On a recent day off I headed for the Dorset coast and one of my favourite spots, Lulworth Cove.

Lulworth Cove is a horseshoe-shaped sheltered bay, and a lovely spot to while away some time.

This famous feature of the Jurassic Coast can be uncomfortably busy with walkers and fossil hunters, but despite the lovely weather, there were relatively few people about.

I started off from the car park next to the visitor centre and took the wide path uphill, heading west and towards the sea.

The summit of the first hill offered a wonderful view of the coast, with its white undulating cliffs topped with springy grass.

Then on down to Durdle Door, a limestone archway carved out by the sea. The name comes from an Old English word ‘thirl’ meaning bore or drill.

This must be one of the most photographed spots in England and has featured in music videos such as Tears for Fears and Billy Ocean.  And Cliff Richard’s 1990 Christmas number one which, luckily, I cannot recall.  Bears prefer Elvis, as he sang about us.

I was rather pleased with my attempt to capture this iconic image. But then I’m not known for my modesty.

Then it was back up the hill – only about 500 ft so not too taxing – and a stroll to Lulworth Cove.

Because of the sheltered harbour, smuggling was a problem in the area for centuries. At one time there were 8 coastguard cottages in the Lulworth area occupied by Excise men to try to prevent it. As early as 1577, several West Lulworth fishermen were charged with smuggling and three centuries later two coastguard officers were left hanging head first from the cliffs and another killed near Durdle Door.

In 1785 a large whale washed up on the beach but despite the best efforts of the villagers to kill it, managed to escape.

John Keats wrote his last sonnet The Bright Star at Lulworth Cove, which was immortalised in a poem by Thomas Hardy entitled At Lulworth Cove A Century Back.

Lulworth Cove by William Henry Millais

Lulworth has inspired many writers and artists, including Millais  – both father and son painted scenes of the Cove.

Hardy was a friend of royal surgeon, Sir Alfred Fripp who owned The Mill House, now called Lulworth Mill House and a hotel operated by HF Holidays.

Lulworth Mill House today

Postcard of the Mill House circa 1910

Fripp was also an acquaintance of J. M. Barrie and it’s been suggested that the view of Lulworth Cove from the Mill House inspired Never-Land in his famous play, Peter Pan.

It’s certainly possible. With its high cliffs and smugglers caves,  it’s a magical place.

Bearing up!

I spent part of the weekend at the Outdoors Show held at London’s Excel. With an entrance charge of £20, I did wonder how many people would turn up but I can report that, on Saturday, the place was buzzing.

Exhibitions are perfect places for people watching. The Outdoors show combines three separate events:  Outdoors, including Active Outdoors, Bike and the Boat Show. You could tell from the visitors’ clothing which one they were most interested in.

There was a worrying amount of lycra plus a lingering aroma of Deep Heat in the Bike hall. Boat show visitors were overdressed, presumably to persuade the Sunseeker stand security they should be allowed aboard. I haven’t seen that many blazers since my schooldays.

And, of course, the outdoors lot favoured walking boots and rucksacks, which is rather practical for visiting any big exhibition, in my opinion.

The first task was to negotiate the Docklands Light Railway. I love some of the names, like Mudchute, Galleon’s Reach and Pudding Hill Lane but they don’t help much with the location.

The second task was to resist buying clothing and kit that I really don’t need. The Paramo stand proved particularly tempting.

The third was not to eat my way round the show, as there was a food hall section where the exhibitors were very generous with samples.  I did spend some cash at the Snowdonia Cheese Company but not until I’d sampled six different varieties.

There was plenty to entertain visitors. In the Bike section I watched a game of cycle polo and a show of some great bike stunts, and there were several climbing walls and even a zip wire in the Outdoors hall.

I called on to the HF Holidays stand, which was close to their new partners, Ramblers, Apparently MyBurdock will be available to buy online any day now. Fame beckons.

I can remember the days of the Earls Court Motor Show and the International Boat Show when the stands were massive monoliths which cost a fortune to build and when the boats were actually afloat on an indoor marina.  

The Outdoors show was only on for 4 days and so the stand construction was relatively modest, and the many small shell schemes created sort of chaotic shanty town that was lively and fun.

