The "Santa run"

With the festive feasting all but finished for a while I thought that I would write a few words. We both had the Christmas that we wanted, (as I hope you did too) quiet, but also with some time with our loved ones. This is the scene that we woke to here in rural Staffordshire, a crisp -10 degrees Celsius, absolute stillness and not a machine could be heard to spoil the silence. After walking Meg along the river bank we loaded up the car and set off on the "Santa run". Our family all live quite close by (within 15 miles) and so it wasn't long before we were looking at their happy smiling facing. I suppose we spent about an hour or so in the homes of each of our daughters, getting spoilt and bombarded with the excited chatter of the children. As always, we were presented with some lovely, thoughtful gifts for which we would like to thank them all very much. The thing that gave me personally the most pleasure was the giving of the gifts that I had spent weeks making and whilst they may not be adorned with those desirable designer labels or high price tags there is much love and respect in every hand stitch that I made. Girls, I do hope they are ok.

So, with Santa's sacks all now empty and my heart filled with contentment, we returned to the truck where we opened our gifts to each other before Pat set about the cooking of the most delicious Christmas dinner. Thank you all, so very, very much.

"Sods law"

The winter solstice was yesterday and for me it is always a day to look forward to, the return to lengthening days perks me up and with today's repeated dumping of snow I am pleased to have something that lifts my spirit. For the last four or five days, "T", who is 9 years old and one of our grandsons came to stay with us, he likes to go fishing with me and seems to have a growing interest which I am keen to encourage. Many times he has told me that he would love to fly fish, so after a few fruitless sessions, in temperatures that can invoke temporary, involuntary sex change in men we made a trip into town where he bought himself the basics in fly fishing gear. He is naturally very proud of his new equipment and despite the fact that the river has been frozen over for much of it's length we kept having a bash. I would love to have seen his face when he hooked into a decent grayling, but sadly this time it wasn't to be. This morning we had to take the little chap back home to his Mom in order to ensure he is in his own bed when "Santa" calls by. As we returned to the site around midday, the snow began to give way to the sun and I went walkabout with my camera. It was so pleasant, that within half an hour I decided that I just had to try my hand fishing once more. I made my way to a spot that I know often holds a few fish and knelt down facing the sun. Casting here is difficult, there is only a narrow window of about six foot between the boughs of trees but my little 7ft rod is perfect for the job. The water here runs quite slowly and so I laid the fly with as much delicacy as I could muster. It took no more than ten minutes before I was in a full scale battle with a good sized fish. I was sure that I had hooked a grayling because this fish fought me long and hard for several minutes. When the fish finally conceded defeat and was nestled quietly in my net I saw that it was in fact a chub, the second in a week and weighing in at 2lb 1oz. I felt so sorry for "T", only a couple of hours since his departure and "sods law" applies.

One more cast

Today has been quite overcast and despite a temperature of 5 degrees Celcius, with the northerly wind it felt more like 0 degrees and with nothing very pressing to do I went fishing, fishing for grayling that is. For an hour and a half, I searched a stretch of water of about half a mile or so without so much as a sign of any fish. Having only caught one fish each time that I have been out this week, I wasn't too surprised. When the cold had penetrated my bones to the point of near immobility I decided to head back to the truck. Every 20 metres or so I would stop, peer into the water and make another few half hearted casts in the hope that I may get lucky. As I approached a sharp bend in the river I saw a large dark fish, unfortunately it also saw me and moved away. Like a geriatric commando, I crept away and upstream in the hope that the fish wasn't feeling too energetic and may still be in the area. From a kneeling position I made several casts of a fly followed by a slow and gentle retrieve. Another half a dozen fruitless attempts and a small collection of rotting twigs and I decided, one more cast and I'm off back in the warm. So, one final cast and a long dead drift toward the bend before beginning the retrieve. To my surprise I felt the hook set into something quite heavy. Slowly I pulled in the line thinking I had hooked a dead branch or tree root, then the line really tightened, my rod bent over and I had to ease my grip on the line so that my 2lb line tippet didn't break. This was followed by a large swirl on the surface of the water and the brief showing of a fin. Gently and smoothly I hauled in the line and brought my prize over the net, a big fat chub. Before releasing it I weighed the fish on the new digital scales that Pat bought me for our anniversary, 2lb 8oz. what a corker.

