Messing around on various BitTorrent sites the other day a number of things accidently found their way onto my hard drive. One was the complete discography of George Carlin, which i am very much enjoying working my way through. Something a little more random however was a file containing a couple of hundred classic TV theme tunes.
Every now and again Jeff from View from the Cloud runs a spot the TV theme tune contest. I’ve managed to get a few of them in the past (Gentle Ben and Ren and Stimpy off the top of my head) but have always suffered from the fact that Jeff inconsiderately choses American TV shows rather than British. The racist swine.
Never being one to shy away from stealing someone else’s ideas I have devised my own fiendish quiz, this time with a definite UK bias. The circle is now complete. When I left him I was but the student, but now I am the master.
So let’s have your guesses then. In the interest of international relations I’ve tried to throw in a couple shows that have been aired on both sides of the Atlantic.
A little bit of housekeeping today. I wondered if you could give me your oppinion on a couple of things:
Question 1
You may have noticed that I’ve started using a new comment plugin over the past few days (thanks go to Lee who pointed me in it’s direction). In theory it should work a little like a web forum, so you’ll be able to respond directly to individual comments rather than have your reply all the way down at the bottom where it’s context might not be immediately apparent. It should also email you whenever anyone replies to your comment (although I’m not sure if it is actually doing this. Has anyone had an email from the blog recently?).
To be honest I’m not sure I like it or not. Hopefully it will encourage more of a conversation in the comments section, and it also makes responding to comments slightly easier for me. However as Oli has pointed out to me it’s not particularly easy to spot when a new comment has been left as it’s no longer just added to the bottom.
What do you think? Should I keep it or lose it?
Question 2
I’ve started getting some strange spam recently. Strange in the fact that the person leaving it has obviously read the post that they are commenting on. You can see examples of this here and here, and there are more elsewhere in the archives.
I don’t know whether to delete these or not. I’m sure that they are just left by some sweat shop worker in Asia, but they are on topic and, hey, a comment is a comment.
Is anyone else getting these, and if so what are you doing with them? Are they less morally reprehensible than conventional spam or more so?
I woke up on the morning of Day Five in a fair amount of pain. My leg was hurting, my feet were hurting, my shoulders were hurting. Who’s bloody idea was this walk thing anyway?
“Ow” I said as I stumbled around like some sort of crippled zombie. “Ow ow ow ow”. It took me about ten minutes to walk the 50 meters to the toilet block and back. Oh yes, today was not going to be a good day.
I had originally had some vague ideas of getting up at dawn and setting off early in order not to slow the others down. But the prospect of hobbling fourteen miles all by myself lost it’s appeal at around five in the morning. My Captain Oats style heroics were forfeited in favor of having some stretcher bearers easily to hand.
Still, the disparity between the faster and the slower walkers was pretty great, and so it was decided that we would go for a staggered start. We split ourselves into three groups: fast, slow, and walking wounded (no prizes as to where I ended up).
Due to the campsite being a mile or so away the Dales Way we had wandered off the path somewhat, so Kerry kindly gave us a lift to Lincoln’s Inn Bridge to rejoin it. While we were all committed to walking all the way to Bowness, we saw little need to add superfluous miles to our journey. We’d signed up to do the Dales Way damnit, and I begrudged every torturous footstep above and beyond that.
So Mushy, Brooky, and myself set off half an hour before the rest and attempted to build up enough of a lead in order that we wouldn’t be overtaken 200 meters down the path. To my surprise I found that after walking on my bad leg for a little while it began to improve rather than deteriorate. Sure it hurt, but it wasn’t really slowing me down. Mushy was coping well with his injured tendon and Brooky had only really joined us out of charity anyway, so what I had thought was going to be an excruciating endurance test ended up being a relatively pleasant morning’s walk (relatively)
There were a few problems. Up until then the footpath had been exceptionally well signposted, but all of a sudden the waymarkers dried up and we frequently found ourselves standing in the middle of fields trying to work out which way next. There was also quite a bit of mud to contend with, and on a couple of occasions we had to make a detour in order to avoid a herd of cows who appeared to be doing the Dales Way too.
