Tag Archives: scotland

Sunday 11th January 2026 – I HAVE HAD …

… a miserable day today. Partly for reasons that I’ll mention in due course, and partly for reasons that I won’t mention. Either way, once more, it’s quite obvious that I’m ill again.

With this new computer, everything happened so much faster, as I briefly mentioned last night. Instead of grinding out the time until after midnight, everything was finished by 23:10 and I was soon in bed under the covers.

And there I lay, with something of a disturbed sleep. I’m not sure exactly how many times I awoke, but it was more than just a few. Even so, I was fast asleep when Isabelle breezed in on the latest storm. And it was a storm too – not quite on a par with that a couple of days ago, but even so …

She hardly awoke me, which was good. She peeled back the quilt, did her stuff and then left, while I went back to sleep.

It was 09:35 when I finally left the bed, and after a quick wash, I went into the kitchen for breakfast.

First task was the croissants. And I remembered to fold them the correct way today. They didn’t come out too badly, I suppose, for an amateur process. I had two with my porridge and coffee and left the other four for subsequent Sundays.

Back in here, I had a listen to the dictaphone to see where I’d been during the night.

I was in hospital, and I heard about the plan to restrict the password to exclude certain patients who were presumably no longer of any medical value. It’s a password that the nurse uses when she comes on Sundays for that really long word with whatever it is that is supposed to awaken me. They couldn’t work out which word to use instead of it. There were several that they also used on Sunday morning so there wasn’t really one that was memorable or instantly used in the way that 999 was so they weren’t able to access it.

This is an intriguing dream. I can see some kind of logic in it, but I’ve no idea where it came from or where it was going.

There was a girl from school whom I was seeing. I’d just started work and we were still drifting around together. After lunch, on my way back to the office, I’d get whoever it was who was with me to drop me off at her house so that I could say “hello” and have a little chat, then I’d dash on down the street to try to make up the lost time. This went on for several weeks. But one day, I was running a little late and when I turned up at her house, her mother was there but she wasn’t. She was in one of the bedrooms, standing on a ladder doing something in the attic and saw me arrive. So she came downstairs and said that she’d gone into town with someone. It wasn’t her father or something like that but I can’t remember who. She was on a red bicycle and the other person was on a bicycle of some odd colour. At that point, her father arrived. He gave me a really heavy pair of gauntlets and wheeled out a form of three-wheeled tricycle, with a seat at the back on which to sit and pedal and a seat in between the two front wheels facing forwards for a passenger. He urged me to climb in but for some reason, I took some time and he made a sarcastic comment, and then he pedalled off with me, trying to find where this girl had gone, his daughter.

This is another intriguing dream. Who is the girl? The girl whom I was dating after leaving school while whe was carrying on was one of the girls who came to see me a few weeks ago. She was three years younger than me. However, I’m certain that it wasn’t her, even if she did fit into one or two of the characteristics of this dream.

As for the rickshaw, a friend of mine in Munich has – or had – a 1920s rickshaw that he used for running around the town, and I’ve been driven around a local town in it.

Did I dictate that dream about the girl whom I used to go to see at lunchtimes? I’m sure that I did, … "yes, you did" – ed …but later on in that dream we were all sorting out a few kinds of things and my stepbrother Paul had had a bang in the back of his car so we’d been ordering bits and pieces for it as well as ordering other things. And sure enough, little by little, the packages came. I was half-expecting to have a package from this girl who had disappeared because I didn’t know if I’d said that I’d gone up there once afterwards and the house was empty and they had all gone. I never heard from her after that. So these parcels kept on arriving and my mother was rather frustrated because she was having to run around. One day she came in with an enormous parcel tucked under her arm. We said “oh, that’s the rear valance”. but when we unwrapped it, it wasn’t just the rear valance but the whole rear panel. It was painted the correct colour for the car and the number plate was already installed. It even had “Jaguar Ford” written on the back in some kind of stylish graphics instead of just the plain, ordinary “Ford” Of course, we all made some kind of remark about that to my step-brother, about the posh car that he was going to have There was a rear bumper too, and he looked at it and said “no-one’s going to bend this if they drive into it” Then he started to make arrangements with someone whom we knew to cut out the old, damaged bodywork. And then up the back gardens from down the street came some young woman. She looked at us all and said “lounging around again, are you?” She saw me with a mug of coffee in my hands and said “and time for tea for you”. So we all had a little social chat for ten minutes.

The colour of the car is actually the colour of my father’s MkV Cortina, which is languishing down the field on my farm waiting for me to pull out the engine and gearbox, although this will never happen now, of course. The back panel has another significant meaning, and it breaks my heart to think of how stupid I must have been one evening in 1983, when I acted decisively without thinking things through, and made the totally wrong decision that ended up costing me far, far more than I saved. If I could turn the clock back in time, it would have been to that moment.

As for my stepbrother, he was a lovely guy and would do anything for you. However, he fell in with the wrong crowd, was taken to the cleaner’s and died of a brain aneurysm, the same as his father.

I didn’t dictate that dream about that girl leaving. I’d gone up to her house to see her but she’d gone, the house was all closed etc. so I had to set off for home. What I had was one of these butcher’s bikes, the tricycle thing with the seat at the back and in between the two wheels was a large box where the butcher would put the meat in for deliveries, etc., one of the earliest versions of the bakfiets. I had to go home, and I was trying to think of how to go home without encountering any hills because it was difficult to manoeuvre up and down and I came up with a way back via Warmingham without going up any hills. So I set off, and I’d been going a couple of hundred yards when I thought “this is crazy because I’ll be going about seven or eight miles round and my house is only about a mile and a half from here, if that, so why don’t I just go home and struggle with the one hill that’s in between it?”. So that was what I decided to do. When I was back home, I didn’t remember how I’d actually arrived. I couldn’t remember the route or anything and I didn’t recall being out of breath. But this was when these parcels began to arrive, and I was there, hopeful that something would happen with a parcel for me. But there was something somewhere about after I’d been to that girl’s house and gone to the end of the street, there was a huge slope down to the left. You’d have to go down this cutting, down this slope to reach the railway station, which was one of these provincial things with just two platforms. If you were to cross the line to the other platform, that was actually down on top of an embankment because the slope was that steep and the embankment was quite high too. At the bottom, there was a road and I walked down this road somewhere somehow, and there were lots of people walking up it. There were the substantial ruins of a castle, one of these medieval, fourteenth-century Edwardian castles, and they were almost intact. You’d see all the carvings in the brickwork to make it look like a piece of beauty as well as a fortress, and lots of people were making comments about it and so was I. It looked wonderful, but I carried on walking and I’m not sure where all of this fitted in.

It’s disturbing me deeply, this story about the girl who keeps on appearing in my dreams and then disappearing. I’d love to know who she is. The butcher’s bike is quite an interesting object to appear in this dream, that’s for sure. I worked out that I was somewhere round by Hungerford Road in Crewe, so I could have come down and up Macon way which is much less steep than either Mill Street or Edleston Road. And then, even less steep, I could have gone the other way down to Crewe Green roundabout and then along Crewe Green Road.

The medieval castle and the footpath alongside it relate to the city walls at Leuven, although they are alongside a river, not alongside a railway station in a Welsh valley, the name of which totally escapes me at the moment.

