Trackside

Back to Hampden via the Park and Ride, and an even quicker entry to Hampden Park where we were pleasantly surprised to find our row N seats were just four rows from the track on the back straight, giving us a great views of some fantastic athletes in top-class competition: Jessica Judd winning her 800m semi-final; Jazmin Sawyers grabbing a silver with her last effort in the long jump, buoyed on by the back straight crowd; David Rudisha being pushed back to silver by a searing finish from Botswana’s Nijel Amos in the 800m; Scotland’s Elidh Child getting an emotional silver in the 400m hurdles; the women’s 200m seeing the three English girls through to the final where only the glorious Blessing Okagbare could beat them, leaving silver for Jodie Williams, bronze for Bianca Williams, and an unrewarded fourth place for Anyika Onuora (each in a personal best time) boding well for the sprint relay to come; the men’s 200m still producing (in Bolt’ absence) a Jamaica 1 2 3; amongst it all were the wheelchair 1500m where Jade Jones won bronze in the women’s race and the fastest man on three wheels, David Weir won the men’s gold – producing just the one rendition of the (in my view mistakenly chosen) English anthem of ‘Jerusalem’, of which I can belt out quite a few words but unfortunately not all from the same verse and not necessarily in the correct order.

Hampden Park

It was a much simpler route to the Commonwealth Games today via the Park and Ride, which worked very smoothly and had us at Hampden Park in good time to buy fish suppers and a souvenir ‘Clyde’ (the human thistle with purple hair and a charmingly manic grin) before taking our seats for the evening session of track and field; highlights were Greg Rutherford’s gold in the long jump, the imperious Kirani James winning the 400m, David Rudisha looking impressive in his 800m semi-final, Jess Taylor finishing off her heptathlon to get a gutsy bronze, and some good women’s 200m sprint heats where the three English girls went through to tomorrow’s final stages along with the charismatic Blessing Okagbare.

Floors Castle

A short drive from Mellerstain to Kelso, and Floors Castle, home of the Duke of Roxburgh, but this wasn’t a social visit but a tourist trip to walk the grounds and gardens of this fine, old, but lived-in stately home; the two-mile walk incorporated the banks of the Tweed with fine views of the town, the walled gardens and of course the terrace café for the daily fix of coffee and, today ‘castle-baked’, scones.

Games and No Games

This morning the TV happily received the BBC channels giving us a few hours of Commonwealth Games netball, hockey and athletics, but on our return from Floors Castle we got either ‘no signal’ or poor signal with pixelated pictures and staccato sound which sent me scurrying round the back of the set with more Rollo wrapper, but to no avail; instead different games were pressed into action with extensive bouts of ‘Keep Talking’ and ‘Who’s in the Bag’ keeping us amused either side of tea time.

Town & Country

A warm and sunny day in the Borders so we visited the town of Hawick in the morning, enjoying coffee and cakes after wandering the length of the High Street, window shopping and looking at the new Statue for Hawick - commemorating the 500 years since a group of local lads saw off some English raiders and brought back their flag (scant revenge for the disaster at nearby Flodden the year before); for the afternoon we moved on to the countryside at Harestones where we combined a few colour-coded paths to provide a three mile stroll through woods, fields and riverbank, finishing off with some ice creams at the visitor centre.

Sunday Lunch

After Saturday’s full-on trip to Glasgow (and the girls’ alternative outing to Edinburgh for afternoon tea and shopping) a quiet day was in order, punctuated by a short drive to Kelso for lunch at the Queens Hotel, where the good food was supplemented by an abundance of TV screens showing the Commonwealth Games, enabling us to keep up with the athletics as we ate, necessary due to the poor to non-existent BBC reception on the cottage set; in the hope of improving it we then scoured Kelso for sweets with foil wrappers, coming up with a rhyming pair – me buying Rolos, and my wife Polos.

Scategorise

Having had limited success with the Rolo wrapper, we gave up on the TV and got out the Scategorise game, which as usual proved hilarious as words were mangled and semantics stretched to name items that satisfied the twin criteria of a specified category and a randomly selected initial letter while not duplicating another player’s answer; this latter proved spookily difficult for my wife and me, as we came up with the same answers more often than is healthy, including when faced with naming something kept in the fridge that begins with W, we both wrote down ‘whelks’, despite them never ever being in our fridge and which neither of us ever eat. 

