Winter textures and colours

You may have noticed comments from a few of my blog posts about how much I love trees in winter. The colours of silver birch trunks in sunlight, topped with deep claret-coloured frondy branches are a particular favourite, but I also love trees of all shapes, sizes and colours when their branches are bare and their bark shines in winter light.

Wood, steel and iron are used to great effect by David Nash in his sculptural works, a large number of which are currently on show at Kew Gardens. If you get chance to go before it finishes in April, I recommend it, although at nearly £15 to get into the gardens, it's not a cheap day out.

When I went in December with some friends, we didn't get there till late in the day and unfortunately weren't able to take our time exploring the gardens, but we did manage to get round most of the sculptures and even had time to go up the treetop walkway, which by that time was deserted.

The sun was just going down so we got the last light of quite a grey day giving a lovely soft hue to the rusty brown of the Corten steel used on the treetop walkway and the smooth wooden handrails.

Nash's sculptures are scattered around the gardens, some of them situated to offer an intriguing counterpoint to other buildings or features of Kew. Many smaller wooden sculptures, such as the one shown above, are tucked among the plants in the temperate house.

I particularly liked the fact that it is often difficult to tell what material Nash has used until you actually touch it - some sculptures which appear to be scorched wood are actually steel, and those shown in the picture below are actually cast iron, which boggled my mind a bit when I started musing on the practicalities of transporting and assembling these sculptures.

I thought of these sculptures when I was out walking in Derbyshire last week and came across this fabulous jumble of steel that was strung on a chain and being used as a gate-closer.

Similarly, the bright green moss that clings to some pieces of stone on dry stone walls changes them from sharp, cold lumps of inert rock to something soft, welcoming and warm,  not to mention providing a splash of glorious colour in these grey days.

It made a pleasing circularity to my holidays that on a visit to the Millennium Galleries in Sheffield we came across an exhibition about John Ruskin and landscape. One of the exhibits was David Nash's film Wooden Boulder, which I didn't have time to see at Kew. The film tells the tale of a 25-year journey by a wooden boulder from the Ffestiniog Valley in Wales down to the Irish sea. There is no narration, only brief subtitles where necessary, and I became fully absorbed in the journey of the boulder and the soundtrack, mostly rushing water or rain, or just the quiet lapping of waves; in a few cases, silence, when the boulder sat stranded on a sand bank. 

Hidden delights of south Wales

After a couple of weeks of indecision as to whether I could spare the time away from my freelance project, I finally cracked and headed off to Bridgend for a night with my friend Gareth. I'm so glad I did!

He's staying in a lovely cottage just a mile or so from the 'Glamorgan Heritage Coast' to work on a personal photography project and I piggybacked his hols for a night away and the chance to catch up.

Early Sunday morning, even with my crashing hangover Paddington Station's art deco offices looked glorious - it's amazing what you see when you glance up from the grimy pavements.

A few hours later we were enjoying lunch in the Ogmore Tea Rooms before heading off for a 7 mile walk in glorious sunshine, across the hills to St Brides Major and down to Dunraven Beach.

I'd never heard of the beauty of this particular stretch of coastline until today, but as you can see, it didn't disappoint.

The cottage was a lovely place to hang out, surrounded by chickens, horses and sheep with their cute offspring. Meet your future socks!

That's the cottage on the left; the photo is taken from the grounds of the ruined castle, and you can just see the Stepping Stones of Doom on the right hand side, they are covered with water when the tide comes in. I call them the Stepping Stones of Doom because I am not good with stepping stones. To be fair, any stepping stones are the stepping stones of doom.

There are 52 of them and I got stuck at about number 26. My legs didn't want to go anywhere. Luckily Gaz was behind me goading me on and a family with a small child was waiting to cross from the other side, so I had to continue. Eugh, what's wrong with a bridge I say, even a nice wobbly one?!

Yesterday was colder and a bit gloomy so we toured a couple of the valleys to do some research for G's project. It's a strange place - dramatic hills with winding roads and glorious views, brought down to earth by rows and rows of tiny stone-clad houses, intense deprivation and a strangely oppressive air. The past few years of exploring south Wales have lent me a new appreciation of its charms, hidden as they may be.

The last picture is taken from the viewpoint at the head of the Rhondda Valley: a steep and hairpin ascent from Ogmore Vale, over Craig Ogwr and then down the other side towards Treorchy.

Tidy!

Welsh cycling

Well the holiday's over and I for one am NOT looking forward to getting back to work tomorrow morning after two weeks off! I dread to think how many emails await, despite having my colleague check them for me and supposedly delete anything irrelevant!

Last week I spent five more days in Wales, a couple of days exploring the quiet lanes of Pembrokeshire and staying in this fabulous hostel, and the remainder of the time on my bike travelling the Celtic Trail from Swansea to Newport.



In Lawrenny I enjoyed the peace and tranquility of a tiny village tucked away on deserted lanes on the edge of the Cleddau estuary, not far from Pembroke. The weather was rather gloomy but the scenery was delightful, and I visited Blackpool Mill (shown above) where I enjoyed some very welcome homemade soup, tea and cake. The hostel warden Irene was good company of an evening, and very helpful in recommending routes and places to visit, as well as sharing her local historical knowledge.

The Celtic Trail, one of the national cycle routes built by charity Sustrans, extends almost 400 miles from Fishguard to Chepstow. I chose the eastern section, which is from Swansea to Chepstow, although I finished at Newport and caught the train home from there.


