Two great specialities for the Alpine hut gourmand exist; one is 'UHT aerosol cream' - perhaps half a tinned peach in a bowl surrounded with a ring of the ubiquitous dairy product - and the other favourite is chocolate sauce.
Chocolate sauce normally arrives in a bowl with a squirt of UHT cream to top it off.
Imagine the delight, here at the independently run Hohsaas hut, when what appeared to be simply the usual bowl of chocolate sauce with UHT a la normale revealed an unexpected surprise submerged below the surface, half a tinned pear!
30th July. Couronne de Breonna.
This is what is known as a training route today, basically to see how fit/unfit the new man this week, Alex, will prove to be and therefore how much of a liability from Owain's H&S perspective.
We reach the bottom of a superb rock ridge; just about the same time there are shouts probably in french from another party of climbers way above.
It is raining stones; Alex and I take cover close to the rock in exactly the same attitude as Tom Hanks in the opening scene of 'Saving Private Ryan'.
I have to put my faith in a plastic crash helmet rather than a steel one, for that second I'm not sure if we're expecting pebbles or boulders here?
We reach the bottom of a superb rock ridge; just about the same time there are shouts probably in french from another party of climbers way above.
It is raining stones; Alex and I take cover close to the rock in exactly the same attitude as Tom Hanks in the opening scene of 'Saving Private Ryan'.
I have to put my faith in a plastic crash helmet rather than a steel one, for that second I'm not sure if we're expecting pebbles or boulders here?
29th July. Health & Safety Review.
It seems as far as Alpine Guiding goes I have become something of a teachers pet - exemplified by Owain's volunteering to take me on for my second week, "He loves YOU!" says Martin the head honcho.
This apparent willingness is principally to do with the old adage - 'better the devil you know' coupled with Owain's reluctance to be press ganged into guiding some of the other course members one to one on the Matterhorn.
"I'm not doing it, I had a client nearly killed me twice, it's too dangerous lowering them down the Hornli ridge like a sack of potatoes."
This apparent willingness is principally to do with the old adage - 'better the devil you know' coupled with Owain's reluctance to be press ganged into guiding some of the other course members one to one on the Matterhorn.
"I'm not doing it, I had a client nearly killed me twice, it's too dangerous lowering them down the Hornli ridge like a sack of potatoes."
28th July. Alpine Fever.
Today is a so-called rest day, I spend part of the afternoon sending libidinous txts to Isabelle.
It's been a predominantly male world this last week or blowke-ish if you like.
The only oblique contact with the fairer sex was the sight of a fit swiss german woman's knickers at about 3.15am during the mad ablution stampede in the unisex loo at the Finsteraarhorn hut.
To quote a cynic - 'Absence makes the heart grow fonder, unless there's other opportunities?'
It's been a predominantly male world this last week or blowke-ish if you like.
The only oblique contact with the fairer sex was the sight of a fit swiss german woman's knickers at about 3.15am during the mad ablution stampede in the unisex loo at the Finsteraarhorn hut.
To quote a cynic - 'Absence makes the heart grow fonder, unless there's other opportunities?'
27th July. High Altitude Aggro.
The night before last a group of Swiss youths had rather put Owain the guide on edge by conducting what sounding like a game of football in their dorm when everyone else had their alarms set for 3am.
Last night a different disturbance broke out this time the cause was heavy drinking on the part of some burly Swiss chaps.
"Nine bottles of wine on their table! and bottles in the dormitory!" Owain decided to take issue, a huge paralytic Swiss took a swing first at him and then the hut guardian who was, as a consequence, moved to the point of throwing the troublemaker out.
This would have been a remarkably sobering experience sleeping rough at 2800 metres even in mid-summer.
Last night a different disturbance broke out this time the cause was heavy drinking on the part of some burly Swiss chaps.
"Nine bottles of wine on their table! and bottles in the dormitory!" Owain decided to take issue, a huge paralytic Swiss took a swing first at him and then the hut guardian who was, as a consequence, moved to the point of throwing the troublemaker out.
This would have been a remarkably sobering experience sleeping rough at 2800 metres even in mid-summer.
26th July. Discomfort Tolerance Factor.
This evening at the outside bar of the Konkordia hut John one of our party of three, 'The Old Skool' is performing surgery on both heels, it's a bad case of Scarpa Feet, Scarpa being the Italian boot manufacturer.
"I'm going to post these on the *ucking Internet" he says, taking another digital snap of the missing areas of skin, "Thanks Scarpa! - I should have taken out shares in Elastoplast!"
Earlier in the day, well before dawn, Tim the 'Telegraph' man, who had been casting around for Immodium last night, had been ordered back down to the hut, another 'Old Skool' casualty.
"Sorry lads nothing in the tank"
Our younger companions with the other guide the 'Young Team' are also blistered but have suffered less, either that or they're not showing it.
We have been told the handy aphorism that "Pain is just weakness leaving the body."
As John hacks away with the scissors in front of a small audience someone says "There's a bit more weakness leaving you!"
"I'm going to post these on the *ucking Internet" he says, taking another digital snap of the missing areas of skin, "Thanks Scarpa! - I should have taken out shares in Elastoplast!"
