The selling of art.

If you talk about your artwork as 'product' you are dead to me.

When I say artwork I mean any artistic endeavour, be it banging sticks on bits of rusted metal, daubing yourself in paint and then rolling on a hemp canvas, writing sickeningly sweet love poetry for a girl that will never read it and would mock you if she did or making sculpture out of elephant poo.(I've only done two out of those four things. Elephants are quite rare in rural Wales.)

The second you refer to the results of your labours as 'product' you can have no relevance or value to me. Your every word is an insidious lie that I will have to scrub out of my memory once we part. I have nothing in common with you. I can have nothing in common with you. Your sheer presence on this planet is an affront to civilised society and I will rescind my 'no Suicide' clause especially for you. I'll even buy you the plane ticket to Switzerland.

Art, and music in particular is about forming an emotional connection with something that feels so valuable and personal to you that you will exchange cash money to possess it. It becomes a part of you and who you are. If I hadn't heard Screamager by Therapy? when I was fifteen I would be a different person now. Possibly a happier person with more hair but a different person nonetheless. I am the sum of all my genes and experiences and music has played a huge part in who I am today.

I write terrible derivative sci-fi that I hope one day a publisher, in a fit of syphilitic madness, will publish. But that's not the reason I write. I write because I feel I have to as if these stories are crowding my subconscious and won't go away until I'll transcribed them. I write because I HAVE to.

If I was writing with the sole intention of selling my work it wouldn't be coming from my heart I wouldn't believe in what I've created. It would no longer be 'art' it would become 'product'.

And that's why, Dappy from N-Dubz, you are destined to be a broken man. Haunted by the dreams of what you could have created if only you'd listened to your heart.

(Of course by broken man, I meant spiritually unfulfilled whilst lounging on a throne of platinum, surrounded by gorgeous girls whose name's you can't remember, in a hillside pool party in LA. Bastard. Can I sell out now please?)

day off woot!

Had a great day yesterday doing some geocaching with Will, Sarah and Llion. One of the containers was the shape of a skull as shown in picture. Its great when people do these little unexpected things to make the whole experience more fun.

The Sunshine over here has been unbroken for a day now which I'm sure is some kind of record for August. Recently at least. It was a warm clear day and perfect for walking through the woods above Abergele as you'd catch some sun and then shade all the way through the paths that wend there way around Gwrych castle. There were more tourist around but that's what happens on a bank holiday. Whoever is in charge of the castle had put more walls and metal hatches up barring access to certain places I could walk freely in last time I was there. Its a sobering reminder that it is kind of trespass.

What's fasincatating about the site is that as it's not an authentic castle (Only a couple of hundred years old) it's not owned by Cadw/English heritage so its been sort of left to decay and now looks more authentically broken down than some of the actual castles around here!

I'm off to Conwy today for lunch and they have a magnificent castle there that has been superbly kept and maintained as a ruin but it feels much more sterile than the broken down ramshackle look of Gwyrch. At Gwyrch you feel like there are still tales and stories seeping out of the stones. In Conwy the paths are so well trodden you feel like everything has already been discovered and the castle is just a shell.

Or maybe its just me!

So we geocached all around that area which was great fun. We went from the hills down the the beach which made the walk back to the car a bit longer than we'd have liked I think!

Not much else has been going on. I got a double distinction for my two part payroll course, which was nice. Going on to do the advanced stage this year which starts in two weeks, it'll probably be a bit more challenging than this year but it'll be a great thing to pop on the CV.

Right off to visit my old workmates in Conwy. They say you can never go back, but maybe you can, as long as you're bringing chocolates.

Here be Tangents!

Its been an odd week. in the space of 3 days we went from 'no-ones looked at our house in months' to 'We've sold our house and are buying a gorgeous place in Denbigh' to'The goits have pulled out and now we're back where we started'.

It was a funny old time. To have your dreams pulled out from under you like that was very cruel. but at least it was at the start of the process and not as has just happened to our friends, one week before completion.

