Brass

Britain has a long tradition of brass bands, originating in the coal mining industry (and other manufacture), where every company had their own company brass band. These would compete against each other, and today, most British brass bands enter competitions and championships, and there is a league system like in football. This means, that most British children who are learning brass instruments will at some point compete, and the general level of playing is quite high.

I joined a brass band in Edinburgh where people just play for fun. The players are quite good though. They are also very friendly, and go to the pub after each rehearsal. Today, I talked to one of the guys who practises his trombone several times a week, depending on the weather, on a hill in a large park near Edinburgh.

My flatmate tells me I can practise in the attic in our new flat. If I fit through the hatch.

Borders Abbeys Way 4

It's day three, our longest day with 33 km / 20 miles. We'll be walking to Selkirk first, which is where most people would stop for the day. But we're going to continue on to Tweedback to catch a train home.

Vincent makes us a massive breakfast, and again, Joe helps me with the meaty bits of mine.

Leaving Hawick, it's uphill for a bit and then on a minor road, but at some point we're on a nice walking path again. We take a long break on a tiny footbridge somewhere in  the bush. We need to get up when a Canadian/German group wants to pass. We meet them later in a cafe in Selkirk, where they feel sorry for us because unlike them, we're not yet finished walking for the day. I don't mind. I knew Selkirk was just a stop, so I'm happy to keep going.

Meeting Canadians sparks a lengthy discussion about the best way of eating maple syrup. In my view, it's on Belgian waffles with bacon. It is important though that the waffles are not too sweet. Joe is more of a pancake and icecream guy. We reach Selkirk, and after a coffee break, where the friendly server offers to refill our water bottles, Joe finally gets his icecream he's been thinking of ever since we had the maple syrup conversation.

The bit after Selkirk is a beautiful high level walk through the Selkirk hills with views over the Ettrick valley, and we meet a gang of inquisitive young cows.

In a little hamlet outside Selkirk, a woman in a garden, pruning flowers, sees us from afar and shouts 'schnipp schnipp' at us, and when we come closer, she says we look clean and if we didn't want to stay in her house when she goes to Australia next year. I'm tempted to say yes, but she seems a bit crazy.

We pass a little lake with a beach, and I suggest we go skinny dipping, but I chicken out when Joe calls my bluff. We arrive at Tweedbank station just after 8 pm. We can see the train from afar but don't know when it will leave, so we rush to it only to learn that we still have 20 minutes to go.

Joe starts a chat with a guy who turns out to be a strip club manager. He says that some people think that this makes him seedy (I silently agree) but that it's just a business. I watch Joe, who chats with anyone, for the first time struggle to converse. Oh Schadenfreude. Thankfully (or sadly?), the train doors open and we go in, making sure to find a carriage as far away from seedy strip club manager as possible. 

It's dark now, so no point looking out the windows and taking in the scenery. We eat all our remaining food and turn on phones and check messages. Back to the real world.

Borders Abbeys Way 3

I wake up and take my earplugs out (Joe warned me that he might snore). Joe offers me a coffee. I say yes, then change my mind. No, I'm not a morning person, and my alarm woke me up in the middle of a weird dream. I tell Joe my dream, which was about a wedding of an old school friend that took place at my work place. I realise I talked about that school friend yesterday, and we also debated the merits of marriage. The dream wasn't that weird after all then.

In the sumptuous, tartan-heavy breakfast room we meet the other guests, from England and Barcelona. Joe gets a conversation going with everyone. Of course, the chat turns political at some point, and Joe handles it well. Diplomacy is not my strength so I keep my mouth shut. Joe eats most of my breakfast on top of his - it's too early in the morning for me to have haggis, sausages, bacon and black pudding.

We walk. There are brambles, raspberries and butterflies. On a hill we lie down and take a long break in the soft grass, looking for a nap. Joe tells me how nice it was to wake up next to me. I ask him not to repeat this statement out of context to anyone. Some other walkers come our way. Why they are not lying down and taking a break in such a great spot with wide views I don't understand.

When we continue walking I spot laundry on a line hung up all wrong. The socks are all over the place. I comment on this, and pretend that I really care about hanging up laundry a certain way, and I give Joe a lecture on mindful laundering. He can't tell whether or not I'm serious which amuses me. 

