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Friday and Saturday yielded two more little runs in the Orienteering Challenge (most recent prior entry, here).  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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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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From the Killingworth Castle there is a lovely and steep downhill saunter through the gorgeous Cotswold village of Wootton to a creek where the road turns west and flattens for about a quarter-mile before an even steeper climb up the other side of the stream.  It is exhausting work but a half mile farther along you will find the Duke of Marlborough beckoning.

Inside the house is lushly appointed and seems geared to the travelling diners along the highway between Chipping Norton and Oxford.  The landlord reminded me of John Oliver albeit bald, a little more conservative and not nearly so thin; he was friendly and took an interest in my route but like almost everyone I have talked to mid-run the past few years he assumed I was cycling.  He pulled an Old Hooky while I grooved on the rock-steady he had playing softly in the background…very nice.

I got the Old Hooky because I knew it was a little darker than the Hooky and I was ready for a stronger beer but on the run from the Killingworth I began to appreciate the Windrush ale I so brutally judged there–the after tastes kept building as I laboured up the hills in the fresh breezes.  They were fully in force by the time I settled into this Old Hooky and completely obliterated the flavours I was hoping for…how rude.

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When the youths from the Marlborough College are packed on the bus and you are trying pass through the aisle with a flimsy shopping sack full of wine, vodka, and tonic you might have a sudden epiphany about the origin of William Golding’s Lord of the Flies whilst popping one of these privileged shits in the chest with an off-balance and accidental (we’ll go with that) elbow and dragging the bottle filled bag at skull level past three others until the rest duck-and-cover.  Earlier, on my way to the Queen’s Head, I passed Golding’s former digs next to the Church, so maybe that’s what brought on these literary thoughts….

The contrast between the gaggle of students and the friendly–if a bit surreal–patrons of the Queen’s Head was striking.  As a stranger negotiating the several small rooms to reach the back side of the public bar took a moment; it is a fairly old house but I am reckoning Edwardian or late Victorian despite the sturdy and ancient looking beams.; I’m sure the landlord will correct me as he seems as much an authority on any topic as he is authoritative and benignly autocratic…or the guy I’m assuming was the gov may have just been another punter.

I gave the pump clips a squint and decided on a Directors which made the three younger men at the bar burst into laughter as if they had been sitting on this merriment for minutes and could no longer hold it in.  ”What’s that then?” the one next to Maybe-The-Gaffer asked.  ”Courage,” he answered. “It’s a good strong ale.” They all laughed again.  ”Courage? What’s that?”  ”It’s a brewery.” ”There is a Courage Brewery down near my house. But, what’s that?” Another ejaculation of laughter…I concluded these boys were tripping and sat back for what turned into an Abbott and Costello (or maybe more like Abbott and the Three Stooges) bit.

Horse racing features in the room to the left with some great photos of jockeys being dismounted mid jump, and boxing is highlighted to the right but the room seems more a shrine to the career of Muhammed Ali.

This is my new favourite pub in Marlborough (although the Bear and the Dragon are a little easier to get to on a tourist trip).

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I tried to follow the trail from the Bee’s Knees: blobs of flour and ‘checks’ (circles where decoy trails go in alternate directions to the ‘true trail’); but, alas the markings seemed incomprehensible to me — local traditions are something you just have to learn through hard graft.  But, I eventually did come across the Golden Farm, an exceptional old inn near the River Churn; more over, they had a tasty beverage with a pump clip that looks just like Fat Chix, a nefarious Tucson hasher (in keeping with the theme, this was my choice of refreshment).

 

It is a huge house and quite old but one large back room is entirely dedicated to billiards (with full size tables) and some of the drinking tables serve double duty as drafts/chess boards.  There is a huge beer garden wrapping from the front around to the south side.

Perhaps that was an old trail as I never spotted any obvious hashers at the pub (although there were a lot of likely candidates for walking trails — short trails, certainly, but the fellows around the bar looked like a hint of beer and sweaty females on offer would be all the incentive needed). I may be underestimating the effect of inertia, though.

