Things I've done for the first time

This is a list of things that I've done for the first time during 2014. I thought it would be interesting to keep a little list (although it turned into a long list) of 'firsts'. It's by no means everything, but I think I have the main ones sorted.

1. I retired

It was my 60th birthday in July 2013 and I'd decided a few years back that I should retire at 60 if I could afford to. I thought I could afford to, but I wasn't dead sure and it would have been easy to have said I'll do another year, save another £10,000, just make sure.

I didn't, and I'm pleased that I didn't. I've had enough money and should have enough to see me out, so I did the best thing and asked for early retirement back in June. Somewhat annoyingly, the company offered a voluntary redundancy scheme just a month before my retirement date and I bet I would have qualified. That would have added maybe £75,000 to my pot, but it's no use beating yourself up for decisions that might have been. I made the best decision I could at the time, based on the knowledge I had.

I was a little apprehensive about retirement. I wasn't worried about boredom, but I was concerned about stimulation and missing work colleagues, relationships/friendships and gossip (the social side of work, if you like).

Retirement has been great; I've had the chance to do lots of new things and I've never sat down and thought: "what am I going to do now?" It's been quite the reverse in fact. I've not had time to do lots of the things I thought I'd do - without the dead time of commuting, I'm reading less and writing less.

Last-day-in-the-office selfie - only me left 

2. I became a school governor

I said that when I retired I'd volunteer for a number of things. Life has been pretty good to me, so I thought I should put something back. I read that there was a shortage of people willing to become school governors, I thought that might utilise some of the skills I used in my job, so I signed up for a website called SGOSS, which is an abbreviation for something, and aims to link volunteers with vacancies. In the meantime, I'd mentioned it to my friend Pauline Coakley, who is chair of governors at the Duke of Bedford School in Thorney, and it turned out there was a vacancy there.

So I became a governor in April and it's been interesting. It's good to be involved with the school again, having had no contact since our children left, and I do feel that I'm doing something useful. There's very little as important as education.

The school got a rating of "good" in its Ofsted inspection in April, our head teacher resigned in June, we recruited a new head in October, I became vice-chair and now I'm involved with projects to set up a new website and to look at provision of school meals. So it's been quite a busy eight months and with a new head in place from January and a deputy head to appoint in spring, it looks as if it will stay that way. I’ve also met lots of new people from the village.

3. I used snowshoes

At the start of the year, Sam and Lucy were living in Villaret sur la Rosiere, near Bourg-saint-Maurice in the French Alps in order to do a full ski season. We'd gone down with them in December 2013 to help carry their gear and made several other trips to spend time with them.

Because Margaret doesn't ski (and doesn't want to learn) we skied for a few days and looked for other things to do on others. She was quite keen on snowshoeing, Sam and Lucy had reconnoitered a route and so we set off to walk through the snow from St Foy to Le Monal, a small village which is uninhabited in winter. It was a lovely, sunny day, the views were great and the climbs not too severe.

Walking on modern snowshoes is very easy, you just need to remember to walk with your legs a little further apart so you don't step on your own shoes. You also need to keep fairly close to the trodden path, move off into soft snow and the relatively small snowshoes they use here won't stop you sinking in.

In Le Monal, we were able to sit in the snow and bask in the sun, while enjoying some magnificent views of the north side of Mont Pourri. We liked St Foy so much we're going back this January.

Le Monal in January.

4. I raised ornamental grass from seed

This doesn't sound much of a first, but it was quite demanding. I grew Angel Hair (stipa tenuissima) and Blue Grass (leymus arenarius) partly because Margaret wanted to convert our patio to gravel with assorted pots/planters and partly because were had agreed to run the plant stall at the church flower festival and I needed some plants to sell. I thought the Angel Hair would go down a bomb, but it was tricky to shift. Lots of people already had it in their garden and said it seeded everywhere. Considering how tricky they were for me to germinate it, I found that hard to take.

The Blue Grass was the hard one to germinate. It was in and out of the fridge, in and out of a plastic bag, in the sun, in the shade and I even took it on holiday to France because I thought it might die if I left it unattended for a week.

Having babies is easier (for me, not Margaret).

5. I skied in La Plagne, took the Vanoise Express

I skied a lot this year and there were lots of firsts in terms of new runs (Reynard will forever be etched in my memory) but I did do a couple of bigger firsts. Sam and I skied across to La Plagne from Les Arcs, taking the massive cable car that links the two resorts. It’s called the Vanoise Express; the cars are double-deckers and can carry over 100 people and it gets you across pretty quickly. The cables stretch 1,800 metres and it rides 400 metres (1,200ft) above the valley floor. I went back to La Plagne several times in the spring, sadly it was later in the season when the weather was quite warm and the snow was not very good.

On the Vanoise Express.

6. I drunk Genepi and Green Chartreuse

Genepi is a sweet, alcoholic nectar of the gods. I love it. Green Chartreuse has 60 herbs infused, but it's the high level of alcohol that does it. After a hard day's skiing it can kick-start your evening. It also revived Tim Dawkins, Davina's boyfriend, restoring his voice after three children's parties in one day.

