Thank you William Golding!

Haven't posted for ages, sorry! Poor health in the family has meant I haven't been able to get out much. The amount of work I've had to do has meant I've had little time to read. I'm still trying to get through Joseph Anton by Salman Rushdie and Gulag by Annie Applebaum. These need to be finished before the end of term so I can tackle my reading list for the holidays.

Unable to do anything other than watch tv the other night, but also unable to find anything worth watching, I came across a documentary on William Golding. Although I haven't read his book for years, I seemed to know many of the passages read out by heart. I can't think of a more significant postwar novelist. His ability to enter a strange world and explain it fully - the last of the Neanderthals, the building of a cathedral spire - the lean, exact poetry of his prose, the great moral themes. It was reading Golding that led me to university: I found the opening pages of Free Fall hard to understand at times. I read and re-read, analysing, interpreting, and eventually broke through. This deeper ability to analyse gave me the confidence to apply to university to study Music and English.

Unfortunately, the admissions chap suggested that he had too many English students and would I mind awfully studying Russian instead? Will this decide whether you offer me a place I asked. Yes, said he, and I became a Music/Russian/French student on the spot. I'd done a term of Russian at the Burslem Delinquents High School and loved it. So I loved studying French literary theory, reading authors like Flaubert and Dostoevsky in the original language, all thanks to wanting to get to grips with Golding.

So my Christmas reading list will be his first 5 novels, I haven't read Lord of the Flies since I was 10, over 40 years ago, can't wait.

An Teallach retreat

We started visiting Scotland in 1986 - a week in Dunoon during Autumn, a week in Spring at Glenelg:

 the following Spring at Gairloch and then Summer 1987 in Ullapool:

 Each trip went further north, yet seemed to reveal endless landscapes northwards to be explored. I'll find some photos from those days and put them on here, with more details about those holidays, but for now, here's a quick description of our first attempt on a hill.

With the help of the wonderful Companion Guide to the West Highlands of Scotland, by WH Murray (still the only book you need for general exploration, and so beautifully written), we chose to try An Teallach from Dundonnell.

My dad in this photo is younger than I am now. I'm wearing Hawkins boots (wonderful, no longer in business), cheap gaiters from a shop in Keswick, corduroy trousers, cotton shirt (I'm not sure if I was just being stupid here or if there just weren't outdoor shops and magazines telling me about base layers), jumper knitted by my mum, Parks dept. issue jacket and a £1 hat. Spot the map case, later lost in the Fannichs - I was slowly getting better prepared and equipped. The walk up was straightforward until we hit mist and snow. Then we were in a different world - white everywhere, no visible path, just occasional rocks looming out of the snow. We continued as far as we dared, but visibility got so bad that we weren't sure we would find our way back if we went any further. So back we went.

We were disappointed at not reaching the top, so after a quick meal back at Gairloch we walked up up Glen Grudie, trying to reach Coire Mhic Fhearchair. This was a great walk but this time, darkness turned us back before we could reach our goal.

Little Loch Broom and Dundonnell behind us

 An Teallach from the Destitution Road

Second Hill

I’d been to the Lake District before as part of a school trip. We’d climbed a few hills... but I couldn’t remember them, partly because of an outbreak of salmonella and partly because I was a teenager and not able to concentrate on anything other than girls, football and not getting hit. That disastrous trip to Snowdon had taught me something about being prepared. I now had a rucksack and, courtesy of Webberley’s of Hanley, appropriate maps and books on Lake District walks by Terry Marsh.

We decided on walk 4.4 – Red Pike, High Stile and High Crag from Buttermere. The car park was easy to find and so was the start of the walk, but somehow we managed to lose the path (years later I would laugh at an over-equipped walker on Coniston asking where the path was, when he was standing on it, yet there I was, having lost a 3 feet wide path). So we cut straight up the hillside and came across the path near to the tarn. I hadn’t learned how to pace myself – I kept charging off at full speed, getting out of breath and then having to stop. Meanwhile, children, pensioners, everyone else, overtook me. We eventually made it to the summit and took out our well-earned lunch. But I was wearing (and continued to do this for quite a few hills) a cotton shirt, soaked from my exertions and the wind on the ridge made me go cold very quickly. So we didn’t really stop until we were back at the car.

I’ve done this walk a couple of times since and thought: what was all the fuss about? Why did it feel like such a marathon? Wasn’t I young and fit? It was, nevertheless, a wonderful day, with great views and we were now addicted to hillwalking forever. There were lots of people around though – maybe Scotland would give us a greater sense of wilderness.

Ceilidh Place, Ullapool

A few weeks ago the greatness of the Ceilidh Place was reinforced by trying somewhere else to eat and drink in Ullapool. We had peeped into the Ceilidh Place but it seemed full. We only wanted a drink and all the tables seemed laid out for evening meals. So we thought we would try somewhere else. Along the road we went to the Caledonian Hotel. We found a table, had a look at the menu and went to the bar to order from the surly barman (he was there last time we tried this place a few years ago, we should have realised the futility of this adventure the moment we saw him).

“Two coffees please”

“We don’t do coffee”

“But it says you do on the menu”

“Machine’s broke”

“How about tea?”

“Machine’s broke”

Not a single smile or apology from the barman, just the general impression that the sooner we were out of his bar the better. So we obliged. 

We went back to the Ceilidh Place:

“Do you mind if we just have a drink?”