I'm ready to move now please. Theres nothing wrong with this house its cosy and big enough for us . but we both know that we can't take it any further. Em has told me on more thn one occasion its a house and not a home. I disagree but that's because I've always had her here with me so my home is with her where-ever she may be (bleugh! sorry I'm feel a bit soppy today).

Anyways we're back where we started with a house no-one wants and unable to move without the capital invested in it. We could retn this place out and buy the nice place in denbigh. We do actually have enough money to do that but with the proposed ublic sector worker cuts one of us may loose our job and then we would be scrwed.

BTW why is it that the private sector fuck-up the economy and the public sector takes the hit for it? Just thinking outloud. Oh, and why has no one pointed out the millions if not billions spent fighting a fake war in the middle east might have had a small contributory factor to our economic decline? Or do I not understand economics to get why no one else has made the correlation.?

Woo hoo! Rambly soapbox morning! Anyway back to houses. We're fine where we are but occasionaly it gets to me that I'm still in Rhyl. I know Denbigh is hardly the paragon of quiet living, but it is a metric tonne better than Rhyl. I found out last night that someone got beaten up for being Gay in Rhyl not 2 weeks ago. It makes me very sad and not a little angry to think that kind of thing is going on. I keep thinking we're evolving as a species and then some backwards fucktard does something like that.

Tangent again. Sorry about that.

Anyways we've got a very quiet weekend planned just going out for a meal tonight with some of ems friends, and thats about it. so I'm going to spend some time writing and reading, and not buying the new lara croft game. It's £10 and I will be able to affrod it next friday with the money I specifically put aside for books and Cds and other ephemera. £5 a week for my fun fund seems to be the right way to do things. Espically as I'm spending over £40 a week on fuel at the moment.

Anyways, we will move eventually, but I had made so many plans that crashed to dust the second they pulled out of the house buying.

Dreams on hold but not dead. Never dead.

End of a long day.

Day off win!

Because sometimes I forget I live in a country where castles are still alive.

Sat down sitting.

Spent the last four days house sitting for friends in a super-rural location where there's about eight people in a mile radius from the house. It's a quiet that you can rarely find on these crowded shores. It's deeply peaceful here.

Of course in the dead of winter when it's dark all the time I might feel different. But now in August it's beyond lovely.

The nice people here have cats and chickens (Not kept together obviously) and its the first time I've spent any extended time with a pride of cats and they're great. The personalities really start to come out after extended time together.

There's one cat I've nicknamed 'Bateman' because you know beneath that poised exterior he's actually a Grade A Psychopath. The next one I call Ackbar as everything I do she treats like "IT'S A TRAP!". There's no nickname for the third one as its just the most affectionate lovely creature and all my nicknames are slightly cruel.

Em might be a little smitten with a kitten. A little, but her heart lies with the hens. They've got six in a coop out the back and they're all rescue hens. So far they're laying between four and five eggs a day which I'm sure is more than the recommended daily intake! I think they're going to have to start selling them just to keep up with the volume.

One of the good things about saying here is that its shown me I can quite happily commute from here to Wrexham, it's knocked about ten miles and ten minutes off the journey. Admittedly some of the route is single track lanes hedged on both sides which might be fun in the dark but as my route at the moment is a boring stretch of motorway I think it could be a step in the right direction.

Had a crazily quiet Friday. The boss has been away Thursday and Friday this week so I worked my arse off on Thursday and by lunchtime Friday I'd run out of stuff to do. This doesn't often happen in payroll. One of the things I love about it is there's always stuff to do. If I'm not busy I'm bored.

I'm sure there's stuff I could have done but I haven't been there long enough to predict what those things could be.

So I had a very boring Friday afternoon which actually took longer than if I'd been busy, but as was pointed out to me the other week, I actually enjoy my job which I supposes says something psychological about me.

Eds BBQ last night was aces as ever good to catch up with some lovely people that I only see once a year. The costumes were in full affect as well which is great to see. Its a nice tradition which I love keeping up.

In other news this is a deeply amusing Jeremy Clarkson beatbox video which I heartily recommend.


CLARKSON

Huzzah!

