Friday, November 27, 2009

Updated adventures!

It’s been a long time since I posted my last blog, and it’s been a long time since I’ve written anything other than application letters, emails and marketing articles. I’ve just not had the ‘creative muse’ visit me recently, despite having:

- Clambered up the slippery slopes of a small mountain
- Visited the haunts of my youth (and entered a 5000 year old tomb)
- Been to London with my friend from Ireland and ‘done’ the museums
- Visited a Hindu Temple
- Had a couple of gigs
- Been made redundant
- Started winning some squash games!

As you can see, certainly plenty of bloggable material there, but with no muse to date. I’ve not even written any songs lately (or even of my awful poetry). So – what brought it back tonight? No idea! But even though I’m tired out, I’m going to post!

So, where should I start? Perhaps the mountain – Skellig Fawr. I went to see some friends in the West Country at the beginning of November and on the Saturday we headed over the Severn to Wales and ‘climbed’ the path to the top. I had to stop quite often because I am, alas, unfit, but at every turn it would be ‘not far now’ and then, as we crested each ridge there was an ‘oh, it’s a bit further on than we thought... haven’t done this in ten years’... Aaargh! Well, though the day started off a bit damp, it was only when we reached the top (but not the end of the ridge) that the rain started to come down. ‘Do you want to go on?’ – well, it wasn’t that much further (only another quarter of a mile).

By the time we reached the very end (see how happy I look. We did it!), the weather was appalling. Rain slanted sideways at us, wind whipped at us, and even those hardy folk who had embarked on a remembrance walk for a recently departed friend (we talked to several of them on the way up) had given up and started heading down again. But it was worth it! The view, albeit cloudy, was tremendous.

On the Sunday I left my friends and headed to Wellow, a small village just outside Bath. As a child, my parents and aunt had jointly owned a small holiday cottage there. I spent many happy holiday as a child splashing in the brook, catching fish (loggerheads) with my hands, and enjoying time with my friend Paul, or maybe my cousin Nick or even my brother (like most siblings, we fought a lot). I went for long walks through the village, back to the ford, through the fields and out behind the church. As I went past fields of horses, the sound of the choir and the organ playing drifted gently with me on the chill but dry wind.

Later on I drove a bit out of the village and, after negotiating an extremely narrow lane, parked in a small gravel area and clambered over stiles and through more fields to reach the Stoney Littleton Long Barrow. It was raining by the time I got to the barrow, but not hard. I crawled in – it seemed smaller than when I had visited it last (as a child and once again on my honeymoon, many, many years later). I didn’t go too far in, having to crawl on hands and knees on rough gravel, but at the very end I could see something white that shone, even though there was no light inside the barrow. A couple who were also at the tumulus said that it was a letter – a sad love poem – left by some distraught soul.

I went back to the car and took a slow and happy drive home. I must have walked miles that weekend, and I certainly felt better for it.

So... coming soon! My visit to London and the Museums (and my night in an Irish pub on a football night), and my change in career circumstances.

If you'd like to see more photos of my 'adventures', then please visit: which also contains some pictures of the historic market town of Ware in Hertfordshire.

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