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An early afternoon trot around Cirencester is always a welcome thing, especially when you get dropped off nearly in front of a pub as welcoming as the Bee’s Knees.  Traditional architecture and hospitality but with a healthy dose of modern “sport bar” fixtures — there was sumo wrestling on tele! — combined for a good first impression.  I got an Arkell 3B and headed out to the smoking garden (since the other few early customers were all out there hacking up lungs).

The best thing of all, as I left for the start of the run there were blobs of flour at the door from which I inferred that a Hash House Harriers trail had been laid there recently; with any luck, it would lead me to another pub…which, eventually it did.

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When it turned up in the local newspaper, I recognised the alley as one of my regular cut-throughs on runs in the neighbourhood.  Later that same day it turned up on the BBC nightly News so the next morning I decided to go back for my own document of the boondoggle.

Double yellow lines limit parking from the center of the street to the kerb (curb) on the side of the street they are painted; you can stop to load/unload but otherwise the space must be left clear for emergency vehicles.  So, when a fire engine needs to get through the area above…see what everyone is on about?

My own photo really adds nothing to the debate and only serves to show that I need a few more sit-ups and lot less alcohol on a weekly basis (the gut alone would block an ambulance’s passage).  Here’s the same photo with two vehicles illegally parked, scaled to the alleyway’s dimensions:

Everyone wants a picture of this alley, now.  While there setting up my own camera two different citizens with SLRs popped up at the wide end and another at the narrow bit.  I posed with my arms partly stretched to the walls for one of the photographers.

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I noticed them before we moved house in January, the thick flocks of birds flying their synchronized and psychedelic patterns in the dusk sky.  I thought it was neat, but apparently it is also unusual for it to last so long or with such large aggregations of birds.  The Beeb (and other news distributors) have taken notice and their stories are worth a look for photos of the beautiful aerobatic patterns.  I noticed patterns, too, on my way to the butcher:

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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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In Ludgershall ( pronounced LUH[d]-grrrr-SHAWL) after my short but hilly run, I found my bus stop and commenced to pub crawl, starting with the Crown at the War Memorial.  Ludgershall is almost as much a barracks town as Tidworth is, so I wasn’t to surprised to find this a lager bar (they had John Smith’s and superchilled Guinness, both of which are technically the good stuff but abominations compared to their room-temperature cousins).

The crowd was friendly enough and there was a great boob-shot of someone at a biker rally posted above the Guinness spout, so the teenie-bopper music video channel was made somewhat tolerable.  I also appreciated the exposed old timbers in the ceiling (while we’re on exposure).  Soon, however, I changed from my Tucson Marathon shirt after a Carling and headed toward the music I heard down the street.

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I only knew of one pub in Tidworth, although as it is surrounded by a large military installation there MUST be more, so the Ram was my choice as a stop on the course this time.  They had Coors Light and  Budweiser (Anheuser-Busch Budweiser, not the Czech stuff) and a load of other lagers so I opted for a Fosters (which was on special according to a banner out front).  I was the only patron in this cavernous and dark and eerily quiet early-20th-century structure so it was mine to explore.

With Jackie sick, I was just going to do the minimal run rather than make a whole day of it (the return bus was every two hours).  On the short but hilly jog to Ludgershall I spotted this nice but ineffective bit of signage vandalism:

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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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[*kpw = kebab per week for 2013, as noted in an earlier post and the 15th entry for the 2013 Challenge]

 

The photoshopped text is an old, Beavis and Butthead style bit of silliness I do every time I see this dealership but can’t help myself (very immature).  The kebab was picked up at Caner’s Kebab stand down a road resembling an auto salvage yard just behind Dick Lovett and was quite a find.

I am nursing an inflamed iliotibial (IT) band and off running for a week or two and decided to find a few trails on my other project, covering Every Trail in Old Town when I spotted this little treasure…friendly staff, cheap, and some of the tastiest döner yet.  It especially benefits from getting thrown on a hot griddle from the steam table thus carbonizing a portion of the sliced meat.  I would score it down for the appearance of the chilli sauce but it was actually fantastic.  Love it.

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The plan was to catch the bus to Hungerford and jog the canal path to Kintbury, grab a pint and head back.  As is typical, the run started off wrong and got worse but, all tolled, was not an especially bad day out.

