Exercises in frustration and futility

One: Raking up pine needles from the lawn on a windy day.
Two: Teaching the cats to wipe their muddy feet before walking all over me.
Three: Getting PJ to stop playing video games and go out with me to get a curry. Now. I'm hungry.

Fur, feather, and fin -- what fun!

On our return, I discovered a huntin', shootin' and fishin' catalogue had been delivered to us by mistake. I cracked it open and was enthralled! Finally, an entree into the lower levels of the rural aristocracy, the class to which I should clearly belong. It's all pheasants and foxes all the time. On ties, on braces, on boxer shorts, on cufflinks, on teatowels, on luxury cravats, waste paper bins, toilet seats and loo roll holders. You can order leg of mutton gunslips -- "ideal for carrying a broken gun on your motorbike or in your sports/small car" (why would you want a broken gun?) -- or order a leather travel guncase! You can buy wellington boots that cost 200 pounds!! They have strapping young gels -- the sort that can wring a grouse's neck with a swift flick of the wrist while bagging a poacher -- modelling shooting vests, tweed waistcoats, and (unsurprisingly unracy) lightweight silk thermal vests!!! Everything, in short, that the well-heeled country gent could require.

I'm asking Santa for a deluxe cartridge belt (takes 49 x 12 bore cartridges) for me, the diamond top socks in sage with a contrasting cherry garter for PJ, and 2 small Dri-Dog Bags for when the cats come in soaking wet of an evening. Christmas is sorted.

Bleau

We were supposed to be going up to London for a dinner with the great and good tonight, but the plague/man-flu/cold continues, so we gracefully withdrew -- distributing our germs to the great and good seemed unfair. Luckily, we had no such compunction about spreading them to the less fortunate (in so many ways) inhabitants of Southampton, so took a brief shopping trip there instead. I had a 20-pound Borders gift voucher clutched in my hot little hands, but was slightly flummoxed by the lack of books on offer. Lots of Halloween candy and Twilight tie-ins and packs of cards with your horoscope on, but not so much in the fiction section. Or, more specifically, no Persephones. And at the moment, that's what I want to buy: beautifully designed books by unknown women writers of the 1930s and 1940s. But they were not to be found in this "book" store. Of course, PJ spotted something he wanted and I grabbed a book en route to the checkout in order to not feel left out -- which is why I now own a 500-page hardback biography of Beau Brummell, the ultimate dandy. Right. Not random at all.

I went to London and came back with ...

1. Some pictures of my niece.
2. A line of bruises down my thigh from other people's laptop bags on the Tube.
3. A rotten head cold.

I hate going to London.

On the plus side, we were given a free mint Aero on emerging from the Tube at Goodge Street on Wednesday morning. It's amazing how much a free 50p bar of chocolate can brighten your day.

Winchester railway station: fail

For the past few months, the railway station at Winchester has been worked on -- or rather, from the customer perspective, worked over. Ticket barriers have now been installed at the entrance to each platform, not for the benefit of the passengers -- who struggle to get suitcases through the tiny gates or to run for a train if late. No, these are revenue-generating gates, the front line in the war against fare dodgers, those evil people who don't want to pay the extortionate prices that South-West Trains charges for its services. After all, why hire conductors and ticket inspectors (who might also provide a measure of customer service and safety) when you can just add gates? Along with the gates, which also cause lengthy queues to get OUT of the station when disembarking from a busy commuter train, the powers that be have decided to remove the large and useful information screen from the entrance to the station on the Winchester side. So, you arrive at the station to meet some friends and can't see whether their train has arrived -- or what train is currently arriving or next to depart. To get this information, you have to stand to one side of the gates (of course you're not allowed through them if you don't have a ticket) and crane your neck to see the tiny TV screen hoisted high above the platform. Useless; absolutely bloody useless. The other platform through the underpass has an information screen, but not both. They do have, of course, a CCTV screen, showing the area that you're standing in ... presumably so that they can avoid having two members of staff on duty late at night. Higher prices, fewer staff ... privatisation was SUCH a good idea. Who do I blame? Hmm, let me think ...

Epic fail, Winchester, epic fail.