Logistics

It was up at the crack of dawn for the boy and me, with a tight itinerary panned for travelling to, around and back from Glasgow, taking in two venues somewhat less than adjacent, but it went pretty well: 7.00 am set off in the car; 8.15 arrive Bathgate station, 8.20 get on train to Glasgow; 9.10 arrive Glasgow Queen Street, 9.15 set off for subway; 9.16 see queue for subway and start walking to Ibrox; 10.20 arrive Ibrox and queue for security check, getting through and into our seats a minute before the first rugby sevens match kicked off at 10.30; 14.45 leave Ibrox at half time in the last match; 14.50 see queue for subway and start walking to the city centre; 15.30 arrive at Exhibition Centre station; 15.35 get on train to Scotstounhill; 15.50 arrive Scotstounhill and start walking; 16.10 arrive Scotstoun sports campus and acquire scampi & chips (the boy) and a latte (me); 16.15 take seats in the table tennis arena having missed only a few minutes of the first games; 20.00 leave at end of the table tennis and walk to Scotstounhill station; 20.22 get train to Glasgow Queen Street arriving 20.42; 20.52 get train, from same platform, to Bathgate; 21.35 arrive Bathgate and set off in car; 23.00 arrive Mellerstain after a long, but sporting action packed, day.

Ibrox

A packed and good-natured Ibrox (home of Rangers FC) was the venue for the Rugby Sevens and this first session had twelve group matches to watch in quick-fire succession, giving an opportunity to see all the teams in action, with the big boys putting on stylish displays to outclass the minnows, who nevertheless enjoyed the support of the crowd, with the biggest cheers following tries by Sri Lanka and Uganda, both against Australia; the closer games were the south sea match-up between Samoa and Papua New Guinea, and the eagerly awaited Scotland v New Zealand that threatened an upset as the Scots piled late pressure on at one point just five All Blacks, before going down 14-17.

Ping Pong

Chosen as a bit of a wild card stocking filler, the Table Tennis was an enjoyable event at the intimate Scotstoun sports campus with this session featuring the team events – the women’s semi-finals and the men’s quarter-finals; the women’s game seemed quite tactical and subtle, dominated by Asian teams (Singapore and Malaysia beating India and Australia – the latter’s team clearly of Asian heritage) whereas the men soon resorted to brute force and posturing, at least in the two matches on show featuring the home nations, in which England beat Wales and Scotland lost to India.

Lost and Found

The journey to the Scottish Borders, even with two cars in convoy, had been straightforward until, just after Wooler, mine and my daughter’s satnavs chose different approaches to Kelso and it proved surprisingly difficult to find each other in such a small town; once achieved we continued to Mellerstain, a secluded country house and grounds, so secluded we went up and down (often backwards) several tracks before finally going in the ‘out’ gate and locating our charming Clock House cottage, in a courtyard to the side of the imposing mansion.

Well Bartered

The route up to Kelso conveniently passes through Alnwick, which cannot be done without a stop at Barter’s Books (the old Alnwick station that has become a mecca for lovers of second hand books) particularly now the ‘buffet’ is up and running serving excellent fare for lunch; following a successful trade-in on my last visit I today brought more old Penguin Classics and a select few modern first editions that together were valued at £90, boosting my “account” and encouraging me to splash out on ‘Writing Home’ (itself a first edition) by Alan Bennett who, as the sales assistant pointed out, is one of the literary giants featured on their fantasy mural.

A Week on Parole

A delay in transmission due to a week on holiday booked around the Commonwealth Games as, with tickets booked for three days, it proved more cost effective to hire a cottage for a week than a hotel room overnight, albeit near Kelso some 90 miles from the Games venues in and around Glasgow; but with plenty going on the sentences just kept on coming and will be posted soon.

