Archive for the ‘Run Across Britain’ Category
Dry, warm clothing donned at the Stallards after the rainy run were a special joy but now the rain had stopped and I could look around on my walk back into town. On my right, I spotted the Rose and Crown which I had web-reconned and decided it looked too foodie for a stop (maybe it was the sign, maybe a review); but, the bar was crowded with fat, middle-aged blokes so I felt I could slide in unnoticed.
Turns out, they had a nice selection of ales on although it does appear to have a dining crowd in mind (with locally sourced produce featured but also largely traditional plates available). I went to the Spartan dining room next to the bar so I could sit by a window and watched a fellow demolish first a platter of burger and chips then a really large berry mess: five minutes flat and the bartender had to go get the dessert.
The longer I stayed the more it felt like a proper pub although the location is a bit unfortunate. However, almost right across the road you’ll find the rail station, so if you’re passing through and fancy a quick pint you could do a lot worse.
I was absolutely soaked as I entered the previous pub, but the run from there to the Stallards was even wetter, windier, and colder (although the temperature nearly hit double digits). It had just opened for the day (third time as first customer today), but there was already a brazier of coal started in the hearth so I knew the run was over — I had considered a loop around the outskirts of Trowbridge to pick up another pub but the thought of returning to the damp in soaked vestments was a non-starter, so the backpack was unloaded and the dry kit set on a chair to warm up.
That’s right, I didn’t change out of the wet stuff straightaway. I was hot from the exertion despite feeling outwardly chilled. I needed some time to let the internal and external temperatures equilibrate and I needed to grab a pint of nourishment, this time in the form of West Country Gold, a cider just sweet enough to appeal to the candied-cider crowd and dry enough (for a fizzy, industrial cider) not to offend the effete.
The bar seems like it might be a bit of a party shack for the young but not for youths. I get the feel of college or university educated folk or journeymen crafts people but not anyone over 40 years old. Hard to tell mid-day as the only punter in the place, but I don’t think I’m the target audience. Nice enough, but it has an atmosphere that doesn’t speak to me either as a traditional pub nor as a real dive. Perhaps a bit too tidy, or maybe the sensation that the well whisky is actually good or that brightly coloured shooters are on the menu.
“Do you think that has too much chocolate?” one girl yelled over to my bartender who was licking some sort of pastry from her fingers before pulling my Corvus Stout. “Too much chocolate? Hang on, I need to taste some more to see what you’re on about.” But, despite the charm of this banter what I liked most was that no one commented on the state of yours truly: drenched top-to-toe from a winter run in the rain and caked with mud below the knees.
I’m a fan of Corvus but I wonder why everyone serves it ice-cold. Especially today I would have savoured something other than bone-chillingly chilled (and might well have gone for an Irish coffee had I been thinking clearly). Still, it was a joy to sit in the front window (the privilege of the first customer of the day) in the Dandy Lion (this hillside pub in one of the prettiest towns in the county) and watch the road and foot traffic go on in the downpour.
Then, the skies brightened a bit and the sun threatened an appearance. Gulping down the last half of the stout, I bid farewell and headed back out to the roads to try to take in some nice weather…which just as suddenly turned to shit when the skies blackened and the rain returned with a vengeance, driving into my face from the right. Bracing.
The descent from Westwood was steep and curved and the wet tarmac incompatible with my trail shoes so once up to speed I kept an ear tuned to oncoming traffic and an eye peeled to find a soft place to bail out (because there was no way I could rapidly decelerate or drastically change direction). Fortunately, at 10:05 am I reached the bottom without incident (literally, although often enough I’ve reached bottom, figuratively, WITH incidents). Before me sat the first target: the Crossed Guns pub which opened at 10 am.
The staff were mopping the flagstone floors as I entered so I checked my shoes for mud but they were quite clean from running through the flooded roads. I removed my hat, brushed off some of the sheen of water from my sleeves and headed toward the bar where I found an array of fine brews available. Needing something substantial, I went for a Box Steam Funnel Blower, a vanilla porter I found to taste strongly of coffee and blackberries. As it turns out, the Crossed Guns is one of the brewery taps for the Box Steam brewery.
