vision for the future

I had an optometrist in New Zealand who, when asked whether he thought a person needed to get new glasses, would say, “Well that's up to you. Me, I'm addicted to clear vision...” Well, my birthday parcel has arrived at last (a little late for the actual day)—a high quality pair of Pentax binoculars—so I will finally be getting some of that clear vision, of the birds we try to see on our various outings.

I put the binoculars through initial paces this afternoon and they are truly most impressive... to be seen (through) to be believed. They are phase coated, nitrogen purged, all sorts of Star Trek-sounding superlatives, but so far they appear to live up to the excellent reviews they've received. They're clearly well made and this is is a 30th birthday present that I expect to still be using on my 60th. I was reflecting I have few if any other possessions I expect to last that long.

My ex-supervisor Nancy and her husband Tim hold a wealth of ornithological expertise between them. A while back Tim took a look at our (latterly much neglected) bird page on this site and said to Nancy, “They don't have binoculars!” Well at the very least we hope to be able to add some of those common but less obvious birds real soon...

five days in a leaky office

The last time I had a job where I spent five days in a row in the same office was in 1999. With my recent change in role I'm back in that situation again. Even back in '99 I was doing multiple roles: working on my dissertation, tutoring at the university, and doing clinical placement work. Not a whole lot has changed. Like the Hong Kong in China “One Country, Two Systems", I've moved to a One Office, Two Jobs arrangement. But hopefully it'll give me some additional sanity.

It sure messes with the rhythm of your week though. Since Wednesday I've been feeling like it must be Friday, not used to spending so much time padding the same corridors. I've also re-arranged how I spend my time at that office, with the job that used to occupy Fridays being moved to Thursdays. I did this for various perfectly sensible reasons, but boy, did Thursday feel like Friday! (Much more so than today did. Go figure.) However, if this week is anything to go by then I'm going to find myself feeling much more “sorted” with my new reduced role—down to two jobs (one enlarged) from the old three. I think it's reasonable to say having juggled multiple roles in a range of places, I've become about as efficient as I can in doing that, and have got pretty good at it. For the last year though, I've come to strongly believe that no matter how efficient you get when juggling multiple roles, you simply can never be as effective in that situation. So watch out world, cause I'm getting focus!

Focusing will be an important part of the mechanism of my gadgetry delight that is wending its way to me, even as we speak. Unfortunately, I've discovered Amazon were good enough to upgrade my shipping from first class Royal Mail to shipping with Royal Mail's courier company. Either way, it would be delivered overnight—providing tomorrow was a working day. Unfortunately, the couriers don't deliver on the weekend though, so with the Bank Holiday on Monday I now know I'll be waiting till Tuesday. D'oh. Why didn't I order on Wednesday? (I am so not good at waiting. Please never tell me about a surprise until literally seconds before it arrives!) So hopefully it will rain all weekend, so I won't feel so hard done by. And no. It's not a camera. Or a computer.

If I have to wait, so do you.   : )

bon voyage

With tears from the womenfolk, (who are just more in touch with the fuzzy parts of life, even in the family of a psychologist), Bronwyn's parents flew out from London yesterday, en route to home in New Zealand. Modern reli-communications (you know, phone calls to Mum) close the miles a lot, but there is no substitute for the up close and personful... Eighteen months since we flew out of Auckland airport, it was a well-timed visit. People make jokes about their in-laws frequently; someone said similar to me this last week, even in front of David and Jenny! But I've really no idea what it is like to have difficult in-laws, or in-laws that you don't get on with or who try to run your lives... David and Jenny are not like that one iota. Thank you David and Jenny for being such great parents for Bronwyn, and for being so amazingly welcoming of me becoming part of your family over the last ten years.

I think it's been quite a hard couple of months for me—perhaps more than I was realising at the time. Bronwyn being sick was a stressful time, and us travelling plus having people coming to stay immediately afterward was pretty full-on. (Any people would have been the same; it just happened to be David and Jenny.) I'm growing to know myself better, and over the last few years have started to see my need for mental and physical space more... I suspect it is exacerbated by having such a people-focussed job too. Anyway, with the best efforts of the five other people in the household lately, I think I've been a bit like a caged, well, why does it have to be a bear... 6 foot angry squirrel? “Grumpy is as grumpy does.” Not my nicest image to project to the in-laws. Sorry David and Jenny for the times when I threw my peanut husks around the squirrel nest over the last five weeks—I'm not always like that.   : )

Another thing that got a bit steamrollered what with hospitalisations and things was my birthday. Bronwyn and I had quite a while ago decided what we were going to get me, something quite me and more substantial than usual considering the roundness of the birthday, shall we say. In all the kerfuffel I wasn't able to do the research I wanted to in order to pick the final item. Well at last today I've placed an order, and it's now changed from “Not yet dispatched” to “Preparing for dispatch”... I'm hoping it may arrive on Saturday, for me to play with over the bank holiday weekend. A little late, but I'm all birthday excited, at last!

ob-blog-gations

Good friend Colin emailed me this morning, politely asking whether I'd got his email that had asked whether I'd got his previous, news-filled, witty, and informative email (my description, not his). I had.

