All is calm, all is bright

O dear, my weight has been creeping up over the last few months – not dramatically, but I am now 5lb above the weight I achieved in September. 'Too much food and not enough exercise' is the all-too-obvious cause; a brisk 7 mile walk in the Forest the preferred remedy.

At home, a strong(ish) wind was blowing up the Severn estuary, making trees sway and carrying with it a fine drizzle, but in the Forest all was calm. Thanks to the absence of leaves on the trees, it was quite bright too, revealing features hidden earlier in the year.

I must have unwittingly walked past this old tunnel entrance several times during my spring and summer rambles, but today it was easy to approach for a closer look.  One of my guide books informs me that it used to link Trafalgar Colliery to the wonderfully-named Strip-and-At-It.  After snapping this photo, you'll be pleased to know that I remained Fully-Clothed-and-Left It. However, one of the great charms of the Forest of Dean is its wealth of relics like this, of past industry.  It's hard to imagine that here, where trees and bracken thrive, 800 men and boys once worked.

Angie checks her watch and wonders when the next train to
Lydney will arrive.  The last one left in 1929

Apart from the occasional souls walking their dogs, the Forest was deserted.  I walked as quietly as I could, camera at the ready, in the hope of seeing some interesting wildlife.  One deer crossed the path ahead of me and I spotted three grey squirrels, but none stayed around long enough to be photographed.  Then, almost at the end of the walk, this little fellow decided to keep me company, hopping from branch to branch beside me, and once flying down to my feet to retrieve some tasty morsel.  He obligingly posed for his photo to be taken, though unfortunately it's come out a bit blurred.  I'm sure I heard him chirp Happy Christmas before he finally flew off.

Birthday treats

A few days ago I clocked up another year on this planet — an event that did not go unnoticed by a few companies that have my email address. Yves Rocher offered me a free bottle of perfume, a dainty wrist watch and a make-up  bag (if I placed a big enough order) but, best of all, Beefeater and Las Iguanas tempted me with a free main course at any of their restaurants. Las Iguanas won, as they were thoughtful enough to include a rather fetching image of me on my last Mexican holiday — instantly recognizable, as I'm sure you'll agree.

This coincided nicely with my short break in Newcastle, and the opportunity for Aunt Sarah to lavish some affection on her niece, so off we set by Metro, in the direction of Las Iguanas in the city centre.

Benton Metro Station

Arriving at 6pm, the place was already packed, but thankfully there was just room for two more. I waved a copy of my Birthday Treat email and was given a complimentary cocktail - a nice start!  We chose a couple of tapas dishes for starters, then both went for a Brazilian dish that sounded too good to miss. If Pele loves it, why not us?.

THE EXTRAORDINARY XINXIM 

Exotic, creamy, satisfying. Lime chicken in a crayfish & peanut sauce with spring onion & garlic rice & fine green beans. Toasted coconut farofa to sprinkle, sweet plantains for fun. Pele loves it.

Ben, our waiter (who took this photo) informed us that it's pronounced something like zin-zim. Here it is, about to be devoured by a hungry aunt and niece.

We left Las Iguanas, full of praise for our meal and our waiter, and feeling nicely full... but the evening was far from over. A short walk down Grey Street, then over the Tyne, brought us to The Sage concert hall in Gateshead.

This view has featured in Angie's Aspirations before, but this time I had
a decent camera to record the scene.  The famous Tyne Bridge is in the
foreground, the Millennium Bridge beyond it, and The Sage concert hall
between the two, on the right.

Here I was in for a real musical feast — Beethoven's 7th Symphony, performed by the Royal Northern Sinfonia. Before the performance began, we were treated to the news (a day before the press release) that Julian Rachlin had been appointed their Principal Guest Conductor.  JR then led his sinfonia in a stirring performance of Beethoven's masterpiece – a little too fast in the 2nd and 4th movements, according to Auntie, but I was in raptures. The 2nd movement (in particular) is so memorable that I found myself humming it for days afterwards.

Newcastle Swansong?

July 2008

Aunt Sarah has an admirer.  After years of living alone, she is being wooed by a fellow septuagenarian and the talk is of more than friendship.  "Good luck to them," I hear you say.

Whilst nothing is yet certain, I'm already caught up in the mounting euphoria, dreaming of suitable wedding outfits that an affectionate niece might wear. Something floral, in mauve and white, perhaps, and with a nice big hat and a matching handbag.  Yes, that will do nicely. Please may it be summertime? 

