Seldom Said

Lost In Time

2011-02-22T14:11:00.002Z

We woke up yesterday morning to find that it had snowed overnight here on Long Island. Only a few inches, but given the incredibly clear conditions the previous day, it still came as a bit of a surprise. To me, at any rate; probably just another symptom of my spatio-temporal dislocation.

I now have absolutely no idea what time or day it is. Which wouldn't be a problem, except my body also seems to be completely clueless. I'm getting more sleep than I'm used to at home, but feel tired all the time. I'm eating well, and at regular intervals, but feel hungry all the time. Even my digestive system is confused. It feels like my mind is subtly out of phase with my body.

And it's not just a physical sensation. I'm reading tweets and emails as usual, but everything seems to be happening at some significant remove. It's as if I'm observing my normal life through a time tunnel, from some indeterminate time in the future. Replying to an email makes me feel uneasy, like I'm breaking the laws of physics.

Perhaps my natural sense of dislocation is being exacerbated by the equally natural chaos that is gripping my brother and his new family at the moment. Having a tiny baby in the house turns your world upside down, and little Max was in a thoroughly disruptive mood yesterday - and the previous night.

When we did manage to get out of the house, I felt much more anchored in reality, even though the surroundings were subtly alien in so many ways. My dad, my brother and I went for a bitterly cold, but very welcome walk around Babylon in the snow, hoping to take some pictures.

This is one of the things that I most enjoy about visiting new places: wandering around and noticing the small (and not-so-small) differences that tell you you're "not in Kansas any more". Here, it's the wide streets, the construction of the houses (they're almost all made of wood, rather than brick), the fire hydrants, the mail boxes and the way that street names are displayed: vertically, on a square-sided pole at the street corners.

Looking forward to more of this today. The snow's still here, but the sun is shining again and I think (hope!) our hosts had a better night's sleep. Time to explore...

Land Of The Big

2011-02-21T17:47:00.002Z

The thing about America that always gets me is the unexpected scale of things. I know, I know: it's a terrible cliche, and I shouldn't really be surprised. But still...

Maybe the supermarket that we visited yesterday - the wonderful Fairway, in nearby Plainview - was just exceptional. The store wasn't so huge, I suppose, but the height of the place made it feel more like a B&Q Warehouse than a Tesco megastore, and the sheer volume and variety of produce on display was mind-blowing.

It was a veritable cornucopia. Apples stacked several feet high. A huge display of coffee beans, with maybe two dozen barrels (yes barrels) of beans. Practically a whole aisle dedicated to milk, including two cabinets of soya and other non-dairy milks. A huge tank of live lobsters. Machines to dispense your own freshly ground nut butter (four or five varieties - I went for almond). More than a dozen varieties of olives, displayed in huge buckets.

Or maybe it's the wide open spaces here on Long Island. My brother also took us to Robert Moses State Park, on the south shore. From the roads and pavements (sorry, streets and sidewalks) of Babylon, where he lives, to the bridge across the (misleadingly named) South Bay, it all felt so vast and empty. And the beaches stretch for miles and miles. And the ocean... well, you get the picture.

I think we're going to a mall today. Not sure how it'll compare with the mall-sized department stores that I visited in Tokyo, but we shall see. I'll do my best to be nonchalant about it, but I'm making no promises...

A Transatlantic Journey, Hurrah!

2011-02-20T19:48:00.002Z

I'm visiting my brother and his family this week, including my month-old nephew Max. This is a more serious undertaking than it might sound, since they live on Long Island, just outside New York.

It's my first visit here - I've been to the US before, but always with work - and it was my first long-haul flight in several years. As ever, the time I spent flying was more than matched by the endless hours hanging around in airports. Alice dropped me off at Manchester Airport at 11am; I met my dad at Heathrow shortly after 2pm; when my brother met us at JFK it was after 1am.

We'd actually landed a hour and a half earlier, after an unpleasant rollercoaster ride of a final descent in 40mph+ winds. US Customs and Immigration can never be accused of speediness, but their performance on this occasion seemed to go above and beyond the call of duty.

The flight itself was fine. When you're used to the indignities of short flights with the likes of Easyjet, BA 'World Traveller' feels pretty luxurious, I can tell you. Plus I got to watch Megamind, which was excellent.

All in all, a long and tiring day, but I had cuddle with baby Max, a delicious meal and a comfortable bed waiting at the end of it. Definitely worth the wait!

The Treasure Box

2011-01-30T07:45:00.001Z

Sat on the rug in our living room
Her face a picture of delight,
My infant daughter lifts the lid
Of an old wooden box.

A treasure chest! What waits inside?
Pirate gold or a hoard of gems,
Ancient scrolls or spices rare,
Or perhaps a secret map?

The box is old and made by hand,
Its surface worn by years of use,
With signs of its maker's craft incised
In careful lines around the joints.

Its latest discoverer's eyes light up
At what she finds inside:
A wealth of buttons, colours bright,
Of every shape and size.

And yet more treasures wait for her:
A curtain hook, a piece of chalk,
Hairgrips, buckles, safety pins
And an old school badge.

I sit and watch my daughter play
With a smile upon my lips
As memories of another time
Fill my eyes with happy tears

I think of when I was the child
With eyes brimful of wonder
Sitting on the floor to play
With my mother's button box.

Happy New Year!

2011-01-03T22:10:00.004Z

Having failed to get my act together last year, I thought I should make the effort this time to do my customary round-up of the preceding year.

The year began, much as it ended, with some spectacularly wintry weather. After icy fun and games with my lot over Christmas, Alice's family joined us to see in the New Year and we all had a lovely walk at Dunham Massey on New Year's Day. Soon after that the Big Snow arrived. I've never seen so much snow in Manchester! On the day it started, I made it to within a couple of miles of work before giving up, then crawled home at a snail's pace; Alice had a similar experience. Several days of chaos on the roads ensued, which made me glad that I can easily work from home.

For Alice's birthday at the beginning of March, we had a fantastic (if icy) walk at Dovestones Reservoir on Saddleworth Moor. Glorious sunshine, splendid views, tasty sandwiches: happy family! The following weekend it really felt like spring had sprung, but by the end of the month we had hail showers. Don't you just love the British spring?

My cousin Sally's first novel also came out in March; a pretty splendid achievement in itself, which seemed even more momentous after the ordeal she'd suffered courtesy of Thames Valley Police. They even confiscated her only copy of the novel for a while! And the fact that she dedicated it to my mum and (coincidentally) published it on my Dad's 70th birthday made it an even more exciting occasion for me.

Sadder news came at the end of the month, when I learnt that my much-loved Italian great-aunt, Zia Laura, had died. Since my grandfather died before I was born, she had always been my closest link to my Italian side of the family. When I was a kid, we regularly spent summer holidays with her in Cannero, beside the beautiful Lake Maggiore, and have continued to visit her and our other Italian relatives ever since. A wonderfully warm person, with an infectious sense of humour, her simple but incredibly tasty home cooking was an inspiration. Buonanotte, cara Zia.

In April, we were much diverted by the impending General Election, but did manage some splendid walks in Styal Woods, along the Bridgewater canal near Dunham Massey and at Tatton Park. We also had a very enjoyable trip to Formby, where we were impressed by the magnificent dunes and the wide beaches, but failed to find the elusive red squirrels.

We started May with a fun trip to the steam rally at Flixton. The weather didn't look promising, but there were enough sunny spells to make me wish I'd taken a camera. Then it was time to vote - and a brief moment of (almost) fame when one of my photos was used by Flickr for their blog entry about the election. In the middle of the month I did the Great Manchester Run and was very pleased with my time of 48:30. Thanks to everyone who sponsored me!

At the end of May we went on a family holiday to Tuscany, renting a converted farmhouse surrounded by olive groves in Villamagna, high up in the Florentine hills. We started the holiday well, with an excellent excursion to Fiesole and a had couple of trips into Florence, visiting the Ponte Vecchio and cathedral. The highlights of the holiday, however, were some wonderful walks above Villamagna, where we enjoyed the countless wildflowers, lizards, butterflies and more peculiar insects, plus splendid views of Florence and the surrounding hills.

In June, Iestyn had his face painted at nursery to display our allegiance in the World Cup, but our enthusiasm was short-lived. We did make the most of the hot weather, however, including a particularly memorable afternoon in the garden involving the paddling pool, a slide and the neighbourhood kids.

We started July with a trip down to my Dad's in Bedfordshire. After a very enjoyable day at Woburn Safari Park, we had a joint birthday party for Dad and my brother. This was a great success, well attended by family from both sides. Later in the month I had a fantastic walk on Derwent Edge in the Peak District, with my good friend Andy and a surprisingly well-behaved Aurelia on my back. I also took Iestyn to see Toy Story 3 (which was magnificent) and ended up blubbing even more than I did at the start of Up (sniff).

