Scafell News

Frankenkeith has been off on his travels, performing his customary acts of derring-do. He's safely back in Millbrook as I write, so you can all breathe easy again. Indeed, here is the man himself comfortably ensconced in the Random Arms on Tuesday last, enjoying a pint with our own dear Slocombe shortly before the open-mic poetry session began. Frankenkeith is on the left of the shot.

Long time readers might remember my 50th birthday plans to climb to the highest peak in England on the day itself. Must be bloomin' barmy, but hey-ho if you can't be bloomin' barmy upon reaching your half century I don't know when you can be.

Anyway, to return to the narrative - Frankenkeith spent last weekend doing a bit of a recce. He explored Gosforth (where we'll be staying) and was pleased to report that of the five pubs in the village, three actually face each other. Makes for an easy crawl, then.

But our intrepid adventurer didn't stop at examining the pubs, oh no. He also recce'd the trek itself. Resulting in him (and I quote as accurately as I can remember) "digging in [his] ice axe to have something to hold on to and hunkering down against the wind and the driving snow" before deciding that a push for the summit wasn't a sensible idea. He was climbing alone and a twisted ankle could have been a very serious problem.

Luckily my birthday is a few months away yet and we can hope for more benign conditions. Meanwhile here are some photos that Frankenkeith kindly sent to me of his heroic efforts.

That's Scafell Pike in the distance . . .

Frankenkeith hiked onwards and upwards . . .

Until, I think, this is about as high as he got before being beaten back by the gale force howler and blizzard conditions.

I suspect (and fervently hope) that there will be considerably less of the white stuff about in June. Best foot forward . . .

And Yet More Photos

Continuing the theme of a photo a day as prompted by FMS......

March, number 14: Tasty.

15. Explore

18. Shoes (I copped out of doing 16 and 17, too busy)

19. Sign

20. Clean

21. Working

More photos

The latest batch of the "Photo A Day" challenge from Fat Mum Slim.

9. Faceless Self Portrait

10. I Want. Or, as suggested, "iWant"

11. Important

12. In the distance.

13. Sound

A Haven Reopens

Way back in November (the night of the 24th to be precise) things got a tad damp down in the old D&C. 

An interim clear-up ensued with lots of people gamely joining in the task of making the place at least presentable. Well done, those fine people.

And so the pub stayed open and things muddled along much as in the antediluvian days.

Then came these last days of winter as spring gently slips in under the radar and the D&C became a hive of activity for non-imbibers as a refurbishment to befit these new post-diluvian days was undertaken. The dear old place has been out of bounds for the better part of a fortnight, but this very evening, ladies and germs - it's going to be open again. Huzzah!

In fact, as I write these vague witterings, assuming the chalk board outside the pub was correct as Mrs The Millbrooker and I sauntered past it this afternoon, it's been reopened now for very nearly two hours.

Perhaps this evening should involve a short trip along the byways of Millbrook to sample some yummy ale and celebrate the availability of the nectar of the gods in the grand Millbrookian institution on West Street after an enforced hiatus.

Chin chin.

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photos shamelessly nicked from...

Liz wading behind the bar: Facebook, taken (or at least put up) by Tamsin Taylor

Clearing up at the D&C (2 photos) medeshivalley.com

And Some More Shots

In a continuation of the photo-a-day obsession for those of you in the back row or without a backstage pass to the Facebook page.

#6: "Chair". This is where I plonk myself of an evening. I found this subject quite difficult - how to make it even remotely interesting? In the end I opted for a slightly off-centre subject and messing about digitally with the lighting.

#7 "Fear". I got a huge reaction from both the fmsphotoaday page and from friends and family for this one. I think it was probably the explanation rather than the photo that got people going. I wasn't looking for sympathy - but it did seem appropriate as a subject given the prompt of "fear".

I wrote "I have retinitis pigmentosa (RP). I am becoming blind slowly, degree by degree. This is my left eye -  I still have some usable vision in this one (my right eye has severe distortion, so isn't much use at all); the fear is also the reality - that vision is imperceptibly leaving me even as I write."

#8 "Favourite". Each of these does a slightly different job, so choosing a favourite isn't easy, but I tried to arrange them in order with my lovely Ovation in the front at number 1.

Showing my Workings

This photo-a-day malarky is taking over.

Today's prompt is "under". Yesterday, I had no real idea of what to post or how to interpret this one. So I took my camera on the commute just to see if inspiration struck.

I took several shots that were possibles, and arguably moderately interesting; interesting enough for the readers in the cheap seats to waste a few moments over , anyway. So, rather than simply consign them to eternal obscurity I'll stick them up here, followed by the one that I actually decided to splurt onto fmsphotoaday on Facebook.

Under . . . . used / under . . . . repair

under . . . . here

under . . . . cultivation

under . . . . just "under"

under . . . . water

under . . . . strain

Looking at that wee collection of photos makes me realise that It's quite a nice commute I've got; give me the Rame Peninsula over the city anytime.