Pricey Potatoes

I don’t normally buy my veg at a supermarket, but a late decision to prepare a shepherd’s pie to take on holiday necessitated calling at Sainsbury’s to get a swede, two carrots and a few potatoes, but the latter proved problematic, with the pre-packed quantities being excessive, until I spotted some “loose white” at £1 per kilo, which I quickly bagged and presented at the checkout, where I encountered a checkout lady of mature years (even more mature than me) who weighed and scanned away to produce a bill of £4.70 – excessive I thought for a few tubers; my polite enquiry was met by a stony stare and confirmation that the spuds were £3 a kilo, so I responded with a severe lift of an eyebrow and pause for effect before moving on - but not out, as I re-checked the shelf and, armed with incontrovertible evidence, complained to customer services and so secured a (proportionally) whacking £2 refund.

Seaside

Another item on the to do list was a visit to the seaside, not an option in land-locked Mongolia, so today it was off to Whitby where, under coastal cloud that kept us cool, we supplemented our familiar round of crazy golf, fish & chips, and the sweet shop with a walk along the sands, skimming stones, and for the younger generation, a climb up the 199 steps to the Abbey.

Force to Force

High on my daughter’s to do list, before returning to Mongolia, was a trip to High Force, so today she, I and the boy drove over to Bowlees and walked along the Pennine Way from Low Force to beyond High Force and back on a warm sunny day that was the complete opposite of the conditions when we three last trod this route in April 2008, when wind, rain, sleet and finally snow caught us poorly prepared, left us wet and cold, and remains my son’s “worst walk ever”; no complaints on today’s conditions so full attention could be given to the fine river landscape – the busy rapids at Low Force, the mighty drop at High Force, and even a high cascade from a tributary beck further upstream.

Phonic Frogs

My teaching assistant wife tends to go a bit above and beyond the call of duty, hence today she brought home and washed seven bean bag frogs, which were then hung out to dry like some mole-catcher’s near misses, to the disconcertment of the eight-year-old next door; I reassured her mother that they weren’t real and just assisted somehow in the teaching of ‘phonics’ - which in my day was called reading and writing with the only learning aid being a twelve inch ruler that the teacher used to beat out the spelling rhythm and crack down on the knuckles of those who erred.

Firsts at the Last

Another Sunday, another track and field meeting, but the last of the season for us, and finally a warm day enabling the time between events to be spent sat grazing our picnic comfortably rather than shiveringly (the only downside being some pink ankles and shins on my legs poking out from shorts for the first time this summer into a sunshine that evidently was not as hazy as it seemed); two other firsts were my wife’s debut as an official, measuring shot puts, and me taking videos of the boy on the Hudl as evidence for his next year’s PE A-level course.

Triple Turkey

A damp, muggy and eventually rainy day meant a change in plan from a family outing to a family inning, at Planet Leisure bowling alley, where a couple of hard fought games saw the boy win the first thanks to an unlikely late ‘triple turkey’ (three consecutive strikes) taking him to an impressive score of 136 to my 117, but he couldn’t repeat the trick in game two where my steady strikes and spares saw me home with a score of 124; the girls were just off the pace and while elder daughter got her share of strikes, my wife, through bad luck or a misplaced sense of mercy, always managed to leave one pin standing.

Bags of Gifts

Another school year ends, not for me – that was a few years ago, or for the boy - he left after completing the GCSEs last month, but for my teaching assistant wife and, as usual, this was marked by an avalanche of gifts from her appreciative class (and parents) who she had supported through their first year of schooling; flowers, plants, chocolates, candles and mugs were in abundance along with some more idiosyncratic offerings, but most rewarding are the cards and the words within, while most useful is the good stock of gift bags available for re-use.

Hazardous Waste

Since being removed, when the garage was converted and integrated into the house some fifteen years ago, an old asbestos-lined door has been tucked out of harm’s way but as the barn and the garden continue to be sorted out there is now no hiding place for such an eyesore so, following advice, I spread out some plastic sheeting, donned gloves and mask, and gingerly dismembered it, double-bagging and sealing everything into new rubble sacks for transportation to the tip where, thankfully, my parcels met with approval but also a demand for £25 (as per the official “pay as you tip” notice board) – at least I had had plenty of time to save up for it.

Cycling with David Millar

A little bit of serendipity in the gym tonight when, as is my wont, I mounted the exercise bike armed with my kindle and found myself in the company of one-time Tour de France yellow jersey wearer David Millar as I continued to read ‘Racing through the Dark’, an autobiographical account of his rise, fall from grace due to doping revelations, and subsequent return to top professional road racing; pedalling away I could have done with a bit of EPO or other artificial stimulation, while afterwards my recovery relied less on injections of iron and vitamins and more on a plate of fish and chips.

