If you are interested in such things, not that I'm excited by the prospect or anything, there is going to be a story about this Ditch Monkey business in the Sunday Times colour supplement this weekend. I think on Sunday I will be mostly hanging about in coffee shops and other places where people read newspapers "what? Who me? Oh is that in this week? Well I never"
That's what I would like to do but Sunday is Boat Race day and I have never been before, Rob has a flat next to Hammersmith Bridge so I'm going to be heading there. Rob's balcony can fit a good three people and if you lean right out with someone holding onto your belt you can just see the river between two blocks of flats.
Friday, 31 March 2006
Fork
I didn’t sleep in the hammock after all last night, there didn’t seem much point not when there is a perfectly good ground to sleep on. Last night was thoroughly enjoyable; I skipped out on going out after work and just headed straight back home. It was the first night that I have got back in day light since the autumn and it was more than a little surreal, but it certainly made for a nice walk back home from the bus. It wasn’t raining when I got back and I quickly made a small fire to heat some soup on and then lay back resting on my rucksack with my feet up on some logs listening to the blues show on the radio. I remember thinking life doesn’t get much better than this. In the woods I’m my own boss, there is no phone, no bills, no one wanting me to do anything I don’t want to do, it’s a kind of freedom I guess. Not that it felt like freedom during the winter, that was more of a struggle and I am keenly aware that spring has started in the last week.
This morning for instance I woke and it wasn’t bitterly freezing cold this meant that, what with my being awake half an hour before I had to leave for the bus I could have a bit of a lie in. Previously lie ins have consisted of me trying to stay as warm as possible with the draw cord on the hood of my sleeping bag being done up so tightly that there is only a small space for air to get in. This morning I opened up the hood completely and lay back un-cocooned, it was nice, it was, dare I say it, comfortable! There was a light wind that was a little cooling but fresh and welcoming, such a change from the icy daggers that blew around me a week or two ago. Birds were singing, squirrels chattered and I walked down to the bus like a regular Dr Doolittle.
I had another one of those good ideas, like the idea I had to live in the woods for a year. Sometimes I wish I didn’t do thinking. I live very close to the Ridgeway, it is an ancient track that dates back to prehistoric times and travels from Ivinghoe Beacon for 85 miles down to Overton Hill near Avebury (big stone circle). My good idea was to walk the 85 miles, seems appropriate seeing as I live near it. I asked a friend of mine how long this should take with me carrying everything that I need for the journey, he said two days. Stupidly I agreed. So sometime in early June I’m going to walk the Ridgeway in under two days whilst carrying everything I need with me. If you think this sounds like a stupid thing to do and it will be very painful do feel free to click on the sponsor me link over on the right there and give some money to the Woodland Trust.
How you can help.
A while ago I blithered on a bit about a travel writing competition, well I have not had a chance to go about organising any prizes or anything like that I’m afraid. Nevertheless if you do have any travel writing you would like to see go onto an online travel guide then please do send it in to me at hugh.sawyer@gmail.com The only prize we have so far is a fork hand carved by me (fork may appear different to traditional fork design). If you have been to look at my profile recently you will have noticed that I have another blog by the name of Mission Improbable. What Mission Improbable is I can’t say just yet, suffice to say that Mike and I have been a bad influence on each other again. I had one of those ideas that are “just so crazy it could work”, Mike didn’t even get much further than me saying “I’ve had one of those ideas that are just so crazy it could work” before he decided that he was in on the plan. Some of the plan involves us setting up an online travel guide to the world, now there is a lot of world and only two of us so any input from you lot would be gratefully received. I can’t at the moment let on what it is that Mike and I are up to, if you are interested watch this space. What I can tell you though is that the travel guide will help with raising money for more trees so by sending in any travel writing you do have you could save the world, get some writing published on a soon to be stormingly successful (hmmm) web site and get the opportunity to win a fork! Offers like this do not come in everyday.
