Bear baiting, Jane's Walking and Colchester

You think you know where you live? Think again! I've lived in Colchester for over forty years, yet last Saturday I went down a town centre street that I had never before visited. And what a story it has to tell.

So what has been happening? Walk Colchester http://www.walkcolchester.org.uk/ is a local organisation promoting the cause of pedestrianism. The group has been around for about a year, and their first big task was the development of a community mapping site. The next big project was to place itself amongst the international community of "walking as transport" advocates. And later this year Walk Colchester are promoting a series of practical projects to make the town more walking friendly.

Last weekend was Jane's Walk weekend, where there have been a series of local walks led by local people, celebrating the legacy of Jane Jacobs http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jane_Jacobs . Colchester was the first town in the UK to take part in this international festival. Eleven exciting walks and events were set up, the publicity machine was set rolling, the sun shone, and the crowds turned up.

Frank and I attended "Professor Charles Young's Quest to Unlock the Secrets of Colchester", for young urban detectives. Frank loved it, wearing his binoculars and following the clues. Well done Neil Jones and Jo Coldwell, acting out the Professor's and Inspector's roles, and to the kids too, for following all the clues round town, and cracking the secret code.

And what's the story behind the uninspiring looking place, in the photo at the top of the page? It's Arthur Street (a road, not a person), and Dorian Kelly, standing on a red stool, is getting near the end of a fascinating tour of the "Theatres and Lost Theatres of Colchester". Now I consider myself fairly knowledgeable about Colchester and its history, and I thought Dorian might have  maybe a dozen places to show us or talk about. And he came up with over thirty locations, varying from Roman amphitheatres, to halls used for AmDram, to old music halls, to flea-pit cinemas, to professional theatres.

The photo is the location of Colchester's Bear and Bull-Baiting Ring, identified from a medieval map of Colchester. Looking back eight hundred years, not many bears were baited, as they were rare expensive items, but plenty of cattle had suffered on this spot. The tradition continued for centuries, with a slaughterhouse very nearby. Indeed this was the last surviving abattoir in the town centre, until closure a few years ago. However the meat tradition continues to this day, with the long established butchers "Allen's" in adjacent St Botolph's Street.

And from these facts, we move into speculation. Why were animals baited at this location? Maybe this was where the Romans had their amphitheatre (Camulodonum must have had one somewhere, but where exactly?), and the medieval people took over the ruined oval shape for their activities? And what happened after it was a bull ring? The town must have had an Elizabethan theatre, but no site has been identified. Think of Shakespeare's "The Rose" or "The Globe" theatres on London's southbank. Maybe a theatre became the next tenants of the circular arena of the killing floor, on waste land just outside the town walls?

What we see now are the remnants of some Victorian housing, and a big shed now being used by Emmaus, the charity that helps tackle poverty and homelessness, and helps recycle old furniture. All trace above ground of the bull ring has gone, but the disused slaughterhouse remains, and Allen's trade on, with 800 years of meat history under the fingernails of this corner of town.

And you thought walking was just about putting one foot in front of the other? Love your neighbourhood, join Walk Colchester now, and strut out for Jane's Walk next year.

Wilderness in the Essex countryside

What makes a wilderness? I have had the privilege last week to deliver poll cards for the 5 May elections, to all the properties in the Birch and Layer Breton polling district. It's an area I know well, only a few miles from home, and all the lanes and rights of way are familiar, from years nerdily poring over maps and exploring on foot and by bike. Some gently rolling countryside, mainly farmland, but some woodland and heath, and cut through by the beautiful Roman River valley. There are hundreds of homes in the area, mainly at the conjoined villages of Birch and Layer Breton, but also the smaller hamlets like Hardy's Green, and even smaller settlements like Craxe's Green, Porter's Green and Birch Park, places probably unknown to most Colcestrians living only five miles away.

The picture above is on a route between Glenelg and Kinlochhourn,(on the west coast of the Scottish Highlands) taken from a point four miles from the nearest road. Yet anyone sitting down on that route would sooner or later meet another person passing by, maybe in twenty minutes, maybe in an hour or more. However, in the Essex countryside one often meets - nobody.

The weather has been fabulous, warm and sunny, a bit breezy, but lovely for early April. Surely there would be lots of people about? On my serpentine path through the countryside around the main village I rarely saw another human being, and certainly no one to speak with. Most of the remote houses and farms appeared uninhabited, and there was no one else walking or cycling along the minor roads. There would be the occasional passing car, but no acknowledgment of a fellow human-being sharing a beautiful day, surrounded by nature.

