The great thaw brings drama to the banks of the Taw.

Yesterday morning I was trudging back in the sludge from the old retainer's place up at Brynsworthy and I was making my way over the Longbridge and from a distance I could see that large flows of ice were floating downriver some of these were quite considerable slabs and were acting as rafts and barges for all manner of detritus, mostly foliage of some sort or another but there seemed to be a awful lot of blue plastic cider bottles amoung it all. I happen to know for a fact that out in the Estuary there is a large floating blue plastic island of ice dragon white lightning cider bottles just ebbing and flowing with the tide. Anyways, as I was approaching the Town bank I could see a crowd of people looking over into the water pointing at one of the larger icebergs, others were joining them drawn by the commotion and by the time I trotted up to have a gawp there really was quite a crowd. Mobile phones were being drawn frantic calls were being made and shaky video was being shot. Not being one to shy from any sort of occurrence I jostled my way to the front of the crowd and peered over into the shitty brown, sludgy waters beneath and there lo and behold was the cause of such excitement, floating on a large slab of ice were four little kittens.
You could see how frightened the little mites were. Within a few few moments the piece of ice upon which they were precariously balanced was nudged forward  under the arches of the bridge and out of sight. A great groan arose from the multitude now gathered as the kittens disappeared and people then surged across the road to the other side to see if the little buggers would come out the other side. After a few anxious minutes they reappeared and a great cheer went up however this was soon replaced by more frantic activity as they were drawn into a faster current and headed down river at quite a rate of knots. People pursued their plight from alongside the bank and a right hue and cry was raised. As one we realised that something had to be done before they passed Castle Quay, as then they would be out in a deep channel and be carried off out into the bay.
At Castle Quay a crowd formed on the shore and one by one some of the more stout and hardy souls waded into the icy torrent supporting each other around the waist and soon formed a human chain across the nearest and relatively shallow channel. Now the waiting game began. All hope for the kittens souls now rested upon the likelihood of them floating into this particular channel and not into the further faster and more treacherous one neighbouring it. Things started to look rather bleak as it became apparent that the mites were being drawn into the deeper stream. This realisation was greeted by a massed groan as people who had been holding their breath, exasperatedly began to exhale, infants could be heard whimpering. We were all on tenterhooks. At that moment divine intervention was made manifest as the clouds parted and Chivenor's finest hove into view. The search and rescue helicopter hovered above the river and with the down draft from it's blades expertly steered the icy raft into the correct channel and with a slight acceleration the kittens were borne upon this man made tide towards the shore and into the arms of their fearless rescuers. Oh such joy! The kittens were saved!  I haven't witnessed anything of the like since Merlin from Britain's Got Talent escaped from a tank of water in the Queens Theatre panto last year, such was the drama.
With an arcing swoop above the river and out over Shaplands the helicopter bid farewell to the crowd below, the pilot waving acknowledging the thanks of the multitude. Bleddy hell if I'm not mistaken it turned out to be my old mate HRH Prince William, that's what I reckon though others around me weren't quite so sure. The crowd by now greatly cheered began to dispersed as the kittens were handed over to the lady from the animal ambulance.

Over a restorative and calming Martell and mince pie in the Rolle Quay I reflected upon what had occurred with the lads at the bar. We came to the conclusion that some so and so had obviously gone down to the river to drown the little blighters but the stupid sod had forgot it was icy so he'd thrown them off the bank in the cover off darkness and they'd had landed on the ice which had built up along the shore over the last week or so. With the thaw they ice had become dislodged and as it floated off downstream the kittens had wrestled themselves free and their perilous plight became apparent.

After another brandy I raised a hearty toast to the Air Sea Rescue crews down at Chivenor, the Animal Ambulance and the good people of Barum. Hoorah. Have a happy new year!

Ashford Strand this morning

God's own country. Love it.

I'm dreaming of a white christmas

Lovely photo of Barum the winter wonderland

I'm dreaming of a white christmas,
just like the ones I used to know
Where the treetops glisten and children listen
to hear sleigh bells in the snow

I'm dreaming of a white christmas,
just like the ones I used to know
Where the treetops glisten and children listen
to hear sleigh bells in the snow

I'm dreaming of a white christmas,
with every christmas card I write
May your days be merry and bright,
and may all your christmases be white

I'm dreaming of a white christmas,
just like the ones I used to know
May your days be merry and bright,
and may all your christmases be white

I'm dreaming of a white christmas,
with every christmas card I write
May your days be merry and bright,
and may all your christmases be white

May your days be merry and bright,
and may all your christmases be white

Well and truly snowed in down here at Ashford Strand. I can't get up the lane. I suppose if needs be I could get the canoe out and paddle up river to Lidl at Seven Bretheren Bank.

Lidl very convenient should you ever have

 

to row in

 to do your groceries

Mind you it would be a bit cold. Lucky I paid for me dongle the other day totherwise I wouldn't have the internet. So I am staying in most likely with a couple of boxes of Co-Op dark chocolate brandy liqueurs, singing along to carols after having watched Kara Tointon on BBC Iplayer again and once more for posterity. What a remarkable breath of fresh air she is for British light entertainment. I have a cracking fire going with me xmas driftwood yule logs which aren't really logs put planks that come from an old boat I broke up last week. It's been bobbing about on the foreshore for months now so I claimed wreckers rights on the bugger and cut him up. I should have contacted the Receiver of Wrecks or the Crown Estate. I know I put me hands up but all that red tape didn't seem worth it and of course I would then have the dubious honour of being the first person in my family to do so, plus it is now serving a higher purpose keeping me warm and drying out me xmas trousers and toe-tectors.

The Green Dragon resuscitated....... to breathe fire once more!

The Reform lounge bar 1953 Kingsley Amis keeping score

 This startling news has caused quite a stir among the nations shove ha'penny,  or shuffle groate as I like to call it, fraternity. The green dragon a legendary super fast board has been rediscovered. This board has achieved mythical status and over the years many theories have abounded as to it's whereabouts since it was last seen in the Kings Arms in Barnstaple High Street in 1957. The pub has long since closed, mores the pity, but I recall it as a wonderful cavernous place full of dark nooks and crannies where I spent many a happy Friday doing me early drinking and courting. I remember they had vast aged casks of Armadillo sherry and you'd see all the old dears from the market coming in with little jugs and get a pint of the stuff  to take away with them. Just out of interest it was on the site of Peter Dominics that was but I can't bring to mind exactly what is there now. Anyways, some say that the board was spirited away to the States, given as a municipal gift by an eager to please former Mayor others have maintained that it is in the hands of the Saudi royal family or that it was given pride of place in a mysterious Chinese gambling magnate's games room.  Anyway, turns out that it had been strayed far closer to home as it has been discovered lying discarded in the back of a junk shop in Bideford. I thought I saw one meself just like it in Scudder's mind you that was a few years back now, before the fire  and since it has only recently come to light I doubt it was the same one. It was rescued from being skipped over there by illustrious Barum businessmen the Cassinelli  brothers who also recall playing on it as beys with their father Old Man Cassinelli back in the fifties. They have lovingly restored it to it's prime competition condition and amazingly it is going to be unveiled at the World Shove Ha'penny Championships which is taking place at Braunton Cricket Club this weekend. The current champ is Welsh from over the water in Newport, Gwent however he will be facing a strong local challenge to lift his crown and let's hope that the Green Dragon will act as our talisman and help the local lads, who include former World Champ Kevin Barrow, in their quest to bring the title back home to where it belongs.
I would have put me name forward but due to out of competition testing where my recent course of beta blockers was picked up I decided to stand downin order to save tarnishing the image of the sport and let the younger lads go for it so they can reclaim the title clean and send out a strong anti-doping message. Anyway. I've had my day in the light of the lamps as I'm sure many will recall my appearance on Yorkshire TV's the Indoor League back in 1977 where Freddie Truman, samshing bloke, commented on my nudging skills and my backing up in order to create a triple three in the bed. Happy days.

