Flapping in the wind ...

The tent pegs have as it were been fully removed, and I would say the fly-sheet is definitely flapping in the wind!

It is an exciting time though. Returned from Leeds yesterday from the first Kairos course that I have helped to facilitate. This is not what I thought I would be involved with, or what I would be doing a couple of years back. It seems as though that at the moment there is a change coming and that this is a season of being involved with mission mobilisation rather than long-term going.

A few developments regarding the time to dream. These will follow in the next post.

Transition ...

I find myself in the inbetween, clearly at the end of one season with fully stepping back from D of E, though not sure of what is to come, so I would say that this is a time of transition. Some of the tent pegs that have been driven so hard and securely into the ground over recent years need to be pulled up, so that the cords can be lengthened, the space enlarged and the new shape established. A time for growth. Time to put down some markers and to step into the future. Dare I even say it, but time to wake up and start dreaming!

Out of the blue (literally!) ...

Today has been long and tiring, one of those days where you just want to get home, kick back and chill out for a good few hours before the ratrace begins again. For some reason however, I was hovering around the incubator in the classroom again tonight (Not that unusual!) My colleagues suspect that I have a seriously unhealthy obsession with chick-checking, and although this time around I have been less anal about candling eggs, for some reason I felt a sudden urge to do so tonight!

Today is day 12 - so you can pretty much work out from here on in whether there is a chance of hatching - that is if you have a decent enough torch, the patience of a saint and x-ray vision! In all the eggs we have looked at so far (6 between us!) it has been dubious whether we have actually seen what we were supposed to have seen in the eggs, or whether we just imagined it. Last term, we hatched 2 chicks out of 3 eggs, and our second attempt this year at hatching was not successful. I was therefore astounded tonight to find that inside two of out three blue aruacana eggs, purchased form a lovely farmer (Believe it or not named Mr McDonald), on second glance clearly had blood vessels, and a peep doing the equivalent of a highland jig!

Don't want to count the chickens before they hatch, but it is looking hopeful!

Hello, Goodbye ...

Airports are often associated with different entry and departure points of our lives. Whether it be the departure to or return from travelling, welcoming home those who are important in our lives, or saying a heart-breaking goodbye, it comes as no surprise that in each greeting or farewell, there is a story to be told.

This evening I sat and watched Sky 3's Hello, Goodbye filmed at Heathrow airport, and I am surprised at the level of impact that just watching the hour-long programme has had. As I said, so many stories to be told, some full of excitement, some with a more sobering edge addressing the issues of assylum, family loss and bereavement. The thread that seems to run through however is that there is an amazing sense of hope, even in the most desperate situations.

I don't think I will be able to look at departure gates and arrival halls in the same way again!

Monsoon rains ...

Nepal has a typical two-season year, the dry season from October to May, and the wet season from June to September. The daytime temperature here can reach over 30 degrees Celsius, and the weather is somewhat mixed, be it long spells of scorching sunshine, blanket cloud cover, or vertical downpour. As in the UK, the weather is often a talking point at this time of year, and when the monsoon rains come, they often leave in their wake a trail of destruction and tales to be told!

“Panni, panni, panni!” The shriek from the neighbouring house beckoned me from sleep to full, panic-stricken consciousness, and I reached into the darkened gloom, scrabbling for my head torch, and the watch which would reveal the ungodly hour at which I had been awakened.
Although my time in Nepal had been short, I understood the significance of the words which were being shouted with rigour, and at full volume, at 2 O’Clock in the morning, the easy translation being “Water, water, water!”

As I heaved myself from slumber to peer through the curtains, there was nothing to suggest that this night was different to any other night in Kathmandu. Outside, the night sky was inky-black, dogs were howling, and various insects were chirping away, as usual. However, now and again, strange shadows danced on the walls of the room, and the early morning silence was pierced with loud screams and the sloshing sound of water. As I cast my mind back through the events of the previous evening, things almost began to make sense. It was Saturday night. There is nothing significant about Saturday nights in Kathmandu, but I knew from the day before that this was a day in which a power-cut was not expected.