Best Before

The food shelves needing re-stocking, I took the opportunity to review the contents of the reserve stock crate in the larder and check the best before dates for currency, which led to the extraction of significant number of jars and packages and their formation into three piles: the “this could kill us” pile, for definite discard, included lemon curd (July 2011 vintage) and real ale chutney (October 2012); the “2014 so worth taking a chance” pile, for further consideration, included Krackawheat (January), enchiladas (March) and granola bars (June); and best of all the “eat me quick” pile of cheddar thins and a double pack of jaffa cakes, the latter with a four day deadline.

Musical Stockpiles

The oil tank in the garden is not a pretty sight, so to hide it from view a screen is required that needs to move to allow access for fuel deliveries, making it more of a gate really, for which I have constructed a frame that received its first coat of preservative today; as it was drying I realised that the gate would not open without first moving a pile of 100 bricks (awaiting a suitable project), and they couldn’t be moved without first shifting both the reserve stocks of roofing tiles and flagstones, and six logs (tree-trunk size), which respectively meant clearing out accumulated rubbish from behind the oil tank and removing useless sticks, rotted wood and associated disgusting wildlife from the wood-store, but when the music finally stopped after a couple of hours, I had a much tidier corner of the garden (hidden from view – but I’ll know it’s tidy) and multiple bags of detritus destined for the tip.

World Cup Watching

The FIFA World Cup final has been an unmissable piece of television for me since 1966, making this my 13^th, unlucky only in the sense that, for historic football reasons, I like to see both Argentina and Germany lose – an outcome unfortunately impossible in tonight’s match; nevertheless it was an enjoyable game with some good defending on view, needing a great goal from Gotze to win it for the Germans late in extra time.

Local Knowledge (Saturday 12/7/14)

A rare night for me at the local pub, again under new management, where “wine tasting & quiz” was slated on the board outside; the wine turned out to be a shot glass of something red and syrupy, however I readily accepted the alternative of a single malt whisky (I chose Glenmorangie), and the quiz was twenty questions about the pub, putting me (if not the rest of my team) at a bit of disadvantage, but rewarding a team of regulars with a win.

Knights and Princesses (Friday 11/7/14)

Drove the school minibus full of young knights and princesses to Richmond to visit the castle and had a lovely time exploring the ruins and the grounds, with most of my attention directed to (with names changed to protect the innocent): Princess Limpet who stuck to my side throughout through choice and Princess Naughty who was compelled to do so by the teacher; Sir Trottalot who, despite being unsteady on his feet, refused his wheelchair and skipped merrily across the cobbles with me hanging on to his wrist; and finally two knights (Sir Plus-Energy and Sir Feit of Vim) who fought with mismatched weaponry that forced one of them to abandon his foam rubber sword and rely instead on bashing his opponent with his wooden shield.

Ticking Boxes

A day to go into town and tick off a few administrative tasks, among which was a visit to the payroll office who had, despite my advanced years, managed to enrol me in the Teachers’ Pension Scheme and deduct contributions, the rectification of which required me to complete and send in a form via payroll to the TPS, that I then received back from the TPS with a letter telling me that payroll had not ticked a box they should have and asking me to get them to tick the box and return the form with the box ticked; why they couldn’t send it direct to the people who had not ticked the box for them to tick the box and send it back, box ticked, I don’t know, but fortunately as I walked into the payroll office block the very woman who should have ticked the box was in the reception and took the form off me, promising to tick the box and send it off – so that was one task well and truly ticked off the list.

Comings and Goings

Every night for the last week has seen a different combination of the wider family in residence – anything from three to nine bodies (excluding cats)  – as people came to visit, went on trips, went home and came back, with only my wife and me remaining in situ to make sure beds (of a sort), food (including vegetarian and gluten-free), and chairs (with a sight of the TV) were available for all; an unusual social whirl that ended today with the departure of my sister and brother-in–law after an enjoyable, and all too rare, few days together.