Wide-angle lenses, depth of field, and point of focus

Yes, it's weeks 2 and 3 of the digital photography course -- and we actually got to take some snaps! We also learned about depth of field: the wider the aperture, the shallower the depth of field; the narrower the aperture, the deeper the depth of field. And one-third of the depth of field is in front of the point of focus and two-thirds behind. Confused? OK, let's take a look at it in practice with the help of an attractive model:

Photo 1: wide aperture, shallow depth of field. Shin is beautifully crisp and "large" (not fat) at the front of the picture; the background is pretty fuzzy.


Photo 2: slightly narrower aperture, deeper depth of field, the leaves are starting to become crisper.


Photo 3: much narrower aperture, much greater depth of field, the background is much clearer. Shin appears smaller and further away.



And last week, we headed out into the car park at Eastleigh FE college to take pictures using manual exposure and tripod. Underexposing a shot means it's too dark; you get a negative number popping up in advance on your settings screen, and you play around with the aperture and shutter speed until the camera recognizes that there will be enough light to take the picture. Overexposing means the picture will be too bright, but this time you get positive numbers on the screen. Obviously, at night, you need much slower shutter speeds -- sometimes up to 15 or 20 seconds, as we're not using flash. You can't hold a camera steady for that long, so you need to use a tripod. Although the car park wasn't the most exciting space, it was interesting to see just how well long exposures worked in terms of making use of all the available light. For example:



Best of all, though, is that having a better understanding of what you need to do makes it more enjoyable to go out and experiment. I was up at crack o' eight this morning to feed the cats, and noticed the beautiful light from the rising sun. I grabbed my camera and headed out in my pyjamas (don't worry, there was nobody around) to see what I could get. And while the telephone cables are annoying, this light is superb. I feel ... less incompetent!

Apparently, I was tempting fate

Of course I was. Four mice today. FOUR! One wriggling, two dead, and one disemboweled. Lovely.

Where were we?

Business at work means that when I finish for the day, I rarely feel like pottering about the Web or constructing blog posts. Books, TV, playing with the cats, or removing the mushrooms lurking about under the surface of my once pristine lawn -- fine. Using the PC? Not so much. To get back into the swing of things, a quick roundup of life chez Dumpling.

TV: We've finally finished Season 5 of The Wire. Recorded during August and September, we hit a scheduling problem due to PJ's frequent trips overseas, but we watched the season and series finale last night. Satisfying, I think. So nice to see a show finish properly -- no dragged endings, character replacements, spinoffs. Just, the end. The BBC did a great job of showing all five seasons in such a short period of time, clearly the best way to watch it. Now I want to go back (in a bit) and watch it all over again, picking up on the many things I missed on first viewing. A series that really lived up to its reputation. Next up, season two of Spiral and sexy French detectives and lawyers doing sexy French detective and lawyerly things.

Books: The Reading Detectives project was extended for another month, just after I'd reached my limit on Hampshire-based books. Instead, I've been engrossed in WW2 -- both fiction and historical diaries -- rather appropriately given that September was the 60th anniversary of its outbreak. First up was "Good Evening, Mrs Craven: The Wartime Stories of Mollie Panter-Downs". The first few stories are extremely acidic and very funny, but progressively become more thoughtful, more sad as the war progresses. After, I read "We Are At War", Simon Garfield's collection of Mass Observation diaries for 1939-1940. These diaries are fascinating, and a strong counterpoint to the myth of wartime Britain, the Blitz spirit, everyone thinking that Churchill is wonderful. For the crime fiction book club, I've read "Mistress of the Art of Death" by Ariana Franklin, a story of child murder, anti-Semitism, and autopsy set in 12th century Cambridge. Fun! And, I've just discovered, there are two more available ... time to go shopping.

Cats: The death toll has dropped as the cold weather has put the brakes on rapid mouse reproduction. However, that didn't stop Shin from bringing one in last night and letting it go in my office -- and complaining vociferously when we removed it (still alive) from her. Reports of battles with the big tabby next door have reached us, and I'm pretty sure that he broke in to our utility room, ate their food, and then peed in their food bowl yesterday -- despite the supposedly secure lock on the catflap. Vigilance is necessary.

