Why is blogging so DIFFICULT sometimes?

Posted on January 9, 2012 by tinapj

I have been trying to write a particular blog post for about six months now. It is on Sex Positive Feminism, my personal beliefs with regard this, and is something I believe in very strongly. It also creates a huge amount of controversy whenever it is talked about, from what I have seen on various discussion boards and in myriad groups.

For someone with such outspoken views, who has strong opinions and is quite vocal/literate about them, this will probably come as a surprise. However, we tend to surround ourselves with people who broadly agree with our viewpoints on various topics, and if there is a massive disagreement about something which is a core fundamental principle to our being then those people tend to be on the periphery of our social circles. Debate is rare, argument (unless our personalities desire such things) rarer still.

I am a person who does not enjoy confrontation or argument. I have only recently (in the last 10 years or so, on a sliding scale of “getting more so”) become increasingly confident in my knowledge and therefore in my opinions. I am still quite shocked (naively so, and I can be VERY naïve) that people can actually disagree with me! Fundamental to my principles and therefore myself is the belief in equality and when someone disagrees with me with regard to equality I am shaken to the core. I always try to understand the other side(s) (I have yet to debate an issue which has only two sides) position(s) but sometimes have found it incredibly difficult to see how they can hold to such principles. It does not mean I will ever stop trying, although acknowledging people are prejudiced and that blind faith will rule some people is quite difficult for me.

So far, the most controversial topic I have instigated is the debate regarding the titles by which women are addressed in the English-speaking world (Ms/Miss/Mrs); my post can be found by clicking on the blue highlighted words. Every time it is discussed, it creates controversy. I understand why, it is a topic fundamental to people’s hearts, but I do not really understand the controversy about it as the legal facts are plain and the inequality is obvious. However, the controversy has taught me valuable lessons in listening, understanding and opening myself up to other points of view, if only to determine eventually that my position is as I stated, fundamental to my core principles and representative of my central core of being.

I don’t like anger though. I don’t want to upset people, or hurt them. My wording is carefully chosen to avoid doing so, yet somehow controversy finds me. Why is this? Is the belief in equality so offensive to some people that they feel duty-bound to insult, abuse, deride and wish quite nasty physical violence on people? I am lucky not to have received such abuse yet, but from my knowledge of other feminist bloggers I know this is a matter of time. Unless, of course, I remain attractive as a blog to only 5 or so readers, all of whom are friends.

The Sex Positive blog (which is going to be split into two, possibly three, parts on account of length) is the hardest one I have written so far. I know, having taken part in previous discussions, that it is a topic that angers MANY people. It angers people with whom I identify, whose views I respect and agree with. Feminists are often angered by it (although as I have written before, feminism is an ideology which is not an amorphous unchanging identification). I know it could upset those I care about, and that is not something I ever wish to do.

So why write it, or indeed any blog which might cause upset, anger or offense? Quite simply, because it is another belief system fundamental to my principles and myself. Because it is incredibly important in the fight for equality and to my belief that understanding is vital to advancement and education of everyone. Because, ultimately, my fear of controversy, confrontation, embarrassment and criticism is not as important as my belief in stating my views, opening myself up to alternative points of view in debate and furthering my and other’s understanding of people and society as a whole.

I have to. It’s another fundamental principle of my core being. That’s all.

Section 28 – Same Number, Same Discrimination.

Posted on December 7, 2011 by tinapj

“28) The Academy Trust shall have regard to any guidance issued by the Secretary of State on sex and relationship education to ensure that children at the Academy are protected from inappropriate teaching materials and they learn the nature of marriage and its importance for family life and for bringing up children.”

Taken from here:

http://www.education.gov.uk/schools/leadership/typesofschools/freeschools/a0074737/free-schools-model-funding-agreement

This document was updated on 24^th June 2011, and is not something that the government is trying to bring in as new part of the Agreement. It already exists, in practice, for all Free Schools. The wording indicates that this clause is intended to ensure Free Schools are in line with State Schools, therefore almost all children are taught this. Is this Clause 28 with new wording? Not quite, it does not specifically mention non-heterosexual relationships. What it is, is ensuring that schoolchildren are taught the value (for which read moral correctness) of marriage for raising families. “What is the problem with that?” I hear you cry across the nation. Glad you asked.

Section 28 discriminates against any form of relationship which does not conform to marriage, and as marriage is only available to heterosexual couples, it is discrimination against non-heterosexual relationships of any kind. Back in the bad old 80s (for which I have been feeling major déjà vu’s for most of the noughties; increasingly so since the ConDems started decimating controlling the country) Thatcher and her Cronies (now there’s a punk band name) managed to pass Clause 28, which prohibited any school teacher or worker within a school from ‘promoting’ homosexuality, leading to the inability of anyone related to the school being able to talk about non-heterosexuality in any way, shape or form. That was thankfully repealed. To me, Section 28 seems to be attempting exactly the same thing, with the specific remit of ensuring it becomes morally correct only to have children within marriage.

Previously to the industrial revolution, however, only the rich could really afford to be married in traditional church ceremonies (which seldom if at all resembled the meringue circuses which bankrupt many people these days). Many poorer people saw themselves as ‘married’ but had never gone through the traditional marriage ceremony so by today’s legal standards would be classed as cohabiting. After all, it wasn’t until 1836 that the Marriage Act allowed for marriage to be formally legalised by anyone other than a Minister of the Church of England. Children were not raised in a two-parent unit, but in extended family groups or communities if poor, and by governesses, nannies and boarding schools if rich. It was only the expansion of the middle class which allowed for the development of what we now know as the nuclear family. The ‘nuclear’ family is a modern invention, coined in around 1947. It refers to the two-parent and child only model of a family, and increasingly came to be the idealised ‘norm’ model. Gingerbread cites the statistic for single-parent families with dependent children in the UK in 2011 at 23%. That’s almost ¼ of all families. That’s a lot of children being brought up by a single parent being taught how important marriage is to families. This figure has been steady since the mid-1990s.

Further, if we extend the inference of the Section to say that marriage should be for procreation (this seems more and more to be a religious-based Section to me; state schools are supposed to be secular so one assumes the remit would be wider than this, but the same cannot be said for Academies and Free Schools), surely this means all infertile couples should also have their marriages annulled? Of course, that is a ridiculous argument, which no person would seriously consider. However, if the argument against non-heterosexual couples marrying is that they can’t procreate, it stands. They can adopt though, or use surrogates, or, in the case of lesbian couples, carry the child themselves! The emphasis on the importance of ‘marriage’ in relation to family life is exclusive and infers, clearly, a moral superiority which is discriminatory and foundless.

Before anyone comments that gay couples can ‘marry’ and be Civil Partners – if this is the same thing as marriage then it should be called marriage and include all the rights and responsibilities of marriage; further, the marriage ceremony should be able to be conducted in all the same places that heterosexual marriages are conducted. THAT is equality. If religious organisations refuse to marry non-heterosexual couples, then I say they should have their right to conduct the legal marriage ceremony removed and conduct blessings in the eyes of whichever God they worship – the legal ceremony should only be legal in secular places such as registry offices or the halls/castles etc. that now have licences to hold them.

Gay couples became able to legally adopt in 2005. One can assume that therefore there will be an increasing number of gay couples doing so. However, children have been raised by gay parents ever since there have been children and gay parents – I’m guessing the statistics would be very hard to come by but anecdotally 21 years ago I was at college with at least one girl whose mother was a lesbian. That was 21 years ago, and I’m damn sure I’m not unique and nor was she.

As far as I am concerned, the argument about gay marriage and raising children within a gay relationship is won with this video, but I freely admit I have a bias (which you may have picked up on, I’m not sure…):

http://front.moveon.org/two-lesbians-raised-a-baby-and-this-is-what-they-got/#.TtZpEoldHIs.facebook

What I firmly believe is important is that children are taught about sex, sexuality, relationships, marriage and civil partnership, and all aspects of personal interactions without moralistic judgement. Those moralistic judgements come from a variety of circumstance, be it religious influence, cultural influence, social peer influence, and so on. These can be taught as well, but it is vital that the child be taught ALL aspects of life in this way, as they will face all manner of views in their lives and the tools to deal with the same are essential to them.

