Jun 4 2023

Curiouser and Curiouser…Nicotine Patches

Further to my M.E. -A Mountain to Climb account about my holiday in Llanberis, here is a little more anecdotal evidence regarding the impact of nicotine patches on my M.E.

Over the last three years I have grown produce, mostly edible, and mostly in easy-to-manage pots and containers. I also have a couple of small ‘plots’ in the garden, for potatoes, leeks, onions, micro- celeriac (the micro bit was unintentional!) and also a rhubarb patch.

Prior to May 1st (the start of a three week lowest dose nicotine patch treatment), I could only manage gardening sessions in short bursts, followed by long rests. Further, after 5 or so minutes of any digging over of the garden plots/ weeding at a time, I then needed a lengthy lie-down.

Today I have managed a 30-40 minute dig and weed of the rhubarb patch. And I don’t need to lie down. I intend to go for a walk soon.

An example of what the rhubarb patch was like…

And the rhubarb with space to grow… a little more tidying up to do, but it’s a great start.

Apr 29 2023

A long time ago

A long time ago, I used to write on here. Very few saw my offerings. Then I became ill, needed time to recover, and after recovery the writing habit had faded away like morning fog in the Namib desert. Eventually, I swapped the digital pen for a paintbrush. And here we are, with one of my first acrylics.

The paragraph above was written some time ago. I’m happy to say that I’ve returned to re-writing, editing, redrafting, proofreading, as well as painting. Good news indeed.

Oct 10 2019

There’s something in the bathroom…

3 am. An irregular pounding noise startles me into consciousness. Instantly alert, thanks to my heart beating wildly in full flight or fight mode, I slither out of bed and decide on my trainers. Trainers not slippers. There’s a bit of substance about trainers. Right now substance offers security, and security offers a comfort normally associated with slippers. My trainers are quiet though, like my slippers, as I pad round the house switching on all the lights. Light is offering the same comfort as the non-slipper trainers.

The bathroom door is closed. I’m glad about that. Whatever is making the noise is on the other side of it. Except that it’s stopped now. Is it an ‘it’ or a ‘they’?

I stand beside the door, straining to hear the enemy within. Nothing. Is it (or are they) straining to hear me? Are we both frozen into inactivity, with only a wooden barrier separating us? Can I summon up the courage to open the door and look?

No. It is 3 am. I need daylight. Artificial light offers small solace compared to daylight. I decide to postpone any investigations. The thing (or things) in the bathroom can continue doing what it is/ they are doing.

I go back to bed. I daren’t take off my trainers- I might have further need. I try to sleep, but sleep evades me. Besides, after ten, twenty, perhaps thirty minutes, the thing in the bathroom starts up again, creating its cacophony who knows how? Sliding silently out of bed again, I creep to the closed door and knock on it. Silence resumes.

I don’t get much sleep. Dawn begins to lighten my bedroom. Should I? No. I need blazing sunlight to investigate: in the absence of sunshine, blazing cloud-covered daylight will do. I drift in and out of sleep. Then suddenly my excuses are overwhelmed by the need to use bathroom facilities. I knock on the door and enter. What will I see?

Nothing.

Nothing except a conker.

Do conkers move by themselves at night? I pick it up and scrutinise it. Now I know, now I understand.

Fast forward an hour. I’ve replaced the conker, along with a black, plastic contraption.

And now I wait.

It takes about ten minutes. Snap!

I knock on the door- it’s becoming a habit.

There’s something in the bathroom. Something that had played football with a conker in the dark of the night.

There’s something in the bathroom.

A mouse in a trap.

I reset the trap. This is something I repeat until the snapping has ceased. Four mice later, silence. The football-playing mice are finished. I remove the spider-repelling conker but leave the trap, just in case.

Two days later. There’s something in the bathroom.

A mouse-sized spider!

Aug 15 2017

Old Haunts Part II

Summer isn’t quite summer without a visit to Porthleven.

The urge to return to Porthleven for a few days proved irresistible. This time, instead of a week in one of the clifftop cottages on the east side, I stayed in a B & B on the west clifftop. The walk down into the town, part of the South Coast Path, should only take about ten minutes, unless loitering, as I do on all walks, to take photos.

The next day I visited Porthcurno, arriving there by 10 am, to find both carpark and beach more or less empty, an unusual state of affairs. Although the white sands were sheltered from a chill wind, I wasn’t in the mood for lazing. I intended to explore a path that snaked its way up the east cliff. The climb was worth the effort, affording a wonderful view of Pedn Vounder beach. Another almost deserted beach, but with such a steep climb down to it, beyond me, that wasn’t surprising. Nor was the tide far enough out to walk from Porthcurno beach. Some other time.

The next stop for my annual pilgrimage to the South West had to be where pilgrims of old traipsed- off to Marazion and a brisk walk across the causeway. The intention to enjoy a glass of something in the cafe was thwarted by the long queue, so I simply headed back to the village and stopped at The Godolphin Arms. One day I will eat here: the menu was enticing.

