The Great British Bog Off

 

The Great British Bugger Off!

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A national chains selection of Cornish 'pasty like" pastry folds. Guaranteed to scorch your palate.

Barum Wheeler - A life in the Cycle Lane

The other morning I went for a coffee with Ken Tisbury who I bumped into in the Library. He'd been in there looking through old Kelly's directory's for 1941. He gems up on the businesses listed and then later sits in the pub going "do you remember Furse's Seed Merchants? Used to be in Cross Street" Of course no one did,  but it was always a good icebreaker at the start of a session and inevitably led into a heated converstaion about the location, staff and purveyances of long defunct Barum businesses. He was just about to get going by asking if I recalled Godden's china shop, apparently it used to be in the High Street  when I noticed out the corner of my eye a poster in the cafe window advertising the Barnstaple Criterium cycle race. After Kenny had left to trundle off  down to the Marshals, not before instigating a debate upon the location of the Young Men's Christian Association hostel, I took a closer look. It turns out that on the eve of the Tour of Britain stage start in Barum there is going to be a race around the town. A crit is what they are called. They go whizzing about a small street circuit for an hour or so. I have come across this before on the continent a couple of times. I remember one in San Sebastian when we were working over there dredging in the harbour, mind you that was a few years ago now and it was very excitng stuff. I suppose it'll be the same sort of thing. Fabulous. What a way to celebrate this golden summer of cycling glory.
Of course here in Barum and Devon as a whole we are no strangers to competitive road cycling. No Johnny come lately, glory seekers are we in these parts. Infact, Devon was the first place in Britain to host a stage of the Tour de France in 1974 I think it was. When the whole shebang piled onto a ferry at Roscoff sailed over to Plymouth and raced  around a roundabout for the day before returning to France on the evening crossing. I remember seeing it on Westward news and on World of Sport the following Saturday. Latterly the County hosts, nearly every year, at least one stage of the Tour of Britain and every weekend the lanes are peppered with folk doing Elite time trials . Further back the annual Milk Race would usually wind it's way through North Devon.

I remember seeing the Commer van with the big milk bottle mounted on top crossing Bideford bridge and trundle along the old A39 followed by a couple of hundred of riders from all over the place. They even had a few Russians in the race. Now, I tell you that was a strange think to witness back then in the Cold War days, seeing these blond, lean, athletic Soviets with CCCP emblazoned on their shirts peddling past the Wrey Arms. I do remember one year the race went through Fremington just after farmer Grigg had moved his cows across the road by what is now the Han Court Chinese restaurant and was then Marsh's garage subsequently the road was a bit slippy and the cyclists were sliding all over the place before tumbling into a mass pile up just outside the New Inn.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kDckOAjtcOc

