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A nice day on St Aldates, Oxford

I followed David Tennant‘s career since Early Doors, then Shameless, and his film career including Last King of Scotland and I even tolerated Wanted…hang on, a colleague has just pointed out I’m thinking of James McAvoy.  Oh well, David Tennant is okay, too.

A friend’s daughter (Stateside) seems fond enough of him, though.  Her dad, a photographer I met at the Meet Rack (and who shot the otherwise unacknowledged photo of me during my CNN interview for the 30 Pack Marathon), used the ‘Buy Me A Beer’ page to put in a compelling request for assistance for her birthday present.  Needing someone with access to Royal Mail, I was tapped to send the SASE mentioned in this letter:

The Helen Mirren Stamp is the £1.88 overseas postage; the other is domestic 1st Class and just added on for the birthday girl

Knowing this guy, it could just be for a stripper.  In fact, I rather hope that’s the case (he says her ‘mother’ is going to shoot some video).  In the meantime, I don’t really care since he sent along enough Paypal pounds to buy the office supplies and postage and a few beers (the first one of which, at the Bear, Oxford, can be seen just above the souvenir stamps…I threw in the Dr. Who stamp of Tennant and kept the rest for my own use).

Pre-lunch half pint of Chiswick for the Doctor (that is to say, me)

So we can call it at 11:55 British Summer Time the 19th of June 2013, the request and supporting materials were posted to the Victorian postbox on South Parks Road.  Godspeed.

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Email newsletter came in (haven’t read this article) that reminded me of the many instances of Surprising Things That Ruined A Run.

Actual examples from my past (some more than once):

*Fresh mountain lion tracks spotted in a box canyon (Tucson)
*Unseen open manhole cover (Atlanta)
*Stopped by Savannah River Site security and some military helicopters (nuclear reservation, South Carolina)
*Sudden outbreak of gang turf war (Tucson)
*Arrest (Athens, GA)
*Tornado (Alabama and Southern Illinois–not the same tornado)
*Pot farm (North Georgia mountains near Cohutta…decided it might be prudent to re-plot my route through this one)
*Wildfires (California, Colorado, and Arizona)
*Flooding (Missouri, Arizona, Oxfordshire, and Wiltshire)
*War games (on the tank tracks around Ft. Stewart, GA, then again more recently in the Salisbury Plain)
*Struck by falling tree (Cook’s Trail, Athens, GA–required several stitches in forehead and caused massive changes in sense of smell and taste for about a month, as well)
*Armed robbery (Decatur, GA near Emory: guy looks through wallet while holding the gun on me and demands, “Credit cards…where are they?”; I laugh and say, “look at me, dude…do I LOOK like I have credit?” at which point he flings the wallet back at me and tells me to run which, ironically, is what I had been trying to do at the time)
*Struck by golf ball (Griffin, GA)
*Alligator in road (Brunswick and Savannah, GA) [also, venomous snakes on trail more places than I care to remember in Georgia, Alabama, Florida, Arizona, California, New Mexico, and Texas]
*Dead Family acid (surprising, everytime, just how quickly it hit and how clean it was, Atlanta and Athens, GA)
*Jumping Cholla cacti (Tucson–newby surprise)
*Lock maintenance 14km across the Afsluitdijk (had to turn around and go back)

And, most frequently: the pub at the turnaround point of a long run is closed for the afternoon or closed down completely (happens too often to keep up with).

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*For my 6th birthday, grandma put a crisp dollar bill in a card and instructed me to go get something I really wanted.  The then 3-year-old release of Bringing It All Back Home was on sale at Woolworth for 99 cents, and I really wanted Maggie’s Farm; this amused mom no end as she thought I would by a model or a giant bag of army men.  For this year’s birthday run, 45 years hence (yeah, I am now 51 years old), I loaded a shitload of Dylan on my mp3 player and headed to Trowbridge.

The route was simple and not too much of it off the paved surfaces, as you might be able to tell better from this link 
http://www.gmap-pedometer.com/?r=5951129
 than from the copy of the above map. A hard rain was forecast but for those lucky enough not to be expecting rain it was still not dark yet (but it was getting there)…there’s three paraphrased Dylan quotes in one sentence for those keeping score.

