Yep! That went well.....

 Went to the North East Guitar show yesterday where Kasha and I watched my friend Anth Purdey playing his unique style of Swing Jazz to an audience of people who thought they knew how to play the guitar.
I have known Anth for a few years now and it is great to see his rise in popularity and to have been one of the people who 'heard it first'
Being unique in music is such a rare thing, there is just so much of the same these days and it is so good to listen to something different, to hear it live and to know that there are no effects, no dubs, nothing but a man and a guitar.

There are often music nights at the George and Dragon in Garrigill, and there is some real talent in the village, Patrick in particular is someone that I would make a special trip to listen to if I heard he was playing. 
Ok....when I say a special trip...I have to walk about 30 meters, but you know what I mean, I would go even if it were raining :-)

Many years ago I used to sing in a band, we did ok and I have been practicing lately to get the voice back. I recently started to learn to play guitar as it was on my list of 'things I really want to do' and I am at the stage now where after my plinking on the cheap acoustic it is time to move onto a better guitar and so as we were at the show and as my 50th birthday is coming up my lovely girlfriend splashed out on a Telecaster for me. 
This means that there may be duet sounds coming from the cottage as we both practice together and you never know, if we get good enough we may appear at the George one evening ready to play.

 
I like the George and Dragon, it has a proper country pub feeling, two crackling fires blasting out heat, a stone floor that has been there since the 16th century, friendly people who know each other through no more than 2 degrees of seperation and Dixies dog Deisel who is just about the friendliest most playful fella you ever met. Yes, he is allowed on the seats and if you don't like that idea you can go to another pub in the village.
Good luck finding one!

Or Maybe Not!

 Friday we had snow, winter was on it's way and yet the very next day you couldn't have got further away from the possibility of snow!

For those of you that don't know already, Garrigill is on the Pennine Way. This is why we get so many people wearing bright hats, large boots and wearing waterproof maps around the neck. It is also on the cross country cycle way and this is why we get a lot of men wearing tights.
One of these is more disturbing than the other, but after a while you start to get used to various coloured baggy or skintight clothes wandering past your living room window in the rain.
However, we didn't have rain (unusual for Cumbria) and after the first of the snow the weather decided to have a warm up and so Kasha and I decided to walk the dogs on the Pennine Way path between Garrigill and Alston.

Because Kasha is an artist there is always a camera in her pocket so that she can get reference shots and as Autumn is starting to move on us the trees were putting on quite a show of colour not just for our benefit but also for those that walked past in large boots and bright hats.
It was one of those days when everyone said "Hello" or wanted a little chat. It's nice when that happens. Friday it was snowing, and cold and I was in the Arse End of Nowhere. Saturday, the sun was shining and I couldn't be in a more beautiful place.

Shhhhhh!

The very first snow fell today, it drifted very gently and silently down and then decided not to settle.

I saw the best of it as I was heading to the barn to get some logs for the fire. It patterned the torchlight in front of me and faded away as it hit the earth.

The first snow fell today, winter is coming.

Those Fallen Leaves.....

...drift past my windscreen....

Autumn is lovely, but I have already discovered that the amount of leaves falling from trees around here tends to make the roads a bit like a soggy skating rink. Even more fun when it's dark, misty, raining....

There are plenty of long drops, hills to tumble down and tight corners so I guess I should be pleased that it isn't blowing a gale. Hmmm, Cumbria, perhaps if I wait around for a few minutes.

Green

There are not enough village greens anymore!
I didn't really realise how important a village green was for a while because I always lived in places that didn't have one, but now that I live in a place that does it just jumps out as a social centre.
Garrigill has been around since the 12th century when it was Gerards Gill, or Gerards Valley (Gill is Norse for steep sided valley). So I guess that someone called Gerard once owned the place.
The village green is around what used to be the old blacksmith, and I guess as the blacksmith was quite a focal point that it stands to reason that the pub, the church and a lot of old barns are now very close. 