Children don’t discriminate unless they are taught how to. Problems they may face as part of a non-married family come from the judgements that are made by their society, not from any inherent moral ‘wrong’.

I searched the Free Schools Model Funding document. There is no mention of Civil Partners or sex education in any context at all other than my cut-and-paste that opened this blog post.

Section 28 is another attempt to allow children to be taught to discriminate. It is wrong. It must be either amended or repealed, and I suggest amendment to encourage life skills, not bigotry.

Yes, I’ll pay your ridiculous, disablist, parking fine, but I am not happy about it and shall tell everyone the reasons why!

Posted on November 26, 2011 by tinapj

I recently had reason to forward the following letter to a company who are employed to monitor parking at a retail park near where I live. As you may be able to tell, I was a tad irked by being issued with said parking ticket. Some information has been redacted, partly because I wanted a chance to use the word “redacted” in something:

“17^th November 2011

UKPC Payments

[Address redacted]

Dear Sir or Madam

RE: Parking Notice No: [redacted]

I am writing to express my disgust at receiving a parking fine for parking inCatfordIslandRetailPark. As you can see from the enclosed McDonalds receipt, I did use facilities within the retail site. Your notification sign affixed to the wall of JD Sports states that “failure to comply with the following may result in a £90 parking charge notice reduced to £50 if paid within 14 days” and goes on to list three types of parking fine. The fact that the wording “following” is used clearly states the following three examples are subject to the specific fine mentioned, and the three are as follows:

2 Hours Maximum stay (no return within 30 minutes) no parking out of hours.
Park only within marked bays.
Disabled badge holders only in disabled bays.

The first and last two are extremely badly worded – there is no indication in the sign anywhere as to what the ‘hours’ are in order that people can avoid parking ‘out of hours’ and the wording of three implies that anyone holding a disabled badge can only park within the disabled bays. This is discriminatory – if the bays are all full, I can only presume that disabled people must leave the car park and are unwelcome in the retail site. As I am an intelligent person, I am guessing what you actually mean to say is that “only people holding a blue disabled badge may park in the disabled bays”.

Above this wording, your sign states “If you leave this site whilst your vehicle remains in this car park, you will be liable to receive a parking charge notice”. This does not state that you are ONLY allowed to use facilities within the retail park, as I now understand is the case. This is misrepresentation and misleading. It also does not clearly state that a fine will be levied, nor does it indicate what level the fine might be, and this implication is further reinforced by the use of the word “following” as detailed above.

As your parking attendant must clearly have noticed in order to register that my partner and I had left the retail site, I was walking with a walking stick and was clearly mobility-impaired and therefore slow in gait. I was leaving the site to visit a cash machine and visit Lawrence House, and I also visited facilities within the retail park. I now realise that those who park in the retail site are banned from visiting cash machines (none of which are available within the retail site) and banned from visiting other stores or buildings outside the site, but can only visit stores within the retail site. You may rest assured I will be publicising this fact to everyone I know, and will be writing to the buildings within the facility to let them know that customers are not allowed to visit cash machines or places off-site. I can only hope that their business is not affected by your short-sighted, disablist, badly-worded policy and Notice.

I am enclosing the cheque, which I am extremely reluctant to pay as I do not like acquiescing to what amounts to blackmail, as I cannot afford £90 which I am sure you will enforce.

I should appreciate your acknowledging receipt of this cheque, or returning the same to me once you realise your sign is very badly worded and incredibly unclear in intent and consequence, and that as a direct result your policy is damaging the businesses on the retail park site.

I also look forward to receiving your full response to the points made in this letter.

Yours sincerely

Tina Price-Johnson

CC: The Manager, Dreams,Plassy Road, Catford, London SE6 2DE

The Manager, Lidls,Plassy Road, Catford,LondonSE6 2DE

The Manager, McDonalds,Plassy Road, Catford,LondonSE6 2DE

The Manager, JD Sports,Plassy Road, Catford,LondonSE6 2DE

The Manager,MeccaBingo,Plassy Road, Catford,LondonSE6 2DE

Encs.”

The result of this missive? Within 2 days I had the cheque returned to me accompanied by a letter of apology stating the fine had been levied in error! I am very pleased with this result, but learned in the meantime that many people have received fines for exactly the same reason. All these people paid the fine without sending a complaint.

How much money, exactly, are these parking fine businesses making from car-owners who have not actually contravened the parking policy? My ticket was timed at about 10 to 15 minutes after we had first parked the car; having had the cheque returned it appears that one IS allowed to park, leave, and return as long as shops within the retail park are visited. However, it appears the policy is to ticket as soon as someone leaves the retail park. People tend to pay, rather than face the larger fine or the hassle of challenging, and the threat of court proceedings is very scary to many people.

I appreciate that there is limited parking in London, and there does have to be some control. I also understand that the Warden cannot ticket a car as it is moving out of the car park. However, to ticket a car within 10 minute of it being parked is surely far too short a time to allow for someone to return to their car. The signage is, as I have stated, poorly worded and there appeared to be only one sign. There is no sign to indicate hours of parking.

All things told, it appears to me that UKPC, and other private parking companies, I do not want to single UKPC out but they are the ones who ticketed me, have a policy of entrapment. This is not fair, but is legal.

So, in conclusion – challenge every ticket you get! If you have broken the rules which are clearly stated then fair enough, you should pay. But as in my situation, the rules are not always clear and the policy is deliberately ambiguous to enable fines to be levied where they may not actually be due. Keep proof of purchases, proof of times, take photos of the parking rules where you find them (and if you don’t find them, make sure that is documented too). Stop the blackmail, the entrapment, the theft, while you can!

Rant over. Normal service will be… oh what the hell am I saying, this is normal service!

What is Prejudice?

Posted on October 23, 2011 by tinapj

I received my first nasty personal message recently, which arose from a Facebook discussion initially inspired by the question “Can Fat Be Fabulous?” I believe the offending sentence, the one which tipped the writer of the nasty personal message over the edge, was when I called her opinion prejudiced. I was careful not to say SHE was prejudiced, but that her opinion was. It is possible I did not make explicitly clear the differentiation between the opinion and the person; after all I do not know how she perceived my comment. It got me thinking; how does one define a prejudice, and what does that mean for the individual?

For me, prejudice is any judgement made about a person based purely on arbitrary factors. For example, judging someone on the basis of their skin colour, the presumptions one may have about the ability of a person based on visible disabilities or by unseen invisible disabilities, their perceived sexuality, their perceived gender, their physical size, their religion; any arbitrary factor which does not in fact give any information which may be pertinent other than a physical or single fact.

We are all prejudiced. We all have prejudices about something; none of us is raised in a vacuum without influence. Unless we have our prejudices addressed, we will quite often be unaware of it. This may lead us to unintentional discriminatory behaviour. A recent example of this is the furore over comedian Ricky Gervais’ use of the word “mong” as an insult. He states he was unaware of the link between this word and the condition “Down Syndrome”, and has stopped using the word now he has become aware of the etymology of the word. Whether or not the public believe him is up to them, their own experiences and prejudices, the way in which the press reported it (from his Twitter account the apology and cessation of use appears to have been almost immediate, but from the general media one would not believe this to be the case – probably doesn’t sell enough papers without the reason for hating him being pushed upon the unsuspecting public). I do know that although he is some 10 years older than me, he was raised close to where I was raised and would have had similar experiences when younger. It is possible, therefore, he did not know the origin and meaning of the word.

However, I too for many years was unaware of the link between the two words. I too thought it merely meant a state of being when overly-relaxed due to the intake of intoxicants. I too had to be told of the etymology and was absolutely mortified upon discovering a word I had used was so offensive. I still feel guilt over that and always will, and rightly so. This guilt will stop me from ever using that term again, and I hate the fact I ever used the word in the first place. I cannot take back the word. All I can do is take responsibility for my use of it, never use it again, and when addressing someone who does use it explain how offensive and discriminatory it is.