It occurs to me, though, that this could well change the nature of my frequent visits to the North East. Aunt and niece long ago discovered the interests that we share — performances at The Sage, walks in the countryside, visits to National Trust properties, good food and wine, and (of course) shopping. How might the presence of a third person alter this?  For the better, one hopes, but one thing is certain... it will be different.  So, as I waited for my Cross Country train at Cheltenham, last Tuesday morning, I was overcome
with the feeling that this visit could well be a Swansong.

November 2014.  Some things never change -
the same Killingworth Morrison's and the same
shopping list.  Only the shopper has aged a bit.

The station clock marked the passing minutes, until declaring it to be the 11th hour, of the 11th day, of the 11th month.  A Great Western train from Slough had arrived a few minutes before, and now its train manager stood motionless, beside her charge. Nearby, a gent in pinstriped suit stood to attention and an elderly man beside me, poppy in lapel, closed his eyes.  I rose from my seat and bowed my head as, for two dignified minutes, the station fell silent and we remembered man's inhumanity to man.

As quickly as it had arrived, the moment passed.  The business of a mainline station resumed and the little Great Western train scurried under the bridge and out of sight. Still in contemplative mood,  I began to retrace in my mind the good times aunt and niece have enjoyed since first we met in July 2007, the speed with which we adopted our relationship and the wonderful way in which that relationship was cemented when Auntie visited us in Cornwall at the end of the year, endearing herself to both of us.  The next few days would, I knew, be every bit as good.

A Day to Remember

Next week I'm having a mini-holiday with Aunt Sarah in Newcastle.  Packing is well in hand... skirts, tops, tights, knickers... so much to remember. 

This morning I glanced at my rail ticket and, for the first time, spotted the significance of the day and time that I travel – the 11th month, the 11th day and (to round it off) the 11th minute. So, at the official Time of Remembrance, I should be standing on a railway platform in Cheltenham.  I hope that, amid the hustle and bustle of a mainline station, I am afforded two minutes of peace.

Few families come through world wars unscathed.  My grandfather was seriously injured in WW1 but clung to life until 1923 – just long enough to deny him an inscription on the local war memorial and my grandmother a war widow's pension. Since gran and my father have now died, there is no-one to remember him.  Gone and forgotten.

But this story has an interesting twist.  A few years ago I searched online at the War Graves site for K----s who had died in active service.  It obligingly came up with one Private Dan K---- of the East Yorkshire Regiment, who died on April 23rd 1917 and is buried in Arras, Pas de Calais, France.  Dan turned out to be a brother of my grandfather, whom we had forgotten but whom the War Graves Commission have remembered. He will be remembered again on this Remembrance Day, in his part of a foreign field that is forever England... and by his great niece, wearing her poppy on a railway platform in Cheltenham.

Not-So-Super Markets

Scarcely a day goes by without news of some supermarket chain in crisis and decline. "Supermarkets are past their sell-by date," declared The Guardian last month. "They just don’t know it yet."

Two German companies, Aldi and Lidl, are usually held responsible for this sea change in British shopping habits. By limiting the number of lines they stock (do we really need a choice of 73 types of toothpaste and 156 of jam?) and applying fairer mark-ups, they have exposed the regular supermarket BOGOFs and other 'unbeatable' deals as hogwash.

Then, of course, there's online shopping.  My younger son and his wife rarely visit a supermarket, preferring to do their shopping online, then sit back and wait for it to be delivered.  And there are thousands like them. Consequently, supermarket chains are now lumbered with tens of thousands of outlets that are expensive to maintain, serving a diminishing customer base.  To compound the problem, new stores have frequently been built a stone's throw from their rivals as supermarket chains greedily fight for each other's customers.  

Not Lydney market - ours isn't so smart.  This one is
 Newcastle Farmers' Market, from where I appear to be
emerging with a month's supply of cheese.

But I reckon the reasons for this decline go still deeper.  In our little Gloucestershire town there is no Aldi or Lidl , yet in the last year or so the list of things we buy from Tesco or Morrison has shrunk alarmingly. The days when we bought almost everything at a supermarket are but a distant memory. This month we got our...