This took me up to a disgusting drink break, following which I dismantled an external drive box to rescue the hard drive which has now handed in its hat and which I’ll have to rescue one of these days, and carried on with the updating of this computer.

There was football too – Forfar v Stranraer. And while the Loons had the lion’s share of the play in the first half, Stranraer wiped the floor with them in the second and were 2-1 up and cruising, only to be undone by a sucker-punch deep into injury time.

After that, there were the bread and pizza to make. And for a change, instead of sunflower seeds, I ground up a large handful of Brazil nuts and used them.

While I was at it, I baked the vegan pie and that looks lovely too. I’ll slice it into eight in the week and put seven slices in the freezer ready for another time.

The bread looks wonderful and the pizza was nice too, although I only ate half of it again.

Right now though, I’m off to bed. Dialysis tomorrow afternoon and then Paris on Tuesday. We seem to be back where we were a couple of months ago.

But seeing as we have been talking about medieval castles … "well, one of us has" – ed … a couple of tourists were being shown around Caernarfon Castle not so long ago..
"This castle is unique in history" said the guide. "In the seven hundred years that it’s been here, there have been no repairs and no restoration project carried out on the building."
"That’s an amazing coincidence" said one of the tourists. "It must have the same landlord that we do."

Monday 1st July 2019 – IT WAS SOMETHING …

… of a rather depressing night. I had a shower as soon as I got into my room and gave my clothes a quick wash and then, still dripping rather wet, I crawled into bed.

Bed is one thing. Sleep is something else completely. And so it was that I lay awake tossing and turning as the clock rolled on.

However I must have gone to sleep at some point because I was off on my travels at a certain moment. This was another thing where something went wrong. I was with Percy Penguin – at least, it was her but then again it wasn’t – and it was all about cars and so on. I’d arranged to meet Percy Penguin (who doesn’t feature in my notes half as often as she deserves) and I picked her up and we went for a meal. She was asleep on the sofa in this hotel. Everyone was gradually being served and in the end there was just me, another guy and Percy Penguin asleep on the sofa. A woman from the restaurant came out and said “I suppose that you three are all together”. I replied that we were all on our own, except that I might possible be with that girl there. Percy Penguin sat up so I sat next to her and we had the menus. We agreed on a starter and then we had to choose the wine for the wine list. I asked “what wine do you want?” as if she would know.She didn’t so I ordered a nice bottle of full-bodied red Burgundy. The waitress said “oh I don’t have a Burgundy”. I expressed my astonishment that a restaurant wouldn’t have a Burgundy. So I said “how about a Sancilly?”. I explained to Percy Penguin that that came from the area where I lived. The woman looked at me rather peculiarly so she went off to fetch it. Percy Penguin asked about the main course. We hadn’t ordered a main course.I said that maybe we do that a bit later after we’ve had the starter.She said that all the back of my head was oily. I said that I had been working on a car, lying underneath it. She wondered why I hadn’t had it washed. I said that it was almost time to come and pick her up. I hadn’t had time to wash.

At this point I sat up bolt-upright. 04:45. This isn’t any good at all. But nevertheless I was glad that I was awake because I wasn’t disturbed by the alarm on the Canadian phone that, not having adjusted itself to UK time, rang and awoke the Dead at 05:00

That was the cue for me to write up my blog notes for yesterday, which I hadn’t done, not having gone to bed until late.

Rosemary rang me at about 07:00 or so, so I went down to the hotel lobby to say hello. We had a chat and then she went off to breakfast and I went back upstairs to organise myself.

At about 08:45 we met up again, suitcases in hand, and headed off to the bus stop in the cold, cloudy, overcast weather. We just missed a 727 bus and had to wait 10 minutes for the one behind.When it turned up, I found out that my Pound coins were out of date so Rosemary had to help out with the fare.

We were dropped off at the bus station which is right opposite the docks. Finding the docks is one thing, but finding our berth was somewhere else. The first guy at the spoke to in the harbour was more interested in telling me off about crossing a forbidden line than helping us out.

He sent us to the ferry terminal where they were none-the-wiser. However they did suggest that we try elsewhere, being right back where we started by the bus station.

There was an intercom there so I tried to speak to someone but I couldn’t hear a word. Eventually I picked up the phrase “security lodge” and seeing a security lodge in the distance, we headed that way, apparently crossing yet another forbidden line.

This time we had been picked up on CCTV for a rather irate security guard in a pick-up came to tell us off. But when we explained what we were looking for he told us to follow him (not easy when you are dragging suitcases behind you and he’s in a pick-up).

Eventually we caught up with him and, much to my surprise, he knew where we had to go. But knowing is one thing, walking that distance was something else. After a very weary trudge we eventually found our berth.

Finding it is one thing – getting to it was quite another.Negotiating a security gate and moving a barrier, being stopped and searched by security, we were eventually allowed in and we were ushered on board The Good Ship Ve … errr … Ocean Endeavour.

Much to my surprise, there were a few people whom I recognised from last year, such as Ashley and Yulya. And of course they asked the obvious question – “how’s Strawberry Moose?.

And they were delighted to hear that he’s once more managed to stow himself aboard. As I have said before … “and on many occasions too” – ed … he’s far more popular with the ladies than I am ever likely to be.

I found my way to my own cabin – right next door to the one that I had last year. And I dumped my stuff and made my way back to the reception to meet my fellow passengers. On this leg of the journey we are a grand total of just SIX. “One deck each” I quipped.

A delicious lunch was served, and afterwards Rosemary and I headed off into town for a walk. We found a branch of the Royal Bank of Scotland where, at long last, I could activate my bank cards and change the PINS. And also to swap over my bad money for some good stuff.

We then went for a little wander around the Granite City for half an hour or so, and then headed back to the ship where I bumped into my room cleaner from last year.

Back on board, I had a shower, a clean-up and a change of clothes, doing a little washing along the way. I need to keep on top of my washing otherwise I’ll run out of clothes.

With plenty of time to kill before tea, we all had a chat about nothing much, and then came the safety briefing.
“One short blast on the ship’s siren means put on warm clothing”
“Two short blasts on the ship’s siren means come aloft”
“Three short blasts on the ship’s siren means put on lifebelts”
“Four short blasts on the ship’s siren means abandon ship”
“One long blast on the ship’s siren means that the ship’s siren is stuck”

Tea was even more delicious than lunch, and that was saying something. And then we sat around for ages watching all kinds of shipping leave the harbour – except us of course. This 22:00 departure time is turning out to be some kind of Spanish 22:00.

It was just after 23:00 when the tug pulled us away from the quayside, and then we pulled it forward out of the harbour. And as it attempted to disengage, something caught up somewhere and the rope snapped with an incredible force. Had we been a couple of decks lower, we would have been decapitated.

We watched Aberdeen disappear into the dusk and rain, and then called it a night. 128% of my daily effort, 9.4 kms walked. I’m ready for bed.

Sunday 30th June 2019 – SO HERE WE ALL ARE …

… not exactly sitting in a rainbow but sitting in the bedroom of a relatively comfortable hotel in, would you believe, Aberdeen.

And how unhappy am I?