This morning for instance I woke and it wasn’t bitterly freezing cold this meant that, what with my being awake half an hour before I had to leave for the bus I could have a bit of a lie in. Previously lie ins have consisted of me trying to stay as warm as possible with the draw cord on the hood of my sleeping bag being done up so tightly that there is only a small space for air to get in. This morning I opened up the hood completely and lay back un-cocooned, it was nice, it was, dare I say it, comfortable! There was a light wind that was a little cooling but fresh and welcoming, such a change from the icy daggers that blew around me a week or two ago. Birds were singing, squirrels chattered and I walked down to the bus like a regular Dr Doolittle.
I had another one of those good ideas, like the idea I had to live in the woods for a year. Sometimes I wish I didn’t do thinking. I live very close to the Ridgeway, it is an ancient track that dates back to prehistoric times and travels from Ivinghoe Beacon for 85 miles down to Overton Hill near Avebury (big stone circle). My good idea was to walk the 85 miles, seems appropriate seeing as I live near it. I asked a friend of mine how long this should take with me carrying everything that I need for the journey, he said two days. Stupidly I agreed. So sometime in early June I’m going to walk the Ridgeway in under two days whilst carrying everything I need with me. If you think this sounds like a stupid thing to do and it will be very painful do feel free to click on the sponsor me link over on the right there and give some money to the Woodland Trust.
How you can help.
A while ago I blithered on a bit about a travel writing competition, well I have not had a chance to go about organising any prizes or anything like that I’m afraid. Nevertheless if you do have any travel writing you would like to see go onto an online travel guide then please do send it in to me at hugh.sawyer@gmail.com The only prize we have so far is a fork hand carved by me (fork may appear different to traditional fork design). If you have been to look at my profile recently you will have noticed that I have another blog by the name of Mission Improbable. What Mission Improbable is I can’t say just yet, suffice to say that Mike and I have been a bad influence on each other again. I had one of those ideas that are “just so crazy it could work”, Mike didn’t even get much further than me saying “I’ve had one of those ideas that are just so crazy it could work” before he decided that he was in on the plan. Some of the plan involves us setting up an online travel guide to the world, now there is a lot of world and only two of us so any input from you lot would be gratefully received. I can’t at the moment let on what it is that Mike and I are up to, if you are interested watch this space. What I can tell you though is that the travel guide will help with raising money for more trees so by sending in any travel writing you do have you could save the world, get some writing published on a soon to be stormingly successful (hmmm) web site and get the opportunity to win a fork! Offers like this do not come in everyday.
Thursday, 30 March 2006
A cunning plan m'lord
I have had an idea.
Note that I don't say that it is a good idea or a bad idea, just that it is an idea. Tomorrow I will be able to say whether the idea was good or bad. I'm going to have another go at sleeping in the Hammock, it might well be warm enough by now, it might not.
Note that I don't say that it is a good idea or a bad idea, just that it is an idea. Tomorrow I will be able to say whether the idea was good or bad. I'm going to have another go at sleeping in the Hammock, it might well be warm enough by now, it might not.
wrong footed
I would have thought that I would have made pretty much all the mistakes it was possible to make by now and would therefore be quite adapt at the living in the woods thing by now. I have been living in the wild for 9 months and 30 days now, that's plenty long enough to learn how to live out doors. Yesterday started off quite well, actually it didn't but I can't really tell that story in case the wrong person reads this blog entry and finds out what really happened. So let's stick with the yesterday morning going well and nothing untoward happening at all, I would like to add, just in case, that it was like that when I found it, not that I was there of course.