When I was a youngster we didn't have computers or video games or even any year around covered sports facilities, and having grown out of dressing up as cowboys with cap guns, your bike was always your most treasured possession. Mother would always kick us out anyway first thing come rain or shine if we weren't at school. So left to your own devices and if you were crap at football your bike was all you had. Plus, that's all we had to get us about the place, no mum or dad to ferry us here there and everywhere. Not back then. I'd never dream of asking Father to give is a lift anywhere, even to A&E if me leg was half off. Later on as a young man you kept on cycling right up to the day you were married and had a family as it was only then did you get a car and then only if you could afford it. We could all drive but back then but you got paid less if you were under 21 and not married so you'd be hard pressed financially to change your mode of transportation. Meself, even though I can just about drive and like me cars, but never really having a fixed income I've always had to stick to alternative modes of transportation, my canoe and of course my bike.
In my twenties, inspired by watching the Milk Race, seeing the Tour de France on ITV and the Eddy Mercx and Tom Simpson and having the good fortune to come across the professional cycling in the Basque Country I souped up my bike. I already had a Reynolds frame but I bought a Campagnolo chainset and brakes from the Exchange & Mart and after a few visits down to Gordy's and up to Mr Pewley's shop up at Newport I was able to select some of the best components and build a mean machine. I recall Gordy charged me 75p for an alloy front wheel.  I started off tentatively by doing time trials along the Old Bideford Road to the dump and back before extending my range. I'd stick my bike on the train and get off at Umberleigh, then further down the line to Bishops Nympton coming back via Chittehamolt, Cobbaton, and Codden Hill lovely ride. Eventually, I'd take the first train on a Sunday morning up to Newton St. Cyres and wheel my way back through the Taw Valley. You had to get out on the road early in order to avoid the Exeter Road Rats biker gang who were in the habit of running cyclists into the nearest ditch and hedge as I found out rather painfully at first hand when I ended up in a pond outside of Morchard Bishop in a cloud of motorcycle fumes and with a buckled front wheel. A few times a whole gang of us would stage an alternative team time trial racing along the back roads from Lapford to Bishops Nympton to Chittles 'hamolt, 'hampton and Chulmleigh trying to get in as many pints as you could during a Sunday lunchtime before closing time. You always had to make the Bell by two. Then we'd have a wobbly leisurely ride back into Barum for a cup of frothy coffee in Divitos thus avoiding the Road Rats. Happy days.
Unfortunately, they don't have a veterans category for the Crit as I'd think about having a go. You never lose it. I still have the bike. It's a museum piece now but it always attracts a lot of interest from fellow cyclists when I'm out and about on the Tarka trail. So. I'm going to give it a good clean up put on me Devon cycling jersey, leggings and wheel along to the Strand on Friday evening and of course Saturday morning to see the start and have a good old nose about. I hope to get a photo with some of the Basque cyclists whose predecessors were so inspirational in my life in the cycle lane.

A remarkable contribution to cycling in North Devon

I've just had a thought. Wouldn't it be a bleddy marvelous idea to see if Gordy Webber would like to cut the ribbon at the start of the race or lead out the riders with a few of his mates over the Long Bridge as a gesture of appreciation for his contribution to cycling in North Devon. Well here's big thanks from me anyway.

Verity Is On Her Way!

From the North Devon Journal today:

ARTIST Damien Hirst’s controversial statue Verity has been granted planning permission.
Councillors today agreed by 10 votes to two that the 60ft bronze figure of a pregnant woman could be positioned on Ilfracombe pier.

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   An artist's impression of Damien Hirst's proposed Verity statue for Ilfracombe

The decision was made by North Devon Council’s planning committee.
It follows two months of public discussion about the statue, which has divided opinion locally.
The proposal is that statue will be loaned to the council for a 20 year period with a view for this to be extended.
Councillors will meet tomorrow to decide whether to accept the offer now that planning consent has been granted.
North Devon Council received almost 300 letters about the planning application.
The statue is of a pregnant, naked woman wielding a sword with half of her belly exposed to show the foetus inside.
The most recent concern raised surrounds security issues that may come with the statue as police have fears that Verity will attract vandalism and publicity seekers.
However one of two pre-meeting reports stated there has been considerable liaison with local police to ensure that security concerns have been covered and there is also a proposal for CCTV to be permanently installed nearby.
It was recommended in one of the pre-meeting reports that the council give approval to the statue, stating it presents a ‘strong individual character that reaches out to the public.’
It is hoped that the statue, designed by one of the world’s most talked about artists, will bring benefits for the area’s economy in terms of increased visitor numbers leading to a boost in tourism.
Plans currently stand for the statue to be transported into Ilfracombe overnight on October 3/4 and raised into position by October 17/18.

Thank You 'A' Flight Squadron 22: 6000 Missions and Counting.

Three cheers and many heartfelt thanks go out to the Search and Rescue helicopter crews at RAF Chivenor on flying their 6000 mission. It turns out that they have been particularly busy this year and from my Twitter feed I see that the other day they were called out on three jobs. Surely this is a further justification,  if any were needed which unfortunately it may be if policy makers have their way,  of the essential role that this outfit plays in our community. To my mind their role should be safeguarded, ring-fenced I believe is the term politicians like to use, at all costs and any attempts to meddle with it in the terms of unfathomable management gobbledygook should be ardently resisted.