• Meat from the local butcher.  No cellophane wrapping here to hide the rubbish meat beneath the better stuff. It's all fresh and wholesome, cut to order and cheaper too.

• Vegetables from the Saturday market trader. O dear... the spuds and carrots still have soil on them (who cares?) but they are sometimes half the cost of cleaned and polished veg from the supermarket across the road.

• Fish from the fish man's van.  Morrison's and Tesco's will tell you that their fish is fresh, but not as fresh as this. You really can taste the difference. And last Saturday we picked up 6 Sea Bass for a tenner.  I've just checked Tesco Direct, and they're selling one 300g fillet for £5.70!

• Cat food from an independent supplier.  This is the latest to be deleted from our supermarket shopping list.  Boxes of Felix are never more expensive than Tesco and usually a pound or two cheaper.  And it's nice to support the locals.

I love shopping at markets, especially outdoor ones.  But whether you join me, or sit at your computer and order from there, it seems that we're both contributing to the ever-deepening anguish of Messrs Tesco, Asda, Morrison and Sainsbury.

Pedantic, or just logical?

© Google Street View

Before moving to Gloucestershire I often drove past a sign that instructed me to Use both lanes for Truro.  "What?" I would ask myself, "Do they want me to drive down the middle of the carriageway or zig-zag from side to side? What the sign really meant, of course, was Use either lane for Truro.   Call me a pedant if you must, but I found the wording more than a little frustrating.  For the sake of one extra letter, why not get it right?

Then there was my dad's hotel.  In order to comply with the Fire Regulations,* the door to the under-stairs cupboard had a sign proclaiming This door must be kept closed.  And with my logical brain, I used to wonder, "Why have a door there at all? Why not just have a wall?"

I lay the blame for this mode of thinking firmly at the feet of my supervisor, when I was a young and impressionable trainee.  One conversation, I recall, went something like this:
"Don, we've run out of Highly Inflammable notices."
"Mmm.  I suppose they all caught fire."
"May I have an order, please?"
"Certainly.  Jump up in the air and stay there!"

The problem is that, once you start thinking in this highly logical manner, it does rather take a hold. Consequently, when on my regular walks in the forest I come to a gate with the notice Please close the gate, I'm left with a problem.  The gate is already closed, so I can't close it... and how can I get through it?

If you find the sign on the right amusing, then it's clear that the rot has set in and I welcome you to The Society of Logical Thinkers.  I warn you, though, that there is no known cure.

Finally, for members new and old of the aforementioned society, I leave you with this one:

The world comprises 10 sorts of people: 

those who understand binary 

and those who do not.

* Actually, of course, they are Fire Prevention Regulations, but I'll let that one pass.

My dog has fleas... and Amazon says 'thank you'

"But Angie, you don't have a dog!"
"That's true... but please read on."

Part Two of my mission to enhance my social life was successfully launched last Thursday evening when my favourite cousin and I started our Beginners' Ukulele Class at a nearby school.  We were joined by eight other novices - all but one of them ladies - and by our tutor Matt, who has promised to take things nice and slowly.

We learned how to hold our ukuleles and how to strum them, which is not as I'm pretending to do in the photo - I should be using my index finger.  Well, I am a beginner!  We also learned four chords - C7, F, D7 and G.  The first is dead easy; the last is a pig.  Finally, we put it all together to accompany Matt as he sang You ain't nothing but a hound dog, crying all the time...

By the end of the 90 minute lesson my left hand was aching - mainly due to that darned G chord - and the following morning the tip of my left index finger was numb from pressing too hard. I'm confident, though, that practice will soon loosen up my tired joints and guide my fingers to the right place.

So on Friday evening, feeling that a whole new world of ukulele playing lay open before me, I decided to cash in a couple of my hard-won Amazon vouchers (courtesy of Valued Opinions) and buy a cheap ukulele and bag (£19.79) and a tuner (£6.19).  A couple of days later three packages arrived - the ukulele and bag, the tuner and a copy of Antony Beever's mammoth volume, The Second World War.  Being a good, honest girl, I emailed Amazon to point out their mistake.  Within an hour came the following reply...

Hello Angela,  

I understand that you have received an extra item along with your order.  First, I would like to thank you for informing us about the issue and for your ongoing support and continual purchasing throughout the years. 

Your purchase history is outstanding and I would personally like to keep your patronage. You are certainly the type of customer that we would like to retain. 

