Cheese Rolling

Let's start by answering the two big questions:

1. Who takes part in cheese rolling? I have sketched a Venn Diagram to answer this.

2. What goes through the mind of somebody chasing a ball of cheese down a steep hill in Gloucestershire?

Shhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.

I'm afraid that the rest of this post is a bit of a downer. Cheese Rolling was a massive let down, a victim of its own media appeal. Look closely at a picture of the event that shows the top of the hill and you will see, in the middle, a large crowd of people. These are not spectators but at least 300 people who have turned up hoping to take part and are now crowded so closely on a slope that you cannot shiver without risking accusations of sexual assault.. At best 80 of these people will get to join in, and that is just through sheer chance of arriving early enough and standing in the right place (organisation is non-existent, nobody tells you what is happening). Most of the rest will just throw themselves down the hill after the official day is finished so as not to waste the drive down.

Then the lucky ones get to go through a gate and stand at the top of the hill for an age. It does not feel like an age, it is an age, so long that the adrenalin starts to wear off and you just want to start. A man in a white coat rolls a cheese and you jump. Those with aspirations of winning fly down, risking injury (and many were injured). Those with a sense of self-preservation still lose control but get down safely. It is a bit like a water park slide - the fast one that local legend has it that someone once died on. You stop at the bottom, recover your balance and thoughts, realise you are cold and wet, look around and realise nothing else is happening so wander back to the car, dry off, change and warm up. At this point the intention to go and take photos seems like the worst idea since Jackie said to John "It's a lovely day, why don't we put the roof down" so you go home with a sense of anticlimax.

Oh, and finally, to anybody doing these things in fancy dress, wearing a mankini does not make people like you or think you are clever, they mock you in whispers. You are like people who recite the dead parrot sketch at dinner parties.

Overall I'd give this one a D, don't believe the hype.

Onwards and Downwards

I’ve always had a bit of an aversion to the general direction of down. I am friendly with sideways and I get on very well with up but down and I have never been more than grudgingly cordial. Rollercoasters make me sick, bungee jumping or parachuting are a definite no, even this year, and I only tolerate aeroplanes landing because I know they cannot stay up forever. So what on earth am I doing planning to spend my bank holiday chasing a ball of cheese down a steep hill in Gloucestershire?

I suspect most of you are familiar with Cheese Rolling. It is the “And Finally” item of the evening news bulletin every second bank holiday in May. It is one of those quaintly English village traditions that makes an English village so, well, quaint. I don’t know its history but the effort that goes in to winning some cheese makes me think it predates Tesco. The rules are quite simple, you chase a ball of cheese down a steep hill in Gloucestershire.

This will be, I suspect, the shortest challenge in terms of time but it it does come pretty high up in the danger list. Sir Trevor McDonald, when he was simply Trevor, could barely hide his smirk as he described how somebody had been taken to hospital with broken limbs whilst chasing a ball of cheese down a steep hill in Gloucestershire.

So why am I doing this? I don’t like going downhill, I don’t expect to win and it’s a long way to go for no more than 20 seconds of activity. I can't really explain this one, I’ve just always wondered what goes through the mind of somebody chasing a ball of cheese down a steep hill in Gloucestershire.

3 Men In a Boat Challenge - Part 2

Chapter 3

Date: 9 May 2008 – Start: Cookham Lock – Finish: Thames Valley Park – Distance: 19 miles – Average Speed: 3.4mph – Fact of the day: Thames Water remove 1 tonne of pubic hair from the River Thames every month.

I was first up, and headed straight for the shower. I am unable to convey the distress I felt upon finding out that it required tokens. Tokens could only be obtained from the lock keeper and he was not due until 9am. None of us were willing to leave until we were clean and left Cookham late but happy.