At Denholm, a sign announces a tea room but when we get there it's shut. We settle for the pub, which also serves cream tea, and we meet an Irish mother and daughter who are also doing the Borders Abbeys Way. They have rented a cottage, and the dad, who isn't walking, drives them to the starting points every morning, picks them up in the evening, and cooks dinner for them.

After Denholm, we pick up the path and walk along the Teviot, taking another long break on a pebbled beach, spotting more herons, and practise whistling and bird sounds. Joe teaches me advanced pigeon sound technique, and hand farts. I can't do the hand farts, but it's probably due to a lack of will rather than skill.

At Hawick, we find our host's B&B in an old mill building by the river. Vincent has a lovely three bedroom flat with high ceilings, and he recently redecorated it completely. He is looking to sell and move to Spain, and for his asking price you couldn't buy a basement studio in Edinburgh. He offers us a very generous glass of whisky, and I'm a bit tipsy before dinner. The recommended dinner option in Hawick is a Whetherspoon's, where we meet other walkers. Afterwards, we walk around town for a bit, through a dark cemetery and an even darker park before turning in for the night.

Holidays!

So, I'm away on holidays for most of September.

I'm spending a week up north in Torridon where I'll bag some munroes or corbetts, or if the weather is rubbish, do some easy coastal walks. And then I'll meet up with Kat in England where we'll finally finish the coast to coast walk that we started five years ago.

I'll be back in October with some walking reports.

Leave

I clean my coffee mug, make sure my laptop is locked to the desk, and shred some sensitive print-outs. I write a note to leave on my desk, saying it's up for grabs for a bit. I can't get rid of my smugface. It's there whenever I remember that I won't be back in the office for 23 days.

The last time I had a break that lasted longer than ten days was when I was travelling, five years ago. This is the real deal. I'm not taking anything work-related with me. I'll relax so hard that when I go back, I'll have forgotten what my job is.

Borders Abbeys Way 2

I meet Joe at the bus station in Edinburgh. I'm there first so I get the coffee. On the bus, we have a lot to catch up on, which sufficiently distracts me from getting car sick. Joe gets chatting with Joan, who is sitting in front of us and on her way to Kelso herself. She is on her own because her friend broke her arm. In Kelso, Joan takes us to Caroline's Cafe where we have our first break even before we've started the walk.

Chatting to random people is always a given with Joe - I remember a coffee break on our first walk together when I wanted to grab the coffee and sit outside in the sun, but looking at his face, I realised that he really wanted to chat with the proprietor, who wasn't even particularly chatty. So I mumbled something about having been outside all day and let's just sit inside, and we sat inside and Joe worked his magic and got the cafe owner's quite interesting life story out of him.

On walking out of Kelso we see our first abbey, Kelso Abbey. We follow the river Teviot and meet some anglers, one of which shows us the 4 pound trout he's caught. We have a long lunch break at a pebbly beach, throw pebbles and watch a heron. Back on the trail we get lost a bit, but realise that quickly - the waymarking is excellent.

When we arrive in Jedburgh after some leisurely 13 miles / 21 km, I wonder if my B&B booking has all worked out, and if we'll get a twin room as booked, and not a double. We haven't been friends for that long, so sharing a bed might be awkward! In any case, I've brought pyjama bottoms, and so has Joe.

Our host Amanda welcomes with "you're not vegetarians are you - you can tell vegetarians a mile away, they are always so pale" and shows us our tiny twin room. The two single beds are a hand-width apart - we look at each other and laugh nervously.

Amanda explains our dining options. Jedburgh pubs only serve food in the restaurant area, not in bar area. This means that it is difficult to get a table at all. We settle for the Indian restaurant which seems to be run by children. The service is erratic. The place is full, but no one seems to have food in front of them. They run out of pickle trays and we have to wait for our poppadoms until another table has finished theirs. When the food finally arrives it is nice, cheap and plentiful. After this, it's a walk back to the B&B, and sleep comes easily.

Walls

Looking at paint colours for our new flat, my flatmate and I have opposite tastes. She likes pale salmon, I like greys. I hate pale salmon, she detests greys.

