Ambitions

I’ve been meaning to write a new blog for ages now but despite having plenty of ideas by the time I get down to putting my thoughts on paper – is that still a relevant saying? Considering I could be writing this on anything from a desk-top PC to a “smart” phone but am most definitely not sitting here with a quill, a sheet of pulped wood and linen blend and some magical liquid that stains the said sheet in places I determine with the nib of the aforementioned quill –anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, putting my thoughts on paper into the magic thinking machine. Right, so, anyway, these thoughts evaporate faster than a politician’s promises, well maybe not as fast as that but pretty fast… [Oh for the love of ChasAndDave, you don’t ‘arf waffle on. Get on with it. Ed]

Actually, that “waffle” as you term it is quite relevant to what I planned to talk about. Ambition [and Prevarication. Ed].

You may be aware – and let’s face it, seeing as only people I know read this, you probably are aware – or at least doing a very good impression of awareness (or is that consciousness?). That sentence didn’t go where it was intending to. I do that a lot. Have you noticed? [By IanAnderson’s-Flute, will you get on with it we’re on a bloody meter? Ed] *Cough* Yeah, sorry. Shall I start again?

Right, Ok. Take two. [In the name of all that is Bowie, now he’s a bloody director. Ed] Shuddup!! *whispers* Take three…

As most of you know, I love history. I love most things to do with the past and discovering new things about it. Be it journeying to distant parts to touch objects from the past [Please Shawadiwadi, not “The Wall” stuff again. Ed] [actually I don’t think I’m going to sign my... {Interruptions? Our Hero} insights, any more. I think you all know who is talking by now, simply because of my choice of parenthesis.  Oh GladysKnightAndThePips, now I’m doing it], watching people up to their arses in mud gently prising artefacts from the ungentle embrace of mother earth (did think I would like to do it myself but, you know, mud eurgh!)  or much more likely, sitting in the comfort of my own home reading about the past – when I’m not watching a pretty historian on the idiot box. This obsession with the past has led me to attempt a degree in the subject. History that is, not pretty women on TV.

[Is this where the Ambition bit comes in? Because despite the good grace of MottTheHoople so far all we’ve had is the prevarication]

So far for this degree I have studied subjects ranging from Matisse to Roman villas, from the application of The Poor Laws in 18^th Century Wales to the political ideologies of Kaiser Wilhelm and Otto Bismarck. For my latest module I have been studying the journey from Hunter/Gatherer societies to the rise of Empires in the Ancient World. All of these subjects and modules have had their highs and lows – with the positive outweighing the negative by about 3-2 at the moment – but here is my point. I WANT this degree. It’s one of my ambitions.

I’ve never had that many. At least I don’t think I have. Let me just check… As a child I wanted – at various times – to be a fireman (until getting caught in a house fire put that right out of my head), Spiderman (until I realised I don’t look good in spandex [yeah, at about aged 35 ha ha]), a Hobbit (don’t ask) and to go into space (still got time on that one). As I got older my ambitions changed… To be an international spy/playboy (I know I’m not the only one), to sky dive (done), to run a successful micro brewery (if I could stop myself from drinking the profits), to bungee jump (again, done), to walk Hadrian’s Wall [By RolfHarris’Beard I knew you’d get it in somewhere] (done), to walk Hadrian’s Other Wall (still got time, Sidekick), to be this country’s youngest Prime Minister (gave up that idea when I reached 25) and to get a degree. There must have been others and you never know I may even have fulfilled some of them (really should try to find out what I did in my twenties) though I’m pretty sure I didn’t play on stage with Queen, nor did I indulge in that *#%$*^&*£$%$%$ with Al********* and Wi******** [please note, the previous “ambition” has been redacted to prevent lawsuits. In the name of MusicalYouth, would you please be careful what you write?!]

As interesting as all this is, I’m sure you are wondering where it’s all going [I know I am] <yeah, and me> {[Who the hell are you?]} <who? me?> {yes, you} <oh, i’m your inner child> [Oh for ChrisIssac this is getting ridiculous] <tell me, did we ever get super powers?> [Shut up] <you shut up!> [Look you little ****...] {You can both shut up!!! SineadO’Connor, they’ll be fetching the men with cattle prods soon} [Well if you hurried up and finished this piece of DuranDuran we could get out of here and leave the little twerp to his daydreams]

Can I finish? Right, thank you. As I said, some of you may be wondering where this is going [I should think most of them stopped reading ages ago]; well it’s all very simple. This started out as a piece on Ambition [don’t forget the Prevarication] and I think I’ve covered it <you what? where’s the flying cars? the comic strip in 2000 AD? the elf best friend?> I’ve covered it alright?! I’ve fulfilled some of my ambitions; I’m in the process of fulfilling another. I’ve even fulfilled some I didn’t even know I had. But here’s the thing, these things don’t always happen the way you plan them to, nor do they happen when you want them to. Some happen sooner, some later, some not at all. You just have to know which ones are important enough for you to make happen and which you can let slide. What doesn’t help is prevarication [SuziQuatro he finally got it]. Prevarication is the mortal enemy of Ambition (well, that and a Tory government).

And do you want to know the funny thing? While I’ve been writing this, I’m supposed to have been writing my final essay for my current module. But in my defence, this has been nagging at me for days to be let out onto an unsuspecting public and it was preventing me from thinking about the important stuff. I doubt it would get me off, but it should shorten my sentence.

[No it won’t]

<yeah, it’s the naughty step for you>

Is it a Bird? Is it a Plane? No, it’s US…. in a Balloon…

It’s Five o’clock in the morning…

By all the Gods what am I doing up at this hour?  I could understand it if I had been partying… Or if I needed to for the  hell that is known to all as “The Commute”… But I haven’t been and I don’t. Yeah Ok, it’s Friday but I’m not working (and even if I was I could still have another couple of hours sleep before I wake in a panic thinking I’ve slept through the alarm, two minutes before it goes off).. So what the hell am I doing up at this ridiculous hour?

Oh Yeah… That’s why…

Today is the day I get my Birthday present from my beautiful, amazing, way-too-good-for-me Wife. Yay!!!!

Having successfully managed to keep the day’s plans secret for Goddess’ know how long it is, however, no longer a mystery to me what we are to do… It could be the way I was informed I MUST have today off work (and next Friday “just in case”), or it could’ve been the “You Must wear your hat” (as if I go anywhere without it), or My Loving Angel’s recent obsession with the weather but something, some hidden signal, or psychic link has given it away…

Today, I am to enjoy a Hot Air Ballon Flight YAY!!!!

And so, it’s up at 5 am so we can be at the Take Off  point for 7(ish) somewhere in the wilds of darkest Kent. Following the directions of the (sometimes quite stupid) sat-nav we are surprised by the number of people out and about at this hour. I know we shouldn’t be – having both worked in jobs that require waking before the dawn chorus – but to see the sleep filled people standing shivering at bus stops and hurrying towards train stations is quite a reminder that the world doesn’t run to our clock. Especially my lazy-arse one.

After an hour of playing tag along the motorway with lorries on their way to Dover and negotiating unlit country lanes with the locals doing speeds that would scare the Campbells we arrive at the Weald of Kent Golf Club. But only after we pay a flying visit to a Guinea Pig farm (thanks to the stupid sat-nav) on the other side of the hill. Suppressing the urge to point and laugh at the golfists in their sartorially challenged (in)elegance we munch our way through our garage supplied breakfast sandwiches and await the arrival of our Air Steed.

(c) Tina Price-Johnson 14.10.11

Ah, something we hadn’t planned for. We will actually have to help to get this thing in the air (I’m sure this wasn’t in the brochure). Step forward Our Hero {Oh Bollocks, not him again. Ed.} to give a manly shoulder to the effort of removing the basket from the trailer. Cue one mighty pull, one stumble and one broken toe. This is not getting off to a good start, but with a shrug and a slight limp Our Hero carries on with the prep.

Trying not to get entangled with the cables and ropes our small group assist in the spreading and inflating of the multi-coloured silk bubble that will lift us into the blue beyond.

(c) Tina Price-Johnson 14.10.11

As you can see (right) the majority of the air that goes into the balloon is cold, this has something to do with us not wanting the balloon to (a) take off without us and (b) go up in flames, not that I understand much about thermowotsits… My mind usually lingers on what is under our feet, not over our heads…

(c) Simon Price-Johnson 14.10.11

And up it goes… Quick everybody climb in and we will be off… but first we had better untie ourselves from the Landrover…

Ok, now this is the point in our narrative where I could tell the rest of this tale with a series of photos {That sounds familiar. Ed.} but obviously I won’t (regardless how beautiful Tina’s pictures are) because you want to know what I felt and thought (though the deities know why)… so I won’t disappoint you… It’s a weird sensation Ballooning – As you lift off all you can hear is the burners (if you ignore the golfists hitting their spheroids with their sticks) and you rise almost like an outdoor lift… That being said, there is no sense of movement… No rush of wind, no lurch in the stomach, it is only the evidence of your eyes (and the aforesaid burner roar) that tells you you are moving at all…

(c) Tina Price-Johnson 14.10.11

(c) Tina Price-Johnson 14.10.11

(c) Tina Price-Johnson 14.10.11

And so we are flying… No wind to steal my hat, no buffeting, not even the sound of wind… All we can hear is the occasional blast from the burners, the exclamations of delight from our fellow passengers and the barking of what appears to be every dog in a fifty mile radius (apparently it has something to do with the burner coils giving off a high-pitched whine – similar to a dog whistle – whenever the valves are opened, or it could simply be that they are aware that people they can’t bite are somewhere above them – but as anybody who has seen Shaun of the Dead can tell you, dogs can’t look up – so that theory must be wrong)…

We are torn for a direction in which to look despite our pilot doing her best to point out places of interest – some big house that used to be owned by somebody – a long stretch of railway line – a huge (and rapidly expanding) fish farm – the proliferation of Oust Houses (despite the hop farms disappearing under fruit trees and poli-tunnels).

