Going for a dander (a bit of a walk) with the Noterati of UKLUG

Greetings blog-0-philes!

A bit of a break in the blogwriting of late, mainly due to a bad case of too many projects and not enough time at "the coal face". I believe our far eastern colleagues call it "interesting" times. Well may it be interesting but it does make one rather knackered and not enthused to either Tweet or blog.

Anyhows ... Next week end the 4-6th September I am playing host to Matt White, Eileen Fitzgerald, Bill Buchan and Mark Myers on a part of what is regarded as one of the top 10 walks in Ireland.


The assembled Noterati will be bunking up in North Antrim town of Portballintrae a wee speck on the map where the River Bush (of Bushmills Whiskey fame) enters the Atlantic and in a foot note to the annals of world history also the place where I got married.

On Saturday we will do around half of the xTreme Causeway Marathon Course, which sounds awfully exciting, but it is not really that extreme when you walk it, running it on the other hand is very probably not only extreme but very very very silly!

We will take the bus to Ballintoy a 20 minute chug up the road from Bushmillsand from there we will head off down the windy single carriage road down to the Ballintoy harbour, past the very weird Bendhu house.

this rather idiosyncratic building was build by hand by Newton Penprase a Cornish "blow in" and he started it in 1936 and still had not quite finished it when he died in 1977.

From Ballintoy harbour we will head westwards on the coastal path. This will take us to White Park Bay

a rather beautiful and protected beach surrounded by limestone cliffs and a site of the very early human occuptation of Ireland after the ice sheet that covered Ireland retreated (7500BC)

From there if the tide is out we can get around the headland to the tiny Port Bradden, if not it is up the hill along the road and then back down hill again. Port Bradden has one of the smallest concecrated churchs, St. Gobban's

From Portbraden we will plod on around the costal path, past caves, thru sea arches as the cliffs change from limestone to black igneous rock that signifies the start of the lava flows that formed the Giants Causeway some miles westward. The next place of note is Dunseverick castle

There is not a lot left of this particular promintory fort, St.Patrick is meant to have visited this fort in 500AD and there are myths that place a fort on this site back even futher.. Legend has it that Conal Caernach a local who served the king that lived in this castle was serving as a roman solider and is believed to have wittnessed the crucfixion on Christ.

From Dunseverick we start to gradually rise as we enter the Giant's Causeway itself, gradually up and over Benbane head, past Port na Spaniagh where the Spanish Armada treasure ship "the girona" was wrecked

From there the ground starts to drop off.. until we come to the shepherds steps and down we go back the costal path

At the bottom of the steps it is only a quick dander to the famouse bit of the causeway, probably one of the most photographed landsacpe in Ireland.

The causeway itself is made up of 10's of thousands of 5 sided basalt columns like this

Having done the "ooo ahhh look at that" it is back up hill again to the Causway entrance... now there is a Pub at the gate called "the nook" which may or may not be used for some R'n'R and people watching.. Then back on the path again.. Around Runkerry Head, along Runkerry beach..

Across the River Bush, and we are back in Portballintrae.

All told about 12 miles, (yes we are trying to break Bill)

We may be asking you to dip your hands in your pockets for a bit of a donation towards the Macmillan Cancer Support charity. Surely anything that may well reduce Wild Bill to a size that will allow a kilt to be worn at UKLUG is worth a few pennies? :-)

Anyway more of that later...

If there are any Norn Iron Noterati free on the 5th Sept. We may well be in the Harbour Bar, rubbing our feet and drinking Guinness and you are more than welcome to come and join us and buy us drink ;-)

Watch this space and Twitter for details of how we do on our "wee dander"

A Saturday Dander around the North Coast

Greetings Gentle reader

I have just got back from my daily brisk wander and for a bit of a change I popped out to the wee town of Portstewart which is about 4 miles away.

It is a pretty wee place and today was bathed in weak December sun that shone from a Cerulean blue sky. It was the sort of day that makes you smile regardless of the crappy week you have had.


Wandering around a holiday town in the teeth of winter is an odd experience. The "Portstewart Promenade" is seldom empty at any time of year, people drive up from all around the north and park and watch the sea whilst licking a world famous Morrelli's ice cream.

A word of warning to any non-northern ireland tourists that might come by. Being accosted by a local asking you "do you want a poke or would you prefer a slider?" is not an invitation to fight or some form of sexual advance! A poke is and ice cream cone (cos you poke the ice cream into the cone) and a slider is an icecream sandwiched between two wafers.