Having made a special enquiry, and had it specially confirmed, that there was a hotel shuttle bus, necessary in view of the amount of luggage that I have and the state of my knee, I telephoned the hotel when I arrived at the airport only to be told “we don’t have a driver on tonight”.

So I had to hobble, dragging my load behind me, for about a mile up the steep hill to the hotel.

On arrival, in quite some distress with my breathing problems and the like, I was given a room on the second floor (despite having asked for a low floor) – and there’s no lift. So I had to drag my load up two flights of stairs.

As you can see, despite the fact that this nice modern hotel could be such good value for money (very rare in the UK)if it were to have staff and management wh actually cared about the customers, here’s one very unhappy bunny.

And the UK? I have said (on many occasions) that I would never ever set foot in this accursed country again, but needs must when the devil drives.

With it being Sunday morning I was hoping to have my usual Sunday lie-in but after last night’s quite dramatic crashing-out, I shouldn’t have been surprised at all by sitting bolt-upright at 06:44. Not what I intended at all.

Plenty of time to go off on a nocturnal ramble.

I was doing a coach tour again last night, down in the South of France and I was picking up passengers all over the place. I couldn’t find the paperwork for the moment telling me who and where I was picking folk up. So I was doing as fast as I can, and ending up at the final stop I was one person short. So I wondered where on earth I’d got this one person short. While I was waiting I was chatting to people and some woman came up to me to ask me what I thought of the passengers – what I thought of this woman, what I thought of that man. Despite my being very non-committal which I always tried my best to be I was shaking my head and pulling a face at some of them. I certainly hadn’t intended to do that. Eventually I found the piece of paper and found that I had left three people behind at Dijon and that was over an hour back. I thought “how am I going to explain this?” because I’d have to ring up the company to say that I didn’t get them and if I had the paperwork I could have done that. But Dijon is this thing and I might have to go all the way back and upset all of the passengers before I’d even started. One woman pulled the voyage list that I had to read it and of course i had to pull it back before she could as passengers aren’t supposed to read the voyage list with everyone’s name and address on it.
Later on I’d been in Crewe last night with Margaret Armstrong’s old Ford Cortina and parked it up in Bedford Street. I’d walked through the alleyway round all the backs of the houses round the back of Chambers Street and Catherine Street and all of those places, walking for a while around there. There were all kinds of exciting things round there, round Gresty Road where My sister used to live it had all been transformed with some kind of building built onto the backs of the houses over the back yards, and a derelict house that I had once looked at, that was all derelict too and the roof and attic too of this “new build” extension. And some weird semi-detached houses, quite modern design all covered in ivy, and some older semi-detached houses derelict and bricked up. Unkempt gardens and all kinds of things like that. There was a girl there, walking in my direction back to the car, on the phone so I passed her once, she passed me and I passed her again. As I got to the car she came over to me “you’ve got the zodiacs, haven’t you?” I said that they are actually on board the ship and that’s off the coast of Scotland at the moment”. “Well I want to make the white cloth to throw over them” So I said that I would get the measurements the next time that I’m up there, which will be in a couple of weeks’ time..

Firstly though, I had to find my medication. But I’ve packed it so well that it remains well and truly packed and I probably shan’t find it until I return home, whenever that might be, because now that I have my French Carte de Sejour I’m not in any hurry to go home.

After breakfast I attacked yesterday’s blog and then went out to the station. Now 09:30 so Subway should be open to buy something for lunch, and to buy my rail ticket. But much to my surprise, Subway was closed. And none of my raisin buns in Carrefour either so instead I had to go back down into the bowels of the station to the Delhaize and that came up trumps with a vegan falafel salad, demi-baguette and a fruit mixture thing. The guy at the till even found me a plastic cutlery set to eat it with.

So on the way back out, Subway was just opening up. That’ll teach them!

Back at the hotel I collected up everything, organised myself, grabbed my stuff and went off to pay for my two breakfasts. Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that I’ve paid the booking agency in advance for a couple of breakfasts in a couple of places, only for the hotel to have “no trace” of the breakfast payment. So now I pay on-site if I’m breakfasting.

Down to Brussels-Midi station in time to leap aboard a Nederlandse Spoorwegen train to Amsterdam via the airport. It threw me out here. And here I am, in the departure lounge of Brussels Zaventam Airport, waiting for an aeroplane. And I hope that the Big Old Jet Airliner will carry me far away.

I eventually found the flight desk, which was not yet open and so I had a lengthy wait, spent talking to a couple from Australia and a young guy who looked like a Pacific islander from Baltimore.

Check-in was quite straightforward and Security even more straightforward. If only it would be as simple as this in other airports. Now I’m sitting quietly waiting to find out which terminal my flight will dock at, and I’m clearly in Travelling Mode because I’m listening to Colosseum Liveand I’ll probably follow it up by listening to On The Road by Traffic. My two favourite travelling albums.

We we were eventually called to our aeroplane. It was now moored at gate A60 at the far end of the terminal from where I was so I had something of a hike, which will probably do me good anyway.

I didn’t have long to wait and much to my surprise we were very quick in boarding the ‘plane. There were only a handful of empty seats but it was only a small ‘plane. I asked the stewardess if it was a Fokker and she replied “no, it’s quite well-behaved”. But I made a note of its registration – PH-EXT. That tells me that It’s an Embraer 190.

The name of the stewardess was Suske so I asked her what she had done with Schanulleke. But as Kenneth Williams and Alfred Hitchcock once said, and as I have repeated on many occasions, “it’s a waste of time telling jokes to foreigners”.

Once the ‘plane took off I switched on the laptop, put it onto flight mode, and started to listen to “Lost Angeles” once more. But it was quite pointless because no sooner had it all fired up than I had to switch off because we had gone into the arrivals path. In fact, I think that we spent more time manoeuvring on the ground than we spent in the air.

It’s not all that far to Schiphol from Zaventem and I could have gone by TGV from Bruxelles-Midi but believe it or not, it would have worked out more expensive. And that’s something that I don’t understand.

And I’m pretty annoyed because I have to wait 5 hours or so for a connection. There was a flight that went my way that took off 5 minutes before we landed but, would you believe, it was delayed and I could in theory have gone on that had I realised and run for it.

So now I have to wait. I sat and ate my delicious falafel salad and bread.

To reach my flight I had to pass through passport control and for some reason I was grabbed for a security check. I always have bad experiences at Schiphol, as I remember from last time.

I was given the “works” and was preparing myself for the cavity search when they suddenly found what had drawn their attention to me. “No, those aren’t bullets in a magazine. They are AAA batteries in a battery holder”.

It was weird at the terminal. People were actually locked into their departure lounge and if you weren’t on that particular flight you were locked outside. I had to wait for ages until the departure lounge cleared and they tidied it up before I was allowed in.

In the meantime they had changed departure lounges without saying anything and I almost found myself going to Glasgow. I had to hurry along down the corridor.

The place to Aberdeen was packed, and it was a big plane too. PH-BGK, a Boeing 737 called Noordse Stormvogel . They asked for volunteers to send their hand luggage into the hold and I volunteered. Less to have to carry around.

And it seemed that everyone knew each other. Probably Shell oil workers flying back to the platforms after a weekend off.