Due to the number of people living in Nepal’s capital city, there is a need on particular days to limit the supply of electricity. This results in a system whereby different districts of Kathmandu city are left without power for a number of hours each day. Today however was not Wednesday or Friday, when it was expected the power supply would be cut off. It was Saturday. The monsoon downpour however had interfered with the power supply in the city, leaving us without power from around 7pm. Now and again, the lights would flicker, but an evening of light entertainment it was not to be. At this point in time it was logical to go to bed, as only sleep prevails after darkness (And it would seem the darkness was going to be around for some time, given that our rechargeable lights were discharging at a considerable rate!)

A few hours later, a familiar sound filled the air again. “Panni, panni, panni!” The voice repeated itself, but this time there was a distinct difference. Not only could I hear the voices of the family in the next house, I could also hear the familiar voices of my hosts in Patan. As my body approached consciousness I sensed the tension in the air. I roused myself from slumber and descended the two flights of grey, marble stairs to the ground floor below. As I stepped into the courtyard, the sun had already pierced the grey, early morning sky.

As I peered through the gate, I was immediately aware that something just wasn’t right. The dirt track which led from the house to the main road could not be seen, and the area of long grass between the houses was completely submerged in around 2 feet of water. The rest of the morning was spent bailing out the water around the ground-floor of the house, which was scarily near the height of the front door step!

Just over a week later, I found myself again in the aftermath of the monsoon rains. This time however, on the road, returning from a three-day trip to Jiri in Everest region. From the beginning, the whole trip had been a rather wet affair, the horizontal rain adding much to the whole Himalayan experience! The of course there was the power-cut the evening before which was caused by a landslide further up the valley.

As our microbus snaked up the mountain roads, I cracked an inner-smile, knowing that it would be only nine hours until a hot shower. I was also looking forward to being dry. Over the previous days our small group had been absolutely drenched by the prevalent rain. You would think that the warm climate would enable one to dry out after a downpour, but the humidity is such that you only really go from a state of being soaked to be being warm and damp. Then, when the temperature in the evening drops, being warm and damp becomes cold and damp. Neither state is particularly comfortable.

It would seem however that our return journey to Kathmandu would be longer than I anticipated. The previous week, a huge landslide had blocked the single-track road to Jiri, and it had been closed for a number of days whilst people worked to repair it. When we had passed the site earlier in the week, the slope above the road looked particularly unstable, and it would appear that through the night there had been another slide. As we approached the rather dubious looking area, the back wheels of our vehicle began to slip and slide in the gluteonous slop, which was the road.

Above us to the right, where previously trees and vegetation thrived, there was nothing but a huge earthy, red scar in the hillside. Boulders the size of small cars had slid across the road, dropping into the ravine below us, and smaller (but only slightly smaller) boulders teetered on the slope above us. We appeared to be the first vehicle to either leave or enter Jiri that day, and our driver seemed to be unsure as to whether we would be able to pass.

In an attempt to get the vehicle moving again, our driver shifted the gears into reverse and stepped on the accelerator. As the wheels spun, red earth sprayed from under the vehicle, and it made a movement side-ways towards the sheer drop on our left. At this point I felt my throat dry out and my stomach tighten. I looked at the rest of our small group, and we all seemed to be wearing the same expression. It was time to get off the bus. As we did, the rest of the passengers (even the Nepalese) followed. As we looked on, stranded by the roadside, our driver tried once again to get the vehicle moving. There was no way that it was going to move forward, as the liquid road now submerged most of the wheeled area of the bus, but at least if it could move backwards, once the road had been built up with loose rocks and stones, we would be able to get some momentum.

The smell of burning rubber filled the air as the tyres spun helplessly in their muddy moulds. Then, unbelievably something gripped and the vehicle jolted backwards, the rear wheel narrowly escaping an adventure down the previously mentioned ravine. At this point in time, I was particularly glad that I was a by-stander!