It's easy to point out a village green as being in the centre of an old village, but Garrigill is so small that it is within a few minutes of every property.

One of the old water pumps is still on the green in the place where the well that served the forge used to stand. That pump no longer works, it would be nice to get it working again one day, I might make that a project.
There is another water pump still operating on the bridge out of the village. If you go past give it a blast, but stand back as there is water pressure and lots of it.
 

Got Wood

Last week Dave the blacksmith showed Kasha and myself the river up behind the falls at Thortergill forge.

They used to open the blacksmiths to the public and operate a tea room. They also used to open the walk behind the falls to visitors which was nice of Dave's family as it is all private land, but since the cafe has closed nobody except family and friends go up there.

When we were there last week a few recently fallen Silver Birch caught my eye because of the long straight trunks that would be perfect for longbows so I had arranged with Dave that I would be back with an aptly named bow-saw to chop some and get them laid down ready for the spring when they will be dry enough to work on.

The walk up behind the falls is amazing, and I have already arranged that I can take Kieran up there when he is next over here. He loves going to the forge anyway, I think he already has it in his head to be Daves apprentice at some point.

Kasha took some pictures as I collected the first few pieces, it's heavy stuff is wood so I will go back and get more at another time. I like to create the longbows, but I also think it is nice for whoever ends up owning them to have a picture reference of where it actually came from.

Back in the barn I had the usual job of "Oh no! Last time I did this I should have sharpened my tools" and as ever I hadn't so it was tool sharpening time once again. Please notice the safety glasses girls and boys.

I like working in the barn. Ok, it may be a bit chilly at times but there is a stove in there that I could use to warm the place up if I wanted.
Thing is when you are in the barn you are usually doing the kind of thing that warms you anyway so usually there isn't any point in getting the stove cleaned out (yeah....I should have done that after last time) and all lit up.
This time was not an exception. The day was a bit cool but I was about to start splitting trunks ready to dry them out so I guessed that I wasn't going to be needing the warmth of a log fired stove behind me.

 I have learned through various tries and by talking to other bowyers that it is best for a longbow if the wood splits along it's own natural path as this seems to help with the strength and flexibility of the finished bow.

For that reason I prefer to split the trunks with a metal splitter, where possible breaking through any knots that seem to be in the path of the split.

There are times when this goes well, like it did today and after a few minutes of heavy hammering the trunk found it's very own path and before you know it you have two pieces of wood that you have to leave alone for 3 months before you can touch them again.

It's all great fun!

So, we can come back to this early in the new year when the wood can start to be worked into it's new form.
It's a Birch so it will need a bit of Oak laminated onto the belly to make it strong enough to be a longbow but I'm sure that living in Garrigill a bit of Oak won't be very hard to come across. Even easier when you happen to know the local tree surgeon, but I think I mentioned once before, only two degrees of separation around here, so even if I didn't know him, I would imagine that I would know someone who did.

Right now, the world is just right. I have wood laid down for bows, I have just had word that I have my son on Christmas day, nothing went wrong that I had to run into work this weekend, Kasha is painting (which means Kasha is very happy).
This is all going far to well, are you sure this is my life?

Sissy

Sissy is the sixth member of our family, a black Land Rover Defender that Kasha has had since 2004.
When you live out here a Land Rover or something similar is very much a requirement because eventually there will be snow or water or mud and at those times my Ford Focus just won't get up the hill.

We are all very attached to Sissy, she is uncomfortable, has no heating to speak of, she rattles and bounces on every bump, she is loud and clunky and full of character and she uses lots of diesel.

 But the thing is, she is great fun to be in, she scoots around the country roads she always starts, she goes anywhere in any weather and she does it pretty fast.
Kasha loves her car and unlike the string of company cars that I have we all get attached to Sissy, she is the car that we pat as we get in or get out just to let her know that she is appreciated, valued, loved.

The thing that I like best is that when we are in Sissy we can see over the  walls and admire the view.

