Elves a-poppin'!

Like you, my immediate response was 'I see no elf' but, if you look closely in the window, you can just see the reflection of his left ear..

I'm surprised at this notice. I'd have thought it'd contravene Elf and Safety Regulations to carry an elf so near the emergency exit

Now I could continue in this vein (and vanity certainly calls!) but there are more important activities than punning and we need to evaluate this sign and its ilk carefully. This being a clear example of adulterated signage, it cannot pass into the pantheon of poorly-conceived signs initiated with Luddism (see below). It may sit as a good example of intelligent doctoring with a surreal edge but no higher than that. Man's true stupidity has more faithful witnesses.

Luddism

My collaborator, Frank, lives about 200 miles away so, for our first circular walk, we decided to meet up half-way. This turned out to be Ludlow, pocketed away in the south-west of Shropshire. The walk had a border feel to it but it wasn't views like the one above, nice though it is, that characterised this walk, it was the signs.

Consider this: The farmer has engaged, in the normal way, in marking his territory but what is the significance of "Proper Gates"? No nearby gateage to see. Frank felt it might be a reference to the fact that, at Overton, life abounds due to propagation.

This one had to be resurrected from a ditch. Begs a few questions, too. Obviously firstly, who exactly are the legends? Bill Foulkes? Bobby Charlton? Tommy Smith? Kenny Dalglaish? Somehow, you know it won't have been, don't you?

Secondly, obviously, where is the S.B.S Stadium and what does S.B.S stand for?

Thirdly, though, why the hyphen?

Another spot. This one at the entrance to a drive leading mysteriously away into trimmed hedgeland. What manner of nation are we that we secrete away our youngest and most fragile progeny? In Norway, education doesn't start till 6 and they're doing alright, aren't they? - despite the cold.

So, to the walk. Frank got us lost but when we did finally relocate ourselves by the improbably-named Hucks Farm, it was good to realise we hadn't been transported to the Deep South but were, in fact, only about a mile from walk's end. As we hove up the final stretch and espied Lud below us, squat and spiked by its cathedral and castle, we found the car festooned with small spiders.

The Cathedral, incidentally, is home to the "Misericords".

The weekend ahead..

..and a walk to look forward to with my collaborator, Frank.

Good prospects and I feel optimistic and the sun is shining with bright abandon, not caring for its carbon footprint. Equally oblivious is the young snail sliding up my window - what effort must that take?

Buoyed by these events, I put my family name into Wikipedia and discovered a contemporary evidently killed by the Khmer Rouge, having been an English teacher in Japan and a yachtsman (it was from The Foxy Lady that he was abducted by KR pirates). Now I know it's a mistake to always stay safe but the story served to make me feel ever gladder for what I have here, now and around me. If I believed in God (properly, that is), I'd attribute these 'blessings' to His Wondrous Mercy but since I remain in Limbo with Agnosticism, I'll just dwell in the warmth it all brings.

More after Tuesday...

Spurn it not..

If the technology allows, I'll post a picture. If not, here's a thousand words..

When you're already near Driffield (and if you're actually there, check out Dewhirst), the bit of the East Riding that arches out into and divides the North Sea from the Humber doesn't look far away. It's 50 miles and mostly on roads transplanted from Lincolnshire. Nonetheless, lured by that desire we all have to go to extremes, I imprisoned my new family in the car and set off.

The arrival, via the excellent tea rooms at Kilnsea, was slow. Even after the land runs out, there's a promontory of single-trackedness, alternating between asphalt, tank tracks and sand piles which brings you to The Car Park at the End of Yorkshire. This is before the gate leading to a scattering of desperate houses belonging to some ostensibly safety-orienated Government Agency but possibly the lodgings of families engaged in spying. Or maybe it's just the lifeboat.. it was certainly parked there.

The Car Park is industrial in prospect but hidden over the adjacent sand dune, is a wonderful stretch of gloriously white-brown sandy beach, adorned with the remnanats of quays and docks. Gravel boats have long since shimmied away but their shingle call still plays on the breeze conducted by the old lighthouse. A young seal sniffed at us but dolphined away with Michael Phelps' prowess. The sand whipped our faces and the sun shone shamefacedly but defiant.

It was great. Go there - it'll be gone in my kids' lifetimes.

Wirksworth Arts Festival

I've wandered and wondered around Wirksworth looking at variations on the theme of local artwork. In the company of my partner, Sue, and because of her, I've met some friends and acquaintances and felt equally glad and uncomfortable with their temporary company.

It's a peculiar event - art is displayed around the town in venues but mostly in people's houses, so you get to go in, have a nosy and be nonplussed by the artwork on offer, sometimes at reasonable prices, mostly not. "Invest in good art!" - maybe but it's finding the good art that's tricky.

It is a very white affair, very middle England, very nice.

Then there's the dark cellar of mustiness...

Spotted 4 locals, sitting outside the pub in the Market Square, attempting to intimidate the arty folk with copious beer-swallowing and blank beshaded looks.

Twitched as the artist (used in its broadest, most amateur sense) adjusted the carpet beneath my feet as I entered yet another salon of delights. His apology fluttered, scarcely audible, around his lips as his arms tugged and twirled.. Welcome to My World!

Leapt, as if stung, when the lovely tea lady in the church threatened us with another service, if we dallied beyond 3 o'clock. She used the word "Clypping" in that ominous way it has...

So, a short circular walk around Wirksworth revealed its pretence and its beauty, although that is, of course, for others to judge.

Under considerable pressure, I'm challenging the terror of the blank screen and starting to write..