It was an addictive mixture of industrial heritage and natural beauty, with some grubby housing estates and a bizarre stretch of route under a motorway viaduct, thrown in for good measure! Much of it was flat going, and even the hilly bits were not too demanding, apart from some rather short, steep sections that might need a push, especially if you have large panniers.

If you plan to try it yourself, I thoroughly recommend buying either the Sustrans map, or a good Explorer map (or two) which show the detail of the route. Although it is fairly well signposted throughout, it can be tricky to follow in some sections (particularly in the back alleys and ginnels of Port Talbot!) and the Sustrans map does have magnified sections of maps for the more tricky bits of the route. The map does actually include a huge amount of information about local services and amenities, includes phone numbers for local tourist information centres, and even gives you a diagram showing the size of hills you can expect to encounter. Despite this I managed to get lost a couple of times - once was totally my own fault when I missed a turning, I think I was just enjoying the fresh air and the sunny outlook and didn't notice for about a mile. Even then I was able to use the map to plot out an alternative that would meet up with the route a little further along.

My one criticism of the Sustrans cycle routes is that they tend to be on old railway tracks and alleyways along the back of houses; while this in itself is not a problem, it does tend to mean that you can't peruse possible lunch options while freewheeling along the route - you tend to have to detour to try and find somewhere to eat or a B&B. A bit more signposting would be useful to help with this; sometimes I found myself having passed villages without even realising it because there was no indication on the route. I suppose these improvements will come with time, and perhaps when local businesses realise the potential custom they are missing. One of the highlights of the trip was getting free entrance to Carew Castle because I had come by bike - can't wait for others to adopt this policy!



Caerphilly Castle - where entrance fees apply, bike or no bike!

On my way out again....

Llansteffan, near Carmarthen

Back at the homestead for about 36 hours before heading off for a few days' cycling. The holiday was glorious - our lucky weather held out and we sampled the extensive delights of Carmarthenshire and surrounds while basking in fabulous sunshine almost every day.

Highlights were beaches, walks, castles (I never knew there were so many in south Wales!) food (cheese, butter, locally-caught salmon and grouse..Cwrw Ceredig (Ceredig's beer) .. I can hear the waistline expanding as I speak!) and of course, Wales' National Woollen Museum!

Carreg Cennen Castle

National Woollen Museum

Teasel machine for finishing cloth


Tenby beach

By a strange series of coincidences and happenstance, I am back off to the same part of the country again tomorrow, this time with the bike and panniers. I will be picking up the clothes I somehow managed to leave in the cottage (:-/ senility is creeping up fast!) and then heading back eastwards over the following week. I have no plans other than a train there, and a booking for the first night in a little hostel nearby. After that, it's me and the road - quite possibly national cycle route 4 towards Swansea and Cardiff - but if the weather does not cooperate, or if the fancy takes me, anything could happen!

I'll be back next weekend for Deptford X, in particular looking forward to Sally Spinks' work 'Knit or Die'.

A girl's thoughts

The deadline is over, the clouds are slowly lifting and the panic is subsiding. Much more importantly, when I left work yesterday it was not quite dark! The smell of spring is in the air, and when that happens, a girl starts to fantasise about.... walking!

Now unless you share the passion of a walker, it can be very difficult to understand what's so special about it. And while a stroll along the south bank of the River Thames in central London can be very pleasant, it's Not the Same Thing at all! However I'm not one of those people at the other extreme either - I like a good yomp but not when it's all uphill just for the sake of it, DEFINITELY not in extreme weather conditions (I will never set out in the rain if I can help it) and my favourite walks are those which include some kind of diversion - be it tea shop, chapel, Site of Special Scientific Interest or alcoholic refreshments.

So at this time of year when I'm shackled to the desk and outside the sap is rising, I start to fantasise about walks I have known. This one was a lovely walk up Ingleborough in the Yorkshire Dales a couple of years ago with my friend and fellow yomper Em. It was a glorious day, but there was a very stiff wind, and we never made it to the top of the peak for fear of being blown off. After battling for half a mile along the ridge against a fearsome gale, we gave in and skipped that bit of the walk. Like I said, I'm not one to do it just for the sake! As we walked up the path on the approach to the peak, we passed the entrance to Gaping Gill, where a large group of cavers had set up camp and were manoeuvring pulleys and ladders into place ready for one of the occasional public open days.

In the last few weeks when the pressure has been on I've fantasised about walks I've done, walks I'd like to do, beaches I've strolled along, small seaside towns I've visited, train journeys I've made (the pleasant ones of course!), toasted teacakes I've munched, pints I've downed, even the natural highlights such as birds or plants I've sighted on the walks. I've started yearning to leave London behind and set out on an epic trip, perhaps take the train to Barmouth, the little Welsh seaside town that was such a part of my childhood and now retains a really special place in my heart. As a child, I visited the area every year at Whitsun bank holiday - my aunt and uncle had a cottage there and we used it for a cheap family holiday for many years. My subsequent connections to Wales - visiting my sisters when they were at university, one in Bangor and one in Aberystwyth - and my first job, working on the construction of the A55 Pen-y-clip Tunnel, have left me with a real hiraeth even though I was not born in Wales.


Anyway, you didn't come here to listen to me droning on about the hiraeth, did you? So, here's some knitting news! Jaywalker socks - one down, one to go! The Bejewled scarf has been washed... and the yarn has relaxed somewhat (a bit like me!) and is now twice the length. *Sigh*. Might have to unpick and pull it back somewhat if I don't want the recipient to be tripping over it!