I work in two different buildings in two different parts of London, this causes problems sometime. Today for instance I am working in the building I don't normally work in, I have a suit here but it was necessary for me to bring a shirt and shoes. On Tuesday I managed to forget to bring shoes and so I spent the day strolling about in a suit and trainers, not quite the look that people expect. I had to make a special effort to make sure that I had everything for today; unfortunately all my shirts are at the dry cleaners and will not be ready until this afternoon. Yesterday lunch time I went out to buy a new shirt so that I would have one for today, I was a bit annoyed about this as I don't really want any more shirts. The problem I faced was how to get the shirt from one side of London to the other via a night in the woods without getting it creased. Stuffing it in my backpack would not be conducive to a neat and tidy appearance the next day so I decided to wear it home, hang it up from a tree when I got there, and then wear it to work the next day. I have to say that plan does have an element of genius to it and I have to say that this is not where my error lay, I am sitting here (erm on a lunch break or something) wearing a perfectly respectable shirt, it is even dry now.
I believe that where I went wrong might have been in the getting a bit carried away with the "it being spring now" thing. I decided to cut back on what I took with me into the woods as I had a sleeping bag hidden away for emergencies; it is not a nice thick winter but a summer one. The bivi bag (waterproof sack that goes around sleeping bag and me) was left around my winter sleeping bag which was cunningly stored under my desk. I also had left a piece of tarpaulin cut to size to shelter under; well it's cut to a size, just not necessarily the right size. Were I a foot or two shorter that bit of tarpaulin would be perfect. So last night I set off with the following
1 x Toothbrush
1 x Toothpaste
1 x Razor
1 x Spring (joy of)
1 x packet spare Razorblades
1 x Book
1 x Empty crisp packet – being used as bookmark (classy)
1 x packet soup
1 x pair Board Shorts (shorts worn whilst surfing)
1 x Pen
1 x Notebook
1 x pair smart black Shoes (learned from my mistakes I do)
1 x T Shirt
Now you might think that a night in the woods in March would require something other than shorts, T shirt and black brogues; you might even think it would be a rather good idea to take a coat. You would be right. By the time I had walked to from the bus to the place where I had hidden the sleeping bag I was soaked to the skin, when I set off the idea of getting wet was not so bad, after all it was relatively warm, the reality of being wet was less good. I put up a quick ‘shelter’ made from the piece of tarp and stretched out the sleeping bag, I had to make a decision about which end of me I wanted to get wet whilst I slept and I chose feet. I got out of my wet jeans and rolled them up to use as a pillow and then decided to put my board shorts on. Next I had to take my shirt off so it would not get creased as I slept, this could not be hung up as I had planned – it was pouring with rain – so I folded it and put it on top of my bag under the ‘shelter’. Then I put my T shirt on and my wet sweatshirt back on top of that, soon the wetness from the sweatshirt began to permeate my T shirt. I went to bed. I was most surprised when I woke up to find that not only were my legs wet from having been stuck out of the bottom of the ‘shelter’ but my top half was also. Sadly I was in a bit of a rush so I did not get the opportunity to investigate quite how this had happened. I had stuff to do such as, put on cold wet jeans, take off warm wet t shirt, put on cold wet (un-creased) shirt and put on wet socks.
Tonight I are be mostly taking waterproof stuff with me.
I work in two different buildings in two different parts of London, this causes problems sometime. Today for instance I am working in the building I don't normally work in, I have a suit here but it was necessary for me to bring a shirt and shoes. On Tuesday I managed to forget to bring shoes and so I spent the day strolling about in a suit and trainers, not quite the look that people expect. I had to make a special effort to make sure that I had everything for today; unfortunately all my shirts are at the dry cleaners and will not be ready until this afternoon. Yesterday lunch time I went out to buy a new shirt so that I would have one for today, I was a bit annoyed about this as I don't really want any more shirts. The problem I faced was how to get the shirt from one side of London to the other via a night in the woods without getting it creased. Stuffing it in my backpack would not be conducive to a neat and tidy appearance the next day so I decided to wear it home, hang it up from a tree when I got there, and then wear it to work the next day. I have to say that plan does have an element of genius to it and I have to say that this is not where my error lay, I am sitting here (erm on a lunch break or something) wearing a perfectly respectable shirt, it is even dry now.
