Day 39 and little prospect of release from lock-down

The news in this morning's Guardian made grim reading for us reasonably fit 70+ year olds.

Along with a photograph of a decidedly unfit-looking 70+ (80+?) woman, it was reported that the health minister, Lord James Bethell, has refused to deny that older people will be told to stay in an extended lock-down when restrictions begin to be relaxed for other people. 

Lord David Blunkett, for whom I have a great deal of respect, remarked, “The more the government make restrictions age-related rather than risk-related, the more they risk people pushing back very heavily and refusing to keep to the rules.”

I do realise that making fitness the criterion, rather than age has its difficulties, for when does one become sufficiently unfit to be in increased danger?  But equally, why should a 65 year old who is overweight and rarely exercises (and I know several of them) be judged at lesser risk than me, a 71 year old who easily accomplished a 10½ mile ramble on Monday?

Cautious – and undoubtedly well-meaning – government ministers will point to statistics that clearly show a greatly increased risk of death from C-19 in the 70+ age group, though I would seriously wish to question how many of these were obese or had underlying health issues. 

Moreover, the figures need to be set against the obvious fact that, the older we are, the more likely we are to die anyway. I find it highly significant that, set against the statistic that 9% of 80+ers who fall victim to C-19 will die, is the one in the graph below that about 6% of them would have died within the year anyway. 

There is, of course, a strong counter-argument to all this, of which I'm well aware.  By any measure, COVID-19 is very dangerous.  For the sake of simplicity, is it not far wiser simply to lock down all those over 70 years old until either the risk diminishes markedly or a vaccine is available?  After all, most of them don't work, so the economic effect will be marginal. Nine to twelve months of freedom lost now might be judged a relatively small price to pay for the prospect of health and enjoyment for years to come.

Personally speaking, I just hope that the government affords me some wiggle room as I continue to exercise, eat well and (hopefully) remain fit and healthy. Otherwise, as David Blunkett predicted, I may be one who 'pushes back very heavily'. 

Day 36: Walking record tumbles while Bluebird stays at home

Monday is traditionally the day on which, weather permitting, we tackle a long ramble, often in the Brecon Beacons or the Cotswolds. Tired but happy, we then seek out some wayside inn for a leisurely meal before returning home late in the evening.

Old habits die hard, so for yesterday's ramble I planned to drive to Newnham for an 8-miler along the banks of the Severn, then up to the Blaize Bailey viewpoint.  Despite the current restrictions, I'm certainly not against using my car to drive a few miles before starting a ramble. However, I awoke on Monday morning to a change of heart and proposed that we would be public-spirited, leave Bluebell (our blue Hyundai motor car) on her driveway, pack a picnic in our rucksacks and set out on this one...

A footpath over a couple of fields and a walk along quiet country lanes soon brought us to Viney Hill, from where there are lovely views down to Blakeney, with the River Severn in the distance.

Perhaps it's just as well that we left Bluebird at home. They've stopped selling petrol in Blakeney.  Thinks... when was the last time I bought petrol in gallons?

 .
Leaving Blakeney, the footpath runs beside a pleasant stream and a tumbled-down old orchard. It also runs beside a sewage works, but I didn't feel inspired to photograph it.

About 4½ miles into our walk, we arrived at Gatcombe. The red building in the background used to be an inn named The Gatcombe Boat, then later The Sloop, both names reflecting Gatcombe's former role as a centre for river trading, fishing and ship building.  The inn closed in the early 1800s and is now called Drake's House, on account of Sir Francis Drake having possibly stayed there.

Of more interest to me was Gatcombe being our chosen place to stop for a picnic. With the present lock-down regulations, I'm never quite sure whether one is permitted to exercise so much as to need a picnic. Well I'm sure that our wonderful police have far better things to do than track me down to this little spot, under a low and muddy...

... very low (and very muddy) railway arch...

and out onto a pleasant grassy bank of the River Severn.

Half an hour later, well filled with Ryvita, crisps and rather too much cheese, we set out for Purton, where there are more signs of former river trading... and more mud too.  That's Lane's Brook on the right.

Now here's something with a story to tell – Purton Viaduct. It's all that remains of a scheme conceived in the early 1830s (about the same time as the famous Stockton & Darlington Railway) to transport coal from the Forest of Dean to the Bristol side of the Severn, via a moveable bridge. It failed to gain parliamentary approval and was never completed.