I request you to please accept the book as an goodwill gesture. There is no need to return the item to us.  I hope this helps. 

We look forward to seeing you again soon.  

Warmest regards.

So, should I tire of practicing G chords, there are 950 pages of The Second World War to keep me amused.

Finally, you've waited far too long to learn about my flea-ridden dog.  If you pluck the strings of a ukulele, from top to bottom (as you do when tuning it), you get this little tune.  And to it, it is traditional in ukulele-playing circles, to sing "My dog has fleas."  So now you know!  

The Kent & East Sussex Railway

Holman F Stephens runs round her (his?) train at Tenterden
for the next trip to Bodiam

No Angie holiday would be complete without at least one visit to a preserved railway. So guided by my sometimes trusty satnav, I pointed Bluebell in the direction of the Kent & East Sussex Railway at Tenterden, there to meet up with Julliette.

Isn't blogging wonderful?  Julliette first contacted me through the medium of this blog and now we're good friends.

For railways buffs, the K&ESR holds a special fascination as it was once one part of Colonel Stephens' group of railways - a quaint collection of moribund lines that included the aptly named Weston, Clevedon & Portishead – the WC & P! Each was run with the utmost economy, and most drew to themselves an amazing collection of motive power that other self-respecting railways were happy to see the back of.  All of which, of course, added greatly to the fascination of these lines.

The preservation society has done a wonderful job at bringing the K&ESR back to life, and they are currently pressing on with plans to extend their line to its original junction with the 'main' line at Robertsbridge. Consequently, Colonel Stephens' old railway is now busier than it has ever been. To cater for the burgeoning traffic, locomotives and coaches have been amassed, platforms extended and passing loops installed. Inevitably, some of the old line's bucolic charm has been lost in the process, but I doubt that anyone's complaining.

After a hastily devoured lunch, Julliette and I boarded a steam train for the trip to Bodiam and back, hauled (most appropriately) by tank engine No.23, Holman F Stephens. Our fellow travellers may have wondered why these two middle-aged ladies displayed quite so much interest in the passing railwayana, but we're unrepentant. Julliette has a special fascination for ancient goods wagons, leaping out onto the platform when she spied a particularly interesting specimen, whilst I contributed to the conversation with vaguely intelligent comments on the signalling.

Finally, Julliette snapped this up-to-date version of the classic "Big Engine / Little Person" poster. Ok, the engine's not so big and the small person is rather large, but it was a fitting end to a wonderful day.

Rye Reflections

A view from the tower of St Mary's Church, with the Ypres Tower in the
centre and the River Rother in the background.  The Rother used to reach
the sea 10 miles up the coast at New Romney until a big storm changed
its course in 1287.

I hope that I don't offend the good residents of East Sussex when I say that Rye would not have been my first choice for a holiday. Living in Cornwall, never more than a couple of miles from the sea, holiday destinations were usually chosen for their hills and mountains, or the thrill of experiencing some foreign culture. On all three counts, East Sussex scores poorly.

Now, though, we don't live in Cornwall, but in Gloucestershire  And in our dotage we aim to discover those parts of the Kingdom that have been overlooked hitherto, not least because they're now some 150 miles nearer home than they used to be.  Our first choice was the part of southern England that lies between Eastbourne and Dover, and an Internet search revealed that Rye might be a good spot.

Lucy demonstrates the direction from which rain falls.

As I mentioned in my last post, our exploration of Rye was aided by local girl Lucy, who guided us along cobbled streets, up a church tower, around a castle and finally into a salubrious tea room. Later we hit the streets again for a spot of evening photography - a skill I have yet to master as most of my attempts came out blurred. I'm sure the secret lies in persuading my camera to stay at maximum aperture (and hence fastest shutter speed) but I've yet to discover how it's done. 

Incidentally, one of our local schools is offering evening classes in 'How to use your Bridge Camera' but I've chosen their Ukulele classes instead.  Next time, maybe... or perhaps I'll just read the manual!

Over the week we returned to the streets of Rye many times and feasted twice at an Italian restaurant that, in my humble opinion, has no equal.

One of my nighttime shots that did work.  I took this one as we chatted
with a guy from Epsom, who told us that there wasn't much of
interest in Rye.  I don't think there's much in Epsom, but I'm glad he likes it.