I was discussing a science fiction programme with a friend recently. He stated that he had stopped watching one programme because they had tried to make it more female-friendly by adding more female characters (for a brief time there were actually more female characters than male, but it is usually quite balanced). This gave me pause for thought, and I was surprised at this statement from my friend who I perceive as one who does not hold many such prejudices. Statistically, the country which produces the programme does have slightly more females than males, so the programme was reflecting reality. Further, it is interesting that his reaction was that adding more female characters to a programme made it less interesting to him; why should the gender of a character have this effect? Science fiction, like most television not specifically designated “for women”, has more male characters in more authoritative positions than female characters (and this is quite apart from the lack of non-white characters, those with disabilities and those of non-heteronormative designation – unless they are aliens of course!). Science fiction is a genre which traditionally has addressed prejudice more than any other genre through allegory and example. Female science fiction fans such as myself don’t cease to watch programmes with more male characters, so why should addition of female characters cause a male viewer to turn off? Prejudice, unrealised, unintended, unaware. We all have prejudice within us. Without exception. We all need to address it, when we become aware of it, within ourselves and within others.

That’s all any of us can really do. In my “about me” section of this blog, I detail all the identification labels I may be perceived as belonging to, and those I broadly define myself by. This is because of prejudice, because although I am an ardent campaigner for equality I know I will have prejudices and will display discriminatory behaviours about which I have no idea. I rely on those around me to point these out. It is a very hard thing to have one’s faults pointed out. It hurts, especially when one tries so hard not to be prejudiced. But it is essential, and I thank people for helping me to overcome my prejudices. I’m not perfect, I never will be, nor will any of us. But all I can do is try. It is not about blame, it is about taking responsibility and being the change I want to effect in society.

If someone has their prejudices pointed out, and refuses to accept them, to work on their behaviours, and continues to discriminate against anyone for any arbitrary factor, that is the time for blame. That is the time to take action against such behaviours. At that point we as a society require legislation to deal with such discrimination. But it is so important to remember that the opinion, the discriminatory behaviour, is not the sum total of the person. By reducing a person to a single, or continued, discriminatory act or behaviour it makes it so much easier for them to ignore anyone who addresses that behaviour. No-one is defined by one attitude, by one act, by one incident. To do so dehumanises them in precisely the same way prejudicial behaviour dehumanises those who are being discriminated against. Prejudice cannot fight prejudice. Small steps to effect the big change can.

That’s why I believe I got the hate message (which was, as far as hate mail goes, quite benign). I did not communicate effectively, for which I take responsibility. But I do not apologise for addressing a prejudicial and discriminatory behaviour when I see it, and I hope when I display my prejudices, someone will be caring enough to address it with me.

Hadrian’s Wall – Day 6 (a happy ending; how very Grimm)

Posted on October 2, 2011 by tinapj

First to rise, as usual, I decide both our high-achieving Brave Heroes deserve a decent breakfast, so awaken them with the aroma of a full English breakfast and pots of ridiculously strong tea. We pack fast, mostly because we didn’t really unpack. Rufus Baronicus (follow his blog here) is actually starting from Bowness today (not Burgh-by-Sands as I mistakenly put in my Day 5 blog), and walking all the way back to his goddess Vicky at the best pub in the country^TM The Salutation Inn in Irthington, which is at least 24 miles, so a relatively early start is necessitated. I have a long 3 hour drive to the den of iniquity home of RB and don’t want it to be too late a start. The weather has turned, and RB is not likely to have a dry day of it. Quite clearly, ambition is overriding common-sense.

I have custody of my Sooterkin Wordus Nevynicus (read his blog here) and he, I and both our walking sticks will be getting our tourism groove on in Carlisle. We are also keen to say goodbye to the five trillion and 63 flies we have been bunkhouse mates with. We eat and leave. Earlier than we ever have before.

Turning left across the flood plain of farmland adjacent to the Salway Firth, we head towards Bowness-on-Salway, the small settlement to the west. However, we screech to a halt a mere 100 metres away from the drop-off point as we encounter the three strange men of our first night in Greencarts, whom I encountered at the Roman Army museum when spending a bladder-torturing two hours waiting for our insane walkists Brave Heroes to return. The Walk is clearly a well-trodden path. RB makes the instant decision to walk with them, at least to Carlisle where they intend to end the day and from where he intends to walk a further 16 miles. We promise to drive on and take a photo of the putative start point.

We discover a bus coming the opposite way and I am forced to reverse backwards down twisty-turny village roads for some way, at which point I decide to take the photos and leave. Carlisle, here my Sooterkin and I come!

I know the day is going to be wonderful when we encounter a brass band playing (with talent) what appears to be the entire instrumental version of Les Miserables (absolutely my favourite musical ever, even including Rocky Horror), right by the Tourism Centre and my place of worship, Costa Coffee. If I were at all superstitious, I would take these as good omens. But I’m not, so I just enjoy the happy coincidences.

Onwards to the Castle (another English Heritage building, more historical happies for me). We walk through an underpass to get to it, as it has been cut off from Carlisle centre by a rather wide and busy road. As a result, we discover an entire exhibit linked to the Museum (which we sadly did not have time to peruse) running the length of the underpass, entirely composed of display items relating to the history of Carlisle. It’s a stunningly good idea which I have never encountered before, and is topped off by a poetry-inscribed stone as you leave to go up to the castle. Every town should have one. It’s wonderful.

The castle is a total mishmash of different periods, having been in continual use since it was built. It is still in use by the Army, and each headquarter building is named after a famous battle. Those buildings, for obvious reasons, are not open to the public, but the castle does contain the military museum which we were not aware of and did not have the time to go into. To be honest, both WN and I are more interested in the history before the invention of the bullet.

Mary Queen of Scots was imprisoned here. As were the Jacobite prisoners taken during the uprisings in support of Bonnie Prince Charlie. They were treated appallingly, as so many prisoners were (except MQofS, who as a Queen had it comparatively good). They were deprived of food and water, resorting to licked the stones in the dungeon for moisture.

There are blocked off staircases, reconstructed Warden’s Keep rooms, cannons pointing disturbingly towards what is now a children’s playground, and armoured vehicles. . I did not expect to turn a corner in an olde castle-e (doesn’t work when the word already ends in ‘e’) and find armoured vehicles, although it was at this point we realised there was a military museum in the castle. For some reason, I could not stop thinking of Dr Who meeting Winston Churchill and expected a pepperpot Dalek to appear around the corner at any minute.

A tour of this castle is like a walk through hundreds of years of history; interesting, moving and at one point stopping me completely – I’ll Take The High Road will never be the same to me again.

A costa is most definitely required, although it doesn’t take much for me to find an excuse for a costa. As we sit drinking our refreshing beverages, our thoughts turn to our intrepid colleague RB and his crazy quest for The Salutation Inn. The rain has been falling, and is expected to become increasingly stormy. He is alone, damp and walking through bogs. The exquisite Vicky and ambition are excellent motivators, but we do feel sympathy for his predicament as we tuck into our cakes (walnut coffee for me, lemon poppyseed for him, since you ask) and massive coffees. A little bit of ridiculing may also have occurred…

It occurs to me that I have not actually seen any of Hadrian’s Wall the entire time I have been up here, and this must be remedied. Our hallucinating protagonists Brave Heroes passed by Birdoswald Fort on their way to the Goddess Vicky The Salutation Inn; there is plenty of Wall there for me to see. Plus, again, it’s English Heritage. Fed and watered, we return to our steel carriage of 400 500 a lot (probably, it’s a 4×4) of horses and, for the a million and twelfth time, I drive. It’s well worth the trip. FINALLY I see the wall, but not only that, I clamber all over it, and you can’t say that about many historical artefacts! The Wall is imposing, even in its dilapidated, looted state, and stretches for miles and miles and miles (etc). The achievement of our maniacal tramp(er)s Brave Heroes comes sharply into focus. Unprepared, unfit, insane they may have been, but they did it and they should be rightfully very proud of themselves. I am, but again, don’t tell them that. I have a reputation to maintain.

$A mere fraction of the distance our Brave Heroes traversed; I am in awe. With no sarcasm.$

Birdoswald Fort is yet another prime example of how history can be brought to life in even the smallest of exhibition spaces. To make up for my inability to photograph WN in the pillory earlier this week, he kindly posed for me on the reconstructed latrine (only a two-seater this one, unlike the communal 16-seaters of earlier historical visits).

I got slightly obsessed with the beautiful skies surrounding us on this hilltop fort, and was slightly disturbed to find out that the fort will, one day, fall into the river below which was slowly eroding the land in the way in which nature tends to do. There are no plans to save the fort at the moment; it is deemed by the site that this is nature at work and it may be best to allow nature to have its way. I find myself conflicted by this. On the one hand, nature should be allowed to behave, well, naturally. On the other hand, history destroyed! It’s a conundrum.

