Up the Chevin

Today we conquered the Chevin. It's a giant hill which separates Otley from Yeadon, and a steep one at that. Local legend has it that boxers use the hill to train by running up and down regularly. We started at the top as we woke up in Yeadon, and it was actually pelting it down with rain at the time. However, it was the only way that I was going to get fed that day, so onward we went. At the very top is Jenny’s cottage which was once a small pub which sold refreshments and even in the winter draymen used to roll barrels of beer across the hill. Nowadays it’s less of a holiday point and business has declined and the pub torn down. There is a new pub behind it, but you can't see the views as it’s built further back on the hill. We counted over two hundred steps as we made the descent into Otley, but only 180 on the way back up. Still, at least the rain had stopped on the return journey so that we were able to appreciate the views. 

McAfee Misery

So this was the month that my parent’s McAfee subscription was due to expire. They had already received an e-mail telling them it had expired, a second e-mail apologising for the first e-mail being wrong that it was due to expire; and a third e-mail with the wrong expiration date. As I was going away I asked if they really wanted to continue with McAfee, and they said yes. So just before I went away I bought a discounted activation key from the shop and installed it. Frantic messages then followed saying that the computer wasn’t working; they couldn’t check e-mails or open basic programs. It was then decided to use my computer instead to play Facebook games, only to complain that they couldn’t read the screen when they wanted to read e-mails. Even McAfee itself refused to load and didn’t even show a start-up screen. Clearly the manufacturers have done something wrong here… 

Ilkley Lollipop

So off we set on the Ilkley lollipop which I was told would be across the moors. We found a cheeky parking space at the back of a theatre, and after grabbing a coffee we met up with the rest of our group. After filling out an emergency form (sounds very drastic but I can see they don't want to get sued), we headed north; directly away from the moors. We soon found out that our walk was actually to Beamsley Beacon, where we could get a great view of Ilkley and its surrounding villages. It was a long walk consisting of woodland and farm tracks before finally reaching the moors. And the marshes certainly were in full effect and we tramped through rain and hail to get to a wall from where we could take shelter and eat a packed lunch, though we did get a great view of Menwith Hill, an American military base which holds part of their ‘Star Wars’ arsenal. I wonder how tight security is around there? After the beacon itself, it was a long climb down; and we also hailed on which gave me a great chance to try on my Argos gaiters.  We did get offered lollipops though. 

Skank of the Week

So I arrive at this apartment building after scouting out the address on foot, and I just about manage to squeeze the van into a space without obstructing anyone. It wasn't a neat space but I wasn't planning on being there for very long. The whiff of draw is instant. I have 12 items including cutlery, an oven and a table and chairs set. I load up my sack trolley, wheel the goods up to the door and press the button on the intercom. The voice instantly replies, ‘Door’s open mate’.

‘Cheers, which floor are you on?’ But he’s gone. So I wheel everything in, all while trying to keep the door open and obstructing someone's exit in the process. In the corridor there is a door to a cluster of stairs, and through a set of double doors are, thankfully, two lifts and a printed list of floor and flat numbers. So I have to unload the trolley to get through the double doors, then when the lift arrives I give up on the trolley and hope it's still going to be there when I get back down. Inside the lift, the floors are evenly numbered, but I want floor 5. So I go up to floor 6, take everything out of the lift, then took one of the boxes downstairs to floor five, where, oddly, there is a lift. So I then cart the box back to floor six, throw everything back in the lift, then head back downstairs to the ground floor so that everything can be shoved into the other lift to go back up to floor five. Exhausted, I knock the door; and as a welcoming greeting for the efforts I am treated to; ‘I've got no broadband.‘

Are Rainbows Proof that God doesn't Exist?

