Sharing

I know that some of you who live in foreign climes  enjoy looking at my pictures of this region of northern England. You live in faraway, exotic places like Alberta, Nova Scotia, Ludwigsburg, Missouri, Australia, Washington State, Florence SC, Florida, Harpenden, Colorado, West Hampstead, New Zealand, Brighton, Toronto and of course - Goole. Oh and I must remember all those Russians who regularly figure in this blog's audience statistics. To them I say: Привет, мои друзья!

All of this is just characteristic preambling as I choose some more pictures to share with you. On Monday, as I walked around Onecote in Staffordshire, I saw other things apart from cattle.

St Luke's in Onecote

One day, if I am lucky, I may be an old man - no longer capable of long country jaunts. When that time comes it will surely be a comfort to look back on posts like this one and remember the paths and byways I walked when I was younger - retracing and reliving my steps. And if that old man is reading this I say to him - Do as the carers tell you and stop dribbling soup down the front of your pyjamas! Nurse!...Nurse!

Redundant telephone kiosk in Ford

Food

In general interest television interviews or chat shows, you will often hear people declaring that they "like their food". Huh? Isn't that amazing? People who like their food. Apart perhaps from folk with eating disorders, I would say that nearly everybody on the planet "likes their food". That has been my experience anyway.

Food can be a comfort, a happy distraction from mental strains, a pleasant and familiar ritual and a focus for family or celebratory events.  At weddings there is food and funerals finish with food and American Thanksgiving Days - for example - would be nothing without the feast upon the dining table. Food glorious food!

Putting aside the politics of food and healthy eating guilt trips, I just want to share with you a list of my naughty pleasures when it comes to food:-

1. A chip sandwich  or "chip buttie". By this I mean homemade fried potatoes. Two slices of fresh bread slathered liberally with salted butter. Put the hot chips inside and enjoy as the butter melts. Beautiful.

2. Salted peanuts. Most times I visit the supermarket, I have to force myself not to pile the trolley up with salted peanuts. Realising how fattening they are, I have to ration myself to an occasional packet. Savoury, crunchy and salty you cannot beat a handful of salted peanuts or even a full packet. They are so "moreish".

3. Custard cream biscuits. We never have them at home because I would devour a packet in a couple of days. Their small sandwich appearance and surface design has not changed since I was a child. There are usually a few custard creams in the biscuit tin at my Oxfam shop but when I arrive half of them mysteriously disappear.

4. A ripe banana. Not over-ripe and not green and hard. Just in the middle. How wonderful that Mother Nature has pre-packaged them for us. Hardly a day goes by without me eating at least one banana and I usually take bananas on my country walks. When hunger rumbles, a banana will usually send that beast back into its cave.

5. A sausage and tomato sandwich. Again you need fresh bread or a fresh roll. Good quality grilled pork sausages sliced down the middle. Then a large spoonful of tinned chopped tomatoes layered on top. When I pass through Sheffield's Moor Market, I often pause at one of the food stalls to order this culinary delight with a mug of tea.

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Well I could go on and on with this list - apples, bacon sandwiches, sausage rolls, pork pies, peanut butter and strawberry jam on toast, Welsh rarebit... As you can see, I have kept away from proper meals like Sunday roasts, spaghetti, curries, stir fries, salads, meat pies with mashed potato and peas, fish and chips etcetera... or indeed vegan meal recipes from "Bosh!" books.

Sticking with food, what are your guilty pleasures?

A chip buttie

Cattle

The Peak District National Park straddles four counties - Yorkshire, Derbyshire, Cheshire and Staffordshire. Yesterday, Clint kindly transported me right through Derbyshire into Staffordshire via Bakewell and Hartington. There were a couple of hold-ups because of road resurfacing and market traffic in Bakewell so I didn't reach the distant village of Onecote until twelve thirty.

It was so good to be walking in a corner of the national park that I had not explored before. The sun was out, my boots were on and all was well with the world. I didn't get back to Clint till 4.30pm and by then, largely because of putting the clocks back on Sunday, the light was already failing.

