Sandy's witterings

It was May 2006 when I first wrote anything for this blog and for the last couple of years I’ve added to it fairly regularly  but I’m finding these days that it’s only for the week and a half out of five that I’m down in Wiltshire that I can use it with any effectiveness. With the changes recently in Windows live spaces, I’m finding my home page flooded with flickr and facebook news even though I haven’t asked for it so I’ve decided to move on and start a new blog else where hopefully most people wanting to add me as a friend will not be offering to sell me a degree or entice me into the world of ladies under garments.

 

I’m not closing this blog down, just ceasing to update it. I’ve met loads of lovely people here and will be back to follow all my favorite WLS blogs as if I’d never been away. Come and drop by for a cuppa at

 

 

Yesterday I found myself back in London, with a plan to wander about looking for more of the painted elephants that are currently making an appearance around the capital. Unfortunately, I am this trip, without my map, but I’ve done this a few times now so I didn’t think there would be a problem following my nose. There wasn’t really, the problem was with the direction my nose was pointing in the first place so I found myself in an estate with flats and a little park. But lost is not necessarily bad as I happened on a canal full of barges and the like. Little Venice it seems – I didn’t even know the place existed. Even better, there was a floating café who sold me a cup of tea and managed to direct me back to a place where I was less lost – effectively back where I started

 

Apart from bagging a few elephants, I passed a few interesting things, a totum pole based on the seven ages of man in Blackfriars, India house (I’ve walked past it before but never thought to look up at that moment), the spectacular, even obscenely rich  Oratory of St Philip Neri, and unashamedly cute duckling, bandaged trees linked to the Maison Martin Margiela (?, me neither) exhibition on the Embankment and a knitted Moomin. This was accompanied by an exceptionally large custard doughnut and a cup of McDonald’s tea (a Kensington McDonald’s cup of tea mind you). By the time I’d trudged my way to Victoria for my bus I was truly uncomfortable of the foot (plural) and much relieved to have a timeslot before the bus just the right size to slot a pint of good old Black Sheep best bitter into. No great time to stand and type as this machine is playing up with MSN so have to dash round to the library where I have some internet time booked – hopefully get this posted and a great pile of pictures. Catch up with you all on Thursday when I shall once again be bobbing up and down on the ocean.

 

 

Yesterday the weather was glorious – today’s much the same and I must be getting out into it soon. As you’ve no doubt noticed, I rather enjoy a wee walk out by the Black Dog Halt to absorb a bit of the country side and to walk past a few people who still believe it’s polite and safe to greet their fellow man on the road. There is the slight risk of being knocked down by a cyclist but at least cyclists who say hello as they are impressing their tyre pattern on your back. Normally after a mile of wandering there is no great option but to turn around and enjoy the whole experience in reverse, but yesterday I decided I would just keep going and followed the path and then the road to Chippenham. It’s not that far in all honesty, about 5 or 6 miles accordng to the OS map and hardly difficult at the rate I walk, stopping frequently to look at the world passing by.

 

Chippenham’s a pleasant town to my taste, though not chock a block with things to make you go, "Ooh look at that" at. One of the oldest building in the town is the Yelde hall – the wonders of science tell us that is was built sometime after 1458 but even this hardly takes us half way back into Chippenhams history which appears to have been around since 600 or so. King Alfred had a hunting lodge here in the 9th century – he was besieged here in 878 by the Danes but escaped to some near marshes for his cake burning episode – students of history will know that it was alright in the end. Alfred went on to defeat the Danes at the Battle of Ethandun later in the year and rule for nearly until the end of the century. My trip to Chippenham was much less eventful than that, involving a cream tea at the Dutch House cafe and a wander up the high Street and the park.

 

A special mention for Burtons here, a shop which almost never gets my custom – I’m not really big on sartorial elegance. Burtons built their shop in Chippenham 73 years ago and still occupy it. It’s not exactly pretty but very much of it’s age – I think I would call it art deco (if only slightly) and concrete box (quite a lot) – and has the name of the company carved into the building. I think Burtons must have built a lot of shops around the country at the time at Dumfries has a similar one though no longer occupied by Burtons there.

