Can you believe in something impossible? Sometimes I lose the energy. I want to dream of a paper aeroplane that could fly from London to Paris, or that the sun would travel backwards through the sky. However, I am a product of my generation and my culture. Everything has an explanation and either there is nothing left for the imagination or imagination itself is now an impossibility.
I have also reached the conclusion that nothing ever really ends, only changes come slowly, shifting the days and years and giving us memories. Stories too, dreamed up, have to start somewhere, and yet they build off many other thoughts and when they end there is always more that could be said.
It is not the disappearing days that give importance to our lives; each one becomes an irrelevance with time, productive or not, and even changes when looked back on simply alter the route we take towards some greater impossibility, some mysterious goal. We must always have a goal, and why should that goal not be impossible? Some would say that what we have already done is impossible. Our very lives, imprinted with the marks of others are something that cannot be explained or fully understood but are of utmost importance.
Sunday, 12 March 2017
Thursday, 2 March 2017
Testament of (21st Century) Youth
I stood in the supermarket aisle facing the mountains of toilet rolls. Eighteen different varieties I counted. How is someone supposed to deal with that sort of choice? And that was after I'd spent thirty-five minutes trying to work out the positives and negatives of fifty-eight different varieties of cheese. Plus the delay it caused in my planned speedy-shop doubled when I was beaten to the checkout queue by someone with a trolley loaded up with what seemed to be about half the store. Evidently they'd given up trying to chose and just picked up something of everything.
That policy works well enough I suppose, but it isn't so good in other situations. It's small wonder to me that young people (and I still just about include myself in that bracket) have little idea of what to do when they're older, given the huge range of options available. A choice made harder still, considering the pressure to get it right, if that's even possible.
In other news I saw today that schools are already beginning to ban oversized bows, being worn by surprisingly fashion-conscious young girls, while the debate on whether such items are merely hair accessories or symbols of power and confidence threatens to shut down social media (slight exaggeration). Given that I only discovered this craze on Monday you can understand why I was surprised by how fast this story was moving, but that's the world for you. People used to worry about it slowing down, but it just seems to get faster. I wonder if the testament of today's youth will be their ability to make it to the escape hatch before they become convinced they're merely players in some bizarre video game, in which the aim is to find the ultimate brand of toilet roll.
That policy works well enough I suppose, but it isn't so good in other situations. It's small wonder to me that young people (and I still just about include myself in that bracket) have little idea of what to do when they're older, given the huge range of options available. A choice made harder still, considering the pressure to get it right, if that's even possible.
In other news I saw today that schools are already beginning to ban oversized bows, being worn by surprisingly fashion-conscious young girls, while the debate on whether such items are merely hair accessories or symbols of power and confidence threatens to shut down social media (slight exaggeration). Given that I only discovered this craze on Monday you can understand why I was surprised by how fast this story was moving, but that's the world for you. People used to worry about it slowing down, but it just seems to get faster. I wonder if the testament of today's youth will be their ability to make it to the escape hatch before they become convinced they're merely players in some bizarre video game, in which the aim is to find the ultimate brand of toilet roll.
Wednesday, 22 February 2017
Serenity
Inspired by the song 'Quiet' from Matilda the musical.
Has it ever occurred to you that
If the world did not spin at one thousand miles an hour
We would not exist,
Or could not resist
The heat of the sun,
As we faced it day after day.
Although what would a day be without any night,
Or a night with no chance of seeing the light
Of a new dawn,
Sun rising, over some distant horizon.
It's really quite strange, but the world keeps on turning,
And sometimes it feels like it's hard to keep up,
Heart racing, heart burning,
As time flashes on.
I'm sorry, I know, this is quite hard to say,
In a way,
But it's true and there's nothing that we can ever do.
And it hurts my head as I try to consider
All the things that I have to consider each day,
So I pray, and I say,
Oh please let it stop for just once.
I can't stand the noise,
The rushing and shouting,
Is anyone counting
The vanishing hours,
Of a world that is whirling too fast.
There's no rest from this mess,
The distress of our personal quests,
And I'm running too fast
At some blank last moment,
And then at that moment
And just out of nowhere
And rushing towards me
I find coming at me...
Serenity.
When the world seems to come to stop, without really stopping. Just moving around me, like an ocean, and me on a small sailing boat.