I believe that where I went wrong might have been in the getting a bit carried away with the "it being spring now" thing. I decided to cut back on what I took with me into the woods as I had a sleeping bag hidden away for emergencies; it is not a nice thick winter but a summer one. The bivi bag (waterproof sack that goes around sleeping bag and me) was left around my winter sleeping bag which was cunningly stored under my desk. I also had left a piece of tarpaulin cut to size to shelter under; well it's cut to a size, just not necessarily the right size. Were I a foot or two shorter that bit of tarpaulin would be perfect. So last night I set off with the following
1 x Toothbrush
1 x Toothpaste
1 x Razor
1 x Spring (joy of)
1 x packet spare Razorblades
1 x Book
1 x Empty crisp packet – being used as bookmark (classy)
1 x packet soup
1 x pair Board Shorts (shorts worn whilst surfing)
1 x Pen
1 x Notebook
1 x pair smart black Shoes (learned from my mistakes I do)
1 x T Shirt
Now you might think that a night in the woods in March would require something other than shorts, T shirt and black brogues; you might even think it would be a rather good idea to take a coat. You would be right. By the time I had walked to from the bus to the place where I had hidden the sleeping bag I was soaked to the skin, when I set off the idea of getting wet was not so bad, after all it was relatively warm, the reality of being wet was less good. I put up a quick ‘shelter’ made from the piece of tarp and stretched out the sleeping bag, I had to make a decision about which end of me I wanted to get wet whilst I slept and I chose feet. I got out of my wet jeans and rolled them up to use as a pillow and then decided to put my board shorts on. Next I had to take my shirt off so it would not get creased as I slept, this could not be hung up as I had planned – it was pouring with rain – so I folded it and put it on top of my bag under the ‘shelter’. Then I put my T shirt on and my wet sweatshirt back on top of that, soon the wetness from the sweatshirt began to permeate my T shirt. I went to bed. I was most surprised when I woke up to find that not only were my legs wet from having been stuck out of the bottom of the ‘shelter’ but my top half was also. Sadly I was in a bit of a rush so I did not get the opportunity to investigate quite how this had happened. I had stuff to do such as, put on cold wet jeans, take off warm wet t shirt, put on cold wet (un-creased) shirt and put on wet socks.
Tonight I are be mostly taking waterproof stuff with me.
Monday, 27 March 2006
Night on Bear Mountain
Saturday night I found myself out in Oxford with some of the lads from my College, Liam, Girvan, Sgt Bilko and Boswell. Both Liam and Girvan are Irish so it was in danger of becoming raucous, it was a relatively well behaved night although the two of them did seem to be a little overexcited by the 6 nations result. Why they seemed to have completely forgotten the world cup, which as everyone knows is the only thing that counts, at the moment anyway. So there we were in the Kings Arms, not the Turf for once on account of Wilko being the assistant manager, having worked the last 34 days without a break and being “fed up of the Turf”. You would have though that the five of us would have plenty to talk about, there was a lot of catching up to be done. We must have got tired of talking to each other as we were soon deeply engaged in conversation with the table full of girls next to us. One of them was from Australia so we sang, to the tune of “Yellow Submarine”, “you were born in a convict colony”, how she laughed. Curiously after this interlude our neighbours were still talking to us and so the conversation turned to actresses and the like, girls seem to find such things interesting not wishing to appear impolite we all feigned interest. Apart from Wilko who seemed to have a little too much knowledge about Katy Holmes and Tom Cruise. I was asked a question about a lady by the name of, can’t remember who it was as I had never heard of her, and when I asked who she was I was asked if I lived under a rock. My table collapsed in laughter, Girvan choked on his Guiness and it was a good minute or two before order was restored. All the while the girl, who had asked the question, Jo, sat there with a fixed grin and a look that went from mild confusion to deep concern.