In the distance I observed some tractors, working the soil on their own, and I remembered reading about the isolation and high suicide rate of farm workers. I saw a few postvans, but again it's all terribly rushed, as the miles have to be eaten up so quickly. There's no time for bicycle delivery; it's only efficient if, like me, you are only delivering cards, and to almost every house in every lane. (A few villagers had chosen not to register to vote.)

Of course I didn't expect to see a French Breton onion seller (with stripy jumper and strings of onions over the handlebars) in Layer Breton. But I did expect to see a bit more rural life, people living the dream/fantasy of self-sufficiency, simple lives outdoors, physically working the land by their own efforts. Trying to convert the natural wilderness of Essex heathlands into a vegetable garden.

I did my bit for the democratic process out in the sticks, and returned to suburbia, to the roar of the first grasscutting of spring. At last, a sign of life, even if the end product is manicured lawns rather than a basket of vegetables.

I've been to Jimmy Page's house

It has been my pleasure, for the last few days, to be paid to do my hobby. Usually it's part of my job to talk about walking, but this time I was paid to actually do it. Not only do I get some exercise, but it's also something useful - I am delivering poll cards for the local elections on May 5th. I have been working on a large housing estate in the suburbs, and in some rural villages and hamlets in the countryside, both pleasant places to crunch the gravel on their drives. OK, it's only around minimum wage, but the compensation is lots of movement, sun and fresh air, plus I get to see the homes of famous people.

Yes, I've been delivering to dozens of well known names, including Oliver Read (needs no introduction), Paul Lambert (Celtic and Scotland footballer, and now Norwich manager), Shirley Williams and Margaret Hodge (politicians), Ian Brown, Mark Smith and Jimmy Page (musicians), Lynne Davies (Welsh athlete), Steve Ball (ex-Colchester United footballer), Russell Grant (TV personality and astrologer), and many more famous names I can't remember. (Yes, I know the spellings aren't all quite like we would expect, but I guess they are trying to preserve their privacy.)

As far as I know, the poll cards I've delivered are to "Not Famous" people, just people with famous names. I remember a guy I worked with around 1980; he was a Site Engineer called Simon le Bon. It was an unusual name, that I'm sure he had to spell out for others several times a week. Then along come Duran Duran, and Simon didn't have to spell it out any more, but he had to suffer the same old "not the actual Simon le Bon" conversations every time he met someone new. 

Sorry that this post is a bit of a celebration of celebrity culture, even if it's the "Not Famous" people that I'm celebrating.

But one of these "Not Famous" people really was the famous one, and here's the evidence. Peeping through Jimmy Page's letter box, I could see a "whole lotta gloves".

It's haggis time

David Cameron walks into a hospital in Glasgow. A patient walks up to him and says "Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face ...". He's of course taken aback. Then another says "Poor devil! see him owre his trash ..." and Cameron again isn't sure what to make of it. Finally, after a third patient approaches and says "Then, horn for horn, they strech an' strive ..." Cameron whispers to his assistant "Is this the psychiatric ward?" The assistant replies, "No, Mr Cameron. It's the severe Burns unit."

Yes, it's Burns' night this week, and I shot my own haggis in Sainsbury's. It's a Simon Howie one, with sheep's lungs, beef liver and beef heart in the principal ingredients. Sounds "aboot reet" to me. They also offered a vegetarian haggis, which would probably be very tasty, but not haggis. If it hasn't got the less expensive cuts of animals in it, it ain't haggis.

Vegetarian haggis is an oxymoron, and talking of morons, here's a couple of my pals hiking with me last May in the West Highlands above Kinloch Hourn. They're backpacking again this May, coast to coast. I'm not walking with them at all this time, but am planning a bike trip to Cape Wrath, maybe catching up with them at Drumnadrochit. "I like it when a plan comes together", as a mutual friend says, rather too often.

coast to coast - the short cut

The last few Mays I have been to Scotland, to take part in the TGO Challenge, or have my own outdoors trip in the highlands. This year I joined my pals Rod Ross and Alan Hardy for their start from Glenelg on the west coast, planning to walk with them for four days of their two-week walk towards their destination at the east coast, 200 miles away at Dunnotar Castle. We made a great start, camping on the lawn at the Glenelg Inn, right on the coast opposite Skye, before heading inland past the 2000 year old brochs - round towers built in the iron age.

