Six Nations Rugby 2004

Normal service will be resumed sometime. Maybe tomorrow maybe not. No F****ing Rugby again tomorrow.

Mrs BW does a spot of Gardening and Confuses the Weasel

It had been a long day and I was glad to get to the car, even though I wasn't looking forward to the journey home. (It can take a good hour and a half from Derby to Buxton during the rush hour) I glanced down at my phone. There were two missed calls, one of them was from home. I checked the answer phone message. It was the Weasel.

"Dad, its the Weasel. I'm at home but there is no sign of mum. The front door was unlocked but she is not here. All her stuff is here and everything but there's no sign of her. I have checked everywhere. Please can you call me." She sounded worried.

I dialed home and the Weasel picked up. "Have you checked everywhere, she maybe lying down, what about the garden." I said. "I have checked" she said "I have searched under the beds" I heard the sound of the French Windows being opened "She's not in the back garden and I know she's not in the front garden because she wasn't there when I came home." I told her not to worry and suggested that she might have gone round to visit a neighbour. I rang off and dialed Mrs BW's mobile. After a minute the Weasel answered. "She left her phone at home dad, I told you all her stuff was here." "Okay" I said trying to sound calm and relaxed about it all. "She may be in the garage just go and check will you." "But dad, the garage doors were closed and ....." I interrupted her. "Yes but she may have popped into the garage and the door closed behind her and its quite difficult to get it open from the inside (this from bitter experience) so just go and check and ring me back okay" She agreed. All sorts of irrational thoughts flashed through my mind. Had she been abducted? Had she left home? Was she hurt and lying injured somewhere? The phone rang. It was the Weasel. "Dad? Its okay Dad I've found her. She was down the side of the house by the compost bins". I felt a surge of relief and all was well with the world again and even the traffic slow and ponderous as it sneeked out of Derby seemed okay.

At tea later that evening, Mrs BW found the whole thing highly amusing. Especially the bit about the Weasel looking under the beds. "I was in the garden" she said "and no I didn't hear you calling me" The Weasel looked a little bit put out. The Munch who had listened to the tale in considered silence put down his knife and fork. "I don't know what all the fuss was about, mum never goes far!"

A Picture says it better

Just occasionally a cartoonist gets it spot on. From the Guardian today (22 January 2008) Nothing more to say on the matter, they have been warned but i don't suppose they will listen or take any notice.

Just another foggy day

Saturday morning found me up at the riding school watching the Munch and a couple of others have their regular Saturday morning lesson. It is good to see him getting on so well and enjoying himself. Since he has found that he can ride and ride well, his confidence has bloomed. It wasn't a great day weather wise though. Heavy overnight rain had ruined any chances of our match going ahead, so I was left with the prospect of a Saturday by myself, as everyone else, Mrs BW included, had places to go, people to see.

I turned my back on the riding lesson and looked up at the hills. The fog was seeping down through the trees, and filling all the cracks and crevices with a blanket of grey. The horses that had a few minutes before been visible in the trees on the brow of the hill disappeared into the thickening mist. A thin drizzle started to fall. My thoughts turned to a hot cup of tea and an afternoon spent listening to the afternoon play maybe on the radio and catching up on one or two things. Not such a bad prospect really. Shame about the rugby though, I had been in the mood.

Liverpool City of Culture

Red Scouse?


Red Grouse?

Poem for the Day

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Robert Frost from his collection Mountain Interval published in 1916.

I wish I had written this. There are certain things that stay with you as you journey through life. This poem is one of them. Okay some clever critic has written that it is not about individualism but a piece of satire, a bit of dig against one of Frost's companions who found it difficult to decide where to go for a walk, but and this is the gift of great poetry, it speaks to me, and allows me to get some comfort from it. Anyway its one of my top ten favourite poems.

Just Words

Driving back through the snow and sleet this afternoon, and listening to radio bloke I heard Mark Kermode say "I downcast my Pod load". It sounded odd and weird and funny when I heard it, with a faintly sexual flavour to it. Or is that just me? Anyway having tea a few hours later (what you lot in the South of England would no doubt refer to as dinner) the Munch began to put the word dude into all his sentences. I asked him if he knew what it meant. He sort of shrugged and then turned pale and shaky when I suggested that he looked it up in the dictionary. The munch does not do dictionaries, they are a "waste of time and boring", apparently. "There's no need to get the dictionary out dad", said the Weasel helpfully, "it means camels testicles." I managed to retain the mouthful I was chewing, but Mrs BW spluttered and almost choked on the water she had been drinking. "Um I don't think so" I said. But she was adamant and claimed that she had been told that that was what it meant by a teacher at school. I was about to make a disparaging comment about her teachers but realised just in time that Mrs BW had once been a teacher and though she is glad to be an ex teacher she is still fiercely defensive about her profession. Eventually after some argument and a lot of unhelpful comments from the Munch about the nature and size of camels testicles we agreed that we should refer to the dictionary. As far as the connection between the word dude and camels testicles were concerned the dictionary had nothing to say on the matter. But it gave a helpful explanation of the derivation and usage of the word dude. She was silent for a moment. "Okay then, what does bugger mean Dad?" I began to wish we hadn't started this. "look it up in the dictionary" I suggested. So she did. "What does sodomite mean, Dad?" It was going to be a long tea.