We wander around the fort, and manage to finish just as a little gentle rain falls on us. Time to drag ourselves away; a couple of quick photos at the end of the visible Wall mere yards/metres* (*delete as applicable to spatial awareness) and it’s off to The Salutation Inn to meet our weary wanderer. It’s getting late already, it’s a long drive to Chez Rufus Baronicus, we don’t want to be too late.

The Inn is packed and our dinner order must be served to our table in the bar. I have never tasted such exquisite food in any restaurant in which I have ever eaten, although it appears the chef is not retired from a major London eaterie nor trained to the gills, nor are there any Michelin stars outside to advertise the chef’s skill. We are both utterly astounded and lament that poor RB is unable to partake of the repast. Eventually, at 8 pm, soaked, sweaty, exhausted and more than a little malodorous, our lone Brave Hero returns, to a fitting hero’s welcome. Well, it would have been, except it is your HW and WN about whom I write, so he returned more to a sarcastic, teasing, affectionate welcome. As reward for his valiant efforts, I capture an image of the beauteous Vicky for RB to be able to keep, forever.

Many pints are imbibed before we set off on our final journey (for RB, of course my Sooterkin and I must drive further to reach our welcome home on the morrow). 3 ½ hours of driving late at night, through storm, tempest, fog, gale and rather nasty weather all round and we arrive at RB’s abode at 1 am. Bliss, a comfortable double-bed, with duvet, warm and welcoming. Our holiday is ending in a most fitting way.

As is my blog. I hope you have enjoyed my tales of woe and wonder. It has been an ambition fulfilled for all of us, as although I did not ever entertain the idea of walking the Wall like our imprudent ageds Brave Heroes, it was a place I had always wanted to visit. RB and WN have achieved a lifetime goal. Now all that is left is memory; sweet and sharp. My constant companion Orlando will now be well rested.

End of Day Six, End of Wall Blog.

Hadrian’s Wall – Day 5 (oh dear…)

Posted on September 29, 2011 by tinapj

Today is the day we have to load up the car, having partaken of our reheated protein, and decamp to our new Bunkhouse at the other end of the Walk. We are staying in Burgh-by-Sands, which is just outside Carlisle. Before dropping the boys off we are to visit the Roman Army Museum. Luckily, having picked our knackered quatrogenarians Brave Heroes off there yesterday, the two activities can be combined. Sandra Pt1 terrifies us with tales of robbed and vandalised cars if people have visible luggage in their vehicles whilst parked at the Museum, so we spread a sleeping bag over the detritus and put our bits of grocery shopping in carrier bags on top to fool them. They’d never see through that. I am relieved that I will be spending my day tomorrow with both, as my solitude is starting to get to me. But then I overhear mention of continuing walking, of a Day Five, of OTHER PLANS OF WHICH I AM NOT AWARE! Wordus Nevynicus injured himself on Day Two, and has been limping and using a walking stick ever since. Rufus Baronicus, however, is still fit (to a given value of ‘fit’) and they both doubt their ability to reach Carlisle which was the desired end point.

I am afraid I did not conduct myself with the decorum to which those familiar with your Humble Writer have become accustomed. I, to put it bluntly, lose it and proceed to vacillate wildly between ire and panic. I was so sure that the plan had always been to spend the final day together in Carlisle; RB understandably wants to complete what he started, and WN wants to do both. His injury decides him, and it is decided that RB will finish in Carlisle tomorrow, and both will walk as far as they possibly can today to get him there. I am to spend the final full day of holiday with my sooterkin (which is olde Englishe for sweetheart, not that other meaning that may come up if you get bored and google the word). All three of us forget that previously-made plans had included 5 people, not merely the triumvirate, which actually explains a lot… Once the plans are settled though, the distress which all three to a greater or lesser extent (me greater, the boys lesser) have shown abates quickly.

Greencarts has served as a good base for the Walk, despite it only having one toilet possessing the only basin, and that on a different floor to the bedrooms. It was warm, comfortable, and Sandra Pt1 was an amenable and friendly landlady. I for one am a little sad to be leaving. I am also very nervous about driving the entire distance to Hillhouse relying solely on ‘Kim’, and having to amuse myself with absolutely no idea how to go about doing so. Today is the day I have least wished for, and now it was here.

We pack the car up (and manage to forget my last piece of James’ Chocolate Ganache, which breaks my heart as it is soooooo yummy), RB’s fake Tupperware containing pre-prepared bolognaise (the container from a takeaway so he is not that distressed, but the bolognaise was lovely so I am) and probably a few other bits I forget now. Little matter, we are Museum-bound!

Half expecting to see the three strange men of our first night Bunkhouse night, whom I met upon arrival at the Museum last night when I was expecting to see our tardy nutters Brave Heroes rise like athletic supermen over the horizon, rather than stagger like exhausted couch potatoes after a two hour wait, we arrive at the Museum. The Museum is yet another fantastically inventive display of life for Roman Legionnaries on the Wall. I particularly like the 3D film, and disobey the rules by taking photos (but not too many of course, and never with the flash).

I adored the evocative image pointing out that, actually, there were people living in the land that the Romans wished to rule, and they didn’t particularly want the Romans there.

The local area is very peaty, and this has preserved the finds beautifully. They have a complete horsehair Roman Helmet crest; how did that survive 1,800 years? We tried our strength on the longbow, at WN appears suspiciously adept. I learned, and promptly forgot, the names, ranks, groupings and orders of the Roman Army. I did not know Hadrian’s biggest love was a young man named Antinous, which made for a problematic marriage to his wife who was the great-niece of who was his Guardian and Mentor, the Emperor Trajan, who was raising Hadrian up to follow his footsteps.

I am VERY glad that toilet facilities have improved!

The museum is so packed that once again, we tarry a while longer than originally planned. Our misshapen lumps Brave Heroes wish to walk to Carlisle tonight if they can, but this now seems a psychotic fantastical unlikely reality. I am glad, I don’t really want them to leave. Today, I know, I am going to miss their company more than any other. I’m genuinely quite nervous and wary of being a soloist; I have only been driving for 10 months and I don’t know the area at all, and I am unsure what awaits me on arrival at Hillhouse. I don’t actually tell them this of course, I have to maintain my position as bossy harridan caring support team asset. They might get big heads or something, and that extra weight would not be welcome on the trudge walk.

They leave and I set ‘Kim’ for the bunkhouse, and I’m off. It’s a bit further than I expected. Quite a lot further, and involves a drive right through the centre of Carlisle. Like all towns, Carlisle appears to be constructed entirely of roundabouts, traffic lights and road-works, with the added excitement of sirens looming up behind me and pedestrians flinging themselves with abandon into the middle of the road. Then I hit the countryside, but this time, it’s near the coast. The ratio of cow/field appears to have increased in multiples of a billion and as I near the Bunkhouse I am alarmed to drive over a cattle grid which has a depth warning of 3 metres when the tide is in. We weren’t so much staying in a sleepy village called Burgh-by-Sands as staying ON the Salway Firth on a cattle farm. I find the bunkhouse which as the name suggests is at least on a hill, so we won’t be flooded out at least. However, the entrance to it leaves about half an inch of manoeuvre space either side of my car, jangling my already jangled nerves. I’m in, I park, I notice I am surrounded on four sides three of which are cowshed/stables, I get out and I reel from the hit of pure cow toxin that assaults my olfactory senses. Tears spring to my eyes from the strength of the smell, not only from the strength of the smell. I chose this place, I was responsible for the selection of all accommodations for this trek, our deluded hikers Brave Heroes will be returning requiring warmth and comfort and it appears I’ve booked us into a cow shed. I check in with Sandra Pt2, who is a lovely woman and from whom I hide my immediate reaction; I fear this is a place for school trips and youth club jamborees, not middle-aged idiots. The bunk room has no heating, but does have an extremely nice shower, which is the only plus I can find. The kitchen defines basic. The flies clearly adore the place. I dither briefly, but decide it only fair to warn our Brave Heroes and I call WN. And burst into tears. Oops. I unload the car and head back to Carlisle, but my emotional state has now tipped over into outright despondency.