It is a fantastic experience, we are gently drifting at about 2000 ft above some of the most beautiful scenery in the country, travelling at times at approximately 17 knots (we are informed more than once that this is really quite fast for a balloon)… Unfortunately, despite my increasingly desperate searching, I don’t see any parch-marks in the earth below us… We do see the Kent countryside from a different angle though (at such a low speed we can still appreciate what we are seeing ) and wave at just about everybody we can see below us… Tina is of course snapping away with her camera, trying to get the ultimate picture of our journey… Oh go on then, here a couple few more…

(c) Tina Price-Johnson 14.10.11

(c) Tina Price-Johnson 14.10.11

(c) Simon Price-Johnson 14.10.11

All too soon our pilot is asking us to put away our cameras and get ourselves prepared for landing – but not before Tina has shown her respect for her recently departed friend and colleague with a scattering of rose petals over a beautifully autumnal copse with a river running through it, a show of love and remembrance that enhanced what was already a lovely day.

And so we land (eventually – after consulting a map with such notations as “too many balloons landing”, “no easy access”, “M.O.D land” and “Farmer Has Shotgun, Don’t Land!”) in a field of stubble… It’s a bit bumpy, and with the speed we are travelling almost horizontal, but we hold on tight and do all those things you think will help in these situations and soon we are back on Terra Firma. After a bit more faffing with ropes and burners Our Hero is dispatched to grab a rope attached to the very top of the balloon and – at the signal from our pilot – begins to pull for all he is worth, in an attempt to empty as much air as possible.

And that’s it. Flight over

All we have to do now is placate the farmer – usually accomplished with the transference of the folding stuff from one pocket to another (in this case, a charitable donation to the charity of the farmer’s choice) and fold, bag and stow the balloon. Return the basket to its place on the trailer (just as well we had a distinctive balloon, it made it easier for our ground support to follow and find us), climb into the Landrover and return to our departure point…

Stopping just off the farmers land for a quick glass of fizz (an unexpected bonus) and the presentation of our certificates of bravery/fool-hardiness…

Heads are nodding, legs are cramped and buttocks numbed as we wind our way back through the winding country lanes (often ignoring the sat-nav)…

We have had a magical morning.

And now it’s back home (and an extra couple of hours sleep) for our adventurous twosome…

Well, that’s it. All over. Another twenty minutes of your life you will never get back. Sorry.

Oh, before you go, I just want to say a huge thank-you to our pilot (don’t ask me to name her – you know what I’m like with names ) and a MASSIVE THANK YOU and I LOVE YOU to my amazing, fantastic and brilliant wife, Tina. xxx

(c) Tina Price-Johnson 14.10.11

Oh, By the way… I don’t know if I have broken my toe… It’s a very funny colour and I may have to go to the hospital tomorrow to confirm it but I think it is just very badly bruised… Oh well, yet another injury added to my already battered body…

TTFN.

Hadrian’s Wall – Day Five – a change of pace…

Just in case you were wondering, Day Four ended like this…

(c) Tina Price-Johnson 16.9.11

That’s right… In a fecking cowshed…

Our Hero thought he knew what was coming (thanks to the phone call  he had received from his beloved (Lone) Support Angel back past the Roman Bridge)  but this was way beyond anything his puny imagination could have conjured…

Oh well, nothing else for it, let’s just get all of our belonging up the stairs, get showered and make the most of it…

On the long, damp, cramped, aching journey from the “Salli” Inn to our digs Our Side-kick (The Matador - please note… this refer’s to his physique, his easy companionability and charm with the ladies and his no-nonsense approach towards the bovine population and not in any way to suggest that he is a serial torturer and slayer of bulls for the “entertainment” of tourists and  ”It’s our culture innit?!” diehards) had, through the gloom and lack of street-lighting, seen a sign for a chip shop… After teasing our taste buds discussing the possible choices available to us, it is decided The Matador and (Lone) Support Angel are to brave the hazards of the night once more and procure our supper (leaving our hero to wash his aching mess of a body and liberally imbibe and apply pain-killing pharmaceuticals in the hope of being able to move on the morrow)…

Despite driving (practically) back to our pick up point, the chip shop remains elusive and so our weary hunter gatherers return empty-handed… Only to be told by our hostess that the shop in question closes at 8.30 pm (if she had thought to mention this at 8.25 when our intrepid duo had first set out, our collective disappointment [and Orlando's fuel consumption] would have been a lot less)

BTW if you are wondering who Orlando is, a full explanation can be found here

Despite the cold, smell, flies, lack of chips and absence of Triv, an evening of high hilarity is enjoyed by all (followed by a night of freezing, buzzing, pain-filled sleep enjoyed by none)

Our Hero and Side-kick awake to the scents of another Full English (thanks to (Lone) Support Angel rising early and cooking in an effort to get warm) and the days plans are made…  One of which is the cancelling of another night in the Bunk House and returning to Our Side-kick’s abode with its reward of warmth and comfortable beds… And so, the car is reloaded with everything we can possibly fit into it and we are away… The Matador has decided that it is a matter of pride and completeness that he should finish the walk, while Our Hero and his fantastically amazing (Lone) Support Angel spend the day together exploring Carlisle… In what appears to Our Hero as an added penance Our Side-kick announces that he wishes to add the distance from Bowness-on-Solway to Carlisle onto his already tortuous journey back to Newtown.

In an almost perfect incidence of serendipity Our Side-kick is joined on the first leg of this trek by the three self made men of the middling sort that had been our overnight companions on our first day of The Wall… Leaving Our Side-kick to Shanks’ Pony the Old Marrieds leave with an almost unseemly haste (perhaps in the hope of getting away before The Matador comes to his senses) and head to Carlisle (and Costa’s)…

(c) Tina Price-Johnson 17.9.11

Despite the use of a walking cane Our Hero still finds mobility something of a pain-filled fraction of what was achievable before The Wall but he is now with his lady-love and that in itself is enough to buoy his spirits…

The Leisurely exploration of Carlisle Castle and it’s environs is just what Our Hero needs to revive his aching muscles (despite spiral stairways and descents into the dungeons)…

To be surrounded by another period of our long and tumultuous history (this time the Jacobite Uprising and Carlisle’s role in it) is both enthralling and uplifting and Our History Mad Couple are content to wander the walls and halls with cameras ready and hands entwined…

(c) Tina Price-Johnson 19.9.11

While their thoughts do turn occasionally the trials and tribulations of their walking companion, they are happy in each others company and this trip begins again to feel like a holiday…

After purchasing a brace of bottles filled with the heavenly mana that is mead our love-birds repair to Costa’s for the much-anticipated Cinnamon Capacinno and Hazelnut/Caramel Latte that had haunted dreams since arriving at the first bunk house…

Refuelled with caffeine and cake Our Hero assures (Lone) Support Angel that she shall see some of The Wall and so they embark on their own mini road trip to Birdoswald Fort…

(c) Tina Price-Johnson 17.9.11

(c) Tina Price-Johnson 17.9.11

(c) Tina Price-Johnson 17.9.11

Birdoswald and The Wall are every thing that (Lone) Support Angel had been expecting, both from her own imagination and the tales of bravery and derring-do brought back by Our Heroes…

It’s all there; the history, the worked stone, the mud, the penis carvings, the cow-shit, the story of The Wall (again) and the Gift Shop… Again Our Loving Couple (yes, I know that some of you find these constant Public Displays of Affection just a wee bit bile rising but you know what, My Blog My Rules so nyer!! ) slowly meander among the exhibits and remnants of our Roman (Former) Overlords (probably driving the other visitors mad with their jokes and photos )… (Lone) Support Angel experiences a real bog for the first time (having mistaking the slightly damp ground of Vindolanda earlier in the week for same) though – despite putting on her new pink walking boots specially – not attempting to cross it… The weather is making a concession for a change and allowing us to play along the wall like the overgrown kids we are before ripping open the clouds and dumping about three billions of tonnes of H2O onto us just as we climb back into the car… It’s been a rewarding and charming day…

(c) Tina Price-Johnson 17.9.11

All that is left now is to make our way back to The Salvation (Salutation actually) Inn and await the arrival of our weary, foot-sore but proud companion… We arrive to a typical local’s welcome - no, not the Slaughtered Lamb variety – and soon settle in to while away the hours we know Our Side-kick will be…

As tradition (and bodily need) demand, we treat ourselves to a meal, unfortunately not in the restaurant side of the Inn not having known to book in advance at what proved to be an extremely popular Inn… If you ever get a chance get yourselves to The Salutation Inn in Irthington for one of the best meals you will ever experience (but please don’t tell everyone as we want to be able to get a seat when we go back )… And as our taste buds are caressed with flavours both familiar and exotic our wet, muddy, cheerful, angry, proud, exhausted, exuberant and bedraggled Side-kick struts limpingly into the bar looking for warm, dry clothes and a pint.

(c) Tina Price-Johnson 17.9.11

It’s been a hard week. Muscles and tendons are overworked and tired. Emotions have been stretched almost beyond breaking point. Memories have been made and in some cases scabbed over already… Our Hero and his companions have (sort of) fulfilled a life-long ambition but now they are ready to return to the real world… well they will be after a night at Dom’s with it’s real beds and small ginger feline… and another day off on Monday to recover fully…

Ok, there you go… That’s it. I hope you have enjoyed these selected recollections of Our Super Trio’s trip along The Wall. Oh IBITS how cheesy did that sound?! Ok, whatever… We did The Wall, one did further, one did it back and forth in a car and one… well let’s just say… Next Time it’s Offa’s Dyke (but with a bit more prep ;})

As always if you would like to see Our Side-kick’s memories of the event’s related for your delectation then go: here.