I want to reassure all our friends and correspondents that our email addresses are still working! We've read all the emails you've sent us, and all the comments that have been left on this blog, over the last nearly two months. The reality is though that personalised outgoings have been more than a little sparse from here lately... I've managed to keep up regular blog updates, figuring it was a good option for mass-communication for those who want to know. Around the time Bronwyn was ill with viral meningitis I was sending out email updates too, though they're really no longer necessary—I'll probably send out a wrap-up email this weekend. But we've not exactly kept up to date with our distance friendship obligations, and we're sorry about that. Hang in there with us people.

We're expecting things will be getting back to a more standard schedule from mid-next week, after the rollercoaster of Bronwyn's illness, followed by her parents visit here over the last month (they fly home Wednesday) and our two trips away. For Bronwyn, she's still got just under three more weeks holiday till her new job starts, to recuperate further and get organised. At this stage she is only lined up for three days a week in any case, so can make a gradual return to work if required.

In that same period, I hope to finally be responding to those of you who've been in touch over this last while. But don't hold this as a promise... Just lately we seem to be cursed with “interesting times”.

london bound

I have paused to consume a cheddar cheese, tomato & pickle bloomer (looked like a sandwich to me) labelled “Fresh”. (I'm glad I didn't get the other one.) This isn't Lufthansa so there is no wireless broadband on this 55-minute BMI flight to London, but we have achieved cruising altitude (my spell checker suggests “cursing” here) and the seatbelt sign is now off, so I can at least archive this for uploading when we're home.

What was Scotland? I have for years had a desire to go to Scotland. I'm not entirely sure just why, to be honest. It was just there, calling me. Well I have been. I am somewhat disappointed that, probably partly due to the weather we've had, I didn't see as much of the breathtaking scenery that I've seen in some photos of Scotland. I suspect also that much of the best views of Scotland are well off the beaten track, and realistically, trying to see a large swathe of the country in a week, we mostly only had time for standard scheduled beatings. Erm. However, we saw some lovely highland lochs, glens, and moors. Having done quite a bit of deleting of less good photos already, I'm left with 272 photos to enjoy. (Gotta love that digital workflow.)

The people we met in Scotland were warm and welcoming. Some of them were even Scottish, though it's interesting how many English people you find running B&Bs in far flung parts of this united kingdom. We had literally record-breaking rainfalls for August during this trip, the worst brunt mostly in Scotland. (Though worst hit was a small town in Cornwall which yesterday was virtually washed away into the sea in a freak flash flood, including 50 cars washed into the harbour, though incredibly no one died.) Despite the weather however, we managed to see the country and experience another place. I feel I've come away with a sense of Scotland, and it's a place I'd be happy to live. Admittedly, even with the rainfall it was around 20 degrees each day, not exactly year-round-typical for Scotland. Perhaps a winter there would give pause for thought. Nonetheless, here's to Scotland, a place of good heart and good people. You can come visit any time.

Postscript: We're home... It's funny to think that this big city London is now what I call home.

a tattoo in a foreign land

Downtown was where our action was going to be at today. We headed into central Edinburgh, eschewing the rental car in favour of the bus system having decided that parking for the day in the city wasn't going to be the thing. And we knew we would be home late as we had tickets for the tattoo.

We spent the best part of the day ambling “The Royal Mile", taking in street performers and the local sights... David and I made a visit to the Camera Obscura, a marvel in the late 1800s to those who did not consider it witchcraft, and still a good example of clever simple technology. The views from the tower, a neighbour to Edinburgh Castle, are excellent and almost worth the climb and the fee in themselves. Continuing the optical theme, they display a series of unusually-shaped mirrors, visual illusions, holograms, and so on as well. An optical feast, without resorting to Indiana Jones-style cuisine. Meanwhile Bronwyn and Jenny did whatever it is that women do when they visit shops and mostly fail to buy things—as I said in my wedding vows, “and endeavour to understand you...” (emphasis added).

At the foot of the Royal Mile lies the Palace of Hollyrood House, the Queen's official residence in Scotland. Directly opposite is the still-under-construction Scottish Parliament, a few months past schedule and a whopping ten times over the original budget (that was already millions of pounds). It does look like a very nice building from the outside, though funky and modern rather than appearing to fit in any sense with the surroundings, from my casual observation. We were unable to visit due to the busy demolition occurring around the building. (It is possible this activity represented construction. But is it also possible that I have stumbled across the cause of the massive budget overruns? Ah!)

Lunch, dinner, ice cream passed, not in that order. We marked time in attractive surroundings for the main event of the day (the tickets modestly declared “The Event of the Year"), the Edinburgh Military Tattoo. We booked our tickets at the start of April, which meant we were just able to get seats for this Monday night show. It was as always completely sold out long before it started. A fully outdoor event, held on the forecourt of the castle, we were glad when the weather improved from heavy rain in the morning to just enough clouds to offset the sunset in the evening. (Especially as our B&B host later told us it had poured with rain there all evening.) It was a mission in itself to get the people up the narrow street, past security and ticket cheques, and into their pre-assigned seating. David fortunately discovered his currently-problematic leg seemed to be better on uneven cobbled streets than on the flat, which was a help! Finally, after dislodging some Germans who seemed to have failed to understand the distinction between “North Stand” and “South Stand” we were ready for the show.

