Generation gap?

A stock photo that kinda sums it up

Increasingly I find there is a distance between the younger generation and the likes of myself. I don't have any problem seeing them as fellow citizens, even down to Jacob's age (18 months) but it seems that they see me as old and fuddy-duddy.

And it seems like there is a different value system now-a-days to what I was used to growing up.

As a general rule it seems to me right to eat all that's on your plate, bones excepted. And the menu was conservative when I was a boy. It was, after all, not long after war rationing and food was not taken for granted. Now-a-days it seems like folk habitually leave stuff on their plate.

I have always regarded a decent film, play or concert to be sacrosanct. How can They eat popcorn or pick sweets out of a crunchy plastic bag? How can They check their cell-phones in the row in front of me, bright light in my eyes, or talk to their neighbours? To me this is utterly unforgivable, and yet the practice is common now-a-days. It is almost as if the cinema is the place you go to eat popcorn and slurp Coke never mind the film in the background. Whereas I want the very best audio and visual experience, I want to immerse myself to the full. The same with a good book, or listening to recorded music. Which is why I generally do not listen to music - the conditions here are seldom favourable.

When I was young it was commonplace to have the national anthem at the end of a performance. Imagine that happening now! Not that I am wanting that back, it was always a little awkward not knowing whether to stand or stay seated.

Or in a church meeting. Our meetings are typically an hour and a half, shorter than the average movie. Of course there will be exceptions but is it really necessary for youngsters (I do not mean parents with young children) to go out of the meeting for a reasonably long time I suppose to go to the loo, or make themselves coffee (they sometimes return coffee in hand)? My bladder is not so strong now-a-days and yet I can usually make it through without recourse. Isn't a Christian meeting kind of sacrosanct? How can They follow what the preacher is saying if they are absent for 5 or 10 minutes?  I find it hard enough whilst listening all the time.

And screen time. Of course when I was young there were no iPads and the like, but there was TV and there was the cinema. But in my family these were strictly rationed. No TV at all until I was in my teens, and then just a few TV shows a week. Maybe a couple of trips to the cinema a year. But now-a-days the kids are watching movies or playing computer games every day.

Maybe this generation gap I detest is on my side as well as their's, after all.

Willand in February

Another trip to visit Ali's mum, this time with family C&O, T&P, J&M and S&K. You'll find family pictures in Facebook leaving this blog to just record some other events.

On the way down there was a bad crash on the M5 closing both carriageways for most of the day, so we diverted (with most of the rest of the UK it would seem) through Taunton and past this amazing church building.

St Mary's church Taunton

fantastic detail of tower stonework

I managed three runs, the third very short fitted in between a marathon shop at Morrisons and picking up the rest of my party in downtown Tiverton. During which I took the following photos ending with a shot of the formerly ellusive river Exe.

Bradfield House in early morning light

Bradfield chapel

Culm water meadows

The river Exe at Tiverton

The marathon shopping list might not seem that long but the items were disparate and it was a bit like playing hide and seek. One membefr of staff, noticing my perplexed look, asked if I needed help. I declined and managed to haul in all the items in a mere 40 minutes. I'm thinking of a new TV show in which a team of husbands are given identical shopping lists (like the one below) and sent off to separate supermarkets in towns they have never before visited. The first to complete is the winner. Numerous variations come to mind.

twin pack Morrisons' own brand tiramisu, no other brand will do
Morrisons' breaded ham slices
Morrisons' shepherd pie fresh microwavable
box of paracetemol capsules
box of Melba toast
two bananas
dark chocolate butter biscuits with no palm oil
300ml single cream
300ml double cream
frozen petis pois
one carrot
tin of pears NOT in grape juice
Great-Grandma-afternoon-tea sort of cake

Busy busy

All work and no play makes me not write blog posts.

I'm teaching three mornings a week now, plus the necessary marking and preparation time, doing less but still some electronic design, working on various building projects in the house here, and various other calls on my time including my regular barefoot runs. And things like eating and sleeping. And thus the week fills up. Not that I'm complaining - I prefer being busy than idle. Or maybe the reason for no posts is lack of muse. Or is it just this cold and wet time of the year? Or is it due to recovering from a combined cold and flu thing that has lasted almost four weeks?