Earlier in the day, well before dawn, Tim the 'Telegraph' man, who had been casting around for Immodium last night, had been ordered back down to the hut, another 'Old Skool' casualty.
"Sorry lads nothing in the tank"
Our younger companions with the other guide the 'Young Team' are also blistered but have suffered less, either that or they're not showing it.
We have been told the handy aphorism that "Pain is just weakness leaving the body."
As John hacks away with the scissors in front of a small audience someone says "There's a bit more weakness leaving you!"
25th July. The Finsteraarhorn 4280m.
Another life's ambition ticked off today, to climb a notable Alpine peak in perfect weather with snow in all directions that looks like vanilla soft scoop.
After the mad rush for 3 am muesli we climbed slowly up in the dark, other groups of head torches twinkling above and below.
Gradually the coming dawn lightened the surrounding peaks until a line of sunlight turned them first orange then fiercely white.
"We can't keep stopping every five minutes!" our guide admonishes Tim the 'Telegraph' man who is feeling a bit below par. "If there's no improvement we'll have to leave you at the col."
Of course the views are amazing, just a sea of mountains in all directions, there is no lingering on the summit as this is only the halfway point.
I have to lead on the way down as I'm supposed to be the least likely to drag us all off the mountain, Owain the guide brings up the rear hopefully looping the rope around various things to prevent any death plunge.
Some Dutch guy in a party on the way up gets a bit heated when I am instructed to just carry on and not give-way.
Owain tells him to "BE QUIET!" in rather a blunt Lancastrian way as we all push past.
By the time we're back on to the snow slopes the sun has turned them to something that not only looks like soft scoop vanilla, it feels like it as well.
After the mad rush for 3 am muesli we climbed slowly up in the dark, other groups of head torches twinkling above and below.
Gradually the coming dawn lightened the surrounding peaks until a line of sunlight turned them first orange then fiercely white.
"We can't keep stopping every five minutes!" our guide admonishes Tim the 'Telegraph' man who is feeling a bit below par. "If there's no improvement we'll have to leave you at the col."
Of course the views are amazing, just a sea of mountains in all directions, there is no lingering on the summit as this is only the halfway point.
I have to lead on the way down as I'm supposed to be the least likely to drag us all off the mountain, Owain the guide brings up the rear hopefully looping the rope around various things to prevent any death plunge.
Some Dutch guy in a party on the way up gets a bit heated when I am instructed to just carry on and not give-way.
Owain tells him to "BE QUIET!" in rather a blunt Lancastrian way as we all push past.
By the time we're back on to the snow slopes the sun has turned them to something that not only looks like soft scoop vanilla, it feels like it as well.
24th July. Paying For Torture.
Young Jez, a Cambridge man, recently moved from Astrophysics to Medecine and Tim, some higher-up Journo at the 'Telegraph' seem representative of the Alpine mountaineering fraternity across the generations.
It's strange that something so uniquely stupid as flogging oneself to death up a variety of inclines, then reversing the procedure attracts such a level of over qualification.
Tim's answer is that really it's only the A and B classes that have the necessary disposable to be in the happy position of paying for this priviledge.
It's strange that something so uniquely stupid as flogging oneself to death up a variety of inclines, then reversing the procedure attracts such a level of over qualification.
Tim's answer is that really it's only the A and B classes that have the necessary disposable to be in the happy position of paying for this priviledge.
23rd July. Crevasse Ghoul.
We traipse a wandering line up the longest glacier in Europe, which, to be honest, actually feels endless, until we come across a pile of gear at the edge of a crevasse - broken ski bindings, two fleeces and a rucksack.
Apparently there have been two ski-tourers missing for four years, this may be an opportunity to see deep frozen dead people.
We all hold the rope whilst our man Owain approaches the edge of the chasm over soft snow and peers down, just more skis and stuff down inside it.
Turns out, according to the guardian at the Koncordia hut, this stuff has been lying there for fifteen years, must have been a successful rescue then, unless they just left the skiers down there?
Apparently there have been two ski-tourers missing for four years, this may be an opportunity to see deep frozen dead people.
We all hold the rope whilst our man Owain approaches the edge of the chasm over soft snow and peers down, just more skis and stuff down inside it.
Turns out, according to the guardian at the Koncordia hut, this stuff has been lying there for fifteen years, must have been a successful rescue then, unless they just left the skiers down there?
22nd July. Ferpecle Glacier.
"I don't care if you've been up the North Ridge of Everest, I want to see how you lads move on the ice!"
The idea of today seems to be to determine who is the biggest liability with crampons on, and therefore the most likely to kill the rest of us.
Our man sets up a top rope, up a steepening slope of ice.
"Now I want to see how far you can get without an ice-axe and without using your hands, there's a prize for who gets the furthest."
"You've got a really good sense of balance" announces the guide as I front point most of the way up without falling over.
"That's because I climb for a living." I say.
"?"
"Errr... Yeah, up ladders with a bucket of cement."
The idea of today seems to be to determine who is the biggest liability with crampons on, and therefore the most likely to kill the rest of us.
Our man sets up a top rope, up a steepening slope of ice.
"Now I want to see how far you can get without an ice-axe and without using your hands, there's a prize for who gets the furthest."