Football: Another victory for Norwich and we've entered the promotion zone! Yes, it's only October; yes, a lot can happen between now and May; but still -- this is where we should be.

And, finally, it's autumn! Properly autumn! This week has seen the first bowl of porridge, the first log fire, and the arrival of the heavy duvet on the bed. And, of course, rain, pine needles, and yet more mushrooms. However, the over-wintering onions and garlic have been planted; the spring cabbages, radishes, and spring onions are coming along nicely, and the trees are changing colour. It's all good.

False hope?

Nine goals in 2 games -- and Norwich are suddenly 7th in Division One (or Three, to those of us who remember a time before the Premiership and Championship nonsense). We're still a long way off the leaders, 11 points behind Leeds, but our goal difference looks healthy for the first time since our opening-game drubbing. Perhaps we can make it back up? Perhaps we won't face the horros of Division Two? Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps . . . ?

Back to skool

After last year's abortive attempt at an MA, I've opted for something less academic but more creative: a beginner's course in digital photography. 24 weeks, 60 hours, of learning how to use my rather nice Pentax digital SLR camera properly -- no more "Auto" settings for me! We kicked off last night with an "in at the deep end" session on what all the different settings on our cameras mean, which was something of a revelation. Tv = shutter speed priority; Av = aperture priority; AWB = auto white balance; ISO is sensor (or old-skool film) sensitivity; P = program (more control than Auto, but no difficult calculations of aperture or shutter speed); M = manual (scary stuff). We then moved onto apertures and shutter speed. Let me see if I got this right.

Aperture is the size of the hole through which light passes on to the sensor. The shutter speed is how long the light is allowed through that hole. You're aiming to get a perfect amount of light onto the sensor for the picture you're taking. The wider the aperture, the shorter the shutter speed can be; the narrower the aperture, the longer the shutter speed. Now, the complicated stuff comes with the numbers. The widest aperture setting has the lowest number (F1.8); the higher the number, the narrower the aperture, which seems completely counterintuitive but I'm sure there's a good reason for this -- if only there were some kind of worldwide network of computers that shared all this information in an easily accessible format ... oh yes, let's see what Wikipedia has to say.

"The lens aperture is usually specified as an f-number, the ratio of focal length to effective aperture diameter. A lens typically has a set of marked "f-stops" that the f-number can be set to. A lower f-number denotes a greater aperture opening which allows more light to reach the film or image sensor. The photography term "one f-stop" refers to a factor of √2 (approx. 1.41) change in f-number, which in turn corresponds to a factor of 2 change in light intensity."

O-K. This is veering dangerously close to physics, a subject that made me cry when I studied it at O level. I will just take a deep breath, try to repress the awful memories of ticker-tape machines and wave pools, and focus on remembering that the lower the aperture number, the higher the shutter speed.

One week down, 23 to go. There are 17 in the class -- 12 women and 5 men. I was a little surprised by that, stereotypically figuring that more men might be interested in photography, but perhaps the name of the class "Digital Photography For Complete Beginners" provides the explanation; are women more willing to acknowledge that they are complete beginners?

Steep? I should say so!

The Reading Detectives project is keeping me healthy in both mind and body. After reading the poems of Hampshire-based poet Edward Thomas, killed in WW1, we set out on the literary trail that East Hants so kindly provided. It's a killer!

You set out from the church in the village of Steep and amble gently through some woodland, past some sheep in a field, and then alongside the sort of houses I plan to buy when my lottery numbers come up. Then, it's onto a bridleway by a stagnant pool, and up ... and up ... and up. All the exercise in the world will not help a bit when it comes to climbing hills! Thankfully, the climb was "relatively" short and we got our breath back on a long, winding line, full of yet more gorgeous houses and kamikaze pheasants, launching themselves out of the bushes at us.

However, these heart-attack-inducing efforts were worth it. Just look at that view!



We rested here by the Edward Thomas memorial stone, just amazed at the countryside spread out below us. And, as is so often the case in September, the weather was perfect. Not a cloud in the sky, a slight breeze tempering the warm sun. This was good. But steep -- see?