Sitting there alone, slowly drying off and really savouring the beer, I had a good look around at this 16th – or -17th-century limestone house. There’s shit hanging everywhere but it doesn’t come off as cluttered at all. The room I was in had an array of piss pots hanging from the ceiling (which made me think of Dylan’s “On the Road Again,” with the lyric I still hear as
Well, there’s piss pots in the kitchen
They’re enough to make me cry
even though I’ve known the real lines for years).
I killed some time here, thinking ahead to the next pub stop, a mile and a half away but not opening until 11. On the cliffs across the Avon, cows grazed; passenger trains whizzed through the station across the bridge without stopping; and the landlord methodically went about preparing for the lunch rush by building a fire and helping the other staff setting up the place. The lighting of the south facing windows was atmospheric and I didn’t want to leave at all, but there were miles and miles between me and my ride home and several more pubs to try.
I left the Green Dragon and took a bit of a trundle into the next village on the off-chance the Churchill Arms was opening early (nope), and continued via Little Cheverell to the Owl which, on asking directions from an old guy, I found to be not only closed but converted to a private residence (doh!). Still, it wasn’t yet noon and I had a mile or more to go before reaching the Bell Inn in Great Cheverell and despite the heavier than expected traffic on the roads I had a pleasant little jog up to the hostelry.
As I reached the Bell and the old guy in the photo (above), the church bells pealed. “They must have known you were coming,” he said; “it was a logistical nightmare to arrange it, too,” I replied. He’d been out for a walk, as well, and we talked about my route and the unusual weather and, of course, if the pub was open yet. A woman appeared from the graveyard with a sack full of windfallen greenery; “first the bells, and now they’ve arranged a garland for you,” he suggested. “As it should be, sir, as it should be,” I left them with.
Inside, the publican and his assistant were nutty and nice each in their own way and I decided to sip the Doom Bar slowly and enjoy the show. A few lunchers arrived then a fellow came up to the bar and ordered a glass of wine. “A bottle, surely,” suggested the landlord. “Your hard sell belies flawless logic…go on, then,” returned the punter. I liked this place and its regulars immediately from that point.
I liked it even more after Mr. Noon-Bottle bought me another pint (a “Wiltshire half” was how he put it) and we continued the what-the-fuck-brought-you-to-Swindon conversation for a half hour longer. Very funny fellow, too. I owe him a beer now, but with so many other pubs to hit around here I hope I can make good on that, soon. Maybe a jog that starts later in the day should be scheduled.
Oh, the pub is great and I hear the ribs are absolutely sinful.
There have been days when meeting the 3 mile minimum for the Holiday Run Streak have been daunting (hangovers, bone idleness, actual injuries). Today was a joy, though.
I caught the 9 o’clock to Devizes and headed south into the slimy mud, down one steep ridge and up another and emerging, eventually, in Market Lavington. The timing was actually rubbish, though, as the only pub open before noon is the Green Dragon (no complaints, mind; it was a self-inflicted wound I would have avoided by taking the 10 o’clock bus instead).
9.4 miles out, with a beer break in Market Lavington
5.8 miles back after beer break in Great Cheverell
I thought I could kill a little time by inspecting the pubs on offer for another day and the Churchill in Littleton Panell looked worthy. The Owl in Little Cheverell was turned into a private residence a year or so ago to the dismay of the old fellow I spoke with there and the Bridge downhill from the Churchill got a recommendation from a kind gentleman I met at the Bell in Great Cheverell which I wandered up to just as it opened.
To be honest, the 9.4 miles run up to then had been like forced labour but the longer than planned (and greater fluid volume than planned) stop at the Bell recharged me. Although I thought I had restarted the GPS I arrived back in Devizes with no additional miles. This was easy enough to manually map (5.8 miles) and the voice recorder — which I failed to turn off, as well, upon leaving — showed this last leg to be 40 minutes long. There was a bit of sunshine and mostly good surfaces to run and I made the most of the opportunity…plus, I was afraid the chippy in Devizes would close at 2 and I really hankered for a bit of cod.
Good run, pleasant company, fine ales, and a treat at the end. Not a bad way to start the longest night of the year.
“Boot and Bonnet and Everything On It,” was how the regular described the classic MG body, never mounted on a frame, that a garage nearby has in its yard for sale. He had initiated a conversation with the older couple who drove up in a classic Jag E-type and before long they were discussing where to find spare parts and when the next rally trip was going to be.
