Fat Boy Slim and the Blue Horizon

I'm pressed for time this week, but wanted to post something so I had a look in my documents folder and found this poem that I wrote...guess when!

At the time I lived just outside of Harrogate, North Yorkshire (a beautiful town - it won my heart). Home was the servant's quarters attached to a rather grand house a couple of miles down a sheep track in the middle of nowhere. Sally, with whom rented what we called "the cottage" and I thereby had all of the perks of living in a grand house (gardeners, peace lovely peace and pheasants to wake one up each day.

It wasn't all a bed of roses and I was living there for one of the saddest of reasons, but all in all it was a special place. As I drove down a hill on my way to the cottage, leaving Harrogate on the Skipton Road, the scene before me filled my heart and so I wrote this poem. I probably shouldn't say this, but for me it catches those moments perfectly. Maybe you had to be there...

YORKSHIRE, FROST, FEBRUARY 2008

Outside
The fingers of the frost are touching up the grass again
The grass might like this I don’t know; sweetness could be transferred by the cold one’s kiss.
What I do know is that for today, mid-February,
We had all that late spring days should bring
Including sun until dusk, and when driving down the Skipton road I saw
The mist like candyfloss flow round the trees
As they stood helpless in the valley ahead.
The chill arrived unsaid but felt, and ripped us from the fruiting time to coal.

Inside
Half promised, part consumed within the hearth whose heat I half resent.
The smoke will drift in to the wind and maybe warm the errant sheep* up on the lane
This is unlikely though, since frost has gripped the grass and acts
Like skinny snow.

*As I drove up the lane from the cottage this afternoon my way was blocked by a dozen sheep who had got out from the field and were grazing on the hedgerows. They panicked at my arrival in the car and could not understand the threat I represented so, fearful of a sudden move that might damage my car I drove with great caution until got past them and up to the farm. At the farm I said “Some sheep are loose in the lane”.
“Not mine mate” came the less than useful reply.

I'm sat hear listening to a radio adaption of the John Buchan adventure yarn "The Courts of the Morning". It is a ripping tale of derring do and I'm enjoying it hugely.

I remembered that the John Buchan books are a real favourite of a pal of mine - an author probably best known for "The Thirty-Nine Steps". I don't share my pal's fondness for these books although he'll be pleased that I even gave "earspace" to one the more obscure volumes in the canon.

Regrettably, neither was I able to counter - enthuse him about one of my favourite authors - Graham Greene (Our Man in Havana, The Quiet American, The Honorary Consul and many more). The book I had selected to entice him with was the carefully selected "Travels With My Aunt", a picaresque and darkly humurous tale of a quiet bank manager whisked away in the late 1960's on to a series of jaunts by his gutsy and eccentric Aunt. The novel also has a nice twist which I won't spoil here.

If you have a favourite author, who is it and how (and with what volume) would you try to recruit further fans?

I've been a fan of John Prine's music since I first got interested in music at all and it is great that over recent years his own countrymen have recognised his greatness too.

The song I've chosen to share today is not so deep and meaningful as many he has written, but it is full of heart and affection for it's subjects, a decidedly blue collar couple bereft (or robbed?) of very high aspirations. Still, they get by, have a little fun where they can find it and love each other. Hopefully it will make you grin as much as it does me!

For what it's worth, the line that makes me smile most is "He drinks his beer like its oxygen"...fantastic.

A mellow and reflective way to mark the close of the "new" Americans big day...I hope that Tess appreciates that I've chosen a Swedish concert version (for me, and for other reasons, this song will always mean Gibraltar).

If you don't know about Spinal Tap I'm afraid that the title of this very brief entry and the contents themselves will not mean a lot to you.

For the rest, guess what? I've just gone on to "listen again" on BBC7 via Mozilla Firefox. The volume wasn't great on the iPlayer so I turned it up to max and yes, it really did GO UP TO ELEVEN!!!

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Up_to_eleven

The recent run of hot sunny days left NW Ireland a couple of days ago, to be replaced by ineffective showers and a very uncomfortable, sticky humidity. I was teaching yesterday and (I hope this is no reflection on me!) one of the attendees nodded off :-). He is an older guy and carrying too much weight says me!) and I think that those climate conditions are a bit of a struggle.

Anyway, since the early hours of this morning it has been raining properly and pretty constantly. Whilst I miss the sun, it is nice to have some clear air to breathe...although it can stop when it likes now!

