Recently I have spent a lot of time with a paintbrush in my hand decorating rooms (with a lot of help from the Folks!) often with the help of my little Niece, who has discovered the joy of smearing pigments all over the place (mainly herself and any other surface other than the paper that is put in front of her!)
Whilst it can be a real pain to get started it's really nice to be able to watch as your environment changes with each coat of paint, how suddenly a room becomes lighter or warmer. The whole experience becomes suddenly quite enjoyable as with each coat you can see the finishing line approaching.
This has not always been the case and in particular one incident soured me towards painting indoors for a very long time.
A few years after the sugar puffs incident we moved house. With Sister II now with us we needed more space, and the parentals had found a larger house only a mile or two from our first one (a house with its own bar – which was quickly removed after they found my Sister I and myself at a tender age helping ourselves to Babychams [bought in specially for Granny] from behind the bar – I admit that I started drinking early although I don't think either of us were aware that it was alcohol, just fizzy and sweet!) Into this house was bought a "beautiful" new WHITE shag pile carpet for Sister I's bedroom.
We moved in in the April and had been warned in no uncertain terms that nothing was to be taken onto the white carpet! NO drinks (especially not blackcurrant squash), NO food, NO shoes! (I think that if they could have found one they would have erected a sign on my Sister's door similar to the ones that you used to see in swimming pools warning people about the dangers of running, bombing and heavy petting in the deep end!)
By the Summer holidays we must have been driving my Mother mad, with two young children and a toddler to contend with, and my Grandmother had come over to help watch us. After running around for hours my Sister I and I decided that we wanted to paint inside. We'd had enough of climbing the trees, playing with a football, hitting each other with garden canes, and generally fresh air!
"You can't……the sun is shining and you have a garden to play in."
"but we want to paint and we are bored of the garden! It's too hot/ cold/ windy/ BOOOOORRRRIINNNGGG!"
"NO!"
So that was the final word……..we could either paint outside, or stay indoors and play with some toys in the house!
UNTIL we had the great idea of painting upstairs! (I'm not too sure who had the idea…..it was probably me and my Sister did tend to think most of my ideas at that time were really good [she was/is a Tomboy] – although she has fortunately changed her mind about most of my ideas!) We knew that my Sister's room had some paints…..and one of those really cheap colouring in books, which seemed to be printed on toilet paper it was so thin!
After what felt like hours of painting (although was probably only about 20 minutes) my Mother obviously got somewhat concerned about the lack of running footsteps, the slamming of the back door, and general noise of children destroying the place and asked us what we were doing!
"NOTHING!" (the response most guaranteed to result in the fastest 50 yard upstairs dash)
You can probably guess where this is heading…….caught red-handed with a rainbow of colour splashed all over the new carpet. We expected to catch hell from our Mother (which we duly did!) but even our sweet dear Grandmother had a crack at us, and after a swift sharp lesson we were thrown into the garden and the backdoor locked with the most dreaded phrase "Wait till your Father gets home" ringing behind us (there were many recriminations as to whose idea it had been, who had spilled the most paint, and generally who was the biggest pain…….I still maintain that my Sister smelled worse than me and that girls couldn't paint properly anyway!)
It was the first and last time that I was sent to bed without dinner (well through anything other than personal choice……and usually a large amount of alcohol!). I think if every tale has a moral then the moral for this has got to be:
"Whilst it is sensible to let sleeping dogs lie…….silence from children will only lead to trouble"
Thursday, 29 July 2010
Wednesday, 28 July 2010
When life gives you lemons......................
..........................make lemon drizzle cake!
At low points in my life I have found great enjoyment and relaxation in baking. There doesn't need to be a special occasion, and whilst my Grandmother was ill and whilst going through the stresses of handing my notice in and changing jobs it was almost a weekly thing for me to take freshly baked cakes into the office (it's rarely a case that I would actually eat the cakes, but the fun is in the making, and the enjoyment that other people gain from them.)
Now that the nightmare of the flat is almost over (although my expectations that the agreement that the remaining items would be cleared was somewhat optimistic) and in preparation for a visit to some good friends this weekend I have decided to bring out of the cupboard one of my favourite recipes.