Anyway - onwards to the one I finally settled on which wasn't from my commute at all, I'll leave you to work it out for yourselves.

Under . . . .

Fat Mum Slim's Photo A Day

I've started doing a new thing, inspired by my newly found cousin Jen (it's a longish story, but Mrs The Millbrooker and I discovered lots of new cousins last summer in Dinard). The Dinard adventure happened while this blog was on sabbatical, so that story will have to remain untold.

The current state of play is that Mrs The Millbrooker and I are now in contact with a myriad people with whom we had little or no contact before and and damned fine thing it is, too. Most of this new contact is through the magic of Facebook and one of Jen's Facebook activities has been Fat Mum Slim's Photo A Day.

FMS puts out a monthly list of prompts and those of us who want to take part try and take a photo every day inspired by the prompt; said photo is then supposed to shared by whatever medium you choose. I share mine on my FB page and on the official fmsphotoaday feed. I've decided I might start sharing them here as well. And why not?

March's prompt list is this:

My efforts thus far are these:

1 L is for . . .landing stage (Cremyll Ferry, part of my commute)

2. I made this 

(2 CDs from 20 odd years ago made with my old band the Family Fruitbowl)

3. Key. If I want to change key, I sometimes use one of these.

4. Lucky. This is Dave Rabbit-Rabbit, one of NooNoo's first

toys. Dave was rescued only last week from being taken to a charity

shop. Dave is therefore a very lucky Dave.

So there you have it - the first four of my photoaday efforts; great art it ain't, good fun and a little daily creative challenge it is. Anyone care to join in?

My Perfect Mind

No I'm not boasting. My mind can be described as many things but "perfect" probably isn't one of them. In fact, feel free to insert your own adjective for the state of my mind anytime you wish.

No - the "My Perfect Mind" to which I refer is the title of the brand new piece of theatre that Mrs The Millbrooker, Frankenkeith and I went to see last night at Plymouth's Drum Theatre.

Naturally I have no photos of the play itself, but I did snap a quick one of the set before curtain up.

The outing came about because Frankenkeith saw the show earlier in the week and loved it so much he wanted to share it and see it again. We were more than happy to oblige what with tickets being a snip at £13 full price and £9 for concessions.

I'm going to make no attempt to describe the play/show/piece (use whatever description you will - it's almost indefinable.) It's uproariously funny whilst being simultaneously deeply personal for writer and performer Edward Petherbridge, a distinguished name in theatre, indeed!

The basis of the piece is the true story that Petherbridge was booked to play King Lear in New Zealand seven years ago when he suffered a catastrophic stroke. During his recovery he found himself unable to remember anything except the script of Lear. The play wanders all through his mind, his life and his recovery. How can that be "uproariously funny"? Trust me, it is.

But it is so much more than "funny" - the depth of trust and "permission" between the two actors is a wondrous thing; the poignant moments and the times of sheer anger and frustration are truly affecting. All woven together in a patchwork of clowning, tomfoolery, knowingly OTT theatricality and delightful anecdote. What's even better is that it treats its audience as intelligent and never, ever, talks down. And, really, you need know nothing at all about Shakespeare, Lear, the theatre or anything else to be richly rewarded from seeing this play.

I urge anyone and everyone to seek out tickets for the short tour that this play is making at the moment; I'm only sad that we caught its last night in Plymouth because I would have gone again. And again. I love the theatre, I've been attending shows and plays all of my adult life and I can't recall anything quite so wonderful as that which I was privileged to witness last night.

Tour dates are below - if it's coming within a hundred miles of you - beg, borrow, steal a ticket. You won't be disappointed. My grateful thanks to Frankenkeith for telling us about it.

05th to 09th March: Unity Theatre, Liverpool

19th to 23rd March: Salberg Studio, Salisbury Playhouse

03rd to 20th April:Young Vic, London (The Maria)

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publicity photos shamelessly nicked from

liverpooldailypost.co.uk and

guardian.co.uk

The Project That is Arcadian

Ok - I admit I had to look up a synonym for "Eden", my theological history having failed me momentarily on this Sabbath morning. It could so easily have been called the Arcadia Project, or the Elysian Project. But, no - Mr Smit made the probably wise decision to use the better recognised "Eden" for his ecological visitor attraction.

And so you will have caught on by now that Mrs The Millbrooker and I have made a trip westwards to visit the famed biomes once again. It's been a year since we last took a peek with NooNoo in tow (full story here), and Betty Slobb had, until yesterday, never been there - so a pootle in the rain forest seemed a good idea.

Being public transport fans, we took the iron horse from Plymouth and ended up in the wild west.

One of my very favourite ever stories of working on the railway was about Par. You might enjoy reading it here.