We all know the traditional bible story of the rainbow; that it’s a symbol that the flood is over and the evil has been washed away, and that it’s God’s promise that it’ll never happen again. But how many rainbows have you seen in your lifetime? Perhaps Christians argue that today’s modern rainbows act as a reminder that although this flood was heavy, it wasn’t as big as the one as Noah faced in Genesis. But if you actually read Genesis, you’ll also learn that Noah had three sons at the grand old age of 500, and died at the ripe old age of 950. Quite amazing for today’s standards, especially as we now have better infrastructure to cope with today’s modern flooding. As sons of Noah, we certainly have filled the earth as God commanded; but it’s a strong test of faith if we are really to believe Noah’s story. 

Pissing Off the Pension People

I'm pissing off the pension people. It's the latest monthly tax that they hope we’ll have forgotten about or is hidden away in case we snuff it before retirement. Hopefully I won't have to use it, or at the very minimum use it to pay off my student loan. A few weeks ago they sent me an e-mail asking me to log on and view my latest pension statement and view which pots to invest in. Yawn. It's thirty years away and they'll have probably lost it by then. But this week I've received a letter through the post asking me to register on-line, something that I've clearly done already otherwise they wouldn't have sent me the email. So why are they wasting my time? Clearly the resources would be better spent using my funds to invest in better portfolios rather than waste them on postage to send me unnecessary information. So I now look forward to their reply. 

Darts

I just love a good game of darts. I think the pub enjoys it too; the thud of metal sinking into rubber, the atmosphere, the competitiveness of the battle to win; just so long as you don’t hit wood (or anything else besides the board for the matter). Killer is the easiest in our group and it’s also quite tactical. I prefer 301 and now 501 as we’ve got better over the years; but it’s always me that does the maths. My favourite game is Cricket as it really makes you think before you throw? Do you concentrate on scoring invading, or securing another territory? My favourite pub to play darts in has recently got rid of its board, which is a great shame, as their area manager isn’t keen on the sport. So here is evidence of one of our very last great games there; a moment when each player became a champion of a different game, each with its own set of different rules. I wonder if there is a name for that?

Star Trek: Beyond

The film opened with a great comic scene where Kirk is shown to be a Starfleet Ambassador and diplomat to a new race of beings; something that we rarely see in other plotlines. It portrays the trying times of the characters before the plot begins and what the characters want to achieve. I thought it was very moving to have a small spell of silence in tribute to Leonard Nimoy during the opening scenes; and the action was great with the destruction of the Enterprise (which usually occurs much later in the film). But once this was done and the characters were in captivity, the storyline was all too familiar as the crew get rescued and are re-united in a final battle against Krall whose backstory to the main plot was rushed in towards the very end. It’s great that they’ve brought in new aliens but the crew’s separation created too many plotlines to follow.

Wood's Redwood at the Rising Sun, Redditch

When we think of Redwood, we think of giant ancient trees stretching up to the sky in Northern California. So it's quite surprising to learn that brewers have somehow managed to capture the essence of these giant behemoths in a pint glass. As a herb, its natural properties are to slow down the ageing process and assist in sexual reproduction. But the best thing about these beers is the smell; it’s a dark, oaky and musty fragrance which leaves a natural pine odour in our nostrils. And since the mighty Redwood is one of the oldest species of trees on the planet; it's a name that associated with age and gracefulness, and so the beer should as well. But how do the brewers create such a flavour. Do they buy import extract of Redwood? Perhaps they employ a secret team to gather felled twigs or even harvest felled trees to gather this mystical ingredient under cover of darkness. 

Marston's New World Pedigree Ale at the Rose Inn, Nuneaton

This pub has a special piece of history. It's not particularly old, it doesn't have a historic interior; it doesn't have a special licensee or even great beer. But it was here that our organisation first held its inaugural national Annual General Meeting and a plaque is here to recognise the day that a national campaign was required to help protect our nation’s brewing heritage. And it was here that I got abandoned with the world’s most boring man. We all had our own itinerary to keep; so we'd all travel to different pubs at different times. It just so happened that we kept bumping into each other. But as I'd admired the historical plaque on of the pub’s timber posts; there seemed to be a mass exit until it was just me and a beardy old man who had the drollest voice and knew exactly how to use it. I just kept thinking, ‘How can I get away?’ I knew him to be one of our travelling colleagues so it would be wrong to leave him on his own, but at the same time he was eating into my exploring time with his full point while everyone else was sensibility on halves. Eventually, I managed to establish what train he was on and managed to feign taking an earlier one, leaving me with an excuse to abandon him. 

Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck

Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Steinbeck’s novel is short yet gripping, with all the vices of people trying to get on with each other while making their living in the American West. The story focuses on the antics of the hired hands during their downtime rather than the work itself, and dreams are a common theme as each character describes them; but only Candy, George and Lennie have a realistic chance of engineering them, so long as they stay focused and don’t drift as they do. But some men just don’t understand other men. The tale’s sudden ending is sad and melancholy, and is also rushed. It could have been stretched out a lot more as a stand-alone story rather than a novel play; with perhaps the focus being on George and Lennie when they leave Aunt Clara. The book could also be seen as a draft first attempt for Steinbeck’s first attempt to address the Great Depression.

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Harry Croft #harrycroft1

Rain. Always rain on Wednesday 30 April. You could guarantee it every year. And yet Harry never made the effort to place a bet at the bookies across the road. For Wednesday was the day that his partner got shot three years ago. So instead, he'd sit with his feet on his smoking his pipe as he did every year. He took a big exhale and let out a huge sigh alongside the smoke as he looked around. Things were not good. He hadn't had a case for ages, mainly because he had to let his secretary go to keep the business running. He'd toyed with the idea of hiring an apprentice rather than some bimbo who just sat all day polishing her nails; but in his current situation he'd only get students staying for a few days to get work experience. And then there was the rent. At some point he'd have to find a new place to live. He might as well move into the office and put his belongings in storage given he amount of time he spent there.

Blue Bee TranspacificPale Ale at the Post Office Vaults, Birmingham

In a time where countries need to work together to combat global problems, the necessity of being transpacific is greater than ever. But when tragedy strikes, the focus is often on what has caused the problems combined with a short term solution rather a long-term solution to work together to prevent any future occurrences. It's the need to put one’s own country first, and often it's a sympathetic response of assistance as a result of pleas from humanitarian organisations that stirs governments into action. We must be seen to be given aid because we are better off and must not appear selfish. But when you're asked to support starving Indian children when the same country is embarking on a space program; that's just taking things too far. You know your efforts are to no avail when the people in charge have other priorities. So in these cases; there's just one thing to do: Liberation.  

Definitely Defying Discovery #dreamdiary10

It’s dark, but I have to know if he’s here. I don’t want to knock as it’s late and I’ll be shouted at; but I have to look for clues. I slowly lift the latch and creep into the back garden. Perhaps I can see whether or not his things are here. There’s a security light, but hopefully it’s not too bright. As I reach the back of the garden, the light comes on. It’s powerful; it seeps through the foliage, and I can instantly see that the blinds are open, and through the glass a blue Sky TV screen menu is displayed in the living room. I look up, and there’s a window open upstairs. There’s definitely someone home, and they definitely haven’t retired for the night, and they’ve definitely spotted it. I have to knock on the door and announce my presence with an excuse before I am discovered; otherwise the situation could be far worse if it’s the other way around. 

Flipside Chocolate Penny at the Crown, Nuneaton

My first memory of Nuneaton was a trip to the Crown, an old bricked pub nestled between the station and the beginning of the shopping district. Next door was a smaller pub which we took shelter in with a swift half while we waited for the Crown to open to use their function room. The beers were excellent and unfortunately I didn’t have time to explore the rest of the town. This year, with the meeting elsewhere; I had to ask why we were all crammed into a tiny pub and were not allowed access to the function room. Rumours abounded from a planned beer festival that never materialised to a falling out with the local CAMRA branch. The inside of the pub was still as modern as I could remember, and the Chocolate Penny, although excellent, was very weak for a porter and would have been better off produced as a mild.

