Here we go again, another tale of another trail

This one takes us on a slightly more scenic route than around the town and covers some more of the history of the town.

I begin my journey as I always do by closing the front door and walking the mile to the town centre. It’s from here I decide which of the routes kindly suggested by the local council pamphlet I will take. On this occasion I will go round the 400 year old harbour, pass the old railway station, and head along the fringes of the River Forth.

I walk down the twisting road and head to my destination. I cross the small wooded platform that allows access across the railway line (Beware of Trains. They are big and sore when they hit) and look out over the flat landscape at the river, as I look to the right I see the post office building and the old custom house.

I cross the small bridge and begin following the path around the dock. It has to be said that the dock is not looking at is best at the moment due to the low water level. Mounds and tons of mud and silt undulate inside the walls of the harbour. Small long legged, long beaked birds move over the damp surface looking for food.

The walk along the foreshore is a pleasant one. Ahead of me there are two wooden bench for those who need a rest and want to savour the views of the River Forth. If you stand at the edge of the foreshore and look left you can see up to Grangemouth, every once and a while oil tankers move to and from the massive refinery, breaking through the grey, choppy water.

Straight ahead the far shore of Fife can be seen, looking down to the right, in the distance can be seen the Forth Road and Forth Rail Bridges. The foreshore is rocky, no golden sands of a Greek or Spanish beach to enjoy. 

I continue my walk and head towards the Upper Forth Boat Club. There are no boats sitting on the 'runway' today, the water is too low for that, but the yard is full of private boats wrapped up for use. Not far out I can see the white sail of a red boat that has made it's way from the Blackness Boat Club. The two occupants moving back and forth across the boat, doing whatever needs to be done to make it go the way they want it to. As you can probably guess from that last statement, I don't sail, although the idea of 'boating' is something I find interesting.

In front of me is the harbour that I passed some time ago. near the harbour there is the railway yard, part of the Scottish Railway Preservation Society. The SRPC station has a lot to offer, there is a fixed exhibit filling two very large rail sheds, old steam, diesel and electric trains give those who are too young to remember or those who want to relive the golden days of train.

Another experience that the SRPC offers is the power and joy of steam with a 'Day out with Thomas the Tank engine', Easter egg specials, Diesel gala days, Santa steam trains and the traditional Scottish Black bun special.

My journey comes to an end and I prepare to climb the old iron bridge that crosses the railway line.Once again I hope I have entertained on a one of my little rambles.

A little walk into the past...

Because of the wonderful weather I decided it was time for another walk. My somewhat wobbly knee felt really good today so I prepared to take the risk and set out on a journey into the past...

At the last sentence I was hoping for a special effect involving time travel Something a bit swirly and a bit of an off-key piano playing, but it was not to be.

As I walked from the front door, sturdy boots on and single sock layer, I listened to the sound of the birds close by and cars driving past in the distance.
 
Using one of the local countryside walks that the area offers gave me a chance to learn a bit about the Antonine Wall.

The Antonine Wall is the biggest remnant of the Roman Empires occupation of Scotland. Yes, the Roman Empire did indeed make it to Scotland (check out the films Centurion and The Eagle).

This wall was the most northerly boundary of the Roman Empire in Britain. The wall spanned from the River Forth to the River Clyde, a total distance of 37 miles, and was built around about 142AD.

In order to celebrate the Millennium, the local council began improving access to the nearly 2000-year-old Roman defences.

The Antonine Wall once stood approximately 10 feet high, the Roman engineers constructing it of turf and earth, this rests on a base of stone.

This particular walk is not a long one; the walk itself covers a distance of 1 mile (approximately 1,500m). The beauty of a walk, any walk is that it does not have to be a hike in order to enjoy the scenery.

My historical journey begins at the not very ancient and certainly not Roman car park. I begin my walk and head in a northerly direction towards Kinneil House. This is one of the homes of the Hamilton family, members of the Scottish aristocracy. The house started life as a large 15th century fortified tower.

In the mid-16th century a 'palace' was built to provide more elegant quarters for the family. The building contains several wall paintings on religious subjects which are amongst the finest surviving examples in Scotland.

The path continues towards Kinneil Church, or at least what remains of this historic monument. The path is mostly grass and and is pretty level.

To the right of the path there is a lightly wooded area, starting to flourish after the winter months. This path leads towards the East Pond. When reaching the East Pond I turn left and head back onto the grassy path.

Moving around the pond the route leads me past a Roman Fortlet (a small fort) to the left of the path, the Fortlet is marked out by wooden posts. This was also approximately 10 feet high, was originally constructed of turf and earth, and like the wall, rests on a stone base.