Ingredients:
175g softened butter
175g caster sugar
3 large eggs
175g self-raising flour
1 tsp baking powder
Grated rind of one unwaxed lemon
pinch of salt
For drizzle:
125g granulated sugar
60ml lemon juice
Recipe:
1. Line the base of a greased 18cm round cake tin with a piece greaseproof paper.
2. Place all the ingredients into a bowl and beat with a wooden spoon (or for an even easier option place in a mixer for one minute - or just until the mixture is smooth!)
3. Pour the mixture into the tin and smooth and bake in the middle of a preheated oved (at 180°C ) for 45 - 50 minutes. The cake should be well risen and golden and can be tested by inserting a skewer into the centre, which should come out clean.
4. Let the cake cool in the tin for about 5 minutes and the run a knife around the edge before turning out onto a wire rack to cool.
5. After a few minutes prick the top of the cake with a skewer (carefully as the cake is likely to still be quite hot). Combine the drizzle mixture and poor over the top of the cake.
6. Enjoy!
Tuesday, 27 July 2010
The Draw of the Law!
When I look at where I am now , and what I wanted to do with my life, I still cannot believe that I am sitting in an office all day(although it is a very nice new office block in the heart of Manchester City Centre with fantastic panoramic views), working in the "Law" (I can't see myself doing this for the next 40+ years! – this thought alone is enough to drive me out to buy a lottery ticket!)
Of all the things that I wanted to do as a kid this is really the last place I ever expected to be. I was somewhat driven by the things around me or saw! At the age of four my grandparents bought me for Christmas a fireman's helmet, with built in flashing light and siren, and a drum (I'm sure they loved my mum and dad, but now as an uncle one of the greatest joys is being the hip uncle, able to buy cool noisy presents and then leaves before they become too annoying).
From then to about the age of 8 all I wanted to do was to be a fireman (I wish I knew where my drum and fireman's helmet had got too, but for some strange reason they seemed to disappear one night in about February!)
I was then bought a box of airfix toy soldiers, and a military career seemed to be the way forward. Yes I had played with the green plastic figures and now I wanted to do it for real (plus I was an army brat anyway and so had a lot of militaria around me!) [To be honest I still wonder about applying! I know I have about 12 months to do it, and every month or two I wander past the army careers office and contemplate just stepping in!]
After the army came Top Gun (the film!) That was it I decided, I'd either be a fast jet fighter pilot.............. or an actor! Yes something of a strange mix. I know that I was attracted by the thought of fast flying, but I can also see the attraction of being someone new every week. (There have been times over the last few weeks/months when I would have given my right hand to be someone else, somewhere else.) But again common sense/reality reasserted itself (I would be too tall to fly fast jets/and I really wasn't that good an actor [in fact other than at slapstick I was really bad!])
By the time of GCSEs I was torn between Medicine and Law (with two younger sisters I had been subjected to Ally McBeal (I think that that is how you spell it!!!) and I have to admit that the lifestyle portrayed seemed fantastic! In Court all day cross examining witnesses, young female lawyers in short skirts, crazy senior partners and then down to the bar at the bottom of your office for drinks and karaoke!) This image was quickly dispelled when doing an internship at a local firm I was handed a box of 40 files all relating to a single trust, and told to read through it (I didn't remember any of the cast of the US Legal shows having to read things, they were far to busy with their madcap lifestyles!)
When this crushing blow was compared with the excitement of seeing surgery there was only one way to go! Here I come medicine! After three years at university studying anatomy I again realised that medicine wasn't quite what I had expected, and I was not sure how I could face another five years studying to become a doctor (looking back how little I knew! Five years as a student......five whole years of student lifestyle......with some of the craziest, most alcohol driven, morally loose people I have ever met!!!!!! What was wrong with me? I should have jumped at an extra five years rather than entering full-time employment!)
It's somewhat concerning that after all this time in a profession, and all the time and costs that it has taken to get here, that I am pretty sure that it's not what I want for the rest of my life (and I have still yet to see mixed toilets in an office or a dancing baby [although I think that if I did that would be definitely the time to get out of Law!])
I think if I could now do anything, and money was not an option I would open a small bistro somewhere (and yes I know that complaining about long hours in Law would be nothing compared to the time and effort that you have to put in to make a restaurant a success) cooking simple but tasty food to which you would all be invited.
Of all the things that I wanted to do as a kid this is really the last place I ever expected to be. I was somewhat driven by the things around me or saw! At the age of four my grandparents bought me for Christmas a fireman's helmet, with built in flashing light and siren, and a drum (I'm sure they loved my mum and dad, but now as an uncle one of the greatest joys is being the hip uncle, able to buy cool noisy presents and then leaves before they become too annoying).