The Wrong Time and Place #dreamdiary9

Paul took another drag. He knew he shouldn’t; he was already in enough trouble. But it was there in front of him; the satisfying taste; the sense of sharing with his peers; the escape to being somewhere else. His mind became fuzzy as he drifted off; relaxing as he forgot about his troubles. Suddenly, a familiar smell sharpened his senses and brought him back into the room. It was an earthly smell, and he suddenly realised that it was coming from his own mouth. He could hear voices saying ‘Shit, he actually smoked it’ and ‘Quick, hide it, hide it.’ He looked up to see a cloud of smoke rising upwards towards a small white box on the ceiling. He glanced down and instantly spotted the source; a small white tubed cylinder in his gloved left hand. As he stubbed the spliff out and crushed it underneath a chair leg, footsteps of shoe upon floor became louder and louder… 

Highgate Old Ale at Felix Holt, Nuneaton

This was a nice simple Wetherspoon outlet at its best. A large, open square room alongside one long bar is all that’s needed for this pub to work; with an interesting range of real ales to boot. I had to grab my money’s worth out of the CAMRA vouchers and opt for a pint of strong ale; which meant that I had to stay behind when it came to visiting the next pub? But just who or what was the Felix Holt? I thought with a name like that, it must be the market cat of Nuneaton, patrolling the streets and keeping the mice and rats away from the food trader stalls. But it turns out that he was actually a radical campaigner from a George Eliot novel, who caused a local riot after falling in love with his leader’s daughter. It’s a shame because I much prefer my version; and it’s also not entirely clear what the local connection is.

Why Donald Trump Won't become the next President of the United States

So the election is now down to two people; a conservative businessman who is trying to buy and bully his way in; and the world’s first American female president. It’s Lord Business versus Wildstyle; King Edward IV versus Joan of Arc; or Marge Simpson versus Mr. Burns. While Trump may have the traditional approach; his background certainly won’t win over supporters of educational reform whereas Clinton’s background is a lot more liberal and inspiring. And Trump’s speechwriters certainly aren’t doing him any credit by using speeches from past campaigns rather than having any original thoughts of their own. Trump’s radical comments have also become too smeared controversial; and even members of his own party have now decided to distance themselves from him by deciding to vote for Hillary Clinton (and they’re not even calling her ‘the other candidate’!). And let’s not forget that America is a lot more liberal these days because of the appointment of their previous president.  

The Magazine Article by Peter P. Jacobi

The Magazine Article: How to Think It, Plan It, Write It by Peter Jacobi
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Just as Family Guy’s Brian Griffin sets out to make a name for himself as an author of self-help books; Jacobi attempts a similar role in the world of magazine writing. In a world where online news and social media has not yet been invented; Jacobi looks at leading American publications from Time Magazine, The New York Post; and even Playboy. I learnt a lot from the opinions of the articles quoted; even if I choose not to believe that the Encyclopaedia Britannica was established in Chicago or that the roll-top desk is the best piece of furniture ever made. But the again, this is the 90’s. It's a shame that no exercises are suggested for aspiring writers other than to read, read, and read; and the majority of this book is taken up by examples of other writers for the reader to devour. But there are some hidden tips squeezed within; such as the beauty of poetic writing and ensuring that structure and purpose are present. There’s also a hidden proof-reading exercise (though I don’t think that’s intentional).

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Introducing Paul the Piranha

There are too few travel shows in the media today. Perhaps it’s because there’s too much traffic on the roads already; and we don’t want to encourage more. But travel can be an interesting experience; not just because of the destination but of the journey too. So how about a new kids show to promote individual attractions? Many shows do make use of different locations; but they fail to take in the reality of their surroundings and often focus on the character’s story instead. So why not meet Paul the Piranha; a friendly travelling fish who travels the seas; rivers and canals of our great land who meets friends who help him out of the water to explore our best attractions? Through his military-style water tank he also solves puzzles to defeat his arch-enemy and encourages viewers to visit the attraction and take in a quest. Much better than roaming the motorways looking for a Pokémon.