The next hour or so was then spent rebuilding the road with rubble from the landslide. We finally were able to pass through due to the expert skills of our driver, though it had been a very close call!

Next, please ...

I can’t say that visiting a doctor in Nepal was initially on the list of things to do before I am thirty, though in retrospect it was such an unusual experience that perhaps it should have been. I had not intended on visiting the gentleman in question, (Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against those practising medicine in Kathmandu!) but had managed to end up in a situation where seeking medical advice was probably the best thing to do.

I had felt the sharp pain the evening before, whilst sitting on the roof-top of the house I was staying in. As the sky darkened to an inky blue-black, an array of insects buzzed and chirped , the way insects can only buzz and chirp in Kathmandu! As the mosquitoes nibbled away at the surface of my skin, I decided to venture inside before I was eaten alive!

I thought very little more of the wee creatures that had dined on me that evening until I woke the next morning to find two small, raised red lumps where the perpetrators had feasted. Another two to add to the collection, I thought! As the day wore on, I began to notice that the small raised red lumps were beginning to change into swollen red discs, more akin to the size of the base of an average tea-drinking mug.

Walking from Imarode back to the guest house, I popped into the local pharmacy, and in my best Nepali tried to explain that I had been bitten. Twisting my arm to the light, the pharmacist, in broken English, proceeded to ask which creature I thought was responsible. “Mosquito?” I quizzed.

“No mosquito,” He commented. “Doctor!”

I presumed that the grey-haired gentleman was suggesting that it would be advisable to visit a practitioner, rather than the doctor being the unlikely cause of my ailment, so set out to find one of the local polyclinics. Finding one, I proceeded to the reception desk, which was guarded by a tall, and rather flustered man. Taking my relevant details, and of course my rupees, he guided me upstairs, and into the waiting area. As I stepped through the door, I began to feel like only an English traveller can in a Nepali clinic. Some familiar words whizzed around my head. What were they again? Oh yeah, water, fish and out of!

Around me other patients shuffled in their seats and empty gazes established the order of consultation. In an attempt to avoid drawing attention, I found myself staring at the grubby ceiling above. It never ceases to amaze me how some creatures simply defy the law of gravity by being able to walk upside down along a surface without falling. There must have been twenty or thirty of the fore-mentioned creatures just “hanging out” on that ceiling. After a while, my neck began to ache and I was forced to lower my head and risk eye contact with somebody else. The inevitable occurred, and passing glances with the lady sitting opposite, we agreed silently that we were going to be waiting for some time.

The process in which one goes through to see a Nepali doctor is seems to be very similar to the rules of the road in Nepal – Quite simply, they are not specific! I watched carefully and joined what I thought was the end of the queue. One by one, the patients waiting entered the consulting room as one would expect, and it was just about my turn! Then, something rather unexpected happened.

I saw the family come up the stairs. My initial observations would tell me that the family unit consisted of mother, father, child and grandmother. Maybe visiting the doctor in Nepal was a family occasion, but my thoughts were quickly stilted as the young boy was marched past the queue into the consulting room by his mother. My theory about queuing had just been entirely thwarted! I began to feel rather territorial, which for being in a foreign country, was quite a strange predicament to be in!

I sidled towards the open door-way of the consulting room in an attempt to peer around the corner to see where the fire was! As far as I could determine, the case was not an emergency. I must have however exuded a look of disdain, and Grandmother, dressed in a pattered, orange saree drew herself up tall (Well, as tall as she could, as she was the same height as myself), and turned to face me head-on. She wore one of those looks upon her face which seemed to say “And what are you going to do about it?” So I returned the facial gesture which summised “Nothing, I’m a foreigner, you’re a local and I know my place!”