One of the old crates.

The canary yellow whirly gigs of 22 Squadron stand for so much more than just a diversion in the skies while you are enjoying an afternoon on the beach or having a tramp out to Baggy. If they were to be outsourced, privatised or redeployed elsewhere I would miss them immensely and I think the people of North Devon would be to put it mildly, bleddy sorry to see them go. I say this even as a neighbour whose sleep has been disturbed on many occasions by their rather alarming mechanical racket, like a barrel of spanners thrown down some steps, as they hover overhead at all times of the day and night. Over the years I have got to know many of the crew personally and just this morning I got a great big wave from the winch person, lovely maid she is, as she flew low up the river and back to base.
These days as I'm getting on a bit I find it a great comfort to know that should I get into any scrapes out on the estuary, be whisked out by freakish tides over the bar never to be seen again, get dazed and confused on Braunton burrows or have all fall off of the rocks while prawning down at Rockham they will always be at hand to literally pull me out of trouble. I stress that I am not a reckless person but as any local can tell you these things do happen from time to time and I do realise especially in these straightened times that their services are costly and resources are scarce. And I don't like to cause a fuss.
To be honest and surprising as it may seem I have only had cause to avail myself of their services just the once. It was a few years ago now when I was sailing back from Cork in an old tug boat that the Old Boy's mate Dicky Diamond had bought and was intending to restore at a berth in Appledore. Due to my experience on the dredgers and having worked both in Cork Bay and Barnstaple Bay I was signed on for the trip as first mate and pilot. Dicky was the skipper and his boy Nathan was the engineer seeing as he worked down at Central Garages. We were just getting into the Lundy roads when Nathan was seized by agonizing stomach pains. So, suspecting appendicitis and with the tide against us and realsing that it would be several hours before we would be able to make it over the bar and upriver to safe harbour on the Torridge we set off a flare which I gather was seen by the Lundy boat the Polar Bear who radioed for assistance. Within the hour the chopper boys had hove into view and we were able to get Nathan winched off up, up and away to the NDI where the vestigial appendage was whipped out in the nick of time. Saved his life they did.

Kamikaze mission?

       In this markedly significant year for the Squadron a couple of cases have been highlighted in the local press where the deployment of the whirlygig has been questioned. The most infamous episode to date concerned a model aircraft enthusiast who had to be winched out of a gorse bush after tumbling into it while flying his model plane off Morte Point. This poor blokes plight was rather simplified n the local press and subsequently a right old hullabaloo kicked off people were outraged that the SAR crew had been called out to what they were led to believe was a relatively minor incident. There were calls for him to pay the money back and the unfortunate chap received some rather forthright comments on the web forums calling him in no uncertain terms a silly sod. However, my Step-nephew Denzil who you may recall is himself a model plane enthusiast was able to expand upon the matter and there was a bit more to the story than folk were originally led to believe. It turns out that the remote aviator had indeed fallen down the cliff into a gorse bush but he tumbled headfirst some fifteen foot into the furse and was discovered hanging upside down, trapped. It was a particularly warm day and even though his mates had tried in vain to retrieve him eventually and in desperation, fearing dehydration was setting they called out the helicopter. To be fair initially the chap had shown some social responsibility as he had been trying to salvage his plane which was a £300 1/32 scale Mitsubishi Zero (maybe it took on a life of it's own and went on a kamikaze mission. Who knows?) with an apparently inflammable battery and with the aviation fuel thrown into the mix fearing a potential gorse fire he had acted somewhat impulsively and ended up in such a hazardous predicament. Besides, what else were they supposed to do? Leave him there like hanging prone like one of those deceased sheep, just fleece and bones, you come across whose remains lie entangled in the branches to become dessicated by the windy salty sea air. He would have caused a bit of a stink after a while. Good job too we don't have vultures in this country as they'd have had him. Not forgetting the fact that the bush could burst into flames at any moment immolating him and turning the whole of Morte Point into an inferno. That would caused a lot more fuss.
I admit that this rescue was not one of the most heroic thrilling and historic ever performed by the Squadron as there was no burning oil tanker, lone yachtsman or celebrity chef in distress involved
Still I suspect it was good practice and a potential danger was averted. However, to my mind this incident, as benign as it seems reminds us of the emblematic and essential service that RAF Chivenor provides for our community and for the Nation as a whole. However from time to time we all need to remind ourselves that although our coastline is indeed an area of outstanding natural beauty it can also be deadly. So for everyone's sake be aware and try not to be too daft when you are out on about.