“My names Danny, aged 45, looking for married or single ladies for discreet [sic] adult fun 07751-497085″

Don’t forget that the country code is 44 if you ladies seek to contact Danny.  This was sighted at the Swindon Bus Station.

The above bridge was between Woolverton and Rode or, more importantly, between the Red Lion and the Cross Keys. The one below is in Trowbridge where the stream is a little more decorative.

There wasn’t a lot of graffiti, surprisingly.  The one below, spotted on the way out of Trowbridge, was a brief amusement; however, it was time for my boot heels to be wandering.

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Logged off the pc with this many:

Back on for some coffee next morning with this:

Quarter of a million (plus a shitload of phishing hits); and, most of the posts have an intended audience of 7-10 people.  The net is baffling.

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This has been a fun way to explore the town but I’m glad it reached its conclusion, with the other runs here:
Runs 1 and 2
Run number 3
Runs 4 and 5

My dance card for the Swindon Rounds Orienteering Challenge is nearly complete, so much so that you can guess the final markers although a Swindon Borough Council “Travel Choices” employee answered my query about some of the absences I discovered by saying I should just write “MISSING” in the slots where the markers have gone walkabout.  I’m sure some of these are the results of infrastructure updates, but she seemed certain there has been some vandalism-by-theft.  If so, it would have been more imaginative to pull a “wartime resistance action” by putting up homemade markers with the wrong letters or, better, something like this batch of 30:

I only wish I had thought of this BEFORE starting the rounds….

The southwest quadrant had one marker (19 J) remaining and I needed to pick up some groceries and so I hopped off the bus out the Wootton Bassett Road and found this one a mile away on a busy bike trail before doubling back to the rail trail into Old Town.  This was a very pleasant jog despite the swarms of gnats every 100 meters or so:

Next day, I bailed from the bus home at Greenbridge Roundabout for run #7 to pick up the last of the southeast quadrant markers while trying hard to find the missing 9 and 30 signs along the way but I can now confirm that there are no traces of the old markers within 100 meters in any direction of the mapped locations.  Moreover, the lamp posts at the site of #29 are relatively new and this marker was probably hauled away with the old equipment.  Shit, that’s four missing so far with only seven more to chase.

Run #8 took in a bit of the suburban northwest part of Swindon which is full of parks and bike paths and yobs.  Also, as you see above, geese (a gosling was being protected by a group of birds just out of frame to the left).

It was cold (6°C, 42°F) with sustained winds of 25 mph and gusts to 40 (but at least it was also raining). I searched all over for marker 17 G and passed it at least once.  The next one, 27 AA, was much easier to find and I took its lettering as a hint to head toward home and find some alcohol.

The final run, run #9, continued on to Purton Stoke for a pint at the Bell Inn and then to Cricklade for a disappointing kebab at Sammy’s.  First, though, there were a number of markers remaining but that were unusually easy to find (for a change).  Near St Mary’s, I picked up 13V and down the bottom of the hills beyond Thames Drive I found 15Z in the sun of this splendid day.

  

The suburban hellscape of northwest Swindon yielded the final two, 14K and 16R, and I was free to trot on to my beery reward:

  

The completed grid:

H, Q, AC, and AD are the ‘Missing’ markers and I infer that 29 and 30 are AC and AD, respectively.  If this is correct, you have a 50% shot at nailing down 6 and 9 as H or Q (although the authorities in charge have already stated that they will accept that the missing markers actually are missing if you annotate your form thus).  You can get the form at 
http://www.swindontravelchoices.co.uk/media/27966/swindon_cycle_orienteering_challenge_grid.pdf
 .  Let me know what the prize is and I’ll post it here soon thereafter.

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Friday and Saturday yielded two more little runs in the Orienteering Challenge with the other runs here:
Runs 1 and 2
Run number 3
Runs 6 through 9 (finish).

