My way or the Saxon Shore Way...

I consider myself extremely lucky to have witnessed some of the landscapes that accompanied my foreign travels, but yesterday proved you don't always have to stray far from home to see such beauty. Taking a train from London to Hastings I set off on the 17km walk to Winchelsea, taking in the cliff top walk before heading inland to follow the Royal Military Canal path, through farmer's fields and finally up into Winchelsea. Here are a few photos to give a taster of what the day was like...

a full set of photos can be viewed here: https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150400067050350.413351.703880349&l=1f3e653b38&type=1

A Dave's Eye View - Monte Coglians Wins.

Bridge over troubled water...

View from Embankement Bridge looking east, Thursday August 11th 2011, 17:05.

Panic on the streets of London...

What the hell has happened in London over the past few nights? Huh? Following the death of a suspect at the hands of the Police last thursday, a peaceful protest outside a police station in North East London descended into chaos and violence as cars were trashed, shops looted and buildings burnt to the ground. This then continued further afield on Saturday, Sunday,Monday and Tuesday evenings, and onto other cities such as Liverpool, Birmingham and Manchester.

But what does it all mean?

I have read so many differing opinions and analyses on the meaning of it all, the backdrop to it, the possible causes and consequences. And the problem as I see it is this. Everyone is correct. Those who argue one extreme, that it is just a bunch of lawless, violent, good for nothing scum, intent on causing damage just for the sake of causing damage, and doing so because they've witnessed others doing it, well, they're right. That certainly describes some of these people. And those who argue another extreme, that these are the disaffected youth of generations of teens and adults that have been let down by the government and local authorities who are simply venting their frustrations and angers in the only way they know, well, that's correct too. And if you then take these two extremes, add in all the people who come somewhere in between, that's a lot of people. Certainly too many people for the police to adequately cope with in the last few evenings.

Others have argued over the lack of police and fire departments to deal with the events, but I would argue back that you cannot expect a police force or fire brigade to be constantly prepared for what has happened. The police have been stretched to their extreme the past few nights. I have also seen a thread on a website message board where a number of people had verbally attacked a journalist who had taken photo's in Croyden during the chaos, saying he should stay out of the area, and questioned his qualifications and were quite threatening towards him. Below is my response to that thread:

This is the single most ridiculous thread ever.

I personally no not feel the need to criticise ******, because I believe in FREEDOM OF SPEECH. I will only criticise someone if they are putting the safety of others at risk. So far, the rioters have put at risk the lives of the public, shop keepers, business owners, the police, fire and ambulance services, and themselves. In a perfect world everyone would stay at home and out of the way, but in our modern world of mobile phones and social networking, the line between professional and amateur journalism is faded. All some of you are doing is creating a pointless thread of claims and counter claims that help no one.

On the one hand, journalism of these events is simply fuelling the fire (no pun intended) of the young people attacking our streets, who are witnessing the scenes in one area and copying them elsewhere. However, there are certain people who seem to think that London and other cities have only experienced a few ‘skirmishes’ and what is all the fuss about, therefore the pictures and reports are making the severity of the events clear for all to see. Both the amateur and professional footage is also being used to identify the many looters, thieves and thugs. Anyone who has read a paper, watched the news or listened to the radio has in some way consumed a form of professional or amateur journalism.

If ****** or anyone else wishes to report on anything, that is THEIR CHOICE, and if you want to stay at home and out of the way, that is YOUR CHOICE, and if you want to pick up a broom and help clear up the mess, YOU CHOOSE TO. If ****** asks people to join him, they have the choice to say ‘no’, or ‘yes’. But for you to then question his qualifications and motives, call him stupid, and generally create a negative and accusatory thread, is almost as morally wrong as the thugs who think they’re right to attack hard working individuals. This might sound crass, but what right do we have to verbally attack him, just as I question the right that these thugs have to physically attack our streets. Don’t criticise others for doing what they choose. Shall we ask all war correspondents to come home? Shall we ask all journalists in dangerous African countries to come home?

The events of the past few days are extremely fluid and there are no clear answers, I just pray that these people see sense soon and realise that this violence will solve nothing in the short term whilst only dialogue, discussion and debate will help in the long term.

All in all, I've no idea where things will go next. Once the mayhem calms down, which I imagine it will in a few days time, what do these 'protesters' expect to happen? There will be no sudden change in policies, or legislation, but there will be thousands of businesses and people affected for the foreseeable future. These people are destroying their own neighborhoods. Their own city. My city. And this saddens me greatly.

People smash up London

People clean up London

Into the unknown...

I seen to have had no words of late. Whilst my travels brought about blog after blog after blog, my time in London has ceased that trend. Somewhat like a kinetic energy that powers a lightbulb, it appears my travels powered my words, and now that I have been static for 3 months, no words have come forth. Well, very few at least. One thing is for sure, I haven't stopped thinking about my time away. In fact, recently I've been analysing it from a somewhat different perspective. That of someone who has been home a few months now, looking back to a time that is still relatively recent, and yet seems so far away. I've come to realise that I feel spiritually very different to before I left. I know, that sounds terribly wanky and pretentious. I'm wincing now looking back at it. Spiritually. What does that mean? I'm not sure I even know. I feel I see everyone in a different light. Us. People. Humans. Mankind. The World. Society. The Human Race. Animals. Because ultimately, we're all animals. We just happen to be the most intelligent of the animals. At our peak, we create the most amazing things. We invent things. We design things. We write the most wonderful words. Create the most wonderful art. Produce fantastic films. Direct amazing plays. Write the most beautiful music. But at our most primal, we kill. We rape. We hurt others. We hurt ourselves. We do the most savage of things, but with a knowledge and intelligence that other animals don't have. Other animals kill to survive. We kill to make a point. To feel powerful. To control others.