Copacetic, but they were hogging the fireplace, too, although the bar was a good second choice to sit. Soon, I was joined by a newcomer in Wellies. “Where’s your car, then?” asked Mr Spare Parts. “I didn’t bring it, did I,” replied Mr Muddy Boots but in his West Country accent that came out, “Oi dinta bringih, did oi?” “How’d you come, then?” Spare Parts continued. Muddy answered, “Arn me shanks,” and slapped one of his own thighs for emphasis.
Two-thirds of the fine, old house was dedicated to the dining area through some abbey-styled windows and heavy doors. The lounge was fairly atmospheric and the carpet was another version of the red-pub-rug that we put into our dining room or the one in the Alma I spotted last week. But, if I was going to linger I would need to get out of the rapidly cooling sweaty kit and into something dry, so I drank up and headed back out to the trails.
Thirteen of the Daily Tipples were in the beer category with 12 pub visits (6 of which were Wetherspoons, 5 of those were the Four Candles). The highlight of the month had to be tasting the finished batch of Two Cures, though, with the worst experience of the bunch the very disappointing trip to The Lighthouse:
.
The Chippy Challenge dragged until the last week of the month but there were some spectacular examples (Crispy Cod and Robinson’s Traditional Fish and Chips) and some crimes against cuisine (Marmaris and WingLoon House):
.
The GHadHHH had two minor trails this month, one each versus the Oxford and Moonrakers hashes, both night efforts. More importantly was the treatise on IntifadHHHa and CalipHHHate differences in this confusing era of global Hashlam and its various pretenders.
Pub count: this month only added 8 more pubs to the total and all of them came on runs. Started the calendar year with 1197 and the blog year (19 January) with 1201 so it is shaping up to the weakest effort of the 6 years so far but at 1280 I hope to hit 1300 before the end of 2014.
After the E-VIII-R postbox, the Mug House was the other target of my day out in Worcester. 700 years ago, it was the alehouse for the Church of St John Baptist and the church cemetery has, in the interim, expanded around the joint. Today, it was rammed with customers dining and drinking and steaming up the place but I really could have spent weeks in the low ceilinged rooms I explored before escaping to the tables by the graveyard.
The landlady has the letters FBII after her name above the door, an honorary that may not be as prestigious as, say, Fellow of the Royal Society or Fellow of (insert science or engineering society of your choice, here), still serves to endorse the high standards of this busy house. Oh, and if you’re lucky the winner of the 2014 Grand National may join you for a drink (but may not get his round in, with those unwieldy hooves).
A postbox, chippy,
Seven hundred year old pub,
A run and some beer.
Name: Cameron’s Gold Bullion
Type: golden ale
Venue: Mug House, Claines
Review/notes: With Jackie working I had Saturday free so I chose a run location within 2 hours transport of the house and went for some tourism. Worcester is a Cathedral city and by all endorsements it has one of the finer Cathedrals going. There’s also a bit of Sir Edward Elgar and English Civil War tourism to do and the town is absolutely lovely set in the Malverns on the banks of the River Severn and with the Worcester and Birmingham Canal cutting through it (which is both navigable and has a tow path both hike- and run-able). Further notes on the trek are up on the blog or coming soon, but for the sake of this as the 2014-15 Holiday Run Streak entry let me note that there was an accidental detour to a fine local pub, a stop at a rare postbox, a snack from an ideal chippy, this stop at an ancient ale house, some mud and muck on the way to the canal, a grand little music pub, and a quick pint at a pensioners’ fly trap near the station.
On my run, today, I had a mild, a strong cider, and a lager but the stand out beverage was this Cameron’s golden ale, sipped on a bench in the cemetery grounds in the cool (but by no means cold), damp air of this perfect late fall day.
[DT =Daily Tipple, explained in DT #000 here]
Monthly consolidations/compilations: January
February
March
April
May
June
July
August
September
October
For years, I have seen the Bell as I rode the bus route between Devizes and Trowbridge and have long meant to take some time to tick it off the list. It turns out to be one of the places I’m most eager to come back to for another visit (perhaps regularly).
I got here quickly in a mad dash from the Brewery Inn to make sure I had time to catch the bus; the pubs were nearer each other than I had estimated so once I topped the hills it was only a couple of minutes total (rather than ten or more). This was good, though, as it allowed me a relaxed walk around the premises and a visit to the garden to take in the view of the valley while changing into some dry clothing in the light, misty rain.