We had to wait for 20 minutes too. There was a connection that arrived late and some of our passengers were on it. And then when they arrived, we had to wait again for a free slot. However, we arrived in Aberdeen only a few minutes late.

Immigration was relatively painless and our bags were already out when we arrived in the hall.

And then I had my issues with the hotel.

Once installed in my room I had a nice, welcome shower and washed my rather sweaty undies, and now I’m off to bed. I’ve had enough of today. And this might be the last you’ll hear from me for a while, so don’t be disappointed. Check back regularly until normal service will be resumed.

Monday 8th April 2019 – I’VE BEEN SPENDING …

… yet more money today.

And something that I vowed a good while ago that I would never ever do as long as there was a breath left in my body – well, i’m going to be doing it.

Not without a great deal of regret, it has to be said, but there is no other way to complete a certain task if I want this certain task to be completed. And as it’s one of the things that’s on my bucket list and has been for a considerable number of years, then I shall just have to shut up and get on with it.

“And what is this disagreeable task?” I hear you ask. Well, one other person knows, and the rest of you will know in due course. But the die is cast now.

But at least it’s given me an opportunity to set up an on-line banking service with the Fortis Bank, thanks to a very helpful girl in Belgium. And once I’d done that, the world is my oyster.

All of my bank accounts now have on-line access, and once I can work my way through the labyrinth of portals, the rest is pretty easy.

Last night, with having had a coffee at the football, i was still going on at long past midnight this morning. And when I finally went to bed, I didn’t really need to. And it took me an age to go off to sleep.

There wasn’t much time to go on a voyage. But nevertheless last night I was on board ship again. There were about 100 or so kids being formed up into four lines on a stage by a teacher. And although this took place two years ago (don’t ask me why or how I know) it was so outrageously camp how they were doing it that it would never be tolerated today. They were pushing each other apart to be at arms length like raw recruits might do on one of their earliest parades. Everyone broke for lunch and lined up for the self-service food. There were two queues, each heading towards a central point and somehow I had managed to find myself in the position where these two queues met, so I couldn’t go either way to collect any food. Definitely “stuck in the middle”.

The alarms went off as usual but unfortunately I didn’t. 07:25 was when I finally hauled myself out of the stinking pit.

But once I’d gone through the usual morning procedures, I’ve had a very busy day. And that included some tidying up, filing and sorting out the wardrobe a bit better.

But as far as productive work goes, I had a really good attack at the dictaphone notes. That was the first task and it took me long enough. But I’m down to a mere 305 audio files. So some time within the next 25 years I might finish.

A brief pause to look for something – which ended up as a massive reorganisation of the wardrobe, and then I attacked yesterday’s blog to finish it off and to add the photos.

Once i’d done what needed doing, I carried on with the photos for July 2018. They are all finished now apart from the ones that I did around the Somme battlefield, and that’s my next task – to start on the web pages for that trip.

That shall keep me out of mischief for a good while.

After lunch I got on to the bank to organise a few things, as I mentioned, and then attacked the Royal Bank of Scotland’s on-line banking accounts. I’ve had some new cards from them, but the PINs need changing. Unfortunately I can’t do that with my on-line card reader, which was why I wanted the card reader in the first place.

Seeing as I had come to a natural stop, I went out formy afternoon walk.

And seeing that there was someone down there working on the large boat down there, I went for a chat.

Unfortunately he wasn’t the garrulous type at all. After grudgingly telling me that “she’s a boat from Brittany” he walked away and carried on painting it. I was hoping for rather more from him than that.

Instead, I went to have a look at the Cale sèche, or dry dock.

It has a name apparently – the Cale de Raboud. Built, like most things around here, out of blocks of granite from the Ile de Chausey, it dates from the 1880s at the time that the port was in its heyday.

But like the port, its use declined after World War II with the building of larger ships and the collapse of the deep-sea fisheries finished it off.

There is talk of restoring it, and maybe putting an old Terreneuvier in there as an exhibit, but that’s all a long way from happening, if it ever does.

The guy driving the fork-lift truck around the yard was slightly more garrulous.

He told me that the ancient fishing boat – the Pecheur de Lys – is destined to go back into the water. “But not today” he told me. Apparently, it’s going to take about a month to fit it out correctly so that it doesn’t sink.

On that note I came back and cracked on with the photos from the High Arctic. And I managed to classify another 150 or so of those today. Another week like that and this will be ready, so I can then start on adding them to the blog and doing some more web pages.

As you can see, there’s plenty of work around here that needs doing.

Tea tonight was shepherd’s pie and veg, followed by more strawberries and soya cream stuff. But no walk this evening. I wondered why it had suddenly gone cold again this afternoon. That’s because it’s teeming down outside.

That was just as well, because I seem to be submerged by paperwork yet again. I’ve had a shed-load of stuff sent to me this evening and it all needs attention.

A good night’s sleep is called for, if that’s possible.

Wednesday 28th September 2016 – WELL, WHAT CAN I SAY?

Apart from the fact that this is one of the most comfortable beds that I’ve ever slept in. I didn’t take long to drop off and although I was awake again soon after (and for quite a while too) I ended up back in a deep sleep and apart from one visit down the corridor I was well away when the alarm went off.

I’m not sure about all of the layers of blankets though – I can see them giving me problems – and the beaver skin went on the floor (and if I had my way the stuffed otter would be out of the window) and it’s all very twee, with lots of ornaments and everything in just the right place. It must be a nightmare to clean and dust.

But the guy who runs it is super-friendly and I couldn’t ask for anything more than he is prepared to give. It’s a bit overwhelming in fact, because it’s a long time since I’ve been cosseted quite like this. And who knows? It’ll probably do me good.

Breakfast was at 08:00 with my notaire friend and his wife. And I made a mistake yesterday because he isn’t actually the notaire of Pontaumur but the retired notaire of Pontaumur, because he’s sold up and they are now on their travels visiting places that they have always dreamed of visiting in North America. And it’s a 6-month itinerary too, so good luck to them.

Once I’d had breakfast I came back up here for a rest and to do a few things on the laptop. And if I thought that the internet at my house was slow, then it’s like lightning compared to how it works here. And it keeps on dropping the connection too. It’s extremely difficult to work with.

Lunchtime came around and so I went downstairs to Strider to make myself some butties. And it really was windy – very unpleasant. It rather destroyed the effects of it being a beautiful sunny day. But I’m not here to do nothing and so I put on an extra fleece and set out to brave the tempest.

Here’s a nice little pavilion here on the shore, just like a little Chinese pagoda. There are a few of them dotted around here and there. That would seem to be an ideal place to eat my butties, even if the sides are opened and I’m going to be buffeted about by the wind.

I’m not sure about my book though. The pages are being blown about like nobody’s business and so I’m not going to be able to relax here.

Consequently I decide to move on.

Last night I’d seen a white light in the shape of a cross shining from somewhere in the hills. Today I can see a cross over there where the light was. My host told me that there was a path up there, with some stunning views from up on the top, and so I decided that I would go for an exploration.

It’s not quite such a climb as it might appear, because there are steps that lead up there. That should make it somewhat easier to reach the top.

Godbout is situated in a sheltered bay that is flanked by two rivers. This is the river at the eastern edge of the town, the smaller one of the two, and I’ll tell you its name in a minute when I can remember it or whenever I can track it down.