Anyway, the "Prom" as it is known is where in the summer the youth of the area go to see and be seen, there are people ALL over the place. The local council has a kiddie play park where you can make sand castles, listen to music, paddle in the pools and generally have a good time. In the winter there is that tangible "lack" that comes from it being very cold and wet for 4 months that drives the laughter and craic indoors.

This track normally has wee go-karts for kids that whizz around from 9 in the morning till 10 at night. Today it is deserted. Storm blown seaweed litters the track and although it will be 5 months before life returns as return it will, it does make you stop and think "is it dead or just asleep?"
Oops getting moridbund! :-)




I wandered along what is known the "nuns walk" which joins the town with the main strand (beach) where I learned to surf many many years ago when you could have any colour of wet suit you wanted as long as it was black. It is a pleasant 2 miles with loads of up and down bits that act as .. errr.. what is it called .. Interval training???

Along the way you pass a small almost insignificant house, this is where the salmon fishermen lived during the netting season. The location actually has a name ... like most places in Ireland ... and this place is called "Berne" This small house as been there since 1600ish and has been in fairly continuous use, until fairly recently. I can remember walking along this path with my Mum and Dad and watching them pull in the nets replete with glistening salmon. Now it is all closed up, a target for Graffiti and is at the mercy of the Northern Atlantic Weather.

The machinery of fishing is still there. Like this winch that would pull the net in from the sea. It has not been used or maintained in 30 years and is moving from "useful" to "artifact" as the salt turns it slowly to rust.

This winch was used daily and had utility but that has now changed and its only reason to be there is to add character to the view .

Anyway just around the corner from Berne is the strand and it is 4 miles of sand, waves and strange people in wet suits these people are surfers and should at all possible be avoided. (see signage left) I always knew that I was mad bad and dangerous to know, but BEWARE OF SURFERS we arent that bad are we?
I suppose we could stuff sand down your shorts and make you chaff all the way home?


Time to get some perspective ;-)
Sorry couldn't help it.. These sticks mark the NO CAR area from the CARS ALLOWED area of the beach but on a day like today they look "real purty" don't they? ;-)

The waves are not big enough to ride but maybe in a day or two when the next storm comes .. this break is a surfer's paradise on a good day!

I love beaches, particular ones where I am the only one there.. there is something about sand unsullied by footprint that makes sense ;-) well to me anyway ... oh and there was a BITCHING sunset too!

It was when all said and done a "Good Walk"!

Of sherry magnets, half hung McNaughton, time travelling cars,faery thorns and a November Walk

Gentle reader,

It is the weekend again and as I have had rants both last week and the week before I have deliberately had a quiet weekend so that this post will be less acerbic, I probably wont need to use the word F**K at all!

It being halloween (Samhain as it is know in the Celtic tradition) and even though I am a big skeptic when it comes to the supernatural, it is best not to press your luck were the faery are concerned. Take John Delorean, he of the "Back to the Future" car fame. Now his aluminium sports car was manufactured in Belfast.

Any of you that just said A-LOU-MIN-UM please repeat 10 times AL-YOU-MIN-E-UM! Everywhere else except USia and Canada can manage to put the "i" in ium so there will be NO exceptions on an Irish web site!.

During the building of the plant he was advised not to uproot a fairy thorn. A faery thorn is usually an ancient Hawthorn bush found in place that normally you wouldnt find it, like the middle of a field rather than in the hedge line. Being a smart,savy, secular McMerican Mr Delorean scoffed at the warnings of ill luck that would follow any interference with this ancient thorn tree. {link} So mess with it he did and look what happened to him and his company!

I may be a skeptic atheist ... but ... I make a point of not messing with the faery or sibh as they are known in Gaelic. (Sibh is pronouced Shee , as in Banshee which means "faery woman" in Irish).

Where was I ?... oh yes ... I had a quiet Friday and apart from a dander down the town on Saturday for coffee and a bowl of very fine Aubergine and Roast Pepper soup. The Fireworks came and went and the gray man was kept at bay for another year. The gray man is the ghostly personification of the "great hunger"that followed the Irish potatoe famine in the 1800's. At or around harvest, when the summer is dying, is generally a time to remember our own personal histories and the echoes that sing to us from the flames of an open fire on a November evening. I hope than each of you in your own way have kept the grey man and his dark hunger from your door this coming year :-)

So, Sunday rolled around and while not up early or anything remotely like it, I did manage to put the Sunday dinner in the slow cooker (my own version of Irish Stew) and pull my dodgey battery from the bike and set it up for a good long deep charge. Having done all that I prepared to go for my daily brisk walk. It being a pleasant autumn afternoon I decided to combine, forest, lake, river and sea all in one walk, so I jumped in the car and headed for the Mussenden Demesne, which is about 4 miles up the road past the turn to Castlerock.