I thought we approached Hungerford from the south and so turned right onto the path which was a soupy and slick nightmare.  With no traction, it took two to three times the number of steps to cover the distance and there was always a reasonable chance of falling into the canal.

At the road to Froxfield, I checked my map and realised I was near the Pelican and decided it would have to do as a turnaround point.  Not relishing the return mud bath I went over some hilly trails to get to a single track road that, this time, actually did approach Hungerford from the south.

Hungerford is pretty.  Here’s the town hall and some detail:

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From the King’s Arms in All Cannings to the New Inn in Coate is just about 2.5 miles except when the trails aren’t marked, it’s overcast (so dead reckoning is a bit tough), there are two hills on the map but you only see one, and you have left your compass somewhere.  Etchilhampton wasn’t so pleasant as to merit doubling the length of this leg of the journey but I’m really glad I didn’t opt to go straight into Devizes once I realised my error.

I had a Corvus Stout, brewed by Wadworth, although the oaken gravity-fed barrels were tempting.  The bartender was quite friendly and she and several of the punters showed a genuine (not just polite) interest in the day’s journey.  They all love the Barge and were pushing the music weekends when you are welcome to camp in the field adjacent.

When I pointed out that we never really tried that last year because the hike from Pewsey in the unstable weather with camping gear wasn’t too attractive they pointed me toward a Vale of Pewsey bus service that you have to call and book (so your journey depends on who booked before and after you on the varying but generally circular route).

Apparently this bus service is also a sort of freak show, as well, with all sorts of potty personages (my comment that “we just call them ‘British’ in the rest of the world” didn’t meet with disapproval); one I especially want to ride with shouts, “wheeeeeeee,” on bridges and curves.

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I did a Sunday mid-day run down the Kennet and Avon Canal Path and then overland to Devizes from Pewsey with a number of pubs in my sights.  The first leg, from the bus stop north of Pewsey out to Honeystreet and the Barge Inn are shown here with an early section showing the iced over waters that kept me company most of the way:

The music for the run was Sixto Rodriguez, the subject of the Oscar-winning documentary ‘Searching for Sugar Man‘ which we saw the opening night of the Swindon Film Fest.  This is some fantastic stuff but I have to wonder if I would feel as strongly about it without the detail in the film.  The albums, Cold Fact (1970) and Coming from Reality (1971), have aged especially well despite a bit of overproduction; you hear bits of Leonard Cohen, Dylan, and Simon and Garfunkel in some cuts but the lyrics are definitely specific to the composer and his location.  The movie was as much a revelation about him as it was about the liberal-leaning white population of Apartheid era South Africa and the police state in which the bootlegged copies of these (unknown in the States) albums became some of the most important musical benchmarks of the time.

But, musical benchmarks are everywhere I remembered as the Barge Inn loomed.  Rodriguez faded as soon as I removed the earphones and was replaced in my head with my own very poor rendition of Wild Thing on the ukulele (which I have been working out, unsuccessfully since Reg Presley, lead singer of the Troggs passed away last month…Reg is quoted as saying this was his favourite pub).

Mine as well (and the barkeeper and most of the patrons at the New Inn in Coate, which I visited later in the day agree).  I sat beneath what is essentially the Sistine Chapel Roof of crop circles and there is a hippie vibe but one that emanates from the sort of hippies that use soap and frequent booksellers–perhaps more like beatniks than flower power proponents.  Next to my seat was a large African tom-tom and nearby was a tempting acoustic guitar (but neither I nor any of the dozen or so drinkers here at 8 minutes past noon had taken in enough alcohol for that).

I had a Croppie from Honeystreet Brewery which I highly recommend for a long run (abv just over 4%).  While finishing the brew I peaked out my window to see another of the Wiltshire White Horses to tick off my checklist; a moment later, I was back out on the canal path heading toward the King’s Arms in All Cannings (with Sixto back in full howl).