But I'm off to Africa on 1st March - to visit my daughter and son-in-law who are there for an extended period setting up a church-sponsored pre-school.  That should provide some blogging material if nothing else does! Although barefoot running is not recommended in rural Africa due to nasty worms that burrow into and live beneath the skin. On the whole then, cold and wet as it might be just now, Ireland has a lot to offer. No snakes, no dangerous animals, no malaria, and plenty of mountains, lakes, rivers and beaches where you'll meet only the occasional and like-minded person, if anyone.

Justification for my last post

Following two reactions to my last post, infinitely more than |I usually receive, I thought I should explain where I was coming from.

Like I said I saw the picture, minus its frame, waiting with stuff to be chucked out. I was aware that it had been in the loft gathering dust for a long time. I have no idea what became of its frame. I could have reclaimed the picture but had I done so I would have had to hang it in my bedroom or store it somewhere. It would not have suited our bedroom decor and I couldn't imagine Ali wanting it, or where would I store it and for why? In any case I didn't want it for myself - except as a memory. So I cemented the memory by photographing it and let the substance go.

I don't know where it is now. I could ask, and would if it were seriously wanted, but I don't want to make whoever disposed of it feel bad. Like I said, I am not sentimental about it. I myself chose to let it go.

Initiation rites

Now there arose up a new generation in the community which knew not Aunt Mary. And behold they found the picture she bequeathed us and consigned it to the rubbish heap.

Mary purchased this picture as a gift for us because she it tickled her fancy and I guess because the Dove is iconic. And so it became in a little way "a part of her". For many years it occupied a prime location on the first landing until Those In Control replaced it with something of Their choice and it was relegated to the loft. And then there was a grand loft clear-out.

It used to be said that there were three initiation rites for those who would become members of this community.  The first was to endure turkey plucking, yea verily to actually enjoy it. Every Christmas a team would go to a neighbouring farm and pluck untold numbers of turkeys. Some of our young people could pluck several per hour. I went a just couple of times: the stench was diabolical, I could hardly stand it. My contribution was not more that one turkey in the whole day. Otherwise I did my best to be very busy with other stuff when turkey plucking came around.

The second was to endure our annual convention and the third was to endure a visit from my Aunt Mary. But she wasn't all bad. Just a little embittered around the edges from life's experiences. The war that took the man she loved, and in her later life her subjection to her parents which ended in nursing her mother until she died of cancer. After her parent's death she continued to live in the family home... well, you can read about the gory details here.

I found the picture sans frame in a pile on its way to the trash and managed to take a few photos, but on inspecting them realised I needed to try harder to reduce reflections. But when I went back the picture had gone. Such is community. A good thing I am not sentimental about such things.

You will see the glass is mirrorred around the border, and the picture itself is embossed so that the reflection changes as the viewer moves position.  So here's the best I can do as a testimony to Aunt Mary's life. I can only apologise for the bit of me (holding the camera) that is visible.

Community is...

... sharing viruses.

A nasty cold and a flu-like virus has been ravaging the community. How can anyone escape? If this is unity I'm not sure I want it!

The day I almost killed a little boy

This morning I was on the BBC news web site and happened on a true story entitled The day I accidentally killed a little boy.  I read it all and cried. Because of what that woman suffered and my being able to identify at least in part.

Long ago when I worked in London I was part of a car pool and one morning I was driving my friend and myself to work. I was in a built up area, cars parked tight either side, I was thankfully within the speed limit. A boy darted out between two parked cars on my right. I slammed on the brakes but even so could not avoid hitting him and he was thrown across the road. There was the mother, the police, the ambulance, a lot of hanging around until we learned the verdict - a few bruises and that was all. The relief! But I was still in shock. At what might have happened. It was not my fault any more than it was the fault of the woman in that story.

Alas, how easily things go wrong

A sigh too much or a kiss too long

And there follows a mist and weeping rain

And life is never the same again.

X marks the spot

I left Willand just before 0700 with newly acquired LED headlamp installed to ward off vehicles, it being dark at that hour. The weather was thankfully warm and dry just as forecasted the previous evening.

My track: 14.3 miles average 5.22 mph

The reason for the lower than average average speed was the ascent out of the Exe valley which was mostly at walking pace on account of the state of the path, the gradient and my limited zeal.