Tranquillity. Amid all the chaos.
And all I can hear
Is the air
As my cares are carried away.
And there is stillness.
Peacefulness.
Like snow falling on snow; there's action but the action is soundless, except that there is something there if you listen, which you can, because in that heavenly place your mind is released from everything else.
And there in that moment, I find there is comfort,
Like I'm held,
Deep in the arms of the sun.
Has it ever occurred to you that
If the world did not spin at one thousand miles an hour
We would not exist,
Or could not resist
The heat of the sun,
As we faced it day after day.
Although what would a day be without any night,
Or a night with no chance of seeing the light
Of a new dawn,
Sun rising, over some distant horizon.
It's really quite strange, but the world keeps on turning,
And sometimes it feels like it's hard to keep up,
Heart racing, heart burning,
As time flashes on.
I'm sorry, I know, this is quite hard to say,
In a way,
But it's true and there's nothing that we can ever do.
And it hurts my head as I try to consider
All the things that I have to consider each day,
So I pray, and I say,
Oh please let it stop for just once.
I can't stand the noise,
The rushing and shouting,
Is anyone counting
The vanishing hours,
Of a world that is whirling too fast.
There's no rest from this mess,
The distress of our personal quests,
And I'm running too fast
At some blank last moment,
And then at that moment
And just out of nowhere
And rushing towards me
I find coming at me...
Serenity.
When the world seems to come to stop, without really stopping. Just moving around me, like an ocean, and me on a small sailing boat.
Tranquillity. Amid all the chaos.
And all I can hear
Is the air
As my cares are carried away.
And there is stillness.
Peacefulness.
Like snow falling on snow; there's action but the action is soundless, except that there is something there if you listen, which you can, because in that heavenly place your mind is released from everything else.
And there in that moment, I find there is comfort,
Like I'm held,
Deep in the arms of the sun.
Wednesday, 15 February 2017
Two days in Snowdonia
Aside from crawling through the road works around Conwy (not literally) the drive to north Wales was fairly pleasant. I'd given myself two days to do as much walking in Snowdonia as possible, and I succeeded in hiking over 15 miles, including reaching the summit of the impressive mountain, Carnedd Dafydd.
The weather was poor, and very windy, but I thoroughly enjoyed the steep climb up Pen yr Ole Wen. I had to cross the top, which had large patches of snow covering, in the cloud, but I found the cairn on Carnedd Dafydd, and my way back, without falling off the edge (obviously).
Pen yr Ole Wen; there's a path there somewhere.
The view south from Pen yr Ole Wen.
Returning to the car an hour before the Youth Hostel (Idwal Cottage - the oldest YHA in Britain, I'll have you know) opened, meant I had time to stroll around the tarn, seen in the centre of the picture above, and take a closer look at the frozen waterfalls, starkly white against the dark rocks (you can just about make out one of them).
Today I had ideas of attempting Tryfan or Glyder Fach, but while the wind was slightly lessened the clouds were heavier and lower and around 11am it started to rain. I'd headed up to the south side of Tryfan but backtracked and dropped down on the east side completing a circle of the mountain. I had another look at the north ridge but the clouds were still hanging around so I headed down to Llyn Ogwen and a boggy walk around it's father shore. Of course by the time I was back at the car and preparing to return home the clouds had lifted and the sun starting to shine through. Such is life in the hills.
Tryfan (without clouds on top) seen from Pen yr Ole Wen
The weather was poor, and very windy, but I thoroughly enjoyed the steep climb up Pen yr Ole Wen. I had to cross the top, which had large patches of snow covering, in the cloud, but I found the cairn on Carnedd Dafydd, and my way back, without falling off the edge (obviously).
Pen yr Ole Wen; there's a path there somewhere.
The view south from Pen yr Ole Wen.
Returning to the car an hour before the Youth Hostel (Idwal Cottage - the oldest YHA in Britain, I'll have you know) opened, meant I had time to stroll around the tarn, seen in the centre of the picture above, and take a closer look at the frozen waterfalls, starkly white against the dark rocks (you can just about make out one of them).
Today I had ideas of attempting Tryfan or Glyder Fach, but while the wind was slightly lessened the clouds were heavier and lower and around 11am it started to rain. I'd headed up to the south side of Tryfan but backtracked and dropped down on the east side completing a circle of the mountain. I had another look at the north ridge but the clouds were still hanging around so I headed down to Llyn Ogwen and a boggy walk around it's father shore. Of course by the time I was back at the car and preparing to return home the clouds had lifted and the sun starting to shine through. Such is life in the hills.