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The ever-beautiful Kynance Cove tempted me the following day. Again, arriving by 10ish meant that the beach and carpark were not yet hosting hordes of visitors. With the tide on its way out, I waded through pools to explore each part of the beach and, of course, the caves and tunnels, which provided shelter when it rained.

As the weather, although warmish, wasn’t the lazing around sort, I thought I’d walk back, via the cafe and ‘road’. I couldn’t quite believe my eyes when I saw something glittering in the sunlight. Was this some kind of installation art, gleaming in the heathers that covered the clifftop?

Back in the carpark, I asked the National Trust warden, who let me look the plant up in the NT booklet. This beautiful, golden plant is a Carline thistle, named after Charlemagne, but surely one touched by Midas himself.

As choughs had been sighted that morning, I set off towards Lizard Point. Whilst a few crows graced my path, no choughs flew by. However, the hope of seeing them persuaded me on to the most southerly point and lunch. On the return journey, a pair of common blue butterflies danced in the sunlight. No choughs, though, but chuffed enough with golden thistles.

Another glass with a view- Lizard Point.

A common blue butterfly.

One last stop, on the drive back, this time to Gunwalloe Church Cove beach, where storm clouds assembled besides the sun, and the tempestuous sea glowed iridescent blues and greys. The Church of Storms, tucked between this beach and Church beach, has this guardian watching over it.

Statue by St Winwaloe

Gunwalloe Church Cove Beach

The next day, an urge to walk grabbed me once more, so I revisited Sennen Cove, where I trekked across to the most westerly point, Land’s End. With so much exercise, I decided I could indulge in a caramel and sea salt ice cream, another annual occasion.

Longhsips Lighthouse

Sennen Cove Beach

Thereafter, a walk on the beach. The wild waters entranced, as always, and, as it was so blustery, I thought it only right that my pocket kite- which has pockets and also fits into my pocket- enjoyed the weather. However, it disgraced itself, attempting to transform itself into a stunt kite or gyroscope. I gave up on that one.

And so the final day arrived, and the journey home, which had to be the long way, via the ever-lovely Dartmoor. The previous time I’d driven this way, it had snowed. Today the moor basked in gentle sunshine. As I pottered along, eyes scanning every which way for the ponies, I spotted a tor with a convenient car park opposite and a tempting path upwards. It looked easy enough. One more walk then. Its looks were deceptive, however, for it was steeper and further than it suggested. But how incredible the views were, across two counties and the rivers Tamar and Tavy, as well as a glimpse of the Plymouth Sound.

View from Cox Tor

The final photo-stops: the inquisitive, almost tame, Dartmoor ponies, the clapper bridge at Postbridge, the end of a wonderful five days in the South West.

Van on Tor

Aug 5 2017

Old Haunts

The first of my summer jaunts took me ‘up North’, visiting friends I had not seen for an age. How wonderful it is to be met with open arms, for the years to melt away and for a heady cocktail of laughter and memories to fill each day. Wonderful also to visit old haunts.

Coniston Lake shared its palette of grey, under a brooding sky. I almost succumbed to the urge to hire a canoe, but I wasn’t dressed for messing about in boats. Besides, the graphite grey lake was distinctly choppy- I would have been soaked. So I drove to the northern end, where tempestuous clouds seduced me into taking a dozen or so photos.

Coniston under a moody sky.

Pretty Yew Tree Tarn, dressed in green.

A brief stop at Yew Tree Tarn, not far from Coniston. Whereas the lake suggested dark tales and ghost stories, the tarn was almost spring like in its fresh greens. Hard to believe it was the same afternoon.

Another day, another place. This time wild moorlands, where a phantom horseman is reputed to travel. I only saw sheep, even though under a sky like this I wouldn’t have been too surprised to witness a spectre or two. Many years ago, I heard the sound of crying children, not so much carried by the wind as of it, drifting over this desolate land.

: Orton Scar – a summer storm is brewing.

Finally, a brief visit to Alderley Edge, long a place of myth, magic and mystery, and where birds don’t sing…where copper mines lurk beneath your feet, where sleeping knights wait to defend their country watched over by a wizard.

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The Legend of Alderley Edge fascinated me as a child: I read and reread ‘The Weirdstone of Brisingamen’ by Alan Garner many times. Living in the same village as the writer, some miles from Alderley, was especially thrilling.

Feb 19 2017

Paranormal Lights?

The Falcon Hotel in Stratford -on-Avon dates back to the fifteenth century. Apparently the oldest rooms have a modest reputation as far as the paranormal is concerned- along the lines of electrical tom-foolery and strange lights that hover in the attic rooms. The latter weren’t manifesting themselves. However, in the middle of the night I woke to see that the led of the TV was flashing, first red, then blue. I closed my eyes tight shut-then peeked again. Same thing. Unnerved, I kept my eyes shut and drifted back to sleep. No flashing lights were in evidence when I woke up in the morning. Distinctly odd. Especially as this phenomenon has been reported in Room 321, a few years ago. I was in Room 319, the next-but-one room. An attic in the oldest part of the hotel.