Half Way

For weeks I've been looking forward to our holiday in Rye.  Today I'm half way through it and (so far) haven't blogged a single word. Shame on me.  All of which goes to show, though, that quiet evenings, with "3" dongle duly dongled and laptop upon my lap top have been in short supply.

So far I've clocked up a 15 mile walk along a military canal (built to repulse a Napoleonic invasion), two wonderful days in the company of local girl Lucy Melford and a day on the Kent & East Sussex Railway.  All this, and more, will be described in loving detail when I return home and have sorted out the photos.

Rye has turned out to be an excellent choice for a holiday,with its cobbled streets (lovely to look at; less so to walk on), quaint tea rooms and countless antique shops. Our postage stamp-sized cottage in the centre of the town is truly delightful - just one comfy bed, a tiny lounge and even tinier kitchen.  But, despite being situated on a busy road, it's quiet, warm and welcoming. 

Here, Lucy and I are about to tackle a 'light' lunch before setting out on Lucy's conducted tour of Rye. We returned to the same spot for our evening meal of chicken, stuffed with pesto and wrapped in bacon. Clearly, one thing neither of us will do on this holiday is to starve. On the contrary, it's probably just as well that I was a good girl and lost all that weight beforehand.

Autumn cometh

Speech House Lake

A cool mist hung over the Forest of Dean this morning as I set out on a 7 mile hike. It's what I call 'in between weather' - a bit warm for wearing a cardigan; a bit cool without one. 

Summer is slowly turning to Autumn. Beech and oak trees are leading the way as their leaves turn golden brown, then fall to the ground. Not many yet, but in a few weeks' time the whole forest will be bathed in autumn colours. I wanted to photograph these first signs - another page in my project to record the changing scene throughout a year. 

Intrepid Angie, on a rickety bridge over Blackpool Brook

This time the starting point was Speech House, in the middle of the forest.  From there I walked southeast in an area that I haven't explored before, and soon I arrived at the Speech House Lake. Why had I never been here? This is surely the most beautiful of the forest lakes.  I shared it with a couple of anglers and a party of children, but they were content to stay near the car park. At my end, the misty, moisty morning seemed to impart an extra measure of beauty and solitude.

To the south lay Acorn Patch, which I've already covered in some detail, so I won't bore you by describing the rest of the walk homeward. Instead, I'll let these photos tell their own story.

Beech Trees beginning to turn Autumn gold

I photographed these, confident that there'd be a good crop of sweet chestnuts to collect on my next hike.
Now I look at the leaves, though, I'm not so certain.  O to be an expert!
(ps. A sweet chestnut it is not!  See Ruby's comment (below))

These I do know!  And very tasty they were.

A camera-shy grey squirrel.  When I first saw the little fellow, he was scurrying around on the ground.  However, by the  time I'd switched on the camera, set the focus and zoomed in, he was departing rapidly.

My Valued Opinion

Several years ago I subscribed to Valued Opinions and have regularly been rewarded for surveys that I complete. 

The Valued Opinions website says this:

Your opinions count. It’s only through market research surveys that companies large and small can truly learn what people like you think, about everything from specific products and services to topics as wide ranging as fashion, film or global warming.Therefore it is true to say that we believe your opinion has a real value. And that’s why we offer you incentives that can build up to rewards, in exchange for completing surveys.  

It's certainly not a recipe for getting rich quickly.  On average, I probably qualify for less than a quarter of the surveys offered and the rewards are modest - usually 75p or £1 for 20-30 minutes' work.  It's surprising, though, how it mounts up over the years.  I've just been looking at my Reward History and see that, since I started, I've completed 469 surveys and earned £420 in Amazon or Boots vouchers.

If you fancy giving it a try, be warned that some surveys are carelessly written and will have you screaming at the screen.  For instance, a recent one asked:

   Can you hear this sound?..  yes, it's a cat

   Can you see this video?..  yes, it's a frog

   My gender  female

   My age  65

   My job category (if retired, select most recent occupation)  intermediate managerial 

   My income (I gave them a rough figure)

   In what area of the country do I live?  southwest

   Do I visit online betting sites?  no

   Sorry, but you have not qualified for this survey!

If they had asked the last question first, I would have been saved a lot of time and typing.  It's tempting, sometimes, to give the answers you think they may want but, on principle, I always try to answer honestly.  

I took this screen print during the consultation, as we
talked about furniture, carpets, etc that would match
the scheme.  (Manufacturer's details removed by me.)