The dangers of a safety rail

Well, what have I been up to for the last couple of weeks? Shovelling snow, defrosting water pipes, consuming huge amounts of fuel in an attempt to keep warm, much the same as the rest of you, I imagine. Of course, I took a few photographs just to look back on in the future. I have continued making Christmas gifts and have just about completed my list.

For the most part we coped with the last cold snap quite well, the one persistent problem was the freezing of the waste water pipe. It is routed on the exterior of the truck under the floor and therefor I don't really see that lagging it would serve much purpose in temperatures below minus five degrees Celsius. Defrosting was not an option and so we just took to using a bowl for washing etc. and emptying it in the normal place. Pretty as the landscape may have been I am pleased to have sight of green grass and tarmac once more. For a couple of days we had to return to the house, each day the children board the school bus just a few metres away from where we park up. The pick up point is on a corner and for the safety of the children there is a tubular steel safety rail to stop exuberant children from spilling into the road. Six of our eight grandchildren catch the bus here each day, one of them being Anabelle, aged nine. Now "B" as she is often called, is the kind of child that if you tell her not to do something because of inherent danger she has to find out if it is true. One day last week the temperature locally reached a piercing minus ten degrees and "T" (our grandson) warned all of the kids "Do not touch the rail with your tongue because you will stick to it" So, you guessed it. "B" did no more than walk over to the rail and licked it like a lolly. You can imagine her panic, when she tried to call for help with her tongue stuck firmly to a length of scaffold type railing. Her arms and legs flapping as she tried to attract attention to her plight. Unfortunately all of the supervising adults, myself included, were unable to assist due to incapacitating laughter. Poor little "B" eventually broke the bond and dripped a trail of blood in the snow back to the truck for some first aid by her Nan. Like a true hero she boarded the bus to school, a little embarrassed and with advice not to eat any salt and vinegar crisps for a day or two.The evidence was clear and visible for the next 24 hours and not just on her tongue. Oh "B", sorry for laughing but it did look funny.

Going soft?

When I opened the curtains this morning, my heart sank a little as I looked out at our first snow of the winter, albeit only a sprinkling. From the warmth of the truck, I watched the birds as they flitted about in their search for food, for a breakfast, to fuel them through the day. Then for some reason, this got me thinking about the past. From the age of about six we lived in a council house, as did everyone that I knew and because it was new, it had central heating on the ground floor, real luxury. I remembered some of the winters, substantial snowfalls and frost were normal. Of a morning, our then pretty young Mom, would wake us for school before she went downstairs to light the coal fire, which heated the water for the radiators. Clambering over my disgruntled brothers bed, I would pull aside the curtains to look outside, to find the windows encrusted with ice. The net curtains would be locked in the ice on the glass. I would place the end of my thumb on the glass to defrost a hole through which I could look. "It's snowed, it's snowed" I would excitedly tell my brother Ian, whose head would wearily lift off his pillow as he sat up to check whether I was lying or not. The moisture in our breath was visible as we excitedly chatted and dressed. Mom made us wear a vest in winter, a white singlet beneath a grey flannelet shirt and a short sleeved jersey, that is now called a tank top. For the winter months we both had thick grey shorts and long grey woolen socks that were held up with bands of elastic called garters. We both hated wearing a vest, it was cissy, but our garters were essential and if one was displaced it would sometimes cause a minor skirmish. By the time we got down stairs, the fire would be burning bright, but with no heat in it yet and the room would be filled with the smell of coal and wood smoke. After breakfast, we put on our second hand corduroy "windjammer" jackets and knitted balaclava's before we set off for the mile and a half walk to school and a snowball fight or two, the last words from Mom would be "Have you put your vest on?" Sometimes, the snow would come up to our bare knees and beyond, our socks would be soaked before we had got two hundred yards. The leather of our "Tuff" shoes (a boring but quality brand) beginning to absorb the wet as we kicked about in the snow and slush. All day long we sat with wet feet, the schools never closed due to the weather, later with the shoe leather slowly beginning to turn white as it dried on our feet, it would be time to walk home again and tuck into a plate of sandwiches for tea, or if Dad had finished work a plate of belly pork or perhaps even neck of lamb.

