Pushing Up Daisies

From the grave yard of a little chapel, built in 1673, that’s tucked away, between the forest and the hills; a beautiful place on a beautiful summer evening: pushing up daisies? to be dead, buried beneath the ground.

Keep on Running

 

Only one who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go. -T.S.Eliot

 

Well it’s done, the big one the Bob Graham Round, or as it’s become know in this house simply the BG. It’s not just Mr Uhdd that’s exhausted, whilst he has more reason to be so than the rest of us, the boys and I are never the less, totally pooped.

How to tell you what it was like, I think we might have to have a guest post from Mr Uhdd for that, I can only tell you what it was like from the bottom of the hill. The weather was bad, out off the 44 peaks climbed, there were no more than a handful that weren’t shrouded in low cloud and whilst we are delighted, relieved that it went so well for Mr Uhdd and ‘Laid Back Runner’ others didn’t have it so good and had to retire, I was a bit of a loss as to what to say to them, you could see they were gutted, I suspect they will regroup and give it another go. And there were a lot of runners out there, the challenge starts at the Moot Hall in the centre of Keswick at midnight on Friday night, and there must have 50-60 people gathered to give them a good send off, in addition to the towns Friday night revelers, who seemed to think we might be the start of a party.

After they had gone and we went back to the climbing club bunk house that was ‘mission control’ I tried very hard not to think of them out on the fells, running in the dark, rain wind and low cloud, but as I heard the pacers come and go through the night, my GCSE geography, from long long ago, came into mind, hanging valleys, truncated spurs, U shaped valleys, scree slopes; which ever way you look at it, bloody big things to fall off and into.  So it was a relief when it came light, it seemed to me like one hazard  out of the way; we went to the second road crossing at Dunmail at about 7am, there were a lot of support vehicles and supporters there, not just from our club.

Looking, waiting with the kettle on, hot food ready, the next pacers ready to take over

 

There were many miss-sightings, ‘here they are, on the ridge, look’ only to realise on closer inspection, the dots were in fact sheep not runners, but on schedule, they came over the ridge

for a the briefest of stops, in the whole event, all 23hrs and 8 min, Mr Uhdd stopped, to eat drink and rest for only 38 min in total.

The running club are poetry in motion, so slick and prepared, everything is done to allow the runner to do just that, to keep on running. I’ve posted more photos on my Flickr site. The willingness and effort by club members, to help other  complete this challenge is impressive, sportsmanship and camaraderie at it’s best.

After we watched them leave Dunmail, there then followed a long drive (for us) around the mountains, to meet them at Wasdale,

they had a rough time on this leg and lost some time, we watched and waited

  

And saw some very nice sheep

When they came in to this check point, Mr Uhdd looked rough, he skin was grey and you could see from his bloodshot eyes he was dog tired

The climb out of this valley is murderous and I wasn’t yet confident he was going to make it, it wasn’t till he got to Honister that I felt, he could, and would do it. As they came towards Honister they decided to split up and ‘Laid Back Runner’ and his pacer went on ahead,

We waited  for them at the finish in Keswick, this time with Saturday nights town centre revelers, they both made the last push, up the main street, accompanied by much cheering from from family, friends, supporters, and anyone else who was around, to slam into the doors of the Moot Hall, job done. There were a few folk swaying around Keswick, who looked ready to slump to the floor on Saturday night,  but some have more reason than others:  ‘Laid Back Runner’ makes it to the Moot Hall

Back at ‘mission control’, the guys had to be assisted out of their running gear, showered and put to bed. The support team on the other hand, had a beer or two, it was very late, or early depending on your perspective, when I found my bunk

Uh Oh, it’s windy, duck is going for a walk.

I’m sorry I digress, ‘Uh Oh; it’s windy, duck is going for a walk.’ comes from the children’s book, ‘Duck is Dirty’ by Satoshi Kitamura and it was a favourite book with the boys when they were very small, I wonder just how many times I read it to them, I know it was a lot.

The words came to mind yesterday when I went for a walk, it was wild, gale force winds, brining down sizeable chunks of tree

and turning the leaves inside out, I made a hasty pass of a derelict farm building, the roof of corrugated iron looked ready to let fly at any moment

But whilst the wind was buffeting, it wasn’t unpleasant, up on the hill the wind was scented with the smell of bruised bracken and it was sunny and warm. In fact it was a ‘right good drying day’ if you could keep the washing on the line as there was a high risk of your laundry getting snatched off and turning up three fields away. Mr Uhdd did a sterling job of pegging the washing firmly to the line, so much so, the pegs stayed on the line and our duvet cover shredded like an old flag, ‘Perhaps you could mend it’ he suggested ‘But to mend thing’ I pointed out ‘you have to have something of substance to sew the repair too’ and this I am afraid is a no hoper. But then again, yesterday wasn’t windy; this is what proper wind can do

Double delight

 

This evening at 8:30. Why is it always lighter  on the ‘inside’  of the rainbow? the answer may be in here but I’ve yet to read it all; as this is a post it in the moment sort of post, you will have to work it out for yourselves.