But there’s a footpath that leads over the bridge and along the top of the shore in the general direction of the cross that I saw, and so I headed out along here as a good place to start.

I stumble across a flight of stairs heading up the side of the mountain and so I start to climb up there. This must be the way to the cross.

It was pretty tiring climbing all the way up here because there are quite a few and I lost count long before the top. I had to stop a few times to catch my breath and I do have to say that the view down to the eastern beach at Godbout was stunning from this position. I bet it’s even better from the top.

403 steps in fact, according to the number carved into the top step, brought me up to the very top where I could see the cross. It’s actually an aerial or antenna support which was rather disappointing because I was hoping that it might have been a Cartier cross.

There were crosses erected all over the cost of the Gasoé peninsula and the shore of the St Lawrence at the places where it is believed that Jacques Cartier landed on his voyages of exploration during the 1530s.

But it goes without saying that if he had landed at every place so claimed, he would still be out there now.

And I was right about the view from the top and its a shame that I have the sun shining into the camera lens – the camera can never do justice to the real view.

That’s the view of Godbout down there with the harbour in centre view. You can see how beautiful the area is here and I’m glad that I managed to make it up to the top of the stairs to see it.

And so here I sat for half an hour or so to read my book and to catch my breath.

Back down to the bottom of the steps (with 399 carved at the bottom so something is clearly not correct) I walked on along the road and came to this beautiful belvedere with a view out across the river.

Here I fell in with a very vocal local yokel who spent quite a while chatting to me. he said that he was driving past here in 2002 when his car broke down. While it was being repaired he walked around the village, fell in love with it and once his car had been repaired, he came back later and bought a house here.

While we were busy chatting, the F A Gauthier came steaming … "dieseling" – ed … into port, making quite an impressive photograph.

I told you that she’s the first brand-new ferry on the St Lawrence for a good number of years, but I didn’t tell you that she was built in Italy – which must have been a major blow to Canadian shipbuilders, and also to John Brown’s of Greenock who have built many ships for the St Lawrence in the past.

But anyway, here she is. She’s 133 metres long and 22.4 metres wide, displacing about 16,000 tonnes, although she might not look it.

There’s a carrying capacity of 800 passengers and 180 vehicles, which means that the queue of unreserved vehicles that used to miss the boat on the Camille Marcoux and which we almost joined when we were here in 2014 may well be a thing of the past.

My vocal local yokel told me that there were the remains of the village’s old hydro-electric plant somewhere along the trail. I wanted to have a look at them if I could and so I set out to see if I could find them.

But I was defeated by the steepness of the climb up into the hills and the looseness of the rocks on the trail – by the time that I was halfway up I was going up one pace and sliding down three. However, there was a beautiful view of the docks and the F A Gauthier from where I was standing.

I walked back to my digs via the beach. There weren’t many people about (I counted two) but it was beautiful along here despite the wind that had sprung up once again.

And I did what I had wanted to do by coming here, which was to have a good wash in the water of the St Lawrence. It’s a rather symbolic gesture that I like to perform, and as this might be the last time that I come here, I was keen to do it.

By now I was thoroughly exhausted and so I went back to my room where I crashed out for a good while, aching all over.

And for tea, I was organising my potatoes for baking but my host told me that he had cut far too many chips, so would I like to cook them with my sausages and beans? That was extremely nice of him and it made a nice change from baked potatoes. Only drawback was that I forgot that I had some malt vinegar for them.

And that was that. I came up to my room and I was out like a light – probably gone for good.

Saturday 4th June 2016 – THAT WAS DEFINITELY THE CORRECT DECISION …

… to come here and find the quietest room in the hotel, without a doubt. Although it took me ages to drop off to sleep (I remember seeing 01:00 come up on the clock) I was absolutely, completely and utterly stark out when the alarm went off at 07:45. I didn’t feel a thing. I didn’t even have to go for a stroll on the parapet either. It was the best night’s sleep that I have had for months and my only regret was that there wasn’t more of it because I could have slept for a week.

I’d been on my travels too – to the garage at British Salt (the right way round too this time, not a mirror-image like the last time that we visited it) at Middlewich where I was repairing, of all things, a huge pile of amplifiers, speakers and the like. I’d gone into work early when there was no-one about and because of there being no-one about, I cracked on and by the time everyone came in, I’d done most of the stuff. My father came in, saw the pile of work and started to say why each appliance was difficult to do, and how each problem was insurmountable, to which my reply at each instance was “it’s fixed already”. After all, anyone can do a much better job when there are no interruptions and no negative vibrations floating around the place, as we all know.

I had a couple of cups of coffee this morning at breakfast too – the first time that I’ve had coffee for well over a week. I’ve steered clear of it because of my … errr … upset stomach but that has settled down for the last few days and so I wanted to give it a try. I would have had mint tea but there was none of that available at breakfast, so coffee it was. And it wasn’t really a good idea because I’d tell you what happened except that you are probably eating right now.

After I’d spent some time doing some work, I packed up and left to continue on with my journey. Now that I’ve been reunited with my telephone I can show you where I stayed the night – and the night two weeks or so ago.

My room is the one that has the open door on the top right – right at the end of the corridor at the highest part of the building. As I said, it really was quiet in there and I’ll have that room again.

By setting the SatNav to “shortest route”, I went a very merry and mazy way through some beautiful by-roads where I was suddenly decanted into the town of Guise.

This is the entrance to the magnificent castle of Guise and those of you with long memories and have read reams and reams of this rubbish will know exactly why this is the only photo of the place that is appearing on these pages.

The answer is that, quite simply, as you might expect, I arrived bang on the stroke of midday, just as they were closing the place up for lunch. Everyone knows that the lunch break is sacred in France – so much so that when Marshall Petain (whose grave we visited on the Ile d’Yeu in 2013, you might remember) was appointed as Generalissimo of the Allied Armies in the middle of the desperate retreat of 1918, he is reputed to have asked for just two things to save the Allies from disaster – a free hand with the army and two hours off for lunch.

Many of you will have heard of Guise, of course. Mary of Guise was the wife of James V of Scotland and mother of Mary, Queen of Scots.

That wasn’t the only thing that was interesting about the town. On the by-pass on the edge of the town was this magnificent diesel locomotive – a shunter by the look of it, parked up on the site, one assumes, of a couple of demolished houses which have been fitted out to make a raiway setting.

I liked the artwork on the wall of the house in the background. It was superb.

I wish however that there had been a plaque to tell me what was the significance of the display. I hate being left in the dark.

Next stop, seeing as I’m in the vicinity, is the Commonwealth War Graves cemetery in Etreux. This is where scores of members of the Royal Munster Regiment are buried following a spirited rearguard action at the crossroads by a battalion of the regiment on 27th August 1914, to hold up the German advance while the main body of the British Army slipped away.

The claim to fame of the cemetery is that it is the burial place of Lieutenant CEV Awdry, said to be the half-brother of the Reverend W Awdry of “Thomas the Tank Engine” fame.

Leaving the Aisne behind us, we cross into the Nord and arrive at our destination, the town of Bavay, or, to be more precise, Bavay la Romaine.

