My Advent Calendar - Day 3

December 3^rd

Welcome to Day 3 of my Advent Calendar. If you’ve only just found it, where have you been? I am reliving two special weeks from my year, which my sister and I spent marching across the greatest country on earth, and hopefully giving you an idea of the ups and downs, physical and emotional, that we went through. Enjoy!

Day 2 – Part 1

~ My foot hurts, I am not very good at taking tablets, the sun comes out, our first lake, we decide to climb a mountain ~

On waking up we discovered that we had successfully completed Day 1 and that overnight the fog had cleared so that we would actually be able to see where we were going.

            A large and scrumptious breakfast delayed our departure (a common feature you will see) but it did give us the chance to meet some more people who had also begun the day before. They, however, were a) having their luggage transported, and b) staying in guest houses all the way. So it was highly amusing to watch two of the women chicken out by pretending to have already injured their legs, and hitching a ride on the luggage van. They informed the rest of their group that they would be going to a spa, which couldn’t be more different to walking fifteen miles through the Lake District. Several days later we saw the walking half of the group again and decided that the two women must still be at the spa.
            Having laughed at their non-existent injuries, though, I was soon worried by a pain in my right ankle. I’d had it for a few weeks and it only seemed to occur when I was wear my walking boots, which was a problem. As taking them off wasn’t really an option Hannah informed me that I should take a painkiller tablet. Now I know that I am rubbish at swallowing even the smallest of pills and so we had a lengthy stop at our first, and only, ‘nice little place of the day’, Ennerdale Bridge, while I attempted to relieve my pain.
            Once we got going again the pain did disappear and soon we were making good progress as we approached our first lake, Ennerdale Water. Taking the northern route we hugged the shore and got a good view of Angler’s Crag, which we renamed ‘Hog’s Head Hill’, or something to that effect. See if you agree with us.

 

Hog’s Head Hill (or Angler’s Crag)

 

As you can see there were still plenty of clouds around but after a stop for lunch the sun began to come out and since it was still only early afternoon we contemplated climbing a mountain before reaching our destination. I suggested we could do it before dinner and anyway we were on a roll. So we began climbing.

            The mountain was High Style and at some 800 metres above sea level was easily the highest we would get for the whole two weeks. However, well before the top we were struggling. Our packs made the climb very tough and the peak never seemed to get any closer. As time moved on we began to realise this wasn’t going to be a quick up and down, but it was too late to turn back.
            Eventually we made it and were rewarded with spectacular views. The clouds had gone and the Isle of Man, which had been invisible on Saturday, was glinting on the horizon. Ennerdale lay on one side and on the other beautiful Buttermere had come into view.
            The day though was moving on and we still had to get back down. Dinner now seemed a long way off and so we began our descent. The path was even steeper than the one we had come up and it zigzagged across some treacherous scree. Sliding and scrambling we made our way down as the sun also began to disappear behind the hills. We were tired and hungry but the climb had definitely been worth it. I doubt we could have managed such an ascent in the second week. Plus I doubt that many people have climbed so high carrying so much, and it was a proud moment for us both.

 

Ennerdale Water looking South West. You can just pick out the Isle of Man two thirds of the way up on the left side (below the clouds)

My Advent Calendar - Day 2

December 2^nd

Welcome to Day 2 of my Advent Calendar. Like yesterday there’s no chocolate, although again if you wish to eat some while you read please go ahead. Here hopefully you will find something just as enjoyable and also something that will last a bit longer!

            I am reliving two special weeks from my year, which my sister and I spent marching across the greatest country on earth, and hopefully giving you an idea of the ups and downs, physical and emotional, that we went through. Enjoy!

Day 1

~ The seaside, rain, soup, I am called a woman, detour, first offer of a lift, nearly get lost, late arrival, first meeting ~

We left St Bees railway station and headed west, yes west, for about half a mile to reach the sea, the official start of the walk. There we duly dipped our toes (or at least the toes of our boots) in the water and collected a pebble each, one of many Coast to Coast traditions. About a hundred metres on we spotted a large rock on the path and guessed that some brave and foolish person attempted to take it with him (or her) but chickened out.