Both drinks are essentially alcohol, sugar syrup and a few herbs. Once I( get my still sorted (a first for 2015) I’ll be aiming to recreate these great tastes of the French Alps.

7. I got an allotment

When Sam and Lucy came back to England following their six months in France, they were planning to live with us for a while to allow them to find new jobs outside London. I thought it would be a good idea for Lucy to have an allotment to cultivate, otherwise she'd be digging up my lawn to plant beetroot. As it happened, they went straight to Jersey and I'm left alone with the biggest allotment in Thorney!

I have enjoyed working the plot and I’ve got half of it pretty much dug over. I’ve spent about £1,000 on shed, weedkiller, wood, plants, compost, bark and manure and so far I’ve had about 2kg or onions, all the courgettes and runner beans we could eat, a barrow-load of apples and some leeks.

Plenty of digging required when this was taken.

8. I used a rotovator

See above! I bought a rotovator to help with the digging and when that proved useless, I bought a bigger one. Here's some advice, don't buy a rotovator until you have tried digging with a fork. It's the best way and also good exercise.

Rotovators chop up the weeds so you end up with three times as much bindweed as when you started; they are stolen or they break down! Having said that, if you had a large plot of weed-free, previously dug loam, they are great for creating a fine seed bed.

9. I swam in Lake Annecy off a pedalo

About 30 years ago, I swam in the Thunersee at Interlaken in Switzerland. It was a hot June day and the water was absolutely bloody freezing! I resolved never to take a dip in an Alpine lake ever again.

Well, in July (after being assured by Sam and Lucy that the water was like a warm bath) I broke that rule and had a swim in Lake Annecy. I was back in France to help bring their stuff back to the UK and we had a trip to Annecy for the day. The lake is huge, it is warm and you can hire a pedalo for an hour or swim from a beach. The bed of the lake shelves very gently, so you can still stand up even 100 metres from the shore, so a pedalo saves you wading out for ages.

If I was making an argument that the quality of life is so much better in France than in England, I’d take my opposing protagonist for a swim in Lake Annecy.

10. I walked on a volcano

The next four firsts are all connected with another first - I visited Ecuador. I wasn’t planning to visit Ecuador, but Tom and Lucy announced they were getting married and Margaret and I, together with my sister, flew across for the wedding.

There were lots of firsts in Ecuador, including visiting Ecuador, but the volcanoes really made an impression on me. Who isn’t fascinated by a volcano? There are lots of them in Ecuador including one (Tungarahua) which is currently erupting. Cotopaxi is only a few miles from the capital Quito and is a classic strato-volcano; if you asked a child to draw a picture of a volcano, they would draw Cotopaxi.

We were able to visit on a clear day when the whole of the mountain was visible and got up to about 4500m. We would have reached the snow line, but there was a fierce wind which was whipping up ash and sharp cinders and blasting them straight into our faces. See my blog: http://ericsdailydiary.blogspot.co.uk/2014/06/ecuador-cotopaxi.html

If you asked a child to draw a picture of a volcano, they would draw Cotopaxi

11. I crossed the equator

When I was a young boy, many of the heroes presented to me were explorers - Shackleton, Scott. Hillary ... the world still seemed to have undiscovered places and if you wanted to get to America, Australia or even France, you went by ship. Cheap jet travel hadn’t shrunk the Earth and satellite mapping hadn’t catalogued every square inch.

For me, there was a fascination with crossing the equator. On board ship, people crossing the equator for the first time (at least in the books I read) had to undergo an initiation ceremony involving Neptune, shellbacks and polywogs (see: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Line-crossing_ceremony) so this seemed to possess a magical quality to me.

Now, we cross the equator at 500mph and at 35,000ft, so the magic is lost. Tom and Lucy were married in Cayambe, more or less on the equator and I must have been back and to across the line several times. I would liked to have visited the equatorial line in a park near Cayambe (not the one the French built, which is several hundred yards awry), but there just wasn’t time. I missed a great photo opportunity, but nevertheless, I knew I was on and across the equator and I can say I have stood on both the equator and on the Greenwich meridian.

12. I saw the Southern Cross

I have always wanted to see the Southern Cross, the iconic star constellation of the southern hemisphere, which is famously featured on the Australian flag. Christobal Cobo, an old friend of Lucy’s who now lives at the Hacienda Guachala with his wife Gabriella, knows a fair bit about astronomy and we were talking about stars in the southern hemisphere the night before the wedding (when it was too cloudy to see anything).

Wedding day night was much clearer and so he took me into the darker part of the courtyard to see the Southern Cross. On the equator, it's quite low in the sky (directly south, of course) and, looking north, you can also see the Great Bear (the Plough), which is the iconic constellation of the northern hemisphere. It is possible also to see the North Star from Cayambe, but Christoble explained it was very close to the horizon and you needed to gain some elevation in order to get a view.

13. I swam in a volcanic pool

Natural hot springs are 10 a penny in Ecuador and we were booked into Termas de Papallacta, a spa resort on the slopes of the volcano Antisana. This is a popular place with tourists and natives (as it’s within easy reach of Quito) and it was busier than other places we’d visited.