Actually, before you go I would just like to say a HUGE thank you to Dom and Tina for joining and supporting me in this mad venture… I really could not have done it without you both… With all its ups and downs (in more ways than one) and its laughter and pain, I had a fantastic time… so Thank You again

P.S. I meant it about Offa’s Dyke you know… Take Note Entertainment Officer and Co-Pilot

Hadrian’s Wall – Day Four – heads down and just keep going…

Before we begin this fascinating foray into Day Four (and I do hope you have been saying that in your best “Big Brother” stylee :}) I would like to apologise… I didn’t actually make any notes for Day Four… The reasons for this are many and varied but I am sure that when you get to the end of this fascinating and remarkably erudite episode you will understand why….

Ok, let’s get this over with… Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you: Day Four…

Day Four began much like each of the others on The Wall…  With a soft whimpering as Our Hero tries to find a dignified way to exit a top bunk with a knee that will not take his weight and a general feeling of fatigue that would’ve felled a lesser man…

That’s right, gentle reader, Our Hero was feeling his age this grey and murky morning… “Oh how can it be?” I hear you cry… “How can this perfect specimen of earlobe and baby toes be feeling so bad?” I know, my darlings, I know… but we’ve got to face it, I am getting a few months past thirty now and even us paragons of laziness can only hold out so long… But despair not, Our Hero has still got “it” in him… Praise Him…

Ok so, breakfast was a little different this morning, not only were we trying gallantly to work our way through a cold full English each (Our hostess explaining all the while that she had forgotten one of our breakfasts yesterday, having left it in the oven… Our Hero nods amiably as he tries to masticate through what he firmly believes to be that self-same breakfast) but between each mouth full we are all engaged in the intricate dance that was readying our lunches and Tea for the day, ensuring we have back-packs and tissues whilst trying to pack up all of our belongings (keeping a ready eye out for that elusive charger), load the car, clean the common room and pay the bill… All in less than half the time it has taken us to do less than half of the things we are doing on previous days… It’s all change today folks, for after dropping Our Hero and his …. Oh com’n man, you gotta though’ of a name by now righ’?… I’ve been trying… I really have… and the only one that has come to mind is… The Matador.

Yeah, That works. That conjures up images of Strong, Virile young men with hundreds of drooling admirers, welcomed in every tavern, dreamed of by maidens and matrons alike, looks good is skin-tight pink pants, able to face certain death in the face, face to face so to speak, with a sneer and twist of moustache…

Yeah, yeah ok, let’s get back to it yeah? {Pink Pants? Ed.} Yeah, alright… get over it yeah? Ok… So… er… yeah… Ohyeah, so today the Magical Mystery Trio are upping sticks and setting up their bivouac at the other end of The Wall… That’s right folks, today we are going for it, push on to the end…

At least, I think that’s the plan… We did all discuss it last night, but discussions that are had post dinner look a bit different pre breakfast… I know that at the time of discussion we were all stood in clouds of petrol vapour, having a quick hippy moment and measuring distances out on an old map with our fingers… (I did mention I am a complete novice at this walking in the countryside thing didn’t I?) I know that I for one was in that state of being only achievable whilst experiencing a full stomach, your hair still damp from a warm and welcoming shower and an evening in good company… Yesterday had been hard going  for all of us… Lack of Prep was most definitely making its neglect felt on Our Hero and I’m sure that The Matador was feeling more than he was letting on but like all the best Side-kicks  (The Tick, Night-Owl, Batman, Tech-Knight, Sgt Colon, Dan Dare, Asterix.. You get what I mean) he was probably holding it all stoically inside so as not to embarrass Our Hero… I know that our (Lone) Angel was feeling the absence of Our Entertainments Officer and Our Co-Pilot quite deeply… And truth to tell, So was Our Hero… Although considering the terrain our Diabolic Duo had been traversing over the past few days we wouldn’t have been able to have our entertainments officer along without a fifteen man medical team on constant stand-by and having installed stair-lifts on some of the trickier slopes…

And sorely as her presence was missed during our various Bovine encounters (no Brown 833 would’ve stood in her way, not with the whole herd behind him) we all knew that Our Co-Pilot was better off where she was and not rescuing grown men from amorous and/or belligerent  Bovines <3

Please bear (bare? well maybe… it depends on who’s asking really) with me… This one is not as easy to write as previous instalments…. I’ll tell you what… Have a look at a nice picture for a few seconds while I make Tea and collect my thoughts… BRB…

(c) Dom Kingsmill-Stocker 16/9/11

Ok so here we go… Did you like that picture by the way?  Takes a good photo does our Dom (even when he’s not supposed to ) So yeah, where were we? Yeah, so… so today we started (as we had done on the other days) at the point where we had stopped the evening previous… This time at the Roman Army Museum, a place that left us agog, agape and amazed…

In approximately 2 hours we have taken a “3D” flight over the length of the wall, Been recruited into the Roman Army – though I did have my fingers crossed when we took the oath, Relaxed with an Auxiliary unit, and seen some of the rarest Roman finds anywhere in the world… and negotiated the smallest Gents door outside of Barbie’s Night Club… But much as Our Hero’s body complains, we have to be back on The Wall. It’s about one pm and Carlisle is a Long way off yet….

(c) Simon Price-Johnson 16.9.11

The low cloud cover and constant drizzle are a match to Our Hero’s mood as he returns to the Hadrian’s Wall Path…

Heavy of heart and limb is Our Hero on this day, dear reader… He know’s the plan… he know’s this was all his idea… he know’s that to fail would eat at him more than a stoner with a crate of Jaffa Cakes… But. But he also knows that to actually make it to Carlisle in his present state was practically impossible.

Also playing on his mind is that underneath all the brilliantness, Beyond-the-Callness and general all-round amzingness of (Lone) Support Angel, the days spent alone and tired are getting to her. This vacation has not turned out as planned and Our Hero can feel some cracks beginning to form…

The Wall is beside us almost constantly again but this time it just passes in a blur… Oh how I wish I could say from the speed we were covering the trail but it was more the desire to get to the end… Heads down, feet pumping we pushed on… Snatching photos in those brief moments when we stopped for breath or passed a mile marker or something other than The Wall caught our attention… Today there would be no messing about with Bulls, we were to push on through them and woe betide any that did not stand aside… Though conversation was intermittent, it wasn’t so absent as to lower our morale to politician levels of blame-throwing… Actually dearest reader, maybe you could answer me a question (and please don’t tell me to google it because then I would know and you would not and that is just knowledge wasted), so can you tell me – If a Cow is Bovine and a Sheep is Ovine, What is a Goat?

Ok, so that was one of the questions raised on this day of questions and contradictions… Another was: How could we cross the same railway track twice when we have both been going in a fairly straight path? Or how about; What was it about our Victorian forebears that made them think being cold, damp and in the middle of nowhere was a good basis for where to build a Spa?

This is not to say that The Wall cannot still throw up some surprises…  At Poltross Burn Mile Castle 48 we find the last few original in-situ steps in any Castle or Fort along the wall – also still visible is the bottom of the oven upon which the troops stationed there would’ve cooked their meals…

(c) Simon Price-Johnson 16.9.11

As well as some sections that still stand taller than Our Heroes…

(c) Simon Price-Johnson 16.9.11

A few sheep that didn’t soil themselves as soon as they saw us but were actually quite friendly…

The chance to walk through not one but two private gardens (which must be a real Joy during the summer months)…

and as if that wasn’t enough to slow us down and keep us engaged with the experience we found this…

(c) Simon Price-Johnson 16.9.11

The remnants of the Roman Bridge over the River Irthing… A sight that was both awe-inspiring and a little sphincter puckering… I say that because the notice board that accompanied this 18 centuries old structure informed us that we would be able to follow this section of The Wall/Bridge down to the water’s edge but that we would then have to double back as the Bridge had collapsed many years ago and never been replaced.. well all I can say, the people who write these things should go out and inspect their sites occasionally… Because just around the corner was this…

(c) Simon Price-Johnson 16.9.11

Put in place in 1999 to celebrate something or other….

I think that by this point the pace of today and the trials of the last few were really beginning to tell upon both of us…

Hills and fields, Bullocks and Bogs, Rain and exhaustion were beginning to lose their appeal…

Even the delicious Tea (and sneakily eaten James’ Cake ™) at Birdowald Fort only revived us enough to reach the last vestiges of the visible Wall just a mile or two down the road at Banks East turret 52…

Having received the call he had been dreading way back before the river, Our Hero had made his decision… Today would be his last day Walking the Wall… Whether the Dynamic Duo reached Carlisle or not… I would not be doing another step along it after we finish tonight… It was not an easy decision to make and telling The Matador almost took more strength than Our Hero felt he had in him but His Lady Love had hit her own wall and needed him to help get her over it…

Much as he berated himself for it, feeling the growing conviction that he had wimped out, let his friend down and generally made a mess out of the whole thing, Our Hero knew he had made the right choice… Even as the physical distance between the two increased (so that they were no longer two compadre side by side against the Wall but were more lowly foot soldier tramping after his staff Sargeant) the knowledge that tomorrow would not be like today both relieved and hurt…

With the path now on tarmac almost as much as across grass, blisters that had been silent for most of the past two days again began to make themselves known… As a CityBoy I never thought I’d hear myself say it but I actually began to physically dislike tarmac… It’s hard and unforgiving,  it hints at towns and crossings, buildings and noise, glimpses of sky and ringing phones… These roads told us (whether they passed country cottages or hedgerows) that soon our journey would be at an end… Oh How I hated that tarmac!!!