Blessing ‘Kim’ once again, I find a very convenient and amusingly named car park and set off for a wander. I am so melancholy however that I find myself in McDonalds unable to stop my eyes from leaking. Not for the first time I am relieved I have long hair and can cover my face. I do feel faintly ridiculous, but I think I need this release. Part of me feels I may be overreacting slightly, but I can’t seem to stop. I do attempt a sight-seeing tour, and locate Carlisle Castle for my day with WN tomorrow. The Abbey is exquisite, Carlisle is rather lovely even if it is raining (not helping with my general feeling of malaise), and I have a massive hazelnut & caramel latte from Costa Coffee (my personal addiction). Even that fails to raise my spirits. There is nothing left but to return to the Bunkhouse and await my summons from our bossy pantwearers Brave Heroes to come and fetch them from wherever it is they have managed to walk to before collapsing in sodden sweaty heaps of carbon. Stopping to purchase sustenance of course.

I receive the summons at 5.30 pm, not a moment too soon. ‘Kim’ is giving the destination, Irthington. The Salutation Inn. I set off, and spend 30 minutes doing 5 miles an hour behind an extremely wide farm vehicle which has caused a tailback of a mile by the time I join the queue. Finally, I find the boys, and am so relieved I force both our sweaty nastinesses Brave Heroes to give me hugs. It takes some time to tear RB away from the lovely Vicky, barmaid of incredible beauty and intelligent discourse, but eventually we manage it. I am gratified to note upon their return that I had not exaggerated the nature of the bunkhouse and after discussion it is decided that rather than spend two nights here as was booked, we will only be spending one. We will tomorrow travel to RB’s abode and spend a comfortable warm night in bliss before completing our drive home. Plans made, food cooked and eaten, a prolonged period of 20 minutes of hysteria from our frenzied amblers Brave Heroes (again which I video’d, again I apologise for being unable to work out how to upload it. If I do, I promise it will be worth it – curse my techno-illiteracy!), and a pleasant evening passes uneventfully. Sandra Pt2 does not appear to mind our leaving a day early. I believe this is because she is expecting a large group of men tomorrow who have also booked space. This had also played some part in our decision – we could cope when able to be ourselves, but I was not looking forward to sharing with 10 extra men. Especially as it appeared there were only 12 beds… I must have miscounted…

I had received my rented sleeping bag earlier, and we all retired at the same hour. The next day, RB had decided to begin his saunter from Burgh-By-Sands, further along than Carlisle and adding several miles to his journey. He was no longer hindered by his lame colleague WN, who had been using one of the two spare walking sticks we brought with us ‘just in case’ since Day 2 of their Walk (Day Three of this blog series). Both were exhausted, so my unbroken record of retiring first was, well, broken. My sleeping bag appeared to have been intended for a very short and slender 2 year old, so I nicked three blankets from other bunks. I still awoke in the early hours shivering, and with my teeth chattering. Given my spinal arthritis, all guilt about leaving early flew away. This was for my health, dagnabit!

I keep this image, taken on the journey to collect our Brave Heroes, in my head. I have a day with my darling Sooterkin tomorrow, and RB is fulfilling his ambition. It will be a good day. However little sleep I have had…

This was the hardest day to write, for obvious reasons. Thankfully it was the only day like this. Repeat to self: “this too, shall pass”.

End of Fifth Day.

Hadrian’s Wall – Day 4 (hitting the Wall)

Posted on September 27, 2011 by tinapj

It’s the third day of the Walk, but before that epic journey recommences we are Vindolanda-bound, having been assured by everyone who has ever been up here that it is a ‘must see’ place. Sadly it appears only two breakfasts are provided this morning (we are later to discover Sandra Pt1 found the third in her oven when attempting to insert the dinner into it). Being the magnanimous, self-sacrificing, unselfish hero I am, I volunteer to forego the reheated protein and ‘make do’ with cereal and fruit (and don’t let on that I might actually prefer this option anyway). After all, our overfed cake-eaters Brave Heroes need their energy to keep going; litre flasks of tea and large slabs of James’ special made with love Wall Cake notwithstanding.

Fed, watered, farewells to our Bunkhouse mates said (assured by Sandra Pt1 that TONIGHT we would have the place to ourselves, though we triumvirate are now wary of promises made by the natives who merely seek to appease invaders such as we) we set off for Vindolanda. Oh, how very worth the visit it is.

I have been immersed in history already, but now I can see it coming to life before my eyes as the visitor can watch the delicate, absorbing and patient craft of the archaeologist uncovering the artefacts, later to be used by researchers and historians to create vivid pictures and stories and bring the past to life. The site is the largest I have ever seen, and the beauty of the setting merely enhances the magic. There is a sense of the past informing the future more than at any other historical site I have visited.

Our excited adolescents Brave Heroes rush off ahead of me (“ooh look a fort!”); they have not visited such sites yet this week, having been tied to Hadrian’s Wall which whilst immense and awesome in itself, does get a bit, well, samey. They have also bonded (“you don’t know maaaan, you weren’t there!”) in the face of threatening animals and violent uprisings of shoe-stealing quagmire and cow poop. I am with them, but not with them. It’s joyous to watch them; our Brave Heroes are history addicts, even more so than I.

In fact, the site is so big we are here for slightly longer than expected, which will have a detrimental effect on our future, fool-proof plans. But I digress…

From the entrance, where we are shown a model of how the impressive Roman settlement would have looked and teased with pictures of what has been and continues to be unearthed here, we walk past a fountain, Clavdivs bust (how rude!) and a headless Venus (limbless, headless, does the poor woman not have a complete statue anywhere?) and out into the dig. It is clear that I will be getting more exercise today than I have had all week which may also be a reason our Brave Heroes accelerated away to explore, leaving me behind. That, and I have already seen a Fort, museums, cathedral, towns and other people, and all they have seen is a ruined Wall and aggressive wildlife. Plus, they got to play in a fort. I am pleased that I am finally getting really good use of my walking boots, bought when we were the OP of 5 and I was to join the walk one day. Not to be, although I am determined to at least see the Wall this week!

Eventually I caught up with them and after much exclaiming at the view we wander down to the museum, where I obey the rules not to take photos despite SEVERE temptation and gawp in awe at the sheer amount of artefact that is being unearthed since the dig started over 30 years ago. It’s incredible. Tools, coins, pots, weapons, clothes, bones of all types, writing on tablets from all over the world to those guarding and living by the Wall, carved masonry; anything you can think of, it was there. My personal favourite was the letter from a woman inviting people to her birthday party. Not that exciting, you might think, but it is the earliest evidence ever found in Europe of a woman’s writing. It is proof of female literacy, and tells the tiniest story of a history of a gender which is not that well covered in general, and is first-hand evidence in the woman’s own voice. Major history/feminist happies!

We discover a cafe. Actually, we discovered it before the museum but I’m trying to make myself look all intellectual and in-it-for-the-history, so we’ll gloss over the fact food became far more important. Our cake addicts Brave Heroes will be walking later, so feel it essential to eat the most massive slices of cake they can (to be fair, all the slices were that big) to ensure blood sugar is sufficiently cardiac inducing elevated that collapsing in a heap face-first in a bog/cowpat* (*delete according to hilarity of image) is not a mishap destined to happen. Shame. That would have been a good photo.

A quick trip to the shop later and we meander back through the landscaped garden which itself contains a variety of mini-museums in various reconstructed buildings and I leave our Brave Heroes to contemplate their navels absorb the atmosphere. We had spied the Temple of the Nymphs, and Rufus Baronicus wished to make offerings. Wordus Nevynicus too, but I imagine his would be in thanks. Or for salvation!

Having only managed to absorb the first half of the dig and remains, we return to see 16-seater latrines, roundhouses, watercourses, taverns, butchers, townhouses, and finally actual real-live moving archaeologists working. RB falls instantly in love with a very fetching titian historian and WN tries to break in falls a little more in love with history.