My escorts on this trip were the mothers of the couple I was staying with in Kathmandu, and they looked on with anticipation with regard to my progress in the queue. It wouldn’t be long before it got dark, and unlike the onset of night in the UK, darkness sweeps in rapidly in Nepal. I didn’t much like the idea of walking back through Patan in the dark, and presumed that my escorts felt the same, so I was relieved when finally I stepped through the door of the consulting room.

In the chair before me sat a rather rotund gentleman, dressed in a purple shirt and grey trousers. Immediately he had assumed that I was British, and proceeded to talk at length about the different cities in the UK he had visited. After a check over, the diagnosis was that I had been bitten by an insect (Though even with my lack of medical knowledge, I could have diagnosed that myself!) and a rather potent cocktail of antibiotics, antihistamine and anti-venom drugs was prescribed. I think I will be trying as far as possible to avoid being outside at dusk over the next few weeks!

Kathmandu on two wheels ...

Sharp, gritty pieces stung my eyes and potent exhaust fumes choked my lungs. Under any normal circumstances, I would have raised a hand to either catch the sputum which I felt was about to project from my lungs, or to stop the pebble-dashing of my eyeballs. I found however that I was in no position to do any of the above. I glanced over Henry’s shoulder to read the speedometer. The white needle vibrated furiously towards the 50 KMH mark. Half an hour previously I had met this gentle, mild-mannered man who had been introduced to me as the principal of the local primary school where I would spend some time volunteering. Of course, as in many Asian countries, local hospitality extends beyond that which would be normal in the UK, and I suddenly found myself on a tour of the Lalitpur area of Kathmandu – on two wheels! I only hoped that Henry was able to ride a motorcycle as well as he managed the local primary school!

I was informed by my hosts in Kathmandu that getting around the city was a safe affair. I was however, yet to be convinced. Apparently, the traffic will stop if a vehicle or pedestrian is to cross into the path of something else. This was something though, which I did not feel that I necessarily needed to experience first- hand. In defence of those driving in cars, riding in taxis and chugging in tractors around the ring-road, the traffic does tend to move at such a slow pace that the chances of having an accident are slim. This made me feel slightly more at ease, especially as it is seems customary in Nepal not to adopt the wearing of any safety gear at all!

As we rounded a rather sharp corner however, I was forced to discount the above theory, and was reminded of my own mortality, and the fact that I wasn’t wearing a crash helmet! I saw it emerge from the roadside, and watched it flallop into the middle of the road. I’m sure that many would tell me that flallop is not a word, but flallop this thing definitely did. The way it moved its gangly legs was definitely testimony to the word flallop! I wondered whether it was time to close my eyes again, but Henry’s lightening reflexes meant that this just was not an option. If I was about to meet my untimely end, I wanted to know the circumstances in which I was about to greet my maker. The motorbike veered to the right hand side of the road and into the path of an on-coming TATA truck. Well. I say into the oncoming path, it was a good distance away, but it felt as though it was much closer!

The flalloping creature was a goat, and according to Henry, its life was worth saving. There is a custom in Nepal whereby if you accidentally run over an animal, be it a goat, a duck, or a chicken, you are obliged to pay the owner a sum of money for their loss. The amount of money to be paid is determined only by the mood of the owner on the day, and I can only assume that if one’s prized goat ended up pasted on the tyres of a motorbike, one probably wouldn’t be best pleased, hence the need to avoid such a catastrophe happening in the first place.

However, I was also aware that the TATA truck was fast approaching! I gripped the handle at the rear of the bike even more tightly, and gritted my teeth. We had indeed managed to avoid hitting the animal, but I wondered why we were still travelling up the opposite side of the road. By now my heart was racing, sweat was trickling from my pores, and I feared that my bowels were beginning to turn.

I heaved a sigh of relief when we returned to the correct side of the road and the brightly coloured oncoming vehicle passed, though not without it first greeting us with putrid exhaust fumes, a dowsing of roadside grit and the customary belt from the horn! A few hundred metres down the road we were met by a huddle of vehicles trying to negotiate what I can only describe as chaos. It would seem that one of the infamous TATA trucks had struck a post carrying the power-lines for the small hill-side village. As the power lines swayed aimlessly above, I wondered whether they were still live, and at the thought of being toasted, huddled into the foetal position (As far as one can when riding on the back of a motorbike, anyway!)