From then to about the age of 8 all I wanted to do was to be a fireman (I wish I knew where my drum and fireman's helmet had got too, but for some strange reason they seemed to disappear one night in about February!)
I was then bought a box of airfix toy soldiers, and a military career seemed to be the way forward. Yes I had played with the green plastic figures and now I wanted to do it for real (plus I was an army brat anyway and so had a lot of militaria around me!) [To be honest I still wonder about applying! I know I have about 12 months to do it, and every month or two I wander past the army careers office and contemplate just stepping in!]
After the army came Top Gun (the film!) That was it I decided, I'd either be a fast jet fighter pilot.............. or an actor! Yes something of a strange mix. I know that I was attracted by the thought of fast flying, but I can also see the attraction of being someone new every week. (There have been times over the last few weeks/months when I would have given my right hand to be someone else, somewhere else.) But again common sense/reality reasserted itself (I would be too tall to fly fast jets/and I really wasn't that good an actor [in fact other than at slapstick I was really bad!])
By the time of GCSEs I was torn between Medicine and Law (with two younger sisters I had been subjected to Ally McBeal (I think that that is how you spell it!!!) and I have to admit that the lifestyle portrayed seemed fantastic! In Court all day cross examining witnesses, young female lawyers in short skirts, crazy senior partners and then down to the bar at the bottom of your office for drinks and karaoke!) This image was quickly dispelled when doing an internship at a local firm I was handed a box of 40 files all relating to a single trust, and told to read through it (I didn't remember any of the cast of the US Legal shows having to read things, they were far to busy with their madcap lifestyles!)
When this crushing blow was compared with the excitement of seeing surgery there was only one way to go! Here I come medicine! After three years at university studying anatomy I again realised that medicine wasn't quite what I had expected, and I was not sure how I could face another five years studying to become a doctor (looking back how little I knew! Five years as a student......five whole years of student lifestyle......with some of the craziest, most alcohol driven, morally loose people I have ever met!!!!!! What was wrong with me? I should have jumped at an extra five years rather than entering full-time employment!)
It's somewhat concerning that after all this time in a profession, and all the time and costs that it has taken to get here, that I am pretty sure that it's not what I want for the rest of my life (and I have still yet to see mixed toilets in an office or a dancing baby [although I think that if I did that would be definitely the time to get out of Law!])
I think if I could now do anything, and money was not an option I would open a small bistro somewhere (and yes I know that complaining about long hours in Law would be nothing compared to the time and effort that you have to put in to make a restaurant a success) cooking simple but tasty food to which you would all be invited.
Monday, 26 July 2010
Aesops modern tales
One of my Mother's favourite tales, whenever she sees my four year old Niece with her finger (or anything else) up or around her nose, was of when I was about five or six years old.
We lived in a very nice house, with a breakfast bar in the kitchen. On one particular day my Mother had come back from shopping and left my sister (who must have been about three or four at the time) and myself in the kitchen with the shopping bags on the floor, including a box of sugar puff cereal.
She must only have been gone for a few minutes, but during this time we had managed to remove and open the box of cereal (a feat in itself which I am still often unable to manage without spilling the contents all over the floor) and positioned ourselves under the breakfast bar. She came in to see us shovelling handfuls of dry sugary goodness into our mouths when disaster struck. I must have inhaled whilst devouring a handful, as a sugar puff became firmly wedged up my left nostril (a particularly unpleasant experience at any age, but which seemed so much worse at that tender age!)
Panic ensued as I was unable to talk due to the tears coursing down my cheeks, and my sister wasn't fully conversant at that stage. As it was a mime that Marcel Marceau would have been proud of we established that a sugar puff had gone where no sugary cereal product should have gone. Probing with items (okay I admit it was mainly my finger) got us nowhere other than pushing it further and further up my nostril. My Father, who was (and still is) a General Medical Practitioner, and who was at his practice received an urgent call to say that his second (and I should imagine somewhat slower) son had managed nasal dilation by confectionary, and asked for advice. I was to be brought over for treatment, a trip of some 10 miles.