And it deserves its name too because it was formerly the Gallo-Roman (you must never say “Roman” in France. The French do not accept that the Romans brought civilisation to the French, insisting that Gaul was already civilised long before the Romans arrived. It’s “Gallo-Roman” and I’ve seen some impressive uproar when people forget) city of Bagacum.

The city is situated at a major crossroads of routes in the northern part of the Roman road system and is home to some of the most impressive Roman … "Gallo-Roman" – ed … ruins in Gaul.

What we are looking at here is part of the Forum – the central market place of any Roman … "Gallo-Roman" – ed … city and impressive it certainly is. It’s always been known that there are Gallo-Roman remains here – stuff has been dug up for centuries – but someone digging in a cellar in the 18th Century found himself decanted into the subterranean crypt of the temple and this started everything off.

German shelling of the town in 1940 uncovered many more remains and once the war was over, excavations started in earnest.

Our cellar-digger painted a picture of what he saw and it shows a beautiful Gallo-Roman crepi with painted designs, but all of that has long-since been washed away over 250 years of exposure to the weather, which is a shame because it really did look quite magnificent.

I spent all afternoon here having a prowl around, totally immersed in everything that was going on all around. It really was €3:00 well-spent (yes, I’m not ashamed to claim the Senior Citizens’ discount now that I qualify for it).

No-one was more surprised than me to notice that the time had suddenly advanced to 16:30 in the blinking of an eyelid and I hadn’t even noticed. I shall have to get a wiggle on.

Back on the road, I didn’t travel very far before coming to another screeching halt. Despite all self-propelled road compactors (or rouleau compressor as they are called over here) being called “steam rollers” in the vernacular, this really IS a steam roller.

It’s an Alberet, works number 1012, from the factory in Rantigny in the Oise and I don’t think that I’ve ever encountered one of this make before. It’s here parked on the edge of a haulage yard by the side of the road, inviting a photo-opportunity.

It’s not really an old car but we’ll class it as that seeing as how we don’t have a more suitable category.

So now I’m holed up in another Premiere Classe in Feignies, just outside Maubeuge. No internet (thank heavens for the mobile phone) and disinterested staff, which is a shame.

But it’s much better than a standard “Premiere Classe” that’s for sure. it has all inside rooms rather than outside rooms for a start and they are 3 times bigger than standard.

I’m having my money’s worth here tonight.

Tuesday 7th June 2011 – HAVING LEFT DAVE’S …

… last night at something silly, I made it as far as Berwick-on-Tweed where I spent the night.

There’s a car pool place on the edge of town with a couple of discreet corners ideal for having a kip, and ideal for having a few other things too by the looks of it. Next morning, I even found a pair of tights on the ground.

We’ve been here before so we don’t have a photo but it’s a nice clean place with a washroom so there’s everything that you need to hand.

Once I’d organised myself properly I crossed the border into Scotland and headed off down the A1 in the direction of Edinburgh. On the by-pass, I kept my eyes peeled and eventually found the road that I needed.

Where I’ve come to is Rosslyn Chapel, which is situated in the village of … errr … Roslin, south of Edinburgh. The village of Rosslyn is somewhere else – New Zealand or the USA or somewhere.

Everyone will know the story behind Rosslyn Chapel because you’ve all read the Da Vinci Code and/or seen the film, and this is where the action takes place

But it’s not (necessarily) that which has brought me here.

As I said yesterday, something that cropped up in Canada last October was what had brought me here.

There have long been claims that Henry I Sinclair, Earl of Orkney, Baron of Roslin and ancestor of the current owner of the Chapel, had visited North America 100 years before Columbus.

Of course, this is quite possible.

He held his title of Earl of Orkney in allegiance to King Haakon VI of Norway, gifted on 2 August 1379.
He is known to have been in Norway on many occasions
Norway certainly knew of the existence of the old Norse colonies in Greenland
In 1347 a boat loaded with timber from “Markland” (almost certainly the North American coast) made an error of navigation and fetched up in Iceland rather than Greenland. This would have inevitably become known to the Norwegians (Iceland was a Norwegian possession at the time)
Sinclair was said to be an intrepid seaman known for his curiosity

And from there we move into the realm of speculation.

Just because something is quite possible, that is far from saying that it is probable, or even likely.

Many people do however make such a claim and when we were in Nova Scotia last October we came across his alleged landing site. It’s no part of my story to pass any opinion on this. I’m having no part in any argument.

But the fervent supporters of the Sinclair North American landings pointed out that Rosslyn Chapel contains many carvings that can only be plants found only in North America and unknown in Europe until the 16th Century.

They say that seeing as how the Chapel was built in 1456 (which, incidentally is long after Sinclair’s death), it could only be because Sinclair had seen them on his travels.

Why I had come here was to see the carvings and persuade the authorities to allow me to photograph them – permission is not often given.

But I nearly didn’t go in at all now. There have been considerable complaints about the Chapel “cashing in” on the popularity of the Da Vinci Code and when they told me how much the admission would be, I nearly passed out on the spot.

Seeing me standing there open-mouthed, the woman on the cash desk reassured me “but it’s half-price for senior citizens”.

I wasn’t sure whether to thump her or to storm out in disgust but the parsimonist inside me got the better of my emotions. But I’m afraid my ego has touched rock-bottom now and I’m inconsolable.

It’s no wonder that the Chapel is undergoing repair. With the money that they must be raking in, they could cover the place in gold plate.

However, it’s an ill-wind that doesn’t blow anyone any good. I spent quite some time chatting to a tour guide about the Templars and Sinclair and all of this, and the upshot was that I was invited into the office to see the Director.

I imagine that people claiming to be serious visitors have to “pass the test” – something that happened to me in the USA in 1999 when I ended up sitting behind the controls in the cockpit of Lindbergh’s The Spirit of St Louis – or, at least, the famous “Warner Brothers” replica B159.

I was permitted to take a couple of photographs “for private study” and not for publication so unfortunately you can’t see them, and I was allowed to peruse the private papers of the Chapel.

Furthermore, the curator will photocopy all of those that I found interesting and e-mail them to me, and so I certainly had my money’s worth there.

And as for the photos?

The Director of the museum told me that people overlook the fact that the interior of the chapel was redesigned in the 1860s and its possible that the designs could date from then. The original plans for the Chapel have never been discovered.
Others have said that the designs are imply abstract forms
And me? Well, I’ve seen more convincing and realistic maize and pineapple carvings elsewhere

And don’t forget. Sinclair had been to Norway – and doubtless other parts of the Norwegian Empire too. Greenland was part of the Norwegian Empire. Travellers from Greenland had been to both North America and Iceland – which was part of the Norwegian Empire.

No-one – apart from Yours Truly of course – has ever mentioned the possibility that what Sinclair might have seen had been brought back from North America by a Greenlander and Sinclair had seen it elsewhere.

But before we leave the site, let me first remind you of my theory about churches and castles.

Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that I’ve drawn your attention … "on many occasions" – ed … to the superb “defensive” site of many churches, such as this one here.

I’ve said … "at great length" – ed … that in my opinion, these sites started out as fortress sites with a small chapel inside the fortress.