Maybe this morning isn't so bad after all.

Misty morning

We are back in the midlands and have been for about a week, there is not much happening so we are just kicking back as we prepare for Christmas. Most of my time has been spent making more gifts, it has so far been a very useful exercise because I have made items that I perhaps would not otherwise have tried. Last Sunday we turned out for the local Remembrance Parade, which sadly I found a little disappointing. The only serving military presence was two army officers, with the majority of the parade made up by children of the cadet forces, scouts and guides etc. Not a good example to the youngsters I thought.

Due to the increased frequency of frosty mornings I have fitted some carpet in the truck, it takes the edge off placing feet on the cold cushion floor when getting out of bed and scraping ice from the inside of the windscreen yesterday, spurred me into repairing the ageing external thermal screen cover which we made about three years ago.

I am not one for lying in bed, even in the winter when it is cold and dark and this morning was no exception. No more than five minutes walking and I caught this chap just as the sun was rising at the start of a lovely day. I walked for about a mile or so before turning back towards the truck, this is the view that I returned to.

Resting up

On Tuesday we went Christmas shopping, we had a fairly successful day and came away a few pounds lighter, both physically and financially. As the day went on Pat seemed to be getting less and less well, coughing, sneezing and croaking like Kermit. Despite dosing up with decongestants and paracetamol the following morning she was far worse. We went into town at 09:00 am to try and get to see a doctor, but the health carers at two surgeries didn't care and so we had to attend the hospital. I ask you, hospital for a dose of antibiotics. Happily, half a dozen capsules later and she is already sounding a lot better. While Pat was resting up, I decided to take advantage of our inactivity and make some Christmas presents. No clues and certainly no pictures. The weather has been very pleasant and for most of today we have sat with the door open. As the daylight began to fade, the sun cast a brief golden light across the field which I thought worthy of a photograph or two.

A time to worry?

Well, things have been somewhat slow. We have carried out a few grandparent duties as planned but with our daughters' independent streak, the requirement has been less than anticipated and so we have now left Staffordshire and our daughter with foot still in plaster, for warmer climes, ie. Somerset. Over the last few weeks there has been a short series on TV about the "Eddie Stobart" trucking company, with both of us having a passing interest in trucks, we have watched several episodes. We were told, in one of the programmes, that on average a "Stobart" truck will be seen every four minutes. Well, something is clearly amiss. Last week, we made a brief shopping trip to Belgium and back by coach, none stop, in 16 hours. During that long, mind numbing, butt crunching, night and day of relentless motorway travel we only saw about 25 Stobart trucks, but who's counting. Today we began our journey at 09:30 am. We travelled non stop, by motorway for 140 miles until 12:05 pm. Now I don't want to be alarmist, but we only saw ten Stobart trucks. What's going on? Have I really become that sad? No....I just need to get out more, Now then, where did I put my anorak?

Flying the canal

Sunday, I went fishing. I met Dean and Dave at about 07:00 am and after scraping the ice off the windscreen we were on our way to a nearby canal. I had toyed with the idea of taking my SLR camera along but decided against it because I felt it would distract me from fishing, that was my first mistake. We had only been driving a matter of minutes and I cursed leaving the camera behind. The weather was perfect, frosty, still, and enough mist to give some superb photographs. We parked up at the canal and walked a few hundred metres, I was distracted by the mood of the morning, as was Dave. For the first hour neither of us fished with much enthusiasm, instead we were clicking away with our cameras trying to capture the scene. People on the boats were beginning to stir, the occasional bump from on board, the gentle rolling of the boats as people inside moved about and smoke spiraling from the small chimneys on the roofs. Dean was fishing away, oblivious to the surroundings, concentrating on the task in hand, fishing. "What sign?" He said.

Dave wandered up to the next lock, trying to wear out his new camera as I made a few casts of the fly, but it was cold on the hands and I was focused on the peace of it all. The world was waking slowly, the occasional dog walker strolled by, whispering quiet "Good mornings" and ducks quacked noisily in protest as the dogs herded them into the cold black water. We remained in this first spot for about half an hour and with no fish, slowly walked back towards the next lock down. The sky was getting brighter as the sun cut through the silhouetted trees with light sabres that cast bright shafts of gold through the mist. The constantly changing light display called for quick action with the camera and even with my little point and shoot compact some times I was not quick enough.