One of my favourite painters, Joseph Wright of Derby, I have written about him before,  must have been a bit quick with the brush, seeing as he didn’t have a digital camera in 1794

Indoors if wet

Plan A was have an away day and go to the Cheshire Show today, we like going to the summer agricultural shows, although I am not sure they are that reflective of country life, (nor does Lavenderjack) but they are a good day out; the boys and I usually go to the Bakewell Show in August, but we won’t be able to make it this year, this is my post about it from last year. As the boys are at school I was going on my own, just to mess and mooch about with the camera, But the weather is the pits, wet and windy, the grass in the meadow is flattened by the weight of the rain and the garden is being thrashed by the high wind.

It’s a while since I went to ‘The Cheshire’ it’s a great place for people watching  situated near Knutsford and the epicenter of the Northern social scene for footballers, WAG’s, and   those who are flash with their cash,  the so called ‘golden triangle’ of the villages of Wilmslow, Prestbury and Alderley Edge, there’ are many who attend the show just to be seen;  rather than to look at the latest innovation in control of parasitic worms in sheep, buy a handy little gadget for cleaning Venetian blinds or a pot of lemon curd from the WI stand. (you can spot them by the deep orange perma-tans, that’ are the colour of Sainsbury’s carrier bags  that and inappropriate foot wear.)

That said, the shows attract a variety of people for other reasons, I had my purse and mobile stolen one year, that will not be happening again, what a load of hassle.

Today’s weather must be a blow for the traders, many of them tour the big shows, a washout will make a serious dent in their expected turnover for the year, but then again, they are not committed to a ten year lease, rent and rates 52 weeks a year and fixed staffing costs, unlike high street retailers; so maybe it just a case of choosing which horse to back, placing your bet and hoping it doesn’t fall at the first fence

So I shall remain at home today, there’s lots to do including a host of photos to up load to Flickr and a raft of half written blog posts to re-visit, but first I’ll put the kettle on.

Perfect day

The wedding, was wonderful, the ceremony was all the more meaningful for it’s simplicity, so many of the fripperies  of a traditional church wedding are cleaved away in a Quaker ceremony, leaving the bride and groom, and what we have all come to witness, their commitment to one another, at center of the occasion, it was very moving. Having spent over two decades dealing with the hype and drama of other peoples weddings, when I worked in the flower business, where I am sure many couples had given more thought to whether or not the colour of the bridesmaids dress clashed with the best-man’s cravat, than to the reason why they are getting married in the first place, it was like a breath of fresh air. Most of the ceremony is conducted in silence, this was a bit of a challenge to some of us, in spite of the fact I had checked three time that I had turned my mobile phone off, I still wished I had left it in the mini bus, just to be on the safe side.

We could not have been made more welcome at the ceremony by the other friends at the meeting house, they made us a splendid tea that included my all time favourite cake, ginger cake

After tea, cake and photographs in the garden, we went on to the reception, did I mention I thought some care might have gone into the selection of the reception venue and that real ale might be involved?

 

The meal  at the Thatchers Arms, Mount Bures, in Essex, was divine, I had rack of lamb with rosemary mash, served with a rich gravy, as dark as Tudor oak; the wedding cake was chocolate, with just a hint of something, alcoholic and citrus in the cream, the boys ate two servings, well most of us did actually, truth be told.

We sat out in the sun for a while, and took part in one or two ‘activities’ that had been arranged for us, (I may post more about that) to allow time our ample meal to digest and the band to set up. A cracking band, brought about much dancing, (even Tom felt moved by the music, to get up on the dance floor and he was particularly impressed by the drumming) there was just a little disappointment that the band didn’t have ‘Tiger Feet’ by Mud, in the repertoire but they did have this Elvis

One of the things that made it such a special day, was not only seeing the bride and groom so very happy, meeting old friends, but in addition to that coming home having made some new friends too.

I don’t normally post personal photos on my blog, and I’ve not asked them if they mind, but I’ll chance it: here you go,  ladies and gentlemen, please raise your glasses, a toast.

  ‘The bride and groom wishing them health and happiness, always.’

At the edge of darkness

I went up on the hills the other night, because it looked like it was going to be a promising sunset. It’s not yet 12 months since we bought the camera, but I seem to have developed a bit of a ‘thing’ for sunsets and silhouettes; I thought I might find a farm building, drystone wall or tree to frame the shot, the last thing I expected to find was a police dog handler  and his dog, they were kind enough to pause and let me to take this shot.