The Tattoo is a little hard to describe. The first thing is the scale. At the finale I estimated there were about 450 performers on stage—counting is made somewhat easier by their penchant for lining up in rows! Bronwyn noted that there were a lot more older people than youthful types in the audience, but you can't beat over a hundred people playing the bagpipes in full highland garb for the wow factor. They were even trying to cater to a more modern taste—I can honestly say I never expected to hear a military brass band playing an S-Club 7 song. (It wasn't as bad as that oh-so-cringe-efinitly sounds.) They had performers from all over the world, including the South African Army brass band, the People's Liberation Army of China band, and even a Highland Pipe band from lil' old Invercargill, New Zealand, who played as part of the massed band. There were dancers from India, from somewhere-we-didn't-catch in South America, and from an exotic place called Australia. There were fireworks, a quartet for the Last Post, the Lone Piper, and even an Air Force jet flyover. We enjoyed it. And I'd like to say I'm fully convinced and reassured as it did convincingly justify the annual billions of pounds of military expenditure.

(Read that last sentence carefully.) We found the right bus stop home, a bit of a walk for David but at least we knew the bus stopped quite near our B&B at the other end. It was about 11:15pm though and it turned out our route... oh, it's too mind-numbingly painful to subject you to all the details. Let's just summarise by saying we got home safe and sound, but much later than planned, and it required a long (unnecessary) walk and a further (quite short) taxi journey to get us home safe and sound. How we look forward to being home tomorrow to London, where the public transport problems are known and predictable instead.  : )

six down (cryptic): birds & boats enlighten, floodlit or unlit

We decided to make the most of improved weather and headed this morning to the Scottish Seabird Centre. This award-winning tourist site is based on a peninsula of the mainland, close (ie. within five miles) of a number of offshore islands that are important breeding sites for seabirds. They have high-powered telescopes on a viewing platform that enable you to observe birds on the water and the islands (particularly the closer ones). They also have projection screens displaying video images from three cameras on the islands, which you can pan, tilt, and zoom to observe the birds to your heart's content. The images you are selecting are simultaneously streamed on the net for viewers around the world. Now Puffins were the hope of the day, though initial information was we were a few weeks too late and they had left the Islands. However, further discussions revealed a few straggling juveniles had been spotted floating on the firth, yet to fly to wider seas. Sure enough, after some scanning with the scopes on the observation deck, and some help from an experienced member of their permanent staff, we found some Puffins! I can leave Scotland a happy man. We also saw Gannets, various Gulls and Turns, Cormorants, and possibly some Eider species. I like this stuff.

We continued the aquatic/avian theme this afternoon with a cruise out to Inchcombe Island in the Firth of Forth. Our journey passed under the impressive mile-long Victorian Forth Bridge. The island has the well-preserved ruins of a 12th century abbey, and was a nice place to pass the afternoon spotting further birds and even the odd Seal.

We headed into the city this evening where after grabbing some dinner we went to church at the massive St Peter and St Georges' Episcopalian church, part of the worldwide Anglican Communion. It was a warm, upbeat service, with about 400 people present. It was the kind of place I'd be happy to be a member. They didn't use much in the way of Anglican liturgy, but what they did was word-for-word the same as the New Zealand Prayer Book, bar one entirely new section. Familiar rhythms of the past, present and future.

We walked the city for a shot while, admiring floodlit architectural grandeur. David's leg acting as the voice of reason for all of us, however, we headed back to the car and wound our way home. The last few miles of the unfamiliar route we found streets and houses pitch black. After a couple of intersections with similarly darkened traffic lights, we realised we were driving through a power cut. It is eerie driving through such a ghost town—we rely so much on our human “let there still be light”. Finally, as we neared our destination we found again-lit streets and arrived at a B&B recently reactivated from three hours without power. So in a celebration of the possibilities electricity brings to life, Bronwyn and I watched a documentary on the construction of “Boy Bands” through the years. Ah, the pinnacle of our civilisation.

the nature of time

Pitlochry hosts a hydroelectric dam, a familiar sight from New Zealand. This one sports Salmon steps, that enable the spawning fish to make their way gradually from the river below up to the dam to continue into the river beyond. Due to the recent storm and floods, all that could be seen through the viewing platform appeared to be swirling silt. However, a chance close encounter with a fish that swam nearer the glass erminded me of the need for patience in observing nature. In the 20 minutes I stood watching the windows I saw one further fish. In that time, quite a few other people came to look, but they never stayed longer than 20-30 seconds. “You'd be here all year to see a fish", one commented to another. Nope, just 10 minutes. But who has the time?

The recent storms had caused a landslip on the A9 that continued to disrupt traffic today, and as we arrived at the Ballinluig turnoff we hit the start of the logjam. A scan through radio stations found a local channel that reported the delays were further complicated by a car that had broken down. An alternate route was needed. As the queue crept forward and opportunity presented itself to take an alternate route, which started with a U-turn. And the alternate route worked out fine. Now, throughout this trip I've been doing most of the driving. This has gone pretty smoothly, but there have been a number of “critical” incidents where a sudden decision required navigation input. On unfamiliar roads split-second decisions feel pressured and overly important. (Would it really matter if I took the wrong road?) So I'd like to say a quiet sorry to my passengers. I think I need to learn to chill out about split-second driving decisions. (But who has the time?)