The water from the hot springs is piped into pools around the resort and these vary in temperature, ranging from warm to “like a very hot bath”. We tried them all. Several pools are large enough and deep enough to swim in, others are more for wallowing. Our chalets, also had their own network of hot pools and we were able to enjoy those after nightfall. I was going to have a dip the next morning, but they has all been drained overnight and were still filling up.

You can see why ancient peoples found hot springs such a magical thing. We’re used to baths and showers and it’s still pretty amazing.

14. I ate at Rules

Rules is one of the oldest restaurants in London. It specialises in game and was one of Winston Churchill’s favourite places to eat. I’ve often thought I’d like to eat there (more for the experience than the cuisine) and so when my boss Marc Tucker offered to take me out for a farewell meal following my retirement, I suggested Rules.

It’s a superb place,somewhat of a different age but not out of place in modern London. Service is excellent and I had roast suckling pig and a syrup sponge pudding to finish.

15. I organised Ciderfest

We staged Ciderfest in July to say thank you to people who had helped with the cider making and who had donated apples in 2013.

It may become an annual event. People seemed to have a great time, although we were really lucky with the weather and had it been raining, we wouldn’t have been able to cope with the numbers indoors.

This coming year, if it all turns out OK, we will have more cider for drinking and also a couple of new people to invite. It might become our annual party.

16. I visited Ripon Cathedral and Fountains Abbey

I took a motorcycle trip with Tom to Derbyshire and Yorkshire in August and there were a lot of firsts - Snake Pass, Holme Moss and Skipton ...

Two other firsts were a visit to Fountains Abbey and Ripon Cathedral (or Minster). Fountains Abbey is the ruined remains of what would have been one of the most magnificent religious complexes in the country. It would have been amazing in its day, which is odd because it was founded by the Cistercians, who eschewed luxuries and comfort. I guess they thought the magnificent buildings were to the glory of their god and not for their aggrandisement? Anyway, Henry VIII confiscated the land and riches during the Dissolution and so plunged them back into poverty, where they were happy. It’s a great place to visit.

The crypt at Ripon Minster is one of the oldest buildings in England - it’s the remains of an old Saxon church. It’s reached by narrow staircases and is quite atmospheric. Worth going if you’re in the area.

Fountains Abbey - magnificent ruin.

17. I used a stump grinder

This is an unusual entry and it’s the second power tool I’ve used for the first time this year (see rotavator). We had three large conifers cut down in late spring; you can never get the stumps cut low enough to the ground with a chainsaw, so I hired a stump grinder to finish the job.

I wasn’t sure what to expect and it is a strange tool. The cutter is set in the vertical plane is is basically a heavy wheel with a large notch. You position the machine over the stump and lock one wheel. You then draw it back and forth across the stump, cutting a large groove. You then reposition it and make another pass. I created three barrow-loads of sawdust and a lot of noise, but the stumps were dispatched in a couple of hours.

I hope to put a small octagonal greenhouse on the site next year. It will be the first time I have owned a greenhouse.

18. I am learning Spanish

I love languages and I feel quite uneducated that I cannot speak a foreign language with any fluency. I can get by in French, order beer and food ... that kind of thing, but I couldn’t have a proper conversation. After “hello, how are you? I’m fine too thanks”, I’d be struggling.

I can’t even do that in Spanish and when we were in Ecuador, I felt slightly disrespectful at not being able to at least make a gesture in speaking Spanish. If I’m lucky enough to be able to go again, then I aim to at least have better Spanish than French.

I’m having classes at U3A and I really enjoy them; it’s also an excuse to travel more in Spain. I tell you what, if any Spaniards want to know what the time is I’ll be right on it.

19. I went to Jersey

Sam and Lucy have moved to Jersey and we made a trip across in September to take them some of their possessions which had been left in our garage.

The ferry goes from Weymouth to Guernsey and then on to Jersey and it takes about four-and-a-half hours. Jersey is granite, it has some lovely beaches and pretty villages; it’s also really small (nine miles by five miles) and the speed limit across the island is only 30mph (20mph in many villages) with a small section of dual-carriageway at 40mph.

We’ll be going back to Jersey at least a couple of times a year I hope.

20. I went to an Allen Jones exhibition

This was two firsts for me - it was the first time I’d seen any works by this famous pop-art/shock-art artist and it was the first time I’d been to the Royal Academy on Piccadilly.

The exhibition made me feel very uncomfortable; it presents women in a way that I don’t like. It treats them as exaggerated sex objects; as vulnerable and exploited, and also as predatory. I couldn’t tune-in to his message.

21. I went for dinner at Lutyens

Lutyens is a swanky, fashionable restaurant in Fleet Street. It just happens to be in the building that used to house the Press Association.

Our actuaries and our lawyers took members of the pension fund trustees there for an end-of-year dinner. For the trustees who worked for the PA in Fleet Street it was a nostalgic return. We dined in what used to be the post room and dispatch department and lots of my fellow trustees were getting quite misty-eyed about it.

We polished off three bottles of Pol Roger to start and the meal was very nice. The most amusing thing was that there was an Allen Jones painting on the wall!

Crumbling cliffs at Hunstanton

The cliffs at Hunstanton have been eroding for thousands of years, but there seems to have been an acceleration in cliff-falls in the past year.

