I commented last weekend about the increase of traffic on the road on the other side of our village park. After that I read about increasing traffic in the Yorkshire Dales and about the abuse one policewoman had to suffer from some drivers when she pointed out the error of their ways.

Fines, way too low

I think the fine, the level of a parking ticket, is far too lenient. In my closest city, Bradford, probably the city with the highest incidence of uninsured drivers in the UK and with the worst driving anywhere in the world from my experience, would not deter many in their go faster Subarus or enhanced Range Rovers.

Human rights, etc

I am fed up of people prattling on about ‘liberty’ and ‘human rights’ in this situation. What about my ‘human right’ simply to live, which they are endangering?

Realistic ‘punishments’

I’d like to see the fines replaced with at least 6 penalty points on a first offence, and removal of their driving licence on the second. As far as ignoring the instructions, or bending them, the fine should be enough to hurt, £1,000 minimum.

A better idea would be to ram wide tubes down their throats and force them to breath through that for a few weeks, as many of those in intensive care have to do, but without anaesthetic or induced sleep.

Sorry (again) for the recent silence. I’ve been a bit poorly (again). A bit of explanation at the end of this post.

I have a somewhat eclectic taste in music but I wouldn’t have thought at my advanced age I’d be discovering new forms of music that I enjoy but it’s happened twice in recent months. Anyone who’s followed me for a while will know me as a ‘classical music man’.

Post Modern Jukebox

The first ‘discovery’, being introduced to it by my Latvian blogging pal Ilze, was Post Modern Jukebox. If you don’t know it they do an amazing variety of covers of well-known songs with a variety of amazing singers and other musicians. The pianist, and founder of PMJ, is just wonderful.

Scala Radio

But this post is about Scala Radio, a much more recent discovery. I won’t go into why I was looking for an alternative to my regular radio listening for the past 16 years or so – the ‘other classical music station’.

You can listen to Scala Radio on an app as I do, on internet, on a ‘smart speaker’ (whatever that is) and on DAB if, unlike me, you can tune to it.

Experiencing new classical music

First, after over three quarters of a century of listening to classical music it was rare indeed to encounter something that I didn’t know or at least did not recall hearing before. It’s happened several times with Scala Radio in the short time I’ve been listening to it, perhaps particularly on the ‘show’ from 4 to 7pm weekdays hosted by Mark Forrest. He usually broadcasts from his historic farmhouse high in the Yorkshire Dales.

Enthusiastic chat

There’s quite a bit of chat from the presenters, and banter between them on changeover. I thought I’d find this irritating but quite the reverse. They are so enthusiastic it’s catching and often amusing. Not one of the presenters has me reaching for the off switch; I cannot say that about other stations.

Interviews

There are interviews with artists who come into the London studio and most of these are really interesting. The most recent I heard was with the Balanas Sisters from Latvia – incredible talent (they played live in the studio) and a really interesting story. It was great to hear John Rutter too; in my opinion he’s one of the great living composers, equally deserving of a ‘Sir’ as those who have it.

Food

There’s a food man on a show once a week and recently a ‘tinto’ from Portugal was  recommended. After a trial bottle I went back and bought every bottle on the shelf!

Early morning birdsong

There’s a great show from 5am to 7am called ‘In the park’, alternating  calm music with sounds of wildlife – birdsong etc. It’s a perfect accompaniment to my morning tea, Yorkshire tea of course!

I don’t like all the shows: I’m not a fan of film music without the film, nor music from ‘musicals’ except live on stage (there are exceptions to both), and I avoid video game music, so some shows which feature only these get switched off. But on the app I can catch up on something I missed, for a week.

Brass bands and choral music

Being a tyke I really like the fact that brass bands appear now and then. And of course choral music.

I’m not enthusiastic about the some of the musicians(?)/composers(?) championed by the presenters. One I really dislike. I dare not tell you the three I most dislike. They are all very popular. They get paused.

I’ve said enough. Try it!