The first one involved a trip to the mega-Sainsbury’s in Even Swindon and began near the Outlet Centre where I eventually hunted down the marker quite distant from the location the organisers’ map indicated:

The plan was to loop over to my old neighbourhood and pick up two more on the way to stock up on wine, liquor and artichoke hearts for the weekend, but the #6 marker was missing, victim to new lamp posts and other construction removals (fences, etc) at the intersection of the Western Flyer path and the National Bike Path #45.  Still, once laden with 4 cans of chokes, 1.5 litres of vodka, and 3 each of wine (a box) and tonic I made my way home via Wootton Bassett Road to pick up a third marker for the trip.

  

Saturday, the holy war continued and I took a trot to Purton with a side trip into the parkland just north of the Link Centre.  The exit from this section put me in the Lydiard Park and Manor grounds in which I always get lost.

  

So, the score sheet now stands at:

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We were in the Swindon Arts Centre for another couple of Swindon Festival of Literature talks.  Tonight it was Steve Jones (NOT the Sex Pistol’s guitarist) speaking on genetics although, ostensibly, it was supposed to be about his book on the Bible retold as Science; after a short break for a beer and a glass of wine, it was the turn of Tom Holland to talk on the geopolitical situation of the 7th Century (common era) that paved the way for the domination of Islam where once Rome ruled…the drink helped immensely.  Last week we caught very entertaining presentations by Ken Liviongstone (former London Mayor known as Red Ken) and Martin Palmer on the things that the urban and rural landscapes inform us about the history of an area.

This is one of the great things about England.  There’s a bar EVERYWHERE.  This is essentially a library, but there are bars in gyms and leisure centres and several in the Houses of Parliament and, I should expect but can’t be sure, in churches.  I’m home!

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The subsequent runs are here:
Run number 3
Runs 4 and 5
Runs 6 through 9 (finish)

Spoiler alert…the orienteering control markers’ codes for the Swindon Rounds Orienteering Challenge are revealed here (or shall be as they become available).  The rough locations of the control markers is on the maps for the Swindon Rounds, here; some are missing (trust me) and the rough mappings are vastly improved on the map I am keeping (linked to the picture, above).

The first run went through Old Town to the trail head of the rail trail where marker #4 carried letter A.  My map proved faulty and I found a dead end before doubling back and then continuing through some woods near Nationwide’s HQ to get to the mountain bike trail in the Croft Wood for marker #26 (D):

There were some fairly straightforward paths to follow to find #1 (F) at the entrance to Coate Water and #28 — AB — at the lower end of Dorcan but then above the Dorcan Acadamy and the Leisure Centre adjacent I spent 20 minutes inspecting every fence, wall, lamp post, bus shelter, and bollard without finding #9…shit.

   

The next one was easy except I went off into a neighbourhood and had to retrace my steps to find it…#18, Y.  The next one should have been around the southeast corner of the New College but a slightly less rigorous inspection (ten minutes) of this shitty little buurt turned up fuck all for #30.  Heading home, I swung down through the Lawns and picked up #3 (N) before staggering home.

    

Day 2 was rainy and I didn’t feel like running but had it on the training schedule to do so headed out the Kingshill at the bottom of which I spotted the #5 marker with P in it.  The chase resumed from there:

Near the Western Flyer underpass I caught up with the #22 (C) and then dashed to the Magic Roundabout to pick up the #2, L, before squishing my way home where a shower and a roasting duck awaited.

  

So, if you are keeping score at home or want to cheat, here’s a copy of the current sheet.  Each correct space is worth points and “Points Mean Prizes!“

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The treatise before you seeks to introduce the uninformed world to Hashlam, the faith of Hashers worldwide, and to dispel the myths and innuendo that have developed due to prejudices brought on, too often, from the practice of its rites in view of the general public, insh’Gispert (G-willing).  The religious aspects are regularly covered on individual hashing sites and on Wikipedia; this entry will try to deal with some of the societal implications.

Most of the misinformation comes from the ambiguity and subtlety between the various forms of practice of Hashlam. Many of you will have heard of the two major sects, the Shites and the Sotties, with the Shites adherents of the PreLay (paths to the True Trail that exist before the journey is taken) while the Sotties believe in Live trails (often a misnomer) that must be discerned from freshly given divine clues.  Subtleties in belief and practice all too often result in G-Had as in the one called by a hasher known as Ibn-Love FatWa of the fundamentalist Sottie group known as the Arizona Larrikins (aka, Mr Happy’s) against a less well established Sottie sect known as Bike Hashlam (whose cultish offshoot, the Cycletologists, boasts many celebrity members) culminating in the flour fueled carpet bombing of the Bike Hash’s first Red Dress Run (this rite is described on most Hashing websites and will not be explored here).