At one point we crossed over the M6 motorway on a footbridge. It was rather startling to be walking through beautiful serene countryside and then to turn a corner and find 80mph traffic hurtling beneath your feet.
We made good time, and we had probably done around six or seven miles when the others eventually caught us up. We walked on together for another four miles or so, enjoying the sunshine and each others company.
The group successfully circumnavigate a cow in a stream. Go team!! (photo by Oli Walker)
We then split up again. We were due to stay the night in Kendal, which was not actually on the Dales Way but was pretty close to it. Dave, Lee, Craig and Mushy decided that they would leave the path and head directly for the town, whereas Oli, Rich, Brooky and myself chose to stick to the footpath and get Kerry to pick us up from Burneside. There was very little in it milage wise, but I reasoned that the Dales Way would be better signposted and maintained than some random public footpath. I really didn’t relish the prospect of getting lost or hacking my way through a nettle forrest.
As usual those last four miles seemed to be just as far as the previous ten. At one point we came across a eight year old girl selling cans of ice cold pop beside the path . She charged 70p a can, most reasonable given the remote location; although everyone did just giving her a quid (apart from Oli that is who fastidiously counted out the exact change, the tight bastard). We all thought her very enterprising until her Granddad told us that she was just operating a franchise licensed by her older brother. She was paying him 50% of all her profits while he went swanning off to a birthday party. That boy will probably own half the country by the time he’s fifteen.
We reached Burneside by about 4pm and waited for Kerry to pick us up in a nearby pub. It was called the Jolly Angler, but was swiftly renamed The Oli’s Janglers in honor of Oli’s recently acquired habit of stopping walking every three hundred meters in order to grease his knackers to prevent chaffing (I bet you’re glad I told you that aren’t you).
I wouldn’t recommend a visit to Oli’s Janglers. It was one of those pubs that if it had a jukebox it would have scratched to a halt the moment we walked in the door. In the short space of time it took to down a pint we overheard a conversation about dogfighting and one that began “I’m not racist but….”. Not a nice place and we were glad to get out of it.
Fortunately Kerry picked us up pretty quickly and we went off to the more civilized town of Kendal, which appeared very nice indeed. Unfortunately we arrived too late to buy any mint cake but we did go out for a pint and a very nice chinese meal. Gav also rejoined us that eening, he had been due to do so that morning but his car had been broken into and he had to get his window’s replaced (so he tells us anyway).
After the chinese it was back to the youth hostel, our 11 bedded shared room, and a race to go to sleep before everyone else started snoring.
The worst was now behind us, just ten more miles and then we’d be done. Marvelous stuff.
Vital Statistics
Time set off: 9:00am
Time arrived: 4:00pm
Rough distance traveled: 14/15 miles
Number of times cows stopped play: 2
I didn’t take my camera with me on Day 5 so photos are a little scarce.You can still see the video for the fifth day over at the ITV local site. Neil has also kindly uploaded some of the day three footage to youtube:
I read on Yahoo News this morning that “veteran broadcaster” Terry Wogan has spoken out against the BBC, saying that it no longer is the world class broadcaster that it used to be.
Wogan has worked for the BBC for nearly his entire career and reportedly earns £800,000 a year (which I assume includes the £10,000 he gets paid to present the annual Children in Need charity telethon, the hypocritical gitbag). Which other broadcasting company would be willing to employ a geriatric gasbag like him? No other is the answer, at least not at those prices
But employed he should be. A lot of people enjoy listening to his banal whinging about how things used to be better in the old days and bemoaning the lack of “common sense”. He is the Daily Express letters page given human form, and there is certainly an audience for it. But can you imagine him on Kiss FM? Real Radio? Even Classic FM? No, you can’t. The reason he is popular is that he has been given a relatively long leash by the BBC.