            Visibility was poor because of the fog that lay approximately twenty metres out to sea, so with little else to do we set off. The walk climbs straight onto the cliffs, heading north for a mile or more and once on top we could still see nothing but now we were getting blown around too. We found out in the days that followed that the wind had been much worse in the morning and were thankful that Hannah’s train had been delayed, but at that moment all we could think about was what a stupid idea this walk was. I mean, who walks for two weeks in unpredictable British weather, just for fun? However it was the first day and we were feeling hopeful and so we pressed on, turning inland and finally heading east.
           Much of that first afternoon was unmemorable, especially with everything that came later, but particularly brilliant was the moment when Hannah read from the guide book, ‘ahead is a place where many people get lost.’ We laughed at this, saying we would manage fine, but twenty minutes later we were still in the same field and conceded that the guide book might know more than us. From that moment on we grew to love our helpful third member.
           There are several different guide books on the Coast to Coast and we’d looked at a couple before settling for one written by Martin Wainwright, largely because it includes the OS maps and because of his interesting commentary. In the days to come we discovered that not everyone agreed with us. However at that point we were yet to meet anyone else actually doing the walk and we felt like true adventurers.

We felt we were doing well until the clouds brought the darkness in earlier than it should have, and we still had the formidable Dent Hill ahead, which we could see, but only just. The top lay wreathed in fog and we agreed that we should get some food before tackling it.

            Eventually we located a pub where we ordered soup, Hannah a Cider and myself a humble Lemonade. The bar lady asked twice before bringing my drink over, placing it on the table with a cheeky, ‘there you go, you woman’. Sadly I can’t remember the name of the pub or I would recommend it for it’s welcoming and friendly atmosphere, and its food.

After the soup had gone we spread our map out on the table and contemplated out options. Dent Hill we decided was not sensible with evening drawing in and the mist, so we devised a detour. Back on the road we made steady progress but obviously looked downbeat because a passing motorist stopped and offered us a lift. To duck out of a couple of miles on the first day seemed very weak so we declined the offer. Thirty minutes later we regretted the decision.

            Our detour took us on a lower route around Dent Hill, however the fog simply drifted down to meet us. We quickly lost the path, but found a stone wall and followed it, using the map and all the common sense we had.
            If you have ever walked in an unfamiliar place in the dark or fog, where you can see nothing ahead, you will know that it feels as though you have been walking forever, when in fact you’ve only gone a short way. This feeling was very much with us but we pressed on and eventually found the path and, shortly after, our first camp site. It was about 8pm and almost dark, but we’d made it. There were two other pairs camping there and we joined them for a discussion of the first day.
            John, his friend (who I have forgotten the name of) and John’s Border Collie had been there for hours having set off in the morning. John was a Coast to Coast veteran, having already completed it seven times, (the dog has done it twice before). His friend, however, was less keen and seemed to have been dragged along on the promise of a pub each evening.
            The other couple were only a little older than us, and also carrying all their gear. They, though, were much better at packing than us, and we weren’t to see them again for well over a week. John was doing the walk in thirteen days and so we never saw him at all, which is disappointing because it would have been nice to know if his friend made it to Robin Hood’s Bay.

My Advent Calendar - Day 1

December 1^st

Welcome to my Advent Calendar. There’s no chocolate I’m afraid, although if you wish to eat some while you read please go ahead. Here hopefully you will find something just as enjoyable and also something that will last a bit longer!

            I am going to relive two special weeks from my year, which I spent with my sister marching across the greatest country on earth. Hopefully this will give you an idea of the ups and downs, physical and emotional that we endured. Enjoy!

Beginnings

My sister, Hannah, and I have always enjoyed walking, whether a gentle stroll in the woods or hiking up mountains and for a few years we’d planned to do a long walk of some kind. Finding the time though was difficult and also, which path to take. There are so many in England alone. In the end we settled for the Coast to Coast, a popular walk, although without an official footpath. We got out guide books and maps and began planning.

            The Coast to Coast path was first laid down by a man named Alfred Wainwright, a well known writer and walker. He chose for his start point St Bees on the west coast of England, just outside of the Lake District National Park. Then heading roughly east he plotted a route over some the of the most beautiful, and at times rugged, parts of the country. As Hannah and I walked the same route 40 years later we could not stop ourselves from noting that every town and village the route passes through is ‘a nice little place’, even Richmond, which is actually quite a big place.
            The walk passes through the Yorkshire Dales National Park and the Yorkshire Moors National Park before finishing at Robin Hood’s Bay some 192 miles later, if you keep to traditional path although there’s nothing against you taking detours (as long as you don’t trespass). We took in several extra miles, some deliberately and some by accident, but we kept going.
            Our next decision was how long we would take. Most people do it in two weeks, although some crazy people like to see how fast they can do it. The record is still something like 39 and a half hours, which was set by a runner back in 1991. We opted for the rather more sensible 14 days. We also decided to camp as much as possible for cost reasons, and to carry all our gear. At the time I said this was the only way to do the Coast to Coast properly and that anyone under 70 and not carrying their stuff was cheating. However having carried between 10 and 15kg every day for two weeks I have now relented, you can get away with it if you’re over 65.