So we both did a personality test to determine our 'perfect colour trend'. We both got 'Coastline' (*click*). (A contemporary take on classic coastal decor, this colour trend celebrates shimmering seas and bold skies. Coastline is a laid-back look that combines flat blocks of colour reminiscent of oceanic horizons, with water-dappled painterly effects, using a harmonious colour palette.)

And no, we don't have a moving date yet. At the current rate of proceedings it might not happen until spring.

It is ok to walk in the dark and other lessons from my first outing with a mountaineering club

My trip with the Tweeddale Ramblers (*click*) may also count as an outing with a mountaineering club, but it was only a day walk.

This club is different. People are generally younger, the walking is more ambitious, and they go on weekend trips in the highlands every fortnight. Accommodation in hostels, bunk houses and mountaineering huts is arranged and very cheap. Lifts get shared, and communal evening meals are also sometimes organised.

The club meets in the pub every Thursday, and I had gone along a few times to see if people were nice. That confirmed, I joined them on a weekend trip in Roybridge. A whole weekend with a group of strangers in the remote Scottish highlands.

My car company was nice and chatty, but unfortunately I got very, very car sick on the drive up, sitting in the back and not wanting to make a fuss. That pretty much ruined my evening, and I was having trouble socialising. Socialising consisted of looking at maps and gear and planning the next day's adventures. That was the single topic of conversation. Everyone seemed to check with everyone else what they were planning on doing and who with, before making up their own minds. It amazed me that people in the end did have a plan.

The weather wasn't great. Lots of snow on the hills, and poor visibility. My plan was to walk through a river and along a glen, possibly up one or two corbetts if it was nice enough. I was happy to do it on my own, but ended up walking with three guys, who seemed to be in a rush to get this hill-walk done and over with and get back to the huts. Once I realised I'd rather continue alone at my own pace, I was on a hill in a whiteout and didn't know how to get down it, so I kept following the guys. Not exactly my kind of walking.

At night, we cooked together and had a nice chat and made plans for the next day. Trying to fit in, I talked about the long walks I had done, but in order not to risk my mountain cred, I didn't mention all the stages I had skipped...

The following day, I had to go where my driver was going, because his walk was on the route home, and he wasn't going to come back to the huts. We did a lovely walk up Creag Meagaidh nature reserve with a larger group of friendly people. They had some incredible stories to share.

There was the one of the guy who came down a hill very late at night and ran into a search party. He decided to join them, because on the hills you look out for each other. Only after a while did he realise that it was him they were searching for.

Another story was about this seasoned hill-walker who didn't make it back at night at all. He had gone up Creag Meagaidh as well. His wife was used to him coming down the hill quite late, but eventually in the morning she got concerned when he still hadn't come home, and she notified the mountain rescue. They walked up the usual route and took a break at the lochin before going up 'The Chimney' to the ridge. They had a cup of tea sitting down on the mountain rescue kit, a coffin-shaped wooden box for emergency shelter, when they suddenly heard a knocking sound. Yes, the guy they were looking for had turned his ankle in the evening, hadn't been able to make it down the hill, took shelter in the mountain resuce kit and fell sound asleep. And it never occurred to the rescue team to look inside!

I now always carry a head torch when out and about in the hills. It seems quite normal to most hill walkers to come down a hill after dark.

Giggleswick

How to describe music summercamp? It was a week filled with music classes, concerts and performances, eating together, drinking together and enjoying the company of friendly people who share the same interests.

We were 170 people of all ages between 16 and 92, although the average age was probably above 50. This was one reason for me to sign up - this wouldn't be a knocking shop, and people would be quite relaxed about musical skills. I could just relax and not worry about singing or playing poorly, or impressing boys. The musical focus was on folk music, jazz music, and a little bit of classical music as well. The tutors were high-caliber professional musicians, most of them also teaching music at university.

Most people were staying in the school which was more like a small village. I had a little room to myself under the roof with a sink and a mirror, and a shared bathroom in the hall. Food was excellent, and it was served to a strict schedule in a dining hall. I sat with different people for each meal, and everyone was friendly.