This is place with a rather uniquely "irish" history. The whole demesne was built in 1785 by the 4th Earl of Bristol, Bishop of Derry and sherry magnet, Frederick Augustus Harvey who was ... well at least a couple of sandwiches short of a picnic. There are the ruins of his house (Donwhill castle as it is known) and on the edge of a 120 foot cliff above the north Atlantic there is a small round building that bears a striking resemblance to the Temple Of Vesta in Rome. This is the library the bold bishop built for his cousin Frideswide Mussenden for whom he had the hots but alas she was already married isn't that always the way! Anyway there it stands some 223 years later a testament to one man's horniness for a lassie he couldn't have!

Regardless of the reason for building it has a view from Inishowen in the west to Fair head in the east, which is most of the north coast of Ireland in one panoramic gob smack of a view and well worth the walk if you happen to be in the area.

The estate straddles the main road and on the other side from the temple is a park now set aside for horse, cyclist and walker. This park has at it's centre a hill call Dungannon Hill. As hills go it is not a particularly big hill but it has, so the local archaeologists say, a 6000 year history. Like Mountsandel in Coleraine and the sand hills in Portstewart this was a place in which our ancestors set up their homes and lived of the land and sea shore. Today it is a place of ancient trees, leaf blown trails, small rivers, a ruined mill and a small shallow lake.


My parents used to bring us here here on family picnics when I was small as there were trees to climb, streams to splash in or create damn pools to keep the sticklebacks and small trout we caught Later I camped there on Dungannon hill with my teenage chums living off small trout from the streams and any unfortunate bunny that would cross our path. Later still it was a place where we would "walk out" with our current sweethearts, hand in hand kicking trough the leaves. This is one of those places where the lives of the visitors have left echoes of laughter in every nook and cranny.

It is a managed park, but whilst the paths are kept clear and easy to walk on, the forest itself is left pretty much alone. If a tree dies or is blown over it is not tidied up, it lies where it falls. Some would say this makes the place look untidy, for me I prefer it more "natural" :-)

Right at the end of the park is a road , where oh so I am told, an infamous criminal was caught in the eighteenth century. This sad we tale concerns Miss Ann Knox the daughter of Andrew Knox of Prehen House (near Derry) an influential and well to do gentleman. The man was John McNaughton a member of the same social class as Knox. Now John fell in love with Ann and tried to be near her at all times as one smitten often does. Andrew Knox opposed any marriage and both Andrew and it has to be said Ann wasn't that fussed about the attentions of John either.

McNaughton claimed that they had been secretly married. So Andrew Knox increased his efforts to protect his daughter and eventually, in 1760, set out to transport Ann to Dublin in a coach, protected by armed outriders.

John McNaughton and several associates concealed themselves on a little road. They stopped the coach and a short discussion ensued, followed by gunfire. McNaughton fired at the coach occupied by Andrew Knox and his daughter, and Ann died from the bullet. McNaughton fled. Armed searchers initially were unable to find him as the locals remained silent unwilling to talk or give aid to their landlords. Finally one man pointed to the hiding place and local tradition maintained that he promptly lost that arm in a accident in the small mill in the Mussenden park.

McNaughton caught, tried, convicted and sentenced to be publicly hanged in an open field near Strabane. He spoke to the crowd, saying he loved his wife and had been kept from her. The trapdoor opened and down he went ... but.. the rope broke and the crowd shouted for him to fly, but McNaughton declared that he was not going to be known as "half-hanged McNaughton" and advised the hangman to get on with his work. The rope did not break again but his name did live on in legend as "half-hanged McNaughton."

So there you go , my Halloween weekend walk with a smidgen of the weird ;-)
If you are interested in looking at some more photos of the walk you can find them here

So for the now , adieu and remember never eat rhubarb in bed!

Some thoughts as we circle the rim and contemplate the flush.

Hey Ho! :(
Another Saturday Night® has come and gone leaving me with the uneasy feeling that I am missing something. I have left "The Sprog" off at a local nite club and by the time I was turning the corner to come home he was surrounded by a gaggle of young ladies. Was I ever in that same enviable position? I am sure I would remember if I have been ... wouldn't I?