Tryfan (without clouds on top) seen from Pen yr Ole Wen
Thursday, 9 February 2017
A place like no other
There was a time when the earth was wild and waste. The land featureless, barren, silent; the ground baked hard by a relentless sun, while vicious winds whipped the seas.
We could have existed then, in hardship, on dismal deserts. Surviving without living. Beauty unknown. But the earth brought forth plants, of a million colours, and the land was formed into moutains and valleys, with snow on the peaks and little rivers flowing down past pleasant meadows to golden beaches of soft sand, and the salty sea.
Why is the grass green or the sky blue, or a sunset such a perfect myriad of reds and yellows? And is there anything more delicate than than a spider's web on a frosty morning?
We are blessed to live in such a paradise and call it home; and if you offered me another option, I would, without hesitation, decline.
We could have existed then, in hardship, on dismal deserts. Surviving without living. Beauty unknown. But the earth brought forth plants, of a million colours, and the land was formed into moutains and valleys, with snow on the peaks and little rivers flowing down past pleasant meadows to golden beaches of soft sand, and the salty sea.
Why is the grass green or the sky blue, or a sunset such a perfect myriad of reds and yellows? And is there anything more delicate than than a spider's web on a frosty morning?
We are blessed to live in such a paradise and call it home; and if you offered me another option, I would, without hesitation, decline.
Sunday, 29 January 2017
The Jewel
Inigo arrives with all the extravagance we expected. He has a small army of people with him, but fortunately most of them wait outside the museum.
The Director welcomes Inigo with a broad smile and undeniable hesitancy, which I am pleased to see. Caution will be necessary today.
Inigo and his team are led into the museum and down to the basement level. Here we stop and the Director requests that only Inigo proceeds with our staff into the next part of the museum, usually reserved for employees and high level researchers only. Inigo is persuasive, however, and has paid a lot of money for this visit and so after some bargaining he is allowed to bring two of his posse along.
Now we head in to the bowels of this ancient building and Inigo is taken to a room where we will bring what he has come to see.
'Can I not see where you keep it?' he enquires.
'We have hidden it away and very few people, even within this building, know its exact whereabouts,' replies the Director.
'But why would you keep such a fabulous item in the dark, is there not a secure location in which it can be displayed?'
'Indeed there is, but this is not something simply to be looked at or used for light entertainment, it is to be treasured, and so it is kept safe from all harm.'
At this point a curtain is drawn back revealing a small hole in the wall. The Director pushes a button beside the hole and a metal box appears from some mysterious location. The Director takes the box and places it on the table in the middle of the room. Carefully he lifts the lid and removes a smaller container, seemingly made entirely of glass. This he lays delicately in front of Inigo who has become silent, watching every move. Slowly he looks down into the glass cube. Suspended within it is a perfect jewel, fiery red and yet with a soft, golden flicker to it, almost like a star.
Inigo stares at it for an age. Everyone is silent.
'Amazing,' he remarks, eventually. Another pause follows, but then comes the question we had been expecting.
'And how much is it worth?'
The Director glances at me and I nod. 'There is no price attached to it,' he says.
Inigo is still gazing at the jewel. 'Well humour me,' he replies, 'what would you value it at. I'm the son of a billionaire. Big numbers neither surprise me nor terrify me.'
'The problem is, you see,' says the Director, trying to keep his voice steady, 'that true value is determined not by an expert but by what someone has paid or is willing to pay, and no one has ever paid for this jewel, at least not with money.'
'Well, as you may have guessed,' puts in Inigo, 'I am willing to change that, indeed I am willing to pay what I think it is worth for it.'
'I'm afraid you don't understand,' says the Director, quickly, 'this jewel is not for sale. There is no price you could pay. It is truly priceless.'
'But why would you not accept payment for something you keep but nobody sees?' Inigo seems genuinely puzzled.
Again the Director looks at me, again I nod. 'Because it has been placed in our care and the instructions we were given is that it will never leave. If you really want to know what it cost to bring it here, I will tell you.'