I was probably most nervous about my jazz voice class. This was about performing jazz songs solo in front of people. We did a couple of songs together, and each student had also prepared a song to rehearse and then perform at a student concert. We sang the first song together, Have You Met Ms. Jones, and then each of us sang 8 bars on their own. Once that was out of the way and I felt that I was doing ok, I relaxed a bit and started to enjoy the class.

My Ukulele class turned out to be a bit too slow-paced for my taste. I did learn new things, but too few of them, and too slowly. I dropped it and took up Dixieland instead. Dixieland was great. We had a tuba, banjos, clarinets, saxophones, trumpets, guitar, and a tutor who had a huge smile on his face, handed out the music, and wasn't precious about the outcome. He made everyone play an improvised solo - and then everyone at the same time. The outcome was loud and fun and chaotic, and much more musical than expected. The tutor told me later in the bar that he had never taught adults before - he was filling in for someone else on short notice.

And finally, my First Steps In Improvisation class was very surreal, hugely entertaining and impossible to describe.

I ended up playing my trumpet much more than expected - after seven years of not playing it at all. It all came back quickly, and I remembered that I once quite liked it.

There were student concerts at night after dinner, and there was a bar and cheap drinking. People were playing their instruments everywhere, rehearsing for one of the many performances, or just jamming. I joined a bunch of recorder players for a session of recorder playing. On my birthday, I joined a jam session with my trumpet. I sang a jazz song to an audience of maybe fifty people, accompanied by piano. At the dance after the gala dinner I danced a quickstep with the only man at the camp who could ballroom dance, 92-year-old Norman. And for the last day, I rejoined the ukulele class to perform with them in the big final all-day student concert. At the ceilidh at night, I showed the mostly English crowd how they dance in Scotland.

It was indeed all very lovely.

School grounds - I stayed in the house on the left

A Giggleswick house

Gala dinner

Late night drinking with boys from Ipswich and Doncaster

Borders Abbeys Way 1

Another long weekend, another long walk. My friend, let's call him Joe, who accompanied me on the last one, was keen to do another one. Usually a mountaineer, this different kind of walking was a revelation to him. The full walk report is coming out soon!

Festival fall-out

Oh yeah, this happened:

Some of our amazing volunteers celebrate 70 Years of the Edinburgh Festivals with Nicola Sturgeon and Roger Spence pic.twitter.com/sqrvIqAHh5

— EdinburghJazzFest (@EdinburghJazz) 16 August 2017

Another party at the beach

I was invited to an 'informal gathering at the beach'.

A dump by day, a romantic hidden beach by night

Wildlife

Longstone (where I live) is a jungle!

I keep running into my local badger when I cycle home at night, and the canal path is full of foxes, and earlier at night, rats.

And this morning, John was about to leave the flat when a magpie hopped down the stairs, past him, followed by our neighbour from upstairs who said that this was the third time this week he had to see a magpie out.

Music school

Folks, I'm away at a summer school of music in England for a week!

I packed all instruments I could find apart from the fiddle: the uke, trumpet, kazoo, rekorder (my favourite!), harmonica, and a borrowed music stand. Also my glad rags and dancing shoes for the gala dinner.

This is happening in a boarding school with the great name of "Giggleswick" in Settle in the Yorkshire Dales. Kat and I once walked from Settle to Malham (*click*) over the hills, arriving at Malham in the dark -  and I never blogged about it!

I am taking three courses: Ukulele, Jazz voice, and first steps in improvisation (trumpet). Ukulele should be easy and fun. Jazz voice is quite outside my comfort zone, and while I have done some improvisation before, the last time I touched my trumpet was probably five years ago. So, good fun ahead!

Pilgrimage 3

Monday: Wooler - Fenwick - Beal - Berwick-upon-Tweed

I still have the dorm to myself but I don't sleep too well anyway. But a full cooked English breakfast is waiting for me so I get up and make my way to the dining room. The table is set for two, everyone else is making their own breakfasts. My friend is nowhere to be seen so I order him some tea and am ready to take it to his dorm when he arrives. Phew, I didn't really want to set foot into a male dorm in the morning.