First sight of Tiverton

Grand Western Canal basin with ducks

Although dawn started to happen soon after I left, it was still fairly dark when I reached Tiverton, witness the above pictures. For those interested the canal terminates in Tiverton in the basin shown. It is still navigable along this part of its reach and there are occasional house boats moored.

Detail: X marks the river Exe

The X marks the chosen goal - I have no photographic evidence of this river as this would have required clambering down between trees and it was enough just to get there. So you will just have to take my word for it. That - I DID RUN FROM WILLAND TO THE RIVER EXE AND BACK! All by myself.

Here I left the Exe Valley Way

The Exe Valley Way follows an existing road southwards from Tiverton to this point where I turned off it: the river itself is the other side of the fields in this picture. My chosen route followed a muddy bridleway ascending steeply across farmland.

The ascent was stony and not kind to bare feet

Looking back over the Exe valley

Looking forward to the dawn

This communications mast was at the highest point in my run (marked 236m on the map) making it worthy of a picture. But I could not stop to investigate - I was already running late and had to get back and be washed and breakfasted before the gang arrived.

Mast at summit near Gogwell farm

The reason for the run was because I had a quest. The reason it had to be early morning was in the knowledge that the the rest of the day would be taken with a Cox family reunion. Coffee and cake at Knightshayes, lunch at home, afternoon chit-chat in the Grandma's lounge, all topped off by steak and kidney pie à la Alison followed by ice-cream and chocolate sauce (also à la Alison).

Family reunion at Knightshayes coffee shop

A quest for X

26th and 28th December runs

On a previous visit my quest was Culmstock Beacon. Is it, of course, good for one's psychology to have a goal and, this time, I have chosen the Exe: that river that flows of course through Exeter. Its nearest approach to Willand is at Tiverton so, if you will, Tiverton is the goal. We drive there often for shopping (no expedition with Ali would be complete without frequent recourse to shops) but I have hitherto assumed it was beyond my running reach.


26th run - clockwise in blue on my map - 9.55 miles.

Actually the X goal had not yet quite resolved itself and I set out rather to explore high ground to the west of Cullompton, returning via Brithem Bottom (all roads around in the locality appear to lead there) and Halberton. It rained for the whole duration of my run, steadily increasing in intensity. I was glad to get back. In fact I cannot think of a time that I have not been glad to get back after a long run.

Beacon lane

descending Forges Hill

rain on Halberton duck pomd

Yesterday's run - anticlockwise in red on my map - 11.14 miles, average 6 mph.

This time I wanted to explore the track of the GWR railway between Tiverton and Willand, as cycle way. Regrettably not metalled I found I was running on the remains of ballast, not comfortable barefoot. Sad that the railway no longer exists but good that at least a small stretch has been preserved as a cycle way. I met several dog walkers, two boys who commented on my feet, though no cyclists. You'd need a mountain bike I think.

Grand Canal at Halberton

joining the cycle way

once steam locomotives thundered here

where I left the cycle way for smoother ground

Tiverton

Grand Canal near Tidcombe Hall

The second canal crossing marked the furthest extent of my run. The return was, of course, via Brithem Bottom, and the roads were still icy in parts where the winter sun had not yet reached.

PV array between Willand and Cullompton

the day is dying

The river Exe remains my goal. Whether I make it on this trip I know not but, if and when I do, it will be significantly longer than yesterday's run, maybe 15 miles. Which is kind of scary.

Willand is good

First run 9.3 miles

Trial run exploring some footpaths around Kentisbeare. 9.3 miles.

On my right at a T junction two youngsters were approaching leading a strange animal. I turned left, then stopped to consult my map and decided to go the other way. Now passing this entourage, after exchanging pleasantries about my mistake, I saw the animal was in fact a very shaggy Shetland pony. One of the youngsters asked, in a boy's voice, whether I always ran barefoot. I assured him that I did, always, and he responded with the single word "good" - not in a snide way but as if to say "I approve". Instantly I fell in love. Not that I could see his face (they both had woolly hats on). Fell in love with what, you ask? Possibly it was the voice (I had expected a girl's). More likely it was the sentiment. After all, how does one fall in love? Is it a pretty face? I think not. Rather it is a uniting of hearts, a common but private mutual understanding, often happening in a moment of time.