As we passed through Henley, where they were preparing for the Regatta, our pace dropped sharply and it became like rowing through treacle. It proved that this was the result of the flow of the weir at Marsh lock adding to the already strong current. This poor design makes it precarious for skiffs to enter the lock and I, who had left the boat to use the toilet, had to stand and watch as Paul and Chris were swept around in circles. We had by this time become rather expert in all aspects of sculling and so were most put out when the lock keeper, who was as unpleasant as his lock, made a sarcastic comment about them needing more practice.

The journey revealed to me that despite its high-tech, over populated image there are a number of villages that cling to an earlier way of life. I do not know where Hurley is but it is a one shop village and that shop shuts for lunch. We had to make do with ice cream and cake bought from the refreshment kiosk at the lock but the area itself is so picturesque that we were willing to forgive.

Our calculations showed that the finish of our target 20 miles was the centre of Reading. Keen to avoid this but too tired to go further we decided to stop after Sonning Lock. The lock keeper told us there was an area we could stop and moor by a field only a mile further on so we did this. We had the foresight of not expecting to be able to buy food for the evening and had called our generous friend Paul M, who had agreed to meet us and bring a disposable barbecue, food and beer. He was as good as his word and got everything from our rather long shopping list. We were soon moored, cooking and enjoying the sunny evening but, just as we ravenously made our first bite into the burgers a car pulled up with Thames Valley Park Security written on the side. The dolt of a lock keeper had directed us to a public park at the end of the A329M. The security guard, who actually seemed rather embarrassed did not mind the barbecue or even the alcohol but informed us that we could not moor our boat. We asked if we could move it after we had eaten and thankfully he agreed. He did not return that evening, which was fortunate as we had nowhere else to go.

Chapter 4

Date: 10 May 2008 – Start: Thames Valley Park – Finish: Benson Waterfront Caravan Park – Distance: 20 miles – Average Speed: 3.6mph – Fact of the day: Charlie Brown’s father was a barber

The morning suggested bad weather. We kept the cover up as we rowed through Reading, the drizzle being most apt considering this is the only truly ugly part of the journey. We celebrated getting through the town with a late breakfast just as the sun came out.

The day continued without incident, we had by now essentially mastered sculling, steering and locks so we made good time. The final pull of the day was between Cleeve and Benson Locks. At some 6.5 miles this is by far the longest stretch between locks on the entire journey so we decided to break it up by stopping for a late lunch. There are two pubs by the river during this stretch, both soon after Cleeve. Well, I say pubs, it is clearly the trend for any establishment fortunate enough to be located on the banks of the Thames to become “Country Inns and Eating Houses”, which essentially means “timber-framed pub located in a picturesque commuter belt village that still sells drinks but would prefer it if you ate in our white-washed, table clothed restaurant that has an overpriced and over elaborate menu”. The waiters took one look at us in our rowing garb and made excuses as to why we could not eat with them. The second did let us have some soft drinks so long as we sat outside and did not disturb the other guests. Luckily I don’t feel bitter about these things.

Our original target for the night had been Day’s Lock campsite but the lock keeper told us the site had “dangerous trees”. Drained after the long final stretch we stopped early, at a caravan site by the village of Benson. And, joy, it had a palatial shower block and, joy of joys, we had a key that gave us unrestricted access. A clean and pleasant evening was spent in the Three Horseshoes pub in Benson. This is a friendly local place that served good value food and well kept ale, Country Inns and Eating Houses, could learn a lot from the Three Horseshoes.

During the evening we got into conversation with the fellow who had a permanent mooring space next to where we had left Edward. I cannot vouch for the veracity of what he said but he informed us that he had been filmed for the 3 Men in a Boat television show with Griff Rhys-Jones, Rory McGrath and Dara O’Brien and knew for a fact that they had been towed or chauffeur driven for a large proportion of the journey. We proudly informed him we had rowed every metre of the way and camped out each night. He seemed impressed.