 

I took the bus back to Calne. I had a piece of meat defrosting that really should have been in the fridge by that time but I’m sure a few generations ago people wouldn’t have been that concerned at the idea of walking to a market town a few miles away and back from time to time. I wonder how many of calnes current population have ever walked to Chippenham.

 

 Spotted this little brown butterfly on a walk round the black Dog Halt this afternoon. It was very happy to sit and have it’s photo taken but I’ve no idea what sort it is – a quick surf on the net doesn’t seem to help.

 

 

 

 

 

Some years living in the country have equipped me quite well for identifying this lady though.

 

Good grief, it takes a long time levering photos out of the old Kodak instamatic and squashing them down to a suitable size for posting on the internet. This morning’s weather has been quite encouraging by being generally miserable. I really can’t complain about the weather which has behaved itself really quite well since leaving Kirkcudbright, even though it was a bank holiday weekend. Only a wee bit of rain on Saturday but it hardly really matters since that was a trip to the pictures day – Iron Man 2 – hardly Palm d’or material but a good afternoon’s escapism.

Mr Billy Bagwash, in his blog here on live spaces, drew my attention to painted elephants placed around London for a couple of months to highlight the plight of Elephants in asia (http://www.elephantfamily.org/). Quite taken with the idea I’d hoped to photograph a few on my travels though on Thursday. Turned out to be much easier done than I’d estimated – they’re everywhere. I’d pictured 7 from the bus – though mostly blurred due to lack of tea from an 8 hour journey – before we eve arrived in Victoria coach station. But suitably breakfasted, I spotted a whole herd in the park outside Buckingham Palace, another herd at Trafalgar square, as well as the odd straggler on the pavements inbetween.

Just as I was beginning to think that elephant hunting was a perfectly good way to occupy the rest of the time between now and my three o’clock train the day decided it had other plans. There was something going on at the Household Cavalry place (can you not tell I don’t have my map of London with me today). It was the changing of the guard between the ones in the Red jackets and the ones in the Blue jackets – I suspect that this happens every day, but looking through the arch to Horseguards parade I could see a marching band complete with bearskins – this doesn’t happen everyday. Popping round the block, which takes a good ten minutes as it’s some block, I found that I’d managed to catch the full dress rehearsal for trooping of the colour – pretty much the real thing as far as the camera is concerned except for the lack of the Queen and 10 deep crowds to try and push through for a photo.

Having been presented with an A1 photo opportunity, I got back to the task in hand and popped round to Parliament Square, which sadly lacks elephants. It did have a very large encampment of protesters this time round, who I suspect were more concerned with their own private brands of democracy than the plight of Asian elephants. I though I would have a wee look at the BBC studio that they have been using through the election since I was nearly there but found my way barred with left over barricades from the Queen’s speech a few days earlier. Not only was this politely explained to me by an official but he invited me to go inside parliament and have a look at the goings on.

As you can imaging photography is restricted in most of Westminster Palace, but it is allowed in Westminster Hall. Having Survived the fire in 1834, Westminster Hall is one of the oldest parts of the building dating back to 1097. The roof is slightly newer, dating from 1395. In recent times, the hall is probably best recognised as the place where the Queen Mother lay in state, as did Churchill and many other kings and Queens. More significantly, it housed until 1882 the highest courts in the land. This is where Charles the first and Guy Fawkes were tried and of significance to us Scots, the trial of William Wallace happened here.

In the House of Commons, Ed Milliband was trying out the opposition dispatch box. Later that afternoon, while I was sitting on the train, Caroline Lucas, the Green MP, made her maiden speech, but while I was there, she had a few words to say and since Mr Milliband welcomed her to parliament afterwords, I think I probably caught her first words in parliament. For me the commons are much as you see them on the telly, although you don’t often get a look at it’s sky lit roof. The lords on the other hand are much plusher. Apart from the obvious change in leather bench colour, the stairs leading to the gallery are noticeably more comfortable underfoot and wall covered in no doubt hand printed wall paper. The throne itself is so covered in gold that I recommend sun glasses. The general atmosphere of the place is also generally more polite than the commons. The central lobby is well worth a look, with four superb mosaics of the patron saints of the country and in the other corridors there are murals depicting scenes from history – I do recommend a visit. You might as well leave your eggs at home though, there are so many barriers to stop you being able to use them.