Occasionally I land a gem of a survey, such as one I did last week.  A well-known paint company is developing an online design service.  I completed an initial survey, during which I diligently sang the praises of their paint - absolutely truthfully, as I've recently repainted our lounge, using one of their published colour schemes, and am delighted with the results. 

I qualified for the next stage and was invited to send them details of a room I wish to refurbish, and select a few possibly schemes that I liked from an online catalogue.  Then, last Saturday, I had a 40 minute online consultation with Sarah, one of their design staff.  Not only was this enormous fun, but Sarah came up with some brilliant ideas that I'd never have thought of.   But here's the best bit... when this service is launched it will probably cost about £60.  I got it for nothing and was rewarded for completing the survey! Not bad, eh?

Border towns

I've just spent a pleasant afternoon in Chepstow, which is a few miles down the road from my home. Trips to Chepstow are quite frequent as it has a large Tesco store where we do our monthly 'big shop' and it's where I go for my laser treatment.  Today, though, I just wanted to explore the town and take a few photos.

That's the beautiful Old Wye Bridge in the background.  It's single track, controlled with traffic lights, and must have been a source of great frustration until the 'new' bridge on the A48 was constructed in 1988. The elegant lamps once graced a street in Sheffield, until they found their way here in 1969.  Thank you, Sheffield!

I parked Bluebell near the old bridge and walked up a steep hill into the town.  One street has been pedestrianised and, I think, looks rather nice. The bow-fronted building, half way along on the right, with the large '7' on the wall, is one that I know well as it's where I'll be going in a couple of weeks' time for my next session of laser treatment. 

Further up the hill, in Bank Square, I came across this immodest fellow (below).  If you look carefully you'll see that he is anatomically complete.  Believe it or not, he's supposed to be a fisherman, though no fisherman I know ever went to sea like this.  But then, I don't know any Welsh fishermen.  I invite you to click the photo to enlarge it, not just for a better view of the guy's big dong, but also so you can read the name of the shop in the background.  Rather appropriate, don't you think?

Chepstow frequently reminds me of Launceston, in my homeland of Cornwall. They are both towns close to the border with England - one Welsh, the other Cornish.  And yes, the Cornish, like the Welsh, do consider themselves a race apart from the English.  But, as the following photos show, the similarities don't end there.

Finally, both towns have alternative ways of saying their names.  To Welsh speakers, Chepstow is Cas-Gwent (= 'Gwent Castle').  As for Launceston, well the English generally pronounce it Lawn-ston (never Lawn-cess-ton... dear me, no!) but to the Cornish it's Lanson.  Which goes to show that the Cornish are every bit as adept as the Welsh at confusing folk with their town names.  

Dragonfly

It was a beautiful summer's afternoon. Aunt Sarah, S- and I were relaxing beside the garden pond, eating olives and sipping Chardonnay.   "Ooo look!" says I, "a dragonfly."  The bright green creature circled the pond for while - swooping then hovering, then swooping again - before settling onto one of the pond-side stones.

For the next 20 minutes we watched, enthralled, as she laid her eggs in a mossy crag between the stones. In my ignorance, I thought dragonflies always laid their eggs in the water, but clearly not this one. Finally, she circled the pond once more, and was gone.

The following day we found her dead nearby, her life's work done.  I hope her offspring make it to the water.

The follies of the past

If you hoped that I was about to confess my past sins in graphic detail, then I'm sorry to disappoint you. As you know, I'm a good girl, so there's not much to tell anyway.

Rather, this is the aftermath of my post Flickred and Flopped, in which I bemoaned the loss of my photos, after moving this blog from WordPress. Since that fateful day I've been slowly working though the old posts, weeding out ones that can be deleted and restoring the photos in the remainder. Yesterday I alighted on a post from April 2013, entitled Wye we came here – definitely one I'd have liked to keep.  But O dear... I've lost the photos!

This is, of course, my own silly fault. Rather than carefully catalogue my photos, I'd lazily left them in folders called 'temp1', 'temp2', 'untitled', 'new folder', etc.  Still more were languishing on SD cards in 2 cameras and on my smartphone.  No surprise, then, that I've lost a few.  But now I've seen the light.  I've reformed. Henceforth, I promise myself, every photo will be edited and stored in properly arranged folders before it appears here and on my new Flickr site.