Iestyn and I both celebrated our birthdays in August, but the main focus of the month was a trip to Ireland, where we rented a cottage for a week and then spent a delightful few days staying with my cousin. The weather wasn't always kind to us, but that didn't stop us enjoying the Wicklow Mountains and beautiful Brittas Bay. I particularly enjoyed a cold but sunny walk in the hills above Lough Tay and a glorious day trip to Howth, but the relaxing time that we spent enjoying Jane and Brendan's magnificent hospitality was the real highlight of the holiday.

We returned home in September just in time for Iestyn to start school, which he seems to be enjoying so far. He also started weekly swimming lessons, which have gone very well after a slightly rocky start: at the end of his first lesson he jumped in the deep end without armbands and had to be rescued! Aurelia celebrated her second birthday with lots of pretend tea and cakes, served up on one of her favourite presents: a splendid melamine Emma Bridgewater tea service.

I started October with a miserable and persistent cold, but had recovered enough by the middle of the month for a fantastic (and long!) family walk at Styal with my friend Sean and his kids. One thing I didn't expect to be doing this month was baking cakes, but a competition at work to celebrate National Baking Day led me to baking two of them. The first (lemon and poppyseed) was popular with my colleagues, but caused some amusement, as I'd confused the date of the bake-off and made it a week early. Thankfully, this didn't put me off and I went on to win the competition with my torta di limone e mandorle (lemon and almond cake).

Half term at the end of the month was an excuse for some excellent days out. I really enjoyed Chester Zoo, but did get told off for spending most of our visit looking through a camera lens. A day trip to the York, taking in the Minster and the National Railway Museum, was also a lot of fun. The main hall at the NRM is vast and has some wonderful exhibits, including the Hogwarts Express locomotive from the Harry Potter films and a Japanese Shinkasen. I also took the opportunity to talk to the friendly folk in the museum's archives, to find out if there was any truth to the family myth about a connection between my great-great-great-grandfather and Stephenson's Rocket. Not a sausage, I'm afraid.

Alice also took Iestyn on his first trip to the theatre during half term week, to see a musical adaptation of Julia Donaldson's excellent Room On The Broom. He felt a little under-dressed, as much of the audience came wearing witch costumes, but very much enjoyed it anyway. We tried to persuade Aurelia to don a witch costume for Hallowe'en at the end of the month, but she was having none of it. Iestyn, however, loved wearing his ghost costume, which won him third prize in the Beech Road Park Hallowe'en costume competition.

We had a surprisingly good Bonfire Night: not many fireworks, but the rain stopped just in time. The kids loved the sparklers and the paper lanterns launched from Chorlton Green were fantastic! The aftermath inspired me, while running the following morning, to compose an impromptu poem, which has now become something of a regular feature of my weekly run.

The unprecedented (at least in my twenty-odd years living in Manchester) arrival of snow at the end of November came as a bit of a shock, but fortunately the white stuff didn't have quite the impact that it had at the start of the year. Earlier in the month we suffered a gale as well, which uprooted a tree beside Iestyn's school and led to the road being closed. Alice and I also had a rare trip to the cinema at the end of the month, leaving Iestyn and Aurelia with their grandparents; the latest Harry Potter didn't disappoint.

December was mostly about stress, snow and festive preparations. The stress was almost entirely work-related: Alice and I have both taken on extra responsibilities at work, which took a particularly heavy toll in the run up to Christmas. I'm still working part time, but at times it doesn't feel like it, especially since I started work from home on Fridays while Iestyn is at school and Aurelia is at nursery. I found that I was working every Friday anyway, so figured I might as well make it official.

The second dump of snow appeared suddenly about a week before Christmas, but we didn't get any more after that and escaped the chaos that seemed to afflict the rest of the country. It was very cold though - Iestyn and I walked to the barbers one day and felt like polar explorers. The freezing conditions didn't deter us from us going to the theatre to see Winnie The Witch (where we again felt under-dressed) and having a quick poke around the Christmas market in Albert Square.

The festive preparations inevitably contributed to our stress levels, but it was all worth it in the end. Alice's parents came early and joined me and the kids in a trip to the revamped MOSI (as well as baby-sitting while I fought the stress demons). Alice's sister Gwen, with husband Ewan and kids Owen and Rhiannon, arrived on Christmas Eve and festivities were in full flow by the time Alice returned from work. We spent an excellent couple of days with them all; Iestyn and Aurelia particularly enjoyed playing with their cousins. New Year and the week preceding it were very quiet, but that was just what we needed.

Hope you all had a similarly splendid festive season and have plenty of good things to look forward to in 2011.

Between

2010-12-30T14:44:00.003Z

Between two endings
And two beginnings
The dying year pauses to reflect
And take one final breath

This year, even Winter
Seems to be taking stock
Temporarily loosening
Her grip of ice and snow

While the kingly ghosts of Christmas
Diligently wear out their welcome
Outstaying family, outlasting leftovers
Lingering on and on

Treasure them
And the precious gifts they bring:
Joys and sorrows
Hopes and fears

And above all: love
Memories of past love cherished
Present love enjoyed
And future love anticipated

Snowy morning run

2010-12-18T16:05:00.001Z

Fresh snow
Soft beneath my feet
Hushes my steps.
Still falling, it dances
Hovering on the breeze
Clinging to branches
Smothering stones
And drinking in the light
Draining the colour
From everything it touches.

Like fairies

2010-12-11T22:31:00.004Z

I see them from the corner

Of my mind's impatient eye:
A host of glittering prizes

Full of promise and delight.

I could approach them crabwise,

Try to capture them by stealth,
But that would make them scatter,

Disappear without a trace

To leave me clutching feebly

At the tiny motes of light
That, whispering of wonders,

Are left glimm'ring in their wake.

Instead I'll sit here waiting,

Clinging fiercely to the hope
That one day I'll be granted

More: a glimpse of the sublime.

That, like a dainty fairy,

One will settle on my hand
And share with me its secrets,

Let my earthbound thoughts take flight.

Until then I'll watch their dance,

Enjoy my sense of wonder,
And toil with what rough tools I

Have on countless hopeful schemes.

Dedication

2010-12-04T10:02:00.001Z

My muscles voice their protest, creaking into life,
As, pulling on my running shoes, I brave the cold.
Not many other hearty fools have ventured out
And those few largely dragged by dogs or grim resolve.

The world, a half-blank page, awaits some restless hand
To ink back all the details lost beneath the snow.
The lake is gone, its depths consumed by hungry ice,
But the river flows on darkly under brooding skies.

My legs are still complaining, but my head is clear,

The murky haze of sleep dispelled by cleansing cold,

And as I turn for home the dark clouds start to lift
To hail the sun's arrival with a dainty blush.

Anticipation

2010-11-27T09:56:00.004Z

A soaring bird lifts my thoughts from the frozen ground,

Where hoar frost rimes the grass and fallen leaves,

And lends them wings to cross the ocean wide

To a distant shore, where my brother sleeps.

Sheltering beside him in its mother's womb,

A new life is quickening,

Its formless dreams of light and sound

Troubled by alien thoughts of ice and snow

And the cold welcome that awaits it

In the new year's deeper dark.

Fear not, little one, for you will find

Not winter's chill embrace,

But warmth beyond measure in your parents' arms

And boundless love besides

Morning light

2010-11-20T10:19:00.003Z

The first pale rays of sunlight tint the slumbering world
Still shivering in the cold embrace of monochrome mist
First in sepia, then in richer tones
Until at last the dreamer wakes in colours bright
To greet the warming sun with happy sighs

Running commentary

2010-11-14T20:41:00.005Z

Around this time last year I was failing miserably (and not for the first time) at NaNoWriMo. I didn't even consider trying again this year, but ironically I have kind of found a new muse (of sorts) this November.

It started about a week ago, the morning after Bonfire Night. I went for my first run in weeks, heading through Chorlton Meadows and down to the Mersey. I found my mind slipping into a familiar groove: trying to think about something useful, but ending up jumping around in trivial circles.

Then something happened. Maybe it was the scent of smoke, or the mist, or just the urge to compose something other than a tedious Twitter/Facebook status update for a change, but whatever it was I found myself indulging in a spot of poetry:

Crisp November morning.
The tang of last night's revels fills the air.
Mist haunts the river
And hangs in ghostly garlands from the autumn-painted trees.

I'd started out aiming for a haiku, but brevity has never been my strong point. Nevertheless, I was pretty happy with the result, especially seeing as how I'd composed it in less than half an hour and largely resisted the temptation to mess with it afterwards. I really enjoy writing poetry, but have very rarely found the inspiration in the past. Or perhaps - as with my other creative writing efforts - I just lacked the focus and the discipline.

Yesterday morning I again stepped out into the cold morning air and did a token warm-up. And naturally I thought: can I do it again? Well, it didn't come quite as easily this time, but once I found a theme there was no stopping me. I even found that an unexpectedly apropos sub-text had crept in without my noticing:

The angry wind has passed,
Its throaty roar replaced by softer voices:
Birdsong, goose call, magpies' chatter.
But in its wrathful wake
The silent trees stand cold and bare,
Mourning fallen comrades,
Their once-glorious colours
Now trampled in the mud.

Can I keep it up? Only time will tell. But I'm certainly going to have a go!