This song is from Clive Gregson and Christine Collister. As soon as I heard it (I was living in an industrial town in Northern England at the time) I immediately connected with it. It doesn't have much to do with today's rain but I thought I'd share it anyway. Yes, that rain did eventually wash me away from that town.

(No infringement of copyright is intended and I will remove it immediately if the artist so wishes - but hey Clive, please don't!).

The effects of my walk in the hills really struck home today and I've had no energy.

In fact, I laid on the sofa this afternoon and dozed my way through two Will Hay films. I make no great claims for his films but they are great comfort viewing for me, even though I've seen all of them many times. They take no effort to follow and I still laugh at the corny jokes! I emerge from watching them wrapped in a warm glow of good feelings.

If one can see beyond the quaintness and the black and white film, I believe that there is someone and something we can all identify with in his films.

Do you have a favourite "flu film"?

OK, the song has little to do with today's post other than a tenous link to my hill walking yesterday when for a few short hours, as English/Scottish as I am, I was an Irish rover on my first hill walking expedition in County Donegal.

My mate Declan took a day off of work, drove up from Dublin and we headed for Mamore Gap in Donegal from where we struck out in to the Urris Hills. The day was glorious, too hot for walking in truth, a fact that struck home later.

The initial climb out of the Gap was hard work and reminded me of how unfit I am. Declan seemed to find it a bit easier, despite being a big man, but then he is a fair bit younger than me and gets to the gym from time to time. The effort was worth every puff though because when we made the ridge we were like a pair of High Kings, our lands laid out below us, the views impossibly perfect.

After walking the ridge for a couple of hours we scrambled down a scree strewn hillside towards the strand at Crummie's Bay, beneath the old fort at Dunree. We lunched here. It was about 2.30 pm.

After our lunch, which included the now obligatory rich fruit cake with a slice of Wensleydale cheese, we walked across the strand and tried to find a way up to the fort but were thwarted in our none-too-persistent efforts. I started to feel a bit "peely-wally" at this point and additionally my sweat was washing suncream in to my right eye - an increasingly painful experience forcing me to walk with one eye closed.

Turning around we started to retrace our steps but I was finding the climb back up from the beach a real struggle and Dec took charge of the situation. Rightly summizing that I had a touch of heat exhaustion he selflessy doused me in his own precious drinking water and made the decision that we would walk back around on the road to our cars. I'm pretty sure that I would have got us in to difficulties had I kept climbing (and there were several hundred metres of ascent left ahead of us). By now, even the road walking was a struggle for me and Dec went on ahead whilst I flopped beneath the shade of a tree. From somewhere I got a little second wind after this and managed to get a fair way back towards the car park before Dec returned in his car to where I was having a rest in a hedgerow, his air con on full blast - what a top bloke!

Once returned to civilisation I recovered pretty quickly thank goodness, although my eye remained very sore and even this morning still isn't quite settled. Needless to say, I've drunk plenty of fluids and slept like a baby - one with aching legs and a painful eye!

So what do I think of my day? I think that Donegal is a gem of a place for walking. I also think that I need to start taking my fitness seriously again. Most of all I think that I couldn't wish for a better pal than Declan...the REAL Irish Rover.

Not satisfied with the near Mediterranean weather we have been blessed with on the lough this week, I thumbed through some old verse I'd scribbled down and found the attached (for which I make no bold claims). All of a sudden, as I remembered sitting at my desk and looking out on that miserable winter's day, I was made grateful once again of the restorative effect of the sun on one's face.

The grey green ocean fills the lough
The dirty sky is full of rain
The birds conserve their energy
The ferry runs on winter time.

The waves rush up against the sand
The wind pushes it’s weight about
The distant hills wear cloaks of mist
The doors stay resolutely shut.

And this is what the lough looks like on days such as those...

I've chosen to share this Loudon Wainwright song because he says much better than I ever could what love is between a brother and sister. He also distills in to one line the sweet longing of looking back at photos from childhood, when such things were more rare than today, as he sings "Whoever took that picture, why, they captured our whole world". I'm getting goosepimples just typing those words!

I have a brother who is seven years older than me but there are only fifteen months between my sister, who is the youngest, and me. This means that we pretty much grew up together, playing, fighting and sometimes being a comfort to each other. My sister has a much nicer spirit than me and as we've grown older she has been the glue that has kept us all together.

As with Loudon, there is a black and white picture from my own childhood taken of my sister and me. We are in a swimming pool on holiday. It is all in that picture - whoever took it (my Dad I expect) captured our whole world.