Back in Patan, one very glad to be alive, but nonetheless exhilarated 29 year old swung off the back of the bike, mentally adding one of those Things You Should Do Before You’re 30 to the repertoire of life’s experiences.

Getting acquainted ...

Just as I did it, I wondered why. It was one of those times when you wonder how on earth you can explain your bizarre actions to somebody else. It would have been embarrassing enough had I been in the UK, and among friends, but instead I was 5000 miles away in a foreign country.

I thought I had not been seen. However, at the point my head was fully engaged inside a coniferous bush on the left hand side of the garden, I was aware that conversation that one of my hosts in Kathmandu was having on his mobile telephone, had ended. I could hear the cold, stark sound of flip-flop rubber on marble and then the common slap as the footwear met with the concrete outside. What had forced me to thrust my head, full pelt, into the aforementioned vegetation I do not exactly recall, but I feel it had something to do with the aroma – a lemon-lime citrus fragrance which permeated the air. It reminded me of a shrub in my garden at home, and feeling far from home at the time, I was thankful for the connection to it, even though it involved submerging my face in green fronds of vegetation in order to relive the experience!
As the flip-flop clad figure approached I jerked my head back as though nothing unusual had taken place, but at the same time I feared I was too late. The silence which emerged as a result, was almost deafening and my heart began to race as I scoured the limited Nepali vocabulary I had in order to try and explain myself. “Nice tree!” I managed to mutter.

My host looked at me quizzically. I would not have minded the emergence of the rather unusual situation had I not already had a number of previous faux pas in the presence of the same individual! The previous day, I could put my misdemeanour down to a travelling time from the UK of 36 hours. So, when I wrongly interpreted “Dinner is ready!” as “Deenay is Israei!” proceeding to ask how long he intended to stay in Nepal, I could just about get away with blaming jet-lag. However, in addition, and by trying to engage in Nepali language I had in fact also previously answered a question in Nepali, which seriously over-complicated the whole conversation, beyond repair!

Additionally, the next day, whilst navigating an area of one of the local towns, I almost fell in to a paddy-field. Given that I had chosen to wear flip-flops to navigate the vicinity, rather than a well-fitted sandal (There is a distinct difference!) this incongruously meant that ...I had to rely on my local to physically catch me before I ended up head-first in a rice-field!

English travellers tend to develop a reputation overseas. I was doing nothing to add to the credibility of mine, or anybody else’s for that matter!

Arrival ...

The first three days of a 4 week period spent in Nepal this summer, were what Charles Dickens would have described as “The best of times, and the worst of times!” I arrived in Kathmandu in the evening of August 1st during a monsoon storm. As we weaved through the city traffic, the persistent, horizontal rain skimmed the roof-top of the vehicle and bounced onto the road below. There was also something unusual about the light – there was none. Not only had I managed to arrive in one of the heaviest downpours of the monsoon season, I had also arrived during one of Kathmandu’s notorious power cuts!

Climbing into bed that night, I wondered, literally, what I was doing there. After a journey of twelve years pushing doors, some very clear signs, and clear contacts to pursue from a trekking trip earlier this year, some might be surprised to hear me say this, but it was true!

As I stared at the shadows on the ceiling, I was aware of the fear that was rising inside. It was the kind of gut-wrenching fear that causes you to wretch, and your throat to seize up, and your mouth to dry out. I became distinctly aware in the space of about a minute, that I was 5000 miles away from home, and totally alone. I didn’t have to wake up in the morning and go to work, there was nothing else to busy myself with, and there was no red wine! (Though, given the circumstances, the latter was probably a good thing!) There was no international telephone line from where I was staying, and still no power! So, what does one do when they find themselves alone in Kathmandu in the dark, realising that they are going to be here for an extended period of time? From experience, I can tell you what they do, they panic, they panic big time!