The Indoor League Alan Brown was my nemesis you can just catch me in the background with me lucky cowboy hat on. Blimey don't we look young.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GOlEYNlSZ44&feature=related
 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r_XIzQGR3JY&NR=1

To the barricades

Apparently the citizens of Roundswell are on the verge of making an historic unilateral declaration of independence or UDI as it was called in the old Rhodesia. (This incident still fresh in the minds of many of the folk up there and they are no doubt partly inspired by it) They are discontented with being lumped in with Fremington parish Council and they feel that the time has come for them to secede from this historic structure of local government and go it alone and make a sustained bid for autonomy. In some respects I can understand this with regard to the recent shenanigans at Fremington Parish Council however,  I do find it a little surprising that such murmurings of discontent should come from of all places a place like Roundswell a commune which to many who live in the area has no sense of community. A suburb in the true sense of the word, sharing those values associated with such areas. A population of at least 7000 people who have no pub, no school, no recreation ground, no local shop apart from a Sainsburys superstore, Comet and Staples and Edmunsons Electrical wholesalers and not only a drive through McDonalds but also  a Wimpy and a Travelodge all of these quite a trek from the centre of the  estate, no doctors surgery and last of all quite an essential factor when trying to establish a new parish council no parish chuch. In any other community of this size people would have been up in arms to rectify this dire lack in communal facilities but not in Roundswell you always get the impression that they just don't want them. Happy with their lot being situated close to retail park and a Peugot showroom with views over the Link Road. To my mind the area is a strange old place, mysterious even being as it is a giant warren of neat little Barrett boxes all roads twist and turn end up in cul de sacs each one in turn looking like the other, a veritable bleddy maze if ever there was one.

Breaking news I have just heard that plans for secession have been put on hold due to a groundswell of apathy! Now there's a surprise.

Is squirrel the perfect austerity dish?

Asks the BBC. That will be an emphatic yep from me. Thumbs up to Mr William Hovey Smith from Georgia a man after my own heart........

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-us-canada-11834184

All American hunter William Hovey Smith showing off a fine cut of squirrel meat all dressed and ready for the pot.

Click on the link for some helpful recipe tips but if you fancy a more traditional Cornish supper

here is old Granny Mannings' recipe for squirrel pasties. You will need the following:

140g squirrel meat cut into 1cm cubes; 100g sliced potato; 100g sliced swede; 50g diced onion; 30g smoked bacon; 15g chopped hazelnuts; 75g butter; 5g chopped parsley; a good pinch of salt and pepper

Method · Egg wash edges of pastry circles. · Place the potato, swede, hazelnuts, parsley and seasoning on to each circle followed by the bacon, squirrel meat and, finally, the onion. · Place butter in each pasty, then fold over the pastry and crimp the edges. · Put the pasties on to a greaseproof baking tray, egg wash both pasties well, place in a pre-heated oven at 180C or gas mark 5. · Bake for 45-50 minutes. The juices should start to boil and the pasties should be able to move on the tray with ease Serve with a glass or two of Hancocks' latest vintage Enjoy me luvvers!

Barum Library now offers a view upon the world

Due to the climatic upheavals of the last few days I have been spending more time than usual in the Library on the computers. Infact yesterday I was marooned in there for the best part of the day. However, this was not time wasted as they were holding a workshop designed for us senior users on navigating your way around the new system that they have installed. This was all very interesting but when I went back up to the terminals I discovered that they have gone and put Google World on the system. Now this was a discovery. Of course I'd heard about this before but what was new to me was the Street View function. Someone, forget now who it was told me that they had seen a van with a weird little device on top of it circulating throughout the town back in the summer. All you have to do is click on the little cameras and you are taken to a photo of that location. I was glad to see that Barum had a little camera on it so  I zoomed in and took a little tour around the town. It was bleddy amazing. I went down Boutport Street right outside the Marshalls,

Outside the Marshalls

St Mary's Road

across the Square, along Taw Vale right up Victoria Road, I had a 360o peek at Forches Cross and see who was in the Borough Arms beer garden before carrying on up Constitutional Hill passing by Our Lady's school down Bear Street turning into Bicton Street stopping at Zephyr Cresent before climbing up to Gorwell and then back down to Frankmarsh. I turned into St Georges Road taking in the newly done up Co-Op before heading back to the library via Rolles Quay. Fantastic.

Forches Cross

It really portrays Barum as a busy little place full of people going about their day to day business. I could see Ian Sokey's grandson with beys hanging about outside the Co-op.
I caught a glimpse of me common law brother in law Michael Trout coming out of Warens.  I was also a little puzzled when I spied Ken Tisbury's  Granada outside of Annie Cawood's place in the middle of the day.  After this circumnavigation I decided to venture further afield and headed due west from Barum zooming across the bar heading out to sea. I soon lost me bearings like the ancestors often did when following this course and ended up on Furse Island in Cork Bay. I re-calibrated the little compass and set out again across the Atlantic towards the Newfoundland fisheries winding up in St Johns. They didn't have a little camera so I flew off down the coast to Barum's homophonic namesake Barnstable Massachusetts where I was able to pick up street view and take a peek around. Pretty little place but there didn't appear to be anyone about. The streets all looked very neat and tidy but they were deserted. I reckon it's a bit like Appledore full of second homes and blow ins from the East Coast cities.
http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?ll=51.071015,-4.0613236&z=19&t=h&hl=enhttp://maps.google.co.uk/maps?ll=51.071015,-4.0613236&z=19&t=h&hl=en