Poor Dean became our caddy, loaded up with our rods as Dave and I fired off shots while we walked.

We spent a further hour or so fishing this stretch of water before changing location completely by driving about ten miles in search of some fish that were a little more interested in playing along with us. At this second venue, I became a little fixated on a fish that I had seen rise by a submerged branch. For half an hour or so I tried to tempt this fish with my fly before finally he very gently, took it. It felt like a good sized fish, heavy and without panic, he played along with me until the net was raised ready to land it and then he was off. In a state of disappointment and depression, I pointed out to Dave where I hooked it, my second mistake, who then nonchalantly cast his fly to the indicated spot, hooking and landing the only fish of the day. A lovely zander, of about four pounds or so. Well done Dave, ya bugger! It was a great morning, I really enjoyed the company, thanks guys.

My pleasure

One of our daughters had a couple of operations in hospital last week, so for the time being we are staying close at hand in case we are needed. She has three children of her own and also looks after her nephews and nieces for a couple of hours most days. Being female, she is very independent and so we have not done a great deal to help out at the moment. The river trout season is over for another year so with the exception of taking two of the grandchildren for a couple of hours on a local canal my fishing tackle remains unused.

The recent spate of dismal, overcast days has made it difficult to carry out any close work but still I have tried to produce a couple of items in leather. Some months back, I made a fairly basic fly case which has worked very well and I now felt that I could do a better job so I passed a few hours by making a second one. The functionality of the first case was good, it was the appearance that I was not happy with. On this latest item I added some leather sides which needed to be "box stitched" in place, I have never box stitched before so it would be good practice I thought. I had a trial run with a couple of bits of scrap and then set about things for real. I took my time, cursed a lot and ended up with this. For a first attempt, I was quite happy with the outcome, it is both strong and neat. Because the light was so poor I decided against hand carving (or incising as it is also known) and stamped a trout design along with my initials.

I continued the stitching all around the edge of the pouch, this serves two purposes, the first is to stop the leather from stretching so much with use and the second, to enhance the overall appearance. The inside contains a piece of dense, closed cell foam to accommodate the flies. Our oldest granddaughter is now a "Guide" and she asked if I could make a woggle for her. Having three daughters, I understand the importance of fashion accessories so I made a small selection in order that she could vary this most prestigious of Guide uniform items. She seemed suitably impressed and I was rewarded with thanks and a big hug. Molly, it was my pleasure.

Boys stuff

As we are not far from the family at present, we asked if our two oldest grandsons would like a weekend in the truck and maybe, do a spot of fishing. Well, of course they couldn't get here fast enough, armed with sufficient bedding, clothing, goodie bags and fishing tackle for a fortnight. All week the fishing had been quite fair but Friday it rained heavily all day and the river resembled a chocolate fountain but none the less, half hour after their arrival we went fishing. The evening was warm, and the light started to fade but both boys managed to catch a couple of minnows each in no time at all. It soon became evident that there was a pike close by, little fish making frantic darts to escape this marauder, getting airborne and landing on the water like a handful of thrown gravel. Imagine my surprise, when following a large splash "T" shouted "Grandpa. Help." His little four foot rod bent almost double as he wrestled with a pike. In no time the fish was off but the buzz and excitement that it caused continued well into darkness. Saturday, the weather was much more pleasant, it was warm with long sunny periods but sadly the river was still virtually unfishable due to its colour. That said, the boys had a fantastic day, pulling minnows from the water one after another, from about 08:30am until 6:50pm with only short breaks for essential things like toilet breaks and food. In the evening we all sat and watched "Merlin" on TV as the boys slowly unwound before bed. Sadly, most of Saturday night it rained again, making the river rise significantly and the daylight hours saw no break in the deluge. Fishing would have been both fruitless and dangerous and by midday the boys were on their way home, eager to do the homework that they had put off all week. So, to their Moms, sorry about all of the washing, and to the lads, hope you had fun, we'll have to do it again one day.