Writing wrongs

2009-12-02T08:37:00.002Z

I spent a sizeable portion of last month working on a new novel as part of the annual scribble-fest NaNoWriMo. It won't come as a big surprise to anyone to learn that I didn't come anywhere close to reaching the arbitrary 50,000 word goal of this event, but I did manage 13,809 words and - more importantly - made a decent start on a novel that I can actually envisage finishing. This is in stark contrast to my previous attempts, which either trotted along amiably for years without ever threatening to come to a conclusion or faltered before they really got started.

I never really thought that I'd be able to sustain the discipline required to write 50K words in a month, but I did find it reasonably easy to write 500 to a 1000 words at a sitting. Hence my aim now is to keep up the momentum by writing little and often. If I succeed, then you should expect to hear about the finished work in about a year's time...

At last!

2008-09-12T08:27:00.000+01:00

Aurelia Daphne Albertella was finally born in the wee small hours of Wednesday morning, weighing a modest 7lb and 1oz.

She gave us a bit of a scare at the last minute - mostly because she came out so quickly that the midwives were taken by surprise! At one point we had a room full of doctors and midwives hovering around anxiously, worried that she was stuck, but then one of them figured out that the baby was facing up, not down. With this (rather crucial) information and a superheroic effort from Alice (who was more than a little panicky by this point), it was a matter of seconds before she was born.

More observant readers may note a subtle change in Aurelia's middle name. That's because we were originally going to go with the Italian spelling ('Dafne'), but decided that it didn't look quite right written down. For those that don't know, 'Daphne' was my mum's name, so there was never any doubt that it would feature in our daughter's name in some form.

We had to hang around at the hospital all day yesterday (until 8pm), waiting for the doctors and midwives to give her the all clear. This was rather frustrating, but paediatrician kept being called away to help with emergencies, so didn't make it onto the ward until the evening. Then we had to wait for the midwives to do the paperwork... However, all that's forgotten now that we have her home.

Iestyn isn't sure what to make of his baby sister yet, but she was the first thing that he asked about when we came down for breakfast this morning and he keeps pointing at her and saying "Aurelia!" now that she and Alice have come down to join us.

I now have two weeks of paternity leave to look forward to (including many sleepless nights, no doubt!), so you can expect to see a lot more photos of Aurelia and Iestyn appearing on Flickr. It's been interesting to compare some of my earliest pictures of Iestyn with those of Aurelia. In hospital we remarked on how different her face was from his, but we'd obviously forgotten what he looked like when he was born - they actually look very similar indeed!

At the moment I'm most fascinated by her delicate little fingers and her funny little feet, but that's only because she's asleep. I know that when she opens her dark, dark eyes I'll be lost in them again, just as I was with her brother...

Still waiting

2008-09-06T09:49:00.002+01:00

Well, Mk II was due on Monday and it's now Saturday. She obviously isn't going to be a punctual child. No sign of any problems, but no sign of an imminent arrival either. My brother and his wife have been up to visit on the off-chance, but to no avail. The grandparents are still staying with us (it's been nearly three weeks now) and people keep phoning to ask if there's any news.

(deep sigh)

Perhaps today... or tomorrow.... or soon, she'll decide that it's time to make her big debut. Until then, we wait.

Waiting game (part 2)

2008-08-31T11:42:00.014+01:00

Once again I find myself in a limbo of anticipation, as Alice and I await the arrival of the temporarily-monikered "Mk II". It seems unlikely that readers of this blog (who aren't exactly numerous) won't already be aware of my impending second-time-around fatherhood, but just for the record: our daughter is due to be born tomorrow. And we're kind of hoping that she's the punctual sort.

So why the impatience? Well, given that this isn't all new to us this time, we'd probably have been fairly calm and collected at this point - if, that is, Alice hadn't been convinced that everything was kicking off two weeks ago. As a result we've been on tenterhooks ever since, torn between wanting things to jolly well get a move on and the contrasting desire (mostly on Alice's part) for the little blighter to hang on until September, so that she can be one of the oldest in her year at school, instead of one the youngest. Being born in August never did me any harm, but still...

This time around we've also had an additional factor to contend with: who's going to look after Iestyn when we rush off to hospital? Fortunately, Alice's parents have vey kindly stepped in to solve that particular problem, which means that they've been staying with us for the past two weeks - they live in South Wales, so we couldn't just summon them at a moment's notice.

From Iestyn's perspective, of course, it's been an added bonus to have his grandparents up to stay. For one thing, it meant that they were here for his birthday, as well as joining us (and my dad) for a trip to Chester Zoo the following Saturday. This was certainly a lot of fun, but I must confess I found it utterly exhausting: wrangling an adventurous two-year-old, a heavily pregnant wife and no fewer than three grandparents around a busy zoo, on a sunny Bank Holiday weekend during the school holidays is no picnic!

Anyway, as September is now very nearly upon us, Alice has announced that she's happy for Mk II to think about making her appearance. So with that (and a certain old wives' tale) in mind, we're going out for a curry tonight.

Wish us luck!

Happy New Year!

2008-01-17T23:28:00.000Z

It's a bit late now, as we're already halfway through January, but here's my now-traditional new year round-up, which this year comes with pictures.

January and February last year are a bit of a blur, so I'll not attempt to say anything about them. I seem to remember making an effort to see various friends, as I'm prone to behaving like a hermit in these dark cold months. All I want to do is hibernate...

In March, we took Iestyn up his first hill: the Sugar Loaf near Abergavenny. There's an established tradition in Alice's family that kids have to walk up this hill under their own steam in order to claim their first pair of walking boots. It'll be a while before Iestyn manages that, but we thought we'd give him an idea of the challenge involved, to give him something to contemplate. He was really very well-behaved, but didn't like it on top very much as it was really cold and blowing a gale.

On Easter Monday we met up with my oldest group of friends, back in dear old Ampthill. The occasion was Keith's first visit to the UK since he emigrated to Australia in 2005 and the venue was his parents' house. This was pure nostalgia for me and the lads: we spent many a happy weekend there in our youth, playing Dungeons and Dragons and other role-playing games, and it was amazing how little it had changed in the intervening twenty years. It was splendid to see Keith and Caroline with their three boys and the weather was kind to us, so our collective hordes of small offspring happily ran riot in the garden.

At the end of April we returned once again to our beloved Ambleside in the Lake District, for a week's holiday with Alice's mum and dad. The lamentable weather limited our walking activities, but my mother-in-law and I consoled ourselves by taking lots of photos of waterfalls (swollen by the torrential rain) and Iestyn seemed perfectly happy walking in the wet - he was, after all, safe and dry under the waterproof hood of his backpack.

The most disappointing part of the holiday was the discovery that walking downhill was causing excruciating pain in my left knee. I wasn't at all sure that I'd be able to do the Great Manchester Run at the end of May, but by that stage it turned out that my knee didn't hurt at all when running - most peculiar! I didn't manage to beat my personal best time from 2006, but I was still pretty happy with my result and a bit less depressed about my knee. I subsequently went to a physiotherapist, who has been helping me to sort things out, but both knees have been plaguing me throughout the year - largely, I think, because I haven't been doing anywhere near as much, running, walking and cycling as in previous years. As I've just signed up for the GMR again this year, I'm hoping to do something about that by getting back into a regular routine.

In June we paid an unexpected visit to Scotland, staying in a child-friendly B&B in Helensburgh that we'd used once before. The occasion was a sad one - the funeral of one of Alice's closest friends from university - but knowing that she would have wanted us to make the most of it, we took full advantage of the fine weather while we were there to take Iestyn up his first Munro: Beinn Ime. It was magnificent! The weather was gorgeous and we embarrassed a number of fellow Munro-baggers by overtaking them on the way up, in spite of the extra load that we were carrying.

The following day wasn't quite as pleasant, so we took the little chap to Dumbarton Castle. Foolishly thinking that we could wheel him around in his pushchair (I had confused Dumbarton's precipitous fortress in my mind with the more accessible Edinburgh castle), we left his backpack behind, so he ended up riding on my shoulders as we climbed the many hundreds of steps. This was all fine and dandy until I found myself descending a narrow and precipitous stair and suffered from vertigo, whereupon Iestyn decided that he wanted to climb off my shoulders! I hastily backed up and moved him into a more secure position before summoning up my courage and gingerly making the perilous descent.

We'd arranged to meet one of my email correspondents from Canada (Bryan) in Glasgow that afternoon, as he was making a lightning visit for a family occasion, but unfortunately his brother missed his flight, so our paths failed to cross. Our trip into the city was far from wasted, however: we visited the splendid Burrel Collection and then went to the Botanic Gardens for a quiet picnic - only to find ourselves in the middle of a carnival! Another unanticipated bonus...

The following weekend we joined Alice's dad for the last stage of the Offa's Dyke Path, which he's been walking in sections for the best part of a decade. Meeting up with him en route proved a bit of a challenge, thanks to the maze of narrow country lanes that we had to negotiate, but after some mobile phone shenanigans we did eventually track him down. The weather wasn't entirely pleasant, but that wasn't going to stop Bryn taking a celebratory dip in sea at Prestatyn at the end of his epic journey...

