Blue slipper, treacle and true love

Much to my surprise I am loving Twitter. It is not the ability to share inane but short messages or for the followers but for the connection. I have followed pretty much every link that includes the isle of wight and the regular updates make me feel even closer to my home to be. I am an avid follower of on the wight and county press but with twitter I can wake up to a picture or some snippet of news every day, what could be better.

Recent pictures of portsmouth harbour, Southsea beach and the King Lud viewed from the end of the pier have made me ache to be back on the most gorgeous county island. I read of the closure of Freshwater doctor’s surgery with alarm. My heart goes out to those affected by the latest slip at undercliff drive. I remember many years ago speaking to an elderly and life long resident of Steephill cove and being astounded by her frank acceptance of the effects of blue slipper clay. The rotational slips are a feature of this side of the island and their expertise and experience means they are managed and accepted, there is a price to pay for such beauty I guess.

I have a constant and gnawing need to walk along the promenade at Ventnor before pushing my knee to walk up the punishing hill. To drive along the glorious military road, winding down into Black gang before passing the White Mouse Inn and rising up to the vista of the cliffs. Finally dropping down into Freshwater bay and strolling to the Albion to watch the ocean caressing the bay as if it shares my love. I want to walk over the coastal path to the Needles, sucking in the view of the mainland and the wonderful comfort that I find in the separation afforded by the Solent.

To wander without a care around Yarmouth town with a resident population of less than 1000 in the winter and the seasonal hibernation in Cowes. I want to feel the weight of life lifting from my shoulders as I take the left turn into St Thomas street and see the shimmer of the ocean at the bottom of the street, as it always does. I look forward, more each day, to the time when arriving at fishbourne or ryde means that I have come home and not that I have arrived. I look forward to an ever reducing number of trips to the mainland and most of all to a sunday afternoon stroll along my Appley beach.
From the world of hotel residency I bring you the joy of an alarm at 04.00, more joyful when the adjacent room finishes their party at 2 am! On leaving the room I grabbed the TV remote to shut it down and then realised that paper thin walls work both ways. Notching up the volume I noted groans from next door with some satisfaction before strolling down the corridor.

Finally I would like to share with you the latest round with Ms Nature. My left knee and, to some degree, my hip have been playing up this week. The result is tightening of the joints and associated pain but more annoyingly a limp. Occasionally I get a sharp stabbing pain that is quite debilitating or a lock up that inevitably defeats perambulation but the limp is worse. The limp, you see, is her way of gaining a point.

I get up from my chair to walk to a meeting, the knee is tight and sore so I limp. As soon as I realise that I am limping I snarl at Ms Nature and fight back, forcing normal behaviour. To some degree this must make me look like I am gunning for sympathy, I am not. This is simply tiredness or distraction making me forget to test the knee before I set off. Yesterday was a cool but pleasant day and when I left work I decided that a walk to the superstore was in order, just to keep the knee in line. The knee complained as did the hip but they also achieved what was asked of them.

I returned to the hotel, had a shower and settled in for the evening. My wrists had come to the party now with a pain like a hot rivet had been inserted in place of a screw. Having subdued Ms Nature enough to sleep I drifted off with a victorious smile. Awaking in the night for the toilet I jumped out of bed, took one step and collapsed. I only just missed head-butting the door frame, my knee was swollen and felt like it had been filled with treacle. As I righted myself and limped to the bathroom I am sure I heard Ms Nature cackling behind me. . . 

Rolling over and the myth of gardens

I think that being ‘on pause’ is making me even older than life is. I received a letter this weekend from my estate agent kindly informing me that they intend to increase my rent again. This is neither a surprise or unreasonable since, like most things in my life, my rent is negotiated on a long-term. The letter advised me that the new rent had been considered against the market which was a challenge that I could not resist. A quick check found that my apartment is indeed still good value when you consider its location. But one property, sharing the glorious ocean views, in much better condition was on the market for the same as my new rental figure. One significant point that the landlord has overlooked is supply and demand, there being significantly more of the former than the later. Now normally I would argue and debate the matter but I have just penned an acceptance letter. You see that is one of the problems with having your life on hold, it takes the fight out of you. There is no benefit in starting an argument now and dealing with the potential repercussions because my life is not yet my own.