Inigo says nothing, but concentrates fully on the Director, who takes a breath and continues, 'the man who brought this jewel here paid for it with his life. This is the only value that can be attached to it.'
The Director welcomes Inigo with a broad smile and undeniable hesitancy, which I am pleased to see. Caution will be necessary today.
Inigo and his team are led into the museum and down to the basement level. Here we stop and the Director requests that only Inigo proceeds with our staff into the next part of the museum, usually reserved for employees and high level researchers only. Inigo is persuasive, however, and has paid a lot of money for this visit and so after some bargaining he is allowed to bring two of his posse along.
Now we head in to the bowels of this ancient building and Inigo is taken to a room where we will bring what he has come to see.
'Can I not see where you keep it?' he enquires.
'We have hidden it away and very few people, even within this building, know its exact whereabouts,' replies the Director.
'But why would you keep such a fabulous item in the dark, is there not a secure location in which it can be displayed?'
'Indeed there is, but this is not something simply to be looked at or used for light entertainment, it is to be treasured, and so it is kept safe from all harm.'
At this point a curtain is drawn back revealing a small hole in the wall. The Director pushes a button beside the hole and a metal box appears from some mysterious location. The Director takes the box and places it on the table in the middle of the room. Carefully he lifts the lid and removes a smaller container, seemingly made entirely of glass. This he lays delicately in front of Inigo who has become silent, watching every move. Slowly he looks down into the glass cube. Suspended within it is a perfect jewel, fiery red and yet with a soft, golden flicker to it, almost like a star.
Inigo stares at it for an age. Everyone is silent.
'Amazing,' he remarks, eventually. Another pause follows, but then comes the question we had been expecting.
'And how much is it worth?'
The Director glances at me and I nod. 'There is no price attached to it,' he says.
Inigo is still gazing at the jewel. 'Well humour me,' he replies, 'what would you value it at. I'm the son of a billionaire. Big numbers neither surprise me nor terrify me.'
'The problem is, you see,' says the Director, trying to keep his voice steady, 'that true value is determined not by an expert but by what someone has paid or is willing to pay, and no one has ever paid for this jewel, at least not with money.'
'Well, as you may have guessed,' puts in Inigo, 'I am willing to change that, indeed I am willing to pay what I think it is worth for it.'
'I'm afraid you don't understand,' says the Director, quickly, 'this jewel is not for sale. There is no price you could pay. It is truly priceless.'
'But why would you not accept payment for something you keep but nobody sees?' Inigo seems genuinely puzzled.
Again the Director looks at me, again I nod. 'Because it has been placed in our care and the instructions we were given is that it will never leave. If you really want to know what it cost to bring it here, I will tell you.'
Inigo says nothing, but concentrates fully on the Director, who takes a breath and continues, 'the man who brought this jewel here paid for it with his life. This is the only value that can be attached to it.'
Saturday, 21 January 2017
The Kentmere Fells
Relaxing after a good walk in the hills is always nice. Today I completed 12 miles and bagged seven new peaks, all in five and a half hours.
It was my first visit to Kentmere and a cosy, tucked away village it is too. I arrived at 8:30, avoiding the rush of walkers and other adventures (they'll turn up later) and set off up Garburn Pass under gloriously clear skies. It was cold, possibly still below freezing in the shade, but the wind was quiet so it was an easy enough start.
An attempt at a (marked) shortcut proved slightly misguided when the boggy grass was suddenly no longer frozen and I ended up with a boot-full. Not good after only an hour, but I soon rejoined the main path and the bright sun did a good job of drying the outside of the boot.
The first peak I topped was Yoke (706m), a fairly gentle summit, although with a sudden drop on the north side that appears out of nowhere. Then it was on to the more challenging peak of Ill Bell (757m) which I arrived at after about a hour and half's walking. Ill Bell offers wonderful views on all sides; south to Windermere, east to the Dales, west to the rest of the Lake District and north to my next summit.
The descent off Ill Bell (on the north side) is steep but then it's a quick jaunt to Froswick (720m) - possibly my favourite name for a mountain. I didn't stop here but continued on up a longer slope towards the well-known High Street, but then nipped off to the left to bag Thornthwaite Crag (784m). It's a rather plain and level summit. Indeed the on the approach it could have been that I was walking in a field anywhere in Britain, with a low, tumbledown wall to my right. Only turning around revealed the majestic mountains and reminded me that I was actually quite high up - that and the dainty patches of snow huddled under the wall.