Ted after his cliff fall

Curiously,  a few weeks later Ted a twelve stone dog fell off the cliff down at Hartland and although he was rescued without requiring the services of 22 squadron but instead by several cliff rescue teams, some from as far away as Port Isaac, the story passed with no comment.  There were no claims of a waste of resources or calls for Ben or his owners to repay the money nor any suggestion that they had been foolish to allow the hound to stray near to the cliff edge. It was all portrayed in rather heroic terms. To my mind at the very least someone should have at least asked what the hell was the dog, especially one that size, doing off the lead on the Coast-path in the first place. Funny old world

(Resumen) Vuelta a España 1987; Etapa 11 Santander - Lagos de Covadonga ...

Black Swan Causes a Flap

One morning last week I decided to take advantage of the fine weather and get the old dugout out and row up to Lidl on Seven Bretheren bank to do some shopping. I'd heard that it was Spanish week up there so I thought I'd take a look and see if they had any Basque cheese, some authentic chorizo, not the looky likey German stuff they normally sell and maybe a tin or two of canned seafood. I also needed to get some rubber adhesive from Jewson to repair my wetsuit.
I was carrying the canoe down to the Strand shoreline when my attention was drawn to several small craft bobbing about in the water slightly downriver from the Taw Bridge. I thought this a bit odd as it wasn't quite the tide for setting out night-lines, neither the right time of year for trawling up some mullet or netting a couple of salmon. Plus, it was broad daylight. Intrigued, I launched myself into the Ashford Channel and paddled my way upstream. As I approached the craft I became aware of quite a crowd of people gathered on the Pottington bank and judging by the amount of ocular equipment that they had set up alongside the path and were aiming in my general direction and beyond I was able to deduce that they were an advance party of twitchers obviously reccying the river before putting out a call to their fellow ornithological enthusiasts who would soon be flocking down here in their scores to glimpse and record a unique avian visitation. I had no idea what that could be but you do get them from time to time in these parts just popping up like one of those flash mobs. First off, there'll be one or two of them shlepping about in the muddy mire of the wetland beneath Anchorwood bank about and then before you know it dozens of them will turn up laden with bins and cameras and notebooks before disappearing as the evening light begins to fade.
I eased alongside the closest of the craft which turned out to be a lovely old clinker built wooden skiff with an expensive looking camera and impressively long lens rigged up astern on some kind of tripod contraption. I greeted the boatman. a bloke bedecked head to toe in camouflage garb, he even had his face daubed in green and black warpaint. Choosing to ignore this strange visage I asked him what was what? He told me, in hushed tones, keeping low in the boat and beckoning me to do the same,  that there had been a rare sighting of a black swan and he had taken these extraordinary measures in order to get some prized snaps of this alien specimen. He explained that the bird was Australian and so was some way away from his usual habitat. I told him I hadn't seen one and to be honest, taking a look about with my inherent nautical eye I couldn't see a single swan, black or white. Lacking the patience of these birdy folk I decided to take my leave and wished him good luck in his endeavours  before paddling on upstream eager to get on as it's true time and tide wait for no man and I had some Iberian provisions and Evo Stik to buy and I also hoped to squeeze in a couple of pints in the Marshals before floating back home on the ebb tide.
Glad to say that the trip to Lidl proved to bountiful as I manged to purhase several tins of octopus and some mussels in salsa picante, smashing. I had to get the glue at B&Q as Jewsons were out off rubber adhesive.
In the pub I found old Charlie Street at the bar wetting his whistle after spending a tiring morning pushing his mother Ada around the shops. Apparently, her mobility scooter has conked out and they can't get the parts for it so in the meantime Charlie has to push it if mother want's to go to the shops. He looked rather forlorn  and bleddy knackered. So to jolly him up I bought him another pint and told him about the goings on downriver with regards to the black swan. However, this did not seem to do the trick, as he turned to me with rather alarming look on his face. "Black swan" he says, "Don't talk to me about bleddy black swans. I've had my fill of those buggers" Obviously Charlie wasn't much of a twitcher by this dismissive show of disdain. Evidently, we seemed to have got our wires crossed here as after his continued muttering and spluttering  I was able to ascertain that Charlie was referring to some film about ballet, not a blck swan of the feathered variety. It turns out that Ada, Charlie's mother had got this film called Black Swan on DVD out of the library thinking that her great granddaughter Dolly who is eight and very keen on dancing would like to see it. However,  she hadn't taken the time to take a close look at the cover as upon viewing the film it was less about sugar plum fairies and more about sex and violence and not really the kind of thing you should let artistically natured eight year olds watch. So annoyed was Ada that she summoned Charlie to push her fuming back down to the library where she made a forthright complaint about the inadequate labelling of their DVD stock. The Librarian gave her a customer complaint form to fill in but Ada wasn't happy with this and on Saturday she's determined to get Charlie to push her down to the Castle Centre to take up the matter with Nick Harvey in person. "If he's back from his holidays that is", I added cynically. She wants some answers. Why does Devon County Council Library Services feel the need to stock such mucky and violent stuff? In these hard times they should be spending what little money they've got adding more improving materials to their catalogue. It's a library not bleddy Blockbusters. To my mind you cant fail her on that one.