Navigation was easy enough although we were remote from the nearest road, and the weather was "mixed", but at least it meant we were not bothered by the West Highland Midges. Wild camping went well, with my new gadget "Jetboil" cooker proving a little wonder - backpacking's not all about kit, but good stuff makes for more fun and comfort.

Unfortunately it didn't go so well for Rod, who twisted his knee getting out of his tent the following morning, and he had to limp down off the hill and withdraw from his event. He called a cab from Kinloch Hourn, a hamlet also on the west coast, so at least Rod did a coast-to-coast hike of some sort. Meanwhile Alan and I walked along Britain's longest single-track dead-end road, meeting up with Rod for a drink at Tomdoun Hotel. I completed my 45 mile hike by walking on to the Great Glen at Invergarry. I caught a bus down the Glen to Fort William, on the west coast at Loch Linnhe, so at least I could say I travelled coast to coast, a bit like Alan and Rod.

I hugely enjoyed my train trips up to Inverness and back from Fort William, some of the best scenery that can be seen from Britain's railway lines. And I had to sample local food and drink, and enjoyed some great company. I've made around fifteen visits to Scotland, and there's always so much to see, history to learn, and hospitality to be tested. I hope to be back soon.....

All the news, for £1?

Some of my regulars may be thinking it's all gone quiet over here? So here's an update. Since my last blog about my fantastic musical evening out, I've been contacted by three of the four musicians, who all seemed glad I enjoyed their music so much. I once wrote about REM at Ipswich football ground, and Michael Stipe never bothered to get in touch. Meanwhile Colchester United have gone five games, with only two draws and three defeats - hardly promotion form. It is believed that the players are still earning small fortunes every week.

And talking about fortunes, today I hear that the Independent newspaper has been sold for £1 to a Russian. The last time I bought a copy it costed me over a pound for a single copy, and he's bought the whole company for less. Surely they might have got a bit more on e-bay?

I have been very busy at work, promoting national Walk to Work Week in Colchester. I'm trying to use newer media, and have been busy with another blog http://www.colchesterwalktowork.blogspot.com/ with 28 postings recently, so at the moment I don't have as much appetite to spend even more time here. Pop in and have a look at what I've been scheming, and do please join our facebook group "colchester walk to work". It's all about reducing traffic congestion, achieving smaller carbon footprints, and tackling the obesity epidemic (blush!).

We have picnics, a new map, talks, lots of different walking events and a photography competition. If any of you are Bench Monday participants (example above), send me your pictures and I'll use them on my walking site. Stroll on. Thanks.

Judgement of Lord Hanningfield, and the end of the Essex Way

It's not every year that I've personally met someone in the national news. I had many years in local government, and hugely enjoyed meeting a very wide range of people. I wouldn't usually come on here passing comments about them, but today's blog is about the former Leader of Essex County Council, born Paul White, but usually referred to as Lord Hanningfield.

As Leader he has to look at his role and responsibilities, weigh up different priorities, make some tough judgements, and implement courses of actions. A tricky balancing act, and over the years I have stoutly defended our elected representatives for what they are doing.

It has been a great pleasure serving our councillors and the public (from different parts of the political spectrum, and all tiers of society - if we are allowed to admit they exist), and I am proud that I have done my best to serve them fairly, without fear or favour. And one of my customers was Lord Hanningfield.

He's the man who has made judgements that affect my life, so I am going to step outside my usual bounds of decorum, and pass judgement on this individual. In all the years I have worked with thousands of people, my opinion is that he is the most pompous and arrogant person I have ever dealt with.

He's in the news now, charged under the Theft Act in connection with his expenses, one of four parliamentarians up before the judge, following the long running MP's expenses row that has brought shame to our parliament. Now I appreciate he's innocent until proved guilty, regarding overnight hotel bills in London for evenings when he was driven back to his home in Essex by his chauffeur; but I can't help but think the Crown Prosecution Service has been very carefully looking at the evidence before deciding to pursue the case, knowing the high public profile of the individual accused, the national sensitivity of the whole issue, and, dare I say it, the power, influence, contacts and resources available to a person like Lord Hanningfield.

In paralell with Hanningfield's work as leader of Essex County Council, I've been busying myself walking the footpaths of the Essex Way. Starting from Harwich (picture above) I've been walking with Jules and Valerie, and we are now approaching the very outer reaches of London. We've a fair few miles to go before we finish the Essex Way. But at Essex County Council, Hanningfield has resigned as Leader, and has stood down from his frontbench duites at the House of Lords. The conservatives have suspended him from the parliamentary party. The end of his Essex Way, at least for the time being.