My sister and I were bundled into the car, strapped in (still in a lot of pain I have to say!) by a very aggravated and stressed mother. I seem to recall that the journey was fraught with red lights and other road users, and we had made it to about a hundred metres from my father's surgery when I felt the sneeze building, fifty metres and I knew what was coming, and turning into the car park when my mother was hit on the back of her head by a soggy sugar puff.
Of course I was flavour of the month for a while but I think that this story has a deeper message, namely:
"Don’t stick your nose where it's not wanted as the results are rarely very nice......and the resulting journey is often pointless!"
We lived in a very nice house, with a breakfast bar in the kitchen. On one particular day my Mother had come back from shopping and left my sister (who must have been about three or four at the time) and myself in the kitchen with the shopping bags on the floor, including a box of sugar puff cereal.
She must only have been gone for a few minutes, but during this time we had managed to remove and open the box of cereal (a feat in itself which I am still often unable to manage without spilling the contents all over the floor) and positioned ourselves under the breakfast bar. She came in to see us shovelling handfuls of dry sugary goodness into our mouths when disaster struck. I must have inhaled whilst devouring a handful, as a sugar puff became firmly wedged up my left nostril (a particularly unpleasant experience at any age, but which seemed so much worse at that tender age!)
Panic ensued as I was unable to talk due to the tears coursing down my cheeks, and my sister wasn't fully conversant at that stage. As it was a mime that Marcel Marceau would have been proud of we established that a sugar puff had gone where no sugary cereal product should have gone. Probing with items (okay I admit it was mainly my finger) got us nowhere other than pushing it further and further up my nostril. My Father, who was (and still is) a General Medical Practitioner, and who was at his practice received an urgent call to say that his second (and I should imagine somewhat slower) son had managed nasal dilation by confectionary, and asked for advice. I was to be brought over for treatment, a trip of some 10 miles.
My sister and I were bundled into the car, strapped in (still in a lot of pain I have to say!) by a very aggravated and stressed mother. I seem to recall that the journey was fraught with red lights and other road users, and we had made it to about a hundred metres from my father's surgery when I felt the sneeze building, fifty metres and I knew what was coming, and turning into the car park when my mother was hit on the back of her head by a soggy sugar puff.
Of course I was flavour of the month for a while but I think that this story has a deeper message, namely:
"Don’t stick your nose where it's not wanted as the results are rarely very nice......and the resulting journey is often pointless!"
Countdown to holidays!
After the last six months, which has included the loss of my last remaining grandparent (after a hard battle with cancer), a radical job change, and then finally the break-up of my relationship with The Girl, my thoughts turned to a chance to escape and make a break with the UK.
My sisters and I were hugely fortunate as children and we were taken on holiday to the continent. This culminated (purely by chance I think) in my parents finding a British couple who owned property about 50 kilometres from Bordeaux, in the deepest, most rural France. They had three properties to rent on the site, (and daughters a similar age to my sisters) and we ended up returning year after year. The belief that every French village had a bakers and patisserie obviously hadn't reached Barie. Other than a church and a communal basketball court the only other signs of life was the post office that would be open every other Thursday for half a day. Into this tranquillity were introduced three Eeenglish children up to the age of 16.
Days were spent "bombing" in the pool, or chasing each other on bikes through what felt like undiscovered country, and evenings sat beside the barbeque or sitting round the patio table enjoying the fantastic fresh produce (although at that age the greatest pleasure was the discovery of the somewhat lax health and safety regulations that the French have when it came to the sale of quite lethal fireworks – which I put to great use in shattering the peace and quite of this little hamlet)
As we grew up, flew the nest, and did our own things for holidays there was always a bit of a soft spot for the place in Barie. When my niece arrived four years ago (a real shock which I will tell you about sometime) my parents obviously also thought of the Barie again, and suggested a family trip out to see the old place. We booked one of the houses, and our flights, and arrived in glorious high summer in the south of France. Whilst my parents and my youngest sister, with her new daughter and husband (to be) spend two weeks out, my other sister and I alternated a week each (couldn't take too much time off from the office and was in fact my first holiday for more than 2 days for about three years). It was fantastic, and again days were spent sitting around the pool, surrounded by miles and miles of maize fields, and rustic French buildings (and more fireworks)
Whilst we were talking one evening my Father mentioned that he was planning to retire, or at least slow down and work part time. They loved France, and he was toying with the idea of using some of his pension to buy a place in France. We all agreed that this would be a really nice idea. My parents had worked so hard that a place that they could get away to that was there own would be ideal for them. They both spoke enough French to be understood, and loved the area (my own French was enough to survive on from GCSEs – namely to order a beer and some sausage [what more could you need?]). This was a long term plan and like some of my parent's plans I somewhat expected them to change their mind and it to never happen, so I was somewhat shocked when they returned to say that they had found a place, and met with solicitors, and it was right next door to where we had been staying.