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I have been lazy about picking out paths to run that would take me to new (to me) pubs and decided that since the rains have abated and the fields and trails are starting to dry I should at least try to pick up a few new ‘hits’ for the Pub Crawl.  With Jackie working 1-9 Saturday, I opted to try for a couple I can never get to due to weird hours the days  and times I have passed through before.

The first leg of this run started in Hilmartin at the Duke (previously visited after the Chippenham Half Marathon).  I gave the off-road trail a bit of a chance and they weren’t too soggy but there was little traffic so I kept mostly on the roads into Compton Bassett where I stopped for a scrumpy at the beautiful and quite old White Horse Inn.

It was fairly scenic and inside there was an eclectic (some might say eccentric) bunch of mostly locals who all seemed to know one another (besides me, there was only one other pair that seemed to be out doing the typical tourist thing; they had left the muddy Wellies at the door and brought in the huge chocolate Labrador which, inexplicably, had no mud on him at all).

Wishing to linger but having to finish the route (and the house was closing for the afternoon shortly, anyway), I took my leave.

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[Originally, this project was described here,  and you can see the most recent prior Update (1) here.]

I’m glad I extended the natural bounds of Old Town to include everything the estate agents like to market thus, if for no other reason than the legitimate bounds are so small and this gives me a bit more connectivity to the greater region.  However, I did choose some butt-ugly territory when I was drawing the initial border.  Oh, well…shall we carry on?

 

It was cold but calm and clear and birds were singing–more spring than winter–so I didn’t linger over the coffee and Sunday Observer too long and got out into the fresh air.  The Radnor Street Cemetery has an entrance on my side of Eastcott and since it serves both as a formal Victorian burial ground AND as a nature preserve it is always a nice crossing but especially in the mid-winter morning light.  Photos of the RSC next time (or, there are very nice ones at Swindon in the Past Lane), but I was keen to clear some of the bounds from the map today and continued on to the rail bridge that divides north and south Swindon then around to the rail trail that used to connect Old Town Station (and then Marlborough to Salisbury) with Swindon.  The final few turns were just ‘zenning’ the trail and I found a quick connection to Bath Road from the house via King William Street (at Eastcott Hill near the Moose Lodge).

Though still winter, the days are getting longer at a noticeable clip and I slipped into my sweats while on the bus and ran from the tented market up Commercial Street with the sun setting behind me.  I stopped by the house to drop off my backpack and continued out to the Town Gardens which I found was already closed (winter hours).

  

At the end of Quarry there’s an alleyway with a great mural on it but the alleyway is barely wide enough for two people to squeeze past one another and the mural is mostly dark colours so I couldn’t manage a decent picture of it on this trip, but there were loads of decent graffiti around including this shiny bit under the Devizes Road bridge over the rail trail next to where I discarded yet another race/hash shirt combo:

The climb up Mill Road/Westlecot was steeper than I was really prepared for and I took it a bit fast.  Reaching The Mall, I opted for the flat route past the Commonweal School then a few alleyways and South Street (where one of the Victorian cottages at the Prospect Hill end has a cool bit of signage out back):

Although not a run because I was laden with 6 bottles of wine (from Tesco, not the now-residential Eastcott Hill Wine Store) and other groceries, I explored a bit of the alleyway archipelago.

  

The route was meant to (and did) take me past the Swindon Cycle Working Men’s Club which is still CIU affiliated but not so much a men’s club or having anything to do with cycling.  I read they are looking for new members and as I have moved away from Ferndale WMC (and let my membership lapse and I think it has shut down anyway) and it is pretty close to the house.  On the way I spotted this wall in an alleyway (nice the way the door is surrounded by the art) and these neat roof ornaments on Dryden:

Hopped off the bus just after the Magic Roundabout and did a bit of a neat neighbourhood I’ve never explored before and finally entered the mapping zone at the Queen’s Park which is sort of a gigantic arboretum and really holds some promise for spring and summer visits:

  

On exiting, I realised where I was when I spotted the back of the Jewel in the Crown, but the Holy Rood School was a bit of a surprise.

