The weather this summer has been great for outdoor activities, and so, encouraged by the Tour de France in Yorkshire, I’ve cycled into work on many occasions and enjoyed three cycle touring breaks. The touring has been mainly round Scotland, with the most remote trip taking in a circuit of Arran, continuing right round the Kintyre peninsula, crossing Bute before finishing where I started in Ardrossan. Leaving Campbeltown, I managed to ruin a new cycling vest and cover myself in tar when I unwittingly cycled past some mobile roadworks on a windy day. The vest is still covered with grey spots, but thankfully, I managed to remove the tar from my face at the hotel, although the manager wondered whether he’d been wise in accepting my booking when I turned up looking like something from a horror movie. It brought it home to me just how remote Campbeltown is if you don’t use ferries: on leaving the town, I saw a sign saying “Glasgow 138”, and Glasgow itself is about 200 miles from my home. It would have been a long way for someone (Geraldine!) to come and rescue me if I’d suffered a mechanical breakdown.
In May, I caught a train to Edinburgh and took four days to cycle a zigzag route back home. I passed through some lovely scenery and interesting towns, but I failed to anticipate four days of southerly winds and arrived back very weary. The third trip was on my regular Prestwick Cycle Challenge with work colleagues. This year we toured up to Blair Atholl, which included a circuit of Loch Rannoch with its marvellously quiet (and flat) road.
It was about this time that a group of us got chatting about ideal cycling locations. Although we all loved the Scottish scenery, the weather was often disappointing, and then someone suggested that the best place to cycle was Majorca. The outcome is that eleven of us have now booked a villa in Pollença and selected bikes to hire once there. I don’t think we’ll be mistaken for the Sky cycle racing team who also go there to train.
Several of the same group of friends arranged to watch the Tour de France when it started in Yorkshire. We parked near Ribblehead and cycled to the Col de Buttertubs (as the organisers would have it) along with thousands of other cyclists. Although the tour itself went through in a few minutes, the convoy of vehicles preceding the riders lasted a couple of hours, and since we had all brought French-themed picnics, there was ample cheese and wine to go round. Overall, it was an unforgettable experience.
Having waved goodbye to Emily four years ago when she left for university, we were nonetheless delighted to welcome her back in May when she started her first permanent job as an Occupational Therapist in a medium secure hospital in Gisburn, 30 miles distant. Moving back ‘home’ was only a temporary arrangement, because as soon as Jack, her boyfriend, found a job in the region, she moved out once more to rent a delightful cottage in Great Harwood, equidistant between each workplace. Already the house is looking homely, thanks to a number of recent deliveries including a washing machine, a sofa and a cat. Tabitha is a lovely cat whose party trick is to find a different route under the floorboards each day, much to Emily’s distress. Must be good mousing down there.
The cottage itself is about 100 years old, and has many quirky features, one of which is having sloping floorboards. The bed is propped up on one corner by a 3″ wooden block, and the adjacent corner by a 1½” block, and the adverse camber between the landing and bathroom can be quite dangerous at high speeds or in the dark. Emily recently held her first party there, combining a house warming with Jack’s birthday. It was a great evening although it finished rather late, being kept going well into the morning thanks to the delights(?) of Singstar.
Laurence is still enjoying his work at Direct365 (part of the PHS Group), although I still don’t really grasp what he does. In early December, he is taking part in the London to Lapland static cycling challenge organised by ITV in aid of a teenage cancer charity. Ten work colleagues need to cycle 1500 miles in 24 hours and since his company is paying all travel and accommodation, he is really looking forward to it. (I assumed he’s checked that the company don’t expect him to cycle to London first). Training isn’t going too well, however: he recently needed rescuing from Preston after a mechanical breakdown. I suppose that it was good practice for static cycling, though.
He had trouble with the DVLA in late summer when he discovered by chance that he wasn’t the registered keeper of the car he’d bought a year earlier. He couldn’t tax the car, which meant that the insurance was invalid, and the DVLA wouldn’t even tell him who the registered keeper was. After four weeks of frustration arguing with various authorities (and after paying £25 for the replacement paperwork) he was back on the road.