After exhausting myself from panicking, there was nothing but silence, and in the silence, I realised there was God. I would like to say that this was a totally comforting experience, but if I said that, I would be lying through my teeth! The silence wasn’t comfortable, it was uneasy. It was uneasy because it had been a wee while since God and I had met on the terms where I had to completely trust Him. I had to give back the cuddly toy of control! Something had to be realigned though, and it seemed that being some 5000 miles away was part of it, as opposed to being at home living out my safe, organised life!

On reflection ...

Almost a year ago to the month, I began making plans to travel back to Nepal in order to explore some future possibilities. I have spent this afternoon looking back through some old photos, and reading some entries in the travel journal. I just cannot believc that time goes by so quickly. Here follows one or two snippits from last August!

Round 2 ...

3 more eggs added to the incubator last week ... Never knew there was a medical condition known as "Chicken stress!" We will wait until Friday to candle the eggs ... In the meantime if you would like something more intellectual and sophisticated posted on the blog ... You might have to look somewhere else. Ha, ha!

Announcing ...

Okay, this is usually something associated with parents and the maternity ward, but I do feel it necessary to announce the arrival of Freddie and Chocolate, born 21.5.09. 21 days of waiting are over, and between Thursday and Friday two incredibly cute members were added to our classes.
It sounds barmy to say, but I do feel some strange sense of parental responsibility, having talked to, cheeped at and provided chick-look-a-like-and-sound-a-like props around the days of hatching!
The whole school is buzzing!
Second batch are planned to hatch during next half term. In the meantime, watch, enjoy and admit an inner-secret "Aaaaaahhhhhh!"

Pipping ...

Apparently the term given to an egg carrying a chick, which has a tiny hole in it! So, one of our eggs has started to pip, and we have also heard peeping from inside the shells! Most of the day was spent standing over the incubator watching the eggs do a strange kind of rolling dance while holding a hand held peeping fake chicken to make the pre-hatchlings feel more at home. The things we end up doing in the name of education!
Nature has been left to take its course tonight, and hopefully tomorrow there will be some additions to Year 2.

In Anticipation ...

Today is Monday, nothing too unusual about that, but also day 18! Day 18 is the reccommended day that the hatching tray is put into the incubator, so we have put it in! And ... for the next 20 minutes, we just watched!

Not exactly sure what we thought would happen - it is not as if the addition of the hatching tray induces chick-birth, but still, we watched in silence, anticipating what is to come!

We are expecting the arrival of our wee ones over the next 3 days!

What came first, the chicken or the egg? ...

Well, in all honesty, I can only answer ... neither!

The first thing that arrived was the incubator! A few weeks ago, along with some colleagues, we decided that it would be exciting for the children in our classes to watch as we incubated and hatched chicken eggs. We had a very good contact, and an incubator funded by our PTFA, and after reading the comprehensive set of instructions, were all set to go ...

My colleagues will try to hatch eggs with their class this half term, and I will try next half term. However, the "Very-first-cermonious egg-placing-in-the-incubator" happened yesterday, and we all feel equally responsible for them!

All was going so well until ... we put the eggs in the incubator and it bleeped ... and bleeped ... and bleeped some more!

So ... what does one do with a bleeping (and by bleeping, I refer to its physical condition) incubator full of eggs? They ... turn it off and start it again ... 3 times. I've heard of the dizzy ducklings game, and as the incubator we have purchased turns the eggs automatically, it seems as though our wee banty eggs are having a similar experience!

After faffing around for some time, it seems as though the bleeping problem was to do with a loose lid, which could be fixed with a wedge of blu-tac cemented to the internal incubation switch (Problem to be rectified by reputable company sending out new incubator after they required us to send incubator back ... Hmmm slight problem there until chicks hatch which has been explained in a lengthy telephone conversation with them!)

For the first time, I have sense of parental responsibility.