We say our goodbyes to the natural dying girls and the pilgrims, and leave to do the final stretch, 23 km (14 miles) to the coast. We won't be able to cross over to Holy Island today, because the tide will have come in by the time we make it to the causeway. Instead, my friend suggests we continue walking to Berwick-upon-Tweed, rather than taking the bus, from where we will take our train back to Edinburgh. This is a ridiculous idea, as it will add another 17 km (10 miles) to the day, so I agree.

We walk through Wooler and past a group of adolescent walkers who we soon leave behind, never to be seen again. We meet a gang of young bulls - or bullocks - the ones without balls anyway. They are quite friendly, curious and excited, mounting each other, and I'm feeling much braver when I'm past them and on the other side of the gate. Love is definitely in the air - three female sheep are at it nearby.

I'm feeling stronger today, slightly better rested, and we are leaving the Cheviots behind us - in theory, it's only downhill from here. We walk over a very old-looking bridge, Weetwood bridge, and a couple of ladies tell us it is medieval. We take a break on a grassy pillbox from the second world war. We visit St. Cuthbert's Cave in the woods, which has graffiti from the 18oos scratched into the large rocks, and we climb some boulders here.

When we leave the woods, a man warns us of another gang of cattle with offspring and offers us his stick to fend them off. We cross the field, and a group of people come our way, looking very scared and yet determined, trying hard not to make eye-contact with the cattle closing in. But the cows sense our fearlessness and leave us alone. We see the sea.

At Fenwick we carefully cross the fast A1 and then approach the rails. There's a phone here for calling the signalman to ask when it's safe to cross. He asks how many of us there are and how long it will take us to cross, and then he allows us to cross.

We watch the last cars on the causeway returning from the island before the tide comes in, and we make our way to the barn at Beal, a cafe, for a long break in the sun with a sea view. We decide to walk to Berwick-upon-Tweed. I'm not ready for the adventure to be over, and I don't know yet that it is another 17 km.

The walk to Berwick along the coast is lovely - at some point I take off my shoes and walk in the sea - my feet are loving it. They are complaining a bit though when I have to force them back into the boots. To keep our minds off the pain and the remaining miles we resolve to riddles and logic puzzles.

We pass a beautiful grand house on a cliff and I wish it was a hotel, taking us in, but we keep walking and eventually reach Berwick. We hobble into the town centre and have some food and wait for the train. A man is waiting with us and tells us that he owns the grand house on the cliff and runs it as a B&B.

On the train, my friend is absolutely shattered and can barely keep his eyes open. I'm actually not too bad and tease him by acting extra lively. We arrive in Edinburgh at 10 pm or so, and after 85 km (53 miles) in total, and 40 km (25 miles) today, I'm sore and I shiver from exhaustion, and I think this was an absolute beauty of a weekend.

Pilgrimage 2

Sunday: Kirk Yetholm - Hethpool - Wooler

It is Sunday morning and on entering the hostel kitchen, my friend gets me a coffee and fries me some duck eggs. That's the way to start the day! We chat with some grumpy Danish walkers, and with a girl who's doing the pilgrimage with her grandad. These pilgrims we will meet again.

We leave for our 20 km (13 miles) walk to Wooler - our shortest day. We soon have to climb our first proper hill, one of the Cheviot Hill range, and it feels much more strenuous than the previous day. Maybe the climb is steeper, but I'm also feeling a bit sleep-deprived and am less talkative than I have been. On top of the hill we take a break and a nap or two in the sun. When we continue walking we meet a bunch of Englishmen in an eerie forest plantation who tell us that we have already crossed the border - without noticing, we might even have taken a nap on it!

I  run out of chat, so I ask for most embarassing stories and uncover a goldmine! Of course nothing that I could share here.

We interrupt the day several times with long breaks and naps, but are still exhausted when, after a few lovely miles across a desolate moor, we arrive into Wooler where we shave half a mile off our walk by taking a shortcut on a road. The hostel is up a hill, but at least we each have a dorm to ourselves!

After a cup of tea and a bit of a rest, we freshen up and search for a pub for food. The Tankerville Arms, or the "Tanky" as the locals call it, is a mile down the hill, but the food is worth it. In fact, I get so excited about eating that I throw half a pint over my friend's lap. Oops. Sorry mate.

To make up for it I offer him a piggy- back up the hill back to the hostel but have to give up after a few meters. Also, the etiquette concerning arm placement of the piggy-backee is unclear.