So we planned and at the same time began preparing for the actual walking. During the months leading up to June both of us went out separately (we live at opposite ends of the country) to practice walking 5, 10, 15 miles in a day and then do it again the next. We loaded up bags with whatever heavy items could be found, laced up our boots and headed for the hills, because we knew we had a lot of them coming up.

Now I know that there has been a lot of rain this year, but if you will cast your mind back you will remember that in the middle of June there was a gorgeous spell of sunny weather that lasted almost two weeks. We set off some time in the middle of that and so it was a little disappointing to arrive in St Bees on Saturday 16^th June in the rain.

            Some people travel up the night before they start, but we confidently said we could take the train to St Bees in the morning and complete the first day before sunset. I left home at 6am and arrived spot on time some five hours later. Of course it does help when you can travel at 100mph. For the next two weeks we would do well to average 2mph.
            Then we hit our first problem, Hannah’s train was delayed and by the time she arrived it was already 1pm (and still raining). Was this a good idea we asked each other. Well there was nothing for it now!

St Bees Head

Passing hours

Cold October night, sat in a train station fifty years out of use. Guitars playing gentle tunes, echoing under the arches; notes drifting from the cavernous terminus into the dark. We huddled on the old platform, sipping drinks. Our scarfs wrapped tight and jackets done up to the collar.

I'm having memories of three years ago, almost to the day, standing beside Niagara Falls in the sun. Overawed by the incredible power of the Earth. The music of the rushing water played out now 3000 miles away.

Cold fingers pluck the strings and the music rolls on. Forgotten words and repeated chords won't get us down. We're young and the world awaits us open-armed. We can do nothing wrong.

An old man looks down from a lighted window. Is he thinking of his youth and passing time with friends, or is he recalling the former days of this station, which he can surely remember. The puff and hiss of steam engines and the bustle of people long gone.

He continues to gaze down and I remember three years ago looking through the transparent floor of the CN Tower. Children crawling happily across the glass while frightened mothers watch horrified and fathers lean over from the edge to grab their offspring from a danger that is only imaginary.

The same stars shine down on us, listening to the songs as they did three years ago in Toronto. Time moves quickly through the hectic hours and peaceful moments, but I take them all in and I love it.

Back row conversations - Part 2

'I think I should have been a pole dancer,' the girl confided to her boyfriend and the bus in general, 'I'd be good at that.'
     It was early evening but her voice gave away that she'd had a few drinks already. 'I should go to Afghanistan where men aren't allowed to touch women.'
     The boyfriend frowned. 'Men aren't allowed to touch women in England,' he replied.
     'Well they are in strip clubs,' she said defiantly, 'but if I went to somewhere like Bangladesh where people can't kiss, I'd be alright.'

I actually laughed at this point but covered it up with a cough and they didn't seem to notice anyway.

So let this be a warning to you, in case you ever take a trip to Bangladesh; NO KISSING!

Olympic Beginnings

A friend of mine went to the toilet during the Opening Ceremony, on returning she asked if she'd missed anything.
     'Not much,' was the reply, 'just the Queen parachuting out of a helicopter.'

   ***

I really wish I could have been at the first planning meeting for the Opening Ceremony, chaired, I imagine by Danny Boyle. He would say, 'Welcome to our first meeting. This is just an informal chat to get together some ideas for the Opening Ceremony of the 2012 Olympics. So let's go round the table and see what people come up with. Barry, why don't you go first.'
     Barry says, 'Okay. So this is just an idea I had,' he pauses, 'Mr Bean playing the theme tune to Chariots of Fire.'
     There is a moment of silence before Danny turns to Christine. She takes the cue. 'I was thinking about the NHS. You know get some nurses in and some kids on hospital beds. We could get some of those light up duvets, have you seen those?' Everyone looks at somebody else.
     Joe cuts in, 'I want to see something connected to children's literature. Does anyone know where we could get hold of a 60 foot Lord Voldermort?'
     'Not sure,' says Alison, 'but how about the Queen arriving with James Bond and parachuting out of a helicopter?'
     Danny Boyle is now struggling to contain the meeting and goes to Pete in hope of something that will pull everything around.
     Finally everyone is quiet enough for a slightly overawed Pete to say, 'We could have some geese.'

