To St Cuthbert’s Cave

The weather relenting from heavy rain to mere murky with occasional light drizzle, the re-united Lloyd George House residents (seven strong including an honorary girlfriend surviving from those days) resumed the St Cuthbert’s Way walk with a tidy leg from Wooler via fields, woods, lanes, bridges and eventually an enchanted forest to the secluded and impressive St Cuthbert’s Cave; for two of our group in intense conversation, the seclusion clearly outweighed the impressiveness as they walked straight past the landmark without noticing, requiring some retracing of steps to enable proper appreciation to be had.

Wet Wooler

Wooler Water is the name of the river that passes through the town but that could have applied equally to the streets as the incessant rain meant the only walking done in Northumberland today was from the Tankerville Arms to the Terrace Café in the town centre for a convivial pot of tea and cakes for six; even that short outing left my coat and shoes wet enough to need the ministrations of a radiator, though the hair-dryer proved a quicker fix for the hat.

Milan

The advance party for the two day walking reunion in Northumberland took its evening meal in the Milan Restaurant in Wooler, enjoying big portions and excellent flavours in a pleasant ambiance and at a very reasonable cost.

Clearing the Decks

The imminence of the walking trip necessitated some clearing of the household duty decks, so I cleared the ironing basket only to fill it up again with the washed and dried contents of the similarly cleared laundry basket.

Walking Supplies

With a couple of days walking planned for later in the week a quick trip to the supermarket was needed today for last minute essential supplies: two Oasis drinks, an elastic knee support bandage, and a top-up for the phone.

Hampstead

Just a cinematic visit to the up-market London suburb courtesy of the current release featuring Diane Keaton and Brendan Gleeson (the latter, for me, carrying the lightweight film) of interest mainly due to the ‘based on a true story’ element and attractive today due to cheap seats on offer at Darlington VUE; of course the money saved has to offset against the cost of tea at Bella Italia, not begrudged as the food there was excellent.

No BBQ

When is a barbecue not a barbecue – when a windy day necessitates its cooking indoors on a George Foreman grill and its eating sat on sofas in the living room, at which point it just becomes a mixed grill TV dinner, but nonetheless made for an enjoyable afternoon at the in-laws.

Invisible Dog Wanted

A gentle stroll is as good as anything for easing a stiff back so I walked a couple of miles down the lane and back attracting the usual puzzled stares from those driving past, such onlookers suspicious of anyone walking nowhere for no apparent reason; to allay fears I am considering buying a dog lead (no dog, just the lead) that I could swing casually and so not be given a second glance.

Close Encounters of the Bird Kind

We have two birds in the garden that are either brave or foolish; yesterday a blackbird deliberately landed yards from the white cat’s nose, successfully luring it away from the bushes where its young are hatched, just escaping with its tail feathers intact, and today a wood pigeon sat unmoved in its nest in the elder tree despite the black cat climbing within three feet or so.

Mystery Book

A few months ago, while browsing in the library, I spotted a book that would fit well into my ‘bookpacking’ reading journey (comprising books set in countries tracing a route round the world) which I duly detailed in my notebook alongside similar titles, but today when I went to try and borrow it I found it wasn’t on the shelf; the staff checked the catalogue for me and drew a blank on both the title and the author, indicating it wasn’t and never had been part of their stock – so how did I come to write down a book I didn’t previously know existed by a writer I’d never heard of? 

Old Duffers

Arriving at the cricket ground yesterday morning at ten to eleven, I expected to enter the stadium on time but was delayed by an old duffer at the front of the queue for tickets who needed those ten minutes and more to complete what should have been a simple transaction, to the dismay and frustration of the growing line behind him; in the evening, coming home hungry, I took the opportunity afforded by a twelve minute connection at Durham bus station to nip into the Tesco Express and buy a multipack of Mars bars that I took to the self-service checkout, at which point (due I think to the six hours in the sun) my capacity to interact with a machine failed – I had no basket to place one side of the scale and no shopping bag for the other, so got them the wrong way round and, inundated with (to me) meaningless instructions, I was reduced to pushing touch screen buttons at random until, guided by shouted advice from the manned till, I was able to complete the transaction much to the relief of the sizeable queue that had by now built up behind this old duffer.