The cliffs took a battering in storms in early 2014 and several holes were punched in sand dunes along the coast.

We had a walk along the beach this week and I took these images of the cliffs. There's significant undercutting in places and some big chunks waiting to fall.

The cliffs are very distinctive with different-coloured rock strata. It's a geography teacher's dream.

The bottom (base) layer is grey/green Carstone with two layers of limestone on top. The middle layer is Red Chalk from the Lower Cretaceous period with White Chalk (Upper Cretaceous) on top. This is capped by a thin layer of soil.

The limestone is quite soft and easily eroded and the borders between the layers seem to be particular weaker areas. The winter storms of early 2014 brought down fresh chunks of rock and also clumps of topsoil which have been washed down the beach along the north-facing coastline.

My 40th wedding anniversary

Today is my 40th wedding anniversary, I guess this is my cue to say something cheesy and hand my wife a ruby brooch.

I'm not going to do either, instead I'm going to provide 40 little surprises during the next few months. Surprise no 1 is a packet of Thornton's treacle toffee - I hope she likes it!

At this stage, I have no idea what surprise no 2 will be, but I'll think of something.

I hope she hasn't bought me ruby cuff-links (I'm pretty sure she hasn't).

The last 40 years have flown by, it doesn't quite seem like yesterday that I was being introduced to her family in the Hanging Gate at Weaverham, but I could believe it was only a week or so ago.

We were married at 21, bought our own house at 22 (for £8,500) and had our first child (Tom) when I was 28 and Margaret was 27.

What have we done in 40 years? In some ways it seems very little, in other ways such a lot. The most significant thing we've done is what all organisms are programmed to do, we've reproduced ourselves.

It has been hard work and it hasn't all been plain sailing. A lot of the lovely people who were around at our wedding are no longer with us and that's the cause of a little sadness, but that's life; and there are lots of lovely people who are around now who weren't there at our wedding, principally our three sons and their wives, who form such a large part of our lives.

Much has changed, but the one constant has been Margaret. She has never disappointed me, never failed me ... she bore my children, has been my companion and my critic (but not often) ... she has also done a little more ironing than me ... in short she has been my friend and partner in life for 40 years and that's quite a thing.

Would she do it all again? I think she would and I certainly would.

40 years later ...

Footnote: surprise No 2 was a couple of climbing roses (Aloha) for the latticework pillars in our garden. They are a vigorous variety with pink, strongly scented flowers, turning to orange/yellow as they fade.

Max and Sam tackle the OMM

Max and Sam at the start

I've spent this weekend in the Cheviot Hills as support driver for Max and Sam who have been tackling the OMM - the Original Mountain Marathon.

This is a two-day event over a cross-country mountain course requiring stamina and compass skills. It was Max's third marathon and Sam's first.

The event is held at a different place each year and the venue is kept secret until quite late so that people can't recce the course beforehand. It's always somewhere remote and you can pretty much guarantee that it will be cold and wet.

The starting point was a place called Clennell Hall. I'm sure that on a beautiful summer's day, Clennell Hall is like heaven on earth and I imagine they get two or three days like that each year. Every other day the wind will be howling, the clouds skitting over the hills and the snow falling, rain or hail lashing. Clennell is in the Cheviot Hills and there's a rule of thumb that says anywhere that has a breed of sheep named after it is likely to be cold and bleak.

Every stone and tree in the place is covered with lichen. It's a fine old stone-built house with an attached sheep farm and some byres which would have once housed cattle for milk I guess. There's also a static caravan site where folk can escape Newcastle or Sunderland for the weekend. We bumped into a couple from the caravan site; they had a pair of little dogs (furkids) so we got talking to them. They wondered what on earth was going on and when we explained, they couldn't believe so many people would want to run across mountains.

We had been keen to get to Clennell Hall before dark and despite a long diversion due to a landslip across the road, we managed to be one of the first there. I parked the car in a field that was soon going to be a quagmire and we got the large two-man tent pitched for Max and Sam (I was going to sleep in the car). Once that was done and they'd registered, there was nothing to do except have a little supper and a beer, then bed.

I was warm enough with a sleeping bag in the car, but I'd parked not far from a massive floodlight, so it was like sleeping in the middle of a football pitch. The floodlight was switched off about midnight and there were some beautiful stars in the dark sky. This part of the country has the darkest skies in England.

Next morning was cold and clear. The start was about a mile up a track from Clennell Hall, so we all walked up there for the off. Sam was feeling the cold, but Max seemed fine. They both had fell-running shoes, Lycra suits and warm clothing. They also have to carry all the gear they need, including a light two-man tent, sleeping bags, food and survival gear.

We had to wait around for a while, but then they were off, straight up a hill towards the tops. They'd camp out overnight and I'd see them next day around lunchtime. On the way back to Clennell Hall, I bumped into Toby and Charles Knights, who were also doing the OMM. We thought we might have seen them the night before, but they’d arrived really late – Charlie had flown from Bristol to Newcastle after work and Toby had met him there. Soon they’d be hot on Max’s tail.