Later in June we spent another week in the Lakes, this time staying in Keswick in a deliberate attempt to do some walking in areas that we'd not really frequented before. Our ambitions in this regard were a little restricted by the weather - rain at first, then high winds - but the sun did favour us with its presence eventually so we had three magnificent walks: one in Borrowdale, one in Newlands and one near Skiddaw. We had to abort the summit-bagging sections of the first two because Iestyn was complaining about the wind, but we simply extended the walks to take in some lower-level delights instead. The latter walk, climbing a rather modest hill called Dodd, offered the most spectacular views of all the surrounding hills, plus a bonus for Alice: loads of bilberries to pick!

Big changes were afoot in July as Alice went back to work, Iestyn started at nursery and I began working part time. I now work just three days a week and look after the little chap on Thursday and Friday. Alice found going back to work a daunting prospect, but soon discovered that everyone was delighted to have her back, which made it a bit more tolerable. Iestyn took to nursery very quickly and seems to be a big hit with all the staff, who keep telling us that they've never come across a baby who smiles, dances and sings quite as much as he does.

We didn't manage as much walking in July and August as we'd have liked, mostly visiting tamer places such Dunham Massey, but Iestyn and I did join our friend Andy in August for a mid-week walk in the Peak District and Alice came with us for some great walks on Shining Tor a few days later. I suffered awful migraines after both walks, which finally forced me go to the opticians to get some prescription sunglasses.

The latter half of August, all of September and the beginning of October saw us in a state of utter disarray at home, as building work took place on our house. At the end of it all we were delighted with our new roof, loft room, staircase, en suite shower, downstairs loo, boiler and bike shed, but it was a bit of a trial while it was all scaffolding and plaster dust. We'd also had some new stained glass windows fitted earlier in the year, so the house is looking proper fancy now, I can tell you!

We did get away for another walking holiday in September, however, which provided some welcome relief. We rented a rather odd cottage in Scotland, not far from Tyndrum, intending to tackle some of the tasty Munros thereabouts. Sadly the weather once again left much to be desired, but on the days when the sun did actually show its face we had some excellent walks. We made it half way up one Munro before the wind once again defeated us (walking with a baby in a backpack is like having a big sail on your back), but mostly stuck to the valleys. We also visited the wonderful Oban Sea Life centre on a particularly damp day, which is always a treat.

Unfortunately we seemed to spend most of the remainder of 2007 suffering with various illneses. The first of these - a dose of the dreaded winter vomiting virus - was the most alarming, as it involved a few days in hospital for Iestyn, but the most recent never-ending series of colds and a stiff dose of flu that have afflicted all of us over Christmas and New Year have tested our powers of endurance to the limit.

We did manage to have a jolly enough Christmas in spite of this, with my family coming up to stay with us, but our mood took a dive on the day after Boxing Day, when we made a sad discovery: our little cat Daisy had died in the night. She'd been living on borrowed time for a year and a half and had had a long and happy life, but we loved her dearly so it was a real wrench to lose her. Rest in peace, little striper.

The new year has had a rocky start so far, as I've fallen viction to the flu and Alice has only just starting to recover from the after-effects. Thankfully, however, Iestyn has bounced back with gusto and is currently attempting to eat five meals a day (when he can get them!) and we all seem to be on the road to recovery now (at last!) after a trying few months. So here's hoping that we manage to see, play games with and/or speak to you all sometime very soon!

Seatoller walk

2007-06-26T22:51:00.000+01:00

As predicted by the invaluable MWIS, a day without rain. Not without wind, however...

Spurred on by the prospect of a dry day, we headed for the National Trust car park at Seatoller, in gorgeous Borrowdale, intending to climb the deliciously-monikered Glaramara. Things started well, with lovely views along the valley towards Seathwaite at the start and of Comb Gill as we climbed the ridge of Thorneythwaite Fell. As we climbed higher, however, it became steadily more windy and Iestyn started to protest - loudly! After failing to mollify him with food and drink, we decided to turn back and were rewarded with some more delicious views (1 2) on the way down.

Since the weather was rapidly improving, we decided to make up for our aborted expedition with an extended ramble around the valley. After a picnic lunch, which was notable for my rather painful encounter with a wild beast (an ant in my pants), we followed a lovely path by the River Derwent. This led through beautiful woodland and featured gorgeous views of the surrounding fells. The return leg was even more rewarding, as we climbed up beside Castle Crag and then followed a high path back to Seatoller, enjoying the views back towards the crag and ahead towards Great Gable.

All in all, a thoroughly delightful day.

Rained off

2007-06-25T22:50:00.000+01:00

Made no attempt to go walking today - instead we took Iestyn swimming at the leisurepool in Keswick.

We're all going on a...

2007-06-24T22:24:00.000+01:00

The first full day of our summer holiday and - naturally - it rained. Ah well: that's the Lake District for you.

We're staying in a cottage in Keswick this week, determined to explore more of the northern fells for a change. It's not that we're bored of Ambleside and its environs; we just thought it would be nice to see some more of Borrowdale, Newlands and the other gorgeous bits of landscape hereabouts. Just a shame that we didn't see much of them today...

Undeterred by the light rain that was forecast, we decided to start our holiday off properly, with a local walk to climb Walla Crag. Setting off from our cottage with Iestyn (now 10 months old) cheerfully riding in a backpack on Alice's back, some early views of the hills whet our appetites for more and the sun even came out (briefly) to illuminate the town below us. Soon, however, the rain started up in earnest and we stood in the (meagre) shelter of a tree and pondered whether to continue. Iestyn was perfectly happy in his waterproof haven and our own wet-weather gear was keeping us reasonably comfortable, but was there much point climbing this fell if we weren't even going to have a view to reward us?

Of course there was! Climbing the delightfully rugged Cat Gill -so-called, apparently, because it was once home to wild-cats "of the tyger variety" until they were hunted to exintinction at the beginning of the nineteenth century - we had a few tantalising glimpses of what wonderful views we might have expected on a fine day. Reaching the dismal summit of the fell, however, we were forced to rely solely on our imaginations.

Fortunately, the weather didn't dampen our spirits in the least and we headed homewards, pausing only to admire the occasional striking vista and the myriad small delights of the hedgerows.

Pause for breath

2007-06-24T22:01:00.000+01:00

Yes, I know - I haven't posted for ages. And before you ask: no, it has nothing to do with the unceasing demands of fatherhood. I'm just plain lazy.

So without further ado...

Arrival

2006-08-24T22:00:00.000+01:00

Iestyn Emrys Albertella was finally born at 1:31 am on Saturday 19th August 2006, weighing in at a very respectable 7lb and 8oz in old money. Alice had been having contractions since about 5am the previous morning, but things seemed to be progressing very slowly (if painfully) until gone midnight. Once things really started to happen, though, it was all over very quickly and suddenly there he was: our gorgeous little boy, announcing his arrival into the world with a muffled cry.

Muffled, it transpired, because his little head was still caught up in the amniotic sac, which had preceded him, unruptured, into the world. A good omen, apparently, this 'caul' over a baby's head - a recurrent element in Celtic folklore, reputed to confer the second sight and protection from drowning. Which makes his middle name, Emrys, derived from the Roman Ambrosius and associated with the enigmatic figure of Myrddin (or Merlin), seem all the more appropriate.

Maybe this explains why Iestyn has cast a spell over us both. For this tiny, wonderful, precious and vulnerable creature - with fine fur on his ears like a little mouse, and impossibly tiny and delicate hands, and a wrinkled scalp that seems too big for his head, and deep deep deep blue eyes, so dark they seem almost black - has certainly captured our hearts. Abruptly, our whole world is focussed on this bright new life and we realise that all of the cliches about parenthood are true.

Waiting game

2006-08-15T08:50:00.000+01:00

I've been in a kind of limbo for the past couple of months, but it's about to come to an end. Oh, it's been pleasant enough, but I'll not be sorry to put it behind me. I might more charitably describe it as a period of reflection - although until fairly recently I've actually been too busy to do that much reflecting.

At work, I've just finished the second month of a three month notice period - almost all of the rest of it will be taken up with paternity leave, before starting work for a different company in the same field in mid-September. I've had plenty to keep me busy, so I've not given much thought to the new job yet, but I have had a chance to look at my current employer through new eyes. As you might expect, I was already quite conscious of the company's flaws, otherwise I might not have decided to leave, but I have always maintained that most of these negative points were far out-weighed by the positive aspects of working here. It's been interesting to realise that these positives have mostly been personal to my own (really rather fortunate) experiences, rather than being an intrinsic part of the culture.

At home, the waiting continues (although hopefully not for much longer) for the arrival of The Gussie, which is our 'work-in-progress' name for the baby (just in case you were wondering, it's short for The August Project). Its official due date is in two days time, so theoretically it could decide to make its grand entrance into the world at any moment. We've even picked out a pair of names (one for each flavour) now, although we're obviously going to have to wait and see if they fit. Over the last few weeks we've been steadily accumulating some of the paraphernalia of parenthood, but I'm sure this is only the tip of the iceberg.