It was not long after this that I was back in Lewknor and walking back towards home. It was a clear night, the stars danced between the leafless branches of the trees as I walked and yet it was dark, very dark, there was no moon. It was, if one were disposed to flights of fancy, a bit spooky. I was grateful that I am a reasonably rational person and so unafraid of shadows at night, this was very much the kind of night on which horror films are based I thought. It is a little bit unfortunate to be thinking such a thing at just the time you become aware of very light footsteps behind you, the next thought, being “I don’t have my torch with me”, offered little comfort. As I walked my hand slowly moved to my back pocket and my knife, there was a possibility that one of my friends was trying to scare me so I resolved that if someone jumped me I would not to stab anyone until I knew for sure that it was one of my friends or not. Emboldened by my weapon I stopped and turned, the footsteps low and quiet continued and I saw, or did I imagine? An animal shadow not much more than two foot tall. I growled and the gentle padding continued towards me. I was properly freaked out by this point, the hairs on the back of my neck were all standing on end as I turned and continued walking deliberately slowly all my senses on high alert. My ears strained to hear the slightest thing and every time I stopped to look behind to see if it was following me my eyes strained at the velvet darkness that seemed to grow from the very ground and threatened to draw me into it. My thoughts by this time were all over the place, maybe there was some malevolent spirit, maybe those horror films are based on truth, people do turn up dead in the woods sometime and who knows why. Scrambling up the hill to the relative safety of my carefully hidden rucksack I had to pause to cross a fallen down tree and something gently rubbed against my right calf I hastened up the hill and it came again a gentle rub, I yelped, spun around with knife in hand and heart beating in my ears. From a tall dead beach tree long ago struck by lightning an owl screeched in the night and is immediately answered by an owl over in the mass of shadows towards which I am heading. At this point I started to get a grip and realise that it was all just my mind playing tricks on me, but still the first thing I did when I got back was to light a fire, I used petrol just to be quick about. Sitting there protected by the fire from the creatures of the Id I eventually drifted off to sleep. I had intended to get my water bottles and fill take them down to the river to be filled, I changed my mind, far too many imaginary monsters out and about for that nonsense.
It was not long after this that I was back in Lewknor and walking back towards home. It was a clear night, the stars danced between the leafless branches of the trees as I walked and yet it was dark, very dark, there was no moon. It was, if one were disposed to flights of fancy, a bit spooky. I was grateful that I am a reasonably rational person and so unafraid of shadows at night, this was very much the kind of night on which horror films are based I thought. It is a little bit unfortunate to be thinking such a thing at just the time you become aware of very light footsteps behind you, the next thought, being “I don’t have my torch with me”, offered little comfort. As I walked my hand slowly moved to my back pocket and my knife, there was a possibility that one of my friends was trying to scare me so I resolved that if someone jumped me I would not to stab anyone until I knew for sure that it was one of my friends or not. Emboldened by my weapon I stopped and turned, the footsteps low and quiet continued and I saw, or did I imagine? An animal shadow not much more than two foot tall. I growled and the gentle padding continued towards me. I was properly freaked out by this point, the hairs on the back of my neck were all standing on end as I turned and continued walking deliberately slowly all my senses on high alert. My ears strained to hear the slightest thing and every time I stopped to look behind to see if it was following me my eyes strained at the velvet darkness that seemed to grow from the very ground and threatened to draw me into it. My thoughts by this time were all over the place, maybe there was some malevolent spirit, maybe those horror films are based on truth, people do turn up dead in the woods sometime and who knows why. Scrambling up the hill to the relative safety of my carefully hidden rucksack I had to pause to cross a fallen down tree and something gently rubbed against my right calf I hastened up the hill and it came again a gentle rub, I yelped, spun around with knife in hand and heart beating in my ears. From a tall dead beach tree long ago struck by lightning an owl screeched in the night and is immediately answered by an owl over in the mass of shadows towards which I am heading. At this point I started to get a grip and realise that it was all just my mind playing tricks on me, but still the first thing I did when I got back was to light a fire, I used petrol just to be quick about. Sitting there protected by the fire from the creatures of the Id I eventually drifted off to sleep. I had intended to get my water bottles and fill take them down to the river to be filled, I changed my mind, far too many imaginary monsters out and about for that nonsense.