County Cricket

After some years of unfulfilled intention, the conjunction of a day free from commitments, good weather and Durham CCC playing at home finally occurred so I bus-passed it to Chester-Le-Street and strolled to the delightfully situated Riverside Ground to see day one of Durham v Glamorgan; I viewed each of the three sessions from different stands as the sun (or more importantly the shade) moved around, ending up close to the players’ steps, which position benefitted from a fine backdrop provided by Lumley Castle (framed by two towering floodlight pylons), a pint of cold John Smiths beer, and a lively end to the day’s play with Durham taking five wickets in the session to reduce Glamorgan to 221 for 7.

Fathers’ Day

Fathers’ Day was suitably recognised with cards, messages and presents from my progeny (and even a visit from one of them), and a day free of cooking as my wife stepped in with one of her special occasion signature dishes; my own filial responsibilities no longer require physical tributes but I raised a glass of Boddington’s to my dad’s memory.

Heat

A hot day suitable only for inactivity; this entry reflects that.

National Gallery of Scotland

While in Edinburgh yesterday I popped into the National Gallery on The Mound whose extensive collection is traditionally arranged chronologically (which suits me) allowing visitors to move through the centuries (at least up to the nineteenth – other modern art galleries are also available) from early religious images, through portraits commissioned by the wealthy (neither do much for me) to landscapes and scenes of social interaction (more to my taste); highlights here for me were a Bellotto view of Verona, Constable’s Salisbury Cathedral, Raeburn’s skating clergyman, and a couple of interesting Scottish works – Alexander Nasmyth’s picture of Princess Street circa 1825 and, newly acquired, Landseer’s iconic Monarch of the Glen.  

Edinburgh

June is a good time to visit Edinburgh with most of the students gone home and the festival goers not yet arrived, so my wander around my old student haunts was relatively unimpeded and a table for lunch easy to find; only Princes Street was bustling and even here the Gardens were quiet enough to sit in and enjoy the sunshine and fine views of the castle and the Scott Monument.

Bodywork MOT

Attended the doctor’s surgery today for a healthy heart check which only required answering a few lifestyle questions, submitting to some medical measurements, and giving up a bit of blood, after which I was allowed to leave without a stain on my character - or my sleeve as the blood sample was extracted very efficiently; so the bodywork is ok and I await the verdict on the engine oil.

Pie Plus

I maintain that a recipe in a cookery book is merely the starting point for negotiations, so today’s gooey cheese, leak and potato pie was recast without its freshly chopped chives and parsley but augmented by some smoked bacon and mushrooms; it turned out well, though its calorie count of four thousand plus means, even for the two of us, it will have to be eaten over a few days.

Laying Down New Rubber

I have been comparing two purchases made today - a pair of tyres that set me back £130 and a pair of slippers costing £22.50 - both put new rubber on the track but best value for money by far are the tyres, which should do at least twenty thousand miles, whereas my slippers tend to last only about six months and (on the basis that my shuffles around the house can’t be more than a mile a day) one hundred and eighty miles; doing the maths, that costs the tyres out at less than a penny a mile, the slippers come in at twelve and a half pence.

Jigsaw Unseen

To add extra challenge to the jigsaw I started last week I decided to do it without reference to the picture on the box; it makes the process a bit messy early on with disparate sections growing in isolation until they unexpectedly join up, but on balance I think it adds to the fun and sense of achievement.

Old Rivals, Old Friends

A rare (these days) repeat of the oldest international match of them all, with England taking on Scotland at Hampden Park, prompted me, while watching on TV, into a match-long exchange of texts with an old Scottish pal with whom I stood on the Hampden Terraces for the 1972 edition of the game; and while I could cope during the easy-paced first eighty minutes of the game my un-practiced fingers and thumbs struggled with the frantic last ten.