The license fee has never been as good value as it is today. Look what we get: BBC 1, 2, 3, 4. Radio 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, & 7. BBC local radio. BBC website. BBC iplayer. And all for £12 a month. I’ve said it before, but I’d probably be willing to pay that just for radio 4 and 7 alone.
Sure the BBC put out some dross. Eastenders, Strictly Come Dancing, talent shows based around whatever musical Andrew Lloyd Webber is trying to promote that year. But that’s fine, I’m not supposed to like everything they produce. I can’t bear listening to BBC 1Xra but I recognize that it speaks volumes to others.
Most UK commercial channels aim themselves firmly and squarely at the lowest common denominator, with the possible exception of Channel 4 (but recently even they are struggling against their charter in order to do so). Now I’m the first to admit that the BBC does put out the odd bit of ratings chasing populist programing, but at least that isn’t all they put out. I watched a documentary the other night about comic writer Alan Moore. You wouldn’t get that on SKY 1.
What’s my point? As usual I don’t really have one. But it just galls me that the self promoting chronic complainer Sir Terry feels the need to go public with the gripes about his employer. Save it for the pub like everyone else. Even his commentary on the Eurovision has descended from witty banter to sour and bitter ranting on the unfairness of the voting system. It used to be that the Europeans didn’t get the absurd humor of the contest Terry, now it’s just you.
For a far more interesting, intelligent, and above all hilarious take on the BBC and the license fee make sure you listen to Stephen Fry’s recent Podcast on the subject. Now there’s another reason to pay the license fee in itself. To misquote Braveheart – You may take our Laurie’s, but you’ll never take our Stephen.
I now return you to the lull.
Apologies go to the chronically foreign who will have only understood every third word of this, and also to Neil and Rachael who are a ITV employee and Terry Wogan fan respectively.
I woke up on the morning of day four feeling worse than I did when I went to bed. Actually I think we all woke up on day four feeling worse than we did when we went to bed. Certainly Sandip did, and he announced that after two days of no sleep he had had enough and was going home.
Ironic really as he was the one most prepared for the hike – regularly walking twelve miles a day and doing thirty mile bike rides. But it wasn’t the distances that did him in, it was the accommodation. Used to the life of luxury the prospect of yet another night of roughing it, this time in tents, was too much to bear.
The big girl.
Still, at least he gave it a go; and to fair he does have quite a lot going on in his personal life at the moment. Starting your own hairdressing and manicure business can be really stressful, and his pet poodle Foo-Foo has been off his food recently.
But although he was only with us a couple of days, Sandip still left his mark on us. For example I never realized how versatile swear words could be. Who knew that you could construct entire sentences using nothing but obscene profanities. Even Shakespeare didn’t have such skill with words.
Day four was meant to be an easy day. Just an 8 mile amble down the River Dee to Holme Farm where we would be camping for the night.
And to be fair most of the group did find it pretty easy. But Mushy and I had picked up injuries on the previous day’s walking – Mushy on his ankle and me on my leg. I’m still not sure what exactly I did, the best description I can come up with is that it felt like I had a taut steel wire over the back of my knee which hurt like buggery every time I bent it.
Things were going ok for the first four miles or so, but then it really started playing up and by the end of the walk I was in agony. It probably didn’t help that I had soaking wet feet due to rather foolishly taking a short cut through the river at around mile five.
It seemed like a good idea at the time. (photo by Oli)
I also had a blister that ran most of the length of the ball of my foot then crept up between my big toe. For the first time I started to worry that I wasn’t going to make the entire walk. If I was having so much trouble after eight miles, what was it going to be like tomorrow when we had to walk fourteen.
Rich Bassinder contemplates the cure
Despite all my worries and aches and pains the evening of day four was possibly my favorite of the entire walk. Kerry took a break from her sherpa duties and stayed with us on the campsite, which probably had a lot to do with it. But there was also a fun atmosphere both within the group and at the campsite itself.
