Priddy

On Saturday Moonface & I went for a walk in the Mendip hills, about 30km south of here.

The wind was strong and there was snow upon the bare tops, so it was freezing cold but so, so beautiful. We walked through history: from the pits and hollws on the site of ancient lead and silver mines that were used by the Romans & only closed in 1908, past Bronze Age burial mounds 5000 years old and through a village that was founded as an escape from the Black Death in 1308, then into the Ebbor Gorge where Ice Age /Palaeolithic remains of man and animals were found.
And all in 13km.

We were exhausted afterwards, as the powerful winds and the sub-zero temperature had made the relatively short distance much harder work than usual.

We have neglected that end of the Mendips until now. We've walked many times from Burrington, anly a few miles away, but never from here before.

Booze & birds

There I was, sitting in front of the box late on Friday night, with tea and toast after a long ride home, when the front door opened.

Sort of.

My daughter was returning home after a party. Usually she sneaks quietly into the house, tip-toeing so as not to disturb her mother or me. This time, it took her several attempts to get past the lobby, with humungous amounts of clattering & stumbling. Then, when she tried to open the door into the dining room, she collapsed onto the floor. Pissed as a rat!

So, I made sure she had some water to drink, helped her upstairs to bed, made sure she was comfy, and put a bowl beside her in case she was sick. (Which she wasn't)

And in the morning, she rose at 7:15, right as rain, clear-eyed and not hungover at all. Isn't youth wonderful?

This was the first time I've seen her drunk. I suppose that at 18 it's reasonable enough for this to be a first. We had a "serious talk" on Saturday afternoon; she was quite contrite.

Cycling home

On Friday night I cycled home from the pub; three miles or so of sub-zero dancing in the dark.When the mood is right, cycling must be the closest man get get to flying, pushing through air under one's own power, jinking and weaving to avoid the death that waits in blind cars.

When I cycle through traffic, I feel all my senses come alert, I take signals from all around, I am scared but in control, alive.

The leveret

I'm worried about a friend. She did something stupid, but understandable, and now has to choose between guilt and deception or a suspicious or unhappy manfriend. Their relationship will be altered anyway, but the direction of change will mean the difference between long-term happiness or some misery for her.

I'm concerned, but I can't do anything. My worry is that in her defensiveness about her error, she will become agressive and cause an argument between them; perhaps the worst of both worlds.

She's miserable enough already: she's like a sister or daughter to me yet I am helpless to take care of her or even help her. (And we'd argue, really argue, if I tried)

(28th Feb): Hmph. The above sounds pretentious. But I will leave it in.

Rattling

I live in a large house, by UK standards. It has 10 rooms, 13 if you count differently. And today I am rattling around, as my wife & daughter have gone away for a couple of days. It's not lonely, just quiet. I'm avoiding work and avoiding looking for other work, relishing time on my own. No pressure, now.

Is this what life will be like when both children have finally left home? Peaceful? I missed my son so much when he left to go to college, although we don't really get on under usual circumstances: there seems to be no common ground between us in the way we act and think. When he was back home for a weekend, I found his presence unnerving. Yet, I love him fiercely and protectively and want him to make a strong way in the world. What would be better, to encourage him to return here after his year away, or persuade him to live away from us? Whatever we choose will be the wrong decision. How can we choose?

Introductions

There's a place on the North Yorkshire Moors where a chalybeate spring runs into a small beck, and the iron in the fresh cool water turns the waters of the beck into orange. A path crosses the beck, then passes through a ruined wooden gate to the heather moor beyond.

I want to be there, now.

It's here

The spring itself isn't shown on the map, but it's there, just below the old ironstone quarry.