"You've got a really good sense of balance" announces the guide as I front point most of the way up without falling over.
"That's because I climb for a living." I say.
"?"
"Errr... Yeah, up ladders with a bucket of cement."
21st July. Harry Potter And The Temple of Venus...
The kid next to me - and he's a pretty big kid - on the flight to Geneva is engrossed in the latest Harry Potter.
I suppose anyone reading this final offering from Ms. Rowling has to be a veteran, having started at more of a childrens book age and hence become addicted.
I bet him and his dad went over to London specially so he could buy it.
Really at his age shouldn't he be doing something more unwholesome like surfing for Internet porn?
I suppose anyone reading this final offering from Ms. Rowling has to be a veteran, having started at more of a childrens book age and hence become addicted.
I bet him and his dad went over to London specially so he could buy it.
Really at his age shouldn't he be doing something more unwholesome like surfing for Internet porn?
20th July. Another Lovely Day.
I find myself wandering around Asda then Tesco at 10.30pm like a mad person, searching for a hold-all, when the alarm is set for 4.15am.
'Value' came up trumps with a new bag otherwise equipment would have probably been scattered around Edinburgh, Heathrow and Geneva airport terminals.
That was only the last cock-up of the day, prior to that I ended up having to drive all the way to Clydebank and in an effort to avoid Glasgow took a very long way round by picturesque Loch Lomond, just to get a couple of chimney bits to finish that god damn Austrian woodburning monster.
Isabelle took it on herself to be dropped off in Stirling to 'have a look round' but my mobile went flat so how could I phone her to pick her up? With me being virtually dyslexic with numbers it was lucky I could remember anyone elses to ask them for her number, then finding a public phone box wasn't easy.
Yes, it's nearly all treacle these days?
There was a sixty mile round trip by motorbike to hassle someone for money thrown in this evening or how would I be able to pay for the sausages with swiss francs in those Alpine huts?
So, anyway, once in the Alps blogging may fail due to lack of services, Do Not Hold Breath.
If there are no more posts after the 3rd August then there may have been an accident.
'Value' came up trumps with a new bag otherwise equipment would have probably been scattered around Edinburgh, Heathrow and Geneva airport terminals.
That was only the last cock-up of the day, prior to that I ended up having to drive all the way to Clydebank and in an effort to avoid Glasgow took a very long way round by picturesque Loch Lomond, just to get a couple of chimney bits to finish that god damn Austrian woodburning monster.
Isabelle took it on herself to be dropped off in Stirling to 'have a look round' but my mobile went flat so how could I phone her to pick her up? With me being virtually dyslexic with numbers it was lucky I could remember anyone elses to ask them for her number, then finding a public phone box wasn't easy.
Yes, it's nearly all treacle these days?
There was a sixty mile round trip by motorbike to hassle someone for money thrown in this evening or how would I be able to pay for the sausages with swiss francs in those Alpine huts?
So, anyway, once in the Alps blogging may fail due to lack of services, Do Not Hold Breath.
If there are no more posts after the 3rd August then there may have been an accident.
19th July. Olympic Treaclethon.
Last year the theory was that a week in the Swiss alps wasn't enough unless the weather was great all the time, otherwise it can just end up as a very expensive way to eat out in an Alpine Hut.
It's interesting that returning to the same valley to the same village to the same chalet and to the same mattress on the same bed looking up at the same ceiling I'll think - well that was another year did I acheive anything? Did I want to acheive anything?
It must be fascinating to be one of the elite who cut a single-minded swathe through the chaos of everyday life rather than those that are swimming lengths in a 50 metre pool filled with molasses.
It's interesting that returning to the same valley to the same village to the same chalet and to the same mattress on the same bed looking up at the same ceiling I'll think - well that was another year did I acheive anything? Did I want to acheive anything?
It must be fascinating to be one of the elite who cut a single-minded swathe through the chaos of everyday life rather than those that are swimming lengths in a 50 metre pool filled with molasses.
18th July. What Do You Do When You Don't Know What To Do?
Had to play it cool today with an immense Austrian wood burning boiler, brand new, weighing a tonne, the pride and joy of Mr M. who thinks I know what I'm doing.
"Jamie says all you do is smash the pallet up that it's sitting on to get it lowered onto the concrete floor."
"Oh yes?" Then it falls sideways at worst killing you or leading to hospitalisation for weeks or months and the end to endurance events.
Maybe it falls sideways missing you but then it bends all the controls and how the hell could you ever get it righted again? You couldn't. It would naturally be all my fault."
The guy cutting the channel through the farmyard for the pipes is keen to get his pennyworth in, which was all talk about slings and telescopic fork lifts...
Most of life is like this; there is a problem, someone else who isn't actually there says it's easy all you do is...whatever, you could do something foolhardy but there is a lot at stake, a very complicated technofix solution exists involving something you haven't got to hand, you can't do anything else before the problem is overcome.
In the end it takes half a day to get the pallet out from underneath it without wrecking anything, when it was supposed to be already sitting on the concrete in the first place.
That's Life, literally.
"Jamie says all you do is smash the pallet up that it's sitting on to get it lowered onto the concrete floor."
"Oh yes?" Then it falls sideways at worst killing you or leading to hospitalisation for weeks or months and the end to endurance events.