Zephyr Crescent

Have a flutter on a ferret - It could be you

Well three cheers is what I say. it's that time of year again, it soon comes around and before you know it, it's upon us - the ferret racing season. Friday night sees the first classic of the year, the West Down Derby which takes place out at the village hall with the first race on the off at 7.30 on the dot. It's a wonderful event and a highlight of the ferret racing calender bringing together as it does ferret fanciers and some of the top ferret breeders from all over. There was one fella there last year who bought a litter of much fancied and heavily backed novice kits all the way up from Kilkhampton. I am glad to report that these Cornish whipper snappers proved no match for our Devon stables and against the odds and a little engineered  home advantage they were soundly beaten through the pipes and had to beat a retreat down the A39 with their tails between their little legs.  To my mind there is nothing quite like the spectacle of ferret racing at this stage in the season, the atmosphere is bound to be highly charged and there are guaranteed to be a few suprises. It is also a proper village occasion like the ones we used to have years ago, of course it goes without saying that there will be a pay bar no doubt stocked with a few barrels of Barum and a plentiful supply of Hancock's current vintage. I gather that you are welcome to bring along your own ferrets as long as you keep them on a lead just to show them off like, as under the auspices of the League you cannot race an unregistered ferret and unlicensed ferret racing although it does happen in some of the more isolated communities in the area is not something to be encouraged. Also free bowls of warm milk will be available for all. So how can you resist the odds are much more favourable than anything Camelot can devise to take your money off you on a Friday night. Come along and make it a night to remember. It could be you!

Meself I have another motive for going along as I am looking for a replacement for my dearly departed and sorely missed ferret Fluff who passed away at the ripe old age of twelve during last winter's cold snap. She was a fine specimen and is much missed, but you've got to move on. I've heard along the grapevine that my ex-common-law brother-in-law Michael Trout has a young kit he's looking to sell on who has looked promising in a couple of novice races earlier in the season. So I'll have a word and seeing as we are family he might let me take him off his hands. He really does look like a promising proposition as he has the same pedigree as dear old Fluff and comes from a famous line of ferret thoroughbreds. Happy days. Thrilling that's what it'll be.



Find out here about all you need to know about ferrets here. If you have a mind to keep ferrets, breed them and ultimately race them you will find the club's website a true mine of very helpful information.
http://www.britishferretclub.org.uk/
 I have to admit that the logo does look like a recruiting emblem for fascist ferrets but don't be put off us ferret fanciers are a fairly liberal bunch and I am assured that the club operates to serve the interests of all ferrets no matter what. I think it's emblematic of purely geographical factors rather than genetic. Hopefully ferrets are reclaiming the flag from the strident nationalists amoung our previous committee members

Feelin' mazed as a rattle

It's a wild night tonight down on the foreshore at Ashford Strand. A dirty old night as me Granfer used to say, when you'll find only the devil and fools abroad. Still time and tide waits for no man so regular as clockwork I have been down and put me night lines out. It's a bleddy evil evening down there what with the wind, relentless it is, I reckon there must be a 100 mile an hour gusts. My thoughts go  to all of those out there, at peril on the sea. Lights 'ave started flickering now, the curtains are billowing and the rain is drashing down, rain made brackish by ocean spray spuming miles inland. Oddly enough though me fuchsias have to decided to re-bloom! All this proper meddle and caper and strange goings on  has left me feeling as mazed as a rattle.

Unpatriotic dog - Death sentence repealed

Not often you get some good news although I did manage to fix me freeview box and watch the release of the Chilean miners. I bleddy knew how they must have felt as not too long ago I got stuck in the old iron ore workings at Pinkworthy pond. I digress. I am glad to report that Phoebe the terrier is not going to be put down after she bit the jogging soldier's ankle out at Umberleigh. Apparently, the fore-said member of the armed forces, otherwise referred to as our Heroes and may God bless 'em, decided to prosecute the matter. He'd been out on a jog around the lanes of Umbers heading up towards Chittlehamolt when he was confronted by the terror of Phoebe. That's what happens when you go up river, the Terror, the Horrror. As he was jogging by the farmhouse where Phoebe lives she came bounding out to greet him and must have had a quick over excited nip at our heroe's ankles. Now I'm not usually a doggy kind of bloke but from being out and about in the lanes that's that's what farm dogs do.  By my reckoning, they tend to do it all over. When I was lost in France every bleddy other house had some gurt barking dug in it.

Phoebe in better days

So our brave boy phones the lads at the Devon and Cornwall Constabulary and that's it. Phoebe is taken off to the local remand kennels where she had to await her fate. She was refused bail as this was not the first time this had happened. However, once her day in court came around the Judge decided that he did not want such matters in his courtroom and dismissed the case post haste. However, by law, under the auspices of the dangerous dogs act he could have had the poor the little whipper snapper condemned. It is cheering to find that good sense prevailed and after much discussion in chambers Phoebe was released back into the community having served her time on remand. Judicially speaking, it turns out that in order to placate our hero he did recognise the trauma that the brave lad must have suffered via his ankles and that he will not be returning to his regiment somewhere outside Kabul until he gets the go ahead from BUPA.

Cautionary note: Phoebe is very much alive and well and she hasn't learnt her lesson as she grabbed one of me bootlaces as I was cycling past the other afternoon. Even though I found meself tossed up in a ditch I did not call my old mates at Devon & Cornwall Constabulary not being a Hero and also having an arms length of previous I just thought I'd let it lie. Jus' like a sleeping dug

Slovenia - God's own country

Slovenia: the land of my maternal ancestors. Tucked away as it is on the top of the Adriatic sea. My old Gran who was apparently as English as they come ignoring the fact that her parents were Jewish tailors from Peckham, her always said that there was a I quote" a touch of the tar brush in the family". Of course on the old boy's side I hail from the bogs at the source of the Tamar and we can trace ourselves back to when surnames was first invented. But on me mother's side turns out we are all Slovenian. I chanced upon this information after I posted a freedom of information request asking for me DNA details from Devon and Cornwall Police who took a sample after I was arrested, I hasten to add that I was completely discharged at Exeter Magistrates Court,  after the fracas me and Damian had with the bleddy jobsworth Station Manager at Exeter St. David's . Hirsty got done for it, he took the wrap so they say. Mind you it was him who bought the bottle of fancy Scandanavian vodka from that Sainsbury's on Paddy Station up in London.
So all CSI like I had been profiled and I now have the little chart. Fair play I have a lot of markers on the Celtic fringe 49% it is but rather weirdly I have 51% of me markers in and around the Adriatic mainly Slovenia. Fancy that!

