RIDGEWAY: DAY TWO

From your Roving Correspondent: The Shepherd's Rest, Fox Hill

The taps today were actually known about, but even so, it is a dry old walk, so presently WD and I are relaxing into a Blackthorn and a 6X. The tomato and red pepper soup was splendid.

Well, that's them polished off, so now (real-time blog, this) I am trying a Ramsbury, which is actually quite pretty. And so to today's walk:

We started quite sprightly; up and away by 8:00am and made the water tap 8km further on in remarkably good time as we had run out of water. This water thing is quite new to me as most of my walking is in the Lakes or Scotland, where the stuff falls out of the sky regularly enough to make tinkling little mountain steams that you can drink from quite safely.

Down here in South Englandhshire, on top of a chalk ridge, it's a different kettle of fish! If you don't carry enough of Adam's Ale you are going to be very thirsty. A few miles back we met a couple of lads who pronounced that there were no taps at all on our tomorrow's trail.

Speaking of trails, neither of us had realised that we are actually walking a 'National Trail', so that's another on my tick list.

Today, 'we have mostly' been photographing butterflies. An astonishing selection of butterflies too! Big D has a camera with a ten times zoom and so you should all peruse his excellent blog to see the fruits of his labours.

Uffington White Horse

We 'did' the Uffington White Horse & Castle and Wayland's Smithy. They were wonderful places and incredibly middle class. Not a dropped 'h' was heard and there were numerous Roley's, Samantha's and a very nice Highland Terrier.

Wayland's Smithy

The views from the Ridge to the north were quintessentially English, with gorgeous views of oak and beech woods nestling about perfect little villages and lush green meadows and golden wheat and barley

Overhead we have been circled by seven or eight red kites (we think - to be confirmed when Darren gets home as he has a beauty of a shot of one of them).

The weather is glorious, if a bit hot for strolling along with a full pack on my back. Time now for another pint of something new and a complete refill of the water bottles for tonight's wild-camp. Just another three km to go and a leisurely evening up the hill, hopefully to camp on a castle.

RIDGEWAY: DAY ONE

Lord Wantage and his memorial

At the fag end of Thursday, I was in touch with Darren Christie, who was all dressed up with no-where particular to go for the weekend, and arranged to meet up with him the following evening in a lay-by in the middle of sod-all north of the M4.

Having made sure Mum was alright at Wexham Park with her new hip (the old one having been broken) I made it through the traffic still feeling slightly below par from the previous evening's Safari Supper 'meeting'.

Darren was already there, all dressed up and with somewhere to go. Very sensibly he was kitted out in shorts and t-shirt and those trendy gym-shoes from Inov-8. Conversely, I was kitted out in trousers more suited for a wintry walk though the Cairngorms and a lovely thick woolly shirt and my big heavy Scarpa Nepals.

We had a spot earmarked for our unlawful wildcamp (just after a water tap) and scampered along, Darren chatting nineteen to the dozen.

It wasn't the free-flowing conversation that made me miss it; the tap just wasn't there, so we stopped at a suitable point on the Ridgeway (one with grass) and soon had the shelters up (Darren sporting a new Duo Tarp from Bob and Rose over at Backpackinglight.co.uk) and me with my beloved Wanda Warmlite. Darren excelled with his Bushbuddy and produced hot-dogs while I dished up a Ritta melange of beef, noodles and mushrooms flavoured with Big D's excellent single portion of Worcestershire Sauce.

We ate in the flickering fire-light of the Bushbuddy as below us and above Grim's Ditch, the farmer was combining his wheat-field by headlights. The lights of Wantage to the north were our light show and to the south the dome-glow of what we thought must be Newbury. Just before retiring, a cyclist scampered past by the light of his head-torch.

PLANNED PERAMBULATION

Yes!

I have just got back in (no thanks to the A14) from Cambridge where I picked up some dried scoff and some gas and am now merrily printing away some maps for this weekend's walk.

The lovely thing is that it is a linear walk, as Lynnie is off away with the Outlaws down in the west country, which means I can start at the eastern end of the walk (leaving my car there) and finish at the western end, to be collected by Lynnie on her way home to civilisation to deposit me back at my car.