Last summer saw the first mass visit to the house, with my parents, both sisters and partners (and niece), my half-sister (and son), my half-brother, my grandmother and friend (something that we were so pleased that she had made it to see the house and enjoyed herself before her condition became known) and The Girl and I. The house was packed to the roof beams, and it seemed that every night was another party. You could do as much or as little as you wanted, and when I have some more time I will regale you with some of the more interesting stories (well I think they are interesting) but we came back from the holiday extremely brown, very tired, but thoroughly relaxed (as usual this lasted until approximately half an hour into the first day back at work [but that's what work is for])
This year the circumstances are somewhat different, and somewhat sadder, and some of those who were with us last year are no longer around, for whatever reasons. I am hoping though that the result will be the same and now with only 12 days to go, I am physically ticking the days off the calendar.
My sisters and I were hugely fortunate as children and we were taken on holiday to the continent. This culminated (purely by chance I think) in my parents finding a British couple who owned property about 50 kilometres from Bordeaux, in the deepest, most rural France. They had three properties to rent on the site, (and daughters a similar age to my sisters) and we ended up returning year after year. The belief that every French village had a bakers and patisserie obviously hadn't reached Barie. Other than a church and a communal basketball court the only other signs of life was the post office that would be open every other Thursday for half a day. Into this tranquillity were introduced three Eeenglish children up to the age of 16.
Days were spent "bombing" in the pool, or chasing each other on bikes through what felt like undiscovered country, and evenings sat beside the barbeque or sitting round the patio table enjoying the fantastic fresh produce (although at that age the greatest pleasure was the discovery of the somewhat lax health and safety regulations that the French have when it came to the sale of quite lethal fireworks – which I put to great use in shattering the peace and quite of this little hamlet)
As we grew up, flew the nest, and did our own things for holidays there was always a bit of a soft spot for the place in Barie. When my niece arrived four years ago (a real shock which I will tell you about sometime) my parents obviously also thought of the Barie again, and suggested a family trip out to see the old place. We booked one of the houses, and our flights, and arrived in glorious high summer in the south of France. Whilst my parents and my youngest sister, with her new daughter and husband (to be) spend two weeks out, my other sister and I alternated a week each (couldn't take too much time off from the office and was in fact my first holiday for more than 2 days for about three years). It was fantastic, and again days were spent sitting around the pool, surrounded by miles and miles of maize fields, and rustic French buildings (and more fireworks)
Whilst we were talking one evening my Father mentioned that he was planning to retire, or at least slow down and work part time. They loved France, and he was toying with the idea of using some of his pension to buy a place in France. We all agreed that this would be a really nice idea. My parents had worked so hard that a place that they could get away to that was there own would be ideal for them. They both spoke enough French to be understood, and loved the area (my own French was enough to survive on from GCSEs – namely to order a beer and some sausage [what more could you need?]). This was a long term plan and like some of my parent's plans I somewhat expected them to change their mind and it to never happen, so I was somewhat shocked when they returned to say that they had found a place, and met with solicitors, and it was right next door to where we had been staying.
Last summer saw the first mass visit to the house, with my parents, both sisters and partners (and niece), my half-sister (and son), my half-brother, my grandmother and friend (something that we were so pleased that she had made it to see the house and enjoyed herself before her condition became known) and The Girl and I. The house was packed to the roof beams, and it seemed that every night was another party. You could do as much or as little as you wanted, and when I have some more time I will regale you with some of the more interesting stories (well I think they are interesting) but we came back from the holiday extremely brown, very tired, but thoroughly relaxed (as usual this lasted until approximately half an hour into the first day back at work [but that's what work is for])
This year the circumstances are somewhat different, and somewhat sadder, and some of those who were with us last year are no longer around, for whatever reasons. I am hoping though that the result will be the same and now with only 12 days to go, I am physically ticking the days off the calendar.
Friday, 23 July 2010
Not the usual Friday feeling!