83 Bottles of Beer on the Wall...

To many, it’s just a row of bottles sitting on the shelf; fragile yet decorative; each one ready to release its intoxicated contents into an eager man’s stomach. Yet each bottle tells a different story about its licensee. Why these particular bottles? Why are some grouped in stacks of three and why are other duplicates arranged ungrouped? Have the bar staff consumed each and every bottle and these beers are their recommendations? Or are these rarer brews saved exclusively for a special occasion; perhaps only fetched down when the licensee’s daughter is married? Of course, the bottles themselves also may tell a story from their creation to their transportation and the people involved that made it happen; each with their own tale of why they decided to undertake this particular task. What inspired them to label their bottles that way? And why is this picture so blurred? Is it perhaps that I've attempted to drink them all?

Farringdon IPA at the Sunflower, Belfast

This small pub might put people off with its worn paintwork and metallic green cage outside the front door, but this is something that is of a local landmark that the locals have grew fond of as it marks Belfast’s troubled times. Inside, the atmosphere is quite the opposite as a group of ukulele players set up for the night’s entertainment; consisting of players both old and young with equal tunes to match. While their songs didn’t get the whole pub singing as the bar was quite small; the whole novelty of the thing did compel us to soak in the atmosphere with a pint of Farrington’s; the only ale on offer for our visit. It’s definitely a pub worth seeking out for its entertainment with its own dedicated music lounge. I’m also glad that the pub’s proposed demolition has now been postponed following a cancelled redevelopment of the local area. Long live the Sunflower!

Goodnight Mr. Tom by Michelle Magorian

Goodnight Mister Tom by Michelle Magorian
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Magorian’s children’s tale of a young evacuee who has his life transformed when he is sent to live in the country is an amazing story that will entertain all ages. There's fantastic moments of suspense that will keep the reader gripped as well as lots of heart-warming scenes of friendship and compassion. There is one particular scene which is very graphic in nature which may be upsetting for younger readers, but Magorian draws on this from real-life realities while ultimately championing Oakley’s mantra that everything has its own time, as well as balancing this with mid-twentieth century wartime values. It's a book which looks at the inexperienced child as well as the adult; though where Oakley gains his sense of parenthood is perhaps only through caring for Sammy. Despite all the drama, the tale has a simple and happy ending, and leaves the book open as to where young Willie might actually end up.

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An Anatomy of a McDonald's Breakfast Bagel

I love the taste of a good old-fashioned McDonald’s breakfast bagel. I always think that it’s amazing that when you open one, the cheese always oozes out of the hole and onto the paper; which is great for dipping your hash brown into while you wait for the bagel to cool down. They’re also less greasy than the muffin for some reason; perhaps because the breads are a different density? There was only one time that this didn’t happen; and I began to wonder whether or not it was cooked or assembled properly. It’s a shame that you can’t get a double bagel; but I don’t think the bread will be able to handle it; so usually I order a bacon snack wrap as well so that I get the full hog. The breakfast wrap and limited edition breakfast sandwich just doesn’t cut it, as the cheese is left out.  

Anarchy Strait Jacket at the Lord Hop, Nuneaton

This small corner chop is a great place to set up a pub in a market town, and I’d never expect a beer from Northumberland to make it all the way to the Midlands. Four beers are usually available, but the licensee had the good sense to get some more in for our meeting, which was upstairs in the lounge. Usually, this is a quiet room for drinkers to relax while enjoying a pint with a book or newspaper, or perhaps socialise in small groups. Today though, there were over thirty of us crammed in to the back, and there was even a projector which many of us gave up on jostling for a view; and simply focused on the traffic out through the window. Being a micro-pub, the wait for the bathroom was also quite lengthy, but I had a fair walk to my next pub and also a schedule to keep.