Perhaps my somewhat glum mood is because I live up here around 55º north were the trees are now well on the way to baldness and there is a nip to the air even at midday that makes one think that perhaps wearing a teeshirt under the shirt is a good idea. When out for my wander in the wood this afternoon the stands of Silver Birch were as picturesque as always but in a cold, asleep sort of way and at their base they was a massive covering of little 'rooms
Yes I did get down on my knees to take this snap and yes I did manage to get back up again, although it was accompanied by a series of pops, creaks and groans commensurate with my age and waist measurement and no I didn't sample any and yes this IS me being normal.

I bumped into another "brisk walker" on my travels and we nodded at each other and I grunted the usual Irish-English greeting of "bout you?" which roughly translates to "Hale and well met fellow traveler on the deep pile of life's rich carpet" ... which is like life's rich tapestry but you walk on it... My fellow walker nodded back and responded in English-English by muttering "Good afternoon". This set me to thinking - there is a world of difference between the rich patois of the provinces and that spoken by those on t'other side of the Irish Sea.

One of the elder statesmen of the family told me before going to University in England that should I as a stranger to the area ever get lost that it was vital I NEVER ask for directions! For the English are too damn polite and would not increase your worry by telling you they didn't know. As a result their directions would unerringly be incorrect however by some strange twist of the knife of fate these self same directions would unerringly end up depositing you in Llanacelligcwangorallicallywagagogogogogoichllanelliconwallag in Wales!

I shared a room in the university residences with a nice chap called Phil who was by birth, inclination and profession a "cheeky cockney" and for all of the first term I have no idea what he was saying. I just nodded, smiled and offered to buy drink which seemed to do the trick and we became firm friends although I still have no idea what "Stone Me Pink and twoddle me parsnips but this berk comes up with a boat like Abbyssina and I rogered him up the Old Kent road" means and I have a feeling the world is a better place for my ignorance.

Oh I feel a tangent coming on where did i put the ellipsis? Ah there it is ...

The world, it seems, is wandering off down the road to rack and ruin and the UK politicos at Westminster, the birth place of elective democracy and as such reffered to as the "MotherF****r of all Parliaments" (but only by the Irish) are plonking around waving their arms and making a lot of noise. Precious little else other than this verbal diarrhoea and certainly not anything that resembles sense, common or otherwise, is dribbling from the vaulted halls of democracy.

Gentle reader, lest you be misled, be assured the fact that the Politicians fall into the same logical set as chocolate fire guards does not surprise me. Democracy has since the time of Solon and Pericles in Athens been a semi official form of care in the community for those afflicted by the debilitating disorder of "wanting to be a politician" which has symptoms very similar to ASW except you will probably be asked to appear on Question Time more often than an average ASW afflictee would expect.

The epoch of Maggie T and Ronnie Raygun where Milton Friedman's economic brain farts defined the next 30 years has now ground ignominiously to a halt. I for one hope that the man who found it well nigh impossible to admit that markets could go wrong is at least blushing in his coffin. As an atheist I don't believe in an afterlife but on this occasion a nice warm corner of hell set aside for Friedman and his ilk would be useful to have. So I have contented myself by imagining a demon inserting ungreased sea lions up the self same nobel laureate's bum whilst being forced to listen to Coldplay in one ear and Celine Dion in the other.

On a side note the aforementioned sea lion stuffed economist visited Iceland in the autumn of 1984, met with prominent Icelanders and gave a lecture at the University of Iceland on the "Tyranny of the Status Quo" which made me dislike him from the start. I quite like Status Quo, they are far from Tyrants and only an ignorant oaf would make the mistake as you need to know 4 chords to be a tyrant and one of them needs to be a flattened 5th sustained!
Friedman participated in a lively television debate on August 31, 1984 with leading socialist intellectuals, including President Grimsson who got pissed off cos Friedman charged them for the appearance and then refused to buy his round at the bar. This aside he (Friedman) made a great impact on a group of young intellectuals in the Independence Party.
**Note** By intellectuals I actually mean "deluded twonks usually called Henry that were manifestly driven by greed, stupidity and porn" but this was the 1980's and I want to keep this sentence in character.
This group of self styled free market free thinkers including Davíð Oddsson who became Prime Minister in 1991 and promptly began a radical program of monetary and fiscal fiddling, privatization, tax rate reduction, definition of exclusive use rights in fisheries, abolition of various government funds for aiding unprofitable enterprises and liberalization of currency transfers and capital markets, and writing really really bad Eurovision song contest ditties. He remained Prime Minister for thirteen and a half years but never won a Eurovision)

The present Prime Minister, Geir H. Haarde was secretly cloned in a combined CIA and IMF plot from Oddsson's toe nail clippings and following in the footsteps of his forebear (footsteps, toenail clippings... geddit?... oh do keep up there are precious few jokes around today) He kept the economy trucking on in the same vein up to the point where it is today, and in case you missed the news Iceland is now totally F**ked! It is so FUBARed that the Sigur Ros song starálfur (staring elf) now makes sense and that takes SOME doing!