Along the way I saw many things, including a junction of farm tracks that looked fine to walk across until I discovered that the mud and cow shit there was about six inches deep. But once in, I had to keep going, emerging from the junction with boots that were now thick with brown gunge and twice as heavy. Up ahead there were some clear puddles that I splashed around in to remove most of the milk chocolate coloured coating. Fortunately, the boots are waterproof.

On my rambles, I am often observed by members of the cattle family. And yesterday was no different. Cattle will often look at me as if I am the first human being they have ever seen. In fields they will frequently move towards me. I have heard of horse whisperers and worm charmers, perhaps my relationship with cattle is similar.

As I walked along the track to the long disused copper mine at Mixon, there was a young bull on guard straddling the track. If he had been elsewhere in the field, I  would have walked quietly past but standing there he obliged me to hop over the fence into an adjacent field.  He continued to watch me as I moved by while  I wondered what was going on inside his bullish head. His harem was grazing close by. Perhaps he saw me as a challenger...(See the top picture).

Discombobulation

One of the things I love about England is the weather. Like life itself, it is so unpredictable, so fickle, so difficult to pin down.  Take this weekend - just as an example. Saturday was grey and miserable, dank rain drizzled from leaden skies and all colour was sucked out of the landscape. Then Sunday morning arrives and abracadabra, it is bright and beautiful under a cobalt blue sky with a handful of cauliflower clouds scudding eastward.

Time for an hour long autumn walk. Not too far. Clint took me to one of my favourite  local haunts - Whirlow Brook Park. With boots on, I patted Clint's rear and wandered off along a familiar route, into The Limb Valley and under majestic beech trees towards Ringinglow.

At this time of year, if you keep your eyes peeled, you will see all manner of fungi. Mushrooms love October. They are mysterious and multivarious. Many is the time that I have sought to identify particular mushrooms but more often than not they have defeated me. I have even been on a couple of  foraging walks with a local expert but still most examples of  fungi refuse to give up their names.

There are an estimated 15,000 different types of fungi on this green and pleasant island and around 1,700 different types of lichen.

In the autumn sunlight, today's walk was delightful. I spotted several types of  fungi and when I paused under a great beech tree I heard beech nuts popping all around me as they bounced upon the woodland floor. There was virtually no wind. It was just that the tree had decided that today was the day to release its seeds. One of them landed on my head.

I am reading a novel by Lionel Shriver at present and I had hoped to consume a couple more chapters while sitting inside Clint after the walk but by the time I had put my shoes back on it was 1.15pm. Time to speed home to make lunch for The Empress and I. 

It has been a funny, disorienting kind of day because we put our clocks back an hour this morning. The rationale for this irritating twice yearly inconvenience continues to discombobulate me - rather like the accurate identification of fungi.

Rowan tree in Whirlow Brook Park earlier today

Festival

I took this picture of a red grouse on the edge of Kinder Scout in 2013

Every autumn, Sheffield hosts a "festival of words" called "Off The Shelf". There are lectures, book launches, writing events, question and answer sessions and special film screenings etcetera.

This year I have attended three special events. Firstly, a talk at The University of Sheffield by my son Ian and his Bosh! colleague Henry - promoting their latest book - "How to Live Vegan". Two weeks later I was at another venue to witness the film critic Danny Leigh talking about working class cinema and how ordinary working  people have been portrayed in films since the 1920's. It was fascinating and well-illustrated with clips.

Kinder Scout landscape by John Beatty

Last evening, I attended a third event at the city's other university - Sheffield Hallam. It was a promotional talk about a new coffee table book called "Kinder Scout - The People's Mountain". It was written by Ed Douglas with photographs by John Beatty and these upland country lovers were at the front of the packed lecture theatre.

Surprisingly, Ed Douglas was pretty hopeless - mumbling away and hardly inspiring the audience. If he had been a secondary school teacher the kids would have crucified him by now. In contrast, John Beatty had presence and talked through a hundred of his wonderful pictures with passion and self-assurance. He knows Kinder Scout like the back of his hand and has spent hundreds of hours up there.