Whilst life may be on hold it doesn’t detract from my plan, it is like I know where I am heading but I just can’t progress at the moment. Like an exercise bike in a gym the pedals are going around but I am growing no nearer. This morning I performed a much more interesting search and confirmed that there remains a wealth of property in my current price bracket on the Island. There is no point in me moving my home address now when I intend to do it again relatively soon so I will post the acceptance letter. I am though, considering how I can work the principle of ‘killing the goose that lays the golden egg’ into my eventual termination letter.

I have to, because I am English, mention the weather. It has been a really nice weekend at the coast but I think my view may not be held by all. Having had a week in London in blazing sun I was delighted to be met by a sea breeze and even a mist. Whilst I love the sun it is not suited to town life, it just saps the energy out of you walking around sun-scorched towns. The refreshing sea air has reinvigorated me for the week ahead and, let’s be honest, it normally turns brighter on a Monday when you’re heading to work.

There is a perennial discussion amongst single men at this time of year, garden or views? The established wisdom is that if you have a garden and you have children then you will spend more time and, by corollary, less money because you will be in the garden. I believe that the garden is a myth, a fantasy that is very far from reality. I challenged a friend over the weekend and asked when he would have cut the grass in the past. Quick as a flash the answer was middle of the week with a beer while the Mrs was cooking dinner. Now in his new arrangement he would have to cut the grass and cook the dinner right? You see the garden is the ultimate greener grass, sure we all think that they are a great idea when we don’t have one but they are just hard work. You look at the sun and fantisise about laying on your lush and verdant lawn with a cold beer in hand and the smell of BBQ wafting past. The reality is that you will be shouting at the kids who are bored as you battle the lawnmower through weeks of growth that you haven’t got round to. By the time that you have finished you will be too exhausted to play with the grass stained urchins that are your children. You will suggest a BBQ to be told that the kids want Pizza and will then spend your evening indoors drinking a beer whilst filling the washing machine and searching google for ways to remove grass stains.

Don’t let the garden owners sway you, like a Ferrari it is great to look at but would you want to run one? An apartment with a view is great, a stroll over the road and you can sit on the beach with a cold beer just don’t do it at 3 am or you may meet me there.

For those that take an interest in matters of my recovery I can report that I have eventually secured the Dermatix so will be reporting on that in due course. I am still unsure as to what I have done to upset the wicked Ms Nature but both wrists are very keen to make themselves known. I actually reverted to two hands this morning to pick up the kettle for fear of dropping it. Before anybody notes the weather I should say that I still steadfastly refuse to believe that atmospherics has anything to do with it.

It is not tourism if you don’t go home

One other gem from a weekend of tourism returned to me this morning. The guy that, whilst waiting to be served at the bar, turned to the man next to him and commented that he had driven up from London and the traffic was bad.  The response of “Me to” seemed to astound him, odd because I thought that the busy roads would have been the clue. Apparently both of these people believed that they had discovered the unique coastal hideaway. No wonder these guys love the town, what with everybody speaking the same as them and acting like tourists so they feel at home. The lengths we go to for the tourist pound eh?

I can’t help loving summertime at the coast though and it is reminding me of my mission, just as soon as I come off pause. A review of rightmove tells me that there are plenty of wonderful properties to live in while pub chasing, not that I ever doubted it. My work remains a challenging environment and budgets are tight here as everywhere. I don’t know if this role will be able to support my relocation but I am sure that the distance to London is achievable so I will be able to find a role that does. How I accommodate the relocation is simply a matter of logistics, the relocation itself is important. After all we work to live don’t we? I enjoyed my most favourite reflection opportunity this weekend having awoken at 3 am on Saturday morning. After selecting an ice-cold bottle of beer (thanks Dave), I walked across the road to the beach. Standing on an undisturbed beach listening to the ocean in a gentle breeze is better than any of that meditation.

