Barum it's a must........

....... a must what exactly? That was the question on our lips down at the Marshals Thursday lunch club and I must say we had a jolly old time trying to decipher the unofficial logo that has been foisted upon the people of North Devon by, as far as I can make out a small group of town traders who have formed a group called BID North Devon. Bleddy daft name for a start as first thing it does is put you in mind of that town over on the other side of the bay. So, to my way of thinking first thing they've gone and done is promote Bideford! I see no sense in it and neither did anyone else. Annie Cawood suggested Barum it's a must..... avoid at all costs especially on a Thursday afternoon when the methadone clinic kicks out. Charlie Street put forward the notion that Barnstaple, it's a must...  for visiting charity shops, poundshops and pawnbrokers/money shops. Of course with Town's Fa Vase historic second round proper coming up I suggested a little more positively, Barum it's a must .... win on Saturday. (Which I am glad to report they did beating a team called Downton of all things, apparently the visitors had a bad dose of flu but a wins a win ).
Don't get me wrong though I'm not against promoting the town and I always do my own bit when and where I can,  and engendering a bit of local pride as Lord knows at this present time the poor old place needs it but I can't see that this logo is the way to do it. It's wishy washy vague and has exposed itself to ridicule. Why to the people resposible for these things always dream up something so bland and neutral that fails to capture the essence, history and values of a place. They always do it, rebranding is what they call it and locally we have had a few choice examples in recent years to illustrate the point. North Devon College - Petroc which to be fair is growing on me and Devon County Council and North Devon both of 'em replaced logos with clear graphic representations of the area with anodyne pastel leaves and abstract rural coastal swathes of watery green and blue.

The firm behind the Barum design claim that they want to get over a sense of history and local pride. How? I just don't see it, not even after I tried squinting. They could have come up with something a lot better and could have done a lot worse than basing it on the old logo or coat of arms as they were called which has served the town well since at least the 16th century. As you can see it comes with it's own little tag line or motto. " Fides et Justitia" It's Latin and I have just had a word with the Squire who is a Latin scholar and it translates as "faith and Justice" Barum - Faith and Justice. Blimey you can't get more proud and noble than that. That lofty claim should give anyone a sense of local pride and history if that's what our forebears thought of the town it indicates what we should strive to live up to.

Here's 'Combes recent effort. There's nothing like a bit of honesty and I think they have hit the nail on the head with a motto which needs no deciphering as I think there no denying it, it is a very, very curious place indeed

Fair view

Isn't it just lovely when the fair is in town.The place really comes into it's own. I've been sitting out over the passed evening or two savouring the goings on up river. From my place you can here the calls of "do you want to go faster" and "Oggy oggy oi! Oi Oi" and the smell of candy floss and brandy snaps wafting downriver on a weirdly termed Automnal Spring tide. If me phone wasn't on charge I could have taken a smashing photo with the rain drashing down, the lights of the Buzzer and all the folk crossing he bridge now it's closed to traffic and the fireworks. The old boy has driven down to Halford's car park and is sitting there listening along to a bit of Handel. SoS. On the top tide I rowed up to the Lidl bank and took a look for meself, there was bleddy crowds there which is nice to see. I gather they do have a few rides which are only showcased at big fairs and stuff, one is a 1000 foot high. I took  a walk through happy hour as they call it but the cheapest ride was 2.50 too much money to feel sick and ill I reckon and you probably lose 40p down the back of the seats. Fair lads will have that, quick as a flash. A few years ago I did lose fifty pence on the dodgems. I was trying to sort out me change while some fella was hanging off me rear end and I dropped it. Thing is I recall the fifty p bit as it was a Battle of Britain commemorative one and had three Spitfires, a Lancaster Bomber and a Hurricane on it. After the ride had finished I went straight up to the booth and asked him to keep an eye open for this unique coin of the realm. However, the phrase the customer is always right stood no stead with this peculiar one eyed rather sweaty and overweight gentleman from the banks of the Mersey and at the end of the  exchange as he was busily putting on a pop on 45 twelve inch I had to give gave him some short shrift I ended up berating him  about the nature of his customer service. I'm not a fella to stand on ceremony, a spade is a spade, but his reaction was plainly rather un-cooth. However, I did go the rifle ranges, only airguns these days I remember when they had .22's proper little brass bullets, and manage to win myself several of them meerkat thinganmyjigs. I'll give 'em to the kiddies for xmas I've now got fifteen of the little buggers, so I must have looked quite a sight as I sculled my way back down river. Bugger! I got to get back up there sharpish as, happy as Squirsie's as I was with my meercats I forgot to buy some brandy snaps and I promised old Annie one or two with a cup of tea. Plus the dug likes a good old chew on 'em. Suck the tea up through the tubes lovely job.

http://www.barnstapletowncouncil.co.uk/barnstaple-fair.asp

Tilting at wind farms

There's something missing here..... 21 120 metre high wind turbines that's it!