Regular followers know about the overriding health condition. In recent weeks I couldn’t eat, losing well over 10kg in little over a fortnight. It culminated in camera and surgical instruments being shoved down my throat while I was awake. Far worse than the open surgery I’ve had in the past. But, as ever, I was well looked after by the Airedale Hospital nurses and am now am eating well and feeling good.

 

My post of a few days ago was about wandering a little further up the Wharfe Valley than where we live. The final picture in the gallery in that post showed Otley Chevin, at the foot of which nestles our village – Menston. Sunday turned out to be a surprisingly lovely day, fairly cold and a brisk breeze but good for a walk though rather muddy.

Just below the summit, but on the other (east) side is our local airport, the highest in England, in fact I believe the highest in the UK (though there are certainly higher airfields) – Leeds Bradford International Airport. So a walk on the Chevin means you are often ‘buzzed’ by aircraft, more usually landing. You are now often ‘buzzed’ too by that magnificent bird, the Red Kite, though yesterday he didn’t come close enough for a good picture (first pic in gallery). We often see a pair, circling over the village, from our kitchen or sitting room windows.

We often climb up half way on ‘our side’ to the Chevin Inn but yesterday we chose to take the car to the top (5 minutes or so) and walk from there. Not a very long walk, but we were out for about two hours. The final picture is on the road descending to our village, always a welcome sight when I was working in York as I was just a few minutes from home.

Paul Hudson, for those not in the BBC ‘Look North’ tv area, is the much maligned weather forecaster. The stone probably is more reliable!

Yesterday (Tuesday) was one of those wonderful Yorkshire days which hauled itself out of the gloom of the majority of days here this winter to show a part of Yorkshire at its beautiful best. I’m lucky enough to live in the Wharfe Valley but beautiful as it is where we live a day like that cries out for a wander further afield, heading towards Upper Wharfedale.

We didn’t go far, lingering a while in the village of Appletreewick, passing Bolton Abbey, crossing the River Wharfe by the side of the Barden Tower to arrive in this wonderful traditional Yorkshire village. It has two pubs, one of which is not open so often but the other, the Craven Arms, a historic inn, has always been open when we visited and no exception today.

Excellent beer and, new to me, Appletreewick cider, brewed in the village I understand. Cider is Petronela’s usual drink so if she says it’s good it’s good. I had a taste and can back that up but I couldn’t resist one of my favourite Yorkshire beers – Theakston’s ‘Old Peculier’, a really tasty dark beer but very strong so only 1 pint if you’re driving. The food is good too and we’d usually have a soup but as the soup of the day was something with goats’ cheese, Petronela will not eat anything with goat or lamb, we passed on that this time. We had brought food with us – schnitel (chicken breast) and pork pie so no problem.

I’ve tried to put the gallery in order of time from leaving home till arriving back, taking a circular tour around part of the River Wharfe, through Ilkley to Barden, crossing the river to the north side there and traversing Appletreewick to reach Burnsall then crossing back across the river at that pretty village to return on the south side to Barden again then up over Barden moor, descending towards Skipton in Airedale before turning again to pick up the Wharfe again at Bolton Abbey till home in our village of Menston.

Bleachmill house with St George’s and Yorkshire flags flying

Bleachmill house

A perfect day to meander down to Bleachmill House, our favourite short walk from our village, Menston in the Wharfe Valley, one of Yorkshire’s beautiful dales. ‘Icing on the cake’ is a mug of tea with extraordinary friends Sue and Simon in their ‘farmhouse kitchen’ and the crazy “very free-range” chickens, picking up some “very free-range eggs” before we left.

Having baked Yorkshire teacakes earlier Sue was just about to make a lemon drizzle cake. So too early – dammit; it’s one of my favourites! No cake but the usual laughs which will last me at least a week.

No need for more words. I hope the pictures, all taken on iPad except for Petronela’s pic of me delighting in a robin singing his heart out high in a tree, say enough.

The sun was so bright it chopped a slice of my head off; I think this is the first ever ‘selfie’ of the two of us, in the deserted pub.

