Well, we did go xc skiing earlier this week, but I wouldn’t say we were brave…
Black diamond 55? Not that brave (not yet!)
A touch wobbly perhaps, given the course hadn’t been track set very recently, leading to a somewhat uncertain feel underfoot. Or is that under-ski?
Looks dangerous…
Other than the lack of reassuringly recent tracks to follow, we were very happy to be out on skis at last! Compared to our efforts at the start of last winter, we surprised ourselves and the (imaginary) watching hordes with our overall fitness and technique. Yup, we completed a couple of loops and didn’t fall over. A very low bar on very flat terrain, but one we cleared!
Flat, grey, chilly – but fun!
It was fun to be out and active on a chilly day where it could have been easy to take one look at the grey skies and think of something else to do… and anyway, doesn’t the beer taste better after? Maybe!
Maybe? Definitely!
We’re looking forward to getting out on skis a few more times, and, if the current medium term forecast is accurate, that shouldn’t be a problem from a snowfall perspective. Ne vous inquiétez pas, mes braves, nous reviendrons bientôt! Or something.
Ready to go again
Swift and brief this week, almost like an OldPlaidCamper on skis – thanks for reading, and I hope you have a wonderful weekend!
That’s the idea when xc skiing, isn’t it? Kick and glide! Yup, we got out for our first xc skiing trip this winter. Our first time on skis for many years, and, just like riding a bike, it’s perfectly possible to fall off.
Not that either of us did, but only because we were sensible enough to stop when we found ourselves tiring. I’m often told I’m tiring…
The ghost of ski trips past…
Muscle memory, or the memory of once having leg muscles went some way towards keeping us on track. We went to the flattest part of the Plains of Abraham to test ourselves. It wasn’t too much of a trial, the morning being bright, the sky shining blue, and the sun bouncing off brilliant white snow. A crisp and sharp winter morning where it feels so good to be alive.
Flat – good choice
On brilliant, I’m happy to share that I invented a new “kick and glide” technique that isn’t in any of the instruction manuals or guides to xc skiing. It involved a complicated and (un)coordinated set of movements likely missing both a kick and a glide, and yet it still somehow propelled me forward. Remarkable!
She knew her stuff! Unlike a certain someone else…
I suspect the gradual lowering of my centre of gravity in recent years, certainly those years since our last ski trip, coupled with a possibly stylish and rakish into-the-wind lean (mostly the first stage of the ever present possibility of a fall – never happened) was what provoked gasps of amazement from our fellow skiers. I think they were gasps, might have been curses, but I couldn’t be too sure, as I didn’t dare break my concentration…
Still flat!
Anyway, having survived this first outing, and managing almost an hour of high speed circuits, we’re looking forward to getting out there again soon. We might even take on a gentle downhill or two, and then see how we do on the uphill parts! Kick and glide, huff and puff, and how about coffee and cake after?
Finished – where to for coffee?!
Thanks for reading, and I hope you have a wonderful weekend!
…and thank goodness, particularly after the recent mini heatwave! So, how have we spent these cooler days? (Be warned: bouncing around like a box kicked rugby ball, this post will chop and change more times than a fly half trying to fool the opposition, showing no coherence, like a game spoiled by a fussy rugby referee with a whistle breaking up the flow of a game, or, or, like a…) Yeah, if you don’t like rugby, maybe stop reading?
Let’s try the non-rugby stuff. Falling temperatures and falling leaves helped make the week a pleasant one. Scout has been very happy to get back to the woods, and we’ve enjoyed the almost bug free wandering through the trees. Yesterday morning was cool, close to the point of chilly, but it isn’t light jacket or rugby jersey weather quite yet.
Fog?! Cooling…
Gentle breezes prompted some light leaf fall, and the photo below is colourful evidence autumn is more or less upon us.
Red
Red leaves seems a reasonable reminder to look out for red ales (it does? On what planet, OPC?), and hats off to Brasseur de Montréal for their splendid red. Autumn in a glass with the cardboard and toffee caramel flavours I like in a red. It tasted far better than I’ve described it…
Red
We spent a couple of mornings mooching about the Old Town, enjoying the slightly slower fall pace compared to the more full on summer visitor business. Shall we stop for a coffee and pastry? Oh, ok!
Mooching timeCoffee time? Oh, ok!
Almost forgot – rugby stuff! The rugby World Cup is in full swing, but at seven weeks long, I’ll pay more attention after some of the opening phases are finished. My hopes are very high indeed for Ireland, unrealistically high for England, somewhat high for France, but let’s be real – most likely New Zealand or South Africa will win the whole thing.
I recently read a great piece about remarkable rugby grounds in attractive locations, and for me, this place was the winner: (we’ve agreed with friends to watch a game there sometime and go for a pint or two of Guinness after!)
Donegal Town Rugby Club’s pitch, the Holmes, next to Donegal Bay in the Republic of Ireland. Photograph: Connor Doherty/Harper Collins
Must leave it here as there’s a rumour our backyard lawn (that’s too grand – let’s say patch of grass) is being laid today, needing my expertise (huh?) and fast developing skill with a garden hose. Nope, I’ve no idea where or why Scout is hiding…
Might need some grass here?
Thanks for reading, and I hope you have a wonderful weekend!
Backyard and him with the hose? You haven’t seen me…Followed by a Guinness? Oh, ok… (Photograph: Connor Doherty/Harper Collins)
Here’s a trip down my Memory Lane, and you’re very welcome to come along. It’ll be a civilized and genteel stroll…
When we were children, my three brothers and I would start craning and leaning forward in our seats, desperate to be the first to call out “I can see the sea!” as we approached a vacation destination. It was something of an annual ritual, and signalled the end of the backseat silent territorial war being waged for extra space in a crowded small sedan.