Enough though. Our Brave Heroes must begin their walk again, and I am to deliver them to the drop-off point which is actually called Steelrig. I will be meeting them, it is finally decided, at the Roman Army Museum about 10 miles (by road, as our spacially challenged Brave Heroes keep insisting; it’s longer when walking the Wall) away. It is the shortest distance they will be walking all week (I am secretly very impressed by them, am proud they are fulfilling and ambition and pleased I can be part of it, but don’t tell them). About three hours, it is reckoned. Time for me to visit the Temple of Mithras, chill at the Bunkhouse, and meet them there. We have bought tickets for the Museum already. We should be able to go round that later, and then they can walk the whole of tomorrow, making it to Carlisle on Friday. Easy. Fool-proof. Sensible forward-planning again. Nothing can go wrong.

The Temple of Mithras is just off the main B-road which follows the route of the Wall and has been my, admittedly beautiful, straight-line of sleep-inducing monotony recently. Into a lay-by we park, where there is a parking meter (!) and a ‘Man with a Van’ coffee shop. The coffee is unexpectedly good. Into a field, round a lump of earth fort earthworks (they are everywhere, it’s like the north was infected with a bad case of Fortitis) and there appears, seemingly out of and in nowhere, the Temple of Mithras. Even now, very little is known about the Mithran cult. Very little information is here; this is history by sensory perception. Our lucky bastewards Brave Heroes had walked almost right past this place yesterday, and had stopped to marvel also. For such a small site, it makes quite an impact.

Back to the Bunkhouse I am astonished to be informed by Sandra Pt1 that we will, in fact, not be sharing the Bunkhouse tonight. It is our last night in the Bunkhouse, so it is a treat that we will be able to pack and have our omelettes (which I foolishly offered to cook, forgetting that I am really not very good at omelettes) to ourselves. A bit of a relax later and I am off to pick up our Brave Heroes. I take a book because, after all, we can’t be exact on these timings and they may be a bit late, possibly even half an hour.

Two hours later, I am wishing I had availed myself of the Bunkhouse facilities before leaving. The Museum had closed almost an hour earlier. I am alone in the car-park where signs indicate I may be fined as I did not set foot inside said museum. I tried moving to the road opposite, but in my panic attack slight worry I misread ‘dead end’ for ‘no entry’ and end up blocking a very minor country road to the vexation of a gentleman in a very large black Land Rover. Back to the museum car-park, hoping against hope our overdue scoundrels Brave Heroes will return soon. Mobile contact has been sporadic but not non-existent, so I know they are not far away. By the time they arrive, it is vital I get home to the Bunkhouse. Leather has already been tanned once, it doesn’t need it again. Sadly, desperation does not make me the most welcoming of holiday companions; I wonder, is it possible to become completely anti-social after such a short period of time? We will not be touring the Museum tonight, tomorrow now. The walking time is reduced again, they have less time so some law of physics or another says they can cover less ground. Even during the holiday, the holiday is not turning out as planned…

We spend a happy evening, uploading our photos, shooting the breeze. Discussion occurs during a smoke-break (held in the laundry room at Sandra Pt1’s insistence due to the strong winds/occasional rain; the smell of chemicals creating a disconcerting feeling in us) as to future walking plans. I leave mid-way through so do not hear the conclusions which leads to a misunderstanding of epic proportion tomorrow morning; but that is for the next blog. I, I am sad to relate, do not cover myself in roses in the incident, but plead excessive solitude in mitigation, m’lud. No jury would convict. However, as that revolting character who makes my fists itch, would say, “tomorrow is another day.” Maintaining my record 4 nights running, I am first to retire.

End of Day Four.

Hadrian’s Wall – Day 3 (the walk continues)

Posted on September 26, 2011 by tinapj

The third day dawns, Day Two of the walk and muscles and sinew are starting to object to this unaccustomed and unwanted forcing into action. They have sat quite nicely on their arses for almost 40 years and see no reason why they should suddenly alter this life course, but the owners of the said bodies, our relentless idiots Brave Heroes Wordicus Nevynicus and Rufus Baronicus, are determined they shall walk to Carlisle in the company of the Wall. They will face various Nemeses comprising Sheep, Cow, Bull, Poop, Hill, Crag, Wind, Tempest, Storm and Mardy ~~Psychotic~~ highly organised Humble Writer, and shall face temptation of the lusty (maidens of all nationalities) and murderous (each other, mostly) types, but they are mad men on a mission. It’s the mission that is important. Stick to the mission. So they do, although Brown 833 will have them waking in a sweaty fear-filled tangle of duvet for many years to come.

We feast again on pre-heated protein, having been very rudely awoken at a very early hour by the three strange men who do not understand that thin walls + loud voices = thoughts of violent retribution from weary neighbours. I strop to the kitchen and make barbed pointed comments for a while before coffee makes me human and I can joke about the revoltingly early time we have been forced to arise, and our Brave Heroes slowly arise, WN to re-heat said protein and RB to prepare for the day ahead (don’t worry, I reheated the protein yesterday; we are an egalitarian triumvirate in this group). I am to drop them at The George and collect their weary corpses bodies from the Twice Brewed pub about 16 14 some miles further down the Wall route. I am informed they follow little post with acorns on them. I have to discover what acorns have to do with Hadrian and his epic erection. From acorns do mighty oaks grow?

The boys are pushed out of a speeding car dropped off gently and with love at the George Inn, thankfully not disgracing the place by entering this time, and I set TomTom (the female voice for which I have now been informed is named ‘Kim’) to ‘Hexham’ (okay, follow the road signs, it was very near). I have a coat and umbrella to get, and have to feed Orlando (the car, see Day One) who is reaching starvation mode, and the day is warm and sunny. It is my second day solo, and although I am missing someone to talk to about all the amazing history I am becoming immersed in, I am still content. It had already been decided our Brave Heroes would visit Vindolanda tomorrow with me, as that was near their end today/start tomorrow, so today I had both purpose and pleasure secure in the knowledge I would not have to amuse myself on a budget in the middle of nowhere where I had never been before for the whole of the following day.

The Old Gaol was closed when I arrived, so I took advantage to wander the gorgeous Medieval town which seemed entirely built from ancient stone (pillaged from Hadrian’s Wall). I found the Park, to which the Abbey Gardens led, itself an imposing building repeatedly enhanced throughout time.

There were fellow wanderers but it being September, term time, late morning and England it was not packed. A quick meander through the town, locating the Waterstones and buying the best possible waterproof/fleece for WN I could find (with which he was thrilled; score!) but sadly finding the promise of a Costa Coffee to be a cruel lie, and I was bound for the Old Gaol.

: (c) Tina Price-Johnson 14.9.11

For such a small building (basically a stone tower with a dungeon and three floors) they pack in a lot of exhibits. My tour so far has been sponsored by English Heritage, and continues to be so. I try not to feel self-satisfied and smug, but I can’t help it, I do. I love history, it’s so important to know and learn from our past, and the fact I can support the research and enjoy the fruits of the archaeological/historical labour of others gives me big happies.

The building has been in continuous occupation, but by the Victorian era it was a town hall and then a solicitors’ office. Now, it is a museum which has overcome the size disadvantage by incorporating film presentation, mannequin exhibit, interactive displays and classic museum display to tell the story of the Wardens and Reivers, the Clan Feuds and the life of those of Hexham over hundreds of years. On the top floor, there is even a working tannery using the methods used in medieval types. I didn’t have the courage to ask whether that actually meant they used human urine in the preparation, but a big part of me hopes not. Most memorable were the skull and helmet of a man felled by a broadsword to the head, displaying matching holes, and the Plague Doctor’s outfit which still creeps me out more than any Dr Who monster/Sapphire & Steel episode EVER has.

: (c) Tina Price-Johnson 14.9.11

Sadly I am unable to get the obligatory picture of WN in the pillory so have to content myself with imagining it. On into Hexham and a late lunch. Some darn fool lets me into Waterstones and I proceed to spend far too much invest in the economic growth of the book industry, picking up presents for our barely literate Brave Heroes whilst I’m at it. They are walking, and unable to pick up mementos for themselves (apart from half the Wall, as I am to discover. Honestly, walking the long distances they are and they fill their pockets with purloined masonry!), so I thought it would be nice. It was in no way an attempt to make amends for the hissy fit slight elevation in my usual gentle manner that it is rumoured may have occurred this morning. Okay, the solitude is slightly getting to me.