Today is Petronela’s and my 17th wedding anniversary. Why the 17th is ‘special’ I won’t bore you with except to say that in Romania we lived at number 17, we bought our present home before we knew it would be number 17 (it didn’t exist when we reserved it) and there are a few other occurences of the number too.

On our anniversaries we usually do something ‘special’ – eg, go somewhere more exotic to eat or to stay. This being a more than usually ‘special’ day we decided to do nothing ‘special’, and so it became special.

The more so because the pub we chose to visit, just for a drink, on the other side of the valley, usually crowded on a Sunday lunchtime, was deserted. We were the only people in it (other than the barman). That was pretty special.

Then, having been warned of “Arctic conditions” by the weather forecasters it turned out to be a beautiful day, one of the best of the year. We reckon mother nature turned on her magic just for us.

 

High above Malham Cove on the way home – definitely ‘God’s own country’!

A beautiful day for the final day of the half-term holiday, with “Arctic” weather threatened for the weekend by forecasters. Where to go? We decided on Malham, about 25 miles from home, with an energetic walk from the village to the cove. The days when I would climb it have long gone. Back in Malham village a sandwich and tea (coffee for Petronela), in the delighful ‘Stream side cafe‘, with an equally delightful young Hungarian receptionist/waitress, went down a treat. Seemed a pity to go directly home so we climbed the long twisting single track road then descended into Settle before turning east to go home.

A lovely day.

As you see, I took a camera but all the pictures other than Petronela’s of me are on the iPad.

I’ve said in recent posts that I don’t believe in coincidence and that I’m easily distracted. Venturing upstairs to the reference and study section of Keighley library after my morning double espresso in Wetherspoons next door (see previous posts), I had to confront both.

Philip Snowden and women’s suffrage

First, ‘talking’ about how I began my blog to another blogger earlier this morning (she’ll know who she is) I mentioned one motivation being my desire to air my ire about discrimination, particularly discrimination against women. What first confronted me when I walked along the upstairs floor of the library? The ‘Snowden Library’, that of  Philip Snowden, a tireless campaigner for women’s suffrage. You’ll find more about him in one the pictures.

Proper parkin – again – and other recipes

Then, resisting the temptation to sit down all day with some of his books, I wandered to another section to see what they had about the beautiful Wharfe valley in which I live. A book about Yorkshire dishes almost jumped off the shelf at me. I opened it at a random page and what recipe did I see? Parkin! A proper recipe, almost the same as that I posted a few days ago.  And plot toffee.

I spent much of the rest of my time today with that book and recorded 27 recipes on the iPad. I’m putting some of them here as pictures. I had to include a fish recipe; in Yorkshire you’re never far from the sea and the superb Yorkshire coast. Then there’s a really weird one, ‘Long life’, using whole eggs, shell and all. I just had to include that.

Chicken stew and dumpings? I was taken back to childhood by the recipe for rabbit stew and dumplings. That was a frequent winter meal (rabbit was cheap, the cheapest meat; then chicken was a luxury, for Christmas). Now chicken is cheap and rabbit a luxury, hence chicken stew: chicken legs, onion, garlic, carrot, red lentils, barley, tarragon, parsley, thyme and sage.

Perfect for the cold, miserable, wet weather today, for which I abandoned a planned trip to one or more Worth Valley Railway stations.

Brontës

Finally, I spent a short time in the Brontë section. I knew if I got immersed in that I’d probably lose all sense of time and get a frantic phone call from Petronela asking where I was when she finished school. I just hope she’ll be returning there after the half-term break; she’s enjoying it having knocked the students into shape in the first two days.

I could spend six months in each of those sections.

Petronela the chicken

Petronela. An extraordinary attire but I don’t like that look in her eye!

Sunday 15 October

An extraordinarily warm mid October day prompted a complete mind shift from yesterday. Then a spot of baking pushed out any stage nerves before ‘performing’ at the Ilkley Literature Festival ‘Fringe’ (in fact I arrogantly don’t have any – I never have been frightened of making a fool of myself and it gets worse with age – readers of this blog may well have deduced that 😜).