Climbing the last hill into Newtown was the hardest stretch of the entire four days… As the heavens opened and the gloom of a wet September evening settled in Our Heroes raised our noses to the wind and tried catching a hint of the brewers art… Alas we were to be denied the pleasures of the tap-room while still reasonably dry enough to enjoy to its fullest extent… A passing local kindly informs us that a hostelry is to be had but that it is about a mile and a half out of our way… Down the hill and turn right… And as we stand there beside the way marker that points across the fields, promising more fields, bogs, tarmac, stiles, cows and aching muscles before finally reaching Carlisle – our clothes becoming nothing more than clammy and uncomfortable extra weight I feel an even bigger heal than I have for the past few hours when I tell my stalwart and seemingly indefatigable companion that I would rather take the certainly of the pub down the hill over the possibility of one in the next village over… I am done. Finished. I don’t know how far away Carlisle is – the last sign-post I’d seen had said 12 miles but that could’ve been ten miles back or just two hundred yards… I just didn’t know, but in truth it didn’t matter… Just down that hill was a pub and all that entailed… All I had to do was make it down that hill without covering at least half its length on my face…

See Our Heroes shivering under the smokers awning outside the Salutation Inn, trying to stave off the worst of the horizontal rain by hunching shoulders and cursing. It’s twenty past five on a Friday night and the pub is locked up tighter than a crusader’s virginal sister… But what’s this? A pretty lady pulling into the car park… Dashing from her car to the door, miming opening up… and as the clock strikes half past we squelch dejectedly into the bar…

Time to call Tina… and arrange what’s going to happen tomorrow…

(c) Dom Kinsmill-Stocker 17.9.11

Ok, that’s it… That’s all you are getting for now… I know we’ve got to finish but I just can’t right now… I will write the final part… if not tomorrow then the day after…

As always, if you wish to relive this journey through the eyes of our Side-kick The Matador then please click:…er...Here.

Hadrian’s Wall – Day Three – more steepy steep bits and more boggy bogs

As you may remember dear reader we ended our last instalment on a bit of a cliff-hanger….

Would Our Heroes be rescued from the delightfully charming and welcoming embrace of the Twice Brewed Inn? Would they like the third set of extra boarders that had the pleasure of sharing their digs tonight? Would the dream of a nice hot shower be enough to rouse them from the temptation of another pint? Would Our Hero like his new coat? Would it fit? What am I doing here reading this when I could be doing something infinitely more rewarding? Like sexing carrots? Or seeing how many times I can play frisbee with a plate from a display in Debenhams before they call the police? Or plotting a way to ensure that the pieces of tin-foil and glass that you just happened to coat in chocolate are sat in just the right, the most perfectly enticing place in the office from where your boss just can’t help grabbing a couple as they walk past?

Thank you for your forbearance, gentle reader, your patience is about to be rewarded (if you can call trawling through all this turgid prose and limp wit a reward…)

Ok read on But I must warn you that a combination of the pain endured and the fact that I’ve slept since may mean that some of my recollections may be a bit fuzzy….

(c) Tina Price-Johnson 13/9/11

As this photo hopefully illustrates, I don’t have much of a memory (or hearing apparently) because this happened on the night we arrived at our bunk-house… The tree was standing when we sat down to our evening meal but in its current position when we awoke on Day One… Our common room and bedroom were less than twenty feet away, facing it… I mention these lapses in memory and complete lack of awareness of surroundings in the hope that you will forgive any clashes and/or discrepancies of  recollections between Our Hero’s and his Side-kick’s Blogs 

As you may have guessed our (Lone) Support Angel did remove us from the clutches of the brewers craft and with much limping, groaning and general “FeelingOurAgeness” did we find ourselves back at our bunk-house… Truth to tell, I don’t remember much of that evening… I do remember the delicious Spag Bol (or was it an omlette) made by Dom… Actually, I have just been reminded by Her Long-suffering-ness that it was actually Pizza on this night… Spag Bol was the previous night and Omelette the following…{What would you do without her? Ed.}  I remember Dom speaking German with the nice Swiss lady (and her husband) that were sharing our common room that eve… I remember sharing Cake with these lovely people (and the lovely Swiss lady leaving the place even cleaner than it was when we arrived)… I remember a stolen Hippy moment in a laundry room that had just a bit too much petroleum vapour in the air to feel entirely safe… I don’t remember going to bed but I know I must’ve done because I remember feeling just as bad waking the next morning as I had getting back last night…

So here we have it: Day Three…

A slight change of pace for day three… Starting with how we broke our fast… On the two previous mornings we had entered the kitchen to find three partially prepared Full English’s waiting for us, today we awake to find two fully prepared dishes of same… With only minimal grumbling and a further lowering of spirits (Lone) Angel displays another of her many fantastic qualities and announces that as “the Boys” will be walking today, they can devour the protein filled repast set before them, while she will content herself with a bowl of cereal and a bananananananananananananana…

Soon (after we have ensured that flasks are fully stocked, cake evenly distributed and relevant areas of Our Heroes anatomies  liberally covered in Deep Heat) we are all packed and back on the road towards one of the high-lights of the trip, Vindolanda. As we rocket along the tarmac at speeds often in excess of 50 mph we can’t help but wonder at the terrain and distance we had covered the day before… Before long we are turning off the arrow straight Roman Road and onto a series of medieval successors – twisty turny things that lead us (within about 20 minutes of opening) to Vindolanda. Optimistically we purchase tickets that will allow us entry into both Vindolanda and the Roman Army Museum further along The Wall. Now confirmed as our destination for that day.

(c) Simon Price-Johnson 15.9.11

I can tell you now, patient reader, we were not unimpressed by this fantastic site. So entranced were we with this place we probably spent longer there than we had allowed for. Not that we couldn’t have spent longer there but we did have a Wall to walk. But that was for later, for now we had a Roman Fort and all its associated archeology to explore… Oh and how we explored it… Climbing the reconstructed Roman Fortifications… Photographing Latrines… Walking along the roads laid by the Invaders… Finding the hidden sculptures in the Roman Gardens… Our trusty Side-kick making an impassioned plea within the Temple of Nymphs… Reading letters sent nearly 2000 years ago (not just copies but the actual letters!!!) Generally soaking up the atmosphere to such an extent that Our Hero (probably as a result of pain filled hallucinations) could almost hear the sounds of life on the Frontier. the Horses, the Hawkers, the Soldiers, the Bakers, the Barked Orders, the Drunken Tavern Patrons… All the life and sounds that make up a thriving community…

After a quick Brunch and obligatory trip to the gift shop we are ready to leave (Just after Dom gets a couple of shots of the rather pretty archeologists)…

Another quick round of photographs and a nicotine top-up and we are off to our starting point for today… Ok, I’m sorry, it should’ve been right then left, not left then right…  quick turn around in this car park… Ah yes, up this hill and we will get going from the car-park…

(c) Tina Price-Johnson 15/9/11

You may not be able to see it in the accompanying photo but Our Hero is currently striding forth from the car park at Steel Riggdressed (rather nattily) in his brand new and snuggly warm coat. Another example of (Lone) Support Angel going above and beyond <3 {And if that doesn’t work you are going to look a completeNerk. Ed [Don't care, they will all know what I mean.]} 

Striding forth was quite easy at this point… buoyed by our morning soaked in the lives of those that lived along the wall, we were renewed in our vigour to walk again in the footsteps of those that worked The Wall (or maybe that was just the memories of the painted nymphs in the temple). Besides it couldn’t be any worse than Day Two. Could it? Well, of course you are now expecting me to say that it was hell man… like real torture… I’m sure if my knees could talk they would probably say just that but as I did back on The Wall, I’m ignoring my knees. Back then because I had just had some rather welcome pain relief and now – well for pretty much the same reason

It’s almost two o’clock. Our Heroes have lost almost four hours already but they are not deterred. Oh no, Just look at the determined length of those strides, those strides will last for many miles yet. The wall has thrown its worst at us. We know this instinctively.

The more observant among you will have noticed that I refer to myself as a City Boy. City Boy – Instincts?. Like Feck!!!!

“But we did the hilly bits yesterdayyyyy?!!!” I can hear the five-year old inside of me crying. Hadrian’s Wall Path, the trek that keeps on giving.  Through the bright sunny day (yeah I know, oh the irony) do Our Heroes push on. We are to meet her most radiant (Lone) Support Angel at four of the post meridian clock at the Roman Army Museum just seven miles hence (by the road signs). Two hours that will just fly past. “But We Did The Hilly Bits Yesterday!!!” I can hear the five-yearold within me getting louder as the Crags get steeper. And Boggier. I mean, how does that work? We are on top of the crags and the ground is boggier than the lowlands near the road? I mean seriously, we really should have a word with whoever is meant to be maintaining this poor benighted planet. I’ve read (well chewed) science books. I Know water is meant to run down hills. Not sit at the top conspiring with the mud to steal shoes. That’s just bad management that is. I bet the problem was just handed over to a bunch of consultants that took the fee and ran. No-one’s to blame because no-one was responsable…. These frequent and persistent area’s of Mother Earth with an almost fetish-like desire for footwear did give rise to an important observation. Whenever Our Hero and his Side-kick reached these noisome boils Our Hero would go around towards the left whilst Side-kick (Must think up a Proper Side-kick name…. ummm Suggestions please?) would move right… You can imagine the response when Our Hero raised this point…

Bizarrely enough, it is through this most frustrating and stupefying section of terrain that Our Hero finds his spirits most lifted. Banter is frequent and diverting. Don’t believe any-one that may claim we grumbled from start to finish especially not me We laughed quite a bit on this journey (and not all of it had a manic edge)…

(c) Simon Price-Johnson 15.9.11

As we approach the summits of these Crags (Never did quite get their local name) we can look back and pretend to ourselves we covered worse ground yesterday. What our gallant heroes have failed to appreciate is that they were already near the highest point when we started today and that the descents will be hellish. Even when we spot a Microlite flying along below us does their altitude not  intrude upon Our Hero’s perception of the path ahead. Like I said; CityBoy Instincts (yes i could probably spot a mugger at 100 yards [or 18 inches whichever is the lesser] but take me away from street lighting and flushing toilets for more than twenty minutes and I become the bloke that you want to smack senseless for most of the film who then has the moist pointless, but actually rather amusing death – probably involving running through a door that now leads to the outside world 60 stories up – five minutes before the real hero leads the rest of the survivors to safety).