Strange feelings

Yesterday the truck had it's annual service, oil, all of the filters and the timing belt were replaced, we always use the same mechanic because he is good and his pricing is fair. Due to our circumstances he usually carries out any work while we are on a campsite and can stay in the truck. Yesterday however, he did the work in his unit, because of the timing belt change, not a pleasant job, as access is difficult, rather like wall papering a hall way through a letter box. The weather was good and we took ourselves off into nearby Burton upon Trent to pass the time. We enjoyed the morning mooching around looking at things that we could not afford etc. and on the return journey we called in at Barton marina. We had a walk around the shops there and of course, the trout lakes that could be fished for a price beyond our budget limitations. All morning I was distracted, it's the truck you see, being in the care of a different custodian, however careful and well trusted was not conducive to a settled mind. It was rather like a close relative having some minor surgery and just waiting for it all to be over and that they are well again. It was 1:00 pm when we got back to the truck and what a relief, like coming home after an enforced absence. We both commented about our feelings for the truck and the unpleasantness of being parted. How does this happen? Feelings for inanimate items that are so strong. Is it the journeys we have all made together, the great places that we have seen, the good times we have had, the friends we have made and the problems that we have had to overcome. Or the comfort it provides, the shelter from the cold, the shade from the sun or all of these things married together. I'm sure many people would not understand, but we have a relationship with and an affection for our truck that is difficult to describe and I hope it continues for many more years.

The spark that lit the flame

In 1977 I left the army and began life as a civilian, my father was suffering from severe heart problems, which were probably partly related to some of my active service and he had subsequently spent many weeks off work. Without work or a liveable wage my Dad used to get seriously depressed, two young daughters still at school and a mortgage to pay, etc. I imagine he felt awful.

One day while cleaning my old mini, I got chatting to a guy who had a 1964 Bedford Dormobile for sale, the thought of cheap holidays for my parents and sisters (something they had not had for several years) not to mention myself and the then tidy sum of fifty pounds changed hands. For the next few weeks my Dad was in his element, slowly repairing and preparing this old bus. With all necessary work carried out my Dad, Mom and sisters set off to Weymouth for a their holiday. Sadly, a few days into this holiday, my Dad suffered another heart attack and was cared for in the local hospital. He never returned home and of course the family were devastated. A few weeks later my brother and I returned to Weymouth to recover that old Bedford. My memory of what happened to that camper is a blank, I do know that I never got to use it.

Today, I saw an old but tidy Bedford Dormobile that brought all of those memories flooding back. The roof lifts up at an angle of about 45 degrees and two bunks are suspended in the cutaway of the roof. The kitchen is at the rear and consists of nothing more than a two burner hob and grill and a few small cupboards. There is no on board toilet, fridge or heater. By today's standards, it would not really qualify as much more than a poorly equipped "day van" but for me it was the spark that lit the flame. Those young mans thoughts of limitless holidays with maybe a girlfriend or two, going anywhere desire would take me, made more of an impression than I realised at the time. The fixed bed in our current van is just about the size of the complete interior of this old van, we can stand comfortably anywhere inside without having to lift the roof up and when the days are cold we turn on the central heating. My word, how things have changed. This Bedford is 46 years old and it has probably worn better than myself, I can not imagine what improvements motorhomes will have when our current van is a similar age.

Tales of the river bank

Over the weekend I treated myself to a new fishing rod, and while I was waiting for the opportunity to put it to use I made a few flies. Because the trout season is almost at an end for 2010, the flies that I tied are some that I understand to be useful for tempting grayling. Today, we changed location, to a site in Staffordshire with a very small but pleasant river running through it. I have caught grayling here before, all I had to do now was to find them. The river bank was very overgrown and access to the water was difficult but with care not impossible. Despite the recent rainfall the river level was low, add to that the amount of vegetation which invaded the water and the river in places was not much more than a trickle. It took only half an hour or so to find signs of fish feeding and so I made my way into the flow and began fishing. A kingfisher flashed under my rod, skimming the water with wings whirring quietly and banking sharply round an upstream bend. My attention back on my fly and a fish jumped noisily, close to my fly. Within seconds another splosh as it snatched my fly below the surface. The line tightened and my rod bent into a tight curve as the fish headed off downstream. It was a good fish, my tackle was light so I played it slowly and cautiously so as not to break the fine line that was tied to the fly. I soon saw that the fish was a chub, clean bright silver with bright orange fins. I have never landed a chub before, I released it as quickly as possible and watched it swim away. While my heart settled, I rolled and smoked a cigarette as I changed the fly for another that I had made. The kingfisher, flashed by, in the opposite direction and distracted me momentarily. I fished on and it wasn't many minutes before my fly was attacked with a vicious attack by a grayling. Carefully again, I brought it to the net, but this time it took a little longer. I was impressed with the performance of the rod and also with my concoction of fur and feather. For me, a rewarding hour or two and I returned to the truck quite satisfied, for the time being.