So today, in scorching sunshine, I returned to the River Wye to recapture the photos that once graced Wye we came here. In the intervening 15 months I've bought a new camera that takes much better photos than the old Fuji, so hopes were high. Sadly, though, some shots were impossible as then it was Spring and now it is summer; then the river was easily accessible, now meadow grass and Japanese Knotweed crowd the banks.  But the scene, though changed, is as beautiful as before and I had a lovely afternoon, waving to canoeists and chatting with passers-by.  I'm rather pleased with the photos, too. There are more on Flickr, if you're interested.  Just follow the link on the right, under my profile.

Holiday plans - it's Sussex by the Sea for me

"Rye - the town that time forgot."  www.tripadvisor.co.uk

I've just paid the final installment on a holiday cottage in East Sussex - one week in September, in the picturesque town of Rye.  Knowing almost nothing about this corner of the Kingdom, I simply worked my way through potentially suitable properties on the Cottages4You site, then checked out each town on Google Images.  Rye came out tops. Friends who know the area assure me that I've chosen well.

After booking, Lucy Melford informed me that the Romney, Hythe and Dymchurch Railway is almost on the doorstep, so we shall definitely have a ride on that. The Bluebell Railway isn't too far away either, though I've already travelled on that one a couple of times; but not since the line was extended to East Grinstead.  Mmmmm... tempting. Everything else will be a surprise, for we have never explored the South Coast further east than Eastbourne.  I'm particularly looking forward to visiting one or two of the Cinque Ports, that I vaguely remember from history lessons at school.

Today I discovered a bonus - The Rye Arts Festival runs from Friday September 12th, kicking off with a free concert.  Sadly, we had planned to depart for home on the morning of the 13th, but I'm very tempted to stay on for a few more hours to hear Mark Bostridge talk on "The Fateful Year - a year that started in peace and ended in the horrors of World War 1".  It begins at 3pm and tickets cost £12 each, so a late return home is in prospect. I'll phone the booking office tomorrow.

Flickred and Flopped

Flickred

I'm rather proud of this one from 2009, which has already been added to
the Flickr site.  It's of Crowns Mine, at Botallack  in Cornwall.

I've decided to open a Flickr account and go 'public' with a large collection of my photos.  I don't pretend that they're at all special, but it seems that someone is finding them interesting as the hit rate has been creeping up since Day One.  If you fancy a look, follow the link on the right, beneath my profile.

I'm using this exercise to properly title the photos and weed out the ones that are not worth keeping.  And, true to my rather scatty nature, I'm doing them in no particular order, so one day some ancient photos from Cornwall may appear, and on the next the last trip to Newcastle.

One thing that Flickr does enable me to do is to post the result of more walks in the Forest.  Such walks have appeared on this blog with monotonous regularity over the last 18 months, so I think my loyal readers need a break.  

Flopped

There's a far more appropriate word beginning with 'F' to describe this, but it's not at all ladylike... so 'flopped' it is.

Last week I deleted my old WordPress account.  Since moving to Blogger last November, the WordPress blog has simply displayed one post, with a link to this blog.  Over the months I've seen the hit rate on the old blog gradually fall, until last month there were no hits at all.  So no point in keeping it.

What I didn't realize was that, when I imported the blog to this site, Blogger didn't copy the photos; it simply linked them from the WordPress site.  So when I finally deleted that site, all my lovely photos went with it. Ahhhhh!

I am now pondering the alternatives:

1) Restore 4 years of photos from my own collection.  Each would probably need to be reduced in resolution - I generally don't post anything above 800x600, usually a bit less. Sounds like a big job.

2) Delete the lot.  The only old post that gets regular hits is one from 2009 about Olivia Woolley and University Challenge.  Perhaps the time has come to give her a well-deserved break.

Acorn Patch

In my post Return to the Mineral Loop I mentioned my failed attempt to locate Acorn Patch.  I now know that this was entirely due to looking in the wrong place! Your silly bloggist has a large scale Ordinance Survey map on her smartphone, but preferred to let the Noom app track her progress and count calories.  And before you ask the obvious, sadly the phone doesn't have enough puff to run both apps at once.

Acorn Patch has an interesting history, which is all the excuse we needed for another walk in the forest.  So yesterday S-- and I parked Bluebell at New Fancy View - the site of yet another colliery - and plotted a meandering course northward, before returning along the Mineral Loop and via the off-visited Rising Sun Inn.