I have picked 56km (that's 35 miles, Derek) along one of Britain's most ancient trackways: The Ridgeway. It might have been better to walk it in the opposite direction, ie, with the prevailing wind, but beggars can't be choosers and this way I have no transport problems, apart from the obvious one of having to walk 35 miles to get to my destination in time to meet Lynnie. The weather forecast looks okay, with the possibility of thunderstorms on Sunday! Ooh - and me being all tall and spiky and on top of a dirty great big hill and all! Shan't be taking the walking poles then!

I have been keen on this walk for a while now, as it forms a small part of the Greater Ridgeway (there's a fine book to accompany the walk from Cicerone, by Ray Quinlan) which seems like a good wander for a three week jaunt with lots of pubs. Its an English Coast-to-Coast, starting at Lyme Regis and finishing at Hunstanton. I did little chunks of the walk when I was a lad and it will be interesting to see how it has changed over the years.

My own route this weekend will be poorly supplied with refreshment establishments, so I shall have to take my own supplies. My traveling companion will be a tried and trusted friend - Wanda - and we aim to sleep soundly together on the Friday and Saturday nights. She knows how to live a little! We shall have to be discrete as there are no campsites that I can see, so we will be having a highly unlawful couple of nights together.

But now, I am off on "Village Business" - sorting out our forthcoming Safari Supper with the committee, where we hope to involve over sixty villagers in a night of fine dining, decadent drinking and passionate partying on a Saturday in October.

No rest for the wicked!

BRIGHTON WEEKEND: GEAR REPORT

Samsonite Suitcase, Silver, hard-shell:
Just about 'hanging on in there'. Lynnie uses this when she goes gallivanting around Europe and her method of fastening the case is to sit on it and so bending the locking mechanism and forcing the hinges. The wheels and pull-out handle still work- there is life in the old girl yet.

Inov-8 Mudroc shoes:
Now wearing quite badly and apparently quite inappropriate footwear for the tricky terrain encountered in The Lanes and the nicer restaurants of Brighton. Certainly not for hotel use.

Church's brown brogues:
If you want to look like a country vicar, then these are fine. Appropriate (just) for hotel dining.

Levi 501's 33" waist, 34" leg. (Blue)
NOT appropriate attire for the hotel dining room. No sirree! And anyway, the leg length is too short and they look ridiculous. (Lynnie bought these in New York)

Prada trousers: 33" waist, 34" leg. (Beige/Olive)
Much better: What was I thinking of, taking my jeans? Correct leg length. Okay with ecclesiastical brown brogues.

Shirt: Pink, Cotton: 16" collar
Chilli sauce spilt right down the front from the Calamari starter two minutes after taking my seat. Otherwise okay: Just.

Mountain Hardwear XCR anorak:
Okay - but only for daytime on the sea-front. No-where else!

label.m matt paste:
"De rigeur" for poncy hotel dining. Wife happy only when it is applied to your thinning locks.

Credit Card:
Absolutely vital equipment. Especially after being forced kicking and screaming into an optometrist for two sets of new trendy eye-wear (that's glasses that are supposed to work better)

THE WEEKEND AWAY

As you are all now aware, on this blog you are witnessing the freshly laundered thoughts of a recently aware 'New Man.' Not only am I the new master of the Roast Chicken but now I have conquered the dizzying Alpine Heights of 'Nosh-Up.'

(For the culinary curious, this comprises onions, green chillies, garlic, lean ground beef, carrots, potatoes and tinned tomatoes, a stock cube, Worcester sauce, salt and pepper.)

However. it has to be said, after three nights of 'Nosh Up' the novelty of being catered for in this gourmandising grandiose fashion is beginning to pall and tonight Lynnie said she "wasn't hungry... and what about this coming weekend?"

"This coming weekend?" I reply querulously.

"Yes. This Coming Weekend" (I have inserted the capitals here as I had the distinct impression that they Were Very Important.) "This weekend is a Bank Holiday so we could go away."

I am stunned. Middle stump completely blown away by a fearful full toss from Bob Willis in his majestic prime. I sit there at the dining table, my bat in splinters, dazed and speechless.