As the need for fortresses declined and as the population in the vicinity grew in number, the size of the fortress would decline and the church would become more important

Rosslyn Chapel is actually built on the site of what was formerly a fortified site

And as for the myths and legends? Make up your own mind. There’s been enough nonsense written about this place without me adding to it.

From Roslin I drove all the way back to Hexham to see how Dave was doing with his rewrite of the text for the pages of his website.

Regular readers of this rubbish will recall my magnum opus about Riccarton Junction.

One thing that I was keen to do was to see the junction where the line for Hawick left the Newcastle-Carlisle line and the remains of the famous bridge over the Tyne.

That’s not too far from Hexham as it happens, and a lovely walk along the banks of the Tyne so with Dave acting as guide and navigator, off we set.

It didn’t take too long to track it down, but unfortunately, all traces of the railway junction have long-been obliterated.

That’s hardly a surprise since the line was closed in 1958.

After many vicissitudes we were eventually able to scramble up onto one of the piers where I was able to take several photos of the remains of the piers.

It wasn’t easy to see how they had been built, seeing as they were all swathed in sheaves of debris brought down by the river in spate.

You can imagine the force of the water that can roar down here when you see all of this

As you might (or might not) know, the death knell for the railway sounded on 6th August 1948, when this part of the country was hit by a devastating storm and torrential rain that lasted for 6 days.

A 7-foot tidal wave of water swept down the River Whiteadder, the River Tweed was recorded as being 17 feet above its usual water level

Much of the railway infrastructure was badly damaged – the East Coast main line between London and Ednburgh was so badly damaged that it took 11 weeks before it could reopen.

The Tyne did not escape and the Border Counties Bridge – which was never a particularly stable bridge, was badly damaged. Engineers affected a temporary repair but this really WAS only temporary and didn’t last too long.

And with the volume of traffic on the railway, which was never substantial, it was decided that it was not cost-effective to rebuild it.

Passenger services were withdrawn in 1956 but some kind of desultory freight service struggled on for a couple of years.

One thing that I noticed lying scattered around the site were all kinds of remains of cast iron.

Many railway bridges of this period were built out of cast-iron and we’ve seen plenty of remains on our travels.

All of this looks to me very much like what I would expect to see had I been looking for the remains of cast-iron bridge columns.And when I find the time, I’ll tell you how they were assembled

The rails were removed, the junction was erased, and the bridge was demolished.

And there are still several lumps of masonry lying around that could well have come from the bridge.

This looks pretty much like railway-bridge brickwork to me

Back at Dave’s house we started to proof-read Dave’s text that he had now finished but one thing led to another and with bouncing a few ideas around we ended up totally rewriting it.

Not that I am complaining by any means, but it was 05:30 and broad daylight when I finally left there.

Another task all done and dusted.

Monday 6th June 2011 – THIS WAS A HECTIC …

… day, and there have been quite a few of those just recently, haven’t there?

I think that I left you at Washington Services the last night, and from there I went on to Whitburn to spend the night by the seaside.

Unfortunately my little hidey-hole there was otherwise occupied so I had to search elsewhere.

There’s a nice cul-de-sac just across the road from the promenade that is a useful place to park up.

And that’s where I should have been last night – somewhere out by that headland over there near Whitburn.

But I’m not complaining at all about where I ended up. It was nice and quiet – much better than I anticipated.

This an area that I know very well from when I used to spend a lot of time up there in a different life, and so I took the opportunity to go for a wander round.

It’s what early mornings are for, isn’t it? Especially when those early mornings are as nice as this one.

A little dull at first but the sun soon came out and I had a lovely walk along the promenade.

And I was swamped with telephone calls too – it seems that word has spread about that I’m over here right now and I seem to be in great demand.

I walked down almost as far as Sunderland – only about a mile or so, it has to be said.

Sunderland is a port at the mouth of the River Wear and the entrance – the Roker Pier – is protected by a beautiful Victorian construction that despite everything that the modern world can chuck at it, still retains most of its contemporary charm.

No ships though. It’s been … ohhh … a whole week since I’ve seen a ship! That’s no good!

This statue here is known as Bede’s Cross. It commemorates the life of the aforementioned and was designed by Charles Clement Hodges and erected in 1904.

He was born sometime around 672 just down the road in the town of Wearmouth and died in 732.

He was a monk at the Abbeys of Monkwearmouth and Jarrow and his claim to fame is that he wrote a book An Ecclesiastical History of the English People of which several copies survive today.

This is the book which provides most of the History of England from the departure of the Romans until his death.

This afternoon I drove down to the big ASDA on the old Boldon Colliery site.

Here, Strawberry Moose met up with his sister and her friend Natasha and they had quite a chat about their adventures and what had happened to them since they last met.

While we were there I took the opportunity to return to her her coat and another one or two things that be had brought back with him

Another opportunity that I took was to have a little wander around the shop. Amongst the exciting things that I found were some 75-watt inverters for just £7:99. They had three in the shop.

After I left, there were none. Handy little things, those.

It’s not finished yet – not by a long chalk.

Later in the evening saw me in Hexham, round at at Dave’s. He needed his Detective Agency website bringing up-to-date and so that was another task that had been on my list of things to do.

We had a really good chat about this and that for quite a while.

And despite the lateness of the hour, I still had things to do. I have to be on my way to Edinburgh.

Well, Rosslyn actually. Something about my trip to Canada in 2010 had come up.

Wednesday 1st June 2011 – MMMM! BEANS ON TOAST!

Yes, you can tell that I’m back in the UK, can’t you?

Here’s Caliburn parked up in our little overnight spec about a mile or two from the M1

This was formerly part of the A5 but the road was realigned … ohhh … years ago now. Certainly 40 years ago if not more because we slept here in 1973 as I said last night.

It’s the first decent place to stop north of the M25 and as an added advantage, there’s a transport cafe – the Watling Street Café – just down the road where there are coin-operated showers and good cheap food.

The ideal place to stop when you’ve been spending a couple of nights sleeping in your van.

Having been suitably fed and watered, and cleaned, I took to the M1 to continue northwards. All the way up to where the A50 branches off and where I can head for Stoke on Trent.

I’ve been going this way for years now instead of via the M6, Birmingham and the A500. It looks longer on paper, and indeed it is. But not by much and there’s far less traffic. At busy times, it’s probably quicker.

Apart from the usual bits and pieces that I need to buy here, I went to Benchdollar to order all of the clamps and fittings for the next round of projects.

Regular readers of this Rubbish will recall that on a recent occasion I left it rather too late and the order hadn’t come by the time that I was ready to leave. Don’t want that to happen again so this is the first port of call now.

But I had a surprise – and a pleasant one too.

Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that I rent a storage container here in the UK, but it’s up at St Helens. In the days when these weren’t so common and I used to be round there now and again, it was a good option.

But it’s far off my beaten track now that I don’t go up to Scotland so much – 85 miles in fact – and so seeing this warehouse just round the corner from Benchdollar being converted into storage units made me go for a wander down there.

And yes, they do have small 1-metre cube containers. And yes, they are cheaper than at St Helens, even without the introductory offer. And 200 metres is much better than 85 miles, I’ll tell you. I signed up on the spot.

This afternoon we steamed into Nantwich.

This is of course my old stamping ground as Regular readers of this rubbish will remember.