There are lots of reasons to write but my main one is to come up with an idea that makes you go 'Holy F**k! Where did that come from?!' you could be just doing the dishes or a spreadsheet at work whilst idly considering a plot or character or device and out of nowhere this idea just appears fully formed as if its always been there. Philip K Dick, of 'Bladerunner' fame said ideas were sent via an information rich pink laser beam directly to his brain.

Although he was on a jaw dropping amount of drugs at the time it does sometimes feel like that. As if someone has serupticiously implanted a box fresh idea in your head. I know its the interplay between the concious/unconcious parts of your brain part of me want to belive Mr Dick.

Anyways, a new idea to add to project Y that turns a run-of-the-mill story into a staggering achievment of human endeavour. Not quite but you get the idea.

The Flying Crane

RESCUE CHICKENS TO THE... urm..., RESCUE?

Ahhhhh.... Breakfast today was a fresh baked loaf from 'Taylor's Family Bakery' (Hand-made, none of this bread making machine business) fresh layed eggs from our friends rescue chickens (that should definitely be a TV movie "Rescue Chickens save Easter!") and a steaming pot of fresh coffee.

Ahhh coffee.

Not that I mean to go on about coffee but it really is my drug of choice these days. Many people would consider that to be beer or whisky but I drink beer once or twice a week and whisky once or twice a month. Its true I have a good whisky collection but the bottle I'm four good drams away from finishing I started in September. In my experience alcoholics rarely have a good collection for longer than a week or two (depending on if they use mixers or not).

I gave up smoking properly( apart from the odd cigar) just before or exactly on my first date with Em. This was back in the near pre-history when you could still smoke in pubs and dinosaurs roamed the earth. I got through a 10 pack of Marlborough lights whilst having a the most insane fabulous conversation with someone whose opinion and tastes I would come to adore and love over the following weeks, months, years. The fact that she put up with me smoking for the the first date kinda says to me that she felt something too.

Anyway I digress, as I do when I'm talking about my most favourite person. The smoke that I filled the air with was rich Virginian tobacco which probably smelt foul to anyone else but to me it was okay.

I was running today and nearly every person I passed was sucking on one of these cheap-ass half-tobacco half-sawdust brands that smell like Satan singeing his armpit hair. Seriously. If you can't afford to smoke proper cigarettes then you can't afford to smoke.

Anyway rambling over. Weekend Ho!

Week

Its been an odd week. Having sent my first submission for professional publication on Tuesday in what can only be described as, 'somewhat of a flap,' I was hit by a strange lethargy which changed into an irrational anger towards everything and everyone.

I can only think that I used up all my normal emotional energy early on this week and the sense of relief that came when I finally sent the submission email was so palpable it proved how much i'd wound myself up!

Had a lazy night last night with Em and Llion watching 'Sherlock' which was uniformly excellent. Its modern but still Holmesian. And they havent shyed away from the fact he could be a massive cock-waft which is refreshing!

Pizza tonight and a birthday party tomorrow has the makings of a good weekend. Got to start the next story tonight or tomorrow morning I think. I'm in the rare position of having 4 or 5 to choose from. I might just flirt with 2 or 3 of them and see which one catches my eye.

I'm excited about writing again which is, frankly, thrilling.

Clocks a ticking......

Some things have a timing and a symmetry all of their own. It's enough to make an atheist like myself sit up and take notice.

My current job, which was a massive step in the right direction came about because of a chance remark by someone. I looked into the job saw it was perfect and found I had two days to fill out the application and get it off. All done in a rush.

My previous job also came about because of a chance conversation with a friend but less of a pressing timescale in that I had three days to get my application form in rather than two.

So driving back from Jake Jane and Wez's excellent barbecue last weekend, I started having short story Ideas, yes plural. I had three distinct and separate ideas in the space of three hours.

This. Never. Happens.

So when I got home I started writing seriously for the first time in months. And I loved it. I was exactly where I wanted to be doing exactly what I wanted. When I could get into the PC to write two nights last week I got a little cranky.