The path continues towards the West Pond, here I encountered a family of swans. All I have to say about swans is, DON'T GET TOO CLOSE! If they feel threatened they start to get noisy and will approach you. Even a small dog decided his barking was not enough to save him. The walk turns left, uphill along the waterside path before turning left down onto a forest track.

Carrying on the path leads past a moderately wooded area finally returning on the gentle uphill slope on the forest track back to the car park.

Here the historical journey ends and my journey home begins.

Once the smoke started coming from under the orange casing I knew that all was far from well.

My lawnmower broke down this morning.

I know what you're thinking "How does this guy cope with all the excitement?"

Well to be honest I have no idea. 

I woke this morning full of vigour and a determination to achieve something worthwhile on this misty but bright morning. I have brushed the paths and cleaned up the garden furniture. I even emptied the murky water from the bird bath and refilled it with lovely cool, clean fresh water.

I trimmed the small hedges (just neat, nothing fancy, no shapes or anything). I have pulled some weeds from around the roses, then I began to edge the lawn. Once this was done I lifted the lawnmower from the shed and began the task of cutting the grass.

All was going well until a strange noise started coming from the motor. I am not an engineer, but even to my uneducated ear it did not sound healthy. In fact it sounded positively unhealthy and once the smoke started coming from under the orange casing I knew that all was far from well.

So my plan is now to finish off the remaining half of the garden with the strimmer. I will then relax in the recently cleaned garden chairs listening to the birds splashing about in the fresh water of the bird bath. 

The sun is bright and warm and do not plan to waste it.

Oh... so that's what it does.

Over the past few evenings I have been discovering things about the blog that I am writing.

I have added stuff, taken things away, put pictures in and then removed them. I have added a 'viewers poll' to see how well or how badly I am doing what I am doing.

I have also added (as you may probably see) a list of favourite sites, websites and blogs.

After numerous clickings on buttons the mental light bulbs began to glow and I said "Oh... so that's what it does."

I shall continue to dabble with the blog until I am happy with it, or until my mind collapses with frustration about how bad my blog is.

A knee like a sock full of custard

When I woke up this morning, I knew that staying up late last night was a bad idea. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t drinking or in any way enjoying myself, I was merely slumped in front of the television catching up on stuff I meant to watch during the week. My posture was not good I have to say.

It was a mistake. I should have paced myself. So as a result, when I woke this morning, I felt like a character in The Walking Dead, and I do not mean one of the living ones.

I decided to check out emails and twitters. I looked over my favourite bloggers (check out the links on my page). I decided to check out what was on television (yes, again), but I knew I was not going to build up any enthusiasm doing this. I thought about reading one of the many books that I have. None appealed. I thought about listening to one of the many audio books in my collection. Nope. That was not grabbing me either, so I decided that I needed to clear the cobwebs out by going for a walk. As it turned out, I didn’t clear them I merely nudged them a bit.

My plan was a simple one. I would walk the one mile down hill route from the front door to the shore of the River Forth; I would then head out towards the local boat club and take in the view of the majestic bridges that span the river from South Queensferry to North Queensferry. The idea seemed a good one, but it never happened. You see, the walk down hill is fine, but today the prospect of the walk up hill (which today seemed like 10 times longer than usual) did not appeal to me. I have been on long walks. I have hiked a good bit in my time, but the thought of a one mile up hill slow walk just did not appeal.

Therefore, I decided that I would simply head up to the golf course and take advantage of the local paths set aside for those of us who want a bit of fresh air and trudge through some fields without thwacking a small white ball with a club.

All went well for about the first 15 minutes and then I got a pain in my left knee. I have had an issue with my left knee for a few years now, when my weight is fine and I have been regularly exercising it doesn’t give me any hassle, but if I have to be honest, I have not been exercising as regularly as I should be.

A few minutes later, my knee goes from being a perfectly engineered piece of natural design to being a knee like a sock full of custard. Watery custard, not the great stuff we use to get at school. The walk had to end, but I still had a bit of a walk back to my house. I made it and decided that the only thing that would cure this ache in the bendy bit of my leg would be a nice soak in a hot bath. This I did. My next move is to look out one of the many books that I have (yes, the ones I didn’t rate earlier) and lose myself in its fictional world.

Until my next blog entry, I say farewell for now and see you soon.

Reasons to be cheerful...

Recently I have not been blogging my random thoughts due to the fact that I have been blogging about my lost dream of being and astronaut. 

The blog I have been doing recounts my visit to the U.S. Astronauts Hall of Fame and the John F Kennedy Space Centre, Florida, USA. 

Recently I found the photographs again and thought "Wow! How excited was I back then.". I hope some of my sense of awe gets passed on to whoever reads it.

I will get back to my random thoughts sometime soon. In the meantime I would encourage you to check out The Life and Times of SadieX and especially For Special Needs. They are great. Honestly.

The other night, my wife made me do something I thought I would never do…

Don’t get me wrong, after it was over I actually quite enjoyed it. It was entertaining. I can honestly say I never had any intention of watching Mamma Mia!

Its not really my kind of film, there is far too much singing dancing and not enough explosions/aliens/car chases to keep me occupied, but I have to say it was rather fun. However, I will not be going to the musical the next time it comes to the theatre in Edinburgh, at this, I have to draw the line.

The scene-stealer for me was Julie Walters. She was magnificent! She was sassy, saucy and seductive and any other words that start with S that you can fit into the sentence (SadieX, pee-leese tell me you are like this at a night out? Even if you are not, in my mind you are now).

It was very brave of the entire cast to sing and dance their little hearts out. If that’s what Greek weddings are like (it’s set on a Greek island in case anyone doesn’t know that) I may go to one the next time we are in Greece.

The last time we were in Greece or I should say on Greek island, the island of Zakynthos, it was far too hot to do anything but lie on a sun-bed (the white plastic lounging type, not the ones that are bad for you) next to the swimming pool.

The benefit of being so close to the pool was that you could slide off the white plastic surface and straight into the cool water, like a great ship leaving its dockyard moorings on the Clyde. Once in the water you bobbed about until sure skin became wrinkly, then climbed out in order to, once again, apply factor 5000 to the already reddening skin.

Would I go back to Zakynthos? Damn right, I would! We have been to Corfu and Crete as well as Zakynthos, and they are all lovely. I really liked Zakynthos Town. The town was severely damaged in the 1950s by an earthquake and had to be re-built into what it is today. It’s a mix of classical and modern and works really well. The harbour is busy and the streets full of great places to see and great places to eat.

If you decide to go, try to find a bit of real Greece when you are there, we did. Admittedly, it was a 12km round trip walk up a rather imposing hill, but the local taverna and the local people were great. The town was rustic and rural and everything that modern holiday makers who seek chrome and glass, mini-bars and karaoke would hate. We loved it!

Right, while I go and look out my holiday snaps, I will leave you to your day and hope you don’t have an image of myself and my good lady dancing like Meryl Streep and Pierce Brosnan (watch the film and you’ll see what I mean).

So until the next time, take care, good luck and farewell.

I went for a walk the other day...

When I say I went walking, I mean a planned walk, not a normal walking ‘one foot in front of the other’ kind of a way. I can do that kind of walking anytime.

This walk was planned, I had a route to follow and I do not mean the route from the fridge to the living room sofa. I try to do something like this on a semi-regular basis. I enjoy walking, I enjoy looking at the scenery and breathing the fresh Scottish air and apart from that, it’s good for me.

The planned route wasn’t particularly long, only about 3 miles, but the scenery along the shore of the River Forth is lovely, even more so on a glorious sunny day. This was not one of those days, but it was still pretty to look at. The description in the local walker’s handbook says “A short easy-to-follow walk along the foreshore. Take in the industrial and natural heritage of the area from the historic harbour to the Nature Reserve.” I did, it was lovely.

One of the other great things about any walk that I go on is that the everyday things that are so annoying don’t disturb me. Walking is all about peace and quiet, getting into a state of mind that is relaxing and stress free. I enjoy walking down at the foreshore into a wind as it blows the smell of the sea against me like its cleansing the day-to-day worries from my body and mind. I know that all sounds a bit Zen like, but it’s what I think.

I do take a mobile phone with me, but it is set to vibrate not chirrup. It is annoying when you are in a relaxed state of mind and then music bursts from some ones phone wrecking the moment. “Why take one then?” I hear you ask. Emergencies, that’s why. Take a Moby, but keep it quiet.

The great thing about walking is that is does not have to be expensive. The only bit of kit that you really need is a good pair of walking boots. A wind proof/water proof jacket is also good, as is a woolly hat. I know what you are thinking, “I bet he has one of those multi coloured woolly hats with the ear flaps and the long cords and pomp-pomps on the ends”. Actually, I don’t, but it was a close thing between one of those and a plain black one. Just to reassure you, it’s a normal plain black one, not one with the earflaps and the long cords and definitely not pomp-pomps on the ends.

Anyway, I wont bore you with the details of my very enjoyable little walk to the local nature reserve (a mere 5kms/3 miles round trip), but I returned rosy cheeked and full of vigour and fresh air. Until my next little wander about the countryside, I will clean the dried mud off my boots and think about where I am going to go next.

Maybe it's just me but...

Maybe its just me, but when ever I see, hear or read anything to with the news I start feeling depressed. The world is really FUBAR’d at the moment. Really it is. Everything is.

If it’s not earthquakes and devastation, its wars and devastation or floods and devastation. Lesser things involve factory closures, job loses or defence cuts, health cuts, education cuts and more job loses. Everything sucks! I feel sorry for everyone who is involved in all the previously mentioned depressing events, but I can no longer watch the news, not even for the ‘And finally…’ segment about a skateboarding duck or tap-dancing Russian meerkat called Alexander. Seemples!

Another thing that I am having a problem with now is the news coming out of Libya. Whenever I hear the names Benghazi, Tripoli and Tobruk I do not see opposition forces battling against the government using high-tech weaponry. I see news footage in black and white of fresh faced, khaki clad, sunburnt soldiers in baggy shorts serving with the British Eighth Army taking on the German Afrika Korps, this is not a typographical error that really is the way that you should spell it.

Even saying the names Benghazi, Tripoli and Tobruk I have in my mind clips of great movies broadcast on a Saturday afternoons on BBC 2, such as The Desert Fox with the late James Mason portraying Field Marshall Rommel.

Another one that springs to mind is The Desert Rats with the late Richard Burton (and once again late James Mason portraying Field Marshall Rommel) commanding a bunch of hardened Australians taking on the might of the German Afrika Korps.

Then there was Sea of Sand, the only film I know that is actually about the Long Range Desert Group. In case you are wondering, the Long Range Desert Group was a forerunner of the Special Air Service. They roamed the North African deserts looking for the enemy and for stuff to blow up. That is a very simplified version of what they did, but I am not writing a historical novel here, so that will do for now.

For some reason I have always liked war movies based in the North African desert in world war two. Each one is like a great naval sea epic, but with more sand and less sea, unless you take the title ‘Sea of Sand’ literally.

Other things that spring into my mind when I hear or see the names Benghazi, Tripoli and Tobruk are the comics I read as a kid. I read and devoured the Warlord, The Victor and of course the good old Commando comic. I believe these little pocket sized slices of action are still around today, but probably less racially stereotypical than they were regarding the Japanese and the Germans. The German always, always had clipped Bavarian accents, shaven heads and square jaws; some even had duelling scars, riding crops and monocles.

It was from these and the Saturday afternoon movies broadcast on BBC 2, that I learned most of my history… then later, as I got older, I learned it properly, but still enjoyed the movies.

Anyway, that’s another random jotting from my random mind. I need to get these things out off my head or I feel I will explode like an artillery barrage (in black and white, of course). Until the next time, when I may have something much more interesting to say, I will say farewell, so, farewell.

It’s not much fun being strapped into the doorway of a Puma assault helicopter over hostile territory, even less fun when you know you are going to enter a world of noise and pain.

Okay, do I have you attention? Right I will get on with my boring and slightly longer than usual blog now.

As you probably guessed I wasn't in a Puma assault helicopter over hostile territory, I was in fact in my mate Phill's car. I will not slag off Phill's car, as I drive a Renault Clio and feel that I have no right to slag anyone off for the car they have. Oh, unless they drive a Pink Smart, then I feel it’s justified.

Anyway, after getting ready I made sure I was fully prepared for the day ahead, money, check, camera, check, safety glasses, check, warm clothing, check, hat in case of rain, check, and also in case of raining bits of clay pigeon (this sometimes happens if you “pot” one as it passes over head. Sometimes the little blighters have one last go at you before they end up the ground).

Phill collected me about 10:30 and then we headed off to the Kingdom of Fife (yes, it really is called a ‘Kingdom’) for a day of fun, buns and clay pigeon genocide.

The drive is a pleasant one, using many country roads and passing many places of interest.

The journey is a nice relaxing one, although this can change due to the fact you can be stuck behind some kind of farm machinery, which I’m sure is capable of more than 5 miles per hour. There are fields to the right and left occupied by farmhouses and wildlife.

The first part of the pleasant journey comes to an end at a village called Newton just on the way to the round-about leading to South Queensferry and the Forth Road Bridge, a kind of Golden Gate Bridge of San Francisco look-a-like for anyone that doesn’t know it.