Briliant
A dreamer like Tom Thumb, I scattered rhymes along
the way; lodging beneath the Great Bear.
My lucky stars would whisper softly at my ear...
Arthur Rimbaud
On Friday I ended up staying in the office for a while sending emails and generally sorting my life out so it was quite late when I left, the building was empty save for security guards. On the one had it was a bit annoying to be leaving so late but it did mean that I would not have to see a computer again until Monday morning. I was supposed to be going to a pub with some friends but was feeling tired and lacking in energy so decided to grab something to eat first. I went to an Italian place on High St Kensington called Il Portico; it was amazing, perfect service fantastic food and a homely atmosphere, highly recommended. I left feeling human once more and ready to face the weekend.
I ended up just heading home after eating as I was very tired, there is something about spending night after night shivering in the woods that really takes it out of you. There was a light drizzle in the air as I got off the bus and started to walk, save for the occasional lights of a car pooling past I was alone and once I had walked for ten minutes I was sufficiently far from the road to forget all about the world. It is quite a contrast to central London, the only signs of life being a Muntjack deer taking fright and crashing off through the undergrowth and the occasional call of an owl. It being the weekend there is no particular rush to get home so I take the scenic route home; this way leads me the way I used to travel before the bad weather forced me to take shelter behind the hill and under the yew tree. My feet are well accustomed to the track and the old familiarity of the trees to my left, the bush to my right and the very path that winds along the side of the hill wrapped around me like a duvet. The walk becomes almost dream like, I’m grinning to myself, I like it here it feels right. Maybe all this solitude has driven me crazy but I don’t think I have ever felt so at ease.
Things get better when I get back to the pile of branches that was until a few days ago my shelter from the weather, these branches of all different size are perfect for use as fire wood so there is no need to go searching. Sitting next to the fire, pot dangling in the heat I recover from the exertion of lugging all my possessions back and realise that it is not cold. This is a new development; it has been cold for about as long as I can remember and I find myself comfortably sitting wearing just a t shirt and a thin sweatshirt. I make the most of this by lying back on my bed roll and hands behind my head and with my feet up on a handily close pile of branches, “this is very much the life” I think to myself. Once the tea is made and the radio is turned on it goes from being “the life” to just about as perfect as it can be.
It turns out to be so warm that for the first time in a very long time I don’t need to go to bed fully dressed , going to bed not fully clothed was luxuriant in the extreme and my mood got even better. Every other night I have gone to bed wearing a balaclava, this acts not just as another layer against the cold but also means the air that I breathe is filtered through the balaclava. On the occasional cold night when I have forgotten to wear the balaclava I have woken with at least a sore throat and on one occasion a full on cold. Friday night was warm enough to get away with just wearing the balaclava as a hat.
Saturday morning was better still, I awoke not from being cold and shivering but because it was time to be awake, I was rested; in fact I ended up happily sleeping until about 11am. The sun was shining, when I awoke my feet wear lying in a pond of light that was taking them in the direction of hot. For once getting up didn’t involve a massive battle of the wills between the part of me that wanted to maintain what heat I had in the sleeping bag and the part that knew it was time to get up. I just got up, quickly got dressed for fear of passing ramblers and went for a little stroll around the grounds. It was in fact so mild and I was so keen to enjoy it that I didn’t even bother to put my boots on, preferring instead to feel the earth beneath my feet, the sun on my face and the wind in my hair. Standing on a low bank looking out across a valley to a distant wooded slope it struck me, this was it, I had done it, spring was here, winter was over. I had done it. I had survived the winter. Suddenly I felt elated and had I not had unshod feet I might well have danced a little dance. I went and put some boots on and then paced up and down feeling about as happy as it is possible to do. I couldn’t help but pace, I was excited, I had just survived a very long cold winter now that spring was very much in the air I began to realise just how nasty the winter had been. Being in the woods when it is not bitterly cold is really rather nice, there might be the odd rain shower but it’s a completely different ball game. I walked about here and there grinning to myself like a Cheshire cat that just got the cream stopping occasionally to examine those green frondy things that cover the ground where I live. I still have no idea what they are, they are a bit bigger than they were a week ago but other than that I’m none the wiser as to their identity.
