Last of the year

Last week on the local news there was a story about a man who had been sent to Barrow as the temporary manager of a shop in the town. Like me,this chap also had a web blog for him to chronicle his thoughts. One of the thoughts that he put down was that Barrow was a sh*t hole. Having only ever been there once and then only for a few hours i don't think i can comment but the people of Barrow were clearly not amused. Once news spread about his scathing remarks the shop was boycotted and attacked and as i mentioned, it was on Border TV. There are unresolved issues about how everyone found out about it in the first place - was he grassed up or was it self publicity? I feel safe in the knowledge that i can write whatever defamatory remarks i want here and only a handful of people would ever read them (fewer still would care). Having said that, it is worth pointing out that the titular Tony and Gill are fictional characters and that all comments posted are either written by myself or professional actors.

One place that could never be called a sh*t hole is Edinburgh which i visited last week. As far as i'm concerned it is the best city in the country. I always found London too large, and despite its numerous charms, Carlisle a bit small. I have always enjoyed the delights of the northern triumvirate of Leeds, Sheffield and Manchester but where each has numerous individual selling points, for me Edinburgh has got the lot. (You'll notice Hull did not get a mention - the vetting procedure was quite stringent). Anyway as soon as i finished work on Wednesday, i took the short train trip up to Scotland's capital.

Stan and Sarah met me off the train and we went for a celebratory drink in a bar attached to the Balmoral hotel on Prince's Street called NB's. It was quite a swanky place and the waiters dressed in their ill fitting Burton suits brought our Guiness direct to the table. We then walked around a very festive and brightly illuminated Edinburgh. As the booze started to take effect we decided that it would be nice to get a look at the city from the top of a ferris wheel. The view was great but it was freezing at the top. The novelty had worn off by the time of the last two revolutions and we went in search of food and warmth.


We ended up in a place called Monster Mash (4a Forrest Road) which describes itself as a 'retro cafe'. The main selling point for me was that essentially you could mix and match off the menu to make your own perfect bangers and mash. There was a list of sausages (including daily 'guest' sausages and vegetarian bangers), different types of mash and a variety of gravy. I was in hog heaven - just what was needed after several pints and an artic stroll through the streets of Edinburgh. If this was a proper food review i would tell you what each of us had and then describe the taste in intricate detail. I would also tell you the bars that we went to afterwards describing the ambience therein. This, however i cannnot do as i was very quickly overcome by the effect of alcohol and i cannot remember the finer details of the rest of the night.

Anyway if you are ever in Edinburgh i can heartily recommend Monster Mash as a cheap and cheerful place to eat. If you do end up there make sure you mention that you read about it on this blog thus giving the whole operation an air of legitamacy. I could also get more people to read these pages without resorting to calling Barrow a sh*t hole.

P.S. If you can't think of anything to comment why not recommend a place to eat. It could be local or maybe somewhere you went on holiday.

Plans for Christmas

Just a short entry this week you'll be pleased to hear. I thought that as more people were beginning to leave comments on the blog it might act as a useful forum in which to work out what everyone is doing over Christmas and New Year. This might allow us all to work out the best opportunities to meet up or plan joint activities. It would also be nice to hear from people who will be out of the country doing exciting things over the festive period(mentioning no names).

As for us, our plans are still in the early development stages. Tony is going to go up to Edinburgh to see Stan and Sarah on Wednesday of this week until Friday. We plan to spend Christmas morning on the farm and then, as is now traditional, we'll drive down to Barnsley for the evening. Doubtless we'll still get excited when we hear Chris Rea for the first time on the journey down. We are both particularly looking forward to seeing the Morris men on Boxing Day too. We'll be going to Margaret and Dave's party the day after but we still don't know what we're doing in the days afterwards. New Year in particular is still to be decided. Tony has been trying to sort something out with Bren for after Christmas but we haven't got anything definite yet.

We look forward to hearing what you are up to.

Tek care

You're not from around here

The older I get, the more things in life I simply ‘do not get.’ I’m hoping that the trip away will help me open up my mind again and stop me being such a grumpy old man. Dogs are something that I’ve never really got; not dogs in general but dogs as domestic pets. Yes I know that covers almost every dog in England but there you go. It is easy to misinterpret this distaste as a phobia and I must admit I tend to try and avoid encountering slavering death hounds hell bent on rendering all humans into fleshy pulp. As I once pointed out to Bren as we made our way back from town in the early hours of the morning; if a dog has to have its daily exercise bounding around playing fields at 4.30 in the morning, it is safe to assume the beast is not fit to be around normal people. I simply do not understand why someone would want such a smelly, sloppy animal around the house leaving hair all over and bothering visitors (“oh look he likes you; he’s sniffing your crotch”). However, out here in the country, rather like 4x4 vehicles, dogs actually serve a purpose and are therefore everywhere.