So having had the day off today I decided to spend the majority of it finishing off the first rough draft of a short story set in the Warhammer 40K world. They can be a touch trite but they do some excellent SF books, I'd point you in the direction of anything by Dan Abnett.

ANYWAY so having finished the first (very) rough draft this morning I'd thought I'd work on it over the next couple of weeks whilst getting the first drafts of the other stories together.

However after doing teh shopping and all the other bits I wanted to get done today I checked the Warhammer submission guidelines just to see if I was in the right ball park with what I'd got.

I found out they have a very small submission window, eight weeks in total. Which ends on Friday! Yes, this goddamn Friday!

So I now have a choice. I either do nothing and wait for next years submission window (opening late may usually) or rush to get a submission in this year. They need a summary Synopsis and a thousand words. As I've got about 10000 this won't be a problem but should I wait to polish it or get it as good as I can and send it by Friday?

I think looking back at my previous experience with this sort of thing it has to be yes. Maybe I'm just a 'shine under pressure kind of guy'?

Anyway If I don't hear anything in eight weeks then I failed. but I've still got at least two other stories to work on and polish for next year!

17072010445.jpg

~Music has the right to children.~

Another disturbed sleep last night. The rugby club across the road regularly have bands on at the weekend and I can't blame them for it. They're very good at sticking to the licencing laws and I know how ever bad the music is, it'll be over by eleven on a school night and one AM on Friday or Saturday. Its a lot like halls in university that way. But when I'm knackered before those times on a weekend then going to bed really isn't an option. I've got earplugs and bottles of whisky aplenty (just kidding about that last one) but it can be very difficult to sleep when there's noise coming from across the road, especially when they open the fire doors for ventilation and the sound pours out like a audio fog, snakes across the road and hits our bedroom.

Anyone that knows me will tell you how easy going and relaxed I am generally. Unless I don't get a solid six/seven hours sleep, in which case I become something 'other'. Not exactly on a Bruce Banner/Hulk scale but similar.

"You're making me tired. You wouldn't like me when I'm tired."

Lets just call this alternate personality Less Than Pleasant Rob (LTPRob for short). If I've ever been mean or nasty to you, it wasn't me it was LTPRob. Whereas I might just let things go or not rise to jibes etc. LTPRob will get angry, annoyed and shouty then possibly fall asleep on you.

This was, seriously, one of my reasons for not joining the army. No, Really. I know they do the sleep deprivation thing and the waking you up at all hours to do a ten mile march etc.

The first time the Sargent came in to try and wake us at 3AM to do the assault course LTPRob would have beaten him to death with his own very shiny shoes and crawled back into bed. The MP's would have arrived to see a battered and bruised corpse and me, snoring peacefully, covered in his blood. (There was also the whole being a woolly leftist pacifist reason, but the sleeping thing is funnier.)

Anyways last night was not a band, and it wasn't karaoke. It occupied the no mans land in between those two acceptable and unacceptable forms of live music (I'm a musical snob.) This was a single male singer and a ipod full of tunes for him to sing over. He was pretty bad. It was clearly one of those situations where someone's tried their hand at Karaoke and through either inherent deafness or myopia he thinks,

"Hey! I'm awesome at this, I should make money from my 'talent'." thus showing complete disdain or ignorance of the crowds general apathy towards his musical ability. We'll probably see him on the next edition of Britain's got Talent. Well, you might see him. I'm a snob remember?

And yes, he went on till 1AM but I have a new solution, I made a play list of my favourite chill out music and some kick ass in-ear head phones. The Boards of Canada bleeped me off to sleep with their particular brand of odd mellow music.

It was once described to me as 'The first time you listen it's all bleeps and laid back beats. The second time you listen to it the bleeps start to make sense and the third time you can hear the depth and tone from each sound making it a audio landscape to lose yourself in.' The person describing it was an Art Student so I think we'll forgive her the flowery prose.

However those of you that don't know it I thoroughly recommend checking it out. My quote for the cover would be.

Drowns out even the most inept wannabe pub singers. - Rob Taylor, Professional Sleeper.

