Banal Ramblings

The drill was put into action for the second time in my 50 years. A top quality,  bespoke house number, designed and crafted by yours truly. Is there nothing I can't do ( comments on the grammatical  correctness of this sentence welcome ) ? It's taken me twenty three years to put a number on the house.

The most pathetic thing on the blog so far ?

Today, I nipped out for an hour or two (ish) at lunchtime, down the cafe and then a walk along the marshes. Layed down in a sheltered spot in the sun and watched and listened to the widgeon and waders. How civilised.

Thorrington Mill in the distance

On Tuesday, me and Wak Baines had a day perch fishing at a local lake. Lots of small perch were caught, along with roach, rudd, bream, carp and chub. We lost a couple of big koi carp too. Another day in the sun drinking tea, watching the wildlife and taking the piss out of each other. Saw a badger in the evening too.

Sir, do you have licenses for those four rods ?

A really lazy, enjoyable day. This week I've spent so much time not working I'm beginning to understand what it must be like to be Poodle Riley.

Grossly incompetent Wak Baines tangled up again

Oh yeah, and I put out a fire midway through the afternoon, but I'm too modest to talk further of my heroism.

A Full Moon, The Scarlett Elf Cup and Navel Gazing

Last night, me and the Whittler had a quick trip to the beach hoping and expecting a few codling and maybe a roker or two. What we got was a flat calm sea, a beautiful moonlit evening and no fish.
The Whittler rivals Wak Baines for the breadth of his interests and opinions. As an added bonus he doesn't mumble, which means you don't have to ask him to repeat things three times before understanding him. Always agreeable company.

Wildlife Watch : On today's walk I spotted a pair of buzzards, a pair of kestrels and a pair of sparrowhawks, along with the (apparently very rare), scarlett elf cup. C'mon, admit it, you've never heard of it have you ?

Why do we blog ? When I say "we", I mean  people who do it for a non commercial reason.Would it matter to the blogger if nobody read it ? Or is it enough to do it for it's own sake ?
I suppose I do it so I can post a few photos to show a few mates and as an excuse to.....Oh, I don't know, write was is essentially an on line diary. Would I do it if nobody read it. Dunno, probably. The need for self expression ?
I'm disappearing up my own backside. Time for red wine.
Over and out.

A Gig, a Run and the Thoughts of Chairman Wak

What a great week . On Monday, me and Youngooooous went to a (very) small gig at Rough Trade records in Spitalfields to see the mighty Wave Pictures. A short set to promote the new album and that was it. Good though.

Then on Wednesday I met Wak Baines for a day piking at Alton, where we sat all day without so much as a touch. However, lots of tea was drunk and many topics discussed. In the now traditional way I will list some of said discussions.

Public schools and why they should be abolished.
What do your kids think of you ?
Does, or can, a person fundamentally change between say twenty and fifty years old ?
If you really had to, who would you go to the pub with. Mark E Smith, Morrissey or Roy Keane ?
Why Greece should leave the euro.
The lack of general knowledge of most people under thirty years old ( dangerously close to "Da Yoof of Today" territory )
Tony Blair and David Cameron. Different sides of the same coin ?
Books you should read ( again ).
How chest waders retain the smell of a fart for hours.

The Daily Mail was not discussed.

So, a day chewing the fat with Wak, always an enjoyable experience.

On Saturday, me and Lady Bong flew to Seville for the city marathon on the Sunday. Lovely city, lots of small streets, almost all lined with orange trees, heaving with fruit. The Barrio Santa Cruz area was packed with tapas bars and restaurants.

Up early on the Sunday. Weather perfect, calm, sunny and mild. There was the usual shouting and hollering in the countdown to the start and then we were off.

Can you see me ? No, neither can I

It was a beautiful flat course, which took you round pretty much all of the city sights. The crowds lining the streets were fantastic, there were out in their thousands.
I latched on the the 3 hour 30 minute pacer early on and basically hung on for the whole race, only having difficulty in the last nine or ten km. I must admit the last half hour hurt a bit.

That's the back of my head that is

I finished in 3.28.41, much better than I expected, so well pleased. After the finish, me and Lady Bong took two hours to find each other, due to my imprecise post race instructions.
That evening we were sat outside eating (in smegging February) and afterwards tucked in to the wine in various tapas bars. Back in the hotel bar we narrowly avoiding a messy end to the evening after getting talking to two well oiled blokes from Carlisle.
A good end to a great week. Bit of a shite write up though, I'll try to improve next time.