Coming back from a few days down at the old barn in Mortehoe last week I managed to catch the 303 bus back home that goes the long way around via West Down and Heanton down to Ashford Strand. The highlight of this trip was the fact that it virtually skirts the whole of Fullabroke Windfarm along it's quite considerable length and breadth. Now, after all the machinations manoeverings and transportation of heavy loads through the highways and byways of North Devon, all 21 of the turbines are now in place  I have to say that on a lovely sky blue summer's morning they are quite a magnificent sight. Fanning out as they do across the hills of North North Devon with the sun glancing of their polished 65m blades, all 66 of them. I reckon you can really feel the potential latent energy in the structures and I must say it gave me quite a buzz and made me feel strangely innervated. I can't say that my fellow travelers felt the same way as they just seemed to gawp, open mouthed at these leviathans of the downs. Some just started a muttering and a mumbling. Maybe they were just stunned to see such fine examples of kinetic energy converters in such a bucolic setting.
Believe it or not, although I may be a bit behind when it comes to consumer electronics and gizmos, I can never fail to be impressed by feats of engineering endeavour, be it the building of the new aircraft carriers down at Appledore, the construction of the Taw downstream bridge or the Windfarm to me they are technological marvels. I suppose this goes back to me days when I worked down at Tucker & Turners agricultural engineers, where as an apprentice I worked on the prototype of the Huxtables self propelled threshing machine. As a young man I also spent a bit of time on tankers, so the bigger the better.
When I first was aware of the plans at Fullabroke I didn't see what all the fuss was about, at the time there was a hell of a stink kicked up in villages like West Down, Marwood and Prixford (where today funny enough it turns out you can't actually see them from the centre of the villages), as I thought they'd be tucked away down the side of the valley out the back of West Down and I think most people were under this impression and all. Or came to this way of thinking after the notion of a community fund containing millions of pounds was wafted in front of their noses. Also, in these parts we are never of a mind to complain too bitterly about things especially when a few quid is involved.

So, earlier in the summer when they started appearing over the hills on the north side of town, an event which put me in mind of the martian attack in Jeff Wayne's War of the Worlds, I was rather taken aback to start off with as it turned out that they can not only be seen from the Burrows, Barum Henge and Yelland but also further afield in places like Bideford, Alverdiscott, North Molton and even abroad in Port Talbot and the Mumbles and what's more, even from the Old Boy's and Mother's back bedroom up at Sticklepath. Somehow,  I don't think the residents of Woodville were consulted at the planning stage!
Initially, I questioned whether this was actually part of the original plan and was under the suspicion that the developers had been a little bit naughty and led us all on a merry dance in not disclosing the true impact that they would hev on the North Devon skyline. I was angry and was determined to try and get some answers to the questions however, my technological bent soon took over and the more I looked into the mechanics of the structures and saw all the monster loads being hauled through the town the sheer logistics of the operation the more I started to feel something like pride in what was being undertaken.

Ultimately, I think that they compliment the North Devon skyline. I mean, you might as well complain about pylons or telephone cables and at least the turbines serve more of a purpose providing energy as they will do to thousands of homes. I could have taken them on like a Devonian Don Quixote. Mind you it is not as if they are the first wind turbines in the area. I remember Bobby, one of the Combe Martin hippies, building one above Ilfracombe back in the eighties. Looking back he was a veritable pioneer in the field. The trouble was he had the idea to tap the turbine into an extant lay line to conduct the power generated through this less tangible national grid to other mystical points in the realm. No wires, underground cables or pylons, lay lines that was the answer. I wonder what became of him? I reckon he's probably still in a field outside Gloucester with his multi-purpose electrical tester and divining rods.
As Georgie Hatherly's Mother pointed out, when me and Annie Cawood popped into the exhibition at Braunton Countryside Centre, "what else are we going to do?" I failed to mention at the time that we could all consider using less electricity but somewhat blinded by the white heat of technology I let it pass.
I do have a couple of niggling concerns. At the moment the turbine blades are all higgledy piggledy not facing in the same direction and I don't find this too pleasing to the eye.  Annie said the same thing mind you she does have a touch of the old OCD and given half a chance she would be up there in a flash trying to get them standing proud, facing in the same direction.
My other gripe is that the company haven't put back some of the street furniture that they took down to make way for the monster loads, as just this morning I was passing the junction at Pottington and in the hedge outside of Hobarts some of the railings are still lying there all twisted and buckled up. The devils in the detail as Mother likes to say.
I also have a bit of a suggestion to make in order to make the turbines a little more attractive to all, detractors and supporters alike, they could be named. They could have nameplates fixed on the side of them so that folk could be encouraged to adopt one as from time to time they do look rather forlorn standing up their on top of the world. I've already earmarked one at Pippacott and to me it looks like a Gertie, named after my great aunt.  People might want to take a picnic out there from time to time, like my Gran and Granfer used to do on the central reservation of the dual carriageway when it first opened.