Brazil Nuts

The FIFA World Cup returned to my attention today with the first semi-final, but the anticipated close encounter between serial winners Brazil and Germany instead turned into a rout as the disorganised hosts (missing their two most influential players) shipped five goals in 18 mad first half minutes, and two more before the game ended, to provide another eventful match in this entertaining competition; but what impressed me was the way the Brazilian crowd, even in their bitter disappointment, showed appreciation of the Germans’ football.

Muker - Keld

A swift return to Swaledale with sister and brother-in-law for a classic Dales walk from Muker, along the Swale to Keld, with a high level return over the so-called corpse road; the weather fine and mainly sunny, the scenery stunning, and catering (at each end) both wholesome and tasty, all made for a grand day out.

Full House

Our Grand Depart gathering was swelled late on Saturday by the arrival of my niece (travelling up from London) and my daughter and partner (ditto from Nottingham), making nine round the dining table and utilising most of the dining chairs, sleeping surfaces and bedding, but also making for a jolly family Sunday with lots of catching up on news and sharing of memories of gatherings past, over a leisurely breakfast, a walk round Hardwick Park, a snacky lunch, and viewing on TV the conclusion of the second stage of the Tour de France (on which we are now all experts). 

Côte de Grinton Moor

A remarkably trouble-free drive took us, in convoy, to our car park close to Grinton where after a wander round Reeth to soak up the atmosphere and partake of a leisurely snack, we headed up the moor, secured a few yards of roadside verge, and settled down amid a good-natured crowd to await the action: first came the official souvenir vans from which £20 secured a reasonable collection of branded T-shirt, cap, buff and bag; an hour or so later came the caravan, a bizarre parade of vehicles promoting the sponsors wares from which freebies were hurled to the scrabbling masses; finally after another hour, that developed into an expectant hush, the riders shot through with Jens Voigt a couple of minutes ahead of the peloton, whose passage felt almost unreal in its proximity and intensity, a feeling augmented by the swirling helicopters overhead; then they were gone up and over the summit, the back-up cars and final police outriders behind them, leaving the crowd to slowly melt away down the hill, we with them and more than glad we came.

Cornwall Contingent

Tonight we welcomed my sister, brother-in-law and nephew to not quite Yorkshire after their long drive up from Cornwall via Bath, their visit timed to coincide with the Grand Depart tomorrow, when we will head off into Swaledale and try to bag a vantage point on that part of the Tour de France route temporarily known as the Côte de Grinton Moor.

No Miles

For the second time this week my car has had a rare stationary day on the drive and done zero miles – that’s no trip to work, no shopping, no drop-offs or pick-ups of the boy, no walks, no trips, no tea shops – which means no addition to the 3,000 miles plus completed since buying the car just over two months ago, a rate of accumulation that seems excessive and threatens to undermine one of the reasons (saving on fuel) for switching to a smaller car.

Cat Jabs

The cats annual visit to the vet for a health check and booster vaccination, stressful for both man and beast, starts with them looking for a bolt hole as soon as the carry-cases appear in the house, and us cornering them and stuffing them in without ceremony; as soon as the car starts so do the miaows, growls and wails that gradually coalesce into a plaintive cry of “aalaan”, close enough to my name to be quite disturbing, squeaky and pathetic from the white cat and deep and throaty from the black one; at the surgery my wife does the honours, in deference to my discomfort with all things medical, emerging after ten minutes adorned with clumps of fur and the best part of £100 worse off; finally during the return trip the beasts regain their voices for another cats’ chorus of “aalaan”, but once home we all quickly regain our composure, them with a purposeful lick and a lie down, us with a sit down and cup of tea, all with a sigh of relief that it’s done with for another twelve months.

Weak Cocoa

It had been a month since the decorating of the dairy was suspended due to exasperation with the purchased paint, which was not only well-removed from the advertised ‘cocoa bean’ shade but also failed to live up to its billing as a gloss paint, producing a thin streaky wash that made no attempt to cover the previous colour; four weeks, some heavy-duty sandpaper, and a coat of white primer later I tried again today and got a result of sorts after a couple of coats, but it is weak stuff  - in making it odourless with the brushes cleaned by rinsing under the tap they’ve sacrificed the very essence of the product, the ability to stick to a surface and colour it (often including much of my hand).