2018

It's funny coming to editing something which I recorded nearly a week before. Firstly there's that worry, did it actually record well? As there's no going back. Phew it did. Then there is the listening back and thinking "I can't remember that being said - that's so interesting" The role of multitasking, we concentrate on one thing and forget the rest. 

The image above is the download process into the SADiE editing package. As I sat waiting for the files to upload it struck me one day this will all be forgotten about; in the same was as in the past there was a time when I never knew how to edit sound. Remarkable really how what becomes routine and everyday soon passes and either a new skill is learnt, or we just abandon a skill altogether and do something else. That said, all was recorded well, all was uploaded well but after the first pass - the rough edit - I have 1 hour and 20 minutes of material. I need to cut this down to 24 minutes. Yoy!

Monday December 3rd 2018

I find it quite sad to witness how fast the High Street is declining these days. Abergavenny is a town which until today's visit seemed to be bucking the trend of ghost town. For the last four or 5 years we've pootled to Abergavenny or Monmouth for Christmas shopping. Lovely local shops, brilliant atmosphere, a few High Street chains but on every visit it felt vibrant, a million miles away from the crass shopping centres which specialise only in pile it high and sell it cheap business model. No interest in customer service, those Shopping Centres are like conveyor belts, footfall is dominant in these centrally heated hotspots. For footfall means profit. 

And that's why I refuse to go to shopping centres. If other people wish to go that's fine, but for me I like small towns. Wander from shop to shop, chat to the owners, and while they may be slightly more expensive than buying in a Shopping Centre I know I'm helping a real life hard working person make a living. For me it's not all about money. But then as we know, the new threat to the high street is that Johnny come lately rise of the on-line buying process. That has really begun to trash our towns. It's been a slow progression, and there are other reasons, such as car park charges affecting visitor numbers, but this last year I've seen shop after shop close in places I go. Another town I have purchased from to my heart's content is Wells. For over 20 years I've gone there knowing that I can get whatever I'm after. This summer the high-street was awash with closed stores, stores I'd known for years, gone. Including the Co-Op. Those which remained open, either Closing Down or having a sale. Bath is the same, many shops in the main street are now empty and the big department store Jolly's is threatening to close.

It's about 3 months since I last visited Abergavenny and three shops I visited then have closed, the specialist chocolate shop, an excellent shoe shop, which had been trading for 50+ years and cafe we know. But that wasn't all, around 20 shops lay empty. Two years ago not one shop was empty. I popped into the department store, Nichols, they had a 20% Christmas Sale on. Why? Well for the same reason I'd heard all weekend, people come and browse, try things on, then go home and buy on-line because it's cheaper. Without the sale on I learned, people would not purchase in the shop. What I can't fathom however is why do that - the cost in personal time and fuel to get from home then to and from a shop never seems to be factored in to the price paid?  I remember a friend of the family driving 200 miles each way to buy 'cheap' tyres in Chester - and when we questioned his sanity of driving from Tyneside just to buy 4 tyres, let alone the cost of getting there and back, he just didn't comprehend where we were coming from. For him it was 'getting a bargain' that counted. 

Standing in the shop, you can see what you're buying and walk away with it. Do it on-line you spend hours on-line staring at a screen, then you have to be around for it to be delivered, you pay for the internet connection at home, often for the postage and well, the list goes on. At the Oakchurch Farm Shop, erstwhile dubbed the 'Harrods of Hereford'  I had the same conversation in the shoe department on Saturday. They are no longer selling Ecco, Reiker, Timberland and a few other well known makes because "people come in, try the shoes on then go home and buy on-line ..... we're a family run business so we can't compete, therefore we'll go for lesser quality products and hope that works financially in the long run"

I'm no socialist, and I'm not a big shopper but I find this all so tragic - the race to the bottom caused by the internet. How cheap can we buy something is the mission statement of the modern society it seems. Not where has it come from ( mainly China ) or the fact products have travelled half way around the world at what cost? Maybe I'm in a tiny minority here but does society not want to be ethical and support local shops, local people real people trying to survive the onslaught of the multinationals and their shareholder greed for profit?  Profit is needed in society, but these days it's just greed and people buy into it as long as they get a personal bargain.

That said I carried on in this lovely Welsh town - I like the Welsh. I did all my Christmas buying in two hours in Abergavenny and had an idea for something else unconnected to Christmas to help my parents. It's not just me - the young assistant in Marches where I received fabulous service and walked away with a number of purchases thanked me for my custom (after saying in the three years she's lived locally, Abergavenny has lost 30% of it's shops.) A smile, and a thank you is worth a fortune in my book.

Sunday December 2nd 2018

As Winnie the Pooh said "Don't underestimate the value of doing nothing" This image pretty much sums up the day. A wet day, a day when the gentle breeze forecast turned out to be a howling gale which woke me up at 3am. But that doesn't matter, we're on holiday and doing absolutely nothing is what being on holiday is all about. The only excursion we did was to get milk at the Oakchurch Farm Shop, which because I now refuse to drive over 'death hill' as the Dorstone Hill has now been dubbed  after heart stopping near misses everytime we've driven it, the detour involved a 20 mile round trip. If only we'd bought some milk when we were there the day before we'd not have got lost down narrow lanes bedecked with pretty cottages or seen the rain sheeting over the hill, which was quite spectacular.