Using this 1901 OS map, I was able to trace the proposed route beside Lane's Brook as far as a quarry near the present-day A48, but could find nothing beyond that.

Much more successful was the Severn & Wye railway. In 1879 they completed the Severn Railway Bridge, which was destined to carry regular traffic until 1960, when it was badly damaged by a couple of fuel barges. Sadly, the magnificent structure was never repaired and was finally dismantled in the late 1960s.

Coincidentally, while I was writing this post, one Ian Thomas posted a 1951 BBC film on the Old Industry and History of the FoD Facebook group, about salmon fishing on the River Severn. And there, behind the fisherman, was the old bridge with a train crossing it. Thank you, Ian!

Here's a well-known photograph of the bridge and the tiny Severn Bridge Station.

The train from Lydney is crossing this bridge...

Shortly after passing under it I deviated from the footpath to see another relic of the Severn & Wye Railway – Severn Bridge Tunnel.

On my map it looked possible to walk the old trackbed for over a mile in the Lydney direction, but sensing that I'd already trespassed far enough, I returned to the footpath, and to this rather nice view, with Sharpness clearly visible on the opposite bank of the Severn.

I don't enjoy walking through herds of cows, not least because stories of them attacking walkers seem all too real to me.  Read this if you don't believe me.  Thankfully, though, these cows turned out to be very docile and obliging as we pushed our way past them.

Finally, continuing the 'railway' theme, here's a west-bound freight train on the main line, just west of Purton. Several of its containers were marked Tesco, so hopefully he's delivering fresh supplies of flour, which I haven't been able to buy for weeks.  Where's it all going?

I waved, then wondered whether the driver might be thinking "What on earth does that mad woman think she's doing?"  But he didn't; instead he waved back and tooted his horn three times for me. Lovely!  I am, you understand, a woman of simple pleasures.

At the end of the walk I was pleasantly surprised to receive a "25,000 step" accolade from FitBit...

In truth, I've walked at least 25,000 steps on many other occasions, but not since being gifted my FitBit smartwatch.  According to FitBit, I've also won an award for walking 250 miles – the length of the London Underground network... but I reckon I've already said enough in this post about railways.

Day 29: Last week was a good one, thanks to the Internet

It's been quite a week, though it occurred to me today that I haven't had a real face-to-face conversation with anyone other than my beloved for ages – just cheery hellos and how are yous with neighbours and good afternoons with walkers as I pass at the prescribed safe distance.

Where would I be without the Internet, and in particular Facebook? After some overzealous Facebook algorithm deleted all links to this blog, you would rightly surmise that I'm not its greatest fan, but there are ways round the block, as this screenshot shows. Thankfully, my readers seem undeterred.

Facebook has long been plagued with endless boring reposts from some users and a fair amount of rubbish from others, but I'm actually finding much to enlighten, amuse and flatter me in these difficult times.

Most importantly, it's Facebook that has kept me in contact with members of my ukulele group, several of whom have bravely shared videos of themselves singing and playing their ukes.  Unwilling to be left out, I contributed this one, originally written and performed by the incomparable Michael Flanders and Donald Swann.

Other uke-playing friends have live-streamed themselves in concert, ably assisted by wives or husbands, and my former ukulele teacher is offering free music theory lessons. The eagerness of so many to reach out, entertain and encourage has been phenomenal.

On Thursdays (the day the glazier came) several of us from The Ukes uv Azzard have been meeting on Zoom for a sing-song.  At times it can be a trifle chaotic, and quite impossible (thanks to time lags) to sing with everyone's sound switched on, but we're getting the hang of it and having a lot of fun.  Most importantly, I've been able to see my lovely friends, wave to them and share news. Sadly, though, the news hasn't always been good as L-- has gone down with the dreaded Corona Virus.  I do hope she gets well soon.

Three days later it was Easter Day, the most important day in the Christian calendar. Once more, Zoom came to our aid with a lovely Resurrection Day service from the vicar's dining room, and lots of chit-chat from friends in the parish.

Then, to round it all off perfectly, we turned to YouTube to watch Justin Welby, the Archbishop of Canterbury, lead an Easter service from his kitchen. A few weeks ago, whoever would have imagined him doing that?

Later, I heard one BBC commentator ask him whether an Easter service had ever before been conducted with a toaster in the background. Toaster? It looks like a radio to me.