Whilst recently weekends have been something that I dreaded coming, this weekend sees pretty much the last of the flat. I have been going back repeatedly to keep it clean having emptied it of all my stuff, and to pick up post, but this weekend The Girl moves the rest of her stuff out of the flat. This isn't a happy event as I loved living in the flat with The Girl and it was a place full of happy memories. However once the majority of the flat had been emptied it became cold and soul-less and all I could see whilst walking around was how the flat had looked whilst we still lived there together.It was a beautiful two bedroom flat, very close to the station, that was our first place together.
With the removal of The Girl's stuff though the flat will no longe
r be ours, and I know that the relationship is truly over, and there is no chance of any future together, (and it is a very sad thought)! I have not been looking forward to this day at all.I have agreed that I will help remove some more of the last stuff from the flat that The Girl doesn't want, and can't remove as she is without a car, but I know that I cannot be at the flat to see the last of our life together end! Instead I am heading down to Whittington Barracks with The Guys for a re-enactment event.
It will be good to catch up with everyone and should be a great weekend, and I hope that you enjoy your weekend too!
Thursday, 22 July 2010
Toad Trail comes to an end!
I'm sorry to say that tonight I will collect my last two toads. Surprisingly, for some reason they are two of the closest to my current address, and yet they are still the last to be spotted (not really sure how that happened!)
In total I have walked (and admittedly driven for Toads 39 & 40) about 50 miles, visiting and collecting photographs of the toads. At almost every one there has been a group of people, all very excited about the them and I believe that they really have achieved some community spirit. Most of the groups are families with kids having their photographs taken with the toads, although I have seen couples, both young and old, out exploring , on bikes or walking with their dogs, and even strange single people (like myself) who appear with camera in hand (and often a map) and try to compose the best picture possible before heading on to the next one. I readily admit that I mainly fell into the last category. The whole concept started out as something of a joke. I had taken some of my first photographs and shown them to my 4 year old niece. She loved Punkphibian and wanted to see more so I agreed to see how many of them I could find and take pictures of them.
In the end I became more excited about tracking down the toads than she did. It became a really nice way of spending an evening. I take my camera with me to work, and once I got back to Hull station would set out to find the next days allotted spots. It was almost a military exercise, with journeys on the train spent with a map sat in front of me, trying to work out how if I turned left at this junction I could then come up on two toads relatively easily and then backtrack to get a third, and if it would be possible to collect six or seven in the evening!
This culminated in yesterday's crop of photographs. I was on my usual train to Manchester when on approaching Leeds we discovered that there had been an incident further up the track. Not being able to get any further, I decided that with remote access for my computer and the ability to work from anywhere, I would head back to Hull. Having been dropped off at the station, and with the weather being so glorious (something of a change) I decided that I could probably spare 45 minutes (which I of course made up over lunch and by working late) and wandered round Hull city centre, collecting those that I had not found before. With the sun shining it was a really nice way to spend some time, when I could let my mind relax and stop thinking about my relationship (or recent lack of one), The Girl (who I admit I still think about an awful lot, but who I understand has moved on with someone new), and work.
Some were quite difficult to find, including the first which is located within "the Deep" an aquarium, or to be precise an submarium, nestled on the banks of the Humber (very sneaky I thought putting it inside a building!), but as the sun continued to shine (even more remarkably) I walked along the banks of the Humber towards the marina, where the last few were situated. Standing looking out over the river, and at the marina filled with tall masts I realised how beautiful Hull can be (yes I know that we have some rough areas and places of municipal greyness, although we also have huge areas of green parks many of them really peaceful and the local Council does do a really good job of keeping flowers planted around the city throughout the year!) and how much I loved the place. It hit home how much my proposed move to Manchester is really going to change things (I know that I can always get in my car or jump on a train and be back but it's not quite the same!)
Unfortunately not everyone has taken to the toads as well as others and there has been vandalism (Punkphibian has had his Mohawk ripped off, and Kasey toad has had something like a fist or foot put through the side of it [ I really can't understand why people would do such a thing…..whilst I accept that they are not everyone's cup of tea, they are still attempting to brighten up what can at times quite a dull, grey city]), but all the comments that I have heard whilst walking around is that people really love the toads.