The Friday run this week took in a bit of Marlborough Road corridor including the area around Intel, the Marriott, a giant wooded park to the south, and the Croft Sport Centre.  I also spotted these two houses…the one on the left was the one we were driving out to see if we wanted to rent it just over two years ago but were crashed into by a large Mercedes van.  The one on the right was the first one we inspected for this most recent move but the stairwell was too narrow for any of the shit we would have wanted to put upstairs (and the landlord would accept the kitty as a cohabitant).

  

More next week….

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The formal jogging exploration of Old Town began with a quick trip to Tesco (outside the stated bounds but I don’t really colour within the lines).  Returning with some mulligatawny and a bottle of wine I avoided the rude pedestrian walkway of Regent Street and did a little of Eastcott Hill turning across from the Sea of Green hydroponics shop:

The next evening was warmer than it has been in weeks and the twilight lingered in the nearly cloudless skies and I took the opportunity to enjoy the hilly terrain, going first down Dover Street to the footpath that comes out across from Savernake then up to the alley behind the houses parallel to the roadway.  A couple beat me to the little stair case to the upper ground and westward so I continued on to Bath Road and down Okus to the long staircase down to lower Kingshill.  I looped Bowood once to tick it off the list then followed an alley I thought would end after a block but went on all the way (with some road crossings) to the Running Horse.  Moreover, it linked to many more alleys, an archipelago to rival Tucson’s.

        

Back up the Kingshill and via some more pedestrian cut-throughs and I found myself face-to-face with the Clifton and then on the way back by the house crossed paths with the Globe and the Castle…I’ve never run past so many good pubs without stopping, or at least not in a long time.  Then, it was back down Prospect Hill to Crombey Street and across the ‘bumming park’  to walk Jackie home from work over some now-ticked-off-the-list territory. {Oh, Jackie’s co-workers refer to it as the Bumming Park because sometime in the annals *snicker* of history it was a cruising zone.}

   

Next, I entered the map zone at the end of a run from the edge of South Marston on my way to pic up some stuff for supper at the Cooperative.  Pushing the last bit of the hill to Christ Church I was going to finish in the Lawns Park but found the cemetery gate locked and decided I was already done.  The poignancy of the grave of a ten-year, above, in a little copse with ornaments hung from the trees around it caught my attention and I figured it would have been something I remembered recently from the newspaper; no, this fresh patch was covered in July 2010.

The cemetery is a good one, if you are into these (I love ‘em).  One odd feature is the large flower bedding area stuck full of metal funeral markers I saw as I exited to cool off in the park before the grocery trek.

   

A brief jog into Gorse Hill and back left me hungry for a good kebab, but I guess I should have stopped at the kebab van stood in the Wickes car park because everyone in Old Town opens after 3 pm.  The mappable bits picked up near the Coop, again, but the Old Town Kebab was my first locked door followed soon after by King’s Best BBQ down Victoria Road, but I had some other errands to do and figured I could wait it out…

  

However, the wait was fruitless as I arrived back at King’s at 3:15 to find it still locked and dark and uninhabited.  Shit, they are the oldest kebabery in town and have a fantastic reputation for quality and cleanliness (and I was feeling lazy and didn’t fancy a walk back into Old Town proper).  Testing some alleyways along the way I loaded up at the Old Town Kebab House and did a little strolling dining through bits of the park before heading home:

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New project for late winter and early spring: learn a bit about my new neighbourhood by running every inch of it.  The map, above, is a liberal description of the bounds of Old Town; a more accurate one would only include the region from Christ Church to the Locarno to the site of the old rail station to the Town Gardens to Prospect Place and closing the path but this larger area is what the estate agents list areas as when they want them to sound hip or charming.  Besides, I could do Old Town proper in an hour or two.

I’ve already covered most of the paths available, but this will force me to systematically explore alternate paths and alternate connections whilst getting a better feel for the new territories.

[Added 22 February: To clarify the map markings...they usually are part of a longer run or hike, but each new marking will only go from the start of the first new 'mappable' path to the end of the last new bit.  In this way, I hope to minimise the number of overlapping lines.]

Update 1, 13-16 February 2013

Update 2, 17-23 February 2013

Update 3, 24 February – 13 March 2013

Update 4, 14-29 March 2013

Update 5, 30 March – 23 April 2013