Transition

We have made a move back to Staffordshire, we have to make the transition from summer to winter equipment. It is a chore that neither of us enjoy, but because space in the truck is somewhat restricted we have to do this at least twice a year. Any summer weight clothing gets ousted and replaced with more seasonal items. We put in larger electric heaters and a few electric cooking devices, we will be paying for electric hook ups now and so we use it. Our movements usually get more restricted at this time of year because hard standing also becomes a priority, three and a half tons on wet grass with front wheel drive can get entertaining, particularly after being in one spot for more than a day. We learnt long ago to always carry and park on heavy duty rubber mats, it can often provide enough traction to move out of the depressions in the ground caused by the wheels in order to get moving and when the ground is very wet we have used them to slowly lay tracks until firmer ground is reached.

The trout season is coming to an end and so my fishing excursions will be to target Grayling instead, I have tied a few new flies in preparation. This year I need to review the internal lighting in the truck, our ageing eyes struggle in all but the best light, to do close work and given both of our hobbies this can be restricting.

There are good points about being out through the winter, everywhere is generally quieter, the views open up with less foliage about and we usually see more wildlife as a result. Access to the river banks is less of a struggle and the atmosphere seems crisper for photography. So, with October round the corner and Christmas a few weeks away, we hope to be ready.

Just routine

The last day or so I have received a couple of complaints about the lack of input to "The Trail", well I have been sometimes lazy and others busy, you know, just routine. We left Staffordshire and headed off for Wales about a month ago, the nearer to the coast we got, the wilder the weather became. Had we made a mistake? As things turned out, not at all. The first hour on the site we sat indoors while the rain hammered the roof then for three weeks we could almost count the rain drops. We were back on the Lleyn peninsula, a favourite place for us. During the first day or two we met a guy called "Mac", a real gentleman who spent a great deal of his time giving me tuition with my fly fishing technique and half the contents of his fly box. We spent many happy hours together, enjoying our pass time and putting the world to rights. About a week into our stay, we were joined by our good friend Andy from Yorkshire. The same day, our friend Damon and his wife Erica arrived from Bolton in their 1966 Ford Cortina 1600E which had been restored to a very high standard. It was great to see everyone again. Over the week, we spent much time together, had loads of laughs and of course a little fishing.

Last Thursday we departed Wales bound for Malpas in Cheshire. We went to the vintage vehicle rally where we had a good few days before moving here to Shrewsbury. Odd days here and there, I have tried to extend my leather work ability, specially the tooling process. I have made a few belts, they fascinate me somewhat and every stage is a challenge for me.This is one that I attempted, in a traditional design, of the style that is used in America. The pattern repeats about every eight inches and is 1 1/2 inches wide. I have to say, I did not find it easy, sitting in the sunshine, ten feet from the river and listening to the trout splash every now and again as they snapped up some tasty unfortunate fly. From start to finish, this belt took about 25 hours to complete. This next belt is a pictorial carving making a continually changing North American scene as it is viewed along its length. I do not feel that the photograph does it justice, as it looks a little "flat" seen in this way. I made this belt because Pat kept on at me to give it a try, as it happens, I think that it has turned out OK. I haven't posted pictures of it's full length, but here is a little more.

The nights here have been punctuated by the heavy throb of low flying Chinook helicopters, I wish they would come over in the daylight, I love to see this aircraft. Yesterday we had home made apple pie and custard, which was made with apples that Pat took from an adjacent tree. Trouble is, she made so much that we could not eat it all and so she gave half of it away and for my evening meal today, I ate the last of the trout that I had in the freezer box. So that's it, you're up to date.