If you are in Hull or can get there, I would really recommend taking an hour or so to walk the trail. I wouldn't suggest trying to see them all in one walk (impressive if you can do it considering 39 is in Melton and 40 is in Beverley) but a walk around those toads in the city centre take you through some really interesting and beautiful areas, including Queen's Gardens, the riverside, marina and the 'Old Town'.
I hope that you enjoy the toads as much as I have. The only problem is that with the conlcusion of my 'OCD' like search for toads now looming I am quite concerned at to how I fill my evenings? The x-box and television has nothing to compare with the tranquillity and peace that being out walking (with friends, family or on your own) with the sun setting around you! I would welcome any suggestions of walks that I could take (ideally in the area!) :)
PS - please no suggestions of a long one of f a short pier!
PPS - I will put the last photographs up this evening!
In total I have walked (and admittedly driven for Toads 39 & 40) about 50 miles, visiting and collecting photographs of the toads. At almost every one there has been a group of people, all very excited about the them and I believe that they really have achieved some community spirit. Most of the groups are families with kids having their photographs taken with the toads, although I have seen couples, both young and old, out exploring , on bikes or walking with their dogs, and even strange single people (like myself) who appear with camera in hand (and often a map) and try to compose the best picture possible before heading on to the next one. I readily admit that I mainly fell into the last category. The whole concept started out as something of a joke. I had taken some of my first photographs and shown them to my 4 year old niece. She loved Punkphibian and wanted to see more so I agreed to see how many of them I could find and take pictures of them.
In the end I became more excited about tracking down the toads than she did. It became a really nice way of spending an evening. I take my camera with me to work, and once I got back to Hull station would set out to find the next days allotted spots. It was almost a military exercise, with journeys on the train spent with a map sat in front of me, trying to work out how if I turned left at this junction I could then come up on two toads relatively easily and then backtrack to get a third, and if it would be possible to collect six or seven in the evening!
This culminated in yesterday's crop of photographs. I was on my usual train to Manchester when on approaching Leeds we discovered that there had been an incident further up the track. Not being able to get any further, I decided that with remote access for my computer and the ability to work from anywhere, I would head back to Hull. Having been dropped off at the station, and with the weather being so glorious (something of a change) I decided that I could probably spare 45 minutes (which I of course made up over lunch and by working late) and wandered round Hull city centre, collecting those that I had not found before. With the sun shining it was a really nice way to spend some time, when I could let my mind relax and stop thinking about my relationship (or recent lack of one), The Girl (who I admit I still think about an awful lot, but who I understand has moved on with someone new), and work.
Some were quite difficult to find, including the first which is located within "the Deep" an aquarium, or to be precise an submarium, nestled on the banks of the Humber (very sneaky I thought putting it inside a building!), but as the sun continued to shine (even more remarkably) I walked along the banks of the Humber towards the marina, where the last few were situated. Standing looking out over the river, and at the marina filled with tall masts I realised how beautiful Hull can be (yes I know that we have some rough areas and places of municipal greyness, although we also have huge areas of green parks many of them really peaceful and the local Council does do a really good job of keeping flowers planted around the city throughout the year!) and how much I loved the place. It hit home how much my proposed move to Manchester is really going to change things (I know that I can always get in my car or jump on a train and be back but it's not quite the same!)
Unfortunately not everyone has taken to the toads as well as others and there has been vandalism (Punkphibian has had his Mohawk ripped off, and Kasey toad has had something like a fist or foot put through the side of it [ I really can't understand why people would do such a thing…..whilst I accept that they are not everyone's cup of tea, they are still attempting to brighten up what can at times quite a dull, grey city]), but all the comments that I have heard whilst walking around is that people really love the toads.
If you are in Hull or can get there, I would really recommend taking an hour or so to walk the trail. I wouldn't suggest trying to see them all in one walk (impressive if you can do it considering 39 is in Melton and 40 is in Beverley) but a walk around those toads in the city centre take you through some really interesting and beautiful areas, including Queen's Gardens, the riverside, marina and the 'Old Town'.
I hope that you enjoy the toads as much as I have. The only problem is that with the conlcusion of my 'OCD' like search for toads now looming I am quite concerned at to how I fill my evenings? The x-box and television has nothing to compare with the tranquillity and peace that being out walking (with friends, family or on your own) with the sun setting around you! I would welcome any suggestions of walks that I could take (ideally in the area!) :)
PS - please no suggestions of a long one of f a short pier!
PPS - I will put the last photographs up this evening!
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