They have a sign outside that they do fish and chips takeaways on Wednesday and Friday evenings, which is attractive to me in the Year of Fish and Chips. Much more so was the lovely kitchen I spied on my snooping around and the note on the sign board about everything being fresh and local. Moreover, for £2 more, you can turn any main into a 2-course meal by adding a starter or dessert. I see a spring roadtrip this way for some dry weather hiking and a pub lunch.
It’s a Wadworth house so I had a Corvus stout (always an exceptional choice especially kept as well as it is here). The only issue I had was the sign of the Bell: Wadworth has their own signage shop at the brewery and mostly makes unique signs for each of their pubs but this one is frightfully similar to the one you pass on your way through Devizes (although close inspection reveals the loving details in that one that this one is missing). Yes, I am a petty prick.
While the Brewery Inn was relatively empty, the bar itself was rammed largely due to the charming and agreeable landlady running the show but also, to some degree, because everyone at the bar was a friendly sort to begin with. Unable to push close enough to read without my glasses (too fogged, smeared and dripping with rainwater and mud from the mucky trail I took from Bowerhill to use), I pointed at the last pump handle and asked, “is that a cider, madam?” “It is, indeed,” she answered instinctively louder than the guy sitting in front of the tap who volunteered, “ooo, aye, a fine cider that one, young man.” I think that’s what he said, as it all came out as a single word. It turned out to be Cheddar Valley Traditional cider, which Mr NoSpaceBetweenNotes pointed out used to be made by a small brewery but is now part of the Thatcher’s collection but is still the same formula as always and in some ways the quality control is better although ’tis sad to see the small ‘uns sell up [spewed in 3 seconds flat in his otherwise delightful West Country drawl].
With my legs caked in mud and cow shit and my shirt soaked in rain from without and sweat from within, I moved to a table to check out my route and cause less offence. Encroaching on others was not seen as a problem by the parents of the two little boys who kept tossing a cushion around and then crashing into my table with increasing ferocity. I drank up faster than I had planned (this otherwise would have been a good house in which to linger) and as I was returning my glass heard the erstwhile father character say to one of the boys, “calm down, now, you might hurt yourself.” Muttering my thanks to the lady of the house I added, “yeah, they’re definitely on the road to injury;” a two count and the guys at the bar started laughing and wishing me well for the day and to return soon.
I didn’t make any notes (well, there were mental notes that I forgot before leaving the house) regarding the opening times of pubs in Melksham except that I knew at least one opened at 10:30 and another at 11. I soon found that none of the ones I spotted on the trot in from Semington were these.
Arriving at the King’s Arms, which was signposted as opening at 11, I found the doors locked (of course…it was 10 minutes till) and was confronted by a thin, middle-aged bloke with the needy smile of a Christian zealot. Obviously, he must have thought, this underdressed man sweating in the rain needs my help and to be saved from eternal damnation; “are you alright, there, sir?” he asked and offered in the same breath. “Atheist, here,” I corrected more politely than I am usually capable; “not in the market for fairy tales.” Taken aback, he quickly asked, “how…how did you know?” Pointing with a wiggly forefinger at his face with its needy eyes and practised rictus and his tidy and casual but unmistakeable suburban missionary’s garb, “what else would cause, you know, this?” I thought a quick trot around the town would be in order and I could stop back by when the God-botherer found more fertile ground to plow.
Five minutes and half a mile passed and I was ready to head back when I spotted the Bear with a key bit of information: it is a Wetherspoon so the bar had been serving since 8 or 9 am. Ideal.
Inside, I chatted with the very pleasant bar manager about the run I was on and the beer that I ordered. I could easily have leaned on the bar and talked to her for a couple of rounds but thought it prudent to stick to just one and found a table in the busy and very modern interior of this mock Tudor inn. The sun emerged as I was considering a second and I decided to go find a fish and chip shop that might be open (although the first I got to didn’t open until 11:30, and the second at 11:45…ten minutes early for each of them, a theme that I only realised on the bus ride home).
DT #326, 22 November 2014 (Brewers’ Blizzard)
Back to the running
With 8.8 miles, three pubs,
And a great chippy.