In the Ford we miss most of the views, but in Sissy you get to see everything, and everything here is so worth seeing.
My favorites are the drive out of Garrigill and the drive back in.

It's getting frosty here in the mornings already, there will come a point soon where the snow starts to fall and when that happens we will find that as well as having no mobile signal (not on any network) we will probably also have no electricity. When that happens we will have Sissy who will get us out and back in so that we can keep ourselves in fuel for the generator, coal for the fire and whatever tins of food there are left at the shop (actually, we stockpile fuel and tins before winter just in case) but we will have Sissy, and she won't ever let us down. That's why she gets a pat and a rub every time we use her, or a smile every time we see her. She's our girl :-)

Hart days night

I had to go to Milton Keynes for the day yesterday, and as the A1 was as usual full of accidents I decided to run up the M6 (adding an extra 30 miles) turning off at Penrith and nipping over Hartside to get into Garrigill. I like the M6, it tends to get very quiet after Warrington and it's an easy drive all the way.
 
The same was true yesterday right up until I got half way up the hill when I was suddenly in fog so thick that the headlights just lit up 5m in front of the car.
Now I have been up and down Hartside a few times, so I know where the drops are, and I have seen the holes in the walls and the missing sections of hedges where vehicles have decided to go through....and down...

At this point the drive got very very slow and I did start to wonder about anyone who was on the hills walking and didn't have the advantage of a pair of headlights to light the way.

Gets foggy up here.

Autumn Mornings

 

The iPhone doesn't really capture how bright orange the sunlight is just before it rises over the hills in the morning at this time of year. There is something about the crisp cold morning that seems to make the colours shine brighter. I wish I had a decent camera to capture it, I hope that one day I am passing just as it clears the hill and lights up the valley.

How can anyone not like mornings?

And I'm only plucking pheasants 'cause the pheasant plucker's late

My main route out of Garrigill as I head to work is the A686 which is a beautiful drive mainly populated by pheasants.
Most of the pheasants you see in the countryside are farmed on the open hills so that once a year very rich people in city Range Rovers can come out into the country wearing plus fours and silly hats and get very drunk while carrying firearms in order to shoot them.
Now pheasant are a big bright coloured bird that fair stand out against the green of the hills and so these people must be pretty bad shots (or pretty drunk) judging by the amount that are left after the shooting season is finished. There are currently so many of them that the ride out becomes a torrent of bird impacts as you try to head for the motorway that leads to where you are going.
Most people think that it's a bad thing to run over a bird, although at times like this you usually have no option as to swerve to miss one will usually pile you into a family group of others, but the point is, you aint supposed to swerve. There are more accidents caused by people in their Mazda MX5 trying to avoid pheasant and so driving into the heavily armoured Land Rover than I would care to count.
I don't understand it, people drive through walls, into tree's and into much bigger cars usually driven by what becomes a very irate farmer (although this may be a standard mood from the ones I have met) lets say an even more irate farmer than usual just to avoid one of thousands of birds that never learned the green cross code.
Run them over people, it gives the foxes something easy to eat at night and in the long run it saves lives. Also they taste pretty good so if you get a plump one on the bumper get out and take it home, you can have a real taste of the country for your dinner.