In contrast the Boat show featured some whopping stands with whopping boats, which resulted in a more formal atmosphere which was rather quiet and respectful. And I wonder, why there was no outdoors element, using the nearby docks?

When the internet was first launched, pundits predicted the end of events like exhibitions. But we are social creatures. We enjoy being with and talking to each other too much for the internet to ever completely replace this type of interaction. I certainly enjoyed myself.

Bearing up!

Over 7 hours driving through rain on the insanely named motorway network on a Friday evening is not the best start to a weekend away in Yorkshire.

Sat Nav and I completely lost our bearings in Bradford.

When I eventually arrived at Newfield Hall in Malhamdale, I was very grumpy and worried I might miss dinner.

A bear with a sore head in fact.

But within minutes I was shown to a comfortable bedroom, helped with my luggage, assured I was just in time for dinner and greeted by my fellow guests with sympathy and a glass of wine.

A typical HF welcome. I’d forgotten just how friendly and sociable the atmosphere can be.

Dinner was excellent and by the time we settled down in the lounge to take part in a quiz, my holiday had started.

The next day all three levels of walkers – hard, medium and easier (later known as the tea shoppers) travelled by coach to Appletreewick (Aptrick to the locals).

The Strid

There the hardier souls set off to Trollers Gill and then on to Simon’s Seat.

The tea shoppers followed the Dales Way along the River Wharf towards the famous Strid, where the river powers through a narrow ravine.

It was near here we visited our first tea shop at the visitor centre where shelter under the eaves from the hissing rain was refused to some of our party. Yorkshire hospitality?

After an enjoyable walk through the forest, and resolutely walking past another tea shop, we arrived in time to explore the ruins of Bolton Abbey in the gloom.

As luck would have it there’s another tea shop in the village, where we piled in to await the return of the other groups.

Service here was somewhat taciturn but as we left puddles of water on the floor and steamed up the windows, it was understandable.

Back to Newfield Hall, for a dip in the pool and another delicious 3-course meal. The apple crumble was nothing like my mum used to make. Which was lucky.

Another quiz followed for those inclined and some chose a quiet drink in the bar.

The next day, the rain had gone to be replaced with high winds. My gear had completely dried out from its night in the boot room.

All groups walked from the house. The medium walkers set off Kirkby Stephen, with the hard group adding Weets Top.

The tea shoppers strolled off towards Airton with a quick teashop detour. The owner was very angry that somebody had moved some chairs. As we quickly worked out it was probably the medium group, we all tut-tutted and studied the floor.

Airton is an interesting village, with an old mill than eventually became a Dettol testing centre. Apparently the antiseptic once leaked into the river killing all the fish. A local scooped up all the fish and soaked them in his bath, but nothing could disguise the taste.

It also has one of the oldest Quaker meeting houses and a Squatters house on the where the homeless could stay a while.Then it was a muddy old trudge, partly along the Pennine Way towards Haw Crag.

As the mud travelled up my trousers I found myself gazing wistfully at everyone’s gaiters. And I’d always sworn I couldn’t see the point of them.

We ate our packed lunch in a straithe – a sheep shelter which was redolent of its winter occupants but gave protection from the wind. After Haw Crag we picked up the Pennine Way again and walked back to the house.

Another swim to ease the stiffness from plodging through the mud;  another amazing dinner and then a barn dance.

If Simon Smith and his Amazing Dancing Bear comes to mind, dismiss it. I learnt how to strip the willow and dozey do and then escaped to bed.

I love the sociability of the HF formula:   the involvement of the leaders and the friendly banter with fellow guests as we talk about what we’ve done and seen that day.

And the bedrooms have been upgraded since my last HF holiday. No waiting in the corridor for a bathroom to become free. En-suite, with free Wi-Fi and TV in all rooms.

A great weekend in a wonderful part of the UK. Simply perfect. Apart from the teashops.

Newfield Hall

Bearing up!

Off for a long weekend in the Dales next week, so I thought I’d spend a few moments getting my kit ready for some winter walking.

As I assembled my new lightweight leather boots, toasty fleece, base layers, thermal gloves and jacket, it made me appreciate how much modern synthetic materials have transformed our comfort and safety on the hills in cold weather.