The landscape around us and the thought of all those legionnaires building this thing with only hand tools and string inspire us to continue on though. Even when we are offered the choice of an easier path we opt for reaching the peaks. We were men! We drank beer and had facial hair… we were going to do this properly… Nothing was going to stop us…

Brown 833!!!!! even now does his demonic countenance fill my few uneasy hours of restless sleep….

Picture the scene:- Our two brave and adventuresome heroes, armed with only a camera each and a thermos are reaching yet another ladder after quite a long climb through some particularly persistent brown and green, first they negotiate thedepthless pool of  extra soft brown and with a quip and a hurried search for somewhere to put a foot without it disappearing up to the knee, they are over. “My, those cows look Big”… Now we had encountered many forms of wildlife on our journey so far. Well, cows and sheep. But we had faced them and survived. We had caused ewes to wet themselves. Negotiated safe passage through the territory of frankly gangland bovines. I tell you folks, those things looked like they regretted not wearing hoodies. We had even stared down rams from a distance of no more than twenty feet. We were hardened. And desperate (two litres of builders tea and no flushing toilets remember). But these cows, no These Bulls looked BIG. And not entirely differential. Now I’ve read my ladybird book of bible stories. I know that all of the animals were put on this earth to do mans bidding, but I don’t think Brown 833 has got that far yet.

First of all, him and a couple of his cronies decide to nonchalantly move onto the slightly browner stripe through the field that is the path. All facing us. As I said, we were old hand at this “dealing with wildlife” thing now and we know that when a member of the bovine quadruped group wants to move away from you fast (for a given value of fast) they make a jump towards you before turning tail and lumbering away. Ensuring we are ready for this we both take a step or two back. Brown 833 seizes his chance and saunters into the space we have just vacated. Honestly folks, I don’t know how Dom got back over that ladder so fast with me practically climbing his back. And here we now stand, doubled up with laughter and unwilling to even attempt the ladder. Brown 833 moves closer. Our mind turn to emergency flares and rescue helicopters. An ignoble end to our proud endeavour. But wait, Dom had made promises to the Nymphs of the Temple. And now our benefactors were smiling upon us. Yes, alright we did at first attempt to distract Brown 833 and his fellow field tuffs bypromising that we wouldn’t make a fuss if they savaged the two women coming across the field behind them. We did agree not to say anything to the polis or anyone… Whether they were sent from Mt Olympus or come from the antipodes (much more likely considering their accents) these two marvelous apparitions saved our lives that day. And we didn’t even get their names or find where to send flowers… Heads down we limped across that field with our nemesis’ face imprinted forever on our psyches…

(c) Dom Kingsmill-Stocker 15/9/11

With our path now heading in a generally downward direction we sometimes found it easier to walk along the wall itself. Or at least a lot more satisfying. We will have to rearrange our ETA with (Lone) Angel though, having just checked my watch and found that at 3.45 we won’t be meeting her at our rendezvous point at 4. We can’t even see the place from where we are. More slopes and steps pass. Our hero struggles on through the pain, slower now but not yet prepared to admit defeat.

At Mile Castle 42 – I think, or that may be the place where the grumpy sod at the top of the hill begrudged my fellow venturer and I having another cup of tea just because he wanted to get a photo without people in it. Anyway, wherever it was, nature’s various demands could no longer be denied… Tea, Cake and the release of pressure followed… Our Side-kick’s suggestion that I should show more respect quite obviously led to various Monty Python quotes… Oh go on, I dare you to walk The Wall and not make one or two…

A quick glance at my watch shows we are making great time, despite the increasingly vertigo inducing angle of the downward path… steps are both welcome and hazardous… The journey begins to take on a timeless quality… just one teeth-clenching step down after another… another treacherous change of footing after another… mud, rock, grass to rock to mud to rock to bog to grass to mud…

Before us we can see water…

(c) Simon Price-Johnson 15/9/11

And Buildings?… Yes, they are buildings… We have done it… We are down… we have done it.. we have reached the end of the Crags and it’s only 3.45 we’ve still time to….. Hold on!! Did you say 3.45? Damn!! How long has my watched been stopped?  Well, whats the time now? Ten past Five? Oh hell, Guess I had better call Tina… “Hello Darling, you’ll never guess what happened…. No Darling, no I don’t think we are going to get to see the museum today… Yes Darling, I can appreciate you have been sitting there for nearly two hours… We’re not far now, we should be just around the corn..OhShit!!!

(c) Simon Price-Johnson 15/9/11

Yeah, er Darling, we may have one or two more hills to go but we will be with you soon… Love you”

Thankfully this pretty much was our last hill… Descending from the final was almost an anticlimax… Over the past few hours each previous descent had been excruciating, unpredictable and quite {read very. Ed} steep… It was almost a stroll down to the notice board at Walltown Crag Turret… As we reached the bottom and voted to stop for a much-needed Rosie, Our Heroes watched as a group of casually dressed twonks got out of a Jag and strolled up to the turret… As we tucked into Our James’ Cake ™ we smugly watched them saunter around for a while before one of them trotted down to said Jag… The other three, with hands in pockets and surely no idea of the hell awaiting them begin to saunter away over the hills… Chuckling to themselves Our Heroes returned to the path… Less than ten minutes later… “Yes. That’s definitely Tina, I recognise our car…” I think at 5.50 pm the museum might just be closed… Oh well, there’s always tomorrow…

If you would like to read Our Stalwart Side-kick’s thoughts on this epic journey click: Here.

Hadrian’s Wall – The day the pain got personal…

Previously on Hadrian’s Wall – an idiot’s guide to walking…

“ we arrive at the home of Our Hero’s Trusted Side-kick Dom with just enough time for a caffeine and nicotine top-up before loading Dom and his gear (including a much appreciated crate of beer) in the car and back onto the road…”

“a real hippy moment” “The wind won 7-3″

“ Chollerford here we come… But first, let’s just pop into that Spar to grab a pack of ciggies…”

“Plain Trees [...] this is the last section of wall our heroes see today. Not that we are disheartened.”

“three slightly older self-made men of the middling sort”

“It’s six pm, we’ve been on our feet since about 11am and we are feeling just a little proud of ourselves for covering about twelve (more like thirteen) miles… “

What do you mean you don’t remember that bit? Didn’t you read the first instalment? Well alright, go back and read it now and I’ll wait…

Finished?

Ok, now read on… 

At The George Hotel, to start Day 2, ending in the Twice Brewed pub 16 miles away! (c) Tina Price-Johnson 14/9/11

Hold on, getting a bit ahead of ourselves there I think… Let’s back it up a bit… Let’s see… Whip whipwhipwhipwhip”..xeHnitaocauoytegotyrtll’I”whipwhip”tsafkaerbeciN”whipwhipwhip”taergtahtton,on”whipwhisckitch…

Our Heroes greet Day Two earlier than they had planned. Despite setting various alarms for the times desired by our protagonist and his ( 2/5 diminished) super-hero squad, the morning’s sleep is quite rudely interrupted by the shared jocularity of those sharing the bunk-house… Our fellow boarders, the three slightly older self-made men of the middling sort alluded to in the previous instalment, have rather louder voices than the thinness of the walls can compensate for… And so our trio start the day in a slightly grumpier mood than mere aching muscles and lack of daytime company can account for… Arriving in the (admittedly comfortable and homely) kitchen/social room to find a half prepared breakfast waiting is not lifting moods much either…  Step forward Our Hero and ta-dah!! Three cooked breakfasts. The phrase “Nice breakfast,” is heard more than once…

Using the prep time to arrange our various movements for the day and making sure that we have sufficient supplies of  Tea and James’ Cake ™… We soon find ourselves back in the car and back to The George Hotel ready for Our Hero and his Side-kick to start where they ended Day One. On the way it is decided that the long-suffering, supportive, angelic (Lone) Support Team member, Tina (beautiful, amazing, brilliant wife of Our Hero) shall venture into the wild and mysterious population centre known to the outside world as Hexam to try to find a coat to replace the one that Our Hero stupidly left hanging at home…

And so Our Heroes, filled with a pain/ache inspired trepidation and determined hope return to the walk (having learned the previous day to look for the yellow acorns and red arrows that will determine their path for the next few days )… First stop Chesters (Roman Cavalry Barracks)… Twenty minutes later, back on the path, “Oh I agree, paying £5 to see something we will probably see on The Wall for free, and that will really do no more than slow us down is just not worth it…”

Within minutes our fortitude and tight hold of the purse strings are rewarded with a glorious sight… To start the day with such a welcome is both heartening and refreshing

(c) Dom Kingsmill-Stocker 14/9/11

Today’s wind, while still frisky and playful, is not as persistent as it’s siblingswere yesterday. The same can not be said for the rain. It is such a constant and insidious companion that Our Hero learns a new word. Mizzling- apparently it means a form of precipitation that is neither drizzle, fog or showers but a confusing and disconcerting combination of all three that leaves Our Hero constantly putting on and removing his coat.