Day 24: The new normality

Parts of Bathurst Park have been closed off; a great pity
as they're looking splendid

How quickly one adapts to new situations. My early anguish at being 'locked down' has largely dissipated and it no longer feels so odd to dispatch my beloved to Tesco while I (deemed a vulnerable 70+ year old) get on with other things.  Truth be told, I have ventured into Lydney Co-op a couple of times and we travelled together to The Smokery in Chaxhill (about 10 miles away) at the end of March to buy fresh fish.

The recent spell of warm weather has not been helpful, though. I long to be climbing the Brecon Beacons or rambling in the Cotswolds but, good, compliant girl that I am, have limited my exercise to walks from home. Thankfully, living between the glorious Forest of Dean and the River Severn, I'm spoiled for choice.  I know Michael Gove has suggested that an hour's exercise is enough, but that's one piece of advice I'm disregarding – not least because I rarely meet anyone on my walks, and if I do then I have the good sense to keep my distance.

The photos in this post were taken on a couple of my regular walks from my home, down to Lydney Harbour – a round trip of about 6 miles. (Sorry, Mr Gove.)

Pidcock's Canal – an interesting relic of the early Industrial
Revolution. I'd like to do a post about it, sometime.

Lydney Harbour, above the lock gates...

... and below them.  Here in Lydney we have real mud!

The River Severn, with Oldbrook Power Station on the skyline and the Severn Bridges just visible to the right.

A definite benefit of all this exercise is that I'm now regularly surpassing my target of 70,000 steps per week – something I've hitherto only achieved on holidays. Here's the data from my FitBit smartwatch...

As you'll see, I'm sticking with my earlier intention to do a longish walk every other day, so as to impart some variety to my week. Nonetheless, I'm rather pleased with the results.

Tommy's enjoying our quiet roads

I suppose it was only a matter of time before one of my cats appeared on this blog. I'm told that pets are far and away the most popular subjects for Facebook posts, though I'm proud to say that (until now) I've resisted the temptation to join in.

This is Tommy. He's frightened of all other cats in the neighbourhood, with the exception of one fluffy grey moggy, who he invites to share his food. According to fluffy grey moggie's owners, the invitation is frequently reciprocated.

Sadly, Tommy's timidity does not extend to the local wildlife. We've has some success in discouraging him from catching birds, but no mouse is safe from his attentions.  Considerate soul that he is, though, he usually bring them home live, then loses them behind the fridge in the kitchen. I've become quite adept at catching the creatures and releasing them into some quiet corner of the garden, though I swear that I've seen one little fieldmouse three times.

Tommy finds motor vehicles pretty scary, which is good news for his chances of longevity. However, thanks to the current epidemic, our roads are much quieter than hitherto, opening up a safe route for him to cross over and explore the delights of the Forest of Dean.  So far we have been 'gifted' with three squirrels and a rat, lovingly left dead on the lounge carpet. When the first squirrel arrived, I was sleepily half-watching the television. In the split second in which I saw the squirrel's bushy tail, it didn't look at all dead to me. My heart made an involuntary thump and I spilt most of my glass of wine.  I tell you; keeping cats is not a pastime for the faint-hearted.

Anyway, this morning I was met by the sight of half a rabbit on the hearth rug. I wrapped the poor thing in kitchen roll, popped it into a bag and was about to deposit it in the food waste bin when I had second thoughts. Do the council accept dead half-rabbits in their food waste? Uncertain of the answer, I dropped it into the refuse bin.

Then a ghastly thought crossed my mind.  I suppose it was a wild rabbit. It was grey... but so are many pet bunnies. O dear.

This did, however, remind me of one of my favourite stories.

Once upon a time, this lady's cat brought home the neighbour's pet rabbit – dead and covered in soil. Fearing that this could spell the end of a neighbourly friendship, she washed and shampooed the corpse, dried it with a hair dryer, then sneaked next-door and surreptitiously placed it in its hutch. 

Days passed with no mention of the rabbit, but finally our lady could contain her curiosity no longer. Seeing her neighbour, she remarked: 

"I haven't seen your bunny rabbit recently. Is he alright?" 

"He died." 

"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that."

 "But that's not the end of the story," explained the neighbour.  "We buried him, but two days later he reappeared in his hutch!"