Incubation period ... 19-21 days. Watch this space for updates!

(per·spec·tive)

A view or vista.

A mental view or outlook.

The relationship of aspects of a subject to each other and to a whole.

Full Circle ...

Today, I guess has been one of those marker days on the journey where past, present and future colide. The reason for this marker day, is that I found myself standing on the cliff-top at Whitby under the shadow of the Abbey where some three and a half years ago, a number of us left, the wind whipping in our faces, to walk on a journey to Rome. (Rome of course then turned into Jerusalem, but that's another story!)

This was not by any means, an ordinary walk, as there was something resonnating with those who pounded the hundreds of miles of tarmac of the UK, Europe and Asia to see an end to Empire and institution and something new to rise in the lands in which they set their feet. So ... this morning I found myself gathered with others, back at the departure point of this epic journey which spanned nations and continents. Full circle!

To add to that, today, April 19th, is the day on which the Celtic Easter date would have been celebrated. The difference in date between the Roman and Celtic Easter? Well that's a very long story, and too much to go into now! However, April 19th 2009 is now the first date on which English Heritage can officially chronicle that a celebration on the Celtic Easter date has taken place within the Whitby Abbey site, since the Synod of Whitby in 664. A passing of some 1300 years or so. The past has been pulled up, and the present is shaping the future. A sense of what a number of friends today commented upon as being "Completion."

Incredible days!

I wandered lonely as a cloud ...

...over vales and hills,

And there before my eyes I saw,

A host of ... tourists, traffic jams and a severe lack of car-parking spaces!

Okay, so I decide to visit the Lake District on what is probably the busiest bank holiday weekend of the year and disagree with my inner-self, which suggests to my conscience that I might actually be part of the problem!

The noise of the bustling crowds and nose to tail traffic left in the busy town was soon silenced however, by the crunch of stone underfoot and the gentle breeze sweeping down the valley.

Ahead, nothing but wide open space. Above, nothing but wide-open skies!

Now I remembered the reason why I came!

Strange but true happenings from Northumberland!

Strange but true happening #1

Firstly, the very fact that I find myself blogging is strange, and yet at the same time, true! I started my blogging journey in February, and yes, just as I anticipated, it has not started strongly. (Hence, the first post for approximately 8 weeks!) As I type it is 12:13 (after midnight, as opposed to it being midday!) remembering that I had created such an account approximately 23 minutes ago! So .... "why now, am I blogging?" I ask myself!

Maybe it's a holiday thing to do, it now being Easter, or perhaps I have had just too much time on my hands, otherwise, it could be that I am in need of a space to begin to put the whirlwind of thoughts rushing through my mind down onto paper ... or should that be "screen?"


Strange but true happening #2

As an avid walker, much of my time is spent pounding the sands of the Northumberland coastline. It is not uncommon for a range of debris to be washed up on the shore. Lobster pots, huge tree roots, shattered sledges (presumably used for dune-sliding!) and old crates being just a few of the delights spotted on a regular basis.

However, more recently there have been more perculiar items spotted including a whale, a 10 foot oarfish, a number of seals (unfortunately deceased!) and, as of Sunday, a rather large squid!!!

I was glad to be walking with a good friend of mine on Sunday, as otherwise I probably would have dismissed my own judgement about what I spotted. But, sure enough, it was indeed one of the above. Bulbous body, smaller head, eyes either side and ... tentacles ... lots of tentacles ... coming from its ... face! Very squid-like. Definitely a squid!

Random indeed!

Then, just yesterday in Tynemouth, something caught my eye. At first I considered my mind was deceiving me, or that what I saw was more to do with the caffeine and sugar infusion that I had just injected myself with in Crusoe's. But .... there it was ... sure enough ...

A spring bubbling up in the sand ...

Hmmmm ...


Strange but true happening #3

Due to the time spent customising this blog, tomorrow is now in fact, today!

Whole New World

The "blogging" thing really is a whole new world to me! Will I ever be able to keep it up? Who knows!