“Of course not, sit where you like and I’ll come and take your order”

The Celidh Place is the place to sit, eat and drink in Ullapool, in the whole of Scotland as far as I’m concerned. We’ve been going there for 25 years or so and their high standards have always been maintained. Great entertainment, excellent food, friendly, polite service, a fantastic log fire in winter, a bookshop open all night, relaxing accommodation. That’s why our house has 2 Ceilidh Place mugs and 3 T shirts, but none from the Caledonian.

Food – excellent

Service – excellent

Atmosphere – perfect

Accommodation – quiet and relaxing with a wonderful lounge to read in

First hill

I consider myself to be a fairly experienced hillwalker these days, but it wasn't always so. In the early 1980s we set out on a big adventure to Snowdon. You can tell it was a long time ago as there was plenty of space to park at Pen-y-Pass. We had no food or drink, a map but no compass. I'd recently bought a Lord Anthony coat from C&A. It covered some of my jeans. We set out on the Miners track but lost our way in mist after Glaslyn. We headed directly up the slope. We were young and fit so it seemed easy enough. Then the rain came and, near the ridge the most horrendous summit wind. Time for a hasty retreat. But that easy slope now seemed steep and slippery. So down on our bums we went. Luckily, we saw a group of walkers and followed them back to the car park. I was soaked and never wore that coat again. But I was hooked. Wales was too wet, how about the Lake District?

Review: Generosity by Richard Powers

Have you ever met anyone who seemed to be completely happy, all the time? When their circumstances would have felled many a normal person? Is it part of Western culture to tend towards misery and depression? Do other ways of life result in contentment? I've taught a few like that - maybe they've got religion or music or something. Maybe they simply haven't learned that life isn't that happy (so they know more than we do: that it is?)

What if this tendency towards happiness was a genetic trait? Something that could be reproduced? Who would buy that treatment? For themselves, for their children? What would happen once big business and lawyers got hold of such discoveries?

All this is discussed in this thought-provoking novel. Richard Powers has produced another fascinating blend of science and how it affects ordinary human lives. I'm not quite sure why this author isn't as famous as other American writers - I consider The Time Of Our Singing to be one of the Great American novels. But feel free to tell me I'm not the only person in the UK reading his works!

Gear: walking on hedgehogs

I'm very fussy about footwear. For years I've done the hillwalking thing of always wearing boots. But wearing my normal boots makes my feet ache after about 8 miles. In my winter boots my feet start to scream after 4 miles. In these The North Face Hedgehogs I've covered much greater distances, including the 29 mile A'Mhaighdean one day epic.At the end of such walks my feet, instead of screaming "get these off, put something else on now", feel as if they could carry on walking forever. This is my 3rd pair, bought in a sale, they'll be locked away until my second pair wear out.
PROS

• comfortable and very light, like wearing slippers
• good grip
• just enough support for you to feel what you're walking on, without it hurting
• waterproof and breathable, I've never felt too cold or too hot

CONS

• they're only shoes, so water can get in over the top - I always pack waterproof socks, just in case
• they probably wear out quicker than boots, my first pair lasted 3 years - I never wear anything else on walks

I should say that my ankles are strong - I don't need boots to support my ankles - and I find the freedom of movement that using shoes gives me to be less wearing in general

Gear: Casio alt-6000

I bought this from Dixons, not long after they first came out, 1992 or so. It's been up every serious hill with me ever since. The altimeter is still very accurate, you just set it at the start of the walk. I set the altitude alarm for the summit on every walk and it always goes off at exactly the right time. Silly really, as you almost always know when you're at the top, but it amuses me. Everything works perfectly still. It's on its 4th battery (they last at least 5 years) and 2nd strap. You can't buy this model anymore obviously, but just in case you're wondering about reliability and longevity in Casio watches - you wouldn't believe how many other watches I've broken just working at school in the last 20 years, whereas this has been bashed about on the hills without any problem. I'm sure it will outlast me. I paid £85 for it in a sale, there's one on ebay at the min, current bid is £95. Not that I'm selling this!

Review: Lionel Asbo

It's been a long time since I posted anything here - I don't have the energy during term time and often end up in remote parts of Scotland for my holidays. But now Summer is here I'll try to be good! I record what I read on Twitter - @dave_windsor -  but again, I find it difficult to read much during term time.

Anyway! This most recent novel by Martin Amis has been slated by many critics - unfairly in my humble view. It's a comedy around the usual Amis theme of the criminal underclass, with an accurate depiction of British celebrity culture and the impoverished, culture-free life led by so many today. Critics seem to suggest that Amis has lost his youthful edge and will never be able to create works as great as "Money" and "Success". I would say that, this work, rather than inferior, is different. The author, although still dwelling on dark and often depraved subject matter, has mellowed. Or perhaps, as a narrator, he no longer stands back from this subject matter, assuming that we will pass judgment ourselves; instead he shows, just a little, that he has a heart! This previous narrative standpoint has perhaps led to some of the venom aimed at him by the press: he writes about crime and misogyny without any narrative condemnation, therefore he is a misogynist.

Here's an example of this caring side:

Des, what happens when I don't know what I'm saying?
It'll pass, Gran.
... I won't be able to open my eyes. I won't be able to close my mouth.
No, Gran. The other way round.
And he felt he was preparing for a long voyage on a dark sea where, one by one, all the stars would be going out.

No one writes like Amis, and there are the usual phrases that you just want to write down; from the swearing dogs to London's "white van sky" to "Des assumed that this feeling would one day subside, this riven feeling, with its equal parts of panic and rapture. Not soon, though. The thing was that he considered it a perfectly logical response to being alive."

Right that's enough. I have "Generosity" by Richard Powers to finish