Favourite short walk

Today walking with Petronela on our favourite short local walk, intent on having a chat with another Petronela – a chicken, one of those who lays our eggs. I really wanted to get a picture of Petronela holding her namesake but we couldn’t find her (the chicken). Every one of the ladies has a name and Sue, who with Simon provides a home for these ladies who lay our “very free range eggs”, knows each one of them by name. I had to settle for the dog for my photo.

She was here earlier,” said Sue, “she was eating like a pig.” Looking at the Petronela who can polish off a plate of spaghetti bolognaise in little more time than it takes me to grate some Parmesan on mine, I held my tongue. Who cares? They both remain beautiful, as you can see. The picture of chicken Petronela is one taken on an earlier visit (by Petronela –  confusing isn’t it?).

A large group of walkers arrived just before us which prevented Sue helping us locate Petronela. Clearly most of them had not been there before so seeing the discomfort of one, as a very free range lady tried to nick his slice of Sue’s exceedingly good homemade cake, made my day.

Charity

Sue and Simon are an extraordinary, lovely couple. They sell the eggs, with an ‘honour’ system of payment, and serve homemade cakes and drinks to passing walkers if they are home, but all the proceeds go to a charity supporting teenagers with cancer. Once a year they have a charity day to support one local young person disadvantaged in some way. P and I have a money box into which change of 10p and under goes throughout the year to hand over on that day.

When I despair of the world in which we now live I think of Sue and Simon and how lucky we are to have that walk to chat with them.

View from our front window

View from our ‘front’ window. Most of the trees are still largely green. Few leaves have fallen

The obvious signs of autumn are coming late this year. Most of the leaves are still on the trees, even the horse chestnuts, usually the first to undress, have kept their clothes despite the high winds of the past few days though there are quite a lot of conkers down. Maybe that’s only because the children have been throwing sticks up to bring them down. Last year the trees were almost bare at this time; this year most of them are still green. Even the acer outside our window is only a little rusted.

On the other hand, the berry trees – rowan, hawthorn, etc – are particularly laden with their red feasts. Not for long I think. Blackbirds seem satisfied with six berries for each meal; the crows, flapping to stay on the thin branches, take far more. They might wish they had been less gluttonous if the harsh winter foretold by the berries occurs. Or maybe they just know I’ll keep the bird feeders full from the first frost.

The temperature is down, only 17degC in our flat first thing in the morning. As the energy supplier has recently hiked the price by 12.5% we’ve resisted putting the heating on yet. If the sun stays out it will get up to 19degC in our sitting room/kitchen, which has large windows facing south. The bedroom, facing north, will remain cool.

Wharfe Valley

Some of the near white drystone walls dividing green fields in the Wharfe valley between Burnsall and Grassinton

The ‘white’ drystone walls glistened in the sun

With bright sun yesterday morning we decided to take a ride up the beautiful Wharfe valley, which gets wilder the further up you go. We didn’t go far, only as far as the village of Grassington but it’s a lovely ride from Bolton Abbey past the Barden Tower , closely following the river, to Burnsall then Grassington (I’ve put a link on the placenames for those don’t know the Yorkshire Dales, or you can google them). Though it’s much visited there’s not really much special about Grassington unless there’s a festival on but the surroundings are wonderful. The autumn colours we expected on the way were in short supply. The ‘white’ drystone walls were a substitute delight in the sun.

The touristy shops beckoned but we just settled for some ‘Thirst Aid’, proclaimed on a blackboard outside a small coffee shop, which was suggested would help with the “steep” climb (not really). Just two tables outside in the narrow street on an even narrower pavement but the small space had beckoned to the sun and seemingly trapped it. The declared “outrageously good coffee” was excellent.

So, a day doing nothing special but, arriving home, Petronela and I agreed it was a ‘special day’.

Haiku

autumn comes tardy

nature’s paintbox still half closed

birds gorge on berries