A slightly dull day in the life of Mr BW

I left the house in a rush this morning. The rain was hammering down and I had an appointment in deepest darkest Derbyshire. It was only when I was several miles into the hills and already late that I realised that I only had a vague idea as to where I was going. I mean I had looked it up on the map the previous night and it all seemed straight forward enough, but then that had been several hours ago and at my age..............

I stopped at what looked a likely looking farmhouse. It was still pouring with rain. I got out of the car, somewhere in a out house a fierce sounding dog began to snarl and growl warning of my presence. I walked confidently up to the back door, we BW's know our place in the grand scheme of things, and knocked. And waited. Nothing. Water was dripping down the back of my neck. I moved round to the front of the house. The lights were on in the kitchen, so I tried the front door. Nothing. There appeared to be nobody there. I squelched my way back to the car. As I was getting in a little old lady emerged from one of the barns and challenged me. I explained what I was about and she explained tersely that I was at the wrong place and that the right place was further down the road on the right. I thanked her and set off.

Later that morning a colleague suggested that a Sat Nav would have been just the thing. I explained that there was nothing wrong with a good old fashioned map and that anyway the Sat Nav would be worth more than the car, and anyway I hate the bloody things, and I get irritated enough when I drive as it is with out another thing to wind me up.

I lunched at the local sandwich shop. They had hot roast beef baguettes. I ordered one. I had to wait several minutes, but that was no problem, they obviously made everything fresh to order. I was a little bit taken back when a large sweaty man in a discoloured vest and a lot of hair emerged clutching in his greasy hands a package, which he then thrust at me and muttered something. "Hot Beef cob" he uttered a second time and I got the message and took it from him. Back in the relative sanctuary of the hot desking suite at the town hall, I sat in the quiet area and unwrapped the Hot Beef Baguette. It was to say the least a disappointment. It was slightly warm, but the beef had been shredded and then mixed up in gravy and then spread onto the baguette. A man from environmental health was at one of the desks having an earnest conversation on the telephone about foul water and the solid content of the discharge. When he suggested that what they needed was a grease trap, I decided that maybe I was not hungry after all and that nice cooling refreshing walk in the rain would do me good.

The afternoon was uneventful (so you might say by the sounds of it was the morning, but we take our excitement in nice easy to digest pieces up here in Derbyshire). Except that my mobile phone, which for several weeks has refused to make any noise when someone rings me, started to talk to me. It warned me in a voice sounding somewhere between someone who had inhaled a large dose of helium and a foreign Sat Nav that I had appointments pending or that I had a missed call. No amount of fiddling with it or resetting it will make it behave, so now every so often a strange voice can be heard from the depths of my suit pocket. People have begun to stare at me. I think they think I am odd.

Spot the Red Grouse.

Well can you see it? No prizes but it is there. I must get a tele photo lens.

Chill Out

I had some time today to just get out and chill (easy with the wind chill at around -7 in the Goyt), so I took off with the Camera. It was late afternoon and there was not a lot of light but it was still worth it. It cleared my head, which has been full of rubbish for the past few days.

Just after I had taken this one a dog appeared. It was a friendly sort of dog and wanted to play. It dropped a very used and old tennis ball at my feet and then looked at me expectantly. I was tempted to lob the ball into the pond. In the end I took pity on the dog, as the pond is deep and very cold. And its owner appeared and he was bigger and stronger looking than me and I guessed that he would not take kindly to his dog going for a swim.

It was a good way to round off another difficult day. As the sun dipped behind the hill, the red grouse scattered in panic from me and the dog, and I felt a little better, a little bit more sorted.

Why?

Why does our next door neighbour park his van outside our house, whilst his own drive is empty? Does he want to annoy me? Doesn't he know this selfish act could be the straw that breaks me,that turns me, a reasonable normally tolerant human being into someone that would make Genghis Khan creep back into his tent and decide to knit a pair of woolly socks and leave the rest of the world in peace.

Why is my inbox full of junk mail from people wanting to sell me ways of enlarging my pen!s? Has someone been secretly filming me in the shower? What is a pen!s anyway? I am not sure if I want one let alone a bigger one.

Why have the Halifax bank charged us a total of £210 in bank charges for going £42.38 over drawn? How can they possibly justify that? Whats more they sent one of the letters informing us on Christmas day? How sad is that? Mrs BW has spoken to them on the telephone. I wanted to go round to the local branch and have a chat about it. Mrs BW was right of course. Calling them all the Anglo Saxon names that I know will not change their ridiculous thieving policy on bank charges nor in all probability persuade them to relent.