I can only imagine that the police dog really comes into his own at night, and that their usual working conditions are not as picturesque as this: it must be a special bond, that of dog and handler.

Dotting and Crossing

I have spent the morning in an exam, don’t ask what on, I won’t tell you (sorry, it’s half a story, I know)

It’s the first time I have ever sat down at a proper, grown up exam, that starts at the top of the page and goes on and on, until, you either run out of time, things to compare and contrast, apply theory to, or just waffle about.

Readers who have been calling here for a while, will know, that I don’t like writing without the comfort blanket of Microsoft Office and the F7 button, I’ll stand up and talk to and for England; but ask me to put pen to paper, it brings up all sorts of demons. So you can imagine I wasn’t looking forward to the exam; now that my dyslexia has a piece of paper to prove it’s existence (and we could debate that topic ’till the cows come home, but please not now) I have an entitlement to some extra time in exams, to check my work. I must admit I was glad of it and used every second.

I wasn’t alone, another candidate was in the same situation and we placed ourselves at the front of the examination room as far away as possible from the door, so that when everyone else left, it would be less distracting for us. So when the time came and the invigilator said ‘ Everyone, put down your pens, except the two candidates with additional time.’ And everyone else filed quietly out of the room, before bursting into relieved and excited chatter as they dispersed down the corridor, I was transported back to being a child again, its a beautiful summers day, I am still inside the classroom redoing my work, my classmates are out in the sunshine, playing.

I hate my hand writing, its not good at the best of times, but under pressure, like this morning I like it even less, and whilst I’ve got used to writing essays, assignments and reports over the last few years, and goodness, I’ve even been known to enjoy it, but it’s only because I can ‘cut and paste’, edit and generally tidy things up; but no matter how hard I try, I remain convinced my messy writing and poor spelling, will have antagonized the examiner and the outcome will come back to not what I have written but how I’ve written it.

Rereading my work at the end of the exam, I discovered that my writing of the word ‘that’ looked like ‘t*at’ (for * insert ‘w’) and you can see this makes the word takes on an entirely different meaning (overseas readers, on a need to know basis, can read a definition of t*at here.) So it was not just the ‘I’s’ that needed dotting and the ‘T’s’ that need crossing, the ‘W’s needed a bit of remedial work too.

So back home, and not one, but two fried egg butties and two mugs of steaming hot tea later, I am both replete and exhausted, but I am still going out to play.

Cliff Hanger

A group of climbers, at the top of their pitch.

Dusk

Last nights ‘red at night shepherds delight’ sort of sunset worth waiting for, I walked up to the top of the ridge, visibility was so clear I could even make out the tower blocks of the town best referred to as the ‘hole in the ground town’  a town who’s only redeeming feature is a truly beautiful Victorian railway viaduct, other than that it is best viewed from a distance and bathed in a flattering light of a summer sunset.

As a bonus whilst taking this shot, I watched a badger (it was huge, the largest I have ever seen, dead or alive) trotting along a track and disappearing into the undergrowth. Now I know badgers are not popular with farmers in many areas, because of their part in the spread of TB in cattle, and in parts of the country their numbers are at an all time high;but around here you are more likely to see them as bloated ‘road kill’ than going about their business, so it was a treat.

Badger don’t seem very bright at crossing the road, unfortunately they are creatures of habit, using the same tracks and set’s year after year, they don’t seem to get the concept of ‘not crossing on a bend’ ( I know they were around long before the automobile, they have every right)  A few months ago, I came across what at first I thought was a car accident, it was dark and on the road to ‘nowhere’ when I saw a car stopped in the middle of the road and what looked like a body in lying in the road and people crouched down next to the ‘body.’ Brandishing my girl guide first aid certificate, I offered my assistance, fortunately the body, turned out to be a badger (but not fortunately for the badger, obviously) the badger was in my humble opinion about 98% dead, the people with it were, I’m pleased to say 100% alive; I pointed out that to be on a bend on an unlit road on a dark winters night was not a good place to be, unless you wanted to end up like the badger, they said they couldn’t leave it, so I suggested they move it, at this point I could see it was all a bit of a lost cause, I took my leave and left them debating what to do; I don’t know how they got on, I hope the remaining 2% badger wasn’t the biting bit.

On the subject of road kill, whilst in the Lakes the other week I thought I had found the perfect addition to my skull collection when I found a fox skeleton  complete with bushy tail, at the side of the road, poking at it with my boot I found that it still had its black nose (that skin must be a bit tougher than the rest) and that the skull was ere, um, how shall we say, a little too ‘active’ and smelly for me to get away with bringing it home in the car, shame, it had a fine set of teeth.