Days 6 and 7: A487, A55, A470

A week back at work and the holiday is already receding into the past, so I'll keep this short.

1. The Welsh Highland Railway from Caernafon to Hafod y Llyn and back, via the Aberglaslyn Pass: Excellent. Steam trains, beautiful scenery (especially on a nice day), and lots of men with beards and cameras, heads poking out of the windows in a flagrant violation of the many notices that say "Do not stick your head out of the window". Civil disobedience is alive and well on the railways.



2. Llandudno: A great seaside resort and not just for the oldies (although there are quite a few of them). Victorian trams up the steep slopes of the Great Orme! Terrifying cable cars back down to the pier! Fish 'n' chips! HMV!! If you go, please stay at the Space boutique B&B -- it's lovely. Charming owners, excellent breakfasts (from what I could see, as I was still recovering from cooked-breakfast overload), and attractive rooms, just a short walk from the town centre. Delightful!






Ah well, it's all over now. Back to clearing away decapitated and incapacitated mice -- 13 in the past 7 days.

Day 5: A487, A497, B4413, B4417, A499, A487 -- or, the Llyn Peninsula

This was the day that the holiday really gelled. We'd set the alarm for 7 a.m. to see if the weather had improved, and it had. Not a cloud in the sky, just early morning mist, so we set off to explore Portmeirion village while it was empty. It's hard to describe just how bonkers this place is and the lack of other visitors made it particularly odd -- as if we'd just walked onto a deserted film set. Well worth a visit if you're in the area.





We headed down to the beach, cursing the fact that we'd failed to buy an inflatable "Rover" at the gift shop the previous day, so couldn't film each other being chased across the sands by it, a la Number Six, but still -- gorgeous. And again, slightly spooky, mainly because of the texture of the sand and all the signs warning you to get off the beach at least 2 hours before high tide or risk being sucked into the quicksand.



After a heartyish breakfast (toast and a boiled egg for me by this point), we set off for our tour of the Llyn Peninsula -- otherwise known as the pointy bit that hangs down from the top. We drove through Pwllheli, called in at the art gallery at Llanbedrog, and pottered down to Aberdaron at the very tip, where some brave souls were swimming in the sea. Then, it was up to Porth Dinllaen to visit what a US colleague had described as her favorite pub in the entire world. She wasn't wrong. The Ty Coch Inn is gorgeous -- or rather, it's in a gorgeous location, overlooking a huge bay, with little fishing boats floating out in the harbour. I mean, look at that view! And then imagine looking at it with a pint in one hand and a pack of scampi-flavoured Nik-Naks in the other! Bliss!



By the time we'd walked back along the beach to the car, we were starting to flag -- too much fresh air and an early start made us nappy. So, we headed off to our B&B inside the walls of Caernafon, had a quick bite to eat at a pub, and then retired to bed -- at 8 pm! Holidays: exhausting.

How many full "English" breakfasts is too many?

Three, apparently. One of the twin glories of the British B&B is the full "English" (even if you're in Wales) breakfast: cereal, juice, toast, and a fry-up.* All B&Bs now have their act together and provide a hearty vegetarian variation on the theme -- but after three days of fried eggs, veggie sausages, fried bread, beans, mushrooms, tomatoes, and hash browns, I called it quits. From then on, I could only manage cereal or a slice of toast -- my body just can't take that much protein that early in the morning! PJ soldiered on manfully for a few more days before admitting defeat in Llandudno; getting value for money is one thing, but feeling stuffed by 9.30 a.m. is just not worth it.

*The other glory? Tea- and coffee-making facilities in every room. With biscuits.

Day 4: A496, A487, A497

Oh boy! When it decides to rain in Wales, it really rains! Our plans to visit Harlech Castle and stroll around Porthmadog were abandoned for a quick drive-by/through in each case, followed by a trip to Criccieth in search of a promised but never found Lloyd George museum. We ended up at Outdoor World instead, checking out the tents that we will (I hope) never buy.


I didn't mess up the lighting on this photo; it really was that grim!