Regular readers will remember that I began digging out a pond last autumn, and to help in its construction and maintenance, I invested in a pair of waders. Never normally a fashion leader, I was pleasantly surprised to notice that during the wettest spring for years, everyone appeared to be following my lead and wearing waders. The heavy rain in January proved invaluable, however, filling the 25,000-litre pond in a matter of days. During the spring, I completed the pond edges and Geraldine started adding plants. Whilst it is nominally finished, like any garden project, there’s always something else to do, and no doubt it will keep us busy for years to come. We’ve really enjoyed evenings sitting by the pond watching various wildlife make it their home.
The trees I planted last winter are growing very well. I chose native trees that would cope with the horrible ground and generally, all species have flourished, with just the Scots Pine struggling. Only four of the ten pines that I planted are still alive. I’ve still a while to wait before I can sling my post-retirement hammock between two of the trees, however.
We had a lovely winter break in February to visit Nice for the Mardi Gras carnival. This has been on my wish list for a few years now, and I was glad to enjoy the spectacle in glorious sunshine. We took advantage of cheap local trains to nip down to Monaco to do touristy things around the palace and in the casino. I also succumbed to another touristy thing in Nice when my mobile was stolen. It was all very unremarkable, and it took me several minutes to realise what had happened. Whilst eating at a restaurant, someone managed to unbutton my jacket pocket and get away with the phone which was never seen again. Thanks to insurance, I had a new phone waiting by the time I returned home, but the whole incident was unpleasant, and one that encouraged me go out and buy “un sac homme” to keep valuables safe on future trips. I’m not yet brave enough to use it in the UK, but, as certain friends have pointed out, it still gets plenty of use abroad.
Along with the other villagers, we have continued our rollercoaster relationship with the local pub. The Cavendish has endured a variety of managers of late, and this time last year, it was styling itself as a gastropub, increasing the food prices accordingly. The food was delicious, but the manager failed to recognise that such a pub needs local patronage, and through a variety of means, she managed to alienate almost all the locals over the months, and the place became deserted. More than once, Geraldine and I were the only customers when we visited for a mid-week meal. Clearly, this situation couldn’t continue, and the pub closed once more in late spring, and only re‑opened in July, but this time with a manager who knew her trade and with decent financial backing. The place is buzzing once more, with the only drawback being that we now have to book a table and can’t just turn up and eat.
We had a lovely few days in September catching up with some of Gee’s old university friends. One couple live in Chichester, and although we once visited them regularly, we haven’t been for ages. It took a visit from another friend who lives in California to bring us all together for the first time in over 30 years. The remarkable thing was that we talked for two days as if we’d never been apart, updating each other up on joint acquaintances and recalling shared memories. We vowed not to leave it as long before we meet up again.
Who remembers The Christians? They were a popular band in the late 1980s and at their height, their singer and songwriter was Henry Priestman. Henry played at the Brindle Rocks just over a year ago, and we were so impressed that we became groupies and followed him to another house gig in Blackpool, just at the time he was making a video of a song from his latest album. So if you were to google “Henry Priestman True Believer“, you will find a video with Geraldine and me singing along in the chorus. You are never too old to be in a pop video.
We’ve enjoyed several great nights at Brindle Rocks since then, with one of Geraldine’s favourite bands being the Ragamuffins. I missed this particular gig (away cycling) and so thankfully, I never saw her drooling like a teenager over the French trumpet player (that’s a trumpet player from France, by the way, not a new type of instrument). Our neighbours have no more house gigs planned until February, but we did enjoy seeing Paul Heaton and Jacqui Abbott recently – they were the driving force behind The Beautiful South, in case you’d forgotten.
We still have a cat called Tilly who is too pretty by far (and she knows it). During the summer, we’ve been having regular visits from an apparently stray cat whom we nicknamed Buster. He looked like a Buster, with his solid appearance and no-nonsense features, and he was definitely the Tramp to Tilly’s Lady. Despite our reservations, the two cats got on very well, and appeared to become friends. Buster enthusiastically ate any meal put out for him (or anyone else, come to that), and soon began to appear morning and night expecting food. Local enquiries suggested that no-one actually owned him (although several people admitted to feeding him), and he appeared to be the son of a farm cat from nearby. Anyway, in mid November, he was neutered, wormed and chipped and he will probably have a seat at our table by Christmas. The good thing is that his presence tips the gender balance in favour of the males in our household, which can only be a good thing. Well, since I’ve run out of room, I’ll sign off with the hope that you have a very peaceful Christmas and prosperous 2015, and hope to see you very soon.