There was also a wedding going on in the field next door. Two musicians were getting married and they had staged their very on music festival. God knows how much it all cost, but the fireworks at the end alone probably came to more than my and Kerrys entire wedding. I have a vague suspicion that the bride and/or groom may have been famous but google reveals nothing. Perhaps they were just rich.
Mushy. His chin is naturally that blurry you know.
The very best thing however is that we had a campfire. There is just something about sitting around a fire laughing with your wife and seven of your best friends that creates a atmosphere of inner peace. Even if your leg does hurt like a bastard.
Dave and Brooky. Sunglasses at twighlight, the very epitome of cool
Vital Statistics
Time set off: 10:00am
Time arrived: 3:00pm
Rough distance traveled: 8 miles
Times I regretted suggesting the walk: 18
You can find more photo’s of the day here and you can still see the video for the third day over at the ITV local site. Neil has also kindly uploaded some of the day three footage to youtube:
The third day started off pretty uncomfortably. Not only did I have the aches and pains of the past two days but my only pillow had been a cloth bag stuffed full of my spare clothes. Little did I know that that fitful night’s sleep was to be the best I was going to have in three days.
Mr Smith (aka Sandip) in a rare photo, proving to his mother that he did in actual fact do some of the walk.
After a hearty breakfast and filling up my water bottle with suspiciously yellow tap water we set off walking. Any traces of optimism I may have had remaining were soon beaten out of me by a rather unpleasant hill. within half an hour of setting off we found ourselves climbing up to the highest point of the Dales Way, the point incidentally where it also joins briefly with the Pennine Way.
I have decided, I am never, ever going to do the Pennine Way.
In my estimation I am at least 70lb heavier than all of the other walkers, therefore at a natural disadvantage when hauling my carcass up bloody great big hills. I proposed that given this handicap the others should have at the very least offered to carry my backpack up for me. Strangely enough they all refused, muttering something about me “eating all the pies”. The swine. Still, after much huffing, puffing, and cursing geological plate tectonics I made it to the top.
Then it was downhill for a bit, then flat for a bit, and all was looking right with the world. But then we received a message over the walkie talkies that the fast group had just had to tackle a slope that they had ominously christened “The Bitch Hill”. Oh joy.
My guidebook had said that The Dales Way was an easy gentle walk suitable for beginners! If I had had a mobile phone reception I’d have rung Amazon and demanded my money back.
The view from the top of The Bitch Hill. I’d like to say it was worth it, but quite frankly it wasn’t.
We were about five miles into the day and had nine more to go. I’m pretty sure that stumbling up that Bitch Hill was responsible for the problems I would later have with my right leg,. Mushy thinks it was responsible for the injury that saw him relegated into the slow group too.
Still, onwards and (thankfully) downwards. We spent a couple of hours traversing some pretty desolate moorland, then descended towards Dent Head Viaduct into another Valley bottom.
Dent Head Viaduct. there are probably some interesting facts about it somewhere if you look.
The remainder of the day was pretty much straight forward. We all ran out of water at one point and were too English to dare ask anybody for some. Thank god for honorary Scotsman Oli who saved all of our lives by knocking on the door of The Sportsman Inn. If he hadn’t have persuaded the landlady to allow us to fill our bottles from her outdoor toilet (the taps obviously) we would have all been desiccated skeletons by now.
“You ask”, “No you ask”, “No YOU ask”
Whernside Manor, the accommodation on the third night was slightly less salubrious than it’s name might suggest. The Manor was built by a slave trading family in the 18th century and it’s grounds were used to house the slaves. And I think I know where they kept them.
Now I’m up here, how the hell do I get down again?
Gav and Jez very wisely chose to bow out at this point as they both had weddings to go to. Gav however would rejoin us later on the walk.
The facilities were basic, which was fine. The main problem was the fact that there were swarms of man eating midges outside and so we had to sleep with all the windows closed. Have you ever slept in a room with nine other sweaty snoring men with all the windows closed on one of the hottest nights of the year? No, neither have I because I didn’t sleep a wink.