We'd planned to spend the afternoon wandering around Portmeirion -- home of The Prisoner! -- but the rain meant that we managed just half an hour wading through the mud on the woodland trail before giving in and heading back to our enormous suite in the Castell Deudraeth and a hot (whirlpool) bath. Still wet, but in a good way.

Day 3: Barmouth to Dolgellau ... and back

This is why we came to Wales -- to do the walk along the old railway line and over the railway bridge into Barmouth. Or rather, to cycle it -- we're not total gluttons for punishment. Actually, after 2 years of only sporadic cycling (Hampshire is hilly!), getting back on bikes was both good and painful. Luckily, the weather improved greatly from the night before, giving us blue skies and sunshine for the first time in the week. The round trip was 20 miles; we stopped for lunch at Penmaenpool, by the cutest bridge and old railway station imaginable; and the whole expedition was just delightful (albeit somewhat muddy, given our lack of mudguards) -- beautiful scenery and an excellent path, thanks to the Snowdonia National Park authorities. If only all cycling was as enjoyable (and flat) as this!



Later that evening, it was off along the A496 (in the car -- like I said, we're gluttons, not gluttons for punishment) to watch the sun set over Cardigan Bay while eating great fish n' chips from the Wayside Fish Bar, as recommended by the gourmand from whom we'd hired bikes. Not a bad day at all.

Day 2: A49, A489, A490, A483, A458, A470 ...

This is not what you want to see as the mist descends over the Cambrian Mountains, the light starts to fade, and there are no signs of a diversion around what turns out to be a landslide. Some helpful Welsh ladies told us we would need to go via a town that sounded like a sneeze but was actually Machynlleth, something we figured out after a Penguin (for sustenance) and 5 minutes staring at a map. ALL Welsh place names sound like a sneeze, so it's difficult to tell one from t'other. 30 miles later, we were the other side of the landslide and heading down the Mawddach estuary to the seaside resort of Barmouth, just in time for a damp, dusky walk up the hill above the town, some dinner at The Last Inn, and then a sodden, rain-swept trot back to our B&B. So far, so not great.

Day 1: M3, A34, M4, M48, A466, A49

Our tour of aging British seaside resorts, accompanied by lashing rain and lots of fish 'n' chips, continues in 2009: This time its Wales. North Wales to be exact. We've just spent the night at The Clive (very pleasant, great food, lovely service), outside Ludlow, and will shortly head over to the very not-Welsh-sounding Barmouth on the mid-Wales coast for a couple of nights. After that, it's on to Portmeirion (home of The Prisoner), the Llyn Peninsula, and Llandudno, before moseying on back home and liberating the cats from their cat hotel. Both PJ and I and the Hampshire wildlife are looking forward to a break from their relentless slaughter.



As I was in charge of map-reading yesterday, we took a diversion from our/sat-nav's planned route from Otterbourne to Ludlow and headed up the Wye Valley, calling in at Tintern Abbey. This was well worth the detour (and getting stuck behind what was probably the only bus of the day on the road). Tintern Abbey was stunning, not dissimilar to Fountains Abbey up in Yorkshire, and in a truly beautiful setting. The rain, that had threatened since we'd left the Severn Bridge, held off, giving us dramatic clouds and bursts of sunshine.



Let's hope Powis Castle is equally impressive.

Road safety pop quiz

If a busy road leading up to a roundabout had a pavement and underpass on one side and a narrow verge leading to a blind corner on the other, would you:

a) Use the pavement and underpass as God (in the form of Eastleigh Council) intended?
b) Walk in the road up to the roundabout, clamber awkwardly up the verge to get out of the way of the oncoming cars, and then decide that walking in the middle of the road makes more sense?

I just don't understand the woman I saw this evening who selected b. If a council is good enough to provide you with a safe option (and the underpass is very short, well-lit on a bright summer's evening, and not at all scary), why wouldn't you use it? Clearly time for a little bit of chlorine in her gene pool.

Norwch 5: Wycombe 2

After a disappointing 2:1 loss to Brentford (Brentford!) mid-week, we rebounded to a more promising victory over Wycombe. We now have Ian Culverhouse back at the club and a new manager in Paul Lambert. Let's hope he lasts longer than 2 weeks, unless his two predecessors.