I bet these modern day vikings who steered the good ship Iceland are now wishing they had gone hunting Bjork pixies trolls instead of going to listen to Mr Friedman. BTW you are now able to buy Iceland (excluding Bjork) on eBay for the princely sum of £1.20 But be warned -this is a real rip off, I would given them no more than £0.75.

Given that Iceland is not that far geographically from Ireland and being a forward looking individual I have made a start practicing for the post-market-melt-down-world. I have :-

(a) started to learn Cantonese because the Chinese won my mortgage in a bet

and

(b) I have drawn up a list of "barter-able" stuff that I may have to use come the time when money ceases to be usable.

This list is of course useless unless someone wants to barter a chicken for 2 days of PHP programming (I would require at least 3 pork chops for any MySql!) I think thats fair but I have a feeling that the best I can hope for would be a couple of carrots and if I am lucky a small potatoe, I shudder to think what Java Dev folk will do!

Google last week brought in "Goggle specs" to stop you sending "unfortunate" emails when you are pished, drunk or otherwise incapacitated. Wonderful idea! Now can we do it for the USian election ? I am not a USian and to be honest I don't give a monkey's chuff who wins. It would appear that to be "leader of the free world" you need loads of $'s and have nice teeth. This oddly os the the way a friend of mine chose the eventual winner of The 2008 Cheltenham Gold Cup, Denman an 8 year old out of Polly Puttens by Presenting and well worth a pound of anyones money at 7-6... i digress... The media is full of this election, you just can't escape it even in rural Ireland! Where was I? Oh yes "Goggle Specs" now if some smart chap could do the same for the election.. before you vote is cast you are asked a couple of questions and then it asks "You are you sure?", "Are you really really really sure?", "Well alright then but no coming complaining after the budget!" and so on, i think the world would perhaps be a better place.

Oh bugger! I didn't win the lottery sometimes I find that Saturdays just suck! Time for bed ...

Blackberries (real ones) blossom and Acers (also the real ones)

Now here's a thing I was out for my nightly dander this evening and not only are there flowers a blossom in the hedgerows but the blackberries are in full swing.... This is indeed a funny year and no mistake!

Dieting Is Fun - My ARSE! (or Standing on Scales Tension Syndrome)

Now I am fairly close to what used to be called a "new man". I am in touch with my feminine side. I cry at some DVD's, I can iron my socks I can throw together a dinner party for 6 on the way home from work. What I am not is one of those men to whom dieting comes naturally or easily.

I started on this particular spree of under-indulgence a month ago and the exercise is OK. I didn't go all out mad and join a gym. No %^$&ing chance of that! Too much damp lycra riding up the sheughs of my portly colleagues collective arses for a gentlemen of my taste and refinement. For my increased calorific duty I walk and I believe the correct term is "briskly" around the highways, byways, beaches and forests of my locale. That bit is fine, tis a manly thing to tramp around wondering if there are fish still in that stream, rabbits in that field and convent girls playing tennis down at the sports ground.

BUT and tis a major BUT I have started to read the contents and nutritional tables on the back of consumables. I wake in a cold sweat most nights should they every start this nonsense on pint glasses. Here in the UK/Ireland it is even worse that just the figures.They have this sort of traffic light on the values just you know that 195g of lovely tasty fat laden calorie rich pre processed weapon of mass constriction is not good for you it appears in sudden aortic aneurysm red. Where as a packet of wholesome, fibrous and totally taste free natural recycled bran cardboard is in a nice summery green. Basically you aim at getting as much green and as little red as possible.... B**T**Ds! That makes it to easy!! There is no excuse anymore!

I really don't mind some of the stuff "Weetabix Oatie Flakes" are ace with ice cold milk and a glass of green tea really does hit the spot. But I ask you when the very core of your being screams out for some deep fried goodness and then to be presented with reconstituted seaweed and soya goop on Ryevita just skunders my pish!