This is not how this evening was planned in my skull cinema. If we re-wind to just before Lynnie arrived home, in my skull cinema I had the table laid, the candles primed, and the three day old 'Nosh' up' whirring away in the fan oven. A nice red breathing, ready to be poured lovingly into nice big glasses and her favourite Hendrick's Gin all ready to be splashed over freshly crushed ice in tall frozen tumblers with fizzingly cold Indian Tonic Water and thin slivers of cucumber poised, ready to be bathed in the infusion.

As she was about to sample a forkful of mouth-watering nosh-up in her right hand and a wonderful Gigondas (carefully selected to complement the fiery stew) in her left, the candlelight flickering in our sixteenth century dining room, I was to casually mention that I might be enjoying the last of this summer's balmy evenings in the company of Wanda Warmlite with my little stove hissing warmth into my cooking pot as the sun settles in the deep bosom of Wessex as I try the first leg of the Greater Ridgeway during this coming weekend.

Tomorrow Morning's First Task is to Scour the Internet for a weekend away somewhere on the south coast. I wonder if she fancies a bit of a stroll from Lyme Regis?

No. I doubt it.

DEAD CHICKENS & HEAVY SHOWERS

These last few weeks 'I have been mostly' working from home. Lynnie has mostly been tearing about Europe in her bid to warm up the planet by the required two degrees.

I have been noticing things:

• You get time, when at home, to look out of the window and notice Shamus's Heavy Showers. This does not seem to happen when you are working full-tilt in an office or factory.
• You forget to make yourself sufficient cups of coffee during the day as there is no-one around to ask if you want one. You can make up for this lack of hydration in the evening with bottles of cider.
• You become the 'house husband' and are expected to do things like water the runner-beans (that were planted too late, surely, for their own good?) because you are at home all day. Runner-bean watering is not usually a task I associate with myself.
• Even though you slave away at a hot computer and telephone during the day, she gets brassed off when she gets home as she starts peeling potatoes.

So: With an amazing sweep of dexterity I have this early evening stuffed a Dead Chicken (he had had a nice life - he was fed organic things and ran around fields in Waitroseshire all his life) in the oven on a bed of onions (sourced locally) and blue-green herbie leaf things pinched from the Odd Job Lady's garden. Carrots have been peeled and chopped and runner-beans trimmed and sliced. (That should be interesting as who knows how much you have to take off the edges of runner-beans? Your father doesn't tell you things like that - nor did school, come to think of it.)

This must make me a NEW MAN. I have heard about these creatures. They are pale and never make it down to the pub and are chained to the cooker in their pinny aprons. When you hold them up to the light you can see their ribs - rather like an X-Ray.

So this will be a rare treat for Lynnie.

How long does a chicken take to cook?

THE CLAPHAM OMNIBUS

Somewhat unfairly, it's not a phrase generally associated with my good self: 'the Reasonable Man on the Clapham Omnibus.'

After a morning of pouring rain outside the cottage in Austwick, cantering through Alan Bennett's "The Uncommon Reader," I was to be found with Lynnie in the cafe in Clapham, wading through platefuls of scones with butter, jam & cream and a pot of strong Yorkshire tea. We had arrived there in the afternoon by strolling along a quiet well paved bridleway slightly above the valley floor with misty, mystery views up towards Ingleborough and down over the neat and tidy walled patches of emerald in the valley to our left. It had rained pretty consistently all the way over on the stroll to Clapham. It's a pretty little stone village, unusually quiet on a wet Summer Saturday and the little river was belting alongside the walk down to the cafe.

I have been assured that the author of my morning's reading material has a home in Clapham. Mr Bennett is a literary gentleman with a good eye and is a keen definer of characters. The 'uncommon reader' (a nice play on words, I thought) in the book was none other than 'Er Madge' and the book told of her very late discovery of the written word and the pure, sometimes 'selfish,' pleasure, of escaping into a good book and then going on to discovering further great escapes.

If you haven't read it I won't spoil it for you by giving any more of the plot away apart from the fact that after a while of burying herself in her world of books she started thinking about writing herself.