Is it possible to have too many CDs?

Just because of her...

The 2010 Bimble : Thursday

Miles :237
Start: Crowcombe, Somerset
End: Hay-on-wye

I woke early in the Somerset morning light and found an outside spot with a view of the surrounding valleys to update the blog. Whilst sitting there the sweetest little dog with the face of a Jack Russel the body of a Spaniel and the tail of a Pommerainian came up to say hello.

I later found out that this is the Pub dog, Toby, who they adopted whilst they were living in spain. I did ask her if the language barrier was a problem for him. She said no but when the farmer who owns the next door field switches his Sheep for Cows Toby gets very confused for a couple of days and barks and growls at them for being too big and not wooly.

We had breakfast in a room they also use as a tea shoppe (sic) during the week and it was so pink and frilly I felt like I was gaining weight just looking at it.

After a good breakfast we wished goodbye to the Carew Arms and Toby that sweet stray spanish hound. We headed out through the countryside to Dunster castle which inexplicably is closed only one day a week. And that day happens to be Thursday. However the town it is attched to was open and that was lovely. A stone built turn of the century market type town all whitewash and black beams.

From there we headed into Exmoor forest which was wild and rugged almost untamed and other adjectives from the romantic novelists reptore. It was very differnt to the genteel hills and swells of the south Downs but equally impressive. The road twisted around the valleys and summits as if it was trying to free itself from gravitys grasp. Em described this near rollercoaster experience as 'chicanery'.

After following our trail of breadcrumbs out of the forest we headed to Cheddar Gorge which is a road cut right through the rock itself. The bottom is a tourist trap but you can drive through the gorge for free which is waht I'd reccomend you do instead of forking over a tener to sit on a bus next to some Austrailians and be driven up there.

Although there was a shop at the bottom called Cheddar Gorge Cheese, which are three words I love in any order. Cheddar. Gorge. Cheese. There is no way in which rearranging those words doesn't please me.


As we left the valley there were a fleet of sheep on the road all going in the same direction as us al on the left hand side of the road like they were commuting to work. Have we caused some kind of brutal natural selection? Only those sheep with good lane disipline survive?

Moving on, we drove into Bath which is at the bottom of another valley with green slopes on allsides studded with indivual house looking out into the valey. They use a particular sandstone here with a rich yellow colour that makes every building seem matched.

We walked through the madness of the town proper, decided against the two hour wait to see the roman baths and instead heading up to the relative calm of the circle and the royal cresent. From their we walked onto the botonical gardens which I'd never seen before.

A great collection of plants that Em seemed to be very excited about although whilst resting on a bench we did se two baby squirrels playfighting with each other. It was like those old cartoons of Chip and Dale fighting over a nut and just as funny although involving fewer uses of Frying pans and other acme products.

From the calm of Baths gardens to Bristol in rush hour traffic was quite a culture adjustment but we did well and were able to take in the Clifton Suspension Bridge which is a stunning bridge which you can drive over or under. It just seems to appear out if the rock and span the gorge sticking two fingers up at physics as it does so

We met my Relatives for a good catch up and much needed bite to eat and drove back into Wales (woo!) for our final stop at Hay-on-Wye.

It was quite a long journey in the near dark but it was nice to see Welsh words on roadsigns again. Although I had to notice when we were driving the windy roads in Kent the corner signs would be enourmous for even a small bend;

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>AAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Whereas back in wales the same corner would merit a;

>MEH>

I'm sure theres a rational explanation but it did tickle me at the time.

We stopped at the old Black Lion Inn which was very comfortable but Hay itself surprised me. Its a really really small town. I mean really small. but it has over 20 different bookshops! It was a fun town and a good place to bring this bimble to an end.

Eight hundred and ninety four miles over six days seems like a lot but it was a great trip and a great experience. We are already discussing Bimble Two : Son of Bimble which we think will take us down the leg of Cornwall with the aim of getting Em to Her spiritual home, The Eden Project which was just that little bit too far away for this trip.