I can remember the first time I went winter walking in the fells. I had little experience of how warm ascents can make you, and overdid the thermals and layers. I also made a huge mistake and bought a cheap jacket that didn’t breath.

I realised my error when I stopped for a rest. My wicking layers had done their job and somehow it was raining inside my jacket.

Now I have the best jacket I can afford.

I draw the line at gaiters though. I know they stop your trousers getting muddy but I’m not prepared to look like an extra in a budget WW1 film.

How did those early Antarctic explorers cope with woollen underwear and thick suiting topped by a gabardine Burberry? Their clothing must have got heavier by the minute as they man-hauled sledges in sub zero temperatures.

Victorian mountain climbers used to wear their ordinary leisure clothing:  tweed jacket, plus fours, woollen stockings and topped by a deer stalker.

In the 1920s the Holiday Fellowship (now HF Holidays) issued Dress Hints for Ladies which warned, somewhat darkly, that unsuitable dress could “put a strain on the chivalry of the men in the party.”

It commanded ladies to wear low-heeled boots, woollen stockings, short skirt, close fitting hat, a woollen jumper and light mackintosh or poncho. Rather daringly for the times, it was stated that a knicker-bocker costume was acceptable for mountain areas. Boracic powder and cold cream were noted as useful remedies against sunburn.

For the evening, apparently a simple frock was quite suitable.

Evening wear advice for men included the suggestion that men should wear brightly coloured striped ties to “liven up the proceedings.”

They may have needed something to raise the spirits as alcoholic beverages were strictly prohibited.

I admit I like the thought of Alfred Wainwright walking the fells in hob nail boots, tweed jacket and smoking a pipe. I suppose he may have added a raincoat in particularly inclement weather.

But thank goodness for Gore-Tex.

Bearing up!

Say the word ‘cake’ to an English speaker and they will probably smile and tell you their favourite.

The word itself has its roots in Old Norse, although it probably refers to a type of unleavened bread. The ancient Egyptians were keen bakers of breads sometimes sweetened with honey whilst the Greeks had a type of cheesecake.

But the modern cake was, as with so many things, invented by the Romans who baked early fruitcakes containing nuts and raisins.

By the 14^th Century Geoffrey Chaucer was mentioning huge cakes made for special occasions containing butter, cream, eggs, spices, currants and honey. And today no birthday or wedding celebration is complete without a cake.

During WWII, sugar rationing meant that small cakes were placed inside larger boxes which had been decorated with plaster of Paris to create the illusion of a traditional wedding cake. And as eggs and butter were also rationed, sometimes the cake would be made with liquid paraffin and dried eggs. Can’t imagine what it tasted like.

Cake was the answer to satisfy the need for a high calorie snack that would keep well and was easily portable.

In the early days of walking holidays and before the advent of the paper bag, walking parties would be equipped with a sandwich rucksack (usually one meat and one jam) and a cake rucksack containing a giant slab of fruitcake on a tray. I don’t know if I could have been trusted with the cake rucksack.

In the mid 1500s, there’s the first mention of the saying “wolde you bothe eate your cake and have your cake?” Which has evolved into the modern saying of having your cake and eating it.

The origin’s of ‘a piece of cake’ aren’t so clear but may date to the 19^th century and the cakewalk which was contest popular in the African-American community, where couples would compete by promenading in a stylish or elegant manner to win the prize of a cake.

Only English has a word for cake, in the way we understand it.

The Europeans have their extravagant gateaux and glossy Sachertorte. And in Eastern Europe the dough of the babka cake is laid on an eiderdown prior to baking, with the process being carried out in strict silence and men excluded from the kitchen.

But nothing compares to an expertly baked Dundee cake or Victoria sandwich.

I think I can feel a Burrant coming on. (Burdock rant)

Not that I object to the new wave of cakes such as lemon drizzle, chocolate fudge and carrot cake. Quite the opposite as my waistline amply demonstrates.

But I cannot understand the fashionable obsession for cupcakes. Cupcakes used to be the preserve of children’s birthday parties, but now the cupcake is taking over the baking world.

My problem with cupcakes is they are all about enticing presentation, with intricate icing and decoration and themed paper cases.  They look delicious – and so they should at £3 a pop – but the taste never lives up to the pre-publicity.

And the proof of the pudding is in the eating.