Name: Brewers’ Blizzard
Type: bitter
Venue: The Bear, Melksham
Review/notes: It’s the Saturday before American Thanksgiving (the only holiday I really like) which kicks off the Holiday Season for us. Drinking and eating too much must be tempered by a bit of strenuous activity, so I am pledging to run at least 3 miles until the Saturday after New Years. Today, I got up early with Jackie (who had to work) and caught the bus to Semington whence I ran to Melksham (my first visit) then looping back to Seend. I finished at the Bell having just left the Brewery Inn in Seend Cleve and a wonderful chippy in Bowerhill. Mud was everywhere.
In Melksham, I arrived too early for the chippies and other pubs, so I hit the Bear, a Wetherspoons so I knew it would be open, serving at the bar, and cheap. The Brewers’ Blizzard was awesome–floral, alternately sweet and bitter, and with a varnish-y finish. Definitely could have chosen worse,
[DT =Daily Tipple, explained in DT #000 here]
Monthly consolidations/compilations: January
February
March
April
May
June
July
August
September
October
New pubs to the blog count, all on two day trip to IoW
At first glance, October seemed a month of two halves — the first healthy and spry, the last stinking of death and decay. Yet, closer examination reminds me that I’ve been ill more or less constantly since the 10th of the month despite making the Isle of Wight Marathon trip, another cancer surgery (and spillage from the same), and having a busier than usual month at work. The weather has been spectacular, I’m told.
I added 11 pubs to the count entirely on the two-day trip to the Isle of Wight Marathon. Two new ones appeared in Oxford (old ones but with major refurbishments and name changes) but they will have to wait until November. The best of the new additions has to be the Red Lion in Southampton, but you could do a lot worse than The Crab and Lobster Tap (Ventnor), The Traveller’s Joy (Northwood), or most-up-my-alley The Painter’s Arms (Cowes).
The Daily Tipple list accurately represents the beer consumption for the month with a little more than half favouring darker varieties like stout, porter, and mild. Choosing one per day was really the hard part as almost every new pub mentioned above supplied local brews that I have never tried before and the Swindon Beer Fest introduced 7 beers and 3 ciders new to me (and scores more I didn’t get around to):
The Fish and Chips Challenge was in a lull partly due to the ongoing medical problems and partly due to the remoteness of new venues and my ability to reach them. My spreadsheet updates my days-per-fish rate and the minimum number for the year (based on one every 7 days until year-end) after each fish. The average of these two appears to be converging on 124.9 for the year (let’s say 125). I’m going for a pub fish and chip lunch when I finish this post, so this looks like a fairly good prediction.
The G-Had has started to make an impact. In October, the site had more hits than in all months prior combined. It also led to paranoid behaviour by North Wilts HHH when they tried to pretend a run wasn’t going to happen and then came up with a clever (but easy to defeat) trail marking plan to foil the IntifadHHHa. With local attention piqued and health poor, the war became one more of propaganda than contact but a fresh scalp was added courtesy the Isle of Wight HHH.
Also, the subtleties of the Intifad-HHH-a versus a Calip-hhh-ate became a matter of record, over on the G-Had HHH site.
Only about 3/4 mile into the G-Had run for today, the Chequers loomed and I felt compelled to enter. The conversation stopped dead as I ordered a Ramsbury ale (there were four Ramsbury’s on tap), but once I plopped into a plush chair near the cold wood stove the chat resumed.
Run route, 4.3 miles of misery with the exception of this pub stop
I was sweating profusely, again, and my brow felt like it was on fire while the rest of me shook from chills…I guess I was still sick, too sick to attend the wedding everyone kept banging on about. I was not very impressed, overall, but I was in no condition to judge.
Another month and the fish continues to pile up. Of the three pubs, the Who’d A Thought It was the best with the Bear almost surprisingly stingy (but it has become a tourist venue). The winner as a chippy, this month, would be either the fish stand at the St Giles Fair or the J&J Fish Bar (both exceeding expectations enormously). The Shanghai Fish Bar should be closed down despite getting their cleanliness problems in order–they’re just very bad.