For me, I had to amuse myself for a day and a night. I was booked into a pub called the Anglers Arms but I couldn't take my room up until mid afternoon, so I had plenty of time to kill. First job was to take down Sam and Max's tent and stow it in the car. There was a brisk wind blowing, so there were a few comedic moments, but I've taken down enough tents on windy days to know to keep the end pegged until you're ready to roll. I packed it fairly loosely as it would need to dry out back home before being put in store.

After that was done I went for a cup of tea and a bacon roll in a couple of big tents that had been erected as a canteen. I got talking to a middle-aged woman who was starting the OMM in an hour. It was her first OMM. Her partner had done quite a few. He looked about my age, but clearly much, much fitter. He'd also done the Iceland OMM a couple of years ago and had combined that event with his honeymoon. "Wow," I said to the woman. "How did you feel about that?"

There was an awkward silence before she said: "I'm not his wife."

Not his wife, but sharing his tent tonight ... there's clearly another side to the OMM!

After uncovering the OMM swingers, I drove back towards the A1 via a more direct route and saw the road-closed signs that had caused us such trouble the day before. It was on a road that cut across between two A-roads and, had I known, it would have been easy to just carry on along the main roads rather than the unclassified route we took. Later, in the pub, I heard that it had been closed for over a year.

Rothbury is the first large-ish place you reach and it's a nice-looking small town, but in autumn all towns in Northumberland look rather severe. I headed on until I reached the A697 and then headed south to Morpeth. This is a larger place, an attractive market town with a ring-road, a big supermarket and quite a lot of new development towards the eastern side. Its big attraction is free parking, but to park free in the main car park, you have to buy a card to stick on your dashboard. I got parked up, but didn't know where the place was to buy the card, so I drove on grumbling about unnecessary bureaucracy.

There was another car park about 200 metres further on and this was free with no card needed, so I parked there. It was a short walk into town. I thought I might do some Christmas shopping and have some lunch. Morpeth is a little like Stamford, although not quite as pretty, and of course they are both towns on the A1, so would have had plenty of inns and a steady flow of travellers to swell the coffers.

I wandered around doing some window shopping, the sun had come up and it was actually quite a pleasant day. I wanted to find a nice cafe where I could have some lunch and read the paper and it took me a while to find the right place. It was through an alley and on the back of the main street, but I got a tight table for two near the window and ordered tea plus poached eggs on toast. It was about noon when I went in and, clearly, I had timed it just right because it filled up very quickly. As I was leaving there were around eight people outside waiting for tables. They were pleased to see someone leave, but disappointed it was just one person.

Warkworth castle

I'd pretty much done Morpeth, so decided to fill up with diesel and drive along the coast road towards Alnwick. I took the A197 to Newbiggin-by-the-Sea, but turned off on the coast road (the A189) before the town. The coast road is a disappointment because it is a mile or two away from the coast and there are no sea views - if you're expecting a Monaco style Corniche, you'll be disappointed. Despite the brown tourist signs, this is a dull featureless A-road on a wide flat plain away from the coast.

I should really have turned off and followed some smaller roads nearer to the sea, but the A189 did improve further north. At Warkworth, there is a well-preserved castle and the road winds up the hill past the castle and through a pretty little town. This part of England was border country in the Middle Ages and was fortified against those aggressive Scots. Warkworth was besieged twice by the Scots in 1327 without success. It was also damaged during the English Civil War.

Alnwick - once all traffic would have squeezed through this gate

From Warkworth, the road continues to Alnmouth and Alnwick. Alnmouth stands very prettily and before you get there, you’ll see signs for Shilbottle – the village featured in a Stewart Lee comedy routine. I was going to take a picture of the sign and send it to Tom, but that’s the sort of thing you do when there’s someone to egg you on, someone to share it with. When you’re on your own, you feel a bit daft standing there with your iPhone taking a picture of a road sign. Someone might pull up and say: “What are you doing?” what would you say ... hang on – I’m sounding like a Stewart Lee sketch!

Really nice ruin - Eldringham Castle

Alnwick is another town that the A1 has bypassed. Once all traffic heading north would have passed through the town gate. These days, traffic into the town can cause a bottleneck and on Saturday afternoon, there was nowhere to park easily. I followed a sign to a long stay car park, but like many of these signs it simply led me out of town, so I got grumpy with Alnwick and headed west on the B6341.

Things soon start to get bleak and threatening and after a few miles, there’s a lovely ruin to the north of the road called Eldringham Castle. This is worth a stop and detour. It’s the ruin of a fortified mediaeval manor and a reminder of how this country was raided and fought over by the Scots for a couple of hundred years. The Scots didn’t reduce it to its current state, however, that was plain old redundancy and neglect.

I carried on until I reached the A697 and if I carried straight on, I realised I’d come to Rothbury, so now I knew my way back. It was time enough for me to check into my B&B, so I drove to the Angler’s Arms, which turned out to be a very nice place on the banks of the River Coquet, which flows down to the sea past (and around) Warkworth Castle further east. My room was splendid and I spent the afternoon in the bar, drinking beer and doing my Spanish homework. I was spending a more comfortable day than Sam and Max, that’s for sure.

Whenever I’m on my own, I’ll always go for a steak and that’s what I did this evening. It was a really nice meal and for a treat, I had an Irish coffee to finish. It was a treat too far – Irish coffee in the north of England has gone the same way as hot chocolate and is topped with squirty cream! I was too shocked to complain, so spooned the cream off and drank the coffee.