As a bonus track on the album of the day I saw Boris Johnson on his bike later on, plus the odd statue which is obligatory for a Sandy walkabout – you’ll find it all in the photo albums to go with this blog.

For the last couple of days, Kes and me have been popping over to Chippenham to have a look at the goings on with the folk festival there. We didn’t go to any of the concerts there, but there were loads of stalls up and down the High Street, as much Morris as you could take – indeed more if you could manage to be in four or five places at once -, the odd pancake, lemon and sugar and a pint of Pressed Rat and Warthog. Superb!

I would have to start this by saying that the title here is a little misleading, for indeed to do to follow the trail of the Five Red Herrings properly I would need a car of some description, preferably a 1920s Daimler, a stolen bicycle and for the most pedantic a reconstruction of Galloway’s railway system as it was before Dr Beeching. It is actually by complete coincidence that in the same week that I read Dorothy L Sayers’ Five Red Herrings (Thanks for the pointer Cassie), I am off to Gatehouse of Fleet anyway. I can’t say I’m a big reader of the who-done-it genre but it was good to read a book about places I know well even if I would have been a lot less confused if I’d had a 1930s railway timetable for the area in front of me. Have a look through the album of pictures – little has changed in Gatehouse and Kirkcudbright in the last century or so, so what you see today are pretty much the same scenes as would have happened in the book. And since I haven’t been up to Creetown, Girvan and all the other wee places mentioned, I think you can forgive me for not including a photo of left luggage at Euston station when I pass through the smoke tomorrow.

The original reason for going to Gatehouse was to see an exhibition of portraits by Kim Ayres at the Mill on the Fleet. Kim has been playing the Mandolin at folk sessions since shortly after I came down here and is also a fellow blogger. Recently he has moved his photography hobby up a level or two, leading to his current exhibition of warts and all faces – not that everyone has warts (says me backpeddling quickly before I get into trouble) but he does like faces of character. Do judge for yourself, visit ot his website at  http://kimayres.co.uk/ or his blog at http://kimayres.blogspot.com/ Not content in giving me Kim’s exhibition there was another cracker downstairs, in an exhibition of paintings or paintings merged with photographs by Aaron Watson based on standing stones and cup and ring markings – quite frankly if I’d a criminal bent and a decent get a way car, it would have been an exhibition of empty walls.

Before the bus back to Kirkcudbright, there was still time for a toasted teacake and a cup of tea (there’s no need to turn an outing into a tealess ordeal) and I thought a wee wander out to Cardoness castle. Unfortunately, what I thought was the right general direction brought me out on the Cally Palace golf course and Cardoness castle appearing a couple of miles away through the trees, albeit rather picturesquely. Never mind, it was the finest day of weather of the year so far, just perfect for a stroll along a riverside and through bluebell woods.

Today’s excursion involved a short bus journey on the No 55 bus, but getting to this point hasn’t been so straight forward, for just as I was about to come home from work a week ago last Thursday, Iceland had a volcanic eruption, which meant that I was stuck at work for an extra 5 days. I can’t say I’m complaining unduly – I have things to pay and the overtime makes life so much easier, instead of staying in Aberdeen the night I went down and visited David and his family in Edinburgh which was long over due, I still managed to fit a couple of days in to see my kids and by the time I got to Kirkcudbright, I had the house to myself, so a couple of quiet days to unwind before coming down south to Kes and Wiltshire.

Wootton Bassett first pops its head up into the historical records by its old name Wodeton (the town in the woods) in 681AD when King Ethelred gave land there to the local abbot. In 1015 there was an unwelcome visit by some marauding Danes and that seems to be about it for the town until it made the customary appearance in the Doomsday book under the ownership of  one Miles Crispin . In 1200 the local landlord became a fellow called Alan Bassett, who’s name can be found on the Magna Carta and who tagged his name onto the back of the town to give it its current name.