Our detour enabled us to take in Stirling Castle. This impressive fortress stands on the top of an imposing hill from which you can quite literally see for miles. Much of the castle is in good condition, and it was sufficiently interesting to visit even when we've been to a few castles before. They say, apparently, “Control Stirling and you control the country", so presumably the “Historic Scotland Trust party” could clean up in the next election, should they wish to exert a stranglehold on the fledgling Scottish parliament. But who has the time...

We arrived in Edinburgh to our only B&B we're staying in more than one night. Mrs Aitken is, fortunately, nice as pie, although perhaps at times has five kind words where four would do. Ironically, though we're here three nights, Bronwyn and I are to be moved tomorrow night to a larger room, so we can't get too settled just yet. Perhaps we'll get ourselves more organised tomorrow.

(But who has the time!)

wired in pitlochry

Despite a hopeful try for a wifi connection at each night stop, and a short period of wardriving today while waiting to pick up the whanau from shopping (ten wifi networks found, none open), today is my first opportunity to access the internet since we arrived in Scotland. Thank goodness, I was getting deinternetium tremens. I'd done some writing though about the earlier part of our trip, which I've now uploaded. (Make that re-typed; the backpackers were happy for me to try connecting my iBook to their broadband connection, but their USB modem didn't seem Mac friendly.)

Anyway... We explored Inverness this morning, making a few tasteful souvenier purchases along the way (you know, things like 8 foot long inflatable Scottish thistles, small things like that). From there we headed down the most newsworthy A9, the road that has been making regular headlines here lately. In the heavy rain I talked about on Tuesday, a massive landslide wiped out a significant section of this road. Eventually we figured out yesterday that the affected section of road was south of Piclochry, so have known we'd be able to get this far without problems. However, our original route had us driving the affected section of road tomorrow. Well, it's now open, if you're currently willing to accept 120 minute delays. We may explore alternatives tomorrow, perchance.

So along the northern unaffected section of that road we travelled this morning, stopping in at a rather unusual theme park. It was originally set up around a theme of timber, and is set in the centre of a major forestry region. They have a steam engine-driven sawmill doing demonstrations (remarkably interesting, actually) and a walking path that goes up into the trees to enable you to see the woods from a variety of heights. And Red Squirrels. Ah, now you've got our attention.

You see, the Grey Squirrels that live in our garden in Wimbledon are in fact North American imports. And like they USA human counterparts, the Grey Squirrels are larger, more aggressive, and more use more resources than the native Reg Squirrel counterparts. Over the years since the Grey Squirrel was introduced to Great Britain, they have taken over the habitat of the smaller Red Squirrel and have pushed it out. The Red Squirrel can thus now only be seen in the far north. We walked around the entire woodlands walk area at this park, intent to see a Red Squirrel but without success. So we sat for lunch, quietly. After 20 minutes, there it was, on the trunk of a tree some distance away: clearly a Red Squirrel. It was there long enough for us all to see it, too briefly to consider photography. Then it was gone.

We walked on, satisfied to know we had at least glimpsed one of these endangered creatures, knowing that most visitors to the park were unlikely to see one if this was the patience required. And walked around the corner, to an animal feeding area. There, with easy food provided by the park, a couple of Red Squirrels quite happily helped themselves from the feeders while crowds of tourists watched on... Irony. At least we got our photo.

Later, at a Royal Society for the Protection of Birds site for the endangered Osprey, we drove down a quite wooded lane and suddenly saw, crossing in front of us, a quite fearless Red Squirrel. To see another completely wild, in this isolated spot was great. A moment later, we saw through the woods a couple of wild deer, staring intently back at us. We made a brief connection with the wild. From the road, we saw a large raptor, perhaps one of the so-rare Osprey, wheeling overhead. This is a great land.

So we arrive in Pitlochry, a cute town, and check into the local Backpackers. A concession to us all, we're staying in private rooms rather than dorms—not sure how David and Jenny, or the other dorm residents, would have handled the alternative! Surprised to find ensuites and even TVs in our double rooms. The bad weather of earlier in the week a distant memory. We eat dinner in a park under clear skies, then wander the streets eating ice cream in fading evening light.

Tomorrow, to Edinburgh!

road to inverness and beyond

As we left Fort William this morning the weather was clearer, and we caught what we believe was our first relatively unobstructed view of Ben Nevis as we left town. Having conquered (ahem) Mt Snowdon—the highest mountain in Wales (and England)—we'd wondered whether to set our sites here, as Ben Nevis is the highest mountain in all of Great Britain. Practicalities of the trip had ruled this out in the end, and a good thing considering Bronwyn's recent health. The final icing on the decision though is the weather here over the last few days—we wouldn't have been climbing regardless. Ah well. Another trip?

Port Augustus lies at the southern end of the 23 mile-long spear of water known as Loch Ness. ("Here be dragons”.) The town bustled with tourists as we arrived about midday to the airs of a busking highland piper. At the time, a group of about eight fairly big boats were being taken up the seven lock system from Loch Ness to the canal system which I believe was some 13 metres above. We watched as this marvel of 19th century engineering moved these boats uphill (assisted with a few hydrolics to take part of the backwork out of it). It took about eight minutes per lock, so a relatively leisurely process including the boats being pulled through to each next lock by hand, using ropes from the shore. Huh.