Of course, my high calorie intake continued next morning with a full English breakfast and there were actually a few anglers staying at the Angler’s Arms. The Coquet is a salmon river, but no-one had managed to land one yet. It had been quite wild and windy during the night and there had also been some lashing rain. I’d arranged to meet Sam and Max around 2pm back at Clennell Hall, but I’d got nothing better to do, so I bought some papers and headed up there to see what was happening. I must have got there about 10am and a chap told me the event had been shortened due to high winds. Right on cue, the finish-line gantry blew over!

One or two people were already arriving, so I hung around the finish line to see if I could spot them. There is no mass finish, competitors show up in dribs and drabs and some of them were walking over the line, clearly struggling. I know it's a phased start, but I was starting to get a little worried that Max and Sam hadn't managed to get past some of these crocks!

There was no sign of the randy old git from yesterday morning - perhaps he was still zipped up in his double sleeping bag?

Toby and Charles arrived, sprinting over the line. They were hoping for a good position and finally finished eighth. They'd seen Max and Sam, but had taken a different route back - most people had gone through some woods and around a large hill, but Max and Sam had headed straight up it.

They crossed the finish line about half an hour later, not quite sprinting, but at a good run and were placed 44th overall. The first time Max and Toby did the event they were 88th, so I think that was pretty good. The consensus was that the woods was a better route than the hill, but Max and Sam had got slightly lost in some woods the day before, so they had steered clear.

Sam was still cold and last night had been pretty miserable in the tent. We made good time coming back and Sam soon warmed up in the car. Both have vowed that this OMM will be their last.

Max and Sam at the finish

Let’s hear it for St Paschal – king of the graveyard

St Paschal, the King of the Graveyard
- $150 on eBay

I am much enjoying my U3A Spanish lessons. I wish I’d learned Spanish at school instead of French, it’s a much more fun language and probably a more fun people as well (sorry France – you do have some great ski resorts).

Today we were told that we should have a name saint and were set the task of choosing one.

There is a Saint Eric, but he’s Swedish, so wrong part of the world.

The old traditions give you a name day and Eric’s name day is 17 May. Next step is to relate your name day to a suitable saint and I have selected St Paschal Baylon.

He’s quite a guy, most saints are a bit dry and dusty - St Eric (a Swedish king) paid for the bible to be translated, lots more just got killed by the Romans, the Wenns, the Japanese ... in fact almost every race, when first faced with a preacher, thought it best to kill him.

Anyway, St Paschal was a bit more of an action man, especially after he died, when he became a walking, talking skeleton. He also cured half the sick in Villareal. Speech therapy and ophthalmology were among his many skills.

My name saint was born at Torrehermosa, in Aragon, on 24 May 1540, on the Feast of Pentecost, called the "Pasch" (passover) in Spain, hence the name Paschal.

His parents were peasants and he spent his youth as a shepherd. When he was 24, he joined the Franciscans. He chose to live in poor monasteries because, he said: "I was born poor and am resolved to die in poverty and penance." He certainly wasn’t a Tory voter!

He was a mystic and contemplative, and he had frequent ecstatic visions. He died on 17 May, which is his current feast day, in 1592.

His tomb is in the Royal Chapel in Villareal, in the old province of Valencia, where he died, and it immediately became an object of pilgrimage. Beatified by Paul V in 1618, he was canonised by Alexander VIII on 16 October 1690.

The best part about St Paschal is that 40 years before he was canonised, an indigenous Guatemalan who was dying of fever claimed to have had a vision of a sainted Paschal Baylon, appearing as a robed skeleton. The bony vision said if he was made a saint, he’s save the town from fever but the man having the vision would die in nine days. The sick man told everyone what he'd seen and it all subsequently happened – a classic case of “shooting the messenger”.

The event became the basis of the heterodox tradition of San Pascualito, a folk saint venerated in Guatemala and the Mexican state of Chiapas. He is called "King of the Graveyard."

His veneration is associated with the Latin American cult of death and may be related to the worship of a pre-Columbian death god. You’ll not be surprised to hear that none of this is approved by the Roman Catholic Church.

Sadly, the Catholic gift shop online has no memorabilia to offer for San Pascualito or St Paschal (St Christopher seems to have the market sewn up), but there are plenty of representations of SP available on eBay, usually as a skeleton, sometimes caped or wearing a crown.

His name is also used by a Mexican heavy metal band. These are their CD covers (below) and you can see/hear them on YouTube.

Bizarrely, there’s also a primary school in Liverpool devoted to St Paschal. The school’s website has a lot of information about the great man, but doesn’t mention the South American death cult. 

Apparently, after his death, sick people came in large numbers and many were cured. The official accounts of Paschal’s canonisation tell of no less than 25 miracles that were wrought during the three days that the body was lying in state before the altar!

A man who could not speak for 40 years began to talk; a blind man took the hand of St Paschal and touched it to his eyes and was cured instantly ... and so it goes on, one miracle after another.

Even the king of Spain shipped up to pay his respects (he knew a bandwagon when he saw one).