No Result

As ever with the general election I sat up through the night to watch the results come in confirming the exit poll, confounding the pundits, and leaving the country in political limbo (or is it purgatory) with May hanging on in a hung parliament, Corbyn celebrating defeat as victory, and Fallon still inconsequential despite a 50% increase in his party’s seats.

Voting Blind

Make your mind up day, and the post brought, among the usual marketing junk, a final volley of party political leaflets full of their promises of a better future and dire warnings of the alternatives; after careful perusal of what came through the letter box I now know where my vote will be going - Hillary’s Blinds.

On Wasted Votes

Received wisdom is that a vote for a minor party (Liberal Democrats, Greens etc.) is a vote wasted under our poor excuse of a system to democratically elect a government, but voting tactically for the least worst alternative will just prolong and falsely legitimise that system; every vote cast nationally for a party adds weight to the standing of any MP elected from that party (each Liberal Democrat MP elected in 2015 spoke for 320,000 voters, the single Green had over a million backers, while each Conservative and Labour MPs spoke on average for just 36,700), and such numbers also strengthen the case for electoral reform; so while voting tactically may yield short term respite from those you disagree with, for the long game it makes sense to vote strategically in line with your convictions and give that party the clout of the popular vote it deserves.

Tim Far Off

Day three and time to consider the third wheel in the UK party system, the Liberal Democrats, which with Theresa May shifting right to mop up UKIP votes and Jeremy Corbyn keeping left, should have been able to exploit the widening void in the centre; not so as Lightweight leader Tim Farron fails to convince and the headline policy of a referendum on the term of Brexit is far off course, toxic to both Leavers who want out at any price and Remainers who think that by then it will be a bit pointless anyway.

Jeremy Cor Blimey!

On day two of deliberations, we consider the leader of the Labour party who for once has given us a clear choice with a left wing manifesto that only borders on the loony, predicated I suspect on the conviction that he is unlikely to have a majority and so will never have find the money or the political nous to deliver the promises to roll back austerity, and although I personally would accept the cost implications, the global context of business and finance would provide bolt holes for the corporate fat cats and reduce the yield from any tax increases; the temptation is to vote Labour to prevent excessive Tory triumphalism, but if we all did that he might win, and where would we be then?

Theresa May Not

Yesterday I received a personalised (yeah!) letter from the Tory party leader that was particularly patronising in urging me to support her as otherwise I would weaken her negotiating position on Brexit, as if the European leaders across the table would be swayed by or even care about her popular vote, particularly as none of the electorate actually know what her negotiating stance on any aspect of leaving is (apparently it has to be confidential), so she is basically saying trust me, mummy knows best, repeating ad nauseam her mantra of ‘I am a strong and stable leader’; my reply is that calling of an unnecessary election shows weakness not strength (and what a mess she expects us to be in by 2020) and her electoral miscalculation has risked the instability that her panicky letter requires me to rescue her from.

A Week in Politics

If a week is a long time in politics the run up to a General Election is interminable and I have spent most of it in denial, but polling is now days off and needs must turn my attention to deciding how to vote; it is my twelfth general election and probably the most problematic so I will consider the parties day by day. 

Un-frozen in Time

Scrolling back through the blog (quite a way back) shows that the new kitchen appliances were bought and installed in February, and though we paid AO to take away the old washing machine and we relocated the old fridge in the barn as a drinks cooler, the old freezer has spent the last three and a half months in the back garden, increasingly being passed off as an art installation – ‘Frozen in Time’; however today I took advantage of an undergraduate visit (using his brawn rather than brains) to assist in getting it into the back of the car and off to the tip.

Not a Lot of Talent

Though usually studiously avoided, I viewed tonight’s Britain’s Got Talent semi-final to confirm my contention that the acts are little more than a minor distraction from the shows real purpose – the adoration of the judges, the sob stories of participants, the whipped up frenzy of the live audience, and of course the generation of revenue from the adverts and the voting public; sure enough the eight acts had two minutes each and so occupied just sixteen of the ninety minute show.