Please follow the links below to find out more about the wonderful country of Slovenia. I am saving up for me coach trip next spring.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Slovenia

http://www.slovenia.info/

Looks bleddy lovely

Autumnwatch - All hail the Emperor

Like many folk last week I was deeply distressed to hear about the fact that someone had gone and shot the Emperor, the pride of Exmoor. I actually heard about it on the Today programme on Radio 4 first thing in the morning, I listen to that now that I am boycotting Heart FM due to the summary dismissal of Hopps and Chapple and the closure of the North Devon studio. To be perfectly honest I was besides meself, livid ad just kept asking meself what sort of arrogant belddy bastard takes it upon themselves to pay off the landowner for hunting rights goes out to Rackenford and shoots what at this time of year, the rutting season, is a sitting duck? Where's the sport in that? Knowing what sort of rifle and ammunition they had to use to bring it down it probably was a humane kill but still it would have been rather messy and messier still if they took off the antlers in situ so to speak. It was reported that someone had heard shots by the link road and had seen someone loading the carcass of this giant beast, nine foot tall according to many into a van.
 As I was having my breakfast a bit bit of lava and bacon I thought I'd try and get hold of Johnny and see what was what. Of course due to the great media interest that this story had whipped up then he was quite in demand fielding calls from all over the world but I managed to get him on his personal skype number. He'd had a bit of a morning of it and was at the end of his tether complaining that he wasn't getting any money for it but I suppose he has brought it all on himself really and I had to point out that it would be good publicity for his forthcoming series on BBC Four*** He'd also been up to the Sportsman's the night before and had a bit of a cider head on him as this is where he'd first heard about it and people were buying him drinks for a few words of precious Kingdom wisdom. So I don't blame him for being a bit off with me. He was also going on about a dodgy Withycombe's hog's puddin. I tell you he can be, despite what you see on the telly, a right bleddy so and so from time to time. Anyway, according to Johnny he knew all about the Emperor as he has been following and filming him for years and has managed to get him on tape time and time again. So he was best placed to pass comment on this symbolic beast. However, although he agreed that it did sound like the Emperor, there were several factors which didn't quite add up. Firstly, if the stag that was shot in Rackenford was the Emperor then he wasn't strictly on Exmoor and was actually about ten miles from his stomping ground, which I'm sure you'll agree remains an open secret amoung us folk and the like and seeing that Stags are territorial and that this is the rutting season it isn't very likely that he would have bounded over  Tivvy way. Secondly, it would have required a bleddy gurt van in order to carry away the carcass antlers and all and would have also required a whole team of blokes to lift it on to the back of a truck or van. Since this story broke people have been traipsing all over the spot where he was said to have been shot and evidently there are absolutely no signs of slaughter. Although sceptical about the demise of the Emperor, Johnny maintains that this sort of thing is going on all the time on the moor and it's lowlands. Rich buggers from up country coming down here buying hunting rights off a farmer or landowner and then having a jolly with their mates blasting away at the fauna so he was glad that the story was highlighting this diabolical situation. So I let him get back to that there Giles Brandreth who was on the landline calling from the One Show and told him I'd see him for a pint in the Marshals on Tuesday and we get to the bottom of it.
So this story started to become rather puzzling and it became even more so the following evening when I went up to check on the Old Bey. He'd managed to get the old Wolsey going at long last and the first thing he'd decided to do was to take it out on the moor and go and have a look at the stags rutting. Which is a popular past time in this part of the world. First thing he said to me directly I walked in the door was that he'd seen the Emperor, he was darn sure of it, and also he'd captured it on his old VHS camera that he carts about with him. Apparently he'd been out Winsford way and had heard a stag bellowing so he pulls over and stalked through the woods till he came to a clearing where low and behold he came across a giant stag and about fifteen hind so camcorder at the ready he got them on tape. So we rigged up the video playback mechanism and after a few moments of some rather shaky images interspersed with some footage of the South Molton traction engine rally the emperor and his harem came into focus and blow me it had to be him, standing proud amid the herd bellowing his heart out, antlers held high for all to see while other young stags circled tentatively knowing their place. He'd obviously seen them off but they were still hanging about in the hope of servicing an errant hind.
In order to verify that this imperial beast was the Emperor or not we held up one of Johnny's framed photos that he'd given Father a while back, in front of the screen and compared the antler spread and other features. No doubt about it we both agreed that the Emperor is still alive and well and doing his thing out on the moor. At least he was last Thursday afternoon.
Still whatever the true story I reckon it has been rather good that such news has caused a certain amount of controversy in this area and beyond about the nature of hunting for sport rather than deer management. To my mind the collecting of trophies by certain moneyed folk all sounds a bit like the great white hunters in days of Empire. In spite of our reputation not all country folk are hunt supporters, infact I loathe the Hunt and it's toadie camp followers with a vengeance, thing is we just don't like being told that we shouldn't be. Finally I do have to admit that on high days and holy days I love a haunch or two of venison if it comes my way and call me a hypocrite but I seldom ask where it comes from. Terrible but true.

**For more information on Johnny and his forthcoming new series on BBC Four please click on the links

http://www.johnnykingdom.co.uk/
http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b00vnf8g

All hallow's eve - A nightmare on Ashford Strand

Clocks may have gone back my there is no extra hour in bed for me this morning as I've been up since the crack of dawn sorting out all me Halloween gear at the back of the old stable. Every year I like to put on a bit of a show for the kids. you see the thing is I have become something of a Halloween celebrity in the local area as basically I scare children apparently. I don't mean to but several folk with kids and the kids themselves reckon I am a bit scary. I suppose I can see their point as I don't look like your average townie middle-aged Dad type. On a good day when I dress up smart they say I look like a burglar or a basque terrorist and on a bad day I look like some bog monster dressed up in me every day clothes. I know I've caused a fright or two among holidaying cyclists who aren't used to seeing me coming back home after a morning's mudlarking carrying me bait buckets, a couple of perfectly legal caught salmon and festooned in me seaweed clagged nets and nightlines. Motorists have also been known to give me a second glance as I forage along the lanes between here and Braunton with a few tell tale tail feathers or furry limbs sticking out the top of me holdall. Still live and let live that's what I say although these days it's a pity that I seem to be the only bugger who lives up to this maxim.
Anyways, over the years I have become something of a curiosity for the local kids and on Halloween I was always getting loads of 'em  creeping down the lane and crawling through me sprouts trying to peer in at me windows to see what I was up to and one or two of the bravest ones would gather up enough courage to come knocking on me door. Originally, it made me livid and I would throw open the door and come out at them yelling me head off and chuck a few choice swede at them as the ran screaming and laughing back up the lane. I seen realized that this was just what they wanted so as I have mellowed a bit in my old age I play up to me own image and we have a bit of a laugh. I rig up some trip wires in me vegetable patch which trigger off all manner of ghastly noises I've got chainsaws going and this year I have edited together a BBC sound effects record that I got at Pottington car boot back in the summer. I like to finish off this spectacular by playing " Jack the Ripper" by my old mate Screaming Lord Sutch  and I throw a couple of me younger cats out of the pantry window. Last year the dummy dressed up to look like my Mother, as people reckon I've got here hidden away out the back when really she lives up at Sticklepath, stuck in an old Somerfield trolley that I had set up on pulleys at the top of the lane to roll down behind them proved to be a sensation. So as you can see I am expecting a bit of a crowd this evening as each year it gets bigger and bigger and parents have started bringing their kids along they now park up in the layby on the dual carriageway and walk them to the top of the lane where they stand and make sure that nothing goes awry during the ensuing mayhem. I am pleased to say that so far touch wood we have only had a few minor injuries and one of them was to one of me cats who fell badly during the feline throwing finale.
I put a bucket up the top and ask for a few bits of spare change to cover me costs and have a little bit left over for good causes this year it is my new club the Taw Estuary Cycle-Path Angling and Beverage Club who should have a good couple of quid coming their way.