The 2010 Bimble : Wedneday

Miles :141
Start: Tangley, Hampshire
End: Crowcombe, Somerset

Its One AM. You've just been woken up by something but you can't quite work out what. There's a strange noise that, as you shrug off the tendrils of sleep, you realise IS THE MAN NEXT DOOR STILL LISTENING TO THE GODAMNED RADIO AT ONE IN THE MORNING!!!!!

I banged on the wall and he turned it down, not off and I spent the next two hours furious that in a pub we'd selected to be off the beaten track and quiet as possible we were getting noise pollution! I'm quite grumpy when I don't get enough sleep, as you can probably tell. Luckily Em only woke up to hear me banging on the wall, harrumphed in a manner that probably meant 'Oh God he's at it again.' rolled over and went back to sleep.

Anyway I eventually got back off to sleep at about three and that meant we were late getting up and Mr Radio next door had gone to work.

We had an excellent breakfast and headed now for Newbury for a quick look around. Newbury's not that new and seems to be quite a dull market town.

We headed over to a small hamlet called Kintbury where I have some relations who welcomed us with open arms and flowing coffee pots. We talked politics and they suggested we took this certain road out of the village. With a glint in his eye the husband said 'watch out for the cows'.

After waving goodbye took this road after eating our own body weight in macaroons and it turns out there's a common just outside the village where cows roam free. They are kept in this area by cattle grids but four roads run right through the centre of this pasture! It was lucky he had warned us as one cow made a suicidal dash across the road in front of us followed by the rest of the herd.

It was a toss up whether to plow on though. On the one hand a seriously damaged car could be an issue but on the other hand, free steaks for a week!

As we took the gorgeous road East we were passed by some cars and drivers that were clearly there to race on the most beautiful track ever. I can see why they'd be attracted to it, there are sweeping curves and sharp bends, rises and reveals of the valley below. However if they were only taking their own lives in their hands that would be one thing but they are risking every other road user as well.

We drove down the road and passed Stonehenge after being told not to bother stopping as the prices to walk around it were exorbitant. I can say it appears quite hengy and popular, but it's also smaller than I thought but not as small as Spinal Tap make out.

We turned south off the main road and had to follow a smelly tractor down single lane roads for about ten miles with the impatient queue building behind us. Being on a bimble it wasn't a problem for us and Em seemed to be quite enjoying its road clearing properties.

We said goodbye to the smelly tractor and stopped randomly at Shellbourne for essential supplies and found ourselves in a country town from the 60's. It was very impressive, yellow sandstone a quiet village atmosphere several pubs and a definite life to it. I would love to go back and stay for a night or two as it felt idyllic. You can tell I'm running out of positive adjectives to describe all the stuff we've seen. If this goes on much longer I'll end up calling something Avuncular. Anyways Shellborne was simply gorgeous.

From there we headed to the Cerne Abbas Giant which is the chalk man etched onto a hill which turns out is either a two thousand year old god or a mockery of Oliver Cromwell from the sixteen hundreds. Still its pretty impressive though to saw nothing of his enormous...Club.

We headed back north then and saw an array of visible light on the Dorset hills whilst on the A37 Dorchester to Yeovill Road. Now visible light is one of my favourite things its that glow that you sometime see on distant hills. Its simply beautiful, so to see this across all the range was spectacular.

Our tranquil revere was broken in Taunton at rush hour. It seems to have way over ts quota for roundabouts and as we found out later is second only to Milton Keynes itself for roundabout hell.

After our sat nav, nicked named 'Fiona' for reasons lost in the mists of time, tried to direct us up what was clearly an overgrown footpath we managed to reach the Carew Arms in Crowcombe. From the outside it looks like a ramshackle old building but the BnB rooms are modern and clean the bar is proper old fashioned with stags head and things on the walls and a skittles alley! They also serve some great beers and fantastic curries on a Wed night which is when we stopped. Bonus!

The most important thing though is that we as two strangers in the bar got into two great conversations with two separate groups of locals who were more than friendly. It really made us feel welcome and wanted which after a long day of traveling is exactly what you need in a pub. Which is where we heard about the landowners who own the pub and most of the surrounding buildings, which they paint a particular colour."If it's falling apart and painted blue it belongs to the Carews."