More leather stuff

Recently Pat discovered a leather merchant in Skipton, North Yorkshire, so one day last week we took a mad dash up the motorway to see what they had on offer. We left with enough leather to keep me busy for a while, the truck weight was up and my wallet weight was seriously down. Over the last week I have been having a little go at making some different bits, I began with a couple of simple belts. The top belt is made so that the buckle can be changed therefor there is no stitching. I then had a go at a small hand bag, very plain but functional. I have to say this was a bit of an experiment to see if I could get the pattern right. It is my intention to make some more elaborate bags in the future with a little carving or tooling for decoration. Finally, over the last couple of days or so, I made a carved and tooled belt, it may seem a small item but it took more time than anything that I have made so far.

I need a spot of fishing now, got to have a rest.

Early September?

It seems like the dust on the trail has settled a little just lately, it was our intention to have a week or two in Somerset, then our plans changed slightly and we were to go to Dorset instead. For one reason or another we will not now be visiting Dorset either, so what do we do? I have absolutely no idea. We have been holed up in Staffordshire on a new site that is quite close to the house, in fact, we can almost see it. We have been here for just over a week, I have been busy with the leather and Pat has made up a lot of new pieces of jewellery, sadly there is no fishing here or I may have been trying to bend my rod too. The mornings of late have been cooler (this morning was 9 deg. C)and I can't help feeling that September has come early, so we have been pleased that we have an electric hook up for a change. So, all's been quite dull I'm afraid, perhaps not such a bad thing while the country is taking it's annual summer break.

"Belting"

It's that time again. Time for my recurring summer apology, I really struggle to "Blog" during these days of warmth and long light evenings. I just cannot be indoors, there is too much time for that in the winter, so; sorry all. I have not been idle, far from it in fact, from the Lleyn peninsular after refreshing many old friendships we made our way up the coast to Anglesey, to one of our favourite haunts at Holyhead. We spent a week or so there and met up with lots more old friends. It has been really good to see everyone is well and smiling. We have some of the most amazing friends, and most of them would do almost any thing to help us out, should we need it. So while I think about it, to all of our friends and family thanks, you are all diamonds and I love ya. We are currently in Staffordshire for a few days and then who knows, maybe back to the coast for a paddle. I could do with a holiday. The last couple of days I have been working the hide some more, I have a fancy for making some elaborate belts, so I have been having a little practice to see what designs I could come up with, these are some of those I have done so far. Judging by the time that these small pieces have taken a full length belt is likely to take me about eight hours or so.(Glad I'm still only a 32" waist.) Maybe I should belt up now, so, catch ya'll later. Keep safe.

Some more bits I made

The last few days I have been keeping myself busy one way or another, I have done a spot of fly fishing and topped up the freezer box in the fridge with some nice wild trout and I have tied a few flies to replace all of those that I have lost in the process. I have spent a little time making some leather pieces, new colours and new designs. The bracelets took me a while to work out the button on the end but I did not want to use metal closures as they are just not strong enough.

These small pouches have a leather loop inside with a split ring attached and so can be used to hold keys as well as small items or coins etc.

The pouch on the left is one that I made to take a multi tool and is probably my favourite piece, it took a full day to make and dye but the other two I made a little more quickly because I had already worked out the pattern and assembly method. All of these items I made without the use of any electricity and are entirely hand crafted.

Strange, but true.

There are occasions in my life where odd things happen, most people would call them coincidence, I call them strange. This weekend, we put in an appearance at the Denbigh Country Show where lots of things were laid on to entertain the public, one of which was a display of classic cars. Many years ago I owned a Mini, which was the source of a few thrills and spills in my younger days and so, seeing a couple of this now rapidly declining species I took a closer look. The first car was rather pink and girlie, but very well modified and presented, the second a blue car, that was a little more sporty and equally well turned out. I walked round the cars and took a couple of pictures before I spotted anything odd. One of our daughters is called Rosie and likes all things pink, one of our granddaughters is called Molly and seems to be turning quite sporty. You may now understand my surprise when seeing the names on the back of each car.

Whilst talking with the guy who did the restorations and explaining the coincidence he told me of a third car that he was currently working on called Millie, now I find that strange, because we also have a granddaughter called Millie.