There are no answers but it does me good to get it off my chest.

Monday Morning

I pushed open the door of the study and turned on the light. Immediately Moonshine stopped going round on his wheel and peered cautiously out of his cage at me.I stared back at him. I found myself envious of him. His life was straight forward and simple, he had no deadlines to worry about, no debts, I don't suppose he lay awake at night worrying about the mortgage, the job. Soon he forgot about me and giving up on the wheel, stuffed his face and cheeks with food and headed back to his nest. This involved him in some quite difficult squeezing to get himself and his overloaded cheeks up the tube into his bed. But he did it and with the most taxing thing he would have to do all day done, settled down to sleep.

Later as I eat toast and remembered more of the things that I should have done for work at the weekend, I stared out of the kitchen window and watched one of the cats flick a stick up in the air and then chase it. Eventually it grew bored and slunk under the bushes to wait patiently for the sparrows to grow forgetful and come into range. Of course they never do but the cats are optimists or stupid and will wait under the bushes for hours no matter how vile the weather.

I set off for work. A thin sleety rain falls from the leaden skies. I am struck by the thought that in 5000 years time the rain that is falling now will be sold in plastic bottles or whatever the equivalent will be.

Monday, don't you just love it.

Unhappy Day.

The sun shone all day. I felt like shit. Why?

Back to Normal

So that really is it for another year. The decorations are down, and the Christmas tree lies in the back garden waiting to be taken to the shredder to be recycled. The Christmas cards have been removed and stored in a box under the stairs to be used for present tags next year (Mrs BW's idea not mine) I've been back at work for a few days already and the fledglings go back, happily it has to be said, to school on Monday.

Its back to normal.

Now all I have to do is to lose the half a stone I have put on over the holiday, and start trying to get fit again. I've done little in the way of exercise for weeks due to an ankle injury and its showing. The sun actually came out today for the first time this year which is encouraging, and the garden is full of birds, sparrows mainly, dining off the seeds and fat balls that Mrs BW puts out for them.

The Goyt is still quiet, but it will not be too long before the Curlews return and their cries fill up the valley and echo across the hillside. The days are already getting longer, there is a lot to look forward to but its important to enjoy things as they are as well. So I shall make the most of the rest of the winter and enjoy it despite the grey and the gloomy foggy days that we are bound to have. And who knows maybe a little snow as well?

New Years Resolutions?

I had just poured my second scotch, for it was Friday evening and the end of a short but difficult week. I brought the glass to my lips and then remembered what my New Year's resolution was. It was of course to give up drinking alcohol for the month of January. Bugger! Ah well there is always next year. To be totally honest I have really given up making New Year resolutions ever since good old days when I used to smoke. I decided one year that the time had come to quit the dreadful weed and so as the clock struck 12 vowed in all sincerity and in public to quit. By 12.05 I was smoking again after having been offered a smoke from a rather attractive blond. So no resolutions for me. The country's gyms are full of New Year resolutions none of which will get past the second week and the sports shops do a roaring trade in trainers and track suits most of which will be lost in the gloom and despondency and depths of wardrobes and cupboards. I poured a third scotch and enjoyed the rattle of ice against the glass as I lifted it to my lips and made a silent toast to broken resolutions.

Ice Day in Buxton

According to the local weather station the temperature did not get above freezing all day and with the wind felt like -7C. It was very chilly. Despite the cold there was a drunk sipping cider and dispensing her own unique brand of wisdom outside the Town Hall for most of the afternoon.

I had a busy day but managed to take these between meetings. I thought that the pond would be frozen but there was enough wind to keep the ice from forming except around the edges.

The sign below amused me. It says swimming is prohibited! Glad it was there, I was going to nip back for my trunks and have a quick dip.

Good News on the Wallet Front

It turned up. Behind my radio in the study. The same radio that we had all searched behind several times previously and found nothing remotely resembling a wallet nestling behind it. Still there it was, with all the cash still there, and all the now totally useless credit cards. Perhaps I am going mad? Mrs BW says I'm not, so there is still hope. Perhaps we have a ghost? I think on balance I would rather go mad to be honest. Still it brightened up the first day back at work.

Disappearing Wallet

We have seen the New Year in with friends, and its the fag end of the Jules Holland music extravaganza. I wander out of the sitting room to pop up stairs and on route check my jacket pocket to see if my wallet is still there. Instinct. It will be, it has to be as I have not been anywhere. Except that it isn't. Slightly concerned, just slightly, I go upstairs and check in the study. Its not on my desk. Nor is it in the bedroom, or in the pockets of the jeans that I discarded earlier in the evening. I recheck the usual places. Nothing.

To cut a long and tedious search short, my wallet has done a disappearing act. Somehow I have managed to lose it. My memory starts playing little tricks with me. When did I last see it? Well I remember having it to play the contribution at Arbor Low, and I am pretty confident that I had it when we got home.

Several phone calls later to cancel the cards I get wearily into bed and feel foolish. Great start to 2008.