The Valley of Certain and Awful Fatigue
Posted on | April 20, 2011 | Comments Off on The Valley of Certain and Awful Fatigue
Hurrah and huzzah, for I have been in the mountains again.
Ah-boo, for the journey included the terrible Valley of Certain and Awful Fatigue. That’s it pictured. Harmless looking, isn’t it? Pleasant, even. That’s how it fools you. Then, it attacks your legs as you try, try, try to escape its clutches; fighting the valley and its bully-boy sidekick, Gravity.
Well, a bit anyway.
In fact, this is the Dargle Valley (a little further downstream, at Powerscourt, this itty-bitty brook becomes the highest waterfall in Ireland). To get here, we’d climbed the north side of Maulin and skirted along the ridge between that and Tonduff before dropping down into the valley. From here, it was a pretty steep climb—over thick heather and broken ground—to get back out and up to the summit of War Hill. Then, a relatively easy walk to the top of Djouce with its jagged outcrops before heading back along the Wicklow Way route, past the aforementioned waterfall and home again, home again, jiggity-jig.
Djouce is a bit of a tourist mountain in Wicklow. Its proximity to Dublin and the fact that there’s a very, very easy trail up it makes for a busy hill. I was well aware of its popularity and the fact that it’s a beautiful place which is why I chose this, slightly roundabout method of including it in a hike. The Valley of Certain and Awful Fatigue is reasonably tough terrain with no paths to speak of and I felt pretty sure that this would avoid the requirement to smile politely at people along the way. This was the case. The price was a heavy slog for an hour or so.
I did need to feign consideration towards a number of walkers during the descent, however. No day is perfect.
Tags: Dargle > Djouce > hiking > Maulin > War Hill
Lough Firrib
Posted on | April 9, 2011 | 2 Comments
Managed to get out for a stroll in the hills last week. Lough Firrib is a tiny lake on a rocky plateau in the middle Wicklow. For the most part, it’s possible to follow a brook up one valley, break off up a rocky slope to the lough, and head down another valley picking up a second brook. This image is from the first – Glankeera Brook.
Thursday was supposed to be a nice, sunny day but, as frequently happens, the Wicklow Mountains hosted their own micro-climate. A damp and foggy micro-climate. Cloud cover remained low for most of the walk and large parts of it were down to fifty-metre visibility with walking being done in compass-guided chunks of that length. The steep scramble from east of the Lough was the most foggy but I’m proud to announce that my sterling navigational skills got us right on target.
Here and there, the cloud lifted for periods though and, fog or no fog, it was a very pleasant walk. Haven’t been there before but Lough Firrib is quite beautiful. Small and calm, nestled amongst bog and granite. Might visit again when there’s a hope of actually seeing the view from the top.
Hike Report
Going: Boggy but reasonable, very steep and rough final scramble.
Sandwiches and tea: Brilliant.
The Rewards of Minor Vigilantism
Posted on | April 3, 2011 | Comments Off on The Rewards of Minor Vigilantism
Very nice neighbours (those who were burgled last night) were incredibly, and unnecessarily, kind – earlier today, they dropped by with a bottle of wine and a box of posh chocolates as a way of saying ‘thank you’ for my Charles Bronson-like acts of bravery (see post below).
Wife just sent daughter up to ask if they can open the posh chocs.
I didn’t remember them chasing burglars down the road.
Now all the nice ones will be gone before I get a cuppa. Bloody typical. I bet Die Hard never had to share his chocs.
Tags: charles bronson > Die Hard > John McClane > posh chocolates
The word ‘hero’ is thrown around a lot…
Posted on | April 2, 2011 | 2 Comments
I’ve been chasing burglars. Literally.
This evening, around 7:15, I was working in my attic eerie when I hear a sound like a bottle breaking. I also hear the sound of a, seemingly distant, house alarm. This latter is not an unusual event so my brain pretty much ignored it. I did get up from my desk to see if I could spot the little shit who was breaking bottles though.
It wasn’t a bottle. It was the kitchen window of the house behind mine. I spotted a scumbag climbing in through the broken window. Obviously, I was right on the blower to the old bill (this sort of talk seems right here – sorry). Within seconds of my getting off the phone (a one minute call – I checked) the scumbag, and a scumbag mate who I hadn’t seen, were out again. They scarpered across a couple of gardens and into my next-door neighbour’s.
I came downstairs to try keep an eye on them and they’d barged through the side passage and were off up the road. I went out and saw that my neighbour was already out and running after them. I set off close behind. The scumbags had gone down a cul-de-sac and, with their head-start, by the time we got to the corner, they were nowhere to be seen. We looked about a little with no success.
The police arrived about a minute or so later – a fantastic response – and they asked us to jump in the car before proceeding to do a Sweeney all over the estate. Brilliant. Seeing nothing, they rendezvoused with an impressive number of their, speedily responsive, colleagues (including two plain-clothes blokes). One of them took some details and information from us while the rest began searching for the scumbags. I’ve been cynical of the police at times in the past but I was massively impressed at the speed and manner of their response on this.
We left the police searching back gardens, sheds, and big bramble thickets. I don’t know if they caught the scumbags. I hope so but I doubt it (not for the want of trying, to be fair).