Back at the hostel, we have more tea and a chat with the pilgrims who are also staying here, and with a group of three girls who are on their way to a course in "natural dying". This is about dying textiles with dyes made of plants, and has nothing to do with assisted dying.

A couple of retired Germans stop at the hostel to speak to the warden about something, and then join us for a chat about their trip through the UK. The man is originally from Peine, a German town near Braunschweig, where I lived for 10 years, and he is friendly and talkative, while his wife seems a bit shy with her English. They promise to stop if they see us hitchhiking tomorrow.

After all the walking, napping, and socialising, I am exhausted and ready for an early night.

Pilgrimage 1

Another long weekend, another long walk. Part-time working is paying off!

My original plan was to walk and wild camp in the highlands, but the weather forecast for the north looks unpleasant. Instead, I look south for alternatives, and discover St. Cuthbert's Way.

Following in St. Cuthbert's footsteps, this walk goes from Melrose Abbey in the Scottish Borders across the English border and the Cheviot Hills towards the sea, and over a causeway to the Holy Island of Lindisfarne off the coast of Northumberland. I convince a friend to join me, and as there is hostel accommodation on the way, we travel light.

Saturday: Bonjedward - Morebattle - Kirk Yetholm

On Saturday morning my friend awaits me with coffees at the bus station in Edinburgh. A bus takes us in 2 hours to Bonjedward just north of Jedburgh, where we join the trail at noon, walking 25 km (15 miles) to Kirk Yetholm. On the way, we visit and climb around in the ruins of Cessford Castle, and stop in Morebattle, where a Danish minister is restoring the derelict church building which in the meantime acts as a cafe.

There are no other walkers on the trail - but then we skipped the first leg of the walk (Melrose to Jedburgh), which most other walkers would have done on the Saturday, so we are one day ahead of everyone else.

Walking is effortless. It must be the nice company, conversation flows easily. I wonder if this will still be the case on day three.

We cross Wideopen Hill, the wind in the back pushing us up and over.

Walking into Kirk Yetholm in the evening, we find a wooden box with duck eggs for sale and buy some for breakfast. We have a chat with the locals about the merits of each of the two pubs in town, the Plough and the Border. The Plough sounds more fun, and indeed it is. We sit with lorry driver Mark who is at first a bit shy at admitting that he is collecting sheep to take them to the abattoir in Aberdeenshire, their final stop before Morrison's supermarkets. I think he's worried I might disapprove, because I look like a vegan.

While chatting and getting our food we also find ourselves in the middle of a lively pub-wide game of beer pong with the locals. Ping pong balls are flying high, and when we later check out the classier and much quieter Border Inn for a night-cap, the contrast is stark.

Back at the hostel I take a late shower and find a top bunk bed in the full dorm. The bunk beds shake whenever the girl below is moving, and despite an early start and a long day of walking, I'm not getting much sleep.

Jazz festival #5

I volunteered at the Edinburgh Jazz and Blues Festival for the fifth time - ten days of sleeping in, half-days at work, hanging out at gigs, showing people to their seats and the loos, keeping musicians happy and hydrated, pointing at things. Happiest ten days of my year, can't wait for the next one.

Spiegeltent on George Square / Edinburgh Jazz and Blues Festival

Spiegeltent during gig

Spiegeltent during sound check

Updates 3

My old team won an award for SIMD16, our statistical publication last year (*click*). The award is a fairly big deal for statisticians, and as my friend G said, obscure awards are the best kind. Here is a curated selection of Tweets about our big moment when we picked up our trophy in London:

Awards and all

Updates 2

So much has happened!

• I went on a few lovely walks, walk descriptions will follow. One of them in the Harz mountains in Germany, would you believe it? I didn't take many notes though, I was having too much fun with my two highschool friends who walked with me.
• I finished my Open University course on statistics - took a lot of time! I didn't realise it was going to go for a whole year when I signed up... Exam results will be out soon, I think I got 75-80% - we shall see. (Update on this update: it's 85% !)
• We're moving! My flatmate bought a new flat, one mile closer to town, with a tiny strip of grass (the garden) and a fox. We'll have a guest room...