It Warms You Twice

I am very attached to the log burner, it looks lovely, it warms the living room and it is somehow (I'm not sure quite how) attached to the hot water tank using magic and copper pipe.
The problem with a lovely log burner is that they are more addictive than alcohol or tobacco and that they burn logs....lots of logs.
It is for this reason that I have a chainsaw and an axe. 
For those of you townies who get heat by pressing a button you should know that a chainsaw is a device that works on the same principle as the loud sounding motorbikes that the track-suited thugs ride through your garden at midnight while being chased by the local constabulary.
A chainsaw runs on a mixture of petrol (which is dangerous) mixed with oil (which is sticky and messy)
Now when you watch the latest zombie film, the chainsaw is the trusty device that you hold with your right hand while pulling on the string two or three times with your left hand until it roars to life like the screaming 50cc motor bike that it emulates. After this the chain spins and things get chopped.
Not quite so in reality.
First of all you have to service it. Is the chain tight? Probably not so we need a spanner and a screwdriver. That's ten minutes we just wasted. Then do we have lubrication oil for the chain? Lets put some of that in too. Is the chain sharp?...well last time I used it I decided I would sharpen it the next day, and I didn't, so no it isn't. Lets get the round file out then shall we, sharpen the chain, that's a 30 minute job.
Eventually we decide to start it. You can't do the movie pulling the damn thing while it is in your hand thing because when you pull on the string the whole chainsaw moves upward, including the hand you are holding it in.
You have to put it down and stand in the handle. (Imagine doing this as the zombies advance)
Then what happens is you pull the string and it goes chug, so you pull it harder and you hit yourself in the face as it goes chug. This face hitting happens no matter how many times you have used a chainsaw or sworn not to hit yourself in the face again. It is probably done for comedic value because whatever gods there may be don't like the idea of a sword that sounds louder than theirs.
After rubbing your wounded nose and cursing yourself for an idiot you pull it again and the string snaps. This can happen at either end of the flywheel or handle or in the very middle of the string, but wherever it happens you need to get the screwdriver out and fix it. This takes at least ten minutes and a sense of humour.
After this you can try to start it again and after some time and some general grunting and some sore knuckles as you knock them on the body of the chainsaw you will get it started. 
A quick flick of the throttle and the engine revs....but the chain doesn't spin.
Adjustment....you just tightened the chain, there is the little screw for adjustment just beside the chain. You get out the screwdriver, loosen the screw a little, rev the engine, it moves but not enough, adjust some more rev it, the chain spins and we are off.

This is great. You now have ten minutes to chop wood before it will run out of fuel or the chain will become loose, fly off and give you a battle scar. 40 minutes of frustration to get the damn thing going and ten minutes of chopping. Then you start at the beginning.

I also have an axe, that's for blatting the bloody chainsaw into tiny bits of metal and plastic. 
Then I take it to chop wood. 
Which I need for the log burner because winter is coming and I have to get it into the barn and dry.

Leek People

The first Saturday in the month of October.
There was a thick frost this morning, it happens quite early when you live in a valley that is 1000ft above sea level, but the day got warmer and the Leek people were setting up for the annual Leek show in the George and Dragon.
When I grew up in Gateshead my grandfather was very much a 'working mens club' man and I remember being dragged along to the annual vegetable shows where cabbages, carrots, cauliflowers and other very large vegetable based home grown wonders were put on display by proud men who smelled of stale beer and roll ups.
Every year there were at least two angry men who talked of sabotage and vandalism of his prize vegetable by competitors unknown.

 

The roughness and angry competition of the working mens club of my childhood memory was very different to the atmosphere in the George and Dragon on this Saturday.

In Garrigill the six degrees of seperation doesn't apply, it's more like one degree and it is at times like this that you lose that one degree as people who are known by one get introduced to another.
I didn't go in for the main show but as we walked the dogs at about midday the pub was full and the day was warm enough that many men had overflowed out to the tables on the green. It was strange that while the uniform of smart shirt, smell of stale beer and roll ups was missing there still seemed to be a dress code of leek people, in this place the majority being dressed in a warm army green jumper, a flat hat of a light colour or your standard country Berghaus in green with big pockets.
There is nothing unusual in a small place like this seeing many people dressed the same. We get it with groups of cyclists, walkers, shooting parties, but I was surprised that leek growers also seemed to have a dress code.
We wandered in for a look later on after the prizes had been given. There was no anger, no talk of sabotage, no bitterness at not winning. It was the first Saturday in October and it was a reason for everyone to get together and fill the pub, to catch up and talk and to show one of the things that they had been growing. Competition was fierce, and winning was the intention, but not at the high cost that I had seen as a child.
There must be something about leeks and the smell, because I made a broth, guess what was in it?