Maybe it falls sideways missing you but then it bends all the controls and how the hell could you ever get it righted again? You couldn't. It would naturally be all my fault."
The guy cutting the channel through the farmyard for the pipes is keen to get his pennyworth in, which was all talk about slings and telescopic fork lifts...
Most of life is like this; there is a problem, someone else who isn't actually there says it's easy all you do is...whatever, you could do something foolhardy but there is a lot at stake, a very complicated technofix solution exists involving something you haven't got to hand, you can't do anything else before the problem is overcome.
In the end it takes half a day to get the pallet out from underneath it without wrecking anything, when it was supposed to be already sitting on the concrete in the first place.
That's Life, literally.
17th July. Middle-Class Furnishings - A Guide.
Normally the lounge room is the 'sitting room', carpeting will be white also the three piece suite. Reading material is strictly display only, usually on the coffee table, Micheal Palin's 'Himalaya' or similar, History of The Scottish Nation, magazines - Country Life, Homes and Gardens, no TV guides.
Television will be housed in a purpose built cabinet with doors closed (antique Japanese - upper middle) with draws to conceal DVD's. There must always be at least one surface such as a sideboard with ranks of impossible to dust framed photographs of family members, snapshots of dead pets also permitted.
Kitchen 'must haves' include a 'Belfast' pattern white porcelain sink and another sink somewhere else in the same room. Make sure you have a huge fridge freezer with doors that meet down the middle with an ice making thing.
The downstairs toilet is reserved for large official group photographs from public schools, either your children or yourself.
Certificates such as Lt. So&So has completed the arctic warfare course at wherever in 1985, pictures of tank regiments, anything with the Queen Mother or lesser Royals are excellent, tennis tournaments, Rugby first xv's, also framed collages from weddings or family holidays in Greece are good, an average size is 24" x 32".
If your family are high achievers or attended a large school with very long group photographs, it is normally permissable for these to be in the down stairs lobby.
The stairs are strictly reserved for photographs or paintings, if you have them, of dead ancestors in some sort of order. A family tree is good on the landing but this is restricted to upper-middle class.
Television will be housed in a purpose built cabinet with doors closed (antique Japanese - upper middle) with draws to conceal DVD's. There must always be at least one surface such as a sideboard with ranks of impossible to dust framed photographs of family members, snapshots of dead pets also permitted.
Kitchen 'must haves' include a 'Belfast' pattern white porcelain sink and another sink somewhere else in the same room. Make sure you have a huge fridge freezer with doors that meet down the middle with an ice making thing.
The downstairs toilet is reserved for large official group photographs from public schools, either your children or yourself.
Certificates such as Lt. So&So has completed the arctic warfare course at wherever in 1985, pictures of tank regiments, anything with the Queen Mother or lesser Royals are excellent, tennis tournaments, Rugby first xv's, also framed collages from weddings or family holidays in Greece are good, an average size is 24" x 32".
If your family are high achievers or attended a large school with very long group photographs, it is normally permissable for these to be in the down stairs lobby.
The stairs are strictly reserved for photographs or paintings, if you have them, of dead ancestors in some sort of order. A family tree is good on the landing but this is restricted to upper-middle class.
16th July. Mr High-Voltage Motivator.
Concluded at Alistair's leaking conservatory, I said the works are fully guaranteed until it starts raining.
He seems sceptical of the benefits of one session of Hypnotherapy probably because I still sound like I'm on drugs.
I said it could help you with that restless energy problem before you have a medical crisis.
"That's not my problem", he says "The problem is I'm so overweight and unfit, you could be my personal trainer?"
"You've no money but actually I quite like the idea of torturing fat people, I mean introducing them to a gradual exercise program"
"You'd have to shave everyday and wear Lycra."
"I'm not too sure about that, you mean like that Mr Motivator guy that used to be on daytime TV? I was thinking more of using something after the fashion of a cattle prod, once the client has paid in advance and signing a waver of all personal rights."
He seems sceptical of the benefits of one session of Hypnotherapy probably because I still sound like I'm on drugs.
I said it could help you with that restless energy problem before you have a medical crisis.
"That's not my problem", he says "The problem is I'm so overweight and unfit, you could be my personal trainer?"
"You've no money but actually I quite like the idea of torturing fat people, I mean introducing them to a gradual exercise program"
"You'd have to shave everyday and wear Lycra."
"I'm not too sure about that, you mean like that Mr Motivator guy that used to be on daytime TV? I was thinking more of using something after the fashion of a cattle prod, once the client has paid in advance and signing a waver of all personal rights."
15th July. Caledonian MacBrayne.
One last debasement for the stomach on the 6 am car ferry to Ullapool - 'The Full Scottish' as opposed to the 'Full English'.
This differentiation can only be justified by the additional calories in the black pudding?
It's very unusual for Isabelle to pass up the opportunity of black pudding, the reason of course is sleep.
I'd boasted that once up there was no desire on my part to go back to the land of nod, however, after walking around the boat a few times in the rain I came to the conclusion there was nothing else to do for three and a half hours.
By then all the good spaces had been taken.
This differentiation can only be justified by the additional calories in the black pudding?