Ham, Egg & Chips

Two thick succulent pieces of pink ham, with just a small amount of fat are slapped onto my plate. It’s as pink as the young cute piglet that it came off. I haven’t got a clue as to where the pork was reared, but it’s now being added to my rear after melting in my mouth. Alongside this are two large fried eggs cook to perfection, with the yellow yolks not too solid for dipping; yet not too runny to let the yolk run amok on my plate. It’s as if this glorious meal came straight from the piggy’s head and sliced straight from the face, and its eyes have bloated in the deep fat fryer. Finally, there’s golden cut thick chips for absorbing the juices, cooked crisp enough for a lovely brown texture yet their insides are soft and fluffy as soon as they’re cut open, releasing a jet of steam up to the heavens. 

Goddards Fuggle Dee-Dum at William White, Nuneaton

I’ve returned to Nuneaton for another CAMRA meeting; and today I’m feeling a bit more independent and daring to try new pubs. A bit of fortune brought me to town early as a previous connecting train was delayed, allowing me the opportunity to board as soon as I’d arrived at Birmingham New Street, and I had an hour to kill. Seeing that the local Lloyds was open, I jumped at the chance to grab the first Cask Marque scan of the day. The atmosphere was full of breakfast goers, and the beer selection was a bit uninspired, with only a 4.8% amber beer as a guest ale which isn’t the best way to start a full day’s session. The staff were just functional, and after lapping the island bar I retreated to a table near the window to make some phone calls and enjoy my half-conditioned beer. Sadly, the William White is no longer standing as Wetherspoon has marked it for closure, which just goes to show that you need to seek out and use these pubs before you lose them!

Mobile Strike

Since owning a tablet, I’ve been looking for a game similar to the old Command and Conquer for quite a while now, and the new Mobile Strike comes quite close. The makers have spent a ton of money on advertising, not just on pop-ups and YouTube but on TV too. The screenshots are a little off-putting as there’s no actual control on holding out on territory; and every deployment requires a fall back to base before deploying your next tactic; making stake-outs impossible. There’s no plotline or even control on how deployments are used; you simply press the big red button to attack. Its main feature is time management, and you spend a heck of a lot of downtime on training, gathering resources and researching skills for units. But it’s highly addictive and the key thing is choosing the perfect moment to strike against your enemies (usually when they’re in a different time zone!).

The Bittles Bar

Just outside the modern Victorian Shopping Centre of Belfast lies the Bittles Bar. This small pub has just one room on a busy stretch of road, but it’s well worth a visit. Its interior is well preserved with high ceilings over a backdrop of portraits of famous patrons, including Titanic Captain John Smith and members of the Ulster Unionist Party. Unfortunately there was only one other patron when we visited; and we couldn’t identify him as anyone of particular merit. There must be a great atmosphere when the pub does get going, as it’s the type of place where everyone can join in on the same conversational topic. The bar is well stocked with a huge variety of whiskey, as well as bottled conditioned ales and the occasional cask. The barman was very friendly and proudly showed us the pub’s oldest bottle of whiskey at £500 a dram. No chances of a taster then?! 

Scales

One of my current traits which I've had for a long while is scaly feet. I can't stand the hardened skin and I just have to scrape it away. I'm human so most skin is soft,  and these little knots of skin just tighten me up. Often I get flakes which just to be peeled away, and then I get large layers which just hang on tingling with the pain . Eventually I have to end it by very carefully cutting the layer away, then patch myself up using socks as a bandage. I used to have the same problem with hands as well, but I've nearly grown out of that. But how can I get rid of the scales? Is it due to a childhood battle with exma? And do I really have to cover myself in cream? Surely man was born to exist without constantly pampering ourselves in powders?