I’m guessing there’s going to be some sort of parade to celebrate my heroism. As I await the shoulder-high carrying through masses of ticker-tape and pretty girls looking on in moist awe, I’m having a beer or two.
Tags: burglars > charles bronson > hero > police > scumbags
A Nice Cup Of Tea And A Book: The Moor’s Last Sigh
Posted on | March 20, 2011 | 2 Comments
I’ve been more than a little remiss in keeping my eager Tea/Book community updated of late. I’ll state, now, that I intend to work harder at taking funny little photos of the books I read and the tea I drink but we all know that I’ll probably get distracted by something shiny or by porn and forget.
For now, though, here’s what I’ve just started. Salman Rushdie’s The Moor’s Last Sigh.
I’ve never read Rushdie before. Obviously, I’ll eventually get around to the obligatory Satanic Verses but I figured this might be a less clichéd introduction to Rushdie’s work.
Sprawlingly intricate seems to be the term that works best here. It’s a dense family history, across four generations of the da Gama/Zogoiby family, told by Moraes Zogoiby – the Moor of the title. The family histories are woven into India’s wider history and, if some of the stories I’ve read are to be believed, this was enough to annoy those with their own particular views on aspects of the subcontinent’s past. True or otherwise, it wasn’t enough to lead to a new round of death threats against Rushdie and hasn’t interfered with his abilities to take phone calls from U2 (Bono be praised).
So far, The Moor’s Last Sigh is deep and elaborate and beautifully written. I think I’ll enjoy it.
Tags: Bono > Books > Salman Rushdie > The Moor's Last Sigh > The Satanic Verses > U2
Enter New Kid
Posted on | February 27, 2011 | 6 Comments
So, in childbirth news, this thing on the left arrived a week ago.
This is New Kid. He’s a boy and, added to our six-year old girl, he completes the set. Sadly, he has no beard – even at a week and a day, he’s already a disappointment to his father. Puberty seems a long way off but I suppose I’ve got to give him the benefit of the doubt until then. He’d better be bearded by thirteen or I’ll thunder about the house bellowing, “I have no son!”
I realise that none of you care a jot about the small, squealing progeny of random internet strangers like me but there’s an actual law that forces me to foist images and pointless information about my offspring on passers-by like you.
Sorry.
Incidentally, I mentioned it on The Twitter but he does look disconcertingly like Ray Winstone in this photo, doesn’t he? I’m considering a paternity test.
Tags: beards > childbirth > lack of beards > new kid > puberty
Ten Minutes To Wapner
Posted on | February 3, 2011 | 2 Comments
Daughter just asked about a touristy, medieval-village thing we visited about a year ago. She’d like to go again as she’s sad we didn’t get to go inside Number 8, ‘where they did the knitting’ but she did enjoy having lunch in Number 10.
She’s referring to the numbers on the visitor’s map we used while rambling about.
She may be Rainman.
Healthy, Wealthy and Wise
Posted on | January 20, 2011 | 3 Comments
I am certainly not one of those things. The other two are reasonably debatable too.
What I am is a, reborn, early-riser. I am up and about before even the sluggard larks have bothered stretching their sleepy wings and hopping out of their cosy nests. Lazy lark bastards.
It pains me greatly that the beginning of my new regime coincided, roughly, with New Year. I failed to think things through and missed this. I’m now worried I’ll be thought of as the sort of person who makes new year resolutions.
Perhaps this regime change is a symptom of the most boring mid-life crisis ever but I’m getting out of bed about 5:45am and am using that time to do the things that stupid Life has prevented me doing for a while. Half of the week, this gives me two hours of writing, reading, catching up on interesting work, or whatever before I have to get my sleepy daughter out of bed for school. Other days it gives me an hour of those things and an hour’s run.
I’ve drifted, naturally, into going to bed a little earlier as a result and this is ok. The more astute reader will ask, “But why not do those things before bed instead of getting up early to do them?”
To which I’ll reply, “Because I’m a fricking idiot who just ends up watching tripe on TV and eating crisps at night-time.”
“But surely it’s just a psychological thing, then. Surely you could just change your night-time habits,” you’ll cry.
“Nobody likes a smartarse,” I’ll ejaculate.
Then I’ll mumble something about being up when your lazy carcass is still festering in your pit, assuming you’re on Greenwich Mean Time, and will shuffle off to get some day-time clothes on.
Tags: definitely not a resolution > early to rise > larks
Short Story: Divination
Posted on | January 17, 2011 | 5 Comments
I’ve gone and done a flash fiction. Actually, it’s the flashiest of flash and is massively little.
Divination is published over at Ink, Sweat and Tears.
As you’ve come to expect, it’s a little peculiar but, on the plus side, it is quite short.
It’d be nice if you could pop off to read it. Then, as per the usual agreement, if you like it, send money and/or crisps.
Tags: divination > fiction > flash > ink sweat and tears
Twitter Archive
Posted on | January 17, 2011 | 2 Comments
Tags: crap I've said when half-pissed > ramblings > scarlett johannson > Twitter
Gerry Hayes
I mostly sit around all day and drink tea. Occasionally, I write stuff and send it to strangers so they can humiliate me and deride my efforts. Other than the self-harm to dull the shame of failure, it's not a bad life. Like I say, there's tea.
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