Nice to see that Devon and Cornwall Contabulary are on the case....  should it all get a bit out of hand and they have knocked up a natty little poster that you can stick in your window.

Autumn watch - rats as big as cats...

This evening as I was coming back from Ashford Strand I stopped off in the Rolle Quay to get the measure of the new landlord. I'm glad to report that he keeps his pipes clean and the pint of Tribute they serve in there was delicious. I took me usual seat in the window looking out over the quay when some movement going on by under the bridge drew my attention I peered out over the way and soon it became obvious that what I was looking at was a whole nest of Barum's infamous cat sized rats. Their presence throughout the town has caused something of a folk panic in recent weeks. if recent reports are to be believed the town is suffering levels of infestation by these super-sized rodents  only superseded by the onslaught of a plague of biblical proportions.
Anyway concerned as I am with the habits of all manner of vermin and seeing the opportunity to make an extra bob or two I decided to take a closer look. I left the pub and approached the quayside stealthily so as not to disturb the buggers as I looked down to the river's edge I caught a quick look at one or two of the beasts before they scarpered back to their lair and to my amazement I was struck by the fact that what I was looking at was not bloody giant rats but beavers. Yep beavers, who'd have thought it. Beavers on the River Yeo! I headed back into the pub and announced to one and all the results of my findings. However, the regulars met my claims with a great deal of scepticism and most of 'em continued drooling into their pints. In one of my fits of consternation I stormed out not before levelling a few choice words of valediction at the miserable buggers. If they weren't   
Interested in my thrilling wildlife discovery then I knew a man who would be. So when I got back here I got my old buddy Johnny on skype he was having his dinner, a nice hogs puddin followed by junket and cream, but he was happy to help me out. It turns out that a few people had got on contact with him over the last view days about these giant rat sightings so he'd taken his video camera down to the river beneath long bridge to see if he could get them on film. Like me he realised soon enough that what he was looking at were not giant rats nor infant were they beaver but they were coypu. Coypu they don't half look like beavers but apparently they are not an unusual sight on British waterways even though they are native to Peru so they are a sort of large aquatic guinea pig. I suppose like guinea pig they might prove to be rather tasty and with a bit more meat on them than their Andean cousins. Now there's a thought coypu pasties. Where's me rabbit nets?

Psychics banned from Pilton Church Rooms......

Local witch unhappy with church hall ban

Dear oh dear what is the world coming to this week's front page story in the North Devon Journal is concerned with the small matter of the local psychic woman's coven being banned from using Pilton Church Rooms, also referred to by assorted incomers and the like as the "village hall". In a week when the government's csr has cast a rather gloomy cloud over our area which is disproportionately reliant on public jobs and services and state investment, the Journal decides to daub it's front page with the sensational story that a psychic group whose activities and practices are not compatible with the teachings of the Church of England are being "banned" from holding their seances on Church property.  This does not come as a surprise to me or is that particularly newsworthy. The head necromancer claims that she is a victim of religious discrimination, not withstanding that she has already found a secular community centre to hold her rites in, and has decided after already resolving the matter to air her grievances and levy such a heinous slander upon the good people who run the comings and goings at the church hall and make it the vibrant centre for our community that it always has been long before this sorceress and her English Psychic Company turned up in Pilton Street.
Now on purely theological matters I'm no fan of the C of E nor of spiritualist fakirs being as I am an adherent of the Old Faith but I do seem to recall that though the church rooms belong to the church they are actually run for the benefit of the community as a whole and in that regard they do not hold any religious functions instead they concentrate on enabling the use of the hall for playschools, dance classes, the Cubs and Brownies, pantomimes, concerts and bingo nights none of which these days are overtly religious and are in fact all good wholesome family entertainments. I know I wouldn't want to go down there on a bingo or euchre night and have it ruined by voices from the other side or constant banging coming from the upstairs meeting rooms it would put you right off your concentration and during a euchre drive you could miss a trick and find yourself down on the evening. Also how do you explain all these goings on to the kiddies." Unckie Pitt, what have all these long faced gloomy looking people been doing traipsing in and out all evening?". No, that would be just too much.

I was speaking to one of the committee members just last evening down at The Windsor and over a couple of pints of Barum he let slip that the main reason they decided not to let the spiritualists use the premises was due to health and safety concerns as firstly; people could find themselves slipping up all over the ectoplasm which apparently they never properly cleaned up leaving it splattered all over the stairs and the communal kitchen causing a potential hazard and secondly; there were problems over insurance. Seeing as they could never account for how many people living or deceased might make an appearance over the course of any given evening. The hall is only licensed for use by a definite number of souls.

Ectoplasm was causing something of a mess 

To my mind once again this is another case of rather vain, self minded, self important people frustrated by their rootless existence and lack of understanding of local sensibilities trying to ride a coach and horses over established practices and concerns. From a quick straw poll at the bar, the tea leaf reader in question doesn't really seem to have done herself any favours by seeking out the local press and by closing time a good few of the lads were keen to go up to the furniture factory and make a ducking stool or to throw her in the Taw and see if she floats. Fortunately, that was just the Barum talking.

I feel I have to claim a little bit of a vested interest in this story as the English Psychic Company have their headquarters in what used to be me Granfer's shop where he did bike repairs, charged batteries and sold vinegar and parafin. Ah happy days. Apparently, Pilton no longer needs this kind of service but to my way of thinking, it's a crying shame. Inow  know where I can go if I  want to get in touch with the old bugger on the other side but where on earth can I get a gallon of parafin when I want it?

Follow the link for a psychic supper

Bonjour mes amis... Aux armes citoyens.