I've just finished reading the booking Touching the Void, and subsequently watched the film. In short, and without giving too much away, it's the story of two English mountaineers, Joe Simpson & Simon Yates, attempting to climb the Siula Grande in the Peruvian Andes. Their disastrous descent nearly (and probably should have) killed them. It focuses around Simpson's fall in which he breaks a leg, and then Yates' attempt to lower him down the ice cliff using 300 feet of rope, then climbing down the 300 feet himself, and continuing the process. They're both descending into the unknown. No idea what is below them, trying to save themselves. Yates ends up lowering his partner off the cliff edge, into nothingness, leaving him hanging there. I won't say anymore incase you want to read the book or watch the film. So why am I telling you this? Because I feel a bit like that right now. Only I play both roles. I'm lowering myself, down into the unknown. Into the abyss. Over the edge. Only if I fall off, I take myself with me. And if I drop myself, I take myself with me. And if I cut the rope, it's me who falls.

And if this was a film, this is the point the camera would zoom out, leaving you in suspense, waiting to see what happens next...

My story...

Everyone has their story. And no one story is more important than the other, but every story is as relevant as any other. Back in the 'old days' people didn't talk about Cancer. It was a very hush hush subject. The nearest anyone got to mentioning it was 'The Big C' and even then many didn't quite understand what that meant. It can appear to be the most random of afflictions, and in truth, it is. The healthiest of people can wake up one day with it, whilst those that drink and smoke all their lives can lead a good life into their 90's. Most people will somehow have been affected, directly or directly. Most directly, my father was diagnosed with prostate cancer a number of years ago, and thanks to an early diagnosis and a speedy intervention by doctors, he was operated on and has had no relapse some 10 years down the line. Some years ago we lost a very good friend of the family, who was a wife and a mother, after a number of years battling the disease, and two of my good friends have been deeply affected, one losing her father 25 years ago, and another still caring for her father who has been unwell for a number of years. Most recently another very close friend of the family, and also my driving instructor, has been diagnosed with cancer and is currently very seriously ill. Although still in the early stages of diagnosis and prognosis, it was just a few weeks ago he was still teaching people to drive, just as he did me, and now he is seriously ill in hospital, unable to move due to a debilitating tumour on his back.

It was for all these reasons, and the knowledge that there are thousands others out there with similar stories, that I chose to do the London Bikeathon in aid of Leukaemia and Lymphoma Research. So yesterday I completed a total of 41.4 miles in 4 hours and 45 minutes (7.7 miles from my home to the course, a 26 mile course from Battersea Power Station to Richmond Park and back, and then 7.7 miles back home). And as I struggled through the searing heat of the hottest day of the year, I thought about my dad 10 years ago, I thought about Rose, I thought about my friend's fathers, and I thought about Chris. My ride is dedicated to those who have lost their lives, those that sadly will lose their lives, the family and friends of those affected, and all those who are working had to find a cure.

If you would like to donate please visit http://www.justgiving.com/centuryofsponsors/

or click the 'donate' button below:

Leaving home...

Crossing north to south...

The start of the 26 miles course...

The cause...

The street...

Approaching Hammersmith bridge...

Richmond park...

Oh deer...

Lunch...

Half time near Ham House...

Putney...

The end (of the 26 mile bit)...

Battersea Power Station...

Hyde Park on the way home...

Back home...

this is a low, but it won't hurt you...

For the first time since I've been back, I hit a strange wall of depression last night. OK, so nothing suicidal, and if we get technical about it, it's not depression, there's nothing clinically wrong. So let's call it a low. I can give no reason why it happened, but as I lay in bed trying to sleep, I was transported back to my time away. In particular, I was taken back to Flagstaff in Arizona. It was quite a strange experience. As I lay in bed, with my eyes closed, desperately trying to sleep, I suddenly felt like I was no longer here, in Cricklewood, in my bed at home. Instead I was back in America in the front room of Scott's house, on the pull out sofa bed, wearing my long johns and two t-shirts to combat the bitterly cold weather outside. I recalled arriving in Flagstaff, and finding Scott's house. Within minutes of entering his home, I myself, felt at home. There was something about Scott and where he lived that I felt immediately comfortable with. I met his house mate, Felicia, and in the coming days, a friend of hers, Michelle, both of whom I got on with extremely well. And I mustn't forget Tobin, the dog, possibly the friendliest dog of all time.

It was during this almost out of body experience and recollection that I felt the sudden low.

Of all the wonderful amazing places I stayed during my six months, Flagstaff continually sticks out as feeling like a home away from home. During my stay there I visited the Grand Canyon, I went on a brief cross country ski, I visited the Snowbowl mountain, Walnut Canyon, the Wupatki National Monument, Sunset & Lenox Crater, made and ate Sushi, played countless Yahtzi, watched films, learned about new music, and basically didn't ever want to leave. It also followed my amazing Christmas on a ranch in Chino Valley and was followed by my trip through Vegas and Death Valley.

Six months later, I remember my time there as clearly as if it was yesterday. So much so that I'm randomly transported there at 1 in the morning. And the irony is I feel low because I'm recalling the best 6 months of my life where I met some of the greatest people I've ever met. It's not even a depressing low. It's almost a happy low. A happy low that recalls the high of those six months. A low that reminds you how high you can climb.

(I know this song is technically about the shipping forecast, but I liked the lyric "this is a low, but it won't hurt you...")