Just a final  point coming back on the bus down through Ashford I looked up river towards Town and was struck by the sight of a gurt big communication mast on top of Fort Hill. Where on earth did this come from? It reminded me of the one that they have on a hill above Santander that you see from the ferry or indeed the one I recall  that towers over Barcelona. Yet another thing that Barum and Barcelona have in common. It occurred to me that as they do in Spain someone should think about running a cable car up there. we could be missing a trick here. Mind you in Spain they do like a tower or two.

Only a week to go.........

...... before the Library re-opens after it's extensive refit and I can get back in there and do some serious blogging. Amoungst other developments they are going to get in WI-FI!! I can assure you that I have not been idle these past few weeks as I have been fulfilling my other media commitments details of which will be outlined directly. Suffice it to say Johnny Kingdom and his Exmoor safaris may have a bit of competition in the near future as I have a few different irons in the fire at the present time. Cheers.

The tale of the Landkey rat.

         Yesterday afternoon Anne Cawood had a funny old tale to tell down at the Marshal's Thursday lunch club concerning the Landkey rat. I can't hope to emulate the way she told it as once she gets going she has her own special way with words. Anyway, her tale tickled us all. A few days last week she was out at Landkey to pick up one of her innumerable grandchildren from the school as her daughter Briony was on jury service and couldn't make it to fetch the little mites.

The heart of Landkey Town

So there she was, waiting in the road opposite the school yacking away with one of the mum's when over her shoulder she spied a bleddy gurt rat,  enourmous it was, scampering it's way along a wall. I asked her if she was sure it wasn't a koypu that had swum up from Bishop's Tawton but she assured me it was a rat. A rat that was quite literally the size of a cat. Old Annie drew the attention of some of the mums gathered at the school gates to the bold rodent but they all seemed rather non-plussed. "Oh yeah there he goes the little bugger" said one and a few of them seemed quite happy to catch a sight of the furry vermin and seemed to be addressing the little critter in similar terms of endearment.  On the way back over the way to Gorwell she mentioned the rat sighting to the kids telling them how amazed she was by the size of it. Mind you, knowing Annie it had probably increased to the size of a brown bear by the time they got to Westacott.  However, they like the mums also seemed rather bemused by their daft granny's ramblings, only adding nonchalantly that they often see it scuttling across the playground of an afternoon, making for the bins behind the kitchens and they all liked to stop what they are doing and take a look at him.  They even had a competition to find a name for him. Turns out he is called Rory after the little singing kid off of Britain's Got Talent

A brown rat

The following afternoon Annie was out there again. This time she parked up in Mazzard Way and was walking towards the school gates when, lo and behold,  the rat appeared again. This time scurrying across the road right in front of her as bold as brass. Amazingly, he then seemed to take a quick shower and had a brazen gambol under a lawn sprayer. This time Annie couldn't let it pass, so she went up to an old mate of ours, Terry Ford, who happened to be passing, to find out what was going on. Terry is a mine of information on all things Landkey so he was able to put her straight. It turns out that this here rat has become something of a celebrity in the village and he's been sighted all over from Lankey old town down to the Castle and further afield. Anyway the rat has obviously found Landkey to his liking and is seemingly impervious to the comings and goings of the villagers, through traffic and the hubub of such a vibrant community. Thankfully, at present, there seems to be no sign of a pied piper character to lead the rodent over to Venn Quarry and subsequently the good folk of Landkey have become quite proprietary towards him. As Terry Ford went on to say he was so charmed by the sheer audacity of the brazen rodent that he didn't have a heart to pull the trigger after he'd been asked, much to many peoples consternation, by the Parish Council to fetch up with his air rifle in order to dispatch it humanely.
It's good to see that in this day and age that something like this can galvanize a community and it has been able to draw together around it's very own regal rat.  Mind you I did point out that such things aren't that unusual out Landkey way as befits a village with such an illustrious history, founded as it was by Sir Francis Drake as a refuge from the Spanish Armada and named for the Celtic saint St Kea, Llan Kea until the Saxon invader turned up and Anglesized it. Bleddy Saxons.
In the eighties the Councils plans to demolish the place and start all over again on the other side of the valley were thwarted by a concerted local campaign and also the mazzard, North Devon's very own soft fruit was reintroduced after the heroic efforts of local residents especially those of my old comrade, Dickie Joy