Still it was cheap, and the owners (Lord and Lady something-or-other) even knocked £20 off the price when they heard we were doing it for charity, so it would be churlish to complain too much.
Vital Statistics
Time set off: 9:30am
Time arrived: 4:30pm
Rough distance traveled: about 14 miles
Number of times I sulked: 2
You can find more photo’s of the day here and you can still see the video for the third day over at the ITV local site. Neil has also kindly uploaded some of the day three footage to youtube:
On the morning of the second day we were all rather surprised that we didn’t ache quite as much as we thought we would. At one point I was even able to bend my leg, which was a bonus.
There were a few members of our group that were unable to start on the Wednesday with us due to various other commitments, but by Thursday afternoon we were up to our full compliment. The arrival of Jez, Lee and Sandip really provided a boost to the group. Eleven men all devoting ninety percent of their brainpower to come up with obscene double entendres is a powerful force indeed.
The brothers Bassinder, Rich and Jez, work on 101 double meanings for “limestone crag”
The first half of the day was spent walking over the limestone hills between Grassington and Kettlewell. Many of the group have said that this was their favourite stretch of the walk but it was a little bleak for my tastes. Plus there were a couple of hills. I am of the opinion that hills are a Very Bad Thing.
After lunch and a pint in Kettlewell we were off again, rejoining the river Wharfe that we had left at the end of day one. We had once more split up into two groups: fast and slow. Of course my natural athleticism would normally earmark me for the fast group; but I felt sorry for the others and so decided to selflessly hang back and pretend that I was some sort of unfit panting oaf to make them feel better about themselves.
You will notice that nearly all my photos are of people walking away from me. Any accusations that this is because I was always at the back will meet with swift legal action
At one point we passed an elderly couple in their mid sixties who were out for a day’s walking. After exchanging pleasantries we joked that we would see them again when they passed us. “Oh no” they said “We go so slow that we’ve never ever passed anyone”.
They passed us twice. Oh the shame.
Rich looks all noble
We caught our first glimpse of Kerry, our sherpa, in a village called Buckden where we had stopped for ice creams (a can of diet coke: 60p. Very reasonable). She was in the process of driving both Sandip and our bags to our accommodation and had stopped to buy milk. Sandip took the opportunity walk the rest of the way with us, and Kerry went on to dump our gear and make sure the bunkbarn was ready for us.
We caught one more glimpse of Kerry that day from opposite sides of the river. In a brief shouted conversation she told us that we only had four miles left to do. I think there must be something wrong with the odometer on our car, as that last four miles seemed more like about twenty.
Oli tries to work out why we keep seeing signs for Cardiff. Notice his handy dandy portable stool.
The last few miles really took their toll, and it was a pretty miserable group of men that dragged their way up the steps to Swarthghyll Farm Bunkhouse. Still, we were all cheered to see that Dave and Lee were in the midst of preparing a mighty dinner of spaghetti bolognaise for us. Good men!
The evening was spent drinking beer and playing Oli’s name game. A game it appears I am incapable of playing without going into some sort of sulk. I am not a man designed to spend 24 hours a day in other’s company, and the combination of fatigue and compulsory sociability led me to be a little grumpy on a couple of the evenings. I mention it here only in order to hold my hands up to being a bit of a pillock at times, and in no way should you infer that there were any serious or lasting fallings out during the trip. On the whole everone got on very well, and I’d gladly do something similar with any one of them in the future (although not just yet please, I need to let my blisters heal).
So that was the end of the second day. During the planning stage I had assumed it was going to be the hardest one. I hadn’t however counted on the effect that the hills of day three would have on my already weary bones.
Vital Statistics
Time set off: 9:45am
Time arrived: 7:00pm
Rough distance travelled: about 17/18 miles
Number of sheep shagging jokes: 86
You can find more photo’s of the day here, and you can still see the video footage of the second day over at the ITV local site. Neil has also kindly uploaded some of the day two footage to youtube:
