I spent Monday evening teaching SCUBA theory to three blokes who seemed fixated on how many ways SCUBA can kill you. Obviously you can die SCUBA diving but the whole point of teaching safety and calculations etc is to prevent that happening. Almost the entire evening boiled down to …’there are old divers and there are bold divers but there are no old, bold divers’. Translated: do as you’re told, take safety seriously and you’ll have a better chance of survival.
Look, I know that calculating a risk is not sexy. I’m at a point in my life where I don’t care what you think. I prefer to come up from dive a little tired and grinning at the wonderful things I’ve seen or learned along the way. What set them off was a true story of the day there was an unsuccessful rescue of a diver at a site I was visiting. I don’t particularly know the details of what happened only that I was amongst those who helped in the rescue and aftermath. I’m sure it haunts the people directly involved to this day.
Tuesday I took a couple of those same blokes into the swimming pool (the have not progressed into open water yet) to practice rescue techniques. Let’s say they will get some more practice before we let them out into the real world. It’s hard trying to relate the safety of the pool environment to the great outdoors and a surprising number of big husky guys and gals revert to holding the instructors hand like a child when they get into a diving centre’s water for the first time. Eventually though they learn to float effortlessly with the flow and it becomes an almost meditative experience. I’m lucky. I’ve been a BSAC dive Instructor for about 5 years at time of writing, and diving for about 8 years or so. I get to practice all the skills very regularly because I’m teaching them. Complete mask removal and replacement in 4 degree (centigrade) water if not fun but it proves that you could do it if you needed to, it is not that cold at the moment and was a balmy 11 degrees C in the deep end of the quarry last week.
A word about quarries. The one where I dive is not a working quarry. It has been converted into a dive centre. There is a phone and rescue equipment, certified rescuers… that sort of thing. To anyone out there thinking of a refreshing dunk in your local water source please don’t do it unless properly trained and equipped. I spend a chunk of time every summer explaining to parents and teens that the water may look lovely but it is both deep (your toddler will get into difficulty in 6 to 20 metres of water) and cold (look there’s a reason I’m wearing this diving suit and rubber hood). Even the open water swimmers are wearing full length wetsuits and carrying floats. At the moment most of the UK is staying indoors (it is summer) as its heaving down with rain but once that sun shines you know that some teenage boy is going to die by being too bold in very cold water. For reference it’s the shock to your system of a huge temperature change. (I have swum, supervised in a dock in the North of England wearing nothing but a swim suit in November, a long time ago. It was for a lifesavers exam. I really can’t recommend it).
I know it’s been a while. I’ve been distracted by going to stay with my elderly dad. He’s not too steady on his feet but won’t sit still. Mum, on the other hand, is arthritic but won’t stay still (largely because it hurts) and it heavily involved in the WI (Women’s Institute) and the Trefoil Guild of the Girl Guides. Those organisations have conferences. These may involve a long, bust meeting but they also involve a chance to go away with your chums to a nice hotel and have a change of scenery. Mum has been to a couple of these lately. I’m called in to stay with Dad. It’s not a chore. When you consider everything my parents did for me it’s my turn to give back and I do it happily.
Our plan on this occasion was to make some black puddings as well as the usual gardening and running about in the car to fetch this and that. (Dad seldom drives these days and never beyond the village). I’d ordered dried blood, seasoning and groats. Pig fat would be acquired once I’d arrived. The groats were put in to soak overnight. Dad has it in has head that his mum made black puddings with more groats (barley) than blood. This was to be the basis for our attempt. Sadly, the skins we got hold of were not edible, but cleaned intestines do not keep well and can be pretty dangerous if not cleaned thoroughly. We could peel the skins away once the puddings were cooked. We treated back fly on the broad beans, did a run to the farm shop for bird seed and to the butchers for the aforementioned pig fat, picked blackcurrants, and watered the tomatoes. Enough for one day and there’s cricket on the telly.
Day two.
The resulting black pudding
Yep, we succeeded in making a black pudding without making too much mess in the kitchen. It was a little of the recipand a little by dad’s memories, so the resulting out was a little unusual but not bad. It weighed in at close to a kilo. We let it cool and had a slice for breakfast next day. Notes to self : more blood, less barley, and cook the barley first. I still have a stack of ingredients so I’ll experiment with them til we get this as he remembers. The whole thing basically came in kit form and it’s not as hard as you think its going to be. The great thing was to do something he really wanted to do and to try together. Cherish your parents, they will be gone before you know it.
Apart from being an excellent Doors song, it is true as we approach the longest day already (unless you are Aussie chums). Its been a bit on the warm side for the UK i.e. over 30 degrees. Occasional thunder storms have definitely not helped l, in our area at least. I did note that we may actually be growing mashes potatoes. This has proved not to be true as we had a great crop from one of the tubs earlier this week.
Spuds
This year we moved things around in the beds to see if they might grow better. On the whole.it seems the brassica may be better where they were and the potatoes like being in tubs not the purpose built boxes. The blackcurrant looks like it will crop despite only being put in late Feb. No gooseberries this year though.
Then came the thunderstorms. It’s not so fierce as predicted.
I did get a bit soggy earlier as I drifted between buildings at the local university where I’d gone to use the WiFi in the library for a PhD meeting online. The storms seem to have devastated our home WiFi. Not sure really but it’s been slow to none existent. Good meeting BTW. Its about now that I begin to think what has happened since I were young and how little we now seem able to do without the damn www. In fairness I’m a reader, as our local charity shops and library can attest so it wasn’t too bad but all the doctoral work is stored in the ‘cloud’ as they say. I do have backup copies, but infuriating all the same. I implore you all to save local copies of your documents. Indeed a pencil and paper seldom fail even if you run out of paper or break your pencil.
Which takes me back to the garden. My non digital starting place and a note to self that it’s impossible to rely on technology all the time and important to have some skills that don’t involve electrical devices. I’m going outside now to play my tongue drum.
Or at least things I don’t need. In the process of redecorating the house (these things we do when retired) there’s always been that charity shop bag by the door. I had a notification this week to say that, with gift aid (a tax back scheme for charities in the UK), the things we’ve chucked in this bag and walked to one of the shops in town had raised over £170 for the charity. How’s that for one person’s trash?
I’ve also been up in the attic (loft) and brought down the small library that has lived up there for the last 15 years. We’ve had new bookshelves built-in to the living room. Obviously, space is limited, but with some books stored in the office space, there had to be a cull. I hate giving up on books, but here’s the question do I need them? Many have not seen daylight in years. Thankfully, I have lots of friends who are happy to take some off my hands, there are apps that let you sell books, and I’d all else fails that the charity shop bag will be filled.
Increasing our ‘one in one out’ policy is becoming a ‘meh I don’t need that’ policy. The house is slowly emptying. Slowly. Tne decorating, new garden, time spent here because pandemic/retirement/working-from-home means that paying more attention to these surroundings became inevitable. When was the last time you really stopped to appreciate all that you have and wonder what you can actually live without. If nothing else ebay might help you pay for your next holiday!
Saucy? Well, whilst the Netherlands can provide a very ‘adult’ holiday destination in my case, I’m off to see an old friend. We met in the North of Ireland about 40 years ago, and there’s pretty much nothing we don’t know about each other. We haven’t seen each other since pre pandemic and even a chunk of time before that, but you know what, after all this time he’s still my friend. This is the guy who flew in for 24 hours to be the witness at our wedding. He’s pretty special.
The town of Brummen is nowhere. Tiny. Rural and not on the map for most tourists. They’re missing out. It’s on the edge of the Veluwe, near Arnhem and encircled by forest and fields. Beautiful. Not only that but classic car fans would flock to The Gallery to browse, buy or hire a Delorian or a Porche just like James Dean’s. There’s a cute little ferry across the river and a walk taking you to Bronkhorst which styles itself as ‘Dickensian’ and has no cars allowed in the villages where artisan craftspeople ply their wares.
Day two a zoo adventure. Its a 20 minute drive to Burger Zoo, an amazing place. It’s designed in habitats so the people are kept more co fined and the animals (except large or dangerous ones) mingle in the biomes. There’s desert, rainforest… you get the picture. Wow! Their conservation work is impressive and they started the idea of habitat based zoos way way back. I’m.not sure we saw everything but we came close. A relaxed evening meal with a little wine and conversation that went too late as our host had do leave stupid early for a work trip giving us the keys to the house and time to ourselves. We rested from our journey (How many stag do’s (Bachelors parties) can you fit on a plane?) and took a gentle walk to the local thrift store as you’ve seen in a previous post before shooting off to the next village over for an evening meal with some other chums. I noticed in the free newspaper that Hall (where we were for the evening) was expecting a Lancaster Bomber fly past for VE day.
A not so early start the next day took us by train (and the trains from Brummen are excellent) took us via Zwolle to Deventer. It’s not a place I’d ever been and I have to say its a stunning medieval city. I think we found the pinkest cafe there for lunch which was excellent and a book store which took up a chunk of our time before hopping back to Zwolle to meet someone I’ve known since they were six for a coffee and ice cream in one of the local game cafes. We left as a serious game of Magic the Gathering began in earnest. Zwolle is also an amazing medieval city with the walls still visible and a ‘moat’ around the town centre.
What I didn’t mention earlier was that this was the week on Kings Day. The Dutch, like the UK, have a monarchy but unlike the UK make the monarch’s official birthday an excuse for a huge party and a public holiday. Brummen kept it low key with a small market and flea market (swap meet) and, of course a lot of orange clothing. My favourite part of the day was ‘King William’ ice cream, the joke is King Billy ice cream as Erik and I had met in Northern Ireland. We didn’t stay long and aerik took us into the Veluwe to one of the many national park properties to spot wild deer in the forest. What a magical evening. Please venture out of Amsterdam next time you’re in Holland.