I don’t know why, but his tomb was opened several times to see whether decomposition had set in and each time it had not. At the Pope’s request, the tomb was opened again in 1611, 19 years after Paschal’s death, and still the body was well preserved! This fact is sworn to by official medical witnesses who conducted a scientific examination, although I’m not sure what scientific examination would have been conducted in 1611?

So perhaps we should open him up now and see whether he’s still in one piece? Sadly, during the Red Terror at the time of the Spanish Civil War (1936-1939), his grave was desecrated and his relics burned by anti-clerical leftists (bloody leftists!).

So this is my name saint, a living skeleton who can cure all ills, inspiration to Latin American rockers and a patron of English primary education. I’ll raise a glass to him on May 17th.

Life in a tax haven

Playing Carcassone - I believe I won three games, Lucy one
and Sam none (not that I'm keeping score)

I've been in Jersey this past few days, taking over some clothes and belongings for Sam and Lucy, who have decided to move to this small island - the most southerly part of the British Isles, grower of potatoes, home to the famous Jersey cow and massive financial centre/tax haven.

We'd expected Sam to live in Thorney for a while after coming back from France and to find locum work while Lucy looked for a job and they found somewhere to live. As it happened, he moved to Jersey after a couple of weeks to take up a short-term locum job for a group of doctors in St Helier (the main town). That was extended and now he's been offered the chance to buy into the practice in February. Lucy has been over for about eight weeks and now has a job with an investment company.

They have been living with the parents of one of Sam's university friends, Rob Berks, and they've been hugely welcoming. So much so, that while they were on holiday this week, they suggested we came across to stay so we could see Sam and Lucy and bring their belongings over. They're moving into a new place next week, so will need some of their stuff.

There are lots of flights to Jersey, but we needed the car to carry their gear, so it was the ferry for us. The best option is the fast ferry from Weymouth, so we were up early on Saturday, around the M25 before it locked solid and then down the M3 to Southamption, Bournemouth, Dorchester and Weymouth. There was still a bit of late holiday traffic on the roads and Weymouth was quite busy, but we were there in good time.

The boat is operated by Condor Ferries and it was a slower loading process than Dover Calais. Cars and vans were separated, and traffic for Guernsey (the first stop) and Jersey were separated so the Guernsey lot could get off first. The ferry is a sort of twin-hulled catamaran and once it's in the open sea, it really cracks on. The journey takes about four-and-a-half hours, but it passed fairly quickly.

We didn't like the look of the food, so we just had a sandwich and a glass of wine. Later, we had a Costa coffee and cookie. You had a seat allocated, but ours were in the middle of a bank of four (aircraft style) so we wandered around and found some more to our liking. The ferry was quite busy, but far from full. There were lots of old people, who were on coach trips and travelling as foot passengers.

Crossing was very smooth but a light fog prevented you seeing very far. The Channel Islands are right down past the Cherbourg peninsula, maybe 20 miles from the French coast. It's amazing they're not part of France. The crossing is quite long and it's a surprise, after so much sea, when Guernsey appears and you find yourself in St Peter Port. The ferry doesn't pick up the same speed for the final leg to Jersey, but you're in St Helier an hour later.

Jersey cows - from our bedroom window

We'd agreed that we'd keep a seat down at the back and Sam would meet us off the ferry to guide us to the house, but they had so much stuff that the car was jam packed and I'd had to tell Sam there was no room. The plan was for Sam and Lucy to meet us, Margaret and Lucy to go for a drink, while we went to the house, unloaded and then went back to collect them. The Berks live in part of a massive granite barn, converted into four houses. It's about three miles outside St Helier, but the roads are all very narrow. Much of the island has a 20 or 30mph speed limit and the maximum speed limit is 40mph, so I'd never get my car out of third gear. It is a place for small cars, but most people seem to have three or four cars; Range Rovers are popular, as are large Mercs and you see far more Porches than you do anywhere in the UK (outside London).

Everyone has been so welcoming and hospitable to Sam and Lucy, that it's hard not to feel good about Jersey. First impressions are that it's quite similar in feel to the Isle of Man, although the roads are much narrower (like Cornish lanes) and the speed limit is lower. The island is granite, which I wasn't expecting, and almost every building is made from granite, apart from the modern ones in St Helier. As well as being narrow , hilly and twisty, most roads are also sunk down, with the verges being solid granite. It makes driving quite exciting, especially when you meet a bus coming the opposite way.

On Sunday, we had a day exploring the island by car. It doesn't take long. I think Jersey is five miles wide and nine miles long, so a few minutes after leaving the Berks' house, we were looking out from the north coast, where you can see Alderney, Guernsey and a bit of the French coast.

Jersey is divided into parishes, Sam lives in St John, but will be moving to Trinity next week.

We drove round the north side of the island, which is quite rocky with the exception of a nice beach at Plemont Bay. The west of the island is pretty much one long, sandy beach with Corbiere Lighthouse at the southern tip. There are sandy beaches and swankier houses on the south coast, but the prettiest part if probably the east coast - Grouville Bay and St Catherine's Bay, the harbours of Grouville, St Catherine's and Mont Orgueil Castle. They grow the very early Jersey potatoes on south facing slopes and some of them are so steep that machinery is hauled up and down on ropes.