Despite this constant fluctuations of body temperature our Two (a Lot closer to 40 than the previous day) Adventurers still have reasons to smile. With the terrain getting more up than down we realise we must reach some wall soon.

(c) Dom Kingsmill-Stocker 14/9/11

And there it was… I can tell you dear readers, it fair took Our Hero’s breath away!!

I have a confession to make here, dear forgiving reader, I cannot for the life of me tell you how Our Hero’s Side-kick felt at this point. This could be a combination of many things… Said Side-kick could have been forging so far ahead (to ensure safe footing and subduing rampaging woad-clad savages, I like to think )  that I wasn’t within ear shot of his exclamation (If he even made one), We could just have emerged from a particularly extensive and piquant concentration of “That’s yor real cun’ryside, that is,” (we did this quite a few times I recall, some places were so similar in size, colour and consistency to the planet Arboria in the classic 80s film Flash Gordon [you remember, Prince Barinwas played by Timothy Dalton and  Peter "Blue Peter Action Hero" Duncan got bit/stung/violated by a stump monster, Got it? Yeah, the one where Brian Blessed says: Gordon's Alive?! For an extra point, Can you name Ming the Merciless' Side-kick and head of secret police? You can? Good, now go reward yourself with a Queen song and a Jaffa Cake, But not just yet, we've got to get to the end of the orignal sentence...] that either English Heritage, The Land Owner, The Small Group of Lovely People with spare paving in their pockets, or whoever is responsible for this sort of thing had obligingly tried to alleviate the problem that they lay stone slabs, bricks or just random bits of rock throughout the affected area. Let’s just say… It didn’t always work and leave it at that shall we?! [almost there, keep going]) and he of the stalwart character and white head-band was busy trying to use the most plentiful tufts of grass as an organic shoe cleaner, Our hero could have just limped past his boyishly exuberant side-kick after watching the gleeful and abandoned passage of him of the much better camera at almost juvenile speed and balletic grace down the preceding descent {this happened more than once, dear reader, it became such a regular feature  that Our Hero soon began to fear if not for the safety of his companion then at least his sanity }, Or possibly One or the other of us made our remarks whilst plastering camera to face and clicking away like mad [see that wasn't too bad was it?]. Of course, it could quite simply be that what I felt at my first sight of this section of wall had already been experienced by my friend and fellow adventurer the previous day back at Plain trees or was an event that was yet to happen. As I said, I cannot speak for Dom but for me to see that section of  Wall pointing away towards the horizon, and knowing it would be at our side for many of the hours ahead was a truly majestic and inspiring moment. [Go on, you can have that Jaffa Cake now.]

(c) Dom Kingsmill-Stocker 14/9/11

It is as we explore these ancient and troubled stones that my camera decides it has drained the batteries – inserted only three days previous – dry and is no longer going to be available to visually document my days travails. Cue quick call to (Lone) Support Team Angel. Sorted! More batteries and a new coat tomorrow

The wall is now our constant companion for quite a distance (don’t ask me how far, I told you in the last one, I’m a city boy I measure everything in terms of “so-many bus stops”) but quite a ways I’d say, maybe 8 or 9 stops…

I could quite easily fill up the rest of this blog with photos (admittedly they would all be Dom’s) but you want to read about my inner feelings and any profound thoughts or insights I may have had whilst walking the glorious (if in much reduced circumstances) example of Ancient Engineering, don’t you? Go on, admit it. You want me to tell you that this experience has re-awakened within my tattered and limping mind, body and soul a love of history and archeology, and inspired me to return to my studies. I know you do. Because I do too. Believe me, it would be fantastic and shadow lifting for me to be able to do that. But I can’t. I can tell you that I am returning to my studies in November a decision I made a few months ago on one of those days when the shadows weren’t so close. And anyway, this trip wasn’t about that. Truth to tell, I couldn’t tell you what it was about. Was it on some sub-conscious “bucket list”? Was it a desire for a (not as) cheap (as we had hoped) holiday? Was it early on-set MidLifeCrisis? oh IBITS, am I going to start trying to buy a sports car?!  or a pipe dream that somehow became real? Was it a way to prove to myself that I don’t have to take up Golf just yet? Yes, to all. and No to all. Like I said, I don’t know why I did it but I am glad I did… {Hold On!! Hold on holdon!!! In the last one it was all flaming fairy wings and lyrical wax cylinders, and in this we are getting Deep and Meaningful with what appears to be sections taken wholesale from the closing monologue. Just get on with it. Ed}

The treasures of this enduring reminder of man’s political and military follies (or should that be the physical imprint of man’s ultimately pointless attempts to impose a social order onto another cultural system?) are coming thick and fast now. Soon after this section of wall peters out we find ourselves what appear to be a small quarry for the wall. Huge rocks, some with what appear to be chisel marks, surround us as we sit and have our first Tea Break of the day.

Soon after our trusty acorns and arrows guide us across the road, past the car park (with attendant coffee vanette) and down the gravelled path to the mighty Temple of Mithras.

(c) Dom Kingsmill-Stocker 14/9/11

This place is really coming alive for Our Hero now. Conversations have ranged from the Mithras Legend, a Roman soldier’s probable response on seeing he was posted here, the latest emerging blister, and the ridiculous defence mechanism of sheep (from what I can tell, instead of running away or attacking their first response to a possible attack is to squat and take a piss).

Witty banter and pre-production socks aside, the path now began to reveal its real intent. The acquisition of blisters and the discomfort of aching muscles were apparently mearly a fore-taste of what was to come. From now on the Pain was Getting Personal. The terrain and the wind both now increased their separate attempts to dishearten and demoralise Our Intrepid Duo. But with stout hearts and determined chins Our Heroes push on. On and Up. And Up. And Up. And U – Oh you get the picture. Look I’m not saying we climbed a mountain here but for every Down there were more Ups.

For those of you that are interested (I’m sure at least a couple of you still are) The score at this stage in the eternal struggle between the wind and our hero for his Hat is: 0 for 3 to our Hero. Who would’ve thought carrying your hat for most of the day would stop it being snatched off your head by the weather?!

It is at this point (about two-thirds of the way up what appears to be [please god let it be] the last peak) that our reliable silent, primary coloured guides also let us down.

“Do we continue up this section of wall or do we follow the acorn and arrow over this ladder and across the lush looking field?” Now I’m not going to say who asked the question, nor who it was that answered “Well, the acorns have always worked so far…” Suffice to say we probably made the wrong decision… Watching as the Wall continues across the top of the escarpment behind us, we descend into the quagmire… Was it pride? Stupidity? Testosterone? Is that the same question put three different ways? Whatever it was, we didn’t quit crossing that shoe hungry expanse. No we didn’t. No sirree, we ain’t no quitters!! Not even when we look back and can see Housesteads Fort atop the escarpment almost level with us. You see we had descended into the quagmire but it had swiftly returned to its primarliy upwards direction within minutes of its first attack on Our Staunch Side-kick’s footwear. I did mention he was wearing his everyday trainers didn’t I? Yes alright I found it quite funny. Look, you weren’t there man, you don’t know what it was like!!!

Our return to Arboria was eventually relieved by another forest {copse. Ed.}. The trees welcome into their midst two tired, hungry and mildly irritated (not quite) middle-aged men. Half an hour later, the branches wave goodbye to two hippies fortified with Tea and Cake. These two behemoths are ready for anything, willing to take on whatever the Wall can throw at them. Oh shit, that looks quite steep. And look at all those cows. Why are they looking at us like that?

Look, I just do it, man. I can’t say it. I just can’t tell it man. I just… Oh those cows… Oh how could they do…? Oh no man, I can’t. Don’t make me, please?!!! {It’s Ok Man, What happened on The Wall, Stays on The Wall. Erm… Dear Reader, please forgive our friend as he goes for a little lie down and some soothing music….. Normal service will return shortly… Thank you. In the mean-time please enjoy some photos. Ed.}

(c) Dom Kingsmill-Stocker14/9/11 

(c) Dom Kingsmill-Stocker14/9/11

(c) Dom Kingsmill-Stocker 14/9/11

As you can see from the last picture (right) the terrain became increasingly frustrating and rugged. Not help by Our Hero twisting his knee at some point along the way and now facing the rest of the day in teeth clenching agony. Did you think they noticed? Did we get away with it? Well, it’s quite a time jump… Well If you say so… Much as our dynamic duo are striding manfully against these hills, they are heartened whenever they look back along their path to see the obstacles they have already overcome. The Wall will not beat them.

The Day continues on with more mile castles, forts, gates, swamps, hills, cows, wall, signposts, sheep and the occasional whimper of pain. Conversation, when it comes, begins to revolve around the Twice Brewed Inn and the end of this gruelling day. And there, on the horizon (up another bloody hill) is the car park at Steel Rigg. All that is left for Our two weary Heroes is to extract the collapsible walking stick from a back-pack and follow the road down to civilisation. Or alcohol, whichever comes first.

(c) Dom Kingsmill-Stocker 14/9/11

 

And that’s it. Day Two done.

What? Wait? What for? Oh I said I was doing Days Two and Three? Oh shit yeah. But as I’m sure you’ve noticed I haven’t even finished Day Two yet. After all, you don’t even know if we get picked up yet. Or what excitingdevelopments awaited us back at the Bunk-house. Or even what we had for dinner that night.