A few more pints of the Excellent Exmoor Ale and much putting the world to rights with people I didn't know from Adam an hour ago and it was time for bed.

New job:I can think of worse places to have lunch!

The 2010 Bimble : Tuesday

Miles :121
Start: Brighton
End: Tangley, Hampshire

I woke up early and took a walk out of our BnB towards the beach. Even though it was seriously cheap and cheerful we had a sea view. Sort of. It was down the length of a street with a car park on one side and the back of posh hotel on the other. Not exactly picturesque but a sea view nonetheless. I had a short stroll to the ruins of the west pier which was virtually destroyed by fire a couple of years back. Now its just a skeleton of rusted ironwork jutting out the ocean. I've no idea if it could be repaired but I really don't think it would be worth doing. They should either demolish it outright or declare it a seagull sanctuary (like THEY need protecting).

Back to the BnB and we parked up the car and we were away before you needed a parking permit to stay there. We drove along the sea road watching the genteel Brighton giving way to the more industrialised west. Boat yards and spoil depots replaced hotels and apartment blocks. We turned into the land and saw across a green valley something called Lacing College Chapel. This thing was immense, jutting out of the green hillside like an errant ivory tooth. Most impressive.

Having skipped the breakfast at the hotel we stopped off and had a Sunlit fruit breakfast of orange juice, bananas and grapes. I'd love to say it was organically grown but it was actually tescos as we stopped to avoid a traffic jam. Still sunlit and still fruity though.

We headed into the South Downs national park (proposed). I propose you give it to them as its beautiful and if anything needs saving its our greenspaces. The drive up the hill and along the A272 was really special a rolling dipping highway through some lovely villages.

One of which was Midhurst, which we stopped at for essential supplies where we saw a ruined castle/country house called Cowdry which was apparently destroyed by action in the civil war. As we had no fixed timetable we took a walk along the raised marsh bed towards it. The ragged walls are still there, the roof is centuries gone but the jagged front standing proud against the level marshland was pretty impressive and a great random bimble find.

We drove onto Jane Austens House at Chawley. Now I actually like Austen, we had an extract from one of her books read out at our wedding, so seeing where she wrote all of her works was great and they certainly captured the period well. HOWEVER there was a sense that they were trying to beatify her into Saint Jane of Austen. It seems that for many people she represents a certain attitude and a certain lifestyle, almost 'Austen style' and in her they put their own fears and hopes. Whereas she was a decent writer she certainly wasn't a saint.

From there we needed a cuppa and butty so we headed to Winchester. I have to say it's rather like Chester but with added Win.

A very civil place a bit like Bath but without the pretensions. We found a little tea shop off the high street that did twenty different types of tea. Em had a High tea and I had low tea. Low tea is the same thing just with a toasted cheese sandwich rather than scones with jam and cream.

From there we walked up to the gate museum and Great hall where they claim to have 'THE' round table. Em was nearly apoplectic.

"There isn't a 'THE' round table and there never was! Is the meaning of the word MYTH lost on you people? It's a table that's round and nothing else!"

However they more than made up for their grammatical error with a lovely garden off to the side with all sorts of herbal and eating plants in! It also had a bench where I could have quite happily spent a couple of hours reading a novel. Unfortunately that wasn't an option so we went on to our stop of the night.

We had a very clear plan of not booking accommodation more than 24 hours ahead and so far I have to say its worked rather well. This pub, called the cricketers arms looks like a Small country cottage and has a chalet style accommodation block behind it made out of local timber. This chalet looks a touch like a upmarket motel but the rooms are lovely and decked out (Geddit?) all on wood.

We had a couple of pints of the Bowman ales Swift One (some cricket pun I think) and a wonderful meal. Then sat by the enormous fireplace with a cheery fire and listened to the locals chat about nothing in particular.

We headed to bed and fell into a sound sleep in spite of the room next to ours listening to Radio four quite loud.