It's very unusual for Isabelle to pass up the opportunity of black pudding, the reason of course is sleep.
I'd boasted that once up there was no desire on my part to go back to the land of nod, however, after walking around the boat a few times in the rain I came to the conclusion there was nothing else to do for three and a half hours.
By then all the good spaces had been taken.
14th July. Stornoway Stomach Syndrome.
The excesses of last nights session have left their own legacy on the stomach today, compounded by a smoked sausage supper at 3 am and then not content with that, the 'Big Man' has to immediately go into the take-away pizza shop over the way from the chip shop.
So by the time things were underway this afternoon the ability to consume was much reduced. Isabelle insisted on Blackcurrant squash, I could only manage three pints, then wandered off amongst the afternoon shoppers to buy a toothbrush as I kept being reminded that my breath was like a sewer.
I have a token half of Guinness at Stuart's cousin's and no red wine with the lamb chops but refusing hospitality in the Western Isles isn't the done thing.
We head straight for the beer tent at the main event, everyone ends up with two drinks to avoid queuing again.
The Proclaimers start proclaiming, the heat of about five thousand people begins to warm up the festival tent, I get through one pint and then have to go and buy a cup of tea, there are almost as many people outside as in, most of them waiting in line for the beer tent - Euuueeehh NO MORE BEER!
So by the time things were underway this afternoon the ability to consume was much reduced. Isabelle insisted on Blackcurrant squash, I could only manage three pints, then wandered off amongst the afternoon shoppers to buy a toothbrush as I kept being reminded that my breath was like a sewer.
I have a token half of Guinness at Stuart's cousin's and no red wine with the lamb chops but refusing hospitality in the Western Isles isn't the done thing.
We head straight for the beer tent at the main event, everyone ends up with two drinks to avoid queuing again.
The Proclaimers start proclaiming, the heat of about five thousand people begins to warm up the festival tent, I get through one pint and then have to go and buy a cup of tea, there are almost as many people outside as in, most of them waiting in line for the beer tent - Euuueeehh NO MORE BEER!
13th July. "Weel Done The *ucking Clappers!"
We move to the official campsite on the outskirts of the metropolis of Stornoway, (or if you want the full Gaelic - Steòrnabhagh), then gravitate to the town centre.
There are fringe events going on somewhere, everywhere?, we stumble into a bar with no name just a redundant length of electrical cable sticking out of the wall above the door, which is actually The Star Inn billed on the program.
The barman claims something might be happening shortly, Stuart makes some quip to the barmaid, who is attractive, about the missing sign but she doesn't see the funny side. The pervading smell of vomit near the bar is a testament to the effectiveness of the smoking ban.
The predicted impromptu session kicks off, a couple of guitarists one with a harmonica the other singing, then more amateur musicians start drifting in, the musicians soon outnumbering the drinkers, the beers keep coming, Isabelle is on double Baileys.
More guitars, an old boy with a concertina and the look of an 'old salt' about his complexion, a fiddle, a bearded tourist with some kind of flute and a wife that sings, then a young guy with an accordion, the line-up is in a constant state of flux.
Isabelle has qualms that I might take up the offer of a guitar despite being unable to play any recognisable tune in anything like its entirety, but as the concertina starts up with another jig and the glasses migrate across the table top in time to the music it's clear that we have become some kind of rhythm section.
We exit before closing time, (there appears to be a very very late licence) it seems we have been in The Star Inn roughly twelve hours...
There are fringe events going on somewhere, everywhere?, we stumble into a bar with no name just a redundant length of electrical cable sticking out of the wall above the door, which is actually The Star Inn billed on the program.
The barman claims something might be happening shortly, Stuart makes some quip to the barmaid, who is attractive, about the missing sign but she doesn't see the funny side. The pervading smell of vomit near the bar is a testament to the effectiveness of the smoking ban.
The predicted impromptu session kicks off, a couple of guitarists one with a harmonica the other singing, then more amateur musicians start drifting in, the musicians soon outnumbering the drinkers, the beers keep coming, Isabelle is on double Baileys.
More guitars, an old boy with a concertina and the look of an 'old salt' about his complexion, a fiddle, a bearded tourist with some kind of flute and a wife that sings, then a young guy with an accordion, the line-up is in a constant state of flux.
Isabelle has qualms that I might take up the offer of a guitar despite being unable to play any recognisable tune in anything like its entirety, but as the concertina starts up with another jig and the glasses migrate across the table top in time to the music it's clear that we have become some kind of rhythm section.
We exit before closing time, (there appears to be a very very late licence) it seems we have been in The Star Inn roughly twelve hours...
12th July. Still Normal After Two Days.
Still seem to be fairly 'normal' ie not normal for me. (see previous)
When I say normal I mean foreboding levels are probably reduced to what I imagine is normal for other people, appropriate for what the day is likely to bring.
For instance if you were planning to go to a funeral of a close family member then there would be a sense of grimness about what was to come, but there's no point waking everyday with a feeling akin to this.
Needless to say I'd misconstrued our camping plans and although there is an additional influx of 10,000 souls to the Isle of Lewis we are ensconced on a patch of grass owned by Morag, (That'll be £6 for the night) who is about ninety, with only a few fellow campers.