It's a sure sign of a heavily touristed area when the local animals are in on the game. You see this of course with birds and squirrels at picnic areas, but we saw a new one today. A dog, belonging to an older woman who lived on the main road, stood behind its iron gate. It dropped its tennis ball and watched as it rolled through the fence. It then stood mornfully staring at the ball as people passed by. Soon, some sap's heart melted—this was a cute dog—and picked up the ball, throwing it into the back of the yard. The enlivened dog jumped up, retrieved the ball joyfully, then returned to the fence where it dropped the ball and oh! it's rolled under the fence. Engage puppy-eyes mode. Who needs canine prozac?

The Lochs are swolen with recent flooding. As we drove down the less busy eastern side of Loch Ness we stopped at the Foyer Falls. The water looked as though it originated from a leak in a Coca Cola factory. Unsure if this is the way these falls always look, but we imagine that something is washing down thanks to Mr Flood. (A new vein of those natural ingredients that make up Coke has been uncovered, perhaps?)

Largely random driving in the right area of Inverness brought us upon our B&B, where Bronwyn and I ended up in a room bigger than many London flats. From there we pushed further north for the evening, exploring country lanes and visiting two RSPB bird sanctuary sites—one in woodlands, one an estuary. (One day I must update our bird page with all the sightings I've jotted down on slips of paper over the last year or so.) Dinner eaten at Cromarty, where four oil rigs loomed like grotesque mechanical ghosts out of the mist on the bay. This harbour is both hospital and cemetary to these most strange, impressive, yet destructive form of constructed marine life. We slank back to Inverness, no sense of righteous petroleum-fuelled anger, since our very mode of travel made us complicit in this crime.

steamy windows, or... from harry with love

We made a brisk start to reach our evening's destination of Fort William by 10am today, as we were prebooked on the West Highland Railway, a journey by steam from there to the coast and back. The weather was overcast and steamy, and the day's reputation threatened precipitation. We made good time to the train and even eventually found our seats. An impulse to clean the prior rain off the outside of our window, from the platform before departure, was well rewarded. Despite further rainfall throughout much of the journey our view was remark-edly better than that of our fellow passengers!

Highland countryside is beautiful, at times rugged, at times ethereal in the mist. Tiny islands floated on ragged slivers of silver water in slashes hewn from the glens. We puffed along in the steam train that has eclipsed its own long previous service to become most famous these days for appearing in the Harry Potter movies. The sighting of a frog at one stop along the way was thus imbued with hidden meaning for excited younger passengers travelling in the world between reality and imagination.

Our destination Mallaig is primarily a point on a line—from road and rail to sea to Skye (the island, not the air). Even for day-tripping temporary locophiles such as ourselves it was a pause more than a visit. Our purchased lunch was consumed in the rain on a pier, in the well-researched knowledge that Mallaig lacks outdoor shelter for hungry passing souls. Yet there is something about the scale of coastlines that makes this diminished hardship seem a suitable part of the place too.

Our return steam-powered journey passes without incident, and with perhaps slightly improved photo opportunities. David's leg however has him in excruciating pain, following a halted slip on rain-greased decking at Mallaig—the only true dampner on the day.

B&B check-in soon completed, we explore a local castle ruin and the 11-lock “Neptune's Staircase", after earlier catching a glimpse of an enourmous passenger boat making its way down, which must have been reaching the 203ft-long craft limit of that lock system. Dinner then purchased, a traditional Scottish meal handed down to early Highlanders by Chinese explorers, and consumed parked out on a pier into the Loch. Ah Scotland.

crianlarich, scotland

While unexpected guests might sometimes be a positive addition to your holiday, Hurricane Alex probably is one packing wet blankets. Rather than the (relatively) balmy mid-summer weather one might expect in Scotland in August, they've had the usual full-August rainfall in the 48 hours since Monday morning. One of the areas most heavily hit: Sterling, the region we sit squarely within as I write this.

We departed Wimbledon at 8:45am, for a relatively uncomplicated journey to Glasgow (though the District Line was suspended between Earls Court and Wimbledon, of course). We flew ex Heathrow, on BMI for the first time (British Midlands... something). Pleasant. A quick shuttle to pick up our rental from easyCar. Fears of lack of space unfounded, the vehicle a Vauxhall that is surprisingly nice for a budget company... CD player, even. And with good advice from housemates Nick and Hayley (who had a similar car recently) our luggage had been carefully selected and was a perfect fit. Satisfaction gained from the mundane things of life! (If only we'd packed some CDs... we did talk about it.)

A nice drive past Loch Lomond led to a lovely B&B with a view out over the river valley that leads back down to the Loch. I'm enjoying the Scottish accents. Such a novelty, particularly in “official” places, such as airport announcements. Great being here already.

The weather is predicted to do a repeat tomorrow. Meanwhile, we've prepaid day return tickets on the famous highland railway from Fort William to Mallaig, reputed to have the unusual combination of being being both popular and good. Hope we'll be able to see something through the mist.

Och aye the noo.

selen

I returned to work yesterday for my now-you-see-him, now-you-don't act, before we go away again today, which I have to say is definitely the way to return from a holiday. But amongst the familiarity there was something missing: Selen was gone.