We met up with Betty Slobb and MinorEarthQwake on the platform and wandered gently to the main road to be picked up by MinorEarthQwake's mum who is, as yet, lacking a blog name (a state of affairs with which she is, I believe, entirely content) so we'll just call her Amanda. Because that's her name. Photos featuring said delightful lady to follow in due course, meanwhile here's one of Mrs The Millbrooker, Betty and MEQ as a bus whizzes past. Never say I don't know how to entertain with fabulous photography.

'Tis but a fleeting flit along the Cornish highways from Par to the Project and in only minutes we were overlooking the biomes.

The venue was playing host to the World Pasty Championships and was, therefore, heaving with people - the busiest I've seen it (we do tend to avoid peak tourist season). The World Pasty Championship seems to work in a similar manner to the United States' "World Series" baseball. In that the "world" bit is a bit superfluous - every contestant was Cornish. Not in the World Series baseball, in the Pasty Championship.

This did mean that lunch was going to be pasty or nothing. We had pasties.

There is a new attraction in the rain forest biome erected since we were last there. Very exciting.

Yep - a skywalk, suspended on steel cables to 50m above the biome floor. It wobbles a bit and you can see down through the mesh flooring on the stairs and the viewing platform. I love heights, so I was a very happy bunny, even if the staff did make me leave my white cane behind in case it slipped through the mesh and speared some unsuspecting forest meanderer below (impossible, the mesh is far too fine).

Once at the top, there's a bit of a view . . . 

. . . and, of course, a group photo opportunity. L-R Betty Slobb, Amanda (phew-no-blog-name), MinorEarthQwake and Mrs The Millbrooker.

Onwards to more horticultural sights and some live entertainment in the Mediterranean biome where Kernow King performed, as part of the Pasty Championship celebrations, a remarkably clean set of routines from his repertoire of Cornish themes.

Anyone unfamiliar with Kernow King's oeuvre might like to see him in action in one of his YouTube videos. So, being the helpful fellow I am there's a Kernow King video at the end of this post - marvel as you learn all about the true history of the village of Roche (for the benefit of worldwide readers - Roche is a real place, Kernow King's description of it might not be the most reliable, but it is one of the best). Others may content themselves with this photo of the man in action yesterday at the Eden Project.

A short trog onwards to a part of the project that Mrs The Millbrooker and I haven't visited before and its rather awesome (and I use that word properly, not as the young people of today do about almost anything) sculpture of a seed in its temple-like setting. Loved it.

In the same building there is an entire wall made from old fridge doors and it's got a plethora of magnetic letters to play with. Betty and MEQ made me a present.

Time, as always, ran out and Mrs The Millbrooker and I sped homeward after a cuppa and biccies at Amanda (phew-no-blog-name)'s house - very kind, thank you, Amanda (phew-no-blog-name).

We whistled through Lostwithiel . . .

. . . and trundled over the Royal Albert Bridge back to England . . .

 . . . where an evening of theatrical delights in the company of Frankenkeith awaited us, but that's a story for another posting.

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Kernow King in Roche

Out on the Wild and Windy Moors

I glance back at these pages and find I've lazily not written a single word for 10 days. Actually, it's not mere laziness. I have a busy time of it these days, I'll have you know.

Let's take last weekend, for example. It was all set to be a quiet "lets-stay-by-the-fire-and-do-very-little" sort of affair. Then Betty Slobb decided to come and stay with us for a  couple of days while MinorEarthQwake was off being trained to do something or other.

And she needed some bits and bobs taken down to Truro in the removal van of mum, which found us emerging from our cocoon at an ungodly hour for a Saturday and heading west.

Eventually to find ourselves in Betty and MEQ's new abode.

After the womenfolk had done the heavy lifting and furniture positioning while I helpfully looked on, we bought a pasty and something sweet each before heading off for a trek up on Bodmin Moor.

Local readers might be aware that it's been a bit chilly over the last few days. So it made some sort of sense, I suppose, to head off into the coldest place in Cornwall to enjoy the seasonal temperatures. We ate our pasties in our small pink toaster of a car, watching light snow flurries swirl outside the windows, then bravely set off to see what the frozen highlands had to offer.

Through the Hurlers, toward the Cheesewring.

And, yes, it was bloomin' cold. We were well wrapped up, though.

The small ponds and puddles were all frozen solid.

But that meant we could all play at walking on water.

We marched our way cross country to the unfrozen quarry pool to the west (I think) of the Cheesewring - lovely spot.

Complete with icicles, mind.

Did I mention that it was a bit chilly, at all?

We came across a larger pool higher on the moor where we obviously weren't the only ones who thought a game of throw-a-stone-at-the-ice would be a grand idea. It's good job we're never ever silly. At all.

We spent quite a long time playing at that frozen pool. And why not?

Did I mention earlier that we were well wrapped up? That was, indeed, true of Mrs The Millbrooker and me. But not quite so true of Betty Slobb who might have needed some home comforts when we got back to Millbrooker Towers that early evening.