Winter Finished- Official

I've decided winter has finished, bloody good job too. It can huff and puff, but it's on the way out. So says I.
Yesterday I did my last long(ish) run before the Seville marathon next week. All was going well until I wiped my sunglasses as I ran down Cox Hill in Lawford, when one of the lens popped out. I spent half hour on hands and knees, cursing like a madman, unsuccessfully looking for it.
How the hell can a lens that size disappear ?

Lovely day today, walked along the river from Thorrington Mill to Wivenhoe and back. Signs of spring everywhere.

Lots of green shoots on the honeysuckle and elder especially, woodpeckers yaffling, a buzzard mewing above the wood near Brightlingsea church and songbirds everywhere. Had a stoat run out in front of me too.

Der Yoof Of Today

Well, only four months late, here's a few photos of a trip I had in September with Eldest Son, Dan.

I ordered perfect weather and got it once again. We left the Essex flatlands at about four in the morning, reaching Wareham just before eight, where we had a great breakfast at a nameless cafe in the High Street ( sorry, the old memory ain't what it was ).

Ten minutes after brekkie, we ( I ) was putting up the tent at a small site in Langton Matravers, while Dan sat in the car. No....no, really, I don't need any help, you sit in the car and play with your phone. Anyway, tent up and I pop to the shop, come back and he's asleep in the tent ! The youth of today, eh....in my day, etc, etc.

Just joking, I'm a control freak and didn't want any help. When he woke up, we set off along the coast path westwards, stopping off at St Albans Head, where I clambered down the cliffs with Dan shouting " Be careful, you diiiiick !". No respect, these youngsters. He sat at the top watching me clamber down and then back up again. I like pointless exploring.

Give Dad a hug

We had a walk round Chapman's Pool and then up a really , really steep climb, where I did my usual pathetic thing of going up as quick as possible and pretending I wasn't out of breath, leaving 20 year old son trailing in my ultra-fit-look-at-me-ain't-I great wake. Well, it makes me happy. He was cursing as he reached the top. That made me happy too.

After that, we headed inland along a ridge to Kingston where we had a welcome pint.

From Kingston we headed back eastwards stopping off at the Spire and Compass in Worth Matravers, a really unique, quirky pub and tried the local ciders.

After that, we walked back to the campsite and went for a bite to eat...somewhere. It was four months ago, I can't remember what happened yesterday. Any way, it was a great couple of days away. He's a fine fellow ( he would be, I'm his Dad ). I hope "The Boy" enjoyed it as much as me.

Into Devon and the Curious Case of "Robert Segal"

An uneventful train journey down to Plymouth, then on the ferry over to Mountbatten Point and I was heading east towards Wembury.

 Tent pitched and down the local not-very-good pub for refreshment.Next morning I started early and bumped in to a bearded, smelly backpacker who ignored my "Good Morning" and silently glared at me. Ignorant turd.

 A few miles later and I was waiting for the ferry across the Yealm and there he is again, the smelly, silent backpacker. He grunted a few words in a Russian ish accent, until an American walker passed by. American bloke says "Where are you from ?" and for reasons that will soon become apparent, he quickly came to regret asking that seemingly straightforward question.
Smelly Russian's answer was as follows ( none of this has been exaggerated for comedy effect )..... His mother was born in Slovakia, but moved to Germany. He lived in Las Vegas. He didn't know his father, although he'd narrowed it down to two people. So far, believable.
His name was Robert Segal, he said his Dad was possibly the actor Steven Segal and one of the said actors films was based on him. Lunatic alert ! Lunatic alert !
He said other person who was possibly his father was Putin. Yes, that Putin. Putin apparently had the KGB spying on him since he was four years old. Everything was going to be sorted though, as Robert was meeting George W Bush in Romania to ask him for assistance.....oh dear, we seem to have an utter fruitcake in our ranks.
And on and on he went, until the American got worried and walked off, pushing past Mr Segal, with a look of terror on his face. Unfortunately, the bullshitting Segal was walking in the same direction as me and I had the misfortune to bump into him on several other occasions, although thankfully he didn't share any more of his made up life story with me, as I had very obviously made it clear he was boring the shite out of me.
Anyway, I continued walking from the Yealm towards Stoke Point, where I met the Capel Midgit (Goozgog) and his family for a bit of mackeral fishing from the rocks.