The curious thing was that it took ages to light a fire, I’m not sure if I was too distracted by being excited at having made it through the big hurdle that is winter but it took me about four attempts. When I did have the fire going I was further excited by the fact that it was only necessary for the heating of food and not me. Liberated, that’s how I felt. I’m no longer tied to hiding under the tree for shelter, I don’t need to huddle away from the wind and depend on a fire for warmth, once again I can sleep out wherever. It might be a little too wet and cold to sleep out without the bivi bag and just the stars for a roof but those days will be here again soon.
the way; lodging beneath the Great Bear.
My lucky stars would whisper softly at my ear...
Arthur Rimbaud
On Friday I ended up staying in the office for a while sending emails and generally sorting my life out so it was quite late when I left, the building was empty save for security guards. On the one had it was a bit annoying to be leaving so late but it did mean that I would not have to see a computer again until Monday morning. I was supposed to be going to a pub with some friends but was feeling tired and lacking in energy so decided to grab something to eat first. I went to an Italian place on High St Kensington called Il Portico; it was amazing, perfect service fantastic food and a homely atmosphere, highly recommended. I left feeling human once more and ready to face the weekend.
I ended up just heading home after eating as I was very tired, there is something about spending night after night shivering in the woods that really takes it out of you. There was a light drizzle in the air as I got off the bus and started to walk, save for the occasional lights of a car pooling past I was alone and once I had walked for ten minutes I was sufficiently far from the road to forget all about the world. It is quite a contrast to central London, the only signs of life being a Muntjack deer taking fright and crashing off through the undergrowth and the occasional call of an owl. It being the weekend there is no particular rush to get home so I take the scenic route home; this way leads me the way I used to travel before the bad weather forced me to take shelter behind the hill and under the yew tree. My feet are well accustomed to the track and the old familiarity of the trees to my left, the bush to my right and the very path that winds along the side of the hill wrapped around me like a duvet. The walk becomes almost dream like, I’m grinning to myself, I like it here it feels right. Maybe all this solitude has driven me crazy but I don’t think I have ever felt so at ease.
Things get better when I get back to the pile of branches that was until a few days ago my shelter from the weather, these branches of all different size are perfect for use as fire wood so there is no need to go searching. Sitting next to the fire, pot dangling in the heat I recover from the exertion of lugging all my possessions back and realise that it is not cold. This is a new development; it has been cold for about as long as I can remember and I find myself comfortably sitting wearing just a t shirt and a thin sweatshirt. I make the most of this by lying back on my bed roll and hands behind my head and with my feet up on a handily close pile of branches, “this is very much the life” I think to myself. Once the tea is made and the radio is turned on it goes from being “the life” to just about as perfect as it can be.
It turns out to be so warm that for the first time in a very long time I don’t need to go to bed fully dressed , going to bed not fully clothed was luxuriant in the extreme and my mood got even better. Every other night I have gone to bed wearing a balaclava, this acts not just as another layer against the cold but also means the air that I breathe is filtered through the balaclava. On the occasional cold night when I have forgotten to wear the balaclava I have woken with at least a sore throat and on one occasion a full on cold. Friday night was warm enough to get away with just wearing the balaclava as a hat.