Black Swan - the ballet thriller

In getting all this off his chest Charlie appeared to cheer up and grudgingly he admitted that there was a smidgen of a funny side to the tale. Little Dolly however remains traumatised and has not put on her tutu since.
With the tide turning I bade Charlie farewell assuring him that Dolly would get over it sooner rather than later. Poor mite. Once, I got the canoe back in the river I was glad to be able to make it back down to the twitcher in the skiff in no time. Walking back over to Seven Brethren I had a thought concerning little Molly's plight and was keen to have a word with him. There had still been no sighting of the bird I suggested he take a row up to the Yeo at least there he may be able to get a sighting of some ducks or a shag or two. He thanked me for this but continued scanning the delta. I waited for a moment before asking him a little question. If he did get any footage of the Black Swan did he reckon he could make me a copy as I knew someone who may like to see it if he could drop it into my place next time he is out on the river bird spotting.
That very evening, beautiful it was,  as I was appreciating a glass of Thatchers and doing a bit of cyclist spotting I heard the tell-tale beating of swans' wings and out over Spider Island there came into view a wedge of swans. Low and behold, there before my own eyes, following up the rear was a black swan, cygnus atratus as this antipodian native of the species is known. It was a truly magnificent sight and as I followed their flight up river I hoped that the twitcher mariner would be able to get some fabulous footage that I intended to share with Ada and Dolly so that they could marvel at the grace and beauty of the real thing and so inspire the youngster to take to  tie up her ballet shoes and take to the boards once more. Clever eh? 

Cygnus atratus

Where's Captain Kirk?

At some point he must have been beamed down to Ilfracombe as he seems to be rather well acquainted with the North Devon's premier holiday resort's seedy seething underbelly of malignant vice and rampant moral lubricity.

I don't know why William Shatner felt the need to apologise to the people of Ilfracombe as he may not have been too far away from the truth all along!

http://www.thisisdevon.co.uk/Saucy-scenes-welcome-seaside-holidaymakers/story-16238373-detail/story.html

http://www.thisisdevon.co.uk/naughty-bunch-Playboy-TV-tells-North-Devon/story-16301575-detail/story.html

Saucy scenes welcome seaside holidaymakers

www.thisisdevon.co.uk

A LORRY advertising a raunchy television channel caused a stir when it parked up in Ilfracombe last week.The van, advertising the Playboy chat channel, parked outside two of the town's best known...