"One of the advantages of being disorganized is that one is always having surprising discoveries" Clever bear that Winnie the Pooh.

Saturday December 1st 2018

What is a sign?

Well a quick perusal within the Oxford English Dictionary one would find....

• [An] object, quality, or event whose presence or occurrence indicates the probable presence or occurrence of something else
• [To] write one's name on (a letter, card, document, etc.) to identify oneself as the writer or sender.
• [A] notice on public display that gives information or instructions in a written or symbolic form.

Well there you go then. A sign is many things, yet each individual sign is grappling with a specific aspect of the maelstrom of daily life. I came across two signs today. Small signs, lost in the landscape within which they sat. One permanent, representing a temporary moment in the landscape, one temporary but providing a permanent reminder of an event. 

Up on Moccas Hill NNR near Dorstone in Herefordshire is a nice walk. From the car park, an easy bumble up the track affords the most stunning views from a hogs-back of a ridge, north over to Shropshire and I have been told the Cotswolds to the east. To the south the great dark lummox of the Black Mountains towering over the Golden Valley like an eagle quartering it's next victim. Rain falls on these Welsh hills in frequent fast moving bands but never seems to reach the English valley. And for that I was grateful. I stood looking at a sign "For - Forrest Emrys Lloyd Segal - for a lifetime of growth". The sign had been placed on a sturdy tree guard. The winds whip cruel up here. Who was this Emrys Lloyd Segal? Was he really called Forrest? At some point in the none-too-distant past a sapling had been planted in his memory and entombed in the tree guard safe from marauding deer. My mind wandered as the wind billowed clouds around me like confetti. Presumably he knew this landscape. A local man perhaps. A local man who grew to love the permanence of this landscape (today in its December malevolent mood) sandwiched along the English & Welsh border. In death (for I am presuming the word For signified that this is a memorial tree) his temporary footfall on the land ended, but his memory like the sign, will become a permanent feature as his tree grows to maturity over the next half millennium. I'd like to know more of Forrest Emrys Lloyd Segal, but I never will I suppose, but already I like him, for his lifetime of growth principles. My temporary passing of this sign, will just be that, temporary.

Later today a temporary sign welcomed us to table 5 in the 17th Century Pandy Inn in Dorstone. Table reserved, we arrived eager to sample the delights of this newly Crowned 'Best Community Pub in Hereford'. Or as I said to the landlady, best pub in Dorstone at least. Narrowly avoiding being barred permanently from this oldest (built 1185) pub in Herefordshire, I scuttled off to the table. 'Reserved Miranda'. The Miranda in question is now termed a local and had booked the table for us. She and husband Graeme moved to Herefordshire a few years back following running a successful gardening business in France.  It is how Miranda and I met, through the internet of blogging. For she wrote eloquently on the joys of Continental gardening, and I careered through my wildlife blog with my customary abandoning of attention to detail. But it was not until 2016 that Miranda and I finally met face to face. 

There are only three glasses there, as Julie's soda and lime failed to turn up for the photoshoot. It was a good night, food excellent, atmosphere perfect, in a pub in the middle of nowhere packed to the gunnels with locals.  That sign unlike the one for Emrys Lloyd Segal will have been wiped clean soon after we left, in readiness for the next customer. A temporary sign of an event which passed in one evening. But a sign which fermented the bonds of conversation and friendship which will hopefully remain as permanent as a friendship can be. Yet the four of us at the convivial table were temporary visitors to the Pandy Inn. 

I just wonder, was this Emrys Lloyd Segals local?

Friday November 30th 2018

Home for three nights. And our fourth visit over the last year to Hodson's House nestled beautifully in the Golden Valley in Herefordshire. The backstory here is in September 2018 we were booked for a well deserved break for a week. We'd booked this in February when we came for a long weekend  and paid in full, however I made a real hash of getting the right dates in the calendar.  The owner Jo contacted me on the Monday and asked 'you haven't arrived, is everything okay?" I was just fine, however I was at work and not on holiday. I'd booked my annual two weeks off on the wrong dates. We'd failed to turn up. Luckily we found a wonderful cottage for the week I had actually booked off, about 2 miles away over the hill. But Hodson's House is a real favourite of ours.

Jo the owner could have shrugged off my increasing incompetence but in a renewal of my faith in the kindness of humans she offered us a 'free' weekend in December or January as somewhat compensation. Tomorrow is the first weekend in December, and so here we are, we've actually remembered to turn up. Which is a start I suppose. The photos were taken around 4.30 half an hour after we'd arrived. Today it seems will be the best of the three days here weather wise. Making an early start the town of Hay-on-Wye provided lunch, tea, cake and scotch eggs. Time for a few snaps of the gathering gloom before night falls. Its so quiet here you can hear a pin drop.  We love it.