   ***

Truly though, all credit to the team behind the Ceremony, an excellent job done. Touching, thrilling, amusing and beautifully British.

Roses

Richard sat in the corner, between the Kentia Palm tree and the waste paper bin, which needed emptying. Mr Peters, at his desk, held his head in one hand and a pen in the other, reading and making notes. His face was strained with concentration and every now and then he would frown at something he read. Around him, on the desk, were several piles of paper, books and stationary. At the start of the day they had been neatly stacked and organised but now sheets lay scattered everywhere.
            Richard tried not to lean back in his chair or stretch his legs out; not that Mr Peters would notice but somehow it seemed disrespectful to relax in front of a man working so hard. So instead he sat upright and still. Mr Peters leant over his desk barely moving a muscle, unless to turn a page or scribble something down. Even his eyes barely seemed to move.

‘What am I going to do?’ thought Jack Peters. He stared down at the paper in front of him but didn’t take any of it in. ‘I just can’t believe I forgot it was her birthday,’ he said to himself for the hundredth time. He sat still, head in his hand.
            ‘Why doesn’t Rich move?’ he thought. ‘He’s been sat there all morning and hasn’t shifted at all.’ Jack sketched a bit more of the picture of his wife on the back of the finance report. Then he drew a speech bubble and wrote “RICHARD!” He stopped. Why had he written that. He’d meant to put his own name, why would Emma be shouting at Rich? I don’t think she even knows him. ‘Must be because I was just thinking about him,’ thought Jack.

Richard stared at the framed photo of Emma on the desk. ‘I wonder if Jack’s forgotten it’s her birthday again?’
           He’d only met Emma once, at some work party, but she’d seemed pleasant enough. He suspected though that their marriage was struggling. Several times he’d had to feign deafness while Jack failed to reason with Emma down the phone. Richard was pleased his own relationship was rather more stable.
            His mind turned to his girlfriend, Samantha. ‘What are the chances she’ll be free tomorrow, I can’t believe I haven’t seen her since Tuesday,’ he thought. ‘I must see her tomorrow though, even if it can’t be for dinner.’
            ‘Rich,’ said Jack looking up suddenly, ‘can you go into town and buy some flowers for me?’
            ‘For you?’ Richard replied, ‘I didn’t think you like flowers that much.’
            ‘No not for me, for my wife.’
            ‘Oh right, sorry. Sure. Any particular type?’
            ‘Um, roses. They’re always good.’
            ‘Red ones?’ said Richard, standing up.
            ‘Yeah, cheers Rich,’ answered Jack, his eyes back on the page on his desk.

‘So he did forget Emma’s birthday,’ thought Richard as he strolled along the street. He’d not been to many flower shops before, he always felt overwhelmed by the choice and wasn’t sure what Samantha liked. He made a mental note to find out.
            As he entered the nearest florists the intense mix of scents hit him, causing him to cough. He proceeded more slowly amongst the rows of colourful buds. ‘I’m not sure which I like least,’ he thought, ‘the smell of a florist’s or the smell of those perfume shops.’ Richard didn’t have much of a clue about perfume either, but Samantha had always graciously received anything he’d bought for her.
            ‘How may I help you Sir?’ said the owner from behind him, causing him to jump.
            ‘Oh, err, a bouquet of red roses, please,’ replied Richard.
            ‘Certainly,’ the man said, selecting a few flowers and wrapping them. ‘A good choice, I must say.’
            ‘Thank you.’
            ‘Would you like us to deliver them for you? Anywhere within five miles at no extra cost. Over five we charge a pound for every mile.
            ‘Err, yes,’ said Richard. His head was starting to hurt with the smell of all the flowers, but he gave Mr Peters’ address.
            As the man made a note Richard suddenly recalled that Samantha wouldn’t be free tomorrow because she was meeting a friend. ‘Damn,’ he thought.
            ‘Would you like to write the name on a card to go with the flowers, Sir?’ The man pushed a card across the counter. Richard took a pen from his jacket pocket, wrote Samantha, and passed it back.
            ‘That will be thirty-five pounds please.’
            Richard counted out some notes, nodded his thanks to the man and left as quickly as he could, desperate to get out of the shop.

It was only later, when he was back in Mr Peters’ office, that it occurred to Richard what he’d done. Just then the telephone rang.