France

Devon

France what a big lovely country although being part Slovenian gypsy I do not actually hold with their recent policy of repatriating my Romany bretheren, bruvvers whatever. But still I feel I have cause to celebrate the great nation of France as this weekend marks my first anniversary of the few days that I went all Bonnie Tyler and got lost in France.
I had missed the boat back from Santander in Northern Spain and Brittany Ferries steadfastly refused to allow me to travel on the next days crossing back to Plymouth if I didn't pay up £75. In a bit of a fit of pique and fortified by some rather good Cantabrian cider I told 'em where to put it. I had what I thought at the time was a rather good idea and decided to walk back to England. So off I set. I basically did the camino de santiago the wrong way round. A mixture of good fortune and public transport got me as far as Angouleme in France in only a few hours. However, that is when things came rather unstuck I knew I had £28 in my Abbey National account but when I tried to take some money out the atm rebooted itself and ate my card. So there I was in France with 7 euros to my name and a wineskin of Cantabrian cider. There was nothing else  for it. I walked and walked and walked and eventually after five days out on the road sleeping in churchyards, parks and a Red Cross hostal in Poitiers I made it to Lille. Where fortunately I managed to pick up a moneygram payment from Ian Stokey. I spent the seven euros on a phone carnet to get some cash out of him. He owed me a few quid for the work I did on his gran's hen house.
I have to say that the French people were marvelous during this oddysey. A few people just asked if I wanted a lift, the train guard after hearing my plight just wrote me out a proper ticket, the Gendarmes put me in touch with the social services who were relieved to discover that I had no intention of staying in France but were happy to give me some vouchers to get a meal and fill my knapsack at the PS headquarters in Poitiers.
I just think to myself would a skint Frenchie find such accommodation in the UK ? I have to say I think not. France and it's great republican secular espirit du coeur is a fabulous country even better when it has a lefty president.  Vive La France! Thank you France for the plums, the grapes, the walnuts, the baguettes and the response  that I, a rather footweary traveler,  received. Thank you to the people of Poitiers, Brie, La Rosnac, Ruffec and Tourniers.
Please accept this rendition of the Marsellaise as a token of my gratitude

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4K1q9Ntcr5g

One day we also may become true republicans!

This is a public service announcement..

As a good citizen I feel obliged to draw your attention to a new hazard of which visitors to North Devon should be made aware of.  A new danger which could prove to be of a greater threat to life and limb than perilous rip tides, or walking along straggly paths high on windswept precipitous cliffs or, heaven forbid, finding yourself lost in outer Ilfracombe. The threat posed by this new peril is even the more alarming as it a potential hazard which could be encountered by visitor and local alike, such is it's ubiquitous and apparently innocuous presence throughout our region. So it is with a deep sense of social responsibility that I issue this warning in order to prevent further injury and deep distress. We don't want another holiday ruined or a person traumatised and scarred both physically and emotionally especially when all it takes is a for a few words of caution to be heeded in order for such tragedies to be averted.
Therefore I urge you please, please beware of the hot steak and gravy pasty. You have to be aware that these savoury delights, although a local specialty should be only eaten with extreme caution as when they are fresh out of the oven they tend to be hot.
Unfortunately,  it is with a heavy heart that I have to report that the existing warnings have proved to be wholly inadequate in the wake of last weeks tragic maiming and permanent disfigurement of a visitor.
The Journal has reported that this poor woman had her whole weekend break ruined after biting into a Warren's steak and gravy pasty. The gravy was apparently at a temperature that was excessive, above boiling point, supra-heated and as it dribbled down her chin it caused extensive scarring which could still be seen the following day. She complained that not only was the pasty too hot but also there was too much gravy and she should have been warned by the staff at Warren's outlet in Braunton of this fact. from what I gather they apparently failed to treat the lady's grievance with the gravity it deserved. Instead of administering to the customers wounds I believe that they greeted her justifiable consternation with hoots of derision. Shocking. Now the injured party is in two minds as to whether she will be visiting North Devon again and as she works with members of the public and this disfigurement has caused her to become extremely self conscious, she is considering litigation. She is of the opinion that nobody is taking her plight seriously.
On behalf of myself I would like to assure the lady concerned that this is far from the truth. I was so deeply distressed by this incident that I took it upon myself to make up some relevant warning signage and I caught the bus, post haste, down to Braunton, where I marched into the said branch of Warren's and demanded that my warning signs which I may add I have also submitted along with details of the case to ROSPA, be displayed prominently in and around the pasty counter. Head office had obviously had a word with them as they were nothing but courteous to my good self and assured me that the signs would go up as soon as the next batch of steak and gravy pasties were out of the thermo-nuclear device they call an oven. Of course I don't think they would have extended me such courtesy had I not explained to them that I am one of their best customers and that Warren's is an advertiser on my site. I also consider myself to be  something of a local expert on health and safety matters after having been on a course when I was working up at Tucker's Turkey Farm out at Goodleigh last Xmas.
I am happy that in the future visitors to North Devon can fully appreciate the beauty of our region, the long sandy beaches, the fine coastal views, the wooded valleys and high moors without the threat of it all being ruined by the nightmare scenario of having hot pasty gravy dribbling down your chin.

A Gated Community....

It has come to my attention that there are plans afoot to erect gates at both the Butcher's Row and Market Street entrance to the Pannier Market which will be locked up during the evening and night or when the market is not in use. In effect this means blocking off a part of a public highway and a thoroughfare that has been in existence since the existing old part of the town was laid out in medieval times. This road was initially the end of market street and the pannier market was built over the top of it some one hundred and fifty years ago, hundreds of years after it was originally laid out.
The reckoning behind this is that it will thwart bands of drunken brigands from marauding through the market of an evening causing untold thousands of pounds worth of damage per anumn by their acts of vandalism and urination and as condoms were once discovered I dare say copulation. Who'd have thought it. People weeing in the market and walking through there after a few drinks. Barum what's it coming to? Going to the dogs, at least that's what some people would have you believe. Of course, as a local lad who grew up in the town centre all I have to say is so what. Is it really a problem that requires such a draconian measure, closing off an ancient public highway, in order to resolve it.

To my mind these sort of nocturnal activities have been going on in this area for generations and generations. I dread to think what occurred in that part of town on market days in the 18th century, when Barum was a thriving port and when it wasn't only the farmers who bought there wares into town. I myself recall as a kid all sorts of things taking place in the rather insalubrious environs of the Market Street toilets and of an evening we local guttersnipes and tearaways would use the place as our sports hall playing British bulldog and that age old game of wellying a ball as hard as possible off the walls and off each other. I recall that it was also used as car park which provided rich pickings from chrome auto decals.

It is an ancient public space and should in these days of the privatization of urban centres it should remain so. Green Lanes shopping centre is locked at night but it shouldn't be really as it was built over the old Green Lane and this was another ancient thouroughfare. The people who manage the space also have the right to turn people away as I found out the other day when I was escorted out of Wilco's.

If such people whose solution to age old problems seems to be to lock things up, turn people away and gate themselves in and others out really want to continue with this sort of action why don't they just go the whole hog and petition the council to re-instate the old town gates. That should solve the problem of anti-social behaviour Instead of them existing these days solelyin the names of chain pubs and dodgy motels they could be resurrected. This would not only appease the store holders concerns, but also would satisfy those of us with an interest in our heritage and it would also provide
a tough sentence for those ne'r do wells who continue to flout the law, they could do their community service breaking rocks for the new gatehouses. That should make 'em think twice before the have a quick waz behind the telephone box in the pannier market.

Autumn Watch - a Comorant or a Shag? That is the question.

A majestic looking cormorant. Or is it a shag?