Can I go into all that now? Do you know what, I’m just going to have to keep you all waiting I’m afraid. This has taken a bit out of me tonight {Don’t mention The Hill, Man. Ed} and so I am going to post this as is and cover day three next time. I promise you won’t be disappointed. Don’t go too far folks, we’ve got Vindolanda to come and more Steepy Steep bits and Boggy Bogs. Not to mention Brown 833.

 

For The Wall as seen Through the eyes of Our Hero’s Side-kick try here: http://roterbaron.wordpress.com/2011/09/21/ and I bet that bloody link doesn’t work either. I really must learn how to use this bloody thing properly one of these days

 

Hadrian’s Wall – In the footsteps of an unprepared novice

 

It’s Monday morning… 9.40 am or thereabouts… Our intrepid explorer and his long-suffering but immensely supportive wife are making the final preparations for their first visit to The Wall (as it has become known over the past few months, during the “planning” stages)… Nerves are frayed and emotions running high as the final checks are made…

“Phone and chargers?” – Check!

“Walking boots?” – Check!

“Book?” – Check!

“Second Book, for when you’ve finished the first?” – Check!

“Emergency Flare, for when you get stuck on The Wall and need rescuing?” – Cheek!

“Car keys?” – Check!

And so, grabbing the infamous hat as we go through the door, we are off. A full ten minutes or so before the scheduled departure time… Things are looking good

But Wait!

What’s this? An accident on the M1? Closing a huge chunk of our route to Dom’s? Nooooo, this can’t be happening…

After losing nearly two hours due to diversions, road-works and unplanned comfort breaks we arrive at the home of Our Hero’s Trusted Side-kick Dom with just enough time for a caffeine and nicotine top-up before loading Dom and his gear (including a much appreciated crate of beer) in the car and back onto the road… Straight into the tail-end of the hurricane that has been visiting Northern Britain over the past few days… Beware High Winds!! And Bad Drivers!!!!

With our hero at the wheel (and the speed camera warnings on the sat-nav giving plenty of warning) we make good time to our home for the next four days… Greencarts Bunkhouse, Humshaugh

(c) Tina Price-Johnson 12/09/2011

Having explored the bunk house and chosen the smaller of the two rooms available we are faced with the news that we will be sharing our digs for the night with another couple of wall walkers (and their two dogs, Merlin and Skye)… Much as we miss having the company of our Entertainments Officer and Co-Pilot at least now these two nice people don’t have to spend the storm filled night sleeping under a hedgerow.

And so we settle in… and that’s when the “Oh Shit, I forgot…” conversation begins :/… Having covered the camera question that had arisen in the car we move onto Dom (walking shoes…) and our hero (Brand new waterproof coat bought especially). This trip is getting off to a great start… Time to pull out the Triv and the beer to fill the hours before bed (if our side-kick can stop trying to get it on with Merlin )

Our first day on the wall (henceforth known as: DAY ONE) begins with breakfast confusion and last-minute clothing issues (Thanks Dom for the loan of the coat).

Despite initial footwear/pedal conflict our hero’s long-suffering wife soon slips easily into the role of (Lone) Support Staff and Taxi Driver, taking our Intrepid Adventurers along the arrow straight Roman Road (B6318) to their starting point at Heddon on the Wall. Cue endless round of photos of the Decrepid Duo… and with the last good luck kiss still dusting his lips, Our Hero girds his loins, stiffens his upper lip, splices his main brace and strides forth on his Great Trek. Chollerford here we come… But first, let’s just pop into that Spar to grab a pack of ciggies…

I promised my trusty side-kick that I wouldn’t mention the taking a wrong turn straight off so please skip over this sentence.

Pretty soon we are  back on track…

Proof we were there (c)simon price-johnson 14.9.11

and the ground is flying by beneath the feet of Our Heroes. Getting off the tarmac after about half a mile we find ourselves walking with silly grins on our faces into the wilds of  Northumberland and our first Roman Archeological Site, Vindobona

(c) Dom Kingsmill-Stocker 13/09/11

Undaunted by our first “Roman Encounter” we push on with renewed vigour… There WILL BE Wall!!! With the fields and earthworks passing with an unexpected swiftness we find ourselves outside the eclecticly decorated and quirky Robin Hood (don’t ask) Pub at about 1pm. How felicitous Sitting down with a pint for our stalwart companion and a brand named diet cola product for our virtuous hero we await our  luncheon whilst watching the heavens open outside… one of the few times I’ve not minded waiting over half an hour for a sandwich…

Back on the path after about an hour we soon find ourselves (after a minor diversion involving a Rolls Royce Silver Cloud and more unidentifiable, to us anyway, earthworks) going through our first stretch of forest – some may call it a copse or (as the sign claims) a plantation but I’m a city boy and to me it’s a forest. Feeling revived from our short tea-break surrounded by the pines and ferns we brave the increasingly challenging wind and precipitation to push on to Plain Trees and our first chance to actually touch The Wall.

If this is all there is, I’m going home

Time for another tea-break Our quiet smoko is rudely interrupted by the sound of car horns. Looking back towards the road we are greeted with the sight of a Winnebago holding up traffic so the passenger can lean out of their window to photograph this 30  foot (or was it 30 metres?)  length of wall (and quite inadvertently Our Aching Heroes having a real hippy moment). Thankfully for our inner calm the minor traffic jam soon moves off. And so do we.

I don’t know if this is a deliberate act by the locals designed to keep us walkers on tenterhooks but this is the last section of wall our heroes see today. Not that we are disheartened. The rest of the walk is quite charming. If one can ignore the increasing number of bogs of mud, faeces, water and urine at every gate, style and ladder. Yes, Ok so we all know it’s only Bovine and Ovine but that doesn’t stop the sinking feeling that enters your stomach as your foot slips beneath the crust of a green bit and the gloupy suckiness tries to enter your footwear. At least that’s the impression Our Hero got whenever his Trusty Side-kick looked upon yet another fan of  concentrated country-side on each side of a crossing point between fields.

(c) Dom Kingsmill-stocker15/09/11

Was our hero down-hearted? Did he feel disenchanted with this adventure? Were his spirits plummeting like a fairy with flaming wings? Was he aching in bone and muscle? Well yeah, particularly the last bit. But as with countless other Wall Walkers before him, he reset his hat…

Just as an aside, for those that are interested in these things (and I know a lot of you are). In the constant battle between Our Hero and Mother Natures playful and Quixotic offspring, the wind, with regards the infamous hat and how many times said wind could flip it away from my noble brow before I could catch it. The wind won 7-3. But not once did it land in anything more toxic than the rain wet grass…

And now back to the narrative…

As dusk approached and we walk across fields over-arched by perfect rainbows (don’t believe me? I have photos… well I don’t because my camera is shite, but Dom does), we spy ahead of us that the path is leading us back, once again, to tarmac. It must be near here that we will lay down our heavy backpacks (strangely heavy considering we’ve drunks all three flasks of tea). But no, the walk has one last trick up it’s sleeve. One that Our Hero is quite glad it played. Our intrepid Duo end the day walking through a bower fit for a fairy banquet…. {Hold up, what’s with the old wax lyrical?. Ed}

(c) simon price-johnson 14.9.11

And there at the bottom of the hill… well actually after catching a glimpse of the sign of the village of Wall, over another hill and around a few bends… we see it. The bridge over the river and Chollerford. Perhaps more importantly, just the other side of the bridge, The George Hotel. With the kind of non-verbal communication often exhibited by those engaged on this type of exercise, our adventurers decide this is their destination. It’s six pm, we’ve been on our feet since about 11am and we are feeling just a little proud of ourselves for covering about twelve (more like thirteen) miles… Just a mile or so to go…

See our Rugged Heroes enter the George Hotel (average age of resident 106), ragged, sweaty, under-dressed and just a tad ripe to be greeted with a warm smile and directions to the cocktail bar. As our hero sits and enjoys his fizzy black sugar-free soft drink, and his robust side-kick takes a man-sized swallow of his sample of the local brewers best, the following conversation ensues:

Our Hero: This it then? Are we calling it a day?

Side-kick: Yeah, I think so…

Hero: Shall I give Tina a bell and get her to come pick us up?

Side-kick: Yeah, I would…

And with such erudite proposal and assent are our plans layed. Seconds later, after the call to our support team is made, we sit back and wonder if we need to take out a mortgage to get another round in… Our taxi arrives before a decision needs to be made…

On our return to our digs we are reminded by our Angelic driver that we have another group of travellers sharing the bunk-house this night. We had been warned earlier in the day through the miracle that is modern technology but it is only now, with our aching bodies yearning for a refreshing shower and sustenance that it sinks in. Steve, Steve and Neil(?) turn out to be three slightly older self-made men of the middling sort. And the scene is set for an evening of bad jokes,reminising of the day (and distance covered) and towards the close of the day a foray into politics. Our Hero and his surprisingly still supportive wife, having spent the evening admiring each other photos and enjoying Dom’s delicious SpagBol beat a hasty retreat as the question of private sector versus public sector pensions raises it’s many heads…

Another night spent separated by the cruel fate of bunk-beds (No Dr, they are NOT fun!) letting sleep heal as best it can.

So ends our first installment. Stay tuned for more adventures to come as we move onto days two and three where there shall be some of this:  ”boggy bogs and steepy steep bits, gangland cows and horny sheep.” and a bit of this: “[...] a distinct lack of respect for their bipedal masters.
Nor did I (according to Dom) show much for the wall. [...] Always said I was a Celt at heart.”

P.S. The photos used in this narrative are all authentic images of our journey along The Wall, though some of them are being used out of chronological order. This is purely for illustrative purposes and are in no way a demonstration of my bad memory.