Bearing up.

With thanks to the excellent Oxford Companion to Food by Alan Davidson and Harry Wroe’s The History of HF Holidays.

Few of us enjoy change and, despite what we might say on job application forms, not many honestly relish challenge in our lives. It’s so much easier to carry on with our familiar routines and thinking.

And for a large organisation, keeping up with change and adapting where necessary can be even more difficult.

This is why I’ve been so impressed recently by the National Trust. Whether you agree with the National Trust’s concern at the proposed planning regulations or not, I support the necessity to question and seek clarification.

As custodians of over 630,000 acres of countryside who better to ensure our beautiful land is protected?

As a young cub, I would occasionally be dragged along to nearby National Trust properties.

We would wander around a stately home, gazing at oil paintings of the Sixth and Seventh Earls of Landowner. Not tiptoeing exactly but with quiet, deliberate footsteps to indicate respect. The huge rooms were protected by cats cradles of heavy silken ropes and silent, seated guardians, inhibiting conversation.

After a couple of hours of restrained behaviour, we would escape with relief to the gift shop and buy a tea towel and an overpriced tin of shortbread.

Things have certainly changed. For this half term, there’s a whole host of activities planned for children. Now a visit to a NT property can mean brewing magical potions and dressing up as knights and princesses, through to carving pumpkins and finding spooky characters hidden in the garden. What a brilliant way to involve children in their history and heritage.

The NT is more than just historic buildings and castles. It also owns 43 pubs, a goldmine and the national lawnmower collection.

As a walker I appreciate how many NT estates are now open all year to walkers, even if the house is closed.

I like the fact the Trust is committed to protecting rare breeds, wild plants and traditional skills.

This all takes money, so the Trust has developed commercial relationships rather than resting on the laurels of 4m membership fees. For example, The Holiday Collection is a partnership with selected companies such as Voyages of Discovery, Swan Hellenic and HF Holidays. Each holiday booked benefits the Trust financially. It also offers some 400 properties for holiday hire, ranging from a mansion to a lighthouse. Or you can go on a working holiday with the Trust and learn how to repair a dry stone wall, should the fancy take you.

I formed a negative opinion of the NT years ago. I thought it was old fashioned, irrelevant and out of touch. I was wrong.

Bearing up.

I went for a walk last Sunday. The weather was perfect, the countryside at its best with green fields and trees all shades of autumn gold and red. But when I got home I thought to myself, “I’m not doing that again”

Well it didn’t get off to a very good start. I thought all the Ramblers groups were involved in Walk4Life last Sunday and the idea was that anyone could turn up and walk for free with a local group. But the leader had never heard of Walk4Life and she probably thought I was trying to avoid paying a sub or joining.

As we set off in single file across the fields, I noticed several people checking their watches. It became clear that maintaining a steady speed was a priority. “It’s five miles, we should do it in just over two hours” encouraged the leader.

I don’t walk to get fit. I don’t walk to clock up distance. I walk to see, to notice, to explore, to enjoy.

I thought it might be fun to tweet as I was walking. On the appearance of my Blackberry the leader looked horrified and said, “We always turn out phones off whilst walking, as a courtesy to others”

Producing a black cockerel I planned to sacrifice might have met with more understanding.

I explained that I wasn’t phoning but tweeting. “Texting! Tweeting! Whatever next?”

So we trudged along in single file and sure enough we finished in just over two hours. But we didn’t explore the abandoned golf course we came across, stop to look at the majestic oaks and elms, or watch the sheep set off in a mad unprompted canter across the field. We didn’t stop and stare at all.

I regularly go on social walking holidays with companies like HF and Ramblers. I suppose because the walks are all day hikes, there always seems to be time to stop and stare. And the leaders are happy to share their knowledge of the area and the flora and fauna. I enjoy the company of fellow walkers and the evenings where we talk about what we’ve seen during the day and what we may discover tomorrow.

But best of all, I like to walk alone. There’s something about the rhythm of your steps, the bird song and the scenery that inspire yet relaxes.

One of my favourite quotes is by Raymond Inmon: “If you are seeking creative ideas, go out walking. Angels whisper to a man when he goes for a walk.”

That’s why I walk.

Bearing up!