Selen's last day at work was while I was on holiday. She had the office next door, and was my colleague and counterpart in the teams we work in. She started as a new grad some months before I arrived, and when I was new to the team she showed me the footholds and told me where the alligators were. In the sixteen months we've been working together there have been some challenging situations we've both had to face. It was good to have a colleague to share them with.

Selen, congratulations for making a positive move to the next stage in your career. Don't forget there is never an end to how much work they will be willing to give you, and to the needs of the people we serve. So we have to pace ourselves for the career-length marathon, not the next-crisis sprint. And maybe sometimes we need to Just Say No!™ Selen, I will miss you being around. May your life journey take you in surprising and good directions.

So here's to Selen. Your office may be empty, but though the name on the door will eventually be changed, your memory won't fade. Keep in touch.

more immediate family

Some progress made on blogging about our recent family history-focussed trip—see below—more to follow tomorrow, hopefully.

In terms of more immediate family, however, I'm pleased to report that my Mum had already been discharged from that hospital by the time I was catching up with the news. While she has to have further tests, it seems this may be an acute exacerbation of something like osteoarthritis, rather than some scary-sounding infection descriptions of which have been include phrases like “destroying the joint in 24 hours” or similar. (Just to emphasise for clarity, that's not what she's got!) Not good to hear there could be ongoing problems, but it is progress that things are being identified and can be appropriately managed. Her mobility remains limited at the moment—she wasn't up to attending church this morning, unusual for her. So if you're so inclined, prayers are always appreciated.

Bronwyn's parents David and Jenny returned to us this evening from 9 days travelling in Europe, now able to talk about countries we've never seen... Nice to have them back again. David's leg continues to give similar trouble and he already had an appointment to see a osteopath tomorrow morning, which he'll certainly be keeping. With Bronwyn's recent illness too, seems like the family is consuming our share of health resources internationally!

On that note, it is perhaps telling that the information written so far about our trip away hasn't even mentioned Bronwyn's health! That's because she's much more close to everything-back-to-normal. She woke most mornings with a headache “behind the eyes” which disappeared on rising. (Almost the opposite of what was happening previously!) The blocking of her ears that was occurring when she was upright has faded and now essentially disappeared. She still doesn't feel she has full energy or fitness, and we modified plans a little, not trying to go hiking on Dartmoor for instance. However, we had a pretty much normal holiday where her recent illness was mostly a non-issue. Most excellent. (Praise God.)

Tomorrow I return for a gruelling working... er, day, before we head off on our next holiday. Yes, Tuesday we fly out with David and Jenny to Scotland! Originally there was going to be just over a week between the two trips, but David and Jenny's Europe trip had to move, meaning so did we. It worked out much better in any case—Bronwyn would not have been up to the trip a week earlier.

No doubt I will be the bane of my workmates tomorrow. ("Ahh, is it Friday already?!") Hehe.

home from the homecoming

We're home from Devon and Cornwall. It'll take us a little time to sort out things here. I've also come home to receive information that my mother has been in hospital with serious knee problems, while my parents were away on holiday, in another part of Australia from where they live. I'll be phoning her once timezones are in alignment. (You know, just like planets, only without the soothsayers.)

Somewhere around all that, I'll blogging about our family history field trip. Despite toting my laptop with me to download photos, I only managed to draft a blog entry for one day. We never found an open wifi network to upload that one and I was too tired by the evening for the rest of the week to blog anyway. Despite that, once they are written I'll shamelessly upload other entries under the days in which the events they describe occurred, rather than the date when I actually wrote them. That means that as they are uploaded over the next day, they'll appear below this entry... It's the blogging equivalent of continuing writing in an exam, well after the “pencils down”.

backs to the (corn)wall

We rose to a warm greeting and a conversational B&B hostess, suggesting earlier judgements were perhaps too harsh. The new working theory was that perhaps she just took time to warm up to people... we'd wondered this since yesterday when she'd been much cheerier to another couple of guests that she'd been with us that morning!

In any case, we soon shipped out heading West down into Cornwall. We'd not originally planned to go to Cornwall, but it became clear people thought Cornwall was pretty wonderful and being so close... We chose a route that took us through the famous Dartmoor National Park, a wide, fairly flat, wilderness area that is reminiscent in places of New Zealand's North Island Central Plateau. We were surprised though how quickly the more desolate parts gave way again to wide green fields, and a delayed photo opportunity became a missed one. The weather was good as we crossed Dartmoor, as it has been pretty much all week, and I suspect that gave a different feel. We are told Dartmoor is frequently enveloped in smothering fogs and mist, at which point I suspect “wide green fields” might look considerably more menacing. We didn't venture from the road either, as while Bronwyn is much improved she is still not up to the exertion of hiking. Lost, miles from the road, in the fog, that starts to sound like the Dartmoor we've heard of. Maybe next time? (We'll be the ones carrying wet weather gear, emergency food, a first aid kit, compasses, and a map, like all good kiwis!)

Into Cornwall we headed for the famous Eden Project, home to a biome that is the world's largest conservatory, as well as another that rivals it in scale. These impressive structures house a myriad of tropical and subtropical plants that you could never see growing in the UK under normal conditions. And like a modern zoo, the plants were grown in natural habitats, not lined up in a glasshouse in your Grandmother's botanical gardens. We thoroughly enjoyed our visit, and would recommend it to anyone going to Cornwall. Highlights for me were seeing Cashews growing—ever since we once looked this up in an encyclopaedia I've loved telling people, “They're not a nut, they're an extrusion you know!” Interesting to finally see them. Also the plant that cocoa and therefore chocolate comes from, which had large fruit the size of a medium melon that hung quite inexplicably directly off the trunk! And who knew coffee beans were white before they were roasted. (Well, probably all of you. I didn't.) Hmm. There were non-food plants there. I think I'm giving the wrong impression! Anyway, it was cool.