Chapter 5

Date: 11 May 2008 – Start: Benson Waterfront Caravan Park – Finish: Folly’s Bridge, Oxford – Distance: 20 miles – Average Speed: 3.6mph – Fact of the day: None worth noting

Our final day dawned rather cold. We breakfasted early, keen to get underway and complete the challenge. It was clear as we pulled away from Benson that we were running on our last reserves of energy and plasters were not providing adequate protection for the blisters on Chris’s hands (Paul and I sensibly took gloves). However, our rowing technique had been improving daily. We were ready for Oxford.

The first lock was Day’s Lock, where we had planned to camp the night before. It was a wilderness with no building other than the Lock Keeper’s cottage in sight. We had never been so grateful for dangerous trees.

Fate decided we had to face some real frights before reaching Oxford and laid them on for us in quick succession. At Clifton Lock we were half way raised when the keeper lowered us again explaining that some boats had just arrived and he would let them in with us. He had clearly misjudged the amount of space one of these boats required and we had to push desperately at its port side to prevent it from splicing Edward in two. Then, at the very next lock, Culham, having, as is proper, let all powered vessels in first and Paul and Chris (I had got out to stretch my legs) paddled through the gates. With timing so accurate that it is hard to believe it was not deliberate the keeper started to close the gates. Montmorency faced being crushed and Edward would not have fared well either. The crowd watching this scene yelled at the lock keeper, who only hit the open gates button with feet to spare. We stopped for lunch after that to give the remaining lock keepers the chance to get the morning madness out of their system.

By 4pm we were sculling into Oxford. Several university college rowing teams were out. I can only assume these were the less able teams, judging by their inability to row in a straight line. Also, one would guess that the serious teams would not row at the same time as the river is full of leisure punters. It was to Paul’s credit that he skilfully manoeuvred us passed all of these final obstacles, our 5 days experience clearly showing when compared to an amateurish Saturday afternoon punt.

We met Tom as planned, unloaded Edward and that was our row complete. All that was left to do was celebrate our success with an evening in Oxford. We had arranged accommodation as we approached the city. Not an easy task with virtually every hotel full. However, after much hunting we booked a hostel. All that was left to do was shower, change into the sort of attire suitable to now experienced Thames rowers and head out into Oxford. We found a restaurant without difficulty and sat with a view of the town, passers-by celebrate the weekend, although they doubtless did not have aching limbs, a head full of memories and backsides that could barely handle soft cushions. All testament to 5 glorious days on the river, all testament to the fact we could have done no more. With glasses of wine in hand we toasted our success “Here’s to three men well out of a boat”.

And Montmorency, who had kindly been supplied a high chair by the restaurant, sat in silent concurrence with the toast.

3 Men in a Boat Challenge - Part 1

Preface:

There now follows a day-by-day summary of this challenge, and I have attempted to write it vaguely in the style of Jerome K. Jerome. I have tried to keep it brief but that is very difficult and, even though I am splitting it into two parts, I strongly suspect most cannot be bothered to read through it so here is the summary version:

Paul, Chris and I, together with a cuddly toy dog called Montmorency spent 5 days in a 130 year old skiff rowing from Kingston to Oxford. We had a lot of fun and met a few people. We ached by the end of it but the challenge was successfully completed.

Only masochists and the lonely need read on:

Chapter 1
Date: 7 May - Start: Kingston Bridge - End: Chertsey Bridge - Distance: Not Known batteries ran out on GPS - Average Speed: Not known batteries ran out on GPS - Fact of the day: The oxter is the medical term for the armpit.

It was a glorious morning, late spring or early summer as you care to take it. I had some tasks to perform in town and, as a result of difficulty arranging a cab, it was decided I would walk there whilst Paul and Chris took our bags to the station. Despite planning to travel light there was an awful lot of luggage waiting at the door to our lodgings. I confess the majority was mine, but it is important to be suitably attired when rowing on the Thames.

My luggage concerns increased as we pulled into the car park in Walton. Tom was waiting for us with Edward, a 130 year old double sculling skiff and our cab driver, who one would expect to know about baggage space, said he did not believe it would all fit. I wondered which of the other two would be willing to leave one of their bags behind but as it turned out Edward held it quite comfortably. I regretted not bringing the extra clothes I had jettisoned at our lodgings.