 

Or you could try this… http://roterbaron.wordpress.com/2011/09/20/ for the adventure as seen through the eyes of my stalwart (and very much-needed and appreciated) Side-kick.

Toilets for all…

Today I learned that during the Glastonbury Festival 2011 a woman was allegedly physically assaulted for raising objections to an able bodied person using “disabled” toilets.

http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/showbiz/bizarre/festivals/3665686/Fight-breaks-out-after-Wayne-Rooney-visits-disabled-toilet-at-Glastonbury.html

http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b0123wnf

These are the only two references I have found so far within the British Media.

Now I’m not going to go on about a lack of reporting of what appears to be an assault against a woman at a music festival or even the obsession the media have with over-paid, over-hyped footballers… let’s face it, if this story hadn’t involved Wayne Rooney it would never have made it to the paper in the first place so, in this case, I will forgive the media it’s obsession.

No, this piece is something more personal. This is about my feelings with regards “disabled” toilets.

For the last few years of his life my father was restricted to a wheelchair whenever he went out. He never liked using it and would only agree to going out with it if he could use it first as an aid to walking and only resort to sitting in it when he got too tired, or hurt too much, to continue. Unfortunately for him this period of the “wheeled walking stick” would get shorter with every excursion. Truth to tell (and I’m not letting any secrets out now, I told him this myself), I didn’t like him using his wheelchair. Actually that’s not strictly true. I didn’t have a problem with him using his wheelchair, and I certainly never had a problem pushing him. In fact some of the best times I can remember having with him were when he was “at my mercy” . No, the problem I had with his wheelchair was how other people perceived him when he was in it.

On more than one occasion he would ask for help from somebody; the usual stuff – directions, hold the door, “can you reach that?” – you know, all the little things that we need to do to interact with other human beings and the person he was communicating quite clearly with would either patronize him or ignore him completely and look to whoever was with him. That’s why I hated that chair. Just it’s very existence somehow reduced my father to a “lesser being” in the eyes of some.

One thing the chair did for him though is give him access to “disabled” toilets. Actually, again that’s not strictly true, after a lot of searching on our part (in the pre-Google days) we found that for a small fee “disabled” (oh how I hate that word but none of the current crop of PC alternatives appear to have the same impact so I guess I’m stuck with it) could obtain a RADAR key. For those that don’t know (and let’s be honest unless you are in need of it for yourself or for someone you care for, why would you?) RADAR keys are the ones that give you access to “disabled” toilets. Now I don’t know how many RADAR toilets there are (yes, that’s a better phrase I think), and seeing as this isn’t a history essay I’m not going to spend hours of searching (well alright minutes of Googling) trying to find out but I do know that there really aren’t enough. Ok, admittedly, there aren’t enough Public toilets anyway but that’s another blog (not by me hopefully).

Right, so back to RADAR toilets. Hundreds (if not thousands) of people have campaigned for years for equal access to the basic human rights like public transport, shop entrances, toilets and parking (to name but a very few) and RADAR toilets have been something of a success. Most Shopping Malls, Pubs, Restaurants, Cinemas and virtually every public building now has a RADAR toilet and this is a good thing. In an ideal world all toilets, whether they be funded by public money or private enterprise, would be equal access but this isn’t an ideal world and so they aren’t. Space, cost, and an underlying prejudice are all factors for this.

Yes, I went there. Prejudice. It’s a fact of life, however much we wish it wasn’t. And none of us are immune to it (though some of us try very hard not to be). We have all had those thoughts; “Why do “they” get that when I don’t?” “Why do “they” get treated differently?” “Why do I have to pay for “them” to have something I can’t?” Whichever group of “them” “they” belong to. They are not thoughts most of us are proud of (at least I hope not) but we cannot deny having them. It’s how we choose to act with regard those thoughts that define us not having the thoughts. But that’s just an aside, let’s get back to the main point.

For many years, my father and I went out for a drink once a week, before his failing kidneys put paid to our excursions. He never drunk much but it was a time for us to catch up and enjoy each others company away from all the reminders of his illnesses that filled his house. Now most of the time, due to the lack of funds and the convenience (and proliferation) of their locations, we would frequent a Wetherspoon’s establishment. Wetherspoon’s were very good in regards that they always provided RADAR toilets (I say were because I haven’t been in one for a few years now and they may have changed) but for some reason these toilets weren’t always for use exclusively by RADAR key holders. Now I know this may sound like I’m contradicting myself here but please bare with me. I want All toilets to be equal access but unfortunately they aren’t and so I finally come to the point (that’s if you’ve managed to stay awake long enough to get this far)… On many occasions, when visiting these pubs, I would observe somebody walking to the bar to request the pub’s RADAR key so that they could use the RADAR toilet. This happened more frequently in establishments where the able-bodied toilets were on another floor. And this is it folks, this is what gets my goat. Yes Ok, you’ve been drinking all afternoon, yes the toilets are up/down stairs, in another part of the pub/field/mall/etc. Yes, there will be a queue. Yes, the RADAR toilets are roomier (and generally cleaner), closer and used less often but you know what? You can get up/down the stairs, across the field, through that narrow door a lot easier than someone in a chair. So you may have to cross your legs in a queue, you know what to do then don’t you? That’s right, don’t wait until the last minute. Some people in chairs (yes, I know a lot of “able-bodied” are in the same boat) don’t have the control of bladder and/or sphincter that most people do so when they need to go they need to go Now!  The more observant of you will have noticed that I mentioned that you have to get RADAR keys yourself. They don’t come sellotaped to the wheelchair. You have to go out of your way to get them. So, with that being the case, why not allow the people who have to use them have the use of RADAR toilets?

Yes, I do want equal access to all amenities. Yes I do want to live in a world where people are treated as people regardless of their physical attributes. And yes I will admit I do still have the occasional “Why should “they” be treated differently?” thought. But, in my defense, those thoughts are invariably followed with “They’re human just like me”. But come on, let’s face it, we don’t live in that ideal world and if, for now, we must have separate toilets for those that need the extra space and the grab handles and the emergency alarm cord can we not, as compassionate human beings, allow those amenities to be used exclusively by those they were installed for? Why do we feel we can use them simply because they are more convenient for us?  I don’t want to marginalize people because of their physical attributes, nor do I want those attributes be the things we use to define them but I don’t see why we can’t allow those of us that are less  able to function in a society that has only very recently (in comparative terms) been entirely negative towards them to have those things that they need to function and thrive on their own terms.

In the years that I had of pushing my father in his wheelchair, I can honestly say that most of our interactions with other people were positive but every so often I would have to point out (when somebody started talking over his head) that it was his legs that didn’t work not his ears/brain. Or I would quite happily argue with somebody for not folding their empty push-chair to make room for him on a bus. On one occasion I even gleefully (though rather drunkenly) stood in the middle of a pub and shamed an able-bodied man for daring to push past my father to use the RADAR toilet. Most people that have to use RADAR toilets don’t like doing so and wish they didn’t have to, so please next time you are caught short, go that extra few yards and use the regular amenities. And whether you are sitting or standing to relieve yourself, thank your chosen deity/anthropomorphic personification that you while you have to perform these natural functions you can do so without having to struggle out of a chair first or in some cases having somebody stood in there with you to help get clean afterwards.

Earphones… How difficult can it be?

…as experienced in Surry Quays shopping hell/mall/soul-sucking habitat of the greater spotted teen sales donk…

“Welcome to Currys Digital. Can I help?”

“Yes, I’m looking for some ear/headphones with a built in mic for a phone…”

“Oh, er… well…um… ah… er…. I don’ fink we do ‘em…. ‘ll jus go ars my manager….”

Ten minutes pass (by which time I have looked through all available and found one set at cost of £45)…

“Er… yeah…er my manager don fink we do em… er you wanna try a wotsit shop…er a..”

“A phone shop?”

“Yeah, that’s it…er…”

As leaving… “Er we do have these….”

“No darling, they’re speakers…”

Stand in Phones 4 U for five minutes looking at earphones and accessories (none of which are priced)…

Ignored by suited wanker chatting up girls and another stuffing crisps in face with expression of surprised newt…

Walk out just that little bit sadder…

Onto Carphone Warehouse (with grave misgivings considering previous experience)

No pissing about, walk straight to counter… “I’m looking for Earphones with a built in mic, compatible with an iPhone.”

“Oh, yeah right…” pulls off three types with prices starting at £30 and raising swiftly… then while I stand poleaxed at what they assume I’m going to pay for a bit of wire and a couple of miniature cones wanders off… returns two minutes later with “Official iPhone product” £69.

With a raised eyebrow and a low growl I indicate that this gentleman should perhaps be looking towards the other end of the market…

“Of course, we do have these for £12.95…”

“Yeah, they look alright… they’re only for the commute after all… Do you have them in black?”

“Er no, they only come in White or bright pink”

I will admit I was tempted by the pink but… no… another raised eyebrow… “How about those ones?”

“Er what ones?” Turns to look at wall of accessories with blank look of small boy in women’s lingerie department…

“Those there, for £9.99? The ones that say in big letters across the front ‘In-Earphones with Microphone’?”

After several moments of head bobbing and hand reaching, turns to me with the return of the blank look, with added shrug of incomprehension….

“There, right next to your right ear….”

“Oh, yeah… erm, they’re £9.99″

“Yes, I know. I’ll take them.”

“Do you want insur…?

“No, just the earphones please. Thank you.”

Places product in ridiculously over-sized bag (ignoring request not to) waits two minutes for receipt to print… hunts for stapler… staples receipts… snarls, walks away.

“And thank you too.”

Ten minutes later find exact same style in Tesco’s for same price but without the hassle…