On waking, I eat muesli then run 2 miles barefoot along a deserted beach of white sand.
Due to the facilities offered at the 'camping ground' amounting only to a tap at the side of Morag's house, I have a poo in the Atlantic then run back again.
At that point there has been no further movement either from our tent or Stuarts
When I say normal I mean foreboding levels are probably reduced to what I imagine is normal for other people, appropriate for what the day is likely to bring.
For instance if you were planning to go to a funeral of a close family member then there would be a sense of grimness about what was to come, but there's no point waking everyday with a feeling akin to this.
Needless to say I'd misconstrued our camping plans and although there is an additional influx of 10,000 souls to the Isle of Lewis we are ensconced on a patch of grass owned by Morag, (That'll be £6 for the night) who is about ninety, with only a few fellow campers.
On waking, I eat muesli then run 2 miles barefoot along a deserted beach of white sand.
Due to the facilities offered at the 'camping ground' amounting only to a tap at the side of Morag's house, I have a poo in the Atlantic then run back again.
At that point there has been no further movement either from our tent or Stuarts
11th July. It's Gonna Be ....?
Normally I'd have said Crap. (see yesterday)
Today we journey to the darker side of the moon - Stornaway Isle of Lewis, the fathermost reaches of western europe battered by atlantic gales, virtually treeless, to camp at the annual 'Hebfest' despite having virtually no money.
To be honest I'm not really a folk officionado and midges are a definite possibility unless the rain and wind are particularly heavy.
I imagine a leaden sky with very little wind with an endless twilight and midges getting into the tent at 3am, then a hangover but...
"Where do we wash?" asks Isabelle
"There's bound to be water for 10,000 people" I reply.
But the weird thing is I can't connect any mood at all to the possibility of the above.
It's like I can't find the peg to hang my own brand of bleakness on.
Do you know what I mean?
It could well be crap, it could be awful, it could be boring, tedious, I could wish I'd never gone, in fact it could be the worst three days of my life...but it won't be the end of the world.
I can't get any feeling of foreboding about it...even if I wanted to...
THIS IS WEIRD! weird, weird.
Today we journey to the darker side of the moon - Stornaway Isle of Lewis, the fathermost reaches of western europe battered by atlantic gales, virtually treeless, to camp at the annual 'Hebfest' despite having virtually no money.
To be honest I'm not really a folk officionado and midges are a definite possibility unless the rain and wind are particularly heavy.
I imagine a leaden sky with very little wind with an endless twilight and midges getting into the tent at 3am, then a hangover but...
"Where do we wash?" asks Isabelle
"There's bound to be water for 10,000 people" I reply.
But the weird thing is I can't connect any mood at all to the possibility of the above.
It's like I can't find the peg to hang my own brand of bleakness on.
Do you know what I mean?
It could well be crap, it could be awful, it could be boring, tedious, I could wish I'd never gone, in fact it could be the worst three days of my life...but it won't be the end of the world.
I can't get any feeling of foreboding about it...even if I wanted to...
THIS IS WEIRD! weird, weird.
10th July. Goodbye - Preoccupation With Death.
After a brief chat about the darker side of life I lay back, shut my eyes and listened to Mrs Thingy's voice. It wasn't long before I was standing on top of Ben Alder - a 'Safe Place', well, about as far away from other people as you can get locally...
To describe the process would be to make it sound completely corny. However all thoughts just slip away along with critical awareness.
To cut a long story short after rolling Death, in the shape of a huge boulder down the hillside and watching it smash, followed by what amounted to an enema of white light and gargling with all the colours of the rainbow I feel like the kidneys are flushed out...lighter...and
A bit less Morbid?
Anyway Mrs Thingy has decided to give me another free session next week on the grounds that - "We can't stop there!"
Hell No!
To describe the process would be to make it sound completely corny. However all thoughts just slip away along with critical awareness.
To cut a long story short after rolling Death, in the shape of a huge boulder down the hillside and watching it smash, followed by what amounted to an enema of white light and gargling with all the colours of the rainbow I feel like the kidneys are flushed out...lighter...and
A bit less Morbid?
Anyway Mrs Thingy has decided to give me another free session next week on the grounds that - "We can't stop there!"
Hell No!
9th July. Hypno, Hypno, Hypno!
Swam seventy-two lengths front crawl for a change instead of sixty at the Leisure Pool tonight, when I came back Isabelle was watching some fly-on-the-wall-thing about Hypnotherapy.
I said "This time tomorrow It'll all be sorted out" because I'm going to see that Hypnotherapist woman for a 'free' session at 6.30pm.
It seems unlikely that mouthing a set of platitudes with your eyes closed could make any difference to the way one thinks.
Then how do you know if there's been any change?
Even if there has, it could be because of something other than being hypnotised?
In this case though, actual change can be measured by an external examiner, by posing the question:
'Do I sound any less like I'm on Drugs?'
I said "This time tomorrow It'll all be sorted out" because I'm going to see that Hypnotherapist woman for a 'free' session at 6.30pm.
It seems unlikely that mouthing a set of platitudes with your eyes closed could make any difference to the way one thinks.
Then how do you know if there's been any change?
Even if there has, it could be because of something other than being hypnotised?