I was born in the hospital here (nearest hospital with the correct facilities to where we lived); lived in various villages in the neighbourhood and went to Grammar School here. It’s always been my home from home.

It’s also where my bank is, and so I had come along to give them their annual kicking. Worst bank in the world but for a variety of reasons, I’m stuck with them.

So leaving Caliburn parked up on the recreation area I took the pretty way into town along the footpath along the banks of the River Weaver

Just in time to see a Crewe-Shrewsbury train go rattling past. Yes, they stil have trains in the UK, although you and I could never afford to use them.

One place that I have never ever visited despite all of the years that I spent in the vicinity, is the memorial to Arthur Brown.

There are various stories about whether he was a hero, staying in his crashing Thunderbolt to steer it away from houses, or whether he was unconscious due to a lack of oxygen.

And various stories whether he’s buried under here, his body is still in the river it whether it was recovered and buried in a cemetery elsewhere

But whatever happened, this is more-or-less where his aeroplane fell to earth with him still in it, just 20 yards from a row of houses in Shrewbridge Road.

The local Brownies tend the spot and every year on the anniversary of his death the locals still turn out to remember him.

He even has his own street in the town named after him.

One place that I hadn’t visited before was Kingsley Fields

Well, yes I had. It was at the back of our school and it was also farmed by the father of a girlfriend of a mate of mine so I knew the area pretty well.

But it’s all changed since I was last here.

The local football club, Nantwich Town FC were perennial strugglers in the North West Counties football league and never ever going anywhere, the butt of many local jokes.

They had a creaking old ground where they had played for 123 years and it was in a pretty miserable condition.

But it did have one thing going for it. It was right in an area that had become a prime residential zone.

At the time, a new inner ring road was being built around the town (right through my old school playing fields) and there was this corner of the land lying between the new road and the River Weaver that wasn’t fit for much.

For once, acting with considerable speed and foresight, the directors sold the football ground for housing and with the proceeds built a modern state-of-the-art stadium on the land at the back of the ring road

The rest of course is history.

The new ground attracted the fans (gates tripled) and the new facilities and the larger crowds (and hence the better wages) attracted a better class of player

The club rose through the leagues and is now on the fringe of the professional game (and not long after I wrote this they qualified through the preliminary rounds for a place in the FA Cup proper against Football League opposition).

When I called here, a training session was just about to get under way so while the players were warming up in the dressing room, I was permitted to wander around the stadium for a short while

Ironically, just after World War I when Jackson Avenue was unavailable, the club was obliged to play its home matches on a temporary site.

That temporary site is more-or-less where the new Weaver Stadium is situated today.

So having crossed this place of my list of things to do, I’m off to find a parking place for the night. Somewhere towards the north, I reckon.

Tomorrow I’m going up to St Helens to close everything down up there as well as doing a quick trip to Manchester.

-2

Friday 1st October 2010 – I HAD A DAY OUT TODAY

The aim was to go to see Lake St Clair, the “forgotten lake” of the Great Lakes network. But I didn’t get far

I mentioned yesterday that the whole of this area seems to be littered with interesting cars from a bygone era, most of them awaiting some care and attention. This car, dating from the early 1930s I reckon (not that I would know) that I found in Deerbrook was in surprisingly good condition for an unrestored model.

I saw dozens like this – spoilt for choice.

On the shores of the Lake, making maximum use of the telephoto lens, I can give you all a good view of the city of Detroit, probably 15 miles away across the water.

And you can tell the kind of weather that we were having, just by looking at the waves. There was quite a vicious wind blowing around here. No wonder that wind turbines are so popular in Ontario, although I bet that there won’t be so many in the USA. No businessman there can control the supply of wind.

I’ve found the River Thames – but not the one in London (UK, not Ontario) but the one that flows into Lake St Clair. and much to my excitement (I’m funny that way) it has a lighthouse too.

The Thames River lighthouse here in the town of Lakeshore dates from about 1838 (that’s the date that the first keeper was appointed) with a grant of £1000 from the Government of Upper Canada.

Its claim to fame was that the family that supplied the keepers of the lighthouse from its inception until as recently as 1950 claimed direct descent from Jacques Cartier.

The whole area is now classed as a Conservation Area, and you can see why from this photo because it really was a pleasant place to be, especially in the sun.

And while I was walking around, admiring the view of the lighthouse and the lake, I fell in with a fisherman. He told me that this is one of the best places in the world to catch muskies, which apparently are fish that bear a close resemblance to pike.

He (the fisherman, not the fish) comes from Hamilton – that’s Hamilton, Lanarkshire, Scotland, not Hamilton Ontario, although you never would have guessed judging by his accent.

My journey took me to the small town of Wallaceburg. I can’t go any further than this unfortunately as the Great Satan is just up the road and I shall be visiting here in a couple of days time.

Wallaceburg was formerly a major industrial centre, renowned for its glass, and was also the birthplace of what became more famous as the Lee-Enfield rifle.

The story goes that the industry here in the town and the agriculture of the neighbouring rural area were so important that lakers struggled all the way up the Sydenham River to here in order to load up.

Beautiful as views of the town might be, it’s only skin-deep because the southern shore of the river is nothing like the previous photo. It’s not always a railway line that divides the poor from the rich, despite whatever Tracy Chapman might have to say on the subject.

But then Wallaceburg is no longer master of its own budget, having been absorbed into the the municipality of Chatham-Dover.

I mentioned the agricultural produce of the area. Heading back to Windsor down the main highway, I drove through the Southern Ontario prairie.

It’s flat, as flat as the eye can see for miles around in all directions with not a single hill to relieve the monotony. The roads are totally straight and run for miles, and you are just surrounded by corn.

But while I was busy doing something else, I actually saw a diesel train and even more surprising, it was pulling four or five passenger carriages. Now as I was busy I didn’t get the chance to photograph it but the fact of it being a passenger train was totally surprising.

There are two railway lines into Windsor by the way, one from the Canadian Pacific and the other from the Canadian National. Now I could understand that if they served different townships on their way but they run parallel to each other just a mile or two apart which seems a strange thing to me – it’s just duplicating resources and bringing no benefits to anyone.

I also encountered the Taj Mahal – in actual fact the Gurdwara Khalsa Prakash Sikh temple somewhere between Tecumseh and Windsor.

There’s quite a large Sikh community in Canada, about 1.5% of the population, and like most non-white populations in North America they have suffered considerable discrimination, particularly in the early years of their arrival 100 or so years ago.

Immigration received a further impetus in the 1980s as Canada welcomed Sikhs fleeing from persecution in India, but this has led to a number of “incidents” taking place between the Asian communities in Canada, culminating in the attack on Air India Flight 182, widely credited to Sikh extremists.

But now I’m back in Windsor, in a really delightful evening. The weather is beautiful, very windy but hardly a cloud in the sky. I’ve been lucky with the weather so far but the locals think that it might break in a few days.

Tomorrow, depending on what time I wake up, I’ll go for another wander around. I’ve seen a steam locomotive on a plinth and that must be worth a photo. Tomorrow night Katherine and I are out a-dining. Doubtless Strawberry Moose will want to come too.

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Friday 1st October 2010 – I HAD A DAY OUT TODAY

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