In 1446 the town was given the right to send 2 representatives to parliament and went on to become one of the rotten burghs – these were boroughs which previously having gained the rights to send members to parliament retained the right even though most of the population had moved else where. An extreme case of a rotten borough is Old Sarum  near Salisbury where they returned 2 members to parliament  even though the constituency only consisted of 3 houses and 7 people eligible to vote. The problem with very small electorates is that they were bribeable . In 1754 the elected candidate was buying peoples votes for £30 and with refreshments for voters in the run up to the election, ran up a bar bill in 12 of the towns pubs of £1077 – that’s a lot of beer at £1077 prices (according to a spreadsheet I found on the net, I make that well over 20000 gallons. Around the same time one London pub is reputed to have advertised as “Drunk for a penny, Dead drunk for two pence, Clean straw for nothing”- now there’s a happy hour!).

Now that the history lesson is over, there isn’t a huge amount to tell you about Wootton Bassett. It seems a very pleasant little town, although perhaps it being the first really nice sunny day I had experienced so far this year helped quite a lot. Have a look at the pictures to go with this blog.

A special mention to Mr Owen Collier here who is the town crier in Wootton Bassett who took the time for a good natter and gave me a lump of the history of the town. He was at one time a member of the Sealed Knot and took part in the Battle re-enactments at Kirkcudbright some years ago  which I thoroughly enjoyed but predate both this blog and me having a digital camera. In his current roll he takes part in many town crying competitions with some success – I believe he’s competing this weekend so I wish him all the best.

This time round my time off has had a slightly different shape than it has off late because Kes has been having a birthday – don’t ask, I’m not telling – so it was down to Wiltshire from the boat with minimal stopover in Kirkcudbright and no London wanderings (that of course is not to say I won’t squash a pint in on the way back).

There has been much blogworthy stuff going on outside the capital to make up for it though. On Saturday was the Equinox at Avebury (Caer Abiri) and a busy Equinox it was too. Kes and Kim were conducting a handfasting ceremony for Sarah and Martin in the morning in rather disagreeable weather conditions– it went very well (as you would expect) dispite the elements being in something of a playful mood. Almost at the same time Em Churchill and Gary Franklin were being handfasted in the moon circle (I think) by King Arthur, no doubt also in the rain – some people managed to appear at both which no doubt involved a little running about. In the afternoon there was the open gorsedd then back to a cosy and unrainy cottage for cups of tea. I can’t complain about rain here for Terry the Druid spent the entire daylight hours of the equinox standing out in the circle – I wonder if he’s dried out yet.

It’s been far too long since I last saw my old mate Bev, so it was good to go up and visit at her and Craig’s pub the Flying Shuttle in Newtown in Powys (neglectfully unphotographed here – sorry). This coupled with the fact that Wales on the whole is very lovely made for a most enjoyable couple of days – despite attempts by the weather to put a damper (literally) on the occasion. Actually we got a quite dry afternoon with even the occasional bit of sunshine for a wander up the Afon Hafren where it was only just a good going mountain stream and certainly long before it becomes the River Severn. The Hafren is named after the Princess Hafren who long ago in uncharted history drowned in the river and it is said that if you listen hard enough you can still hear her.

If it’s Tuesday it must be the Bryntail lead mines and also very wet, but a dog doesn’t seem to mind and neither does the determined gadabout if truth be told. There’s not much left of the mines considering they were in use in the later part of the 19^th century long after battering ram and cannon passed out of common use in this country and anyway mines were not the usual target for these things. – perhaps most of it has been turned into somebody’s holiday cottage elsewhere. The mines nestle under the Clywedog Dam – Perhaps nestle is not the right word when you live under something that looms and certainly not if you know about Barnes Wallace. The Clywedog Dam is the tallest mass concrete dam in the country and is made out of enough concrete to makes 28 miles of 6 lane motorway. Behind it, the Clywedog reservoir holds 50000 megalitres of water, which, I am assured, is enough for 55 million baths so there is no excuse for meeting an unwashed Welshman.

On the way back to Newtown we passed through Llanidloes which has a highly picturesque Nat West bank and a strong contender in my worst lion statue of all time award – I think the one in Swindon high street still holds the number one slot as the Llanidoes one has a fair bit of entertainment value.

Many thanks to Bev and Craig and Gizmo for putting up with me for a couple of days but they don’t quite get the last mention here for after Craig dropped me off at the station I popped into Fiore’s Café on the platform for a cup of tea and also bought a most delicious slice of Welsh cake called Bara Brithe –it’s a fruit cake with the fruit soaked in tea over night – there’s lovely.