The views up to the bridge and from the bridge are spectacular. The journey over the bridge gives the passenger a chance to see some wonderful views along the River Forth. To the left, running up the coast of the River Forth there are the towns of Blackness, then Bo’ ness, then on towards Grangemouth, to the right here are small islands in the Forth only approachable by boat, but lovely to see either in a car crossing the bridge or when walking across the length of the bridge. This is not recommended in high winds. Please do not try this at home.

Once over the bridge we were well on our way. On the way to Cluny many names of places whiz by that mean nothing to anyone other than the people who live there, places like Cowdenbeath, Lochgelly and Cardenden. This is possibly the most monumental due to the fact that, it is the birthplace of fictional detective, and anti-hero Inspector John Rebus, as created by son of Cardenden, Ian Rankin.

When we got to Cluny Clays, we sat down in the comfortable bar area with its open coal and log fire and got ourselves some warm drinks, we also splashed out on a couple of cakes, just for the sugar-rush you understand, to keep us motivated. We were now waiting on our friend Raymond to join us and then we could set out for some ‘Cluny clay clobbering’.

When we set out we normally get 50 rounds each. This gives each one of us a 1 in 50 chance of hitting at least one clay.

We chatted, laughed and walked in the fresh air and enjoyed the scenery. The shooting ranges are situated on the outskirts of the 9 hole golf course, all this means is that we are in more danger of being hit by a golfers shots than a golfer is of being hit by our shots.

There are a number of shooting ranges at Cluny. Normally we start at range number one but decided to start at a different on this time around. This was actually a bad move as it made us look very poor. I blame the wind and the weather. That’s my excuse and I am sticking to it.

We then moved on. At the first range, we decided from the choice of “A” or “B” what pattern of “launch” we thought we could handle, more importantly, what would make us look good in front of strangers. Egos are at stake in circumstances like this.

Clays come from all directions depending on what range you go to, this gives you a chance to test your skills and laugh at your friends inability to hit a small circular object travelling at high speed at a good height, of course the roles are reversed at the next range. For anyone who has never seen a clay pigeon the average one is roughly 100mm (4 inches) in diameter and 25mm (1 inch) in height. They come in two basic colours, black and orange. There are smaller ones for the more experienced shooter, but for us anything the size of a barn door will do.

Range number 2 gave us another chance to use our sharpshooter like skill and shoot lots of fresh air, and the occasional clay.

If anyone is interested in going to Cluny and you want to take a ‘small’ family member, the youngest that anyone is allowed to be, in order to use any sort of weapon (shotguns, air rifles, bow and arrow) at Cluny is 10 years of age.

The most important thing for anyone to learn when shooting is not how to hit clay in flight, but weapons safety. If any one reading this blog ever goes shooting, whether it is with shotguns, pistols or air rifles please always remember Safety First. Always treat a weapon, any weapon, as if it is live and loaded.

When carrying a shotgun, always make sure the gun is “broken” (opened exposing the chambers, this makes it impossible to fire) and to remove any rounds whether discharged or not, from the weapon. Try not to drop a round. The likelihood of it actually going off is slim, but you never know.

Stay alert, stay alive, always a good motto to live by.

Range number 3 led to more scattering of shot in all directions and banter and pleasant, light-hearted mockery, as well as more safety advice.

Range number 4 was different from the last time we went. Each occasion we have been to Cluny there has been a change, sometimes it is subtle sometimes it is pretty big. This isn’t annoying it is entertaining. A new landscape or new launcher means a new challenge!

The clays are launched either towards you, away from you or across your field of vision. In some cases, they roll across the ground to simulate land-based targets. In other cases they can be launched almost simultaneously, this is known as a driven pair. They can be a bit difficult to hit, but when you do this, it gives you a warm feeling of satisfaction inside. That feeling increases when you do it a second time. The smugness just grows and so does the grin across the face.

We moved from range 4 to range 5 and then onto range 6, repeating our successes and mistakes at every opportunity. Moving back through the track we headed towards the multi-shoot area. This gives you eight different launchers that not only vary in direction but also in speed. When you press the launch button, you have no idea what will happen next, this keeps you on your toes, and weaving and bobbing like a prizefighter in the boxing ring. At the command “Pull” the clay sores into the sky from nowhere and is “dusted” in the air by your shot or lands, smashing into the ground into a dozen bits.

The day went well and great fun was had. If the Clay Pigeon was, a species all I can say is that as long as we are hunting it, this species will not only survive but also flourish. Our success rate was about 50% for each of us, but that is only part of the fun. The idea is to enjoy the day and the company, and I can honestly say that is what we did. We also enjoyed the very tasty meal that we had afterwards and of course the conversation and the wit and banter of good friends, both old and new and with that, I bid you goodbye and farewell.