Friday we took our leave and headed to my favourite city, Utrecht. It’s a university city equivalent to Oxford or Cambridge in its size and tone. No rivers but the Oude and Niewe Gracht (canals). We had an air b’n’b in what has become the Moslem area of town …. oh yes great food! Usually we visit the Straat Orgel Museum but we planned something different this time. One of my favourite buildings in the world (alongside Battersea power station which is on the list since it has been refurbished as a shopping centre). 10 years ago I tried to take Em there only to find it closed!!!! Noooooo. There were various rumours as to what it would become … thankfully my worst fears were not realised. Welcome to Utrecht Library, formerly the Post Office. The joy of the refit was that we could work our way up to the rafters to see the stunning glass roof from both inside and out. Honestly people go in to lie on the floor and look up. I’d borrow a lot of books if this were my local library. There’s a really cool coffee shop too.
The next day we spent wandering the town. Being a University city there’s a lot of places to eat and drink fairly cheaply and lots of board game shops (we found 4). We had to buy licorice, salty licorice, for my dad and visit the excellent handmade chocolate shop we found lst time we were here. sad to say some places had suffered and gone through the pandemic. We found the most chill bar of the trip close to the cathedral (the Dom) and partook of some Belgian beer before a visit to another of my favourite little men, a tiny statue of a monk in the cloister. It was a sunny day and the place I’ve so often had to myself, was packed. Excellent busker in there too. I said a quick hello to the little fella and we headed out to the air b’n’b to feed the cats. Yes, this one came with critters and a small yard/garden.
Homeward bound we stopped in Amsterdam en route for the airport. There was a book I wanted and the American Book Centre had it in stock which is lucky since its around the corner from one of my favourite bars on Spui. Now the Hoppe is famous and old and usually rammed with tourists but its sister bar (the one with the toilets … if you know you know) is used more by locals. Finally we set our teeth on bitterballen. They’re hard to explain. Kinda like a thick soupy but not liquid middle of meat and potato (ish) in a breadcrumb coating. usually eaten with mustard. As ever I had the house speciality, Jenever, a sort of Dutch precursor to gin. next we hopped on the subway to avoid the crowds (Yes, read that again the subway is the least crowded mode of transport) and headed to NSDM one of the newer, trendier areas of Amsterdam. It’s in a former dockyard and holds a lot of arts workshops, cafes and the Street art museum (which we didn’t have time to visit). On a hot sunny day we were grateful to grab the ferry back to Amsterdam Centraal to head out to Schipol.
It’s been too long and I miss my friends. Not too much time will pass before I’m on Dutch soil again.
The big day is on Saturday 13th May 2023. Liverpool us hosting the Eurovision Song Contest on behalf of Ukraine on account of Russia having invaded and Kyiv not being safe. The city is buzzing as they say here abouts. Everyone is having a boss time. Liverpool is always a friendly city and this event shows it off to perfection. So many local groups and artistes involved in really putting on a show. There’s the usual big screen and a stage with free live shows. There are special buskers stations for local and Ukranian artists. Everywhere you can see blue and yellow flags and the tee shirts bear the slogan “You’ll never sing alone” styles after the local football anthem (borrowed from the musical Carousel) You’ll never walk alone.
Food. Writers workshops. LGBTQ+ safe spaces. Soap making. Sing alongs. Children’s events. Special exhibits at all the museums. Vloggers for miles. TV crews. Sunshine (OK and showers). Vogue dancing. Parades. A yellow and blue submarine. You really can feel the love. This is not about Liverpool, though. It’s on honour of a country torn apart by war. Those attending are decked out in both their own and Ukrainian flags. Sunflowers and the pink bucket hats we have come to associate with last years winners. It’s exciting.
Whoever wins this contest (and as I write several countries have already been eliminated) and whatever you think of Eurovision (people tend to love it or hate it) I can honestly say that it’s been one helluva party.
We’ve been away but more of that later. One thing we often do is take a wander around a second-hand or junk shop. You can tell a lot about a nation by the things people resell. In Alice Springs, for example (yes, even on our great Australian adventure), we could’ve had anything from a teapot to a shirt to mining helmet. Brummen in Holland has a great 2nd hand warehouse. Gus’ back corner (achter hoek) . Seriously, you could furnish a house from there and clothe its inhabitants. There’s even paint, crockery, and electrical items. I’m not sure the cds and vinyl would be to everyone’s taste, but what can you do? Lol.
There were one or two glass cases with cast-off watches and small items of jewellery. In the back of one of these, I spotted several cameras. I love a camera. The box brownies and bellows based cameras now very difficult to get film for, but there was one little gem, an old 12 megapixel Samsung. Takes both photos and video. Look back on YouTube and someone the originals were using these things. Ten euro? Sold!
Vintage digital camera
Now, I had no idea if this was in working order, but, at that price, it was worth a punt. Reader, it works! 12 MP glory is mine. There was an SD card inside. I took a couple of test shots and flipped the display on to see the results…. guess what? In 1990, a family of Surinamese origin, somewhere in Holland, had taken pictures of their home and each other and, very sweetly, their pet rabbit. They are very ordinary photographs of an ordinary family doing ordinary things yet somehow trapped in time. I’m not going to publish their photos. I’m not sure yet if I should delete them since they have survived this long and they made me stop to think about the things we take for granted. One persons waste is someone else’s treasure. One person’s past is someone’s future.
ffiftypluses 