Tom was a decent sort, thorough and abrupt rather than genial when giving instruction, which in our eagerness to set off was no bad thing. The three of us had agreed to take it in turns to scull (two of us) and steer (one of us). I was first to steer. Montmorency sat at the front and kept watch. I had already insisted that the challenge was to be done properly and we had to row from Kingston. This meant initially heading away from Oxford. However, it was downstream and the current was stronger than usual so Paul and Chris made short work of the 7 or so miles to Kingston Bridge. We were there in time for lunch.

At 3.05pm we set off on our journey proper. We went under Kingston Bridge, again and alongside Hampton Court Palace again. The travel was far slower, being upstream with the current was stronger than usual.

Our first lock of the day had been Shepperton Lock where the keeper had generously explained the finer points of properly passing through them. We told him we would be back again that day and when we finally returned he gave us a leaflet on camping and recommended we spend the night by Chertsey Bridge where there was both a campsite and pub. This suited us perfectly, Chertsey Bridge being only a short way past Walton meant we would get back past where we started. Rather than use the campsite, we decided to moor nearer the Kingfisher pub. Putting a canvas on a skiff is a far easier task than Jerome K. Jerome would have you believe and we were soon ready to celebrate the first night of our adventure.

The Kingfisher staff were initially a surly bunch offering little in the way of hospitality but as the evening drew on and it became quieter they became far more sociable. Indeed one of the ladies took quite a shine to Montmorency, although she did insist on calling him Boris.

Chapter 2
Date: 8 May - Start: Chertsey Bridge – End: Cookham Lock - Distance: 20.5 miles - Average Speed: 2.7mph - Fact of the day: Martin Van Buren was the first US President to be born in the USA

I had no pillow but with Montmorency making an adequate substitute I slept well on the skiff and was first up, keen to shower and start the day. I walked to Chertsey Campsite with my toiletries, noting the sign outside describing it as the “friendly campsite”. I strolled confidently up to the man at the gate and asked him if I could use the shower. He told me “No”. Apparently the shower could only be used by people staying at the site. I am not unreasonable and explained to him that I was more than happy to pay the price for staying at the campsite in exchange for using the shower. Again he said “No” and did so in an aggressive and definite manner. I left and snorted at the lie on the campsite sign.

The Thames still flowed strong against us but the previous day had not tired us and we rowed well, albeit our technique was still rather questionable. We made Datchet for lunch and moored at a very attractive point just off the High Street, enjoying the glorious sunshine as we ate. An oddity to the moorings at Datchet is that you can only reach the landing plank from one side without having to negotiate a metal handrail to reach the gangplank. As we pulled away from our mooring, we witnessed an elderly couple arrive on the wrong side of the rail, which the lady of the boat was incapable of getting past, although she tried gamely for one of her advanced years. This somewhat comic scene took an unpleasant turn with the husband cursing and threatening in a way that did not benefit the serenity of the area. Why they did not just move the boat I cannot say but we were soon out of earshot and they became a mere memory as we pressed on through Windsor, being photographed by tourists and dodging swans and pleasure boats.

I shall digress briefly to pass on some advice to those inspired to do as we did. The people who enjoy the pleasures of the Thames are a social bunch who wish each other good day and chat at locks as they pass through. Three men in a 130 year old double sculling skiff get particular attention and for those planning on spending any time in a skiff I do strongly recommend you take a stuffed dog. It was with a tedious frequency that those men (it was always men) who considered themselves particularly humorous hollered to us “3 men in a boat, where is your dog?” Montmorency’s presence would allow us to point at the stern and yell back “he is guiding our way”. Thus the river wit was invariably outsmarted.