Whatever changes and challenges my new job may bring, I'm sure they'll be far outweighed by the demands of fatherhood. In both cases, however, this waiting game has most definitely been one of eager anticipation, rather than anxious apprehension. Up to this point, these two new adventures have seemed rather distant and abstract, but now, as their hour draws near, I finally can start to get really excited.

Hartsop Above How

2006-06-30T20:00:00.000+01:00

Determined to squeeze in at least one conventional fell walk on our otherwise unconventionally gentle walking holiday, we headed over the Kirkstone Pass to Patterdale. From the car park at Cowbridge, we climbed steeply up through Low Wood, which was something of an ordeal in the sweltering heat. Once above the treeline, however the views back towards Kirkstone, down into the Hartsop vale and along the ridge to Patterdale were wonderful. Ahead of us the ridge led enticingly away towards craggy fells, with views either side into Deepdale and Dovedale. Marvellous.

We only went as far as the summit of Hartsop Above How, a fine vantage point from which to admire the more substantial fells ahead, but that's not to say that we didn't find these various Crags - Dove, Hart and Scrubby - an almost irresistibly enticing prospect. Joined by some inquisitive visitors, however, we settled for having some coffee and cake there while we admired St Sunday Crag on the other side of Deepdale. Retracing our steps along the ridge, we enjoyed some more hazy views of Patterdale and even encountered some unexpected old friends on the way down.

A thrilling high-level walk to end our week on, and one that we shall no doubt revisit at a later date...

Thirlmere and Launchy Gill

2006-06-29T20:00:00.000+01:00

Thirlmere can come over all a dark and menacing as you drive by on the A591, but if you turn off at its southern end and follow the single track road along its western shore, it can present a much kinder face.

We stopped at the second car park and followed a path beside the shore, from the little bay at Dob Gill, around Hause Point to Launchy Gill. It was a little overgrown in places, but the shady woodland and delicious views across the lake were wonderful and we encountered surprisingly few other walkers and heard very few cars on the road above. The path goes on and on, but we were restricting ourselves to a short section, determined to gain a bit of altitude.

From a distance, the impressive heights of Bull Crag and Fisher Crag that bracket this tumbling stream might seem a little daunting, but the nature trail that leads up past a series of pretty waterfalls is fairly forgiving - or at least to begin with. Entranced the views back towards the lake and the numerous veils and cascades of water, we didn't really notice that our path (a spur off the well-trodden nature trail) was a lot steeper until we reached the top of one of the falls. At this point the going became a little hairy, but we eventually negotiated the precipitous path and an allegedly walker-proof fence to emerge onto an unexpectedly beautiful plateau.

After tearing myself away from the immediate (and glorious) distractions, we followed Launchy Gill up towards Bell Crags, enjoying a leisurely stroll beside the peaceful watercourse. The weather was completely gorgeous by this stage, so we paused for a long time beside Launchy Tarn before moving on to higher ground, drinking in views of distant Blencathra and the surrounding fells on the way.

There was no shortage of wildlife to slow us down, but we did eventually reach the edge of the forest above Dob Gill. We clambered up onto Brown Rigg to feast our eyes for a while longer on the spectacular views, especially those of our favourite hill and the much closer Helvellyn Screes, then began our descent towards Thirlmere. The lake certainly looked dark, but it was far from menacing and even lower down the views were simply glorious. An unexpected gem of a walk.

Lazy day

2006-06-28T20:00:00.000+01:00

Inclement weather and extreme laziness were the dominant themes today, but we did get out later on for a very local walk with some fine views of the Fairfield Horseshoe. We also came across a stunned fledgling who sat still to have its picture taken and then fluttered off to have another go at this flying thing. No visit to Ambleside would be complete without a trip to the diminutive local cinema, so continued our tradition of seeing daft but entertaining tosh here (beginning with The Attack of The Clones on our honeymoon) by going to see The Da Vinci Code.

Tarn Hows and Black Fell

2006-06-27T20:00:00.000+01:00

Tarn Hows is an popular area of forest and parkland near Hawkshead, containing a large tarn and visited by over a million tourists a year. It was landscaped by a wealthy industrialist in the 1860s and later acquired by a Mrs Heelis (better known as Beatrix Potter), who sold half of it to the National Trust and left them the remainder in her will. It was designated a Site of Special Scientific Interest in 1965.

Like many popular places in the Lakes, it you don't have to go far to escape the crowds. We left the level paths by the tarn and headed up onto Tom Heights, finding some dainty-looking damselflies and the odd beetle, as well as some fine (but still hazy) views. More winged and shiny wildlife diverted us on our way towards Black Fell, a modest but well-placed hill just off the Cumbria Way.

The route there took us through Iron Keld, a once-densely-forested area that has been drastically thinned by the Trust in recent years. The pervasive haze meant that we could see little more than a nearby ladder stile when we reached the summit, but the views soon opened up to reveal Coniston Water (with Tarn Hows in the foreground), Windermere (with Ambleside on the left) and the Langdales, as well as nearby Wetherlam.

Heading back down to Tarn Hows, we joined the multitude for a circuit of the tarn and almost immediately encountered a section of water much frequented by a certain variety of winged insect. As I stalked my favourite prey with the camera, Alice sat on a grassy bank and marvelled at the huge numbers of damselflies that swarmed all about her. The sun and abundance of suitable habitat nearby had obviously produced a bumper crop of the little blue blighters.

We encountered a few other residents as we wandered happily through the shady woodland and enjoyed the beautiful tarn. Sure, there were lots of gorgeous fells in the distance to tempt us, but it was good to enjoy - and take our time over - a gentle walk for a change.

Hazy day

2006-06-26T20:00:00.000+01:00

Continuing the theme of modest half-day walks in the locality, we drove the short distance up the road to White Moss Common and embarked upon another pleasant amble, this time heading up above Grasmere towards Silver How. We had some hazy views of the surrounding fells (see above) and never quite made it to our original objective, but it was a lovely warm day nevertheless and we rewarded ourselves with an ice cream in Grasmere village. Can't be bad.

First day away

2006-06-25T20:00:00.000+01:00

The first full day of our holiday in the Lake District, staying in a tiny one-up-one-down cottage in the heart of Ambleside. At the beginning of the year, we had planned to go mountain climbing in Scotland this week, but the prospect of our expected arrival (due August 17th) prompted a change of plans. The weather wasn't terribly inspiring and Alice wasn't sure how far she could comfortably walk, so we opted for a modest jaunt over to Jenkin Crag and Skelghyll Woods. The views were unspectacular, but it was great to be out in the fresh air and the sight of tempting fells in the distance and the usual diversions of local flora and fauna whetted our appetites for more.

Manufaktura!

2006-05-18T10:39:00.000+01:00

I first heard about Manufaktura before I arrived in Lodz. It's such a big deal here that my Polish colleagues can hardly believe that the whole world dosen't know about it. They first mentioned it when they were explaining why it was proving difficult for them to find a hotel for me. "There's a big event here next week," they explained. "Lots of people are coming and most of the hotels are already full."

The event in question was the opening of a new shopping and entertainment complex near to the centre of the city. Now, I must admit that I was a bit mystified by this. I struggled to remember if the Trafford Centre in Manchester, which was the nearest equivalent that sprang to mind, had thrown a launch party. Even if they had, I'm fairly sure that it wouldn't have attracted a huge influx of hotel guests. I obviously needed to understand what was so special about this Manufaktura place.

I learnt that the big launch party had been on Tuesday night - during all that rain! - complete with fireworks and VIPs, but that Manufaktura was now officially open to the public. There had been a plan for us to go en masse, but this rapidly evaporated. In the end, the tirelessly friendly and helpful Rafal took me along after work, picking up his fiancee (they are getting married on Saturday!) on the way, and we went along to find out what all the fuss was about.

The car park wasn't quite finished yet and there was a fair bit of wet concrete around, but as we approached the buildings it became clear that this was going to be something quite special. Rafal had explained that the project was a very deliberate exercise in urban regeneration, turning an old abandoned factory into a vibrant new cultural and commercial space. As we approached, encountering and admiring the wonderfully restored brick facades for the first time, he told me that an important feature for him was the new 'market square'. This was where we headed first.

Lodz has existed as a village since the Middle Ages, but it apparently leapfrogged townhood and became a city practically overnight with the sudden influx of a hundred thousand workers in the 19th century. Hence it lacks the natural centre of most other Polish towns and cities: the traditional market square. This new space at Manufaktura - more grand plaza than humble market square - will, Rafal hopes, become a new cultural heart for the city. It was certainly jumping when we arrived, with hordes of people and a huge stage and speakers filling the space with music.

There were more of the wonderful brick buildings surounding the square, now housing shops and restaurants, and an ultra-modern glass and steel shopping centre at one end. There were nice little touches that made it all feel very thoughtfully done. As the music ranged from rock to dance to classical, we watched stilt-walkers and other people in fancy dress, trying to get everyone dancing. A very enthusiastic chap up on stage was doing his best to lift the crowd's already fairly bubbly mood. Their palpable excitement was infectious and I couldn't help grinning.