I can see the sea!
Our parents would start to relax, knowing their four boys – delightful children all – were about to be unleashed onto an unsuspecting British beach, and they could stop pretending we hadn’t been fighting and elbowing each other the past few hours. Four sweaty urchins on a leatherette bench seat? How fragrant.
The lucky destination? Usually somewhere in Devon, Cornwall, North Wales or Norfolk. The United Kingdom isn’t the largest of countries, and you’re never too far from the coast, but I bet on those road trips my parents wished they lived on a smaller island…
I can still see it!
Are we there yet? Yes, off you go! Take the cricket bat, footballs, kites, and dog, and come back next week. I mean, before 7pm. And don’t fight. Look after each other. Yeah, right. The unspoken code was to do pretty much anything stupid short of broken bones, and no telling the parents later. We’re all still alive today, and no bones were broken – hard to believe – so I guess we sort of looked after each other. It was always advantageous to be the one with the cricket bat.
“Memory Lane? Yawn…”
These days, it’s pleasant to sit on a log, watch the waves, drink that essential second cup of coffee and wind down after a work week. Goodness knows, my parents must’ve needed to wind down. They worked hard, particularly at being parents to four little angels, even if they weren’t getting along so well with each other. At the beach, my mum would reach for a book, no doubt hoping the children didn’t suffer any serious injuries, and my dad would sometimes join us to play cricket, if he hadn’t disappeared to the nearest golf course. One year, he brought along some sea fishing gear, and spent a week catching no fish. It looked so boring to us, and I think that was what he had hoped.
Winding down time
What prompted all the not so misty-eyed nostalgia above? Last weekend, we were heading down to Sunset Point to enjoy the early morning sun – aren’t we the contrarians? – and as we wandered along, I had a sudden sense of being that (adorable) little boy again, spectacles shining in the sun, excited about glimpsing the sea. I’d quite forgotten that feeling, probably because in recent years we’ve seen the ocean every day, but it hit hard last weekend. It is a thrill to see the sea! Even better when you aren’t nursing new bruises and can walk straight there, no cramped car journey to endure and no need to carry a cricket bat. Golden memories of innocent childhood days.
Sunset Point, but not sunset
I’ll leave it there – I have to take Scout out for a (beach) walk, go see the sea, and anyway, I think I have something in my eye. I bet I’ve a cricket bat hidden away somewhere. Might need it post-COVID when siblings come visiting. Oh no, don’t think that! To play cricket, of course. Genteel, remember?
Thanks for reading, and I hope you have a wonderful weekend!
With a tip of the hat to this coming Sunday, let’s say the photographs and some content this week is slightly Dad biased. That said, you don’t have to be a Dad to enjoy old trucks and good beer. My Dad does enjoy old Land Rovers and Range Rovers, and he will drink a beer if there’s nothing else, but he’s more partial to a full bodied Rioja.
Full bodied
Before we moved away from the UK, each summer my Dad, brother and I would meet up for a few days and play three rounds of golf. That’s not quite true. My Dad would play golf – he’s a very good golfer, toyed with the idea of turning pro – and my brother and I would go for a long walk trying to find our errant golf balls. My Dad was referee/coach/guidance counsellor/man mercilessly taking the piss out of our monumental sporting struggle. My brother and I were playing to win a penny. It’s true! We even called it the penny trophy! (I’m not the current holder…) My Dad had tremendous patience in the face of our (mostly my) inability to remotely master the game, and if you could have seen how bad we were (I was), his restraint has to be admired. We’d enjoy a glass or two of something good after each round, recounting the highlights and lowlights, and I do miss those fun summer meetings, even if I was often a miserable so and so on the course. I know, that’s hard to believe!
Summer 2019 release – cheers!
Anyway, cheers to my Dad, and to Dads, and cheers to everybody, because it’s fun to raise a glass if you’re so inclined, and I will for almost any reason, but maybe not on a school night.
School nights? Not too many of those between now and the end of the academic year! Lots to keep us busy between now and then. I was at a celebration of Nuu-Chah-Nulth learning earlier this week, one where some beautiful murals were unveiled and blessed at a high school. A collaboration between local indigenous artists and high school students, the three paintings were stunning depictions of local history, nature and culture. To see so many people of all stripes come out and celebrate, enjoying the artwork, singing, drumming and dancing was wonderful to see. The accompanying feast was also a highlight, with multi-generations present.
On the way home, I saw this green truck parked up, and I had to stop and take a picture. They do look good in green, don’t they? It probably isn’t what’s meant by going green. Old man dreams?
Going green?
At a cafe the other day, Mrs. PC spotted a weighty tome she thought I’d like to look at. It was a picture book – she knows me so well – with great photographs of pick up trucks past and present. Perhaps her thinking is if I look at the pictures, that’ll be more than enough to be going on with, no need to actually buy an old wrecker. Good strategy, bound to work, and anyway, the real thing is too expensive to maintain. Far better to buy a cup of coffee at that cafe every now and then, and look at the book.
Low maintenance? I think so!
The following day, we were leaving the grocery store when I spotted this old pink-wheeled delight. Imagine being the proud owner of a truck like this. I bet it doesn’t need that much maintenance. After all, it’s been going this long, it’s bound to have many years left in it. Way more fun than looking at a book. Probably even has cup holders?
I’ll leave it here for now, as I’ve got to head over the bay, put some hours in on the forthcoming education celebration we’ll be enjoying next week. You’ll be interested to know I always slow down when I’m passing this beige beauty:
OldPlaidCamper 