To St Ives on the Western reaches of Cornwall for the night, where we checked into a backpackers. We'd booked a private double room, only £2 more than the dorms. Perhaps it was cheaper because it had no external windows, and the only form of ventilation was to leave the door open? However, it had an amazing bright mural painted around all four walls and the ceiling which we really liked.

Fish & Chips on the harbour side with a walk around the town, before we headed back up the hill to the little local movie theatre. Just feeling like seeing something, and with limited options, in the end we went to The Day After Tomorrow. Having had no previous intention to go to this movie, we found we actually quite enjoyed it... Made me think about sorting out a few of those simple disaster plan things round the house though, like getting some bottles of water stored away, and sorting out a First Aid Kit. Just in case there is a sudden ice age, or something. That should cover it.

totnes

We arose today to a somewhat warmer reception, and a suitably English breakfast. From Exeter we then drove the half hour of so south to Totnes, Babbage ancestral homeland. If Charles ever lived in Totnes he appears to have done so for only a short period. However, his forebears including his father were Totnes to their roots.

We found a parking lot with a detailed map of the town—that omitted only a “you are here” indicator—and so randomly wandered in the general direction of more dense civilisation. We came, soon afterwards, upon the Totnes Museum. Feeling this a stroke of luck, the museum being one of our planned destinations, we abandoned our search for the Tourist Information Centre. (Which was fortunate, really, for it transpired we were headed in exactly the wrong direction.) We perused the general collection before finding what I was really interested in—the Charles Babbage room. For a small museum their information on Charles is extensive and they are clearly proud of “Totnes' son”. Their display even provided lead that may have solved an old puzzle for me—what happened to Charles' home at 1 Dorset Street, London? A visit we made to the location in 2001 when passing through London revealed the street now starts at about number 17... We wondered if the street had been bombed in the war, but the Totnes museum suggests it was demolished in the 1930s. A lead to be followed up... As we were leaving the museum, I introduced myself to the woman in charge for the day, who had taken our entrance fees. It was quite fun that she was most excited to meet a direct descendent of Charles, and she introduced me to another member of their team who was there also. I included a potted family tree in my comment in their visitor's book.

After a visit down to the tourist information centre, we returned to the High Street where the museum was to find two of our other destinations were only a few meters up the street—St Mary's church and the Guildhall. In Hyman's book he recorded that Charles' grandfather Benjamin Babbage was the mayor of Totnes in 1754, and that his name could still be seen on the Mayoral Roll of Honour in the Guildhall. (This gentleman not to be confused with Benjamin Babbage, Charles' father, or Benjamin Babbage, Charles' oldest son!) Sure enough, entering the guildhall we immediately saw the list of mayors including our Ben! (Mind if I call you Ben? It's just that great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather doesn't quite roll off the tongue...) Not only was he listed, Totnes has a complete record of its mayors back to the first mayor, John Aiyling, in 1359. With a new mayor each year, it's an impressive list. At the guildhall we could enter both the courtroom and the council chamber which were in use in 1754, the latter of which is still used today. Amongst their displays I found information about their ceremonial maces, and discovered the current ones have been in use since they were presented in 1754! That makes Ben the mayor who would have overseen their first use, a nice link.

We moved next door to St Mary's church. While Bronwyn sat in the sun I scoured the grounds and outside of the church, looking for a family vault mentioned in Hyman's book—in this case not a Babbage, but a Teape. Charles' mother was Elizabeth (Betty) Plumleigh Teape, and Hyman recorded that, “The flagstone of the Teape's vault can still be seen under the tower of Totnes church”. I found a number of other vaults marked, but nothing for a Teape. An enquiry inside to the woman supervising visitors suggested a different angle: perhaps the flagstone was under the inside of the tower? This was a locked vestry, but peering through the doors we could immediately see four or five 1750s flagstones. After she made a few calls on my mobile we had the code to open the door and were inside. And after a couple of minutes searching, I discovered the well worn flagstone directly in front of the outside door and at the foot of the tower stairs was unquestionably labelled “Teape”. I was most excited. We could make out some words, but not all, due to how worn the stone was. Initial photographs were unenlightening. A rubbing was suggested, and with free access granted to the vestry we returned from a nearby art store with a large roll of black paper and a wax brass-rubbing crayon. This worked reasonably well, and after quite some exertion we had a reasonably legible copy. One section continued to confuse us, however: “Third time of his [something illegible]...” Not third time of his death, surely! Yet what else would one record on a gravestone? Before leaving, I experimented with further photographs from another angle to accentuate shadows. These were much more effective. Now, having noticed something else on the photos of those mayoral rolls, read another comment in Hyman's book, and reviewed my later photos carefully, finally it all makes sense. The vault reads:

We finished the day with a visit to the Totnes Castle, viewing below what we believe to be the “Babbage's field” that was handed down to Charles, and is again mentioned in Hyman's book. I am not unaware of how much simpler it is to explore family history when proper historians have taken the time to write books about a member of your family!