We had a bite to eat in a newly-opened branch of Green Way (the veggie place on Piotrkowska that I'd eaten in earlier in the week) and sampled a drink that was apparently made from an (as-yet-untranslated) tree. Tasty, but peculiar! My newfound Polish friends confessed to being enormously proud of this new facet to their home city and I could easily understand why. Both of them had made a conscious decision to return to Lodz from Warsaw, in spite of its apparently grim prospects, and saw in this new development - as well as others like it all around the city - a real sign of hope for the future.

Later, after the soon-to-be-newlyweds had apologetically rushed off to finish their final preparations, I wandered around some more by myself. They'd been interested in the parallels that I (inevitably) drew between Manchester and Lodz, and I had quickly realised that my original comparison with the Trafford Centre had been hopelessly wide of the mark. I should have thought about how it had felt to see the heart of Manchester ripped out by the IRA bomb, only to re-emerge, phoenix-like, from the ashes to become the prosperous place it is today. Manufaktura certainly has more in common with places like the PrintWorks and the Triangle.

Granted, the shopping centre was as soulless as any other that I've visited (the Triangle included), although the structure itself is impressive and visually stunning in places. I hunted the place for an identifiably Polish shop without success, but I guess that's not really the point of a place like this. If Lodz does manage to attract hordes of foreign visitors, then they'll be right at home here, but I couldn't help worrying that this place, with its designer clothes outlets (and the occasional surprise) might be drawing too sharp a distinction between the haves and the have-nots.

As I reluctantly headed for home (resorting to using my GPS gizmo to figure out which way that actually was), I paused to marvel once again at how faithful the restored brick buildings remained to the neglected old shells that they'd once been. A lot of love seemed to have gone into this transformation, as evidenced by a bright and hopeful piece of informal art on the end of one of the buildings. And there's more to come too, apparently, with plans to turn the remaining empty structures into a hotel in a year or so's time. Good luck to them, I say.

Inevitably, I noticed yet another grand old building next door and couldn't help wondering what it had been and what it might yet become. In the end, though, it was the sight of the magnificent main entrance of Manufaktura that stayed with me in the taxi back to the hotel.

Confusion rains

2006-05-17T09:10:00.000+01:00

I didn't manage to see any more of Łódź yesterday, principally because it started to bucket down at some point in the afternoon and showed no signs of letting off. Hence I decided to have dinner at my hotel.

Mistake.

Things started promisingly: they had an English menu, which even included some vegetarian dishes. I asked about the soups and whether or not they were suitable for a veggie and the lady serving me recommended the cauliflower. I'm finding it surprisingly easy to identify some of the Polish words for food and my colleague Rafal explained why yesterday. It seems that, at some point in its history, Poland had an Italian queen, who insisted on bringing in all of the foods that she knew from home. Naturally, the Poles, having no names for these foods, based their words on the Italian. Hence I could readily guess at the nature of zupa pomidorona (tomato soup). Feeling cocky, I ordered pancakes with marinated mushrooms and a cucumber salad. I also ordered a local beer and sat there feeling cheerful, watching the downpour through the window.

The soup, when it arrived looked and tasted good - until I found the lumps of meat floating around in it. This didn't do much for my appetite, but I didn't want to kick up a fuss so I just put the offending articles on the side of my plate and forced myself to eat a little more. You tend to get used to this sort of thing as a veggie abroad. No comment from the chef/waitress.

Then the main course arrived: sweet pancakes, smothered in fruit and chocolate sauce and cream, with side dishes of mushrooms and cucumber. I held my head in my hands and tried to concentrate on the funny side, but my host merely commented that she thought my order had been a little strange. Couldn't she have said something, I thought? Or perhaps even apologised for the confusion? Evidently not.

After a certain amount of additional confusion about the concept of savoury versus sweet, she acknowledged that the potato pancakes (also on the menu) were 'salt' and promptly went to make some. I ate these with the (disappointing) mushrooms and salad and then made a brave attempt on the huge pile of sweet pancakes. Ah, well. At least the beer was good.

I retired to my room, feeling rather fed up. Łódź has been all about contrasts for me so far: contrasts between the old and the new, the shiny and the decrepit in the city itself, but also contrasts between my extremely friendly colleagues and pretty much all of the rest of the people that I have encountered, who have been reserved at best. Perhaps it's just because I don't speak Polish; it certainly makes me feel incredibly awkward. Or perhaps it's just a cultural thing. I just hope that other visitors to the city find a warmer welcome than I have.

I also found it a little disconcerting that I had to go and ask for more toilet paper this morning: my room doesn't seem to have been serviced at all since I arrived on Sunday. Perhaps this is evidence of more confusion, or perhaps that's the norm in a 2-star hotel in Poland. On the plus side, my unhelpful host from last night at the hotel did prepare me a resolutely veggie breakfast, so I have to acknowledge that she, at least, is making a bit of an effort.

Thankfully, the sun is shining again today.

Manchester of Poland?

2006-05-16T09:47:00.000+01:00

Before I came, I read that Lodz has been described as the "Manchester of Poland", so I was certainly expecting a city with a conspicuous industrial past. And I have to admit that walking around streets full of desolate old factories and warehouses is not so very different to parts of central Manchester (those that haven't been converted into trendy loft apartments, that is). What I do find a little overwhelming, however, is the sheer scale of it all.

I had another long wander around yesterday, rather losing my sense of direction on a number of occasions. Once again, I found that almost as soon as I strayed away from the hustle and bustle of Piotrkowska, I was immediately surrounded by empty or rundown buildings peppered with occasional gems.

What an incredible place this must have been in its industrial heyday! Even now the remaining infrastructure is an impressive sight: great wide boulevards strung out in straight lines for miles, with trams running down their centre; huge municipal parks and magnificent public buildings; colossal factories and warehouses. Another relic of the glorious industrial past that seems to be slipping through Europe's fingers.

Curious little remnants of that not-so-distant past in Lodz are everywhere. On Sunday I came across an defunct jet fighter, which had been turned into a monument outside a empty building of indeterminate purpose. Yesterday I noticed a small steam engine on display outside another building. The business centre where my Polish colleagues have their offices was formerly a mill of some sort. After lunch yesterday, I spotted an old piece of machinery in the cafe there, with a little brass plate detailing where it had been manufactured: Manchester, of course.

On my way back to the hotel, I strolled through a beautiful park, stumbled across a huge shopping centre called Geant and then - lured by the sight of my trusty cooling towers - bumbled ill-advisedly into an desolate industrial estate. It reminded me of the particularly grim parts of north-east Manchester. Not a pleasant experience. I think perhaps I'll use a taxi next time.

My colleagues tell me that Lodz is enjoying a period of regeneration at the moment; clearly it still has a way to go yet. Then again, it probably would have been fair to say the same about Manchester a few years ago...

Feeling a bit Lodz

2006-05-15T13:20:00.000+01:00

This week I'm on assignment in Poland, working in the city of Łódź.

Getting here yesterday was a bit of an adventure, starting with a rather nightmarish experience 'queuing' at Stansted (it wasn't like any queue I've ever seen and seemed to take forever to move). The flight was actually OK, but the landing was more than a little scary: we came down in a rain storm, which meant that the plane was lurching around all over the place and people were screaming. We did all give the pilot a round of applause when he landed safely, though.

Finding my hotel was more difficult than expected: the taxi driver had to stop and ask for directions. It is a pleasant and obviously quite modern place and my room is spotless and well-appointed. It is situated a little unfortunately, however: right next door to a gigantic (ex?) power station (complete with huge cooling towers) and on a main road (complete with regular trams).

I went for a long walk yesterday evening, travelling almost the full length of the city's renowned Piotrkowska street (at 4km, the longest commercial street in Europe, apparently) and back again, stopping for a rather disappointing pizza on the way. My first impressions were shaped by the rather utilitarian buildings closer to the hotel, but I soon encountered some spectacular churches, old and new, as well as beautiful facades on several other buildings. These were, however, made all the more conspicuous by being situated alongside buildings every bit as decrepit as they are glorious.

I finished the day feeling a little footsore (having walked 5 or 6 miles) and a bit disconcerted by my first experience of Poland, but I'm pleased to say that I feel a lot more cheerful today. My colleagues at Teleca Poland (who I'm here to train) are a friendly bunch and with their help and advice I had a nice lunch (cheese and potato dumplings, with a carrot and cabbage salad). I look forward to the rest of the week.

In camera

2006-05-02T08:50:00.000+01:00

It's mainly my brother's fault.

Disappointed by the 'prosumer' compact digital camera that he bought to go on holiday to the Antipodes, he decided (some weeks ago) to bite the bullet and get a digital SLR. Then he ummmed and aaaahed and discussed the options with me and even took me along to try some of them out, which naturally made me curious to investigate further. Then we went to see the perennial delights of the Wildlife Photographer of the Year exhibition at the Natural History Museum (now on tour) and I noticed that many of the winners use some of the very same cameras. I guess the result was kind of inevitable.