Life is a long road and sometimes it really does seem like your goals are always moving further ahead. Those moments of reflection allow me to remember that all of those hard to reach goals have been reached, this is no difference. I will spend my summer strolling Appley and, eventually, spending scant hours from my pub there.

Rock clinging and escaping bears

English seaside tourism really is something to behold. I watched the spectacle again yesterday afternoon as the wide sandy beach was divided into territories. With not a breath of air the wind breaks were still deployed as demarcation of property lines. Swingball, coolers and blankets are all put to use defining each families area of sand. The early arrivals secured waterside real estate with later arrivals having to tread a careful path through them to reach the ocean.

Now this is where nature (not Ms Nature) has her fun, at the expense of tourists who seem to have the memory of a goldfish. As the tide comes in so they move to higher ground. Estates shrink, barriers come down and people get closer. By mid afternoon tightly packed groups are clinging to the rock breakwaters and it’s standing room only on Albion beach. Like some sort of theatre they play out life in town as wide open spaces are exchanged for close proximity and tight spaces.

I wrote about the garbage issue with tourism yesterday, nature has her way of punishing that as well. Locals all know that Albion beach is not where you want to spend your time. Tourists bury their rubbish in the sand you see, presumably under some misguided belief that the ocean cleans it. The Albion beach only gets washed by the sea at the highest of tides. In effect the force of nature corrals the tourists into their own trash pit.

Lovely to see my friends doing a good trade this weekend. I did try and explain to their young barmaid that being exhausted and stinking of beer is the mark of a good shift but I don’t think I convinced her. For me the best shifts were those where I collapsed into bed too tired to shower. I am convinced stale beer helps with the aches and pains but, like a sticky bar floor, it is certainly the mark of a busy shift. It is also interesting how many people can run a busy pub. When a pub is full and turnover high everyone could do a better job, I never hear the same conversations on deathly January nights. Look at the number of failed pubs, behind every one of them is someone that could do it better. The skill of the publican is not just reflected in how he copes with busy times. It is more accurately reflected in how he copes with the quiet months, there is an awfully long year to ammortise brief profits over.

I discovered that Sean has added a virtual tour to his driftwood web page this weekend. It was almost as good as being there to walk through the photographs. I could almost feel the sand on the concrete floor and the sun burning through the windows. The pictures were shot on a nice day and looking out over the emerald ocean I swear I could feel the breeze coming through those windows and taste a cold Coors. A look at his merchandise display found a ‘sorry all items are currently out of stock’ I remember trying to purchase a driftwood teddy a few summers ago for an absent friend. When told they were out of stock I tried to talk Mona into selling me one from the display cabinet only to find it is sealed. They had the cabinet built around the merchandise meaning the only way in was to smash the glass! There is a lesson there I am sure. Mona managed to find me a spare teddy in the end and so the last bear to leave the driftwood made its way to Essex, I wonder where it is now….

Bring on the Appley

If that’s you who is this?

I would like to apologise to anybody that I failed to acknowledge yesterday. It was not that I didn’t recognise you it was that I almost recognised you and that just isn’t enough. Is it just me that gets those days? when almost everywhere you see people who are almost people who you know. I am not talking about a one-off doppelgänger but a veritable community of look a likes. I must have seen six people who were near replicas of friends but, on the double take, were not quite right.

I am sure that the Payntrix will have an explanation for this but I am between two ideas. Either I am in some sort of parallel universe where everyone has taken slightly different paths so look slightly different. If this theory is correct then they must also think that I look very similar to somebody that they know, I shall check this next time. The alternative is that either my brain or my eyes have adopted a fuzzy filter hence the apology at the beginning. I have posted before about human facial shape recognition which I see everywhere but this is something else. Yesterday was akin to watching a revival of an old movie, sure I know that’s Batman but he isn’t quite right.