I know! I know! smoker for all those years, overweight, out of condition, a heart attack waiting to happen yada yada yada. I know! I am trying , the ciggies are a thing of the past, I am exercising, I am forcing down my 5 a day fruit and veg portions. I am avoiding cheese like Liam Gallagher avoids Head and Shoulders. My cry is WHY OH WHY AM I SO FECKING HUNGRY ALL THE FECKING TIME? When does the urge to eat one of our cats (with a nice hot salsa) disappear. When passing a field of cows when does the "will they miss one and is raw cow without horseradish tasty?" question stop jumping to the front of my mind?

~sigh~ I suppose I will continue on this road to wellville if for no other reason than I don't want the other NotesTubbies to beat me (Chris Coates, Bill Buchan and John Mill) in the diet contest.

**PS** yes I know i had a bit of a binge last Friday, but pint glasses don't have the contents stickers on them so it must have been OK??? Right?? ~sob~ Plllleeeeeassse make it right!

Learning how to fish from the masters.

There is a old Irish proverb that goes
"Listen to the sound of the river and you will catch a fish"
Which is what I did yesterday evening but as luck would have it I did very little catching and a lot of looking and listening. The main reason being their was a pod of harbour porpoise teaching some of their youngsters how to herd fish between the piers at the river mouth and then ambush them at speed. Nature has formed these creatures into warm blooded torpedoes capable of amazing turns of speed. Perhaps it I am seeing intelligence were none exists. But watching this family work the river to maximize their catch and involve the youngsters at every stage is indeed a marvel.

Needless to say the rod stayed out of the water and instead I watched when people stopped to ask why i wasn't fishing I would point out the little family of fishermen in the river and soon a small crowd had gathered. Good fun was had by all .. and we got a spectacular sun-set when just for a moment sunbeams speared through the thunderclouds.

A good day!

More Pictures from my walks

Gentle Reader.. some more piccies courtesy of my trust SonyEricsson Phone (Doesnt the Blackberry take CRAP photos!).
Top row left.. This is a Fern , Coleraine could come from and irish expression that means "bend in the river that has lots of ferns" which would be apt because we have a lot of them and this is one.
Top Row Right This is down by the river again and was many many years ago a really good spot to catch fish .. ah the nostagla!
Middle Row Left This is another good fishing spot when the sea trout where running.
Middle Row Right - this is a yellow weed whose name escaped me for the moment. I like weeds they are the unpretentious members of the floral world.
Bottom Row Left - These are the steps up to Mountsandel Fort which is the oldest (so far discovered) site of human habitation in Ireland. Near here were found remains of fires and huts built some 9000 years ago.
Bottom Row Right - This is the top of the fort and it looks out over the River Bann westward. It is also very good for rolling down going Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Squirrel - 2 walks in 2 days and with no pub involvement!

Squirrel!
I have been for another unsolicited walk! Will wonders never cease? Having done the river yesterday it was time for the forest today and a wander around the 3km forest trail at "the trim trail" the car park of which I have to say is a spot best avoided after dark ... "dogging" need I say more? Which is a pity because it is 3 very pleasant trails to tramp around.

Now for this apprentice micheline man walking is not an entirely welcome pastime, if i need to be somewhere it is much nicer going there by motorcycle usually very very quickly. The down side of this my more normal method of transport is that you miss the detail, a fact that had slipped my mind.

Anyway I was samba-ing around the trail to the iPlod provided by Claudio Zoli ... oh he is so cool and it has a good beat to plod to.Ben If you are reading this.. it is worth having a listen to .. bitching bass and back beat.



... oh please don't get the idea i can samba ... cos I can't, i wish i could but sadly my talents lie in other directions.

Anyway I came across some more things that made me stop and stare for a moment or two and with my Sony Walkperson phone cam thingumy took these photos.

Now the plants on the left are stingy nettles (BOOO!) and the broad leaved plants on the right are Dockens or Docks (YEAH!) If you get stung by a stingy nettle rub a dock leaf on the sting and it will stop stinging quicker than with no rub. Dock leaves also good for wiping your bum with if you find yourself bereft of toilet paper when camping!

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This is a ver dead tree with the most amazing branch structure, well perhaps only amazing because it is horizontal and not vertical ?? I also think there needs to be a naked woman in there somewhere ... sex and death are powerful motifs ... I wonder if I can find a nude model..hmmmm?

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This is a useful weed, called fireweed, or willow herb , you can smoke if you run out of tobacco or use the root, ground up, as a poultice to get pus out of a boil. But when walking OOOOOOH what at fantastic colour