We were lucky, as huge shoals of mackeral were harrying fry into gullies and bays, hard against the shoreline. It was an incredible sight and we soon had enough for an evening barby. Or rather the Goozgog family had, as I had to crack on, to reach the estuary at Mothercombe at low tide, as this was the only time you can wade across, there being no ferry.
Saw this ugly bugger perched on a gate, looks like a locust. Bloody massive, it must have been four inches long !

The last few miles leading up to Bigbury were without doubt the hardest of the day, but when I stopped off for fish,chips and mushy peas this was soon forgotten.
The tent was soon pitched at Mount Folly Farm, with great views over to the beach at Bantham, all for a fiver. Unfortunately, when I walked across to Burgh Island to The Pilchard Inn I found it closed at 7.30 pm. In August !?! What ?

Next morning dawned fine and I was back down to the beach at Bigbury in the Venus Beach Cafe, tucking into a full English, reading the paper with the sun on my back. It doesn't get much better than that. Simple pleasures.
Yet another ferry trip, this time across the Avon into Bantham and in no time I'm walking between Bolt Tail and Bolt Head, another absolutely fantastic walk. As I rounded Bolt Head, I looked up the estuary to Salcombe, a great sight. 

Salcombe itself was full of posh Yachties, BMWs and Mercs, but a great place nonetheless. I stopped off at The Salcombe Coffee Company and pigged out again, this time on....you're not interested are you ?

On the ferry to East Portlemouth and another beautiful walk to East Prawle, just about my favourite place anywhere. I pitched the tent in a field a few minutes from the rocks and spent the night in The Pig's Nose, as you should if you ever visit. How to describe the Pig's Nose ? Old world, quirky, I don't know, have a look yourself. You'll like it, unless you're a tosspot.

Anyway, I had a few pints of local cider and one or two pints of local bitter (and a curry) and staggered off to the tent. I was up early the next day for a few hours fishing on the rocks and had a great time in the sun (again).

 Before I started the day's walk I had brekkie in the Piglet Cafe and damn fine it was too.
Yet another fantastic walk along Lannacombe Bay to Start Point, where I stopped to admire the view and have a break.

A few more miles and I was reached Torcross, where I stopped at the Start Bay Inn for (you've guessed it) fish and chips. This time whole plaice since you ask. Another few miles, with Slapton Ley on one side of me and Slapton Sands on the other and I reach Strete where I pitched up at Manor Farm Campsite, where I froze my nuts off despite being fully clothed and curling up into a ball underneath the sleeping bag. It may have been August, but it was bloody cold.

I got up early, packed everything away and after an hour walk decided to treat myself at the beach side cafe at Blackpool Sands. Excellent breakfast and even better view. Bloomin' lovely.
Great walk into Dartmouth, a visit to "Officially The Best Pasty Shop in the UK" (the second I'd been in with the same claim !) for an extra large traditional....and yes, it was very tasty and then yet another ferry over to Kingsweir, for the final stage to Brixham.

The Kingsweir to Brixham section was another very tough section and by the time I got to the outskirts of Brixham I was knackered and not looking forward to another night of being cold in the tent. I reached my intended campsite, it looked horrible, cramped and crowded, so I decided to walk on towards Paignton and hopefully find a B and B with a vacancy.
I got lucky. Very lucky. I was walking along a small lane and came across Elberry Farm, knocked on the door and asked if they'd got a room. Yes, they had and what a great place it was. Squires fish and chip shop at the top of the road was just about the best I've had in the past few weeks and that's saying something, as I've practically lived off fish and chips.
Got the train from Paignton and had the misfortune to have a seat in amongst half a dozen of the roughest women I've ever encountered. Burping, drinking, swearing like troopers and taking the piss out of any poor bastard near them. Including me ! After a while I had to take extreme measures and launched my own barrage of piss taking at the loudest member of the group. This had the desired effect and they then picked on some other poor bugger ! You're on your own son.....