So, yes, I have a new toy: a Canon EOS 30D. And after putting it through its paces at home and in the garden on Friday, I was really hoping for some decent weather for the weekend. This being a British Bank Holiday weekend, however, I was prepared for the worst...

Imagine my surprise when Saturday turned out gorgeous. We headed up the the Lake District bright and early and embarked upon a fantastic 18km walk along a ridge of hills beside Derwentwater, starting at Catbells and ending at High Spy, then descending from the foot of Dale Head to return via Borrowdale and the lake shore. It was a little hazier than I'd have liked, but the views of the lake and the surrounding fells were still spectacular and the temperature was perfect for walking. We were also treated to the sight of exhibitionist crows swooping overhead.

Naturally the rest of the weekend had more typical Bank Holiday weather: overcast skies and intermittent drizzle. Still, that gave me plenty of time to go through the photos that I'd taken. I was irritated to find that minute dust particles on the sensor had produced little dark spots on many of the images, especially where they featured a lot of blue sky. I was also a little disappointed with the exposure on many of the images; I simply hadn't been paying enough attention to this and had (foolishly) trusted the various automatic modes on the camera to do it for me.

Fortunately the spots were mostly taken care of with a spot of editing and I was quite pleased with a few shots, but it certainly made me realise that I have a lot to learn...

Preoccupations

2006-04-03T13:13:00.000+01:00

With the exception of a few splendid days of winter walking at the beginning of March and my brother's extremely jolly stag weekend at the end of that month, most of my energies have been devoted to (a) playing Guild Wars, (b) recovering from a nasty virus, and (c) the anxious anticipation of impending parenthood.

I won't bore you with too many details of (a). Suffice it to say that, as games go, this one has proven to be an unusually enduring obsession in our household. Perhaps it's the simple fact that Alice and I can play it together online that has fuelled our enthusiasm, but credit is certainly due both to the admirable inventiveness of the designers and to the ongoing expansion and refinement both of the game itself and its extensive and beautifully realised world. We haven't even finished the first story arc yet and we already can't wait for the second installment, which is due out at the end of the month.

The details of (b) are likely to be of even less interest, so I'll skip them altogether. Besides, if they haven't already heard it on the grapevine, it's undoubtably (c) that will be of interest to my devoted readers (all 3 of you). So, without further ado... towards the end of August, if all goes smoothly, Alice and I are expecting to be embarking upon our next great adventure: parenthood. We were hoping to know which flavour to expect by now, but when we went for the charmingly-entitled "anomaly scan" last week, we were so entranced by the little blighter's antics that we completely forgot to ask its sex and didn't notice any tell-tale signs. It definitely has all of the other important bits (heart, stomach, spine, etc), though, which is certainly reassuring to know.

We've had an anxious few weeks since Alice finally twigged that there was a rather obvious explanation for her uncharacteristic tiredness and bouts of nausea. As a doctor she's all-too-keenly aware of everything that can go wrong and too accustomed to thinking of medical conditions in terms of pathology. Now that we're halfway through and all of the indications are still good, she's actually starting to relax a little, but I guess there's still a long way to go yet. Plus, as my cousin pointed out, a permanent state of anxiety is part of what being a parent is all about.

At least we can keep ourselves doubly busy by picking two sets of names. My recent genealogical research has given me lots of inspiration, but Alice was very resistant to my suggestion of Thomas Valentine if it's a boy and Zilpha if it's a girl. A bit mean, perhaps, but since the child's going to be lumbered with my surname anyway, I'm happy to give her the final say when it comes to the other names. She's favouring Welsh names at the moment and, having browsed through a useful list or two, I'm warming to the idea. One friend recently suggested that Taffy Albertella has a nice ring to it, but perhaps we'll give that one a miss.

One thing's for sure, though: I'll soon have some new subject matter to feed my considerable appetite for photography. No more mountain landscapes! Not until we get to haul the little one up their first hill in a papoose, at any rate...

Valentine quest

2006-02-14T21:08:00.000Z

In view of the date, it seems only appropriate to mention my recent foray into the realm of genealogy. Appropriate, I should explain, because my dabblings at historical research revolved around a chap by the name of Thomas Valentine Dunbabin, who had the dubious distinction of being my great-great-grandfather.

I've been vaguely interested in researching my family tree for several years now, but until now I've only ever dipped my toe in the water. I signed up for Genes Connected (an offshoot of the phenomenally successful Friends Reunited) a little more than a year ago, but only managed to enter a small proportion of the relatives that I already knew about. Luckily, someone else spotted a connection and gave me access to his impressive tree, which told me more than I'd ever hoped to find about the Whitlocks, my maternal grandmother's antecedents.

Then I forgot all about it again. I continued to receive the occasional email from Genes Connected, but mostly ignored them. Last week, however, I stumped up the cash for another year's subscription and started to explore the Whitlock tree again. I found it frustrating at first, because there's no way to import the information from somebody else's tree, which meant that I had to go through it entry by entry. In retrospect, however, I think that this process really made the material come alive for me. Before long I was adding in the Dunbabins, my maternal grandfather's side of the family, courtesy of a wonderful hand-drawn tree that I was given by my uncle.

This tree stopped at Thomas Valentine and the details of his children, with the exception of my great-grandfather, were sketchy. A few exotic names piqued my interest - Zilpha, Ophla, Zena. Two adopted children - but whose were they originally? Could I discover any more about them? I soon found someone else with a Thomas Valentine Dunbabin in their tree and sent them a message, but I couldn't wait for a reply. It was time to start doing my own research - after all, I do have a degree in history!

The obvious place to start was the 1901 census. And what a wonderful place it is! Granted, they do make you stump up for the privilege, but it seemed a small price to pay when I gathered together the results. There was my grandmother, aged about 18 months, and all of the other Whitlocks. More importantly, there were the Dunbabins, including our friend Thomas V. Now we can start to work out when some of these people were born... and what they did for a living! Thomas V was a smith at a "Ry Carr Wks" - railway carriage works, perhaps? Two of his sons were working there too.

Now I'm hooked. Next stop: FreeBMD (that's "Births Marriages and Deaths", don't you know), which helps me to pin down TV's date of birth (March 1846) and reveals a whole host of new Dunbabins. And I've found more entries in the 1881 Census, which you can also access online through Ancestry.com. Before you know it, I'll be heading for the paper archives...

The best bit? I have literally (while writing this post) just found this photograph of Thomas Valentine Dunbabin, taken on the 30th January 1901 at the wedding of his son (and my great-grandfather) Thomas Charles Dunbabin. Thomas V is the chap with the big beard on the right and the full photo (click to see it) even features Auntie Zilpha (at the back on the left). Thanks to my cousin Barry, who compiled the CD-ROM of old family photos that contained this gem a couple of years ago. I'm not sure what else awaits me on this voyage into the past, but this photograph will certainly take some beating...

In praise of winter walks

2006-02-12T11:06:00.000Z

We had another deliciously cold walk in the Peak District yesterday, this time along Baslow and Curbar Edges. The weather forecast was somewhat dubious, but we were determined to get a dose of fresh air after too much enforced idleness. We were rewarded with an invigorating and thoroughly enjoyable walk, with only brief flurry of snow to make us doubt our decision.

Once again, it was dull and overcast for most of the day, but the hazy views from the edge and the contorted, wind-sculpted millstone grit were wonderful to behold in person, if disappointing to photograph. I had taken Alice's dad on the same walk in the ice and snow, which was brilliant, but a bit treacherous underfoot. This time we only had a little bit of mud to contend with and most of that was frozen solid. As ever, nothing could daunt the rock-climbers who were out in force and busily hauling themselves up the sheer rock faces.

Beginning our return leg from the end of the edge, we walked beside a river and were entranced by the mirror-clear reflections in the placid waters. A half-submerged branch appeared to be floating in mid-air! The sun started to stream through occasional breaks in the cloud at this point, illuminating the misty horizon with faint beams of light. Walking back to our starting point in Baslow, we passed through farmland, following a devious path along stone walls and hedgerows. We encountered several fields in which the principal crop seemed to be boulders, but very little livestock; we later discovered a herd of sheep sheltering in a barn.

Much as I enjoy the vibrant colours of spring and autumn, I always think that there's something magical about the landscape in winter, especially on crisp, icy days like yesterday. Bare trees silhouetted against the sky always draw my admiring eye and I love the way that mist softens the edges of the distant hills and filters the dazzling sunlight into soft pastel colours. It's a joy to walk in these conditions too - provided you're wrapped up nice and warm. Time to resist that hibernation instinct and make the most of it while it lasts!

Fiction frenzy

2006-02-05T15:19:00.000Z

Inspired (or at least goaded) by a challenge from the bloke behind this, I have taken my first faltering steps into the big bad world of short fiction. You can read the result over here.

This is a must see!