The need for a shower demanded that we stay at a campsite that night and Cookham Lock was, in theory, the ideal choice. Paul called ahead and was told that the lock keeper would be finished by the time we arrived but would hide the key for us. We passed through Cookham Lock, having been told by the previous keeper that the campsite was just after it, only to find it was not there. We asked for directions at the next pub we came to but they had not heard of it. This was a real puzzle and, with darkness encroaching, we decided to return to the lock and search by foot. It turned out the site was at the bottom of the lock. We decided to moor where we were.

We had now been some two days without a shower and were most unkempt and uncomfortable. It was our intention not to inflict this on the people of Cookham by buying dinner and eating on the boat. However, Cookham is a town consisting only of pubs and restaurants. We had no choice but to go out to eat and chose an Indian restaurant that had been acknowledged by the Cobra awards to be the best in the South of England. The food was good, no doubt, but it is the toilet that was most appreciated. They supplied towels for hand drying that made excellent flannels. In turn we washed our faces. I do not think Daz was going to rescue those.

Pick A Card

At last I have something I can whip out of my trousers at social functions without getting arrested. Again.

Yes Lady (and on a good day Gentleman), it is with great smugness that I hereby unveil the latest addition to the 30th Year Challenges fund raising kit stable. It is the solution to the problem of me not being able to remember the blog website address when somebody is feigning an interest in the 30th Year Challenges. It is a lightweight yet sturdy pocket sized flier that has the blog address and my email printed on it. It can be easily transported, given away without expectation of return and the recipient can carry it unhindered as a reminder to have a look on the blog. I call it the “business card”.

I had very strict design criteria for the card. It consisted of some wording and the instruction “no need for anything too complicated and it would be nice if it had a similar colour scheme to the blog”. Fortunately for me this was said to Sharon at the quite brilliant graphic designers Howdy. Clearly they require very little information to understand their customers, because they came back with the perfect design. Simple with a modern, understated elegance – just like me. Check out their website at http://www.howdy-pardners.com/, not only is it entertaining in its own right but the quality of work they do for such a variety of companies and campaigns demonstrates just want fantastic people they are to have taken time to create something so professional and striking, but in reality unrewarding for them,. I cannot thank them, and particularly Sharon, enough.

In fact their generosity (and that of the others who I have mentioned in previous posts as having gone further than I have any right to expect to actually make this year potentially work) has caused me to add another new list to the left hand side of the blog - the Wall of Gratitude. Everyone on it has reached the nominally judged DG30YC mark of quality – and you can bank on a guarantee like that. I'll leave you to work out which bank.

Up the creek without a paddle

The idea of recreating Jerome K Jerome’s literary journey down the Thames was not mine. Chris suggested it a couple of years ago whilst we were getting lost on the outskirts of Sheffield. I liked the idea, the book follows a route through towns I know well but at the time it was not logistically possible. This year I am spitting in the face of logistics and asked him if it was still something he wanted to do. He said yes and so we needed to find a mug to be our third. Paul was keen to join us.

There is a company in Walton-On-Thames that specifically hires out skiffs, they seem to do a good trade with period dramas and day rowers but clearly there are a number of groups that look to do this journey too. I only had to mention the book and they knew exactly what we required. That helped enormously for our strategy meeting. It was a successful meeting. We will be camping out at night, sleeping on the boat itself or in a tent next to it. There is a gas stove provided with the skiff for cooking. We also established that we are facing about 100 miles of upstream rowing over 5 days and will be passing through over three quarters of the locks on the Thames. In fact by the end of the night we were completely strategised, like Lords.

A recurring theme of this year is the “It seemed like a good idea at the time” syndrome. When looking for somewhere to escape the rain in the Steel City I imagined Spring sunshine, rolling fields and country pubs in the Thames Valley. Now I am thinking of 5 days of aching shoulders, sleepless nights, a constant feeling of grubbiness and having to go near Staines. I am looking out of the window at the bullets of rain and people fighting the wind. I can’t help but think we are maybe 120 years too late for the late spring/early summer Victorian comic escapades that Mr Jerome (“but you can call me Jerome”) painted. This is “Three Men in a Boat – Uncut”