I recently opted out of what would have been a very wet day on the fells and spent an enjoyable morning at the Lakeland Motor collection. This quirky place is well worth a visit if you’re interested in motor vehicles and there’s a special exhibition devoted to Campbell and Bluebird. Next January it will be 45 years since Donald Campbell’s ill-fated attempt on the speed record on Coniston Water.

Campbell had a teddy bear mascot called Mr Whoppit who, poignantly, was found floating in the lake after the disintegration of Bluebird.

A limited edition of a replica Mr Whoppit was produced in the 1990s..

Coniston Brewery makes a beer called Bluebird as well as one named Old Man in honour of the local fell. Hesket Brewery is known for its series of beers named after fells such as Catbells, Skiddaw and Helvellyn.

Which brings me to another sad story that is commemorated by a beer.  The Tirril Brewery has a summer ale named Old Faithful. This marks the tale of Charles Gough, a painter, who was visiting the lakes. In April 1805 he set off with his dog Foxie to walk over Helvellyn to Grasmere via Striding Edge. He failed to arrive. Three months later a shepherd heard barking near Red Tarn and discovered Foxie standing guard beside the skeletal remains of her master.

Poets such as Wordsworth and Tennyson were inspired to poetry by this display of loyalty and Landseer painted a canvas called Attachment.

A more cynical local newspaper suggested the dog had survived by eating her master Foxie might have avoided such a bad press by opting for a Lassie style rescue attempt rather than dogged fidelity.

Continuing the canine theme, Barngates Brewery produces several beers named after pet dogs that lived at the Drunken Duck pub. These include Tag Lag, a greedy sheepdog and Cracker a bull terrier.  I’ve tried a couple of these at the HF House at Monk Coniston.  I think my favourite is Chesters, an award-winning brew. Chester was a battle scarred terrier. Strong and ugly.  Says it all really.

Bearing up!

My neighbours recently announced they were planning some daycations during September. This means what used to be called ‘days out’ I suppose. And staycations are where you holiday in your own country.

This got me thinking about all the other words – they are apparently called blends – that are increasingly cropping up in our language.

Now I can cope with brunch, which has been around since 1890. In fact I have been known to partake of lunch following brunch.

I’m also comfortable with slang (slovenly + language) fortnight (fourteen and night). Chunnel never really caught on did it? Unlike camcorder, smog and Oxbridge.

Metrosexual, I understand, is a modern sort of chap who moisturises and shaves his chest. Now I’m willing to try, but with my fur I really don’t know where I would start or finish.

I rather like baggravation which is when the airline loses your luggage; and I have my own reasons for enjoying quintastic (fifty and fantastic) and screenager for a youngster who spends too much time in front of the computer or TV. Jumbrella for those large umbrellas over tables is clever.

But gastropub, (marketing of scampi and chips) flexitarian (a vegetarian who can’t resist bacon sarnies) glamping (glamour camping which is surely an oxymoron) guesstimate (just say you don’t know) and alcopop (cynical marketing) are definitely on my hate list. As is Jedward.

This is turning into a bit of a Burrant (Burdock rant). Let me know of your favourites.

I’ve just realised that blog is a blend of web and log. Oh dear.

Bearing up!

When asked how I’m feeling I normally answer:  “Bearing up” but I must confess to feeling rather sad today. My favourite walking boots can go no further.

 We’ve been together for a long time and they’ve never let me down or given me a single hot spot, let alone a blister.

 Well, there was that time that the right boot laces hooked onto the left boot’s eyes and left me facedown in a field (a fellow walker thought I’d been shot by a sniper) but that wasn’t the boots fault.

 They’ve seen me safely across deserts, up fells, down slippery screes and across rivers. Only walkers can understand the feeling of liberation mixed with security when you put on a pair of favoured boots.

 I’ve tried another new pair of insoles but it’s no use. If they were tyres I’d retread them, but it’s time to say goodbye.

 Of course, I’m now wondering what to replace them with. Which brand?  Shall I go for leather or synthetic? If leather, what type? What level of torsional rigidity do I require? What does torsional rigidity even mean?

 So, you’ll have to excuse me, as I need to find a nice space in the loft where my old boots can spend their retirement. Perhaps next to my LP collection. Well you didn’t think I’d throw them away, did you?