Results of the Bike Hash G-Had

It may come as a surprise to many of you that Hashlam has its antecedents in the other two great Western religions, ie, Brewdaism and Trackstianity (which itself developed from the Brewdaic tradition via a more fundamentalist form of the Beer Run). In fact, the path to Hashlam, known as the True Trail, very often involves dabbling in one or both of the older faiths with even observant members of Orthodox Brewdaism taking up running and very sober members of Trackstian sects finding solace in a Brewish Temple.

It is written and widely believed that, having taken up the Way of the True Trail, it is impossible for one to leave. Liberal adherents believe the prescribed death of an ex-Hasher is meant to be figurative, but support groups such as Apostacy Alcoholics, or AA, have taken on many a wayward Hasher and are considered heretical organisations even by the most broad-minded believers. There may even be time to explore the Seven-ish Pillars of Hashlam, most famous of which being the Interhaaj in which every hasher of nearly the financial means is expected to go make an ass of himself in a foreign land.

In future postings, we hope to shed light on how Hashlam has integrated with Eastern religions such as the Budhists (of both the Budweiser and Budvar varieties) and the exotic Tindu pantheon of tinned (and bottled!) beverages.

The Centre for Hashlamic Studies was founded in 2013 by Slowsama-bin-Riden with the mission to examine and explain Hashlam’s place in out increasingly interdependent world. Slowsama can be contacted by the faithful via Hashspace and by the rest of you infidel dogs at dr.slowride@yahoo.com .

Gispert aleichem…aleichem,on-on.

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I was walking to the bus this morning when I spotted this rolling down Rolleston Street.  Note the residue in the top of the bottle and the cut-away bottom.  You can get a massive, 2 liter, almost purely smoke hit from one of these.

Cut the bottom off a 2 liter soda bottle, fit a bowl in the cap, fill the bowl, sink the bottle in a bucket of water (or bathtub or a pond…just so all the air is expelled), attach the bowl/lid assembly and light the weed in the bowl (you remembered to bring the dope, right?) as you slowly lift the bottle.  The falling water provides suction.  Stop lifting with an inch or so of the bottle still beneath the water surface and unscrew the lid.  A steady hand is necessary to keep from shooting the precious smoke out into the ether before you expel all the air from your lungs and lean over the top breathing it in as you force the bottle back into the water.  For maximum effect, stand bolt upright at the finish and hold your hands straight up over your head and then lower them, straight-armed, to your sides.  Have someone there to catch you if you black out.

Nostalgia, eh?

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While not a big fan of comic books*, I have really enjoyed the TV version of The Walking Dead although most of the pleasure comes from its setting (and location shooting) in the hinterlands where I spent the bulk of my youth between Griffin, Newnan, and Atlanta, Georgia. I can assure you that there have always been savage, unthinking monsters threatening the safety of the general public there and the depictions are as much horror show as they are like a family reunion. Very pleasant except for the occasional moments of terror.

So, the publication of Black Charity, a “graphic novel” [comic book] set in Swindon (my new home town) is greeted with some measure of excitement. I haven’t read it, but probably shall do. Thumbing through to find the drawings of dungeon scenes at the dominatrix’ flat some local landmarks featured in this blog have sprung to light including my local just down the Western Street hill, the Beehive, and another pub over in Wanborough, the Harrow.

Black Charity by Bal Speer, an art lecturer at the local college, is available at your local book store (don’t give those fuckers at Amazon any money).

——————————————————–
*As a kid, I tried to read comics but couldn’t really buy the story lines and generally stuck with the satirical periodicals. Mad Magazine got me through my early years although I had to have most of the superhero references explained to me. As I grew, I moved on to National Lampoon and then, in my teens made the leap to adult satire by reading the New York Times. Now I get most of my news and humour from the fortnightly delivery of Private Eye.