While meandering along the banks of the River Yeo this morning alongside Pilton Park I couldn't help but notice what I assumed to be a cormorant preening himself on a pebbly island just beneath Pilton Bridge. He cut quite a sight, spreading his wings to dry them in the early morning sunlight. He'd also caused quite a stir amoung the local duck population as they were raising a right old quack obviously rather put out by his presence, this seemed to bring in all the ducks from around about as there was a steady stream of them paddling indignantly up the river to see what all the fuss was about.
The thing is once one person stops to peer over Pilton Bridge everyone else who passes by follows suit and being pension day the bridge was quite busy and after only a few moments there was a fair old crowd of our local old folk with nothing much better to do at this time of day, looking out over at the melee that was going on below.
One chap who must have been in his nineties claimed that he knew the bird in question and that at this time of year it was always to be found in this part of the river. I've often seen them off the Longbridge and out on the sandbanks in the estuary, but not this far up in Pilton. However, on this particular matter I bowed to his seniority and conviction. Fair enough bey, whom I to question that? But I must say I think he was wrong when he insisted on calling it a shag. I told him time and time again I thought it was a cormorant the woman who sits outside the Almshouses was passing by and she overheard our debate which was getting quite heated by now and she proceeded to throw her oar in by saying that they were one and the same.
Well, I told 'em there's only one way to find out and that is to e-mail that Bill Oddie. So I told them that was what I was determined to do to settle the argument so after telling them I'd be back directly I am now in the Library waiting for Bill's response.

AAh hah, Bill has got back to me in super quick time I thought he would as I have often had cause to consult him on assorted ornithological matters over the years.
Well it seems old Missus Passmore from the Almshouses is right they are indeed one and the same species of bird.They are both of the family Phalacrocoracidae of which there are two species in the UK, one has a crest and one doesn't. Apparently, there has been attempts to separate the two by calling one shags and the other cormorants but this was abandoned. So there you go. Bill also added that the collective noun for shags and cormorants is a wreck. Cheers Bill, lovely chap and a veritable mine of information when it comes to birding matters

Bleddy heck I reckon it's abit fresh this morning

Pilton

San Francisco... twin towns now

I just come back from young Bob Cobley's place, just now and as I was ambling through the church yard I couldn't fail to notice that all the leaves are turning and the conkers are dropping. I love this time of year. I sat for a while up by me gramp's stone and had a look out over the way bleddy lovely. As I was there I was approached by a young couple who asked me what time the service was as they correctly assumed that was why the bells were ringing out. I told 'em that it was at 10.30 and they asked me if I was going but I had to say that I wasn't wearing my Sunday best and anyway I am a Catholic. They both had an accent but I couldn't quite place it, turns out they were both from San Fransisco in the USA. I thought to myslef at the time that was a bit of a coincidence as yesterday I was at Ian Stokey's wedding out at Broomhill and he got married to a maid from San Fran as they call it. Funny thing was they were there too but I don't recall them. Mind you Stokey had a tab running and they do serve a lovely drop of super organic cider out there.

No, no don't stop the carnival....

A smashing time was had last Saturday watching the carnival trundle it's way around town. There were bleddy thousands there and I must have shaken hands with half of them as I walked along the route pushing Ivor Thomas's daughter's chihuaua in an old pram popping in all the pubs along the way to rattle my tin of course it was fare to say that I was blathered by the end of it but it was all in a good cause, I just wish I could remember which one. I do recall though at the end of it sitting in the Marhall's with the lads having a chat over a game of euchre and the general consensus was that although the carnival is an annual event which should be protected and certainly this year is well supported  it lacks a certain something. I don't know you have to admit that once you have seen one bunch of majorettes you have seen them all and a lot of the floats just seemed full of fat maids not doing much in particular, half heartedly waving and looking a bit cold. Someone, mentioned I think it was Ian Stokey, he said that down 'Combe they have a cycle race around the town after the parade and in that downtime before the fireworks start. That got us all to thinking what could Barnstaple have? All sorts of suggestions were put forward ranging from tug of war, rowing or gun carriage assembly. But I have to say that my idea seemed to grip everyone's imagination, bull running. To my mind there is no doubt in my mind that would liven things up. Let them loose in the Civic Centre carpark and they could be chased up the strand and into the Square where they could run amok and everyone would have to try and get out of the way before some experienced cowmen could herd them up in the Bus Station. We agreed that you could have prizes for the bravest bey and maid and for the owner of the feistiest bull. I mean they do this sort of thing all the time in Spain and they seem to have a rare old time, so why can't we. I think next time I bump into a member of the Carnival Committee I might have a word.
As we walked down to watch the fireworks at castle quay we were all very exited about this prospective addition to our annual civic entertainment. I have to say though that the fireworks this year did not disappoint,  it was the best display ever and the reflections of the cloudbursts on the Taw along with the acrid smell of gunpowder smoke was a real treat for the senses. It seemed to go on forever but I may have just been imagining it as it seemed all a bit over vivid I reckon that might have been something to do with the fact that all I'd eaten all day was a piece of banana cake from Pilton Stores I'm sure that where Stokey said it came from.

The first night of the fair.......

Talking about ancient traditions, today sees the opening of Barnstaple Fair and there isn't a greater local tradition than this. Later on the fair will be opened by the Mayor and assorted blimmin' civic dignitaries and the old glove will be poked out of the little window high up in the eves of the guildhall and jiggled about thus signaling the start of the festivities
I'm going to be mozing down there meself in a bit to see what's going on. I'm meeting up with Messers Charlie Street and Dart and a few of the lads in the Marshalls and then after a couple of pints we'll no doubt go over to Seven Bretherens Bank  to pick up a bit of supper, nothing like Fair burger or hot dog and a packet of brandy snaps, maybe a bag of candy floss before reporting back to the pub to tell them all about the new rides and stuff. Old Darty always likes to pay a visit to Gypsy Accora to check in and see how is Mum is getting on, so no doubt he'll be full of tales from the other side, mazed fool.
In years gone by the arrival of the fair was always a great event in my calender. I'd always pop down there just as they started arriving on the sunday before and offer me services setting things up in exchange I was always useful to them as I knew where they could lay there hands on some spare coconuts or goldfish if they were running short. They also seemed to seek me out for giving them advice on where they could pick up assorted bits and pieces of electrical equipment. To this day I never know why they wanted so many car batteries.