The excellent publication Rails through the Forest* says this about Acorn Patch:

The site, together with several square miles of surrounding woodland, was first managed by the RAOC in 1942, before being handed over to the US Army Ordinance Corps in September of that year.  Acorn Patch rapidly became the second largest US open-air munitions storage site in the UK and at its peak was estimated to have contained around 30 kilotons of explosives.

Most of the stockpiles of munitions were removed around the time of the Normandy invasion in 1944, but vast quantities of chemical weapons and drums of liquid gas remained in open storage, or at best beneath tarpaulins or open-ended Nissen huts, where they began to deteriorate. Post-war clearance proved to be a massive and protracted task, the last train not departing until 16th June 1953.

It seems that the only attack the US Army guys had to repel was from sheep, who liked to doze in the Nissen huts and also developed an appetite for the canvas tarpaulins! 

This old photo, copied from the book, dates from 1947 and has deliberately been inserted at very low resolution, as the original is © LE Copeland, WSP.  I hope he doesn't mind.  If you're interested, you could do a lot worse than buy the book and thus swell the funds of the Dean Forest Railway Museum Trust.

* Rails Through the Forest: Silver Link Publishing Ltd. 
   ISBN 978 1 85794 409 0

Colossal Cave

In the summer of 1982 I found myself at Bath University for a week's Summer School with the Open University.  I was studying Statistics and Mathematical Modelling, which even 32 years later still sounds to me like pretty heady stuff.  Life at Summer School did, however, have its compensations.  Half pints of Old Peculiar in the student bar were my favourite, usually followed by more drinking and merry-making in someone's bedroom.  Mind you, one had to be careful.  It was not unknown for folk to abandon their wedding rings (and their morals) in order to have a good time.

By a strange coincidence, my Aunt Sarah was tutoring at the Bath Summer School that year, on the same courses and it seems that we only missed meeting by a week or two.  Funny old world, is it not?

Something else I used to enjoy, when the day's work was done, was to go to the computer room, sit myself in front of a teletype and run programs on the university's computer - probably a DEC PDP11, according to Auntie. And thus I discovered a text-only adventure game (no fancy graphics in those days) called Colossal Cave.  The idea was to explore a maze of underground rooms and passages, and collect treasure.  As you might expect, this cave had magical properties and if you typed a magic word ('plugh', I think it was) you were instantly transported to a room called Y2.  Anyone who bungled their way round the cave as I used to, would consume a lot of teletype paper and frequently arrive at Y2!

After that long introduction I return to the account my walk from Dilke Bridge, in the Forest of Dean, to my home.  My picnic lunch consumed, I descended on a rough track through woodlands to a junction of paths that has become very familiar.  Indeed, whatever my chosen route in the Parkend area, I seem to end up here. Perhaps it too has magical properties.  And guess what?  At this complex junction someone had erected a large wooden post with the characters 'Y2' upon it.  Which, of course, explains everything!

Wild Rose

Earlier this year I promised myself that I would take a good camera on my walks to record the changing seasons in the forest.  The trees are as green and as beautiful as before, and since my last hike on June 12th, clumps of wild rose have blossomed.  Here are some that I spotted near Acorn Patch.  Also, the brambles have begun to flower, promising a good crop of blackberries before too long.  In my younger days I used to stuff myself on blackberries as I walked along, and usually arrived home with a tummy ache.  Now that I am older and wiser, I look forward to homemade blackberry and apple pie, with a large dollop of Cornish Clotted Cream.  Scores of calories per mouthful, but by then I'm hoping that it won't matter too much.

The hardest stretch of the walk was the long climb from Whitecroft to Maple Hill.  Predictably, this was when the clouds parted entirely and the sun blazed down.  My pace slowed, my skirt started sticking to my legs and beads of sweat trickled down my face. Thankfully, though, a cool breeze greeted me at the top of the hill and my steps quickened again for the final stretch home.

Time to consult the Noom app. on my smartphone, which had been faithfully recording my progress. Crumbs... with deviations to explore Acorn Patch, Central Bridge and Moseley Green, I'd walked 8.5 miles at an average speed (not including the lunch stop) of 2.6 mph, and burned off 953 calories.  And thus I grow a little slimmer every day.