I could have stopped and asked what he meant. But I missed the opportunity and then it would have looked odd to change my direction a second time. Besides, prolonging the exchange might have destroyed the magic.

Whilst running I occasionally get comments about my feet, like "Hey, mate - forgotten your shoes?" or "Fair play on you" or "Aren't your feet cold?" (and neither are my hands nor face). At home folk are used to my strange ways and thus I suppose I am labelled somewhat odd though, hopefully, harmless.

But I think in all the years that I have been running barefoot there has never been such a positive comment as that brief word. Which is why it did me so much good.

SkyTrace

Here's how it started at Newcastle airfield. Then came Exeter, Aer Arann, Waterford, Cork, Galway, Dublin, Isle of Man, SkyWest, Virgin Australia, Lily, Auckland, Jetgo, Zurich, Guinea pigs... Whatever next?

Community is...

...enduring unsatisfactory mugs and glasses.

Behold a selection. On the right we have two specimens that I cannot get my hand (wrapped in a tea-towel) into to dry. Next a mug with an inside profile that is nigh impossible to clean witness the brown ring. On the left a mug with a - well I do not know what it is - on the rim. Thankfully not quite where one puts one's mouth. A tall glass that even stuffing a twisted tea-towel inside will not touch the bottom thus nigh impossible to dry.

And I have seen worse specimens. Thankfully mostly owned personally so rarely seen on the kitchen shelves. For example the sort that have a glazing issue on the inside. Those that have an unclean-able dimple on the inside opposite the handle. Or trick mugs with a frog inside.

Why can't all mugs, cups and glasses be sensible and easily handled, washed and dried (like me) ?

Killiney

Killiney run, just over 6 miles

I took a friend to a hospital out patients' appointment and had a few hours waiting, so donned my running stuff and set out to explore Killiney. The obvious starting point was the coast, and the obvious culmination was the Obelisk on Killiney hill .

Looking north towards Dalkey Island

Looking south towards the sun!

Can't avoid railways

Evidently some sort of maintenance train

I ventured into ankle depth

Here's where I left the shore

Over the line and up Killiney hill

The Obelisk

Stunning view over Dublin

and to Dalkey Island

and to the south

Beerwah and modern technology

1/4 way up Beerwah

A few minutes ago my daughter Facebook'ed me from a quarter the way up Beerwah, one of the Glasshouse Mountains. And yesterday she sent this sunrise picture from the top.

 

Dawn at summit

She had to get up at some unearthly hour to achieve this. You will appreciate that she has a craze about mountains as her blog testifies.

Pretty amazing that the average person (although K is hardly average) can send a photograph in real time across the globe and right into my lounge. To suggest such a feat no more than 20 years ago would have been science fiction and hardly believable.

I didn't quite catch what you said

“You are old, Father William,” the young man said,

“And your hair has become very white;

And yet you incessantly stand on your head –

Do you think, at your age, it is right?”

“In my youth,” Father William replied to his son,

“I feared it might injure the brain;

But, now that I’m perfectly sure I have none,

Why, I do it again and again.”

If deteriorating eyesight and hearing means that I am old, then so be it. Ali has finally convinced me to get a hearing aid. We found a local company that has very reasonable prices and so now I (sometimes) have a Widex Dinamico 15 in each ear, and I can return them for full credit within 6 weeks if I don't get on with them. And I don't get on with them yet, but I have been told to persevere. Whenever else have I persevered, I ask?

Without doubt these yokes make things louder, and there's the rub. Not only those folk with feint voices, but also the kids screaming and the dishes clanging.

What nobody (including the "MSc qualified audiologist" who kindly tested my hearing "for free") seems to appreciate is that, for me, loud noises become distorted, and that only makes things worse and indeed verging on painful. When I have the hearing aids turned on it's OK as long as folk are not noisy. But that's a tall order in a community of 30 or so people including young children.

The other day I was running to the chalet to do some repairs and one hearing aid almost fell out: that could have been a very expensive loss. I am more careful now but it also means I do not use them when I am running or any sort of building work. Which means that the times I do use them are getting fewer.

The jury is out...