In other news technology turned on me yesterday but it is ok we are friends again now. Last weekend I replaced my router at home, the old one was not performing. Given the relative cost of these devices I was left with little choice other than to buy the all singing all dancing one, honestly its true. So I now have the fastest wireless connection available to a broadband service that is uses spiders to carry the data packets to the exchange (even they have to take a break). Last night I settled down to some work, this involves logging on through my router with my work laptop, oh it sounds so easy. This has never been a problem before but last night it would connect but I still couldn’t see anything. Having rebooted windows the obligatory 4 times and repeated the same problem  I decided that it had to be the super complicated router. Out came the old router and all associated connections were made, conflicts resolved and…. the same result. Having reset everything to where it started and confirmed the issue still existed I cracked a beer and turned the TV on. This morning everything is ok, I wish I knew how my IT people know when I have new kit and why they always chose that precise time to have an issue.

Having shared the delightful young tomboy on the train (as wrong as that sounds) I have to share the young couple that I observed at the station yesterday. The young couple (early twenties) came complete with a small child in a buggy, said buggy being weighed down with shopping. Having arrived at the bench next to me on the station the young lady fished through the shopping and produced chocolate for the child and a pregnancy kit which I presumed wasn’t for the child. The young lady studied the box for a while, I have never understood this step surely they all say “pee on the stick”, and concluded it was what she expected. At this stage step forward her partner, ever chivalrous he wasn’t going to expect his Mrs to perform the test in public was he. Oh no our man had a better idea “there’s a thing down there go behind that”, the thing in question was a signal location box so think smaller than a standard wardrobe.

They looked reasonably pleased with the result but what if it is positive? Do they name their child Platform One ‘cos that’s where we found out init’. Imagine the stories when the child is older ‘we went up town and robbed a test outa savers, that’s when we knew that little Nike was getting a brother or sister’. I know that I am old but I am alone in finding it sad that we seem to have lost the magic of parenthood.

A final note, more of a reminder really. I awoke at 5 am this morning grabbed a cup of tea and turned the PC on to get some bits done and I have to thank Sean. The Driftwood webcam (link below) showed that most glorious beach empty and peaceful and I have kept a studious eye on it as it wakes up. Thanks mate, wont be long till my Appley.

 (http://driftwoodbeachbar.com/webcam/)

For me, wherever I am . . . .

Since I started this blog I have come to become a vociferous blogger, to the point that I get annoyed with myself if I have not posted for a day or so. Normally my posts, as the new improved subtitle alludes to, are a window into my day, my mind and my life the posts form a collection of small glimpses into my day and a record of my progression along my path.

Occasionally I feel the need to place a stake in the ground a reminder of where I am along that path, a marker perhaps or a sign and this is one of those posts. I returned to my hotel room this evening and ordered a small set of weights for home, thank you Andrew for taking them in, this will allow me to perform the exercises that the physioterrorist wants me to do. I passed on the free drinks and snacks at the ‘VIP night’ in favour of my kindle and a cup of tea. My press ups for the evening comprised 30 reps and 15 minutes rest, come on I am an invalid, I managed 170 in total. Yes my arms were aching and burning, the scar on righty was leaking a little clear plasma but then I brushed my hair, most of which stayed on my head and jumped in a bath.

As I headed to the bath I recognised the fella I saw in the mirror, he was old, he was tired and had some funny angles but for all that he looked, just a little, like a fella I used to know. I miss my children terribly and am really struggling with holding my finger on the pause button but I am incredibly lucky to have the support of so many good people around me and no matter how many times I say it you will never know how grateful I am.

Hey its a long road but I have directions to Appley, the day will come and I look forward to sharing.

Is it the smell of cotton candy?

Or some other odd psychological trigger? I have spent my spare time this weekend scouring Rightmove and Gully Howard for options that lead me to the Isle. Rightmove wins out at the moment as there are no freeholds on GH, not such a bad thing as I still have some way to go before I am actually actively searching. Rightmove allows you to click-through to a google streetview and, as my home town stirs from its winter hibernation, I can almost feel the sun on my back and smell the chip and hotdog smell that has become our coastal scent. This is what I find so wonderful about coastal towns, that dawning season is going to annoy and challenge me, tourists that throw garbage all over the place, drink too much and are generally unsociable but it’s still somehow lovely. I will rant about the sheer size of some people during the summer, the ludicrous outfits they wear and the terrible way that they deal with their children but home (and home to be) would not be the same without the seasonal influx and I don’t just mean because of the money.