In this case though, actual change can be measured by an external examiner, by posing the question:
'Do I sound any less like I'm on Drugs?'
8th July. Sunday Morning Perspiration.
Decided on a cross-country run of seven uphill miles to look at Alistair's leaking conservatory problem first thing in the morning, due to the on-going cash flow crisis.
William Wallace marched over the same hill on the 'Wallace Road' with his army some time in the late 13th century. Through the pig farm past all the rusting contractors plant, then up over the empty moor where the Wallace Road becomes the Wallace two vague ruts in the waving grassland, on through the proposed Wind farm site.
The exertion of running uphill in the morning sun brings out the local fly population, the only army that's likely to follow me.
William Wallace marched over the same hill on the 'Wallace Road' with his army some time in the late 13th century. Through the pig farm past all the rusting contractors plant, then up over the empty moor where the Wallace Road becomes the Wallace two vague ruts in the waving grassland, on through the proposed Wind farm site.
The exertion of running uphill in the morning sun brings out the local fly population, the only army that's likely to follow me.
7th July. 07-07-07
Yeah well I can tell you where I was exactly on 7-7-77, not even five miles from this very seat but it may as well have been on the other side of the galaxy.
It was EP1 at Perth Tech, for the uninitiated, Engineering Practice 1, in the fabrication department.
"Now who can tell me the correct oxy-acetylene flame for welding?"
"When you've got that light blue cone part of the flame thingy just about disappeared?"
"Come on! I'd expect you Degree lads to do better than that. Christ! you're supposed to be Engineers!"
"A neutral flame?"
1977 marked the 'Post-Iconic' Woman Period, an all male world where life revolved around subjects such as whether the Yamaha RD250 was 3mph faster than the Suzuki GT250 in the latest road test in Bike magazine, if so, then obviously it was the better bike, and that's all that mattered.
It was EP1 at Perth Tech, for the uninitiated, Engineering Practice 1, in the fabrication department.
"Now who can tell me the correct oxy-acetylene flame for welding?"
"When you've got that light blue cone part of the flame thingy just about disappeared?"
"Come on! I'd expect you Degree lads to do better than that. Christ! you're supposed to be Engineers!"
"A neutral flame?"
1977 marked the 'Post-Iconic' Woman Period, an all male world where life revolved around subjects such as whether the Yamaha RD250 was 3mph faster than the Suzuki GT250 in the latest road test in Bike magazine, if so, then obviously it was the better bike, and that's all that mattered.
6th July. The Road To Obstinacy.
Saw that film about about Graeme Obree's obstinate pursuit of world cycling records, Isabelle had to put it on Visa.
It was a portrayal not so much of a pursuit but more a flight from chiildhood bullies firmly ensconced in the psyche of the adult Obree.
The sort of neurosis that could have been easily cleared up by a few sessions of some form of therapy (£65 for an hour and a half) and in the process robbed him of all necessary drive.
Is it true that the happy and contented never do anything, apart from forming the audience that applaud the mental people who are fighting amongst themselves to get on the stage?
How many notable achievers and people who fail but at least tried, are only running from something or trying to impress imaginary women or a dead parent?
"You don't seem very happy about going to work today" said my brother on the phone.
"Well it makes you wonder about those people who can retire at fifty."
"Maybe if you'd had a career with the Police or something like that but it's YOU that wanted to be Self-Sufficient, so you'll just have to *ucking get on with it!"
It was a portrayal not so much of a pursuit but more a flight from chiildhood bullies firmly ensconced in the psyche of the adult Obree.
The sort of neurosis that could have been easily cleared up by a few sessions of some form of therapy (£65 for an hour and a half) and in the process robbed him of all necessary drive.
Is it true that the happy and contented never do anything, apart from forming the audience that applaud the mental people who are fighting amongst themselves to get on the stage?
How many notable achievers and people who fail but at least tried, are only running from something or trying to impress imaginary women or a dead parent?
"You don't seem very happy about going to work today" said my brother on the phone.
"Well it makes you wonder about those people who can retire at fifty."
"Maybe if you'd had a career with the Police or something like that but it's YOU that wanted to be Self-Sufficient, so you'll just have to *ucking get on with it!"
5th July. I Was a Teenage Halfwit.
Well I got this Hypnotherapist/ Life Coach on the mobile today who'd been ringing around everywhere trying to get someone to sort her problems out for a change.
"I don't know HOW many people I've tried they either don't answer the phone or they've retired. Look, all I want to know is CAN YOU DO IT?"
"Well you can do anything if you put your mind to it" I quipped, although I wouldn't need to tell her that, I suppose.
So having called round and mucked about for a while on her roof this evening, I was finally shovelling soot out from underneath her stove and I turned and said "So how much is a session of Hypnotherapy then?"
"£65 per session but that's about an hour and a half, why, were you considering it?"
"Well how about a straight swap for fixing the stove?'
"Sure, yes no problem, would next Tuesday at 6.30 be ok?"
"Right."
With any luck I'll be regressed right back to deal with an overbearing mother or a seventeen year old I couldn't speak to, releasing that life long emotional block and allowing every nuance of feeling to flow with an unheard of clarity of speech.