On Monday, we carried the gear across to their new home. One of the practice partners has offered an annexe where Sam and Lucy can stay while they sort out something more permanent. It's a long room over their garage with a bedroom at one end and a bathroom at the other. It's in a pleasant location and should suit them very well. We'd planned a meal out that night, but Margaret was not feeling very well, so we had to bail out.

On Tuesday, Sam, Lucy and I went for brunch at a cafe on the beach at St Ouen's Bay. I had a full breakfast and it was jolly nice. St Ouen's is a massive beach, with the Corbiere lighthouse at its southern tip. It's west facing and you must get some magnificent sunsets. Margaret wasn't feeling up to it, so she stayed back at the Berks. The weather was glorious and Sam was quite keen to have a swim. I'd brought my trunks, but at the last minute Lucy warned me that the swim would be from a stony beach and Sam had swimming shoes. I didn't fancy walking across shingle.

iPhone panorama or St Ouen's Bay. It's a great beach and west-facing so the sunsets will be amazing.

Instead,we went to a vineyard and cider mill for a look around. It's a major tourist attraction and I rather got the impression they make more money from tourists than they do from cider. It was OK, but they were a bit mean with the quantity for tasting and a couple of the wines were quite ropey. I did buy some cider, some apple brandy, some Jersey cream brandy, some gin and some vodka. I thought vodka made from Jersey potatoes might amuse Michael and Marina (Inna's parents).

The devil at Devil's Hole - a statue in the woods
on the walk down to the cliffs.

Afterwards, we drove to a place called the Devil's Hole. It's a blowhole in the cliffs on the north coast, a geological feature caused by a collapsed cave. I've seen better blowholes (the Devil's Frying Pan in Cornwall for example), but it was a nice walk and good to stretch my legs. There were great views of the granite cliffs and it's really good to be by the sea.

Wednesday was our last day. I ran Sam into work early, then we had a leisurely morning before going into town for a look around. There are some nice shops and lots of cafes. We popped in to see Sam during his lunch break and also to see the practice and say hello to some of his colleagues. People are really nice and friendly and I think they were quite interested to see Sam's mum and dad.

After lunch, we ran Lucy to the airport (she was flying back to London to pick up some clothes from Ramsgate), had a nosy around a garden centre and then it was ferry check-in time. Condor Ferries are pretty efficient and we left on time (6pm) and got to Weymouth at 10.15pm. We'd been parked right at the top, so were almost last out, but we were soon on the road.

I was part of the sub-committee of school governors interviewing for a new head teacher on Thursday and Friday, so I was keen to get a little sleep. Despite a couple of diversions caused by road closures for overnight works, we were home at just after 2am. I guess Jersey will be a regular trip - I never expected to have a son live there.

Hello, my name is Ryanair

I had my first U3A (University of the Third Age) Spanish class on Tuesday.

It's a big class with around 22 students, some of whom are spending their third year in basic Spanish! Either they are very slow learners or we have a very bad teacher. Judging from my impressions of the first class, it is the former that applies, but having said that I am struggling to remember one Duolingo lesson for more than an hour!

I sat next to a couple who are learning Spanish because their son is marrying a Catalan woman; we had something slightly in common, although Ecuador is more exotic, so I felt I had the upper hand.

The chap on the other side was a committed South American traveller. He's done Chile, Peru, Bolivia, Cape Horn and Easter Island - the only Spanish he knows is: "can you speak English?" Next year, he is off to Argentina, the Falklands, Drake's Passage and Chile. He plans to drive all the way up Chile. I couldn't get away from him at the end, he was very keen to tell me about his adventures. I think if I'd asked him if he had any pictures, I'd still be looking at his smartphone. I'll ask him next week.

The "dunces" in the class included one woman, who claimed she couldn't remember anything she learned last year and couldn't introduce herself in Spanish; also a chap who can't roll his rrrs. They both seemed very happy to still be in basic Spanish and not in any great hurry to leave. There was also an odd chap called Pinder, who won't tell anyone his first name and who got very grumpy when it was suggested we buy textbooks on Amazon. "What was wrong with bookshops?" he wanted to know. Also, Pinder couldn't work out what he was called when it was his turn to introduce himself, which is a bit poor considering he's already ditched 50 per cent of his name. You'd have thought three words: "me llamo Pinder" would have been easy enough.

Our tutor, John, was very good; he explained things clearly, he's laid back and has a sense of humour. He knows Spanish through working as an engineer in northern Spain during the 1990s.

We started by going through the alphabet, which has good, clear rules, but more nuances than English. I learned that I drive a bay emmay oobay doblay (BMW), but most Spaniards call them bay emmays and, amusingly, a VW is an oobay, oobay doblay. I also learned that my name is Ehric Ryanair (rolling both Rs) Littleh. I'm not very happy about sounding like a budget airline, but what can I do?

We are learning to speak Castellano, which has slight differences in pronunciation from South American Spanish, but I think that's the least of my worries right now. I have to miss next week's class because I'm in Jersey, but John has promised to mail me the exercise sheet. I'll have to swot up on that, plus my Dualingo if I'm ever to escape to the intermediate class.