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I was having lunch when the first Thatcher joke hit my Twitter account and I thought I might do an obit detailing some weird Thatcher-related, fetishistic fantasy from my youth but I just couldn’t work up any enthusiasm for it (at least not the kind of enthusiasm the Brits, pro and con, seem capable of in their widely varied tributes).  I already did Betty this honour, anyway.

After all, I lived through Reagan and have listened for years to nonsense about him ending the Cold War, making America great again, saving capitalism, etc, etc.  Yet even though I have less direct experience than the locals do, my feelings for the Blue Lady are similarly visceral to those I have for Ronnie.  Lord Byron, felt much the same about Castlereagh…so, I might do no better than to paraphrase the one’s tribute to the other, here:

‘The end result we finally see
Of Mammon over me and you.
Here sits the urn of Mrs. T:
Squat, brothers, and poo.’

 

 

……………………..

Okay, for you Philistines out there who keep asking…Byron penned this out of his great respect for the late Castlereagh and all he did for the Irish:

‘Posterity will ne’er survey,
A nobler grave than this:
Here lie the bones of Castlereagh:
Stop, traveller, and piss.’ — Lord Byron

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It was warm and the sun came out roughly half the day.  I had huge piles of tree trimmings and an old picnic table to dispose of and bought an incinerator:

The incinerator top puts me in mind of Tom Terrific; when I mentioned this to Jackie she said, “me, too,” then we both paused two seconds and simultaneously said, “toot-toot.”

[Note how I have resisted mentioning the Tin Man in deference to the Beeb's cowardice over the whole Ding Dong the Witch is Dead kerfuffle.  Speaking of the Beeb, I took a break to go get some beer and noticed that the BBC Wiltshire is right across from Long's and the Victoria...how convenient for them but it begs the question of liquid courage and "if they only had the noive.".]

 

It still baffles me that it is legal to burn stuff in you garden here as they have rules for everything else.  Still, I would have needed a skip hire otherwise.

 

There were still embers emerging from the bottom of the incinerator the next morning.  It may stay hot for days.

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The long winter that started in November 2011 may finally be over as the leaves on trees begin to reappear.  We finally got to do some straightening of the garden this weekend by burning the trimmings I cut from our tree in between some of the snow days in February. Also, I was finally able to put our surviving cuttings from last year out to get some sun (I hope it isn’t too much of a shock).

When we decided to move house at the end of this past lease we realised we would probably be shifting back to container gardening.  Jackie wanted some butterfly bush (that’s what Southerners call buddleia back home) which grows wild along every roadside, while I was interested in trying out some bonsai plants.  I figured our non-green thumbs would have the least chance of killing our newest plants if I got some cuttings from plants that have already proven themselves robust.  Eventually, I settled on snips growing from the wall of the railway bridge over Corporation Street between Station Road and Great Western Way:

A light dusting with rooting hormone and transport home in wet paper towels before transfer into soil and covering with clear plastic bags followed.  Two weeks later when I removed the tents, the first new leaf buds greeted me (a good sign).

There’s still a couple of leaves on one of the thorn trees and the buddleia is looking good.  Hopefully there will be more to report next month:

If they survived the winter, they should survive anything….

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None of my nags died this year, and two finished:

Rare Bob was fifth, Seabass thirteenth.  Quel Esprit (my big hope for a nice celebratory bottle) pulled up at the 24th fence and Chicago Grey would have been dead last if he hadn’t pulled up at the final fence.  I should stick to Lotto, or scratch cards.

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Inspired by (linked to the London map):

2010:

2011-2012:

2013:

Stretham (2009) gets auto-corrected to the London neighbourhood of Streatham.  If you defer to it as “Ely is” then it get’s changed to Eli.

Further back, we have 2006-2009:

 

2004-2005:

 

2002-2004:

 

Good question.  Answer here.

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When I first scoped out Ludgershall ( pronounced LUH[d]-grrrr-SHAWL), I heard the live music from up the road but I was on a time constraint and wanted to take in as many venues as possible.  Thus I delayed the trip to the Queen’s Head but soon remedied it as I headed toward the Castle grounds.  Inside, I negotiated the crowd and got a Flying Scotsman at the bar (the Scotsman is always a good choice with the sort of iodine aftertaste you usually expect in malt whiskey).