Mazzards make a lovely pie

Of course the rat wouldn't fare so well in the neighbouring village of Swimbridge home of the Parson Jack Russell terrier which the eponymous parson specifically bred to be terrifyingly efficient ratters. Fortunately due to internecine village rivalry no one in Landkey is allowed to own a Jack Russell.
Likewise no one in Swimbridge eats mazzards.
Annie called round yesterday afternoon and reported that local opinion has now come to the conclusion that the rat is of a domesticated variety that must have made a bid for freedom. They may have a point as many domesticated rats are infact imported from South America and these can grow to be very large. Thinking about it it could also be a fancy rat. It is also thought that it didn't originally come from Landkey due to there having been no "missing" signs posted on lampposts nor messages read out at morning worship. I told her they ought to put a note in the Journal  Of course it could just be disorientated and will start making it's way back home like in that film. Maybe it's best to just let the little bugger be and let him make his own way.
Anyway following on from Anne's tale I have half a mind to pop over there one morning next week, have a spot of lunch in The Castle and then walk up and over to Venn on a rat safari to see if I can't catch a sight of this fine specimen of the species rattus norvegicus. That 'll give me something nice to look forward to..

To the ferret king - Get well soon

Last week I was  quite perturbed by the news that reached me concerning Barry Jewel's finger.  Apparently, the legend, as he has become,  in local ferret racing circles has lost a finger. He is the North Devon's ferret racing answer to Henry Cecil and year in year out he always manages to breed sure-fire winners from his yard out at South Molton. My first thought was that one of his charges had turned nasty on him, a narky hob gone a bit mixxy and bit off the aforementioned digit. However that would have been highly unusual as from my own experience I know all too well a ferret can give you a fair old nip but it would have to set itself to  a good old gnawing before it could get through your finger. Anyway it turns out that Barry was doing a bit of work in his shed and lost the finger, his little finger, when he fed his hand into a band saw by mistake. Barry's plight caused a right old forore in South Molton as he'd picked up his finger from the shavings on the shed floor and walked around with it to his neighbours asking them to call an ambulance. Due to the nature of the injury, bleeding like beggary,  it was the air ambulance that came for him and that really did cause quite a stir in sleepy S'Molton on a weekday afternoon as in no time at all quite a crowd had gathered at the Rugby Club to see old Barry being whisked away in the big whirly bird up to the NDI in Barum. However, once he got to Barum he was no sooner up in the air again this time being conveyed directly to Exeter. Not that old Barry seemed to mind this one bit as he later told the Journal that despite the pain he was quite distracted by the lovely views he was getting of the Taw Valley, priceless they were. Fortunately, up at Exeter they were able, using state of the art technology, to rebuild his finger. Bleddy marvelous isn't it, what they can do these days.

Not Barry's missus with favourite ferret but Leonardo da Vinci's

Trouble is Barry has now been signed off by the doctor until the end of August and due to this being high season for ferret racing he is finding it quite frustrating being unable to compete until then. So far, all told he has already missed the Braunton fair and the Royal Bath and West up at Shepton Mallet. I would have given him a call and see if I could lend a fully fingered hand to enable him to take part in the races down at the Royal Cornwall show but the Hiace is still off the road. Although, I did give my ex common law brother in law Michael Tanton a call, him being a fellow ferret fancier and breeder. I just thought he may be able to help out but I could sense he wasn't too keen on the idea.Thinking about it now, I reckon there could be a bit of history between them, bad blood. Besides, he said from what he'd heard Barry seemed happy enough to give racing a miss this season and had decided to concentrate on his fancy ferrtets for showing in the autumn. Michael also told me that this wasn't the first time that Barry had lost a finger as he had managed to slice one off a few years ago when he was working out at the chipboard factory.

Well all I can add is that I wish Terry a speedy recovery. By the way, that's from me and the rest of the Marshal's Thursday lunch club and when he feels up to it maybe he could pop by one afternoon and tell us all about that helicopter trip.

I thought I could smell something fishy.

I have been wandering about with a dead crab in a bag in me pocket for the best part of a week. I was starting to wonder what the smell was. I thought it was due to the fish processing factory and wind direction. Turns out it was me all along. Mazed fool.