I don’t know why I love sharing my beautiful town with hordes of less than beautiful people, although I should point out that they are not all bad. The best that I have come up with is that this is like people coming to stay with you but on a bigger scale, instead of lending out my spare room I am lending out my town and the fact that people want to come must mean that I am right to love the place. I guess this is a reassurance that there is a reason why I live here and of course it gives rise to the delight of a sunny Sunday afternoon with a cold beer watching the long line of cars slowly heading back home. Whatever it is, I get a small tingle of excitement this time of year as I anticipate warm sunny days by the beach.

 

Bring on the Appley

Its not quite there . . . .

Well its not quite my Appley beach but in a spirit of glass half full, as sponsored by Jo, I thought a snap of this winter’s morning scene was fitting.

The same principle operates here as it does in Appley, the kiosk that you can see is full of children selecting their ice cream in the Summer, as well as the ubiquitous lobster red adults clamouring for chips like baby seagulls!

Its these scenes that remind me of the intrinsic beauty of nature and make me realise how insignificant we are in the great scheme of things.

Reflection

Reflection is good for us but in our busy lifes we rarely spend enough time doing it. The accident and the resultant changes to life and plans give plenty of opportunity to reflect, in fact its hard not to reflect when holding your cell phone generates shooting pains through your wrist*.

Some people have spoken about the Appley tag and I thought it worth refreshing, and recording, what it is that it means. Many thousands of people experience the beauty of a sun drenched Appley beach but the audience for the snow covered winter view is very much smaller.

I have gorgeous pictures of storms breaking over the pier at home thanks to the wonderful Nigel Pepper (google him) and they evoke the same emotion. Tourist areas you see don’t give themselves easily, sure you spend time in them, you enjoy them and form memories in them but your part of a high volume that passes through your not part of the place.

These places give themselves to you and embrace you when you share the pristine beauty of the desolate winter scene, that’s when these beautiful places become home, its when they give you their secrets.

That is what the Appley scene means to me, it means that I have made my home, means that I have shared the times that are reserved for the small audience that belong to an area.

The ability to take that stroll, on that beach, at that time will allow me to reflect, and that reflection will be from a changed position, a different perspective and will mark an achievement for me.

Its a long road, there are some twists in it (just like my wrists) but hey as Debs reminded me last week, I had a very bad prognosis but I’ve surpassed every expectation and I have no intention of stopping.

I may be running late but I will make my Appley

*Of course I refuse to change position in response, they will learn who is in control here

Hmm limits

This time it’s not pretend old age, travelling didn’t take it out of me, mostly because I refuse to accept that any more! I was up at 5 am and not home till 16:30, although a fair part of that was spent killing time in Ipswich before the Colchester appointment.

As part of my fitness and energy drive I prefer walking over anything else, I like to think that it is making my dodgy knee learn its lesson ‘the only way is my way’. I may have underestimated the amount of walking today, its 3.5 miles to Ipswich hospital and 1.2 to Colchester so as round trips that’s 9.4 miles, through in some walking around both sites, to the station at home and around town and we are probably nearer 12 miles!

I am not claiming that this is a marathon but then I’m not claiming I could even crawl a marathon if I tried. I am however not in the peak of physical condition, my knee has not yet learnt the lesson that i am trying to teach it and is complaining bitterly at today’s lectures. My left knee is a good 50% bigger than the right knee, won’t bend properly and is not happy taking weight, it appears to be having a tantrum against the exercise.

As a convenient addition my right wrist is reminding me of the number of times that I increased the limits on the rotation device today. My measured setting was -46 +65 and after a couple of rounds, with the assistance of Ben, we had -75 +90! Bearing in mind that the setting at the start involves straining to the maximum I can achieve in each direction it’s little surprise that increasing the numbers at this rate means my wrist is swollen and sore now as well as my knee.

They will all learn, bring on Appley