| # |
Name |
Where |
Date |
Venue Type |
| 92 |
Pisces Aroma |
Swindon, Wiltshire |
06-Sep |
Chippy |
| 93 |
The Crown |
Pewsey, Wiltshire |
07-Sep |
Pub |
| 94 |
St Giles Fair Fish and Chips Stand |
Oxford, Oxfordshire |
08-Sep |
Chippy |
| 95 |
The Bear |
Oxford, Oxfordshire |
12-Sep |
Pub |
| 96 |
Goujon Monkey |
Oxford, Oxfordshire |
12-Sep |
Chippy |
| 97 |
Red House Plaice |
Swindon, Wiltshire |
13-Sep |
Chippy |
| 98 |
Who’d A Thought It |
Lockeridge, Wiltshire |
14-Sep |
Pub |
| 99 |
Khan’s Takeaway |
Swindon, Wiltshire |
18-Sep |
Chippy |
| 100 |
Shanghai Fish Bar |
Swindon, Wiltshire |
19-Sep |
Chippy |
| 101 |
Robinson’s Fish and Chips |
Hilperton, Wiltshire |
24-Sep |
Chippy |
| 102 |
J&J Fish Bar |
Swindon, Wiltshire |
27-Sep |
Chippy |
This month’s Daily Tipples were weighted a little heavier on the beer and the haiku’s and descriptions a little more surreal. More than half the DT’s were in pub visits (some new ones).
The G-Had rolled on to trail #48 and enhanced (and was enhanced by) my enforced two week vacation at the end of the holiday calendar. Bicester HHH was marked due to the irresistability of a Bollard trail, K&A HHH notched a second attack, and my first Churn Valley HHH effort appeared. Ease of access and choices of venues were the main attractions for the Moonrakers HHH (twice) and the North Wilts HHH (three times), and with the North Wilts 1500th next weekend in my favourite corner of Shropshire maybe the G-Had will get a chance to branch out a little (it would be nice to make the 50th GH4 coincide with another hash’s milestone).
The Blue pins are the September G-Had strikes
Beautiful Sunday
With a wee run and a beer
And Asian pulled pork.
Name: Topaz IPA
Type: IPA
Venue: Carter’s Rest, Wroughton.
Review/notes: Great little run today (19.67 miles). Hit a hash in Chiseldon and then headed toward the Ogbournes before turning up the Ridgeway where I spotted a weird memorial to Alfred Williams (a workingman poet) isolated on a hill. Thinking I had run farther I stopped at the Carter’s Rest which, as usual, had a challenging roster of beers and ciders to choose from. The Topaz was like the thinner in shoe polish which is to say: quite good.
[DT =Daily Tipple, explained in DT #000 here]
Monthly consolidations/compilations: January
February
March
April
May
June
July
August
[The Chippy Challenge: to eat more fish and chips in 2014; see original post for details.]
Fish: cod
Sides: none
Evaluation: Surprisingly good which is to say not as bad as I expected. A bit heavy handed on the salt and it was currently at its limits of sitting in the heating cabinet, but really not awful.
Days since last: 4 (Who’d A Thought It, Lockeridge)
Map link.
Monthly consolidations/compilations: January
February
March
April
May
June
July
August
DT #261, 18 September 2014 (Hobgoblin)
Now, are those Ray Charles,
Machete wielding rocker,
And gnomes on the roof?
Name: Hobgoblin
Type: bitter
Venue: The Bayberry, Swindon
Review/notes: I have run by this MOT Centre before but this was the first time I really noticed the weird garden ornaments strewn on the roof. Oh, well…beer me and make it something with a gnome on the pump clip.
[DT =Daily Tipple, explained in DT #000 here]
Monthly consolidations/compilations: January
February
March
April
May
June
July
August
The Endless British Pub Crawl 
Thirteen of the Daily Tipples were in the beer category with 12 pub visits (6 of which were Wetherspoons, 5 of those were the Four Candles). The highlight of the month had to be tasting the finished batch of Two Cures, though, with the worst experience of the bunch the very disappointing trip to The Lighthouse:
.
The Chippy Challenge dragged until the last week of the month but there were some spectacular examples (Crispy Cod and Robinson’s Traditional Fish and Chips) and some crimes against cuisine (Marmaris and WingLoon House):
.
The GHadHHH had two minor trails this month, one each versus the Oxford and Moonrakers hashes, both night efforts. More importantly was the treatise on IntifadHHHa and CalipHHHate differences in this confusing era of global Hashlam and its various pretenders.
Pub count: this month only added 8 more pubs to the total and all of them came on runs. Started the calendar year with 1197 and the blog year (19 January) with 1201 so it is shaping up to the weakest effort of the 6 years so far but at 1280 I hope to hit 1300 before the end of 2014.
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