We drove around to see a little more of Totnes, during which time I quite coincidentally found six wifi networks, though they all unfortunately required passwords so no internet access for me. We returned to Exeter for a now quite late dinner at a pub in a huge old home overlooking Exeter, before crashing back at our B&B that had been fairly randomly-selected but was as it turned out in Exter's suburb of Alphington... the area that Charles spent a number of years in one of the two small boarding schools there at the time. Connections, more connections.

road to devon

We woke at nine, we left at 12.30. (I do try to be relaxed about these departure things.) By the time we relinquished consciousness last night we had a car, and had booked our first two nights accommodation—in Exeter. This morning therefore there had been (quite a few) more phone calls to be made. In the end we managed to find rooms with the right balance between price and availability, and got to the point of (and here's quite an important bit) a one-to-one relationship between places we'd booked to sleep and number of nights we'd be away!

The drive to Devon was uneventful. We followed a detailed guide from the AA Route Finder. Having supplied the start and end postcodes, it gave us point-by-point instructions, including when the next petrol and comfort stops were! We'd travelled much of the route before, as our journey had us bisecting Wiltshire—including the highway that famously runs right past Stonehenge. Nice to see it again, but you can see why people complain about the location of the road... Stonehenge would be even better if it was more remote.

Having arrived in Exeter I can say we have never stayed in a B&B quite like this one. At no point since our arrival has our host engaged in any small talk. “Good evening"s are entirely ignored. She has not told us her name. She has not enquired of ours. She sounds proper. Her attitude seems a little wanting. She did offer us a hot or cool drink when we arrived: we both requested a cool drink. When she later brought us a glass of orange juice and a cup of tea, she commented it was strange that Bronwyn said she never drank tea in the mornings, but that she had asked for tea now. (I drank the tea instead; she no doubt thought this was odd too.) This is the least expensive B&B we have stayed in during our time in the UK. Ostensibly this was because our room is up a flight of steep stairs (essentially up a stepladder) while the bathroom is on the story below. I'm not so sure anymore. I think we might be receiving a statutory “crazy discount”.

Having, err, un-settled in to our B&B, we headed into Exeter for the evening. We quickly found a small theatre that was marked on our map and bought movie tickets for Farenheit 9/11. It wasn't playing again until 9pm so with 2.5 hours to spare we drove off in search of dinner. Exeter seems to have surprisingly few restaurants in the central city area. We eventually settled upon the quite attractive Mill on the Exe, which as per its name overlooks the Exe river. It was an average chain pub meal—everywhere belongs to a franchise chain here... the English seem to love this—but we sat outside by the river, their delivery was lightning fast, and it even included complementary niceties which was a pleasant change after B&B California.

homecoming

The known facts are that 11 April 1998 was Easter Saturday, and I was living in Palmerston North at the time. Bronwyn and I had been married for just over nine months. I was just past the one-year mark in my doctorate. I had just finished the eighth week of my clinical placement at the private Paremata Psychologists in Wellington. The rest is speculation: Did we travel to Pirongia for the weekend, as we often did at Easter? What was the weather?

On that same day we do know however that someone visited the Southfields library and borrowed Anthony Hyman's biography Charles Babbage: Pioneer of the Computer. There is no indication it was renewed, so presumably it was back in their biography stores three weeks later. Where it sat. Until now.

I own a copy of that book, given to me by my (now deceased) Grandfather. The subject of the book is my great-great-great-great-grandfather. He was a most remarkable man. [You could read about him at the British Science Museum, or on Anthony Hyman's site at the University of Exeter.] Somehow in relocating to the UK last year my copy of Hyman's book was put in storage rather than coming with us. I knew the book included information about places Charles and his family had lived in Devon, and as we were planning an imminent trip, I wanted to get hold of a copy. Bronwyn's recent illness had caused us to put the trip on hold, but with her improve we'd decided we would go this coming week, as originally planned.

Saturday I found that in standard bookshops you couldn't buy Hyman's book even if I wanted a second copy. Our district library system did not have a copy. Ever hopeful of the potential of the internet, however, I found the “What's in London's libraries” web site, where you can search for a book in over 350 libraries at once. Behold! The long-forgotten copy, languishing unread in Southfields library since 11 April 1998, awaited me!

A short bus trip—it turns out Southfields is the closest library to us that is not part of the Merton Council region—and the book was in my hands. I filled out a membership form and without blinking they handed me a card. I can only presume they considered I lived close enough? The librarian had also dug out two other books on Charles: another biography, and a copy of his re-published autobiography, Passages from the life of a philosopher. To be completely honest, I didn't even really know Charles had written an autobiography as such, and I've not read it. A bonus.

So it is we set out today, propelled by the generous loan of a car from friends at church... we shall be in Exeter tonight and tomorrow, heading into Cornwall to St Ives on Wednesday. Thursday will see us in Teignmouth (where Charles spent much of his youth), at a B&B with sea views and a proprietor who most certainly recognised my name when we booked! We will break the journey home at Warminster—nothing to do with my quiet maze obsession, though it just coincidentally happens to be handy to the longest hedge maze in the world.

I am looking forward to treading on some old family turf.