Unimpressive though Thronthwaite may be, it does boast probably the best cairn I have seen in the Lakes. Built as a solid tower of rocks the beacon must be at least 10 feet tall!
Coming down from Thornthwaite I again cut the corner off, this time more successfully and got some good views of the peaks I had just covered, then I nipped along to Mardale Ill Bell (760m) before 12 o'clock and sat down for some lunch. Sadly this was cut short, as the clouds, predicted so wonderfully by the weather forecasters, decided to show up 3 hours early. I had seen them building in the south and east, but wisps of mist started to whip in over the hills.
I packed up again and headed down to the ridge that joins the hills together and then ascended up the steepest climb of the day, passing through the cloud onto Harter Fell (778m). It seems that everyone in the area today was playing some elaborate game, with the instruction 'all players gather on Harter Fell'. Having seen very few souls all morning there were suddenly swarms of people arriving from all directions. Lone walkers like myself, pairs, mass groups and enough runners for an Olympic games (almost - but there were a lot of runners today), all saying equally unimaginative things about how nice the day was and how interesting the clouds were. I moved on.
By 1pm I passed Kentmere Pike (730m), my final peak of the day, and soon after began a slippery descent back to Kentmere itself. I say slippery, this was not because of ice, I left that behind on the mountains, sadly, but reeds and mud. My recently dried boots were wet again.
It was my first visit to Kentmere and a cosy, tucked away village it is too. I arrived at 8:30, avoiding the rush of walkers and other adventures (they'll turn up later) and set off up Garburn Pass under gloriously clear skies. It was cold, possibly still below freezing in the shade, but the wind was quiet so it was an easy enough start.
An attempt at a (marked) shortcut proved slightly misguided when the boggy grass was suddenly no longer frozen and I ended up with a boot-full. Not good after only an hour, but I soon rejoined the main path and the bright sun did a good job of drying the outside of the boot.
The first peak I topped was Yoke (706m), a fairly gentle summit, although with a sudden drop on the north side that appears out of nowhere. Then it was on to the more challenging peak of Ill Bell (757m) which I arrived at after about a hour and half's walking. Ill Bell offers wonderful views on all sides; south to Windermere, east to the Dales, west to the rest of the Lake District and north to my next summit.
The descent off Ill Bell (on the north side) is steep but then it's a quick jaunt to Froswick (720m) - possibly my favourite name for a mountain. I didn't stop here but continued on up a longer slope towards the well-known High Street, but then nipped off to the left to bag Thornthwaite Crag (784m). It's a rather plain and level summit. Indeed the on the approach it could have been that I was walking in a field anywhere in Britain, with a low, tumbledown wall to my right. Only turning around revealed the majestic mountains and reminded me that I was actually quite high up - that and the dainty patches of snow huddled under the wall.
Unimpressive though Thronthwaite may be, it does boast probably the best cairn I have seen in the Lakes. Built as a solid tower of rocks the beacon must be at least 10 feet tall!
Coming down from Thornthwaite I again cut the corner off, this time more successfully and got some good views of the peaks I had just covered, then I nipped along to Mardale Ill Bell (760m) before 12 o'clock and sat down for some lunch. Sadly this was cut short, as the clouds, predicted so wonderfully by the weather forecasters, decided to show up 3 hours early. I had seen them building in the south and east, but wisps of mist started to whip in over the hills.
I packed up again and headed down to the ridge that joins the hills together and then ascended up the steepest climb of the day, passing through the cloud onto Harter Fell (778m). It seems that everyone in the area today was playing some elaborate game, with the instruction 'all players gather on Harter Fell'. Having seen very few souls all morning there were suddenly swarms of people arriving from all directions. Lone walkers like myself, pairs, mass groups and enough runners for an Olympic games (almost - but there were a lot of runners today), all saying equally unimaginative things about how nice the day was and how interesting the clouds were. I moved on.
By 1pm I passed Kentmere Pike (730m), my final peak of the day, and soon after began a slippery descent back to Kentmere itself. I say slippery, this was not because of ice, I left that behind on the mountains, sadly, but reeds and mud. My recently dried boots were wet again.
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| My first three peaks of the day, from the left: Yoke, Ill Bell and Froswick |
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