Plymouth To Falmouth - Buskers, Morris Dancing and Cider

After a week at home, I got the train down to Plymouth and made my way to the Cremyll ferry. I have to say I thought that area of Plymouth was less than impressive and I was glad to get to the Cornish side of the Tamar estuary and start my shortish walk, through Edgcumbe park towards Cawsand. I came to a fork in the path and decided to take what looked like a short cut to the campsite. It was a short cut, but was up a ridiculously steep path which had me sweating and swearing in equal measure.

Maker Campsite was an interesting, quirky site, run in a very laid back way by a very nice couple. "Pitches ? Just go where you want" said the man, so I did and what a great view over Plymouth Sound I had, all for 6 quid.

The showers and toilets were a bit unusual, but plenty good enough and they had what was refereed to as "The Random Bar" which was set up in a disused farm yard, selling two draught beers, one of which was Rattler cider.

The bar was closed when I visited, so I went for a quick one at the Devonport Inn, where a middle aged, two piece band were ripping into rock and roll classics with surprising venom, watched by holiday makers with a combination of pleasure and terror.

I waited for the on site cafe to open the next morning, as a woman had recommended it as a place a great breakfast. I have to say the brekkie was as good as anything I've ever had. A highly recommended site, as long as you're not expecting five star facilities.

I set off towards the ruined chapel at Rame Head and what fantastic views and a great place for a stop. From there it was along Whitsand Bay, a great beach with cliff top chalets. Next stop was Portwrinkle, where I met a bloke who was doing the whole trek in one hit. He was on his 25 th day and said it had got easier as his fitness had increased. Hmmmm.

A quick pasty and ice cream stop in Seaton and I was on my way to Looe, which I reached at about six in the evening. I did my usual thing, which is to carry on walking when I should have stopped, as I'd already done about eighteen miles. Polperro is only another seven miles I thought. Yes, it was, but over some very, very steep hills which got worse as I approached the town.

I was absolutely knackered when I reached Polperro, so stopped for a quick pint, before making my way up the final killer hill to the campsite. I dined on the finest Waitrose Essential noodles and pasta sauce cooked on the stove that evening, as I couldn't be arsed to walk back down into the town.

Up the next morning in bright sunshine AGAIN and down to find a cafe for breakfast. I spoke to a young bloke who was also backpacking the coastal path. We started the walk towards Fowey chatting  and what an interesting fellow Morgan was. Twenty years old, carrying his guitar and harmonica along the cliff tops along with his backpack, stopping and busking when funds get low.

The walk from Polperro to Fowey was (I'm sorry if I keep going on about this) unbelievably tough and hilly and when we reached Fowey we stopped for a welcome break. Crab sandwiches, coffee and walnut cake and several ice creams later and I felt a bit better.

Morgan started busking and after a slow start made enough money for a couple of days, got the offer of performing at a wedding and ended up on a yacht in Fowey harbour getting food, drink and a bed for the night. Not bad for a couple of hours.

I left him to it and continued on to the campsite at Polkerris.

Next morning and I started near Par, a horrible section of the trail with old factories and not very nice beaches, until I reached Charlestown, where I made a pig of myself in Charlie's Coffee Shop. A long afternoon  walk to Mevagissey, where I again partook in eating pasties and scones and on to a very quiet campsite up the road from Goran Haven. Had a great meal in the pub up the road and a few pints of Doom Bar.

Got talking to some German people when a load of Morris Dancers came in jangling and doing their spazzy gay dance. I tried to explain that although sometimes passed off a English culture (which I suppose it is), it was very much a fringe activity carried out by people who would otherwise spend their weekends reenacting the English Civil War in full regalia. Not sure they were convinced though.

Next morning and it's a lovely walk towards Dodman Point and a stop at Portloe for lunch. I reached Portscatho about six and eventully found the campsite which is apparantly recommended in the "Cool Camping" guide. I didn't like it. Loads of posh people with the massive tents, 4x4s and kids called Milo and Jasper. Very crowded. It was the only one in town, so I pitched up and went down the pub,

Away early next morning on the short six mile stretch to get the ferry to Falmouth. Half way across the estuary the first rain of the week started to fall. I've had great luck with the weather. Nice brekkie in the Cinnaman Cafe in Falmouth and it's on the train home with another eighty miles in the bag.