I am back at the Bunkhouse by late afternoon, to upload pictures and memories, and read the magazines I treated myself to and await the summons of our Lords and Masters Brave Heroes. Sandra Pt1 arrives to inform me we are to be sharing again, another couple this time without dogs. I hope RB will not be too disappointed. I decide to inform the boys when I reach the pub rather than ring them now in case that’s a bit checking-up/stalkery. Upon return to base camp it appears the reality of their undertaking is starting to dawn on our witless wonders Brave Heroes. Mild hysteria hits as they attempt to remove boots, and the news of our bunkmates is just another inspiration to a fit of prolonged giggling which of course I filmed. Unfortunately I don’t appear to be able to upload it, but if this post gets edited, you are in for a treat!

As it turned out the new couple didn’t arrive with Sandra Pt1 until we were discussing when to heat the dinner, having decided to eat the pizzas we had discovered in our freezer and which I had assumed based on previous experience staying in hostels had been accidentally left behind by previous tenants. Mortifyingly it turned out that these were actually provided, at a price, by Sandra Pt1 and we agreed to have the same added to our bill. The forlorn looks on the faces of our pathetic pizza fetishists Brave Heroes was more than I could take.

RB proceeded to impress the couple by not only speaking fluent German with them (she being Swiss, and both of them living there) but also by recognising she was speaking Swiss German and even understanding dialect and intonation. Of course he cheated by having a degree in German and a Swiss mother, but it was still quite impressive. The boys had had a good day, their sense of achievement and endorphin levels were up, so I took advantage by making them play more Trivial Pursuit with me (RB 2, HW 1, since you ask). Hearing their stories is a joy as they are erudite, witty and daft as a field of football players. The photos are pretty good too. Check out their blogs (link in the first paragraph).

Once again though, I am the first to bed. We have arranged tomorrow’s pick up point (the Roman Army Museum, which our overly-optimistic Brave Heroes anticipate reaching by about 4 pm) and are to be at Vindolanda at 10 am (when it opens) tomorrow. That shouldn’t leave me too long to sit around and wait in. Mobile reception has not proven as available as we might have hoped, so pre-arranged pick-up points are a necessity. It’s a foolproof plan.

And Here Ends Day Three.

Hadrian’s Wall – Day Two (the walk begins)

Posted on September 25, 2011 by tinapj

And so we rise, ready to take on the Wall in the case of our clearly insane Brave Heroes Wordicus Nevynicus and Rufus Baronicus, and to shop, sight-see and provide Support Team succour, in the case of your witless fool Humble Writer. We arise to the sound of our lovely couple with dogs preparing to leave, RB forced to part from his new canine-friend Merlin – how cruelly such young lovers are parted. We have booked breakfasts as part of our Bunkhouse experience, which we are informed by Sandra Pt1 will consist of the meat ready cooked and the eggs/tomatoes/mushrooms/beans (which vary according to the day, we are to discover) to be cooked by us in order that we don’t have to rise at a prescribed time. Very considerate, and very wise. Thus, this morning sees WN on cooking duty, and HW and RB on ‘checking we have everything’ duty. Not for the first time does your navigationally challenged HW bless the day she bought the TomTom; this incredibly useful piece of kit ensured safe pick-uppage and drop-offage at every point along the way and not once did we get lost. As your HW was to be driving solo for the entire week, it was to be a necessary and life-saving boon.

The weather was beaming bright sunshine and bracing winds, perfect for walking (or so we thought). Enthusiasm for the venture was high, trepidation middling, and fear non-existent. Our Brave Heroes were ready. Full of protein, and ready. Your HW was also ready, for food-shopping and history. Sadly, plans to treat myself to swimming/spa days had been thwarted by my body rebelling and deciding that Day 2 would be the perfect time to hormonally demonstrate that was not to be. Slight hysteria and stroppiness was expressed but quelled lest it ruin the Brave Heroes day, but your HW feels perhaps not quelled enough – I can be a stroppy mare sometimes (“Surely not? Such a paragon of virtue as you?” I hear you cry; sadly yes, that is a fault from which I suffer).

: (c) Tina Price-Johnson 13.9.11

We I drive to Heddon-on-the-Wall where our naive Brave Heroes are dropped off to begin their walk. Photos taken, farewells snogged/hugged* (*delete as maritally applicable) and I programme TomTom to take me to Corbridge, the shops and to inspire me as to what the hell I can do today.

I arrive at Corbridge, which is a beautiful little village town which charges minimally for parking (as does most of the north; as long as you have a ready supply of change, there will be no problems) and has a Co-op so our nutritional needs are met. I find a little Information Bureau which is chock-full of ideas of places to go, and upon the advice of the lovely Tourist Advisor (who furnishes me with postcode-giving leaflets thus ensuring TomTom can be kept fed with the information she needs) I settle on visiting Corbridge Roman Fort and Museum. The proximity of the same, and the fact that the beautiful Ardon Castle (my first choice) is closed, are both factors in this decision. It is a lovely day, so far, and although I am alone, I love history so am excited and pleased that I have managed to make a decision. This also alleviates my strop with regard to body rebelling against previous plans (see above).

I was not disappointed with Corbridge Roman Fort; it is huge, built on over and over for a period of 400 years, only about ¼ of which has been excavated. The Audio Guide ensures I spend a happy two or three hours learning lots about the place the Romans knew as ‘Windy Valley’. The museum contains artifacts about which I had never heard: the cavalier cheek plate for sports events only, the bronze horse eye piece, how such metal engraved pieces are made (they tapped down the background instead of tapped up the design to create the raised picture – who knew?!). The rains lashed heavily but briefly and the winds were so strong that my umbrella was completely destroyed which gave me brief cause for concern with regard to the progress of our underdressed foolhardy Brave Heroes but they are big boys now so that concern soon passed. As did the rain and winds. Sunshine was the winner in the Battle of the Weather for today.

: (c) Tina Price-Johnson 13.9.11

The actual site, the uncovered town, is very evocative. The visitor is invited to climb in, around and over the structure; down into the strong-room in which the Legionaries pay and savings were held, over beside the granaries, where 400 years of construction, destruction and rebuilding can be seen in the myriad columns and sit upon the start of Stanegate Road, resting against the final level of the road which led all the way to Carlisle; coincidentally the length of Hadrian’s Wall which our Brave Heroes planned to walk. I walked over watercourses and drains which still gave a glorious round tunnel effect over which the settlement houses were built, through Praetorium and into the Prefects house. I do enjoy a good historical visit.

: (c) Tina Price-Johnson 13.9.11

As this was the inaugural day of walking, I was unsure at what time I may be called to duty as Support Team for the Brave Heroes, so determined to return to the Bunkhouse and upload my photos of today (I took rather a lot – I can’t help it, it’s an addiction!), labelling them in order to preserve what little remains of my memory. I would be alone; we had all been assured by Sandra Pt1that we would have the Bunkhouse to ourselves for the rest of the week. The couple with dogs was an aberration; they had booked the B&B but she no longer allowed dogs in there, thus their removal to the Bunkhouse. This would, therefore, give me time, space and

peace to do what I wished – which involved reading some of the many books I had brought with me. Thus, I programmed TomTom (I really need to pick a better name for it, it has a female voice and just doesn’t sound like a “Tom”) to return to Greencarts and set off. Getting petrol on the way – there is now nothing I cannot do with regard to the car (well, maybe check the oil and change the tyres, but only because I haven’t had to yet I’m sure…).

Imagine then, dear Reader, my surprise when amidst my joy at uploading, labelling, reading, ‘avin a faaaag, putting shopping away (from the list the gluttonous carnivores Brave Heroes and I had written the previous night), Sandra Pt1 announces that there will be three men staying with us tonight (not in the same room, that would be awkward due to there being only one spare bed and a trundle bed under RB). I texted the Brave Heroes to tell them this news and not to check up on their safety/progress in any way shape or form honest really truly, and wondered what form these three ‘men’ would take. I did not have long to wait, as Steve, Steve and Neil turned up and turned out to be garrulous (Neil) friendly and also walking the Wall because of age-related inspiration (turning 60, 60 and 50 whereas our Brave Heroes were merely reaching the big 4-0, the striplings). Sandra Pt1 assured us the Bunkhouse would be ours for the rest of the week, but by now we were wary of believing such problems. It was raining and windy at night (although sunshine for most of the day, which was nice) and the ground was boggy (as our swamp monsters Brave Heroes were to discover frequently and without joy), and Sandra Pt1 could not leave them to camp in her field on such a night. Naturally, I concurred.