2006-01-29T11:25:00.000Z

I recently enjoyed Philip Seymour Hoffman's performance in State and Main, which is a clever and unexpectedly heart-warming comedy by David Mamet, so I'm looking forward to checking him out in the title role of Capote when it comes out over here. After reading about the latter film in the paper this weekend, I was reminded of where I first came across the ever-dependable Hoffman, in the painfully black comedy Happiness.

Happiness is one of those films that I was completely blown away by in the cinema, but which I have never quite managed to watch again, despite having a copy on DVD. Although I'm sure that I'll admire it every bit as much on a second viewing, my memories of the unflinchingly squirm-worthy subject matter always gives me pause. Other examples of this phenomenon include Barton Fink (which two friends that I saw it with utterly reviled, but which I still think is magnificent) and Lost In Translation (which I'm beginning to suspect was never as good as I thought it was after all).

This started me pondering: what it is that makes me really enthusiastic about particular films? And, in a related but quite distinct vein: what makes me want to watch certain films again and again? Now, it's quite rare that you'll hear me telling you how much I hated a film. It's not, as one friend has remarked, that I think absolutely everything is wonderful. Admittedly, I do find it very easy to like films and I'm not at all hesitant when it comes to waxing lyrical about the ones that catch my fancy. I don't often take a strong dislike to films, but when a film really offends I have been known to walk down the street afterwards angrily denouncing it. If it doesn't do much for me, I just don't talk about it.

There are other films in which I have found much to admire, but which I ultimately didn't really like at all and can find no good reason to see again. I'm thinking here mostly of The Man Who Wasn't There, which will probably ensure that my otherwise fairly comprehensive Coen Brothers collection will remain forever incomplete. This is a powerful and immaculately constructed film, but it succeeds so well in its portrayal of the irredeemably cold central character that I was left without any feelings of affection for it. Then there are those highly praised films whose tone or subject matter (or perhaps sheer perversity on my part) means that I have never even managed to watch them even once, notably The Godfather and Schindler's List, which for all the plaudits that they have received still don't quite manage to conjure up the requisite enthusiasm.

It's not that I'm completely obsessed with feel-good films, you understand, even if I must admit to watching When Harry Met Sally on an increasingly regular basis. Granted, the films that I'm likely to think of first in a list of favourites- Strictly Ballroom, The Hudsucker Proxy, Almost Famous, Royal Tenenbaums and Amelie - do tend to be romantic, even sentimental, but I think that these titles spring to mind because they are the type of film that I never grow tired of watching. If I sat down and made a considered list of my all-time top 100 (shudder at the thought), these would still top the bill, but they would undoubtedly be in more diverse company.

So, what is it that makes me really love a film, as distinct from just liking or admiring it? Humour and whimsy certainly seem to feature prominently, but I also like quirky characters, visual inventiveness, emotional resonance, clever plots... well, you get the idea. I've always rated Terry Gilliam's dark whimsies very highly (although the lighter and unfairly maligned Adventures of Baron Munchausen is my favourite) and anything by the Coen Brothers (with the previously mentioned exception) is pretty much guaranteed consideration. I also wouldn't hesitate to include both Bill and Ted movies in my list of favourites, not to mention LA Confidential, Leon and The Usual Suspects. And then there's Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and Hero. Oh and Moulin Rouge and...

I'd best stop there before I get carried away.

Notice anything missing? Yup, that's right: I haven't mentioned Peter Jackson or the Wachowski Brothers, and I certainly haven't mentioned George Lucas. This is where my effort to stick to my original objective become unstuck, you see. Because, while The Matrix and Lord of the Rings trilogies (but probably not either of the Star Wars ones) would make it into my top 50, they somehow feel like a different art-form altogether. Indiana Jones, on the other hand... No, no, no: enough already! The same applies to the animated masterpieces of Pixar, as well as Disney's finer moments: I love 'em to bits, but it's hard to know how to compare them with the likes of Casablanca or even Star Wars. Ah, but Spirited Away though...

Where am I going with this? If I'm not prepared to compare rom-coms with blockbusters or quirky indies with animated films, then how can I ever compose a definitive list of my favourite movies? Well, that's simple: I can't. It's a dumb idea. I'm sure I'm not the first person to whinge about this, but I don't care: it's worth saying again. Top ten films to watch when you're feeling a bit glum? No problem. Top five films I've watched in the last six months? Easy-peasy. Favourite Coen Brothers film? You already have that one. Compiling a list of the best of the best, however, always seems like an exercise in futility.

Which brings me back to where I started: enthusiasm. Lists of favourite movies and the ubiquitous five star ratings are all very well, but find it much more interesting to read about why someone loves a particular film, rather than how they rank it in their all-time greatest list of the Best Movies In The World... Ever! One of the reasons that I continue to read Empire (in spite of its obsession with lists) is for the in-depth reviews, but I am frequently irritated by the way that the text of the review seem to be at odds with the rating. It makes me happy that I read the online version of the Guardian's Friday Review section: for some reason, they still haven't managed to transfer the star ratings from the paper copy to the PDF, so I am happily forced to read the actual text of the review.

So, how can we counter the insidious effects of these relentless ratings and rankings? Easy. If someone tells you that a film is fabulous and a must-see, demand to know why. When you're scanning the film reviews, don't just look at the star rating: read the review. The next time you rent a DVD, resist the temptation to pick one from the 'best' list; seek out those hidden gems instead. And since revolution always starts at home, I'll set the ball rolling over the next few weeks by telling you why I love some of the films that I've mentioned here.

Reviews not rankings! Opinions not scores! Down with consensus! This has been a partly political broadcast. Do not adjust your set. That is all.

Running rewards

2006-01-23T13:40:00.000Z

One of my resolutions for 2006 (in addition to writing this) is to run in at least three 10km+ road races. The increasingly popular Great Manchester Run, which I've done every year since its inception in 2003, is the only one I've entered so far, but I also have my eye on the Trafford 10K in March. Anyway, it's certainly high time I started training, so after wimping out earlier in the week I met up with my friend and colleague Sean for a run on Saturday.

He took us on a predictably long (11.5km) route, involving lots and lots of lovely mud, but we kept a leisurely pace so I didn't feel too bad afterwards. As an added bonus I found myself running alongside a kingfisher for a few wonderful moments on my way back along Chorlton Brook. Alice and I have previously caught tantalisingly brief glimpses of this elusive local resident whilst out walking, but on this occasion I was privileged to watch it gliding along for several seconds as it followed the snaking path of the brook. Magical.

Does whatever a...

2006-01-09T23:07:00.000Z

OK, so the next film that we watched wasn't quite such a revelation, but it was a reasonably pleasant surprise nevertheless. Low expectations can really give film a boost, don't you think?

Not entirely sure what to expect from the man of steel's imminent return, but surely dear dependable Bryan can't go that far wrong, can he? Uh-oh, famous last words...

An unexpected find

2006-01-07T23:16:00.000Z

Just finished watching The Fog of War on DVD, which Alice ordered by mistake from LoveFilm. I'm so glad she did.

This commendable feature-length documentary is a fascinating retrospective of the life of Robert S McNamara, who was (amongst other things) the US Secretary of Defense under Kennedy and Johnson. The film's's sub-title indicates it's basic structure: "Eleven Lessons from the Life of Robert S. McNamara". These lessons are drawn from an extended interview with the man himself (now in his late 80s), which is interwoven with a wealth of historical footage and accompanied by an original score by Philip Glass.

The most obvious focus is McNamara's frank analysis of the Vietnam War and the lessons that should have been learned from it, but the preceding accounts of his experiences during the Second World War (including his role in the decision to fire-bomb Tokyo and more than 60 other Japanese cities) and the Cuban Missile Crisis are no less compelling. I was left with a powerful impression of a sensitive and intelligent man, who, given a tremendous burden of responsibility and called upon to make monumentally difficult decisions, faced up to the challenge to the best of his abilities.

Apparently the interview was originally supposed to last for just an hour, but McNamara ended up talking for 8 hours and then stayed to carry on the next day, and came back again a couple of months later. Watching the emotions playing over his face as he talks about his experiences it seemed clear that this was a tremendously cathartic experience for him.

Even if you're not that keen on documentaries, I'd recommend this film: it presents an engaging (if at times chilling) narrative and McNamara is a very arresting central character. His "lessons" also have an unmistakable contemporary relevance that should be difficult to ignore.

Humble beginnings

2006-01-03T16:14:00.000Z

Yesterday saw our first proper walk of the new year: an extended (19km) ramble in the Peak District along the rock-strewn heights of Derwent Edge and beside the Derwent and Ladybower reservoirs.

The weather forecast delivered on its promise of little wind, excellent visibility and no precipitation, but there was a distinct chill in the air neverthelless. The sun also had a hard time burning through the clouds, which meant that the otherwise magnificent views were rather dimly lit for most of the day. The sun was setting by the time we descended to the lake, colouring the clouds and illuminating the mirror-calm waters of Ladybower. Alice was feeling the cold by this stage, so I wasn't allowed to linger for too long over my photography, but I did manage to capture a few choice shots of the wonderful reflections, including the image above.

Just as we pulled out of the car park it started to drizzle. Immaculate timing, I thought.