The pub was hosting a family day, a sort of town fête with a number of bands, some barbecue, and far too many children.  But, the music was decent.

The band on while I was there were the Imposters, a cover band (of course…everyone in England is in a cover band) but a very good one…better than you would expect to open this sort of thing.  Still, I had a shirt to dump and had to move on.

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[Originally, this project was described here,  and you can see the most recent prior Update (3) here.]

25 March 2013:  Stir crazy from enforced rest (IT band injury), I took the admonition to limit exercise to gentle walks as including short, hilly hikes and went out into the unseasonable cold (winter set in around this time last year and just won’t fuck off).  Picking up a bit of the un-mapped sections of the EPiOT project was the aim, but I also lucked into a fantastic (if oddly situated) kebab stand to add to my annual challenge total:

   

26 March 2013:  Not a twinge after yesterday’s hike so with a half hour till sunset I headed out to the hills and exploring some of the ‘new build’ neighbourhood off Okus (I just know they must have a pub down in there, but haven’t yet found it).  Coming back via Grosvenor then William Street, there were some compelling stairs near an old school house that now hosts Swindon Silicon (the Boy’s Entrance is just behind that fence in the photo).  Unusually bad luck with dead ends on the steep Fairview (next to the Radnor Street Cemetery) and again on an alley, but that’s part of the fun, eh?

  

 

 

29 March 2013: There was sun.  No, really (I say this for the Brits out there), sun and relatively clear skies, I shit you not.  With Jackie laid up with the lurgy, I did some errands then headed out to knock out some pesky trails:

These runs have enhanced my appreciation of Art and I passed a basketball court where a kid was wielding a spray can, too deep in thought to notice I had stopped to tie a shoe.  I’m a little concerned he was working on top of extant paint when there is such a wealth of virgin canvas just around the corner:

 

 

 

As the alleyways spooled out before me, many more works presented themselves, like this conceptual Minnie Mouse:

 

 

 

And, this mural on a garden fence above the quarries adjacent to the Town Garden:

 

 

 

Philistine that I am, I can only take in so much visual information and have learned to pace myself.  I’m glad that I did, too, since the detail above the recently reopened Prince of Wales shows that it was built to be exactly that (the Prince of Wales).  The last time I visited this pub was a week before my attempt at a second visit (when I found it shuttered, a year-and-a-half or so back).  They reopened a couple of weeks ago and I felt compelled to have something (albeit just a half pint of Carling).  I’m sure I’ll be back soon, though.

 

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Released 24th of March, 1973…40 years ago today (and that same year on my birthday my cousin, Chuck, gave me the first of many copies I would wear out through use and abuse…and on the covers of which literally pounds of pot would be liberated from literally thousands of seeds and bin loads of stems).  I’m loading the mp3 player with a little of the Floyd as I write….

“I can’t think of anything to say except…
I think it’s marvelous!”  from Brain Damage, DSOTM, The Pink Floyd

Other birthday greetings are also appropriate.  A visit to the George VI Rex post box on the corner of North and Western Streets a few weeks ago saw this one on its way to a long-lost acquaintance back in the States:

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{The following is a reply to a business cold-call email…enjoy}

Dear Kenji,

Thanks for your email; it has given me much to ponder. Are these special seals for ordinary plates or seals for special plates?

Indeed, the problems I need to solve are legion. For example, can I use these seals to redesign my email filters?

M.V.G.,

DOBorodin

________________________________________
From: Kenji Kimura, Bio Chromato, Inc.
Sent: 11 March 2013 11:16
To: Denis Borodin
Subject: Message from Japan

Dear DENIS O. BORODIN,

This is Kenji Kimura from BioChromato, Inc.  I sent you our products information last week. Have you had a chance to check my e-mail?

We have special plate seals that might help you solve problems.  If you are interested in testing our products, please reply to this e-mail.

Best regards, Kenji Kimura

Pinpoint Solution
Bio Chromato, Inc.
1-12-19 Honcho, Fujisawa,
Kanagawa-ken 251-0053
Japan

http://www.bicr.co.jp/e/