This certainly seemed to be the case on Saturday when I decided to walk down from the farm to the local shop to buy a paper (three miles!!). I wasn’t five minutes into the trek when an ominous canine silhouette appeared on the horizon. I had a difficult decision to make; turn around and go back to the farmstead and to the predictable derision this would entail or take a gamble on this animal being friendly rather than fiendish. I walked slowly towards what turned out to be a very slender and placid border collie. As I trod carefully on, the dog seemed to have no interest in me at all. However, just as I was about to pass, it gave a devilish wag of its tail and came bounding over. Up it jumped time and again, covering my trousers in muck but it was essentially just a friendly and playful character and when it realised I wasn’t there to stay it soon lost interest. As I wandered down the hill past toothy women on horseback, I congratulated myself on how well I had coped with my first wild animal experience. I felt so adventurous I even explored the path off the main road down which another plump lady in a black velvet jacket trotted on her horse. I was still basking in glory when I wandered into the village square.

I had my headphones in so I couldn’t really hear what was going on behind me so you’ll understand how I almost leapt into the air with shock when a massive lolloping trail hound bashed my leg with its nose. Immediately I made as if to run when I realised that, as I’d meandered into the village, the Cumberland hunt had crept up behind me and I was now in the midst of a pack of about fifty excitable dogs baying for blood. I assumed the worst and prepared to have my limbs torn fox-like from my body.

It didn’t happen of course. The dogs had no interest in me, they would much rather be tearing round the countryside followed by devils on horseback. No sooner had they appeared than they were gone, howling and panting into the distance. Hunt supporters say that if the recent ban is fully enforced then these dogs would all have to be destroyed as they would no longer be of use. “Why not keep them as pets?” I thought, momentarily forgetting, that as I mentioned earlier, ‘I don’t get dogs as pets’. Oh yes the countryside is full of contradictions.

The Countryside Alliance also suggest that hunting is not just an upper class pastime. Although most of the riders seemed like snotty old birds to me, there were a lot of artisan types tending the dogs and horses so it can be claimed that it isn’t just a sport exclusively for the rich. (I suppose fat blokes go to watch football so in the same sense that isn’t entirely a game for the fit). Is the job of stable hand or dog washer really a part of the hunt or is it just indicative of the differential attitude the lower class find impossible to throw off when it comes to the gentry? I know it is getting a bit serious now but hang in there as it helps to explain the background to the first bit of domestic turbulence down on the farm.

Sunday night we sat down as an extended family to watch the debacle that was the BBC Sports Personality of the Year. I couldn’t believe how a man who had been part of one of the most successful Ryder cup teams weeks after the sad death of his wife was beaten into second place by some hooray who won the school gymkhana just because she was related to the queen. Most people who would be in a position to make an informed judgement would at least have heard of the Ryder cup but who ever watches show jumping? I’d never even heard of this woman and now she’s Sports Personality of the Year just because her granny owns most of the country. Anyway as I raised these points, Gill’s mam reminded me in no uncertain terms of her royalist sympathies. The mood darkened, as we both silently weighed up how worthwhile it was to continue down this path. No one spoke for what seemed like ages. “Anyone for a cup of tea?” interrupted Gill, the tension lifted. Swords had been drawn but no blood spilled…this time. Of course it wasn’t just Gill’s mam who wanted Zara Tara Phillips to win; she got a third of the vote, so clearly there must be thousands of like minded folk out there. Some things I simply ‘do not get’.

The best laid plans...

I’ll begin by referring you back to my previous entry entitled ‘resignation’ wherein I suggested that I would not be surprised if something came up to disrupt our travel plans. Well it would seem that we are to be delayed in our departure but since (as I always suspected) I am indispensable at work I shall be returning to school next half term. These things happen and just as plans can change, so too can our tickets. What could not be changed however, was the contract we signed letting out our house. Therefore we can also add homelessness to our list of concerns.



As a result of all this confusion, we have had to move in with Gill’s mum and dad down on the farm. You will understand that I was more than a little concerned how this would work out especially when I saw the amount of ‘stuff’ that Gill was transporting across. As we are leaving our house fully furnished and we packed up loads of gear in the attic, I assumed we were travelling light. This does not seem to have been the case as to add to my half a car boot load of possessions, Gill requisitioned the farm trailer to ferry her assorted ‘muck and tat’ out into the countryside. Apparently it is vital and no doubt valuable items from the house, but I’m sure I don’t know what it is. (It may be stuff off that wedding list I never saw). On the bright side if I ever decide to open up a shop selling rarely worn clothes and novelty clocks I have sufficient stock for the first six months. Despite my fears, Gill’s mam did not appear to mind at all. In fact my first few days here have been rather pleasant. With tea and cake on tap in addition to three delicious and hearty meals a day it is rather like being in a B&B. Add to that an idyllic rural setting and I consider myself very lucky. I do have one genuine concern however; if I carry on eating like this I doubt I’ll fit into my sleeping bag when we do set off.