It'll be like a dam of intonation bursting, a talking bird of prey released, soaring high on thermals of self-expression...
...duh...?
"I don't know HOW many people I've tried they either don't answer the phone or they've retired. Look, all I want to know is CAN YOU DO IT?"
"Well you can do anything if you put your mind to it" I quipped, although I wouldn't need to tell her that, I suppose.
So having called round and mucked about for a while on her roof this evening, I was finally shovelling soot out from underneath her stove and I turned and said "So how much is a session of Hypnotherapy then?"
"£65 per session but that's about an hour and a half, why, were you considering it?"
"Well how about a straight swap for fixing the stove?'
"Sure, yes no problem, would next Tuesday at 6.30 be ok?"
"Right."
With any luck I'll be regressed right back to deal with an overbearing mother or a seventeen year old I couldn't speak to, releasing that life long emotional block and allowing every nuance of feeling to flow with an unheard of clarity of speech.
It'll be like a dam of intonation bursting, a talking bird of prey released, soaring high on thermals of self-expression...
...duh...?
4th July. Trade Secrets.
"What do you charge an hour for this job?' said the Polish joiner who had been detailed to help me lift a huge piece of slate, the plumber and the tiler had more limited English comprehension.
It was a question that I had been anticipating for a while, now that East has comprehensively met West as far as building work goes.
Although at an ideological level the Cold War may be over there are still secrets that have to be closely guarded.
First I tried a straight deflection, "I told Geoff I'd swop the slate for a bigger one for nothing."
"No, this job here" he said motioning to the stove and chimney.
"Well I don't have an hourly rate, I just give them a price for the whole thing, materials as well"
"So how much would this job be then?"
"Well....it's about a thousand" I said trying to round everything down to something that sounded vague and not worth any further elucidation...
It was a question that I had been anticipating for a while, now that East has comprehensively met West as far as building work goes.
Although at an ideological level the Cold War may be over there are still secrets that have to be closely guarded.
First I tried a straight deflection, "I told Geoff I'd swop the slate for a bigger one for nothing."
"No, this job here" he said motioning to the stove and chimney.
"Well I don't have an hourly rate, I just give them a price for the whole thing, materials as well"
"So how much would this job be then?"
"Well....it's about a thousand" I said trying to round everything down to something that sounded vague and not worth any further elucidation...
3rd July. Deep Water.
E-mailed the iconic woman (see earlier) on the pretext of the flooding in Yorkshire after the school helpfully provided everyones details.
"I suppose that was quite brave" said Isabelle.
Maybe but also pointless. Really the considered response could only be no response, as any response invites something else, either that or their house is actually under water.
Stuart's verdict, "You must have had some intention?"
No, nothing particularly.
"I suppose that was quite brave" said Isabelle.
Maybe but also pointless. Really the considered response could only be no response, as any response invites something else, either that or their house is actually under water.
Stuart's verdict, "You must have had some intention?"
No, nothing particularly.
2nd July. Tenancy Agreement.
Mr & Mrs F. don't own their farm although they had the chance to buy in the mid 80's. The way it works is, the lease lasts for three generations and it's just about up for renewal.
In-credible!
In contrast i've only recently established whether my own Grandfather was English or Scottish..
Yes, I'd wondered in years gone by why when you pass the F's farm there are various empty cottages in a gradual state of decline, now it all becomes clear. The real landlord lives somewhere in Spain and has only been seen once shortly after he bought the place, his only interest is seeing the rent come in twice yearly.
Meanwhile Mr F is sitting on the same toilet seat as his Grandfather and going up and down the same fields year in year out, nowadays listening to Radio Tay in a tractor instead of trailing behind horses and plough with a sack over his back to keep the rain off.
In-credible!
In contrast i've only recently established whether my own Grandfather was English or Scottish..
Yes, I'd wondered in years gone by why when you pass the F's farm there are various empty cottages in a gradual state of decline, now it all becomes clear. The real landlord lives somewhere in Spain and has only been seen once shortly after he bought the place, his only interest is seeing the rent come in twice yearly.
Meanwhile Mr F is sitting on the same toilet seat as his Grandfather and going up and down the same fields year in year out, nowadays listening to Radio Tay in a tractor instead of trailing behind horses and plough with a sack over his back to keep the rain off.
1st July. Things Can Only Get......?
The positive aspect of todays hangover is the knowledge that it will soon pass, unlike Mother's present state of mind, losing it but knowing that things aren't going to get better.
"That was the worst afternoon I've ever spent with your mother" my brother related on the phone after taking her out in the car.
"It was like being in the company of a Madwoman for an hour: nothing's right, she hates the home, the people in it, even the food's rubbish now, she hates Rhyl, wished she'd never moved here, I never come to see her, no one loves her, keep's saying she wants to die... To be quite honest, if I'd had a gun I would have shot her".
"That was the worst afternoon I've ever spent with your mother" my brother related on the phone after taking her out in the car.
"It was like being in the company of a Madwoman for an hour: nothing's right, she hates the home, the people in it, even the food's rubbish now, she hates Rhyl, wished she'd never moved here, I never come to see her, no one loves her, keep's saying she wants to die... To be quite honest, if I'd had a gun I would have shot her".
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