The way back through the pastures, clambering over the walled stiles, back to Austwick, was walked with the breeze behind; so no hats were required. It was a tiddler of a walk but quite splendid all the same with the A65 muted to almost a whisper by the damp air and low cloud.

Apparently, if you bump into Mr Bennett in the area he is always very willing to sign copies of his books. Indeed the Odd Job Lady's own copy had been very caringly signed with a little message for her. The locals leave him be and respect his privacy and he enjoys the quiet life.

Clapham: A reasonable place to escape to, even on a wet weekend.

RICK'S BAR

It's Casablanca, but in North Yorkshire. So far I have sampled a fine Broughton 'Merlin's Ale' (I thought John Hee would appreciate that one) and an equally splendid Jennings 'Cumberland Ale'

The barman, the splendid Rick, is opening a few old dusty bottles of wine but for the life of me I do not understand why he doesn't buy new ones as there will be far less dust to clean off the bottles.

Today, Yorkshire has been mostly fabulous with fine English sunshine and fluffy clouds with occasional big dark rolling ones to keep us on our toes. Rick & the odd job lady's garden is in fine shape after all the floods and the lawns are in excellent fettle.

There is every chance that tomorrow we shall go for a walk. The weather forecast for tomorrow is spiteful.

Lord and Lady Elpus were due to be here, but a family bereavement has prevented their attendance. Our thoughts are with them.

STREAPADAIR'S PHOTO SITE

A post about the Great Outdoors! With no further ado let me introduce to you, with huge thanks to Alistair, this incredibly good photo site: STREAPADAIR

Alistair is pretty good at the Gaelic and assures us that 'Streapadair' means 'Climber'. The pictures go back a long way, about thirty years, and there is a stunningly good section on bothies. I spent some time there identifying them - a great game. The photographs are all superb.

Scotland is broken down into different regions and there are sections on Europe too. Go on: Lose yourself in the Highlands, Corsica and the Alps.

Highly recommended. I have put a link to his site in my 'Great Places to Visit' section.

OOOOH! IT'S EXACTLY THE SAME, ONLY BIGGER...

Yes - another tweak to the blog happened late last night, with the very patient help of Blog Teacher, All Round Good Egg, Duncan

He steered Martin Rye and I (in about five hours of tutorial!) through the wonders of HTML, Picture Hosting websites and general techie tinkering to make very minor visible changes to the blog.

For those of you who haven't fallen off their chairs by now with boredom (sit up straight at the back, Derek!) and are still here, then I am sure you spotted it instantly anyway. Yes, the text column (if that is what it is called!) has increased from 400 doo-dahs wide to 550 doo-dahs wide. (That's an extra 37.5% extra - absolutely free!)

This has the knock on effect of making every picture bigger too! (almost 90% bigger)

So this means that it should all be easier to read as the 'full justification' of the text now looks far less forced and there is a very nice, tidy right hand margin on the right of the text, which makes it look oh so much better! The pictures should look more splendid too - as long as they were reasonably splendid to start with, that is. If they weren't, then the agony of viewing them will have increased by 90% as well.

So there you have it - another blog post with absolutely nothing to do with the Great Outdoors!

Good grief!

Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible as we are off to the Yorkshire Dales this weekend.

PICTURES OF THE NOKIA KEYBOARD

NOKIA FOLD-OUT KEYBOARD

Yippee!

My Nokia Fold-out Keyboard has arrived, which means that I can now touch type once more rather than using two fingers, which makes life a whole load easier when I am out and about. It's a sexy little silver and white number and weighs in at 203 grams with the batteries in, which is 10 grams lighter than the old Palm Keyboard.

I used the Palm foldout keyboard with my Palm TX, but that used infrared to connect, but the Nokia Communicator uses bluetooth so a new one was required.

So, you can all expect a whole load of 'out and about' postings from now on. Just need to get out a bit more now then....

BLAGDON

After all the pontificating of the previous post, I thought you might need a little relaxation: So this is the view from the 'outlaws' sitting room window after a very nice lunch at the Bear & Swan.

Off for a nice cup of tea in the garden now...