Disclaimer. All facts taken from BBC http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk_politics/8499590.stm My opinion is my own.

Bread and shoes

Strolling into Colchester yesterday we were surprised to see a Flour Power bakers stall in Culver Street, ON A SUNDAY! After a few years of limited public support for Sunday trading, it seems to be taking off. Many years ago I was a supporter of the Keep Sunday Special campaign, but accept that times have changed. But what about this wonderful bread stall? We bought a large sourdough loaf costing £3.50, lugged it home and cut it in half, one for the freezer, the other for this morning. And today we enjoyed the crunchiest noisiest tastiest toast one can imagine.

We were speculating on what people think about paying £3.50 for a loaf of the finest bread. After all you can buy Mother's Blotting Paper, thin sliced, for 25p in AlNetLid. Alternatively you can get squares of cardboard free, and improve your nutrition. It's a bit of a class thing I suppose. I'm quite happy to pay £3.50 for something tasty, others pay £80-120 for the latest leisure shoes, and throw them away if they get a mark on them.

But I'm not complaining; it's my usual Big Swifty response that it's different strokes for different folks. And I benefit from the fashion industry's demand for a new shoe range every season. I get last year's £80 Nike Air Pegasus running trainer for about half price, and I save a fortune on walking boots. I bought a pair of Karrimor walking boots last week reduced from £72 to £16, and mighty fine they are too. They are modelled above, and the photo is also a "Bench Monday" picture, for those who follow such things.

As part of my work I am promoting walking as transport; any Facebookers out there are welcome to join my "Colchester walk to work" facebook group. It was a bit icy for cycling this morning so I walked into town, following a wonderful route across a string of public open spaces, local nature reserves, ancient monuments and rights of way. My favourite section was the Lexden Dyke, part of the Romano/British network of dykes that protect Colchester from the west. (This was in the old days, 2000 years ago, when people from Bishop's Stortford were unfriendly to the people of Colchester. We get on fine now our football teams are in entirely different leagues.) Even now, the bank and ditch are about five metres high in places. Can you see me waving at my shadow in the ditch, photographing from the top of the bank?

Look at me with my cheap boots and belly full of sourdough. (Currently listening to Frank Zappa's Sinister Footwear.)

Beginning to see the light, and a new -itis

I love the seasons, no SADS for me. Short winter days can be fun, and there's plenty of jobs to do around the house that I wouldn't want to do when the weather's better outside. But I need to get a bit fitter, and lose some weight, so the longer days are welcome. Life with Frank's diabetes is stressful, and too often I resort to comfort eating; packing food away is something I know I'm good at when I feel I'm struggling with coping. Of course there's no one but myself to blame, when it comes to how much food I put in my mouth.

I attended a NHS run Shape-Up course this time last year and successfully lost lots of weight, so I need to apply myself again. I should have enough incentive, just to be healthier for Frank, Jules and myself, and for my wider family and friends. But it helps if I have an event on the horizon where being lighter would help. And I'm currently hoping to have a few days backpacking in the west Scottish Highlands in May.

No statistics here about how much I weigh or how much I want to lose; suffice to say what I now weigh should be what I will weigh with a full backpack on. Mentally, I always find the "extra stone is the equivalent of 28 packs of butter" image both challenging and horrific. As the weather improves I should be able to get some more exercise in, walking and cycling, but I know the figures and one has to do a hell of exercise to lose a little weight, so food portion control is the real key to any weight loss I might achieve.

But there's another fly in the weight loss ointment, in addition to the greed monster. I have had elbow pain for a few weeks, which has made doing almost anything painful. At first I assumed it was the family's arthritis catching me up at last, but I thought I would contact Dr Internet, as he/she doesn't mind how many questions I ask, and will tell me whatever I want to believe. And sure enough, I have a new diagnosis, and it's Lateral Epicondylitis. It is better known as tennis elbow, but I reckon I developed it with my wood chopping escapades. As a self-obsessed person (and who isn't that has their own blog?), I'm so pleased to have a new -itis I can bore people with. Plus, with a bit of rest, it should just go away.

A good first hike of the year yesterday, and hopefully tomorrow a bike ride; and I'll be on track for the weight loss, with a trail of shed butter packs in my wake.