Saturday morning was better still, I awoke not from being cold and shivering but because it was time to be awake, I was rested; in fact I ended up happily sleeping until about 11am. The sun was shining, when I awoke my feet wear lying in a pond of light that was taking them in the direction of hot. For once getting up didn’t involve a massive battle of the wills between the part of me that wanted to maintain what heat I had in the sleeping bag and the part that knew it was time to get up. I just got up, quickly got dressed for fear of passing ramblers and went for a little stroll around the grounds. It was in fact so mild and I was so keen to enjoy it that I didn’t even bother to put my boots on, preferring instead to feel the earth beneath my feet, the sun on my face and the wind in my hair. Standing on a low bank looking out across a valley to a distant wooded slope it struck me, this was it, I had done it, spring was here, winter was over. I had done it. I had survived the winter. Suddenly I felt elated and had I not had unshod feet I might well have danced a little dance. I went and put some boots on and then paced up and down feeling about as happy as it is possible to do. I couldn’t help but pace, I was excited, I had just survived a very long cold winter now that spring was very much in the air I began to realise just how nasty the winter had been. Being in the woods when it is not bitterly cold is really rather nice, there might be the odd rain shower but it’s a completely different ball game. I walked about here and there grinning to myself like a Cheshire cat that just got the cream stopping occasionally to examine those green frondy things that cover the ground where I live. I still have no idea what they are, they are a bit bigger than they were a week ago but other than that I’m none the wiser as to their identity.
The curious thing was that it took ages to light a fire, I’m not sure if I was too distracted by being excited at having made it through the big hurdle that is winter but it took me about four attempts. When I did have the fire going I was further excited by the fact that it was only necessary for the heating of food and not me. Liberated, that’s how I felt. I’m no longer tied to hiding under the tree for shelter, I don’t need to huddle away from the wind and depend on a fire for warmth, once again I can sleep out wherever. It might be a little too wet and cold to sleep out without the bivi bag and just the stars for a roof but those days will be here again soon.
and giggles
Hello.
I used to share a house with a chap called Neph, I wrote a little bit about him at Christmas, he eats funny things. No not clowns, ants, Chinese eating ants to be exact, he got them sent from China in a jar and we had them for Christmas dinner. I’m not sure why I am telling you this when I should be telling you about his music taste, it’s the most furthest of far out since Apollo 13 went to the dark side of the moon to look for Mr Floyd. Anyway he is having a party in Oxford this weekend and although I have no idea what the music will be like I do know that it will be good. Check it out.
werkdiscs and vacuous pop present:
ACTRESS - LIVE
ATKI-2 - LIVE
PO-SKI - DJ SET
plus special guests: DJ NARRATION, EVEL and TROL23
"We'll play the mashed-up genre-defying tunes. You'll dance like a smack of junkie jellyfish. Deal?"
>> Friday 31st March, 9pm > 3am
>> CELLAR BAR (Frewin Court, off Cornmarket Street), OXFORD
>> £5 advance (http://www.wegottickets.com/event/9486), £6 on the door
>> 07976 575948 / djnarration@gmail.com for more info ...
If nothing else you have just learnt what the collective noun of jellyfish is.
I used to share a house with a chap called Neph, I wrote a little bit about him at Christmas, he eats funny things. No not clowns, ants, Chinese eating ants to be exact, he got them sent from China in a jar and we had them for Christmas dinner. I’m not sure why I am telling you this when I should be telling you about his music taste, it’s the most furthest of far out since Apollo 13 went to the dark side of the moon to look for Mr Floyd. Anyway he is having a party in Oxford this weekend and although I have no idea what the music will be like I do know that it will be good. Check it out.
werkdiscs and vacuous pop present:
ACTRESS - LIVE
ATKI-2 - LIVE
PO-SKI - DJ SET
plus special guests: DJ NARRATION, EVEL and TROL23
"We'll play the mashed-up genre-defying tunes. You'll dance like a smack of junkie jellyfish. Deal?"
>> Friday 31st March, 9pm > 3am
>> CELLAR BAR (Frewin Court, off Cornmarket Street), OXFORD
>> £5 advance (http://www.wegottickets.com/event/9486), £6 on the door
>> 07976 575948 / djnarration@gmail.com for more info ...
If nothing else you have just learnt what the collective noun of jellyfish is.
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