I was enchanting the three men with my wit, wisdom and loquaciousness whilst uploading my photos (multi-tasking genius that I am) when I received a call from WN – they had reached The George just past Hexham, about two miles away, and simply could not walk any further. I am sure this had nothing to do with it being the last pub before reaching our Bunkhouse on the Wall walk. They made an impassioned plea for delivery which I could not refuse, so I left to collect them immediately. Ish. I had confirmed to WN the presence of the three strange men by text earlier (yay, phone reception!) and thus it was not the shock it otherwise may have been to hear me chatting and laughing away (okay, probably friendly flirting too, I can’t help it, it’s an innate trait) with three strange men in a Bunkhouse far away from said Brave Heroes. I immediately jump to it and set off to fetch the lazy buggers Brave Heroes, in no way making any type of sarcastic witticism to the three strange men with regard to their failure to reach the Bunkhouse as originally planned. In fact, they have walked about 14 miles, which given their total lack of any sort of preparation at all, is quite impressive.

I find our raggedy men Brave Heroes supping well-deserved pints in the George Inn. They are congratulating each other on a walk well done, as well they might. However, the state of the pair is not befitting the grandiose stature of the Hotel I find them in and with apologies to the extremely well-groomed Receptionist, I whisk them away from their comfortable lounge room amidst the doilies and cut flowers to our Bunkhouse.

The three strange men are well met by our fetid vagabonds Brave Heroes and after very much needed showers (seriously, it was acrid, I feared for the leather of our car seats) an evening of merriment and chatter followed again with beer. WN was on the diet coke, exhibiting a shockingly out of character sensible side which I am sure is merely a temporary aberration. RB prepared a delicious spaghetti bolognaise, we supped, spoke and our Brave Heroes typed notes for their blogs (links in the first paragraph). The three strange men were also walking the Wall but unlike our Brave Heroes had actually got a map, guide, touring itinerary, tents and walking boots (RB lacked this seemingly essential item) and waterproof coat (WN – see Day One). It was decided part of my mission for the next day would be to source a waterproof coat for WN (Support Team work is never done), which as I needed an umbrella anyway (the wind ate mine at Corbridge Roman Town), Hexham was to be my destination the next day. There was a Gaol Museum there; more history but not Roman, as I had fear there are only so many forts one can tour before you really don’t give a s~*t what the Romans did for us.

The talk turned to politics, and thence to proposed pension plan policy changes. Uh oh. Conflict looked as if it would raise its ugly head. I make my excuses and go to bed, leaving our opinionated drunkards Brave Heroes to their debate.

Here Endeth The Tale. For Now.

Hadrian’s Wall Blog – Day One

Posted on September 24, 2011 by tinapj

I have finally been persuaded that I should complete the triumvirate and blog about my trip to Hadrian’s Wall. As I didn’t actually walk any of it, and was of the opinion that it was those brave deeds of derring do (and daring poo of ovine, bovine and goatine – see Wordus Nevynicus’ blog here) that the interested reader may want to peruse, I did not feel it relevant to the experience. I have now been led to believe this might not be entirely true.

It is a tale of wit and woe, of high and low (in their case, literally, too – see Rufus Baronicus’ blog here), of ‘wahay!’ and ‘oh noooooo..’, of overplan-to-distraction and go-with-the-flow. I’ll stop now. You may notice my Day One starts with the actual first day of the holiday, as opposed to the Walk unlike the boys. This Walk was something both had always wanted to do; this was more than a holiday. I feel quite lucky and proud I was able to facilitate this in any way for them. This is my Blog so is not an “ambition filled” tale; this is what happens when I am left alone the support staff get up to.

It was not the trip as originally planned; the Original Party contained 3 cars and 5 people. The OP contained Wordus Nevynicus (WN) and Rufus Baronicus (RB – I’m not typing those out every time) being the aged old fools brave heroes, and a Support Team trio of one-day-walk/rest-of-the-time-chill&fun, one of whom being your Insane Fool ~~Total Mug~~ Humble Writer. This allowed for five days walking, in which one of said Support Team could each go out on a day, the rest of the time sharing pick-up/drop-off Duty and enjoying historical/other (to be decided) activities with friends. The Actual Party contained 1 car and 3 people. Two of the Support Team fell by the wayside, cruelly afflicted at the last minute and leaving with entirely understandable reasons. One of these had a car. Second car was ripped from our plans through a combination of rip-off and outright dishonesty (the fecker will rue the day they crossed RB!). After much panic wise reflection your HW decided to pretend I would be taking a spa break/historical odyssey and it would be fine to be, ostensibly, alone for almost a week on the only holiday I was going to have all year and that I really needed because I was feeling very very very very stressed out and … I’ll just have a lie down.

Better now.

On 11^th September 2011 at stupid ‘o clock in the morning, ignoring reports of hurricanes and severe weather warning from the Met Office, HW and WN set off in their trusty steed Orlando (she doesn’t know what gender he is, so is multigendered and named as such – google it! No, it’s not O Bloom…) to collect RB from ‘somewhere in the Midlands’. This would be the last day WN would be driving for some time, Orlando was to be my constant companion for many, many hours to come. Of course we had packed everything we needed as in the case of my sleeping bag/duvet, and that we had specially bought, in the case Simon’s weatherproof reflective (in case of falling off cliffs) coat. Of course we had.

Ooops.

That discovery awaited us on arrival at Greencarts Bunkhouse (see picture below), owned by Sandra part 1 (both our landladies were called Sandra; perhaps there is a lack of imagination available names in northern England?).

We were to share a dorm room with bunk beds. RB and I took the bottom two, WN the bunk atop your HW (doesn’t happen often, hehehehe). It had been a long and arduous drive, with a singular lack of Costa Coffees, which frankly should be a crime or something. We arrived in daylight, but that did not last for long. The winds were strong and worries were expressed and swiftly quashed with regard to the opening foray for the Midlife Crisis Brave Heroes first day of walking. We swiftly unpacked (well, left our suitcases in the bedroom and got out what we needed) and wondered, what to eat? Sandra had told us of a friend who did Take-Out, menu on blackboard, if you ordered before 6.30, so after brief “Shall We?” “Yes” discussion attempt was made to order. A short panic as the phone didn’t pick up or have a signal (!) our repast was ordered, and our bunkmates arrived. With their two energetic dogs, Merlin and Skye. Merlin immediately threw himself at RB, who was to prove quite the animal magnet throughout the week. Somehow we even ended up dogsitting as they went to the B&B Sandra Pt1 also ran for the home-cooked dinner she provided (eh? What? Didn’t tell us!? How rude…).

The food we ordered arrived – it was clear there was little choice for delivery out there and thus quality was not high on the list of priorities of the Chef but it was hot, had some vegetables and more importantly, was the only food we had. We ate. I noticed a picture on the wall, which seemed most pertinent given the newly budding relationship between Merlin and RB.

The dogs proved fairly easy to settle down and didn’t trouble RB’s leg/rear too much (I think he enjoyed it), so we settled into an evening of Trivial Pursuit and not bemoaning the total lack of internet connection. It was very pleasant; I won once, RB twice, WN sadly left with five cheeses each time. It was decided where to drop the Decrepit GeriatricsBrave Heroes on the morrow (Heddon-On-The-Wall) which appeared to be near a town where I might be able to buy food to sustain us for the next week. Corbridge. That was to be my destination. According to some leaflets Sandra Pt1 left lying around, there was even a Roman Fort there. I would get some history in me. That would be what I would do. At last, I had a plan.

The lovely couple returned to point out the tree that was directly outside our bunk room had been blown over in the gales going on outside, which none of us had noticed. It was up when we arrived, but clearly had assumed the horizontal position. Not even this news could divert excitement or cause worry about the utterly ridiculous thing it was these two Brave Heroes were about to undertake. However, it was decided that RB would allow WN to wear his waterproof and RB would wear his normal denim. After all, the weather was going to be lovely, just windy. They’d be fine…I left the Totally Unprepared Brave Heroes to their beers and excited anticipation, and wended my way to bed. Which turned out to be very comfortable, and the hurricane outside soon soothed me to sleep.

Here endeth the Tale of Day One.

fromthemindoftinapj

rantings of a cynical idealist