As I got older I always wanted to work on the waltzers as the blokes who worked on that ride taking the money and spinning around the bucket seats always caught the eye of the maids and I've heard some pretty lurid tales of what they'd get up to during their breaks behind the sheep with two heads booth. The girls would be queuing up. Infact, year in year out the population of girls in North Devon would drop dramatically after the visit of the fair as they'd just disappear, One week they'd all be in the back of Devito's the next weekend gone, just like that, strange goings on. One year I finally got me chance but unfortunately due to an ear infection which effected my balance I fell off and was thrown into the hoopla stand. I managed to get back on but I was feeling a bit giddy and I threw up over Mandy Yeo and her friends. She still refuses to speak to me 27 years later. So, after only a few minutes I was bumped off that ride. I tried my hand on the dodgems but was severely electrocuted due to some dodgy wiring but fortunately I acted as the earth so no one else was hurt.
The next year I finally found my niche I was given the job of taking the money for Rhona the Rat Woman and I was quite happy standing outside her booth taking 10p's from the clammy hands of the gents who were eager to get inside and have a look at this modern marvel. Rhonna, bless her, would sit in a perspex box dressed in an alluring turquoise negligee surrounded by some rather lazy looking rats what would spend most of the time cowering in the corners so when the punters came in she'd have to grab them and drape them all over herself while making a noise to give the impression that she was enjoying it. I did this for a few years until one year Rhona didn't turn up. Apparently, she'd gone all high and mighty after appearing with her rats on the Generation Game, I must have missed that one.
I still carry a bit of a torch for her to tell you the truth. Happy days.
Still, I'm sure me and the beys will have some fun. I must remember to keep off the waltzers though as I'm wearing me best suit. I can't drink to much neither as I've promised me nephew a gonk from the shooting gallery.

Riverside leisure pursuits...... bring back the raft race

I was having a chat the other evening down at the reform with the bloke behind the Barnstaple Pilot Gig rowing club. I'd seen the bloke about, at the Pilton Festival and he's been in the Journal a few times trying to get more people involved in what to my mind is a valiant effort to get folk out and about on the River, so I thought I'd make myself known to him. We had a good old natter I told him that his endeavours seem to have captured the imagination of local people and I knew of a few people who had expressed an interest to me in getting involved. I told him how I thought it was a deep shame that a town like Barum with such an illustrious maritime history does not make more use in the river or more of our now redundant quaysides and that they could be used for much better purposes than car parking. In these instances I always cite Bideford who always seem to look out on to their river while we in Barum tend to turn away from it. Anyway, he told me that the Barnstaple Gig club had secured the use of the old boat building on Rolle (s) Quay which has laid in a state of rack and ruin for many years now. I was mightily impressed by this revelation as for years now I have been petitioning all and sundry about getting on and doing something about the place.
 As the natch flowed I found meself signing up for the club, even though at the time I had a bugger of a bad back, and the chap seemed impressed by my previous rowing experience especially after  I reminded him that I used to be a bit of a celebrity along the banks of the Taw as I was part of the Kirkham's Tyres Team which won the raft race two years in a row back in 1976 and '77. We both agreed that the Raft race was a proper community activity and is much missed and he seemed very keen to know more about my plans for reviving this ancient local tradition. I also told him how I keep my oar in like by doing a bit of dragnetting for salmon down at Ashford Strand during the season. He took my contact details but funny enough I haven't heard anything from him yet. I can't think why.
Yesterday, I was cycling along the river on the Tarka Trail and I was pondering about this when I happened upon another club which is making a greater use of our coastal location, namely the Taw and Tarka Trail Angling and Drinking Club. I've been hailed by these fellows a few times now as I've cycled passed so yesterday I stopped off and had a word to see what they are up to. Basically, they meet everyday by the Pottington turn off on the coast path or if the weather is inclement they shelter under the span of the downstream bridge, they cast out a few lines if the tide is right then they crack into large blue bottles of cider and then sit and heartily greet other users of the path. They also like to impart their local knowledge by providing an informal tourist information service and will come to the rescue of any cyclist in distress offering free bike maintenance advice and tips. The angling seemed a rather secondary activity as all the time I was there the lines went largely slack and ignored. I now report that having cycled up to the CO-OP and bought a coupe of two litre bottles of Blackthorn, proper juice not the muck they were drinking, I was received enthusiastically into the club.
To my mind this sort of organisation is just what David Cameron is going on about and after yesterday afternoon I am a little more optimistic that his ideas of a Big Society may actually work.

http://www.barnstaplepilotgigclub.co.uk/

Mitsubishis off the roads....

Over the summer months I have been able to identify a particular hazard on our local highways and byeways. It became apparent to me that a disproportionate amount of bad and sheer belligerent driving could be apportioned to the drivers and owners of these here Mitsubishi SUV vehicles and not only the marque as a whole but specifically the Animal range. The drivers of these particular conveyances stand out quite literally, judging by the the size of the bleddy things, by a few chassis lengths of other road users in my own survey of seasonal driving.

The other evening I was cycling along the top road to Braunton, between Ashford and Heanton on a foraging expedition stopping at gateways to cast an eye over the fields for mushrooms and peering into hedges for juicy blackberries also keeping an eye out on the verge for a chance encounter with a dead or dying pheasant as you do at this time of year. When bugger me  by the Chivenor turn off I found myself being cast into a ditch as one of these leviathans of the lanes came hurtling round a tight bend in the road going at some speed and missing me by bleddy inches, less than that. I scrambled to my feet and instinctively raised a few digits to the retreating vehicle. Upon which the driver slammed on his brakes and with his multiple reverse lights on full beam and his wheels spinning raising quite a cloud of dust he proceeded to snake menacingly back towards me. Indignantly, I stood me ground I was on my own territory and I was in the right. In this situation no buggers going to shift me. Anyways, he got within a few yards of me and came to a halt and as I marched up toward the cab to give him a piece of my mind, a fat sunburned piggy eyed face poked itself out of the side window and proceeded to give me a mouthful of cockney invective before shifting back into gear and careering back off up the road. I was so besides meself that I lobbed me cider bidon at him fortunately it missed and I was able to retrieve it, but it just shows you how mad I was.

These particular vehicles and their drivers are a bleddy menace. I've seen them pulling caravans, I've seen them two abreast getting stuck in lanes and I saw one which looked like a stretch hearse with it's blackened out windows and elongated cab jackknifed across Braunton as the driver attempted to come out of South Street taking adavantage of a well known rat run. I also saw one, festooned with surf boards and watersports equipment including a jet ski brazenly driving along the beach at Crowe Point.

What is with Mitsubishi Animals and their drivers that seem to make them think of themselves as a breed apart above and beyond normal folk, although really coming across as a bunch of asocial, mazed fools?
The other evening while watching the Transformers film on telly I think I found the answer. The design of these cars owes a lot to the Transformers look, the bull bars, the overuse of chrome, the glossy lurid paintwork of some models,  as does the Animal logo. So, I think it's fair to assume that a lot of the drivers obviously see themselves at the helm of a malevolent autobot carving up mere mortals on the highways while also embracing a dudish surf lifestyle. Basically, they are owned and driven by a bunch of people who live in a world dangrously bordering on fanatsy where their childish dreams have been made manifest in vehicular form. A Tonka toy big truck that really drives or a truck that morphs into a cybertron on the A361.
Call me unreasonable but I don't think that it is, in any circumstance, particularly safe or healthy what so bleddy ever to allow this sort of person on the road.