Bizarre gifts and a mystery sign

The Stockwell Strollers went for their last-Saturday-of-the-month walk this morning, and I joined them. The leader is my pal Alan Hardy, above photographed in May 2007, when we were separately backpacking in the Scottish Highlands, when our paths crossed near Alltbeith, Glen Affric. It was a short hike today, benefiting from the overnight frost giving a firm crust over the saturated Essex mud.

Before the start I found a raffle ticket on the ground, turned it over, and its number was 666. I wondered what the day had in store. It was a bright sunny morning, and I got a little suntan, after too many weeks indoors or under grey skies. A splendid morning's 10-mile hike. But the devil's raffle ticket was troubling me. What surprise was in store?

Arriving home I had two articles of post. For myself there was an envelope of newspaper clippings from my pal Rod. He kindly saves bits and pieces that he thinks might interest me, and this batch includes a report from the Telegraph on 28 November 2009, with the headline "Mild winter ahead", describing the Met Office's prediction for the then forthcoming winter. It's easy enough for us to laugh in retrospect isn't it?

And Frank had a parcel from friends in Germany. Their daughter had put together a parcel consisting of a tub of Haribo jelly bears, and a colouring book sponsored by Haribo, full with pictures of sweets. We whisked the colourful jelly bears out of sight, and wondered if we could think of a less appropriate gift for a little boy with diabetes? We know it wasn't intentionally wrong, but it got us thinking about other inappropriate gifts. Snickers for someone with a peanut allergy? Pork pies for Muslims? A ticket for a multi-cultural event for a Klansman?

The portent of the 666 ticket has been nagging me this evening. I've just been up to check Frank, and his blood-sugar level is (unusually) perfect. Only an hour to go today, and nothing can go wrong..... Good night all.

Loo with a view

It's not every day one gets the chance to use a public loo and leave the door open, but this is no ordinary loo. We're at Corrour bothy, nine miles from the nearest road, and 565 metres above sea level, in the heart of the Cairngorms.

A long weekend backpacking with my pal Rod was on the menu, with an ambitious plan to scale Ben Macdhui (1309m), and camp out overnight. But then there's the weather, and they have lots of it up here. Given that we're not Munro baggers we didn't feel compelled to slog ourselves to the top, through rain and cloud, and admire the view stretching to the end of our nose. The cloudbase was around 1000m, and we were damp to the point of soaking, from the falling rain, the boggy ground, and our sweat, as we dragged our portly bodies and backpacks up the glen from Linn of Dee.

The bothy at Corrour called us, and with its recent refurbishment, it made a splendid home for us overnight. OK, it has no electricity, gas, phone (land or mobile), but it has endless running fresh water, and full-on fresh air. And a wood burning stove, if you bring your own fuel.

This tiny refuge has been around since 1877, and since 2007 has had a toilet. Improvisation has been good enough for 130 years, but times have changed and they now have a "composting toilet". "What's that?" you may ask. For the user it has a conventional flap seat, but there's no water trap, so the smell discourages lingering. The toilet is being run as an experiment, with no precedent for a composting toilet in such a remote spot, and many days a year of sub-zero temperatures.

So what happens to the ordure? One is asked to wee elsewhere, and only drop poo and paper into the toilet. A bag collects the waste, and it is left hanging below the seat until it is full. It is expected that it will take three years for it all to breakdown into something that is safe to spread on the ground. The bag needs changing when it's full, with capacity in the toilet building's lower chamber for twelve bags of decomposing excrement.

Every stage has been thought through, but they didn't allow for the M25 effect. Four sacks of shit a year, taking three years to rot down, suggests that storage for twelve sacks is about right. But we're talking "Field of Dreams" here. Build it and they will come. The loo is fine for the past established usage patterns for the bothy, but when you build a proper bog, bothy dwellers and passers-by will gravitate towards it. It's like the M25 motorway; it won't just take traffic off the adjacent road network, it will make new journeys possible. New roads generate new traffic, and new toilets promote extra visits.

So what are they going to do about the backlog? Maybe once every two years they will send an all-terrain vehicle to take away some of the full sacks. Nice work if you can get it. And not too bad a price to pay, to save the landscape disappearing under a mound of turds, as Cairngorm visitor numbers increase year on year.

But let's be clear, it's never going to be too busy on a wet afternoon in October. So enjoy the view through the door. The crowds won't be arriving anytime soon.