Kinder Scout at sunset by John Beatty

I can hear some of you saying - Kinder Scout? What's that?  It is a mountain between Manchester and Sheffield. It sits in The Pennine Hills which are the backbone of England. Kinder Scout is a strange kind of mountain. It has steep, craggy sides all round it and they lead to a boggy and largely inhospitable plateau. It is not like one of those Alpine mountains with a peak from which you can enjoy magnificent views.

I have climbed up on to the Kinder plateau several times. It is a wild place that allows your thoughts to wander. Many people have got lost up there and before modern navigational aids several aeroplanes crashed there - amidst the boggy hags and groughs.  At the edges of Kinder Scout there are various exposed rock formations - shaped by the passing centuries.

The Boxing Glove formation on the northern edge of Kinder Scout (by me)

But humans have also played their part in creating the Kinder Scout we know today. Acid rain connected with coal-powered industries around Manchester has adversely affected the moorland vegetation and in several locations the  grouse shooting fraternity have sought to control the terrain in order to facilitate their "sport". Yes, Kinder Scout may feel like a lonely, wild place but it has not been immune from man's interference.

To illustrate this post, I have used two pictures by John Beatty and three of my own that I have just rediscovered on the geograph website.

Groughs and hags in the middle of Kinder Scout (by me)

Anniversary

It was our thirty eighth wedding anniversary yesterday. Shirley worked at the health centre all day. As a nurse in various guises, she has worked for The National Health Service for forty two years. It is a wonderful organisation that has thrived for seventy years, providing good quality health care to all - no matter what their social status or financial circumstances. All British citizens pay for The National Health Service through taxation that reminds us that together we are all part of a society in which we  look after those in need, regardless of our own situations. 

The vast majority of British people are immensely proud of the N.H.S. because every family in the land has stories of how the service has helped them. I myself can recall that it has saved my life on two occasions. Sadly and insidiously, its continuation as a free service at the point of need is under threat while Johnson's Conservative Party remain in power. There are cunning plans afoot to erode the N.H.S.. - bringing in sub-contractors and business services that naturally put profit first.

Anyway, we had booked an anniversary meal at The Dore Moor Inn on the edge of the city. We were placed by a roaring log fire. 

I have contributed three hundred reviews to TripAdvisor so I am always taking mental notes of hotels and restaurants for later reference. I am happy to report that our dining experience at The Door Moor Inn was excellent.

We had a charming and helpful waitress called Lottie and time intervals were good. There was none of that lengthy thumb twiddling that can often mar a good dining experience. Above all, the quality of the food and drink was splendid.

My starter was pancetta, black pudding  & mozzarella on mixed leaf with toasted walnuts & honey mustard dressing. This was earthy and delicious. My main course was a medium grilled rump steak with fries, grilled tomato and rocket salad. For dessert, I had the triple chocolate brownie with fudge sauce and a scoop of vanilla ice cream. To drink, because I was driving,  I just had one glass of prosecco but we also had a jug of tap water on the table.

The bill came to a most reasonable £48.50 ($62 US) with a £5 tip for Lottie. A decent meal for a decent price and a good way to celebrate thirty eight years together. 

We have travelled so far, through thick and thin and Shirley has been the love of my life. Our wedding day that blustery October afternoon in Owston Ferry, Lincolnshire seems so long ago. I had just turned twenty eight and she was twenty two. Yes - we have travelled a long way. The world is different now.

Badger

My friend Mike told me a story the other night...

A man went into a restaurant for an early evening  meal and spoke to the waiter before placing his order.

The man said, "To start with I'd like soup of the day. What's that?"

The waiter replied, "It's badger, badger soup."

"Okay I'll have that then, " said the man. "And what do you recommend for the main course?"

"I recommend the roasted badger."

The man was a little puzzled. "Okay. How about dessert?"

"We've got badger mousse!"

Still puzzled the man asked, "How come every course is badger?"

The waiter replied, "Oh sorry -  I assumed you wanted the sett menu."